Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 40

Running through a forest without any sense of direction was widely considered a bad idea because of several reasons, but the most obvious ones would be tripping over roots and losing one's way.

Although a certain ill-fated, outlawed soldier had managed to dodge those two, by ways of extraordinary acrobatics and a clear mental map of the woods of Kinallen.

But in her case, there came a third hurdle. All that running around would inevitably draw from her magical reserves, causing her body to exert a great amount of sorcerous energy.

It would make her presence easily traceable to any vigilant Council Mage who might be out in the woods to track her down-- leading them straight to her, like a trail of blood does a hunter to a wounded prey.

Not to mention the ring Xenro had given her-- also awfully filled with magic. Weakened as the confused local deity was, he still held a fair amount of power within himself. Or how else would anyone in their right mind decide to set off for the Autumnwind plains on foot?

Farren crouched behind a bush, trying hard not to make a sound as a silk-robed man, quite possibly another Council mage, came riding up the trail. This path, which she had been watching for a while now, was one frequented by the hunters of Kinallen, although it had been deserted for the last few days, just like the village.

A quick look at the mage's plain robes and lack of jewelled rapiers told her he was a Council worker rather than a high-ranked mage.

The man dismounted-- and Farren noiselessly scurried further back into the shadows. But he seemed more interested in sifting through some rolled up parchments in his satchel. Her fear dissipated--

He pulled out a large hammer, and a bag of nails, whistling a merry tune to himself.

Her panic swerved up again.

With a flourish, the mage tossed the parchments into the air. Even as the papers hovered in mid-air, their descent sorcerously slowed down-- the man plucked a handful of nails from the bag, and with each blow of his hammer, shot one out like a crossbow quarrel, and there went the nails, piercing into a paper each and pinning it to the tree trunks. Talent like that would be better suited in the army-- had the law of restriction not been there.

One the parchments thunked into the tree trunk an arm's length above her head, and Farren clamped her hands to her mouth to hold back a yelp-- and this was when it occurred to her how awful an idea it had been to decide to split up with Xenro and going her own way-- and worse, arguing with him about it.

Two days had passed, and he had not shown up. She dared not use the ring, for fear of leading the mages right to her.

She steeled herself. Did she really need a weakened, forsaken God to help her out of this mess?

No.

Farren Clearstrike had never needed anybody's help. Although it was worth mentioning she had messed things up rather irreversibly, in that stubborn desire of doing it all by herself.

When Gran fell ill, she'd earned the money for her treatment-- by whatever means possible. When Audryn told her she was not strong enough for the life of a soldier, she went out there, struck the deal-- and made herself strong. Grew a tough hide and held her ground when folk like Alastair threw jeers and insults at her.

Yet it seemed now she was at her limit, what with the mages coming after her. And the one time she truly wanted help, craved some companionship, whether she admitted it or not-- it had slipped right through her fingers.

✦✧✦✧

When Atruer was gone, after having threatened her that he would disguise himself as her and wreak havoc in her stead, Xenro braced himself, about to set off for the Autumnwind plains right away.