The Book of Warlock

The Book of Warlock Part 5. What follows.

  The Nightmare circled in the sunny morning skies, sunlit wings outstretched, wheeling with the breeze. One. Twice. Then with a dip, Bromor came swooping back to his companions, hidden within the leafy wooded copse. His hooves skidded a little as he landed. He was still learning his newfound skills.

His nostrils flared from the effort of flight, and his deep, muscular chest rose and fell as he took rapid breaths.

"Well?" Anar asked, keenly. "What did you see?"

"Yes," The Dragon urged, "tell us. My senses aren't quite up to the task of identifying other magic users right now." Its scales had warmed in hue somewhat since being charged up by its aardvarkian companion, but there was still a distinct lack of vibrance or shine thanks to its severely depleted magic levels.

Lieutenant Brook gave the curious creature a concerned look. The Dragon was certainly the weakest of the group, and the one to pose them the greatest risk should they encounter trouble.

"A mage," the big black horse eventually replied. "It's a lone mage. Appearing as if from nowhere, as I noticed a distinct lack of tracks around its position. Most peculiar."

"Did it see you?"

Another deep breath, "My Lord, I don't know how many big flying animals you've seen in your lifetime, but I think I can safely say the mage spotted me up in the air, yes."

Anar frowned. "True, you're not exactly inconspicuous, are you?"

Bromor shook his heavy head, his forelocks swishing.

Brook turned to her commander, "but this could be good, right? A mage could actually help us?"

"Depends on what they're here for," he mused, rubbing his grey chin, "we'll follow them and see what they do. If they work for Nisgarant, and that's a possibility considering he has spies everywhere involved in all kinds of artistry, then we could be in for a scrap much sooner than we'd like."

The gobliness jutted her chin forward, proudly, gripping her dagger with purpose, "I didn't choose desertion because I was a coward, sir."

"No, no, of course not, Lieutenant! But, we shouldn't hurl headlong into a situation we're not prepared for, neither. Tread softly."

He swung up onto his steed's back and led them out of the shrubbery, towards clumps of glittery marble rocks and thorny bushy scrub, following in the direction of the mysterious magical figure as it made its way furtively towards the valley and river.

It was dressed in long robes of white, hemmed in a bronze metallic thread, with a hood up to ward off the sun. There must be long, pointed ears like an elves' beneath the headcloth, Anar decided, as they made tiny points within the fabric folds. It had curious footwear upon its feet, as it left a pretty pattern in the mud and dust behind it as it walked. They had been made by a craftsperson of the name Skechers. Occasionally, it drew out a noisy metal box from within a deep pocket, and paused to look at it, before setting off again.

The Dragon, Lieutenant Brook, General Warlock and Bromor skirted around the worn track as they surreptitiously followed at a sensible distance. It was a path the rat's army had taken only a day previous and their litter was strewn around.

"They're looking for something."

"Me, do you think?" Brook asked, with a frown.

"Could be. Could be. But with a magical aura like that, they should have power enough to have found you by now," Bromor replied with a toss of his mane.

"Yes, I did rather expect a hunting party to be coming after me I must admit. Major Hackle's wolves or Major Threllif's gnolls. Perhaps, then, this mage's sudden appearance is simply a coincidence, sir?" she turned to look at her senior officer atop his magical horse and received exactly the expression she'd expected. One of doubt. She pulled a face, "no coincidences, huh. So... they're connected to the rat, somehow?"