A leap worth Making

Chapter Thirteen: the Barbarian Wastes

Conlan and Tobin woke early and broke camp reasonably efficiently. Tobin was much more alert and they were able to ride the horses along stretches of the path which slowly widened out as the mountains gave way to foothills.

They pieced together a sketchy knowledge of this side of the mountains, they knew it was considered wilderness, sparsely populated by barbarian tribes, but were surprised to see how green it was. They had formed an image of barren desert from descriptions they had half listened to. Neither of them had ever left the Paladire Dukedoms before, though they were aware of the neighbouring Kingdoms, Sangol to the south, the home of the Churchblades and Minador to the west.

The mountain passes were too narrow and treacherous for much trade and there were hardly any goods that came out of the Wastes. Conlan vaguely believed that there was another civilised land beyond the Wastes, though he couldn't remember what it was called... something like Qat. They tried the sword on this and got the same answer - its memory wasn't really any good, and had it already mentioned this?

They trotted their horses out onto the plain, revelling in the warmth and stripping off their heavy coats. The horses appeared overjoyed to be on grass again and a few hours into the morning their keen noses sniffed out a narrow stream and they were all able to drink their fill and replenish water bags.

Around midday they halted and made a temporary camp amongst a stand of trees. There was very little food left and they were both getting very hungry. Conlan eventually raised the subject of the mirror again,

"We need answers Tobin, where are the Churchblades and where can we get food. We have to use it, as long as we're careful we should be all right." Tobin reluctantly agreed and the mirror revealed that the Churchblades were still descending the mountain slope and were at least seven or eight hours behind them.

Food was shown to be in a lean-to hut set against a small cliff and the mirror showed them the route to get there, a few miles ahead. The question,

"Is there any danger?" showed them the Churchblades again, and so reassured they set off in the direction of the lean-to. They tore a white sheet in two and covered their heads and faces from the sun and dust.

Conlan was relieved, there had been no unnatural feeling associated with communicating with the mirror this time and he scoffed at himself for his fears. The sword didn't know what it was talking about he thought, it couldn't really even remember the cave it had been in.

The lean-to was little more than some branches and ferns covering a log. There was a little jerked beef wrapped in greasy animal skin, covered in ants and flies, which they stared at dubiously before shoving it into a pack, both hoping they never got so hungry that they had to eat it. There was no other sign of the hunter so they pressed on.

Conlan tried grumbling,

"I'm hungry and pissed off. I should never have listened to you. What the hell am I doing out here?"

Tobin just ignored him and Conlan was enraged, Tobin was treating him like an embarrassment, a grouch, when all he was doing was expressing his true feelings. The truth was he was so unfit and heavy that all this riding was draining him of energy. Plus, he was used to five meals a day so the prospect of scraping the fat off a manky piece of animal skin was depressing him beyond positivity. He had always had to cut extra holes in his belts, now he was using the last of the tailor's holes; he was wasting away.

By the evening they had seen little sign of other humanity. There were biting insects in their clothes, and Conlan had been absently scratching when his fingernail had torn through his skin and gouged his flesh. Since then he had tried not to touch, but the itching couldn't be ignored and he had opened up a long running sore in the crease at the top of his leg – the pain was making it impossible to ride.