The Currents of Magic

Chapter Seven

Morning came, and with it a dreary sense of hope. The dark mass of Raiders could still be seen to the north, but they were little more than a black smudge on the horizon, shadowed by a cloud of smoke.

"Glad we can put that behind us," said Gibb.

Sarn grunted, and led them down from the stone outcropping. They ate a meager portion of ration bars behind the shelter of a nearby thicket, and then Gibb dragged out his silky blankets, handing one to Meyer.

"Rest up, Greenie. I'd bet half my gold Sarn's going to push us hard tonight."

And indeed, Sarn did push them hard that night. Meyer's raw feet burned, and his legs dragged, but thankfully they stopped more frequently than usual as to allow Sarn to scout the surrounding area for any lingering danger. Soon Meyer lost count of Sarn's excursions into the darkness, the night blending into a repeating sequence of painful movement followed by brief recovery. The only break in this endless patter was when during one of the stops, a silvery object caught Meyer's attention. He stooped to the ground, and his fingers closed around cold metal. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see the outline of a skull fused with a five pointed star. The emblem filled his palm, and for a moment he felt a faint beating.

Just then Sarn appeared out the darkness. "Let's move," he said.

Meyer slipped the emblem into his pocket, and followed Sarn back into the night.

And so the days went by. At dawn Sarn would find a hidden area for them to camp, and at dusk they would set off again. The nights were long, and though Meyer sometimes thought he could hear a dull ringing in the distance, they were otherwise monotonous. The days were equally blurred. Meyer drifted in and out of sleep, deep into the afternoons as the empty land lulled him into submission. If they resumed their journey before nightfall, Meyer would survey the surrounding expanse for landmarks, but it was an exercise in futility, and he searched with his mind and not his heart. The plains were vast, and even when they reached a peak he saw nothing but endless hills, and grass, and patches of trees. Sometimes as they ate their ration bars before leaving, Gibb would make conversation, but Meyer mostly just shrugged and nodded. His blisters had turned to callouses, and his emotions had turned to steel. He was fairly sure Gibb and Sarn were not Raiders, but the conclusion only served to quell any fear about his immediate well being. He was hardly bothered by eating the same dense meal for days on end.

On the tenth day since his capture, Meyer was jolted from his comatose when Gibb returned from an afternoon scouting mission.

"Boss," he said. "Looks like we've got company."

Sarn jumped to his feet, reaching for his sword.

"Slow down," said Gibb. "For all you know I ran into a two-hundred year old blind Halfling."

Sarn withdrew his hand from the hilt of his sword, but his expression remained the same.

"Well actually," said Gibb. "It couldn't have been a two-hundred year old Halfling, because then he'd still be talking my ear off, but—"

"Gibb," said Sarn, his forearms twitching.

"I saw a few Raiders," said Gibb. "Just the normal highway bandits, though, nothing we can't handle."

"How many?"

"Eight or nine. I cast a vision charm, but it's hard to be sure."

"Well, let's lay low and see if they don't just go by."

"Not in the mood for a more forward approach, Boss?"

Sarn squinted into the plains and then spoke. "It's too open here. If we start moving we'll be seen."