A Record of Ash & Ruin: The Grieving Lands

Book 2: Chapter 23: The Coming Storm

To miss a night’s sleep is to gain a dark day.

- Attributed to Lady Aelayah of House Salahaem.

The night was uneventful, much to my relief. Our patrols around the camp encountered no hidden enemies. No bandits or monsters lay in wait for us out on the quiet plains. Alone, with a simple torch for company, I practiced what magic I could and tried to make some inroads in growing my arcane might. Taking stock of my progress, something I had neglected to do for quite some time, I noted that my experience points had surpassed the three thousand mark, but beyond that, there were no significant developments of note.

My Identify spell, however, gave me a glimmer of an idea. Maybe, with a focused effort of will, I could manage to either reorganize or, at the very least, remove some of the redundant skills cluttering my interface. The sibilant voices that had been with me for so long fell into an uneasy silence at the thought. I mentally tinkered with my least-desired skill, Mining, attempting to banish it from view.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain tore through my head. Just as abruptly as it had arrived, it disappeared. Had I deleted the skill? No, that was not my intention. All I had wanted to do was push it from view. Panicking a little, I quickly willed it back. Sharp pain returned, but through tear-filled eyes and gritted teeth, I saw that the skill had come back into view with it. Despite the discomfort, my experiment had been successful. Now, if I so chose, I could edit what my user interface displayed.

The powers that be did not appreciate me playing with their gifts, but I had finally attained a degree of control over my user interface, an achievement that had long eluded me. A measure of independence. Nonetheless, it was not an experience I was eager to revisit anytime in the near future.

This uneventful state of affairs persisted into the following day, and also the day after that, making for an unbearably tedious existence. With nothing to do, I even endured another splitting headache to hide the Mining skill again. This time I would not be bringing it back!

Later in the evening, I ambled over to Ankhset's wagon, only to be rebuffed by her children. They informed me that she was engaged in deep meditation and would not be receiving visitors. I wondered if there was a particular task I needed to complete to gain access to this elusive NPC, or if perhaps I needed to bring along the more-intimidating Kidu or the more-charismatic Larynda to finally talk with the mage.

The only respite from the tedium came in the form of the evening meals, where I could finally unwind. However, even in these moments of respite, Larynda would pester me incessantly, eager to hear more stories from my world. More often than not, I would give in to Larynda's persistent requests. Kidu would pretend to be uninterested, but I could see his genuine curiosity as he leaned forward, captivated by the tales. There was something enticing about performing for an audience, so eager and enthusiastic. I couldn't help but wonder how high Larynda's Charisma attribute must have been to affect me so strongly before I refocused on my own storytelling.

During the nights, once I was certain that Kidu and Larynda were both sound asleep, I would cast Drain on Larynda to replenish my magical reserves. This in turn enabled me to cast a Greater Heal spell to repair the minor damage caused by the Drain spell. I convinced myself that this was both a productive way to train my magic and at the same time contribute to developing Larynda's Constitution.

One day, much to Larynda’s delight, someone had even found the girl child some horse tack. A faded blue cloth and a worn leather saddle were attached to an uncomplaining Patches, along with a soft hackamore. What the girl lacked in experience and skill she made up for in balance, following the instructions of a group of children who laughingly called her their ‘Great Sage.’ Children played childish games.

Then we saw them. Under the serene expanse of a cloud-speckled blue sky, we observed distant moving dots on the horizon. Likam, one of the guards, speculated that it could be another trading party, like us, endeavoring to traverse the Green Road earlier in the season. According to the veteran, such an occurrence was a rarity, but not an entirely unprecedented one.

Now, able to at least not embarrass myself in the saddle, I was assigned to the rear guard of the caravan.

My borrowed mount, named Mouse, was thankfully an obedient and placid horse. Mouse was about fourteen hands high, and had gentle eyes that looked at me with a mother’s patience. She had a uniform dull brown coat, with a barrel chest and an ambling gait that forgave my poor seat. I was given strict instructions, by Arik, not to fight on horseback in the unlikely event that trouble should find us. To my relief, trouble did not find us that day, but I felt that it was drawing closer. Something was not quite right. This tedious peace was merely the quiet before the coming storm.

The next day, a small group of dots could be seen moving in our direction, and Khalam hissed that they may be an overly-enthusiastic party of the Tides, fresh young blood looking to harass and extort the merchant trains that passed these ways. They would prove their place in the world with violence, or at least the threat of violence. It was the way of the Grass Sea, and the caravan was prepared to act accordingly. Jasper, Khalam’s second, estimated they would catch up to us on the morrow. Although the caravan for the most part was almost indolently cavalier in their attitude about the whole thing, they would not find Kidu and me unprepared.

The next morning, instead of moving out as usual, the caravan remained in its nightly defensive formation. The fast-moving dots from the day before had transformed into a group of horsemen moving steadily closer. At that pace, they would be upon us in a few hours. My group prepared for the potential confrontation, and even Larynda had picked up on the cues and begun sharpening a small steel knife. We had told her to stay back and leave the fighting to those more capable, to which she sullenly agreed.

The caravan was prepared to meet the riders.

As the advancing horsemen drew closer, I instructed Kidu to keep out of sight and for Larynda to remain in the wagon. Kidu positioned himself behind one of the large wagons, his left hand holding his bow, with three long arrows at the ready. With a huff, Larynda retreated into our wagon.

At this distance, I could discern that the group was composed of two distinct factions. One half of the approaching warband wore grimy white tabards over their armor and were outfitted in a more "Western" style, while the other half were equipped with the armor and gear that were typical of the Tides. Their horses were lathered with sweat and came to a halt approximately twenty paces away from the circle of wagons.

In the midst of their party, my gaze fell upon a warrior adorned in exquisite plate-and-mail, delicately chased with gold. With a gentle motion, she removed her helmet, revealing a breathtaking woman whose stunning appearance stood in stark contrast to the rugged company she was in. In that fleeting instant, the chaotic thoughts of warfare and brutality dissolved, consumed by the mesmerizing vision before me. Even from afar, the alluring contours of her face drew the eye, and the vibrant shock of fiery red hair blazed like a torch.

Self-consciously, my gaze drifted down towards the dull-colored robes that covered my armor, and I fidgeted with the heavy bevor around my neck. My robes would serve to obfuscate the weak points of my armor and, to all appearances, I must have looked like some sort of poor mendicant warrior monk.

A feeling close to déjà vu enveloped me. So entranced was I, that I barely noticed another of their number.

Bound upright to a horse was yet another familiar face, though he looked a little worse for wear. Bruised and battered, Elwin was the very embodiment of painful despair, his expression hollow and haggard. With the Rogue in their company, the small warband's intentions were made clear. I gave a subtle nod to Kidu, who had also noticed our old comrade in their ranks.

One of the Tide warriors, an unscarred and youthful man, had his crested bronze nasal helm tucked under one arm. Clad in the full panoply of war, he wore an impressive iron coat of circular plates gilded with copper and silver, all sewn onto a tough leather backing. In his dominant hand, he held a long lance that was grounded in his right stirrup. The tasseled head of his weapon was a slash of iron in the morning sun. He looked confident and strong, with an air about him of someone filled with self-belief and fuelled by ambition. The leader of this band, if I was not mistaken.

With a clear voice that showed none of the strain of his long ride, he addressed the caravan in a ringing voice, “We are searching for a man. An escaped slave, foul brigand of ill-repute, and we believe him to be among your number. I would speak to whoever leads this group.”

With this exclamation, at least in my mind, violence now was all but inevitable.

Laes rode out to meet them on his horse, with two mounted guards at each flank. Despite his usual strong demeanor, there was a barely hidden nervousness about him. It made me wonder if this was all pre-planned, a convoluted scheme to capture me when I was at my most vulnerable. I held my breath, itching to take direct action. Instead, I chose the wiser path, casting Identify on the leader to gauge the threat he presented. The upcoming exchange had me on edge, and I waited with bated breath for what would come next.

Tarkhan Aigiam - Waverider [Human lvl.11] Health 142/144 Stamina 36/37

Mana 8/8

“May the winds favor you. Would you give this one, Laes of the Ravens, the honor of your name that we may address you properly?” replied the caravan master, his words almost as stiff as his seat in the saddle.

“Lesser merchant, you may address me as Waverider Tarkhan Aigiam, Captain of the 9th Lance…” he answered with no small amount of contempt, somehow able to look down his nose at Laes, despite their positions of similar height.

He took a moment to confirm his smug superiority before continuing in his ringing voice, and the stallion beneath him stamped its foot as it felt its rider’s aggression, “We know he travels under your colors, petty coin-counter. Bring him out, or you will know what is to go against the Tides.”