“So do I, Ridmark Arban. But we are who we are, I fear.”
“And we have a duty,” said Ridmark.
“To stop the return of the Frostborn,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded. He was starting to get a headache. Likely the day’s exertions had caught up to him. “I cannot do it without your help.”
“Nor can I do it without yours,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “Are we friends?”
“Very good friends,” said Ridmark. “Always.”
Her smile was wider than it had been in some time.
“Though given what awaits us in Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark, “always may not be a very long time.”
Calliande laughed, drawing a suspicious look from Morigna, who then glared at Jager. “Someday we shall have a conversation without you saying something gloomy, and then the sun will stop overhead and water will flow uphill.” She dabbed a little more blood from the cuts. “These can be healed safely now, I think. Brace yourself.”
“This is harder on you than it is me,” said Ridmark.
Calliande shrugged. “I’ve healed much worse.”
She lifted her hands, white light burning to life around them, and waved a palm over the cuts. One by one she healed the wounds. Ridmark felt a strange cold sensation as she did, and the pain vanished. He knew that she had to take the pain of the wounds into herself, that some Magistri simply could not heal because they could not endure the pain. Calliande did not cry out, though her lips thinned to a tight line and her eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in the side of her neck.
At last she sighed and slumped back. “Done. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said Ridmark. “A headache, but nothing serious.”
She frowned and placed a palm on his forehead. “You didn’t hit your head, did you? You’re likely dehydrated from the blood loss, though the healing will help with that. Go drink water until you’re sloshing like a barrel.”
“As you command,” said Ridmark, and Calliande smiled and gathered up her supplies. “Thank you.” She nodded, and Ridmark retrieved a fresh tunic and jerkin and donned his gray cloak, returning the dwarven axe to its loop at his belt.
“How are you feeling?” said Morigna when he rejoined the others.
“Better,” said Ridmark.
“Quite remarkable, really,” said Jager, “given that I had seen butchered pigs with less blood upon them.”
“Calliande knows her business,” said Ridmark. Morigna’s eyes narrowed a bit, but she said nothing.
“It occurs to me,” said Kharlacht, “that if you slew two urvaalgs, others may be nearby. We must take precautions.”
“How will we guard against them?” said Gavin. “They’re hard enough to see in daylight. At night they’ll be almost invisible.”
“My spell,” said Morigna. “To sense when someone walks upon the earth. I can cast it around the base of the tower.”
Ridmark frowned. “Will you not have to stay awake to maintain it?”
“I can cast it as a ward,” said Morigna. “It will not be as effective, true, but urvaalgs are heavy. Their weight upon the earth will activate the spell. It will wake me at once, and I can sound the alarm.”
“What if one of those ugly ravens chances to land upon the slope?” said Kharlacht.
“That will wake me up, too,” said Morigna. “Given how close we are to Urd Morlemoch, one suspects that an overabundance of caution would not go amiss.”
“True,” said Ridmark, looking around. “Where’s Mara? Didn’t she…”
Even as he spoke, a column of blue fire swirled next to him, and Mara appeared out of nothingness.
“It’s coming!” she said, the blue fire fading from her veins and eyes. “I think it followed me here!”
“What?” said Jager. “What’s coming?”
“The urhaalgar,” said Mara. “It is…”
A small dark shape darted through the arch of the ruined tower and skidded to a stop. The creature was gaunt, and about Jager’s height. Gleaming black scales armored its thin body,
“And we have a duty,” said Ridmark.
“To stop the return of the Frostborn,” said Calliande.
Ridmark nodded. He was starting to get a headache. Likely the day’s exertions had caught up to him. “I cannot do it without your help.”
“Nor can I do it without yours,” said Calliande. She hesitated. “Are we friends?”
“Very good friends,” said Ridmark. “Always.”
Her smile was wider than it had been in some time.
“Though given what awaits us in Urd Morlemoch,” said Ridmark, “always may not be a very long time.”
Calliande laughed, drawing a suspicious look from Morigna, who then glared at Jager. “Someday we shall have a conversation without you saying something gloomy, and then the sun will stop overhead and water will flow uphill.” She dabbed a little more blood from the cuts. “These can be healed safely now, I think. Brace yourself.”
“This is harder on you than it is me,” said Ridmark.
Calliande shrugged. “I’ve healed much worse.”
She lifted her hands, white light burning to life around them, and waved a palm over the cuts. One by one she healed the wounds. Ridmark felt a strange cold sensation as she did, and the pain vanished. He knew that she had to take the pain of the wounds into herself, that some Magistri simply could not heal because they could not endure the pain. Calliande did not cry out, though her lips thinned to a tight line and her eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in the side of her neck.
At last she sighed and slumped back. “Done. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said Ridmark. “A headache, but nothing serious.”
She frowned and placed a palm on his forehead. “You didn’t hit your head, did you? You’re likely dehydrated from the blood loss, though the healing will help with that. Go drink water until you’re sloshing like a barrel.”
“As you command,” said Ridmark, and Calliande smiled and gathered up her supplies. “Thank you.” She nodded, and Ridmark retrieved a fresh tunic and jerkin and donned his gray cloak, returning the dwarven axe to its loop at his belt.
“How are you feeling?” said Morigna when he rejoined the others.
“Better,” said Ridmark.
“Quite remarkable, really,” said Jager, “given that I had seen butchered pigs with less blood upon them.”
“Calliande knows her business,” said Ridmark. Morigna’s eyes narrowed a bit, but she said nothing.
“It occurs to me,” said Kharlacht, “that if you slew two urvaalgs, others may be nearby. We must take precautions.”
“How will we guard against them?” said Gavin. “They’re hard enough to see in daylight. At night they’ll be almost invisible.”
“My spell,” said Morigna. “To sense when someone walks upon the earth. I can cast it around the base of the tower.”
Ridmark frowned. “Will you not have to stay awake to maintain it?”
“I can cast it as a ward,” said Morigna. “It will not be as effective, true, but urvaalgs are heavy. Their weight upon the earth will activate the spell. It will wake me at once, and I can sound the alarm.”
“What if one of those ugly ravens chances to land upon the slope?” said Kharlacht.
“That will wake me up, too,” said Morigna. “Given how close we are to Urd Morlemoch, one suspects that an overabundance of caution would not go amiss.”
“True,” said Ridmark, looking around. “Where’s Mara? Didn’t she…”
Even as he spoke, a column of blue fire swirled next to him, and Mara appeared out of nothingness.
“It’s coming!” she said, the blue fire fading from her veins and eyes. “I think it followed me here!”
“What?” said Jager. “What’s coming?”
“The urhaalgar,” said Mara. “It is…”
A small dark shape darted through the arch of the ruined tower and skidded to a stop. The creature was gaunt, and about Jager’s height. Gleaming black scales armored its thin body,
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