NOVEL NEXT Chapter Thirty-Six: Travel and Tales
The Potion of Daylight waned within its glass prison, and in doing so, the brightness to rival a midday sun receded. The night crept back upon the camping adventurers till they were lit only by a soft glow. Cast now in dramatic lighting, the captains gathered, seeking to discuss amongst themselves the sudden violence.
Onto this scene Autumn and the others arrived.
“Ah, Captain Nethlia. It seems we owe your group our thanks, twice over in fact.” Captain Arsit said as he spotted her approaching.
Nethlia in kind, simply bowed her head in humbleness before replying.
“Thank you, but it was simply where our talents lie. Our group owes your praise as well, for I saw you dealt with a larger force yourselves.” Nethlia turned to the rest of the captains. “Does anyone know or have any idea where these Crow-hounds came from? I’ve never seen them around these parts before.”
Captain Ekrus grunted in displeasure. “We were just talking about that. Perhaps the Everblooms? Do those Silva elves know anything?”
“Not likely.” Captain Gilralei spoke up next. “From what they’ve told me, the Everbloom Enclave keeps all the woods around them and the roads relatively tame. Besides Crow-hounds are territorial scavengers, they don’t migrate like this. They’re known cowards, so seeing them attack a large camp, even with a pack this size, is strange.”
Quiet contemplation gripped the group.
Autumn herself was lost in thought over the beast’s scent, which lingered in the air amongst the smell of blood and rain. Although faded, it still conjured an awful familiarity. The Feywild. However, it was different, twisted. A nightmare compared to Feywild's dreaming.
“This doesn’t feel like a coincidence. With the Dire-crows attacking on the road and the Crow-hounds now, I think someone is trying to stop us or at least delay us. I believe politics are at hand.” The rare voice of Captain Xiltuil said.
Anxiety churned Autumn’s gut.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Captain Arsit spoke. “It’s entirely possible something drove both of them out of their usual territories.”
“It’d have to be something that can both fly and hunt on the ground if it scared both into fleeing.” Nethlia said.
A great many things in mythology and fantasy possessed those traits, so they hardly narrowed their options down. Hell, for all they knew, a dragon now called the coastal swamps or forests home.
Was it wrong that Autumn hoped that there was a dragon?
What modern person didn’t want to see the majesty of a dragon? Just maybe from afar.
A jaw-cracking yawn stretched across Autumn’s face and she hurriedly covered her mouth with billowing sleeves. Before she’d been rudely awakened, she’d only gotten a bare handful of hours of sleep at most. Add on the fact she’d just completed her watch, and she found herself too tired to pay much mind to the wild speculations ongoing.
Tugging on Nethlia’s arm, she drew her captain’s attention. When Nethlia turned to her, she whispered. “I’m going to reset the tripwires and then head to bed. Try not to wake me, please.”
Without waiting for a reply, Autumn slipped back out of earshot.
Upon checking her alarms, she found that the majority had been tripped, and the hairs had snapped. While disheartening, Autumn supposed that was their purpose in the end. Glancing down at her spool showed she had nearly run out. Her Tome of Witchcraft had specifically stated that “human hair” was required and there was only one human around. While hair from other races might work, now wasn’t the time to risk it backfiring.
Flexing her quivering hands, Autumn tried to divest them of their nervous movement, even purging herself of her fear they only quelled a little. Grasping onto her raven locks, Autumn pulled a few long lengths free.
“Ouch.”
The sting was only minor, but she hardly enjoyed losing her now tamed mane. With the area re-trapped and her safety reassured, Autumn retreated to her tent. Sleep came hard and fast. No dreams broke into her rest that sweltering night.
Soft showers turned to a ponderous deluge. The further north the convoy traveled the worse it grew, rain now pelted the wagons with intent and dikes along the roadside overflowed. Often the party had to dismount to free themselves from thick mud, the wheels having stuck fast.
Autumn lamented the sight of her new boots caked in cloying mud.
To make matters worse, an arctic wind had blown in from the north and now blanketed them. The heat of yesterday had faded throughout the morning and left only sticky sweat behind, sweat that now froze upon their bodies. And this wasn’t even the worst the flooded coast had to offer, for fierce storms lashed the coast with near constant rain.
Rather than sit out in the biting rain and wind, Autumn had retreated into the shelter of the covered wagon, bundled tight in the warmth of her robes. Only poor Nethlia was brave and responsible enough to steer the wagon. Although she needn’t have bothered, as Kira was happy to follow the wagon in front under her own guidance.
Hidden beneath her billowing sleeves, Autumn’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking from the night before. She’d blown upon them and tucked them beneath her armpits to warm them to no avail. As much as she wished to believe it was, she knew it wasn’t because of the cold.
Autumn had reverted back to her savage, instinctive, and desperate self she was in the Feywild during the chaos last night. All her training and defensive spells had disappeared the moment the Crow-hound had leapt upon her. It was only thanks to luck that it was weak and that she could fend it off with only her iron knife.
Already she’d lost two fingers and that sharp beak could have taken more.
So, Autumn pulled forth the Tome of Witchcraft and began re-reading the spells within.
Sat next to her was Pyre. Autumn basked in the warmth radiating off the grumpy alchemist. Given her fiery nature, she was especially popular today, even the noble bearing Nelva and the stoic Edwyn had gathered in close, despite Pyre’s half-hearted grumbling. Autumn had secured the closest spot by taking away the girl’s lingering fear. She’d likely have done it anyway, but being warm was a pleasant bonus.
Reading through her spells, Autumn added Touch of Terror to the very top of her list to learn.
How many times was it now that she’d found herself set upon by monsters? How many times did she have to rely on iron instead of magic?
Three by her count.
Jinx of Fear and Touch of Terror were remarkably similar, their only difference being how they were delivered. With her jinx, she had to rely on a focus to cast; as the magical core of the wand accomplished all the weaves and channeling for her. However, as the touch spell didn’t require such, all the manipulation of magic must be done manually. It was harder to learn for sure, but if she could master it, it would be impossible for her to miss.
For the next few icy hours, Autumn focused upon coiling the magic within her arm, and as it was all an internal process, as long as she didn’t fully cast the spell, she could try again and again without waste. It still took a toll on her body; her arm throbbed painfully, but it would be worth it in the end.
When the midday sun shone overhead, the convoy had arrived at a split in the road. To the north lay the winding trail to the Everbloom forests and the Elven enclave nestled within, while to the west the Dusk Road continued on to Fort Rainguard; their next destination.
They had been briefly delayed by a nobleman’s carriage coming from the Everbloom Enclave, complete with an Elven complement of mounted knights. Living vines had twisted themselves into the shape of an elk. The knights themselves bore bark armor over cloth and hide. Great stag’s horns adorned their helms to rise proudly into the sky, while a mantle of leaves and flowers lay across their shoulders and back.
Other than inquiring after the conditions of the road, they passed by the adventurers without incident.
Now heading west, a new scenery greeted them. The road divided the farms into two distinct types. To the south, the farms were the same as Autumn had witnessed so far; Duskwheat fields waved in the wind and pastures of lazing Agoroth grazed. The only change she could see was that more dikes and ditches lined the fields, providing channels for rainwater to flow.
To the north, a new style emerged. Fields had given way to flooded paddies of grass, all stacked on top of each other like tiers of a cake. Demon farmhands waded through the knee-deep waters to inspect crops, and great flocks of waterfowl pecked away at the bugs and insects. These paddies were fed by rainfall and stone aqueducts that bridged across the valleys between, head off to the west toward Fort Rainguard.
Upon inquiring, Autumn was informed that these fields grew Palegrain; a rice-like product. As the Inferni were predominantly carnivorous, they had trouble digesting the grains, so they sold it off to the Elven and Lepus nations, bringing in wealth for the region.
It made Autumn want sushi.
Surely someone around here could make some and if not, she could.
For two days, the rain continued unabated. Icy winds had yet to retreat and cut into those exposed. At each campsite, they’d huddle around the crackling fire, sipping from bowls of hearty stew, and just trying to stay warm.
During one of these frosted evenings, while bards played to warm themselves, a tale was told.
Bundled up in furs and sated with stew, someone had asked Liddie to recount her time on the seas. Of her heroic deeds and to tell the tale of the Kraken Eater and the death of the Dread-Kraken; Ol’ Ship-Eater.
Already half drunk on Mosswine and bravado, the pirate obliged and spun a tall tale.
“You wish to know of that ol’ bastard, do ya? Hear my tales upon the briny queen?”
Liddie ‘Kraken Eater’ Eastoft grinned a wicked grin in the flicker of the firelight.
“Let me spin a yarn for you. First, we must go back to the beginning, where it all started: Brokenship Bay. Imagine a flotilla of the grandest ships you could ever see, warships several decks high, merchant-men who’d traded far and wide, to trade haulers and treasure-ships. Now take them all and smash them upon a rocky shore, and you have Brokenship Bay. A den to scum, pirates, and villains. The only thing good to have come from that place was me and my ship, although I’m iffy on the ship.”
By now, an audience had gathered around and she threw them a wink and a grin.
“By the time I was fourteen years old, I had a crew of my own, sans a ship. It was hard to come by one, intact after all. It was then I heard that the Inferni-Human war had kicked off once more. So far from the front lines, I lamented, but where there is war, there are opportunities. Piracy, or as it was called then, Privateering, was in fashion and I quickly found myself onboard my future ship: The Drunken Knave. I didn’t name it.”
Liddie took another swig of Mosswine to wet her throat.
“They must have seen my potential as I swiftly rose the ranks till I captained the ship.” Her smile was sharp as a blade. “I made a name for myself, running unpassable blockades, robbing filthy rich merchants, and sinking fleets of warships all aligned against the great Echea Empire. Oh, they sent entire armadas of pirate-hunters after me, but they all rest now in the briny deep. My plunder of the empire’s enemies earned me admiration from the empress herself and thus, I was named Eastoft.”
Liddie paused in her retelling to soak up the admiration, envy, and desire of the other Inferni. Each one dreamed of one day earning their second name, a feat not easily achieved.
“As to Ol’ Ship-Eater himself? I met the old bastard in the Kraken Straits, funnily enough. He latched onto my ship with his great tentacles, each one over a mile long, maybe more. With but a flex, my ship was torn in twain. Demons and demonesses I’d known for years disappeared into the Briny Queen or down his gullet. I knew I could not survive at sea, so I took a gamble and jumped down into his toothy maw. I’ll not regale you of that horrid stench, as I’m afraid you’ll lose your stew, but know that it was worse than anything. It was there I found my sword; the Kraken Slayer.”
Liddie patted her belt, which held a cutlass. The basket hilt resembled a grasping kraken as it wrapped around a hand.
“So, I took the blade in hand, cutting and yes, chewing my way to its heart where I struck it down.”
“How did you survive after that? You said you were lost at sea before?” Pyre asked.
“I did, didn’t I?” Liddie smirked. “A pod of beautiful mermaids, drawn by my dashing good looks and heroic deeds, rescued me. I’d tell you more, but that’s a whole different kind of story.”