Chapter 3: Mage 3

Waking up was an
arduous ordeal. It had snowed sometime during the night, blanketing some of the
carnage littering the clearing. A small bank had formed at the mouth of the
crevice, and I had to kick it out of the way to stand up and tend to my
necessities. After what seemed like an eon, a small fire was started and snow
melted down to clean my face and hands. Brenten’s cloak, the only one that
could fit me even closely, was sacrificed to make bandages for my hands and
arms. The tattoos seemed fine still, a quirk in the way mana flowed through
them causing the splitting to radiate from them. At this point my arms were
more ravaged flesh than not, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep
this up.

Ablutions taken
care of, the grim task of looting the dead could not be put off any longer.
Some would find my actions ghoulish, but gathering together food, water, any
intelligence, or any trinkets of value gave my mind the thought of making it
out of this to focus on. I could not allow myself to fall into despair, to
think on my lost friends or the hopelessness of this situation. Tears prickled
the corners of my eyes, thinking on who I lost, but such things were quickly
pushed away as my mental inventory was updated. A few intact and full
waterskins, some unidentifiable travel rations, a few cloak pins and one very
lovely gilded comb made their way into pockets inside my cloak. Should keep
me going for a couple more days. Should bring me back to camp, allow me to warn
the others what is coming.

Every fiber of my
being wanted to just lay down and sleep, to rest my abused body for a few more
hours. But the patrols and scouts were getting more numerous now, and any more
workings threatened to push me over the edge and put me into my final sleep. No,
my best bet at making it out of this was to keep distance between myself and
any groups wishing harm onto my person. So I pulled my cloaks closer to my body
and shuffled off.

The landscape
varied little in this part, tall evergreens breaking up the foothills and
outcroppings of the range. It had its benefits over long slogs through the
mountains themselves, I thought, but right now I’d give anything to be walking
those trails. Pursuit would be difficult to maintain, and since we’d been
posted here it had become familiar terrain. I’d be able to run circles around
the patrols and if push came to shove I knew what caves I could hide out in and
get some rest. The lowlands afforded me none of these advantages and only gave
me easier terrain to work through. Not a good trade off.

Camp was made
early, as my feet could not be convinced to keep moving anymore. Rest was
needed. Luck was on my side and another hollow beneath a tree was put to use as
a makeshift shelter. I couldn’t be bothered to attempt to start a fire, so I
shoveled cold rations into my mouth, mechanically chewing and swallowing with
deep swigs of water. Wolves howled mournfully in the distance, and sleep came
easily and without warning.

I woke with a
start, light streaming into my shelter and my mind clouded with confusion over
where I was. Obviously Collum and Callen convinced me to go drinking again and
stuffed my drunk body in a tree, those twin bastards. Reality swiftly came back
and the grief was mercilessly shoved down. Mourning can come later.
Inventorying my supplies occupied my attention and I set off at a stiff pace,
better rested then yesterday and desperate to keep my mind occupied. The
landscape was starting to even out, the trees becoming thicker. Good signs that
I was finally leaving the mountains. With luck, 8d be able to find the Coulver
River and follow it to Fishrun. An Imperial Relay Station was maintained there,
and I could get word out about the invasion. Then I could truly rest.

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It wasn’t until
the sun was high in the sky that I realized the normal forest song had gone
unnaturally quiet. A bad sign I knew, half remembered conversations from my
youth filtering to the fore of my mind. Predators were around, and I
desperately hope it was the natural kind. A bear or drake I could deal with. My
pace slowed, and I paid closer attention to my surroundings. I became hyper
aware of an unfamiliar sword bumping against my leg, scavenged from some dead
soldier long ago. Better than my field axe or dagger for defense, although the
basics of swordplay seemed so long ago, an old skill woefully underused.

The snapping of
branches alerted me to the ambush moments before the soldiers swung into view. How
in the hells did they get ahead of me? Steel sounded as I drew my sword
from the scabbard, mind quickly running through half remembered lessons from
the Academy. Really should have listened to Gallig whenever she brought up
sword lessons. Thoughts of my strong armed comrade flashed into my mind
before ruthlessly being pushed away. Can’t afford distractions right now.
Five of them were spaced around me, the trees working against them making their
shield wall. That and the lack of war hounds was where my luck ended. Each one
was armed with a wicked spear, the razor shard heads glinting in my direction. Any
one I decided to take on left me in prime position to be skewered by the other
four. Thoughts of using magic to get out of this flashed through my mind, but I
almost dropped from the spike of agony that pushed its way into my head.

Silence reigned
over the small standoff, each side waiting to see who would move first.
Inevitably one of us would, but for now the inaction was my greatest ally so I
remained still. I wracked my brain to think of a way to survive this. Magic was
out, and even if my sword skills were at peak performance and they were half
trained conscripts it was a pure numbers game. A small seed bloomed in my mind
though. They COULD be half trained conscripts, but they should be well aware
that we HAVE magic, if not exactly what it looks like. Half baked plans were
created and scrapped immediately, before finally settling on a so mad its
genius plot.

Moving as
discreetly as possible, my offhand gathered the nearly empty back of crystal
powder from inside my cloak. Chanting arcane sounding nonsense, I began weaving
my sword point in vaguely mystical movements. The soldiers across from me
immediately tightened up, shouting something in their gibberish language and
brandishing their spears threateningly in my direction. Fear was evident on their
faces and my nonsense theatrics reach a fever pitch, none willing to make the
first move and draw attention to themselves. At the climax of my performance I
discretely pitched the featherweight bag in the direction of my sword, praying
to whatever God was listening that I pulled this off.

Fortune was on my side, and the wildly waving sword struck
the bag, releasing the crystal powder in an impressive cloud. Sunlight caught
the motes, and even though I knew what I was looking for the effect was
spectacular nonetheless. Glistening particles rained down among the trees,
looking as though the stars had planted themselves among this patch of earth.
The frightened soldiers turned and bolted, attempting to put distance and trees
between my powerful magics and themselves. I even witnessed one trip his
fellows up to get a better lead. I almost sat there laughing before realizing I
only had a slim window to make my escape. Picking a direction at random, I took
off through the trees and began my sprint towards freedom.

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