The Book of Korum

  Chapter 9 - The Sunraiders

  Garn was miserable.

  In the week since the Dirgen's Pride reached the coast of Southmoor, Tasha, Hal, Ceorn and Garn himself had been travelling hard. Garn determined that the journey mightn’t have been so bad if they weren't walking the whole way, their horses having been sold back at Wayfarer's Port.

  And, of course, if it hadn’t been snowing for nearly seven days.

  The snow came down in big, thick flakes that clumped into wet and soggy mounds all over the road. Thankfully, it wasn't that cold. Garn was far too irritable to be interested in the exact temperature, however. All Garn knew was that he had been seasick for the entire voyage across the Inner Sea and had been greatly looking forward to the opportunity to be on dry land again. Needless to say, the only dry land that they found was in a roadside inn.

  Also, watching Ceorn happily gallivanting in the snow, with a big smile on his face as he threw corny jokes back at the rest of them wasn't exactly helping the young mage's disposition either.

  They walked along in silence for the most part, not having very much to say. Garn grumbled silently into his thick cloak, his piercing green eyes the only part of him visible through the cowl. Ceorn walked in the lead, being the person most familiar with the territory. His kilt flapped slightly in the slow breeze with his cloak open at the front, making it look more like a cape. He laughed jovially, continually making statements about how good it felt to be almost home.

  Tasha was wrapped up tightly in her cloak, valiantly trying to keep the dampness out. She was afraid that she might be coming down with a cold and certainly didn't want to be sick while on the road. Following directly behind her, of course, was Hal. The big man was watching over her protectively, though in silence. Ever since the escapade on the ship, Hal had been acting differently. He was still dressed in his patchwork clothing, although he had modified the sleeves on his shirt and the leggings on his pants so that he was covered more completely and under a long brown cloak.

  It was nearing evening. All four of them were tired and hungry after another long day of trudging through the snow and slush. Ceorn began casting about for a place to set up camp for the night, knowing that, even if they found an inn, they would be hard pressed to afford lodging.

 

  Tasha called a halt. "Ceorn. Go off into the trees with Hal and try to find a small clearing for us. Don't be too fussy, just about anything will do."

  Ceorn grinned toothily. "Aye there, lass. Don't ye worry. Me and Hal'll find somethin'. Ain't that right big guy?" he asked, entering the trees.

  Hal shrugged minutely. "Yeah," he mumbled softly, following the kelt. Soon, both men were out of immediate sight.

  Gratefully, Garn began to sink to the ground to catch a moments rest. But Tasha grabbed his arm and hauled the frail mage back up to his feet. "This had better be important," he growled weakly.

  Tasha smiled and pat her friend on the back reassuringly. "Come on, Garn. We've got to find firewood if we want to keep warm tonight."

  "What's wrong with the wood around us? Right here?" he asked, gesturing to the half covered sticks of wood and branches that he could see poking out through the snow.

  Tasha sighed tiredly. "Garn, we've been through this how many times now?"

  "Eight times I think. Once for each day that we've been walking."

  Tasha gave the mage a dirty look. "You know that we're going to need dry wood if want to start a fire."

  "And I'm telling you again that we don't."

  "Garn, how can you say that?" She shook her head, frustrated beyond words with the mage's stubbornness. "Never mind, I'll go and get the wood myself. You just sit here and be a lazy bastard, okay?"

  Garn thought it over for a moment. Then he sat down and looked up into the startled face of Tasha. "Okay," he said with a snarky little grin on his face. Tasha's lips pursed in anger and she looked about to say something. Then she tossed both hands up into the air and stormed off, grumbling to herself heatedly.

  Garn smiled again and leaned back against a tree. He closed his eyes and sighed, reveling in the feel of the Power that was his to command, allowing it to warm his shivering limbs.

  It always amused Garn how regular people misunderstood what he did with his power, referring to it simply as “magic” and assuming that some arcane syllables and a few totems were all that was required. The first rule Garn ever learned was to acknowledge that the word 'magic' was truly a misnomer. Nothing in the universe ever just happens without a reason. For any spell to be successful, the mage must know full well what it is that he or she is attempting to do. That is to say, if a mage were to make a bolt of lightning strike down from the sky, that mage would have to know that there are particles in the sky that are unbalanced with other particles on the ground and that a lightning bolt is really nothing more than nature's way of balancing those same particles out.

  If the mage is unable to recreate or adjust the state of nature around him while utilizing his internal energies, then there will be no lightning strikes on command.

  One out of perhaps a hundred people has the ability to actually feel the forces of the universe. Garn is such a one and has been told that he is perhaps stronger than most in sensing said forces. Now, perhaps one out of ten of those people actually has the ability to manipulate that Power and make it do what he or she wants. Once again, Garnthalisbain was one of those few.

  Manipulating the Power is not an easy task. Just knowing what you want the Power to do and then telling it to do so is not nearly enough. It's a struggle in the most real sense of the word. A fierce struggle in which one often has to clutch, claw and grasp to be able to manipulate the Power. Consequently, many mages find it difficult to make even the simplest of spells happen without assistance. That's why mages use what they refer to as 'spell components' to assist in their channeling of the Power. Now, these components can be just about anything, so long as they have some relation to the spell that you want to cast.

  For example. If a mage were to attempt calling a lightning bolt from the sky, he or she would take a piece of rabbit's fur (Actually, the type of fur is irrelevant, Garn thought with a wry grin. Mages are just a superstitious lot.) and a metallic rod. The mage would then rub the two items together as he reached for the Power and spoke in the arcane tongue of mages. It is said that the words spoken often have as much of a manipulative sense over the Power as the person casting it does. The fur and rod build up a charge of those same particles nature uses while the Power reinforces them to the point where there is actually enough of a charge to cause a lightning bolt to strike.

  But even that is not as simple as it sounds. The mage in question must have rock steady nerves and a mind like a vise. He or she must be supremely confident in their own abilities and must not, under any circumstances, allow themselves to become distracted while casting a spell. For if that happens, there is the chance that the Power will be loosed into the surrounding with unforeseeable consequences.

  All of this ran through Garn's mind as he lay back and relaxed, trying to enjoy the brief rest that he had been allowed.

  A slight rustling sound came from the side of the road then. Hal stepped out from the underbrush and acknowledged the mage with a faint nod of his head. "We've found a clearing. It's about a hundred yards that way," Hal said, pointing vaguely behind him in the general direction of the clearing. "Just follow my footprints, you can't miss it."

  Garn sighed and rose to his feet, his back cracking ferociously. "It never fails," he mumbled to himself. "You just get comfortable and then... "

  "What?"

  "Never mind, big guy. Tasha's over that way, gathering firewood." Garn waved off-handishly in the direction that Tasha had gone. "Just in case you were concerned, of course." That last Garn threw in almost as an afterthought, a small grin spread across his thin face.

  Hal looked down at his friend, the serious look of the last several days still firmly planted upon his face. "I was," he said
. "Thank you." Then he adjusted his weapons belt and obediently trudged after Tasha.

  Garn attempted to follow directly in Hal's giant footprints, so as to make the walk easier. He soon found that the strides that Hal took were a good ways longer than his, so the mage sighed and began to blaze his own trail along the 'path'.

  The clearing was reasonably large, though nothing spectacular in and of itself. It was little more than a slight gap in the forest in which no trees grew. Ceorn was busily working away, moving snow off to the sides as much as possible so they could set up camp using his small half sized shovel. He was shrilly whistling some clannish tune that sliced through the air to Garn's numb ears. The mage was then reminded of the blistering headache that he was suffering from.

  Eventually, Ceorn managed to clear enough snow away so that he could pitch their tent. It was an ugly tent made out of some sort of sickly grey canvass, but it was large enough to easily hold all four of them without much crowding. The tent's nicest feature was the optional hole at the peak, which could be covered over if required. This allowed them to have a small fire inside the tent without worrying about suffocation from the smoke. It also meant that they needed to be more careful with the fire, to make sure that it didn't accidentally set the canvass ablaze. But that was a small price to pay for the warmth that it provided.

  It was fully dark by the time that Ceorn had the tent set up. Garnthalisbain wrapped himself up in his cloak even more tightly and shivered as he walked over to his corner of the tent. Ceorn grimly began to pick and choose from his collection of firewood, selecting only the smallest and frailest of the pile. "Ach!" he bemoaned loudly. "If' this' all the dry wood around these parts, we could be in for a cold night."

  Garn looked up from his shivering for a moment. Just long enough to say, "Throw in some of the bigger logs and light it. I've got it covered."

  The keltoi looked at Garn strangely for a moment but shrugged his shoulders and finished laying out the logs, including the damp ones. Then, rubbing briskly at his numbed fingers, Ceorn withdrew his flint and steel. He struck the metals together, directing their sparks onto the tinder with a faintly doubting look on his face.

  Ceorn struggled in vain for several moments as Garn concentrated upon the flint and the steel. He ran through in his mind the reason why the sparks were created from the flint and began to manipulate the Power. Finally, he narrowed his eyes upon the tinder and spoke a single arcane syllable.

  When the very next spark struck, the tinder leapt into flames. Quickly, the small logs in the pit were engulfed and the fire was soon going nicely. Ceorn sat back in surprise, cursing like a demon and checking himself all over to make certain that he didn't get singed anywhere. Then, reassured that he was all right, he relaxed and enjoyed the warmth of the fire.

  Approximately twenty minutes later Hal held open the tent flap and allowed Tasha to enter. She placed a small pile of damp wood carefully next to the fire and held her hands, palms forward, out to the flickering blaze. Hal knelt next to her and began to stack his somewhat larger pile of wood next to Tasha's. Then he shook his head like an animal, his long hair whipping about in all directions.

  "Careful, Hal," Tasha complained after being accidentally smacked in the face by a loose lock or two. "You're hitting me."

  The big man stopped immediately, his face chagrined. "Sorry milady," he whispered. "It won't happen again." At that point, Hal rose to his feet and walked over to his section of the tent. He unbuckled his weapons belt and laid it gently on the ground. Then he slid off his backpack, withdrawing from it his rather immense bedroll. He flapped it out once before setting it down. Finally, he sat down and began to inspect his axe for rust or nicks that needed to be smoothed out.

  Tasha looked at Hal strangely and it was quite a while before she glanced away. Garn chalked that little motion up along with the others that he had safely tucked away in the corner of his mind. It may seem like he was never sure what was going on, but...

  Ceorn rummaged around in his pack and withdrew his daily ration of dried beef. He sniffed at it carefully, as if somehow expecting it to taste better than the one he'd had the day before. Needless to say, he was rather disappointed. Nevertheless, he chewed down on it heartily and with much gusto.

  Garn realized he was exceptionally hungry also. But the thought of his own trail ration made his stomach turn so he shoved the idea aside.

  A short while later, Tasha had begun to yawn. "All right," she said sleepily. "It's almost that time again. Ceorn, you have first watch. Wake Hal in three hours, same as always."

  The kelt sprang to his feet, showing no weariness whatsoever and smiled broadly. "Aye, lass. I'll do so right 'way. G'night." Then he all but bounded out the flap, whistling jovially once again.

  Hal stretched monstrously, both arms out to the sides and his head tossed back. He scratched at his obviously itchy scalp for a moment or two before removing his cloak. Then, laying down atop his bedroll, Hal brought his cloak up over his chin and tried to fall asleep.

  Tasha did much the same thing, though she closed her eyes and furrowed her brow in concentration for perhaps a good minute and a half first. Garn supposed that she was using her mental abilities to stretch out and possibly scout the area, or something like that. In all honesty, Garn had absolutely no idea what she was doing. But at least he had the integrity to admit that to himself.

  At that point, Garn setup his own bedroll and slid right in, cloak and all. He curled up into a little ball and shivered madly. He tried to find a more comfortable position, but his spell books were in the way. After a good solid minute of readjusting, Garn was finally able to settle himself. He relaxed, and tried to sleep.

  There were long minutes of silence. Garn was just on the edge of sleep when Tasha suddenly spoke up. "Hal?" she said, speaking almost nervously.

  There was a second or two of silence before, Hal's weary voice replied. "Yes, milady?" he yawned.

  Tasha seemed to falter then, as if changing her mind. "Nothing," she clarified. "Good night, Hal. Garn."

  Garnthalisbain grunted eloquently, saying nothing. "Goodnight, milady," Hal said, speaking drowsily.

  Tasha relaxed and lay back down. Hal yawned one last time and appeared to drop off. Garn ignored it all and finally felt sleep overtake him.

  *

  Ceorn yawned.

  There was next to no wind in their little clearing, making it seem actually warm in comparison to earlier. The keltoi found himself yawning despite his attempts at alertness.. But, Ceorn rationalized. After years o' poor sleep in the gladiatorial pens I think I gotta right to be tired.

  He yawned hugely again. However, he couldn't afford to fall asleep on his watch. If'n for n' other reason than 'cause Garn'll ne'er let me forget it.

  He stood up and began to briskly circle the camp, rubbing at his arms to keep the blood flowing. He began to shiver at the snow flecks that continually got tossed up beneath his kilt as he walked along. Not for the first time, Ceorn considered trading in his kilt for a good warm pair of woolen slacks. Then he shook his head, thinking about how ridiculous he'd look.

  After his third or fourth circle of the camp, his gaze strayed again over to the mountains in the distance. These were the territory of his home, the Clanlands. His entire family was there. The family that he hadn't seen since before his enslavement. He contemplated, not for the first time, leaving Tasha and the others and just making a beeline straight for home without looking back.

  Each time he thought this, it became more and more tempting to do so. But always, in the end, he'd force the thought aside and remember the oath he made to Hal. Ceorn owed Hal a life and he had pledged not leave the big man's side until he had saved him from... whatever.

  Admittedly, he had given the pledge more for the opportunity to be near Tasha a bit longer. But, his word was solid. And if he had given it, he couldn't break it.

  Ceorn frowned as he walked along, shaking his head bemusedly. Always thinkin' wit' the wrong head, C
eorn. Absolutely brilliant.

  Still, the lure of his homeland was rather intoxicating. He had to at least see more of it. Ceorn cast about the clearing at random, looking for a tree tall and strong enough to support him. He didn't see one readily available.

  He sighed at his own stupidity, but convinced himself that this was an excellent way to make sure that he didn't fall asleep. Mutely, Ceorn trudged out of the clearing.

  It took a few minutes of searching to find one to suit his needs. It was a large highoak with thick and sturdy branches. He clapped his hands together several times to get the blood flowing into them and to keep the fingers loose. Then, with one last look back at the camp to make certain all was well, Ceorn began to climb.

  Now no one could have accused the kelt of being in anything less than peak physical condition. But it became very apparent after just a few minutes that climbing really wasn't his thing. Ceorn was panting like a beast by the time he was halfway up the tree. Sweat rolled down his face and steam had started to rise from his clothing into the night air.

  "At least," Ceorn grunted to himself between his shallow breaths. "I ain't terribly cold anymore."

  After what felt like an eternity but was maybe only twenty minutes later, Ceorn reached the top of the tree. He was greeted by the sight of thick and fluffy clouds rolling off of the mountains in gentle waves. The golden and green moonlight cast an eerie but elegantly warm glow over the whole scene. It highlighted the peaks and added depths to the shadows. It looked like an artist's dream locale. Ceorn could think of nothing more beautiful than the sight of the Clanlands mountain range.

  He stayed up there for many long minutes, drinking in the view and wishing with all of his heart that he could be there right now. But, he took a deep breath and once again bid his homeland farewell. Ceorn sat up and stretched, looking down and trying to determine just how he was going to get down from the tree without killing himself.

  As he began his descent Ceorn could have sworn that he heard someone shouting. He slowly climbed back to the top of the tree and scanned in all directions. Again he heard a faint cry, this time accompanied by the ring of steel on steel. He was almost frantic now. If there was danger in the area, he was afraid it was a threat to his Clansmen or a threat to his new friends.

  Off to the right, perhaps a mile or so beyond the camp, was a flickering orange glow.

  Straining, he was able to determine that the sound was definitely coming from that direction. Ceorn immediately assumed that the glow was a fire and that meant a threat to his friends.

  But not for sure, Ceorn thought as he shimmied down the tree as quickly as he could, heedless of the height or the danger. By the time he reached the snow covered forest floor, the kelt’s weariness had slid away and he began to jog through the drifts. No point in waking' me friends if there's nothin' to worry 'bout is there?

  His kilt flapped against his legs while his cloak trailed behind him like a billowing cape. He breathed in huffing, explosive breaths. Gaining the most energy for the least expended.

  He glided between trees like a panther, leaping over fallen logs and snowdrifts as if they weren't there. And still he was silent, not a single unnecessary noise escaped his flying form or his attention.

  The sound of steel grew louder and the glow of flame became more prominent. He could hear people crying out in pain and others in anger. Ceorn could feel the adrenaline surge through his veins, singing like an angel of war on the eve of battle. A wicked grin spread unconsciously across his face.

  Ceorn stopped his headlong plunge just short of the trees line and dropped to his stomach. He crawled forward on his elbows, ignoring the cold of the snow and strived to get a better look. Ceorn's head peered over the top of the snow pile that he was behind, his eyes widened in surprise.