The verdant green plains of the West Commonlands stretched out before her as far as the eye could see. Naramira silently went over the rather vague directions the innkeeper had given her: 'Through the woods of the East Commons until you reach the open plains. There is a road, but do not take it. Head north until you see the mountainside, then follow that westwards until you reach the haunted forest of Kithicor. The High Hold Pass wounds through the mountains on the other side. From there you will find the Keep easily, or so I've been told.'
Naramira shivered and wrapped her traveller's cloak tightly about her. Winter was coming on and she did not relish the idea of sleeping outdoors in wild country. She hoped she would reach the Keep before snow closed the Pass off to her.
A road meandered over the hills in a westerly direction, as the innkeeper had said. She was tempted to follow it, there was sure to be a few inns along the way where she could stay and take cover from the weather. She sighed and turned north. 'A warning heeded is trouble avoided,' as mistress Elora was fond of saying.
The day's journey was unremarkable. She met no other travellers and encountered no wild creatures, with the exception of a solitary willow-wisp that flew past her on its way to wherever wisps go in this lonely country. She reached the mountainside just as the sky turned orange with sunset and rolled her blanket out on the soft green grass at the edge of the ridge. After a cold supper of water and tasteless rations, she prepared for sleep. Despite the chill seeping into her bones from the ground, Naramira was soon fast asleep.
A grunt and a nudge from a cold nose against her cheek startled her awake. She grabbed her light-stone out of her satchel and held it aloft fearfully. A young kodiak scrambled away from the bright light. Naramira sighed in relief. Although the black-and-white bears were extremely dangerous and more aggressive than their brown cousins, this one was hardly more than a baby. It looked at her with curious black eyes, as if wondering if it were safe to come closer and have another sniff.
Naramira quickly stood up and clapped her hands to frighten it off. "Shoo! Go away," she said. The kodiak took a few hesitant steps backward, then stood still and regarded her further. "That's it, keep going," the young enchantress encouraged it. "Don't make me Fear you."
An idea came to her and she quickly got her spellbook out of her satchel, while keeping an eye on the inquisitive kodiak, and paged to where she had inscribed a spell called Sentinel. "Hope this works," she muttered and began the long incantation. A bright purple nimbus glowed around her, extending about five feet in a circle to all sides of the young enchantress. The kodiak yelped and retreated into the darkness. Naramira smiled and got back under her blanket. She laid her head down on her satchel and closed her eyes. Just as she began drifting off to sleep again, a sizzling noise and another yelp from the young kodiak woke her. The animal looked accusingly at her as it licked its paw. "It's your own fault, you know," Naramira said. "Go home now. Before your mother comes looking for you." The thought made her apprehensive, but she decided there was no point in worrying over it and closed her eyes again.
She had a restless night. The young kodiak tried several times to penetrate her protective shield and only finally gave up a few hours before dawn. Not long after, Naramira grudgingly got up, rolled her blanket up into her satchel and set off along the mountain ridge, grumbling and yawning.
Her journey continued uneventfully. She passed several bandit camps and gave a wide berth around a group of standing stones similar to those where she had had her near-fatal encounter with a goblin shaman in the Butcherblock Mountains. She slept undisturbed each night with the Sentinel spell protectively around her. Although it hadn't snowed yet, the nights were becoming noticeably colder and the grass was coated in frost. Naramira looked forward to the warm bed she could expect at the Keep. She had just about had enough of the monotonous scenery of the open plains when, about a fortnight later, she arrived at the edge of Kithicor Forest.
Naramira peered into the foreboding gloom of the forest. Dusk was setting and an eerie undead cackle coming from deeper into the woods made her skin crawl. 'I'm not going in there after dark,' she decided and set up camp a few feet from the nearest tree.
She did not sleep that night. Kithicor was haunted. Naramira sat with her back against the cold stone of the mountainside, clutching her spellbook to her chest as if it could ward her against her fears. Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the forest.
Maniacal laughter suddenly echoed from the shadows. Naramira scrambled to her feet, the words of suffocation on her lips. But nothing came out of the woods. She sat back down again. 'This is going to be a long night,' she thought, her eyes roaming the edges of the forest. Her whole body was tensed and somewhere, in the corner of her mind, she had the feeling that something was not quite right.
Then she realised what was bothering her. She was being watched. From the murk two purple glowing eyes fixed her gaze. Naramira's heart skipped a beat. Only once before had she felt such malice towards her. Although they had only locked eyes for a few seconds then, Naramira remembered the dark-elf at the cave in the East Commons well. That elf had hated her almost as much as this creature did. Its body concealed in darkness, the eyes held her gaze a few more minutes before they too faded out of sight. Naramira breathed a sigh of relief.
And so the night passed, its ominous silence disturbed occasionally by the hair-raising shrieks of unknown horrors and the howling of wolves. Naramira was grateful when the darkness finally retreated and the sun's light scared the gloom of the forest and the evil creatures in it away.
The early morning light revealed a barely perceptible footpath winding through the trees. Naramira followed it cautiously, the night's fears still fresh in her mind.
Not far into the woods she encountered a deserted log cabin. She peered inquisitively through a shattered windowpane. A thick layer of dust threatened to make her sneeze. There was no sign of life, but for the disarray of clothes strewn over the floor, broken plates and an overturned chair. She suspected the previous occupant had left the house in a hurry. She couldn't imagine who would want to live in this forest.
Suddenly something grabbed her from behind. Bright rainbow colours fluxed instinctively about her and she wrenched herself free from her attacker's grip. She spun around to confront her assailant. Momentarily stunned, the undead skeleton still stood with its arms outstretched towards her. Quickly, before it recovered, Naramira unsheathed her dirk and stuck it deep into the skeleton's chest, where its heart would have been. As her spell wore off, the hollow eye sockets gave her one despairing look before the creature fell to the ground in a clatter of bones.
'I've lingered here too long,' she realised and set off along the path once more. The air under the trees were close, stagnant, as if fresh air was an unnecessary luxury here. A thick fog obscured the young enchantress' view and dampened her hair and clothes. She shivered.
She might have been walking for hours, when she came to a split in the path. 'Which way?' she wondered. The innkeeper's directions had given her no clues to this part of the journey. Naramira peered in both directions. The one path went south, the other north. She wanted to go west. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. 'It must be getting late. I have to get out of this forest before dark.' A sense of urgency suddenly knotted her stomach.
She decided to go north. 'That way, if I come up against the mountain again, I can follow that westwards,' she reasoned.
She hadn't gone far when, through the mist, she saw something laying in the road. Naramira stopped. Was it a trap? Did she dare go closer? She moved forwards cautiously. It was a body. It wasn't breathing. It was laying with its back towards Naramira. She touched the shoulder and shuddered at its coldness. Whoever this was had been dead for days. She turned the corpse over and gasped as she recognised the features.
His wild brown hair was caked with mud and the clear blue eyes that had once sparkled with good humour was now staring sightlessly into the sky. Naramira's own eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Kiran," she whispered softly.
A twig crunched behind her and Naramira turned to see a dark-elf slowly advancing on her. His eyes glowed purple in the fading light. In his hand he held a cruel-looking scimitar. "Foolish human," his voice grated like steel being sharpened on stone. "To linger here as daylight fades by the body of a dead elf deserves a fate similar to his."
Naramira didn't hesitate. She ran. She ran so fast the trees were a confusing blur, but she kept to the road as much as she could, the dark-elf close on her heels. Onwards she ran, heedless of anything but that she had to escape, had to get out of this forest that had killed a friend. She came to another split in the path, but didn't hesitate, following the left fork on instinct. For once, her sense of direction had not failed her: she could see the perimeter of the trees. She was going to make it. She heard the elf cursing behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder and then wished she hadn't. Her pursuer was so close he could almost touch her. Fear pumped adrenaline into her exhausted legs. She burst through the edge of the trees and heard the elf's cursing fade in the distance as he was left behind, unable to follow her any further.
Her legs finally gave in as she reached the mountainside. She slumped to the ground and fell asleep with the entrance to the High Hold Pass before her.
The clash of steel on steel woke her. Her limbs ached from sleeping on the cold stone ground and she climbed stiffly to her feet, thinking longingly of her warm bed back at mistress Elora's inn. At least the cliffs looming overhead had protected her from the worst of the weather. The sky was a sleet grey colour and a biting wind whistled through the Pass.
A short, anguished yell snapped her thoughts back to the present. It was followed by a brutish bellow and the sound of shields banged together in challenge. 'Orcs,' Naramira realised with distaste. She picked her satchel up and peered carefully around a bend in the pass.
A scene of carnage met her eyes. Dead bodies littered the ground, fresh blood still seeped from wounds and ran in rivulets towards the young enchantress. Naramira's empty stomach turned disconcertingly.
Standing over the bodies of their fallen comrades, two men, their armour slashed and spattered with blood, faced a group of seven or eight orcs. The one man, a barbarian warrior with long flaxen-coloured hair, flashed his companion, dark-haired and wielding a double-bladed battle-axe, a mirthless grin. "Let's show these orcish filth how bravely men can die," he said. His friend nodded, tightening his grip on his axe, his face set as he grimly watched the orcs advancing.
Naramira knew their situation was desperate. Skilled warriors they might be, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. As the flaxen-haired barbarian roared a wordless battle cry and stormed at the orcs, she knew she could not watch them die. She would have to try and help.
She said the words and a purple ring of magic surrounded a nearby orc. Naramira took an involuntary step backwards as the orc's consciousness slammed into her mind. She fought with it, trying to subdue its will, but this orc was stronger than others she had encountered before. It wrenched free from her control and charged at her, its spear raised in anticipation of the kill.
An image of a goblin shaman flashed before her eyes. 'That's it!' she thought. Her hands glowed blue as she uttered the spell and she watched in grim satisfaction as thick twisting roots suddenly sprouted from the earth and ensnared her assailant. The orc bellowed in frustration as it tried desperately to free itself. 'If I can't mesmerise them, I can at least keep them occupied this way.' Quickly, Naramira ensnared another orc and the barbarian smiled gratefully as he stepped back out of its reach, one less opponent to defend himself against, for now.
As Naramira started casting the spell for the third time, strong claws suddenly grabbed her and flung her through the air. She fell to the ground and looked up in time to see a spear thrusting towards her. She ducked and avoided the fatal jab, but a searing pain shot through her right shoulder. The orc yanked its spear free and she cried out in agony. A spell memorised but never tested came unbidden to her lips and she shouted the unfamiliar words at the orc looming over her. Red magic blazed from her hands and hit the orc with a force that sent it reeling backwards. Its eyes bulging insanely, the orc watched in horror as images only it could see flashed before its eyes. A suffocating sphere suddenly encased it and the orc fell to the ground, clutching at its throat.
A shrill scream drew her attention away from her dying foe. The dark-haired warrior had fallen to the ground and a swift stab to the heart from an orcish blade killed him before the young enchantress' eyes. The barbarian yelled in rage and fear as he saw his friend's lifeless fingers relax around the handle of the huge axe. He turned to Naramira and shouted: "We cannot survive this! Run for your life!"
She needed no further urging. With the barbarian leading the way, she ran up the pass as fast as her still-tired legs could carry her. The remaining orcs pursued them through the twists and turns of the Pass relentlessly.
The path became steeper and steeper. Naramira knew she couldn't keep the pace up much longer. She hadn't eaten in two days and what rest she'd had the previous night was insufficient to keep her going now. The wound in her shoulder throbbed painfully and her green robe was wet with blood.
"The bridge!" the barbarian yelled, pointing at the narrow rickety structure spanning a ravine in front of them. "We're almost at the Keep!" Naramira had time to be relieved as the barbarian suddenly turned right into a narrow passageway instead of braving the unstable wooden crossing. She ran after him, their pursuers not far behind.
Naramira cried out suddenly as her foot tripped over something and she stumbled to the ground. "Wait!" she called out. The barbarian turned around and rushed to her aid. Quickly he helped her to her feet again.
"Not far now," he said. Then his eyes widened and he lifted his sword to parry an orc's blade. "Run!" he yelled. Naramira hesitated. She didn't want to leave him facing the orcs on his own. He turned his head and saw her still standing there. "Run!" he urged her again. A whistling sound was all warning they had before an arrow was suddenly firmly lodged in the man's stomach.
"No!" Naramira shouted as he stumbled to his knees. But she was too late to help him. Another arrow thumped into his chest and she knew he was mortally wounded. She turned and ran up the path. Round a bend, right then left, then right again and suddenly the gates of the High Hold Keep were in front of her.
The guards cried out in alarm when they saw her and opened the gate to admit her. She staggered through the entrance just as flakes of snow began falling from the sky. She fell into the arms of a mail-clad guardsman, who supported her as more guards rushed through the gate to dispatch of the orcs pursuing her.
"Are you alright, milady?" the guardsman asked, concern etched upon his face.
"So close," Naramira murmured. "We were so close."
Naramira sat down at the desk in the corner of her luxurious room in the Keep and copied the words of the spell she had travelled all this way for into her spellbook, making sure it was a perfect match to the scroll she had purchased from spellmaster Visilin earlier. When she had finished, she put the quill back into the jar of ink and looked at her handiwork. Mircyl's Animation. She hoped that this new companion would be worth the dangerous journey she had made to acquire this spell.
She stood up and walked towards the window. It had taken almost a week for the wound in her shoulder to heal and she had spent most of that time in her warm bed staring out the window at the falling snow. The white flakes drifting down from the sky was a strange sight to her. She thought the snow-covered mountain peaks was the loveliest landscape she had ever seen.
She turned away from the window, picked up her spellbook and the scroll and put it into her satchel. Then she carefully rolled her warm winter's cloak into a little bundle and packed it away into her satchel too. She made sure she had all her meagre belongings and then locked her room and went to return the key to the clerk in charge of the rooms.
"Everything seems in order, milady," the clerk said as she marked the enchantress' name and room number off on a list. "Are you sure you want to leave in this weather though? The snow can make the Pass very treacherous."
"That won't be a problem," Naramira replied. She weaved the spell and a gate to Freeport opened, the hot desert wind blowing the clerk's papers into disarray. The woman's eyes widened in amazement. "Farewell," Naramira said and stepped through the gate.
The hot humid air hit her with an almost palpable blow. Naramira watched as clouds of dust swirled around her. The guards on duty at the West Gate cried out when they saw her, then relaxed as one of them recognised her. Naramira hitched her satchel on her back and entered the city. "It's good to be home," she realised.