Chapter 2
When they said 'ocean of grass' I thought the reports were factious, Elle thought, surveying the never ending field, but they were one-hundred percent in earnest.
She sighed, "Grass. Grass. Grass. Would the occasional tree really hurt anything?"
As if in response, a large gust of wind blew down the plains of Sacae, stronger than what the Ostian girl was used to. Her long brown hair whipped at her face, and her cloak tugged at her neck, it's fastenings holding it in place. She grabbed a side of it to take off some of the strain.
"Hey easy there, I didn't ask to be surrounded by all this lucous greenery," Elle commented.
No, she wasn't crazy, at least not yet, addressing the plains just made her feel like she had someone to talk to.
"Should be pretty easy to find a tribe of Lorca in all this though. I mean, how can you hide a bunch of tents in this?" she waved a hand as the surrounding field, encompassing the large and small tents far off in the distance, then frowned, "Not tents. Gers. A portable house that the nomadic tribes of Sacae build. Rounded in shape, usually with a flap for a door. In some cases-" she stopped reciting the passage on Sacaen houses from memory, thinking she'd heard something. She whirled around, nothing. Just a world of grass with the distant mountains rimming the edges.
Rule one: When in a strange place, never let you guard down. Ever, she thought.
She crossed her arms over her brown blouse and stared down the greenery behind her.
"You can come out now, I know I'd be tired of crawling in the grass by now. Besides, what's one unarmed bookworm girl against. . ." she thought for a moment, "Three bandits?"
"Four actually," said a voice behind her.
Elle turned slowly, bobbing a slight curtsy, "Forgive my miscalculation," she said as the three hiding in the grass raised out of their hiding spots.
The four grew closer, a maniacal grin on the face of the leader.
"What a catch!" he leered, "Capture her in one piece boys!"
Elle drooped a bit, "Just two days out and I'm already done for? What a shame."
The bandits clearly thought she'd be an easy prize, just a bit further and. . . The girl whirled on the spot, her booted heel making solid contact with the lead man's jaw. There was a grunt of surprise before he fell to the ground, unconscious. She grinned at the look of shock on the others faces.
"Surprise! Who wants to go next?"
The last three men unsheathed their weapons, their faces gone from amused to serous in an instant. They were myrmidons, a fast class of fighter, and exactly what Elle had expected on the plains. The girl nodded, then reached for her personalized Drivsno tome.
Before she could get there, the tallest of them lunged for her, driving his sword towards the hand that inched towards the tome. Elle spun to the left, ducked under the blade, and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm as far back as it could go before wrenching it farther with a sickening snap. The man backed away, howling in pain, his weapon now on the ground as he cradled the limb. The other two decided that one-on-one might not be the best idea against her, and attacked together. Elle dodged as long as she could, the ice tome now in her grasp. Her cloak was hindering her motion, so she unclipped it on the next dodge, letting it fall to the ground. The men were furious now, their strokes becoming more and more wild, hence less predictable. The next swing nicked her skirt, and the next she barely was able to roll out of the way. She came up with her legs firmly planted, Drivsno hovering between her raised hands. A blast of cold wind hit the men, causing them to stumble. A ball of magic grew in front of Elle, and she extended her hand towards them.
"Catch," she ordered as the ball raced towards them.
A whirl of blinding snow filled the air, and shouts of confusion met her ears, she closed her eyes, then clenched her fist. There was a halt to the spinning snowstorm, then a sound like the clash of ice on ice. The snow disappeared, falling gently to the ground, and she caught the tome in her hands as the spell faded. There in front of her was a frozen statue of a bandit, shock on his icy features.
"Weren't there two of you?" she asked the statue, not expecting an answer.
"There was you witch!"
Elle spun around, but not fast enough. An axe slashed down her side, and she gasped in pain. The second bandit had crept around her back, and he'd been the origin of the attack.
"Do you think you can stand up to Batta the Beast?"
The mage girl didn't mess around this time, in an instant, the spell she saved for emergencies crossed her lips, "Fimblvetr!"
Shards of ice attacked the man, firing at him like homing arrows. He cried out as the barrage finished him, leaving the girl alone. Elle pulled out a vulanary with a wince, untying the small brown pouch fastened to her belt to reach one of the three small bottles. She pinched the top of the vial, and the specially designed cap popped off. She lifted the healing potion to her lips, swallowing the bitter concoction in one gulp. She closed her eyes as she felt a warmth spread throughout her body. Her side stung, the pain mounting, and she gritted her teeth as the wound knit itself shut. She replaced the empty container in its pouch, and after tying it shut again, the pouch to her waist. A slight chill ran up her spin, and she shivered.
Great, she thought, Fimblvetr chills. I can only hope I can make it to those tents, no gers, before they really set in. Blast! Why'd I use that spell then?
She picked up her light green cloak and tucked her cold hands into it's deep inside pockets after clipping Drivsno back into it's holder on her belt. She began marching, her quickly numbing feet becoming a hinder as she pressed on. The sun, once a friendly warmth, was a chilly fiend, doing nothing but adding a harsh glare to her vision. Elle forced herself to walk, racing the fiery ball in the sky to the edge of the mountains, foraging ahead for hours. Shadows fell on the waving grass, and Elle, now shivering uncontrollably, stumbled, tripping on the flat ground.
How ironic, she thought dully, an ice mage, after dispensing of four bandits alone, freezes herself out.
The thought was distant, a ripple on her lazy mind, Keep walking, you'll stay a bit warmer that way. The thought pressed her forwards, and she plodded on a bit longer, the orange light of the sunset blazing into her vision. She stopped, and a shiver wracked her body.
Keep walking.
Elle stumbled in earnest this time, falling to the ground. Her body felt weak, the continual effort of trying to heat herself these past hours pulling massive amounts of energy from her stamina. She pushed herself to her knees, her shaky arms just up to the task.
Keep walking.
The Ostain girl stood, her head whirling. With one hand, she pulled at the delicate chain around her neck that dropped hidden under her shirt. Her numb fingers fumbled with the long silver strip of tiny links, but she finally found what she was looking for. A blue and silver ring was suspended on the chain, the swirls of the two colors like living waves and the entwining lines that added to the ring's water-like were icy beneath her fingers, not warmed at all by her minimal body heat.
Keep walking!
She closed her eyes, clutching the band of metal and feeling the rush of magic that the Guiding Ring gave her. She wasn't ready to actually wear it yet, the power would be too much, but at times like this. . . Well, she needed a little boost.
The chill that claimed her was a bit more bearable, and newfound strength that coursed through her limbs kept her walking for just a tiny bit longer. She was mindlessly going through the motions of walking, foot forward. Step. Foot forward. Her brain seemed to float somewhere she couldn't quite reach, and hours ticked by in a blur that could have very well been years for all she knew. The silver orb of moon glided endlessly on, mocking her weak progress. The cold grew deeper, the light breeze an army of icy knives that sliced through her thick cloak. The horizon glowed. The sun peeked up.
"K-keep walk-walking."
Her chattering voice was lost in the light breeze of the Sacaen night. She tumbled to the ground, giving in to the darkness ringing her vision as she blacked out, worn down from the self-made cold.
Lyn sat in the front of the flap that was the door to her ger. She pushed out the thought that told her that just a short time ago, it had been her family's ger. A surge of loneliness hit her, washing over her like a wave.
Mother, Father, how I miss you.
Her vision clouded with tears asking to be shed, and she shook her head with a fierce motion.
"No more tears!"
Her voice was filled with a resolve she didn't feel on the inside, and she sighed, her mind racing over the chores she had to do.
Move the teather post of my horse so he can find more food. Gather some dead grass to twist for fuel. Restring that old bow. Can't forget about breakfast, some of that jackrabbit from yesterday? A stew, stew's always good, easy to make. Fetch water. Patch the hole in the ger's roof. Find another large animal to smoke and preserve.
She looked towards the rising sun, up from her lap, where she wove a new sash out of strips of leather her father had tanned and cut, and dyed yarn her mother had carded and spun.
A memory at every turn.
Lyn stood, brushed off the back of her skirt, and reached into the mouth of the ger to gently set the half-finished sash on the small table that sat there. She pulled another colorfully woven cord, this one yellow, red, and green, with small parts of blue, off her wrist, and swept her long deep green hair into a ponytail, letting her short bangs fall where they may. She went about he chores, finishing all but the hunting. As she stood over the cook fire in the center of the ger, stirring the bubbling stew, she allowed her mind to wander. Her green eyes watched the smoke and the steam from the fire and stew trail up through the hole in the center of the ger's domed roof for that express purpose, but her thoughts danced over the glowing floor of the past that seemed so close still. Her father teaching her the ways of the plains, her mother instilling her gentle manner and bearing into her daughter, and the times of joy and fun they'd had together with the rest of the Lorca. Celebrations suddenly were just as valuable as the sorrow and trials they'd all faced. Lyn pulled her head out of the past, and the stew off the spider, a three legged tripod with a hook for a pot. As she set it down, a nagging pulled at her mind. A feeling that something wasn't right. She crossed to the door, making certain that the sheath and sword she always wore now was secured at her waist, then went outside, squinting for a moment against the sun.
Nothing.
Her gaze wandered over the landscape, the ocean of grass, swaying gently in the breeze. She shook her head slightly to clear the feeling, but it remained, refusing to leave. She turned resolutely, marched towards her mount, a fine stallion, and pulled up his tether, meaning to take him to the river to drink. He followed obediently, and when they reached the water source, a clear, slow-moving river full of fish and sweet, cold water, he dipped his head, drinking. Lyn patted his side as they stood there, the low brush that grew on the riverbank hiding them from sight.
"It's been plaguing me, every day," she said, referring to the strange feeling, "It's like a purpose has settled into my soul, as if I'm destined for something," she sighed, and her mount turned his head, water dripping from his muzzle.
"There's nothing here Samir, I think I'm just lonely, waiting for something to happen."
Lyn swung up onto the horse, not minding riding bareback, she was used to it after all. The pair walked back to ger, making a slow journey of it, the rider relishing the feeling of freedom that filled the very air of the plains. About halfway back, Samir halted, and Lyn followed the direction of his gaze. A lump of green caught her attention, and she hurriedly dismounted, rushing towards the sight. Samir followed, as the rope bridle she had on him prevented his leaving her side. She dropped the reins, and he halted, trained to not move when his reins swung free. Lyn dropped to her knees, examining the lump that didn't belong. Curled in a ball on her side, with the bright green cloak pulled tight for warmth, was a girl, just a bit younger than Lyn's eighteen summers. Her long, light brown hair was splayed around her head, mixing with the long grass that brushed her sides. She was dressed strange to a plains dweller, sturdy, dark brown boots that came just below her knees, light leggings, a shortish, flowy, navy skirt, a brown blouse, and of course, the green cloak. A belt was between the skirt and the top, and on it was clipped a blue and silver book. The oddest part of the entire tableau was the way the unconscious girl shivered, an uncontrollable chill that wracked her body with tremors uncommon for the mild day. Lyn turned the girl onto her back, placing a hand on her forehead. Instead of the raging fever she expected, this girl was cold as ice. A thought drifted thought her head as she ordered Samir to kneel next the the stranger.
What's a mage doing in Sacae?