Go with the Flow

~ Go with the Flow ~

Sleethburne.

After scratching down the runes for 6,494 — a rough estimate, but it wasn’t as if the count was always accurate — Manwel skimmed through a section about the planet written in the guidebook he got from the Sanctum. It was an early hour in the morning — the only way to know for sure would be to wake the jeweler.

But, the soon-to-be hungover man clearly needed a good slumber; the drakers were no more than a half kilometer from the oasis when his drooping figure rolled off the giant cat-like creature he was being given a ride on. If the talon scratch from the beast’s singular back paw didn’t make him alert, his subsequent tumble down a dune sure did. He was awake just long enough to mount again and reach the oasis before setting up the essentials for nothing other than sleep, assuming the drakers or Manwel would do the rest.

Manwel, however, felt no obligation to help pitch the fancy tent. As he continued to read about Sleethburne, he realized both Maddy and the jeweler had no reason to trust him, yet so far provided adequate tools and knowledge to hopefully one day complete his quest. Why was it he felt like he owed Maddy his all, but not the jeweler? He’d technically known the half-dwarf much longer than the Banshee.

That was a new revelation: the jeweler wasn’t joking when he said he had lived with dwarves for a while — he had slovenly told Manwel a bit about his dwarven father as he set up his cot earlier. Something about being lucky to have his mother’s height passed down. Manwel didn’t see why the jeweler was so comfortable sharing; surely the rest of the caravan always saw the man as some mysterious traveling merchant looking for even more money. I don’t mind it, though. Maybe sharing more about the past helps him get over it or something. Unless that’s what the spice is for.

He was distracted again, way off topic now from his destination. Maybe reading wasn’t the solution to his scattered thoughts. With a grunt, Manwel got up from the rug he was sprawled across and began to make the rounds.

The oasis had such refreshing breezes that he found it hard to believe the caravan had already moved on in the few days he’d been gone. Hard, but not impossible, as remnants of moldy rations and sparse clumps of fabric and wood dotted the outskirts of the sanctuary. Out with the old, in with the new; it appeared as if a date palm had been harvested for fruits as well as the wood itself. How anyone had the space or willpower to haul around heavy blocks of wood baffled Manwel. Many of the caravanners, himself included, only had enough to their name to carry around; beasts of burden weren’t exactly common out on the dunes, nor would they be a viable option to keep around with how many extra nutrients they’d take up.

The drakers were clearly the exception. Dragon meat was aplenty, although obtaining enough tea or water was likely an unfathomable challenge. They definitely just stay around an oasis like this and wait for dragons to come to them. As he circled the pools of water — none near as murky as expected — he found his gaze fixed on his reflection’s. That was him.

He was planning to return the items he stole when he caught up to the caravan, but their owner was now gone. He saw no real way to make up for that.

He was planning to help his old camp when they were attacked by drakers in the past, but he packed and ran. He saw no real way to make up for that.

He was planning to save his parents, who had been captured and tortured for years, but he led all those willing to go against Staur’s standby orders right into a trap. He saw no real way to make up for that.

…

Irinee was frankly surprised the backup portal was still operational, especially given the sheer volume of cyan sparks flying out of the hunk o’ junk as the last of the rebels made it through the flickering purple interior. Well, not quite the last of them.

The motley trio watched through the reeds nearby as Velsoth’s newly-formed imitations of himself and Irinee “walked” through the portal, followed closely behind by a real messenger and the Jackalope-holding Staur. Body doubles were rare to see from the mage, especially with how much he had already pushed himself during the conflict. He must really like Rikky’s plan.

The sparks stopped as a low pulse indicative of a portal in dire need of repair hummed across the bogs. One last jump was all they needed. And fast. Rik — no longer sporting his gable hood and small conical hat combo due to the rain dying down — carried a drowsy Velsoth and chased after Irinee, who was already jogging to the control panel as if she had any semblance of how to operate it. She knew how to operate a bow at least. There was a rickety wooden staircase on the north side — likely for repairs to the higher nodes of the structure — that she climbed before perching up behind the uneven and unpolished banister. Being short enough that a squat sheltered her up to her eyeline, she set aside her quiver and unsuitable officer’s cap and began peering out for approaching Goveknights.

“Cover us, Rini’! The portal’s on cooldown now, so we’ll need to hold out until Velsoth can bypass it,” Rik shouted up as he placed the mumbling mage down in front of the runic inscriptions that actively flowed horizontally along the circular portal base. After some deliberation with himself and a rather loud exclamation of discovery, Velsoth pulled out his staff from seemingly nowhere and began to press the crystal tip against certain runes as he waddled around the portal.

Irinee began to curse the time it was taking under her breath as the lack of both an escape and visible Goveknights worried her. Dense as they were, the cypress trees around them formed a sort of labyrinth to the hidden portal. There was only one viable way in; if the Goveknights could track them here, there would only be one way out.

Speak of the damn devil. Branches began to snap as they were sliced through only a dozen meters away. Out of the corner of her eye, Irinee could see Rik make his way to the back of the portal and could hear how frantic his voice was becoming as he addressed Velsoth with something akin to reverence.

“They’re back, Great Mage. How much longer do you figure this will take?”

It was hard to make out the sparkler’s response with the cacophony of clanking, splashing, and slashing drawing nearer.

With her eyes fixed on her first target and arrow gathered in hand, Irinee, desperately in need of information, barked, “How long ‘til we’re gone?”

“Not too long, just hang in there!” Rik returned, still hiding behind the portal as it began to spew out slight sparks in all directions.

That ain’t no answer, dammit. Gritting her teeth, Irinee lined up for the first sling, expecting a full emergence of the enemy no more than a few seconds later. She sure knew her timing. Although, it would be extremely difficult to get a strike with how encompassing the Goveknights’ silver suits were. It’d been done before, surely she could do it again. There were only two left beside her now; despite her strained relationship to each, she couldn’t let them down too. Not again.

Whoosh. Don’t let ‘em get in your damn head, Rini.

There were five Goveknights behind the one in front who avoided the initial arrow. At least they very rarely brought any form of ranged weapons; as long as Irinee could hinder their advance, all would be right.

Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh. Her original quiver of fifteen odd arrows was now diminished to four, even with the few she managed to pluck from the battlefield during the retreat. She couldn’t let herself get psyched out by the amount of ammo left, nor her lack of precision. It was hard to ignore the idea that she already was, though.

“Just shy of sixty runes to transmute, Poloff! Please keep at it while I finalize the spell”.

This was the clearest Velsoth’s shrill voice ever sounded to Irinee. And strangely, it didn’t annoy her as it usually did. Maybe hostilities could simply dissipate when that which imminently threatens your life is before you. My life ain’t over. It’s ruined now, that’s for damn sure, but it ain’t over ‘til my last arrow’s gone. Her fingers caressed the instrument before she calmly exhaled, letting her shot crescendo with the controlled vibration of the silk string.

Whoosh. Crunch. At the sight of the pack leader taking a strike to the neck and falling into death throes, another nearby Goveknight swiftly dropped to his knees in anguish before procedurally abandoning the chase with body in tow. The other four charged on, their pace quickened.

Three arrows, four targets. If slow repairs demanded she pull this off, the knights would need to be closer.

And closer they got. Rik was still no help though, likely because he didn’t want to be discovered by the troops he begrudgingly arrived with. Velsoth was also out of sight, owing to his height. Irinee began to tilt her aim steeply downwards as the knights approached while holding up their longswords to protect their necks.

Ignoring the first knight to climb the stairs, Irinee got a hit on one of the others’ knees, slowing him down but not immobilizing him. Ditching the quiver in an effort to dodge a swing, she snatched her last two arrows and rolled further down the platform, causing the whole structure to sway slightly. The ascending knight became unbalanced for a mere second, barely enough time to see bare olive skin under his armor before it got flint lodged inside it.

Dropping his sword and stumbling backward, the Goveknight was utterly defenseless as Irinee threw her bow over her shoulder and ran to retrieve her arrow while simultaneously sending the both of them crashing down on another soldier on the steps.

Shit. She scrambled to avoid the other knight’s sweep and instinctively tried punching him in the helmet only to recoil and drop the two arrows. The longsword came again, this time breaching the pads on her left underarm and side and sending her straight to the ground.

The only semblance of feeling she had was of the fletching brushing against her cheek. Neither the pain nor the idea of defeat meant anything now. It’s over.

Raising his sword again to finish the archer off, the Goveknight must’ve been shocked to suddenly see the brother of his commander drive a steely blade through the heart of all that represented Latchgoven, cracks in its defense and all.

“Rini’, get up! Velsoth’s done it!”

Irinee found the strength to roll on her back and although the bow was pressing into it harshly, she caught herself feeling relieved. It’s over, huh? Damn. Guess they’re not all useless. Guess I’m not either.

One Govekinght — arrow in knee — chopped away at the inner support beams of the staircase in an attempt to reach the traitor as sparks began to encircle those near to the ground. The last of the soldiers was actively hunting Velsoth, the latter’s stature and lack of clunky armor allowing for better mobility around and around the portal as it began to unstably emit a deep and dazzling purple once more.

Tied logs and debris came barreling at Irinee as the platform collapsed towards the portal, some of it disappearing through the violet void.

Now finding the need to wince at her wound, Irinee struggled, yet ultimately succeeded in rolling sideways before gripping the unbloodied arrow and chucking it weakly at Velsoth’s pursuer.

“Go, dammit!”

A simple distraction, but it gave Velsoth enough time to waddle into the portal. Except he didn’t. He came to her.

“The hell? Get-”

“He needs to be last in, Rini’!” Rik interrupted from behind, blocking a fierce longsword strike before kicking the Goveknight’s already wounded leg with a jingle and a clank.

Now standing together again, the archer, the mage, and the traitor stared down the last unharmed knight as he positioned himself in front of the portal, waiting for his comrade to painfully stand again and attack from the rear. Branches began to shake in the distance as more reinforcements arrived.

“Hey, you have enough to mana to spark up his eyes?” Irinee asked more earnestly than aggressively about the guard before them.

Velsoth closed his wrinkled and drowsy eyes and shook his head, his beard swaying ploddingly behind it.

“Damn. Use your staff, then! Bring it out when he tries to swing at ya”

After mumbles of deliberation, the mage was convinced to give it a try after Rik emphasized their dilemma. They all began to rush together at the guard, Rik blocking a strike from the knight behind as Irinee readied her bow again with the last arrow.

Somehow, they were in sync. As the knight swung towards Irinee, Velsoth conjured his metal staff and blocked the two-handed longsword strike well enough to let the archer slide on her knees underneath the towering figure. Some miracle of archery had allowed her recent shots to be impactful and her last was no different; having been drawn as she slid, the last arrow pierced the razor-thin visor of the bent-down knight. Small fragments of green glass spilled out as the soldier wailed in agony and began to fall backwards. Rik was positioned to kick in the knight’s left foot, solidifying the behemoth’s hefty descent before the portal. The other wounded Goveknight backed up, clearly in physical and mental distress as his reinforcements drew nearer.

Rik and Irinee scampered into the portal, followed shortly thereafter by Velsoth. The deep breath of relief Irinee was going to take was cut short.

“Shit!”

She reached back through the portal as it was beginning to blink rapidly, fiddling around for a second before barely pulling out the arrow from the dead Goveknight’s visor as the gateway dissipated.

A lone arrow could go a long way.

…

The arrow above the compass Manwel had been given now veered a little off the lowland path they had taken to the oasis. Part of him wanted to just leave at noon, but a ride would obviously be much more ideal. Problem was, the drakers gave no impression they would leave the oasis anytime soon.

Ideas of theft came up again briefly. But, if he stole a beast, not only was it likely they would catch up, it was equally as likely the beast would fling him off or maul him before he made it out of the oasis. If we’re not out of here soon, then screw it.

He mustered up the courage to ask the lead draker when they were moving on as the grizzly man sat and drank with his buddies under a large palm-shaded tent.

Met with only, “We leave when I says so! Just relax for a few days”, and a dry guffaw, Manwel stormed out of the tent and passed the jeweler, whom he hoped wouldn’t try to stop what came next.

Walking up to his stash of goods, he set aside the binoculars and the reference book before putting the rest back in the satchel and equipping it. It took a minute, but he found a page in the book dedicated to species of dragons, their inked depictions varied and strikingly realistic. Having gotten to know his personal beastmaster from the night before — their conversation lasting almost the entirety of the ride to the oasis, not necessarily to either’s dismay — Manwel knew how to create a distraction. Dowrman. He’s kinda stupid, but trusted and beloved by almost everyone here. If he says there’s a dragon, there’s a dragon.

He walked up to Dowrman and began speaking with a sort of authoritative shock, as if he was pretending to be a Sergeant again. This attitude would surely cause the draker to take immediate action.

“Why have you not reported the dragon over yonder yet?” He pointed aimlessly out towards the desert. “Though, I find it plausible you haven’t noticed it yet without binoculars. Quick, take a peek, okay?”

Without taking hold of the lenses, Dowrman raised his goggles to his dirty forehead, took a step into position, and began to squint, only to be flabbergasted by the picture he saw.

“Boy. Oh, yeah. That’s… now yeah, that’s a Sandflapper alright. You’ve a good eye, kid. Oh, boy, I’ll go tell Flam”.

The anxious draker kept mumbling and gesticulating as he shambled over to the nearby tents to spread the news before he made his way to the one housing the metal-armed leader. Manwel wondered why the leader was called Flam; he didn’t give off the impression of the quite docile creature of the same name, nor did he or anyone else around ride one.

With a crowd gathering around Flam’s tent now, Manwel began to rush to the outskirts of the oasis for a smaller, more rider-friendly looking beast he had seen while pacing earlier. This one he actually knew of: a Harpter. An unbalanced mix of fuzzy, feathery, and scaly, this creature was not made for the desert — thus why it was left near a multitude of ponds and trees with much lower branches for excessive feeding — but it was fast. The guidebook had taught him what this creature was, but its accurate drawings had already proved to be more useful, having tricked nearly the whole camp now due to one of a Sandflapper being loosely stuck on the binocular lens with spit. What do you know? Guess I’m out of here.

“Where ya goin’, lad?”

Of course. Who else? Manwel didn’t even bother to turn around as he yelled back to the disappointed jeweler while strapping an airtight barrel of dragon meat around the Harpter’s feathery midsection, careful to avoid trapping any rows of intricate, bluish feathers.

“I have to get this quest done! Plus, I don’t wanna stay in this miserable place anymore, okay? Living with these drakers is like living with the dwarves you told me about”.

“I advise ya not to try it, lad”. This stern warning was soon followed by the sound of a raising crossbow and a shout to the confused mob nearby. “We got a runner!”

We? Did he think himself a draker now? Whatever. Manwel frantically turned to check that the crossbow wasn’t loaded — grateful of the time the jeweler used to struggle setting up a bolt — before mounting his new ticket out of the desert.

He hoped and prayed to whatever powers were watching that neither his satchel nor the barrel of meat fell off on this ride. It would no doubt be a rough one.

The breeze felt nice as he and his mount dashed away up and down the dunes. It would’ve been a smoother ride had he learned how to control the beast’s directional impulses, not to mention a shorter one most likely. Gripping the compass in his right hand as he used his left on the creature’s horn for steering, Manwel felt nothing short of adventurous. For a minute or so, it felt as if all the calamities and harms of the past were overwritten by — quite literal — winds of change.

They were on his tail though: roughly half a dozen drakers and their expertly navigating beasts. What a contrast to his own, which so far routinely took on higher dunes for no apparent reason.

Maybe not the best idea. Hindsight is a curse. If he couldn’t make it to the portal in time, then he’d try to reason, even though he figured he was too far gone to make up with them now. A last stand was the only other option.

Trusting the compass, Manwel began to grip both horns of his Harpter — instrument still in hand — which the animal responded to with a screech. More stability meant the creature also responded with better positioning; there was a chance.

Another few minutes went by, the drakers’ shouts having gotten louder and the compass having its arrow turned a slight bit. Manwel found himself more easily able to redirect the beast in the right direction, and so it ran and ran and ran for minutes upon minutes upon minutes.

The drakers were now in firing range. But, there it was! That better not be a mirage! Sitting awkwardly out in the middle of nowhere was the sinking gold base of an interworldly portal, its interior miraculously shimmering a hopeful purple.

No more than a minute later did three launched and chain-bound grapnels yank Manwel’s mount off its scaly back hooves, sending the simultaneously screeching and bellowing creature tumbling down a monstrous dune with its rider and the unfastened barrel.

Dire situations were aplenty in Manwel’s life, each one adding more guilt and grief every time he came out of them and others around him didn’t. Right now it was just him. This can’t be it. I know I always fail to help others, but if I’m gonna try to help Maddy, I gotta help myself. Right here, right now. He clearly changed his mind about trying to reason. Bringing himself to his tired feet, he felt his left arm and shoulder aching from the ride and unfortunate fall. There was sand in his eyes that he brushed off before drawing his scimitar and darting his stinging eyes back and forth between the circling vultures that were the drakers.

The jeweler had helped, sure, but Maddy definitely helped more. He thought back in that tense moment to her training. Training was pretty useless because he couldn’t figure out how to summon wind at will, but it was clear that melee combat alone wouldn’t be enough to hold off his current foes.

Instinct took over. As a chain was launched through the air beside him, he dodged before realizing another rider was in position to catch the end of the chain. The two tried wrapping the solid links around Manwel as they stuck to their circular path, but it wasn’t enough to trap him. Manwel avoided the chains and dashed at what looked like a weak point in the defense, only to be met with an incoming crossbow bolt by the time he reached it.

A stalemate was the last outcome either side expected or would allow. Manwel found a second to take a deep breath, thinking on nothing but Maddy’s words.

The winds of change were the only way out of this deadlock.

Manwel began to notice the gusts around him as they ebbed and flowed over his skin and directed his limbs out of the way of incessant grapnels and bolts. The breeze felt tamable, more so than the beast that had just been toppled. If I’m going to be remembered for something, let it be my ability to go with the flow.

The drakers would certainly remember him for that: all at once, spirals of nearly invisible force came emanating from Manwel, causing nearby coral grains to levitate in obscure patterns and make murky the whole scene.

Baffled shouts came from each draker, yet were met with silence from their leader, Flam, who merely coughed and adjusted his goggles. There would have been further orders from the man had he not at once had his throat slashed. This fact, however, Manwel only knew about after forcing another rider off his mount with a strong gust, which cleared the way to the portal and revealed the betrayal of another draker.

“I’m the bossman now bitches!” The sneaky draker managed to squeak out before immediately being brutally mauled by the former leader’s ferocious feline.

Despite the chaos in hierarchy he had unknowingly brought, Manwel found it in him to disregard the rest of the drakers. As he ran over to the barrel of meat and his satchel, he whisked up another cloud of dust around him, slowly marching in the direction of the portal, all the while praying no projectiles would pierce his dusty shield. Some did, but they lacked precision. One chain linked grapnel got close, but hearing the wind whistle on its way in instinctively let Manwel know to dodge. It was harder to hit a smaller target, anyway.

It was clear after a minute or so that the remaining drakers were still focused on more internal matters, so Manwel decided to save his newfound breath. The puffs of dust that had been protecting his figure sprinkled back down to the desert as a flurry of bluish sparks took their place off in the distance.

Well, let’s see if that jeweler was good for something, at least.

When he finally reached the portal, he didn’t feel the need to look back at the desert. His path was forward, his resolve no longer deserted in favor of stagnancy.

Stepping through carefully, Manwel witnessed the first green trees he had seen since leaving Latchgoven all those years ago. The oasis had palms, sure, but they were a dull yellow. The verdant scenery was so much to take in, almost enough to distract him from the standout figures fighting yakkals not too far away within the taiga.

As the portal frame behind him flickered away, he began to consider the types of people he was likely to encounter very soon. Looks like a dwarf or a gnome with a crazy hat, an archer of some kind, and… wait… the stranger who got shot a few days ago?

Okay. Well. Go with the flow, Manny.