Out of the Forest, Into the Ice

~ Out of the Forest, Into the Ice ~

“Father, I regret to inform you we let many of the belligerents escape,” Sheila gritted out while kneeling with sorrow on the spotless tiled floors. She could see her reflection, though the sight only made her angrier at her defeat.

At least she knew how to possibly make up for her shortcomings; Velsoth’s former assistant Hephatat had already been led to the secondary escape portal and forced to spill where it had last provided passage to out of fear of his becoming shackled for years on end. Sleethburne.

Between bouts of ruthless coughing, the king pressured his daughter to reflect on her clear failures, but she expressed the adequate planning she already had conjured to capture what traitors still remained.

“A scout on Sleethburne has even confirmed eyes on one of their officers, listen!” She unstrapped and held up her fancy communication gem for the king to hear from as she stood and walked up to him. She asked through the gem what the enemy looked like. A fretful response. It was clear the description matched her: the girl with the bow. The corroboration was cut short by gruesome yakkal shrieks over the gem, yet this only helped sell immediacy to the king. She fixed her short chestnut hair while waiting for a verdict.

“Fine”. No coughs, just an unending glare. “Get out there and make it right for the good of the whole kingdom. Leave no survivors”.

They both knew what this meant given her written report. Rik.

She kneeled again after reattaching her gem to one of four chest straps and slamming her fist into her chin in salute. She pledged with her eyes closed and head hung again,

“I will do what I must”.

She lifted her head and lowered her fist. The eyes that instantly met her father’s must’ve given him some semblance of confidence, as he smiled throughout his next line.

“For the glory of Latchgoven”. More coughs.

She repeated the pledge vapidly while already storming out, the arched windows all around casting all forms of limited spotlights upon her. She scoffed and pushed through the double doors without waiting for the guards to.

The coughs from the throne kept incessantly echoing the whole way out. She wished they would just cease to be. Latchgoven would have much more glory with her on that throne.

…

The meat issue was resolved quickly given Manwel’s new intel about who he’d seen in the forest. This resolution came in a way Rik wasn’t satisfied with, but he absolutely preferred to not take the chance of being in battle again if possible.

He found himself caught up in the most grueling task again, though. Carrying the large barrel of mismatched meats — and a few bunches of supposedly safe berries thanks to Velsoth’s keen eyes — would be a struggle but it made the most sense for him to undertake the burden. He felt proud of how the responsibilities had been quickly divvied up, with Irinee taking the harvested coats and the two mages ready for defense.

Manwel had a compass that he said had led him to the nearest portal off Ashabar. It did nought but spin around towards north on Sleethburne, but Rik had tons of accounts from mages across the worlds as to where the elusive Paandiji was last spotted, so off north they went under Rik’s direction, prepared to search for landmarks on the way.

It was obvious where they had camped, but it was luckily quite hard for anyone to track them as they made their way through the taigas, crossing obscure natural bridges of stick and stone and deviating from open fields and marshes in favor of the lightly snow-dusted forests and orchards.

A light snowfall kept up the entire day as they trekked, shielding some vision from potential predators — humanoid or otherwise. Rik wasn’t too hung up on the details of their hikes or the conversations that occurred. However, once topics of magic and travels came up from the mages some distance behind him, he found himself eavesdropping. It was awkward to try and talk to the hardened daughter of a murdered friend anyway; Irinee stayed silent for the majority of their voyage, only speaking to Manwel from time to time whenever they all hunkered down to have a snack or wait for the snow to die down.

It sounded like Manwel and Velsoth had pivoted quickly to discussing the quest again, the former sounded awfully and increasingly more confused at the latter’s answers.

Rik focused on himself again. Being on this meaningful quest was a double-edged sword. Exploration fueled Rik; knowledge kept him whole. There were so many worlds to explore, cultures to appreciate. His father would never understand. But, in the position he was now, it was likely there would be no third chances should he be caught by Latchgovenite lackeys. If this mission doesn’t go as planned, it may well be my last.

They stopped to rest for a little while at the edge of a forest and Rik had the “pleasure” of utilizing the few tools he had hidden under his robes to trim down the yakkal hides into cozy lavender ponchos. It was nearly sunset and almost time to venture out into territory occupied only by sheets and spikes of ice — not to mention the beasts that called the desolate place home. Assuming a lack of liquid water out on the ice, Rik had Manwel fill his flamleather canteen up with creek water. The experienced traveler knew the signs of clean drinking water, but had no way to tell whether or not the water would freeze within a leather canteen concealed under a poncho. Consider it an experiment.

Rik tactfully broke the metal spile off the end of the meat barrel and had Irinee take it — along with a small hammer and an empty vial he had — to any nearby trees and attempt to tap for syrup. Whether or not Burneth syrup was edible didn’t matter; Rik could tell the others’ wounds, as well as his own, were becoming infected. Across the worlds, certain types of syrup were known to be organic ointments. He smiled and slid his tongue across his well-maintained teeth at the thought of the delicious garnish Tyrexian syrup was — made from beautiful flowering trees not too dissimilar from serviceberries. Tyrexian syrup used to be Sheila’s favorite too. His smile vanished. Tyrexia was no more, partially thanks to her.

“What troubles you, ‘Crick’?” Velsoth wasn’t given a specific job besides resting and replenishing his mana as he had been teaching Manwel to do. Rik didn’t mind; it was always pleasant to talk to such a sage mage.

He found himself forced to smile again as he turned to face the waddling gnome. “Nothing, just thinking on the past. The good and the bad”.

“The past is more an enigma to me than the future. I seem to recall you asking me to do a job, but I cannot fathom what or why I would take direction from you in the first place. Do you know where my assistant went?”

Velsoth seemed dazed. A job? His assistant? “I do believe you’re free to rest, Great Mage. I haven’t ordered you to do anything, nor would I be that harsh when speaking to you. I apologize if I have”.

“My assistant, where is he?” The gnome’s fancy pointed hat spun around in circles antithetical to the rest of his body as he searched each direction around. He adjusted his spectacles.

“Manwel should be coming up on a river now to procure water. He has a good nose for that, it sounds like, despite what he implies about being a failure”.

Velsoth looked more frantic now, despite Rik’s calming voice. “No, no, not Manwel. Where is Hephatat? Where is my assistant? Oh, by the Council!”

Hephatat? The name was familiar. Wasn’t it the informant who gave intel regarding the Fifth Fang’s camp on Farrowep? To be fair, the briefing that occurred in the grand strategy room back on Latchgoven never included information as to the second portal that helped him arrive on Sleethburne. Maybe this Hephatat was Velsoth’s assistant but didn’t want to reveal too much to either side. A real snake. Like myself.

Playing two sides had always been exhausting. It took mountains of restraint in the palace growing up and into his teen years not to challenge some of the catastrophic plans of expansion his father had in store. Feeding information was a niche he fit right into, though. It allowed him to stay on decent terms with both those in power and those seeking to topple it. Given the information he had gathered over the decades since he left Latchgoven, he figured he could really help the Fifth Fang seal the deal for once, should he and the others be welcomed after their quest. He didn’t know Manwel’s entire story yet, but at this point Irinee almost seemed like a runaway and Velsoth…

“I have to ask my master where that darn boy ran off to. Now, ‘Crick’, you haven’t seen her around here have you?”

His master? “The Ocelot?”

“Mhm, yes, yes. Where has she hidden herself now?” He chuckled and made his staff visible before waving it in gesticulation. “She likes to keep to herself and fiddle around with genius, gorgeous spells! Huzzah!”

Rik was stunned. But, he understood. Velsoth had shown very few signs of age up until now, and keeping in mind his possible fragility, Rik had been intentionally giving him little to no tasks. Solving the portal and casting light-based spells had made the old mage fatigued, sure, but mana depletion was known to do just that. Best to rest.

“Let’s try to focus on the present, shall we? Look, there’s Manwel now”. He pointed to the emerging and still slightly limping man. “Soon ‘Rini will be done getting syrup and we’ll be on our way across the ice. Hopefully we’ll find a spacious cave and rest for the night. Sound like a plan?” He ended this offer with a small, noticeable grunt as he was painfully reminded of a gash on the back of his calf.

“Hmm. I suppose. Morning would be an excellent time to search, anyway”. He yawned and fiddled with his thin-framed glasses again before murmuring to himself and sauntering slowly towards the not-so-distant glaciers.

After some deliberation and final adjustments to the ponchos, it was time to press on. Rik took the rear this time, figuring if mercenaries or even his sister attacked, it would be from behind — from the forests. A snowstorm decided to form right as they took on the vast, thick sheets of ice. Although they had just rested less than an hour ago, with the sun fully set now and snow hindering vision, it wouldn’t be the worst idea to have the youthful sets of eyes search for a cave out in front.

Velsoth had enough mana to create a small lantern of sorts, having it float up front near Manwel and Irinee. Rik was tired. His pace slowed. Lagging far enough behind to see only the distant hourglass-shaped glow of the fabricated lantern, he took the time to force hypotheticals into his head. What would happen if they lost someone? If they couldn’t find a cave? If Sheila caught up?

Theory can only take one so far. Rik was forced to the ground with a thud as his last scenario came true.

“I should just kill you! What in the name of Atch are you doing, brother?”

…

More time to talk to Irinee was something Manwel appreciated. She didn’t seem approachable at first, but had so many opinions on whatever you wanted to discuss. Strong ones, at that.

“Thems who say zweihänders are better than montantes can eat shit and die!”

He laughed. “Didn’t know you were a sword person. Aren’t you an archer? Don’t tell me the Fifth Fang’s got you on sword runs too”.

“Bows are always best, aight?” She smiled widely in response. “Ain’t no damn sword take’ll take me away from my baby,” she patted the instrument on her back before continuing with her hands leisurely on her head, “I’ve just got plenty of experience with other weapons. They’re a spark ton of fun to practice with”. Her smile ceased for a moment before returning as she looked at Manny. “Just wish we didn’t have to practice anymore. Tired of that fake stuff, y'know? Gotta get in the damn action again. Man, I wish I coulda found more supplies out in the forest for arrows”.

She wasn’t tired of practice. She was tired of fighting. He could see it.

They came across a cave and tried to relay the news to the others. Neither had realized that Velsoth’s lantern — and the mage himself — had wandered astray. So did Rik apparently, though he may have just been far behind them. Visibility was a massive problem.

Manwel set down the barrel; Irinee, her bow and some of Rik’s equipment she had hesitantly agreed to carry. The cave — illuminated slightly inside by dots of purple and orange minerals on the wall — was nested in a dense area of massive, jarring ice spikes. The interior somehow had nature’s toughest growing inside; beds couldn’t be feasibly made, but rough patches of pearlwort and bruffgrass were better than nothing.

With how deep their conversation went, neither Manwel nor Irinee had a care for the others that were taking ages to also find the cave. They spoke of Latchgoven, of course, the Fifth Fang, what they planned to do after the quest, how magic would reasonably advance, how there was a new weapon being developed known as a hand cannon, what the implications were of fighting a necromancer, how they planned to take down the frost dragon they had seen majestically glide above earlier, and finally, the concept of finding beauty in war.

Their playful and often surprisingly deep banter was cut short by Rik and an almost familiar, dark-skinned and armored woman entering the cave and collapsing against the far wall.

Irinee immediately lost it, not just cursing out both of them, but grabbing the front half of her last arrow — she mentioned earlier she had kept it after the yakkal fight just in case — and leaping at the woman, driving the flint edge into the groove between breastplate and shoulder pad.

What is happening?

“‘Rini, don’t!” Rik commanded as he stood and stretched to keep her at arm's length. The woman grunted with disdain and ripped the arrowhead out before throwing it deeper into the cave, apparently not caring about the impact removing it may have.

“Latchbitch!” Irinee spat and tried to kick at the other woman. “Imma kill you!”

Rik tried to calm Irinee down, only to be met with, “Watch your own royal ass! Don’t care who she is, she’s dead”. Manwel stood up realizing who that may be. The huntress. She was responsible for massacres on Viquen, Palan, Tyrexia. Some said she wanted nothing but death, others said the throne was in her sights. It didn’t matter. She was the one who oversaw his parents’ capture. He remembered now: out the window, a masked figure had sent Goveknights into his home. The front door had come crashing down, but Manwel hadn’t cried. He had stayed silent. Come what may, he had decided that he would show his parents what it meant to be Manwel Skylon and carry on their legacy.

Action was needed. “Is she the huntress? Is she the one who destroyed countless communities? Kidnapped my parents?”

The woman, who was clearly already injured before Irinee had stabbed her, responded with a posh tone that alone could confirm his suspicions, “Who were your parents? Fifth Fang murderers?”

An artificial breeze rippled throughout the cave. “Ehrkonus and Niriam Skylon”.

Rik looked as shocked as the evil woman beside him. “Did you say-”

“Where’s Velsoth by the way? Did you kill him?” Manwel had positioned himself closer to the woman than Irinee by this point — Rik was still holding her tantrum back.

She scoffed. “Skylon, huh? Didn’t expect to hear that name again”.

Manwel whipped out his scimitar, holding the tip an inch away from the slight gap in chainmail visible on the huntress’s neck. “The mage! Where is he?”

Grimacing and stretching her neck away from the blade as much as possible, she spat back towards Irinee before answering. “That sparkler’s probably dead by now. The Goveknights know their new orders”.

Manwel lashed out at her, his emotions unhinged for the first time in a long while. Wind forced all in the cave to rock around. “You! I oughta kill you just like ‘Rini said!”

He raised the blade in preparation to cut as Rik and Irinee frantically yelled opposing commands.

“They’re not my orders, boy. In fact, they’re the Great King of Latchgoven’s orders. If you put down the blade, I’ll help you kill him”.

Flabbergasted by her words, Manwel took a second to breathe. Trusting everyone around him had proven beneficial at times, detrimental at others. Maddy knew that best, didn’t she? She really was the only one he could trust back in that shadowy place. The quest was what was most important.

Rik’s voice broke through the chaos. “With Velsoth lost or worse, we need as many fighters as we can get to see your quest through, Manwel! I condemn my sister’s actions as much as anyone, but I know she’s tired of fighting for our father”.

Sister. Father. “Who the hell are you, Rik? He turned his scimitar towards the man whom he thought was an excellent handyman and guide, not the son of the devil.

Rik sighed and Irinee sulked. She hadn’t told him any of this. “That’s my sister, Manwel. We have long disagreed on how to further the kingdom of Latchgoven, but I understand now after decades of time without seeing her that she has been a prisoner to her blade. If she doesn’t fight for our father — yes, the king — he’ll kill her”. Did Rik expect him to have empathy?

“Brother, I truly am sorry to have to grovel to you in-”

“Oh, shut the hell up, will you?” Irinee spat at the woman again. “No one wants to hear you yap!”

“‘Rini, relax. I know what Sheila’s done is unforgivable, but she was stranded out here. We all are. I wouldn’t be surprised if we freeze to death before even reaching Paandiji”. Rik looked incredibly guilty as he walked back and sat beside his sister. As he should be.

“That isn’t the point," Manwel interjected, small bouts of wind chilling the area. The crags and spikes around them needed no such cooling; only boiling blood. It was now that a stand had to be made, regardless of whether or not it was heroic to incite companions the night before a fight. It was necessary. “You expect us to just accept the enemy with open arms, especially when we planned to take on the frost dragon tomorrow?”

Before Rik could respond, Irinee stood up and pushed past Manwel with a huff. “I agree, but I don’t need you standing up for me”. It surely took a lot not to completely shut down Manwel at that moment. Her small figure towered over the collapsed Sheila. “Ya killed a lot of good soldiers! What do ya have to say about… look at me!" She had snapped.

“‘Rini?” Manwel meekly managed.

“Whaddya bastards, both of ya, have to say about your ‘glorious’ massacres? Huh? What the grimhell did we ever do in the first place?”

“‘Rini”.

“That devilspawn of a father you have just started bombing us! His own damn people!” She began to cackle a little. “Heh, but I bet ya think that’s hilarious, don’t ya, latchbitch!”

“Irinee!”

Manwel, now much less meek, forcibly turned the ravaging rebel around with hands on her shoulders and stared equally as forcibly into her bloodshot eyes. “That’s enough! Why don’t you want me standing up for you? You’re just… you’re just screaming what they already know. Let me handle it”.

He began to move closer to the fractured duo, hand on sword again as Sheila struggled to push her injured self to a position from which a royal response was possible.

She began carefully, so as to defend her castle, but not even the keep of anyone’s personal fortress was off limits from Irinee. This included himself apparently. “I find it ridicu-"

“Let you handle it? What, like you handled your last mission? Five dragams says ya just let this latchbitch slaughter your men as ya kissed her grimy-" She clearly felt the urge to keep slandering the lot of them, but it was hard to do so while being slammed by squalls into the nearest wall of ice. With a deafening thud and yet another profane remark, Irinee fell to the floor on a patch of uncharacteristically dry, yet still barely flourishing pearlwort. He didn’t expect that to shut her up for long, especially since it was another reason for her to gripe later on.

Silence ensued. They would come up with a plan later.

…

This was not paradise, nor was it the forest. It was, however, a long time coming; Velsoth had known for years the dwindling power — physical and mental alike — inside him. He put up on good show, dazzling the knights after him and keeping them confused for a good while before they caught up. He considered all the spells he and his master had conjured and put to use across nearly centuries. None of theirs could ever compete with the dazzling light show given to him by the Highest just moments before, which lingered in his mind for seemingly ages as the shadows around him danced as if commanded affectionately by his contentness.

This place was only unwelcoming in appearance; Velsoth could smell the stale air and could see numerous dark columns that held up the interior archways and grand halls of the Sanctum. Still, it felt fine.

The Ocelot had not been one to withhold information well, so a number of her apprentices came to know their eventual fate. Some rejected it, but others embraced it in the name of continued research. What exactly about magic there was to research was hazy, yet the light mage Velsoth had his sights set on one concept: becoming light. He knew in essence he already was, his body being another test subject from which rays and particles could be misconstrued to formulaically and fundamentally alter external… appearances.

He squinted and then winced at the appearance of the ghoul who appeared before him now. Comforted as his mind seemed to be moments ago, his arms began to shake violently as faint memories resurfaced. Why be afraid though? Why be distraught? Whatever memories attempted to bob their heads above the surface were anchored, being swiftly pulled leagues back into the recesses from whence they came.

The culprit, floating carelessly no more than a spell’s cast away with lantern in hand, began to talk cheekily as if a small treat had just been awarded to her. The words that followed weren’t picked up by Velsoth, given he was too fixated on that face, with her raggedy teeth and energized verdant eyes. Who was she? What was she planning? Answers he thought he knew slipped out of reach again, and Velsoth couldn’t help but fall to his translucent knees, hovering but centimeters above the sorrow-plastered grounds.

All he ended up interpreting was the final proposal she offered with an outstretched hand. A proposal which he may have expected from a place like this, but one he would have to consider nonetheless.

“So, will you help me light the way for future mages?”