The Blackstar Legacy
Copyright© 2026 by Lumpy
Chapter 6
Osric crouched near a spot of level ground just out of sight of the road, clearing enough rocks and brush to make a good space for his friends to camp.
It had been a difficult day, at least the latter part of it. It seemed like, except for their time in Avendell, his life was destined to be one life-or-death fight after another. He wasn’t the only one who felt this way.
Talia entered the small clearing as he rose, dusting off his hands. She wore a frown that had lingered ever since they finished that tense skirmish. She was on edge. And rightfully so. Now, they weren’t just looking out for the Brethren’s own people which, according to Jasper, were not overly numerous. They also had to worry about hired mercenaries trying to track them down and dispose of them.
Of those, there was not a limited amount.
“This should be enough room for all of us,” he said, trying to distract her with mundane things.
It didn’t work. “After everything, I’d prefer to keep everyone in sight.”
He did not like this version of her. Gone was the feisty girl he’d known all his life. Well, maybe not gone, but suppressed, weighed down by fear and worry.
Osric nodded in silent agreement. He caught sight of Jasper, pulling two of their purloined horses into the clearing. He, too, looked worn, although Osric thought maybe that was from the journey and the exertion of the fight. He wasn’t sure how old Jasper was, but the man was notably older than the rest of them and had spent years living by himself in a cabin.
This quest was a lot to ask of him.
As Osric got a fire going, Grace and Rowan joined them, bringing the entire group together. Of all of them, those two seemed the least affected. Rowan had made it his mission to deal with poachers, bandits, and thieves, so maybe for him, this was old hat.
And nothing seemed to bother Grace.
“No, we still need to get all this off and brush them down,” Rowan was saying as they tied the horses up. “They’ll have picked up rocks and burrs under the saddles, and it isn’t good to leave the bits in their mouths overnight. It can cause wearing and sores. We should also check the wounds of those who were injured in the battle. I know Jasper healed them some, but I want to make sure they aren’t suffering.”
“Sure,” Grace said, unusually helpful, starting to disconnect buckles and straps for the removal of saddles. “These beauties deserve better than those thugs, anyway.”
‘An odd pairing, those two,’ Osric thought.
He was happy to see them getting along so well, however. More surprising was, after they finished tending to horses, she made her way over to where Jasper sat near the fire while Rowan went to collect his bow.
“We’ll need food for tonight,” he said.
Cinder rose and padded over to stand next to him.
“I believe he wants to go with you,” Osric pointed out.
“I believe you’re right,” the ranger said, and the pair disappeared into the quickly darkening forest.
“Why not just ask your gods to make it all better?” Grace asked as Jasper checked a small wound on her arm.
“It is not a small thing to ask the gods for help. In battle, fighting in their name, yes, Heathus held protection over me. Helping a mother birth a child or the infirm battle sickness. These are worthy of bothering the gods for assistance. Small cuts like this, that would be ... rude. Besides, keeping in practice on basic medical skills never hurts,” he said, wrapping a bandage over the wound to keep the poultice he put on it in place.
“What do they care, lounging up there, wherever they are? I’m sure they’re bored, and looking for entertainment.”
“They aren’t ‘up there.’ I believe, as the veil separates us from other realities, there are levels to the veil. They exist between our veil and another world’s veil. Part of our world, but apart from it.”
“How can you be part of something and not part of something?” Grace asked, turning to Talia. “Is that how it works? Like, layers of bedding or something?”
“I have no idea,” Talia said. “Until this all started, I’d never heard of the veil, let alone knew anything about it.”
“But you read all those books the Sage had,” Osric said.
“I did, but I’m not sure how much the Sage or the other druids know about it either. They may be descendants of the ancients, the Calaphium, but it does not seem a lot of their knowledge came with them. Bits and pieces, yes, but that’s just it. A scattering. Enough to know the veil exists and even how it is damaged, but not enough to actually understand it.”
“Do you think there might be more information in the tower?” Osric asked. “I mean, if it was such a central part of their power, for repairing the veil, wouldn’t they have had all kinds of books there?”
“Do you remember seeing much in the way of books in the temple we went to?” Jasper asked.
“I mean, I remember the document,” Osric said.
“A document protected by powerful magic, so that even the Brethren could not destroy it, only hide it. Beyond that, there were no scrolls, tombs, or archives. Trust the word of an old man who spent his life collecting knowledge from books; they are not meant to last. A few hundred years, and books begin to fall apart, brittle to the touch. Another few hundred, and they are little more than dust. The Calaphium ended over three thousand years ago. I doubt very many of their books, if any, have survived.”
Talia looked even sadder with that thought. It hadn’t occurred to Osric that she may have been hoping to do just what Grace suggested, find new works to expand her knowledge. As much as Grace craved coin, Talia craved magic.
Another way this quest had let her down.
They busied themselves getting the camp ready before dark fully fell, setting out bedrolls, brushing the horses, and repairing clothes and armor as best they could after the fight on the road.
After about an hour, Rowan and Cinder returned, the ranger carrying three plump rabbits.
“This wolf of yours,” he said, settling down to clean his catch. “He’s something else. Knew exactly how to drive the rabbits toward my position. Even waited for my signal before moving in.”
“The gods touched him somehow,” Osric said, watching Cinder settle near the fire. “Regular wolves are clever, but the Sage said that Cinder was different. Given intelligence beyond his species.”
The wolf’s amber eyes met his, seeming to acknowledge the conversation about him.
“Well, he is very smart. I wish I had someone like him with me all these years, watching my back,” he said.
Osric was just glad they had the ranger. He knew more about this kind of life than any of the rest of them. Osric had been a village boy, and a tradesman at that. Or training to be a tradesman. He knew little about hunting or preparing game. Master Ironhand would purchase meat and vegetables from the farmers and hunters around the village, saving them the trouble of skinning their own game.
It had been a privileged life, and one that had ill-prepared him for the one he lived in now.
Before long, the ranger had the rabbits skinned and on a makeshift spit, cooking over the fire.
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