Chapter 2: Dusty Trails

The city was as deserted as ever, the sun baking the paving stones to create a shimmering heat haze between the timber-framed facades of the buildings. It was like midday in the heart of a hot summer, despite the calendar’s insistence that it should have been a cool autumn evening. The way that the days lingered threw Caden’s internal clock off-kilter. There was no twenty-four-hour schedule anymore, the nights were short and hot, resulting in people going about their business in a kind of confused trance. He came across a few of them here and there, tightly wrapped in shawls and cloaks as they ran errands. They clung to the dark shadows as though they were the shores of a river, the light pooling in the street, so bright that it was hard to look at.

He knew the way out of the city, there was no need to bring out the map or the compass yet, and he would be able to make his way to the border of the kingdom without too much trouble. Civilized lands were well signposted, and the roads were properly maintained. Or at least, they had been until recently. With the world slowly grinding to a halt, there were more pressing matters to concern oneself with than filling in potholes and trimming hedges.

Like many older settlements in the kingdom, this one had once been fortified, but the city limits had expanded far beyond the old battlements over time. The castle keep rose up in the distance, the great stone walls draped with the king’s heraldry, the ramparts towering over the squat dwellings that surrounded it. The wall of the outer bailey was visible in places where it rose above the slanted rooftops, the crenelated bastions that had once served as watch towers keeping their silent vigil. He passed through one of the gateways in the old stone wall on his way out, a rusted portcullis that hadn’t been lowered in an age hanging high above his head. There was a city guard sitting on a stool in the shadow of the arched passageway, but he was too hot and tired to do much more than glance at Caden as he passed by. Beyond it was a bridge that led over a moat, now little more than a trench with a puddle of muddy water at the bottom.

The claustrophobic city streets gradually gave way to more sparse hamlets as he made his way into the surrounding countryside. He followed winding roads that snaked their way through the rolling hills, passing by thatched cottages and small farmhouses. The meadows and pockets of forest had once overflowed with lush greenery, but now they were yellowed and sickly, suffering in the oppressive heat. The trees were shedding their dead leaves, their branches naked and skeletal, only the weeds that grew in their shade seeming to cling stubbornly to life. Even the hardy patches of grass and wildflowers that sprouted in the middle of the rocky paths were wilting these days. The rolling fields were separated by wild hedgerows and crumbling stone walls, but what was once an ocean of golden wheat and barley was now decaying. The growing seasons had been scrambled by the calamity, and the seedlings were mostly dying before ever reaching maturity, making harvesting crops next to impossible. The flocks of sheep that would usually be scattered about as they grazed were huddled beneath the shelter of whatever trees they could find, the herds of dairy cows crowding their water troughs.

Caden made his way up one of the dirt tracks, stopping at the top of a hill, turning to look back the way he had come. He could make out the city in the distance, perhaps ten miles away now. It had been a long time since he had seen his home in its entirety like this. He could see the keep, and the Master’s tower, along with the town square. He paused there a few minutes longer, knowing that it might be months or even years before he would lay eyes on it again. If he survived his journey at all...

He turned back to the road, finding himself longing for the shade of the forest.

It wasn’t long before Caden’s waterskin ran dry. He had been walking for the better part of a day beneath the blazing sun, and the speed at which he had drained it took him by surprise. He was making his way along a woodland path, what had once been dense forest rising up to either side of the dirt road, forming a kind of tunnel above his head. Most of the leaves were dead, bright rays of sunlight bleeding through the sparse canopy, but the gnarled branches still provided some reprieve from the heat.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, putting his lips to its mouth as he upended it. After taking a moment to look around, making sure that he was alone, he slunk off the path and into the brush. Bone-dry leaves and desiccated ferns crunched underfoot as he trudged deeper, finding a small clearing with a large boulder rising from the ground in its center. He would have expected to hear the chirping of birds, to see a skittish deer or a curious rabbit rush by, but there was only the sound of the branches creaking in the breeze.

He walked up to the rock and set the waterskin down on top of its mossy surface, hesitating before screwing the cap back on. The water would just pour out of it otherwise, and it wasn’t as though he was filling it from any tangible source. After setting his pack down beside it, he fished inside for the book on magic that he had brought with him, opening it at the index. He leafed through the dusty pages until he came across the passage that interested him, hydromancy.

As with all magic, performing a predefined ritual was not enough. Knowledge of the subject was required. One could not command fire without having a deep understanding of its properties, how it behaved, and how one’s magic acted upon it.

“Let’s see,” Caden muttered, licking his thumb before turning another page. Water was not only found in wells and rivers, nor in lakes and oceans. It could be found in the very air itself, in humidity, taking the form of vapors and mists. This spell required that he focus on the invisible droplets that surrounded him, calling on them to coalesce.

Caden set the open book down on the dry grass, taking a step back and raising his staff. He exhaled, letting his power flow through its haft as the Master had taught him, the wood seeming to come alive in his hands in response. It pulsed with magic like a beating heart, that familiar hum seeming to fill the clearing with its silent song, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

He opened his eyes, glancing down at the incantation, mouthing the words quietly as he read them off. After memorizing the short passage, he began to cast the spell, lifting the falcon’s beak into the air as he chanted. With a sense beyond sight, he watched the shimmering strands pour from his fingers like streams of quicksilver, winding their way through the shaft. They concentrated at its bronze tip, Caden feeling a swell of pride as he watched what looked like droplets of morning dew collect on the metal. They began to merge together, water dripping from the carving, running down the polished shaft to wet his fingers.

Success! He was conjuring water from nothing. Now, he just had to concentrate on directing it into the waterskin. His brow furrowing as he concentrated, he willed the moisture to collect within the leather receptacle, seeing those sparkling droplets clinging to its interior in his mind’s eye. Still whispering the incantation under his breath, he brought the bronze tip of the staff to the waterskin, hovering over it. Before his eyes, it began to fill, slowly expanding on the rock until it was stretched taut. As he stopped his chanting and lowered his stave, the energy that was coursing through his veins faded, the hum abating. Caden took a moment to collect himself, that intoxicating feeling of adrenaline gradually receding.

The water sloshed around in the waterskin as he raised it, its weight suggesting that it was indeed full to the brim. Caden opened the cap and lifted it to his lips tentatively. Cool, fresh water poured into his mouth, its taste that of a mountain spring. He couldn’t help but grin as he drank his fill, feeling the cold liquid settle in his belly. One of the greatest dangers that faced him was crossing the Coral Sea, but now that he had an infinite supply of water, that task seemed far less daunting.

Satisfied with this small victory, he returned the waterskin to his belt and turned back towards the road.

Night had finally fallen, the stars twinkling in the cloudless sky as Caden marched, the cracked earth crunching beneath his boots. The days now lasted thirty hours or more, and after sunset, there were only a scant few hours before the cycle began anew. People tended to sleep whenever they became tired, even if their every instinct told them that it was the middle of the day, resulting in no small measure of disorientation. He always found himself sleeping either too much or too little.

He paused to glance up at the mercifully dark sky, noting that the constellations that he had learned to recognize during his studies had either vanished entirely, or had strayed far from their usual positions in the heavens. It was as though the entire sky had moved in relation to the world, or perhaps the world had moved in relation to ‘it’...

In the distance, he spotted the inviting glow of a building, the yellow light of oil lamps spilling out onto the road. It was one of the many inns that would provide a warm meal and a safe bed for weary travelers. Caden’s feet were starting to blister, he had never done this much walking, and the idea of a soft mattress was irresistible. At least while he was still journeying through civilized lands, he needn’t spend the night in the wilderness with only the light of his campfire to ward off hungry predators. Even if the monsters had been driven out long ago, the more remote forests were still home to bears and wolves that occasionally preyed on the unwary.

The inn came into view, illuminated by the golden glow of a solitary oil lamp that hung above its entrance, and the light that escaped through its many windows. Its crooked, timber frames were visible between the white plaster infill of its facades, the wood stained a dark brown that bordered on black. The second storey was jettied, projecting further out than the floor beneath it, supported by rows of decorative wooden brackets. The thatched roof drooped low over the building, extending to the dormers on the upper level that likely denoted where the guest rooms were. The whole building had a very top-heavy look, as though it was slowly collapsing in on itself. He was surprised to see smoke billowing from the brick chimney, but that probably originated from ovens rather than hearths.

Caden passed the adjoining stable that would provide shelter for the horses, making his way to the large, oaken door. He had never been to a tavern before, but he had read about them. After reaching down to brush his hand against his coin purse, reassuring himself that it was still present, he pushed open the heavy door. It creaked on its old hinges, Caden stepping over the threshold, the smells of home-cooked food immediately setting his stomach gurgling.

He emerged into an expansive common room, the floor beneath his feet lined with wooden planks, the ceiling crisscrossed by exposed beams from which more oil lamps dangled on chains. On the wall to his far left was an ornate brick fireplace, the hearth presently empty due to the heat, its mantle lined with partially melted candles. The majority of the space was taken up by large wooden dining tables, their polished surfaces laden with pitchers and loaves of bread, the places set ready for guests. Only a few of the seats were occupied, the strangers turning their heads to glance at the newcomer.

Caden felt quite out of his element as he made his way over to a counter at the other end of the room, behind which a portly old man was standing, his attention focused on a mug that he was cleaning with a rag. He wore a dirty apron over his tunic, his head shaved bald, the beginnings of a beard failing to conceal his second chin. Behind him were barrels of what was presumably ale, along with a few dusty bottles of spirits with faded labels that were impossible to make out. There was a door to his left that probably led to a kitchen, and to the right of the counter was a staircase that led up to the second storey, where the rooms must be.

As Caden approached, the man glanced up from his work, setting the mug down on the countertop with a clunk. He looked him up and down, not suspicious, but curious. Judging by the number of tables and places, the staff must be accustomed to more visitors, but the calamity had likely reduced the number of travelers who passed through these parts to a trickle.

“What’ll it be?” the innkeeper asked.

“A room for the night, please,” Caden replied. “Or rather ... a room for eight hours. Do you have much in the way of food?”

“Stores are low, but I’ll see what I can come up,” he replied. “What’s your pleasure? Breakfast, lunch, or dinner? These days, there’s not much of a difference.”

“As hearty a meal as you can manage,” Caden said, leaning on the counter. “The road has been long and arduous.”

“In this heat, I’m surprised you didn’t collapse,” the innkeeper remarked. “Very well, young sir. That’ll be six crowns.”

Caden lifted his purse from his belt, opening the drawstring and fishing inside, setting a stack of six gold coins on the counter. The innkeeper scooped them up, pausing to bite one of them, making sure that it wasn’t gold-plated lead.

“Take a seat at one of the tables,” he said, “and I’ll have your meal brought to you when it’s ready.”

Caden thanked him, the man exiting through the door to the kitchen. He turned and made his way to one of the tables near the far wall, choosing a seat that put him as far away as possible from the other patrons, pulling up a chair as he shed his pack. He set it by the wall, leaning his staff beside it, sighing with relief as the weight was finally taken off his blistered feet. He raised his waterskin and took a generous swig, then reached into his bag, rummaging for his book on magic. He slapped it down on the table, beginning to leaf through the pages as he waited for his meal, brushing up on his incantations. Unless one of the patrons was a fellow sorcerer, which was extremely unlikely, it shouldn’t draw any undue attention.

It was a good half-hour before Caden’s meal arrived, brought to him by a rather fetching blonde whose age suggested that she might be the innkeeper’s daughter. She set the tray down on the table beside him, reaching over to place a large bowl of stew in front of him, wisps of steam rising from the broth. He could see chunks of floating vegetables, mostly potatoes and carrots, its scent inspiring a fresh wave of hunger. On a small plate beside it were a pair of spiced sausages and some butter for the loaf of bread that had already been waiting for him at the table. It was probably a little stale after sitting out in the open, but if he soaked it in the stew, it would make a fine addition to his meal.

She was wearing a low-cut blouse that showed off her cleavage, sparsely dressed on account of the heat, Caden keeping his nose buried in his book to save from accidentally catching an eyeful. It might appear rude of him to avoid her attention so, but having spent the majority of his life in the confines of the tower’s library, he had next to no experience when it came to the fairer sex. One could learn almost anything from the pages of a book, but confidence and the ability to woo a lady were not among them. A sorcerer should not concern himself with such matters anyway. Romantic entanglements would distract him from his studies, as the Master had always told him. Celibacy was not enforced by the guild, merely encouraged.

“Thank you,” he muttered as she left his table. She responded with a polite smile but was swift to turn her back on him, carrying her tray over to one of the other patrons. This man was stout and broad-shouldered, the sharp edge of his chin peppered with beard stubble, a faded scar on his cheek suggesting that he was no stranger to violence. He wore a padded gambeson of the kind usually worn alongside chain mail or beneath plate armor, identifying him as some manner of warrior or sellsword. The Master had told Caden that highwaymen and bandits were setting upon travelers with greater frequency as of late, and so it was not unexpected to come across mercenaries and bodyguards on the road. Perhaps his profession was guarding supply caravans or protecting wealthy travelers.

The woman’s reaction to him was markedly different, the smile that she gave him far warmer and more sincere. She lingered beside the brute of a man as he plunged a chunk of bread into his broth and began to eat noisily, the two of them chatting as she twirled her golden hair flirtatiously.

Caden glanced over at them as he speared a sausage on his fork and bit into it, feeling an unwelcome pang of jealousy. For all of the man’s brawn, his strength paled in comparison to what Caden could bring to bear. The power of swords and spears was insignificant next to the magic wielded by a sorcerer. With a few spoken words and a wave of his staff, even a knight’s shining steel could be melted to slag.

He turned his attention back to his book, chiding himself for allowing such ill-humored thoughts to fester. It was as the Master had warned him, this newly discovered power had the potential to corrupt, to turn his mind to ideas of cruelty and supremacy. It was not to be wielded for reasons of self-aggrandizement or petty jealously, he had to remain humble in all things.

Ignoring the woman’s exaggerated laughter, he turned his attention back to his spellbook, contenting himself with enjoying his sausages.

When Caden was done with his meal, he packed away his book, heading towards the stairs that led to the second floor. As he stopped by the counter to collect the large, iron key to his room, he felt someone’s gaze on his back. He turned his head to see a man staring at him from a shadowy corner of the room. The stranger was sitting on a stool beside a small, round table, the hood of his cloak hiding his face from view beneath the dim light of the oil lamps. Although Caden couldn’t make out any of his features save for a few strands of long, dark hair, his instincts warned him that the man was fixing him with an intense gaze. He was smoking a long pipe, nursing a tankard of ale between puffs, a haze of wispy smoke hanging over him like a cloud. If Caden had to guess, he was likely a fellow traveler, judging by the pack at his feet. There was a short sword in a scabbard hanging from his belt, but his attire was not that of a mercenary. His clothes were worn, not those of a vagrant, but certainly someone of modest means.

Caden suddenly realized that his knife was showing, its ornate handle glittering as it caught the light. He hastily covered it up with his cloak, chalking up the stranger’s interest to mere curiosity. The innkeeper handed him his key, and he mounted the stairs, emerging onto a carpeted landing. There were two dozen rooms, and it took him a moment to find his own, Caden careful to lock the door behind him after his mildly unnerving encounter with the hooded stranger.

Inside was a bed and a washbasin, nothing lavish, but more than enough to satisfy a weary traveler’s needs. After walking so far, being able to lie down on a soft mattress was a small taste of heaven, Caden quickly letting his fatigue overcome him as he drifted off to sleep.

Caden awoke feeling refreshed and ate a hearty breakfast before setting out again. The Master had been wise to give him as much money as he had, because the prices of food and board were rising as resources dwindled. By the time he was leaving the inn, he had spent eight gold crowns, which would have been considered extortionate just a couple of years ago. Famine was not yet upon the kingdom, but the threat was looming ever closer. Still, the feast of eggs and bacon almost seemed worth the price.

As he left the tavern behind him, making his way along another winding path, he noticed that he was not alone. There was a figure following him at a distance, keeping to the shadows of the trees that lined the road. It wasn’t until Caden reached the top of a hill and paused to take a nonchalant draw from his canteen that he took the opportunity to glance back at them, realizing with no small measure of concern that it was the hooded man from the night before. He reminded himself that there were only two routes to take from the tavern, and that another traveler setting out in what now passed for the morning was not anything to be worried about.

When he eventually came to a fork in the road, he paused to read the weatherbeaten signposts for a moment, then continued on his way. The stranger followed, his tattered cloak wrapped tightly around him. Another coincidence? Caden was starting to become nervous. The winding path led through a patch of dense forest, Caden waiting until a bend put the trees between him and his pursuer before slinking off the road, concealing himself between their gnarled trunks. As he peered out from the shadows, he began to feel rather foolish. Maybe he was just overreacting, and the man meant him no harm at all?

He waited with bated breath as the stranger rounded the same corner, Caden’s heart starting to beat faster as he watched him pause, glancing from left to right beneath his cowl. His body language was confused, surprised, he was searching for his quarry.

Caden’s instincts had been right, he really was being followed, but to what end? Could this man somehow know about his quest? Could he be a sorcerer from a rival kingdom out to steal the artifact for themselves?

The hooded figure reached a gloved hand down to touch the hilt of his short sword, then crouched low to the ground, brushing the dusty earth with his fingers. With a start, Caden realized that he was searching for tracks. He considered moving deeper into the forest, he was only a hundred feet from the road, but the sound of the desiccated plant life crunching underfoot would certainly give him away.

His breath caught in his throat as the man found his footprints, the stranger’s hand resting on the leather-bound hilt of his blade as he began to make his way closer, Caden finding himself paralyzed by fear. Only the day before, he had imagined himself besting an experienced sellsword, but now, he couldn’t lift a finger. He was rooted to the spot, just like the trees that surrounded him. What should he do? Stay hidden, and hope for the best? Leap out and confront the man? His well of courage had run dry.

The snapping of twigs and the rustling of desiccated foliage alerted him that the stranger was drawing closer, Caden holding his breath as he pressed up with his back against the trunk of a tree.

“Show yerself!” the man shouted, Caden almost jumping out of his skin. “I know you’re ‘ere, you little whelp. You can’t hide from the likes of me.”

Slowly, Caden emerged from behind his tree, gripping the shaft of his staff tightly in his trembling hands.

“W-what do you want with me?” he demanded, his voice wavering. The man drew his sword, the sharp blade glinting in the sunlight that made it through the sparse canopy, Caden recoiling at the sight of it.

“That fancy knife on yer hip,” he replied in a rasping voice, the beginnings of his angular face visible beneath his shadowy cowl. “Throw it on the ground. Yer coin purse, too. Drop it. Empty yer pack and turn out yer pockets.”

Caden was too afraid to move, the man brandishing the sword angrily.

“Are ye hard of hearin’? Hand over all of yer possessions, or I’ll take yer life as well, savvy?”

“Alright, alright!” Caden exclaimed. He began to reach for the knife, then hesitated. What was he doing? This was precisely what the Master had prepared him for, he couldn’t roll over and give up the moment a common brigand flashed a sword at him. A plan began to formulate in his mind, and he moved his hand to the coin purse. What was it the Master had said about the enchantment that lay upon it? Those who tried to steal it would find it far too heavy to lift...

“Don’t try any funny stuff,” the thief warned, waving his blade.

“Okay, just ... don’t hurt me,” Caden pleaded as he unfastened its drawstring from his belt. He tossed the purse to the man with an underhanded throw, his hooded assailant faltering as he snatched it out of the air. He weighed it in his hand, a grin spreading across his face beneath the shadow of his hood.

“What are ye, some rich merchant’s son? I saw ye throwin’ gold around back at the inn, but there must be a hundred crowns here. My luck must be turnin’.”

His smile faltered as his arm began to droop, the purse growing heavier as it sat in his palm. His momentary confusion turned to panic as it pulled him off-balance, his sword still tightly clutched in his right hand as the left was suddenly brought to the ground with an audible thud. A yell of alarm and pain echoed through the trees as it pinned him to the forest floor, dragging him to his knees, the brigand fighting to free himself from the ever-increasing burden.

“M-my hand!” he wailed, the enchanted coin purse driving it deeper into the soil. It was as though an invisible anvil had been dropped on him. He finally managed to pull himself free, toppling over backwards onto the carpet of dead leaves, scrambling to his feet. His hood had fallen off, revealing a mop of long, dark hair that fell about his shoulders. His stubbly cheeks were gaunt, his piercing, green eyes full of fear as they stared out from beneath a furrowed brow.

He pointed the tip of his blade at Caden as the young sorcerer took a step forward, the man scooting away as he leaned down to pick up the purse. The brigand’s eyes widened in confusion as he lifted it effortlessly, stowing it in one of his pockets.

“What the hell is that?” the stranger demanded, his injured hand shaking as he held it by his side. “What did you do?”

Caden was still terrified, adrenaline coursing through him, but he mustered the courage to brandish his staff.

“Leave me be,” he replied, his tone a little more panicked than he had intended.

“You little wretch,” the brigand snarled, his fear turning to anger. “Think you can play tricks on me!?”

He lunged, his sword flashing as he stepped in to drive it towards Caden’s belly with a violent thrust. Caden reacted reflexively, deflecting the blow with a quick swipe of his staff, wood clattering against steel. The brigand stumbled, but quickly overcame his surprise, raising his blade above his head with a frustrated growl. It whistled through the air as he brought it down, Caden blocking it with the haft of his stave. Rather than biting into the wood, the blade bounced off it as though it were as hard as stone.

Only now did Caden’s mind catch up, and he remembered his training, how the Master had taught him to amplify the power of his strikes. It was so difficult to concentrate in the heat of a fight, but he willed that energy to flow from his fingers, pouring it into the staff. His grip on it tightened as he swung it again, but this time, he felt it grow heavier. He could feel its mass shifting towards one end, as though a lead weight had been fastened to it. The blow connected with the thief’s wrist with a crack, sending the blade toppling from his hand, Caden following up with another swift strike to his ribs that sent him reeling.

“I yield, I yield!” the brigand wailed as he scurried clear. He clutched his bruised ribs, his eyes wide. After making to retrieve his sword, he thought better of it, slowly backing off as Caden aimed the bronze falcon beak at him. How easy it would have been to set him aflame, or strike him with a bolt of lightning, but the confrontation was over. He willed himself to calm down, letting the impulse pass, breathing hard as he stared down his would-be assailant.

“Off with you!” Caden shouted, jabbing his staff at the man. The thief turned tail, stumbling through the underbrush in his haste. When he reached the road, he headed back in the direction of the inn, quickly rounding the corner and vanishing from sight.

Caden took a few moments to catch his breath, composing himself as he lowered his staff. He had known that he would face challenges, but he hadn’t expected to be tested so soon, he was barely out of the city. Even so, he had prevailed, the Master’s training had paid off. As frightened as he had been, he now felt the warmth of pride filling his belly, a kind of elation overcoming him. For the first time since leaving the tower, he felt as though he might actually succeed in this endeavor.

He checked that he still had all of his belongings, walking past the discarded sword as he made for the road. After checking that the brigand had indeed fled, he continued on his way, feeling a little more sure of himself.

It had taken several long days of walking, but Caden had finally reached the border of the kingdom. The grassy fields and patches of woodland were now giving way to heath, the hills becoming rockier as they transitioned to more mountainous terrain. Boulders protruded from the hardy vegetation, covered in furry mosses and patches of lichen, surrounded by tough grasses and squat bushes. The violet of thistles and clusters of heather contrasted against the greens of the grass and the yellow flowers of the blooming shrubs, not one of them rising above three or four feet. What few trees persisted here were twisted bristlecones, their gnarled trunks bleached the color of bone by the sun. He would have assumed that they were long-dead, had it not been for a few clusters of green leaves clinging to their skeletal branches here and there. They fared well in harsh climes, and they seemed relatively unfazed by the drought compared to some of the yellowing plant life that surrounded them.