I don’t know whether to be impressed or alarmed when Corporal Level returns with permission to head out immediately. It does not take long to prepare the patrol and we leave with the evening’s meal still working its way down the gullet. My owl, full from its own meal, comes to rest on my broad shoulders. Its talons clink against my gorget rather than prick my skin.
Night approaches quickly under the thick forest canopy and, though we are on horseback, we make it only part of the way to our destination and stop to camp. I am given a moment to reflect and, in doing so, recall that I did not tell anyone where I was going. If this anomaly does not turn out to be in any way important, I expect that Val Maxis will not be understanding of my oversight.
The men of the patrol gossip like old women when the lights go out.
“If I didn’t know any better, an’ not saying I do, command’s got their heads up their arses if they think the Duerger ain’t in on it.”
“What proof you got?”
“Proof! Don’t tell me you’re one of ‘em!”
“You think they like having a legion of stinking orcs in their mountain?”
“Who’s to say they didn’t open the gates and roll out the carpet for the bloody savages!”
“Have you been listening to Oxenpexler again? That guy is about as bigoted as they come, Ferg.”
“You’re not listening!”
“Hey, did you guys hear about the Daven Farmville?”
“Oh yeah…horrible.”
“No, what?”
“They found ‘em all turned black and swollen day before last, as if someone filled ‘em full of ink. Bodies were putrid. Had to burn it all. Not a one survived.”
“Gross!”
“What the heck causes that?”
“It’d have to be plague.”
“They didn’t say what it were. If’n I had to guess, I would say it were bad mutton.”
“What?”
“Can mutton do that?”
“Quit trying to scare us.”
They are all so ignorant that I can’t help but stir the pot, “Plague is very common in times of war. Dead bodies end up food for rats that end up in barns that hold the livestock that end up as your next meal.”
There is silence for a brief and glorious moment.
“Oh shit!”
“Have we been eating rats?!”
“The stew has been tasting strange. I told you that a week afore!”
Let them suffer some discomfort for their annoying banter.
Eventually they quiet and I am able to fall asleep. As usual, I do not dream.
The ride the rest of the way to the anomaly takes two short hours after breakfast. I notice more than one of the men seemed to be picking through his gruel suspiciously before partaking. Funny.
The dark spot, as it had been described, is still there. More than a spot, it is a dense, black mist some thirty feet across. Looking in from its edge, the visibility rapidly decreases until there is naught but pitch blackness at around the ten foot mark. From what I can see of the foliage inside the field of inky fog, it is unmarred.
The patrol is wary, and rightfully so. There are a thousand things this could be and very few of them are kind. Standing apart from them, I perform a rudimentary incantation that augments my vision so that I can see the arcana in the area. Though latent arcana encompasses all of Delkhii just outside of reality, when it is worked into the material world it leaves a distinct signature.
There is magic here.
It is surprisingly not dark. The aura is earth-based—so whatever it is may affect the world physically. It is also larger than it appears. I take quite a few steps back until I am confident I am outside its perimeter. The scouts don’t ask stupid questions like “What’s the matter?” or “Did you see something?” or “Should we move back?” They just follow suit.
Perhaps I did not give them enough credit.
I move to where I can glimpse through the canopy and I see that this field extends well above it. As I watch, a bird flies through it completely unaware. Nothing happens to it. Wordlessly, through the bond we share, I instruct my owl to scan from the sky. It launches up from the nearby tree it had been preening on. Though I cannot see through its eyes, and it cannot see arcanum through my incantation, I sense that nothing seems amiss in the area above the trees.
Gauging the intensity of the aura, I can guess that it is about a week old. Further studying the pattern of it reveals much more but takes nearly an hour. I walk all around it to be sure and then stride over to Level to report.
“I do not know what caused it. There are indications that it was invoked by at least two sources a week ago. However, its purpose is unclear. The only remaining effect is that one might feel slightly damp or slimy after walking through it.”
He gives me an expression that ranks highly on the most common types I illicit. I endeavored to use simple terminology but the look is still one of bewilderment. It is possible he might be trying to imagine what would want to cast a spell that makes things damp, but I doubt it. I don’t bother explaining that the magical residue needn’t be related to the actual effect of the original spell.
He is confused but I am displeased. This is not the dangerous force encroaching on the old wizard’s tower that I was hoping to find. It is not even of interest to the Elysian army. The trip has been a bust and I will have to suffer the consequences of my actions.
I repeat the report when Level asks me to clarify. While some of his men run through the black mist exclaiming about how refreshing it feels, I mount my horse and wait. When they have had their fill, we head back.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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