After word spreads that we are here on official business, the Tullikins offer us some of their produce and the use of the great, stone hearth in the common hall.
Even though we should be pursuing the goblins, Vong has a wonderful time preparing a humble pot pie and warm mashed fruit over skillet bread. It’s a little bland but better than the dried rations in my pack so I have little to complain about, food-wise. And I confirm to myself that yes, it does appear that Vong intends to cook for every meal.
An irresponsible time later, we return to the cornfield to track the goblin patrol from before. It does not take long to locate their tracks, which head off in a northeastern direction after the skirmish with us. Even though we have clear tracks, with the leisurely lunch the party took, they will have a good head start and we might never find them.
Vong ranges ahead and we move through the tall stalks slowly in order to conceal our movements. We don’t need a repeat of the earlier encounter. There hasn’t been a change to the number of ranged weapons in the group since lunch, so the outcome would be the same.
We reach the orchard with still no sign of them, but Vong declares we are still on the right track. My owl has not spotted anything but there is a stretch of forest coming up to the east which seems a likely place for them to hide. The orchard is quiet now but tools and baskets lie around, ready to be used. Freshly turned soil at the base of the trees speak to activity maybe just two or three hours ago.
We should have pushed on instead of stopping for a meal. Idiots. Neglectful idiots. At least I get paid either way. However, lack of results will undoubtedly lead to less advancement in the Corps and lower pay overall.
Rakatha, despite having just eaten, snatches a few apples from the trees and lodges one in his mouth while jamming the others into his pack. I am bringing up the rear so only I see it. He gives me a wink and a smile, as though it is our little secret. It is not, but I don’t really care what he thinks. Some sense of camaraderie will endear him to me and, if I intend to shape him into a minion, then it’s a start.
Vong catches us as we exit the orchard, out of breath and laden with thoughts he can’t wait to share.
“There’s a small copse of trees out that way. There’s a path that goes right to them. I caught movement in there. Definitely bipedal, definitely not animals. I think it could be our goblins.”
I nod, indicating that we should proceed to check it out. Apparently this is not clear because he keeps talking.
“So I think we should check it out. I’ll sneak around the far side so they can’t run away. Rak, maybe you come in from the front? Zer, do—”
“Zer Khaldun.” This boy seriously won’t learn. I suppose I will have to keep a tally of each time he misaddresses me and assign demerits.
“—you have anything that could help?”
Of course I do. Magic is amazing. “I will cast a paralyzing field which will affect all living things in the immediate vicinity. I will need to get close to do it.”
Vong gives a meaningful nod as if he has even the slightest clue about the complexities of the arcane arts.
“Voella?” At least it isn’t only my name he is getting wrong. He looks to the elf who thinks for a moment and nods.
“I will inspirit you with Ard Agdawn’s blessing and attempt to stun any who get past you.” With that she draws out the holy scepter that she wears at her waist and begins to recite mantras under her breath. I can feel the magic in the area pulled to her as she does, though it takes on a different tone. She is a cleric of Ard Agdawn so her spells are essentially divine blessings—each one a tiny miracle.
Divine spellcasters do not have to study long years in order to wield magical power equivalent to a wizard. Their magic is bestowed on them through their faith. To that point, the magic is not theirs to do with only as they please. Their patron deity will have a say in what they can do—favored effects as well as forbidden ones. A wizard can choose to cast whatever he so chooses—he is not beholden to anyone but himself. A cleric cannot cast a spell that is forbidden to her god. Nor will she retain her power if she loses her god’s favor.
I hate the idea of being at the whim of a fickle entity like a god. It’s not hypocrisy, even though I am touched by my own God and serve Him wholly. The clear difference is that they are gods sitting in divine realms of their own making and we are mortals bound to this material plane. Gods live in a dimension of their own design and will be used to everything proceeding in accordance with that design. The material plane is a playground for all the gods and entities of the outer planes. Here, their will is more of a suggestion than a rule because it is now weighed against the wills of all the other gods.
The closer a person is to a god, the more heavily that god’s will weighs on that person. A pure imbecile with no concept of divinity will have the freedom to live and die by his own designs. He may unintentionally embody the principles of some god but it is through his own choices. A cleric, on the other end of the spectrum, is given both great favor and great scrutiny by their patron god. If their god finds them wanting, it is not unheard of for all a cleric’s power to be cut off. In some cases, permanently.
Ner Ngal may have deigned to claim my soul for his own, but the power I wield on Delkhii is mine to do with as I please. I am not beholden to him for my wizardry. In fact, I became attuned to arcanum years before I was touched.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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