Orphan At The Edge Of The World
/ Orphan at the Edge of the World 11 OEW 10
They decided to give Orison the spell book from the 'assassin' in the wagon, seeing that the older mage didn't have one, as well as the scant mage-work materials. His excitement for a possible invisibility spell was short lived, however. That disappointment was washed away a few moments later when Droya palmed him a small eternium shard in secret. To non-mages, these shards where a dangerous source of great wealth but to a mage, each one was a priceless opportunity.
As Droya looked at the distracted Thorrinson, she whispered, "Do what you can to make it right with him, within reason."
At one point, Trygve recovered consciousness long enough to be assessed of the situation, share what information he believed to be important and pass temporary command to Thorrinson. Orison managed to get him to drink a good amount of water before the marshal slipped back into a pain and worry filled slumber. Despite all Orison had done for him, the marshal was far from recovered.
During his magic replenishing down time, Orison attempted to identify the enchantments on the older mage's belongings while Droya and Thorrinson discussed what they had learned.
"The magic users were all Ashlanders and the, um, other people wore the colors and markings of Martial Trygve's house. As far as he and I can gather from the bits that the scout and the marshal figured, the Ashlanders' real target was an Empire band, er, unit. Since the marshal's house head was responsible for that bit of nastiness when we picked you up, with the cart and all, they were probably sent to harass the two of you the last couple of days left and stir up some trouble once we got to Whiteriver. They must have run foul of the Ashlanders not too long before us. As bad as we had it, they probably did a number on the Ashlanders' preparations," Thorrinson offered.
Droya replied, "That was them unprepared!? Well thank goodness for small favors I guess...GAN! I hope you don't mind me calling you that but Orison said not to let you fall asleep before he could finish looking you over... How sure are you that the marshal's house wasn't here for, you know, darker deeds, Thorrinson?"
The man pondered for a moment and said, "They were equipped light. Not to say there wouldn't have been a hot head or two looking to push our boundaries but... Look, I know why you're focused on that. If I was you, I probably would be too. It's just that a group of Ashlanders that practices necromancy, targets Empire folk on Northlander soil and didn't seem that against killing in the open is bad news of a bigger nature...
"I know you don't have much to go on but the lord of Whiteriver's a fair man more than not. He might be willing to let the houses blow off their pettiness when nothing's going on but now that we got this, he'll cut through the knots quick. The good news in that is he'll be more inclined to throw the book on the table in front of everyone and slice it down the middle. The bad news is that whatever he decides will be final and he'll wash his hands of it."
Droya said, "What do you think about these 'other people'? Is waiting here until morning good enough, is it smart? Those things are less than a mile up from us."
Thorrinson sighed, looking no less worried than Droya, then said, "The marshal's had to clean up after some cultists that practiced necromancy before. He said these are acting like the ones he saw before. Without a controller they just mill around unless someone comes right up on them. If we were in a barrow or cave, giving more time wouldn't be smart because they get less confused and more focused as time goes by. But out here? The sun alone might knock a couple down and the rest will be a lot weaker."
While the two continued their conversation, once Orison felt he had enough for a worthwhile heal, he moved over to Gen. Emptying his reserves once more, he looked over the scout.
Orison muttered to himself, "Cold sweat and glassy eyes. No outward signs of infection and these shakes aren't from shock or fatigue anymore... Gen... GEN! Focus on me. Do you still hurt anywhere?"
With unfocused eyes and slurred words, Gen said, "M'neck. Tooknarrow thrr onthside."
He lifted the lantern to get a better look at Gan's neck. Sure enough, the veins were a darker shade, the most disturbing one being the jugular.
Orison cursed inwardly, "No doubt he had to take that potion or he would have been dead in less than a minute but it sealed something in and my healing suppressed the swelling and inflammation or I would have caught this the first time. Damn it. Besides my two silver bullets I only have one cure disease... F*** it. I at least have the stuff to make a couple less magical ones but he'll be dead before that would work if I try it now."
Chewing an herb he just got from the mage's loot and waiting a short minute that felt like an eternity, Orison watched Gan slowly slip away until he had enough reserve to pull out his only bottle of Cure Disease. He nearly had to force the potion into the scout who was almost too weak to swallow. Two swallows in, the scout took the bottle out of Orison's hand and downed the rest with vigor.
"Oh yeah. That one had a restore stamina on it too, instant not over time... All kinds of sad inside," Orison thought to himself as he whispered to Gan, "I know you suddenly feel like if you don't move you'll bust but that will fade in just a little bit. Sit tight."
Bright eyed, Gan nodded a little too enthusiastically while practically shoving the empty bottle back at Orison. Storing the bottle away, Orison watched in fascinated horror at the sudden bulge on the side of Gan's neck before a black arrow of sticky goop shot from it followed by a couple of wet, producing coughs revealing even more being spit out of the scout's mouth. He handed a water skin to Gan before bending to inspect the sputum, catching a strong odor of rot and a faint sense of some kind of magic that made Orison's skin pebble in aversion.
As Gan paused in rinsing his mouth out to gag a few times, before rinsing some more, Orison interrupted Droya and Thorrinson's conversation to say, "Hey, fearless temporary leader. Please check, Haver, Huhvar, your friend's body and make sure it isn't twitching. If it is we're going to have to give him his hero's pyre right here... Check for black veins."
From the wagon that Thorrinson dashed to grimly, Orison heard, "No...and really blue but he was a pale guy. I think that's pretty normal."
A bit of real world lore tickled the back of Orison's mind, prompting him to check for himself. Mixed relief and nausea from close proximity to five dead bodies, two of which were in many pieces, Orison said, "Just let him get doused in some sun before wrapping him up again. There's a bit of necromantic energy clinging to his body but not enough for it to be a problem for us tonight. If he was shielded from light until buried there's a chance he'd turn into a barrow wight, given time. A little sunlight should burn it right off."
As they made their way back to the comfort of the small fire, Thorrinson said, "In the old days, I think volva used to do that on purpose to ward off grave robbers but necromancy's been banned everywhere except on the island of Mortal Winds and Ashlander settlements as long as it stays within their ancestor worship practices... I'm starting to understand why... The kingdoms with eastern sea borders got quite a few Ashlander refugees from Mortal Winds some years ago but recently they've been moving back. None of this makes any damn sense. Sorry, mam."
With slight amusement that quickly became dour again, Droya said, "As much as I appreciate the respect, I have to agree with the sentiment."
Orison clapped his hands once lightly, drawing everyone's attention, before he said, "And racking our brains on it is only going going to make us more tired. As I'm sure none of us will feel safe to rest until daylight, I suggest we do a few things to make ourselves feel a little better."
Gan said, "I could use some tooth polishing grit and something to get this taste out of my mouth. Not to sound ungrateful but this open sore on the side of my neck doesn't feel very safe to leave that way."
Orison nodded, handing his own grit and a sprig of mint to Gan, then said, "The first two are easy, the last one... Better wash it out with the grain spirits in the healer kit and let it air dry before I magic it closed again, just to be safe. While you're gritting your teeth from the sting, ruminate on the wisdom of hanging on to the new amulet you have. It helps ward against disease. It's not that strong but often just a little bit of help is all a body really needs to fight something off.
"While I'm on the subject, mom, your ring has a weak natural healing increase enchantment and a heat resistance just strong enough to make a summer midday bearable in the shade. Thorrinson, your new robe has a passable fire resistance and a small increase to magic restoration. With a few creative alterations to dim down it's loud colors a bit and a good hair cut, you would look the part of a teacher in a school for gifted youngsters. I'll transcribe this novice spell out of the book you guys gave me, coincidentally called Transcribe, for you as soon as I learn it."
Thorrinson laughed and said, "If someone asked me before this trip if I was ready to retire, I probably would have answered them with a black eye but now? Spending the last of my good years and the remainder, keeping children from wasting the advantages that the gods gave them sounds like a worthwhile trade. Any chance you would give me a copy of your healing spell?"
Slightly aggrieved, Orison slowly shook his head and answered, "I would if I could but it's an innate magic. At best I could- I will give you a fixed version that would be good for small things. A warning in advance, though. It'll be the hardest novice magic to learn you've ever seen or will likely ever see... If you still feel serious about it, later on when I'm settled, I'll help you get started. You'll need to round out your basics and it would be a good idea to pick up Ancient Elvish script. Learning models directly without being able to read the information and notes like you did is dangerous. Many-"
With a slightly nervous chuckle in his voice Thorrinson threw his hands up and said, "Whoa, Whoa. Ease up on me. Even if I do decide to open a school, it won't be tomorrow. If you have some good ideas or things you think I should know, write it down. I'm probably going to forget half of what you've already told me... Been curious about this for awhile but I think we're close enough to ask now. Don't know if you ever noticed or not but in a crowded room our names could be confused with each other. Now I know you're not a Northlander so..."
Orison smiled wryly and said, "Sorry about that. I'm prone to take an idea and run with it... My name means 'little prayer' but depending on who you ask, it could also be interpreted as just prayer or a brief benediction."
Droya ruffled Orison's head and said, "More like little miracle. Like it's a miracle nothing happened to your short bow, little cub. I managed to salvage a couple of arrows from your smashed quiver but whatever was broken or missing has been replaced from that archer 'thing'. You're back to full kit... If it's not too- If you like, I could help get the char out of your beard and hair, Thorrinson."
Looking more pained than he did when Orison was halfway through healing his burns, Thorrinson said, "That would be appreciated. Uh, try to save as much of my beard as you can."
The rest of the night passed uneventfully. Droya took first watch for a couple of hours before Thorrinson took her place until dawn. Gan ran down quickly after the potion's artificial alertness wore off and slept like the dead until he was woken up when it was time to go, still looking a bit drawn and tired. As for the marshal, he was left to sleep with Gan watching over him while Thorrinson, Droya and Orison went to check out the four walking corpses.
Under the light of day, with nowhere good to hide, the newly undead creatures had attempted to bury themselves within the shadowed regions around where they milled during the night. Despite being separated and weakened they still had fight left in them. As if the four had some communal bond, understandable since they were family in life, once the first one was attacked the other three furiously dug their way out of the ground. Fortunately for the three living assailants, being in such a compromising position didn't allow for the creatures to do more than offer token resistance before joining the first in being dispatched.
Out of respect for the marshal's wishes, the exposed wagon became a corpse hauler complete with the heads of their fallen elf foes. Despite Orison's suggestion to wait and send Thorrinson ahead, allowing Trygve and Gan to convalesce properly, the marshal insisted on moving forward. More alarming, with the late start on the day, Trygve seemed bent on making up for lost time.
Gan seemed to be holding up alright on Trygve's horse but the marshal looked wan by the time they had settled into their last camp spot. Ample water and the soup stock Orison had warmed up with magic on the go, barely saw the marshal through a day's journey on the wagon's bench with Thorrinson. Fearing that Gan and Trygve would lapse into illness after pushing themselves so much, Orison concocted a fever reducer and mild sedative from the healer's kit for the two of them.
The next morning, when Orison found out that Droya took the second half of night duty, he urged her to take a two hour nap and damn their schedule. Since anyone who would object was still sleeping, Orison had his way.
"I don't care if we have to drive this corpse cart right up to the feudal lord's hall straight from the road to make it in time for the inheritance hearing this evening. I'm not going to enter Whiteriver with a single person dead on their feet. That old a**hat must have still been delirious to push everyone so hard yesterday. His job might be over the moment we've reached our destination but mine and mom's is just beginning.
"At first it was kind of a cute inside joke about Droya's armor but it isn't funny anymore. My calves are still aching from all the time I spent walking beside the horse yesterday." Unable to do anything meaningful or productive while he vigilantly waited, Orison occupied himself with a mumbling gripe session.
When the marshal woke up on his own, he immediately started bellowing orders. Right before he was about to lay into Thorrinson, Orison laid into him first. Stunned at the raging outburst of the ten year old boy before him, his two surviving band members had plenty of time to get out of harm's way and ready to go by the time Orison had finished his rant.
Later, sitting with Thorrinson on the wagon bench, Trygve said, "Do you think the boy's original parents were healers? He can certainly b**** like one."
Thorrinson replied, "Hard to say. The kid's too smart for his own good, more like. But still, I can attest that you had well more than just a foot in the grave by the time the scout dragged you back to us."
Trygve clenched his stiff sword hand and asked, "Is what he said true about my hand?"
Thorrinson chuckled and said, "Wasn't there. I was beating feet to be ready so you'd rather get on the road than finish dressing me down... But I'll tell you what I saw the night before last... When the scout brought you in, you were grayer than granite with barely a breath left in you and the only part left attached to your arm was your thumb and pointing finger. He's no shrine priest with the healing magic and he's no Hvarr with the 'get better' box but he did save your life and your hand. He even washed it real good for you before he stuck it back on.
"He did that after giving everything he had to throw down with a mage who could have killed us all alone if the b*****d hadn't been so damn cocky... Not only for you, he did for all of us and even your horse, all while tapping an empty keg. And let me tell you, that'll take the starch out of your drawers in a way swinging a sword never will."
Chapter end
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