Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 34

The mage was close, readying a spell so strong she felt its jolt right down to her bones. He had outrun the soldiers of her squad, leaving them behind, someplace far in the vast woods.

Farren did what he would not expect a sane person to do-- not in this untimely return of winter, in the face of the onslaught of the north winds.

She leapt from the edge of the crest, and dived into the plunge-pool.

Even as she hovered in mid air, she heard the mage utter a scream-- not in anger or frustration, but in agony.

A dying roar.

Someone had attacked the Council Mage.

Ice magic erupted behind Farren, but she did not have the chance to take a look at the mysterious wielder of ice who had apparently come to her rescue-- for the next moment, glacial water assailed all her senses as she plunged into the depths of the pool.

✦✧✦✧

Stunned silence ruled above the crest in the wake of the fading ice magic. A few heartbeats later, hooves clattered off into the distance. Whoever had the ice-wielder been, they were riding away from the scene, fast.

Crouching chin-deep in the water, Farren dared a glance above, peeking through rows of frosty cattails. No one in sight. The soldiers chasing the mage had long since been left behind.

After many a minutes of silent observation, she dragged herself out of the water.

In her heart she knew this was not over. It wouldn't be long before the news would reach the Council and soon, to King Forthwind himself. When they came looking for her in hundreds, quested forth with their sorcerous senses, where would she run?

Even if the entire encampment stood up for her, would they hold against high mages and sorcerers? Gods, all I did was help save a friend's life.

You tell me, Unnamed Lord, did I do wrong to deserve this?

There she stood, sopping wet and shivering, staring at the statue she so admired, and the stone sculpture stared back with his oblivious gaze. The day had bled into a crimson dusk, snow shimmered pink in the setting sun.

No one answered.

"Very well," she said, wringing water out of her cloak and draining her boots.

The only good thing about this situation was that she had not frozen to death...yet. The immortal soul seemed to perform some extent of work to keep the body it occupied, alive. At least somebody's doing their job. Praise be to Atruer.

A storm howled within Farren, heart heavy with the anguish of landing herself in yet another misery.

But her stomach howled louder.

If she'd learnt anything from the schooling she was given during her time as a recruit, wallowing in self-pity was to be placed on top of the hierarchy of necessities. Some scholar's theory they had had to slog through on that one, but she'd retained the gist-- sulking is a luxury better done with a belly full of food and a roof over one's head.

And thus, drying off her clothes was the least of the problems. Now that dusk had begun to descend upon the woods, she needed some place to hide-- to rest her overworked limbs. Heavens knew she could run no more. And as for sustenance--

Remnants of the tributes offered to the Unnamed the day before lay scattered across his pedestal, some of the fruits and berries still salvageable.

"You can't possibly curse me more than I already am, can you, O ever-silent local deity?"