The old merchant packed his wares into a horse-drawn cart, then headed towards the valley in between the mountains. Finding her was difficult; when she used her speed, it became impossible to scry her.
A mile away from town, the birds ceased their annoying chirps. This should be far enough. He chanted a quick spell bringing back his true looks, straightening as it ran through his body. It was good to no longer be hunched over. A ring inlaid with amber on his pointer finger grew cold.
He picked up the dragon claw staff that was on his lap; twisting the claw, a water ball grew that spurted and foamed as it rotated in the palm.
Kar pulled on the horse's reins, stopping the cart, moving the staff into the air in a circular motion. A scrying window appeared, oval and shimmering on its edges. The hazy vision cleared and fixed on a small white church. It passed through the walls and focused on a woman sleeping inside. He pulled back the view and scouted the town. It's not far.
Kar cracked the reins, continuing forward. "Trot!"
He searched for the shortcut to the little grassland's town. He directed the horse onto a small pathway that went around the woods next to the lake.
The horse turned its head around, looking at him with one eye, showing its teeth, while it twitched his ears.
"Don't look at me like that!" He waggled his finger at the horse.
The horse stuck out its tongue between its lips, expelling air, while it made repeated spitting noises and rolled its eyes erratically.
"Okay, Okay! It's not like he cares, anyway."
It snorted and stamped its foot.
"You know darn well who he is."
The horse snorted again, then shook its head and kicked its hind legs.
He jolted forward. "I nearly fell; quit that!"
The horse shook its head.
"Look, we'll be home before long. I'll change you back then."
The horse turned it's neck and stretched it, coming up his face and snorted, blowing his hair back.
It took off, stamping all the way to town. It was amazing the townsfolk didn't stare at them as they neared.
She had to be made to see; hopefully, she would listen to reason. The under-gods had to be stopped. Few knew who or what Unnamed really was. He had to be freed or this country was doomed. Last time, when he talked with her, she had vanished; this time she would listen. He went over the spells one last time. Yes, they should work. Some of the best magic was the simplest, it's all how it's used.
He reached the town just as the sun settled below the skyline.
He pulled on the reins; the horse stopped. He climbed off of the cart with staff in hand, waving it in a triple infinity shape over the horse and cart.
The horse and cart started to thin out; it clattered as It fell, becoming flat like a rolled-out scroll. The end of the cart started to fold up on itself, along with the horse. Both merged into a small, square box. It rattled, wobbling on the ground. He picked it up, put it into a pocket in his robe, then walked into town.
He tossed the staff into the air. It floated beside him, while he hurried through the town.
A child ran toward him. Now what?
"Mister, spare a coin?"
The little wart. His high-pitched voice was grating. The child turned up his face with such a pleading look that he paused. He scanned the child's tattered clothing and lack of shoes. Pathetic. Doesn't anyone take care of you?
He tossed him a gold piece from a pouch. The boy caught it, grinning before running down the street.
The pocket on the side of his robe started to shake. He smacked the pocket. "Quit it!"
A faint whinny came from his robes.
"No, I haven't any sugar cubes!" The pocket bounced around, knocking him on the chin. "ow! That's it! None for you for a week!"
Several villagers passed by, faint whispers and uncivilized giggling with smug faces.
Humans, the rudest of all, it was no wonder the gods smote them so often. But, not often enough. He held down the side of his robe with his right hand, pointed his staff at them. The ball of fire shot off his staff a few feet in front of him. He straightened, glaring them down. It touched a sapling that was near them; it turned into a pile of ash.
The villagers bumped into each other, scattering.
"I love the face you all make when you run!" He slapped his thigh. Hea.
He crossed over a small bridge; across from it was the church, from his earlier vision. He stepped up to the church, waving his staff as he neared it.
The lock opened, clanking to the ground. He then tilted the staff at the doors. They groaned before hurling open.
YOU ARE READING
(On Hold)❧ Soul Tear ❧ Book One: The Last Spirit AdaptFantasy
Merryn really didn't want to steal the Book of Pordicion but with the magic runes on it weakening it was only a matter of time before the god trapped in its pages awakened. The six elven adapts said the runes would hold... They were wrong, so wrong...