A Weapon Too Free

A Question of Digestion

This is an area of hills north-west of Vellanixhal. 'Hills', perhaps, undersells how rocky and difficult this terrain is. It runs right up to the lower slopes of an impressive mountain range and is shot through with dozens of small rivers that twist and turn and merge under the canopy of old growth forest. The lower-lying areas are marsh. Frequent landslips fling rocks or mud down into the marsh and the courses of those rivers change season to season. No road could possibly be built here, and no-one has tried.

This land is not, however, completely untrammelled. There are two dungeons in the hills, both around the same distance from the town, and adventurers are sent up into this hostile land frequently. Some are sent to clear the dungeons. Others are sent to reconnoitre them and see if enough monsters have spawned to justify an expedition. The forest is dangerous in its own right; various types of wilderness monster spawn above ground.

You would be forgiven for thinking that this area stretches the definition of 'safe zone' to breaking point.

Look closer now, at a hillside about two days' of travel from Vellanixhal. It's a surprisingly short distance, as the crow flies, because progress through this forest is much, much slower than even the laziest caravan would manage on a road. You can now see bald patches in the leaves, where the rains have sent tons of mud to snap off trees near the root. Closer still, and you can just about pick out a trail where the underbrush has been stamped flat recently.

Here there's a camp. The fire hasn't been lit, yet, but it's been laid. Night comes early in the hills and it is as well to be ready. Dry wood is in short supply. There's a bear lying down near the fire.

If you move from there towards the mountains, over a rocky ridge that's covered with a thick layer of moss, there is another bare area. In this case, there's no sign of human or geological intervention, just a circle of earth covered with vines. In the centre of this circle there is a single large flower. Its shape resembles a tulip bud, pointing upwards. Creamy orange petals, each over six feet long, form an overlapping pattern with only the narrowest of apertures at the top.

Sticking out of that aperture are two pairs of boots.

If you put your ear to the flower and listened closely, you might hear Ursa's voice saying:

"I hate you."

Toolan had always told Essendra that the time for recriminations and blame was when everyone was safely back in the Guild. Arguing in the field just wasted time better spent fixing the problem.

The immediate problem was that the top of Ursa's head was pressed painfully hard against Essendra's chin. The two of them were cinched together, face to face, with the thick, rubbery petals pressing close. Essendra tried to move to a slightly more comfortable position.

"Stop struggling, it'll get tighter," Ursa warned.

Essendra tried to ignore the developing crick in her neck. She was pretty certain Ursa was frowning, even if she couldn't see.

"Well, go on," she said, into the silence. "Whistle for Butterfly or something."

"He'll never hear me. These carniferns deaden noise. They have to, because of all the screaming. Where's your mace?"

"Outside. I dropped it to pull my knife so I could cut you out of those vines. How did you get caught up in them, anyway? I thought avoiding dangerous things in the countryside was part of your Class."

Ursa sighed. Her hair was long enough to hang across Essendra's face. Ursa had a fierce sense of dignity for one so young and didn't like it one bit. She also had her pride.