Farren and Rendarr scrambled to the side of the path as a horse driven cart came scurrying down the road at breakneck speed.
The cart was dangerously overloaded with packages and bundles of various sizes and loomed like a mountain over the driver's pointed hat. The driver, a young man, looked just as confused as Farren and Rendarr did. The horses seemed to be ignoring him completely and running wild.
Farren could only catch a glimpse of the words in gold letters on the back of the cart as it whooshed past.
'THE DARK SAINTS MAIL SERVICE.'
"As lousy as ever, huh," Rendarr said with a sigh.
The Dark Saints was one of the leading magical federations in all over Stormvale. They did wear dark uniforms, yes, but not all of them were very saintly, as happens in corporate organizations.
But what would that matter, as long as they had the the Council's seal of approval?
Ever since the Great War took a devastating toll over the land nearly five hundred years ago, the three kingdoms came together and outlawed the usage of magic in warfare. But organizations as such arose, aiming to utilise it in other aspects. Their motto: Improve general usage of magic to make people's life easier.
This mail service, however, completely missed the point, most of the time. Late deliveries, sorcery driven vehicles breaking down every other week was common occurrence.
"Stop right there!" Farren shouted, making a cone with her hands around her mouth. "The road slopes downward after the next turn."
"Well, I'm trying!" came the helpless driver's voice.
"Screw the packages, jump!" Rendarr said.
"And what? Lose my job?"
The poor Dark Saints worker was either going to break his neck, or dive face first into the waterfall, neither of which were very nice things to happen to someone at the very start of the day, she thought. Farren gently set down the buckets and focused her sorcery, although she wasn't sure where she was going with it. Animals were resistant to common magic.
Even if that weren't the case, facing two wild, frothing-at-the-mouth sort of horses meant certain doom.
"Should I paralyze the driver or what?" she asked Rendarr. It was only when she said it out loud did she realize how foolish it sounded. But I only know one spell!
"No? What on earth-" began Rendarr then jumped, looking at her hands. "What! Magic again?" Up ahead however, the Dark Saints worker was helping himself.
A crisp chill settled into the air. The carriage driver shouted incantations of elemental magic, swinging around a wooden staff in desperate yet calculated motions. Farren recognised some words, a sort of appeal to Edis, God of Winter and patron to wielders of frost magic.
A silvery spiral shot out of the end of the staff and struck the wheels, before spreading to the ground. The carriage came to a halt as the wheels stopped, thick ice lodged between the spokes. The driver, clinging to the wagon, closely avoided being thrown off.
"Hail Lord Edis," he said.
He sighed in relief, clutching the reins, as the horses neighed wildly.
Farren and Rendarr came up to him, as fast as they could on the rocky path.
"Are you alright . . . uh—Marinus Crowder?" asked Farren, taking in the letters on his badge. He was new. "And what happened to the regular, sorcery-fuelled mail coach?" she asked, staring at the vehicle that looked more like the cabbage carts she'd seen in the market.
"Yeah I'm fine--oh that--? That one's outta order right now, and see, I'm not really used to these, bland non magic carriages," said Crowder, adjusting his pointed hat. "Feisty creatures, these horses."
"Not only that, you're also headed the wrong way," said Rendarr. "This way leads to the waterfall in the woods, man."
"Unless you've got stuff to deliver to the forest trolls- in which case you should probably hurry," said Farren, "the village and camp is that way." She gestured to the direction where the carriage came from.
"Damn it," he said. "And to think, it's only my first day at work."
"Which explains a lot," she added, quietly.
"See if we got any mail, will you? 'cause it's clearly going to take some time to heave this," said Farren, tapping the side of the cart with her knuckles. The wheels were completely jammed with solid ice. Vapour rose from it in spirals like smoke.
"Right, Corporal," said Marinus Crowder as his eyes flicked to the insignia on their cloaks.
He took out a large scroll of parchment full of names and addresses and spread it out. "Name?"
"Farren Clearstrike."
She leaned over to look. Receiving mails or couriers was nothing new, of course; but she hadn't ever seen up close how a Dark Saints wizard actually worked the process.
Her name, written in black ink on the parchment crossed itself out, as though an invisible quill ran a line through it. A small package sprung out of the heap from the cart, and Farren caught it in mid air just in time before it could smack her hard in the face. It was from her elder brother, Finnian.
"I'd rather prefer the safe way," said Rendarr. "Rendarr Tonlin."
Crowder chuckled, then manually crossed out his name. A bundle of letters zoomed out of the pile, which he caught in mid air and handed to Rendarr.
"So, how are you going to get back?" he asked Crowder, who was now trying to perform some sort of anti-freeze to thaw out the wheels. At least it seemed he was. It was not very effective. "We could call for help. Bring you pickaxes or something. But it'll likely take some time." He looked to Farren.
"The witch-doc's house is the nearest from here," she said. She didn't know the fellow personally--hadn't had much reason to see a witch-doctor; they already had a healer at the camp. "Quiet fella, mostly keeps to himself in his shack in the woods. But he might help you magick the ice outta the wheels."
"You coming, then?" asked Rendarr. Crowder dismissed their offer with an off-handed gesture.
"Oh, don't mind me, I'll be fine. We've got people tracking us from our headquarters. They'll send for me in no time," he said. "The deliveries would be late, though."
"What a surprise," said Farren with a grin.
✦✧✦✧
"We're off, then!"
Rendarr and Farren resumed their quest, again with the dreaded buckets full of water.
As if to prove what Crowder said, they soon passed a horseman in dark robes, hurriedly headed to where the mail carrier was stuck.
The new watchtower came into sight soon after that, and that was when Rendarr tripped on a rock, spilling nearly half the contents of his buckets.
"Sweet Mother Draedona take my damned soul!" His next swears were not so religious.
While he was off shouting a series of very creative but very vulgar curses, Farren crouched down and found what he had tripped on was not, in fact, a rock. It was a package, likely dropped from the Dark Saints mail carriage.
"Look, it's a package addressed to our Commander." She studied the address scribbled over it. "Here, it's got his name on it. Brianus Karyk."
"Guessed as much," said Rendarr bitterly. "Take it along, I suppose. Though I doubt you'll find Commander Karyk at his office. Or anywhere."
Rendarr was right. Ever since he'd returned after the meeting with The Council, the commander had been disappearing a lot lately.
After delivering the water at the construction site of the new watchtower, it was another trek to their camp. Dropping both parcels on the table in the dining hall where others had gathered for breakfast, Farren sat down with a groan.
"Finally," she mumbled with her face against the table, "time for some proper breakfast."
Her eyes drifted to the package addressed to commander Karyk. The seal carried the symbol of a dagger, with the name 'Rodormann' etched in a circle around it.
Rodormann.
Her thoughts muddled by hunger, she couldn't quite grasp on why the name rang familiar to her. Then it hit, perhaps because her memory cleared up, or the mere sight of food as Rendarr returned with bowls of hot soup and bread restored her energy.
"Rodormann!"
"What're you on about?" Rendarr snapped.
"Rodormann, the historian from Valston, he's sent this," she gestured to the parcel.
Rendarr was dumbfounded for a moment, then realization dawned on him too. "The Rodormann? The old-ass vampire whose texts we've had to slog through in the academy?"
"Aye," she said, so deep in thought she forgot to acknowledge the modifier, or the steaming bowl of soup right in front of her. The famous vampire historian seeks to contact commander Karyk. Or perhaps they are corresponding.
"Told you, it seemed odd the commander kept disappearing off to somewhere," Rendarr said.
But before she could answer, a commotion broke out outside; too many voices spoke at once, while others were calling for the healer. They rushed outside. A group of soldiers, mostly new recruits, were carrying a man between them, whom they let down on one of the benches outside.
The man's face was smeared with blood that had trickled from a wound on the side of his head. Farren and Rendarr managed to shuffle their way through the crowd to have a better look.
The colour drained from their faces as they stared down at him.
"Crowder?"