The Mephit's Tales

He found Kralin largely by accident.

His progress was slow, now, slower even than his earlier stalk; he had much less idea of which way to go, and spent more time looking in side chambers. That was how he noticed what seemed to be an eating area; the storeroom was closed tight, with a pair of human guards watching it from across the room, weapons ready at hand.

They weren’t watching very closely. If they had, they might have noticed that the chains slung across it were weak; some of the links had been repeatedly heated and quick-frozen. The lamplight helped obscure the sullen glow of the metal when it was hot; the ever-present rumble of stone probably obscured any minor cracking noise the metal made as it shifted.

The temper of the iron was quite thoroughly ruined. If he hadn’t spent so much time attuned to stone, feeling his way around the lowest caverns, he wouldn’t have noticed it, but in those moments he could sense the flaws even in the worked metal. A good hard shove, with the weight of the door and a body behind it, could snap them.

Kralin was there, all right, and obviously not too unhealthy. Mulin gripped his knife. He could speed his twin’s release, take down the guards –

But he forbore. If the guards died, the one controlling them would know that someone was there, and there were only a few people it could be.

(more…)

His first shadow-step had been disconcerting simply because the world had looked so different.

This was far more so. The change was not only in how he viewed the world; the change was in him. He was, for a few minutes, a part of the living stone. He felt its pressures and tensions, he felt where it had flowed and where it had stopped; he felt where it had been cut away, a harsh edge to his perception.

Even moving through it was a strange experience. He didn’t move a muscle – his muscles, in a way, didn’t exist; they had been transmuted to stone with the rest of him. But through an effort of focused will, he could shift his own boundary, could alter exactly which portion of the rock was him. In that way, he turned to face where he was going; in that way, as he came near the far edge of the stone, he was able to get his head against it first. His head, then his eye. And through that, he could see.

(more…)

It was easy enough, at first, to tell which way he needed to go: down. There was still something about the flow of mana – it was too streamlined to be very near the source; closer to, it would have been more likely to spread and billow out, so to speak.

Which did mean that the times he took a wrong turn, he felt it before getting more than a minute or so away.

Farther down, he doubted he’d have that cue. The stone here had been worked, and inlaid with spell-forms, to channel mana to the surface, rather than letting it go straight through the rock where it might spread out prematurely; with this much power, though, it would come to a point where those spell-forms weren’t enough to contain it entirely.

Unless the spell-forms got a great deal stronger – which might not be worth the effort – the whole area around the font would be washed out. And mage-sight would be essentially useless. It was hardly much good to him even now.

He took no chances; he walked in the shadows now. He had to assume that the others knew about it – after all, Liri had.

The thought made his gut wrench. If he had to fight her…

The less he needed to fight any of his companions, the better. Even if they knew he could copy a Nightkin, they still wouldn’t be able to see him. So long as the corridor remained clear, he should be all right.

(more…)

The Sachi armourer ran a clawed finger along the leather, peering at it with keen eyes. Looking up at Mulin, he chittered something, a query.

“He asks, it is a good fit? It’ll not move on you, but not dig into your hide either?”

“No, it feels fine.” Mulin stomped around a little, the cleats ringing on the stone; they didn’t shift any more than he’d expect, for instance, his own hide to do already. “It still feels strange, but it’s not uncomfortable at all.”

“Well, we’ll be able to put it to the test soon,” Hark said. His sword was still in its sheath at his hip, but he was hefting a longspear, swinging it in his hands as one might a staff. “Caution is what we need now, yes?”

“Oh, yes. A step forward is no use if you slide back ten, no,” Sharliss agreed. “But you’ve done well with these, and this is the better time of year to be venturing into the higher peaks; there is less snow there, but with autumn cooling the air, what’s there is good and solid. The first storms should be a long while off yet.”

(more…)

Something was wrong.

Mulin held up a hand in signal, making a broad circle with it; he followed the same motion, banking away from his approach and sweeping around.

The Sachi city was below them now, a collection of terraces carved into the rock, forming walkways and buildings. It was also utterly vacant. There wasn’t a single being to be seen on any of those walkways, not one plume of smoke rising from any building’s chimney.

Their charts hadn’t indicated anything about this.

(more…)

Flying point for someone was not as easy as it looked.

Any Vhark who spent a great deal of time flying knew that it was easier to fly in someone’s immediate wake than it was to strike one’s own course. Thus, Hark, as their slowest and weakest flier, was always positioned at someone’s tail. It was Mulin’s turn to lead that formation, and it was a rather exacting process. If he flew too slow, he wasted time and risked a collision; if too fast, his ward would fall behind and get no benefit. He needed to stay more or less directly in front, not exactly by sight, but where the flow of air was concerned – which meant dropping slightly when they reached an updraft, or side-slipping against a crosswind.

For the first few hours, he hadn’t been much help. It was getting easier, although it still took a good deal of his concentration and frequent glances over his shoulder. Vhish hadn’t been able to get the knack, and Srin couldn’t do it reliably; the more of them who could, though, the more they could swap off when someone’s attention started to fray.

But for now, he was somewhat enjoying the challenge.

(more…)

The second day was easier; they didn’t cover quite as much ground, but they were in far better shape when they did set down.

The third day, grasslands gave way to scraggly trees, stunted shrubs, and the other sorts of plants that made their meagre living in a marsh.

It was harder to find enough solid ground to make camp, but at least the food was easier to deal with; fish tended to be a bit stupider than the beasts that called the grasslands their home.

They couldn’t even see the Daggerfists yet; the mountains were at the far end of the route they’d initially planned, and it would take some days to even get into the foothills.

(more…)

The first day was the worst.

They had expected it, of course; but even though the pace was gentle, the flying easy, and the rest breaks frequent, it was a gruelling pace for those who werent used to flying for any great length of time.

“We’ve only ourselves to blame, I suppose,” Mulin sighed, resting his chin on his forearms and stretching his wings out to either side; except for Liri, Kisa, and Vhish, most of them were in a similar state, and the healer was just finishing the application of some balm to Hark’s wing-bases. The Stonekin was not inexperienced at flying, but it had been a while since he last exerted himself that hard to do so, and he’d had to push that much harder than the others. “Why do we have wings, if not to fly? But I don’t think I’ve spent a month’s worth of time above ground, until we started preparing for this.”

(more…)

A touch to his shoulder brought him awake.

In the space of a few breaths, he felt ready, alert. He opened his eyes to the sight of his father’s wan smile.

“Dawn is in an hour,” Father said.

“Thank you,” Mulin said in murmured reply.

Kralin was already dressing when Mulin got his feet onto the floor. Father left them to it. As Mulin was fastening his ironsilk cloak, Kralin touched the wrist of his wing.

“Doing well, brother? I was worried about you, for a little…”

“I’m fine,” Mulin assured him. And he meant it; the past few days, though frustrating on some level to wait through, had brought him not aggravation, but renewed focus and energy.

(more…)