Chasmira was nearly knee-deep in the mire. Her leggings and the hem of her dress were caked in green-black muck. Across the moonlit bog, she could see Hakon. His unmistakable black, pointed, pyramidal helmet rose like a spike. She heard the rumble of primordial force and a brief scream echoing.
These two had faced a hundred footsoldiers thus far. More would come.
Four hours ago, the two stood on opposite ends of a battlefield. Chasmira was dark seer to Magnate Argolvrecht and the scarlet-armored warriors that flowed like blood from a wound, out the gates of Dimol Gol. Hakon was grand executor for the Mad Prince Mirikinin and his hordes of hooded barbarians that bore spiked shields and saw-toothed warblades.
Argolvrecht was dead—torn to bits by Mirikinin's ironwolves. Mirikinin was also dead—skewered by a flurry of Dimol Gol arrows. There was no point in fighting when neither kingdom existed any longer. But the soldiers fought anyway, neither side knowing their lord was gone. When the battlefield cleared, there would not be enough standing warriors to lay siege to a chicken farm.
So they walked. The two sorcerers, through the marshland, making their way south and away from the battlefield. Deserters of a pointless war, and treated as deserters.
The chittering song of insects went quiet. Chasmira heard a burbling war cry as a hooded barbarian, covered in dark mud, leapt from under the water. His sword was raised to cleave her in two. Flames kindled in her eyes, but with a bright white flash and a roar of primordial force, the barbarian shattered like pottery before the seer could act.
"Art thou weary?" Hakon chuckled in a deep bass tone. The executor was like a wall of angular black armor over eight feet tall. He raised his iron staff back into an upright position at his side. Its three-pronged tip was still steaming.
The flames in her eyes dwindled back into their perpetual glow, each eye with a candle's flicker behind the pupil. "No, curious. I was wondering if he'd actually strike a lady unprovoked. Mirikinin's men have no manners at all."
"Nay, none. Like unto animals, all of them."
"You say that as if you disapprove of them. Are you of noble birth yourself, Hakon?"
"Thou art a jester."
"I felt like one these past six months, believe me." Entertaining Magnate Argolvrecht's mad ravings required a gentle hand and a generous amount of patience. Most of the time, her warnings were drowned in a court filled with bloodlusted barbarians. She was little more than another trinket in a trophy case, displayed to make him look impressive. "Confess. Whose courtier was your mother?"
Hakon scoffed, "Do wild boars of these very lands hold court?"
"You're kidding," she cackled, but only once so as not to wound him. "You were born here... Here, in these stinking pits?"
"Yea, a century ago, these marshlands were very fair. Feeding grounds for wild boars. Nomadic hunters did hunt and pitch here."
"How did they teach you the Arts?"
"They? Nay, not at all. When my powers did manifest, the hunters brought me to the Phrontistery of First Fire."
That was a name Chasmira had not heard in a very long time. Trudging in the thick mire, she stumbled. Her ankle had caught on a tree root for a moment. She caught herself, cursed, and placed her steps more carefully.
"The Sorcerers of the White Aegis didn't drop from the sky and into your hunting grounds?" she asked him.
"The White Aegis careth not to foster the weak. They descend where Chaos threatens, where it doth grow and then sprout out of young, rebellious hearts. For what cause doth one summon Chaos in their youth, but to destroy and control that which standeth in the way? It is this strength of spirit that draweth the White Aegis. They have crafted purposes for such, but not for someone such as myself."
"You, weak of spirit? I could hardly imagine, Hakon."
The compliment bounced off Hakon. "Thy power didst not draw the eyes of the White Aegis? Did they not send one of their own to find thee?"
"They did, actually."
"And?"
Chasmira rolled her eyes at the towering Hakon. "They should have sent two and not underestimated a little girl."
"Verily. Thy family should have brought thee to the Phrontistery as well."
"They might have if even one soul of them were left."
For a long minute after, the only exchange was the crackle of vines and squelching of mud as the two of them continued on without a word.
"Thy tale is befitting the long, dark road ahead," the towering executor said, breaking the silence. "Start with your birthplace, so that we may have enough words to match our steps."
"Ohh, now, now! We are companions of convenience. Don't fancy any thoughts that you and I will be bosom-friends when this is over and done. We'll eventually find the road that leads to Argismora—"
"Argismora? The Guardian City?"
"Yes and why not?"
"Thinkest thou—"
A loud clang sounded from Hakon's armor as a Dimol Gol arrow bounced off it. Chasmira turned, and a long stream of bright flame shot from her eyes into the cattails on her left. The scream of the archer was brief but shrill.
"Thinkest I—?" she prompted, blinking away fire.
"Thinkest thou, that thou shalt go to serve another lord? Thy reputation doth win thee easy hire."
"It is likely. The life of a courtier suits me. Even if I cannot sit upon a throne of power myself, the view from beside one is enchanting," she said, stepping over a log.
Hakon stepped onto the log and it snapped in half. "Thou sayest. But methinkest thy desires are contrary one to another."
"Why would you say such a thing?"
"Because thy reputation doth not agree with thee. The view beside a throne is splendid indeed, but better befitting a pillar or a gargoyle. Thy mind is nought. Thy words are nought if all thou doest is agree. Wilt thou never rouse another up to let thee be heard?"
"No, I don't think I ever will."
"Why not?"
"Because I deny myself the vanity of fancying things that will never be." She heard a noise, and hot streams of golden fire burst forth again. Clumps of ashes scattered across the bog, flickering in the heat. Stinking steam rose from the spot. She did not even notice whether it was crimson armor or a black hood this time.
ψ
The bog eventually gave way to a road. It was man-made, insomuch as firm earth had been moved and reinforced with large stones to create a rise several feet above the steaming mire. The lumpy, moss-covered road snaked its way through the boglands, but one could not tell north from south. Neither sun nor sky could be seen, for the land was choked with vines and gnarled trees. Hakon and Chasmira looked one way and then the other.
"Which way?" the woman mused aloud.
"Betwixt the two of us, thou art the one going to Argismora. Thou knowest not thy way?"
She considered lashing him with fire from her eyes as she glared back at him. "I don't often detour through the stinking, pig-infested bog on my way to the main road, no. I'm not sure which way to go."
"We knowwww!" a choir of high-pitched voices shouted from the bog.
Hakon whirled about, bringing his iron staff down into both hands and aiming it at the source of the outburst. The three prongs at the forked tip thrummed loudly with a rush of primordial power, ready to destroy. His grip went a little slack, however, when he saw he was pointing it at a cluster of mushrooms growing between the stones of the roadside.
"Couldn't be..."
The mushrooms tittered and giggled, with tiny black eyes peeking open beneath their bulbs. It sounded like babies' laughter, and Hakon did not even draw back his staff from the surprise.
Chasmira tip-toed off the road and knelt on the mossy hillside. Lifting Hakon's staff gently away with the back of her hand, she spoke to the cluster of tiny creatures.
"Why hello down there! Did you say you know the way?"
The mushrooms giggled again, and all began to chatter at once. They were Cloven: tiny, endlessly playful little things who began life in clustered patches like these. Fully-grown Cloven sprout their own legs and arms and wiggle out of the patch to roam free, so these Cloven had to be mere children. They were small and pale with dark green spots on their bulbs.
Chasmira waved her hands frantically at the chattering cluster. "One at a time, please!"
"You want to go to the big city?" one of the tiny Cloven squeaked.
"Or the bigger city?" another whispered, and they all gasped.
"Oh dear," Chasmira said, clasping her hands. "Eh, I want to go to Argismora."
"Argie's Moors?" one of them mimicked, sounding confused.
"She said Argo's Moolah," said another, followed by more tittering laughter.
Chasmira groaned. "It's a city!"
The Cloven ooh'ed in astonishment. "Yes, we know about those!"
"You do?"
"We've never seen them, but we have heard all about them! Tall stone trees and many many people! Noisy things with wheels, all pulled by snorting four-legs with long hair! Going to the city!"
Chasmira clapped her hands, "Oh good, yes. When the snorting four-legs pulled the noisy wheeled things to the city, which way did they go?"
"That wayyy!" the Cloven all shouted in unison.
After a short silence, "Wait... which way?"
"That wayyy!" the Cloven all shouted in unison again.
The sorceress craned her neck, looking to the road. "North or south?"
"What's northorsouth?" the tiny mushrooms asked.
Chasmira looked up at Hakon with pleading eyes.
"I shall try," he sighed.
Hakon knelt down, his armored body casting a dark shadow over the tiny things. Before he could say more, the Cloven called up to him, "Hey, you don't have a mouth!"
"What? I hath a mouth," flustered.
"You have half a mouth?"
"Nay, a whole mouth!" more flustered.
"Where?"
"Under my armor!" most flusteredly.
"Can we have armor like yours?"
Chasmira rolled her eyes, "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd swear you are a Cloven yourself under that imposing shell you wear. Confess now. It’s all right, you're among friends."
The little mushrooms squealed with laughter.
Chasmira brushed off her dress as she stood up. "Alright then, look at me. The four-legged things walked upon this road. Tell me if the way I am walking is to Argismora."
"Argues Morning?" the Cloven puzzled.
"Oh you did say there were two cities, didn't you?" She fretted. "Hakon, is there a neighboring city larger than Argismora?"
"Nay," Hakon pondered, and then looked down to the Cloven. "I pray you, little ones, tell us from whence came the travelers through here? Camest they from afar?"
"The people on the wheeled things said they came from another place, a big city."
"And they were coming here, to a bigger city?"
The Cloven all thought for a moment before all shouting "Yes! They said the place they were going was bigger!"
"The highway from Holireath comes all the way north to Argismora! What other city could it be?"
Hakon nodded. "And Argismora would be the larger city?"
"I should know! I came all the way from home to find Magnate Argolvrecht here beyond the western flats!" Chasmira clasped her hands together and rested them on her chin. "Now then, little ones! Did they walk this way to the bigger city?" and she began to walk in large, exaggerated strides.
The Cloven all laughed and exclaimed, "No no, the other way!"
"Wonderful!" She turned on her heel and waved for her towering companion. "Quickly, Hakon dear, we are going to Argismora! Thank you very much for your keen guidance, my little friends! Goodbye! Goodbye!"
