A Wizard's War - 26. Crossing Paths

The wolf panted with thirst as he darted through the city streets. The city was chaotic with vendors and the layered smells of food, spices, oils, and the stench of waste. The wolf was uncertain where to go but avoided both human and serpent folk at every turn so as not to alert the citizens to their canine visitor. The desert had nearly killed the animal, but he had discovered some survival instinct that a human would have lacked. Finding water was now the highest priority.

Turning down a street the wolf sniffed at the air. Its dirty gray and brown fur stood on end as it perked up its ears. There was clearly the sloshing, splashing sound of water pouring nearby. The wolf rounded a corner and found a young boy pouring out what may have been old bath water or water from laundry. The boy’s eyes widened in surprise, and he nearly dropped the clay jar from which he was pouring. The wolf snarled and the boy backed away from the shallow puddle that was left in the dusty street.

The wolf approached cautiously and began to drink the dirty, soap water from the ground desperately. The boy risked a step forward and poured some more so that the wolf could drink greedily from the steady stream. The soap was not appealing, but the hydration was much needed after the long journey.

“Good doggy,” the boy spoke hesitantly. The wolf wanted to growl in distaste at his new moniker but was too busy drinking to correct the boy's ignorance. Then the stupid boy was patting his fur and as humiliating as it was, it was honestly kind of nice.

“You’re very thirsty,” the boy marveled at the wolf still filling its belly with water, “Maybe you’d like some fresh water.”

The wolf’s ears perked up and he whined with agreement at the idea of fresh water. He even stopped and barked once.

“Ok, doggy, let’s go to the well.”

The wolf followed the boy through the street and was led to a busy intersection of several streets which led out away from a well like spokes. The wolf saw all the serpent folk and stopped short. The intersection was too crowded for his liking, and he did not want to be surrounded.

“Come on, doggy.”

The wolf refused to move and simply used his nose to push at the boy, urging him to go ahead. The boy looked around and seemed to understand. The wolf waited patiently; sitting and panting in the heat while the boy got in line for the well. When the boy returned with fresh water, he tilted the jar so the wolf could drink some more. The wolf allowed the boy to pet him some more.

The wolf drank until it was nearly sick and then stepped back licking its chops. The wolf yawned, exposing its sharp teeth, and let out a relaxed whine. The journey had left him tired, but he was still too hungry to rest yet.

“You want to come with me, doggy?” The boy asked eagerly.

“I can feed you and…” the boy was interrupted as the dog barked twice at ‘feed you’ and then whined some more.

“Ok, let’s go!” the boy motioned excitedly.

The wolf took a step toward the boy and then turned its head back toward the intersection where the well was located. The wolf scanned the crowd, sniffing the air, trying to catch the familiar scent. After a moment the wolf huffed and cleared its nose in confusion. Had to be his imagination and followed after the boy.

Simon followed Zolgrim into the large square where the well was located. Fogrot and Rummert flanked Simon and their large hulking frames were draped in elaborate robes to hide their orcish nature. Zolgrim had supplied the cloaks so they could slip through the city undetected and continue north toward the Bastion. The best way to avoid further delay was to travel directly across the desert, but they needed plenty of water and supplies for such a dangerous trip.

They waited in line and all four filled large water skins, Zolgrim then handed his full skin to Rummert who crossed it over the opposite shoulder of the one he already carried. Simon looked around nervously, but no one seemed to notice that there were orcs in their city. Nevertheless, he was anxious to get off the busy intersection.

“I would suggest starting now and journey through the night,” Zolgrim spoke, “Tomorrow, when the sun rises, find what shade you can and rest during the heat of the day.”

“I can’t thank you enough for helping us,” Simon grasped Zolgrim’s hands and smiled.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Zolgrim grimaced, “The desert is cruel and once you reach the Bastion your orc companions will still not be welcome.”

“You have our grace-ity…” Fogrot grumbled.

“I think you mean gravity,” Rummert corrected.

“I damn well don’t!”

“Gratitude,” Simon’s smile broadened as he suggested the word.

“Yea, that one,” Fogrot shifted uncomfortably, “Fogrot will tell stories of the helpful lizard priest Zolgrim.”

“Be safe,” Zolgrim hugged Simon Kingmaker and then watched the three travelers depart across the Mythic Desert.

____________________

They crested the hill in the early afternoon. Looking down toward the Belamere River, Amos had his first glimpse of the ruins of New Mayweather. They had long since been following the trail of destruction left behind by the Order’s troops, but this sight was too much for Amos. His sister had been there, and he had left her there, directly in harm’s way. Amos began to run, ignoring the pain in his leg, fueled by adrenaline.

“Wait!” Dagon yelled after him, “It may not be safe!”

Amos barely heard the warning as he ran faster. He had wasted too much time getting here. He felt hot tears on his cheeks. He ran until he could not anymore and he was forced to retch the last small meal he had eaten with Dagon. His side cramped up and his leg was throbbing where it was not fully healed. He fell on his knees and screamed up at the sky in fury.

He couldn’t make out the streets, there was no way of knowing in which building he’d left Ellina. It was all reduced to rubble. Rocks and splintered broken wood. The bright sunny day was almost a mockery, highlighting every detail of the devastation before him.

“I’m sorry,” Dagon whispered breathlessly, finally catching up.

“I left her here,” Amos heard his voice hitch, choked by tears, “The last bit of family I had left.”

“You said, you left her with someone. Maybe they got out before the city fell.”

“Cuthbert would have died before he let something happen to her,” Amos considered, “And he was no fool.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Dagon put an arm around Amos’ shoulder, “I know it looks bad, but you don’t know what happened here.”

“I often hate your optimism,” Amos laughed through the tears, “but thank you.”

“Of course,” Dagon shook some curly hair from in front of his eyes, “Now get up, big guy.”

Amos rose and they started making their way cautiously through the ruined city. New Mayweather was unrecognizable, but there were landmarks, certain architecture and signs that Amos had used to navigate to the place he’d left Ellina. He looked for those markers, any semblance of familiarity to determine a direction to start searching.

“There,” Amos suddenly pointed, “That arched building that is still somewhat standing. It was located one street prior.”

“Good,” Dagon followed, “we have a direction at least.”

Amos climbed this way and that over debris, banging his knee on something, cutting his hand open on broken glass. There was nothing familiar beyond the arched building. He could not figure out which leveled house was the one he sought.

“If they were still in here…” Amos finally stopped and thought out loud, “They’d either be dead or buried alive beneath it all.”

“Seems likely…” Dagon nodded solemnly.

“ELLINAAA!!” Amos suddenly started shouting down toward the ruin. He kept screaming and listening for muffled sound below.

“We may not want to draw too much attention,” Dagon cautioned, “What if sentries were left behind?”

“ELLINAAA!” Amos continued.

Dagon unslung his bow and moved toward an area devoid of debris so he could see farther in different directions. He wanted to stop Amos but decided against it after seeing the big man’s determined expression.

After his voice began to grow horse and no answer ever came, Amos’ shoulder slumped and he came down to join Dagon.

“She’s not here, or…”

“No ‘or’,” Dagon shook his head, “Let’s just say she’s not here.”

“Then where would they go?” Amos wondered.

“The army definitely crossed the river here,” Dagon pondered, “Hopefully any that escaped or survived went in the opposite direction?”

“So, pick up the army’s trail on the other side and then start walking away from them? We could be searching forever.”

“Hopefully,” Dagon considered, “The army moved North. They wouldn’t dare cross into orc territory or into the desert, both options are likely suicide. The only town to the South would be Breakwhite Bay. There would be only one place to search for survivors.”

They made their way to the river, but the boat dock and the ferry were destroyed. It seemed the Order had raised some sort of rocky land mass out of the earth. The once wide river was instead a series of smaller rivulets that managed to break through the summoned barrier. The constant flowing water was already eroding parts of the dam.

“Such powerful magic,” Dagon whispered.

“You think we can just walk across?”

“That’s what they did. But the muddy riverbed will not be easy to walk through.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Maybe we unlace our overshoes and carry them. If they get stuck in the mud it will be hard walking without shoes on the other side.”

“Makes sense.”

Amos followed along as Dagon unlaced his shoes and then tied them together. He draped his shoes around his neck by the leather laces. It soon proved that Dagon’s idea was wise as the thick mud clung to their bodies and made every step difficult. Eventually they reached a rockier bed of the river and were able to make quicker progress. The smell of all the dead fish and underwater plant life was ripe. Amos tried to pull up a cloth over his nose, but it only made a marginal improvement.

“Can you tell which way they went yet?” Amos asked as he saw Dagon scouting ahead.

“Not yet,” Dagon shrugged. They both were interrupted by a sudden cracking sound to their left, in the direction of the dam.

“Fuck,” Amos groaned as he saw water begin to spay out of the rock barrier in several places.

“I think we need to run again,” Dagon spoke almost too calmly and in other circumstances might have been funny. Then they both ran. As they moved they were soon moving through water that was up to their knees and the dam began to crack and grumble as rocks slid and ground against each other, shifted by the force of the water.

Dagon was ahead and he suddenly disappeared to his waist as he reached the muddy section of the far bank. Now water splashed against him around his shoulders and he sputtered and tried to keep from being pushed under. Amos felt with his bare feet for the edge of the deeper mud and stayed just far enough to maintain a steady footing. He looped his arms beneath Dagon’s shoulders and pulled him back out.

“Thank you!” Dagon was panting, clearly he’d been struggling and pushing against the mud with all his strength.

“If we get stuck in the mud, we could drown!”

“With enough water we could swim the rest of the way…” Dagon considered. It seemed they would have no choice as the dam broke free and water splashed through unhindered. The great roaring surge was upon them in moments, knocking them from their feet.

Amos tumbled through the water, pushed downstream by the current. The water was cold and relentless as he struggled to find the surface. For several moments there was no telling up from down or to which side of the river he’d end up. At last he managed to get his head above the water and look frantically for anything to grab onto. He paddled in the direction of the far bank and finally managed to crawl his way ashore, but he had no idea how far downriver he had been pushed.

After a moment of coughing and sputtering, Amos looked at the rapidly flowing water scanning the surface for Dagon.

“DAGON!!” He yelled above the roar. He scanned up and down the bank and began shouting some more. His panic was rising and he could feel the stress rising up trying to choke him. It was like a vice on his chest and he was gasping for air. He couldn’t… just couldn’t lose another person in such a short time.

“DAGON!!”

“I’m right here,” Dagon huffed from behind Amos. Amos turned to see the slim man emerging from some brush where he must have run toward Amos’ voice. He was soaked head to toe, and his long curly hair was like a mop on his head. Overcome with joy, Amos raced toward Dagon and grabbed his friend tight, encircling him with his massive arms.

“Are you trying to squeeze the life out of me?” Dagon croaked.

“I’m sorry,” Amos let him go a bit and looked down, “I just got so nervous…”

“I’m glad to see you too, big guy,” Dagon smiled. It was such a sweet smile and Amos felt something melt inside of him. It was beyond the panic and beyond the fear, he couldn’t let another moment go by without it; he kissed Dagon on the lips tenderly.

Dagon put his hand to Amos’ chest and deepened the kiss, parting his lips slightly in a passionate surrender. The kiss didn’t last long, but it felt like time stopped, then when Dagon blinked Amos was holding him and Dagon laid his head against the broad pectoral muscles. They stayed there for a while not saying a single word. There were no words to say.

“Shall we keep going?” Amos asked when at last they parted.

“We can catch back up to the road,” Dagon nodded as he took his overshoes from around his neck, “And find which way to go.”

____________________

Connor stirred awake to the sound of a boy screaming. His head was foggy, and his thoughts totally jumbled.

“Help! There is a man in my room!” the boy was getting farther away now.

Connor had been unable to shift back, but after some food and a proper rest… he stood up naked from the small bed he’d been curled up on when he fell asleep. He felt and heard several of his bones pop back into place as they resettled into their human form. He yawned and stretched, then heard people approaching while arguing in an unfamiliar language.

Connor looked around and snatched a blanket from the ground to wrap around his naked body.

The boy was back with his father who looked with equal alarm at the hairy intruder standing in his young son’s room. Connor was forced to vacate the home dodging the father’s right hook, various thrown objects, and the mother’s wicker broom.

While he was grateful to the boy, he had nothing to offer them and his brief stint as someone’s ‘doggy’ was now over. He stole some clothes from a drying line a few houses over, they were a bit snug, but at least he was not naked. Sometimes as a werewolf you were forced to improvise.

Connor made his way through the streets of Votu N’Saga and it didn’t take long to see the massive statue of Raigar rising up over the desert and gazing down at the city below. Connor moved in the direction of the temple, not entirely sure what he would do once he was there. The second half of the Moon Stone was originally entrusted to the leader of the city, the Archfiend, but Connor didn’t think he’d easily get an audience with their leader looking like a bum in borrowed clothes.

Zolgrim felt like a new person, revitalized and reborn from his latest molting. He had a spring in his step and when Luka looked abashed for not having the floor swept, Zolgrim had given him the day off to have fun with his friends. Shortly after, the disheveled stranger wandered into the temple. His hair, beard, and face gave an animalistic appearance and Zolgrim was immediately wary.

“Can I help you?”

“My name is Connor. I’m hoping to meet the Archfiend. Or someone who knows about the Moon Stone?”

Zolgrim recoiled and looked around in confusion, then examined the stranger a little closer in his tight-fitting tunic and short pants. The stranger had hairy legs and feet with no shoes.

“I’m sorry,” Connor looked down, “There is an explanation to all this, but it’s hard to believe.”

“The Moon Stone…” Zolgrim whispered, “Is a touchy subject around here.”

“Why is that?”

“Have you been living under a rock?” Zolgrim didn’t mean to say it out loud but did.

“I’m not exactly from around here.”

“About fifty years after the last wizard war ended, there was a smaller war that was waged here in Votu N’Saga. The elves claimed this land was originally theirs before the rise of Raigar and the other gods. Before the gods gifted magic from the realms between to mankind, the elves already possessed older and more ancient magic gifted to them by nature and their communion with dragons.”

“You must study history,” Connor interrupted.

“I suppose I’ve been known to read about the histories and study various religious texts.”

“I’m not particularly well read,” Connor blushed, “I’m not sure what your story has to do with the Moon Stone.”

Connor whispered ‘Moon Stone’ in the same hushed voice Zolgrim had used to discuss the topic.

“Essentially,” Zolgrim bristled, “as punishment the elves stole the Moon Stone, which was one of our most holy relics and possibly a direct gift from Raigar himself.”

“So… some elves have it,” Connor slumped. He was hoping his journey was near its end, but it may just be getting started.

“Are you alright?” Zolgrim worried over the stranger and moved closer. The wild hairy man looked up in surprise and sniffed. Then he leaned in and sniffed more deeply.

“Excuse me?” Zolgrim recoiled.

“That smell,” Connor was alarmed, “I noticed it yesterday, but it’s not possible. He’s all over you.”

“What are you on about?” Zolgrim snarled, “I think you should leave.”

“His name was Simon,” Connor stated meaningfully and Zolgrim looked dumbfounded, losing all trace of irritation.