Chapter 730: A Cold Spray

Cold waves crashed against the rocky coast.

Salt sprayed through the air.

“Merry bloody Sigmus,” Alex grumbled, flying close to the surf. He glared bitterly up at the moon, wiping droplets of salt water from his face, the closest he’d been to a bath in weeks. Looking over his shoulder, he called to his companions, the only two people he'd spent time with in more than a month. “Do you see anything?”

Birger floated over the rocks on the beach: the giant’s form was silhouetted in the light of dusk. Alex could only see part of his face in the shadows, but his expression didn’t look pleasant. “I don't see a blasted thing,” frustration was clear in a tone as hard as flint.

That frustration had only grown in the past few weeks.

Alex shouted up to Bjorgrund who was scanning a cliff further away. “You see anything, big guy?”

There was a long silence. The young giant’s hulking form hovered in front of the cliff. He neither moved nor answered. As the silence stretched on, Alex allowed himself a small, growing spark of hope. Maybe he’d found something on this hostile island of sharp rock, slush and snow. Maybe he’d found the sanctum at long last. Maybe they could get inside and he could finally change the Mark then stop the Stalker and the bloodthirsty secret church. Maybe they’d be able to go home.

“No, it was nothing.” Bjorgrund matter-of-factly crushed Alex’s hopes. “I thought there might've been something up here, but it's just an old bird’s nest.”

The young wizard barely resisted screaming.

“I-I’m sure we’ll find it soon. We’ve almost searched the whole island.” The young giant offered; notes of apology and hope in his voice. There was an optimism in his tone that sounded more than a little forced.

“Son, we've searched this cursed island three times already,” Birger said. “We've had to dodge that church twice as many times as that. They’re more dogged than rabid wolves.”

“But not every corner! We haven't searched every corner!” Bjorgrund insisted.

“I'm pretty sure we have,” Alex muttered under his breath, then out loud, “It's getting darker and we don't want to be around here when we can’t see what’s around us. The church keeps getting closer.”

“Right,” Birger muttered, floating over to Alex. “I suppose it’s off to another cave, then.”

Father, son, and the Fool of Thameland linked hands then teleported away.

In the distance, a spyglass surfaced from beneath icy waves, protruding from a strange underwater contraption. It was an object fashioned of steel and shaped like a long barrel, fitted with ballasts and magical glyphs inside to keep it afloat and circulate clean air inside the strange vessel.

Inside, a man’s eye was fixed to the bottom of the curved spyglass, watching Alex, Birger, and Bjorgrund. He spoke to a woman sitting at the controls of a large magical device. “You can tell Warder they haven't found it yet.”

###

“How are our supplies holding out?” Alex asked, crouching by a fire in a wooden hollow. The group was camping in the hollow of a titanic, petrified tree, deep within an ancient forest.

Birger made a face as sour as vinegar as he dug through the bags, dumping a pile of potatoes on the ground. “Low. We're going to be needing food soon.”

Alex sighed. “We’ll have to make a quick food run for tomorrow morning.”

“Oh? What are we stealing this time?” Bjorgrund asked hopefully. “That side of salt pork we had last time was good.”

“For the first four meals of it…” Alex slumped against the petrified wall, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard, uneven surface to rest against. It was futile, but he’d been no stranger to futile endeavours lately.

“Try to get us some vegetables this time, I don't want us getting scurvy before we find the sanctum,” Birger said. “If we find the sanctum.”

“We will. I know we will.” Bjorgrund peeled a potato, impaling it on a sharp skewer and setting it above the fire. He began peeling another one. Alex glanced at their remaining potatoes—a small pile compared to how many there’d been a week ago—and joined Bjorgrund in the tedious task.

Birger took a potato from the pile.

The trio worked in silence, the only sound in the hollow was their breathing and knives cutting away potato skins. Every now and then, they’d glance up at each other, not trusting themselves not to voice the thoughts brewing in their minds.

The ancient firbolg broke the silence. “Do you think Warder lied to you, Alex? Maybe he gave you a false map?”

Alex’s sigh was deep and exhausted. “I hope not, Birger, I just hope not. I’m willing to call the island a lost cause: I don't think the sanctum's there, which only leaves one more place on the map for us to to check. It’ll be there.”

“How can you be sure? Maybe he just gave you a fake map to make you go away.”

“I damn well hope not.” Alex muttered. “If the map’s fake, that means we wasted a month and a half, and we'll have to start all over again.”

“So, what do we do if it is fake?” Bjorgrund asked.

“I'd have to go find one of the guild members, and have a long, pointed conversation with them. Actually, conversation's not the right word: I'd be doing a lot of asking, and they’d be doing a lot of answering, if they know what's good for them.” Alex said, almost hoping the map was fake. He knew his thoughts weren’t rational, but he really wanted to take his frustrations out on someone at this point.

The young giant finished peeling potatoes, then leaned back, taking up his axe. It was brand new: the old woodcutter’s blade he used to carry had broken weeks ago and Alex had stolen this new one for him from a golem-armour workshop.

It was much larger and heavier than the old one, it had a sturdier edge and was far better crafted. An enchantment of durability and precision had been placed on it.

“How are you liking the new axe?” The Thameish wizard asked.

“It's good!” the young giant smiled. “Cuts better, it's heavier—which feels good in my hands—and it's a lot better balanced. I almost feel bad for using such a nice weapon as a tool.”

“Be thankful that all you need to cut with it is wood and ice,” Birger said. “When that axe has to taste blood, it'll mean the church has caught up to us.”

“That's true, father.” Bjorgrund’s shoulders slumped.

Alex was about to say something, but words failed him. After all, the old giant was right.

Instead, he reached across his link with Claygon. They’d spoken early that morning, when they’d wished each other a Happy Sigmus. Claygon had told him how things were going in Generasi, and the news had been bittersweet.

His friends’ hunts for dungeon cores were going well, with Theresa, Grimloch, Kybas, and Thundar, regularly harvesting the valuable material. Selina’s tutor—a grad student from Generasi—had finished the lesson plan for the fall semester, and she and Selina were getting along well, especially since she was a fire mage.

Life in the countryside villa was comfortable, according to Claygon, though some days were easier than others. There were days when Selina, Theresa and the others were fine, and others when much of the day was spent missing and worrying about him.

It was good having Theresa’s family there with them, and the cabal came by for regular visits. Today, they were celebrating Sigmus in the villa, and—as much as it hurt him to miss that—Alex was glad they were all together.

Not all the news was good, though.

Professor Mangal had summoned many powerful spirits to locate Alex's pursuers. After she’d sent them off into the world, the church’s attacks had decreased for a time. Yet, the spirits had never found them, no matter how long, or how far they’d searched. The church was as elusive as they were dogged.

Claygon had given him more bad news. Letting him know that Toraka’s supply of golems was rapidly decreasing.

Rumours had spread that the Heroes of Thameland were on the hunt for the Ravener, wanting to destroy it to end the cycle. The rumour had sent interested clients into a buying frenzy, wanting to lay their hands on their very own golem infused with dungeon core essence, before they were gone from the market for good.

The golems were selling at twice to three times the rate they were before Alex had left, which was filling both his and Shale’s coffers, but depleting their supply at a worrying rate.

According to what Toraka had told Claygon—if the golems continued selling as well—their entire inventory would be gone in a little over six weeks or so.

Of course, Alex hadn’t found a safe workshop to make more golems in. He’d come up with a plan to transport them to Generasi from the Empire: when he finished crafting them, he would teleport them to a remote area of the wilderness in the Rhinean Empire. From there, members of Lucia’s crew would collect them, and transport them to Generasi and leave him the supplies he would need.

The plan wasn’t complicated, and through Claygon, he’d talked it over with Lucia and arranged the transportation and supply drop…back when he thought he'd find the sanctum sooner, not later.

Now, here he was, with a good plan to transport golems, but no place to make them. For a few desperate moments, he’d considered breaking into a workshop in the Irtyshenan Empire and helping himself to every tool he’d need to set up a laboratory in the wilderness.

But, he knew there’d be a couple of problems with that idea.

First, it would only get more hunters after them. The church and Stalker were hunting them with the single-mindedness of bloodhounds, but they weren’t the only ones combing the Empire, on the lookout for transgressors.

The theft at Brightfire was no small thing; and of course, it hadn’t been ignored by the authorities.

Whenever the young wizard had gone to a town to either steal, or buy supplies, he often spotted imperial agents questioning the townsfolk, looking for information and suspects.

So far, their searches hadn’t turned up anyone, but Alex didn't want to catch their attention. Already, stealing Bjorgrund’s new axe had come with risks; but, stealing enough machinery and supplies to outfit an entire golem workshop, would bring far more attention than they could afford.

Yet there was a bigger obstacle he had no hope of overcoming.

Time.

To be able to craft a golem, he would have to stay in one place—working day and night in a laboratory—to finish it. In the last month, he’d learned what staying in one place meant. It meant the church would find him, as surely as if he’d summoned them.

Unless he found a secure place and the church and Stalker were dealt with, he wouldn’t be crafting golems anytime soon.

‘If only I could figure out how they’re tracking me,’ he thought, his teeth clenching in frustration. ‘I've tried everything I know to get away from them; magic, hiding, and nothing’s worked. They always find me. The only thing that sort of worked is staying on the move.’

He bit his lip.

‘The only reason we've been able to keep ahead of them is because of the Traveller’s power. They have to use the fae roads to get around; which is faster than going overland, but it’s a lot slower than teleporting. One day, though, we could make a mistake and they’ll corner us.’ he thought. ‘There's already been too many close calls: the last time, if it weren’t for Birger’s wards, we’d be dead.’

He stared into the fire. ‘There's one more place on the map that we have to check, and if Kelda’s sanctum isn't there…by the Traveller, please just let it be there. I need to change this Mark. I need to be able to defend myself against the church, the Stalker, the Ravener...all of them. I want to go back home. I want my damn life back!’

With a growl he reached into his pack, taking out the soul blade and the bottle. The container was closer to being full of soul stuff: ironically, thanks to the Mark, as well as time and practise, he was now much better at harvesting material from his soul. He’d had little time to make potions, and even less to practise spells, but he had had time to get very good at two things.

Using the Traveller’s power, and excising bits on his own soul.

By now, he could cross the entire Empire in a single jump. The young wizard was sure he was only weeks away from teleporting from the Empire to Generasi in one move.

‘When it’s safe, I’ll be able to go home with a single jump, and maybe by then, I’ll have enough material for my artificial mana pool. But, none of that's going to help me if we can't find the sanctum,’ he thought. ‘Soon, it's got to be soon. We’ve checked three places so far, which means there’s only one left. By this time next week, we should have found it. I'm sure of that. It has to be.’

###

Author's Note

Hello thirty-seven cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!

Alex's harvesting his soul and getting better with Hannah's power, but suffering for it. Also the beginning was something of a punchline. A dark one.

Back in World War I, a common saying at the start of the war-promising quick victory-was "We'll be home by Christmas."

That uh...that did not happen.

That always rolls through my head for difficult situations that one thinks might be easy at first.

Cya tomorrow!