Chapter 262: Greymoor

The expedition team whispered to each other as those closest to the knight leaned forward, examining the symbol of the grinning jester.

“That looks stupid,” Grimloch growled. “I’d hate to be the one with that stupid face branded on my body.”

Through the greatest force of will Alex had ever mustered, he managed to keep his screaming inside. Thankfully, his friends kept their faces stoic: none of them gave a single twitch to reveal what they knew.

“I see,” Baelin said, making a great show of examining the parchment. “We shall keep our eyes open for this Fool in our lands, though under Generasi law—under which our lands are governed—this Fool has committed no crime.”

Sir Swift’s jaw tightened. “They are equivalent to a deserter from our armies, or worse. The warriors of Thameland are ordered to fight by our king. The Heroes are chosen to fight by our god.”

“And that is why—if I should lay eyes upon this Fool—I will encourage them to do the right thing: what is best for their lives and for those of your fine kingdom,” Baelin said smoothly, avoiding any outright lies. “Now, I do believe my colleagues have thoroughly memorised this…charming symbol. We had best be off. May our neighbourly relationship continue peacefully, Sir Swift.”

“Right, go in peace and with Uldar’s blessings,” The knight said. “May your work help bring a quick end to this cycle.”

“Indeed, and may your skill and that of your army win you many battles with little losses,” the chancellor said, then looked at the expedition. “Come, my colleagues. It is time to be off, and we do have a bit of a walk ahead of us.”

“Here we go,” Alex said, adjusting his shoulders.

“Now for the fun part,” Isolde sighed as the expedition set out. “Luthering was not close to the centre of our territory on the map.”

“That it was not,” Khalik said, drawing his cloak even tighter around himself. “But complaining about it will only make the journey longer and more painful.”

Theresa glanced at Sir Swift one more time as the expedition exited the gates of Luthering. “Crossing rough country’s worse with a bad mind. Let’s make the best of it.”

As one, the members of Generasi’s expedition filed through the gates of Luthering and stepped into the wilderness of Greymoor. When the last of their number—and supplies supported by large forcedisks exited the village—the gate creaked closed behind them.

Thm.

The bar slid into place.

Isolde glanced back at the village. “Charming fellow, that Sir Swift,” she commented on the knight. “He reminds me of an old knight who worked for my father.”

“How so?” Khalik asked.

“He was not a happy man: it honestly seemed like he had died at some point on one of the many battlefields he had fought on, but his poor body had not realised he’d been slain. His spirit did, though. A dour man to be around.”

“A grim way to put it,” Khalik said. “What happened to him?”

“A bad sickness of the lungs,” she said. “He was laid to rest three summers ago. A poor way to go, especially for a soldier, though there are worse ways.”

“With this dampness, we might share his fate soon enough,” Khalik said. “But I will keep my complaining to a minimum.”

As the expedition team trudged along the muddy road, Luthering shrank behind them into the distance. The moors spread out ahead in a grim landscape.

Dull, pale green grasses and short shrubbery grew from rolling hills and wide flats broken by tors: small mounds of earth topped by bare, grey granite. The plant life swayed in the chill wind, and Alex recognized several species of heather and heath from one of Salinger’s lessons.

An occasional scraggly, half-dead oak rose into the air looking less like a tree and more like an old monster with a bent back. It was late summer, which meant most of the leaves were still green, but some had already begun to wilt and change to their fall colours.

Skylarks and other birds seemed to be the only wildlife around, flocking and pecking at worms and other insects hidden in the wet, acidic soil. Crows were everywhere.

Screeching as the group walked by.

Grimloch sniffed. “Death. They’re eating a carcass. Maybe it’s this Fool.”

Alex shuddered.

“I’m sure they have plenty to eat, all over Thameland,” Theresa muttered and touched Alex’s arm briefly.

The group continued over the hills, and once the village was completely out of sight, Baelin looked back over his shoulder from the front of the line.

“At our current pace, it will be some five hours before we reach our border then another hour after that until we reach our staging area,” the ancient wizard said. “Step lively and make sure you keep your rucksacks centered on your backs. We will keep moving, but if you need rest, I can conjure forcedisks to carry you some of the distance.”

As he started to turn around, someone cleared their throat.

“Ummm, chancellor?” a student called.

“Baelin. Call me Baelin, and what is it?” the ancient wizard asked.

“Can’t we teleport the rest of the way?” the student asked. “Forgive me for questioning things, but now that we’ve seen the village, wouldn’t it be faster to simply teleport to our destination and get started? It would waste less of the day and we’d be less tired.”

“Do not ask my forgiveness for asking a question, my young friend.” The chancellor smiled. “You are a student as well as part of a research team: it is quite literally your job to ask questions. And as for why we are walking to our staging area: a Proper Wizard does rely completely on magic, especially when doing so could rob you of key information.”

The wizard gestured to the grim landscape: at first glance, it didn’t look like someone could get much information from it.

“By walking the distance from Luthering to our territory in Greymoor, you gain several pieces of valuable information.” Baelin said. “First, you will now know the way back to Luthering, as long as you are paying attention to our route.”

Alex saw several people look at each other then scramble to dig out pens and sheets of parchment.

“You will also learn what the terrain is like on this path and how to walk it. You will learn how long it should take for you to walk the distance between our encampment and the closest settlement, as well as how tiring the journey will be for you. If you find that your endurance wanes partway through, then you will have learned something about yourself: that you will need to build stamina.”

The chancellor reached down, picked up a large stone and tossed it to the side of the trail. “You will learn about any areas of dangerous terrain to avoid, and will have first-hand knowledge of landmarks that you can use to guide yourself back along the path. It is true, I could have simply teleported us to the site of our encampment, but then you would only have experienced the village and our destination in isolation.”

He conjured an illusion above himself showing a section of the surrounding landscape. “Through illusions, I might have shown you the path from the village visually, but that would do little to teach you about what it actually feels like to travel the route. Not to mention, a few minutes studying an illusion pales in comparison to the rich knowledge gained by living through the journey. Think of it this way: suppose the encampment is attacked.”

He made a cutting motion through the air with his hand. “Monsters are running rampant and you are cut off from magical ways of communication. Your messenger construct is destroyed and the portal to Generasi is compromised. Your only option is to ride, run or fly to Luthering. Because you did not make the journey yourself, you overestimate your endurance and sap your strength before you are halfway there. Or you stumble on a hill you did not remember was there, roll down and fracture a limb. Or you stumble into a river, or get turned around and lost if it is dark. By making the journey now, you are easing your situation in case of emergency. Does that answer your question?”

“Yes, chancellor!” The student was already taking out his notebook and eyeing the terrain to note details about it.

“Excellent,” Baelin said. “Chin up, now. We’ve miles to go.”

The walk wasn’t an easy one. Greymoor was made up of more than its share of uneven ground, wet grass and peat. At first the group distracted themselves by chatting and examining the terrain. Ripp the swiftling monster hunter even began singing a merry tune:

“Oh on a merry summer day, from me home I started, left the girls of Tuillegh nearly broken-hearted-” His voice carried over the moors and past the tors, drawing both glances of appreciation—some even joined in—and glares of irritation.

As time went on, they ran out of road and had to make their way across rough country and hilly terrain. It was about an hour in when Baelin had to conjure forcedisks for some of the less fit expedition members. Professor Jules and some of the other professors conjured their own forcedisks to float on, or summoned creatures to ride. Other students cast body enhancement spells on themselves to give them more endurance. Those who took a break on Baelin’s forcedisks thanked the chancellor profusely, while Alex found himself being thankful for four different things.

First, that he’d started building up his body and stamina when he’d come to Generasi: the walk would have been tough if he’d still been weak and unfit like when he’d first left Alric. The average baker’s assistant wouldn’t have been well suited for such a trek through the countryside.

Second, he was thankful for the magical rucksacks—they really seemed to decrease any burden on his lower back and shoulders.

Third, he was thankful he’d invested in a good pair of alchemically sealed boots: they were comfortable and warm and kept the cold and wet away from his feet.

Finally, he was thankful for The Mark: as they walked, he focused on gathering as much information about the terrain as he could, and it was already reinforcing memories and building his skill in navigating the area.

If anyone was going to get lost between their territory and Luthering, it wasn’t going to be him. He felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Alex,” Thundar pointed to a tor. “Come with me up there, I want to get a better view of the land.”

The minotaur gave Alex a look that strongly indicated he wanted to talk about more than the land.

“Sure, good idea,” Alex said, before turning to his friends. “Be right back.”

Calling Claygon, Alex and Thundar climbed to the top of the tor, away from the group. The minotaur glanced over his shoulder then leaned toward Alex. “Shit, man, I didn’t think they’d be waving around a wanted poster for you as soon as we got here.”

“I think my heart stopped,” Alex said. “The sooner we get into these dungeon cores, the better. If they find me out, I want to have discovered something to counter The Ravener. Then they might be more inclined to just leave me alone, or at least, they’ll have a much harder time trying to drag me away to do Uldar’s bidding.”

“Yeah, that’s the hope, I guess. But I’ll feel a lot better when we’ve got that illusion spell down. Maybe we should pull some late nights when we get back.”

“I’ve got it covered with a bandage right now,” Alex said. “Just in case, but yeah, agreed. The sooner the better. Thanks for worrying, man.”

Thundar waved a hand. “You worried about me when I got jumped by the mana vampire, so of course I’m gonna worry about you.” He clapped Alex on the shoulder. “We’ll get that illusion down…Anyway, so, this is your homeland, eh?”

The minotaur looked over the rough moors. “This is where you grew up?”

“No, no, Alric’s a lot nicer than this place,” Alex said. “When all this is over I’ll show you one day.”

“Thanks,” Thundar said sarcastically. “Now—this is where—according to the old stories, something murders one or both us before that ever happens.”

“Pfeh, this is real life.” Alex tapped Claygon’s side. “I’ll kill anything that tries.”

“We have reached the border of our territory,” Baelin called out suddenly. “Make note of the tor there—the one whose top looks like the head of a yowling cat. That denotes the beginning of our territory. Once again, we are now on Generasi soil. Only one more hour to go!”

The cheeriness in his voice made several muted groans go through the expedition party.

“Right, let’s go,” Alex said. “We’re almost there, now.”

“Yeah,” Thundar agreed.

As the two young men started down the tor, the wind shifted and the minotaur paused. His nostrils flared. “Hold on now…” he sniffed the air again.

A second later, Brutus started barking with all three heads.

“What is it?” Alex asked. “What do you smell?”

“Rotting flesh,” the minotaur said, quickly digging into his pack and pulling out his spyglass. He scanned the surrounding hills for a few heartbeats then froze. “Shit.”

He raised his voice.

“Hey! There's a dead body over there! It looks human!”