Chapter 20
On the sixth day of their expedition (each day seemingly rainier than the last), Ainsworth found the final spot he had marked on the map.
“Hoorah!” he exclaimed, dumping his pack on the damp earth and seeking the nearest flat, slatelike rock to sketch the ward upon.
It was the second ward placed on the lower slopes of Mount Vengeance, and Ainsworth could not help but feel a rekindled longing for Honey’s company.
They were not so far from their usual excursions, and Ainsworth knew that when he and Ashe eventually joined that route to head back toward the Misnich Inn, he’d feel her absence even more keenly.
Not that he didn’t enjoy Ashe’s company, despite her constant gibes at his expense.
“This is it, then? It’s about time,” said Ashe, panting slightly. Ainsworth suspected the shielding spell she was exerting over the both of them had taken its toll after all these days. “This spell had better work after all this effort.”
She had so far resisted the urge to wildeshift that morning, which Ainsworth took to mean she was conserving energy.
To his surprise, she had shared some insight into her ability these past few days—such as the enormous amount of energy consumed as she channeled the magic required for each shifting.
Those with mastery over magic (sorcerers like Enach) suggested that the more you used it and practiced accessing it, the more you built up stamina and aptitude for it.
Ainsworth had never had the patience to try to build up any kind of strength himself, but he could not help but think of Ashe standing day after day outside the inn, exerting her magic against the elements and felling beasts as they came her way.
Six days of being outside in the rain had nearly undone him—though fortunately it had not affected his wards.
When he had started placing the first one in a heavy mist, Ashe had asked: “Can you draw the ward when it’s damp?”
“Well, yes,” Ainsworth had said. “Once it’s done, it is resistant to the elements until I cast the spell, but the rain makes it more difficult for me to visually spot any hints of magic at work elsewhere.
” He had so far found no signs of magical tampering, much to his dismay—but there was still the spell.
“Oh, it will work,” he now said, consulting the map to confirm his final destination. “With this ward, I will create a large magical barrier that encompasses a significant amount of land before reaching the inn. If any spells are targeting the inn, my spell will detect them.”
“Seems like a flimsy spell, and you’re quite a rudimentary magic-user. We also haven’t walked around the whole mountain. What if—”
“You’re distracting me!” he said, kneeling on the ground.
Yes, perfect. This spot would do. “It is not a flimsy spell, and I may be poor at using magic in general, but I have taken the steps to mitigate that.” He reached for his pack, grabbing for the pouch of red, seunore-infused chalk he needed to bind the magic to his ward.
He felt a pang of guilt as he used it, thinking of Bren’s tale and the Skarrow Institution’s heavy use of the material.
Ashe’s cynicism also stung a bit, but Ainsworth trusted his own instincts.
Of course he was not exploring the entire mountain, nor peering within every nook and cranny and crevice.
But if a spell was being directed toward the Misnich Inn, it would have left a few telltale signs.
And if the caster—or indeed the dragon—was implementing other magic to cover their tracks, then the spell he was setting up would ring through his senses and alert him to something magical manifesting over the inn.
That would make for an exciting new thread to follow indeed.
Certainly one that would require he lengthen his stay at the Misnich Inn for further study.
He found his hand trembled slightly as he slid his chalk-coated finger across the slate to complete the ward. He was almost finished when—
“ ’Ware!” Ashe cried as a high-pitched snarl came from the rock by his foot.
Before the wildeshifter could reach him, a small set of jaws clamped down on his ankle.
Ainsworth twisted and yelped, spotting the furious, furry gnycht attached to his foot.
He reached for the scruff of its neck in a panic, remembering something his father had said about them not being able to turn around and bite you if you caught them there.
Sometimes they had strayed from the depths of the forest near his childhood home.
It swiped its little blue claws into his ankle as he hissed against the pain and reached for a handful of fur. “Don’t pull it off!” Ashe warned, now towering over him. She looked frustrated; they had let their guard down after being unbothered for the past few days. Unless—
Ah.
“I think I trampled one of its nests; look,” Ainsworth gasped, pointing at what looked like a gnycht’s hard-won collection of foliage lying in a crumbled heap in front of the entrance to a small cluster of rocks.
The gnycht reminded him somewhat of a mole in its coloring, but it was the size of a hare, it had the mouth of a canine, and its teeth and claws were infused with—
Ashe, in a brief flash of light, transformed into a rangy-looking bird of prey.
A few flaps and a cry had the gnycht frantically unclamping its jaws and scurrying toward its rock shelter once again—though not before Ashe scooped it up in her claws and flew into the sky, hopefully to drop the little blighter far, far away.
Ainsworth knew he had to move quickly before the beast’s dark magic truly set in. He cringed as he felt the throbbing of his leg and watched the blackness begin to ascend up his shin. He tried not to panic as he rummaged in his pack for his salve.
Beasts of dark magic, such as gnychts, typically brought down their prey with an essence of decomposition that was secreted from glands in their mouth and around their claws.
The salve would help disinfect the wound, and Ainsworth hoped his druid heritage would slow things down—but what he needed was Ashe’s inherent wildeshifter connection to life and nature to expel the, well, death from the wound.
She returned swiftly with a flap of wings and transformed before landing, dropping to the ground with a small thud.
Wordlessly, she batted Ainsworth’s hand away from the wound, and then she took out a small dagger and sliced her hand.
Ainsworth had expected it, but it still shocked him when she gripped her palm tight, squeezing the running droplets of blood into his wound.
It stung tremendously, but then finally—
He closed his eyes in relief as the cold burn of pain eased.
“Sorry, Ashe,” Ainsworth grumbled, sitting up. His ankle was a bloody mess, and he still had so far to walk on it! “If my blood wasn’t mostly human, my body could probably have fended off such a small bite by itself.”
She shook her head and crouched down next to him. “What a stupid thing to apologize for. No, it’s my fault. I got complacent. I should have spotted the nest, told you to look out for it. Anyway, can you stand?”
With one swift movement, she stood up and pulled him to his feet. Placing weight on his ravaged ankle sent a bolt of lightning shooting up his leg. “Somewhat,” he said through gritted teeth.
“That’s a no, then. Well, at least we’re only a day out from home. I’ll help you hobble back. Might add a day or two if you can’t keep up a decent pace.”
“Ah, that’s…a comfort,” he said, dread filling his heart at the prospect of slow days, bad weather, and pain. Speaking of—
“I want to do this spell before the rain starts again. Can I lean on your shoulder?”
She nodded, and he was grateful to stand without weight on his foot.
“I’ll bandage the wound when you’re finished, and once my blood has done its work expelling whatever’s left in there.
Then when we get home…well.” She looked up at him and gave a feral grin.
“Honey will make such a fuss over you. And if we do take a few extra days, oh how she’ll worry about you… ”
“I think I preferred it when you didn’t really speak to me,” Ainsworth hissed. Her laughter confirmed that he had not concealed the hopeful gleam in his eyes at her words. He did not want her to worry, but…would Honey care about him so?
No time to waste, then! “All right, let me do this before I pass out.”
Ashe tightened her grip around his waist as they limped back to the ward he had drawn.
She knelt down with him so he could place his palms at either side of the final ward, linking all five together.
Her eyes widened as the red powder began to shimmer and swirl.
Then suddenly a gush of air shot through the ground that almost sent them both flying back.
“You could have warned me!” Ashe cried over the gust, but Ainsworth barely heard her.
He did not often employ magic such as this—it was, despite the drama, a simple working.
But it required a degree of himself that his smaller spells didn’t, and he briefly sank, spirit and soul, into the stone beneath his hands.
Suddenly it was as though he rode the wind, his heart soaring as he flew unencumbered through sky and cloud, over the mountain, his spirit roaring with delight. He had never felt such a rush!
He did not, however, feel the telltale spark of a targeted spell breaching the perimeter his wards had set.
When finally he opened his eyes, he felt as though an eternity had passed.
“I was worried you fell asleep,” Ashe said as he took a deep, rattling breath.
“I gave it as much time as I could,” he panted, “but I felt nothing. No magic blocking me, no sign of anything heading toward the Misnich Inn.”
“Fantastic. What a productive week we’ve had,” said Ashe, slapping his back.
He hung his head in exhaustion but still found enough energy to laugh quietly. “That’s the way it goes sometimes. When you research something, you often find dead ends. Time for a change of course, I think.”