Cockblocked
When on an assignment, it’s important to keep your gear close and in good condition. Magic is versatile, but having mundane necessities at hand is an easy way to conserve spells.
Magical Tactics by Eroland Lockhart
THE ROAD THROUGH THE mountains is just as long as I remember it being and twice as boring. It’s hard to believe that it’s been a little less than two years since I hitched a ride with that caravan to come to the Crux. It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then. In a way, I guess it has.
Two years ago, I was no wizard. Hadn’t even known how magic was made.
I’d been poor and desperate, in search of anything I could grab onto after the hunting accident took away my livelihood.
And then I found a new home and so much more with it.
I’ve gained three magical masteries, traveled across the entire continent.
At the Crux, I found friendship and belonging and love.
And after nearly a week on the road, I realize just how lonely I feel without all of that.
Every night gets a little colder as I head further into the mountains, and in the evenings when I get settled down, I find myself longing for Olbric’s warmth a little more. I always stay up, waiting for a sending, but so far, another hasn’t appeared.
I dream about him often, reliving the memory of his kiss, the sound of his laughter.
But not all of my dreams are as sweet. For the most part, they’re just...
fucking weird. Lucien hasn’t shown up in more than just flashes.
His face looks more filled out. He starts to look a little less like a corpse, but only barely.
Instead, the focus of my dreams is those magiline pillars.
They’re far bigger than divining pillars, but the way they’re crossed makes me wonder if they could be used like that.
Yet the pillars at the Crux have been...
softened with the amount of time people spend touching them.
Even when they’re not in use, they glow with colors like the ribbons that hang in the winter sky.
But the ones I keep seeing, crossed like the abandoned swords of giants, have a sharpness to them. There’s barely any color in the shine, but they glow brilliantly. Like the Crux did when Arlon locked it down after the attack in the square.
Somehow, they feel... new.
I’ve started writing my dreams down when I wake up in the mornings before they can fade. The frantic notes that I write in the little notepad I brought along only make half-sense, but reading Solena’s journal has made me realize that I should probably try to keep some record.
If there’s one thing this trip has given me, it’s time to think. And I have to believe that if I’m not losing my mind, I’ve got to be seeing this shit for a reason.
It’s almost a full week before I finally reach the end of the narrows and the logging town of Crofton. It’s one of the bigger towns along the foothills, and I choose the larger of the two inns, in part because the beds are nicer, and in part because a busier inn makes it easier to be forgotten.
If Olbric’s right, if someone’s tracking me from the Crux, I need to make myself hard to find.
I get a room and hot dinner for a silver, feed and shelter for the horses for another two coppers.
An extra copper gets me a hot bath, and fuck, but I’m glad Galiva showed me how much of my stipend I should be putting aside every month.
Before the Crux, I was grateful to be able to afford a bed, but I’m not mad about having the extra coin to enjoy a bath.
I soak my travel-weary body until the water goes cold.
Once I’m clean, I head down to the main room. I’m not exactly feeling social, but the temptation of a hot dinner is strong.
It’s a busy night, and the room is packed full of loggers talking and laughing loudly over their beers.
This time of year, lots of folks move around as the logging operations wind down for the season and merchants haul off cartloads of lumber.
It’s an easy task to get lost among the crowd as I slip into a vacant seat at the corner of the bar.
A moment later, the innkeeper slides a hearty bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread in front of me. “Where you from, lad? Don’t think I recognize you,” the kind old man says, though I wish he hadn’t. On top of the need to keep my head down, I don’t much feel like talking.
“Airedale,” I say. “Just heading back home for the winter.”
The bartender nods with passing interest before he’s called off by someone further down the bar. Then, a mandolin strums from the far corner of the room, and the familiar sound sends a thrill up my spine.
I whirl, eyes going wide as the last person I expected to see mounts the slightly raised stage.
Vanya’s so short that I can barely see her through the throng of burly loggers, but I could never mistake that mischievous smile.
Folks pay only passing attention as she gets set up, strumming another chord as she adjusts the pegs of her instrument.
She lifts her head to scan the crowd but she finds me like she’s been guided by a lodestone.
She props her mandolin against the wall before she bounds off the stage towards me. My bad mood vanishes as she all but throws herself into my arms. I catch her with a laugh, hugging the little faenskamend tight.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” I say as I set her back on her own two feet.
“Could say the same ta you, wizard,” she says breathlessly, her eyes bright.
I put my finger to her lips, shushing her as a few curious eyes look our way. “I’m nobody right now, yeah?”
She raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Is that so? Or is it that you just don’ want me to sing Bandit Layer? Some of my finest work, y’know.”
I laugh even as I try and figure out why she’s here. “Are you heading into the mountains?”
She pulls her coat a little more firmly around herself. “Going to Frostcliff for the winter. Ain’t never been that high before. Since Jessic was heading up, I figured I’d join for the season.”
“Wait, is he here?” I ask.
“Somewhere around, yeah. Norrial and Thallan, too, though I think Keshk already went to bed,” she says. “Bunch of mercenary groups are going to Frostcliff, and since the tradin’ season’s over, Jessic and his decided to head up.”
My stomach lurches uncomfortably. “What’s going on?”
Vanya shrugs. “Something about Frostcliff wanting extra hands. Not sure why.”
Olbric had told me about the intercepted Immen scouting party, but if Frostcliff is bolstering their numbers, they’re preparing for...
something. Some folks from Airedale go to Frostcliff for patrols, but it’s usually to help maintain the roads, not fight.
But if mercenaries are heading up the mountain, I’m walking into a worse situation than I realized.
When officials start showing up in the mountains, folks get nervous.
We’re used to being left alone by the Crown and the Duke in Frostcliff unless trouble’s brewing, but if people with swords start marching through, some folks get up and leave altogether.
Which is a hell of an issue if my mother turns out to be one of them.
“Why’re you here? Last I heard, wizards were stickin’ close to the -” she says, and I smother her with a finger all over again.
“Look, I’m not supposed to be,” I say in a low voice. “And I’m trying to make sure no one remembers me being here.”
With an impish smile, Vanya’s tongue traces my finger. I pull my hand away, shivering at the sudden rush of heat as she purrs, “Ooh, a runaway, huh?”
My cock gives a disappointed throb. It’s been less than a week, but dammit, Vanya’s a reminder of a lot of what I’ve been missing. “Guess you could say that. So you can play Bandit Layer, just don’t single me out with it, yeah?”
“You have my word, Dominai,” she laughs. “Will you stick around after the show?”
I should say no. Whoever’s been sent after me will almost certainly stop in Crofton. I need to watch my back.
But... if I can get Vanya on hers, she can watch mine for me.
“‘Course I will,” I say with a wink. “And if you see anyone with spells come in, try and point them out.”
“I can’t see shit from that sorry excuse fer a stage, but I’ll do my best,” she says before she sweeps back to her abandoned mandolin.
Just having a friendly face to talk to has shined the sun on my mood. I’m able to relax a little as I settle back against the bar to scoop up my dinner again.
Vanya starts plucking out the familiar tune she uses to warm her fingers up as I scan the crowd for any one of Jessic’s crew.
I want to know more about what’s bringing them to Frostcliff, but Vanya’s playing has made the folks at the table next to me raise their voices just enough to let me overhear.
“- sure to have your guard up,” the man says. A merchant by the looks of him. “There’s talk of all sorts of nastiness happening further up in the hills.”
“Bandits?” the small woman sitting with him asks.
“Always.” The man spits into his empty cup in disdain. “Some new crew’s rolled into the area. One of my wool suppliers says they’re chasing off anyone trying to use the northern road.”
“Idiots,” his companion scoffs, and I can’t help but agree. The northern road is the only official road that stretches over the mountains from Straetham to Immenbach. It’s also the highest road through the mountains, and after that storm, it’s got to be coated in snow.
“Hey, look on the bright side,” the man replies. “Maybe the damnably early winter will freeze ‘em out. That storm cut my season short by nearly a month!”
Their conversation wanders to produce, so I turn my attention back to Vanya. She finishes her warm-up, but the crowd still seems pretty cold to the bard. That is, until she strums the beginning chord of a song.
It’s one I recognize from the road. An upbeat tune about a milk maid. Her voice cuts through the din of chatter, and it seems to surprise the disinterest out of folks. Eyes turn to the stage, and the mood of the room immediately warms.