2. Chapter 2 #2
Right. “Just in case, we’ll start from the beginning.
As you may already know, there are well-guarded fortresses all along the northern coastline.
Each fortress was built to battle a specific creature—the Drachifel.
Gravegarde was one of the first of these fortresses erected in the country, in fact.
The Drachifel—or man-eating creatures, as you referred to them—have nests all along the northern coastline, as they like to burrow in the underwater sea caves that plague the cliffs.
Try as they might, our ancestors found it impossible to completely eliminate them, so the fortresses have remained occupied to at least keep the Drachifel in check.
The term Bastion is derived from the defensive structure surrounding each fortress, but the word has been used in more recent years as a title of honor.
My family has been managing Gravegarde for generations.
Alongside the other fortresses, we help to prevent the rest of the country from being overrun with these pests.
Your predecessors helped with this task by bolstering our ward”—barely—“and I can assure you, the Drachifel are still very much a threat to our borders and not some creature of legend.”
Rowan rarely found himself in a verbose mood, so his wordiness surprised him. He glanced in Mage Tob—ahem—Milo’s direction, somewhat worried he’d just scared the mage off the assignment.
But instead, he got an “Ooh, bitch, this next year just got a lot more interesting. You said they’re water dwellers, right? Now that you’ve said the name, I think I remember studying something about them at the academy, but I’ve slept since then, so refresh my memory.”
“Water dwellers, but they can come up on land.”
“Shit. Uh, and to clarify, even with magic handy, eradicating a nest…?”
“As I said, they dwell in the underwater caves.”
“Got it. So unless we grow gills, we’re not going to be able to eradicate the nests.
Magic can’t sustain proper oxygen levels for long, after all.
Phew, your fortress needing a ward now makes perfect sense.
Soooo I’m going up to do just the ward, like the other mages?
But now that I’m hearing you, it seems like the bare minimum.
I mean, I can fight the things, for sure—”
Rowan’s hope rose once more. Could the gods really have sent them a high-ranking mage who could also fight?
“—but generally speaking, no one asks me to fight. It’s kinda mean.
I want to bonk, too! But no one looks at me and thinks wow, let’s take him into battle.
But, excuse you, I placed top of my class for offensive magic.
Well, not that I get to use it much. Anyways, what was I saying again?
Oh, right! Surely you don’t only need me on the ward. ”
“Just renewing the ward on the fortress,” Rowan confirmed.
Well, there were other things needing to be done, but so far the Council’s mages either hadn’t stayed on long enough to help with such tasks or they’d whined about additional work.
Milo didn’t seem particularly concerned about the Drachifel, but Rowan didn’t want to scare him away just yet.
Milo didn’t seem ready to let the topic go and pouted. “But I’m stationed up there for a year. Wards don’t take a year.”
Rowan capitulated. “Fine. You’re also acting as healer for those of us who fight against the Drachifel.”
“Ah. I mean, I do have a wide array of potions, located in the blue trunk, for reference. I’m quite good at healing. Huh, okay, my appointment up there makes more sense now. I can fight, too, though. Do keep that in mind.”
Despite his desperate hope that Milo’s words were true, Rowan really, truly could not see this wisp of a man as a fighter. He didn’t mean to challenge Milo, but he had to ask, “What are your offensive spells?”
“Sacred Flame, Array of Darkness”—Milo ticked things off on one hand, closing each finger as he went—“and Lance of Light, to name a few. I also have support spells. Augment spells, for instance, or barriers I can throw down so people can retreat to somewhere safe if they’re injured.”
Rowan stared. Milo could…what?
Seriously?
Rowan wasn’t a mage—he didn’t have a magical fiber in his being—but he knew the attack spells.
Mostly because he fought alongside mages on the regular.
Well, he had growing up. The mage who had lived with his family had been a good one.
Not very powerful, as Mage Harold had only been a Fifth Circle Mage, but he’d been willing to fight alongside them.
When Harold passed, he’d left quite the hole in his wake.
As a native of Gravegarde, he’d been willing to live up there full time and had been like an uncle to Rowan and his siblings.
In the seven years since Harold’s death, they’d struggled to find his replacement, as the Council mages sent to replace him were quick to run.
But because of Rowan’s experience with a truly competent mage, he knew something about attack spells. Sacred Flame was one of the hardest spells because it took amazing control and an insane amount of magical power. This waiflike being housed that kind of firepower?
“How many times can you use Sacred Flame?”
“Uhh…is this a trick question? I mean, I can use it until I run out of juice.” Milo seemed to think on the question, eyes on the fluffy white clouds overhead. “Probably a good fifty times before I have to stop for a breather. Not that I’ve counted? That’s just a guess.”
Fifty times.
Fifty times?!
Holy shit. He was far stronger than he looked, which relieved Rowan.
He’d been worried about Milo because Gravegarde wasn’t an easy place to live.
The attacks from the Drachifel could be nonstop in the spring months, so a mage with stamina fared better.
Rowan suspected the previous mages’ lack of stamina had led to them being so adamant about leaving.
Few had the fighting prowess to comfortably face down constant threats.
Well, that and the weather. Gravegarde stood proud on her cliffside perch, but she became downright inhospitable in the winter months.
Many a mage sent to them didn’t last six months before fleeing back south again.
Milo seemed to read Rowan’s disbelief because he grinned, all cocky and somehow cute. “I can pull my weight, don’t worry.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” Rowan surveyed the flat terrain and trees around him as he tacked on, “We’re likely to see bandits on this road, but they normally don’t bother me.”
Milo nodded. “You do have a fuck with me, that’ll be fun kinda face.”
“But you’re not afraid of me.” Which now made more sense, if Milo was so battle ready.
“Eh, no, not really. You’re too sexy to trigger flight instincts.”
He was, uh, what?
Rowan had never in his life been accused of being sexy. Maybe the Council really had sent this mage because he was crazy. That would explain a lot.
Shaking his head, Rowan focused on what he meant to say. “If we’re attacked, throw down a barrier first. I don’t want the cart stolen.”
“Oh. Yeah, great idea. I’ll ward our campsite at night too.”
“Appreciated.”
“So aside from the Drachifel and healing, anything else? Oh, and I meant to ask earlier, but can I call you Rowan? People down here are such sticklers for formality and titles, but I’m not sure how you northerners do things.”
Rowan fought to keep his expression neutral but felt pleased as he answered. “Just Rowan is fine. Yes, healing and warding are the main problems. Another is the weather. The ward currently helps mitigate some of the damage, to an extent, but there’s not much else you can do there.”
“Eh, maybe yes, maybe no. Kinda depends.”
Now that made even less sense. Rowan turned in the saddle to squarely face Milo. “You can do weather magic too?”
“Uh, not like you mean it, but I have spells to mitigate storm damage. Assuming I can prep ahead of time and cover the right area, y’know. I could bolster the magic already woven into the ward.”
If Rowan guessed correctly, Milo had an incredible amount of magic prowess.
Was there anything he couldn’t do? Actually, with Milo’s litany of spells and abilities, Rowan’s next question was why the hell this talented man had been sent to bumfuck nowhere.
Rowan loved his home, he did, but he was under no illusions.
They were far off the beaten path, and most southerners viewed the north as less than.
Unlike most of the other fortresses up north, Gravegarde was at least a duchy, but it had been on the decline for the past seven years or so due to multiple issues cropping up at once and not enough manpower to go around.
It was part of why Rowan was so anxious to get that damn ward fixed.
He couldn’t begin to focus on all of the other problems until his home was safe.
“Milo. Why were you sent?”
“Ha, you do catch on quickly. Yeah, someone like me, I could pick my duty station.” His chest puffed out in pride, and for a moment, his smile shifted into a smirk.
Then he slumped in on himself and groaned.
“Powerful as I may be, I’ve got my own issues.
I chose you because you’re the farthest station I could get away from my ex. ”
“Ex?” Was this possibly the man the matron had complained to Milo about? The Advocate?
“Andrew. Bastard.” Milo sighed, shoulders slumping somehow even farther, and for a moment he just looked sad. Maybe a little lost.
And it made no fucking sense for Rowan’s heart to twinge at his crumpled expression.
“See, I was dating him about a year, which is a record for me. Most men can’t put up with me for more than two dates because I drive them insane, so I was really happy Andrew seemed to like me, and I held on longer to the relationship than I should have.
He was nasty, like, really mean to me sometimes, and maybe I deserved it, I dunno anymore, but I don’t deserve to be cheated on. ”