1b: Fire on a Winter's Day

The Keshir Wood, Atharinshire, 3 Alana 1507 AC, continued. (First: Prologue: Some Days Previous: 1a: The Other Side)

The most immediately critical news he had but had not imparted was that we were almost certainly being watched.

Now that I was becoming more attuned, I could feel it for myself, too. An itch between the shoulder blades. Nothing overtly hostile, but definitely watching.

Since it was just observation, as far as I could tell, I kept things casual. I continued to banter with Tezhla, and walked over to the horse - my horse - while Tezhla went to get his, concealed a short distance away.

Really, that's a strange phrase for a geek boy like me to be able to say: "my horse". Never mind that she's really more like a llama than a horse, and not really genetically related to either. A cowboy would have recognised the saddle and bags, and could have kept up with any real horse at a dead run riding her.

Epoxy recognised me, of course, and gave me that look she always gives me when I've been gone, a look that best translates as, "And where have you been, young man?" It's not like she's ill treated when I'm gone - heck, she probably has a much easier life when I'm not around. But that doesn't seem to matter. Every time I return, I get the Jewish Mother routine: You never call, you never write, you forgot to bring me apples. Again. How many times do I have to tell you about the apples? I'm wasting away here!

I spent a few moments stroking the wooly fur along her neck with one hand while making a show of looking through my saddlebags with the other.

I found what I was looking for pretty quickly - a small codex. It was a repository of recipes - spells, if you like, but I really don't like that word - I'd found useful in the past. Each was keyed on a glyph and a word. The glyphs and summaries of what they meant were visibly written in the book, while the structure of the recipes themselves were woven in to the substance of the book. The words, I'd memorised, and they weren't written down at all, but I didn't always remember the glyphs, especially the first few days back, so I had to actually look them up.

The two items I wanted were on the very first page, so I never had to actually take the book all the way out of the bag. Fortunately, I found something else in the bag to cover for the rummaging. Whoever had prepped Epoxy and left her here for me had left some fruit in the same pouch. It wasn't an apple, but it would keep her content, and provide me a bit more cover for what I was doing.

I gave her the fruit, continuing to stroke her neck and appearing to be speaking encouraging words to her. And for the most part, I was. But I was also forming the first glyph I'd chosen very carefully in my mind, while also reaching out with a sense I cannot easily describe to the Source. I felt energy crackling in my head, waiting to be used. The Source was the fuel, I was the engine, the glyph was the key in the ignition. Now, all I had to do was speak the right word to turn the key...

There were three of them, all Iri, two women and one man, at three nearly equilateral points around us. I could see them in my head. One of them had made a crude attempt to weave a shrouding spell to evade detection this way. The structure looked right, but he hadn't applied enough energy, and the result was patchy.

Amateurs.

Tezhla was walking his horse down out of the trees by now. I looked in his direction, and saw what he wanted me to see. If the pattern of watchers were not a triangle but a diamond, Tezhla's horse would have been picketed within a few feet of the correct point...

Ah! There was the professional. Novice, but professional. He was too intent on watching what we seemed to be doing to realise he'd been ratted out.

Tezhla, bless him, kept talking. I'd have to ask him later if any of it was consequential. I looked at him with a question in my face, and he answered with a barely perceptible shrug. OK. My call. Fine.

I don't especially like a man who uses henchmen as bait. I've done it myself, mind you, but I don't always like myself, either. So I carefully envisioned the second glyph I'd chosen, drawing it over over the man's face so that there would be no doubt. Touched the Source, spoke the word...

Even professionals tend to panic a bit when their beard is on fire.