Book 8: Chapter 18: Guidance
The sunrise woke Martel up, and he quickly broke camp, which consisted of picking up his cloak, serving as his bedroll, and clasping it around his neck. As for breakfast, he would eat while walking. He did not have a lot of water left, but it would not be a problem; there had to be meltwater coming down the mountain, so it was simply a matter of finding the streams.
He had not made it far before something caught his attention in the distance. Two shapes, though he could not make out any details. Locals, he assumed at first, since he could not imagine anybody else having any reason to prowl these near empty lands. Except for himself, of course, which suggested that other exceptions could exist.
He could simply have wandered on, but Martel felt a sting of curiosity. He justified this by telling himself that he could ask them for the nearest sources of water. This in mind, he changed his course slightly to approach them.
The others were aware of Martel as well, perhaps even before he noticed them. He saw their postures change, turning towards him. One of the shapes, bigger and burlier, held a spear with a strong cross-guard; a weapon meant for hunting boars or even bears rather than war. The other had a bow in their hands with an arrow on the string, held loosely and pointed downwards. Not a direct threat, but it swiftly could become one. As for himself, Martel kept his shield spell ready in his mind, though from the outside, he continued to look like a peaceful traveller calmly making his way towards the others.
Once close, Martel could determine more details. It was a man and a woman, both dressed in ordinary clothing; neither seemed equipped for long journeys, as they had no waterskin or other such provisions. His guess that they were locals seemed correct in that regard. However, a bow was not a simple weapon that anybody could pick up, suggesting training and skill on the part of the woman holding it. At this range, Martel also saw why they had stopped in this particular spot, and why they were armed; at their feet lay a dead sheep, its white fur stained with blood.
The woman addressed Martel first, calling out in Tyrian.
The mage held up his empty hand, showing the palm as a disarming gesture. "Forgive me, but I don't understand."
She switched to Asterian. "You are a southerner."
"I am. Surprised but pleased that you would speak my language."
"I served many years as scout to your legions." Martel gave her a second glance. That explained the bow and the lean, hard look of her. He could well believe it; she reminded him of the scouts in Starkad's band, who had served with the Tenth. "This was your sheep?" He nodded to the carcass at their feet. "My sympathies for your loss. The howling wolves from last night?"
"Just the one wolf, but it is big and mean. You are a mage?"
Martel nodded. The question always made him wonder what the reaction would be, but there was no point in hiding his nature.
"Good. As long as this wolf hunts, these lands are not safe."
"I would offer to help you on your hunt, but I lack the time." Martel glanced towards the mountain peak. "I must make the mountain within the next few days."
The woman squinted at him, though Martel could not tell if she thought him suspicious; it could simply be her resting expression. "Why have you come? You travel for many months to leave your own lands, and the tribes are not always friendly to your kind."
"I am aware. I come to learn about magic, and my hope is that the mountains will reveal secrets to me." Not much of an explanation, but Martel himself did not know any more than this, and he assumed that people expected a wizard to sound cryptic anyway. Deciding to ask the most relevant question, he added, "If I continue in this direction, will I come across water?" He pointed directly at the nearest peak.
"Of course. Many streams this time of year. This will not trouble you."
"Thank you. If I come across your wolf, I will deal with it that you have no further concerns."
She shook her head. "You will not. He is a devious beast. He might be tempted to attack a lonely wanderer, thinking you easy prey, but it is too late. Summer is upon us, and he only hunts at night."
The way she spoke so personally about the creature, Martel had to suppress a smile. He looked at the silent fellow with the spear, her husband, presumably, and back at the archer. "You seem very familiar with its ways."
"It has troubled us earlier, in spring." She pointed with the arrow on her bowstring towards the dead sheep. "He did not kill this animal to feed. He dragged it out here to lure us from our home. To set a trap."
It did seem strange to kill prey without eating it, but not if the wolf had been interrupted. “Did you give chase?”
She snorted. “If we fell into its trap, would we stand here unhurt? No. We don’t go outside at night. Not until the wolf has ended its hunt. You are fortunate it did not find your camp.”
Martel thought rather that fortune favoured the wolf in that regard, but he kept his opinion to himself. They seemed so spooked by this creature that they elevated it into a beast of legend. Regardless, there was nothing further for Martel to accomplish; he had his answer, and it was time to be on his way. Still, if nothing else that it might secure him some goodwill, he figured that he would offer some aid. “If you wish, I can provide you with a little help. If you would hold out your arrow?”
The woman frowned, but she did not object. She raised her bow with the arrow on the string, and Martel held out his hand. Into the iron of the tip, the mage burned a small symbol and afterwards spoke the activating word until it glowed with magic.
“This is a rune,” she declared, sounding doubtful. “You have such powers?”
“I do. A rune of guidance, to be precise. Aim it at the wolf, and you shall find that you strike true.”
“I always do, but your gesture is kind. We thank you.” She looked over her shoulder at her companion, who had been standing silently, both hands on the haft of his spear planted in the ground, and she added a few words in Tyrian. The fellow grunted and nodded his head.
“A good day to you both, and may your troubles be over soon,” Martel said in farewell, and he continued on his journey. The Pillars of the World awaited him.