A screech from somewhere deep in the woods had the other watchers jumping to attention, hands going immediately to their weapons and remaining there until they were sure they weren't under attack. A casual observer might think Serene didn't react at all, but I knew better. A twitch of her ear, a slight clenching of her fists—if an enemy dared show its face on her watch, she'd be the first to put her fist through its skull.
Elsewhere, Graywall scanned the canopy, presumably looking for the source of the noise. His eyes gleamed in the light of the torches, arrayed on the wagons in the hope of deterring any dark-dwelling predators. The drill sergeant looked alert despite his obvious weariness; his stamina bar was significantly longer than most other gnomes', including his fellow warriors, and it seemed he was indomitable.
Despite the continuing downpour and prospect of more tough traveling, the sight of my warriors filled me with warm confidence.
Ket's right. We can do this.
My renewed confidence in my denizens lasted until dawn. When the camp stirred to life the following morning it became apparent that almost a third of those traveling on foot had lost one or both boots at some point during the previous day's march.
"How?!" I said incredulously to Ket.
"It was very muddy..."
"Yes, but surely your boot coming off is something you'd notice. Why wouldn't you stop to pick it up and put it back on?"
Luckily, there came an unexpected solution to the problem. Swift and Cheer had of course brought up the rear during last night's leg of the journey. It seemed they'd managed to pluck the lost boots from the mud—hence their many halts and rearranging of luggage—and now they emerged from their tent, enormous bulging sacks in hand, and began distributing footwear to those in need of it.
How uncharacteristically generous of them, I thought.
Then I looked more closely.
Cheer was holding a mud-crusted boot in one hand. Her other hand was held out, palm up, toward the gnome with whom she was currently speaking—one of the builders. Resentment plain on his face, the builder crossed his arms and shook his head. The scavenger shrugged, placed the boot back into her sack and moved along to the next tent.
"The little extortionists!" I exclaimed. "They're selling the others' own boots back to them! At a time like this! That's pretty diabolical, even for them."
"Maybe try not to sound so proud of them?"
"Come on, Ket, even you have to admire their ingenuity."
"I'll do no such thing. Now please send Ris'kin in to shake down the little thieves. Your denizens won't be marching anywhere if their feet are full of brambles."
The sprite had a point. As reluctant as I was to curtail my scavengers' cunning and innovation, this really wasn't the time for exploitative entrepreneuring. We had to stick together, not self-sabotage.
By the time my avatar had finished redistributing lost boots to their owners and returned the empty sack to the glaring scavengers, I'd made a decision.
Knowing the general direction of our destination was all very well. But we couldn't just keep heading "north". We needed to take a closer look at the maps the humans had brought and decide on a firm route. We had little enough time available, and we had to prepare in order to use it wisely.
"Don't take it down just yet," I said to Coll, who was preparing to pull up the pegs of his and Benin's tent. "I'm calling an official council. Get back inside."
I glanced up at the lightening sky. The gray dawn was struggling to push through the gaps in the branches above, and I shuddered at the reminder of all that open space.
The warrior ducked inside the tent, clearly relieved to be out of the ceaseless rain. Then he frowned. "Where's Ben?"
Twenty-Eight
Freedom
Benin
Raindrops sizzled and hissed around his head and shoulders. Aura of Heat evaporated the falling water before it could touch him, leaving Benin warm and dry and silhouetted in mist like some kind of fog spirit.
Several feet away, Pyra was surrounded by her own aura. He'd been worried for the emberfox at first; he knew low-level fire elementals were vulnerable to water; heavy rain could even fully extinguish the weaker ones, smothering their fiery life force so much that their physical bodies eventually failed as well.
Thankfully, Pyra was far from weak. She shone brightly, a glowing beacon against the monochrome sky. Heartened by the sight of her, Benin dared a step closer.
Immediately she emitted a low growl. Her tails flared and her ear twitched in irritation.
"Why do you hate me?" he asked miserably. She ignored him.
They stood together but apart, staring out at the driving rain. It pattered against the canopy of trees in the woods behind them, splashed into muddy puddles around them, thundered against the grassy ground before them.
After a while there came a different sound. The plink-plink of water dripping onto metal. Benin rolled his eyes and braced himself for company.
Can't a mage find a moment's peace?
He turned to see Coll emerging from the trees. His chainmail glinted dully in the gray stormlight. The warrior had stayed awake late into the night to noisily clean, dry and re-oil every link in the mail hauberk, driving Benin—who was already struggling to fall asleep thanks to the impertinent she-gnome that had taken over his bedroll—near mad with the constant rustling and squeaking.
The gaps between the chainmail were not waterproof, and since the big idiot had foolishly given away his raincloak the night before, drops trickled freely through the gaps. The padding underneath his mail must be soaked. Benin's gaze traveled downward. And those leather breeches must be chafing like crazy.
But Coll stomped along with his usual doggedness, as though his clothes weren't carrying an extra twenty pounds in water, and his only concession to discomfort was to readjust his crotch with one hand while
