The Wordbearer Chronicles

Chapter 8

The morning comes too soon for my liking, but I rise and begin my morning routine. Vong is still asleep and Voella'Tien is standing a little away from the camp watching the mists swirl across the fields. My movements snap Rakatha awake with an obviously learned speed, further cementing that he was not only a pit fighter, but a slave at that.

When I begin my first set of squats, Rakatha practically leaps from his bedroll and begins to exercise as well. He doesn't look at me but I can tell he's keenly aware of my movements. Is he competing with me? Really? By Tliamach's Trove, what a simpleton!

I continue my workout unheeded by his posturing, though I note that he more than keeps up. His is a body built for fighting. Mine is no slouch, but I pursue matters of the mind instead. I had been a scrawny boy, and it was only during my brief time as a devotee of the Military Pillar of Varasht that I had found any time to hone my body. I had never allowed myself to neglect my fitness since, after coming to understand how vulnerable I had been before. These forty-four years later, I have not neglected to do exercises morning and night so that I remain strong and fit for a fight.

As I begin the meditation portion of my routine, Rakatha continues to flex and grunt. His exertions finally wake young Vong who, looking groggy and sallow, begins to rut around in his pack and pull out ingredients for breakfast.

"Zer, can I use your flint again?"

I ignore him. Not only did he call me improperly but I am deep in a meditative flow. The irritation I might otherwise feel at his misaddressing finds no purchase in my tranquil mind.

He looks uncomfortable for a little bit. It seems as though he's picked up on my far-away look and doesn't try to address me again. He does, however, walk over to where I am sitting and reaches for my pouch, which is lying at the head of my bedroll.

I wrench myself from the shores of serenity and grasp his wrist firmly, "It is unwise to rifle through the belongings of another. At best, you will gain his ire. At worst, his secrets."

Releasing his hand, I reach past his shocked expression and grab the pouch. I procure the flint and hand it to him. Still awaiting his senses, he takes it and goes to light the fire. As soon as the kindling catches he hurries back and returns it to my outstretched hand. I put it away in the small, outer pocket I use just for it and fasten the pouch around my waist. He stands there for a long moment, unsure of what to do, but the crackling of the fire soon calls his attention.

Ugh.

I slip back into a meditative current and let myself flow into the arcana. It is highly possible we will have to fight Horde saboteurs in our scouting duties, and I pluck out the words of magic that I deem most useful for such occasions, so that they might be more readily available in a pinch. Mastery of magic is mostly about preparation. Spontaneous spellcasting is for the uneducated or foolish.

I feel well rested, despite the questionable company, and it does not take long for me to put my mind in order. My chosen spells are ready to be used if necessary. The selection of spells is not ideal but, then again, neither was my tutoring. I spent far too much time trying to receive Val Maxis's permission to learn and not enough time taking what I should have. They'll do though, especially for someone who can use magic cleverly, like me.

Breakfast is ready soon after—a tasty blend of onions, leeks, cabbage, eggs, and chicken, coated in a tangy sauce—and the four of us partake in relative silence. Since Gala could not be retrieved, it is reaffirmed that we will patrol our sector and report the rumor about Endolkin in the report.

Securing my bedroll and supplies to my person, I hoist my staff, check the placement of my dagger, and inspect my crossbow before fastening it to its harness on my belt. I do not like carrying things on my back or slung across my shoulders since it can catch on my ornamentation and inhibit my movement. It's a little impractical to wear all my equipment at my waist but I don't carry much. I am self-assured that it improves my silhouette and, therefore, how intimidating I appear. Watching Rakatha and Vong struggle to pack on all their excess confirms my theory.