The taur had dropped his large sack of things in the tattoo parlour. Not so different from my own bindle.

  He’d been out swan hunting, though where there were swans to hunt I could not say. I hoped it was not the same swans from which Dave had found his swan shift.

  There were ten in all, meaning the sack weighed half again as much as I did. The Taur had been far stronger than his size would have warranted.

  Also in the sack were several large stones, which I assumed he’d used to hunt the swans, and a bundle of 6 sausages. The only other thing to find was the small cask, hand sized, which I opened to reveal pitch or sap which, from the smell, originated from a pine tree. The birds had been treated with the sap, now that I was looking for it, perhaps in an attempt to preserve them or flavour them.

  I discarded the rocks to give myself a chance at lifting the sack, then, tying it, cast Rapture on the sack itself. The whole bundle still weighed more than I did, but now I could just manage it along with Stovepipe’s pack.

  I’d have to walk half as slow or give up on keeping an eye and ear out for traps and monsters, but I could manage it.

  I decided to move at half speed, for with the sack occupying both my hands, and the pack swaying my back, a surprise foe such as another taur might be upon me before I could access my spellbook.

  My magical blade I kept close, as it would be my only line of defence before I was attacked.

  I hoisted the glowing sack with a groan, and set off back to my friends.

  ***

  It was late by the time I returned. Stovepipe and Tadhg had already gone to sleep, while the others talked softly in the dark. Rapture had faded in the first hour, making a three hour trek one of four. My sword and fireball had long ago died, leaving only my own light to guide my path and announce my arrival.

  I heaved the sack into the centre of the room and released it with cramped hands and watery legs. Despite frequent breaks and resorting to dragging the swans half the time, I could barely feel my forearms, and my shoulders burned with the strain.

  “Success?” asked Eric.

  I was too tired to answer. I could barely get out a nod. I crouched and bent my limbs—ow—and dimmed my light. I’d talk in the morning.

  ***

  I woke with a stiff neck and ringing ears. That bubble was still around my head, and had crimped my neck while I slept. The ringing was made up of voices, both dark and fair, promising health and redress, safety and comfort, rising, rising, rising, until one called out above all others:

  Bark Throne

  It didn’t sound much more comfortable than the floor I was already lying on.

  I sat (Agh! I was stiffer than a yew) and restored my light. The sunrise didn’t greet me. I’d slept straight through.

  I was greeted by the smell of woodsmoke and the crackling of roasting swan. I crackled my broken and battered body in turn—

  Lesser Heal VI

  I could sense that spell from anywhere. I was a fool not to have cast it earlier, even if my hands were occupied.

  I groaned with relief as my pain faded and I smile broke out on my face. I was parched and hungry. Wearing a bubble on my head had done me no favours in my ability to eat.

  I activated the spell carved into my right arm.

  Safe Teleport

  I only teleported a few feet over, and snuffed my light before I did so so as not to make a scene. We were trapped, and had been trapped for months beneath the Bleak Fort, but that was no excuse for impropriety and nakedness.

  Well, it should have been, but my mind refused to listen to reason. If I’d had the dark magic spell to cure myself, I’d be tempted to use it.

  I retrieved my sash and affixed it back around my waist. Now free from my bubble, I joined the chefs by the fire. The smoke from the fire gathered on the ceiling and slipped through a crack there. Would it vanish into nothing or transcend the Rift? Or was it collecting up there, to drown us all once the crack was filled, or waiting in stasis, to assault the Bleakfort all at once once the Rift ended?

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  We weren’t suffocating at least.

  Cillian and Conan were revealed to be the chefs as my light drew near.

  “Morning, Oswic,” said Conan, “Where did you find swans?”

  I shook my head, “It’s a sad tale. Let us feast for now.”

  Cillian gestured at the nine other birds, “We’ll have to. I don’t know if we can eat through all of them fast enough. How did you even carry all of them?”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “You look plenty strong.”

  “Just so.”

  Conan offered me a piece of swan which I delicately refused. I’d need a plate and a knife before I ate, otherwise I’d get my hands dirty.

  A piece of wood became my plate and I borrowed a knife from Fionn then returned for my share of swan.

  Where had they found all the wood?

  I’d have to ask them if I needed some in the future. Hopefully they hadn’t explored too far. I knew where to find plenty of coal as well, but the room was trapped to make them as green as my hair, and the toad dragon was nearby.

  I washed the swan down with a third of my remaining water and lay back in contentment. For the first time in many days I was full—full of warm food at that—and my thirst entirely quenched. I’d get more water later, and find that coal for the party, but relaxation was as important to success as effort.

  After a quarter hour’s happy repose, I called Attar to the north east corner, and there, peering under a crack, once again fulfilled the contract I’d made with Attart. If he could still sense lies, and if my contracts had survived with Tom through time and soul, then so too did my contract with Attart remain.

  Or so went the theory.

  What happened instead was that peculiar twisting whenever dark magic spun my magic awry, and then a deafening silence, spreading like a gong outwards from Attar.

  Light flared under my fingers as the same moment, and this time, the Corpse in the Sky’s protection held, and both the spell and the protection were preserved.

  “What happened?” Attar asked.

  “I granted you your spell, but the dungeon stilled my casting.”

  Attar shrugged, “So long as the bargain is filled I don’t care. I’ll find my own way.”

  He left me to my devices, which succeeded where the first spell had failed.

  I felt better than I had in weeks. Not on a spiritual level, but a man was more than a spirit, and my corporeal form was happy to be full and healthy. I was ready to write my next spell.

  ***

  Scorch, Sword, Scintillation and Sword Storm III danced about the room at my command. One long after the other. I felt some danger there, using the cornerstone of my defences to grow my arsenal, but what the source was I could not say. It felt tied to what the Corpse in the Sky had told me. Something about the nature of losing spells might be magnified with reckless pursuit of a single tool.

  Scorch, Sword, Scintillation II: An invisible blade dances and strikes with the base force of 1936 lbs. The sword is replaced an hour later by an identical version. A fireball appears in the centre and is likewise replaced after an hour. One light, twice as bright as a candle, swirls about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Another light joins in at the end of the first hour, and ends an hour after the first light fades. This is then repeated, providing 6 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master.

  I went for a spell which lasted longer over one with double effect for the reason that I’d just spent the last night hauling a bag of meat while I myself was defenceless as I neither had a hand free nor wanted to risk and waste further spells after my sword had faded. This way my spell might last a while longer.

  I did have reservations about a new sword spell after I’d nearly killed myself with the previous version, however while push was effective, it could not yet bring down all manner of barricades in the same manner the swords could. Nor could it write in stone nor hold off multiple foes, being far less flexible overall.

  The lesson learned from my sword was caution when wielding it, not to fear the blade. In time I might even believe it.

  I left shortly after writing the spell to replenish my stocks of water. When I’d turned into acid I’d destroyed mostly full waterskins which had left me, if I was accompanied by Attar, with but a single day of water remaining.

  This of course, took me directly to the door of Tom’s house, which was barred to me. I had been counting on the abandoned room his house left behind when it went elsewhere. Now I faced a confrontation.

  I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. My sword and fireball still remained to me, but I didn’t want to antagonize a hob if I didn’t have to by destroying his door.

  “Master Tom! I seek passage to the other side of your place, nothing more! Perhaps we can bargain?”

  There was no answer.

  I didn’t want to destroy the door, so I resorted to the next riskiest option. I bent low to peer beneath the crack, and sure enough, the light of his fire illuminated the room beyond enough for me to make out the flagstones.

  True Teleport II

  I really needed to protect that spell before it was too late. It was far too useful.

  Tom wasn’t home.

  The fire was burning, a meal was left half eaten on his table, but the hobgoblin himself was nowhere in sight.

  I’d have to teleport three more times if I wanted to travel this way before he came back. Attart had already demonstrated there was no going through his doors without his knowings.

  I crouched down to look back the way I’d came.

  Safe TeleportII

  Time to find another way back to the stream.