Cyrus grabbed a clean cloth from Berrodin's wagon, and tossed it over. "Here. Use that."
"Thanks," Ferrin said. As he cleaned his face and hands, he nodded towards the wagon. "Are you going with Berrodin then? To Galeden?"
"I am. I'm hoping to find someone there who can help me figure out who I am," Cyrus said. He gestured towards the dead boar. "Say, I heard Verrel mention something about dark magic when he was talking to Berrodin. Do you know what he meant by that?"
"I can't say for certain, because I've never seen magic before," Ferin said. "But you heard how it clacked when he knocked the hook against it? Not only that, but the beast should have been dead long before we ran across it. It was already wounded pretty badly."
"Is magic common?" Cyrus asked.
Ferin shook his head. "No, and those who use it rarely show themselves. From the legends I've heard, any who use magic tend to lose their minds. That's why anyone suspected of being a warlock is hunted down."
"Who hunts them?"
"The Dilthane, followers of the goddess Eraveil," Ferin said. He frowned. "Do you really not know any of this? How hard did you hit your head?"
"He just woke up yesterday, Ferin. Cut him some slack," Berrodin said. He led a dark grey donkey through the stalls, but it balked as they neared the wagon. The old man paused, and tugged on the donkey's harness. "What's gotten into you, Starvhost? Come on, pick up those hooves."
The donkey dug its hooves into the dirt, its eyes wild as it let out a nicker. Berrodin grunted, his face growing red as he dragged the stubborn beast to the front of the wagon, and hooked it up to the harness.
"Stubborn old boy," Berrodin said. He patted the donkey's neck, and eyed the boar's corpse in the back. "I feel wary keeping that thing any longer than I have too. Are you ready to go, Cyrus?"
Cyrus brushed the amulet, before giving a slight nod. "I have everything I need."
"Good, let's get going then," Berrodin said. He climbed onto the wagon, then gestured towards the back. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sit back there, though. Not enough room in the front."
"Great…" Cyrus said. He pulled himself into the back, and scooted past the boar, before wedging himself into the corner. "Could be worse, I suppose."
"That's a good way to look at it," Verrel said. He gave Cyrus a slight nod, before handing Berrodin a small leather pouch. "Here. For your troubles."
"No need to mention it," Berrodin said. The pouch clinked as he tossed it into his pack. "Though, I wouldn't mind a decent meal, and a bit of mead waiting for me when I return."
"I talk to Morlen, and have it arranged," Verrel said.
"Good, I'll see you in a week then," Berrodin said, flicking the reins. With a jerk, the wagon rumbled forward, leaving behind deep trenches in the mud. As they creaked away from the stables, Cyrus noticed Ferin hunched beside the table, his nails digging into the wood.
Cyrus shivered and he pulled his tunic tighter. Overhead, the dark clouds swirled and crackled, drenching the surrounding lands. As they entered the cover of the forest, the village faded from view, leaving them rattling alone down the dirt road.
...
Cyrus stared blankly at the canopy of branches, whose leaves sagged beneath the weight of rain. A brief respite the night before was all they could enjoy since leaving, but even that only lasted a half-hour or so. Berrodin held the reins limply, staring off into the distance. Neither of them spoke very much, drained of their energy by the rough weather, and constantly scanning the surrounding trees.
'Gods above, Berrodin wasn't kidding about the rain,' Cyrus thought. He reached under his tunic and rubbed the tree on his pendant. Sighing, he leaned back, and glanced at Berrodin. "Where do you plan on stopping for the night?"
"There's a cave not far ahead, which most travelers use," Berrodin replied. He studied the darkening sky. "We've made better time than I thought we would. We should reach it within the hour."
"That's good. I'd rather not sleep outside again," Cyrus said. He slumped against the side of the wagon, and surveyed the surrounding mountains. Their high peaks towered above the forest, layered with mossy cliffs, and tipped with white caps. Deer trails were cut through the thick brush, while creeks as cold as ice cascaded over the rocks.
"Say… How far does the mountain range go?: Cyrus asked, craning his neck. "No matter how far I look, I can't tell where it begins, and where it ends."
"I doubt you'd be able to, even if you were to climb to one of the peaks," Berrodin said, shaking the water from his hood. "The Dethren Mountains span the entirety of the upper east continent. I believe it's the longest mountain range in Arkendol, followed by the Arthrell mountains, in the west-"
Berrodin stiffened, trailing off. Ahead, Starvhost flicked his ears back, and the bristles along his neck rose. Cyrus pulled back his hood, and scanned the trees, peering into the shifting shadows beyond.
"What is it? Did you see something?" Cyrus asked. He grabbed an iron spoke from beneath Berrodin's seat, clenching it until his knuckles whitened.
Berrodin held a finger to his lips, and brought the wagon to a stop. Grabbing his lantern from its hook, he raised it to illuminate a path of hoof tracks, cutting across the road.
"Those prints are fresh. Barely an hour old, I'd say," Berrodin said. He climbed down from the wagon, and patted Starvhost's shoulder. The donkey nickered as he knelt over the tracks with a heavy scowl. They were at least twice as large as his palm, and sunk deep into the mud. "Verrel mentioned something about there being more boars out there, didn't he? Hopefully, the rain will cover our scent, but I'm worried the corpse will draw whatever's out there to us."
"What should we do?" Cyrus asked
"Keep moving, and pray the winds don't change," Berrodin said. He hopped back onto the wagon, and snapped the reins. "If Osyras has mercy, we'll reach the cave before long, and we can rest there until morning."