"This way," Sylven said. He weaved through several alleys, before slowing to a stop as they neared the street.
On the other side, a group of guards rushed past with heavy footfalls. They spoke in hushed tones, while tightening their grips on their swords, and glancing about. The light of the street's lantern etched out their scars and weary gazes.
Once they passed, Cyrus spotted the gates to the kingdom not a hundred meters away. However, sturdy iron bars blocked the way, held down by taunt chains as thick as his forearm.
"What do we do now?" Cyrus asked.
"Do you see that door?" Sylven asked. He pointed towards a small oak door, nestled in an alcove beside the gate. "It leads to the wheels that open the gate. That's how we're getting out."
"I expect there'll be guards waiting for us," Cyrus said, scanning the street. "Any ideas on how to get past them?"
"I know a spell or two that might help," Sylven said."Stay close, and follow my lead."
Sylven checked the street, then darted across, appearing no more than a shadow in the night. Cyrus kept to his heels, and pressed himself into the wall. He held his breath as Sylven knocked on the door, a quick three raps.
"Who's there?" A gruff voice echoed through the wood. When they didn't answer, there was a grunt, followed by the scrape of chair and the approach of heavy footsteps. A moment later, the door flew open, and a fat man with a thick mustache poked his head out.
"By the Halls of Osyras, can't you people…" The man trailed off as he glanced between Sylven and Cyrus. "Wait… who are you?"
Sylven slammed his palm into the man's chest. "Eraveil, Felreon."
The man's face dropped as a gust of wind threw him back. He crashed into a table, sending bowls of soup and a cup of dice soaring into the air. As he collapsed to the floor, the two other guards in the room jumped to their feet. They grabbed for their swords, but Sylven slipped in before either had a chance to draw.
"Serifel, Reilovel."
The walls shook as a surge of flames roared through the room. Cyrus shielded his eyes, stumbling back from the door. A moment later, Sylven burst back out, his hair wild and covered in soot. "Come on. There's no time to waste."
Cyrus followed Sylven into the room, stumbling over a crooked armor rack. The three guards lay strewn about the room, their skin bright red with strips of their tunics smoldered. A series of scorch marks marred the floor and walls around the fireplace.
"Are they going to be alright?" Cyrus asked.
"They should be fine. Perhaps a bit sore for the next few weeks," Sylven said. He hurried across the room, to a barred door, and threw the wooden beam to the side. "I doubt they'll be out for very long, so we should probably go."
"Alright," Cyrus said. He glanced back out to the kingdom's streets, overgrown by a forest of pines. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Sylven. "I'm ready."
Chapter 9 - Mourtop
Hours later, Cyrus slumped against the trunk of an oak, and watched as the sky brightened with hues of orange and red. The sun's golden rays streamed through the branches overhead, bringing to life the waking forest. Nearby, Sylven bent over a small fire with a pot of bubbling water.
"After breakfast, we'll continue on our way," Sylven said, stirring the pot. "If we keep this pace, we should arrive at Mourtop within the next four days."
Cyrus leaned forward, stifling a yawn. "I'm not certain how quickly I'll be able to travel. I'm exhausted."
"You'll be able to rest when we get there. I plan on staying there for a day or two anyway, while I purchase what we need," Sylven said. He scraped at the pot with a wooden spoon, filling two bowls with steaming porridge. "Here, you need to eat something. Regain some of the strength you lost on the way here."
"Thanks," Cyrus said. "The magic and the running has definitely taken its toll."
"At least now we know your training wasn't for nothing," Sylven said. He grinned. "You summoned that vine without thinking twice. Even I was surprised."
"I still think it'll take me some time to get used to this," Cyrus said. He took a bite of the porridge, letting the warmth flow through his body. "Having magic, I mean."
Sylven's eyes softened. "I'd be worried if you knew how to do it from the very beginning. Magic isn't supposed to be easy, because once it becomes easy, people tend to misuse it."
Cyrus lowered his gaze, digging at a pebble with the toe of his boot. "I'll keep that in mind. I know I still have a lot to learn."
"Indeed, which is why we can keep practicing on our way to the Arthrell mountains. By the time we reach the Altier, I believe you should be at least comfortable with it."
"At least we'll have the time," Cyrus said. He set his bowl to the side, and pulled the map loose from his pack, unfurling it on the ground. "Myrel said it would take us three weeks to reach Neirport, right? Besides Mourtop, will we need to stop anywhere else?"
"I don't believe so. As long as we stock up enough food once we reach Mourtop, it should last us until we arrive in Neirport," Sylven said. He finished his porridge, and went for seconds. "If not, we'll just hunt and forage what we need along the way."
"You didn't bring a bow," Cyrus said, frowning as Sylven scraped clean the pot. "How would we hunt anything?"
"There are other ways to hunt," Sylven said, slumping back against a boulder. As he dug into the last bit of porridge, he spoke between mouthfuls. "Also, Master Myrel timed our journey to Neirport by foot. As long as we can find a pair of horses, it will decrease the length of our journey by at least a week. More with good weather."
"Here's to hoping for a quiet journey," Cyrus said. As he finished his breakfast, he glanced towards the road leading to Mourtop. They could see pretty far in either direction, though they had yet to pass anyone.
"Do you think they'll send people after me?" Cyrus asked.
Sylven shook his head. "I doubt they'll have the time. Restoring the kingdom will take priority, and most of their money will be spent on reconstruction, rather than a reward for your capture. Even with the offer of coin, most people would steer clear of warlocks and wizards. There's a reason why they're afraid of us."
"Have you ever met another warlock besides Myrel?" Cyrus asked. He wiped clean his bowl, before storing it along with the map.
"I haven't. There aren't many people who can use magic, and those who can tend to hide away," Sylven said. He scraped the pot clean, then flipped it around to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Sighing, he rinsed the pot out in a nearby stream, and fastened it back to his pack. "A word of advice, Cyrus. If you ever run into another warlock or wizard, don't reveal yourself to them. There are those who would try to use your magic for their own gain."
Sylven climbed to his feet, and kicked a pile of dirt over the fire, snuffing out the flames. As the final traces of smoke faded into the morning sky, he shouldered his pack. "Come on. It's time to go."
…
Around noon, they stopped at a stream to refill their water. Cyrus shivered as he dipped his waterskin in, and goosebumps ran up his arm.
"It's colder than I expected," Cyrus said, wiping his hands off on his trousers.
"The stream runs directly from the mountains, so it's bound to be colder," Sylven said, gesturing through the trees.
Overhead, the snow-capped peaks rose over the forest, jagged and domineering. Thick white clouds drifted around the grey walls, catching the golden rays of the sun. The road they followed pointed in the direction of two curved peaks, which reminded Cyrus of the boar's tusks.
"Is that where we're headed?" Cyrus asked. He fastened his waterskin back to his pack, and slung it over his shoulder.
"It is. Mourtop rests at the foot of the mountains, and it's only a bit of a walk to get to the pass," Sylven said, leading them back to the road. "It'll take us half a day to get through, but once we're on the other side, it'll be nothing but grassy plains. Hopefully, we'll have horses by then."
"Have you ridden before?" Cyrus asked.
"It's not too difficult, if that's what you're worried about," Sylven said. He rubbed his chin. "I suppose you could consider it similar to riding a moving stool. You just hold on, and use the reins to steer."
Cyrus shook his head. "That's not-"
Cyrus trailed off, squinting down the road.
Sylven frowned. "What is it?"
"There are people coming." Cyrus said, flipping his hood up.