Mourtop

"To be honest, no one knows. The kingdom of Tulmuth was one of the biggest trade centers for all races, and they suddenly turned on everyone. Of course, this was a long time ago, so most of the information has been lost since then."

Sylven continued on to explain more about the war, and how it turned out. Soon, the day passed, and they stopped as the moon rose in the distance. Steering off the road, they found a small grove, near a stream, and flat ground. 

"Should we rest here for the night?" Cyrus asked. 

Sylven nodded. "Might as well. I doubt we'll find anything else this good for the next few hours, and by then, it would be too dark to see anything. Would you mind gathering water?"

Cyrus nodded, and headed over to the bank. He carried the pot with him, and filled it to the brim. As he brought it back, he spotted Sylven kneeling over a pyramid of branches. 

"Serifel, delferin." Sylven said. He snapped his fingers, and a flame sparked to life at the base of the sticks.

"Serifel… That's the word for fire, right?" Cyrus asked. He handed the pot to Sylven, and settled on a log. 

Sylven nodded. "Correct. As I'm certain Master Myrel told you, you can command aether by speaking the origin name of something, therefore altering its existence. Follow it with a series of commands, and you create an incantation."

Cyrus lowered his hood. "What if you pronounce the word wrong?"

"Nothing would happen," Sylven said. "Magic is dependent on intention. Without it, you're only muttering noises. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does," Cyrus said.

Sylven rummaged through his pack, and pulled out his dagger, two potatoes, and a few carrots. As he cut them into smaller chunks, Cyrus glanced around and noticed a small oak stalk growing beside his foot. With time to waste, he focused on the plant, and slowed his breathing. Within, he felt the familiar tingle of aether, as it spread through his body. 

Bit by bit, he guided it towards his fingers, and then towards the plant. Sylven glanced up as the sapling wiggled, then grew an inch, and sprouted a new leaf.

"It seems you've gotten a hang of that now," Sylven said, dropping the sliced vegetables into the pot. They fell with a splash. "Have you tried doing anything else yet?"

"What do you mean?" Cyrus asked. 

"Imagine the plant is an extension of yourself, and control it. Use it as you would use your arms or legs," Sylven said. 

Cyrus tilted his head, and thought for a moment. "I suppose I could try it."

Taking his time, he focused on his connection to the aether. The warmth in his chest grew as he felt his conscious brush against something, like a soft feather, running across his thoughts. He closed his eyes, and breathed in, inhaling the scent of the forest.

The rich dirt, and fragrant flowers, mixed with the aroma of leaves and bark. The rustling whisper of the forest entered his mind, merging with his thoughts. When Cyrus opened his eyes, the forest had taken on a bright emerald hue, and the lush foliage stood out to him.

'This… this is my magic?' Cyrus thought, taking in the sight. A sense of peace washed over him as he surveyed the trees.

He lowered his gaze back to the sapling. Its stalk thrummed with life, stemming from the roots, which burrowed deep beneath the ground. Cyrus felt his conscious meld with the plant, and as if he was raising his arms, two small roots pushed through the dirt, and waved in the air.

Cyrus grinned, and shifted his attention to a nearby pebble. The aether rushed through his veins as the sapling's root stretched out across the ground, and twirled around the rock. He felt the weight of it as if he was holding it in his own palm, and with a single thought, tightened his grip on it. 

Beside him, Sylven arched his brow as the pebble split down the middle with a crack, and the two halves dropped to the dirt. "That… was new. You're gaining a hold of your magic quicker than I thought"

"Perhaps you're right," Cyrus said. The warmth faded from his body as he released his hold over the sapling, and picked up the pebble. He bounced the two halves in his hand, then tossed them into the bushes. "There's a sense of familiarity about it. As though I've learned all this before."

"It's possible you have, before you lost your memories," Sylven said. He stirred the pot once more, then grabbed their bowls, and filled them up."If that's true, it would explain your quick learning."

Cyrus furrowed his brow, and shifted through the fragments of his memories. He winced as the familiar pressure tightened around his head. "I'm afraid I don't know. Whenever I try to remember, my head feels like it's being pounded with a hammer."

"Well, I'm certain they'll return sooner or later. For now, let's eat," Sylven said.

Cyrus took a bite, then grabbed his pack, and retrieved a sliver of jerky. Tearing it into small chunks, he stirred into the soup. 

"Good idea," Sylven said, following suit. "This will add a bit of flavor."

After that, the two finished their meals, and Sylven went to wash their bowls. While he was gone, Cyrus scanned the area around the fire, then chose two spots with ample grass. Stretching out his hand, he focused on the strands as the flow of aether surged through him. 

The grass rose and intertwined, creating two padded nests. When Sylven returned, he glanced at the cots, and grinned. 

"What did I say? You're already getting a hang of it." Sylven tossed their bowls into his pack, and rolled out his leather mat. He yawned as he sat down, and gazed into the fire. "If you'd like, I can keep watch first. We can switch at the fourth hour."

"It's fine," Cyrus said, waving his hand. "You seem more tired than I am. Go ahead, and rest. I'll wake you when it's your time."

"I hoped you'd say that," Sylven said. He grabbed a tunic from his pack, and rolled it into a ball. Minutes after he laid his head down, the rhythmic sound of him snoring rose into the night. 

Cyrus frowned, but let him sleep. As time passed, he stoked the fire, then leaned back and watched the stars flicker in the night sky. The moon's silver hue shone through the branches, and the sound of the forest hummed in the background.

Bored, Cyrus picked up a knotted twig, and twirled it between his fingers. A small leaf clung to its side. Curious, he held the twig in front of his eyes, and released a small bit of aether. The stick trembled, then sprouted a new leaf, and a small bud. 

'Incredible,' Cyrus thought. He stuck the twig into the dirt, and released his aether. By now, the fire had died down to a smolder, with the embers glowing faintly beneath the charred sticks. 

As he reached for the pile of firewood to toss in, a branch snapped to his left, deep in the undergrowth. With a jolt, Cyrus jumped to his feet, and grabbed the pot. Flipping it over, he threw it over the fire, snuffing out the light. 

A blanket of clouds covered the moon, and it took him a moment to adjust to the darkness. Quick on his toes, he crept over to Sylven, and shook him awake, while holding a finger to his lips. 

Sylven nodded, and climbed to his feet, crouching low beside Cyrus. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"I think I heard something, but I can't be certain," Cyrus said. As he scanned the trees, a flicker of silver flashed between the trunks a league away, but vanished just as quickly. "Did you see that?"

Sylven shook his head. "No. What?"

Cyrus turned back to the forest, his eyes darting back and forth. A minute passed, then two. After the third, he relaxed his shoulders, and sat on his mat with a sigh. "Nevermind. I think I'm just on edge."

Sylven frowned, and glanced at the sky. "Well, I suppose it was time for me to wake up anyway. Why don't you rest for now. When you wake up, it'll be time to go."

"Very well," Cyrus said. He scanned the forest once more, then laid back on his cot. As he watched the clouds pull away from the moon, Sylven worked with the fireplace, stirring the embers until a small flame wavered to life. 

….

Cyrus awoke as the first few streams of light fell through the bare branches, and the sun rose over the forest. A wispy mist clung to the ground, coating the grass and moss in dew. Sylven glanced over from the fire, stirring a pot of water.

"More porridge?"

"It'll keep us full," Sylven said, handing Cyrus his bowl. 

As he took it, he noticed the camp had been cleaned, and their packs were ready to go. Water pouches too, were filled to the top, and fastened to the sides. 

"Looks like you were busy," Cyrus said. The porridge helped warm his body, and shake off the last few tendrils of sleep.

"I kept myself occupied to stay awake," Sylven said. He downed the last of his porridge, then rinsed out his bowl, and cleaned Cyrus's too, once he finished. "If we leave now, we should make good time."

Cyrus agreed, and slipped into his pack. After covering the fire with dirt, they continued on their way, passing a league every forty-five minutes. As the hours slinked by, Cyrus got the feeling they were being followed, but whenever he looked around, there was no one there. 

When he told Sylven about this later in the evening, the young man furrowed his brow, and scanned the woods. Although he didn't see anyone, he decided to change their camping method, and instead looked for a cave to sleep in. 

They spent the next two nights like this, and by the fourth night, spotted Mourtop in the distance. It appeared suddenly, hidden deep in the woods, with plumes of smoke rising from the chimneys, and stone houses, pressed close together.

As they walked the streets, Cyrus noticed a line of wagons, burdened with boulders, and stones. A group of men stood nearby, covered in dirt, and sweat. Several glanced in their direction, but no one approached.

"That's quite the bit of stone," Cyrus said. "Do they mine the mountain for it?"

"I'm not sure. I've never heard of any mining groups around here," Sylven said. He hoisted his pack further up his shoulder. "Come on. We can ask the tavern owner when we get there."

Sylven led the way down the street, to an old building, twice as wide as any house, and adorned with shuttered windows, and a crooked door. A few people sat inside, spread apart, and a sullen man rested behind the counter, his eyes sunken and skin wrinkled. 

He lifted his gaze as they approached, and pushed back the matted nest of hair which hung from his head. "What can I get you?"

"Two mugs of mead," Sylven said, looking around the room. "And a room for the night, if you have any."

"It'll be seventeen copper," The man said, grabbing two cracked mugs, and filling them to the brim. 

Cyrus grimaced as he picked up his mug. It stuck to his hand, as though he had grabbed a handful of tar. Sylven, too, stared at the mugs in disgust, then sighed. Picking his up, he motioned for Cyrus to follow.

"If the mugs are like this, what do you think the room will be like?" Cyrus asked, keeping his voice a low hush as they made their way across the floor to a table by the entrance. "Who knows how long it's been since he cleaned them."