Under a bright afternoon sky, Duvan guided Slanya toward the border of the Plaguewrought Land. It was a journey he’d taken several times before, but the path he chose was a little different each time.
“To be honest with you, Duvan,” Slanya said, “I’m nervous.”
Duvan regarded his companion. Slanya took sure and confident steps; no doubt she’d trained intensively. She also seemed to have some measure of the body control that monks were famous for. She’d demonstrated quick thinking as well as enviable discipline.
All of which would mean nothing in the face of the changelands.
“You shouldn’t be nervous,” Duvan said. “You should be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid to die.”
“Really?” Duvan had yet to meet anyone else besides himself who did not fear death.
Slanya shrugged. “My death will come as everyone’s will. Why should I fear that? If the cause is right and I am true to myself, then my death will have meaning, as will my life. Kelemvor will welcome me, and I will pass on to the next life.”
Duvan remained silent as they passed into the shadow of a large mote which hung precariously low in the sky. Large motes tended to be stable, but Duvan had seen smaller ones sustain damage as they passed through the border veil. Quite a few of those lost their buoyancy and plummeted to the ground. In fact the terrain along the border was littered with boulders and the deep furrows they had made upon impact.
Around him, the gentle hills gave way to steeper ones, the grassy knolls replaced by bare rock dotted sporadically with tenacious weeds. The faint sensation of the disturbance in the Weave the Plaguewrought Land caused made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The faint odor of oranges and decaying flesh drifted occasionally on the warm windthe sour and sweet stench of the plaguelands of the Plaguewrought Land in summer.
“Have you ever been very close to the changelands?” Duvan asked. “I know you understand what they can do, but if you haven’t experienced living plaguelands, it’s likely to be a shock.”
Slanya looked at him, her eyes narrowing. Perhaps she was trying to figure out why he was asking the question. “I have seen it from afar, through the border veil. And I have prepared myself by talking to many who have been exposed. I believe I know what to expect.”
Duvan nodded. “Nonetheless, I think you should let me go in alone.”
“No.”
Duvan pressed on. “I can find the plaguegrass as easily as we both can, probably faster. Nobody goes very far past the border. The pilgrims merely wait near the edge or just inside until they are exposed, hoping for a minimal wound.”
“I will not let you go alone.”
“Most people don’t go inside for more than a few minutes, and I’ve only been deep inside once…” Duvan trailed off. The nightmare journey of his one and only trip across the changelands came back to him in staccato flashes. Gossamer scythes of blue fire burned precise cuts across the land. Dirt, rock, and plants obliterated all around him.
Duvan had walked into the hell wanting to be taken by the fire, but it wouldn’t take him. So far it never had. “There are some stable places in the Plaguewrought Land, but those areas are only temporarily safe. Eventually all the landscape bleeds and burns. I seem to be charmed or cursed when it comes to changelands,” he said. “I seem to be able to avoid the effects, so to stay safe you must Stay near me.”
“I will be safe,” Slanya said. “Gregor’s elixir will protect me.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.
Duvan snorted. “I highly doubt that.”
“You heard what he said: the chances of survival are dramatically improved.”
Duvan laughed. “I heard it, but that just means you’ll be able to survive for a third of an hour instead of dying immediately. We’ll need longer than that.”
“Well, I trust Gregor.”
Duvan shook his head. “He’s using you. I bet he’s done it before, too, and because you have faith in him, you agree to being used.”
“I owe him my life,” Slanya said. “That doesnt mean that I’ll throw it away for him, but it does mean that he has earned my trust. He has never let me down.”
Duvan guided them up out of a ravine and onto a sunny slope, heading south. “Blind faith will be your undoing, I fear,” he said. “The Plaguewrought Land is wild beyond anything you’ve ever experienced. It abides by no rules, no laws.”
“I don’t see how”
“Spellplague cannot be tamed by a draught,” Duvan said flatly.
Slanya was silent for a few moments, and Duvan was content to let the conversation drop. If she was determined to go with him inside the borders of the Plaguewrought Land then at least she would do so with her eyes open.
“There are people behind us,” Slanya said after a long silence.
Duvan had noticed that too. “Likely pilgrims. Likely dead soon.”
“So you hate pilgrims as well?” Slanya asked.
Duvan glanced over at her to try to read her expression, which was wrinkled in dismay. “I don’t hate anyone,” he said. “I do think that many pilgrims are greedy and misinformed, and that they have a high likelihood of dying.”
“You don’t approve of following one’s beliefs?”
“Not if those beliefs will get you used or killed.”
Slanya was about to retort when she stopped herself. Duvan watched in amazement as she concentrated and willfully evoked a change in her demeanor. “Very well,” she said. “Despite the fact that you express yourself cynically, and I have a more optimistic view, I think we are mostly in agreement concerning the pilgrims.”
He had to admit he was impressed with her restraint.
“But what if those folks are from the Order and have come to take you in?”
Duvan had considered that. “If they threaten us, we will kill them.” He smirked. “Or knock them out, as the case may be.”
“Why is the Order after you, anyway? Did you kill two of their members, like Beaugrat said?”
Duvan shrugged. “I killed one of them because she and Beaugrat turned on me and tried to kill me,” he said. “The other one was eaten by a manticore.”
“Ugh,” Slanya said. “So that’s why the Order wants to take you in?” Slanya asked. “It seems like a lot of trouble for a misunderstanding.”
“That must be it,” Duvan said, although he suspected that Tyrangal was right: the Order of Blue Fire wanted him for his resistance to spellplague. Just like Rhiazzshar, they wanted to use him.
“Is there any other reason they’d be interested in you? Have you done anything to make them want to interrogate you?”
Duvan lied easily. “Not that I can think of.”
“Don’t you think it would be a good thing to find out? If you know what they want and who wants you, then you might be able to thwart their plans concerning you and avoid future incidents like the one this morning.”
Duvan blinked at Slanya. “Why hadn’t I considered that?” he said, his tone mocking.
Slanya recoiled from his sarcasm as though she’d been slapped. “You don’t have to be an ass,” she said. “I was trying to help, because frankly you seem to need some of it.”
“Look, Slanya, I’m sorry.” And he was too. He felt bad for lying to her. “There is very likely another reason that the Order wants me, but I don’t talk about that reason to anyone. It’s not personal.”
“Maybe they’re interested in why you’re so lucky around the spellplague,” she mused. “Like, how can you have been inside the Plaguewrought Land a number of times and yet you have no spellscar?”
Duvan sighed. She was going to figure it out sooner or later. “I am spellscarred,” he said. “But my scar is completely hidden.”
“Oh? What does it do?” Slanya asked.
“I can’t tell you,” Duvan said. “Like I said, I don’t talk about it.”
They walked along in silence for a while, before Slanya continued. “Well, regardless, I think you need to find out why the Order is after you.”
“Yes, well, that sounds like a good idea, but I cant do it.”
“What do you mean?” Slanya’s eyes grew wide. “It’s not that hard. You make a plan, ask some questions, do some counterspying. Maybe interrogate someone. It seems like you’d be good at those things.”
Duvan snorted. “I don’t even know where I’m going to be living two days from now. I never make plans past a tenday.”
“By Kelemvor, why not?”
“Why think about anything long-term when I might be dead any moment?”
Sweat cooled on Slanya’s neck as she walked next to Duvan. Gravel crunched beneath her leather boots, and she relished the shade provided by the large mote overhead. The fall morning had grown hot, but her sweat was more from nervousness than heat.
Slanya had always met challenges head on. She had always been able to make a quick and impartial assessmenta logical analysis of the obstacles in her path, acceptance of what she could not change. But she found that the prospect of going into the Plaguewrought Land was provoking an unusual reaction in herapprehension and fear.
She tried to concentrate through this unfamiliar feeling. She concentrated on the conversation with Duvan. Here was someone whom she did not immediately understand, someone intriguing. Slanya sensed pain in Duvan’s words. Real pain, not embellished or fabricated. Slanya suspected that he might even be downplaying the pain he truly felt behind the words.
She looked over at the young rogue, expertly picking a path up an ever-steepening rocky slope. “You want to die?”
“No,” Duvan said. “Although sometimes I don’t want to live either. But it doesn’t really matter what I want, does it? I merely acknowledge the fact that we have a limited quantity of tendays. We all pass through the veil into death’s realm sooner or later, and none of us know when that will be.”
Slanya nearly winced. Such hurt and loss behind those words. She found herself intrigued. What was this man’s story? Would he open up to her? “What happened to you?” she asked. “What led you to such a belief?”
“You have a different take on it, no doubt.”
She sighed, allowing the sidestep. “I do,” Slanya said. “And so do most people. We make plans about the future and strive to achieve goals. Do you have any ambitions?”
Duvan was quiet.
Slanya let him consider. She noticed that the group behind them had veered off to the east. So they weren’t following them after all. Just some pilgrims heading to a different border spot. Slanya knew that there were several popular places for the pilgrims to go.
“My goals are all short-term. Eat, survive the day, share a bed. All immediate goals, except for the missions that Tyrangal sends me on; I have a long-term goal of repaying the debt I owe her, so I strive to achieve those missions.”
“Do you owe her a great deal?”
Duvan nodded. “She would say that I owe her nothing. I certainly don’t owe her any coin, but I am in her debt nonetheless. She saved me, freed me.”
“I’m curious,” Slanya said. “Why do you not make long-term plans? Don’t you want to accomplish something big or build somethinga family or a homestead even?”
“I just don’t think about that.” “Why not?”
Duvan let out a laugh. “Because I’ve learned that making such plans is a waste of energy. Because I see no reason to plan or. hope for something when it can all be taken away in a heartbeat.”
Maybe the straightforward approach would work. “Duvan, have you ever told anyone about what happened to you?”
For a moment, she thought he might deny that anything had happened. But he didn’t. He just stared at her, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “It wouldn’t make any difference,” he said. “It would just bring back the-“
Slanya jarred some rocks loose on the hillside, and they skittered down the steep slope. She caught her balance and waited, but Duvan had grown silent and would speak no more.
“It helps to tell someone you trust,” she said. Duvan snorted. “Perhaps, but that cuts the number of possible confidants for me to… let’s see: zero!” “I can see that,” Slanya said. “I’m sorry.” “I don’t need your pity.”
Slanya sighed: Maybe if she reached out to him with something personal, then Duvan would be able to talk to her. Partly, she was curious about him because he was an enigma, a mystery. What had happened to make him so fatalistic and without hope?
And partly, she felt that despite their unfortunate first encounter, she enjoyed his company. He was challenging and fun to be around. Or maybe she just wanted to save him like she saved all her patients, helping them come to peace with their lives before they died.
She decided to trust him with her story. She would open up to him, and perhaps he would reciprocate. Confiding in someone was therapeutic.
As they continued their ascent of the long, stony slope,
Slanya told Duvan of her life before the monastery. She opened herself up to him, telling him of the hard life shed had without parents, of living under the strict rule of Aunt Ewesia.
Under the warm afternoon sky stippled with hundreds of rocky motes flowing up and out of from the changelands like an inverse vortex, Slanya unraveled to him the story of losing Aunt Ewesia to the fire.
“I remember hating her,” she said. “Not all the time, of course. But sometimes I did. Sometimes I wished she were dead. And after the fire, which I thought for the longest time was my fault, I regretted those feelings.”
Duvan’s black eyes narrowed on her, but he said nothing.
“She was my only kin,” Slanya said. “I don’t know what happened to my parents; Aunt wouldn’t talk about it. So after the fire, I had no one.”
Duvan listened intently without responding.
“Kaylinn and Gregor took me into the temple complex to raise me, and I’ve been there ever since.” Slanya considered her next words. “The monastery was exactly what I neededan ordered environment where the rules were always the same.”
A gust of breeze carried the smell of carrion. The strong odor made Slanya wrinkle her nose. “I know that I wasn’t a very well-behaved child at first; I hated everyone, and I felt guilty for not dying in the fire. I was headed on a track to become a criminal or an evil person before they rescued me.”
Duvan was silent for a long stretch as they switched back to traverse across the slope on the opposite tack. The top of the long hill neared, the tenacious weeds and scrubby trees were all that remained sprouting here and there from the loose rock.
When he spoke finally, his tone seemed distant and overly harsh. “Can you remember details about the fire? What color was the nightgown you wore? What glass did your aunt use for her infusion? What did she say when she was on fire?”
Slanya said, “I don’t see what those have to do with anything.”
“Can you remember?” Duvan repeated.
Slanya’s fists clenched, and she tried to see her memory in her mind’s eye but couldn’t. Why couldn’t she? Surely she was wearing the same nightgown she always wore, but what did that look like? What about the other details; where had they disappeared to in the recesses of her mind? “I confess that I’m not sure,” she said finally. “It’ll probably come back to me eventually.”
“I’m sure it will.”
“I’m not lying,” Slanya said, aware that she was being defensive. “And I don’t know why you’re asking me those questions.”
“Listen,” Duvan said, “I believe that you were in that fire. I think all of what you told me happened. But I’ve been through trauma, and it’s never as clean as what you described.”
“Clean?” Slanya was appalled. “You think that was clean?”
Duvan nodded. “Look, I would never diminish what happened to you by claiming it’s not true, but to me, your story sounds polished, whitewashed.”
“No, I”
“That might be the healthy thing to do, Slanya,” Duvan said. “Perhaps it’s better than the alternative.” His voice trailed off as if remembering something. “But it’s not the truth.”
“The truth,” Slanya said, trying to calm herself and really consider what Duvan was saying. “That was what happened. That’s how I remember it.”
“And maybe you remember it like that in order to organize your feelings about that traumatic event. I did that for years, but it does no good in the long run.”
Slanya bristled. “Perhaps the truth is in the stories we tell ourselves.”
Duvan looked at her, his dark eyes filled with sadness. “The truth is that life cannot fit into organized structures and stories. The truth is that the world is wild, and above all, chaotic.”
They rose above the crest of the hill just then, and the far side dropped away precipitously, sloping steeply down and down and down. Slanya’s hold on the world loosened a bit at the sight, for there just ahead was the border veila gauzy, fluctuating wall that rose up into the sky.
Through it and beyond the cliff, Slanya caught a vision of a nightmare panoramaa world of flux and plasma, stretching off into the distant horizon. Blobs of earth and sky, of fire and crystal, fused and parted in a constant roiling dance.
That way lay madness, Slanya knew. And yet she was drawn to it, for here was raw wild energy. Here was the fire and the salvation.
Slanya dug into her backpack, removed one of the vials of elixir that Gregor had provided, and quaffed the entire contents. The oily liquid slid down her throat, and the strong taste of anise made her wince.
Duvan led her right on through the veil, and as she stepped willfully across the border behind him, part of her mind broke, her iron lock on an organized world cracked just a little, aching to dance with the forces of chaos ahead.
Duvan felt an electric prickle pass over his skin as he passed through the border veil and carefully picked his way down the incline. The slope here was steep, but at least it was passable without using rope.
In front of him, the land splayed out like an open, festering wounda scar gushing otherworldly light and motion. The very bedrock was unstable, a dangerous undulation of earth and light.
Duvan couldn’t help but be impressed every time he saw this awesome sight. The changelands were the most raw and widespread wild magic infection in all Faerun. No wonder people made the pilgrimage here.
Duvan checked to make sure Slanya was close behind him. He derived no pleasure from arguing with her. And perhaps he was projecting his own hardships on her, but the way she told of her aunt and the firerelaying the story as if by roteand her lack of details, gave him the impression that she had told this story over and over until it had become her truth. It seemed too pat, too clean and ordered to be the whole truth.
What had she really gone through? he wondered. What had she really endured?
“We will need to stay close together for the rest of the journey,” he said. “The instability of this place can uproot the earth anywhere, and we don’t want to be separated.”
Slanya nodded solemnly, clearly stunned by her first sight of the changelands.
Duvan considered saying something, but he refrained. He’d give her some time to adjust. He had visited the border numerous times, and the sight always brought him to his knees in awe. She should be allowed some adjustment time.
“I’m a little dizzy,” she said.
“Don’t look into the distance,” Duvan suggested. “Too disorienting. Nobody is used to the solid ground in flux like this.”
Slanya nodded.
“Pick a spot on the ground just ahead and focus on that,” he said. “Glance up frequently to make sure there’s nothing dangerous approaching, but always come back to the spot just ahead. That should help with the vertigo.”
Slanya took a slow deep breath, her face waxy and sallow. I’ll try that.”
The ground moved, started dropping ever so slowly. Abruptly, Slanya fell to her knees behind him. Clutching her gut, she vomited on the shifting ground.
This was going to be a long trip.
Climbing back up to her, the shale surface slipping under his feet, Duvan put a hand on her back. “You all right?”
“I’d say the answer to that is pretty obvious,” she said, but her tone was wry.
“I hate to say this, but we have to keep moving. And this is just the beginning of this sort of thing. You can do this.”
Slanya stared at him for a moment, focused her attention on him. Then she gave the barest hint of a nod. “Give me just a moment,” she said. The ground shifted again, and Duvan found that he was already starting to get used to it.
A high-pitched screech pierced the air off to his right, and he glanced over to see a wave of spellplague ripping up the landscape. It seemed like the sound of the universe tearing. Gusts of foul wind laced with fume and needle-sharp rocks blew over them.
“I hope your moment is up,” he said, yelling to be heard over the din. “We need to keep moving!”
He tugged Slanya to her feet, and she rose at his insistence. She followed him as he plunged down the slope, choosing a path perpendicular to the approaching wave. Her eyes were locked on the ground just ahead, and she’d gotten control of her breathing. Quite remarkable.
The blue shimmer passed by them like a ripple in the fabric of the world, a few body-lengths away. And in its wake, the ground lurched and buckled. The air crystallized and swirled in the vortex created by its passing.
Duvan gripped tightly onto Slanya’s hand, determined not to let go. He brought his other arm up to protect his eyes. Tossed into the air by the heaving ground, they flew airborne.
He did not let go, and when the two of them came crashing down, landing hard and skidding down the slope, he still hung on. He was determined not to lose her. Tyrangal liked her, and despite her previous isolation from real-world issues, Duvan found himself concerned about her. He would do his best to protect her until their mission was fulfilled. He’d given his word.
They rolled down the slope and skidded to a stop next to a small patch of spellscarred bushes. How anything could grow in here always amazed him. And as he watched, the bushes doubled in size, then dried up, withered, and died.
The silence that followed left his ears ringing with the screech of the passing wave. And for the moment, they were in a small pocket of calm.
For the moment.
“You all right?” he asked, getting to his feet and brushing the rocks and debris from his hair.
“I think so,” she replied. Her voice quavered at first as she stood next to him and took stock of herself. “Yes, I seem to be all here.”
He laughed. “Corporeal unityalways better than the alternative.”
She gave an amused snort. “Agreed.”
“Let me see if you’ve got any splinters,” he said. “The shards are so sharp they can be difficult to feel, and if left they’ll work into the skin. You don’t want that. Believe me, I know from experience.”
“Good to know,” she said.
And as he examined the exposed skin on her face, he discovered that he was touched somewhat by her story about being orphaned when her aunt had died in the house fire. Despite his dubiousness about the telling, Duvan felt sure there was a good deal of truth behind her story. Perhaps he understood her; he too had been orphaned.
Perhaps she could understand him.
He removed three shards from her face and neck. “Please check me,” he said.
Her head was close, her measured and even breath on his face. She smelled of lilac soap.
She pulled a shard out then looked into his eyes. “II think that’s all of them.”
Duvan looked away, but the look of concern or connection or whatever it was that passed-between them stayed with him. He’d only ever felt that kind of connection for one other personhis twin sister, Talfani.
This look was fleeting and perhaps only imagined after all. We’ll wear gloves and goggles and face scarves from here on in,” he said, and he heard traces of anger in his voice. Anger at what? he wondered, but now that he was aware of it, he recognized that he was truly angry.
“Done,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“I owe you my life,” she said. “I should thank you.” At her gesture of appreciation, he felt the anger Well inside. Why did she have to be so kind? Why did he care so much? It was infuriating.
In the privacy of his office, Gregor scratched absently at the white hair over his spellscar and stared at Vraith. “You seriously believe this young man could be… what did you say? ‘A threat to your entire order’?”
Vraith gave a tight smile. She had sent her entourage into the courtyard while she and Gregor spoke of more sensitive matters. Kaylinn had excused herself. “I said he could be a threat to our operationour plans for the ritual. It depends on what we discover about his powers.”
“He seemed to me to be unconcerned with the affairs of the Order,” Gregor said. “More interested in relatively petty activities, really. I wouldn’t concern myself with him.” Gregor didn’t despise small-time thinkers, but he certainly had no deep respect for them either. He was going to make an impact on this world; he would achieve greatness. Of that he was certain, and those who had no aspiration for deep impact on the worldfor greatness deserved little respect.
“I don’t take chances,” Vraith said, her tone serious. “Not when it costs me almost nothing to avoid this risk. We need to discover if his ability is controllable and how much power he has over it. His power is a threat, and we need to determine how much it has the ability to derail our plans.”
Gregor nodded. He didn’t really care about Duvan as long as he got his plaguegrass. Though he did worry about Tyrangal’s reaction if she learned of his complicity in helping the Order capture Duvan. He would have to do something to prevent her from finding out.
Still, it would not do to anger Vraith at this time. The Order of Blue Fire had its fingers in too many affairs in Ormpetarr. This situation would require finesse and diplomacy. Outright defiance had the potential for dire consequences.
“Duvan and one of our clerics left this morning on an important mission for me,” Gregor said.
“Where did they go?” Vraith asked.
“The Plaguewrought Land.”
“When”
“And I am not certain when they will be back,” he continued, cutting Vraith off. Gregor was growing annoyed at being treated like a subordinate. “But it will be no later than noon tomorrow.”
Vraith frowned. “I’d rather not wait that long,” she said with a sigh. “But I see that I will have to. Very well, I will send Beaugrat and a party to scour the border. When they come out, we will take them by force.”
“I just need what they’re carrying,” he said. “They’re gathering a vital component of the resistance elixir.”
Vraith gave the slightest of nods.
“I would also like to have my monk, Slanya, unharmed and brought back safely. She deserves nothing less.”
“We only need the rogueDuvan,” she said. “And your continued participation, of course, in the plans ahead.”
Gregor nodded. “As long as we are in agreement about the plaguegrass and Slanya.”
“We are.”
A grin spread across Gregor’s face. “Perfect,” he said. “I am excited about the festival. As soon as Slanya returns, I will have everything necessary to manufacture a batch of the elixirenough to accommodate the thousands of pilgrims necessary.” _
“Excellent.”
“We have an agreement then,” Gregor said. “Send your men after them, and you can do whatever you want with the rogue. I don’t want to know about it.”
Vraith snorted. “It’s insincere to get squeamish on me now,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve done worse to thousands of pilgrims by exposing them to experimental elixirs. We’re just going to test the extent of his ability.”
Gregor bristled. Vraith’s comparison was unfair and grossly inaccurate. Not only would the results of his research save vastly many more lives that had been lost, but every single pilgrim who had taken his elixirs had done so willingly. Vraith was not offering Duvan a choice here.
Vraith gave a slight bow. “May the Blue Fire burn inside you.” And without waiting for a response she turned and walked from the room.
Gregor followed. In the courtyard Vraith commanded her man, Beaugrat, to mount up and head out in search of
Duvan and Slanya, with clear instruction to return them both here to the monastery when he found them. “Do not let them escape,” she said.
The sky lightened in the east just as they rode away south. Perhaps it was all for the best, Gregor thought. This way the Order would owe him a favor, and their partnership would be that much stronger. The arrangement would even be good for Slanya, because she’d likely get back faster and in more comfort.
In fact the only one who stood to lose from the arrangement was the rogue, Duvan, and his preferences mattered little in this. It was unfair, perhaps, but he would simply disappear, and for all important parties, that was for the best.
The only backlash for Gregor would be if Tyrangal learned of his involvement in Duvan’s capture. He couldn’t afford for the powerful woman to be his adversary. If only there was some way he could absolve himself of complicity in Tyrangal’s eyes or mitigate her anger.
This was a delicate dance. Gregor hoped his skills were up to the performance of it.
Letting his anger fuel him, Duvan picked his way down the steep incline and deeper into the Plaguewrought Land. He kept silent, focusing instead on the task at hand: survival.
The bare rock of the landscape gave way to a grove of rapidly growing maples. Duvan picked a quick path through the grove. Saplings grew into trees, and soon they were arching overhead, branches budding green leaves, turning yellow, and then raining down in a vermillion shower around them.
Slanya looked up from the fixed point on the ground. “It’s beautiful,” she said.
“Stay close,” Duvan said, breaking his silence. “It may look beautiful now, but it could change into something dangerous at any time.”
As they continued through, the trees aged around them. They shrivelled and died. Undergrowth of vines and bushes rapidly filled the space. Duvan took Slanya’s hand and pulled her. Fueled by the remnants of the Spellplague, this undergrowth could easily grow fast enough to trap and suffocate them.
The pungent odor of decaying plants and humus rose around them like a palpable tide of death. Duvan headed left and up a slope that seemed to be rising as they ran. Leaves and rotting vegetation deepened until they threatened to suck the two down into the muck.
Duvan scrambled up the slope, finding footholds easily. Slanya seemed be struggling to match his pace, but she managed ita fortunate thing. If they stopped they’d be trapped.
“Will you know how to get back out?” Slanya said.
Duvan nodded. “Of course I will.”
Slanya followed him step for step as they snaked further into the changelands. He kept his eyes open for plaguegrass, but so far there was no sign of the elusive plant. Duvan marveled at the level of trust that Slanya put in him, amazed that she did not question his choices.
Perhaps her faith in the elixir was so strong that she felt protected. The thought of such blind trust in anything so experimental angered him, and he wanted to get her to question it. But he held his tongue. Even if it provided no additional protection from the changelands, at least it reassured Slanya and helped her avoid panicking.
Staying calm was critical in negotiating the dangers of the Plaguewrought Land.
Duvan took them over hills and through the rapidly shifting landscape. Spellplague was ubiquitous in here, all around them, but there were waves and pockets of blue fire, where its intensity was far higher. Duvan tracked these by sound and sight and smell, but also by feel. His stomach grew heavy when remains fo the Spellplague stirred like stormclouds, filling him with a gut-churning irritation.
“Can you feel that?” he asked.
“Peel what?”
“The spellplaguea flare of it is off to our right, moving toward us.”,
Slanya shook her head. “I have no sensation of it,” she said.
“You’ll become attuned to it,” he said.
“I doubt it,” she said. “If it were possible to attune myself to something like that, my training would make it simple for me to focus. You have a gift.”
Duvan scowled at her and guided them away from the approaching wave of spellplague. It wasn’t visible yet and seemed to be passing underneath them. Suddenly the fire changed direction and rose up toward them.
The earth heated up around them,
“Run!” But every way Duvan turned, he felt the blue fire. Finally, he stopped running and crouched next to Slanya. “It’s all around us.”
The sky darkened to a deep purple as the smell of burning rock smoldered into the air. The ground beneath their feet started to drift upward.
Slanya covered her ears as the screech of rock against rock crashed in on them. A spiderweb tendril of blue fire spun into existence around Duvan and Slanya.
“Stay close,” Duvan said. “Do what I do.” As long as she remained within about ten paces, his spellscar would keep her safe from the blue fire. And if she wanted to attribute that to Gregor’s elixir, Duvan would just have to hold his tongue.
Duvan’s stomach felt like lead, and the hairs of his back and arms stood straight up. The tendril of spellplague arced toward them, snapping like a whip…
And dissipated just as it was about to hit them, vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind.
The storm seemed to howl with frustration, and underneath them, the ground shifted. Another whiplash of spellplague struck at them. More gut churning, but now Duvan was moving. He didn’t see what happened behind them as he led Slanya in a run away from the spellplague wave.
The earth beneath their feet lurched and rumbled as Duvan dodged the hottest flares. The tilting earth made him stumble, and Slanya fell to her knees behind him, but soon they were back on their feet and heading farther and farther from the surge of blue fire.
The ground seemed to be lifting slowly now, floating upward perhaps. They ran across a narrow patch of hot, dry desert, then down a trail into a shaded cleft. At the bottom of the cleft, Duvan led Slanya across a mossy creek, the rocks slippery from the green growth and dewy moisture.
He reached out to her, and she grabbed his hand. He did so at least as much for his own benefit as hers. The stream’s water misted into the air like rainy fog around them, and for a moment they existed only in a white cloud, drenched and cold and unable to see. But her hand was still in his.
Together meant that she’d be safe. He’d promised to keep her safe.
Then the cloud gave way as they pushed through and up a short incline, emerging to sun and the smell of wildflowers. Warm breezes dried the dew from his forehead and neck as he led them into the tall grass of the meadow.
“Look,” Slanya said. “This meadow is filled with plaguegrass!”
The grassy field ended abruptly, Duvan noticed, at a cliff. The shifting ground and the sensation of rising was clear bow. They were on a mote, a large one to be sure. “Get as much as you can now,” he said. “This meadow might not be here much longer. Beyond that edge there is nothing but a long fall.”
Slanya’s eyes widened as she gazed out over the rim of the cliff. The ground below, dotted with flares and wisps of blue and white spellplague, receded quickly. “By the gods, how do we get off of this?” Slanya said.
“We don’t,” Duvan said. “We’re too far up now, and the plaguegrass is right here. We’ll have to wait until it floats back down.”
The mote they were on was a good three hundred feet above the rest of the land. And it was rising. Fortunately, it seemed to be heading toward a swath of the changelands that was relatively stable, for the moment. Duvan breathed a little relief; it looked like they’d have clear sailing on still waters, for a short while at least.
Ahead, however, they would run into trouble. If the mote stayed on course, it was headed directly into the center of the changelands. Still a good distance away, but definitely in their current path, was what Duvan recognized as the vortex of a spellplague storm.
A dark blue sky streaked with purple made the backdrop for a swirling whirlwind of destruction. Gossamer threads of white and blue entangled with flames of red and yellow in an angry and wild display of raw nature. It was beautiful and terrible, awesome and indiscriminately perilous.
And they were heading directly into it.