Chapter 2, Travel

(Reskeme Pov) Chapter 2

Reskeme trudged along, his feet kicking up dust along the winding path. His stomach grumbled. Lifting his hand, Reskeme wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Hours of walking along the hard dirt path, and he was wondering where he could find some food. Reskeme's ear throbbed. Why had he gone for revenge? What had he gotten? Nothing but a splitting headache and five copper.

Clasping the empty fist sized leather pouch in one hand, Reskeme kicked the dirt. Gone, all gone. But who had taken it? The path in front of him had three distinct sets of foot print leading into the distance. The dusty trail outlining one large set of boots and much smaller prints on either side. He was going to show whoever had robbed him last night a piece of his mind. Reskeme pulled his pack from his back, smacking his head as he scowled down at the four remaining loaves of bread. At least the thieves left him something, especially the water skin.

Sighing, Reskeme did his best to ignore his grumbling stomach. Not yet stomach. I fed you this morning. Reskeme must be getting soft. His stomach gurgled again. He took a hunk of the bread, chewing on the tough loaf. At this rate, his only remaining food wouldn't last him the remaining three days to the border.

His legs aching from days of walking, Reskeme swallowed a gulp of warm water. He climbed a hill before descending the hill. Over and over. Staring at his feet, Reskeme trudged up another of the brutal torcher devices. His calves screamed and all he wanted to do was sleep, if it wasn't for Carley forcing him to do so much walking he would have collapsed hours ago.

Where was the Sergent? He hoped she was still alive and alright. Reskeme balled his fists, his eyes blurring. Breathing deeply, Reskeme calmed his racing emotions. One step at a time. Damit, stupid church. He was such an idiot. Never again. Why had he trusted her to help him? Trisha didn't owe him anything.

Reskeme stood straight, never again. He was sick of being pushed around. He was still going to do the mission for the church. Only because that was his choice: no one else's. Reskeme was going to get in with the church and take them for every copper coin they owned. Reskeme gritted his teeth, a lump in his throat. How could he do that? He wasn't powerful or rich.

The dirt path of the hill slowly flattened out, but Reskeme was too angry to care. Around him, shadows lengthen as the light of the day slowly faded. What did it matter, with his vision, Reskeme could keep going all night with little trouble?

What can he do to make his own future? Nobody pushed around Master mage Kellar, because the mage was terrifying. That was it, Reskeme needed to become so terrifying that nobody would dare steal his food. What had master Kellar said? something about needing an elemental to become a super mage? No, that wasn't right. It sounded cool, but just didn't sound right. Enormous mage? No, still not right. Hmm, Grand mage. That was it Grand master mage.

Even as a master mage, Kellar was still not at the top. He was being controlled by someone. Swallowing the stale bread, Reskeme grimaced, once again reduced to eating stale half rotten food. Halting, Reskeme glanced around along the dirt path frantically for the footprints. That was it. If he wanted to not be pushed around anymore, he should go for the highest title, above grand master even.

How could he achieve something like that? He couldn't go back to learn from Kellar. Maybe in Pentir he could learn from the guild he was going to infiltrate. Reskeme grasped for his neck, pulling out his mana gauge. Reskeme sighed in relief, finally. In the mostly empty circle of the amulet was the faint tinge of blue. After a week of nothing, his magic was returning.

Glancing down, Reskeme slid to a halt. Wait, when did the three pairs of boots cut off? Turning, he backtracked until he found where the path cut off. They pointed towards his left, heading into the tall tree.

Walking from the path, Reskeme crept carefully. His heart raced. Momentarily, his energy returned as he entered under the canopy of the trees. He leaned against a tree, something sticky coating his right hand as he weaved between the trees. With no weapons Reskeme felt naked, he would need to catch the robbers off guard or he didn't have a chance.

After several minutes of walking slowly through the trees, Reskeme caught a faint light reflecting off leaves. There, taking deep breaths, Reskeme calmed his racing heart. Creeping towards the camp of thieves. Feet crunching on the grass, he carefully scanned the forest, trying not to look at the small fire in the camp. The scent of roasting meat drifted to his nose, his mouth watered. Actual meat?

Reskeme shook his head, wincing, dam it, stupid injury. Stomach grumbling, he eyed the three figures sitting around the fire. The largest, a tall, muscular man held a spear. A sabre rested at the man's side, leaning casually against a tree. Clenching his fists, Reskeme crouched, watching the man as his shoulders drooped. Judging by the man's worn brown shirt and dirt stained red pants, the man was no soldier. The tall, slim man leaned on his spear, staring into the fire, and occasionally wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Around the fire lay two figures, the other two thieves in brown sleeping bags next to the fire. Reskeme wondered if they too are armed. Does he have to deal with more weapons or just the mans? From where he was crouching, he could see the back of the man's head. These bandits didn't know what was coming for them.

He would show them what happened to those who pushed him around. Searching the forest floor, Reskeme found a large heavy stick. Reskeme watched his feet, making sure every step avoided the grass. Taking his time as he watched the Man, the man's body trembling slightly. Reskeme drew closer, as the man turned his head Reskeme moved further to the side slowly. No sudden movements, he thought.

How did his familiar do this so easily? Every step could give him away. Only ten steps to go. Holding his heavy stick in both hands, Reskeme raised his weapon. Now in striking distance, Reskeme halted. The man's body shook. A bubbling sob ripped from the man's throat, dropping his spear as his hands clutched his face. Leaving both the spear and sword next to him.

Was the man crying? Unsure what to do, Reskeme held still. His heavy stick raised to strike. Just swing the stick already. Shifting his weight, firming his resolve. So what, this man had taken what wasn't his. Reskeme caught movement as one figure in the sleeping bag moved, shifting.

His heart dropped. The tiny figure's tear-stained face and puffy red eyes stood out as the young boy slept. Kids? the young boy was maybe six or five. Reskeme's heart skipped a beat. He looked to the other figure. The figure was the same size, perhaps smaller than the first.

Reskeme turned back to the man, looking at him with new clarity. The mans shirt was torn and ragged. Stomach wrenching at what he was doing, Reskeme took a step forward. It wasn't even that much food. He didn't really need the five silver from the pouch either. If he rationed his bread, he could make it to the border. Reskeme needed the spear, though with the Darva so near he was lucky to have made it so far. He wanted the sword as it would sell for a lot more. His stomach tightened at the thought of these people alone and defenceless with Darva so close behind.

Reskeme slowly grasped the spear, taking the weapon silently from where it lay. The mans body shook as he sobbed. Reskeme wanted to ask why the man was crying. He had a guess. The city had fallen. How many people had died, did it matter if he took from this man and his children? Reskeme remembered the streets. Looking down at thin bony arms. His stomach throbbing, the emptiness ever present.

Grasping the spear, Reskeme turned and left, creeping from the clearing the way he had come. He could justify a lot, but not this. It wasn't even his money; it was the churches. Reskeme could always get more from people who could afford it. Feeling much better, he crept back to the road and kept walking, leaving the man and the two children to their grief.

Reskeme felt lighter, as though a weight lifted from his shoulders. His anger and frustration cooling to a dull ache. He supposed that was the trouble with choosing your own path to follow, at least now it was him deciding. Holding his head high he smiled, that was his choice not the army's not the churches his.