Of course, Kelren thought bitterly, as he held open the tent flap and contemplated the tumultuous heavens. Rain splattered endlessly just out in front of him. The Isle of Dusk may have fallen, and I have sent my underlings to investigate…and now a hurricane. If Relis and Eltha had sent news by teleported message or by bird, their communication would be lost in the storm. When his spell charm had initially dimmed, Kelren had first considered damage of the device itself. When the blacksmith and he had verified there was none, he had considered going in person—either to Sheld or Saanazar, or to the Isle of Dusk itself.
But he was more than Kelren, the mage. He was Master Kelren Bellar, chief magician among the East Storm Company and advisor to the Three Commanders. Kelren sighed, closed the canvas flap, and turned back to more local issues. That hurricane was a more immediate threat to the mercenary camp in the hills.
“We can’t stay here,” Sergeant Cardan said. The Sergeant was a tall man with brutish shoulders that seemed disproportionate to his lanky legs. Though he outranked Cardan in technicality, Kelren was here to provide magical assistance—such as healing—and to advise. Cardan went on with his report from the scouts, pointing to the map on the table between Kelren, Quartermaster Nothedar, and himself. “There are caves here and here—they would provide shelter. On the other hand, we could find shelter in Velend’s Grove. The rebels have been spotted as far as here, spread out and holed up in farmsteads or amongst the hills. A swift, unexpected attack would displace any of them still hiding in the town. We would get shelter and defensive advantage. But we would be surrounded.”
“Sounds risky,” Nothedar said. “What if their forces are moving inward at the same time? We could be fighting them all—in the town and in the storm.”
“They may not have access to proper news, as we do,” Cardan said.
Kelren nodded. They received their news from Eastpoint directly, while their scouts and patrols cut off most contact the rebels might have had beyond these hills. “We could push in then, using that fact against them,” he offered.
“We have plenty of supplies either way, but if we did enter the town and found ourselves surrounded, we might be enduring a siege of sorts… I would suggest the cave option, simply for resource stability,” argued Nothedar. “Unless Master Kelren has any tricks up his sleeve.”
Cardan glanced at Kelren.
“None that can feed us,” Kelren said. “But there will be more food in the town, I expect.”
Cardan shrugged and glanced back at the map. “Well, we’ve only had a couple skirmishes and seem to outnumber them. We’re certainly better armed. This is nothing like our fight against those mountain bandits two years ago. Nothedar, could you prepare some additional supplies if I gave you a day or two?”
The quartermaster nodded. “Lend me some more bodies for foraging and hunting, and we should be able to scrape together a couple days’ extra rations.”
“Done,” Cardan said.
“I have another idea,” Kelren said, leaning forward. “We know where several of those caves are located, correct? The scouts could take me? I can concoct a poison that will drive the rebels out of the caves. If they are to seek shelter in town and find you have taken it, they will seek out the caves. Without shelter in either place, they’ll be left out in the storm.”
“Brilliant,” Cardan praised. “What do you need?”
“I have most of the supplies that I need,” Kelren said. And the magic to disperse it… “Still, it would be a risky venture. Can you send a small contingent with me?”
Cardan nodded. “As many as you need.”
“Good. I’ll begin preparations,” Kelren decided. He approached the tent flap again and headed out into the downpour.
Soaked by the time he reached his own tent, Kelren dried off as best he could with a cloth and added some more fuel to the brazier that lit and warmed his space. He unbuckled his sword and set it beside his bed mat. Kelren travelled a little heavier than his peers, but when he was stationed with a battalion, it made sense. There were arms a-plenty to move his trunks. From one such chest he withdrew a smaller lockbox. He wore the key around his neck—day and night. This lockbox contained over twenty different poisons. Sergeant Cardan—or even the Commanders of Storm Fort—would likely have confiscated it if they had known all the insidious effects this lockbox could inflict.
He withdrew one, a small beaker wrapped with cloth, tagged with a little parchment that read “White-tongue.” It would spread rapidly when converted into a vapour. It was agonizing, but not as lethal as others he possessed. His first task would be to create more of the poison—much more. With a sample to mimic, re-creation without dilution was a tedious, yet effective, process that simply sapped his willpower as he focused through his Crux. Each drop of water became a drop of White-tongue when it entered the mixture.
By the end of the day, Kelren had filled a dozen vials.