"It started a week ago... The children complained of the shadows moving."
Joshua stares into his cup, his fingers twisting it nervously in his hands. The seconds stretch on. You take a sip of tea, leaning back with an air of wise assuredness, and say, "Go on."
"That's it."
The tea spurts through your nose and you cough half of it down. You stand bolt upright. "That's it?" you gasp, thumping your chest. "Shadows? You called me out here for shadows?!"
Joshua shrinks away as if slapped. "Not just shadows, sir. Many of the children have been struggling to breath on a night. Our holy woman thinks demons-"
"Shadows and asthma." You're not sure whether to laugh or wipe the town off the map. "Hardly worthy of a the Orders' attention, is it."
"We-well we might have consulted a hedge wizard," he stutters defensively. "Were it not unlawful."
"And were he not hung last month," Joshua's son speaks up with a bitter edge to his voice.
Rolling your eyes, you take a burning branch from the edge of the fire and march purposefully into the largest of the crude huts that these savages call home. Thrusting the torch into the darkest corner, a patch of shadow remains untouched by the light. It squirms and slithers away, scattering apart into single motes of shadow. Using the fire to shepherd them towards the door, they scatter into the winds once outside, drifting away towards the forest.
Less than an hour later, having cleared the rest of the huts, you return to the bonfire. "Shadow mites," you inform the elder tersely, driving the stick into the soft grey soil, burning embers pointing upwards. "Leave."
From your cloak you draw a satchel of powder, sprinkling a handful over the smouldering end of the brand. The embers hiss and spit out flames that form into the wavering, jowly face of Captain Magnus. You salute.
"Journeyman Meade reporting, sir."
"Meade? We weren't expecting to hear from you so soon. I take that to mean the mission was a dud."
"Shadow mites, sir."
Magnus bites off a curse. "Bloody time wasters. Be so kind as to inform your hosts they're exempt from magical aid for the next twenty years, then report back to the nearest wyrmhole. I've a new mission for you..."
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.27 seconds at 7:07pm on Dec 22, 2024 via server WEBX1.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author