More Walking, More Talking

“So you’re going to help me fight from now on?” John asked. The phrasing of his question suggested that he’d pull his weight, but he knew that, compared to Moira, it wasn’t likely that he’d be able to get in more than one hit before she destroyed every Gnoll within a mile radius.

“Yes,” she answered. “I think I’ve made enough difficulties for you for one excursion. If we encounter any more problems, you can count on me to protect us both.”

“Thanks,” John said. He decided to leave off the ‘I guess’ that almost followed. Moira may have redeemed herself a little in his eyes, but she was a long way from being considered a friend.

They had left the scene of the fight shortly after things cooled down between them. For a moment, John had stopped to consider the carcass that the Gnolls had been carrying between them. It was some kind of lizard, longer than he was tall and much wider, covered in thick scales reminiscent of a crocodile. That was as far as the similarities went, as whatever it was was much rounder and smoother, and had a round snub for a snout with two beady little eyes near each other on the top. Curious, he’d tried Observe and found that it didn’t work on the carcass. John was about to ask Moira if they could eat it, but she cut him off with a silent shake of her head and turned to leave. John shrugged and followed suit.

Things were mostly silent for the two over the course of the next hour. There wasn’t much to say and, as much as they may have come to an understanding, things still felt awkward to John. He was already terrible at smalltalk when it came to ordinary people, but trying to talk casually to Moira was leagues more difficult. Bafflingly, she was both a peer and superior to him at the same time, one who seemed to deliberately maintain a steely outward demeanor. Sure, she dropped it from time to time, both on purpose and on accident, but John got the impression that being stand-offish came more naturally to her than being inviting. He wanted to try to connect with her a little, he really did, but he had no idea where to start. Worse, just a moment of eye contact was all it took to derail him every time he thought he had come up with something. Each time, they both averted their gazes and said nothing. John was almost relieved when they encountered another hunting party of four Gnolls.

Moira moved like a flash, passing by the first one entirely to focus on the rear three. John took that to mean he was supposed to handle that one but, as he’d expected, he didn’t get to do very much. They squared off and had a brief exchange, nimbly avoiding each other’s strikes while Moira caused carnage in the near distance. By the time John had finally snuck in a single, solid stab, he looked up to realize that his opponent no longer had a head. It had been replaced by the head of Moira’s hammer. John could hear the disquieting sound of the original splattering against the closest wall.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” John began, after they had cleaned themselves up, “how strong are you? Compared to the rest of the Order, I mean.”

“Much, much stronger,” Moira answered plainly. “Erica represents the very best of our Knights, but most would be below her level.”

“Seemed like you two were on a pretty level playing field when I walked in on you sparring.” John didn’t mean for that to come off as doubtful sass, but realized in hindsight that it did. Fortunately, Moira didn’t take it that way.

“Neither of us was putting our all into that fight, but in terms of purely mundane, martial prowess, I’m not too proud to admit that Erica may be better than me,” Moira said, pulling her lips tight in spite of her words. “That said, magic enhances everything a Mage does, even when we aren’t willing it to do so. Put simply, my magic is more powerful than hers.”

“I guess that makes sense,” John said. “What about Adelle? Where does she stand?”

“Among the best of the Squires, probably better than some Knights, to tell the truth,” Moira said.

“Why not promote her then?” John asked. “Oh, uh, Knight her.” At first it seemed odd to him that someone would be recognized as better than their supposed superiors but go unrewarded. A second’s reasoning reminded him that that was usually the way of things in the mundane world too. He was disappointed to learn that the same rules still applied, at least as far as the Order was concerned.

“I can’t,” Moira replied with a tinge of irritation. “I would if I could, but she is a Squire of the Sword Warden, not me. As Shield Warden, I have no authority to grant her Knighthood. That’s why I placed her with Erica. If I can’t raise her station, I can at least make sure she is under excellent tutelage.”

“That sucks,” John griped. It could explain why Adelle seemed to have a lingering air of frustration most of the time. It was obvious that she desperately wanted to achieve Knighthood, she idolized them. If she could never become one as long as she was in Springfield, it stood to reason that she’d want to get back home as soon as possible. “Why is she here then, anyway?”

“It’s an exchange we do between Wardens,” Moira answered. “Every year, we send each other a few of our Squires with excellent potential as an exchange of methodologies and a show of unity. You’ve seen for yourself how well trained Squire Kingston is. She was an excellent candidate.”

“Sounds like an honor,” John said. To the contrary, he remembered Adelle’s mixed feelings on the matter that his Observe window had mentioned. It didn’t line up. It seemed like a recognition of her skill, and that Knighthood was all but assured upon returning home, so why was she so ambivalent about it? “Any other reasons the Sword Warden picked Adelle specifically?”

“Yes.” Moira grimaced. “Her family and the Sword Warden’s, and, by extension, mine, have a long history. It’s a complicated one, and explaining it would be both tedious and uninteresting.”

“Is that code for ‘I don’t want to get into it?’” John smirked. Moira’s expression fell even flatter.

“If I say yes, will you let it go?” she groaned.

“Mmhmm.” John nodded. There wasn’t anything else to be gained from the conversation, not without admitting what he knew. If he did that, he’d have to reveal how he knew it, and something told John that Moira wouldn’t take kindly to him scrying on every member of the Order he met. The meeting with her father was more than enough evidence to support that assumption.

With their conversation dead in the water once more, John took the time to look around and assess his environment. Things had become decidedly more damp than before and much cooler to boot. He shivered a bit, not because of the chill, but because it reminded him of the Kobold Barrier. Few crystals grew in this area as well, small ones at that, providing barely more light than a gibbous moon. Curiously, there was no rubble to hinder them. Every surface was smooth and, he then noticed, roughly circular, if a little uneven. Suddenly, John’s shiver turned into a persistent chill.

“Hey, Moira?” he asked, with an edge of fear to his words. “This path we’re taking… it didn’t happen to be carved out by some sort of massive, stone-eating monster, would it?”

“Indeed,” she replied tersely. “By an Excavator Wurm, sometime within the last 20 or so years, most likely.”

Given that the circumference of the tunnel was at least a dozen meters in length, John dreaded to imagine how large one of those wurms was. The best thing he could think to compare it to was one of those old shipping freighters he’d seen in movies. Something of that size wouldn’t even notice trampling him, and that was the least gruesome fate he could imagine such an encounter would lead to.

“What happens if one comes through, towards us?” he dared ask.

“Then we turn around and walk briskly back the way we came,” she answered. “But don’t worry, besides that being incredibly unlikely, we’d know by now. You’d be able to feel it if one were anywhere nearby.”

“Oh, thank God.” John released a heavy breath. “Why couldn’t the Abyss around Springfield be a nice forest, full of Elves and Fairies and butterflies? Why do we get stuck with this hellhole?”

Moira stopped walking and looked at him.

“Listen to me closely,” she said, voice grave and eyes sharp. “Fairies are not to be trifled with. If you encounter any, disengage as soon as possible. Accept nothing from them. No gifts, no food, no stories, no deals, nothing. Do you understand?”

“Jeeze,” John took a step back, “are Fairies really that bad? What are they gonna do, stab me to **** with toothpicks?”

“Don’t get flippant with me, Newman!” Moira snapped. “Toothpicks in your eyes would be the least of your worries if you get ensnared by the wrong Fairie at the wrong time. Fae aren’t all doll-sized, besides. I’ll take a treacherous, Gnoll-infested cavern over having to navigate through Fae lands any day.”

“Okay, okay,” John raised his hands defensively, “I’ll take your word for it. No Fairies for me, got it!”

“Good,” Moira said as she resumed walking. “Now let’s keep moving. I hope to reach the end of this tunnel before we set up camp for the night.”

“Yes, ma’am,” John replied and fell in step. Moira didn’t deign to react to his sarcastic respect.

Several more hours passed before the end of the tunnel came into view. It led to another massive expanse, much like the area near where they entered, minus the creepy forest. Instead, a new forest occupied the entirety of the area, a forest of stone. Stalagmites of various sizes littered the ground, many of them connecting to stalactites too far above to see, forming pillars that extended into the darkness. A natural road of sorts was formed by the wurm’s passage as it bore smooth the ground and either consumed or toppled any mineral formations in its way. Moira stopped and placed her hand on her hips, taking in the landscape.

“Yes, we’re on track,” she said. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed to see no search parties in the vicinity. Things as they are, I estimate we should reach the Gate the day after next.

“Oh, joy, another two days of slogging through caves.” John’s voice was low and monotonous as his shoulders slumped. “Yaaaaaaaaay.”

“It could be worse,” Moira said, shooting him a look. “You could be alone.”

Sometimes I think I’d prefer that.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Without Moira, he’d have probably died within the first day. “Want help setting up the tent, or should I keep watch again?”

“I can handle the tent just fine,” Moira said, suddenly indignant. She scanned the area around them for a suitable area to make camp and found what she was looking for quickly. “That will serve well enough.”

She led them to a small indent in the wall, where a pillar had formed less than a foot away from it. Again, John stared into the dark emptiness while Moira worked on preparing their lodging for the night. To her credit, it took less time than before, and significantly less cursing. He only turned around and entered the tent after Moira had given him verbal permission, and steeled himself against the sight of Moira in her pajamas once more.

He didn’t comment on anything and neither did she, though John noted a slight blush on her cheeks when he’d entered. Like before, she had laid out nutrient bars on napkins for the two of them. Very little was said between them as they ate by the light of her little electric lantern, but Moira’s face grew stern after she finished hers and sorted herself out to lay down.

“Remember, keep-”

“My pants on, I know,” John said, flicking his waistband with his thumbs. He’d removed his equipment, but the clothes stayed. “And they will remain firmly on unless I have to leave the tent to take a leak or something. You have my word.”

“Good,” Moira said, but the beginnings of a sneer appeared on her face at John’s deliberately crass language. He rolled over and smiled to himself.

“Goodnight, Moira,” he said.

A silent moment passed.

“Goodnight, Newman,” Moira replied. John’s self-satisfied smirk grew softer as he closed his eyes.

John awoke to complete darkness. It didn’t feel like the natural, slow wakefulness brought by morning’s arrival. His foggy mind struggled to figure out exactly what was going on when he heard the source of his disturbance, a subtle shifting beside him. He didn’t move, and made sure to keep his breathing slow and steady as he strained to listen. He heard it again.

Moira squirmed beside him at irregular intervals. John had no clue what she was doing, or if she was even awake. Every now and then she’d let out a stifled groan or a barely audible whine that piqued his curiosity. Whatever the cause of her discomfort was, it was increasing. Moira’s complaints grew more frequent and less restrained until she suddenly sat up with a heavy, frustrated huff. Silence followed for a short while, until she sighed and crawled out of the tent. John considered following, but he was dead tired and Moira was a big girl.

She probably just has to pee.

John repositioned himself and decided to wait. Maybe he’d get worried if she took longer than five minutes.

He was asleep in less than one.