B2 Chapter 215: Decompression

Kaius scrambled up the hill, battling against the scree slope as he used one hand to hold Ianmus secure to his shoulder. Loose stone gave way with every step, sending him a stride backwards for every one he climbed.

He wasn’t the only one having a rough go at it, Porkchop’s weight was working against him, making his journey to the lip of the valley even more arduous.

Shifting in his stupor, Ianmus let out a soft moan—though he did little else. Kaius frowned, concerned at his friend’s state.

Ever since he’d cast that spell—that ridiculous, all consuming, spell—he’d been out cold. When he and Porkchop had finished off the last of the boggling siege, Kaius had hoped that the man would wake quickly—so that they could flee, celebrate, and interrogate the mage for his idiocy.

They had no such luck—worse, once the fighting was done, he’d realised that Ianmus was pallid and blue. They’d slipped a health potion down his throat, one of their last, but as far as he could tell it’d done nothing.

There’d been nothing for it but to truss the man up like a hunted pig and haul him out of there as they fled. Even with all their bloodlust, neither he nor Porkchop had any interest in sticking around to investigate what had prevented the rest of the plague from attacking them in that cave.

Especially since it looked like the last boggarts had been more scared of what lay back the way they had come, than the two delvers who had just slaughtered what felt like two hundred of their kin.

At best, they’d been press ganged by the warchief, who was looping around to flank them. At worst, there was something more dangerous than them in those tunnels.

No, it was much better to flee—to recuperate, recharge, and investigate when they were fresh.

With a grunt, Kaius hauled Ianmus’s limp body over the lip of the ridge, scrambling up after him.

Porkchop joined him shortly after.

“What’s the plan? Create some distance?” Porkchop asked, scanning the valley and hills for threats.

“Tent.” Kaius grunted, picking up Ianmus and slinging him over Porkchop’s back. “We have no idea how stable he is.”

His brother nodded, and they set off—dipping below the ridge line to avoid standing out against the sky. Moving from rocky outcroppings to shallow divots in the earth, Kaius scanned their surroundings, expecting something to jump out at them—for something to go wrong in the eleventh hour.

That’s how it went, right? Something always went wrong, in his experience.

Yet nothing did. They made it back to the secluded cluster of boulders that hid their tent. Seeing that small spire of illusory canvas and leather was the sweetest succour he had ever experienced.

A balm on his aching mind, a tonic for his weary soul. Tension rolled off his back, leaving him feeling heavy and tired.

Here, at least, they had some modicum of safety. Both he and Porkchop had taken care to lay false tracks, and obscure their true route to this spot. They’d even dipped through the small stream that ran through the valley—washing away the scent of blood and muck of battle. Even if they were stumbled upon, it would have to be hellish luck indeed for a boggling to decide to search between the boulders—and even if they did that, having the ability to pierce the illusion that hid their tent was almost an impossibility.

He pulled Ianmus from his brother’s back, dipping into the warmth and comfort of their living space before depositing the mage on the fur lined bed that took up one edge.

Porkchop pushed his way inside, standing beside him to watch the mage.

“What do we do?” Porkchop asked. “What even happened to him, for that matter.”

“I think it might be mana burn, but it looks a lot worse than normal.” Kaius replied.

Every other time Ianmus had expended enough mana at once to leave himself sickly and weak, Kaius had been able to see the natural mana around the half-elf’s body grow thin and hazy. Now, it was entirely absent—a disconcerting man shaped hole in the world.

At least at first—Kaius realised he could see the faintest sheen welling up from deep within Ianmus.

He sighed in relief, glad that there had been a positive development.

“I think he’s recovering—his mana’s returning.” Kaius said, turning to their discarded packs. Reaching into their dimensional storage, he retrieved his pan, a haunch of beef, and some pulped vegetable sauce he’d managed to pick up from a market—enough for a braise.

“May as well make sure he wakes up to hot food, it looks like he’ll need it.” he continued, sitting on the floor of the tent as he went about preparing their meal.

“Stew?” Porkchop asked enthusiastically, settling beside him as he eyed the ingredients.

“Close,” Kaius laughed. “But I think you’ll like it just as much.”

….

A few hours later, Kaius was just finishing up the final touches to a spell hymn when a desperate gasp cut into his internal world.

His heart quickened. Tightening his grip on his mana, he redoubled his efforts—weaving the final few runes he needed on a spindly array to finish his Stormlash inscription.

Mana pulsed through his pathways, locking the inscription into place, and sealing a portion of his pool inside of his glyph.

Snapping his eyes open, Kaius looked up to see Ianmus sitting bolt upright on the bed, a look of wonder on his face as he stared off into space.

“Ianmus! Are you alright!” Kaius called, leaping to his feet and rushing over. “You’ve been out for a couple hours.”

“Something smells delicious,” the mage mumbled, looking down towards the bubbling surface of their pan in the middle of the floor. A moment later he shook his head, eyes clearing as he looked around their tent in confusion.

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“The tent?” he asked, dazed. “What happened with the boggarts? Did we flee?”

Porkchop lumbered over, a warm rubble echoing through the space—loud enough that it would have put Kaius’s nerves on edge if he hadn’t already confirmed that no noise made in the dimension space would exit its boundary.

“In a sense. You were absorbed in your spell, so I’m unsure if you noticed, but the boggarts started to stem. After your attack there were barely a dozen left.” Porkchop replied, before he smacked Ianmus in the back of the head with a meaty paw. “Also, elfling, perhaps next time it would be best to ask us before you knock yourself out in a life or death situation.”

Ianmus went bright red. “Sorry! I truly didn’t expect that to happen—once the spell went off it just kept pulling deeper and deeper on my reserves, drained me utterly dry—mana and will both—on top of the extra exertion from my metamagic.”

“Well, whatever it was, it was effective—you cut what must have been forty bogglings in half.” Kaius replied. The spell had been an impressive display of violence for someone who had yet to reach their fourth class skill.

It reinforced his belief that Ianmus only had a Rare class by dint of lacking deeds and combat experience—he certainly had far more theoretical and practical casting knowledge than most mages far his senior would have. Even if it had drained him to the last drop and taken an aeon to channel, that guillotine of light had some oomph behind it, that was for sure.