Stepping Wild (Dungeon Runner 04)

The city of Dermirion didn't have a library or university, which Tibs thought was a good thing. He didn't think he'd be able to keep his curiosity in check, and after Brokentia he didn't want to stay in this city any longer than needed before heading further zenith to Ashimeter.

He still needed information about the region, but this was now better accomplished by speaking to people who went there, or those they spoke to. Tavern keepers were good people to start with.

He needed to keep in mind that stories changed with each retelling, but right now, any kind of recent information would be better than whatever he'd find in old books.

He was well into his drinking when he asked the thin woman behind the bar about the region.

"Why'd you want to go all the way there?" she replied.

"To see the monsters, of course." He spoke with the enthusiasm of someone who never had his life threatened.

She scoffed. "There aren't any monsters there."

He sagged. "Really?" He took a long swallow, then leveled his gaze on her, full of confidence. "Jermia said that his cousin had talked with the sister of the merchant's man, who travels there for the harvest market, and he was certain there are monsters there."

"And how many tankards did he sell you before he told you that story?"

He frowned, looking into his nearly empty one. "I don't know. A few."

"If you don't remember that, how do you know what he told you?"

Tibs smiled, only the way someone who had drank too much ale could. "Because I was paying attention." He kept his slurring light. He didn't want to waste time with her having to figure out what he said. His accent was already enough of a potential impediment. He motioned for a refill.

She considered him, then refilled it. He slid the copper to her and looked expectant.

She sighed, and he smiled, taking another swallow. The tightness of his scarred hand still felt odd. The reminder of his actions a welcome one.

"The way I hear it. It's some savage animal."

"Aren't all animals savage?"

"More savage. And that was years ago. Whatever that poor excuse for a tavern keeper told you. No one I've talked with, who has actually been there, said anything about anyone vanishing recently."

He slouched again. "So there's no point in going?"

"Only if getting yourself killed is what you're after."

He frowned. "I just want to see a monster. Not get killed by one. I'm tired of just listening to bards sing about them," he added, dejected. "I want to feel the awe of watching a feather covered blob ooze up taller than I am. Or the horned stone horse of Slademir barreling at me. Ot the giant of Torrel making the ground shake with each step she takes."

"Even if there are monsters in Ashimeter," she said, looking at him like he was an idiot. "You won't encounter those there."

"Oh." Then he beamed again. "But I'll see something else. Something no bard's sung about. I'll get my own song!"

She rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "Do you want more ale?"

He looked into his empty tankard. "Didn't you fill it already?"

"Yes, but do you want more?"

He frowned in concentration, then smiled and offered it to her. "Only if you tell me more of the monsters of Ashimeter."

"There aren't…." She sighed and took the tankard. "It's not like you're going to remember any of this by the time you sleep this off anymore." She returned it, filled, and took the copper. "My grandfather knew an adventurer who actually went there, looking for those supposed monsters." Her words only had faint light on them. Exaggeration, not outright lies.

"I knew it!" he grinned at his victory. Because this was one. More than one barkeep had hinted she'd know something about the region, but until now, he couldn't be sure there had been anything to them.

"You're going to be disappointed if you remember any of this, because as amazing as this story's going to sound. My grandfather said it's all fabrication. That the adventurer made it all up so she wouldn't have to share her shame of going through all that for nothing."

He grinned as if the words were meaningless, and she set about telling him the story of Ramistal the Brave.

* * * * *

Tibs ran, jumped, and threw himself from tree to tree.

He felt great.

The wind against his skin was an experience nearly as good as when he'd—

He staggered, plummeting to the ground as that memory reminded him of who he was. The Air cushion was etched in time and the pain wasn't as glorious as when he channeled Fever. Even through the pain, his body's reaction to what had happened then was up and visible.

At least, that would go down on its own.

He pulled Fever from his bracer and applied it to his broken bones, then an etching of Purity to speed things along, but keeping it from going for his scarred hand. He would have to heal it fully in time, but he wasn't ready.

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He didn't like it had taken that memory to snap him back to himself, but at least this time, it hadn't been what he'd almost done with that bear.

He shuddered. Fever had no limits when it came to sensuality.

He still felt unsure about putting himself through channeling it, learning to control himself. Even in these woods, the bear incident had been a reminder there were dangers to letting that element control him.

But Fever was too useful. Just how it sped up his healing made the risk worthwhile, and who knew what he'd be able to do with it once he could suffuse himself again.

With a groan, he pushed himself to his feet. But this was enough for today. He cast his sense out for his clothing and packs. He kept shedding them under Fever's influence. Once he retrieved them, he set back to his journey.

* * * * *

The woman pulling the bull the plow was attached to was nearly stepped on as she stared at Tibs. He waved at her without stopping.

The journey had been long, but he'd been prepared. He'd followed the trail left by the yearly merchant, stepping well off when he wanted to train himself with Fever. Even the suspicion a wanderer might come along for him to influence terrified him. But over the months, he'd worked out how to remain himself.

Unlike how his previous trek through the wilderness had left Tibs, making himself presentable had been simple. He didn't understand why it worked, but he could use Fever within him to make small alterations. Similar to when he healed himself, but affecting his outside. If he pulled it out of his hair and beard, they fell off to slowly regrow. It itched as it grew in, but it was preferable to burning himself as an alternative to his obsidian blade.

And in time, even that wouldn't work anymore. Tibs was now confident that even if he decided not to get all the elements, they, and Crystal, would find him eventually.

They might tell him that it was on him when and how he got them, but too many times had happened out of his control for him not to suspect they were prodding him along.

The village was named Dunsy, according to Dermirion's tavern keeper's story. Named after the family who had settled here. The way she'd told it, they had been on their way further zenithward when their cart broke. While one of the sons traveled to get the iron needed to fix it, they discovered the land was fertile and settled it.

Now, they grew a large part of the grains that made it to the city.

The forest was well beyond a day's walk sunriseward, but this village had still been the closest to the city. His alternative would have been to remain with the caravan until it reached the city of Howliet on the opposite side of the region, and then he'd still have to travel zenith to reach one of the village close to the forest.

Even without the danger traveling with them without his depression keeping the temptation of channeling Fever at bay, the months without a guarantee one of those villages would put him closer to the dungeon that might be in this forest didn't look appealing.

The Ashimeter was vast, and all people knew of its interior came from hearsay and bards' songs.

He attracted more stares as he entered the village proper, the wall's gate unguarded.

"Good day," he jovially greeted the mothers as she pulled children to her. "Can you point me to where I might get lodging?" His accent was noticeable. He hadn't tried to learn the kingdom's language beyond making himself understood. It served him here since a traveler who didn't know the language was less suspicious than one who'd mastered it.

She pointed further in.

He thanked her and continued on. He'd ask for more precise direction with the next person he met.

That person was a woman who rushed out of a long building, flour flying off her, to stand in his path. She was massive, and the way her fever bunched through her muscles meant she'd be strong.

He stopped paces away and smiled.

"And who might you be?" she asked suspiciously.

He bowed the way a noble would for a woman of authority. "I am Tiobard, scholar of the wild. I have heard stories of the Ashimeter—" he swept his arm toward the unseen forest "—and I have set upon confirming, or disproving them."

"And that means?" She still sounded suspicious.

He looked uncertain. As if he couldn't understand how his erudite tone and language hadn't conveyed all she needed to know. Acting like he was her better would make interacting with the people here harder, but he was making himself a scholar and he knew from experience people who spent their times with their nose in books had little concepts of how to act with simpler people.

"Well. It means that I plan to venture into the forest and observe the creatures I see." He brought his pack forward. "I will make notes, and once I am satisfied I know the truth of the stories, I will return to the university and let everyone know."

"The Ashimeter is over there." She motioned where he had. "What are you doing here?" her tone didn't lighten.

"Well…." He had trouble not showing his amusement. "I expect you and the people who live here, so close, will have knowledge…" he trailed off at her frown. "Stories?"

Was this how it was for theater folks? Acting moods they didn't feel? He didn't usually have to think about how he should act; he was too busy looking for signs the other was catching on, but he already saw she took him as he presented himself.

"Course there're stories," she said in a 'don't you already know that,' tone. "But they've been told to anyone who passed through. Go to the city to hear them." Where you belong, her tone added.

"But no story is as true as when told…."

Her expression made it clear she was running out of patience with him.

A scholar would press on, oblivious, certain his intelligence would be enough to make her understand. But he needed hers, and the people here's, help.

"Stories change when they are told," he said. "And I am seeking the most accurate version of them." What he needed to do was ensure that speaking to her level didn't come across as an act to ingratiate himself with her. "I'll also need a place to stay and keep my notes while I make them. I can pay," he added, but it didn't have the soothing effect it would in the city.

"We don't have anything that'll make city folk happy."

"That is fine. I am used to the hardship of travel."

Her snort made him think she thought he slept at expensive inns on his journey here. Maybe she couldn't imagine city folks doing anything else.

Still, after contemplating him, she led him inside the large building she'd come from. Four women and two men were preparing food. They barely glanced his way. She opened a door at the back, to a room containing bags of grains and flour.

"You can make something out of this to sleep on."

Oh, how an actual scholar would object to this arrangement. Tibs could imagine the outrage. "And how much will this cost me?"

"A copper a night," she replied with the finality of someone who didn't care how expensive the person paying thought it was. It would be more effective if Tibs didn't feel she was greatly undercharging him. He'd look for ways to add to that over his stay since he couldn't haggle the price up and have her believe he was who he claimed to be.

"Very well. What will the arrangement for food be? How much will you charge?"

Her expression turned confused, then annoyed. "We eat when the farmers come in from the field. If you're here. You can eat with us. If you're not, you eat what you find out there."

"That is acceptable." He placed his pack down. "If I need to ask the village folks questions, can I bring them here?"

"Don't bother people. We're working folks here."

The implication city folks weren't, was loud.

"You have my promise I will not interfere with anyone's work.

She rolled her eyes and left him there.

* * * * *

He didn't have to work at finding people to tell him about the Ashimeter forest.

He presented himself at the dining hall as soon as folks stopped streaming in, and was stared at until the woman, whose building this seemed to be, said he was some scholar from the city. The announcement seemed to make Tibs normal, and they returned to their food.

He took an unoccupied seat, then had a plate with bread, stew and dried fruits placed before him.

They were asking about who he was before he started on the food, and once he mentioned the forest, stories flowed.

The stories were good, if too often filled with light, and the food better than he expected for being composed of meats and vegetables that had survived through the winter.