The Warrior and the Treasure Hunter-P2

The Warrior and the Treasure Hunter: A Ryzom Saga Story - Part 2

Fan-fiction
by
N.C. Weber

   Nomis Merclao held his hand over Pumala's head.  He kept his eyes closed as allowed his mind to focus on the student before him.  Nomis stood a full one and a half heads taller than the Fyros warrior.  His broad shoulders and well muscled arms would give any prospective opponent pause.  Even so, his movements were deliberate and gentle.  Finally, Nomis opened his eyes and lowered his hands.

   "Yes, I believe you are ready," intoned Nomis in a rumbling baritone.  "You have learned to focus your Sap admirably.  I am pleased to see it.  Speak to Tedehem Paglops about learning the proper spell."

   Pumala let out a breath she had not been aware she had been holding until now.  There was something about Nomis Merclao that made her extremely nervous and self conscious.  He never made judgments, and he was always encouraging.  Still, his steady gaze made her feel as if she were an errant child about to be punished.  Pumala bowed to the Sage to show respect, then turned and walked toward the Magic Trainer.  Tedehem was closer to Pumala's height, but her build leaned more toward slim and sultry.  Like her counterpart, she had the odd blue-gray skin of the Zoraï.  Their ears were small, as if they were underdeveloped.  Even so, they were keen.  To live in the jungle, they needed to be, lest one be surprised by a hidden predator.  The most prominent feature, of course, as with all Zoraï was her mask.  Nomis' mask seemed to make him look angry, at least to Pumala's mind.  In spite of this, Nomis was always kind and gentle, almost meditative.  It was this dichotomy of expression that disturbed Pumala.

   Tedehem, on the other hand, had a mask design that made her seem eternally cheerful.  Not like the over-the-top perkiness that beings like Iktar seemed to display, but an even blissfulness.  Tedehem noticed Pumala's approach and welcomed her as she always did.

   "Ah, my student returns!" she exclaimed.  "What does Nomis require you to learn today?"

   "The heal spell," said Pumala.  "I'm going to be traveling to the far northwest as a protector for another homin, so I felt it was prudent to train in this skill."

   Tedehem nodded.  "Very wise.  I expected nothing less from a Fyros warrior.  Preparation has always been the hallmark or your people's success."  She paused in thought.  "This will be different than the other magic spells you learned.  Up to now, your spells have been offensive spells.  This is a defensive spell.  More than that, it is a Celestial spell.  A spell of healing is the exact opposite of a spell of destruction."

   “What must I do?” asked Pumala.

   “With previous spells, you focused on strong emotion, such as anger, to power your attacks,” explained Tedehem.  “This time will be no different, except the emotion you need to use will be more meditative, relaxed.”

   “I'm not sure I can do that,” mused Pumala.

   Tedehem smiled.  “Of course you can,” she chided.  “Think back on the last time you gave in to the quiet around you.”

   Pumala thought about her foray in the Hunting Grounds when she was hidden in the bushes near the Bodoc herd.  She recalled how it felt to smell the earthy scents around her, the musky odor of the Bodoc, the heady scents of flowering plants.

   Tedehem nodded.  “Yes.  You see, you can do it.  Recall that moment while performing the spell.”  She showed a parchment to Pumala.  “These are the stanzas you must learn to create the spell.  This part you already know.”  Looking it over, Pumala was stunned to find just how easy the spell was to learn.  It seemed the most difficult part was concentration.  “Mmm,” nodded Tedehem, “I can see you are ready.  Go forth, then, and do your teachers proud.”

   Pumala bowed to Tedehem Poglops, hefted her axe and turned toward the western side of camp where the other trainers were located.  As she walked past the Mektoub stables, Pumala caught sight of her Tryker employer.  Apparently, while she was out getting supplies, she had rounded up someone else to go with them on their journey.  Upon seeing Pumala, Iktar hopped up and down while frantically waving.  Pumala couldn't help but grin.  It was completely unnecessary for Iktar to do so, but like most of the Tryker's actions, she tended to do things in extremes.

   “Who's your friend,” asked Pumala as the two homins approached.  She was a little amused that the newcomer was a Matis.

   “Pumala, this is Damphira,” said Iktar by way of introduction.  “She's going to be joining us on the way to Shining Lake, but don't worry, she's strictly my responsibility.”

   “Oh?” queried Pumala.  “She's your assistant?”

   Iktar reached up and patted the woman's arm.  The Matis girl nearly flinched at the touch.  “More like my student,” said Iktar proudly.  “I'm going to teach her the finer points of harvesting materials.  Apparently, she's a deft hand at crafting, and wants to learn how to forage for her own materials.”

   Damphira stared at Iktar as if she were a two headed Mektoub.  Why was a Tryker being so nice to a Matis?  Surely, she had better things to do than babysit a hated enemy.  Pumala smiled at the girl, walked over to her and placed her free arm about the crafter's shoulders.  “Don't worry,” explained Pumala.  “It will take some getting used to, but I've come to the conclusion that she's some kind of mutant strain of Tryker.  She certainly doesn't behave like you would expect.”

   Iktar, for her part, place her hands on her hips and studied the Fyros warrior for some minutes.  “I've decided to take that as a backhanded compliment for now until I'm sure I know what you meant by what you just said.”

   Pumala blinked.  “I'm not even sure if I know what you just said.”

   Iktar shrugged.  “Not important,” she declared.  “Let's move out.  We've got a lot of ground to cover before we get to where we're going.”  Iktar led the small group of homins to the northwestern entrance.  Like the northeastern path, it too was flanked by rows of lit torches as path markers to guide any wayward homin to a safe refuge.  Just beyond the boundary of the refuge site along the path was the entrance to the combat arena, a large pit that had been dug into a grassy hillock.  Lit torches ran along the high sides of the pit while below the earth was marked by regular use.  Here homins could challenge others in sparring matches to test their skills in the various forms of combat.

   The trio of adventurers skirted west of the arena to a sparsely wooded area.  Here the long muzzled Capryni grazed among the tall grasses.  Their hooves thudded on the packed earth as they looked for fresh clumps of vegetation.  Pumala wrinkled her nose at the smell of fresh dung nearby.  Iktar seemed to be in a traveling mood as she was merrily humming to herself.  Damphira remained quiet as she followed closely behind.  Pumala noticed the Matis' brow furrowed slightly as if something confused her, but decided to let the young crafter work things out on her own.  She suspected the girl wondered why a crazy Tryker would take an interest in someone from a race of beings that should be notably despised by the Tryker.  Pumala wondered this herself, but felt it wasn't her place to comment.

   As they traveled, Pumala noticed that they had reached a point just beyond where she and Iktar had first met.  She saw, with some annoyance, that the Bodoc had returned in much larger numbers.  With a shrug, she put it out of her mind.  She would hunt another time.  They next passed a rise in the ground that quickly formed a small grass topped butte.  Pumala had climbed the formation during her training days at the Refrugee Camp.  A small troop of Yubos lived atop of the butte among a grove of berry bushes.  The three passed south of the butte and followed its wall as it rose high the further west they traveled.  Here and there, they could spot large mushrooms growing along side paper birch saplings.  These odd fungi tended to harden as they aged.  After which a new sprout would spring forth from the cap growing until it too hardened.  The cycle would continue resulting in a series of stacked mushrooms that resembled stalagmites in a cave.

   Also, flitting about the open spaces between the saplings were Izam.  The little flying lizard like creatures had long thin tails and blunt heads with reddish-brown leathery skin and white bellies.  Iktar brightened considerably at the sight of them.  Watching them lazily circle about themselves made the Tryker giggle.  One actually flew up to the Tryker to investigate the curious sounds she made.  Iktar held perfect still, eyes rapt in wonder, as the Izam circled about her head.

   Pumala smirked.  “If he plops a big one right on your pigtails, then you'll be sorry.”  Iktar gave Pumala a reproachful look and the Fyros warrior couldn't help but laugh.  Damphia simply stared at the two as if they were odd.

   Up ahead of them, they could see the larger trees of a mature forest looming on the horizon.  The ground where they were rolled unevenly and made it difficult to estimate proper distance, however Iktar reckoned on a couple more hours of walking.  “Once we reach the edge of the forest, we can break for the midday meal,” she said cheerfully.

   “You mean after midday meal,” complained Pumala.  “It'll take a bit to hunt something down, drag it to wherever we're camping, skin it, clean it, dress it, and cook it.”

   “Come on, where's your warrior spirit?” cried Iktar merrily.  “This is going to be fun!”

   “Okay,” said Pumala, “if it's so much fun, then you do the hunting.”

   “Can't,” said Iktar.  “I'm going to give Damphira her first foraging lesson.”

   The Matis' head jerked up at the mention of her name.  “Foraging lesson?  Out here?”

   “One should always strive to learn something new whenever and wherever they can,” said Iktar.  “Besides, I like to have vegetables to go with my meat when I eat.  We'll also need a starch.”

   “Don't tell me you plan on baking bread out here,” said Pumala.

   “Don't be silly,” chided Iktar.  “There's no time to build an oven.”

   Pumala opened her mouth, then shut it.  “I wasn't being serious.”

   The Tryker stopped and turned toward Pumala.  “Oh,” she said simply.  “Actually, I was thinking legumes.”

   “Pardon?” asked Pumala.

   “Beans,” said Iktar.  “Damphira and I will pick some while you hunt.”

   “Okay,” said Pumala uncertainly.

   “What's wrong?” asked Iktar.  “Haven't you ever had beans before?”

   “Er, no actually,” admitted Pumala.

   “You're gonna love 'em!” exclaimed Iktar.  “They're very high in protein.  If you ever find yourself without meat, beans make an acceptable substitute, food value-wise.”

   “Right,” drawled Pumala.

   “Where are we going to find these, what did you call them?  Legumes?” asked Damphira.

   “Ah, she speaks,” said Pumala with a grin.  “For a while there I thought you were the strong, silent type.”  Damphira ducked her head blushing.  “Aw, no, don't go all quiet on me now,” said Pumala.  “How can we get to know one another if you don't speak?”  Damphira shrugged, but a smile tugged at her lips.

   The sun had passed its zenith when they reached the western edge of the butte.  The wall curved northward and Iktar began to follow it.

   “Hey!” exclaimed Pumala.  “Javing woods is that way!”  She pointed west.

   “I know,” explained Iktar, “but I want to camp this way.  It's a spot I've used before.  Me and some other foragers maintain it and keep it stocked with wood and fresh water.”

   Pumala smiled.  “Well, well.  So there's more to the Tryker running off treasure hunting.  I was beginning to think you hadn't thought this trip through.”

   Iktar winced.  “Sorry.  I meant to tell you about this.  Really, I did.  But, as you may have noticed, I tend to get easily distracted.”

   Pumala laughed.  “I'll say.  Alright, lead us to this prime camping spot of yours.”

   Pumala and Damphira followed Iktar further northward along the wall of the butte.  It wasn't long before the wall made a sharp easterly turn.  “Hang on,” said Pumala slightly puzzled, “I'm pretty certain this formation is much wider than this north to south.”

   Iktar nodded.  “It is,” she assured the others.  “Look there.”  The Tryker pointed north to another wall facing them that ran west to east.  “This butte isn't solid.  It's shaped like a Capryni's hoofprint.”

   “Ah, I see,” said Pumala looking about with renewed interest.  “Kind of like a box canyon down here.”

   “Oh!” Iktar exclaimed suddenly.  “There's the camp site.”  Along the south facing wall, further into the grotto, was a fire pit, a stack of wood and a small stone sarcophagus.

   “What's the stone box for,” asked Pumala.

   “Water,” said a mysterious voice.

   In one fluid motion, Pumala had her axe in hand and her shield up ready for any attack.  There on the ground, sitting in a lotus position, was a young Zoraï.  For an agonizingly long moment, silence and stillness permeated the grotto.  Finally, a high pitched voice piped up.  “Whoa!  You are fast!”

   Pumala hazarded a quick glance at the wide-eyed, squealing Iktar.  “We're kind of in the middle of a situation here, Iktar,” snarled Pumala.  “Now is not the time to remark on my prowess.”

   “I mean you no threat,” said the Zoraï quietly.  “I am simply here to meditate before I continue on to Javing Woods.”

   “Why are you going to Javing Woods?” asked Damphira.

   “I am part of the task force sent to thin their numbers,” said the Zoraï.  “I was injured and had to break away from the rest of the expidition.”

   “How did you get injured?” asked Pumala suspiciously.

   The Zoraï pointed to the entrance of the grotto.  “Just beyond those trees is a wide open plain,” said the Zoraï in a calm, soothing voice.  “It is littered with very aggressive Slaveni.  I'm afraid I accidentally stepped on one.”

   Iktar had scuttled closely to the Zoraï as she spoke.  “Ooh, I love the sound of your voice.  Say something else!”  The Zoraï looked oddly at the Tryker who was crouching so close to her.

   “Iktar!  Stop it!” snapped Pumala.  The Tryker's idiosyncrasies were starting to wear on the warrior's nerves.  “Wait, now.  Slaveni?  You mean the same ones that destroyed the City of Silan?”  The Zoraï nodded.

   Pumala blew out an exasperated breath.  “First, Javings, then, Torbaks, now, Slaveni.”  She turned to the Tryker who seemed to have taken absolutely no offense from Pumala's earlier outburst.  “This is some trip you planned.  No wonder you needed a warrior.”

   “Of course,” agreed Iktar.  “Contrary to observation, I'm not really crazy, you know.”

   Pumala smiled.  “The jury's still out on that, but I take your meaning.”

   The Zoraï had been following this byplay between Fyros and Tryker.  “You are traveling past Silan?”

   “Well, I hadn't intended to infer such, but since I mentioned Torbak, I can see how you would come to that conclusion,” grumbled Pumala.

   “If you are willing, I would like to accompany you,” said the Zoraï.

   “If it were up to me, I'd say no way, but it's not up to me,” said Pumala.

   The Zoraï looked at the Tryker with some surprise.  Iktar shrugged.  “Why do you want to go so far west?”

   The Zoraï bowed her head as if embarrassed.  “I have heard tales of a Kami enclave out in the farthest point of the island,” she said.  “I desire to determine of such rumors are true.”

   “Oh, is that all?” asked the Tryker dismissively.  “I can tell you that.  There is definitely an enclave out there beyond the Shining Lake.”

   For the first time, the Zoraï moved with alacrity.  She nearly leaped up from her seated position to a kneeling one and braced the Tryker by both shoulders.  “You have been there?”

   Iktar shook her head.  “No, but I know folks who have been there.  Mostly Tryker, of course.”  Iktar could seen the intensity in the young Zoraï's eyes behind her mask.  The mask itself was different from many she had seen.  This one had warm tones with yellows, red, and oranges in a pattern that seemed to enhance the alien look of the wooden mask.  Black arches curving above the eyes gave the mask a distinctively feminine feel.

   “Would you allow me to join you?” pleaded the Zoraï.  “I could be of value to your journey.”  As she reached into her bag, Pumala readied the grip on her axe.  The Zoraï pulled for the what looked like a pair of wooden gauntlets attached to a leather gloves, but she wasn't wearing them.  Pumala marginally relaxed.  “See?  I have amplifiers!”  She held the amplifiers out to the Tryker.  Iktar took one gauntlet and turned it over in her hands, examining every inch.  The glove was masterfully stitched and anchored to the gauntlet.  The gauntlet itself was sleek and smooth.  The varnish was evenly coated and not layered on heavily.  The amber foci were strongly set in place and evenly spaced for a well balanced performance.  At last, Iktar noticed a sigil on the rear underside of the gauntlet.

   Damphira's eyes went wide in shock.  “That's m-my mark!”

   The Zoraï magician retrieved the amplifier from Iktar, stood, turned, and bowed low to Damphira.  Damphira was near tears when the mage did this.  “I thank you for your excellent craftsmanship,” said the Zoraï in reverent tones.  “These amplifiers have save many lives in my travels.  Not the least of which has been my own.”

   Damphira was silent, but the tears began to overflow.  The Zoraï seemed confused.  She turned to the others.  “Does she not understand?”

   Pumala rested her axe on a nearby log.  She walked over to the Matis crafter and enfolded her in her arms.  “It's alright,” said Pumala to the Zoraï.  “I don't think anyone has ever thanked her for her work before.”

   The Zoraï nodded gravely.  “I understand.  Normally, we never know the names of the crafters of many of the things we use, but when we find one, we should always take the time to thank them.”

   “I hate to be the one to ruin such a wonderful moment,” said Iktar with sincere hesitation.  Pumala thought it sounded odd because many who used those words spoke with sarcasm or irreverence.  “But we do need to see about lunch.”  She glanced upwards.  “Okay.  Dinner.”

To be continued.