(continues from Finding Evarion)
Evarion was right…there. Just when the working had started to tax Willow, a light flared up on his internal map of Shayari. It pointed to her current location and it was nowhere near here. Well that made things interesting. His party included an old man, an ancient Pathfinder with a crushed leg, and one spry middle-aged fellow. The mule snorted reminding everyone of her and her cart, which held him up.
Zooming in, he formed a picture in his mind. He scoured it seeking details to tie the terminus for a one-time magical gateway to Evarion. Something solid and disinclined to wander off, like a nice mountain, would do. But the one he found loomed further away than he liked so he scrapped that idea. A boulder served as chair for her, and that could do in a pinch, but the passage would be awful cramped.
There was always the enchanted forest if he dared. The space between two of those giants would leave plenty of headroom. And his magic worked best with plants so perhaps he’d found his answer. Now then to select two trees for this undertaking. They had to be far enough from that body of water, so it didn’t interfere. Earth and water magic didn’t mix well. They tended to muddy each other at best and not work at all in close proximity to each other.
Though he had to hand it to her. She had chosen an exceptional location. It had plenty of fresh water, a few options for shelter and even better, fresh food both on the hoof and the bush. Perfect. One more second to fix the coordinates on his mental map of Shayari and–
A slap knocked him out of the path walk and dumped him back into his hurting body. Pain exploded up his leg drenching him in sweat and agony as his shattered bones shouted at him. Willow blinked at a sputtering Jow.
“You–you aren’t seriously considering ‘Pathing in your condition?”
Since that indeed had been the plan, Willow nodded to his lover’s question. He couldn’t walk and the longer he had to manage this excruciating pain the less he’d be able to do. So it was now or never.
“How else can we reach her?” he asked through teeth clenched against the howl building in his soul. Pathfinders did not scream their discomfort even if the pain was excruciating. No, they grinned and bared it. Or they ‘pathed to someone who could fix the problem.
That was his unique talent–translocational spell casting. Or rather, the building and maintaining of magical gateways, portals and such like constructs. So why the hell would he walk anywhere when he could just throw up a gate and walk through to wherever he wanted to be?
A nerve jumped under Jow’s ebony skin as he fixed incredulous eyes on Willow. His long-time lover didn’t subscribe to that philosophy. Nor did Willow have the energy to explain not if he wanted to scare up a magical doorway in the immediate future.
First, he had to compartmentalize that pain so he could stop thinking about it and focus on building a gate. God knew where they’d end up if he didn’t put that blazing agony somewhere far from his magic. Splinters pinched his skin from where he gripped the cart’s side. He had to concentrate.
to be continued…