Dungeon 42

Mismatched

Chapter 136

Ackley Camphor was many things, but a mage wasn’t one of them. Despite that, when he heard the first whispering of spirits in the woods, he took heed. He’d kept a habit of treating them well since he was a boy. Something anyone with two bits of sense did.

Counter-intuitively Larch, the mage accompanying Ackley, was dismissive of them. He couldn’t understand that since the other man should have been able to see and hear them properly, unlike him. All Ackley could sense was a vague presence and occasionally heard a hum. Still, he’d left his helmet off to allow them to play with his hair.

So far as Ackley was aware, spirits and fey both had odd habits and fixations. Hair in particular was something they tended to be strange about. Denying them an opportunity to comb and braid it was courting trouble, so he’d grown out. It hit his shoulders rather than being close-cropped in the manner most knights favored.

“Sir, I think we best stop and make offerings. The spirits are already vexing us and it's not likely to get better,” Ackley offered. It was subtle, but the woods around them were shifting slowly. Had they been depending on their eyes rather than his hound Fleur’s nose, the pair would have been hopelessly lost long before.

“What a brave knight you are. Scared of some minor spirits,” Larch spat. He was a second-class mage but he had the pride of a sixth-class archmage.

Larch’s words caused an angry murmuring in the air. The spirits didn’t suffer disparagement gladly.

“And you’ve no manners. These woods belong to them and we’d do well to proceed respectfully,” Ackley countered flatly. He felt a gentle caress on his cheek in response while Larch had a growing abundance of thorns and whippy branches in his path to vex him further.

Larch just sneered and kept walking. Something he was also doing out of a fool’s pride, despite huffing pathetically as he trailed behind Ackley’s steed Rose. The same steed he’d offered to let the man ride double on with him after Larch refused the loan of a donkey.

“You’ll have to sign for the extra time this is taking as well, Ackley,” He added, emphasizing the name oddly. Given how mature the man had behaved thus far, Ackley guessed he was being petty and felt not using his title would be a slight he cared about.

“Certainly,” Ackley replied simply. Signing for the hours would mean they were done and would soon be shot of each other. Something he looked forward to unabashedly.

Ackley normally didn’t mind a certain level of arrogance. It wasn’t possible to work with nobility otherwise. Mages worked hard and could accomplish astonishing feats. The problem was so far all Larch had been good for was counting the hours he was due pay for.

Truthfully though, Ackley knew he wouldn’t have been happy no matter who he’d been paired with. The Baronet's orders hadn’t set well with him from the start. To find a woman who was supposedly a bandit leader's concubine as well as the child with her.

“We’re almost to the glade where she’ll be,” Larch growled.

“Then you really ought to stop. You said you saw her hunting a rabbit with a sling in your vision,” Ackley said and sighed. Larch had seemed to take the warning as a challenge and charged ahead of Rose. As if he’d be better able to make a path than a horse in barding.

“I’m hardly as fragile as a rabbit, Ackley,” Larch shot back. Ackley disagreed, but the main point was Larch was much larger and slower, rather than relative toughness. He kept that thought to himself.

“Pardon, but I’ve work to do,” Ackley said softly before putting on his helmet. The spirits graced him with a few breeze-like touches but otherwise let him be.

“What?” Larch asked far too loudly. Ackley flinched, wondering if Larch had cost them a chance at surprise.

“Lower your voice and get behind me,” Ackley said, rather than acknowledging his prior comment. Around him, he could hear the low but sharp hum of irritated spirits. He halted his hound and horse accordingly. The trees ahead looked rather more vibrant than the others in the area. If they were approaching a spirit dwelling of some kind, they risked much greater danger if they gave offense.

“As if,” Larch said dismissively.

Seeing Larch continue on heedlessly, Ackley quickly dismounted and went to drag the mage back. It was much harder to appease spirits once offended than it was to win their favor.

“Fool-” Ackley started, only to be cut off by a sharp metallic clang. A bit of bark exploded off the side of a tree a few paces behind him.

“What-” Larch started but didn’t have a chance to finish. Ackley grabbed him around the waist and hauled him back like a sack. After getting behind cover he threw the other man away from him and let him hit the ground hard. It was less than he deserved.

“What was that!?” Larch demanded. He hadn’t even stood up yet, just pushed up on his hands where he’d fallen.

“A fucking rock that damned well can kill you!” Ackley spat. Most people liked fancier and easier-to-use weapons like crossbows. The thing was, if you practiced enough, a sling was just as deadly and often faster.

“Now wait!” Ackley added harshly. With Larch sorted he moved to get his horse and hound properly behind cover. Rose was a reasonably placid creature for a warhorse, but not infallible and he hadn’t put on her full barding. She was getting on in years and Ackley routinely left the flank panels and heavy blanket off to spare her the weight unless he was expecting trouble.

Ackley sighed as he gave Rose a carrot and tossed Fluer some jerky. They deserved a treat for having had to put up with the same shit he had all morning. Thinking of recent inconveniences, he sighed, then sighed again because of how often he was sighing. It was a bad habit he’d been developing since the appointment of the new baronet.

The Baronet had been the one to summon Ackley and send him off like an errand boy. As if it made sense for him to depart from the man's estate ill-prepared rather than take the extra half hour to go home and equip himself better.

Ackley felt a strange sort of rippling in the air as a spell was cast. Larch had made a shield of wind, apparently set on walking straight through the glade.

“What in the name of the gods are you doing?” Ackley demanded. He didn’t think well of Larch but even incompetence didn’t explain his zeal to just walk into an enemy's line of fire. Mages were fearsome, but comparatively delicate to other combatants. They required focus and mental clarity while a knight could fight with half their guts hanging out and a concussion.

“Ha, as if you don’t know about the bonus,” Larch spat. “I’ll bring him back the Silverleaf bitch’s head myself.”

Whatever Larch might have said or next would remain a mystery. Before he could step foot into the clearing in front of him he jerked to a stop. Ackley’s sword protruding from his chest. A forward shield really didn’t do anything for one’s backside.