Another great shadow passed over Krow.

He glanced at the Map. Unfortunately, there was no enemy tracking on it. Not until he mastered the Scout subclass to Second Wright and gained the skill that was rather dramatically called, ‘Prophet of Four Directions’.

The quest-related monster nest was still some distance from his location. He might not get there in an hour, if the nest was in the peaks.

But if they were hunting, surely the nest would be empty?

As long as he got there before dawn, he could finish the quest successfully.

He kept to the edge of the road, near the tree line. A bird needed to have supernaturally strong vision to hunt at moonset. Krow really didn’t need to be seen, else his first death in the game would be tonight.

Tsk. Why was the bird the one with night vision?

Draculkar night vision didn’t work in full darkness without a light source of some kind. The light from moonset was already gone. The light from the stars and Orveterne was barely enough to keep from tripping over exposed roots. The arbor of trees kept most of that light from reaching the ground.

The wraithlight was really a lucky find. They were more popular items in large towns and cities.

In the midst of darkness and the faint blue light of the lamp, a twist of bright flaming color caught Krow’s eye. He stopped.

Twisting tendrils of fire, coalescing into a blazing rocket, the red and black of burning bloody rage trailing flickers of sun-yellow.

It was undoubtedly a Spell.

Krow gaped.

He’d seen the mage-class players and NPCs from Gremut use Spells, of course. But those were all low-level.

It was barely four months since the Masers of War expansion was released.

A Spellcaster with the overwhelmingly lucky Magic Aptitude of 12 had already found a Spell to match it?

The ball of swirling flame hurtled toward the flying shadow beast, impacted on a massive wing, then expanded.

The world stilled for a long moment, then the flame silently imploded on itself.

The condorowl’s wing disappeared like it was never there, as did a good chuck of its flank. The monster’s corpse – it was dead; nothing would have survived that – spiraled downward, still caught in the updrafts, disappearing into the shadows between the mountain peaks.

There was a reason the spell was called the Mouth of Hell.

Krow recognized it.

It was Gazzy’s only ranged combat Spell, after all. The reason people always looked at the vargvir player, who preferred weapons to magic, quizzically.

Krow always thought Gazzy specifically chose the Spell because of the long prep time – there were several quests that gained the MoH Spell Scroll as loot. He never asked why his friend didn’t like using his magic skills, even after the transmigration. Gazzy never told.

It wasn’t his business to pry.

Krow got off the road, clambering up the hillside to get a better vantage point.

Also to hide himself in the trees.

Mouth of Hell was a powerful Spell, one of the most powerful in the game.

Was it a good idea though?

Using such a flashy spell at moonset would –

Hoot-prekkk! Prekkk!

Too close!

His back pressed into the bark of a tree before he knew that he moved; eyes searched the sky, wide.

He stowed the Crystalwing Bone in his Inventory, freeing his hands.

He’d been present during a wyvern hunt just once. In the first ten minutes of the battle, two of the eight hunters were picked off by the low-flying wyvern before its wing was broken by a buster-sword wielding dwarvir and the fight took to the ground.

Here, two condorowls circled above and a further shadow briefly outlined against the twinkling stream of the Star-Torrent to the east.

Three condorowls, attracted by the fiery Spell and the death of one of their own.

Shkav.

He had to get out of here.

By the shouts of multiple people below, they thought so too.

Concern knit Krows brows together. He glanced upward as he moved, despite the already thick tree cover. On the Map, the slowly revealing road curved around a hillock and doubled back on itself.

He peered down.

It wasn’t an encampment.

It was a traveling caravan.

Huh. They had guts to travel at moonset, even with a Spellcaster bearing an Aptitude 12 and a spell like that.

Glancing at the Map, he estimated they were nearly two hours from Gremut.

Maybe being a small caravan – just three wagons, drawn by four-oxen teams and with ten or so guards on horseback – they thought they could pass unnoticed?

From what he could see of their movements, they were using wraithlights too. The wagons had stopped, silent and lightless. The oxen then, would need to be specially trained to move in darkness, trusting only the drivers’ reins.

Smugglers.

Those were smuggler tricks.

A small dark figure detached from the line of silent wagons, rushing toward the clump of people and horses further ahead on the road.

Was everyone equipped with wraithlights? Expensive. The average wraith lamp cost, in Zushkenar, maybe 70 to 120 drax if bought from the maker. That was already a year’s pay for a great range of artisans.

Shouts brought him out of his musing.

The shadow figure stopped, clearly taken aback, in the middle of the road. An open area.

Krow’s eyes widened. He jerked forward, a futile movement.

He couldn’t stop it.

The flutter of feathers against the night wind, and shouts turned into screams.

The condorowl flapped its wings noisily as it lifted from the near-silent stoop, no longer needing the stealth with prey in its claws. Lights flashed as Spells were primed and aimed.

In vain. The heavy gusts caused by the massive wings buffeted everyone and everything. A wagon tipped over, oxen lowed in protest and horses neighed in high pitched alarm. Krow rocked back at the pressure, bringing an arm up to protect his eyes.

It was chaos down below.

The condorowl lofted right past his little nook, and he saw it. The figure in the condorowl’s claws was too small. Smaller even than a Mafmet.

A child.

Krow caught his breath. Quickly deciding, he snapped his arm forward, grappler flying at the massive bird. It looped and held around the empty claw.

Succe-!

“Guh!” Being yanked into the air suddenly was not the recommended way to travel by condorowl express. He was just grateful that he’d tied the lamp around his wrist.

He needed both hands to hold on.

It was just like that freefall in the Vine Ladder Gardens, Krow reminded himself. The same pounding heart, the same whistling winds in his ears, the same certainty that – gaaah, no it wasn’t!

That freefall back then was almost meditative.

This…this was out of his control!

His legs flailed, his arms strained, his breath stuttered. The condorowl may race the skies with silent grace, but the waves of wind it left in its wake reminded Krow of trying to surf for the first time and nearly drowning in the heavy tides.

He took a short breath to fortify himself, then another. Oh, eighteen hells, just do it.

His left hand loosened from its death grip on the rope, sliding down, snapped the flapping length against his thigh. He breathed in relief as the rope wound around his leg, allowing his feet to actually find one of the knots he’d tied in the grappler line.

The Rope Trickster skill had come in handy so many times in the last few days, to 45% skillmastery.

He stabilized, at least no longer in danger of being ripped off the line, even if the winds were still tossing him around in the wake of the condorowl. He glanced up. There was no way to climb.

The child, a boy, he now saw, maybe ten or eleven years in age, was staring at him with wide eyes, teary and hopeful, pained. The condorowl’s swift capture surely hadn’t left the boy unscathed.

Krow did his best to smile reassuringly. They were too far apart to converse over the whistling winds.

What now?

Wait for a landing and distract the massive bird? It was the only plan he had at the moment.

Hm. Would a Minor Paralyzing Mist work on a monster so large?

His Scout activated: [Ethereal Condorowl Lvl 27]

…maybe if he broke a hundred vials while the monster obligingly stayed still to breathe in the fumes, there was a chance…

In other words: no, it wouldn’t work.

If he could use the ropes to drag down –

The bird banked, and the boy cried out in pain, the sound of it brief before it was whisked away by the currents. Krow lost his train of thought as the movement pulled the rope painfully against him. He gripped the rope tighter.

A glance at the Map indicated they were headed for the nest, nearly there.

Oh no.

Were there chicks? There better not be giant chicks in that nest.

He’d wondered why the condorowl flew so far when there were nearer trees and ledges it could safely land and eat.

Prek-kh-kah! Prekk-kh-kak!

There was a chick in the nest.

At least it was only one? It sounded like just one.

That was when the condorowl opened its claws without warning.

What.

Shkav!

Krow swung to intercept, at the same time snapping the line to shake free the grapple-hook. He had to twist mid-air, in near-improbable posture that probably ticked his Acrobat subclass up a few more points to promotion.

But the boy fell into his arms, screaming and flailing.

“Hush.” Krow demanded. “It’s alright. Everything’s fine.”

Lie.

It was not fine.

He hid a wince at the broken arm on the boy. The too-young too-large green eyes showed an expression that Krow was intimately familiar with – the numb terror of one who was certain he was going to die – but he quieted.

“Good boy.” Krow whipped the grappler out, toward the mountain peak. “Don’t let go!”

He missed.

His heart skipped a beat.

He twisted them in air, placing himself at the bottom. There was nothing else to do.

It would be his first death, in this life’s Redlands.

His lips quirked, trembling.

It looked like he was going to be eaten again.

The landing jarred Krow’s bones, driving the air from his lungs. Feathers flew around them, disturbed by their bodies colliding with the nest. The boy muffled a cry of pain on Krow’s shoulder.

The distant tinkling cracks was secondary.

For a long moment, there was only agony. Then…

Prekk-ah?

Shkav.

He wasn’t dead.

With so much pain, surely he wasn’t dead yet.

The powerful flush of relief gave him the strength to move. They were alive, but their lives weren’t saved yet.

Unable to breath, dark spots at the corner of his eyes, Krow fumbled through the motion to access the inventory. He pressed vials of Low Heal and Low Revitalit into the boy’s uninjured hand.

He brought another Low Heal to his lips.

The effect was instantaneous. He coughed once, the difference shocking, then whipped to his feet as fast as he could. “Drink, faster!”

The boy nearly dropped the vials as Krow lifted him into still-aching arms and scrambled to the edge of the nest. The wraithlight flickered.

Oh. That strange tinkling earlier was the sound of the lamp breaking, wasn’t it.

Prek-kk-kah!

The nest was loose layers of tree branches, topped by several layers of feathers. The springiness of the construction saved their lives, but it was not conducive to moving quickly.

And the nest’s location may yet damn them.

The layers of branches and feathers were arranged on a jut of stone, a craggy ledge. A steep drop threatened on three sides. Krow stared at the shadowy drop from behind an enclosure of branches, unable to see anything more than darkness. Then contemplated the tree branches stacked to rise over their heads still.

He looked back at the condorowl chick, clumsily stumbling through the feathers in their direction, between them and the mountain side of the ledge. It was plump and fluffy, wings still stubby and covered in soft down.

[Ethereal Condorowl Chick Lvl 8]

Haha.

“Hey, have you ever seen such a cute giant baby bird?”

The boy looked at him incredulously. Krow noted now, the boy’s ears were slightly pointed, and his green eyes swirled in a way that told Krow he had dryad ancestors. Now so close, he could see that the other’s skin was darker than his and patterned in beautiful spirals. A human-dryad hybrid?

“You know, if it wasn’t bigger than me and looking at us with hungry eyes…” Krow sighed dramatically. The boy choked on a laugh. “What’s your name?”

The boy breathed shallowly, apparently laughter was still painful, but at least his eyes had some life in them now and weren’t just glazed over like before. “Seinalt.”

“Sein, then? I’m Krow. We’re getting out of this, Sein. We just need to get higher for a bit.”

“I…I can’t climb,” the boy confessed, tearing up. “M-my arm’s still…”

It looked better, but still crooked in a way that it shouldn’t be. That was definitely more than one break.

Krow was about to reluctantly refuse, as healers recommended at least twelve hours between doses or risk poisoning. He stopped. Oh right. This was Redlands, not Zushkenar. There was no need to make sure the first dose worked through the body first.

He wordlessly gave five more Low Heals to the kid.

Prekk-kk-kah! Kh-kak?

Krow and Sein exchanged glances. The older quickly boosted the boy up the walls of the nest, ascending after him hurriedly. He glanced back and cursed. They weren’t going anywhere with this. “Get up higher, try and move that way, and find a path.”

He still had the grapple. He pulled at the rope, only to feel it snag.

He tugged again.

Prekk-kah?

The massive chick tilted its head, eye pointed directly at Krow. A chill skittered down his spine. Under one of its feet, the grapple-hook snagged.

The movement of the rope had told it where Krow was.

Weeping graves.