Around noon, they stopped at a stream to refill their water. Cyrus shivered as he dipped his waterskin in, and goosebumps ran up his arm.
"It's colder than I expected," Cyrus said, wiping his hands off on his trousers.
"The stream runs directly from the mountains, so its bound to be colder," Sylven said, gesturing through the trees.
Overhead, the snow-capped peaks rose over the forest, jagged and domineering. Thick white clouds drifted around the grey walls, catching the golden rays of the sun. The road they followed pointed in the direction of two curved peaks, which reminded Cyrus of the boar's tusks.
"Is that where we're headed?" Cyrus asked. He fastened his waterskin back to his pack, and slung it over his shoulder.
"It is. Mourtop rests at the foot of the mountains, and it's only a bit of a walk to get to the pass," Sylven said, leading them back to the road. "It'll take us half a day to get through, but once we're on the other side, it'll be nothing but grassy plains. Hopefully, we'll have horses by then."
"Have you ridden before?" Cyrus asked.
"It's not too difficult, if that's what you're worried about," Sylven said. He rubbed his chin. "I suppose you could consider it similar to riding a moving stool. You just hold on, and use the reins to steer."
Cyrus shook his head. "That's not-"
Sylven frowned. "What is it?"
Cyrus nodded down the road as he flipped his hood up. An ox-drawn carriage ratted towards them, driven by a portly man, whose face was covered by a thick beard. "There are people coming."
Sylven straightened his back, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Just keep your head down. I'll handle this."
Cyrus fell a step behind Sylven, and hunched his back. He kept a keen eye on the wagon as it rolled up to them, and creaked to a stop. A woman and a young boy sat in the back, amidst bundles of cloth and baskets of rugs.
"Excuse me, do you mind if I ask you a question?" The man asked, leaning over his wagon. "We were headed to Galeden, but we heard a rumor that a warlock attacked it. Is that true?"
Sylven moved in front of Cyrus. "I'm afraid it is. My brother and I just came from there. We were barred from entering, though, so I'm not sure what luck you'll have getting in."
Cyrus flinched as the woman gasped, and pulled the boy closer. He appeared no older than seven, and eyes were wide as they darted from the woman to the man.
"By the Halls of Osyras. A warlock during times like this," The man said. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the reins. "Do you know what they did?"
Sylven shook his head. "I can't say for certain, but there was a large pine tree growing from the center of the kingdom. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. If I were you, I'd steer clear of Galeden until they find him."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." The man shifted in his seat, and snapped the reins. As the wagon sprung forward, Sylven held out his hand.
"Wait, did you happen to come from Mourtop?" Sylven asked. "Did something happen there?"
The man nodded. "Yes, there was an avalanche rock slide, which blocked the pass a few weeks ago. However, they had almost finished clearing it when we left. You should be able to use it by the end of the week."
"Alright, thanks," Sylven said. He waved farewell as the wagon rumbled away. Once they were far enough down the road, he glanced at Cyrus. "It seems the news you heard had nothing to do with the stone plague. Nothing more than a coincidence."
Cyrus pulled back his hood. "That's good. The less we have to worry about, the better."
…
Over the following two days, Cyrus and Sylven kept to a steady pace, walking during the day, and camping at night. Once again, Cyrus kept his hood low whenever they passed people, but few took notice of him.
On the third day, the road turned sharply towards the mountains, and they began the slow ascent towards the base of the mountains. The gradual incline slowed their speed, but not by much. As the sun fell behind the mountains, Cyrus spotted a flickering light, far off in the distance.
He squinted his eyes. "Do you see that? Do you think it's another wagon?"
Sylven peered into the shadows, then shook his head. "No, if I'm not mistaken, that would be Mourtop. We should reach it before tomorrow evening."
"Shouldn't we just keep going, then?" Cyrus asked. "I wouldn't mind sleeping in a real bed tonight."
"I'm afraid that by the time we got there, the gates would already be closed," Sylven said. "Not to mention the danger of traveling at night. Right now, we need to find a decent place to set up camp."
Cyrus sighed, but relented. They continued on for a ways longer, until they stumbled across a small grove, a few meters off the road. A creek flowed through the trees nearby, the water bubbling over the mossy stones.
"Here. Gather some water while I get a fire going," Sylven said, passing Cyrus a pot.
"Alright," Cyrus said, making his way over to the stream. As he crouched, he noticed a set of tracks running down the opposite bank. They resembled dog prints, only twice as large. Frowning, he made his way back to Sylven, who had formed a pyramid with dry logs.
He watched as Sylven pulled a flint and stone from his pack, and struck it besides a pile of wood strips and bark. It took him a few tries before a spark caught, and grew into a flame.
"Why didn't you use magic?" Cyrus asked, handing him the pot.
"If I used magic for every little thing, then I would have gone mad ages ago," Sylven said. He hung the pot over the growing flames, before rummaging through his pack for food. "Even if that wasn't the case, it's still not a good idea to rely on magic for everything. If I did that, then I would never learn to appreciate what I have."
"Quite the thinker, aren't you?" Cyrus asked, grinning.
Sylven chuckled. "I try to be."
As he pulled a few potatoes and some carrots from his pack, Cyrus leaned back against an old elm, and stared up at the night sky. The crackling flames created a melody with the rustling leaves, drawing him into a trance. As he watched the waving branches, he thought he heard a faint whisper, calling out his name.
"-rus. Hey, Cyrus, are you listening to me?"
Cyrus snapped back to the grove as Sylven threw a twig at him. "Sorry, did you say something?"
"Yes, I wanted to know what you were doing," Sylven said. He gestured towards Cyrus's hand. "The magic you're using right now. I haven't seen you do that before."
Cyrus frowned, and glanced down at his hand. "What are you talking-"
He trailed off as he noticed a patch of grass twisting around his fingers. As he picked up his hand, the grass separated from the dirt, and clung to his skin, forming a glove. He flipped his hand back and forth, flexing his fingers.
"Well, this is new…"