“I be surprised ye’ve not gone to visit the grommers yet,” the Mick commented. “They’ve generally good hearts to ‘em, what I could tell back then. Hopefully they’ve not changed, an’ all the Empyreans I knew revered them, save the blackhearts among them.”

  “So I’ve heard. It’s why I was so ready to spare Tim. The potential to be more might just be an aspect of some of the creatures here.”

  “Huh.” The Mick considered that. “Shreth? Reedsharks?” he had to ask.

  “I don’t know. Go ask the gromnatrosses. They may just get big. I know ursuins can get pretty monstrous in size here, much bigger than back on Ispar. Darling, right?” I recalled one of his tales of an old Quest here.

  “Aye, she were one big fatarse ursuin, that be true,” he admitted. “Ten foot at the shoulder if she were an inch!” he remembered vividly. “Tough as nails an’ way too nimble for the size, too! If ye weren’t a master o’ yer weapon, fighting ‘er was well-nigh impossible!”

  “But still just a nasty and vicious predator, when it came down to it.”

  “Aye, just experienced an’ cunning,” he agreed. “Also, really liked to eat tuskers.”

  “Surely just a coincidence in these tough times.”

  “Is someone tryin’ t’ round up ursuins an’ train ‘em into warbeasts or something?” he asked after that slipped out.

  “Well, they are kind of big and fuzzy, you know?”

  His smile was incredulous. “Are ye actually serious?”

  “It’s a lot easier when you can actually talk to them… and can cuff them on the head if they get too stupid.”

  “Where does the woman find the time?” the Mick shook his head incredulously.

  “Helps when you can Teleport around and like to run for miles to cool off… I mean, draw lived-lines all over the island.”

  “I be lucky enough to have done most o’ that a lot o’ years ago,” he admitted. “Though I be admittin’ that Aphus Lassel were a hard place to run about on.”

  “I think we’re going to be taking care of a lot of that going forward.”

  “I killed that damn twat o’ a fake tusker enough. Ain’t goin’ t’ hesitate t’ do it again.”

  “With a nice support mage around to counter all his War Magic an’ debuffs?” I asked innocently.

  “That sure be helping matters. Using a Healing Kit be not the quick fix it used t’ be, an’ I ain’t got me the gear with the Life Prots an’ Wards that I used to have… an’ all the critters seem to have kept their damn War Magic an’ Debuffs, rotters all o’ them.”

  “So very un-tusker-like.”

  “Ye’ll have no problems taking out his Buffs?” he asked me quickly.

  “None. But Debuffing will just trigger auto-counters, so softening him up isn’t going to work like normal. I’d have to be creative about things, and that usually means it’s easier just to sit back and let you do the work.”

  “That’s what we be there for. Have ye no fear, when it’s time t’ kill thousands o’ things at once, we be plenty happy to sit back an’ not be about hackin’ away fer hours t’ do the same thing.”

  “You are such a generous man, Lord Mick.”

  “Aye, comes with me great wealth in all things under this great an’ glowing sun,” he answered piously.

  “It okay Bunita can’t share your bed for now?” I asked him softly.

  “She didnae share me bed for seventeen years, lass. She be there t’ laugh at me in the morning an’ tell me about what she be learnin’ t’ cook an’ go study under the master. I hate t’ admit it, but this whole gettin’ old taught even a dumb shite like me some patience.”

  “She probably hates that she can’t be out here fighting next to you, you know.”

  “Oh, gods an’ shades, she bitches about it non-stop, but happily she’s not resentin’ me fer that, but whoever an’ whatever got her into this situation.” He coughed once. “However, there is one thing she be wonderin’.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Is there anything in that unlimited arsenal o’ tricks ye seem t’ have to restore her original appearance?” I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Easy, lass,” he raised his hands. “I don’t care a whit about her new life, but she misses her old looks.”

  “She doesn’t even remember exactly what she looked like,” I sighed. “She just hates red hair, Lord Mick.”

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  “Aye, she do be complainin’ about that the most,” he agreed. “Well, that an’ the freckles.”

  “There is a spell called Biosculpting that allows minor permanent changes to one’s appearance. However, the changes are literally only skin deep. They won’t have any effect on children or lineage or anything, unless you are an innately magical being, who are defined in many ways by their appearances.”

  He blinked at me. “I know I shouldnae be surprised ye’ve got more rabbits in that hat, but that exception be a mite strange, too.”

  “Magic is like that, or so I’ve been told.”

  “True enough. Pay me lass a visit or two?”

  “No. It won’t stick while she’s a Summons, washing away in the dawn with Natural Renewal as her body magically resets. Once she’s real again, aye, I can change things. I suggest playing with that mess of red curls she has and counting her freckles in the interim. Lots of hair combing.”

  “That be a nice way o’ tellin’ her to be patient. Aye, I can be doing that. The Teleporting, that be real helpful.”

  “So, totally ready to go burning through tuskers tomorrow?”

  “Ye know it!” he agreed cheerfully.

  --------

  Tim took a step forward.

  He was wearing a lot of shiny metal now, and it was heavier. Yet he felt lighter on his feet than he had ever felt before.

  Magic hummed over him. His Soul burned Yellow-Brown Runes into the Armor he was wearing, not only making it seem weightless, but him as well.

  The soles of the boots he was wearing had been prints of metal on the ground he had stepped into, then fused them to the metal tops he had already been wearing.

  Metal treads had lifted him an inch or six off ground under the power of his own soul. He could feel the sand underneath him, rubbing on him, more aware of the ground under his feet than he had ever been, and he supported his own weight, all of it, without effort.

  “Let’s go, Tim,” the little spellcaster on his shoulder said calmly.

  The monuga looked back as the forces of little armored people behind him rippled and faded from the view of his three eyes, along with the Disks and Wagons they were standing on. He looked down at his own Gauntleted hands as the Armor and his own body became… well, not quite invisible, but he could look right through it clearly, even as he could see it was still there.

  “Going!” he said, and started forward.

  One long stride of a heavy metal-armored foot, and he came down into the shallow waters.

  Onto the shallow waters.

  His soul supported him effortlessly as he walked out over the waters, delighting in not sinking down and into the heavy stuff that got into his way.

  Magic swirled ahead of him, and the Shoreward he always had to break to get out of and through glittered and opened a half-circle more than tall enough to admit him, and all the Disks and Wagons following behind him.

  He began to pick up his pace, great long strides that would rapidly eat up the miles between him and his old home, full of so many juicy big bugs.

  There were streaks of motion to either side of him, little v’s of motion cutting across the surface of the sea, streaks of mist identical if smaller than the thick whorls of mist spinning off his own feet as he ran across the water. The fact the two Dangerous Little Ones could still keep the pace with him was a challenge he decided to take, and he began to pump for more speed with a low growl.

  The Hag Princess’s wicked laugh came clearly to his ears, and both she and the dark and stealthy man on the other side had no problem keeping up with him as he thundered across the waters, moving so fast now that without the transparent face of the helm he was wearing, he knew his eyes would be closed against the force of the wind resisting him.

  “You won’t be able to beat them until you can push the wind away,” the soft voice of the Caster on his shoulder spoke up. Tim blinked and looked at her, holding her place effortlessly, when the wind resistance should have picked her up and flung her away like a leaf. He could see the wind bending and parting a foot in front of her, scarcely more than a stiff breeze blowing back her almost glowing white hair, a gleaming flower on a dark stalk, thrumming with so much magic against the Essence of his soul flowing through the Armor under her Tim couldn’t imagine ever wanting to get into a fight with her.

  Push the wind away. He didn’t know how to do that, but he would figure out a way, and one day, he would run without the wind being able to stop him!

  Pitting his bulk and strength against the wind, Tim raced for the shadow of the island on the horizon. Intimately familiar with the island, he knew exactly where he was going and how to get there, but there would be a surprise this time!

  ---

  The passage over the dark waters took only a few minutes. Unsurprisingly, considering that they could not be seen, there were no ray-sharks or shellfish to interrupt them, which was something of a pity. Shellfish tasted good, and the big ones could satisfy him for a long time.

  There were some tuskers along the shoreline, supposedly looking for dead things coming up under the water. There were a lot more of them in the dark colors of their elders and tougher fighters than he remembered, but it had been a lot of seasons.

  “Ready to go up,” the Cloud Flower on his shoulder said in her impossibly clear voice, weaving some magic of incredible complexity without effort, then touching him on the shoulder.

  He felt like a bubble, and it took a great deal of effort not to howl in delight as he stepped UP into the air, his Soul pushing off the air as easily as it had the water’s surface!

  He had to slow down, as the air suddenly felt thicker to him, but that was fine as he strode up into the sky. A circle in the air fractured open silently, the Shoreward opened with impossible ease from the outside, and he stepped through without having to slow down at all.

  Thirty feet above the ground, and rising higher with every stride.

  The enslaved tusker spirits below did not react to the streaks of mist zipping by overhead, not having enough sense of self to question things happening that weren’t a direct threat to them.

  Tim could sense when the magic was waning, and he could rise no higher than the treetops of the palms swaying back and forth, the trees themselves responsible for the increased height. Near the shore, he could barely rise much higher than his own head.

  Well, that just made it easier was all. It wasn’t like he was going to fight tuskers up here. It just meant he didn’t have to bat the leaves out of his face as he moved over the island.

  The pool where he’d drank from, stood in the falling waters, and liked to rest nearby wasn’t too far away now, rising above the rest of the island as its highest point.

  Rotting, sick, diseased, and Tainted tuskers in his pool. Tim grit his teeth, but stayed quiet.

  He was hunting now, and when hunting you should be quiet so you didn’t have to chase the prey as far.

  There was a lot of prey ahead of them.

  ============================

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