While my long-distance travel required being dragged across large tracks of land on a tarp, I could hobble around camp well enough on a makeshift crutch. As I did this in the evening, looking for Orwyn to figure out where we were setting up camp, I saw Drifter talking to a wizened old man with a face that had turned to leather in the sun. Based on the large staff with a glowing white gem on the end, I gathered he was the geomancer Cormac.

  Geomancy wasn't precisely a separate type of magic, as it could easily be subsumed into Nonal's universal casting framework, but the practice that many went through to learn geomancy was an altogether different process. Instead of learning circuit construction and theory, geomancers felt the flow of mana through the earth and used their power to manipulate it to effect the changes they desired. As such, they were both incredibly sensitive to changes in the landscape, even able to pick out footsteps from miles away, and they had the intuition needed to burst forth great power in an instant.

  What Drifter needed was that first ability. He wanted to confirm the location of the lava wyrm with the source. Cormac, a fellow man of few words, nodded; it was resting south of our position.

  Because Drifter's tent had been shredded and then turned into transportation, he and Borin had been sharing a tent for the past few days. Tonight, however, as Damien was helping me get set up, he came to visit us.

  It wasn't a social call. "I am heading out tonight. May as well get it over with."

  Both Damien and I were confused. "The sun is setting. And you'd be going without sleep. How long will it take to get to the wyrm, anyways?" I had numerous concerns.

  "Five hours, I think," he replied with a shrug, "I should be back by the evening. The dark and the lack of sleep will not bother me."

  Could I just chalk this up to some Awakened power? He spoke as if none of this was a concern, neither the journey nor the confrontation with the wyrm. "Where do you get your confidence?"

  "And can you spare some for us?" Damien added, only half-joking.

  "No idea. And no. Tell the others I will be back soon."

  With that he spun on his heel and walked off, following the trail south.

  As we saw people that evening, and a few the following morning, we relayed that Drifter had left to deal with the wyrm already. No one in our party was particularly surprised - it was not too far outside our expectations of the man - but some of the Fremen were concerned. Sending one man to his death already sat poorly, but to send him off in the middle of the night without a goodbye or a good sleep?

  I saw one of the cart drivers questioning Gallivant, uneasy with the moral standard on display. Gallivant, for his part, simply told the driver to wait, and that he would understand soon. A few others would confront him, or at least question his reasoning, and in ever case he gave the same response: wait, and you will understand. Where he got his confidence, I truly had no idea.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Our party took the opportunity to really relax. Orwyn and Damien bartered with the Fremen for some extra supplies, supplementing a few goods we were running low on due to the extended schedule. Olivia spent most of her time chatting with random members of the caravan, guards and merchants and drivers alike. Whether she was making friends or scamming people of their snacks remained unclear.

  Borin, wanting to avoid physical labour for a change, loafed around with me.

  "Did I ever tell you about the time we were chased down by border guards in Eswar?" Borin thought going through his list of fun stories would be a good way to pass the time.

  Unfortunately, after traveling together for so long, he was running out of stories. "The one where you ran into bandits and fought them off with the guards, the one where they arrested you and realized they had the wrong guys, or the one where they wanted your help catching a murderer in the area?"

  "You're supposed to humour the guy keeping you entertained, you know." The way his shoulders and voice dropped I could have sworn he was sulking.

  I gave a fake half-bow from my seat on the torn-up leather sledge. "I apologize. Please continue with the murderer story, or whichever you'd prefer. I will adjust my sensibilities to your story."

  Borin looked past me and said, "I thought you said he was fun."

  I turned to see Olivia walking up, a bag of sweets in hand. "He can be. Have you tried intimidating him? It's fun watching him sweat and panic." She tossed Borin the bag and he immediately fished out a wrapped chocolate.

  "Love a good chocolate. And no, unfortunately we're too friendly for that to work at this point." He popped the chocolate in his mouth and passed me the bag as his expression lightened. "What's that fruit? It's citrusy."

  "They call it an orange, from the deep south. Apparently it's like a lemon, but it's sweet and tangy."

  I tried a chocolate orange as well. While I had eaten plenty of chocolate in my life, the addition of a fruit core was an interesting addition that I greatly enjoyed. It was a shame that we wouldn't end up in the deep south on our journey; Mount Bromid was in the middle latitudes, a singular mountain in the equatorial plains, and it wasn't well known for tasty local flora.

  Olivia came and went throughout the day, as did Borin. I hobbled around camp now and then to keep my muscles in use, balancing rest against atrophy. Later in the day Orwyn and Damien joined us, bringing the whole party together for supper.

  The sun was dimming in the sky, bringing my worries on Drifter's status to the forefront of my mind. He said evening, did he not?

  I only had to begin worrying to summon him. He walked out of the fog with the viscera of his prey haphazardly wiped away and a horn the size of his body being dragged from his right hand. He walked up to me, dropped the horn with a thud, and apologized. "Sorry I'm late. Big guy."