has inherent power,” Hammon prompted, still scribbling away in the leather-bound book in his hands. “What other factors are there?”
“I need strong sunlight, as the power of the sun affects pathfinding as well. I also need water from a pure source, which I drop at certain intervals to open the path. But the hardest part is gathering enough stones to create the stepping stones. You see, it’s not just finding a path in the soil—I have to create large stepping stones that tap into the land’s power. Most places already have several paths available because people cross them so often, although only another Pathfinder can activate them. But if we’re in an underpopulated area, I have to gather enough stones to make the stepping stones myself. Sometimes, too, the paths that are there aren’t large enough to carry a party this size.”
“Right picky he is about the stones, too,” Beirly added over his shoulder. “We all pitch in and help him, but it’s still sometimes a full day’s work to make him happy.”
“Would you rather be suddenly dropped in the middle of a swamp?” Grae shot back with false mildness. “Or the ocean? If a path isn’t made correctly, that’s what happens.”
“Was I complaining?” Beirly retorted without looking back. “Just commentin’ is all.”
Grae grunted a “Ha!” under his breath. “Anyway, the more weight and people that I have to make a path for, the more complicated the pattern is for the stepping stones.”
“Ahhh,” Hammon said in understanding. “Is that why you were so concerned earlier about how much weight is in the cart?”
“I’m glad someone understands,” Grae said sourly. “We always hover right between the balance of ten to twenty chuls of weight. With this amount of people, we should be fine at ten chuls. But then Siobhan insists on bringing the cart along, which adds two chuls all by itself, never mind factoring in Kit—”
“Kit?” Hammon interrupted in confusion.
“The reinmal,” Beirly answered, still not looking away from the road ahead of him. “His name is Kit.”
“Ah. Sorry, Grae, do continue.”
“Well, Kit is about a chul and a half because of his size. So we pass over ten chuls and therefore have to use the snowflake pattern, which is much more complex than the rose pattern, and it takes more energy for me to use—”
Siobhan tuned him out at that point as she had heard this complaint before. Multiple times. In fact, she could probably give the lecture word for word from here on out. Instead she shortened her stride and fell into step with Wolf, who was guarding the rear. “Sylvie was supposed to meet up with us by now.”
Wolf gave a grunt, eyes narrowed against the morning sun as he looked ahead. “I don’t see her. Want me to go ahead and see if she’s found trouble?”
“Well, now, that depends.” Siobhan glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “How long has it been since you picked a fight with anyone from Blackstone? And how likely is it that they’re holding a grudge over it?”
“It’s been at least a week,” Wolf defended himself mildly, putting a wounded hand over his heart. The gesture might have gone over better if it wasn’t his steel hand. He’d broken many a man’s bones because of that hand. “And I didn’t start it.”
She raised her eyes to the heavens and asked, not for the first time, why it was that she had two fight-loving idiots as enforcers. Siobhan honestly couldn’t decide most days who was worse, Wolf or Tran. “Alright, you’re out,” she informed him before lengthening her stride and catching up with Tran who scouted a little ahead of the group. Wolf, obviously not minding, chuckled in a low rumble behind her.
Tran turned his head to answer her question before she could even give voice to it. “It’s been a solid month, and no, I paid for his medical bills. No grudge there.”
Except perhaps wounded pride. But it was good enough to Siobhan’s mind. She wouldn’t have to wake up a grumpy Fei to go fetch Sylvie. “Then go ahead. She might just be delayed weaseling more information out of someone, but the last time she went to Blackstone they tried to recruit her, and I don’t want her delayed uselessly.”
Tran gave a nod and sloppy salute with two fingers before he stretched out his legs and started running at a ground-eating lope. Siobhan watched him go in admiration, as she always did. Watching him run was like seeing poetry