“Foolish chase,” Deglan muttered, his words caught and swallowed by the wind. He squinted hard across the rocky expanse of the ridge top, searching for the next of Madigan’s damnable piles of stones. The crest of the mountain was a sprawling, windswept march of boulders, interrupted only by ugly, dead moss and ankle-busting cracks. The ascent to the summit had been a grueling scramble up switchbacks littered with loose pebbles and dirt. Deglan’s legs and back ached without remorse. He had been glad to leave Toad Holm with a fully replenished herb satchel and a pack full of provisions, but now it all seemed like a dragging, painful weight, crushing his joints into meal. He considered pitching his burdens off the mountain, but was forced out of his bitter musings by the sight of the little figure ahead of him, practically skipping across the rocks without a care.

“Blink!” he shouted fruitlessly across the wind. “Do not get too far ahead!”

“I have reminded her to stick to the cairns,” Curdle’s voice popped into his head.

Deglan turned as the pale hobgoblin approached, pulling himself along by his stout walking staff.

“Tell her not to get out of sight, dammit!” Deglan yelled aloud and turned back to see Blink stop.

“She is waiting at the next cairn,” Curdle told him, drawing up alongside.

“I am right damn next to you,” Deglan snarled. “No need to buzz about in my brain.”

“Apologies,” the seer gasped. “But I am finding my breath very precious at the moment.”

“Well you can thank your huntsman friend for that,” Deglan replied. “Trekking us up this bloody hill.”

“Is it only a hill?” Curdle asked, sucking in air. “Pity. I thought I had accomplished something.”

“We have accomplished the same wondrous feat today, as yesterday,” Deglan waved a hand scornfully at the mountain top. “And the day before and the day before that! We have walked ourselves sore, following a madman and his dogs in a pointless search for a metal giant that is best avoided!”

Curdle smiled at his rant. “Madigan Sure Finder is no madman.”

“So you think.”

“He believes we are close,” Curdle said. “We will soon find your Forge Born.”

Deglan did not much like hearing it referred to as his Forge Born, but he said nothing, instead placing his energy in continuing across the ridge. A moment later, he heard the tapping of Curdle’s staff as he followed behind.

Their journey had brought them far from Toad Holm; long days of travel that showed no signs of their quarry, at least none that Deglan could see. Madigan and his dogs always stayed well ahead, marking a trail for them to follow, only reappearing at nightfall after they made camp. His mountaintop markers were carefully stacked rocks, placed in regular intervals across the ridge and Deglan found Blink standing near the next such pile as promised.