CRIES OF A MAGE

Chapter 5: Black Night

From within the tent, the little girl's voice called out.

"My aunt is gone. She wouldn't just leave. I think she must have trusted you."

Pal nodded understandingly. "Is there a cauldron, Eli?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm bringing it. I'll gather some other materials as well."

"Fantastic. Bring some salt, spices, ladles, forks - anything that could be useful. I also have a few magic powders in my pouches. With a little bit of seasoning, our meal will be legendary."

* * *

From the depths of the shadows, the witch woman kept a watchful eye on her nephew and the halfling who had arrived at the tent, some thirty yards away. At first, she toyed with the idea of joining them for dinner, perhaps to scold Allendra for tardiness and disobedience. But as she beheld the girl's serene and guileless expression, the witch's heart ached. She resolved to leave them be and let Lena be alone with her thoughts.

For the witch woman, it was another long and restless night, filled with troubled musings and self-recrimination. She had long struggled to reconcile her conscience with her deeds. With a host of unresolved thoughts and emotions weighing her down, she made her way to the town's only tavern, the Red Wing Inn.

The inn's ground floor was a single hall, with a central staircase, a bar counter on the opposite wall of the entrance, a door to the kitchen behind the counter, and six tables arranged about the room. Four of these tables sat empty, and it was another typical, uneventful night. When the Harovian woman sauntered in, the single men in the tavern twirled their mustaches and snickered amongst themselves. She was known to drink to the point of oblivion and was usually accompanied back to her tent by a lucky man who had managed to catch her eye.

"Your usual, Innkeeper Caleb," the woman hollered, as she took a seat at the farthest table by the window, away from the occupied tables.

With a grunt, the innkeeper brought her a pitcher of wine, an empty glass, and a bowl of crispy fries.

"Wouldn't you like some bacon with that?" he offered.

"No, that will do," she replied.

"Enjoy it," he said with a forced grin as he took the copper coins from the table and retreated back to his duties.

The woman savored the crimson wine as she fished out the letter from her robe pocket. With a deft flick, she broke the seal, feeling the weight of her fate as she unfolded the thin, quality bamboo paper. The aroma of cherry blossom wafted to her nose, a scent that could only come from the Qui-Sartry Mountains, some four hundred kilometers from Adylle, where she was now.

"Why must you always hide behind letters?" she murmured, tracing the ink with her finger.

"Dear Lena, or should I call you the Widow Black of Harova?" She scoffed as she read on, her eyes narrowing. "I shall not prolong this conversation, for we have reached a crucial juncture. Your indomitable will has surprised me thus far, but you now stand at a crossroads. Either you bring the child to the Souburn Wizarding Towers by mid-spring, or follow in the footsteps of those who enslaved you. Know this, whatever your decision, there shall be no reward waiting for you at the end. Indeed, fate will guide the child towards her destined path, regardless of your choice. You and I are but brief sojourners on this journey, so I implore you to make your choice wisely, using your free will, and shun the Shadows that seek to consume. With sincerity, Elaphar."

She downed a glass of wine, feeling its warmth spread through her body. "No reward at stake, fate will take the child in the direction she will go one way or another?" She repeated and scoffed. "We're nothing more than a stop on her path?"