The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Seven

Most of Dezmer lay flat, but as they moved further east, closer to Ergakan and the ocean, the land began to slope downward. The change progressed gently until they approached Terel, which dwelled in a long, wide scar in the ground, lasting for miles. When they came upon it, Tracou insisted that they stop and take a look at it.

A curving trail lead into the canyon. Legends said that the first Dezmerian king, Avak, had forged the trail himself. The trail had a snake scale pattern carved into it. While interesting to look at, it meant a bumpy ride and that they would have to take care bringing the wagon down into the canyon.

"Terel's in there," Tracou said.

"What?" Mirthal asked, staring down into the canyon.

"Farther along. It gets bigger in the middle, which is where Terel is."

"Why would you build your capital in a long hole in the ground?" Pendaer asked, frowning.

"It's easy to defend. Take the path down into and out of the canyon away and it would be difficult or near impossible for someone who couldn't use magic to get into it."

"That sounds like the perfect place to spread that dust."

Tracou grimaced. If Winlea surprised Terel, they would be in serious trouble. Dezmer, and Terel in particular, ran on magic. Without it... Tracou's stomach clenched at the thought.

"We should unhitch the horses and go down single file," Tracou said, changing the subject. "You can each take a horse and I'll take the wagon."

Mirthal, who had been transfixed by the sight of the canyon, came back into the conversation upon hearing that. "How are you going to do that?"

Though they had passed through several villages, Tracou didn't trust unfamiliar peasants enough to allow them to work on his leg, so he still couldn't walk.

"I can stay in the wagon and lower it."

The corners of Mirthal's mouth pulled down. He glanced from the wagon to the bottom of the canyon and back to Tracou.

"Why don't you sit on one of the horses instead? You can move the wagon down all the same, but..."

Tracou frowned. "But what?"

"Well, what if something happened? You could get really hurt—"

"I'll be fine."

Mirthal flinched, but stayed put. "Tracou, I'm just worried. Please, won't you get on a horse instead?"

Lately, Pendaer had been mopey and docile. This suited Tracou just fine. But Mirthal, he hovered around him, looking for any moment of weakness or even hesitation so he could swoop in and do something for Tracou. Each time he did, Tracou grew more irritated. He couldn't keep those words from Skender out of his head.

'I think they see dezmek as pitiful. We can't do anything without magic. Without it, we're small and weak. Most people wouldn't turn away someone as helpless as a child, right?'

Tracou might have an injured ankle, but he wasn't someone that needed to be coddled and taken care of. His magic had failed him in Winlea, but it hadn't done so here. He didn't need anyone's help and he certainly didn't need the sting of rejection to be paired with being treated like an invalid.

Whether or not Mirthal intended his concern as an insult, Tracou took it as one. Pendaer's absolutely hands off approach with him recently had been better than what Mirthal was doing.

Gritting his teeth, Tracou shook his head.

"Get out of the wagon."

Visibly drooping, Mirthal left the wagon and went to help Pendaer with the horses. Tracou waited for them to start on the path before moving himself into the middle of the wagon bed. Holding his wand tightly in his hand, he lifted the wagon. He channeled too much magic at once and the wagon jerked upward, making him shriek in surprise.