Prag was not very good at being unconscious. He had met people that could just ride it out; they'd wake up rested and relaxed. It was like a vacation for them. Not Prag, though. Despite his best efforts, his mind rebelled against it constantly. He wallowed on the edge of awareness while his mind saw fit to keep him there by replaying every other painful instance that ended up with him comatose in a never-ending loop. It was a conspiracy between his mind and body in a vain attempt to get him to stop engaging in activities which resulted in blunt head trauma and blood loss.
He couldn't gauge the passage of time. He would drift in and out of his painful dreams to experience brief moments of painful reality before falling back into another round of reminiscence of being a punching bag for an intoxicated ogre.
Things must have been going well for his charges, otherwise he'd be dead. He cursed his good luck. Death would have been a very pleasant release from the constant reminders of missed steps on rooftops and horribly unmatched battles from his past.
He imagined that it had been days by the time he finally woke up properly. He cracked his eyes and blearily looked around, trying not to move. He couldn't find his sword. That made him very uncomfortable. No wonder he was so damned jittery while he was out.
He scanned the area. He was in a copse of trees. It was night. There were two sleeping women lying curled together opposite a dying fire. There was a swirl of glowing blue some distance into the woods. There was the sound of something being quietly devoured behind him.
He turned ever so slightly to see his strange young companion eating away at something.
Prag searched again for his sword, but consciousness was trying to escape him again. He grappled with himself for a time, but soon he lost the battle and fell back into his restless sleep.
The next time he woke up, it was bright out—too bright to open his eyes; probably morning. It sounded as though there was trouble brewing.
"That was supposed to last us for three days! What happened to it?" Kish's voice nearly rattled the trees around them.
"What could have taken the whole body away without waking us?" queried Cariolta's voice in worried response.
"I don't smell anything strange," added the smoky growl of Kazé.
"Good hoase," chimed in a fourth, unrecognized voice. It was young, masculine, and somehow detached from the conversation as a whole.
"Well, it didn't just get up and walk away. What are we supposed to eat now?" Kish returned to her original point.
"What does that matter if whatever took away the horse gets hungry again?" Cariolta was obviously more worried about the silent beasts in the night than their empty stomachs.
"It could have been a dragon," grumbled Kazé's voice. "A dead horse is an easy meal."
"Good hoase," replied the stranger again.
"Yes. It was a very good horse. Just like I told you last night. It was one of the fastest horses in the kingdom but we had to eat it or we'd starve. Now be quiet. There's trouble."
Prag finally roused the courage to face the morning sun and cracked one eye. The boy was immediately elated. "Pag no dead!" he shouted.
"Oh, damn the gods, it talks," Prag replied with all the exuberance of a man who had spent four days tied to the back of a horse. "Where are my trousers?"
"Kish is wearing them," replied Cariolta briskly. "You were in need of the material from her skirt. You traded. You were very co-operative."
He swivelled his head to see that the princess of the eastern planes was indeed wearing his stolen, shredded and blood-stained trousers. "They suit you. Very noble looking."
"I hope you're not hungry," said Cariolta, ignoring his comments. "We don't have any food. We killed one of our windmares to eat, but it disappeared in the night."
"Good hoase," said the boy firmly for a third time.
"Yes, it was a very good horse," Cariolta stammered in frustration. Prag surmised that it may not have been only the third time that the boy had proffered that compelling piece of evidence. "I think he might be telling you where the horse is."
"What are you talking about?" Kish shot him a scrutinizing glance.
"Hey kid, do you like chicken?" asked Prag in his best schoolmaster's voice.
"Good shickin," smiled the young man.
Cariolta's face dropped and curled in strange ways as she tried to process the information. "How is that even possible? It was three times his size."
"Yeah, and he punches through steel doors. I imagine that sort of thing builds up quite the appetite." Prag was still in enough pain to accept the impossible freely.
"Wun?" The boy was bouncing around the little copse of trees energetically.
"Yes. Please. Go run," grumbled Cariolta. She was frustrated with the boy, but couldn't find it in herself to scold him; she wasn't even sure that he could understand what he'd done wrong.
"At least his colour has returned," said Kish as she watched the boy gallop across the fields at incredible speed. "He had been looking awfully green ever since the fight with the ravids."
"I don't remember his eyes being blue before. I could have sworn they were brown," commented Prag mostly to himself. He paused for a moment. "Where's Warlis?"
"He's gone off with the other horse to get us supplies and clothing," Cariolta answered casually.
"You know he just stole your horse and your money, right?" laughed Prag.
"No, he stole Taimon's horse and your money," laughed back the Princess smugly. "And he'll be back." "How can you be so sure?"
"I cursed him."
Prag was suddenly suspicious. "I didn't think you were that powerful a witch."
"I'm not. But nobody told him that." She sat down uncomfortably on a fallen log, still in her frilly night-dress. "Now what are we going to do about food until Warlis gets back?"
The next three days were long and hungry. They found a few mushrooms that were edible and a couple that were arguably not edible, but their side-effects made the time pass more quickly. They mostly spent the time gathering wood with their inappropriate cutting tools and watching the boy gallop happily about the nearby fields.
Near dusk on the third day, a dark-haired stallion with blazing blue eyes came galloping towards their camp, carrying a frantic shadow thief and two stuffed saddle bags. "I did what you said," he shouted as he dismounted. "Now take off this curse. I think it's starting to eat my soul."
Cariolta, upon inspecting the goods that he'd returned with, performed an elaborate ritual to remove the cursed mark she had placed on his chest. Prag had to leave for the duration of the incantation because he couldn't keep himself from laughing. He recognized the mark right away as a simple tattoo spell that any apprentice could cast with his eyes shut. Most of the magic involved was in the Princess's performance.
As they shared their first good meal in days, they began to discuss their plans. Warlis was going to part ways with them at the first town they came to. He had no desire to become tied to the obviously doomed band of royalty.
Kish insisted that they stop running and take the fight to the damned Sorcerer King themselves. It took some time to talk her down. Somehow her warrior's pride refused to let a little thing like the fact that her opponent would be an immortal demigod sorcerer of untold power with legions of monsters at his command slow her down. Nor did the fact that the Shadow Thieves hadn't been hired by the Demon King to begin with. In the end, it was the fact that they would have to cross a mountain range on foot that changed her mind.
Prag suggested hiding. The girls could accept their loss and just pretend to be simple folk and keep the kid as a sort of adopted brother and guard dog. The noble-born women exiled Prag from the conversation at that point.
Kazé and Cariolta debated for a long time. The war between Haelund and Desidan seemed inevitable. Skirmishes were likely already starting. They could go to the northern reaches of Desidan, meet up with Kazé's pack as well as Prince Ulrat and his elk riders and together ride to war. Or they could go south to Caneria and plead to the king there to send his army to stop the slaughter.
Cariolta said that the old king had been like a grandfather to her and her siblings. They had spent many summers on the beaches of Caneria and she was certain that if nothing else, the kindly king would provide them with a safe refuge. Also, she liked the idea of getting as far away from Ashun as possible.
Kazé eventually conceded that Prince Ulrat and the High Wolves would not sway the war meaningfully if they participated. Not to mention that both sides would see them as an enemy. Also, the trip there would keep them dangerously close to the Ashun border for quite some time.
Prag was rather surprised by what happened next. He was asked for advice. It's not the sort of thing that happened very often and he was so startled by actually being asked his opinion that for the first time he could remember, he had trouble giving one. He sat and thought for a long time, in the sort of way that he imagined the academic types might do before speaking.
"I think you are looking at trying to choose the least worst plan. None of our plans are good...except mine, but it's not very popular. The way I see it, both Kish and Kazé are proposing glorious suicide. I would vote against that, but I rather expect to have run out the terms of my contract by that point anyway, so I don't actually care. Going to Caneria is probably the safest plan, but it may not be as safe as you hope."
Cariolta narrowed her eyes a little in doubt. "Caneria is the safest country there is. It hasn't gone to war since its creation. It's a warm, sunny paradise. The only reason it has soldiers is to deal with local squabbles."
"That's exactly the problem," said Prag. "War is a call to order for countries. Everyone rallies to protect the common good. Without an enemy from without, corruption brews and enemies can grow from within. More than that, the old king is very old, and his mind is starting to go.
His eldest son died of syphilis years ago, so the kingdom is mostly run by young prince Vestin and the royal sage Mercutian, neither of whom seem very interested with matters outside the capital. It's a bit of a mess." Prag stretched out and sighed. "Still, it's probably your best option if you want to keep living like royalty."
Cariolta was upset at her image of paradise being marred, but not all of the news was bad. "If Vestin is in control, we may be better off still. We were close when we were young; we played together often on the beaches by the sea. With luck, he will hold that friendship still and we can count on him for aid."
The decision had been made. They would head south through Haelund to Caneria, away from Ashun and the sorcerer king, the mysterious wizard in the woods, and from the treasonous lords of Haelund.