The weary band of travellers said their fond farewells to Warlis at the first town they came to.
That is a lie.
Nobody was especially fond of the thief nor did they wish him well. In fact, their parting of ways was filled with threats of the horrible atrocities that would await the man, should he say a single word to anyone about their existence.
To Warlis, however, this was exactly how all of his closest friends said their goodbyes and he left feeling warm and chipper at how much his new friends must trust him as to have not drawn any weapons or searched his person at their parting.
There was a long silence as they watched the burglar wander off into the little town in front of them before Cariolta gained the courage to speak. "Your week is up," said the Princess as coldly as she could, trying to mask her fear and sadness at losing their uncouth protector. "Why aren't you leaving with him?" She didn't even turn to face Prag for fear that he might see through her.
"How do you figure?" Prag's face twisted as if to accuse her of some sort of fraud. "First off, I was paid to protect you for a week. I spent three of those days unconscious on your horse while you walked. That means I have a balance of three days owing, plus the three days you spent caring for my body." Suddenly his face shifted as though he had just swallowed a maggot. "And secondly, if I were to leave, why in the hells would I chose to travel with that man? I don't see a bathhouse in that town, so I don't much expect his aroma to improve until he gets home. Thank you, but I'll stick with the lovely ladies."
"You've no right to complain," grumbled Kazé. "You stink of stale blood. It's making me nauseous."
"Hey, now. That's not fair." Prag pretended to pout as he poked at one of his bandages. "Some of it is still fresh." Then he cackled at some unshared joke and started to wander down the road. "Any of you coming?"
Cariolta let out a silent sigh of relief. She wouldn't admit it, even to herself, but the menagerie that she was walking with had become her family. She couldn't stand the thought of losing her adopted big brother even if he was a wretched uncivilized cutthroat.
She fell into step beside Kish. Kazé scouted around in the grim and focused way that he always did. The boy, the antithesis of Kazé's diligence, ran until he was nearly out of sight, and then ran back as fast as he could, again and again. Prag wandered casually, pretending not to be constantly scanning the area for threats, his hand never leaving the sling of his crossbow.
Cariolta lowered her head so that her porcelain-white face was hidden behind her bonnet and carefully tended locks. Then she let herself smile just a little. For the first time in over two months, she felt safe. She knew it wouldn't last, but she was safe and the flowers were blooming.
Five days of travelling passed quickly. Despite being disguised as a noble lady and her retinue, their disguises were rather weak under close scrutiny. Their hunting dog looked a bit too big for most people's comfort; the servant girl was unfashionably well-armed; and one of the guards didn't have a strong enough grasp of language to fully understand the role he was playing. Instead, he would run about like a puppy let off its lead.
They ate wild game and hares and whatever else they could catch. The boy even learned to hunt. Or rather, he learned to pounce. He became quite adept quite quickly at surprising birds by moving much faster and jumping much higher than proper people should. The birds tended to die very perplexed as to how a human had come down on them from above when they were in flight.
He was little help to anyone but himself, however, as he tended to eat whatever he caught as soon as he caught it. Actually, this was helpful in its own way as very few people of noble upbringing can keep their appetite after seeing a young man bite the head off of a still twitching pigeon.
As they were nearing a town on the sixth day, they came across a distressing sight. Crossing their southward road at almost a right angle was a straight, wide path of torn up and beaten down soil.
"That's an army marching," Kish observed. Her brow furrowed viciously as she picked through the muddy tracks. "They passed this way yesterday, maybe the day before. They're headed east. The war is starting. We're going to miss it."
"We won't miss it." Cariolta tried to comfort her. "There's a lot of posturing and name-calling that precedes these things. We will miss some skirmishes, but it will be some time yet before the armies are assembled and ready to really fight. We'll be there in time. And we'll bring help."
Kish wasn't listening. All she could hear were the horns of war and the stomping hooves of the elk riders galloping beside her as she led the charge. It took several moments before the Battle Maiden could kill the urge in her to chase down the marching army herself and continue on the road to Caneria. Despite the strength of the call to war, she knew in her heart that she could not leave her companion behind, nor could they fight beside each other in the war as it was. She stormed on in silence.
They reached the outskirts of a sizable town at dusk. It was the end of the sixth day. There was a long and very quiet goodbye. Prag was out of reasons to stay and as much as she wanted to, Cariolta couldn't come up with any money or reasonable leverage to keep him. She watched helplessly as her filthy protector waved casually and wandered off into the bustling streets of a night market, leaving the others huddled around a small fire hidden in a copse of trees.
Prag wasn't as happy about the parting as he played. There were two reasons that he would admit to himself. First and foremost was that he had utterly failed to bed Kish—not that he had tried, nor did he believe that he'd have any success if he did, nor did he think anything but trouble would come from it. But he wouldn't think himself a man if he didn't want the impossibly fit body of the eastern princess. The other was that Warlis had hired him to kill a wizard. He didn't officially take the job, but he did take the money and he wasn't going to ignore someone breaking contract by killing a bunch of his friends. He had figured that the wizard would probably try to take another shot at the ladies, but they had been too good at staying out of sight since the night in Orl. He eventually decided that he could investigate better on his own and sticking with the royals would make him soft.
The four remaining travellers sat in silence around their fire.
They dined on their day's catch of one very small rabbit. The sparse meal only served to emphasize the shared sadness at losing their hired muscle. Each felt the loss in their own way: Cariolta felt as though she had lost a brother; Kish, a strategic asset; Kazé, a shield made of meat; and the boy, he was at a complete loss and had no idea what was happening at all.
He stayed quiet, trying to decide why nobody else was talking. He decided that it was an important thing and he shouldn't interrupt. However, the food ran out and he got bored quickly. Then he noticed something flying through the trees. "Pijin!" he shouted gleefully and started to run after it into the night.
"I'll get him," growled Kazé, stretching out and getting ready to run.
"No." Kish hopped up. "He's headed for town and you're glowing like you're on fire under this moon. I'll go after him." She started to run after her overzealous companion as fast as her petticoat would allow, quietly cursing the impracticality of Haelund fashion.
Prag made his way through the bustling night market. He picked through various food stalls and their patrons' pockets. Eventually he settled at a somewhat secluded noodle counter and exchanged his ill-gotten gains for a steaming bowl of noodles and vegetables. He was somewhat wary of a well-groomed and well-dressed man two seats down from him. The man was engrossed in his soup and it wasn't until he looked up directly at Prag that he recognized him.
"Warlis? What in the hells are you doing here?" Prag considered stabbing the thief for looking so comfortable and clean shaven.
"Hey, Prag! I got here yesterday. I hitched a lift on a caravan." Warlis grinned, having won some kind of unspoken bet. "Got a nice bath and a change of clothes, too. You look like a loaf of burnt excrement. Where are your ladies?"
"I don't know," lied Prag. "My contract is up. I'm a free agent again."
"Probably for the best," mumbled Warlis through a mouthful of noodles. "I ran into Syd here last night. Seems he's looking to kill a puppy. It'd be a mess if there was a conflict of interest between you two."
Prag's eyes went cold and he lost his interest in food. "Which puppy? The one with two legs or the one with four?"
"The one with fur." "Where is he?"
"Probably in his room at the inn down the street." Warlis was starting to look worried. "You aren't going to fight him, are you? You can't take on a sorcerer, at least not while he's awake."
"I'm just going to chat," said Prag, cocking his crossbow. "I'd hate for this to come to violence." Prag hopped off his seat and ambled down the street towards the lodging inn leaving Warlis alone to consider how far away he should be when the two of them started fighting again.
Kish lost sight of the boy as he entered town. She could follow his trail, however, as his footprints were much deeper than anyone else's. She trailed him through the darkened back alleys of town, praying to whatever god would listen that he wouldn't cause any trouble. She caught up to him in time to see him leap high into the air and start to descend down onto the unwary bird which had settled in the eaves of a house at the edge of town.
Syd was cool and confident as he strode towards the glade. There wasn't a lot in the world that scared a sorcerer, and an overgrown mutt certainly wasn't one of them. He had expected a long and arduous trek into the northern reaches of Desidan before he even had to start looking for the mongrel, but now it would seem that it had delivered itself to him. He had overheard a man talking about having seen a High Wolf in the woods just outside of town. It was entirely likely that he was mistaken, or that this was another wolf altogether. That was easy enough to test, though. "Tsukinokazé! Make peace with your ancestors and come meet your death!" He shouted with arrogant bluster.
Just as Syd had expected, the old wolf pawed out to the edge of the trees. His fur caught the bright light of the moon and he was ablaze with the weaving and swirling pattern of blue that marked him as a wolf of the highest birth. What was not expected was a young lady of noble birth stepping out with him. She was attractive, Syd thought, in the way that money makes women attractive. Her dress was corseted enough to give her a figure, her make-up was laid on thickly enough to cover any possible blemish, and her hair was cared for to a degree that would normally require the constant attention of two handmaidens. He decided that she would probably fetch a tidy ransom if he didn't accidentally kill her while fighting the mutt. Then she drew a short-spear from behind a tree and adjusted herself into a well-practised fighting stance. Syd decided that whoever her parents were would probably want rid of her. He had no taste for tomboys.
Cariolta wasn't quite sure what to make of the man that had called them out. He was an odd spectacle. He was lit as if he were standing in broad daylight, even though it was well past dark. His clothes looked like something one might wear to a masquerade ball: bright crimson and gold, with faux mystic runes running down the one sleeve and the other sleeve removed to expose his well-toned right arm. It was as though the man wanted to be sure that nobody ever mistook him for anything but a battle caster.
Cariolta started to scan the area for the wizard's familiar while Kazé responded to the wizard's challenge. With a lot of luck, she could uncover it and kill it before the wizard had a chance to start casting. She was concerned, though, as she couldn't feel any source of magic except the man in front of her. Kazé, however, had no intention of answering a challenge like that in a civilized manner. Once his enemy had been found, he wasted no time in joining the battle. He charged like a bolt of blue lightning and was met head-on with an actual bolt of blue lightning.
Prag didn't like Syd. Syd didn't much like Prag either. As far as anyone knew, this had always been the case. Syd liked to live outside the rules and thought he could get away with it because he was a sorcerer. He was showy and arrogant and cared little for the laws of Antiq. He did his business in the town ignoring all boundaries of guild and rank. He also did the sort of jobs that others wouldn't due to their being morally objectionable. And it needs to be a pretty nasty job for an assassin to turn down due to being too morally objectionable.
Their conversations were known as something to be avoided. To this end, entire city blocks had been known to evacuate beforehand. The last time that Prag and Syd had a chat, an inn was turned into a crater;
Syd walked with a limp for six months and Prag washed up at a dock one town downstream. Prag decided that this time he would start the conversation with a bolt to the sorcerer's chest from the safety of the rooftops. He found Syd's room with very little trouble and set himself up to wait for the bastard to let his guard down. He had hardly spent five minutes lying in wait before a flash of blue from the fields outside of town caught his eye. He turned to see, at the edge of his vision, a blazing blue dog dancing with a bright red man.
"Why are the fates such damnable bastards?" he cursed out loud as he jumped off the roof and started running for the fields.
Syd grinned menacingly. "Poor little doggy. Did that sting?" He reached out with a phantom hand and picked up Kazé by the scruff of the neck. "Don't worry!" he shouted as he threw the wolf at Cariolta. "It will be over soon. I'd kill you faster, but I can't risk damaging that glorious fur of yours."
Cariolta dodged Kazé and grabbed his paw as he flew by, spinning him upright. He landed running and the two charged from separate directions at the arrogant mage. He laughed. A couple of mumbled words from the caster and both were thrown backwards as fast as they had been charging.
"Don't you have anything more creative than that?" he chuckled murderously. "Come on. Charge me again. I bet it will work better this time." He picked them both up and slammed them against the ground again with a gesture.
He crossed his arms and stood casually, waiting for his hopeless opponents to regain their feet. He caught Kazé's eyes and then Cariolta's. He entered their minds and began the vicious process of trapping them therein. The process, however, was rudely interrupted by a bolt through the shoulder. The enchantees slumped to the ground and began to regain their senses as Syd wheeled to see where the offending chunk of wood had originated.
"Pragmethion!" he shouted with unrestrained fury. "You tiresome imp! I'll kill you!" Syd raised his good arm and loosed a bolt of lightning which would have killed Prag on the spot had he not channelled it through his sword and into the ground.
"Not if I kill you first." He grinned wryly; disguising the fact that his whole left side was in an enormous amount of pain from the first lightning strike.
Syd lost his temper. He started to cast and the air around him shimmered. He and his three opponents lifted high off the ground. "I am not to be trifled with! I am the High Sorcerer of Antiq and you will know my fury!"
Prag laughed and loosed another bolt. It sailed wide, however, as Prag lacked the proper footing to aim whilst suspended weightless in the air. This further enraged the arrogant sorcerer. He raised his right arm above his head and sent out a stream of magical energy to each of his opponents. The three writhed helpless in the air as the current streamed through their bodies, slowly cooking them from the inside.
It would be prudent at this point to discuss the difference between wizards and sorcerers. A wizard is a person with the knack for manipulating magic. Anyone could be a wizard with enough training, but like anything else, some are born with a natural gift for it. Those with the gift can smell, taste and feel magical energy. Much like a composer can manipulate music through song and instruments, a wizard can manipulate magic through words and implements. The most challenging thing for a wizard, though, is to find a source.
Magic does not exist equally everywhere. There are certain places that it streams into the world. It is always through a living thing that it flows. It can be anything from a blade of grass or a bit of moss to a great dragon. These life forms are usually called sources and they are extremely rare.
When a wizard finds a suitable source, they will often bind themselves to it. The binding is a complex ritual that blends the soul of the wizard with that of the source creature which is then called a familiar. The two share a single life and both take on aspects of the other. They don't share a mind, but they share sensations. Should one ever die, the other will experience the full horrors of that death and be left with a hole in their soul that can only be mended by another familiar.
A sorcerer is one of the very rare humans who is, himself, a source. They tend to lack the subtle nuances of wizardly spells, having no need for intensive training to gather and focus magic. They can use it casually and do not need the runes and gestures and vocalizations that wizards use to weave magic. They just unleash elemental fury with a thought or gesture.
Wizards have a great deal of trouble harnessing the wild energies of the elements. They instead focus on subtler effects of mentalism, telekinesis and enchanting: the arts of mind control, force control, and the crafting of magically enhanced implements.
It is important to explain this distinction at this juncture as Syd was not, in fact, a sorcerer. Nor was he an exceptionally powerful wizard. He was, however, a very talented liar.
Syd's only exceptional skill was one granted by his familiar. The creature had the unusual knack for channelling its power over a very long distance, keeping itself well out of harm's way. This, along with some cleverly hidden devices that created some spectacular elemental effects, had allowed Syd to pretend to be a sorcerer for his entire adult life. Syd himself wasn't a particularly bad fellow. However, his familiar, with whom Syd was sharing a personality, was a particularly sadistic, greedy, vicious, arrogant, and destructive pigeon.
The boy descended gleefully on his quarry from above. The bird was too transfixed on some other event to even notice the boy until it was in his grasp. They crashed to the ground, ruining the outer wall of a house as they fell.
Kish turned her head to look away as the boy bit the bird clean in half and swallowed without even chewing. Suddenly, his eyes went wide and started to shine with every colour of the rainbow. He belched fire and started grasping at his tongue as though he'd eaten the spiciest dish in the four kingdoms.
Syd screamed and the four combatants fell from the sky. The three comrades lay rolling in pain, wishing for death. The wizard thrashed on the ground experiencing it.