Numair Salmalin watched the Tortallian dock growing closer with apprehension. He was a fugitive from its neighbor country, Carthak, and he had only barely escaped. Admittedly, invisible as he had been, it had not been hard to sneak past the guards at the harbor, but it had been nerve wracking to have twenty soldiers from the Red Legion standing right next to him.
Now, visible once more, he stood in a plain, light blue shirt, and black breeches. The wind ran through his hair as if it was determined to pull it up by the roots, and he had to narrow his eyes to keep them from tearing. He was still amazed that a simple invisibility spell had saved him from the gallows of Carthak, but there you go.
Numair still had no idea what he was going to do once the boat touched Tortallian shore. He couldn't use his Gift, that was the only thing he knew. He couldn't do any magic, because who knew who spied for the Emperor? And anyways, it was very rare for someone's gift to appear black, like his.
Numair wondered if Varice had gotten away with tipping him off about the charges against him. Or was she already dead?
Numair fought pity and self-loathing, his eyes diamond hard. He had to hope that she was alright, because he certainly had nothing else to hope for.
The boat lurched, and Numair was rudely pulled from his thoughts. He suddenly didn't feel so great. He wanted to get off of this boat before he heaved his lunch.
Half an hour later, he stood in the middle of the Tortallian port, his hand on his belt purse, and his eyes scanning the crowds, for what, he didn't really know. He didn't expect that soldiers from the Red Legion would be able to come to Tortall, but who knew what Ozorne would do when angered?
"I do." Numair muttered to himself. The sound was lost on the busy port, filled with fish merchants selling their wares, and the general sounds made by ships crews when docking or leaving harbor.
Knowing full well that the further away from Carthak he was, the safer he would be, Numair set off, winding his was through the crowds.
Only after he had left the port behind him did Numair relax enough to try and come up with any kind of plan. He decided to just start heading north, then head east once he reached Scanra. Beyond the Roof of the Word, he might even be safe enough to settle down.
Feeling much more confident, Numair squared his shoulders, and lengthened his strides.
It would be a long walk.
From his position on Balors Needle, His Majesty King Jonathan of Tortall looked out across the capitol city and into the fields beyond. His hands fidgeted nervously, and he glanced down at his belt, where, in a small leather bag, sat the Dominion Jewel.
There had been reports of very strange creatures sighted all over Tortall. People were saying that the stormwings had returned from the realms of the gods, along with centaurs. Today, a lone Tauros had been reported near Pirates Swoop (Jonathan almost pitied the creature for its awful luck-Pirates Swoop was home to the Lioness of Tortall, someone who was NOT to be toyed with).
"Jon?" Jonathan looked up to see the Lioness herself standing behind him.
"I was thinking." Jonathan said.
"Uh oh." Alanna muttered wickedly. Her smile told Jonathan that she was joking with him.
"I just don't understand why these-creatures-are appearing! It makes no sense! Not unless some truly stupid mage decided to rip a hole in the veil that keeps them separated from us!" Jonathan said. Alanna shrugged, joining him at the railing.
"That's true. Do you remember who created the veil to begin with?" She asked mildly.
"Carthaki mages." Jonathan replied at once. "But I don't see-"
"Then Carthaki mages hold its key spells." Alanna told him reasonably.
"That means that we can either fight these things, or start a war with Carthak." Jonathan said. Alanna shuddered.
"First of all, the latter isn't really a choice, unless you can use that wonderous Jewel to kill ten million soldiers. Even I can tell you the results of such a war. It would be long, and we would loose. Hundreds of thousands would die from the fighting, and millions more would follow after there aren't enough people to farm the land." Alanna corrected him.
"So we just… keep fighting?" Jonathan asked quietly.
"There you go." Alanna said. "I don't like it, but there you go." Her purple eyes traced the western skyline, in the direction of her home fief. Seeing this, Joanathan realized that for the first time, Alanna was worried about something more than herself, or her kingdom. She had found out how close danger could come to her children, and she didn't like it. He saw how hard it must have been for her to leave Pirates Swoop to report the Tauros.
It wasn't the first time that Alanna the Lioness had surprised him.
Numair cursed Ozorne for perhaps the thousandth time that day. He had nearly been decapitated by a hard twice, his feet were both trampled from so many horses and people who had step on them, and he was only barely able to conceal his fury.
For a full day now, he had been following a road that wound through the great southern desert of Tortall, and he was just realizing how stupid his whole plan had been. How was he going to be able to make it past the roof of the world without proper supplies? Fr that matter, how was he supposed to even get there?
Scowling, Numair dodged a cart and kept walking. He was very close to turning around, heading back to Carthak, and killing Ozorne himself. Of course, it would probably be as useful as petitioning the dark god, and would probably end the same way, but he was willing to try.
A glint of steel above him made Numair look up. He was too far away too be able to tell, but the creatures flying above him looked almost human, with silver wings the color of steel. To his magical vision, they looked like they were filled with golden veins.
He blanched. No creature HE had ever seen had golden fire! Those were immortals winging through the air above him, stormwings, if he was correct.
Goosebumbs rose on his arms as he remembered that the spells to bring an immortal from the realms of the gods were in Ozornes hands.
Quickly, he looked down and kept moving, hoping they wouldn't see him. He no idea whether or not they had, because when he next looked up, they were gone.
"What the hell is that man doing?" Numair asked himself.
It took Numair three days to reach Persopolis. By then, he had run out of all of his food, and, as a last resort, had stolen some. He was getting rather good at it.
Numair would have loved to stay at Persopolis for as long as he could, knowing its history, but the stormwings were still fresh in his mind, reminding him that he was still very close to Carthak. He was not out of the clear.
So he kept moving, passing the walled city with only a longing glance. Instead of following the road that would have led him straight towards the capitol, Numair turned east, plotting a course that would lead him through the hills near lake Tirragen.
His plan was to cut out that section of road, and maybe fool anyone following him. After all, Ozorne was not the worlds greatest thinker. Numair knew that, considering that Ozorne thought him a book-bound idiot, and would expect him to follow the main roads that were labeled on almost every map from Carthak to Scanra.
By evening, he had left the warm desert, and was engulfed by endless green hills. Keeping the lake to his right, Numair found a cozy spot under a tree to camp, sending black fire into two large stones nearby, which promptly shone black, and began to glow with heat.
Numair got his first full night of sleep that week.
Passing through a moderately sized town, big enough for two inns, Numair cut somebody's purse, and spent two nights staying at one of the inns. He had never spent so much time outside in his lifetime, and it was a relief to spend a bit of time indoors.
The second night he stayed there, he saw that a man who was juggling several knives was raking up quite a profit from the cheering onlookers.
When he left the inn, headed straight north past Naxen, he had taken three round stones from the inns garden, and practiced juggling while he walked.
By the second week, Numair had reached Lake Naxen, and was having the first pangs of homesickness. He missed the university, his many books, and his teacher, Linhall Reed. He wondered if he had yet managed to find the lizard he had been looking for.
He wondered often about Varice. He knew that whatever happened to her was on his head. He hoped that she had gained enough favor by the Emperor that she would not be suspected in his escape. Considering some of the foods he knew that she could make, Numair was pretty sure that the Emperor would not be willing to find her wanting.
Sitting down to eat a couple of wild mushrooms that he had dug up, Numair realized how absurd his whole situation. He had made it so far, but he was hungry, cold, and most of the time, tried from spending sleepless nights on the watch for stormwings.
Honestly worried about his own sanity now, Numair stood. He had to make some money, and travel through real towns. Otherwise, he would work himself to death. He couldn't rely on stealing, and wild food, and he could juggle five rocks at a time without difficulty.
With a silent prayer, he began to walk.