Apologies for the delay in posting - holiday period and then no regular internet connection. Should be more regular shortly!

The next year, at DG's insistence, Azkadellia was invited to leave the north and come down to Finaqua. It had been decided that a quiet journey, not drawing too much attention, would be for the best. Accordingly, Cain found himself riding up alone, with a second horse in tow. The way was quite familiar to him now, and the climate seemed a little milder this year.

Azkadellia greeted him warmly, and was already prepared to leave, although Cain insisted on having one night's sleep in the warmth of the palace before setting off again. The journey down was much more pleasant than their only other journey together, three years ago. This time the Princess was not silent; quite the opposite, in fact. She chattered like a child, seemingly excited by the most trivial things: a hawk hovering high in the sky, or the bright red berries of a holly bush.

On the third day, they passed through the outskirts of the Fields of the Papay. It had certainly changed from the dangerous wasteland that Cain had passed through with DG during their adventures to save the O.Z. Perhaps a third of the trees were in flower, although the majority still remained lifeless. Cain was sure that the Papay were present, although he did not catch sight of any.

Azkadellia rode up to one of the trees and plucked a flower from it. She breathed in the scent, and kept the flower close to her face. A rather lengthy silence ensued, until Cain grew impatient and guided his horse towards hers. "Your Highness?"

She blinked at him, and looked momentarily confused, before saying, "I'm sorry, Mr. Cain, I was just … remembering something." Cain frowned; her voice was rather sad, and not a little lost. Before he could say anything, she shook her head briskly, as a dog might throw off water, and said, brightening her tone, "I'm a little surprised though. From DG's letters it had sounded as if she had healed many more trees than this?"

"She did, when she came here four years ago. She wanted to heal them all, but she burned herself out. I think she keeps meaning to come back, but hasn't found the time yet."

"Oh." Azkadellia turned to look at the tree. "But they seem to be dying again." She reached out to stroke the bark.

"Perhaps the Witch wasn't responsible for the plague," Cain offered. He did not think she heard him though. Her attention was focused on the tree, and it seemed to perk into life. She smiled softly, and then moved towards a dead tree.

In a few moments, she had breathed new life into it, just as DG had done. "It is quite tiring. But this doesn't feel like the Witch's touch."

At Cain's insistence, they rode on soon after, but by the day's end they were camped outside the Fields. During the ride, he had noticed that the Princess was a little subdued, so as they sat savouring their stew, he decided to bite the bullet. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked confused, and he clarified, "Whatever's been on your mind since you took that flower."

"Oh." Her voice was soft. She did not speak for a long moment, and Cain was just preparing a new topic of conversation, when she spoke again. "I was just remembering when Xora brought me one of the newly flowered Papay fronds." She half smiled and looked away, off into the distance. "The Witch needed me to identify it – she didn't know the smell, of course. Still, I was able to give it to Mother before I lost control."

Cain saw her smile fade into a tired frown. "Who was Xora?"

"One of the mobats."

"What happened to them? I haven't seen any since the Witch disappeared."

Azkadellia continued to stare away into space. "They weren't really separate from the Witch. They were magical constructs – well, more like pieces of the Witch's magic given a separate life." She looked over at him, and her voice hardened slightly. "It's a very dangerous thing to do, especially if you give the constructs as much autonomy and life as the Witch did. It's one of the first things you learn not to do if you have magical abilities. You can lose control of your magic, but even worse, you have to use part of your soul, part of your personality, to give them life, and then you can lose that part, especially if the constructs are around for too long. That's what happened to the Witch, you know. Or if the construct is killed, it's like losing a part of yourself. Your hand."

Cain chewed on this for a moment. "So why do it? What's the benefit?"

He could have sworn he saw a light blush on her cheeks. "A trusty servant, who you know won't let you down. The Witch used them as company when she was trapped in that cave for five hundred years, to keep herself sane.
Well, functional, at any rate."

She was enjoying the trip immensely. It was simply fantastic to leave the icy wastes, if even for a short while, and Cain was much better company than she remembered. Her memories of their first journey together were hazy and ill-formed, dominated by a remembered fear of a cave and a crushing sense of disappointment at having once more failed her family.

So far, the only blip had been when she had nearly given herself away regarding the magical constructs. That had all started when she had picked up the Papay flower. The scent had transported her back to one of the few times she had held clear control during the Witch's reign over her body. Xora had appeared, bearing a Papay frond as a gift from the hunt for DG. The Witch had needed her to identify the scent. By some means, she had kept control long enough to present the flower to her mother, trapped in the golden bowl. Of course, the Witch had managed to stop her saying anything useful. For a moment, she had thought she had managed to communicate with her, but as usual, her mother had repudiated her at the last.

In retrospect, it was clear that her mother had been aware of her predicament. Before she could dredge up the bitterness and despair that that discovery had originally filled her with, Mr. Cain had spoken. She was a little surprised that the trees were dying again, and the problem proved a suitably difficult one to keep her mind off memories. It would not do at all to be miserable on arriving at Finaqua; this was her reward, after all.

On the fourth day they crossed the crack in the O.Z. and had decided to press on to arrive at Finaqua to try to arrive before nightfall. As she should have expected, events conspired against them. The population had grown in this area, as harvests had become plentiful once more, and they had to pass through the outskirts of one new town. Unfortunately, those outskirts also held the local pub, and as the early evening was still reasonably sunny, many of the villagers were sitting outside. Azkadellia let Cain move between her and the crowd, and kept her head down.

He hailed the fellows easily, and was even recognized as one of the Queen's men by someone. Azkadellia's uneasy silence apparently due their attention, though, and several of them, former resistance men by the looks of it, recognized her. They were not very happy at the sight of the former Sorceress, and one man threw his bottle at her. His aim was rather bad, and so it missed her, but clouted her horse on the head. The horse duly reared in alarm, bucking Azkadellia off and onto the ground.

The villagers, emboldened by beer and fear, moved forward as a small mob, but Mr. Cain reacted quickly, putting himself and his horse directly in the villagers' path. Showing his gun did not slow them down, and neither did the horse. He was rather reluctant to use the gun, but that made the job more difficult, particularly when the villagers pulled him down and sent the horse racing off to join its companion.

Azkadellia took a moment to recover her senses, and then pulled herself to her feet. Even in that short time, Mr. Cain appeared to be in a bad way, with blood streaming from his face. He was still struggling, but the villagers clearly had the better of him, and some were turning towards her. Panicking, she thrust out her hand, throwing her magic forward to push them back, and reserving a little bit to keep Mr. Cain in place. Her gambit was a little too successful; her uncontrolled strike threw the villagers back into the wall of the pub and right through it. The wall also received some of the blast and the whole structure started to wobble precariously.

Azkadellia did not spare it another thought. Mother and DG would be furious if Mr. Cain were hurt, especially because of her. With another thought, she levitated his body, and hurried him away from the village, diving off the road and into the forest as soon as she could. On finding a suitable rest area, she released the spell, and looked over him. The blood on his head was from a long, shallow scratch, and was not too serious. The broken arm might prove more so. She did the best she could, and by that time, he was coming round. She rapidly explained the situation: he was injured, they were lost, they had no supplies, and the sun was going to set soon.

Mr. Cain was clearly still a little stunned, but he insisted that she go and look for the horses. Although she disagreed with his priorities, she set out to do so, and was pleasantly surprised to find that they had stayed close to the road, perhaps a mile from the village. She led them back to their impromptu campsite, and set about making camp.

Cain felt a lot better after eating. He was rather disappointed in his performance, and the whole affair had reawakened his irritation at being forced to nursemaid the author of so many of his afflictions. On top of all that, his arm was broken.

She had been quiet through the meal, and he was glad of that. At the end, she offered him a small tot of brandy, and said, nervously, "Mr. Cain, I'm so sorry about all this."

He wrinkled his nose, feeling unable to say anything. He grunted non-committally instead.

She continued on. "I think I healed most of the scratches you had, but I can't do anything about the broken arm at the moment. I'm afraid I don't remember how to regrow the bones, and I wouldn't want to do it wrong."

He waved his other arm in a shushing motion, and slugged down the brandy. "I'll take second watch. Go to sleep, Your Highness."

Her lips thinned, but then she said, "I've set a ward round the campsite. We can both sleep safely. And you need your rest more than I do, Mr. Cain, in any case." She looked away. "Mother will be furious. So will DG."

He laughed roughly, but then felt rather churlish. "You got me out of there, Your Highness. They'll both be happy to see me still alive." Neither of them said much more before going to sleep.

The next day, they rode hard, aiming to reach Finaqua as quickly as possible. His arm was sore, but she had set it reasonably well, even if she couldn't heal it completely. He felt rather guilty for his mood last night, and was gratified to see that with the smallest encouragement from him, she started chattering about everything and anything.

They made good time, and arrived at Finaqua just after lunchtime. Cain waved at the guards with his good arm, and they quickly led them through to the royal party, who received them in the welcoming hall. The Queen saw his arm immediately, and was shocked into silence. DG was left to ask the questions, agitated. Briefly, he recounted the story of their misfortunes, although he necessarily had to gloss over his rescue on account of his lack of concrete memory. The Queen was then sufficiently recovered to thank him, in that gracious way she had.

"My dear Mr. Cain, I don't know what we would do without you in this family. Please, ask, and it shall be given. We have a Viewer here who may be able to help with the arm. Or else, DG might like to have a look. I know that she has been practicing her healing skills."

"Shush, Mom. I'm nowhere near good enough yet."

The Queen smiled indulgently. "Don't be silly, dear. Now, Azkadellia, perhaps you can fill in some of the details?"

Azkadellia started to speak, haltingly, and described how she had repelled the villagers, and then dragged Cain away.

The Queen did not sound too happy at the end. "Well, I'm very glad that you managed to get out safely, along with Mr. Cain." She sighed. "Still, it will be very difficult to satisfy the villagers. I'm sure they already have a deputation on the way, claiming that the Witch is back, and up to her old tricks, and demanding your head."

Azkadellia looked suitably contrite, her head demurely lowered and her arms held behind her back. "I'm very sorry for the difficulties caused, Mother. It won't happen again."

The Queen snorted genteely. "I'm sure it won't. I'd hoped that the people would be forgetting about you, but this is hardly going to help."

Cain was then despatched off to the Viewer, called Kowli, apparently Raw's second cousin twice removed, who told him that the arm had been well set, and made short work of fixing the bone, before giving Cain notice that he should take it easy for a couple of days. Naturally enough this meant that he was invited to join the royal party.

On the whole, it was a very pleasant week. His main concern was scoping out the young man invited by DG to the gathering. Arran Duval was a man of noble blood, from one of the first families of Central City. He was a good boy, a couple of years younger than DG. Cain found him slightly annoying, as did Ahamo, but they had decided together that that was just their natural concern for DG showing through, and that there wasn't really anything wrong with him.

He also noticed that Azkadellia's vivacity during their journey down had withered. She was presenting a reasonable facsimile of sociability, which became sincere only when she was playing with Esmeralda, if he was any judge. Still, at the risk of sounding harsh, it was not his problem. He felt slightly different while escorting Azkadellia back to the Northern Island, as the journey, carried out in greater secrecy, was very tedious, with extremely limited conversation. He tried to get her to engage with him again, but she just told him that they should be concentrating on avoiding trouble. By the time they were back in the snowy wastes, he had given up, and was just looking forward to dropping of his troublesome charge.