Part 2

She never thought that she would see it again. The walls of the northern pass loomed ahead of her, and she shivered as she passed into their shadow. The sun was at its highest, and she was sweating in the sweltering heat. It was utterly silent in the mountains, her laboured breathing echoing eerily around the cliffs. Her feet scraped along the stony ground, and she would often trip on loose scree. It was as she pulled herself up for the umpteenth time that she saw it.

The fort that had been the first piece of Kyralia to fall to Kariko lay before her. The gates were smashed and splintered. One hung limply from the great Stone gateway, the other lay to her right. Both were scorched and blackened, obviously having been subjected to vast amounts of power. She shivered as she remembered the day, that fateful day, when just hours after realising she was to have Akkarin's child, they were both flung into a deadly confrontation with the remaining Ichani.

Not wanting old memories to surface, she hurried past the ruined gateway, and into the fort. The story was the same everywhere she went. Many rooms had caved in, everything was burnt, and here and there bodies lay in the rubble. She skirted these as quickly as she could, picking her way through the devastation. She emerged into the main courtyard, looking around briefly at the crumbling walls. Climbing to the top, she looked out over the vast expansive desert that was Sachaka. She could see nothing that was inhabitable, nothing that lived. Just the wasteland her people, her guild, had created.

She found herself wondering at the immense power it would have taken. To completely destroy everything before her must have taken monumental strength. Then came the subject of black magic. Taking life from others to add to your own strength. She had not performed the ritual since the Ichani invasion, now three years ago. She was determined to never again feel the life of a victim drain away, the expression of utter surprise on their face turn to one of finality.

She shuddered, turned, and stared into a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Are you the Kyralian they call Sonea?" The voice was deep, and richly accented, and the woman wore strange clothes, the like of which she had never seen before. The woman wore a gold band around her head, and her features were sharp and yet weathered. She was in a strange way beautiful, and she had a cunning intelligence behind those eyes.

"Yes," she said, dropping her eyes under the Sachakan's keen gaze.

"Greetings, my lord," she said, smiling. "My name is Savara." Sonea started. Where had she heard that name before? She vaguely heard Savara's voice saying "I'll be escorting you through the wastes to our city. We leave immediately." She started walking at a swift pace, and Sonea gazed at her back before following. The Sachakan had two horses waiting nervously in the courtyard, and she accepted the reins of one thankfully. Climbing up onto the beast, she patted its neck and the two of them began to make their way carefully down the treacherous path, into Sachaka, for the second time in her life.

* * * *

Regin of Winar, now Lord Regin, stood overlooking the Excavation. It was tiresome work, here in the mountains, the magicians and labourers all around him scraping constantly at the stone. The crescent moon temple, as it had been affectionately called by artisans who actually wanted to be here, was being studied in research for the magic that Dannyl and Akkarin had witnessed.

So far, progress had been slow, but about once a week a rusty old tool that didn't look at all like a tool would be found, and spark a new enthusiasm in everyone accept Regin. He would stand there for hours, nothing to do but to watch the work and gaze at the mountains all around. Being a warrior, he knew he was only here so that when something bad happened, he could fight it. He just had no idea how to fight a chamber imbued with magic. A fine reward for helping kill the Ichani, he thought bitterly.

Sighing, he stepped down from his favourite rock – Favourite rock? When did that happen? – and made his way down to one of the pits, where workers were gathered round excitedly. A worn chest had been pulled out of the hole, and for the first time in weeks, Regin's interest grew. One of the men went to open it, but before Regin could cry out, the man touched the lock and got blasted off his feet. Magic in a trap? That had certainly never been seen before. Regin was fully interested now, and ordered the chest taken to his pavilion. He would study it later, he decided, and headed off to inspect the other digs.

Someone had got all excited over a broken candle-stick, a piece of rotting wood had caught the eye of one of the archaeologists, but apart from that there had been no other progress. He sighed again and began the 2 mile walk back to his tent. Being the only magician on site, he was awed by most and feared by the rest. It was a lonely existence, and more and more he was missing Imardin. He'd been stuck in these damn mountains for what seemed like forever, and had made no friends. That was when he decided to give the chest a miss, and headed toward the pavilion with the bear.

Upon arriving, he noticed how busy it was. All the men had now abandoned the site for the day, and half of the hundred or so of them were crammed in here. They immediately stopped drinking and laughing, turning to look at the newcomer. Regin felt his ears reddening, and one of the higher ranking archaeologists hurried up to him, flustered.

"Is there something you require, my Lord?" He asked, fear etched into his features. Regin looked at him.

"Yeah. There is. The biggest flagon of ale you have," he shouted, grinning, and at once the men joined him. The Bartender hurried to his needs, and soon he was drinking and laughing with the labourers, being slapped on the back and slapping in return. The trouble only started when he became too drunk to control his magic...