Part 3

Sonea looked around her, truly appreciating absolute poverty for the first time in her life. Children followed their horses, begging for food and water with eyes so hopeful and desperate that Sonea's heart melted. Savara had told her as they approached the village to not succumb to their pleas, and Sonea had wondered why. News of her sharing her supplies had spread throughout the village, and now it was hard to move for the crush of bodies. She gave as much as she could, but when fights broke out over them she stopped. They were getting so desperate that she considered raising a barrier between her and the crowds. When one went for her bag, she did, the children shying away from the shimmering surface. They realised that they wouldn't be getting anything else, and so wandered off in groups, leaving her to gaze like the intruder she was at their homes.

The village was built on a small hill, raising it by just a couple of feet from the rest of the swamp. The villagers themselves lived in huts, built from the trees and mud surrounding them. It was shelter, but It wasn't much more. She felt a sudden compassion for these people. If this was Kyralia, she told herself, the King would never have stood by whilst this was going on – would he? She thought back to the settlements she'd passed through to get to the border. They'd all been strong, well-built and sturdy, holding back the elements. If there was a storm here, the village would never stand a chance.

As they rode away, the last of the children falling behind, she had a thought. Wheeling her horse around, she trotted back into the village. Dimly, she heard Savara calling her back, but she ignored her. If you won't help your people, I will, she decided, as she reached the first huts. The people milled around her once again, cautious of her, thinking she wanted her bread back. They kept their distance, watching her warily as she made her way towards the nearest hut. Placing her hand on the rough surface, she extended her consciousness around the building. Sending just enough magic into the structure to strengthen it sufficiently against any bad weather, she drew away, making her way through the entire village. She attracted quite a crowd, people marvelling at the sudden solidity of the buildings around them.

Soon, she had finished, and once again climbed onto her horse, finding Savara waiting for her patiently on the road. She smiled as Sonea approached, showing perfect teeth. Without a word, she galloped away, and Sonea's horse leapt after her, taking them away from the village and the cheering people.

Later in the day, she was exhausted from her efforts and yet contented. Savara noticed and made a campfire with magic, tying the horses to a nearby log. She made the fire between two large boulders, so the flames were hidden from view. It was too dark for anyone to see the small column of smoke; cloudy and dark and cold. They sat together around the fire, and for the first time in three days, Savara spoke to her, instead of at her.

"My lord, what did you do to the village today? It was obviously magic, but I've never seen it before."

"I was strengthening the buildings. They wouldn't last long in bad weather."

"I remember there being rumours of such magic, and I saw Kariko take it from the buildings in the invasion. Thank you, My lord."

"It was nothing, really, and don't call me that. My name is Sonea." Savara smiled.

"Sonea it is then."

"Why were you in Imardin? Are you a spy?" Sonea knew it sounded daft, but now that they were talking, she wanted to get to know Savara a little better.

She had a distant look, and for a long time didn't answer. When she did, Sonea barely heard the reply.

"Spying and other things..."

Sonea let out an involuntary gasp. So that was where she'd heard the name before. Cery! Savara was Cery's lover. She studied the woman in a different light now, finding herself wondering what it was about this woman that had attracted him so. That made her think of Akkarin.

Akkarin. The thought sent immense longing through her. It had been four months since she had started her journey, leaving him and their small child in the guild. They were perfectly safe, she knew, but she missed them greatly. No. I won't think about this. Not another sleepless night.

"So what were you doing in Imardin?"

* * * *

The problem with a drunk magician is that he can't control his magic. The guild strongly banned the use of alcohol in the university, for obvious reasons. But Regin of Winar was far away from the university. As he laughed, red in the face and completely past it, little sparks of magic lit the room. The gathering had turned into a party, with him being the centre of attention. Every so often, he'd demonstrate his talents for the men, blasting various things. And when he missed, they all laughed all the harder.

In some early hour the next day, they all staggered out of the pavilion, and watched eagerly as Regin set loose a tent. They roared with laughter as he set it alight, and it went streaking off into the sky trailing smoke behind it. He repeated this until his magic ran out, and collapsed on the dusty ground. They carried him giggling back to his tent, where he vomited repeatedly and crawled into bed.

Regin had never had a hangover before. He sat up, feeling queasy, then fell back down again, groaning. Healing his sore head with the magic he had recovered, he went outside, the light piercing his eyes. The other men were obviously feeling it as well. They moaned and groaned and poured water over their heads. He stumbled through the rocks to his favourite, and took up position to watch. Some cruel part of him wanted to shout at them to get going, but as it was he just looked down on them with pity.

After he ate Regin went back to his tent to look at the chest. It was plain and wooden, and rotten in places. The wood was dark, almost black. He studied the lock without touching it, then probed it with his mind. He didn't think to raise the barriers around his consciousness, of course, but by the time he did, it was too late. The whatever-it-was in the chest was in him, searching his mind. Every memory and thought he eve had was at it's mercy. He began to scream when they began to disappear...