Felitïa shivered. Not from the cold, though it was cold. She shivered from the emptiness. She had never drained herself this much before. Not even with her very first spell had she used so much energy. That occasion had left her exhausted, but not to the point where she had trouble standing without support. This was far beyond that. She had come close to burning herself out, maybe killing herself. The enormity of it was only just dawning on her.

She fell off Simeria when they finally stopped for the night. She now had some nasty scrapes on her palms and wrists from trying to break the fall. While Zandrue and Rudiger prepared camp, she fell asleep on some hard rocks and didn’t wake until morning. At some point, Zandrue moved her into her tent, but she never woke for that.

In the morning, she was still exhausted. She had known to expect it, but it still surprised her. She could have slept the whole day—would have preferred to—but they had to keep moving. They couldn’t take the chance anyone chasing them might catch up.

So now, after another long day of riding, she sat shivering. Shivering and staring at the uneaten food in her lap. She needed to eat it. She had not had much today, and she needed to keep her strength up for riding. But the food had no appeal. She wasn’t even sure what it was—a rabbit Zandrue or Rudiger had caught, maybe? The emptiness made the thought of eating stomach-churning. She pulled off a small piece and raised it to her mouth. After several seconds of hesitation, she shoved it in and swallowed with very little chewing just to get it over with.

Rudiger threw the bones from his meal into the fire. “Can we talk about what happened yesterday? We need a plan.”

“We let Asa recover first,” Zandrue replied. “I told you that.”

“And if they catch up to us before she does?”

“That’s why we keep moving every day. That’s all we can do for now.”

“And if they still catch us? We should at least have a back-up plan.”

“Rudiger!” Zandrue snapped.

“It’s all right,” Felitïa said. Her voice was still raspy, but it was getting better. This morning, she had not been able to do much more than croak. “Rudiger’s right. We need a plan.”

“You need to rest,” Zandrue said.

“And I will, but I have to eat this food first, and that’s going to take a little while. While I do, you two can talk and I can listen.” She raised another piece of food to her mouth and took a hesitant bite.

Zandrue shrugged. “All right then.”

“How about you start with those Darkers you mentioned?” Rudiger said.

“How about we start with your sword?” Zandrue said. “That’s what the Bloods were after.”

Rudiger sighed and nodded. “Fair.” He collected the sword, still sheathed, and laid it on his lap. “This is Slay.”

Zandrue smirked. “Slay?”

Rudiger nodded. “Slay.”

Not as bad as Garet’s Smasher, but it still left Felitïa wondering what the point of naming a sword was if you were going to be so unimaginative.

“Apt name, I suppose,” Zandrue said. “It did cut one of those Bloods nearly in half. I can forgive you for choosing it.”

“Oh, I didn’t name it,” Rudiger said. “It’s been in my family for generations. It’s had that name pretty much the whole time. Apparently had a longer name once, but that’s long forgotten.”

“How do you get it so sharp? I’d love to get our sword that sharp.”

“Our?”

Zandrue nodded to Felitïa. “I mean me and Asa. It’s technically her sword, but I’m the one that knows how to use it.”

“I gave it to you,” Felitïa said. “It’s yours.” She forced another bite of food.

Zandrue shrugged. “Yeah, but for some reason, I always feel guilty thinking of it as mine. Anyway, Rudiger. Slay. Tell us more.”

“Well, I don’t sharpen it,” he said. “Never needed to. It keeps its sharpness somehow.”

“Magic?” Zandrue said.

“Don’t really know, but I guess so.”

Zandrue whistled. “No wonder the Bloods were interested in it.”

“Yeah, but how would they even know?” Rudiger asked.

“Maybe they just noticed a valuable sword and only noticed after taking a closer look.”

“Never gave them a closer look.”

Zandrue smirked. “That might have been part of the problem.”

“What do you know about the sword?” Felitïa asked.

“Asa, you need to save your strength,” Zandrue said. “I can ask these questions.”

Felitïa nodded, causing a wave of dizziness to flood through her. She nearly fell over, but Zandrue caught her. It occurred to Felitïa that she couldn’t sense any emotions from Rudiger and Zandrue at the moment.

Once Felitïa was sitting up again, Zandrue said, “So, answer her question. What do you know about the sword?”

“Not much more than I’ve already told you. There’s some writing on the blade. Don’t know what it says though. Don’t think anybody in my family ever knew. My father certainly didn’t.”

“Did no one ever try to get it translated?” Zandrue asked.

Rudiger shrugged. “No idea. Never really occurred to me. I don’t know where I’d go to do that.”

Zandrue reached out her hands. “Can I see it?”

“Sure.” Rudiger held out the sword to her. “Careful. It’s heavy.”

Zandrue took the sword with a grunt. “You’re not kidding.” She slid the sheath off and then laid the bare sword in her lap.

Felitïa leaned over to see, but lost her balance, and fell into Zandrue’s side.

“Shit, Asa, careful! This thing could cut your hand off.”

“Sorry.” She tried to straighten herself up again, but couldn’t manage it. Rudiger rushed over to her and helped.

She had gotten a look at the blade though. It was exquisite, the blade polished so perfectly that the firelight glinting and reflecting off its surface seemed brighter than the source. There was no noticeable writing though.

Zandrue ran a finger along the flat of the blade, tracing out designs.

“You have to look closely to see the letters,” Rudiger said, sitting back down again.

“So I see,” Zandrue said.

“Recognise them?” Felitïa asked.

Zandrue continued tracing. “Not exactly. They look like Folithan letters, but not quite. They could be some sort of calligraphy, I suppose. My Folithan’s pretty rusty.”

“You speak Folithan?” Felitïa said. How in all this time had she not known that?

Zandrue shook her head. “Not really. I know a few basic words and enough of the writing to recognise the letters. That’s about it.”

“Any hope of translating it?” Rudiger asked.

Zandrue shrugged.

“We’ll need to figure out what the language is first,” Felitïa said. “This provides a sample of the script though, so we might be able to find something at the Hall of Knowledge.” She was starting to feel dizzy again, and her stomach was churning.

“We’re not going to Quorge, Asa,” Zandrue said.

Oh, right. Quorge was north-east and they were going north-west. “Maybe the...the...” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. What was there to the north-west again? Her stomach was churning too much for her to think straight. Bile was building in her throat.

“We can try a library in Porthaven,” Zandrue said. “There are a couple big ones there.”

Felitïa tried to agree, but it all came up. She vomited up everything she’d eaten all over her uneaten food.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Zandrue said. “Rudiger, take your sword please. I’m getting Asa to bed.”

Felitïa smiled at Zandrue. That sounded like a good idea.

She lost consciousness.

She woke up to the feeling of concern. She was in her tent, Zandrue looking over her.

Zandrue smiled. “You had me worried.”

“Sorry.” She tried to sit up and look herself over.

Zandrue gently pushed her back down. “Don’t worry. I cleaned you up.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Work yourself to death, probably.” Zandrue chuckled, then stopped abruptly as concern spread from her again. “Please take it easy.”

“I will. I promise.” She wanted to say more, but sleep overtook her again.

The next day was a little better, and the day after that a little better still. She was still exhausted, but it was starting to feel more like normal exhaustion. She could eat again, for one. She could also do her concentration exercises again—not that she had much time for them. She was stuck on horseback most of the day, and she hadn’t recovered enough to try the exercises anywhere other than the ground.

Her strength was enough now, though, that she didn’t have to use every bit of it to stop from falling out her saddle. She could pay attention to her surroundings, and given how frequently either Zandrue or Rudiger rode strangely close beside her and would reach towards her with every slight move she made, she started to realise how much they must have been helping her not fall over the past couple days. That was a bit embarrassing.

On the downside, as her strength returned, so did the strange pseudo-memories regarding Rudiger. Any time she saw him, her mind would start to fill with images and words that she couldn’t make out apart from Rudiger’s name, and Borisin’s. This had to be the same thing that had made Zandrue seem so familiar when they’d first met.

Every time the feelings surfaced, they were distracting—especially in her weakened state—so much so that she found herself avoiding Rudiger just to avoid the feelings. She tried instead to pretend she was engrossed in watching the landscape. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to be engrossed in. Endless stretches of flat plains in every direction with only a few trees and farms to interrupt the monotony between the few small villages. But she focused on them just to avoid looking at Rudiger.

He must have thought her incredibly rude. She could certainly sense his confusion over her clipped responses to his attempts at conversation. She promised herself she would clear the air once her strength returned.

On the seventh day, they risked staying at a roadside inn instead of trying to find a secluded spot away from the road. No one had caught them yet, and they were beginning to trust that no one was following them. Winter was getting closer and the nights were getting colder. It would be nice to be indoors, to eat a proper meal again, and sleep in a warm bed.

While they ate, Rudiger broached the topic of long-term plans again.

“You doing okay?” Zandrue asked.

“I think so,” Felitïa said. “I can’t risk casting spells yet, but I think I can talk without throwing up.” She smiled at Zandrue, then at Rudiger, only to have those images flood her mind again. She turned her head away, blushing.

Rudiger sighed, both irritation and embarrassment flooding from him. “Look, if we’re going to travel together, you’re going to have to get used to looking at me once in a while.”

Felitïa steeled herself and looked back at him. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I get it, and I’m flattered, but well, we don’t know each other all that well yet, and...”

Oh gods, he thought she was attracted to him. All the damn blushing she kept doing. She needed to get herself under control.

Amusement from Zandrue overshadowed Rudiger’s embarrassment. “Trust me, Rudiger, it’s not that. Asa doesn’t go for men. Why don’t we start with the actual source of this behaviour though, Asa?”

“I’ll try,” Felitïa said. She wasn’t sure she could explain this, at least not in a way that made any sense. “When I first saw you, Rudiger, I felt a strange sense of familiarity. I’m not sure how else to describe it. It’s like I already knew you even though I’d never seen you before in my life.”

“Maybe I reminded you of someone,” Rudiger said. “I meet people from time to time who remind me of other people.”

Felitïa shook her head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s much more...tangible? That might not be the right word. I got a similar feeling when I first met Zandrue, but it wasn’t so pronounced. I knew Borisin’s name before anyone mentioned it to me, and...” She paused.

Rudiger looked at her expectantly.

“I have images of you and Borisin in my head. Complete images. Without clothes in your case. Well, technically in Borisin’s too.”

“I see.”

“You believe me? I can prove it if I need to. I can describe things.”

This time it was Rudiger’s turn to blush. “Let’s not. I talk to my horse. I’m willing to believe in weird things.” But there was doubt mixed with the embarrassment flowing from him.

“There’s more though. When I picture you and Borisin, I can hear voices too. I think. Or maybe it’s one voice echoing. I can’t make out all the words, just your name, and Borisin’s.”

“Anything else?” Zandrue asked. “Instead of trying to fight these feelings, why don’t you let them do...whatever?”

Felitïa nodded. “Give me a moment.” She closed her eyes and the Room formed in her head. Zandrue’s and Rudiger’s presences were there—as always in locations that didn’t line up with where they were in reality—as were the inn’s other patrons’. She brought the walls in close and pushed aside the presences of all the real people, even Rudiger and Zandrue. Then she focused on the familiarity she felt with Rudiger.

Images appeared off to the side—sort of. The dimensions in the Room made no realistic sense. But Rudiger and Borisin were there. They just stood there, stiff and unmoving, like incredibly lifelike paintings. No. Sculptures. Unbelievably lifelike sculptures. There were others too. Zandrue, as naked as Rudiger, was in the lead. Rudiger was behind her, then Borisin. Then the others. And the voices.

“I hope I look good,” Zandrue said after Felitïa described the scene.

There was a time when an interruption like that would have broken her concentration and dissolved the Room, but not anymore. It did waver a bit, though, as her weakened state made concentration difficult. The fact she hung on was a reminder how far she had come.

The other figures were blurry, though she was reasonably certain they were people. They were of varying heights, although all shorter than Rudiger. That was all she could make out—except one of them was very wide, maybe as wide as tall. Another animal, maybe?

“How many?” Zandrue asked.

Felitïa tried to count. Were they in the order she was meeting them? The wide figure was sixth. Beyond the seventh figure, however, it became harder to separate them from each other. “At least eight,” she told Zandrue. “I’m pretty sure there’s more though, maybe as many as ten or even a dozen.”

“What about the voices?” Zandrue asked.

“Overlapping, hard to separate.” She could distinguish Rudiger’s name, so she focused on it, pushing the others aside.

Rudiger. Borisin. Then unintelligible.

She pushed that voice aside and tried to pull in another.

Felitïa.

“I can hear my name,” she said.

Felitïa. Felitïa.

“Repeating over and over.”

Zandrue. Rudiger. Borisin.

“Describe the voices,” Zandrue said.

It was a woman’s voice, although deeper than most women’s. Always the same voice. “I think it’s just one voice. Echoing and overlapping with itself. She’s stating a list of names, but I can’t make out most of them. Just mine, yours, Rudiger’s, and Borisin’s.”

“Maybe you only get to learn them when you meet them,” Zandrue suggested.

“Maybe,” Felitïa agreed. “Wait a minute. I think I can just about understand one other.”

Quilla.

Felitïa’s heart skipped a beat and she almost lost her concentration as the seventh figure in line came into focus. A voluptuous Eloorin woman, maybe thirty years of age. She had short dark hair, and her skin had a coppery tone to it similar to the Ninifins and others farther to the south. She had a rounded face and large, grey-brown eyes. One of her front teeth was chipped and she had a small, reddish birthmark below her right armpit.

Okay, that was enough detail. Felitïa opened her eyes, pushing the vision aside and letting the Room disappear. “Quilla. I saw Quilla.”

Zandrue slapped her hands down on the table. “Ha! Am I brilliant or what!”

Rudiger gaped at her.

“It was my idea to do this,” Zandrue explained. “I am taking full credit for this. Did it tell you where to find her?”

Felitïa shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. She’s also seventh in line. The three of you are in the order I met you. If I’m meeting everyone in order, I’ve got three more people to meet first.”

“I’m really not following,” Rudiger said. “Who’s Quilla?”

“We have no idea,” Zandrue said.

Rudiger stared blankly. “I don’t get it.”

Zandrue patted his arm. “Don’t worry. Neither do we. But it has something to do with Darkers.”

“The ones you still haven’t told me about?”

Zandrue smirked and looked to Felitïa. Felitïa nodded her assent and Zandrue told Rudiger about the Darkers.

“Okay, I’m still confused,” Rudiger said. “How does....what was the name? Quilla? How does Quilla fit into this story.”

“She was someone the Darkers were looking for,” Zandrue said. “They thought Asa would know where to find her, which is why they targeted Asa. Why they thought Asa would know, though...” Zandrue shrugged.

“This was ten years ago, right?”

“Nine, technically,” Zandrue said, “but basically, yeah.”

Rudiger shook his head. “Okay, I get seeing this Quilla in your head now would remind you of the Darkers, but you mentioned them a few days ago before seeing her now.”

“I saw a couple of them in the market in Tyl,” Felitïa said. “That’s what reminded me of them, though to be honest, I’ve never really forgotten. That day has always bothered me.”

Rudiger looked about to say something else, but paused. Confusion was still ebbing from him. Or was that her own confusion? No, it was definitely his, though it was a good reminder that she wasn’t fully recovered yet.

There was a hint of confusion from Zandrue too. “This does explain a little—well, hardly anything, really. But seeing Quilla in your head does fit with the Darkers thinking you’d know her.”

“Nine years earlier,” Rudiger said.

Zandrue nodded. “Exactly. Why are you seeing her now? Why not then?”

“Maybe because I didn’t have this ability then,” Felitïa said.

“But they knew,” Zandrue said. “Or they knew something. And you said you found me familiar when you first met me.”

Felitïa sighed. She didn’t have the answers, but she could make one logical conclusion. “I didn’t have full control over my abilities then. I still don’t have full control, but I have gotten a little better. That’s the only explanation I can offer.”

“So, is seeing us in your head part of some prophetic vision then?” Rudiger asked.

“I hope not, but something weird is definitely going on.” The idea that something was dictating her future was unsettling, even frightening. She might not have figured out exactly what she was doing with her life, but she wanted it to be her decision, not someone else’s.

She looked at Rudiger and the memories started to well up again, but this time she shoved them aside and put them in their proper place in her head. She didn’t blush, and she didn’t turn away.

However, fatigue washed over her and she felt her eyes start to close. That had taken a lot out of her. She probably should have waited a few days before doing this, but at least she had achieved real results. Maybe when she had fully recovered, she would be able to bring the rest into focus and maybe even figure out where the memories came from in the first place.

She excused herself and headed up to bed.

* * * * *

Over the next few days, Felitïa began to feel her old self again. She wasn’t yet willing to risk casting a spell—her body wasn’t ready for that yet—but she was otherwise able to do things she could normally do. That included helping with camp and food, things she had felt guilty about not helping with.

They passed out of Plavin-Tyl at some point during these few days and into Elooria. Felitïa wasn’t paying strict attention to when it happened. Just on one of the days, the tavern they stopped at boasted the “finest ale in Elooria”. The knowledge came as something of a relief. Even though there was nothing stopping any pursuers from crossing into Elooria, at least they wouldn’t have official sanction anymore.

Regardless of the change of province, they all reasoned that they should be safe from pursuit for the time being. Even if there had been initial pursuit, they had made it far enough that they shouldn’t have to worry about anyone catching up. Still, Felitïa couldn’t help worry a little.

She tried to focus on other things instead. In particular, she was interested in Rudiger’s ability to communicate with his horse and in Borisin himself. Borisin had a much stronger mental presence than most animals. On several occasions, she thought she caught the horse watching her, but he would turn his head as soon as she noticed. From time to time, she tried to approach him, but unless Rudiger was there to stop him, he always sidled away from her.

“He does that with everyone,” Rudiger said. “Doesn’t like people much. Says he prefers the mares.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Zandrue joked. “Thank the gods they’re not likely to go into heat again until the spring. Stallions around mares in heat is not a good idea.”

“Oh, he behaves himself if I tell him to.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Felitïa tuned out the rest of their conversation and focused on Borisin. It was more than not liking people. But each time she tried to approach the stallion, she learned nothing new. More secrets and mysteries to unravel.

She was interested in Rudiger’s sword, too. There was no means to translate the writing on the blade yet, but she did question Rudiger more about its background. There had to be a reason the Red Knights had accused him of stealing it.

“You didn’t steal it, did you?” Zandrue said.

Rudiger rolled his eyes. “I already told you I didn’t.”

Zandrue smirked and elbowed his arm. “I’m just teasing. But here’s a thought. Has anyone else ever tried to steal it?”

Rudiger frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Just that, if the Bloods did somehow recognise your specific sword, then it means that others might. Others might have even tried to go after it in the past. In fact, I’d expect it, but if no one has, it could mean the Bloods just saw a fancy, expensive-looking sword that they wanted.”

Rudiger hesitated. Discomfort, followed by a surge of sadness, helplessness, and despair, radiated from him.

“Well?” Zandrue prodded, but backed off at the look on his face.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “Don’t know for sure, but I think it might have been why my parents were killed. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

Zandrue put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

He shrugged and took a deep breath. “That’s okay. They were killed while I was away training with the army. The sword was with me. Their home was ransacked like the killer was looking for something, but nothing was stolen as best I could tell.”

“They never caught who did it?” Felitïa said.

Rudiger shook his head. “Everyone kept trying to shirk responsibility to someone else. My father was a general, so the city guard said it was the army’s responsibility. The army said he was off duty, so it was the city’s responsibility.”

“That sounds like a load of bullshit,” Zandrue said.

“Yeah. It’s why I left the army, and why I left Fisvin. Never really settled down after that. Just been wandering ever since. If you’ll excuse me, I...uh...I need to check on Borisin.” He pushed passed the two of them and headed over to his horse.

Zandrue sighed. “I sure know how to put my foot in my mouth, don’t I?”

Felitïa put a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “You didn’t know.”

Zandrue nodded, but said nothing.

* * * * *

It was a full three weeks after leaving Tyl that Felitïa was finally willing to cast another spell. She started simple, convincing Simeria that there was an apple in her empty, but outstretched hand. She felt a little guilty as the horse bit into empty air, but felt great relief that her body responded as it should. It meant that she had healed without any permanent damage. It also meant that she was in a much better mood for the remainder of their journey.

As they progressed, they began to pass through more and more villages and towns, and were able to rest in inns more frequently. This area of Elooria was one of the most populous areas of Arnor. The places they passed through were also stark contrasts to Tyl. People were friendly and spoke to one another, regardless of whether they were Eloorin or Folith.

Six weeks after leaving Tyl, they arrived in Mesone, a small town about a day’s travel from Porthaven. As Porthaven was situated on a small peninsula, travellers into or out of it had to pass through Mesone, making the town a crossroads for people from all across the continent—and beyond. The people were a mix of more than just Folith and Eloorin (although Eloorin were the majority). There were various peoples from southern Arnor, including occasional Ninifins. Felitïa even spotted several umber-skinned Sanalogs from far-off Endoria.

There were a lot of people, too. Despite the recent arrival of winter snows, the streets were packed with people moving from one spot to another, or some just standing in place hawking wares or services. Indeed, there seemed to be merchants and other sellers everywhere, even leaning out the windows of the upper storeys of the simple thatch buildings and calling out to passersby.

The first several inns they tried were full—beyond capacity some of the inn-keepers said.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people crammed into such a small space,” Rudiger commented as they navigated the cramped streets. Borisin, with his greater bulk, was having a harder time than the mares, and Felitïa and Zandrue had to hold back to let Rudiger and his horse keep up.

“It’s the last chance people have to get in or out of Porthaven before the snows start to block the roads for winter,” Zandrue said, pulling sharply on her horse’s reins to avoid coming too close to another nearby horse pulling a wagon full of goods.

“Never thought of that,” Rudiger said. “First time this far north. Snow along the Thumb never gets that bad.”

“Welcome to northern Arnor,” Zandrue said, “where it snows six months of the year and tries to snow the other six.”

Luckily, a place like Mesone had lots of inns, so they did eventually find one with space. Rudiger went to take care of the stabling, while Felitïa and Zandrue booked rooms with the inn-keeper—a grease-covered man who kept boasting that there was an Isyar staying at the inn. Felitïa and Zandrue then made their way to the inn’s common room to meet back with Rudiger.

Like everywhere else in Mesone, the common room was packed with people. Many crowded around tables (both sitting and standing as there weren’t enough chairs for everyone) eating and drinking, playing dice or card games, or talking and laughing amongst themselves. In one corner, a man sat with a lute. He appeared to be playing and singing, although it was impossible to hear him over the general din of the room.

“I don’t think we’re going to find a place to sit and eat in here,” Zandrue said.

“Given the amount of grease the inn-keeper appears to use, I’m not sure I want to eat anything,” Felitïa said. “Though I suppose he can’t possibly cook everyone’s food.”

“Someone has obviously never been acquainted with true Eloorin food,” Zandrue said with a chuckle. “Doesn’t matter who’s cooking it. They reuse the same grease over and over again. Lots of it. Gives every cooking pot its own unique identity, they say. You can only really get it in Porthaven and Mesone, though you must have passed through here all those years ago.”

“Yeah, I did,” Felitïa replied, “but I don’t really remember the food. It was a long time ago and we didn’t stay long.”

“Honestly, it’s pretty tasty,” Zandrue said.

Rudiger joined them. “Stable hands’ll bring up our bags as soon as they’re done with the horses.”

Zandrue held up the key to their room. “Let’s see our room and we can figure out sleeping arrangements. We’re in number three.” She moved through the crowd towards the stairs at the far side of the room. Rudiger followed close behind her and people moved quickly out of his way.

One advantage to travelling with someone so large. Felitïa followed along in the gap he provided, but paused as she reached the bottom step. Zandrue and Rudiger continued up, not noticing her as she turned towards what had caught her eye.

A short, portly Eloorin sat at one of the tables along the far wall. There wasn’t anything to particularly distinguish him from the other people seated and standing near him other than perhaps the books stacked on the table in front of him.

Meleng.

She let the images form in the Room again. Zandrue, Rudiger, and Borisin came into focus at the front of the line, Quilla in seventh position. And in fourth position, just past Borisin, was this man.

Meleng.

That was his name. Damn, she really was meeting them in order.

He was in his late teens or early twenties at most, with a thick mop of dark, curly hair. He had grey eyes and a mole on his back just beneath his left shoulder blade—gods, these images gave her more detail than she could ever want. She didn’t even have to look for the details; she just knew them.

She moved towards him, but a hand touched her shoulder. It was Zandrue. “What’s up?”

“I just found number four,” Felitïa replied.

Zandrue stepped forward just beside her. “Where?”

Felitïa nodded in the young Eloorin man’s direction, but realised that, in the crowded room, it wasn’t helpful. “Just over this way.”

She weaved through the people, Zandrue following. As she got closer, a child’s voice called out, “Do it! Come on, do it!”

Meleng placed his hands on top of the pile of books and began to trace small designs with his fingers. Felitïa held up a hand to motion for Zandrue to stop. She had seen Agernon and Drummor do similar things when casting spells. Agernon, in particular, would be very meticulous as this man seemed to be now. After a moment, he removed his hands from the pile, and the entire stack lifted off the table and floated several feet above.

Other people near Meleng ceased their conversations and games to gape at the spectacle. As the noise quietened in that area of the room, people a little farther out also turned to see what was happening. Gradually, the noise in the room decreased enough that it was possible to hear the singer.

But while everyone else focused on the floating pile of books, Felitïa found her attention drifting to one of the observers standing on the chair opposite Meleng. In her head, the short figure standing immediately behind Meleng came into focus. A young boy less than ten years old, with sandy-brown hair and a tawny face covered in freckles. The voices continued to call out names.

Borisin. Meleng. Corvinian. Something else. Quilla.

Corvinian.

Number five. Two of them in one place.

There was a loud pop and the books burst, sending pages scattering about the room in every direction. People gasped, laughed, and clapped. The boy jumped up and down in his chair and grasped for some of the pages as they flew past him, not catching any of them.

Meleng’s reaction was the complete opposite of his audience’s. A look of shock and horror on his face, he rushed about collecting the pages from the tables and floor. Unfortunately for him, most of those pages were now being trod on or held by other people who considered them a kind of prize. Some had landed in grease or ale spills on the tables or right in people’s food.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen, was it?” Zandrue said.

“I don’t think so,” Felitïa answered.

“Lucky for him, the crowd doesn’t seem to have noticed. Is he the one?”

“Number four, yes,” Felitïa replied.

Zandrue bent over and picked up a couple of pages that had landed at her feet. “At least we have a means of introduction.”

“Number five’s here, too.”

“Shit. The rate’s really increasing, isn’t it? Well, beats the nine years between me and Rudiger.”

“It’s the boy, there,” Felitïa said. “I think they’re together.”

“Let’s introduce ourselves.” Zandrue slapped the pages in her hand and moved through the crowd towards Meleng who was now placing a much smaller pile of papers and book covers back on the table. The boy had jumped off his chair and was now darting under nearby tables, looking for additional pages.

Felitïa bent down to pick up a sheet at her feet. It was torn halfway through the middle and covered in dirt smudges from numerous people having already stepped on it. It was full of hand-written notes. What little of them was still legible showed they were magical notes, mostly ideas for new magical applications—the kind of thing Meleng probably hadn’t wanted to lose.

Zandrue reached the table where Meleng now slumped in his chair. “Some more of your papers?” She held them out.

He looked up at her. “Oh, yes, thanks. Thank you.” He took the papers from her and placed them on top of his pile.

“You don’t look very happy,” Zandrue said. “Something go wrong?”

“You could say that,” he muttered, turning his head away.

Felitïa reached them and held out the sheet she’d retrieved. “Another one.”

He took the sheet from her, looked at it, muttered something under his breath, and slapped it down on top of the pile.

“Looked pretty impressive to me,” Zandrue said.

“It was just supposed to float the books, not burst them,” he said.

“What happened?” Felitïa asked.

Meleng shrugged. “I don’t know. Must have made a mistake somewhere, I guess.”

“Concentration problem?” Zandrue suggested.

Meleng shook his head.

“Concentration’s not as big an issue with enchantment,” Felitïa said. “If I’d gone into enchantment, I wouldn’t have had anywhere near the concentration issues I had. Still have sometimes.”

Meleng turned all the way around in his chair. “You’re a wizard?”

“Mentalist,” she replied and offered her hand. “Asa.”

He took her hand and shook it vigorously. “Meleng. Meleng Drago.” Excitement bubbled from him, managing to pierce the thick veil of emotions in the common room. “It’s so good to meet another wizard. I meet so few.”

The boy bounded onto his chair, holding a pile of papers. “I found as many as I could, Meleng.”

Meleng took the papers. “Oh thank you, Corvinian.”

Zandrue held out her hand. “Zandrue.”

Meleng moved to take her hand, realised he was holding the papers in that hand, quickly switched hands, and then shook her hand. “Meleng Drago.”

“Yes, you said.”

“Is your name like from the story of the Volg Killer?” He was still shaking her hand.

“Short for Zandromeda, yes.” She pulled her hand away from him. “Talking names, you wouldn’t be related to—”

“Yes.” His face slunk and he slumped back in his chair.

“I thought your family was forbidden to practise magic.” Zandrue leaned over and sniffed him.

Meleng recoiled. “Just till the tenth generation. I’m the eleventh.”

“Oh, didn’t know that.”

Felitïa hadn’t known that, either. Common stories said that all descendants of the Dragon were forbidden from ever using magic again, though she had never researched the truth and common stories were often wrong.

“Few people do,” Meleng muttered as he placed the papers from Corvinian onto the pile.

“Meleng, we need to get ready.” It was another Eloorin man at the table. Felitïa hadn’t really noticed him, although he was sitting in the chair right beside the boy’s. “Jorvan will be here soon.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Meleng stood and tucked the papers under his arm. Several threatened to fall back onto the floor again and he struggled with them a moment to get them stable. “It was nice meeting you.” He started to hold out his hand to Felitïa again, but that caused the papers to slip once more and his arms returned to rigid at his side.

Zandrue stifled laughter.

“Nice meeting you, too,” Felitïa said.

“Jorvan’s an Isyar!” the boy said as he bounded onto the tabletop. “He’s helping us!”

“Is he now?” Zandrue leaned towards the boy, who nodded vigorously.

“I’ll go get him!”

Zandrue sniffed him, then straightened up. “Sure, you go do that.”

The boy jumped off the table and ran into the crowd. “Corvinian, go collect your things from our room first!” a woman’s voice called after him. “We’ll be there in a minute.” She was with the man who had been sitting beside the boy. Both of them were trying to navigate around the table without hopping over it the way the boy had.

“I’ll catch up to him and bring him back,” Meleng said. “Good day.” He nodded to Felitïa and Zandrue and followed after the boy, still struggling with the papers.

“Should we go with them?” Felitïa said.

Zandrue shrugged. “We could, but I don’t see any reason to. Just because they’re in your weird vision thing doesn’t mean you have to trail after them the moment you see them. I mean, there was a week between meeting me and drawing me into your web of intrigue.”

“Web of intrigue? That’s what you think of me, is it?” Felitïa stuck her tongue out at her.

Zandrue smirked. “Just teasing. But my point is, we should just let things happen as they happen. If you run after them now, they’re going to think you a little weird. Besides, Rudiger would wonder where we got to. We should get back to him.”

“Why do you do that thing you do?” Felitïa asked as they started up the stairs. “I’ve always wondered.” The man and woman whom Felitïa assumed were Corvinian’s parents were a short distance ahead of them, just reaching the first landing and turning to the second flight.

“What thing?” Zandrue asked.

“You know. When you meet people. Sniff them.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Zandrue said.

“Most people don’t.”

“I’m not most people. People have distinct smells, you know. Most of us pay no attention to them. I prefer to know them.”

“And you remember the smells?”

The man and woman had stopped at the first room at the top of the stairs, and the man was unlocking the door. Felitïa nodded to them as she and Zandrue passed.

“Don’t you?” Zandrue said.

“No.”

“Have you ever actually sniffed anyone?”

“Well no. Not that way.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Well...” Felitïa could sense amusement from Zandrue now that they were away from the crowds and somewhere that actually approximated privacy. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Their room was just to their right now and Zandrue reached for the door handle. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m—”

A massive boom, like thunder only much closer, came from the direction of the common room below and the floor itself shook, knocking Zandrue and Felitïa off their feet. Felitïa’s head slammed into the wall behind her and she slid to the floor.

It took a moment to regain her senses. Her vision swam and her head filled with the panicked thoughts of everyone downstairs. There must have been two dozen or more intense sources of fear more extreme than she had ever encountered. She wanted to scream herself as the panic threatened to amplify her own fear and overwhelm her.

“What the fuck?”

Zandrue’s voice. Felitïa could barely discern it over the panic in her head. “Felitïa, are you all right? What the fuck was that? Rudiger, are you in there?”

There was smoke around her, and she could hear screams now. Screams and yells from below. The fear was overwhelming.

Another boom exploded from below and this time, the floor shook enough to throw her into the air. She collided with the door, which fell inwards from the impact, and Felitïa found herself lying flat.

There was more screaming downstairs.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Felitïa! Rudiger! We have to get out of here now!”

“No shit!”

Felitïa clutched at the sides of the door and pulled herself up into a kneel. Her heart was pounding like it was trying to burst out of her chest, her body shaking, reacting to the fear of everyone else. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on the Room in her head. She had to push them out. Had to push them out now!

Before their fear killed her.

“Felitïa! Felitïa, answer me!”

“She looks in shock.”

“No, this is worse. Felitïa!”

The walls of the Room collapsed every time she tried to put them up. Again, she tried and again, they fell.

“Felitïa!”

“Should you maybe slap her or something?”

“Why the fuck would I do something like that? Gods, her pulse is going crazy. Her skin’s on fire. Felitïa! Felitïa, focus on my voice. Please!”

Zandrue’s voice. Yes, that was what she needed. One presence free of the fear gripping everyone else. One stable presence. There it was. Concern and affection. Some fear, too, but not the same fear everyone else was feeling. That had to be Zandrue. There was another one, too. Rudiger.

She focused on them both.

The walls of the Room formed. Cracks appeared in them, but they held for the moment. She drew them in right up to her and then pushed them out again, pushing away all the presences from her mind.

With a scream, she opened her eyes and stood up, gasping for air.

Zandrue wiped tears from her eyes and threw her arms around Felitïa. “Don’t you ever fucking do something like that to me again. You scared the shit out of me!”

“It was everybody else downstairs, their fear. It overwhelmed me.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Rudiger demanded.

Their room was full of smoke drifting in from the hall outside. Most of the screaming from downstairs had stopped, but a single scream rose above those remaining. There was a thud and it stopped. “No, please!” someone cried.

“I really don’t want to know,” Zandrue said, “but we better find a way out of here before we’re the next victims.”

Rudiger picked up Slay from where it was lying on the bed and unsheathed it in one fluid motion. He rushed into the hall. “Shit, floor’s half gone! Be careful.” Then he disappeared into the smoke.

“I was thinking the window!” Zandrue called after him. “Fuck!” She drew her sword. “We better get after him.”

Felitïa hesitated a moment. Every time she met someone from the group in her “vision” as Zandrue was calling it, violence soon followed. It had happened with Zandrue. With Rudiger. Now with Meleng and Corvinian? She sighed and went after Zandrue.

The common room was directly below, but there was too much smoke to see much through the hole in the hall floor. Only shapes. Many of those shapes looked like people. Most weren’t moving.

“Please!” someone cried.

A large shape moved just beyond where Felitïa could see.

Wings. They looked like wings.

No, that was impossible.

There was another scream, then a thud not too far ahead of her.

She squeezed against the wall and edged round the hole, which was bigger than she had at first realised. It must have run ten feet along the hallway, from near the left-hand wall all the way across. The bottom edge of the right wall was just splinters. The door to room one had fallen away completely, and Felitïa could see that the room beyond was gone as well.

The room Corvinian's parents had gone into. Dear gods.

Felitïa reached the end of the hole and hurried to the stairs. Rudiger was on the midway landing, facing the room room below, and was now just standing there, staring. Gaping.

Zandrue was crouching against the landing wall, hugging her knees and muttering. A body lay on the floor beside her, greasy apron covered in blood. The inn-keeper. His head was twisted at an impossible angle and his jaw had been torn half off.

Felitïa scurried down the stairs and knelt beside Zandrue. “No, no, no. They’ve found me.” Zandrue pressed her knees closer to her chest.

Felitïa turned to see into the room below. The smoke was starting to clear, blown away by the cold air from the open front door. The walls were blackened, but dotted with countless red splatters of blood. The shapes Felitïa had seen through the floor—the bodies—were mangled and burnt. Though there weren’t enough of them to account for everyone that had been crammed into the room. Most must have fled. That was a small relief.

She looked back at Zandrue and let the walls in her head dissolve. The original sources of the fear that had nearly killed her were either dead or had run away, so it should be safe. She needed to know what Zandrue was going through.

Fear slammed her again.

It was more manageable this time, coming from only a few sources. But Zandrue’s was much different than the others. It was the same fear she had detected from Zandrue so many times before—every time Felitïa had ever tried to ask Zandrue about her past.

One of the other fear sources began to mix with determination. Rudiger. He raised Slay just as the large figure moved into view at the bottom of the stairs.

Legends said Volgs had the heads of goats. It wasn’t far from the truth. The creature at the base of the stairs had thick horns that curled like a ram’s. The face was lightly covered in black fur, mixed with grey and white. The fur was thinner around the wide black eyes, but thickened under the nose and around the mouth, longer on the chin like a short beard. The nose and the mouth jutted forward a little almost like a muzzle. The ears were human-like, however—not at all like a goat’s—as was most of the rest of the body.

Except for the massive leathery wings that extended from the shoulders. They were folded up behind the Volg’s back right now, but they twitched slightly as he stepped forward. He was wearing multi-layered black robes that draped low at the back, beneath the wings. In one hand, he held a ball of growing white crystal.

“Rudiger, be careful,” Felitïa hissed, but she wasn’t sure he heard her.

Rudiger took a couple steps towards the Volg, who just grinned. Rudiger was over six and a half feet tall, but even raised by the stairs, he only stood about as tall as the Volg. He raised Slay higher and charged down the stairs. The Volg didn’t even try to move or defend himself as Slay cut straight down.

And collided with an invisible barrier. There was a bright flash of violent energy and Rudiger shot backwards into the staircase with enough force to crash right through it. The lower half of the stairs collapsed like a tower of playing cards. Felitïa threw her arms around Zandrue to hold on to her if the landing beneath them gave way, but although it shook, it held.

The Volg’s laugh cut short as he looked at his orb, which was no longer glowing and had a long crack through it. He said something in a language Felitïa didn’t understand.

“Impossible,” Zandrue muttered.

The Volg gave a loud guttural roar and moved towards the wreckage of the staircase where Rudiger lay.

Felitïa let go of Zandrue and stood up at the edge of what was now a crooked ledge. She clenched her fists and stared hard at the Volg, releasing the spell with more strength than she would have ever considered using on anyone else.

The Volg screamed as she convinced his mind that he was burning to death.

Elderaan would have never approved of a spell like this. She had never been sure she approved either—until now—but she had researched it in case she ever encountered the Darkers again.

It was taking a lot of energy from her, but she kept it going, willing the Volg’s mind to think he was dead. To die for real.

“Will-Breaker!” The Volg swung his right arm in a wide circle and pulled back with the other.

Damn.

“Zandrue, look out!” Felitïa let go of the spell and threw herself over Zandrue to shield her.

There was heat at her back, but the explosion she’d expected didn’t happen. What the hell?

Felitïa rolled over and looked up.

A ball of fire hung in the air just in front of Zandrue, unmoving.

What was happening? Was Zandrue doing this? How?

No. Zandrue was still lost in her fear.

“Leave here.” Another voice penetrated the din. A male voice, Felitïa thought, but higher pitched than most men’s. “Now. Or I kill you.” The voice had an accent that Felitïa couldn’t place.

She crawled forward and peered over the edge where the stairs used to be.

Jorvanultumn.

The sixth figure, the one as wide as it was tall, began to clear in her head.

In the doorway stood an Isyar. His wings—the reason for his width in her head—were spread and...not exactly flapping, but moving like they were directing the snow and wind swirling around his pale body. At points, it was difficult to distinguish where his body ended and the snow and wind began. He held one hand outstretched towards the ball of fire that still hung in the air just in front of Zandrue.

The Volg raised his arms and slapped his hands together in a loud clap. Two spears of stone hurtled at Jorvanultumn. The Isyar merely waved his free hand in a gentle circle, and both spears broke into countless small stones that then broke into sand. The sand joined the swirl of wind and snow that was getting larger with more collected from outside.

“Taste your fire,” the Isyar said and pulled his outstretched hand inwards. At the same time, he stretched his other hand forward. The ball of fire shot backwards and the tempest around him whipped forward, both colliding with the Volg in an explosion of fire, ice, and stone.

The Volg screamed. And screamed.

As the smoke and debris cleared, the Volg stumbled forward. Much of his wings had burnt away, revealing the thin skeletal framework beneath. The fur on his face and short beard was completely gone and the skin underneath was a mixture of red and black burns. His robes smouldered, but were still mostly intact. Their thickness was probably the only thing that had kept him alive.

The Volg stumbled for the doorway, trying to run. He didn’t make it far. More gusts of snow and ice whirled around him, lifting him fully off the ground. The Isyar stepped aside, guiding the winds with fluid movements of his wings and arms, and the Volg floated towards the doorway.

“I am sorry,” the Isyar said as the Volg floated past. “You had a chance. But you kill too many.”

The wind and snow carried the still screaming Volg through the door and then up, out of sight.

Felitïa pulled herself to her feet and went over to Zandrue, who was still cowering against the wall. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s over.”

A soft, but sickening thud came from behind her. Felitïa glanced back. On the street outside, the mangled remains of the Volg lay splattered over the cobblestones. Felitïa didn’t want to know how high he had fallen from.

The Isyar had knelt on the ground and was staring up to the sky, muttering something. From what little Felitïa knew of Isyar, she was fairly certain he was praying.

She turned back to Zandrue, who had not snapped out of her delirium.

“Impossible. Impossible.”

“Zandrue, listen to my voice,” Felitïa said. She lowered her eyelids half-closed. “Just listen to my voice. It’s time to sleep.” She tilted her head slightly and released the spell. Zandrue’s fear faded as her body went limp. Fast asleep.

Felitïa leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead. “Everything’s going to be okay.”