Early Spring

  Clover

  1911 SC (Skyfall Calamity)

  Heph wasn't sure where they were. One line of trees looked like the next. Tall, Iron-flecked Oak broken up with Copper-spotted underbrush. The forest seemed to loom less menacingly since they had left the basilisk territory; the shadows less intimidating, wildlife returning. But Heph still felt so out of place, so confused and conflicted. He wanted to run back east, back to his friends, back to his old life. But it was too late now; he was bound on this path, bound with an alchemist who seemed preoccupied with other things.

  “We can stop for a moment,” Perenelle said.

  Nodding his head in agreement, Heph looked up at the older woman. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her long blue-black hair was knotted and twisted, not the usual neat ponytail. Her clothes were scuffed with dirt and grime, well-worn and certainly in need of a wash. Heph was certain he didn't look much better. They had been travelling the dark paths of the forest for at least a week now, stopping only to rest once the Four Suns had set.

  “How much further, do you think, Ms Perenelle?” Heph wondered aloud.

  “Well, that depends on if or when we hit a trade-road.”

  Perenelle took off her glasses and was about to clean them with the cuff of her shirt, but thought better of it upon closer examination and instead jammed them back on her face.

  “This area is known as the Dells. Numerous smaller logging communities that have carved themselves a livelihood, harvesting the wood and associated metals. We could run into Rose, Moss, or even Thorndell before we find the open plains. We're certainly out of the foothills now. The forest has shifted, and so has the terrain.”

  “What then?”

  “Then, young man, then we find ourselves the nearest caravan to South Greywater and travel in the safety of numbers.”

  Heph looked at the ground and found his heart hanging a little heavier.

  “That didn't make much difference before.”

  A hand touched Heph's shoulder. Looking up, he saw Perenelle smiling, though it looked a little forced.

  “You'll find that the captain is made of sturdier stuff than he looks. I've no doubt if anybody could survive a basilisk pack, it would be him.”

  “But what about... Well, you... You know... What about...”

  “He'll look after them.”

  “And if they're...”

  Perenelle's eyes hardened.

  “If your friends are dead, then they are beyond such caring. We're alive, Heph, and focus we must on our own survival. Now, I've enough endurance of stone for the two of us to continue our march for at least the next two days without problems.”

  Perenelle drew from her leather bandoleer yet another small clay vial, offering it to Heph. For the last week he'd been drinking whatever she offered to him, not asking much of what it was or what the long-term consequences would be. He wasn't sure he wanted the alchemist to answer those questions. So instead, he popped the cork lid off and took a sip, hating the gritty dirt-like taste as it ran down his throat. Choking off a cough, the sturdy boy felt his body shivering before taking in the effect. What little soreness he felt in his limbs bled off, replaced with a renewed strength and resilience.

  “Shall we continue?” Perenelle offered.

  Heph nodded in agreement and offered the vial back. Perenelle took it and finished off the contents with a grimace. Heph knew the two of them had to run into a road eventually, a way for them to find directions and get their bearings.

  They had to.

  Karl wiped the sweat from his brow. It was not a particularly hot day, but he had been hard at work for most of it. Only now as the Suns began to crawl towards their rest did he take leave. Logger's axe over one shoulder, the merry man whistled a small ditty as he strode towards Rosedell and his home. His wife, Henrietta, would already have a stew on the boil. The thought of food left his stomach grumbling. During the Spring Seasonal Ascendance, many of the workmen would be hard at clearing the right areas ready for planting. The Ascendance meant that areas felled in the past three years would recover stronger than before. This recovery needed to be properly managed.

  That left men like Karl to carry the load of continuing the felling, often working in gangs of two or three. Karl waved off his friends as he left early; starting early gave him the chance to see his wife sooner. After all, Henrietta was with child, and Karl wanted to spend as much time as possible with his wife before the newborn took over both their lives. He knew she needed a hand about the house, the innumerable tasks of a wife made harder now. Henrietta was far too proud to ask for help, so Karl would leave a little early each day and arrive in time to assist his wife. Always it would be an excuse like, “Well, I can't sit around while you do everything,” or, “I've a restless energy; some dusting or sweeping will shake it off.”

  The dance between the two of them continued day-in, day-out. Henrietta never acknowledged what Karl did for her, but she smiled at him all the same, the gorgeous grin that had stolen his heart shining out whenever he offered to help.

  “And what little things shall I do today, Henrietta?” Karl muttered to himself as he stopped whistling and rounded the final turn towards town.

  Looking up, the logger was surprised to see three travellers ahead of him. Typically passers-through or merchants would arrive via the west road, often in groups of ten or more with a caravan in tow. Instead, three dusty-looking, tired travellers trudged ahead of him. A man seemed to lead a girl walking to one side of him, carrying another like a rough backpack. Karl wondered what a grown man and two children were doing walking Rosedell's eastern road.

  ‘Odd man to be travelling alone, and with no horse or carriage. Not even a backpack or bedroll.’

  Curiosity getting the better of him, Karl picked up his pace, breaking into a light trot.

  “Hello, travellers!” he called out.

  The man did not look back. But the girl to one side did, ragged brown hair framing a face that would have been pretty if not for the grime coating it. She seemed to half-raise a hand to wave back, but the man looked down at her and she looked towards the village ahead. Small fingers of smoke rose up from the chimneys, evening fires for cooking already lit.

  “Hold up, friends,” Karl called out a little more insistently, now unsettled by what he was seeing.

  Finally catching up, Karl moved past the travellers and stopped before them, blocking their passage. The logger was not sure who they were, and he did not like the feel of the situation, axe sitting on his shoulder almost menacingly. It was only when he gave them an appraising look that Karl realised how tired they looked, faces pale, heavy rings under their eyes. The man had the bearing of a soldier, strong build and commanding eyes glinting gold in the afternoon sun. The girl to his side would have been a bubbling ray of sunshine, but her dress was torn in several places, a too-heavy-looking backpack carried in a stumbling fashion. Worse still was the other girl upon the soldier's back, her arms wrapped around his neck, wrists tied together with a leather thong. Runnels of dried blood hung from either corner of her mouth, eyes closed and breath laboured, vomit staining the shoulder of the man.

  “By the Fates!” Karl exclaimed. “What happened to you, Man?”

  The soldier stopped and took a slow breath, acknowledging Karl for the first time.

  “Don't stand there gawking,” he commanded. “I need a healer; an alchemist. The girl is gravely injured.”

  Karl could see the stress and fatigue in the man's eyes. He wanted to ask further. But the voice had an authority of a ranked soldier. Another glance at the red-haired girl upon the soldier's back was all Karl needed. He broke into a run, tossing his axe to one side, certain he could collect it later. What was a tool when a child's life was at stake? Long legs carrying him, Karl dashed past the palisade wall of the village and down the main street. Friends and neighbours called out to him, but Karl paid them no heed, his mind focused on a single goal. He was to be a parent soon; he would not ignore a child in need. Making his way to the village centre, he saw the curtains to Rayleigh's cottage pulled back, smoke rising from the chimney.

  ‘Thank the Fates, she's home.’

  Coming to a quick halt, Karl knocked hurriedly on the alchemist's door, fist almost pounding it down. Karl had no love for the alchemist, but the man had demanded one be found. Opening the door with an unimpressed expression, Rayleigh stared at the logger.

  “I'm certain I heard you the first time, Karl.”

  “Please, Journeyman Rayleigh, you must come quick,” Karl blurted out.

  “Your wife?”

  “No, Journeyman; travellers on the edge of town. They look to have been attacked; one of them, a young girl, is deathly ill.”

  Rayleigh's face changed, now all business.

  “I'll fetch my things.”

  The alchemist bustled around inside and was at the door again, buckling her bandoleer into place. Closing the door behind the two of them, the woman dashed along beside Karl, keeping up with his fast trot as the two made their way back towards the eastern edge of the village.

  By now all of Rosedell was abuzz. Word had spread of newly arrived travellers, the look of a fierce battle and a sad story hanging over them. Several of the other loggers recently returned had directed the trio towards the inn and gone ahead of them to prepare beds and baths. Word had been sent to the mayoress, certain that she would want to be made aware of the strange news. Karl and the alchemist arrived at the inn, already inhabited by several curious villagers. Holding the door ajar for the woman, Karl followed her in and found the common room nearly full to capacity. It seemed that news spread even faster than Karl had imagined.

  “Alright, this is quite enough. Our guests have arrived and I want everybody out, now!” Mayoress Seselt barked.

  The curious villagers that had crowded the common room began to shuffle out, muttering about how they would like to be kept informed of the news. Several wondered aloud if bandits were behind such events and perhaps a night-watch should be posted in case. In moments, Karl was left standing alone in the common room with the mayoress, the owner of the Inn. Rayleigh bustled by Karl and moved towards one of the two tables that were currently occupied. Karl could see a somewhat surprised merchant looking up from his afternoon meal, wondering what all the fuss was about. Seated at the other table were the three travellers, looking all the more worn in the brighter light of the inn. The soldier sat straight backed, facing the mayoress. One of the girls waited politely. The other sat resting against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her to support and keep the unconscious child upright.

  As Karl approached the table, he couldn't help but intrude into the conversation.

  “... and we've spent the last four days travelling hard. I've little in the way of money, but whatever assistance you can lend to a soldier of the Empire would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Your situation is appreciated, and whilst compassion is one of the tenets of the Fates, you must forgive me for being a little wary of three strangers stumbling into my village,” Seselt replied.

  “I understand. If you don't wish to trust us, so be it; but this child needs help, and soon.”

  Nodding once, the mayoress looked to the alchemist who knelt beside the girl and raised a cautious hand. She checked the girl's brow before shaking her head. Now facing the unconscious redhead, Karl realised that her chest had been wrapped in what looked like torn strips of someone's dress, dried blood oozing out from between the gaps. It looked as though someone had slashed the girl to ribbons, the crude dressings the only things keeping her together.

  The sense of his wife's presence filled the back of Karl's mind before she even made it through the front door. Karl knew the feel of the Iron from his wife, that familiar spark that warmed him. Turning, he saw her pushing open the door to the inn and looking to her husband. Though she was not heavily pregnant, Henrietta had the bloom of health that spoke of a woman soon to give birth. Karl turned and motioned to his wife to join them.

  “What's going on? All the village is abuzz with rumours of strange travellers just arrived,” Henrietta whispered.

  “I was walking down the eastern paths and came across them, trudging along as though it were the most normal thing in the world,” Karl replied

  Henrietta frowned and took a step forward.

  “I've some talent for healing,” she offered.

  Karl could feel the gentle swell of Aether around his wife before she reached out with her senses. Karl did so, too. Though he was not as talented as his wife, he still had a grasp of the fundamentals. Enough to seal simple wounds. But when his far sense reached the girl, it fell away, unravelling as though she were nothing. Inhaling sharply, Karl took a step back, hands protectively wrapping around his wife.

  “She's a Null,” Karl warned.

  Henrietta paid her husband no mind, but Karl's grip around his wife was insistent. It was bad enough that Henrietta was in the same room as Rayleigh. A second Null present was tempting the Fates. He'd heard stories of unborn children that had passed through the presence of a younger Null and were born the same. Cursed by the Fates for failing their Rite of the Elements, they similarly lashed out and bestowed that fate upon the unborn.

  “They've all the help they need Henrietta; let us be off.”

  With one last look back, the woman was hustled out the Inn, her husband almost frog-marching her home.

  The Inn seemed quite cosy to Theresia's eyes. The ceilings were far higher than anything she had ever seen before, two whole stories with multiple rooms on top. The downstairs common room was planked with dark wood streaked with Iron. Six large tables, made of the same dark wood but flecked with Silver, dominated the common room. A bar ran parallel to the wall, tall seats on one side and the liquor kept on the other, stacked across multiple thin shelves. The sound and smell of a bustling kitchen behind the bar caught the tired young girl's attention. Whatever was being cooked smelled wonderful.

  Looking back, she could see Alchemist Rayleigh carefully checking over Maria, fingertips ghosting over sallow skin, clucking her tongue as she checked pulse and joints. The woman had the same no-nonsense look that Ms Perenelle often wore, the face of someone comfortable in dispensing advice and medicine in equal doses. She was in her middling years, short brown hair spotted with grey around the temples, dark blue eyes peering out from a kind face. Like Ms Perenelle, Rayleigh wore the clothes of someone comfortable with travelling abroad, trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, black waistcoat worn over-top with the ubiquitous alchemists’ bandoleer strapped into place.

  The mayoress looked much like the folk from higher up the mountains. Same dark hair, same dark eyes, and skin tanned by long hours in the sun. Same comfortable and resilient clothing, skirt and blouse with a shawl about the shoulders much like Theresia had worn before her clothes were shredded by the rough trek.

  “Your dressings are quite crude, but they appear to have held the wounds together,” Rayleigh mused aloud.

  “Battlefield dressings are never pretty, ma'am. The question is: Can you help the girl?”

  “We need her upstairs, cleaned, and the wounds redressed. Until I can get a proper look, I've little to go on.”

  Standing back up, the alchemist gave Captain Ilthell an appraising look.

  “Considering how bad this could have gone, you've done well to keep her this stable over such a journey.”

  Captain Ilthell inclined his head. Reaching out towards the unconscious girl, Rayleigh hooked hands under leg and arm, cradling Maria very gently before turning and making her way upstairs, taking each step carefully.

  “I'll need hot water, towels, and fresh dressings, Seselt,” Rayleigh called down.

  The mayoress looked towards the open doorway to the kitchen and two discreet shadows.

  “You two heard the alchemist. Hop to it!” Seselt called out.

  Jumping as though caught stealing a fresh pie, the shadows flickered away before reappearing, resolving themselves into two young women, one maybe a year or two older than Theresia, the other closer to her adult years. Both were dressed in simple green skirts and cream blouses, scarves wrapped around their necks, long brown hair pinned back into a simple braid each. The elder of the two made her way up the stairs, two steaming pales of hot water held in hand. The younger stopped before Theresia and curtsied.

  “I'm Elaida,” the girl greeted her. “Please follow me. I'll show you where the baths are.”

  Theresia smiled back, looking back up at Captain Ilthell.

  “You go. I'll wait for you,” he offered.

  “Oh, no; you're going to get cleaned up, too,” Seselt disagreed.

  “Ma'am, I appreciate the hospitality.”

  “No conditions, no questions. You're no good to that young girl so exhausted. Best not catch ill and spend your own time in bed rather than tending to her. The men's baths are out back. I'll organise some proper clothing for you. I'm sure I can find a tall enough man in this village with some spare clothes. My own girls are only a year or two older than your own. I have some extra skirts hiding about the linen press.”

  “Ma'am, it's--”

  Seselt raised her hand, stopping the captain mid-sentence. Theresia felt the gentle rustle in the air, her keen Silver senses picking up the distinctive shimmer of a technique in use. So subtle and gentle was its application that nobody bar another Silver could have realised what was going on.

  “Your dedication to the child does you credit, but accept this kindness while the offer remains.”

  Captain Ilthell's shoulder slumped down a little.

  “You won't take no for an answer?”

  “You learn quickly.”

  The captain nodded.

  “Perhaps I should introduce myself before I wear out your goodwill. Romas.”

  The mayoress inclined her head.

  “Seselt, Mayoress of Rosedell and owner of the Night-Rose Inn.”

  Captain Ilthell looked down to Theresia.

  “Let's go clean up,” he offered.

  'The captain is a good man. He let the mayoress save face and think she convinced him. I cannot prove it, but I'm certain he was bluffing being tricked by magic. Though how he could bluff, I don't know.'

  The two were led to the bathhouse out the back of the Inn, separated into discreet men’s and women's areas. Theresia was delighted to see that the water was already in the broad metal tub, steam wafting up from the crystal-clear surface. She was careful in peeling off her stained and soiled clothes, trying to preserve them as best she could. Her stockings were ruined, the hem of her skirt fraying along several sections. Multiple rents and tears where thorns or low-hanging branches had caught on it dotted her blouse. Sighing slowly, Theresia deposited the dirty pile in a corner and picked up a loose bar of soap, gently easing herself into the hot water. It felt so luxurious, the eleven-year-old was almost tempted to fall asleep. But her worry for Maria overrode any self-indulgent inclinations.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Leaning out of the tub, she snatched up a coarse-looking brush and, with soap in hand, set to scouring away the accumulated layers of dirt and grim. It took some few minutes to scrub herself clean, Theresia making sure to lather the soap through her hair and give it a wash. When she finally pulled herself out the tub, the water was a much grittier brown colour, small flecks of blood and grime floating on the surface.

  Theresia noticed a towel and fresh clothes had been left on a bench near the doorway. She had been so focused on cleaning herself that Elaida's entry and exit had gone unnoticed. Drying herself, Theresia went about pulling the fresh and very inviting clothes on. They were simple and comfortable; undergarments, a long brown skirt, and cream blouse with buttons up the front. She wrapped her blue shawl about her shoulders and head to ward off the spring chill. Slipping on the woollen stockings and leather shoes, Theresia felt refreshed.

  Strands of still damp hair framing her face, she left the bathhouse and walked back into the Inn. Looking around, she saw the older sister bustling around behind the bar.

  “Uhm...” Theresia mumbled.

  “Oh, you were quick,” the girl replied. “I'm Edell. Mr Ilthell was even faster than you. Journeyman Rayleigh came back and asked for him and my mother. The three went upstairs, told me to tell you to stay down here.”

  Theresia felt a small pit in her stomach. It didn't bode well when the captain wanted her elsewhere.

  ‘Oh, Maria, please be alright,’ she prayed to the Matron.

  The older sister went out back into the kitchen and returned with a steaming bowl of stew and what looked to be half a loaf of sliced bread. Placing the contents down on the bar top, she left and returned with a tall glass of milk.

  “Mother said not to let you starve while they were away attending to business.”

  Theresia wasn't about to argue. Sitting on one of the high chairs, she ploughed into the food, wolfing it down even though it was almost too hot to bare. Chunks of the bread were torn off and turned into impromptu ladles, scooping out the contents hungrily. Theresia used the last of the bread to wipe the bowel clean, licking her fingers in earnest. It was the best tasting meal she'd had in ages, the sort to fill that pit in her stomach. Leaning back against the chair, she sighed. Looking up she saw Edell eyeing her curiously. Sitting up a little straighter, the eleven-year-old wondered what she was staring at.

  “So... where are you from?” Edell asked awkwardly.

  “Oakdell, in the foothills of the Skyraker Mountains.”

  “Oh. That seems a long way from here.”

  “At least two weeks. We were... Well, some of us were travelling to South Greywater. But then...”

  Theresia could still see in her mind the soldiers turning to Iron, shrieking mouths frozen wide. She could hear the bestial hissing and the moans of the dying, smell Maria's blood. And then all the walking, the endless, impossible pace that Captain Ilthell set. Waking before sunrise and going until Amethyst was high in the night sky. Every bramble finding her legs, every branch catching on her clothing, every moss-covered stone tripping her up. But Theresia had not said a word, matching pace without complaint.

  “I'm sorry,” Edell apologised. “I didn't mean to be rude. It's, well, you're the most unusual bit of news to have passed through our village in some time.”

  Theresia nodded in agreement.

  “Why were you going to South Greywater?”

  “Well, it all started when--”

  Theresia stopped mid-sentence, her mind coming to a grinding halt. The captain had warned her about being careful and here she was about to spill everything. The edges of her fingers tingled and it took a moment for the young girl to gather her thoughts. Looking down at her fingers, Theresia swore she could feel something on the edge of her perception. Glancing around, she saw the common room was near-empty. The only other occupant was a man of middling years seated near the fireplace, loading some fresh tabac into his pipe.

  Turning back, she noticed the tell-tale hint of guilt about Edell. Though to Theresia it wasn't something shouted, more the little shifts in posture, slight curling around the lips, the ways her dark eyes moved. Theresia found it almost comical. After everything she and Captain Ilthell had experienced, after all they survived, this little girl was trying to use a suggestion upon her. The application was excellent, but Theresia was by far the more skilled of the two. Leaning almost casually forward, elbow on the counter, chin resting on upturned palm, Theresia smiled at Edell. Smiled and, with her free hand, tugged at the lock of Silver hair that sprang from her brow.

  “I'll wait until Romas returns,” she mused aloud.

  The creaking at the top of the stairs broke the awkward atmosphere. Captain Ilthell, his face a grim mask, walked down the stairs flanked by Seselt. The captain stopped long enough to put a reassuring hand on Theresia's shoulder before making his way over to a table and slumping into the waiting chair.

  “How long do you believe Journeyman Rayleigh will be?” he asked aloud.

  Seselt looked back up the stairs.

  “As long as the woman needs to do her business. I've learnt it is unwise to rush her. We were both excused because neither of us could help and, let us be honest, we were only underfoot.”

  Captain Ilthell nodded his head in agreement.

  “Mmmm.”

  Elaida appeared from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of stew in either hand and balancing the accompanying bread in the crook of her arm. Setting down the meal, she curtsied before returning to the counter where her mother was busy cleaning. Looking down at the meal, the captain grimaced and pushed it away.

  “I'm afraid I won't be able to eat. I've already pushed the limits of your kindness with what you have done for me this day.”

  “Nonsense. Eat, Romas. I'll not have you starving for the sake of some misguided honour. Besides, the bill has already been squared, including your accommodations for the night.”

  Romas sat up a little straighter.

  “And to whom do I owe my thanks?”

  “I've learnt not to ask questions of the blessings that the Maiden imparts upon us. Simply take them as they are and be thankful that she has looked out for you. Now eat.”

  Captain Ilthell began to tuck into his meal even as Seselt turned a discerning eye to Theresia. Edell excused herself to go clean up in the kitchen, almost dashing out from behind the bar. Seselt left the captain to his meal, returning to the bar. Drying several glasses, Seselt looked Theresia up and down. Again, the girl felt the faintest tingling in her fingers, enough to have her sit a little more cautiously.

  “She's still quite crude. I apologise,” Seselt spoke up.

  “Oh, you mean what Edell tried?”

  “Yes, 'tried' is the right word. Though I find it distasteful that she tried a suggestion on an exhausted child. Trying to haggle the best deal, that's one thing. Someone who has had a recent near-death experience, that is indeed another.”

  “It wasn't so bad.”

  “She's lucky that you are strong.”

  “I'm sorry?”

  Seselt laughed, her rich voice filling the common room.

  “You are, little Theresia. Romas hasn't said much, but I can fill in the blanks. I must admit, I am surprised to meet another Silver. We're not very common in these parts, you know. Limited to a few families across the Dells these days. I've an affinity for Silver, my daughters inherited that from me, too.”

  Seselt set down the glass she was cleaning and seemed to stare at Theresia, into and through her. This time, the pull of Aether around her was more obvious, a quiet tug on her senses. Theresia could see the flicker around Seselt, almost pick out the way she drew it out of the air.

  “What do you see?”

  Swallowing and feeling the pressure, the eleven-year-old leant forward, eyes narrowing. The tingle around her was more evident than ever. An understanding of exactly what sort of magic was being woven. It wasn't like the training exercises that Clarissa had run her through. This was proper Silver magic, the techniques that only they could understand.

  “First lesson. Don't be my oaf of a daughter; be subtle.”

  The sound of a door closing caught Romas’ attention. Looking up from his meal, he saw the alchemist making her way down the stairwell and into the Night-Rose common room. The woman had a sour expression on her face. Romas had finally chosen to eat; four days hard march catching up on his stomach. The inn keeper Seselt had only been too happy to oblige, amazed at the endurance that the soldier and his two little charges had demonstrated.

  Two bowls of a hearty meat stew with thick, crusty bread to match lay before the man, the first already devoured. Theresia had finished her meal earlier and was talking with Seselt, who stood behind the bar washing the glasses and dishes for the evening. The soldier allowed himself a brief smile, impressed at how quickly the girl made friends and learnt. He could sense flickers of Aether emanating from Seselt, and then Theresia.

  ‘Already teaching her the tools of the trade, huh?’

  Automatically, his gaze scanned over the room, though at this time of night, it was unnecessary. The only other occupant was a merchant who sat in the corner near the fire, a taper of blue smoke rising from his pipe. Rayleigh sat down at Romas' table and ran stressed fingers through her hair. The soldier didn't need to be a Silver to know the look in her dark blue eyes, a resolute acceptance of news that nobody wanted to hear.

  “How bad?”

  “The girl is stable... for now.”

  “She has been stable for the last four days. I know. I carried her on my back the entire way. I'm a military man; give it to me straight, please.”

  The alchemist spread her hands wide.

  “Her lungs were pierced in the attack, fractured ribs. Fortunately, she is young and that damage has begun to heal under my ministrations. The problem is two-fold. Her ribs haven't healed properly; they were cracked in the initial attack and your rapid egress here didn't help the situation.”

  “If I had dawdled, Maria would be dead.”

  “True, but the journey was still rough. She needs to have time to recover, a chance for her ribs to reform the bone around the fracturing. And this runs into the second problem. She has sepsis. You'd know it as blood poisoning.”

  “Her unusual temperature.”

  “Exactly. And here we come to the dilemma. If we don't keep administering healing medicine and anaesthetic for her ribs, then the broken bones will likely not form on their own. She doesn't have enough strength in her body to do it unaided. But bone setters’ draught artificially lowers her body temperature. She needs to have a fever to burn out the infection, otherwise it will consume her.”

  “And if we take her off the medicine and allow the fever to settle in… Well, if the pain doesn't kill her, the still broken ribs will.”

  The alchemist nodded, elbows resting on the table, head in her hands. Letting out a slow sigh, she looked up at him again.

  “You've given up, then?” Romas asked.

  A frown creased the woman's brow, an indignant look crossing her face.

  “Most certainly not. The girl can be saved, otherwise I wouldn't be down here with you. A potion of ember blossom, deathcall mushroom, royalbloom, and bloodvine will be enough. It should elevate her blood temperature to levels that the infection cannot tolerate, but it bonds only to the blood. It will only affect her blood, not suffuse the surrounding organs. Once the infection is burnt out, then her bones can begin to heal.”

  “Then why are you not back at your house preparing the concoction?”

  “Because this is a quiet town far from the normal trade roads. I'm well-travelled, soldier. It was only later in life I chose to settle down here. I know what I need, but I haven't the right herbs nor the proper instruments to prepare the potion. They can be ordered in, but it will take weeks to arrive.”

  “And Maria will be dead in much less than that.”

  “Now you see the problem.”

  Romas leant back in his chair, several quick plans forming and then collapsing. There was little choice left in his mind, only one course of action seemed appropriate.

  ‘I've come this far; I won't give up now.’

  “What about South Greywater? Would the Alchemy Hall there have what you need?”

  The alchemist's gaze went vague, considering the question.

  “It's a major trade hub. At least two itinerant alchemists pass through every month, resupplying them. Yes... Yes, they would have what you need. But travelling there and back would be cutting your time very fine. Maria can last maybe another week at most.”

  Romas shook head.

  “I wasn't thinking about going there alone. If you could supply me with enough healing medicine to keep Maria stable and comfortable, I'd take her there. Give me a list of what would be needed to treat her, and I'll deliver her to the Alchemy Hall.”

  Rayleigh tapped her lips, thinking over the proposal.

  “I guess there's nothing else to be done. I haven't the resources to treat her here, and we can ill afford to wait. I'll give you what you need, proper endurance of stone potions and more somnolence dust. She'll be asleep and stable. You will need to keep her generally immobile. You cannot jostle her around. Horses are out. A carriage or wagon will suffice. I don't know how you'll find money to pay for the transport, but I can ask around the village. See if anybody is willing to assist.”

  Pushing back from her seat, the alchemist stood up and bowed once to Romas.

  “I'll prepare what you need for your journey. It will have to be carefully-tailored to Maria's needs. A script with the correct herbs and their method of preparation for the potion will be contained in the pack, too. Hand it over to the Grand Master when you arrive at the hall; they will understand. See me in the morning before you leave... assuming you can find adequate transportation.”

  Turning on her heel, the woman strode out the inn, door creaking shut behind her. Romas stared down at his food, appetite gone.

  ‘What have I got myself into?’

  Sighing, the captain began running various plans through his mind, the logistics and modes of travel spinning through the gears in his mind. One did not rise to the rank of captain on gumption alone.

  A polite cough broke the soldier's train of thought. Looking up from the second steaming bowl of stew, he saw that the traveller with the pipe had taken a seat before him. The man was of middling years, with dark eyes and blonde hair that was receding. He was dressed in travellers’ garb, dun-coloured trousers, and a linen shirt, a blue waistcoat with two rows of buttons done up the front. His dark blue coat with a high collar lay over the back of the chair seated facing the fire. The pipe remained clenched between his teeth, but something about the smile lines gave him the air of a merry uncle rather than a hawk-eyed miser. A successful merchant, but not too successful to fall into opulence.

  “I know it's not my business to intrude, stranger, but I couldn't help but overhear your predicament.”

  Romas dipped a hunk of break in the stew and bit it off, face impassive.

  The merchant smiled around his pipe and leant forward, steepling hands as he gazed into the soldier's gold eyes.

  “I would like to offer my services, if you are interested.”

  “Go on.”

  “I can understand your reservation; someone offering help at a time like this seems like an opportunist hoping to take advantage of you.”

  “The thought did cross my mind.”

  The merchant shrugged. Taking the pipe out from between his teeth, the man used it to gesture towards Theresia, who was still busy talking with the innkeeper. A trail of blue smoke followed behind the motion.

  “The child isn't yours, is she? Neither is the one upstairs.”

  “I don't believe that is any of your business.”

  The merchant shook his head.

  “What a stranger is doing travelling with two children not his own might be my business.”

  Romas leant forward and fixed his gaze on the merchant. The draw of Aether was so subtle, it barely made a whisper. Gathering it around him, the soldier began to channel his inborn talent, projecting an aura of command and respect, a presence that would cow all but the most belligerent of minds. He kept it tight about his person, only affecting the merchant.

  “I think you've asked enough questions for one evening,” Romas half-replied, half-ordered.

  The merchant smiled back, putting the pipe back between his teeth.

  “You're very good, I will give you that. But don't try to intimidate the intimidating.”

  Dipping his bread back in the stew, Romas took the moment to check the man's face. Sure enough he could see the faintest of gold tracery around the eyes and mouth, picked out now. The merchant was subtle enough to hide his own tricks. But the manifest conduction lines spoke of how much the merchant had needed to rebuff Romas' Elemental Technique.

  “I don't hear of many Golds who take up the mercantile profession.”

  “It works well for inspiring your customers and helping them find what they are after. But enough about me. I'm more intrigued by why a soldier is escorting two children, one of them a Null, back to South Greywater.”

  “Who says I'm a soldier?”

  “Like you said, not many Golds in the mercantile trade. Either we end up as nobles or officers of one sort or another. So, why the escort?

  “It's a long story. One that would bore you.”

  “But you are escorting them, aren't you? I saw the three of you when you stumbled in, all dirt, blood, and exhaustion. It wouldn't be a wild guess to assume that you were travelling with the rest of your squad, and something bad happened. Something that left only the three of you to tell the tale. Now you're trying to make your way back.”

  “Something like that.”

  The merchant nodded to himself, a few puffs of smoke issuing out from the pipe as he sat in silence. He gave Romas an appraising look around his pipe.

  “Not many people would do what you are doing, even less for a Null.”

  “A child is a child; if I can't protect a child, what right have I to call myself a defender of the Empire?”

  “A good sentiment for a solider, but not one shared by all soldiers. Some would be happy to let a Null die. They would call it a mercy.”

  Romas stopped eating his soup and fixed a hard look on the merchant. For the second time that evening, he used an elemental technique, augmenting his presence yet again. He pushed for fear rather than compliance, adding menace and danger to his aura. The merchant's attempts to resist became obvious, thin veins of Gold blooming over his face and bare hands. Finally, he shuddered and broke away from the intimidating glare. The conduction lines faded as quickly as they appeared. Without even realising, the merchant had started panting as though in a panic.

  “I... I wasn't aware that a Gold could manifest such a technique,” the merchant choked out. “That isn't a normal trick that you learn along the way.”

  “Another story for another day. I do not know you, traveller. Yet already you are goading me for a reaction, trying to test my limits.”

  The merchant managed to restore a semblance of calm, taking in a deep breath and centring himself. He then nodded to Theresia, seated up at the bar.

  “The girl can ride on the driver’s seat with me, the sick one can use the spare space in the back of the wagon. There should be enough room for a sleeping pallet, something to keep her comfortable and safe. You'll need to walk; I'm sorry, only so much room on my wagon.”

  It was Romas’ turn to frown.

  “Are you... What's your price?”

  The merchant stood up and waved off the comment.

  “No price. I don't want anything. Be ready to leave at first light. I won't wait if you sleep in.”

  Romas watched the merchant go and fetch his coat before making his way towards the stairwell and his room on the second storey. As the merchant reached the foot of the stairs, Romas called out to him.

  “Wait a moment.”

  The merchant stopped, back to the captain.

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you helping?”

  The merchant shrugged.

  “The same reason you are, I suspect. Those children might not be yours, but the look you gave me when I mentioned leaving them to die... Well, they might as well be yours. You've dedicated yourself to their protection, no matter their background. I respect that.”

  The merchant put one foot on the bottom stair and seemed to hover for a moment, before looking back.

  “My older brother was a Null. My parents forced him out the house as soon as they could. Nobody in the town cared much. None but the local alchemist, of course. I watched as my own brother, the boy who had been a role model to me, the one with whom I had played for so many years, was ostracised by everyone around me. He killed himself a few weeks after his Rite of the Elements.”

  The merchant sighed.

  “You've shown complete strangers more dignity than my own family showed one of their own. Remember, I leave at first light. Don't keep me waiting.”

  The merchant ascended the stairwell before disappearing down the passage up top.

  The dawn light peered through the trees, casting Rosedell in shadows and columns of light. It was quite a sight, something Theresia was certain to remember. After so much time roughing it, she had taken to the real bed with a real pillow and fallen straight to sleep. Only the gentle tap on her shoulder by Captain Ilthell had roused her from the black dreamlessness that had passed by in seconds. Wiping sleep from her eyes, the girl dragged herself out of bed, pulled on her new clothes, and trudged down the stairs, mind still muddy. She found the common room to be surprisingly crowded. It looked as though fifteen people had decided to inquire after the guests. The hearth fire had been stoked up, warding off the morning chill.

  Several faces turned to the young girl who stood on the second last step, gazing over the uninvited crowd. They regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and what felt like a certain level of animosity. Remembering the exercises that Seselt had given her, Theresia relaxed her mind and stretched out her senses. She knew that for Iron affinity people, they would sense the location of other people in a room. But for a Silver, it was different; they could read the ambient emotions in the room, in essence, getting a feeling for the crowd.

  Flickers of anger, confusion, fear and, oddly, mistrust, tinged Theresia's senses. It wasn't quite taste, wasn't quite colour, and seemed to have a flicker of tactile sensation. It was a sixth sense; a way to know what the crowd was feeling, what their underlying emotions and mood were. And to the eleven-year-old, it did not feel good.

  The heavy thud of a door being shut broke the murmur of conversation. Everyone looked up to see Captain Ilthell mounting the stairs, a frail looking Maria cradled in his arms. Her clothes, too, had been replaced; a simple linen shift and heavy woollen shawl wrapped about, feet clad in thick socks. Captain Ilthell seemed to pay the crowd no mind, walking down the stairs, watching his feet so as to not jostle Maria. The girl's dark-ringed eyes were closed, slow, steady breathing indicative of a deep sleep. Her face was lined and very pale, not at all the picture of health.

  At the bottom of the stairwell, the captain found his way blocked by the gathered villagers. It was only then that the soldier seemed to pay his audience any notice, eyes coming into focus. His face shifted in moments; a stern reproach in the eye, lips a thin line.

  “We are leaving, if that is what you are here to see us do,” Captain Ilthell announced.

  One of them, the man Theresia recognised from the road leading into Rosedell the previous day, came forward.

  “We're just here to see you leave without trouble. Your arrival is a bleak omen from the Matriarch. A warning that more misfortune is to come.”

  Theresia looked up to the captain, who stood firm before the slowly angering crowd.

  “Let us by,” he warned them.

  Karl stepped to one side, allowing the captain to pass. Shadowing her protector, Theresia followed the captain out the front door and over to the stables. In the glimmering light of dawn, she could see a stable hand already mucking out the stalls. A single-horse wagon was hitched, the merchant in the high collared coat seated with the reins held in one hand. Crowd following in their wake, Romas and Theresia walked over to the cart, the captain inclining his head in greeting. The merchant tapped his brow in return.

  “I've a pallet already ready in the back of the cart. Lay the girl down and we'll be off.”

  As the captain headed around the back, Theresia looked up at the front seat. The wagon was a close-roofed vehicle, the back loaded with what looked to be various trade goods, tools, and other utensils that would be in need after heavy snows during the winter months. The merchant stretched down and offered a hand, Theresia taking it. The young girl was lifted up and into the driver’s seat, which she found to be padded leather. Seating herself next to the merchant, she looked over the agitated crowd which hovered around the centre of the stables.

  “Why are they here?” she wondered in a small voice.

  “Fear,” the merchant replied.

  “Fear?”

  “Some places are more... quaint than others. To some, a Null is something to be feared. They wonder if it might be contagious, might spread to their unborn children or somehow drain the magic from the area. Foolish superstitions. But they persist well into the Modern Era. Hypocritical ones, too. The town takes in a trained alchemist yet drives away a child barely eleven.”

  Theresia looked back and saw the captain carefully tucking Maria into the pallet, pulling blankets over the exhausted girl.

  “What sort of danger does someone like Maria pose?” Theresia asked the merchant.

  “None. But she's an unknown; she's something different, and that's to be feared.”

  “It's childish.”

  “You're a child, and what they are doing is an insult to every child like you.”

  “Is that why you're helping us?”

  The merchant shrugged. There was a glimmer of something in his dark eyes. Theresia thought she saw a barest hint of spidery Gold around his eyes.

  “Sometimes people need others to stand up for them when they are too good to do it for themselves. Sometimes people need someone to say what they are too kind to say.”

  Romas slid the back-board of the wagon into place and bolted it, walking up to stand beside the driver’s seat. The merchant looked over the gathered crowd.

  “Unless you all have a pressing need to be in the way of my wagon, I suggest you disperse,” the merchant called out.

  Eyes turning as one to glare at him, the merchant looked back, face the same impassive wall of stone that Theresia knew so well from the captain.

  “I'm quite sure one dying eleven-year-old is quite outside your ability to defend against, so best let us by before she does something dangerous like cough herself to death.”

  The lead villager from before, Karl, took a step forward, loggers axe sitting over one shoulder.

  “Leave, Eli. We don't want trouble.”

  “Trouble, hah! When last I checked, I am the only merchant who passes through here regularly. The rest take the time mayhap once a year, if they feel generous. You want to bluster and threaten the man who is your connection to everything outside your village? You cannot intimidate me. I am the one that holds your fate in my hands. Think that over hard and pray to the Fates that I am in a good mood next season.”

  Karl backed away, shaken by the cold warning from Eli. Theresia looked up and knew she saw the lines of Gold around his eyes and the backs of his bare hands. Eli flicked his reins and clucked his tongue at the large daft horse, which started to move at a decent clip. The villagers parted around the cart, fearful eyes looking up at Theresia, minds a conflicting tumult of emotions. Theresia could feel them bubbling beneath the surface, the air a cold tang.

  The wagon, its driver, Eli, Captain Ilthell, Theresia, and the unconscious Maria wound through the only road in town, heading towards the western gate out. At the edge of the village stood a lone cottage, familiar brickvine crawling up its walls. Standing on the porch, a leather satchel clutched against her chest, was the Journeyman Rayleigh. Tugging on the reins, the wagon came to a halt, Captain Ilthell stepping around and up onto the porch.

  Theresia couldn't hear what the two discussed, but she judged that the body language was warm, positive. It ended with the captain giving the woman a firm soldier's handshake before turning and walking back over to the wagon, leather satchel now held in one hand. The captain set the satchel at the feet of Eli and Theresia before nodding. The three set out, leaving the west gate and Rosedell behind, the Four Suns at their back.

  Theresia sighed and shook her head.

  “They have an alchemist in their town, living with them, helping them,” she muttered.

  “As I said, fear is an illogical thing,” Eli commented.

  “Will you be coming back?”

  “I'm mulling it over.”

  Theresia nodded in agreement.

  “Well, it's a good few days’ travel to South Greywater, and I'm a man who appreciates conversation rather than awkward silence. Tell me, young lady, what is your name and where do you hail from?”

  Smiling, Theresia began to explain as much as she thought safe, the captain watching her from the corner of his eye the whole while.