“It's pretty simple, ya?” the boy holding the staff nearly twice his height said. “It moves in a straight line, and ya follow it.”
The closest of the pack of goats he was talking to looked back at him with a blank expression, clearly not having understood a word the boy said. “Naaa.”
The boy stuck his tongue out at the goat, but again the small black creature was too dense to understand the significance of such an action and dismissed it with a flick of its stubby tail. “Stay on the road,” the boy commanded.
Ignoring his command, the goat and fifteen of its nineteen compatriots stepped almost deliberately off the dusty road. Or so it seemed to the boy carrying the big stick, but the real reason for their insurrection was that there was no grass growing in the middle of the road, but plenty of it in the ditches to either side.
“Right,” the boy said, smacking himself lightly in the forehead with his free hand. Then he gripped the staff with both hands, lifted it up so that the edge which had before done nothing but draw a line in the dust behind him stood level with his knees and repeated his command. “Stay on the road.”
Influence by the magic now flowing through the boy's voice, the goats made their way back onto the dirt road as if of their own free will.
And on they walked, the boy and his twenty goats. They weren't his goats exactly, but for the moment while there was no one else around they were. Herding goats was by no means exciting, but the boy was simple and the task suited him. He was content with the warm breeze coming from the desert not too far to the west, the feel of the sunlight on his rough wool shirt and the constant rhythm of hooves clacking gently on the dusty road.
Every now and again the effects of his herding spell would wear off and the goats would begin to fan out in front of him, searching for fresh grass to nibble. When he needed a rest he let them wander, knowing all it would take was a few words to gather them once again.
It was during one such stop that something quite unexpected happened. The boy sought out a stone to sit on as his goats spread out in search of fresh grass. But while the boy looked up and made shapes out of the passing clouds, his goats found something other than grass lying discarded in the ditch.
“Nyaaa,” bleated one of the goats, nudging the mysterious thing with its teeth. The cry was soon taken up by the whole herd as it surrounded the thing, all watching it even if only a few were brave enough to touch it.
“Hush,” the boy demanded, but the goats kept at their bleating. Only when the noise became too much to bear did the boy look down at the heard and see the thing which had inspired their simple curiosity.
“Wuzzat? Look out.” The boy stepped down from his perch on the rock, clearing a path through the goats with his long staff. With it he shooed them away until he could clearly see the thing lying in the grass, at which point he dropped the staff altogether.
The thing was a person, a woman older than the boy but still not exactly old. She had a strong, muscular build and shoulder-length red hair which was disheveled and caked with dirt. Her uniform, which had once been pure white, was torn and dyed a dark red with blood. Probably her own, or so thought the shepherd boy.
The woman was lying face down, and without thinking the boy turned her over. Her front was just as bloody as her back but even more gruesome for the addition of a broken nose, two black eyes and a large gash across one cheek smeared with dirt and dried blood. She looked horrible but, as the shepherd boy found out when he pressed his ear to her chest, she was breathing.
Each breath was agonizingly slow and dangerously shallow but she was, for the moment, still alive.
* * *
“Would you stop smiling? You look like an idiot,” Zephyr demanded, voice loud enough to startle a flock of birds out of a nearby tree. She didn't care. She hated the woods and all of the birds and trees in it. She especially hated the rocky, uneven dirt roads they had to walk which threatened to knock her over with every step. But more than anything at the moment, she hated the boy walking beside her with his eyes fixed on the blindingly white sleeves of his new uniform and a broad smile as if he didn't have a care in the world.
“Sorry,” Trace said, though he was still smiling after the word came out.
Zephyr groaned loudly. “If you need to apologize then stop. It's just a uniform.”
“It's not,” Trace said, easily catching up to his new partner. She was a good head shorter than him with a gait much shorter than his. “It's the idea behind it. I've been dreaming about wearing this uniform for the past nine years and now here I am.”
Zephyr rolled her eyes and snorted. “How stupid.”
“Aren't you excited?”
“For what? One of the most boring assignments in the history of the world? Or the two day walk along this spirit forsaken road it takes to get there?” For emphasis she picked a pebble on the road in front of her and kicked it with all her might. The pebble turned out to be just the top of a much larger rock hiding beneath the ground, so all Zephyr managed to do was hurt her toes and nearly lose her balance.
“It doesn't matter what the assignment is,” Trace said, waiting for her to regain her balance because he knew she would only lash out at him if he tried to help her. “We're helping people.”
“Catching an animal sneaking into a storehouse, now that's heroic. It's probably just a stupid vole.”
“I don't know what it was like growing up for you, but out here it's hard enough to gather enough food to make it through the frost without anything stealing it. You may not think we're doing much, but we could be saving lives.”
“Do you have to act so righteous all the time? It's seriously getting on my nerves.”
“But that's why I wanted to join the mage-knights in the first place. Isn't it the same for you?”
“Not everyone is as hopelessly idealistic as you are, you know. Besides, my goal would never be set so low.”
“What do you mean?”
Her gaze narrowed as she focused on the road ahead of them. “Let's just say for me getting into the mage-knights was only the beginning.”
Trace knew there was more to her answer than that, but he also knew not to press any further. She was his partner now, whether she wanted to be or not. One day she would open up to him and he didn't expect it to happen overnight. He could wait until she started to trust him. At least she was talking to him at all. That was progress in its own way.
They spent most of the walk to Avaril in silence, with Zephyr thwarting most of Trace's attempts at conversation. By foot it was a two day journey, and there was no other way to get there than by foot once the woods got too thick around them. There were also no inns on the way, which meant the two of them had to camp out on the side of the road. Trace thought for sure Zephyr was going to complain about that since she had complained about just about everything else, but to his surprise she kept quiet.
While it was true this wasn't exactly an exciting assignment, it wasn't any worse than those given to the other three teams (all eight of the recruits had passed their final tests). In fact the two of them considered themselves lucky compared to what the other three teams had as their first missions. At least their mission contained a hint of excitement, unlike settling disputes between merchants. Trace had never thought of that as a job for the mage-knights. He knew they were peace keepers, but he had spent his entire life in a village where arguments could always be settled without outside intervention of any kind.
Not only did Zephyr not complain when it came time to set up camp for the night, she did everything that needed to be done without saying anything and without asking for any help from Trace. She set up her tent, gathered firewood and lit a fire with magic all before Trace could even get out his firestarter. She acted like she'd lived a sheltered life so Trace was surprised just by the fact that she knew what needed to be done let alone the ruthless efficiency with which she set about doing it. All without saying a word to Trace. That was exactly the point she seemed to be trying to make, that she was perfectly fine without his help.
The mess hall muck wasn't any better canned and heated over a fire pit than it was fresh in the dorms, but Trace had expected that and brought some cured meats from the inn which he shared with Zephyr. She took one with just a nod of thanks.
“Hey,” he said as they chewed their meats, watching the last embers of the fire spread soft orange light over the ground. But just as she had all day Zephyr cut off his attempt at conversation before he got more than a single word out.
“It's late,” she declared, putting out the fire. “I'm going to sleep. We're leaving at first light.” Trace's eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the sudden darkness, but his ears told him Zephyr was heading for her tent.
Trace didn't argue, just cleaned up the campsite a bit and went to sleep himself. The two of them had been walking all day after all, and he would need his full strength for his first mission the next day. He could hardly wait, but he was soon fast asleep all the same.
* * *
The sun was already bright in the sky by the time Grand Magister Hermes first stepped out onto his balcony. The sun was always exceptionally bright in Lufstra, but that morning it seemed to be even more radiant than usual. Blinding almost, with the streets and buildings shining like mirrors or diamonds. That was Lufstra, the jeweled city. It was a fitting title for the city that housed the consulary, the capital of all the midlands.
And the Grand Magister was the voice of that consulary, the bridge between the people and their government. It was a position that came with many responsibilities, none of which Vincent Hermes took lightly. He was getting up in years, with gray hair kept short so no one could tell how little there was left and more of a stomach than he wanted. He had once been active, a warrior even, but now he was just a politician. He didn't dislike being a figurehead, even if it didn't give him much exercise, because he believed in the consulary and the peace and prosperity it provided the people.
Hermes had always considered himself to be a man of the people, and his morning routine reflected that view. His balcony overlooked the main market square, which even that early in the morning was full of shoppers and traders alike.
The Grand Magister greeted the people of Lufstra from his balcony, by name where he could and most politely everywhere else. He wore nothing but the purple robe he slept in and a smile. The only thing that separated him from his constituents was the height of the balcony from which he addressed them. But that wasn't his fault. The house in which the Grand Magister lived belonged to the position, not the person holding it. Someone would always be up on that balcony looking down on the people, but at least Hermes did so with a smile and kind words.
For their part the people liked Grand Magister Hermes, much more so than his predecessor. They smiled and waved back, chatting with him about trivial matters like market prices and the latest goods to arrive from the coast or the mountains. None of them talked about politics, none of them wanted to. The people never care how they are governed in times of peace and prosperity, and times had been good for the past five years. That was what they thought, what Hermes thought, but there were some who disagreed with that and one of them was standing in the market square beneath Grand Magister Hermes' balcony.
He wore a thick gray robe despite the morning's heat and stood in the shadow of the building across from the Grand Magister's house. He had been there since before the sun had risen, and many days before that, waiting for the right moment to speak. That moment had finally come.
“A good morning to you, dog of the consulary,” he said loud enough so that everyone could hear him. All other conversations died and everyone watched the strange man as he lifted his hood and stepped out of the shadows.
“Excuse me?” Hermes asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
“It'll take much more than a apology for you to be excused,” the man said. He walked slowly as he spoke, each step taking him closer to the center of the square.
“I think you've got the wrong person, friend.” The Grand Magister's smile was wearing thin but it was still there, if only as a formality. “I'm a spokesperson for the consulary.”
“No you're their puppet, a talking head on the end of a string. You're nothing more than a mouth for the consulary to speak through. But even so you're the only opening in the curtain with which they surround themselves so you'll have to receive criticism in their stead.”
“If you have any complaints you're more than welcome to voice them during quorum. We'll hear your complaints then.”
“You always hear but you never listen,” the man down in the square said. “That's the problem with the consulary. You serve your own needs while pretending to serve ours.”
“The consulary exists only to help the people,” the Grand Magister insisted, barely holding on to his temper by that point. Hermes was not a man who was easily angered, but hearing the cloaked man insult the consulary, the institution to which he'd given both his deepest faith and his life, was almost more than he could bear. “Everything we do is to make your lives easier.”
“Is it?” the man down in the square asked. “What about Ilior? Or Marcas? Or Cessia?”
“Those incidents were unfortunate but necessary.” A bead of sweat that had nothing to do with the sun traced the line of the Grand Magister's beak-like nose. Something else had risen to take the place of the fury that had been welling up inside him, but what exactly this new emotion was eluded him.
“Necessary for what?” the man asked. “For the protection of the people? Or for the protection of your own power? Certainly the people of Cessia could say something for your so called 'protection.' What little of them are still left, that is.”
“That's enough,” Grand Magister Hermes thundered. His cheeks were swollen red and the veins on his temple pulsed with anger. But his fury was met by that of the man standing down in the heart of the square.
“Indeed it is. The people have turned a blind eye to the motives of the consulary for long enough. We will expose you for what you really are, and retribution will be delivered for all of those who have suffered at your orders. We will mark each anniversary of your cruelties with cruelties of our own. At our hands, you will be made to understand the pain you've wrought in the name of your precious justice. The Sons of Iberdine will make it so.”
The Grand Magister rocked back as if he'd been punched, the man's speech still ringing in his ears. And before his shock could clear, the man through the cowl of his robe back over his face and disappeared back into the shadows to follow through on his bloody promise.
* * *
“Finally,” Zephyr said, stretching her hands over her head as soon as she saw the forest part on either side of the road ahead. It seemed like the two of them had been walking forever. The sun had even begun to set, piercing the tops of the trees with the first golden rays of twilight. Walking along the dirt road the forest had seemed to stretch on forever. Even now that they could see Avaril it was just a small haven against the unending sea of trees.
Avaril wasn't even much of a village, at least as far as Zephyr was concerned. There were only a dozen or so buildings in the village, which sat in a clearing no bigger than the mess hall back in Vanadrin. All the houses were wooden with thatched roofs of straw and more dirt paths pressed down between them. It reminded Trace of a smaller version of his own hometown, only it was surrounded by forests instead of fields.
The villagers were just starting to prepare for the approaching night when the two young mage-knights, both wearing brand new uniforms so white they practically glowed in the fading twilight. The older women guided the flocks of chickens back into their coops with clicks of their tongues while the younger women tried to do the same with the children. Both the birds and kids squawked and squealed as they dove out of the way of the arms that tried to ensnare them, but despite their resistance they were all caught in the end. The men and older boys carried loads of firewood into the houses, checking the locks and windows of each of them. All in all there couldn't have been more than thirty people living in Avaril, and all of them were doing their part to prepare the village for nightfall.
It was one of the children, a round boy of eight years with thin eyes and red cheeks, who first noticed the two intruders. He didn't say anything, just stopped his running to watch them with wary yet interested eyes. But as if by some sort of communal awareness, soon the whole village knew about Trace and Zephyr and formed a line standing between the two newcomers and their village.
“Those uniforms,” said the man standing in the middle of the villagers. He had short hair, tanned skin and an ax slung over his shoulder. He wasn't that old, but still his eyes were surrounded by such a mess of wrinkles that Trace couldn't tell whether they were open or shut. “You're mage-knights? I was expecting someone...taller.”
“Gee, thanks,” Zephyr said, doing her best not to glare at the man.
“I'm Trace and this is Zephyr,” Trace interjected before Zephyr could say anything else. “We're here to help you.”
“Thank you,” the man said with a sigh of relief. “My name is Gregor. Come inside where it's warm. You must be tired from your journey, and hungry.”
Neither Trace nor Zephyr could pass up a chance to sit down after walking for two days, so they thankfully followed Gregor to the building in the center of the village. It was the biggest of the buildings, and though it looked rough from the outside the interior was really quite nice. Polished wood floors, thick beams arching across the roof and intricately carved tables filled the room. Gregor led them to one of them while sending his wife to fetch them some food.
Trace expected Zephyr to relax a bit until the food came, but she surprised him yet again by getting right to business. “Tell us everything you can about the animal,” she said, leaning forward and staring directly at Gregor.
Gregor ran a hand through his short brown hair. His skin had a deep tan to it they hadn't been able to see outside and beneath his plain, baggy shirt he had an incredibly muscular physique despite his age. “That may be a problem,” he admitted with a shamed chuckle. “We've put out guards to try and catch it, but none of them have ever so much as gotten a glimpse of it.”
“Then tell us what you can,” Zephyr said impassively.
“It's smart, whatever it is,” Gregor said. “Not only does it avoid our guards, but somehow it can get past the locks on the storehouse door.”
“Maybe it's getting in through a window, or a hole in the ground.”
Gregor shook his head. “There are no windows, no holes. No way in other than the door which we keep locked at all times.”
“Have you ever put someone inside the storehouse?” Trace suggested. “To catch it in the act?”
“A few times, but on those nights it doesn't come. Like it knows.”
“Maybe it does,” Trace said with a shrug. “It could be watching, and if it knows it's gonna get caught it waits.”
Zephyr turned to him with a scowl. “What kind of animal is that smart?”
“What kind of animal is smart enough to get through a locked door?” Trace countered.
Zephyr didn't have an answer so she turned back to Gregor. “Has it done anything else?”
“Families have reported stores missing from their houses as well, but it's impossible to tell. It moves so quietly and leaves no trail.”
“It hasn't attacked your chickens?” Trace asked.
Gregor shook his head. “No.”
“That's odd,” Trace said to himself. He'd seen the chicken coop on his way in, and while it wasn't exactly feeble it was certainly less secure than the storehouse. “What does it take from the storehouse?”
“Cured meats and fruits mostly. Water, milk. Some breads but no grain, no eggs.”
As he said that, Gregor's wife returned from the kitchen with two rough-hewn bowls. She laid one down in front of each of the mage-knights. “It's not much,” she said apologetically, “but then we don't have much to spare.”
“It's true,” Gregor said with a solemn nod. “If this keeps up, I don't know how we'll make it through the frost.”
“Don't worry,” Trace said, “we won't let that happen.”
“Then you'll catch it?” Gregor said, his hand tight around his wife's. “Tonight?”
“We'll do our best,” Zephyr said, glaring across the table at Trace before he could say anything, “but we can't promise anything.”
“Of course, thank you.”
Zephyr stood, dragging Trace up with her. “Let's get to work.” With Trace following behind her, Zephyr led the way out of the building and back into the night.
“What do you think it is?” Trace asked once they were away from Gregor. “A vole?”
“Of course not,” Zephyr snapped. “Voles can't unlock doors.”
“Then what?”
“We'll find out when we catch it so stop asking stupid questions.”
“What do we do now? Watch the storehouse until it shows up?”
“Weren't you listening to anything he said in there? It doesn't come if people are watching the storehouse.”
“So what?”
She stopped to stare at him. “Just watch.” Unable to think of anything better to do, Trace did. He followed Zephyr up to the storehouse. Once there she pulled a handful of silver powder out of the pouch at her waist and threw it at the door. It scattered, forming a brilliant cloud which dissolved after a few seconds, leaving nothing behind.
“That's it?” Trace asked.
“You really don't know the first thing about magic, do you? Now we find somewhere to wait, not the building closest to the storehouse but the one next to it.”
“But how will we know when it shows up?”
“Believe me, the next time that door opens the whole village will know it.”
Trace had seen her do much more impressive things than rigging a magical alarm, so he didn't say anything else and followed her into one of the buildings closest to the storehouse, the village inn. It was a relief to finally be in a building with real beds, but neither of them had time to enjoy that luxury. All night they stood as close as they could to the door without being in sight of the windows. Whatever it was that was stealing from the storehouse always seemed to know when people were looking for it and they didn't want to risk scaring it away.
“Hey,” Trace said after an hour or so of waiting in silence. “I've been thinking, and it doesn't exactly sound like an animal's responsible for this. I mean, first of all it can get through a locked door, but also it always knows when people are trying to catch it.”
“You just realized that?” Zephyr asked angrily. Trace didn't take it personally. She was probably just tired and grumpy. “It's most likely someone from the village.”
“You think so?”
“If the thief doesn't show up tonight that's probably the case. Now shut up before you scare it away.”
Trace didn't say anything after that, and fortunately the thief, whether it was a person or an animal, hadn't been scared away by their presence. Only ten minutes later the sky outside lit up like the sun had suddenly risen. The light was joined by loud cracks and whistles, like small explosions going off all around the village.
Trace didn't need to ask what was happening. As soon as the light first appeared he was out the door, Zephyr on his tail. The thief had struck again, and now they had to find it before it got away.
Trace sprinted toward the storehouse to find the door hanging open, lock discarded on the ground. Other than that there was no sign of the thief. Confused and alarmed villagers shouted from their houses, coming outside to see what all the noise was for.
Trace tuned all of that out and focused on the storehouse. The thief couldn't have disappeared without a trace. It had to have left some kind of trail behind. Then he saw the bushes to the left of the storehouse shaking, as if someone had just run through them. Without waiting for Zephyr to catch up he sprinted through the bushes into the forest after the thief.
The spell Zephyr cast on the storehouse was still blazing bright back in the village. But as bright as it was that light didn't even reach five feet into the woods. Trace ran through near darkness with little way to tell the difference between the trees and the shadows they cast, chasing nothing more than a rustling in the brush ahead. Whatever it was he was chasing, it moved just as fast as he did, if not faster.
Judging by the way it ran, whatever he was chasing wasn't human. It hardly made any noise, moving perfectly over the uneven ground, never slowing down while Trace caught his ankles on roots and branches. But while his target knew the ground better, Trace was determined to give chase. No matter how many times rocks snared his feet or branches scratched at his new uniform, he refused to give up.
And then he lost all sign of the thing he was chasing. He didn't think it got away from him, just that it stopped moving. Trace ran to the last place he saw it, or rather the last place he saw the branches move behind it. That was the best he could do.
He looked around, but all he could see in all directions was darkness. By the time he saw the thief, it was too late.
She was human, for the most part anyway. She was about the same height as Trace and slim, wearing tattered clothes that left her midriff exposed. She was probably around his age too, but there was something about her that wasn't quite right. It might have been the fact that her ears were too long, ending in slender points, or her golden, thin-pupiled eyes, or even the fact that her entire sinewy body was covered in a short but thick coat of tan fur. But mostly it was because she had a tail.
Those were just the few things Trace noticed about her in the couple seconds between when she appeared from behind a tree just a few feet from him and when she landed a kick flat across his cheek. She wasn't wearing shoes, but the strange girl's kick packed more power behind it than Trace expected it to. Even the trees around him couldn't help him keep his balance and he hit the ground hard. By the time he picked himself up, the girl was gone, along with any sign of where she'd gone.
“Great,” Trace said, rubbing his cheek with one hand and trying to brush the dirt off his uniform with the other. There was no way he could follow the girl when it was that dark out, not if he wanted to find his way back to Avaril before the mysterious thief-girl struck again.
Still it wasn't a total loss. At least he'd seen what she looked like, even if he still didn't quite believe it. He'd never heard of anyone that was half-animal-half-human like that before. But once the sun rose and it got light out he could track her down and put an end to his first mission as a mage-knight.
So with his cheek still throbbing, he made his slow way back to the quiet village in the middle of the woods.
Next Week- Chapter 7: Cornered Tigress