“Now... are all of my subordinates here?”

Ostrias’ words were met with nods from dozens of sorcerers and apprentices. They had all lined up on the beach before him. The ancient mage mentioned that they could sit down if they wanted, but most were still standing. Ehrir was amongst them, too. The cold stones underneath his boots didn’t seem particularly comfortable. Lantor, on the other hand, was squatting besides him. Nalia, Varhel and the old man were definitely somewhere nearby, but the Undone One couldn’t see them.

“Okay then”, said the Ashen Gaze. He was speaking in the southern tongue now, which was more familiar to most of the mages. He gave some time for the nordlings such as Ehrir to learn it, but had come to an end. Fortunately, the Undone One knew enough of it to understand. “As you all know, we all have to split up from here. I’ll repeat our goal once again, although y’all know it. We need to track down and find a Changeling going by the name Arleon, commonly referred to as Arleon of the Pale Valley. If some of you find him, you need to contact me immediately. I’ll provide you with the magic artefacts to do so. In any case… Do not attack him! My goal isn’t to harm or fight with him.” He went quiet for a moment and looked at the nearly two hundred people around. “Now… Let the full-fledged sorcerers working under me step forth.”

Nearly quarter of the men and women in the crowd started moving forward. Most of them were clearly very experienced in the magic arts and seemingly proud of it. The Ashen Gaze called them out one by one and explained something quietly after giving them some unknown item. Ehrir couldn’t see it from afar. It took some time for Sevrian to receive one, too, as he was in the back of the crowd.

The Undone One approached the old man after he was done talking with Ostrias. Sevrian knew where they were headed to for a long time now, but his expression was dark nonetheless.

“Well, it is official now”, he said in a low tone. “We’re going to Tarha-Nan. I’ve got a letter from the master with me. It should open the city’s palace to us as long as we show it to a noble.”

“Are you sure it will do the job, master?”

“I can’t be.”

The two men searched for Nalia and Varhel while talking about the possible paths towards the city of cutthroats. Ehrir was unfamiliar with the geography of the south, so Sevrian practically monologued about it. He voiced his ideas about crossing the mountains that could be seen on the horizon, but going around them was also a possibility. Then they had to navigate through a series of valleys and forests until reaching the coast of an ocean. Its name was completely alien and unknown to Ehrir, but he didn’t ask the old man about it.

From the ocean’s shore they had to go south and then west until reaching the road leading to Tarha-Nan. Sevrian went into more and more details, but the landmarks he mentioned were completely new to Ehrir. He didn’t understand much of the old man’s plan besides the general outline.

Soon the Undone One and his master found Nalia and Varhel and discussed the path with them all over again. Sevrian revealed that they had to start travelling according to Ostrias’ commands. They dictated that all groups of sorcerers had to leave the camp until the end of the week. The Ashen Gaze himself wanted to wait for the arrival of his subordinates that roamed the south coasts. They were a handful of people, but held the most vital knowledge about Arleon and the rumors surrounding him and his ‘lord’. To transfer that information to the travelling mages was easy – the artefact given to them (small black shard of crystal covered in runes in some non-human, primitive alphabet) provided instantaneous connection.

The remainder of the day was primarily spent in packing of baggage and getting ready for travels, although the preparations weren’t very fast in Ehrir’s case. The sailors transported his things to the shore quickly, but he ordered and packed them up by himself and without hurrying. He didn’t have a lot of baggage, just several pairs of shoes, couple of hats, a bunch of clothes and some writing supplies. The most precious thing amongst all of them was “The Sorcerer’s Book”, but it didn’t really belong to the Undone One. His other valuable item – the ‘frigid blade’ – was always hanging on his waist in a simple, well-crafted leather sheath. He really wanted to try it out, but going around and cutting up things while surrounded by sorcerers didn’t sound like the best thing to do.

Fortunately, the next days provided him with more than enough free time to train with the weapon. The start of his journey was still halted by Sevrian. Because of that he had the chance to leave the camp and go around the nearby field to practice alone or with Lantor. The Undone One wasn’t in his top body condition – he was still pretty weak, although he gained some weight and muscle mass in the last months. Still, he managed to learn some basic moves and positions in a couple of days, primarily because of Lantor’s help. The man, albeit muscular and fast, didn’t know much about swordsmanship. The two of them were quite a sight during training. Luckily, no one saw their uncoordinated attempts to make diagonal slashes or forward thrusts.

When it came to magical capabilities, both Ehrir’s and Lantor’s weapons showed immense power. ‘The frigid blade’ could cover a piece of wood with a layer of ice as thick as a grown man’s finger in the matter of seconds. The other sword could turn it to ashes with its blue flames even faster. The two men almost started a fire in the field a few times, but it was worth it.

The Green Scar arrived at the third day since reaching the coast. He was probably the most important amongst Ostrias’ subordinates. After all, it was him that acquired the information concerning the Thirdborn and Arleon and helped it reach the Ashen Gaze.

The man deserved his nickname, this much was obvious – a long greenish scar marked his left cheek and continued down his throat. There were some vague stories and rumors going around that concerned its nature and origin, but nothing was really certain. Yet everyone agreed that it had to do something with magic. Some said that he got it while dueling with a feral mage. Others believed that it was delivered by the hand of Ostrias himself while the ancient sorcerer was angered at his subordinate, although most denounced that as unbelievable. The idea that he might have injured himself while practicing was much more normal-sounding, but nobody seemed to even think about it. It was simply too boring.

The Green Scar talked for hours with the Ashen Gaze on that day and both didn’t look particularly happy afterwards. In the next twenty four hours another five sorcerers roaming the south arrived and reported to Ostrias. Ehrir didn’t know the contents of their talks, but the useful information was probably scarce, judging by the older mage's dark glances and serious expression after each and every one of them.

By the point when most of the subordinates from the south arrived in the camp, half of all wizard groups were long since gone. Most of them left by sunrise and with a small amount of baggage. Travelling by feet was probably a pain for the older sorcerers, but Ehrir was sure that they would acquire some decent mounts at the first town they encountered. Part of the guards and soldiers went along with them, so the camp’s population was seriously thinned. It was certainly quieter now. The atmosphere was almost peaceful and calm, too. The ships and their crews were still there, but even they were to soon set sail to some big port and remain there until further notice. Slowly but surely Ehrir grew to (jokingly) believe that the old man wanted them to be the last group to start travelling. That wasn’t the case, of course – Sevrian was advised by the Ashen Gaze almost every day. It surely was the older man that wanted their party to wait a little more.

Lantor left the camp after Ahor, on the fifth morning since the arrival on the shore. There were only a handful of independent sorcerers remaining at that time. There weren’t too many disciples around, either. Ehrir couldn’t see his departure, but the two said their goodbyes the previous evening. The place felt even lonelier without him and Nalia was the only one managing to make it feel at least a little bit lively.

On the sixth day Ehrir learned the reason why they hadn’t started journeying yet. Varhel asked about it directly while dining. While the old man didn’t offer much of a profound and satisfying explanation, he still answered the question.

“Master Ostrias is waiting for someone”, he uttered slowly. “It’s another subordinate of his, along with her apprentices. She’ll travel to Tarha-Nan with us. The master sees her as a very capable magician. And she is, really, especially with the fact that she was born and grew in the Inner Fantasy. Her skills and knowledge are immense. But her apprentices… they are pretty bizarre bunch, truth be told. And in more ways than one."

The old man’s words could only invoke curiosity within the Undone One. That feeling alone made the next two days bearable (barely). He spent them going further and further into the fields and continuously training with the magical sword for hours on end. Sometimes he just sat on the ground and looked at the quiet nature around him, reminiscing about the past months of his life. He was amazed at how far he went for this small window of time. He remembered his wish for death and felt it lurking somewhere deep within him, deeply suppressed and asleep, but yet… it was living. What had to be done for it to be finally gone? Ehrir couldn’t answer that question even if his life depended on it.

And then, on the eight day in the camp, while the Undone One roamed the fields in silence, he met Salelia, the witch that was to travel alongside him and his companions. He saw her from afar and couldn't take his eyes off of her until she neared him.

The witch was strange. Otherworldly, even. Tall, pale and slender, she seemed frail and almost illusionary on the back of her massive black horse. Her embroidered white dress was one of the most beautiful pieces of clothing Ehrir had ever seen and its pure color was in a sharp contrast with her dark brown hair.

Behind the witch rode seven people, each of them on a horse with slightly different color than the others. They were a grotesque group of people. There was an albino amongst them, along with a young woman covered in tattoos from head to toe, and an old blind man with scars all over his face. Ehrir looked away from them only after the witch's voice reached his ears.

"Excuse me", Salelia said in a respectful tone. Her voice was sweet and girly, not really suiting for a woman her age. "Can you take me to Ostrias Haelum?"