Huntress was not her real second name. She hardly remembered her family; all that remained was her anger. She had been just eleven years old but that hadn’t mattered to them, all that had mattered was what she was… and their reputation. Ryshel Huntress, the Gatherer. A name and title to strike fear into the superstitious and stupid which, so far, was everyone she had met.

She bent slightly to duck a low branch and smiled. This was one of those rare occasions when her lack of height was an advantage. It wasn’t a large forest; the trees were close but had short limbs so the canopy was sparse, light flooded through large gaps above. It was early but the sun was already up and hot at this time of year. Enough to heat the air but not enough to completely evaporate the moisture. The silence and humidity was oppressive.

Ryshel had been sleeping when the feeling of death had woken her. It had started an hour ago and already she was close. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant; it was like a light not quite seen in the distance, drawing her like a moth. But like light, if there was too much death it could be painful. It was the reason no Gatherer had been able to get near Haven for years. The spilled life there was like a blazing furnace, burning so hot that even to go near it could be fatal. A constant burn that more victims were added to everyday and not always just people. The wizards added almost double normal people do.

Ryshel paused as the trees thinned; underbrush had been cleared from the area and ahead was the edge of a clearing. It held one of many unnamed and deliberately unmapped hamlets that dotted the countryside. Brushing her blazing red hair out of her face she peered around with a frown. The wildlife had fled from whatever had caused the large loss of life, but that there was still no trace of life nearby worried her. The animals had not just run and hidden, they had fled the area.

She did not feel the heat much, which was why on such a warm day she wore black riding breeches and boots, a brown shirt tucked in and hugging close to her skin under her forest green travelling cloak. Despite the heat she nervously pulled the cloak closer, as much for comfort as for camouflage, regretting leaving her pack at her campsite. She wasn’t worried about it being stolen, it was well-hidden, but she could have used the light sticks as a distraction if she was right about what had happened here. As she started forward again her mind was already on what she would find.

She reached a gentle rise and her steps slowed. It was just over this hillock, she could sense it. Her eyes darted around, looking for any sign of movement. She could sense released life, the strength of it suggested violence, but life still encased in a body was completely hidden from her. She could not know if who or whatever had killed the people over the rise was still nearby. The tree line ended just over the top of the rise. She stood close to a tree, completely immobile and barely breathing, as she surveyed the scene before her.

The lush grass of the clearing was trampled and churned to mulch. The remains of the small village smoked. Some huts were collapsed, pushed over by some strong force, the thatch of the roof scattered over the ground. It was chaos, a battlefield and as Ryshel watched, a building gave up the last of its strength and fell. Her fears were confirmed. Trolls.

Only they could have caused such destruction. She clenched her fists in anger. They never used to be so bold, but that was long ago, when there had been a king on Haven’s throne, when she had been but a child unable to fully appreciate the good life she had had. A life that had ended four years after the rise of the self-proclaimed Supreme Mage.

She looked down, fighting the rage thoughts of the past always brought, down over the rise and saw them. The reason she was there. The men of the village had taken a stand near where Ryshel stood, the dirt on which they lay becoming a mud that would dry into hard clay, soaked as it was with their blood. This isn’t right.

She backed up a few paces, back into the trees for their scant protection and waited. Trolls are carnivores. They wouldn’t leave freshly killed prey like this. Nothing moved. Still she waited, Trolls killed for food, they had a preference for humans and there were no signs of feasting or that they had taken any of the bodies. It filled her with relief but also dread. It wasn’t right. Trolls didn’t work this way, the men should have managed to bring down at least one. Trolls don’t plan or work together well, with small intellgence and great agressiveness by nature but there was no evidence of a fight, despite the weapons lying around, some still grasped in limp fingers. It was a slaughter. It was unnatural, unless... they were following orders.

She lowered her eyes in thought. It was a trap but she couldn’t just leave, not with all that energy lying around. Finally, Ryshel stepped out of the trees and slowly and cautiously walked to the middle of the clearing. Her heart hammered in her chest as she slipped from house to house trying to keep out of sight, not sure if they could see her, she didn’t know where the trolls waited.

The doors of the houses still standing were splintered and broken, she did not investigate; she knew what she would find inside.

She soon reached the small square in the hamlet centre. Working quickly now, she stopped and stretched out her arms in front of her, a scythe appeared in her hands. She spun it to point the blade down, holding the handle horizontal to the ground. She twirled it once in her hand before swinging it up and slamming the staff end down in front of her.

It began instantly, the power flowing across the ground, up the staff, some she drew into herself keeping it ready, but most up into the blade. She stood that way for five minutes, until she was sure she had gathered all the spilled life. She held the handle in one hand letting it swing back to horizontal, turning it so the blade pointed upwards. She raised her arm and let the scythe go, spinning it as she did so.

It rose higher spinning faster and faster, becoming a white light before exploding with a brilliant flash. The power she kept inside her she would disperse more directly.

Movement caught her eye and she turned. The trolls had seen the flash, as was inevitable, and were running towards her. Gathering the energy inside her, she judged her moment and released the power. She didn’t wait to see the results but ran for a side street, planning on using her wits to get away. She slammed chest first into a house just short of cover and gasped.

The pain of impact was nothing compared to the pain in her back. Dangerously close to her spine near her left shoulder, her questing hand jarred the arrow shaft, causing an extra wave of pain. She stumbled on, a glance to the right confirmed that there was a second group of trolls. One was lowering it’s bow. It’s face was twisted into a grin, making the battle scars from past tribal wars more prominent.

It left her in no doubt that they weren’t acting on their own. There was no way she could avoid them now which left her only one option if she was to survive. In her panic she stumbled again and fell. Her back blazed with a fiery pain and her mind screamed at her to get up.

The trolls weren’t in a hurry to catch up, the smell of her blood would lead them straight to her but she wasn’t going to lie there waiting for them. Gritting her teeth against the pain, after some effort, Rsyhel stumbled to her feet. The arrow needed to be pulled, there was a very real possibility it was soaked in saliva.

But she could not pull it out, not without risking causing herself severe damage. The Trolls had yet to surround her but she had little time. She let out a shrill whistle, knowing she could never outrun a Troll, even if she hadn’t had an arrow sticking out of her back, but she had a chance if Atalya was near.

All too long seconds passed before Atalya suddenly appeared, a shadow stretching out from the wall of the house opposite, spreading on the ground and rising like a grey mist. A couple of younger trolls, less patient in their hunger had reached the street and stopped, blinking in confusion at the horse shaped cloud that solidified in front of their eyes. It would not last, their bloodlust would override their stupidity all too soon. Atalya, now looking like a normal, if very large, grey stallion, knelt, knowing she wouldn’t be able to swing herself into the saddle.

She heaved herself onto his back and he was away almost before she had gotten a grip. All she could manage was to hold on as he weaved through the buildings, fighting the black haze of pain that threatened to engulf her. Praying against all probability that she would not be knocked off by a low hanging branch once they reached the trees. She noticed the strange numbness spreading from the arrow wound, and cursed. She had hoped vainly that the Troll had forgotten to suck on it, tainting it with it’s poisonous saliva. She took off her rope belt, wincing at the flood of pain the movement caused. She frowned at the rope, hoped it was strong enough, and lashed herself to the saddle. In her hurried movements the pain was too much, but she managed to tie the last knot before slipping into unconsciousness.

Thayne knocked on Globulus’ door and lifted his pack higher, his nerves strung tight. It still didn’t quite feel real. Was he really leaving Psyhne? And he still didn’t know where he was going, or really what he’d do when he got there. He had decided that he couldn’t come back, there was nothing for him here, but he had no idea where that left him. The door opened and Professor Globulus gave him a slight smile. Rather than letting Thayne in, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. He took Thayne’s pack and buried the book deep inside. Without saying a word he passed the pack back and stepped off, striding quickly up the corridor. Leaving Thayne to hurry to catch up.

They weren’t heading outside. Thayne wondered where the professor was taking him once he realised they were going in the wrong direction. Rather than heading for the courtyard, they were walking in the opposite direction, to the heart of the castle. They reached the staircase and Thayne slowed as the professor started up the stairs. They were already on the second floor. The professor noticed his hesitation and beckoned him on impatiently. Anxious, Thayne hurried up to him and struggled to keep close enough to ask in a soft voice,

“Where are we going?” He winced as the professor shushed him, and followed his lead as he looked around.

The professor sucked in a breath before replying, “Just hurry– and keep your mouth shut. If you’re– seen out of– class– we’ll both be in trouble.”

The professor led Thayne to the Eastern side of the third floor and to the main office that overlooked the valley and river. The office was large, with tall windows along the east wall, on either side of the Arch Mage’s office. There were three rooms in the main office. As well as the main floor that was cluttered with display cases full of awards and trophies. The staff room was located in to the right; it was just a small room with no real windows. The windows it did have were magical and so from the outside showed varying and entirely inaccurate scenes of comfort and luxury. Inside, the windows showed outdoor scenes that changed depending on the mood of the castle. The door to the Arch Mage’s office was closed and locked tight. Officially, the position was vacant; the Supreme Mage had closed Mystax and had turned it over to his Inquisitors, and trusted no one enough to allow them the position of head of the only magic school. The administration fell to the Bursar who approached this responsibility the same way he approached the school’s finances. Cautiously and with great suspicion. He was a sour-faced and stingy man, who occupied the third room in the office. The room Globulus now approached. There was no risk of meeting the Bursar, as he avoided contact with all and only used his office at night when it was unlikely he would be bothered by anyone. Not that there were any who would willingly bother him unless it was absolutely necessary. He even made Old Cob nervous. His nocturnal habits had earned him the cringe-worthy nickname ‘The Count’ among the students.

Professor Globulus pulled out his ring of keys and slipped one into the lock on the door. Thayne was shocked when the lock clicked and the door swung open. Where could the professor have gotten a key? The Bursar trusted no one.

Thayne took in the austere and impersonal room. The desk was meticulously neat and tidy, an inkwell and a quill in its holder stood together on the left side. Some books on numbers and accounting, well preserved despite the signs of heavy use, stood between some plain bookends. Two bookshelves held books and only books. The walls were cold and bare, but in the middle of the desk was one small picture frame. Curious Thayne picked it up and saw a plain but happy woman, her hands on the shoulders of a bored looking young girl. Setting it back down Thayne felt confused as he turned back to the professor who now stood in front of a large safe against the Western wall.

“How do you have keys?” he asked finally.

“We all have our own. The Bursar can always check who has been in his office by what key was used. We also have our own combinations which open our own compartment,” the professor explained answering Thayne’s next question without having to be asked as he entered a combination into the safe. He opened the door to reveal a number of ordinary looking objects; two sacks, one significantly smaller than the other, and some old and rare looking books.

Thayne reached out to touch a black kettle and the professor grabbed his hand and thrust it away.

“Not if you want to keep all your fingers,” he said pulling out the smaller sack and glancing inside. He nodded and thrust it at Thayne.

Thayne started to open it to look inside but before he could see anything the professor was snatching it back. The safe was once again locked and Thayne was once again hurrying after the professor as he left the office and took off down the corridor.

“Ah...” Thayne started to say, glancing back towards the stairs but gave up and sped up, wondering at the fat old professor’s energy.

Thayne followed Globulus closely and as he was beginning to wonder at the time, the bell chimed and there was a rumbling sound of movement as classes started to move towards the doors. His heart hammered in his chest, and he expected Professor Globulus to hurry even more; but instead, he slowed his pace to a casual stroll and took Thayne’s pack from him as students began to fill the hall. None took the least bit of interest in them as they moved on to their next classes, but Thayne’s nerves were still frayed. He moved to walk beside the professor as some of the older students recognised him, and paused with calculating looks, unpleasant intentions clear on their faces. He relaxed a little when none dared to act on their thoughts and he and the professor continued on without incident. The professor had not noticed Thayne’s discomfort as he ambled along seemingly without a care in the world. The crowd of students was thinning as they reached the service corridor, the professor ushered Thayne through the door and handed him his pack and the small sack, which clinked, identifying its contents as coins. He was holding the door open but Thayne was concealed from sight when a voice called,

“A-Arthur?”

It was the Magic and society professor, Blaine Lowstan. He was the oldest teacher at Psyhne. He was once tall but now he was so bent with age he had to turn his head to look most people in the eye.

“Did I see that Nycknell boy?” he asked as he reached Professor Globulus.

Globulus pulled the door to, so that it was only open a crack. “He should be in class, shouldn’t he?” he asked avoiding the question. It is extremely difficult for anyone to lie to a wizard.

“Ah. Shame about him. I’ve never seen such a profound lack of Talent in a wizard. Still, at least he’s not Ghee, though he might as well be. You know my uncle—”

“Blaine don’t you have a class?” Globulus asked gently with an involuntary glance at the door.

Lowstan didn’t notice. “Hmm? Oh yes! I better potter along.”

“Was there anything in particular you wanted?”

“What? Oh yes, I wondered if I could have a word. This new experiment of yours, are you using any juniper? My stock’s run right out and I was wondering if I could borrow some of yours. You see I’m trying to—”

“Perhaps I should come see you later, after your class?” Globulus said, cutting Lowstan off with a gentle reminder.

“Oh yes! Right, of course. Er...” Lowstan glanced each way with a slightly confused look. He started to pass Globulus before pausing and then turning and walking back the other way.

Once the main corridor was empty, Professor Globulus opened the door and led an upset Thayne to the stairs that led down to the next floor. Before they were halfway down the stairs the professor stopped and said a strange word that Thayne had never heard before. He missed what it was because he was still brooding over Professor Lowstan’s words, but the sound of it caught his attention and he looked up to see part of the wall swing inward to reveal a small dark passage.

Its position was impossible without magic as a factor because the ceiling of the passage should have risen up into the corridor they had just left. Thayne’s head throbbed when he imagined where his head was in relation to the floor he should have been passing through at neck height. He immediately locked his gaze and concentrated on the back of the professor’s head. It wasn’t smart to dwell on such thoughts. The passage was narrow, and Professor Globulus’s shoulders brushed the walls on either side. Thayne was startled when the professor was suddenly a foot shorter and stumbled into his back when he missed the first stair the professor had just stepped down.

“Careful!” Professor Globulus exclaimed.

Thayne gave a short, and involuntary, bitter laugh. “Thanks for the warning.”

With a sigh the professor continued on.

“Professor,” Thayne said looking down at the sack in his arms, “what is the money for?”

“For you. For your journey.” He heard the protest coming and cut it off as he continued, “It is your money. Sent by your grandfather for you. Put it in your pack.”

The professor continued on as Thayne obeyed and hurried to catch up. He seemed suddenly deaf as Thayne tried to ask why his grandfather would send money for him and Thayne soon gave up, exasperated.

There were several branches of two or three paths. Sometimes there were even up to five different directions to take, but the professor did not hesitate. After the third branch the tunnel widened considerably. The path they were taking was winding and confusing and always leading them down until Thayne was sure they were far below even the lowest dungeon level of the castle, and had no idea what direction they were going. The professor knew the secret passages that riddled the old castle suspiciously well, finally leading Thayne down a passage that developed into a rock tunnel. The journey had seemed to take hours, Thayne was unsure how many, and unsure how the deceptively large professor had managed it without breaking a sweat. The tunnel walls had gradually grown a disturbingly green and slimy glaze that glowed in the darkness, the floor became soft and losing his footing at one stage, Thayne discovered sand. Gradually the green glow diminished and they stumbled onwards in utter darkness. Thayne walked slower and slower, a deep fear rising. He could feel the walls closing in; the immense weight of rock overhead seemed to press down on him. He stretched his arms out to either side to judge how close the walls had come and realised he could see his hands. As he took a few more steps he could see more detail and the walls, Thayne saw with relief, hadn’t moved. The tunnel opened onto a small beach completely enclosed by cliffs. Professor Globulus visibly relaxed when he saw Thayne emerge.

“I expect you to keep practising your magic while you’re gone. It will be harder away from the Talfry under the school but it might be good for you. Just do the exercises we have studied in class. I don’t know what your other teachers will expect you to do—”

“Your giving me homework?” Thayne asked incredulously. “Do you really think I’ll ever get anywhere? I’m useless, I might as well be Ghee.”

“But you’re not. I’ve never heard of anyone having problems like you… I don’t know what it means… just promise me you’ll practice.”

“Sure, of course, why not?” Thayne tried a little harder to look sincere when he saw the disappointment on Globulus’ face.

After giving him directions he had to memorise and telling him a boat was on its way to pick him up, the professor left him, vanishing back up the tunnel to return to the warm castle, while Thayne stood there and shivered. He was a bit disgruntled at that, that he had not been allowed a good night’s sleep in his warm dormitory. Then he felt conflicted as he remembered the strange lump in his bed. He shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. It was late afternoon but already the evening mist was rising, obscuring his view of the sea. He could see nothing but sand, sea and rocks in a ten-foot radius.