“So how far out from Oedrin are we?” Jace asked and heard Joanna and Athena groan at his question. He may’ve asked it once or twice.

“Seriously handsome,” Joanna sighed, “for the hundredth time. We are two days out.”

“Okay, I was just checking,” he waved the hand that wasn’t holding the reins and wiggled it apologetically. Small snow shower’s had started last-night as they camped. It had been just about two days since they’d left Pessel and were apparently making good time. Since then he noticed a few changes in the demeanour of his wives. What with the sudden inclusion of Marcia into pretty much every conversation they had now.

Jace had decided it was probably best he stayed well out of their way on that one. Especially since the older fox-kin always blushed heavily and avoided his eyes when they were near each other.

He spend a few hours a day visualising his mana core, and ‘sparking it’—was the only way he could describe it—to life. Unfortunately the days were so filled with the monotonous clutter of driving, or walking, or setting up camp, or making love to his wives. That he simply hadn’t had the free time to even take his brush case out.

He craved some actual practice.

For now he had to satiate his craving with the expanse of country side splayed before him. Vast rolling plains and fields of corn or grass roamed for miles on end.

Here and there were droves of sheep, or cows grazing. Darkened forest’s beset the vast plains on almost every side.

He was beginning to get antsy with the lack of combat. Jace had underestimated how highly strung his body and mentality were. The loudest or sharpest of noises setting him off.

The day doddle-on. The grey clouds overhead seeming heavier than usual. Their general dark tones were lighter. “It’ll snow most likely tonight,” he heard Marcia muttered in the back of their wagon. Looking over his shoulder, he caught the alchemist peering at a small vial in her hand. She would gently shake it, and the white contents inside would slush a dark blue.

“How’d you know?” he asked her.

Without looking at him, her ears twitched in his direction. “I don’t, not really. There’s just this general feeling in the air. Like you look at the cloud and they seem ready to burst down on you.”

Jace nodded, that was the same feeling he was getting. “Don’t you get any sun here?”

“Oh, we get plenty,” Joanna sighed from where she lounge reading a book called, Sinsiata theory on spiritual magic.

“I haven’t seen any,” Jace replied.

“That’s because of the cycle. Since the eclipse began handsome, all we’ve seen is clouds.”

“Why is called the Eclipse cycle anyway? Eclipse’s usually only last a few minutes at best.” Jace looked ahead once again. His direction drawn towards the wagon ahead of them.

Maypor’ wagon held the majority of their combined supplies and gear. The Saracae were with her for the moment, giving Jace and his wives some alone time. Now he saw Maypor, leaning over to whisper something to Amadis. The short orc-woman nodded sharply then gestured at another and spat something.

Immediately that orc hopped off of the wagon, and darted into the field on their right. The tall grass easily hiding her from sight,

“Nobody knows why. It was recorded that way in the kingdom’s calendar, and everyone was taught to called the end times as such.”

“So much of an end times,” Jace mused still watching the wagon as everyone in it began to subtly arm themselves. “End times don’t occur thrice, Joanna. They come once and that’s it. No sequel- It think we’ve got trouble,” he added quickly.

There was a moment of silence then, “shit!” Joanna and Marcia hissed quietly.

“Master?” a voice hissed from his right. Jace slowly drifted his head that way. But saw no one.

“What?” he answered anyway.

“Amadis said, road block. Pull wagon to us,” the Saracae said in broken kingdom.

“Got it,” Jace mumbled and glance over his shoulder. He saw that Athena had placed a sleeping Gabrielle in a bundle of blankets, as Marcia ushered Cain to sit beside her. Joanna hugged her satchel to her hip, her narrow gaze fearful yet determine.

Marcia had three tiny potions in one hand between the knuckles of her fingers. And in the other she held a triangular vial. The contents a piss-yellow.

Athena surprised him most of all. She pulled out two axes from beneath a sack of clinking items. She twisted both weapons in her hands nervously as her eyes darted about.

He hid his sigh though. He was thankful that they were ready just in case. But anyone was watching them, would note their postures and severe expressions. And know the game was up.

Not that Maypor’s wagon was any different. Rolling towards them. Jace tied his reins through a knot in the bench and jumped off the wagon. “Stay with the cart,” he told his wives and Marcia. They each nodded their acquiescence.

Walking to stand beside Maypor he looked ahead.

In the middle of the road, was a carriage. It was turned on its side with two Lurka corpse just off to the left of it.

bags and various items of clothing were scattered about like an open invitation. “Trap?” he mused to the old woman.

She titled her head. Her white grey hair was in a short tight braid behind her head. “Most likely. You’d think?”

“I think half goes, and half stays. Amadis?” he called out gently. Like a shadow appearing at his side, the short orc stepped up beside him.

“Yes, Master?”

“Have any of the Saracae scouted our flanks?”

“They have,” Amadis said slyly, and folded her hand behind her back. “They’re nine on either side. All of them are human. Dirty, poorly armed. And look to be on the verge of starvation.”

“What about ahead?” Jace asked and nodded his in the direction.

“They’re none,” she said flatly, and seemed mildly insulted.

“None?” Jace reel in surprise. “fucking idiot’s. Smart enough to kill, yes. Smart enough to lay an ambush. Not, apparently smart enough to cover all angles.”

“They’re a sorry sight, Master. Honestly not even worth it.”

Jace pondered for a moment. “I’ll let the Saracae have this, Amadis. Bring one back alive at least,” he told her. The short orc grimaced—not at the prospect of capturing one alive, but that their first display of combat for a new master would be so disappointing.

“Don’t worry,” Jace said softly seeing her look, “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of chances to impress me soon enough.”

The Saracae head bowed deeply to him and retreated, muttering to her sisters in orcish—or whatever their language was.

“You sure that’s wise, boy?” Maypor cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Honestly, May. It just wouldn’t be fun doing it myself.” With that he turned around just as all thirteen warriors—excluding Amadis—exploded into the fields on either side of them.

It wasn’t even five seconds later, that he heard the hiss of steel, and the muted dead rattles of the dying. Climbing back onto his wagon, Jace faced his wives and Marcia.

“It was an ambush,” he told them.

“Ambush!” all three of them gasped.

“Wait- was an ambush, handsome?” Joanna asked him tentatively, her white-knuckle death grip on her satchel loosened slightly.

“Yeah,” Jace yawned. His adrenaline had skyrocketed at the prospect of fighting. Now he was on a steep decline. “I set the Saracae on them. Apparently these lots weren’t well prepared at all.” A shrilled scream knifed through the air, making the women jump.

“It seems we have our captive, Master.” Amadis called out to him. Looking around, he saw that some of the Saracae were just leaving the fields now.

Then the babbling pain etched cry came again in bursts and moved closer to them. Deanna breached through the dense brush of grass, carrying a tied up skinny man.

The clothing he wore was dirty and ill-repaired. With half sewn patches almost everywhere on him. What drew Jace’ attention though, wasn’t the howling man on Deanna’ shoulder, nor his broken legs.

It the dagger sticking out the side of her stomach. “Marcia, Joanna, Deanna needs attention,” Jace snapped off quickly and jumped down.

Deanna grunted and hefted the man off her shoulders, into the air, where he landed on his broken legs. He screamed shrilly, and suddenly fainted. The alchemist and mender, corralled the orc warrior-woman back towards their wagon.

He saw the usually stoic orc grunt, as her cheek’s heated a light dusty green blush. “Your captive, Master,” Deanna gestured to the unconscious man. She went to bow but Jace waved her off.

“It’s- uh- fine. Thank you, Deanna.” He smiled at the Amazonian-esque orc-woman. “Did he get you?” Jace asked and pointed at the body.

Deanna grunted and nodded. “Broke his legs first. My mistake.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

“Should’ve broken his arms first,” Deanna grunted at him, her eyes flicking down to the dagger protruding from her belly.

Jace snorted laughter, as did a few of the other Saracae. “Now then, lets see what we’re about shall we.” Jace stepped over and gently nudged his boot against the man’s broken legs. He elicited a muffled groan of pain.

“Wakey, wakey. Sunshine, broken legs and scrambled eggs,” he sang and pushed the tip of his boot against bone jutting out of man’s shin.

The man gasped aloud and cried out with a loud scream. His hands were tied, and he thrashed about, smacking his fists against the road.

“Help me please. Oh goddess, it fucking hurts,” he pleaded.

“Tell what you were doing here and then well consider helping you,” Jace told him and crouched down in front of the man.

“You!” the man gasped, and his eyes widen in recognition of Jace.

“Me?” Jace asked and narrowed his eyes.

“Your him. The fucking summoned. Oohh, I’m going to fucking die, aren’t I?”

Jace reeled back in shock, even his Saracae were surprised that this man knew of Jace. “Not if you don’t answer my questions,” he said quickly, trying to mask his stunned expression.

“Anything. Just don’t kill me,” the man gasped out.

“How do you know of me?”

“Oedrin. There’re posters of you everywhere in the town. My brother and Papa moved there. But its… too overcrowded now. Camps are set up on the outside for refugees now. No one goes in. No one leaves.”

“How does Oedrin know of me?” Jace asked, his voice calm and cool.

“Fucking Magi- fuck! L-lord Dakic has a new M-Magi searching for something you stole. F-found you t-that way.”

“Something I stole?” Jace asked in disbelief, then his eyes settled on the Saracae all around him. Something I stole. More like someone’s, he thought derisively.

“Okay. but that doesn’t explain how they know I’m one of the summoned,” Jace pointed out.

“T-there’s this—ohfuckingshitfuck—rumour that … that the Lord Dakic has another one of you locked on in his estate. They’re thought to of pointed you out.”

“Another of me? Of the Fifty-Two?” Jace blinked and shook his head slowly. How the fuck did they even escape?

“So, can you help,” the man pleaded, tears and snot sniffling down his face.

“Sure, friend,” Jace said replied and before the man even knew it had happened. Jace had buried his dagger through the man’s eye socket and into his brain.

It lodged there as he let it go. “Well this shit complicates matters,” Jace mumbled and started paces as he rubbed at his face.

“His information was a little too good, handsome,” Joanna pointed out to him, and Jace had to agree.

“But still. A lot of what he did say, was rather on the nose. Unless this lord hired him and the others.”

“Doubtful,” Maypor muttered. “They might’ve been set up to handle all traffic coming through here. Maybe even ones carrying a certain green-skinned cargo.

“Maybe. I don’t fucking know. Let’s uhhh, get that carriage moved off to the side of the road. Take anything that’s useful and carry on.” Jace clapped his hands and Saracae jumped to attention, marching to do as he order.

“How’s the patient, doc?” Jace asked the mender.

“She has no broken bones thankfully.”

“Orc’s have preternatural regeneration,” Marcia murmured. She rubbed a grassy poultice over the surface of the stab wound.

“Don’t you need to suture it?” he asked curiously as Marcia finished her appliance and began unfurling a bandage.

“No. It’ll likely heal come tomorrow. All she’ll have left is a scar after that.” Deanna grunted in agreement.

“Speaking of healing and scars, handsome,” Joanna started leadingly.

“I get it. You can check as we wait,” he told her. His wound had begun to scab over, and the sight wasn’t pretty at all. He would go for moments without even the slightest tickle of pain. Then the next it felt as if someone had poured boiling hot water over his side. “Shit. I forgot to ask him why he was really here.”

“Maybe they have a camp nearby,” Joanna suggested as she patted the spot next to Deanna on the wagon. Jace looked to Amadis who was nearby.

“I’ll sent someone,” she said without him having to say anything. He nodded to her gratefully.

“Its just too fucking weird. If they’re posters of me in Oedrin, then there must be some sort of reward for either capture or death. Yet these idiots were what? robbing wagons.”

“Then Lord Dakic doesn’t where you are exactly. Just your face, and what you are,” Marcia said as she wound a bandage around Deanna’s stomach.

“Still, that mans knowledge of me was a little too on the spot for my liking,” Jace grumbled and slid his tunic up to reveal his bandaged side. “Then there’s that- ow-fuck,” he hissed as Joanna prodded the centre of his wound sharply. “That little titbit about refugee camps and Oedrin being overcrowded already.”

“The Nigh Dweller’s must’ve scoured the whole wilds, pushing everyone they could find towards the town,” Amadis noted.

“Hold still,” Joanna told him firmly, as Jace nodded his agreement to Amadis.

“Lets just hope your sisters come back with something. I don’t feel comfortable not knowing. And we can’t exactly entered Oedrin until we’re sure we won’t just be arrested at the gate,” Jace rolled his eyes. “Not that we can enter anyway.”

Sighing heavily he leaned back as his elven wife slowly unwrapped his bandage. The stench of rot tinged the air harshly and everyone around Jace gagged at the smell.

“Ugh, that is bad, handsome,” Joanna muttered, her voice muffled by her sleeve.

“You’re- ugh,” he gagged, “telling me.”

“Damn we didn’t get it all,” Joanna hissed and Jace looked downwards to see a small black lumpy bulb at the centre of his scabbing wound.

“Fuuck!” he groaned, “we need to damn knife, and fire.”

~*~*~*~

“You need to talk to Dexica about this, my love,” Athena pleaded with him. She’d come over once she’d heard about the black ooze returning on him. She’d been positively distraught at seeing it back.

Everyone around him knew his secrets by this point. And the voice in mind when he visit’s the Wakeful plane was common knowledge amongst them. “I know, I know. I meant to ask him—her—last time. I just got caught up is all.”

“It’s ready, Master,” Amadis called out to them. Rushing over she handed a scalpel carefully to Joanna. Marcia was on hand beside the elf, with a small ceramic pot, the cork dangling from a chain near the rim in her hands.

“You know, I really, really fucking hate this.”

“Okay handsome, you ready?” Joanna asked him.

“As ready as I’ll- OH! MOTHERFUCKA!” he gasped as he felt the heated scalpel plunge into the black ooze. His hands that clung to either side of the wagon bed, gripped the wood tightly.

An audible groan creaking beneath his grip.

“It’s okay, my love,” Athena cooed down at him. His head was in her soft cushiony lap. Yet all he saw was pain.

Then came the shrieking cry from the black substance, and Jace felt his like insides were on fire as something wriggled beneath his skin in agitation.

“I need… need to go deeper,” Joanna winced as the cry pitched in volume. The Saracae around them had their weapons at the ready. As if some fucking monster was about to explode out of Jace’s stomach.

The heat of the scalpel seared as it drove deeper through the ooze. The distinct sound of vomit splattered the ground caught his ear and he saw Marcia wipe her mouth with the back of her hand shakily.

“It’ll be okay,” Athena told him, as she wiped his brow.

“It fucking better be-”

“Shit!” Joanna cursed in a hiss.

“Oohh, that doesn’t sound g-ood,” Jace groaned as he spasmed in pain.

“I have to reopen the whole wound, handsome.” The mender informed him.

“Of course you do,” Jace rolled his eyes. “Someone fucking knock me out, please.”

“I’ll do it,” Deanna mumbled, the big Amazonian-esque orc wasted no time in slugging him across the face.

“Than-” Jace drawled as his head rolled on his neck. Then he blissfully passed out.

~*~*~*~

Joanna began to carve the scalpel along her husband’s flesh. The scabbing surface of his wound, had thin black veins webbing out from the black nexus at the centre of the wound.

She sliced the scalpel through easily enough, and the slid it along the skin. Instantly she saw the veins wiggle like they were trying to burrow deeper inside of Jace, to escape her.

She’d only wrapped a new bandage around him last night. And hadn’t seen any signs of this then. Joanna could only guess that they must’ve missed some of the black substance the first time they’d dealt with it.

She was careful to not get any of it on her skin, or on the ground. Every time she cut a part away, Marcia would rush in with the ceramic pot and Joanna would dislodge the piece inside.

A haunting shriek notified her that her scalpel had caught the sinuous vein. As soon as the tip of the surgical knife penetrated through, the wiggling black substance jittered and shook, then stopped and when limp. She did this thirteen more times, cutting the base of each dead vein then slowly pushing the black oozing substance out and into the pot.

Her face and neck were beaded in sweat, but Joanna was used to straining and focusing for long periods of time. Mending bones tended to strain the mind.

After the limbs were gone the mender stabbed her scalpel through the centre of the corrupted nexus. It shook and screech an ear drum piercing scream. It’s vibration’s moving and making it burrow deeper.

“No you fucking don’t,” she growled and twisted her scalpel in even further. Then it stopped, and let out a long-deflated hiss, like a punctured black smith’s bellow.

It was finally dead, and Joanna went about carving a chunk of her husband side out of his flesh. She deposited it in the pot. Marcia wasting no in plugging the lid.

“Do we destroy it?” the alchemist asked them breathlessly.

“Yes,” Jace hissed and winced, his wounded side flared like thousands of fiery ants were crawling and biting across his body.

“Are you okay?” Athena asked, tears flooding her eyes.

“Give me a second,” Jace replied. He remembered this feeling. And taking the chance Jace pictured his Mana core, deep inside his stomach and sparked it. Within seconds, the wounds on his side began to reknit, the skin scaring over but healing. He felt a response through his core, like confusion. His Mana not able to regenerate the lost skin and flesh properly.

Afterwards Jace was left with the gnawing ache of hunger. Not as bad as when he had lost a bit of his ear, but still noticeable.

Jace exhaled a sigh of relief and felt his Mana hum lowly in his stomach as it settled down. Jace sat up and looked at the stunned faces around him. “Yes, Marcia. We need to destroy it. If it was anything else, I would let you study it to you hearts content, I would. But that stuff, it’s even more unnatural that the wretches and Dweller.”

Jace looked down at the side of his torso, there was ugly patch of scarred skin, it was red raw and seemed inflamed to him. Yet as he probed it, he was gladdened to feel no pain. Just soreness.

“Thank you,” Jace mumbled and leaned over to kiss Joanna, then turned to do the same to Athena.

He gave Marcia a nod, not noticing her slight pout and embarrassed flush. Then he looked to Amadis. She cut him off before he could even ask, “the wrinkly one, Sera and Kana left before you’re…uh…impromptu surgery.”

Jace nodded, and blew air up into his face. His tunic was soaked his own blood. So he ripped it off and toss it onto the small blaze of fire they had going.

A tiny scream crackled from the fire. “Figures,” Jace shook his head. The motion for Marcia to tip the pot’s contents into the fire also.

Jace watched intently, as each tiny black ooze-like appendage plopped into the fire. No sounds came and everyone blew out a collective breath.

“Stripping again, boy,” called a crackled voice and Jace looked over his shoulder, missing the tiny black speck—no bigger than a droplet of water—that fell out of the pot and hit ground just outside of the fire.

“something like that,” he retorted and patted near his side. The old woman nodded, seeing the fire and his wound. She put two and two together.

“It came back?” she asked curiously.

“I think it more along the lines, that we didn’t get it all on the first try,” Joanna sighed and leaned against the wagon.

“What did you find?” Jace interjected. He was eager to get away from this place after that.

“They had a camp. Sera and Kana found it,” Maypor motioned to the two orc women. “It was laughably bad, boy. They were robbing passers-by. Found quite a store of food, it was all rotten and right next to where they shit as well.” The old woman shook her head and grimaced in distaste.

“We did find something though, Master,” Sera stepped towards him and held out a rolled-up piece of parchment paper.

“Uh- let me guess…” Jace started and unrolled the wanted poster. Looking it over he erupted into laughter.

“Wanted: dead or alive. Reward: 50 King’ silvers

Shaven scalp and beard.

Eye colour: believed to be green.

Crooked nose. My nose isn’t crooked, is it?

Missing teeth. I have all of my teeth, thank you very much.

Travelling in the company of an old woman. That’s obviously you, May.

Last discerned location: Eastern wild territory.

Extremely dangerous.

Believed to be summoned spawn.”

There was then an horrendous doodle, that made him looked more like a goblin. “This doesn’t even look like me. How the hell did that guy even make a correlation between the two?” Jace asked and held the poster up by his face.

There followed a few snickers at his expense. “Laugh it up,” Jace grumbled and rolled the poster back up, and tossed it into the back of wagon. “I guess fifty king’ silvers is a lot of money?”

“Its how much the Bidish were going to make in their deal with Lord Dakic for us, Master,” Amadis informed him.

“It’s quite a lot of money, handsome,” Joanna said tiredly. The mender was practically falling asleep on her feet. They climbed back onto their wagon and got comfortable. Jace grabbed a spare tunic as Athena and Joanna sat in the back, with a still sleeping Gabrielle and a totally disinterested Cain.

Marcia surprised Jace by sitting next to him on the drivers bench, though she didn’t talk or look his way. Simply opened her tome and flicked through the pages.

Maypor, Amadis and the rest of her sisters climb into the old woman’s wagon, as the last of them managed to push the dipped carriage off the road. They returned with a few colourful dresses and bags containing what he guessed was jewellery and gems.

Then, they were off.

~*~*~*~

Unbeknownst to them, the black tainted speck of evil and corruption slowly crept and slinked its way open to the dead body.

The one Jace had stuck a dagger through the eye socket. The speck clung to the dead man’s face and climbed up the seemingly petrified visage. Stuck in its final moments of shock.

From there the speck found the ruined eye and oozed within. And its substance slowly began to devour the corpse. The more it ate, the more it consumed of the dead man. The more the substance grew. The speck eventually found the brain and set about consuming that as well.

Then something strange happened, and the substance had a distorted flicker of memory. The concept was new and unnatural to it, yet tasteful.

The memory was of eating a wild animal raw. The more the speck ate and grew, the more these memories came. And shockingly. with them so did their emotions.

The last memory it consumed was one riddled with fear. Fear so strongly that it reverberated across leaving an imprint on the speck.

That fear then turned to a boiling simmering anger, and betrayal. The speck didn’t understand the context of any of the memories. The emotions roiled like waves of different colours. Yet the moment it felt that fear. Saw the person in that last memory. It knew only two thing.

That was: familiarity, and anger.

It would find this person and consume them. But in the meantime it had a whole body to eat and play with. And there were others in the fields as well to consume.

~*~*~*~

“So that’s Oedrin?” Jace asked rhetorically. High stone walls towering at least sixty feet spanned for miles. Light blue banners draped down from atop the wall hung by poles jutting out diagonally. They depicted a white stag with golden antlers.

The majesty of the high grey stone walls was lessened somewhat by the massive refugee camp set outside it’s thirty-foot gates.

“Is it me, or is the wall just… ridiculously high,” Jace muttered as they stopped their wagon behind Maypors. He leaned out and saw a train of other wagons waiting to make entry into the camp. A line of armed soldiers monitored the camps entrance, inspecting good and questioning people.

Oh fuck, he thought seeing that.

“Jace, get back here,” Joanna called to him, he whipped around and saw that she was sat cross legged on the wagon’s bed. She patted the spot in front of her. “You need to learn to use your brushes before we arrive at the camp’s entrance. You’re going to have to introduce yourself in as a Magi.”

“Why?” he asked then blinked and ducked aside as Marcia’s alchemy tome tried to bop his head.

“They have wanted posters of you remember that,” Marcia growled. She’d been more and more fidgety the closer to Oedrin they got. He guessed that she was likely worried about entering the town.

He would be as well; except they weren’t entering the town just yet. For now they would focus on the refugee camp and gaining entrance to that before even attempting the actual town itself.

“Not to mentioned that you’re supposed to be a Magi,” Marcia reminded him. “Otherwise what was the point in marrying you.”

He was about to point that they weren’t in fact married at all, but his eyes fell on Athena as his fox-kin discreetly shook her head at him.

“Uhhh, fine. Marcia, you have the reins. Time for my bloody wizardry lessons, I guess,” he groused and handed off the reins. Climbing into the back, Jace shuffled and sat down.

As he did so, Athena crawled closer to him, and whispered into his ear, “Marcia and I had a discussion about her behaviour. And some truths were told and came to light. I believe she’s now accepted that my father is dead. Even I knew it- saw it happen after all.”

“So she wants back in?” Jace questioned, he didn’t like people flip flopping. Once a decision was made it had to followed through. To hesitate or evade only bring disaster and failure. He shot a glance at Joanna. The mender was grinning madly.

“What’s got you so chipper?” he asked her, and she tittered quietly.

“This little vixen, handsome,” the elf shot a coy look at Athena, and the fox-kin blushed deeply. “Decided to feed a certain someone some of your cream. She was rather forceful with her apparently.”

Jace flinched at the mental image and blinked as he stared at his wives. Athena refused to meet his gaze. Joanna on the other hand stuck her tongue out and ran it along her bottom lip as she stared at her sister-wife.

He opened his mouth to berate them, to explain why it was wrong to force someone to do that. But then thought better of it.

No point in opening my big-fat-stupid-mouth, he thought and nodded slightly. I’ll table it for a later date.

“Al-right. Uhhh…let’s start our lesson, Jo,” Jace said after clearing his throat loud and obnoxiously. Crossing his legs, Jace got comfortable and pulled out his brush case. The wagon barely moved as he set it down, and Jace couldn’t help but groan quietly at the thought that they would still be here come tomorrow’s sunrise.

“Good. You’ve got your case ready, handsome,” Joanna said as she pulled out a linen-sock-like-wallet that contained her own Magi brush.

“Shall we begin, handsome?” Joanna asked him. The mender placed her socket-wallet down in front of her with her brush laid atop it.

“Sure,” Jace nodded, and opened his own brush case. He’d never touched any of them yet, honestly he was pretty hesitant about doing so.

“Now, connect to your Mana and open your mind,” she told him and closed her own eyes. Jace followed suit, closing his own, he pictured his Mana core and sparked it. The core glowed a deep inner cerulean blue fire, as it came alive. Next he opened his mind. The first time he’d done this, he had tried to blank his thoughts, which was wrong. To open his mind he had to allow his thoughts to flow freely.

They came at him in waves and blooms of colour, faint scents and tasteful memories of the last few days.

He felt it then, a swelling in his gut. A heaviness building inside of him. It had no where to go, no outlet or conduit to run through.

It build and build, the draw becoming more and more intense. Until he wasn’t sure whether he would spew his stomach contents or explode into a shower of sparks.

Without any further prompting and with his eyes still closed Jace reached forward and withdrew a brush from his case.

He felt the cold metal of it in his hand, as it seemed to fit his fingers perfectly like it had been designed just for him. Holding the brush, Jace rubbed his pointer finger along it idly. The sensation of holding it comforting somehow.

“Good,” Joanna said softly, just quietly enough to not break his concentration. “Now you have to flow your Mana through your body and into the brush.”

Heat rose from deep in his stomach. It bubbled and spurted, making him grimace at the uncomfortable feeling. It spread throughout his insides. And everywhere it went felt inflamed. Bile tasted at the back of his throat as he swallowed reflexively. The tormentous blaze within him bloomed and scaled the geography of not just through his body, but his soul, and mind as well.

His very spirit felt as if it exhaled fire and screamed, even as it danced jubilantly, and beckoned the pain to continue.

This, he realised was magic.

This was magic and it fucking hurt.

The bubbling fire in his core felt as if it was erupting through his pores in a palpable wave of pressure. His head, neck, pits, chest, and back were soaked in sweat.

Then as Jace ran his pointer finger down his brush, a swelling build at his finger’s tip. And he instinctively pushed outward. Extended that burning wave of molten lava that ran through his veins.

A sharp crack split the silence, and Jace snapped his eyes open. The tips of his fingers gleamed a shimmering blue glow. It was faint, but as he watched, the glow spread from his hand and into his brush.

Images filled his mind and he allowed them to run freely.

His thoughts webbed out, running through the latticework and the magical, structural formation that was the essence of the brush in his hand.

The truth of it almost made him laugh.

It was just a brush. One made of steel and wood, much like his vambrace. Small runes flared in activation as the blue glow enveloped them, brightening inside his minds eye. The bristles were thin wiry strands of coppers wire and hair, they hummed a slight blue shimmer as the brushes tip darkened.

Magic was indeed painful—at least on his first try it was—yet it was also wondrous. His grip on the brush tightened as he readied it like he would a pen.

Then leaning forward, his Mana still coursing through him like cold fire and into the conduit brush. Jace wrote his first rune.

Fisa.

Leaning back away Jace pictured the rune in his mind, and sent a flowing tendril of will along the unseen thread that connected him to his creation.

The Fisa rune looked inconspicuous there on the bed of the wagon. It was small and only a few inches in diameter. Yet the moment he activated the rune, it projected an image of the Fisa rune above its surface. The projection was slightly bigger, and made up of tiny ethereal blue motes of light.

Then the projection sucked in on itself and imploded into a small candle flicker of fire.

Jace gasped and panted. He’d… I just did that. I just did fucking magic. A foot stomped down on top of the rune, and extinguished the small fire. Like that, wonder of magic was snuff out.

Jace blinked and followed the slender leg all the way up to the mender’s face. Joanna looked at him with both pride and shock. “Sorry, handsome. You did good, really, really good. Just didn’t want you setting the wagon on fire is all.” She smiled sweetly at him, and batted her long blonde eyelashes.

“Uh-huh,” Jace said still staring in wonderment. Which turned into a grimace as his stomach churned. Rushing to his knees, he scurry over to the side of the wagon and threw up his guts onto road.

His stomach wrenching with each heaving urge.

“Ssshhh,” Joanna cooed and rubbed the top of his back, just between his shoulder blades. “This is how it usually is. You flooded the pathways of your body with Mana, handsome. It always hurts the first time, and leaves you exhausted. The vomiting though…I never had to deal with.”

“Lucky- you,” Jace groused and gagged. After he was done, he spat, accepted a skin of water to rinse his mouth out and then twisted to sit down.

He stared at where his rune was still engraved in the wood. He knew in his mind, that only he could connect with the rune.

His own configuration of a standard fire rune.

Others may be able to break through and activate it. But Jace could tether to the rune as easily as breathing. This all flowed to him, like a vague sense, passing between him and rune. Jace wondered if this was how Magi’ learned the depth of their runes utility. By connecting with it.

What was interesting though, was the loss of connection tethering between him and it. Guess I can only activate it once then…

Something to consider at least.

~*~*~*~

Before long night fell, and those still waiting in their wagons to gain access to the refugee camp settled in for the long night.

Some broke out caskets of wine and ale. Played music and sang. Others huddled in desperation for warmth and out of fear of what prowled in the dark.

The camp itself was a painting of light and life, the din of noise that filled the air was jovial but was truthfully an avoidance of circumstance.

Yet there was constant undertones of cruelty laced throughout. Men with clubs that hid in the shadowy alleys between shacks waited on innocent passers-by.

Resorting to harming others, so they can make enough coin to bribe their way beyond the wall.

Yet none of this was noticed by those that only guarded the entrance to the camp. Except when some poor desperate fools that had enough of huddling for warmth and cowering in desperation.

Everyone outside the walls knew of what really chased them, some decided to block the horrific memories with jokes, drinks, songs, and dance.

Yet all of them knew it was only a matter of time before they came again. So with a heart full of fear and a mind boggled down by misery.

People grew restless, they became loud and angry. Drunk on annoyance and anguish. Then a few took up arms, small bottles and stones at first. And as the night wore on, they huddled not for warmth but out of a common goal.

It was better to be inside, than on the outside.

Together, they slinked through the night, and eventually attacked the gate to the refugee camp. Jace watched all of this happen, he followed them and saw their act. Then ran back to carouse the other’s. This was their chance to get inside without being noticed.

~*~*~*~

“Go, go, go,” he hissed as Marcia lightly flicked the reins and got the Lurka and wagon rolling. Some drunk and addled minds watched them pass. They booed and cheer, yet not many seemed to notice the four other wagons charging the now unguarded gate.

The Saracae hopped off of Maypor’s wagon in front of them and began charging forward on foot. Their weapons were drawn, and the sound of their running was drowned out by the creaking rock of the wagons’ wheels.

Then a few of the downed guards on the ground outside of the gate began to stir.

“Deanna,” Jace hissed loudly as the orc-warrior-woman, slowed to keep pace with them. “Take another of your sister’s and incapacitate any who wake up.”

“I will, Master,” Deanna grunted at him and pumped her arms and legs, easily beginning to outpace their slowly rocking wagon.

The first of the wagon’s passed through the open gate. And Jace imagined that the people who had attacked the guards had likely left someone behind to open the passage.

Just after it passed through, Jace saw a short figure scurrying over to climb onto the back of the passing wagon. A moment later the gate began to slowly close. Yet, the second wagons momentum and speed were too fast. The gate lowered just enough that the Lurka passed under, but the driver had to propel himself off of the bench before he was crushed.

Wood and wares exploded like confetti and the wagon split in half as the gate impacted the middle of it. Beyond the gate Jace could see the Lurka still running, pulling half a cart behind it.

“Slow down,” he commanded Marcia. The third wagon skidded to a halt as three men jumped off and sprinted to the lowered gate.

The other men on the third wagon, pulled clubs and snarled at the fourth wagon, which was Maypors pulled up. Their snarls quickly evaporated as eleven Saracae warrior’s exploded out in front them. Each bearing their meaner looking weapons.

Amadis called out in orcish from where she sat next to Maypor. Behind the men and the third wagon, the gate slowly rose a few feet up. The bottom portion of the gate seemed to be made of with a weighted metal bar. The anchor of which was propped on the shoulders of three men as they tried to lift it.

“Pull us alongside, May,” Jace whispered to Marcia. The older fox-kin woman nodded and pulled to the left on the reins. The Lurka slowly changing its forward course.

“Put down your weapons,” Jace ordered the men, who still fearfully clung to their feeble-looking clubs.

“Who the fuck are you?” one the men spat, seeming emboldened.

“I’m just like you. I know the real terror is behind us. And inside is the only way to escape it,” Jace said, thumbing back over his shoulder, then nodding towards the high grey walls.

“Oh? You don’t seem like us. You and all these women,” the dumb man sneer at them.

“Seriously,” Jace whispered, and resisted the urge to facepalm. “Look,” he held out his hands, “we don’t want to fight—honestly it would just be inconvenient and make a mess at this point—so why don’t we work together and then everyone can go through.” Jace smiled good naturedly as he suggested this.

The man looked over his shoulder, saw that the gate was still being lifted and grunted in derision. “Fine,” the man spat, “but if you fucking try anything,” he lifted his club. He seemed to forget the eleven orc women between him and Jace. “I’ll fucking kill your women.”

Jace tilted his head downwards, he did not like people threatening what was his. “Fine,” his answered coolly. His eyes flicked to Amadis and she spat a command in orcish. I really need to learn their language. They’re learning Kingdom after all. It’ll only be fair and good sense.

His attention came back to the man who’d stupidly threatened him. “What’s your name?” Jace called out.

The man barely flicked his eyes to him, and didn’t answer. Instead the man watched as two of Jace’s Saracae guard ran passed them for the gate.

His men leering after them. Jace sighed disappointedly at this. Times of disaster tended to bring the worse out in people. He’d seen the folks of Trager village, welcoming though secluded. The distrustful and racist people of Pessel, though it hadn’t been everyone there. And considered what had happened to them recently he didn’t blame them.

Just their misguided suspicion’s.

Then there were these assholes. If the refugee camp was filled with people like this, Jace didn’t want to be there for long.

The three men holding the gate gawked in surprise as the two Saracae easily began to lift the gate up high. Then they stepped away and ran back.

“Athena, hon. Pass me my new bow and a single arrow please,” Jace said and held his hand behind his back. The three men came back and jumped on the third wagon. The man who’d threatened Jace and his women, grinned and spat on the ground.

His bow slapped into the center of his palm and Jace passed it onto his other hand, then came the arrow. Standing up, Jace nocked the arrow, drew the string taut against his cheek, and let out a breath.

The man hands moved to flick the reins on his Lurka, and at that moment Jace loosed. The bow twanged in his grip and the arrow flew through the air. It penetrated through the back of the man’s throat.

The reins fell from his grip and Jace threw his bow into the back of their wagon. The man fumbled at his throat as he stumbled and pawed at the arrow protruding from his neck.

His eyes were wide and crazed, “let’s go,” Jace prompted Marcia softly, tapping her elbow. He got them moving. Driving pass the third wagon, Jace waved to them joyfully. “So kind of you to let us pass. Be sure to stop by for some lemonade and cupcakes tomorrow morning. I’m sure it’ll mend that bothersome tickle you’ve got in the back of your throat.”

With that Jace and his wives, followed by Maypor and the Saracae passed through and into the refugee camp. His Saracae warriors holding the gate immediately dropped it after Deanna and Sera ducked underneath to join them.

“Are you sure that was wise, handsome?” Joanna asked him.

“No one threatens any of you without repercussion. Mark me on that, Jo. We’ve lost too much to let some idiot think he can threaten us.”

Jace then cleared his throat as their drive slowed down. “Now, how about to finding somewhere to bed down for the night. And in the morning we’ll see what the camp is like in the light of day.”

“I don’t want to stay in this place for long, my love,” Athena said from the back. She had been wide eyed and quiet after he’d woken them all up.

“And we won’t be,” Jace assured her. “But we need to scope out everything before we move on.”

“The wanted posters,” Joanna muttered.

“This supposed ‘summoned’ prisoner, Lord Dakic has,” Marcia continued.

“Finding someone we can trust to help us,” Athena said softly, light from the torch lamps dangling from hooks planted into the hastily build shacks, alighted the thin white scars on her face.

“All of that and more,” Jace agreed with a head nod. “Along with learning more magic. Building our reputation. Finding out if the nobles in the town would be kind to Marcia returning. As well as evading Lord Dakic. Finding some way to conceal the Saracae … I can go on,” he sighed.

Hand massaged at his shoulders, “we also need to prepare for the wretches when they do come. Because they will, handsome. We should also looked into the history of Trager Forest. Maybe there is something within the forest that the Dweller’s indeed want,” Joanna murmured as her slender fingers worked at his shoulders and the back of his neck.

They had about ten more months of this cycle left. He doubted that it would all simply end after the year was up. He needed to know what the Fifty-One betrayers of scale and balance really were. Why they did what they did, and if there was any truth to it.

His mind harkened back to the small room, the terrified and confused look’s everyone held. There had been fighter’s amongst them, and a lot of the Fifty-Two hadn’t fallen easily. Even Jace had contributed to a few of them dying.

A large majority of those that had been present in that room had simply been scared out of their minds.

But in that mad place it was all or nothing. And he had been lucky to escape at all. If any were still alive, he sincerely wished that they’d found some safety and security wherever they were.

Because in the end more of them may just be needed.

This novel is the work of Rhys Thomas. If you are reading this and it has not been published by Rhys Thomas, then this work has been stolen. Please report this to Amazon and me at email: [email protected]