Tythonnia smiled and searched for Ladonna. To her surprise, Ladonna sat there quietly with a small group of women. They gossiped and chatted, and Ladonna focused on her work, matching cloth from the scraps pile that best fit the clothing they were trying to mend. Her fingers flew, the needle flashing occasionally in the light.
Satisfied they were all fitting well into their roles, Tythonnia continued cleaning out the hares and shooing away a persistent Khurrish hunting dog that eyed the set-aside entrails hungrily. Finally, exasperated, she tossed the dog a bit of liver and watched it tear into its meal. The cook, a dwarf named Snowbeard with a facial mane to live up to his moniker, frowned at her. She smiled back and almost laughed when he began muttering to himself.
She was happy here; she’d spent too long with her head in books.
The evening unfurled its starry sky over the plains, leaving the cooking pit and a half dozen fires to light the camp. All the people in the camp received a modest portion for their meals, not enough to send them to bed hungry but enough to remind them that they lived lean.
Tythonnia, Ladonna, and Par-Salian sat together near the fire pit, the unofficial gathering spot for the camp, while a trickster performed sleight of hand for the children. With the meal completed, the families wandered away to tuck the little ones in, and many moved off to sleep themselves. That left the twenty or so sorcerers to finally indulge in their most passionate of pursuits: discussions of magic. The night always seemed like the perfect time to pursue such matters. It was the first time the three companions felt comfortable enough to stay.
They listened quietly as the sorcerers spoke of spells and the arcane. Many couldn’t escape their training and their need for the formulized and structured arts; Wyldling magic seemed to have no form and few global rules. The Vagros, however, explained how Wyldling magic was personal, and its exploration was, in effect, an exploration of the individual.
From there, the sorcerers went on to discuss different theories about the craft, some of which drew a quiet sigh from Par-Salian or the flash of an unintentional sneer from Ladonna. Tythonnia listened carefully, however, for the experiences of the men and women present closely mirrored her own. When the conversation turned to include someone seated on the periphery of the circle, only then did Tythonnia notice the mousy woman with the black armband.
“What about you?” Shasee asked the girl. “Mariyah, isn’t it?”
She nodded and smiled sweetly, and Tythonnia found herself smiling along with her.
“What about me?” Mariyah asked. “I’m afraid all my theories come from the Wizards of High Sorcery.”
A few people inhaled softly while others nodded, and Tythonnia suddenly realized the fear that many present bore toward the wizards. Ladonna and Par-Salian, however, became more attentive. Here was one of them, trained as they were, but a true renegade.
“Did you take the test?” Tythonnia asked.
“No,” Mariyah admitted. “Did you?”
Tythonnia nodded.
“Unscathed?”
At that, Tythonnia had to shrug. Unscathed held no meaning anymore. Everyone was quiet, listening to them speak. To some, she was the enemy, repentant perhaps, in their midst. That was as close as any of them wanted to be. For the others, she was a familiar face in whom they hoped to find affirmation of why they had left the orders.
“That’s what I don’t want hanging around my neck for the rest of my life,” Mariyah said.
“What?” Tythonnia asked.
“That haunted look many wizards carry. The look that says forever shall they suffer.”
Tythonnia could see Ladonna trying not to squirm as she sat there. She wanted to jump into the conversation and debate with Mariyah. She wanted to argue, but she couldn’t, not without revealing herself as a spy. Tythonnia decided to change the subject.
“Are you in mourning?” Tythonnia asked, pointing to her black armband.
“No,” Mariyah said. “In some cultures, black is the color of celebration. It’s the hem of my robe. I’m celebrating my freedom from the orders.”
At that, Ladonna stood suddenly. Both Par-Salian and Tythonnia felt the sheer panic rise into their throats.
“Time for sleep, I think,” Ladonna said, excusing herself.
“You disagree with what she said?” Shasee asked.
Ladonna’s customary grin inched out across her face, and Tythonnia cringed at what might come next.
“Disagree?” Ladonna asked. “Yes … with every single one of you in fact. You’re fools. One and all- fools.”
Tythonnia almost groaned, and even Par-Salian seemed too stunned to move. Any moment, Ladonna would reveal herself as a spy and get them all lynched. Any moment, they’d be fighting for their lives and losing. Two sorcerers jumped to their feet, ready for action. Others shifted position where they sat, their pouches in easier reach. It was Shasee, however, who rose and stepped between Ladonna and the others. His voice was steady, his smile unwavering and casual in a way that suggested he could end the argument easily.
“She misspoke, isn’t that right?” he asked Ladonna over his shoulder. He made it sound like a warning.
Ladonna, however, continued undeterred. “I spoke clearly enough, hmm? You’re angry with the orders for not sharing their power with you, but why should they when they argue and bicker over it as well? Take what you want! Nobody’s going to give it to you. Magic is struggle; to treat it otherwise is to underestimate it.”
“If you feel that way,” Mariyah said, “then why did you ever leave?” She wasn’t afraid of anything, it seemed, certainly not a confrontation with Ladonna.
“Because,” Ladonna said, “the Order of the Black Robes underestimated me. They’re jealous of my skill, so they use my beauty against me. They refuse to treat me seriously? So be it. It’s at their peril, and I’ll make them pay. But I won’t do it around a campfire, pining for a better world where we can all live like brothers and sisters. We are rivals with a common purpose. That doesn’t make us friends. That makes us convenient.” With that, Ladonna stormed away, leaving Tythonnia and Par-Salian to deal with the angry crowd.
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” Par-Salian said as he stood. “She’s been having a difficult time of late. I’m … going to check on her. Tythonnia?”
“I’m staying. The conversation’s interesting,” she said, glancing around at the others. Everyone seemed upset or indifferent except for Mariyah and Shasee. The two men who had stood remained standing.
Par-Salian backed away awkwardly and left the fireside quickly. Everyone was quiet a moment, most of them angry or shocked.
“She’s harsh sometimes,” Tythonnia said, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. “If she hadn’t left the order, they would have kicked her out, I’m sure.”
A few others nodded absently. Tythonnia slowly realized she was no longer welcome there either. She stood to leave and offered a nod to Shasee when a voice startled her.
“Leaving already?”
The others stood, their angry expressions gone instantly and replaced with humble glances to Berthal. The gray-robed sorcerer entered the lit circle, holding a braided staff with two dragon heads facing one another. A few practitioners muttered his name almost reverently.
“I’m afraid so,” Tythonnia said. “It’s been a long day.”
“And this would have nothing to do with Ladonna’s outburst?” he asked.
“You heard …?” Tythonnia asked, blushing.
Berthal sat on the ground and motioned for the others to sit. When Tythonnia hesitated, he gently grabbed her hand between his large fingers.
“Sit. Please?” he asked.
Tythonnia hesitated and looked to the others, but nobody was about to disagree with Berthal. Finally, she obeyed.
“We can’t save everyone,” Berthal said. “In fact, you’re not responsible for saving everyone.”
“I know,” Tythonnia said, “but she’s our companion-”
“But is she your
