Chapter 13

Rohav scowled. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he said. “You should have been focusing on your work here, but instead you’ve been playing around and exhausting yourself. It’ll take weeks until you’re fully recovered.”

“I’ve been careful,” Leena protested. “I haven’t gone into drain shock since the fight with the dragon.”

“It has nothing to do with drain shock—it’s fatigue. You’ve been Traveling constantly, day in and day out, without any break. What other mage besides a Traveler uses their magic so frequently? Perhaps a healing priest. Why do you think the empress’s cadre only works four months out of the year, in two-month shifts? But you didn’t even make it a month and a half. You wasted too much of your strength on other things outside your duties.”

“The empress authorized Leena’s work in the north,” Pavan said, coming to her defense. He’d already been at the camp when she arrived.

Rohav snorted. “If you think she’s only doing what the empress authorized, you haven’t been paying attention.”

Leena rubbed her temples. “I’m not in the mood to argue with you,” she said. “Just tell me what it means.”

“To start with, we’ll have to rotate you out of your duties with the Travelers’ Posts. That’ll leave us down another person.”

“She’s not responsible for the fact that we’re short-handed,” Pavan said. “Satyana offered to come back if we need her. She’s the only one who isn’t already in the rotation who’s strong enough to take over Leena’s workload.”

“Well, that helps, I guess,” Rohav admitted.

“How long until I can Travel again?” Leena asked.

“A few days to be safe,” Pavan said, “but you’ll need to take it easy for longer than that. No shifts with the Posts for at least two months.”

“What about everything else I’m doing?”

“How much effort does it take?”

Leena had to think about it. The things she did for her friends required more strength, but she made far more individual trips as part of her work with the Travelers’ Posts.

“About the same as what I’ve been doing down here, I think,” she said.

“That’s too much. No one stops Traveling completely during their breaks, but you need time to recover.”

“I was supposed to be expanding our network.”

“It can wait,” Rohav said.

“And you may not have to do it all yourself,” Pavan added. “The Seers believe the wizard Yelena is on her way here, though she’s warded too strongly for anyone to track. We do know for certain that she’s left Tyrsall.”

“You told the Seers about her?” Leena said. From what the others had told her, Yelena was very secretive about the wardens. Leena hadn’t intended for that information to go beyond Empress Shereen and the senior Travelers.

“Only that we’re interested in her arrival, not why. But while you’re here, the empress would like to speak to you about how best to approach her. That’s why I came here today.”

“Am I allowed to Travel to the palace?”

“I’ll take you,” Pavan said. “Tomorrow morning?”

Leena shrugged. “I don’t know what I can tell her, but if she asked for me, I’ll go.”

The conversation turned then to administrative matters for the Travelers’ Posts, so Leena wandered outside the tent and found Udit waiting for her, using a stick to draw figures in the dirt. She sat down next to him and gave him a little smile.

“Why is Uncle Rohav so mad?” her brother asked.

“Because I wasn’t very careful when I was Traveling,” Leena said. “I got too tired and ended up going to the wrong place—like the time I fell in the ocean and the fisherman had to rescue me. Do you remember that story? You’ll have to be careful too, once you start Traveling.”

Udit thought about that for a moment, then said, “Are you in trouble?”

Leena chuckled. “Maybe a little bit. I’m not going to be able to come here every day the way I have been. How would you like to move up north with me, at least for a while?”

“You promised we could move back to Matihar.”

“Someday, I hope, but not yet. You can stay with me, though—and once you’re a Traveler, you’ll be able to live anywhere you want.”

“You’re a Traveler. Why can’t you live anywhere you want?”

“Do you remember the bad men? I can’t come back until we figure out what to do with them. Plus, Ellerie lives up north and I want to be with her.”

Udit frowned. He didn’t like Ellerie, probably due to the tales told in Sanvar about elves stealing people away.

“Do I have to go?” he said.

“If you really want to stay here, you can, but if you come with me, you could see the fortress and meet my new friends.”

“Like the lady who flies?”

“Yes. Sarette’s not there at the moment, but she’ll be back soon. And there are other boys your age, so you could make new friends. Harri’s just a year older than you—he takes care of our horses.”

That perked his interest. “Horses?”

“Do you want me to teach you how to ride? I have my own horse now.”

He wavered, as if not wanting to admit she’d convinced him, but she had one more card left to play.

“Grandmother still won’t let you have a dog, right?”

Sarette darted through the clouds, unable to keep from smiling despite the rain dripping down her hair and face. Vartus was right—she did need to spend more time flying.

Her first day out of Snow Crown she’d gone two hundred miles, following an early thunderstorm south along the mountains. After that, she’d headed headed west, but the second day had dawned bright and clear and she’d only managed forty miles, struggling to stay airborne for more than five miles at a stretch. She’d ended the day exhausted, and hadn’t been able to find a village inn anywhere near her stopping point, sleeping in a thin bedroll with just a lean-to for shelter. With no horse or mule to carry her load, she hadn’t been able to bring real camping gear.

She’d thought the rough accommodations would make it difficult to recover, but the heavy rainstorm that rolled in overnight had reinvigorated her. She’d gone over a hundred miles for the morning already and didn’t feel tired at all.

It wasn’t entirely pleasant—her clothing was completely drenched and would require hours to dry—but that was just part of life for a stormrunner. At least her silversteel mail wouldn’t rust. Rusting armor was a constant problem not just among the stormrunners but for the High Guard as well. Once Ellerie had time to start producing objects made from silversteel, Sarette thought she might recommend to the Council that they become her first customer. The fact that the armor was half the weight of her old mail, allowing her to fly more easily, was almost secondary.

She swooped up to the highest level of clouds, then back down again, testing the boundaries within which she could remain aloft without expending any of her own energy.

As she flew, she caught sight of movement below, but from her elevation it was hard to tell what was going on through the haze of the clouds. She pulled in enough to charge to remain in the sky, then dipped down for a better view.

There was a large group of wagons below, attempting to circle up in a defensive position. Another group was rushing at them on foot.

Was it an attack? Raiders assaulting a caravan of some sort?

What should she do? Anyone who’d be traveling in the north was warned not to get involved with the plainsmen’s internal disputes. Control of the different regions changed hands frequently, and the feuds could last for centuries. Outsiders had no way of knowing what was truly going on.

Four of the attackers—bandits?—were standing back from the fray with crossbows in their grips, loosing bolts when they had a clear shot. It was a poor strategical use of the crossbowmen, but they’d still be dangerous. Other attackers had reached the wagons, and the two groups met with the clash of weapons. That meant the wagons had their own armsmen, at least. Guards, perhaps.

If it was a caravan, there was a good chance these weren’t locals at all. They could be foreign traders passing through. And whether they were outsiders or not, they were unlikely to be the aggressors in this fight—the slow wagons wouldn’t have allowed them to chase down a group on foot.

Her decision made for her, Sarette gathered as much power as she could and plunged straight down, aiming for a spot halfway between the melee and the crossbowmen. Crackling blue and white streamers of lightning magic gathered around her, and just as she landed, she called down a lightning bolt on herself. It fully charged her weapon, and the sharp crack of thunder stunned everyone into silence. The nearest mule team, startled by the noise, took off running, dragging its heavy wagon behind it without a driver.

Sarette took the moment of surprise to pull heavy winds out of nowhere, whipping them at chaotic angles around the crossbowmen. The wind flung pebbles and spatters of mud up from the wet ground to pelt the attackers’ heads, forcing them to shield their eyes. She wouldn’t kill them—not without more information—but she had to eliminate the biggest threat.

“Storm witch!” one of the caravan’s defenders cried out, dropping his weapon and fleeing. Sarette hadn’t intended to frighten the guards, but at least the attackers began to scatter as well. Those who were part of the fray took off in all different directions, but the crossbowmen backed away as a group, still trying to protect their faces. One managed to point his weapon in Sarette’s direction, and he was close enough she wasn’t certain whether her windstorm would carry the bolt off course in time. Not bothering with a spell, she simply released the charge she’d been building up in her body, lightning streaking from her fingertips to his face. He fell where he stood. The other three turned and ran, two of them dropping their crossbows as they fled.

Sarette checked on the defenders, only to find them edging away from her as well—though after seeing her strike down one of their enemies, no one else seemed inclined to run away. She held her staff-spear out to the side to indicate she wasn’t attacking, but she didn’t discharge it just yet. She’d wait until she was certain what was going on.

“Steady on! Steady on!” a voice called out. A short, balding man stomped to the front of the crowd. He didn’t carry a weapon, but blood was dripping down his forehead. “Stormrunner,” he said, giving her a wary nod.

“You know what I am?” she asked.

“Met one ‘o your kind before, back when I was young. Didn’t expect to see any stormborn so far from the Heights, though.”

“I’m on my way to Four Roads. My name is Sarette.” She waited, still tense, hoping to hear something to indicate she’d chosen the right side.

“Garus. Caravan master with Overland Holdings. We’re hauling a load of ingots from Ironholt.” He glanced at the attackers fleeing in the distance. “Guess these fellas found out about it.”

Corec had mentioned Overland before—it was a real trading company. Sarette allowed herself to relax. With the danger seeming to have passed, it occurred to her that she’d forgotten her earlier worries about whether she’d be able to fight again. Not that it had been much of a battle, but when it had come down to it, facing this foe had allowed her to ignore the incident with the dragon. Maybe that was the answer—focus on what was happening in the moment rather than worrying about what might happen in the future.

One of the guards stood up from where he’d been attending a comrade. “We lost Raffe,” he reported. “And Dom needs a healer. He can’t ride. Leren’s got a nasty slice on his sword arm. The others can get by.”

Garus stared at the fallen man. “We’ll take Raffe with us. Not gonna leave him here for the crows. Make some room for him and Dom on the wagons.” He shook his head. “I suppose I should thank you, Miss. Don’t know if we could have handled them on our own.”

“They’ll be back,” another fellow said. “And now we’re down three fighters.”

“I passed over a big town about seven miles east,” Sarette said. “There may be some guards for hire.”