Even after running out of tears, it still took Belili quite a while to gather enough will to get back to her feet.

I failed. Master Jas’ar had given her a task – a challenge – and she had been unable to complete it. He will judge me as unworthy and that will be the end. I will never learn what my dream meant. Or about magic. It felt like something had slipped forever out of reach.

But what could she have done? Confronted with the goddess’s anger she had thrown herself to the ground. It had come easy. A reflex instilled in her all her life. Lower your head, apologize, and hope for your better’s mercy. The mercy hadn’t come from Insu but the master’s power protecting her. Will he regret, making the effort when he learns of my failure?

There was no sense in postponing the inevitable. Clutching the magus’ staff to her chest, Belili rose and began the long walk back.

The dust had mixed with her tears and caked to her skin. She felt dirty but ignored it. Her shoulders slumped, and she slowly trotted back to the camp. With every step, she could feel her worries being pushed aside by fatigue. Her last night had been cut short by her dream of master Jas’ar and she had been on her feet ever since.

Did I even eat yesterday? The question stayed unanswered as she realized she was too tired to think about it. The only thing she wanted was to crawl under her blanket and leave her consciousness behind for a couple hours of sleep before she had to face the magus.

With her eyes growing heavier it didn’t take long for her foot to hit a rock. Stumbling forward a couple of steps she only just managed not to fall. Serves you right, she thought, feeling the pain radiating from her toes.

Then she heard the cries.

Still, too far away, she couldn’t make out any details of the camp. Only the outlines of the trees stood out against the darkness.

A louder cry – this time a woman’s – ripped through the night.

Saras! A cold hand touched Belili’s heart and she began to run. She knew her brother. If somebody is attacking the camp, he will run immediately toward the danger, she thought. I must find him!

Coming closer black shadows moving back and forth between the trees became visible. Panicked shouting accompanied them.

Belili was still several hundred paces away when her site started to hurt. Then the butt of the staff hit something in the darkness off-balancing her. She stumbled a couple of steps and finally tripped.

The ground was hard, with rocks of all sizes lying around everywhere. Letting go of the staff in time, Belili managed to catch herself but took away more scratches on her palms and knees. Gritting her teeth she pushed herself up and began to search for the long piece of wood.

When her hand closed around the grain, a realization struck her. I have master Jas’ar’s staff. Can he use magic without it? He definitely wouldn’t be able to move without support.

Renewed shouting from the trees ahead made her turn. She remembered the warriors that had come to the estate. If men like them were attacking, her people stood no chance. Belili didn’t know anything about fighting but she had seen the weapons these Epi-khmet carried. Old Motar and his two boys swinging their clubs would never be able to stop them.

Only the magus can protect us, she thought. But he cannot even walk. Making her choice, she turned away from the camp and ran in the direction of the lonely fireplace.

It was hard. In her mind, she saw Saras being cut down by Epi-khmet warriors in a dozen different ways. But she knew she had no way to save him herself. The only thing she could do was to bring somebody who could.

Again, she ran. While her knees and hands pulsed, the involuntary pause of her fall had given her heart a tiny rest. It was just enough for the stabbing in her side to fade a bit. Knowing it would return soon, Belili forced herself to slow down to a jog. The fear for her brother drove her forward but she could feel that her body was close to failing her.

When she reached the area between the two campsites the shouting had calmed down. Trying not to think about what that could mean, she focused on what was in front of her. This was when she noticed a dark figure ahead.

She came to a halt and crouched down. In the darkness, the distance was too large to see who it was. If it was an enemy, she would have to somehow sneak around him. That would take time, though. The ground in front of her was mostly flat with only a handful of obstacles here and there. One was the rock the magus had selected for his camp. Another was the mudbrick ruin closer to the oasis.

The figure was coming closer, not heading directly for Belili but crossing her path, moving slowly toward the campsite. A sliver of hope appeared in Belili’s chest. The figure came from the magus’ campsite. It had to be Master Jas’ar somehow making his way over to help.

She began to run again. Less than fifty paces away, she waved, trying to catch the magus’ attention. She didn’t dare to call out to him in the darkness.

The figure stopped. Did he see me? She thought.

At about thirty paces master Jas’ar suddenly called out. “I know you are there!”

Belili frowned. Did he think she was an enemy?

“Master, it’s…”

She never got to finish the sentence, as a shadow suddenly appeared in the corner of her eyes. Rising from the ground it tackled her in the side. The staff flew from her hands and she hit the ground. Before she had a chance to grasp what was happening, she was pulled to her feet again, a strong hand closing around her throat.

Right next to her ear, a man’s voice said something in a language she didn’t understand.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

She clawed at the hand holding her throat. This close, she could smell his last meal on his breath.

“Stop it,” the man said, pulling her close. “I break neck.” He tightened his grip until she ceased her resistance.

Standing behind her, Belili couldn’t see her attacker but she recognized the heavy accent with which the charioteer had spoken the Old Tongue.

The man turned, dragging Belili along until she faced the magus. While it was still too dark to see his face, she recognized Master Jas’ar’s tall figure facing them upright.

Her capturer spoke rapidly in his foreign tongue, this time his words clearly directed at the magus.

For a moment silence fell. The magus didn’t answer, didn’t react at all.

Pressed against his body, Belili thought she could feel the Epi-khmet’s agitation. His finger tightened painfully around her throat, making it harder to breathe. While she struggled for air, she was careful not to resist too much. If he became annoyed, the warrior could snap her neck in an instant.

Again, he spoke, his voice growing louder. Raising his arm, he gestured toward the camp.

The magus remained silent, just watching them.

He cannot do anything because of me, Belili thought. I let myself be captured and know they are using me against him. Because of her, he couldn’t help anybody.

She opened her mouth to call out to him. To tell him to go and save the others – to save Saras – but she didn’t. She was too afraid and she didn’t want to be left behind. She didn’t want to die. For a second time that night, tears began to run down her cheeks.

Her view blurred, it took her a moment to notice the movement in the darkness behind the master’s shadowy figure.

“Master,” she croaked, “behind…” Her warning was cut short by fingers digging into her throat.

Half a heartbeat later two shadows rose from the ground and jumped the magus. Starlight reflected on bronze right before the weapons tore through the master’s body.

While she forced out a muffled scream, Belili watched as the tip of a spear emerged from his chest while a sickle sword bit into his shoulder, sinking all the way to his stomach.

Everything froze. Feeling her capturer’s body stiffen, Belili knew that he too was holding his breath.

Then, as if made of smoke dispersed by a light breeze, the magus’ figure came apart. It took less than two heartbeats and it had disappeared leaving only two confused warriors behind. Scarves hid their faces, but their posture reflected Belili’s own shock. Is this how magi die? She thought.

The warrior holding the sickle sword caught himself first, turning his head toward Belili and her capturer. He said something in their foreign tongue.

Her capturer began to respond but stopped after two words, interrupted by a strange sound.

Belili felt a tugging go through his body and something fell to the ground next to her, rolling a couple of paces.

The two warriors in front of her both flinched back, raising their weapons. Before Belili had time to wonder why, her capturer slumped forward putting his full weight on her. They both went down and she was buried under his slack body.

The man was heavy but at least he had released the pressure on her throat, leaving her coughing.

A sudden scream of pain close by let her freeze for a moment but when she realized, the body on top of her wasn’t moving at all, she decided not to stay there. Her first attempt to push the man off her failed, as he was just too heavy. Instead, she had to pull herself out sideways handsbreadth by handsbreadth.

Belili was almost free when the remaining weight was suddenly pulled off her and she felt a hand on her shoulder. She yelped and scrambled away.

“It is me,” somebody said. “It is Saras.”

Recognizing the voice, Belili stopped scooting backward and looked up. Above her truly stood her older brother, his eyes wide in concern.

How? She thought, absentmindedly accepting the extended hand.

Saras pulled her to her feet. “Come…”

It was the only thing he could say before she wrapped her arms around him.

“It is fine,” Saras said. “You are safe.”

He let her be for another couple of heartbeats before he slowly pushed her off. “We must go now. Come.” Caught up in the moment Belili let him lead her by the hand.

Strangely, she felt herself remembered of the time their mother had died. Back then she had been so lonely and afraid, she had cried for hours every night. Saras had stayed with her the whole time. He had been too young himself to have words of comfort for her, but he had held on to her until she fell asleep.

“Master,” Saras said. “I have her. She is unharmed.”

“Good,” a familiar voice said, snapping Belili out of her thoughts. Peering past Saras, she found the magus sitting on a stone, his bandaged leg stretched out to the site.

“How are you, Belili?” he asked, showing her a tired smile.

For a moment she only managed to nod. “…I am fine, master Jas’ar.”

“It is a bad night,” he said. He slightly turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. “You may come out now, healer.”

Belili blinked as the man stuck his head out from behind a rock a couple of paces away. A heartbeat later he hurried over to kneel next to the magus.

“We were fortunate,” Gulan said. “The wound did not open again.”

“You did good work,” the magus said. “But now we must leave. Saras, your sister dropped my staff over there. Fetch it for me, please.”

“Yes, master.” Saras let go of Belili’s hand and hurried to do the magus’ bidding.

Only now, she noticed the sickle sword he was holding in his other hand. Then she saw the bodies. There were two. Besides the man who had caught her, another lay still a couple of paces away. Guided by Saras, she had walked past him without noticing.

“…where is the third?” she asked.

Gulan looked up. “Who?”

“He ran off before your brother could get to him.” The magus pointed in the direction of the main camp.

“Saras did?”

“He will go for help?” Gulan asked.

Saras returned in a jog. “Here is your staff, master.”

“Thank you,” the magus said. “Now, help me up, please. We must leave here now. With a little luck, we can cover enough distance during the night to reach the town before they catch up.”

Leaning heavily on the healer, the old man hobbled around to face in the direction of the road.

“What about the others?” Saras asked, sounding uncertain.

“There is nothing we can do tonight,” Master Jas’ar said without looking back. “They were cleverer than I thought. Instead of coming for me with their full force, they started a commotion in the camp to lure me into a trap.”

“But we beat them,” Saras said eagerly, walking at the master’s other site ready to support him.

“The problem with clever opponents is that they rarely fall for the same trick twice,” the magus said, the discomfort clearly audible in his voice. “You did well tonight, young man. But your enemies could not see you and were distracted. Do not believe yourself ready to challenge experienced warriors when this is not the case.”

Belili walked silently behind the men, her mind still catching up with what just happened. For the second time tonight, she had come close to death. And Saras killed two men!

“…what about the others?” she asked, repeating Saras’ question.

The magus stopped, slowly turning enough to look down at her, leaning heavily on the healer.

“Careful,” Gulan murmured concerned.

“You had a long night,” the magus said. “I am sorry but you cannot rest yet. Once we are safe you can sleep.” He rested his staff against his shoulder and patted Belili’s head. “As long as you stay alive, fate can be challenged. That is what it means to be a magus. We will talk after we are safe and had some time to rest.”

“Yes, master,” she whispered, suddenly feeling the tiredness weighing down on her. The excitement of the day had pushed it aside again and again. Until now. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest yet. Not for hours.

The magus gave her one last encouraging nod before he turned away.

“We could do what Motar did,” Saras said. “One of his boys told me they used a pole to carry you or something. We could use your staff.”

Belili stopped paying attention to their words. The fatigue made her senses foggy and she only focused on putting one foot in front of the other.