“Magpie! Sneaking around like a Rift-born bastard!” Marek complained, cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Can’t you at least warn me next time?”

“Thought you’d be snoring,” Mags replied with a shrug. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’re so clueless. A blasted golemite could have snuck up on you.”

Mags strutted up with a mocking smile, then reached out to pinch his cheek. “Aww, I didn’t mean to make the lady blush.”

He scowled her way. “I ain’t blushing, Mags, and I’m not a lady. Quit heckling me.”

“Sure sounded like one,” Mags replied with a wink.

“Probably,” Marek admitted with a groan. “A man’s liable to make such noises when his soul leaves his body. Anyway… did you at least make good use of your time? Or was this all a ploy to hear me shriek?”

The woman turned, exposing three skinned hares dangling from a stick over her shoulder. “Of course, my love! Caught us lunch and dinner both. You’re welcome.”

Marek nodded, already returning to pragmatism. He never had been able to match Mags’ hunger for conflict. “Good. Well, once I snuff the fire again, we’ll be ready to go. Packed the rest up while you were gone.”

Mags tilted her head to one side in mock astonishment. “Wow, you packed your bag and put out the fire. Well done, Mr. Sigilist. How would I survive without you?”

Marek was incapable of throwing a quip back her way. He was still too giddy with the thrill of achievement to hold back. “Mr. Sigilist is an appropriate title. I appreciate you giving it to me. While you were murdering these innocent creatures, I was busy with my craft.” Dropping the sarcasm, Marek gripped his friend by the shoulder and pulled her close. “Mags, I reached Level 10! I’m a Novice Sigilist!”

Her jaw crashed down like a drawbridge. “No way. You are teasing me, aren’t you?”

Marek cackled like a madman. “I’d never joke about Classes—not with you,” he said earnestly. “I’ve been busy. Packed up, read a little of a book Rauld gave me, then found a patch of medicinal herbs. I harvested some and came up with a solid query, and bam, I hit Level 10!”

“Damn,” Mags said, eying the three rabbits again. “And I thought I’d be the one surprising you.”

“That’s not all! Look! Look what I made with my new Skill!”

She took the offered staff, brows knit. Frowning, she shrugged. “Explain it. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marek sighed. “Yeah, it’s a subtle thing. I enchanted my staff so that anyone walking with it has a slight increase to stamina. It’ll help me march further each day.”

“Impressive. Maybe if you craft ten of them, you’ll be able to keep up with me.”

He yanked the staff away and shoved the woman. “Don’t be an ass. It’ll help you too. I figure one of us rides, the other walks. The one who’s walking gets the stick.”

Mags chewed her lip and eyed the staff sidelong. “If you say it works, I’ll believe you. Good work, Novice,” she said, eyes twinkling. “You ready to go, then?”

After coaxing Lydia with a sweet, the two adventurers got moving. The road was their own, and few travelers were spotted heading in either direction. Despite a sense of safety that pervaded the day, both kept an eye out. Any time riders were heard, they found cover on the side of the road. The Casterans had been on foot in Misthearth, but both Mags and Marek thought it more than likely the hunters had only been keeping their mounts on the outskirts of town.

An hour passed in pleasant silence. Marek’s guilt for riding Lydia gnawed at him, yet he didn’t have the heart to tell Mags about his increased Attributes and recovering body. She’d welcome the good news as she always did. His friend had a sore spot for Classes, though, and he hated to see that spurned look in her eye when the topic arose. Avoiding it all wouldn’t help in the long run, yet Marek knew it to be both inevitable and necessary. He only wanted to wait for the right time. Gods, but I haven’t even told her about my new Class! I have to do it soon. Tonight, when we break camp. That way she can have space to adjust to everything if she needs it.

Hopping down from Lydia, he decided to mollify his guilt. “Why don’t you ride for a bit? I’m not that tired anymore, and I need to stretch my legs.”

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Mags frowned, eying him suspiciously. “Oh, yeah? Feeling perky?”

He shrugged.

“Marek, when I left the camp this morning you looked like you’d been stung by a cull snail. Something’s going on with you, isn’t there? What’s the deal, Bones?”

Marek shifted from one foot to the other. Knowing it was likely pointless, he hedged. “I’ll tell you tonight. I’ve… changed in a few ways, and there are a few things you should know about this journey of ours. Seems best if we wait, though, and focus on traveling while we have daylight.”

Mags crossed her arms, obviously unconvinced. “No, I think not. I’ve waited long enough. It’s past due you told me exactly what in the Rift is going on here. One moment I’m at home practicing archery, another and Rauld’s in my head telling me soldiers from another kingdom are after you! I buy it we haven’t had much time since—it’s been a damned foot race these last three days—but from where I’m standing, looks like we have all the time in the world. Come on, Marek. Spit it out.”

“It has to do with my father.”

“Told me that already!” Mags snapped. “Spit it out, Theeras. Since when do you have the guts to hit a man with a cudgel? Why do you seem stronger than ever after three days of hard travel? And what’s the deal with that ring you keep spinning around your finger?”

Marek sighed. As much as he wanted to delay, she was right. “Fine, but do you promise not to get mad?”

“No! Only a fool would promise that!” Her retort was delivered with vigor, yet the corner of her mouth betrayed her good humor, lifting to reveal the echo of a smile.

Marek nodded to Lydia. “Get on and I’ll tell you everything, start to finish.”

Mags rolled her eyes, but she did as he suggested. When she’d mounted, she tapped the mule’s ribs with her heels and shot a glance his way.

Knowing the strange occurrence at the wall would undoubtedly be hard to swallow, Marek began with the story of his father and Mirrin in their youth. He told her every detail he could recall, even adding in a few of the bits and pieces he’d gathered from his uncle over the years. By the time he told Mags about the destruction of Tolencia, her expression had shifted dramatically.

“Damn, Marek, but that’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Mags was a good friend. She had a way of saying what needed to be said without coming across as patronizing or belaboring the point.

Marek nodded and moved on to the rest.

Fifteen minutes later, Mags stopped dead in her tracks and faced him. “That’s it, then, huh? All this”—she gestured at the road, the mule, and the both of them—“it’s about you gaining some fancy secondary Class?”

“It’s technically my primary Class now, but yes, that’s the short of it.”

The woman turned Lydia sharply, guiding the beast with her heel. Leading the creature to the edge of the road to graze, Mags slumped in the saddle, back facing Marek. He watched her tense shoulders rise and fall. She was doing her best to put everything into perspective, and Principalities, he knew it was a lot to digest. Briefly, he considered going to her, but compared to Mags, Marek was awkward in such situations. He’d likely make things worse. Still, after a few minutes of tension, he decided to try anyhow.

That was when the young woman threw back her head and laughed. Bitterness and amusement blended perfectly as she let it all out. She twisted in the saddle to face him, right hand resting on the pommel of her brother’s shortsword. “Praise Restraint, Marek! Who even gets two Classes? If it wasn’t for the fact one was trying to kill you, I’d kick your scrawny ass!”

She laughed again until a few tears spilled down her cheeks. He joined her, and when the fit had passed, she wiped her face and sighed. “Okay, so is that it, then?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, thrown completely off guard by the question.

“I mean, how much do we know about how to fix this? How do you make this fancy staff, and where do we find the ironwood tree? And hells, how’d the Casterans know where to find you in the first place?”

Marek shook his head, wishing he could give her better answers. Humoring his friend, he replied in order. “Don’t know. Somewhere in the Shirgrim Mountains, probably high up and hard to get to, and… don’t know.”

Mags clearly wasn’t satisfied. She shot a half-dozen more questions his way, and when it became clear his ignorance was as great as her own, she relented.

“I do have books,” he said to lend some hope. “Rauld sent a big stack with me, which is what this ring’s for. It’s an Archivist’s Ring—not a normal storage ring like I’d hoped, but one specifically for holding items and materials useful for that profession.”

“Okay, then,” Mags said. “Give me one of the books and I’ll read it while I ride. Might as well put in some miles. If you gained three points in Constitution since we left Misthearth, it’s time you act like it.”

Marek removed the same volume he’d been reading and handed it to Mags. “Here you are, my lady.”

She snorted, taking the book and kicking Lydia in the ribs. “I’m not a lady,” she said, smirking over her shoulder.

Lydia didn’t enjoy her rider’s enthusiasm, and rather than speed up, she dug in her hooves and stopped so abruptly that Mags’ butt lifted off the saddle before slamming down again. She squawked indelicately, then immediately began pretending nothing had happened.

Marek laughed. “Sure sounded like one,” he said, delighted that fate had brought them back to the same juncture once more.

She snickered, her pale face a deep crimson. Too flustered to come up with a witty reply, his friend left him standing in the road after coaxing the stubborn mule with a gentler prod of her heels.

He watched her for a little while, smiling fondly. Then he fell into a slow jog. Enchanted staff in hand, Marek’s legs warmed up as he grew accustomed to the pace. Soon, they crested a hill and descended into a wide valley. Wildflowers cropped up on all sides, and river swallows trilled in the branches of a nearby grove of ash trees.

With the sun warming his face, a best friend riding beside him, Marek had no choice but to enjoy the moment.

Filling his lungs deeply, he thought, Who knew traveling was so enjoyable?