The unsettling chill sinking into his chest was more than just the damp evening cold. It was in the lingering fog that wrapped its wispy tendrils around the village’s wooden palisades. It was in the empty silence that dragged across the mossy thatched roofs of the unoccupied dwellings and peered into those rooms from the decomposing windows.

With his palm pressed firmly against the outer walls of the village, Kytes inhaled slowly, drawing fire from his core. Intricate lines and curves formed in his mind's eye, and upon the center of his palm, the same engraving was traced upon his skin. Though a mild discomfort, he ground his teeth out of habit. And yet, his umber eyes did not leave the back of his hand, so focused on the spell he was casting. Even when the front of his dark brown hair fell inconveniently over his straight nose.

Instinct screamed for him to burn the cursed village to the ground, to engulf it and the surrounding woodlands in fire. But he knew better. Flames, even one of holy quality, would do little to pacify the souls ambling aimlessly about the shells of their former homes. Within time, their wandering would cease, and the inhabitants would be fueled with a want to share their untimely demise with others.

And so while these unfortunate spirits were still unaware, Kytes will turn this trading village, with their thatched residences, their stables and barns, the home of craftsmen, into a prison. More of his binding runes had already been scored upon the desolate town's outer walls and at his teacher’s command, Kytes would send his power forth and activate each of the engraved spells. The confinement would last five years before another runic mage, just like him, can come renew the wards. Then in another five years, a renewal once again, and again, a cycle repeated.

A cycle that Kytes and his teacher had been attending to until most recently. Had there been more runic mages, had there been more of the fire affinity, they could have returned home months ago, ending their two week journey that had extended to nearly a year.

But their own far more experienced colleagues were spread thin, in energy, then in numbers. The fact that the King and the two heavenly Sancti had devolved to relying on senior apprentices and their teachers as traveling pairs for reconnaissance meant all was ill.

There were no longer enough runic mages, especially those blessed by the fire nymphs, the Lampades. And the surviving ones needed to be kept alive to continue writing wards.

Such was the case even for Kytes. His teacher, Hollis, made sure he ate and slept, ensured his safety in the wilds. But it was really his sanity that she kept an eye on the most. His other companion was a gray pony that carried their belongings, a feisty reminder about the less morbid things in life.

From behind one of the houses, a woman emerged, an old shovel in hand, her hands streaked with dirt. She was dressed similarly to him, their garbs of equal weathering. Trousers under sturdy boots, practical for traversing mountainous regions. A woolen half cloak, draped from a single shoulder, beginning to unravel at the edges. The cloak’s cords tied at the front and neck had begun to thin and fray. The fine black coat with white lapels indicated the wealth of the Sanctus they served. And while Kytes had maroon embroidery on his, the silver trimmings near the hem of her half cloak revealed she was blessed by the spirits of air called Aurais.

She was silent, stalking toward him, her braided ebony hair swishing aggressively at her back. Then when she nearly crossed the village's borders, Hollis threw the shovel aside. The spade clanged against the ground first, scraping loose gravel in its wake, then the handle toppled over. The last two resounding clamours that would ever be heard within this desolate village's walls.

"It is done. The last is buried." Hollis said, her voice hollow. “You may seal the village.”

Kytes respectfully looked away as she walked past him. Behind her silver half spectacles, he saw the tear that trickled down her chestnut skin. It never got easier, waiting at another victim's bedside. Waiting for people to die. Then being the one to lay their body to rest.

Bracing his fingers once more on the pillar, Kytes envisioned his runes. Every coarse wood engraving, splinters of tinder ready to set to flame. He sent forth a controlled wave of heat, enough to burn through the spiraled grains. Upon the outer walls, his creations ignited into an amber glow. Then each seal darkened, blackened ash wreathing each rune.

"Lampades give you peace before we return," he muttered a prayer, a plea to the fire nymphs he owed his powers to.

The village would remain visible to the naked eye but the runes will keep the ghostly inhabitants within and any living passersby afeared enough to keep their distance.

"Illicit runes."

Kytes flinched.

"They had purchased runes that could fall dozens of trees without having to lift a finger," Hollis continued, her eyes transfixed upon the village. "Fools. The amount of tree nymphs that despaired over such carelessness. It is no wonder the town's been cursed, cursed to Decay!" Her voice rose in volume, shaking with emotion before it softened to a whisper. "But can I truly blame them? They had to fulfill their lord's orders. So the town might be able to survive the winter with coin obtained."

Her young apprentice of nineteen years scowled. "Why did House Is'ven give such an impossible request? It is the noble lord's responsibility to look after his people."

"Perhaps House Is'ven thought that instead of freely giving financial support, to barter a trade of equal value. But now their silly little dining chairs and grand ballroom table will never arrive." Hollis slapped her grimy hands against her trousers. "Come, let's rid of this place."

Kytes lingered for a moment, scanning the thatched huts behind his spelled walls. Would he feel better if he saw a distant curtain flutter, that there was a possibility of a survivor yet? But he knew. He had entered each house, each building, counted the diseased bodies and hauled them onto the pyre himself. The cremation was a week ago, and the recently deceased had been buried behind the village. There was no one left to wave farewell and pray for safe travels.

He tore away from the lonely gravesite and pursued his teacher's retreating figure. Each navigating their own emotions, the pair walked in silence. And only when time had stretched long enough and the woods finally began to thin did Kytes muster the courage to speak.

"Where to now, Master Hollis?"

"Neburh," the woman responded, pulling out a neatly thrice folded parchment from her inner cloak's pocket. The seal on it had long been cracked, its content read several times before. "The county closest to poor Scaidun here and the one his Majesty had wanted the Blue Sanctus to do a proper investigation on since last year. And now there is a real reason for the Sanctus to visit."

When she offered the missive to Kytes, he shook his head. "I remember. Neburh is further south and surrounded by hills. An agricultural county."

"Supposedly the home of our nation's most beautiful orchards, even though it hardly rains there." Hollis returned the parchment to her pocket. "I pray for their sake it's all luck and not because of illicit runes..."

"Or a rogue mage."

Hollis released a tense shrill through her nose. "Indeed."

On the main road, their gray pony waited for them, their much lightened packs all accounted for. On the mount's breast collar hung an iron amulet with the symbol of the Blue Sanctus, the scholarly branch of the two holy churches and the investigators for the King. It was this talisman that kept their pony safe. In part because the charm was spelled to deter unsavory eyes by persuading the mind to move along, the other reason being who would dare incur a mage's wrath.

The pony snorted and drew a cautionary step back when Kytes approached her. He frowned at first, then while reaching for the pony's reina, his eyes fell upon what had caused the pony's distress. Not only were his hands besmirched; his entire garb were streaked in the same gray powdery remains.

"I'll change later, Mouse. Deal with it," he grumbled, reaching for the water flask in his bag.

There was a horrible bitter aftertaste and he was certain he had drunk ash. He would have spat it out, but his traitorous body forced him to guzzle the rest of the flask's content, desperate to quench the aching thirst it suffered. When the last drops hit his tongue, Kytes was finally able to wrench away. That took far more willpower than he expected.

Something bumped into his side and tugged on his coat. He stared at the intruding gray muzzle for a moment then Mouse wickered softly, a nearly sympathetic sound, and his eyes began to burn.

"Kytes --."

"I'm only tired. Nothing more."

Hollis heard the crack and spared him vocal sympathy. An intelligent boy, a prodigy among his peers, who had desired adventure outside of the stuffy Blue Sanctus. He dreamt of putting his runic magic to use, to aid and protect the people. But reality quickened and he learned his ability was best suited for funeral rites and to encage the dead within bindings, an earthly purgatory. Keep the living safe, that was the most he could do. She had seen his boyish aspirations disappear overnight and tire into acceptance.

"Well, if Neburh is indeed prospering as the reports say, a bit of rest for the both of us." Hollis tapped his arm with the flask, encouraging him to drink from it. "We don't need to bring up illicit runes or unlicensed mages upon arrival. We are there merely to warn House Is'et's, Baron Connall, of his neighbor's fate and to help Neburh prepare for the worst. Doing the Blue Sanctus' duty to ensure peace and security on behalf of the king. And if we happen upon the reason for Neburh's luck, we'll confiscate it or them within time and the Sanctus can decide what fine to give him."

Sounds troublesome already, Kytes thought, running a finger against the flask's rim. But that's the Blue Sanctus' job, I suppose.

Multiple illicit runes to ensure great harvests seems far more likely than a singular unlicensed mage. Someone with that caliber of power would have been noticed by either Sancti immediately once the magic was cast. Yet neither Sanctus detected such an invoking.

So how is it that Neburh remained verdant, while its close neighbors fell to ruin?

----------------------------------------

It was still too early for the manor’s kitchen to be filled with its usual hands, but it should have at least been of mild temperature.

The hearth's rune must be broken!

The moment Alyce threw open the door, cold air seeped into her body and she desired nothing more than to stay in the only slightly warmer hallway. Instinctively, she searched her skirts for her warming stone and her fingers closed around a flat speckled rock the size of her palm. The engraved rune at the center was dark. With a defeated sigh, she dropped it back into her pocket.

Dawn’s light had yet to reach the windows but the painted white brick walls had begun to turn a shadowy blue. On the opposite wall from where Alyce stood was the fireplace; spacious and tall enough for a person to walk within. And in it, the coals remained dark.

Her wooden pattens clicking against the flagstone floor, Alyce scuttled around the kitchen's perimeter and hastened to inspect the fireplace. Her nose was greeted by rosemary and thyme, the dried stalks hanging across the length of the kitchen in several rows. These herbal notes brought some consolation against the kitchen's chill, invigorating Alyce's spirit to tend to the hearth faster.

She swept her auburn hair over a shoulder and peered at the engraved marking on the fireplace’s brick pillars. Her slender nose wrinkled. Despite knowing enough letters to read and write some, she could not make sense of the sigil's notching and scores. Each symbol had a purpose, melded into an intricate rune to bind the fire within its firebox while it burned for days. She brushed a finger over the trunk of the stave, her blue gray eyes lit with determination.

"Ignite!"

The hearth remained as it was and she hastily withdrew a hand to mask her foolish attempt. Only a fire mage could restore power to a hearth rune. Resigned, Alyce hunted for flint and steel while pacing her surroundings in search of the kindling basket. She did not need to look far. Due to the recently guttering runes, the crate, that possessed all the tools she needed, was placed near the fire's pillars.

Sweeping her skirts back and ensuring her long hair would not distract her from work, or worse be caught as part of the kindling, Alyce knelt before the fireplace. She struck flint against steel, her mouth decided and after a few attempts, the kindling caught. She sighed in relief and wiggled back from her small achievement before lowering herself near parallel to the ground and blew air toward the infant light.

“So the hearth rune has finally expired,” a calm voice sounded behind her ear.

Caught unaware, Alyce gulped dust and old ash, before lurching up from her crouch. Still coughing, she faced the speaker behind her, another maid, who's height reached under Alyce's chin. Despite her petite figure, she was a few years older than Alyce and possessed traits, which many Neburh girls favored. A mass of black hair, curled and soft to the touch, brilliant blue eyes, and high cheekbones. But the woman often carried a severe aura, usually glaring down her long nose, or up. She was shorter than most.

The older maid's mouth twisted into a grimace, her sharp eyes perceiving every speck of dirt on Alyce's face.

"Alyce, go wash your face. Soot is unhealthy."

Alyce smiled guiltily but did as she was bid. "Morning Haddie."

Haddie answered back with a disgruntled noise.

At the kitchen's back was the wash basin, filled with fresh well water from the night before. Alyce dipped a finger into its depth and shivered, anticipating the cold awakening she was about to subject herself to. There was a light tug and gentle hands gathered Alyce's dense auburn hair into a bunch, holding it as high as Haddie could tip toe to without falling over. Alyce smothered a grin by splashing water over her face. She was taller than most Neburh women, though not nearly as tall as the men, and her height provided certain advantages. She could reach for a book without having to find a ladder and be of great assistance to reach for things on higher shelves. The manor's three year old heir loved spending time with Alyce, being carried or helped to an apple dangling from a high tree branch.

"Oof!" Haddie dropped back on to the soles of her feet when Alyce finished washing her face. "I hope my lord has plans to get those hearth runes renewed. We've so many rooms that all have dead runes!"

Alyce lifted her face from a scratchy thin towel. "Who needs magicked runes when you have me?"

Haddie bumped a hip into Alyce's side. "Aye, you! The one who likes doing things the archaic way! As if we had all the time in the world! Though I suppose I should be grateful that you know how to start a fire by hand. Thyis knows this room is freezing without one!"

"It's quite simple to learn, once you try it a few times," Alyce murmured.

Haddie shuddered and flapped her hands to cleanse off imaginary dust. “I'm not as patient with that sort of thing. Imagine doing all that during winter. It's hard enough now, so no. I want the magic working by then!" She sidled about as she scanned the empty kitchen. “Where’s Bea?”

Alyce's eyes darted to a corner. She was quite aware of the whereabouts of the manor's third maid.

“She's not back yet?” Haddie rounded on Alyce, who scuttled a few steps back. "Is she still with that blacksmith boy?"

The younger woman blinked back innocently then reluctantly nodded. “I’m sure she’ll make herself available in a moment’s time?"

Haddie sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes. “She's got to come home on time. We can't do her work on top of ours. Like today, Baron Connall wanted the both of you to check not only the manor’s well, but also the ones at the outer walls and our lord’s orchards.”

“All which I can rest assuredly do well on my own, Haddie,” Alyce answered, trading her towel for the bucket they used to inspect the water levels. "You know I like visiting the castle town."

“Doesn't mean she can be late!" Haddie huffed and crossed her arms. "Also the blacksmith boy isn't being serious with her! My cousin told me that he's not careful and most definitely not reliable. What if Bea becomes with child!? What will become of us then?”

Alyce slipped a pail over her arm. "By then, we will fuss over her and her new babe. A problem for future us when the time comes.”

The petite maid looked horrified. "When the time comes? It should never come! Not with him! Alyce!"

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

Swinging open the scullery’s backdoor with her back, Alyce continued to console. “Bea hates being cold, so she borrows her nightly companions', and she hasn't had trouble yet. And speaking of careful, she does wear the old pregnancy charm Lady Síle gave us years ago, the one to wear over the belly."

Haddie's cheeks flushed pink. Though they were all grown women, such talks were still embarrassing. "And what if its broken like the hearth runes?"

"Then our little lord Ryles will have a friend to play with?"

"Alyce!" Haddie stomped a foot impatiently. "Ah! Nevermind that! The wells! They need to be checked before noon. If you see Bea in the castle town, send her back here. I'll give her a talking to!" She glared down at Alyce from her perch and pointed with a direct finger. "Don't ever be that silly, Alyce! I know you like visiting the castle town too!"

"Except I visit for very different reasons. Besides, we know every boy in town and I like living in peace, not suffering the latest titterings and gossip." She wrinkled her nose at Haddie. "Small little town, words spread fast."

"And everyone always hear about it by baking day." The two women exchanged knowing grins. "Alright, I know you're the clever one amongst the three of us, off you go."

Alyce threw Haddie a fluttering kiss before turning away, her ears rewarded the sound of an amused guffaw.

Behind the kitchens was the manor’s well, situated closely to a small herb garden. By itself, the well served only the estate, as more were constructed within the castle town and across the barony. The deliberate establishment of these water sources was important to the people’s daily lives and the orchards they attended to.

Alyce positioned herself against the well’s edge and leaned forward to grab the rope, looking below to spy the tied bucket floating on the water. With strong arms and a stable core, Alyce confidently heaved the bucket upwards until she could grab hold of it and pour the drawn water into her pail. Upon dropping the bucket back in the well, she heard the resounding deep thunk from the water below. The depth within the well was still good.

From her pail, she cupped a hand into it and tasted the drawn water. Sweet, cold, and crisp, it sparked a wave of delightful wakefulness.

“Well, that certainly was refreshing,” she said, jumping down from her seat. “Even without the rain, we should have little to worry about.”

Her fingertips lingered on the bricks a moment longer, a habit she formed as a child. She had always liked feeling different textures, touching surfaces as she passed. It reminded her how things should feel like, when the mind easily took them for granted.

A tingling ran up her arm and she giggled at the sensation. The cold well water often had this effect, especially in the mornings. She sighed and smiled haplessly to herself before taking her pail to the garden.

To the rows of growing herbs, she delivered the remaining water. The stalks were planted by the late Baroness Síle, who enjoyed the scent of lavender while she rested in her room. The woman was kind and had taught her orphaned maids some educational basics, but an unfortunate childbirth swept the baroness back to the goddess', Thyis, arms three years ago. As a way of remembering the maternal figure that taught her, Alyce had continued to maintain the plants. No longer would the herbs be used for only mere decoration, but instead put to use for cooking and baths.

The water sunk quickly into the rich soil of the bed, but a few delicate leaves donned the glimmering droplets like jewels. How fitting, she thought, taking the time to admire the sight. Lady Síle would have called this a pendant made of nature's magic.

Alyce's eyes momentarily stung and she forced herself back onto her feet.

Three years. Three years is long enough, she told herself fiercely.

With a huff, Alyce ventured forth.

Behind the stone manor were the rolling hills, old land left for the sheep to graze on. Atop rested the unattended ruins, relics of territory wars long passed. It was beneath these grassy knolls that the manor was constructed. An architecture adorned with ornate carvings twining the upper walls and clay roofing protecting its inhabitants from weather and wind. Most of the windows were made of rare glass, but the most wondrous part of the manor was the side chapel. Cut upon its arching side, embedded like a jewel amongst gray stones, was a wide and colorful glass mural of the goddess Thyis and her daughters, beautiful nymphs that supposedly bless the land and their followers with magicks. A work of art and a hidden treasure, it was here that many ceremonies were held.

The nation of Maresai and its people revered the goddess and her daughters greatly, depended on their blessings in their everyday. From lighting a candle to delivering peaceful sleep, spells and runes decorated halls and furniture, accessorized persons and garbs. And in turn, those born with the ability to wield any of the nymphs' gifts were highly regarded, and coveted by the King and his nobles. Mageborn were required to leave their families and receive education at a Chapel or request admittance to either holy Sancti and learn how to make use of the gifts bestowed. Then upon mastering their abilities, the mages would be given permission to share good fortunes with the people. By charging a hefty price for their service.

Alyce seethed at the thought.

Whenever the runes would cease functioning, the closest Chapel would send along their mages, but heavens, they were incompetent! To the contract, the runes were supposed to last a year, not six months! Sending a grievance to the Chapel did little good. No one cared about a small agricultural county's complaints. Not even when several large amounts were already paid for and the runes still failed to deliver.

Magic is controlled by the king and church, when it's supposed to be shared with the people. But really, it's a means to amass coin. Alyce gritted her teeth and stormed past the stained glass mural.

At the manor’s entrance stood a gatehouse, where a sentry watched the primary passageway. Upon recognizing her, the guard at the gate gave his greeting. Her journey outside the manor’s walls was not uncommon and she was considered the most responsible of the three manor maids. She returned her own pleasantries before walking down the road enshrouded by leafy canopy.

The manor itself was built away from the humbler local abodes, but not far enough that it would be difficult to visit. When the baroness was still well enough to walk, the woman would visit the village often and insist on buying a mountain of baked goods. It had been exciting, traversing back to the manor with fresh bread in arms, hands, and mouth. Then an evening filled with the sweet aroma of baked apples and hot apple toddies. Alyce grinned at the memory and quickened her pace toward the castle town.

The hamlet ahead was already lively with its residents. The children were giving their best efforts in herding the geese and chicken. Most of the men have already departed for the orchards past the village, leaving the craftsmen and women folk to set up shop or prepare for laundering.

Alyce’s presence was cheerfully regarded as she frequently visited the wells and cisterns along the barony. The villagers never questioned her doing so as the assumption was she would report her findings to the baron. The wells were all in similar construct to the one at the manor, and like it, the water was just as sweet and clear. Alyce was personally relieved that no playful child had thought to drop a favored toy into the depths below.

With that managed, she prepared to travel upon the main road through the green fields that bordered the beginnings of the orchards. There was one well before the groves that served as a final watering hole for the orchardists before traveling further inwards to work.

As she made on that path, she spied a crowd ahead. Alyce frowned. The spot before the fields was the village smithy, an area of high importance as the blacksmith made near every tool a craftsman would need. A quick scan of the crowd told her that it was largely made of his usual customers, a few nosy grandmamas, and Bea.

Alyce crept over to the maid then clamped her hands over Bea's shoulders.

Bea squeaked in surprise, turning around to face her attacker. Like Haddie, Bea was pleasant to look upon. Long lashes and cornflower blue eyes, blushing cheeks all wreathed by curly golden hair. She had the most agreeable figure, always strutting about with the most flattering flounce. She had the sweetest of smiles and the girliest laugh, knowing exactly how to turn her face in the prettiest ways.

But it was Bea who held them all for several nights, after the baroness passed. The one who sang lullabies to the newborn lordling to cease his crying. Despite the trouble and tardiness Bea occasionally burdened Alyce and Haddie with, the three shared a sisters' bond.

"Yes, but look here." Bea tugged Alyce away from the crowd. "Morning gossip before baking day and it begins at the smithy and wouldn't you know it, the blacksmith is delayed because those old fire runes of his won't light. It's not only him, it's the farrier, the bakers, the lorimer…"

"And near the entire manor as well, " Alyce grumbled. "What of it?"

"The craftsmen are going to file a complaint with the baron. They aren't happy with the fact the last mage was here only six months ago and the runes have all broken. But what if—" Bea leaned to reach Alyce’s attentive ear. "It's not the mage's fault. What if it's the land and the magicks. Perhaps we're running out or the earth isn't well. Just like the lack of rain, we haven't had a good storm in ages…"

Alyce sighed and clamped her hands around Bea’s face. "Or the mage was just cheap and couldn't do a proper spell. Once our lord hears this, he will make sure to not send for the same old mage and all will be well. Alright, Colleen Fusspot?"

"Ever the realist." Bea pouted prettily. "What if it's like the Decay. We've thankfully avoided it thus far."

A quiet hiss and Alyce clamped a hand over the pretty woman's gossiping mouth. "Hush now. You'll scare someone by bringing it up. It's thankfully far east where the Green Sanctus is and their war mages are dealing with it." She pulled away and presented her pail. "I need to visit the wells in the orchard. But you best hurry back, Haddie needs help back home." A shout drew her attention back to the crowd. "Ah, so the blacksmith got a fire going?"

"Ah yes, his son was woken up to get that going."

Alyce wiggled her eyebrows in Bea’s direction. "And what did the blacksmith and his wife say to that, finding their son not so alone in his bed?"

Bea answered with a sly smile. "It's only proper manners to wake up and greet the kindly folks if you're found. Try not to fall into a well now." Delivering a swift peck on Alyce's cheek, she skipped off in the direction of the manor.

"If I fall in, you'd probably be the first to hear about it anyways," Alyce muttered to herself. She took one final glance at the crowd, which had begun to disperse. Some were busy dragging a soot stained young man toward their own shops. She narrowed her eyes, conducting her own judgment upon the lad.

I suppose if Bea likes muscles, he's certainly got them. But the problem about growing up in a small county is you truly know everyone.

And Alyce remembered everything about the blacksmith's son, who used to throw half eaten apples into the wells.

With a huff, she stuck her nose in the air and resumed her task.

Tall grass stalks, half a person's height, stretched across the expanse before the orchards. The mud in which it grew was a fertile slurry, but seldom used for the trees. The village and manor were once part of a larger castle, surrounded by a moat that provided for its nobility. But when the land was bestowed to the Is'et family, the head of house had the castle dismantled and invited commoners to build homes on parts of it instead.

The orchards then flourished past the old moat, for miles stringing through more hamlets, groves, and farther villages. Though much further than Alyce had ever traveled, those secluded towns also cared for the hills and orchards. And somewhere beyond was the closest Chapel, just at cusp of Neburh's western borders.

Gnawing at her grievance still, Alyce slipped a hand into her skirt pocket and felt for her heating stone. Pulling it out, she inspected its grooved surface. It was a cheap magicked talisman that was once purchased from the same Chapel. Smooth to the touch with a rune scratched on the flattened bottom side. And in its current defective state, it would work better as a paperweight.

A horse's whinny drew her attention up to a most peculiar sight. At the side of the road was a gray pony being coaxed by two figures. They were strangers to these parts, judging by their attires and unfamiliar silhouettes. The animal seemed unwilling to move and she could hear an exasperated male voice trying to reason with it. Hastily, she pocketed her stone and hurried toward them.

Upon closer approach, Alyce took great effort to not let her jaw drop. Their garb spoke of money. It was even finer than the baron's best and those often cost at least a few gold coins. But goodness, the woman's spectacles or even the pony's saddle, could purchase five suits for the baron and perhaps even more for his three year old son.

Her footsteps and rattling pail alerted the pony's company. A dark haired young man twisted around to look at her. He appeared close to her in age, clean shaven to achieve a more youthful appearance, and looked to be of similar height. Before she could scrutinize the stranger further, the pony took that moment to veer into him, propelling him aside. He caught himself and once regained footing, threw a glare at the pony, muttering something to it. The mare threw her head up and made a noise that sounded like a snicker.

A light smile tugged on Alyce's lips, the amusing performance bestowing her a willingness to confront the richly dressed but strange trio.

The woman, who could have been the age of the young man's mother, smiled and extended her hands out in a peaceful gesture.

"What luck. Though still a way's out, our pony here has decided we've reached our destination, in the middle of this—." She looked about in feigned bewilderment. "Field, I suppose. "

There was a slight accent to her wispy voice, one that belonged to the residents of Thalhurst, the holy city in the west. Alyce returned the amicable traveler's smile with her own.

"The castle town of Neburh is up ahead," Alyce answered.

"Ah! Civilization." The woman seemed relieved. "What do you say, Mouse?"

Alyce giggled behind her hand, eyes flitted to the young man, but upon meeting her gaze, his brows furrowed. Embarrassed, she looked away, quickly realizing her blunder.

"Mouse is our pony. Though she's hardly the skittish type nowadays." Came the amused clarification. The woman's dark chocolate eyes twinkled behind her constellation adorned spectacles. "And I am Hollis. And this fellow here is my apprentice, Kytes. We have traveled here from Thalhurst, on behalf of the Blue Sanctus.”

Alyce’s smile stiffened. "Blue Sanc —" She flung herself into a curtsy and remained bowed low. Most mages in the continent belonged to the minor chapels and made of those born to lower nobles, merchants or perhaps craftsmen. Those who could call either Sancti their home were either high nobles or the realm's most talented mages with great aptitude.

"Oh my, no, no." Hollis immediately drew Alyce back to her height, but not before lightly kicking the side of her student's boot. "Though we belong to the church, we are still very human. I’ve merchant origins and I have yet to grow accustomed to others bowing left and right. It's why we're so far away from home. Thyis has blessed me with a far journey to escape it all. Although…" she looked back at the pony. "I suppose Thyis also wants to keep me here."

Alyce looked over the woman's shoulder. "Perhaps a drink of water?" She patted the pail at the crook of her elbow. "It's not much of a trough but there is a well in the orchard there."

The relief in Hollis' eyes told Alyce she had found the point of concern. Truthfully, the woman was most likely worried about their tired mount. And judging by their cautionary behavior, the travelers did not want to cause offense by stepping into unknown orchards.

"Thyis bless me, if you could…"

Alyce nodded. "Of course, Esphyr Hollis," she said using the formal mage title that most magic users preferred hearing.

Adjusting the pail from her arm, Alyce felt her skirt lighten, and something bump the top of her foot. The old heating stone had fallen out from her skirt pocket, most likely from an unraveling darned hole. Alyce inconspicuously kicked it behind her as she curtsied once more before dashing away in the direction of the well.

It wasn't long before Alyce spied the well that sat between a row of apple trees. As she had done hundreds of times before, she grabbed hold of the rope and tested its weight before dropping the well's own bucket in the water. But this time, the sound did not have the dull thunk of deep waters. Frowning, Alyce peered down.

"I haven't visited in a while, but surely it wasn't like this last…" She drummed her fingers against the rope she held. The bucket was much further down, meaning the water level here was lower than the other wells.

She further tested the depths before hauling the bucket up. Thankfully, it was not dangerously low, but this still warranted a report back to the baron.

"I hope you don't mind that the water is for a pony and not the trees," she muttered as she heaved the drawn water into her pail. "I'll visit again and perhaps all will be well. It has been a dry autumn after all…and it must be difficult to find water with no rain, isn't it?"

A familiar tingle shot down her arms, then grew in intensity tenfold, causing Alyce to nearly drop the bucket. Her legs and the soles of her feet felt numb, as if shocked by a sudden cold, and she froze in place until the sensation dissipated. When she could feel her toes again, Alyce swung the bucket back into the well before rubbing her hands together and down the length of her arms.

An illness? She thought perplexed. It had been getting cold, but when was the last time she had gotten sick? Alyce had always prided herself in extraordinary health and she would be disappointed if she lost that record.

She flapped her hands out in front of her before retrieving her full bucket by the handle.

The pony called Mouse was much cheered upon seeing her return. Within seconds of setting the pail down, Alyce stumbled backward when the pony ducked her head into the vessel's depths and began to greedily drink from it. Water overflowed and poured messily onto the bottom hem of her skirts and pattens.

A pair of hands helped her up from the shoulders and she looked at her benefactor. If he noticed her frown, Kytes ignored it, seemingly thinking as he eyed the wet splotches on her dress. Before she could question him, the mage had begun to draw something on the palm of his hand and lifted it to the outside of her skirts.

Alyce jerked away, her eyes focused on the raised and redden flesh.

"What are you doing?"

Kytes remained where he stood, his hand retracted an inch, fingers closing slightly over the scratches. "A drying spell," he answered, an inquiring brow lifted. He was clearly unphased by his own marring. "Unless you want to walk in wet shoes and dress."

"He's very good at handy little fire spells. Heating water, drying clothes, starting fires—" Hollis remarked. "But he should have warned you before performing magicks. I've told you, Kytes, not all of Maresai are used to seeing actual magicks that don't come in the form of objects and runes."

Closing his hand into a fist, Kytes tucked it behind his back. "My apologies. I forget that sometimes. I was only trying to help. May I?"

"You may not," Alyce replied coldly. "I cannot afford it and my clothes will dry just fine without magic."

The mage looked as if she was speaking a different language. "I'm not asking for payment."

The sound of an empty pail clattering to the ground signaled the finish of the pony's desperate drink of water. Without bothering to bid an excuse, Alyce went to retrieve her water bucket, ignoring the slipping sensation of her pattens.

"You have given our pony water, we only wish to pay your kindness forward," Hollis murmured quietly.

"It's only water from a well. Thank the nymphs if you want, I simply fetched it." She bobbed into a curtsy again. "I've truly no ways to pay a mage for any kind of magic. Please excuse my behavior."

There was a drawn silence before Hollis spoke, nodding with understanding. "It seems we've forgotten the common expectations outside of the Sanctus. Apologies, Colleen, we did not mean to put you into an uncomfortable situation. And since the spell was not cast, no harm done." She raised a reassuring hand toward Alyce. "We will pass along our thanks to House Is'et."

Alyce could only mutely nod. A maid worked on behalf of their employer and a stranger's good word would bolster her lord's impression.

"Then good day, Esphyr Hollis, Esphyr Kytes."

She retreated quickly from the mages, biting down on her lower lip as her feet quickened the pace.

Had he nearly done magic without telling her the price? It was common knowledge that payment needed to be fulfilled before even a single spell was cast. Perhaps the wealthy he served could always pay the Sanctus mage's price and he did not think to ask.

And what was that, carving a rune into his skin? The Chapel mages that come by had never done magic like that. They muttered nonsense, the sigils would light and magic would work for a short while. And that was it.

But what he did made her stomach roil. Did it not hurt to scratch so deeply? What if he had drawn blood? Would that make magic more effective? Longer lasting? A Sanctus mage was far more outstanding than a Chapel one, was that the price to pay for such a difference in power?

Esphyr Kytes seemed capable enough and his accompanying teacher spoke highly of him. But they were Sanctus mages. To pay for their service would empty Neburh's coffers and surely Baron Connall was not desperate enough to form a contract with them.