The orderly lines of Rugar’s mercenaries scattered from the bomb. A few moments later, it exploded, sending packed earth and grass flying overhead. Only a few mercenaries were pushed back by the blast, but many more let out grunts of pain as metal shrapnel found its way to flesh.

I hope no one was dead… for my sake.

Dugan caught up to us as we rode up to Isla and Thor, her ever-vigilant guard.

I turned to Isla. As much as I hated to admit it, she helped me escape from Took.

"Thanks for the help.”

"What?" Isla asked.

"You tripped Took’s horse by raising the earth. Didn’t you?"

She shook her head.

"Then who…"

"Never mind that now. We need to get to Miller's Hill," Castille said.

Thor grunted in agreement.

We rode hard along the road for the next ten minutes, dismounting to walk up Miller's Hill and look over the battlefield. Castille pulled a spyglass out of Thor's saddlebag while the rest of us made the best use of our eyes.

"Hmm," Castille said.

"Is that a good hmm or a bad hmm?" I asked.

"Good. Our mercenary friends took some injuries, but they're all moving about, so nothing too serious. More importantly, they aren't following us. We have your bomb to thank for that. Right now, they're wondering what other tricks we have up our sleeve."

She collapsed her spyglass and tossed it to Dugan.

"Isla, can you cover our retreat? I want to give their scouts trouble if they try to look for us."

Isla wiped the shocked expression from her face and brushed loose strands of blonde hair behind her ear.

"Y-yeah, I can do that."

With her staff held close to her chest, she stepped in front of us. She raised her staff overhead, her arms trembling before she slammed it down on the grassy hill.

A moment later, mist materialized at the base of the hill and rolled outward. The thick, white fog covered the road, the forest and the mercenaries collecting their wounded. The fog continued to spread over the grassland to the capital, silhouetted in the distance. Isla sagged against her staff, using it for support as she turned back to us.

"I may have overdone it," she said, panting with each breath. There were dark circles under her eyes like she had missed a day of sleep.

"Spirits below!" I said, stepping forward to look at the sea of fog before us. The scale of this magic was the stuff of history, straight out of Peter Luskaine's War of Unification.

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"Isla. Who are you?" Castille asked.

"A tired mage," Isla said as she returned to her horse.

The edge in Castille’s voice matched the hardness in the older woman's eyes. If Isla noticed the tone, she didn’t react to it.

Castille eyed Isla as Dugan helped her back into her saddle.

"Another time."

Castille swung into her saddle with practiced ease.

"We'll ride hard until nightfall to get as much distance between them and us before making camp. Let’s go!"

"Castille…"

I searched the ground at my feet to find the right words.

"Thank you for having my back."

Castille smiled.

"Do you think you can get far in this business by selling out your allies?"

I shook my head, my face flushing with embarrassment.

"You made yourself an enemy of Rugar… Because of me!"

"What of it? There are hundreds of men like Rugar, but only one Castille Ironside. Now, will you ride or stay here and enjoy the view?"

She outstretched her hand, and I took it for the second time that day.

As Castille promised, we rode hard for the rest of the day. As night fell, we made a sharp turn off the path to make camp at an old, abandoned watchtower. Luskaine was littered with the remnants of city-states and small kingdoms that rose after the fall of the Old Elvish Empire. Many of these kingdoms didn't last a decade, being swallowed by their neighbours or falling apart internally due to civil wars or incompetent rulers. The watchtower was one such remnant, built for a ruler whose name was resigned to old, dusty tomes. Its fortifications and positioning made it an ideal camping spot for travellers wary of ambushes on the road. As we dismounted, I noticed signs of use by other campers.

"Will Rugar's men expect us to be here?" I asked.

"Maybe. Maybe not. There one or two camping spots like this in the area, but I don’t think they’ll follow us," Castille said.

"Why not?"

Castille jerked her head at Isla, who almost collapsed as she dismounted her horse. She was still drained from her stunt this morning, with a sickly parlour to her skin and feverish sweating.

"It's good to have such a powerful mage with us," I said.

Castille scoffed.

"You don't like nobles, do you?"

"Get off. We have to make camp."

We made a fire inside the watchtower, using my spark wheel and timber stored in Thor's saddlebags. What wasn't that boar carrying? The watchtower was a squat two-storey building. The roof had collapsed, leaving stone bricks littering the ground floor. The second floor had rotten through, with only the wooden frame hanging above us.

For dinner, we ate the rations from our supplies. Once we were farther along the journey, Castille and Dugan would hunt for wild game. As the fire died down, Castille assigned us to watch duties. As the most inexperienced members, Isla and I would take the first watch together, while the veterans, including Thor, would take one watch each later in the night.

As Castille and Dugan disappeared into their shared tent, I sat at the fire with Isla. I caught myself taking sidelong glances at the stranger. Her similarities to old, dead friends raised uncomfortable feelings I wanted to stay buried. I hated it. I hated her, but that wasn’t fair. How many people have judged me based on how I looked? On something as silly as the pointiness of my ears.

I sighed. What would Sin do?

My left hand touched the handle of my cane. It was simple. Isla was useful, and as long as she stayed useful, there was value in being friendly with her. The moment she stopped being useful... The moment she became a liability to me… I would-

Kill what I love!

"I didn't expect that," Isla said.

I blinked, loosening my left hand’s death grip on the cane.

“Didn’t expect what?" I asked, turning to face her.

The dinner had returned some colour to her face, but her eyes were still sunken from exhaustion.

She pointed her chin across the dying fire to the veteran's tent, raising an eyebrow at the low moans escaping the canvas.

"I didn't expect them to be together," she said.

I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh… To be honest, I don’t know what they are."

She gave me a slight smile and went back to watching the fire’s embers.

Friendly. Be friendly.

My mind grasped for another thread of conversation, finding the one topic I was trying to avoid.

"I'm sorry for breaking your nose."

She gave me an awkward smile.

"It's alright. It's funny if you look at it a certain way."

The conversation died.

I messed up.

Sighing, I turned to the dying fire, the embers reminding me of home.

Hmm. That might work.

"Isla. Can you teach me how to be a mage?"