Delia’s soaked tunic stuck to her body as she stared into the flames licking out of the guest residence. The soft summer rain had stopped and done little to extinguish the fire.

Behind her, Delios organized the men and women living on the palace hill. Runners had been sent down into the city to bring in more people to help and the guard at the gate had been reinforced.

Delia ignored all of this for the moment. Managing the immediate crisis was the men’s task. She focused on the future.

A cracking sound came from the smoking roof. It was the kind of sound logs made in a fire. Just much louder.

Delia wasn’t particularly fascinated by the destruction in front of her, she just needed an excuse not to watch the people around her. Their expressions, their posture - if her eyes were on them, her Gift would force her to read.

Right now, she needed a moment to reflect. To comprehend what had happened here. How would last night’s events impact tomorrow?

An Assanaten magus and his men had successfully infiltrated Riadnos and the palace. So far, they had no idea how that was even possible. When the news spread through the city by morning it would cause a commotion. No doubt her father was already thinking about how to address it. Memnostis knew they couldn’t be seen as incapable of defending the city. Doubt would break the people’s spirit and his rule with it.

“We can discuss this later,” mistress Bel’Sara said. “I will now see how the girl is doing.”

Immediately after the fighting, she had wanted to follow the girl to the infirmary but Memnostis had asked that one of the sages stayed behind in case more enemies appeared.

Delia had to give it to her father. Only the anax would have the courage to make such demands, even if not phrased as such, after seeing the power of gods flung back and forth before his eyes.

She shivered, remembering Bel’Sara summoning a lightning bolt from the sky. No human, not even a magus, should be able to withstand such a blow. But Assan hadn’t been willing to give up on his servant so easily.

“I will go with you,” Delia said, turning away from the flames. “We will also need to organize some clothing for you.” She exchanged a quick glance with her father.

“Very well,” the anax said, trusting his daughter.

Mistress Bel’Sara wasn’t enthusiastic about her company, but she was unwilling to lose time on an argument. Her mind was clearly on other things. Otherwise, she might have cared that she was still running around in her nightgown

The three women walked the distance to the infirmary in silence. Omiri followed them silently a couple of steps behind. Probably having lost her own equipment in the fire, she was carrying a Helcenaean short sword, acquired from one of their dead warriors.

Delia studied the sage from the corner of her eyes. Her former teacher looked dignified and serene. An impressive feat, considering the state of her clothing and her wet disheveled hair.

But thanks to her Gift, Delia’s gaze reached beneath the outer appearance.

You’re unsettled. And deeply so.

The scholars said that a magus, accessing and guiding the power of a great deity, could turn armies to salt and split oceans. Delia didn’t know if that was true, but she’d seen a glimpse of it tonight.

Most magic in this world was divination, curses, and the various protections against them. Groups of priests or magi were said to be able to accomplish fantastic things through rituals. For a single mortal to weaponize elemental forces, that took the backing of a higher power. The elements were the toys of the most powerful gods. And all gods hated to share.

When they stepped into the infirmary, they found the room mostly deserted. A few cots were occupied by servants from the residence. Most had sustained burns or inhaled too much smoke.

A single warrior sat on a cot next to the door, nursing a bandaged arm.

“Where are master Mar’Doug and his companion?” Delia asked.

The man looked up. “The healer took them to his house next door.” The man wanted to lift his arm to point but thought better of it. “He said it would probably become busy here later.”

Delia nodded her thanks.

It was a sensible decision. Even if there were no more enemies in the city, men would get injured fighting the fire. Offering the sage and his companion a place where they could rest in peace was the appropriate thing to do. Delia would have to arrange for all of them to be moved to the upper palace later.

Considering that her family had failed in their obligation as hosts to keep their guests safe was a great shame. Worse, it had needed the sages’ intervention to fend off the attack. The people of Riadnos, as well as, the great council might not let this go easily. For the Helcenaean the rights and responsibilities of guest and host were sacred.

Delia knocked at the door of the small house the healer occupied.

After a moment, a man with a white beard and little hair opened the door. “Yes?”

“We came to see how master Mar’Doug and the girl are doing,” Dilia said respectfully.

“Atissa,” the healer said. Nervously glancing behind him. There was a strange emphasis in the way the old man said the name.

“Yes, Atissa,” Delia said.

The healer stepped aside, and the women entered.

The palace healer was an old widower whose children had left home years ago. He preferred to stay close to the infirmary instead of living in a big house in the city and the absence of a woman showed in the stuffy room. Medical ingredients, tools, and all kinds of containers were mixed in with dirty dishes, clay tablets, and pieces of clothing. It all stood in stark contrast to the meticulous order he insisted on in his infirmary.

Atissa sat on a cot at the wall, her face covered with a dressing stained with greenish-brown spots.

Master Mar’Doug rose from a chair at the kitchen table to welcome them. His lips held a small object whose tip was glowing.

Courteous as always, Delia thought. And cautious.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She wasn’t sure how she felt standing in front of the man after having witnessed him striking down Assan’s servant. She wasn’t even sure what exactly she’d seen.

Pushing these thoughts to the side for now, she raised her hands. “Please, do not stand up, master. We came here to inquire about your and Atissa’s well-being And I want to thank you for what you have done tonight. Both of you.” Taking her clues from the healer, Delia made an effort to include the girl. “Of course, the anax will thank you as well once the immediate chaos has been overcome.”

Satisfaction.

He hid it well, but master Mar’Doug clearly liked what he heard.

“Please”, he said, temporarily taking the small object out of his mouth and gesturing towards his fellow sage, “others did much more tonight.”

Bel’Sara bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment.

Caution and wariness.

And one more insight hit Delia. These two are complete strangers!

What could that mean? Having both in the same room was an invaluable opportunity.

“So, I think we’re done here, Atissa,” the healer said, stepping in front of the girl. He carefully checked her dressing. “You leave that on for half a day and let the herbs do their work. The swelling should quickly disappear.” He glanced nervously in master Mar’Doug’s direction.

“Thank you very much,” Atissa said, trying to smile with the uncovered side of her face. “It already stopped hurting.”

“That’s the herbs. They have a numbing quality,” the healer said. “You should get some rest now.” Another glance to the sage.

Mar’Doug watched the exchange but didn’t participate. He seemed to insist on the healer addressing Atissa directly. Delia didn’t need her Gift to see the courtesy the old man showed the presumably insignificant girl from beyond the mountains.

Not so insignificant after tonight, Delia thought. The healer hadn’t been there when the Assanaten magus had demanded Atissa to be handed over to him.

“Can we talk in privacy?” Bel’Sara asked her eyes on Atissa.

Delia turned to the healer. “Could we use your home for our conversation? It is rather urgent.”

“Of course, Delia,” the healer said, his face brightening. “I fear there will also be more patients from fighting the fire soon.” He was relieved to be given a reason to leave.

“Thank you.”

The man quickly collected a couple of jars and made for the door. Before he left, he turned around one more time bowing to master Mar’Doug. “I’ll take your advice on…cleanliness to heart, master.”

“Hygiene,” the sage said, smiling courteously.

“Yes, hygiene…I’ll see you later.” The older man turned around and left quickly.

Omiri closed the door behind him and took position next to it.

“Ahem…how are you doing, Atissa?” Bel’Sara asked. She crossed the room and sat down on a chair opposite the bed, the girl was sitting on.

“I’m fine,” Atissa said, scooting back a bit. “I had enough sleep tonight.” She managed a strained half-smile, glancing over to Mar’Doug, who had turned on his chair to watch the two.

Bel’Sara smiled. “It is good that you are strong. The night could have ended in much greater tragedy. And you helped to prevent that from happening. If you had not woken us, who knows what would have happened?”

Atissa’s smile disappeared. “But I couldn’t stop them. The only thing I could do was shout. It was you who saved me.” Her eyes wandered from Bel’Sara to Omiri. The nomad girl looked as impassive as always.

“But these were Assanaten warriors,” Bel’Sara said. “Likely veteran fighters. You cannot expect yourself to face men like that. Not yet. And then there was the magus. Assan’s servants are very powerful.” Atissa looked away.

The sage gave her a moment to consider her words before continuing. “Do you wish you could have done more?”

“Yes, of course,” Atissa said.

Mistress Bel’Sara glanced at her fellow sage. He watched them intently but showed no intention to interfere.

Unsatisfied with the result of their non-verbal exchange, Bel’Sara’s eyes returned to the girl. “Atissa, I believe you have the potential to do more. In fact, I believe it is your destiny to be more. Much more.”

Atissa looked up, frowning. “What do you mean?”

How is this news to him? Delia thought. Watching the master, she saw that he was taking in new information, having the bearing of an uninvolved observer. It made no sense.

“You see”, Bel’Sara’s voice rose,” I believe you are meant to become a champion of the gods, prophecies by seers and oracles of different people for centuries. You are meant to face many challenges in your life. You will have to perform labors, as the Helcenaean like to call them. The deeds you will perform will change the world and shape the future of many people.”

Atissa stared at the sage, her mouth open.

“Mistress”, Delia said carefully, “this might be a little too fast.”

Bel’Sara glared at her. She didn’t appreciate the interruption.

“Maybe you can explain it step by step,” master Mar’Doug said, involving himself for the first time. “Why do you believe Atissa is…a hero?”

Bel’Sara frowned. Then she noticed Atissa’s wide eyes. “Ahem, yes, I should explain it to you.” She paused gathering her thoughts. “You see, Atissa, I can hear the gods. It is my Gift. When we first met in the courtyard, their voices rose. In a way you could say they pointed you out. Listening to your story and now the Assanaten coming for you here…I am convinced it is you.”

“I...I don’t….” Atissa stammered.

Delia felt sorry for her. She wasn’t sure how she would have reacted if the sage had disclosed such a fate to her. And she was the daughter of the anax of Riadnos. Atissa had grown up in the mountains, far away from civilization. It had to be overwhelming.

“Mark?” Atissa turned to master Mar’Doug, using her personal name for the sage. The servant hadn’t been able to learn what this privilege meant.

Mar’Doug looked around, apparently searching for something. “Mistress Bel’Sara, would you allow me to ask a number of questions on Atissa’s behalf?” He pressed the glowing object, that had burned down to a stumble, into a half-eaten plate of porridge.

Bel’Sara nodded carefully. “I will gladly answer whatever I can.”

Lie.

Bel’Sara really didn’t want her fellow sage involved. But she had no choice. He had Atissa’s trust, while she didn’t. Still, Delia couldn’t see what disturbed the old woman so much. It was her Gift’s limit. She couldn’t read minds. To go beyond feelings, she had to understand a person. The sages walked in a world that was to a large degree outside of her experience. Bel’Sara she’d known since her childhood, which helped. Master Mar’Doug on the other hand was an enigma.

“Firstly”, Mar’Doug said,” which gods are you hearing? Different people have different gods.” He waved to the healer’s small altar in the corner of the room.

Where do your loyalties lie? Delia translated the innocent-sounding question in her mind.

Bel’Sara shook her head. “I am not an oracle, receiving messages from a specific deity or group. I have the unfortunate Gift to listen in on the realm of the gods. Those whose domain I am in, I usually hear the loudest.”

“Who do you hear right now?” Atissa asked.

Bel’Sara hesitated. “This region has many gods. Some are old and almost forgotten. But here in Riadnos I often hear Rehala the loudest.” She shrugged. “But most of the time it is not an identifiable deity. It is more like the whispering of a crowd. It intensifies when something grabs their attention.”

Delia was astounded. She’d never heard her old teacher describe her Gift so openly. And you aren’t comfortable with it either, she thought. The sage’s openness was a calculated decision to win Atissa’s trust.

“So”, Mar’Doug said, “there are old prophecies that give a description that Atissa fits. And the gods you hear are very excited about her. What would the next step be?”

“Yes, there it becomes a bit tricky,” Bel’Sara said, avoiding Mar’Doug’s gaze. “…I am not sure.” She hid her discomfort about the admission well. “Most stories say that the champion will be found by a wise mentor who will guide him until he can stand on his own.”

“Do you think Mark is that wise man?” Atissa asked.

“I am sure, I am not,” Mar’Doug said quietly.

Everybody stared at him.

“I mean”, he said, “aren’t such wisemen normally old men with white beards? I’m not even thirty-five.”

True.

The idea of having the role of the champion’s guide bothered master Mar’Doug. Delia wasn’t sure why that was. He seemed to be very invested in the girl. It bothered her that she still had no real grasp on who this man was and what he wanted.

“There have been signs for years that the time of great upheaval is near. I always believed that master Mel’Chor was destined to be the one to find the champion to face it. And so did he.” Bel’Sara’s eyes wandered to Mar’Doug’s staff, leaning on the wall close to him. “He spent many decades searching for you.” She looked at Atissa with a sad smile.

“Assuming that you are right, and it is her”, master Mar’Doug said, “what is she supposed to do?”

“Champions are linked to specific gods,” Delia said, remembering the lessons of her childhood. “They have patron deities supporting them and tasking them with labors.”

Bel’Sara nodded, crossing her arms. “That is correct. Leading the champion to the gods is one of the mentor’s tasks.”

“Which god?” Atissa asked.

“…I am not sure,” mistress Bel’Sara said.