Running through the trees at the edge of the small, icy creek, Five wondered what by the Grace of the Four Winds had possessed him to try to find and follow the hidden mage who had been tracking the camp of deserters from the Velspean Army. Using his Talent in the most efficient ways in which he knew how, Five spent most of each day folding shadows and ambient sounds about himself to stay hidden as he lightly Delved the surrounding forest and hills in which he and the camp of deserters had been traveling.

  When asked once by a servant in the Golden Towers what such efforts had been like for him to do, he had explained it to the old man who delivered his laundry every Cheinday, the seventh day of eight, that it was like learning to do any physical task. He had equated it to juggling, hoping to keep the conversation light for the man’s comfort.

  He had explained that you learn to toss a single ball, over and over, until you could do so without thinking. Then you added a second, and kept the two moving until you could keep both moving without thinking, and so on.

  The poor old man nodded, but it was clear to Five that he didn’t quite understand. He nodded to himself as he collected all of the Pride’s laundry and shuffled off with a polite bow.

  But, Six had been nearby during the explanation, and thanked him for making the lesson so simple and easy to comprehend. Six then went out and began practicing pulling down lightning storms from clear skies while he also made the ground buckle and buck wildly enough that he pulled down half an arena. Not too long after, in the middle of the month Aons, at the beginning of the Season of Planting, He was reliably tearing up layers of hard, stony ground, melting the sand in that soil to green glass with lightning, and baking the rest of the soil to terracotta with firestorms.

  Several Maestra and Masters cried during that demonstration.

  Five had also practiced these kinds of magical multitasking efforts, though with much lower yielding spells, and with far fewer buildings falling down. He was able to cloak himself, jog at a reasonable pace for hours, and lightly Delve his surroundings without risking asologee, the condition that afflicted mages who bit off more than they could reasonably chew… Talent-wise, at least. THat specific combination was what he did now. Looking for the mage who had been shadowing the deserters’ camp. He was just about at his limit as noon approached.

  He resolved, many times a day for the last few eight days, that he would go back to his little home he had carved from the mountain, now two weeks' travel behind him. Further away than he wanted to be from the first home he had made for himself since fleeing the war.

  And he meant that he had made both literally and figuratively.

  The door to his home, a thick wooden plank and bar construction that he had used his Talent to turn into an Artifact that would keep his home hidden from any and all who might find themselves on his doorstep.

  Jogging along the bank, Five came to an open spot.

  …Four and Three, he thought to himself, would probably call this a “Wash,”... and while Five was better read than his Pride siblings, Four and Three both had a practical knowledge that outstripped his own where being out in the Natural World was concerned. The wide spot along the bank as the little waterway gently curved away made a pleasant, sunlit sandy beach where he slowed his pace and came to a rest. Settling himself at the upper edge of the sand where it met the packed earth of the steeper bank, Five pulled out his water bottle and his small bag of rations.

  He let his breathing slow as he chewed on the dried meat he had traded for in the village at the base of his mountain. As his fingers played across the interior of the little bag, the last of the three he had originally purchased, he counted out three remaining bundles of dried meat, and three more of the smooth half spheres of wasna. It was a calorie dense food made from dried meat, tallow, and dried berries. It was a common “Trade Food” here in the mountains, and while many who used it would make it the base of a soup or porridge in a pot with water and whatever else they may have foraged, on its own it was an all in one meal that would keep for months in a secure wax-cloth bag.

  Five had eaten more of it this last year than he ever thought one person could. But, now it was just part of his day, and he had actually come to like it. He would split each half sphere of it, eating half for breakfast, and the other half for his dinner. Lunch was whatever he could forage, and a single dried meat stick. Today that meant a handful of duckberries, their very tart green centers unexpectedly pleasant in contrast to the meal of bland, salted venison and slightly tangy water mixed with ground pine needles.

  This had been his regular habit on this weird journey that had dragged him from his secure little house atop his mountain to follow the deserters.

  Up into the treeline behind where he now sat, there was a slight rustling in the underbrush. Redirecting his Delving, he could only sense a small flock of birds of some kind, no more than ten, hopping through the dense gorse, looking for seeds. There was a very brief sense of something bigger, Five chalked this up to a rabbit, or some kind of hunting weasel.

  He stretched, feeling the muscles in his lower back pull. The constant jogging was wearing him down, and he would be happy to have this all done with so he could go back to his mountain.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Now, his path had been turned to find the other mage who had been following the same group that he had followed. He needed to know that whoever it was wouldn’t be bringing either of the two armies down on him. He chuckled to himself at the silly irony of it all.

  He had come out of hiding from the two armies to make certain that the traveling group he had spotted from his retreat would not bring either army down upon his head, so now he was hunting a mage hunting that same party.

  So now he travelled in a wide arc behind the deserters, in an attempt to flush out the hidden mage, while he, a mage who had been following the deserters, hid himself.

  It was like one of those folk songs the soldiers used to sing in rounds around the fires in camp after a hard day’s march.

  Now, as he sat silently listening to the gentle burbling of water in the creek, occasionally sipping from his waterkin, Five could just feel the presence of that other mage. With the light pulses they sent out in their own Delving as they made their way through this small valley, Five knew they were well trained. Their Delving never varied in strength, the pulses they sent out were as regular and well metered as a pendulum.

  There was a strength inherent to their Delving that made him nervous; they were stronger than he was. That “Light Touch” he sensed in their Delving wasn’t because it was all they could do, it was all they could do all day long.

  This mage wasn’t searching for the deserters, they had found them. Five just didn’t know what they were doing skirting the far edges like this now. It had been three days since he had caught their trail. Two and a half days since he had found the edge of their own Delving spell. The nearest rim of their own use of magic in reaching out to see the world without illusions or obstructions.

  …but… he wondered, …if they know where the camp is, what are they still looking for out here at the edges? Are they trying to assess the strength of the camp? Does this mage want to capture a specific deserter? Are they after Cicera? His pulse raced a little at the thought of the Velspean mage, her curly dark hair dominated his thoughts for some reason he couldn’t name. …Cicera, who was the camp’s leader. Or, ONE of their leaders… is this mage trying to catch Cicera out of camp all alone?

  He frowned at this thought. It made him clench his fists for some reason he had not allowed himself to admit to himself as yet.

  …fuck…

  The sense he had now of the mage was dim, but he didn’t want to push himself to Delve harder. He wanted to hunt, not to clumsily give himself away and become the hunted. Slowly five reached down to his side for the waterskin that held the cold, fresh water he had mixed with pine needles to make a weak tea. This tea would keep you healthier on the trail than plain water, though he had learned in the Hamurian camps that all water should be boiled, tea or not.

  It was a simple spell, and took even him moments to cast every morning when he filled his skins from the creeks and streams.

  The bag was not now next to his foot where he had rested it. Looking down, he saw that it had fallen, slumped to the side, and was still next to his foot, just lying on its side, rather than resting on his ankle as he had placed it.

  Taking it up and unstoppering the thing, he took a deep drink. It was cool and refreshing. The tangy taste of the crushed White Pine needles he had added that morning made the water just that much tastier. It was even a little sweet today.

  Five briefly wondered if he had gotten the correct needles, as this tea was slightly… better… than the tea he had been consuming for these last several weeks. He noticed it was not only more sweet, but his lips and the edges of his tongue felt odd. He wondered if “Tingly” was a word.

  With a shrug, he restoppered the bottle, replacing it in his pack. Five sighed deeply, taking a larger than usual breath as he spent a few moments trying to quantify the feel of the air moving through his nose, throat, and lungs. It was cool, and almost as refreshing as the water.

  He shook himself like a colt in the chill morning air. It was time to move. He needed to catch that mage.

  …the sunlight looks nice… he thought, glancing at the play of reflections of light on the running water in the creekbed. …I wonder what Cicera was doing today?…

  Five yawned. His mouth stretched impossibly wide as he felt the skin stretch and the muscles in his cheeks pulled against his jaw, making the joint pop loudly. “Huh!” he let out an exclamation into the midday warmth.

  Suddenly, sitting down meant more to him than finding the other mage. It meant more than anything else he might name that he wanted to do.

  Looking about the little clearing in the woods, he wondered when he had left the edge of the creek for the woods. And briefly Five wondered when he had sat down. When he had taken his boots off.

  The world around him spun in a slow motion kaleidoscope as he lay back into the forest floor mast, and breathed deeply of the scents of the ground cover of crushed leaves, nuts, fruit husks, seed casings. Five wondered if anyone had ever made a tea that smelled so wonderful as the smell of this mast. One of the Maestra used to talk about the tannins found in the rich, loam creating, mast of the deep forest floor.

  As he breathed, feeling the cool air circulate happily through his lungs, Five heard the rustling of that same small flock of birds he had heard earlier. From where he now lay, the rustling was behind him, and so Five slowly turned his head in the small pile of fallen leaves where it was comfortably encased.

  A small person stood next to Five.

  Dressed all in browns and dull greens, with a mantle on their shoulders and a wide hood over their head. Nearest his nose, the boots they wore looked very sturdy and comfortable. But small.

  He had begun to think they might be a child.

  “Took me three full days to run you down, wizard.” The voice was not that of a child. It was cracked bark and scraping limbs in the high wind of a storm.

  There was a sharp whistle, and then the forest all about the little clearing burst into activity as at least twenty other small people in browns and dark or dull greens appeared.

  As his mind began to cloud itself in warm mist and fluffy fuzz, the voice spoke again, “Let’s go! This one has friends! Jarna, grab those boots! Go! Go! Go!”