006 – What If?

“Sarila of Beyal, of the Faya’ir Academy. Step forward. You have far surpassed every expectation placed before you, my child. To think that a newly acquired territory could produce a talent such as you… incredible. Congratulations, and welcome to the Citadel of Glass. You make your people proud.”

They had been on the road for two weeks, and would be traveling for two more.

The heat was tortuous. It seemed to seep through the carriage’s magically treated canvas, and even with the chilled air that came from cooling-ribs laid into the carriage’s frame, Sari felt a trickle of sweat trace a path down her temple. She rankled under the heat, its presence oppressive, ruinous, tyrannical—

Sari caught the thought and crushed it. A proper Aspirant did not complain. A proper Aspirant was diligent.

Her gaze fell back to the box of scrolls at her side. Master Benessel’s assignment was clear enough; Sari was to memorize the entirety of the Treatise on the Formal Annexation of the Ikkasir Protectorate, 536th Year. The dense legal text detailed trade agreements, Ve’un network integration protocols, and the strictures of caste-law as applied to a non-human polity.

At least if Master Benessel would allow her to help carve the new Ve’un wardstone meant for Outpost Avna, then she would be able to cast some magic. But she was stuck reading.

It was important, she knew. If past experience was any indication, it would be crucial in the near future—Master Benessel always played his cards close to his chest, but everything he asked of Sari had a purpose.

It was also, however, profoundly and soul-crushingly dull.

As much as she respected Master Benessel, Sari, deep in her heart, resented the stiffness of his teachings. She knew that her master’s grasp of magic was among the most advanced in all of the Republic, and that he was widely regarded as an upright and just Karravar.

Though he expected her to think for herself, which she had no qualms with, the magic he taught her was rigid. Immutable. Unyielding. Even more restricting were the lessons on her future role as a Karravar, a Mage of the Republic, of duty and obligation to Varrah. Of being the first of her people to be offered the mantle and responsibility of the karra e varrah.

She yearned for the fables she had heard from traveling storytellers as a child, of the Age of Warlords and the Unification, of the world-breaking feats performed when the Golden Sun first blessed the tribes of Varrah.

The Titanomachy, where the very earth had been reshaped by magics of epic proportions. The ever-dueling avatars of Resh, God of Storms and Plenty, who were said to be two sides of a single, raging soul.

And above all, Ayle the Progenitor. The first and greatest Karravar, who laid the very foundations of their art. To be an Aspirant was to walk in the shadow of that legend, a shadow so vast and deep that Sari felt she could spend a lifetime chasing the light and never reach it. It was often said that the Progenitor effortlessly reshaped reality with every breath she took. What would it have been like, to see magic like that up close?

Sari’s attention was snapped back to her work as the carriage wheel found a rut.

She sighed. Daydreams wouldn’t earn her the Mark of a full Karravar. She forced herself to focus once more on the text. Section Four, Paragraph Three: Water purification rights and fleshcrafting resource allocation.

A rebellious part of Sari’s mind kept whispering.

What if?

They were still several days from Outpost Avna when Sari noticed that the caravan was being followed.

It began with a single scout atop a dune, a ways off in the distance. At first the figure looked like a tiny dark smudge, but an application of [Farsight] had quickly disabused her of that notion.

Sari had immediately gone to warn Master Benessel, whose stern face settled into an even grimmer scowl.

“There were reports of banditry in the region, but for them to be so brazen… make sure the caravan guards are put on alert.” He said.

“I’ll organize the guards, Master,” Sari confirmed, then asked, “Any bandits must be aware that a major Republic outpost is nearby. Why would they risk reprisal?”

“Avna has proven its worth beyond military utility in recent years as our investment in the region grows. As the Sun rises on Avna, its shadows grow deeper in turn.” Master Benessel said, a meaningful look in his eye. He wasn’t telling her the full story, as usual. That was fine, he expected her to figure things out on her own today.

“Of course, Master.” Sari could do that.

The bandits could, of course, be engaging in banditry for the usual reasons. Poverty, disenfranchisement, and so on.

But there were, regrettably, still malcontents within the Republic’s borders that refused Varran rule. Political motivations were possible. Local movers and shakers unhappy with the change in status quo that renewed Republic interest could have caused.

What was the worst-case scenario?

If the bandits were aware of what she and her Master were transporting with the caravan—if they were somehow aware of the new Ve’un wardstone headed to Avna, then this could be a targeted attack. But that would indicate an intelligence leak, which they currently had no reason to suspect.

A conundrum.

The next day, there were three scouts. Two on the dunes to their left, one on a rocky outcrop to their right. They kept their distance, just within the range of Sari’s [Farsight], silent silhouettes against the endless sky. They weren’t even trying to hide. They wanted to be seen.

The day after that, there were seven.

A knot of anxiety began to tighten in Sari’s stomach. The scouts never approached the caravan, simply flanking them to exert constant pressure. Whenever the caravan guards rode out, they would melt away into the desert haze, only to reappear hours later, their numbers subtly increased.

Worse, they were directing them. Each time Master Benessel ordered a course correction to try and shake their pursuers, the bandits would shift.

They were being herded away from Avna and towards the sun-bleached canyons to the south.

That evening, Sari found Master Benessel as the caravan circled its wagons for the night and he was preparing to cast that night’s Ve’un.

“Master,” Sari began, her voice low and urgent. “They’re pushing us towards the canyons.”

“I am aware, Sarila,” Benessel said without looking up from his work.

“Their numbers are growing,” Sari pressed on, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. “We should break through them. A determined charge would scatter them. The guards are ready, and I am—”

“We will not engage,” Benessel cut her off, his voice sharp. He finally looked up, and the weariness in his eyes startled her. It was a deep, soul-crushing exhaustion that went far beyond a few sleepless nights. “Our mission to Avna is to deliver this wardstone intact. We will not risk it in an open confrontation.”

“But the wardstone isn’t so fragile as to be damaged in some… skirmish!” Sari argued. “We’re the stronger force. Why are we letting them dictate our movements?”

Benessel stood up, his tall frame seeming to shrink under an invisible weight. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his gaze dropping to the humming wardstone at their feet.

“You’re an excellent Aspirant and you have long held my trust, Sarila. But there are things at play to which you are not privy to.”

Before Sari could ask what he meant, he turned away.

“See to the watch rotations. Double the guard. We will proceed as they wish for now.”

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They were passing through a section of canyon when the attack finally came.

The canyon walls narrowed, bouncing the relentless afternoon sun between them until the air felt like hot molasses.

Sari’s carriage suddenly jolted to a violent halt.

In an instant, all irrelevant thoughts evaporated from Sari’s mind, scoured away by a surge of pure adrenaline. Her Academy training took over. Assess the situation. Neutralize the threat. Secure the asset.

She had to get to Master Benessel.