Shadowguard

Morning brought with it gray clouds and a silent promise of rain. It hung in the air. The earthy stench of petrichor, which often proceeded the storms in Pendel, sat heavily on Everna's tongue. Though the potential for another storm was an unpleasant uncertainty looming over their heads it was a welcome change from days of snow and ice. It felt right where the early winter that seized Inverness had not.

If only she could enjoy the relative peace of the fall-touched plains.

Two hours after they broke camp, Vina's boredom had gotten the better of her and she broke out her lyre once more. With every discordant note she played, Everna found it exceedingly difficult not to pull her sword and sever the damned strings. There wasn't an inkling of harmony between them, only twangy pitches that sounded less like music and more like she'd loosened the strings so much they'd come loose with one more pluck.

Just when Everna thought she couldn't be that tone-deaf, Vina opened her mouth.

She was worse than the drunkards that burst into warbling renditions of folk songs when the nights at the tavern were slow and those with talent refused the stage. Shrill and nasally, the tone of her voice was enough to drive the most peaceful of clerics to violence. Vina had no skill to speak of; there was no distinction between her notes beyond those in different octaves. What she thought was a run came out as a wobbling elongated note that shifted between sharp and flat.

"She's tone-deaf," Lisette muttered. Vina jumped an octave, her voice straining to reach the note, and Everna winced. "You can't tell her that. She says she had lessons."

"I'd demand my coin back," Everna bit out. "Gods, you would think that being nobility, she could afford a decent teacher."

"Most people don't have the steel to find fault with an Anwellian noble," Lisette sighed. "Knowing her, though, she had one or two lessons and thought it made her a songstress. Add in her piddly magic and she likens herself to a bard."

"I'm going tone-deaf just listening to her," Everna muttered. "I could do better in a drunken stupor. In fact, I have."

Lisette raised a dubious brow. "You can sing?"

"I had lessons," she said, shrugging. "One of my father's old friends was a bard — an actual bard. After hearing her sing at the tavern once, I wanted to learn."

"With the wailing behind us, I'll need a demonstration before I believe it. Everyone thinks they can sing these days," Lisette said, flashing her a cheeky grin. "You sure you're not trying to get one over on Vina? Not that it'd be difficult to do."

"Goading me, eh?" Everna chuckled. "Nice try, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait. I can’t stay in tune with that caterwauling behind me."

"Making excuses now, are we?"

"Those who are truly confident in themselves and their gifts, even if they're relatively useless, don't parade it around," Everna said. "I'm not Vina. I don't need constant validation to convince not only myself, but everyone else that I have a talent."

"Ah, that's how to phrase it. I'll have to remember that next time Cedric insists he can write. He swears I'm just jealous I'm not as good as him," Lisette chuckled.

"He can't be that bad."

"He writes as well as Vina sings."

"At least writing's more useful."

Lisette cocked her head. "They both have their merits, but singing is more practical than you'd think. Many informants, spies, and assassins pose as traveling bards. If you joined Shadowguard, they'd likely train you as one of those since you've the hardest part down."

"I have the easiest part," she corrected. "Most people can sing to some degree if they have a good enough teacher. Casting is another matter. I've tried; a few of my friends tried to teach me, but nothing came of it."

Lisette pursed her lips. "You couldn't cast? Even from a tome?"

Everna shook her head. "They said I was magic-deafened."

A sound of vague disgust rose at the back of Lisette's throat. "Typical mages. You're not magic-deafened; they're just envious."

"Envious that I can't cast?" Everna asked, dubious.

"Mages are the ones who are magic-deafened. That's why they cast with tomes and runes and incantations."

"That makes absolutely no sense. How could they cast if they're magic-deafened?"

"Because there's two types of casters — three, if you consider the divine blessings." Lisette held up a finger as she listed them off. "Mages have to rely on alternative means. Those blessed with magic receive their spells from the gods. Then, there's people like you — sorcerers who have the innate ability to cast."

She'd never heard of such a thing. How else did one learn magic if not from a book? She'd never met a caster who learned any other way.

As if she could read her thoughts, Lisette said, "Magic's complicated. Anyone can cast, but not everyone casts the same way. It depends on the source."

"I still don't understand where why you think I'm a sorcerer."

"You can't cast from a book; no sorcerer can. No one knows why, but they just can't." Lisette paused, then asked, "Can you feel magic when you touch something enchanted? An artifact or a potion?"

Everna stared at her. "That's... not normal?"

Lisette shook her head. "Mages can't feel magic. That's what magic-deafened means."

Lisette's explanation made sense, but she still couldn't wrap her mind around it. No one ever alluded to the possibility some people could cast without the fanfare. None of the casters at the academy could.

Yet, with a flick of her wrist, Vina shot three birds out of the sky. Wil used magic without so much as a wave of his hand. She'd never thought to question it until now.

"You know more about this than I expected," Everna admitted.

"My brother's a bard," Lisette said. "And I dabble in magic from time to time."

There was one thing that bothered her, however; if she was a sorcerer, as Lisette believed, and she could, allegedly, sense magic, how had she not felt the magic Witt claimed he felt in Mayor Ashburn's room?"

When she voiced that thought, Lisette shrugged.

"Awareness is key for a sorcerer. When you're unpracticed and unaware, it's easy to miss it unless you come into physical contact with something enchanted," she said. "Cedric and I had the same problem before we were told. We could always feel it, but we were so accustomed to it, we thought nothing of it."

Had she been so thrown off by Mayor Ashburn's assassination that her emotions overpowered her senses? Or had she become so accustomed to magic that she simply hadn't noticed?

There was magic everywhere in the tavern; the torches and the hearth, which ceased to burn when activated by a rune etched into the underside of the bar; the plethora of artifacts her parents had stashed throughout the house; as well as her sword.

Perhaps Witt, with his divine magic, noticed the difference more easily.

Could she really feel it?

As if that thought awakened her, Leah's ring flared with warmth. Her sword followed suit, the accompanying tingle running along her thigh. It was comforting in the way a clear summer day was — a refreshing glow, much like sunlight on her skin. That feeling was always there, she realized, but with the revelation that she could cast and sense it, it seemed far more pronounced.

"I suppose I could convince my brother to teach you something when we get back," Lisette said. "As thanks for saving my life."

The rest of the morning passed in much the way the day before had. There was little to see and even less to do. The plains remained uninterrupted, and the mountains were a steady presence to their left. Lisette, despite the change in her attitude towards her, wasn't the most talkative of traveling companions. When she spoke, it was in short bursts, such as their earlier conversation, followed by prolonged bouts of silence or scattered idle remarks. Every once in a while, Vina complained of her aching back and sore rear in between the weak barbs and snarky comments.

At one point, Everna almost started an argument to alleviate her boredom, but a half-hearted glare from Lisette stayed her tongue. Everna almost felt sorry for her. Osain sent her along as a precaution. Instead, she'd become something between an instigator and a mediator. Vina seemed to respect her, somewhat, even if the feeling wasn't mutual.

By the time noon arrived, fatigue set in. Everna hadn't had a good night's sleep in two days now. Though the air remained cool and refreshing, the sun warmed her considerably. The inside of her armor was sticky with sweat, her thighs now burning as they chaffed against her armor. She needed a bath, a decent meal, and a nice long nap, which she might find soon enough.

Windhollow was still fifteen miles ahead of them, about an hour's ride from their current position if Vina's estimations were correct. The horses were growing tired as well; she couldn't say when they last stopped to allow them a drink. There hadn’t been a water source once they passed through the forest.

Lisette leaned forward in her saddle, eyes narrowed as she peered toward the horizon. "Is that smoke?"

Everna leaned forward as well, squinting. Darkened clouds hung low over the horizon, but at that distance, she couldn't tell if they were storm clouds or plumes of smoke, as Lisette suggested. The distinction, however, quickly became apparent.

Ten miles from the village, a haze choked the air. The passing breeze carried with it the stench of burnt wood and smoldering foliage. It smelled like the plains fires that occasionally followed violent lightning storms, but beneath the sharp, earthy tang of burnt grass, there was an unmistakable stench Everna had encountered only once before.

Burnt flesh.

Everna urged her horse faster. As she drew closer, the stench strengthened. Wood, grass, tar, flesh — the smells mingled into a single nauseating odor that burned her nose with each breath. Her eyes watered. Then, snow of a different kind tumbled from the air. Ashes peppered the ground and her armor, clinging to her horse's mane. She tasted it with every breath she drew.

When the village finally came into view, Everna gasped.

Violent tendrils of orange flame engulfed the village. Wood crackled and popped. Near the eastern edge, a house crumbled, and the flames shot skyward, tossing a shower of burning cinders into the air. There wasn't a single building spared from the raging inferno.The fire crept across the grasslands as well, leaving behind nothing but charred dirt.

Lisette pulled up beside her, her jaw set and lips pressed into a firm line. Disgust and pity pooled in her eyes as she gazed at the horror before them. Her hands tightened on the reins, knuckles white.

"I think Shroud beat us to the informant."