34

Images and visions flashed before her as she felt herself supported by two strong arms. The streets of Comragon passed by, as did fleeting pictures of things past. Alran, hiding a smile as she finally learned a particular sword technique. Yusuvur, standing above her, head shaking before crouching, wiping blood from Miraveh's face. Kay, injured, falling into her arms, telling her he would never leave her again.

The streets were gone and open fields and skies caught her attention before the images returned. Smoke and fire, a roaring sound and screams, and Miraveh turning away. Faces, never forgotten, fighting to fall into her vision, shouting, crying, pleading. Faces melting leaving only skulls staring at her. The dragon of Jukunashar, wings unfolding, becoming a blanket that covered everything within sight, lifting its enormous head and roaring fire to the heavens.

"The captives ... Sialira ... Daras ..." She struggled against the hands that held her but they would not let her go. "It's my fault. It's all my fault. Everything. Everyone."

The fields and skies were gone, replaced by branches and thin, needle-like leaves. Something felt comfortable beneath her and, though no-one held her down, she could not move. Her head felt heavier than the world and her eyes closed, no matter how hard she tried to open them. Voices flitted in and out of her hearing. Some close, but far away. Others, far, but by her ears.

"Your kind have done enough. Look at her!" That sounded like Sialira. That poor girl, so limited in her magic, but with a heart and intelligence that dwarfed any other's. "Look at what she's given! Turotara, tie him up and gag him. I don't want him near her."

"I've seen this before! Listen to me!" A less familiar voice, though one Miraveh remembered had never spoken with such passion. Not like this. Brothimir. "She used too much magic too quick. The relics, they drain you, burn you up from the inside if you don't control the power. Listen! She needs magical help. Let me!"

That voice became more desperate the further away it became, but Miraveh could hear other voices now. Voices she did not know, or had only heard in passing only recently. Voices that sounded tired, weak. Hushed whispers passing between the fearful and the exhausted. Miraveh felt exhausted and her hand burned as though she had gripped a coal from a fire.

"I suppose I could try." Mandelar. Miraveh remembered her now, though she couldn't remember returning to the warehouse. "This relic, this thing, I don't like it. It curls into my mind. It is a twisted, dark thing. But I will try."

Miraveh felt she had missed something. Words spoken by others. Then she felt a warmth within her chest. A warmth that spread throughout her body. Upon reaching her broken ribs, Miraveh felt like screaming in pain, but no sound emerged from her mouth. She could feel the bones turning, moving and then the pain eased and the pleasant warmth began to trickle through her body once more.

"She's stopped murmuring. That's a good sign, don't you think?" Sialira once again but, this time, Miraveh could feel the girl's hand upon her forehead. No. Not a hand. A cloth. A cold, wet cloth. "We have to stop soon, or I fear the others will collapse. They should be on this cart, too."

"There is no space. We will take turns resting and laying hands upon your friend, but, for now, the cart must carry her." Warmth invaded Miraveh's body once again. "Though I an uncertain we are helping. Perhaps the Hunter does not lie?"

Miraveh felt a rolling, yawing sensation and wondered how long she had felt it. At once it felt as though it had only this second started and that she had felt the movement for some time. It felt comforting, in some strange way. Her hand still burned and, no matter how much effort it took, she could not lift it, nor flex it to remove the sensation.

"If you harm her, in any way, I'll see to it that Turotara removes your most precious body parts, one after the other, in the most painful way." That didn't sound like the Sialira that Miraveh knew. Bitter. Angry. Frustrated. "I'm watching you."

A different sensation flooded Miraveh. A sensation of deathly cold that travelled through her blood. It felt as though ice formed within her veins, trying to expand out and rupture her skin, forcing Miraveh to become nothing but a thing made of ice. Cold. Inhuman. Deadly. Magic! She could feel magic and everything that entailed.

The magic that flowed through her, filling her with the chill of the grave, tasted dirty, ancient, perverted and decaying. She could feel other magic, now. The magic of Witches. Cold, yes, but in an emotionally clenched fashion, not like the sensation that filled her now. Others, too. The magic that felt like the ground and soil, the natural. Elven. Something similar, like elven magic, but deeper, crystalline, solid.

Miraveh could feel her Seeker's Urge even now and she knew that her quarry, her charge, the Candidate to replace one of the Pillars of the gods, was not far away. She could not see the Candidate's energy, nor could she see anything, but she knew the Candidate stood close. She had not failed entirely.

She had failed, though. So many times in so many ways, costing lives and friendships, happiness, love. So many failures. Miraveh knew she had no business here. Never had. Yusuvur should have taken Kay with her, all those years ago, and left Miraveh behind. Perhaps another could have taken her place? Someone with the strength and the wherewithal to have made a difference. A positive difference where people had not died. Where Kay would not have suffered so.

Her body arched, head and heels pressing into the surface beneath her. Every part of her body throbbed and shook, arms and legs thrashing and still she could not open her eyes. Hands pressed down upon her and the rolling sensation stopped. More hands pushing her down, holding her. She could not breathe, precious air refusing to enter her lungs until she felt fingers in her mouth. Her teeth bit down, but Miraveh had no control over them. The fingers tried again until air rushed into Miraveh's lungs once again.

"I going to need help. She used too much magic with someone else's relic. It's trying to corrupt her. She's fighting it. Gods! She is strong!" Brothimir again. He sounded as though he felt genuine concern and Miraveh found that more than odd. "I need others, as many as possible. If we all fight against the corruption, we can remove it."

Now Miraveh felt several sensations all at once. All magical in origin. In her mind, she could see the wisps and tendril of magic, twirling and twisting, wriggling and striking. Striking at what, she could not say. Dark blue magic entwined and crackled against pale green magic. Brown magic danced and played with grey magic. Karline magic. Witch magic. Elven and goblin magic. She could see it all, sense it all, and she wanted it.

Even as the differing strands and kinds of magic wended their ways through her, Miraveh tried to take them. Magic! Her magic, if she had any say in the matter. She wanted it all. All the differing shades and colours and kinds. She deserved it all. The relics were only a conduit to something greater, she knew that, now, and, here, she had so many different kinds of magic to take and use and rebuild the world.

The magics appeared to grasp at something. Something that had taken its place within Miraveh. Something that had found a home within her. As the differing magics pinched and reached for that something, she saw it. A screaming black mass of undulating magic. It had a face. The face of the Karline that Miraveh had taken the relic from after obliterating the man from existence. That face screamed at her, begged her, pleaded with her to allow it to stay.

Before she could agree, before she could gather that mass to her, she felt something rip it away. She reached out for it, but now she saw all the various magics had pierced the mass. Barbed tendrils had penetrated it, pulled it, dragged it away from her grasping fingers. They were taking it away and, with it, they took away her chance to become more. To become better. Useful.

The magics were gone. The black morass of magical energy no longer screamed in her mind. It took several seconds for Miraveh to realise that her eyes were open as she gazed up into the sky, stars blinking and twinkling down towards the world. She saw the ancient patterns that some said could predict the future, but Miraveh had no wish to know the future. She would see it all too soon.

Her hand flexed and she realised it no longer burned, but something felt off about it. Lifting it, Miraveh used the fingers of her other hand to trace the indentation within her palm. It felt a little sore, but she could move her hand and fingers as well as ever. She let out a sigh of relief. If she could not wield her sword, she would have preferred death. Or so she thought.

"The relic took its toll upon you, that is for certain." With difficulty, Miraveh turned her head to find Brothimir sat beside her, no ropes tying his feet or hands. No gag upon his mouth. "You were lost. Lost and did not want to find your way back. Or, at least, a part of you didn't."

"The captives?" She launched herself upwards, head turning in every direction until she saw campfires with people sat or milling around. "It worked? Did they all ...?"

"Not all. You saved most and bloodied the noses of my brothers and sisters, I'd say. Not that I can call them that anymore." Brothimir offered her a water skin as she turned back to him. His eyes caught hers and held them. "So, tell me, who, or what, is 'Thurambor'?"

Miraveh held her face a still as stone while she took a long drink of water. For long seconds, she thought of a hundred ways she could tell this man, her enemy, to mind his own business. Another hundred ways she could make sure he would never ask that question again. But she could only think of one way she could ever describe Thurambor to anyone. And that was a description she had dreamed of for years.

-+-

Miraveh didn't answer Brothimir. Couldn't answer him. Not only due to who and what he was, but due to her reluctance to look at that part of her past. An incident that only two other people knew about and she wished no-one else to know of that failure. She had made a choice and, were that choice to come again, she would do the same as she had before. The guilt was the price she paid and she paid for it every night.

As Brothimir looked about to ask again, Miraveh felt a great wave of relief pass through her as Sialira appeared, carrying a handful of bread and dried meat. They said nothing to each other and Miraveh noted a deep cut upon Sialira's forehead. Once Miraveh took the food from Sialira's hands, the young Witch wrapped her arms around Miraveh's neck, sobbing into her shoulder.

Brothimir stood, catching Miraveh's eye one last time. Letting her know that the question still hung like a cloud between them, but the answer was something he had no right to know. It seemed the others had given the Hunter a modicum of freedom, but Miraveh still did not trust him. As he walked away, back to one of the low campfires where Turotara sat, Miraveh wondered if keeping the man around would prove a terrible mistake.

"You had me worried, you know. It wasn't that you could have died, that was bad enough, but ... but we almost lost you." Sialira lifted her head, strands of her blonde hair falling across tear-filled eyes. She wiped away those tears as she looked deep into Miraveh's eyes. "The way you were screaming, ranting about power and conquest. That wasn't you. Not you at all."

"Is everyone safe?" As Sialira sat back, Miraveh raised her hand, bringing the bread to her mouth, and saw a dark mark in her palm. It resembled the shape of the relic. "Did I hurt anyone? Is Daras ..."

"Daras is fine. He's scouting behind us with one of the elves." The young Witch gave a hiccuping laugh. A strained laugh. "He likes elves. But, no, you didn't hurt us. Only the Hunters and most of them yet live. They are following us, though. I think some of them still sense your power."

Miraveh hadn't realised it. The cacophony of magical presences felt muted, as though she has become used to the constant ebb and flow of magical energy. As soon as she realised she still gave her magic full flow, she attempted to suppress it and failed. She tried again and again, but the magic still remained, standing out like a beacon to any magic wielder within range.

"I can't suppress my magic." The words came out almost in a panic as she continued trying to bring her magic under control. "I'm putting everyone in danger!"

She tried to stand, but her legs would not support her, sending her falling back onto the bed roll. Frantic eyes looked across to the campfires, where she could see a number of figures huddled close to the flames, kept low to minimise their light in the darkness. In this light, she couldn't count how many had escaped, but she suspected at least a couple of dozen were here. Too many people to carry upon her conscience.

"Brothimir says it's to be expected. He says he's seen others use too much power in conjunction with a relic. It can, I don't know how to describe it, inflame the part of you that accesses magic." With a gentle hand, Sialira urged Miraveh to eat. "In time, the 'inflammation' should go down and your ability to control magic will return."

"In time? How long? A day? A week?" Miraveh put the food aside, her hand searching for her sword, but neither the one given to her by Alran, nor the Hunter's sword were nearby. She pressed a hand on Sialira's shoulder, pushing herself to her feet. "And while I wait for this 'swelling' to go down, I place you all in grave danger? No. I have to leave. You and Daras can lead these people to safety."

Sialira tried to protest, but Miraveh would have none of it. Using the young Witch for support, Miraveh made faltering steps towards the nearest campfire, where Brothimir and Turotara sat together, alone. No others sat anywhere near the Karline within their midst. Miraveh had an idea for that, however.

"Nice of you to wake up. Finally." Turotara tossed a strip of meat into her mouth, pretending annoyance, but a smile broke out soon enough upon the face of the imposing guard. "You need a hair cut."

"I need you to prepare our horses." She paused, looking around. She hadn't even thought whether they had managed to bring the horses with them, but, there they were, hitched together to the side. "We'll lead the Hunters away from these people. I won't be responsible for any more deaths. Sialira and Daras can lead the others. He'll know somewhere they can be safe, I'm certain."

Turotara's face did not change. She still held that little smile and then ducked her head, glancing towards Brothimir. The Hunter also gained a smile, sharing some secret knowledge with the heavily-muscled guard. Miraveh scowled, uncertain whether they were about to ready the horses or not. A little cough from the side caused Miraveh to turn her head to find Mandelar had joined them.

"You should not be standing. Back to your bed roll. Now!" The words demanded Miraveh's acquiescence, but the tone remained low. Mandelar waved a hand, back in the direction of the bed roll. "You still have much healing to do and my brother and sister Witches would be quite angry if I allowed you to hurt yourself. As would the elves and goblins."

"What? No! My presence places everyone in danger." Now Miraveh could see several more people standing at their campfires, looking her way. "It's best for everybody."

"Miraveh, you and your companions have already done more for us than we could ever repay. You saved our lives." Even in the darkness and the flickering light from the fire, Miraveh could still see how painfully thin Mandelar remained, but she looked at peace. "Allow us to protect you, now. At least until you are fully recovered. We may all be in weakened states, but there are enough of us to make a stand. Especially while we have these."

Mandelar's hand moved towards her chest, indicating the relic dangling upon its leather string, and Miraveh's stomach rolled. At once she felt an intense revulsion towards the relic, but also a deep, powerful longing. She looked down towards Sialira, but the girl did not wear the relic Miraveh had given her.

Miraveh could sense it, though, within Sialira's jacket. And she could sense the others that they had taken from the Karline within Comragon. They were not near the campfires, but out, in the darkness away from the camp. Guards watching their perimeter. Miraveh didn't need to look for all of them, she could feel the relics and the magic of those that carried them.

It surprised her, however, that not only Witches carried those relics. She felt the different magical energies of elves and even one goblin among them. It did, indeed, look as though the former captives were capable of looking after themselves, but that did not mean she could continue to add to their present danger. They had suffered enough.

"You should destroy those relics." Miraveh's eyes lingered upon the one around Mandelar's neck. She almost wanted to rip it from the Witch and take it for herself. "They are corrupting."

"The ... Hunter assures us that will not be a problem as long as we share the burden between us and not use the relics rashly." Mandelar avoided Brothimir as she spoke of him. Miraveh doubted that fear and hatred for Hunters O' The Dark would ever leave the Witch. "Though, I must say, the power it gives is ... intoxicating."

"Imagine what it feels like to have one bonded only to you." Not caring that Mandelar could hardly bear to stand near him, Brothimir spoke to her anyway. "You could, you know. I know where you can get them and ..."

"Shut up." Still the man tried to get them to travel to the stronghold of the Velaurian Order, but Miraveh would have none of it. No matter how much she wanted a relic of her own. "I'm leaving, for the good of everyone and you should destroy those relics for the same reason."

"What of the Candidate?" Sialira's words came as a shock to Miraveh. She had not forgotten about the Candidate, but the Urge had reduced from a scream to a quiet hum and she had not noticed. "I still don't know which of these people, if any, is the right one. You are supposed to find them, protect them and take them back to the Pillars. Or had you forgotten?"

Once again, Sialira flipped from obvious concern to biting commentary. The girl's emotions flicked and spun in instants with no warning as to whether she intended to appear pompous and officious, or warm and tender in any one moment. Yet Miraveh's attention was not upon Sialira.

As much as she had tried to avoid it, to run from it and ignore it, the urge to find the Candidate had proven too strong, too insistent. Now it felt as though the Seeker's Urge had performed its task and melted into the background of Miraveh's mind, but she could not see the tell-tale tower of golden light that only a Seeker could see.

She turned her head, searching, and found, not the tower of light, but a golden glow coming from the outskirts of the camp. In the direction, it seemed, that Miraveh had felt one of the remaining relics. Limping, Miraveh almost dragged Sialira along, beginning to rush the closer they came to the Candidate and, as they passed through a ring of long grass, Miraveh saw the Candidate for the first time.

The goblin girl looked up in surprise at Miraveh and Sialira's arrival, fingers reaching for the relic hanging from her neck, but Miraveh stopped her hand, clasping it, before pulling the goblin into a tight embrace.