Half out of her mind as she fled Fretram, Daenna, still aflame,  ran for her life in a furry of confusion and fear. The calls of the Phoenix beckoned her, but she pushed them aside, dismissing them as mere tales of nonsense and magic. Yet she couldn't help but think of those two Watchmen, who had paid the price, in flesh, for her ignorance.

In what seemed like an instant, she sprinted past the bustling docks, where fishermen and traders were absorbed in their daily routines, paying her no heed. Without hesitation, she raced to the very edge of a wooden ramp, leaping with a powerful kick into the sea below.

The water quelled her flames instantly, and when her head popped up and out, she could hear the Watchmen's calls in the city and the alarm bell chiming in the guard tower. They were looking for her. She swam north as fast as she could, staying under the water as much as possible so as not to attract their attention. Clothes would be handy, she needed them fast. She kicked her legs and held her breath over and over so much that her heart began beating out of her chest. When she slowed, she thought of Jaspel and wished she could take back all the wicked things she said to her the night before sneaking off. Now Jaspel was the only person Daenna wanted, who she needed to get to, the one she could trust to explain what was truly happening. If only she'd listened. Not been so afraid.

She could barely feel her legs when the brush she had used to mark where she had left her belongings came into view. She swam to shore. Once at the beach, she lay there in the small pebbles and shells and let her body warm up and rest in the afternoon sun. It was always hot in Altnaraha, no matter the time of year, and although she was thankful for it, she knew it could be deadly.  

Making sure there was no one in sight, she ran to the brush and grabbed her knapsack. She rummaged through it quickly throwing on a beige cotton robe and a white cloth wrapped around her head and the bottom of her face. If she could make it back to the Northern shores before nightfall, she could evade any pursuit. Tired from swimming, hungry, and confused, she followed the coast towards Paderdun. Towards home. 

In the night while she slept, two men approached her. "Get up grub." A gruff voice commanded, shaking her awake from a dead sleep. She'd travelled miles away from Fretram and collapsed at the first sign of dark. At first she was too exhausted to register who it was. For a moment she thought she had reached Paderdun, but then she recognized their robes. They were Protectors, those who claimed to Right the Wicked, who thought themselves saviors, though they were merely slave traders.

Daenna had been taught the Protectors were wicked, men who killed and raped. They scavenged for the vulnerable, travelers caught alone and unarmed, or runaways with no one looking for them. They must have thought she was one of the latter, they'd be right to assume she'd been evading them for weeks. She recoiled at the thought of what they may be capable of. 

One of them must have been in Fretram and tracked her sloppy and dazed escape. Even so, she thought she covered her tracks. Perhaps they used some kind of dark magic to find her. She had been too focused on making sure to travel far enough out of the Watchmen's range, she'd forgotten the other dangers that could have been lurking. The Protectors had their own agenda, if one had seen her turn to flames, they'd know she wasn't an average catch. 

"Careful, fool, she can burn you." A weaselly voice returned. The second man pulled down the cloth she still had over over face and added. "It's her, do it."

Hours later, she woke with a jolt, her backside slamming into the bottom of a cart as it rode over rocky ground.  Her wrists were chained and locked to a bolt inside the wagon, her mouth dry and pasty. She could hear shuffling, and horses, and the creaking of the cart's wheels. Blurred images surrounded her until her vision focused, and the band of Protectors slowly came into view. Their black robes with a large white star on the chest were what caught her eye first, and then their swords, marked with the Raven. Some rode, some walked beside the wagon. Some looked mean, while others looked happy, content. 

Another bump in the wagon sent her stomach lurching and she gagged and spit up bile. She hadn't eaten anything more than berries in two days, maybe three.  

"Looks who's awake," the weaselly voice returned. She looked up to put a face with his voice. He did not disappoint. He looked like a rat who decided to try becoming human, with a long nose and face, droopy eyes and a mustache that curled up on each side. "Not so hot now, are you little peach?" 

Instinctively, she spat at him, though her dry mouth didn't yield as much as she would have liked. It earned her a swift blow to the head with the pommel of his sword. Not enough to knock her out again, but for a moment everything went black. The other Protectors cheered him on and he spat back, splattering her face with his saliva. 

Rubbing off his spit with her sleeves, as much as she could manage, her full focus returned again and she noticed she wasn't alone in the cart. There were three other abductees, one beside her and two across from her. The woman beside her wept, and the two men slept or lay seemingly dead. The Protectors just laughed. One started a chant and the others chimed in. 

It's time for retribution, for all the magic dead. 

Take away our justice, we'll take away yer head.

Find us in the moonlight, you'd better say a prayer.

The Dark collects the hunted, and we will take you there.

And we will get our share, hooray, and we will get our share.

Her head pounded at their volume and the light of day. She knew these scum were wicked but talking about the Dark so candidly was concerning.  Sitting up as much as she could, she scanned the horizon to get a better idea of where they were.   She scoffed. There was no sea in sight, and the mountains were far off in the distance to the west. Which could only mean, they were headed South.  She turned around the other way and saw it,  an endless forest ahead stretching as far as she could see.

No. It can't be. The only forests in Altnahara she knew well were the ones west of the Paderdun, the Watering Woods. Although Fretram, Martel, all the coastal cities and towns, still held some fresh vegetation and growth around their perimeter, the Watering Woods were vast and cut for fuel and shelter. They held medicines in the trees and animals and plants of all kinds called it home. That was not the type of forest they rode towards.

"How's the head, little grub?" A gruff voice pulled Daenna from her thoughts as a hide filled with water hit her chest. She turned to the man who spoke. He wasn't the weaselly man, he was dark-skinned with dark hair and he looked much tougher, confident. He rode his horse slowly beside the wagon. Daenna shook her chains and snarled at him, grunted like a wild animal. Tried to shake loose but her limbs ached and her body didn't have the energy to continue struggling.  "Now, now, little grub, no need to go beddy-bye again so soon. Relax, drink and enjoy the view. It will probably be your last, once in the mines." He snickered, kicked his leather boots into the backside of his horse and sprinted up ahead of the caravan.

As she clutched the water hide and brought it to her dry lips, she realized where they were headed, knew it was bloody impossible. They'd traveled to Crystal Rock Pines. She only knew it by name, by fireside stories told. It should have taken them months on the swiftest horse to get there from where she was last night. But somehow, they rode toward the Jade Mines, to be sold as slaves.

"Bloody underworld dogs," Daenna cursed under her breath. She cursed the chains that held her with another tug and cursed herself for falling asleep under that tree. Though she'd been on the run, a fugitive thief, a suspected murderer, she'd rather be locked in a cell than traded to the mines. At least in a cell, she'd have a chance at escape, but the mines? Everyone knew those who worked the mines were never seen again. Not even after death. It was told, if a miner died, the body would be 'dealt with' and a Notice of Deceased sent by carrier to their closest kin, if they bothered to report it at all.

Then she remembered the faces of the men she may have killed during her escape, their shocked expressions and the Watchmen who chased her down and cornered her when it happened. She remembered an explosion first, hitting her in the chest, and then the fire burning off all her clothes, leaving the men beside her black, and cooked. They steamed in her memories. But the fire, the fire saved her.

She cursed her luck, her memory, her life. The three other slaves in the wagon, looked like she felt, ragged and beaten. They were up now, staring beyond her with empty eyes. They all swayed back and forth, back and forth, for what seemed like miles. Helpless. She saw no escape, felt no need to drink. In heavy regret of the choices she made to get there, she threw the satchel of water aside, lowered her head on her arms and wept. This was the end. She was ready to give up and let the Light take her.

They entered the Pines and were enveloped by the shade of 150-foot ancient trees. Row upon row of trunks surrounded them, along with the Protectors. She wondered what creatures lived here, and if by any luck, they would eat them all before reaching the mines.

Then she heard a familiar whisper.

Drink.

She looked up at the other slaves but they remained sullen and detached. She heard it again.

Drink, child. Drink!

Daenna began a soft laugh, which turned to a whimper. "Jaspel?" She grabbed fistfuls of her hair, pulling it out from her braid. Was she was losing her mind? She didn't want to be there any longer, she wanted it all to end.

Fool girl, drink! It will awaken the fire inside you so you can escape!

Jaspel scolded her. She sat up, looked around. Before she could even fathom what she heard, arrows fell from the trees above and pierced her company.

"It's an ambush!" yelled a Protector.

"In the trees, the trees!" They scrambled, shielded themselves blindly under their enemy's cover of the canopy of trees. There had only been a handful, twenty Protectors at the most who escorted the slaves to the mines. They didn't seem prepared for an ambush, like they thought they were safe, just another routine drop.

They hadn't a chance. The archers above were precise. The Protectors fell two by two until all dropped from their horses and lay dead, pierced in the eye and chest on the forest floor.

Slender assassins in hooded garbs with scarf covered mouths dropped from the trees and quickly calmed the horses of their victims. They stopped the slave cart and checked the dead for belongings, gold or supplies, she didn't know which. They all wore bows on their backs, held arrows at their waists. One of them began to pick the locks of the male slaves across from her, who looked as dumbfounded as she felt. As they were released, helped from the cart, a rescuer began to work on her chains. When she was freed, Daenna didn't know whether to fight or to run. Who were these people and what did they want with her now?

To her surprise, the one who released her pushed back her hood and pulled down the scarf that hid her face. A woman who Daenna never expected to see here stood before her and reached out a hand. "It's time to go home, albi."