Loren Rummage picked her way over, careful not to tread over any precarious-looking pieces, and knelt down again, sweeping her cloak tail out of the way. The magic tried to form what would have been the magic -- in this case, a rune -- created at the time. There were a few pieces missing and some lines were smudged, but it was obvious it was the same rune as the one on Seiren's necklace. Loren touched it. The shiver that climbed up her arm was familiar, conjuring up the mental image of spiced orange, surrounded by freesias. This must have been the one that Seiren drew to bind Madeleine to the necklace.

Loren's eyebrows rose. So she did manage that spell at twelve years old, after all. This must have been where Seiren and Madeleine were, where Seiren found the bodies of her sister and father. There was no second rune. Loren sighed with relief. At least that as good as confirmed it. Seiren did not fire the rune that killed her mother.

She made her way to the other two runes and touched them. Neither of them gave her that feeling she'd attributed to Seiren's magic. They were conjured by two different mages -- definitely qualified mages, at that. The spell immediately inside the door gave her a sickening, burning sensation in the back of her throat, reminding her of the time when, freshly graduated from King's, she'd gone to celebrate with friends and ended up at the local beer house and she'd downed some peculiar concoction. It made her feel sick.

The other one smelled faintly of newborn babies and flowers, reminding her of Bicknor Infirmary.

The foul-tasting cluster of magic near the door didn't form the shape of a rune. It was just a smattering of light, suggesting a rapid explosion of energy. Burst magic. Nothing much else left for her to see. The rapid surge and drop in energy with burst magic left very few traces.

She turned her attention to the last one. The intricate details were grossly intact, being in the most sheltered part of the house and shielded from nature. It was carefully crafted with more overlapping shapes than any violet rune Loren had ever seen. Six circle locks sat on the peripheries; she could make out a prolonging symbol and an invisibility symbol. A hexagram took up most of its interior, but within the centre there was another five-pointed star with a double outer circle. Semi-circles protected each of the circle locks.

One sudden explosion of burst magic couldn't possibly have killed Kristen Harred. This singular rune here was a violet rune, modification magic, not death magic, and this wasn't drawn by the one who'd used the burst magic. People had died here, fuelling Loren's chaos magic, but she couldn't determine how many. The burial of Kristen, Connor, and Madeleine Harred were confirmed, but the presence of such an expertly-created rune in absence of any mage-murdering evidence seemed to point towards--

Loren's blood turned to ice.

"No way," she said out loud. The silent countryside echoed her horror. From one pocket, she tugged out the pigeon summoning rune and activated it. With the other, she drew out a pen and scribbled a message before sealing it with a violet rune. She dashed towards Felora and Peron.

"What is it, Mage Rummage?" Felora said, alarmed. Peron, without a word, gathered their bags.

"We need to get back to Benover. Now."

"Why--"

On cue, a fat pigeon flopped down from the sky. Loren's hands trembled; she forced them to still and, as an afterthought, re-sealed the violet rune again with a slightly different design to reinforce the security on her message. She certainly didn't want her revelation falling into the wrong hands. She tied it to the bird's leg and let it fly.

"Have you found out something urgent?" said Peron in his quiet, rumbling voice. Loren nodded. He knew not to probe her further, respecting the mages' confidentiality.

"What--"

"Let us depart for Benover, then, Mage Rummage," said Peron, jerking his head. Felora bit back her question and hurried after. Loren strode on, her heart thumping and blood pounding in her ears.

Loren said nothing on the train journey back to Benover. If only there was a quicker way to get the message to Rowan and Kommora. The message would only get there as quickly as the pigeon could fly and that wasn't accounting for anything unexpected, like bad weather, affecting its journey.

There was no Hannan: that was for sure. The king's mages wanted that covered up by taking over the investigations six years ago and proclaiming they'd solved the crime and the guilty one had paid the time. Loren remembered the glazed looks on the Feblands' faces. Someone -- a powerful mage -- had modified their memories. Not many mages were proficient enough in indigo runes to ensure a convincing story remained and the intellect of the affected intact. The only person Loren knew who could rune that was Kommora, but she wouldn't be surprised if some of the king's mages had that skill, too.

And worst of all... Kristen Harred might not be dead. Loren's heart palpitated at the thought. It would be wondrous news, for Seiren, at least, but why would a king's mage, one of the most talented rune mages of her time, disappear for six years with no trace? Why would she fake her own death? Just what really happened that night?

After what seemed like an eternity, the train pulled into Benover. Loren leapt to her feet. Felora and Peron took the luggage and followed closely.

Loren's foot had just landed on the stone ground, her eyes just glanced at the high station ceiling, when her instincts sparked.

"Get back!" she yelled, thrusting an arm backwards. Peron wrapped his arm around Felora's waist and leapt back onto the train. There was a crackle of flash magic and the ground exploded. Cracks shot along the floor in all directions. Loren flailed, almost thrown off balance as the ground bucked. Screams filled the air as the train jumped into the air.

Just as the ground settled, the air crackled again with the beginnings of flash magic. Loren threw down a rune and flicked her wrist. It glowed violet and thick black smoke wafted from it.

"Call the military!" she yelled. Even before the last word left her throat, there was another explosion of flash magic, forcing her to leap aside. The attackers were after her. She gritted her teeth. This was the worst place for it, in central Benover where several thousands of people frequent the train station. She took off at a sprint, satisfied knowing at least Felora and Peron would be safe.

She couldn't see them as she tore through the busy streets of Benover, but the bloodthirsty feeling kept close behind her and she knew they weren't far away. They were obviously hell-bent on hurting her and had no qualms about unleashing their magic in the streets, despite the potential collateral damage and vulnerable people in the way. State mages or rebels, it didn't matter. What mattered now was that Loren needed backup -- how she wished Rowan were there; fighting with magic was never her forte -- and she needed to take the attackers out of the busy roads.

She took a left turn off the main streets, leaping over the cobbled steps, and yelped as her ankle twisted. It throbbed with every step. She cursed under her breath for being so reckless, now restricted to a much slower hobble. She grasped the wall and propelled herself onwards, heading towards the fish market and harbour, now abandoned for the winter as the fishermen hunkered down to wait till spring for their next sea trip.

The crowd thinned until only the odd passer-by could be seen in the adjacent streets. Loren reached the protruding smooth rock over the harbour, which normally gave a glorious view of the sparkling waters and the river that stretched north and south of the capital. Today, it was grey and overcast with mist that blurred the lines between water and air.

Come on, Ro. It shouldn't take long for Rowan to arrive. Word spread fast, especially when there was yet another mage attack. She patted her side; she had a short knife there, primarily used for cutting bandages but that could come in useful if they ever got close enough. She just had to buy time.

Approaching footsteps reached her ears, leisurely, as if enjoying cornering her: two sets of them.

Two cloaked figures came into view. Obviously mages, but not dressed in their rainbow-lined attire. The material was generic and grey; they did not want to be recognised from afar. One stood two heads above the other, his shoulders broad and face shrouded by his hood. The other was young, about Loren's age, with platinum blonde hair that was jaggedy at the shoulders.

"So you're done running away from us, Loren Rummage?" said the young mage, her voice nasally and lilted. She waved with cheer as if greeting an old friend. Loren's eyes dropped to the woman's hand. A dead pigeon swung by its legs at her side. The mage caught her glance. "Did you really think something like this can be safely transported by pigeon?"

"I wasn't fully banking on it," murmured Loren, her fists curled. She'd seen this woman's face before, but never spoken to her. Karis Bonneville. The youngest king's mage who had shot up the mageship ladder faster than lightning. Her ability to wholly annihilate her opponents was legendary. Her eyes jumped to the cloaked figure. "But seeing a king's mage here just confirmed my suspicions."

All the while, Loren racked her brains. Karis was a mixed rune and flash mage, with her flash manifesting as ice, making her deadly whatever the distance. Her companion must also be a king's mage or else he wouldn't be present when Loren had just uncovered a state secret the king's mages were so desperate to hide.

Karis's smile stretched from ear to ear until she seemed almost manic. Her multiple gold earrings glinted in the light.

"Why is it such a secret about Mage Harred?" said Loren, attempting a calm smile. Time. She needed more time.

"We have a lot in store for this country, and--"

"That's enough, Karis," said the companion. Loren recognised that voice. "She may be a dead woman, but you still don't need to spill secrets everywhere."

"Domic Butterworth," Loren breathed. Her heart rammed against her ribcage. Where the heck was Rowan? There was no way she could hold a fight even against one of them.

He snorted and threw his hood back. Loren only recognised those callous eyes behind spectacles, but the rest of his face was in ruins. She'd only seen such severe injuries from people who'd unwittingly been injured in metalwork factories. Thick brown scarring covered most of his face, forcing one of his eyes to narrow permanently and one side of his mouth to hitch upwards as the scar tissues tightened. Half of his head was also covered in scars and no hair grew. The glamorous floppy brown hair was seared into a sad crop of stubble. The fire that did this must have been quite something.

It clicked. Crina Nighy, Kommora's former student. The attack at the flour mill. It must have been these two who attacked her.

It clicked again. Heavily burned face. Domic Butterworth returned Seiren's necklace after she was hospitalised from the attack by the rebel mage and then he'd shut down her laboratory and confiscated her research.

Kristen Harred was alive, and all of this had something to do with Seiren. Loren needed to get all this to Kommora at once. Her eyes darted to her right. There was a single, narrow path there that wound back onto the main roads.

Butterworth caught her eyes.

"Sorry, Rummage. Your path ends here." His eyes flashed.

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