“We know Mawlin has a Windcaster aiding their cause, but we also have our own, who will aid us where she can, to cancel the advantage Mawlin poses as a result of that Caster.”

Tia averted her gaze as the roomful of eyes turned her way, particularly Sarpanit’s.

“I believe we are fully prepared for war.” Despite having no actual ability to force people to do his bidding, Lahar’s way of speaking was genuine and earnest. In spite of her aversion to mass violence, Tia couldn’t help but be drawn by his proposal and believe in him. “In the next few days, we will begin our retaliation against Mawlin and drive them back to where they belong. They have been oppressing the other countries for far too long. Their ruthless ways and bloodthirsty methods must be quashed. My brothers, I stand with you.”

They all stood and moved to clasp each other’s hands and slapped each other’s backs. In spite of the grave situation, there were grins on their faces. Declaring war was a terrible decision, but it was a united group decision and Tia actually felt part of a group for the first time in her life. Windcasters were always revered, almost feared, for their affinity with the Wind. They were never together with others of the same ilk either, unless the king called for a meeting. She and Mommu had lived in isolation with Master Anu at their little house for almost a decade.

And yet, here, nobody feared her. Nobody treated her any differently. There was no grovelling at her status or awe at her ability. They just accepted her and her gift and carried on, grateful for her assistance but giving her no more credit than what she was due.

She was happy here.

It was almost ironic that without Mawlin, she would never have been here. She would have lived on, ignorant, serving in Ptarmigan Fortress and eventually becoming a Caster of the king’s Army. The rest of her life she would have spent brainwashed with the propaganda about the Gwentians and distortions of the Dernexan history.

But Mawlin would also be taking all this away.

Sarpanit took her to the outskirts of Abaddon. She had not really appreciated the ancient city of Gwent as her first few weeks had been swallowed by shock and despair. It was a dainty city, with cobblestone streets and old-style sandstone brick houses. Streets ran haphazardly, almost as though it was built in a hurry, and houses accommodated the swerving roads and bends. Sounds of children’s laughter filled the air, although they weren’t playing. Most of the children were busy spreading salt and grit everywhere, hoping to melt the snow and clear the roads further. Tia could feel the crystals crunching beneath her boots of hide.

The snow grew thicker the further they moved away from the city centre. Most of the people had been staying at the Old Palace to avoid being isolated and for safety. The abandoned buildings were buried up to the ground floor windows in snow, some of which had melted and the two girls found themselves slipping every now and then.

“Who is this wood smith that you are taking me to, Sarpanit?” said Tia, jerking to maintain her balance as her left foot slipped from underneath her. Just a few steps ahead, the other girl turned, her red-brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. Tia squinted; the reflection of the sun’s rays on the snow was blinding.

“He hasn’t carved wood for us for many years, but I’ve always heard about his stories from Papa,” Sarpanit said. “He’s familiar with the lore of the Wind, apparently. If he can’t help you, nobody in Abaddon can.”

The frost glistened on the remaining leaves as they made their way up a winding, narrow path through the woods. Birds flapped their wings overhead, knocking off little parts of snow, which showered over Tia. She shook her head, brushing the snow from her chestnut brown hair. There was a delicate quietness in the air, broken only by their soft, muted footsteps and the occasional birdsong. The air was cold and chafing, and Tia’s eyes watered.

As they rounded a corner, her gaze fell upon a small, wooden hut. It must be hand-built as it was not of any traditional design that Tia had seen. The pillars, carved from wood, depicted dragons twisting into the sky, supporting its slanted roof, which was covered with a thin film of snow. A small set of stairs led up to its front door, which boasted a beautiful phoenix, with its wings spread wide. Dirty glass panes eyed them from the front.

She saw Sarpanit take in a deep breath, as though to steel her nerves, and she marched ahead, taking her leather gloves off and banging loudly on the wooden door. “Mister Kishar!”

Without another word, she opened it and let herself in, leaving Tia outside. Tia stood on the front step, mortified by the casualness.

“Tiamat!” the princess shouted from the inside.

The first things Tia noticed were the intricate wood carvings littering the inside of the small cabin. Beautiful animal shapes lay all around the edge of the room and on the windowsills and hung from the ceiling. Intricately decorated wooden pendants spun in the sunlight.

At the end of the room, surrounded by a pile of wood shavings and half-carved tokens, an old man sat in a wheelchair. His face lit up as soon as Tia stepped through the door.

“A Windcaster!” he exclaimed, in a voice surprisingly strong given his frail appearance. A huge grin spread from one wrinkled, spotted cheek to the other. “I never thought I’d live to see the day… not that I can see you, mind,” he added with a chuckle, his unseeing, pale eyes gazing straight through Tia.

“What happened to your eyes?” Tia said, picking her way over to him.

“It comes with age, my dear.” He winked. “It doesn’t matter much. I can hear as well as you can, although I can’t say I understand what the Wind is saying.” He gestured for her to come closer, with ropey-veined hands.

She squatted next to him. The big bear-like hands swamped hers. He took a deep breath and then eased out.

“You have much energy within you, child. The Wind recognises much of that talent and yields to it, even without a staff to focus your energy.” Tia felt the rough hands squeeze hers as she stared in astonishment. He knows about my freestyle Casting?

“And your heart is pure. Your energy is clean. You are most refreshing, my dear.” He sat back, a benign smile on his weathered face. “What can I do for you?”

Sarpanit gave her a pointed look from behind the old man.

“Don’t bully her, princess,” he chided in a mild voice. Sarpanit pulled a face at him. “I know what you’re doing!” He chuckled.

“I was hoping that you can make a staff for me, Mister Kishar.”

His white eyebrows rose as the laugh died away.

“I’ve had many requests throughout my life,” he said, leaning back on his wooden chair in thought, “but I’ve never been asked to create a Windcaster’s staff before.”

“You won’t do it?” Her heart sank.

“Oh, I will try, my dear. The lore has been passed down my family for generations, although the last to have made a staff would be before my great-grandfather’s time.”

“Who did he make it for?” she asked, puzzled. There had never been a Windcaster in Gwent.

“A Windcaster, of course. I think he was the Consul of Londis at the time.”

“You are a Dernexan?”

“No. I am Gwentian, of Dernexan descent. My ancestors were persecuted for our understanding of Wind magic. I don’t have any loyalty for Dernexes, not when they burned my village to the ground to look for my ancestors.”

Tia went cold. A fleeting image of Ratho, on fire, sprang to her mind.

The old man squeezed her hands again.

“Don’t be sad, child. It’s not your fault. We are not responsible for what our ancestors do; Sarpanit knows as well as any of us how descendants often end up paying the consequences for their fathers’ and their fathers’ fathers’ actions. It shouldn’t be that way. I’ll make your staff for you. Do you have your Wind gem?”

Tia could feel the guilt gripping her chest; her mouth turned down at the corners.

“I am sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s not your fault. Come back later on this week; I can’t promise anything but I will promise my best efforts to create you a staff.”

She slipped the dark gem into his hands.

“Thank you, Mister Kishar.”

Tia was quiet as they left the hut. Sarpanit linked arms with her and the two took their time walking back. Tia was mulling over more tainted news about her country. The thoughts troubled her; it seemed like no matter who she spoke to, nobody ever spoke kindly of Dernexes. She had loved Dernexes with blind faith until just over a year ago. Doubts had settled in not long after meeting the disappointing King Ea and the royal family, and her admiration had gone downhill from there.

The memories of the goodness of Dernexes nudged her thoughts. The goodwill and kindness of those people who had touched her – Agasaya, Namru, Anshar, Tammuz, Humbaba, Ki – warmed her heart as it had back then.

Dernexes might have had a bloody past and corrupt superiors, but there were good people there. They deserved better. She could do it, for them.