1. Exiled
She stood atop her tower, surveying the valley for any sign of threat, the February winds prying strands of her
dark hair from its leather band. They lashed her face spitefully in random gusts of biting wind. She absently
brushed them back and tightened her grip on her cloak, pulling the hood tightly around her head. What she
wouldn’t give for a troop of archers stationed up here , “and some down on the lower Eastern wall“ she muttered
to herself, just in case a Wishmaker was listening.
But there was no Wishmaker here at the Northern Edge. There was nothing to sustain a population in anything but the
most basic of supplies. Visiting the market in the collection of huts the inhabitants probably called a
village had shown her that. They spoke a strange language, she hadn’t needed to learn any of it, pointing at
what she needed at the market. “Market” was a grand name for two benches outside of a chicken pen. So sparse
had been the choice of provisions, that there was no room for confusion. She had paid the few coin required
before she had spelled the forgetting. No need to rob those with nothing. They would simply just forget who had
bought what that day.
She sighed. She had no-one. No allies, no army, no followers. Still, this view was perhaps warning enough. Nothing
could approach from the North or the West, both had unassailable defences of unpredictable seas and rocks that
lay in wait, when they were not snarling and snapping at onlooker and water alike. To the South lay
steep brush land, offering little cover to an approaching threat. Anything approaching from that direction
would be visible for at least a day before it reached her.
The East. That was the direction that she would need to ward. It was mainly forest. There were natural defences in
there, wolves mainly, and a few bears she suspected, though she had not seen one, she had sensed them. The
villagers had cultivated a small portion on the outskirts, and had barley, a little wheat and root vegetables
to sustain them. She had not bought meat, guessing that it was probably wolf or rat. She had seen only two
cows, and guessed that they were kept for milk and cheese. There had been two men sat stoically next to them,
guarding precious resources, no doubt.
The wolves and bears would be of no deterrent to another with the Woodsense. She could sustain with ease maybe four
wards and still sleep. She pondered about where they should be placed. Someone with average Spellerlore
would easily detect them, but she had to gamble on maybe someone in a party tripping them by accident before
they were detected. She would feel the unmaking of a ward, but if it was herself approaching and she wished to
remain unseen, she would not unmake it, she would merely avoid it. There were the villagers to consider too.
She didn’t want to be at high alert every time someone took a shot at a rat. She could not make herself
safe. Whatever she did, she could not make herself safe.
She set the wards, two on the trail and two either side of it where the forest gave way to the fields. Each one
she carefully visualised, and sent spinning into place. She felt exhausted and leant upon the wall to support
herself, knowing she had to stay with the wards for at least half an hour to ensure a bonding. They
were little more than flickers of blue light in the distance. To anyone without knowledge of the Spellerlore,
they were invisible.
The Tower was about fifty feet high, and about thirty in diameter. It was made of white stone, and was surrounded
by a ten foot wall. A seriously robust portcullis was marred only by the fact of it being broken.
With just a handful of fighters it would have been a formidable defence. It was a pity. In the end
it was a thing to be borne and taken into consideration. Nothing more.
And when they came? What then? She had no “what then” yet. She turned toward the door and stepped out of the
freezing wind into the chilly calm of the inside of her new home. There were three floors in all, and of course
the Watch station at the top. She made her way down the winding spiral staircase, stone worn from years of use,
down to the ground floor. That’s where the kitchen’s had been. From a distance a fire lit here would be
indistinguishable from the village chimneys, the smoke being guided from the fireplace outwards to the sea, and
hopefully merging unnoticed with the rest. She had to risk it. It was bitterly cold here, and the light was
fading. She lit a candle, sat on the surround of the stone fire place and, having started a small blaze,
allowed herself for the first time that day the luxury of collapsing into a fit of sobbing that would have
brought pity to the black heart of the Dark One himself.
Some time later she stood up and wiped the tears away with her cloak and taking a firm hold of her dagger, she cut
slowly and deliberately into her left thumb, “That is pain Riani… that is real pain.” she told herself. She
felt the wards buzzing gently in her mind, and taking some comfort from that she climbed onto the bed that she
had made for herself. She had no idea what crawled in the rooms of this place, and had used some broken chairs
and tables she had found to make a raised area to sleep on near to the fire. She had it stable at about three
feet high. High enough to give her an advantage if taken by surprise, and high enough to leap to the
staircase should she need to.
She removed her boots with mixed sensations of foreboding and relief. It felt wonderful to not have the
constriction around her feet and ankles. It also felt like a stupid thing to do, and as a compromise she placed
them at her side within easy reach. She needed sleep so badly. With a sigh of resignation she also took
off her skirt and leather jacket, rolling them into a pillow, and lay down to sleep in her shift, covering
herself in her cloak. She had never in her life felt this vulnerable or this alone. She had never felt so free.
“Always there is balance “, she thought to herself. “No-one to trust, so no-one to betray me, a shining
side to everything”. With a yawn and a stretch she turned to watch the fire dance, letting its dying
pirouettes send her to sleep.