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Reaching his room, Inlé sat in the center of his floor, let his hair down, and began to meditate. Soon his body began to float in the air as the room around him became a black-hole that pulled him into it, stretching him thinner than an atom wide.
He returned to himself upon the hill where the goddesses feasted. But they would not be there for hours.
Come to us, he heard the wind call. Follow the sun to find us.
So sunward he ran. The grass around him was waist high, and the wind rippled this green sea as the Worldwanderer bounded through the breakers. The sun set before Inlé reached the goddesses, whose dance was coming to an end.
"Welcome, Wanderer," they called as one. "Tonight we do indeed have a task for you." The spinning slowed to a stop, and each woman smiled individually at Inlé.
The orange goddess grabbed his hand and said, "But first, the meal."
"Ladies," Inlé greeted. "I should not tarry here overlong. Pray, tell me what my mission is now, and I will be away at once."
"In time, boy," the silver goddess scolded. "Formalities are not only used in speech."
"That's right," the brown goddess agreed. "We can't talk business on empty stomaches. Then our minds would be on the meal to come and not the business at hand."
"That's just common sense, Inlé," the orange goddess said. "Come on," she said, pulling him along. "The food will taste so much better with your true tongue."
And it did.

"Now to business," the brown goddess said as the feasting slowed. "We have heard that you work as a messenger, as well as an errand runner. Is this true?"
"Among other things, yes," Inlé agreed.
"And is the outfit you're wearing a requirement?"
"Not at all. It is a preference, in that it allows for ease of movement and adequate storage. If the mission requires other garb, so long as the garb is easily available or provided, it will be worn instead."
"Good," she said. "It would be much better if you wore this"--a bundle appeared beside Inlé--"while you are our messenger."
The article that Inlé held up was a nondescript robe, un-dyed and rough-spun. He changed immediately, and was pleased to find that it was more comfortable than it had at first appeared.
"There now," the brown goddess said. "It looks good on you. It will adjust during your travels as is needed, but this is likely the simplest form to move in.
"As for what we need you to do: we are more intimately involved with our followers than some other gods. A message to our servant, the Archcardinal Arrats needs to be delivered to her ... supernaturally. We are not allowed to reveal ourselves directly to our followers, due to the rules made by the pantheon. To make the game of ruling more exciting, you see. But a message sent by supernatural means is acceptable, and so we hire you.
She began handing Inlé items as she gave delivery instructions. "This scroll will inform the Archcardinal of what it is we require. Another scroll is here for the king--and only the king, mind--of the country Ashkern. Another for the eremite who refuses to be named atop the Mountain of Dreams. Two more for the vacilando Fernweh and the soto Qadri. Lastly, this scroll goes to the sapphire maiden of the Lost Lake. Discretion is, of course, a requisite. And we trust you will abstain from perusing these yourself.
"Also, if you come across any wearing our symbol--the wheeled triskelion--you speak with our voices. Direct our followers as though they are your own. Be reasonable, but feel free to put them in their place if they try to hinder you.
"This bollocks dagger is a means of defense, and this spellbook has a list of every spell we thought you may have need. I'm certain you are accustomed to such items?"
"Of course, Lady."
"And will you require that these instructions be written out for you?"
"They are already memorized, Lady."
"Will you require a map?"
"It would be helpful, Lady, but I can make do without, as you see fit."
The brown goddess laughed. "Boy, you certainly know how to twist the knife, don't you? Not a fan of gods, are you?"
"Lady, I serve gods with respects and rhubarb. I do not claim to understand the reason such powerful beings rely on these base services provided by myself, nor do I ask for explanation. I carry out the tasks required me and am finished. My relations with previous employers are less than exemplary, and I have few deities on my regular clientele. Many who take on my services do so unwillingly, and more dislike my unsettled and unorthodox methods.
"With all due respect to each of you, I will work for you, but I do not serve you. I am not your equal, nor your superior. But neither am I your subordinate. I am an independent entity, assisting out of goodwill, and not out of servitude or worship."
Laughing again, the brown goddess said, "Good! You recognize we have power, but are not afraid to speak your mind. And you even try to do so diplomatically. If only we had worshipers like you! Not that I would try to recruit you, but you must understand, a boy such as yourself would be the perfect focus for our total power in this world. You claim not to understand us, but I have a feeling we are not too different, you and I.
"Good! Go to your tasks, Worldwanderer." Inlé and the goddesses rose to their feet, and Inlé began to walk off when the brown goddess called, "But remember this last warning, boy: each of we gods in this realm were once mortals as you yourself are. Have a care in your interactions, as our once mortality is never fully forgotten.
"And be careful not to follow us into ascension!" she called at last as he stepped off of the hill and the goddesses vanished with their feast as an oasis in the desert.

A cowled beggar approached the holy city Aurora as the sun began to rise from the plains behind him. The guards did not look up from their dice as he wandered past, beneath notice. Once inside, he walked straight for the tall spire climbing gracefully from the center of the city. The main road lead directly to the spire in a straight, well-kept manner that was designed to magically ease the muscles as one approached the tower. None of the throng wandering the road paid any attention to this unmemorable travel-dusted vagrant. Even so, the walk took several hours.
In the plaza facing the tower, stalls flaunted every sort of magical ware. Potions in glass vials glowed with the sun rays bound up in the colorful fluids, while baubles and jewelry glittered enticingly in the next stall. Odors--delightful and distasteful, sometimes at once--wafted from various stalls by accident or design. A thousand human voices vied to be heard over a cacophony of animal cries and other less definable sounds. Through this crowd the beggar walked untempted.
He climbed the thirteen broad, colored steps to the base of the tower slowly, deliberately, forcing the guards flanking the double-wide doors on the top stair to take note. When the beggar was two steps from the door, he stopped. The guards, reacting too late, crossed their lances against the beggar's entrance.
"What business have you with the Tower of the Mage?" one guard asked after briefly touching the brass wheeled triskelion seal over his heart in greeting.
"None, sir," the beggar answered, placing a fist over his chest. "My business lays only with the Archcardinal. I have a message of great import for her."
"Have you a permit for entering the tower?"
"I do not."
"Then give your message here, and it will be relayed to her holiness at her convenience."
"Your pardon," the beggar said. "But I was told specifically to give the message to the Archcardinal herself. My employer was specific about this point."
"And who, pray, is your employer, then," the guard said, beginning to lose patience.
"I am not at liberty to say, sir. Discretion was requested, and even were it not I could not on my honor give out information pertaining to those who purchase my assistance."
"Then you can not pass," the guard said curtly. "What proof have we of goodwill? You could well be an assassin or thief, using a message for her holiness as a device to gain access to the tower."
"If you would like, I will leave those items I carry for defense in your custody until I return." A small dagger and a large spellbook, each with the wheeled triskelion crest prominently displayed were revealed. Placing the two together, the vagrant held them out to be collected.
The guard shook his head. "Even were I to take those, you would be stopped at every floor and turned back without a permit. The Archcardinal is on the top floor, and every stairwell is guarded. You would return here quickly, if you were not outright killed by a random shock of magic as it passed through the halls."
The beggar stared for a moment from the shadows of his cowl, then returned his tools to wherever he had before stored them. He stood silently for a few moments longer, then said, "Very well. I do not wish to be so bothered. To the roof, it is."
The guards were shocked into open mouthed awe as the vagrant before them transformed into something much more brilliant. The unremarkable garb became a bright gown, banded to match the steps behind the figure. From this creature's back sprung three identical wings, erupting into a triskele behind him. Leaping into the air, the creature flew calmly up toward the tower's pinnacle. Two wings carried him upward, the third folded close to his back.
A clamor arose from the plaza below as the masses noticed the messenger climbing steadily up the enormous tower. A magical barrier of force appeared above him to bar passage, but the third wing swept it aside with one quick flap. The hole closed below him, and he continued to the next barrier a few floors higher. Seven times a barrier sprang up. Seven times the third wing brushed the barrier aside effortlessly.
Finally, the messenger landed on the platform at the top of the tower. As soon as his feet touched down, the magical garb dissipated, leaving an unremarkable mendicant once more.
"Well that was quite a show," a voice from the platform's entrance called. "This will surely garner a large reaction with the city council."
The mendicant faced the woman and placed his fist gently over his heart momentarily. "Archcardinal Arrats?"
"Indeed."
"Apologies for the display, madam, but I was unable to convince the guards at the entrance to allow me passage. As I have been told this message is both private and urgent, I refused to be delayed by worthless formality. I have run these last five days to reach this city, and am unapologetically impatient at the moment."
"It is I who should apologize for my guards, sir," the Archcardinal said, laughing. "They are quite formal, as you say. But," she added, "formalities are required in this place, lest the tower become lax and degrade into a poor house for our goddesses' faithful. I am certain you understand."
"Your goddesses would be pleased to hear your devotion, madam. In fact, they seem quite pleased with you, as I understand. I have with me a scroll for your person, and was directed to relay this to you personally. See that it is sealed and unread."
Taking the scroll, the Archcardinal observed that the wax seal had not been tampered with. In surprise, she looked up at her guest more acutely for a few moments before breaking the seal and perusing it. "You have not read this?" she asked.
"I have not, madam."
"And do you know what it says?"
"I do not, madam."
She rolled the scroll shut. "Would you like to know?"
"I was told that the message is for you alone, madam. My loyalty to my employers is such that it suffices. I have no interest in its contents."
"How noble," she smirked. "The goddesses we serve--"
"You serve, Archcardinal."
"--As you wish. Then your 'employers' have requested that I complete a specific task for them. They say here that the messenger who delivers this scroll will serve as my champion in this mission and as the man who will aid in collecting the party to be involved.
"What I mean to say here is, you see, that I am to accompany you on the rest of your journey."
"Are you?" the messenger said, unimpressed. "Very well, but you must keep pace with me, then. My time is valuable, and there are still more whom I must meet with."
"Of course, sir. I need only a few moments to collect my things, and we can be off." The vagrant before her turned to the edge of the platform. Before he leapt back down, she stopped him saying, "Through the tower this time, if you would be so kind. I would not have the council any more frustrated with me as they will be on my return."
The vagrant turned back to her, "You are bound by this council, then?"
"Only politically," she shrugged. "Therein lies the problem with organizing people, of course. The more power you have over people, the more power they have over you. It can't be helped, as it is for the glory of my faith."
"Then this mission they give you irks you, as it pulls you from your divine duties."
The Archcardinal laughed. "My divine duties are to serve the goddesses of magic with my full devotion. This mission elates me, as it was given me directly by them. Not to mention," her eyes glimmered, "it gets me away from all these rank-hungry people. I do not have much love for those more devoted to position than faith."
"You said the formalities prevented degradation."
"Not entirely, unfortunately. Some forms of degradation thrive on formality. But it is weeded out as best I can manage. It is not really my place to say, but rank and title are hardly the most important things in this world. If you would accompany me," she turned and began to walk into the tower, "I could use your assistance in packing."

Though she appeared outwardly calm, the Archcardinal Arrats shook with excitement as she prepared for departure. The open road again! How many years had it been since she had wandered to hone her power and her faith? Too many, she decided as she pulled her traveling spellbook lovingly from its safe and wiped the layer of dust from its cover.
She turned to her guest and asked, "I still have no name for my companion. What may I call you, good sir, if you may tell me?"
He stood at the door, unmoving as a statue since he had entered her apartment. Were she not so excited, she decided, he would unnerve her with his cowled gaze. After a pause, he said, "You may call me Inlé, Archcardinal. I have many titles and names, but that is the first."
"A beautiful name, Inlé. I do not recognize its origin, but I suppose that would be expected, considering your origins."
"True, madam. But my origins are not divine, as you may believe. I am still human enough. There is no divinity in me."
"And your display moments ago was not divine, then?" She wondered at this Inlé's manner of speech. His words sounded as if he spoke with humility, but his tone sounded distinctly ... proud of his mortal state.
"It may have been," he answered, confusing her. Seeing this, he elucidated his point by saying, "Those items I carry were given me for this mission. They possess some merit of divinity granted them by their creators. I have little control over them, Archcardinal."
"Well enough," Arrats said. She placed her spellbook down and walked for her wardrobe. "These are my personal quarters. Study, bedroom, lounge. Feel free to look through the bookcases. Anything that catches your eye can come along."
"This is no vacation, madam."
She sighed. "Of course, but one must keep their mind sharp as well as their body. The texts there are information on many paths of learning. You may find something that will help. Admittedly, I don't have any idea the depth of your education, but I'm sure you will see something I wouldn't. I am so intimately acquainted with the texts there that I may overlook something valuable out of over-familiarity."
"As you wish," he answered her, approaching the bookcases.
She pulled a robe off its hanger and looked it over to determine whether it would be adequate. It had been some time since she had worried about her wardrobe, too, she realized. Normally it was inconsequential. Confined as she was to the tower, practicality was of less value than comfort and display of status. Finally, useful clothing again! After juggling a few garments, she settled for a gown of homespun wool, drably colored.
Changing into this outfit, Arrats looked herself over in the mirror. The fiery hair of her youth had darkened to a muted auburn, but she was glad to note it refused to succumb too much to age and whiten. At one hundred eighteen, she was still young enough to last a few more decades at least. The average age for the lay people had dwindled to a paltry eighty years, but mages and clerics still held strong lifespans of two hundred or longer, though texts told that once that had been the lay norm, and those with divine or arcane power lasted as much as three times that.
Her skin was still strong and pale, without wrinkle. She was proud of her appearance, especially her unusual mismatched eyes--one green and gold, the other crystal amber. She was less satisfied that she had put on some weight since last she had worn this robe. What once had been form-fitting had become a bit snug, and Arrats decided that this adventure was a few years late in coming. She grabbed a few trinkets from a jewelry chest atop her bureau before leaving the closet.
The Archcardinal was pleased to note her guest had begun collecting texts and was thumbing through one when she entered. Which texts mattered little to her, as she had much else to collect before they could leave.
An old bag was lifted from a chest beside her desk. A simple dagger was also pulled from the chest, as was a belt with numerous pouches and a sheathe for the dagger. She lovingly inspected each item for wear, knowing there would be none.
"You find these items dear to you."
Her guest's voice surprised her almost enough to drop the dagger she was inspecting. She was amazed to find him a step away. So close and she had not noticed? This was no man unused to adventure.
"I do," she defended. "They are all dear friends with whom I have wandered through many dangers. Without them, I surely would have been lost long ago."
The man stared at her in the shadows of his hood, only his eyes unnervingly visible. "And yet you have not held that dagger in a great time. It is awkward in your hands."
Feeling rebuked by this emotionless person, Arrats said, "I have had little need for them in some time."
"So you take them up only when you must."
"There are few days I go without thinking of them, but I cannot carry them often. My position prevents me from keeping such humble things with me."
"An excuse for concealing those things from your past that you are ashamed of."
"No!" she protested. "Were I able, I would keep them with me always. They are always beside my desk, within reach most of the day, while I sit and work. Always reminders of my former glories."
"Reminders rarely attended to."
She thought about her words before saying, "Perhaps I have been lax of late. Truly, it feels strange holding this dagger again, wearing this belt. I am meeting old friends after a long journey. But it is not uncomfortable. I feel as though I am experiencing a homecoming rather than preparing for an excursion. In truth, I have missed them dearly."
Her inquisitor watched her for another long moment, then said, "It is a good answer. You should always remember your tools. They will keep you alive when you yourself come up lacking. But remember that mistreating them or abandoning them will make them less able--less willing--to aid you the next time you need them. They seem to share a great love for you, as well, but they are all out of practice. As you will need time to readjust yourself to them, they will require time to reacquaint themselves with you. Pray you and they are ready when needed. As you yourself said, one must keep herself sharpened in all aspects to remain prepared."
Scolded--something she had not felt in decades--the Archcardinal thanked her guest as he wordlessly returned to his readings. She collected her pendant of rank from her desk as she rose. Inspecting herself, she placed her trinkets in various belt pouches and sheathed the dagger. Her bag was filled with the spellbook and slung over one shoulder.
She approached her companion by her bookcase and was surprised to find him reading through one of her textbooks on elementary magical practice. Glancing quickly at the group of books he had neatly stacked on the side table that he leaned lightly against, she saw that they were all similar in content.
"You prefer to review the basics, then?" she asked him.
"I prefer to study them, yes," he answered. "These practices are new to me."
"What? How can that be if you are personally associated with the goddesses?"
"There are many things about myself that would surprise you, Archcardinal."
She looked at the cowled man as he continued to read quickly. She realized then that all she knew was his name. "May I see your face?" she asked. "I would like to know my companion's appearance, at least."
He paused, then put the textbook down and faced her. Slowly, he lifted his hood back, pulling a long topknot out from its recesses in the process. She was astonished to find him so young. He was still a boy! And yet so stern was his visage that Arrats understood he brooked no mercy for those who underestimated him for his youth, not even himself. Brilliant blue eyes stared out impassively from a poker face only slightly sun-worn. There was no sign of a beard, as though he had decided not to grow one and his body had simply agreed. And his dark hair, now draped over his left shoulder was silk-smooth, perfectly groomed despite its time in the hood.
"Satisfied, Archcardinal?" he asked.
"Very," she answered lightly. "Certainly this trip will be more exciting than I could hope. Don't disappoint me, boy. I plan to enjoy this to the fullest."
She finished packing as her guest continued flipping through her library.
When Arrats was satisfied, she called over to Inlé. "Have you found what you want to bring, boy?"
"I have," he answered without looking up. She waited for him to continue, but realized after a few page turns that he wouldn't.
"Well here's a bag to carry them in, then," she held it up for him to take. "What did you decide on?"
He looked at her as he took the bag, then said, "A test, perhaps. I will lift the book, and you will tell me its title before it is placed within the bag. You claimed an intimate knowledge of their contents, but how well do you truly know them?"
"You're on," she laughed as he lifted the first book. The thin black primer showed wear all over its cover, even though--as Arrats well knew--the cover had been repaired nearly a dozen times. "Beginning Mage. The first edition, by the way. Very rare now." A thicker book with a natural hide cover rose. "Creatures of Note, the bestiary for the continent Ramborol and its surrounding islands. Hardly exhaustive, but a formidable work nonetheless." A red tome was lifted. Arrats thought until the book was almost in the bag before answering, "A History of Ashkern. It's a decade behind revision, but the newest copy I have." A white book, "Goodleaf and Ragalwort. Are we going to avoid all towns?" Another red book, "The Magics Alive. I wrote that one, by the way."
The last book Inlé had selected was a slim pink book just larger than his palm. Arrats remembered seeing the book on her shelf--knew exactly where it would be returned--but remembered nothing about the book. After allowing Arrats to look at it for a long time, Inlé placed the book into the bag and slid it over his shoulder.
"Is there anything else you will need, Archcardinal? Or may we continue on our journey."
"We have everything, so we can leave--out the back door, not off the roof. But first, what did I miss? What was that last one? I know it went right here"--she jabbed a finger into a gap in the books--"but for the life of me I can't remember what it is."
"And if you were to wager a guess?"
She shrugged. "Based on the other books, you have texts on flora and fauna, history, politics, and magic. So it would not be something pertaining to those. You aren't the type to read a fiction or something trivial, and I know it isn't a religious text."
"No?"
"No. Because those all belong on the shelf there. None have been moved, even ... A warrior's text, perhaps?"
"No," he answered. "Close, perhaps, but not nearly correct. What's in a Name, is the title of the book. With that, can you tell me its contents?"
Surprised by his choice, Arrats paused before saying, "An onomasticon containing etymological information and the changes of personal names over the last three centuries. It also dabbles in etiquette. The book itself is only so small as it is because the text was made to be read with a magnification spell. The author found that she could make the book appear to be a book of beautiful black and white pictures with the text so shrunken. It seems a strange title for you to choose, Inlé."
"Ninety-two per cent, Archcardinal," Inlé said as he walked beside Arrats toward the door. "Considering the size of your library, that is impressive."
Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door the pair was approaching. Arrats was confused, but continued to the door calling, "I'm coming! Hold on." She noticed her guest was no longer beside her.
Opening the door, a trio of guards stood behind a fourth, who greeted Arrats. "No need for alarm, Archcardinal. There was a break-in at the bottom of the tower. Some fool found a way to bypass the barriers and came up the side of the tower. You haven't seen him, have you? Apparently, he was attempting to make contact with you. We believe him to be an assassin."
Arrats stepped aside, revealing the once more cowled Inlé. On seeing him, the gaurds raised their spears and rushed in to surround him. Inlé did not move.
"No need to fear, Archcardinal, we have everything under control," the guard told Arrats. Addressing Inlé, he continued, "Come quietly, fiend, and we may yet show you mercy."
"There is no need for this, Captain," Arrats said. "He is fine as he is."
"Aye, Archcardinal, a fine will be extolled--"
"Tolled, sir," one of the others corrected quietly.
"--quite right. He will be charged heavily. He may even be more harshly discipled--"
"Disciplined, sir."
"--quite right. The punishments will be steepled!"
"St--oh, nevermind," the guard sighed.
Chuckling gently, Archcardinal Arrats said, "No, you see, he is a guest, as I should have said."
Other than the captain, the guards began to lower their weapons. He remained poised to strike. "Quite right, Archcardinal. I never would have guessed someone would want you dead either!"
She smiled fondly, then put a hand lightly on the captain's shoulder. A bolt of energy leapt into him, and he collapsed on the ground. The other guards, suspecting an impostor, lifted their weapons once more, but Arrats waved for them to lower them again.
"Don't worry, boys. Your captain is only resting. The shock may have killed anyone else, but it's only knocked him out for a moment. Take him to his room, and when he wakes, tell him that he captured the criminal after an intense battle. That will cheer him.
"Inlé, pay this no mind. The Captain and I have been together for quite some time, and his wits have been somewhat addled by some of the things we have done." The guards were carrying their fallen leader out of the room, and Arrats signaled that the two should also leave. She pulled the door shut and sealed it.
"Oh!" she cried. She ran quickly to catch up to the guards. "Boys, do me a favor, and ride him down the stairs," she said mischievously. "It won't hurt him much, if any, but he will be more likely to believe there was a fight if he feels battered." She waved them on, then turned back in another direction with Inlé, laughing.
"This may be the reason the Captain is addled, Archcardinal," Inlé said, sounding unconcerned.
Arrats laughed. "Inlé, I wouldn't worry about him. He's tougher than a shelled koresque terror. I've seen the man shatter a warhammer against his forehead." She chuckled at the memory. "That may have had a little to do with the addling. But let's not talk of that now. Other tales for other times, you know. We're off to the kitchens to get breakfast and something light to travel with."

Breakfast was good, pancakes and pekou fruit, with a light syrup that melted in Arrats' mouth. Observing Inlé, she was convinced the flavors must have reeled away from his tongue before he could taste it. It seemed the only way he could eat without showing any pleasure in the meal. Despite this, he was quick to send his compliments to the chef. His compliments were, Arrats noticed, perfect in form and delivery, but lacking in any real substance. Flattery went over well with the chef, though, so Arrats considered the compliment fine.
Afterwards, and perhaps because of the compliment, the chef (hearing that the boy was a visitor on his way out) shuffled into the dining hall and ushered Inlé--"not hearing no arguments, mind"--into the pantry where she proceeded to pack him a bindle of food to take with him. He politely followed and graciously accepted the foodstuffs as they were given him, restocking the shelves with light compliments along the way. The bundle was fairly large, containing even a small pot, and having a thin metal spit for a bindle-stick.
When he exited with his new supplies over his shoulder, Arrats found it difficult to contain her mirth. She could not picture, though it stood before her whole-cloth, this proud boy as a bindlestiff. The old chef stood proudly behind him, ladle on hip, and instructed him on proper methods for dealing with cook fires. Arrats's eyes were tearing when Inlé addressed her.
"Will you also need to supply Archcardinal?" A question, she realized, as retaliation for her mirth. The boy knew she planned to slip out unannounced.
"To the council hall?" she asked, thinking fast. "No, boy. It is not that far, though I thank you for your concern. I may need a light snack though, Matilde, if I may?"
Matilde had been the Tower's head chef for thirty years now, and had served in lesser roles since she was born to the previous head chef fifty odd years ago. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, she was nervously shy around the Archcardinal. She knew the Archcardinal's dietary preferences perfectly, and knew she would never be removed from her position, but still treated the Archcardinal with reverential respect. She had once told the captain of the guards that she felt like a child being asked permission by her grandmother when asked for food by the Archcardinal.
"Well," she began. "I really should say no, Ma'am. It'll spoil your midday, after all. But ..." She turned and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a few minutes, she handed the Archcardinal a snack-filled handkerchief. She whispered conspiratorially to the Archcardinal, "Just be sure not to waste your appetite, Ma'am."
Arrats smiled. "Thank you, Matilde. I do so love your cooking. I know I will enjoy whatever you make when I return."
Making their way out of the dining hall, Arrats and Inlé wound their way through the tower until they were able to leave quietly out a smaller entrance than that at the front. In order to raise fewer suspicions, Arrats raised a glimmer-skin spell to imitate her formal attire as she exited the Tower. The spell dissipated as she rounded the first corner, revealing her more drab dress. By midday, the two had reached the city limits opposite those Inlé had entered that dawn. Here, the only difference was that the guards preferred cards to dice, and none noticed the smiling Archcardinal as she snuck brazenly away from Aurora. She would not be missed for an hour yet, and then the search party would still need to be assembled.
They walked in silence, as Arrats was at first too caught up in the fond memories she felt may soon be relived. When enthusiasm began to fade and life began to settle back in, Arrats became surprised again at her peculiar partner's stoic silence. She realized that it had been nearly four hours since they had left the city--seven since leaving the tower--and he had yet even to attempt conversation. (A thing she had done twice; once in the city and once after leaving, but to no effect.)
Finally, Arrats could no longer stand the silence, and broke it. "Inlé," she said. She had meant to continue, but as though breaking the silence had shattered him, Inlé collapsed. "Inlé!" Arrats repeated as she reached to catch the boy as he fell. But he seemed to fall away from her outstretched hands, hitting the ground without even an attempt at catching himself. Arrats knelt beside him, quickly inspecting him for injuries until his eyes fluttered open.
"My apologies," he said. "I believed I would be able to continue on until we reached an adequate place to camp. My fatigue has gotten the better of me. Let me rest a few minutes, and then we may continue." His eyes were closed before he finished his apology, and he was asleep before Arrats could respond. She chuckled to herself, as she set his head on her lap.
"Boy, what I wonder about you," she said to herself. She thought alone for a few more minutes before making a conclusion. "Fair enough. As payment for my guarding your sleep here, you'll have to answer any questions I ask. Ha! Never take anything from a witch, boy. Never, ha!" She chuckled to herself.
But the pause gave her time to rest her legs, the very subject she had meant to bring up before Inlé fell. She rested her legs and decided she would eat the contents of Matilde's handkerchief as Inlé slept. Pleasant surprise filled her when Arrats saw that Matilde had filled the bag with some of her favorite snacks. Minath berries(just now coming into season), a few hortane pods, a palm-sized bongala melon, and seasoned tea crackers lay displayed in a lovely manner as soon as Arrats opened the kerchief on the sleeping Inlé's chest--which had been commandeered as a table until she decided to wake him. If he plans to sleep during the day, Arrats thought, he should expect some ... accommodating treatment. She smirked and bit into one of the hortane pods, leaving the thin, tangy skin on.
Looking around her, she realized that the two had made excellent time. After four hours, Aurora was no longer in sight. Not even the Tower of the Mage was visible, though it could be seen for hours' distance normally. Arrats suspected some sort of enchantment involved, but she could not be sure. She had not thought to check while they walked, and there seemed to be no residual energy from the spell, if one was used. The mountains in the northwest were the borders of Ashkern, and Arrats wondered once more how the sister Tower in Briqueward fared. She worried for the sister towers often, since she lead them all by proxy. But it had been almost a decade since she had run her own tower personally, let alone visited the other towers. Perhaps that would soon change.
The grasslands surrounding Aurora were known to be mild and calm, and today was no exception. Knee-high grasses were the norm, and most of the animal life was small and peaceful. The sky was nearly cloudless all the way to the horizon. Outcroppings of serpentstone broke the surface occasionally, often shading larger vegetation or the odd spring. Everything was calm. Arrats fought the buzz of insect lullabies after she had finished her light snack. But she held on for only so long.

"Hee," a nearby voice woke Arrats. "Girly, ye should 'ave a care where ye sleep." A grizzled man in tattered clothing sat beside her and set his bindle down. "No need t' fear, though. I be safe enough, t' be sure." His cackle woke Inlé, who was on his feet a foot from the seated pair before the man had even noticed him.
"Well, another sleeper in th' grass!" the man smiled. "No need t' fear, we're just two travelers 'ere. Care t' join us? Two's good f'r a talk, but it takes three f'r conversation."
Arrats was surprised at the ease Inlé showed in waking so quickly. She decided that she would feel better with him beside her, though. "It's all right, Inlé. Come, sit."
"Inlé?" the man's smile was replaced by a shocked look. "Not the Inlé?" He looked at the hooded figure more closely. A tremble of anger crept into the man's already warbly voice as he said, "No. Ye can't be the Inlé. Impossible! Show yer face, fiend!"
Inlé removed his hood. "Do you know me, sir?"
The old man squinted at the boy he saw before him and calmed. "Well, ye certainly look th' part. Do ye remember me, perhaps?"
"I am afraid I do not, sir."
"O' course," the old man said. "O' course ye don't. O' course, that were a long time ago, lad. Ye'd be a'most as old as I. Were ye named f'r yer grandpappy, lad?" Inlé denied with a shake of his head. "Ah, well. I s'pose yer not th' Inlé I knew. Yer dress's a bit off, too, come t' think.
"Ah! but me manners!" Standing to make a sweeping bow, he said, "I am Fernweh: wanderer, tinker, vacilando extraordinaire." He seemed to slide directly from a deep bow into a seated position with his feet straight out in front of him and his bottom where his feet had just been. The fluidity of his motion repulsed his body's aged appearance. His sparkling eyes and ready smile made him appear a boy stuck in the trappings of an old man. Another shrill laugh burst from the man, convincing Arrats, at least, that he was crazy and, more disturbingly, had three or four extra lungs.
"Fernweh, then. I am Inlé, as you know. This is for you." Inlé offered the goddesses' scroll to the old man.
With a whoop, the old man leapt to his feet and grabbed Inlé's wrist instead of the scroll. He pulled the boy into a firm hug which looked like it would have lasted much longer had Inlé not somehow escaped it. Arrats was surprised to see the boy beside her when he had just been a few paces away.
"Oh, it is ye, Inlé!" the old man laughed. "Not in yer usual trappin's, though. An' so young! Yer younger'n last I saw ye! Come, now we talk, there's decades on decades t' catch up on." He spun down onto his seat. "I never should 'ave doubted those cold eyes. None but ye could look so. Come, come! Sit! We must talk."
Inlé sat calmly, but Arrats saw a flicker of ... something cross his eyes. Was it anger? no. Fear? Hardly, she thought. Perhaps confusion in being recognized by this old man out in the middle of nowhere after all those ...
"Did you say decades?" Arrats asked in surprise. "Surely you jest, this boy can't be more than twenty!"
Fernweh laughed. "Can't be more'n twenty?" His grin revealed unnervingly perfect teeth glinting out of the scraggly white hair that covered his sun-weathered face. "Girly, 'e wasn't more 'n twenty when 'e took me up t' wandering. An' that were likely afore ye were imagined up. Three hunnerd years, an' ye've lost time on ye!" he turned his attention back on Inlé. "What 'ave ye been up t'?"
"Sir, ..." Inlé began.
"No sirs 'ere, ye old fiend!" Fernweh interrupted. "Sir's f'r elders an' betters. An' neither t' ye am I!"
"I believe you have me mistaken for another, sir. Only moments ago, you said the same when you saw me. What could have made you so quickly change your mind?" Inlé asked. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he continued, "More importantly, I have here a message of some urgency for you. You should read it." Inlé offered the scroll once more, and this time the old man took it.
"Y' see? This 's me proof! Ye said when ye left that when next we met, ye'd 'ave a scroll from th' goddesses f'r me. Without lookin', I'll tell ye this scroll's that one. Am I wrong?" Inlé did not voice a denial, and the old man went on. "Now, ye were quick t' deny knowin' th' contents o' th' scroll then, so I won't ask ye what it says, but I'm f'r wanting t' know what ye've been up t' these many years."
Inlé was silent for a few moments, then said, "Sir, whomever it was that told you they were I was not, in fact, myself. I have lived but seventeen years, and remember much of it quite thoroughly. I have no history to tell you, as I have not lived through the years you profess."
Fernweh's face fell. He began to mutter to himself, reliving an old conversation. "'But where are ye goin' t' go?' 'I cannot tell ye.' 'And ye cannot take me with ye?' 'No, friend, no. But I promise ye will see me again someday. It'll not be f'r a long, long time, but we will meet again.' ''f it'll be long, 'ow'll I know it's ye?' 'Ye'll know. I'll 'ave another scroll f'r ye.' 'An' 'f I forget ye?' 'Ye won't. But I won't know ye. I apologize.'" Fernweh stopped muttering and looked up in despair. "So ye truly f'rgot me. I'd 'oped ye'd lied t' me, in part or in all. I wish I could tell ye all ye've lost, but it won't stick, I suppose."
He opened his scroll and read. "Well, 'appy news, perhaps. I'm t' follow ye t' th' end o' yer journey again. Though, I suppose this'll be th' first time f'r ye. I'll guess th' girl's with ye also?"
"I am," Arrats said, wondering how long it had been since she'd been called girl.
"Aye, an' ye may be?"
"I am Arrats of Aurora."
"The holy city, then? Well, ye look th' part o' another Arrats I know o', t' be sure."
"Do I?" Arrats asked, amused that this man knew her by reputation.
"Arrats th' Far-reachin'. Ye must 'ave 'eard o' her. Worked th' lands during th' last Holy Winter. 't's said she was part o' bringin' th' Winter t' an end."
"So they say," Arrats agreed. "Did you know she's now the Archcardinal?"
Fernweh fell backwards, laughing. "Oh, th' poor girl!" he crowed. "She works miracles an' coaxes th' gods t' return, an' then gets punished f'r 't! That's a big hat t' 'ave t' deal with!" He pushed himself back up to sit, wiping a tear from one eye and immediately noticed her slightly put-off look. Realizing her for herself, he asked more soberly, "That's ye, ain't it, girly? T' be sure, I didn't mean no insult." His calm voice didn't ask forgiveness, only understanding.
Sad she wasn't able to properly reveal herself grandly, Arrats smiled slightly. "Then I will not be insulted, good vacilando. I just seem to be finding all of the people unimpressed with rank all in one day. It is strangely ... comforting."
"Aye, titles're word-burdens t' make 't easier f'r those what wish t' place blame. Archcardinal an' bishop both're priests, but both're as good as laymen in th' end."
"It's as you say, sir. Please call me Arrats during our time together. That goes for you as well, Inlé. My title is something I wish to be away from during our adventure."
"Adventure, is 't? Well, I know few I'd feel better adventurin' with than Inlé 'r th' Archcardinal o' th' Goddesses o' Magic. I know I shouldn't 'ave t' wait f'r either o' ye t' keep up. An' I won't need t' babysit either! Company without nonsense. Oh, I've missed this!" Fernweh laughed with a clap, then rubbed his palms together.
"And on that note," Inlé began, "We should be off." He stood. "There is a good deal of distance between us and the end of this 'adventure', and I have little time to spare."
"Don't you think you should rest a bit more, Inlé? You only slept for a short time."
"Archcardinal ..."
"Arrats."
"... as you wish. I have rested more than enough. I wish to make it to those mountains and find shelter by nightfall. Shall we continue?"
"The border o' Ashkern, eh? Supposin' I could get us there 'n 'alf a watch?"
"Could you now?" Arrats asked the bouncy old man. "And how would you do that?"
"I've a rest-over in th' hills there. It's me own spot t' rest dry when 't turns sour on th' grasslands. If I'm f'r goin' that way."
"And how long is a watch, exactly?" Inlé said.
Fernweh looked at Inlé as if he were crazy. "'ow long's a watch, ye ask? It's as long's a pair o' guards sits a watch, o' course! Ye forget somethin' that simple?"
"And in a more standardized time?"
Fernweh gave an exasperated grunt and turned to pull out a few items from his pack and began to chant.
Arrats chuckled at the old loner's impatience with communication. "A watch," she explained, "is standardized as something around four hours, I believe. So half a watch is about two hours. Does that help?"
"It does. Two hours to get across that distance is perfect. We should miss the storm completely. Especially as the vacilando seems to have accommodations of a sort available already."
"What storm?" Arrats asked. "The sky's perfectly clear, and the weather is beautiful all the way to the horizon."
Inlé looked at Arrats for a few moments, then said, "Fernweh, how much time until the storm arrives, by your estimate?"
"Less'n 'alf a watch, f'r sure," The old man replied. "Let me be, boy. This's 'arder'n it may look."
Inlé returned to his seat, pulled Beginning Mage from the bag, and began reading. "I would suggest, madam, that you reacquaint yourself with your equipment. You may need their aid soon."

Arrats was amazed that the boy's prediction had been spot-on. Dark clouds spilled out over the grasslands from the south and furiously boiled. So far, they had not quite settled overhead, but Arrats was certain that that small felicity would soon expire. The clouds were pregnant with rain, and their labor pains roared constantly in the distance. Arrats watched as the last few miles between their small party and the cloud front closed in scant minutes and continued to charge toward the mountains to the north. The black sea above her roiled and pulsed, but despite the approach of sunset and the overcast, it was still bright enough for Arrats to see Inlé reading by stormlight as Fernweh continued chanting.
"Fernweh," Arrats called over the storm. "I don't mean to rush you, but how much longer?"
The old man cackled into the storm, "Almost done, girly, Almost done! Alright, ye two, 'op on t' me blanket!"
Inlé and Arrats obeyed, and all three stood atop the blanket of Fernweh's bindle as his chanting reached it climax. Suddenly, in the distance the rain began. A wall of water roared rapidly toward the party. Arrats watched the worst storm she'd ever seen in her hundred years adventuring stampede toward her and said a prayer for any who were out beneath the torrent, and another for herself and her own survival. Just before the wall of water overtook them, Fernweh cried out and Arrats found herself surrounded by darkness and silence. She heard a quiet scraping noise, and a small flame flashed into being, then dulled to embers.
Fernweh chuckled. "A bit close, eh?" he said around something in his mouth.
Gathering her wits, Arrats created a light above her head and saw her companions once more. The cave they were in was small, barely six feet high and likely less than twice that wide. She saw only one passage out of the 'room', and that cramped. Leaving, she decided, would be unpleasant.
"We are safe here, then, despite the storm?" Inlé asked.
"O' course. This could be th' worst storm t' reach th' grasslands in a few hundred year, an' this 'ole'll weather it out real 'andsome-like. It's thirty feet down that passage t' th' surface, twenty below us. Water flows away from this 'ole. Only way it'll get in's if it floods th' plains below f'r good. Pray that'll not 'appen while th' Archcardinal is with us. Aurora would sore miss their 'ead when th' barriers are tested, t' be sure."
"That, I wouldn't worry overmuch about, thank you," Aurora said confidently. "The others in the tower can handle just about anything that could be thrown at them." Her faith in her attendants was genuine, but she still hoped such a trial would not occur in her absence. Factional disputes would only cause trouble with her absence. Doubt gnawed at her for a moment, then she steeled herself once more to the task at hand.
"What should we do next?"
"Travel will be difficult for the remainder of the day, and may in fact be detrimental," Inlé said. He sat back against the stone wall and pulled out his book. "We wait here until the storm passes. As soon as it does, we leave. Get some rest, we still have some way to travel."
"Good enough a plan f'r th' likes o' me," Fernweh chuckled, sitting to enjoy his pipe. As soon as Arrats stepped off of it, Fernweh tapped his blanket and it snapped back up into a bindle, tying itself onto a staff that had lain across the blanket moments before. He rifled around inside the loose sack and pulled out bread, a knife, and a large leg of something. Arrats was certain there had been nothing but the staff atop the blanket when they had stood upon it moments before. Wandering three hundred years had, Arrats was sure, taught Fernweh a few tricks to make travel easier.
He chuckled to himself when he saw her looking at his bindle curiously. "Wantin' f'r food o' th' body 'r just wantin' f'r food o' th' mind, girly? Likely 'aven't seen a bindle th' likes o' mine, t' be sure. A gift it was, f'r a deed done f'r Tabi. Deal 'onest with th' gods, girly, an' they'll try their best t' do th' same t' ye." He winked at her and held the bindle out to her with the staff.

The storm lasted longer than Inlé had predicted. Its approach was heard after a few hours, and when it was overhead it roared loud enough that Arrats created a wall of silence at the tunnel's mouth to deaden the noise. A full day later, and the storm had hardly let up at all. By the time the storm ended on the party's second day in the cave, Inlé had finished all of the books he had taken from Arrats' library, and had begun poring over one he had on his person.
Arrats, on the other hand, had spent a small amount of time checking and cleaning her equipment. After that, she slept or was entertained by Fernweh. The old man pulled cards and dice and other small games and toys out and repeatedly trounced the Archcardinal at whichever game they played. He chuckled to himself and puffed away at his pipe in delight as the vexed Arrats lost and lost again. Each time she demanded a rematch, Fernweh would offer a new game of Arrats' choice, and then gleefully destroyed whatever confidence she had in her ability.
When the storm ended, the party exited the cave to find the land they had left was now a vast marsh. Muddy waters floated grass rafts across their grimy surface. The mountains they now traversed had had many landslides in the last few nights, and rivers swollen with the surplus rain cascaded down through every ravine, forcing the travelers to climb the uneven slopes above the drainage. Inlé was unfazed by the difficult terrain, and Fernweh seemed to actually enjoy it, a point that frustrated the struggling Arrats. They reached a plateau around noon, and Inlé pleasantly surprised Arrats by proposing an hour long rest for a meal beside a spring of fresh water that seemed no worse for wear from the storm.
"'ow are ye 'oldin' up, girly?" Fernweh asked as they ate.
"Well enough," Arrats lied, not wanting to reveal her exhaustion. "I'm unused to so much physical exertion, but my duties do force me to expend vast quantities of energy on occasion."
"Good, good." The old wanderer smiled. "In a few more days, ye will not even feel th' burnin' ye find creepin' into yer legs now, t' be sure." He rummaged in his bindle and pulled out a wrapped item. "Eat this an' yer discomforts'll be gone 'til next ye rest."
Arrats opened the thin covering and found a cookie inside. She bit into the tough cookie, and expected to have trouble chewing the leathery snack. Instead, it crumbled as soon as she had it in her mouth, and melted into a nutty liquid that left a sweet, tangy aftertaste that Arrats found quite pleasant. The cookie was small, but Arrats was satisfied by it.
The view was magnificent. Arrats looked out over the plains in awe as she saw them stretched out beneath her. Truly, it had been too long since last she'd looked out over the plain like this. Of course, she had never seen it destroyed like this either. On the horizon stood the Tower of the Mage, a slender finger poking into the air. Below it, Arrats knew, was Aurora, but the city was too distant to see. The Tower was a beacon on the waters now, directing whoever was out in that sea of mud to safety.
Making a loose fist, Arrats looked through the ring of her fingers and muttered a quick cantrip. The spire loomed larger as she looked through the magical magnification disk she had formed. Atop the walls surrounding the city stood a dozen mages, each one a disciple Arrats had personally trained. They looked a bit ragged after their elongated casting, but Arrats was proud to see that they had held the barrier and protected the city perfectly. They appeared to be finishing the final checks before releasing the walls and retiring to a much deserved rest.
The magic of the city boundaries was a beautiful thing. The city had been made generations before Arrats was born, and the mages responsible for Aurora's defenses were all long dead. Nonetheless, the magic was almost self-sustaining, drawing energy from the heat of the sun. Wind and rain could pass through the barrier unhindered, as could the many birds who nested within the city confines, but anything the wall determined to be hostile had a great deal of trouble passing through. And with a mage stationed at each of the twelve circles on the wall, along with one in the circle at the top of the Tower, it was said that nothing could pass through that they didn't allow.
"Looks as they're about finished, t' be sure," Fernweh said, gazing out at the city, palm shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Yes," Arrats agreed. She looked twice when she realized he must be seeing without magical aid. "You can see the city from here?"
"Better 'n ye with yer little spell, I can," Fernweh winked. "It's only a day's run from 'ere, girly. These old eyes 'ave a few tricks in 'em yet. Ye'd be amazed, ye would."
Inlé rose and called for the two to prepare to leave then, and the treacherous run continued, though Arrats noted that her stamina was no longer flagging.

Description
Reaching his room, Inlé sat in the center of his floor, let his hair down, and began to meditate. Soon his body began to float in the air as the room around him became a black-hole that pulled him into it, stretching him thinner than an atom wide.
He returned to himself upon the hill where the goddesses feasted. But they would not be there for hours.
Come to us, he heard the wind call. Follow the sun to find us.
So sunward he ran. The grass around him was waist high, and the wind rippled this green sea as the Worldwanderer bounded through the breakers. The sun set before Inlé reached the goddesses, whose dance was coming to an end.
"Welcome, Wanderer," they called as one. "Tonight we do indeed have a task for you." The spinning slowed to a stop, and each woman smiled individually at Inlé.
The orange goddess grabbed his hand and said, "But first, the meal."
"Ladies," Inlé greeted. "I should not tarry here overlong. Pray, tell me what my mission is now, and I will be away at once."
"In time, boy," the silver goddess scolded. "Formalities are not only used in speech."
"That's right," the brown goddess agreed. "We can't talk business on empty stomaches. Then our minds would be on the meal to come and not the business at hand."
"That's just common sense, Inlé," the orange goddess said. "Come on," she said, pulling him along. "The food will taste so much better with your true tongue."
And it did.

"Now to business," the brown goddess said as the feasting slowed. "We have heard that you work as a messenger, as well as an errand runner. Is this true?"
"Among other things, yes," Inlé agreed.
"And is the outfit you're wearing a requirement?"
"Not at all. It is a preference, in that it allows for ease of movement and adequate storage. If the mission requires other garb, so long as the garb is easily available or provided, it will be worn instead."
"Good," she said. "It would be much better if you wore this"--a bundle appeared beside Inlé--"while you are our messenger."
The article that Inlé held up was a nondescript robe, un-dyed and rough-spun. He changed immediately, and was pleased to find that it was more comfortable than it had at first appeared.
"There now," the brown goddess said. "It looks good on you. It will adjust during your travels as is needed, but this is likely the simplest form to move in.
"As for what we need you to do: we are more intimately involved with our followers than some other gods. A message to our servant, the Archcardinal Arrats needs to be delivered to her ... supernaturally. We are not allowed to reveal ourselves directly to our followers, due to the rules made by the pantheon. To make the game of ruling more exciting, you see. But a message sent by supernatural means is acceptable, and so we hire you.
She began handing Inlé items as she gave delivery instructions. "This scroll will inform the Archcardinal of what it is we require. Another scroll is here for the king--and only the king, mind--of the country Ashkern. Another for the eremite who refuses to be named atop the Mountain of Dreams. Two more for the vacilando Fernweh and the soto Qadri. Lastly, this scroll goes to the sapphire maiden of the Lost Lake. Discretion is, of course, a requisite. And we trust you will abstain from perusing these yourself.
"Also, if you come across any wearing our symbol--the wheeled triskelion--you speak with our voices. Direct our followers as though they are your own. Be reasonable, but feel free to put them in their place if they try to hinder you.
"This bollocks dagger is a means of defense, and this spellbook has a list of every spell we thought you may have need. I'm certain you are accustomed to such items?"
"Of course, Lady."
"And will you require that these instructions be written out for you?"
"They are already memorized, Lady."
"Will you require a map?"
"It would be helpful, Lady, but I can make do without, as you see fit."
The brown goddess laughed. "Boy, you certainly know how to twist the knife, don't you? Not a fan of gods, are you?"
"Lady, I serve gods with respects and rhubarb. I do not claim to understand the reason such powerful beings rely on these base services provided by myself, nor do I ask for explanation. I carry out the tasks required me and am finished. My relations with previous employers are less than exemplary, and I have few deities on my regular clientele. Many who take on my services do so unwillingly, and more dislike my unsettled and unorthodox methods.
"With all due respect to each of you, I will work for you, but I do not serve you. I am not your equal, nor your superior. But neither am I your subordinate. I am an independent entity, assisting out of goodwill, and not out of servitude or worship."
Laughing again, the brown goddess said, "Good! You recognize we have power, but are not afraid to speak your mind. And you even try to do so diplomatically. If only we had worshipers like you! Not that I would try to recruit you, but you must understand, a boy such as yourself would be the perfect focus for our total power in this world. You claim not to understand us, but I have a feeling we are not too different, you and I.
"Good! Go to your tasks, Worldwanderer." Inlé and the goddesses rose to their feet, and Inlé began to walk off when the brown goddess called, "But remember this last warning, boy: each of we gods in this realm were once mortals as you yourself are. Have a care in your interactions, as our once mortality is never fully forgotten.
"And be careful not to follow us into ascension!" she called at last as he stepped off of the hill and the goddesses vanished with their feast as an oasis in the desert.

A cowled beggar approached the holy city Aurora as the sun began to rise from the plains behind him. The guards did not look up from their dice as he wandered past, beneath notice. Once inside, he walked straight for the tall spire climbing gracefully from the center of the city. The main road lead directly to the spire in a straight, well-kept manner that was designed to magically ease the muscles as one approached the tower. None of the throng wandering the road paid any attention to this unmemorable travel-dusted vagrant. Even so, the walk took several hours.
In the plaza facing the tower, stalls flaunted every sort of magical ware. Potions in glass vials glowed with the sun rays bound up in the colorful fluids, while baubles and jewelry glittered enticingly in the next stall. Odors--delightful and distasteful, sometimes at once--wafted from various stalls by accident or design. A thousand human voices vied to be heard over a cacophony of animal cries and other less definable sounds. Through this crowd the beggar walked untempted.
He climbed the thirteen broad, colored steps to the base of the tower slowly, deliberately, forcing the guards flanking the double-wide doors on the top stair to take note. When the beggar was two steps from the door, he stopped. The guards, reacting too late, crossed their lances against the beggar's entrance.
"What business have you with the Tower of the Mage?" one guard asked after briefly touching the brass wheeled triskelion seal over his heart in greeting.
"None, sir," the beggar answered, placing a fist over his chest. "My business lays only with the Archcardinal. I have a message of great import for her."
"Have you a permit for entering the tower?"
"I do not."
"Then give your message here, and it will be relayed to her holiness at her convenience."
"Your pardon," the beggar said. "But I was told specifically to give the message to the Archcardinal herself. My employer was specific about this point."
"And who, pray, is your employer, then," the guard said, beginning to lose patience.
"I am not at liberty to say, sir. Discretion was requested, and even were it not I could not on my honor give out information pertaining to those who purchase my assistance."
"Then you can not pass," the guard said curtly. "What proof have we of goodwill? You could well be an assassin or thief, using a message for her holiness as a device to gain access to the tower."
"If you would like, I will leave those items I carry for defense in your custody until I return." A small dagger and a large spellbook, each with the wheeled triskelion crest prominently displayed were revealed. Placing the two together, the vagrant held them out to be collected.
The guard shook his head. "Even were I to take those, you would be stopped at every floor and turned back without a permit. The Archcardinal is on the top floor, and every stairwell is guarded. You would return here quickly, if you were not outright killed by a random shock of magic as it passed through the halls."
The beggar stared for a moment from the shadows of his cowl, then returned his tools to wherever he had before stored them. He stood silently for a few moments longer, then said, "Very well. I do not wish to be so bothered. To the roof, it is."
The guards were shocked into open mouthed awe as the vagrant before them transformed into something much more brilliant. The unremarkable garb became a bright gown, banded to match the steps behind the figure. From this creature's back sprung three identical wings, erupting into a triskele behind him. Leaping into the air, the creature flew calmly up toward the tower's pinnacle. Two wings carried him upward, the third folded close to his back.
A clamor arose from the plaza below as the masses noticed the messenger climbing steadily up the enormous tower. A magical barrier of force appeared above him to bar passage, but the third wing swept it aside with one quick flap. The hole closed below him, and he continued to the next barrier a few floors higher. Seven times a barrier sprang up. Seven times the third wing brushed the barrier aside effortlessly.
Finally, the messenger landed on the platform at the top of the tower. As soon as his feet touched down, the magical garb dissipated, leaving an unremarkable mendicant once more.
"Well that was quite a show," a voice from the platform's entrance called. "This will surely garner a large reaction with the city council."
The mendicant faced the woman and placed his fist gently over his heart momentarily. "Archcardinal Arrats?"
"Indeed."
"Apologies for the display, madam, but I was unable to convince the guards at the entrance to allow me passage. As I have been told this message is both private and urgent, I refused to be delayed by worthless formality. I have run these last five days to reach this city, and am unapologetically impatient at the moment."
"It is I who should apologize for my guards, sir," the Archcardinal said, laughing. "They are quite formal, as you say. But," she added, "formalities are required in this place, lest the tower become lax and degrade into a poor house for our goddesses' faithful. I am certain you understand."
"Your goddesses would be pleased to hear your devotion, madam. In fact, they seem quite pleased with you, as I understand. I have with me a scroll for your person, and was directed to relay this to you personally. See that it is sealed and unread."
Taking the scroll, the Archcardinal observed that the wax seal had not been tampered with. In surprise, she looked up at her guest more acutely for a few moments before breaking the seal and perusing it. "You have not read this?" she asked.
"I have not, madam."
"And do you know what it says?"
"I do not, madam."
She rolled the scroll shut. "Would you like to know?"
"I was told that the message is for you alone, madam. My loyalty to my employers is such that it suffices. I have no interest in its contents."
"How noble," she smirked. "The goddesses we serve--"
"You serve, Archcardinal."
"--As you wish. Then your 'employers' have requested that I complete a specific task for them. They say here that the messenger who delivers this scroll will serve as my champion in this mission and as the man who will aid in collecting the party to be involved.
"What I mean to say here is, you see, that I am to accompany you on the rest of your journey."
"Are you?" the messenger said, unimpressed. "Very well, but you must keep pace with me, then. My time is valuable, and there are still more whom I must meet with."
"Of course, sir. I need only a few moments to collect my things, and we can be off." The vagrant before her turned to the edge of the platform. Before he leapt back down, she stopped him saying, "Through the tower this time, if you would be so kind. I would not have the council any more frustrated with me as they will be on my return."
The vagrant turned back to her, "You are bound by this council, then?"
"Only politically," she shrugged. "Therein lies the problem with organizing people, of course. The more power you have over people, the more power they have over you. It can't be helped, as it is for the glory of my faith."
"Then this mission they give you irks you, as it pulls you from your divine duties."
The Archcardinal laughed. "My divine duties are to serve the goddesses of magic with my full devotion. This mission elates me, as it was given me directly by them. Not to mention," her eyes glimmered, "it gets me away from all these rank-hungry people. I do not have much love for those more devoted to position than faith."
"You said the formalities prevented degradation."
"Not entirely, unfortunately. Some forms of degradation thrive on formality. But it is weeded out as best I can manage. It is not really my place to say, but rank and title are hardly the most important things in this world. If you would accompany me," she turned and began to walk into the tower, "I could use your assistance in packing."

Though she appeared outwardly calm, the Archcardinal Arrats shook with excitement as she prepared for departure. The open road again! How many years had it been since she had wandered to hone her power and her faith? Too many, she decided as she pulled her traveling spellbook lovingly from its safe and wiped the layer of dust from its cover.
She turned to her guest and asked, "I still have no name for my companion. What may I call you, good sir, if you may tell me?"
He stood at the door, unmoving as a statue since he had entered her apartment. Were she not so excited, she decided, he would unnerve her with his cowled gaze. After a pause, he said, "You may call me Inlé, Archcardinal. I have many titles and names, but that is the first."
"A beautiful name, Inlé. I do not recognize its origin, but I suppose that would be expected, considering your origins."
"True, madam. But my origins are not divine, as you may believe. I am still human enough. There is no divinity in me."
"And your display moments ago was not divine, then?" She wondered at this Inlé's manner of speech. His words sounded as if he spoke with humility, but his tone sounded distinctly ... proud of his mortal state.
"It may have been," he answered, confusing her. Seeing this, he elucidated his point by saying, "Those items I carry were given me for this mission. They possess some merit of divinity granted them by their creators. I have little control over them, Archcardinal."
"Well enough," Arrats said. She placed her spellbook down and walked for her wardrobe. "These are my personal quarters. Study, bedroom, lounge. Feel free to look through the bookcases. Anything that catches your eye can come along."
"This is no vacation, madam."
She sighed. "Of course, but one must keep their mind sharp as well as their body. The texts there are information on many paths of learning. You may find something that will help. Admittedly, I don't have any idea the depth of your education, but I'm sure you will see something I wouldn't. I am so intimately acquainted with the texts there that I may overlook something valuable out of over-familiarity."
"As you wish," he answered her, approaching the bookcases.
She pulled a robe off its hanger and looked it over to determine whether it would be adequate. It had been some time since she had worried about her wardrobe, too, she realized. Normally it was inconsequential. Confined as she was to the tower, practicality was of less value than comfort and display of status. Finally, useful clothing again! After juggling a few garments, she settled for a gown of homespun wool, drably colored.
Changing into this outfit, Arrats looked herself over in the mirror. The fiery hair of her youth had darkened to a muted auburn, but she was glad to note it refused to succumb too much to age and whiten. At one hundred eighteen, she was still young enough to last a few more decades at least. The average age for the lay people had dwindled to a paltry eighty years, but mages and clerics still held strong lifespans of two hundred or longer, though texts told that once that had been the lay norm, and those with divine or arcane power lasted as much as three times that.
Her skin was still strong and pale, without wrinkle. She was proud of her appearance, especially her unusual mismatched eyes--one green and gold, the other crystal amber. She was less satisfied that she had put on some weight since last she had worn this robe. What once had been form-fitting had become a bit snug, and Arrats decided that this adventure was a few years late in coming. She grabbed a few trinkets from a jewelry chest atop her bureau before leaving the closet.
The Archcardinal was pleased to note her guest had begun collecting texts and was thumbing through one when she entered. Which texts mattered little to her, as she had much else to collect before they could leave.
An old bag was lifted from a chest beside her desk. A simple dagger was also pulled from the chest, as was a belt with numerous pouches and a sheathe for the dagger. She lovingly inspected each item for wear, knowing there would be none.
"You find these items dear to you."
Her guest's voice surprised her almost enough to drop the dagger she was inspecting. She was amazed to find him a step away. So close and she had not noticed? This was no man unused to adventure.
"I do," she defended. "They are all dear friends with whom I have wandered through many dangers. Without them, I surely would have been lost long ago."
The man stared at her in the shadows of his hood, only his eyes unnervingly visible. "And yet you have not held that dagger in a great time. It is awkward in your hands."
Feeling rebuked by this emotionless person, Arrats said, "I have had little need for them in some time."
"So you take them up only when you must."
"There are few days I go without thinking of them, but I cannot carry them often. My position prevents me from keeping such humble things with me."
"An excuse for concealing those things from your past that you are ashamed of."
"No!" she protested. "Were I able, I would keep them with me always. They are always beside my desk, within reach most of the day, while I sit and work. Always reminders of my former glories."
"Reminders rarely attended to."
She thought about her words before saying, "Perhaps I have been lax of late. Truly, it feels strange holding this dagger again, wearing this belt. I am meeting old friends after a long journey. But it is not uncomfortable. I feel as though I am experiencing a homecoming rather than preparing for an excursion. In truth, I have missed them dearly."
Her inquisitor watched her for another long moment, then said, "It is a good answer. You should always remember your tools. They will keep you alive when you yourself come up lacking. But remember that mistreating them or abandoning them will make them less able--less willing--to aid you the next time you need them. They seem to share a great love for you, as well, but they are all out of practice. As you will need time to readjust yourself to them, they will require time to reacquaint themselves with you. Pray you and they are ready when needed. As you yourself said, one must keep herself sharpened in all aspects to remain prepared."
Scolded--something she had not felt in decades--the Archcardinal thanked her guest as he wordlessly returned to his readings. She collected her pendant of rank from her desk as she rose. Inspecting herself, she placed her trinkets in various belt pouches and sheathed the dagger. Her bag was filled with the spellbook and slung over one shoulder.
She approached her companion by her bookcase and was surprised to find him reading through one of her textbooks on elementary magical practice. Glancing quickly at the group of books he had neatly stacked on the side table that he leaned lightly against, she saw that they were all similar in content.
"You prefer to review the basics, then?" she asked him.
"I prefer to study them, yes," he answered. "These practices are new to me."
"What? How can that be if you are personally associated with the goddesses?"
"There are many things about myself that would surprise you, Archcardinal."
She looked at the cowled man as he continued to read quickly. She realized then that all she knew was his name. "May I see your face?" she asked. "I would like to know my companion's appearance, at least."
He paused, then put the textbook down and faced her. Slowly, he lifted his hood back, pulling a long topknot out from its recesses in the process. She was astonished to find him so young. He was still a boy! And yet so stern was his visage that Arrats understood he brooked no mercy for those who underestimated him for his youth, not even himself. Brilliant blue eyes stared out impassively from a poker face only slightly sun-worn. There was no sign of a beard, as though he had decided not to grow one and his body had simply agreed. And his dark hair, now draped over his left shoulder was silk-smooth, perfectly groomed despite its time in the hood.
"Satisfied, Archcardinal?" he asked.
"Very," she answered lightly. "Certainly this trip will be more exciting than I could hope. Don't disappoint me, boy. I plan to enjoy this to the fullest."
She finished packing as her guest continued flipping through her library.
When Arrats was satisfied, she called over to Inlé. "Have you found what you want to bring, boy?"
"I have," he answered without looking up. She waited for him to continue, but realized after a few page turns that he wouldn't.
"Well here's a bag to carry them in, then," she held it up for him to take. "What did you decide on?"
He looked at her as he took the bag, then said, "A test, perhaps. I will lift the book, and you will tell me its title before it is placed within the bag. You claimed an intimate knowledge of their contents, but how well do you truly know them?"
"You're on," she laughed as he lifted the first book. The thin black primer showed wear all over its cover, even though--as Arrats well knew--the cover had been repaired nearly a dozen times. "Beginning Mage. The first edition, by the way. Very rare now." A thicker book with a natural hide cover rose. "Creatures of Note, the bestiary for the continent Ramborol and its surrounding islands. Hardly exhaustive, but a formidable work nonetheless." A red tome was lifted. Arrats thought until the book was almost in the bag before answering, "A History of Ashkern. It's a decade behind revision, but the newest copy I have." A white book, "Goodleaf and Ragalwort. Are we going to avoid all towns?" Another red book, "The Magics Alive. I wrote that one, by the way."
The last book Inlé had selected was a slim pink book just larger than his palm. Arrats remembered seeing the book on her shelf--knew exactly where it would be returned--but remembered nothing about the book. After allowing Arrats to look at it for a long time, Inlé placed the book into the bag and slid it over his shoulder.
"Is there anything else you will need, Archcardinal? Or may we continue on our journey."
"We have everything, so we can leave--out the back door, not off the roof. But first, what did I miss? What was that last one? I know it went right here"--she jabbed a finger into a gap in the books--"but for the life of me I can't remember what it is."
"And if you were to wager a guess?"
She shrugged. "Based on the other books, you have texts on flora and fauna, history, politics, and magic. So it would not be something pertaining to those. You aren't the type to read a fiction or something trivial, and I know it isn't a religious text."
"No?"
"No. Because those all belong on the shelf there. None have been moved, even ... A warrior's text, perhaps?"
"No," he answered. "Close, perhaps, but not nearly correct. What's in a Name, is the title of the book. With that, can you tell me its contents?"
Surprised by his choice, Arrats paused before saying, "An onomasticon containing etymological information and the changes of personal names over the last three centuries. It also dabbles in etiquette. The book itself is only so small as it is because the text was made to be read with a magnification spell. The author found that she could make the book appear to be a book of beautiful black and white pictures with the text so shrunken. It seems a strange title for you to choose, Inlé."
"Ninety-two per cent, Archcardinal," Inlé said as he walked beside Arrats toward the door. "Considering the size of your library, that is impressive."
Suddenly there was a loud knocking on the door the pair was approaching. Arrats was confused, but continued to the door calling, "I'm coming! Hold on." She noticed her guest was no longer beside her.
Opening the door, a trio of guards stood behind a fourth, who greeted Arrats. "No need for alarm, Archcardinal. There was a break-in at the bottom of the tower. Some fool found a way to bypass the barriers and came up the side of the tower. You haven't seen him, have you? Apparently, he was attempting to make contact with you. We believe him to be an assassin."
Arrats stepped aside, revealing the once more cowled Inlé. On seeing him, the gaurds raised their spears and rushed in to surround him. Inlé did not move.
"No need to fear, Archcardinal, we have everything under control," the guard told Arrats. Addressing Inlé, he continued, "Come quietly, fiend, and we may yet show you mercy."
"There is no need for this, Captain," Arrats said. "He is fine as he is."
"Aye, Archcardinal, a fine will be extolled--"
"Tolled, sir," one of the others corrected quietly.
"--quite right. He will be charged heavily. He may even be more harshly discipled--"
"Disciplined, sir."
"--quite right. The punishments will be steepled!"
"St--oh, nevermind," the guard sighed.
Chuckling gently, Archcardinal Arrats said, "No, you see, he is a guest, as I should have said."
Other than the captain, the guards began to lower their weapons. He remained poised to strike. "Quite right, Archcardinal. I never would have guessed someone would want you dead either!"
She smiled fondly, then put a hand lightly on the captain's shoulder. A bolt of energy leapt into him, and he collapsed on the ground. The other guards, suspecting an impostor, lifted their weapons once more, but Arrats waved for them to lower them again.
"Don't worry, boys. Your captain is only resting. The shock may have killed anyone else, but it's only knocked him out for a moment. Take him to his room, and when he wakes, tell him that he captured the criminal after an intense battle. That will cheer him.
"Inlé, pay this no mind. The Captain and I have been together for quite some time, and his wits have been somewhat addled by some of the things we have done." The guards were carrying their fallen leader out of the room, and Arrats signaled that the two should also leave. She pulled the door shut and sealed it.
"Oh!" she cried. She ran quickly to catch up to the guards. "Boys, do me a favor, and ride him down the stairs," she said mischievously. "It won't hurt him much, if any, but he will be more likely to believe there was a fight if he feels battered." She waved them on, then turned back in another direction with Inlé, laughing.
"This may be the reason the Captain is addled, Archcardinal," Inlé said, sounding unconcerned.
Arrats laughed. "Inlé, I wouldn't worry about him. He's tougher than a shelled koresque terror. I've seen the man shatter a warhammer against his forehead." She chuckled at the memory. "That may have had a little to do with the addling. But let's not talk of that now. Other tales for other times, you know. We're off to the kitchens to get breakfast and something light to travel with."

Breakfast was good, pancakes and pekou fruit, with a light syrup that melted in Arrats' mouth. Observing Inlé, she was convinced the flavors must have reeled away from his tongue before he could taste it. It seemed the only way he could eat without showing any pleasure in the meal. Despite this, he was quick to send his compliments to the chef. His compliments were, Arrats noticed, perfect in form and delivery, but lacking in any real substance. Flattery went over well with the chef, though, so Arrats considered the compliment fine.
Afterwards, and perhaps because of the compliment, the chef (hearing that the boy was a visitor on his way out) shuffled into the dining hall and ushered Inlé--"not hearing no arguments, mind"--into the pantry where she proceeded to pack him a bindle of food to take with him. He politely followed and graciously accepted the foodstuffs as they were given him, restocking the shelves with light compliments along the way. The bundle was fairly large, containing even a small pot, and having a thin metal spit for a bindle-stick.
When he exited with his new supplies over his shoulder, Arrats found it difficult to contain her mirth. She could not picture, though it stood before her whole-cloth, this proud boy as a bindlestiff. The old chef stood proudly behind him, ladle on hip, and instructed him on proper methods for dealing with cook fires. Arrats's eyes were tearing when Inlé addressed her.
"Will you also need to supply Archcardinal?" A question, she realized, as retaliation for her mirth. The boy knew she planned to slip out unannounced.
"To the council hall?" she asked, thinking fast. "No, boy. It is not that far, though I thank you for your concern. I may need a light snack though, Matilde, if I may?"
Matilde had been the Tower's head chef for thirty years now, and had served in lesser roles since she was born to the previous head chef fifty odd years ago. Despite this, or perhaps because of this, she was nervously shy around the Archcardinal. She knew the Archcardinal's dietary preferences perfectly, and knew she would never be removed from her position, but still treated the Archcardinal with reverential respect. She had once told the captain of the guards that she felt like a child being asked permission by her grandmother when asked for food by the Archcardinal.
"Well," she began. "I really should say no, Ma'am. It'll spoil your midday, after all. But ..." She turned and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a few minutes, she handed the Archcardinal a snack-filled handkerchief. She whispered conspiratorially to the Archcardinal, "Just be sure not to waste your appetite, Ma'am."
Arrats smiled. "Thank you, Matilde. I do so love your cooking. I know I will enjoy whatever you make when I return."
Making their way out of the dining hall, Arrats and Inlé wound their way through the tower until they were able to leave quietly out a smaller entrance than that at the front. In order to raise fewer suspicions, Arrats raised a glimmer-skin spell to imitate her formal attire as she exited the Tower. The spell dissipated as she rounded the first corner, revealing her more drab dress. By midday, the two had reached the city limits opposite those Inlé had entered that dawn. Here, the only difference was that the guards preferred cards to dice, and none noticed the smiling Archcardinal as she snuck brazenly away from Aurora. She would not be missed for an hour yet, and then the search party would still need to be assembled.
They walked in silence, as Arrats was at first too caught up in the fond memories she felt may soon be relived. When enthusiasm began to fade and life began to settle back in, Arrats became surprised again at her peculiar partner's stoic silence. She realized that it had been nearly four hours since they had left the city--seven since leaving the tower--and he had yet even to attempt conversation. (A thing she had done twice; once in the city and once after leaving, but to no effect.)
Finally, Arrats could no longer stand the silence, and broke it. "Inlé," she said. She had meant to continue, but as though breaking the silence had shattered him, Inlé collapsed. "Inlé!" Arrats repeated as she reached to catch the boy as he fell. But he seemed to fall away from her outstretched hands, hitting the ground without even an attempt at catching himself. Arrats knelt beside him, quickly inspecting him for injuries until his eyes fluttered open.
"My apologies," he said. "I believed I would be able to continue on until we reached an adequate place to camp. My fatigue has gotten the better of me. Let me rest a few minutes, and then we may continue." His eyes were closed before he finished his apology, and he was asleep before Arrats could respond. She chuckled to herself, as she set his head on her lap.
"Boy, what I wonder about you," she said to herself. She thought alone for a few more minutes before making a conclusion. "Fair enough. As payment for my guarding your sleep here, you'll have to answer any questions I ask. Ha! Never take anything from a witch, boy. Never, ha!" She chuckled to herself.
But the pause gave her time to rest her legs, the very subject she had meant to bring up before Inlé fell. She rested her legs and decided she would eat the contents of Matilde's handkerchief as Inlé slept. Pleasant surprise filled her when Arrats saw that Matilde had filled the bag with some of her favorite snacks. Minath berries(just now coming into season), a few hortane pods, a palm-sized bongala melon, and seasoned tea crackers lay displayed in a lovely manner as soon as Arrats opened the kerchief on the sleeping Inlé's chest--which had been commandeered as a table until she decided to wake him. If he plans to sleep during the day, Arrats thought, he should expect some ... accommodating treatment. She smirked and bit into one of the hortane pods, leaving the thin, tangy skin on.
Looking around her, she realized that the two had made excellent time. After four hours, Aurora was no longer in sight. Not even the Tower of the Mage was visible, though it could be seen for hours' distance normally. Arrats suspected some sort of enchantment involved, but she could not be sure. She had not thought to check while they walked, and there seemed to be no residual energy from the spell, if one was used. The mountains in the northwest were the borders of Ashkern, and Arrats wondered once more how the sister Tower in Briqueward fared. She worried for the sister towers often, since she lead them all by proxy. But it had been almost a decade since she had run her own tower personally, let alone visited the other towers. Perhaps that would soon change.
The grasslands surrounding Aurora were known to be mild and calm, and today was no exception. Knee-high grasses were the norm, and most of the animal life was small and peaceful. The sky was nearly cloudless all the way to the horizon. Outcroppings of serpentstone broke the surface occasionally, often shading larger vegetation or the odd spring. Everything was calm. Arrats fought the buzz of insect lullabies after she had finished her light snack. But she held on for only so long.

"Hee," a nearby voice woke Arrats. "Girly, ye should 'ave a care where ye sleep." A grizzled man in tattered clothing sat beside her and set his bindle down. "No need t' fear, though. I be safe enough, t' be sure." His cackle woke Inlé, who was on his feet a foot from the seated pair before the man had even noticed him.
"Well, another sleeper in th' grass!" the man smiled. "No need t' fear, we're just two travelers 'ere. Care t' join us? Two's good f'r a talk, but it takes three f'r conversation."
Arrats was surprised at the ease Inlé showed in waking so quickly. She decided that she would feel better with him beside her, though. "It's all right, Inlé. Come, sit."
"Inlé?" the man's smile was replaced by a shocked look. "Not the Inlé?" He looked at the hooded figure more closely. A tremble of anger crept into the man's already warbly voice as he said, "No. Ye can't be the Inlé. Impossible! Show yer face, fiend!"
Inlé removed his hood. "Do you know me, sir?"
The old man squinted at the boy he saw before him and calmed. "Well, ye certainly look th' part. Do ye remember me, perhaps?"
"I am afraid I do not, sir."
"O' course," the old man said. "O' course ye don't. O' course, that were a long time ago, lad. Ye'd be a'most as old as I. Were ye named f'r yer grandpappy, lad?" Inlé denied with a shake of his head. "Ah, well. I s'pose yer not th' Inlé I knew. Yer dress's a bit off, too, come t' think.
"Ah! but me manners!" Standing to make a sweeping bow, he said, "I am Fernweh: wanderer, tinker, vacilando extraordinaire." He seemed to slide directly from a deep bow into a seated position with his feet straight out in front of him and his bottom where his feet had just been. The fluidity of his motion repulsed his body's aged appearance. His sparkling eyes and ready smile made him appear a boy stuck in the trappings of an old man. Another shrill laugh burst from the man, convincing Arrats, at least, that he was crazy and, more disturbingly, had three or four extra lungs.
"Fernweh, then. I am Inlé, as you know. This is for you." Inlé offered the goddesses' scroll to the old man.
With a whoop, the old man leapt to his feet and grabbed Inlé's wrist instead of the scroll. He pulled the boy into a firm hug which looked like it would have lasted much longer had Inlé not somehow escaped it. Arrats was surprised to see the boy beside her when he had just been a few paces away.
"Oh, it is ye, Inlé!" the old man laughed. "Not in yer usual trappin's, though. An' so young! Yer younger'n last I saw ye! Come, now we talk, there's decades on decades t' catch up on." He spun down onto his seat. "I never should 'ave doubted those cold eyes. None but ye could look so. Come, come! Sit! We must talk."
Inlé sat calmly, but Arrats saw a flicker of ... something cross his eyes. Was it anger? no. Fear? Hardly, she thought. Perhaps confusion in being recognized by this old man out in the middle of nowhere after all those ...
"Did you say decades?" Arrats asked in surprise. "Surely you jest, this boy can't be more than twenty!"
Fernweh laughed. "Can't be more'n twenty?" His grin revealed unnervingly perfect teeth glinting out of the scraggly white hair that covered his sun-weathered face. "Girly, 'e wasn't more 'n twenty when 'e took me up t' wandering. An' that were likely afore ye were imagined up. Three hunnerd years, an' ye've lost time on ye!" he turned his attention back on Inlé. "What 'ave ye been up t'?"
"Sir, ..." Inlé began.
"No sirs 'ere, ye old fiend!" Fernweh interrupted. "Sir's f'r elders an' betters. An' neither t' ye am I!"
"I believe you have me mistaken for another, sir. Only moments ago, you said the same when you saw me. What could have made you so quickly change your mind?" Inlé asked. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he continued, "More importantly, I have here a message of some urgency for you. You should read it." Inlé offered the scroll once more, and this time the old man took it.
"Y' see? This 's me proof! Ye said when ye left that when next we met, ye'd 'ave a scroll from th' goddesses f'r me. Without lookin', I'll tell ye this scroll's that one. Am I wrong?" Inlé did not voice a denial, and the old man went on. "Now, ye were quick t' deny knowin' th' contents o' th' scroll then, so I won't ask ye what it says, but I'm f'r wanting t' know what ye've been up t' these many years."
Inlé was silent for a few moments, then said, "Sir, whomever it was that told you they were I was not, in fact, myself. I have lived but seventeen years, and remember much of it quite thoroughly. I have no history to tell you, as I have not lived through the years you profess."
Fernweh's face fell. He began to mutter to himself, reliving an old conversation. "'But where are ye goin' t' go?' 'I cannot tell ye.' 'And ye cannot take me with ye?' 'No, friend, no. But I promise ye will see me again someday. It'll not be f'r a long, long time, but we will meet again.' ''f it'll be long, 'ow'll I know it's ye?' 'Ye'll know. I'll 'ave another scroll f'r ye.' 'An' 'f I forget ye?' 'Ye won't. But I won't know ye. I apologize.'" Fernweh stopped muttering and looked up in despair. "So ye truly f'rgot me. I'd 'oped ye'd lied t' me, in part or in all. I wish I could tell ye all ye've lost, but it won't stick, I suppose."
He opened his scroll and read. "Well, 'appy news, perhaps. I'm t' follow ye t' th' end o' yer journey again. Though, I suppose this'll be th' first time f'r ye. I'll guess th' girl's with ye also?"
"I am," Arrats said, wondering how long it had been since she'd been called girl.
"Aye, an' ye may be?"
"I am Arrats of Aurora."
"The holy city, then? Well, ye look th' part o' another Arrats I know o', t' be sure."
"Do I?" Arrats asked, amused that this man knew her by reputation.
"Arrats th' Far-reachin'. Ye must 'ave 'eard o' her. Worked th' lands during th' last Holy Winter. 't's said she was part o' bringin' th' Winter t' an end."
"So they say," Arrats agreed. "Did you know she's now the Archcardinal?"
Fernweh fell backwards, laughing. "Oh, th' poor girl!" he crowed. "She works miracles an' coaxes th' gods t' return, an' then gets punished f'r 't! That's a big hat t' 'ave t' deal with!" He pushed himself back up to sit, wiping a tear from one eye and immediately noticed her slightly put-off look. Realizing her for herself, he asked more soberly, "That's ye, ain't it, girly? T' be sure, I didn't mean no insult." His calm voice didn't ask forgiveness, only understanding.
Sad she wasn't able to properly reveal herself grandly, Arrats smiled slightly. "Then I will not be insulted, good vacilando. I just seem to be finding all of the people unimpressed with rank all in one day. It is strangely ... comforting."
"Aye, titles're word-burdens t' make 't easier f'r those what wish t' place blame. Archcardinal an' bishop both're priests, but both're as good as laymen in th' end."
"It's as you say, sir. Please call me Arrats during our time together. That goes for you as well, Inlé. My title is something I wish to be away from during our adventure."
"Adventure, is 't? Well, I know few I'd feel better adventurin' with than Inlé 'r th' Archcardinal o' th' Goddesses o' Magic. I know I shouldn't 'ave t' wait f'r either o' ye t' keep up. An' I won't need t' babysit either! Company without nonsense. Oh, I've missed this!" Fernweh laughed with a clap, then rubbed his palms together.
"And on that note," Inlé began, "We should be off." He stood. "There is a good deal of distance between us and the end of this 'adventure', and I have little time to spare."
"Don't you think you should rest a bit more, Inlé? You only slept for a short time."
"Archcardinal ..."
"Arrats."
"... as you wish. I have rested more than enough. I wish to make it to those mountains and find shelter by nightfall. Shall we continue?"
"The border o' Ashkern, eh? Supposin' I could get us there 'n 'alf a watch?"
"Could you now?" Arrats asked the bouncy old man. "And how would you do that?"
"I've a rest-over in th' hills there. It's me own spot t' rest dry when 't turns sour on th' grasslands. If I'm f'r goin' that way."
"And how long is a watch, exactly?" Inlé said.
Fernweh looked at Inlé as if he were crazy. "'ow long's a watch, ye ask? It's as long's a pair o' guards sits a watch, o' course! Ye forget somethin' that simple?"
"And in a more standardized time?"
Fernweh gave an exasperated grunt and turned to pull out a few items from his pack and began to chant.
Arrats chuckled at the old loner's impatience with communication. "A watch," she explained, "is standardized as something around four hours, I believe. So half a watch is about two hours. Does that help?"
"It does. Two hours to get across that distance is perfect. We should miss the storm completely. Especially as the vacilando seems to have accommodations of a sort available already."
"What storm?" Arrats asked. "The sky's perfectly clear, and the weather is beautiful all the way to the horizon."
Inlé looked at Arrats for a few moments, then said, "Fernweh, how much time until the storm arrives, by your estimate?"
"Less'n 'alf a watch, f'r sure," The old man replied. "Let me be, boy. This's 'arder'n it may look."
Inlé returned to his seat, pulled Beginning Mage from the bag, and began reading. "I would suggest, madam, that you reacquaint yourself with your equipment. You may need their aid soon."

Arrats was amazed that the boy's prediction had been spot-on. Dark clouds spilled out over the grasslands from the south and furiously boiled. So far, they had not quite settled overhead, but Arrats was certain that that small felicity would soon expire. The clouds were pregnant with rain, and their labor pains roared constantly in the distance. Arrats watched as the last few miles between their small party and the cloud front closed in scant minutes and continued to charge toward the mountains to the north. The black sea above her roiled and pulsed, but despite the approach of sunset and the overcast, it was still bright enough for Arrats to see Inlé reading by stormlight as Fernweh continued chanting.
"Fernweh," Arrats called over the storm. "I don't mean to rush you, but how much longer?"
The old man cackled into the storm, "Almost done, girly, Almost done! Alright, ye two, 'op on t' me blanket!"
Inlé and Arrats obeyed, and all three stood atop the blanket of Fernweh's bindle as his chanting reached it climax. Suddenly, in the distance the rain began. A wall of water roared rapidly toward the party. Arrats watched the worst storm she'd ever seen in her hundred years adventuring stampede toward her and said a prayer for any who were out beneath the torrent, and another for herself and her own survival. Just before the wall of water overtook them, Fernweh cried out and Arrats found herself surrounded by darkness and silence. She heard a quiet scraping noise, and a small flame flashed into being, then dulled to embers.
Fernweh chuckled. "A bit close, eh?" he said around something in his mouth.
Gathering her wits, Arrats created a light above her head and saw her companions once more. The cave they were in was small, barely six feet high and likely less than twice that wide. She saw only one passage out of the 'room', and that cramped. Leaving, she decided, would be unpleasant.
"We are safe here, then, despite the storm?" Inlé asked.
"O' course. This could be th' worst storm t' reach th' grasslands in a few hundred year, an' this 'ole'll weather it out real 'andsome-like. It's thirty feet down that passage t' th' surface, twenty below us. Water flows away from this 'ole. Only way it'll get in's if it floods th' plains below f'r good. Pray that'll not 'appen while th' Archcardinal is with us. Aurora would sore miss their 'ead when th' barriers are tested, t' be sure."
"That, I wouldn't worry overmuch about, thank you," Aurora said confidently. "The others in the tower can handle just about anything that could be thrown at them." Her faith in her attendants was genuine, but she still hoped such a trial would not occur in her absence. Factional disputes would only cause trouble with her absence. Doubt gnawed at her for a moment, then she steeled herself once more to the task at hand.
"What should we do next?"
"Travel will be difficult for the remainder of the day, and may in fact be detrimental," Inlé said. He sat back against the stone wall and pulled out his book. "We wait here until the storm passes. As soon as it does, we leave. Get some rest, we still have some way to travel."
"Good enough a plan f'r th' likes o' me," Fernweh chuckled, sitting to enjoy his pipe. As soon as Arrats stepped off of it, Fernweh tapped his blanket and it snapped back up into a bindle, tying itself onto a staff that had lain across the blanket moments before. He rifled around inside the loose sack and pulled out bread, a knife, and a large leg of something. Arrats was certain there had been nothing but the staff atop the blanket when they had stood upon it moments before. Wandering three hundred years had, Arrats was sure, taught Fernweh a few tricks to make travel easier.
He chuckled to himself when he saw her looking at his bindle curiously. "Wantin' f'r food o' th' body 'r just wantin' f'r food o' th' mind, girly? Likely 'aven't seen a bindle th' likes o' mine, t' be sure. A gift it was, f'r a deed done f'r Tabi. Deal 'onest with th' gods, girly, an' they'll try their best t' do th' same t' ye." He winked at her and held the bindle out to her with the staff.

The storm lasted longer than Inlé had predicted. Its approach was heard after a few hours, and when it was overhead it roared loud enough that Arrats created a wall of silence at the tunnel's mouth to deaden the noise. A full day later, and the storm had hardly let up at all. By the time the storm ended on the party's second day in the cave, Inlé had finished all of the books he had taken from Arrats' library, and had begun poring over one he had on his person.
Arrats, on the other hand, had spent a small amount of time checking and cleaning her equipment. After that, she slept or was entertained by Fernweh. The old man pulled cards and dice and other small games and toys out and repeatedly trounced the Archcardinal at whichever game they played. He chuckled to himself and puffed away at his pipe in delight as the vexed Arrats lost and lost again. Each time she demanded a rematch, Fernweh would offer a new game of Arrats' choice, and then gleefully destroyed whatever confidence she had in her ability.
When the storm ended, the party exited the cave to find the land they had left was now a vast marsh. Muddy waters floated grass rafts across their grimy surface. The mountains they now traversed had had many landslides in the last few nights, and rivers swollen with the surplus rain cascaded down through every ravine, forcing the travelers to climb the uneven slopes above the drainage. Inlé was unfazed by the difficult terrain, and Fernweh seemed to actually enjoy it, a point that frustrated the struggling Arrats. They reached a plateau around noon, and Inlé pleasantly surprised Arrats by proposing an hour long rest for a meal beside a spring of fresh water that seemed no worse for wear from the storm.
"'ow are ye 'oldin' up, girly?" Fernweh asked as they ate.
"Well enough," Arrats lied, not wanting to reveal her exhaustion. "I'm unused to so much physical exertion, but my duties do force me to expend vast quantities of energy on occasion."
"Good, good." The old wanderer smiled. "In a few more days, ye will not even feel th' burnin' ye find creepin' into yer legs now, t' be sure." He rummaged in his bindle and pulled out a wrapped item. "Eat this an' yer discomforts'll be gone 'til next ye rest."
Arrats opened the thin covering and found a cookie inside. She bit into the tough cookie, and expected to have trouble chewing the leathery snack. Instead, it crumbled as soon as she had it in her mouth, and melted into a nutty liquid that left a sweet, tangy aftertaste that Arrats found quite pleasant. The cookie was small, but Arrats was satisfied by it.
The view was magnificent. Arrats looked out over the plains in awe as she saw them stretched out beneath her. Truly, it had been too long since last she'd looked out over the plain like this. Of course, she had never seen it destroyed like this either. On the horizon stood the Tower of the Mage, a slender finger poking into the air. Below it, Arrats knew, was Aurora, but the city was too distant to see. The Tower was a beacon on the waters now, directing whoever was out in that sea of mud to safety.
Making a loose fist, Arrats looked through the ring of her fingers and muttered a quick cantrip. The spire loomed larger as she looked through the magical magnification disk she had formed. Atop the walls surrounding the city stood a dozen mages, each one a disciple Arrats had personally trained. They looked a bit ragged after their elongated casting, but Arrats was proud to see that they had held the barrier and protected the city perfectly. They appeared to be finishing the final checks before releasing the walls and retiring to a much deserved rest.
The magic of the city boundaries was a beautiful thing. The city had been made generations before Arrats was born, and the mages responsible for Aurora's defenses were all long dead. Nonetheless, the magic was almost self-sustaining, drawing energy from the heat of the sun. Wind and rain could pass through the barrier unhindered, as could the many birds who nested within the city confines, but anything the wall determined to be hostile had a great deal of trouble passing through. And with a mage stationed at each of the twelve circles on the wall, along with one in the circle at the top of the Tower, it was said that nothing could pass through that they didn't allow.
"Looks as they're about finished, t' be sure," Fernweh said, gazing out at the city, palm shielding his eyes from the sun.
"Yes," Arrats agreed. She looked twice when she realized he must be seeing without magical aid. "You can see the city from here?"
"Better 'n ye with yer little spell, I can," Fernweh winked. "It's only a day's run from 'ere, girly. These old eyes 'ave a few tricks in 'em yet. Ye'd be amazed, ye would."
Inlé rose and called for the two to prepare to leave then, and the treacherous run continued, though Arrats noted that her stamina was no longer flagging.