disturbed him. It had been just a frisson, something too small for even the smallest spell.
He had just sat back down when someone stepped out from within the circle beside him and let out a yell of exhilaration. Ezratah started up with a cry. The man, a tall, pale-haired warrior dressed in black, saw him and jumped back, too. For a moment the two of them stared at one another in shock.
Then the warrior seemed to shrug off his surprise. 'Tell me, sir, which way is it to Olbia?' he asked, in a heavily accented version of trade talk.
'That way,' said a dazed Ezratah, pointing back toward the road.
'And how far?'
'About five days' walk,' Ezratah said.
'I thank you, sir,' the warrior said, and took off down the path at a fast jog.
Ezratah sat gaping after him. Mir's blood, where had the fellow come from? He looked around in confusion. By all that was…
'Wait!' he cried, but the warrior was out of sight and probably out of earshot. Ezratah ran between the stones, looking everywhere. Where had the man come from? There was no way he could have entered the circle without Ezratah's knowing. He'd already examined the wall of the hollow. He looked again, hoping to find a possible hidden cave, but there was no sign of anything. As he passed back and forth between the stones he became aware that his senses jangled. He felt as if he had hit his funny bone, only the feeling was all over his body. At first he thought it was the shock of seeing the man, but the moment he left the circle, the feeling disappeared. Instead he simply felt refreshed, as if he had jumped into a cold pool of water.
How peculiar!
He stepped back between the stones and the jangle came back. He stepped out of the stones and it was gone. At that moment, there was the scream of a hawk and a bird plunged down from the air nearby, grabbed something from the ground and flew off. It took Ezratah a moment to realise that it had taken his bread and cheese.
'Hey,' he shouted, throwing a stone uselessly after the already distant bird.
Ezratah cursed the distraction and entered the stone circle again, but this time the jangling was much reduced. He wasn't even sure he really felt it. He cursed again and kicked one of the stones in annoyance. What on earth had happened here? Now he'd never know. The one person who could answer his questions was jogging down the road to Olbia. Ezratah could probably catch him up if he hurried and, since they were going the same way, what could be more natural than falling into conversation? Quickly Ezratah gathered up his belongings and swung his pack onto his shoulder.
The warrior had moved fast. There was no sign of him on the path or on the paved main road that was now shimmering with heat in the midday sun. By the time he reached the road Ezratah was beginning to wonder if following the stranger was a good idea. The locals showed a naíve lack of fear for magical people, but Mirayans knew that they could easily be death mages or their slaves. Yet Ezratah felt sure the warrior himself wasn't magical. In fact, apart from the strange jangling among the stones he had felt no magic at all. So why did he feel so certain magic had taken place? Maybe there had been another person, some invisible mage…
Suddenly resolute, Ezratah pulled on his army-issue straw hat - an embarrassingly peasant sort of a thing - and set off down the road toward Olbia.
He walked as fast as he could and soon his head began to swim with the heat. He kept telling himself that the warrior must be around the next bend for nobody could jog far in this heat. But every time he rounded a corner in the road there was no sign of him.
At last he threw himself down in the shade of a distance marker. He was a fool to think he could catch the fellow. He was probably accustomed to these temperatures. Although, was the fellow a native? Natives were dark. Mirayans were the only people in Yarmar with fair hair, but Ezratah had never seen any Mirayan who looked like… Suddenly he remembered the garrison commander reading out a circular from Duke Wolf. The duke was interested in any sightings of tall, pale-haired natives with high cheekbones and green eyes, just like the warrior at the stones! Sweet Mir! The duke would doubtless be in Olbia for the feast of St Stefan when Ezratah got there and he might be very impressed by a young mage who could give him some information on such a native.
He simply had to catch up with the fellow, even if it meant using magic. With a theatrical flick of his hand, Ezratah crossed his legs with his mage's staff across his lap and visualised his centre of magic as a well of gold within his chest. He spoke the words of power, using their hard force to drive his will down hard into the liquid gold, hitting it like a hammer on an anvil so that suddenly the gold burst forth, flaring up and filling him with power. His ability to control and mould that power to his will filled him with pleasure. He rose quickly but with satisfying smoothness until he was levitating half a man's height off the ground. Then, with a push of his staff and another magical word, he launched himself along the road, gliding over the ground faster than a man could run.
* * *
Yani was travelling fast, using a combination of jogging and walking.
'He's still there,' Marigoth said, flying at Yani's side in the form of a hawk. 'He's using magic to catch up now.'
'Fire and earth!' Yani exclaimed. 'What a pair of fools, letting ourselves be seen like that.'
'Who was to know there would be someone there, in such a lonely place? And a Mirayan of all people!'
'You had no idea where we would come out and you know it.'
'You're the one who went leaping out in front of him. At least I stopped and looked. Do you think we should try and shake him off?'
'I don't think we should bother with him. It might just make him more suspicious. Anyway, we've done nothing wrong.'
'Humph! The Mirayans have probably made using the Circles of Power illegal. Let me call up a storm. That should put him off,' Marigoth said
'No. Don't try and lose him. Perhaps we should let him catch up.'
'Why? I thought you hated Mirayans.'
'Have you thought that we are going to a Mirayan city and we know almost nothing of Mirayans? How are we going to find Elena? We can't speak their language. We don't know their customs or the reason they do what they do.'
'They're bad people,' Marigoth said. 'It's perfectly simple.'
'Yes, very helpful,' Yani said sarcastically. 'It might be well to speak with a Mirayan and find out more about them. They are very different from the Archipelagans.'
'You're crazy, Yani. You'll get nothing useful out of one of them. I wonder if I could get lightning to strike him.'
'Mari! Leave him. Just leave him alone! Let me deal with it. You concentrate on the Tari. Is there any sign that they noticed us?'
'None at all. Probably too busy communing with the pure life spirit of their holy land to notice us,' Marigoth sneered.
'I hope you're right.'
A few minutes later there was a rumble of thunder in the distance.
'Hey! Is that a storm? You agreed you'd leave the fellow alone.'
'It wasn't me. It's coming up by itself. Don't you trust me?'
'Of course, Mari dear. Why ever would I not?'
'Humph!'
Throughout the afternoon the sky grew dark and heavy, and Yani began to keep her eye out for a place to shelter. The countryside was not promising. On this flat plain, the trees and the little stone shepherds' huts seemed likely victims for lightning strikes. She was just beginning to wonder if she should turn off the road into one of the valleys and build herself a little shelter when Mari swooped down beside her and said, 'There's a settlement up ahead.'
'Great! I think we should seek a place for the night there. Where is the mage?'
'He caught up a while ago and now he's walking along just behind the next bend. He seems a bit wary of you.'
'Maybe we won't have to bother