The Outcast

Part One

In ancient Kyralian poetry, the mountains bordering Kyralia with Sachaka are a barrier, preventing the deserted wastes from expanding south.

Ever since the war with Sachaka 700 years ago guild magicians of Elyne and Kyralia, the two nations that shared a border with, have watched from the mountain passes from Grayfort in the north to the South pass at the far end.

Using a cloth to wipe the scalpel clean and sterilising it with magic, Jarrell spared a glance towards the distant sun setting over a jagged skyline and was reminded of that particular tale, before turning back to the twelve year old farmhand laying semi-conscious on the table in beside him, his mother pacing to and fro in the waiting room to the back of his cottage whilst being comforted by his clearly uncomfortable assistant. Fairly new to the trade, he had soon learned that worried mothers came with the territory. Turning the blade in his hand, Jarrell began to cut away the infection already set in deep, had they come to him sooner the boy's finger might have been saved, but many of the villagers were wary of magic he and his assistant held and preferred to ignore injuries until they had no choice but to seek his help.

Sending a little energy into his body to soothe the pain Jarrell picked up a small saw and cut through the tough white bone until the fiinger was connected only by a loose thread of stringy, flesh coloured thistle, which was quickly removed with a sharp swipe of the scalpel.

With a short mental call Jarrell's assistant hurried into the room to clean away the mess on the table while he cauterized the wound with magic and lifted the boy's arm the same way so he could bandage the hand.

Once he had finished the surgery he left his assistant to carry on cleaning his equipment away and once he had woken, escort the boy to the recovery room where his mother would be waiting to scold him and usher him home.

His assistant, Dorrien, was fairly new to the village, he had graduated from the university only a year before having chosen the healing discipline; he was the son of an old university friend of his own, Lord Rothen, and while visiting him during the bi-annual report to Lady Vinara (head of healers) he'd expressed a profound interest in his work so Jarrell had invited him to spend the summer as his assistant.

Jarrell was surprised to say the least when he took to the role like a fish to water and once he'd graduated Jarrell immediately offered him the position full time which he accepted without hesitation.

Entering the retiring room, Jarrell allowed himself to collapse into a comfortable armchair he'd had made to suit him perfectly upon his own arrival over twenty years ago, and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

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Waking in the dark several hours later, Jarrell climbed out of the chair, something that had taken some practice to master, and walked across to the dark window; peering through the side of the simple paper blind covering it, and saw that the moon outside was full; the eye was open so to speak.

Moving towards the door he was surprised hear voices downstairs, 'surely the boy and his family would have left hours ago' he thought, listening intently to the voices; one belonged to Dorrien but the other was unfamiliar and much deeper than any he knew.

Cautiously, Jarrell raised a strong shield and paced towards the central room where he saw the fireplace blazing away and Dorrien so deep in conversation he did not notice when he walked up behind him.

It was only when the stranger drew his attention away from Dorrien and towards him that Dorrien looked up and leapt out of his seat straight into a deep bow.

"My lord" he said, apparently ashamed he had not noticed his taskmaster's appearance.

"I see we have a guest Dorrien, why was I not woken, it is not proper for me to be ignorant of those in my own home" he said coldly, normally he would have taken a softer stance but he did not wish to appear weak in front of the man who was now stood up straight adjacent to the impressive fireplace, Jarrell looked at him closely, he was clearly Kyralian and a guild magician too, if the red robes marking him as a warrior beneath his cloak were anything a to go by.

"I'm sorry, my lord it's just that, he...,I..." Dorrien spluttered before the stranger intervened.

"It's my fault, I arrived some time before sunset passing through, I seeking out the closest magician, that being you, I intended to beg shelter for the night; when your assistant answered he explained you had retired for the night and so rather than wake you thought it best to simply leave you and explain myself should you appear, as I have done now".

He was still annoyed he had been left completely unaware of the stranger in his home for so long, but he knew as well as Dorrien how grumpy tired magicians could be though and easily forgave the young man in his head; turning back to the warrior he took a moment to examine him before responding.

"I see. Well there's no harm done and naturally I can offer no less than my hospitality. 

He looked at his assistant, now stood by the armchair and uncharacteristicly silent, and asked him, in the most sympathetic voice he could muster, to fetch a bottle of wine a some glasses. 

Dorrien jumped at this request and hurried off before appearing moments later toting a dark bottle and three upside-down wine glasses.

"Anuren Red! For a simple living village healer you do have impeccable tastes, I'm surprised you have room for such luxuries, the guild is clearly generous in its allowance" the man joked, accepting a glass from Dorrien and sipping lightly.

"Tangy", he continued, "I must say I do prefer Anuren Dark though, it has a richness you don't find in other bottles".

"Ha! A kindred soul, I'll lay your mind to rest in saying the guild is far from generous, I acquired this when the son of a passing Elyne trader was crushed by a cart, we brought him here and healed him, the trader was very grateful and thanked us with some of his more... luxurious goods."

"A heart-warming story" said the magician, his lips curving upwards.

"Yes, oh I never caught your name, Lord...?"

"Akkarin, my name is Akkarin" he said, taking a large swig from the glass and leaning back into the chair.