The Outcast

Part Four

Jarrell had always hated travelling, it was the main reason he did as little of it as possible, postponing his visits to the Magicians guild until Lady Vinara ordered him to report to her in person. Though it was often just to make sure he was up to date and familiar with the latest knowledge in healing, he knew she wasn't keen on having her healers out of her sight for too long- not that she could do anything about it. Bracing himself against the hard wooden seat of the wagon, Jarrell found himdelf longing for the familiar road to the Kyralian capital of Imardin, it was no less bumpy than the one he was on now but he had made the journey enough times to be able to anticipate most of the holes and at least try to keep himself stationary. 

The only real comfort he had was that he would not have to put up with the additional agony of riding sores that accompanied riding on horseback. It seemed that his companion did not suffer the same discomfort, and looking at the magician leaning unpeturbed against the covered wooden frame, he couldn't help but feel a little envious at how completley unaffected he was by being constantly thrown about. Closing his eyes, Jarrell drew a little power and tried to sooth away the unease in his stomach but found himself unable to- this feeling was more mental than physical and thought wistfully of his cottage, now left in Dorriens keen hands, but every time he managed to relax his destination crept back into his mind.

'Sachaka' he shuddered, living so close to the border between nations he had more tolerance for their golden skinned neighbours than allowed by most Kyralians (or Elynes, or Lonmars or Vins, or Lans he thought), but the thought of actually going there more or less terrified him. There was a bitter history between the two countries that spanned over a thousand years; both at some point had conquered and ruled over the other, as well as the fact that most Kyralians considered Sachakans barbarians due to their ongoing slavery of their own people. What set Jarrell on edge the most however, were the stories he'd been told over the years of Sachakan politics. Essentially it wasn't much different from any of the schemes employed by the noble houses in Imardin, or any other country for that matter, but it was the cold efficiency with which they played the game. It was that cold repuation created by the Ashaki, the Sachakan higher class, that was infamous across the Allied lands, as well as the harsh class system. Judging by their purpose in Sachaka however, it was unlikely that they would encounter many of the Ashaki for which he was grateful.

Thinking back to the events of the previous day, his communication with Koshira was still strong on his mind. The 'official' reason for his going was that it was safer for two magicians to make the trip than one. Not exactly the strongest of magicians however, Jarrell could think of a few names that would be much more proficient in accompanying Akkarin into Sachaka; besides the fact that nobdy would dare attack a guild magician anyway out of fear that it would be taken as an act of aggression. The High Lords positopn allowed him to be secretive, but it was unusual for him to take an interest in matters residing outside the guilds interest. The only thing he could think of, a repeatedly occurred to him, was that the interest was in Akkarin- an idea that chilled him more than going to Sachaka.

Either way, it was clear even if nothing else was that Jarrell was more than just an escort. But what did that make him instead?

*  *  *

Artfully tying off the thread, Dorrien used a sharp swipe of magic to burn away the loose end, before rousing the patient with smelling salts; he was at first confused by the unfamiliar surroundings, but once his memory had recovered he'd thanked Dorrien profusely, whom had cooly brushed it off and begun to explain how to take care of his arm which was now laced with stitches, and to come and see him should they fall out. The man was a farm worker from one of the outlying farms near to Galia who had injured his arm while working in the fields; fortunately he was wise enough to seek aid immediatley instead of waiting for infection to set in, after which all of the healers in the allied lands couldn't have saved his limb. 

Despite his protests and those of the farm-owner who had begrudgingly agreed to drive him there, that he retun to work immediatley, Dorrien had managed to instil enough fear in them both for his nearly severed arm that both agreed to give him time to rest; mostly since he would be next to useless if the limb had to be removed.

After saying farewell to Jarrell the day before, he had welcomed any distraction that came his way and while the constant stream of patients meant he would be occupied most of the time, for the first time in his life he was truly alone. He'd been raised in the guild in the Magicians Quarters and of course once he'd been accepted into the university had moved into the Novices Quarters. Under normal circumstances, once he'd become a full magician he would have been allocated rooms of his own but of course instead had moved to Galia with Jarrell. Although it was still Jarrell's house, while he was gone it would just be him alone in the cottage- an entirely new experience for Dorrien.  But it was also a challenge to be met, one which he would not back down from. 

After Jarrell had called both him and Akkarin into the living room, he'd explained that he had spoken to High Lord Koshira; though if he knew Dorrien had seen him he hadn't mentioned it. What surprised him was when he told them that he had been requested to join Akkarin on his journey. Whether Jarrell had been purposely vague, or just didn't know himself why he had been asked to go, he did not know since he hadn't gone into explicit detail and both he and Akkarin had moved into  preperations. He had been unable to hide his surprise however when he saw Akkarins reaction, mostly since he hadn't really had much of one. Magicians were infamous for not liking being told what to do- a great irony since their hierarchy and rule structure was very strictly imposed, barring perhaps the religeous law followed by the Lonmars and other followers of the Mahga religeon. Akkarin did not seem at all surprised though, on the contrary it was as if he had been expecting as much. Though he seemed a respectable man, Dorrien could ot help but feel unnerved about how non-chalant he'd been about everything.

Pushing away such harsh thoughts, Dorrien attempted to set his mind to other things, starting by sterilising the medical tools he had used that day. Controlling his will, he reached for some magic and enveloped the utensils in a searing heat, burning away the bacteria, before leaving them to cool in a basin of water in the kitchen. It had been an interesting day for him, and the farmhand he'd worked on most recently had been the third patient thst day; it was autumn and in the outerfarms of Galia, as well as the rest of Kyralia, harvests were well underway as people prepared for the coming winter. It was unnaturally warm for the time of year and the first patient had been a small boy from the village who had fallen down a well; it was several hours of trying to rescue him before any of them though to call at his cottage. It had taken him no time at all with magic to lift the boy to freedom and he had felt their burning stares as he did so, then performing an on-site examination he found he'd broken his leg in the fall; not too difficult to fix but it would be weeks before he could on it again. 

The second patient had been another farmhand who had been trampled by a horse. A messenger had been sent straight to him, but when he arrived at the farmhouse the owner had seemed disappointed when he arrived and expressed as much when he asked where Jarrell was; anxious to get to work he'd brushed it off with a simple lie, stating that he was working on another patient. It had taken several hours work before the patient had reached a stable condition, he would check up on him in a few days but feared he wouldn't work for several years. 

Remaining in the kitchen, Dorrien looked through the window towards the jagged skyline and into the desert wastes beyond. Staring out at the winding road leading into the desolate emptiness ahead, Dorrien wondered where along it they were; Galia was fairly close to the border and for all he knew, they had already reached the south Pass and that very moment were in the crumbling Sachakan wasteland. 

What he knew for sure though, was that for the first time in his life, he was truly alone.