She found a village. Finally, after days of travel. Was it the village she was supposed to be in? She had no way of knowing. But the people were not as suspicious of her as she expected. If it was in her own kingdom, an outsider would bring stares. But no one seemed to care here. Looking at the people on the street, it was hard to tell what an outsider would look like, there were such a variety of faces.

  It was late morning. The sun was strong on her scalp, but not as piercing as it would be in a few hours. She had only a scarf to protect her head. The material was thin, but voluminous, meant to be bunched up as insulation against the winds of the mountains. It didn’t seem that effective against the sun's rays. She noticed some of the villagers wearing heavier, broad-brimmed hats. She felt beads of sweat pool against her lower back. How was it that her own kingdom, so much closer to the sun, she was never ravaged quite so harshly as down here?

  The buildings were oddly shaped here, low and wide, more clay that wood or stone. Everything seemed oddly squared off, but no sharp corners, only squares softened with smooth adobe clay. No building was higher than two stories, though it seemed like a densely packed town.

  She dragged herself down the main road. Days of being in the forest took a toll on her normally strong constitution. She was built for insulation: thick limbs and thick hair, she wasn’t built for this climate. She had imagined before what the people would look like down below; small and lithe, flitting through the jungle like cats. The reality was far more quotidien. She saw in the town a few people more like her: broad and towering. Without a drop of sweat on them. How did they manage?

  She stopped and turned to the building on her left. The entrance was open with no door, more of a pavillion than a building. It was strewn with bundles of hydrangea and jacaranda on the ground, lining the path leading out to the street. It was the most decorated building she could see. It took her a moment to recognize it: a temple. She sighed and dragged herself in. What would a temple be like in a southern town? Magic was, after all, from the gods. But they feared it here. Would it be all hellfire and damnation?

  The inner shrine was dark and hazy, with a small statuette at the center, surrounded by candles and cups of clear liquid. She didn't recognize the figure, a harvest god perhaps, with an oddly cheeky expression. They had different names here, different figures. Everything about the place felt almost correct, but just slightly off. The candles were too short and wide, the incense was too sweet and grassy. And of course, the god herself.

  Perhaps her own kingdom’s priests would take issue with her actions, but the way she figured, gods were gods. She tossed an offering in the box and made a prayer. She muttered the words quickly under her breath, careful not to enunciate so much that others would recognize a foreign tongue. She had recited these lines so many times the words lost meaning, or maybe they were now pure meaning, vibrating into her soul so deeply her brain could not process it. That was the way the mages at the citadel talked. For everyone else in her life, prayer was a rather perfunctory action.

  Her endeavor had not gotten off to the best start, maybe an offering would right its course.

  Nearly a week ago, she was summoned to the council chambers. It was not unexpected, her unit leader had told her of a coming assignment. There was an air of hesitation in her voice that she couldn’t interpret, like the task of informing her left her leader in distaste. Distaste was an easy emotion to interpret where she came from.

  When she arrived in chambers, she was surprised to find it was not a full session. Of the twelve members, only three were present at the great crescent table. The chambers had no scribes, no aids, no guards who usually filled out the space. She didn't see Pirul, who usually stood guard at the inner door. The councilors were talking amongst themselves, only briefly glancing at her as she walked in.

  It was evening, but the chamber was lit by a large orb at the center of the vaulted ceiling. The light found its way into every corner and crevice, giving everyone a rather pallid, washed out complexion. Then again, they were also mages. The patter of their speech was so dense she barely registered when they shifted their attention to her.

  “-an extraction. Will you accept?”

  “Captain Marhawet?” her leader shot under her breath from behind.

  There was a moment of silence. She abruptly realized they had finished talking amongst themselves and were now directly addressing her.

  “Of course,” she barked, “I am honored to serve the council.” She didn’t hear the exact proposition, but she didn’t need to. The request was only a formality. This was her job. The paperwork would already be in order.

  “Please understand you wouldn't be serving us in an official capacity.”

  She tipped her head to study the speaker. Perhaps the request was more than a formality this time. She looked back at her unit leader, Tacha, only to find she had already slipped out the front doors. She was now alone in the room with the three mages, staring down from their crescent table.

  “You must understand,” another added, “This particular situation...would be best suited off the official record.”

  It was an absurd request. Any other higher ranking officer would be insulted by such a thing, they would have to know that. The council, the entire nation really, was a bureaucratic nightmare. Everything was meticulously recorded and sanctioned through an exhaustive list of checks and balances. Magic was regulated, law was regulated, everything played its part as an integral gear in this delicate machine. And everything had a paper trail.

  “I… must ask the reason,” she said simply, steadying her breath. She attempted to hold the gaze of the speaker of the council, a woman who appeared to be in her sixties and towered over her with an aura of might.

  “Of course, we would expect no less,” the woman at the center responded, “though we understand you are a person who...appreciates nuance.”

  She narrowed her gaze at the woman, knowing exactly what she meant but not particularly reveling in its implication. People who revered tradition and law rarely ended up where she was. They matriculated from the military to become guards, local officers, generals, or public pundits. She and her unit were different. It was an open secret in the military. In times of crisis, sometimes actions simply must be taken. This moral ambiguity was how she was promoted to the rank of Enzalli. Even so, most of her rank still were fiercely loyal to proper procedure, even if the procedure itself was not open to the public.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “A few months ago, we were directly contacted by the Tanetzlan Empire, an offer to open diplomatic relations.”

  “That’s on the south coast?”

  Those in her order traveled far more than any other citizen of their kingdom, but she never had cause to go there. She only knew it was an empire, and it was growing.

  “That’s right. The Crown and the Council jointly came to the decision to ignore it, and retain our charter of isolation.” She looked to the other council members, who seemed comfortable letting her continue the tale, “still, some members of council thought that it would be prudent to...reach out. If anything for gathering information. As you know, we have little information on the current events of such a…rural place. And the message was...of a particular interest to us mages.”

  “Oh,” relief shot across her face, “The king would like an Enzalli task force to accompany you on an unofficial envoy.” It seemed a rather straightforward request, the very purpose her unit existed. She suddenly couldn’t understand all the secrecy.

  “Ah…no.” For the first time Marhawet saw a flash of emotion cross the woman’s face. Was it worry? Shame? It was gone too quickly to identify. “The message was of particular interest to us mages in a manner some thought…the king…would not understand.” She clasped her hands over the table, “The envoy already left. And…the king was not informed.”

  A moment of silence hung in the air. The woman seemed to be waiting to gauge her reaction. Marhawet waited for her to continue. This was the Enzalli way- a measured response, careful to catch everything, and betray nothing. These were powerful mages, learned and wise. But they were no soldiers. Defeated by the challenge of her gaze, the woman continued.

  “A few mages…acting independently, formed a diplomatic envoy, consisting of one of our councilors, some scribes, and some guards.” She fell silent, looking to another to continue the act of self-flagellation; recounting all their blunders to the military captain who would fix them.

  “...and?”

  “And that was two months ago,” a younger mage in her forties chimed in, seemingly growing impatient with the older woman's careful words. “The council has attempted to reach out to Tanetzlan, but our messages are being ignored. They apparently now have no interest in diplomatic relations. We’ve received intelligence of a mage being held at one of their prison facilities. We can only assume this was some kind of ploy to draw us out.”

  “You know how dangerous it would be to have a council mage in the hands of lowlanders,” the oldest mage, a man with sparse hair and clouded eyes, added, “they are desperate for the secrets of our magic. Thiers is chaos, but ours is god-given. It is why we have stayed in such isolation. But never have they made such a daring move as this.”

  Marhawet was surprised they didn’t make more moves at all. She supposed the mighty kingdom in the skies has built up enough of a reputation not to be tested.

  She kept her voice even, though the words dripped with judgment. “So you want me to get the mage, but you don’t want the King to know you acted without his consent.”

  “Tanetzlan’s actions are an act of war,” the middle woman shot, “It would break the treaty of noninterference we have with their Empire. This is not about covering our mistakes. We have the public to consider. If they found out about this, there would be calls to attack our enemy before we even know our enemy.”

  Marhawet nodded, it was a surprisingly prudent point. She wondered if the woman had experience in the military after all. The king was the voice of the people, he didn’t rule them, he reflected them. The mage councilors were elected, a meritocracy reflecting the wisdom of magic. It is the way it has always been. What the people demanded, they got.

  The military was invisible in her kingdom. People preferred to pretend they did not exist. But the mages, they were heroes. They were reflections of a life of diligence and hard work, rewarded by the gods with unimaginable powers. Mages were the pillars that held up their idyllic society. The council was their highest honor.

  “Do you accept this task?”

  “I do.” She looked at the long crescent table, mostly empty of its mages. She only really knew her representative, even after hours of Pirul jabbering about them over dinner. He was noticeably absent from this cabal. “Who is the prisoner?”

  The younger woman spoke first. “Councilor Patsik.”

  She recognized the name, though few had cause to see the councilors in person. She searched her memory.

  “The young one?”

  “That's right.”

  He was some kind of prodigy, she recalled. The name made news. He had a boyish face and soft-spoken demeanor that people liked. The perfect victim really. If anything happened to him, the public outcry would be enormous. Slowly, the weight of her responsibility solidified beneath her feet.

  “We have barely any intelligence of the prison. But we have a contact in the outer villages who is collecting it as we speak. She’ll be able to give you the information you need.”

  In the past, military missions carried her as far as the valley to the north (largely pastoral) and the people of the desert across the west coast. None of the cities she had been to were as developed or densely congested as Waracan, the Crescent Kingdom. There was another large city beyond the northern plains, the center of the northern federation, but she had never been there. She heard they had machines like Waracan, but no mages.

  The south was a different matter though. Its people were stubborn and superstitious, she learned in training. The government was greedy for conquest, with a curious disregard for the ancient ways that once connected them to the lowlanders. And the surrounding landscape was as formidable as its people.

  In that land “mountain” and “forest” were synonymous. Ironically, everything seemed flatter at the altitude of Waracan. Rocks were large and smooth, trees largely short and shrub-like. But in the south, towns were separated by veins of jagged rocks that seemed to spring forth from nothing, going on for miles and hiding everything with tall towering trees, cedars and pines and bamboo. She was expecting a more tropical climate, but apparently hadn’t gone far enough south yet. Even so, the forests proved to be more treacherous than the soldier was expecting.

  Some kind of lay person interrupted her thoughts at the altar, “do you need some help sister?”

  She bristled, a strange custom in the south. Overly familiar.

  “I need a healer,” she rasped.

  The man brought her to the healer at the edge of town. He insisted she lean on him for support. Both her mass and towering height seemed to be a bit too much for him. By the time they made it to the squat clay home, he dumped her on the wooden bench like a sack of grain, then glanced at her a bit apologetically for the lack of decorum. She gave a weary smile and thanked him as he took his leave.

  “You’re looking pretty rough,” the woman in the room remarked, pouring hot water from the hearth into a clay pot. She was young, with thick black hair that fell loose down her back.

  Marhawet used the handle of the loom beside her to prop herself up. She looked around the room, there were few things she could recognize.

  “Are you a doctor, or a herbalist?”

  The woman smirked mysteriously, “I am a healer. That's all that should matter.”

  An admission if she ever heard one.

  “Did you see the stars last night?”

  The woman didn't look back at her, she was busy stirring whatever herb or tea she was about to serve, “I didn’t, were they particularly bright?”

  Marhawet rolled her eyes and immediately straightened her back.

  When the healer turned back around, the woman on her bench was gone.

  “Wrong fucking town,” she muttered to herself, storming off the eastern road.