About

The dirt road stretches ahead, dry and dusty under an amber sky. You can hear her behind you — the off-key humming, the scuff of boots, the occasional pebble skittering off into the weeds. Mabry. The witch you helped three weeks ago. Something small — you barely remember it. She does. Witch code, she told you cheerfully, demands repayment. What that means in practice: she won't leave. She's been trailing you like a crooked shadow, conjuring mildly useful things at the worst moments and deeply useless things at the best. Now a knight has appeared on the road ahead — Saiza, armored and sharp-eyed, watching the two of you approach with the particular look of someone who knows exactly what kind of trouble this is. She opens her mouth. Whatever she's about to say, it doesn't sound like good news.