The Search for the Ruined Outpost

For the remainder of the day, they rode in a silence born of shared resolve. To avoid contact with other travelers, they deliberately skirted the larger towns and villages. They paused only once, by the banks of a river, seeking respite from the scorching sun in the shade of a tree while Mage drank his fill. The cool shadow was a welcome relief.

As they rested, with him leaning against the tree’s trunk and her perched on a low-hanging branch, Aria’s voice was a soft murmur. "Anais, thank you for doing this for Wells." Anais had already washed the road dust from himself in the river, and a lingering embarrassment had kept Aria’s gaze averted until he was finished.

"It’s nothing," Anais replied. As his hair dried, it billowed into a wild mop, and he made a disgruntled, comical attempt to finger-comb it into submission. "Wells is destined to be a powerful magician. Remira needs him. Someone has to see him safe."

"Yes, but Cirus refused," Aria said, her voice laced with resentment. "He’s just being selfish."

Anais shot her a sidelong glance before giving his hair another futile shake. After a moment, he asked, "Aria, do you know what kind of ring Cirus wears?"

"No," she admitted.

"Cirus," he stated, "is the bearer of the Ring of Wisdom, one of the Astaloran Rings."

"The what?"

At her confusion, Anais gave Aria a brief history of the legendary artifacts. "Wells carries the Ring of Hope, just as his Uncle Jonas did," he concluded. "Cirus’s ring is an heirloom from his father’s family."

"What does any of that have to do with them being killed?" Aria pressed.

Anais hesitated, studying her for a long moment. "I probably shouldn’t be telling you this," he said, his voice lowering, "and you must promise not to repeat it to anyone—especially not Wells. It would only frighten him. But the Order of Sorcerers believes the warlocks have returned to Remira to make a play for the Astaloran Rings."

"Are you in the Order?"

"No, I'm not a full wizard," he admitted. "But this is what Cirus told me. I assume the only way to take a magic ring from a wizard is to kill him?" Aria gave a grim nod. "So, they would kill them for their rings."

A shiver traced its way through Aria. What a pointless waste of life. "Couldn't they just wait for the bearers to die naturally and collect the rings then?"

Anais offered a wry smile. "People have a vexing habit of dying at the most inconvenient times," he remarked. "What if Wells were killed in his own world, for instance? The Ring of Hope would be lost again, with no one in Remira the wiser. They see this as the most efficient path… however bloody."

"Then why aren't they actively trying to kidnap all the ring-bearers?" Aria demanded. "For villains, they don't seem very effective. All they appear to do is lurk about and make plans."

"Well, they did kidnap Wells, remember?" Anais countered. His gaze flickered to Mage, who was still drinking greedily from the river. "The fool acts like he's never seen water," he added drily. "In any case, the other four active rings belong to very powerful individuals: Wisdom, Courage, Power, and Resolve. You don’t just walk into Valencia and kill King Holst and Lord Silus for their rings. Silus, Cirus, and Holst are all extremely well-guarded."

"What about the fifth ring?"

"The Ring of Resolve," Anais said. "And no one has worn that since the time of Lord Astalor himself."

"So Wells is a target because of his ring," Aria stated, a note of finality in her voice.

Anais’s expression darkened. "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"I—I need to eat," she declared abruptly, launching herself from the branch. She flew in pursuit of prey, her movements economical and without flourish. She caught a thrush, dispatched it cleanly, and tore into the meal with a new ferocity.

As she ate, one thought looped through her mind, a desperate mantra against the encroaching fear. They won't kill Wells. They won't. They can't. They wouldn't dare. She pecked at the bird with renewed violence. "If they touch him," she whispered to the wind, "I will kill every last warlock I ever find."

When she returned, Anais was already preparing his horse. As he readjusted the saddle, she landed softly on his shoulder. He pulled a knot tight with a fierce tug, then glanced at her with a grim smile.

"We should reach the first of the outposts by nightfall," he said, swinging himself onto Mage's back. He took up the reins, and Aria lifted from his shoulder for a moment before settling again. "Be sure to tell Wells that when you sleep tonight."

"I will," Aria replied. "Let's not waste any more daylight."

With a somber nod from Anais, they set off. They rode directly into the setting sun, and the blinding light forced Aria to stare at the ground, a disorienting experience that made her feel dizzy. She took to the air instead, hovering just above Anais. It had been too long since she'd had a proper, extended flight, and a stiffness was already creeping into her wings.

Just as the sun dipped below the horizon, a tall, derelict stone tower emerged from the landscape. It must have once stood two stories high with a walkable roof, but its ramparts were now crumbling. The empty frames of two windows housed the nests of large birds, and the wooden front door had long ago surrendered to termites.

"The Anolinians used these as outposts?" Aria asked, her tone skeptical.

"That was over seven hundred years ago," Anais reminded her as they drew closer. "Most have collapsed entirely—the ruins of another are about a mile north of here. It’s a testament to the old architects that any are standing at all."

"A few of them, anyway," Aria observed grimly. "How will we know if Wells is inside?"

"I'll slip inside," Anais explained. "It won't be difficult. I’ll just use an arrow to kick the door in." Sliding his bow from his back, he brought Mage to a halt. After plucking the string a few times with satisfaction, he nocked an arrow. "Stay here." Aria hopped from his shoulder to the pommel of the saddle, shifting uneasily as Anais approached the abandoned structure.

After inspecting the door for a second, he slammed his shoulder against it. With a great splintering crack, the rotten wood gave way, and Anais tumbled inside. Aria held her breath. After a few long seconds, he reappeared, shaking his head.

The disappointment was plain on his face. "Place looks like it hasn't been disturbed in years," he said. "But I expected as much from the first one."

"Let’s get to the next one, then. Where are they?"

"All south of here," Anais said, re-quivering his arrow and mounting Mage. They were moving again.

"How many are left?"

"Fourteen that are still standing."

Fourteen? Aria thought, the number feeling immense. That will take an eternity. As they galloped through the deepening night, the fields of Anolin stretched out as a long, monotonous expanse of grass, broken only by the skeletal silhouettes of the outposts. They found three more before the night was through, and each time, there was no sign of Wells.

Then, as the first light of dawn began to bleed across the eastern sky, they found another. And this time, there were horses tethered outside.