I gasped.
"Do you have a relation at the Rashar Plains?" he looked up at me.
"Yes," I tried to steady my breathing.
He looked disturbed.
"On the magic users side or on the poison masters side?" Before I could reply, he added, "if it's the former, they might be dead,"
He was unbelievably blunt.
But I shook my head.
"They can't be dead," I replied.
He smirked.
"When I was with the Sona Troupe, I served the Zalek. He got a report that several thousand of the magic users got killed in the last battle, and even more got wounded,"
I tensed.
"Still, they can't be dead," I convinced myself, doing a cross-check of Iria's imprint on me. It was flunctuating. She was alive! But of course, Iria can't die.
"So where are you from?" I changed the topic, "what's your name?"
"Thanos," he replied, "I'm from Faircille over by the river Eulades. It isn't a magic user clan, but I and my father have lived there since I was little." again he clutched at his arm.
"Why did your father sell you?" I was as blunt as he had been.
"The Zalek would have had both of us, but my father was old, too old to be helpful. So they took me instead,"
"So he didn't sell you?"
He turned himself away and refused to reply.
I became silent and weighed my options.
"How powerful is this Zalek of the troupe you ran away from?"
He looked at me.
"He's really powerful. But, considering how you sneaked up on the next most powerful poison master of the troupe tonight and he didn't notice you, he shouldn't be too difficult for you to deal with," a gleam came into his eyes, "do you want me to lead you to the camp?"
I was almost surprised his effrontery.
"Apart from the Zalek, who else is worthy of notice in the troupe?"
"There's this--" he frowned in concentration, "this guest mage in the troupe. The Zalek rescued him from some carnivorous creature before I joined the troupe, and he was badly hurt. But from what I sensed, he's pretty powerful, if not more than the Zalek. I guess that's why they haven't drained his essence yet. These Sona troupes are so sly. If they can't drain your essence, they make you indebted to them. By the time you've fulfilled your debt and they've discovered your weak points, your essence is gone before you know it and you're dead,"
I frowned deeply.
"You haven't told me your name," he murmured.
"I'm Nei. From Clan Hakorhi,"
"A real mage clan?" His eyes lit up, "I've never heard of it. Are they friendly? Could I live there?"
"I suppose," I replied, "if you want to. There's a alchemist sect you could become a disciple of,"
"You're joking, right?" A very heated expression came into his eyes, and his hand slipped from the rune markings. I stole a glance at it again.
"An alchemist sect! Only powerful clans have them! This Hakorhi, is it in the south?"
"No. West,"
He looked at me intently.
"Are you a disciple of this sect? What do they ask for from their disciples? Could they just admit any riff-raff?" With each of his questions, his excitement was waning. He probably thought he could never make it.
"Loyalty. They ask their disciples to pledge loyalty to the sect master. To share any tribulations that might befall Hakorhi. To fight alongside their fellow disciples to maintain the pride of the sect," I knew I was making it seem more fancy than it actually was, and inwardly I laughed when I considered what his reaction would be when he realized the sect had only five disciples and the so-called sect master was the one he was talking to.
"That's not a problem," the heated expression returned to his face, "I'll surely try my best to make this sect notice me. By the time I become a reknowned alchemist, I'll return to Faircille over by the river Eulades to my father and bring him away to Hakorhi," he touched his chest, "not before. I must make my father proud of me. I must return with a crowd of personal warriors and attendants, in a caravan--"
I almost snorted with laughter, but I rolled my eyes instead.
"What? Why? You think they'll not notice me? You think I can't become an alchemist?"
I shook my head, trying hard to keep my laughter in.
"No, no. That's not it. Forget it. Here," I pulled out a loaf of bread from my traveling pack, "eat this. We'll attack the troupe at midnight."