Dread Mage

"Where are we going?" Sonder asked.

She was slumping most of the way to their destination, unknown to her, yet Vell's steps were firm, filled with assurance.

She hadn't asked before where he was leading her. She still had to come to terms with what happened.

Their journey had been mostly silent until this point.

"We are going to the Simerian tribe that Bachram belonged to. We are indebted to him, and it's only right that we deliver the news of his death," Vell shared, his gaze steady ahead.

A wave of guilt washed over her upon realizing that she hadn't thought about this.

After his death, her mind was preoccupied with other concerns.

Sonder turned her gaze toward the vast expanse of land in front of them. Her worries felt so insignificant.

Vell took note.

"Troubled?" Clearly asking more than just her current mood and other obvious factors that would sour her attitude.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the horizon. "I... I didn't think about telling his tribe. I'm grateful to Bachram for my freedom and for saving my life, but I didn't really know him."

They continued their journey in silence, the only sound being the crunching of the dry earth beneath their feet.

As they settled for the night, making camp and huddling around the modest campfire they sparked, Vell broached another subject.

"There's another reason for seeking out the Simerians."

Sonder, her attention riveted to the flickering fire, didn't lift her gaze.

"Why is that?" She asked.

"It concerns you," he responded, capturing her attention as she looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"Every journey has a beginning, and this could, and should, be yours. We already have a reason to visit them," the mages said. "They may be the strongest warriors in the world. We both could learn something from them, and if they would allow it, I want them to train you. You may not realize it, but you have already grown some—not a lot, but some. Magic alone won't help you vanquish your enemies; physical training is the initial step, the mastery of the body; the craft of flesh, which, evident through Bachram himself, is their specialty. They're a tribe that never mastered magic, so their only other defense was their prowess in the art of mundane combat."

"There must be better teachers out there to learn combat from," Sonder said.

"Bachram told me that they beat back the irath when they came to his people with no casualties, other than him being captive. That is not a feat any other people in the world could accomplish."