The bright lights in her head dimmed, the spinning stopped. She stood before a dark old building. Another figure beside her swayed and almost fell, grasping her arm for support.

Once again, Laura marvelled Jemaine's skill in her Art. The young wizardess was yet a proper mage, but she was good. She could easily rise in rank with the proper training. The elves in Taylashas unfortunately shunned sorcery, preferring to rely on their prayers to their goddess, Mirrashar. Jemaine was in fact supposed to stand trial alongside her sister for practicing magic. She escaped. She always did.

With an effort, Jemaine pulled herself up. The spell taxed her, sapped her strength. It was a wonder she was even able to cast that spell, the Span Land spell being used only by masters. A fit of coughing took over her for a moment until Laura clapped her back. She spit out blood and phlegm.

Straightening, the sorceress surveyed her surroundings. "Where do you suppose are we?"

Laura shrugged. "I have no idea. I thought you were supposed to know since you cast the spell."

Casting her sister a baleful glance for her insolence, Jemaine took mental observations, her keen mind working. "The climate here is definitely warmer. There's oak and aspens but there are traces of snow. My magic tells me we're in the outskirts of a human village. This," she gestured at the building, "is an outpost. Near as I can tell, we're in Kaaron."

Laura frowned. "Some lookout post. It seems to be abandoned."

"On the contrary, dearest sister, the building is actually filled with archers and fighters armed to the teeth, waiting to ambush us. I can only assume Kaaron is at war with its neighbor, Larkelon."

The younger elf rolled her eyes. "Great! We travel a thousand miles from home, in a land at war, without food, money, shelter or clothes except the ones we wear on our backs. Why did I ever agree to come with you!"

Jemaine grinned recklessly. "Ah, but you forget sister, we have magic! A single gold piece will buy the cooperation of these snivelling humans." Straightening her crumpled cloak, Jemaine started forward to the outpost. "Well, don't just stand there. Say your prayers and let's get the hell out of here."

Laura sighed, following her sister. Sure enough as they opened the unlocked door, they were greeted by the glint of steel swords in the golden moonlight. Hidden archers strung their bows, ready to pluck the strings and pick off the intruders. Faintly, they could hear the low muttered chanting of a mage, ready to incinerate them with fireball spells. Jemaine missed none of it.

She turned to Laura with a sardonic smile. "Ah, I told you so."

Magicking a gold coin in her hand, she flicked to towards the sergeant, a handsome young half-elf who had the tip of his antique sword pointed at Laura's throat. One of the warriors picked up the coin and handed it to his superior.

"We come in peace, brethren, fleeing the armies of Larkelon," Jemaine called out in elven, her tongue slick with lies. "Would you deny shelter and passage to a poor street illusionist and an acolyte of Mirrashar?"

Laura groaned inwardly at Jemaine's lies, thankful for the cover of the long cloaks and hoods they wore. She hoped the man would not recognize the golden medallion at her throat that made her not an acolyte of Mirrashar, but a full-fledged cleric.

He flipped the coin back to her. "Keep your money, woman. I'm not one you can buy." He turned back inside, speaking in hushed tones to the mage. "Diane, sister, what do you make of them?"

A red-robed wizardess eerged from the darkness to stand beside the sergeant. In her presence, both sisters could feel an aura of magic sweeping over their minds. Laura, fortunately, ever-ready for the treachery of humans had cast a clerical shield spell prior to meeting these humans and half-breeded elves.

"Protected, Marsilus," the mage finally answered. "Don't believe these elven witches. The cleric is no acolyte, that's for sure, and the mage... who knows with elves?" she added with a sneer.

Marsilus frowned, injured by the statement. "You forget, Diane, I am elven too."

"Don't praise youself, half-elven," Diane snorted. "These women must die. Kill them now."

"I advise you, lady, sir, if you even dare lay a finger on us, I will blow Kaaron off the face of this planet," Jemaine remarked pleasantly.

The half-elf smiled a charming crooked smile, his green eyes dancing. "A mage with humor, eh? You don't get much of that these days." He cast a sidelong glance at Diane who indignantly turned away. He held out his hand. "I'm Marsilus Vairon, and as I can see, you two ladies need rest and refreshment."

Diane narrowed her eyes but said nothing. It was her superior's decision. Marsilus ushered them in, snapping orders for his men to bring the sisters food and give them a room to sleep in. The soldiers and archers dropped their weapons and busily began to work. All except Diane who continued to eye Jemaine and Laura with great enmity.

"You say you're from Larkelon," she began, joining them as they tucked in to the food. "If that is true, then perhaps you can give us a report on what's happening there."

"I'm not you're personal scout, Miss Diane," Laura snapped.

Jemaine shrugged sadly. "My sister doesn't know much. She's a peasant woman just off the border. Besides," she tried a guess, "everyone knows the church doesn't meddle with state affairs. And frankly, we mages don't care much either, not as long as it doesn't do us any good. Gods help me, I'm a mage not a politician."

Marsilus laughed at the witty answer, but Diane's face only darkened with suspicion.

"Why come here then? You're elven, they'd accept you in Sylvan Eira."

Marsilus snorted at this. "You never use your brains, Diane, and to think you're a mage. Of course the Sylvans won't let them enter. They never let anyone enter their gods-cursed land be it elf or human."

"Damn right too," Jemaine agreed empathetically.

The sergeant started to rise, sheathing his long sword. "Come along, Diane, and leave them alone. They're probably tired from their journey. I believe them, and you trust my judgement, don't you?"

Diane could only nod reluctantly. She knew what the penalty was whe she didn't agree with Marsilus: swift sudden death.

Jemaine and Laura watched the exchange wordlessly. With sardonic smiles painted on their lips, the sisters retreated to their room, silently mocking their hosts' gullibility. Behind them, they heard Diane arguing softly with her superior.