I arrived in the north planning to commute between three different colleges of sorcery every year. It sounded like a great idea back home, but the locals all thought I was mad.
Thinking back, I'm still not sure how I survived.
"It is a terrible place, north of the river." That's what most people say, and they aren't entirely wrong. It is a different place, with different dangers.
They don't have legions to guard every city, or knights to patrol the main roads. For that matter there are very few main roads that are little more than foot-paths. Bandits are a constant worry. Anyone who goes any place they haven't visited goes prepared to scale cliffs or cross a gorge.
One trek of mine got especially interesting. It was between Olynxes at the far northern shore and the eastern school of Turigg. Rumors had been circulating about ravenwyr in the area, vicious pack hunters that were like a cross between a bird and a human. I never traveled alone through the passes to begin with, but that season I went out of my way to find a caravan with some real muscle.
I waited a whole month, secluded in my cabin with nothing but my books, when I could have been revelling over a campfire each night with my classmates on their expedition south.
When the time came though I wasn't disappointed. The party I went with had a dozen men of arms, some of them actual knights, and two priestesses of the wretched saint, skilled medicine women and practitioners of healing magic.
By the end of our first day navigating the mountain passes my only real worry was how many looks I was getting from some of the men in the group. It took only a quick glance around to see why they were interested in me. Most of the other women were either feeble with age, nursing babies, or sworn to celibacy.
I hadn't had many opportunities to take a lover since I'd arrived in the north, but even though there were some attractive men in that party I did my best to keep my eyes down. It's not that I wasn't horny. I masturbated nearly every day while I was in that cabin, mostly to pass the time.
I wasn't afraid of being raped either. I had a fire spell prepared that, with just a word, would leave any rapist too crispy to complete the act. It cost me a week's living in gems and mineral dust just to have one such spell at the ready.
Although some of the men did try to get to know me on that journey I spent most of my time hiding in my tent, alone, with my books, while they all laughed and drank and sparred in full suits of armor.
Okay, I'll admit, I did get a little distracted from time to time.
Two of the knights were older men, nearing their forties, with graying hair. One was a man in his thirties, and their captain, Calweyn of Haresgor, was my age. Being a knight of such distinction in your early twenties was already an impressive feat, and I could tell simply by watching him fight why he held so much authority.
I watched him swing the blunted training blade, parrying and riposting the other fighting men who challenged him. He fought with real skill, his motions fluid, each block turning into an attack, never losing his footing, even on the muddy ground. He won bout after bout, deflecting each blow and taking away his opponent's ability to fight with a combination of strikes, grapples, and expert footwork.
One opponent fought him multiple times. He had his legs swept from under him once, then he overextended a lunge and was pulled face first into the mud. Then he was bested by Calweyn's sheer quickness with the blade. I don't know how long Calweyn was aware of me watching, but when he took off his helm, looked directly at me, and smiled I found myself blushing uncontrollably.
I retreated, red-faced and embarrassed, back to my tent where I sat down in front of my books and tried to compose myself.
The sounds of sparring got quieter, and the sounds of drunken laughter got louder as the night drew on. The crackle of campfires could eventually be heard over the occasional human voice as most of the men settled down for the night.
I stayed awake for some hours beyond my usual bedtime to read about endless landscapes, places in our world thought to be magical, that reportedly go on forever. The book detailed a lot of patterns that a sorcerer could look for to determine if they were in such a place. While I was contemplating their significance I was also debating laying down beneath my blankets to relieve myself of certain thoughts.
I ran two fingers along the seam of my pants, feeling my underwear stick to my sex. My lips parted and I spread my knees a little wider, still staring at the page. I was feeling extra horny, and about to give in to my needs when I noticed shouts outside my tent.
I couldn't make out entirely what they were saying, although, I thought I heard the word, "ravenwyr," yelled amidst the clink of armor plates and the shuffling of boots. That word made my heart leap into my throat.
"No ... no," I whispered to myself, trying to convince myself that I wasn't in any danger. Then I heard something that chilled me to the bone. A wailing cry from one of the men, both pained and sorrowful, ending with a gurgle as it moved swiftly away from where it started. Names were shouted. I could hear arrows being loosed into the night.
I froze in place, my heart thumping rapidly, not thinking, not acting, just listening, completely still. The agonized cry of that man in the distance moved quickly and suddenly closer. My instincts told me to move so I did, jumping to my feet and darting to the far end of my tent, expecting the shrieking man to crash in through the front and slam into me.
Instead the tent roof collapsed, trapping me. Luckily I had my survival belt on so I pulled my knife out of its sheath and frantically cut the fabric to make an exit. When the cool autumn air touched my shoulders and face I saw chaos all around.
Men in armor were huddled together, their wooden shields aimed in all directions. Others positioned themselves behind them and took aim with bows at dark shapes that moved in the trees. Then someone shouted my name.
"Liyah!" he screamed, turning my attention the other way. Something landed with a heavy thud right in front of me. It looked like a nude woman, wearing a robe of black feathers, its face more birdlike, with a short beak, talons the length of a man's hand on black, scaly feet. It moved like a chicken, its head swiveling as it focused on me.
It looked down at the mass that had fallen on my tent. Following its gaze I saw a man, his limbs still moving slightly, blood covering his breastplate and gauntlets. I looked up at the creature again.
