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Blaise noticed that he didn’t volunteer for the watch, however.
    Amused, Blaise found a comfortable spot next to a tree trunk and prepared to keep watch. Ara sat down next to him, placing her bow and arrows on the ground.
    “Why do your people dislike sorcery so much?” Blaise asked Ara after a few minutes. “I understand that they don’t like sorcerers for their treatment of the peasants, but why such distrust of sorcery itself?”
    “Because it’s been used against some of them,” Ara said quietly. “Shram, for instance. A group of acolytes from the Tower were passing through his village and thought it would be fun to do some experiments with Shram’s livestock. When Shram tried to object, saying that his family would go hungry if anything happened to the pigs, they paralyzed him with a spell and took the pigs anyway. Shram’s wife and son tried to stop them, so they locked them in the house, and then one of the spells they were using on the pigs went wrong . . .” She swallowed, looking down at the ground.
    “What happened with the spell?” Blaise asked, getting a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew all about spells going wrong, as his own mother died in a sorcery accident. There was nothing more dangerous than a spell containing errors.
    “The shed where they were experimenting with the pigs exploded, and Shram’s house went up in flames, along with his wife and son,” Ara said, her voice low and thick. “They died while Shram watched, paralyzed from the spell. A burning ember from the house fell on him, giving him that scar you see today.”
    Blaise stayed silent, not knowing what to say, and after a few moments, Ara continued her story. “That’s why Shram came here, you know,” she said, staring into the darkness of the forest. “Because he ultimately found and killed the acolyte responsible for casting that spell—the only acolyte who survived that explosion.”
    Blaise felt like a heavy fist was squeezing his heart. “I see,” he said softly. He couldn’t blame Shram for exacting his revenge. He would’ve done the same in his place. “And what about you, Ara? Why are you here?”
    To his surprise, Ara’s lips curved in a faint smile. “Oh, my story is not nearly as tragic. I was simply fed up with Davish, Kelvin’s overseer, trying to force me into his bed. Well, that and constantly being hungry. So one day, I just packed up my things and decided to take my chances with the Western Woods.” She paused, then grinned at him impishly. “As you can see, it worked out.”
     
    * * *
     
    For the next couple of hours, Ara told Blaise more stories about Alania and its people. It seemed that everyone had different motivations for being there. Some came because they desired greater freedom, while others wanted to escape poverty and starvation. Many had run-ins of one kind or another with the authorities, and almost all of them desired a fresh start away from the oppressive structure of the territories. Hearing these stories, Blaise couldn’t help but admire these people’s stoicism and determination. These were individuals who took their fate into their own hands, rather than meekly accepting their station in life.
    When everybody in the camp was finally asleep, Blaise decided to do a few spells to help himself with the responsibility he took on. “You don’t mind if I perform a little sorcery, do you?” he asked Ara, not wanting to be inconsiderate after hearing Shram’s story.
    “No, I don’t mind,” she said. “I told you before, I’m not afraid. What spells are you going to do?”
    “Well, I am about to make myself see in the dark and over much greater distances,” Blaise explained. “I’m also going to improve my hearing and prepare a basic fireball spell.”
    “Oh.” She appeared nonplussed. “Why?”
    “If I am expected to raise an alarm in case of danger, I want to be able to see and hear as well as I can. And the fireball is because I don’t have your bow and