22Tuck obliged. "I feel like a deranged monkey."
At his words, Narad and Gala, who were sleeping back-to-back (their resolute innocence mystified Tuck, though Zaike was more understanding), sprang into wakefulness, Narad rolling to a sitting position so quickly that the cot snapped shut and drew an indignant, sheet-muffled shout from Gala, as Narad found himself squished between the cot and the wall. "Oh for goodness' sakes!" Zaike snapped, successfully warding off laughter, "Have I no sane companions?" She rose stiffly and creaked over to aid Narad in re-opening the cot to free a sleepy-eyed and disgruntled Gala.
"What ye be wantin' sanity for? Boring stuff, so I've heard," Tuck piped up without opening his eyes. A meagre smile had managed to gain residence on his clammy face, slightly the paler and more vulnerable- looking for all his feverishness that accompanied the wounds.
Gala managed somehow to fight her way through Zaike, Narad, and a half-opened cot to find her way to her patient's side. "He still has a fever. And I doubt he'll be able to travel hard or far today. Hopefully he won't faint again, though-" Gala sagely announced, wisely ignoring Tuck's yelped denials of ever having fainted and continued, "And I'll give him some of this to see that he doesn't feel so much pain and maintains his energy a little." She mixed up her next stew of leaves and lukewarm water as Zaike and Narad watched with mixed feelings of relief and anxiety.
In the stable an hour and three minutes later gathered a bedraggled- looking party of four, the masters' respective mounts watching with passive interest as they talked in low voices amongst themselves. Tuck was propped against a stall door and relying heavily on Narad's shoulder (much to his dismay) in order to remain on his feet. His green eyes were sharpened with fever and seemed painfully intense while the pallid hue of his normally glowing skin was also cause for alarm. Zaike cast him very fretful glances rather often, disliking the shadows on his face that made his eyes seem overbright and enormous while his face looked thin and wasted.
"I can ride ye great worry-warts!" Tuck insisted, highly annoyed. "This is folly, this thing. I've taken worse wounds and been fit as a fiddle the next day after, never caught a fever afore."
Gala shrugged. "You're right though, it doesn't make sense. The injuries are healing well and there's no reason to be so can be expected, but not that fever," she informed him pensively, twisting her mouth thoughtfully. "You don't 's it's magic somehow?"
Three pairs of eyes swung towards her fully.
"What?" Zaike asked somewhat harsher than intended. "You mean to say Tuck's been infected by magic? How?"
Gala, squirmed under their scrutiny and finding the reasonable train of thought vanquished like smoke on the wind. "I, you're right. It's ridiculous."
Narad, however, shook his head. "No, you're right. I think it does have something to do with magic."
Tuck blanched. "What be ye sayin'?" he demanded, glancing doubtfully at his dishevelled figure as though expected there to be some physical evidence of magic infiltration.
"Well," Gala offered timidly, "I was thinking.I mean, it just seems to be a funny coincidence that you get challenged on your way to the mage- scholar and in the company of mages."
"Nay, I'm accosted on account o' me kingship near daily, lass. 'Tis no uncommon thing."
Gala, wishing more to just concede and accept Tuck's affirmation, pressed on. "Yes, but you said yourself that no one travels that road any more. Why would it just so happen that a disloyal thief who, if you had told no one of your journey, would waylay an abandoned road?"
Tuck frowned. "It was just." but there was no excuse. It was true. He paled further and turned his fever-bright eyes on his grim-faced companions, heart thumping. "What do we do aboot that? I cannae be battlin' magic-sickness!"
"Cato you insolent brat I'll have your worthless hide for that!"
A slim form had strolled past with exaggerated nonchalance, but was promptly bowled over by a second, decidedly larger figure. Narad and Zaike, who had been standing in the aisle to face Tuck and Gala, who stood against the wall, shifted quickly to flatten their backs against the wall, watching speechless as the two forms rolled about in a rather intense scuffle. The smaller form seemed to be winning, to everyone's surprise, perhaps due to his strategic use of teeth and swift fists.
Zaike and Gala exchanged exasperated glances. Narad flicked his eyes to Tuck, who was watching with the sort of criticism an experienced scuffler would give a novice. When it seemed that the silent, heated wrestling match was waning and the larger one began to struggle to his feet, quite clearly having lost, the attention of the Mages was drawn to the fourth Mage, Tuck, who had gone a deathly shade of white and was staring with sizzlingly acid green eyes into the distance and was making slow progress of sliding down the wall to the ground. Zaike shrieked and leaped towards him, Gala watching with wonder, unable to understand why her potion hadn't worked, while Narad tried to brush Zaike off and inspect his friend's deadened face, somewhat pale himself.
None saw the termination of the fight, but at length a voice piped up from behind them. "What's wrong with him?"
Three of the Mages jumped and whirled to face the slight wrestler who was sporting a new black eye and a swollen lip on his beguilingly cherubic face. Indeed, cherub was the only word to describe him, the fairest of fair blonde curls and blue it had not been for, of course, the black eye and puffy lip.
Narad's face contorted in self-reproach and annoyance; they had probably advertised their strangeness to the world by showing Tuck's condition to this pert young outsider. "Ah, nothing. He's just a bit sick." Narad's lie was quickly put to rest as Tuck's eyes expanded all the more and his mouth moved slightly, oddly dark against his suddenly white face. Along with this, he proved to be completely stiff, the combined efforts of Zaike, Gala, and Narad unable to bend him out of shape as they lifted him hastily and tried to scuttle away.
The boy's laugh halted them. "A little sick? He's dead."
Zaike screamed. "DEAD? NARAD CHECK HIS PULSE!" she hurled hysterically at Narad, dropping her shoulder and letting the stiff Tuck clatter into the stable dust. She stared fearfully at his frozen body and terrifying face.
Narad shouted over her calmingly, "He's not dead, he's not dead!" Whirling to the boy, he glared. "Will you be quiet? Can't you see we're trying to." What were they trying to do? The blonde preteen's smirk settled into place and he raised his brows, waiting for elaboration. When none came, he spoke again.
"I think you're not quite ordinary," he informed them. "If he's not dead, then what is he?"
Narad looked helplessly at Tuck, who abruptly went limp and gasped as though waking up from a particularly convincing nightmare. "Didja see that?" he panted, staring wildly at the bewildered faces of his friends.
"Uh, no," Narad replied, in shock. Zaike burst into tears. Gala blanched and tapped Narad's shoulder, jerking her head in the direction of their highly interested onlooker.
The Mages had their backs to him, except for Tuck, who was sprawled on the floor.
"I'm Catonaine d'Alynde, and I'm a Mage too."
Four sets of enormous eyes whipped about to face the amused uncherubic cherub. "How'd you know?" Narad groaned, but realised this was a ridiculous question, since everything they had done since he'd been with them had been unequivocally incriminating. So he refocused his attention of the boy's statement. "You're a Mage?"
Cato grinned, "Mm hm."
Tuck was being helped laborously to his feet as he fiercely denied the necessity of their aid, reeling and falling heavily against the stable door all the while repelling Zaike's efforts to help. Narad turned back to Cato and fixed him a stern glare. "Speak up, young man. How'd you know what we are?"
"My magic involves mind-reading. I couldn't read yours, or the fainting one's, or the black haired girl's, but I looked at her mind," he finished, gesturing towards Gala, who blushed in horror as he tossed her a flippant grin.
Narad scowled. "That's not a gift to be used lightly, Catonaine. Do not be so wanton when casting your magic about. Since you're a Mage," he said with suppressed dismay, "You must join us. Do you have a horse? Ride?"
Cato raised one brow, an admirable feat. "I don't have a horse, they're for lazy people. I'd not be in half so good of shape if I had a horse to run around taking my exercise."
"Don't be daft, lad," Tuck interjected, standing again, though somewhat shaken. "A man unhorsed is as good as dead."
Cato shot him a surly look that did not match his angelic face. "If you don't mind me saying, sir, it was not I who recently fainted."
Tuck bristled, a motion unregistered by his companions slipping the hilt of a naked dirk into his hand. "I didna faint, ye mangy cur, I was watchin' something. Ye be doin' well tae watch yer tongue, it's a mite too big fer that mouth o' yours."
"Oh really?" Cato said, "I suppose you always go around fighting unarmed boys half your age with daggers? Can't find anyone your own size who's puny enough to-"
"Shut up!" Narad barked, glaring fiercely at Tuck (whose dagger vanished from his hand and ended up in Narad's) and then at Cato, whose mouth moved as though he were talking but made not a sound. "We're all Mages here, so act lik them! You're and little boys anymore, got it? Cato, you're to learn to ride if you're to come with us. Now Gala, go find the best horse in this stable and leave them this," he instructed, tossing her his own coin purse.
Cato's voice returned and Tuck's dagger re-materialised in his belt.
"What if I don't want to come with you loonies?" Cato asked, highly offended, as his small fists balled up at his sides.
Narad offered him a somewhat crooked smile. "You haven't got a choice, Cato. You're a Mage and with this privilege comes a heck of a lot of responsibility. Have you ever ridden?"
Cato, for once, found himself graciously submitting to Narad's authority and shook his head. "No, I haven't," he replied, shooting Tuck a dire look, daring him to remark. The thief's aloof expression did not change, but he stalked over to Taraft's stall and strapped on the lightweight tack hanging on the hooks from the door. Zaike quietly followed his example and then readied Kavador for Narad. Gala returned with a sturdy grey gelding with a stolid temperament that was displayed in the sage dark eyes. She walked over somewhat shyly to Cato, wondering if he was reading her mind. "This is Paladon, and he says he'd be pleased to carry you safely, Catonaine."
An odd expression was on the young boy's face. "Ah. He's. Very tall," he remarked. "You can call me Cato, by the way. And I'm twelve years old. And 't know how to ride. Or get on."
"Well he's already got saddle and bridle on," Gala began in a teacherly tone as she explained where to place his feet and how to swing himself aloft. When Cato was sitting somewhat stiff and hunched and tense on Paladon's high back, Gala swiftly saddled Rakshema and strapped their packs in place.
"Wait! I haven't gotten my things yet," Cato protested, fingers white as they gripped Paladon's silky mane. "Where are we going? How do I know you're not." But he knew they spoke the truth, that they were Mages. But to leave the place he knew in the blink of an eye like this, with people he had never met before and that he wasn't even sure he was too much. Bracing himself to the adventure, he shrugged, "Well I'm carrying everything of mind. Let's go."
Five horses and riders strolled through the town on their way to the main road, ambling through the market and trying very hard to look as though they belonged there, were quite innocent. All went well until-
"Hey you! Mangy thief! Get back here with MY HORSE! Oi, I recognise you, you're the one who 'S MY HORSE TOO! You're the one! Oi, get those riders, don't let them get away!"
The first words had been directed at Cato and his grey Paladon, but the rest was spieled off upon catching sight of Tuck and Tuck's Taraft. It was followed by a stream of dire and unambiguously colorful threats and insults as he spurred his own horse after the five. A few more local riders sprinted after them as well, and Rakshema lunged out with blinding speed to meet one of them head on, with or without Gala's go-ahead. Gala squeaked in dismay as Rakshema's broad forehead butted the equine's terrified rider and sent him crashing into a fruit stall, her hooves then lifting in an athletic manouvering to jet forward and clout the horse across its chest and send it away effectively. The white mare whirled and sprinted lightly across the cobblestones, scattered marketgoers and crashing over wagons and tents and stalls as she broke towards the opposite side of the market, her hooves suddenly resounding on a dirt road and tearing down it with the remaining town riders in furious but futile pursuit, giving Narad, Tuck, Zaike, and Catonaine ample room to get away. Cato sat like a statue as Paladon lumbered out into a smooth lope, careful not to upset his mounted and following Kavador, Varinnie and Taraft just the same. All at once, it became apparent that someone in the town was an archer and arrows flew after the retreating riders, one such plunging painfully into Kavador' heaving quarters as he surged over a stone wall and another whirring to nick Zaike's shoulder. The shouts of pursuit died away, however, and the four fugitives flew onward.