Chapter 29: Cairn
It was deep into the night when Cade spoke again.
"About Osric—your teacher has been very polite in his responses." He shifted his position, avoiding the bandaged side. "When you went to see him, why didn't you ask for his help? Concrete help, I mean. Like sending people, or resources to follow you."
"I'm not sure," I said. "I asked for his help, but he didn't indicate his position. Later, when I wanted to ask more, the way he spoke made me swallow my words."
"What kind of way?"
"Evasive. Precisely evasive. I asked about prophecy—he evaded. I asked about elves—he evaded that too. He gave me what he could give, and left the rest in places I'd have to walk to on my own before I could see them."
Cade fell silent for a moment.
"I've heard some rumors."
"What fragments?"
"The wizards have lost several people for unknown reasons."
"In the Lower District?"
"Yes. I didn't think it through at the time, but just now when you described his evasive manner, it made me think of something." He paused. "Before I met you, I'd already been to Elarin several times. The hunters in the Lower District pass around information about what happens in the Tower—fragmentary, but it all adds up. Over the past year, there have been several mourning ceremonies in the Tower. Based on their scale, they were farewells for mid-level wizards."
"Mid-level wizards—management level?"
"Yes," he said. "I couldn't find out more details. In a place like Elarin, people who know about such things keep their mouths shut."
"The middle tier is suffering losses," I said. "That means there are problems around Osric."
"Yes."
"Then his situation in the Tower is far more precarious than he showed me. The resources he can mobilize have been stripped away by a layer. The people he can send out—he might lose one with each deployment."
"Yes."
"And that also means," I said, "every word he spoke to me had to pass through that internal filter first."
"The Tower has ears," he said. "I felt it the day I went in. The central Mana-net's surveillance. Every word he speaks in the Tower could be recorded."
I thought of that sentence from Osric that had so precisely avoided my questions, and the sealed envelope he'd given me, telling me to wait until I reached the Sky City to open it.
The information Cade gave me explained many of my doubts. What Osric gave me was the maximum he could offer within a surveilled Tower. The rest he'd placed in a sealed envelope, for me to open when I reached somewhere beyond surveillance.
"Thank you," I said.
"You've said that too many times. How about giving me something concrete instead?"
"Then pretend I didn't say it."
By this time, dawn was breaking outside. Cade stretched his legs—he could already stand up from the ground.
"Half a day's journey west, there's a hunter settlement called Cairn. They have a proper doctor there."
He began slowly putting on his leather armor.
"Let's go. You need to rest too."
---
Cairn sat on a gentle slope, its buildings spreading along the terrain with minimal planning. The spacing between stone houses was random, the streets worn into existence by repeated passage, with little evidence of deliberate paving. From a distance, the entire settlement looked like something a group of people had gradually left behind after repeatedly passing through the same rest stop.
On the first stretch of road into town, my pace supporting Cade had slowed to a painful crawl. His right arm rested on my shoulder, each step requiring his right leg to bear weight alone.
The first person approached us. A man in his forties, patched leather jacket, two different-style knives hanging from his belt. When he saw Cade, he said nothing, just walked over to help, taking Cade's right arm from my shoulder onto his own.
"How long has it been?"
"Half a day," Cade said.
"Poison. From a spider."
"Let's get inside."
"Alright."
He supported Cade forward, moving much faster than I could. I followed behind them.
Another person emerged from a side alley, glanced at Cade, then turned and ran in another direction. I guessed he was going to fetch the doctor.
After walking a bit further, a third person came up and looked at Cade.
"Who did it this time?"
"A guy in black robes," Cade said.
The man nodded once and continued on his way.
The people here were clearly more familiar with Cade—not just acquainted, but companions and friends.
The clinic was a stone building that had once been a blacksmith's shop. Nail holes were still visible on the walls, originally used for hanging blacksmith's tools. Now those positions held rolls of bandages, bundles of herbs, and several metal instruments I couldn't identify. The air carried that stable scent formed by long-term disinfectant use.
The doctor was a woman in her fifties. The moment she saw Cade being helped in, she'd already rolled her jacket sleeves to her elbows and was washing her hands. Her movements were practiced—she'd clearly handled countless such situations.
"Put him on the table."
The two hunters lifted Cade onto the table.
She turned to Cade.
"Tell me every location and degree of pain, one to ten."
Cade spoke, detailing each spot. I stood to the side watching, not interrupting. They were more professional at this sort of thing.
She nodded when he finished and began working. When she saw the crooked stitches on Cade's shoulder, she finally glanced at me.
"Not bad handiwork for a man like you."
Everyone in the room laughed. Only I touched my burning face and quickly found an inconspicuous place to sit and wait. To pass the time, I began writing care instructions.
I wrote in great detail.
I first described the toxin's source—they probably all knew this already. However, the spider-type monster's scales had been enhanced by dark magic, and the puncture wound had introduced primitive dark magic contamination. This needed special mention, as it might extend the recovery period. I wrote more and more elaborately, going deeper and deeper. I noticed what I was doing, but I continued writing.
When I finished, I put down my pen and looked at the stack of paper filled with writing.
I realized what I was doing—I was writing out the complete handover work before leaving.
Cade needed time to recover, and I didn't have that time.
I folded the stack of papers and placed them on the table. No one noticed me; they were still chatting and catching up.
Without realizing it, I fell asleep.
It was the chair's fault. That chair was meant for receiving patients' families—the back was very high with a headrest stuffed with calming herbs. If you leaned back forcefully, it was basically like lying down. The effect of the Fae potion had worn off during my writing of the care instructions, and the exhaustion from four days without real sleep returned to my body.
Consciousness slowly left my body. I stopped resisting the feeling, and my eyes finally closed.
I began to dream—fragmented, incoherent dreams.
The dark wizard's face. In the dream, that layer of flowing black substance on his face peeled away, revealing two hollow eye sockets beneath, staring at me.
And that red crystal's cut surface. The blood inside the crystal seeped out in the dream, slowly flowing toward me.
The rock creature's punch in the dream passed through Cade's position. It fell, landing on me instead.
I couldn't move or dodge. Though there was no real pain, the black traces of poison transferred from Cade's shoulder to the back of my hand. I watched it creep upward from my hand, following my own veins, moving much faster than it had on Cade.
The scene suddenly shifted. Many dark wizards stood surrounding me on all sides. Their robes were blood-stained black, every face blurred, every person watching me.
I wanted to speak, to shout, but something blocked my throat. I couldn't make a sound. My breathing grew increasingly difficult—I felt like I was suffocating.
"Mia."
I jerked, and the dream images vanished. I opened my eyes—still the clinic, no blood, no dark wizards.
Cade sat in another chair diagonally across from me. His left arm was in a sling, bandages visible beneath his shirt at his chest. His gaze fell on the chair armrest I'd been gripping tightly.
"That chair isn't comfortable for sleeping. The doctor said there's a bed in the back room you can use."
"I'm fine here." I slowly sat up straight, rubbing my temples.
The other hunters had already left, leaving just a few of us. I shifted my gaze to the doctor. She was washing blood from her hands, letting water flow slowly over her fingertips from a specially made pitcher, her movements steady and rhythmic.
She finished washing and turned around.
"The poison from the wound has been cleaned out. A bit tricky, but this guy's tough. You came in time, so he won't die."
I looked at Cade's body—indeed, the black traces were gone. My emergency treatment had been correct.
"I wrote care instructions." I pointed to the folded stack of papers on the table.
She walked over, unfolded the papers, looked for about a minute, then glanced at me again.
"Very detailed."
"As long as it's useful."
She refolded the papers and placed them in a fixed position on the edge of the work table. Then she pointed to the back room.
"You two stop staring at each other. This isn't a place for flirting. You—go rest."
She was talking to me, not Cade. They'd probably all heard my labored breathing in the nightmare. I just shook my head and stood up.
"I need to go gather some information."
Before she could stop me, I opened the door and walked out.
Cade winked at the doctor.
"Told you she's a difficult one."
The latter shrugged indifferently and went about her business.