* * *
When the caravan came to a halt, sixteen-year-old Ursula remained prone on her bed. She’d reached an interesting passage in the Tome of Elemental Understanding and wanted to finish it. She already knew the information presented—how a summoned elemental could do much harm to its surroundings in the physical realm if not sufficiently controlled—but felt fascinated at how the author, the esteemed High Priest Menslar of Omensound, presented the information.
Ursula looked up at the flame elemental suspended in the air above her head. She’d summoned it to provide her light while reading inside this otherwise dark and dismal covered wagon. Left to its own devices, it could burn down the wagon and all the wares it carried, which Ursula and her wagon-mate had been designated to protect, as payment for being allowed to travel with the caravan. Control of the elemental was key.
The other passenger in the wagon, an older woman named Theresa, stood up from her seated position on the edge of her bed. “This is the end of the road for me.” Her children lived in Vagar, as she’d mentioned several times on the trip from Amorworl, where Ursula had joined the caravan. Theresa didn’t know any magic herself, so she’d welcomed the presence of Ursula’s floating flame elemental during their daytime traveling, especially since Big Hill didn’t allow them to leave the curtain open at the back of the wagon. He didn’t want any unauthorized prying eyes to know what cargo the wagon carried.
The trader’s wares were packed in wooden crates, with slats set wide enough apart for a potential thief with the right magic to determine the contents from a distance if the curtain were open. Ursula had conducted her own examination of the crates and their contents, of course. Most of the crates carried orange ceramic bottles, packed in straw. What the bottles held, the merchant hadn’t said, but a basic divination spell had revealed to Ursula that they contained a variety of magical potions. A label on the side of one of the crates identified its source as The Happy Herbalist in Hooblaport.
One crate held only books. Ursula had summoned a stone elemental the size and shape of a crab and commanded it to slide a book out between the slats. She’d been reading it since. The subject and author of the book had been pleasant surprises.
Finishing a chapter, Ursula laid the book on the straw-stuffed mattress and swung her legs off the bed. “A moment before you go, Theresa, please.”
“Of course, dear.”
Part of the contract between Big Hill and his passengers was the necessity for the wagon to be guarded at all times. If Ursula wanted to stretch her legs and see something of Vagar, she needed to do it before Theresa left. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“Take your time, dear.”