"Sir, I think he's alive!"

I stir, grimacing at the pounding in my head. I can hardly open his eyes. Everything aches. The sun is too bright, my lungs feel raw, and there's a sharp stabbing pain in my side from the rock wedged in it.

I try to focus on what is in front of me.

Leather boots. All identical. A navy double breasted uniform with brass buttons.

My tired brain catches up finally.

The army.

But surely they wouldn't send the army after me?

It wasn’t me who started the fire, anyway. I'm not magical. And even if I somehow did, I can’t explain how I did it.

My appearance clearly shows I'm not a mage.

They can’t be here to arrest me.

"He looks half-dead, and he's got nothing on him. An escaped slave?" One man calls over his shoulder.

Their commanding officer must be back on the road still. I struggle to my feet. Several firm hands help me up before the soldiers stand back again.

"Let me see him."

The voice is gruff. The soldiers part to let the man through.

He is taller than me, but of a wiry frame despite his muscles. He has the golden eyes of a mage, blond hair hanging loose and bedraggled around his face, dirty with the look of someone who has spent weeks on the road. There’s a shrewd look about him and when his hair shifts, I can see that he is scarred from his right ear to the corner of his mouth.

I recognize who this man is.

It’s Lord Berit Durante, a Dark mage who defected to the King's side when Daegol, Lord of Dark, had shown his true madness and retreated East.

Berit had been lucky to escape with his life during the defection. Daegol's second-in-command, Xanthe, had caught him and carved out part of his face to brand him a traitor forever. The evidence of Berit's conviction to fight against Daegol is permanently embedded into his face, Dark mage or not.

I drop into a bow easily, sweeping one hand before me to show I realize to whom I’m speaking and respect him.

"Oh now, isn't that quaint? A commoner trained in mage manners!" Berit chortles.

I keep my head bowed. I won't raise it until Berit responds in a way that allows me to.

The manners of mages are a complicated dance, and one misstep is all it takes to forever burn a bridge.

"My name is Berit Durante from the House of the High Stone. I serve the King as a General and trainer in his army. You already knew these facts when you addressed me and thus, I am at a disadvantage, stranger. Enlighten me. What is your name and allegiance?"

The words seem straightforward, but I catch the hidden meanings laced within them. Berit has chosen the words 'enlighten me'. He suspects me to be related to Light mages, though he can't place my face. Even a battle mage who has rougher manners than most knows how to play the games and dance the dances amongst the mages.

"My name is Kit. I'm from the town of Geudwood. I was travelling along the road when I was robbed," I lie.

Berit's eyes pierce through me.

"Kit of Geudwood. Are you an escaped slave, boy?" he asks.

I shake my head mutely. A slave? Slavery is illegal.

A soldier moves forward and pulls on the collar of my fire-stained shirt to bear my clavicle. I don't know what they're looking for, but they don't find it.

"I'm just unlucky, sir," I say once the soldier steps away. Berit puts his hand to his mouth as he thinks, tapping against his lips.

"Well, Master Unlucky, where were you headed?" he asks.

I try to think of somewhere nearby, but my mind goes blank. I don't even know what direction I ran in last night. The pause is running too long to be believable.

"I'm a bit of a drifter, sir. Wherever there's work."

Berit raises his eyebrows, then turns to one man.

"Give him a shirt, feed him and make sure he has water. He can walk alongside the convoy until we reach the next town over," Berit orders.

I swallow my relief and bow again deeply.

"I know there is more to your story, Master Unlucky, but for now, it will wait. I see enough truth in your words to know you're of no harm to me and my men. Whatever your reason for being out in the wilderness, you can have a few days of safety with us," Berit walks back to his horse.

The soldiers busy themselves with their General's orders, shoving a fresh uniform into my hands.

"Which direction are we headed in, sir?" I ask, approaching Berit's horse once I'm dressed in a uniform that doesn't smell of smoke and sweat.

They toss my own clothes into a cart to be used as rags. I stare at them for a moment, resisting the urge to grab them and keep them. They are just clothes. Simple shirt and britches. They are stained and ruined. Why do I feel the need to keep hold of them as though they’re armour?

"South, Master Unlucky, to the ironically named Northern Barracks. Or as the men call it the 'Brown-hairs Barracks'." A grin stretches across Berit’s face. His scar looks less hideous when he smiles, disappearing in amongst laughter lines.

I nod. I may as well head that way. I have no way of getting to the University without money and I can safely travel alongside the army for at least a few miles before I’ll have to set out on my own again.

Berit even seems trustworthy, despite his darker past.

"Get yourself some food and water, lad, then come walk beside my horse. I would enjoy the company. We're a good three day's ride from the barracks, and we've been on the road for two weeks. Laughing at Bill's farts gets old after a while." Berit kicks his horse into movement.

I smile back as a man, most likely Bill, makes a noise of protest.

A water-skin and a chunk of bread is thrown to me by a passing soldier. Meagre offerings and little attention being paid to me at all now.

I smile to myself.

It's almost like home.