The Prince's Mark

The Road to Dezmer - Twenty Four

The time Tracou had thought he had, had vanished. Pendaer had been right to yell at him—he had months to say something and hadn't.

Tracou's legs collapsed under the weight of this revelation.

"Tracou, are you okay!?" Serpouhi called, but Tracou barely heard her.

Without magic, he was nothing. No dezmek in his village could ever hope to stand up to one human without magic, let alone a group of them, let alone a military.

Wait. Tracou peered out the door again. He saw dezmek outside, gawking at the dust everywhere, but no humans. Not yet. Maybe they wanted the dezmek marinate in the powder, let them slowly realize what the powder did and attack once they started to panic.

Shakily, Tracou stood up. The last thing Ergakan needed was a mass panic, but how could they avoid that? Not telling the villagers about the dust had been a mistake, one that rested on his shoulders alone. He was a coward and his villagers would pay for his cowardice with their lives.

Normally, when attacked, dezmek fought back and would send the dezmek with lesser ability far away. But their foes weren't fellow dezmek. The entire village couldn't hide out in the flat countryside, especially when these Winleans might strike multiple villages at once. They didn't know enough to make a plan.

Closing the door, Tracou walked to the other end of the room, away from Garin, and tested his magic. While the entrance had some dust, most of the house did not. A small light sprouted from the tip of his wand, holding steady. Magic hadn't fled him, not completely. Not yet.

Whirling around, Tracou found himself face to face with a worried Serpouhi. She had been trying to get his attention to no avail.

"After I leave, get rid of the door and the windows. This dust makes magic unusable and—and it's something humans use. Winleans. If you stay inside you should be okay. Do you have water? You should use it to rinse Garin off."

He had to get everyone inside their homes, where magic was still usable. Unlike magic from their wands, magic in homes lingered, having been built up over time. They offered shelter from the Winleans.

Before Tracou could leave, though, Serpouhi grabbed his arm.

"Then you need to stay inside, too."

"I have to go and tell everyone to go home."

"You're so stupid. You can do that from in here."

Tracou stared down at Serpouhi as what she said filtered through his panic. Right. He could still use magic in here.

Coughing awkwardly, he pulled away from Serpouhi to place his wand to his throat.

What should he say?

He just had to talk—thinking about it would lead him to saying nothing.

"To anyone who can hear this," he began, voice booming over who knew how many acres of land. The adrenaline made it difficult to refrain from using an absurd amount of magic at one time. "The powder you see absorbs active magic. It doesn't matter how strong you are—it makes your wand useless. Only something that has been permanently changed by magic, like your homes, is safe. Stay inside and get rid of windows and doors. This powder is... a Winlean tool and I don't doubt that they are on their way to slaughter us."

Shakily pulling his wand away from his neck, Tracou made for the door again only to find it missing.

Apparently Serpouhi expected Tracou to stay.

Like someone's familiar, a dezmek's home was tied to the people living in it unless otherwise given authorization by someone connected to the house. It would be easy for Garin or Serpouhi to change the layout or colors of their home, but Tracou couldn't do so without an immense struggle.