That Simon got out of the city without another confrontation was a minor miracle in itself. That wasn’t the end of his pursuit, though. Even after he crested the low hills around the city and retreated toward one of the smaller satellite towns that dotted the horizon, he still had to deal with more pursuers.

The first signs of that were a small group of riders that continued to follow him even after darkness fell. It was like they had a compass that pointed unerringly toward him. He noticed them after he’d resupplied a bit, and though they kept an appropriate distance, it was clear to him that he was being hunted. Even when he set an ambush and made camp in a box canyon, with his stolen horse and a small fire next to a wadded-up cloak that had been made to look like a bedroll, they still rode toward where he was hiding in the nearby brush instead.

If cleverness won’t work, then it’s time to use brute force instead, Simon decided.

Simon responded by using a word of greater force to take off the legs of the men charging toward him, as well as their mounts. It was an ugly scene, and the screams of men and horses rang out into the night as bodies were separated from limbs and everyone was maimed.

Killing them would have been easier, but he wanted answers, and hopefully, this way, he’d be able to leave someone alive to do it. Not even that mayhem stopped whatever mage was in that group from striking back at him. A pillar of fire slammed into the ground a little bit past Simon, followed immediately by a bolt of lightning that arced wildly around him and came even closer to ending him.

The flames had landed close enough that he’d felt their heat through his clothes, and he smelled the scent of burning hair that was almost, but not completely, masked by the smell of ozone around him. Simon stayed still then to see if they’d follow up or think him dead. He didn’t have to wait long. Though no further spells were tossed toward him, the magi that had lashed out at him perished and then immolated most of the remaining survivors.

It was quieter after that, but not silent, which meant people yet lived and suffered. I suppose I could have just killed them and then interrogated their spirits, Simon realized belatedly as he tried to decide his next steps.

He felt stupid for doing that at first, but then he cut himself a little bit of slack. The idea of torturing someone’s soul to force them to answer your questions still freaked him out a bit. As he cautiously approached the carnage, though, he didn’t find any threats.

When he didn’t find any, he started putting the dying horses out of their misery that hadn’t been killed by the blast. That had to be first because he couldn’t stand the terrible, pathetic sounds they were making. As he went, he noticed that a few of the guards were still alive and thrashing in pain, but only one looked to be unburned, even if his legs were both cut off near the ankle.

“Tell me how the Magi tracked me, and I will let you live,” Simon promised the other man.

He looked at Simon skeptically and seemed determined to say nothing. So, Simon dragged one of the other dying guards in front of him and then plunged his dagger into the man’s heart, killing him almost immediately as another burst of life energy coursed through Simon.

Simon made the whole act look like a threat, but really, it was just a mercy killing. He didn’t want to kill, but if he did have to, then he certainly wanted to do it cleanly. For a while, he’d tried to be mindful of the Oracle’s teaching and avoid violence and magic, but there was no place for such a mindset when dealing with the Murani.

The guard didn’t talk. Not after the second or even the third member of his group was reduced to a corpse. When Simon slit the fourth dying man’s throat and flung him at the feet of the tight-lipped man, he finally said, “You won’t spare me.”

“I will,” Simon said, “I’ll even reattach your feet if you like. You have information I need, and I’m willing to trade for it.”

While Simon had no idea if a couple words of healing would be enough to ever let the man walk again, he was certainly willing to give it a shot. That turned out to be enough to make the man speak.

“Heal my legs, and I will tell you all I know,” he said finally.

Simon spent a few minutes doing just that. First, he cast a lesser light spell so he could see what he was doing. Then, with great care, he lined up the separated limbs and spoke a word to join them once more.

When he cast the spells, he took great care to line up the bones, arteries, and veins. In his imagination, he also tied the muscles and nerves together as clearly as he could possibly visualize them as well. However, given his limited knowledge of anatomy, he had no way of knowing if that would be enough. It wasn’t until he saw the man actually wiggle his toes that he pronounced his first magical limb surgery to be successful.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Alright,” he said finally as he backed away from the guard. “Tell me how you’re following me.”

The man’s scale mail had been sliced away like he was wearing a pair of high water pants now, but there was every chance he might actually walk again. That, and the fact that he hadn’t reached for his sword once during all of this, were positive signs to Simon.

“The Magi’s talisman,” the man answered. “It is in his left hand, I think, or on the ground nearby. It glows when it points toward you.”

“Will other groups have them?” Simon asked. “How do they work?”

“I know not the secrets of magecraft,” the warrior answered as he got shakily to his feet. “But I do know that every group they send to hunt you down will have something similar, and when they find you, they will make you pay for every magi you murdered.”

Not every guardsman or every Murani life, but every Magi, Simon thought to himself as he smashed the mage’s charred fist open in search of the talisman. How very telling.

The talisman that the man mentioned was a vial wrapped in a golden wire and sealed in wax. It appeared to be made to look like a serpent, with the head drowned in wax and the body wrapped around the glass. It was a simple bauble that Simon would have bet money had no magic about it, and yet, when he picked it up, it started to glow faintly.

Simon turned it in his hand, and as the head of the snake faced away from him, it stopped glowing again. “Interesting,” he said to himself. “But how does it work?”

He would take it apart later, but for now, it was enough to know that whoever was following him truly did have a way to track him. Simon looked up from the thing and back to the guard, who was trying to walk with shaky steps.

“This can detect me from any distance, then?” Simon asked. “Do they work indefinitely?”

“I told you that I know nothing of magecraft,” the man answered. “You have traded me my feet for that talisman, and now we are done.”

“We’re done when I know everything you know,” Simon countered. “Now tell me, what did the Magi say about this thing? Even if you don’t know how it works, you surely know how the man used it.”

“I…” the guard hesitated as he almost tripped.

“When we were too far away, he complained that the glow was dim,” the man confessed. “And he always made us hurry. He said that sooner or later, your scent would be lost.”

“Scent?” Simon said to himself as he looked at the vial quizzically.

He cast a lesser light spell again, but this time, he did it to light up the vial. Inside, he saw a little scrap of cloth. It was brown and unremarkable, but suddenly, everything clicked into place for him. That had to be a piece from one of the garments that he’d left behind.

“Son of a bitch,” Simon said to himself. “Magical bloodhounds.”

For a moment, his mind raced as he tried to figure out how to handle this, but he forced himself not to worry. Instead of panicking, he shook his head to clear it and then said, “I’m done with you. You are free to go.”

“Go where?” the man laughed, “My feet will not carry me to the next camp or village, and the only horse left alive is your own.”

“Perhaps you will walk better after some rest and a new pair of boots to stiffen your ankles,” Simon suggested as he started to go through the Magi’s smoldering robes and saddlebags in search of anything useful.

He found what might have been a journal and a few other magic trinkets that had been destroyed by the blast. He left those behind. Instead, he cut off the man’s charred hand and took it with him so that he could have a conversation about tracking magic once he’d shaken his tail.

That was distasteful, too, but not as distasteful as having to put the horses down. That surprised Simon, and he pondered what that said about him as he walked back toward his camp, leaving the sole survivor behind to question his life choices.

Simon quickly gathered his things. If these magic trinkets had a range, then he was going to do his best to get outside of it. Then, he could spend a few weeks or a few months lying low and waiting for his pursuit to end. Unfortunately, that meant he couldn’t exactly head straight south, which had been his plan. The last thing he wanted the Magi to do was to reach the conclusion that he really was a foreigner and trigger the very war he sought to avoid by inciting a revolution.

After Simon finished packing up his camp, he tossed the last of his firewood on the embers, making them flare to life once more. That better revealed the grisly scene he’d caused not so far away, but more importantly, it let him see that the man he’d just waited a few months of his life healing looked to be very seriously considering seppuku.

“Hey,” Simon called out in annoyance as he led his horse in that general direction. “Don’t do that! I just saved you. I didn’t do that so you could kill yourself.”

“What is the point?” the man asked. “When the magi find me, they will find out what I’ve done, and they will kill me.”

“Maybe,” Simon answered, as he paused to pick out a horned shortbow that was still in good shape, and two quivers of arrows from one of the deadmen. “Or maybe you’ll go over there, sit down by that nice warm fire, and think up a good lie to tell them. Paint yourself as a hero. Tell them that your horse crushed your ankles when you fell. Maybe they’ll give you a medal.”

“You do not know the Magi, stranger,” the man said. “Pray that you never do.” The wounded guard still had his sword, but he looked less sure of himself now, which was all Simon could ask for.

Simon smiled at that, then with a shrug, he walked on. He made sure to ride east as he left the light of his fire, should the man or his spirit be questioned in the aftermath of this. Then, when he was far enough away that he doubted even his mount’s hooves could be heard in the grasslands, he turned and started north. According to the stories that Simon had heard, it was the wildest and most untamed part of the territory, which made it the perfect place to lay low.