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The four of us traveled together along the sunlit roads from Cierra, in the easternmost province of the kingdom, near what the ancients called the Highlands, all the way to the northwestern border to the Lowlands. My squire, Edan, and Markel, the necromancer, weren't talkative at first. Edan was intimidated by our company, and Markel remained vaguely cross from having been stalled by Aerin at the Heaven Tower, although it was standard guild policy not to let just any stranger access their facilities. We made good time, and after a few days of riding in the plains' fresh wind, sharing meals, and simply keeping each other company, the initial tensions relaxed. Wisely enough, Aerin waited until then to assuage her desire to discuss magic.

Two days west of the capital city on horseback, the cobblestone pavements began to show signs of disrepair. We also met much less travelers and caravans, and we had to go through long strips of empty hillsides and forests between settlements. That one evening, we'd been caught by the night, and so we decided to stop, and to make camp by the road in the middle of nowhere. We had precious little equipment to make a decent camp; we hadn't planned on stopping between towns or villages. Edan and I being perceptibly in the best physical shapes, we went to gather firewood through the brush, while Aerin and Markel tied the horses together with the skeletal remains of a horse that the latter was riding, and unpacked some blankets and dried meat. When we returned, the blankets had been disposed around a cute, but useless circle of much too small stones to actually protect the fire from any wind, or to adequately contain the ashes. The glorious Head Wizard from the Wizards Guild and the ragged necromancer were calmly conversing.

-- ... not so certain about the common root theory, said my old mentor. It would imply some degree of connection between elementalism and runemaking, for instance.

I propped up the logs, and attempted to arrange the smaller branches under them, as Markel responded lengthily that, in his mind, all domains of magic attempted to identify the forces that shaped the world, and to isolate the techniques that enabled a caster to harness these forces. Edan gave me a hand with the firewood. His side of our assemblage was better than mine.

It was better!

My squire soon began to correct my own disposition of the logs, marking the very first time since I'd hired him that he'd been a benefit. I figured the dark dog's days as a petty outlaw had furnished him with much practice for building fires to survive cold winter nights. With a master class elementalist sitting right across from us, and even another pretty decent one in myself, it was highly unlikely we'd have trouble with setting the lumber on fire, but I couldn't find the heart to stop him from doing something well, for once. Meanwhile, Aerin protested that Markel's definition of magic was too inclusive, and that with such a definition, magic might as well include mechanical theorems, and tool-building. To challenge his view, she asked him if he thought windmills were magical in nature. An extended silence followed. Through the night, we could only see the black-furred feline's shiny eyes under his hood, and I began to fear that my teacher had vexed him again. I noted that she felt the same. To break the awkward moment, she flicked her padded hand, and our more-or-less dry logs became a blazing bonfire, startling Edan who hadn't been paying attention. The warm light suddenly colored Markel's gaunt face with orange hues, revealing a good-natured smile.

-- I've been pondering this very important question myself for years. And yes, I believe I do.

We all turned for Aerin's reaction. She looked surprised by the necromancer's bold opinion. She smiled in turn.

-- In this case, we're leaving my area of expertise to enter philosophy. I can't follow you there, so we'll have to suffer our disagreement.

-- With pleasure.

There was no more talk of theoretical magic for a short while. I took the small cloth in which our light supper was wrapped, offering the leathery strips of meat around. The two other canines took them, but Markel declined. I chewed on my own strips. It wasn't much, but we were tired, and it was very satisfying merely to taste something pleasant. I was pretty certain that the feline hadn't eaten anything in the morning either.

-- Aren't you hungry?

-- I don't eat much.

-- I noticed.

-- Don't worry about it. I'll outlive your grandchildren.

The way Markel had brazenly proclaimed this led me to assume that he was entirely serious. My memory scrounged up some details that I'd learned about certain highly complex mender practices capable of prolonging someone's life. In fact, it was in one of Aerin's classes about the other domains of magic. As I was about to discover, she'd thought of the same thing.

-- Are you slowing down your metabolism? almost shouted the wizard, gawking at the shrouded figure.

Markel nodded, savoring the moment during which we finally comprehended his worth. The domain of mending, or healing magic, was reserved for the elite of all casters. Menders were rare, and extremely sought after. Mending required not only perfect self-control and precision during casting, but also a flawless understanding of the bodies it sought to repair. Aerin and I fell silent, humbled. If what he'd said was true, then neither of us would ever approach Markel's skill as a caster.

-- Necromancy deals with life and death, and so does mending. I see the link, and I use it.

Aerin pouted at Markel's jab concerning their previous argument, but not for long. She was too thrilled.

-- To be capable of such a feat, you must be an extraordinary healer!

-- I would say so, yes.

I turned toward Edan, who stared into the fire, hardly interested. I had an idea.

-- Can you do something about this? Edan, show them your back.

Edan snapped out of his trance, embarrassed.

-- What?

It was true that I was putting him on the spot, but I genuinely thought that it was worth a shot.

-- Go ahead, don't be shy. Near the fire.

My squire looked at me pitifully, but he did as I told. He put aside his last strip of meat, stepped forward, and unlaced his whitish shirt. Then, he turned around and pulled it over his head, bowing to expose his chastised flesh to the fire's glow. Aerin gasped. Markel immediately got on his paws. He closed in on the strong back with a focused, professional air. Carefully, he fingered along the numerous, inflated, not-quite-fully-scarred lesions where the heavy whip had severed the skin, and cut into the muscles under his naturally short -- and therefore not very protective -- fur. Edan twitched at the touches.

-- Sorry, said the necromancer, but try not to move. I need to form a detailed mental picture of the damage.

It was definitely an undignified moment for Edan, and I hoped that I wouldn't end up having pushed him into it for nothing.

-- So, can you fix it? I asked.

-- Yes, I could fix it, answered Markel, but I won't.

I blinked.

-- Why the hell not?

Edan timidly said that it was okay. We ignored him.

-- Because, explained Markel, the wound isn't fatal, it is extensive, and it is healing up on its own. It is simply not worth the cost in energy.

-- You wouldn't repair it if it was your back?

-- It's not. But it will be my multiple weeks to spend at rest, exhausted and defenseless. Mending is complex and strenuous.

-- Multiple weeks? I exclaimed, baffled.

-- Fighting aging comes at a price. Slow metabolism means slow recovery.

-- You could heal him forever, you jerk!

Markel seemed displeased.

-- I'm sorry, but no.

He threw me a meaningful look from under his dark hood before he continued.

"However, if you insist, I could draw from you the energy that I need. I don't doubt that it'd be very taxing, but I'm almost sure you'd survive."

My initial reaction was enthusiastic. Four or five days of discomfort would be a bargain to fix Edan's tumid wounds. Then, I thought about the context in which we found ourselves: on the verge of a war, headed into a region that might soon become enemy territory, or already was. We didn't know what to expect. Suddenly, four or five days of being incapacitated seemed like a lot, not to mention that I might be even longer without any significant ability to cast. Markel continued to pin me down with an accusatory stare, fully aware that the decision wasn't so evident now that the price was for me to pay. Even if we hadn't been in this specific situation, my job was to protect the Southern Kingdom. A single day could mean multiple lives saved from some bandits, or from an insane rogue mage. I grasped the value of Markel's argument. Perhaps the appearance of Edan's back truly wasn't worth the energy. Great. I'd been an asshole to both Edan and Markel for no reason.

-- I... I apologize. You're right, Markel. Edan, I'm so sorry, I can't afford to be weakened, right now.

Edan whispered that it was alright, and that he understood. He asked if he could put his shirt back on. We ignored him when Aerin announced:

-- I'll do it. Draw from me. I can take it.

My graying teacher stood strong, decided. Markel gauged her.

-- Yes, that'll do. Are you sure?

-- I'll have enough leftover energy to char half the forest, she said with a circular arm gesture around herself. Besides, you guys are here. I'll let you handle the brunt if we get in a fight.

I didn't think that it was a good idea, but Aerin had made up her mind.

-- Stand close, and be patient, ordered Markel. Sit comfortably, Edan.

The necromancer breathed deep, and placed his hands a few centimeters over the squire's back. He opened his palms, stretching his fingers wide. Aerin, eyes closed, arms crossed, began to channel into him. It was an amazing moment. The transfer should've been invisible, but because of the forces involved, and the thickness of the night, we could see the cold radiance as it stretched thinly between the wizard and the necromancer. Edan's horrible scarring wounds quivered. They moved slowly, reopening, and then closing again one by one, more neatly, with lessened swelling. Not a drop of blood fell as Edan's flesh twisted and reformed. It was hard to watch. Curved over his knees, my squire didn't react.

-- Does it hurt?

-- No, responded both Edan and Markel at the same time.

"It feels weird, though," added the canine.

The entire operation took over an hour and a half. I observed, mesmerized, as wounds closed, cuts vanished, and red swells resorbed. Eventually, Aerin wobbled, and fell backwards upon the dirt, severing the connection.

I leaped to her.

-- Aerin!

-- It's fine, said Markel, still focused. I'm just finishing up.

My teacher seemed older than usual. I took her shoulders in my arms, and I lifted her. I nuzzled her blond snout. She looked at me with her gentle eyes.

-- Are you okay? I asked.

-- I'm great, she said meekly. Look. It's wonderful.

She pointed a shaky finger. The dying embers barely lit anything anymore, but it was still sufficient for us to admire Edan's flawless back. Where there'd been monstrously embossed gashes, we could only see his smooth, pale skin.

"Will his fur regrow?"

The necromancer nodded.

-- I'm fixing it now so that it will.

Aerin slipped away from me, and she lay onto her blanket, cheerful and tired.

-- It's incredible how much harder it is to repair something than to destroy it, she mused.

-- Always easier to do than to undo. This is why I don't like elementalism. You can do too much with it.

Markel, at last, was done. He stood up, stretched with cat-like motions, and sat down. Neither Aerin nor I felt like challenging him anymore. He spanked us every time. Edan took his shirt, but before he put it back on, he awkwardly palmed his back. He didn't seem to know what to say, so I said it for him.

-- We're very grateful to you both for this.

I thought that he would add something of his own, but the opportunity passed. Poor Edan was even more intimidated than before, but he did seem happy with the result. There was nothing more to say. We wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and we went to sleep around the circle of hot embers.

Later, on that wet, stormy day when Markel led us beyond the border to the Lowlands, we'd grown into a tight group.