Farmer or Cultivator? Why not both?

Combec shared a great deal in common with its neighbor Maldrin. They worshipped the same gods, many of their people spoke the same language, and the climate that covered one nation rolled seamlessly into the other. Historical texts pointed to both peoples descending from common ancestors, separated over time by nothing more than geography. Rivers, mountain ridges, and centuries of drift had done what armies could not, split a single people into two. Now those two peoples were at war, and the only question left was which nation would bleed the other dry first and still be standing when it was done.

In the city of Daigen, in the Fifdone region under the authority of his eminence Marquess Ron Cernai, stood a large castle with walls that were tall, sturdy, and very old. The castle housed hundreds of knights already prepared for war, with hundreds more on the way. The Fifdone region sat directly on the border. Crossing from Tunish into Combec by the most direct route brought a traveler straight into this region, and the aristocrats had known this. They had begun moving troops and resources down to Fifdone steadily, because if Combec was going to push into Maldrin, or Maldrin into Combec, it would start here.

Inside Castle Tron, Alana waited on the lord who had hired her. The man who held Fifdone under the queen’s authority, who lorded over the castle and everything within its walls: Marquess Ron Cernai. She stood in the waiting room surrounded by ornate furnishings and large paintings that watched her from the walls with all the self-importance of the man who had chosen them.

"Come in," said a voice, and Alana was shown through into the Marquess’ private room, where he sat with a glass of wine in one hand and an open book balanced in the other.

"I heard the mission did not go entirely as planned." He set the book down without closing it. "Maldrin can be so inconsiderate of its commoners. Poisoned peasants would never stir them, but nobles on the verge of death certainly would. I hate what happened to our mage, but he helped us achieve exactly what we wanted. War!" The lord’s voice lifted with open delight at the word. Should the empire expand, he stood to govern a territory as large as a small nation on his own, and the thought was more than appetizing. As the man who controlled this stretch of the border, it was his charge to hold against any invading force, and Ron Cernai was fully confident that he could do precisely that.

"Those ugly Maldrinans. Their deaths will only carry me higher." He chuckled and kicked his feet up in a display of satisfaction. Marquess Ron Cernai was not a handsome man by any measure. He was fifty years old and short, with a gut that strained against his clothing as though his garments were in a constant and losing battle to contain everything underneath. He was round and bald, with a few thin strands of hair making a stubborn stand on an otherwise bare head, and his voice had a slick, oily quality that sat poorly with anyone who heard it at length. Alana disliked him. But he paid generously, and she loved being a magicker for hire.

"Your team, I heard, were all killed in battle. Every one of them." He tilted his head with a thin smile. "How do you feel? I imagine there is quite a large and empty hole where your heart ought to be." He grinned at his own jibe. Alana’s expression did not shift in the slightest, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. The grin faded. His countenance settled into something more businesslike when it became clear she was not going to play along.

He rose and crossed to the large alabaster-painted drawers against the wall, opened one, and produced a bag of coins from inside. He tossed it at her feet.

"Two hundred and fifty silver coins, as agreed." He looked down at the bag, then up at her. "You must be glad there is no one left to split it with, aren’t you?" He grinned.

The magicker said nothing. She crouched and picked up the bag, weighing its contents with her fingers while her eyes stayed fixed on him.

"Good," she said at last.

Bright light erupted from her without warning. The Marquess lurched backward with a sharp cry, knocking against his chair, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face. But Alana had no interest in killing him. One did not cut off a reliable source of income. He might need her again soon enough. For now, with war arriving at Maldrin’s door, she had one thing she intended to do.

The light swallowed her, and she was gone.

The scenery shifted from one of exorbitant wealth and old stone walls to open trees and cool air. She stood in a forest clearing, the coins in her hand, alone.

"I want you. We could be something extraordinary together." She turned in place, frustrated, the thought refusing to leave her. "I should have made him tell me his name at the very least. Argh!" She let out a short scream into the trees.

She could not get Ren off her mind. He had been so striking, so strong, and better still, he was a summoned just like her. That alone set him apart from everyone else in this world. She had to find him again. She had to make sure he was safe.

"I would not want him caught up in this war." Summoned were widely known to be pulled into battles and causes. Heroic songs were written about them for exactly that reason. Lords and religious leaders were quick to dangle glory and purpose in front of them, and it was easy for a summoned person to be swayed by the praise and the promises heaped on them. Alana had never been fooled by any of it. Her own life was the only one that had ever mattered to her. But now, quietly and without her full permission, that small circle of concern had expanded to include one other. Ren Hanaki of Tunish. She had to keep him out of the reach of lords and preachers alike.

"Mashiggot!" she called.

A round, furry creature appeared beside her in a puff of purple smoke, hovering just above her shoulder. He clasped his small hands together and looked at her with unmistakable adoration in his tiny red eyes.

"My lady! What do you require of me?" he asked eagerly. Mashiggot had two small red horns that curved upward and gave him the look of something devilish, though he was very much an angel. He was built like an oversized ball of fur, soft and round in every direction, and he had been deeply in love with the summoned to whom he was assigned for as long as he could remember.

"You showed up this time. You have been updated on recent developments, have you not?"

"The summoned dual class wielder? But of course, my lady. What is it you wish to do regarding this particular individual?"

Alana’s eyes settled on some middle distance between the trees, certain and unhurried.

"We are going to go back to Maldrin, we are going after the farmer."