“I’d like to share your optimism,” Jillian sneered, “But I find it hard to believe that what happened at Gariel Downs was anything but the worst case. I have no reason to assume things will go better from here on out. But if this is the only plan we have, then that’ll do. I owe you a debt, after all.”

“Just wishing we could have gotten this over with before I promised my soul to our mutual acquaintance,” she grumbled, casting a brief but scornful glance at Crone.

To her mind, she owed every person assembled here her life. Gerald had replenished her woefully drained magical reserves multiple times, and that was not even mentioning his brave defense of her unconscious form which she was not aware of. Crone and Renold, meanwhile, had saved both of them from the ruined forest and the inferno devouring it. There would be no shortage of people who would speak ill of Jillian's character, but she had at least as much of a conscience to honor the debt she owed. To think that she ended up here, all wound up in this mess, just because she was looking for kin, for someone like her who chose their own path in life and was ousted for it.

Perhaps that was why black magic, necromancy and the like were banished? That their wielders inadvertently attracted misery and loss? Or was it because their wielders were crippled by a world dismissive of their courage and tolerance that they could not help but be forced into hardship? She had to believe that the latter was true and the former was not, for that was what life had taught her so far. But what was Gerald’s story, she wondered. How did he end up a vagabond practicing the forbidden arts? Was it because of the Withering? Unlikely, considering the disease would have killed him long before he would have learned how to suppress it. A side benefit then. What was it that the Grand Master had said? Something about saving his late wife and unborn child, if he had become a necromancer sooner? Could they be the reason he risked so much to become a necromancer? He could not seriously be thinking of bringing them back, could he? So much time must have passed by now; there would be precious little left of them. At least, it would explain his bitterness. Jillian knew she gave up much in life, but she was happy in that instant that she did not have to see her own child die, if she had one, though she did lose her lover, superficial as feelings might have been.

What a sad world they lived in.

“So,” Jillian began, speaking softly as the onset of fatigue ate away at her, “I suppose everything’s clear then? We have a lot to do tomorrow, so I’m thinking we should use what little time we have left today to ease up a bit and catch some rest.”

“At least, I could use some,” she added with an impassionate shrug.