Assallya thanked all the gods above that Vatikar and the chamberlain didn't simply run her through when she'd asked to cast a spell in the dungeons but now they were on their way.  The silver of the pan had been pure and the crafting had been fine so it held a dweomer well.  She'd used it, and her memory of the escaped woman to conjure up an image.  Now Vatikar had seen the fugitive's face but there had been nothing in the images of the woman that provided any indication of where she was.

Thankfully, she'd been able to point out the general direction that Rook was by the faint pull of the magic.  It was in no way distinct and she'd have to scry again once they were closer but now they were on their way.  -and Assallya hated every moment of it.  Oh, she was used to driving a wagon across uneven terrain.  She might not have been particularly good at it but she was used to it.  Travelling by chariot was a new experience and it was grossly uncomfortable standing there and gripping the rim.  She had thought riding side saddle had been bad.  This was torture and she could feel every bounce through her bare souls.

"We should discuss my role in the capture," she said to Vatikar during an open stretch of road, sounding much more eloquent now that she'd calmed down, "I would not wish to incur your wrath and be spitted on the spot.  Would you prefer I stand fast in light of enemies or would you enjoy sorcerous aid?  Would you prefer I invoke only upon your express command or would you prefer I use my own judgement?"