A hot iron spike through his mind greeted him as he returned to consciousness. He moaned, and his hand crawled to the top of his head, as if the touch of cool fingers could soothe the pain and allow him into the jumbled mess behind. His thoughts. Nevian’s thoughts. The name felt right, but he struggled to associate anything with it. He opened his eyes, hoping his surroundings would trigger some remembrance. Nothing familiar around him. Was that normal? He stared at the ceiling—decrepit wood instead of smooth stones—and grew convinced he had never seen this place before. Good. A new location, even to his faulty memory. He had no blankets, and sunlight plunged into his room from the window on the left. Was it early morning or late afternoon? How long had he been here?

Nevian closed his eyes again and fought to keep his breathing steady. He tried to dig out his most recent memories despite his throbbing head. Images trickled through—the night sky obscured by spires and vines, a snide cackle, a hand on his forearm. Avenazar. Master Avenazar of the Myrian Enclave. His mentor. Tearing his mind to shreds. The memory drew a whimper from Nevian. Some things were better forgotten. Like rolling off the bridge to escape, through death if necessary.

“I’m … alive?”

His voice was coarse. He’d screamed a lot the previous night. He knew that much. His cracked and weak question received an immediate, enthusiastic answer.

“You’re awake!”

Nevian glanced sideways toward his exhausted-sounding watcher. A halfling scuttled to the bed, not more than three feet high, with ear-length blond hair and plump cheeks, one of which was bruised. Plump lots-of-things, really. He climbed onto a chair next to the bed and leaned forward with a large smile. His happiness irritated Nevian. He clacked his tongue and returned his attention to the ceiling, which at least didn’t spin like the floor had.

“Maybe I sleep talk. Where am I?”

“Safe.”

“That does not answer my question,” Nevian said, “and I highly doubt the veracity of it.”

His retort was met by a pout. The halfling crossed his arms. “This is Larryn’s Shelter. We found you dying on a bridge. You almost fell right on top of me. I’m Cal, by the way.”

Nevian wished he had crashed on him. It would have broken his fall, and perhaps diminished his headache and nausea. Although Avenazar’s attacks might be as much to blame as the brutal landing. Nevian closed his eyes again, trying to focus. Even thinking demanded all his energy, as if his mind had grown dull and lazy. Had he lost his talent for rigorous logic and coherence? Fear squeezed his insides. He needed to get back on his feet and figure out what Avenazar had taken and how much of him was left. Whenever he tried to remember more of last night, however, the pounding in his head became splitting agony.

“Never heard of this place. If you want to live, you’ll let me be.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t mess with Avenazar. Don’t.”

Nevian’s voice turned pressing, and he heard in it the visceral panic gripping his heart. Don’t anger Avenazar. A rule he just knew and did not question. He had triggered the night’s assault by making his master furious. Always a terrible idea.

“I don’t care who I have to mess with!” Cal threw up his hands, then caught Nevian’s gaze and stared him down. “I had important things to do yesterday, real important. One of my friends might die because I stopped for you, and the other slammed his fist in my face and won’t talk to me. You don’t get to shoo me away, and no Myrian wizard gets to kill you on my watch. I refuse.”

Cal’s voice morphed halfway through the tirade from an angry rant to a broken whisper. Tears welled in his eyes, and he wiped them away. Nevian focused on the ceiling, ill at ease with his intense reaction. Was he supposed to comfort him? It wasn’t his decision if Cal had stopped! He shouldn’t have to deal with his feelings! It would be hard enough to piece his memories back together, if at all possible, and he did not want the burden of someone else’s problems. Nevian pointedly looked away until the little crisis had passed.

“Your healer left about an hour ago, but they gave me instructions.” Cal sniffled then withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. “These are questions. They might jog your memory. Vellien said your mind was destroyed when they got there. They salvaged the core from the wreckage, which apparently meant preserving your inability to express any form of gratitude, but let’s ignore that for now. They’ll be back tomorrow. Until then, these are supposed to help.”

“Questions.” He didn’t bother to hide his doubts. A powerful wizard had demolished everything inside Nevian, blocking or destroying entire aspects of his life—and Nevian couldn’t tell which! Avenazar would return to kill him sooner or later, to put a definite end to Nevian. And their solution was questions. “You think questions can give me my memories back? That questions can protect me?”

His breath hitched, and his vision swam. The walls closed in, pressing down on him and stifling him. Nevian tried to slow his frantic heart. He had to calm down and pull himself together. Something of incredible value was locked away in his mind. He knew it, and he’d fight for it as long as he lived. Small fingers landed on his hand, startling him.

“It’s a start, no?” Cal said. “Vellien knew what they were doing. They saved your life and fixed your leg. If they say this list can help you, I believe them. Give them a chance, at least.”

Nevian propped himself on an elbow—a position he held exactly two seconds before his nausea overtook him and he collapsed back to the bed. Now that Cal mentioned it, Nevian noticed the distant sting of his left leg. Nothing that compared with the pain ensnaring his head, however. He was such a mess, but perhaps staying busy would help him.

“Fine. Ask.”

Cal’s big grin made Nevian regret his decision immediately. Too late. Cal brandished his list and read off it.

“What’s your name?”

“Nevian.”

“And you were an apprentice with the Myrians. For a long time?”

Nevian massaged his temples. How long? He tried to stretch his memory and come up with an answer, but it only made his headache worse. After a moment, Cal moved on.

“Do you remember how old you are?”

“Seventeen?” It sounded right. “Yes. Seventeen.”

Images of his birthday with another wizard surfaced. A woman. Sauria. His first master, before Avenazar. She had given him a dozen books to read and joked that he would be done within three months. He’d finished in twenty-four days. Nevian smiled a little.

“Wow, you can actually smile!” Cal exclaimed. “I take it the questions are working! Do you know where you are?”

“Larryn’s Shelter. Or so you said.”

“No, I mean … as a more general thing. Where are you?”

Nevian lacked an immediate answer to this one. He struggled to conjure a hand-drawn map of the world in his mind, ignoring the growing headache to pinpoint his location on it. Not west, in the sprawling Myrian Empire. His focus shifted to a snaking river in the northern hemisphere, but still south of Mehr. Nal-Gresh, the Stone Egg, the greatest port city on the east coast, thrived at its mouth. But that wasn’t it either. “We’re … in Isandor, along the Reonne River.”

“Great!”

Cal clapped. Nevian winced at the harsh sound and glared at him, which caused Cal to slap a hand over his mouth. The brief silence didn’t last, and they went back to work. His questions exhausted Nevian. Every answer brought its share of memories, but while he could attach some to clear moments of his life, many just floated around his mind, unhinged. Nevian tried to piece the puzzle back together. As time passed, however, his energy declined. Even listening to Cal was becoming harder, let alone focusing enough to give an answer. Nevian eventually snapped.

“Is that all?” he asked, interrupting the next question. “Or are there a hundred more on your list?”

For a moment, Cal only stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging half open. Then he folded the list—a silly precaution, considering how crumpled it was. “Just one more. Do you need anything? Food? Water?”

“Silence.”

Water, too, but Nevian refused to admit it. After such a long discussion, he wanted nothing more than sweet silence. The sun had moved farther up in the sky, shifting light away from his room, which felt stuffy and hot to him. He needed to rest and recover, to let everything he’d learned sink in. Pieces of his time in the enclave had come back, but through it all, Nevian had noticed one thing missing: his knowledge of magic. He could remember entire nights studying, putting together spells that Master Avenazar refused to teach him, but no matter how much he tried, the spells themselves remained a mystery. The frustration, fatigue, and stress had stayed, yet the result of his hard work was gone. Vanished forever.

“Okay, fine. I get it.” Cal slid off his chair, his smile stiff. “You want me to leave. No more annoying halfling. Never mind that he saved your life.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nevian turned to stare at Cal. “You were too late. Everything important is gone. I don’t thank people for salvaging an empty husk.”

“You should. At least you have an opportunity to fill it back up. Not everyone gets that chance.”

Cal crossed the room, slapped the list of questions on a minuscule desk barely big enough to hold two tomes, then stalked to the door. He slammed it as Nevian focused his attention on the ceiling, and the loud noise sent a sharp pain through his mind. At least peace returned after.

Nevian closed his eyes and grasped once more at his memories, as if it would change anything. Perhaps the healer could help. Nevian would make them try. He hated giving up. Besides, Cal had a point: it wasn’t over. Not yet. Even though Nevian doubted Avenazar would allow him time to pull himself back together. Once the wizard realized Nevian had survived, he would find him again, and it would only become worse. No one escaped Master Avenazar. That, at least, Nevian hadn’t forgotten.