The Magical Attack

Tarsa tried again to speak, then, realising that the effort was futile, shook her head to indicate that she didn't know. Fumbling in the drawer of her bedside table, she brought out an inkwell, a quill pen and some paper. She wrote, in a small neat hand:

I didn't see anyone. I was woken up by a strange tingling sensation in my throat. Suspecting some magical attack, I tried to call for you, but all that came out was a tiny squeak. And now my voice has gone altogether. I MUST get it back before the ceremony is due.

"Is there no-one else who can perform this ceremony?" Fred asked.

No. I am the only priestess qualified to do it. It would take years before another could go through all the rituals and training she would need to take my place, and we can't afford to wait even months, let alone years.

Fred thought it showed a lack of forward planning not to have at least one more priestess kept in reserve. Or perhaps that was against their doctrine. He decided it would be wiser to keep those thoughts to himself. Instead he said: "Then we must find a mage skilled enough to undo the spell...

1. "We should be able to find one easily enough in a city this size."
2. "The best one I know of is a recluse who lives six days' ride from here, so time will be tight."
3. Tarsa help up her hand to interrupt him, then wrote: No, not a mage. If one of our priestesses carries out the Ceremony of Purification over me, I should be cured.

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