One of the tribulations of my magic-induced weight was that I was constantly uncomfortable in my clothing. Trousers had to be fastened under my gut rather than round my waist. Collars, cuffs, and sleeves chafed me. Socks stretched out and puddled around my ankles, and wore out swiftly at the heel from my excessive weight. Even boots and shoes were a difficulty. I’d gained size all over my body, even down to my feet. Right now, my clothing hung slightly loose on me. I’d used a lot of magic last night, and lost bulk proportionately. For a moment I considered disrobing and simply going naked as a Speck, but I had not left civilization quite that far behind.

My way led me ever upward, over the gently rising foothills. Ahead loomed the densely forested Barrier Mountains and the elusive Speck people who roamed them. I’d been told that the Specks had decided to retreat early to their winter grounds high in the mountains. I’d seek them there. They were not just my last possible refuge. That was also what the magic commanded me to do. I’d resisted it to no avail. Now I would go to it and try to discover what it wanted of me. Was there any way to satisfy it, any way to win free of it and resume a life of my own choosing? I doubted it, but I would find out.

The magic had infected me when I was fifteen. I had, I thought, been a good son, obedient, hardworking, courteous, and respectful. But my father, unbeknownst to me, had been looking for that spark of defiance, that insistence on following my own path that he believed was the hallmark of a good officer. He’d decided to place me in a position where ultimately I must rebel against the authority over me. He had given me over to a Kidona plainsman, a “respected enemy” from the days when the King’s cavalla had battled the former occupants of the Midlands. He told me that Dewara would instruct me in Kidona survival and fighting tactics.