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“How’s he following us?” Tandrel whispered, hiding in the alley. “There’s no way he could identify us in that crowd.”

Simon looked at the necklace. A dark green gem reflected a darker version of his face, surrounded by other smaller gems. “So the Follings sent a tracker after us.”

“Simon, trackers are fond of wildlife, not cities. A hundred people line the streets; there’s no way he could know where we went.”

“Yet you say he’s following us.” Simon pointed out. Tandrel didn’t say anything, just looked for a way to get out of the alley. Meanwhile, a man with a groomed mustache and beard pushed through the crowd to get to them. Simon stared at Tandrel, who reluctantly answered.

“Yeah, I know, there’s obviously some explanation for this behavior of his. Magic.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “He can track us using magic? Shouldn’t he be chanting in the streets, and wouldn’t everyone know what he’s doing?”

“Simon. Please. Don’t be an idiot,” Tandrel said impatiently. “Heretics can use magic without anyone knowing what’s going on. No chanting or waving hands.”

“But there are some people who could detect him.”

“Yeah, the judges, maybe, but why should we care?”

“I’ll bet the Follings didn’t give him a pass.” Simon grinned.

“Of course they gave him…oh, I see.” Tandrel grinned as well, watching the man shove his way closer. “Maybe you’re not such an idiot after all.”

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