Autre titre débuté en anglais, Over Yonder reste à ce jour inachevé, bien que cela soit par manque de temps et non d’inspiration ou de désir d’écrire.

Résumé:

Althea Lannister, la petite apprentie-tailleur, n’en croit ni ses yeux, ni ses oreilles lorsque les Chevaliers du Roi viennent la chercher pour la conduire à l’Académie de sorcellerie. Elle, si insignifiante, un mage? Il ne peut s’agir que d’une erreur! Pourtant, la voilà à suivre sa formation, pas après pas, attendant que vienne le jour de partir seconder le Roi sur les champs de bataille, comme tous ceux de sa nouvelle caste. Et tandis que les combats font rage, tandis que l’Académie isolée prépare ses élèves à survivre ou mourir, une étrange maladie ravage villes et hameaux, laissant derrière elle de nombreuses victimes dépourvues de toute personnalité.

Althea ignore le prix à payer; tout le monde semble l’ignorer. Jusqu’à ce qu’il la rattrappe elle aussi, et lui fasse enfin comprendre quel lourd secret pèse sur les mages, pourquoi sa propre mère les hait tant, et quelle est la raison pour laquelle de plus en plus de gens s’en vont “là-bas”.

Extrait:

He got back to his feet, leaned towad the pretty doll who once had been a woman, and cupped her chin in his hand to plant a soft kiss on her red lips. Again, no move, no reaction. This was too harsh a blow of fate. This would always be unbearable, he decided. He muttered the chant, the one to call dreams and sleep, the one that would put his wife’s body to rest, and watched as her eyelids flickered. When she was sound asleep, he let go of her, tracing in his mind every curve of her body, every feature of her face, every curl escaped from her heavy braid - a last memory of the one he had hoped to see at his side forever. His fingers found the weapon at his waist, the hilt of the phantom blade, carved from the ethereal realm by his sheer willpower. A dagger suited for a mage, a dagger bearing the weight of all his years of training and studying.

“So, my love… When we meet again, will you tell me how it was over yonder?” he whispered, perhaps more for himself than for the soul already departed from the world.

A second later, as deadly as the chilly wind, the blade was in his hand, and in a swift, neat move of the wrist, the Archmage sliced Phyllis’ throat open.