《The Silent Cataclysm》


 Prologue

    Two: he was dead. This was the second most obvious concept. But still, unlikely, as from his decades of studying the afterlife he never once heard of an outcome like this. It was well accepted, thanks to his profession and abilities, that there were only two outcomes to death. Those who followed in the footsteps of their god and creator, Hyvale, would be granted life in the New World after death. While those who shunned their creator, and lived a rotten life were cursed to wander the Red Sands of Coreterra for eternity. The dead, and Godless planet that hung above their own.


    This, whatever this was, clearly was neither. It seemed a place beyond the Endless itself, stripped away from the world he once called home. Perhaps this was a special punishment, one only he was admitted to because of some heinous act he¡¯d committed whilst he was alive. But what could he have done, if anything at all? This led him to the next most reasonable string of thoughts: What had become of his memory?


    Digging into himself, he began to search for something within. Fragments of memories flew by like comets, too hot and bothered to stop for him to truly analyze. It felt like sifting for gold in an endless dune sea, wave after wave of sand crashing down onto him and forcing him to restart.


    Stolen story; please report.Uttral pushed through the crowd just in time to watch as one of the Purgers raised its massive flat foot and stomped down on Bayels head. No final words, or goodbyes. No cries of anguish or screams for help.


    As the wave of Purgers descended over him, he hummed his final spell. Reality broke away from him, his soul ejected just as a crooked sword tore through his neck. He screamed out in panic as he floated backward into the air, watching the swarm tear through those around him.


    His expression was flat, completely neutral. Uttral had no time to ponder as the Endless slipped off the bone, and his mind returned to himself in a world of darkness.

 Chapter 1 -Arrival

    Fires curled into an ashen sky, licking the skin of already long deceased soldiers. Their bodies had been mangled, grinded into a fine dust. Their blood spilled out over the stone roads, flowing south toward the ocean due to the island''s natural slant. Buildings that had been felled slowly tumbled off the ridges into raging waters, meeting pointed rocks decorated with the gore of those attempting to flee.


    "What do you see, Heathgrim¡­?" The elf muttered. His lips were dry, and tasted of blood each time his tongue glided over them. The rest of his body felt like a tuning fork, at a constant buzz. His nerves had never gotten the best of him, so why now? The human laid a hand on his shoulder, pulling them deeper out of view of the palace hall. It smelled of smoke. Soon they would be choked out by the fire, forced to leave their spot.


    "Nothing. But the boats¡­" Heathgrim spoke quietly, his eyes jumping around. "Arethor, what of the boats?" He prodded the elf, turning him to look Heathgrim in the face. Both of their faces were splattered with blood, little of it being their own. The elf blinked wildly, and swallowed a lump in his throat. Shaking his head, he looked out of the closet door to see a man pass by. Or, what was supposed to resemble a man.


    "Three, maybe four of them were down at the docks. They probably have burned them." Arethor stuttered, a hand pressing against the wall of the closet, brooms and mops leaning against him. Heathgrim adjusted himself, feeling naked without his armor. Why had they agreed to let themselves be disarmed?


    "How far is the main-?"


    "Don''t be stupid, Heathgrim. That''s a six mile swim through frigid water. We''d die." Arethor clenched his teeth, his grip tightening on a broomstick, the closest thing he had to a weapon. It had been a slaughter, on both sides. And even those who had been armed were torn asunder.


    "We make for the docks, regardless. I won''t just let us die here with these things." Heathgrim stood, sliding his hand between the doors and prying it open slightly. Arethor readied himself behind him, and watched as the Captain crept out into the hall. The elf quickly snapped the broomstick over his knee, and handed one of the jagged pieces to Heathgrim. He grunted at the wimpy excuse of a weapon, but took it with a grateful nod.


    A jarring sound earned their attention, both twisting to look down the massive hall. Standing at the far end was a man in dim gray armor. It was split in several places, with a deep red fungus protruding from its cracks, strangling the man. It let out a vicious sound before throttling itself down the hallway.


    Arethor awoke with a start. Gasping for air, he clutched the reins in his hands and shook his head. He''d grown used to the night terrors, and taught himself to quickly align himself to reality once he''d come to. Sometimes it didn''t work, and he''d be left panting for several minutes struggling to figure out where he was. But luckily, this time, his horse Judas had acted as an excellent anchor to keep his mind at ease.


    Sighing, he leaned forward and stroked the side of the horse''s head, thanking him for his never ending service. Taking in a few deep breaths, he leaned back on his saddle and watched as the trees that arched overhead slowly fed him sunlight. They were pine. Which meant he was probably close to home. Most of the forests in Riverden leading up to the Marrow consisted of maple or some form of ironwood. His travels to Lightholde had been tainted with the sight of tumored trees. Their branches hanging low from the knots of death. It felt almost as if it were spreading. And he only hoped it stayed away from the Marrow Forest.


    He smelled smoke, which was most likely why his dream had been so potent. He assumed it was coming from the cabins sprinkled around Tavernkeep, his home city and capital of Riverden. By no means a normal capital, living deep within a forest, surrounded by massive pine trees and redwoods. It provided the city with excellent natural cover. Though, it also blinded the city as well.


    But Tavernkeep hadn''t seen any major conflict in well over two hundred years. A fact that Arethor took great pride in to some degree.


    "I apologize for that Ronck earlier, Judas." Arethor murmured to his horse. "If I had seen it, I would''ve said something." He recalled how the creature had dropped from a tree, startling Judas and nearly throwing Arethor to the ground. In fact, the entire reason for Arethors delay back to Tavernkeep was due to Judas having injured himself running from a cat. He was afraid he was going to have to put the poor horse down, but the stableman was quick to point out that Judas had only sprained his leg. So Arethor had opted to stay in the small town of Chiywod for an extra week to let Judas recover.


    His horse still walked with a minor limp, and thus they took frequent breaks to allow Judas to gather himself. This of course tacked even more time onto their journey, which no doubt was concerning to his friend whom he''d left in charge of his Inn.


    Arethor dug the massive bag of mushrooms from out of his satchel. It was his whole reason for the travels to Lightholde. It was a rare mushroom that only grew at the base of the Kyrala Mountains, which sat on the horizon of Lightholde. It was a tempermental mushroom, and often grew at different times of the year with no real pattern or reason. That meant he needed to wait until he heard word of them in the markets at Lightholde, where he''d need to drop everything to go and gather some.


    He spent most of the year saving up to buy them in bulk, hoping it would be enough to maybe even outlive the next season. But he was not the only one who had taken a liking to their properties, and often had to bid high for even a small amount of them. This year, it seemed, he had been just in time to take that first offer, and had acquired quite an impressive amount of them.


    Arethor used it as the key element for his most well renowned ale, the Remedy. Other taverns and Inns had tried to buy the recipe off him, but he''d never caved. Despite the amount of cryys they had waved in his face.


    The Whine had been his pride and joy for the last two decades, and he wasn''t going to give away its most special attribute that easily. It was the one thing he had truly made his own in the Inn that had been given to him those years ago. Or rather, it hadn''t been given to him, but rudely dropped in his lap by his father who up and left one night.


    First night terrors, and now he''d allowed himself to think about his damned father. Shaking his head, he blinked until the sleep in his eyes finally evaporated, and the road became clear. It began to widen as the city drew near. There were no signs to point in its direction, and the trail leading to Tavernkeep was almost nonexistent up until only a few miles away. Only a keen eye, or one with the proper knowledge, would know how to find the right path along the Splinted Road. That being the road that connected every major city and village all across Riverden. That is, until it ran into the Needle.


    As the elf gently swayed with the motion of Judas'' step, he allowed his body to relax almost completely. The air was still, though not cold. It felt as if he was in the middle of nothingness, with just the sounds of the earth settling to accompany him. Judas sighed softly as he flicked his head up. Arethor couldn''t help but smile. Horses sometimes just fidgeted, kind of like humans. He had found ways to still himself, to let the energy pent up inside him slowly leak out through a series of low whistles and hums. It felt satisfying, like shedding the weight of clothing at the end of the day.


    Putting the bag of mushrooms back in his satchel, he shut the flap gently and pulled tightly on the leather strap that kept it closed. The satchel was branded with the Oaken Sigil, having been given to him once he''d been branded Spymaster. What an idiotic choice it had been. Sometimes, King Orieths idiocy never ceased to amaze him. Regardless, Arethor used the satchel in his daily life outside of the Oak, Tavernkeeps Military.


    He found it ironic they were called the Oak when there were so few Oak trees to be found near Tavernkeep. But the story went that hundreds of years ago the forest that surrounded them was once only Oak. No one knows how it turned into the pine haven it was then, but everyone respected the Oak that once breathed in the spot where they now walked.


    After another hour of quiet travel, Arethor watched as the road widened once again and revealed a massive stone wall only a few yards away. Furthermore, an opened gate displayed a portcullis guarded by several Oaknights, with massive claymores laying against their shoulders.


    The Oak used boiled leather as their main component for armor. Each Oaknight wore a forkbeard leather mask, which left their nose exposed as the mask dipped underneath it. Arethor had always hated to wear it, as it made his face feel warm and moist. But it certainly felt better than having a heavy metal helmet weighing his face down.


    He recognized the two men, despite the masks, and approached them slowly. The stern, ever prepared look in their eyes seemed to wither once they realized who it was. The slightly shorter one, Bulrin, spoke up.


    "Arethor! We were beginning to worry. Uthir spoke of sending out a search team, given all that''s happened." Bulrin blinked rapidly as he looked behind Arethor. The forest was beginning to grow dark as the day came to an end. Perhaps he was just sleepy, but something the boy had said caught his ear.


    "All that''s happened?" Arethor raised a brow, tugging Judas to the side slightly so he could see the Oaknights face more clearly. Bulrin grew pale, his chin dipping down as he realized what he''d said. He hesitated for a moment, then looked up the city walls to the watchtower just beside the gates. Standing up at the top, was Uthir, the Gate Captain. He didn''t wear his usual chipper, optimistic grin.


    "Suppose I should leave it up to him to explain, sir." Bulrin fixed his posture, standing up right and gesturing to Uthir that the coast was clear. The Gate Captain then shouted a command to several of his men, who eagerly began raising the portcullis. Gears grinded, and the sound of squeaking could be heard all across the city if one listened hard enough.


    Uthir waved down for Arethor to hurry along. Saying his goodbyes to the Oaknights, he kicked Judas into motion past the walls. He figured the Gate Captain would expect to meet him at the stables. As was usual when he had news to share, and so made way for it.


    The town was silent, the Marya Road empty save for a few merchants scuttling about. The Marya Road ran straight through the center of the town, all the way up to the Oaken Palace Steps. The city itself was divided into six arches, three each on the north and south end. Each arch typically represented a specific purpose, though sometimes they blended together at points. The First and Second arches had two sides, while the third arch only had one, as its back was pressed against the walls of the city.


    The stables had its place on the second arch of the south end, only a few blocks from the gates. Arethor bought his spot in the stables long ago, as it had once been his fathers until he disappeared. He tried to argue with the stablemen that it should''ve been passed down to him, but the bastards would do anything for a few cryys. Even exploiting a confused and angered veteran of the Oak.


    The stablemen stood clear as Arethor led Judas inside, then to their stall. It was near the back, where several stalls were empty before his own. Not many people owned horses in Tavernkeep.


    "Been keeping it nice and pretty for you, sir." One of the stablemen, Cutt said with a slight bow. He had a long wrinkled face, his white beard thin and unkempt. He was the nicer of the three who often lurked around the building. He had tried to talk down the others from hustling Arethor, but of course, they didn''t care much for hearing the old man out. The elf smiled and nodded to the man, dismounting Judas and beginning to desaddle him.


    "I hope you''ve been well, Cutt." Arethor said softly, placing the saddle on a stool he kept in the corner of the stall. His feet dragged through disregarded hay as he leaned against the stall door. The old man suddenly looked uncomfortable, pursing his lips and looking around the darkened stables. He then began to walk around and light the candles sticking from the sconces hanging from the wooden beams.


    "Terrible times it has been, young sir." He nodded to himself, then sat down on a stool beside one of the lit candles. The old man slouched, licking his lips as his fingers toiled together.


    "What is it I missed, exactly?" Arethor squinted. It felt like a hand had reached into his chest and begun squeezing his heart. It almost resembled homesickness, mixed with deep anxiety. Cutt stared at the wooden floorboards for a moment, taking several stuttered breaths in before running the back of his hand over his mouth.


    "It was awful. There was an attack, young sir." Cutt sealed his lips, glancing at Arethor as he stepped away in surprise. His back gently tapped Judas'' nose, who nudged him forward with a snort. It felt as if all the air from Arethors lungs had been stripped away, leaving him panting for a brief moment as his neck twitched. Shaking his head, he used the stall door to level himself.


    "That is¡­" He stopped, struggling to gather the right words. "How?" Arethor managed, swallowing an aching wallow in his throat. Before the old man could respond, someone else entered the stables. His leather boots were loud against the floorboards, his Oaken Sigil embroidered helmet in hand.


    "It''s true. And from the inside, no less." He said, stopping at the center of the room.


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    "Uthir¡­" Arethor started. "From within the Oak?"


    "Not exactly." Uthir frowned, and gestured for Cutt to leave them. The old man bowed in respect to the both of them, and saw himself out. The Gate Captain took a seat where the stablemen had sat, and ran a gloved hand through his greasy slicked back black hair.


    "They trickled in over the span of a few months. Posed as merchants, farmers, laborers and the sorts. There were no discerning features that connected them, so no flags were raised. Men, women, and a few children. One even had even been pregnant, and given birth in our hospital. She''s dead." He stopped to adjust his sheathe, the handle of his blade pointing toward the ceiling.


    "Who were they?"Arethor finally asked.


    "Hard to say. We think cultists. They were raving about some relics, moon kings and such. Incomprehensible as far as we could tell. It was just over a week ago that they held up the Jorax Library. They killed two dozen people before Heathgrim and his men got in there." Uthir squeezed his hands together, the sound of leather squeaking. "A few of them are down in the Oaken Palace dungeons as we speak, though we haven''t heard much up here."


    The human shrugged and clenched his teeth. He wasn''t one to hear much about what was going on deep in the palace to begin with. His duties required he be on the walls at any given point, and thus information regarding anything else was slow coming.


    It all felt so unreal to Arethor. Nothing like this had happened to them even before the Rebirth. Before the Green War. Before Greyholde. They''d had armies at their gates, attempting to lay siege to them. But when in their territory, their enemies never stood a chance. And certainly not when Arethor was around.


    "What was it they wanted again?" Arethor rubbed the bridge of his nose, setting his jaw.


    "They called themselves the Ruiners of Mordd, and demanded we retrieve a relic from our archives beneath the Jorax. Naturally, no one knew what they were rambling about, which only seemed to infuriate them." Something he''d said made Arethor freeze. It must''ve been apparent, because Uthir stopped and stared. "Are you good, brother?" He probed.


    "You said Mordd? As in Lo-eel Mordd of D''gyra?" Arethor blinked.


    "I suppose I did. That mean something to you?"


    "Most certainly. Surely it does for Orieth too, but I imagine he''s dealing with it himself." Arethor let his shoulders drop. He''d hardly noticed they''d been hiked for so long, and his muscles were beginning to relax. He reminded himself that the deeper affairs of the Oak were no longer his problem. There was no point in troubling himself any further than making sure his city was safe. Still, shivers ran through him as he imagined the scene. Damnit. If only he''d been there. Would he have been much help?


    "We could''ve used you." Uthir said suddenly, as if reading the elfs mind. He looked serious, though the statement seemed entirely unserious to him. Arethor scoffed, and palmed his face.


    "I''d have been useless." He spoke honestly, or at least, what felt honest.


    "Skills like yours don''t just die off after a few years. It was your damn Art after all." Uthir chuckled, leaning forward, elbows pressing against his knees. The mention of his Art made him lightheaded. He hadn''t wanted to think about it for a while now. The concept of one''s Art was something deeper than just a skill someone was well adapted to. It was more ethereal. A purpose bestowed upon every living person. That when found, one would excel in said skill above all else if given proper care. Most people went their entire lives without finding their Art. Arethor had found his Art when he was only a young man.


    "I haven''t held a sword in two decades. Would''ve been a pitiful death." Arethor muttered, turning to look out the window in the stall. The sun had set, and lanterns had begun to light the streets in rows. He could smell the taverns from the next street over, all sorts of wonderful smells being carried down the roads. It reminded him of just how hungry he was.


    "Malar would''ve seen this coming, somehow. He always did." Arethor added, kicking a cluster of hay across the stall. Uthir stood, his face suddenly stern again.


    "Malar is gone. Orieths uncle was a great man, yes, but we will serve this king just as we did the former." Uthir always had an odd sense of loyalty toward Orieth, who objectively was much less a man than Malar ever had been.


    His nephew did little to follow in his footsteps, and ruled Tavernkeep like a country rather than a city. "I can admit he has handled this¡­curiously. But I trust he knows something most of us don''t. We have little room to question his methods, now do we?" Uthir raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. Arethor sucked on his teeth, and gave the man a pandering nod. He wasn''t much in the mood for arguing with the Gate Captain.


    "I''m assuming my Inn is in one piece?" Arethor said, stepping out of the stall before giving Judas one last pet.


    "Ah, that I can not tell you. I haven''t exactly had the time to grab a cup of ale as of recently." Uthir chewed on his lip as he rubbed the back of his head. "But the attack was contained in the library so I''m sure everything''s fine." Arethor chuckled to himself.


    "The attack wasn''t what I meant."


    Arethor had entrusted his Inn to his good friend Hemm many times over the past few years. Having taken in the boy himself, he''d taught him how to work the bar since Arethor had left the Oak. Still, despite the boy''s incredible knack for barkeeping, he had his flaws. Hemm often indulged in the ale as much as the patrons themselves, and by the end of the night would be too inebriated to serve anyone.


    Arethor wanted to be mad at him, but he couldn''t ignore that it often riled up the patrons so much that they''d end up buying twice as much ale. It wasn''t exactly a sound practice, so he made Hemm promise he wouldn''t do it whenever he was away. And though Hemm swore he wouldn''t, Arethor had a hard time believing him.


    As Arethor rounded the Second Arch of the South End, which was home to most Inns and Taverns, he saw several people standing around on the streets. It was the first hint of life he''d seen since he''d entered Tavernkeep. He recognized most of them as his regulars at his tavern, and quickly approached them. Their faces seemed to light up one by one as he approached.


    "Arethor! Good sir, you''ve made it home." Ritlan shouted with open arms, embracing the elf with several slaps to his back. Standing next to him was Lordley, a taller blonde woman with a muscular frame. More so than Ritlan, who was just a few inches under her. But as a Mylian, much like Hemm, he had a natural height disadvantage.


    "I have, and apparently not in time." Arethor pulled himself free, patting his shoulder.


    "Ah, yes. Ironically enough we were here!" Ritlan turned to point at the sign that hung over the Inn. ''The Whine'' was carved into it with exquisite detail. His father had it done decades ago by the finest carpenter in Wof''lawn.


    "Bloody mess it all was. Your friend in there had us all locked inside!" Lordley scoffed, crossing her arms. Arethor couldn''t help but laugh at this. His friend had actually done what he''d asked. Arethor had warned Hemm if there was ever an attack that he should lock everyone in and take them to the cellar.


    "Oh, and also, your sister''s here, also a bleedin'' mess." Lordely added with a roll of her eyes. The news once again brought upon a set of chills. It had been almost a year since he''d last seen his sister, so quickly he pushed past the two and into the Whine.


    He was met with a wall of warmth. The fireplace in the far right side of the room glowed in the darkness of the Inn. Several patrons sat around on stools and benches and talked softly within the warmth of the fire. Arethor blinked as his eyes seemed to dry, and looked to the bar. He heard as the two regulars entered behind him, the door swinging shut.


    "Master!" A young man said as he appeared from the kitchen. Smoke poured out of the doorway behind him., with the young mylian wafting it away. His apron was a mess of spilt food and random juices and sauces. His short black hair accompanied his dark blue skin, which was also smeared with food. And somehow, Hemm was missing one of his front teeth. This had not been like this before he''d left.


    Arethor ran over to his friend and grabbed him by the face, pulling his mouth open to better look at his teeth. Hemm was like a son to Arethor, having practically raised him in his tavern since his father had left. It was strange, being hundreds of years older than everyone around him. Watching people grow, feeling like everything was passing him by.


    "Who did this?" Arethor demanded, his eyes frantic. The mylian laughed as he smacked the elfs hand away.


    "I did this. I ran into a bleedin'' carriage trying to stop some ol'' lady from getting trampled!" Hemm prodded at the empty gap between his teeth, and winced at the sharp pain. Arethor flicked the mylian in the forehead and ruffled his hair. Hemm grabbed at his hands and pushed him away again with a scoff.


    "What a hero. Now, how''s my Inn been?" Arethor looked out over the crowd once again. Split mugs and tossed plates decorated the ancient wooden benches and tables. Patrons laughed and hugged, sharing stories loudly and quietly between indulgence of their ale and food. Arethor felt a tang of guilt for having left Hemm to deal with cooking and serving ale. But the young mylian insisted he enjoyed the thrill of it all.


    "Other than pissing off a few of the regulars for keeping them in during the attack, business has been steady. The few days after it all were slow, naturally, but people are warming up again." Hemm took off his apron and hung it on the hook beside the kitchen door. Despite the decent crowd the tavern still felt like a dimly lit candle, flickering with little to no life, at least, not as much as it often did. Arethor cared more or less about the money coming in, as he had been set for life after his service for the Oak. It was more so the feeling of comradery that came with the customers that he sought. A peaceful service that he could provide for the people he loved. For the city he loved.


    "You did good, Hemm. Surprisingly so." The elf poured himself a drink of his own Remedy. Gently he grinded the dried mushroom and dropped some of it into his drink. The effects of the cool beverage took hold of his throat almost immediately. Gliding down his body, he felt his muscles begin to relax and his swelling mind ease. Hemm scoffed, and rubbed his nose with a damp towel.


    "Ya say that like I''ve ever done you wrong." The mylian tilted his head away as if upset, but Arethor saw his cheeky grin and chuckled. The boy had managed to start fights several times, somehow never with him actually being involved, but rather, watching from afar with a distant satisfaction.


    "Of course not. Now, where is my sister?" Arethor recalled why he had barged into the Inn with such haste. Hemms face went blank for a moment, as if he''d never even heard of Arethors sister before, but after a few absent blinks he perked up.


    "Ah, yes, she''s up in her room. Or, whatever used to be her room." He pointed to the stairs with the wave of his youthful fingers. Arethor thanked him and headed toward the upper area of the Inn that acted as his home and the rooms for patrons. Going up a few steps then taking a right turn, he couldn¡¯t help but notice the stairs were just as loud as they''d always been. It was impossible for anyone to go up or down without someone hearing. Perhaps even from the next building over. Arethor had spent the better half of a fortune trying to fix it, but the carpenters insisted they''d need to use a different wood. But Arethor simply refused to change any aspect of the Inn. If his father ever returned, he would rather he not come back to a different home.


    Arethor had left his sister''s room the exact way it was before she''d left for the Mission. He was tempted to change it, sure, but he realized she wouldn''t be gone forever, and the thought of her moving away made him rather sad. She was the only family he had left, and he intended on keeping her around at least until she got married. Though, given her track record, marriage didn''t seem likely for her anytime soon.


    Knocking gingerly on her door, it took not but a second for it to swing wide open. Standing there was of course his one and only younger sister, Amber. Her hair was pulled up into a messy brown bun, and her raggedy nightgown looked more like a potato sack than anything else. Her face was flush, as she had clearly been scrubbing it hard in the bath. That and several small scratches on her face told a story all in itself. It was clear she had run through a forest, or somewhere thick with vegetation, and it had cut her up.


    Grabbing her by the face, he ran his thumb over the tender wounds, to which she understandably flinched.


    "Acting a fool again, Amber?" Arethor squinted as he looked at the cuts. They were practically already scabbing over, and were likely not at risk of getting infected. That was the number one killer of most men, simple cuts and scratches going unkempt from stubbornness or naivety. The young elf -well, young in terms of an Elder, being only seventy years old herself- scowled and swatted his hand away. Hemm and Amber often acted one in the same.


    "I suppose I am the fool in all of this, considering I ran all this way only to hear you were missing." She pushed Arethor with a surprising burst of strength, sending him a few steps back into the hall where she trailed out and pointed a finger at his chest. "You picked the mightiest of times to wander around the glades of Riverden! They could''ve used you here, y''know that?" The words pinged in his head once again such as they had when Uthir said it. His mind was pulled toward the devastating thoughts of his failure in battle.


    "I would''ve been about as useful as a stick in a coal mine." Arethor walked past his sister into her room, and laid down on her bed. It was just as stiff as he remembered. Naturally she insisted it was the best bed she''d ever slept on. "Besides, it wasn''t my fault anyways. Judas damn near broke his leg off because a cat jumped out of a window." Perhaps it had just been his sleepiness, but he was pretty sure his sister was laughing at him. Jetting up from the bed, she stood with her back against the door and a hand covering her mouth.


    "Judas is going to be the end of you, I figure. He''s most likely going to ride you off a cliff someday because a cricket hopped on his hooves." She cackled some more to herself before finding a seat at her desk. Pulling a hairbrush free from her drawer, she began to stroke her knotted hair.


    "Perhaps. But I''m home now, and so are you. But that does leave me with some questions." Arethor sat up straight at the edge of the bed, his feet sliding against the dusty floorboards. He had neglected to clean her room for the past few months.


    Amber looked over her shoulder and blinked for him to continue. But he could tell from the twitch in her expression that she knew the question that was coming her way.


    "How did you evade the contract?" He asked quickly, to which she responded even quicker.


    "I didn''t." She replied with a nervous smile. Arethor immediately palmed his face and sighed.


    "Damnit, Amber! May The Endless devour you!"


    "Ah, yes, that is what the contract said would happen if I left without a proper appeal. Gods, since when were you such a stickler for rules? Wasn''t your whole job, like, doing whatever you wanted?" She picked at the hair stuck between the thistles, and chewed her inner cheek. But her shifting eyes were enough for Arethor to know that she felt worse about it than she was letting on.


    "If they catch you they are going to kill you, Amber. And my duties had much more nuance than that. I had rules to follow, expectations to be met. If I didn''t do what I was supposed to, the whole plan would fall apart and I''d be left to deal with the damage. And in this case, you''d be damaging me, Amber." His sister tried to ignore the hurt look her brother was giving her, but she couldn''t bring herself to do so. Groaning to herself, she stroked her hair once more before throwing the brush down.


    "I''ll speak to Otis, then. Get him to excuse me before the Mission makes its way here in a few weeks." She smiled, seemingly proud of her plan. Arethor had always had a sneaking suspicion that Amber and Otis had been more than just friends for a while, but he never quite had the proof. It wasn''t his business, of course, but an older brother often wondered. Especially when she was all the family he had left. But Arethor and Otis had been friends for almost a decade now, and he knew that he would never do anything to hurt his sister. The other way around, though, he wasn''t so sure.


    "You better hope that works. I''m not letting them lay a finger on you." Arethor looked up through his hair, which was in desperate need of being washed. Much like the rest of him. Amber snickered, twirling her finger along the base of her desk to distract herself from her guilt.


    "I''m sure it won''t come to that, the second they see who my brother is, I doubt the Mission will bother doing a thing." She looked at Arethor with that sheepish gaze. She thought it worked on him but it most certainly didn''t, it only made him realize she was trying to slip away from an argument. But as he often did, he let it slide anyway and simply nodded with pursed lips. She would use him as a scapegoat rather often, reminding people who threatened her that her big brother was a high ranking official in the Oak.


    "Just get some sleep, I need a bath for Hyvales sake." Arethor went for the door.


    "For all our sake, too." Amber teased as he shut the door behind him.

 Chapter 2 - Guard

    Chapter 2


    Guard


    Arethor awoke to the smell of sizzling lamb and eggs. It was a scent he had begun to long for, and was enough to help him rise from his bed with ease. His legs were still sore from the riding, and his back aching from the fall, but his hunger drove him down the stairs and into the tavern in just a few beats.


    To no surprise, Hemm was already wide awake. The smells spilled from the open kitchen door, and a light layer of smoke caked the ceiling of the common room. Sitting at the bar, a blanket around her shoulders, was Amber. Her hair was a mess despite her vigorous brushing the night before, with sleep in the corners of her eyes. Exchanging a smile, he disregarded his annoyance with her and sat down on the stool next to his sister.


    "I missed Hemm''s breakfasts¡­" Amber murmured drearily, running the back of her hand over her mouth which still held remnants of drool.


    "I was gone only a month and I was having dreams of them." Arethor brushed away crumbs that had been left behind. Hemm''s cleaning was always a bit subpar, rushing around at the end of the night to get home only to wake up at the crack of dawn. And within only a few minutes, Hemm exited the kitchen with several plates balancing along his arms. Sliding them in front of the two elves, Hemm merrily sat himself down before them.


    "Lamb, eggs, bacon, and of course bread with butter and honey." He announced, before lightly tapping salt onto their meals. Somehow the Mylian always knew the exact amount needed for any given meal. Never had Arethor needed to complain about it being too salty, or needing more. And the elf could see it in the twitch of his lips that Hemm knew he''d perfected it.


    "Thank you, Hemm. And again, thank you for watching my tavern." He nodded in respect to the Mylian, who chuckled and waved a hand at him playfully.


    "Twas nothing, sire." He then began to tear into his own plate like a dog on the street. There was no cue needed for the two to follow his example, and both began devouring their meals in no time. By the end of it, their faces were covered in grease, bits of egg and lamb sauce. Arethor didn''t care if he looked like a fool. After all, if he felt safe looking foolish with anyone, it would be the two mischievous youngins before him.


    After their meal, Arethor returned to his room to prepare himself for the day. Equipping his tan pants with his leather coat and white undercoat. The collar poked out at the top, to which he quickly folded down. His mother always told him he looked like a fool when he left it up, that only bullies and pinheads did such things. He always had listened to his sweet mother, even long after her passing.


    Grabbing his Oaken Sigiled satchel, Arethor determined how to spend his day. He knew at the very least he needed to check on his good friend Otis, who had been worrying about since he''d heard of the attack. Deciding he could kill two birds with one stone, he managed to wrangle his sister into getting ready, as to accompany him.


    "My stomach hurts, I just ate." She growled, dredging behind him on the staircase, leaning against the railing as if she was about to keel over and die.


    "So we shall walk it off. Perfect opportunity, no?" Arethor smirked, looking over his shoulder at his supposedly ill stricken sister. "No use postponing the thing that could possibly save your life, after all." She murmured something under her breath, jumping the last few steps and thomping onto the wooden floorboards. The ground creaked as if it would break, but held.


    "I''m sure you''re exaggerating." Amber raced her brother to the door, and stepped in front of it. Arethor sighed, rolling his eyes. Both of them knew he could throttle her out of the way with little effort, but as always he entertained her nonsense.


    "I promise you, I am not." He grabs her by the shoulders and gently pushes her out of the way. "I''ve seen it myself, Amber. Dozens of times." The word ''dozens'' seemed to strike something within Amber, who''s eyes widened and lips sealed. She remained silent as they left the tavern and walked up the flourishing street of Brightrock.


    Carriages escorting hay, barrels of syrup, and livestock paraded down the busy road. Children and elderly alike flocked upward toward the town square where the market was finally starting to come back to life. Only halfway up the Arch, they could already hear the shouting of prices and products from merchants eager to make up for lost time. But it seemed the customers were just as thirsty to make up for the time as well, waving bags of Cryy''s into the merchants faces trying to outbid those around them.


    Cryy''s were Riverdens main form of currency, which was not seen in most other places. It was considered the currency of the Elders, who naturally had to adapt as their exile from Everdale centuries ago led to them naturally spawning their own culture. The Distantints refused to disperse the standard gold, silver, and copper coin to the Elders. And thus they resorted to using the small transparent crystals that were plentiful in Riverdens many mines. No one is exactly sure why they were  called Cryy''s, but they were worth more depending on their size rather than the material inside.


    "I''ve got two-full''s with your name on it!" A man bargained, waving two large Cryy''s in the air.


    "Try two full and a half!" Another shoved up two large Cryy''s with another half their size into the merchant''s face. A foreigner would''ve most likely been utterly lost when it came to how their currency worked. But Arethor had lived long enough that the math was done instantly in his head, and at the end of the day, it was just about who had the most and largest crystals. The merchant greedily snatched the second man''s offer, and threw the pelt into his open arms.


    "I''m sure Otis is having a great time watching over all this." Amber teased, keeping a grip on Arethors sleeve so as to not lose him to the crowd. The elf patted the city-goers gently on their shoulders as he brushed them aside, paying mind to not step on any toes. It wasn''t rare for someone to take a gesture the wrong way and turn around swinging. But by now, most knew Arethors as the owner of The Whine, and wouldn''t dare lay a finger on him.


    A large part of him was happy his reputation had switched from mysterious veteran to beloved local ale brewer. But another part of him felt lonely in that forgotten part of himself.


    "I think I see him! They got him on the Palace Steps again." She pointed with a snarky smile. Amber had thrown on her white dress, which she knew Otis liked above all else. It wasn''t that she wanted to impress him so much, but she did care what he thought of her. Either way, she''d never dare admit it to herself that he influenced her choice.


    "Poor sap." He grimaced as he pushed his way through the last of the crowd. Otis stood attentive, his fork beard leather armor tight against his well kept body. He always worked out much more than Arethor, who relied more on fasting simply to stay light and quick on his feet. For Otis, it was all about muscle, and being able to kick a door down with one move. He''d never seen him do it, but Otis swore it to Hyvale that he could.


    The human''s eyes lit up with excitement when he saw the two, his lips parting as if to shout his joyousness, only to quickly realize his position and close his mouth. Arethor chuckled to himself as he found himself a seat on the cobblestone railing just beside him. Behind that was a sheer drop several hundred feet into the forest.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    One of Tavernkeeps many interesting geological challenges outside of being dead center inside the second largest forest in all of Hyvak, was that it was built on a massive cliffside. The palace sat at its peak, all sides dropping off into a dizzying freefall onto jagged treetops. The inclination was subtle, though, and thus the city didn''t suffer too much from loose barrels rolling down streets at alarming speeds. That''s not to say it didn''t happen occasionally though.


    "At ease, soldier." Arethor said, smacking the Oakmen in the back and nearly sending his halberd out of his hands and into the streets. Amber took a seat next to Arethor, but was immediately distracted by a young boy running between legs with a sack tightly clenched in his fist. It was clear what was happening, but she sure as hell wasn''t going to say anything. Turning back to Otis she held back a chuckle.


    Otis grumbled, unclipping one side of his mask so they could properly see his face. "You don''t have the authority to do that anymore, if you recall." He teased, flicking him a sideways glance. Arethor shrugged, running his fingers along the bumpy texture of the railing. It was a nauseating drop, but heights had been one of the many fears Arethor naturally had conquered in the Oak. He wasn''t given much of a choice.


    "And yet, you still listened? But how are you, given everything?" Arethor didn''t want to avoid the topic too much. It was most likely obvious that was why he was there anyways, other than a friendly chat. But the Guardsman simply scowled at the question, with a twitch in his eye that spoke volumes.


    "I was here of all damned places. Watching from a few hundred feet away as those bastards tore apart our people." Otis pointed toward the library that lay only a stone''s throw away. ¡°I had started toward it, but the other Oakmen told me to stay put, that I''d be discharged." He huffed, shaking his head as he ran his tongue along his teeth. Arethor had seen better people be discharged for much worse, he understood the pain better than Otis could imagine.


    "You still did your duties. That is honorable on all fronts." Arethor frowned, knowing his words could only aid his friend so much. But not much could be done for a man with bleeding pride, but to try and convince him that his efforts were not a waste.


    "Heathgrim did a damned good job, but he just¡­" Otis paused, looking round him briefly. "He just took too long. Let them get ahead, far too ahead." The other Oakmen beside them gave nothing but a glance, minding their own business.


    "What matters is that it¡¯s over, Otis. And you did everything you could." Arethor watched as the town square started to thin ever so slightly. Otis shook his head, unsatisfied.


    "I could''ve done more. I am capable of more." Otis growled, biting down on his tongue as to hold back the words it may let loose.


    "I know this. Anyone who knows you, knows this. It just takes time."


    "Like it took you time?" Otis snapped, his eyes wide with anger. Not at Arethor, but at the process that held him on those damn stairs. But the human quickly realized what he''d said, and his face drained with guilt. "I''m sorry, brother. It''s been a grueling few years."


    "You''re fine, Otis. You''re doing everything you can, and it will pay off eventually." Arethor turned to his sister, who had long since distracted herself with a flower that had grown between the cracks in the brick road. "I do have a slight favor to ask of you, though." The elf nudged his sister, who dropped the flower in shock before looking up at Otis. "Care to explain?" Her face went red, and her mouth hung open with empty words.


    "She ditched the Mission without an appeal." Arethor spoke for her, rolling his eyes.


    "That''s not fair! I came home for you, asshole. I thought you might be dead!" She smacked Arethors arm like a little kid, to which he quickly pushed her forward into the street. Otis laughed at the two, something he clearly needed in his life at the moment.


    The human gingerly grabbed Amber by the arm, guiding her back to the ledge and sitting her down. Her face couldn''t have been more red, but the Oaknight was nice enough not to comment.


    "Relax, you two. But look, this isn''t going to be easy. The Mission treats this like a soldier running away from battle, or abandoning their post."


    "I tried to explain this-!" Arethor started, to which Otis quickly waved at him to be silent.


    "Regardless! I''ll try to speak to Heathgrim¡­" His words trailed off as the name left his lips. "He might be able to handle this better." Otis finished with a cough. Arethor knew that he most likely wouldn''t be able to solve the problem entirely himself, but he didn''t like the vague time window in which this solution presented. There was no telling how soon the Mission would reach Tavernkeep, especially if they were after a deserter. But he wasn''t about to push his friend anymore than he had,  and instead smiled.


    "Thank you, Otis." He then turned back to his sister who had somehow dozed off once again. "Amber."


    "Yes! Thank you, Otis." She blinked wildly. "I need to get some mugs for the tavern, yours are groudy." Before Arethor could ask any questions, his sister had already disappeared into the crowd. Otis chuckled to himself and slapped the elf on the back. There was a long moment of silence, as if the two were both waiting for Amber to be far out of earshot.


    ¡°You know, Arethor, if you¡¯d been here I think things would¡¯ve gone a lot differently.¡± Otis said with a drop in his voice. It seemed random, but he knew Otis was only trying to cheer him up in some weird backwards way.


    ¡°You¡¯re the third person to have said that to me, and the third I¡¯m having to tell that I¡¯d have been of no use.¡± Arethor boarded on pouting as he sat back down on the railing, watching the ocean of heads swim around the market. He could see the subtle swaying of his friend in the corner of his eyes.


    "Then I''m sure you were also told that skills like yours don''t simply vanish." Otis raised a brow, to which Arethor raised one in return to confirm his assumption. The human smiled as he shook his head, his red hair glistening in the dense sunlight. "You just need a bit of practice. I''ll tell you what, since I''m such a good friend, how about after rotation we meet at the city gates? I know a nice spot for sparring. We can chip off some of that rust." Otis clipped his face guard back on, as much as he didn''t want to. The offer made Arethors heart pound for some reason. Looking at his hands, he saw the deeply rooted calluses in his fingers from the decades of wielding a sword. He wondered if the feeling of his blade meeting others would jar him as much as it had his first time, now that it had been so long.


    "I''m not sure." Arethor muttered, letting his arms fall back to his side.


    "Stop thinking, just say yes. We should''ve been doing this years ago after all! If you don''t do it for you, do it for me, I need the practice myself." Otis pleaded, though he kept his gaze straight ahead and his posture upright. He was surprised the other Oakmen hadn''t hissed at him to shut up yet.


    The last time he had really swung his sword at someone had been on the beaches of Greyholde, just before he and Heathgrim had managed to snatch a boat and paddle it back to the shores. They had stumbled across where their weapons had been held on their way out of the castle. He hadn¡¯t thought he¡¯d see his sword again.


    And Arethor had of course not thought it would be his last time using it, but he sure as hell remembered every moment of it. He had already been rather tired by then, his abilities not what they used to be. It was not because he had weakened physically, but rather his will had. He no longer held onto that rage that had once fueled him, pushed him beyond his limits in the Green War. It was partially the reason he had left the Oak right after.


    But he imagined Tavernkeep in flames, cultists running up and down the streets with heads piked on their swords and spears. And then he imagined himself. Standing in the street with a sword in his hand, useless, quivering in doubt and fear. He wanted to believe that wouldn''t be how he reacted, frozen in terror and unable to help. But, how could he ever know unless it happened? And how could he ever prevent it other than by wielding his sword once again?


    Arethor didn''t need to be as ferocious as he¡¯d been in the Green War, no, he just needed to be able to protect his friends and family. Amber, Hemm, even Lordely and Ritlan.


    "Fine. But where''s this spot you''re speaking of?" Arethor rubbed his hands together as he stood back up. The guard smiled behind his faceguard, and answered with a chirp in his voice.


    "An old hide-y hole where all the cool kids went back in the Academy." Otis said smugly as he brushed a bug from off his shoulder-plate. The elf recoiled in confusion and shook his head.


    "Why haven''t I heard of this, then?"


    "Think that speaks for itself, mate." Otis laughed.


    "I was top of the class! I won almost every spar I was in!" Arethor argued, remembering the times he would outsmart even those who had several feet on him.


    "Yeah, man, kicking everyone''s ass doesn''t exactly put you in the best light." Otis scoffed, flashing Arethor a playfully ugly glare. There was one time when Otis had tried to convince Arethor to purposely lose a spar. That is, so he wouldn''t be jumped by his fellow classmates outside the academy. To which Arethor said he''d love to see them try. They never did.


    "Whatever. I''ll see you then." Arethor played off his hurt and saluted a goodbye to his friend. Otis saluted back, though he lost sight of the elf almost immediately as he plunged into the market.

 Chapter 4 - Meetings

    Chapter 4


    Meetings


    It took almost everything in Raynn to not vomit over the edge of the carriage. She wasn''t sure exactly what had gotten her ill, but it was becoming abundantly clear she needed medicine or she''d likely parish.


    But her mind raced, her forehead dripping with sweat as she pondered how she''d gather the money to even afford such things. She had gotten herself a good gig, but it wasn''t nearly enough to compensate for the prices most merchants asked for.


    It seemed there was a drought in Everdale, or the Eastern Province of Hyvak. A drought for just about anything you could imagine. Wine, thread, wheat, and of course, medicine. The only thing there was an abundance of was fish. But most people were growing increasingly tired of it.


    ¡°Just please not on my dress, dear.¡± Jasra turned her nose as she looked away. Her friend coughed, forcing back a gag of her own. The young girl pushed away her long blonde hair, which were accompanied by emerald green eyes. Her human attributes really stuck out to Raynn in ways she couldn''t explain. It was a beauty that was rather unique to the human race.


    An elf such as herself had a light, almost golden skin tone, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. Jasra, having been born East of the Needle, had a blistering white skin tone that matched that of most born in the Drench-Gulf.


    ¡°I¡¯d never dream of it.¡± Raynn grabbed her canteen and guzzled down the remaining water. They were only a few miles out from the small town of Fernwrath, and figured she¡¯d manage the rest of the trip. Besides, she could always steal a bit of Jasras, as it was Raynns carriage she was riding in anyway.


    "Are we almost home? It''s going to rain soon." Jasra looked up through the trees, clouds clustering into heaping masses of gray and black. It was going to be an ugly storm, no doubt. Not the kind you cozy up to the fire with, but hide in the center of your house from. Cracks of thunder could be heard bouncing off the mountains only a few miles away. Raynn didn''t need more convincing to hurry her pace.


    "I need to ask a favor of you, Jasra." Raynn said suddenly, sliding the back of her hand across her dampened head. Luckily she hadn''t felt feverish, yet, as it would''ve made navigation much harder. Her friend turned to her, green eyes glowing despite the dimness that surrounded them.


    "Yes?" She perked.


    "I need some coin, so you might see me tomorrow, not within a wooden box." Raynn tried to chuckle, but the seriousness of it was too thick to elude dismay. Her friend couldn''t help but frown, not at her request, but at the implications.


    "Of course. I''m sure I can finagle some from my father. Hyvale knows he has enough rattling around in his baggy pockets." She turned her nose up, raindrops falling across her smooth cheeks. "We have our dinner soon, anyhow. Perhaps I could convince him to give me some coin for a proper dress. He always seems to give in when it pertains to my beauty." Jasra smiled, running her fingers along her silken dress.


    "Why is that?" Raynn managed between coughs. A metallic taste stung the back of her throat, but she kept that to herself.


    "He has always been rather delicate with my self-esteem. I guess my mother suffered from it." Jasras smile faded as she mentioned her mother, who had passed away only four years ago. It was a wound still in need of healing. Suddenly, thunder clapped within what felt like an inch of them and the sadness was sapped from them both.


    "In any case, I appreciate it. I hate to be a beggar but it''s just been rough lately." Raynn reached down and comforted the horses as best she could, though their unease wasn''t so simply swayed. They neighed anxiously, kicking up dirt and quickening their pace down the beaten path.


    "You seldom ask for handouts¡­I can provide with confidence you don''t intend to abuse our relationship." Jasras trust in their friendship brought an ache to Raynns heart. It was something she hadn''t felt for the longest time until she''d met her friend. It was a feeling that had been stripped away from her. Killed from her.


    The carriage rolled over a particularly stubborn rock, tossing their shoulders together for a brief moment. Their now annual trip to Brightrock had started to turn more and more dangerous. It was their third year doing so, and each year so far had its own list of complications.


    The first year, they had encountered a pack of Roncks that refused to leave the road. And could only be persuaded once an oblivious deer ran by. The second year a drought had seemed to strike Brightrock just at their arrival. Now, this year, there were rumors of green monsters living beneath the city, taking animals and stealing arbitrary items from peoples homes.


    Of course, these rumors shook Jasra to her very core. But Raynn was not likely to fall victim to such dramatic tales as she. Despite it, Raynn made the trip quicker than she usually did just to ease the young girl''s anxiety.


    She knew Jasra didn''t get away from home much, which was the very reason why she insisted she join Raynn on her yearly expeditions to Brightrock. She often complained about being inexperienced, but regal and eager to explore. It was clear her life of pampering was beginning to turn dull. Raynn admired her yearning for change rather than sulking in misery.


    "I wonder if it''ll be enough." Raynn puzzled. The two both turned to look into their carriage. In the far back was a trunk filled to the brim with fabrics and cloth. Ones that places like Fernwrath and Whalerot seldom carried. The red and blue fabrics oozed out of the trunk, begging to be tailored into a fine dress.


    "You spent all your savings on this, it better be. Considering you have the nerve to ask for help now." Jasra teased, flashing Raynn a grin.


    "I plan to turn a profit, I''m just not sure I can do it before I''m dead." Raynn shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. The human chuckled, shaking her head.


    ¡°I was only kidding, darling. We wouldn¡¯t want these to be the last dresses you make.¡± Jasra always had a way of comforting Raynn, often in ways she never knew she needed.


    The two rode the rest of the way to Fernwrath is relative silence. Enjoying the sounds of birds chirping angrily at the coming rain.


    Raynn steered toward the house at the top of the hill that overlooked most of Fernwrath. It stuck out like a sore thumb, and often was the topic of discussion for newcomers and travelers alike. Its massive presence spoke volumes over even the fortress that rested in the north-west side of the village.


    It was known as Moonrock, and had been the crowing gem of Fernwraths history for well over two centuries. The legends had it that during the Green War, it was used as a place for the injured and homeless to seek refuge in. As even though the house acted as a beacon, the Jorinian seemed to want nothing to do with it.


    Now, though, it was the home of Captain Damonor of the Mollusk. That being the largest and most prominent trading ship in all the Drench-Gulf. He also happened to be Jasras father.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll be upset?¡± Raynn asked, bringing the carriage to a stop just at the foot of the hill. Jasra stopped grabbing her things, and looked at her friend softly. She could tell from the bags under her eyes, and the strain in her voice that her issues were not only physical.


    ¡°Quite frankly, I¡¯m sure if I ask he will be more than willing to help you out. No need for petty white lies.¡± Jasra smiled weakly, her gaze thoughtful. She certainly didn¡¯t like lying to her father, but he already had a strange prejudice toward Raynn. And Raynn felt she knew why. Though, she hoped she was wrong.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to risk your father becoming upset at you. That¡¯s the last thing I need on my conscious.¡± Raynn held back bitter words, her train of thought broken as rain began to sprinkle over them in full. Luckily, there was a cover over the carriage, and her fabrics would remain untainted.


    ¡°Just, let me handle it. I¡¯ll come by your cabin tomorrow morning and inform you of my efforts.¡± Jasra leaned over and hugged Raynn, and with surprising strength too. Accepting the embrace, the elf rested her face on her shoulder. And for a brief moment, it reminded her of her sisters, or, at least one of them. ¡°Get some rest, I¡¯ll see you first thing tomorrow.¡± Jasra assured her, gripping her by the face and pulling their eyes to look at one another. Raynn nodded with a smile, unsure of what to say.


    The elf watched as her friend jogged up the hill with her coat over her head, hurrying inside Moonrock. Raynn found herself sitting there for a long while, letting the rain fall over her as she wondered what exactly Jasra was doing. Probably drying off, changing clothing or talking to her father.


    She caught herself daydreaming, and shook her head. Being weird, once again. Not for any particularly obsessive reason. At least, she didn¡¯t feel so. She did it with almost everyone, imagining them in their natural environments. Outside the realm of her perception. Raynn sometimes wondered if they would simply vanished when out of view, only to reappear when she came within their vicinity.


    ¡°Move it, lady.¡± She finally told herself, jostling her horses awake and continuing down the road. Her cabin was only a few minutes ride away from Moonrock, hidden in a trail just beyond the reaches of Pigbridge, the main residential district of Fernwrath.


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    The road muddied quickly as the rain picked up. Wind stirred the trees surrounding her, blowing orange and red leaves in her path. Their colors didn¡¯t shine as much as they did in the sun, naturally. It made her feel drab, more than the rain itself did. After all, she respected the rain, understood its importance. And the same for the sun despite its blistering heat in the summer.


    As everything seemed to brace and coil in wake of the storm, Raynn hurried her pace at last. Reaching her cabin just in time for the first real crack of thunder, the kind that makes one think the sky is opening up.


    Her horses shouted in protest as she led them into the stables beside her cabin. The rain hit the wooden roof hard, a waterfall of  runoff sealing her inside one of the stalls. She sighed, knowing that she¡¯d be a whole different realm of wet once she stepped through it. With a defeated shrug, Raynn ran through the runoff and toward the cabin door.


    Throwing it open she quickly slammed the door shut behind her and locked it tight. Her senses had been overwhelmed, her nerves getting the best of her as the rain pounded above her. Letting out a breath that had been held for far too long, she palmed her face and wiped away most of the water.


    Her cabin was relatively small, with a small living room area with a fireplace, a kitchen crammed into the far left corner, and her bed in the far right.


    The fireplace was empty, just a pile of gray waiting to be rekindled with fresh wood. Hastily, she built a pyre of sticks and cut logs and lit the kindle. Blowing gently into the flame, she laid it atop the ash and let it bring the pyre to life.


    The room was quickly consumed with a deep orange warmth, where she laid flat on the ground and simply breathed. Soon the heat soaked her to the bone, though her clothing was still rather wet.


    Eventually, Raynn lifted herself up off the ground, and began to undress. Laying her wet apparel on a rack, she kept it close to the fire to let it properly dry.


    Stumbling over to the bed, she laid down, naked and exhausted. Grumbling into her pillow, she mustered the strength to put on her night gown. It wasn¡¯t much, but it felt nice against her skin, and most notably: she¡¯d made it herself.


    Her stomach churned with hunger, growling at her with utter indifference to her condition. Despite her aching body, she manged to slog over to the kitchen and prepare herself a stew with dried meat. It was more than enough to fill her belly, and excitement rose in her chest as she set it over the fire to warm the stew.


    As she waited for it to be done, she sat at her table and watched the storm grow outside the window. The rain was almost so heavy that the nothing could be seen outside, as if it had turned to a milky window, or stained glass.


    A heaviness wore Raynn down, her eyes flickering as thoughts pounded against her skull. It was no longer the aching she¡¯d felt with Jasra, or the aching of her legs, but a deeply upsetting one instead.


    One might inquire what brings someone to such a place. A place of loneliness and degradation. Of emptiness and dismay. For what reasons, despite the obvious? It had been twenty years, but she could never sit in a silent room alone without this feeling eventually catching up to her. Grabbing her by the legs and dragging her into its embrace. So cold, and callous. No amount of joy could deflect its sting.


    Suddenly, there was a jarring knock at her door. The silence, and the subsequent feelings that it entailed, vanished, replaced with stark fear. She leaned forward, trying to see out the window if a carriage had strolled by. But it appeared whoever was at the door had been walking on foot.


    Frantically she spanned the room in an instant, shoving her hand under her pillow and brandishing a dagger. It had seen very little action, no less, the inside of a living being. Nor had she ever been the reason a blade had been within a living being. Or in other words, she¡¯d never stabbed a damn thing in her life.


    ¡°Raynn!¡± A voice called. It was vaguely familiar, but the downpours intensity made it hard to discern. Whoever it was, clearly knew who she was. And she had revealed herself to very few people over the last two decades.


    Biting her lip, she slowly approached the door. Whoever it was knocked once again, and in a surprisingly calm nature for someone trapped in a storm.


    The elf debated opening up, as for many reasons it could be a terrible mistake. But she also would hate to be the reason someone died from getting terribly lost in the forest during a storm. Grunting to herself, she laid her head against the door and waited for one more knock. Then she would let them in.


    Sure enough, they knocked.


    ¡°Raynn, please, it¡¯s Rod!¡± The voice said, now sounding much more clear. Raynn opened the door, her eyes wide with surprise.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just say that? Get in, you idiot.¡± She grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him inside. His long black hair was drenched, along with his shabby clothing.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know if shouting my name out was the smartest idea.¡± Rod said, stepping further into the room toward the fire. Raynn became aware of her attire, and covered her chest as the fabric was someone see-through.


    ¡°It¡¯s pouring down rain, Rod. Even I could barely hear you, no less a passerby.¡± Raynn sighed, taking a seat at the edge of her bed, the room at grown ever so slightly colder after opening the door. She waited eagerly for the chills to subside. She slid the dagger just out of sight beneath her blanket, still gripping its handle tight.


    Rod paced in front of the fire, licking his lips. Raynn didn¡¯t much like the animalistic look in his eyes. Like the look a rabbit gives when it realizes a wolf has it in its sights.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be too careful. Not today.¡± Itching his arm, he finally looks at Raynn, his eyes tensing even more.


    ¡°Sure. Sure.¡± Raynn nodded, knowing it was probably best not to challenge him. ¡°Why are you back so early? I thought you¡¯d at least be a few more days. A week even.¡± She added, swallowing whatever was caught in her throat. Fear perhaps. The mylian shifted on his feet, chewing on his lip.


    ¡°Things aren¡¯t great, Raynn. There¡¯s this group that attacked the city, apparently around the same time as Tavernkeep. They are demanding some relic that supposedly one of the Noble Houses had hidden away for the past few centuries.¡± His frantic behavior still didn¡¯t make much sense, and Raynn failed to see the relevance of it all. But she knew better than to interrupt Rod during his debriefs.


    ¡°Your family, Raynn. House Mirthorn. Or at least, the manor which your family occupied.¡± A weight seemed to be lifted from his chest, and Rod sat himself down on the chair by the fire. His body deflates against it.


    Meanwhile it felt as if an icicle had been jammed into Raynns spine, her whole body frozen to its very center. Just hearing that name, Mirthorn, made her want to scream. The memories that flooded her was enough to catch her breath.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why they think your family had the relic, whatever it may be, but they were willing to hold an entire street hostage in order to get it. But the Torches slayed them long before they could breach the manor.¡± Rod finished in a much more flat, dreary tone, as if defeated by some great force. For a moment it seemed the man had fallen asleep, falling utterly silent as he stared in one place.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Raynn asked before clearing her throat with a cough. Rod was shaken from his trance and looked to the elf with a start.


    ¡°No, of course not. I am back earlier because of a message.¡± He paused, blinking absently. He was falling in on himself, reclusive like Raynn used to be when attending events she hated.


    ¡°A message? From whom?¡± Raynn squinted, her hold on her dagger was so hard her hand began to shake involuntarily. The cabin seemed to creak anxiously as a long silence was held between them.


    Then, without any prior warning or signs, Rod lunged from his seat. His hands outstretched, desperate to grab anything. Raynn screamed out in horror, and instinctively kicked out with her legs. This proved to be the wrong choice as Rod easily grabbed her and dragged her off the bed, her back hitting the floor hard.


    Her dagger was thrown from her hand as the air was knocked from her lungs. It clatters to the ground, and before she could take a breath in, fingers curled around her throat.


    Rod''s shadow was casted over her as he sat on her stomach, pressing down on her neck and squeezing with all his might. The taste of blood bubbled up in her mouth, but was the least of her worries.


    Raynns hand slid blindly along the floor, but found no purchase, the dagger just out of reach. With some hidden strength she managed to jerk up and pivot her body ever so slightly to the right. Though coming back down brought a wave of added pain to her throat.


    But her attempt bore fruit, as she felt the cool touch of her blade''s handle, and quickly slid it into her palm. With little hesitation, she stabbed at her attacker''s side. The feeling of blade piercing skin was unlike anything she¡¯d ever experienced, but regardless, she simply kept stabbing. It only took three or so before the pain overwhelmed Rod, and he was forced to fall back in agony.


    Wailing in pain, blood began to pour out over the carpet and onto the wooden floor. Raynn struggled to breath as her throat attempted to recover from the assault, each breath dragging through her like a ball of thorns.


    Rod grabbed at his wound, squirming around on the ground and gasping for air much like her. Rolling over, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to her attacker.


    ¡°What the hell-!¡± She shouted, but was cut off as Rod''s foot kicked out and hit her straight in the knee. Having not expected it, she quickly buckled onto the chair before her, dropping her dagger once again. Though this time she immediately reached for it, only to be grabbed from the side and lifted into the air.


    Rod slammed her back down onto the table, the legs somehow not buckling in on themselves. The lantern was knocked away, rolling down the table and shattering on the ground. Flaming oil began to spread.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Rod screamed as he began to release punch after punch, hitting Raynn repeatedly in the stomach and chest. For someone trying to kill her, he was doing an awful job. Raynn reached out with both hands, taking a few blows before gripping Rod''s face and jamming her thumbs into his eyes. She dug into them as one would the soil in search of truffles. Blood oozed around her fingers, and the mylian was quick to spring away, flailing his arms as he screamed in pain.


    Raynn shifted her attention to the fire now ever growing in her kitchen, and ran for the door. Swinging it open, she reached down beside the stairs where she knew several buckets would be. Just as she¡¯d thought, the rain had filled them to their tops, to which she immediately swung one of them through the door and onto the fire. The wave of water extinguished the fire in an instant, smoke fizzling up toward the ceiling.


    Rod charged forward, slipping on the water along the way and smashing into her counter-top. Raynn grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away, throwing him into the center of the room onto his back. He was almost completely powerless, his hands waving around uselessly as his eyes were crushed in.


    The elf grabbed her dagger and stepped over the mylian. Reaching down, she held the blade before his throat. The feeling was palpable. Fear and a hum of excitement drumming in her finger tips. If she wanted, she could end the man''s life.


    ¡°Who was it, Rod? Who sent you?¡± Raynn shouted, her long wavy hair soaked once again, dangling before his face. Drops of water fell and mixed with his already bloodied cheeks. He looked disgusted, utterly distraught at himself over all else.


    ¡°Three...¡± He gasped, trying to find the words as he fought off waves of pain. ¡°The Three...¡±


    ¡°The Three Generals?¡± Raynn pulled Rod up by the collar, the knife breaching the skin ever so slightly. She never thought she had this sort of rage in her before, but it seemed almost being killed brought out a side of her she hadn¡¯t known existed. And yet, it came effortlessly.


    ¡°Jevsarra...knows.¡± Rod muttered before growing pale, his body ceasing to shake all at once. Growing limp, Raynn could no longer hold his weight, and let his head hit the floor. It rolled to the side, his body motionless. She¡¯d killed him.


    The pain began to catch up to her, several of her ribs no doubt broken. Keeling away, she sprawled out on the ground just beside her bed. Only this time, the dagger stayed firm in her grasp.

 Chapter 4 - Meetings

    Chapter 4


    Meetings


    It took almost everything in Raynn to not vomit over the edge of the carriage. She wasn''t sure exactly what had gotten her ill, but it was becoming abundantly clear she needed medicine or she''d likely parish.


    But her mind raced, her forehead dripping with sweat as she pondered how she''d gather the money to even afford such things. She had gotten herself a good gig, but it wasn''t nearly enough to compensate for the prices most merchants asked for.


    It seemed there was a drought in Everdale, or the Eastern Province of Hyvak. A drought for just about anything you could imagine. Wine, thread, wheat, and of course, medicine. The only thing there was an abundance of was fish. But most people were growing increasingly tired of it.


    ¡°Just please not on my dress, dear.¡± Jasra turned her nose as she looked away. Her friend coughed, forcing back a gag of her own. The young girl pushed away her long blonde hair, which were accompanied by emerald green eyes. Her human attributes really stuck out to Raynn in ways she couldn''t explain. It was a beauty that was rather unique to the human race.


    An elf such as herself had a light, almost golden skin tone, with auburn hair and dark brown eyes. Jasra, having been born East of the Needle, had a blistering white skin tone that matched that of most born in the Drench-Gulf.


    ¡°I¡¯d never dream of it.¡± Raynn grabbed her canteen and guzzled down the remaining water. They were only a few miles out from the small town of Fernwrath, and figured she¡¯d manage the rest of the trip. Besides, she could always steal a bit of Jasras, as it was Raynns carriage she was riding in anyway.


    "Are we almost home? It''s going to rain soon." Jasra looked up through the trees, clouds clustering into heaping masses of gray and black. It was going to be an ugly storm, no doubt. Not the kind you cozy up to the fire with, but hide in the center of your house from. Cracks of thunder could be heard bouncing off the mountains only a few miles away. Raynn didn''t need more convincing to hurry her pace.


    "I need to ask a favor of you, Jasra." Raynn said suddenly, sliding the back of her hand across her dampened head. Luckily she hadn''t felt feverish, yet, as it would''ve made navigation much harder. Her friend turned to her, green eyes glowing despite the dimness that surrounded them.


    "Yes?" She perked.


    "I need some coin, so you might see me tomorrow, not within a wooden box." Raynn tried to chuckle, but the seriousness of it was too thick to elude dismay. Her friend couldn''t help but frown, not at her request, but at the implications.


    "Of course. I''m sure I can finagle some from my father. Hyvale knows he has enough rattling around in his baggy pockets." She turned her nose up, raindrops falling across her smooth cheeks. "We have our dinner soon, anyhow. Perhaps I could convince him to give me some coin for a proper dress. He always seems to give in when it pertains to my beauty." Jasra smiled, running her fingers along her silken dress.


    "Why is that?" Raynn managed between coughs. A metallic taste stung the back of her throat, but she kept that to herself.


    "He has always been rather delicate with my self-esteem. I guess my mother suffered from it." Jasras smile faded as she mentioned her mother, who had passed away only four years ago. It was a wound still in need of healing. Suddenly, thunder clapped within what felt like an inch of them and the sadness was sapped from them both.


    "In any case, I appreciate it. I hate to be a beggar but it''s just been rough lately." Raynn reached down and comforted the horses as best she could, though their unease wasn''t so simply swayed. They neighed anxiously, kicking up dirt and quickening their pace down the beaten path.


    "You seldom ask for handouts¡­I can provide with confidence you don''t intend to abuse our relationship." Jasras trust in their friendship brought an ache to Raynns heart. It was something she hadn''t felt for the longest time until she''d met her friend. It was a feeling that had been stripped away from her. Killed from her.


    The carriage rolled over a particularly stubborn rock, tossing their shoulders together for a brief moment. Their now annual trip to Brightrock had started to turn more and more dangerous. It was their third year doing so, and each year so far had its own list of complications.


    The first year, they had encountered a pack of Roncks that refused to leave the road. And could only be persuaded once an oblivious deer ran by. The second year a drought had seemed to strike Brightrock just at their arrival. Now, this year, there were rumors of green monsters living beneath the city, taking animals and stealing arbitrary items from peoples homes.


    Of course, these rumors shook Jasra to her very core. But Raynn was not likely to fall victim to such dramatic tales as she. Despite it, Raynn made the trip quicker than she usually did just to ease the young girl''s anxiety.


    She knew Jasra didn''t get away from home much, which was the very reason why she insisted she join Raynn on her yearly expeditions to Brightrock. She often complained about being inexperienced, but regal and eager to explore. It was clear her life of pampering was beginning to turn dull. Raynn admired her yearning for change rather than sulking in misery.


    "I wonder if it''ll be enough." Raynn puzzled. The two both turned to look into their carriage. In the far back was a trunk filled to the brim with fabrics and cloth. Ones that places like Fernwrath and Whalerot seldom carried. The red and blue fabrics oozed out of the trunk, begging to be tailored into a fine dress.


    "You spent all your savings on this, it better be. Considering you have the nerve to ask for help now." Jasra teased, flashing Raynn a grin.


    "I plan to turn a profit, I''m just not sure I can do it before I''m dead." Raynn shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. The human chuckled, shaking her head.


    ¡°I was only kidding, darling. We wouldn¡¯t want these to be the last dresses you make.¡± Jasra always had a way of comforting Raynn, often in ways she never knew she needed.


    The two rode the rest of the way to Fernwrath is relative silence. Enjoying the sounds of birds chirping angrily at the coming rain.


    Raynn steered toward the house at the top of the hill that overlooked most of Fernwrath. It stuck out like a sore thumb, and often was the topic of discussion for newcomers and travelers alike. Its massive presence spoke volumes over even the fortress that rested in the north-west side of the village.


    It was known as Moonrock, and had been the crowing gem of Fernwraths history for well over two centuries. The legends had it that during the Green War, it was used as a place for the injured and homeless to seek refuge in. As even though the house acted as a beacon, the Jorinian seemed to want nothing to do with it.


    Now, though, it was the home of Captain Damonor of the Mollusk. That being the largest and most prominent trading ship in all the Drench-Gulf. He also happened to be Jasras father.


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll be upset?¡± Raynn asked, bringing the carriage to a stop just at the foot of the hill. Jasra stopped grabbing her things, and looked at her friend softly. She could tell from the bags under her eyes, and the strain in her voice that her issues were not only physical.


    ¡°Quite frankly, I¡¯m sure if I ask he will be more than willing to help you out. No need for petty white lies.¡± Jasra smiled weakly, her gaze thoughtful. She certainly didn¡¯t like lying to her father, but he already had a strange prejudice toward Raynn. And Raynn felt she knew why. Though, she hoped she was wrong.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to risk your father becoming upset at you. That¡¯s the last thing I need on my conscious.¡± Raynn held back bitter words, her train of thought broken as rain began to sprinkle over them in full. Luckily, there was a cover over the carriage, and her fabrics would remain untainted.


    ¡°Just, let me handle it. I¡¯ll come by your cabin tomorrow morning and inform you of my efforts.¡± Jasra leaned over and hugged Raynn, and with surprising strength too. Accepting the embrace, the elf rested her face on her shoulder. And for a brief moment, it reminded her of her sisters, or, at least one of them. ¡°Get some rest, I¡¯ll see you first thing tomorrow.¡± Jasra assured her, gripping her by the face and pulling their eyes to look at one another. Raynn nodded with a smile, unsure of what to say.


    The elf watched as her friend jogged up the hill with her coat over her head, hurrying inside Moonrock. Raynn found herself sitting there for a long while, letting the rain fall over her as she wondered what exactly Jasra was doing. Probably drying off, changing clothing or talking to her father.


    She caught herself daydreaming, and shook her head. Being weird, once again. Not for any particularly obsessive reason. At least, she didn¡¯t feel so. She did it with almost everyone, imagining them in their natural environments. Outside the realm of her perception. Raynn sometimes wondered if they would simply vanished when out of view, only to reappear when she came within their vicinity.


    ¡°Move it, lady.¡± She finally told herself, jostling her horses awake and continuing down the road. Her cabin was only a few minutes ride away from Moonrock, hidden in a trail just beyond the reaches of Pigbridge, the main residential district of Fernwrath.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The road muddied quickly as the rain picked up. Wind stirred the trees surrounding her, blowing orange and red leaves in her path. Their colors didn¡¯t shine as much as they did in the sun, naturally. It made her feel drab, more than the rain itself did. After all, she respected the rain, understood its importance. And the same for the sun despite its blistering heat in the summer.


    As everything seemed to brace and coil in wake of the storm, Raynn hurried her pace at last. Reaching her cabin just in time for the first real crack of thunder, the kind that makes one think the sky is opening up.


    Her horses shouted in protest as she led them into the stables beside her cabin. The rain hit the wooden roof hard, a waterfall of  runoff sealing her inside one of the stalls. She sighed, knowing that she¡¯d be a whole different realm of wet once she stepped through it. With a defeated shrug, Raynn ran through the runoff and toward the cabin door.


    Throwing it open she quickly slammed the door shut behind her and locked it tight. Her senses had been overwhelmed, her nerves getting the best of her as the rain pounded above her. Letting out a breath that had been held for far too long, she palmed her face and wiped away most of the water.


    Her cabin was relatively small, with a small living room area with a fireplace, a kitchen crammed into the far left corner, and her bed in the far right.


    The fireplace was empty, just a pile of gray waiting to be rekindled with fresh wood. Hastily, she built a pyre of sticks and cut logs and lit the kindle. Blowing gently into the flame, she laid it atop the ash and let it bring the pyre to life.


    The room was quickly consumed with a deep orange warmth, where she laid flat on the ground and simply breathed. Soon the heat soaked her to the bone, though her clothing was still rather wet.


    Eventually, Raynn lifted herself up off the ground, and began to undress. Laying her wet apparel on a rack, she kept it close to the fire to let it properly dry.


    Stumbling over to the bed, she laid down, naked and exhausted. Grumbling into her pillow, she mustered the strength to put on her night gown. It wasn¡¯t much, but it felt nice against her skin, and most notably: she¡¯d made it herself.


    Her stomach churned with hunger, growling at her with utter indifference to her condition. Despite her aching body, she manged to slog over to the kitchen and prepare herself a stew with dried meat. It was more than enough to fill her belly, and excitement rose in her chest as she set it over the fire to warm the stew.


    As she waited for it to be done, she sat at her table and watched the storm grow outside the window. The rain was almost so heavy that the nothing could be seen outside, as if it had turned to a milky window, or stained glass.


    A heaviness wore Raynn down, her eyes flickering as thoughts pounded against her skull. It was no longer the aching she¡¯d felt with Jasra, or the aching of her legs, but a deeply upsetting one instead.


    One might inquire what brings someone to such a place. A place of loneliness and degradation. Of emptiness and dismay. For what reasons, despite the obvious? It had been twenty years, but she could never sit in a silent room alone without this feeling eventually catching up to her. Grabbing her by the legs and dragging her into its embrace. So cold, and callous. No amount of joy could deflect its sting.


    Suddenly, there was a jarring knock at her door. The silence, and the subsequent feelings that it entailed, vanished, replaced with stark fear. She leaned forward, trying to see out the window if a carriage had strolled by. But it appeared whoever was at the door had been walking on foot.


    Frantically she spanned the room in an instant, shoving her hand under her pillow and brandishing a dagger. It had seen very little action, no less, the inside of a living being. Nor had she ever been the reason a blade had been within a living being. Or in other words, she¡¯d never stabbed a damn thing in her life.


    ¡°Raynn!¡± A voice called. It was vaguely familiar, but the downpours intensity made it hard to discern. Whoever it was, clearly knew who she was. And she had revealed herself to very few people over the last two decades.


    Biting her lip, she slowly approached the door. Whoever it was knocked once again, and in a surprisingly calm nature for someone trapped in a storm.


    The elf debated opening up, as for many reasons it could be a terrible mistake. But she also would hate to be the reason someone died from getting terribly lost in the forest during a storm. Grunting to herself, she laid her head against the door and waited for one more knock. Then she would let them in.


    Sure enough, they knocked.


    ¡°Raynn, please, it¡¯s Rod!¡± The voice said, now sounding much more clear. Raynn opened the door, her eyes wide with surprise.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just say that? Get in, you idiot.¡± She grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him inside. His long black hair was drenched, along with his shabby clothing.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know if shouting my name out was the smartest idea.¡± Rod said, stepping further into the room toward the fire. Raynn became aware of her attire, and covered her chest as the fabric was someone see-through.


    ¡°It¡¯s pouring down rain, Rod. Even I could barely hear you, no less a passerby.¡± Raynn sighed, taking a seat at the edge of her bed, the room at grown ever so slightly colder after opening the door. She waited eagerly for the chills to subside. She slid the dagger just out of sight beneath her blanket, still gripping its handle tight.


    Rod paced in front of the fire, licking his lips. Raynn didn¡¯t much like the animalistic look in his eyes. Like the look a rabbit gives when it realizes a wolf has it in its sights.


    ¡°I can¡¯t be too careful. Not today.¡± Itching his arm, he finally looks at Raynn, his eyes tensing even more.


    ¡°Sure. Sure.¡± Raynn nodded, knowing it was probably best not to challenge him. ¡°Why are you back so early? I thought you¡¯d at least be a few more days. A week even.¡± She added, swallowing whatever was caught in her throat. Fear perhaps. The mylian shifted on his feet, chewing on his lip.


    ¡°Things aren¡¯t great, Raynn. There¡¯s this group that attacked the city, apparently around the same time as Tavernkeep. They are demanding some relic that supposedly one of the Noble Houses had hidden away for the past few centuries.¡± His frantic behavior still didn¡¯t make much sense, and Raynn failed to see the relevance of it all. But she knew better than to interrupt Rod during his debriefs.


    ¡°Your family, Raynn. House Mirthorn. Or at least, the manor which your family occupied.¡± A weight seemed to be lifted from his chest, and Rod sat himself down on the chair by the fire. His body deflates against it.


    Meanwhile it felt as if an icicle had been jammed into Raynns spine, her whole body frozen to its very center. Just hearing that name, Mirthorn, made her want to scream. The memories that flooded her was enough to catch her breath.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why they think your family had the relic, whatever it may be, but they were willing to hold an entire street hostage in order to get it. But the Torches slayed them long before they could breach the manor.¡± Rod finished in a much more flat, dreary tone, as if defeated by some great force. For a moment it seemed the man had fallen asleep, falling utterly silent as he stared in one place.


    ¡°Is that it?¡± Raynn asked before clearing her throat with a cough. Rod was shaken from his trance and looked to the elf with a start.


    ¡°No, of course not. I am back earlier because of a message.¡± He paused, blinking absently. He was falling in on himself, reclusive like Raynn used to be when attending events she hated.


    ¡°A message? From whom?¡± Raynn squinted, her hold on her dagger was so hard her hand began to shake involuntarily. The cabin seemed to creak anxiously as a long silence was held between them.


    Then, without any prior warning or signs, Rod lunged from his seat. His hands outstretched, desperate to grab anything. Raynn screamed out in horror, and instinctively kicked out with her legs. This proved to be the wrong choice as Rod easily grabbed her and dragged her off the bed, her back hitting the floor hard.


    Her dagger was thrown from her hand as the air was knocked from her lungs. It clatters to the ground, and before she could take a breath in, fingers curled around her throat.


    Rod''s shadow was casted over her as he sat on her stomach, pressing down on her neck and squeezing with all his might. The taste of blood bubbled up in her mouth, but was the least of her worries.


    Raynns hand slid blindly along the floor, but found no purchase, the dagger just out of reach. With some hidden strength she managed to jerk up and pivot her body ever so slightly to the right. Though coming back down brought a wave of added pain to her throat.


    But her attempt bore fruit, as she felt the cool touch of her blade''s handle, and quickly slid it into her palm. With little hesitation, she stabbed at her attacker''s side. The feeling of blade piercing skin was unlike anything she¡¯d ever experienced, but regardless, she simply kept stabbing. It only took three or so before the pain overwhelmed Rod, and he was forced to fall back in agony.


    Wailing in pain, blood began to pour out over the carpet and onto the wooden floor. Raynn struggled to breath as her throat attempted to recover from the assault, each breath dragging through her like a ball of thorns.


    Rod grabbed at his wound, squirming around on the ground and gasping for air much like her. Rolling over, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to her attacker.


    ¡°What the hell-!¡± She shouted, but was cut off as Rod''s foot kicked out and hit her straight in the knee. Having not expected it, she quickly buckled onto the chair before her, dropping her dagger once again. Though this time she immediately reached for it, only to be grabbed from the side and lifted into the air.


    Rod slammed her back down onto the table, the legs somehow not buckling in on themselves. The lantern was knocked away, rolling down the table and shattering on the ground. Flaming oil began to spread.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry!¡± Rod screamed as he began to release punch after punch, hitting Raynn repeatedly in the stomach and chest. For someone trying to kill her, he was doing an awful job. Raynn reached out with both hands, taking a few blows before gripping Rod''s face and jamming her thumbs into his eyes. She dug into them as one would the soil in search of truffles. Blood oozed around her fingers, and the mylian was quick to spring away, flailing his arms as he screamed in pain.


    Raynn shifted her attention to the fire now ever growing in her kitchen, and ran for the door. Swinging it open, she reached down beside the stairs where she knew several buckets would be. Just as she¡¯d thought, the rain had filled them to their tops, to which she immediately swung one of them through the door and onto the fire. The wave of water extinguished the fire in an instant, smoke fizzling up toward the ceiling.


    Rod charged forward, slipping on the water along the way and smashing into her counter-top. Raynn grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away, throwing him into the center of the room onto his back. He was almost completely powerless, his hands waving around uselessly as his eyes were crushed in.


    The elf grabbed her dagger and stepped over the mylian. Reaching down, she held the blade before his throat. The feeling was palpable. Fear and a hum of excitement drumming in her finger tips. If she wanted, she could end the man''s life.


    ¡°Who was it, Rod? Who sent you?¡± Raynn shouted, her long wavy hair soaked once again, dangling before his face. Drops of water fell and mixed with his already bloodied cheeks. He looked disgusted, utterly distraught at himself over all else.


    ¡°Three...¡± He gasped, trying to find the words as he fought off waves of pain. ¡°The Three...¡±


    ¡°The Three Generals?¡± Raynn pulled Rod up by the collar, the knife breaching the skin ever so slightly. She never thought she had this sort of rage in her before, but it seemed almost being killed brought out a side of her she hadn¡¯t known existed. And yet, it came effortlessly.


    ¡°Jevsarra...knows.¡± Rod muttered before growing pale, his body ceasing to shake all at once. Growing limp, Raynn could no longer hold his weight, and let his head hit the floor. It rolled to the side, his body motionless. She¡¯d killed him.


    The pain began to catch up to her, several of her ribs no doubt broken. Keeling away, she sprawled out on the ground just beside her bed. Only this time, the dagger stayed firm in her grasp.

 Chapter 5 - Quit

    Chapter 5


    Quit


    She was just sitting there, gorgeous as she always had been. Her long, wavy silver hair shone in the torchlight encircling her. A trait of her Hidrrian heritage.Those glittering green eyes batted as she looked across the tavern at him. For a moment, Arethor wasn¡¯t even sure if she was real. It felt like seeing a ghost, in an odd sense. Chills ran through him as his heart quickened in pace, almost to the degree it had when he¡¯d been sparing. He wasn¡¯t sure if that was embarrassing or not. It sure felt so.


    It then occurred to him that he¡¯d been standing at the taverns door for far too long, and the look on her face had begun to teeter in the zone of genuine concern. Laughing it off, he made his way to the bar in hopes to recover his blunder.


    ¡°Tolo, I didn¡¯t expect to see you here.¡± Arethor said nice and slowly, as to avoid stuttering like a fool. He was sure he¡¯d made himself look as such enough as it was. But the young lady, well, relevantly young in terms of an Elder, didn¡¯t seem to acknowledge his foolishness. Instead she held a gentle and understanding gaze.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got some news. Thought it was best to find you in person. I¡¯ve been waiting for over an hour.¡± She glanced over at Hemm, who nervously smiled while hoisting a drink in cheers. ¡°Your partner there is rather vague when discussing your comings and goings.¡± She grinned playfully, taking a sip of what was most likely a Remedy. She¡¯d once said it was his only good option of drink, which  he wasn¡¯t sure whether to be upset about or not.


    ¡°That¡¯s because I¡¯m vague to him about it. He has a loose tongue when he¡¯s drinking.¡±  He flashed the mylian a stern look, to which Hemm quickly looked back down to attend to his dirty mugs. Tolo chuckled. With one foot she scooted a stool out in his direction, insisting he take a seat. No words needed to be exchanged as he found himself sitting down beside her.


    ¡°But you¡¯ve got news, you say? Good news I¡¯m hoping.¡± Arethor tapped the bar to signal for a drink, which his partner dispensed in a timely manner. He was parched from all the sparing, and as he drank he realized how much his body was going to ache in the morning.


    Tolo frowned, looking around the room as she thought.


    ¡°Not entirely, actually. But some is good, yes.¡±


    ¡°Well don¡¯t keep me waiting.¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay. The bad news is as I was leaving my shift I overheard a few things from the war room.¡± Tolo paused, bringing her tone down and leaning in closer to the elf. ¡°I heard them discussing the counter-attack next week. Apparently we¡¯re going to march through the Marrow aimlessly until we find their camp.¡± The frown never left her face as she explained. Arethor couldn¡¯t help but scoff, leaning back in surprise.


    ¡°That¡¯s hundreds of miles of forest, how do they expect to do that?¡±¡¯


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure...¡±


    ¡°We¡¯d have to spread ourselves so damn thin there would only be a dozen men a squad. And, assuming they found the camp, what if its an ambush? They¡¯d stand no chance and backup would be at least a few miles away. They¡¯d be slaughtered!¡± Arethor realized he was raising his voice, and quickly sealed his lips.


    ¡°I know, Arethor, trust me. It¡¯s a disaster. But they haven¡¯t got anything from the prisoners, nothing of use anyways. And Orieth has no clue what he¡¯s doing. He hasn¡¯t had to deal with a conflict like this before.¡± Though Tolo had just delivered disheartening news, she remained collected. The tavern pulsated with life, voices beginning to raise as the crowd turned more drunk. A man by the fire place began playing his lute passionately, with somber songs to start.


    ¡°It couldn¡¯t have been easy coming in just to be faced with the disaster of Greyholde. And while I understand this was thrusted upon him, hes had two decades to plan for something like this.¡± Arethor took a long, hardy swig of his ale. The buzz went straight to his head, the mushrooms working their magic like a charm. If there was ever a time he needed that sensation, it was now. ¡°Otis said he was gathering some information tonight, and at first I wasn¡¯t interested. But if Orieths plan is to have our army exposed and our city left undefended, then perhaps I should intervene.¡± Arethor rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. He imagined the look on Orieths face as he stormed through the throne room toward him. The King had only seen him in one mission before, and it had ended miserably with a third of the Oak being wiped out. This didn¡¯t exactly leave a great impression of Arethor, even if it was entirely out of his control.


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    Orieth had been told Arethor was a killing machine, capable of slaying dozens of men within minutes. That was not what he¡¯d seen. All the king recalled was the burning of ships, buildings, and his men. And standing at the center of it, a sorcerer of unknown origin. With Arethor no where to be seen.


    And the man that had been king no longer than a few weeks spared no tears watching Arethor go. Only Heathgrim had been there to comfort the veteran on his way out. That, and Tolo. And the two remained the only ones that Arethor truly trusted in the Oak after Malars passing.


    ¡°Always was a nosy one, that Otis.¡± Tolo chuckled, running a finger along the bar top.


    ¡°He just wants to feel included.¡± Arethor shrugged, blinking away a sudden wave of tiredness, but he was quickly brought back due to Tolos sudden laughter.


    ¡°You speak of him like a child!¡± She laughed, covering her mouth, her perfect lips. Perfect to him anyways. But he hadn¡¯t realized the way he was describing his friend, but perhaps it brought upon some self reflection.


    ¡°I suppose I¡¯ve always thought of him as my younger brother. I speak of Amber the same way, after all.¡± He suddenly felt self-conscious, and worst of all: old. But he knew Tolo was close to his age, and there was a small amount of comfort in that. ¡°You had good news too, correct?¡± Arethor steered the conversation, no longer wanting to think about the grim direction that the Oak was taking. It seemed it was the right choice too, as Tolos face lit with excitement.


    ¡°Yes, of course! While the timing was entirely coincidental, it just so happens that as of today I have resigned from the Oak.¡± The words left her lips so effortlessly, her eyes bright with anticipation at his reaction. Only, he had none. He was utterly frozen. It felt entirely unreal. It sounded morbid in his head, as it was her passion and she loved her job, but he had always hoped she would resign soon after him. So that they could properly carryout what they¡¯d always wanted for each other. Something that being in the Oak simply didn¡¯t allot for.


    ¡°Arethor?¡± Tolo frowned, which nearly felt like a dagger between his ribs. Shaking his head, he finally smiled.


    ¡°You did? Did you...was it so...¡± He stopped, wondering if what he wanted to say would sound selfish. ¡°Why?¡± Arethor finished, blinking wildly. Tolo was no fool, and read the elf like the open book he often was. But she in fact didn¡¯t take any offense.


    ¡°It was just time. I¡¯ll never have to worry about having enough cryys, so why keep stretching myself so thin? Besides, there were much better translators than me there.¡± She suddenly avoided his gaze, as if expecting the backlash that was certainly going to come her way. And that it did.


    ¡°That is ridiculous, you were the best damn translator they had and you know it.¡± Arethor slapped back, mouth agape.


    ¡°Oh, please. Remember that time at the Summerstaff Festival? I made those poor Rifnallians look like fools.¡± Tolo covered her face to hide the blush. Just the thought alone made her grow red in the face. It was something she¡¯d never live down herself, and only the passage of time allowed those dwelling in the palace to forget. Quite literally, several dozen people had to die from age before Tolo could walk into the palace without being teased. She found it was the only perk of outliving the non-Elders around you.


    ¡°That was unfortunate. But in your one hundred and fifty years of service, that might¡¯ve been your only real incident!¡±


    ¡°I told the king in full confidence that¡­¡± Suddenly her voice grew thin, replaced with a familiar hum. It consumed his mind, pulsating, pleading for his attention. It was the Connection. His eyes drifted toward the source, as it beckoned to him.


    It was beneath the floorboards in the center of the tavern. A flurry of feet paraded just over it. Chairs sliding and scratching loudly, yet never loud enough to drown out its cry. He''d been sensing it for months, ever since that young man had appeared in his tavern. Was he¡­in the floor?


    "Arethor?" Tolo''s voice cut through the hum, and he was jerked back into reality. Blinking wildly, he nodded without knowing what it was she''d said. That look of concern was back, and so was the feeling of foolishness.


    "Sorry, the tavern is buzzing tonight." He played it off, taking in a deep, cleansing breath. Tolo looked around, as the tavern was rather quiet than it generally was. She grinned, as she figured it must be an excuse to get her away, somewhere private. She didn''t exactly hate the idea.


    "It''s getting late, perhaps you can walk me back to my house?" Tolo raised a brow, the proposition brought upon a cold sweat. But there was no way in hell he was going to say no.

 Chapter 6 - Love

    Chapter 6


    Respect


    Jasra opened the door and froze. She''d been knocking for a while, and had begun to worry her friend had grown too ill to fetch the door herself. But now, she wished she had more warning. Because, lying flat on the ground in the center of the cabin was a man, bloodied and pale as the clouds. His eyes had been pushed in and crushed. It was a scene that she''d never experienced before. Most of her life, she''d been sheltered from such cruelty and violence.


    Eventually her eyes drifted to Raynn, who was also flat against the floor, a dagger in hand. The only difference being that she had her eyes, and her chest was rising and falling shallowly with breath.


    "Raynn!" Jasra snapped from her horrified trance, and kneeled down beside the elf. Scooping her hands beneath her head, she laid her down on her lap. Jasra stroked the hair from her face, blood smeared across her golden skin. "Please, Raynn!" She shook her gently, to no success. She shook harder, and harder, until the elf burst forth with life.


    The dagger flew from her hand as if it was just pulled from a fire. It rattled to the ground beside the body, which for a moment Jasra thought would also spring to life. But it didn''t.


    The elf reached for her throat, rubbing it tenderly as memories poured back of the night before. The pain was somewhat gone, but her nerves were shot beyond repair, and suddenly she found herself shaking like a wet dog.


    "It''s okay! I have you¡­" Jasra squeezed Raynn, pressing her close. She didn''t even care what it was that happened, just that her friend was safe. Pulling her to her feet, she led them out of the cabin and into the carriage that had escorted her there. This time, she had a driver for them.


    "Back to Moonrock, now!" She shouted to the driver, who quickly did as told and whipped the horses into action. They sprung off down the dirt road, with Raynn slipping in and out of consciousness in the back. Jasra kept her head pressed against her chest, taking deep breaths as the shocking scene kept playing out in her head.


    "What happened?" Killian said, as Jasra led the injured elf to the couch and laid her down. She wasn''t even truly aware of what was going on, her hand slipping away from Jasras and bouncing off the ground.


    "Father, someone attacked her last night. He''s¡­" Jasra choked on her words, stepping back and fanning her eyes.


    "He''s what?" Her father pressed, grabbing her by the shoulders. Jasra frantically waved at Raynns hands, which were still coated in a thick layer of dried blood. The answer was clear enough.


    "All by herself?" Killian sounded almost impressed, taking a knee beside Raynn and examining her. He reaches for her night gown and starts to lift it up, Jasra is quick to rush over and slap his hand away.


    "What are you doing!" She shouted, a look of utter disgust on her face.


    "I''m guessing there''s a reason you didn''t take her to the doctors, she''d not even supposed to be here is she? I have some medical expertise, I need to make sure there isn''t any internal bleeding, broken bones. Which, by the looks of it just through the gown alone, she has several of." Her father remained calm, despite his obvious frustration. But, he was right. There was a reason she didn''t bring them to a hospital. A year ago, Raynn forced Jasra to promise if she ever got injured, or otherwise incapacitated, to not bring her to a doctor. That didn''t leave her with many options, but she often forgot her father had once been a field-medic before becoming the captain of the Mollusk.


    He wasn''t exactly an expert, but he was better than most had been out on the fields in the River War.


    "Let me get her decent first." Jasra grumbled bitterly, before returning with undergarments. She felt silly dressing Raynn as if she was a baby, but she felt that her friend would appreciate it in the end. Now somewhat dressed, Killian felt along the elf stomach, feeling the broken rips as he went. Raynns body twitched in reaction, Killian wincing with guilt each time.


    "Hate to see the bastard on the other end of¡­whatever she used." Killian muttered as he reached her throat. From what he could tell, it hadn''t collapsed, as her breathing sounded relatively normal. He sighed in relief, and sat back on the ground. Scruffing his salt-and-pepper beard, he shook his head in disbelief.


    "She got lucky. Whoever attacked her seemed to be holding back, or didn''t know what the hell they were doing." The news was good enough to bring Jasra to her knees at the foot of the couch, laying her chin down on Raynns legs and sighing.


    "I''m¡­I''m sorry, father." She murmured. Her eyes were closed as she soaked in the warmth of Moonrock. Killian blinked, and shook his head. Crawling over to his daughter on all fours, like a child of sorts, he quickly embraced her.


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    "You have nothing to be sorry for. I just¡­It worries me. A father worries." Killian frowned as he rocked them back and forth gently, Jasra eventually giving in and hugging her father back. It made her wonder though. Pulling away, she gave him a startlingly serious look.


    "What do you know about Raynn? What do you have against her?" The question felt silly now, but his judgment hadn''t gone unseen long before the current events. A hint of hesitation danced on Killians lips, before he eventually let out a long winded sigh.


    "It''s not so simple. I don''t have anything against her. It''s just¡­I had a feeling this was going to happen eventually." His vagueness was frustrating, to say the least, and Jasra squinted. "Your friend, she''s an important person. Or, at least, she was one some time ago. If she was smart, she''d be in Hidrria right now." Killian stood up, bringing his daughter with him. She didn''t want to leave Raynns side, and watched as her father paced around the room. He debated pouring himself a drink, but the sun had only just risen.


    "She was smart not to tell you everything."


    "Father." She urged, to which he threw his hands in the air.


    "Mirthorn. Her name is Raynn Mirthorn. You don''t travel to Torchill as much as I have and not learn the Noble family names. Her family was a particularly wealthy House, and thus were targets for all sorts of things. Partly due to her father, who was infamous for buying up unique relics at auctions at egregious prices that no one could match. That pissed a lot of people off. And I''ll tell you from experience, some collectors are willing to go leagues outside their comfort zone for something they really want. All it takes is forking over a few gold to get an entire Noble family wiped out. And that''s exactly what happened." Her father looked at Raynn to make sure she wasn''t awake. Though he still worried she was faking sleep in order to listen in. Regardless, the truth would come out once she was awake, and thus he continued. "It was her wedding day, her entire family was there when the attack began. Witnesses say her lover protected her long enough to escape on a boat before being shot down by the group of assassins. That fact she only went as far as Fernwrath was rather foolish. And it seems it''s finally catching up to her." He sat down on the chair adjacent to them and pondered.


    "Though, I''m curious why it''s taken them twenty years to finally find her." Her father said, itching just behind his ear. Meanwhile, Jasra was still trying to compute what exactly her father had just told her. It in no way changed how she felt about her friend, of course, but it sure brought up a few questions worth asking.


    "Maybe it wasn''t that. Perhaps it was just a robbery." Jasra slowly turned to look at her father, who didn''t seem all too convinced.


    "I''m not so sure, darling. But we need to get her somewhere safer, not Moonrock." He said softly, eyeing the sleeping elf with a pained expression. Killian had recognized her the day Jasra introduced her. At first he wasn''t sure what to do, as she wasn''t necessarily wanted by the law. If anything, she deserved justice and protection. But he also knew she meant danger. He was foolish himself for thinking she could avoid it.


    "But Moonrock protected those people in the Green War! Maybe it''ll protect Raynn too." Jasra frowned, hugging Raynns legs.


    "I''m afraid people can be much worse than monsters sometimes, darling."


    Arethor awoke in an unfamiliar room. It was a tad bit smaller than his, and smelled strongly of incense. And he''d certainly never lit a stick of incense in his life. Naturally he was tempted to sit up, but felt a weight across his chest, and as his eyes cleared it all made sense.


    Tolo was draped across him, skin to skin. Memories of the night before came flooding back to him. The two had a lovely walk back to her house, where she somehow convinced him to share wine with her. It didn''t take long for them to become utterly inebriated. The rest from there was a mystery, unfortunately.


    And before Arethor could ponder more, Tolo''s eyes sprung open. Therein lies a similar confusion, but quickly faded into satisfaction. She produced a sly grin before turning her head to chuckle.


    "Are you serious? You''re going to act like this was your plan all along?" Arethor teased, curling up and pulling Tolo close to his face. Her long silver hair fell into his eyes, which he hastily batted away.


    "Maybe." She shrugged, before leaning down and kissing him gently on the lips. All his thoughts melted into nothing, and he quickly slid his arms around her waist and pulled her in even closer. Eventually, they had to breathe.


    "Did your plan need to take twenty years?" He frowned, wiping her lips with his thumb. Tolo rolled her eyes, and laid down beside him.


    "I know you don''t mean that, I know you understand." She said confidently. And though it still hurt, waiting so long, she was also right. He did understand. Because even when his mother was begging him to come home, to not leave for Everdale in the Green War, he knew he just had to.


    "I just feel like we could''ve made it work. One on, one off."


    "I''ve seen too many horror stories, Arethor. It would''ve torn you apart if something had happened." Tolo looked away, not upset but simply overwhelmed by the concept. But Arethor was quick to grab her hand, interlocking fingers.


    "I would''ve been torn either way." His earnestness was startlingly convincing. She wanted to detest, to justify her own insecurities, but she knew she couldn''t. Sure, she wouldn''t want to leave Arethor in such a state, but she had also been worried about her career. She was almost never out on the field, or in immediate danger. In the back of her mind, she knew they could''ve made it work. Tolo always wondered if that was selfish of her or not.


    "Perhaps. But it matters not, now." Tolo placed her free hand on top of his, feeling along the ridges of his skin. "I missed this, Arethor. I missed you." She whispered. There had been days like this. Where the both of them threw caution to the wind and spent one lovely night together. It was few and far between, the rest of the days filled with lustful glances from across the palace.


    "My whole life has been waiting for you¡­" As soon as the word left his lips, he wished he could take them back. It wasn''t that he hadn''t meant it, but rather, he''d meant it too much. Tolo''s eyes lit with emotion, too many to count.


    "What a foolish wait. What if I didn''t love you back?" She teased.


    "Don''t be ridiculous." Arethor smiled, grabbing her by the face and kissing her one more time.

 Chapter 7 - Respect

    Chapter 7


    Respect


    Captain Heathgrim stood at the foot of the throne, his chin up, his shoulders square. Sitting before him was no other than Orieth Orrdrum. The young king had brilliant blond hair and blazing orange eyes. It was a common trait among Hidrrian males.


    The sun hung low as it was only just rising, the fresh sunlight leaking in slowly through the stained glass that overlooked the entire throne room. It cascaded a deep purple and orange light over the royalty.


    "You killed him." Orieth stated flatly. His expression, uninterested. Despite that, it still brought a chill upon Heathgrim, who''s jaw clenched


    "He threatened my family, your Majesty." Heathgrim said clearly, though not too loudly. The acoustics in the throne room was enough to kill a rat if someone spoke too loud. The king''s eyes flickered with distaste.


    "These cultists threaten all of Tavernkeep. Your selfishness blinded you." Orieths judgment felt like a mallet to the head, sizing him down smaller and smaller with each word. "That being as it may, it was clear from Emmits testimony that the prisoner in question was not going to reveal any legitimate information. Had that not been the case, you would find me much less lenient." Orieth raised a brow as he finished. Heathgrim fell to one knee, and bowed his head before the king.


    "My sincerest apologies, your Majesty. I was indeed blinded, and there is no excuse, nuisance or not." The king seemed entirely unimpressed by his leading captain''s apology. But with a sigh and wave of his hand, he dismissed Heathgrim to go as he pleased. It seemed he''d caught the king on a good day. Or perhaps he simply didn''t mind all too much, as they had several more prisoners. All of which were dispensing just as much useless information as the last.


    Heathgrim had strongly advised against the counter-attack as it stood. Spreading his men out that far, leaving them vulnerable to being plucked off was far from Orieths best plan. Ultimately, the final decision was entrusted to Heathgrim, but there was too much nuance to simply do as he pleased. Orieth always had an indirect way of punishing him whenever going forward with a different plan than his own.


    The last time he''d done so, he''d been stationed on the wall with Uthir for several weeks as there was suddenly a threat of Ronck overpopulation. At least, that was Orieths awful excuse. The Oakmen on the walls didn''t dare tease him directly, but he could feel their stares.


    But two weeks on the wall seemed much better than losing hundreds of his men due to a shitty plan.


    Marching toward the War Room, he quickly shut the door behind him. He sighed, and threw his helmet aside on one of the many couches. He proceeded to pace back and forth around the massive table in the center of the room. A map the size of the table itself was stretched out across it, marked with pins and flags, scribbled with ink. It had seen better days. But its weathered display never ceased to remind him of his countless endeavors. His success and his failures as captain.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Then, someone else entered the room. It was his second-in-command, Captain Kojok. He boarded on insubordinate sometimes, but when it mattered most was often exactly the man you wanted to see with you in battle.


    "Heathgrim, man of the hour, how are you feeling?" Kojok said, before throwing himself down on a couch. The large burly man sniffled, shaking his head and ruffling his long curly brown hair. His darker complexion displayed his Rifnallian heritage, which he wore proudly.


    "Shite. Just shite." Heathgrim growled, leaning against the War Table. "This plan is shite." He added. Kojok nodded in agreement, then switched to shaking his head instead.


    "I''ve been in those roots before, man. Deep in the roots. Our men will sooner be killed by falling wasp nests before finding that camp." Kojok said with a shrug, before pulling a starfruit out from seemingly nowhere. He bit into it, spilling juice over his leather armor.


    "My point exactly."


    "That why you killed that freak?" Kojok interjected, wiping his lips sloppily.


    "No, I¡­" He felt a flare of frustration, and quickly smothered it. "It''s not important. I need to think of another plan. Something that doesn''t involve risking our entire army to find a few men." Heathgrim stared vigorously at the map, waiting for some obvious answer to jump out at him. Of course, it never did.


    "I smell wall duty, again." Kojok said with a stupid smile, leaning his head back against the couch.


    "You got any better ideas?" Heathgrim jabbed back quickly, throwing the captain an ugly glance. It went unnoticed as Kojok had his eyes closed. He''d just come from practice clearly, as he was drenched with sweat from head to toe. That man never knew when to put down the sword, as he had very little going in his life hobby wise. Not the type to sit down and read poetry or fine literature, Heathgrim had noticed.


    "Orrdrum is good at a few things, but military tactics is not one of them. So I, for one, will back you up if he attempts to reprimand you for a change in plans. But as for concepts for a plan, I couldn''t tell you, brother." Kojok seemed to use the last bit of brain power he had to push out that sentence, and then let his head hit the couch once again.


    Heathgrim had learned though that Kojok never went back on his word, and his support was nonetheless appreciated.


    "We need a way to make these cultists talk. Clearly stabbing it out of them isn''t working, we need some sort of positive reinforcement, as much as it pains me to say." Heathgrim found himself rounding the War Table once again, when suddenly the idea came to him.


    "Kojok, did they ever describe what this relic looked like? The thing they were after?" Heathgrim inquired, pointing at the captain with an almost accusatory finger. Kojok swung up from the couch in a haze and smacked his lips.


    ¡°Huh¡­yes. I believe they described it as a hexagon carved from stone, with a square carved in the center, and an even littler square within that one. Sounds rather boring to me.¡± The large man shrugged before forcing himself to stand up and lean against the War Table. It creaked beneath him, but held.


    ¡°Boring or not, they want it. Do me a favor and get a stone smith to create what they described. If they want their relic so badly, we¡¯ll see what they are willing to give up for it.¡± Heathgrim smiled to himself before making his exit.

 Chapter 8 - Picnic

    Chapter 8


    Picnic


    It was a lovely morning. About the best one could hope for. What little clouds there were in the sky seemed to avoid the sun at all costs. The air was cool and crisp, with what felt like a perpetual breeze blowing through Riverden. It was so lovely, in fact, that once Arethor arrived back at his tavern, he requested Hemm take the reins for the day. His trusty friend always loved the opportunity, and agreed happily.


    Making a stop by the market, he spent a good half hour looking through the different flowers and plants that merchants had to offer. Tolo wasn''t so simple a girl that she favored roses or lilies. As the two had an appreciation for the natural fauna that grew in their very forests. The most abundant of such being fern.


    Tolo had always spoken of wanting to move east to Fernwrath, where the plants seem to be in every which direction, even in the village itself. Hanging from store fronts, or the balconies of homes. Only, the Elder despising Distantints made that rather difficult.


    But there are many different types of fern, and Tolo was equally entranced by them all. It didn''t take long to find just the right fern plant, which he hastily bought. Holding it over his head, he made his way back to Tolo''s house where she''d planned on spending her first day of retirement.


    "Oh, my, Arethor." She looked at the fern, and then the dozen or so identical ones she had around her home, and smiled. "How''d you know?" Tolo teased, before hugging Arethor tightly.


    "Just a hunch. I was thinking we could go for a picnic? I got the perfect spot." asked Arethor with a smile. Tolo''s eyes seemed to light up at the idea.


    "And I''ve got the perfect quilt. Just give me a moment! Wait, in fact, gather what you must and meet at the gates. Alright?" She seemed like a child again, jittery and eager. It was cute. Arethor agreed, and the two separated once again to prepare. He already had some of the food prepared, and gathered it all into a basket. Admittedly, most of it had been made by Hemm, who was less than stellar to be doing so while maintaining the tavern. But he was a good chap as always, and did as asked.


    "Whatcha up to, Arethor?" Amber asked as she stumbled down the stairs drearily. It was rare that she was ever up before the sun was high above the city. But the Whine was unusually busy that morning, some of his usuals already sitting in their claimed booth.


    "If you must know, I''m going on a picnic with Tolo." He responded, trying to hold back a smile. Amber suddenly shedded away her tiredness and gasped, wide eyed.


    "Oh my Gods, the forbidden love once again! Scandalous!" She said, racing down the rest of the stairs and leaping onto one of the stools. Hemm snickered from behind the bar, and without having to be asked, dropped a mug of orange juice before the young lady. She thanked him with a deep bow, and chugged the drink down almost instantly.


    "Actually, she retired, as of yesterday." Arethor felt like a weight was lifted off him after saying it. It wasn''t that he was embarrassed or guilty, but it was something he''d just always wanted to say. And finally, it had become a reality.


    "Hold on. Wait." The gears in Amber''s head seemed to finally be turning. "Have you heard back from Otis, about the Mission?" She finished, suddenly more concerned about it than she had been the day before.


    "No, I haven''t seen him. You might need to go find him yourself." Arethor shrugged, knowing damn well what he was doing. The young elf''s mouth fell open, and words seemed to elude her.


    "But¡­"


    "Seriously, you need to figure it out yourself. I did the hard part for you, sis." Arethor finished placing everything inside the basket, and covered it with a cloth. He didn''t love hanging his sister out to dry, but he knew she was capable of finding Otis if she really wanted. She had nothing else to do, anyways.


    "Fine. But it''s your fault if I get killed. Or something." Amber pouted, twisting away from her brother who seemed like he couldn''t care less. He reached over and kissed his sister on the head, before subsequently pushing it away playfully.


    "You''ll be fine. No one''s killing anyone." Arethor felt a tinge of sadness when the words left his lips. It almost felt like he was making a promise he knew he couldn''t keep. But his thoughts were quickly wiped away as his mind was once again tugged at by the Connection in the floor.


    He tried to force himself to not look, to block out its call. But the longer he resisted, the more its cry haunted him. Like a mother calling for her lost child. Slowly, and without much thought, he reached out his hand, taking a half-witted step in its direction.


    "You''ll want this." Hemm suddenly said, his hand extended with a bottle of wine. The elf blinked emptilly for a moment, before turning around and accepting the bottle. He swallowed the lump that had built in his throat, and made his leave.


    As he traveled directly over the spot, he felt a chill shoot through him. It reached out to him, he imagined, snagging only a few hairs as he breezed by. Something told him if he stood still just over the spot, something awful would happen.


    Perhaps the whole world would swallow him up, leaving no bones, no blood. And the city would simply scratch their head at his absence. Wondering where the battered, young veteran must have gone.


    Before he knew it, he was standing at the gates of the city. And of course, Tolo hadn''t arrived there quite yet. He watched as merchants passed by in their carriages, livestock pinned against the walls of their cages as it jostled down the road. He could see just down the busy street, the even busier town square. Arethor imagined Otis standing guard at the steps, watching out over the crowd with revised vigor.


    "Sorry, I got a bit caught up. I keep losing these damn glasses." Tolo appeared from seemingly nowhere, with a large quilt draped over her arm. The glasses now resting on her nose fit her face perfectly. That seemed to be the only word Arethor remembered when thinking of her: perfect.


    "It''s alright, we''ve still got plenty of daylight." Arethor looked up to the sky, a cloud just skimming the sun. The two spent no longer waiting, and Arethor led them along the curve of the wall until reaching the spot where Otis and him had sparred. It was still untouched, the world around it seemingly ignorant to its existence.


    Setting the quilt down across the plush grass, the two laid their belongings down and got comfortable. It didn''t take long for them to begin digging into their food. Arethor had eventually pulled out the wine, and two mugs he''d stashed within the basket.


    "So ineloquent." Tolo joked, examining the wine poured into her mug.


    "I''ve drunk muddy ale from a cup made of leaves. The Green War was more difficult in many ways than one." Arethor said with a grin as he poured himself a drink as well. He often bought that particular wine for the tavern, and yet it would never sell. Eventually it just became a treat for himself.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Tolo ran her fingers through the grass, feeling the dirt and soil beneath her palms. Pushing her glasses back up the ridge of her nose once again, she turned to Arethor.


    "Where were you again, when they fled?" Tolo asked gently. Arethor remembered it most vividly.


    "I was standing at the top of the hill that overlooks Primrubble. We''d been backed into it by a swarm of Jorinian that had flanked us. The ash and dirt was still stirring, just the outlines of figures could be made through the thick orange light of the sunset. When suddenly, all the warcries ceased. Primrubble fell awfully quiet as the dust began to settle. And when it did, me and my men looked out over the endless sea of gray to see nothing but our own people standing tall." Arethor smiled bitterly at the memory, all the while looking into the depths of the Marrow forest as he spoke. "For a moment, we thought we''d simply killed them all. But word quickly spread that they had begun to dig down. The holes left behind seemingly collapsing upon themselves. Some think that killed them, but others believe it was all intentional. Either way, our men celebrated." He finished with a long swig of his wine.


    The wastelands of Primrubble acted as the center point for most battles fought in Everdale. So it wasn''t purely coincidental that their primal enemy found themselves ambushed there. As it was a necessary travel to reach the northern cities. It was there that the combined armies of Tavernkeep, Brightrock, Hyven, and Torchill all fell upon their forces.


    "And to think I was just a young girl." Tolo sighed, her fingers finding Arethors and interlocking against the quilt. Their skin brushing together felt as natural as birds are to the sky. Or butterflies to flowers. Or to stomachs.


    "You didn''t miss much. Though I won''t forgive Malar for wasting the opportunity we''d been given." Arethor remembered the singular shock that had run through the entire Oak when Malar made his announcement. That the Oak would be assisting Everdale in fighting the Green Beasts.


    Most simply didn''t understand, as the Jorinian avoided Tavernkeep like a rat to a flame, almost to a supernatural degree. Why waste the potential to remain detached from the conflict? Why risk exposure?


    Wizards and Warlocks alike could not explain the phenomenon of why the ever growing swarms of Jorinian avoided the city and its residents. But those who attempted to intercept them were only then viciously attacked.


    A man who''d traveled to Torchill, as it had been targeted by the Jorinian, returned home to tell his tale of how the Green Beasts never spared him a glance. How the tavern he''d been in was ripped to shreds, every last one of the patrons brutalized beyond recognition. But left in the center, quivering in fear and confusion, was him. Untouched.


    "He was a man of morals. He knew it was the right choice. Even if we were throwing away a divine blessing." Tolo shrugged, watching as a sunbeam shifted over Arethors face. The elf squinted and looked away, rubbing his eyes.


    "A good man to a fault." Arethor muttered, blinking a few times before looking to Tolo. She looked happy. Not drained like when he''d seen her in the palace. The horrible things she would see and hear. It all affected her a great deal whether she''d ever admit it or not. Though after several hundred years of service, it started to feel like nothing.


    "Sounds like someone else I know." Tolo said with a grin, leaning into Arethor and kissing his cheek. You would think Arethor had never met a woman the way he grew red in the face. He felt as she rested her head on his shoulder, scooting closer to him and sliding her hands around his waist. It was the most calming feeling there was. The warmth of long awaited love.


    "I hate this. I hate him." Amber mumbled as she put on her shoes, nearly falling off of her stool in the process. Hemm watched her with an amused look about him, and scoffed.


    "He''s just looking out for you, trust the process, I say." Hemm suggested with a shrug, before dispensing a few more drinks. The young elf sighed, crossing her arms as she watched several more patrons come barging in.


    "He''s your favorite, and you''re not even related to us! No offense." Amber clenched her dress, noting a familiar face stepping inside the tavern. It seemed like she wouldn''t have to strain herself after all.


    "OTIS!" She blurted out through the rather quiet tavern. All eyes including his now laid upon her in her bright blue dress. The Oakman stopped in his tracks, then quickly made way for her. "Okay, watch this, the charm." Amber whispered over the counter just before the young human arrived. Hemm rolled his eyes and proceeded to distract himself.


    "Amber, you look lovely this morning. Where is Arethor? I was just looking for him." Otis scanned the crowd, but didn''t see the elf anywhere. He''d made the trek down from the palace just to find him. His sister snorted dismissively.


    "Off fencing tongues with Tolo. But this works out because I need you." Said Amber as she jammed her pointer finger against his leather chestplate.


    "Need me?" Otis raised a brow, seemingly unsurprised about the news of Tolo and Arethor. After all, he''d heard about her resignation just before Arethor had.


    "Yes, the Mission, remember?" She tilted her head down and her eyes widened. For a moment the human lagged, blinking absently, before nodding slowly.


    "Ah, yes. They are about a day''s journey away, scouts say. I requested a pardon to King Orieth, whom they will be speaking with upon their arrival. I suggest you stay away when they arrive, though, just to be safe. Most likely they''ll find your reasoning acceptable, but it isn''t entirely up to the king, as the Mission works outside any jurisdiction. What they choose to do with their members, and their runaways, is entirely up to them." Otis seemed unworried, which somewhat put the elf at ease. But not entirely.


    "I don''t care much for settling on ''most likely''." Amber pouted, as she often did. But Otis had grown up with her, and had learned when she was really upset she simply stopped talking. It was clear right then, she only wanted some assurance.


    "I''m not going to let them take you, Amber. I''ll lose my sigil before I let that happen." The Oakman rested his hand on the sigil branded into his armor, just at the breast. Its simple design was not feared by all, but unquestionably recognized. Amber stopped for a moment, looking at the red headed young man and smiled. She was nearly a hundred years older than him.


    "Thank you, Otis. Now might I ask why you sought Arethor? Perhaps I can relay a message." Amber sat up straight, realizing in her distraught that she''d begun to slump. Otis looked around carefully before leaning in closely.


    "I have some news about the Oak. It''s important." Whispered Otis. She expected him to continue, but he only stood there and stared.


    "So, tell me." She inisited, a feeling of excitement running through her at the concept of the drama. The Oakman took a step back and chuckled.


    "Don''t be silly, Amber. You''d tell the first person to walk past us." This somehow felt like quite the insult, and Amber promptly gasped.


    "I am an amazing secret keeper, I''ll mind you."


    "Oh, like the time you kept the secret of my date with Darla." Otis raised a brow; he was entirely unconvinced. The elf couldn''t help but snort with laughter after trying to hold it back. She quickly took a sip of the ale that Hemm had subconsciously placed there moments ago.


    "Come on, everyone was going to find out eventually. You had to run three blocks naked!" Amber covered her mouth, stifling her laughter, but Otis slapped his own hand over her mouth too.


    "You are not helping your case here, Elder." Otis often threw that title in there as a nod at her age. He loved nothing more than to tease her about just how old she was compared to him. The elf quickly frowned and rolled her eyes.


    "Otis, please! I''ve got nothing going for me here. It''s not like I really need to get a job." She looks over to Hemm, who gives a weak smile in return. Arethor always affirmed that she wasn''t going to have to worry about moving out, that there was always room. But she couldn''t help but feel a sense of uselessness every now and again.


    "Have you thought of finding a hobby, perchance? Maybe even your Art?" Otis shrugged. Amber scoffed and waved her hand dismissively.


    "Needle in a corn silo. I just need something to do." She suddenly put on what could only be described as her attempt at puppy eyes. Only it just saddened Otis more than anything. It was clear the girl was lacking a sense of purpose since she''d left the Mission. Or perhaps it had been long before that too. One who was truly devoted to the Mission often had a much harder time leaving it. Her devotion was no doubt going to be put in question when they arrived.


    "I suppose I could use a hand¡­but you can''t tell Arethor it was you who helped me. He''d send me over the cliff." Otis caved in, not sure as to why really. A good part of him knew Amber could be trusted, and that she was a tough nut to begin with.


    "Okay, sure, of course. Hemm, I''m looking at you." Amber swiveled on her stool and glared the mylian down, who quickly threw his hands up in the air in compliance.


    "Good. Now. It''s going to require slipping past a few guards." Otis started.

 Chapter 9 - Influence

    Chapter 9


    Influence


    "It''s beautiful. Well, a sort of dull beauty." Heathgrim held the hexagonal stone in his hand. Assuming the Ruiners had never seen an illustration of the relic, it would be rather convincing. And perhaps they would simply be delusional enough to fall for it anyways. Examining the handy work, the Captain grinned, the sound of success drifting in the winds. This had to work.


    "Had it whipped up in only a few hours. Not exactly a sophisticated design afterall." Kojok snorted, wrinkling his nose as he gripped the belt around his waist and adjusted himself.


    "We need to get down to the prisoners as soon as possible." Heathgrim commanded, still looking the stone up and down. Something about it was mesmerizing. If the relic didn''t exist before, it technically did now. In a way, had he just created the justification for their cause? Only, as far as he knew, it had no special properties as they claimed it would. And slaughtering innocents was by no means justified in any case anyways.


    "Of course. I''m sure Emmit will be pleased to have some new material to work with." Kojok held a sultry smile, and slid the phony relic into his arms. It still weighed a decent amount, given it was simply a slab of earth cut into a hexagon.


    "Question, though. You reckon we can even fight these freaks? Assuming they really are a militia of Deadspeakers. This generation of the Oak hasn''t seen such a thing before, no less, fought them." Asked Kojok as he stood by the War Room door. It wasn''t something he had really thought about in depth. They didn''t know exactly how many men the Ruiners possessed. But the image of Splinters raining down upon the frontlines of the Oak was certainly a terrifying thought. Leather or steel, their armor would do no good against it.


    "I didn''t see any Disruption when they were all hoarded in the Jorax. I doubt even a fourth of them are really Deadspeakers." Heathgrim muttered, recalling the sky above the library being devoid of the sinister clouds that would appear atop a collection of Deadspeakers. There was only a faint layer of fog on the library floor to signify at least a few of them had been, though. That, or just one very powerful one. "In any case, the Oak is prepared for anything. And you''re going to make sure that stays true, correct?" The captain raised a brow to his subordinate, who nodded vigorously in return.


    "Sir, yes, sir." He said with a mocking smile, before seeing himself out. At first, Heathgrim was inclined to follow him into the dungeons, but hesitated. Did he want to subject himself to that again? Once he had left the time before, he felt a prick in his neck until the arms of his wife were wrapped around it. Only then did it subside, the feeling of guilt and shame. But he didn''t exactly trust Kojok to sell the relic as he imagined, and with a grimace, followed after the Rifnallian.


    "Is that¡­?" Amber started, but Otis was quick to cut her off.


    "Yes, it''s Captain Heathgrim. Just keep quiet." The two had managed to walk through the palace unquestioned for the most part. When accompanied by Otis, no one was going to stop them to ask what she was doing there. There was a level of trust between the Oakmen, and Otis was about to break it.


    The hall leading to the dungeons, perpendicular to the War Room, was where they would have to acquire a level of stealth. The old "this is my prisoner" trick wasn''t going to cut it, this time.


    "Should we even bother then? What if we get cornered?" Amber whispered. Usually she would be less hesitant to do such a devious act, only, she somewhat needed to be on the king''s good side at the moment. And being caught trying to sneak into the dungeons was most likely going to put him in a sour mood, and her, in a bad light. Otis sucked on his teeth, and looked behind them. The coast was clear on both fronts leading to the dungeon, as the guards only stood by the cells themselves.


    Orieth had deemed it an unnecessary use of men to have them stationed at every other entrance thereto.


    "This is especially when we should bother. If Heathgrim is going down there, it must be for good reason." The Oakman lurched forward at a crouch, urging Amber to follow. Swiftly the two clung to the wall, slipping into doorways periodically to not push their luck. A few more stops later, and they stood at the spiraling staircase leading to the dungeons.


    "We''ll see the light of a lantern long before they run into us. If they run into us." Otis assured them. With that, the two descended the stairs as quietly as one could. Amber had done a good bit of sneaking around as a kid, slipping gingerbread down her sleeves at the bakery on more than one occasion.


    They both felt as the temperature steadily dropped with each few steps they went down. But whereas the air grew cold, it simultaneously grew thick. The feeling alone made Amber want to turn back around and run up those twisting stairs. But as she slid one hand around Otis'' waist so as to not get too far behind, she assured herself that she needed to do this. She wasn''t even really sure what she was doing, but Otis had sworn it was for the greater good.


    Eventually, they reached the end of the stairs, which flattened into an annoyingly long hallway. The flickering of torchlight, and lantern alike, lit the grizzly dungeon ahead. So carefully the two slithered their way over, backs pressed against the walls. Eventually there was an offshoot that led around to Emmits quarters, which further wrapped around to the cells. Unforeseen by them, they were forced to slide into said hall as a light suddenly shifted down the corridor.


    The two pressed close together as they kept near the corner of the hall. The light was shaking, growing closer every few seconds. Sliding a few more feet inward, eventually a guard passed them without so much as a glance down the hall. An idiotic guard, not worthy of the sigil, thought Otis. Though he figured he should be glad.


    "What is happening?" Amber hissed, slapping away Otis hand which had covered her mouth instinctually.


    "I''m not sure. They must have reason to believe that someone might try to break the Ruiners out." Otis turned and looked further down the hall that led to the quarters. Grabbing her by the hand he proceeded to drag them both further in. Just a short walk away and they arrived in a small chamber with a cot. There was also a small wardrobe, the door hung open to reveal the same few black cloaks and hoods. The room was completely dark save for a candle that was nearly spent, its wax spilling out over the table.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Amber shivered at the prospect of living in dungeons. She had never wanted to go down there, no less, spend the rest of her life in it.


    "Didn''t you hear? Their leader, he can just teleport at a whim. Heathgrim swears he saw it happen." Otis led them further down, into the next hallway that would lead to the cells. It was there that more lights appeared, only, luckily for them, there was a thick wooden door at the end of this corridor.


    It was slightly ajar, probably thanks to Emmit.


    "He used magic?" Amber whispered, crouched closely next to Otis as they reached the door.


    "Lunar Energy." Otis whispered back, before putting a finger to his lip to signify they need to be quiet. Amber had no objections, and got as close as she dared to the crack of the door.


    "Is this even going to work?" A voice boomed, before it came into view to reveal Captain Kojok. He was massive, almost too large to fit in the dungeons. His head nearly scraped against the smooth stone ceiling, his shoulders tapping the cell doors. And yet, he didn''t look entirely uncomfortable.


    "How am I supposed to know? But we don''t have much time before they try again." Came Heathgrims voice, one that most anybody would recognize as he was often the face of public announcements.


    "Why don''t we just give them this instead? Send them on their way for good?" Kojok suggested stupidly. The two could hear the sigh of his commanding officer.


    "For numerous, numerous reasons, Kojok. They might tell it''s a fake, and attack. That''s assuming they don''t sneak their way in and hold another place hostage to begin with! But we can''t exactly trust them to give us that chance, now can we?" The captain pressed, suddenly drifting into view before the cell just in line with the crack of the door. They couldn''t quite see the prisoner inside, but they could hear the light jingling of chains.


    Emmit stood fidgeting to the side, though his expression remained collected. It was hard to tell if the torturer was enjoying himself, or dreading his time there. Either way, he was silent, his head sweatless despite the rest of the living creatures there.


    There was a moment of silence between them all, before Heathgrim sighed.


    "Emmit, open it up." Heathgrim nodded to the cell door, which looked like it could be blown down with an ugly enough glare.


    "Ah, yes, this one has come the closest to cracking. I feel her will is starting to slip." Emmit withheld any pleasure, if there was to be. He spoke as if he enjoyed his job, but at the same time never gave any expression to make one think so. It was almost like he was holding himself back.


    Heathgrim shivered at the concept of it being a woman. Torture was already deplorable, no less, to a young woman. And if the Ruiners were indeed a cult, there was a good chance the woman had been groomed into joining. Her mind warped and bent. Seeing her in the state of decay made Heathgrims breath hitch. Even Kojok shifted uncomfortably.


    Before Orieth, they had not used the dungeons often, and never for torture. Furthermore, the origins of Emmit and where the king found him were all but unknown. And when asked, Emmit simply glared off as if confused by the question.


    Heathgrim strode up to the Ruiner, his heavy boots thunking on the stone floor. Putting on his most intimidating face, he stood only a few feet away from her. The phony relic behind his back. Slowly, the young lady tilted her head up to look at him. Her expression was flat, seemingly unbothered despite the blood trickling down from her scalp.


    "Do you feel his influence yet? Has the Lunar Eclipse come?" The Ruiner spoke weakly. "Please tell me it''s come." She pleaded, only now showing an ounce of concern.


    "Not due for a few more months. But whatever you expect to have happen, can''t happen without this right?" Heathgrim revealed the slab of stone. Otis and Amber squint as they try to make out the object. It seemed like nothing more than a chunk of rock to them. But the Ruiners face quickly lit, her eyes opening wide and her lips beginning to quiver.


    "You liars¡­you always had it!" She shouted, tearing her arm forward and shaking the chains holding her up. Heathgrim took a patient step back, shaking his head.


    "You misunderstand. I''m here to make a deal with you. We wish to deliver this to your camp, as a gesture of peace. Believe it or not, we can not afford to fight an army of Deadspeakers in a dense forest." The captain hoped he hadn''t laid it on too thick. After all, it was a shot in the dark expecting the Ruiner to so easily give up their camp. But if he gave them no other choice, and they truly wanted it as badly as it seemed, they might just go for it.


    "Maybe not. But I can''t risk my people on your word alone. Besides, you seemed plenty capable in that library." The Ruiner huffed, blood sprinkling from her lips. She was far too beautiful to be this delusional. He had half a mind to think she was being hypnotized atop it all.


    "We had the home advantage, and in a closed environment. Not to mention, you didn''t expect us to come from over the balcony." Heathgrim pressed, running a hand over the relic."This is your only chance. I promise we are more prepared this time, your army won''t survive their next attempt. Not on our grounds. Which is why I''m giving you a chance, your only chance, to end this for good. You claim your purpose is for the betterment of us all? Then let us see you prove it."  Heathgrim spoke slowly, and loudly, enough that the two hiding in the hallway could hear it clearly.


    "What are they talking about? Betterment how?" Amber whispered to Otis, who quickly shook his head.


    "They can get inside, again." The Ruiner grumbled.


    "No. They can''t." Assured Heathgrim. He then pointed to the false relic. "But this, this will be your advantage over us. Your proof."


    "You prove it then." A moment of silence filled the chambers.


    "Prove what?" Heathgrim was stern, though his inflection changed ever so slightly.


    "Prove that''s real." She gestured to the relic with her head, her hair falling over her shoulders.


    "What exactly is it supposed to do?" The captain raised a brow, while the captive remained unconvinced.


    "Blood for bread. Lay down a life, and whatever you can conceive in the physical world, will come to be. It is how the Jorinian were made. The Green Beasts, born from blood, bread from bread." The Ruiner cocked its head to Emmit, her eyes seemed as though they''d fall from her face. "All those people, going missing¡­never found. Not bone or blood." She spoke softly, and yet damn near incomprehensibly.


    "That''s why then, huh? They were being sacrificed to this?" Heathgrim pointed to the slab of stone in disbelief.


    "Taken from their homes in the middle of the night, caravans left untouched but with all their passengers missing. Come on, captain." The Ruiner grinned.


    "I don''t have anyone to sacrifice, but it just might be you if you don''t tell me where your camp is." Heathgrim growled, pushing the fake relic against her chest. She let out a weak wheeze and a chuckle.


    "The camp lies solely between Tavernkeep and Wof''lawn, straight in the center of the forest." She said, almost proudly. "I was only trying to spare you and your men. If you think you can ambush them, you''ll find out rather quickly you''re wrong. But I want to be the one to march the relic in there." Heathgrim stood quietly for a moment, and slowly smiled.


    "Sure. We can make that happen."

 Chapter 10 - Lions

    Chapter 10


    Lions


    Ferjis watched with a scornful glare. The woman looked utterly unbothered, as if the group of men hadn''t been harassing her for the past few hours that he''d been there. He supposed it was her job to pretend it wasn''t happening. But luckily for her, it wasn''t his. Waiting for the next time she came around, he gave the group one last chance to redeem themselves, though he held very little faith that they would.


    And as certain as the sun was setting that evening, the young lady approached the table only to be immediately groped by one of the older men. He looked so old in fact that he could''ve been one of Ferjis'' ancestors. The withered bastard had no right so easily harassing someone ten times younger than him.


    But what really made Ferjis stand from his seat, was the look of disdain that finally escaped the waitress. But even then she hadn''t moved. So he moved for her. Striding over to the table, his heavy golden plated armor thunked against the wooden floorboards. The entire tavern seemed to shake as he stopped just before the young lady.


    Gently laying a hand on her shoulder, he guided her away from the table, and gestured with his head for her to step back. Her face, and all the surrounding patrons, went white. Slowly she took several backwards steps until she bumped against the bar. He had startled her, and for that he felt a tinge of regret. But after looking at the table before him he saw a group of men looking unwavered. Now that made him angry.


    Reaching to his chestplate, he pulled off a coin from one of the slots. Its design was that of a lion''s head, which closely resembled the helmet he wore. The mane came down in brilliant golden waves, acting as protection for his neck. The face plate was the lion''s mouth, frozen in a perpetual gaping snarl, ready to tear into its prey. The eye holes were wide, admittedly acting as a weak point in the armor. But it allowed the men sitting at the table to truly see his rage.


    The act itself was obviously deplorable. But what really irked him was the brazenness of it all. Right in damn front of him. He knew they saw him. And whether they figured he wouldn''t care, or wouldn''t do anything, they were both wrong.


    Rubbing the coin between his thumb and index finger, he pushed it down onto the table so hard their mugs spilled. One of them stood up, cursing as ale poured out onto his lap. With very little thought, he revealed a dagger and leapt across the table. It took no more than two movements to grab the man by the arm and send him crashing into the bar next to the lady. He hadn''t been ridiculously injured, but stayed down nonetheless.


    Turning to the rest of the table, he pointed at the coin.


    "You know what this means. One of you, pick it up." Ferjis snarled. The men looked to their fallen friend, and then at the coin. They did know what it meant. The coin acted as a waving white flag. Meaning, whoever had it could be spared from the Lions judgement. These coins were given out sparsely, and they always found their way back to their respective Lion.


    The three remaining men looked at each other, and then back at the Lion.


    "You think I''m gunna-?" The old man started, but was quickly cut off as Ferjis reeled back his fist and delivered a devastating blow to the face that sent him hurtling backwards. The old man became tangled in the chairs and table behind him. Blood sprayed out over the wooden beams and across the floor as his nose seemed to peel off entirely.


    Suddenly, one of the scum used the chaos to reach out and snatch the coin. Jumping to his feet, he attempted to run. It didn''t take long for his friend to spring from his seat and throw himself at his legs, wrapping his arms around them and bringing them both to the floor.


    "You coal-eater! Get off!" He kicked at his supposed friend, smashing his nose in much like the old man. Letting go of his legs, he gripped his face as he howled in pain. With a weasley laugh, the coin holder got back to his feet and began to run to the door.


    Ferjis reached down to his tool belt and pulled free a small throwing knife. Just before he could reach the door, the Lion threw the knife. It flew past unsuspecting patrons, and landed right between the shoulder blades of the man. Tensing up, he smashed against the door and tumbled back down to the ground with the rest of his friends.


    "You¡­!" A disgruntled voice started from behind. Ferjis looked to see a red faced barkeeper with his hands to his head. "This is the only damn tavern in the village, and you just shut it down for a week! At least! You know how long it takes to get blood out of those boards? You can''t! You can''t get it out! I have to strip it all!" The barkeeper seemed much more upset about the mess rather than the loss of life. Though Ferjis had a hard time feeling bad for the man, as he no doubt knew of the abuse happening to his worker, and promptly ignored it. Storming over to the barkeep, he plucked another coin from the twenty or so slots in his chestplate, and placed it down.


    "Bring it up with the Den." Ferjis growled. "Who knows people here?" He added, seemingly unrelated. The barkeeper looked confused for a moment, then remembered just who he was dealing with. A hired killer. The Lions weren''t too rare to see, but in a village like Fernwrath it certainly wasn''t all too common. Pursing his lips, the annoyed man pointed to a woman sitting alone at a booth. Her nose was shoved in a book. It looked as though she was either ignorant, or uninterested in what had just transpired in the tavern.


    Ferjis made his way over, and slid into the booth across from her. The younger lady had long braided brown hair that fell over both shoulders down to her stomach. Looking up through her large circular glasses, she blinked curiously.


    "Am I next?" She said flatly. A small candle flickered in the center of the table, illuminating the otherwise dark corner of the tavern. Several scrolls and books lay disregarded, some now covered in bits of wax. Ferjis laughed.


    "Not unless you''re Raynn Mirthorn. Do you know her?"


    "What makes you think I do?" The girl raised a brow.


    "I suppose I have to kill a barkeeper now." Ferjis began to stand but the lady quickly reached out and grabbed his wrist. The metal was dense, so heavy that she wondered how he even managed to lug it all around, no less, fight in it.


    "Wait, sorry! I know who she is. You can''t blame me for being a bit guarded. Though I appreciate your threat not being directed at me at least." She grinned, letting go of his arm as he sat back down with a thud. " That being said, I''m not exactly comfortable sentencing someone to their death. That''s not typically the use of my skills."


    "The sentencing part is my duty. I just need you to point a finger in the right direction." Ferjis said. There was a short moment of silence between them, before the lady extended her hand.


    "Peppir. And you are?" She smiled, waiting for him to accept the handshake. Eventually he did, with a grunt.


    "Ferjis, Second Mane.¡± He reached up and took his helmet off, placing it down on the booth seat before him. It revealed a mylian beneath. His dark blue skin and pale green eyes revealed a youthfulness that Peppir hadn''t expected.


    ¡°What brings a Lion into Fernwrath of all places?¡± Peppir started. ¡°Never mind that, silly question. You¡¯re here to kill someone!¡±


    ¡°Not kill. Retrieve.¡± Ferjis corrected drearily.


    ¡°What? Why didn¡¯t you say that earlier then?¡± Peppir looked disappointed rather than upset.


    ¡°Wanted to see how flexible you are. It worked.¡± The Lion grinned, but Peppir was quick to wave a finger.


    ¡°Hey, I never agreed. I just moved the conversation along.¡±


    ¡°You said you had skills. What do you mean?¡± Ferjis asked, seemingly ignoring her last statement. Peppir sighed, sliding a thin strip of fabric in between the pages of her book before closing it.


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    ¡°I have the Art of Knowledge. Otherwise known as an Archiver.¡±


    "I''m familiar. You can remember everything you see or hear." Ferjis nodded to himself, laying his arms down on the table.


    "''Can'' implies I can control when I remember things. That is not true. But yes,everything. Constantly. Every whisper, every passing conversation in the room, all consumed and organized up here." She pointed to her head. It didn''t look much larger than the average person. Ferjis wondered how so much information could even be stored in a single brain. "Most importantly though¡­" She pressed her index finger against the book in front of her. "I remember every book I''ve ever read. In great detail. Perfect detail even. Including history books about the noble families of Torchill going back several centuries. Further including, your Raynn Mirthorn." She seemed a tad bit proud of herself, smiling at Ferjis before dusting off the book cover with the back of her hand.


    "And?" Ferjis raised a brow.


    "And I''m not sure why you''d be looking here. This place is a haven for fishermen and pig farmers. The bridge stretching across the river here is literally called pig bridge. I don''t see why the daughter of a slaughtered noble family would be in such a place." Peppir looked across the tavern, when something caught her attention. Ferjis could see it in her eyes as they glinted with distress. Looking in the same direction, he saw in the dim light as the old man was wobbling out of the tavern holding his nose. Guards had come in a few moments ago and begun dragging the two others out as well.


    "Perhaps she didn''t want to go too far from home. All I know is my informant says she was here, so I''m here." Ferjis pursed his lips as he watched the last of the guards leave. He felt bad for having ruined the mood in the at one point lively tavern.


    "Well I myself haven''t seen her. But if anyone has, I''m likely to hear about it eventually." Peppir toyed with her skirt, suddenly nervous. The Lion scanned her up and down for a moment before grabbing his helmet and putting it back on.


    "Let''s take a walk."


    Taravar looked over the town shrouded in darkness. Way past the Ridgebrook Mountains was a storm barreling its way east. He imagined the Needle flooding, the small gap between mountains being flushed away as it often had during a bad rain.


    A chill pressed against his golden armor, the lookout of their ship swaying gently but not bending. He''d been up there for the past few hours, keeping an eye on the tavern that Ferjis had entered. Damn boy sure was taking his sweet time.


    Eventually, though, he recognized the unmistakable golden beacon that was his fellow Lion. And he was accompanied by a young, scrappy looking lady. She wore a cloak, the hood up as though she was trying to avoid attention. Obviously it wasn''t working if Ferjis had gotten his hands on her.


    Quickly descending the outlook, he waited patiently at the edge of the boat.


    "Took you long enough." Taravar grunted as Ferjis made his way across the dock. The young lady looked like a shrimp next to a whale when compared him.


    "Had to find some help." Ferjis gestured to Peppir, who blinked nervously.


    "Peppir. Sir." She reached out a hand, and Taravar was quick to pull her onto the ship, a small yip escaping her. Eventually Ferjis followed. Several other Lions stood around the deck doing their duties, though it had grown dark long ago.


    "Who might she be?" Taravar demanded, as if she wasn''t standing right there. Ferjis couldn''t help but chuckle.


    "An Archiver. Says she knows a bit about our target."


    "An Archiver? I always thought those were myths. Or just smart people preying on the dumb. Guess that means our little table-turner either fled, or failed, huh?" Taravar sighed, taking off his helmet and pinching the bridge of his nose. This time the Lion was a bit older, grey hairs more visible than brown. And he was human, notably.


    "Seems to be the case. Thought maybe you''d want to hear what she has to say." Ferjis looked to Peppir, who seemed utterly betrayed.


    "What? Are you seriously going to put me on the spot like this?" Her sudden attitude shift made Taravar laugh.


    "Ah, you didn''t even check to make sure she knew anything of use? I''m sorry we''ve wasted your time, darling." Taravar gently placed his hand on her back, guiding her towards the bridge board. But Peppir was quick to twirl around and free herself.


    "Wait! You people are always so quick to assume. I know plenty. I just want to know how you''re going to make this worth my time." Her hands were outstretched, as if she expected one of them to leap at her at any moment. But the two Lions simply looked at each other, and then back at Peppir.


    "Cryys. And plenty of them." Taravar spoke slowly. Reaching behind him he pulled out a baggie that jingled with the iconic sound of a collection of cryys. "To start." He muttered before carelessly throwing the bag into her hands. Which was much heavier than she''d expected. Peppir had to stare at it for a moment before looking at Taravar with a squint.


    "And you''re not killing her, right?" She asked bluntly.


    "This is supposed to be a retrieval. It is up to this Mirthorn if she wishes to escalate it from there." Taravar looked to his companion, who seemed content with his decision to bring her along.


    "Can I ask why, exactly? What could she have done? Assuming she is still even alive, why twenty years after her family''s death do you now seek her?" Peppir tapped a foot, truly feeling she was justified to have an answer. Taravar only shook his head.


    "You learn not to ask stupid questions like that to your employers. We don''t know, and we don''t care. We''re each getting more cryys than we''ve seen in a year just from this job alone." Taravar sneered.


    "An employer in a high place then, huh?" Peppir raised a brow, growing all too comfortable being surrounded by massive armor clad mercenaries. But her spirits were soon tumbled as Taravars lips grew thin.


    "Concern yourself not with who hired us. Tell us what you know of Raynn Mirthorn, and where she might be hiding here in Fernwrath." His sudden seriousness brought a chill upon the little Arhciver, who nodded vigorously.


    "Right. Well. Her father was a famous collector, so most think his family''s death is tied to one of his more ''unethical'' sources for his collection. Perhaps a missed payment, or some sort of disagreement. Some argue against this prospect though, as it wouldn''t give reason to slaughter his entire family. Some point fingers at the Three Generals of Torchill. Who at the time had reason to believe that the Mirthorn Manor was hiding a relic of great value." Peppir stopped as a man dropped a barrel with a thud, rolling across the deck.


    "We don''t need a history lesson, just tell us where she might have hid." Ferjis urged, clearly growing more anxious to get the job over with. He just wanted his cryys already, so he could finally buy back his house in Gincrest. He hadn''t liked the vague direction of the mission to begin with, but the amount of cryys promised was too good to pass up.


    "Oh gods, that''s who hired you, isn''t it?" Peppirs face grew white as the realization hit her. Ferjis couldn''t help but facepalm, sighing between his fingers.


    "Magnificent, you figured it out. Now get along with it."


    "Sorry, yes. Scribes had it written that she escaped on a boat heading west on the day of the assassination. It would make sense that she landed in Fernwrath, but not that she would have stayed. And certainly not for twenty years. That being said, if she had stayed, she most likely would have wanted to stay out of the public eye. Luckily for her, Fernwrath has many cabins surrounding the village in the Peppleroot Forest. I''d wager she''d have hunkered down there of all places." Peppir finished, blinking absently at the two Lions who looked deep in thought.


    "Cabins. Makes sense." Taravar said at a near whisper. "Ferjis, grab Thalam and start checking the cabins on the outskirts. We don''t want to make our presence too well known lest we spook her off. I''ll get into civilian clothing and start asking around myself." Peppir couldn''t help but chuckle, covering her mouth.


    "Might have wanted to tell him that before he stormed into a tavern in full Lion gear and pummeled a group of men." It was Ferjis'' turn to feel betrayed, and scoffed as he looked away. Taravar whipped his head at the Second Mane.


    "You fool, I was hoping that hadn''t been your doing when I saw those men dragged out. I suppose I¡¯m a fool too for thinking you could handle your pride for one bleeding hour! The whole damn village probably knows about this now." Taravar looked as though he was going to strike his subordinate, but stopped himself.


    ¡°I was keeping the peace.¡± Ferjis said plainly.


    ¡°Peeling a man¡¯s nose off isn¡¯t exactly peaceful is it, Ferjis? I could see that poor bastard from atop the lookout for Hyvales sake!¡±


    ¡°The only thing poor about that man was his pockets. He was being touchy with the waitress. Sodding imp got what he deserved.¡± Ferjis spat back, looking down at the blood that had dried on his knuckles. Meanwhile, Peppir stood quietly watching, hiding half her face behind her book. She hadn¡¯t seen the group of men or had known why Ferjis had done what he¡¯d done. But she suddenly felt much safer being around him.


    ¡°Either way. We need to make this quick before word goes around of Lions maiming old men.¡± Taravar gave him one last ugly glare before storming off towards the captain''s corridors. Cursing to himself, Ferjis rubbed away at his knuckles.


    ¡°Just had to run your mouth, didn''t you?¡± He muttered. The elf simply shrugged, face still hiding behind her book. ¡°Thalam! Get down here!¡± Ferjis suddenly shouted to a smaller looking Lion standing on the upper deck. They''d caught him staring out into the gulf. Looking at the two, the even younger Lion squinted at Peppir. His helmet was nowhere in sight Peppir had read that it meant he was a Third Mane, undeserving of a helmet yet.


    Doing as sold by his superior, the young man scurried down the deck and stood at attention. He put two fingers to his heart, the salute of the Lions.


    "We have our task. Search the outer cabins in Peppleroot. Do you understand? I don''t know how many there are¡­"


    "Thirteen." Peppir interrupted. "I read a book on Fernwraths history. Each cabin has its own story behind it."


    "Interesting, but unimportant. So it seems we have thirteen cabins to search then. Peppir and I will take the North-west side, you take the South. Understood?" Ferjis leaned in, the aura of commanding coming naturally to him. Thalam nodded vigorously, his eyes lighting as he was finally given a real job. He had grown tired of mopping the deck and going to town to refill ale kegs. Perhaps this would be his opportunity to earn himself the title of Second Mane.


    Without any further instruction, the young Lion ran down the board bridge and toward the southern side of the forest. The other two didn''t take much longer to follow in his stead, toward the north.

 Chapter 11 - Glasses

    Chapter 11


    Glasses


    Their lips met, their fingers intertwined. Arethors other hand held Tolos head as he laid her down on the quilt gently. She looked positively radiant in the dying light of the evening sun. They''d spent hours out there talking, laying together, absorbing one another''s presence. Their Connection tangled into a web of love, one he hadn''t felt since their earlier days together. Arethor had longed for that feeling, chasing it at every corner but only being led further away.


    He didn''t need to make chase anymore. She was in his arms. Warm, and bleeding into his touch. How could he have gone this long without this? Something deeper than love. A word unrealized, only felt.


    "It''s getting dark." Tolo muttered between kisses. "We''re going to get locked out."


    "Would that be so awful?" Arethor forced himself to give her some space. She smirked at his remark.


    "Perhaps not. That is until the wolves make themselves known." Tolo said coyly, running her fingers through her somewhat knotted hair. Arethor felt partly responsible for that.


    "Wolves I can deal with." Arethor shrugged, laying his back against the quilt beside her. Taking a deep breath, he could smell the smoke of fire pits and chimneys now sprouting up across Tavernkeep. There was indeed a chill drifting across the country, and a storm. Just what they needed.


    "Come on, we can take this back to my house." Tolo took off her glasses, rubbing away at them before placing them in the grass gently. Those words made Arethor quickly perk up, and he instantly began putting unfinished food and wrappings into the picnic basket. Tolo giggled at his eagerness, and helped the elf finish packing.


    Tolo couldn''t help but catch a glimmer of something in his expression. It wasn''t sadness, but perhaps a deep sense of melancholy. She recalled a late night long before where Arethor had expressed his deepest worries. A worry about himself, something that held him from truly feeling. A sort of wall that had been built around him since he was a child. If it was of his own making, he wasn''t sure. But it smothered the joy in his life, like two wet fingers to a lit wick.


    Leaning in, she kissed him softly on the cheek.


    "You''re there again." Is all she had to say. His smile faded, though not completely.


    "You alway notice." Arethor chewed on his inner lip, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. But with a finger to his chin, she lifted his head.


    "Allow yourself to feel this. Feel me." Guiding the elfs hand, she placed it on her heart. She was so warm. Like a hearth burning bright in a blizzard. He ran his hand up her chest and to her shoulder, then carefully to her neck and finally her cheek. Tolo was quick to let her head relax in his tender grasp.


    "You know they called me a Stoneman?" Arethor felt a wave of repressed emotion burn against his throat. Was that a cry? Was his eyes starting to water? How pathetic was he? Tolo pulled his hand away, letting it rest on her lap.


    "They were just intimidated. It''s not your fault you''re better with the blade than them."


    "No. It wasn''t so much that. I just couldn''t get myself to care. I would win, and win again, and found nothing to be worth celebrating. They ridiculed my lack of love for slaughter."Arethor remembered the children in the university prodding him as to why he wouldn''t bask in the glory of his victory. At first it was confusion, but soon it became anger. Anger toward Arethor for winning, but never acknowledging it.


    "When you see someone drink your Remedy, and watch the very moment it calms their nerves and stills their mind, does that bring joy to you?" Tolo pursed her lips, her hands finding their way to his. Arethor blocked all the other thoughts that had emerged from those memories, and honed in on what Tolo had just said.


    "It does. So much more than anything else ever has." Arethor whispered, almost more so to himself. "You shouldn''t have to be consoling me like this, not so often." Suddenly he became aware of his vulnerability, and sat himself up straight. Tolo followed.


    "Arethor, I love you. And if I am going to console anyone, it''s going to be you. Now, why don''t we get back inside those walls? You feel that breeze too, don''t you?" She egged him on, bringing them both to their feet and folding the quilt neatly. This time, Arethor held everything, and still managed to make room to hold Tolos hand as he led them back to the gates.


    They were surprised to see that two people had been waiting for them just as they arrived. Otis and Amber. Uthir gestured for the gates to close behind them, trapping the city safely inside.


    "Good news, I hope?" Arethor said, the quilt beginning to slip out of his hands. His sister swiftly grabbed it before it hit the ground, and smiled.


    "Great news. I have to put my entire future into the hands of King Orieth!" Amber laid the quilt over her arm, the venom in her voice not going unnoticed. Tolo chuckled, unaware of what ridiculousness Amber had dragged herself into.


    "I''m guessing that means you couldn''t pull any strings, Otis?" Arethor looked to his friend, who seemed a bit pale in the face. His eyes shifty. The human coughed into his arm and shook his head.


    "No strings to pull, afraid this is up to the king and Missioner. I''m no Heathgrim after all." Otis looked behind him as if the captain would suddenly appear and drag him into the dark alleyways. In truth, he had been worried Heathgrim secretly knew the two had been watching their meeting with the Ruiner. And was waiting for the opportunity to catch them off guard. But from what he had seen of the captain, he was much more direct with his foes.


    "You did what you could, and for that I am thankful to you. I''d offer you a drink but Tolo and I have business as it happens." The elf couldn''t help but smile as the words came out. The human frowned, looking around once more.


    "I could do with a word in private, at least. Just for a moment." Otis took a half step forward.


    "Otis, if this is about the Oak, I told you¡­"


    "Please, Arethor." His friend''s voice grew stern, desperate. The intensity of the moment was quickly dampened though as Tolo sighed.


    "Dear Hyvale. I forgot my glasses out there. Do you think they will let me go get it real quick? I don''t want it getting buried in this rain." She patted her dress in hopes that they''d magically clung to her skirt, but sadly they hadn''t. The worst part was she knew exactly where she had placed them too, and felt rather silly for having let it slip once again. Amber raised her hand eagerly.


    "Oh! I''ll come with you. I need to stretch my legs real quick anyways. Been doing a whole load of nothing today." She looked at Otis and winked. She was lucky it was out of view of the others, as the implications were certainly not what they would''ve thought. Otis blinked angrily at her, hoping she would keep her mouth shut as she''d said. It hadn''t seemed like Otis really needed help with listening in on the captain. If anything, her presence only heightened their chances of being caught. Amber wondered if he simply wanted an excuse to be around her. The idea made her blush.


    "I''m sure they will, just make it quick as you said. We''ll be around." He kissed Tolo on the cheek, to which Amber rolled her eyes and looked away. The two wandered over to the gates where Tolo hailed for Uthir to open up. The Gate Captain was hesitant, but she managed to convince him she would only be a few minutes. Arethor watched as the two disappeared around the wall, the darkened sky and rolling clouds layering them in darkness.


    "Let''s talk in the stables. Come on." Otis ushered him forward, pushing on his back. The elf sighed but let his friend lead the way. He then heard the portcullis being dropped.


    "They know where the camp is. They plan on storming in there as soon as they can ready the Oak." Otis didn''t seem nearly as nervous, but rather that a weight had been lifted off him. "It''s going to be posed as a trade for peace. They made a replica of this relic that they seek, and are using =it against them. Then, an ambush."


    "Sounds much better than Orieths plan. I guess this means this city is going to be stirring again soon, huh?" Arethor didn''t like the sound of the city shutting down once more. He had just finally started pulling more people into his tavern after the initial attack, according to Hemm.


    "So it would seem. But Arethor, I don''t trust it. I think we''re messing with something we shouldn''t. Something far beyond us." The fear in Otis'' voice was palpable, and for a moment, Arethors heart quickened. But his logical side soon prevailed.


    "What makes you say that?" Arethor raised a brow. His eyes drifted over to his horse Judas, who was resting.


    "These are Deadspeakers. Why would they risk exposure for something they aren''t even certain is real? That is, unless they are certain." Otis muttered, rubbing his hands together as the stable provided very little insulation for warmth. "Think about it. There are maybe a few hundred Deadspeakers left in all of Joryk. What power, what influence could drive them out of hiding in search of a myth?"


    "You''re going in circles."


    "Because it is a circle. More and more we have learned about what really caused the Green War. Who caused it, rather. We know Uttral somehow survived the Purge, and created an army of nearly unkillable beasts. But no one has ever been able to figure out how he created them. Now, a group of Deadspeakers are trying to find a relic long lost that supposedly creates things from living beings." Otis paused, reading Arethors faces which still seemed unconvinced.


    "Do you recall what was the first thing that started happening when the Jorinian were being sighted?" Otis pressed.


    "People were being dragged away in the night, and sometimes even in broad daylight. Though that was further along when they seemed to¡­" His words trailed off as the implication hit him.


    "When their population began to grow. When groups became swarms, and sightings became attacks." Otis finished for him. "Heathgrim isn''t buying it, but you know he''s not one for superstition. Despite the fact that an actual unkillable army of Stonemen dropped from the Endless and wiped out a third of the planet''s population. And then, suddenly disappeared without leaving so much as a sword behind!" His voice had risen, to which Arethor quickly slapped his hand around his mouth, smothering any further words.


    "Quiet! Lest someone overhear the words of a madman." Arethor growled, but his hands were quickly swatted away.


    "It''s not mad, and you know it. It makes sense, Arethor. The relic is real, and if it''s in Tavernkeep we need to find it." What annoyed Arethor to no end was the fact that it did make an unfortunate amount of sense. It would explain away a lot of the mysteries surrounding the Green War. But Otis hadn''t even been alive then. He hadn''t watched as swarms of the Jorinian tore through the towns that defied them and left nothing in their wake.


    "You need more proof? Tell me, what cities were affected the most?" Otis crossed his arms. It didn''t take much racking of his brain to remember.


    "Torchill and Lightholde."


    "And what do these two cities have in common in history?" The human looked at him expectantly. Once again, the answer became clear.


    "They both were major opposers to the Deadspeakers during the Purge." The words seemed to just fall out of him. Otis clapped his hands together and nodded.


    "And us? We fought those Purgers until they nearly gutted this city apart. Tooth and nail until every wall was knocked down, every building reduced to rubble. The city was still in shambles by the time the Green War started only a decade later. And what happened to us? Nothing. Those beasts, spawn of Uttral, split around our city like a torch to a swarm of rats. It was only when we went to war in the name of Riverden and all of Hyvak that they turned on us." It was a truth most unconventional, and yet, entirely plausible when everything was lined up. Otis'' words once again filled in the gaps that were the holes that riddled the Green Wars origin.


    "What does that mean then, for us?" Arethor blinked, the air becoming even chiller than before. Only then did the words seem to snag in Otis'' throat, who stared at him for a brief moment before drifting down to his feet.


    "It means we can''t let them get this relic, Arethor."


    "But they won''t. The Oak will trick them with the fake, and ambush them as you said. They may be Deadspeakers, but they won''t have our numbers. Then we can search for this relic and keep it buried away." Arethor felt that knot in his chest begin to tighten again. He was in no immediate danger but it felt as though the world was starting to shrink around him. The walls were closing in and he was forced to realize that he was not ready for war.


    "It''s unnatural. I feel like it''s starting to come around full circle. Something''s wrong." Otis sat down on the stool, letting his head hit the beam behind him.


    "Or you''re wrong." Arethor muttered, not wanting to believe what he was hearing.


    "You know I''m not. Hell, you were there, in Greyholde. You saw things you couldn''t explain! I even have reason to believe that''s connected as well." His friend was right, he had seen things that neither him nor anyone else could ever explain. And yet, the mentioning of it brought upon a spark of anger.


    "That was evil, Otis. Pure evil."


    "Unexplainable evil." Otis corrected, looking up through his brow. Suddenly, another voice cut through the darkness, one frantic and unnerving.


    "ARETHOR! GET TO THE GATES NOW!" The voice screamed in a raw, fearful manner. A chill shot through both of the men, who for a brief moment couldn''t move, but eventually in unison both ran for the doors of the stable. Sliding it open, one of the guards, Bulrin, stood panting with his mask detached hanging beside his face.


    "Bulrin, what the hell is the matter with you?" Arethor felt the panic begin to rise in him as the Oakman struggled to catch a breath.


    "Just run, damnit!" Bulrin managed, furiously pointing behind him at the gates. The two didn''t need any more convincing, and began their desperate sprint across several blocks until the gates came into view.


    "You are tall." Amber noted as the two rounded the city walls. Tolo couldn''t help but chuckle at the seemingly random comment.


    "Yes. I happen to be. It has always got on Arethors nerves that I am just about the same height as him." Tolo grinned to herself, remembering the times she would stand on her tippy toes and give herself that extra inch or so to look taller. Of course, he would immediately do the same while pushing down on her shoulders to try and get her flatfooted. All in good fun of course.


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    "So he''s always been this way, huh?" Amber asked as she swatted away a low hanging branch. Its plastic-like limbs bent but didn''t break. For a moment Tolo was confused, then remembered that Amber wasn''t nearly as old as her brother. In fact, Tolo had known Arethor far longer than his own sister had. The thought made her feel old. Incredibly old.


    "Yes, and no. He has his mood swings I suppose."


    "Isn''t that a woman thing?" Amber raised a brown. This earned another chuckle from Tolo.


    "Are you not a woman? Would you not know?"


    "Well, duh, I''m just saying I don''t recall him ever being so¡­emotional." Tolo couldn''t quite tell if this was a touchy subject or not, and even worse so couldn''t tell if she had been the one to bring the conversation to that point. She often found herself getting ahead of herself when talking. Sometimes her words worked faster than her brain, and other times, it was the other way around. She supposed it was one of the defects of being an Achiever. Remembering everything had its perks, but more so, its faults.


    "Your brother has had a very difficult life. A lot of loss and¡­confusion." Tolo tried, and failed, to find the right words. Trying to sum up such a person as Arethor in a few words was like trying to catch all the rain that fell from the sky in one bucket.


    "My mom." Amber muttered bitterly, suddenly growing sluggish in her movements.


    "Yes, he feels a great deal of responsibility for your mother. A burden I have tried to get him to realize he shouldn''t carry. But if your brother is anything it''s stubborn. Beautifully stubborn." Tolo couldn''t imagine the pain Arethor felt in losing his mother while he was away in the Green War. It was something that haunted him, though he almost never spoke of it outside of blaming himself.


    "I missed him, while I was gone. Is that dumb?" Amber pursed her lips. The two stopped as thunder clapped above them, and their way forward grew ever darker. They needed to hurry up. The two quickened their pace without needing to say a thing.


    "It''s not dumb at all. He''s all the family you have left. I missed him too and I was still in the city." Tolo had yearned for the nights they''d spent together in secret. It was daring and stupid of them, but it felt like her chest was on fire every time they''d done it. She''d never felt so stupid in the head for someone in her entire life. And yet¡­


    "Why didn''t you leave the Oak earlier then?" Amber blurted out. Though it was a reasonable question, even Amber realized maybe she shouldn''t have asked it so brazenly. "You don''t have to answer that. Not that I''d tell him or anything." She shrugged, hoping she had saved the moment. And while Tolo''s heart had jumped at the question, it was something she''d yet to truly even ask herself.


    "No, it''s quite alright." Tolo took a moment to think through her words this time. As it turned out, it was a heftier task than she''d hoped. "I suppose I felt betrayed when Arethor left the Oak. Given the circumstances of his¡­well your father disappearing, and what happened to him at Greyholde, I shouldn''t have been upset. But I just was. Selfish as it is, I wanted to keep him close even if it meant we couldn''t be together for a while. And I just simply wasn''t ready to leave the Oak like he was. But as it turned out, I only ended up wasting time we could''ve spent together thanks to my stubbornness. And I suppose I wouldn''t mind if those words found their way to him. He deserves to know at the very least." Just as Tolo finished, they reached the spot where they''d had their picnic.


    Sitting in the center of the open patch of grass was her glasses, untouched. She quickly picked them off, brushing off the dirt and placing them on her nose. The glasses revealed to her a much uglier looking sky than she''d anticipated.


    "Well, it was easy leaving the Mission. Everyone there was fake." Amber scoffed. The two young ladies then found each other''s hands before quickly running along the wall towards the gates. They could already feel the specks of rain, though, and could only hope the sky would hold its temper until they sought shelter. But just as they turned the last curve of the wall, and stood before the dropped portcullis, something drew their sight.


    Standing in the center of the road, only a few dozen yards back, was a cloaked man. Attached to his face was a mask, or rather, the entirety of an elk skull, antlers and all. The antlers arched up toward the top of his head, demanding the attention of anyone around.


    The eyes looked vacant, two black voids peering emptily at all that stood before him. His posture was not hostile, but certainly not friendly either. The man held nothing in his hands, both obscured by his cloak.


    Suddenly the two heard shouts from behind them.


    "Tolo! Amber!" It was Arethor and Otis. The two had clearly been running as fast as they could. Shoving his hands through the bars of the portcullis, the confused girls looked at him confused. But both of them grabbed his hands regardless.


    "What''s wrong? Why won''t they raise the gate?" Amber asked, looking over her shoulder at the man. He was just standing there. It looked as if he was a scarecrow, unable to move even as the wind pounded against him.


    "I don''t know¡­ they just told me to run. Are you two okay?" Arethor was out of breath, his chest heaving as his sight grew fuzzy from exertion.


    "Yes, of course. Can we come in now?" Tolo asked, feeling more uncomfortable with each passing moment. Stepping back, Arethor shouted up the wall.


    "Uthir! Pull it up already, quickly!" His voice carried, and the Gate Captain looked down over the wall at him. His face was stern. Arethor knew that look.


    "I can''t, Arethor!" Uthir shouted back down, before disappearing again. Arethor muttered curses under his breath, and turned to Otis, who stood paralyzed. His eyes were wide, his mouth slightly agape.


    "That''s him." Otis muttered, raising his hand to point. Suddenly, a flurry of Oakmen appeared from down the street behind them, getting into a battle ready position. They kept their distance from the gate though, where Arethor still stood. "Their leader. The one who vanished." Otis clarified, though Arethor had picked up on just who it was.


    A voice cut through the growing rain and thunder, somehow loud enough for all to hear.


    "Be still. Be silent." The voice carried out, echoed in their head as if two voices were fighting to be heard. "I want but one thing. So simple, and so just. You denied us, and you, your salvation. A chance to breathe new life into the dying species that make our cities. A chance to give back to our ancestors and¡­" The voice was cut off as Uthir shouted into the night.


    "Quit your ramblings! What do you want?" He shouted from the deepest corner of his lungs. The Ruiner leader seemed to halt, as if the interruption had left him scrambled. But then, a wry laughter.


    "I want the Celspawn." The words were simple, and yet, meaningless.


    "Is this your relic? Your magic trinket?" Uthir called back, shaking his head as the rain started to come down in heaping drops.


    "It is what you say it is. And I know you have it." The leader responded slowly, still unmoving despite the increasing intensity of the storm. Just then, a different face appeared beside Uthir. It was Captain Heathgrim.


    "This relic?" The captain shouted as he hoisted a massive stone slab above his head, showing it off to the forest and all who occupied the road. Rain battered against him, egging him to drop the heavy false relic, but his will kept it above.


    There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence. Just the sound of rain, bottles hanging from store fronts clattering gently, and heavy breathing.


    But after those moments, everyone flinched as the man reached up, and grabbed the elk skull by the antlers. Gingerly, he lifted it off his head, and revealed a surprisingly youthful human beneath. His face was scarred, old scars that were faint and unseen by those too far away. His head was shaved down, more scars running along it leaving behind thin hairless spots.


    A playful, almost entirely wholesome smile crept across his face. Rubbing his hairless chin, he began nodding to himself. Then, he chuckled, faintly but noticeably.


    "How many men have you killed using deception, Heathgrim?" The Ruiner said, speaking to the captain as if he had known him for years. The question brought everyone to an even more tense standstill.


    "I fight with honor. I don''t slaughter innocents in the name of a chunk of stone." Heathgrim rebuked, a look of disgust plaguing him.


    "You''re correct. That is a chunk of stone." His nods slowly became shaking, his smile fading to a frown. "Liar." The Ruiner spat bitterly.


    "What is your name, Ruiner?" Heathgrim called out, not really expecting an answer. But to his surprise, the smile returned to his face.


    "I don''t make a habit of giving my name to liars. But, as I believe it must be known, I am Kimer Byrnns. I lead the Ruiners of Mordd in hopes to bring you all a better life, a better chance to fight what will soon return. So I am giving you one more chance to produce the relic, or else I will make my first sacrifices in vain. This, too, I do not make a habit of. But for your own good I must." Kimer''s smile once again dissolved, only this time to an expression of pain.


    Arethor shook his head.


    "Uthir, UTHIR! Open the damn gate!" Arethor screamed, cupping his hand around his mouth in hopes it would cut through the rain. But the Gate Captain didn''t appear this time.


    "This is the relic you seek, that much I can promise." Heathgrim let the relic rest against the edge of the wall. Both Tolo and Amber shifted uncomfortably, unable to speak. Instinctually, Tolo stepped in front of Amber, pushing her behind her and pressing her against the gate.


    "Tolo, listen, just grab Amber and run. Run as fast as you-!" Arethor started at a near whisper, but was promptly cut off as a voice forced its way into their heads.


    "Do that and you will not be given your last chance." Kimer spoke, though it was unclear how he could''ve even heard him speak in such a hushed tone.


    "Listen to me, Kimer, this is the relic. Now you either take it or we come out there and take you." Heathgrim shouted angrily, the composure that was once in his voice now long gone. Arethor grew increasingly frustrated with how he was handling it, and was close to running up those spiral stairs and throwing him over. He was never a good diplomat, even if he was the public face of most important events. If there wasn''t a script, it seemed he didn''t know how to handle himself.


    "If it was truly the relic, you''d have used it on me already. But if you do produce the true Celspawn, I may advise you that if I don''t return to my camp by the morning, my people have been instructed to lay down their lives if they must in order to tear this city apart." Kimer said with a shrug, before putting back on his elk skull. "Believe it or not, I was being civil the first time."


    Heathgrim turned to Uthir, who had his bow close at hand. The rest of his men had their bows trained on the Ruiner, hands shaking as they withheld their arrows, waiting for the command to let loose the volley.


    "So where is it, huh?" Uthir muttered to the captain, who cocked his head at him in confusion.


    "This is it." Heathgrim bit his lip, unsure of how to proceed. It was just one man after all. But he had simply disappeared amidst combat, something he had never seen. What was stopping him from suddenly appearing beyond the gates and causing a massacre? Perhaps because he hadn''t before. If Kimer was as powerful as they''d like them to think, what was stopping him the last time as well?


    "He seems pretty damned convinced we have it." Uthir noted, looking back at Kimer who eerily enough seemed to have gotten closer without having actually moved.


    "We don''t, Uthir. We checked every archive, every private collector, every museum in Riverden. No one has heard of the thing. As far as we know, what I hold now truly is the relic." Heathgrim held his icy glare on the Ruiner. He recalled seeing the man standing in the center of the library, surrounded by his members. He hadn''t so much as lifted a finger as the people around him slaughtered innocents. In a weird way, Kimer hadn''t done anything other than command. And yet, somewhere in Heathgrims mind, that was much worse. Able to kill dozens by demanding it of your followers was twisted in its own right.


    "Arethor, darling." Tolo pleaded for the elf''s attention, who quickly ran back over to the gate. "I love you, you know that?"


    "Stop it, it''s going to be okay." Arethor grabbed at the portcullis and began trying to lift it. A fruitless endeavor, but one he had to try no less. He couldn''t just stand there and watch as Heathgrim ruined their chances of survival.


    "Otis, come on! Please!" Arethor cried out to his friend, who was still stunned by the figure on the road. Snapping from his trance he ran to the gate and began trying to lift it as well. It did nothing to help, as even the weight of the rain seemed to pull down upon them.


    "You would forfeit these two''s lives in the name of selfishness?" Kimer''s voice held strong over the growing winds. "I ask of you one last time. Give me the relic, so that we may all rejoice in the return of the King of the Moon." The world then grew utterly still as those last words rattled out into everyone''s minds.


    The wind silenced, the rain coming to a stop. Arethor stopped trying to pull, and stood to his feet. Amber looked at him frantically, then up at Tolo who still shielded her.


    "You must understand, this is-!" Heathgrim started, but was silenced as Kimer ripped his hand free from his cloak. With two swift slashes of his hand, two bolts of light, thin rods of pure unfiltered energy, shot free from his palms and ripped across the open road.


    The first one landed directly into the back of Tolos head. Slicing through it and leaving a perfect hole in her forehead. The second tore through her chest, then into the throat of Amber. Both of their bodies dropped like rags being blown by the wind. Tolo collapsed onto Amber, pressing her against the gate.


    Arethor watched the lifeless expression on their faces. The vacancy in their eyes. Or had he? Surely not. That''s not what happened. No. They opened the gate, let them in. Amber was led back to the tavern by Otis, where they spent the night drinking and talking. And Arethor and Tolo went back to her house, where they drank wine and held each other until the sun rose.


    But that isn''t what he watched. No. He watched as blood began to trickle down from the hole in Tolos head. And as Amber choked and gargled on the blood rising up her throat, her arms trapped beneath Tolos body, unable to grab her wound.


    Every nerve in his body fired at once. Like his body had been encompassed in infernal flames. The next few minutes played out before him like a memory, unable to act but fully aware. He recalled turning for the door of the watchtower, and tearing past several men in order to throw himself inside.


    Violently, he tore his way up the spiraling stairs, practically on all fours as he launched himself forward. And as he reached the top, he slammed his weight into the door so hard the hinges bursted. The men around him began to release arrows. He hadn''t even watched if they hit as he ran straight for the barrel of swords.


    Sliding past it, he just barely managed to grab one before toppling the barrel over. Two more steps and he was at the edge of the wall. With no regard for himself, he let one foot hit the half wall and pushed.


    He remembered soaring through the air, holding the sword with two hands and pulling it back behind him. Arrows shot past his head, narrowly missing him as they plunged into the ground around Kimer.


    Arethor struck down just as he neared the ground, the sword coming down over his head and in perfect line with Kimer. But with inhumane speed, the Ruiner strafed backwards, and Arethor slammed into the ground with the force of an anvil.


    His sword was ejected as he sprawled out across the road, rolling several feet and stopping just before Kimer.


    Everything seemed to slip away from him. His body ached, bones were no doubt broken if not bruised. He was more durable than most, but even that had him feeling like a boat had been dropped on him.


    But the restless flame in his chest pounded on his ribs, and his eyes stayed open. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he coughed into the ground, and pushed himself up. Kimer looked down at him. Nothing to be seen beyond those blackened sockets.


    With some unseen willpower, Arethor jumped to his feet and swung.


    "Cease firing! That''s Arethor out there!" Uthir screamed out the order, and the arrows indeed ceased.


    His fists met nothing as the Ruiner effortlessly dipped and dodged. But it only worked for so long, as the thumping in Arethors chest quickly revealed itself to be the pattern. He simply honed it in, and his fist soon met the elk skull. His hand screamed out in pain as it struck the solid bone. But watching Kimers head hitch in pain, his hand reaching up in distress, it made his chest blaze with confidence.


    Lashing out more and more, his fist met stomach and skull, ribs and chins. But soon the Ruiner grew tired of the encounter, and sent forth a wave of Energy that sent the elf back several feet.


    Just as he stood back up again, in bloody defiance, Kimer swung his hands in a slash. A Splinter shot out from his palms once again, and struck Arethor in the shoulder. His body snagged in that direction, but still he ran forward. It wasn''t until the next one hit his side that Arethors body gave out. And his face once again struck the dirt road.


    He felt his energy leak out of him. And as the blood began to drain from him, and turned toward the gate. Ignoring whatever remained behind him, Arethor crawled toward the two figures now blurred against the portcullis.


    A long streak of blood was left in his wake as he pulled and dragged himself toward the gate. Where eventually his fingers found what he was looking for. The still warm bodies of the two women he loved more than anything.


    Pulling himself up as much as he could, he tried with all his might to cover their bodies as the sound of falling arrows surrounded him once more. The sound, the wave of near euphoria that he assumed were the results of death, all played out as his eyes slowly shut.

 Chapter 12 - Answers

    Chapter 12


    Answers


    "Why am I coming along for this? I gave you the directions you so kindly asked for." Peppir pouted as she followed behind Ferjis. The Lion had been silent for the past few minutes as they passed through the forest. It was a relatively dense forest, as most of the runoff from the Rapture Mountains made its way into the soil. That''s not to mention the tropical storms that the Drench Gulf would produce every other day.


    "Because you might be wrong. Then we''ll need more suggestions." Ferjis finally spoke, looking over his shoulder briskly. His eyes were tantalizing, as much as she hated to admit it. But he was still much too brutish for her liking. The kind of man that thinks all flowers give the same impression when gifted. And they most certainly did not.


    "I could be back at the tavern thinking up many brilliant suggestions! Dredging through a wet, itchy forest isn''t helping me think, I can tell you that." Peppir flicked off a pine needle resting on her shoulder.


    "Not a fan of nature, I take it?" Ferjis smiled behind his helmet. Having spent an entire season out in the forest of Glydin, he had grown accustomed to it. Most forests all held the same beat, playing the same rhythm. It all came down to sound, opening your ears and isolating each and every twitch of nature, creature or not.


    "Not a fan of things that can kill me." Peppir rebuked


    "Oh, please. This is probably the safest forest in Everdale." The Lion ignored the fact that a few moments ago he could''ve sworn he''d seen a massive green blur dash through the forest. He knew better than to trust his eyes completely. It wasn''t uncommon for one''s brain to play tricks on them, especially at night.


    "It''s funny you should say that, considering I know it''s not. Pebbleroot is known for strange anomalies, and unexplainable creatures. It''s been written about for hundreds of years."


    "And let me guess, you''ve read everything there is about it?"


    "Yes! And I''d appreciate not being made to feel ridiculous about it. Do you want my expertise or not?" Peppir caught up to the Lion, pushing her shoulder into his arm. She frowned when he didn''t even so much as budge.


    "Of course. I''m just trying to figure out how you have all that time to read so many books. I mean, don''t you have a job?" Ferjis saw one of the cabins come into view, though just barely as there didn''t seem to be any light coming from it.


    "Well, I read faster than the average person. Much faster. And my job is quite literally to tell people things they want to hear. It''s not like I live here, I travel all around Hyvak." Peppir froze as she noticed the cabin as well. And more notably, how the door was wide open. Ferjis must''ve caught that detail at the same time, as he quickly reached out and pulled them both down behind a shrub.


    Peppir didn''t need to be told to keep quiet. A loud shuffling noise could be made from inside it, with the occasional thump. It sounded as if something heavy was moving around in there, something that barely even fit the cabin itself.


    The mylian looked to Peppir for comfort, but was disappointed to see his eyes equally wide in surprise.


    "What the hell is in there?" Peppir hissed quietly, earning a twitch from the Lion who immediately shook his head.


    "A bear, perhaps. The fool left their door open."


    "Maybe it just barged in..." Peppir squeaked.


    "We''d better hope not. They wanted her alive." The Lion frowned, before slowly rising from his hiding spot. Peppir hesitated, but after looking behind her into the ever growing darkness of the forest, she quickly followed. They could only hope the darkness provided them with an advantage as they stepped closer into the open.


    The wind whipped the trees wrapped around the cabin, shaking them violently and sending leaves scattering over the roof. The low sound of guttural gargling could be heard spilling out of the cabin. Before they knew it, they were standing at the entrance, only a glimmer of light leaking inside.


    But a flash of lightning revealed something in the farthest reach of the cabin. Standing just by the fireplace, was a massive green beast. Like an alligator the size of a bear, only just as slender and much more humanoid in shape. Still, its body consumed the empty space of the room, its back almost pressing against the ceiling. Clutched in its hands was a young man. His lower half had been pulled free from his torso, his innards stringing about and hanging from the mouth of the creature.


    Though Ferjis was blinded with fear and confusion, Peppir knew instantly what it was that stood before them. A creature that should no longer exist. The remnants of a war that had long since ended. A Jorinian. One of the savage beasts of the Green War. And all that Peppir could manage to say before the creature laid eyes on them was:


    "They dug down¡­" Ferjis twisted on his heels and grabbed Peppir by her waist. In one swift motion he threw her over his shoulder and began sprinting into the forest. The beast tossed the body to the ground as it whipped its head to the side. Shoving both of its massive claws into the floorboards, it throttled itself forward so hard it blew through the door frame, tearing it out of the wall with it.


    Ferjis could hear the footfalls of the Jorinian as it barreled its way toward them. A primal fear arose in his chest, and his legs began to move faster than they ever had. He wasn''t sure how he was moving as swiftly as he was in his heavy armor, but he was thankful for the unforeseen agility nonetheless.


    Peppir, on the other hand, watched in terror as the beast ran on all fours through the forest behind them. Its claws struck angrily at any branch getting in its way, tearing bushes apart as it glided through them. At one point its shoulder collided with a tree, but the creature seemed to push into it and tear its roots out from the ground, knocking the tree to the side. It was then that Peppir finally allowed herself to scream.


    "It''s close!" She yelped before being thrown forward and into a collection of bushes. Ferjis grinded his feet into the ground as he twisted on his axis, tearing his claymore out from his sheathe. The Jorinian hadn''t been expecting it, and was still maintaining its speed. Winding back, the Lion released a mighty swing just as the Jorinian reached out its claws in a forward leap.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The sword connected with the neck of the Jorinian, but instead of decapitating it, it simply sent the lizard spiraling off course and into a tree. Sure enough, there was a massive gash along its neck, and it profusely began to bleed. But Ferjis couldn''t help but blink in shock, having been confident it would''ve cleaved the creature''s head clean off.


    Reaching to its neck, it grabbed its wound, blood pooling between its scaly fingers. And with an almost human expression, it looked to Ferjis with an aura of betrayal and hatred. Hissing loudly, it coughed up a ball of blood before scampering off into the forest still gripping its open cut. Ordinarily Ferjis would''ve believed the creature would bleed out in only a few minutes, but his expectations had no doubt been shaken.


    "What the hell was that?" Ferjis spat as he threw his helmet down beside his feet. His head and face were wet, and the cloth beneath damp. Peppir struggled but eventually dug herself out of the bushes, pulling leaves out of her hair.


    "Do you seriously not know what that was?" Peppir said shakily, stepping closer to the Lion than she ever had so far. Ferjis only looked at the younger lady and shook his head, still trying to catch his breath from his sprint. Not to mention, his wrists felt as if they''d shattered when impacting the Jorinian. It was by no means a smart move attacking as he had against something so massive. He was surprised it hadn''t torn his arms off. More so he was confused on how he managed to send the thing flying. Where had this untethered strength and speed come from?


    "That was a Green Beast. A real Jorinian. One of the Scaled Servants!"


    "Yes, many names, I''m aware. But what the hell was it doing here?" Ferjis coughed, his lungs suddenly feeling as though they would explode, or collapse. Perhaps both at once.


    "They''re beginning to dig their way back up." Peppir blinked, walking carefully over to where the Jorinian had fallen. Blood sprinkled the grass and tree. It was a deeper red than most blood, and the sight of it made her nauseous. But she didn''t know when she''d have a chance like this again, and quickly began to jot something down in her journal.


    "We¡­we don''t have time for this. We need to go back and search the cabin." Ferjis urged, picking his helmet back up.


    "Are you kidding me? Ferjis, this is a one of a kind discovery here! We might be one of the first people to have found¡­and possibly have killed a Jorinian in over two hundred years!" Peppir looked back at the Lion, but he seemed entirely uninterested, and more so worried. Perhaps she should have been more worried too, but she also knew if a Jorinian wanted to keep fighting it would have. Throughout all of recorded history of the Green War, there was one common factor among the Jorinian. Fight until death, or run away. But never did one run off just to come back only a few moments later. It simply wasn''t in their blood.


    "Do you want to outlive your usefulness?" Ferjis grew stern, the implications of what he''d said hitting Peppir like an arrow. She opened her mouth to speak, but slowly closed it. Huffing to herself she stood back up, brushing the grass off her knees. It seemed the Lion realized what he''d said, and his expression grew soft, almost remorseful.


    "I''m¡­I''m sorry. I didn''t mean-"


    "It''s fine. Let''s get back to that cabin." Peppir interjected before pushing past the Lion and toward the direction they''d come from. Whispering curses to himself, Ferjis suddenly found himself following her instead.


    "I''m guessing this isn''t your Raynn Mirthorn?" Peppir stood by the door, but didn''t dare look inside. She''d already had her fill of gore today. Stepping carefully inside, Ferjis examined the body after lighting a candle.


    "No. It''s the runt we sent to capture her. From the looks of it, he was already dead. There''s several knife wounds in his side and he''s already pale as marble." Stepping back, he looked around the room more. A scene began to playout in his head as he studied the blood splatters.


    "Looks like our target is a bit more dangerous than we thought. Though she''s still rather inexperienced. I''d even wager this was her first real fight..." Ferjis muttered as he ran his fingers along the blood that slathered a table. "It doesn''t look like she suffered any wounds. At least, she wasn''t bleeding."


    "How can you possibly tell the difference?" Peppir quirked, daring to look inside but quickly pulling her head back around.


    "Elves bleed brighter blood, almost an orange." The answer became obvious to her as he said it, and she couldn''t help but feel silly. Sighing to herself, she tried her best to keep under the protruding roof and out of the rain.


    "So what do we do with this information, exactly?"


    "Well, I think she was carried off. There are tracks but her horses and carriage are still here." Ferjis stepped outside, the sound of rain hitting his armor reverberating in his head.


    "Could''ve just been from another time she left, dork." Peppir rolled her eyes.


    "Maybe. But the wheels are different, look." Ferjis pointed to the tracks further down the road, and then to the ones leading to the stable. One of them was a good bit wider. Peppir hated being wrong, but had learned to accept when she was.


    "I suppose it''s as simple as following those tracks then?" She wondered, looking at the road that was almost completely obscured by trees dropping over. Branches laid shattered about from carriages riding through them.


    "At least until we hit a busy road." Ferjis shrugged, before taking off down the path. The mylian was growing tired, and wet, and was beginning to wonder how she''d ended up in this mess to begin with. But the cryys jingling around in her satchel was a good reminder. And though the event had been terrifying, seeing a Jorinian in person was certainly worth the trouble. But of course, the sight of one brought upon a whole new wave of problems, and questions.


    "Where''s your buddy Thalam?" Peppir inquired as she jotted beside him. They hadn''t seen the boy since they''d left the docks. The younger lion had been at a dead sprint toward the forest when they''d left, one could only guess how far along he''d gotten.


    "Off doing his job, if he''s smart. But eventually he''ll find out he doesn''t have the right cabins and wander back to the ship. Probably rather disappointed too." Ferjis had watched Thalam grow as a soldier, and a Lion. He was full of spirit and vigor, but lacked an aura of common sense. Something that would no doubt get him killed if he didn''t put a muzzle on it.


    "What if that Jorinian finds him?" The question brought them both to a standstill. But Ferjis simply shook his head before continuing onward.


    "It''s off licking its wounds, I doubt it''s looking to pick another fight."


    "They will if they feel threatened enough." Peppir noted.


    "Thalam is many things, threatening is not one of them." Ferjis scoffed, batting away a half broken branch.


    "Think maybe we should go find him then? If this Raynn is slaughtering messengers we might need the help." Peppir looked behind her, still anxious of the off chance that the Jorinian wanted its revenge sooner rather than later.


    "Like I said, she''s no killer. She fought for her life, admirably, albeit. But the bastard wasn''t supposed to attack her to begin with. He was supposed to corral her onto the boat." Ferjis scowled behind his helm. He, and Taravar, had been rather skeptical of using the messenger that Jevsarra had provided. But she insisted that after having caught him herself, he was the perfect tool to bait her into her grasp. It seemed the two Lions should''ve gone with their gut.


    "How do you know she didn''t attack first then?" Peppir added.


    "Are you going to continue to question my every judgment? Have I done that to you so far? If I say she didn''t attack first, she didn''t." The obvious frustration made Peppir toss her hands to the air and shrug.


    "I''m just saying! You''ve never met her. I happen to know she did take a little bit of sword practice according to records. As most noble family children do, including the daughters. At least in Torchill." Her studying had almost always brought her around to the topic of Torchill. It had been the center point for some of the most important events the world had ever seen. Some positive, but most negative.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been training my entire life. This girl would not best me if it came to that.¡± Ferjis dismissed before falling silent once again. This time, she let the silence be, and simply walked behind him. She couldn¡¯t help but twitch at the noises springing up around them though.

 Chapter 13 - Dead

    Chapter 13


    Dead


    Amber awoke to a pounding in her head unlike any she¡¯d ever felt. It felt like a hungry rat was roaming free in his skull, and it had begun to burrow in her brain. The pain stunted her for a moment, memories and thoughts repressed as she fought back the wave of agony.


    Only after a few moments did a new pain overwhelm the previous, this time just at her throat. It felt like someone was stabbing it with a hundred needles, and she opened her mouth to wail. But what came out was nothing short of an exhausted croak. Grabbing at her throat, she was met with the feeling of wet bandaging.


    Pulling her hand away, she saw the blood painting her fingers, and blinked. Amber wanted to try and scream again but the pain of it kept her lips sealed. Instead she blinked again, wetting her eyes before looking around the room. Sure enough, she was in the infirmary. And the memories of what got her there began to flood back. Her hands slapped the sides of the bed, squeezing the sheets as tears immediately began to flood her vision. She couldn''t stop the violent, quiet sob that followed.


    It stung her throat, and even her eyes as her cheeks wettened. Heaving in great staggered breaths, the young girl struggled to keep herself from using her throat muscles. But still they constricted, and pain flowed through her like a cold winter''s river. Clenching her teeth, Amber finally collected herself. The tears still fell, but she at least had gained control of her throat.


    "Oh, dear, please lay back down!" A voice urged. Amber had scarcely noticed that she was sitting upright, her back stiffened from the pain. An exhausted exhale escaped her lips as the voice revealed itself to be a young lady, such as herself. One of the nurses, from the looks of her apron. Her hair was short and black, her eyes even blacker, yet somehow still comforting. The nurse rushed to her side where she placed a hand both on her back and her chest, lowering her back down gently. Amber allowed it to happen, nodding in acceptance. Everything was still fuzzy, and she was still half convinced she was dreaming.


    "I apologize, I was hoping I''d be in the room when you awoke. I''m sure this is awfully frightening and confusing." The nurse sat down on a stool next to her bed, her lips arched downward into a frown, but only slightly. She wore the typical attire of a nurse, with the braided wooden necklace to prove it. It was a fine showing of craftsmanship, and somehow had become an icon for the nurses of Tavernkeep. With the Battlenurses of the Oak wearing ones with engravings of the battles they had attended. Though with so little war in the last few decades, most of those necklaces were now bare. Hers, on the other hand, had a single carving in the center. It was the symbol for Primrubble. The nurse had fought in the Green War.


    "Please, don''t try to speak. It will only make things worse for yourself." The sadness seemed to deepen in the nurse''s face, and Amber could tell she was searching her eyes for something. Unfortunately, she was only going to find shock and despair. Amber slowly nodded her head before looking forward. The nurse then offered her a drink of water, which she eagerly accepted. It felt odd going down her throat, as if she half-expected it to leak out of her.


    "Do you remember what happened a few days ago? What got you here? Just nod or shake your head, please." The nurse asked, tilting her head slightly to the side to try and catch her gaze. Amber''s eyes lit at hearing it had been several days, and for a moment she was stunned once again. But eventually she answered with a subtle nod. Because she indeed had remembered. More than she''d ever wanted to. She remembered the warm feeling of Tolo''s blood dripping onto her head, like an egg had been cracked over it. A joke that had been played on her as a child. Something so innocent now given a horrifying new meaning. It made her wonder who had washed her while she was unconscious. Who had wiped away the blood of both her and Tolo. Had it been Arethor? What had happened to him? A new spark awoke in her eyes, and she quickly gestured for something to write with.


    The nurse jumped to live with a yip, and scrambled over to a table that had paper and a pencil waiting for her. Scribbling away, she only wrote one word with a sizable question mark beside it: Arethor?


    The elf stood looking in the mirror. Shirtless, bandages wrapped around what looked like every inch of his torso and waist. He hadn''t even noticed it at the time, but he''d been struck by two arrows. Of course, he held no ill will toward those who''d struck him, as he knew leaping out in front of the volley was by no means a smart decision. But to him, it was the only decision worth making. In fact, he felt like it hadn''t even been his to make. The Endless had guided him there. And yet, it still ended with him bloodied and defeated. Weak and miserable. Tired and in pain.


    The only image he saw when he closed his eyes, was the placid look of Tolo as her life drained. Her last efforts on the planet were to protect his sister. And thanks to her, she was alive. And as eternally grateful as he was, he only had wished it wasn''t at the cost of her own life. There was no saving Tolo. There was no sword he could''ve swung that would''ve brought her back. Even if he had killed Kimer right where he stood. The hole still would''ve been in her head.


    Tightening his fingers into fist, he raised it up to smash the mirror but stopped as he caught his own eyes. It wasn''t anger he saw, but rather fear. A deep, unrelenting, selfish fear. What was he going to do now? Without her?


    "Arethor!" The familiar voice of Nurse Jynna called. Wiping away a tear that had formed, Arethor stepped out of the bathroom, his heart already quickening as he anticipated what it might be. "She''s awake! Come!" Jynna gestured with the wave of her hand at the doorway. Quickly the elf followed the nurse into the next room, where his sister had been the past few days. The doctors had worried she''d slipped into a coma, but it seemed she''d won that battle at least.


    Rushing to her side, Arethor reached out just as his sister had, and the two embraced. An odd warmth spread through him, one he''d seldom remembered feeling. Only it made him remember. The lack of all things, disturbed by the weight of some unexplainable mass. An absence of his very self, the hole that runs so deep, filled so quickly by one tremor. Love. Beyond obligation, expectations and necessity. Just a part of oneself found in all selves. He was holding a thing, a person, he loved, as for one broken moment he felt he could truly be invincible for her if that''s what it meant to keep her safe. For one broken moment, Arethor forgot every lie he''d ever caught her in, or any curse she ever threw his way. None of it mattered. What mattered was she was breathing, and would live to see a day he would happily give up if only to let her keep hers. Every nasty look, rude gesture, or petty insult, let it be nothing but a rumor left unchecked.


    He knew he was loving because for all those moments he remembered being harsh to her, he''d wished he could cut his own tongue off so it had never been said. For both Tolo and Amber. Only in two very different ways. For Tolo he wished he''d grown a tongue sooner.


    "Amber, thank Hyvale¡­I saw your eyes grow distant and I just¡­" He stopped as something seemed to wedge its way into his throat, clogging him of words. He bit down on his tongue, but tears still came. And as much as his sister wanted to tell him she was okay, that the pain was more mental than physical, she could only smile.


    "I''m so sorry, Arethor, but Amber''s vocal cords were severed beyond repair. It was a miracle our Conduits could heal her as much as they had, but she won''t be able to speak again. There are some things even magic can''t bind back together." Nurse Jynna frowned, though her posture remained formal. Arethor looked to the nurse with worry, before drifting back to Amber. He expected to see surprise on her face too, but saw instead an odd sense of content.


    She knew from the first moment she''d tried to speak that she had more than a sore throat. And oddly enough, she wasn''t nearly as concerned about it as she''d thought she''d be. Perhaps, she didn''t have anything else to say to the world anyways. Or rather, only things that would best go unsaid, and unheard.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "That''s¡­that''s okay, right? We can figure this out." Arethor seems to nod to himself more than anyone, his eyes suddenly growing more frantic. Amber knew the look, though she hadn''t seen it since her brother was very little. When they were kids they would play out in the woods together as most kids did, and like most kids, they often found themselves in trouble. Whenever Arethor had been overwhelmed, or scared, his eyes would move faster than his brain could process, and the young boy would simply scream. She doubted he was going to scream now, but regardless, reached up and grabbed him by the shoulders. No words needed to be exchanged, only a long hard stare that brought Arethor to a standstill. Slowly, the elf nodded to his sister, and rested her hands on her lap.


    "I know an excellent hand lanquist. I can get them working with her right away, if you''d like." Jynna said with a smile. She had made the process of waking back up much easier for Arethor. Her nice, warm and inviting nature made Arethor feel safe despite the overwhelming pain both physically and mentally. Words couldn''t describe the feeling Arethor was met with when his eyes first opened. At first Jynna thought he''d need to be retrained, but after a moment of thrashing the elf quickly devolved into a fit of tears. It was at that point that the nurse realized he needed only to be comforted.


    "That would be great. Right?" Arethor looked to his sister again, who simply nodded her head numbly. She had tried to push past the dreariness, but it was clear that she''d been given something to ease the pain, and it was starting to take hold of her.


    "Perfect. I''ll go fetch her, will you be okay alone with her? Just call out if you need help, there''s plenty of staff here." She said with that warm smile, both Arethor and Amber nodded in unison.


    "What good is an Eye that doesn''t see, Mirrald?" Orieth posed the question, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. A terrible headache had befallen the king since hearing of the events at the gates. He had been busy attending private matters at the time, and left the situation in the good hands of Heathgrim. But it had seemed their captain had failed them again.


    "I can promise you that no Eye in all of Jorrik could have been sharp enough to have foreseen this. It was by all means a suicide¡­" The words got caught in Mirralds throat, the wrong words. The king scoffed.


    "If it was a suicide, then how did every single one of our Oakmen miss? Not one of them landed a blow? And then, Gods, Arethor throws himself off the wall like some maiden in dismay? What a disgrace! The ground is painted in arrows, and somehow they only managed to strike one of our own people?" Orieth''s anger was understandable if not with the context of what Kimer was. This was by no means a normal man. Not something that could easily be dealt with by steel or sharpened sticks.


    "Magics, your majesty. This was their leader, who undeniably is a skilled Solar Conduit."


    "Deadspeaker. Call it what it is, Mirrald. Filth. A spot of ink on a beautiful white canvas. A finch in a murder of crows." Orieth sighed as he sat down on the plump red chair in his private quarters. There were extra guards stationed outside both the balcony and door. They had even checked Mirrald for weapons, as ludacris as it was. He was going to be sure to remember that guard''s name.


    Biting down on a scowl, the Eye turned to his king and lowered his head.


    "Correct, your majesty. But I feel their ambitions are being greatly overestimated. These are nothing but a few disjointed and disgruntled Deadspeakers. Accompanied by easily manipulated, soft-boiled fools. I believe if we make the rush now, we can exterminate these terrorists posthaste." Mirrald kept his posture firm, his eyes helplessly flickering as they did when he was nervous. He wasn''t nervous of what the king would do to him so much as the better half of Tavernkeep itself. He knew Orieth wasn''t prone to making the best military decisions, and yet, despite the failure evident in his face, would refuse any suggestions given by Mirrald. He was the Eye, not the Mouth like Jymtor was.


    The king, though, had a decidedly thoughtful look about him. For once, a feeling of hope grew in Mirrald.


    "You know how much I despise being told what to do with my army¡­and yet you make a good observation. They aren''t expecting us to know where they are. They still think we are going to muddle around in the forest cluelessly. That does give us a certain advantage." Orieth rubbed his stubble, and began to pace around the warm hearth.


    "Precisely, your majesty. Heathgrim had wished to use the relic for a false trade, or ambush. But it seems their leader will make that impossible now."


    "Bah. A foolish plan anyways. We have their camp, now we finish the easy part." Orieth shrugged, prodding at some of the charred remains with a fire poker. The hearth spit up ash and smoke angrily.


    "I have a suggestion, if I may." Mirrald bit his inner lip, confident he may receive a flaming coal to the face from just the proposition of a suggestion alone. But the king seemed to be in an eerily more content mood as of the last few minutes, and nodded with pursed lips.


    "Arethor Celstrum should spearhead the engagement." Mirrald spat out, the words almost failing as they came out. Orieth ceased poking at the fire, and looked up at Mirrald through his bushy eyebrows. A curious look formed, urging him to explain. "Our project isn''t ready yet, but Arethor is primed and ready to fight. I mean, I need not mention his actions during the incident. His wounds were more easily remedied by the Conduits than his sister, and he should recover within a few days. His skills are undeniable and now he has more motivation than ever to tear them apart. It would be like releasing a starved fox into a chicken coop and sealing them in."


    "And we act as the seal?" The king interjected, his brows now raised. Mirrald hadn''t thought of the specifics, but the concept formed in his mind rather quickly. He was no battle strategist, but what was plain was plain.


    "Not many places to go in the forest, nor walls to hide behind. Heathgrim says the camp is inside a depression, a bowl of sorts that could easily be taken advantage of. We could line the top with archers, then send fire down into the bottom. As we watch them try to scramble up the bowl, the bowmen will pick them off. Swordsmen could be issued as needed, and Arethor can handle that Kimer figure. He may have failed last time, but I doubt he will be so hasty with his actions if given another opportunity." Mirrald explained, all the while gesturing with his hands. It was a habit of his, and yet the king seemed to appreciate it rather than mock him. It no doubt added flare to most anything he said, mundane or not.


    The king looked impressed with his Eyes furiosity.


    "I don''t recall you ever being so bloodthirsty, Mirrald." Orieth noted pointedly, yet he remained somehow nonjudgmental. Still it brought a redness to the Eyes face, who cleared his throat.


    "In all honesty, my king, I fear the worst." Mirrald started.


    "So you fear we are underestimating them, instead?"


    "No, your majesty. Not of them, but what they represent. A coming of something. A great stirring. The Ruiner in our possession revealed some¡­disturbing information in light of the fake relic. It reinforces some of the beliefs your uncle had, when he was king." The Eye looked around the room nervously. It wouldn''t be the first time that Jymtor had been standing in the room without having him notice.


    "The punishment." The king prompted, his eyes narrowing, the firepick going loose in his fingers.


    "Correct. The question has been posed if the Collective should reconjoin on Grandtora Island." The words had a particular chill as they left his lips, of which made Orieth shiver as they met his ears. The Collective. His uncle had been the Counselor who represented all of Hyvak. A daunting task, one that nauseated him just at the thought. Not necessarily because of the responsibilities, but the implications of their meeting if so. They had only been created twenty years ago amidst the end of the Green War, and no one would think they would convene again so soon.


    "That''s unprecedented, and surely unnecessary." Orieth tried to shake the ill feeling away, stepping back from the hearth and throwing the fire poker down with a clatter against the clay tile floor.


    "I give no opinion on the matter, my king. I only present you with the option to choose a Counselor if not yourself. Your decision will be respected regardless. But they will look to Tavernkeep as a representative for Hyvak, as much as it may anger Torchill." A grin grew on Mirralds face at the concept of annoying Torchill. The Three Generals had been nicknamed The Three Children because of their temperament. And more so, their damaged pride.


    The king battered his eyes uncomfortably as he found his seat again.


    "I can''t¡­" He stuttered, then stopped to rethink his words. "We must not get ahead of ourselves." The king was firm now, nodding to himself. Mirrald wished to disagree, but kept his mouth shut and in the form of a light smile. "You are dismissed. We shall prepare the Oak in the morning." And with the wave of his hand, Mirrald was free. He bowed in respect, then saw himself out.


    As he traveled through the halls, his foot thumping against red clay, the Eye wondered what he would do next. If it were up to him, he''d offer himself up to be the Counselor of Hyvak. Not out of a position for power, or ego, but simply because he needed everyone to hear what he had to say: the truth.

 Chapter 14 - Wind

    When her eyes opened, at first she could''ve sworn she''d seen Hyvale. God herself, manifested in a brilliant robe of orange light. A loud, droning whine like the bellow of some great beast shook her to her very core. It felt like the noise was digging through her, eating away at the cancer that had grown inside. Her worries, fears, doubts and pain all slipped away beneath her like meat falling off the bone.


    Hyvale became more clear, and the orange revealed itself to be her long curly hair. It fell just below her knees, covering her like a blanket. Her face was like gazing upon every woman on the planet, all blended into one beautiful figure. She was not just a creator, but a part of all her creations. And she was smiling. A piercing warm smile that made Raynn''s breath hitch.


    "The rules have been broken, Raynn Mirthorn. Shepherd and Ghost, means nothing now to the Endless." Hyvale spoke loudly, yet softly. Her voice vibrating in her ears to the beat of a sorrowful song. It took her a moment to realize what she had said, and her overwhelming joy was soon tainted with worry.


    "What is it you speak of?" Raynn asked steadily, unsure if what she was experiencing was even real. She had heard of the concepts of Shepherds and Ghosts, but she''d always thought it was just an excuse used by religious fanatics as to why their god wasn''t present.


    "One God to destroy the balance. One God to cast evil across this world. You, Raynn, have suffered the consequences like many others. Only your name holds a much larger stake in this than them." Hyvale''s smile started to fade, then it became clear it was simply all of her that was doing so.


    "I don''t understand!" Raynn shouted, desperate to keep Hyvale close to her. Anything to keep feeling that warmth.


    "It is only fair, little one, that I guide you. As much as I wish to take away all of your pain, for all of you, the Endless will not allow it. Rules have been broken, yes, but I can not risk causing any more waves." Suddenly Hyvale appeared mere inches away from her. The fire-like warmth furled over her, paralyzing her. And yet she wasn''t afraid, only wide-eyed in surprise. "It''s important you find your Connection. They will guide you across gulfs, to islands, and below. They will save you, and you will save them." Her voice was stern now, and Raynn was feeling her heart in the depths of her stomach.


    "Why are you¡­" Raynn started, but Hyvale put a finger to her lips. The touch alone brought upon a feeling of ecstasy, and her heart quickly rose back into place.


    "Protect them, Raynn. From flesh and mind, for they will hurt unlike ever before. You must keep them from falling apart. And in return, you too will be pieced back together again." Hyvales certainty brought upon a deep sense of determination in her. She wasn¡¯t very sure of what she was speaking of, or who for that matter, but in her heart she felt a fierce sense of loyalty already. For some unknown face in need of her aid.


    ¡°Yes ma¡¯am.¡± She said, like a child to her teacher. She felt silly for having called her ma¡¯am, but the deep smile it earned from Hyvale nearly made her melt.


    ¡°Raynn?¡± A voice from beyond called, and this time, she truly awoke. It was confusing at first as it was still dark, but once she adjusted to it she could make out the face in front of her. The feeling of safety and warmth still clung to her, and what would normally have startled her simply didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Jasra¡­¡± Raynn spoke slowly, bringing a hand to her head. She felt ice cold. Looking around she realized she was in Jasras home, and a deep feeling of relief filled her. Though she wasn''t exactly sure why yet.


    ¡°I¡­how are¡­are you okay?¡± Jasra fidgeted nervously with the blanket Raynn was tucked into.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, I believe.¡± Raynn winced at the pain that now came from her ribs and chest. Right, she¡¯d almost forgotten about being attacked. Despite her best efforts, she couldn''t fully remember what had happened. Only something that Rod had said had stuck with her, something that confused her even in the heat of the moment. He''d said he didn''t want to hurt her. Did that mean he wasn''t supposed to? Or he was simply apologizing because he had to? None of it made sense. But one thing was certain. Rod hadn''t flipped on her for some coin, no, he was forced to do it. Whether it was blackmail or threat of physical harm she was not sure.


    "I found you lying on the floor, I thought all that blood was yours at first and I¡­" Jasra choked on her words, holding back tears that formed behind her eyes. Despite the pain it brought her stomach, Raynn reached forward and dragged her friend into her arms, resting her chin on her shoulder. Jasra wept softly, hugging her friend mindfully.


    Soon after, her father Killian entered the room, and made sure that nothing had changed regarding Raynns condition. Luckily, there didn''t seem to be any long term damage to her outside of her broken rib that would take time to heal. There was no guarantee it would do so properly though, especially if she was moving about. So Killian insisted she stay put until he found somewhere to take her. Save for a trip to the bathroom which resulted in her seeing the bruise marks lining her neck. She''d seen similar bruises before, and her mind was temporarily drawn back to a time she''d rather forget.


    "I got you some new clothing. I''d have gone back to the cabin to fetch yours but¡­" Jasras sentence drew on as she placed some clothing at the edge of the bed. The mansion was large enough to have several guest rooms, the one of which she occupied being on the first floor. She''d spent many nights there with Jasra, who was often much more welcoming than her father. But it had seemed that Killian either had a change of heart, or was simply not so cold as to ignore a lady in need. She appreciated the absence of his usual lingering callousness. Jasra claimed that how he was acting now was how he always was, of course that was hard for Raynn to believe. But this softer side of Killian was no doubt a welcomed thing to come back too.


    "Thank you, Jasra. I shall hope I don''t stretch any of it." Raynn left the bathroom, stumbling over to the bed where her friend helped her sit. Jasra had provided a beautiful green dress, one of which went down to her knees thanks to her height. Raynn happily ditched the bloodied night gown in favor of the dress, rinsing her face and hair too. She watched as the tub filled with blood, and her body grew cold. Had she really done what she''d done? Had she stabbed someone?


    As she squeezed the water from her hair, she looked back at her friend who had grown awfully quiet. She figured it was time to explain some things.


    "I have to tell you something, Jasra." Raynn started.


    "I know who you are.." Jasra interjected, looking at her friend with mistful eyes. The words felt like a hammer to her heart. She wasn''t sure if it was feelings of betrayal she was witnessing or empathy. It proved to be a bit of both. "I just mean to say I know you come from a noble family. Not much more than that. My father has been painfully vague." So her father did know who she was. That had suddenly explained much of his behaviour toward her. At first she felt a tinge of anger, but realized she would most likely feel the same if her own daughter was hanging around a walking bullseye.


    "Not much more to know, I''m afraid. I just came here to be alone. To stay away from it all, but still be close enough to hear news of what goes on inside Torchill. I know it is foolish of me to have only gone so far as Fernwrath, but I know very little of anywhere past Whalerot." Raynn spoke honestly, for the first time in a long time when regarding her past. She''d had Jasra believing she''d been from an even smaller village called Timberbridge a few miles north.


    "It doesn''t matter anymore, you''re here and so am I. What I really want to know is who was in your cabin? So far I''ve given you the benefit of the doubt that you didn''t attack that man unprovoked." Jasra said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood as best she could with such a topic. Raynn appreciated the efforts, and did her best to calm herself down before speaking again.


    "His name was Rod. I was paying him to get me information about what was going on in Torchill, particularly regarding the Three Generals. He had been working for me for almost three years before he randomly assaulted me. But I have reason to believe his wrists were twisted into doing so. He seemed genuinely remorseful while almost choking me to death." Raynn ran her fingers over her throat again, the skin still soft and tender. There wasn''t much pain left, as Rod luckily was a rather frail man and hadn''t pressed down as hard as most could''ve.


    "Perhaps all it took was some coin?" Jasra prompted.


    "I thought of that, but Rod and I had built a bit of friendship. I''d like to think that meant something, but now I''m not so sure." Raynn frowned, thinking of all the times that Rod had shown up late and shared a drink with her while explaining the intricacies of Torchill politics. As it turned out, she''d learned most of what she knew about Torchill from Rod. As opposed to her own family who was insistent on keeping her off the streets and blissfully ignorant. Looking back, she didn''t blame them too much. There was scarcely a road one could walk down that wasn''t claimed by some gang or clan. Despite her best efforts she''d still been a victim to them once before. Only that wasn''t important now.


    "My father suggested it was the Three Generals, though I''m not sure how much truth is behind that." Jasra frowned. The idea of the Three Generals personally hunting her down was a terrifying thought, but one she''d been faced with before. But now it seems more plausible than ever as something comes to mind.


    "Unfortunately there may be more truth to it than I''d hoped. Before Rod died he mentioned the Generals, and said that she hadn''t forgotten. I can only imagine he''s referring to-" Jasra interrupted.


    "Jevsarra." Her expression was cold stone, and Raynn nodded slowly. "Hadn''t forgotten what, though?"


    "I assume she means about the relic she wanted so desperately to relieve my father of. One he claimed he never had to begin with." Raynn recalled how the request for the relic started with letters. But once ignored escalated to soldiers standing outside their door angrily demanding the relic at once. It all seemed to culminate on the day of her wedding.


    "So, did he have it?" Jasra wondered, looking eager.


    "I haven''t a clue. My father never let me near his collection. I wouldn''t even know what it looked like if I had seen all of it. My guess is he did though, at least at some point. He must''ve gotten rid of it along the way. As to why he didn''t just give it to them is beyond me. My father always was a man of principle. Perhaps he just didn''t like being told what to do, and certainly not in regard to his collection." Raynn had asked the very question Jasra had for decades now. Eventually her confusion and sadness transferred to anger at her fathers stubbornness. But she knew that was silly, that she had no way of knowing if that was what really happened. Maybe Jevsarra was simply maddened, and was looking for an excuse to destroy her family. But why her family? And why make it so public, yet scour it in mystery as a random assassination? There were more holes than Raynn could ever hope to fill in her lifetime. And she hadn''t even taken time to think about what she''d experienced just hours ago before waking up.


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    "Perhaps we shouldn''t be asking these questions right now. You just need time to recover. I''ll fetch you some food. It''s going to be a long night with this storm, I imagine." Jasra said with a faint smile, before standing up to fetch her something to eat. Raynn hadn''t even noticed the rain pelting the windows, and the lightning flashing outside. She didn''t care much for getting rest. Though, she wasn''t opposed to having another dream about Hyvale.


    She looked exactly how she did in the books. Red glowing hair and a beautiful white gown. Her skin was pale white too, with freckles that seemed to blossom across her cheeks. She looked so very human for something so ethereal. It almost didn''t feel fitting in the least bit. But the humans had been the first to emerge on the planet, so it only made sense.


    Raynn did her best to remember what happened in the dream, or vision, she wasn''t sure exactly what to call it. It had been far, far too vivid to be a dream, though. And so vision seemed much more fitting. And so she tried to recall what Hyvale had said, pushing past the feeling that her presence brought upon her. Had any of it even been real? Surely her brain couldn''t conjure up something so frighteningly vivid and surreal. But at the same time, it was said that Hyvale was a Ghost, a god that wasn''t allowed to interfere with their planet''s affairs under any circumstances. What could possibly have happened to make a god break the rules of the Endless?


    It almost wasn''t even worth debating, it seemed entirely too ridiculous. If she truly was a Ghost, how could any of the scriptures be right in regards to her appearance? Perhaps she simply presented herself as such to accommodate for the general population''s assumption of her. In which case, she may very well have just introduced herself to her. But then again, why her? She had made it seem like she was the true victim in all that has happened in the last few years. And while she certainly didn''t have it easy, she was modest enough to realize others had it much worse.


    One God to destroy the balance. Raynn remembered. Surely she hadn''t been talking about herself. But who then? What god? It had been believed Geur of Coreterra had abandoned his planet, hence creating the Red Sands that was then used as punishment for those who denied Hyvale. Was that what destroyed the balance? It had to have been millennia ago when that occurred though. It all was starting to make Raynns headache worse.


    "Here, I got you some tea and soup. Both are still rather hot." Jasra suddenly appeared again, balancing them on a plate and setting it down before her on the bed. "My father says we will leave in the morning, as soon as this rain clears up." Raynn didn''t know how to feel about that news. There were still some things back at her cabin she wished to grab, things she couldn''t just leave behind.


    "Where?" Raynn asked shakily, before bringing the tea to her lips and blowing gently.


    "Good question. I''m not exactly sure." Jasra looked at the door expectedly, but no one came. "I trust his judgement. And, honestly, I''m sorry for how he''s always treated you. Since my mother passed he''s clung to me even more. I know that''s no excuse for his behavior, but¡­"


    "Jasra, it''s okay. Really. It seems your dads fears have become a reality anyways. All I''ve done is brought trouble to you." Though Raynn was doing her best not to indulge in self pity, it was hard not to feel bad for dragging her friend into something so awful. She could only imagine how upsetting it was seeing her friend in that state. At least where Raynn had grown up she''d been used to news of violence, and eventually been a victim of it herself. Though she never would imagine she''d have killed somebody one day. No, she didn''t kill him, she defended herself. And as a result, he died. That was how she had to look at it.


    "Stop it, you know that''s not true. You have shown me so much about this world, Raynn. I owe a lot to you. I will help you through this. However I can." Jasras tender words brought tears to her eyes, and Raynn smiled as her friend nodded, unsure of how to respond. So the two simply sat in silence as Raynn started on her soup. It was just after the spoon hit the bottom of an empty bowl that a heavy knock came at the door.


    Killian rose from the couch, pacing across the room he grabbed his scabbard, gripping the handle as he approached the door. It was late at night now, and the rain was at its peak, thunder cracking in intervals every so often. Who could possibly be outside his house in this condition?


    "Hello? Please, anyone!" A faint, petite voice cried out. It was most certainly a young lady, perhaps having got lost in the woods or suffered an injury. Debating it, Killian realized he couldn''t in good conscience ignore the cry, and opened the door.


    He was met with a massive man in shining golden armor, with a girl standing quietly behind him. The rain pelted his armor, sliding down in long, thick streams. There was no emotion to be found behind that mask, that resembled a lion. Killian began to pull free his sword when the Lion reached out and grabbed his wrist, throwing him inside. The girl behind him yelped, quickly following them in, but grabbing at the Lions arm.


    "Ferjis, you don''t even know if this is the right place!" The girl shouted, stepping in front of the Lion with a look of disgust. Killian was thoroughly confused, scrambling to his feet and searching around for his sword. It was just behind the Lion now, sitting by the door. If he could just make a dash for it¡­


    "Girls, run!" Killian yelled behind him toward the hallway. The Lion sighed and began to step forward with the roll of his shoulder.


    "Now we do." Ferjis said, stomping toward the hall. Killian ran forward, leaping into the Lion fruitlessly and beginning to punch up toward his head. Ferjis simply grabbed him by the arm and tossed him aside once again, tumbling back first into a table and knocking the air from his lungs. The human crumbled to the floor, gasping for air as the Lion started for the hall. The young girl looked frantic, her hands tangling in her hair as the moment seemed to bring upon some panic. Clearly she was not entirely a willing participant.


    Both Jasra and Raynn froze as they heard the shout. Surprisingly it was Jasra who was first to react, running for the door and slamming it shut. Locking it, she ran back to Raynn and dragged her to her feet. Her body screamed out in pain, and she nearly tripped face first into a desk. But Jasra quickly slung her arm over her shoulder, and pulled her friend up as best she could. She was a good bit taller, but it wasn''t going to stop her from trying.


    It didn''t take long for there to be a slam at the door. The two looked to the door, and then to the window across the room. The answer seemed obvious, and the two began to shuffle toward the windows. Just as they reached them, fingers running along the rims, the door was smashed open, exploding into splinters over the room.


    The two cower into the corner of the wall, watching as a massive golden clad man stood at the doorway.


    "Raynn Mirthorn." The Lion boomed. "Don''t try that." He added, gesturing with his gaze toward the windows. The two girls did as was told, and didn''t move so much as a hair on their body. The Lion rounded the room, stopping before them. He was massive, his head almost touching the ceiling. It was like trying to fit an elephant in a stable. And though he had just torn his way through the house, his composure was rather calm.


    "Hand yourself up, Mirthorn." Ferjis said flatly, his eyes empty behind his mask. She couldn''t tell if it was from exhaustion or frustration. Sometimes those two things were correlated, though. But Raynn saw no other way out of it, other than to stand up. Jasra gripped her arm, urging her to come back down, but Raynn tugged her arm free.


    "You won''t hurt them." Raynn said sternly, looking at her friend who''s eyes had never looked so frightened. The Lion nodded slowly.


    "I am not here to hurt anyone. Come with me willingly and no one has to bleed." His response was chilling, and yet somewhat comforting. Though she wondered if she was part of the ''no one'' he spoke of. If she was being taken back to Torchill, she saw very little avenues other than her inevitable death. They were going to question her about the relic, try to get her to confess to where it is, and she won''t have an answer. She was most likely going to be tortured, then killed.


    "Right¡­did Jevsarra send you?" Raynn attempted to remain confident, but she was so far from control she felt the slightest move might make her combust. Somehow the water dripping off the Lion added a distant layer of intimidation. But the Lion simply grunted, taking in a deep breath.


    "You don''t get to ask questions, now come with me." He demanded, pulling free his claymore and pointing toward the door, or where it had been. Stiffly, the elf walked forward, squeezing past the Lion and walking in front of him as he led her back into the living room. There they saw Killian still struggling to breath.


    "Peppir, we''re going." Ferjis nodded toward the exit, and the young mylian quickly scampered toward it. She looked so innocent, so young. What was she doing running around with a Steel? Peppir looked at Raynn for a moment, her lips parting as if to speak, but closing as it seemed to suddenly elude her. She said nothing further as she begrudgingly headed toward the door. But just before the mylian could do so, Ferjis grunted.


    "Wait. We''ll stay here tonight. Let the moon and rain pass." Ferjis said stiffly, clearly not wanting to do so. But it did them no good getting lost in the rain like they had hours ago. It was a miracle that Ferjis had been able to pick up the trail again. A look of relief washed over Peppir and she happily trotted over to the couch and sat down.


    "Just keep an eye on her, I''ll watch the perimeter." The Lion said with a nod toward his mylian companion, who looked to Raynn with a contemplative glare. Ferjis then led the elf over and forced her to sit down next to Peppir.


    "No one is coming, we aren''t expecting anyone." Killian said, rising to his feet finally. The man seemed to know what to do, not wanting to risk being cut down by the claymore, and stumbled over to the other couch, and sat across from Raynn. As if the Lion expected it, Jasra came out of the hall too, and found herself sitting next to Raynn.


    "We aren''t the only ones looking for you. It''s an open contract." Ferjis shut the front door, and further blocked it with a chair. Not one of them knew what to expect from the Lion, or the petite mylian sitting on the couches with them. She held a satchel stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls, and she didn''t seem entirely dangerous to anyone.


    "Must be some hell of a prize for the Lions to take on an open contract." Killian said slowly, rubbing his hands together as he attempted to calm his nerves. He''d been a hostage one too many times out on the Drench, being boarded by other ships and ran for everything they had. Never had it been a Lion, though.


    "There''s a neat little bonus for those who bring her and the item they seek in. We aint so greedy, though. But others will do much worse things to you, Mirthorn, to figure out where the at item is. I figure you won''t tell me, anyways." There was a frown to be found behind that mask, and Raynn couldn''t help but tense at his words. Of course, so this Lion wasn''t the only lunatic parading around the city streets looking to cut a slice out of her.


    "What was part of my fathers collection was never of my knowledge, and never will be. His notoriety got my family murdered, on what was supposed to be the happiest day of my life." Raynn spat, turning to look at the mylian next to her. "Did you know that? The bastards couldn''t wait a single day to lash out on that which couldn''t fulfill their greed. I suffered because of it. Because of a damn relic I don''t even know the name nor shape of. So why would I keep this a secret anymore? What attachment could I possibly have?" The elf pleaded, but to little effect. Though she earned a pained expression from Peppir, the Lion simply shook his head.


    "It isn''t me you''re going to have to convince, Mirthorn." Ferjis scoffed. "It''s all the other two-bit thieves and Steels that will sooner peel your nails back than listen to your sob story." The Lion had a cruel mix of understanding and fearful implications. None of them were quite sure if even Ferjis himself wanted to be there. Perhaps he felt the task was below him. In which case, Raynn held hope that she could convince him to let her go. There was no saying what Jevsarra had in store for her, beyond the obvious things.


    "Thalam¡­" Peppir said softly, earning a sideways glance from Ferjis.


    "Will have made it back to the boat by now." He finished for her. The Lion then waltzed over to one of the love chairs and sat down, taking his helmet off. Setting it down beside him on one of the tables, Ferjis ran a metallic hand through his wet hair, slicking it back. He looked far too young to be a veteran Lion, and yet he acted the part. That said a lot about it, to Killian.


    "What do you want with her?" Jasra spoke up, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling Raynn closer.


    "Not a damn thing. She just needs to take a little boat ride and this will all be over."

 Chapter 15 - Behind

    Chapter 15


    Behind


    General Scarv stood at the end of the war table with a look between disgust and disappointment. Just a few hours ago two people had been critically injured and one killed. Burned through the head like a fish would be harpooned. In all of his years as general, he''d never witnessed such a disaster. Thirty bows trained on a single man in the center of an uncluttered road, and the only thing that managed to be struck was one of their own men. Granted, the fellow had throttled himself alongside the incoming wave, but this by no means should''ve resulted in Kimers escape.


    He had thought better of his men, and of Heathgrim most of all. A man he''d seen fight off a wave of Jorinian alone in the heat of battle during the Primrubble Stand. Scaled beasts like small dragons tearing through waves of men, stopping before Heathgrim as he bellowed his warcry. He''d only see that energy in one other man, and he was in the medical bay with several arrow wounds. Thanks to Heathgrims failure.


    "I fail to find adequate words to express my distaste for this outcome. I expected better of you." Scarv held back the bitterness in his voice, leaving it to the words themselves to deliver his message. And the message was received promptly. Heathgrim who stood at the other end of the war table bowed his head. "It seems you''ve been full of blunders as of late, Tilmore." The General added with a flutter of frustrated blinks.


    "Kimer looked straight through the lie, he must know what the relic truly looks like."


    "What does it matter anyways. You expected you could just walk our army into their camp? Hand them the false relic and rain arrows down on them? You failed to properly evaluate our foe''s capability despite dozens of hours of interrogation!" It was rare that Scarv raised his voice, so much so that Heathgrim physically recoiled briefly before composing himself. And instead, he felt only angry.


    "You mean torture."


    "I mean whatever had to be done to keep this city safe. And these people who rely on us, look up to us. If they feel like at any given moment some mad man can just waltz up to our gates and slaughter our people, then we are doing something terribly wrong. Right now every latch, every lock is sealed tight. The people are scared. And we have but one duty, and that is to ease those doors back open, and get our people back on the streets of the city they hold dear." Scarv jammed his finger down onto the open map. A new black pin had been placed where the Ruiner camp supposedly was. They had managed to convince the Ruiner in captivity to give more detailed directions. Of course, there was always the possibility of a trap.


    Heathgrim was at a loss for words. His lips parted, motionless, but quickly sealed. Sometimes it was best just to say nothing. Nothing often saves your life.


    "Regardless. We must focus on moving forward. Kojok, we are leaving you with the responsibility of watching Tavernkeep while the Oak is away. That is, in the likely event that this was a ploy to drag the Oak away from the city for an attack. We leave it to you to decide how to effectively dispense defenses." Scarv motioned toward the other captain who stood perpendicular to them. He had remained quiet during Heathgrims scolding, though he wanted to come to his aid. Heathgrim took no offense in his refraining, the last thing he wanted was for Kojok to be dragged into the mess he''d created.


    "Of course, General." Kojok saluted with a half bow.


    "As for you, Heathgrim, Scarvs icy gaze drifted back to the captain. "You will be joining Celstrum as one of the scouts." There was a moment of silence as the words racked around in Heathgrims brain. For a moment he was confident he''d been hearing things wrong. First, the implication was clear that Scarv was going to be leading the army himself. That of course was nothing special or surprising. When conflicts were taken outside of Tavernkeep the torch was often passed to him. But delegating him as a scout of all things seemed eerily close to a punishment. Furthermore, was the name mentioned beside his.


    "You can''t mean Arethor." Heathgrim stated, rather than asked. This made Scarv twitch with annoyance.


    "I can, and do. The king believes it''s a good opportunity for him to expunge himself of his inevitable¡­frustrations." Scarv responded cooly. Heathgrim couldn''t hold back his scoff.


    "He was just struck by half a dozen arrows!" His voice raised, and before he realized it Scarv had slammed his fist down onto the war table, causing figures to fall over.


    "And the Conduits managed to heal him to full recovery. The same can not be said for his sister, unfortunately. All the more reason he is being given the opportunity to avenge his¡­!" Kojok could hardly believe what he was seeing as Heathgrim interrupted the general.


    "So he can lose his temper and ruin the operation, and possibly get himself killed? Arethor isn''t some tool you can utilize when the conditions are opportune!" Heathgrim stopped as an unsettling calmness befell the general. In his confusion, Scarv took in a deep breath and sighed with his eyes closed. Had he broken him?


    "While you are out of line for your outburst¡­I can empathize with you, Tilmore. You are correct, Arethor is not a tool to be used. He is a man of flesh and blood. Of mind and soul. But you of all people should know, from experience, that Arethor works best under immense pressure. Often mental, above all else. He has the unique ability to transfer his hate, his pain into a magnificent display of power. And most importantly, control." Scarv spoke slowly, the words rolling off his tongue like honey. "I was there when Arethor returned to hear of his mothers passing. How she had taken her own life in their absence. How his father left while he was away, gone without a sight. By all means this would bring most men to their knees, to make them forfeit their life. But Arethor clung onto one thing, something that mattered most above his own pain. His sister. Who too was grieving the loss of all she''d ever known. Who needed Arethor in those dark times. And that one thing just had a hole burned through her throat. And the woman who he loved bleeding over her head." He paused, giving himself a moment to breathe. It wasn''t a secret that Tolo and Arethor had been lovers for decades, centuries even. Most would''ve looked the other way from the taboo subject of Oaken love, but yet they still obeyed.


    "All the more reason to believe Arethor is an avalanche waiting to happen, General Scarv. I implore you to reconsider." Heathgrim pleaded, leaning over the table, his face glowing in the low lantern light.


    "An avalanche we can direct right into the bowl our enemies sleep in." Scarv retorted with thinly pressed lips. The words brought upon a dense chill that both captains felt. It was callous, cruel even. But no one could deny Arethor the justice he would no doubt be seeking. As much as Heathgrim detested the idea of using his sorrow as a weapon, it was still Arethors decision to make.


    "I would like you to find your scouting partner, and inform him of this opportunity. If he declines, we will find someone else. But something tells me he won''t be doing so." Scarv then grabbed his helmet, slipping it under his arm and making for the door. But not before looking over his shoulder one last time. "We leave in two days."


    By the time morning came, the numbness hadn''t left. Still none of it felt real to him. A feeling he often had when he''d first joined the Oak. After battle, Arethor would stand there for hours staring blankly across the battlefield in awe. Had he truly been a part of that chaos? Contributed to the blood seeping into the soil?


    He''d felt that way the first time someone he''d called a friend had been killed beside him in battle. His arm cleaved off, his eyes frantic as his last moments were spent screaming before a sword was rammed through his eye. Arethor had quickly avenged his friend, but had no time to dismantle his killer''s body before being thrown back into battle. And yet, this was not the same feeling he was experiencing then. Because then he could''ve saved his friend. But there was no saving Tolo. If he had jumped as he did beforehand, Kimer would''ve killed them. If he tried to sneak around, it would''ve taken too long. No matter how many times Arethor played it out in his mind, it always ended with that damn hole in her head. The smell of burning flesh. And all he could think was: how is that fair?


    "Bloody hell, Arethor! Are you alright?" A voice interjected, shaking Arethor from his hazy trance. He hadn''t even noticed the tears forming in his eyes. Running the back of his hand through them, he nodded.


    "I''m alright, Hemm. Thank you for keeping everything orderly here, again." The elf looked around the tavern. He had wished he could bring Amber home too, but she needed to spend some more time with Conduits as they attempted to do what little they could to help her recover. He had every intention of checking on her later that evening. But for now, he stood with Hemm in the center of his empty tavern. News had spread fast of what had happened at the gates. And no one was going to risk being caught in an ambush like those who''d died in the library.


    "Of course, brother. Tis my job. I was worried sick when you didn''t come back last night. Arethor¡­I''m so sorry to hear about Tolo. She was a fine lass." Hemm lowered his head. He had seen Arethor go through hard times, but never something like this. It wasn''t something one could truly ever prepare for. And he didn''t even have the usual business of his tavern to distract him from things.


    "I just¡­" Arethor held up a finger with a wince, the words clogged. "Just tell me something good that''s happened, damnit." He finished, slowly finding a seat at one of the empty tables. Though the Conduits in the med bay had healed his wounds completely, his body still ached. It would take a few days for that to fully subside. He was familiar with the feeling.


    The young mylian frowned, thumping his chin with his finger in thought as he hummed. He had been practically running the entire tavern the last month alone, and had seen and done some wild things so far. One of the many good things of working in a tavern was the faces you''d see, the wild characters you''d come to know. It was what drew Hemm to Arethors door step in the place. And while the elf had been reluctant to take in an apprentice at first, Hemms'' bubbly attitude and thick accent made for a welcoming face that began to draw in business. Arethor wasn''t quite sure how the boy did it, but he was nonetheless impressed and kept Hemm around longer. This would prove to be the right choice, as a few years later Hemm had become an icon for the tavern.


    Strumming his lute, bellowing his songs, the mylian would dance around the room and stir the masses into a frenzy almost every night. Kegs would be run dry, and Arethor would be scrambling from one end of the bar to the next throughout the evenings. It was a feeling unlike anything he''d ever experienced. A rush that didn''t require spilling blood. A sense of purpose that wasn''t backed by revenge or hatred.


    "I tink I saw Lordely and Rihet holding hands, I did." Hemm said with a grin, leaning against one of the wooden beams. This brought upon a hearty laughter that made Arethors chest burn.


    "I''d sooner believe you saw Hyvale doing a handstand." Arethor said between fits of laughter. How could he possibly be laughing right now? Stupid boy, she''s dead. The smile quickly faded from his face, and his laughter was choked out. There was a moment of silence as Hemm realized what must be going through the elf''s head.


    "But honestly, I''d have to say I''m just glad Tadpole fixed those damn floorboards, I am." Hemm gestured not too far from where Arethor sat. There, several much noticeably cleaner looking floorboards were surrounded by darker, older wood. The ground had been hollow beneath it, and was a broken ankle waiting to happen. Ironically, it was the same spot that Arethor had been getting that feeling. Something eerily close to the Connection, but not quite. It seemed to be quiet at the moment, but if he focused hard, he could almost hear its thumping. Like a heartbeat.


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    "Tadpole?" Arethor muttered, his eyes still drawn to the spot.


    "Yes sir. Fixed it right up, and for just a few pints of the Remedy. Fixes the soul, it does. Reckon he needs a bit of that." Hemm shrugged, waltzing over to the spot and stomping on it a few times. The boards held firm, though the rest of the building seemed to shake. There was much more that needed to be done, something Arethor was eager to tackle eventually. But with where his head was at, even getting a glass of water seemed monumental. "Bastard came in here swinging the boards around like he''d already stopped at every other bar on the way down the Arch!" The mylian added, before settling back down across from Arethor. Hemm picked up on the solemn mood, though, and bit his lip.


    "Ya know, I''ve got a weird feeling I''m going to die in here." Hemm said randomly. This managed to pry Arethors eyes away from the spot, and looked at his friend in confusion.


    "What?" He huffed.


    "I just mean¡­if I am going to die, it better be here. By the fireplace, with an ale and my lute in hand." Hemm said with a smile, his gaze distant as if imagining it in his head. At first Arethor felt it in rather poor taste to say something like that, but after a moment the thought became relaxing. He understood what his friend meant. If he couldn''t control how he died, he wanted to at least choose where.


    Before he could respond to his friend, there was a sudden knock at the door. The two looked at it simultaneously. Hemm was quick to get to his feet and make for the door, swinging it open brazenly, the light flashing in. Standing there, armorclad, was Heathgrim. He looked somber, and yet alert. Arethor could already tell what was about to happen. Reluctant news.


    "Arethor, I figured you''d be here." Heathgrim said, trying to smile. His short lived anger towards the captain had diminished overnight. As much as he wanted to pin the blame on him, there was nothing Heathgrim could''ve done. The arrows bent around the damn man after all. Even if he''d sent the volley before the attack, there was no guarantee Kimer wouldn''t have still tried to kill Tolo and Amber. In fact, Arethor was confident he''d have still tried. As even when the arrows rained down over him, he didn''t so much as flinch. Not even when Arethor was hurtling toward him with a sword.


    But he knew Heathgrim. He knew he would still think that Arethor hated him, that he wanted to tear him apart for having let Tolo be killed. And while he wanted to just outright say he didn''t, and relieve the captain of the burden, he couldn''t find the words. All he could do was give him a look. A slow blink of the eyes. A sign of understanding, of acceptance.


    There was a visible tremble from Heathgrim, and a long breath escaped him. He seemed to shrink a few inches before nodding ever so slightly in return. All that needed to be said, had been said.


    "I just needed to get out of there. I''ll be going back to check on Amber later." Arethor attempted a smile in return, a pained one at that. "Please, come in." The elf gestured to the seat across from him, to which the captain quickly obliged.


    "Hemm, could you fetch us both a Remedy?"


    "That''s alright, I''m on duty." Heathgrim said begrudgingly. A Remedy sounded more than pleasant at the moment.


    "Right, sorry. Water then. Thank you, Hemm." Arethor said with a smile. The mylian nodded happily and went off behind the counter. Heathgrim had not been to the Whine nearly as much as he would''ve liked, but knew of its customs in great detail. It had been ages since last he''d been inside, but it looked all the same.


    "Well, there''s only a few reasons you could be here, Captain." Arethor said bluntly. "Either I''m being arrested, or being recruited." He finished, even more bluntly. The captain had a pained expression that reminded Arethor that he most likely hadn''t wanted to be the one to deliver whatever message was coming his way. He kept that in mind as he braced himself.


    "I wish you were wrong, for once. But you''re right. You have every right to decline, and are under no obligation, but you are being called upon for the counter-assault. More specifically, you''re being asked to be their scout. Alongside me." Heathgrim said with as much of a straight expression as he could muster.


    "You? A scout?" Arethor asked, a smile forming.


    "What? That''s what you put into question? Not you being summoned?" Heathgrim looked genuinely perplexed, which only added to Arethors minor amusement.


    "If I''m being honest, Heathgrim, the moment I saw that man standing in the road I knew that this conversation was going to happen. Regardless of the outcome. I suppose it only makes sense that the Oak wants to use my anger against them. It''s smart, really." Arethor shrugged, leaning back.


    "I strongly advised against it myself. Not that I don''t think you''re capable, I just don''t appreciate them using you like you''re some oil keg they can roll down a hill and shoot flaming arrows at whenever they need to make a crater." Heathgrim grew noticeably more frustrated. Arethor couldn''t tell if it was on his behalf, or something else was bothering the captain. Either way, he appreciated his unwillingness to let him be manipulated. Unfortunately for Heathgrim, he was prone to doing what the Oak asked. It was better if they thought they had him eating out of their palms, rather than see him as a liability.


    "I''m doing it." Arethor said matter-of-factly. Heathgrim seemed to be stunned, only a slight squeak coming from him for a brief moment.


    "I can''t recommend you doing that, Arethor. Just think about it." Heathgrim started, only for the elf to shake his head.


    "I''ve been thinking about it all night. And I''m telling you I can, and will do it."


    "They don''t just want you to scout. If everything is clear, and they set up the ambush, they want you down there as they are smoking them out. They want you to find and kill Kimer, personally." Heathgrim couldn''t stress the point enough, leaning forward with his arms flat against his knees.


    "If the Oak wants to do target practice on me again, so be it. But I''m going to kill Kimer." Arethor said calmly, his expression nearly neutral.


    "You aren''t thinking straight, this is a Deadspeaker we are talking about. One that is clearly more powerful than the rest in his cult." Hemm had long since placed down their waters and stepped back to listen. As much as he wanted to express that Arethor should stay, he refrained from saying anything.


    "Heathgrim, I understand where you''re coming from. And I can assure you I am thinking straight. I know the Oak is using my vulnerability against me. I was doing that myself long before they caught onto it. It''s just one last time. Not just for spite, not even just for Tolo or Amber, but for anyone else he may threaten or hurt if I don''t do this." Arethor leaned forward. "I''m not going to kill Kimer because I want to. I''m doing it because I have to." There was another moment of silence as Heathgrim processed the information. He had only ever seen Arethor lose his composure once, on that damn rock called Greyholde. And even then the elf managed to get them off the island alive. Truly, if there was one person he would place all of his faith in to save his life, it was Arethor Celstrum.


    "I hate it." Heathgrim muttered, looking defeated.


    "Great, use that. It seems I''ll be teaching you how to scout." Arethor said with a smile, suddenly feeling much more natural.


    "Scouting is grunt work, I did that in my early days in the Oak. I''m doubtful I need lessons." Heathgrim scoffed, to which Arethor could only chuckle.


    "Riding a horse around in open fields is hardly scouting. You need to learn to become your environment, to meld with your surroundings. That is, while still being as swift as the deer that run through them." The elf had spent many years as what was known as an Advance Scout, or an AS. A scout that, in theory, was never seen by anyone. Even the men he was reporting back to. At least, not until the AS wanted to be seen. Some considered them spies, while others just glorified scouts. To Arethor, it was an art.


    "Right. Well, we leave in two days. Best square away any business." Heathgrim said as he stood back up. "Any questions you come to me, okay? And you can back out at any time." He assured the elf, who did not intend to back down in the least bit.


    "Wait, Heathgrim. There is just one thing I''d like to request, if possible." Arethor added with a smile.


    No. Amber wrote, frantically pointing at the paper.


    "They need me, Amber. And you know I''ll be okay. Besides, I got us a house in the Green." Arethor said with a smile. He had been sitting beside his sleeping sister for awhile, debating whether or not to tell her what was happening. Theoretically he could leave, do the mission, and be back long before Amber would be sent home. But when her eyes opened and he was met with her weak but loving smile, he couldn''t imagine lying to her face. Or worse, dying out there and not having given Amber a clue as to what had happened until someone told her. He couldn''t do to Amber what their father had done to their mother.


    The Green? Amber wrote curiously.


    "They want my services, I''m going to charge them." Arethor said with a shrug. "It''s a nice one too. Not too close to the farms, but still about half a mile from the roads. Two stories, a basement. More room than we''ll need."


    How can you afford that? Amber scribble with the raise of a skeptical brow.


    "Fully paid for, silly. I didn''t just get the slot, we''re getting the whole house." He said, almost proudly. The Green was a massive area surrounding Tavernkeep within the Marrow forest. It was where the more expensive and isolated cabin houses were constructed. In fact, Tadpole was one of the many in the Green Capretry Guild that helped build them. The one that Arethor had demanded as compensation for his temporary return was one of the newer houses that had been built. These were houses that once bought were then bound to a family name. Meaning whoever bought the house, unless their entire bloodline was wiped out, their family would own it for eternity. If some long lost relative across the Deadsalt was the only remaining soul in the family, they''d be immediately notified that the house was now theirs. The city couldn''t sell the house unless they knew for a fact that there was no one left to claim it. They were also known as Legacy Homes by some.


    It was not something a tavern keeper such as Arethor could ever hope to own. Even with the cryys he''s accumulated from his time in the Oak. He was honestly rather surprised they were so quick to give up the house. It made him wonder why they believed in him as much as they did. He was a good soldier, sure, but he was certainly not the best there had ever been. In fact, he was confident that Heathgrim was on par with his abilities. That is, when it comes to combat at least. He could not say the same for his scouting skills.


    We already have a home. Amber blinked, confused. Arethor nodded, and placed a hand on hers comfortingly.


    "I have some changes I wish to make once I return. Things I need to start thinking about as I get older." Arethor frowned as he saw the confusion in his sister''s face. She was so calm despite everything. Most likely still in shock just as he. But Arethor had learned how to shove down those deep dark feelings when someone he loved died. Tolo was different, though. He couldn''t just blink those tears away, or push it aside. He could feel it festering in the corners of his mind. And whether he liked it or not, it would push itself into view, overwhelm his senses.


    Just not now.


    You''re not old. Amber said with a blank stare. Her brother couldn''t help but laugh.


    "I''m getting older. I''m a third of the way through my life, if I''m lucky. It seems like a lot of time left, but things are going to change. So much happens in the life span of an Elder. I''ve seen the rise and fall of entire empires." He paused, mulling over his words. "There''s a good chance we will see Tavernkeep fall in its lifetime. But the Legacy Homes were built to be hidden. It will keep us safe. But for now, I''m going to try and keep our city safe. To keep you safe." Arethor said with a somber gaze. He already felt like he''d failed his sister, the words hollow and meaningless. Did she even trust him to keep her safe anymore? He wouldn''t blame her if she didn''t.


    Tavernkeep is strong, like you. Amber wrote. As sweet as it was, it only brought tears to his eyes. His sister always made time for jokes, never letting a moment grow too dark. It was heartbreaking alone to see such a serious look on her face. The innocence in her gone.


    "I was too weak to save you. To save Tolo." He choked on the words, his head dropping between his knees as he wished to hide his face. After a moment of scribbling, Amber slowly lifted his face by the chin, forcing him to look at the paper.


    You were struck with six arrows trying to save me and Tolo. Not a single damn soldier followed you. ''Arethor'' and ''weak'' should never be uttered in the same sentence.

 Chapter 16 - Preperations

    Chapter 16


    Preparations


    "Arethor is smart. He isn''t naive enough as to allow us to use him¡­I knew he''d want something in return." Mirrald said in a hushed voice. The council had commenced a few hours ago, and there was very little to look forward to. It would mostly be a garbled mess of diplomacy and battle plans. Nothing that Mirrald hadn''t heard in scattered pieces throughout the last few days. Only now things were starting to come to a head, and plans were being unraveled in full.


    "And yet you were the one to suggest he come along." Jymtor, the Mouth, muttered back. The two of them stood beside the king, who at the moment was rambling about the militaristic costs of their upcoming endeavor.


    "Because I knew he would agree. And he will undoubtedly succeed." The Eye retorted, looking at him with a flare of frustration.


    "Oh, Mirrald. You just understand everyone, all the time, don''t you?"


    "It''s my job to seek understanding. As it turns out, Malar thought I did a pretty good job."


    "Didn''t quite foresee Greyholde, though, did you?" Jymtor said with a wry smirk. If Mirrald had half the brains he did, he would''ve struck him dead right where he stood. No one could have foreseen the carnage that unfolded there.


    "I can''t understand that which I can''t see." Mirrald responded cooly. It had been true that no word had come from Greyholde for several months following an eerie message sent directly to Tavernkeep. It had read that the Mayor needed to meet with Malar personally regarding something. It was vague, and most of those in Malar''s circle at the time had tried to convince him to ignore the message. But he didn''t.


    "Perhaps. But do you think Arethor feels the same? Or Heathgrim?" Jymtor pushed. He wanted him to get upset. He wanted him to lash out and get himself dragged out of the palace. Mirrald was not going to give him such satisfaction. He realized his first mistake was even engaging in conversation with him to begin with. Foolish Mirrald. A bitter lesson learned time and time again.


    ¡­


    Two days passed like the blink of an eye. Men were stationed on the walls in heaping masses, making their presence known to anyone watching from the outside. As half the Oak readied to march through dense forest, the rest were preparing defenses around the city''s perimeter. Kojok took great pride in his work, and watched over his men with an approving glare. Finally, an ounce of responsibility. He hadn''t ever felt this special when he was a Lion.


    "Sickening." Uthir said quietly, stationed at his usual spot above the gates. He had been awfully quiet the last few days, Kojok noted.


    "Which part?" The captain scoffed. He observed his men place down the wooden spikes along the walls. He wondered why they didn''t always have those there. Sure, they weren''t pretty to look at, but that was the point after all. Kojok would rather his city be safe than pretty.


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    "The greed." Uthir muttered, even quieter. He couldn''t help but feel an ounce of responsibility for what happened the other day. All his men, all firing at once. And not a single arrow met Kimers flesh. Better yet? He''d damn near killed one of his own men, and someone he called a friend.


    "Suffice to say they won''t be reveling in it anytime soon." Kojok meant it as a word of encouragement, and confidence. But it only seemed to further dampen the Gate Captains mood, who frowned ever so slightly. It was his men, had he not taught them well enough? Who cares if he is made of magic, or whatever it may be. He didn''t care if there was no logic in his frustration, he failed. And that''s all that anyone will notice.


    "She was amazing." Uthir looked at Kojok. Not much else needed to be said. The Captain smiled weakly, and nodded.


    ¡­


    Heathgrim watched the men begin to march out of the front gates of Tavernkeep. It was bittersweet, as he knew he wasn''t the one leading them, and yet it still made him proud. The Oak was a proud bunch all in all, their determination not easily wavered. Certainly not when their home had been violated twice now in the span of a few weeks. The Oak would not return until the blood of the Ruiners stained their swords.


    "Don''t get too doughy eyed yet." Arethor said as he rode his horse up beside the captain. His longing gaze was one that he recognized. Arethor had noticed Heathgrim always looked at his men as if it was the last time he was going to. A habit that no doubt was unhealthy for his well being.


    "So much is still unknown," Heathgrim frowned. Soon the two would need to get ahead of the army, and begin their scouting. They would then take turns going ahead, then falling back to inform the frontlines of what they''d seen. And if they were lucky, what they hadn''t. "I feel cold." He added bitterly. Arethor knew he didn''t mean it literally, and nodded understandingly.


    "Let''s warm you up then. Come on." Arethor said, putting Judas into motion. Heathgrim quickly followed behind on his own steed, Kiltith. Jotting alongside the army for a good few moments, they eventually breached into the forest and past the frontlines. It would still be a good few days before they reached the center of the forest. That would be mostly thanks to the density of the foliage, and the often overwhelming landscape. Massive hills and craters littered the Marrow. It was often impossible to not find yourself in or on at least one of them. Every so often though there would be a few miles of flat ground, but the trees and thickets never let up. It''s what made Tavernkeep so snuggly tucked away from the rest of Riverden. Luckily, it had been thoroughly mapped by many members of the city, and surrounding villages. Expert cartographers often tried to disway the Oak from traveling through it for any purpose, as it could lead to losing entire battalions of men from just getting lost.


    But General Scarv was running a tight ship, and his men knew better than to splinter off from the march. They were also deployed with flares in case there were any mishaps. But with the goal that was set in their minds, the only fires they hoped to set were beneath the Ruiners.


    "If that damn rain rolls back in¡­" Heathgrim started, watching the clouds looming overhead. The Storm Conduits had sworn it wouldn''t rain, and drizzle at best. But the clouds felt heavy above them, waiting to downpour at its convenience.


    "If it does, it would make our lives a lot easier. Muffle the sound of our arrival. Can''t say the same for the whole Oak, though." Arethor said with a shrug. He looked over his shoulder briefly as the army stretched further behind them. At the front lines was General Scarv, who happened to be looking directly at him. What was that vague, nondescript expression? Resentment? Or indifference. Sometimes it looked the same.


    "Lets go get Scarv some good news, why don''t we?" Heathgrim brushed away the concern, looking at Arethor with a forced smile. Just a few hours ago he had to say goodbye to his wife and child, possibly for the last time. Oh how he hated leaving them behind.


    "Always expect bad news, Heathgrim." Arethor said plainly, before picking up his pace through the forest.

 Chapter 17 - Dew

    Chapter 17


    Dew


    Myis watched as the Ruiner jogged down the side of the bowl and settled beside a group surrounding a fire. The human saw it light their faces, and he could hear their idle chatter. T''var grunted beside him as he watched, unpleased as always.


    "They don''t have it, I imagine." T''var spoke softly.


    "What makes you say that?" Myis snorted, shaking his head frustratingly.


    "They would be dancing, or something. I don''t know. Whatever it is these freak cultists do." The mylian responded, running a hand through his long slicked back black hair. They had been watching the cultists for days, looking for any signs of change. So far, they''d only watched who they assumed was their leader come and go. Whatever news he gave to them seemed to rattle the Ruiners, though, as the camp waned uneasily.


    "We should probably be ready for when the Oak arrives." T''var had reasonably assumed that was what had them on edge. Myis wasn''t so sure, as the camp didn''t seem to be preparing for any sort of assault. So either they were half-witted, or extremely confident. And neither of those things boded well for them, not when they hadn''t got what they wanted yet.


    "Be ready how?" Myis posed, looking at his friend with a raised brow.


    "They will no doubt send scouts. Perhaps we can inform them that the cultists are lacking defenses." T''var had always been more practical. "It would be best to keep them on our good side, I would think." He added. The Oak was known for its creative approaches to combat, whether it be through stealth or some new technical advancement. Either way, the Oak was coming, and probably soon. And it might be too late for them to get what they came for.


    "Too bad Arethor won''t be with them. He''d bail us out." Myis said with a smirk.


    "He''d probably shout at us. Understandably so. We are far out of our depth this time."


    "Nonsense, remember the Moonstalkers? We handled that like professionals." The human scoffed. He began to inch away slowly from the edge of the bowl, with T''var quickly following. It had been a few years since their last endeavor, and their fortune was beginning to run thin. Mostly thanks to Myis'' gambling.


    "Those were wild beasts, these are insane Splinter-slinging cultists." T''var argued. The two now stealthy made their way through the forest, making sure no Ruiners happened to be passing by. They had equipped themselves with two black robes that matched the cultists, in case they were caught. They figured it would be worth a try to pass themselves off as Ruiners before resorting to the sword.


    "That man still gives me the chills, though. What was he doing out there? And completely covered in swamp mess. He looked like he was made of algae and rotten logs." Myis remembered with a sour look, ducking beneath an unruly branch.


    "Probably some backwater fool snorkeling for dimroot." T''var''s lip flared as he recalled that day. Drenched head to toe in swamp water. But they had secured the moonshards hidden in their shells.


    "Ah, forget it. Let''s just let the Oak do its thing. If we''re lucky they might give us a reward for the assist."


    "Not like you to give things up to the authorities, Myis. Are you feeling well?" T''var mused with a grin.


    "Just not in the mood for a hole in the head."


    The forest was particularly unforgiving during the turn from autumn to winter. Leaves were beginning to paint the ground, and their footfalls rattled out like a mousetrap springing off. When they got closer to the camp, they would eventually have to leave the horses behind. Of course, Arethor wasn''t going to do that until he absolutely needed to. But from the look on Heathgrims face, Arethor could see the captain was growing anxious.


    "Not feeling talkative?" Arethor nudged, swaying gently on Judas as he braved a hill.


    "I figured you''d tell me to shut it." Heathgrim blinked.


    "To you, captain? I haven''t forgotten my manners since I''ve resigned." The elf smiled. Since Arethor had gone through the ranks faster than most in the Oak, he was never given the time to become pompous or full of himself. He took each promotion with a salute, and a gesture of good will. He had even still addressed those he newly outranked with extraordinary formality. It just wasn''t in his blood to be disrespectful. Though he felt he''d gotten to a point with Heathgrim where he didn''t always need to straighten his back at his presence.


    "Of course not, I suppose I just don''t know what a scout would talk about anyways." Heathgrims eyes trailed behind him. The Oak had long since disappeared, not even the sounds of their marching to be heard.


    "It''s not like it''s a completely different occupation. Just talk about what''s on your mind." Arethor said with a grin, amused by his friend''s aimlessness. But he could sympathize with him, after all. Both of them had risen through the ranks of the Oak faster than most, and they skipped a lot of the steps most other Oaknights would have to take. In fact, neither of them had ever actually had the title Oaknight officially. Arethor had gone from Wall Guard to Scout, then straight to Spymaster. While Heathgrim had gone from Wall Guard to Wall Captain to Captain. Similar paths, but with different goals.


    "What, like my feelings?" Heathgrim asked.


    "Sure."


    "I guess I''m anxious. I''ve seen now what these people can do. I''m not so sure we''re making the right choice just walking in like this." Heathgrim cared deeply about the Oak, and the men who were risking their lives to save Tavernkeep. He wouldn''t be able to forgive himself if he walked them into a trap. "But Hyvale knows we must do something. I''ve never thought the Deadspeakers to be evil, but their delusions will be the end of us."


    Arethor debated telling him what Otis had discovered. But he remembered that the only reason Otis had discovered the information was from peeping on Heathgrim. Perhaps that wasn''t the wisest of things to do. He would need more proof before throwing such a thing at him. Besides, Arethor wasn''t even so sure about it himself.


    "They aren''t evil. Deadspeakers I mean. I''ve met many in my life, all have been pleasent people from what I can remember. I''ll always wonder why the Purgers did what they did. Had we been missing something?" Arethor hadn''t been alive for it, but he was there in the aftermath of it all. The world had still been healing.


    "No point in looking for the logic. They were just monsters." Heathgrim grunted. It had always been a touchy subject to him, having lived through it himself. He was young, yes, but even as a Wall Guard he saw things that would end most men from the madness it caused. Of course, he had been on the walls themselves when they''d been blown down, having barely survived. Heathgrim always resented Malar for that. For throwing away their opportunity to keep their heads down and remain untouched.


    "I won''t disagree there, it just seems too random to be random. I mean, so does the Green War."


    "Oh, Gods, don''t tell me you believe that nonsense?" Heathgrim blurted out. The reaction caught him by surprise, and Arethor silenced momentarily.


    "The pieces are all there, Heathgrim." Arethor started.


    "Some lizards got hungry and crawled out of their caves, that''s all there was to it. This talk of relics, Moonkings, and the return of long since dead people is just¡­" Heathgrim paused, sighing deeply as he shook his head. "Distractions." He finished. Arethor thought to push further, but restrained. He¡¯d already ignored his own advice of saying nothing.


    ¡°Look, let¡¯s forget it. We got more important things to worry about. Though¡­I do have a personal question.¡± Arethor spoke slowly. This seemed to peak Heathgrims interest, who turned to look at his friend.


    ¡°Ah, I see. Ask away.¡± He seemed happy to move away from the previous conversation.


    ¡°Have you ever felt the Connection?¡± Arethor prompted.


    ¡°Yes, with my wife. Did you not with¡­¡± He paused as he realized it might be too soon to ask such a question. But Arethor understood. It didn¡¯t feel like she was gone yet, anyways.


    ¡°No. Though I don¡¯t think that means we weren¡¯t meant for each other.¡± Arethor shrugged.


    ¡°Of course not. People often mistake it for a sign that they are soulmates. But I¡¯m pretty sure it just means that they¡¯ll have some sort of significance in your life, good or bad.¡± Heathgrim had met his wife during the Green War, and the Connection that sparked between them nearly blinded him. He immediately fell in love. Sweet Fina, how he already missed her.


    ¡°Have you ever heard of someone feeling the Connection with an object? Like, something not alive?¡±


    ¡°An object? I can¡¯t say I have. Though I wouldn¡¯t be so quick to say it¡¯s impossible. But I certainly wouldn¡¯t consider my wife an object.¡± The two laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she appreciates that.¡± Arethor said with a smirk.


    ¡°What makes you ask?¡± Heathgrim asked. A dense patch of bramble separated them for a moment, giving Arethor time to think of an excuse.


    ¡°Just curious.¡±


    After a few more hours, and no sign of Ruiners, the two found a spot to rest and set up a camp as the rest of the Oak caught up. They¡¯d inform Scarv that so far things seemed clear, and they most likely would rest for the night. As the sun was quickly slithering away beyond the horizon.


    Once the Oak came into view, the two gave the pleasant news and camps began to spring up all around the area. They only built a few fires though, so as to not alarm the Ruiners if they were close. Hopefully they would think it was just a few passerby¡¯s.


    ¡°We reconvene in the morning?¡± Arethor asked, tying Judas to a tree. Heathgrim had been in the process of shaking loose pine needles from his boots, looking up at the elf.


    ¡°What, are you not sticking around the camp?¡±


    ¡°No. Thought I¡¯d move up a bit, keep an eye out.¡± Arethor looked over his shoulder at the seemingly infinite forest. The camp they¡¯d set was between two hills, which Arethor did not like. What if the Ruiners did exactly what they were planning to do to them?


    ¡°You need sleep too, don¡¯t you?¡± Heathgrim raised a brow. His face was illuminated by the light of the fire. A strong, stoic face. But one that softened when it wanted to. It wasn¡¯t always so serious, despite what Heathgrim may have people believe.


    ¡°I¡¯ll sleep when sleep comes.¡± Arethor nodded before waltzing off into the woods. The captain had thought to follow him at first but refrained. He was worried for the elf, and yet, he wasn¡¯t quite sure how to comfort him. Arethor had dealt with more death in his life than most anyone else he knew, what could he possibly say to make him feel better?


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    He tried to imagine someone killing Fina, and what could be said to make him feel better. But it only wound up making him mad at the imaginary scenario. He just knew he would slaughter anyone who hurt her. Anyone who even breathed rotten breath in her direction. He wondered if Arethor felt the same. What carnage could be going on in his mind. Suddenly, he became rather afraid. And for a brief moment he was glad he could no longer see the silhouette of Arethor.


    ¡°Captain. Celstrum told me you¡¯re doing some good work out there.¡± Scarv suddenly appeared from a group of men. He still wore his armor, though his mask was hanging loose beside his face. He had that look about him that let him know he could afford to be more casual with the General.


    ¡°Oh, did he? I feel like a pup following their mother around. I¡¯m older than him, damnit.¡± Heathgrim sighed.


    ¡°Two sides of the same battlefield can look very different, captain. But the war ends the same for both of them. You have your skills and he has his own.¡± Scarv shrugged before sitting himself down on a log across from him and the fire. It flared angrily, glowing against his oily skin. "I hope you don''t see your position as a punishment. While I am indeed disappointed with how things had gone, I can recognize when something is out of our control. We are dealing with a partially unknown enemy. The men are not wavered, but still I can feel their nerves." The General looked behind him, the Oak stretching out far beyond the hill that lay behind them.


    "Of course not, sir. I take this position with pride, if not with a tinge of confusion." Heathgrim spoke honestly, as he knew Scarv had come to expect.


    "In all honesty, captain, it''s because I trust you more than anyone else. I have reason to believe that some of the Ruiners could be within the Oak. A disturbing thought, I''m aware, but entirely plausible. Arethor and you have proven yourself time and time again. I trust you wouldn''t alert the enemy of our presence." The thought was indeed disturbing. But it would be naive of them not to consider it at the very least. But so far, no one had so much as stepped out of formation to relieve themselves. And the Oak had been told to keep an especially close eye on one another to account for such.


    "Your trust is appreciated. And I can''t express enough the guilt I feel for the life lost that evening." The words felt bitter in his mouth. Reminding himself again and again how he had failed to convince Kimer. How he let Tolo be murdered, and Amber maimed. He wasn''t sure how Arethor had it in his heart to forgive him so quickly. Then again, he was sure that the elf was just pushing everything down. Waiting for the right moment to let it all come up at once. Right on top of Kimer.


    "Guilt won''t get us anywhere, redemption will. And you, and all of Tavernkeep, will soon have it. Just keep your head on straight and we''ll be marching back the other direction before we know it." Scarv actually smiled, if not faintly. It was comforting to see from the general, who didn''t show that side to anyone that didn''t closely match his rank. This was seen just as an Oaknight walked over, saluting against his chest. The smile faded and the general gave the boy a hard look.


    "Report?" Scarv asked.


    "Yes, sir. Smoke a few miles north. Seems to just be one fire, most likely a small fire pit. Shall we douse ours?" The Oaknight was young, but knew all the right ways to present himself. Scarv thought it over for a moment, rubbing his chin before shrugging to himself. They had the more agile men climb trees to get an overlook of the forest, where they must have spotted the smoke.


    "No. We are still a good bit away from where the camp should be. Probably just some hunters." The general nodded, and the Oaknight was dismissed. Turning back to Heathgrim, he scoffed.


    "We end this nonsense tomorrow."


    "I can''t believe you turned your back on your people there, T''var. I''m sure they would''ve taken you in with open arms." Myis teased, trailing close behind the slender mylian.


    "Quiet, human." T''var spat back playfully. A call back to a simpler time.


    "Ah! Haven''t heard that since we first met. When was that?" Myis began to rummage through his satchel. Of all the useful tools he had jumbling around inside, he pulled free his pipe, and packed it with dinleaf. Lighting a match, the human took in a few drags of the smoke. It tasted and smelled sweet, and the head rush from it was even sweeter. It was like caffeine but smokable. And though it had no chemically addictive properties, it was damn near impossible to put down.


    "Too long ago. Makes me feel old." The mylian tried to relax, though his nerves had been shot. "I keep track by all the jobs that have gone wrong." T''var added smugly, looking over his shoulder at his friend who''s smile was filled with smoke.


    "Why, ''cause there are so few?" Myis chirped cheerily.


    "Sure." T''var shrugged, looking forward. They had been walking for a good few hours at that point and it was getting hard to see. All they had was moonlight and the charged cryy''s they had strapped around their waists with strips of leather. Curiously enough, the crystals would glow for extended periods of time when submerged in water long enough. The longer they sat in it, the longer and more powerfully they glowed.


    A different kind of light caught their eye though, one more natural, that of a flame. It was small, but the shadows caused could be made out flickering against trees sitting atop a hill. The two eagerly scaled the small hill to find a man standing alone. Suddenly, swords were being drawn.


    "By the Gods, Arethor? Is that you?" Myis shouted with a laugh, putting his sword away in a flash. The mylian had a hand to his chest, having started a prayer subconsciously, while Arethor stood with a stunned expression. "What in the Orange Sands are you doing here?"


    "I think you know why." Arethor said, his eyes now squinting with suspicion. "Perhaps I should be asking you instead." The elf added.


    "Well, you see-!" Myis started, only for T''var to slap a hand over his mouth and drag him backward.


    "We heard what happened to Tavernkeep, thought maybe we could get a few cryys if we found the camp and turned it in." T''var slowly pulled his hand away as Myis nodded along with his friend''s half-truth.


    "Precisely." Myis chimed in.


    "Right. And?" Arethor looked beyond them to see much of the same forest he''d been seeing so far.


    "And they are only a half day''s journey away in that direction. They seem woefully unprepared for any sort of invasion, I might note." T''var had seen Mission camps more fortified than the Ruiners. This set off all sorts of alarms in Arethors head, who bit his lip in thought.


    "That could mean a lot of things. Either they are truly oblivious, or they have some sort of ambush set up." Arethor leaned against a tree, an opening in the branches above them providing them with much needed moon and corrlight, that being the orange glow produced from Coreterras surface.


    "We stood right at the edge of their camp, walked all around its perimeter, they didn''t even have guards on duty." T''var said, recalling just how barren it had been. They had wondered if they themselves had walked into a trap at first. "But, Arethor, what are you doing here? Did you not retire?" The mylian insisted. At first Arethor wasn''t sure what to say. Would he sound like a gambler, or perhaps an alcoholic if he said it was just ''one more time''? Or would they truly believe him? It hadn''t been the first time the Oak required his assistance for something after he''d retired. But it was almost always just an opinion on something diplomatic or tactical. Never had they asked for him to pick back up his sword.


    "Just doing someone a favor. It''s the least they deserve." Arethor muttered, hoping it was satisfying enough an answer. The two men looked at him understandingly, and decided it was all they were going to get. "Now, what are two Relicers like you really doing out here?" Arethor turned the heat back to them, to which T''var seemed too stumped to respond.


    "He''s twisted our fingers, T''var! We might as well confess!" Myis blurted out.


    "You dumb fool." T''var hid his face in his palms and sighed.


    "Listen, we heard these simpleton cultists were holding a relic of some sort. It was a crapshot in the dark but we are desperate for another hit. Figured it was worth a try." Myis shrugged, his honesty always being one of his greatest strengths and weaknesses. Being a Relicer was not the business to be an honest man in, T''var always tried reminding him.


    "Well wherever you got that information, you either didn''t hear it right or they lied. The Ruiners don''t have the relic. As of right now it looks like it doesn''t even exist. They attacked Tavernkeep because they were convinced we have it." Arethor said bitterly. T''var raised a brow, resting his chin in his palm.


    "And you don''t?" T''var asked, which earned another squint from Arethor.


    "No, we don''t. At least, we aren''t sure." Was he about to do it? Was he going to try and tell them what Otis had to him? He felt compelled to, even if he didn''t truly believe it himself without some form of proof. But the lines connected scarily well, and the last thing he wanted was his two friends winding up in more danger than they''d already gotten themselves into.


    "There is, however, more to this." Arethor said slowly, unsure of how to phrase things. He decided it was simply best to explain it the same way his friend had in the stables, which had damn near convinced him on the spot. And it seemed to be convincing the two Relicers as well. And though Myis was fully enveloped in the tale, T''var of course still had his skepticism to latch onto.


    "I''m sorry, you say we know that Uttral survived the Purge? How is this exactly?" T''var pointed out blankly.


    "He was a famous Deadspeaker for Torchill for several decades. He was better at making clear, touchable connections with the dead than anyone other. And above all else, he was extremely recognizable."


    "Handsome, you mean?" Myis interrupted.


    "Some would say, sure. Long, jet black hair, a gentle yet authoritative face, illustrated and dispersed throughout the world in several famous novels. People were not quick to forget who Uttral was. Which is why it was notable when there were hundreds of reports of him appearing across the world during the Green War." Arethor remembered seeing the drawings of him, in such great detail too. Him standing in the Grand Hall of Fort Kiltek as he brought forth an image of General Cladius The First with a massive audience surrounding him. It was ironic that it was that very city that turned on him when the Purgers came.


    "No, no, it makes sense, T''var." Myis started. "Think about it. How likely would it be that the Jorinian would go undiscovered for so long? I mean, sure, they could''ve lived underground but how would they eat? They would''ve been spotted looking for food eventually, that is, thousands of years ago." The human wasn''t a complete dunce, he only acted like it when he felt he was in control of a situation. This was very much not in anyone''s control.


    "I suppose. It does make sense. And we have seen relics with great power before, such as the Everdial. It''s not completely unlikely that something like this¡­Celspawn, as you say, could exist. But if it does exist, why are they under the impression that it is in Tavernkeep?" T''var asked reasonably. Of course, this was still one of the many things that were unknown to them. But Arethor was glad at the very least that they didn''t think he was completely insane.


    "It won''t matter. We''ve come to wipe them out. Then we figure out if it''s truly in Tavernkeep. If it''s not, then we can sleep easily." Arethor rationalized to himself.


    "And if it is?" Myis asked the obvious question, which frustrated Arethor ever so slightly.


    "Then we destroy it, I would think. No one should have that kind of power." That seemed the only right answer. A simple answer too.


    "Right, well perhaps you wouldn''t mind some company then? And perhaps a reward for said company?" Myis suggested with the nudge of his shoulder. T''var sighed at his friends desperateness but surprisingly it made Arethor laugh.


    "I''ve been offered more than enough cryys, and a spot in the Green for my cooperation. I can spot you two a few. I''m sure the Oak won''t complain about having more help too." He wasn''t actually sure how Scarv would feel about bringing on a couple of no-name Relicers. But a good part of him knew that Scarv would trust him. He''d never given the man a reason not to, after all.


    "Sounds wonderful." T''var grinned, suddenly on board. "What are you doing so far from the Oak? Scouting at night doesn''t seem all that efficient in the forest."


    "You''d be right. I just needed a breath. They''re about a half mile back. Figured I''d keep watch out here for tonight. You can join me if you''d like." Arethor said, pointing to a small fire he had at a low burn just down the hill. The two happily joined the elf, indulging in flat bread and dried meat as they talked. T''var even began to warm up a kettle of tea from Stimroot, which would keep them aware.


    "It was in Skylorn, yes? I was still a young Relicer. My biggest find at the time had been a Scalbone tooth. It was about the size of my middle finger." T''var flashed his middle finger at the two, who rolled their eyes.


    "You two almost made me lose my position in the Oak, it''s kind of hard to forget." Arethor recalled, having helped the two chase down a wild Thinrunr through the small Skylorn village. It had been the first time he''d ever been to Rifnallia, so high over the ocean. The floating landmass was infamous for its flat plains and cottage villages. At the time, Arethor had been Malars Spymaster, and had been working to figure out the leak coming from Skylorn. Little did he know he would run into the two Relicers for the first time, who had been trying to capture the beast for a week at that point.


    "Was worth the trouble, I''d say." Myis said as he poked the fire, embers spitting upward.


    "I''m sure it was, for you! I was dragged over to Riftorn by your damn yulewing!" Arethor said, perhaps too loudly for someone trying not to be heard. The two Relicers erupted into laughter, though, and it was hard not to do the same. The three talked a bit more before dousing the fire, and getting some sleep. If everything went according to plan, tomorrow was going to be a big day for everyone.

 Chapter 18 - Ruins - END OF PART ONE

    Chapter 18


    Ruins


    ¡°Relicers, huh? And you trust them?¡± Heathgrim asked as he rode alongside Arethor. The two Relicers walked lazily behind, their pace much slower on foot.


    ¡°More than I¡¯d trust most in the Oak. They are loyal, if not a bit clumsy.¡± Arethor vouched, looking back to see Myis waving at him with a big dumb smile.


    ¡°The tall one seems put together.¡± Heathgrim noted T¡¯var, who seemed much more aware of his surroundings than the other human. He was hesitant to let the two strangers come along, but he trusted Arethors judgement almost above anyone else¡¯s. If Arethor said jump, he¡¯d jump.


    ¡°They''re both a bit rough around the edges, but they are good men. Honest men. Plus, they¡¯ve been to the camp. You two, catch up will you?¡± Arethor called back to them. The two perked up and then ran up beside their horses.


    ¡°Something the matter?" T''var wondered.


    "What can we expect when we reach the bowl?" Arethor asked again, this time for Heathgrim to hear.


    "Nothing on the outside. That being said their tents are packed in pretty tight, if you guys really are going to rain down fire they are going to light up quick." T''var was no novice when it came to violence. He''d been a Field Medic with Myis at one point, taking and saving lives. Eventually the two had decided it didn''t quite pay well enough, so they took to being Relicers. Something just as dangerous, but with different goals. Plus, killing and saving was often still involved, just not required.


    "Lovely. Did you have eyes on their leader? The one with the elk skull?" Heathgrim asked, looking down at the mylian who walked next to him.


    "He seemed like a busy man, never really standing still for too long. He''s got his own tent, bigger than the rest at the far end of the camp by their bonfire pit." T''var recalled seeing the man several times. Each time giving him more of a chill than the last. Something about the man felt woefully wrong. Like a statue you could''ve sworn shifted its eyes in the corner of your vision.


    "That will keep the fires isolated from his tent. It''ll give me a clearing to slip down from the opposite side and get to him first. If I''m lucky, I can catch him in his sleep." Arethor planned it out in his head. He was interrupted by a snicker from Myis.


    "I recall you being a bit more honorable, spymaster."


    "Honor means nothing right now. Killing an innocent woman and nearly another is far from honorable. He has lost his chance for a prideful death." Arethor said between clenched teeth. This made heads swing in his direction.


    "What''s this? Who died?" T''var had assumed they were marching to the camp because of the initial attack, but clearly something else had happened they were unaware of. Only Arethor just rolled his neck around his shoulders, the cracks audible to them all.


    "It doesn''t matter who. He dies all the same." Arethors response came as a surprise to Heathgrim, but he said nothing. But his worry for his friend still grew.


    They had waited until nearly noon to begin their march, so by the time they reached the camp it was dark. And indeed, it had gotten dark. As the army began to fan out around the curves of the bowl, Arethor readied himself just behind what looked to be the tent that T''var had mentioned.


    Still, they remained a good distance from the edge, as they didn''t want to reveal themselves until they were completely ready. But Scarv had agreed to allow Arethor to get a head start climbing down the bowl. Heathgrim was crouched down beside him, looking over the camp. The two Relicers also close by.


    "It looks like they have all gone into their tents. This might be perfect." Heathgrim whispered. "My gut tells me it''s all sorts of wrong, though." He added bitterly. It was only natural to feel that way, especially considering how easy they seemed to be making things for the Oak. Surely they expected them to attack. What were they planning? Either way, they couldn''t just wait around and do nothing. There was no telling when the Ruiners might up and leave their camp behind.


    Just as Arethor began to step forward, Heathgrim slapped a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back.


    "Arethor, just listen." He started, a look of genuine concern on his face. "I have been alive longer than you, and yet, I don''t think I can say I''ve experienced a fraction of the pain you''ve endured. But I have endured it before. The pain I can recall, it runs deep. It cuts like a hot blade through cloth. I found my strength in my wife, in Fina. That has been your only weakness, Arethor. No where to put that pain, nowhere to let it fizzle out without it burning the earth around it. You let your blade be your release. But it is never enough. I can feel it in you. So I''m asking you now, to feel it. Feel her." Heathgrim inched closer, pushing his forehead to Arethors, who closed his eyes.


    "Leave this place with her in your heart, not your sword." He added at a whisper so low he almost missed it. But he hadn''t. Arethor had heard all of what he''d said. And he felt it. Like a bag of rocks pulling down on his heart, dragging it into his stomach. He knew what he was saying was right. But his deep seeded habits wanted so desperately to cut the strings, to let his heart drift back into its cold, lonely place. No. He needed to let himself feel her influence. This wasn''t for revenge, it was for forgiveness. To himself.


    "For them.." Arethor muttered.


    "For them." Heathgrim repeated, releasing the elf with a pat on the shoulder.


    Turning toward the tent, he watched as the Oak slowly began to close in, bows raised. Arethor was to give the cue for them to light the ends of their arrows, and fire the volley. Crawling on his back, the elf quickly descended the depression until he flattened out against the ground.


    It was silent. Eerily silent. The light of the bonfire casted a massive shadow of Kimers tent over Arethor as he carefully rounded it. For a brief moment, Arethor wondered if the camp was actually empty. The worry arose in his chest, and Arethor stepped past Kimers tent and deeper into the camp.


    The Ruiners tents sat in rows along the ground, leading from one end to another, with only a few trees sprinkled between them. Luckily there were few enough of them that it wouldn''t obstruct the archers too much. Still, Arethor approached the first tent closest to the fire. Using his sword, he slowly pushed aside the flap of the tent. Nobody was inside. Fear struck him like white heat. It might just be this one tent. Arethor thought, and quickly strode over to the next. Pushing it aside, one more there was no one inside.


    Frantically, he began flipping open all the tents, each one as empty as the last. Had they really just abandoned everything within the last half a day? A half thought appeared in his mind that possibly the two Relicers had deceived him, but he quickly smothered the notion.


    A sound came from across the camp. Whipping his head, Arethor pinned the noise to be coming from Kimers tent. He figured it would be empty too, given the state of the rest of the camp. Notably the bonfire was no longer lit. But blowing gently in the wind was the tent''s door flap, which revealed a blacked silhouette.


    Taking slow steps forward, he wondered how the bonfire had suddenly gone out. Was it the wind, perhaps? Either way, it had become much harder to see now. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his hold on his sword began to slip. He was fearing for his life, again. Like the weakling he had been those many years ago on the battlefield.


    He attempted to numb his mind, bring peace to himself in a position of pure chaos. All the while a flickering white-hot hatred flared in his chest. Every part of him wanted to scream out and charge the tent, stab the first thing that came into view. But dying from his own ignorance would get him nowhere.


    ¡°Kimer! Reveal yourself!¡± Arethor shouted. There was a long moment of silence before a voice echoed out across the bowl, and into the minds of everyone.


    ¡°I can¡¯t give up this opportunity, not now. Not when the silence is so close.¡± He said, his voice low and trembling. Arethor was tempted to put a hand to his head, try to fight the shaking it brought upon him, but he resisted. His grip now firm on the handle of his blade. ¡°I can¡¯t blame you for trying, I suppose. But like a deer backed into a corner. I know how to kick.¡± Kimer said with a sinister chuckle. And just like that, the tent exploded outward as dozens of elk began to pour out across the camp. For a moment, Arethor was stunned, unsure if what he was seeing was even real. But as the elk tore through the camp, destroying tents and bouncing off one another, it became blindingly clear what was standing before him. He was not a Deadspeaker. He wasn¡¯t even a Solar Conduit.


    ¡°FIRE!¡± Arethor commanded. One by one, arrows began to catch fire around the lip of the bowl. Arms were pulled back, muscles flexing, and then let loose in a massive flaming volley. The arrows rained down and began to light the very earth surrounding it on fire.


    Stepping forth from the now destroyed tent, was Kiner. His elk mask staring straight at Arethor. The bonfire had been knocked down by the loose elk, who were now starting to stampede up the sides of the bowl. Suddenly, they began to shift into men and women wielding swords, resembling the Ruiners that had been at the first attack. And though Arethor hadn¡¯t been there to witness it, Heathgrim recognized the same faces he had slain.


    ¡°Naive little Arethor. The poor bastard boy, motherless too.¡± Kimer seemed to slowly grow in height. Arrows fell down around him, along with striking the Ruiners as they tried to escape the flames. They seemed as mindless as deer, simply scrambling to safety from instinct. ¡°There is so much truth unknown to you. A whole universe of secrets in need of unraveling.¡± He continued, growing higher with each second. Only then did bones start to extend from his back, and like the legs of some great spider they arched over his back and stabbed into the ground.


    It was all starting to make sense now. There were no Ruiners. Just him. Just his influence over their minds. Kimer was a Matter Conduit. A rare, and unfathomably strong form of Conductivity. Only, what Kimer had achieved was on an impossible level unless he was¡­


    ¡°Conductus. You actually make them real.¡± Arethor muttered, frozen in fear. In all of his years in the Oak, he¡¯d never encountered a Conductus. Someone embedded directly with Solar or Lunar Energy from an eclipse. Meaning, if he was touched even once, by a living soul, the power would be stripped away from him as it would any other Conductor. But it seemed Kimer had avoided contact for years, and had time to build his illusions to unprecedented scales.


    ¡°Very good. But you¡¯re still confused, aren¡¯t you?¡± Kimer shifted forward, his massive legs dragging through the dirt.


    ¡°Why?¡± Arethor growled.


    ¡°Because this is nothing but a speck in a much larger pile of dust. And around the dust, is a mountain of ash.¡± Kimer started, swaying back and forth gently. ¡°I want to show you something. All of you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not here to talk, Kimer.¡±


    ¡°You will WITNESS!¡± Kimer shouted, spreading out his hands and enveloping the world in light. Arethor, the Relicers, Heathgrim, and the entirety of the Oak all were admitted at once to a lucid vision.


    Uttral hung between the balance. His mind fizzled like burning coals. He had witnessed it all, finally. But like a doctor plucking at random nerves, watching for what twitches, Uttral lacked the foresight to understand his influence.


    ¡°I feel something.¡± He told himself, swimming backward. ¡°Oh, I feel something! Not just the Tether, but something else! It¡¯s Ethereal¡­¡± He paused as he ran his hands over it in the darkness. The Tether had provided some light at first, but the more he fed it, the less he seemed to understand where it went. He could only hope he was leading it to help. That some being in the Endless was drinking it up, following the breadcrumbs back to him. So far it has only left him feeling drained. This, though, was a new feeling. And like turning a knob, he felt something shift out of place.


    He tried to wiggle it, like a loose tooth, plucking it free from gummy flesh. But it didn¡¯t budge. It was either all the way forward, in the middle, or all the way back. He could feel it had started in the center, balanced and leveled. So Uttral could only hope pulling it back was the right choice, that the disturbance would be enough to awaken something to come find him. Whatever, or whoever that may be.


    And indeed it had. Only Hyvale, who watched over her planet in dismay, could only witness as the Stream of Death was suddenly broken. She could not correct it herself, as no such concept had ever been within her control. She watched as every soul on her planet, good or bad, was directed toward the Orange Sands of Coreterra. It was a cataclysm of cosmic proportions. And one she was utterly helpless to prevent.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    When everyone returned to their minds, there was a deeply startling moment of uncertainty. Every man turned to those beside them to see the same shared expression of disbelief. It became clear that they had all witnessed the vision in unison. They had just seen that death had been broken, that the end of their lives meant eternal damnation without judgment.


    "The Great Silence is upon us, mighty Arethor." Kimers words slithered out like a snake. "Everything will be corrected, as it should be. Your precious Tolo should be in the New World soon enough. But not until we get back what we lost." A festering anger spilled from his lips. The elk skull he wore seemed to furrow in resentment, his bony appendages flexing.


    "You''ve lost your mind!" Arethor hollered, pointing his sword up at the Ruiner. "You must undo whatever has been done! You must guide Uttral, for he is clearly lost!" This seemed to only frustrated Kimer, who swayed forward so close he almost touched Arethor. He could''ve reached out and grabbed him, and absorbed his power, but his mind was frozen. He wouldn''t think about it until later, but he was being a cowardly fool.


    "Hyvale herself can''t unknot this cataclysm. The Endless is crying out to us, telling us to fix the injustice we endured during the Purge. Since Hyvale, our blessed God, did not have the strength to do it herself! Because of her we will not see the flowers of the New World, feel the cool water from its enchanting lakes, not until we destroy the imbalance." Kimer clenched his fist, then swayed back into his position. "You are a product of a failed apology. But you are strong in ways no one can be. You can not fall under its influence, it''s greed."


    Arethor stomped forward, getting into his stance. "Enough! Your words are meaningless. Draw your sword and fight!" His mind raced. The questions he''d been asking himself had been answered, but it also created dozens of new ones. Uttral was alive, but not on Celearia as he had thought. Not in the flesh, anyways. He was somewhere in the Endless, a place where he had influence over aspects of the Endless itself.


    "You know not the importance of my words, for my knowledge is your execution. You can choose to ignore me, but the world will suffer all the same. If I can not show you the redemption I offer, then I can not allow you to take it away from those who deserve it!" Kimer lashed out with one of his arachnid legs, its massive gleaming white surface hurtling toward him at alarming speeds. The elf swiftly pivoted to the left, the bone missing his face by only a few inches. Kicking forward, he made it only a few steps before another leg came from the side and struck him. It bounced off his rib, peeling away skin and sending Arethor tumbling.


    He growled, gripping the now bleeding wound as Kimer twisted toward Arethor with horrifying vigor. It was only then that he noticed the Ruiners beginning to to turn in his direction, their swords raised. There were probably twenty of them, all running toward him with murderous intent. He had no choice, Arethor would have to fight them.


    Arethor retreated more toward the now flattened bonfire pit, and braced himself. Blood trickled down his stomach and legs, but it was hardly the time to focus on it. He needed to remain in control.


    The first few arrived, their eyes mad with ambition. Even though they weren¡¯t real, he could feel Kimers emotion through them.


    The first one dove straight for him, sloppily, easily maneuvered and thrown aside just as the second jabbed toward him. Their blades clashed, gliding along each other as Arethor pushed his weight agaisnt the attack. Thrusting upward he forced his foes stomach to be exposed, just asking for a jab between the ribs, which Arethor respectfully obliged. The Ruiner keeled over as the next one stepped over him carelessly.


    His reckless abandon proved useful as he nicked Arethor across the face with the tip of his sword. The elf winced as he yanked himself backward, avoiding his follow up attack. Arethor grunted as he threw himself forward, his sword piercing his chest and dragging the Ruiner face first into the ground as he tore it back out.


    The one he¡¯d thrown to the ground finally got back to his feet, swinging at his legs. Arethor leapt over the sword, landing back down and spring shoulder first into him. He smashed into the Ruiner, forcing him back to the ground. Arethor quickly stood over him and stabbed down into his throat from above.


    He was surprised as someone slammed into his waist, lifting him and throwing him several feet. Arethors back hit the ground harshly, his sword falling from his hands several feet. Growling, he spared no time rolling over and reaching for it. He was interrupted though as a foot kicked him in the side, rolling him over a few times.


    Get up! Idiot! Arethors mind screamed. Something gleaming came crashing down toward his face. Reaching out he gripped it tightly, stopping the blow. Only his hand instantly pulsed with a searing pain, his palms filling with blood. Despite the slickness, he gripped harder and pulled. The blade was plucked from the Ruiners hands. Winding it back, Arethor returned the sword, hilt pointing outward, slicing into the Ruiners shin.


    Strangely, the Ruiner didn¡¯t make a sound as he crumbled to the ground. Arethor, ignoring the oddity, used the body as a crutch, pushing himself back onto his feet. To his surprise, the other Ruiners stood in shock as Arethor stormed over to his sword and snatched it off the ground.


    ¡°Stop, Kimer!¡± He shouted, almost out of breath.


    ¡°No.¡± The Ruiners said in unison before charging all at once.


    Arethor closed his eyes. He thought about what Heathgrim had said. Tolo was inside him, some part of her. He didn¡¯t feel the Connection with her, but he had no doubt in his mind that they held something much more tangible. Something that he could still feel even after death.


    Kimer had taken that from him. Had placed her soul in the Orange Sands. He couldn¡¯t get rid of that hatred with the swing of his blade alone, he needed her strength. Just this once, she had to be his blade. Turn that love, that unbreakable feeling into a weapon.


    The Ruiners ran toward death freely. Arethors blade tore through them like a sickle through fresh wheat. They fell in heaps, throats slit, heads split, bone exposed, entrails dragged across dirt. He hardily blinked as blood sprayed across his face, painting his teeth a fierce red.


    My love, my spear in an endless war! Arethor reminded himself as he decimated another Ruiner. Each one falling harder, screaming louder than the last.


    Arethor wound back, then launched forward, his blade connecting directly between a Ruiner''s eyes. The force lifted the Ruiner into the air, their lower half waving back as his life left him. Throwing the body down he plunged the blade into the collar bone of the next. He had to yank hard to the side to tear the sword free and come back with a slash to his neck.


    It continued like this for some time. His vision blurred as everything seamlessly blended together. But eventually, it stopped. And Arethor stood beyond a pile of the dead. Their bodies mangled, splayed out across one another. And standing before him, Kimer, with a look of utter delight.


    Heathgrim watched in utter disbelief as the scene unfolded. Ignoring the vision he had just witnessed, a monstrous creature that was once Kimer was now fiercely attacking Arethor down below. His attention was also drawn to the Ruiners, who had just been elk for reasons unknown, as they barreled their way up the hillsides. Flaming arrows battered them, sending some tumbling back down while others tanked them with nothing but grunts.


    "Oaknights, forward!" He heard Scarv shout from across the bowl. Oaknights began to come forward from the back ends and ready themselves between the arches, halberds pointed downward. As a wave of Ruiners crashed against the frontlines, they were met with halberds to the necks and faces, along with arrows. For a moment it seemed they were well in control of the battle, with very few managing to break through. To which they were immediately dispatched by short sword wielding Oaknights.


    Heathgrim himself cut down several of them. From what he could tell, there were probably only a hundred and fifty of them, all spread out across the bowl. But most of them were still marching up the sides when they started to finally fight back. Splinters began to tear upward along the hills. Beams of light flashing in the night as they cut through the air with a crackle. Heathgrim stepped back just in time as one tore past his head, lighting the top of a tree on fire behind him.


    The frontlines were noticeably shaken, but didn''t fall back. Only a few of Heathgrims most trusted men had been with him during the assault on the Jorax Library to had witnessed the use of Splinters. Most of these men hadn''t actually seen any real offensive Conductivity in their life. But he was proud to see his men fight back, and even harder. There was another shout from Scarv, but it was drowned out by the sounds of the Splinters. But judging by the Oaknights that began to run down the bowl, he figured it was a command to push forward. And like a wave the Oaknights all began to pour in around the bowl. They moved slowly, though, not wanting to spread themselves too thin and allow themselves to be plucked off. But still stayed far enough apart that Splinters would tear through multiple men at once. They had been trained to fight against them, but never had they imagined truly doing so.


    Heathgrim decided it was best he follow them.


    "Wait! What about us?" Myis shouted, running up behind the captain with an oddly calm composure.


    "Do you know any first aid?" Heathgrim shouted back, ignoring a Splinter that came unsettlingly close to his head. Myis seemed disappointed but nodded.


    "The both of us, yes. We were Field Medics, in another time."


    "Then get to work saving my men! I''m going for Arethor!" Heathgrim said, pointing to the abomination unfolding down below. After a glance, Myis decided he''d drawn the right stick in that situation, and nodded. The captain watched as the two Relicers helped drag an injured Oaknight out of the bowl, and begin wrapping his wound. Turning back to Arethor, he swallowed the fear trying to take over.


    Arethor narrowly avoided a devastating blow, the point of the leg just barely scraping by his face as he lunged backward. His balance was off, and his side was hurting badly. A dreariness began to take over him, and sluggishly he rolled away from one more attack.


    "Your wick''s burning out. I can feel you draining. Leave, and the moonking will grant you peace." Kimer bartered. Why even bother at that point? Why not just kill him already?


    "You took away my peace! You tore it from me!" A rage bubbled up inside. The calming clarity he had before was not going to suffice. The furnace inside needed fuel. Too much wind, and too little kindle. He needed to feed it, and then fan it.


    "I woke you up. I made you realize that this world, and everything in it, is finite as long as they continue to exist in whatever corner they hide in." Kimer argued.


    "The Purgers are gone! And all those who directly aided them, are dead! You swing your sword at nothing, and call it a precaution? Meanwhile, it cuts down everything that happens in its path, good or evil!" He couldn''t muster the strength to try and swing at Kimer, so he figured he could at least indulge in his battle of words. The Ruiner was clearly utterly insane. Either he was so full of himself he didn''t think he could lose, or everything felt like a game to him, a fantasy that he could risk losing as there were no real consequences.


    "But when will they return? The Endless trapped Uttral in his realm, confusing him into corrupting the Stream of Death, as a punishment to ours and Hyvales ignorance. You truly don''t think they will return?"


    "Your argument is moot. Uttral died during the Purge. Did the Endless somehow know that Hyvale would leave whoever caused it unpunished?" Arethor was sure he had him now. His attention was briefly dragged away as he saw the chaos unfolding around him. Fires began to chase the Ruiners up the bowl, while Oaknights pushed downward. They were by all means winning on that front, though they were suffering immense casualties from the Splinters alone. Meanwhile, he was trying to argue his way out of a battle.


    "He died at the end of the Purge. It had been happening for weeks on end. Endless slaughter and destruction. At any point Hyvale could''ve decimated whoever caused the carnage, but she didn''t. Instead, she made him give us gifts. Gifts of stone and blood. Leaving it into OUR hands to prepare for their return. She instead tests us rather than bring our assailants to justice! We are forced to play a game she never explained the rules to! But I see them now. And while Uttral was misguided¡­I hope to steer him to the path of redemption." The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to lock into place, and yet, Arethor still didn''t fully understand. It was hard to think with the pain pulsating in his side anyways. But a thought came to him. He didn''t care. Tolo was dead. And right now, if the vision served true, she was walking the Orange Sands of Coreterra, wondering why she was being punished. She was burning. Because of him, she was weeping alone on a desolate planet.


    And that filled him with rage. Not a rage like he''d been called a name, or someone had bumped into him and made him spill his drink. No. This was a new kind of anger. Much more potent, and visceral. Almost like a tangible, physical smoke it filled his lungs with unease. His muscles spasmed and his heart began to beat. The heat of the fires around him only hardened his reserve, added to his discomfort.


    And like a loose tire that¡¯s spinning, but motionless, eventually the friction pulls it forward at ungodly speeds. And Arethor did the same. Ignoring the pain, pushing past a physical barrier he at first never knew could be broken, Arethor swung forward. His blade seared through the air, and with one swift motion cleaved straight through Kimers bony leg. The Ruiner stumbled forward, not having expected it.


    But just as Kimer fell downward, Arethor bringing his sword close to his chest, ready to lunge upward, something interrupted them. A war cry, then the sounds of effort as someone pushed off the ground and leapt through the air. Flying off the side of the bowl, sword drawn, was Heathgrim. Airborne for a few seconds, the captain landed right onto the Ruiner, his sword slicing through his back just beneath his shoulder blade. Using his left arm, Heathgrim wrapped around Kimers neck, getting him into a choke hold and then yanking himself backward.


    The human had no idea what he had just done. The Energy from Kimer instantly transferred into Heathgrim, and the massive bone legs, the Ruiners, and even the tents all disappeared with a flash. The two were left in mid air, now free falling at least a dozen feet. The captain spun around and pushed off of Kimer, sending him down to the ground with an even more violent crash as he landed next to him legs first.


    Kimer groaned, the sword sticking out of him. Heathgrim reached for his blade, but Arethor quickly stepped forward, grabbing his wrist.


    "Please." Arethor pleaded, his eyes frantic. Heathgrim was stunned, his body still buzzing from adrenaline, but backed away with a nod.


    Reaching down, Arethor grabbed Kimer by the collar and dragged him to his knees. He was surprisingly light, even with the sword stuck through him. Grabbing the antlers of the mask, he tore the elk skull off and threw it behind him into the fire. It was now much closer than it had been before, and he needed to hurry unless he wanted to be submerged in it. But the hollow, almost unbothered look in Kimers pale grey eyes sparked his anger even more.


    "You failed, Kimer. I will do what you couldn''t do, but without needlessly spilling blood." Arethor spat. Heathgrim looked at him in confusion, unsure what he was referring to, but kept out of it. "If Uttral truly is just misguided, I am sure I can find a way to fix this. To restore the balance." He finished. But Kimer simply shook his head.


    "You either fall or fly. The ground has been torn out from beneath us, Arethor. All that waits at the bottom now is damnation, and those twisted blades. Fly to the moon. Bring us our salvation." He muttered, before his glare grew distant. He felt his weight push into his hands, and Arethor stepped away, letting the body fall flat against the dirt. There was a brief moment of silence.


    "I''m sorry, Arethor. I thought you were in trouble. I shouldn''t have taken that from you," Heathgrim started, only for Arethor to put up a hand in protest, the captain stopping short.


    "Letting the fires take him will be my contribution. Let us leave." Arethor finally tore his gaze away from the body of Kimer, and stepped forward. Slapping a hand onto Heathgrims shoulder he dragged them both away, leaving the mess behind them.

 Prologue II - Bridge to PART TWO

    Prologue II


    Solomon stood at the edge of the Soulgate. Beneath him the cold cobblestone bricks were layered with snow, his footprints trailing far behind him. Beside his own were his apprentices, Hymar. The young mylian boy held a firm, confident gaze. But Solomon felt the unease coming from within. Still, he was proud of his student to have gotten so far, to have dealt with the chaos that had led them there. He wasn''t so sure he could have done the same at his age.


    "This is it? A bit underwhelming." Hymar said, his expression flat. Solomon couldn''t help but chuckle, taking in a long breath, smelling the cool winter air.


    "The grandeur is what lies inside. I''m afraid it isn''t in your cards to see it, though." Solomon did sincerely feel bad, but at the same time didn''t. If Hymar was able to join him inside the Soulgate, it would have implied a whole new realm of trouble for them, and everyone. The young boy didn''t argue, and simply nodded in acceptance. So eager to please.


    "And that''s the keyhole?" Hymar asked, pointing at a large opening on the side of the Soulgate. The gate itself was a massive stone arch, smooth on all sides and perfectly rounded at the curves. There was no sense of design or decorative detail. As if the gate was simply a tool, and only the necessities were applied to bring it into existence. No culture or definitive aspects to attach to it. Just a stone gate standing in the middle of a forest, on a platform of cobblestone. And despite it, it was one of the most sought after structures in the world.


    "I believe so¡­" Solomon''s words trailed off as he approached the gate. Running his hands along the edges of the keyhole, he could tell it had never really been touched before. It was roughly the size of his head, and was indented only a few inches deep into the stone. It was also the shape of a perfect hexagon. "Bring it here." He added, waving behind him for Hymar. The mylian quickly obeyed, pulling free the key and hauling it over to his master.


    "So lugging these things around is finally going to be worth it? This will stop him?" Hymar grunted as he heaved it up into Solomon''s arms. The elf smiled at his appearance and shrugged.


    "We can only hope it will hinder him. At the very least, we will have stopped his source to create his army." His expression grew increasingly grim. He felt the key in his hand and memories flashed in his mind. It had been years ago, decades even, but it still felt fresh. The sounds of clustered prisoners scrambling in the mud, climbing over each other, trying to reach for freedom above. Then¡­her¡­in the middle of it all.


    "I can finish this. I''ll go to Irongroth myself and-!" Hymar started, only for Solomon to raise a hand and silence him.


    "You will do no such thing. You will do as I asked and keep the other key safe. Make sure he can never find it. Travel to New Windcrest if you must! We are giving the world a chance to fight back, to finish off what is left of them. Do you understand? Do you see the importance of this task I have given you?" Solomon glared over his shoulder at Hymar, who was now frozen in terror. He was not fearful of his master, but of what he was asking of him. If he failed, it could mean the end of everything they knew and loved.


    "I understand, master." Hymar muttered, nodding slowly. The weight of the second key was still pulling on his back. His master stood in silence for a moment, his expression softening before looking back to the gate. Raising the key, unceremoniously he shoved it into the slot. There were no turning mechanisms, or any real lock to begin with. It simply filled the shape of the hexagon, and the portal sprang to life.


    In an instant a portal took form, filling the archway. Hymar stumbled back in surprise, rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn''t seeing things. Sure enough, the portal remained there. It didn''t wobble or flash with light, instead it looked like a mirror. A crystal clear image through and through. Curiously, Hymar rounded the arch to see from the otherside it was the same thing, only flipped. Does going into the other side change the direction of the world itself? He wondered.


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    The image itself was that of a massive plain, rolling hills off in the distance, with snow capped mountains even further beyond. And behind it all, unfurling across the sky, was a massive storm. Lightning snapped down at the mountains, thunder rumbling distantly with malicious intent. It was by no means a welcoming image, and yet, it was awfully intriguing. And Hymar found himself wanting to step inside.


    "Hymar, come here!" Solomon called for him, to which he made haste running back around to his master. "Do you understand what you''re seeing here?" He asked. Hymar frowned, knowing that Solomon was about to give him another one of his unsolicited history lessons he''d give even in dire times. But the mylian shook his head in honesty.


    "What you see is not a world that truly exists. It exists independently, only within this Soulgate. It is, in essence, the gates very soul itself. Which means¡­?" He raised a brow, testing the boy''s critical thinking as he put it. Hymar sighed but replied anyway.


    "Meaning the only way to access the realm is through this particular Soulgate. I hardly see why this is important right now, master. What if they are behind us?" Hymar looked into the forest anxiously. It was not long ago the enemy had been hot on their trail. Surely, though, they had lost them in the water.


    "We are safe, for now. Enough that I can tell you this before I go. It is important because no matter what Soulgate you may find yourself at, you can only access this world through this gate. That means if they find the other key, if you fail, they will try to open the gates to find me. He will not be content with only having one." He paused, making sure his student was listening. "If they find the key, Hymar, you must come back here. Gather as much force as you can, as many people that will listen to you. Make allies, build an army you can trust. And wait here. Eventually, they will have to come. And you will have to be ready to fight them." Hymar had seen that serious look on Solomon''s face before, and knew better than to say something silly or stupid. Not that he had planned too, sometimes it just slipped out when he was nervous. But now, he was far from nervous, more so a sort of stark fear.


    "I haven''t even swung a sword before¡­" Hymar protested, blinking absently. Solomon pursed his lips.


    "If you keep moving, you will have time to learn. Find someone who will train you, but never stop moving. You must keep moving. Learn, adapt, survive like you did in the streets of Torchill. I know you can do this." Solomon''s words inspired him, but of course, there was still a looming doubt that hung in his chest like an anvil.


    "When he is gone¡­can I come back?" Hymar asked timidly.


    "You can come back when you see Uttrals body bleeding across the sands of Coreterra." Solomon responded pointedly, face drained of emotion. He was dead serious. More serious than he''d ever been about anything. Even when the walls of Linnis came crashing down he still made time for jokes, but not now.


    "Now, give me the key." Solomon nodded with his head at the bag. Hesitantly, Hymar pulled the second key free and handed it to him. The elf gave him a bitter smile, a farewell smile perhaps, and turned for the gate. He then stepped inside, only a few feet or so. The image didn''t so much as ripple as he did it, like he''d simply walked a few feet down the road and nothing more. It was unnerving. And so too were his parting words.


    "I''m sorry, my sons." Solomon muttered as he pressed something on the opposite side of the gate. Suddenly the key suddenly fell from the lock, thunking onto the cobblestone. The portal closed with nothing so much as a stirring of the wind. Just leaving a display of the snowy forest beyond.


    For a long few hours Hymar sat at the gate, wondering what he''d just heard. He could''ve sworn Solomon had said ''sons''. Only he had never spoken of having a son. Though he had told Hymar before that he felt like one to him. That had made him more happy than words could describe. But even if that was what he was talking about, that still left room for another one. But eventually the sun began to set in the ocean, and Hymar knew what had to be done. Grabbing the key, he slid it back into his bag and slung it over his shoulder.


    Now, he had to leave Greyholde, and hope that he would never have to come back.

 PART TWO - The Drench-Gulf - Chapter 19 - Dinner

    Part II


    The Drench-Gulf


    Chapter 19


    Dinner


    "Wait." Killian pleaded, raising both his hands up. The Lion grunted, but stopped pulling Raynn toward the door. "Just wait. There might be a way we all get what we want here." He added. This reminded him of the many times pirates had seized his ship. There was always something better to offer. Only this time he wasn''t willing to just give him what he wanted. If Killian could find a way through it, he would do it.


    "I''m listening. Impatiently." Ferjis sighed. The girl standing next to him seemed much more curious, raising a brow.


    "We are hosting a dinner tomorrow, on my ship. Important people, from all across Celearia attend. From Sintasha to Skylorn. These are people with great knowledge, and greater reach. Some of which are Relicers, Archievers too." He nodded toward Peppir who simply blinked. "I offer you this. You attend this dinner with us, and we will find someone who knows of this relic. If not, you continue on with your plan." Of course, Killian would try to devise another plan if this were to fail, but he needed to say what Ferjis wanted to hear. And indeed he seemed to be more intrigued than he hoped to display.


    "How would I attend?" Ferjis asked plainly, looking down at his armor.


    "I have suits that may fit you. I''m sure you''d look dashing. You want a non-violent solution. I am giving you one. Plus, more money like you said!" What frustrated Ferjis the most was how tempting the offer was. Raynn alone was going to get them a fortune, but just the relic alone was tenfold. If he had an opportunity to bring such pride to the Lions, he could see himself standing beside Taravar instead of one step below.


    "Can I come? I''ve never been to a fancy dinner." Peppir perked up, looking excited. None of the three victims in this situation really understood the dynamic between the Lion and mylian. At some points it seemed she was there by her own volition, and other times it looked as though she was rather uncomfortable. That was only when Ferjis seemed to grow more stern though, Jasra had noted. "Besides, I much prefer the peaceful option, if you recall." Peppir added, throwing a scold toward Ferjis.


    "Yes, of course. I''m sure we have a dress here for you¡­or whatever it is you prefer." Killian said coolly. Even when he was pleading he still acted as if he was in control. Jasra had always admired that about her father.


    "Might be worth our time," Peppir said teasingly, circling around the Lion and Raynn. "Will you unhand that poor girl already? You''re freaking us out." The mylian pulled Raynn away, who winced as her body still ached. Us, huh? Jasra thought as she ran over to Raynn and grabbed her arm. Peppir gave her an empathetic look before unhanding the elf herself and stepping back, suddenly sheepish.


    "Fine. But I''m not keeping you three out of my sight until that relic is in my hands." Ferjis growled, before closing the door to the house.


    The rest of the night was rather tense. Having forced them to sleep in the living room they were all packed together by the fire where Ferjis could watch them.


    "I''m sorry." Raynn said in a soft whisper. For a moment Jasra didn''t even react, her head pressed against Raynns from the opposite side. Slowly, she turned to look at her, their eyes interlocking.


    "Don''t be sorry. This wasn''t your fault¡­though I''m not quite sure who''s fault it is¡­" Jasra trailed off, blinking.


    "Jevsarra Lorrin. General of War of Torchill. Then her spouse, Cladius Lorrin, General of Peace. And perhaps even Vinit Corleth, their Goldbaron. Or General of Treasures." Raynn spoke slowly. "My understanding is they have this massive collection of supposedly powerful relics, and use them to sway politics across Celearia. Once they realized people want the unknown more than the gold itself, they found themselves in a market eager for buyers. My father knew this. He tried to stop it by buying the relics himself. Which only ended in the destruction of my entire family." Raynn turned away as tears formed, but Jasra quickly drew her face back to hers, wiping them away with her thumbs.


    "How do you know this? That he was trying to stop them?" Jasra asked.


    "Because he told her. And then, she tried to tell everyone. That''s what killed her family." Ferjis interrupted. Peppir then gasped and stood to her feet, almost stumbling.


    "Ferjis! I won''t have you using my ability as a means to harass people!" Peppir nearly shouted, but it only took a stern glance from Ferjis to have her timidly find her seat again. Jasra could tell she still wanted to act angry, to shout at him.


    "Just don''t let there be any confusion, Mirthorn. You are not innocent in your family''s demise."


    "Like they wouldn''t have found out eventually? With their unlimited resources? I tried to save my family, because I saw exactly where things were going. I told people I trusted, people I knew cared!" Raynn sat up quickly in protest. The Lion seemed disinterested in squabbling, and simply shrugged. Then a thought hit him.


    "When I was a kid, my mother branded my sisters and I. This was so my father could spread his lies in a church dedicated to a false god they''d devised. They showed us off as products of their god. Saying we were born with those marks, that it was their god''s gift to us. When I was old enough, and saw my sister''s chests branded from one shoulder to the next, I slaughtered my father. And I made my mother watch. Then I killed her over his dead body." Ferjis said abruptly. It seemed so entirely unprompted that the three listening thought he was joking. Some sort of cruel, unusual joke. But from the look on his face, and the redness in his eyes, it was far from a joke. Horrifyingly, it was the truth. "I do not lie about myself. I was a coward. I should''ve killed them sooner. Saved my sisters, faster. But I let a facade rule my life, a pale imitation of me. Never again, not since I spoke the truth to myself, and those around me. I found peace in my mistakes. Own up to it, Mirthorn. You had a hand in your family''s death, and it destroys you everyday. I see it. Everyone sees it." He stopped as he saw Raynns expression, tears. Tears of truth, perhaps. Tears of a life long lie.


    "Who are you to talk to me this way?" Raynn uttered, her voice cracking as she began to cry. For a long moment Ferjis simply sat there and stared at her.


    "I am a Lion. I have no other name. And I have no greater purpose than to speak the truth. And the truth unseen." Ferjis paused, looking at Killian and Jasra. "Truths for those who deserve to hear them."


    "A Lion kills things. They point, and you kill. No questions asked, right?" Raynn pointed at the Lion, who did nothing but gaze at her calmly. "They don''t care about the truth. The truth that is their entire profession is that of cowards. You never grew up, you''re still a coward now. You are no less a liar than me."


    "So you admit?" Ferjis raised a brow.


    "Admit what?"


    "You were a part of your family''s passing."


    "I didn''t¡­." She started.


    "You what?"


    "I didn''t think that they would find out. I thought I could help my father, build him an army. But instead I only brought one down upon my own family. Perhaps it would''ve happened eventually¡­but I made it a certainty. " Raynn said, the words feeling impossible as they left her lips. "I beg them for forgiveness every night." She broke down, falling into Jasras arms who looked utterly stunned. To not have known so much about someone she called a good friend.


    "Truth. No one can hide it forever." Ferjis said with a scoff, shaking his head before looking distantly out of the window. Peppir was equally shocked, but only because she had just witnessed something extraordinary. Whatever had just happened, it was certainly not nature. Though Peppir didn''t think it was Conductivity, she knew Ferjis was definitely hiding something. No one else had anything to say for the rest of the night.


    The next morning was strange. But as they went along, preparing for the dinner to be hosted on the Mollusk, the Lion seemed to soften up. He often seemed to sway between emotions, rather uncontrollably. The three had learned it was simply best to do as they were told, and perhaps get out of the situation alive.


    Having given their captives their attire, they waited patiently on the deck of the Mollusk as it was being prepared. Large tables with dark violet tablecloths lined the deck, the chairs cushioned in a similar fashion. In Hyvak, violet was a color signifying unity, and had always been present during Killains gatherings. As the sun started to set, boats began to appear from the gulf. Boats filled with important people, the ones they relied on to save their lives.


    "There''s a few people I trust to go directly to  about this. They might take some convincing, but I''m sure one of these men knows what this relic is. Just ask, but be gentle about it, don''t give us away. Understand?" Killian whispered to the two girls as they sat at the head of the boat. Their table overlooked the rest of the deck, as he was the host.


    "Why must we be gentle? I thought most of what these merchants talked about was things they could trade, opportunities and the like?¡± Jasra asked, having attended the dinner most of her life. She had often found it rather boring, for a girl more interested in philosophy and fashion. But in recent years Raynn had been attending and made it much more manageable. At the very least, she had someone to point out cute boys to. Though Raynn never seemed all that elated by such things.


    ¡°Because what we¡¯re asking for is clearly being sought after by some serious people. Ask the wrong questions and we might attract the wrong people.¡± Killian assured them, looking wistfully over the crowd that was now starting to form on deck.


    Men and women of all shapes and colors strode along. The brilliant red of the Torches, followed by the deep blues of Okeanu. Most notably to Raynn was the blinding silver of Hyven. Their armor and even clothing resembled that of birds feathers. More specifically: owls.


    Each group found themselves sitting in separate spots, their colors only meeting at the ends of each table. It made for quite the spectacle for the eyes. Killian has insisted each year that they try to disperse, but that was a haggle he was always going to lose.


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    ¡°Does it really matter who we attract anymore? I mean¡­¡± Jasra turned to look at Ferjis, who stood by the mast, looking unimpressed.


    ¡°We don¡¯t want to get rid of one problem, but gain another. Just please be careful.¡± Killian had asked Jasra to do similar things before. But only for business, never to save their lives. A pit opened up in his stomach as he realized what he was now asking his daughter to do. But he¡¯d been left with no other choice. Biting down on his anxiety, he rose to grab the attention of his attendees.


    ¡°This year''s event is a special one. It is now my twentieth year hosting it, and to be honest, I never thought I¡¯d see it get this far. The ice between us all is thin, and it only takes one rock from one of us to possibly shatter the very fabric that holds us together. But casting aside our judgments, our grievances, we work as one boat to sail across the Drench. As always, dinner will be served first, and time for negotiations and trade will follow. I only request you hold onto your ambitions until after we feast. Thank you.¡± Killian said with a smile, then signaling to the chef waiting across the boat to begin dispensing their meals.


    The bottom deck housed the kitchen, and twenty cabins for transportation. Below that was where they held the cargo. The Mollusk was a jack of all trades, and was known by all who sailed through the Drench.


    As meals were placed before people, the tables quickly erupted with noise as they began to mingle. Faces lit by lantern light, Raynn watched as fat merchants stuffed their faces with lamb and roasted honey drizzled carrots.


    Raynns stomach was far too upset to eat anything herself, but still she picked around as to not seem rude. The smells calmed her nerves slightly, but the looming threat of her possible torture and death stood waiting at the corner of the ship.


    ¡°I recognize some of these faces.¡± Peppir said quietly to Ferjis, who turned slightly to look at her. She had been silent so far, which hadn¡¯t been normal the past two days he¡¯d spent with her. Perhaps she was still upset about what he¡¯d said in the forest.


    ¡°Anyone that might be helpful?¡± He asked, at a volume that made a few heads turn and scowl. Right, he was supposed to wait until after dinner to talk business.


    ¡°Farli Dimeic, the portly looking fellow in blue. I remember reading about him in a report from Skylorans. I guess they caught his ship out in the Deadsalt hauling some relic out of the ocean. They were on yulewings, though, and couldn''t get a good look at what it was. Either way, people are saying he''s sitting on some seriously good trading opportunities. " Peppir had been eyeing the man since he''d gotten onto the boat. She refrained from telling Ferjis that Farli had been known to torture people into giving him informations regarding relics. This was a common myth among traders and merchants, but Peppir unfortunately knew it to be the truth.


    Eventually the two found their seats at the far end of the table, where the independent merchants were often unofficially designated. They either didn''t have a crew, or didn''t assign themselves to any official Merchants Guild like the Torches or Hyveminds. So they blended right in, for the most part.


    After an hour or so of feasting, it became clear that everyone was winding down from their meals. Chatter began to scatter as deals and trade opportunities were being discussed. Killian often had no control of when they started the next phase of the night, as it almost always came to a natural conclusion. He was glad that this time around it seemed to be the fastest they moved on from dinner and into business. There was a lot going on in the world, much to discuss so it would seem.


    "Now''s your chance. Go on, girls." Killian instructed with the nod of his head. The two girls looked at each other anxiously, then stood. Servants came by and pulled the tables apart into different sections of the deck, allowing the guests to move freely across the boat while still being able to take a seat. Some of the tables would fill with merchants of different guilds and become a center of negotiation.


    Raynn was already watching several tables form, and knew she needed to get herself in there somewhere. So for the next few hours she stalked around, asking subtle questions and feigning interest in things she understood very little of. Most of the merchants assumed she was only there to find herself a bachelor, as had been seen by other merchants'' daughters. Mostly forced upon them by their fathers. But that was far from the truth, and Raynn did well to respectfully shut down any advances made upon her. Besides, most of the merchants were far too plump and greasy for her liking. Only one young human really stood out to her. But she was certain he was a guard for the Torches, as he stood in a dark red coat with a sword by his side. The coat''s collar covered his neck, almost up to his mouth, with three large buttons fastening it together down the center.


    She figured he''d know very little, but decided her luck had already run thin. If she was going to die she might as well try all her options. At least then she could say she tried. Waltzing over to the man she leaned against the edge of the boat where he stood. Even then, he didn''t acknowledge her in her dark green dress.


    "Lovely night, isn''t it?" Raynn started. She looked out over Fernwrath, which sat beyond the docks. Streetlights had started to spring to life as the sun set beyond the Drench. All the buildings speckled with light, glittering off the gentle waters. The man remained silent for a moment, before nodding slowly.


    "It is fair. I tire, though." He said quietly. His voice was much softer than she would''ve imagined, though not in a bad way. But a gentle, caring way.


    "I tire too, of asking the same questions and getting the same unhelpful answers." Raynn sighed, trying not to sell it too hard, but still keep the boy interested. It didn¡¯t seem to work. The Torch stared off into the gulf, the inky blue-black sky leaving an impression on his face.


    ¡°Perhaps you¡¯re asking a bad question.¡± The Torch said flatly, finally turning to look at Raynn. His gaze was distant, as if his soul was secretly somewhere else far away. It was enough to make Raynn shiver.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Raynn swallowed. ¡°But perhaps you can help me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m married.¡± The Torch raised a hand to reveal a ring. A rather handsome ring, at that. Raynn couldn¡¯t help but chuckle.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite alright, I¡¯ve only come to ask if you¡¯ve heard of this particular relic that has caught my interest. It seems most here are unattuned to relic hunting culture.¡± Raynn looked behind them at the huddled masses of people. They were all divulged in their own dealings. There was an unshakable aura of intensity that came from all of them. It seemed that some of them had a lot riding on these negotiations.


    ¡°Hmm. That''s good, it''s a fake ring anyways. I just don''t like being approached and flirted with by strangers.¡± The Torch said, before sighing quietly. ¡°But more importantly I know who you are, Raynn Mirthorn. I¡¯m not a fool.¡± He suddenly added. Raynn locked up, her fingers clenching the railing of the boat. Thousands of thoughts bounced around in her head. Should she run? Should she push him over board and make it look like an accident? No, surely he¡¯d survive the plunge.


    ¡°Relax. I¡¯m not here to rat you out. I understand what you¡¯re doing here, and honestly, I respect it. I¡¯m guessing you¡¯re trying to cut a deal with that Lion over there.¡± The Torch nodded toward Ferjis, who stood in a corner with a look that bordered on scowling.


    ¡°How could you tell¡­?¡± Raynn started.


    ¡°You just know things like that after a while. At least, when you¡¯re around them so often. The Lions Guild was founded in Torchill after all.¡± He said. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve been rude. My name is Teraw. Fifth Wick of the Torch.¡± He added. Raynn had almost forgotten the strange ranking system the Torchill army had. It went from First to Fifth Wick, then First to Third Flame. That meant Teraw was close to becoming a real Flame, or a captain as most would recognize. A Third Flame being a General or some other position of equal power.


    "Teraw, that''s a Skyloran name." Raynn noted. This earned a smile from Teraw, who was glad to see at least someone was culturally inclined. So far everyone had ignored him entirely, which wasn''t exactly an issue for him, though.


    "You''d be right. I came to Torchill from Rifnallia a few years ago. I sought new opportunities and it happened that Torchill is rather welcoming to those who know how to swing a sword." Teraw shrugged, the light of Coreterra gleaming off his eyes. He looked young, but acted like a weathered veteran. But Raynn knew how rigorous the Torches were, how only a few days in their bootcamp could knock off all that''s left of one''s innocence.


    "Either way, I believe I can be of some help to you, Mirthorn. There''s something rotten growing in the Torch, and everyone is scrambling to get out of its way. Rumors of Daemonvale, deception, and desolation all float throughout the fortress. Only, I have something that helps me cut through the fog of unknowing." Teraw grinned, then lifted his hand up, requesting Raynns in return. Hesitantly, the elf placed her hand on top of his. Her vision slipped away.


    "I care not for the practical aspects, only the results. We offer them something they can''t refuse, and they will listen." Jevsarra said, her palms flat against the tabletop. Her blonde hair fell down before her face in sweaty heaps. They had been at the table for hours now, the room growing dark as the sun set beyond the Deadsalt Sea. Cladius hung close behind her, his eyes flickering with dreariness. His sickness was making it rather difficult to remain coherent and aware. Delusions had started to worm their way into his vision. He tried to blink them away, but still the corpses hung above the table like a rotten chandelier.


    "We don''t have our bargaining chip, if you recall. Nor do we have the resources to recover if things are to go awry! If the legends are true, Torchill will end up another Primrubble for armies to march across. Dusty wastelands, clouded skies, you do remember, right?" Captain Huntt said distastefully. And though Jevsarra didn''t appreciate being talked to in that tone, she couldn''t deny what he was saying held some merit.


    "The Daemons will obey. And we will have the relic. Cast your doubt elsewhere. Lest you wish to be left behind in the Old World."


    The vision ended and Raynn proceeded to throw up over the side of the ship. It was a rather sudden result, and gained a few weary looks from nearby merchants. Teraw did what he could and rubbed her back gently as she collected herself. It had not been the first time someone had given her a vision, but at least then she had been expecting it.


    "You''re a Time Conduit." Raynn moaned, standing back up straight as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. Most Conduits were able to provide visions of things they had witnessed before, or had great knowledge of. But a Time Conduit was able to view into the past and interject themselves into places no one else could. The only downside being that everytime they used the ability, their life expectancy dropped by varying amounts. A small vision such as that would most likely only shave a few days off of his life. But a grander, more longer vision could go so far as to knock off weeks or months if not done moderately.


    "That I am. And there is much more I could show you, but I''m hoping you can trust my word now that you understand what I am. That being said, I have to request something of you." Teraw grew serious again, his jaw clenching. Raynn was still slightly taken aback, but nodded slowly.


    "My request is that if you find this relic, that you do not give it to the Generals. You must run away, go as far as you can with it. I have not seen the full scope of what they plan to do with it, but I can tell you that it isn''t in everyone''s best interest." Teraw put a hand to his chin, rubbing gently as he watched the light flicker across the water.


    "What¡­why are you telling me this?" Raynn asked.


    "Because, as I said, whatever it is they are planning isn''t going to end well for any of us. Besides, I haven''t much loyalty for Torchill to begin with. I only joined so that I could afford to move my family away from Skylorn. As you may very well know, the tremors have only gotten worse in recent years." Teraw was close to finally moving his family away, the idea of them still up there making his stomach twist. Raynn could feel the concern, and frowned.


    "I understand. But it won''t matter much. If I don''t get away from that Lion, he''s going to give me up to Jevsarra anyways. Relic or not, I''m not running anywhere." Raynn shrugged. The existential dread hadn''t eluded her, but she had been doing a good job at shoving it deep down where she couldn''t think about it too hard. The Torch frowned and turned to look at Ferjis, to his disappointment, the Lion was looking straight back at him.


    "Just give me a moment, then." Teraw said, and began striding off toward the Lion. Raynn could only watch in shock as he approached the man calmly. She wasn''t sure exactly what he was going to do, pull a knife out, or perhaps cast a Splinter as all Conduits could. But she hadn''t expected him to extend his hand for a handshake.


    The Lion, looking confused, accepted the handshake.


    "You must be the Lion watching over Ms. Mirthorn, right?" Teraw said plainly. Ferjis looked at the man for a moment and grunted.


    "Figured someone would notice eventually, or one of them would spill. What is it to you?" Ferjis raised a brow. The Lion looked around the deck, playing out what he would do in his head if this stranger were to attack him. His working plan was to grab him by the throat and throw him overboard. But Ferjis wasn''t quite sure how that would pan out, yet.


    "It''s come to my attention that there is a deal between you two, and I just might be able to help. I happen to know a great deal about this relic, and its whereabouts. I''d be willing to help in exchange for Raynn." Teraw said confidently, nodding to himself. The Lion looked at him further then chuckled.


    "As long as I have the relic I don''t care what happens to Mirthorn. Just don''t mislead me, and I won''t have to kill you." Though his threat did little to shake the human, Teraw knew better than to start a fight with the Lion. The only problem being that he was going to mislead him. But if he did it right, he wouldn''t have to worry about the consequences.


    "Of course. Ironically, though, the relic happens to be in Torchill, right under the General''s noses. From what I''ve heard it''s been locked away in an archive under some library." He lied between his teeth effortlessly. It seemed to be working, the gears turning slowly in the Lion''s head as he tried to decide if the human was telling the truth. Ferjis would have to go back to Torchill with Raynn anyways, so if it happened to be a bust he would simply kill the rat and be on with it.


    "When''s the next ship out of here?" Ferjis said, seemingly agreeing to the deal. Teraw smiled, then turned to look at the captain sitting on the top deck. As he recalled, the Mollusk had a tight schedule.

 Chapter 20 - Lotus

    Chapter 20


    Lotus


    "He won''t talk to anyone but you." Mirrald said plainly. It had proven rather frustrating trying to get the man to speak. He had said few words ever since his capture, but at the very least he''d been cooperative. Now, he simply stood in the center of the cell and stared upward into the ceiling like a madman. When Mirrald asked why he kept doing it, he simply said ''I''m speaking to my father.'' and gave no further context. It made Mirralds blood boil. How could such an Ethereal thing be so unhelpful?


    "Do we need him to talk? He does as we say. Perhaps we should be counting our blessings." The king responded drearily. After the operation of eradicating the Ruiners was successful, Orieth was quick to inform the public of their victory. He also assured the people of Tavernkeep that something like it would never happen again. It was a hefty promise to make, and one Mirrald had insisted he reconsider. But as he had noticed, the king was scrambling for the people''s approval.


    "If we intend for him to be a soldier, then yes. Otherwise he''s useless." Mirrald frowned, taking a seat on the red couch pointed toward the hearth.


    "Fine. I''ll come speak to him. Perhaps he can instill me with some much needed wisdom." The king mocked, before rising to his feet. The Eye rose as well, bowing to the king before leading him down toward the dungeons. Inexplicably, the Ruiners that had been in their care had seemingly vanished as of the night before. It was later explained to the king what exactly happened, and though it made very little sense to him he pressed upon it no further. He had other matters to attend to after all.


    Making their way through the dungeons they stopped at the furthest cell in the back. Here, the room had a window on the wall, hugging the ceiling. The bars were thick, casting the corrlights shadow along the floor. In the center of the room, bathing in the striped light, was a tall, muscular mylian. He wore only the thin ragged pants he was provided, his dark blue skin absorbing the light. His hair was long and full, the tuffs smooth despite his time in the dungeons, away from any bath.


    His eyes were gentle and his face handsome and relaxed. By all means, the mylian was a perfect specimen. Most notably though, and concerningly, the man had holes the size of cannonballs punched through his torso. Completely through and through. One could fit their entire hand through and reach up to his neck. Two of the holes lay directly on his breasts, while two more, closer to his center, lay on his abs. This had been why he was captured.


    ¡°Lotus.¡± As they had been calling him. ¡°The king, as you requested.¡± Mirrald announced, before standing aside to make way for Orierh. The king didn¡¯t move for a moment, uneased by Lotus'' appearance, as any normal person would be.


    ¡°Does this not ail you?¡± Orieth finally spoke, stepping up the cell door gingerly. The mylian smiled gently, then finally lowered his head to look straight at the wall. His muscles shifted as they relaxed, his shoulders dropping.


    ¡°It is not an ailment. It is a blessing.¡± Lotus spoke quietly. Though the acoustics of the dungeons were enough to hear the man just fine. His answer, however, did little to quell Orieths curiosity. Or was it fear?


    ¡°Of course. Now, what is it you wish to say? To demand my time, it must be important." Orieth said firmly, setting his jaw. Who was he to talk to this being in such a manner? He was not simply a man. No man could live with holes where his vital organs should be. Still, he couldn''t let him think he was above him, not even for a second. Lotus'' smile slowly faded as he turned to look at the king.


    "I''ve allowed you to hold me for some time now. I''ve done what you asked. Now I shall tell you what I get in return." Lotus spoke, his expression neutral. Chillingly so. As if he was looking straight through Orieth and into his soul. It wasn''t a question either, nor was it a demand, he was simply telling the king what would be given to him. Before the king could speak, the mylian interjected. "Hemm Hensin."


    ¡°Some ale, for those bruises and cuts.¡± Hemm said with an awkward smile. He placed down the frothing drinks in front of the three men and stepped back. ¡°Oh, and Arethor! Your sister is upstairs resting. Been trying my best to take care of her but cha¡¯know how she is.¡± He added with a shrug. Arethor was in the middle of chewing off a chunk of his lamb leg, but nodded happily.


    His wound given by Kimer had luckily not been severe. That is, compared to the arrow holes from before. What plagued his mind now was not the physical wounds so much as the mental. The things that he and the entire Oak had learned, had witnessed. Even T¡¯var and Myis were shaken by the vision. And while some denied it was real, those who knew the power of a Conduit knew a vision such as that could not be faked. Only, it left many questions for Arethor as to how Kimer had come across such knowledge.


    They hadn¡¯t seen Hyvale so much as they had felt her distress, a wordless exchange of the disaster unfolding. A curse on death. And how long had it been going on? Since the end of the Purger War itself? That would mean both his mother and possibly father were suffering on Coreterra too. Alone, wandering an infinite desert of blazing red sand and destroyed ruins. Perhaps a callous, cold man could let such a thing be, or perhaps act alone out of fear of their own end. But Arethor was no such man, nor did he fear his death.


    ¡°Properly messed up, that was.¡± Myis suddenly said. His hair was messy and his leather coat had been skimmed by Splinters numerous times. He was lucky he hadn¡¯t been hit directly, perhaps too lucky. And T¡¯var didn¡¯t have a scratch on him, though he still looked exhausted. They saved over a dozen men and for that alone they would be rewarded. Perhaps even offered a position in the Oak.


    ¡°The service is next week, I hear.¡± Hemm added. For a brief moment Arethor hadn¡¯t a clue what his friend was referring to. Then it hit him. The funeral, of course. They hadn¡¯t even had a funeral for Tolo yet. In his head she wasn¡¯t even really dead, yet. Just¡­gone.


    ¡°I suppose I should go to the tailor.¡± Arethor muttered emptily, his eyes fixated on a particular spot on the floor. New and polished. One would think someone who had attended so many funerals would have the proper attire. But Arethor needed something new for Tolo, something only she got to say was at her funeral.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear about your friend.¡± T¡¯var said unexpectedly. And he looked sincere, his eyes closed as he nodded. The man had always struck Arethor as odd. Though not in a particularly bad way. The elf smiled in a good gesture.


    ¡°Thank you. I can only be happy that Amber survived. And that Kimer is suffering on the Red Sands where he sent her.¡± Arethor clenched his teeth, anger flickering through him like the passing reflection of light.


    ¡°It¡¯s not right, what you¡¯re saying. Everyone is damned? Everyone?¡± Hemm asked timidly, hiding partially behind a wooden beam. The mylian had heard the threes telling of the events and hardly could believe it. Besides trying to wrap his head around the concept of a Matter Conduit, the idea of death itself being broken was beyond frightening. It wasn¡¯t like news of a war encroaching in Riverden, but something horrifyingly more cosmic and rotten.


    ¡°From what it looked like, it was indeed everyone.¡± Myis grunted before taking a long swig of the ale. Wiping the froth from his lips he then thrusted a finger at Hemm. ¡°Serves us right too.¡± Hemm blinked in confusion and looked to Arethor for direction. He simply shook his head dismissively.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for leaving you again, Hemm. I¡¯m afraid it won¡¯t be too long until it happens again.¡± Arethor said bitterly, a twang in his head pulling him back to the floor boards.


    ¡°Why do ya say that?¡± Hemm asked, concerned. Wordless, Arethor stood and walked over to the spot on the floor. The Connection screamed like cold water on a searing pan. Taking out his sword he slid it between the thin cracks of the boards, and pried. The leverage popped the floorboard out, the nails rolling out across the ground. Everyone else simply watched in shock as he grabbed the surrounding boards and pulled them up effortlessly.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter with ya! I just got that fixed for you!¡± Hemm finally spoke out, running over to the hole now left in the floor. He stopped though as something caught his eye. Something he hadn¡¯t seen before. Arethor noticed it too, and couldn¡¯t move out of fear it would vanish. That whatever vision he was being given now would unravel.


    ¡°Did Tadpole forget to mention that?¡± Arethor muttered as he looked down into the hole. Laying inside was what could only be the Celspawn. The real one. Inside his tavern, under the floor. That boy, he had brought it here, hadn¡¯t he? He¡¯d never gotten a good look at him but he remembered at the very least his dark blue skin. He thought he¡¯d seen the boy crouch down, but he figured he¡¯d only lost him amongst the crowd. The tavern was particularly busy that evening, and the boy had been out of mind rather quickly. Only now did he note that he¡¯d never ordered a drink, or even approached the bar.


    But why his tavern? Was it at random? Or did Arethor know the boy from somewhere? He had forgotten many faces over the years, some he ought to have remembered. Only now his face seemed like nothing but a shadow among shadows. Damn his rotten memory! What¡¯s the point of living hundreds of years if you forgot the most important moments of them?


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    ¡°Erm. To be fair to him, I told him to leave everything as it was beside those floorboards. Y¡¯know now he likes to take initiative on some things.¡± Hemm scratched the back of his head, squinting as he tried to make out the object. Of course to him it was nothing but a slab of stone, but to Arethor it was a terrible omen. An invitation to death.


    ¡°You¡¯re kidding me. That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it? Ha!¡± Myis laughed as he pat Arethor on the shoulder. The elf swayed gently but didn''t break away from his trance. It looked a bit different from Heathgrims rendition. Of course, then they had been going solely off of word-of-mouth. But clearly Kimer had seen an illustration of the relic as he had called the bluff immediately. But there it was, no question about it.


    Reaching down, Arethor pulled it free and held it in his hands. It weighed less than he expected, as if it wasn¡¯t really made of stone but something trying to resemble it. Laying it down on a table the group quickly surrounded it, looking at it from all angles.


    ¡°It would seem to be.¡± T¡¯var answered. ¡°At least, based on your descriptions. Could it be another fake?¡± He proposed. And though the idea sounded much more appealing than the alternative, Arethor wasn¡¯t so sure.


    ¡°I have no reason to think such. Someone placed this here, somewhere where they didn¡¯t think someone would look. Perhaps a tavern isn¡¯t such an awful idea.¡± Arethor said earnestly.


    ¡°I suppose there¡¯s only one way to figure that out.¡± Myis said bluntly. They all looked at him, the implication clear. ¡°What? You said a living thing right? We can just use a feral rat or something.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing it has to be something with a soul. Otherwise there isn¡¯t really an exchange. Matter Conduits have to take apart their own matter to be able to manipulate it into whatever they wish. It¡¯s the sacrifice they must take. I¡¯m guessing the Celspawn has similar requirements.¡±  Arethor deduced. He didn¡¯t really have a clue what he was saying, but it at least sounded right. They were all in unfamiliar territory together. The main question being: what the hell are they supposed to do with it now?


    ¡°Heathgrim. I¡¯ll bring it to him.¡± Arethor said, almost to himself. ¡°He might know what to do with it.¡±


    ¡°What would Heathgrim know about this? Wasn¡¯t he in denial about it all?¡± Hemm asked, looking at the relic from a careful distance.


    ¡°After that vision, there¡¯s no way he can deny what he saw. Besides, he¡¯s friends with someone I think can help, I just don¡¯t know where they could be.¡± Arethor frowned, looking at the relics inscriptions. It was a nonsense language, none that ever existed on Celearia. Perhaps it was some secret language among the Deadspeakers.


    ¡°What kind of friend?¡± T¡¯var inquired.


    ¡°The Warlock kind.¡±


    The park behind The Whine was empty by that time of day. The sun casted purple and gold across the clouds, hidden behind the buildings that surrounded the park. Encapsulated within the awkward space between buildings were pine trees and benches to accompany them. Sitting on one of them was Myis, with T''var close by his side.


    They had slipped away after Arethor had gone off to speak with his sister. He had been kind enough to offer the two rooms while they stayed there, supposedly to make a decision. So far, the elf had been vague on what exactly that meant. But he promised at the very least the two would be compensated. That happened to be the source of their very discussion at that moment.


    ¡°I feel like we¡¯ve stepped into something deeply personal.¡± T¡¯var said as a breeze pushed his hair behind his shoulders. He had been quick to question the veracity of their supposed vision.


    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure. This couldn¡¯t be more of our business if it tried. It¡¯s everyone¡¯s business for Hyvales sake. You saw the vision.¡± Myis has grown serious, now that alcohol was in him. Ale often had a reversed effect for him, as he tended to become less social and more self-aware. But with the right people he did make for great conversation. Only, this was not such a conversation.


    ¡°I saw it, and I¡¯m not so sure it¡¯s real.¡± T¡¯var gripped the edge of the bench, the wood groaning beneath his fingers. ¡°I realize it¡¯s nearly impossible for someone to fake a vision, and to so many people at once. But did you see what he was capable of? He created an entire army, from himself, and it barely took anything away from him. Arethor claimed it was only parts of his chest and leg. Someone that strong might have been able to give us a false vision.¡± His uncertainty was nothing new. Myis had always taken T¡¯var for a skeptic, even when seemingly there was no way to explain something away with logic. Nothing about what happened was logical, and the mylian was having a fit over it. But he, like everyone else, was just trying to cope with the carnage they¡¯d witnessed. And though they only lost a few men, it was still a night that would be remembered forever.


    ¡°It¡¯s not impossible to fake one, I¡¯m aware. But what could Kilmer possibly have gained by doing so?¡± Myis argued. And though he didn¡¯t want to be right, he was afraid he was.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. But come to think of it, can¡¯t a Conduit only grant a vision of something they themself have witnessed? That is, unless you are a Time Conduit¡­¡± T¡¯var brought up a stellar point, and the both fell into a deep thoughtful silence. But they both seemed to arrive at the same conclusion at once.


    ¡°That is, unless the vision was first granted to them.¡± Myis muttered.


    ¡°The implications of that are mad, though.¡± T¡¯var said, his hand frozen over his mouth in shock.


    ¡°We know Hyvale has granted visions before. As far as we know, it¡¯s within the laws of the Endless for a Ghost God such as herself. In fact, it is that very law that she granted a vision of.¡± Myis recalled what was frequently taught in most schools. Long ago, in a time before Magic and visions, the entirety of the world had been granted one. It was of Hyvale herself, explaining that she is of the Order of Ghost Gods.


    She elaborated that a God must choose between being a Shepherd or a Ghost, and that as she had chosen Ghost she was very limited in how she could interact with her people. It was a strange, vague vision that gave very little insight as to what the Orders truly were. But one thing had been clear, she could at the very least grant visions to her people.


    From that point on, religion had all but been entirely surrounding Hyvale. As her existence was a definite fact rather than something of faith.


    ¡°But why grant one to¡­him? Someone so clearly unstable.¡± T¡¯var wondered.


    ¡°Could¡¯ve been a daisy-chain. Who knows who got the original vision. But somehow it made its way to Kimer, and he snapped. The weight of death being broken, it¡¯s maddening to truly think about.¡± Myis shivered, rolling his shoulders as he leaned back against the bench.


    ¡°Okay. Fine. Assuming it¡¯s real, what can we really do? This is far beyond anything we could ever begin to understand. No less, make some sort of impact.¡± The mylian strained, watching the darkened sky bring in a wave of cold air. The trees swayed above them, pine needles dropping down between them.


    ¡°We help Arethor. If he thinks he knows someone, I say we trust him. If I¡¯m dying it¡¯s going to be fighting for my salvation, at least.¡± Myis pointed a thumb at himself with his dumb smile. T¡¯var couldn¡¯t help but chuckle.


    ¡°We both know we¡¯re going to the Red Sands regardless.¡±


    I hate you. Amber wrote, her lips flat and her eyes stern. Arethor frowned.


    ¡°If you¡¯d seen what I had, you¡¯d understand.¡± The elf helped his sister to her feet. Having been bed bound for days, her legs felt like wet noodles. Begrudgingly she accepted the help, but pushed off her brother and stumbled toward her desk. Leaning against it, she flattened her notebook and began to write. Her hair fell in front of her, to which she quickly batted it away.


    It had to have been fake. It doesn''t make any sense. She wrote, her tearful eyes glaring down at her paper.


    "It wasn''t. Amber," Arethor walked over gingerly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Mom and Tolo, they are both suffering right now. Alone. Scared. But more importantly, confused. Wondering what they could''ve done to deserve such punishment. It isn''t their fault, but they''ll never know it. Not until we correct this." Arethor set his jaw, his own words motivating him. But it only seemed to upset his sister more, who quickly scribbled a response.


    And what are you going to do? Waving your sword around won''t fix anything this time! She pressed the notebook against his chest before storming back off to her bed. For a moment, Arethor didn''t follow. He didn''t really know what to say in response.


    "For whatever reason, that relic ended up here. I keep feeling this¡­pull toward it. It attached itself to me. And if what Kimer says is true, then we might have a chance of using its power against whatever it is that broke death." Ripping the notebook away, Amber wrote in heated fashion.


    The same Kimer who murdered Tolo? That nearly killed me? You would trust his words, his visions? Did you stop to think that maybe this is what Kimer really wanted? To scare you, to make you question everything? To bring the world to its knees in fear? By the time Arethor finished reading Amber had sat back down on her bed, her face in her hands.


    ¡°I know someone. Well, I know someone who knows someone. They can show me if this is real. And they might know how to use this relic for good.¡± Arethor said as he handed back the notebook. It was rather inconvenient, especially during a heated argument, but they hadn¡¯t really had the time for lessons from the hand linguist.


    Do you really feel the Connection with it? Amber wrote, half in defeat, half with skepticism.


    ¡°Something like it¡­I can¡¯t deny its pull. And whether it ended up here by coincidence or not, it¡¯s my responsibility now.¡± Arethor omitted the part where he saw a man bring it in, as it would only lead her to more questions he couldn¡¯t answer. For now he could only hope it was someone of good will.


    How exactly is it your responsibility? Give it to the Oak, they already know of this vision, are they not working out a solution themselves? Amber made a good point, only Arethor unfortunately already knew the answer.


    ¡°They¡¯re sticking their heads in the sand. They figure it was just a false vision just to cause panic, such as you said. They think they¡¯re being noble by ignoring it. Not giving into fear mongering.¡± The elf frowned. Despite trying to convince Heathgrim and Scarv on their way back, they weren¡¯t in the mood for hearing him out. As far as they were concerned they¡¯d accomplished what they¡¯d come for.


    But this was far from over, and Arethor was far from finished. His rest would have to wait. Moving into the Green, would have to wait. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to rest knowing those he loved were suffering. He didn¡¯t know exactly how he could hope to oppose the Endless itself. But he¡¯d be damned either way if he didn¡¯t try.


    His sister nodded gently, blinking away tears. She knew what she had to do too. If her brother was going to do this, she couldn¡¯t just sit back and do nothing. She had wasted precious years with the Mission, but she had at least learned one thing: how to wield a sword.


    She¡¯d certainly lost her voice, but not her courage.

 Chapter 21 - Demands

    Chapter 21


    Demands


    ¡°The Collective?¡± Heathgrim started flatly. ¡°Are you sure?¡± He finished, swallowing awkwardly as the words seemed to float in his throat. The king swayed uneasily in his throne, almost as if he wasn¡¯t really paying attention. It was clear something else was occupying his mind. But who was Heathgrim to judge a king? Eventually, Orieth blinked and looked to the captain with an intense gaze.


    ¡°Unfortunately, yes. But your exemplary public speaking skills will be much more fitting for the situation than if I were to attend myself. I¡¯d only end up making Tavernkeep look foolish.¡± Orieth said earnestly, a twitch in his lip displaying underlying frustrations. Heathgrim found it best not to press further upon his humbleness.


    ¡°Why not him, your majesty? He¡¯s your Eye, after all. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll do a much better job interpreting your words than I.¡± Heathgrim nodded toward Mirrald, who¡¯s icy expression was not wavered by his calling. Only, inside, the Eye was burning up with anticipation. He¡¯d been hoping more than anything that Heathgrim would make that very suggestion. It was he who should speak before the Collective, not some captain who doesn¡¯t give a damn about the real happenings of the world. Of the Endless.


    The king looked lazily at his Eye for a short moment before shaking his head vigorously.


    ¡°I need him here. You are to appear and represent Tavernkeep. My word is final. You leave tomorrow.¡± The king seemed to squeeze out the last sentence as he rose to his feet and quickly dismissed himself. The captain was left stunned in the throne room, the sounds of his footsteps echoing out in the grand hall. For a brief moment, he considered calling out to the king in protest, but stopped.


    Mirrald looked back to the captain with a vaguely distasteful look, before continuing behind the king in a hurried manner. It only became clear to Heathgrim then that the man had intended to take his spot. He never liked Mirrald. Not for any particular reason, but the man oozed with secrecy. Not just the secrets of the king, but his own, possibly malicious secrets.


    Heathgrim frowned, before turning on his heels and dismissing himself as well. The Oak had treated him poorly the last few years. He had taken note that it stemmed from Malar''s demise, but Orieth wasn''t necessarily the entirety of the cause of it all. After his uncle had been slain at Greyholde, there was a power vacuum from within. Because it hadn''t just been Malar who''d been slain, but several of his advisors and even the general that came before Scarv.


    Most everyone who would make the decisions for who would fill the void were killed. Suddenly those down the chain of command who never thought they''d find themselves with such power, were now given the responsibility to fix the Oak. And though Orieth was called upon from Sintasha, it took a great many months for him to arrive. In this time, Heathgrim had been trusted to control the Oak, while Mirrald kept eyes on the royal affairs. Kojok kept the peace in the city while Scarv was newly appointed and was trying to fill the very large boots left behind by General Nylomor.


    And to Heathgrim, it was the very fact that Mirrald was completely composed that he grew suspicious. But he couldn''t ignore the fact that Mirrald had denied most advances from Oak officials, from bribes to threats. But instead, he moved those he saw fit with no explanation. His own judgment passed without correction or check. And by the time Orieth arrived, and was crowned, Heathgrim had no concept of what damage may have been done. What purpose was served by his movements. As of now, nothing seemed outright. But Heathgrim was sure that Mirrald had set something in motion that would not easily be undone. At least, not under Orieths wittless reign.


    But alas, Heathgrim had no substantial evidence outside of ugly glances and questionable (but justifiable) behavior to subject him to real condemnation. And so, bitterly, he left the palace with a sour taste in his mouth. Had he really just tried to put Mirrald in his position simply out of disdain for the circumstances? He wanted so desperately to believe that the vision they¡¯d witnessed was false, that he was willing to put Mirrald in control of their representation in the Collective?


    No. He wouldn¡¯t do such a thing. And suddenly he found himself glad that the king had been stubborn. Perhaps the man wasn¡¯t as witless as he¡¯d thought. Maybe now he could put some sense into the Collective, and show them they were being rash. But he was obligated, no less, to present their recent findings at the Ruiners camp regardless. And they would no doubt cling to it like a fly to pine sap.


    It was only the sight of Arethor walking through the town with a determined look that pulled him away from his thoughts. The elf looked tired, and beaten. But at the same time hopelessly invigorated. He hadn¡¯t said much to him since they¡¯d arrived back in Tavernkeep, as he had much to report on to the king. But their eyes met, and Heathgrim could tell from the look within that he was the exact person Arethor was looking for.


    Cutting through the crowd of the merchants and would-be customers, charmers and thieves, the two eventually met.


    ¡°Arethor, how are you feeling?¡± Heathgrim kept it broad, not sure how to approach the elf. He still felt the intensity leaking from him, his anger still dormant. Unsatisfied.


    ¡°Would feel a lot better if you came with me to the Whine. I have something to show you.¡± Arethor said plainly. And though Heathgrim had a few inches over him, he somehow still felt smaller. He needed to prepare for his departure the next morning, but also found it fitting to have an excuse to wait. Perhaps a pint of ale or two would give him some inspiration on how to address the Collective.


    Without any delay, he followed Arethor back to the Whine, where he found the doors had been locked and the inside empty. Save for good old Hemm.


    The mylian boy looked drab, which was most unusual for him even on particularly sullen days. But he made no note of it as Arethor led him to the bar. Having a seat, the elf rounded the bar and poured themselves some drinks.


    ¡°You¡¯re meeting with the Collective, are you not?¡± Arethor suddenly said. And as the meeting only just happened, and Arethor was just then approaching the palace, Heathgrim was understandably perplexed.


    ¡°How could you possibly know that?¡± Heathgrim scoffed. The elf gave a wry smile as he handed him a mug and shrugged his shoulders.


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    ¡°I heard tales of them meeting again, and I don¡¯t take Orieth to be the type to attend. Seeing as you are his go-to for public announcements regarding the Oak, I figured you¡¯d be first in line. Though I think he fundamentally misunderstands what the Collective is for.¡± Arethor frowned behind his mug as he took a long drink. It felt cool in his throat, and he started to relax. Something he¡¯d been denying himself so far, a luxury he felt he¡¯d soon lose for a while.


    ¡°How so?¡± Heathgrim leaned into the bar, eyebrow raised in genuine curiosity. If he was going to be their speaker, he would at least like a better understanding of what he was getting into.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just a meeting regarding military tactics, it¡¯s about everything. About the people, the environment, the religious implications. It¡¯s meant to bring together all the greatest minds of each nation to devise a plan to keep Celearia from falling apart.¡± Arethor started. ¡°When I attended, as Malar''s bodyguard, it went on for almost a week. They spent days going over every facet of every possible scenario. It could be grating, and I saw how it affected Malar over time. It wore him down. But in the end, we started to piece this world back together. Didn¡¯t we?¡± The elf ended in an uplifting note, though he wasn¡¯t sure if it was enough to truly make up.


    ¡°For better or for worse.¡± Heathgrim agreed. ¡°I truly don¡¯t think there is anything to fuss about though¡­¡± The captain was cut off as Arethor reached under the bar and grabbed something, then dropped it down on the bar top. It hit the wooden surface with a crack. For a moment Heathgrim wasn¡¯t sure what it was, but it quickly came to him as he took its shape in.


    ¡°How did you¡­? Is that¡­?¡± Heathgrim stammered as Arethor nodded.


    ¡°I found it. Here. Is this not exactly what was described? It looks almost identical to your fake, only look at how it¡¯s aged.¡± Arethor pointed to the dark spots that littered its surface. It looked ancient, no doubt, and there was no way he could¡¯ve falsified it.


    ¡°You found it here? In your tavern?¡± Heathgrim asked.


    ¡°This odd fellow came through some time ago, I suspect he did it. I never really knew what he was crawling around under the crowd for until now. Didn¡¯t figure he¡¯d slipped something under my damn floorboards.¡± Arethor said seriously.


    ¡°What made you pull up the boards anyway?¡± Heathgrim started, but stopped as he recalled a previous conversation. His gaze drifted to the relic, and then back to Arethor. ¡°You meant you felt the Connection with that?¡± He asked, puzzled.


    "I''m not confident it was the Connection exactly, but something of the sorts. It''s hard to explain. But, listen, I just need one thing from you." Arethor added abruptly, suddenly much more serious. Heathgrim nodded for him to continue, though internally he was hesitant. "I need to know where that one warlock friend of yours is." Heathgrim hadn''t been sure what his friend would ask of him, but it certainly wasn''t that. He couldn''t help but chuckle.


    "Minni? I''m not sure. Last I heard she was in Torchill for something important. That was a few seasons ago, though." Heathgrim said before taking a swig of ale. "I''ll have to pass through there to get to the island anyways, perhaps you can accompany me? I know some people in Torchill that could point us in the right direction." His cooperation was surprising, to say the least. Arethor understood that he didn''t really believe there was as much of a threat as there was,m but he was still being a good friend.


    "Can''t say no to that! But really, it means a lot, Heathgrim." Arethor smiled weakly. Heathgrim shrugged before finishing off the contents of his mug, wiping his lips.


    "You think she''ll know what to do with that¡­thing?" Heathgrim asked earnestly. Arethor hesitated to speak, but realized he''d come this far to begin with.


    "You said she was a Deadspeaker, right? Whatever it is working with her, it¡¯s something from the Endless, something that might understand where exactly this relic came from. If it¡¯s even real.¡± Arethor looked the slab of stone over. The Celspawn. He couldn¡¯t help but notice the likeliness to his name, Celstrum. But in general, Cel simply meant power, and had been engraved in the names of many heroes throughout history. Something Arethor never particularly saw himself as. Nor this relic.


    ¡°I suppose so. I can¡¯t promise anything. She¡¯s a bit of a nut. Calling her a friend is a stretch, considering the first time I met her she tried to end my life.¡± Heathgrim recalled, blinking absently. Minni had caused some trouble in Tavernkeep and wound herself up in prison for a few nights. She had claimed she was trying to spare people by snatching their cryys, claiming they would steal their souls. To most, this is simply called pickpocketing.


    ¡°All the same! When do we leave?¡± Arethor asked, brushing something off his pants and standing up straight. A smile danced on Heathgrims lips.


    ¡°Can you be ready tomorrow morning?¡±


    Otis knocked on the door quietly at first. When he heard nothing, he cleared his throat, then knocked again. There was a slight shuffling then a thunk as the door was dragged open. Amber stood there, her eyes lighting up and her mouthing opening as if to speak. Only nothing came out other than an exhausted exhale.


    The first thing he noticed was the massive bandage spanning her neck, wrapping around several times almost up to her chin. The Splinter had casted burn marks up and down her neck alongside the obvious hole.


    Otis had only been able to visit her once since the attack, and she was unconscious still from the healing done by the Conduits. And at the time she¡¯d had a blanket nearly up to her mouth. Seeing it now made the words catch in his throat, and eyes swell with tears.


    All he could do was step forward and pull the girl into a hug. At first she was confused, but then seemed to melt into the embrace, her arms squeezing his waist. It was a rather long embrace, to which neither of them complained. Eventually, though, Otis broke away and scanned around for her notebook.


    "I''m sorry I didn''t come sooner. Kojok has us pulling double-time. He doesn''t trust this whole thing is really over. I haven''t really had a moment to myself lately." Otis said drearily as he found her notebook and handed it to her. She too already looked in a damper mood, but nodded understandingly.


    I''m just happy you''re here, with Arethor leaving again soon I feel like I''m being left behind. She said with more than a tinge of vulnerability. It wasn''t a side he often saw from the cheerful Amber he knew well, but how could he blame her? Watching that Splinter tear through her, shooting past his own face and out into the open sky, it was horrifying. Furthermore, he hadn''t heard of Arethor leaving again, and a hot anger flushed through him.


    "Right now of all times? What''s gotten into him?" Otis gritted his teeth as he looked over his shoulder to the door. A part of him wanted to storm downstairs and slap some sense into the elf, but a bigger part yearned to stay near Amber.


    It''s important to him. I understand. I think he just needs some closure. You did hear about what happened right? She wrote, chewing on her inner lip. Amber had been glad to hear that Otis was left on wall duty as opposed to joining the march of the Oak. She couldn''t bear to lose the two most important men in her life in one day. Otis looked at the elf with a confused look at first, but then scoffed as he remembered.


    "Oh, right, this vision. This doesn''t have to do with that, does it?" Otis probed.


    Somewhat. Honestly, I was reluctant at first, but Arethor isn''t one to fall for silly games. If he''s concerned, I''m concerned. I just hope he doesn''t get himself killed. Otis wiped away the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks, pursuing his lips in frustration.


    "Look, as much as I disapprove of his choices here, your brother is an exceptionally capable man. I trust him with my life." Otis said seriously. "But whether he finds what he''s looking for or not, I''m sure he''ll make it back to your safely." He added with a weak smile. Amber blinked away premature tears, and smiled in return.


    But you aren''t going anywhere, right? She wrote slowly. He could hear the words in her voice in his head. A voice he would never hear again, and yet, would never forget.


    "Not if the sky was falling."