《I. Praelvdivm》 DMs note + Praelvdivm 0 The girl scrapes the side of the knife againstherplate, letting the warm butter slide up against the potatoes. Her fingers scratch unconsciously at her neck. The mosquito bite is growing itchier. ¡°Lyene!" shoutsavoice, "Hurry up! I don¡¯t want to wait any longer. I¡¯m not the one who stayed out so long they didn''t even eat. Look, it¡¯s 7! We always-¡° "I know! I know!" Lyene picks up the plate and hurries into the other room, ¡°I can''t even see the timepiece in there." Her sister grins smugly from her straw cushion but doesn''t press. She turns promptly to the figure swaying in his rocking chair, who is lit only by the embers in thefireplace behind him and whatmoonlightfilters through thedoorway. Lyene seats herself on the rest of the cushion next to her sister, who nudges her sharply with an elbow. "Watch the food!" Lyene exclaims, hands tight around the plate. "Don¡¯t be clumsy." The swaying of the rocking chair stops as their father plants his feet firm against the creaking floorboards. In his lap lies a bookanda relic - the covers uncleanably dusty, the binding frayed. But their father is proud of it. It''s the onlybook they own - a recent gift from a friend. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. He breathes deeply and visibly, waving a hand over the book held in the other. His eyebrows risewith mystery. The two sisters hush, one¡¯s retort and the other¡¯s meal interrupted. The book is opened by work-worn hands, past many other pagesof twice-told tales. "Olivier. Lyene. Listen to theTale of the Serpent-skin and the Wooden Pinik." What¡¯s a pinik? But the thought remains unspoken. To speak wouldbreak the wonderful spelltheir father has begun to cast. Their father smiles. Then, rusty, shrill, and edged with allergies, his voice begins to ring, acommandingechofabricated in the sisters'' rapt imaginations. Not quite the voice one would expectto carry soepic a tale. But they don¡¯t care. They¡¯re hungry for the novel. Its adventure presents their heart a rhythm to beat against, a canvas to set their dreams to. Its romanticism gives the house an airy, mystical feel, suspended by fantastical threads spun out from the book by their father¡¯s voice. And simultaneously, the words upon wordswash over them, and they feel mundane and refreshed. Late into the evening, they sit, mouths agape, wide-eyed, even as he shuts the book, a puff of dust dispersing with anarratedfinality. Praelvdivm 1 Snow fell in blistering torrents. The wind howled and screamed from peak to peak of the Belt-Doral, dragging down sheets of snow that smothered a hundred myriad slopes. A flame flickered helplessly on the Bell Mountain, light drenched by the storm. The torch that fueled it seemed set to shatter. Olivier stood atop a snowdrift, barefoot, dressed in a short, sleeveless white dress, crimson hair whipped in erratic arcs by the wind. She shifted the torch from right hand to left and shook her head, fighting to keep her vision clear for even a second. After a moment, she held out her free hand and pushed, and the air around her rippled as the wild currents of snow started to avoid her. Unfortunately, the surroundings still didn¡¯t present any convenient landmarks or indications that she was close. ¡°Almost there?¡± asked Sherry. ¡°No idea. But I think so.¡± Olivier turned her attention away from the torch. ¡°Mantidrake. Are we still on Corelli¡¯s trail?¡± A small head tapered like a sharp, fuzzy beak poked out from the neck of her dress, nodded, then disappeared again. ¡°I thought you knew where we were going.¡± Sherry pressed, ¡°This is a lame vacation.¡± "Shut it and keep the torch lit." ¡°That¡¯s not really under my control, you know.¡± ¡°Just do it.¡± "I''m not calling you boss or anything," came the annoyed reply. The torch flickered and grew imperceptibly. In actuality, it didn¡¯t seem that the torch was in danger of burning out. It looked to be constructed from some sort of metal with a sheen that could only be described as flickering dark - a colourless displacement. Olivier continued to look around from what vantage the snowdrift offered. She ought to move along, but her feet remained rooted there just long enough for fatigue to set in her mind. A deep sigh crawled its way up from her throat. ¡°You okay?¡± asked Sherry in an almost genuine show of emotion. Olivier didn¡¯t answer immediately. She shifted the torch back to her right hand, and the snow began to swirl against her again. ¡°Yes¡­ It¡¯s a long cry from just hearing the stories a thousand times. That¡¯s all.¡± She forced one foot forward. Then the other. And again. Until she gained momentum and was off the snowdrift. She continued to walk. Another hour brought no change to the storm¡¯s energy, but sudden wriggling inside her dress brought her attention to a suspiciously shaped mound of snow. She nudged the squirming shape. ¡°Is this it?¡± The fuzzy head emerged just long enough to nod confirmation. Olivier inched closer to the mound, circled it, until she came across - almost tripped over, really - a line of silver bells lying on the snow - tiny, each no bigger than her hands. The bells were held together by a string that vanished into the snow, towards the mound. They didn¡¯t seem to even shake in the wind. She bent over, took hold of the string, and tugged sharply. Snow catapulted away from the mound as a metallic hatch swung open from underneath, revealing a candlelit stairway beyond. If it creaked as it opened, it was inaudible over the storm. Olivier let go of the string of bells and stepped inside, closing the door behind her, cutting off the wind¡¯s roar with a clang. The air was stiff but no warmer inside, and there was a subtly bitter tang to it. The stairway was narrow, and the walls were matte black, lined with nooks, candles burning softly within, the light bouncing off of a dusting of snow that had found itself inside. Olivier looked closer. Something strange was going on with the wall - something not quite¡­ real. Her hair glowed faintly - a strand likely beginning to pale - as she focused Third Sight. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. A brief moment of nothing. Then, phantasmal imprintings rose to the surface, symbols with a metaphysical instructionality to them. Lava os. ¡°That¡¯s extremely early,¡± she muttered. ¡°What? What¡¯s going on? Where are we? Aren¡¯t you the knower of important things?¡± Sherry pried. Olivier slowly brought a hand to her forehead as she mentally catalogued some thoughts. ¡°Faction magics don¡¯t tend to infuse this early on, so this might be unfamiliar for me too.¡± ¡°Okay. I¡¯m demanding an explanation soon.¡± ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s what you want?¡± ¡°Condense it for me,¡± Sherry insisted. ¡°¡­¡± ¡°Eventually.¡± ¡°Eventually,¡± Olivier agreed. She unfocused Third Sight. Something else was beginning to listen in. The staircase was short. At its foot, she entered into a chamber - large along all three dimensions - starkly bright, although the light somehow didn¡¯t reach into the stairway. The walls of the chamber were lined with the same nooks and candles as the stairway, although almost everything - floor, walls, ceiling - was a clinical white. At the center of the chamber was a raised platform, an ornate flower with fourteen petals carved into it, its lines composed of glittering mosaic tiles. Two figures were on the platform. The one that was sitting had her back to Olivier. She had shoulder-length silvery hair and wore a plain red robe tied together with a dark grey rope at the waist. The robe covered her feet, even while she sat. Wen, likely. The other person lying before Wen was Corelli, a slight young woman clothed in a white dress almost identical to Olivier¡¯s, her hip-length white hair scattered like a bed of hay beneath her - still unconscious from her first time moving amongst ghosts. Well, first-ish, anyway. Idiot. Wen had apparently already noticed Olivier. She stood wordlessly, stepped, and then¡­ A ghostly silhouette blossomed out from Wen¡¯s form, and the shape of an immense, pale, serpentine creature grew to fill it - the apparition gaining a sudden solidity and weight, punctuated by its clawed feet crashing into the ground. And that was practically confirmation. Wen. Dragon. More appropriately named than in most cases. Wen took a thundering step toward Olivier, the air growing tight as clouds of frost streamed from her mouth. ¡°Who dares-¡° ¡°Wen. I had a feeling it¡¯d be you.¡± The dragon paused as her show of intimidation dissolved into an unbalanced posture of confusion. She craned her neck forward, turning to let a single eye to scan Olivier¡¯s features. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ sorry¡­?¡± The inquiry faded unanswered. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Wen repeated, a little too loudly, ¡°Do I know you?¡± Olivier shrugged and shifted her back foot. ¡°Don¡¯t think so. But you do have my friend there.¡± ¡°Sherry, stay lit!¡± ¡°Not my -!¡± The torch flew from her hand into a random corner of the room. She dug her foot back and burst forward and upward, twisting her other knee hard into Wen¡¯s proffered eye. This didn¡¯t seem to be the trade Wen was expecting judging from the screaming that followed. Olivier continued her arc, kicking her initial foot out so that it caught on the dragon¡¯s spined nose, letting the pained recoil of Wen¡¯s head carry her forward. As the dragon¡¯s head crested, Olivier let the momentum fling her as close to the ceiling as possible. She centred, and felt herself abruptly halt as she began to float in a meditative position - frozen in midair. She let her resolve reach out to her discarded torch, stoking it. Wen blinked furiously and turned upwards to face her. The dragon¡¯s head snapped forward, jaws wide. And immediately stopped as Olivier pushed against space, warping the distance between herself and the dragon¡¯s reaching jaws. ¡°Defense mechanism, Wen," she explained, "I expected more from you.¡± Wen snarled and disengaged toward a further corner of the room, launching meteors of snow from her mouth. Olivier exhaled. ¡°I had my fill of this outside.¡± The meteors melted away as great arcs of flame burst from the torch in the opposite corner, guided by her careful focus. Wen launched herself upward in a blind rush again. A whistling. The torch whirled through the air and snapped back into Olivier¡¯s waiting hands. ¡°Sherry. Burn.¡± The torch shuddered. Then it exploded like an inferno and engulfed Wen in flames. Olivier watched - the heat only a caress against her skin - as Wen roared and toppled back, the form of the dragon receding to that of a silhouette before vanishing, leaving only the red-robed, silver-haired woman to fall to the ground with sharp impact. Olivier stopped focusing, letting herself drift to the floor from her midair roost. She hadn¡¯t expected much more than that - maintaining the form of a dragon was more trouble than it was worth. She looked over to make sure Wen wasn¡¯t moving, before dashing over to Corelli. She strapped the torch to her dress and knelt beside her fallen friend. ¡°Hey there. Where have you been?¡± Corelli groaned from the ground. ¡°Can you stand, Corelli?¡± More groaning - clearly not in response. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but let¡¯s get you out of here. I can¡¯t stand the air in this place.¡± She hoisted Corelli onto her shoulder, ignoring the groaning and feeble flailing of her arms. Mantidrake darted from her dress to nestle into Corelli¡¯s hair. Olivier looked over at Wen. Probably worth keeping her around. She walked over, grabbed Wen¡¯s arm with her free hand, and began dragging her toward the exit, adjusting Corelli''s positioning several times. She took a careful look around. They¡¯d be back. But there were still four other stops to make. At least four, anyway. Praelvdivm 2 A breeze carried the scent of fresh pine and daffodils through the window. The hint of winter still clinging to its coattails was perhaps partially responsible for the tickle in Sceth''s spine. Not that the trace cold mattered in this room. At its centre was a softly burning hearth set in a circular stone depression. It was large enough for even his tallest student to lie in, engulfed... should they wish, which he hoped they wouldn''t. Sceth imagined his classes were marginally favourable to burning alive. The irony hardly escaped him as he watched Flame. The Lothlo boy stood at the tilestones just before the hearth. Flame raised his hands slightly. His forehead furrowed like the tide coming in. The heat of the boy''s focus emanated like a ghostly hearth of its own. The hearthfire danced in its own merry way for a few seconds, before beginning to bend to Flame''s will. Sweat dotted his brow from both the heat of the hearth and the strain of concentrating. The stones beneath his feet rocked slightly, and he shifted his weight. After a few seconds more, the fire molded itself into two distinct trails of flame, like two horns emerging from the hearth''s base - a devil in the earth. Their shapes pinched in here and rotated there under Flame''s guidance. Finally, they took on the shape of two symbols, scrawled in pulsating red. Flame looked over expectantly. Sceth gave him a slow, subtle nod. The boy''s mouth quirked into a likewise imperceptible smile. Sceth waved him back to his seat, before getting up from his own desk and addressing everyone. The two dozen and some odd members of his class sat at their desks opposite him, arranged in concentric arcs around the Hearth. With a more curt wave, Sceth let the blazing symbols return to their normal business of acting like fire. They began to smolder down, casting dramatic shadows against the back wall. ¡°Yes, as Flame has correctly iterated and partially demonstrated, Metronomen and Wreath. I know the two sways haven''t been directly relevant to your studies up to this point, but despite weeks of the two terms cropping up, I have seen them used in the wrong contexts several times still. Of course, as you are beginning to find out, the deeper we get into the sways, committing to Elements, and most importantly, actually putting this knowledge to physical practice, it will get easier." The hearth died. The mid-morning light made the room appear soft. The chill under Sceth''s skin felt more tangible suddenly. "Your body and mind will work in tandem to make memory reality. But please try your best to remember.¡± Sceth stifled a yawn and smiled at his students. "Magic is young. Or old depending on how one looks at it, but as far as our aim of studying it goes, very young indeed. I don''t imagine the lens we approach it with will always remain the same, but what we are trying to teach you here isn''t merely how to move a rock or a tongue of fire. We want you to know when to and why. And as simple as something like terminology is, it''s the first step." Sceth remembered something an instructor of his had once said: ''It''s a long way to the horizon, and understanding comes more than once.'' Was he conveying that well? "There are new trinkets in the basket by the door. Like the other ones, these are designed to resist you. Please pick one up on your way out and have it in the distended position when you bring it back next meeting. I, unfortunately, have something I must attend to, but if you must find me, you know where and when." Sceth scanned the crowd of youthful eyes. Even the most bored of expressions held a little curiosity. It was the kind of youthful excitement that demanded to prove itself. Of course. They were finally putting their years of study into something practical. He imagined it must be quite cathartic if only for that reason alone. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. "Dismissed." The silence of his students was rapidly quashed by eager chatter and the clatter of chairs and study materials. The basket supply dwindled. Sceth sat back at his desk and gathered up papers. When the silence had returned, he looked up. The room was almost empty. Almost. Flame stood by the doorway, intently studying the hearth''s black embers. The boy was slight with messy hair, although no longer "sickly" or "malnourished" as he had first been when he''d come to the Academe. Sceth''s eyes met Flame''s briefly. The boy''s gaze was implacable. There was a slight eeriness to it that he couldn''t explain. Something like the feeling of being watched twice over. Flame left.
Sceth''s office was a trio of vaguely circular rooms. On a floor plan, it would resemble a blocky snowman, each block set a couple of stairs higher than the last. He''d foregone the customary carvings on the doors. They were plain and dark with bronze door knobs. A golden plaque was set at eye level with his name. The door opened without a creak. Inside, there was a warm, cosy smell, not unlike that of a library. He couldn''t find the right words for it, but it was the smell of years of learning in a room well loved. It settled upon the wooden floors and danced around the lights that hung from the ceiling in place of the dust that usually accompanied rooms like this. Several swords and other weapons were hung on the walls, high enough that he would need a ladder to reach most of them. They were from all over the continent. His serpentine was elsewhere. He preferred not to look at that one. The room housed a number of other things, but he always enjoyed seeing the wooden rack that held his collection of instruments - ocarinas and other vessel flutes, a tambore drum, and several stringed instruments including a harp. A chair was always beside the harp so it could be played whenever the mood took him. To the other side of the room was a desk, and probably the most expensive piece of furniture he owned. It was a sleek fixture made from Amadiene Cherry - tougher than real cherry and just as rich a colour. He''d commissioned it through a friend''s workshop in Schiant. Behind the desk were several shelves set into the wall. Ebon-hickory, if he recalled, and of much simpler construction. The shelves were brimming with books, trinkets, and any number of other oddities. Galente sat at the desk. She was scribing, papers set upon a writing tablet. Her fingers occasionally fiddled with the quill''s feathers in those moments where writing meant thinking. Those were the moments he could almost see steam rising from her head. "The boy has the potential for so much in the future. I can see it," Sceth muttered as he closed the door behind him. "Who?" asked Galente, not looking up. "Flame." "Ah." A pause. "Any others like him?" "Maybe." Galente did look up. "Sceth. Remember that you have more than one student." "Yes, yes. I''m... not downplaying anyone." He walked around the room and idly plucked the harp''s strings. "This isn''t like an apprenticeship." "Yes, yes," he repeated. Galente''s tone changed to something more businesslike. Well, she always had a crisp, formal diction, so it had the effect of making her voice seem to stand up straight. ¡°There''s a word for you. Olivier¡¯s calling in her favour." Sceth mused. She¡¯d used her last one some time back, of course. He¡¯d humor her. ¡°And? Does she want me to do some remembering?¡± Galente paused, lips pursed. There was a clack as she laid a less-than-palm-sized token onto her desk. She pushed it toward him. It was a simple coin of lightly corroded brass and an old sigil stamped on one side. He saw Galente''s corpse in her chair. He saw a knife plunged into her heart. Then, it was just Galente again, proferring the coin. Sceth grew still. ¡°Oh. I see.¡± Galente cleared her throat. "She''ll also want to talk in person. Sometime in the next month." "This" - Sceth dragged the token along the desk with his finger ("Please don''t do that," said Galente) - "might require a few favours on my part as well, then.¡± Galente was already taking out a fresh sheet of paper. "Galente, do you happen to know if Drago is still at Sandtsel?" "Yes. Last I heard." Sceth nodded. "If Kaenus is still here, I may have a letter to send with them." ¡°Would you like me to grab you a-¡± ¡°That¡¯d be nice, please.¡± ¡°-drink? ¡°¡­¡± "Surprise me. Something... from another time if you can manage. I think that will help me here." Galente''s eyes were as steady as ice. The slight tilting of her head was more than enough to express her exasperation. "Of course." The choice names she could call him stood unspoken. He was thankful for that. She already knew where the drinks would be as well. He wondered what Galente would have made for him. Cloudbrew? Vodka Collins? Darker Brisk? He walked deeper into his office, into his private room. The door he left open just a touch. His easel was set up beside the window; there was a raging storm, fast approaching. That was how he had drawn it. Outside, the sky was pale and quiet - a lovely blue, streaked with cloud. His head was starting to ache again. He needed paper. And a quill. Praelvdivm 3 On most days, asking Elaine who her closest friend was would reward you with a bemused expression and suspicious dark eyes. If you could peer behind the curtain, you''d hear her questioning the point of asking something so frivolous. Another, much quieter, part of her stood in the corner, muttering uncertainties over whether she could ever answer that sort of question. Today, Elaine stood at The Ramparts of Sandtsel, her ankles deep in cevano - blood and mud, the runoff of war and weather. The latter was a sign of day-old heavy rains; the former, a growing, ever-present reminder of the slaughter of battle around her. The Ramparts themselves were a fairly old structure, a series of walls that stretched along, around, and beneath the waves of the Planteras. Here was one of the only places where the Western Continent of Keres came within simple swimming distance of its Eastern neighbour, Galil. Dusk was fast approaching, and Elaine was separated from her company. If she didn''t make her way back within the hour, the fae would take her in the dark. She could very well die. On a day like today, if you asked Elaine who her closest friend was, she would say it was Guram. In her life as a mercenary, no one was as trustworthy as Guram. No one had razor wit like Guram. No one was as thoughtful as Guram. She liked Guram''s voice too. It was often a calm whisper. Rather, a calming whisper. No matter how loud the world around her - or within her - she could hear him and trust that he would help her mind remain quiet. Guram was also a blade and her weapon of choice. "Behind you," he said. Elaine swung Guram behind her and felt the weight of something as it impacted the blade. She wrenched her arm around and caught a glimpse of the dying fae''s flailing halves. The setting sun caressed the horizon, stretching out her foes'' shadows to menacing lengths. Elaine sent her will out and caught the heat of sundown. Flames burst around her, a localised flurry of artillery. Flying spirits shrieked above her, trying and failing to get close. The couple dozen other fae that circled her hesitated. Somewhere to the North, she saw flashing lights as soldiers and warriors like her fought spirits and fae like these. "Again." Elaine swung Guram before he''d even finished speaking. A particularly brave - and particularly foolish - wolf-thing had charged through the chaos of fire behind her. Guram impaled it in the eye and down into its chest. It writhed, spittle flying from its mouth. Two of the flying spirits charged as well. Elaine caught the blade against the wolf-man''s ribs, and using it as an axis, propelled herself around and behind it. The first flying spirit crashed into the wolf-man, and they toppled. Elaine twisted the blade so it came clear of them both just in time to catch the second flying spirit. Too fast, it careened through Guram''s edge, rending itself in two as it passed. Something like blood splattered the ground and Elaine''s arms. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. With each step she was taking, Elaine willed the earth around her to tumble, scattering the fae that closed in on her. The ground rolled outward like waves on the sea with as thunderous an imitation of an ocean storm as it could manage. At times, the mud caught one of the fae and drowned it with the vacuous sounds of a sinkhole. And so it went on for minutes that felt like hours piled on hours. She pushed the wind and the fae within it. She swung Guram and the fae that could bleed did. She collected scrapes and bruises and shallow wounds and tired breaths. She was very far from unscathed. And as the candle burnt down, the sun grew tinier. Shadows swallowed other shadows until the bits of daylight were stranded in darkness. The fae swarmed upon her, an unstoppable malice of dark days and dark nights. The sun went down. Elaine gasped as a claw left a gash above her chest. Guram guided her - her eyes couldn''t make out her opponent too well anymore - and she felled the claw''s owner. A ghoulish head collapsed before her. "Guram, you tired?" Something like a smirk. "Why? You need a nap already?" Elaine''s breath came and went in unsteady waves. Her throat was hot and sore. She felt deathly faint. "Hah. Hah. Maybe." She collapsed to her knees. Guram''s voice spurred her again. The sword flicked outward, and she saw a translucent arm fly past her. The form of its owner seemed suddenly visible as if in firelight, and she drew several swift lines. She could summon up fire to protect herself, but in a fighting frenzy like this, she''d learned it only drew overwhelming attention. She tried to lift herself up, but her knees felt glued to the muddy ground. The incline of the Ramparts didn''t help matters. Her eyes were adjusting fast to the dark, but all she saw was the approach of another few fae, intent on her death. The familiar cry of someone who must have elephants in his family tree brought fire to her heart, and she cast an arm out and yelled. Real, gloriously vibrant fire burst forward in gouts. The fae before her yelped and retreated. She fell facefirst into the mud, too much energy spent. The smell of the battlefield was intoxicating. Moments later, she heard that familiar cry again, followed by a chorus of smaller cries. She felt herself being turned over. The man who kneeled beside her was Scolt, a hundred thousand pounds of tough nails, scar tissue, and blood (not his). He hauled her up with an arm. "You found me." Elaine mumbled. "You think anyone can miss the racket you''re causing, kid? Come on, you''re one in a million." He adjusted her so she hung like a ragdoll. "Watch the sword!" She flimsily sheathed Guram as quickly as she could manage before the blade pierced one of Scolt''s innumerable muscles. "Kid, I''m not dying to a stick like that." To his three or four companions, she saw him signal a retreat. "A stick like that did this." Elaine tried to gesture at the string of fae corpses, but found that she couldn''t. Her muscles could have anchored her down to the Titan of Death. "Don''t waste air." Scolt charged along with her in tow. The rest of the group brought up the rear. Very few could take the lead like Scolt could. "The end is in sight. Best you stick around to see it." Praelvdivm 4 Coneti Ordrakha gritted her teeth as she hammered the last iron nail into the doorframe, pinning the hinge down for good. She stood and held her breath. It was time for the moment of truth. She gave the front door a quick swing. It swung. The breath came out in a sigh of relief. It had taken far too long to get new hinges made by the nearest metalsmith, but the rust on the old ones had made it necessary. She could finally put away the curtain she''d been using as a partition, now that the door actually moved again. She surveyed the place. The building was for all intents and purposes, an inn and as simple as it got. It was all wooden boards and dusty interiors and candlelit corners. There were a couple rooms upstairs, a couple downstairs, a barebones cellar, and a central room with a counter for serving drinks and three or four tables for drinking and gaming. Not that there was often any of that. No one needed to come up this far North, so there was only ever the infrequent, irrational stranger. Two of those were in one of the upstairs rooms right now. The inn wasn''t an old buiding, but it had started as someone''s cabin. The residents in the town down the road said it had been some years abandoned when Coneti had first asked. Now, it made perfect lodging for those passing through the Belt-Doral mountains or those on their way up the mountains to Syaan''s temple. Coneti busied herself with some final tasks, and eventually, she was at the counter, counting up coins. The sooner she finished with that, the sooner she could take the long hike back up to the temple where her real task lay - preparing the morning meal for the temple denizens, including Syaan''s ravenous young disciples. The mountains were still wrapped in late winter, heedless of the spring that had come to the lands further below, so she wasn''t expecting any other guests just yet. Naturally, the door she''d just installed swung open, a belated gust doused the candles, leaving only two on the counter burning. Three worn down figures in brown travelling clothes walked in. They smelled of the dirt and snow that built up on those journeying through the mountains here. It was the earthy musk of something wild dragged along by an intruder. The two in the back seemed to naturally defer to the one in front, and when Coneti saw the shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, and scraggly beard, her heart stopped for a second. A wolfish grin she knew too well flashed on the leader''s face, and she knew they were all Wolves. Of course, if Coneti didn''t miss her guess, this meant they were all armed to the teeth. The leader stood there in the doorway, gesturing at himself and to Coneti. After several seconds of continued grinning, he stripped off his wandering cloak and sauntered forward. "Connie, Connie! You''ve been here this whole time?" He didn''t seem terribly surprised to find her here. Coneti slid the coins back into their box beneath the counter. "If it isn''t a few faces I never wanted to see again." "Now, now. Where''s the sense in being rude? Let''s find a seat." This last part he directed at his travelling companions. His two followers - she remembered them as Rinsa and... the other she couldn''t find a name for - sat down at a table. The leader approached the three-legged stools at the counter. "It''s been how many... many... ages?" He sat down heavily and erratically on one of the stools, setting it''s legs screeching as they scraped back against the floor. "Not quite so loudly, Lupe. There are guests upstairs, and the sun is low. This isn''t like the city." Stolen novel; please report. Lupe stamped his boots so the gravel fell out, then propped his legs up on the counter; the stool leaned back on two legs. "Where are your weapons, Connie?" "Hung them up. Companions, knives, and all. Don''t need ''em." She gave him a look, all sharp edges and smiles that could speak for her. Don''t need you. "Pity. Companions aren''t bad, knives... and all." A coin played back and forth between his fingers now. He looked casually around the darkened room, lit only by the falling sun. "Whatever. You know why I''m here. You still owe me." Coneti watched the glint of his coin as it came in and out of hiding. It was a much more impressive trick even than it looked. Lupe would continually switch out the coin he was toying with. Right now, it was an old viniech, an Amadiene copper. She knew the precision of his hands translated well to knifework. The man could''ve performed surgery on himself with a rusty cleaver if only he''d been able to tell a heart from a moldy tooth. She filled a tankard with beer from the tap as Lupe continued talking. "The Protectorate is trading in batons for blades. You know what that means. A lot of money for those with grindstones. Or blades of their own." "There''s money in simple cooking and brewing too." She snatched the coin out of Lupe''s hand and replaced it with the tankard. You probably won''t find much use for that." Lupe looked pointedly at his now empty hand, then eyed the tankard suspiciously. Eventually, he seemed to admit to himself that he needed a drink. Half the tankard''s contents vanished. A new coin appeared in his hand not long after. "But you might find use for a blade. We could certainly use your particular touch." One of his lackeys spoke. The lanky man had a look like he couldn''t remember which end of a sword was which, though she knew he was as deadly as any of them. For her own part, she still couldn''t remember his name too well. Glum? "He means you should come with us. There''s bounties for beasts, hired swords, and-" "Thank you, Gulan. I believe she understood me the first time. Listen, Coneti, I did say you owe me. If you''re not willing to honour that, I''ll be quite upset." He raised his hands in a hapless gesture. "A favour, Lupe! A favour. I''m not uprooting myself on a whim. That''s more than a favour." "Connie. Wouldn''t you rather be the Emptier of Heaven again?" She slammed her hands down on the counter. "Lupe. I shouldn''t be, but I''m grateful for you stopping by and offering whatever job you''re pulling. I''m not hearing any more of this. I''m old. I''m in my fifties. You can''t seriously think you could just hand me a target, and I was just going to get on a horse and leave with you at my age, did you?" She slowly, deliberately, relaxed her hands. "For one, I can''t even afford a horse." Lupe smiled knowingly across the counter. Then, he lunged. The coin in his hand was now a knife. Her own hand moved at galeforce speeds. His tankard was in it. The knife clanked, beer splashed in Lupe''s face, and his arm careened to one side. She caught the back of it and slammed down, one hand each on elbow and shoulder. Lupe''s face hit the counter. The knife clattered over onto her side. His breath exploded out of his mouth. The tankard landed next to him, miraculously upright. More beer splashed out onto the table. Rinsa and Gulan had jumped up from their seats, but Lupe waved them back. He wheezed in pain a couple times. Then, he laughed sharply. "Too old, is that it?" "That''s it. And that''s all. Now are you done fucking around here? That was my last drop of patience. Gone. If anything else spills tonight, it''ll just be your blood." "Oh, there''s already some of that." He grinned at her again, and she saw a bit of blood had started to drip from his gums. "I understand you, though. You want to be a hermit like that mountain weird up there. I would respect it, only I don''t." Lupe sat up again and downed the rest of the beer. "That''s really your answer, though, is it? It hasn''t been so long since you packed up." "It has. We''re done speaking about this. I''m done." Lupe let the stool fall back into it''s normal three-legged stance with a clunk. "Well, you know I can''t say I''m surprised. But I am disappointed. I don''t think I ever thought you''d retire. I saw you poisoning drinks and sticking knives in chests until your hair had completely grayed. I thought when the Silent Mason came for you, you''d finally be immune to whatever draught he uses to take the dead, and you could kick him in the face. You know. For everyone we lost." Coneti felt the trembling of adrenaline turn to frost. "You''re mixing up your folklore, Lupe." Lupe just raised his hands again. "I''ll take my leave. We''ll leave." He again directed the last bit to the others. "Anyway, seeing an old friend was just side business. We''re actually here doing a little hunting - strange people and beasties alike out there - but set aside a room for us. We''ll be back tonight. Us and a friend. Or two. Thank you so kindly." With a bow and a swagger, Lupe left. She was thankful he left when he did. And she was even more thankful when she had packed up and started up the trail to Syaan''s temple. The last thing she did was leave one of the ground floor rooms open for him and his buddies with some bundled blankets on the bed. She hiked. A couple flickering lights far up the path guided her way. She hoped Syaan would be awake. She needed someone reasonable to talk to. She was thankful too that the mountain air cooled her head with every step and every breath. The press of her hidden blades and the weight of the angel looking over her shoulder had been starting to overpower her. Praelvdivm 5 The dorm common rooms were not extravagant. They were simple lounges that, as the name suggested, served as a common point of meeting for a cluster of dorm rooms. They were designed to encourage students to get to know each other. A skylight and a couple windows let in the dazzling light of a Belt-Doral afternoon. If there was anything to be said about a mountainside school, it was certainly the view. The clouds seemed to dance casually in the winds, pausing every now and then to be painted. The common room held some games stored in a shelf - including a few decks of ever-popular Maneost cards, suited and unsuited - and just barely not enough furniture. Although there was a comfortable soft seat called a beanbag chair whose purpose was to engulf and probably consume the sitter. The four of them were finished with classes for the day and were hanging around. Amilyn had a sullen look as she sat criss-cross in the room''s centre, sketching something. Her auburn hair occasionally fell down into her face when she grew too focused, and she blew it away. Kurrik sat in the beanbag chair. As always, he held a strong penchant for not shutting up, though with a suave voice like his, it was understandable. He tossed occasional comments and questions at Amilyn; there were more people in the room than words in her usual responses. And Oluminarie sat across from Flame as they played cards across a small table. The cards at the edge were in constant danger of toppling off. Oluminarie scanned her hand and the cards in play. Both her hidden hand cards were probably low numbers, but that wasn''t enough for her to risk taking either of them yet. Better to claim a trick off the table hand. She played a seven. "Jehan. Pair." "Triplet," countered Flame, showing his own seven. "My trick." Oluminarie grimaced good-naturedly and slid the cards over to him. "Yours it is. Hey, Flame. Any thoughts about Kurrik''s birthday celebration? I promise it will be fun." Like a summoned demon, Kurrik appeared. The only warning was soft footfalls. "Now, what''s this about my birthday? Something quite secret and intensely scandalous?" "I''m just talking with Flame about giving the Gauntlet a try. I think he''s still nervous about it." Kurrik pushed back his dark hair - it was nonchalantly messy in a way that a lot of girls seemed to find attractive - then leaned forward and gripped Flame''s left shoulder. "We won''t let you get hurt, Flame. You come with us and count on us." "Kurr, we can''t promise that." She jostled her chair over to Flame''s other shoulder, pushing Kurrik away teasingly. "We''ll take the same blows as you. It''ll be thrilling, but no more. You know there haven''t been any accidents." "And also," put in Kurrik, "I promise I won''t be mad, but remember. This is my last year." Kurrik pulled another wooden chair over to them and relaxed into it. "But do what feels right to you." Oluminarie moved back to her side. Cards continued to change hands in silence. Kurrik breathed a quiet sigh. "I can''t believe I''ll be graduating." Oluminarie punched him playfully with her card-free hand. "You still have a year to mess it up, Kurr." "Quiet down, class act." "You''re not even good at magic. Any of it. If anything, I can''t believe you''re graduating." "Shut up. I could take any of you in a match. I get better marks than all of you combined." Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. "I don''t know how that''s possible with maths like that." Another brief silence ensued. More cards moved around. Oluminarie stopped lamenting her impending loss. Flame spoke up. "Do you know where you''re going after you graduate, Kurr?" "Well. Somewhere far from the mountains is a start. It gets too chilly here." "Right, somewhere far away," Flame repeated, then he played a card, "Grimoire." Oluminarie took in the state of the table again and shook her head. "Ugh, that''s almost your game. Anyway, Kurr, it''ll be good to have the rest of our schooling pass by with some real silence." Kurrik smiled softly before returning to the question. "There''s an expedition out past the Protectorate. I mean, across the sea." Oluminarie placed her hand down on one corner and looked at him intently. "Bordering? You can''t have chosen that on a whim." "No, My sister told me about some new breakthrough regarding the Outside, and I talked with some of the teachers. All the important preparations should be done in a few months." "You really think you have a shot, huh?" "Hey, I''ve been pretty fucking lucky so far." It was dangerous business, the Outside. When the Fae had first appeared, part of the world - a Northern piece of the continent of Keres along with part of its eastern neighbour, Galil - had been encased in something resembling a magical dome. Eventually, magicians and cartographers had discovered that the Border was circular and had investigated the epicentre only to find nothing of particular note. The Border itself prevented anyone from accessing the Outside world - the rest of Keres and Galil, Iono to the North, Colombia and Cambodi-Aria across the ocean, or any of the Eastern continents. Oluminarie wasn''t sure of the details, but there were Bordering expeditions that sailed to the Border''s inner edge, hoping to experiment and find a way through. And see if the Outside still even existed. The only other thing she knew was that Bordering expeditions always ran into unforeseen dangers, and many of them failed to return. Maybe as soon as this time next year, Kurrik might board a ship to never return. As a post-graduation option, it was more in-character for him than she had realised. Amilyn cleared her throat. She had gotten up and was standing by the doorway. Her sketchbook was tucked under her arm, and her drawing utensils were stored in a pouch. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I have a relief I want to finish carving. Just let me know if Flame says yes." "He''ll say yes! It''s a birthday gift to me, after all." Kurrik announced to Amilyn''s back. The common room door swung open and shut. "Listen to that, Flame. Amilyn doesn''t show it well, but she wants you to come, too." "Kurr! Don''t pressure him." Kurrik ignored her. "Hey, when you give your all to something, Flame, it''s fantastic. I love that. And this is the exact sort of thing I can see you get sucked in to. You may be new to practical magic, academically speaking, but I know you''ve got more experience than some of my own snooty peers here. I''ve seen it, right? You kicked my ass the last time we sparred. Here, let me request you in Lothlo. I''ve been studying what you taught me. Ish... Ishan gu n''adre... uh..." Flame responded in rapid Lothlo tongue and then punctuated it with "Good try." "Well, it''s not your last year. But for me, I want to give this a shot. You should too. You don''t know your strengths until you give things a damned try." Kurrik leaned over and took a closer peek at Flame''s hand. "Look at this game of cards, for instance. You''ve both got hands that you know about and then" - he tapped the facedown cards in front of them - "these hidden hands that are yours, but only your opponent knows about, right?" Oluminarie smiled at him sweetly. "Kurr, I swear if you''re trying to turn a casual game of YenGain into a shitty life lesson, I will not stand for it." "Whoa, look at the mouth on this girl. My ma told me soap and clean water can help with that." "Your ma is a wise woman, and I think you should take her advice." Kurrik snorted. "If I didn''t use those choice curses, they''d get all dusty. Then who''d be around for my ma to advise? She''d die of boredom." Oluminarie watched Flame. His smile had been growing, wider and more genuine, for the past couple minutes. If there was something Kurrik was good at, it was getting people to respond to him. "Anyway, Flame, my point is, there are always going to be things you don''t know about yourself until you take risks." Here, he knelt as though propositioning Flame as in a royal theatre drama. "Flame. Wilt thou take a risk with me, my bosom companion?" Flame rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Well then. We can try it soon, bosom companion." Oluminarie sighed, but pulled out her notebook. "I''ll write it down. In the margin." Kurrik stood and started walking backwards to the door. "Oh, don''t worry about writing it. We''ll remember. It''s my birthday. Hey, I''m meeting up with Alicia. We''re going-" "Wow," Oluminarie interrupted, her eyes already fixed on her cards, "Tell me details later." "I won''t," Kurrik sing-said, leaving the room. Only then did she realise she hadn''t been able to ask more about his expedition. "Yen," said Flame, as he took the last trick and ended the game. Praelvdivm 6 The fire did its best to roar, but the pitter-patter drizzle dampened it. Elaine sat on one of a couple logs set in front of it. Scolt was beside her; she didn''t like anyone else being that close. The siege of Sandtsel had now been going on just long enough that the log was slowly being made to resemble an actual bench, starting with the sitting surface being flattened and cleared of splinters. Scolt pressed a meaty hand to Elaine''s forehead. She flinched. "Sorry." Scolt frowned. "Kid, you should definitely be resting. Better to bring yourself up to full strength." "No, Scolt. I''m fine. I like it by the fire, anyway." "I know, but you should definitely stay in bed for one day at least." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "You don''t need to push yourself like this." Elaine simply shrugged and gazed around. On the opposite log sat Slick, the head of their mercenary outfit. He was wiry and tough with eyes that screamed danger and short hair darker than the ocean bed. Money turned his wheels; he was not a complex man as far as Elaine knew, but it kept them all alive and fed. Beside him was Merlin, a well-built man on the far side of middle-aged. Elaine had been getting used to his half-bushy beard, but he appeared to have shaven. Aside from Elaine, he was one of the only magicians in the group. It was a minor miracle she wasn''t the only one, come to think of it. There were barely a few thousand magicians still alive today, and so Merlin would have stood out if only for that. Yet it wasn''t just that. He always seemed out of place wherever he was. His clothes were only slightly disheveled, but they were worn at odd angles and sewn together in all the wrong places. His expression was at times entirely distracted and at others, eerily focused. Sometimes, he walked or skipped or prowled around, and he seemed to always appear when least expected, as though to constantly catch people off guard. His weapons were not the typical spear, or the elegant sword, but a quarterstaff - currently leaned against the log - and a baton, which he used at his leisure. Elaine had seen him perform magic before, and while it had been intense, he did so infrequently. On the whole, Elaine would have called him twitchy if not for the fact that he was almost physically well composed. Maybe just a little magically insane, inside and out, then. Scolt leaned forward toward her, and she felt the weight of his cloak rest upon her shoulders. With the difference in their sizes, Elaine was surprised the log didn''t tilt itself completely upright. Now that they were months into the siege, many of the trees had been cleared to make space for the army''s encampment, and the rippling hills of the land, along with the ridges and stains formed by the Ramparts, were more apparent. The Ramparts themselves seemed old; the earth looked to have grown around it. She could see the hill where she had almost died the previous night; the incline led up to a segment of the Ramparts that encircled a portion of the woods nearby. Yet if the nearby city of Baliem were to be believed, the Ramparts were young, no older than the Titan''s Fall. It was hard to say if the conflict really qualified as a siege. With a normal siege, the bulk of conflict was usually surrounding a castle, and surrounding a castle usually meant you could see it. But the Fairy Circle was merely a patch of land, a little point of spiritual presence where things around it seemed to be swallowed up, and from which the Fae emerged in droves. If there was a circle, she could believe it was alive. The siege was at most, a search for the Circle; a search for a spot of the world that had woken to far more than it ought. The earth around the Ramparts and even parts of the encampment had crumpled and shifted over the course of the siege - no one knew if the Circle grew or if it simply sucked in the soul of the World around it. Or even if a Circle existed here. And unlike a human entrenchment, it wasn''t clear which, if any, Fae grew hungry. A traditional siege may not have been worth anything at all. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. All in all, it was probably more accurate to call it an expedition, with enough Fae blood spilt to pay back the human blood spilt, and to satisfy the Crown back home. For the Crowns back in August, this probably meant all of it. Elaine looked out at the numerous tents in the darkness, lit only by the night sky and campfires of their own. With a hundred beacons in a sea of darkness, it was as though they meant to mirror the stars and fell far too short - a constellation of war fatigue. When the Fae had begun running rampant in the nearby countryside, an excursion had been sent to look for the cause, and when that had proved perilous, a full contingent of troops had been rallied and sent to what the Crown believed to be a Fairy Circle. And now here they were months later still. Encamped around a ghost castle, invisible to all save a few select magicians. Elaine couldn''t imagine that finding the Circle could be this difficult. It must lie somewhere within the effects of the Fairy circle. The Fae, while vicious, weren''t constantly on the offensive, and the effects of the circle, while a strange, unpredictable phenomenon, didn''t stretch very far. Their fire began to falter, and Slick readjusted the firewood with a long stick. "Merlin, you ever plan to join us with a real weapon?" "Let''s not go around comparing weapons, my dear Slick." Merlin let out an odd, almost hooting, chuckle. "Unless you speak of minds, I have no interest in comparisons. The mind of a Fae, for instance... have you thought about what the Fae think of us sitting on their doorstep?" Slick frowned and slapped him with a cold length of stick. "What is there to think about? It''s a simple fight. There are Fae bastards that are swallowing up our land and eating our people, and we''re here to make sure they don''t." "The Fae are perhaps are hungry. But they are young. Do you deny a child a meal?" "Don''t go putting words where they don''t belong. A child? They''re animals. If an animal is wild, it''s hunt or be hunted. If an animal goes feral and attacks you, you put it down. You can mourn it later when you''re still alive and not in its jaws." Slick snapped the stick in two and fed it to the fire. He glared at it as if it were a mortal enemy. "Maybe you haven''t thought about this, but I bet you could give any of those leashed wizard dogs a run." "Ah, a Fairy Circle does excite the mind, but I can''t understand them." "There''s nothing to understand with the Fae. They kill us. We kill them. What I''m telling you is that you ought to do some big magic and find the Circle." "Do some big magic." What started as a cackle turned into a deep-throated laugh. "How simple." "I thought you knew some magic," Slick retorted. "Magic is as magic does. Magic is my friend. I do not force it to take a size it does not wish to be. Maybe if you were friends with the Fae, you could find their little hidey hole. They''d show you when they wished." "I don''t need to be friends with the damn Fae!" Slick''s expression had been growing unpleasant, but now turned sour. "You think they''re different from any of the beasts that came out of the Corrupted Lands? While you play pretend at dancing and making starfall wishes with the Fae, they eat us and our land. That Fairy Circle might be a graveyard of our losses. If it was your daughter in there, you wouldn''t be making jokes!" Merlin grew quiet. The fire flickered, the last outstretched arm of a dying dusk. Merlin moved as swift as a cyclone and as savagely. Elaine nearly jumped as Slick was caught in his hands. His right wrapped around Slick''s neck. Merlin''s eyes were the cold of winter. "I thought I''d warned you, Slick." Slick scrabbled and squeaked out, "I''m sorry, Merlin. I''m tired. We''re all tired. We''re in a shit-fucking siege. If we weren''t being paid for this, I''d have taken us to... North. Somewhere North." Merlin didn''t move. His grip loosened, and Slick slipped out. Slick dusted himself and readjusted his collar. "We''re here while we''re getting paid. And we''re getting paid." Slick stood. The sour expression on his face flickered. He turned toward the tents. "I''m going to go get dry." As he walked away from the fire, a quite silly, quite stupid idea began to sprout like invasive weeds in Elaine''s head. Merlin sat back down and grinned at her; the heat of his previous mood had vanished as though he''d tossed it into the fire to burn. His eyes met hers in an uncomfortably knowing fashion. Not for the first time, she wondered if he was peering into her head. "How about you, ''laine? Anything friendly to give the poor, poor fairies?" "I''m not about to be friendly to them. I''m here because we''re all here." "Just waiting around to die?" "Merlin." Scolt''s voice took on a warning tone. She felt the tension of his body next to her. Merlin chuckled. "I''m not dragging anybody through mud here. We''re all waiting our turn to die. The dirt is for us all. Some on a battlefield, some in a bed. Me? I just hope I''m buried in my home in Tavusha. But I still have to wait. How about you, ''laine? What are you waiting on?" Elaine''s sigh was soft enough to escape everyone''s notice, even hers. "I don''t know what I''m even doing here, Merlin. I''m trying to make the world around me safe. But most of the time, it feels like I''m just getting my sword bloody." "I don''t mind." Elaine realised she was holding Guram. She had been since Merlin had threatened Slick. Merlin eyed Guram for a long time. He half-smiled. "Then hang up your sword." Her answer bubbled up, but it didn''t reach her mouth. Later, she was in her tent with the others and her answer sat in her mouth like rotten wormwood. Guram was laid by her cot, sheath and all, and she turned and turned, trying to sleep. She whispered, "I can''t." Praelvdivm 7 It was well past midnight when Coneti arrived at the temple. The livelier sounds of the mountain had softened to the chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls, and the susurration of leaves in a gentle breeze. The silhouette of the temple in the night was mostly simple boxes of mountainous stone that clung to the mountainside. In the centre of the temple were several shrines dedicated to the gods and the land, but they weren''t visible from the path upwards. There was a surprising elegance to the place, perhaps because of how well it hugged the contours of the mountain. Yet at the same time, it stood out somehow, like a spectre. She wouldn''t have called the temple "ethereal", but it nonetheless had the appearance of a building lifted from a different time and place. As she came up the final leg of the hike, rough well-trod dirt turned into stone steps. She waved at a couple of Syaan''s disciples who were sitting outside, gazing at the stars, and went to find the temple''s keeper. Syaan was where she expected, sitting in the grand meditation chamber. It was a wide rectangular hall for prayer, practicing forms, and, of course, meditation. The floor was pietra dura, polished tiles inlaid in a way to outline gorgeous geometric shapes. Here, their design hinted at the movements of the heavens. The roof was open to the air, letting in the quiet and laying bare the infinite night sky. The floor was scrubbed clean of dust. Syaan had set up a round wooden table that stood close to the ground. It was intricately carved at the edges and a colourful mosaic dominated the middle of it; it was built into the table itself. Syaan was kneeling by the table, his face turned from her, but he spoke first, even before he turned. "Coneti. Have you news of the outpost down the mountain?" That was what he called the inn. The temple was sometimes ''The Oasis.'' "Some people from my youth are staying there tonight. I don''t think they showed up without reason. I don''t think they showed up without an eye for trouble." "Well, what do you think you should do for them." "Kill them." "Coneti," Syaan chided, his voice was gentle, as though guiding a child. She sighed. "Are they guests?" "If that is how they come, then yes, isn''t that right? That they be guests?" "One of them has a particular habit of intruding where he''s not wanted just because he can." "Perhaps you ought to do as you always do. Shelter and feed them." "Feed them?" "Are they guests?" Syaan raised an eyebrow. Coneti sighed again. "You said they are." "Then feed them. Not all come to search, but even the unwitting find." "Syaan. You are insufferable. Not everyone has to be a guest, wanting of spiritual fulfilment and naught else. You sure you''re meditating and not daydreaming?" The latter comment was particularly odd, she realised, given the how long ago the sun had fallen. Syaan laughed. It was a warm sound, although it wasn''t loud - it didn''t quite fill the room, as flooded as it was of starlight. "If they want to come this far up with minds to be sharpened, am I to deny them? Is the sky mine that I can reject one to behold it?" "Trust me. This lot''s minds could do with sharpening." You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Syaan laughed again, softly. "You are tired. If you''ve nothing else, you should rest." There was the slightest restraint to his voice that Coneti was starting to recognise. "There is something else, isn''t there?" Syaan bowed his head toward the table again. Coneti looked at it. It looked like a grand map, only not of any place she recognised. When he turned and spoke, she realised he hadn''t been indicating it after all. "I have a favour to ask. There is a beast near the temple grounds. One of my disciples came upon it the other night. They are in the healing ward, resting. But by his account, the beast is large and dangerous. It may take days, but I''d like you to hunt it down." Coneti took a few steady breaths. "I''m starting to think you hate the taste of my food. Didn''t you hire me as a chef?" "Did I?" Syaan looked mildly bemused. "Surely there must be someone else better suited to this." "You know there are none." Coneti thought about that. He was probably right. But still... Her hands felt like they itched. "I will sleep. And then I''ll hunt a beast. But I think you''ll owe me one, Syaan." "This is acceptable." Coneti left the room. She rested. In the morning, she went down to the kitchens and cooked, she and that day''s kitchen attendants. The heat, the steam, and the smells of cooking oil and spices and meat wove delicate magic in her nose and mouth. After midday, she packed. Her sword and crossbow, she tested their weight in her hands, before stowing them away. She wore clothes that could brave the pricklier parts of the mountain forest, and a cloak that would fend off the dirt and dust she kicked up. She would not return to the temple, safe and sound.
The hunt took the rest of the day. And it took the entire night In the evening, she found tracks. The beast was, in fact, large. The tracks were wide and weighty like a mountain lion''s, but there was a strange green residue in each footstep. If Coneti had to guess, it was a strange mutation from when Titanex had bled into the land. She needed more to work with. She unhooked her crossbow from her pack and slung it over her back. She focused Second Sight. The firmament settled in her vision, and streaks of vibrant colour quivered and pulsed in all she took in. Her heart beat like a drum. A tinwhistle kestrel dozed in a nearby tree. Little colonies of ants dotted the land. These ones were biters, she knew from experience. Foxes and adders and rabbits were curled away in their dens. A thread passed from lion track to lion track westward and northward. The beast wasn''t moving fast. If the green residue weren''t confined to its prints, she would''ve guessed it was injured - it did seem to be moving as though it were. She unfocused Second Sight and trekked onward. The rest of the hunt was surprisingly easy. Before sundown, she found the beast itself. When she saw it, there was a hollowness to it. It was like a mountain lion, yes, but had stubby horns like a young mountain goat or a scorchy. The chest cavity was spongy and almost translucent. There was a green substance, a pale milky sort of mucus, that clung to its body, here and there. Most of the strange liquid filled its chest. Somehow it hadn''t left impressions all over the trees as she''d followed its trail. It must have been more greatly injured than she''d thought; it hadn''t spotted her. Her crossbow bolt flew like lightning. Its howl was terrible. It seemed already on the verge of dying. Coneti wondered what could have harmed it so. The green blood of it spilled now, from both wound and hollow stomach. It spouted as if from a tumbling bucket until there were pools of it on the earth. Where it hit ground or greenery, it boiled and steamed, and the beast darted further into the woods with great, gallumphing bounds. Lupe''s words were there to latch onto her to in her puzzlement. Wouldn''t you rather be the Emptier of Heaven again?" Damn the man! Why would he show up now? Did the very gods orchestrate to disrupt her peace? She was beginning to relish cooking for the temple''s denizens. The walk up and down the mountain soothed her weariness. Talking to Syaan and his disciples was, for lack of a better word, fun. Yet she knew he wasn''t wrong. It felt right to be on the hunt again. For there to be a quarry. She followed the beast again. She had hit what would be a vital point on a normal mountain lion. And as she waited out the hour, she saw that its strength waned. Eventually, when she had found it again, it was collapsed under the trunk of an old pine. The upper half of the tree had fallen and was. She inspected the beast. The fur at its head and hindquarters seemed healthy and full and normal. Only its torso was a sickly reflection of a death beyond death. She turned it over. The skin there seemed to peel in layers. Seemed almost sewn. It was scarred underneath. They were angelic marks. Coneti''s eyes narrowed, and she immediately scanned her surroundings. She had seen no sign of angelic presences, Protectors or otherwise, and she didn''t either now. No matter. She had the beast in hand, and Syaan would want proof of her prize. She looked again at the disgusting green runoff. Best to construct a sled. Using rope she''d brought and wood she gathered, she laid it in a and carted it off. Her body was beginning to feel sore when she returned, but the aching was suddenly a small thing when the temple came into view. It came into view earlier than it should have. It was alight with fire. She dropped the beast and ran toward the temple.