《Born Under a Black Sun》


 Chapter 1

    On the nineteenth day of the month of waning winter, Teren¡¯s master was summoned before Halfbones.


    True to his name, the legendary gravecaller¡¯s face was split down the middle between a clean-shaven elderly man and a rotting corpse. An impressive display of deathcrafting to be sure, but Teren couldn¡¯t for the life of him figure out the purpose of the spell.


    ¡°I¡¯m not complaining, but don¡¯t understand why they asked us,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°There are five realms between Fendal and the Southrange, why isn¡¯t Barym or Sun¡¯s Shadow taking this one?¡±


    Halfbones smiled. It was fake, exaggerated. He probably had to put in the work to make others not focus on his eyeless socket and rotting skull. The head was mostly bone while the neck down was more exposed muscle and hanging flesh. ¡°That may be so, but we have two things those westerners don¡¯t. A leygate in our city, and a working relationship with Guiding Breath.¡±


    Teren followed closely behind his master and Halfbones, attentive but not overbearing. It was an overcast day with light winds rustling gently through the leaves. Here at the old heart of Decidual the trees were scarce, aside from the few remaining ancestor palms that were too ingrained in the city''s architecture to remove safely. Much of the ancient buildings that had made up the old heart had been created through woodwhispering, and even now you could see hints of that expertise creeping back into the foundations of the newer mud and stone. It gave the feeling that the forest was waiting for the right chance to swallow up the city and reclaim the land taken by civilization.


    The three of them were walking down the riverfront, watching sailors from all across the Sainted Lands unload their wares. The ships were as varied as the goods and people they carried, with everything from Istali sailships with their triple masts, to Barym banka boats with their side-by-side canoes. Most common were the reefvessels of the Cicada Islands, shallow things with small sails and thatched roof houses. Sailors lounged about the wooden docks, smoking tobacco from long thin pipes. Those who didn¡¯t have pipe in their hands surely had a leaf in their mouth. Teren watched as a figure with streaks of blue face paint stood on the bow of a sailship with his hand outstretched. The sailship was moving unnaturally fast against the current, backing into an unoccupied space where line handlers and a dockmaster waited. Traffic had spiked since the appearance of the leygate, and the Guild of Currents was busy at work bringing boats upstream. Not an easy task when the river was running hot, as it tended to during these rainy months. Often as a child Teren had wished that the great tropical forest that surrounded his city and encompassed so much of the realm of Fendal was a bit less hot, a bit less humid, and a lot less rainy. He used to dream of seeing snow instead of rain. Nowadays it seemed he only dreamed about death.


    On the topic of death, Teren picked up that they weren¡¯t alone. There was a sharp scent in the air. Hard to explain what the smell was like, but it hurt his nose. This smell had come and gone seemingly at random ever since he could remember. When he was a kid Teren believed that he was smelling nothingness, the smell of the absence of smell. Now he knew the truth. It was the stench of a powerful spirit, strong enough to leave an imprint in the lands of the living. This smell here was probably the entourage of dead advisers who trailed Halfbones at all times. Still, not knowing for sure made him anxious.


    ¡°A working relationship¡­?¡± Rotwood murmured. His face brightened as it dawned on him. ¡°Farstrider? She¡¯s coming with us?¡±


    Teren couldn¡¯t help grinning himself. Farstrider was a lifeguider of Guiding Breath, and a woman Rotwood was obsessed with. Better yet, her apprentice was a good friend of his.


    Rotwood howled, wrapping a grumbling Halfbones in a big hug. ¡°Bones, you old dog! You got Strider and me a mission to the Southrange?¡±


    Halfbones grunted, squirming out of Rotwood¡¯s grasp. ¡°Don¡¯t get so worked up, this is a serious job. The Feather Prince of Merdz has personally requested a lifeguider and a gravecaller to participate in some festival. Don¡¯t know exactly what sort of celebration it is, but I do know that a prince is a good friend to have. Better pack your bags.¡± Halfbones looked at Teren for the first time that morning. ¡°You too, welp. This¡¯ll be your chance to make a name for yourself.¡±


    Teren bowed. ¡°I won¡¯t waste the opportunity.¡±


    ¡­


    That evening Rotwood and Teren got beds at the All Roads Inn, a newer establishment that had sprung up as a part of the town center that had formed around the leygate. It was a nice inn by Fendali standards, and by Fendali standards that meant it served drinks and kept the rain out. The inn was dimly lit with a half dozen candles, doing little to keep the darkness out of the corners of the room. The innkeeper stood behind a counter near the back, barring entry to the kitchen and keeping an eye on the stairs leading to the rest hall. Unlike most Fendali establishments, this inn had separate tables rather than long benches, probably an accommodation to keep the diverse crowd brought through the leygate from killing each other. There were even a few seats at the innkeeper¡¯s counter. Maybe for solo travelers who wished to make small talk with someone? Teren glanced at the scowling face of the man behind the counter and decided that couldn¡¯t be right.


    They sat in the main room waiting for Farstrider to show, at one of the few tables with a candle of its own. There was a small group of Swampreachers at the table next to them, laughing hysterically at a story involving a beastbonder, a horse, and an Iaric noblewoman. The other table closest to their own was taken by a hooded man with darting eyes and his pet snake, a red creature with a black head about two forearms in length. Already another party of Cicada Islanders had turned in for the night, making their way upstairs. Teren kept his pack under the shoddy wooden table instead of the chest provided along with his bed, just in case.


    Rotwood sipped his red tea. Out of all the men in the inn, he might stand out the most. A clean-shaven head that went against Fendali fashion, bone jewelry in his ears, and a ragged and filthy coat to complete the look. ¡°So Teren. How much do you know about the Southrange?¡±


    Teren thought about it through the haze of two ales. ¡°Well, let¡¯s see. The Southrange is to the west of the Sainted Lands, bordering Sun¡¯s Shadow and Barym. It was the last territory the Half-World Nobles conquered, but also the first to rebel.


    ¡°First to successfully rebel,¡± Rotwood interjected.


    ¡°Right. Anyways, the Southrange used to be pretty much impassable. But the leygates have brought in a lot more trade.¡±


    Rotwood nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what we need to worry about. Southrangers are one thing, but the Westerners passing through are another. We really don¡¯t know a thing about Tixjin and the Bridgelands, but odds are that they aren¡¯t going to want to deal with inheritors of the Half-World Nation.¡±


    Teren grunted. ¡°True enough.¡± He took another sip of his ale and spotted a familiar face entering the inn. A short-haired woman with a stern expression and covered in the maroon bandage wrappings of Guiding Breath. He grinned. ¡°Don¡¯t look now Rot, but company¡¯s here.¡±


    Rotwood returned the grin and then prepared himself. Just as the woman was coming up behind him, he spoke in a comically grave tone. ¡°Farstrider. It¡¯s been a while.¡±


    ¡°Hello, Rotwood.¡± She slung her pack under the table and sat between the two of them. ¡°Teren, watch out.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    Two hands grabbed Teren¡¯s sides and pinched hard. He yelped and jumped out of his chair, whirling around to find a familiar face laughing at him.


    ¡°Not funny, Ronic!¡±


    ¡°A little funny?¡± asked his friend.


    ¡°No.¡± Teren punched the apprentice lifeguider¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Good to see you though. Almost didn¡¯t recognize you with all that muscle.¡±


    There was a younger boy standing behind Ronic. Noticeably shorter and with lighter skin than most Fendali, Teren guessed he wasn¡¯t local.


    Farstrider nodded to the boy. ¡°Rotwood and Teren, meet my second apprentice.¡±


    The boy stepped up, nodding to both of them. ¡°Uh, hello. I¡¯m Baltry Ythcralt, of West Cicada.¡±


    Rotwood raised an eyebrow. ¡°Two at once? Didn¡¯t know you were so charitable.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. And it won¡¯t be two for long at the rate Ronic¡¯s progressing.¡±


    ¡°Damn right,¡± said Ronic. ¡°I¡¯m actually hoping to get a title during this trip.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fantastic!¡± Rotwood poured a cup of red tea for Farstrider. ¡°I think Teren might get his too.¡±


    Farstrider ignored the cup and passed some slivers to Ronic. ¡°Get three beds and send me some food.¡± She passed her bag over to Baltry. ¡°And you go with him while I talk to Rotwood.¡±


    Rotwood cleared his throat. ¡°You know what Teren, maybe you should grab another ale for yourself. And get me some food while you¡¯re at it.¡± He began looking for slivers in the many pockets of his unwashed coat. ¡°Your drinks are on me, just have to¡­ find¡­¡±


    Teren stood up. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Master. It¡¯s my treat. Just watch my bag.¡±


    The three apprentices left the two masters to discuss their business. Ronic and Baltry paid for their beds and put their bags upstairs while Teren waited at the bar. He sniffed the air and frowned.


    The innkeeper behind the counter was a middle-aged skinswitcher with owl eyes and a beard of feathers. Occupied with cleaning, he didn¡¯t acknowledge Teren¡¯s presence. ¡°Excuse me. Can I get some food sent to that table behind me? With the lifeguider woman and gravecaller man?¡±


    The man grunted and kept on wiping off the cup in his hands. Teren noticed that his fingers ended in talons. ¡°Didn¡¯t know he belonged to the Order of Remains. Thought those boys had a uniform.¡±


    They did, and Rotwood rarely wore it. He had more enemies than most, even for one who practiced deathcraft. ¡°Add three ales to that, but I¡¯ll take them here.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, brother,¡± said Baltry from right behind him. ¡°I got next round.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s twice now you¡¯ve snuck up on me,¡± muttered Teren. ¡°Feel like explaining?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s there to explain?¡± Baltry hopped gleefully onto the stool next to him. ¡°I¡¯m a stealthy bastard.¡±


    ¡°No, you¡¯re not. I¡¯m stealthy. You¡¯re a rabid fox in a chicken coop, and you always have been. I was watching that door and I saw Farstrider walk in, but not you. How¡¯d you do that?¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. ¡°So you didn¡¯t see Baltry either?¡±


    ¡°Talk.¡±


    Ronic leaned back on just stool, looking pleased with himself. ¡°It¡¯s a spell I¡¯ve been working on. You ever sense a person before you see them? Feel eyes staring at you? That¡¯s the web of life. Something our senses can¡¯t exactly perceive, but it¡¯s still there. Just as real as your land of the dead!¡±


    Teren frowned. ¡°The fading world is the reverse of our world. Are you saying that you¡¯ve tapped into something else?¡±


    ¡°Not me alone, lifeguiders have been peeking into this web for years. Maybe this world isn¡¯t the reverse of the fading world, maybe this world is the world at the center, with the fading world on one side and this web of life on the other. I don¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t care too much. But that web connects life. So I decided to see what would happen if I blocked myself off from it.¡± He paused dramatically. The innkeeper brought over three ales, and Ronic took a sip from one. The dramatic pause continued.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    ¡°I blocked that connection. Couldn¡¯t keep it blocked though, it was something I had to focus on. And when I focused, people stopped noticing me. Like I wasn¡¯t even there. Well, not entirely. If I walked right in front of you or hummed a tune you¡¯d notice me. But when I wear dark colors, stick to the shadows? Teren, I walked in right behind Farstrider. Baltry too, but I had put the spell on him as well. He was supposed to pinch you after I had actually, but I guess I lost concentration.¡±


    Teren whistled. ¡°Incredible. You don¡¯t need a mission to earn a title, this is more than enough!¡±


    ¡°Farstrider agrees. But if she titles me now, then I don¡¯t get to see the Southrange.¡± He looked around carefully before lowering his voice. ¡°And Baltry¡¯s great, really. But he¡¯s a bit too new to be backing her up on a trip beyond the Sainted Lands.¡±


    Baltry himself came down the stairs that very moment. He seemed on edge as he looked around the bar.


    ¡°Not a local, is he?¡±


    ¡°No, he¡¯s only been in Fendal for about a month. Kid lived in West Cicada his entire life until he accidently used lifebreathing to keep a hanged man from dying.¡±


    Baltry spotted them and walked over, awkwardly sliding into the seat next to Ronic.


    Teren passed him an ale. ¡°Hear you¡¯re new. What road did you take to Decidual?¡±


    ¡°Uh, well I started in Shereo and went across Jaw to Beldise. And then I got on a ship that was supposed to get me across the water and along the coastline, all the way up the river to Decidual. But the ship got attacked by Reefborn, so we ended up in Drifton.¡±


    ¡°Reefborn on the south coast?¡± Teren shook his head and finished off his drink. ¡°They¡¯re just getting bolder and bolder.¡±


    ¡°Something¡¯ll have to be done about them,¡± Ronic agreed. ¡°Go on, Baltry.¡± He took a more serious tone when talking to his junior. Guess he was already beginning to think of himself as a full-fledged Lifeguider.


    ¡°So, um¡­ I stayed in Drifton for a while, and it looked like my father was going to send someone to come and get me. But Farstrider came and got me, brought me back to Decidual.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just train with a Lifeguider in the islands?¡±


    He shifted in his seat. ¡°My mother wanted me to see the world. Get some experience.¡±


    ¡°Seems like there¡¯d be plenty of that in the islands.¡±


    Baltry shrugged. ¡°Reefborn don¡¯t have much of a problem with West Cicada. We share a lot of blood with them.¡±


    Ronic glanced at their masters. ¡°Don¡¯t look now, but those two are going at it.¡±


    Teren sighed. ¡°What¡¯s new?¡± He didn¡¯t understand what sort of relationship those two had. Rotwood enjoyed her company very much, a sentiment Farstrider never seemed to reciprocate. But at the end of the day, Rotwood was competent, strong, and loyal to the Twelve Paths. He got the sense that Farstrider was loyal too, in her own way. She was a solitary individual, never one to get involved with the politics between the paths. Rotwood actually might be the only other Practitioner she got along with.


    ¡°So I guess you two know each other?¡± asked Baltry.


    Ronic laughed. ¡°We grew up together! As kids Teren and I used to run with the West End Hounds, a group of bandits that used to be big in these parts. Teren found his path early on, he used to use deathcrafting to scare the city senseless.¡±


    ¡°True enough. I¡¯m responsible for most things that go bump in the night in Fendal. The Headless Howler, the Bloated Bride, Old Man Whispers? All me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget the Man in the Woods. That one gave me night terrors and I even helped you set it up!¡± The two of them cackled, drawing glances from the other patrons.


    Teren sighed wistfully. ¡°Good times. And then not long after that, Ronic was using lifebreathing to give the whole crew heightened speed and strength. Pretty decent healer too. I suppose that¡¯s when the cat got out of the bag.¡±


    ¡°Yep. The Twelve Paths came in, told us it was either join up or get out.¡±


    ¡°Exile? Really?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°Of course.¡± Teren lowered his voice. ¡°The saints may overlook a stonebreaker who becomes a mason, or a woodwhisperer who chooses gardening over a life serving with the Knights of the Petal. But life and death are a step above the rest. We don¡¯t get free reign.¡±


    ¡°Granted,¡± mumbled Ronic through a mouthful of buttered bread and onion, ¡°S¡¯not a bad life. A lot of honor to be found following the Twelve Paths.¡±


    ¡°And money.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Teren, and money.¡±


    ¡°And girls?¡± suggested Baltry.


    Teren frowned. ¡°Not for gravecallers. Pretty women tend to keep their distance from those who keep company with the dead.¡±


    ¡°Chin up, Ter.¡± Ronic signaled for another round. ¡°You could always bed a corpse if nothing else works out.¡±


    Farstrider appeared behind them. ¡°Don¡¯t even joke about that. Far more common than you¡¯d think.¡± She glanced disapprovingly at the array of empty tankards littering the bar. ¡°How many pints have you had tonight?¡±


    ¡°Barely four,¡± lied Teren.


    ¡°Same for me.¡± Ronic nodded to Baltry. ¡°Blame the newblood. Those islanders know how to throw ''em back!¡±


    Baltry began to protest but was cut off by Farstrider. ¡°Back to the table with you lot, there¡¯s business to discuss.¡±


    Once the group had gathered, Rotwood revealed a thin scroll from the folds of his ragged coat. He spread it on the table, revealing the illegible handwriting of Halfbones. ¡°Okay, we¡¯ve booked passage through the leygate. We take the night ley up to Istal, then the wood ley twice through Sun¡¯s Shadow, and finally the water ley into the Southrange. We¡¯ll end up in Merdz, the crater city. On arrival, someone will be there to lead us to the Feathered Prince. Questions?¡±


    ¡°A few,¡± said Ronic. ¡°Who¡¯s this Feathered Prince?¡±


    ¡°First in line for the mountain throne,¡± said Farstrider. ¡°Or second, depending on whether or not you support the Queen¡¯s claim. It¡¯s a complicated and volatile situation that we¡¯ll be steering well clear of.¡±


    ¡°And why does he need you and Rotwood?¡±


    ¡°Rotwood and I are going to take part in some sort of celebration, nothing to it. Perform some street magic, shake some hands, rub elbows with royalty. Couldn¡¯t be simpler.¡±


    ¡°Well, there are some dangers,¡± interjected Rotwood. He leaned forward in his chair, making eye contact with everyone. ¡°The Southrange is merciless. The air is hard to swallow, the people are rough, and the weather cold. Worse than that, there¡¯s going to be a lot of ill will towards us there. The Southrange was the first to leave the Half-World Nation, and they¡¯ve always been salty bastards about it. They really don¡¯t care for Saintlanders.¡±


    ¡°Nor do they have any love for Practitioners of the Twelve Paths,¡± said Farstrider.


    Baltry half-heartedly raised his hand. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°They believe we¡¯re possessed by dark spirits.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay.¡±


    ¡°Also,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°You¡¯re going to feel drained, weak, tired. This is a result of the mountain air, hard to breathe for outsiders. Some theorize this is caused by an ancient galecasting curse. The higher you go, the worse it gets.¡±


    The group discussed their plans for a while longer before the two masters stood up. We¡¯re getting an early start,¡± said Rotwood. It¡¯s fun catching up with friends, but don¡¯t stay up too late. You¡¯ll need the rest.¡±


    Baltry got up. ¡°I¡¯m heading up too.¡±


    Ronic stretched. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll call it a night. Let me just pay the tab.¡±


    ¡°I got this one,¡± said Teren. ¡°Thinking I¡¯ll be staying up a bit anyways.¡±


    Rotwood gave him a look but didn¡¯t comment. The four of them made their way upstairs, leaving him alone at the table. But not as alone as he should have been.


    As the crowd dwindled and the night grew long, Teren moved to a table in a dark corner of the inn. There, he began to perform his deathcraft.


    It began as a prickling sensation running up and down his back. The scenery around him grew hazy. The warm lights and pleasant smells of the All Roads Inn dulled as Teren half-stepped into Aren Fultas, the fading world.


    The ghost of an attractive woman was sitting next to him. Her wool vest and trousers were foreign, as were her features. Brown hair was uncommon in the Greenreach, suggesting she came from one of the border realms. Maybe farther. Female fashion in most of the Sainted Lands was to have their hair worn up or cut short, while this woman had long braids. That didn¡¯t mean much, however, as the dead didn¡¯t keep up with the trends. Her spirit was a perfectly maintained image of a living woman, a stark and impressive contrast to most of the ghoulish forms that roamed the fading world.


    ¡°I¡¯ve sensed you clinging about all day. State your business and depart from my presence.¡± A formal tone worked best with the dead. Made them feel important. ¡°Lest I cast your spirit into the void.¡±


    She smiled and leaned in closer as if sharing a secret. ¡°Little apprentice. I believe you have the power to back up such a threat, yet not the malice.¡±


    A drunken laugh escaped. ¡°You¡¯d be shocked. I¡¯ve expelled more than my fair share of spirits.¡± He leaned in just as close as she did, their eyes now a hand-width apart. ¡°You think I have any qualms sending you into the beyond?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. The Order of the Remains teaches that compassion is the trait required to walk death¡¯s path.¡±


    ¡°And what would you know of the Order?¡±


    The woman laughed. ¡°What would I know?¡± Her vest flickered, becoming a purple robe with a red shawl, cape, and pointed hood, tied snugly at the waist with a simple rope. The attire of a Gravecaller. ¡°I helped build it.¡±


    Teren was taken back. Even after death, a member of the Order commanded respect. He got out of his seat and knelt; head bowed. He ignored the look the innkeeper and other hazy patrons gave him. ¡°My deepest apologies,¡± he muttered. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize who I was speaking with.¡±


    ¡°It shouldn¡¯t matter,¡± she said sternly, putting ghostly fingers under his chin, raising his gaze to meet hers. ¡°Everyone is equal in death. If you¡¯re going to live this life, walk this path, you must treat the dead with respect.¡± A smile returned to her face. ¡°And you can start by getting off your knee and having a drink with me.¡±


    Still embarrassed, he reluctantly got up. ¡°Never met a spirit who could drink, Master¡­?¡±


    ¡°Spellhaunt.¡± She whispered something under her breath, tracing a finger across the table. Spirit residue was left behind, a faint green smoking trail on the table. The smoke coalesced into a cup of wine with something floating in it, and a plate of foreign-looking food. She took a sip from the cup and sighed wistfully. ¡°A fond memory of mine. This meal was served to me in the land of Trigap, at the coronation of the Rain Emperor. Plum wine, pickled cabbage, and whale with a pepper sauce. The whale was slightly mixmade with salmon and pheasant.¡± She offered him the cup. ¡°Try some?¡±


    Teren took it hesitantly, thinking it might slip through his hand. But The construct was solid, if not terribly firm. He got the impression the wine was one hard squeeze away from becoming a wisp of spirit smoke. He sipped lightly from the cup and realized the object in the plum wine was a plum itself. The liquid seemed to evaporate in his mouth. ¡°Very sweet,¡± said Teren, and as he did so he burped a small puff of spirit smoke. He set the cup on the table. ¡°Very sweet indeed. By the way, exactly which Rain Emperor¡¯s coronation did you attend?¡±


    ¡°You should know better than to pry into a lady¡¯s age.¡± She placed some of the red cabbage on top of a piece of whale-salmon-pheasant. Spellhaunt held it out in front of his mouth, staring intently at him. ¡°Now say aah.¡±


    Reluctantly, Teren opened his mouth. Heat rose to his cheeks as she placed the food right on his tongue. The smell of the cabbage was unpleasant, but the spicy and sour taste was bearable. The mixmade meat had a wild taste to it, fatty and gamey all at once. He managed to swallow it all before it could evaporate. A warm and pleasant feeling spread all throughout his body. ¡°Did I just eat a memory?¡±


    ¡°Eating is a strong word. You¡¯ll get no sustenance from that trick.¡±


    ¡°Even so, you have to show me how that¡¯s done!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll consider once you¡¯ve shown me some more of your character. Memory conjuration is quite addictive, and a young man such as yourself has better things to do than live in the past.¡±


    ¡°Shown you more of my character? I don¡¯t follow.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll be the one following. Halfbones asked me to watch over the two of you.¡±


    ¡°Really? What for?¡±


    ¡°No reason in particular. He has his fair share of dead gravecallers hanging about him, looking for a chance to be useful. But I also like to think he cares about your master and doesn¡¯t want him getting hurt.¡±


    Teren snorted. ¡°Yeah, sure. More like he doesn¡¯t trust us.¡±


    ¡°Well whatever the case, Halfbones asked me to keep out of sight. And I wasn¡¯t going to reveal myself, but¡­¡± Spellhaunt cocked her head to the side. ¡°You sensed my presence. When you most definitely shouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°I have a nose for trouble.¡±


    Spellhaunt¡¯s robes faded back to the more casual wool attire. She struck a pose and batted her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s been ages since a man has accused me of being trouble.¡±


    ¡°Are we talking the third age or the second?¡±


    She laughed, flicking a ghostly piece of cabbage at him. It exploded into smoke. ¡°No, no, I was born in the fourth. But that¡¯s all you¡¯re getting out of me!¡±


    Hopefully not. ¡°So Spellhaunt. What do I have to do to get you to teach me some deathcrafting?¡±


    She tapped a finger to her lips, deep in thought. ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯m not opposed to the idea. I¡¯d love to have some impact on the living world once again. I¡¯ll tell you what, Teren. I¡¯ll pass on some tips as long as you don¡¯t let the others know about me. I¡¯m already stepping on Rotwood¡¯s toes by trailing you two, and I certainly wouldn¡¯t want him to think his teaching wasn¡¯t good enough on its own.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not.¡± He took another sip of the plum wine and winced. The sourness was noticeably stronger.


    Spellhaunt noticed his expression and laughed. ¡°The more of it you drink, the realer it becomes. It¡¯ll take some getting used to.¡±


    A fitting drink to match this partnership.

 Chapter 2

    Sunlight assaulted Teren as he stepped out of the All Roads Inn. He had stayed up too late drinking with Spellhaunt and was now paying the price. Not to mention the cot he had slept on had given him one hell of a crick in his neck. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have minded sleeping one last night in my own bed¡±, he grumbled.


    ¡°What, and wake up at the witching hour to walk across town?¡± said Rotwood. ¡°With how late you stay up, you wouldn¡¯t even have had a chance to fall asleep.¡±


    ¡°I see nothing wrong with people in our profession being night owls.¡±


    ¡°Then your sight has diminished. No, Teren. A Gravecaller should live under the sun. Those who dabble in darkness need it more than anyone.¡±


    Teren grunted.


    ¡°And there¡¯s a difference between staying up late working and staying up late drinking.¡±


    Teren grumbled.


    The All Roads Inn was a short walk to the Ley Crossroads of Decidual. The rainy season was coming to an end, and despite a steady drizzle the city was already waking up. Vendors and hawkers had already begun setting up shop, forming a jungle of hastily constructed tents and awnings all along the muddy streets. Farstrider¡¯s twin Lifeguider sashes drew attention from many merchants, who called out to her. She scowled as she brushed past the encroaching crowd of desperate salesmen.


    When it had been discovered that Decidual was built on an intersection of ley lines, had quickly gone from a minor village in the jungle to the most economically and strategically important city in all of Fendal. The New Center bustled with traffic brought through the Night Ley, the ley that connected to the crossroads in Istal. In turn, Istal connected Fendal to the rest of the Sainted Lands and beyond. The other Ley at the Decidual Crossroads was all but useless, leading into the middle of the ocean. Even so, the Night Ley alone brought in far more business and attention than this part of the world was used to.


    As the group approached the Crossroads Plaza, the traffic grew heavier. Swampreachers, Fendali, and Cicada Islanders all crowded together to wait for passage outbound. A squad of Junglesworn warriors stood vigilant at the plaza gate, checking for proper documentation and organizing travelers into various lines. Rotwood took point, weaving his way through the thick crowd. He muttered under his breath, conjuring up a rancid odor that got him a plethora of scowls, shouts, and curses. He smiled apologetically and nodded to the crowd parting before him.


    Teren groaned, keeping his head down. ¡°I¡¯ve asked you to not use scent of decay when you¡¯re with me.¡±


    ¡°Seconded,¡± said Quickstrider. ¡°It¡¯s pretty obnoxious, Rot.¡±


    Rotwood sighed. ¡°I never get to use the fun ones. Fine, we¡¯re almost at the front anyways.¡± He waved his hand and the smell of corpses dissipated.


    They stopped in front of the plaza gate that was guarded by two Junglesworn, armed with spears and dressed in their traditional uniform¨C a green and brown poncho that concealed padded armor and daggers underneath. They recognized Quickstrider, letting the five pass without question.


    Past the stone walls and metal gate, the Decidual Crossroads was occupied by a dozen more Junglesworn surrounding a faintly shimmering circle on the ground, roughly ten cubits in diameter. They were a tough looking bunch, standing proud alongside a variety of hybrids and familiars. One in particular stood out, some sort of insect skinswitcher sporting mandibles, chitin, and multiple arms. Teren didn¡¯t spare them a second glance. The real danger was the man standing in the middle of the crossroads.


    He was a pudgy little fellow, with blue face paint mimicking tears running down his face. Next to him was an intimidating mixmaker hybrid- a panther with an elongated snakelike neck and tail. It was sprawled out at the feet of the Current Guildsman, lazily flicking its tail back and forth. The hybrid stared at them with reptilian eyes, and Teren positioned himself behind Ronic and Baltry.


    Ronic squatted down to admire the beast. He rummaged around, finding a bit of bread in his pocket and offering it to the snake-panther. ¡°Hey there, big guy! You hungry?¡± He laughed as the snake-panther ate out of his hand. ¡°Oh yes you are!¡±


    ¡°She isn¡¯t friendly,¡± grumbled the Current Guildsman as the hybrid flicked out a forked tongue, licking Ronic¡¯s laughing face.


    ¡°What¡¯s in her?¡± asked Ronic. ¡°Just snake added to panther?¡±


    ¡°Panther added to snake. Few more bits thrown in for stability and obedience, but you¡¯d have to ask my wife for the details.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a gorgeous mix. I wonder if-¡°


    Rotwood cleared his throat. ¡°A masterful hybrid indeed.¡± He held out his papers. ¡°Our reservation should be under Halfbones, I believe?¡±


    ¡°Ah, then you two must be Skullchalice and Quickstrider, and these three your apprentices!¡± He smiled warmly at them. I am Mudflood of the Guild of Currents, Waykeeper of Decidual¡¯s Ley Crossroads.¡±


    Baltry looked confused. ¡°Skullchalice? Ow!¡± he cursed from the pinch Teren had given him.


    Mudflood cleared his throat as he pulled out a scroll from underneath his blue poncho. ¡°Yes, your travel has been cleared to Merdz. Today you¡¯ll have two stops before your final destination. The Water Ley is backed up, so you might experience a delay in Sun¡¯s Shadow.¡°


    ¡°Three stops,¡± said Quickstrider.


    ¡°Sorry?¡±


    ¡°Night Ley to Crow¡¯s Crevice, Wood Ley To Softon and then Papanuy, and the Water Ley to Merdz. That¡¯s three stops before Merdz, not two.¡±


    ¡°Right you are, my good woman! That usually would be the case. Unfortunately my partner Waykeeper got in a fight with something nasty last night. The Dark Sky Church has been contacted and we¡¯re trying to get another Moonlight Apostle out here, but it could be all day and we really can¡¯t afford to back up the traffic. You¡¯ll be taking the Water Ley straight through the Bay of Storms and Pananuy to get to Merdz.¡±


    Rotwood and Quickstrider looked at each other and then looked back at Mudflood.


    ¡°The Bay of Storms Crossroad.¡± Said Rotwood. ¡°Is in the ocean.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°The middle of the ocean.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I wouldn¡¯t call it the exact middle-¡°


    ¡°There¡¯s no land there!¡± snapped Quickstrider.


    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s perfectly safe! The Guild of Currents has a great team out there, it¡¯s really grown into a viable method of leygate travel.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go for it,¡± said Teren. He¡¯d always liked the ocean.


    Rotwood sighed. ¡°If it¡¯s safe, it¡¯s safe. Where do you want us to stand?¡±


    Quickstrider looked like she was about to bust a vein. ¡°No. We aren¡¯t doing this.¡±


    Rotwood threw up his hands. ¡°Aw, come on Quick!¡± He looked at Mudflood. ¡°You¡¯ve been sending people through all morning, haven¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Couple in, a couple out. You got a nice spot in the queue.¡±


    ¡°And if something bad had happened to those travelers you¡¯d know, right?¡±


    ¡°Erm. Probably.¡±


    ¡°Probably, he says,¡± muttered Quickstrider. She ran a hand through her hair. ¡°Ugh. Fine.¡±


    Baltry raised his hand. ¡°I think I still have concerns about this?¡± Ronic smacked him on the back of the head. Baltry put his hand back down.


    ¡°Glad it¡¯s settled!¡± said Mudflood. He waved his fingers and a glyph appeared in the middle of the shimmering circle, a stylized icon of crashing waves below a crescent moon and twinkling stars. ¡°Ley travel is easy, friends. You simply place your foot directly on the glyph. And don¡¯t set down any of your belongings.¡±


    The group took position. Teren tried to relax. He didn¡¯t understand how a man who used waveforming could access transportation magic such as this. Something was deeply wrong about it.


    Mudflood stood back, keeping his own feet outside of the circle. He whistled for his snake-panther. The hybrid licked Ronic¡¯s cheek once more before removing itself from the circle. The Guildsman smiled at the four of them. ¡°When you get to the Storm Bay, you¡¯ll appear on a platform. There can be a bit of dizziness after ley travel, so be ready for it and try not to fall into the water.¡±


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°Surely you¡¯ve installed some sort of guard rail?¡°


    Mudflood rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and spat on the glyph.


    The world spun into a blur, and suddenly Teren was standing on a wooden platform surrounded by waves. It was one of several dozen wooden rafts in the middle of the ocean, chained together and riding the swells. Half of a glowing rune was on the wood, moving away and beginning to appear on the next platform over.


    Ronic looked around. ¡°Where¡¯s Baltry?¡± Quickstrider cursed. She threw her pack to Ronic, kicked her boots off, and jumped into the water.


    Teren looked around. Two men in grey uniforms were stationed on a raft further out. They were shouting and waving, too far away to hear.


    ¡°Man overboard!¡± Teren screamed, waving to them and pointing at the water. But he doubted they could hear him.


    Their waving and motioning became more and more frantic. One of them turned away from Teren, took a stance, and began to punch the air.


    Teren shook his head. ¡°What the..?¡±


    ¡°Tempest Rangers,¡± Said Rotwood. ¡°Both of them. And I don¡¯t see a Current Guildsman with them.¡± He looked at Ronic. ¡°Did Quickstrider teach you lifesight?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°No, but I do know Soulcheck.¡± Dipping a hand in the ocean, he closed his eyes and began chanting under his breath. ¡°I have a lock on both of them, they¡¯re rising-¡° his eyes opened and he jerked his hand out of the water. ¡°Saints!¡± he cursed. ¡°There¡¯s something else down there!¡±


    Quickstrider burst out of the water with an arm wrapped around Baltry. Unnatural breathguiding strength chucked Baltry back onto a raft near their own. Quickstrider heaved himself onto the same one and traced a pattern with her finger over Baltry¡¯s stomach. He began to cough up water.


    ¡°The damn platform wasn¡¯t centered properly,¡± cursed Rotwood. ¡°The Current Guildsman should have no problem keeping these rafts staged. Something¡¯s wrong.¡±


    ¡°Damn right something¡¯s wrong!¡± shouted Ronic. ¡°There was a creature in the water, right below Quick and Baltry!¡±


    The two Tempest Rangers were getting closer. The one punching the air was probably galecasting, Teren thought. He could almost make out what they were shouting but didn¡¯t think he needed to. ¡°New plan. We get to the Rangers and take the Sky Ley out of here.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± said Rotwood. He fished his wand out of his jacket. ¡°Quickstrider, I need your lifesight. Tell me what exactly we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    Quickstrider licked her thumb, rubbed it over one eye, and peered into the water. Her eyes widened. ¡°What in hell¡­¡±


    ¡°Quick,¡± snapped Rotwood, ¡°You need to be my eyes!¡±


    Quickstrider shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s right below that raft to your left, six spans down! Looks like a cross between a mantis and a lobster, but the size of it¡­¡±


    ¡°Keep an eye on it, let me know where it moves.¡± He pointed his wand to where Quickstrider had motioned.


    It was a powerful conduit, left over from the duel with a Petal Knight that had given Rotwood his title and reputation. If he had the peace of mind to sidestep into Aren Fultas, Teren would see a funnel of spirit residue pouring out of it and penetrating the waves.


    ¡°Heading east, halfway between the previous raft and the eastbound one, just changed to south, still about six spans¡­¡± Quickstrider continued calling out positions as Rotwood kept his wand pointed at the concealed creature below them.


    ¡°You alright?¡± shouted Ronic across the water to a coughing Baltry.


    Balty kept spitting saltwater out but nodded back at them. His eyes were red from salt and tears.


    Teren looked at Ronic. ¡°Any ideas?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, stay out of their way.¡±


    ¡°Sounds good,¡± said Teren, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. ¡°I¡¯m not much use out here, I think. Not enough spirits at the top of the ocean. You?¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Got anything I could throw at it?¡±


    ¡°Below you and rising!¡± Shouted Quickstrider.


    ¡°Hit the deck!¡± hollered Rotwood, and something jammed their raft, sending half of it into the air. It crashed back down, nearly throwing all three of them off in the process.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Saints!¡± Rotwood cursed. He pointed his wand back at something in swells.


    A clawed sea bug the length of two grown men was swimming right at them. It was covered in white and black stripes, with the back half of a centipede and the front half of a praying mantis. Wicked claws retracted back to its chest, ready to strike again. Large unnatural eyes stared at them from below the waves. Without wavering, Rotwood focused his aim on the creature.


    The second the wand was back on it the insect let out a screech and began thrashing around. Large pincers lashed out, barely missing Teren¡¯s fingers. He desperately reached out to the fading world, trying to find a spirit to help. He could smell a presence nearby, probably Spellhaunt.


    ¡°Stop!¡± hollered one of the distant tempest rangers.


    ¡°That shrimp¡¯s a skinswitcher!¡± Screamed the other. ¡°It¡¯s our Current Guildswoman!¡±


    Rotwood kept his eyes on the creature. ¡°What?!¡± he hollered back.


    ¡°Why is it attacking us?¡± screamed Quickstrider.


    ¡°Probably because you¡¯re sticking that damn wand in her face!¡± shouted the first Tempest Ranger.


    The creature screeched louder as if in agreement, and moved back to give the raft some space. Rotwood slowly lowered his wand. ¡°Well, can she change back so we can have a proper conversation?¡±


    The creature began to twitch. It expanded and contorted, and chitin began flaking off its head. Traces of a scowling human face began to emerge. Scimitar claws morphed into hands, and she hoisted half her body onto the wood. Sne snarled, trying to form human sounds. Rotwood glanced at Quickstrider and shrugged as the skinswitcher slowly changed.


    ¡­


    ¡°You know,¡± said the woman, ¡°We could have talked a whole lot sooner if you hadn¡¯t immediately resorted to tearing my insides apart.¡± She shivered on the same raft as them, draped only in one of the coats of the tempest rangers¨C both of whom were sitting next to her, pointedly not looking at her exposed legs. She was a lean woman, with an athletic body tailored for swimming. Her piercing gaze bore through Rotwood with a quiet rage that simmered behind her dark eyes.


    ¡°Your raft wasn¡¯t centered!¡± snapped Quickstrider. My apprentice sank like a damn stone!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I was heading for him, you toad. And the raft wasn¡¯t centered because I was dealing with a Tantrovian Sellsword.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± said Ronic. ¡°Where¡¯s he now?¡±


    Her lips curled into a nasty smile. ¡°The bottom of the ocean. Or the abyssal city, depending on your beliefs.¡±


    ¡°Saints,¡± muttered Baltry.


    ¡°Well¡­ Why couldn¡¯t the Rangers hold the raft in place?¡± argued Quickstrider. ¡°A galecaster could be capable of that.¡±


    One of the Tempest Rangers pursed his lips. The other looked at the sky.


    The woman skinswitcher turned her unforgiving gaze to the men standing next to her. ¡°There was another Tantrovian who showed up before this one. He convinced these two to let him pass on through the Sky Ley. Told them he was lost Istali royalty.¡±


    Teren laughed. ¡°Did he look Istali?¡±


    ¡°He did!¡± insisted the Ranger who had given up his cloak. ¡°He was wearing a toga!¡±


    ¡°Anyways,¡± the woman glared at the Ranger, ¡°As soon as this one showed up I made them get far away from the crossroads.¡±


    ¡°Hold on,¡± said Baltry. ¡°What¡®s so bad about a Tantrovian?¡± He had recovered from his drop in the water but had lost his pack. Quickstrider had temporarily increased his apprentice¡¯s body heat to help dry him off.


    ¡°Sellswords have been trying to pass through ever since we put rafts down here,¡± said the woman. ¡°They¡¯re looking for a path to Goldreach, trying to make a profit off the war.¡±


    ¡°Their end of days is already spreading across the shallow sea,¡± said Teren. ¡°No need to let would-be vultures jam up our leys and give Istal and Iar more trouble.¡±


    ¡°Precisely.¡± The woman¡¯s eyes found Teren¡¯s. ¡°I tried explaining this to the man, but his knowledge of the sainted tongue was limited. Didn¡¯t seem like I was getting anywhere, and sending back from whence he came would just result in him coming right back through the leygate.¡± She leaned back, cracking her neck. ¡°I motioned for him to hop off my raft and swim for shore and he went crazy on me. Lunged right for my throat, we fell in the water, I skinswitched and ripped his grass-chewing face off, and that¡¯s right about when you all showed up.¡±


    ¡°I was under the impression this was a safe operation,¡± said Rotwood.


    The cloaked Tempest Ranger spoke up. ¡°It relatively is. But risk is a part of ley travel. Travel in general, really. You never know what sort of trouble you¡¯ll find when you walk out your front door.¡±


    ¡°Totally.¡± the other Ranger nodded.


    ¡°¡­Right.¡± Rotwood looked at Quickstrider. ¡°Anyways, we need to take the Water Ley to Sun¡¯s Shadow.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± said the woman. ¡°Mudflood arranged your travel with me this morning. I as well have already passed on your information to the Papanuy Crossroads.¡± The woman stood up and began to slowly dance.


    The two Rangers scooted away to give her more space. Her movements were slow and meaningful, keeping perfect balance on an imperfect stage. She motioned to the waters around her and the swells responded, calming themselves. The Ranger coat she had been given didn¡¯t leave much to the imagination, and Teren tried not to stare too hard at her legs. He had never seen the technique before, but not a muscle seemed out of place to him as her motions sped up. A current formed, gently pushing the raft south. The soft shimmer of the leygate glyph began to appear on the raft. This one had the same crashing waves as the Decidual glyph, but the night sky was replaced with a howling tempest.


    ¡°Damn,¡± whispered Teren. The Guildswoman looked at him and his mouth grew dry. ¡°Er, it¡¯s just that most magic I¡¯ve seen doesn¡¯t involve such¡­ complex footwork.¡±


    For the first time, her expression lost that edge. She genuinely smiled at him, not that cold leer from before. ¡°I am a sinker of ships. A denizen of the Abyssal Plains. A knife in the dark and the deep. Keeping my art delicate is a small attempt to remain ladylike.¡±


    ¡°You seem to have no problem appearing ladylike to me.¡±


    That got him a snort. ¡°Your name, deathcrafter?¡±


    ¡°Teren of Decidual. I haven¡¯t earned a given name yet.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± she sighed. ¡°You are a bit young, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Rotwood slapped Teren on the back, causing him to nearly fall off the raft. ¡°Bah! This man will have himself a title by the time we come back through these parts.¡±


    ¡°We are definitely not coming back this way!¡± Quickstrider interjected.


    ¡°I¡¯ll look forward to hearing it, Teren. I am called Helltide.¡± Helltide nodded to the Tempest Rangers. ¡°And this is Highglide and Cloudbringer.¡± Everyone nodded at each other, exchanging meaningless pleasantries. It never hurt to acquaint oneself with the other disciplines. Rotwood of course gave his fake name, and Teren pinched Baltry again when he looked at Rot funny.


    ¡°What business do you have in Merdz?¡± asked Highglide, the one who had given up his cloak to Helltide.


    ¡°A celebration,¡± said Ronic. ¡°Some sort of festival they need a Gravecaller and Lifeguider for.¡±


    Highglide whistled. ¡°Sounds like a good time. I didn¡¯t know Southrangers followed the Twelve Paths.¡±


    Cloudbringer looked thoughtful. ¡°They don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Anyways,¡± interrupted Quickstrider, ¡°We need to get a move on. That confusion earlier was unfortunate. We apologize for our part in it.¡± The glyph was now centered on the platform, leaving room for the Guildswoman and Rangers to step clear of it.


    ¡°As do we,¡± spoke Helltide. She looked again at Rotwood. ¡°That curse you used on me. It won¡¯t have any lasting effect?¡±.


    Rotwood shook his head. ¡°Even with the wand my deathcrafting isn¡¯t on the level to kill people with words and thoughts alone. I just¡­ dislocated your soul from your body a teeny bit.¡±


    ¡°That sounds bad.¡±


    ¡°No, no. Not at all. It sounds worse than it actually is.¡±


    Her cruel smile had returned. ¡°Fine. I¡¯d hate to have to file a complaint with the Order, Gravecaller.¡± She cast her gaze on the rest of the group, lingering on Teren. ¡°You know the rules, stand on the glyph, don¡¯t set any belongings down.¡±


    Helltide stood tall, adjusting the Tempest Ranger coat keeping her modest. She gently traced a foot across the edge of the circle, winked at Teren, and dragged her toe across the line.


    The world spun once again, and when it stopped Teren found himself in a humid garden, surrounded by towering hedges. Two women stood in front of them¨C a Current Guildswoman and a Petal Knight.


    ¡°Names?¡± said the Petal Knight, eyeing the group warily. She wore wooden armor painted violet and yellow. Her face was hidden by a hood and a wooden mask that obscured everything except the eyes.


    Rotwood passed her the documents and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Order of Remains crest tattooed on his wrist, a skull-faced monk holding up a torch with a date written underneath. ¡°Quickstrider and Skullchalice, of the Halfbones party.¡±


    Quickstrider twisted her neck, drawing attention to the partially visible creed of Guiding Breath that would cover most of her back. ¡°Helltide should have already cleared us.¡±


    The Petal Knight looked through the papers. ¡°Yes,¡± she mused. ¡°One Lifeguider, one Gravecaller, three apprentices. You¡¯re on the list, Quickstrider and¡­ Skullchanter?¡± She clicked her tongue. ¡°Ugh, she really needs to work on her script.¡±


    ¡°Skullchalice,¡± Teren lied.


    Baltry frowned, clearly confused. He wasn¡¯t taking the hint.


    ¡°Guess we¡¯ll be off now!¡± spoke Quickstrider to the Current Guildswoman. She placed a hand on Baltry¡¯s shoulder and squeezed gently.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± the Knight responded. ¡°There¡¯s actually a bit of a wait. If you¡¯d like to wait in the garden, we¡¯ll have someone come and grab you when it¡¯s time.¡±


    ¡­


    The five of them sat at a table in a clearing surrounded by chirping birds and orange and yellow marigolds. A servant had come, offering them sugar wine and toasted honey bread. A small stream ran through the garden, and people were picking the flowers, whispering prayers into them, and dropping them in the water. Papanuy had been nothing but wilderness two years ago before the leys had formed, and the blank slate had allowed Sun¡¯s Shadow to craft a beautiful shrine around the crossroads. The stream that had been redirected and the hedge maze that surrounded the Papanuy Crossroads would give the Petal Knight and Current Guildswoman stationed here an excellent home field advantage.


    ¡°Exciting morning,¡± Teren remarked. ¡°He sipped on his sugar wine. Sweet and tangy, it didn¡¯t seem to be made with actual grapes.


    ¡°Feeling better, Baltry?¡± asked Quickstrider.


    ¡°I guess.¡± He ran a hand through his long hair. ¡°I didn¡¯t really have time to figure out what was going on. I thought maybe there was a problem with the ley. And then it got so cold, and my bag was dragging me down¡­¡± He shuddered. ¡°And there was something down there with me. I sensed it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Teren. ¡°That was Helltide.¡±


    Baltry shook his head. ¡°I felt her and Master above me, but¡­ There was something below. Something big.¡±


    The group was silent.


    ¡°When I looked into the water with soulcheck,¡± Ronic said slowly, ¡°I saw you, Master, and the skinswitcher. Nothing else.¡±


    Quickstrider grunted. ¡°Baltry, you were disorientated from the water. If there was something else down there, I¡¯d have seen it.¡±


    Baltry shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ve been diving out in the ocean ever since I was a kid. I wasn¡¯t disoriented, and I didn¡¯t imagine it. There was something below me.¡± He shivered. ¡°Felt like it was watching us.¡±


    Chills ran up Teren¡¯s spine, and he decided he didn¡¯t like the ocean as much as he thought he did. It was time for a subject change. ¡°Hey. You all ever met a Twelve Paths Practitioner who could use a beastly art?¡±


    Everyone looked at Teren.


    Teren stared blankly back at them. ¡°¡­What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± grinned Ronic. ¡°I¡¯ve just never seen anyone flirt with you before.¡±


    ¡°Flirt?¡± He frowned. ¡°She was just being polite.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°That woman who was staring daggers at everyone else and bragging about how she brutally murdered a Tantrovian was being polite to you.¡±


    Quickstrider shook her head and sighed. ¡°You should know better than to stare at dangerous women like that, Teren. Even if she was bouncing around half-naked. Best case scenario a woman like that will see you staring and gut you like a fish.¡±


    ¡°And the worst case?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°She¡¯ll marry you!¡± howled Rotwood, slapping his knee and laughing.


    Teren closed his eyes and sent a prayer to the Saints. ¡°How. Did. She. Skinswitch?¡±


    Ronic frowned. ¡°Did anyone see any jewelry on her? She could own something soulforged.¡±


    Teren¡¯s mind went back to the raft. He had gotten a good look at Helltide, and there wasn¡¯t anything on her when she crawled out of the water. Nothing on her at all. Completely exposed¡­ Smiling at him. Teren discreetly crossed his legs, storing that memory away for later. ¡°No, I, uh, don¡¯t believe she had anything like that.¡±


    Quickstrider scoffed. ¡°You¡¯re thinking she had access to something like that? A sealed blade is rare enough, but sealed jewelry? No, I¡¯m thinking that woman got her skinswitching the old-fashioned way.¡±


    Baltry paused mid-bite into his honey bread. ¡°Wait. You don¡¯t think¡­¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± Rotwood growled. ¡°We¡¯re not gonna sit here and accuse Path Practitioners of cannibalism.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± agreed Ronic. ¡°Especially if Teren¡¯s in love with her.¡±


    ¡°Not in love with her!¡±


    ¡°Listen, Rot.¡± Quickstrider leaned in close. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I think happened before we arrived on that raft. A Tantrovian wouldn¡¯t be stupid enough to take a ley to the middle of the ocean without thinking he had a way out.¡±


    ¡°True enough,¡± said Teren. ¡°Tantrov is an island of sailors and storms. They take the sea seriously.¡±


    Quickstrider drummed her fingers on the table, deep in thought. ¡°He could have taken the Day Ley to the Southrange, and from there worked his way east. But he took the dangerous path. Why?¡±


    ¡°He believed he would have an easier time getting through the Ocean Ley,¡± suggested Baltry.


    ¡°Precisely!¡± hissed Quickstrider. ¡°That sellsword expected to pass without issue. Those Tempest Rangers were supposed to let him through!¡±


    ¡°So why didn¡¯t they?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°Because Helltide wasn¡¯t in on the plan.¡± Quickstrider took a sip of her sugar wine. ¡°Or maybe she was, but wanted a bit more coin from him. But whatever happened, he ended up dead in the ocean.¡±


    Rotwood frowned. ¡°What purpose is there in entertaining this theory?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully none.¡± Quickstrider¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°All the same, we should stop by Crow¡¯s Crevice on the way home, dig up what we can. If Waykeepers are being bribed, we need to know.¡±


    ¡°Works for me,¡± said Teren, ¡°I hear Istal is lovely this time of year.¡±


    Ronic flicked a bit of bread at him. ¡°Apprentices don¡¯t get a say.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky, grass-chewer. You¡¯re not named yet.¡± He chucked the bread back at Ronic¡¯s head, nailing a glob of honey and toast right into his eye. The two of them began hurling food at each other, right up until one soared dangerously close to Quickstrider¡¯s scowling face.


    Several laughing children ran past their table with wads of smashed marigolds clutched in their hands. ¡°You¡¯d think there¡¯d be rules against that,¡± said Baltry.


    ¡°What, the flowers?¡± said Rotwood. ¡°It¡¯s a form of prayer in the western Sainted Lands. ¡°And I bet that Petal Knight grows them back every day.¡±


    ¡°Speaking of the Petal Knight. Why¡¯d you tell her your name was Skullchasm?¡±


    Rotwood shook his head. ¡°Chalice, not chasm! Is Skullchalice no good?¡± He looked at Teren. ¡°I was gonna give you that name for your title.¡±


    ¡°¡­What? Why?¡±


    Rotwood looked defeated. ¡°I thought you¡¯d like it!¡±


    ¡°You were gonna pre-pick my title like that? It doesn¡¯t even have anything to do with me!¡±


    ¡°We could get you a skull to drink out of.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to drink out of some random guy¡¯s skull!¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Could be a girl¡¯s skull.¡±


    Ronic coughed. ¡°Master Rotwood? The Petal Knight?¡±


    ¡°Right, right.¡± Rotwood looked thoughtful. ¡°Well, when I was about your age, my master brought me to the hills deep within Swampreach to deal with the Talenon clans. He was given charge of forty Gravemasks, all well-trained in the beastly arts.¡± He took a bite of his honey bread. ¡°It didn¡¯t go as planned. A Petal Knight had allied himself with the Talenon, using woodwhispering to turn the jungle against us. The trees seemed to move around us, and before we knew it we were lost deep within their territory¡­¡±


    Teren finished off his wine and got up to take a piss. He didn¡¯t need to hear this tale again.


    He passed people from all over the sainted lands as he walked through the garden. Shadowmen were naturally the most prevalent, wearing turbans and dark robes with wide necklines that left much of their shoulders and chest exposed, a style that Teren wished the women here had picked up as well. They instead tended more towards skirts, shawls, and intricate metal headdresses full of dangling bits. The men had thick beards and hairy chests, while the women had straight dark hair worn down to the waist. Most of their familiars and hybrids were monkeys, but there was one miniature elephant trailing a merchant that grabbed Teren¡¯s attention. Either it was a youth or had been mixmade down into a smaller size to get into the garden.


    The newly founded town of Papanuy was close to the Barym border, and Teren spotted a large group waiting in the garden. Lower caste women with veiled face coverings waited on laughing ladies dressed in brightly dyed silks. The only men he could spot were the few bodyguards that trailed behind. The Barymi had squatter bodies and were of darker skin than their Sun¡¯s Shadow neighbors, but shared the same thick eyebrows, straight hair, and full beards. The men and women alike tended to leave most of the stomach exposed, so one could see their castemarks.


    There was a sprinkling of travelers from Istal as well. The Istali were as pompous as ever, dressed in their togas and their commoner¡¯s crowns, artifacts passed down through ancient family lines. They were small in stature, but that only served to make their muscles look proportionally larger. Paired with their regal cheekbones, narrow eyes, and golden tan skin, Istali seemed like children of the Saints themselves. A few gave him odd looks as he pissed in a corner of a hedge wall.


    He thought about Spellhaunt as he walked back to the group. Her scent was in the air, she had definitely found a way to follow them through the crossroads. Was it as simple as her standing on the glyph, or had she formed some sort of connection to him? He would ask her later tonight.


    Rotwood was just about wrapped up with his story. ¡°So when Thornblade found out what I had done to his former apprentice, he put a price on my head. First Petal Knight to duel me and take my wand would get his seat on the Wooden Council.


    Ronic whistled. ¡°Now that¡¯s a reward.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rotwood sighed. ¡°I can¡¯t even get catfish in Mudmouth without some upstart trying to cross blades with me.¡± The capital of Fendal, Mudmouth, was the base of operations of the Wooden Council. ¡°And it¡¯s getting worse, now that everyone passes through Decidual.¡± He sighed again, slouching down in his seat.


    A serving woman walked up to them and bowed. ¡°Excuse me, holy ones. Your turn approaches for the leygate.¡±


    ¡°Remember, you two.¡± Rotwood got up and stretched, cracking his neck. ¡°Skullchalice.¡±

 Chapter 3

    The world spun one last time, and Teren found himself disoriented. The sun was lower in the sky than it was in Papanuy, and there was a chill in the air.


    The city of Merdz was the largest settlement in all of the Southrange, not that that was saying much. Built in the crater of a colossal volcano corpse, the city was surrounded by natural walls of volcanic rock, built up higher by a distant fortress wall that spanned the entire rim. Mountains loomed beyond the rim of the crater, casting the city into shadow. They were larger than any he had seen before, surrounding the crater city like a second horizon. ¡°Saints..!¡±


    ¡°The Southrange, in all her glory,¡± murmured Rotwood.


    ¡°I had seen it before,¡± said Quickstrider. ¡°But from Barym, out on the horizon.¡±


    This leygate was on a raised wooden platform in the middle of the busiest street market Teren had ever seen. The people below bustled about, shouting their wares and trades. And what a crowd! The Southrangers themselves were beyond count, and looking into the masses Teren saw a variety of travelers from the Sainted Lands and beyond. He recognized some from the lands of Tantrov and Guragull, but for the most part the foreigners were a mystery to him.


    Two men stood in front of them, wearing ragged brown robes. Gaunt and dark of skin, each bore a brand on their clean-shaven heads. One was three wavy lines, the other a circle.


    Circle Brand smiled and bowed. ¡°Travelers from Sainted Realms! Welcome to Merdz, Crater City. Heart of Mountains! Lonely Kingdom.¡± His accent was thick, and his sainted tongue poor.


    Rotwood pulled a slightly damp scroll out of his jacket. ¡°Curious titles.¡± He handed the scroll to Wavy Brand. ¡°We are here as guests of, ah, Prince Dirjir Pajirhut? At least I think that¡¯s how it¡¯s pronounced.


    Wavy Brand read the scroll, nodded in approval, and motioned for someone in the crowd. A child scrambled up to the robed men, bowing nervously. He was a thin boy dressed in rags. Wavy brand spoke harshly to him in a foreign tongue, snapping his fingers and pointing to a building close by. The child scampered away.


    Circle Brand smiled at them, a mouth full of foul teeth on full display. ¡°My friends, we will fetch a man to bring you to Prince Dirjir. In meantime you enjoy market! Sainted coin will work just fine.


    Rotwood bowed. ¡°Many thanks.¡± He began walking down the platform, then paused and looked back. ¡°Your heads are shaven. That the fashion here?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± laughed Wavy Brand. He pointed at Rotwood¡¯s own bald head. ¡°Not fashion here, but not fashion in Sainted Lands either, yes?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rotwood shook his head gravely. ¡°Men like us walk a lonely path.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± interrupted Ronic. ¡°Those markings on your head represent the sun and the ocean, yes?¡±


    Wavy Brand smiled. ¡°The sun and river. We pay little thought to the great sea in Merdz.¡±


    Teren frowned. ¡°So you¡¯re the Southranger equivalent of the Twelve Paths. And you brand yourself like that?¡±


    ¡°Twelve Paths is Sainted name for it. Here in mountains, we call ourselves Kanibrir, and we are of one house.


    ¡°Kanibrir. What does that mean in the Sainted tongue?¡± asked Baltry.


    Wavy brand looked troubled. ¡°Ah¡­¡± He shared a look with his partner. ¡°Does not translate well. Enjoy market.¡±


    Baltry looked at Quickstrider with pleading eyes.


    Quickstrider sighed, taking some slivers and pieces out of her pockets. ¡°Food only. We can buy souvenirs on the way back.¡± She passed out a few slivers to Ronic and Baltry, and they eagerly headed out.


    Rotwood glanced at Teren. ¡°Need coin?¡±


    Teren sighed. He may not have had a title, but he had been taking jobs in Decidual and making his own way for some time now. ¡°No, I do not need coin. Do you need coin?¡±


    ¡°Hmph. Needless wantless, as always. You should have been a Sword Poet.¡± Rotwood descended the platform and was promptly swarmed by beggars and hawkers.


    Teren looked back at the two Kanibrir, who were already preparing to send a Southranger merchant and his servants through the leygate. Branded on the head and wearing ragged brown robes. A far cry from how Practicioners dressed in the Sainted Lands. He turned away and descended into the crowd.


    The market was marvelous, spilling out of the leygate area and into the surrounding streets. Trinkets and baubles were displayed on rugs in the middle of the street, with children and elderly keeping guard over their wares. The scents of cumin, saffron, and other strong spices reached him from hawker stands roasting all sorts of meat and vegetables. All the buildings were built with dull red stone and dark wood, and upon closer inspection much of the wood had intricate carvings of glyphs and figures. More intriguing were the small shrines scattered around the market. As he walked past one bearing a statue of a horned figure, he nearly tripped over a girl kneeling in front of it.


    She turned to look at him, muttering something in the local language. Her face was half beast, some sort of hideous monkey that had taken over her mouth, nose, and one eye. Both her human and animal eyes had tears in them. A skinswitcher who had probably just received her beastly art. He had heard of this, of some children gaining their gift and then having issues suppressing their beastly side rather than having to try and make it emerge. He muttered his apologies and moved on.


    There were animals roaming the street, along with all sorts of familiars and hybrids. Yaks and oxen lumbered through the city while monkeys could be seen climbing the multilayered rooftops. Merchants herded interesting mixmade hybrids, birds of paradise mixed with monkeys and other mammals. People who might have been the city guard rode past on mixmade horses with goat horns and bird wings. Many other merchants were selling rare animals, likely beastbound to obey them.


    One such salesman noticed him staring at his brightly feathered vulture. He waved him over. ¡°Saintlander! Birds from afar. Bones for mixmaking!¡±


    Teren observed the bird. It looked like a cross between a vulture and an eagle, with bright red-orange feathers and grey wings. ¡°Lovely hybrid. What¡¯s the base animal?¡±


    ¡°What, this here?¡± The bearded man pointed to the bird. ¡°Oh, no no no my friend, this is no mixmade! This is Krautsvok Vulture. Eats bones whole, it does!¡±


    Teren gently petted the back of the bird¡¯s head. It craned its neck, seemingly enjoying the experience. ¡°The vultures in the east aren¡¯t as pretty. Black bodies, bald heads.¡±


    The man laughed. ¡°Yes! And smell is worse. But many say your Saintlander vultures have best noses of all birds.¡± The merchant leaned in excitedly. ¡°Did you know Saintlander vultures can retch up meals as a burning spit? Very smart creature!


    ¡°Seems like it,¡± Teren agreed. Stomach acid as a weapon. He wondered if he could get a corpse to do something like that.


    ¡°Now tell me. Are you a mixmaker or a beastbinder?¡±


    ¡°Neither.¡±


    ¡°Oh, skinswitcher. What is your animal?¡±


    Teren tried to hide his smile. ¡°No. None of those.¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You have noble gift?¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t have any beastly art.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­?¡± Realization dawned on the beast merchant¡¯s face. ¡°Kanibrir.¡±


    ¡°We have a different name for it in the Sainted Lands.¡± Teren bowed. ¡°A Practitioner of the Twelve Paths, at your service.¡±


    The man spat on the ground. ¡°You should be marked appropriately. Away from me, tainted one! Before I separate nose from face.¡± His vulture hissed and flapped its wings.


    Teren¡¯s heart began to pound, and his leg started to tremble faintly. He raised his hands and backed away. ¡°My apologies.¡±


    He got a fair distance away before his leg stopped trembling. Rounding a corner, he knelt to the ground. ¡°Threaten me, will you?¡± he hissed. Teren put his hand to the ground, faintly accessing Aren Fultas. ¡°In a city of a size such as this, it shouldn¡¯t be hard to¡­¡± Yes, there it was. An unusually angry spirit close by. He reached out to it, forming a connection.


    Spirit residue swirled around him, coalescing into the form of a transparent Southranger man wearing formal clothing. His throat had been slit by a nasty gash that was still dripping blood, and his bones could be seen beneath his skin. He screamed at Teren in that same foreign language the girl had used.


    ¡°Sainted tongue?¡± asked Teren. ¡°Guess not.¡± He switched to the language of the dead, which was not of words and sounds. It was a communion of thought and mind, and so Teren focused his will at the dead man.


    The dead man was furious, brimming with feelings of hate and betrayal. He was focused on nothing but revenge, which stoked Teren¡¯s own feelings through the connection.


    Teren conveyed his will through thought, showing the spirit the soul of the merchant with the vulture. Kill this man, thought Teren. Kill him, and his flesh will be yours.


    The spirit hesitated. That merchant wasn¡¯t the one he wanted revenge on, but with a body the spirit would be free to act as he needed. Reluctantly, it agreed.


    Teren walked up and placed his hand on the spirit¡¯s head, his fingers slipping through residue making up the apparition. Concentrating, he poured his deathcraft into the spirit. The spirit grew less transparent and more firm to the touch, and a stray dog in the alley stood up and began barking at it. Satisfied it was now strong enough to interact with the living, Teren stepped back.


    The spirit questioned how he was to murder the man, and how he could take the body.


    Haunt him, Teren thought back. Haunt him until he takes his own life and then slip into his skin.


    The spirit nodded and began walking over to the merchant. He paused, turning back to stare at him. All this because he threatened you?


    Go now, thought Teren. He broke his connection to Aren Fultas and the ghost faded from sight. He peeked around the corner, taking one last look at the merchant. Ideally the spirit would tail him like a curse, haunting his steps and becoming a shadow in the corner of his eye. Over time, the fear and paranoia might cause the man to take drastic action, but who knew? If he could last a month, the power Teren had given to the spirit using the spell of spectral nourishment would wear out and the spirit would fade away back into Aren Fultas.


    He was troubled that it had to come to this, but what else could be done? The man had threatened him. Teren sighed and continued on his way. He knew the people outside of the Sainted Lands didn¡¯t have the same respect for the Twelve Paths, but to be yelled at like that? Teren shook his head. Some people just couldn¡¯t be reasoned with. He continued browsing the market, trying to take his mind off the troublesome event.


    ¡°Saintlander!¡± Shouted an old woman kneeling behind a collection of jars. ¡°Spices, from the west!¡±


    Teren smiled at her and shook his head.


    She tapped rapidly on the jars with long nails. ¡°Cloves and ginger, from the Bridgelands! Very good price. Tamarind from Tixjin, thyme from Krautsvok!¡±


    She continued calling after him. Many other vendors did as well, and half a dozen sales pitches later, he realized the only way to get anywhere was to completely ignore them. Eventually he was drawn to a food stand where he was confronted by a delicious smell. The vendor grinned at him. He spoke a flurry of foreign words and pointed at a large bowl of thick orange gunk with chunks of something inside of it. It smelled better than it looked.


    Teren fished a sliver out of his pocket and held it up. ¡°Good?¡±


    The man shook his head and held up four fingers.


    Teren fished up a second sliver and shrugged helplessly.


    The man yelled something at him and then muttered under his breath. He opened up a second pot, taking out something wrapped in a large brownish leaf. He unfolded the leaf to reveal rice inside, and then used a ladle to scoop the orange substance on top of it. He pocketed the slivers and handed over the leaf bowl.


    Teren walked through the market, enjoying the new flavors. Rice was an uncommon dish in the Greenreach, where they preferred bread and maize. The rice was flavored by the leaf, similar to how maize was sometimes cooked in banana leaves back home. The orange topping was some sort of spicy curry sauce, with small chunks of potato and lamb. His mouth burned but the flavor was worth it.


    Soon he came upon Baltry and a pestering merchant trying to sell him a knife. The weapon was curved and grew wider at the end of the blade. It had no crossguard and there was a small notch in the sharp side, close to the wooden hilt.


    Baltry waved him over. ¡°Hey Teren. What do you think this blade is worth?¡±


    Teren brought the leaf to his mouth, shoveling in some more rice. The knife looked decently crafted. With the uncommon design, he might place it at six pieces back home. ¡°What¡¯s he asking for?¡±


    ¡°Four sainted pieces!¡± said the knife seller. He was a skinswitcher sporting a speckling of scales across his arms and cheeks. ¡°It is a rakji blade, and it is of the mountains.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°A rakji blade,¡± Teren murmured. ¡°Why is it shaped like that?¡±


    ¡°The curved knife is for slashing, not piercing. Good for fighting, hunting, cutting meat, clearing brush.¡± He pointed to the notch. ¡°You see the indent? This is the mouth of your blade. When blood drips down it feeds your weapon.¡± The man smiled, revealing that what little teeth he had were foul and rotting. ¡°The rakji starves, Saintlander. There is no one here worth killing.¡± He raised an eyebrow. ¡°But maybe this will not be so in the Sainted Lands, yes?¡±


    ¡°Hm¡­¡± Teren finished his rice. He licked his fingers, wiped his hand on the backside of the leaf, and discarded it. ¡°The Sainted Lands have pretty good blades, thanks to our Iron Court. We¡¯re probably stopping by Crow¡¯s Crevice on the way home anyways, Baltry.¡±


    ¡°I guess so,¡± said Baltry. ¡°But I sort of like this one.¡±


    ¡°He has an artist¡¯s eye!¡± proclaimed the merchant. ¡°For you? Three pieces, five slivers.¡±


    Teren shook his head. ¡°My friend doesn¡¯t have three pieces, only two.¡±


    ¡°Actually-¡±


    He gently stepped on Baltry¡¯s foot. ¡°And I will not be spotting him.¡±


    The merchant grew agitated. ¡°What good is a blade worth only two pieces? I cannot go lower than three.¡±


    Baltry eagerly reached into his pocket, but Teren slung his arm around him and dragged him away. ¡°Sorry! He doesn¡¯t have that much on him,¡± he said over his shoulder to the seething merchant. ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll come back later.¡±


    ¡°Teren!¡± Baltry whispered. ¡°I have four pieces and three slivers.¡±


    Teren ducked and dodged through the crowd, putting distance between them and the knife seller. ¡°No you don¡¯t. Wait for it¡­¡±


    ¡°But-¡°


    ¡°Saintlanders!¡± The merchant had caught up to them, desperately grabbing Baltry¡¯s arm. ¡°Two pieces, fine, yes!¡±


    Teren wiggled his eyebrows at the young apprentice before turning around to face the merchant. ¡°What do you think, Baltry?¡±


    Baltry smiled and pulled out two pieces.


    ¡°Teren! Baltry!¡± Rotwood appeared from the sea of people. ¡°Our ride¡¯s here.¡±


    ¡­


    Everyone else had already gathered in one of the narrower streets, standing next to a man sitting in a cart pulled by an ox. The guide was a thin old man wearing nothing but a loincloth and a blindfold. He waved to them from his ox cart, and Teren caught the ox staring in their direction. A beastbinder. ¡°Ah,¡± said the blindfolded man. ¡°You bring guests?¡±


    Rotwood put an arm around Teren, who immediately shrugged it off. ¡°These three are our apprentices. Where are we off to?¡±


    ¡°I take you to Kalapar Trinuat, palace of Feathered Prince. Short ride through Maze District.¡±


    ¡°Why is it called the Maze District?¡± asked Ronic.


    The guide laughed. ¡°Because people go in and cannot get out.¡± He slapped the bed of the cart. ¡°Two can fit, maybe three. Rest must walk behind.¡±


    Rotwood smiled at the apprentices. ¡°I think this is one of those age-before-beauty situations.¡± He grunted as he climbed into the back.


    ¡°Cheers to that,¡± Quickstrider grumbled as he hopped in. ¡°Looks like we can fit another back here if someone wants to squeeze.¡±


    Teren wasn¡¯t big on physical contact. ¡°I¡¯m good.¡±


    Ronic and Baltry flipped a sliver for it. Ronic lost, so he put Baltry in a headlock. Baltry struggled and cried, Quickstrider snapped at the both of them, and so Ronic let Baltry ride in the ox cart. But Ronic and Teren did throw their packs on Baltry¡¯s lap.


    As they traveled away from the leygate, the variety of people decreased as the amount increased. Before he knew it Teren didn¡¯t see any more Saintlanders, just a crowd of foreigners that snuck glances at him.


    There seemed to be a shrine at every turn. Varying in size, some were as large as huts while others were merely holes in the wall. All of them had statues. One that caught his eye was a woman made of red marble, surrounded by many worshippers. A hand was covering her eyes while the other was outstretched, holding a sphere of polished brass. She had hair made up of many lightly smoking braids of rope incense, and people were climbing stone steps behind her to pin more braids on her head. Teren nudged Ronic. ¡°Check out her prayer hair.¡±


    ¡°That is Kanaz Aprenjar,¡± said the guide. ¡°Traveler from the East, bringer of sunrises, she who binds the earth. You should offer thanks to her, for safe passage.¡±


    Rotwood bit down hard on his thumb. He held it out to the statue as the cart rolled past, squeezing out a few drops. ¡°Blood for payment,¡± he said solemnly. ¡°Thank you for your protection.¡±


    ¡°Master!¡± Teren barked at him. ¡°Why are you praying to foreign idols?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just for good luck!¡± Rotwood protested.


    ¡°You can pray to the Saints for good luck.¡±


    Quickstrider raised an eyebrow. ¡°You pay attention to the Saints, Teren?¡±


    Teren frowned. ¡°Well¡­ Yeah. Why wouldn¡¯t I?¡±


    Quickstrider shrugged, blowing a loose strand of her short hair out of her face. ¡°I just didn¡¯t know you were into that sort of thing. Saints know your master isn¡¯t. Good for you.¡±


    Ronic nudged Teren, pulling him back. They slowed their pace so the others couldn¡¯t hear. ¡°I might have let some things slip about you to my master.¡±


    Teren stopped walking. ¡°Huh?¡±


    Ronic shuffled his feet nervously. ¡°Nothing bad, honest. I just¡­ told her about some of the stuff we used to get up to.¡±


    ¡°Okay. What stuff, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ do you remember that time we wanted to get back at that Junglesworn who had been beating on us? And you didn¡¯t want to fight him head on? And then you coaxed the soul of his dead mother in that rotting dog and-¡°


    ¡°Aw, no!¡± Teren massaged his forehead, exasperated. ¡°You told Quickstrider about that? Why?¡±


    Ronic shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, she asked about you. It was a pretty impressive thing for a kid to do.¡±


    ¡°You-¡° Teren bit his lip. ¡°Gah! I thought life was sacred to your order! You can¡¯t tell her that I do stuff like that.¡± He glared at his friend. ¡°Bet you didn¡¯t tell him about the time you gave that little kid from Drifton the shakes.¡±


    ¡°That, uh, didn¡¯t come up. Besides, I have no idea how I did that. Wouldn¡¯t be right to take credit for it.¡±


    Teren narrowly avoided stepping in a pile of cow dung. ¡°Can¡¯t take credit, huh? I heard he foamed at the mouth for a month.¡±


    ¡°True. But¡­¡± Ronic raised a finger. ¡°I apologized for that.¡±


    ¡°So what?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t apologize for anything, ever.¡±


    ¡°Are you crazy? I apologize for things all the time!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no meaning behind the words though. It¡¯s just something you say to get people off your back.¡± Ronic shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m positive that I¡¯ve never seen you actually remorseful, Teren.¡±


    There was a truth in that statement Teren didn¡¯t want to acknowledge. ¡°The¡­ fact that I don¡¯t want Quickstrider to know about things I¡¯ve done¡­ implies guilt and remorse for those actions.¡±


    Ronic cackled. ¡°No, it¡¯s more of you just trying to keep people off your back! I know you, you can¡¯t deal with being disliked. Which I¡¯m sure Quickstrider doesn¡¯t, by the way.¡±


    Teren grunted, thinking about the vulture merchant. He could deal with people disliking him. It was just that his ideas on dealing with those people tended to be very permanent.


    The roads got narrower as they traveled on, and became a mess of twists and turns. Many times their cart had to backtrack to avoid meeting another head on, and these situations always involved much shouting and foul gestures between their driver and the others. Some streets were devoid of all life, while others were so packed they could hardly be traversed. Their group got many stares, and vendors wouldn¡¯t leave them alone.


    At one point they came across another Saintlander heading the opposite way. A Swampreacher, from the looks of her dark skin, short hair, and wooden deathmask. Despite the deathmask that was obscuring her features, it was easy to tell from her clenched fists and posture that she was unhappy about the several vendors tailing her, all waving bright cloth and jewelry and screaming at her in a foreign language. One of the men grabbed her wrist, shoving his merchandise in her face.


    The Swampreacher responded by quickly skinswitching her arms into something much more muscular and covered in fur. She grabbed him by his tunic, socked him in the jaw, and threw him across the street. He shrieked as he sailed over the other vendors, crashing into a wall and crumpling to the ground. She whirled back around, stalking away from the shocked crowd.


    Rotwood laughed. ¡°They¡¯re a different breed over in the swamp, aren¡¯t they?¡± He waved to the woman.


    The woman noticed them and waved back, nodding to Quickstrider in her uniform. Then she too vanished into the crowd.


    Many roads led into darkly lit tunnels that looked to go underground. Diseased men and women sat rotting on the steps, like guardians of an underworld. The blindfolded guide did not take them down such paths.


    As they continued on, Teren realized he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d be able to find his way back to the leygate. He put a hand on Ronic¡¯s shoulder, pulling him away from a performer who was having his monkey familiar juggle several burning batons. ¡°I think something¡¯s up with these roads.¡±


    ¡°Well it is called the Maze District, you know.¡±


    ¡°I know, and I think there¡¯s a good reason behind it.¡± He jogged up to the Masters. ¡°Something¡¯s off, I think. Do you feel lost here?¡±


    Quickstrider nudged Rotwood. ¡°Good senses on your boy.¡± Her mood has improved, and she seemed to actually be enjoying the change of scenery.


    Rotwood smiled. ¡°There¡¯s magic at work here, Teren. He leaned up and tapped on the driver¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Ah, excuse me? How exactly did the Maze District get its name?¡±


    The driver shrugged. ¡°Foul magic, left over from Kesabai Yenhault.¡± He spat on the ground.


    Teren knew that name. ¡°Why would the Lord of Abstinence leave his mark here?¡±


    Rotwood grimaced. ¡°The Halfworld Nobles of the Southrange weren¡¯t like the Saints you¡¯re familiar with, Teren. He would have cursed this place on a whim.¡±


    ¡°We are told Maze District used to be a temple of flesh,¡± said the guide. ¡°Very holy to us Narabir. Not so much to Halfworlders. Kesabai turned streets into a prison. Men wandered in, could not wander out. Streets grew crowded, food grew scarce. Men began to feast on each other. Terrible thing. But over many years, curse grew weak enough to become little more than nuisance. People now come and go, still get lost. Name became Maze District.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± said Quickstrider, turning to Rotwood. Inescapable streets. A darktwisting trick?¡±


    ¡°Sounds like it,¡± agreed Rotwood. ¡°The staying power of the illusion is phenomenal, if it really was cast before the Western Recession.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be worldshifting?¡± asked Ronic.


    Quickstrider shrugged. ¡°Could be. But it¡¯d be easier to trick the mind into losing its way than to have a part of a city twist in on itself. Hey, driver. How do you navigate the maze?¡±


    The guide smiled. ¡°I was born in Maze District. Many years of practice. More, it does not affect animals so much. I see through familiar.¡± The ox farted in agreement. ¡°Even so, I would not be out here in darkness. Night can be worse.¡±


    Ronic groaned. ¡°Stronger at night. darktwisting it is.¡±


    ¡°So whatever happened to the people trapped inside?¡± Asked Baltry.


    The ox pulling the cart stopped, and the driver slowly turned around to look at him. He lifted up his blindfold to stare at Baltry with intense brown eyes. ¡°Many years they were trapped. It became a prison, where men put to never be seen again. By the time curse had lessened, almost all had been eaten.¡± His eyes widened. ¡°Some say devoured still wander at night, crying for lost flesh. Unable to find a way out.¡±


    Baltry looked spooked. ¡°And what of the ones survived?¡±


    The guide put his blindfold back on and turned to face forward. The ox began walking again. ¡°Those who survived cannot be called survivors. They became Karab Ir, cursed to wander in a hundred foul forms. Fled into mountains. If you stray off path¡­¡± he wagged a finger. ¡°Karab Ir will eat your flesh and steal your soul.¡±


    ¡°Hear that, Baltry?¡± Quickstrider nudged Baltry. ¡°Stay on the trails.¡±


    ¡­


    Two bells later they arrived at a large palace, guarded by numerous men showcasing their beastly arts. Skinswitchers stood guard with claws and fangs, mixmakers prowled about with their hybrid on leashes, and beastbinders likely hid in the palace while their familiars stood vigilant outside. These soldiers wore bronze armor with crimson colors underneath, with those odd rakji knives sheathed and tucked into the waistbands of their baggy crimson pants. The palace was built of red stone and dark wood, with several towers and buildings protected by a large wall. The multi-tiered curved roofs were a refined and elegant version of the style that was common in the rest of the city. Monkeys crawled about in the overhang of the tiered roofs, holding on to the grooves of the intricate carvings in the wood.


    The wooden gate into the palace had carvings more complex than what he had seen in the rest of Merdz. There were alternating rows of glyph writing and animals, separated by vertical lines. Unlike the circular and jagged glyphs of the Sainted Lands, these were block-shaped with patterns that moved inward. The animals alongside the glyphs were a monkey, an eagle, and a snake. Teren stepped closer to examine the gate. Among the thousands of repeating animals carved on it, he spotted four others. A fish, a butterfly, and two frogs. What did it mean?


    One of the skinswitcher guards stepped in front of him. He wore none of the bronze armor, just baggy pants and a tattered vest that showcased the leaf green scales of his heavily reptilian body. There was spiked ridges where his eyebrows should be, and he had reptile eyes. The guard held up a firm hand to Teren¡¯s chest. He spoke in the harsh and rapid tongue of Merdz, and although Teren didn¡¯t understand the language he got the message.


    Teren took a step back and smiled. He pointed his thumb back at the ox cart driver, who was busy talking to the other guard. ¡°I¡¯m with stupid.¡±


    The guide finished up with whatever he was discussing, and the other guard nodded to the lizard man. He leered at Teren, but knocked on the gate thrice and hollered something.


    The wooden doors swung open, revealing a large stone courtyard. The guide smiled at all of them. ¡°I leave you now. Prince Dirjir Pajirhut awaits you inside.¡±


    Baltry tossed Teren and Ronic their packs and the two friends walked in. Orange-robed servants greeted them. None spoke the sainted tongue, but smiles and gestures made do. In the middle of the courtyard was a wooden statue of a masculine figure. The details on it were faded and weather-worn, far more so than the rest of the carvings in the temple. The figure was adorned with a tiger pelt, and had a fist raised toward the sky.


    As Teren examined the statue, a Southranger similar in age to him and Ronic walked up. He was dark of skin like most Southrangers, with close cropped hair and a decent curly mustache. He had many rings on his fingers, all made of bone and silver. ¡°You like it? Not real tiger fur, unfortunately. It came from a cow I mixmade to appear as one.¡±


    ¡°Could have fooled me,¡± said Teren. ¡°Not that I¡¯ve ever seen a real tiger before.¡±


    Baltry joined them, fuming. ¡°You guys left me back there! The guide made me give him all my money for the ride!¡±


    The young man frowned. ¡°He should have already been paid.¡±


    Baltry waved his hands desperately. ¡°He wanted five pieces, but all I had on me was two pieces and three slivers!¡±


    Rotwood and Quickstrider walked up behind them. ¡°You gave that man coin?¡± asked Rotwood. ¡°I gave him five slivers when we got in the cart.¡±


    The Southranger cursed in his own tongue. ¡°That man is a servant of the royal family. He should not have taken or asked for anything from you. Be assured that you will be reimbursed immediately. In fact¡­¡± he took one of his silver rings off, offering it to Baltry. ¡°Here. This should be more than enough.¡±


    Baltry reached out to take it, but his hand was swatted away by his master.


    ¡°Much appreciated,¡± said Quickstrider while glaring at her younger apprentice. ¡°But you should know better. One with power over life should not be taken advantage of so easily. Will you be conned so easily into abusing your powers?¡±


    Baltry looked down at his sandals, embarrassed. ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you should be,¡± said Ronic. He flicked Baltry in the ear and they immediately began to scuffle.


    Rotwood offered his hand to the young man. ¡°Don¡¯t believe I got your name?¡±


    The Southranger shook it and smiled. ¡°Dirjir Pajirhut, at your service. Prince Dirjir Pajirhut, that is.¡±


    Rotwood¡¯s face brightened. ¡°Oh, pleasure to meet you! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gravesealer Rotwood of the Order of Remains, and this is my apprentice, Teren of Fendal.


    Teren nodded respectfully.


    Quickstrider shook Dirjir¡¯s hand next. ¡°And I¡¯m Quickstrider, a Lifeguider of Guiding Breath. These two are my apprentices, Ronic Belyae of Fendal and Baltry Ythcralt of East Cicada.¡±


    ¡°Ythcralt?¡± asked the Prince. ¡°As in the royal lineage of the Cicada Islands?¡±


    ¡°Uh, yeah,¡± said Baltry. ¡°My father is Chief Jayri Ythcralt. Technically, I guess I¡¯m fifth in line for the Westcrown. It¡¯s not a big deal though.¡±


    Teren and Rotwood stared at Baltry.


    The Prince laughed. ¡°A mere handful of deaths away from a crown? You¡¯re too humble.¡±


    Ronic interrupted the two. ¡°Your sainted tongue is excellent, Prince Dirjir.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that. But my teacher wishes more of his Iaric accent rubbed off on me. I figured I might as well learn to speak it since I was already learning sainted glyphs.¡± He started walking into the inner palace, and the group followed him.


    ¡°Why were you learning our glyphs?¡± asked Teren. He wasn¡¯t sure whether or not he cared for this curly mustached royal, with his fine silk clothes and excessive jewelry.


    ¡°Well as I¡¯m sure you know, we used to be a part of the Half-World Nation, same as you. Although the occupation didn¡¯t last more than two decades, it was an important time in our history. I wanted to read the accounts that had been written then, and the Sainted Glyphs and Tongue haven¡¯t changed much since the Age of the Nobles.¡±


    Rotwood nodded in approval. ¡°The study of history and languages. Now there¡¯s a royal pastime.¡±


    The Prince threw back his head and laughed. ¡°Oh, it¡¯s nothing! Merdz is the heart of the Caruth Thun Mountai- excuse me, the Southrange. There are over a dozen cultures and tribes who swear loyalty to the Crater City, but the two peoples who really make up Merdz are the Quia Boralz and the Narabir. Most of us here in the Maze District speak narabric, but if you head up and over to the Rim District, you¡¯d likely hear borales being spoken. Aside from those and the sainted tongue and a few other Southrange tribes, I¡¯m fluent in the languages of Tixjin and Guragull, and passable in the fingerspeak of Cavewater.¡± The Prince led them up a set of stairs at the back of the courtyard and past another set of guards. ¡°But ever since the leygates appeared and the Southrange became somewhat passable, we¡¯ve been getting travelers from all sorts of queer places. Trigap, Tantrov, even the Bridgelands¡­¡±


    Two guards followed them up the stairs as the Prince droned on, and a pretty servant girl opened another intricate wooden door for them. She smiled at the group as they walked into the palace.


    Teren tried not to look back at her. ¡°Alright, Prince Dirjir. Why exactly did you call for a Gravesealer and a Lifeguider?¡±


    The Prince grinned at Teren. ¡°There will be ample time to discuss that tonight at supper.¡± He snapped his fingers and serving girls approached with bowed heads. He said something to them in narabric, and then turned back to the saintlanders, spreading out his arms. ¡°These women will show you to your rooms. Take a bath, rest your legs. Tonight we shall feast!¡±

 Chapter 4

    Teren frowned at the foreign clothing that had been left for him. It was a dark yellow tunic that went to mid-thigh, with long sleeves that were made to roll up at the elbows. This was covered by both an orange vest and a long yellow scarf he had to wrap around his neck several times. The baggy pants were supposed to be complemented by pointed shoes that curled at the toes, but the servants had none in his size. Fine with him, he liked his sandals.


    ¡°Hold on a moment!¡± complained Baltry. ¡°Why do my clothes look so different from your clothes?¡± He held up a sleeveless violet dress that flared out at the bottom, with white ribbon embroidery.


    ¡°That¡¯s a woman¡¯s outfit, Balt.¡± Ronic had the same tunic as Teren, filling it out better with his thick forearms and wide shoulders.


    The Prince had offered them five rooms, but Rotwood and Quickstrider agreed that was too generous. And so the three apprentices had reluctantly crowded into a room meant for one that had been accommodated with extra cots. It had one large window that offered an excellent view of the city, the volcanic rim, and the mountains beyond.


    ¡°Why in hell would they¡­¡± muttered Baltry. He stormed off to find a servant.


    As soon as he had left the room, Teren glanced at Baltry. ¡°We should discuss the game plan for tonight.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Baltry, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. ¡°Whoever gets lucky takes the bed, the other two grab a cot and sleep in the hall.¡±


    ¡°Fine, agreed. But that¡¯s not what I was thinking of.¡± Teren looked outside at the sun, already sinking under the mountains. ¡°After the banquet, you wanna head out?¡±


    Baltry laughed. ¡°What, go drinking out in a cursed darktwisting maze in the middle of the night? No thanks.¡±


    ¡°Aw, come on!¡± Teren flopped onto the bed. It had a blanket made of yak wool. ¡°Aren¡¯t you at all curious to see what life is like here?¡±


    ¡°Sure, in the morning. With a guide.¡±


    Teren groaned. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go out by myself¡­¡±


    ¡°So don¡¯t.¡±


    The two of them argued back and forth until Baltry showed back up with the correct clothing. He was with the masters, who had spent the afternoon relaxing in the bathhouse.


    Now that they were out of the Sainted Lands, Rotwood felt comfortable enough wearing his purple and maroon Gravecaller robes. His pointed hood had been ripped off, displaying his shaven head and multitude of bone earrings. Quickstrider herself wore the crossed yellow sashes of Guiding Breath over a dress similar to the one that had been given to Baltry, with white cloth and a high neckline that went up into a modest veil that nearly hid her short black hair.


    ¡°You two clean up nicely,¡± remarked Teren. ¡°How was the bathhouse?¡±


    ¡°Unisex,¡± winked Rotwood.


    Quickstrider rolled her eyes, brushing past him into the hallway. ¡°Come on. Dinner¡¯s waiting.¡±


    ¡­


    The five of them were brought to the upper floors of one of the taller towers of the palace. Inside was a humble dining area, containing a single circular table with six seats. There were twice that many servants standing quietly at the edges of the room with heads bowed. Standing at the sides of the door were two guards. One was the armorless lizard skinswitcher who had been outside the palace. He stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the group.


    The room had a balcony that looked out over the rest of the palace. Teren leaned out over the rail, watching the last sliver of the sun vanishing into the mountains. From up here he realized the palace¡¯s architecture was tri-radial, with three gates that led into three courtyards. These courtyards were each attached to a large building¨C one of which Teren and the rest were sleeping in, and these buildings were connected by the three taller towers. All of these buildings had curved, multilayered roofs. Glancing up, he saw the top of the three towers had once been connected by archways, but they had begun to crumble. Down in the middle of it all was a water reservoir. Half-full, it was a large pyramid-shaped hole in the ground. Teren squinted. There was something large swimming around down there, but he couldn''t quite make out what it was as he peered over the railing of the¨C


    A many-ringed hand slapped him on the back. Teren jumped, cursing as he turned to find the Feathered Prince smiling at him.


    He was adorned in a luxurious cloak, mixmade to have the pattern of a leopard, yet with dark red fur instead of golden yellow. Under that he wore purple silks. ¡°Not a bad view, yeah?¡± Prince Dirjir looked out over his domain. ¡°Kalapar Trinuat was once the pride of the city. After the curse was cast that created the Maze District, King Hinibhat the Snakeskin moved the royal family to the Reservoir District, leaving this place all but abandoned.¡± He gestured to the crumbling archway above them.


    ¡°So why are you here, if you don''t mind me asking?¡±


    Prince Dirjir frowned, looking away. ¡°Not by choice, if I''m being honest. Let¡¯s discuss it over a meal.¡± He walked over to the round table, seating himself in between Rotwood and Quickstrider.


    Teren took one last glance outside and saw that the sun had set. The sharp scent that he had smelled on and off all day had come back, stronger now than it had ever been. He could have sworn he felt someone breathing on his neck.


    Rotwood frowned, glancing over at him. Immediately the presence slid away.


    Teren walked back over to the table and sat down, reminding himself to check on Spellhaunt later in the evening. He was in between Ronic and Baltry, as Quickstrider had wanted them separated to stop them from bickering.


    Now that they were all seated, the Prince clapped his hands. Servants rushed to attend, carefully bringing over a massive platter of food. Teren and Ronic leaned to the side, allowing the servants to place it right in the middle of the table. On it was a heaping pile of rice, surrounded by dozens of small copper bowls filled with a variety of soups, sauces, meats, and vegetables. The orange-robed servants handed out empty plates and bowls, providing spoons and chopsticks as utensils. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Prince Dirjir took his bowl and reached into the middle, scooping rice into it. ¡°This style of dining is called Kanem Herz,¡± he explained. ¡°It¡¯s reserved for special occasions, offering a variety of culinary delights from all across the Southrange. Surrounding the rice, there are thirty-six dishes¨C representing the thirty-six tribes that swear fealty to the Pajirhut Line.¡± He poured one of the bowls of curry over his rice.


    They took that as their cue to dig in. As the bowls were passed around, the awkwardness of dining with a royal began to dissipate. The Prince was eager to hear of the Sainted Lands, and Rotwood was always happy to entertain. Dirjir threw back his head and laughed as Rotwood told him tales of patrolling across the three realms of the Greenreach.


    Teren enjoyed the meal, not saying much while his master chatted with the Prince. His favorite dish was a three-way tie between the lentil soup, the lamb-chicken hybrid curry, and the pickled cabbage. The cabbage here was prepared a lot spicier and crunchier than the more sour cabbage back home, and thankfully he was the only one at the table who seemed to care for it. While he was scooping more into his bowl, the Prince passed him another dish¨C steamed dumplings in a spicy-looking soup.


    ¡°Try this out,¡± urged Dirjir. ¡°They¡¯re filled with meat I mixmade myself! Go on, see if you can guess.¡±


    Teren didn''t hesitate to spoon one out of the broth and bite into it. He eyed the remaining half. Looked like pork and cabbage, but there was something about the taste. He chewed thoughtfully. ¡°Pig mixed with¡­ some kind of fish.¡±


    ¡°Right on the pork, wrong on the fish.¡± He pointed at Baltry¡¯s plate. ¡°Although our islander friend here has been at the blackened dream-fish. Those can cause visions, did you eat the entire bowl?¡±


    Baltry froze mid-chew. He carefully swallowed what was in his mouth. ¡°Uh. Dream-fish? Oval shaped, small, with silver and gold striping?¡±


    The prince chuckled. ¡°Ah, so you¡¯re familiar. Well it¡¯s actually a local freshwater fish mixmade with dream-fish. The effects vary depending on who mixmade it.¡± He sipped his barley beer. ¡°We mountain folk do love a good gamble.¡±


    The young apprentice¡¯s face had turned pale.


    Teren swallowed the other half of his dumpling, passing the dumpling to Ronic. ¡°Okay, if it¡¯s not fish, then it¡¯s pork mixed with some sort of amphibian.¡±


    ¡°¡®Mmm hhmm,¡± nodded Ronic through a full mouth. ¡°Mmphibian.¡±


    ¡°No, no! Fine, I''ll tell you. It¡¯s snail!¡±


    Now it was Teren and Ronic¡¯s turn to go pale. Teren glanced at Ronic, who had stopped chewing entirely. He didn''t look like he was going to make it at first, but he powered through, grabbing his barley beer and chugging it along with the dumpling. He coughed, dry heaved, and then took another swig to keep it all down. ¡°Guhh. Excuse me.¡±


    Quickstrider stared daggers at the two of them while Rotwood and Dirjir roared with laughter.


    ¡°The look on your faces!¡± gasped the Prince through fits of laughter.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± said Teren. ¡°We don''t really eat any bugs in Fendal. Unless you include mudbugs, that is.¡±


    ¡°Your loss. The snail is all muscle, mixes well with the fatty bits of the pig.¡±


    ¡°Snails aren''t bugs, Teren,¡± said Baltry.


    Ronic stared at him. ¡°Guess that fish is starting to hit.¡±


    ¡°No, really. They aren''t bugs.¡±


    ¡°Ha! Okay, whatever makes you happy, Balt.¡±


    Baltry began to protest but was cut off by Quickstrider. She hadn''t touched her barley beer yet. ¡°Prince Dirjir. For what purpose did you call us here?¡±


    The Prince¡¯s demeanor changed. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and clasping his hands together. ¡°No point putting it off, I suppose.¡± ¡°I am Dirjir Pajirhut, the Feathered Prince. Without a doubt, I am the rightful heir to my father¡¯s kingdom, crown, and throne.¡± He pursed his lips. ¡°Except my mother thinks otherwise.¡±


    Quickstrider frowned. ¡°And how much support does your mother have?¡±


    ¡°¡­Pretty much all of it,¡± Dirjir admitted. ¡°The majority of the tribes have already sworn to her, the trade guilds have deals in place, and she also has the support of the tiger guard.¡±


    ¡°What do you have?¡± asked Ronic.


    Dirjir smiled softly. ¡°Divine right.¡±


    The masters shared a look. Rotwood cleared his throat. ¡°Prince Dirjir. We had been told this job was for some sort of festival. If you brought us here under false pretenses¡­¡±


    ¡°No!¡± The Prince shook his head and brushed away the notion. ¡°No, you¡¯re here for entertainment, nothing more. I¡¯m not getting you involved in politics, I just want to put on a show for my people. Do they celebrate the Nine Nights of the Lost in the Sainted Lands?¡±


    ¡°They do in Swampreach,¡± said Quickstrider slowly, frowning.


    Teren glanced at his master. ¡°The Nine Nights?¡±


    Rotwood didn¡¯t look happy. ¡°It¡¯s a festival for the dead. The Swampreachers carve new deathmasks and run wild in the woods all night. The dead come out too.¡±


    ¡°So they say,¡± nodded Dirjir.


    ¡°No,¡± said Rotwood softly. ¡°There is power in celebration. It draws attention from where it shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Hmm,¡± said Dirjir, stroking his mustache. That sounds a bit more sinister than what we do in Merdz. ¡°Here we just have parades in the streets. And I don¡¯t know what a deathmask is, but we prefer brighter costumes, ones that celebrate our connection to those who have gone ahead.¡±


    ¡°I would never have guessed it was celebrated in the Southrange,¡± muttered Rotwood. ¡°Is that why you brought us here?¡±


    The Prince was silent for a moment. ¡°I want you to bring back the dead, and have them walk the streets.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± asked Teren.


    ¡°Because I¡¯ve spent all winter spreading tales that my dead father and his fathers before him are furious that his wife has stolen the throne from me.¡±


    Rotwood slammed his hands on the table. ¡°Absolutely not,¡± he hissed. ¡°I will not summon up ghosts to put a crown on a child¡¯s head!¡±


    ¡°Wait a moment,¡± said Ronic. ¡°Why did you ask for Guiding Breath?¡±


    The Prince shrugged. ¡°I needed the dead to come back to life. I wasn¡¯t sure if that would involve deathcrafting or lifebreathing.¡±


    Quickstrider was near a loss for words. ¡°I¡­ What? You called me out here for nothing?¡±


    Rotwood stood up. ¡°This was a mistake.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think of it that way,¡± urged Dirjir. ¡°Look, I can see I¡¯ve upset you all. Let¡¯s get off the subject. Master Rotwood, I won¡¯t force the issue. You don¡¯t want to do it? Fine. All I ask is that you stay a few days. Enjoy the city. If you change your mind, great. If not¡­ Well, I have no desire to force my will upon you.¡±


    Rotwood pushed his chair in and left the table. ¡°Nor the ability.¡± He brushed past the guards, slamming the door behind him.


    Dirjir called a servant over, speaking to her in hushed narabric. She bowed her head and walked out of the room.


    Quickstrider got up as well. ¡°Prince Dirjir, please excuse me. I have much to discuss with Master Rotwood.¡± She turned to leave.


    ¡°Hold on!¡± protested the Prince. ¡°You don¡¯t even want to stay for dessert?¡±


    Quickstrider paused halfway to the door, looking back at the young man. ¡°Prince Dirjir. Your hospitality has been exquisite, but you¡¯ve asked us here to do a task that I don¡¯t think you fully comprehend.¡± She frowned. ¡°The queen of this city let a Lifeguider, a Gravecaller, and three apprentices through her leygate. I don¡¯t even think she sees you as a threat, does she?¡±


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re angry,¡± said the prince, ¡°But you¡¯re still under my roof. Watch your tongue when you speak to me.¡± He eyed his servants.


    Quickstrider scoffed as walked out of the room. Dirjir watched her go, depressed.


    The apprentices sat at the table awkwardly, unsure of whether to follow their masters or stay and entertain their host.


    Dirjir sighed, slumping down into his chair. ¡°That didn¡¯t go how I planned.¡± He took a swing of barley beer before turning his attention to the three of them. ¡°You guys like to party?¡±

 Chapter 5

    At the strike of the eleventh bell Teren and Baltry met the Prince outside the palace gates. They had changed back to their normal tunics and sandals, and the Prince himself was wearing a dull and dirty hooded longcoat. The Prince had taken off all his silver, leaving only rings of bone and ivory. He was accompanied by that lizard guard, who was wearing a sleeveless vest that showed off his scaled physique.


    The apprentices had decided to stay and eat after the outburst at dinner. A master of the Twelve Paths might have the luxury of storming away from a prince¡¯s hospitality, but certainly not an apprentice. Besides, if Rotwood and Quickstrider had wanted them to follow they would have made it known.


    And so they stayed for dessert, and then they stayed for another beer, and then one beer turned into two, and two into eight, and before they knew it Teren and the Prince had agreed that they absolutely couldn¡¯t let the party die.


    Baltry was quite tipsy. Ronic had insisted he come back to the room and sleep it off, but dropped the matter after Dirjir had introduced him to a serving girl who claimed to be an expert in a Southranger method of scalp massaging, which supposedly made use of natural energy points in the body. She was also very attractive.


    Dirjir nodded to his companion. ¡°This here¡¯s Unjbat, he¡¯ll be our security for the night. He¡¯s with the Tiger Guard and more loyal to my mother than I¡¯d like, but he won¡¯t let us get hurt.¡± He slapped the skinswitcher on the back.


    Unjabit smiled, an unnatural expression on his lizard-tinged face. He had skinswitched to increase the number of scales around his eyes and forehead, and his nose had become a slit. His arms were scales from his biceps down to his clawed fingers. Tall for a Southranger, he was only half a head shorter than Teren. He said something in narabric, followed by one word of the Sainted Tongue. ¡°Drink.¡± Unjabit pointed down the street and began walking.


    Teren had a nice buzz going on and didn¡¯t feel like losing it. He laughed as Dirjir danced ahead, stumbling after Unjabit.


    Baltry frowned. He hadn¡¯t really wanted to come, but Dirjir said it was better to take on the dream-fish while awake. ¡°I ate that thing hours ago and barely feel anything.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it wasn¡¯t mixmade very strong.¡±


    ¡°Or it hasn''t digested yet.¡±


    Teren sighed. ¡°Well you already tried throwing it up and lifebreathing it away, so no use worrying about it now.¡± He lightly punched t


    the younger boy. ¡°Come on! We¡¯re at the top of the world, Balt. Try and enjoy yourself, make some memories before you go back home.¡±


    ¡°I suppose you¡¯re right,¡± Baltry admitted.


    Teren hiccuped. ¡°Of course I''m right! Now let¡¯s go have some fun.¡±


    Shadows danced in the corner of his eye. He couldn¡¯t sense the darktwisting that had saturated this part of Merdz, but he could sense the people it had killed. There were bodies buried everywhere. Empty containers, practically begging to be given another


    soul. Teren reached out, and the remains of dozens upon dozens of corpses deep under the dirt and stone reached back, soaking him with power and vitality. He laughed, drawing looks from Dirjir and Unjabit. Scavenger¡¯s Delight was the name of the spell, and it was intoxicating when used in a place of the dead, even if the bodies weren''t fresh.


    The first stop was only a street away, a dusty hole in the wall populated by a few lone patrons who kept to themselves. The innkeeper, a small man with a monkey on his shoulder, rushed over to greet them.


    Unjabit spoke to him in narabric, handing over Merdz coins¨C those odd copper rectangles with holes in the middle. The innkeeper bowed in thanks while the monkey familiar ran off to the bar, rummaging through the cabinets.


    ¡°Looks dead,¡± remarked Teren.


    ¡°Relax, we¡¯re just staying for one drink,¡± winked Dirjir. ¡°There¡¯s a special vintage here.¡±


    The monkey, a small creature with orange-yellow fur and a soft red face, lugged a red clay jug nearly as large as itself up onto the counter. Teren¡¯s eyes locked onto it. There was something dead inside.


    Teren picked up the jug, examining it. The label was written in a script he didn¡¯t recognize, and the wax on top was stamped with a snake seal. Putting a hand on it and sensing the dead thing inside, he grinned. ¡°No way. Can we really..?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± exclaimed Dirjir. ¡°Drinks are made to be drunk.¡± He opened the bottle, pouring it into four tiny clay bowls. Unjabit shook his head. Dirjir shrugged and split the fourth among the three, passing them out to Teren and Baltry.


    Baltry sniffed it and reeled back in disgust. ¡°What in the woods is that?¡±


    Dirjir giggled. ¡°Kah Rinibri. Snake Wine.¡±


    ¡°Why is it called snake-¡° he peered inside. ¡°Oh, you have got to be kidding me.¡±


    ¡°Pit viper and rice wine,¡± said the innkeeper. ¡°Very good pairing.¡±


    ¡°Pit vipers are venomous!¡± yelled Baltry.


    Teren finished his in one sip. He shuddered but kept it down. It tasted exactly like what he imagined a dead animal in a jar would taste like. ¡°Damn fine stuff. Go on, Baltry. Live a little.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Think about it,¡± said Dirjir as he downed his own. ¡°If someone put the time and effort into creating something, it surely must be worth trying at least once.¡±


    ¡°That doesn''t seem right to me,¡± muttered Baltry.¡± But he drank nonetheless, wincing.


    ¡°Good man,¡± said Dirjir. He tossed a few more coins to the innkeeper. ¡°Now let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    Outside the moon had vanished beneath the mountains, leaving stars and lamplight to guide the way. The streets were all but empty, dotted by a few solitary figures who kept their distance.


    ¡°The nightlife of the Maze District leaves something to be desired,¡± Dirjir admitted.


    Teren shook his head. ¡°No, this is perfect. Very eerie, just the way I like it. How do you navigate through the darktwisting?¡±


    ¡°You don''t. We¡¯ll just wander around until we find a place that looks lively.¡± He paused. ¡°You might have noticed that there are some roads that lead underground. If for any reason we get separated, do not go down them. They¡¯re full of trouble.¡±


    ¡°There are roads underground?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°Not exactly. Most are lava tunnels, left over from before the volcano below Merdz was sealed. Others were made in the process of that sealing, and the rest formed naturally over time.¡±


    The young men walked the streets, laughing and entertaining each other with tales of past exploits. Unjabit couldn''t speak much of the Sainted Tongue, so Dirjir narrated for him.


    He had joined the Tiger Guard as his father and mother had done before him. The Guard had once been a band of sellswords that had come from the east centuries ago, out of the Half-World Nation. They had been led by a Prince of Merdz, a fourth son who had left the Southrange to seek his destiny. He had returned with the sellswords and led them to victory against several rebelling tribes tricked by his second eldest sister. Ever since then they had been the protectors of the royal family, and many a son or daughter of the Pajirhut line had sworn the oath and tattooed the striped crest over their hearts.


    Dirjir chuckled and shook his head. ¡°When I was young, I wished I wasn¡¯t an only child. Then I could join up and leave the throne as someone else¡¯s problem.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s stopping you now?¡±


    ¡°Duty,¡± sighed the Prince. ¡°Again, I was young.¡±


    Baltry hadn¡¯t said anything in a while. He had a strange grin plastered on his face.


    Teren tapped his shoulder. ¡°Anyone in there?¡±


    Baltry slowly turned to look at him. ¡°When I drank that snake before¡­ I threw up in my mouth a bit. I think that moved something around in my stomach, and, um. I think the dream-fish just got digested.¡±


    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±


    ¡°Head feels weird. Like I¡¯ve been laughing too hard.¡± He looked around him. ¡°The bugs on the walls are very bright.¡±


    Unjabit cocked his head. ¡°You hear?¡±


    There was singing coming from up ahead. They rounded a corner, to find an alley brightly lit by hanging paper lanterns dyed red and green. Men and women danced in the street, laughing and twirling wildly about to the beating of drums and plucking of strings. There was a crackling bonfire with flames twice as tall as any man in the middle of it all.


    Dirjir whooped, running over to join in the celebration. Teren followed, steering a dazed Baltry by the shoulders.


    ¡°Hey Teren,¡± he said. ¡°Are those people real?¡±


    Teren thought so. That snake wine had hit him out of nowhere, like someone had found a dozen drinks and then bashed them into his skull. The barley beer from earlier in the night hadn¡¯t helped either, but Scavenger¡¯s Delight balanced him out and kept him on his feet.


    He wandered through the crowd in a drunken daze, loosely bobbing his head to the music. The partygoers stopped and stared at him curiously, probably having never seen a Fendali before. He supposed he did stand out with his height, wide shoulders, and long hair. Fendali skin ran dark, but not as dark as these Southrangers. One might describe the people of the Greenreach as almost copper colored. Their hair was straight and dark, and it was rare for a Fendali man to be able to grow a mustache, let alone a full beard. Even so, it was said that Fendali often looked older than their years. Teren didn¡¯t see it. Yes, their foreheads ran a bit large, but so what? He wasn¡¯t balding like Rotwood.


    Dirjir was talking to some local women, pretty things that might have been related. He waved Teren over and offered a long wooden pipe. ¡°You a smoker?¡±


    Teren inhaled the smoke, held it in for a moment, and then exhaled through his nose. He let out a flurry of coughs. ¡°Back home I mostly chew it.¡±


    The women with Dirjir tried to talk to him. Their sainted tongue was shrouded by a thick accent, and with all the drinks coursing through him he couldn¡¯t be bothered to interpret what they were saying. So he laughed and nodded at whatever they said and bobbed his head to the music.


    Dirjir started dancing, rocking back and forth violently. He wasn¡¯t very good, judging from the stunned expressions of the women. Teren copied him. He figured it couldn¡¯t hurt to cut loose in a distant land, far away from the eyes of anyone who knew him. His long hair flailed back and forth, obscuring his vision as he laughed with Dirjir.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Moments bled into each other as they danced and drank and made fools of themselves. Even Unjabit relented and had a smoke. Baltry was chatting up one of the women who had been trying to talk to Teren before. She was attentively listening to his drunken rant about family politics between East and West Cicada.


    The drums began to beat loud and fast, and the crowd cheered. Dirjir grabbed Teren by the shoulder. ¡°Group dance!¡± he screamed in his ear. ¡°Just follow along!¡±


    The crowd became a vortex, swirling around a man blowing a large ivory horn that was curved and carved into the form of a writhing centipede. People laughed and cheered as the man played, dancing around him faster and faster. Teren whooped and hollered, losing himself in the festivities.


    Hours later he was throwing up in a dark corner. It had to have been at least the third bell by now, and the party showed no signs of stopping.


    Unjabit bent down next to him. ¡°Teren. Where Baltry?¡±


    Teren groaned in response, spitting out the last few specks of vomit. ¡°He was with that girl.¡± He pumped his fist at the night sky. ¡°That¡¯s a real grass-chewing legend, there! Didn¡¯t think he had it in him.¡±


    ¡°Where did went, Baltry and girl?¡±


    Teren shrugged, pointing to a secluded alley at the far end of the street. Squinting, he realized it was actually a staircase. One of the ones that led below ground. ¡°Uh oh.¡±


    Unjabit cursed. He glanced over at Dirjir, who was taking a piss and mumbling a song to himself. ¡°Teren. Baltry in large danger. I cannot leave Prince. You find Baltry, now!¡±


    Dirjir stumbled over to them. He had pissed on his trousers a little bit. ¡°Hold on. Hooold on. Baltry is¡­ Where?¡±


    ¡°He went with a girl. They, uh, went underground.¡± Teren yawned. ¡°We¡¯ll find him in the morning.¡±


    Dirjir slapped his head, dragging it down his face. ¡°Damn. Damn damn damn, damn!¡± He glared at Unjabit, speaking to him in rapid-fire narabric. The two of them began to argue.


    ¡°Hey. Hey!¡± Teren placed himself between the two. ¡°What is down there that¡¯s so bad anyways?¡±


    Dirjir scowled. ¡°Undesirables. Slums and¡­ unclean establishments. Buyers and sellers of flesh, plagued by diseases of the mind, body, and soul. Not a great place for a kid drunk and drugged up.


    It was Teren¡¯s turn to curse.


    Unjabit began to pace back and forth. ¡°The paths below are not all charted. There are routes underground, ones that go deep into the crater. Some even lead outside Merdz¡¯s walls. We need to find him before¡­¡±


    Teren looked at the two of them. ¡°¡­Before what?¡±


    Dirjir coughed. ¡°A young foreign boy like Baltry might be, ah, high in demand.¡±


    Teren sprinted to the stairs, ignoring Prince shouting after him. As he plunged into the darkness the light from the celebration faded away unnaturally fast. The darktwisting effects must not vanish below ground.


    He ran and ran, seeing nothing in front of him, keeping his hand on the right side of the wall. Darktwisting or no, surely if he just kept contact he would eventually¨C


    Teren stumbled into a shanty town, lit dimly by tiny candles. There were figures huddled together in filthy ragged blankets, rotting beggars who shied away from the imposing intruder.


    ¡°Hey!¡± he yelled. ¡°Was there a boy here? Small, Saintlander, long hair?¡±


    It was useless. None of them spoke any sainted tongue, and they just squirmed deeper into the shadows. He cursed and ran past, swiping two of their candles.


    His panic grew as he ran through the tunnels, screaming Baltry¡¯s name until his voice grew hoarse. He should have known better, should have told Baltry to stay back, should have watched him closer. Damn!


    The underground was full of all sorts. Solitary individuals with sores all over their skin, skinswitcher abominations, laughing women who beckoned him into their tents, and parties of rugged men who gripped their weapons warily as he passed. Baltry wasn¡¯t among any of them.


    Teren skidded to a halt in a large cavern with a lake in the middle, surrounded by a scattering of tents and shanties. Steam rose off of the water, which extended far out into the darkness beyond the candlelight of the slums. He didn¡¯t know how long he had been running, and had, in his panic, abandoned all sense of direction in this foul underworld.


    There were dead men everywhere. He could feel not just the corpses buried in the walls, but the spirits wandering in the dark. These tunnels must have been catacombs, or burial grounds, or something at one point in time.


    He fell down and screamed, tears running down his face. His breathing grew rapid and his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest. ¡°Saints one and all,¡± he prayed. ¡°Help me. Please, help me find him.¡±


    ¡°They can¡¯t hear you, Teren,¡± said a sad voice from behind him.


    He turned to see Spellhaunt¡¯s ghostly hand on his shoulder. There was pity in her eyes.


    Teren sniffled, wiping his eyes. ¡°How are you¡­ I didn¡¯t call you.¡±


    ¡°Our bond grows stronger. But more than that, there is power down here. Can¡¯t you feel it?¡±


    Teren stood up, ignoring his shaking leg. ¡°I have to find him. Please, please help me.¡±


    ¡°Of course. But all I can do is help you help yourself, Teren.¡± She sat down cross-legged. ¡°We need to concentrate. Sit in front of me and close your eyes.¡±


    He did so, turning his focus inward.


    ¡°Alright. Just breathe, in and out. Connect yourself to the fading world.¡±


    He inhaled and exhaled slowly, calming his heart. Aren Fultas was always with him. He just had to reach out and¡­ His eyes remained closed, but the whispers of gathering spirits told no lie. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±


    ¡°Good. Feel the power around you. This is is a place not just of shadow, but of death. Reach out to the dead. Command, and you shall receive!¡±


    Teren felt the whispers drawing close. He called out to them in the language of the dead, demanding their help. Find my friend. Find the lifebreathing boy. I command it.


    He opened his eyes. Dozens of spirits staggered around him and Spellhaunt. Pathetic and awful things, with rotting bodies and missing limbs. Teren extended his hand out and filled the dead with his deathcrafting. He could have never given all of them so much, if it weren¡¯t for the power granted to him by Scavenger¡¯s Delight. And that wasn¡¯t all. Spellhaunt was a bonfire of spirit residue, and she directed her energy into him. It was cold and dark, and shivers ran up his spine.


    The spirits grew solid, and as they did so their muttering grew. They sprinted off in different directions, an unnatural speed that didn¡¯t fit with their decaying flesh. While most went straight for the tunnels, there were some that dove into the still water of the lake, making not a splash with their passing.


    A young boy dressed in little more than rags stepped out of a tent, rubbing his eyes. He was lean and filthy, and held a candle in his hand as he peered out into the darkness. He saw Teren and gasped. He must have been an intimidating sight to this child, a foreign figure screaming in the night.


    The boy approached hesitantly, speaking in hushed narabric. He did not notice the disturbance in the water behind him. Not until the smell hit him.


    Corpses, foul and bloated, rose out of the lake. Broken vessels that would have been of little use without the spirit residue binding their old bones together. Without a word they shuffled on by to do their master¡¯s bidding.


    The boy wailed, running back into his tent. By now much of the inhabitants had awoken, and peeked outside their shanties to see what the commotion was. The rotting dead and ghastly spirits didn¡¯t do much to ease their curiosity, and before he knew it the entire town was awake and screaming.


    ¡°That was an impressive amount of spirits,¡± remarked Spellhaunt. ¡°Nice work.¡±


    ¡°They should be able to find him,¡± muttered Teren. ¡°There were dozens of them. They can walk through walls. We¡¯re going to find him.¡± And repeating that almost made him believe it. He ignored the terrified crowd as he checkd their tents for Baltry.


    Panicked Southrangers ran past him as he continued through the tunnels. Beggars, bandits, whores, slaves, slavers, they all blended together down here in the dark. And delighted to be among the living once again, the spirits laughed and howled as they searched among them.


    It wasn¡¯t long before a headless woman coalesced before him, pointing at a path that led upwards. Teren took the hint, following the spirit as it pointed again at each intersection. Eventually he ended up in another slum, a tent city that had descended into chaos. Headless pointed to a shack nestled away between a hundred more that looked just like it.


    Teren stood outside with his fists clenched, ignoring the screams and the panic and the laughing of the dead. He raised his fist to the stalactite-ridden ceiling, and summoned the dead to him.


    In an instant a troop of ghosts stood behind him in rank and file. Spellhaunt was on his right. She had playfully switched out her vest and trousers for queer armor¨C A breastplate, longskirt, and bladed arm-bracers. ¡°There could be anything in there. Be ready.¡±


    Taking deep breaths, Teren braced himself for the worst. He kicked the flimsy door down and rushed in, a horde of dead screaming and howling behind him. Inside was a shocked elderly woman playing cards by herself. Not sparing any time, he sicked a half dozen spirits on her and ran on by. The next room was incense filled and sectioned off by numerous red curtains. He pulled each one back, displaying surprised men and women in various states of undress. The fifth one down had Baltry inside.


    He was laying undressed on a cot, his body twitching faintly. Nearly passed out, his eyes were fluttering open. The woman from the party was riding him hard, having not even registered the commotion beyond her set of curtains.


    Teren roared, roundhouse kicking the side of her head. She yelped as she flew off Baltry and tumbled through a curtain. He picked the pantless apprentice up and slung him over his shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s okay, brother. I got you now.¡± The gathered ghosts cheered as Teren carried the near-comatose Baltry out of there.


    By now a mob had gathered outside, terrified men and women holding torches and huddling together. The spirits streamed out behind him, led by Spellhaunt. The living and dead stared at each other, unmoving.


    ¡°You know,¡± said Teren. ¡°Earlier I had gotten the feeling that Merdz wasn¡¯t too fond of the Twelve Paths.¡±


    Spellhaunt clicked her tongue. ¡°And that was before we had ghosts stampede through their homes in the middle of the night. How many bodies did you get from the lake?¡±


    ¡°Erm. Five?¡± He stared out at the crowd of over a hundred. ¡°The spirits might scare them off.¡±


    The crowd began to inch closer. Makeshift weapons were brandished and torches were lit. Skinswitchers revealed their fangs, while hybrids and familiars stalked closer.


    ¡°We¡¯re in their home, Teren. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re going anywhere.¡±


    Baltry was murmuring something. He was beyond drunk, or the dream-fish was still working its magic. Probably both.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Balt,¡± Teren whispered. ¡°We¡¯re getting out of this.¡± He raised his voice to the mob. ¡°Hey! I don¡¯t know if any of you speak the sainted tongue, but I¡¯m taking my friend and walking out of here.¡±


    The crowd advanced, screaming at him with hate on their lips and fear in their hearts. His own troops howled back. A few of the corpse possessors had arrived, yet their bodies were weak from who knows how long being underwater. This wasn¡¯t a battle he could win. Nevertheless he growled and stood tall, ready for a fight. In the language of the dead he commanded his forces to prepare for a counterstrike. His best bet would be to cause a distraction, slip past, and lose them in the tunnels.


    But just as the mob was about to get within striking distance, three figures pushed out from the middle. It was one of his corpses, leading two men behind him.


    Teren cracked a smile. ¡°Thanks for stopping by.¡±


    The corpse hobbled over to Teren while the Prince and his bodyguard stood between him and the crowd. Dirjir yelled at them in Narabric. This didn¡¯t calm anyone down, not until Unjabit pulled his vest to the side and revealed the tiger stripes over his heart. Unjabit spoke as well, gesturing to Dirjir.


    ¡°What are you saying to them?¡± asked Teren.


    Dirjir didn¡¯t look back at him. ¡°They don¡¯t recognize that I¡¯m their prince, so Unjabit is vouching for me. My fault for not spending enough time down here.¡±


    ¡°Will they listen to you?¡±


    ¡°They might, if you do what I say. I¡¯m going to turn to you and speak to you. When I do, dispel your ghosts.¡±


    Teren glanced at Spellhaunt. She shrugged in return.


    Dirjir raised his voice and the crowd went quiet. He turned around to Teren and spoke to him in harsh Narabric.


    Teren didn¡¯t have any better ideas, so he relented and took some of his strength back from the dead. Corpses fell over, abandoned. Spirits faded away from the living world, but stayed close by in Aren Fultas. Just in case.


    Spellhaunt pursed her lips. ¡°Hope you know what you¡¯re doing. If you get out of this, we should talk again tonight.¡± And then she too faded back to the land of the dead.


    This seemed to reassure the people. Dirjir walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke to the mob again, and reluctantly they lowered their weapons. They stood aside, making room for the four of them to walk by.


    ¡°Give Baltry to Unjabit, Teren. You look like you¡¯re about to keel over.¡±


    Teren shook his head. ¡°I got him into this mess. Carrying him out of it is my responsibility.¡±


    Unjabit carefully led them out of the tent city, choosing a set of stairs leading upward. At the end of it they found the crack of dawn spilling over the distant mountains.


    Teren breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Wasn''t sure I¡¯d see another sunrise. Thank you, Prince Dirjir. Thank you, Unjabit.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me! I¡¯m your host. I led you into this mess.¡±


    ¡°Not your responsibility. I made the choice to come, and then I dragged Baltry along.¡± He gently placed Baltry on the ground. He had completely passed out. Teren sat down next to him, watching the sun rise.


    Dirjir joined in. ¡°That was amazing what you did down there, with the dead. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±


    He grunted. ¡°I can¡¯t take all of the credit. There¡¯s power in your city.¡±


    ¡°My city. My city!¡± He threw back his head and laughed. ¡°They nearly tore me apart down there.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason for you to take the throne, I suppose.¡±


    Dirjir frowned. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. If you¡¯re in charge then you could maybe make their lives better or something.¡±


    The Prince thought about that. ¡°My mother isn¡¯t a bad Queen, you know. But I¡¯d rather rely on myself to make the right choices than someone else. She thinks she¡¯s doing me a favor, she knows I never wanted to rule.¡±


    ¡°So why are you trying to?¡±


    He chewed his lip. ¡°My father died believing I was useless. That I was spoiled, that I didn¡¯t care about my duty to my people. And that was true.¡± He got up. ¡°But I¡¯m done with that. I will not shirk off the responsibility I was born with. Not while my ancestors watch me.¡±


    Unjabit smiled faintly at that. He must have known more sainted tongue than he let on.


    Teren stared at the Prince. ¡°I¡¯m sorry my Master refused to help you. Believe me, he has his reasons.¡± He stood up as well, carrying Baltry in his arms. ¡°But I¡¯m not him, and from what I saw tonight I think I¡¯m willing to bet on you.¡±


    ¡°¡­Bet on me?¡±


    Teren nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll do it, Prince Dirjir. On the first Night of the Lost, I will raise the dead for you.

 Chapter 6

    The sun was high in the sky by the time Rotwood and Quickstrider had finished reaming him out.


    They had already been up by the time Teren had gotten Baltry back to the palace. Quick hadn¡¯t been thrilled to find Baltry¡¯s cot empty and Ronic¡¯s bed full. She sent the scalp massager on her way and dragged him out of bed to help locate the young apprentice. And of course she had woken Rotwood to let him know his own apprentice wasn¡¯t in the Palace. After having spent all morning trying to figure out where in the three hells their apprentices and the Prince had gotten off to, the masters were furious to find a hungover Teren carrying a blacked-out Baltry over his shoulder.


    Well, Quickstrider was furious. Rotwood on the other hand had found his explanation quite amusing, right up until Teren had explained the promise he had made to Dirjir.


    ¡°I don¡¯t care what you promised him,¡± said Rotwood firmly. He was sitting across from Teren in Quickstrider¡¯s room, while Quickstrider paced back and forth angrily. ¡°You can¡¯t even deathcraft on the scale he¡¯s asking for.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± sighed Teren. ¡°Just now. You should have seen it! Nearly forty spirits under my control. And five corpses, but I think I could have made more if I had the bodies for it.¡±


    ¡°Not on your own. You drew power from the land.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯ll do it again during the celebration. Maybe I could get Ronic to boost me with some lifebreathing?¡± He was with Baltry in their room, using lifebreathing to get the alcohol out of his system and improve his sleep. Quickstrider hadn¡¯t offered the same to Teren, and he sat on her bed with a throbbing skull and dry mouth.


    Quickstrider glared at him. ¡°Ronic isn¡¯t stupid enough to help you put a crown on the head of a man you met yesterday.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say I¡¯d help put him on a throne. I just promised to bring out the dead. We do that all the time in the Sainted Lands, right?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t get smart with me. You know exactly why you promised what you did.¡±


    ¡°A promise that you made while drunk,¡± added Rotwood. ¡°I think after this we need to have a little discussion about your drinking problem.¡±


    Teren scowled. ¡°Ah. So now I have a drinking problem.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the masters said in unison.


    Teren jumped up off the bed. ¡°Fine, maybe I do like a drink every now and then! But that doesn¡¯t mean I was wrong to offer to help Dirjir. I messed up, he helped me out, and now I¡¯m going to help him out.¡±


    Rotwood shot a look at Quickstrider. She nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.


    Rotwood stood up, meeting Teren face to face. As tall as Teren was, Rotwood was still taller. The last few years had added creases to his clean-shaven head. ¡°Teren, I like to think I¡¯ve been lenient with you. I know your upbringing wasn¡¯t great, growing up on the streets.¡±


    ¡°Uh, no. I suppose it wasn¡¯t. And you have been great to me, Master. I can¡¯t ever thank you enough for that.


    ¡°And you¡¯ve been a good apprentice. We¡¯ve had our ups and downs, but at the end of the day you¡¯re a damn good deathcrafter.¡±


    ¡°¡­But?¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m not sure you¡¯d be a good Gravecaller.¡±


    Teren¡¯s leg trembled faintly. He fought to keep his expression neutral. ¡°Because of this? Because I want to be a man of my word?¡±


    ¡°Because you have no concept of right and wrong. Because yesterday I sensed it when you summoned up a spirit to chase down some street vendor. You use deathcraft because you want to use it, without pausing to think of the morality behind your actions.¡±


    The trembling grew worse. He fought to keep his expression neutral and failed. ¡°So what!¡± Teren spat. ¡°Who cares if I kill someone? Their soul just moves on to a different world, one that we¡¯re all going to one way or another! And that man threatened me!¡±


    ¡°So you tried to kill that vendor because he, a man you would never see again in your entire life, threatened you. You, a deathcrafter, felt threatened by a nobody. And you felt the best way to handle it wasn¡¯t to just walk away but to send a dead man to do the job for you.¡±


    Teren gritted his teeth. ¡°Dead or alive, a soul is a soul. What does it matter?¡±


    That remark got Rotwood angry. ¡°It matters because it¡¯s not normal to try and kill someone anytime you have a¡­ a minor disagreement, Teren! Can¡¯t you see that?¡±


    The living were dangerous and unpredictable. Teren had a hard time with them. And the simplest way to deal with something dangerous and unpredictable was always the same to him¨C kill them and take control. But that wasn¡¯t something his Master would want to hear. ¡°An argument is to the death. That¡¯s just how it was when I was growing up.¡±


    ¡°Well that sounds like an excuse, seeing as Ronic doesn¡¯t act like this. And I didn¡¯t have an easy childhood either. You aren¡¯t on the streets anymore, Teren. And this isn¡¯t the first time you¡¯ve unnecessarily used lethal force to get your way. You want to be a Gravecaller? To have your name written in stone in the Cemetery of Amun Uldas?¡±


    At that moment he felt like he couldn¡¯t care less about a title. Also not something Rotwood would want to hear. ¡°More than anything.¡±


    ¡°So act like it.¡± He walked away, pausing with one hand on the door to look back at Teren. ¡°I don¡¯t want to have to make your choices for you. You¡¯re practically an adult, and you¡¯re a step away from being a Gravecaller yourself. But this is bigger than you and me. If this bites Merdz in the ass, you can kiss any hopes of getting your title goodbye.¡±


    Teren sat back down on Quickstrider¡¯s bed and clenched fists, waiting for his leg to stop shaking.


    ¡­


    Hours later Teren yawned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had passed out after his talking-to, and when he had woken none of his party could be found. A servant had informed him that they had gone out to visit a mixmaker garden. Not wanting to be around the masters right now, he found something to nosh on and sat in his window, gazing out at the city below him.


    He thought long and hard about what Rotwood had said. Time slipped on by, and the sun set once again beyond the snow-tipped mountains out in the distance. The half-moon had been visible all afternoon, an early riser of the celestial domain. Shadows in his room grew long as the sun vanished. Teren silently sent out a signal. Before long, the shadows coalesced into Spellhaunt.


    ¡°I tried summoning you earlier. Didn¡¯t feel your presence.¡±


    ¡°Guilty. Took me longer than I thought to get out of those tunnels.¡± Spellhaunt flopped down on the bed. ¡°Seems like that darktwisting curse permeated deep into the fading world. But I did learn some interesting things down there. Did you most of those tunnels are made from where lava used to flow?¡±


    Teren grunted. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much you¡¯ve overheard. The Prince wants to raise the dead for the Nine Nights of the Lost, in order to convince his people that his mother shouldn¡¯t be on the throne.¡±


    ¡°The Nine Nights of the Lost,¡± she murmured. Spellhaunt walked over to the window, gazing up at the moon. ¡°Winter¡¯s last hurrah. Tomorrow it will begin as the half-moon wanes into nothing over the course of nine nights. The dead will celebrate one last time as the year comes to an end. Then once the first sliver of the moon of Waxing Spring appears they¡¯ll go back to sleep.¡±


    ¡°My master seems to think it¡¯s more than just a ceremony.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s right about that. The dead are always listening. With that many people calling out to them, they¡¯ll definitely be listening.


    ¡°But is it dangerous?¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Being a Gravecaller is inherently dangerous. You mitigate what risks you can, but at the end of the day you¡¯re still playing with death itself.¡±


    ¡°Not a helpful answer.¡±


    ¡°Alright, it is dangerous. But that shouldn¡¯t be a factor.¡±


    Teren threw his hands up. ¡°Then what should be a factor?¡±


    ¡°Whether or not it¡¯s the right thing to do.¡±


    ¡°My master says it isn¡¯t, that we shouldn¡¯t get involved in the politics of Merdz. But I already told Dirjir that I¡¯d help him.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm. It sounds like you made a silly promise.¡±


    ¡°But he saved my ass!¡±


    ¡°He sort of got you into it anyways, from what I saw.¡±


    ¡°So I don¡¯t help him?¡±


    ¡°No, no. I like a man who keeps his word. But going forward maybe you shouldn¡¯t give it out so casually.¡±


    He hopped off the window and paced back and forth. ¡°So I¡¯m doing something everyone thinks is wrong just to keep my word?¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s wrong. I couldn¡¯t care less whether it¡¯s the kid or his mother in charge. I don¡¯t know either of them.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Teren nodded. ¡°That¡¯s a good point! And it¡¯s not like I¡¯m giving him an army or anything. I¡¯m just helping spread superstition.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ sounds like you¡¯re going to do it. Now how exactly are you going to do it?


    ¡°Well, last night I summoned up a couple dozen dead with the help of you and the energy of the Maze District. If this celebration is as powerful as you say it is, what do you think it will do to my deathcrafting?


    ¡°Optimistically? It might increase your strength tenfold.¡±


    ¡°Great! Five hundred souls, that¡¯s perfect.¡±


    Spellhaunt tilted her head to the side ¡°It¡¯s a start. But I think we can do better.¡±


    Teren listened eagerly as she filled him in on her plan.


    ¡­


    Later in the evening, Ronic and Baltry walked into the room. Teren sat on his cot meditating with Spellhaunt. Upon seeing them he sent her away and hastily stood up. ¡°Baltry, hey. I wanted to apologize¨C¡°


    Baltry held his hand up. ¡°Stop. I¡¯m my own man, same as you. I could have stayed here if I really wanted to. But I put myself into that situation, and don¡¯t blame anyone else one bit.¡± He offered his hand to Teren. ¡°I owe you big time for getting me out of there.¡±


    Teren reluctantly shook it. ¡°I don¡¯t think I deserve any thanks, but thanks for feeling that way.¡±


    Ronic rolled his eyes. ¡°Is this the part where you grass-chewers kiss?¡±


    ¡°Anyways, I was hallucinating pretty hard before I blacked out. What exactly happened last night?¡±


    Teren filled both of them in. He told it exactly as it had happened, only exaggerating the number of ghosts he had summoned and the attractiveness of the woman who had dragged off Baltry.


    Ronic slapped Baltry on the back. ¡°Man, I didn''t know you had it in you!¡±


    Baltry frowned. ¡°I wish I could remember her. She really looked that good?¡±


    ¡°A¡­ A goddess of the underworld, if there ever was one.¡±


    ¡°That means us lifebreathers got lucky last night.¡± Ronic nudged Teren. ¡°You planning on catching up?¡±


    ¡°Ha! I''ll have my pick of the harem once I give Dirjir his show.¡±


    Ronic tilted his head. ¡°You¡¯re actually gonna go through with that?¡±


    ¡°I said I would.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­ Didn¡¯t Rotwood say it was a bad idea?¡±


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t have to be right about everything.¡±


    Ronic laughed. ¡°That¡¯s your master you¡¯re talking about, you turd! You¡¯ve given years of your life to learn from him, and you can''t trust him on this?¡±


    Teren ignored him. ¡°Was the Prince with you today?¡±


    ¡°Nah, the man can''t hold his liquor any better than Baltry. He popped his head in the dining hall after we had all gotten back, but didn''t stay long.¡±


    ¡°You should have come with us to the garden,¡± added Baltry. ¡°They had all these amazing miniature butterfly-mammals. Check it out!¡± He rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a bracelet weaved of orange and black string with a small piece of tooth woven into it. ¡°This has tiger in it.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, very nice. I would have stopped by, but I think the last thing your master or mine wants is to see my face right now.¡±


    Ronic sighed. ¡°Enough self-pity. Look, we can get drinks downstairs. It might not be as lively as getting tunnel raped, but it¡¯ll do. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    ¡°Waaait a minute,¡± said Baltry. ¡°I didn''t get raped.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not. That came out harsher than I thought it would. Forget I said it, alright?¡± Ronic headed out, followed by the other two.


    ¡°Teren said she was attractive!¡±


    Teren put an arm around Baltry. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to a word he says. I''m sure you would have gone home with her even if you weren''t messed up.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± fumed Baltry. ¡°It was just a misunderstanding, that¡¯s all. I''m sure of it.¡±


    A servant directed them to the cellar, where they were given their choice of mead, cider, or wine. They let Baltry choose, who was fine with anything that didn''t have a dead animal in it.


    The three apprentices brought a bottle of cyser into the central courtyard that had been visible from the dining room, the one with the water reservoir. Roughly sixty spans wide and deep, the triangular hole sloped inwards with a brick staircase descending down each corner. Even half full as it was now, there was still plenty of space to keep the carp happy. They swam silently beneath a curtain of water lilies, in a world of their own. Teren peered into it, looking for whatever he thought he¡¯d seen yesterday evening. But the moon had already set, and it left the depths of that small world a mystery to him.


    ¡°Huh,¡± said Baltry. ¡°Half a world away from home, yet the stars are the same.¡±


    Ronic struggled to open the cyser. ¡°East or west doesn''t make much difference when it comes to stars. You¡¯d have to go up north to see some new ones.¡± He triumphantly popped the cork off and took a swig, grimacing immediately. ¡°Blargh. I can see why they gave this to us.¡±


    Teren gave it a try. ¡°Tastes more like piss than apples and honey. At least it¡¯s strong.¡±


    Baltry laid back, looking at the night sky. ¡°You know about stars, Ronic? I was supposed to learn for my celestial navigation training, but I barely had started it before I was sent to Fendal.¡±


    ¡°Sure, I know a bit about stars. Good way to impress women.¡± He pointed up at a cluster. ¡°That there¡¯s Durny Bethem, the Pale-Shark. And over there you have the Orb Weaver. You can see her limbs pretty clearly. Ah, and there¡¯s my favorite, Harvest¡¯s Thief.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t find him,¡± said Teren.


    ¡°Come on, I''ve shown him to you a hundred times. There, that triangle with the stars peeling off, like two arms outstretched.¡±


    Baltry gasped. ¡°Yeah, I think I see him!¡±


    ¡°That there¡¯s a useful one. His base always points south, more or less. And he¡¯s always opposite in the sky from Hunt¡¯s Coyote. When it¡¯s setting, he¡¯s rising.¡± He turned to look at Baltry. ¡°There¡¯s a reason behind that, you know.¡±


    Teren chuckled. ¡°This one¡¯s good. Listen up, Balt.¡± He laid down on the stone, hands behind his head.


    ¡°In the Age of the Half-World,¡± began Ronic, ¡°the Nobles reigned.¡±


    ¡°Lords and Ladies carved out their domains, ruling as they saw fit. In the land that would become known as Guragull, there was born a man of no importance. His family name was worthless, and so he had become a thief. What this young man lacked in name, he made up for with charm and skill.¡±


    ¡°And so one night he found himself breaking into the castle of Meino Kryft, the Lord of the Hunt. He wished to steal his staff of a hundred claws, as a sign of his prowess.¡±


    ¡°But instead,¡± Terem murmured. He could almost see the story playing out in the stars above.


    ¡°But instead, he found himself in the chambers of Alha Fenre, Lord Kryft¡¯s wife. The Lady of the Harvest was everything the Lord of the Hunt was not, as it so often was in those days of the Nobles. She was compassionate, giving, and above all else she was kind. She invited the thief to dine with her and tell her of the world beyond her royal gaze.¡±


    ¡°The thief, having never met a woman such as she, was instantly smitten. His nightly visits to the castle became commonplace, yet always careful to avoid her husband. The Thief would wait until the Lord of the Hunt went looking for prey to climb the walls.¡±


    ¡°The Lady of the Harvest delighted in his visits. She had always been a woman of the people, throwing feasts in the slums of the Half-World. Once she had been of worthless stock herself, before she had ascended.¡±


    ¡°However! She did not share the Thief¡¯s feelings. Or maybe she did. But either way the Lady of the Harvest remained loyal to her husband.¡±


    ¡°The Thief was not deterred. Many nights he dined with her on her bed, sharing tales of his exploits. But night after night, she did not give herself to him fully.¡±


    ¡°Weeks passed, and the Lord of the Hunt began to wonder why his wife seemed to be so tired as of late. He had many animals under his rule, and sent them out into the world to be his eyes and ears.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t long before they had spotted the Thief climbing out the bedchamber window. Curious, the Lord of the Hunt formed an idea. The next night he dressed a guard in his cloak and had him ride off, while he turned himself into a bat and hid in the rafters of his bedchamber.¡±


    ¡°When the Thief climbed through the window, Lady Alha greeted him as usual¨C with wine and a meal. They sat down together and he entertained her with his newest exploits. As the night grew long, the Thief once again asked the Alha to be his. Enraged, the Lord of the Hunt burst out of hiding, taking a form most terrible.¡±


    ¡°Overcome with terror, the Thief scampered out the window. But before the Lord of the Hunt could pursue, Lady Alha grabbed her husband by the hand and begged him to show mercy. She had never given herself to the Thief, and this she swore on the Emperor himself.¡±


    ¡°The Lord of the Hunt did not see it that way. Even if he was no more than a friend, she still invited him into his chambers in secret. And so Lord Kryft summoned to him his horde familiars and hybrids and set out into the night. For the first time in many years, his prey would be man.¡±


    ¡°The strength of the Nobles could not be contested with, yet even so the Thief eluded him. The Lord of the Hunt could track and kill the greatest of beasts with ease, but his prey was a rat in a city of rats. He hid in the slums, and would not be drawn out easily.¡±


    ¡°One of the animals in the service of Lord Kryft was Coyote. Coyote was not as strong as a wolf or as fast as a dog, but he was very, very crafty. He knew that the Lady of the Harvest always rode through the city on her prized familiar, a beautiful horse nine spans tall with blue eyes and white hair. Coyote went to the Lord of the Hunt and told him his plan; make him the horse and give him the Lady¡¯s saddle! He would ride out into the city, as a sign from Lady Alha that she wished to meet him.¡±


    ¡°The Lord was hesitant. He was a tracker, not a trickster. But his patience had grown thin, so he grabbed his staff of a hundred claws and summoned his wife¡¯s horse. He demanded she break her bond to it, allow him to access the animal and give its form to the fox.¡±


    ¡°Knowing what he planned to do, she refused. Lady Alha insisted the fault was hers, not the Thief¡¯s. The Thief had given no promise of union, had sworn no oaths. This matter was between husband and wife.¡±


    ¡°Lord Kryft thought hard on that. Agreeing to an extent, he slaughtered her horse as punishment. And by the time Lady Alha had the horse¡¯s head served to her for supper, Coyote was already trotting into the city.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± interrupted Baltry. ¡°How did he mixmake a familiar?¡±


    ¡°His staff was soulforged, and it had a noble art,¡± said Ronic, annoyed. ¡°No interrupting.¡±


    Teren shook his head. ¡°No, the staff wasn¡¯t anything special. He was born with that art, s¡¯why they made him a Noble.¡± The mead may not taste great, but it sure took the edge off.


    ¡°Either way,¡± growled Ronic. ¡°Coyote went into the slums adorned with the form of the horse and the Lady¡¯s saddle. Word got around, and it wasn¡¯t long before the Thief showed up. His love for the Lady of the Harvest won out over his caution, so he hopped on the Coyote and went wherever it might lead him.¡±


    ¡°Coyote took him beyond the city walls and over the river, deep into the woods. Eventually they came to a clearing. And there the Lord of the Hunt waited for him.¡±


    ¡°Terrified, the Thief fell to his knees. He begged the Lord of the Hunt to spare him, swearing that he had never touched his wife.¡±


    ¡°Lord Kryft laughed. ¡®So what if you never touched my wife? That choice was never yours to make,¡¯ he said. He tossed the thief the staff of a hundred claws. ¡®That was your original prize, yes? See if it will save you.¡¯ And he whistled for his horde.¡±


    ¡°The Thief ran like he had never run before, with a score of terrible creatures nipping at his heels. He tried to defend himself with the staff, but it slowed him down and the Thief was forced to drop it. He ran long and he ran hard, but eventually Coyote caught him by his neck and threw him to the ground.¡±


    ¡°There in the woods, the horde of Kryft tore the Thief limb from limb. And as the Thief bled out under the fading sun, the Lord of the Hunt stood over him smiling. He caved in the Thief¡¯s skull with a rock, and his body was left in the woods to rot, with the rock still embedded in his head. ¡®A fitting gravestone!¡± spat Lord Kryft.¡±


    ¡°Later that night the Lady of the Harvest journeyed into the woods and found the Thief. She wept for the man who had loved her and cursed the man she was sworn to. Lifting up his body, she placed in the night sky so he could visit her for all nights to come.¡±


    ¡°But the Lord of the Hunt was furious when he saw what his wife had done. He took Coyote and threw him into the sky, to chase after the Thief for all of time, never giving him a moment of peace.¡±


    ¡°And so it came to be that Harvest¡¯s Thief and Hunt¡¯s Coyote are always directly opposite each other in the stars. One runs and the other chases, for all of eternity.¡±


    The three of them were silent for a long while, listening to the far-off howl of dogs beyond the palace walls.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± said Ronic. ¡°Save that one for a girl you like, when you¡¯re out with her under the stars. And make sure you act all broken up over it.¡±


    Baltry nodded. ¡°I just might do that. Thanks.¡±


    Teren stood up, stumbling over to the pool below him. He grinned as he pissed into the reservoir.

 Chapter 7

    Prince Dirjir left his palace on horseback in the late afternoon, accompanied by a large procession of servants and guards. The servants had paired their orange robes with beautiful silk sashes of every shade, while the Tiger Guard stood tall in their bronze and crimson uniforms. All of them had adorned themselves with deathmasks for the celebration¨C not the eerie wooden ones that Swampreachers wore year-round, but beautiful creations of linen and painted leather. Dirjir had mixmade his own, a bird head made of a feathered buckskin pelt that had been taken off a crow-deer hybrid. It had a large curved beak made of gold that covered his nose, but his mustache and grin were still visible for his city to see.


    Teren had been given his choice of masks to wear. He ultimately had decided on something simple yet chilling, a hooded veil that left his face obscured in shadow. Dirjir liked the pick and had paired it with a loose-fitting tunic, trousers, and a shawl that wrapped around and melded into folds of the hood. The outfit was the maroon and purple of a Gravecaller, which he did feel a bit guilty about. But when he found out that Rotwood and Farstride wouldn¡¯t be coming along with him, his heart hardened.


    Ronic and Baltry had wanted to come and support him, but Farstride had forbidden it. And so Teren rode through the streets surrounded by laughs and smiles, yet feeling very alone. The familiar he had been lent, a small brown mare with a white mane, turned back and snorted at him as if she could see the expression hidden behind his mask. He scratched the side of her neck absentmindedly.


    The procession led out of the Maze District, back to the market where they had traveled to by Leygate. This area was known as the Reservoir District, and it along with the Maze District was one of the three areas making up the center of Merdz. The third section was known as the Glass District, although Teren didn¡¯t understand why. These three parts made up the brunt of the Crater City, with the Rim District surrounding them on all sides. Much of that area belonged to the Quia Boralz, who were some sort of separate tribe or caste. Teren hadn¡¯t looked into it too much. Whatever the case, the Rim District and the Rimfort surrounding the city was their domain, while the Narabir people had settled in the center.


    The Reservoir District was similar to the Maze District. The roads were narrow and twisted, but without the darktwisting curse it was more of a novelty. Shrines and statues dotted every other corner, and masked figures placed black candles at their feet in preparation for the night¡¯s festivities. The streets sloped downwards, and as the Prince¡¯s procession descended the roads got wider and emptied out into larger markets and plazas.


    All along the way they had been swarmed by commoners who were eager to get a glimpse at the Feathered Prince. The Tiger Guard kept them at bay, but every so often Dirjir would allow a child past. He would laugh and raise up the children onto his own horse, a beautiful feathered hybrid with large antlers. There they could be a royal, if only for a moment.


    ¡°Hey,¡± said Teren. ¡°Is the Feathered Prince a title given to all Princes of Merdz, or just you?¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s my own. My gift emerged when I was out dealing with a tribal leader. Father and I had rode out to meet with him, and we dressed in the religious garb of their people¨C a crown lined with dove feathers. I touched the crown and accidentally mixmade wings onto my horse.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s impressive, I take it?¡±


    ¡°For a twelve winter child¡¯s first ever mix? Very, hence the title. And so I became the Feathered Prince, flying on wings of destiny to bring peace to the Southrange.¡± He smiled faintly. ¡°But Da always omitted the part where my horse panicked and flew me into a tree.¡±


    The sloped streets leveled out and opened up, and Teren found himself staring at the reason why they called it the Reservoir District. Here at the center of the crater was an incredible sight. Eight man-made lakes, just like the pyramid-shaped hole that had been in the middle of Dirjir¡¯s Palace. But these were massive, each over three hundred spans long and wide. They were arranged as a square that surrounded the ninth middle piece¨C a massive pyramid that must have been over a hundred and thirty spans tall. It had nine layers to it including a cubed top, with a set of stone stairs leading up to gates at the cube. The thin walkways keeping the eight reservoirs separate were the only paths provided to the pyramid. Each pathway was guarded by a squad of Tiger Guardsmen armed with bronze-tipped spears that matched their uniforms. They seemed more ornamental than practical, as none had a familiar or a hybrid with them, nor were any skinswitched. But whatever the case they kept the gathering crowd at bay, who had begun to cluster around the edges of the reservoirs.


    The locals were all masked, many in veils or simple cloth face coverings. Laughing children ran amok, squealing as they ducked and dodged through a sea of legs. Dirjir¡¯s procession was able to pass to the front, but not without his guards having to jostle some desperate beggars out of the way.


    Teren watched all this play out from behind his veil. The Southrangers didn''t pay attention to him now that his Fendali features were hidden, making him just another party-goer in the Prince¡¯s entourage. ¡°I¡¯m not going to be deathcrafting on stage or anything, right?¡±


    Dirjir shook his head. ¡°No, but I was considering that. Making a big show out of it and all, add to the celebration. Although in the end I figured it would be best for you to do it discreetly while Mother¡¯s performance is going on. Make it look like it¡¯s her fault.¡± He smiled and waved to his adoring subjects. ¡°And on that note, I think it¡¯s time for you to break off. Go, find somewhere quiet. The show starts at sundown. When it does, start working your magic.¡±


    ¡°Not a problem. Where should we meet up afterwards?¡±


    ¡°Back the way we came, right where the Leygate Market meets the Maze District. Any questions?¡±


    ¡°None that come to mind.¡± Teren carefully got off his horse, scratching behind its ear one last time in gratitude. The beast snorted at him. He cracked his neck twice and nodded to the Prince. ¡°I¡¯ll see you when I see you.¡±


    Dirjir grinned, slapping him on the back. ¡°Unjabit won¡¯t be far behind. He¡¯ll pull you out if things start to go north.¡±


    The crowd was thick, but his size worked to his advantage as he pushed against the current. A thousand masked faces passed on by, gathering to share the night with the dead. Teren smiled at the thought. A deathcrafter could get used to a place like this.


    He stopped by a vendor and bought some more of that delicious orange curry and rice. Walking as he ate, Teren looked for a quiet spot to perform. Something of this size would require more than a little chanting and finger-waving. Eventually he found himself crouching in an alley next to a tannery that reeked of piss and rotting flesh. Aside from an emaciated beggar picking through the discarded waste for bones to sell, nobody was close enough to pay mind to him. It would be doubly effective with everyone¡¯s attention focused on the ceremony. And despite being a block away from the large open area with the reservoirs, he could still make out the top of the pyramid thanks to its size and the slope of the streets.


    But it wasn¡¯t long before the smell got the better of him and he decided there was no reason to wait there for sundown. He walked the streets, occasionally glancing around to see if he could spot Unjabit trailing him. Teren was almost positive that he had changed outfits and masks, because no way could he be that good. He stopped in an outdoor drinking hall for a while, a dingy alley that was packed with festival-goers. The people working it didn¡¯t speak any sainted tongue, so he shrugged and held up a few slivers. In exchange he received a large cup of soured wine, which he barely managed to keep down.


    The Southrangers kept on swarming in for the celebration, and by the time the sun was about to dip below the mountains he had to shove through the crowd to get back to his alley. The beggar was still there, muttering to himself as he examined animal remains. He gripped a rat in his hands and was mixmaking it to identify what bones belonged to what. Teren ignored him and turned back to watch the festivities.


    As soon as the sun hit the mountains, doors creaked open at the top of the distant pyramid. The crowd grew quiet as a woman emerged. She wore a sleeveless violet dress that was coupled with a cloak made from a white tiger¡¯s pelt. Her mask was nothing complex, merely a matching violet veil that obscured her features. It left her dark hair exposed, which was a mess of curls that nearly hid the literal crown jewel¨C a silver crown adorned with glittering gemstones that caught his eye even from this distance. She waited until the crowd grew completely silent before she began her descent.


    Teren pried his eyes away. It was time to focus. He closed his eyes and called out to Spellhaunt. Nothing. Where the hell was she? Her role was to stay in the Maze District and draw strength from the land, but he still should have been able to sense her from this distance. Yesterday they had formed a sort of connection that she had called Spiritlink¨C not unlike a weaker version of the connection between beastbinder and familiar. She would draw in power and the link would pass it on to him, giving him the strength to make the dead appear with Parade of the Damned. That spell was all about quality over quantity, so the ghosts wouldn¡¯t have much power on this side. Just enough to be seen and heard, and in an ideal world it would last all the way until the end of the nine nights. He was pretty sure he¡¯d have to recast it though, possibly every night going forward.


    Removing his hood and kneeling down to put his hands on the ground, Teren slowly lowered his head until it touched the dirt. It was filthy with the remains and scraps from the tannery. He pretended it was part of the ritual. Lay in death and become one with it, or something along those lines.


    Teren began to mutter titles. Mother, father, sister, brother. Farmer, soldier, beggar, butcher. All titles, any title he could think of. It was long before he started to hear people whispering back to him.


    The dead were bored. Always so, so bored. That was why most tended to depart for the void after a couple of decades. But these ones were young, and their boredom in Aren Fultas hadn¡¯t yet surpassed their fear of the unknown. And so they answered his call and rushed off to tell more spirits of the deathcrafter. It wouldn¡¯t take long with so many already gathered for the Nine Nights. Nothing like a celebration to fight off the encroaching ennui of eternity.


    Teren glanced back at the pyramid. The sun had disappeared completely below the horizon, and the fading twilight gave way to a thousand thousand candles lit by each and every person, still watching silently as their masked ruler knelt in front of one of the reservoirs and dipped a hand in the water.


    Suddenly, monsters emerged. A gigantic bioluminescent stingray with a spiked dorsal fin arced through the air before crashing back down, splashing the guards and the cheering audience in the front. Seven other monsters splashed about, one for each reservoir. Upon seeing this display the crowd went wild. They roared in approval as their queen raised her hands to the sky, egging all of them on. She pointed at random, and whichever body of water she landed on had its hybrid perform a show of its own.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Teren¡¯s jaw dropped. Each leviathan was a distinct mixmaking masterpiece. A golden carp with blue and green marbling, a frog with bat wings and a shark fin, an amphibious leopard with webbed feet and a duck bill. Each one was unique and awe-inspiring. A chitin covered bear with crab claws stood up and roared as the Southrangers applauded.


    At that moment a shiver ran through him. He felt a presence from far away that must have been Spellhaunt. There was a feeling of readiness emanating from her. About time.


    He half-stepped into Aren Fultas and was immediately greeted by a second crowd. Thousands of decaying spirits stood before him, staring at him with lifeless eyes.


    Teren was no stranger to Aren Fultas, and it had been years since fear had found him in the fading world. But seeing the sprawling horde of endless dead looking straight at him brought that terror right back. Once again, he was that child crying under the sheets because a thing was staring at him from the corner.


    He closed his eyes and turned away, focusing on his deathcraft and nothing else. In the darkness he reached back out to Spellhaunt, who was practically pounding on the door to his mind. Teren let her in, and power took him.


    It was a crashing wave knocking him off his feet. A crackling fire that had grown out of control. Mud, swallowing him from below. It was darkness, and it was blinding. He gasped and cowered from the intensity.


    Teren gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the dirt until they bled. It mingled with the discarded waste of the tannery. Just another animal adding to the mess. He forced himself to choke down the current inside of him, glaring at the gathered spirits before him. ¡°Well?¡± he yelled. ¡°The living are calling out to you, can¡¯t you hear them? Get out there and show them a good time!¡± And with that, he vomited.


    Raw, primal energy erupted from his throat. It was alive, a rush of spirit residue that spread across the ground like frost crystals. It shot out in all directions, seemingly visible only in Aren Fultas¨C as the beggar hadn¡¯t even glanced up from his activities. Teren groaned. The experience was awful and overwhelming. His stomach lurched, and he gagged again. The smell of spirit residue was like a spike being jammed into his nose. He gasped for air in between fits of spiritual vomit. ¡°Oh, no. No no no¡­¡±


    The spreading residue crept up the legs of the gathered dead. It enveloped them row by row and then faded away to reveal spirits with more substance and vitality. They flexed their joints and rolled their shoulders, adjusting to this new state.


    The vomiting finally stopped. Teren spat the remaining residue out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Behind him came a yelp. The beggar stumbled back, pointing at the army of the dead. He turned and ran deeper into the alley, cowering behind a pile of tannery scraps.


    ¡°Guess they¡¯re visible,¡± Teren muttered. He stood up and his legs nearly gave out. Saints above, that had taken a lot out of him! Throwing his hooded mask back on, he briskly walked away from the scene. Already the ghosts had begun to mingle with the crowd, and just like that the city dissolved into panic.


    The living and the dead crashed together like two waves meeting. Unable to touch each other, the living screamed as the dead howled. The crowd turned into an incoherent stampede of masks, unable to find refuge from the frightful specters. A little girl ran past, wailing as an obese corpse with a neck bent at an unnatural angle waddled after her laughing. Three Tiger Guardsmen stood fast in the middle of the street, trying to tear their way through incorporeal figures with their rakji blades. The ghosts just laughed, and the oncoming storm of Southrangers forced them to turn and run as well. It was a haunting of the likes the world had never seen.


    Teren stuck to the walls, worried that he¡¯d get caught underfoot if he tried to mix into the crowd in his weakened state. He looked around for Unjabit, but still couldn¡¯t find him. Then something more interesting caught his eye.


    Halfway up the pyramid, dozens of the Tiger Guard attempted to fight off the dead with the help of their familiars and hybrids. The dead brushed right past them, swarming the Queen. Shockingly, she hardly even reacted as the bodiless spirits clawed at her, merely turning her back to the city and walking back up the steps. She calmly undressed as she did so, slipping off the tiger pelt cloak and violet dress. She ripped the veil from the crown, but with her back to him and the crowd he couldn''t see anything but the curly hair that tumbled down her back. A thousand cackling spirits dogpiled the pyramid, obscuring the queen in a flood of incorporeal flesh.


    And then, like a falling star in the night, a golden eagle shot up and out of the writhing mass. It carried the queen¡¯s crown in its talons as it soared under the starry sky, heading over his head west towards the Maze District.


    A shaky grin emerged behind his mask. He had done it! Coupled with Dirjir¡¯s rumors, this should work just as planned. Teren turned to head back the way he came, and as he did so a firm grip grabbed his shoulder. He turned to find a figure in grey robes and a mask made of bandages looking back at him. The man pulled the bandages to reveal a frowning Unjabit.


    ¡°Ha!¡± said Teren. ¡°I had thought you might¡¯ve switched outfits!¡±


    ¡°This is much panic,¡± said Unjabit. ¡°Follow close, we meet with Prince Dirjir.¡±


    ¡­


    It had been a battle getting back to the Leygate Market. Teren couldn''t decide which was more grating, the laughs of the dead or the screams of the living. But Unjabit got him to the meeting place safely, jostling his way through the night¡¯s chaos. The ghosts didn¡¯t bother Teren much, but on more than one occasion Unjabit had to fight off frenzied Southrangers.


    The gate marking the entrance to the Maze District wasn''t so much a gate as it was an archway. It had large wooden doors, but they were more ceremonial than practical, with murals painted on them and the bolts all but rusted away. Dirjir stood under it, his horse and servants nowhere to be seen. He too had changed his attire, now wearing peasant clothing and a red scarf that covered half his face. His eyes lit up when he saw the two of them approaching. ¡°Unbelievable. Teren, was this your plan all along?¡±


    Teren removed his hood, smiling sheepishly. ¡°Well, yeah. But I didn''t imagine the spell would be this strong.¡± He didn''t mention that he was unsure of how long it would last. A spell this powerful couldn''t possibly last longer than half a day. He¡¯d have to recast it for sure.


    The Prince laughed, throwing his arms around Teren and squeezing tight. ¡°Not that, the Maze District! I¡¯ll go down in history for this!¡±


    ¡°The Maze¡­¡± Teren frowned, gently pushing the Prince off of him. ¡°What, the curse is gone?¡±


    ¡°Yes! My servants just reported it to me. The ghosts are running rampant but the curse is gone. Gone!¡± He whooped, a strange sight in the panicking city.


    Teren ran a hand through his long hair, thinking. ¡°Uhm¡­ Maybe the fear is¡­ Cutting through the illusion? I don¡¯t have any control over darktwisting.¡±


    Unjabit said something urgent in narabic to the Prince. The Prince responded, shaking his head reassuringly. The two of them argued back and forth, raising their voices until they were shouting at each other.


    ¡°Hey,¡± snapped Teren. ¡°Clue me in.¡±


    The Prince glared at his guard. ¡°Unjabit here thinks that curing the Maze District is enough of a victory. That we should stop now, and completely go off plan. Making the rumors I¡¯ve been spreading useless.¡±


    Unjabit grabbed Teren by the shoulders. ¡°Teren! Send dead home. Too much fear.¡±


    ¡°Remember your place,¡± growled Dirjir. ¡°I give the orders, Guardsman. And I say this hasn¡¯t been enough! By the Ninth Night of the Lost, Merdz will be begging for me to take the throne.¡±


    Unjabit shook his head. There was a sadness in his eyes. ¡°No. King does not rule with fear and tricks. King rules with¡­ Duty.¡± He gripped his sheathed rakji blade, and his skin shifted into green scales. Spiked ridges replaced his eyebrows, and his eyes turned golden amber. He switched back to narabic, as he turned to look at his Prince, but Teren got the meaning.


    The Prince wavered, taking a step back. ¡°Deathcrafter.¡± His speech was slow and deliberate. ¡°Kill this guard, and I¡¯ll give you a hundred servants.¡±


    Teren glanced back and forth at the two of them. Right then he didn¡¯t think he had the strength to fight either of them. ¡°Uh¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t have to decide. At that moment, a familiar-looking man charged out of the Maze District, tackling Dirjir to the ground. In the blink of an eye he snapped the startled Prince¡¯s neck, not even giving him time to cry out. The life faded out of his questioning eyes as the man howled in triumph.


    Teren gasped, stepping back. It was the animal merchant, the one who had threatened him. His skin looked ghastly, and his movements unnatural. He grinned a foul grin at Teren before jumping up and running off.


    Unjabit stared slack-jawed, processing what had just happened. He gaped at Teren, and then to the lifeless body of the Feathered Prince, and then he sprinted after the thing wearing the merchant¡¯s skin.


    Teren groaned, turning away from the body and running his hands over his eyes. ¡°You? That spirit I summoned wanted revenge on you? What in the sunken hell are the odds of that?¡±


    ¡°Slim,¡± said Dirjir.


    Teren whirled around.


    Dirjir was sitting upright. He carefully adjusted his head, clicking it back into place. It still tilted at an unnatural angle. ¡°Far too slim. The odds of me running into you, of you being sent exactly where I needed to go, to perform a task that would directly help me get back in the game?¡± The Prince stood up. ¡°No. This is destiny.¡±


    He clenched his fists. ¡°Who am I speaking to?¡±


    What wasn¡¯t Dirjir giggled. ¡°I dreamed this, you know. Back when I was still young and pretty. Still alive.¡±


    ¡°Spellhaunt.¡±


    He¡­ No, she shrugged helplessly. ¡°I would be lying if I said I understood it myself. The dead don¡¯t dream. All I have is bits and pieces half-remembered from a lifetime ago.¡±


    Discreetly, he tried to muster the power to banish her spirit from the body. ¡°Bits and pieces of what?¡± He gritted his teeth. No use, he hadn¡¯t recovered any of his strength yet.


    ¡°Instructions, or maybe a mission. And I can¡¯t really answer what that entails, aside from the fact that my whole life and death has been setting me up for this power play.¡± She looked around. ¡°Maybe more than that. How else can you explain such a powerful reserve of darktwisting stored right where I needed it?¡±


    ¡°So you aren¡¯t a Gravecaller. You¡¯re a Moonlight Apostle.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Didn¡¯t you wonder why I only appeared to you at night? Without my magic I wouldn¡¯t have seemed anywhere near as impressive.¡±


    ¡°So what happens next? You just murdered the heir to the Southrange.¡±


    She scoffed, placing Dirjir¡¯s hands on Dirjir¡¯s hips. ¡°I didn¡¯t force you to give that spirit access to that body. And honestly, Teren. He wanted to usurp his mother by terrorizing his own people! Good rulers don¡¯t raise the dead to get what they want.


    ¡°Let me guess. You¡¯ll wear his skin and ascend the throne. Not a bad plan, until his body starts rotting.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not after that kind of power.¡± Spellhaunt raised a fist, and a vortex of shadow gathered around it. ¡°Now that¡¯s interesting. I don¡¯t have to be alive to fully access darktwisting. I just needed a body.¡±


    Teren¡¯s leg began to tremble. ¡°Give up that body and I¡¯ll make it easy on you,¡± he warned. ¡°Soon the spell will run out, and the dead will fade away. You¡¯ll be right back where you started, a ghost in the fading world.¡±


    ¡°Well, not exactly. First off, I¡¯m inhabiting this body using the effects of the spell you used on that poor merchant, not the spell we cast together. Some of that promise of possession must have rubbed off on your friend¡¯s corpse. Cycle of abuse, maybe.¡±


    Teren cursed silently. There was a precedent for this sort of thing happening, and it was known to spiral out of control. If that possessed merchant kept on killing, there could be a serious reanimation problem forming.


    ¡°Second, I powered your spell with the darktwisting curse that lingered here. It¡¯s convenient that being dead is all it takes to form a bridge between my magic and yours. But deathcrafting has always been something special, hasn¡¯t it?¡±


    The implications ran through his mind. If his spell was being powered by a curse that had lasted centuries, then that would mean¡­ ¡°Oh, hell.¡±


    ¡°Hell is right. You and I just turned Merdz into the city of the dead.¡± She gestured around at all the chaos. ¡°This spell won¡¯t wear off anytime soon. Unfortunately, you¡¯re running it, albeit unintentionally. So that means your energy will go towards keeping this place stocked full of the dead, and I don¡¯t think that will leave you much left to work with.¡± She paused thoughtfully. ¡°But since it¡¯s being charged by all that darktwisting, I wouldn¡¯t be shocked if the effects greatly diminish in the daytime.¡±


    Teren lunged at her, but her hands reached him first. The second her fingers touched his forehead, his mind began to shut down. He dropped to the dirt, and as he faded into unconsciousness the last thing he saw was Dirjir pulling him out of the way of the stampeding traffic, smiling down at him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be leaving now, Teren. I¡¯d tell you to go home, but I¡¯ve dreamt the future. And I know that we¡¯ll be seeing each other again.¡±


    The cold lips of a dead man kissed his forehead as he fell into an unwilling slumber.

 Chapter 8

    Teren woke up in a cramped cell devoid of natural light. It was that unnatural awakening, where one couldn¡¯t figure out if he had been sleeping for hours or mere moments.


    There was a rat sharing his cell that kept trying to get close to him. But after a few missed kicks the vermin figured out it was best to keep some distance, scampering out of sight. Somehow, not knowing where it was made it worse.


    He couldn''t see the men on either side of him, but he could hear their shouts and hollers reverberating throughout the dungeon, which from what Teren could see was a long corridor of cells side by side. The flickering shadows of torchlight played across the stone-packed walls, reminding him of Spellhaunt. And how she had played him.


    Teren sat in the dark, thinking about what he had done. And what had been done to him. He thought long and hard as the hours in the cell grew long, listening to nothing but the moans and shouts of his neighbors. Shame and rage coursed through him. He had been played. He had been played! The emotions bubbled up, threatening to burst out of his chest howling if he let them.


    Eventually, a man in ragged brown robes came for him. His hairless head and scowling face accentuated his gaunt features. Stepping into the torchlight revealed three wavy lines branded on his forehead.


    ¡°Ah,¡± said Teren. ¡°You¡¯re that fellow who was working the Leygate.¡±


    Wavy Brand shook his head and sighed. ¡°Great mess you have made.¡±


    He sat up. ¡°Does my master know I''m here?¡±


    The Kanibrir ignored the question. ¡°You have committed great crimes in Merdz. Untold damage. But you were under orders from Prince to do so. This makes for interesting case, yes?¡±


    ¡°The people who traveled with me refused to go along with Prince Dirjir¡¯s plan. My crimes are mine alone, I want to be clear about that.¡±


    ¡°No, if crimes were all yours then you would be dead already. Fault lies with the young Prince.¡± The man took a key out of his sleeve


    and unlocked Teren¡¯s cell. ¡°But still. Spell is yours, so you must stop spell.¡±


    Teren stretched his legs before stepping out. ¡°Easier said than done.¡±


    ¡°Curious expression. Most things are this way.¡± He turned away, motioning at the rat who had been trying to pick at Teren. ¡°I will give you a moment. Then we go.¡±


    The rat stood on its hind legs and nodded. Down at the end of the corridor a door unlatched, and a second branded man walked in. Behind him were four faces Teren couldn¡¯t meet eye to eye.


    Rotwood rushed forward, pulling Teren into a back-breaking hug. ¡°Damn it all, boy! You had us worried.¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    He pulled back, gripping him by the shoulders. ¡°You starting to understand why I didn¡¯t want you to do this?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Sorry.¡±


    Farstride leaned against the wall, exasperated. Her hair was spiked up like she had just rolled out of bed. ¡°Sorry isn¡¯t going to solve this.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯ll make it right.¡± He looked at the masters and the apprentices. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry I have to ask, but¡­ I don¡¯t think I can do it alone.¡±


    Ronic grinned, throwing Teren the pack he had left in the palace. ¡°Good thing you aren¡¯t.¡±


    ¡­


    Teren filled them in as Wavy Brand led them deeper into the tunnels underneath the city. The farther they went, the more natural the walls became. Sharp-cut stone gave way to naturally forming lava tubes triple his height.


    ¡°So you caught yourself a ghost, thought it was a Gravecaller, but it was actually a Moonlight Apostle?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°Uh-huh. What I thought was deathcrafting was darktwisting illusions.¡±


    Rotwood pursed his lips, barely visible in the torchlit cave. ¡°The dead can¡¯t tell you a fake name. She did go by Spellhaunt in life, so the next step is to gather some information and find out what she might be after.¡± He glanced to the side, and a sharp scent filled Teren¡¯s nose. Rotwood nodded to something Teren couldn¡¯t see, and the smell dissipated.


    Teren cleared his throat. ¡°Also, the curse upon the Maze District is funneling into Spellhaunt, then flowing into me through Spiritlink, and then powering the new curse that¡¯s raising the dead.¡±


    ¡°Lovely,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°And let me guess¨C you can¡¯t shut it off now, and you aren¡¯t able to deathcraft at full strength.¡±


    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡±


    Farstride cursed. ¡°A Spiritlink should be far above your ability. Even Rot and I would have trouble pulling one off.¡±


    ¡°So why is she doing this?¡± asked Baltry.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but she told me she dreamed all of this happening, back when she was alive.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous,¡± Ronic scoffed. ¡°Even the strongest Moonlight Apostle couldn¡¯t dream like that.¡±


    ¡°And what they dream isn¡¯t set in stone,¡± Rotwood added. ¡°I think she might have been lying about that part, but until we know more let¡¯s just go along with it. She dreamed events happening, and what she dreamed has put her in the perfect situation to reclaim a body and do whatever it is she¡¯s trying to do here in the land of the living.¡±


    Teren ran his hand along the ancient volcanic tunnels, feeling their porous grooves. ¡°She told me she was after power, but not the throne.¡±


    Wavy Brand glanced back at the five of them. ¡°That seems true. Earlier in the day, Prince Dirjir¡¯s body asked me to ferry him off to Maio Karalz, a mountain village of no importance.¡±


    ¡°And did you?¡±¡¯ demanded Farstride.


    Wavy Brand scowled. ¡°Yes? How could I know my Prince was a dead man walking!¡±


    ¡°If he left this morning then we should still be able to catch him,¡± said Ronic. ¡°Should we really be wasting our time down in these¡­¡± the words died on his lips as the group rounded a corner.


    In front of them was an underground river. No, a canal. The lava tubes had been redirected to create it, complete with a pool of slack water where several wooden rowboats were moored to stalagmites. Wavy Brand motioned for them to get in, leaving the oars on the shore. ¡°Come. I will take you upriver. You will find the Prince¡¯s body. You will solve this problem.¡±


    ¡­


    The boat ride was fast, upsettingly so. The Kanibrir¡¯s wavecalling had shot them upriver at such a pace that several times they nearly lost their packs¨Cor themselves¨C over the side. Eventually the darkness gave way as they left the lava tunnels behind and emerged to find a more pleasant sight.


    They had left the crater city of Merdz behind for a roaring river of the most invigorating blue-green. It was surrounded by steep slopes full of boulders and pine trees, with a thin dirt path running alongside the river. A local leading several yaks stared as their boat sped on by. Baltry waved.


    Every time they approached a set of rapids, Wavy Brand would raise his hand and the water would rise with them. Teren had a hard time enjoying the spectacle, unable to shake off the shame that coursed through his body. He closed his eyes, and Spellhaunt was staring back at him. Smiling with the face of a dead man. He shook his head rapidly and growled.


    Ronic raised an eyebrow. ¡°You alright?¡±


    ¡°I will be. Just have to fix this.¡±


    Farstride crossed her arms. ¡°About that.¡± She looked at Rotwood.


    Rotwood sighed. ¡°Teren, I explicitly told you there would be consequences for your actions. And there already has been. I think you understand that.¡±


    His mouth felt dry. ¡°I do.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Good. I said you¡¯d lose the right to become a Gravecaller. And, well¡­ You already have. Your strength is a fraction of what it was as long as you¡¯re connected to that curse.¡±


    Teren was silent. He fought to keep his expression neutral.


    Rotwood sighed, rubbing his bald head. ¡°But I¡¯ll tell you what. You fix the problem you made, you¡¯ll get your strength back. You get your strength back, I''ll give you a title on the spot.¡±


    He mustered a smile for his master. ¡°It¡¯s a deal then.¡±


    Ronic whooped, slapping Teren on the shoulder.


    ¡°That seems a bit too lenient,¡± grumbled Farstride.


    Rotwood nudged her playfully. ¡°Compassion is the backbone of the Order of Remains. And that compassion isn¡¯t just for those who have gone ahead.¡±


    ¡°Ugh. Ronic, please give me a reason to title you first.¡±


    ¡°I already have!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Silentstep¡¯s perfect!¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Show me it works the field and I¡¯ll consider it.¡±


    Wavy Brand made a fist and held it out, slowly turning it. The boat began to slow down, coming to a stop below a bridge made of rope and wooden planks. The boat veered to the side, beaching itself gently. The Kanibrir stepped out and pointed at the dirt path that followed the river upstream. ¡°Maio Karalz is not far. There is a beastbonder in village, man named Hokdul. He can contact me when you are finished.¡±


    Rotwood tilted his head. ¡°You aren¡¯t coming with us?¡±


    The gaunt man shook his head. ¡°The Queen has summoned all at her disposal to bring order to the city. I must go before night falls, and when I do I will not hold back truths. I will tell the Queen what you¡¯ve done, and where you are.¡±


    ¡°But Teren was only doing what her son had asked of him!¡± argued Ronic.


    ¡°Yes, and that is the reason I am giving you this chance.¡± Wavy Brand stepped back into his boat. He crouched down, whispering to the water. In response the river around the wooden hull became unnaturally still. He glared at the five of them as his boat pushed off the shore. ¡°In the Southrange, Kanibrir are not trusted. What you have done has washed away much progress.¡± He shook his head ruefully. ¡°Saintlanders. So¡­ Barbaric!¡±


    Teren didn¡¯t look at the boat as it sped away. He already had his pack on and was walking up the path. ¡°Come on,¡± he called back as he attempted to put his long hair into a bun. ¡°We don¡¯t have a moment to spare.¡± He glanced at the sun, well past high noon.


    He didn¡¯t know how far they had traveled upriver, but it must have been quite a distance. The Crater City was well behind them, impossible to see from this vantage point.


    And the air was thin here.


    It had been noticeable in Merdz, but he hadn¡¯t been able to put his finger on the cause at first. Teren had assumed it was part of ley travel or some bug and thought little more of it. But no, it had definitely been the air. And here it was worse. He found himself breathing twice as hard for what should have been a relatively easy hike.


    The path winded up the slope was a well-trodden dirt road. Teren took in the pine-covered slopes, so different from the landscape back home. He had never thought of Fendal as being flat. Decidual and the coasts, sure. But what of the hills of the Greenreach, that separated Iar from Fendal? How could anyone call the depths of that great forest flat?


    Now he knew. These here were true mountains. Not gently rounded hills, but rugged and steep ridges, separated by that icy blue-green river roaring down below. It was such a different hue than the Mudmouth or Swampsplitter. This river here was fresh like the water came from the heavens itself. Teren supposed in a way it might, all the way up here where earth and sky met.


    Far out in the distance, ridges went from dark green and light brown to a startling white contrasting with a deep grey. The peaks rose into the heavens like something out of a dream. He couldn¡¯t even conceive their size, or their height. Were they close, just beyond this ridge? Farther away surely, with the snow they were covered in. He shivered. How high up did something have to be to escape the warmth of the world? Here surrounded by the pines there was a brisk wind in the air, but the sun still beat down warm upon his neck.


    Few people walked the path, and their group drew stares from those who did. Not that Teren blamed them, as his party stared right back.


    These were northerners. Far north from the looks of it, like the kind he had heard of in old stories. Men with hair like the orange and red of the fading day. Their eyes glinted an unnatural blue as they glanced at him from beneath floppy caps. They were smaller than most, yet the few men and women he saw carried absurd loads of wood on their backs that would have given any Fendali trouble.


    Ronic raised his eyebrows as an elderly woman outpaced him hauling a hefty load of lumber. ¡°These people look nothing like the ones in Merdz. How far did that river take us?¡±


    ¡°Not that far,¡± said Farstride. ¡°These people must be of the Quia Boralz. They aren¡¯t native to the Southrange.¡±


    ¡°Definitely from up North,¡± mused Rotwood. ¡°Far beyond the Roaming Nations, if I had to guess. They must think it strange, seeing people from the opposite side of the world out here in the middle of nowhere.¡±


    The village of Maio Karalz wasn¡¯t large, merely a dozen or so houses surrounded by terraced farmland. The slope it was built upon completely defined the entire layout, with all the buildings built parallel to it. They were rectangular and squat, with slate roofs and walls of mudstone. Aside from the doors they seemed completely devoid of wood, an oddity for someone used to Decidual¡¯s woodwhispered architecture.


    The fields were brown and barren, separated by stone walls. Cattle wandered through them lazily, cows and yaks and hybrids of the two, fertilizing the land for the crops of Waxing Spring.


    A man stood in the road staring at them. Squat and pale, he was well into his years. His beard was red tinged with white, and blue eyes peeked out from underneath a fur cap with floppy earflaps. There was anger in his eyes and his stance, and Teren took note of the Rakji blade nestled in the waistbelt of his thick wool robe.


    And the blood crusted under his fingernails.


    Rotwood stepped forward smiling. ¡°Hello. We¡¯re looking for a man who came by earlier today. A young Narabir, with a mustache and short curly hair?¡±


    The man grimaced. ¡°Feathered Prince Dirjir Pajirhut.¡±


    ¡°Ah, so you have seen him!¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°¡­And could you tell us where he went?¡±


    ¡°Let us speak plain. I have eyes and ears in Merdz. I know who you are, I know what you have done.¡±


    Farstride crossed her arms. ¡°And what exactly do you think we have done?¡±


    ¡°You are Saintlanders. Guests of the Prince. You raised the dead, for his ambition.¡±


    ¡°I raised the dead,¡± said Teren. ¡°But my companions here warned me not to. We need to find the Prince so I can fix what I broke.¡±


    The man scratched his beard. Then he snorted and spat on the ground. ¡°Follow¡±. He went into a house, leaving the door open behind him.


    Rotwood looked at Farstride. She shrugged, following him in.


    Inside, Dirjir¡¯s body lay lifeless on the ground.


    Teren cursed, jumping back.


    Rotwood knelt to examine the body. There was blood soaked into his clothing, and deep cuts all over his face and arms. ¡°This corpse is empty.¡± He looked up. ¡°Hello. Care to fill us in?¡±


    ¡°I came back from the fields early,¡± said the man. ¡°The door was ajar, and inside I found the Prince. Dead.¡±


    ¡°Yes, good to know.¡± Rotwood waved at the far corner of the room. ¡°But I was talking to her.¡± And with a snap of his fingers, the ghost materialized.


    She was curled up in the corner, shivering. Tears ran down her cheeks. The poor girl couldn¡¯t have seen more than a dozen winters.


    The man gasped. He crouched down to embrace the girl, but his arms passed right through her. She looked up at him tearfully, and then began to bawl.


    They waited for them to finish their moment. Teren had a look around. The interior of the house was simple, merely a kitchen and a bedroom. The kitchen was the brunt of the building and included a dining table. In the middle of the was a clay stove. The fire in it had long gone out, and a teapot rested on top of it. Teren sniffed the contents before pouring himself a cup.


    Ronic elbowed him discreetly. ¡°Stop.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Teren whispered. ¡°It was just sitting here.¡±


    The ghost was speaking to the man in a hushed tone. It didn¡¯t sound like the sharp narabric he had heard in Merdz. The words of this tongue had a weighted, slow drawl to them.


    Rotwood listened from a distance. The dead held no secrets from him, no matter the language. ¡°She says the Prince came alone, asking questions. He wanted to know the path to a monastery higher up in the mountains. She told him, and then he smiled at her funny, and then¡­¡± He sucked his teeth. ¡°Spellhaunt¡¯s switched corpses. Maybe she hoped we¡¯d see this one and just take it back with us. Or she didn¡¯t want the attention that comes with wearing the body of a royal.¡±


    Baltry tilted his head to the side. ¡°A little kid walking through the mountains by herself? That¡¯ll draw attention, maybe leave a trail for us.¡±


    ¡°Assuming she doesn¡¯t just keep changing bodies,¡± growled Farstride.


    ¡°Spellhaunt isn¡¯t a deathcrafter. She¡¯s hopping bodies using residual energy left from Teren¡¯s spell.¡± Rotwood looked at him. ¡°You just had to have your petty revenge on that merchant, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    Rotwood tsked. ¡°Sorry is all you can say, yet for some reason I don¡¯t believe you.¡± He waved a hand, and the little girl began to fade away.


    She cried out, and the man whispered to her softly as she faded away in his embrace.


    ¡°Hate to cut things short, friend. But the dead have their world, and we have ours. And the sooner we find out where her body went, the sooner you can properly put her to rest.¡±


    The short man stood up. There were tears in his eyes when he looked at them. ¡°This girl¡­ I have known her since before she could walk. Explain to me. Why did this happen?¡±


    ¡°There was a spirit inside the body of the Prince,¡± said Rotwood. ¡°That spirit has moved into the body of the girl, and now we need to find it before it takes any more lives. Where exactly is this monastery the spirit was asking about?¡±


    ¡°And why would it want to go there?¡± added Farstride.


    ¡°Karache Henuat. Hard journey for those not of the mountains.¡± The man turned away. ¡°Why anyone would want to go there? I know not.¡±


    ¡°Your Sainted Tongue is great for someone living all the way out here,¡± said Teren. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to be named Hokdul, would you?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I am him. My familiar lives in Merdz.¡± He sniffed. ¡°When he isn¡¯t receiving or taking messages, I have him listen to the talk of travelers. Easy way to learn much.¡±


    Farstride nodded. ¡°We were supposed to have you contact a Kanibrir with a wave branded on his head when we had wrapped things up. Looks like we¡¯ll have to keep moving. Can you at least let Merdz know the Prince¡¯s body is ready for retrieval?¡±


    ¡°Already done. But you will never make it to Karache.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be that dangerous, can it?¡± asked Ronic.


    ¡°Mountain air can poison those not used to it. You must adjust, slow.¡± Hakdal began rummaging through the kitchen until he had found what he was looking for¨C parchment, along with a clay jar with a quill sticking out of it. He started to write something down.


    Rotwood peered over his shoulder. ¡°Unfortunately, turning back isn¡¯t an option for us. We have a responsibility to uphold.¡±


    Hakdal finished what he was writing and stood up. ¡°I will have to take you there. But you must listen at all times. We go too fast and you will get sick. Too slow, and we will lose the trail.¡±


    ¡°One problem,¡± said Ronic. ¡°How far away is this place exactly? We aren¡¯t exactly prepared for a multi-day outdoor excursion.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. Two days for me, but four for you to adjust. And it will take the spirit four days as well if he goes in Yavi¡¯s¡­¡± He squeezed his eyes shut and breathed deeply. ¡°But we must find her before that. Come. I will ensure you get bed and food. Kanibrir will pay your costs.¡±


    And without another word they headed out, leaving the Prince¡¯s discarded body behind.