《Myths, Legends, & Dreams》


 The Golden Mark of Betrayal by Freya Bell

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    Crasmere, the floating city. Circling the shattered peak of Mount Ravaet, the three rings of the city turned in time with the sun, leaving half the population in the permanent shadows. The rings floated one above the other, held up by crystal-powered engines. The dark side was the perfect place for temples to Ixla, the patron god of thieves and shadows, to flourish.


    The sunny side of the upper market was bustling and busy, even for a weekend. Vendor¡¯s voices cracked as each strove to shout louder than their neighbors. The crowd was thick with well-dressed women and handsomely-groomed men whose pockets jingled and clinked. Perfume mingled with the scent of fresh baking bread, making Maz¡¯s empty belly grumble. His fingers wriggled; it would be a good morning to be a pickpocket.


    But Zal, Maz¡¯s older brother, had a juicer target than pockets in mind for them today. It would be even juicier if they hadn¡¯t been forced to team up with Alcide and her team of beggars and thieves. But Zal had been forced to make the tough call; it was too big a job for the boys alone.


    Zal was dressed for the occasion in a suit of deep green brocade. He had been planning this for weeks, and had acquired an outfit that was only a little threadbare and short in the cuffs. He would have looked respectable, if it wasn¡¯t for the scar on his eyebrow and the permanent scowl that had deepened the lines on his face, making him look older than his fourteen years. But that was practically elderly compared to the crowd of children clustered around him, waiting for his command.


    Alcide¡¯s gang were tentative allies today, though tomorrow they might be rivals for the best pickpocket grounds. Zal had struck a deal with Alcide¡ªthe loot would be divided evenly amongst the children, with a bonus for Zal for coming up with the plan.


    Maz was all smiles. Normally Zal made him stand lookout, but this time it was his job to cause a distraction. Zal was finally trusting him, seeing him as grown up. Maz almost couldn¡¯t believe it. Although at nine years old he was a little younger than his fellows from Alcide¡¯s gang, Zal was confident that he could perform his role well.


    Zal motioned for everyone to gather around him in the narrow, sheltered alley between a bakery and a watch repair shop. He tugged at his too-short sleeves, a sure sign that he was nervous. Not that anyone but Maz would pick up on it. He knew his brother better than he knew himself. He also knew Zal would never let his nerves get in the way of a job.


    ¡°Alright, everyone. Y¡¯all know your jobs, and y¡¯all know the rules. If anyone gets caught, you acted alone, and you don¡¯t know no names,¡± said Zal in his best commander voice. ¡°Our target is just across the street.¡± He flung out his arm and grinned.


    He pointed at a large building with polished windows and marble steps leading up to the gilded door. Altam¡¯s Curiosities and Wonders, home to a Master Artificer and her seven apprentices. Even from the alleyway across the street the shelves glittered, heavy with trinkets. Any one of them would feed them all for a month.


    Maz blanched and clutched his empty stomach like he had been punched. ¡®Oh no,¡¯ Maz thought. ¡¯Not Madame Altam¡¯s place! She gave me honey cakes last Procession day.¡¯


    ¡°What about robbing that awful jeweler,¡± Maz suggested. Zal¡¯s eyes flicked to him, and Maz froze.


    ¡°Who, the one who tried to call the guards on you just for standing outside?¡± Zal laughed coldly. ¡°That man has enough protection runes to safeguard the entire block.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s got to be someone else.¡±


    ¡°We need to rob someone, Maz. Begging for scraps is below a Serphant, no matter how hungry we are. And your Madame Altam has the worst security in the Middle Ring! She¡¯s practically begging to be robbed.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to beg. She would give us food if we asked. It¡¯s not right. She¡¯s nice,¡± said Maz, head hung low in resignation.


    Zal turned back to Alcide and chuckled. ¡°Nice? Oh, well in that case . . . show¡¯s over, this shop owner is too nice to rob.¡± Alcide snorted and rolled her eyes and Zal opened his arms wide. ¡°See, Maz. No one cares. If they were really that nice, would they have that pretty shop while we sleep down in the dirt of the lowest ring of the city? No.¡±


    Maz¡¯s brows furrowed as he processed this information. ¡°I guess not. . . . But she does do a lot of charity work.¡±


    ¡°Charity work?¡± Zal snorted. ¡°More like an excuse to pay less taxes. She doesn¡¯t care, Maz.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s not right! Oarae says that kindness¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, not that god of yours again. The god of justice doesn''t care for thieves like us. You better forget her.¡± Zal shook his head in disgust. ¡°Anything else to add?¡±


    Maz shook his head and looked at the scuffed toes of his ragged boots.


    ¡°Alcide, are your lookouts giving the all clear?¡± said Zal, smiling like nothing had happened.


    Alcide leaned out of the alley, her messy curls swaying, and flashed a hand symbol of three raised fingers. A shadow detached itself from the chimney of the artificer¡¯s shop and signed back. Alcide nodded. ¡°We¡¯re ready.¡±


    Zal straightened his satchel on his shoulder. ¡°Remember, give me a count of sixty to get into place in the shop, then you start your distractions.¡±


    Maz took a deep breath and resisted the urge to bounce on his toes. The excitement of the other children was infectious. He tried to match his brother¡¯s life-or-death glare, but an anticipatory smile kept creeping out. Like a racing dog at the gate, he panted anxiously, waiting for his cue. He may not like that they were targeting Madame Altam¡¯s place, but he would do the job as well as he could. He was a Serphant after all, there was family pride to consider. Images of Oarae¡¯s stern face floated through his mind, her marble bow aimed at the unjust, but he pushed them aside. Maz was a Serphant. He would do the job. He had to.


    Zal took one last look at them, drawing out the moment. He raised his hand, painfully slow. Maz quivered, eyes dancing from his brother to the bursting street. Maz could do this. His stomach twisted from both anticipation and suppressed horror at what he was about to do. He felt at the fragile treasures in his pockets: one, two, three, four. Yes, all there. Even Zal didn¡¯t know about them, his secret weapon. Worth a few nights with an empty belly. Wine wasn¡¯t cheap, but eventually he had gotten the secret from a drunk, out-of-work artificer for the god of shadows.


    Maz caught his breath. His mind was wandering again. Zal¡¯s eyes were upon him, burning with impatience. He gave a tiny nod to show he was ready, and Zal dropped his hand. Alcide counted under her breath as Zal strolled out of the alley and was lost in the crowd. Maz vibrated with the need to move, but he stayed still, listening to Alcide count.


    Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty. He shot out of the alley like an arrow, followed by whooping children. They split off into two groups¡ªone headed towards the square, where people were doing their laundry in the large fountain, and the second, which included Maz, headed towards Fruit Seller¡¯s Lane.


    The eggs in his pocket clacked, threatening to break against each other as he pushed his way into the crowd. He pulled one out; the dark runes on the egg¡¯s alabaster surface absorbed the light and emitted a tiny shroud of darkness. It cracked pleasingly when hurled under a cart selling bright red apples, and the egg¡¯s contents spilled out like an overturned inkwell, black and viscous. The goo reacted to the sun and bubbled, sending up hissing clouds of stinking smoke. The owner of the cart shrieked and backed away as the cloud of darkness rose to hide his cart from view.


    Heads turned at the sound, and Maz fled down the street. A cart of pears overturned to his left; he recognized one of Alcide¡¯s girls as she ducked into an alley. Unaffiliated street urchins scrambled to pick up fruit before it could be trampled.


    Shouts rose for the city guard, and Maz¡¯s smile grew. He lobbed another of the shadow eggs at a food cart to add to the chaos, and continued on his way.


    Making progress was becoming more difficult as onlookers craned their necks and shoved at each other to see what the commotion was. Maz slowed and did his best to blend with the crowd. The next egg burned to be used, but guards were already arriving, pikes gleaming in the morning sun, the royal crest of Crasmere proud on their breasts. Best not to draw their attention.


    He didn¡¯t have to feign curiosity as he looked back over his shoulder, where the egg spells were visible now as light-eating pillars of darkness that towered over the street. Maz¡¯s step lightened. People were definitely distracted. Zal had probably cleared the whole shop out. He winced at the thought. The woman always had a kind word for kids like him. But by now his brother should be halfway to the rendezvous point with the loot. He sighed and turned away from the damage he had caused, and began to mentally plan how to join him.


    A gauntleted hand clapped down on his shoulder, just barely preventing Maz from walking face first into a city guard. The eagle and the fishing spear of the royal crest hung inches from his nose, picked out in deep blue and yellow thread. The guard even bore the godmark of Falwin, the god of protection on his forehead. He blanched at the sight of it. A godmark meant powers, and for Falwin, that meant increased stamina and the ability to see footprints of a marked target. He could chase Maz up and down the three rings if he wanted to. A guard was bad enough, but a guard personally chosen to serve by Falwin himself? Maz¡¯s heart fluttered with trepidation.


    ¡°Whoa there, streetling. Enjoying the show?¡± said the guard. He looked Maz up and down, taking in his long, knotted hair and the shirt that was more patches than fabric. The man¡¯s hand tightened, but his face softened. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you know anything about this mess, do ya? You streetlings always have the best gossip.¡±


    Maz didn¡¯t see the kindness in the guard¡¯s face. He saw the pike, taller than he was, and its tip sharper than a needle. He saw the cudgel and the handcuffs at the man¡¯s hip.


    He saw an endless parade of shouts and curses and dodged blows from the other guards. An entire lifetime¡¯s worth.


    Maz panicked.


    Before he could think, the third egg was in his hand. The next moment he smashed it into the pretty embroidery of the royal crest. Black smoke blossomed under his palm, and he used the moment to duck out of the stunned guard¡¯s grip. The man shouted something as Maz darted away, but it was lost in the surprised cries from the crowd. People surged away from the guard like a rising tide, bearing Maz up and out of danger.


    The eggy goo clung to his hand, and he did his best to wipe the evidence on the coats of those he passed. Their pockets jingled with coin under his touch, but he was so distracted that pickpocketing the panicking crowd never even crossed his mind.


    By the time he reached the rendezvous spot, all that remained of his secret weapon were some faint trailing vapours. He attempted to get control of his breathing as he approached the shattered remains of a temple. The white marble columns stuck up like bones from the ground, barely enough to hold the weight of the remaining frescoed roof. Maz didn¡¯t know who the temple belonged to, it was a remnant of a god that was killed in the last war. There were gaps in the walls from pillars falling in, and the sunlight fed a thick carpet of cheerful green weeds on the rubble-strewn floor.


    Alcide perched on a pillar that leaned drunkenly on its neighbor, while a pair of golden-haired girls chatted at her feet. Zal held court in the center of the room, laughing at something one of Alcide¡¯s boys had said. His satchel bulged with their loot, and the tension in Maz¡¯s shoulders lessened.


    Zal¡¯s eyes flicked to Maz as he entered. He cut off his audience with a gesture and strode over to Maz. The concern in his eyes faded to all-too-familiar annoyance, and he grabbed Maz¡¯s shoulder¡¯s with hard hands and a tight smile.


    ¡°Tell me, Mazrael. What was that trick you pulled back there?¡±


    Maz grinned and pulled the last egg from his pocket. ¡°Smoke eggs! I got the recipe from Olmeg, behind Sam¡¯s Pub. Pretty awesome, right? The crowd didn¡¯t know what hit them!¡±


    Zal¡¯s hand tightened, and Maz squirmed in his grip. ¡°And tell me, little brother, do you know what the word ¡®subtle¡¯ means? You brought an entire squad of guards down on the shop. There will be questions.¡±


    Maz shook his head. ¡°But we got away! I ran so fast no one even saw me.¡±


    Zal sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve said it before, and I¡¯ll say it again. You are a disappointment to the Serphant name. You¡¯ll never be a thief at this rate.¡±


    Maz squared his shoulders and ducked out from his brother¡¯s grip. ¡°I am a Serphant! You said to cause a distraction. They were distracted! And it looks like you got plenty from the shop.¡±


    Tension drained from Zal and he ran his hand through his dark, dirty hair. ¡°I need you to use your head, alright? Terat hasn¡¯t come back yet. What if he got caught by a guard? What if you got caught? You could have blown this whole thing for us.¡±


    ¡°Uncle Ratham would protect us.¡±


    The dangerous glint returned to Zal¡¯s eye and he raised a hand, cutting Maz off. ¡°Do not mention that name to me, not today.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s our uncle, Zal, he¡ª¡±


    ¡°No! He¡¯s the worst kind of thief. If he knew we were doing this, he would take his ¡®cut¡¯ and we would be left with nothing, just like last time!¡±


    Maz wrung his hands. ¡°I said I was sorry. I didn¡¯t know he was home when I asked if Eagle had paid you.¡±


    Alcide hopped down from the pillar and coughed. ¡°This is fun and all, but are we going to split the loot now, or what? I want to get home already.¡± Her gang gathered around her, eyes filled with eagerness and caution.


    The glint in Zal¡¯s eyes darkened for just a moment before he gave a friendly smile. His hands went to his pockets, and Alcide¡¯s eyes followed hungrily.


    The baubles glinted in the low light of the temple as he piled them onto the soft grass. There were devices for sharpening a sword beyond what a honing stone could do, trinkets for adding a subtle glow to the wearer, and a dozen other things Maz could only guess the purpose of. Runes and power stones adorned their gold and silver surfaces: truly the work of masters. His fingers itched to take one home for himself.


    Zal crouched over the pile and laid them out in a line. He counted aloud and added a bauble for each of Alcide¡¯s gang, then a pair for him and Maz. He paused, hand hovering over the last few devices. ¡°I did most of the organizing, did I not?¡± He added an item to his pile. ¡°And my brother caused a mighty distraction, allowing me time to grab all of this.¡± He added a second item, and gave the last to Alcide¡¯s pile. ¡°I would say that is fair, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The mop-headed girl flushed. ¡°Distraction? You said it yourself, he got the guard called down on us. We¡¯ll all have to lay low for weeks now.¡±


    ¡°Ah, but you¡¯ll be resting at your ease, with full bellies and fresh clothes, after you sell all this. I promise, you won¡¯t be in any danger.¡±


    ¡°No? Then where is Terat? You forgot him, didn¡¯t you? He deserves his share, even if he is late,¡± said Alcide.


    Zal¡¯s face fell in rehearsed disappointment, but he added a device to Alcide¡¯s pile and nodded. Alcide darted over, stuffing the devices in her own pockets. She whistled and her troupe bolted out of the temple.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure he just got lost!¡± Zal shouted at her back.


    Maz ignored the street urchin¡¯s departure and watched his brother¡¯s face, shoulders tense. But the moment Alcide¡¯s footsteps faded the older boy burst into a deep belly laugh. He reached into his coat and brought out a handful more trinkets. His hand was friendly as he clapped Maz on the back.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Come on, let''s take these to Eagle. I want them off our hands as soon as possible. You can come too¡ªI¡¯ll introduce you. It¡¯s about time you got to learn more of the family business.¡±


    ¡°Eagle? Are you sure?¡± asked Maz.


    ¡°You¡¯re old enough, no matter what Uncle Ratham says.¡±


    Excitement and pride swelled in Maz¡¯s breast, and he bounced on his toes. Eagle was the real deal, he fenced for the temple of Ixla itself! He squared his shoulders. When he was a thief, he would only steal from bad people. He wouldn¡¯t be like Zal or Alcide, who took from whoever was in their path. He would be like his grandfather and namesake, who was powerful enough to pick and choose his jobs, to steal from whoever he pleased.


    Maz quivered with exuberance, and Zal ruffled his hair in a rare show of affection before turning and walking out of the temple ruins.


    * * *


    Eagle¡¯s shop was in the lower ring of the city, far from the prosperous shop they had just robbed. The trip down the trams had cost them a copper each, and an hour of time, but he was the best fence in the city. Zal would go to no other. Maz secretly suspected that was because Zal didn¡¯t know any other fences, but he wasn¡¯t about to say that out loud.


    His belly grumbled, but he shoved the ever-present hunger from his mind. Meeting Eagle¡ªthis was serious business. The next step to becoming a thief.


    Familiar doubt flickered in his chest at the thought, but he shoved it down. He would show Zal just how good a thief he could be.


    The back alley smelled of muck and human waste, but he did his best to impress the filthy passageways into his memory. The twisting path took them deep into the rat¡¯s nest of decaying buildings and boarded up shops known as the Snakeways.


    Maz kept one hand on the knife Zal had given him for his birthday last year. The blade was short, the length of his fingers, and the handle was a little splintery, but it was the first knife he had ever owned, and he kept it razor sharp. This was where the real thieves lived, the kind that prayed to Ixla. Maz couldn¡¯t imagine praying to such a two-faced god; he put his faith in Oarae instead, and prayed to her now that they would pass unnoticed.


    Even the dim, smelly alleyways did little to quash his anxiety, and his back was tight with tension by the time they reached Eagle¡¯s grime-encrusted door. Zal knocked in a rhythmic pattern and, after a still moment, the door opened a crack. The man glared down at him, blue eyes sharp. Maz could just make out thinning grey hair and a stubbled chin through the crack in the door. Eagle. He frowned down at Zal.


    ¡°Zalphrael Serphant. What can I do for you this fine evening?¡±


    Zal jingled his pockets and grinned. Eagle raised an eyebrow, but opened the door for him. Maz attempted to follow, but Eagle held out his hand.


    ¡°He¡¯s my brother,¡± said Zal, not bothering to look back.


    Eagle sighed, but opened the door for Maz as well. ¡°Another bloody Serphant. Just what this city needs.¡±


    Zal grinned. ¡°Yes, it is exactly what the city needs. How else am I supposed to rebuild the family empire without a little help from my only brother? Not like Uncle Ratham is having any luck.¡±


    Maz¡¯s eyes widened. Uncle Ratham was trying to rebuild grandfather¡¯s empire? No wonder he was never home. Eagle muttered something unpleasant under his breath, but allowed Maz to dart under his outstretched arm and catch up to Zal.


    The back room of Eagle¡¯s shop was filled floor to ceiling with shelves containing boxes labeled with clear writing. Maz wove between them, wishing he could read the tags on the items. Goblets and silverware and runed devices made tempting targets for his itchy fingers, but he didn¡¯t dare anger the best fence in the city.


    Zal ignored the stolen goods on the shelves and turned a corner into Eagle¡¯s office, which was just as clean and tidy as his storage room. A plain wooden desk stood at the far wall with nothing but a quill and ink pot upon its polished surface. More shelves flanked the desk, holding lock boxes and sturdy chests.


    Maz followed as Zal threw himself into one of the wooden chairs that faced the desk and began digging the trinkets out of his pockets. Eagle shuffled behind the desk and Maz eased himself into the second seat beside his brother.


    Eagle eyed Maz. ¡°Bit young, ain¡¯t he?¡±


    Maz smiled the way Zal did when he was trying to be charming. ¡°Gotta learn sometime.¡±


    Eagle¡¯s gaze flicked from the glistening pile to Zal, who stared back without flinching. ¡°Hm. So you say. What¡¯s your uncle think about all this?¡±


    Zal turned away. ¡°Uncle Rathan won¡¯t let us join him until we reach sixteen.¡±


    ¡°Join¡ªI¡¯m talking family, boy. Your brother is what, eight?¡±


    Maz held up his hand. ¡°Nine, sir. And the name is Maz. Mazrael Serphant.¡±


    ¡°Named after your grandfather, are ya? I used to fence for him, you know. Mazrael Serphant, King of Thieves. A great man.¡± Maz grinned, and Eagle pulled the pile of trinkets over to his side of the desk and began to examine them one by one. ¡°It was a sad day in Crasmere when the guards caught him. They got your mother too, that day, didn¡¯t they? Tore his whole empire down. Hasn¡¯t been one like him since. That uncle of yours means to change that though, doesn¡¯t he?¡±


    Zal crossed his arms. ¡°We didn¡¯t come for story time, Eagle,¡± he said slowly.


    ¡°Hold your tongue, little one, I¡¯m getting to it.¡± Eagle sorted the trinkets into three piles. ¡°Five silver each for these two, three silver for the middle stack, and you can keep this last one. I don¡¯t have a use for toys.¡±


    Zal surged up from his chair, face red. ¡°Five silver for a Brand of Emna? A thief will pay ten times that!¡±


    Eagle gave an unfriendly smile and picked up the brand, and gave the silver wheel on its side a flick. The carved runes on the box¡¯s side sputtered to life, emitting a golden glow, far brighter than the light of a candle. He flicked the wheel again and set it down on the desk. ¡°Correction, little snake. They will pay me ten times that. You aren¡¯t your uncle yet.¡±


    Zal¡¯s fists clenched and unclenched, but he sat down without a word. Maz released a breath and leaned back in his chair. Disaster averted. The last thing he wanted was another hungry night if Zal flubbed this deal. He eyed his brother. That temper of his was getting harder to control.


    Eagle pulled open a drawer and pulled a key on a golden chain off his neck. He chuckled without humour as Zal¡¯s eyes tracked him as he unlocked the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out a handful of coins and counted them out one by one, laying each down with deliberate thunks onto the desk.


    ¡°And there we are. Nineteen silver coins. A pretty good haul for a pair of miniature thieves.¡±


    Zal scowled, but held his tongue as he shook Eagle¡¯s hand, then took the coins. Maz picked up the toy and clicked the lever. A fountain of tiny red sparks flew into the air, and he tucked it into his pocket with a grin. He felt like a real thief now.


    * * *


    The walk back home was quiet. Well, as quiet as a city like Crasmere could get. The late afternoon sun shone over crowds of craftswomen and househusbands, but the brothers did not walk among them. Despite Zal¡¯s earlier bravado about them all being safe, they stuck to the shadows of the alleyways. The extra length it added to their journey was well worth it.


    It felt like there were more guards out than normal, despite being far from the upper ring of the city. Maz was sure he was imagining things, but still, he kept close to his brother¡¯s back.


    Zal walked with all his usual swagger. He strutted like the shadows were a cloak tied at his neck, like the homeless sleeping in the alleys were his faithful subjects. Maz, on the other hand, felt like knives were pointed at his back. The excitement of the theft and from visiting Eagle were long gone, and he just wanted to be home.


    Home. The basement of their uncle¡¯s house. Better than living on the streets, but still damp and full of spiders. The upper floors weren¡¯t much better, but Uncle Ratham liked the privacy the little house gave, tucked away on a back alley as it was, far from the markets and entrances to the upper rings of the city.


    They were only a few streets away from home when Zal¡¯s hand slapped him in the chest, jarring him out of his reverie. Zal pushed Maz back into the alley and dropped into a crouch. There in the street was a contingent of guards. And with them was a small boy with messy blonde hair.


    Terat. The boy who had never made it back to the rendezvous. Zal motioned for Maz to wait there, and crept forward. But Maz couldn¡¯t help but follow, stepping carefully to stay silent.


    ¡°. . .Around here, I swear.¡±


    A guard with a coarse black mustache cuffed him on the back of the head. ¡°¡®Around here¡¯ isn¡¯t good enough, streetling. Lead us to the ringleader¡¯s house, or you¡¯re going straight to the stocks, hear me?¡±


    Terat hunched his shoulders and turned in a circle. Maz and Zal ducked back, but too slowly. Terat pointed. ¡°There!¡± As the guards turned in their direction. Zal hauled Maz to his feet and took his hand.


    They bolted.


    They vaulted over prone forms on the ground and skirted around broken crates as the guards crashed into the alley behind them. Maz did his best to keep up with his brother¡¯s longer legs, but soon his lungs were burning. He kept moving, but it wasn¡¯t enough. He stumbled, and only Zal¡¯s hand kept him from falling.


    The guards were close behind them, but they didn¡¯t know this part of the city like Maz and Zal did. Zal led them away from the house, deeper into the maze of mouldering buildings and twisting alleyways. He ducked in and out of abandoned houses, the shouts of the squatters trailing behind them.


    The guards trailed too. With each twist and turn the brothers gained a little bit of a lead, even with Maz¡¯s increasing clumsiness. Zal eventually allowed them to slow, listening for sounds of pursuit.


    Finally, they were alone. Maz hunched over, hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. Zal breathed heavily as well, but his fury overcame any exhaustion. The older boy paced, fists clenched.


    ¡°Terat! The coward. We had an agreement. I swear, if Alcide had any part of this, I¡¯ll make her regret double-crossing us.¡±


    Maz straightened. ¡°We should probably ask her before we make her our enemy. She and her gang are useful.¡±


    ¡°Sure, when they aren¡¯t betraying us. Come on. I want to find that little brat,¡± said Zal with a sneer.


    Zal started up, steps brisk once again. His brother crossed the dank alleyways at a swift pace, and circled back to the area where they had last seen Terat. There he slowed, and motioned for Maz to be quiet once more.


    Zal hunted, and Maz followed. Maz always followed, though the intense rage darkening his brother¡¯s brow made him increasingly nervous. He had been on the receiving end of that rage, and hoped that Terat was long gone.


    But Terat had not fled. He waited in the square, pacing and fidgeting.


    ¡°You! Traitor!¡± shouted Zal as he hurtled into the square. Terat took one look at Zal, and bolted. Zal dodged around the remaining guard and pursued Terat down a narrow alley on the other side of the square. Maz followed as quickly as he could, and the guard cursed as he zipped around him. The guard tried to follow the children down the gap, but his breastplate was too wide, and sparks flew as he lodged himself in between the two buildings.


    They exited the gap and raced down the alleyway behind a pub. Terat led them through the fallen remains of a warehouse and back into the alleys. Terat was fast, but Zal was faster. He cut the boy off, herding him into a box alley, where a tall fence cut off escape. Terat¡¯s eyes went wide with fear and he tried to turn and run, but Zal was too fast. He wheezed as Zal¡¯s fist struck him in the gut and, when he bent over, Zal struck him on the back with an elbow.


    ¡°You think you can give me up to the guards, you worthless gutter rat?¡± He punctuated his words with a kick to the shin, and Terat fell to the ground, sobbing in fear. ¡°You think you can take on a Serphant and not be bitten?¡± hissed Zal. Terat cowered, hands covering his head.


    ¡°Zal, stop, that¡¯s enough!¡± shouted Maz from the alleyway.


    The older boy didn¡¯t listen, and kicked Terat in the ribs. Somewhere above them a window slammed shut. If there were still guards nearby, Maz hoped they were deaf.


    Maz took a few hesitant steps into the alley as Terat spit up a mouthful of blood. The smaller boy tried to bolt, but Zal dragged him by his ankle and flipped him onto his back. He threw himself on Terat and struck him in the face, breaking the boy¡¯s nose.


    ¡°Zal! That¡¯s enough!¡± said Maz, catching his brother¡¯s arm as he wound up for another strike. Zal turned to him, eyes incoherent with rage, and snarled wordlessly. His brother raised his other hand, and Maz flinched, but didn¡¯t let go. Not this time.


    The blow caught Maz in the upper arm, and he lost his grip on Zal. Maz stumbled backwards into a broken crate as Zal spat at him, and turned back to the semi-conscious boy under him.


    Before he could stop himself, Maz had pried a plank off of the crate. He rushed at his brother and struck him firmly in the head with the splintering plank. The sound of wood-on-skull echoed through the empty street, and Zal went down.


    Terat wasted no time and pulled himself out from under Zal, movements woozy. Maz stared at his back as the boy stumbled away, wondering if he should follow.


    But Zal didn¡¯t give him a chance. He stirred and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. The plank was heavy in his hands, but Maz didn¡¯t drop it. He watched warily as his brother clambered to his feet. He turned to Maz with a confused look, looking to the plank, then to the blood on his fingers as he probed the back of his head.


    ¡°You hit me,¡± said Zal.


    ¡°I had to. You were going to kill him!¡±


    ¡°You hit me!¡±


    ¡°Zal¡ª¡±


    ¡°No. Brothers don¡¯t hit brothers. We stick together, one team.¡± Zal¡¯s fists balled and he took a step forward.


    Maz hefted his plank. ¡°It wasn¡¯t right!¡±


    ¡°Who are you to decide? I¡¯ll show you what¡¯s right and wrong!¡± Zal darted forward and snagged the plank from Maz¡¯s hands before he could react. His other fist took Maz on the temple and Maz stumbled into the brick wall, trying to pick himself up to run.


    But Zal was on him in an instant and struck him in the back with the plank. ¡°It was right, the right of thieves. He broke the deal, he ratted. I had to keep him in line.¡±


    ¡°I¡®m a thief, not a thug like you!¡± shouted Maz as he pushed himself up from the ground.


    Zal hesitated, and Maz took the moment to put distance between them.


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to be like me? Maz, you are a Serphant. Or do you think you are too good for us, little brother?¡±


    Maz raised his fists. ¡°Oarae take you, I won¡¯t be a thief if it means beating people half to death.¡±


    Zal sneered and pounced.


    The brothers tumbled onto the dirty cobble of the street, Zal¡¯s fists flailing. Maz tried to shove his brother off, but he was too heavy. He struck a blow to distract Zal, knuckles cracking off his cheekbone. Maz flinched at the pain. How does Zal manage it? Images of past beatings flashed through his mind and he bared his teeth as he caught his brother in the stomach with his heel. Maz used the brief respite to skitter backwards out of his reach. He dug a hand into his pocket, where the last shadow egg was miraculously unbroken. He hefted it and flung it at Zal¡¯s head.


    The egg cracked, goo splattering onto the dirty collar of his shirt. The shadows billowed up and Zal clawed at his face, trying to get it off. Maz bolted down the alley and headed back towards their house in the vain hope that his uncle would protect him.


    But it wasn¡¯t enough. Zal followed him, half-blind and bellowing. The blow to his head barely slowed him, and Maz was still tired from the flight from the guards. Zal dove onto him and brought Maz to the ground. He got Maz onto his back and rained strike after strike to his head and shoulders. Blood filled Maz¡¯s vision, and he heard a sharp crunch as his nose broke.


    The eggy shadows dripped onto him, mocking his failure. The gifts of Ixla had brought him nothing but trouble. He needed something else. Images of the temple of Oarae drifted through his battered mind as more and more blood obscured his vision. Fear surged through him. He was dead. Zal was killing him.


    ¡°Oarae . . . help . . . me . . .¡± Maz choked out with his last breath as his vision faded to black.


    Consciousness faded into darkness. But there was something else there. Golden light tickled the back of his mind, warm and soothing. The touch on his soul was foreign and uncomfortable, like standing too close to a bonfire. But Maz reached out for it anyway, wanting the comfort it promised. Power surged into him. The magic forced air into his struggling lungs, and gold filled his vision, replacing the blackness.


    Strength returned to his limbs, and he raised his arms. An unseen force pushed Zal off of him and into the garbage-piled in the alleyway. Maz rolled onto his belly, head throbbing both with pain and the unfamiliar burn of the golden power surging through his body. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was the golden light.


    The sound of footsteps, light and graceful, padded towards him. Maz jerked as hands stroked his face, warm and soothing. His broken nose righted itself with a frightening crunch and he whimpered in confusion as the swelling from his black eyes faded. The pain receded, and he sighed in relief as he sat up.


    In front of him stood a woman with short brown hair and a plain, friendly face. The golden glow came from her, a gentle warm light that banished the fears from his mind. She wore a simple linen wrap and a quiver of arrows strapped to her back.


    Maz stared up at her. A god, a real one, here in front of him. Oarae. The God of Truth and Justice.


    She looked at him with pity, and touched his forehead with a gentle hand. Her mind flooded into his¡ªnot thoughts, exactly, but images and intentions. Maz flinched and tried to pull away, but the images were relentless. Temples, all across the land. Her symbol, a bow letting fly a piercingly sharp arrow. The overwhelming determination to do the right thing, even if it meant pain and heartache. The compulsive desire to protect, to find out the truth, to think before acting.


    And an invitation to be her follower. The question pulsed in his mind. Say yes, and be taken away from this place. Say no, and return to a life of crime with his violent brother and absent uncle.


    The question tore Maz in two. Thieving was all he knew. It was in his blood. But he knew he couldn¡¯t continue like this, stealing from people he liked and living as Zal¡¯s punching bag.


    He wanted more. Maz¡¯s head bowed, and his soul answered.


    The god smiled, and her thumb rubbed his forehead. Pain seared into his skull, brief but potent. But it faded quickly, and he knew he had been marked to be her follower, like the guard from the market.


    And not just any follower. The god¡¯s hand withdrew, and Maz¡¯s hand flew to his forehead. He would need a mirror to confirm, but everyone knew what a godmark looked like. On his forehead was a glimmering mark of gold, glowing softly. The bow and arrow of Oarae. He had been Chosen. He would have powers, the ability to tell truth from lie, to be able to compel a confession. Things normal people couldn¡¯t do.


    The god nodded to confirm and stood. Maz followed, head bowed. What do you say to a god?


    Oarae stood a moment, looking at the trembling form of Zal, who lay prone in the garbage, the whites of his eyes bright in the shadows. She shook her head, then returned her attention to Maz. She pointed towards the temple district, and made a shooing motion. Of course¡ªMaz had been Chosen, and must go to her temple.


    The god smiled and ruffled his hair, then faded away.


    Maz and Zal stared at each other across the empty space where the god had been.


    Zal climbed to his feet, holding his ribs as he limped over to Maz. His face was pale with pain and confusion.


    ¡°You¡¯re a godlicking Arrow! I should never have let you go anywhere near that temple.¡±


    Maz stared back at his brother, still touching his forehead.


    Zal limped as he began to pace, face contorted with emotion. ¡°You¡¯ve been Chosen, Maz. She Chose you. I can¡¯t believe it. You are going to leave me here in the dirt.¡±


    ¡°Zal, no. I can stay, I don¡¯t have to go to the temple.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get to tell her no, she¡¯s a damn god! What kind of Serphant goes and gets himself Chosen by the god of justice?¡±


    Tears began to leak down Maz¡¯s face. ¡°Zal, please. I didn¡¯t mean to get Chosen.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to? Gods above, do you know what I would give to be Chosen? And you just have it happen to you? How much I¡¯ve prayed . . .¡± Zal clenched his fists, and the anger faded from his face, replaced with resignation. ¡°Just go.¡±


    The tears came harder and a sob choked Maz¡¯s throat. ¡°I won¡¯t turn you in, not ever. I swear it on Oarae.¡± His godmark pulsed. Promise accepted.


    Zal hesitated a moment before the anger welled back up on his face. ¡°I can¡¯t stand to look at you. Go, get out of here.¡± He aimed a kick at Maz, who dodged with reflexes well-honed by experience.


    ¡°GO!¡± Zal screamed, fists raised.


    Maz ran. He ran all the way to the temple, thoughts tumbling over in his head. Truth. His uncle. Justice. His brother. Chosen to serve; what did that even mean? He glanced over his shoulder as the doors of the temple whispered shut behind him. Zal was nowhere in sight. There was only Oarae for him now.


    He slumped against the yellow stones of the temple wall. Someone kneeled in front of him, but he didn¡¯t hear their words. She called out, and more followers of Oarae hurried into the antechamber. They were well-fed and wore clean grey robes and fine leather sandals. None bore godmarks; they had chosen Oarae for themselves. They looked so utterly unlike his brother that chaotic laughter bubbled up from his twisting stomach. Maz let them lead him away deeper into the temple, shock settling in as surely as the temple walls were closing in around him.


    There was only Oarae for him now.

 The Drachenwalds Guardian

    Light filtered through the golden leaves and white branches of a tree onto Cathan''s scales as he stood nearby on a cliff. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the heady smells of the forest below. He breathed in the smell of leaf mulch stirred by his clawed feet.


    Cathan craned his long neck to observe the golden leaves of the Drachenwald tree, his green eyes glistening with a hint of matching gold. He snorted in satisfaction, lowering himself and tucking his front legs comfortably beneath his belly.


    The forest was silent, just the way he liked it. No squirrels chattering as they collected their nuts, no birds twittering as they made their nests¡ªthey wouldn''t dare! All the creatures of the forest knew who he was: Cathan, last of the dragons, guardian of the Drachenwald tree.


    Cathan lowered his head toward the ground. A yawn revealed twin rows of long, sharp teeth and a forked serpentine tongue as he settled in for his afternoon nap. He closed his eyes, heaving a sigh.


    An unfamiliar scent floating on the air caught his attention. He raised his head and looked around the edge of the clearing below, searching for an intruder¡ªthey were close. Very close. A low growl rose in his throat. How had he missed them until now? His shoulders rose in anger as he stood and stalked away from the tree, down into the clearing.


    Cathan followed the scent to the lake''s edge beneath his cliff, searching for the intruder. He stepped close to the water, his gaze sweeping the trees.


    A twig snapped, and Cathan threw his body to his left, unfurling his wings. His ears pricked as he heard heavy breathing, and he lowered his head closer to one of the trees as he peered around it. The intruder gasped, flailing their arms as they fell. As they backed into a tree and pulled their legs to their chest, their hood fell to their shoulders.


    A human girl.


    Rage formed in the pit of his stomach. A human! Here, in his woods! He reared on his hind legs, extending his wings to their full length, and bellowed a thunderous roar that echoed through the valley and shook the ground beneath his feet.


    How dare a human come here, near the last Drachenwald tree, after the others were destroyed? Did she not know the story? Cathan studied her face as she raised her hands over her ears, covering them with her palms beneath messy, curly brown hair. Two green eyes surrounded by a rounded face gazed up at him and Cathan snapped his jaw shut as his roar faded, then he lowered his head to look down at the girl.


    Part of him wanted to strike out at her right then¡ªhumans had invaded his home, hunted down the other dragons, and destroyed the other Drachenwald trees, leaving only one behind. Though he had gotten used to his life of solitude, the ache in his heart for his fellow dragons had never faded.


    As he watched the girl shaking like a leaf on the ground in front of him, the voice of Cathan''s empathy spoke out. She''s just a girl, he thought. She has nothing to do with the actions of other humans. She couldn''t be more than sixteen years old judging from her size and scent, and the other dragons had been gone for decades. Despite his feelings toward humans, killing her seemed distasteful.


    Cathan huffed, baring his teeth, his nostrils flaring. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my forest?"


    The girl raised her head, staring up at him with wide eyes. She started to speak, but could barely form the words as they caught in her throat.


    Cathan bared his teeth again, growing impatient. "Tell me your name!" he growled.


    "Niamh. Please, don''t eat me," she begged, her voice shaking.


    Cathan''s cold laughter echoed throughout the clearing. "Child, if I wanted to eat you, I''d have done it within seconds of seeing you. Now, what are you doing in my forest?"


    "My sister has been taken by slavers. I need help finding them and getting her back," she answered in a trembling voice. "I was following them and found my way here, but I tripped and hurt my ankle,"


    Cathan raised his head. Did that mean there were others in the forest looming closer to the tree? "Come closer. I will not hurt you," he said.


    He waited for the girl to obey. The fear fell from her face, replaced by curiosity, as she leaned forward from the tree. "You really are a dragon, aren''t you?"


    "My name is Cathan. I am the guardian of this forest, and you are trespassing," he growled.


    Niamh stared up at him in awe. "I''ve never seen a dragon before. I was always told they''d all been hunted down. Some said they weren''t real."


    Cathan lowered his head toward her. "I assure you, I am quite real. See for yourself."


    Niamh hesitantly raised her hand toward him. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before she finally touched the end of his snout near his nostrils, running her hand over his rough, warm scales.


    Cathan closed his eyes, breathing in her scent as Niamh''s fingers touched him. His snout twitched, and her earthy human scent filled his nostrils as he tried to sniff out the scents of the slavers. There was something else, something faint but familiar. He shut his eyes tighter, trying to remember. He''d smelled something similar a long time ago, but recognition eluded him. Abandoning the effort, he lifted his lids and watched Niamh''s eyes fill with even more curiosity. They held an interesting mix of innocence and sorrow.


    "I never expected to talk to a dragon," Niamh said, lowering her hand.


    Cathan watched the girl, contemplating his response as he pulled his head back. He didn''t want to stray too far from the tree, and who knew where these slavers were by now?


    "Do you know where these slavers were going?" he asked.


    "Toward Rhothia," Niamh replied.


    Cathan studied her skeptically as he considered her story. The city of Rhothia was much further outside the border of the forest than Cathan would have liked. Nearly a half day''s walk for a human. He didn''t like the idea of her kind being here, and the sooner they left, the better. He couldn''t risk leaving the tree unguarded for long, though.


    It won''t happen again. Not under my watch, he thought, remembering the beautiful leaves of the other Drachenwald trees burning before shaking off the painful memory. He had to get Niamh as far away from the tree as he could.


    Staying in this form would make the journey difficult, however. Riding was a special privilege reserved for those bonded to a dragon. Besides, it would be easier to pass through the trees and keep a closer eye on her if he wasn''t in this form.


    Cathan huffed and rose from the ground. "I will help you. But first, I must take care of something. Stay here," he said.


    He entered the shallow lake and walked toward the cave behind the waterfall. As he entered the cave''s darkness, his shifting magic stirred within him, clawing at his insides. A long growl escaped him, echoing throughout the cave as it continued ripping at him. Bones crunched and flesh squelched as his body shifted. Wings shrank into his back and disappeared. His claws did the same, forming human hands and feet, and his limbs shortened into arms and legs.


    He fumbled in the darkness as his eyes struggled to adjust, and he searched for the pile of human clothing made in the nation of Elisora he kept for when he shifted to this form¡ªnot that he shifted very often. He detested being in his human form.


    Niamh''s jaw dropped as he approached after emerging from the cave. "You can shift into a human?"


    Cathan glanced down at himself and considered what he looked like to her. He wore a long-sleeved tunic, simple pants and boots, and a cloak wrapped tight with the hood drawn down, revealing a short beard and sharp jaw, and a head of brown hair that was shorn close to his scalp.


    "I assure you that dragons are capable of far more than simply burning down villages, or whatever your fellow humans would have told you," Cathan answered with a shrug. "Now, come along. The sooner we find your sister, the sooner I can return home." He jumped from the last rock onto the beach, then walked toward Niamh. "Can you put any weight on your foot?"


    Niamh stood straight against the tree and placed her foot on the ground. She winced and shifted her weight off of it. "Some, but it''ll slow me down."


    Cathan sighed. This would take longer than he''d hoped. He searched for a sturdy branch, found one that satisfied him, then offered it to her. "Here, use this as a walking stick." He grabbed the crook of Niamh''s arm, staring her hard in the eyes. "If we pass anyone, say nothing about who I am if they ask. Understood?" Cathan kept his voice low.


    Niamh silently nodded, waiting for him to let her go. Cathan watched her for a moment before he turned back toward the Drachenwald tree. Its leaves contained protective magic that could prove useful on this journey. He considered returning to the tree to collect a few, then dismissed the notion with a confident shrug as he turned back.


    They traveled until it became too dark to see and made camp for the night.


    * * *


    Early the next morning, Cathan watched as the clouds drifted along the morning sky, and yearned to be up there with them, gliding along with his wings spread wide as he searched for the intruders. He heaved a frustrated sigh, his body visibly shuddering. How long had it been since they''d left the Drachenwald tree? Not long by his calculation. I''ll never get used to being in this body, he thought.


    "Are you alright?" Niamh asked nervously.


    Cathan glanced over at Niamh and nodded as they walked up the crest of a hill. "I''m just eager to get back home." His transformation magic stirred within him, but it felt off. "I think there''s a shortcut we can take through the woods over there that will lead toward Rhothia," Cathan said, pointing toward the woods up ahead.


    "Are you sure that''s the right way?" Niamh asked.


    Cathan frowned. His senses weren''t as sharp in his human form as they were in his dragon one¡ªhis vision became blurry if he tried to see too far away, and he couldn''t hear the whir of a cricket''s wings from across the clearing like he could as a dragon. His sense of smell may as well have been non-existent. But he still had a good sense of direction. He glanced over at Niamh, trying to read her face.


    "I''m sure. This will be faster," Cathan replied.


    Niamh limped ahead of him as they came to the wooded entrance, sitting down on a nearby log. Her breathing was heavy as she leaned forward, grasping her ankle. "I can''t walk anymore. My ankle''s getting worse."


    Cathan sighed in frustration. I should just leave her here, he thought, but they were still too close to the Drachenwald. He looked at Niamh as she sat on the log, watching as she rubbed at her ankle. How hard it must have been for humans to be unable to heal their injuries with magic. His empathy overcame his draconic instincts once more as he realized how weak she truly was, and he felt a strange sense of caring for the girl. He chewed on the inside of his lip as he knelt down in front of her. "Let me see," he said.


    Niamh raised the edge of her skirts, allowing him to examine her ankle. Cathan lifted her leg up, so it rested on his knee and he could examine it. "It''s a little swollen, but not too bad," he said. He pulled a strip of his cloak off and carefully wrapped it around her ankle.


    Niamh used the branch to stand, trying to maintain balance on one foot. "Thank you," she said.


    As they walked further, he opened and closed his fists anxiously. He was too far from home, and she was walking slow enough that he''d never make it back before sunrise the next day.


    "Is there any chance we can stop? I''m getting tired," Niamh pleaded from his side.


    Cathan shook his head. "We have to keep going. I want to get as far as possible today."


    Silence lingered between them once more. Cathan noticed Niamh glancing up at him before quickly looking away.


    "What is it?" he asked.


    Niamh bit her lip. "Why do you not want humans in the forest?"


    "Have you not heard the stories of what happened between the humans and dragons?" Cathan asked, surprised. Didn''t most humans know the story by now?


    Niamh shrugged. "I know there used to be lots of dragons, but not what happened to them."


    Cathan took a deep breath as he began."The humans and dragons had a pact to protect the Drachenwald trees. Some humans held magical connections to dragons, though it was rare. One such human existed and held a connection with a dragon. The human promised to train and become a guardian of the Drachenwald trees, keeping them protected from those who sought to use their magic for other means. Some humans hunted the dragons down to sell their parts at markets." He breathed deeply, keeping his gaze forward as they walked. "The human and dragon shared everything, even emotions, which made the betrayal even more bitter when he betrayed his dragon and led a massacre to the forest. The humans destroyed all but one Drachenwald tree. One tree, and one dragon as its guardian, are all that remain."


    "How is it you survived?" Niamh asked, wincing.


    Cathan glanced down at his side, feeling a phantom pain from the nearly fatal stab wound he''d endured all those years ago. "I almost didn''t," he answered. "The rest of my kind were not so lucky . . ."


    He trailed. "The humans had torn the power from the Drachenwald trees and turned against their partners." He pushed the thoughts out of his mind, wishing he could claw them away permanently. Now the responsibility of protecting the tree had fallen to him, and although he''d accepted it willingly, it was a heavy burden to bear on his own. He felt the familiar urge to shed a tear, but ignored it.


    "I''m sorry," Niamh said. She wiped a tear away and looked down at her damp fingers in surprise.


    "It was a long time ago," Cathan replied. ¡°I prefer not to dwell on it.¡±


    "Why did you decide to help me?" Niamh asked.


    Cathan kept his gaze straight ahead. "The sooner you''re out of the forest, the sooner I can get back home." As he walked, he listened for the sound of her feet moving through the grass. "I can easily turn back, so you better keep up if you expect me to help you find your sister," he called back to her.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Niamh appeared at his side a few moments later as she limped quickly to catch up.


    "Have you ever been to Rhothia?" Niamh asked.


    "Only once, many years ago," Cathan answered after a moment.


    Rhothia sat outside the capital of Valena as a merchant city. Many tradespeople from all over came to the city to sell their treasures¡ªincluding the hunters that had murdered so many of his kind. Dragons were drawn to treasure, especially young ones, and Cathan had been no exception. His curiosity had allowed him to take advantage of his shifting magic and enter the city as though he were any other human.


    He had wandered the streets, taking in the exotic wares from lands he had never traveled to himself. But his awe had turned to horror, then rage, when he caught sight of a dragon skull, on a merchant''s table with a handful of dragon scales, glistening in the scorching sun. His stomach churned, unable to keep himself from imagining what those dragons must have endured for humans to have their expensive trinkets.


    Cathan shook the memory away and looked to Niamh, who stared up at him with confusion. He cleared his throat, looking away. "I went there once to explore the city. Let''s just say I didn''t like what I saw."


    Niamh nodded. "I was born in Rhothia. I remember wandering the markets and seeing . . ."


    "Seeing what?" Cathan asked.


    Niamh paused and looked up at him, sorrow in her voice. "The magical creatures some of the merchants had in cages."


    As Cathan held eye contact with Niamh, a warm prickling filled his stomach as his magic stirred¡ªnot the way it did when he was about to transform, but when his magic reacted to danger. He scowled, tilting his head to one side as he tried to make sense of it.


    "We should keep going," Niamh said, pulling her gaze away. "You need to get back to your tree, after all."


    * * *


    A few hours later, Cathan followed the path in the forest, stepping over a large branch jutting up from the forest floor. The path ended in a clearing with leaves covering the ground, and he walked further in.


    Something stirred on the ground. Before Cathan could react, a net flew up around him, knocking him off his feet as it rose swiftly into the air. Cathan snarled and thrashed at the ropes, his draconian instincts surging to the fore. His eyes dilating, his tongue darted out of his mouth and he bit at the net with his dull human teeth. His clawless fingers tore at the ropes, and his shoulder blades twitched with the urge to take flight.


    Above, six humans sat up in the trees, three on each side of the clearing as they held the ropes and pulled the net further into the air.


    Damn humans, he thought angrily. I should have known better.


    If only he were in his dragon form¡ªhe''d rip them apart and burn them to a crisp in a matter of seconds! He pulled on his shifting magic, hoping he could transform and free himself, but the magic was weak.


    Come on, he begged inwardly. Don''t fail me now!


    He tried again, continuing to thrash and snarl as he attempted to free himself, but it was no use. The powerful magic he''d always known within him was too weak for a full transformation. He was too far from the tree.


    Consider yourselves lucky, he thought.


    A man with a dark beard peppered with grey approached the net, coming up to Cathan''s chest. He peered up at him, and Cathan gave him a hard glare as he held onto the net.


    "What do you want?" Cathan demanded, his voice rumbling.


    The man grinned. "Rumor in Rhothia has it that the townspeople have seen the shadow of a dragon flying over this forest, but no one was brave enough to find out if it was true. From what I know of dragonlore, some have shapeshifting abilities." He paused, tossing his head back in Niamh''s direction. "Your little friend here confirmed who you were."


    Cathan looked behind the man to where Niamh struggled beneath another net as two men clutched her arms tight. The human standing in front of Cathan''s net turned toward Niamh and approached, pulling the net off of her and keeping his back turned, making it harder for Cathan to hear what he said to her.


    The man turned away. "Cut him down and tie him up. We''ll make camp here for the night before we head to Rhothia."


    The net holding Cathan fell from the air and onto the ground with Cathan in it, knocking the air out of him as he landed on his stomach. Hands grabbed at his arms from both sides and yanked him up as Niamh, free from her net, walked toward him. He met her gaze.


    "You don''t have a sister, do you?" Niamh didn''t answer. "Tell me, how does it feel to betray a dragon?" He held eye contact with the human girl, searching her eyes as a ghostly twinge of guilt tugged at his gut.


    "I had no choice." Her voice was soft as she turned away.


    * * *


    Cathan pulled against the thick, glittering chains wrapped tight around his chest as he sat against the trunk of a tree while the humans set camp, but it was no use. Sweat drenched his forehead, and he hung his head low, growling in frustration. He couldn''t shift, and he didn''t have enough strength to rip through the chains holding him against the tree.


    He closed his eyes, fighting to control his breathing. He would never escape from these humans if he wasted what remained of his strength. Strands of hair fell into his face, and he shook them away to see where Niamh sat with her companions around a campfire.


    "Go bring him some water. We can''t have him dying on us before we reach Rhothia," one of the male humans said, cuffing Niamh on the head.


    Cathan raised an eyebrow as she turned toward him with a scowl, making eye contact. Niamh stood in front of him a few moments later. She knelt down and held a cup toward him. "I''m sorry they''ve been so cruel to you," Niamh said, keeping her voice low. "Gavriel takes too much pleasure in tormenting others."


    Cathan glanced skeptically at the cup, but nodded and allowed Niamh to raise it to his lips. "Thank you," Cathan said as he pulled back. "Is Gavriel the leader?" She nodded. "Tell me, how much are they paying you to help them?"


    Niamh gazed up at him, a hint of defiance in her eyes, but Cathan could see the truth in them. He watched as she absently rubbed at the iron cuff on her left wrist, and Cathan understood even more. He''d seen such iron cuffs before, many years ago when he''d visited Rhothia, on the wrist of the merchant with the dragon skull on display. She needed help as much as he did.


    "You don''t have to do this, " Cathan said, keeping his voice soft. He watched the other humans sitting several feet away from them as they talked. "I know you''re a good person, and we can help each other."


    Niamh stayed silent.


    "If you help me escape from here, we can go to the Drachenwald tree, and I will make sure these men can never find you." He paused, letting that information sink in before continuing. "I am the tree''s guardian. My shifting magic is tied to the tree''s. But the longer I stay here, in this form, the more vulnerable the tree is. I need to get back to it. Will you help me?"


    "Niamh! Come back over here!"


    Niamh raised her eyes to him and stood, then walked away silently. Cathan watched as Niamh lay down on her bedroll, her shoulders hunched. Cathan could tell she was having a hard time getting comfortable as she constantly shifted her body. He hoped she would roll over so they could continue their wordless conversation, but she never did.


    * * *


    Cathan was woken early the next morning. Gavriel stood nearby and watched as his men restrained Cathan with the chains that had held him to the tree all night. Once he was secure, Gavriel pulled him forward with a sharp tug. Cathan struggled against it, but Gavriel just laughed. "That chain binds you with magic. You''ll only escape it when I release you from it, and you''ll stay human until I say so." He fondled a heavy gold key on a thong around his neck.


    "Where are you taking me?" Cathan asked.


    "To the marketplace in Rhothia," Gavriel answered.


    "Good luck with that," Cathan scoffed as he watched Gavriel''s reaction.


    Gavriel raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"


    Cathan looked instinctively in the direction of the Drachenwald, barely able to sense its power. He needed to be closer to break free, but the thought of these humans taking one step nearer terrified him. Niamh gasped.


    Gavriel turned toward Niamh, who stood nearby. "Do you know why?"


    Niamh looked away, not meeting his eyes. Gavriel grabbed her by the arm, shaking her. She bit her lip and gave Cathan an agonized look. "The tree," she whispered.


    Gavriel raised his fist, and she cowered with familiar fear. "What tree?" he asked.


    Cathan''s eyes widened, and he snarled at Niamh. "Say nothing."


    Gavriel laughed. "She knows who she belongs to."


    Niamh bowed her head and pointed in the tree''s direction. "It has great power."


    Gaviel''s mouth widened in a vicious smile. "Great power, you say?" He turned toward one of his lackeys. "Break camp. We have a new destination."


    Cathan struggled against his chains with futile desperation.


    * * *


    After hours of traveling, Cathan sat up against the trunk of a tree that night, chains tied tight around his chest. He eyed Niamh suspiciously as she approached him.


    Niamh knelt down next to him, holding a golden key in her hand as she fumbled with the chain''s lock. "We have little time. Gavriel is keeping watch and is stinking drunk," Niamh whispered.


    "Is that how you got the key?" Cathan asked.


    Niamh nodded. "I took it off of him after he passed out. He¡¯s not very good at keeping watch."


    "Clearly, but how do I know this isn¡¯t another trap?¡±


    "You don''t. You''ll just have to trust me. Hold the chains tight so they don¡¯t fall when I unlock them.  If we make too much noise Gavriel might wake up."


    Cathan nodded, watching as she twisted the key into the lock. "What changed your mind?"


    The lock turned with a click and Niamh began to slowly remove the chains. "I''ve helped Gavriel hurt too many magical creatures already. I don¡¯t know why, but I couldn''t let him hurt you."


    ¡°Why did the hunters have you with them?" Cathan inquired.


    "I''m the bait," Niamh answered. "They travel all over the country, collecting magical items and creatures to sell. Gavriel kidnapped me with this cuff and forced me to work with them, since I don''t look like a hunter. He uses me as a decoy to lure magical creatures¡ªlike you." She raised her left wrist to show him the iron cuff.


    "Are you sure you want to do this? There''s no going back."


    "I''m sure," Niamh answered. "Are you able to transform yet?"


    As the last loop of chain was quietly set on the ground, Cathan stood. His legs and arms felt cramped from sitting for so long, but he was free. His magic stirred within him, but returning to his true form took far more energy than shedding it. He turned toward Niamh and shook his head. "Not yet. We''re getting closer. Let''s go."


    * * *


    Cathan pushed himself to walk as fast as he could, with Niamh barely trailing behind. As they came closer to the Drachenwald tree, he could feel his power growing. The morning sun had begun its rise over the treetops in the distance.


    Soon, he thought. He could return to his true form and fulfill his promise ¡ª not just to protect the Drachenwald tree, but to protect Niamh as well.


    He reached up toward the clasp of his cloak, pulling it open and letting it drop to the ground. He held his gaze steady, walking faster as his transformation magic stirred within him. Clothes tore from his body as he grew, his legs and arms changing shape. Claws replaced fingers and toes, and two wings grew out of his shoulder blades. His long neck stretched toward the sky, and his jaw opened to reveal twin rows of dagger-like teeth.


    Cathan felt an echo of both tension and excitement. He lowered his head, pausing it only inches from Niamh''s face as he stared into her eyes.


    "You''ve granted me my freedom. What would you ask of me in return?"


    Niamh swallowed, the fear in her eyes fading into determination. "I want Gavriel to get what he deserves."


    "Something we have in common," Cathan said. "What do you plan to do afterwards, when you''ve gained your freedom from these men?"


    Niamh''s eyes widened as she considered the question and looked away. She shook her head. "I''m not sure. I have no family or home left to go to."


    Cathan nodded, looking out into the distance, to where he could imagine the golden treetop of the Drachenwald, glistening in the sunlight. He raised his head toward the sky and closed his eyes, breathing in. Soon, he could put everything that had happened behind him and go back to protecting the tree. Perhaps I won''t be doing it alone, though, he thought as he opened his eyes.


    As Cathan came up the crest of the hill, a familiar woodsy scent entered his nostrils and he paused, baring his teeth as rage filled his belly. Gavriel led his caravan toward the bottom of the cliff, pointing toward the tree as he and his men shouted their cheers of victory.


    "Stay here." Cathan''s wings spread out next to him and he took off into the air, leaving Niamh behind on the hillside.


    Cathan flew high above the caravan, watching as Gavriel''s lackeys stood paralyzed in fear. He searched for Gavriel, whose horse was already beginning the climb up the cliff toward the tree. Cathan''s roar echoed throughout the valley, and he dove toward the cliff, landing in front of Gavriel''s horse as he spread his wings out to their full length. Gavriel stared up at him in horror, his hand shaking as he raised his sword in a feeble attempt to protect himself.


    Cathan growled, baring his teeth and lowering his head as close to Gavriel''s face as he could. "I told you I''d rip you limb from limb." He opened his mouth, feeling the rage build up in his belly as foam slipped through his teeth and dripped onto his chin.


    "Wait!" Gavriel exclaimed, dropping the sword as he held up one hand. "I can offer you riches or anything else you want! Look, I''ll prove it!" He reached slowly into a pouch he wore on his belt, pulling out a pile of dragon scales and dropping them to the ground.


    Cathan reared back on his legs, shaking his head in a fiery rage. The ground beneath him shook as he roared, sending more of Gavriel''s men scattering away. Gavriel''s horse followed, leaving its owner behind. "This is your idea of a bribe? Throwing the scales of my brethren at my feet?" he scoffed. "You lost your life when you captured me."


    For a moment, Cathan forgot about Niamh, about the other men, focusing on Gavriel instead. It was because of greedy men like Gavriel that the other dragons had been killed, and now the results lay in front of him. It would be Gavriel''s last mistake.


    Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Niamh approach, and he raised his head. His eyes flickered toward her, watching as she carefully approached Gavriel.


    Gavriel turned toward Niamh. "You think this dragon will do a better job than me taking care of you? I put food in your belly. How can you trust him not to eat you?"


    Niamh looked up at Cathan, who raised his chin in acknowledgement. As they made eye contact, he felt a sense of kinship coming from her.


    "I trust him more than I ever trusted you," she said after a moment, looking back at Gavriel. "You took me from the only home I ever knew and used me for your own personal gain." She looked up at Cathan, who waited patiently for her signal as he sensed the rage radiating off of her, and she stared down at her former captor. "You may have put food in my belly, but you never took care of me," she said as her breathing slowed.


    "You''ll never get by on your own without me, girl," Gavriel scoffed.


    Niamh reached toward the chain hanging around Gavriel''s neck and yanked it off. She held the silver key in her palm before looking back at him. "I''m done doing your dirty work."


    Niamh raised her left wrist, clicking the key into the lock and holding it there for a moment before letting the iron cuff fall to the ground in front of Gavriel.


    Gavriel stared down at the cuff before looking back between Niamh and Cathan, his eyes wide with fear.


    Niamh turned away from Gavriel and looked up at Cathan, who nodded, waiting for her to move.


    A blood-curdling scream echoed throughout the valley.


    * * *


    After taking care of Gavriel''s lackeys, Cathan looked toward the cliff where the Drachenwald tree stood, closing his eyes as the tree''s magic wrapped itself around him, welcoming him back.


    Cathan turned toward Niamh, who knelt on the ground several feet away. His magic stirred, and he sensed her confusion, relief, and uncertainty radiating off of her. Part of him wanted to ignore it and let her go her own way, but the magic was strong. It had been many years since the last dragon bonded with a human, but Cathan couldn''t deny the familiar feeling of a bond forming any longer.


    "Are you alright?" he asked as he walked toward her.


    Niamh looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "I''ve wanted to escape from Gavriel for so long, and I couldn''t . . . until now. You gave me that strength, Cathan."


    Cathan shook his head. "You''ve always had that strength within you. In time, you''ll learn to use it for things you can''t imagine," he said.


    Niamh frowned, wiping her tears away as she stood. "What do you mean?"


    "Come with me, and I''ll show you."


    Cathan led her forward, pausing near the base of the tree, gazing on its golden leaves glistening in the beaming sun.


    Niamh paused at his side, her mouth gaped open in awe.


    "Did I not tell you the tree was magnificent?" Cathan asked.


    "It''s the most beautiful tree I''ve ever seen," Niamh whispered in awe.


    "Being a guardian of this tree is not something to take lightly," he said. "A guardian is forever bound, not just with physically protecting it, but because of the magical connection a guardian has to the tree. It is a lifelong commitment." He lowered his head in front of her. "You said before that you don''t have a place to call home. You can stay here and learn more about the tree. If it goes well, this may become a permanent home for you."


    Niamh''s green eyes widened, and she smiled up at him. "You''d really allow me to stay here?"


    Cathan nodded. "For as long as you''d like."


    "I don''t know what to say . . . thank you, Cathan."


    "We have much to learn from each other, I think," Cathan said, looking up at the tree. For the first time in many years, a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Finally, he would have someone to share his duties with, and he could take to the sky more often. He wouldn''t be alone anymore. He looked down at Niamh again, lowering his neck. "If you''re going to live here, you should see your new home from above."

 The Thief and the Pirate

    Captain Garreth scowled at his crew and sneered at their cowering. They were clustered close together on the dock, their eyes darting between him and his ship, the Merry Devil. At this late hour, they ought to be on that ship. Each and every one looked ready to soil themselves or flee. Garreth¡¯s reddening face and rising voice made some flinch and others cringe away from him. ¡°What d¡¯you mean the spirit o¡¯ John Silver is on board and demandin¡¯ I return his journal?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s jus¡¯ like we said Cap¡¯n.¡± Matilda spoke up, her voice tight with restraint. At barely five feet tall, she was the smallest bosun Garreth had ever sailed with, but more than once the Reaver captain had watched her hurl men three times her weight across a tavern, street, or deck. Now, however, she stood before him sweating as if feverish, except her brown face had a distinct pallor untouched by flush. ¡°We heard a noise down in the hold, went to investigate, and there was a flash¡ª¡±


    Riley cut her off. ¡°Fires From Hell itself! From Davey Jones¡¯ Locker!¡± The lad was young, new to the crew, and very excitable, but for once no one was silencing him. Some nodded in agreement.


    Garreth dragged a palm down his face and took a deep breath. ¡°Riley.¡± His voice started as a low guttural growl and rose in volume with each word. ¡°There are no flames in Davey! Jones¡¯! LOCKER! Damned fool. Alla ya! Buncher lily livered fools! Thar ain¡¯t no such thing as spirits without a body. Undead, aye, plenty o¡¯ those on the Sea of Dreams, but I¡¯ve sailed these waters nigh on thirty years, and I ain¡¯t yet heard of a ghost outside a drunken fool¡¯s story. Never mind seen one.¡±


    ¡°But Captain. . .¡± Matilda¡¯s protest died on her lips, though she didn¡¯t drop her gaze as he glowered at her.


    ¡°Enough. I heard yer fool¡¯s tales once already.¡± Garreth¡¯s coarse low voice took on a mocking falsetto. ¡°¡®It¡¯s the spirit o¡¯ Long John Silver Cap¡¯n. ¡®E wants his journal Cap¡¯n!¡¯¡± He dropped the falsetto. ¡°Great roaring green flames shrieking throughout the hold and extinguishing every lantern, ya said! Does that ship look like it¡¯s on fire?!¡± Garreth jabbed a finger at the Merry Devil bobbing peacefully beside the moonlit dock. Only the lanterns above deck remained alight. ¡°Are you lot cold-blooded Reavers or rot-brained Bilge Rats!?¡±


    The crew squirmed under this verbal assault. Even Matilda was unable to meet his fierce gaze at that moment. ¡°Pathetic. The whole lotta ya! Outta my way. I¡¯ll deal with this ¡®spirit¡¯ meself.¡±


    Leaving his half-panicked crew behind, Garreth strode up the gangplank to the Merry Devil¡¯s deck, muttering to himself as he went. ¡°Never a bead o¡¯ sweat facin¡¯ a skele galleon. No limp spines fightin¡¯ off a full crew of the cursed undead. No, not then, but one hint of a ghost, and they all go yellow on me. Bah. Bunch o¡¯ fools.¡± Feigning more confidence than he felt, he bellowed to bolster his nerve. "Ain''t no such thing as ghosts!"


    Reaching the main mast¡¯s base, Garreth paused, his dark eyes sweeping up and down the silent deck. A cool breeze swept through the salty night air. Above fluttered a flag with a laughing horned skull. Timbers creaked quietly at his heavy slow stride. Bright light from a full moon gleamed off dark gently lapping waves.


    ¡°Well? Where¡¯s the spirit that¡¯s got you all actin¡¯ as spineless as a buncher jellyfish eh? You hear me spirit!? Show yourself!¡± Garreth stalked toward the prow with its rattling figurehead of a caged skeleton. He had captured the creature years ago by luck more than intent. Pace steady, Garreth circled back toward the stern taunting the spirit as he went. ¡°Shy now spirit? You were bold enough to spook those fools I call a crew!¡±


    ¡°Goooo . . .¡± a voice moaned hauntingly from below. Instincts honed by years of pirating had Garreth¡¯s clockwork pistol out and searching for a target before he could stop himself.


    ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a damned ghost, and I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± Garreth growled as he eyed the stairs leading down into the dark hold. The ¡®spirit¡¯ had extinguished every lantern with its strange green flames, according to his trembling crew. ¡°This is my ship damn you, and the Red Blade of the Reavers runs from no one and nothing! D¡¯ya hear me spirit?!? Nothing and no one!¡±


    As he railed, Garreth took up a bright deck lantern in one hand, holstered his pistol, then drew Mercy¡¯s Kiss from her sheath. Even in moonlight, there was no mistaking the hellish crimson hue of that legendary blade. Shoving his whispering fears away, Garreth marched down into the pitch-black belly of the ship.


    ¡°Know what I think ¡®spirit¡¯?¡± He spat the word as his lantern¡¯s flame offered a paltry illumination of the large, well-stocked hold. ¡°I think yer some landlubber with a fancy trick or two and a knack fer throwin¡¯ yer voice. I think,¡± Garreth savored his next growling words, ¡°I¡¯m goin¡¯ teh kill you slow for spoilin¡¯ my first evenin¡¯ at port in three months.¡±


    Garreth¡¯s threats were more than an expression of his anger. They were a calculated attack on his trespasser¡¯s nerves, as were the heavy thudding steps with which he moved to begin his search. Green fires blossomed through the air, enveloping Garreth and his lantern, then vanished just as quickly. ¡°Anu¡¯s Mercy!¡± He cursed at the spectral flames, then cursed again at his now dark lantern.


    A croaking shrill voice followed Garreth¡¯s retreat back to the moonlit stairs. ¡°I don¡¯t want you, Reaver.¡± It sounded as if it was right in front of him, and he hurled the lantern in that direction. Metal rattled against wood as it rolled noisily to a stop. Again that rasping voice rose from shadow, this time from behind him, beyond the stairs. ¡°I want my journal.¡± Garreth spun, searching for a source as he took a single reflexive step away from the deck stairs. From behind again, closer than before, it spoke in a harsh whisper. ¡°My journal or your soul, pirate.¡±


    Again Garreth whirled around, putting his back to the stairs once more as he slashed at empty air and black shadows. In his retreat toward the moonlight, his boot¡¯s heel caught the edge of the first step, and he fell hard. A mad cackle filled the hold, stoking his anger as his cheeks burned with wounded pride. When the thing spoke again, it sounded as if it were whispering right into his ear. ¡°Choose.¡± Heat and color drained from his face in a heartbeat as his blood ran cold.


    Garreth cursed as he swung his blade again. Again Mercy¡¯s Kiss struck nothing, but he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Swift as a bullet, the trespasser¡¯s figure was little more than a flicker of movement, a shadow among shadows. It vanished amid the crates and barrels of supplies retreating further into the darkness, but that little hint was all Garreth needed to finally dismiss his nagging fear that maybe it really was a ghost.


    ¡°Quick thing aren¡¯t you. And stealthy. I¡¯ll give you that, but yer no spirit. A spirit wouldn¡¯t need to hide from me in the shadows. A spirit wouldn¡¯t need to retreat from Mercy¡¯s Kiss.¡± Garreth got back to his feet as he spoke. John Silver¡¯s journal had been in his possession over a month now. This was no vengeful spirit of a pirate legend. ¡°Crew! Get down here, and help me search the hold! It¡¯s no damn spirit! It¡¯s a thief!¡±


    The thief let out a blood-curdling keen and wailed. ¡°I am no mortal thief Red Blade of the Reavers! I will have my journal back or have my revenge on you and any soul who sets foot on this ship!¡±


    Garreth shuddered at that shriek. It elicited a primitive urge to run, and he growled as he shoved the feeling away. ¡°Quit yer keenin¡¯ thief. You¡¯re clever. I¡¯ll grant that for scarin¡¯ them into stayin¡¯ put wit¡¯ a threat like that. Begs the question though, don¡¯t it. Why¡¯s someone so clever doin¡¯ somethin¡¯ as stupid as tryin¡¯ to steal from the likes o¡¯ me.¡±


    ¡°I am¡ª¡± The haunting protest was cut short.


    ¡°Belay that spirit nonsense! There¡¯s no doubt in my mind now that you¡¯re flesh and blood, same as me. So talk! It¡¯s your best chance of walking off this ship alive.¡± It was no chance at all, not really, but luring this trespasser out was a more efficient means of ending this confrontation than trying to hunt through the shadowy hold alone for someone so stealthy and quick.


    ¡°Alive. Really?¡± Sarcasm dripped from a voice no longer shrill and rasping, but low and feminine. The first word sounded almost directly in front of him, but the second came from far behind.


    ¡°Fine little trick, throwin¡¯ yer voice around like that, and I don¡¯t blame ya fer doubtin¡¯ me, but do ya really have any other options? Sure, you might open a gunport hatch. Might seem a good idea, jumpin¡¯ out that way, but those latches are tough to open. And noisy. Heh. I¡¯ll wager ya can¡¯t throw the sound of them around as easy as you do that voice o¡¯ yers.¡±


    ¡°A wager you¡¯d win. Captain.¡± There was almost a reverential tone in that title.


    ¡°So talk. Let¡¯s start with your name.¡± Though he created the appearance of relaxing his posture at the foot of the stairs, Garreth remained alert, blade ready.


    ¡°. . . It¡¯s Elisa.¡±


    ¡°Elisa. Pretty name. I knew an Elisa once. Fiery woman.¡± For a moment, his thoughts drifted back to the young lass and her stubborn refusals of his advances.


    ¡°It was my mother¡¯s name.¡± Elisa¡¯s voice pulled him back from bright memories to the shadowy present.


    ¡°Was it now?¡± Squint as he might against the shadows cloaking every cannon, crate, and barrel, the darkness remained as stubbornly impenetrable to Garreth as the woman in his memory.


    ¡°She told me stories about you and my father, and your crew. Your adventures.¡± Again that hint of reverence, of hero-worship, this time unmistakable.


    Garreth grinned in genuine pleasure even as he considered how to turn such feelings to his advantage. ¡°Then ya know me well. Well enough, I¡¯d imagine, teh know yer not leavin¡¯ this ship alive wit¡¯out my blessin¡¯.¡± After a moment¡¯s consideration, he relaxed his posture further, leaning against a floor-to-deck support beam that was part of the stairs. With an air of idleness, he studied the moonlight gleaming off the flat of Mercy¡¯s Kiss and angled the blade slowly to sweep the faint little ruddy beam about the hold. It revealed nothing except a confirmation his eyes were nearly adjusted to the gloom.


    Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°I know you.¡± Cold anger clung to each word. ¡°I know you cheat at cards. I know you claimed to love my mother.¡± Garreth bristled at her implication, but he held his tongue. It was a bitter reminder of his failure and of the man whom Elly had chosen over him, his former first mate Gideon. ¡°I know it was you who gave my father his moniker, Gutrot Gideon. I know you don¡¯t keep your word unless there¡¯s something in it for you.¡± Her voice had settled in front of him, as if they were standing face to face in the little patch of moonlight though she remained well hidden. ¡°And, I know my father died because of you.¡±


    Garreth bristled and squared his broad shoulders as he came up out of his feigned posture. ¡°His Death Weren¡¯t MY Fault! I did Everything I could to save Gideon! I put down a mutiny tryin¡¯ to save him!¡± Guilt and loss fueled his wrath. ¡°I kept my word to Elly!¡±


    Hot breaths raised and dropped his deep chest in a swift rhythm. She had never spoken to him again after her husband¡¯s death. Elly. The bitter sorrow wrapped up in her memory doused his anger. ¡°I told her, I tried. I did everything I could. I never lied to her. Never.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps . . .¡± There was the slimmest measure of acceptance in that one word. ¡°Regardless, I need that journal. Will you give it to me? Repayment for the precious lives lost because of your failure?¡±


    For a moment sorrow and disbelief were all Garreth knew. ¡°Lives? Elly . . . she . . . ¡± Of course she¡¯s dead. It had been over fifteen years since Gideon¡¯s death. Drowning in memories and emotions he had not felt in a decade, Garreth almost gave the offer serious consideration. Almost.


    Gold and glory reasserted their grip on his soul as he pushed away the question of how the woman he¡¯d loved had died. How didn¡¯t matter. She was gone. ¡°Nay. Tha¡¯s a dirty card teh play even by my low standards. Yeh ought to be ashamed to use the memory of yer parents like that.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re dead because of you. I doubt they¡¯d take offense.¡± Elisa snapped from the sheltering shadows.


    ¡°Nay! I don¡¯t accept that!¡± Once more Garreth¡¯s bellowing voice filled the hold. ¡°I did everything I could! If you want teh blame somebody, blame the damned naval officer what sunk his ship!¡±


    ¡°I blame both of you!¡± It was the loudest Garreth had heard from her since she¡¯d stopped pretending to be a ghost. Green flames blossomed anew, lighting the black hold with a sickle hue before vanishing once more. Garreth cursed and shut his eyes too late as he swung blindly to defend the staircase, but she made no escape attempt. She had spoiled his vision from adjusting to the dark.


    ¡°Blasted girl!¡± Garreth cursed as he rubbed the spots from his eyes between blinks. ¡°I¡¯m not givin¡¯ ya the damned journal, but I will let ya leave alive, for your dear mother¡¯s memory, and your father¡¯s. He was a good man, a fine pirate, and the best friend I e¡¯er had.¡± As he made the offer, Garreth sheathed Mercy¡¯s Kiss at his hip.


    ¡°Not good enough. Lord Blue won¡¯t accept failure.¡±


    ¡°I gave that scurvy pompous Bilge Rat a price.¡± Garreth sneered.


    ¡°5,000 bars of gold. A ridiculous price.¡± Elisa snapped. ¡°There isn¡¯t that much gold on the whole island!¡± Stubborn as her mother, Garreth thought. He didn¡¯t relish the idea, but his gut was telling him this was going to come to violence sooner or later. He preferred sooner and on his terms if possible.


    Amusement mingled with bravado and greed in Garreth¡¯s answer. ¡°Aye. A ridiculous price, because I¡¯d no intention o¡¯ sellin¡¯ it. I mean teh have that treasure fer meself. Blue¡¯s more of a fool than I thought, thinkin¡¯ I¡¯d leave somethin¡¯ so precious lyin¡¯ around on me ship where any good thief might find it.¡± He patted a hidden pocket on the inside of his coat. A ruse. The Journal was locked away in a hidden hatch in his quarters.


    Waves lapped at the ship and, try as he might, Garreth could not hear her footsteps though her voice came clear enough from somewhere ahead of him. ¡°You have it on you? Well, that makes this easy then. Fighting¡¯s not my first choice, but I can fight when I have to.¡± Anticipation, almost eagerness, made Garreth suspect this was not an entirely accurate claim. That, and how well he¡¯d known both her parents.


    Garreth smirked as he drew Mercy¡¯s Kiss once more. ¡°Ha ha haa! You can fight can you?! But, can you win, my stealthy lass?¡± Even if her confidence is not empty arrogance, Garreth thought, she¡¯s young, and the young are easily baited, riled, and bested. ¡°I¡¯m not called the Red Blade o¡¯ the Reavers just because of Mercy¡¯s color¡ª¡±


    Out from the shadows in front of him, Elisa lunged forward her speed catching him by surprise despite him expecting an attack. For an instant, he caught sight of her in the moonlight. From head to toe she was dressed in black, a thin dark strip of veil obscured her eyes, and her long, straight sword was coated in a dark substance to hide the gleaming length.


    Garreth grunted as he swept her blade aside with a hasty parry. Metal rang against metal. Before he could counter attack, she vanished, retreating back into the deeper shadows. ¡°Lunge and retreat?! Is that yer plan?¡± He spat as if disgusted by the tactic, but in truth he appreciated the pragmatism and cleverness of it. This woman was playing to her strengths: speed and stealth. Had she not spoiled his adjusting vision with those green flames once more, he might have pursued her into the darkness. Instead, he remained close to the stairs, bathed in a small pool of moonlight and surrounded by black shadows.


    Elisa¡¯s tone was mocking, not yet taking his bait. ¡°Are you really complaining because I won¡¯t fight you fair? Pirate.¡± She spat the last word from somewhere off to Garreth¡¯s right.


    This sort of banter¡ªhow many times had he and Gideon sparred with words as well as blades? There was bitter joy in the recollection, but he could not savor it now. Instead he answered her with a jovial tone. ¡°Hahhaha! Complaining? Not at all.¡±


    No hint of movement betrayed Elisa until she stepped under the moonlight. This time, she struck from his right, the same direction her voice had come from. She was no longer bothering to throw her voice. Mercy¡¯s Kiss flew upward in a parry struggling to match her speed. Garreth growled and slashed in a downward stroke, but it whistled harmlessly through the air, too slow to prevent his opponent¡¯s swift retreat.


    Garreth cursed in frustration. She might as well be invisible for all that he could see when she stepped out of his little moonlit arena. ¡°You¡¯re not going to win this fight just lunging out of one shadow and into another, little girl,¡± he snarled, and inwardly winced. He was supposed to be riling her up, not the other way around!


    Silence broken only by creaking timbers and lapping waves laid siege to Garreth¡¯s ears as he strained for any hint of movement, any small sound or shifting shadow. ¡°I can dance wit¡¯ ya all night, if that¡¯s ¡®ow you want it girl.¡± He shifted his stance in a slow semicircle with his back to the stairs. Silence. ¡°Yer tryin¡¯ my patience lass. My goodwill toward yer parents will only stretch so far.¡± Nothing. She was giving him no hints this time where her attack would come from.


    Instinct alone sent him in a swift turn. Keen red metal forced Elisa¡¯s blackened steel deep into the wooden support post. Garreth grinned, thinking her stuck. His grin vanished when she pulled her weapon free into a rough slash that forced Mercy¡¯s Kiss far to one side. There was no way to parry from that position as she reversed her swing, angling to slice his throat wide.


    However, the Reaver captain had been brawling and fighting longer than the young thief had been drawing breath. He didn¡¯t need to parry with Mercy¡¯s Kiss. With his free hand, he launched a vicious uppercut that caught Elisa squarely under her chin. She fell backward stunned. Sturdy wooden boards knocked the wind out of her.


    Grinning in victory, Garreth pursued finally leaving the moonlit stairs unguarded. A swift kick sent Elisa¡¯s weapon skittering across the floorboards as Mercy¡¯s Kiss found her throat through thick layers of black cloth. A heavy boot on her chest was added for good measure. ¡°Not bad fer a youngster,¡±  he drawled thoughtfully as his heart slowed. ¡°If I¡¯d been a little slower or you a little more experienced . . . well. I¡¯ll admit it. Why not? I¡¯d be the one on the floor, and I¡¯d be dead . . .¡± The reality of it made him pause for a moment despite his cavalier tone, and he tugged off Elisa¡¯s head wrap only to regret his curiosity a moment later.


    She had the same red curls as her namesake. Though they were tightly braided at present, Garreth was certain they were a glorious mane of color when loosed. His mouth felt suddenly dry as he stared down at her freckled face. ¡°Tell me something Elly¡ª¡± He bit the name back, correcting it swiftly. ¡°Elisa. Why¡¯re you working fer the likes o¡¯ Lord Blue?¡±


    ¡°Blue has my sister,¡± Elisa grunted. Her hands clutched at the ankle of his tall sturdy boot in a vain effort to ease the pressure on her chest. She had Gideon¡¯s strong straight nose and his wide mouth and thin lips, but the eyes were entirely from her mother.


    As Garreth rambled, he tried to gather his wits. ¡°Does he now? Fancy that. Yer father never told me he had a second child.¡± Unbidden, a memory of Elly holding her baby girl filled his mind. Elly¡¯s baby girl . . . this woman, whose throat he had a blade to, but he withdrew Mercy only a fraction as he fought off unfamiliar waves of emotion. This woman was not that baby girl anymore, and she was every bit as dangerous as her father had been, but without his love or loyalty toward Garreth.


    ¡°She¡¯s my half sister. Both of our mothers are dead.¡± Elisa growled.


    ¡°That lyin¡¯¡ª¡± Garreth cut himself off and took a deep breath. ¡°I¡¯ll ¡®ave to ¡®ave a few words wit¡¯ yer pa after I¡¯ve met my end. Yer both orphans then, and Blue took an interest in ya?¡± He studied her as she struggled to breathe, and he tried not to let the ship¡¯s movement affect the weight he was putting on her. ¡°Not ¡®ard to see why. Yer good wit¡¯ that blade. Quick on yer feet, clever enough to fool a ship o¡¯ experienced pirates, and to top it all off, yer stealthier than a cat creepin¡¯ up on a mouse. Tell me, young Miss Elisa . . . what would you say to double crossing Lord Blue?¡± A plan was coming together in Garreth¡¯s mind.


    ¡°He has my sister!¡± Elisa strained to free herself, but a prick from Mercy¡¯s Kiss halted her efforts.


    ¡°Aye. You said that before. What if ¡®e didn¡¯t ¡®ave yer sister?¡± At that question, Elisa¡¯s frown made Garreth smirk a little as he eased a fraction of his weight off her.


    Her chest rose sharply as she sucked in a small breath. ¡°Are you . . . offering to help me free her?¡± Even in the faint silvery light, he could see some of the strain ease from her face.


    ¡°Aye, but it¡¯s no charity. I¡¯ve me own interests in that Bilge Rat¡¯s fortress of a house. Blue has something I need, so ya can trust me word on the offer.¡±


    ¡°The Serpent¡¯s Fang.¡± Slowly, Elisa let go of his ankle, and in return Garreth eased his weight off until his boot was simply resting on her chest.


    ¡°Aye. The Serpent¡¯s Fang, the key to John Silver¡¯s hidden vault.¡± Dreams of treasure and glory made Garreth grin broadly. ¡°The key to the greatest treasure hoard ever gathered in all the world. You got the idea now, yeah?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll help me free Rose if I help you get the Fang.¡± Elisa¡¯s reply was hesitant and heavy with distrust, but the flicker of hope in her eyes was unmistakable. Elly had looked at him like that when he¡¯d promised to look after Gideon.


    It wasn¡¯t easy to stop his voice cracking, but somehow Garreth kept his tone easy and confident. ¡°Tha¡¯s right. Some of my crew will get yer sister loose. Rescuin¡¯ her will be a fine distraction. And, while Blue is off chasin¡¯ them, or at least a good few of his guards are, you¡¯ll ¡®elp me get inside. I¡¯ll take both of ya wit¡¯ me and far enough Blue won¡¯t bother chasin¡¯ ya down. So. Do we ¡®ave a deal?¡± Stepping back to let her up, Garreth offered Elisa his hand.


    For a moment she simply stared at him, her gaze flicking from his hand to his face. Garreth was certain she was weighing the risk to herself and her sister against the chance for freedom. Maybe even she was remembering some of the stories her mother had told her. Then, she grasped his rough hand in her gloved one. ¡°Aye Captain. We have a deal.¡±

 Not Quite Dead Enough

    A bared throat begging for me, the smooth skin offering no resistance as long strands of my black hair smothered every last inch. One kiss and it ended. The body stared back at me with sightless eyes.


    I didn¡¯t care for the dead.


    Only the dying.


    I cast it aside.


    Death rattles echoed in the nothingness of space, calling my name. I came to them, giving each a kiss. No beating and thumping of hearts; only silence. As my lips hovered over to kill the last, my chest lurched and the body cried out.


    ¡°Not quite dead enough,¡± Life chuckled, his lips brushing the girl¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°They never are for you.¡±


    I suppressed my growing annoyance. Everywhere I went, Life followed, although he insisted it was I who followed him. A perpetual thorn in my side, he always tried to best me, to steal my kills and bring them back. In response, I left fields of rotting bodies. All for him.


    ¡°Perhaps your touch is weakening after all this time?¡±


    ¡°Never,¡± I said with my back still to him. ¡°I can kill anyone. Even you.¡±


    Life laughed, the sound melodious like birds tweeting in trees; the same ones I turned to corpses.


    ¡°You can¡¯t kill me,¡± he said, stepping into view. ¡°But perhaps a little life would help you.¡±


    Life¡¯s golden skin caressed mine as he reached up on the tips of his toes and kissed me. I stood taller than him, like a shadow stretching along the ground. My black hair clung to him, enveloping him in my darkness.


    Thump. Thump.


    I gasped as my chest surged for a breath I never normally took.


    ¡°Idiot,¡± I spluttered,  pushing him away. ¡°You really think a kiss of life will do anything to me?¡±


    Even after millennia, he managed to surprise me. I didn¡¯t hate the feel, nor the strangely sweet taste that lingered . . . I tried to ignore the sensation in my chest, fluttering away in the breeze like birdsong. More voices whispered, layering as others joined in until a cacophony of cries led me closer. A war clamoured. I could feel the despair and terror as weapons clashed, as skin sliced and tore open, as fists forced to connect with hardened armour breaking the bones inside. I followed the mental screams of those ready to die. They were all calling my name. I smiled. It was beautiful.


    There, watching the bloody scene unfold, was War. Her blood-smeared face betrayed that she¡¯d been interfering personally again. Crimson stained her once white dress exposing the deep scars that littered her skin. Across her chest gleamed a sash of broken swords. Polished trophies of victories past. War gave me opportunity, but all too often it overwhelmed me, the whole battlefield wailing for me. She was the other thorn digging in my side.


    ¡°Playing games?¡± I said, stopping beside her.


    ¡°I wondered how long it would take you.¡±


    Metal clanged against metal as hundreds of soldiers clashed. Yells of anger and pain, but something was . . . different. I watched each strike. Blows caught short or landed with no fatalities. A battleground usually was my feast, one I loved to harvest, but there was no death here.


    ¡°What did you do?¡± I said anger starting to burn through me. ¡°Why is nobody dying?¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t for you.¡± She grinned. ¡°I¡¯m having fun. Can you not feel the desperation? I don¡¯t need death getting in my way today. And seeing you squirm makes it even better.¡±


    ¡°All war is for me,¡± I scoffed. ¡°Just like each life is mine. Let them die already.¡±


    War grinned and gestured to all the soldiers in battle. ¡°These lives are mine. I am the voice in their heads that urges them to fight. I give them the cause to maim and be maimed. You may pick up the pieces after, the husks of broken bodies ready to give up.¡±


    ¡°And after all that, both of you are wrong,¡± Life interrupted, appearing next to us. ¡°I gave them the essence to begin with. If I hadn¡¯t brought them to life, you would have no-one to make fight, nor lives to take. All those people out there? They¡¯re mine.¡±


    I watched him carefully, his green hair rustling in the wind and golden skin shimmering in the dying light.


    ¡°You cannot save them forever. Everyone dies. Just you wait. These mortals will be dead before their morning.¡±


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    With a smirk, I lifted my hand ready to poison the air around us all; I could kill them in one fell swoop. I¡¯d be the victor in this ridiculous war.


    ¡°No you don¡¯t,¡± Life said, taking my cold hand in his. ¡°Have your fun tomorrow. Let these people fight for what they believe in.¡±


    ¡°Believe in? They follow the whispers and the goading of a war-crazed, battle-hungry being who only wants to¡ª¡±


    ¡°At least I don¡¯t want to cease their existence in an instant.¡± War pointed to a nearby man, eyes wide, spear in hand thrusting it wildly. She grinned, eyes blazing with fervour. ¡°How can you not love the fury and desperation of a man fighting for the last ounce of his life?¡±


    I huffed and glanced at Life, who still held my hand and smiled. ¡°You two are insufferable. And I have mortals to kill.¡±


    Leaving them to admire the disaster of a near bloodless war, I listened for the next voice calling for me. Somewhere among the cooks that fed half-mouldy food to the soldiers, a young serving girl choked on a chicken bone. I could see her in my mind, lips tinging blue as the air stagnated in her throat. Just one more moment, oh just the tiniest bit more and she¡¯d be mine. All mine. Gliding through the air, honing in on her position, I found the place. Voices screamed, begging, pleading, crying out for help.


    Anything.


    Anyone.


    Just to save her.


    I¡¯d save her.


    Long strands of hair reached out and wrapped around exposed flesh. I took her cold face in my hands and pressed my lips to hers. And with that she was lifeless. The wails around me intensified; did they really have to be so loud? Pitiful. I withdrew and left them to it.


    Although. I smiled.


    Perhaps War¡¯s soldiers would come back harmless, tired, hungry . . . Perhaps I could give them a meal to die for. Perhaps it¡¯d be their last.


    A quick search led me to the steaming cooking pots, cooks stirring the contents with boredom. Standing right in front of their dead eyes I pulled hairs from my head and dropped them in. It would be fantastic. Their stomachs would churn and liquids would spew from both ends as a poison ran through their veins. I¡¯d take them all in one fell swoop. War and Life would see their little game reduced to blood stains and broken bodies.


    Glorious.


    Drifting above into the atmosphere, I smiled at my chaos. For now, another world called out; it was time to move on to Lux, a planet covered in tall grasses. The inhabitants were clumsy and stupid. I hated having to take them all because they¡¯d not yet learned how to avoid dying in dense undergrowth. How hard was it to not go too far? And then the idiots tried to rescue each other and succeeded only in dying in multitudes. War hadn¡¯t helped the matter either, by teaching the Luxians how to trap animals . . . and other Luxians. At this point, I was close to just killing them all. I¡¯d done it before after accidentally making a plague too contagious. Oops.


    And then Life had to come and fix my little problem; I had no inhabitants to kill anymore. He loved that too much, gloating with a smug smile I wished I could wipe away.


    Dried dirt and yellowed flora. This world was in the midst of a drought. Mortals and animals clung to watering holes both scratching an existence. I could spare them the suffering, the humiliation, and the oh-so-delicious desperation. They wouldn¡¯t last much longer anyway, so it¡¯d be a nice favour. An ounce of peace amongst the desolation.


    My bare feet padded along the dusty ground until I found the next voice. A metallic trap had snapped shut on his leg, breaking the bones into splinters, leaving behind a river of blood. He was more than ready for my kiss. As were all the rest. I smiled.


    War couldn¡¯t start another game here if they were all dead.


    I could take Lux from her and watch all that smugness crumble away. These were her favourite people, groomed ready for conflict, taught them strength and ruthlessness, and now I would undo all that. Every last action.


    Hurried feet, staring eyes; they could all watch me as their worst fears sent them into a frenzied panic. The first family succumbed to asphyxiation as I stole the air from their lungs. Warriors fell on their swords, cooks choked on their food, and disease took the rest. Airborne. Deadly. Just like me. One by one, the cries turned to silence.


    Then it was all over.


    I smiled.


    Lux now splattered in blood and ruin. There¡¯s the river they wanted so bad.


    Laughter broke the silence. Wilting flora darkened green and burst to life. No, no. Not again. I would not let him. He was mine.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Life asked with annoyance appearing behind me. ¡°I didn¡¯t repopulate this world so you could slaughter them. Again.¡±


    ¡°Maybe not.¡± I turned and inched closer to him; my heart fluttering in the strange way it had before. ¡°But I can¡¯t help myself. I just love killing so much.¡± Life¡¯s breath tickled along my cold skin as I closed the gap between us. ¡°Watching their eyes glaze over as I take the last part of them. All for me. And do you know what?¡±


    Life¡¯s eyes glittered, his brows dipped in confusion. ¡°What?¡±


    I grinned. ¡°I think you¡¯d love it too.¡±


    Pressing my lips to his, he froze and stared. My kiss of death gripped tight, stealing every last drop of life. He pushed against me trying to break free, but I was stronger. My hair slipped around his waist, encircling, tightening. Just like everyone else, he was mine. After a moment more his body fell limp, lips blue and chest unmoving. I lowered him to the ground.


    Thump. Thump.


    My chest fluttered.


    Life¡¯s eyes fluttered open, his stare cold and lifeless. ¡°You had to go and kill me too, didn¡¯t you.¡±


    I flinched as laughter now filled my mind, followed by singing. . . . No screams or wails. My battlegrounds, now empty. I hated it. Where were my calls? Where were the sweet calls of the dying? Instead, I heard humming.


    It was as if . . .


    Life smiled at my horror. ¡°You hear my joy, don¡¯t you?¡±

 Our Sacrifice

    Trigger Warnings! This story contains brief scenes of death, suicide, and murder in the context of human sacrifice, and also mentions of blood, starvation, and plague.


    Our Sacrifice


    by


    C.P. Miller


    As I sit in front of my small, shabby home and watch the midnight sky slowly lighten to a reddish gray, I remember the first spring we didn''t have a sacrifice. Ellari and I had been ten. The Divines¡¯ chosen pair were brothers, Niko and Kino. They were sixteen and, when they were chosen, they accepted proudly the duty that was theirs alone.


    It is a great honor to be chosen, but like all truly great honors, it is a terrible burden too. I had not envied the older boys. Indeed, it was a relief to me that Ellari and I had not been granted that honor. Let them have the praise of the city, the accolades, and even the immense wealth. I was content with a full belly and a warm home and my twin beside me.


    Thirty-three days of ritual and festivities would culminate in the Day of Giving. On that day, one brother would send the other to join the Ancients and serve as Divine Messenger between our world and theirs. For the first twelve, Kino and Niko performed all necessary ceremonies, but on the twelfth night, they fled the city without warning.


    City peacekeepers, common citizens, even youngsters like myself, scoured Belmore¡¯s ancient winding streets searching for them. Farmers and hunters spread out beyond the city swiftly. A scrap of clothing was found at the very edge of the forest. Some of the wealthy ordered their servants to form search parties and enter the forest near there. A few peacekeepers joined them. Not one soul that went in returned. Kino and Niko were gone.


    It was unheard of for Chosen ones to abandon Belmore. Leaving at all was very rare. Only the most desperate would risk traveling beyond the safety of our city and fields. Death waited out there.


    Still, a part of me couldn¡¯t help but sympathise. They would die out there, but they would die together instead of facing a lifetime of separation. Yet, another part of me hated them for leaving.


    When they left, they took with them the blessings of the Ancients. Sickly red clouds that had only ever lingered above the distant mountain range moved in to choke our once blue sky. The little rain they spat was foul smelling and burned any bit of flesh it struck.


    Before that spring, I had known nothing but plenty, warm summers, gentle rains, and mild winters. I used to laugh at the elders when they told me, ¡°Without sacrifice, life is impossible.¡± Ellari and I would nod at their seriousness trying in vain to restrain our smug grins. We thought their proverbs were silly superstitions, but they were right. They were more right than even they suspected.


    Nine days left until the Day of Giving, the Council of Elders met amid growing panic. Fear and unrest had spread like a plague while they argued and debated for days. Even if another great lottery was held, there was not enough time left for all the necessary rituals of preparation.


    The Spring Sacrifice on the Day of Giving is not some simple brutish ritual of a primitive bygone era. It is a thing of sacred duty and ancient commitment, and it must be done properly to honor our covenant with the Ancients. There are no shortcuts. Even knowing this, the Elders sought desperately to find one. In the end, they ignored Gray Mother''s warnings and attempted to choose a substitute pair.


    For the first time in recorded history, the great lottery was held twice in a single year. I remember all too well how frightened I was back then. It feels strange now, to face yet another lottery but not fear the outcome.


    Every pair of twins between nine and thirty-three years of age were summoned to the great temple. There were so many of us at that lottery, we didn¡¯t all fit within the ancient inner chapel. Firstborns stood gathered on one side and second-borns on the other. Next to the altar stood a great urn of gold tokens for the firstborn to draw their lots from, and on the other side stood a second massive urn, this one full of silver tokens.


    I still remember the delicately engraved flower bud on my silver token. Its beauty had terrified me. I had not wanted to be chosen then, nor had I wanted the terrifying honor of serving as Divine Messenger. My hand was clutched tight around it, and the edges dug into my sweating palm while I had waited for the rest of the candidates to draw. There were so many twins eligible to serve back then. It took all day for the tokens to be drawn, and by the end, the urns were nearly empty.


    If Ellari had drawn a golden flower bud token from her urn, my sister and I would be chosen. Back then, I had felt nauseous even with the thought unframed by words.


    Two by two, each pair of twins came forward to present their tokens to Gray Mother, then return them to their respective urns. She smiled when she saw my token, but her smile faltered when she saw Ellari¡¯s. She had drawn a skull. We were not chosen. No one was.


    For the first time in the history of the great city of Belmore, lots were drawn by every traditionally eligible pair, and not a single set of twins held matching tokens. Most years, there were a small number who drew matches. From among them, the lots would be collected and drawn again until only a single pair remained. The Chosen. The first born would become Divine Speaker of Belmore, and the second born would become Divine Messenger of Heaven.


    Gray Mother had cackled with bitter mirth before she began to weep. It was a sign she said. The Ancients wanted none of us. They wanted Niko and Kino. They would accept no substitute, and Belmore would suffer.


    I¡¯m still not sure why she laughed and then cried.  Maybe she knew what would happen next.


    Again our Council of Elders met. They debated all through that night. Debate turned to bickering. Five days remained before the Day of Giving. Time had run out the day Niko and Kino had disappeared, but elders can be as stubborn as mules, and we were all desperate for a solution. Against Gray Mother''s wishes, they extended the pool of candidates. Every pair of twins must report. The youngest could barely speak and the oldest could barely stand.


    That had been my third lottery. Ellari made me eat breakfast before we went to the temple. Dread made me throw it back up before we even stepped out of the house. That day, the temple was flooded with people, but I barely remember the tight press of bodies around me.


    I do remember trembling as I plunged my hand into the urn for the third time in my life. For the third time in a single year, I prayed to the Divines not to choose me, not to make me leave Elarri and join them. My token was a skull. The same skull Ellari had drawn from the gold urn the day before. I wept loudly as others drew their tokens. Many people wept that day, mostly the youngest, but older folk as well.


    Even the memory of how sick I felt makes me just a little bit queasy now, though that fear is no longer with me. I was sure I would lose my twin. I was not the only one.


    But, for the second time in Belmore''s history, there were no matching pairs. Ellari had drawn my flower bud. I did not like that we had drawn each other''s coins. It felt like an omen, but Ellari held me tight and told me it would be alright. Her tears were wet in my hair, but her voice was steady. Her hands were steady. Ellari was always steady. Always sure of everything. Never afraid. Not like me . . .


    This second failed lottery convinced the council to heed Gray Mother. She secluded herself for the handful of days that remained until the Day of Giving. When the holy day came, instead of Niko and Kino at the altar, there was only Gray Mother. Fatigue from her long days and sleepless nights of prayers was written in shadows under her eyes. Her voice was strong and steady, though she looked as if she might collapse at any moment. "Today, the Day of Giving, we have failed to honor our covenant with the Ancient Divines. We have forgotten that to be chosen is a duty even more than it is an honor. Today, our precious twin-borns fear to be chosen to serve Belmore.¡±


    I had felt as if Gray Mother were speaking to me directly and guilt had twisted my belly as she went on. ¡°They fear to serve the Ancients. They fear to serve their city and their people, because we have failed as a people, and for our failure, we shall be punished.¡± Grief cracked in her steady voice, but she continued, and her stern words carried out of the temple and to the densely crowded street beyond. ¡°The burning red rains will poison the land and water. Our crops, our animals, and we ourselves will suffer as penance. Because one would not die, many will suffer and die in his place. Next year, we will hold another Great Lottery. It will be on the first day of spring . . ."


    I don¡¯t remember the rest of her speech. It must have been inspirational to many, because I do remember some people were smiling despite their fear. Outside though, under the thunderous blood thirsty clouds, there were no smiles. A blinding bolt of lightning struck the bell tower, and a deafening roll of thunder drowned out our screams of terror as the gathered crowd fled in a panic.


    Up to that day, the red clouds that had moved in after Kino and Niko disappeared had only released a few stinging drops. Now, they unleashed the full fury of Those we had offended with our failure and cowardice. Elarri tugged me against the flow of the crowd, back toward the temple, and we waited there for the rain to stop.


    Gray Mother¡¯s predictions all came to pass. The crops people tried to sow never sprouted. Even weeds and grass began to die off, leaving nothing but scarlet mud right up to the edges of the forest. It was not only the foodstuffs that died unsprouted; flax for linen and the herbs grown for medicines also suffered. People¡¯s clothing grew ragged, even among the wealthiest. Gold cannot ease hunger or clothe a cold body in winter any more than it can heal sickness.


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    Animals grew ill, and those that didn¡¯t starved with the rest of us. Worst was the sickness. It spread fast, wiping out whole families, whole neighborhoods, and even districts. By autumn, we were building massive funeral pyres.


    In that first year, we lost half our people, or so the city scribes claim. I don¡¯t know if they are right.  It felt like more to me. Too many.


    In the years that followed, there were no children born to replenish our numbers. More people died, though in smaller numbers and with less frequency. We were forced to gather from the edge of the forest in order to feed ourselves. For some reason, the red rains could not kill anything sheltered by the forest.


    In the second year, our farmers planted their crops as close to the forest¡¯s edge as possible. The harvest was meager, but with our greatly reduced numbers it was enough to keep most alive.


    In the third year, a pair stepped forward and pleaded to be offered despite the fact their tokens did not match. A brother and sister, not identical, but they were twins, and they were stubborn. The council met, deliberated, and despite Gray Mother''s doubts, it was decided they would be allowed to try. When the Day of Giving came, Meilo stood behind his sister and held her thin wrists gently as, together, they slit her throat.


    People wept. People cheered. For a short time, there was hope despite some red lingering in the clouds. Seeds were planted with a new determination. The crops grew lush and plentiful for the first time in three years. Then, before it matured, a plague of insects swept over the land. They devoured everything in the fields. Poor Meilo was eaten alive, but no other person or animal suffered a single bite. Humbled and horrified, the council forbade volunteers. Their proclamation was hardly necessary.


    That was fourteen years ago. Eighteen hard lean years in all. Belmore, which had once bustled with plenty and joy, had become a veritable necropolis. Most of those we lost were our oldest, our wisest, but a great many were our youngest. A few folk left Belmore each year, desperately hoping to find a better life beyond our city, beyond the forbidden forest. Some promised to return with food or word, but no one ever did.


    Today, I have no friends left alive save for Ellari. I stopped making new friends because it is easier to burn the dead if they are not your friends. At least, that is what I keep telling myself. I thought I would grow numb, but I remember every face I have watched burn.


    "Irella. It''s time."


    Numb, I look up into a hollow cheeked face identical to my own. Her eyes had once been so bright, so sure and bold. They have been more dead than mine since Mother¡¯s death, and still Ellari tries to smile for me.


    "Yes. It¡¯s time." I am not afraid of today¡¯s lottery. I have not been afraid of the lottery since I buried my last friend. A boy of sixteen. He might have become more than a friend, but he has gone to the Ancient Realm. I miss him terribly, even the way he would tug at my braids.


    "Next year will be better." Ellari tells me as I gently touch the skin tight across her cheeks. She has said that every year. Today, I agree with her.


    "It will." I wish I could ease my sister¡¯s fear. It is the most emotion I have seen in her eyes in years. As my fear has faded, hers has grown. I can only pray she finds someone able to help her mend, or that perhaps I will be able to comfort her to some degree. After all, I won¡¯t be entirely gone from this world. I will be a Divine Messenger.  My spirit will travel back and forth between realms. Taking her thin hand in my own, I led her out into the street. There was no one left to walk with us.


    All through the long famine, twins were prioritized, and we were the only pair our family boasted. They had given up their food, starved themselves to the last so that we might live. I still remember how proudly my mother would smile as she led us through the marketplace when it was full of life and food. Twins are uncommon, but identical twins are incredibly rare. Those days of smiles seem like a lifetime ago.


    "Irella . . . I . . . I don''t want to go." Ellari stops, her hand tightening around mine, holding me back.


    "What?" For a moment, I don''t understand.


    "Niko and Kino . . . maybe they were right to run. If the Ancients demand such a terrible price . . ." There are tears shining in her sunken eyes. Her voice falls to a dry whisper. "If we''re chosen . . . I . . . I can''t. I can''t lose you too."


    I remember the silver tokens I drew. The flower bud and the skull. "Walk with me Ellari, and listen to me. If . . . if you still want to leave when we reach the temple, then we will."


    "Do you promise?" My sister blinks back tears in vain, and a moment later, they spill down her hollow cheeks unchallenged by bony hand or ragged shirt sleeve.


    "I promise." I start to walk again, and Ellari moves swiftly, trying not to give me time to convince her, but we are both weak from hunger, and the temple is a long way from our home on the edge of the city. Her pace slackens and we both pant for breath.


    "Ellari. I need. To sit . . ." At my breathless pleas, she does not hesitate, but drops down onto the cracked and muddy paving stones right there in the middle of the road. It is empty after all. Eighteen years have passed, but I still remember clearly the thick crush of people that used to fill these city streets.


    As I slowly recover my breath, I rest with my back against hers and finally manage to speak. "Do you remember what happened the year they left?"


    "The tokens. Yes. I remember."


    "A skull and a flower bud. I dream of those two tokens almost every night, and I have thought about them every day.¡± A single dry weak laugh escapes my cracked lips. ¡°It feels like nearly every hour since that day."


    "Death and new life. You cannot have one without the other," Ellari murmurs. We have never spoken of those tokens, but our thoughts have followed the same paths.


    "Yes. I didn''t understand at the time, but . . .I think I do now. I''m not afraid anymore Ellari."


    "You think Ja''kahl is waiting for you."


    "Yes. I . . . I miss him." Tears rise in my eyes and I let them spill unhindered.


    "But I will miss you, Irella. I will be alone. I can''t do it. I am not strong like you are."


    I can''t help myself. Her words make me laugh even as I weep quietly for my dead friend. "You are first born, Ellari. You were born to be the strong one. Remember when we were little, and that wretched noble nearly trampled us with her horse?"


    "I pushed you out of the way." In her voice echoes the ghost of a smile.


    "Yes. And she nearly trampled you to death. You lay deaf and dumb to the world for nearly a month. I was sure you would die."


    "I don''t remember that part. Just the horse and then waking up hungry. Oh, and you. Crying like an infant."


    I smile at her teasing. "I wasn''t crying. I was praying." Despite my smile, my words are defensive.


    "You were crying and praying."


    With a sigh I struggle to my feet. "Yes. I suppose I was. We should get moving again or we¡¯ll be late." Ellari rises even more slowly, as if her legs can barely support her. "You won''t be alone. Not really," I remind her as I help her up.


    "You¡¯ll be dead." Ellari''s voice is brittle with anger and fear.


    "Yes, but we will still be connected. The preparations will bind our spirits more tightly together than any oath or spell ever could. I will whisper to you through your dreams. Belmore needs the blessings of the Ancients, Ellari." I can see the temple ahead of us. It has withstood the years better than any other building. Lightning scorched the stones, but it could not bring them down. Perhaps the Ancients did build it as the scribes say. Those stones were old when the city was founded, or so I was taught.


    With an effort, I pull my mind back from such idle thoughts. There are people around us now, all of them starving near to death, their clothing a ragged patchwork of thread bare scraps. "One day, you will join me in the Ancients¡¯ realm. Then, we will be among our . . . our friends and family." My pace slows as we draw closer to the great open doors. ¡°All those we¡¯ve lost . . .¡±


    There is a thick crowd of haunted faces gathered outside. They are all that remains of Belmore¡¯s citizenry. Beyond the tall doors, the crowd of twins that once over-flowed the great temple is down to a dozen. Six pairs of twins. Seven counting us. "Irella . . . I don''t¡ª"


    "I cannot do this without you Ellari," I whisper softly as I pull her forward. Where I expected resistance, there is only submission. "We can save all those who are still clinging tightly to life." I pause before the steps. "Look at them Ellari." Gently, I raise her chin, force her eyes up from the flagstones. She does not want to look. We both know what will happen if she looks at those starving desperate faces. As much as it hurts, I make her look at them.


    They stand there in their rags, clustered in little groups or alone. Some stare at us with hope, but most cannot raise their heads. They have been disappointed too many times. "It is our year. We both know it. The lottery is just a formality. I don''t want our people to suffer because we were too selfish to accept our duty." Carefully I hug her from behind and rest my chin lightly on the bones of her shoulder. "I don''t want us to be like Niko and Kino . . .


    "Imagine it Ellari. This time next year, these people will be well fed, weeping with joy instead of trembling in fear with barely a shred of hope between them. You will serve as Divine Speaker of Belmore. You will have your choice of lovers. You could have a child. Maybe even a daughter . . ." A tear falls from her chin and onto my forearm as my voice cracks. Part of me is still afraid. "I want that for you. For them. . . . Even if it means giving it up for myself. Do you still want us to leave?"


    Ellari tries to speak as more tears drip onto my arms, but her throat will not cooperate. "It''s okay." I whisper. "Just, promise me. . ." Now, it is my throat which fails.


    Ellari rasps. "If I have a girl, I will name her Irella. A boy, I will name him Ja''kahl. I promise." She turns around in my embrace and kisses each of my hollow cheeks with her thin lips.


    I laugh weak and tearful at her promise. "I was just going to ask that you find someone who makes you happy," I murmur and kiss her forehead.


    "Oh. Ha . . . yes. I promise . . . I promise I will try. Let''s go." I cannot ask more of my sister than that.


    Turning, we enter the temple and go our separate ways. We are late, and there are fewer candidates this year than ever before. Already they have all chosen. The council is fretting and Gray Mother is weeping silently. There are no matches. No hope in anyone''s eyes as Ellari and I mirror each other across the breadth of the building. The urn is nearly full of tokens as I put my hand in. Cool metal shapes close in around my flesh.


    One after another, they slip from my fingers. They evade my grasp. Silently I pray to be chosen. I will not let fear control me anymore. I am ready to serve my people. I will give Ellari back her strength.


    A token presses itself into my palm and I draw it out. The elegant petals of an Aliantha blossom are spread across the golden surface. Aliantha, the hardiest and most beautiful of flowering bushes. The berries it produces are made into a sacred alcohol. The blossom is a symbol of wisdom, of honor, and of bounty. It is the best omen a chosen pair can draw.


    I am not afraid.

 The Tale of the Night Fox by Allusir

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    Tale of the Night Fox


    by Allusir


    Allusir spends most of his time in fantasy worlds¡ªwritten, virtual, or dreamt. Sometimes hunger drives him to visit reality to work alongside his husband in their tiny apartment found on the island nation of Taiwan. You can read his collection of flash fictions here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheWriteAllusir</a>


    #


    ~Trarush, Capital of Bruin¡ª1371


    I wish he would just hurry, Baron Matz von Lauer thought from his shadowy rooftop perch. If he doesn¡¯t pick up his pace, it will be dawn before he leads me to his hideout. Why can¡¯t he be like other nobles, completely confident nothing can touch him?


    The figure shrouded in a raggedy cloak checked over his shoulder for a fourth time before finally ducking down a small street. A hooded man in tattered clothing wasn¡¯t unusual to see on the border streets between the merchant district and slums. A hooded man in tattered clothing with dark leather boots crafted from a rare magical creature¡¯s hide however ¡­


    You would think a man sporting boots that nice could walk faster. Matz wished he could gut Duke Fiete von Gerson and be done and on his way home. Though not conclusive, Matz had more than enough evidence to execute this lowly duke without trial. However,  his orders were clear¡ªfind the traitor''s lair, destroy any illegal arcane weaponry, and dispose of anyone involved in conspiring against the Council of Viscounts. And the longer he keeps me from my feather bed, the more likely I am to miss his vitals with the first few knives.


    Fiete turned this way and that, each new alley bringing him farther from wealthier streets lit by magical lamps. Every step into the ghettos gave Matz more planks and clotheslines to cross the flat-top roofs¡ªand more laundry to hide in.


    Had his target bothered to look up, he might have glimpsed his stalker¡¯s messy blonde hair in the moonlight. Matz didn¡¯t bother covering his light hair on missions anymore. No one ever looked up fast enough, and hoods left his hair flat for days.


    Matz¡¯s quarry rounded a corner and hugged the wall, waiting for anyone who might be following to turn after him. With his expression hidden by a hood, the duke was impossible to read. Will he wait there until he wins a staring contest with some fellow refuse?


    Apparently satisfied, von Gerson continued to navigate the maze of the slums until he was so far from the city center that Matz began to worry about getting spotted by the wall guard. They checked the rooftops.


    Matz crossed an arch once used to cover a market with rain cloths, almost running into a black raven perched on the edge. The raven¡¯s cry echoed to the streets below as Matz flattened himself on the archway.


    Fire lit the darkness as it scorched the corner of the roof near the shadowy bird. The raven took to the sky, and a cat leapt down from a nearby windowsill. Matz didn¡¯t dare look.  He held his breath and clutched one of the knives on his belt. Though low ranking, von Gerson was an officer in the mage battalion, with more than enough power to burn Matz off the rooftops.


    A muttered curse, a flash of light, a yelping cat, and the sound of footsteps growing more distant brought Matz a wave of relief. Once the footfalls grew too soft to hear, he resumed his hunt.


    The duke stopped in front of a larger building unattached to the amalgamation of sun-dried clay the poor called houses.  A sign hung by rusted chains, marking it as the hall for a bygone merchant guild¡ªwhat was left of it at least. More rubble and broken planks than walls, the once center of a thriving market now sat in ruin. Matz gave him credit for choosing a location no one would look in, but one strong gust of wind might do the assassin¡¯s job for him.


    Walking around the side of the collapsing hall, von Gerson checked for stalkers everywhere, including the shadows above. Then he vanished through the wall.


    Whether the roof was falling apart or an illusion, Matz certainly wasn¡¯t going to jump across to find out. The assassin untied an empty clothesline and climbed down.


    Matz crossed the open street and reached into his pockets, taking out a clear sphere with a thatu trapped inside. The pure elemental glowed different colors in response to nearby magic. The orb glimmered lavender¡ªindicating illusions alone guarded this side of the secret entrance. Twice he circled the building with no other responses from the thatu. If there were other exits, they weren''t close by.


    Iridescent fog filled the air as Matz stepped through the illusory wall. Haunting incantations whispered through the fog, echoing around him. Gravity shifted left and right as waves of energy churned through his body. One step. The elemental continued to produce a purple hue, as the color blue developed a unique smell. One step. The glow flickered, slightly redder, and Matz stopped moving. The thatu was calm, so there wasn¡¯t any immediate threat. A trap probably hid in the cloudy haze a step or two forward. With each breath, his disoriented senses cleared. Matz waited. The fog dissolved.


    Smooth granite walls rose, encasing a set of stairs leading down. Glyphs, carved into the stone around the entrance, lit the darkness. Matz extended his arm a little closer, until the thatu turned a clear red. The vibrant color signaled an intense elemental magic imbued in the arcane symbols.


    Given the little creature¡¯s quivering vibrations inside the tiny orb, another step and one or more of the glyphs would spring the magical trap.


    Prepared for dealing with mages, Matz drew a dagger from the leather baldric across his chest, its orichalcum blade capable of cleaving steel a hundred times without dulling the edge¡ªin the hands of someone strong enough. While Matz didn¡¯t have the strength to split open a suit of plate armor, he could at least scuff up stone glyphs with ease.


    Once his elemental pet was a calm purple, the assassin descended to an underground tunnel. Iron bars blocked a corridor at the bottom, three wooden doors on each side. Matz searched for traps and a lock, only to find a simple latch near the top. It opened without much force and was easily accessed from both sides. It didn¡¯t really block entry or escape. Unless you were a savage animal. Matz replaced the blue-black blade with two made from alchemical silver, coated in poison for good measure.


    The first door on the left opened. Daggers flew. A woman in dark robes slumped to the ground, convulsing. Fresh daggers from his waist belt in hand, Matz sprinted forward to attack anyone that might lurk behind her.


    Nobody came running. He dragged the mage back into the room and closed the door. He searched the woman, finding an Austolian signet ring on her finger. While not an enemy nation in name, Matz knew of no official visitors from the largest island nation. Best to not give her the antidote then.


    He looked around the small room, finding only a hay bed, simple desk, and tiny clothing chest. Matz blanched at the thought of living in such meager accommodations for days on end¡ªunderground. He thought back to days as a young street urchin, living with two other thieving brats in a room no bigger than this.


    Before he was given a title that put him above the influence of low- and mid-level nobility, Matz had lived in squalor. No. That¡¯s not you anymore. You¡¯re a man of culture now. Fashionable and refined. Matz smoothed his silk trousers, anchoring his thoughts on his mansion, bought by the riches that ensured his loyalty.


    Fiete von Gerson, for not providing your minions with better accommodations and causing me to remember unhappy times, you¡¯ve earned yourself a missing finger before you die.


    Matz glanced back at the woman¡ªshe no longer twitched. He moved to read an open book laying on the desk.


    Day 478 - Without nourishment, the healing process has slowed. The herbs will undoubtedly help, but not enough. It needs meat to regain strength. Today we tried using a regenerative potion diluted with water at a ratio of one part potion per thirty parts water. Subject did not reach dangerous levels of strength but did become more feral for a time. However, it did not injure itself more. We will prepare fresh food to entice the subject to eat.


    So there was some kind of creature. Matz flipped back a few pages, adjusting the brightness of the magical lamp to read better. Their rooms may have been simple, but their tools were top quality. A metal tipped quill sat in a glass inkwell.


    Day 475 - The last of the new subjects died in the night. Only the original subject survives to date. We worried it would become enraged like it used to when the first batch of subjects died. I keep telling the duke that iron bars and wooden doors separating that thing from our sleeping quarters are not enough.


    Fortunately it seems to have sunk into a depression. Perhaps feeling some sense of loneliness or fear, it has stopped eating. This may slow our process, but at least we are safe. Instinct and hunger will drive it to eat eventually.


    Enough ink remains to properly glyph five more subjects. With the failure of recent attempts to create new subjects, we suspect there may be something in the first subject¡¯s blood that allowed it to survive the initial procedure. We may need to breed it for better results. I doubt Duke Gerson will approve such a plan.


    Day 476 - Subject did not eat. Worrying that the broken ribs from last week¡¯s experiment will not heal properly, I approved a new experiment. We administered a regenerative potion and herbal water mix at a ratio of one part potion per ten parts water. Brother Nils sustained minor scratches and a bite forcing it to drink. As expected, the subject became aggressive. The new chains seem to hold better, but I still hold my breath and wait for it to break free. I fear someday I may share the same fate as our predecessors.


    More testing will need to be done to determine if the amount of healing is worth aggravating the injuries. Once it calmed, we moved it from the laboratory cages to a hay bed in the storage room to curl up and recover. Brother Nils noticed no difficulties with using magical treatment on the wounds caused by the subject¡¯s teeth.


    Whatever the beast was, it was injured, starving, and contained. If Matz managed to prevent anyone from letting it out, he could dispose of the wretch safely. He regarded the woman who no longer twitched.


    You were much more helpful than the man who insisted on squandering half the night searching for assassins he couldn¡¯t find, Matz thought. This considerate soul had died without a fuss, wasn¡¯t heavy to drag, and her book linked von Gerson to all of it. I might actually make it home before dawn.


    A knock at the door sent Matz to his feet, daggers ready. The door creaked open.


    ¡°Sister Martina, you know Duke Gerson doesn¡¯t like to be kept wai¡ª¡± a knife in the man¡¯s throat garbled the rest of his sentence.


    ¡°Then I won¡¯t keep him any longer.¡±


    Matz stripped the woman of her robes, since they had the least amount of blood on them and looked more important. He threw them over his shirt and trousers¡ªhe would need to burn them later¡ªletting the dark fabric hide the red stains. Nothing would hide the smell. Matz would have to make his move before anyone could notice.


    Grabbing the lamp and a few books from the table to conceal a dagger, he walked into the hall. The next four doors led to more simple dormitory rooms, all empty. An odd odor seeped from the final room.


    Trusting his disguise, Matz opened the door. Nobody. Just a room full of beakers of colored liquids and jars of creepy bits. Unsure of what any of them were, he decided it would be best to destroy this room later.


    More iron bars gated the next set of stairs. The bars were certainly thick enough to keep something strong in. He walked deeper, dousing the light before entering a new open room.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Three more robed figures huddled together, whispering to each other. Five dorms, five mages in robes, zero loose ends. The assassin pulled the hood low and shuffled in.


    The ceiling was high, probably reaching all the way up to the ground level. Dying torches sat high, a staunch difference from the clear magical lamps in the rooms above. Matz walked slowly to let his eyes adjust.


    Two iron doors crept into view, identical and both on the opposite side of the room. Which one led to the duke? Which one led to the weapon? Near him, Matz began to make out dense bars built into the wall. Cells? he wondered. It would be difficult to squeeze a tiger into holes that small. Did that mean the weapons being created were for more urban settings, rather than a battlefield fear tactic?


    ¡°Sister Martina, the duke is in his office,¡± one said, glancing at the door on the right. As he approached, he lowered his voice. ¡°He seems to be in a bad mood. Worse than usual.¡± Matz stepped in close, not wanting him to separate from the others. In a room this large, giving mages space would be a costly mistake.


    Matz nodded and held out the books for the man to take. His outstretched hands made his heart an easy target for the first jab. Two daggers sailed through the air, dropping the farthest target. A quick dash brought him within striking range of the third, who was only starting to realize that his superior was suddenly attacking them. A swift chop to the throat silenced any cries for help, and a crack of the neck dropped him.


    Unable to access his belts for more daggers, Matz removed the robes. Aside from the corpses, the room seemed empty.


    Clank.


    Matz bumped something with his foot, something heavy. Chains. Black chains, four of them, anchored to the ground, ending in thick manacles. He tapped it again with his foot. Too heavy to be iron. Chilling sweat dampened his neck.


    A whimper echoed from a cage in the corner. Matz drew a silver dagger and activated the lamp. A blue sheen mixed with black cage bars. Matz stopped. Each cell door was made of orichalcum. His dagger alone was worth his estate. No duke had the resources for bars made of the rare ore. And not just one cell, Matz thought. Several cells and the manacles in the center of the room ...


    Who was supporting his research? And what kind of research required such a prison? The assassin¡¯s heart beat faster with each question.


    A low growl came from another cage. Matz stepped closer, the arcane light peeling back the gloom. Tendrils of shadow danced in the shape of a beast. A shade? He had heard stories of animals that had eaten too many dark elementals and changed into magical creatures, but never one as large as a wolf.


    A silver dagger flew from Matz¡¯s hand and caught the beast in the throat. The beast recoiled. Hopefully the alchemical properties could prevent the thing from healing long enough for the poison to enter its blood stream¡ªif it had blood.


    The beast gasped for air, as if trying to retch the poison out of its system. It wasn¡¯t long before the beast started twitching. Matz threw in two vials of flame jelly for good measure. The sticky liquid clung to the wispy shadows, eating its way through the dark hide.


    Another whimper came from the corner. Matz backed away and moved to check the other cell. The light unveiled a child, trying to hide in a blanket half his size. Teary green eyes peeked out.


    His black hair was darker than even some viscounts on the council. Matz hadn¡¯t heard of any reports of missing highborn children. Though there was always the possibility he was the result of a night spent with a whore. But if that were the case, wouldn¡¯t his hair be lighter from the commoner blood?


    Matz took a step closer to the cell, and the boy flinched, cowering deeper into the worn blanket. This is their idea of meat? Matz needed to get this kid out before it was feeding time.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I won¡¯t let the monster hurt you,¡± Matz said. The boy didn¡¯t move. ¡°Are you okay?¡± He didn¡¯t respond. Did he not understand me? Had he been taken from another kingdom? The last thing the kingdom of Brurin needed was for one of its own dukes to be responsible for the kidnapping and death of a foreign highborn. Was von Gerson trying to start a war? ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Matz asked. The boy continued to stare, wordless.


    ¡°Come here.¡± Matz repeated in several languages. At the sound of Itrerian, tears streamed more, and he silently obeyed.


    Poor kid, Matz thought. If he¡¯s from Itreris, he must have been captured by the rebels and sold as a slave. The last report from the smallest of the island kingdoms that Matz had read said the Marquess had been killed, leaving a rebel commoner on the throne.


    Skin clung to leg bone as the boy shuffled closer to the door. Tattered rags hung at his waist and shoulders, thankfully stained only with dirt. The beatings Matz had received as a child on the streets had often left his ¡°clothing¡± stained with his own blood.


    ¡°That¡¯s better.¡± He did a great job of keeping quiet, but how long could a boy who was hardly five or six keep up such bravery? He stopped at the door.


    ¡°Can you understand me?¡± Matz asked. The boy nodded as the assassin set the lamp down and started to pick the lock. ¡°Good lad. I¡¯m going to open the door now, and you¡¯re going to run up the stairs.¡± The boy thought for a moment and shook his head no. Why would he resist leaving?


    The iron gates. With the latch so high up, there was no way a child could reach.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry. When you get to the top of the stairs, wait for me. There are no bad men upstairs. I need to take care of something first and then I¡¯ll¡ª¡± Bright light filled the room.


    ¡°To what do I owe the honor of this visit from Baron Matz von Lauer, Night Fox of the council?¡± a nasally voice asked from behind Matz. Two more quick wiggles and the lock snapped open. Matz stood and turned to face the light.


    The duke¡ªwearing much better attire than the ratty cloak he¡¯d snuck to his lair with¡ªalready had several flames floating around him, ready to torch the intruder. Matz did hate to get blood on such fine clothes, but the duke did owe him a messy death.


    The door creaked open. Hopefully the kid has the good sense to hide behind something other than me. Not that there was anything in the room to hide behind.


    ¡°Why Fiete, my dear duke,¡± Matz moved his arms away from his belt, hoping to put von Gerson at ease. ¡°Your darling wife has noticed you sneaking out quite frequently the past year and hired someone to follow you for proof of an affair. After he turned up dead, one of my investigators picked up the observations. Killing him caught my attention.¡±


    The duke sighed and ran a hand through his stringy brown hair. ¡°So sorry to hear about your man. Had I known he was yours, I would have done more to lose him. Perhaps gone to a brothel to appease his curiosity, rather than melting him.¡±


    ¡°If you know who I am, then you must know what I¡¯m here to do. I¡¯ve already taken care of your little circle of mages, and the shade you feed small children to. It wasn¡¯t an impressive weapon if I¡¯m being honest. All that¡¯s left ...¡± Matz rested the pads of his fingers on a trigger in his empty palm, ¡°is to kill you, and then burn this place down. It seems you¡¯re ready to help me with the last step already.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose a man of your reputation and wealth would be open to a bribe?¡± von Gerson asked.


    ¡°I¡¯m terribly sorry, but no. Given the equipment you have in this room, I¡¯m sure your offer would be more than what a lowly duke could procure. Still, I shall have to decline. I don¡¯t suppose a man of your ilk would be a good sport and give me the name of your sponsor? Perhaps even do away with yourself neatly?¡±


    ¡°Of course, it is my duty to obey a higher born ¡­ my apologies, I forgot you weren¡¯t born into your status ¡­ I meant a higher ranking lap dog.¡± The vulture-necked man smirked as if he had managed to hurt Matz. His hunching shoulders and lack of proper posture were far more offensive.


    ¡°However, it is a bit much to ask. How about a compromise? I can tell you a little secret about the weapon you took care of. That was merely a little side project. As to the weapon ... you just let it out of its cage.¡±


    A hand clung to the assassin¡¯s pant leg. His jaw tightened followed by the rest of his body. He turned his head, careful to move nothing but his neck. The boy¡¯s arm trembled. Still wrapped tightly in the blanket, the boy hid behind Matz, afraid to even peek at the man who stood before them. No fangs, only tears showed on his face. No feral growls reverberated, only quiet sobs as he slowly lost the fight to keep silent. Matz relaxed.


    An orb of fire curved away from von Gerson toward the ceiling above them. ¡°Consider that your only warning. Put the thing back in its cage and walk away.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Fiete.¡± Matz returned his full attention back to the pest in front of him. ¡°We both know you can¡¯t let me leave here alive. You had several opportunities to attempt a cheap shot while I was distracted.¡± The duke¡¯s confident smile fell into a satisfying frown. ¡°I can¡¯t help but think you are avoiding collateral damage. This child is the only one of your toys left. Am I right?¡±


    The duke¡¯s face contorted. With a wave of his hand, the remaining orbs merged and shot wide to the side. Matz used the opening to throw a dagger. The blade sliced through the air, sailing toward von Gerson¡¯s throat.


    The merged orb imploded.


    Arcane force tugged air to its center for the bubbling core to consume. The heart of the flames beat once. Torn between forward momentum and the hungry pull, the dagger hung suspended in the air. Again the flaming heart beat plucking the dagger from its path and drawing it in. A third beat yanked the assassin off his feet. Matz hit the ground several steps closer to the pulsing globe.


    On a fourth beat, fire and air exploded outwards.


    The glassy sphere holding the thatu clattered to the floor with another dagger as the blast spun Matz. The magical sprite jumped around frantically inside, glowing bright red. Matz reached for another dagger, ears ringing. He drew the blade half from its sheath when a surge of lightning slammed into him.


    Pain coursed through him. Muscle spasms ejected the blade from his hands as the lightning turned Matz into a puppet, pulled on strings of power in all directions. His lungs struggled to breathe in air. Matz tried to shout for the boy to run, but the paralyzing shock silenced him.


    Instead of running, the boy reached down and picked up the magical lamp. In less than a heartbeat, the boy was standing over Matz. The cascade of power, and the pain vanished as the boy stood against von Gerson¡¯s spell.


    Matz begged his limbs to move, to step back in front, to pull the boy away. Little more than a coughing gasp escaped his dry throat. Feeling returned with each breath of air that entered Matz, but it wasn¡¯t enough to move.


    The arcane energy latched to the boy¡¯s left arm, no longer concealed by the blanket. Runes and glyphs tattooed his skin. The black ink drank the lightning. Von Gerson screamed in terror as he cut off the spell and turned to run. He only managed half a step before the boy crossed the room with a leap and landed on the duke¡¯s leg.


    Duke von Gerson screamed as his leg snapped. He started to crawl away, only to be yanked back by his broken leg. The duke kicked at the boy¡¯s face, which didn¡¯t shift him in the slightest. He may as well have kicked a stone statue. The boy lifted Fiete von Gerson up, as if he were no more than a wooden play sword, and swung him headfirst into the stone floor with a sickening crunch.


    Matz stared, unable to look away from the carnage as the boy tore at the duke, breaking the corpse¡¯s arm to remove the magical bracelet that had channeled the lightning. He held the bracelet in his left hand until it stopped glowing.


    Matz pushed to his knees as the boy ripped at von Gerson¡¯s shirt and took an amulet from around his neck. He promptly lost his balance and fell over again, unable to move properly. After a few moments of holding the amulet, the boy crushed the metal disc in his hand and tossed the twisted mess of bronze aside.


    He turned to Matz. A look of frenzied thirst had replaced tears. Rage and madness left a monster in a child¡¯s body. Matz rolled to the side as the boy leapt for him. The roll turned to a tumble and brought him to his feet, legs shaking, orichalcum dagger already in hand.


    But the little beast had no interest in Matz. He had already crushed the crystal sphere, releasing the tiny elemental. He snatched the helpless thatu and pressed it to his tattoos. The critter popped in a flash of light, but still the boy pushed the husk against the tattoos harder and harder.


    His whole body heaved with each breath. He frantically looked Matz over. The assassin gripped his daggers tighter. Not finding whatever it was he was looking for, the boy roamed around the room. Matz stood, trying his best to not shake as the boy paced.


    Finally, he clutched his chest, sputtering for a few moments. When the boy¡¯s gaze met Matz¡¯s, the child looked away in shame. Tears returned. With his right hand, he began to rub at the blood on his left. Rubbing turned to clawing and the boy began to wail.


    Matz darted toward the boy, grabbed his blanket from the floor, wrapped it around his left arm, and pulled him close. The assassin struggled to hold the boy, who pushed away with weakening strength.


    The boy buried his face into the blanket, muttering something. He repeated it, but the blanket muffled it too much. Matz moved the blanket and the third time was clear, carried through the air on a bellowing cry. Monster.


    ¡°Shhhh.¡± Matz rocked him until wails became weeping. ¡°It¡¯s okay now.¡± He patted the boy¡¯s head till the weeping became sniffles. ¡°It¡¯s over.¡± He cradled him until the sniffles became long, deep breaths.


    While the fragile body in his arms slept, Matz thought. There must be some in Itreris searching for a legitimate heir to the throne. The nobles wouldn¡¯t allow a commoner to control the country for long. Though if returned, he could become a weapon that would end the hard-fought balance between the Splintered Kingdoms of the archipelago.


    Matz considered his orders and the danger the boy posed to the kingdom he swore to protect. If he disobeyed those orders, someone else would carry them out, possibly after torture and experimentation.


    The villains were dead. Their conspiracy against the ruling class and kingdom halted. All that remained was their last subject, a beast of unbelievable strength and speed. With a careless trigger, who knew how much damage he could do. With training and the right catalyst, he could even slay an army.


    Matz raised the blue-black blade to the boy¡¯s throat. The same blade that the previous Night Fox once held to the throat of a blonde urchin. As a member of a scummy thieves guild, Matz had robbed and murdered. He was once a hopeless wretch, who hadn¡¯t deserved a second chance. He hadn¡¯t deserved to be the next generation assassin for the kingdom. Yet, he had been spared.


    This little one had the courage to protect me and the strength to not attack me, even in that ¡­ state. Closing his eyes, Matz slid the knife back into its sheath. He carried the boy to a bed in one of the rooms to rest.


    I will tell the council that the duke evaded me, buying more time, Matz thought. Once a few days had passed, his report would tell them about the duke¡¯s failed attempts to summon a demon and cage it for experimentation. I¡¯ll tell them the magic circle was destroyed in the fight, banishing the demon back to the Shadow Realm. To eliminate all threats of a resummon, I burned the research with the bodies.


    The boy could stay at Matz¡¯s estate for one day without notice. There had to be an orphanage in the slums, one poor enough it couldn¡¯t possibly have magic for the boy to interact with¡ªassuming that was indeed the trigger. With regular donations, Matz could keep track of the boy, and the residents would keep their mouths shut, believing the boy to be just another highborn¡¯s illegitimate child.


    He read through the research to learn about the experiments, confirming his suspicions. Without magic for his tattooed runes to feed off, he was nothing but an innocent little boy. Matz gathered up all evidence of the boy and destroyed it, leaving the rest for the investigators to make their own reports.


    Matz returned to the room. ¡°You are no monster,¡± he whispered, watching the soft rise and fall of the boy¡¯s chest.


    Bright Realm help me if I¡¯m wrong ¡­

 The Mistbeast of Blackwood Forest

    The Mistbeast of Blackwood Forest


    By Emma Schouten


    Emma has grown up in the French countryside despite being Dutch, but decided to start writing stories in English just because she could. Her time is divided between welcoming guests at work, writing stories at home and reading books everywhere. And her six cats, of course.


    #


    Lin. A little town at the edge of Blackwood Forest, lost in the outreaches of Voyenne, and home to less than two thousand people. The entire economy here relied on the hunting of animals and the collecting of rare plants. Furs would be traded for other goods from all over the Voyenne, the plants would be exclusively sold to the mages of Troye.


    What Feyre saw did not impress her in the slightest.


    Lin. A cluster of houses built haphazardly on the shores of the Grande Elle River, looking as prosperous as any town haunted by a mysterious beast. Dusk had painted the sky in vivid tangerine, soft peach, and darker magenta, before gradually slipping into the dark blue of the approaching night by the time Feyre made it into town. In the failing light, she watched, intrigued and perplexed, as people hastened down emptying streets. Shutters were closed and doors locked. Only a few had noticed her crossing the bridge into town, none paid any attention to the great pine forest that surrounded the town on three sides.


    Feyre guided her horse through a muddy street to a square. A well stood at its center, with benches arranged around it in a circle. Flower pots added a touch of color, though they were wilted. The houses that lined the square were mostly dark, all lights hidden behind wooden shutters. A few had a sign above their doors; a baker and a butcher, a blacksmith and, there, tucked away between two more prominent buildings, an inn.


    She made for it. Feyre had visited a number of inns over the years; it could not be avoided when one traveled as much as a Shadow did. Never, in her six years on the road, however, had she seen one so quiet; especially one that doubled as the local tavern. No noise drifted out of the building. The windows were shut tight and no patrons walked in and out, singing and shouting.


    Feyre¡¯s feet landed on the ground with a dull thud that resonated loudly in the quietness. She tied the horse to a post and headed inside.


    Only the smell of alcohol greeted her at the door. The drinking room was nearly empty, a few men, both young and old, sat scattered throughout the room. They sat quietly, focused on their own drinks. A man stood behind the bar, wiping down its surface, and a barmaid hovered watchfully at the other end. No one looked up, but Feyre was certain her entrance hadn¡¯t gone unnoticed.


    She approached the bar and cleared her throat. The barman flung his rag over his shoulder and looked her up and down. She watched as he took in the cloak as black as night, the black shirt and the brown doublet. She saw his eyes glide over the crisscrossing leather straps on her chest, which held at least three throwing knives in clear view. They continued down over the dark leather pants and the weapons belt around her hips holding more weapons.


    His wide eyes traveled back up to her face; she waited for the man to get over the shock of coming face to face with a Shadow. ¡°What can I do for you, miss Shadow?¡±


    Feyre would never get used to the tremble in a grown man¡¯s voice at the mere sight of her. She was not particularly tall. Her long ginger hair and a face full of freckles were not what she considered particularly frightening either. Yet, the sight of the dark clothes and the weapons, each stamped with the Shadows¡¯ crest, announced what she was as well as any herald.


    ¡°I would like a room.¡±


    ¡°Certainly,¡± he nodded frantically, then called the maid. The sudden noise and activity had caught the attention of the other patrons. Their eyes bore into her back. The maid exchanged a few whispered words with the man before she disappeared up a set of stairs. ¡°You will have to forgive us for not having a room ready. We don¡¯t get many travelers in these parts, you see.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll have a glass of mead while I wait.¡± The road to Lin had been long.


    She dropped onto the nearest stool, studiously ignoring the eyes on her back. The barman served her a tall glass of pale mead with a shaky hand. ¡°Thank you kindly,¡± she told him as she accepted the glass. While Feyre never set out to spook the locals, she had discovered years ago it gave her a sense of pleasure; a little light in the dark business of a Shadow. ¡°I have a horse outside; are there stables where I could house it?¡±


    ¡°Of course, we have them around back. I¡¯ll take care of it right now.¡±


    The man left in a great hurry, allowing the Shadow to enjoy her drink without his fearful gaze trained on her. Sure, the others still watched her, but she could ignore them. Or, at least, she would have.


    A man dropped into the seat next to her.


    She turned her head to him curiously as she drank. He was one of the younger men. The summer sun had tanned his skin and had bleached his hair to gold. But his eyes caught her attention; he had eyes the color of Arncaster Lake at high noon. Both blue and green, yet neither. Here was a child of summer if she had ever seen one.


    He could be no more than twenty-five. Those shocking blue eyes flitted back and forth between her face, her empty hand on the edge of the bar, and the knives strapped to her chest - at least, she hoped they focused on the knives. A light stubble covered his chin and cheeks. He folded his bare forearms on the bar and leaned forward a little, gaining a clearer look at her face. She looked him in the eye, wondering if he would be bold enough to hold her gaze.


    As it turned out, he was.


    ¡°Are you here to deal with the Mistbeast?¡±


    She arched an eyebrow; it was indeed the name the Lightless had given her for the beast they had sent her to deal with, though they greatly disliked folktale names. She nodded. The young man¡¯s shoulders sagged in obvious relief.


    ¡°You could have come sooner,¡± one of the other men called out.


    Turning in her seat, she stared unwaveringly at the man. It would take little more than the blink of an eye, she mused. She could be out of her seat and at his side with a knife pressed to his throat in a snap. It would frighten him and allow her to work in peace. Instead, she opted for the second option. ¡°I could leave again, if you are not happy with me,¡± she suggested. ¡°Please feel free to file a complaint with the Order of Shadows.¡±


    Feyre moved to rise from her seat. The one beside her grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. Her eyes shot to him, sliding down to his hand on her. He promptly released her. ¡°We are glad to have a Shadow here.¡± No one was ever happy to have a Shadow in their midst; secrets might be exposed, people might die. However, considering the rumors that had brought her here, this man might be the first to say those words to a Shadow and mean it.


    ¡°Tell me about this Mistbeast,¡± she demanded.


    The Lightless had had few details to give her; the last thing Feyre wanted was to walk into Blackwood Forest unprepared. If this man was so glad she was here, let him help her. The barmaid returned and put a small iron key down in front of her without a word. The other men had quieted but continued to watch the Shadow at the bar, albeit more carefully and surreptitiously.


    ¡°The Mistbeast is a creature that has roamed the Blackwood for generations now. At first, the lumberjacks and the hunters would catch glimpses of it deep in the woods. Their stories say the beast is as tall as a horse but moves with the swiftness of a Shadow. It used to live in the deepest parts of the forests. We left the Mistbeast alone and it would leave us alone. Now it has become as deadly as the plague to all those who face it. None has survived an encounter in a long time.¡±


    She nodded, though old wives¡¯ tales weren¡¯t what she needed. ¡°What changed?¡±


    He shook his head. ¡°A bunch of hunters thought they could take it. The thought of a predator in their woods didn¡¯t sit well with them, I suppose. They were idiots and underestimated what they were up against. The Mistbeast tore them to bits! Since then, it¡¯s attacked everyone who ventures too deep into the woods. Now, it¡¯s even coming closer to Lin. Some say they hear the Mistbeast walk through our streets, others say it moves like a ghost.¡± The young man shrugged, as if he wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it.


    ¡°They are not just claims, boy! It¡¯s the truth,¡± an old man interjected.


    Feyre nodded again. No animal would come into a town of any size if it didn¡¯t have to. The only reason this Mistbeast would leave the cover of the trees would be a lack of food elsewhere. Considering the trade of furs had neither increased nor decreased, Feyre assumed there to be plenty of prey within the forest. Why would it leave the safety of the Blackwood?


    ¡°How regularly does a party set out to hunt it?¡± The town couldn¡¯t afford to remain passive when its livelihood depended on those woods.


    ¡°The last party left only two nights ago.¡± A short silence fell. Feyre caught a wistful glance cast at the door. ¡°None came back. They¡¯re probably all dead.¡±


    The barman rushed back in, white as a sheet as he slammed the door closed behind him, locking it for good measure. ¡°It¡¯s out there,¡± he whispered to the room. He cast a quick glance out the window. ¡°Best if everyone stays here tonight.¡± With that, he started on the collecting of locks and chains to secure the door.


    ¡°It can sense the Shadow,¡± a man behind her exclaimed in fright.


    Feyre rolled her eyes at the assumption. She had known, somewhere at the back of her mind, there was a reason she usually didn¡¯t reveal her Shadow-self in public as she had done here. After months at the Order¡¯s headquarters surrounded by other Shadows, and weeks alone on the road, it had slipped her mind. Now she remembered what that reason was.


    Finishing her ale, she put her glass down and snatched up the key. She moved to one of the windows and took a peek into the street. Nothing but houses bathed in the final rays of sunlight. Feyre mused that if this Mistbeast had become master of the forest, why leave it? Most likely, the locals were too easily spooked.


    ¡°Do you know the woods?¡± she asked the blond.


    His blue eyes returned her stare; she wondered how much it would take to frighten him. She wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to try. How long had it been since anyone other than a fellow Shadow or a mage had not been afraid of her? ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Good. Tomorrow, you will take me to the different attack sites.¡±


    Without another look around, she took herself upstairs to find her room.


    ***


    Lin did not look much better in the light of dawn. The houses had been built with wood and partially covered in plaster. Over time, the wood had started to rot, while a layer of grime built up over the plaster.


    When Feyre stepped back into the square, feeling the worn cobbles underneath her boots. When she breathed in, the smell of freshly baked bread made her stomach forget all about her breakfast and ask for more freshly baked goods.


    People had appeared from their houses, filling this central area with activity and noise. Women collected water from the well or gathered baskets, talking animatedly. Men gathered in groups, counting arrows, testing bowstrings or sharpening axes. Children ran through the throngs of adults. Branching off the square, the roads turned to dirt, their cobbles having long since disappeared beneath the mud.


    ¡°Shall we set off?¡±


    The blond had left the inn a while ago. She hadn¡¯t asked him where he had gone, she hadn¡¯t told him to come back. Feyre knew he would take his appointment as her guide very seriously. No one wished to risk a Shadow¡¯s anger. The Order¡¯s dark reputation certainly had its benefits.


    Standing before her, it was clear he must have gone home first. He wore a different set of clothes, far better suited to the forest, a bow and quiver strapped to his back, his hair brushed back, and an easy smile on his lips. Behind him stood a horse, saddled and waiting.


    ¡°Etienne,¡± he said, gesturing to himself, ¡°and Arion,¡± he added with a gesture at his horse. ¡°At your service.¡±


    She thought of her horse in the inn¡¯s stables. Of how much begging and pleading it had taken before Zelda, a Shadow stationed elsewhere in Voyenne, had agreed to let her borrow it. If this Mistbeast truly was as deadly as they claimed, Feyre was not about to take the horse with her. Zelda would never forgive her.


    ¡°I shall need a horse.¡±


    ¡°What about the one you came on?¡± he frowned.


    ¡°Not an option.¡±


    ¡°Are you su-¡±


    ¡°Not. An. Option.¡±


    He scratched the back of his neck. ¡°Well, I suppose Arion could carry us both.¡±


    They walked out of Lin on foot. It allowed Feyre to take in more of the town in the morning light. A number of different paths led from the town into Blackwood Forest; some were well maintained, with neat cobbles leading from the houses to the open field where the path continued to the edge of the trees and under the canopy. The fields were full of spring flowers; daisies and dandelions, red clover and others Feyre couldn¡¯t identify. Their scents, though subtle, filled the air around them. Her escort explained they varied their hunting grounds regularly, which explained the numerous paths.


    ¡°And the field?¡±


    ¡°Mostly for our own pretend security. But the children collect the dandelions for jam. They snack on the red clover too.¡±


    At the edge of the Blackwood, they mounted Arion. The tall pine trees rose high above them. Arion followed the path with only little guidance from Etienne, knowing the way as well as any other inhabitant of Lin. Feyre kept her eyes and ears open, though she did not expect to catch any sight of the Mistbeast this close to the edge while the sun was out. The wind blew through the trees, rustling in the brush. Occasionally a twig snapped somewhere in the distance. There was nothing to warrant any extra attention.


    Before long, the branches overhead became so thick they blocked out all sunlight. If she looked back, she could see nothing but pine trees; they seemed to have moved to block all sight of the world outside of the forest. The temperatures dropped as the sun disappeared, though a Shadow rarely went anywhere without their cloak.


    ¡°Pass me the lantern,¡± Etienne said, halting Arion briefly.


    Feyre did as asked.


    The small light bloomed to life in its glass prison, allowing them to see a little further. Never could she have found her way through Blackwood Forest without a guide who knew the woods like the back of his hands. While there were few paths branching off the main thoroughfare, the resemblance between the trees and the clear lack of markers made it impossible to guess how long they had traveled. Were they heading south or east? Yet all around them, the forest was alive with sounds.


    They crossed a sturdy wooden bridge over the Grande Elle River as Etienne led them deeper and deeper into the Blackwood. Neither spoke much beyond the necessary, which was little. She didn¡¯t ask how much longer they would need, nor where exactly he was taking her.


    The noises of the forest disappeared so gradually, Feyre didn¡¯t notice at first when everything had gone silent. Arion had walked on though she could sense the animal¡¯s nervousness. She reached around Etienne to put a hand on the reins, hushing him softly before he could speak. Then she slipped down onto the ground.


    The dirt path beneath her boots didn¡¯t kick up any dust as she walked. Here and there, tree roots had pushed their way to the surface.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The lively forest seemed to have died; there were no more birds, no more rustles, no more wind. Only silence. Ahead, the path disappeared out of sight as it went downhill.


    With one hand, Feyre pulled her dagger from her belt, gripping a throwing knife in her other.


    Etienne followed, an arrow nocked and ready. Arion waited patiently where they left him, no interest in going any further. A sure sign of something, Feyre assessed. Her eyes continuously scanned the surrounding forest. Soon she caught something else, not a sound or sight but a smell. In stark contrast to the earthy smell of pine, dirt, and rotting vegetation was the coppery smell of blood. Her feet froze inches before the path dipped down. She found herself surveying a massacre. Etienne stood next to her in horrified silence.


    ¡°The latest hunting party, I assume?¡±


    He nodded.


    Before them, on the path, hanging from branches, and sticking out of the underbrush were a number of bodies. Impossible to tell how many. Each had been torn to pieces, so that most of what she saw were severed limbs. The man nearest to them, his face forever frozen in a terrified scream as he stared up at them, was missing his legs. Feyre surveyed the scene with odd detachment; it was hard to tell which legs had belonged to him.


    ¡°That¡¯s Baptiste,¡± Etienne whispered. She nodded though the information was useless to her.


    Slowly, she made her way downhill. The ground was dark with blood, most of which had dried by now, especially the long drag marks. One man had been left mostly intact, though he had been thrown against a tree where a branch had speared him. A hand lay abandoned in the middle of the path, a leg could just be seen sticking out of the vegetation. She saw a head of blond curls a little further, though got the distinct impression it was no longer attached to anything below the neck.


    Whatever had attacked this group had been vicious, efficient and deadly. It hadn¡¯t killed for food either. Feyre suspected if all body parts were gathered, they would amount to a complete hunting party, yet no other predator had come around to claim the spoils either, which concerned her more.


    The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as she swept her eyes over the dense assembly of trees.


    ¡°Etienne, go back to Arion.¡± She didn¡¯t turn her eyes away from their surroundings. ¡°Something is watching us.¡±


    ¡°What? We can¡¯t just leave them here.¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact, we can.¡±


    With small, careful steps, Feyre maneuvered backward. Her eyes moved around, searching for the slightest sign of anything hidden in the trees. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Her ears couldn¡¯t pick up anything. She turned to tell her companion once more to move.


    It would have been fatal to anyone else; only her training, reflexes deeply ingrained in her muscles, saved her life as she automatically threw herself to the side. A second later and long fangs would have torn through her flesh.


    Feyre spun to face her foe, holding her dagger at the ready. Her weapon was roughly the size of those teeth. Except she had only one dagger.


    Before her stood a beast she had never seen with her own eyes before. This had to be the Mistbeast of the village¡¯s tales. A wolf as tall as she was, with fur as black as night, eyes like fire, and powerfully built. Its lips were curled back to bare sharp and lethal teeth. Its hackles were raised and its ears lay flat as it snarled at her.


    ¡°Etienne, get to the horse. Now!¡±


    She didn¡¯t think he would need to be told again.


    The wolf snapped its teeth and feinted a forward move. The Shadow lost her first throwing knife to that feint. Between one heartbeat and the next, the wolf leaped at her, not giving her the opportunity to escape as she had the first time. It knocked her over and she dropped her dagger; she needed her hands free to keep the strong jaws away from her throat.


    Feyre struggled with all her might to keep them at bay. She worked to pull her legs up to her chest, then, with a burst of strength she prayed would be enough, she kicked out at the wolf. Too focused on ripping out her throat, the kick landed firmly on the beast¡¯s sensitive belly, throwing it through the air.


    Feyre didn¡¯t waste a second. Grabbing her dagger as she rolled and rose to her feet, she sprinted up the path. Etienne sat in the saddle, yanking on the reins to keep Arion in place, as he waited for her. His eyes went wide as she appeared, the massive beast on her tail.


    His quick arrow rushed past her ear, disappearing behind her. She grabbed his outstretched hand and allowed him to swing her up behind him. The stallion did not need to be told to flee.


    A hurried look over her shoulder made her think for a second the wolf had disappeared. Instead, it had only sought refuge among the trees as it continued its chase. It was fast; it would catch up before long.


    Feyre took her time to aim before throwing her second knife. Then a third. And a fourth. She neither heard nor saw the impact; the only confirmation she got to confirm a successful throw was a slight yelp. Ripping Etienne¡¯s bow from his hand, she nocked an arrow and kept it aimed at the forest, waiting for a sight of the beast. Movement in the darkness.


    Nothing.


    Arion bolted out of the trees, too panicked to stop at the sight of sunlight. Etienne struggled to control him. They raced through the streets, villagers jumping out of their way, until a thicker crowd in the square forced them to a stop.


    Feyre, her heart racing, dropped to the ground and went to the well. Pulling up a bucket, she drank her fill before holding it out to Etienne, who offered it to his horse.


    A silence stretched between them.


    The blond broke the silence first. ¡°I can¡¯t believe we survived an attack from the Mistbeast.¡±


    Feyre turned on him, anger boiling in her veins. It had taken one look at the big wolf for her to know what predator she had come face to face with. It had been all she needed to piece together this complicated puzzle.


    ¡°You pissed off a Fenris wolf!¡± she yelled. ¡°There shouldn¡¯t have been a confrontation at all!¡±


    A string of curses followed.


    He took a step back. The few people in the square who had not been watching yet turned to them.


    Feyre took a deep breath, knowing he did not deserve her anger. As a matter of fact, none in Lin deserved it. The first hunting party had set out long before any of these people had been born. Still, it was these people who had ventured into those woods and attempted to kill something unprovoked. It could simply be bad luck they encountered a creature with good memory and adept to holding grudges.


    ¡°What¡¯s a Fenris wolf?¡±


    She breathed in deeply through her nose and slowly out through her mouth. Feyre had made the conscious decision to specialize herself as Tenebrous, a Shadow trained in the deceitful gathering of information. She had chosen to wrap herself in shadows, minimizing her contact with violence. The occasional slit throat was no issue. A direct confrontation with a beast, may it be man or wolf, was quite different.


    ¡°A large species of wolves, native to the dense forests of Dinu. This one must have wandered west in search of new territory, maybe for prey.¡±


    ¡°That beast has been here for decades, surely it can¡¯t be the same wolf.¡±


    She wished she could answer him. Her expertise was not with wolves nor any other kind of animal. In fact, she feared she might be in over her head. Why had the Lightless thought to send her?


    ¡°Can you kill it?¡±


    She took another deep breath. ¡°I have to send a note,¡± she muttered to herself. Yes, she had to write to someone who knew more. To someone who could research these animals and their behaviors. To someone who could provide her with answers. Until then, she would not venture back into Blackwood Forest.


    ***


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± Etienne exclaimed as her horse made its way across the square¡¯s cobblestones.


    Feyre had been in the town of Traises some hundred and fifty kilometers north-east of Lin. It was the nearest town and only slightly bigger. Large enough to have a Raven Master though. She had written to a mage, hoping they would be able to help her, only to have another mage write back to her. What little good it had done her.


    She hadn¡¯t expected the blond to be in the square when she returned. In fact, she had doubted she would see him again at all. Now, he met her with a smile, looking up at her with those peculiar blue eyes full of relief and hope, the noon sun turning his hair to a brighter shade of gold. She acknowledged him with a nod, aware of her tight schedule, and continued onward to the inn.


    ¡°I¡¯m back.¡±


    ¡°Did you find out more about the Fenris wolf? Do you know why it¡¯s here? Why it¡¯s attacking us? Are you going to kill it?¡±


    Feyre could never hope to sate his curiosity before the sun set. She flung herself out of the saddle and handed him the reins without asking. He took them without protesting.


    The inn was busier than it had been the last time with dusk still far away. Tables were fuller and the conversations flowed as freely as the drinks. In the crowd, the barmaid made her way around the tables with pints balanced precariously on her tray. The barman himself stood behind the bar, busy filling even more glasses; he barely paused in his work to look up at the new arrival.


    As on her first night, Feyre approached the bar, though she had no time to wait to be noticed. She pounded the bar with her fist. The barman cast a glance at the source of the disturbance and immediately paled at the sight of her. Any other time she could afford to forgo the rudeness; today, she could not.


    ¡°Miss Shadow. What can I do for you? Your room is still as you left it.¡±


    ¡°I will not be needing the room tonight, though my horse needs a place to stay.¡±


    ¡°Certainly. One moment and I will take care of it right away.¡± Despite a drinking room full of patrons, he hurried to finish his order and followed her out.


    Feyre turned and stepped outside again. Etienne was where she had left him, muttering to the horse as though the animal might answer all his questions. He stopped immediately when his eyes met hers. The barman went for the horse and led it away gently, putting it between her and himself; no demanding clients to keep him from fearing her out here.


    ¡°The horse isn¡¯t mine,¡± she stated as the young man stepped up next to her. ¡°I have sent word to its owner that she can expect it back soon. If I have not returned by late morning tomorrow; I need you to take it back to Dormont. When you catch your first glimpse of the city, you can let it go. It will find its own way home from there. You can take whatever is in the saddlebags as payment.¡±


    He blinked. Once. Twice. She walked away without waiting for a reply. Daylight was a precious commodity to those traveling in Blackwood Forest, despite how much of it the pines blocked out. And while the Mistbeast had proved to be active even during the day, she would much rather make it to her destination before night fell and left her completely blind. He caught up to her, matching her stride.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to hunt it now? Where are your weapons? You can¡¯t hope to take the Mistbeast out with your dagger.¡± Feyre glared at him, and he hurried to amend, ¡°Though I don¡¯t doubt you¡¯re greatly skilled with it. But you need something larger, something more lethal. Not to mention that the sun will have set before you can get too far, especially if you are walking. Why are you walking?¡±


    She stopped and turned to him. They stood halfway between the Blackwood and Lin. ¡°As I said, the horse is not mine. Predators might come out during the day but are more active at night. A lantern¡¯s flame is a hazard to the forest so I won¡¯t take one. Now, return home and let me get to work.¡±


    ¡°But a dagger?¡± he repeated in utter disbelief.


    Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger in question, pulling it free. It was a fine weapon; a lean blade, strong and lethal with its double edge. The rosewood handle had been carved to fit the shape of her hand. Turning the blade over, the Order of Shadows¡¯ symbol had been pressed into the metal just under the guard.


    ¡°I am a Tenebrous. Do you know what that means?¡± He shook his head. She hadn¡¯t expected him to know; few knew about the inner workings of the Order. ¡°I am a Shadow specialized in the collection of information, in doing things quietly and in leaving as little bloodshed in my wake as possible. I am adept at moving in the shadows, adept at using a weapon, and capable of taking a life if the need were to arise. However, I believe that, in the case of the Mistbeast, it is not these skills that are required.¡± Then she put the dagger away; she carried it with her now only for its symbolic nature. ¡°If I do not come back, make sure to tell the next Shadow I was wrong.¡±


    She walked away. When she reached the treeline, she paused, feeling eyes on her back. Etienne stood where she had left him, watching her with an expression of barely disguised dread and worry. She realized she had expected him to follow.


    It was good he hadn¡¯t. With a final nod, she walked into Blackwood Forest.


    Now on foot, she realized just how far they had gone before they had found the massacre. It would take longer than she had anticipated to venture deep enough into the forest. But she didn¡¯t press her step. Instead, she thought about what the mage had been able to tell her.


    Fenris wolves were sacred animals of the goddess Daciana, one of several deities of the hunt on the continent. She hunted side by side with the animals. They were intelligent and long-lived; solitary animals but capable of teamwork. They were adaptable and fast learners. Feyre knew for herself that was true; the Fenris wolf had witnessed the humans set traps for it and, in turn, it had set a trap for them. It explained why the massacre had happened on the road, and why lesser predators had left their superiors¡¯ feast untouched.


    The forest grew darker as time passed. Feyre didn¡¯t mind. She was a Shadow; she lived in the darkness and used it to conceal herself from the world. However, the Mistbeast would do the same, using the cover of night to hunt its prey while she hunted it.


    With the growing darkness, the sounds of life disappeared, leaving the Blackwood in an eerie silence. Her senses were on high alert as she peered into the blackness. She briefly considered leaving the path but dismissed the thought; if she had to face and fight the Fenris wolf, best it be not where the beast had the advantage.


    For what felt like hours, she followed the main trail deeper and deeper into Blackwood Forest, not willing to risk losing herself on a smaller side-path. Perhaps the Mistbeast had gone to Lin and she had missed it. Perhaps it hid in a different part of the woods. But no, this was now its territory; any who ventured would not go unnoticed. Yet the night remained calm and peaceful.


    Until it didn¡¯t.


    A prickling sensation alerted her to a presence hidden among the trees. She hadn¡¯t yet reached the massacre site but was not surprised the Fenris wolf had found her already. Her muscles tensed, her ears straining to pick up any sounds. Where did it hide? Why watch her and not attack? She pulled her dagger free, ready to use it to defend herself. Despite being accustomed to tracking her prey at night, the darkness of the Blackwood was almost absolute. All moonlight was blocked by the thick canopy of branches. Instead, she relied on her hearing, and on her body, as she had never before.


    There.


    She spun on her heel, watching as the imposing form of the Fenris wolf stepped out of the brush and onto the path. It did so deliberately, calmly; full of restrained power. With its black fur, the Mistbeast blended into the shadows as well as Feyre, though its eyes shone in what little light there was. It stood tall and straight as it stared her down across the distance that separated them. She returned the Fenris wolf¡¯s stare, her grip tightening on the dagger¡¯s hilt, her knees bending slightly.


    Unlike last time, the Mistbeast did not attack her right away. They faced each other, each sizing the other up.


    The mage who had written about the Fenris wolves had quoted some of his theology books, hoping she might find it helpful. The words swirled through her mind now as she stared down the beast.


    Hunts with the goddess are said to have made them uncommonly apt at reading human body language.


    Her body language no doubt screamed aggressiveness, but perhaps it could read more into it. It had to if it hadn¡¯t attacked her yet.


    She breathed deeply through her nose, steeling herself. Either her plan succeeded or she was about to surrender herself to a hopefully quick death.


    Breathing out slowly, she lowered herself, keeping her gaze fixed upon the Fenris wolf, willing it to read her intentions, the change in her body language. Kneeling on the rough ground, she breathed in shakily and tossed the dagger just out of reach. If the Fenris wolf attacked now, it would be on her before she could scramble for it. Without any other weapons on her, she likely wouldn¡¯t survive.


    The Mistbeast didn¡¯t move.


    Bit by bit, she stood up again. More quotes came to mind. One story told of a huntsman who crossed paths with a Fenris wolf. The wolf did not attack, neither did the man. He put down his bow and showed he was no threat. She prayed the mage had been right, that the story he had recounted was not just a story after all.


    The Fenris wolf watched her still, not moving a muscle. Her heart was in her throat. Any second now and it could all be over.


    The beast took a step in her direction¡ªalmost tentative. Feyre forced herself to hold still, forcing herself not to dive for the dagger or to run. She relaxed all her muscles. She waited.


    It took another hesitant step, ears twitched, its nose scenting the air. It doubted her as much as she doubted it. Feyre refused to move as the wolf approached her. Even when it was only an arm¡¯s length away, a lunge removed from her death, her feet remained firmly planted in their spot. Stoically, her gaze didn¡¯t stray from the Fenris wolf¡¯s shining eyes.


    Then, before her frozen body, the wolf too lowered itself. Lower and lower until its muzzle nearly touched the ground. Its eyes stared up at her as it held the position. For the first time in her career as Shadow, Feyre had not prepared for the unexpected. In her mind, the wolf would have either attacked her or walked away. This... this was something else.


    Making sure to avoid any brusque movements, she lowered herself onto the dirt path beneath her. She could feel every twig and pebble. She was almost glad to be off her shaky legs. The Order had prepared her for a lot; had trained her to be perfectly emotionless in a vast range of situations. This had never been one of them.


    In the darkness, the Mistbeast followed her example, lying down on the ground completely.


    On a whim, she reached out with her hand, thinking only a heartbeat too late that she risked losing it. The Fenris wolf sniffed at her fingers before nudging them. Carefully, she slid her fingers up the length of the great muzzle, knowing full well the teeth that hid beneath the fur and skin. Before she could pull back her fingers, the animal licked at them. She drew back her fingers more out of disgust than fear.


    ¡°Please don¡¯t slobber all over me,¡± she muttered as she wiped the hand on her cloak.


    They sat in an almost companionable silence for a long time, each cautious of the other but growing accustomed to their presence and company. Feyre thought she might doze off as twilight turned to full night. Everything quieted, but she dared not close her eyes. She must have though, for she woke to bird songs. The pine forest had turned from black to dark green. The most shocking discovery, however, was the Fenris wolf who had, during the night, moved to curl around her. Its tail rested across her stomach, the black fur soft beneath her hands and cheek.


    With small movements, she distanced herself from this much feared animal. Its golden eyes flew open and tracked the Shadow¡¯s every move. It watched as she stood and stretched. It watched as she reached for her dagger. It rose to its feet in seconds, pulling back its lips to reveal deadly teeth.


    ¡°Easy,¡± she muttered, keeping her voice calm. ¡°I¡¯m attached to this. I¡¯m putting it away. See?¡± She slid it into its sheath and showed her empty hands. ¡°No harm done.¡± It continued to watch her attentively.


    Feyre found it hard to walk away from the Fenris wolf, though she knew she needed to return to Lin before late morning. A fragile bond had formed between them throughout the night, tentative but true. She could not simply leave it behind; she had no guarantee it would not remain in Blackwood Forest to hunt the townsfolk. Just because it hadn¡¯t killed her...


    The Mistbeast did not appear to have the same reservations. It stepped off the path and disappeared between the trees without a backward glance. After the Fenris wolf and the hunter had parted ways, the man never saw it in those lands again.


    The ending of her adventure left her feeling dissatisfied; though the huntsman and the Fenris wolf from the story had also walked away from each other. If the story held true, it would leave and never return, and if not, she would return to finish the job.


    And so, she started on her way back to Lin.


    The hike took less time than it had the previous afternoon, or it felt like it did. The Blackwood had lightened only a little with the rising sun somewhere far beyond the densely packed trees. It would have been easy to believe no time at all had passed. Gradually, the birds woke and picked up their song. Perhaps it was the repetitiveness of her surroundings that shortened the road, or perhaps it was her wandering thoughts as her senses remained on high alert.


    A snapping noise cut off her steady pace. All around, the forest had come to life with the rustle of needles and the bristle in the undergrowth. Birds chirped. Nothing like the eerie silence that had accompanied the Mistbeast¡¯s presence. Her body was still wound tight from her encounter. The Order of Shadows had taught her good reflexes. But the Fenris wolf was gone.


    All Feyre had left to do was a stern talk with Lin¡¯s mayor on how to proceed, explain what she had learned and what they would need to do, add a few threats to make sure the village¡¯s inhabitants complied, and add a few more to remind them Shadows did not clean up the same mess twice.


    Now there was a conversation to look forward to.

 By the Moons Last Light

    The setting sun in the forest valley would have been scenic had it not meant impending doom. Dark columns of the demonic army crawled closer. Colonel Howl of the Caldrayn Royal Rangers stood on the wall of Fort Anvil, overlooking the low valley of the Cracked Mountains. Even with his heavy overcoat, the mountain chill pierced through his worn green wool uniform. A tricornered cocked hat was stuffed on top of a scarf that wrapped around his pointed ears, his queued silver hair poking out behind. Gold eyes stared at the demons that neared the fort. I win a battle against the demons and the damned Council rewards me by shucking me out all the way over in the frontier. Undermanned, outgunned. Well, by the numbers at least. His fingers caressed at his flintlock rifle.


    A tall orc with green skin and gray uniform appeared next to him. ¡°Enjoying the view, sir?¡± asked Major Keg. The two had fought alongside each other since they were mere privates in the Caldrayn army.  A network of scars covered one side of her face. Small tusks poked out of her lips, one slightly chipped. She held her furred grenadier cap under the crook of her arm. The star and grenade badge marked her as a war mage, a specialist in explosive magic. ¡°Any word of our reinforcements?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re on the way,¡± said Howl. He had sent his fastest messenger, Longtoe, along with his white owl familiar, out to the nearest fort to alert them the enemy had come. ¡°They¡¯ll be here by nightfall, is what they said.¡± So I hope.


    ¡°They¡¯re running rather late then, aren''t they?¡± she grumbled. The sky shifted from the orange and purple to the black of the night as the sun descended beyond the mountainous horizon. ¡°General Lock probably stopped for tea on the way.¡±


    Howl let out a small chuckle. ¡°We¡¯ll have to hold the fort until then.¡±


    ¡°At what cost?¡±


    Howl¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°At any cost. We lose this fort, and we might as well bid this world farewell. The Black Scourge will cover the lands, enslavement of all our peoples to the Undead Lord.¡±


    ¡°The things we do for king and country,¡± Keg muttered. She glanced around the walls and the redoubt. ¡°When was the last time this fort saw any kind of action? Do you know, Cord?¡± She turned to a burly dwarf nearby.


    ¡°A century ago, I think. I¡¯m sure I still had a beard then,¡± said Serjeant Major Cord, a veteran of many wars and a trusted comrade of Howl¡¯s. He wore the dark blue coat of Caldrayn. A scar ran along his forehead like a second set of brows and another on his clean-shaven chin. ¡°Still, she¡¯ll hold. She always has.¡±


    Fort Anvil was ancient, stretching back hundreds of years. Over time much of the defenses had been updated once siege warfare changed from sword and spear to musket and cannon. Once tall and straight stone walls had been turned into sloping glacis and angled walls. Redoubts, angular earthwork defenses, made up most of the outerworks around the fort¡¯s main bastion walls. Abatis, makeshift fences of sharpened sticks and branches, and bramble covered the great field out in front of the redoubts, hidden by magic camouflage.


    Keg glanced up at the night sky and grunted. ¡°The last of the sun until dawn,¡± she said. ¡°Only a sliver of moon tonight.¡±


    ¡°It will be enough,¡± said Howl.


    The enemy advanced in huge columns that resembled a mass of endless shadows. Howl could hear them growling and jeering. Their pallid faces reflected the little light, contrasting with their dark uniforms. Banners waved the vaunted demon¡¯s crest, the Horned Eye. Howl spotted thousands of devilkin, demonic humanoids with red skin, along with bullmen, taller humanoids with large horns and bull-like heads. Small malblin, twisted demonic versions of goblinoids, skulked ahead of the massive army. Hulking demons, the Tauroks, loomed in the distance. He dreaded to think of what else they brought along with them.


    ¡°Easily over twenty thousand,¡± said Cord.


    ¡°And we¡¯re expected to hold out for reinforcements?¡± Keg cocked her head and pointed. ¡°Against all of that? With our measly two thousand?¡±


    Yes. The King commands and we obey. Howl only shrugged. ¡°We¡¯ve prepared as much of the defenses as we can. Numbers won¡¯t win this alone. We¡¯ve faced worse odds.¡±


    ¡°But will the outcome be the same here?¡±


    ¡°This is supposed to be General Vakhrus¡¯ main army coming,¡± said Howl. ¡°The Undead Lord¡¯s right hand.¡±


    ¡°That certainly inspires hope,¡± Cord frowned.


    ¡°Keep the faith, my friends,¡± said Howl. ¡°This is not our peoples¡¯ first time against them. Our kingdom has fought them before, and we will do so again.¡±


    ¡°Our ancestors were much better prepared then,¡± said Keg. ¡°They had Crusaders and a lot more holy mages. We¡¯ve got one cleric and he¡¯s not really the holy warrior mage of old.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in an Age of Reason and Science,¡± said Howl. ¡°They were using swords and arrows the last time. We¡¯ve got muskets and cannons.¡±


    Keg scoffed. ¡°I guess war does change.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s here,¡± Cord said, looking through his spyglass. ¡°Vahkrus.¡±


    Howl sipped a long-sight potion and peered out into the field, his vision seemed to just glide across hundreds of feet as if he were reading a page of a book in front of him.


    Keg leaned over to him. ¡°So, what do your elf eyes-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Howl frowned.


    Howl could see out in the distance a cadre of figures, the general and his retinue of officers. Vahkrus stood out among them, his swooping horns making him seem taller than the others. The Horned Eye banner fluttered behind him. It seemed like with a swing of his arm and the massive columns just moved. Vahkrus had been responsible for the defeats of two Caldrayn armies, the best of the demonic armies, and now he was heading for Howl¡¯s front door. The dark columns massed in the field below, lines upon lines of devilkin soldiers, artillery pieces wheeling up.


    Keg gave a sly smile. ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll give terms?¡±


    Howl scoffed. ¡°Doubtful.¡± Just one shot, and this war could end. Howl felt at his rifle, eyeing at the enemy general. ¡°But I¡¯ll give him my regards in any case.¡± He smirked and aimed his rifle towards them, sighting the barrel towards the general. Powder sparked in the pan next to his face as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet zipped out of the muzzle and soared over the waves of soldiers towards the general.


    And hit the officer next to him.


    Howl gritted his teeth and frowned.


    ¡°Nice shot,¡± said Keg.


    Howl winced. ¡°I was aiming for the general.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Wind kicked up.¡± Howl scratched at his chin.


    ¡°Right,¡± Keg scoffed.


    Cannon fire erupted like thunder from the distance, Howl saw the puffs of smoke a fraction before the report echoed in the air. Roundshot slammed into earth, spraying plumes of dirt, others bounced off of the sloping walls of the defenses. Howitzer shot arced high above and exploded, raining shrapnel over the defenders.


    Cord began to hum a tune, an old soldier¡¯s melody. A few others started to hum along with him. It was something to keep the nerves down.


    Howl steeled himself inside, he hated the first few moments of a battle. Timing was everything. He held a hand up. ¡°Steady.¡±


    ¡°Orders, sir?¡± Keg asked.


    ¡°Wait,¡± said Howl. ¡°We planned for this. The sappers set up wards. Just wait for them to get a bit closer. Have the soldiers prime and load.¡±


    The demons stumbled through the abatis, their lines broken as they hopped and moved over the fallen timber and branches, making their movement slow to a crawl. A few took out their swords and axes in attempts to chop and hack their way through.


    The abatis rumbled as Howl and a few other rangers shaped spells with their fingers. As devilkin started to cross through the abatis, the branches started to twist and turn. Vines sprouted from the ground and lashed at the devilkin, holding them in place.


    Howl turned to the sapper serjeant. ¡°Now.¡±


    The sappers touched their wards, and the next instant the ground beneath the abatis exploded, hurling earth and demon bits into the air. Another set of explosions followed. Howl tasted copper in the air from the magic. The dust cloud settled, showing scattered bodies littered all over the abatis, a few still upright and stumbling. Enemy officers bellowed orders in their harsh tongue. The demons continued to press on.


    Howl waited a few seconds and then swung his hand forward. ¡°By volley...Fire!¡±


    Volleys of musket fire from blue and red coated soldiers cut down chunks of the advancing army. They reloaded and fired like clockwork, unleashing hails of bullets. Clouds of black puffed out in the field like dark fog.


    The demons seemed unfazed by their massive losses and pressed on, climbing over the corpses of the fallen. Devilkin stopped and fired at the defenders with ripping volleys. A few shots hit unlucky Caldrayn soldiers, who fell into the trench of the redoubt. Skulkers fired their carbines from their hiding place in the brush.


    ¡°Keep it pouring on!¡± bellowed Howl. Officers echoed orders throughout the redoubt.


    The musket volleys and cannons fired until there were clouds upon clouds of smoke in the air, creating a dense haze. The cannons thundered their round shot, cutting through yet more columns of soldiers. The heavy balls bounced on the ground and carved through lines of demons, leaving bloody smears.


    Keg squinted through the clouds. ¡°I¡¯d say we¡¯re making good progress, but I¡¯m not even sure if they¡¯re really trying.¡± Then her face paled.


    Large figures emerged from the forest behind the columns, several dozen tauroks, the hulking bullish demons. Howl felt his stomach churn, he had seen what just one of those could do to a company of men, and dreaded to think of what a dozen of them could do. He muttered some choice words and turned again to the sappers.


    Another set of explosions tore through the ground beneath the tauroks¡¯ feet, launching a few into the air, their bodies crumpling as they crunched back down to the ground. Howl hoped it would be enough. ¡°Do not let them gain ground!¡± He turned to a messenger. ¡°Have the guns behind us send roundshot. I want those bastards destroyed. Have our cannons here switch to canister shot.¡± He fired a shot from his rifle, the bullet clipping a taurok.


    Within a minute, thundering booms blasted from behind. Round shot soared overhead and bounced on the ground in front. A few plunged to the ground harmlessly, spraying up dirt. Other shots plowed into the columns, cutting through lines of devilkin. The gun captains corrected and marked their aim again. The canister shot, tin cylinders full of lead balls, tore through the ranks of men, letting the cannon effectively fire a large spread of buckshot like a shotgun.


    Howl could still hear the tromping boots of the enemy marching forward. There seemed to be no end. His heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest.


    The tauroks charged, their sheer mass combined with armored legs shrugged off the brush and abatis. They leapt clean over into the redoubt and started to cleave through the line of exhausted soldiers. The beasts roared in their bloodlust. The tauroks swatted away the defenders with ease. Howl could hear the screams and cries from the hapless defenders in their wake. A large fist rushed past his head as he ducked out of the way. Dark uniforms started to outnumber the grey and green uniforms in the redoubt.


    The earthenworks of the redoubt exploded in a rain of dirt and gore. A few timbers of the trenches cracked and flew about, knocking over some of the defenders. A blast shredded a couple of the tauroks. Howl shielded his face with an arm as dirt sprayed from a nearby explosion.


    Devilkin hacked through the bramble, managing to climb up the wall as the ditch started to pile with corpses. A few started to reach up the top and jump over. Howl found himself facing a pair of infantry climbing over into his own section. He drew his sword and cut one down before they finished landing. The other proved to be more resourceful and used the body of his fallen comrade as a shield. Howl rammed his blade through both, skewering them. As he started to pull at the sword a third enemy¡¯s silhouette came over, a bulky looking devilkin that towered over him. Howl yanked at the blade but it did not budge. His heart started to quicken as he saw the devilkin raise his musket.


    A large fist crashed into the side of the enemy¡¯s head and the body crumpled to the ground. Keg wiped away at bloody knuckles. ¡°Damn elves and your slender swords. Good speed but damn they get stuck in everything.¡± A company of orc grenadiers came from behind her, helping to push back the wave of tauroks and devilkin.


    Howl put his boot down and pulled the blade free, flicking the blood. ¡°Some of us don¡¯t have orcish strength.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not all perfect,¡± Keg said with a grin.


    ¡°I fear we may need some of that orcish perfection then.¡±


    Howl then caught the sound of a fast buzz in the air above. Small dark shapes appeared in the air from the forest, dozens of malblins riding atop flying demonic wasps, armed with carbines and lances.


    Howl gritted his teeth and aimed his own rifle. His shot clipped one beast¡¯s wing, sending it and its rider to the ground below. ¡°Rifles, target the Buzzers!¡±


    A handful of buzzers dove into the trenches of the redoubts, slashing at the defenders in their pass. Small explosions rippled through the trenches as some of the buzzer riders tossed grenades, killing and wounding groups of musketmen and riflemen alike, and then zipped away for another pass.


    Howl ducked as a severed hand flew by his head. The body of a fallen Caldrayn soldier lay at his feet. His heart sank, the soldier was only a young man, never to age and experience the rest of his life. A cold sweat ran down his neck. Will their sacrifice be enough to stop this army? Will their deaths be enough for their loved ones beyond the mountains? He let out a slow breath and glanced down the trench. A private screamed as a lance skewered his sternum and plucked him into the air. One of the grenadiers, in a battle frenzy, wrenched at the beast¡¯s stinger and slammed it down to the ground for his comrades to pounce on it.


    Howl looked down lines that were buckling, soldiers firing sporadic and staggered pops. One flank of the redoubt had been swarmed with devilkin and malblins, cutting down the outnumbered defenders.


    Weariness started to wash over his body. He took a big sip from his canteen, swishing the water around in his mouth as he stared at the oncoming waves. It had a bitter taste of powder from biting open the paper cartridges a little too close.


    A deep rumble emanated from far in the battlefield. Vahkrus stood with his arms stretched out, a green glow wisping from his hands.


    Howl frowned.


    A bright flash cracked through the darkening sky, outlining a large shadowy form of a dragon. Its leather wings were tattered looking, its skull horns protruded in grotesque fashion. Rotten gray skin was splotched with black spots that webbed throughout its body. A sharp horn protruded from the end of its long tail.


    Keg checked the flint on her blunderbuss. ¡°I really wish you hadn¡¯t missed.¡±


    The dragon swooped down to the fort. Green fiery breath disintegrated the soldiers into ash. Large fangs snatched at screaming soldiers, snapping them in half with bloody crunches.


    Howl¡¯s chest tightened. Someone fired a shot, but the bullet only smacked into the dragon¡¯s thick hide and bounced away.


    ¡°It¡¯s going to take more than a few potshots,¡± said Keg.


    ¡°No shit, target the wings and then we¡¯ll kill it.¡±


    Keg and the war mages blasted shots at the dragon. Explosive bursts of magic and shrapnel knocked at the dragon, a few of the hits burning up a part of the creature¡¯s wing. Leathery skin started to shrivel, the wing looking more skeletal, and the creature toppled down onto the ground with a thud. It stirred and thrashed on the ground, one wing furiously flapped to attempt to gain air again, but in vain. Jaws snapped at any approaching attackers, claws and talons slashing wildly. War mages continued to try to break through its tough hide.


    ¡°Concentrate fire!¡± Howl bellowed. ¡°Put some extra powder in there!¡± He ran to the trench of the redoubt, shoulder to shoulder with a rank and file.


    Howl reached into his shot pouch for some of the enchanted bullets. His thumb brushed on the etchings made on the ball. Resting the rifle on the edge of the trench, he gently placed his finger on the trigger, slowing his breath. His eyes concentrated on the dragon¡¯s maw, its head centered within the sights.


    The rifle cracked fire and smoke, kicking into Howl¡¯s shoulder as he squeezed the trigger.


    At the last moment, the dragon moved. It shrieked and jerked as a small fiery cloud erupted from the side of its head. Smoke cleared showing a pit of gore and cracked bone where one of its eyes used to be. The dragon snarled and turned towards Howl.


    He felt his heart drop into his stomach. His hand fumbled to his pouch for another round. The ground quaked all around him as the dragon charged towards the trench. Muskets fired, the rounds popping in vain. It reared its head back with a roar, breath sucking inward. Howl shut his eyes and ducked down. Flames licked overhead but felt no pain. He opened his eyes to see Keg and a few other war mages standing over in the trench, holding out their arms. Magic crackled in the air as the flames deflected away with a barrier.


    ¡°Reload, dammit, sir,¡± Keg groaned, straining with her magic.


    Howl rammed the bullet down and poured powder. ¡°I only need a few seconds.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re only going to have a few seconds,¡± Keg said with gritted teeth.


    A long arm of fire erupted from the rifle barrel, thrusting through the dragon¡¯s own cone of flame. The round exploded as it impacted the dragon¡¯s maw. Flames dissipated, the dragon roared and contorted in pain. It slumped to the ground, breathing one last gasp, and all was still for a moment. Howl¡¯s heart beat fast, his rifle still pressed on his shoulder as he stared.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    Then its nostrils flared as it roared. Howl flinched back. Its one good eye glared straight at him. It lashed out wildly, slashing both devilkin and human in its frenzy.


    ¡°Hells, what will kill that damned thing?¡± Howl asked aloud.


    Keg rubbed at her head, the magic was taking its toll on her already. ¡°It¡¯s a demonic dragon, something of that power¡­ Sir, I¡¯ll be right back.¡± She darted off.


    ¡°Keep bloody firing!¡± He set his rifle down and picked up a fallen musket and cartridge box, the rifle would be too slow for the volume of fire needed.


    The dragon staggered as more shots peppered at its ragged body. One of its forearms was in tatters, most of its head was nothing but shards of bone and undead flesh. With one of its remaining claws it swiped at the defenders, still having strength to tear away at the living. Howl rolled out of the way as a great talon cut deep into the earth. He hefted the musket in his hands and thrust the bayonet point into its forearm. The blade snapped off, stuck inside like a thorn in its flesh. It roared in pain as he darted away.


    Keg came back holding a box of blessed grenades. ¡°Take the grenade!¡± She flung one towards him.


    He caught the grenade. ¡°I haven¡¯t a light!¡±


    ¡°Use your damn head, sir!¡±


    The dragon roared once again, clawing away at more soldiers. Shots pecked away at its flesh but it continued to stand. It reared its head back, sucking back air. Howl sprinted toward its maw, his hand gripping the grenade tight. As it started to lower its head down, Howl said a prayer to the Huntress and hurled the grenade. It arced into the dragon¡¯s mouth just as flames started to spew.


    The air cracked with a high pitched explosion and a blinding light. Explosive force threw Howl back and he tumbled to the ground. Streams of demons darted away from the sprawling brightness.


    The dragon stood, headless. One of its arms flailed at nothing. A gun from behind in the redoubt fired and the round slammed into the body. The corpse landed, a small cloud of dust puffed from the heavy mass. It started to smoke from the embers of the holy fire, leaving behind a charred skeleton.


    A grateful cheer broke out in the redoubt. Howl let out a heavy sigh of relief as he still lay on the ground. There was a strong urge to just close his eyes and sleep. A strong hand pulled him up.


    ¡°Not bad, sir,¡± said Keg, dusting him off.


    Howl made a weary smile. ¡°Couldn¡¯t do it without you though.¡±


    Cord came stumbling over. His uniform was a mess, he had a bandage over his head, a dark red spot bleeding through. ¡°Sir, the left wing is breaking! We just don¡¯t have the men anymore! They¡¯re coming through the lines.¡±


    Howl gritted his teeth. He had no more good reserves at the moment that he could spare. Sending them out would just create a thin, fragile line. If that collapsed, it was all in. ¡°Keg, I hate to say this, but we need to fall back.¡±


    Keg¡¯s face paled. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    -----


    The garrison made a hasty retreat to the inner bastion walls of the fort. It had a sloping wall to help defend against cannon shot and bastions, but much of the inner structure was still almost medieval. Soldiers braced the main gate with timber and carts. Howl ordered anyone that could still load and fire to man the walls. Others could help load muskets for the designated shooters to keep the pace of fire. Howl joined his sharpshooters at the wall in taking out enemy gun crews and officers.


    A devilman stood in front of Howl on the wall, his sharp teeth bared and pale eyes wide with fury. Howl slashed with his sword but the devilman parried with his bayonet and lunged as a counterattack. It just barely missed Howl¡¯s stomach as he twisted out of the way, the edge of the bayonet just cutting at the cloth of his coat.


    Howl grimaced and snatched at the barrel, pulling it towards him, causing the devilkin to stumble. With the other hand, he plunged the sword into the devilman¡¯s gut, and yanked it out with a twist of his hips. The devilman toppled and Howl set to work to fend off more attackers. He saw Keg brawling, large arms shoving and throwing devilkin off of the walls. Her uniform was cut, showing blood beneath, but her face showed an uncaring ferocity, fully immersed in her bloodlust. In a way, it scared Howl just watching, no matter how many times he had seen it before over the years.


    We need time for a reprieve. Even just a few minutes. Howl let out ragged breaths. All he wanted was to lie next to a babbling brook, letting the songbirds serenade him to sleep.


    Instead he was here with the din of death and battle among the throes of a world-ending war. He pulled away from the wall and rushed over to the artillery major, Yedin, a stout dwarf. ¡°Do we have any artillery here other than the main guns?¡±


    Yedin tilted his head. ¡°Some howitzers, though no rounds left. We do have one of those damn finaggly rockets though. It¡¯s not quite out of testing.¡±


    ¡°A Rocket?¡± A light sparked within. ¡°Fetch it. And Harthen.¡±


    ¡°Right away, sir.¡± Yedin sped away as fast as his stocky legs let him. They gathered the rocket and its stand, the cleric following Yedin.


    Howl took out his canteen, staring at it for a moment and then taking a swig. ¡°Harthen, you studied enchantment and transmutation, correct?¡±


    Harthen scratched his head.¡°Well, yes, I did. Not too bad with it, though maybe not exactly wizardly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Howl nodded. ¡°I need something more priestly at the moment.¡±


    Howl pointed at the rocket. ¡°I need you to bless it.¡± He held a finger up at the sky. ¡°I need to drop the blasted sun on them for a few moments at least. They don¡¯t like holy light very much, most of them. It should buy us some time.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± his eyes widened in realization. ¡°I can do that. Can you buy me a few minutes? This might take up quite a bit of my magic though.¡± He took out a small flask and a leather pouch of spell materials. The gun carriage was wheeled out with the blessed rocket.


    ¡°This is the only one, sir,¡± said Yedin.


    ¡°I realize that,¡± said Howl.


    Howl snipped the fuse and then grabbed the lit linstock, gingerly holding it to the fuse. As soon as he saw the fizzing sparks he hopped up and backed away several good paces. The fuse hissed and the rocket screamed into the sky like banshee, causing a few soldiers to stop and turn their necks at the noise.


    At the zenith of its arc, the rocket burst leading to a sudden brightness in the sky. Howl covered his eyes for a moment as his eyes adjusted. It seemed like daylight now.


    The devilkins shrieked almost as loud as the rocket. Those atop the walls wailed, covering their eyes. A few of the wicked demons sizzled from the holy light in the air. The attackers scrambled back in a retreat back to the darkness of the forest, their boots a cacophonic thunder.


    A thunderous cheer came from the fort.


    Keg clapped Howl on the back. It stung. ¡°Still see you have enough elvish tricks.¡±


    Howl winced. ¡°I¡¯m hoping I¡¯m not all tapped out.¡±


    ¡°How long will this last?¡±


    ¡°A few minutes perhaps,¡± Howl shrugged. ¡°Enough to give us a bit to catch our breath.¡± But not long enough for reinforcements from Lock to show up.


    Keg rubbed at her eyes. ¡°I could go for a bit of ale and a piss, by Grakh. It¡¯s been all night.¡±


    A minute later a blast of magic energy zipped to the flare. A small wave of light burst from the flare, followed by a puff and fizzle as the light burned away. The white light turned to a dull gray once more and the remains dropped down back to the ground. Howl tasted the copper in the air as magic started to filter through the sky. Thick shadowy darkness that slowly crawled all over the sky, blanketing the remaining stars.


    Howl¡¯s heart sank. ¡°Shit.¡±


    A horn blared a deep crescendo and the war drums started to beat again. The world seemed to rumble as the thunderous march outside the fort started anew.


    ¡°The Scourge will come upon us,¡± a soldier muttered. ¡°The darkness will take us all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m low on ammo. I thought we were going to have reinforcements?¡± a private asked aloud.


    A general groan of dismay started to murmur among the defenders. Even Howl felt his shoulders sag. He rubbed at his eyes. ¡°By the goddess¡­¡± Resting by the water only seemed to be a dream now.


    ¡°Howl, what¡¯s your order?¡± Keg looked at him with concern. There was a sort of soft look to her even with the tusks from her mouth and the scars across her face. Howl would almost think she was nervous. The same grenadier who stared down entire legions without flinching.


    Howl looked at the darkening sky and the marching enemy looming towards them. I have failed.  The black sky would blanket the world, the Undead Lord along with it. Dammit Lock, where are you? Did we really have a chance? ¡°We¡¯ve lost,¡± he lowered his head. ¡°It¡¯s too late.¡±


    Her shoulders sagged. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I would hear this from you.¡±


    He shook his head and spread his hands. ¡°What do you want me to say? What do you want me to do.¡±


    Keg said nothing for a moment. The marching was getting louder. She bit her lip and put a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Remember the Battle of Tentakh?¡±


    His mind searched through his peoples¡¯ history. ¡°From the First Orc War? The one where a small elven army stood against a larger orc horde?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°They were very brave.¡±


    ¡°They were slaughtered to the last.¡±


    The hand on his shoulder squeezed gently. ¡°But they were remembered. As I recall from my grandfathers, they were avenged at the Battle of the Two Rivers.¡±


    ¡°What are you trying to say?¡±


    ¡°There is hope,¡± Keg said. ¡°Maybe not for us, but¡­ for the war.¡±


    Howl grimaced and reached up at her hand on his shoulder, returning the squeeze. He took a step atop near the wall, overlooking his soldiers. Keg inhaled a breath to call for attention but he held up a hand. The chatter quieted, all eyes and ears turned to him. The only sound was the marching feet outside.


    Howl remained silent, removing his hat, his gaze scanning across his soldiers. He saw the fear, the worry. Their faces were sallow and tired, their bodies sagging from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Fighting had taken its toll and he was about to ask the world from them. But he saw the embers of determination within them that only needed to be stoked.


    ¡°My soldiers, my countrymen, my friends. A hard fight it has been and a hard fight it shall be. A relentless enemy is outside our walls and at our gates. I know we are tired, we are scared, but we shall not be broken. We¡¯ve seen horrors of war, all of us. Lost our family, our homes to this Scourge. They have laid waste to everything, and we cannot let it happen any further, can we?¡±


    There was a small murmur among the soldiers, their eyes still fixed on him. Not one foot shifted. A deep thump hit the main gate as a heavy battering ram started to pound on the thick timber.


    ¡°We are all that stands in the way of the dark tyranny and the destruction of life and freedom. Just beyond this pass is home! Our home! We shall not let one foul foot step onto that precious soil! Not one step! They want to take a stroll like they own the land. Will we let them?¡±


    Grumbles of no¡¯s and hell no¡¯s came from the crowd.


    ¡°They lack something that we have: spirit, heart! They fight for nothing other than their very nature, for the sake of destruction. But we fight for duty, honor, compassion. We know what we shall sacrifice tonight. The fate of our world is upon us! They will sing songs of this, our children and grandchildren.¡±


    The murmur came to a boil.


    ¡°If this is to be our last night, then I gladly fight at your side. We will show them our mettle. We will fight for the free kingdoms, to every man! We will fight to the moon¡¯s last light!¡± He pulled his sword from his scabbard and held it high, the steel glinting from the sliver of moonlight.


    A roaring chorus of cheers broke out. Boot and buttstock thumped on the ground, and orcs let out their war cries.


    ¡°Not one step for them! To the walls! Not one step!¡± Howl bellowed. Soldiers surged to the walls, counter attacking the enemy that dared to scramble up their walls. The attackers were becoming a steady trickle. Howl stood atop the wall, slashing and stabbing. Keg hurled devilkin and malblins back down.


    Wood thumped with each heave of the battering ram against the gate. The gate¡¯s timbers started to crack, the crossbar gave way with a deep groan. Cries and roars from the other side grew louder.


    Howl slashed and kicked a devilman down, only to see more take his place. His arm was starting to tire but duty dictated he continue. He swapped the sword to his other hand and resumed.


    The pounding at the gates grew. Wood cracked, splinters popping off the timbers. With another heave the gate burst open. Howl¡¯s face paled as devilkin flooded the gateway.


    Howl heard a shout from the wall. ¡°Back! Back ye bastards!¡± He watched in surprise as Cord leapt in the gateway, swinging his musket like a club, which stock snapped after a few furious swings. Without missing a beat, he snatched an axe and carved a circle around him, cutting down those that tried to get past him. Others jumped to join in, fighting back the intruders.


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯ll hold them off!¡± Cord hacked and slashed away, enemy blades and bayonets sliced back at him. His comrades next to him were cut down. He heaved the axe into the chest of a downed devilman, roaring a battle chant. A burly devilman officer leapt in with a sword. Cord dodged and countered, swinging the axe back at the officer. The devilman went to parry but Cord¡¯s axe broke the blade in two. The officer stared in disbelief just as Cord¡¯s axe swung into his midsection.


    ¡°Fall back from the walls! Form ranks!¡± Howl bellowed. The remaining defenders scurried from the walls, back down to the parade grounds in the center, forming three ragged ranks. The war mages and skirmishers stood either behind or around the flanks. It was a good position, the enemy would only be able to come towards them¡­ for the moment.


    A few more defenders pressed in at the gate hoping to hold the enemy back. Encouraged by Cord¡¯s battle chant, they pushed towards the gates, firing and bayonetting into the mass of devilkin.


    ¡°Battalion¡­fix bayonets!¡± Howl roared, the chorus of metallic clinking answering him a moment later. Rows and rows of footlong steel gleamed for a moment as the darkness overhead consumed the last of the moonlight. Howl felt a knot in his stomach start to grow. He gripped at his sword and started to move forward to the gate.


    A hand grabbed him from behind. ¡°Sir, if we break formation, we won¡¯t be able to hold them back,¡± said Keg. Her jaw was clenched as if she had trouble saying the words. ¡°We¡¯ll be too exposed. This is our best tactical position.¡±


    ¡°But Cord-¡± His voice nearly cracked.


    ¡°Is giving us time,¡± she said, the edge of her mouth quivering.


    Cord chopped and carved, his uniform soaked in sweat and blood. The blade bit into the back of a wretched demon and stuck. Cord yanked it out and started to swing again as a bayonet pierced his side. He turned and slashed at the demon holding the bayonet. Blood gushed out of the wound, but Cord continued his fight. His moves became slower, his legs started to stumble like a punch drunk fighter. Another bayonet pierced him, and then another. He roared and slashed as he toppled into a pool of blood and bodies.


    Howl¡¯s heart wrenched, a cry building in his throat. He wanted to leap in and save his old friend, to bring him to a cleric to heal him. But the walls were falling, the gate was gone.


    A flutter of wings caught his ear. He turned and saw a small bird, perched on the corner of the wall above him. It bobbed its head and fluffed its wings. A grim smile came to Howl¡¯s face, melting away just as fast as the bird flew away from the noisy din.


    His face hardened to a frown and he faced the enemy ahead. ¡°Fire by rank! Make ready!¡± Officers and serjeants echoed his orders all down the lines. Thumbs pulled hammers back with rows of clicking noises.


    Within moments devilkin rushed forward with shrill cries and screams, bayonets and swords at the ready.


    Howl waved his arm down. ¡°Front rank, fire!¡± A wall of bullets cut down dozens of intruders. The front rank started to reload as the second rank levelled their muskets.


    ¡°Second rank, fire!¡± Another volley slammed into the wave of devilkin. Heaps of corpses littered the gateway.


    ¡°Third rank, fire!¡± The enemy wave started to buckle.


    The front rank frantically reloaded, scrounging for ammunition from their cartridge boxes, and then brought their muskets to bear. The continual volleys cut the devilkin to pieces. A shrill cry came from outside, a chorus of ululations answering it. A war horn blared once again.


    Enemy bullmen grenadiers marched in a shield wall of thick iron and enchanted hide. The volley of musket balls panged harmlessly against the shields. A mass of devilkin crowded behind them. Howl looked at Keg. ¡°Please tell me you have some grenades.¡±


    ¡°A handful.¡± She held up a single grenade.


    ¡°And the rest of you?¡± Most of the grenadiers shrugged, holding empty hands. Only a couple others held up grenades. ¡°Damn.¡±


    ¡°War mages are about tapped out too, sir,¡± said Keg. ¡°I¡¯d say hold them off until we think we really need them.¡±


    That might be sooner than you think. He waved his arm forward. ¡°Break that shield wall before they get too close. Short fuses.¡±


    The grenadiers grunted as they hucked the small round explosives into the air. Small trails of fizzling sparkes as grenades arced above the ranks of soldiers. Metal shards splintered into the bullmen. One or two grenades missed and bounced off the shields, shrapnel flying and pinging off of the metal. The bullmen hardly lost any momentum.


    Howl frowned. His stomach felt like a tempest.


    ¡°Sir, do you have a Heat Round?¡± asked Keg.


    Howl raised a brow and nodded. ¡°Yes, but wouldn¡¯t do more than maybe heat their shields up, and I don¡¯t think they¡¯d really care.¡±


    She hefted a small powder keg. ¡°I had something different in mind.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡± He blinked and then grinned. He reached into his shot pouch and pulled out a red bullet. With a quick motion, he rammed the ball down and aimed the rifle up.


    ¡°This might be close.¡± She rocked back, holding it up with two arms and then hurled it at the enemy. The barrel soared over to the shield wall, just above their heads.


    Howl squeezed the trigger and a small fire ball burst from his muzzle, streaking towards the keg. An orange, fiery ball burst and several of the bullmen reeling away from the fiery explosion above their heads.


    Caldrayn soldiers fired a quick, ragged volley, creating a gap in the shield wall, but by then the enemy were within charging distance. The devilkin surged forward. A second volley crashed into the charging devilkin but the third had no time to fire, as the front rank clashed with the attackers. Soldiers from the second rank stabbed over the shoulders of their comrades. Howl grabbed his sword and jumped into the fray.


    Devilmen started to burst through the front rank, pushing through with bayonet and fists. Soldiers fell in the trampling push. The air reeked of acrid gunpowder and gore. War mages blasted explosive spells behind the enemy.


    ¡°They¡¯re trying to flank us!¡± yelled Keg.


    Howl yanked the bayonet out of a devilman. ¡°Take Second and Third Company and create wings. Rank fire and cut them down! The center has to hold!¡±


    Enemy soldiers started to mass within the fort walls. Howl saw a sea of hide helmets and mottled uniforms just beyond the ranks of his own men. Waves of devilkin pressed against his ranks. Howl¡¯s heart fell as he looked around the chaotic melee, hearing the screams of soldiers being cut down. His foot brushed against the dead body of one of his rangers, the green coat darkened with patches of wet blood, unseeing eyes staring up at him in anguish.


    Howl¡¯s side started to burn. He whipped his head around, seeing a devilman¡¯s bayonet had sliced through his coat and through his side. The devilman showed his sharp teeth in a wicked grin. Howl bared his own and clubbed the devilman in the chin with the butt of his gun. The devilman reeled back, wiping blood from his mouth, and then pounced back. Howl shoved at him, trying to land a kick but the squirrely devilman dodged out of the way and headbutted him. He reeled back, his foot tripping over a fallen body, sending him down. A fallen body cushioned his head, though he felt it hit bone.


    The devilman cackled and held up his musket, bayonet pointed down. He gloated in his hellish tongue and then gurgled blood as a sword point pierced from his back. Keg appeared over Howl, flicking the bloody blade.


    ¡°If I keep having to rescue you, they may not think much of you as a leader,¡± she grinned. Half of her face was covered in blood but Howl had no idea whose. She grasped his arm and pulled him up.


    ¡°May not be much of one here soon,¡± he said with a grimace. ¡°Not much of the garrison left.¡± He looked around as more soldiers fell. They were getting cut to pieces.


    He looked up, seeing a singular figure standing above the gate. A tall man dressed in a dark uniform. The general, Vakhrus, had come to see the final moments of his victory. He raised a hand and without a word, the army slowed to a stop, crowding around in a ring around the last of the garrison. A smirk crept on the general¡¯s face. Boots clacked on the ground as the demons presented their guns in one synchronous move.


    ¡°Showy bastard,¡± said Howl.


    ¡°That¡¯s one way to command, I suppose,¡± said Keg. ¡°Do you think the reinforcements will still come?¡±


    Howl caught a glimpse in the sky of a white owl hovering in the air. It circled around a few times before heading back northward. He smiled. ¡°I¡¯d reckon so.¡± Just not in time for our sakes.


    A chorus of horns blared in the distance, but not the deep reverberating note of the demon army. It was bright, cascading into a harmony of higher notes. A bright light flashed in the sky and the darkness started to ebb away, peeling back corners of black to show small rays of the new dawn. The enemy army began to grumble and murmur. Vakhrus cocked his head up at the sky but did not seem to give any inclination of anxiety. He clenched a fist and the army fell into silence.


    The light started to grow brighter in the sky, but the army remained.


    The garrison fell back into ranks, making two thin ragged lines of the remaining motley of soldiers. Howl felt his cartridge pouch. He was down to one last round. One of his special rounds: a Blessed round. It was hard to resist a chuckle at the fortune.


    Hundreds of blackened steel muzzles faced him and his garrison. He grunted with a cynical smile and started to load his last shot. He bit off the cartridge and hurriedly poured powder into the pan.


    ¡°You may want to hurry,¡± said Keg.


    He frantically dumped powder down the muzzle, fumbling to ram the ball down. The devilkin pulled back the hammers into full cock.


    The garrison did the same.


    Howl cursed as he hammered the ball down the barrel. He wasn¡¯t going to make it in time.


    The world seemed to thunder with hundreds of volleys going off all at once. The garrison all around him were cut down, bullets zipping through wool and bone. Howl stood, shocked. He looked at his hands and his body, no bullets had pierced him. A faint glow wavered in front of him like heat, a moment later it vanished. A heavy thud fell by Howl¡¯s feet. There was a heavy silence amid the large cloud of black smoke and the stench of powder. A hand tugged on his leg and he glanced down in front of him.


    The last wisps of arcane energy trailed from her hands. The front of her uniform was dark with blood. ¡°Better make it count,¡± said Keg. She closed her eyes and slumped down, a soft smile on her face.


    Howl stifled a sob. He steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and levelled his rifle, aiming up at the general. The wind was still; he didn¡¯t need the flip up sights. He slowed his breath. Time seemed to slow as well. The only sound he heard was the distant warbling of a songbird.


    Darkness started to peel back in the sky. A slaughter was starting in the distance, triumphant horns were blaring. The devilkin were already presenting their muskets. Hundreds of hammers clicked back once more.


    He exhaled and squeezed the trigger.


    The bullet cracked out of the barrel, his eyes peered through the small cloud of smoke wisping from his barrel. The enemy general jerked, a spray of dark crimson from the side of his head. His body toppled and slumped. Howl made a grim smile, his task complete.


    The sound of a babbling brook echoed in his head.


    A moment later the air in front of him cracked with musket fire and everything burst into white light.

 The White Knights

    Light rippled on the surface of the mirror, announcing visitors. Dyah Ni touched the sigils engraved into its frame and an aerial view of the colony appeared on its surface: her own abode was surrounded by a few dozen much smaller huts, with a single road snaking between them before joining the dark forest path. There were three dark figures at the very edge of the pane, approaching at a slow but steady pace.


    She ran through the possibilities in her mind. It was too early for tax collectors. Either there was a problem in the main colony . . . Or there was about to be a problem in Rampia.


    It was just her dirty luck to land on the most problematic colony in the entire Meon Cluster. All because of its unusual occupants.


    Dyah Ni touched another sigil and the map dissolved, replaced by the image transmitted by one of the security lenses installed around the village. The visitors were still too far to make out the details, but she thought they must have been humans, unusually large even for the outworlders, and riding some strange, spiky beasts.


    The atmospheric crystal installed by the door was glowing red, signifying high levels of pollen, so Dyah Ni donned her breathing mask as she left the lab. Just in case, she sent a quick telepathic signal to her pupils to hide and placed her wand in her thigh-holster.


    She stepped outside.


    If she was an outworlder, she¡¯d probably consider the day pleasant. The sun, a perfect orb of chartreuse, was high in the sky, flanked by two moons: white and pale golden. The air was warm, but not too warm, still fresh after yesterday¡¯s rain. Despite that, the cloud of pollen was so thick that the houses surrounding the lab were obscured as if by a chiffon veil.


    That actually suited Dyah Ni: like all Dahlsi, she was slightly agoraphobic. Luckily, the buildings were tall and the forests around Rampia were even taller, which mitigated her anxiety somewhat. Still, she refused to move more than a few paces from her lab and stood with her arms crossed, waiting for the newcomers to approach.


    In the corner of her eye she spotted little shapes scurrying through the underbrush towards the buildings. She hoped they¡¯d make it in time.


    The visitors emerged from the forest. Up close they seemed even bigger, an impression amplified by the fact that they were all armed, and Dyah Ni felt a stab of unease.


    The first one was burly, clad from head to toe in shiny plate armour with a sword so ridiculously long and wide it seemed impossible to use it as anything other than a prop.


    The second was tall and lanky, with a lean face and bird-like features. This one wore only a shirt of chain-mail, with a bow and quiver on his back.


    The third seemed to be the oldest of the three, with a grizzled, neatly trimmed goatee and bushy eyebrows. He wore no armour, only a long, uncomfortable-looking robe dyed deep indigo and brightened with golden threads. In his hand he held a long wooden staff, adorned with golden wires. All three had bright skin, straw-coloured hair, and dark eyes.


    Dyah Ni could not, for the life of her, determine where they had come from.


    They paused at the edge of Rampia, the archer¡¯s eyes scanning the area, while the sorcerer closed his eyes¡ªcasting or sleeping, she wasn¡¯t sure. Only the sword guy had the decency to actually look at her.


    ¡°Greetings, woman.¡± He lifted his hand. ¡°Take us to the leader of this hamlet,¡± demanded the one with shiny armour, after sweeping his gaze over the village, not even pausing on her.


    This is gonna be fun, she thought. ¡°You¡¯re looking at her. I¡¯m Dyah Ni Davara, sil-kahar of Rampia.¡±


    The man finally looked at her, with a mix of contempt and disbelief on his face. He was pretty handsome, she couldn¡¯t help noticing, with a tall forehead, slightly aquiline nose and wide, stern jaw.


    Really, really fun.


    ¡°A male leader,¡± the man clarified, using the tone Dyah Ni would consider appropriate while addressing people with brain damage. She rolled her eyes.


    ¡°The nearest male leader is vel-kahar¡ªworld-leader¡ªof Lliriuk,¡± Dyah Ni informed him. ¡°He¡¯s stationed in Ah-Feren and since that¡¯s the only place you could enter this world, I¡¯m guessing he was the one who sent you here. If you have business in Rampia, you have to speak to me.¡±


    The man knit his eyebrows, as if Dyah Ni¡¯s words forced him to tap into some deep-hidden reserves of brainpower.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time . . .¡± he started.


    ¡°Neither do I.¡± Dyah Ni cut him off. ¡°As a sil-kahar I have duties, and entertaining guests is only one of them. And not even the most important one. So, either tell me what you want or turn around and go back where you came from.¡±


    The man looked at one of his companions, then the other, as if searching for help. Not finding it, he turned back to Dyah Ni and straightened up.


    ¡°My name is Ralakh the Noble.¡± He paused and glanced at her as if to check if he made a proper impression.


    Dyah Ni had never heard of him and made sure her expression conveyed that¡ªas much as she could with the lower part of her face hidden behind a mask.


    The man cleared his throat and continued. ¡°I am the fourth son of Great Prince Anurak, lord of Karthi in the faraway world of Asaarnen, and a member of the Order of the Light.¡±


    At this point, Dyah Ni couldn¡¯t hold it any longer and snorted a laugh. Luckily, she managed to mask it as a cough. Nevertheless, Ralakh pouted in reproach.


    ¡°My companions are the Master Archer Derek and the Great Sorcerer Salaamin. We¡¯ve heard about the great evil running rampant in your settlements and came to put an end to it, guided by our holy duty.¡±


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


    ¡°I see,¡± she said dryly when it became clear that he had finished talking. Ralakh¡¯s eyes widened, but he remained silent, as if not sure what to add after finishing his trained speech. Dyah Ni sighed.


    ¡°What is the great evil you speak of?¡± she asked, accidentally adopting the knight¡¯s pompous speech pattern. He brightened, almost smiling, as if he had been waiting for her to ask.


    ¡°Goblins.¡±


    Dyah Ni took a deep breath.


    Why? Why did she have to be the one assigned to the most problematic colony in Meon Cluster? Why couldn¡¯t she oversee humans or kas¡¯shams or . . . anyone.


    Damn it all.


    When she was sure her voice wouldn¡¯t tremble, she asked, ¡°And what is your grudge against goblins?¡±


    The knight looked at her with pity. She thought that if he gave her one more look like that, she¡¯d claw his eyes out.


    ¡°As I said, they are servants of evil. Don¡¯t ask me for details, for ¡®tis not the knowledge for a woman¡¯s mind. Just tell us if it¡¯s true that those vile creatures abide in Lliriuk.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis not the knowledge for a man¡¯s mind.¡±


    His eyes bulged. Dyah Ni took a wider stance and put her hands on her hips. The breathing mask hid her smile, but the knight must have noticed her eyes crinkling since his face reddened and his lips twisted into an angry snarl.


    ¡°Stop mocking me, woman!¡± he demanded, putting his hand on the hilt of the sword. ¡°Or I swear by Inis, I¡¯ll teach you manners! Speak now, where are those vile things?¡±


    ¡°Not until you tell me what you want. And leave that sword, it doesn¡¯t impress me.¡±


    He clenched his teeth, and for a moment Dyah Ni thought he might attack her. But then, the sorcerer spoke.


    ¡°Even a woman should know that goblins are the most evil among mortals, capable only of the most reprehensible acts of savagery and cruelty.¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡±


    ¡°Tis not . . .¡± started Ralakh.


    ¡°If you finish that sentence I¡¯m gonna punch you in the teeth.¡±


    The condescending tone was starting to grate on her. For Dahlsi, the only difference between men and women was what was between their legs, but Dyah Ni spent enough time among the outworlders to know many cultures attached strange ideologies to their genitals. The ideas presented by assholes like Ralakh were usually the worst. Only fixable with a wand.


    ¡°Pardon our crudeness,¡± the sorcerer stepped in diplomatically. ¡°But, we merely wish to preserve your innocence. If you knew the things those beings are capable of . . .¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m responsible for taking care of all of Rampia. I can take whatever you throw at me.¡±


    ¡°They are evil, woman. Is that not enough?¡± spat Ralakh, his face as red as the sky of Dahls.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean anything to me,¡± she said, knowing full well how absurd the outworlder¡¯s morals could get.


    ¡°The Book of Revelation says the goblins arose from defiled corpses,¡± broke in the archer, his tone calm and composed, sounding too intelligent compared to the nonsense he was spewing.


    ¡°And my biology textbook says they¡¯re just a product of evolution,¡± she mocked. ¡°Like every other living being.¡±


    ¡°They cause untold damage in the villages,¡± added the sorcerer. ¡°Kidnapping children, maiming animals, spoiling food, and fouling wells.¡±


    Dyah Ni sighed, crossing her arms again.


    ¡°Look, guys, I do understand the need to blame someone for your misfortunes. It¡¯s easier to fault some mean goblins than realise you dug your latrine too close to the well or beat your kid so much that they decided to run away with the miller¡¯s daughter rather than spend another gods-damned day more with you. But it really won¡¯t solve anything. Especially if the goblins in question live on another world. And they can be used in more productive ways than as target practice for your archaic martial arts.¡±


    Ralakh¡¯s face reddened again.


    ¡°We shall not rest until that plague is erased from the face of the universe!¡± he bellowed. ¡°And if you refuse to aid us, that means you¡¯re in our way!¡±


    Before anyone could say anything, he took out his sword and kicked his beast¡¯s sides, spurring it to charge straight at Dyah Ni. But halfway through it halted suddenly, squealing in pain, and reared, throwing its rider to the ground. Poor fool very nearly impaled himself on his sword.


    ¡°Yep,¡± said Dyah Ni lightly. ¡°We have a protective shield around Rampia.¡±


    ¡°¡¯Tis nothing,¡± hissed Ralakh. ¡°Salaamin will deal with your foul magic. And then we¡¯ll get you out of the way and find the creatures you¡¯re protecting.¡±


    Dyah Ni shifted her eyes toward the sorcerer, who pulled a pouch from the folds of his robe and scattered a cloud of white dust. It blew forward and settled on the invisible shield, glimmering ominously.


    ¡°Look, guys, I have nothing against you, but I can¡¯t let you hurt my prot¨¦g¨¦s.¡± In fact, she was beginning to feel a bit bored, and the exposed skin on her forehead was starting to itch from the pollen. ¡°Just turn back and go away. Find something better to do with your lives. Grow peas or something.¡±


    They didn¡¯t listen. Of course they didn¡¯t. Salaamin continued with his spell, murmuring and making sharp gestures in the air in front of him. Dyah Ni glanced at the panel on her left and noticed that the protective spells placed around Rampia were faltering.


    ¡®Well, if that¡¯s what you want . . .¡¯


    Ralakh bellowed again and ran towards her, with a sword raised above his head. Dyah Ni reached for her wand. It was nothing like the heavy staff held by Salaamin, oh no. It was the best Dahlsian technomagic could offer: small and sleek, with a double core and a lens made of pure dallite, all sheathed in soft, smooth plastic. Dyah Ni didn¡¯t even have to utter a spell; the device jumped to life as if only waiting to be used, pulling the energy from Dyah Ni, transforming it, and shooting a wave of kinetic force at the knight. Ralakh was thrown back, flailing his limbs as he flew across the pavement, stopping only when his back met a kardon tree.


    Derek the Archer reached for his bow, but Dyah Ni wasn¡¯t going to wait to find out what he was capable of¡ªshe sent him flying too, along with his mount. The poor animal was too heavy to fly, so it covered the last stretch of his journey rolling on the ground, bleating miserably. Salaamin followed them, just to complete the picture.


    ¡°Now listen, assholes, because I won¡¯t say it twice.¡± Dyah Ni stood with her hands on her hips. ¡±In Dahls, goblins have a citizen status and as such are protected from anyone who wants to hurt them. As a kahar of Rampia, the job of protecting them falls to me and by the Great Sphere, I will do it in any way I can. And as you see, I can do a lot. So, this is the last time I ask: get the fuck out, or I¡¯ll get you out.¡±


    ¡°I will not leave it like this!¡± screamed Ralakh, who had already managed to get himself standing. He shook his head like a bull preparing to charge but, before he could take a step, Dyah Ni sent him flying again just to drive her point forward. His companions were glaring at her, but when she shook her wand, they dashed away, barely stopping to pick up their unconscious leader.


    Only when they completely vanished from sight did Dyah Ni feel a movement beside her.


    ¡°Sil-kahar?¡±


    She turned and her eyes fell on Zyjl''Kahrit, crawling on all fours, his gray skin blending in with the dirt. She smiled.


    Goblins! They wouldn¡¯t re-invent the wand, but after training they could use it as well as any human. Were they mean? Sometimes, but rarely dangerous. Cruel? Not more than any other sentient beings. In the old worlds they often stole, but only because humans had pushed them from their lands and relegated them to the barrens and deserts, where there was nothing to eat.


    ¡°It¡¯s all right, Zyjl''Kahrit,¡± she said, placing her hand between the creature¡¯s big, triangular ears. ¡°Go back to work.¡±


    Yeah, goblins weren¡¯t perfect. But they had one major merit.


    They could do the same work as humans, for half a food ration per day.

 Sweetening the Deal by Nicole L Soper Gorden

    Sweetening the Deal


    By Nicole L. Soper Gorden


    Nicole is an author with a not-so-secret identity as a professor of biology at a small liberal arts college. In addition to writing and teaching, she loves studying plant-insect interactions, growing heirloom vegetables in her garden, and baking award-winning cookies. She lives in the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina with an elderly puggle, a drooly black cat, a rescued box turtle, a bearded husband, and a dinosaur-obsessed toddler. Find out more or follow Nicole at www.NicoleLSoperGorden.com</a></a>.


    #


    Taz leaned against the railing of the Women¡¯s Bridge, looking out at the murky waters of the River Teeth below. It was late in the day, the sunlight waning to orange-gold. Below, the tips of gentle waves were sharpened by the harsh reflected light. The banks of the river were dense with masses of fuzzy purple flowers that looked like foam washed up on the muddy shores. Taz propped his elbows on the railing, ignoring the sour smell of river mud and the slosh of water climbing stone.


    A breeze ruffled the hair on the back of his neck. A sound halfway between sigh and chuckle echoed behind him, blending seamlessly with the burble of the river.


    Taz swallowed the sudden flutter of nerves, then let out a deep breath. ¡°So I have a problem,¡± he said, striving for an easy tone.


    He turned to face the being now perched on the railing on the other side of the bridge. She was gorgeous. Made entirely of transparent water, sure, but still all curves and softness and gentle, round features. He could see the city beyond right through her watery form. Her full lips quirked up on one side, both sensuous and inscrutable, as she looked back over one shoulder at the river below.


    ¡°I would say you have more than one problem,¡± she said, a hint of something between humor and hunger in her tone. ¡°There are at least six of us here today.¡±


    Taz swallowed, resisting the urge to look at the turbid river below and instead raising an eyebrow at the water succubus as if completely unconcerned. All that separated them was the width of the Women¡¯s Bridge¡ªso named because it was only safe for women to walk it. Water succubi would eat any man foolish enough to get so close.


    Except Taz. He had never been sure where he stood in regards to elementals, and hadn¡¯t ever felt the urge to test it until the fiasco with the water incubi two days ago. Just as succubi ate men, incubi ate women. He had hoped being transgender would be enough to keep him safe¡ªright up until that water incubus had tried to eat him whole. Apparently, just like with gender-specific magic plants, the hunger of elementals had nothing to do with a person¡¯s real gender. They must rely on some other inborn characteristic to determine their prey.


    Taz was fairly sure that meant he was safe now from the water succubus before him. Ninety percent, at least. He propped an easy hand on the hilt of his sword, swaggering a step closer to the woman on the railing. He recognized her implied threat, could hear the swarm of succubi in the river below, but he wouldn¡¯t let her see any unease.


    ¡°The more, the merrier,¡± he said, managing to keep his tone light.


    The water succubus¡¯s half-smile cracked open just wide enough to let Taz see multiple rows of shark-sharp teeth emerge, and Taz revised his estimate of safety down to seventy-five percent. Surely no less than sixty.


    Sudden sweat tickled Taz¡¯s lip under the false mustache. He ignored it and fell back on his usual skill set when confronted with stressful situations: swagger and sweet talk.


    ¡°I know the reputation of succubi, but I still hadn¡¯t expected you to be quite so beautiful,¡± he flattered, doffing an imaginary hat.


    ¡°You think that smooth tongue will help you?¡± the water succubus asked, head tilting slightly to one side.


    ¡°It¡¯s gotten me out of worse.¡± Taz flashed a grin.


    She leaned forward, sharp eyes glittering. ¡°Smooth tongues taste just as good as abrasive ones.¡±


    Taz couldn¡¯t keep himself from swallowing again at the razor edge of her tone. This was not going quite as he had planned.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll find my taste isn¡¯t quite to your liking,¡± he said. He sauntered over to lean against the railing next to the water succubus. It was hard to ignore the splashes and gurgles from below, but he managed. ¡°I¡¯m Taz,¡± he said, holding out a hand.


    The water succubus coiled as if she might spring on him, mouth growing just a little wider and fuller of teeth, expression slightly feral. But she paused in the instant before Taz¡¯s nerve failed him, nose lifted. She took his hand and brought it closer, smelling it carefully, then running a water-cool tongue along his palm.


    ¡°Pine,¡± she said. ¡°And ginger. Sweat and metal and leather. But not . . . hm, you are an interesting puzzle, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Taz felt his shoulders loosen by half and relaxed back into a grin. ¡°Puzzles are a bit of a specialty of mine,¡± he said. ¡°And also, part of my aforementioned problem.¡±


    The water succubus sat back on the railing again, considering him. She ran eyes over his brown hair, the fake facial hair, the city guard¡¯s uniform, the Motherhood seal ring, the sword. ¡°Just how much of you is costume, Taz?¡±


    ¡°Only the best bits,¡± Taz said, flashing his teeth once again. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s pleasant to hear my name on such full lips. But I still don¡¯t know your name to return the favor.¡±


    The water succubus gave another mysterious little smile. ¡°Keep trying that smooth tongue of yours and you might yet get in trouble.¡± She glanced back over her shoulder again, holding a hand over the uneasy waters below, and they stilled back to the more natural sunset-colored ripples. ¡°My name is Iara.¡±


    Taz¡¯s instinct was to say it suited her, that it flowed as easy as water from the tongue and was as beautiful as the woman before him¡ªshe was lovely, after all. But her previous comment made him a little more cautious of his words, no matter how well-meaning they were. So instead, he gave a nod of thanks and a wink, and pulled a tightly rolled parchment from his pocket.


    ¡°Well, Iara,¡± he said, tapping the paper in the palm of his hand. ¡°How much do the water succubi like living in the River Teeth?¡±


    Iara frowned, eyes narrowing at the sight of the crest of the Motherhood of Fertility on the parchment. ¡°And what is that?¡±


    ¡°Just a piece of the puzzle,¡± Taz said, spinning the tightly rolled paper between his fingers and over his knuckles. He dared a look at the water below the bridge, half expecting to see a swarm of water succubi baring their teeth at him. Instead, all he saw was a river cloudy with silt and the debris of city life. All of the city¡¯s storm drains emptied into the River Teeth, after all, bringing the associated refuse with it after every storm. ¡°I would think the River Teeth is an unpleasant water to call home.¡±


    Iara studied him again, boots to crown, the playful little grin fully gone now. ¡°Humans have never understood the worth of water¡ªhave always treated it poorly. But we need water to live, and humans to survive.¡±


    ¡°There are other waters in the area,¡± Taz said, keeping his tone breezy. He tossed the rolled parchment in the air and caught it again. ¡°What about the oxbow in the River Bone across town?¡±


    Iara cocked an eyebrow at him. ¡°That¡¯s water incubus territory.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but the water there is lovely, isn¡¯t it?¡± he asked, letting the cheekiness sneak back into his grin.


    The River Bone was much cleaner than the River Teeth. It had to be¡ªit was the source for most of the city¡¯s drinking water. Taz had gone to see for himself, admiring the clear water and the sturdy pump station sending water into city households before almost losing a leg to a feisty water incubus. The River Bone¡¯s oxbow, in particular, was a wide looping section of the river in the shape of a broad, slow-moving U. Those sparkling waters were still close enough to town to provide good hunting for water elementals and still far enough from the pump station to be relatively peaceful. And the River Bone didn¡¯t have a pesky dam choking the water supply. Now, Taz found himself looking upstream at the giant wall of the dam across the River Teeth, only a trickle of water coming over the spillway.


    ¡°There¡¯s only three or four water incubi living there now,¡± Taz continued, turning back to Iara and fiddling with the ribbon on the rolled parchment. He tried to make it seem like what he was saying didn¡¯t matter¡ªjust idle conversation.


    Iara licked her clear lips with a watery tongue, sharp teeth showing around the edges. Good ¨C he had aroused her hunger. ¡°What, exactly, is this problem you¡¯re so concerned about?¡± she asked. Her suspicion was natural, but also exactly the opening Taz was looking for.


    ¡°How kind of you to ask!¡± He flourished the roll of parchment, waggling it enough to make the Motherhood crest obvious. ¡°I have accepted a contract to oust the water incubi from the River Bone. The Motherhood thinks they¡¯re too close to the Gardenplex, and with that magic tree of theirs . . .well, having male elementals that close makes them nervous. One touch by a man and their tree dies.¡±


    Iara gave a small frown, eyes narrowing on his ring. ¡°You work for the Motherhood?¡±


    ¡°Fallow fields, no! Can¡¯t stand those self-righteous horticulturati.¡±


    Like anyone else without a prince¡¯s salary, Taz had nothing but antipathy for the Motherhood of Fertility. Part religion, part corporation, and part iron-fisted enforcement agency, the Motherhood controlled magical plant horticulture, harvest, and trade throughout the continent. Just tripping over a puddle full of cinnamon azolla plants was enough for the Motherhood to fine you a month¡¯s wages. If you accidentally started a magical fire with the plant in the process, you might as well change your permanent mailing address to the Motherhood jails.


    ¡°But they¡¯ve got deep enough pockets,¡± Taz added, tapping the rolled parchment again. ¡°And that¡¯s what matters. This is a straightforward contract¡ªpayment for service rendered.¡±


    Iara¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°You plan to use us to fulfill your contract? Your own succubi foot soldiers in a war against the incubi?¡±


    Taz held up his hands. ¡°It¡¯s not like that¡ªnothing so crass. I was thinking of it more as a mutually beneficial deal.¡±


    She gave a soft snort, mouth pressed in a thin line. ¡°Your smooth tongue is losing its charm, Taz. Territory claimed by an elemental is almost impossible to take by force, and even incubi aren¡¯t stupid enough to leave such a prime spot unguarded. Asking us to do all the work and take all the risk hardly sounds mutually beneficial.¡±


    ¡°Not to worry! I wouldn¡¯t leave all the burden on your pretty neck. There¡¯s more.¡± Taz¡¯s eyes twinkled, and he pulled a second paper from an inner pocket¡ªthis one rough around the edges and folded into a lopsided square. Taz could tell Iara recognized the inked pointed oval with a line through it for what it was¡ªthe mark of the Fallowhands. The water succubus gave Taz yet another weighing look, and Taz preened knowing he had offered her another surprise.


    ¡°You¡¯re a rebel, then?¡± Iara asked.


    A logical assumption. The Fallowhands objected to the authoritarian Motherhood Edicts and the ridiculous prices they charged for even the most mundane magical plant. People were dying from perfectly curable maladies simply because their family couldn¡¯t afford to buy the enchanted botanicals from the Motherhood. So, the Fallowhands were constantly nipping at the Motherhood¡¯s heels¡ªand stealing magical plants whenever they could. Personally, Taz enjoyed watching the Fallowhands pester the Motherhood, but wasn¡¯t sure they would ever come out on top. Besides, money spent the same no matter who it came from. He may be a rogue, but he was no rebel.


    Taz chuckled. ¡°Oh no, not me. I leave politics at home when I¡¯m working. Bad for business.¡±


    ¡°Helping the Fallowhands is work, then?¡±


    ¡°Another contract,¡± Taz agreed, waving the paper with a smile.


    ¡°Are you starting a collection?¡±


    Taz laughed. ¡°You could say that. But this contract provides a very convenient way to remove the water incubi from the river, at least long enough for an enterprising group of water elementals to sneak in the back. Maybe a certain pod of water succubi who are sick of dirty city water?¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Iara demanded.


    ¡°It¡¯s all quite brilliant, if I do say so myself,¡± Taz said, tapping the square of paper against the stone railing. ¡°The Motherhood is sending a caravan of Matrons and guards and gardeners from the capital. All female, of course ¨C no men allowed around the Gardenplex¡¯s prized tree. The Fallowhands are willing to pay handsomely to have the caravan delayed.¡±


    ¡°I see,¡± Iara said, tilting her head to the other side. ¡°A detour to the north, then?¡±


    Taz pointed the paper at Iara with a grin. ¡°Precisely! A few well-placed road closures should bring the caravan easily within hunting territory of the incubi. Brains and beauty both¡ªyou¡¯re quite the package, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Usually that kind of comment could draw a smile from pretty girls, but Iara just gave Taz a flat look. ¡°Your plan has a lot of moving parts. That means a lot of potential fail points.¡±


    Taz waved the concern away. ¡°I¡¯m an expert at these kinds of puzzles. Nothing I can¡¯t handle.¡±


    Iara crossed her arms, leaning slightly forward. ¡°Your plan depends on our cooperation.¡±


    ¡°Are you saying you wouldn¡¯t jump at the chance for a better territory? One served up on a platter, with the current residents away? Once you get in the door, the oxbow is yours to keep. It seems too delicious to pass up.¡±


    ¡°And what about the seawall loosestrife?¡±


    Taz blinked, wracking his memory for those words ever occurring together and coming up short. ¡°The . . . what?¡±


    Iara let out a cynical laugh, turning to point one water-clear finger at the banks of fuzzy purple flowers on either side of the river. ¡°Seawall loosestrife. The magic plant no water elemental can cross. What do you think keeps us within the bounds of the River Teeth?¡±


    To be honest, the question had never occurred to Taz. The water succubi never left the river, but he¡¯d always assumed it was their choice, or maybe some kind of uneasy compromise with the city guards. It made much more sense that the city would have contracted with the Motherhood for a magical plant to contain the elementals¡ªbut it also made things more complicated for him.


    He glared at the flowers, brows furrowed. ¡°There wasn¡¯t any seawall loosestrife at the oxbow.¡±


    ¡°Of course not,¡± Iara said, sounding exasperated. ¡°They get tidal waters up the River Bone, and seawall loosestrife can¡¯t tolerate saltwater.¡±


    ¡°Ironic name, then,¡± Taz muttered. ¡°Doesn¡¯t the city get its drinking water from the River Bone, though?¡± Water elementals may be able to tolerate any kind of water, but humans definitely couldn¡¯t drink saltwater.


    ¡°The pump station is farther upriver, above the tide mark.¡± Iara sighed, gathering herself as if readying to stand. ¡°Whatever skill you think you have with puzzles, Taz, it clearly doesn¡¯t extend to considering the details. Even if we wanted the River Bone, we can¡¯t get there from here.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Taz said, desperate to keep her from leaving just yet. ¡°If I can clear a patch of seawall loosestrife and lure out the water incubi, will the water succubi take and defend the River Bone?¡±


    Iara mused, watery hair swaying in a nonexistent breeze. ¡°It would be a lot of work to hold such prime territory. But we would consider it.¡±


    ¡°Only consider?¡± Taz asked, giving his best winning grin.


    Iara snorted softly. ¡°Only consider.¡± She turned to lean over the railing as if to slip into the water below, pausing just long enough to look over her shoulder at Taz one final time. ¡°Unless you can sweeten the deal,¡± she said, giving that little inscrutable smile of hers and a wink before melting into a rain of water that fell to the river below.


    * * *


    Sweeten the deal.


    Taz stared at the map of the city spread on the table before him, thinking about what kind of sweetness he had on offer. Something told him Iara wasn¡¯t going to settle for a kiss. Pity¡ªthose full lips of hers looked like a joy. Luckily, he had another sweet idea up his sleeve for later.


    He had already acquired the city guard signs. His city guard costume had its perks, after all; that was why he had stolen the uniform in the first place. He had been able to swagger in through the front door and take what he wanted from the storage shed without a single question asked.


    The combination of roadblocks and detour signs, all marked unmistakably with the city guard¡¯s official seal, would lead the Motherhood caravan right into the waiting arms¡ªand pointy-toothed jaws¡ªof the water incubi. Being from the capital, the Motherhood caravan wouldn¡¯t be familiar enough with local geography to know better. Besides, water elementals were constantly colonizing waters near cities and being ejected again by contractors like Taz, so their position was unpredictable to anyone not up on the local gossip. He¡¯d even risked another trip to the River Bone, tempting fate (and the hunger of water incubi) to let slip that a caravan of women would be driving near the oxbow this afternoon. They¡¯d be on high alert now, ready to feast on any woman foolish enough to enter their territory.


    Served those tyrant Motherhood members right.


    That only left the water succubi and the seawall loosestrife. Taz sighed, folding up the city map and tucking it away. On the table remained three papers.


    The tightly-rolled contract from the Motherhood to remove the water incubi from the River Bone. The rough folded contract from the Fallowhands to delay the Motherhood caravan, with a bonus for any magic plants he could salvage from the wagons. And a third contract, one he hadn¡¯t shown to Iara¡ªa neat envelope with the wax seal of the city guard pressing it closed. A contract to remove the water succubi from the River Teeth.


    Three contracts that fit together like an expertly-made blacksmith¡¯s puzzle. Each offered their own tidy sum, and each had teeth of their own¡ªprovisions for if he failed that ranged from fines to incarceration to promises of bodily harm. If he could make this work, if he could fulfill all three contracts, he would make enough to take a year¡ªtime he could spend planning a bigger con than the small side-hustles he¡¯d been running lately. The Motherhood¡¯s tree was tantalizingly close, after all, and had such a sweet prize on offer. But if he failed to complete even one of these contracts . . .


    Well, he would just have to make sure not to fail, wouldn¡¯t he?


    He swept the three contract papers into his inner jacket pocket, grabbed his bag of tricks, and headed for the Women¡¯s Bridge.


    Taz started with his sword. He had taken the time to properly earn his demon dancer blade, after all, and there was no point being a swordmaster if he didn¡¯t use his skills once in a while.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    So he took to the seawall loosestrife with his blade, thinking to cut the fragile-looking plants down. Only the plants had other ideas. Not only did their stems prove impervious to cutting, the plants actually fought back, grabbing the blade and trying to pull his sword right from his hands. Taz, of course, dug in his heels and pulled back. There was no way he was losing his demon dancer blade to a bunch of weeds.


    The ensuing game of tug-of-war was why Taz was sunk to his knees in stinking mud, smeared with stagnant water and algae, and cursing all of plant kind, when Iara bubbled up from the waters of the river. She sat on the surface of the river as if on a blanket at the park, demurely tucking her legs beneath her. She watched Taz grunt and struggle for a full five minutes with nothing more than that inscrutable little smile of hers on her lips.


    Taz paused for a moment, wiping sweat and mud from his brow, panting to catch his breath. He gave the water succubus a wry grin. ¡°Enjoying the show?¡±


    ¡°Entirely more than I should,¡± she agreed. She cocked her head, noticing the purple glow of the brand on the blade. ¡°A demon dancer brand? Not helping much right now, is it, swordmaster?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m much better in a fight against people,¡± Taz muttered, scowling at the deceptively delicate flowers, and Iara laughed¡ªa tinkling sound that reminded him of raindrops on a pool of water.


    ¡°You are a mess, Taz.¡±


    Then she shot a stream of water into his face.


    He dropped his sword to stagger back a step, spluttering and pushing wet hair from his face. He was glad he had decided against the fake facial hair today; so much water would have washed the glue free for sure. Iara¡¯s spray of water did wash away the mud and slime, though, and he had to admit he was much cleaner for it. And since he was already soaked from his struggles in the river, he could hardly complain about the wet.


    ¡°Thank you for your concern, fair lady,¡± he said, giving Iara a grin and a small bow. In his experience, it never hurt to be polite. Even better, when he reached to grab his sword again, the plants had loosened their grip and he was able to free it with no trouble. He inspected the blade, happy to see no new damage.


    ¡°Seawall loosestrife grips stronger the harder you pull,¡± Iara said with a wink.


    Taz lifted his eyebrows, studying the water succubus. That smile of hers was as inscrutable as ever.


    ¡°No matter,¡± Taz finally said, sheathing his sword and giving a grin. ¡°I have several other tricks to try.¡±


    And try he did. Digging up the plants was no more successful than his attempt to cut them down had been. Boiling water only cleansed the mud from the seawall loosestrife¡¯s leaves, and fire refused to catch, no matter how much oil he added first. The only thing left in his bag to try was the bottle of acid, but Iara stopped him with a sharply-toothed snarl before he could uncork it.


    ¡°Dumping even that small amount of acid into a water elemental¡¯s territory is a declaration of war,¡± she said, prompting Taz to carefully place the bottle back up on the dry bank above.


    ¡°I refuse to be bested by something as stupid as weeds.¡± He crossed his arms and sighed, glaring at the untouched band of purple flowers as if he could kill them with nothing more than willpower and hate.


    ¡°Maybe you should hire a green thumb next time,¡± Iara suggested, a hint of a laugh in her voice. ¡°Or a botanist, at least.¡±


    ¡°I almost had them with the fire,¡± Taz grumbled, and this time Iara did laugh. ¡°It¡¯s the magic,¡± he complained. ¡°Normal plants would be dead ten times over by now.


    ¡°Yes, but normal plants wouldn¡¯t keep water succubi from overrunning the streets, now would they?¡±


    ¡°There must be something.¡± He kicked at one of the plants. It grabbed his boot, and he very nearly fell on his back when he tried to pull free. ¡°Don¡¯t you know how to kill this stuff?¡± he added in desperation, hopping on one foot while trying to extricate himself from the plant¡¯s grasp.


    Iara eyed him, one eyebrow raised. ¡°If we knew how to kill it, do you think it would still be here?¡±


    She was right, obviously.  And that was yet another reason the oxbow would be a much better place for water elementals to live. No seawall loosestrife there, because of . . .


    Right. He had almost forgotten that.


    Taz grinned broadly, slipping his foot from his trapped boot and scurrying up the bank. ¡°I¡¯ve got it this time for sure,¡± he called over his shoulder to the water succubus. ¡°Back in a jiff.¡±


    Iara was perched on the bridge railing, letting a swallowtail butterfly drink from the water of her finger, when Taz came running back ten minutes later, his one soggy sock slapping wetly on the pavement as he ran, a paper sack tucked under one arm. Sliding back down to the mud, he retrieved his abandoned boot. Then he gave the plants a wicked grin. Tearing open the top of the paper bag, he started dumping white, granulated powder over the flowers.


    ¡°Sugar?¡± Iara asked, startling the butterfly away. ¡°I know I said you¡¯d need to sweeten the deal, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not sugar,¡± Taz said. ¡°Salt. You know, like the salt in the tidal waters that keep the River Bone free of seawall loosestrife.¡±


    Iara blinked in surprise, letting her body go liquid to flow back down the side of the bridge and into the river water below. A moment later, her head lifted from the water¡¯s surface only a foot away from the mud of the bank, long strands of water-clear hair trailing across the river¡¯s surface like spiderwebs. ¡°It¡¯s working,¡± she breathed.


    And it was. Already, the seawall loosestrife was wilting and browning under the barrage of salt grains. ¡°Of course it¡¯s working,¡± Taz agreed, sounding more confident than he had a right to. He had been fairly sure salt would work, but it could have taken days or weeks to kill the magic plants. Luckily, it seemed their magic worked against them in this case¡ªthey were dying quickly. He stomped hard on one of the wilting flowers, enjoying the feeling of it breaking beneath his boot. Stupid weeds, anyway.


    ¡°So simple,¡± Iara said. There was a hint of vicious joy in her tone, as she eagerly watched the plants dying in front of her. ¡°How did you manage to think of something so simply elegant?¡±


    Taz tsked. ¡°Just because I use a sword doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t have a brain.¡±


    ¡°You could have fooled me,¡± Iara said, glancing up at him. ¡°Attacking a magic plant without a botanist? Playing the Motherhood and the Fallowhands against one another? Making deals with water elementals? Hardly the wisest actions I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Taz waved the comment away, scattering more salt on the widening patch of brown plants in the process. ¡°Speaking of deals, does this mean the water succubi will take and defend the River Bone oxbow?¡±


    The water around Iara grew uneasy, as if churned below by a school of razor pike. A moment later, the surface of the river went as smooth as a mirror, and Iara rose out of it to her full height. ¡°It¡¯s kind of you to provide us with an entrance to the city,¡± she said. She gave a smile that was ninety percent dulcet charm, with just a hint of sharp teeth. ¡°But water incubi are still formidable enemies, even if you manage to lure them from their stronghold. And they would keep harassing us until they regained their territory. It would certainly be safer for us to seek a home elsewhere.¡±


    Taz¡¯s heart skipped a beat, and for half a second he stopped spreading the salt. If he set the water succubi loose on the city instead of relocating them, the city guard would ensure he didn¡¯t see the outside of a cell until he was much too old to enjoy life. Sure, he could probably skip town before that happened, but that would seriously jeopardize his long-term plans. He swallowed hard, turning slightly to spread the salt farther without letting Iara see the shadow of worry flicker in his eyes. He dredged up his best bit of bluster, splashed a brash smirk across his features, and turned back to Iara.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that the point of sweetening the deal, love?¡±


    Iara tilted her head to one side, eyes tracking from Taz¡¯s eyes to his grin and back again. ¡°Fine,¡± she said, propping a hand on one full hip. ¡°Impress me.  Let¡¯s hear about this sweetening.¡±


    So he told her. When he was finished, Iara threw her head back and laughed, the explosive force of it making her entire sensuous body shimmer and sparkle in the afternoon sunlight like a cascade of diamonds.


    * * *


    Taz watched for the Motherhood caravan from his hiding place behind a dense patch of hazel shrubs. Behind him, the River Bone burbled gently. Downstream, just past the open field colloquially called the Men¡¯s Court¡ªwhere brave men from town gathered to play football or drink in view of the water incubi and away from their wives and mothers¡ªthe slow meander of the oxbow shone placid in the afternoon sunlight. Upstream, the pump station chugged away, drawing up water from the river and sending it across Hazel Street in big pipes to the municipal water distribution building.


    There was little else around; the water distribution building was surrounded by sparse warehouses and scattered abandoned buildings sagging with age. This part of town was quiet. Women stayed clear, wary of becoming a water incubus¡¯s lunch. Even the men, who the incubi would mostly ignore, were nervous to spend time near the water incubi¡¯s territory.


    Taz had already completed his preparations in the early hours of morning, scouting the nearby buildings and drainage system. In the nearby uncovered stormwater cistern at the base of the water distribution building, Iara and the other water succubi waited for the fireworks to start. Everything was in place. All Taz could do now was wait.


    It was almost exactly three o¡¯clock when the three carts of the Motherhood caravan came up Hazel Street past the pump station, trusting the directions of the city guard detour signs and oblivious to the danger they approached.


    A breeze blew down Hazel Street. Taz heard a nearby splash and a gurgle, and ducked lower behind the hazel shrubs, ignoring the hair standing up along his arms. The Matron in the center cart frowned, staring at the noisy pump station as the horses drawing the carts wickered nervously. And then the water incubi swarmed the caravan.


    Taz stared, marveling at the efficiency with which one water incubus used those sharp teeth to take out the wheels of the lead wagon while a second did the same for the cart at the end. The other two water incubi streamed up into the beds of the carts like snakes up a tree, morphing into their well-muscled male forms just long enough for their teeth to grow sharp before striking. The women shouted, drawing swords¡ªbut what can swords do against water?


    Taz had never seen an elemental eat before, and was torn between watching in morbid fascination andturning away in queasiness. Water incubi could unhinge their jaws like a python and swallow a woman whole. For a moment beyond ingestion, the woman remained visible inside the water of the incubus¡¯ shape, wide-eyed and frantic, until the flesh dissolved from her bones in an instant. A moment later, the incubus would deposit the spotless white bones on the ground and reach for a new victim. It was unnerving to think that was what the incubi had had in mind for Taz not so long ago. It was a good thing he knew every escape route in the city, or he too might be nothing more than a pile of gleaming bones now.


    The Motherhood women were efficient¡ªTaz had to give them that.  They quickly started yelling orders and calling warnings. As soon as they realized swords were useless, they dove for their magic plant cargo. Someone found the cinnamon azolla, and used the tiny plant to send fire at the hissing incubi.


    The Matron was a force to be reckoned with, wielding magic plants and fierce physical attacks with equal ease. But even her underlings were trained well enough to put up a fair show, and the Motherhood group outnumbered the water incubi by a large margin. Taz hoped the elementals would still cause enough mayhem to fulfill his contract with the Fallowhands.


    ¡°You have a problem,¡± Iara said, cool breath no more than an inch from Taz¡¯s ear. He jumped, sword half-drawn, before he realized who had spoken.


    ¡°Fallow fields!¡± he swore. ¡°Warn me next time.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡±


    Taz gave her a smile, sliding his sword home again. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to inadvertently harm a lady,¡± he said with a wink.


    ¡°You think a blade can harm water?¡± Iara¡¯s voice was all mirth, her hips cocked at a saucy angle.


    ¡°Of course not. But a slice would temporarily mar your beauty.¡±  Taz managed to tear his eyes away from her figure and look back at the caravan attack. One of the Motherhood guards had found a switch of frostwood and was doing her best to freeze the extremities of any incubus within reach. ¡°What problem? The frostwood?¡±


    ¡°No. One water incubus is protecting their retreat.¡±


    Taz whipped his gaze around to look at the sparkling blue water of the River Bone. There was no sign of the incubus, but he believed Iara¡¯s assessment. She knew water better than him, after all.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you handle one incubus?¡± he asked.


    There had been more water succubi than he had expected when he led Iara and the rest from the River Teeth ¨C at least a dozen of them total, maybe more. It was hard to count when half of them remained in the form of flowing water. Still, it had seemed like more than enough to oust a single incubus.


    But Iara was shaking her head. ¡°He¡¯s guarding their territory. Elementals have agency over their territory as long as they are physically present. As soon as he knows we¡¯re here, he¡¯ll burrow in like a closed clam, and we¡¯ll have no chance of removing him.  If we can get in, we¡¯ll control the water and they¡¯ll have no way to take it back¡ªbut the only way we can take the oxbow is if all of the water incubi are out of the water first.¡±


    Taz made a face. Based on his previous interactions with the water incubi, he hadn¡¯t expected them to have enough self-control for tactics like this. He thought through his options. He could try to tempt the last incubus free by using himself as bait, but Taz rather enjoyed an existence free of incubus teeth in his flesh. He frowned, digging through the contents of his bag for inspiration. Explosives wouldn¡¯t help. Neither would costumes or maps or . . . . His hand landed on the ceramic bottle, tightly corked and wrapped in several layers of waxed linen. He felt himself smile.


    ¡°You said acid in an elemental¡¯s water was a declaration of war?¡± he asked, pulling the bottle free.


    Iara eyed the bottle skeptically. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Will it poison the water?¡±


    ¡°Not a bottle that small. It¡¯s symbolic¡ªa threat of what a larger quantity would do.¡±


    ¡°Perfect.¡± Taz dug the tightly rolled Motherhood contract out of his pocket and untied the ribbon from around it. With a flourish, he tied it around the neck of the acid bottle instead. He held it up for Iara¡¯s inspection, and she raised one eyebrow. He couldn¡¯t tell if she was impressed or skeptical, but he was willing to pretend it was the former.


    ¡°Get ready,¡± he said. She gave him another look before melting back into the marshy ditch that ran by the road. A moment later, when the Matron did something that made an especially loud boom, Taz hauled back and threw his bottle at the rocks in the shallow edge of the river.


    The ceramic shattered, acid sizzling against the rocks and splashing into the water. A moment later, the largest water incubus Taz had ever seen rose up out of the river¡¯s edge, his angular face bright with enough rage to challenge a hurricane. He found the bottle¡¯s top, the ribbon touched by acid but the metal Motherhood seal beads still recognizable. His glare whipped to the caravan and, in an instant, he was rushing towards the fight like a living flashflood.


    A glance over his shoulder showed Taz the new waters streaming surreptitiously into the River Bone. Iara gave a wink and a wave before disappearing below the surface with the others.


    As an added bonus, the final enraged water incubus managed to eat three whole gardeners before he was stopped. Thanks to an excessive use of cinnamon azolla that left their rear card on fire, the remaining Motherhood women managed to push the water incubi back.


    Taz swore, recognizing that the fight was about to break. Too soon¡ªIara and the succubi needed time to arrange a defense. Besides, he hadn¡¯t slowed the Motherhood near enough to meet his Fallowhands contract. He¡¯d need to stall.


    He ducked through the hazel shrubs until he was at the nearest crossroad, the one that serviced the pump station. The water incubi raced by on Hazel Street, headed back towards their territory, and Taz put on all the speed he could to run towards the intersection. A moment later, he burst from the mouth of the cross street at a sprint and nearly collided with a guardswoman giving chase to the elementals. Taz pretended at a fumble, grabbing the guard by the shoulders and spinning her around with him as if to keep his balance.


    ¡°I heard shouts,¡± Taz said, playing at breathlessness. ¡°Was there an attack?¡±


    The guard¡¯s scowl barely lessened when she saw Taz¡¯s city guard costume. She shrugged off his hands. ¡°Water incubi,¡± she agreed, eyes tracking the elementals as they ran ahead.


    Taz drew his sword, the move ¡°accidentally¡± blocking the guard from starting towards the oxbow again. ¡°How can I help?¡± he asked.


    The guardswoman used the switch of frostwood she carried to move Taz¡¯s sword out of her way, leaving intricate patterns of frost sparkling on his blade. Ahead, the incubi were almost to the river¡¯s bank, ready to dive back into the water. Taz felt the prickle of anxiety along the back of his neck as he watched them go.


    ¡°We need to¡ªfallow fields!¡±


    Whatever it was the guardswoman had been about to suggest they do was lost in the sudden roar of water. From out of the meandering curve of the River Bone, an army of water succubi teeth rose and crashed towards the incoming incubi, gnashing and grinning and sharp. Even from this distance, Taz couldn¡¯t resist the urge to step back, wondering suddenly if maybe he had made the wrong choice after all.


    For a moment, the water incubi defiantly pressed on, seeing what had been theirs suddenly in the possession of a group of enemy elementals. They were fierce and large and strong, and willing to use every tooth and claw available to them. But they were also very outnumbered, and by staking claim in the river itself, the water succubi had gained the metaphysical high ground. The incubi broke like water pouring downhill.


    And now there was a problem. At one end of Hazel street the rising, toothy wall of water succubi loomed, ready to protect their new territory. At the other end of Hazel Street was the Motherhood caravan, regrouped and ready for more action. And stuck in the middle, desperate and harassed and weary, were five water incubi who no longer had a place to go. Taz and the Motherhood guards near him all tensed, raising weapons towards the elementals, and the water succubi roared all the louder. And for just a second, the water incubi stopped their rushing waters in the middle of the road, hesitating before the two choices.


    Taz broke out in a sweat, licking his lips and gripping his sword tighter. He really didn¡¯t want to fight on the front lines against a bunch of angry water incubi. He had more important things to do in life than be digested by someone who didn¡¯t even recognize his gender.


    Come on, he thought, bouncing on his toes. Come on.


    The water incubi made a break for it ¨C perpendicular, down the only side road to lead between buildings into the city, and down into the large open stormwater cistern. The same cistern the water succubi had been hiding in before. The cistern Taz had specifically left open to make the escape blindingly obvious.


    He grinned to himself, sheathing his sword. He raced across the road to the municipal water distribution building, climbing the ladder up its back wall to where the pipes from the pump station across the street came into the building. Just at the junction between pipe and building was an emergency release valve, one Taz had staked out during his first visit to the River Bone a couple days ago. It was rarely used, but a couple good kicks got it free. Water gushed from the valve to the street below, flooding directly into the storm drain ¨C and down into the stormwater cistern.


    He left the water running, jumping back to the street below and almost landing on the toes of the guardswoman he had run into before. She nodded a question at the open valve and the deluge of water gushing from it.


    ¡°Wash them out the stormwater drains,¡± Taz half-yelled, trying to be heard over the new noise of rushing water. Out of the stormwater drains and right into the River Teeth, where all the city¡¯s stormwater went. He smirked at the woman, who scowled back, still sour. She looked him up and down, then nodded once, turning on her heel to help clean up the caravan.


    Taz glanced over his shoulder, the river calm now that the water succubi had settled below its surface. For just a second, a hand¡ªIara¡¯s hand¡ªrose from the surface to wave to him. Then it slid back into placid water and Taz turned back to the remaining Motherhood women with a skip in his step and a grin on his face.


    * * *


    It was late in the day, the sunlight again waning towards orange-gold as Taz leaned on the rail around the roof¡¯s edge. Below, he watched the River Teeth¡¯s waves sharpened by reflected light, made even keener by the standoff between city guardsmen and water incubi. The city had already shelled out an obscene amount of gold to have a Motherhood green thumb replace the seawall loosestrife where Taz had killed it, but the incubi were furious at being forced from their home and into inferior water. The River Teeth had been uneasy and wild all day. It made the city guards equally restless.


    ¡°You know,¡± said Iara, gliding up behind him with the sound of running water, ¡°they would organize an offensive to retake the oxbow, given the chance.¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Taz said, turning to watch the water succubus approach. ¡°But that¡¯s the whole point of sweetening the deal, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Iara just quirked her little smile at him.


    ¡°Wine?¡± Taz offered, holding out a glass. He knew water succubi didn¡¯t need food¡ªwell, other than the occasional man to eat¡ªbut they could still enjoy beverages. This one was a good vintage, one that cost more than Taz was used to. But celebration was in order.


    Iara raised an amused eyebrow, but took the glass. The ros¨¦ pinked the water succubus¡¯s full lips when she sipped, adding a blush of color to her cheeks and neck that seemed to smolder with vivacity. ¡°I take it your contracts came through,¡± she said, lifting the wine in appreciation.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Taz said, pouring a glass of wine for himself. ¡°And a handsome bonus from the Fallowhands for the magic plants that fell off a certain burning Motherhood cart during the fight.¡±


    He grinned at Iara¡¯s amused look. After flushing the incubi out of the storm drains, Taz had busied himself ¡°helping¡± the Motherhood reorganize and get back on the road, all the time working to delay them longer instead. It had given him ample opportunity to nick some of their stock and hide it in the shrubbery. Eventually, he had pointed them in the right direction to get back on the road to the Gardenplex. And if he had sent them into the hands of a waiting Fallowhands ambush, well, he couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once, now could he?


    ¡°I expected resistance from the Motherhood,¡± Iara said, taking another sip of her wine. ¡°How did you convince them to pay you for substituting one elemental infestation for another?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they weren¡¯t happy about it,¡± Taz said. Then he grinned, raising his glass. ¡°But their contract was for me to remove the water incubi from the River Bone. It said nothing about keeping it free of other elementals. They were trapped into paying me by their own contractual pedantry.¡±


    ¡°And they weren¡¯t suspicious of the circumstances? That you were fortuitously in the area when the Motherhood caravan was attacked?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they were more than just suspicious. But they can¡¯t prove anything. I was helping protect the caravan, after all.¡±


    Still, he had a feeling he wouldn¡¯t get any more contracts from the Motherhood. He had likely burned that bridge. It had been worth it, though, just to see the look on the Matron¡¯s face¡ªlike she had swallowed a live bullfrog, and it was jumping the whole way down.


    Iara gave a throaty chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m sure that smooth tongue of yours helped,¡± she said.


    Taz flashed a smile. ¡°How good of you to notice,¡± he said.


    Iara stepped closer to watch the continuing posturing between water incubi and city guards below. ¡°I imagine a similar loophole got you paid by the city guards, too,¡± she said.


    Taz froze with the wine glass against his lips. He set the wine down without drinking, running a hand through his shaggy hair. ¡°Heh. You knew about that contract, did you?¡± And here he had thought himself so sly.


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t know until just now,¡± Iara purred. ¡°But if I know one thing about smooth tongues, it¡¯s that they tend to be smooth on both sides.¡±


    ¡°Er . . . no hard feelings?¡±


    Iara studied him languidly, taking another sip of her wine. The pink had crept all the way down to her chest and the tops of her breasts by now, a blush in the water that made her look almost warm to the touch. ¡°We¡¯ll see how the rest of today unfolds,¡± she said finally, glancing upriver at the imposing wall of the city dam.


    Taz grinned. ¡°I promise, you won¡¯t be disappointed.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it about time?¡±


    Taz glanced down at the clocktower across the city square, then up at the wall of the dam. The River Teeth was high enough that a sheet of water was already coming over the spillway, sparkling like gems in the late daylight as it fell to the dirty river below. ¡°Better get your dancing shoes. The party¡¯s about to start.¡±


    Iara lips quirked. ¡°You know, Taz, when I said you should sweeten the deal, I half expected you to have the audacity to offer a kiss.¡±


    Taz chuckled, remembering his contemplation just that morning. ¡°It had occurred to me. But I figured impertinence was no way to win an ally.¡±


    ¡°Hm. Shame.¡±


    Taz blinked, gaze drawn to her full lips, pinked with wine. ¡°Wait, do you mean . . .?¡±


    ¡°Too late now,¡± Iara said with a wink. ¡°Better luck next time.¡±


    Taz stared for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed.


    A big, basso boom echoed out over the river and city below. The explosives Taz had planted on the dam¡¯s sluiceway went off like fireworks. Water rushed through, forced out by gravity pressing down from above. The River Teeth picked itself up in a flood that sent the city guards scurrying for higher ground and left the water incubi pounding frantically against the invisible wall made by the seawall loosestrife. The flood roared through the city, splashing up against riverside buildings and gushing over bridges, unstoppable and huge and ten times louder than the explosives had been.


    And the waters roiled and roared and ripped the water incubi from the Women¡¯s Bridge, washing them downriver in an implacable flood that would rage all the way to the ocean.


    On a rooftop, high enough that the water looked like it was dancing instead of drumming, like it was sparkling instead of sullied, the two clinked their wine glasses and grinned, watching as the sweetened deal Taz had offered Iara washed past.

 The Temple on Cicaro Hill

    It was said throughout the Isles that Muirenn had been born during a thunderstorm. They were right, almost. Muirenn was too old to remember now¡ªperhaps they had never been able to remember to begin with¡ª but the L¨ªadan told Muirenn''s history to the common folk, and that was what they claimed. That telling helped them remember, too.


    ¡°The moment our goddexx emerged, pale and screaming, the sky split itself in half.¡±


    A doctor had cut Muirenn¡¯s umbilical cord and a sudden wave had overtaken the small isle of Verisque. By the time they were swaddled and put to their enbei¡¯s breast, another island had been consumed by the tempest.


    ¡°And then, as quick as it had come, the storm vanished, quelled with their shrill cries.¡±


    It was a proud history to bear for one as esteemed as Muirenn¡ªat least, they had believed so for the longest time. After all, the L¨ªadan revered them, documenting their every development for the good of the Isles. These priests knew best the nature of Muirenn¡¯s godhood, having raised them in the temple on Cicaro Hill.


    Still, the status they maintained came with its burdens. There were many unspoken rules whispered throughout the Isles, all a product of this godly order and their observance of Muirenn¡¯s actions. Never eat fish on Aridon. Never venture to the docks after dusk. And, above all, never underestimate the L¨ªadan.


    Having broken this last rule several times, Muirenn knew the consequences for themself.


    Seafoam and wet sand washed over them now with each roll of the tide. When they breathed, the air was thick with salt and burnt flesh. Wispy voices echoed between their ears, repeating the same mantra in a low groan.


    All things born of the sea return from whence they came.


    The words rolled in time with the ocean. Saltwater seeped through Muirenn¡¯s sandals. The coin in their palm was their sole tether to reality, gaining weight as they clung to it.


    Though a holy order in name, the L¨ªadan were anything but. Formed from the ashes of an old political party, they had shifted focus once Muirenn had been born. The thick web of scars on Muirenn¡¯s skin was a strong testament to their wicked ways.


    A flash of gold. Muirenn regarded the face on one side of the coin, rubbed smooth by the years and their constant ministrations. A good luck charm, or so the elder who¡¯d given it to them had said. His words overtook the vicious chant in their mind. It will grant you one wish in life, so wish wisely.


    With a mouthed prayer and a wretched scream, they lobbed the coin towards the ocean before them. It skipped once, twice, three times before setting hard on the waves and sinking out of sight. With it went Muirenn¡¯s hope. Still, without a sound, they prayed. Let me not be a goddexx anymore. Let me be free of this temple.


    #


    The temple on Cicaro Hill was a marvel of marble and sandstone, a maze of hallways contained within its thick walls. Muirenn could not remember a time they¡¯d been beyond it, save the occasional holy expeditions the L¨ªadan embarked on with them. Instead, they were relegated to reading texts the L¨ªadan fed them or answering the prayers of the common folk. Lavish gifts of rare fish and pearls marked each anniversary of Muirenn¡¯s cursed existence, the sole interjection to the tedium.


    At eight years old, Muirenn was bored of it.


    ¡°Why must I stay inside so much, Elder?¡±


    A man scrubbed Muirenn¡¯s robes in a washbasin at their feet, head bowed over his work. Their question didn¡¯t seem to register at first until his ministrations faltered.


    ¡°You are our Goddexx,¡± he answered before returning to his task.


    Like that should mean anything. At eight, the fire in their soul burned fierce and bright, consuming everything it touched in an instant. With each rattling breath, their frustration flared.


    ¡°I want to go outside, Elder.¡±


    Now he paused, head cocked as he thought. ¡°If you give me a moment,¡± he said, ¡°we may go to the balcony.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go to the balcony. I want to go out.¡±


    ¡°Your Benevolence.¡± Another pause. The elder sighed and set aside his washbasin. ¡°Every need you could ever have is met within these temple walls. Why would you want to leave it?¡±


    It¡¯s stifling and dusty and gloomy and boring. Still, Muirenn thought these reasons would come across as trivial. They thought hard on their words, turning each reason over before settling on something plausible enough. ¡°There¡¯s sun out there.¡±


    ¡°Which is why we have the balconies.¡± He pointed to the pillars framing the room. Beyond them, over the railing on the walkway, houses of clay and shale dotted the horizon. ¡°Plenty of space out there to absorb the warmth.¡±


    ¡°May I go on a walk, at least?¡±


    For the first time that afternoon, Muirenn was met with the elder¡¯s cerulean gaze. Silence swelled between them as Goddexx and servant stared each other down. A bitter wind cut through the room.


    ¡°You know you have to stay here, Your Benevolence. Out there, it is difficult to protect you. Not everyone is as . . . appreciative of your status. They could want to hurt you.¡±


    Muirenn¡¯s fists clenched. A second, stronger wind whistled through the pillars. A quick glance outside and they saw the thick clouds of grey, hovering over the Isles. A storm was brewing.


    ¡°I am a Goddexx of the sea.¡±


    ¡°So you are.¡±


    ¡°I am power incarnate.¡± They quirked a brow. ¡°Is that not what I¡¯m always told?¡±


    His brows furrowed. He, too, risked a look outside. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°Why, then, should I fear the whims of common folk?¡±


    The elder propped himself against the stairs, rising with a groan. The soft popping of several joints filled the quiet. ¡°The powers of the divine are not infallible,¡± he said. His tone was gentle, the way one might address an injured creature. It made Muirenn¡¯s gut boil.


    They stomped a foot. The sky flashed with lightning, painting the two of them in a swathe of shadows for a split second before vanishing. The next instant, thunder rumbled, so deep and loud it rattled Muirenn¡¯s bones.


    ¡°Fine,¡± they replied. Outside, the world had turned grey and misty.


    #


    Muirenn¡¯s temper was uncontrollable. With every fit they threw, the punishment shifted. Sermons proved too boring. There was too much collateral to risk physical violence. The L¨ªadan lacked the means to contain their charge. Months elapsed, full of secret meetings and harsh storms. At last, it seemed they¡¯d come to a conclusion.


    Muirenn¡¯s first sacrifice came when they were ten. They still remembered the scream cut short as the man gurgled blood and clawed at his throat. Death had not been swift for him, and for weeks after, his screams had followed them without interruption.


    Still, Muirenn¡¯s behavior adjusted. To the L¨ªadan, the price was worth the reward. After the first sacrifice came a rapid string of others, more deaths for Muirenn¡¯s flaws. With each slash of their blades, the L¨ªadan filled the Isles with new superstition. Further still, the sacrifices instilled in them a pertinent lesson: every step out of line was another grave in their name. Grizzled sailors, starving hermits, beings of all backgrounds and sizes and shades. Each of them became another corpse of Cicaro Hill.


    By thirteen, Muirenn had begun to hate counting the deaths their birth had caused, but they could not stop. Blood was blood was blood. All things born of the sea returned to whence they came. Muirenn, the L¨ªadan, the islanders . . . they all would die and become salt-encrusted fish food at the bottom of the sea. In that sense, their lives and deaths were more meaningless than the sand beneath Muirenn¡¯s feet.


    And yet, their conscience nagged at them. True, each death could be justified, but it concerned them nonetheless. How far would the L¨ªadan go to keep them in line?


    Muirenn was fifteen still, but the child before them looked even younger. A simple gown of white engulfed their entire body. A pathetic whimper filled the quiet. For several minutes, goddex and sacrifice matched terrified stares from across the room.


    This is wrong. Muirenn¡¯s armrests groaned with the force of their grip. A child? They¡¯re too young.


    One of the L¨ªadan brandished her athame, greying hair pulled back tight against her skull. She cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing the offering. ¡°Will you not beg for your life?¡±


    The sacrifice didn¡¯t answer. Whether they wouldn¡¯t or were simply unable to, it was difficult to tell. Instead, they planted their forehead to the marble floor. Sand shifted as they breathed. Every member of this vile temple watched the child and waited for them to die.


    ¡°No final words?¡± Goaded another of the L¨ªadan. ¡°No offerings to the great goddexx of the sea?¡±


    No reply. The first elder grabbed them by their hair and wrenched their head back.


    Muirenn frowned, observing the frantic twitches in the child¡¯s mouth. They¡¯re praying, but their goddex sits before them. Who do they think they¡¯re praying to?


    The dagger moved quick as a snake and ripped a line of crimson across their throat. Muirenn discarded the thoughts that had consumed them. The sacrifice fell to their knees, gagging on blood.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    It was a long time before their body stopped jerking.


    #


    Muirenn kept a mental graveyard, a record of every life ended in their name. Every tomb possessed a name, there wasn¡¯t a single blank stone. They chiseled themselves into Muirenn¡¯s thoughts, dated and organized by how Muirenn¡¯s existence had doomed them.


    Before long, these burial grounds had overgrown. The weight of these skeletons in their mind threatened to consume them. The tempests of their youth returned to the Isles, borne out of guilt and rage. Before, the corpses had contained them. The L¨ªadan knew better now.


    Dawn stretched tentative fingers throughout Cicaro Hill. As Muirenn found themself dragged through the halls, they stared out to the sea with such intense longing, it pained them.


    They found themself prostrate in the courtyard, sand so fine it formed clouds around their slumped form. A fine drizzle soaked their clothes and hair. Thunder rumbled in the distance.


    Before they could begin to ask the meaning of this behavior, a thick leather collar looped around their neck. Electricity crackled in the air. Sleep deadened their limbs, but they thrashed hard against the elders restraining them. The leather burned where it made contact with their skin.


    The moment the collar was secured, Muirenn¡¯s thoughts slowed to a stop. In the distance, storm clouds slinked away like shamed dogs.


    A fog consumed their brain. They wanted to protest, to shriek or scream or beg for whatever crime they¡¯d committed, but conjuring words grew too tiresome. Their mouth flapped opened and closed, but only a thin wail emerged.


    ¡°A fine magic this is,¡± said an elder, out of sight. Muirenn fought to put a face to the voice, but the fog in their brain was too thick. An overwhelming lethargy consumed them. Perhaps if they closed their eyes, they would wake up elsewhere.


    ¡°It¡¯ll contain them,¡± said another. ¡°For now.¡±


    #


    When they awoke next, the collar remained. Elders paced in and out of their room, whispering in hushed tones. Clarity came to Muirenn in drips.


    Blink. A flash of grey in their mind¡¯s eye. Blink. A clap of thunder. Blink. The way their skin had hissed as the collar made contact.


    Slowly, they ran a hand over their throat, wincing at the patches of bubbled skin. An elder watched them with an arched brow before raising the mortar and pestle they worked over in wordless explanation.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Muirenn wanted to ask, but no sound emerged. Their heart leapt.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Still no words. If they pushed, a faint grunt rumbled in their throat, but doing so felt like they¡¯d swallowed live coals.


    Muirenn kicked their blankets from them and jumped to their feet. At once, they leaned against the bed for support. The room spun out of control. Their blood roared in their ears.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Air whistled between their teeth. Their temples throbbed as they tried to recall the night before, or any semblance of reasoning. What had they done to cause this?


    They dashed past the elder and into the hall. Other members of the L¨ªadan watched them through half-opened eyes.


    That was different. Every elder they saw looked them in the eye. Were they no longer afraid of them?


    Their feet slapped against the marble. Their bare feet stung as they raced for the beach, but they had but one goal in mind.


    The ocean was as calm as ever. No, Muirenn realized as they slowed to a stop. It¡¯s the calmest it¡¯s ever been. The tides lapped against the shore with an uncanny gentleness. Bits of sand crunched between their toes. Trembling, they reached an arm out, willing the ocean to heed them.


    The next instant, they were on all fours, head clutched in their hands. Their temples throbbed like they¡¯d been skewered. Tears rolled down their cheeks, a mix of frustration and anguish.


    The sun was over the horizon by the time they had recovered. The tide was higher now, almost to their ankles. The sensation made their stomach turn. With a grunt, they wiped their tears away and pointed for the ocean again. Pain lanced through them in an instant. Hands of ice kept their brain in a vice-grip.


    What have they done to me?


    #


    For Muirenn¡¯s eighteenth birthday, they got a corpse and a coin. They had been dragged from the safety of their bed to view the sacrifice, to watch as the stranger¡¯s soul was spilled across granite and sand and pooled at their feet.


    Muirenn sat vigil over the corpse as it cooled. The gash across its throat glistened in the moonlight. Flickering torches cast its body in always-moving shadows. Another child, based on the size and proportions in its face. A small, button-like nose sat square between two unseeing eyes. Death had stiffened its limbs. Its hands remained cast in fearful prayer over its chest, and would stay that way for some while.


    The corpse was burned and the ashes scattered. Muirenn stayed for this, too. The constant sludge in their thoughts prevented them from doing much else.


    When it was all over, one of the elders pulled Muirenn aside. Wrinkles made a map of his face. They recognized him¡ªa regular in Muirenn¡¯s closest audience. He had often gone with them on their expeditions, and could be pressed to grant them a sweet or two every so often.


    He clung to their hand like his life depended on it. A solid metal disk sat between their joined palms. ¡°This is a coin as old as the gods,¡± he said in a low voice. ¡°It will grant you one wish in life, whenever you want it to. Wish wisely, for it is the only wish you¡¯ll gain not bathed in blood.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    He shook his head and patted their shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ll know when the time is right.¡±


    Muirenn hadn¡¯t been sure what he¡¯d meant then, and the constant headaches prevented them from dwelling on it. But now, watching as the coin sank into the ocean, they thought they understood at last. Perhaps it wasn¡¯t the coin that mattered, but what they put the coin towards. Much like the leather around their neck, this coin thrummed with ancient, incomprehensible power.


    He was wrong. This wish, too, was a gift bathed in blood. A shame he isn¡¯t here to see it.


    The sea gurgled and swirled where the coin had landed. Though they continued their soundless prayers, all was still.


    #


    The induction of a new temple member came thrice to Cicaro Hill.


    Zhe didn¡¯t have a name. None of the elders did. The L¨ªadan took the member¡¯s name from them the moment they entered the temple. All Muirenn remembered of this newcomer that night was zheir blue eyes and the feeling of . . . what was it?


    Fear. Muirenn couldn¡¯t remember the last time they¡¯d been afraid.


    With zheir arrival came a change in the rules. No longer could anyone wander out by oneself. It sent a bad message, zhe said. The L¨ªadan, and Muirenn, were a unified force. And to show that unity, they had to be a force of numbers.


    Gone, too, were the sacrifices that had filled Muirenn¡¯s thoughts. Thirty years too late, they thought bitterly when the proclamation was announced. For some time, the L¨ªadan had deliberated. The constant culling had put the common folk on edge. More than once, the L¨ªadan had to keep them from rioting.


    Each transgression was instead marked on Miurenn¡¯s body, a suggestion pioneered by the temple¡¯s newest elder. Whip lashes, burn marks, thin and fading scars . . . Muirenn never knew what to expect when the elders dragged them to the quiet room. Still, powerless, they had no way to stop it.


    #


    The elder¡¯s face had sunken, leaving his post-mortem complexion sallow and waxy. As the pyre was lit, his skin dripped from his bones in hissing rivulets. The L¨ªadan had not wanted to grant him even this.


    Muirenn begged for his funeral rites, met at first with derision. He¡¯d tried to run away, after all. Still, the L¨ªadan were devoted to their goddexx. After days spent pleading, the elders finally agreed.


    They stared now at the fresh lashes on their forearms, healing under whatever tingly poultice the elders had put on them. Harm and heal, a vicious cycle. After a moment, they were bored of the sight. They wiped their palms on their robes, satisfied with the streaks of grey left behind. If they gave their clothes a careful eye, they could see the bloodstains that hadn¡¯t been washed out yet, too. Something about the uncleanliness made the corners of their mouth twitch. For a while longer, the elder¡¯s influence would remain in their clothes. It was the closest they¡¯d get to mourning.


    The poultice on the back of their hand tingled. Sweat¡ªor perhaps blood¡ªdripped down their spine. A wet patch formed in their robes. As they reached back to check, they brushed against something solid. Something . . . foreign.


    Muirenn felt around the edges, confused. Whatever the object was, it was small and flat and mostly round. Then, as they traced over one of the sides, it came to them.


    The coin. Muirenn¡¯s gentle thumbstrokes became desperate rubs.


    This coin is as old as the gods.


    Muirenn shook the words away. They weren¡¯t sure they even believed in gods anymore, but maybe . . .


    With an erratic heart, they reached under their robes and tugged at the hidden pocket. Hiding the coin had become a necessity. Though they swore reverence in Muirenn¡¯s name, Muirenn knew the L¨ªadan were more afraid of what they could not control.


    They rolled the coin on their palm and clenched it tight.


    #


    The sea remained unchanged, waves rolling in and out and soaking Muirenn¡¯s toes.


    Then, as hopelessness crept into their thoughts, a ripple. Hands of ice gripped their skull, touched deep into Muirenn¡¯s mind. The weight around their neck fell away. Clouds of pewter crept in from the horizon.


    For the first time they could remember, Muirenn wanted to laugh. I¡¯m doing it, they thought around a wince. The ocean. Can I . . .?¡¯


    The icy hands gripped their skull tighter until it was close to bursting. Always with the hands. Always¡ª


    Muirenn clutched fistfuls of their own hair and swallowed down a scream. Ringing filled their ears. The waves surged up to their calves. A voice slipped into their thoughts, deep and rumbling and primordial.


    Prove your worth if you wish to have control.


    As the ghastly words faded to nothing, the ocean reared back. A massive tidal wave crashed against the docks, bowling Muirenn over. When it receded, it took them with it.


    At first, they couldn¡¯t comprehend what had happened. In their sudden panic, the breath escaped them in a rush of bubbles.


    Bubbles . . .  Water. I¡¯m . . .¡¯


    Each breath became its own sort of misery. As hard as Muirenn fought, the sea fought harder, until Muirenn couldn¡¯t breathe anymore. Saltwater choked the fight out of them.


    As the sea turned black, Muirenn had one final thought. It seems my wish has been granted.


    They couldn¡¯t move, but they weren¡¯t scared. For the first time in decades, they were at peace. The saltwater stung their eyelids. Would it be so bad to let them close for good?


    As Muirenn surrendered, the ocean decided to spit them out.


    Muirenn crashed against the docks hard enough to vomit. Wave after wave of blood and bile and saltwater spewed from them unfettered, painting the dock with flecks of red and green. The world spun on its axis and refused to settle.


    They were half-dead. Half-dead, but still alive. Despair wrenched their guts with a knife.


    I don¡¯t understand. I should have died. I don¡¯t understand.


    Muirenn tried to crawl and found only splinters under their nails. They weren¡¯t strong enough to throw themself back.


    I . . .  should¡¯ve . . . died.


    Salt framed their eyes and stabbed their fragile retinas. They had failed. The L¨ªadan would find them, a half-drowned rat playing at being a goddexx. Perhaps the elders would invent a new torture for this transgression.


    The coin did nothing.


    A gentle licking came from the soles of their feet, ticklish but easy to ignore after decades of living by the sea. Muirenn tried to sit up, rage and despair their sole motivator in this new tidal wave of anguish.


    Then the tickling stopped. A strange firmness washed over them and lifted Muirenn upright. They found themselves standing on the docks.


    No, not standing, they realized as they stared between their feet. Floating.


    No. I couldn¡¯t have . . .¡¯


    Somewhere in the back of their head slept memories of an older time. All they¡¯d had to do was point and tempests would heed their wishes.


    Muirenn swirled their finger over the pool at their feet. At once, a small vortex bubbled to life. And, they noted with a choked laugh, the headache plaguing them for years was gone.


    Flashes of an old life fueled their actions. They made the waves dance at their heels, testing it. Only when they were satisfied did they throw their hands up, a victorious crescendo, and watch the sea crash around them.


    Their attempts ended with them face-down on the docks. Every inch of their body ached. Still, they picked themself back up with a clenched jaw and a victorious shout, replanted themself in the center of the whirlpool, and rode the tempest up Cicaro Hill.

 Dragons, Dreams, and Strange Happenings

    Just like last time, just like every other time, he knew it was all about to come to an end. He knew this whole situation by heart: gravel crunching around the corner of the tunnel, the air growing hotter with every passing moment, the increasingly claustrophobic walls around him. He couldn¡¯t go back; if he did, the dragon would follow him, and he would die. He couldn¡¯t go down the left passage: partway down, the floor would collapse beneath him and he would fall into the inky black depths. Going down the right passage bought him a little more time, but the dragon would still catch up to him eventually. Every option led to the same unfortunate result: death. Not that any of that mattered anyways. Before he¡¯d even moved a muscle, he saw the creature¡¯s head round the corner. It stared right at him for a moment before opening its maw, flames frothing up from within. He barely had time to register the heat of the dragon¡¯s breath before his entire world was snuffed out of existence.


    Ancon awoke with a start. He was safe, in his small bed, in the small three-room hovel he lived in with his family. There was no cave, no dragon, just his three younger siblings sleeping soundly around him. The room was still nearly pitch black; looking out the window, he could only see a few scattered stars. The tiniest sliver of moonlight leaking through the cloudy sky. ¡°It must be early morning. Great,¡± he muttered with frustration. That damn nightmare had cost him another night¡¯s sleep.


    The dream always started the same. He¡¯d suddenly find himself in the wooded hills above his little hometown. It would be a lovely day, the sun high, trees in full summer bloom. Breathing in the pleasant air, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin¡­ Ancon always made sure to take full advantage of this precious opportunity, as he so rarely ever got one in reality. It never lasted though. Before long the horrendous cry and the beating of wings heralded the arrival of Morred, the dragon that terrorized his home. Once it arrived, the dream would progress more or less the same every time: Ancon would turn and run, he¡¯d find a cave that he would try to hide in, the dragon would follow him in, and eventually he¡¯d get caught and killed. He¡¯d tried many times to do something different, but in the end, the mere sound of the dragon would send him fleeing in terror. He had always been a bit of a scaredy cat, as much as he wished he wasn¡¯t.


    Just thinking about the dragon now, safe in bed, sent a shudder down his spine. Ancon had not lived a day of his life without its shadow hanging over his village; of course, being only slightly more than 11 years old, that didn¡¯t exactly mean much. His father, though, was nearly 50 years old, and even he couldn¡¯t remember a time before Morred, nor could any of the other townspeople, even the oldest of them. The dragon did not attack the town itself very often, but it didn¡¯t have to; Morred had set up his nest at the entrance of their valley, blocking the only easy route in and out between two high mountain ranges. If someone wanted to leave, they could either use difficult paths over the mountains, or chance travelling through past Morred¡¯s nest without being seen: a feat few had ever been able to accomplish successfully.


    No one even considered the possibility of trying to dislodge their winged overlord. The only man to ever attempt to fight Morred was Sir Jannis, a travelling warrior who valiantly took up the town¡¯s cause not long after the dragon arrived. Unfortunately for the townspeople, he had been unsuccessful, and not a soul since had dared to challenge the dragon¡¯s dominance. There was a simple stone memorial to him at the site of his death, up in the hills, in gratitude for his heroic efforts.


    Ancon knew the location of it all too well and feared it. Every townsperson knew of the place¡¯s haunted reputation, and Ancon absolutely agreed with it. For most of his life he¡¯d stayed far away, but a few months back he¡¯d finally gathered the courage to venture up there one night. That had been a huge mistake; he¡¯d barely lasted a few minutes before the glimpse of a shadowy figure in the trees had sent him running home in terror. Thinking about it in the light of day, Ancon figured he had probably just seen a tree or something, but ever since, these recurring dreams had plagued him. If he had his way, he was never going back there.


    Ancon rolled over, trying to get comfortable again; he was exhausted, and worse, he was overheating under his blanket, which left him both tired and uncomfortable. His first instinct was just to close his eyes and try to get back to sleep. Tonight though, he felt too awake for that, and lying in bed until dawn held no appeal either. That left one option: getting up and finding something to occupy himself until he was ready to sleep again.


    He slowly and quietly slipped out of bed and snuck into the main room of the house. He didn¡¯t particularly feel like dealing with his siblings at this hour; they were annoying enough during the day, and the last time he woke them, they had raised such a fuss. He thought about getting something to eat or drink, but he simply didn¡¯t have the energy, and so he sat at the dinner table and mulled over his nightmare. He went over every moment in detail, desperately searching for anything that might give it some meaning, some purpose besides horrifying him. He didn¡¯t realize he was no longer alone until his mother spoke from the doorway.


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep?¡± she asked.


    ¡°No.¡±


    She nodded, needing no further explanation.


    ¡°Did you have nightmares too?¡±, Ancon asked tentatively.


    ¡°No, no, I was just worried about your father,¡± she said, cringing slightly as she realized what she said too late to stop herself.


    His head jerked up. ¡°What about father?¡±


    She hesitated for a moment. ¡°I suppose I may as well tell you now. Your father is leaving this morning, on a trip.¡± Seeing the alarm on Ancon¡¯s face, she added hastily, ¡°We would have told you all before he left, but he didn¡¯t want to worry you too much beforehand, and especially not the young ones.¡±


    Ancon¡¯s heart sank through the floor at the mere thought of his father leaving. His father had always talked about trying it, doing what he could for the community ¨C there was always something vital they needed. That¡¯s just the kind of man he was, and Ancon admired him greatly for that, but Ancon had never thought he¡¯d actually go through with it. Nearly everyone who had in the past had died. Ancon would have to stop him from going through with this, one way or another.


    He didn¡¯t even register what his mother said next as he leapt from his seat and raced out the door and down the street. His feet pounded on the dirt road as he chased after his dad, determined not to let him leave. Before long, he was at the edge of town, and could see his dad.


    ¡°Father!¡±, he cried out, as he came to a stop in front of him. His father laughed and shook his head.


    ¡°Somehow I knew you¡¯d be here.¡±


    Ancon took a moment to catch his breathe. ¡°¡­Father¡­ You can¡¯t go! Morred, he WILL catch you, you have to believe me¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, I know, your nightmares.¡± His father eyed him thoughtfully. ¡°I do believe you, son, but I need you to also believe me when I say I know what I¡¯m doing. Trust me.¡±


    Ancon wasn¡¯t about to be deterred that easily. ¡°No, no, Father, I¡¯ve seen it, I know what it can do. You can¡¯t¡­ I don¡¯t want you to¡­¡± His words trailed off, his determination failing him in the face of his fear.


    His father paused for a moment. ¡°You know, I know just the thing.¡± He knelt down in front of Ancon, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a worn, rusty and broken link of chainmail. Ancon looked quizzically at it and then at his father, who smiled. ¡°I found this in the hills when I was a boy, think it once belonged to Sir Jannis. I used to have nightmares like you. Did I ever tell you that? This little thing made me feel real strong and brave, just like he was, helped me get over my fears. Maybe it¡¯ll do the same for you, eh? I¡¯ve been thinking about giving it to you for a while now, and, well, I¡¯m gonna need you to be strong for your mother and siblings while I¡¯m gone, so I¡¯d say this is as good a time as any.¡±


    He pressed the broken link into Ancon¡¯s hand. Ancon just looked at it, then up at his father; he could hold back his tears, but he couldn¡¯t find the words, so he stood in silence. He felt his father¡¯s hand clap him on the shoulder. ¡°Now, don¡¯t worry about me anymore, little guy. Be brave for Papa, and I¡¯ll be back before you know it.¡± Ancon, still at a loss for words, nodded in response. His father smiled, patted him on the shoulder, then stood up; grabbing hold of the reins of his horse, he made his way down the road, stopping once to wave at Ancon, before slowly disappearing into the darkness.


    Ancon stood for a moment before turning and beginning the slow, dismal walk back home. As much as his father¡¯s confidence had been reassuring, he couldn¡¯t shake his concerns. His father was the best man Ancon had ever known. He¡¯d looked up to him his whole life, but even great men had their limits. Ancon was not going to lose him now. He turned the broken piece of chainmail over in his hand as he walked; he could already imagine what the rest of the armor must have looked like, the strength and confidence Sir Jannis must have had¡­


    When he got back home, his mother was still there, waiting for him. ¡°Let¡¯s go back to bed. What¡¯s done is done,¡± she said, and guided Ancon back to the children¡¯s room, pausing at the door. Kneeling down, she looked him in the eye and said firmly, ¡°He¡¯s going to be alright, okay? You don¡¯t need to worry about him. He¡¯ll come back.¡±


    He looked back at her glumly, and muttered, ¡°Okay¡±. The look in his mother¡¯s eyes told him she wasn¡¯t entirely satisfied, but it must have been good enough, for she stood, gave him a little pat on the head, then walked back to her bedroom.


    He trudged back to his bed and lay down, his body well and truly tired now, but his mind aflame with worry and concern. No matter what his mother or his father said, he couldn¡¯t help but feel sure he was never going to see his father again. He gripped the link tightly in his hand as he lay down. He pulled his blanket over himself; the room was somewhat cooler than when he¡¯d left it.


    As he felt himself drifting back to sleep, one final thought flitted into his mind, quietly emanating out of some deep part of his subconscious he was not entirely familiar with. It resonated with a voice he¡¯d never heard before, one filled with determination: I cannot let this happen. I WILL not let this happen¡­


    Before long, he found himself in the woods once again, everything seemingly the same as it always was. Except, it wasn¡¯t the same. This time, Ancon could see his father, far off down in the valley, astride his horse on the road out of town. Without thinking, he yelled out, trying desperately to get his father¡¯s attention, but he rode on, oblivious to the winged danger above. Indeed, like every other time, Ancon soon heard the dreaded roar of Morred, soaring above, looking for prey. He tried again to get his father¡¯s attention, yelling and throwing stones, but to no avail.


    Frustrated, Ancon switched tactics, shouting wildly up at the sky. If he couldn¡¯t help his father directly, he could at least distract Morred so his father could get away. Or so he hoped. Overhead, Morred occasionally turned his head toward Ancon, but the dragon continued to circle closer and closer to his father. He appeared determined to seize the easy, unsuspecting prey beneath him at his leisure.


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    Finally, Ancon had had enough. Before, he could have easily fled. Perhaps this time, with the dragon distracted, it might not come after him. But, Ancon was done running, done hiding. He¡¯d experienced months of nightmares, a full lifetime of living in fear, and now, even when it wasn¡¯t chasing him in his dreams, the dragon was still looming over him. No longer. In anger, Ancon grabbed a stone and hurled it skyward. He couldn¡¯t tell if he actually hit the dragon, or if it was just startled by a rock flying by it, but either way, one thing was certain ¨C Ancon had his full attention now. Morred turned rapidly and dove towards him, a gout of flames bursting from his mouth as he went. Ancon was only just able to duck out of the way; he felt the flames graze his leg as he leapt to safety, and for the first time, he felt their horrible burning sting.


    This was not normal; his dreams had never been painful, only terrifying. The impulse to turn and flee filled him once again. For a moment, he was unsure how to react to this new development. ¡°The pain will only be worse when the dragon finds me hiding¡±, he told himself, and his courage returned. If the only way to stop Morred is to fight him, then fight him I will. This ends here¡­ If he was going to fight though, he needed a weapon; puny stones would certainly not suffice.


    As he considered his options, his eyes drifted to the memorial to Sir Jannis off in the distance, and a glint caught his eye. He could swear that, for a moment, he saw the same shadowy figure from before hovering in the dark trees nearby, looking back at him silently. But, if he was to face down a dragon, he was not about to let a ghost or phantom or his own silly imagination scare him anymore. Besides, for some reason he knew that was where he needed to be. Hoping against hope, he dashed off towards the monument, sprinting between the trees as he went and trying to stay out of sight.


    Finally, he burst into the clearing. There stood the memorial, a solemn grey edifice in the otherwise beautiful forest scenery. Even in the daylight, the area still had a solemn, eerie atmosphere to it. It had been years since the area had been tended to regularly, and as such the memorial was partially reclaimed by nature. Tall trees cast long shadows along the ground and the stone monument and obscured much of the sky. This, in combination with the subtle waving of the trees in the sudden cool breeze was very unsettling. His first instinct was still to get out of there, fast, but he stood his ground.


    He quickly spotted the source of the glint of light: perched on top of the memorial were the knight¡¯s weapons, the same ones used in the battle that killed him - a slender spear and a shimmering silver shield. Strangely, they lay in the shadows. This gave him further pause; why were they even there in the first place? ¡°What does it matter now?¡±, he finally said under his breath after a moment. Throwing caution to the wind, he hastily crossed the open clearing to the memorial, and seized the mighty tools.


    The spear and shield were heavy, clearly meant for a grown man rather than a young boy. Still, he lifted them, struggling at first. His arms wavered from the strain and his first attempt at raising them into fighting position nearly caused his knees to buckle. ¡°You¡¯re holding the weapons of a knight, act like it,¡± he chastised himself, and got back up. How could I possibly fight with these, when I can barely lift them? Nonetheless, he persevered and found his bearings, and not a moment too soon. Behind him, he heard the woosh of the dragon¡¯s wings and the thud as it came to a landing in the clearing beyond. With a deep breath, he turned to face his foe.


    Standing before him was a menace he knew from head to tail: Morred, with dull black scales, broad wings, long claws, and plenty of sharp teeth. The dragon reared up on his hind legs, its throat turning bright red as the flames welled up inside him; Ancon only just managed to raise his shield in time to avoid getting roasted. He could feel the heat of the dragonfire all around him, but miraculously, he found himself unharmed, the shield fully protecting him from the flames. He could hardly believe this; with such powerful tools, perhaps he might actually stand a chance after all?


    Emboldened by his good fortune, he emerged from behind the shield unscathed and charged forward, thrusting his spear determinedly with reckless abandon. This caught Morred by surprise; the creature, staggered by the unexpected attack, reared back and flailed its claws wildly. Once, twice, three times Ancon thrust the spear towards his foe, the third time headed straight for a gap in the dragon scales; unfortunately, the blow glanced off the creature¡¯s scales rather than slicing between them. Ancon fell forward, and was forced to throw himself to the side as a large, clawed foot came swinging towards him.


    Ancon stumbled back as he scrambled to his feet, desperately trying to put some distance between him and the scaly beast whilst still presenting his shield in defense. Morred had evidently figured out the shield could block fire, as he made no further efforts to exploit that advantage. Instead, he snapped at the retreating little figure, more irritated than anything. The shield felt heavier than ever before, and Ancon found himself wondering how much longer adrenaline and willpower could sustain him. Just breath, I¡¯ve made it further than I would have thought already, don¡¯t overthink this. Just stand your ground¡­


    The dragon held his ground, sizing Ancon up as he considered his next attack. For the moment, Morred contented himself with cautious bites and menacing snarls, testing his opponent¡¯s nerve. For his part, Ancon made sure to keep his distance.


    Finally, Morred reached a little too far, exposing a flank. Sensing an opening, Ancon made his move. He ducked under the biting jaws, and got in as close as he could to the dragon¡¯s left side. He thrust upward towards its chest¡­ only for the tip of the spear to skate off the hard scales and catch on a gap between them at an odd angle. For a moment the tip of the spear penetrated the dragon¡¯s armored hide, but before it could plunge deep, it snapped in two with a loud crack. Morred howled in pain, and this time Ancon was not quick enough to avoid the reprisal. He brought his shield around to block a nasty bite, only to leave himself completely open to a sweeping, devastating paw. The razor-sharp claws tore into his chest and stomach, while the impact of the blow threw him several feet, depositing him at the edge of the clearing.


    He lay limp in immense pain. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, but he was still alive, if only just. Pain radiated from all over his body; his right arm felt broken and he could barely move it, and blood from a head wound was beginning to obscure his vision. Helplessly, he waited for the inevitable.


    Morred skulked closer, moving in for the kill. If a dragon could smile, Ancon was sure that was what he saw on the creature¡¯s face. It favored its injured right side, but that was of little comfort to the boy. He braced for the flames to lick around him but nothing came; Morred had evidently decided he would be its afternoon meal.


    Ancon lay still, conserving his strength; he had half a mind to just give up now and wake up. It wouldn¡¯t be so bad, losing this time¡­. I can always come back and try again¡­ He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No. I¡¯m still here, I can still do this. This ends now. The top half of his broken spear lay just within reach. If he was going to make his move, he¡¯d have to time it perfectly.


    Morred stood over him now, eyeing him voraciously. It sniffed at him hesitantly, unsure at first to whether its opponent was truly defeated. It must have been satisfied, for it raised its long neck in the air and gave a terrifying howl of triumph.


    In that moment Ancon sprang to life. With all the strength he had left to muster, he grabbed the broken spear, and in one fluid motion, thrust it into the exposed neck above him.


    This time the spear did not break or glance off; instead, it sank deep into the creature¡¯s neck, tearing through its throat before poking out the other side.


    A roar rent through the forest once again, but much hoarser and croakier than before. It trailed off with a whine rather than the booming echo Ancon was accustomed to hearing. The creature thrashed around wildly, red-black blood splattering across the clearing, until it collapsed in a crumpled heap in the dirt. A final, pathetic spurt of flames slipped from its throat as its life sputtered out.


    Ancon slumped back to the ground; the adrenaline rush of the fight was already beginning to wear off, and he knew he didn¡¯t have much time left. ¡°I did it,¡± he thought weakily, ¡°I can¡¯t believe I did it¡­¡± Despite his rapidly worsening condition, he couldn¡¯t help but feel a surge of pride.


    In the distance, he could hear footsteps and voices ¨C perhaps even his father¡¯s voice, although he could no longer tell - quickly coming closer, but likely not quickly enough. As his vision began to blur and his strength finally gave way, he could hear someone leaning over him, saying, ¡°Get up, come on, get up!¡±


    But it was no use, the shadows steadily crept across his vision, and his body felt lighter and lighter by the moment. The end had come for him, as it always did. But just as everything else in this strange, strange dream, there was a different feel to it, the difference between falling into soft pillows and falling onto hard rock. This isn¡¯t so bad, really, not so bad at all¡­


    The sky and the trees faded from his sight, and in their place once again was his bedroom ceiling. He was home, and yet that voice didn¡¯t go away¡­


    ¡°Wake up, wake up, come on, wake up!¡±


    The face of Ancon¡¯s younger sister, Petra, appeared above him, looking petulant. ¡°Get up already, we¡¯re going to have a picnic in the woods and I don¡¯t feel like waiting for you.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ancon responded, blurry eyed and not even halfway awake. ¡°You know we can¡¯t go have picnics this time of year, Morred will get us.¡±


    Petra rolled her eyes; it was at this moment Ancon¡¯s mother entered the room, looking surprisingly happier than he had remembered her being the night before. ¡°Petra, are you bothering your brother again? Why don¡¯t you give him a little space?¡± she said with a laugh.


    ¡°Ani¡¯s complaining about dragons again,¡± Petra said with indignation before making her way past Mother and out of the room.


    ¡°Ah, nightmares again?¡± His mother chided him, ¡°How many times do I have to tell you, there are no dragons here. Sir Jannis killed the last one, Morred, over a hundred years ago, as I¡¯m sure you remember.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ what? No, Morred is alive, I¡¯m sure of it. He¡¯s going to kill Father, like all the others!¡± Ancon sprang up in bed, only for his mother to gently push him back down.


    ¡°Relax, you were just having a dream. You really must stop this worrying, you do this every time your father leaves on a trip. You should know better than to listen to Barda¡¯s stories. That¡¯s all they are, myths and stories. Morred is ancient history, nothing more; I¡¯d think you were old enough to understand that by now.¡±


    ¡°Right... right, of course mother,¡± he stammered unconvinced and uncertain


    ¡°In any case, get yourself up, Petra¡¯s been nagging at us since dawn, so you¡¯d better hurry up or we¡¯ll be leaving without you.¡± With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her.


    Ancon sat in bed for a little while, his mind still struggling to come to terms with all this new information. Morred, gone? Impossible, I remember it clear as day. Everyone was terrified of him. It was all so real. What is going on?


    He pinched himself, half expecting to awaken once again, but nothing happened; he felt as awake as he had ever felt. No matter how he turned things over in his mind, he simply could not make sense of any of it; his memories were so clear, and yet¡­ how could things be suddenly so different if this wasn¡¯t the truth?


    Looking out the bedroom window again, he saw the town full of life - no furtive glances towards the sky, no downcast aura hanging over every move people made. Nothing. He watched as his neighbors, people he¡¯d known his entire life, went about their morning business ¨C hanging out laundry, going to the market, catching up on gossip ¨C without a care in the world. It¡¯s like there never was any dragon in the first place, he thought, surely that can¡¯t be right¡­


    At long last, he gave up thinking about it, and pulled himself out of bed and got ready for the day. As he did, he heard a light clink, and looked down to see the rusty old chainmail link his father had given him lying on the floor. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. Strangely, he was already having trouble remembering being given it at all. Was that really last night? It¡¯s all a little foggy. I¡¯ll have to ask Father about it when I see him¡­ He placed it on his bedside table, and went to join his family outside.


    By the time he finally returned to the bedroom after hours of fun and carefree pleasure with his family, he¡¯d forgotten all about dragons and dreams and strange happenings. Only when he sat down on his bed to rest for a moment and turned to his bedside table did he remember the broken link, but it was gone. He searched all over, on the floor, on his bed, but there wasn¡¯t a trace of it, as if it had never been there at all. Hearing his mother calling everyone for dinner, he gave up the search, got to his feet, then headed for the door.


    As he stood in the doorway to leave, he took one final look back at his little bed. Could it have all been just a dream?¡­ He paused. No, I don¡¯t think it was¡­  and with that, he closed the door behind him.