《Qinrock》


 The Sorcerer in the Tower

    The Four Rules of Qinrock


    1. Once a story is started it must be finished


    2. There can be no written plans for the story except for the story itself


    3. A story cannot be edited or changed significantly while it is being written


    4. Anything goes in Qinrock


    <hr>


    A sorcerer is locked high in a tower. He is chained to his chair at a table and is unable to move very far in his bonds. The room he is in is old and dark, rats creep throughout the deeper parts of it. The sorcerer does not mind, he is a sorcerer, and he is not troubled by these mortal concerns.


    Every morning a maid of the tower, Alla, comes to his little room bearing a loaf of warm bread. She talks to him in her homely voice of homely things and he repays her by listening and watching her with his golden eyes. She tells him of the chickens in the yard and the eggs she has got from them. She tells him of the rooms of the tower and what she has found as she swept every one. She tells him of young Tillo, the other maid who makes the warm bread. She tells him of Tymos, the old and weary warden of the tower who keeps the sorcerer locked up. He listens to her and watches her with his golden eyes. He cuts the bread as best he can in his bonds with the bone-handled knife that she always brings. While he is listening he asks questions, questions about the tower and about Alla and her life in it. Soft questions, gentle questions, questions that mean nothing to him but everything to her. He is someone to talk to, a handsome kindly man she must care for in this tower.


    Then she has to leave and she takes the knife with her, leaving just the bread. The sorcerer does not eat the bread, he is a sorcerer and does not need food or drink. Instead he leaves it there and waits for the rats to emerge. They eat the bread, they grow fat on it, and the sorcerer does not stop them. He waits calmly in his chair while they nibble and chew before his eyes. But he does not just watch them.


    He tells them great tales, his grand adventures in the outside world. He tells them of monsters and magic and of great heroes and champions of light he has cast down before him. He tells them of the enormity of the world beyond their tower and of his triumphant conquests in it. They are but rats and do not think as men think, but they understand. He is a sorcerer, he makes them understand. They look up to him. They fear him. They worship him. He is the king of their tower. Their lord who gives them bread and life. Who cares for them and speaks to them when all the others shun and loathe them. They listen to his stories all day long.


    The sorcerer¡¯s name is Qaerus. The Tower¡¯s name is Ulbalan. He is chained there because long ago the warden and his allies were unable to kill him with mortal weapons wielded by mortal men. This is the story of his escape.


    One night there is a storm, a terrible storm that shakes the tower in the night. Alla and Tillo are roused from their beds and huddle together in fear. The sorcerer does not sleep so he is not woken, he knew the storm was coming though, and he prepared. In the evening before the storm he spoke to his rats and they listened. They climbed up to the windowsill, this was difficult for them as the wall beneath was solid stone with no handholds even for their small claws. They instead had to clamber over one another, each one holding onto the wall as best he could while the next one climbed up over him. Eventually the rats, weary and sore, reached the windowsill and struggled to open the window. This was more difficult as the latch was made for human hands. Once more they had to clamber over one another to reach it and struggling atop their perilous perch the topmost rats heaved and shoved at the latch, threatening to topple them all with their struggles. Then the latch came free and the window swung open in the early winds of the storm. The rat that had been leaning hard against it fell into the night below. The other rats did not see as they were scrambling down and away from the battering window as fast as possible but later they knew that one of their number was gone. But they did not blame the sorcerer, for he was their lord, their ruler. It had been the rat¡¯s own fault, he had leant on the latch too hard. He must have deserved all that came to him or the sorcerer would not have allowed it to happen. They returned to their holes and hid from the howling storm.


    Down in the maid¡¯s quarters, clinging to the skinny and terrified Tillo, Alla heard a window banging in the wind. She looked up into the cold dark room and tried to tell where it was. It was from the room of the sorcerer. The kindly man who would be freezing with his window open like this. She told Tillo of this and went to leave but Tillo clung to her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go Alla,¡± Tillo said. ¡°He is a bad man, an evil man, a man of foul magic and sorcery. Stay here with me and leave him to freeze.¡±


    Alla looked down at Tillo¡¯s freckled face and bushy hair as her frail arms wrapped around her. ¡°Oh he¡¯s not as bad as all that. You haven¡¯t met him. He¡¯s quite kindly.¡± With that she unwrapped Tillo¡¯s thin arms from around her with her own much stronger ones and walked through the cold tower in her nightgown, leaving Tillo sobbing in her bed. The girl would be alright, she¡¯d be right back after she closed the window.


    The sorcerer was looking out unto the storm through the open window. He strained in his bonds. The storm raged around the tower but it was protected by old magic and the tower would stand strong. Not so the window, however, it flew and buffeted just past the invisible barrier that kept the storm at bay. And that was all the sorcerer required.


    A terrible boom of thunder shook the tower as Alla was hurrying up the stairs clutching a candle she¡¯d found. She jumped in fright and almost lost the candle and her footing, but she recovered herself, muttered something about getting old and flighty, and kept climbing. She soon reached the sorcerer¡¯s room and unlocked the door. There he sat in his chains with the loaf of bread reduced to crumbs as it always was, with the window banging about in the wind behind him. She realised that the window was damaged, it had been hit by lightning and blasted in two. The fragment that was swinging in the wind was all that was left.


    ¡°Alla,¡± the sorcerer said to her with trembling lips. ¡°Thank goodness you¡¯re here. This wind chills me to the bone.¡±


    ¡°The window is shattered,¡± she replied, walking to the table and setting the candle down. ¡°I can¡¯t close it.¡±


    ¡°Take me out of this room, please. I cannot stand the cold.¡±


    Alla looked uncertain. The sorcerer was a prisoner here, he was supposed to be in those chains. But he looked at her with those kindly golden eyes, those eyes that had listened to her for so long when no one else would. Those eyes that now sat in a face pale from cold and fear. She relented and undid his chains. She had been given keys to the room and to all of his bonds back when they¡¯d thought he would need to be treated as a human and released occasionally. They had soon learned he never had to be released and had stopped releasing him. Of course, when they used to release him the warden had been there and had kept a close watch on him the entire time. The warden was not here now.


    The sorcerer pulled himself to his feet, leaning on Alla and shivering. It was cold in the room, she could feel it through her thin nightgown and she would be happy to return to her bedchambers. But she couldn¡¯t leave the sorcerer here in this cold wind. Together they climbed back down the stairs, Alla using one hand to support the sorcerer and the other to hold the candle out in front of them. There were no more blasts of thunder and they returned to her bedchambers soon enough. She realised as they walked that Tillo would not be happy. Hopefully she would be able to sleep, they would put the sorcerer back in the morning.


    When they opened the door into the bedchambers Tillo saw them and she screamed. Alla rushed to comfort her, forgetting the sorcerer and heard the door slam shut behind her. She turned and saw that the sorcerer was not in the room with them, he had closed the door. Tillo was wailing and sobbing now and the storm still howled in the distance.


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    ¡°Tillo,¡± Alla said harshly. ¡°Calm down,¡± I have the all the keys to this tower,¡± she brandished them, ¡°so we are not locked in here. And the sorcerer cannot leave this tower even if he had the keys. Is that not what the warden always said?¡±


    Tillo stopped wailing and sniffed instead. ¡°Can you lock the door so he can¡¯t get us?¡±


    Alla didn¡¯t want to lock the door, she wanted to search for the sorcerer and make sure he was alright. But Tillo looked very upset so she agreed. She locked the door and sat next to Tillo, wrapping her up in her warm arms. They sat there and listened to the storm. Then came the rats.


    The sorcerer walked up the tower to the solar at the top where lived Tymos, the warden. He knocked on the door and when no one responded he opened it and walked inside. The warden was an old and frail man, lying sickly in his bed, but when the sorcerer walked in he sat up in shock and desperately tried to push himself away. The sorcerer only smiled, all pretence at being cold and feeble gone.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Tymos asked.


    The sorcerer sat down on a stool and looked at the old man, still smiling. ¡°I want you to let me out of this tower.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the warden snapped. ¡°I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who can do that,¡± the sorcerer replied with a smooth voice.


    ¡°You will never leave this tower, I will never lift the wards that keep you here.¡±


    ¡°You will lift the wards that keep me here or I will rape and kill Tillo your maid and let the rats feast on her corpse.¡±


    ¡°Do it,¡± the warden answered. ¡°You will not leave this tower.¡±


    The sorcerer stood up and walked from the room, grabbing the warden¡¯s keys on his way out. The warden sat in his warm bed, shivering.


    Alla and Tillo tried to hold off the rats. There were so many of them, they had not realised just how many had been hiding in their tower. They kept coming in swarms and droves and all they had to drive them off were their arms and legs. The rats would leap at them with their warm heavy bodies and scratch and bite through their nightgowns. They would kick and lash at them and sometimes manage to grab one and fling it away, only for it to come right back. Tillo wasn¡¯t faring very well. She was small and skinny and the rats were biting her and making her bleed. She would whimper and yelp but she had no energy with which to scream. Alla was doing better, she could fling the rats far and sometimes stomp on one hard enough to break the thin bones in its back. Then the sorcerer walked in and Alla looked up in relief.


    ¡°You came back,¡± she said. ¡°Help us.¡±


    The sorcerer only curled some keys through his fingers. They were the warden¡¯s keys. He made no move to help and she felt her heart sink. Then he laughed, a cold and cruel laugh, as merciless and harsh as the raging storm. The rats surged on, seemingly renewed in ferocity by his merriment and Alla struggled against the tide. Tillo was doing less well and was almost buried under a tide of rats. The sorcerer strode forward as she fought her way out, her frail arms clawing at the rats like a cat. She twisted her way free and staggered back from the swarm only to fall right into his arms. She looked up in terror as he grabbed her wrist in an iron grip and stared down at her with the cruel golden eyes she had feared for so long. When he was done with her he slit her throat with the bone-handled knife, something he had picked up from the kitchen on his way back down. The only weapon in the tower. Then he left her and Alla to the rats and returned to the warden¡¯s chambers.


    The warden was still shivering in his bed. He had heard the screams and he knew what it was they meant. The sorcerer returned, once more with a cruel mocking smile and sat down on the stool again. ¡°Your maidservant is dead. Your next one will soon follow, release me from this tower now!¡±


    ¡°If I release you you will bring the terror and pain you visit on us down on the world. I cannot release you.¡±


    ¡°Then I will rape and kill your second maidservant. When she is dead I will use the darkest sorcery to animate her corpse and fill it with rats. I may be unable to leave this tower but she will leave it for me, and visit a plague of deadly rats upon the world.¡±


    The warden stared at him with big fearful eyes. He did not respond. The sorcerer stood and walked from the room once more.


    Alla was weeping and was losing the will to struggle against the rats. Many of them had gone though, gone to feast on sweet Tillo. This was all her fault, she had thought the sorcerer had been such a kindly man. How wrong she had been. How wrong. The sorcerer returned and she stared up at him weakly as he walked over to her. She was bleeding and tired and rats still crawled on her. She had killed many of them but there were still so many more. As the sorcerer walked past Tillo all his rats came with him and surged at her again. He watched as all her energy was expended driving them off. She tried running, she tried hiding. She went to all the rooms of the tower and even out into the storm. But the road was flooded and out there in the mud the rats finally overcame her. She slumped to her knees, the rain pounding around her, and then fell to the ground. They carried her inside, hundreds of warm wet bodies wriggling beneath her. The sorcerer did to her what he¡¯d done to Tillo. Then he wove a foul spell into her body, using his own blood and seed in the process. He had to cut himself with the knife to get the blood, leaving a thin bloody scar across his wrist. When he was done the rats poured into her. Devouring her from the inside out, feasting on the flesh, tainted by magic and sorcery. He then walked back up the stairs, back to the room where the warden was still trembling on his bed. And he bought his monstrosity with him. She loomed behind him as he sat on his stool and faced his jailer for the last time. The rats squirming and writhing beneath her skin. The warden looked repulsed but he still didn¡¯t move from the thick blankets that had held him for so long. The sorcerer leaned forward, in one hand he toyed with the warden¡¯s own keys, able to unlock any door in the tower but still unable to free him. In the other he held the bone-handled knife, bloody from its recent activity. He smiled cruelly at the warden and spoke.


    ¡°Now is your final chance, release me or I will release a monster of my own.¡±


    The warden trembled but his old eyes never left the sorcerer¡¯s. ¡°You will never leave this tower, monster. It will be your home for all eternity until the reaper finally claims your twisted soul.¡±


    The sorcerer¡¯s cruel stare turned to fury and he stood up, pointing the knife at the warden. ¡°I will leave this place one way or another if I have to tear it down with my hands.¡±


    ¡°I will die before I let you leave and with me dead no one will be able to help you for there will be no one left in this tower but you and your rats.¡±


    The sorcerer moved forward, the bone-handled knife which he had so often used to cut bread moving dangerously close to the warden. The warden didn¡¯t look at it, only staring up into his golden eyes with his own hard grey ones. Then the warden spoke again. ¡°You will die alone in this tower, all your power, all your foul magic, will come to nothing, and you will be forgotten, bested by me, a mortal.¡±


    The sorcerer screamed in rage and anger and drove the bone-handled knife into the throat of the warden. Then he did it again and again until he and the bed were covered in blood. Then he stood up straight, panting with exhaustion and looked at the ruined body of the warden. He would find a way out, there had to be one. With all his magic and all his might, he must be able to break the wards put in place by this feeble mortal. Then he felt his heartbeat. Stabbing like that must have been more physically exerting than he¡¯d thought. Then he felt it again, in his head, louder. That was strange, didn¡¯t heartbeats get quieter? Then again and this time it was so loud he dropped to his knees. Then again and his head filled with agony. He clutched at the sheets with his left hand, the one without the knife and felt the cut in that hand as his muscles tensed. Another heartbeat. He looked at the cut, the cut he¡¯d made to give his own blood to his monstrosity. Another heartbeat. The cut he¡¯d made with his own hand with a knife he¡¯d used every day to cut bread as he listened to Alla. Another heartbeat. A knife saturated with his own sweat and flesh, a knife almost as infused with sorcery as he was. Another heartbeat. And he¡¯d cut himself with it. He collapsed to the floor staring at the ceiling. Another heartbeat. He hadn¡¯t noticed it before as he¡¯d been calmly walking around the tower but the frenzied stabbing had set his blood pumping and had sped up the magic as it flowed through his veins. Another heartbeat. A magic weapon, wielded by a magic creature. The only thing that could kill a sorcerer.


    Qaerus died in that tower, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the storm.


    Alla and Tillo had never been real, they were illusions made by Tymos. When he died they disappeared and the rats within Alla fell to the floor, freed of their sorcerous master they dispersed. Tymos had grown old guarding the sorcerer for much of his life, but eventually he hatched a plan to kill Qaerus and set about ridding the tower of every other weapon except the bone handled knife, knowing that if the sorcerer ever needed his own blood for a foul spell he would have no other option. Thus, Qaerus was one of the few sorcerers to ever be slain by a mortal, and not a mortal wielding some mighty blade of the gods or allied with powerful creatures from the heavens. But by an old man with a bone-handled knife.

 The King on the Hill

    A king sits on a tall hill surveying his vast domain and all his subjects. The grassy land that stretches out before him is all his and all its people belong to him. The king¡¯s crown is made of twisted branches and his throne is an old stump. He has sat there for many years and he will sit there for many more. Ruling everything he sees before him.


    The king¡¯s wisdom is famed throughout the land and his subjects often come seeking it. He answers their questions in cryptic riddles with no clear interpretation. Often the subjects will follow what they believe he meant and will find good fortune and success as a result. Others will interpret something in their own way and be led only to ruin and misery. Still others ignore the king¡¯s advice entirely, passing it up as the ravings of an old man. These subjects, the king knows, have the worst fate of all.


    One day the sun is shining and the king is sitting on his old stump basking in its glory. One of his subjects, a huge monkey dressed all in motley lumbers up to him. This monkey is one of his most loyal subjects and is constantly seeking his advice whether it leads him to good or ill. His name is Baskarar and he is a huge gorilla from out of the south, lured to these lands on tales of the king¡¯s wisdom and power. He is a mighty and fearsome warrior who uses a large bronze greatsword and has no armour beyond his thick black fur. He is not normally dressed in motley though.


    ¡°Oh wise and just king of the hill,¡± Baskarar says. ¡°I wish to catch the fool who dressed me up in this way but he evades me. How do you suggest I go about it?¡±


    ¡°A fool?¡± the king croaks back. He knew of this fool, he was the only fool permitted in these lands as he was far too cunning to be worth the effort of catching. The fool¡¯s name was Ruumden and he was often heard running and cackling through the merry brooks and glades of the kingdom. His bells jangling on his colourful hat. The fool has been a menace to the king and all his people and he will be glad to be rid of him. The king gives the monkey his answer. ¡°A fool who hides be not a fool, a fool who runs away be a greater fool, but the greatest fool is the fool who runs toward.¡±


    The monkey scratches his head in confusion. This does not make very much sense to him. Nevertheless he clambers down the hill off to catch this fool who would mock him so. He ponders the first part of the riddle. A fool who hides be not a fool. Well in hiding a fool would be very difficult to catch but Ruumden does not hide, his merry hat is too colourful for that. What of the second part? A fool who runs away be a greater fool. Ruumden runs away often. He runs from anyone that is sent to pursue him. He is so good at running in fact that the monkey would never be able to catch him. But the last part. The greatest fool is the fool who runs toward. If he could get Ruumden to run toward him he would have no trouble catching him, for Ruumden was fast but he would have to stop and turn around and the monkey was fast as well. He just had to make the fool run toward him. Then he could catch him and rip him arm from arm. He went back to his cave and plotted a way to make this happen.


    The king watched from his hill as the monkey returned to his cave. He also caught a flash of colourful motley as the fool dashed around the kingdom. Bringing madness and insanity to his peaceful lands. This fool would have to be stopped, his madness would finally meet its end and they would return, once more, to peace.


    An old woman came to him with a broth. She often did that this time of day. He wasn¡¯t sure who she was or where she came from and she was far less interesting than his other subjects. Nonetheless, as king, he was duty bound to accept such offerings from people such as her and took the broth and ate it. She would prattle on to him in her silly way and he would answer politely, as all good kings do.


    ¡°So what¡¯s happening in the world today Gernie?¡± she asked. She called him Gernie, he couldn¡¯t fathom why.


    ¡°Ruumden has gone too far this time. He has brought his little games to the attention of Baskarar who will now hunt him across the land until the fool is too weary to joke and laugh, and then he will hunt him some more until he is too weary to run and walk. Then he will take his revenge and Ruumden will be no more and all shall return to peace.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s very interesting. I thought Ruumden was a nice little jester?¡±


    ¡°He was once, yes, back when he served in the sylvan court and they kept him on a leash. But then during the Sylvan Wars of the Fading Moon he escaped and has menaced the land ever since.¡±


    ¡°So what did he do to Baskarar? Play a little joke on him?¡±


    ¡°No joke is little to Baskarar, to him all merriment at his expense is an insult to be repaid in blood.¡±


    ¡°Baskarar doesn¡¯t sound very nice, maybe Ruumden will help make him more lighthearted.¡±


    ¡°Baskarar is a noble warrior from the jungles to the south, he needs no light heart.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure there are any noble warriors in the jungles to the south,¡± the old woman muttered. ¡°Anywho, thank you for talking to me Gernie, I hope you finish your broth this time.¡± She stood up and took the old broth bowl from yesterday, his servants had failed to clean it up, they always seemed to miss that bowl, he¡¯d have to reprimand them about that. The old woman waved goodbye and tottered off down the hill leaving him to resume being a proper king and not be distracted by the petty lives of old women. The king didn¡¯t particularly like the old woman, she was not as respectful to him and his wisdom as his other subjects. And she had a strange way of provoking his tongue, luring it out of the riddles and witticisms he so confused his other subjects with. Yes that woman was trouble, maybe even more trouble than Ruumden, it would only be a matter of time before she became as out of control as the fool. He would have to do something about her then. Perhaps he¡¯d send Baskarar after her. He would have no trouble catching an old woman, she was not half as fast as the fool he hunted now. The king sipped the warm broth and turned his attention back to his domain to watch the monkey chase the fool.


    Baskarar was laying a trap. He looked down from watching the old woman talk to the king and returned to it. It was well known that the fool loved honey, so much that he would oft slip into houses while people were sleeping and eat all of theirs. Tales were often told of how he would speak to the bees and leave them laughing so much they were dizzy while he stole their beehive out from under them. Baskarar knew of this weakness and he was going to exploit it. He gathered all the honey he could and then found a clearing to stage his trap. He began to dig a hole in the middle of the clearing, a hole big enough for the fool to fall into. He was strong and powerful but the ground was hard and only got harder as he dug. The honey lay beside the hole next to him and he hoped the fool would not arrive and eat it all before the trap was laid.


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    But the hole was taking much too long to dig. It had been hours and he was only up to his chest with his strong and powerful muscles aching with the effort. Sweat dripped down his body, the motley clothes he¡¯d been dressed in too tight and hot for this work. He took a short break, leaning on his shovel and breathing heavily.


    There was a disturbance in the bushes around the clearing. He looked up at it intently. Perhaps it was the fool, he thought and looked at the honey. Then thought better of it, if it was there would have been more jangling. No matter, he was Baskarar, the mighty warrior of the south, whatever it was he would face it. He picked up his sword and was about to leap out of the hole when they emerged. They were giants, enormous creatures with their faces and bodies hidden by dark armour. They had huge weapons at their sides, swords as tall as he was and bows even taller. There were five of them and they marched to the edge of the hole looking down at him, their enormity magnified by him being in the hole beneath them. He looked up at them and felt fear, they were bigger than he, stronger than he, and there were more of them than he. Baskarar, the mighty warrior of the south, was scared.


    One of them said something in another language that sounded harsh and evil. Another one responded with something else and they laughed. Baskarar tried to shrink back as they surrounded his hole but he was in plain sight. One of them looked at the pile of honeycomb and honey still dripping on the grass and kicked it. It splashed all over Baskarar, dripping through his costume and his fur. He crouched down dropping his sword and held his hands over his head as they laughed some more. He felt some more honeycomb bounce off his back and could feel it seeping into all of his hair. Their laughter died out and he heard them moving off, he sat up in his hole, now covered in honey and watched them leave. The fool hadn¡¯t come. It seemed honey could attract much more dangerous things.


    The king watched down from his hill with horror. These interlopers, giants, the like of which he¡¯d never seen before, had just marched into his land and laid low the mighty Baskarar. He watched them saunter across his kingdom, such arrogance, such hateful pride. He vowed revenge and summoned his court. As he did though the old woman came tottering up again. Why her? He didn¡¯t have time for her now. It wasn¡¯t even the time she gave him broth at. Yet she was here all the same.


    ¡°Gernie,¡± she said, using that hateful name. ¡°We should go. And how did you get covered in honey?¡±


    ¡°Quiet,¡± he replied. ¡°There are interlopers that must be dealt with. I have assembled my court to discuss strategy. We shall-¡±


    ¡°Gernie we have to leave,¡± the old woman pleaded, looking sad now, tears forming on the crinkles of her eyes. ¡°You can¡¯t stay here, not now.¡±


    He was just about to formulate a reply, something full of wisdom and intellect, when who should emerge but Ruumden himself. The fool that had so long troubled the king and his peaceful kingdom. He really didn¡¯t have time for these people when he had bigger problems to deal with.


    ¡°Ruumden,¡¯ he bellowed at the fool who jerked to a halt and looked startled. ¡°You have caused one too many problems already, do not come here now and test my patience.¡±


    Ruumden just stared up at him with wide eyes. He was scared, the king could tell, but not scared enough. He opened his mouth to bellow again when the old woman spoke first. Her voice trembling with worry and fear now.


    ¡°Ruumden wants to know how to make a king leave his kingdom. That is all he wants to know and then he will trouble you no more. Surely such a wise king must share his wisdom with his subjects, even his most hated ones.¡±


    The king stared at the old woman, then back at Ruumden who was now twisted awkwardly and licking himself. ¡°Very well,¡± he replied. ¡°The privilege of abandonment is granted to lesser men, lesser a king is not.¡±


    ¡°Can he become lesser? Ruumden wants to know.¡±


    ¡°Curses Ruumden, your incessant questions show yourself as the plight upon this kingdom that you are. All greater things can become lesser and all lesser things can become greater, this does not mean-¡±


    The old woman grabbed his arm and pulled but he was too strong. She was really crying now, desperately trying to drag him from his throne. He batted her aside and she stumbled to the grass in a sobbing heap.


    ¡°Leave me old woman, you dare assault one such as myself.¡±


    Then he heard footsteps, heavy footsteps, heavier than Baskarar, far heavier. He stood from his throne and looked across his kingdom. Then from the bushes Ruumden had emerged from came the interlopers. He had always told his servants to remove those bushes but they never had. He would have to reprimand them for that some day. The interlopers were even bigger than he¡¯d thought. Huge towering giants with armour and capes, knights, or at least some magic mockery of them. The old woman stood up and screamed. She rushed forward toward them, pleading and begging at them. One of them grabbed Ruumden who twisted and writhed in his grip. They just laughed, they laughed their cruel mocking laugh they¡¯d used on Baskarar. They knocked the old woman aside as he¡¯d done and the one that held Ruumden grabbed her in his other hand. He held his helmeted face close to hers and whispered something that made her scream and flail all the more. The king stood by his throne and watched them laugh at and abuse his subjects. They were not his favourite subjects but they were still his subjects and a king is duty bound to protect all his subjects. He charged forward and screamed and the giant who held the old woman and the fool looked up in surprise. He tried to move but the old woman jerked back and pulled him slightly off balance. The king crashed into him and he fell. Not onto the grass though, onto the air. The king fell from his hill, and with him he brought the leader of the giants. Together they crashed to the ground and together they died.


    The other villagers would long tell stories about the marauding band from the south that had walked into their village. Of the brutalities and violence they had committed on other villages as they approached. And of the boy Gernie, who, while big for his age, had never been quite right in the head. Who had always been shunned by his peers and the village as a whole. Who had been covered in honey by the band while he was digging for worms in the garden and hooting like a monkey. And who had knocked their leader off the hill he so often visited, breaking both their necks. The others had taken the tavern as their headquarters and drank as they argued about what to do without their leader. The argument turned into a battle and in their drunken stupor only one survived, escaping from the village and leaving it in peace. Gernie was buried next to the stump on the hill he¡¯d loved so much and a new tree was planted over him. The old woman survived and was unharmed if upset. Gernie¡¯s parents had died when he was young and she had looked after him ever since. Her cat survived too and liked to sleep on the hill under Gernie¡¯s tree. It was a very foolish cat, what had it been thinking, dressing a gorilla up in motley?

 The Princess in her Castle

    A princess lies in her bed, sickly and pale. Her thick red curtains are drawn and the room is in a crimson darkness. The room is hot, too hot for most people, but for her it is cold. It is always cold for her. She lies in her bed shivering all through the night and day. Her disease wracking her body with pain and cold. She has always been like this, stricken with one disease or another, trapped beneath her warm blankets. She has rarely felt the sun on her face, rarely played with or even met with children her own age. She is older than she looks, her maturity warped by her infections.


    She has a father, the king, an old and doddering fool who struggles to keep their small kingdom together. Her mother is not much better, she is younger, but seemingly just as unstable, prone to long periods of silence and confinement. The princess has two brothers, both younger than her. One, Thambor, is in his fourth year and spends much of his time playing with his soldiers. The other, Benyard, is a squire and dreams of one day becoming a famous and dashing knight. Her family rarely see her.


    She has a guard who sees her often, Ursul. He is a towering warrior of few words who hails from the east. He is not a knight and therefore does not hold a position in the kingdom¡¯s small army, instead being relegated to guarding the king¡¯s sickly daughter. He does not mind though, the princess reads a lot, trapped in her room, and can talk to him for hours of the things she has learned. Her other visitor is an old woman who has always lived in the castle and helped look after the children. They call her Willow but no one is sure what her name is, or where she came from, she has simply always been there. She will often come into the room of the princess and read to her or tell her stories of the world beyond. Her stories are often dark and sinister, of monsters and magic, but the princess does not mind, she thrives on stories such as this. Willow also makes various poultices that help with her sickness and sometimes allow her to leave her room and see the world outside. This rarely lasts long though and she always returns to her bed sooner or later.


    The princess is called Nathalie and this is her story.


    Ursul walks into her room and tells her of the happenings in the kingdom in his slow and blunt way. ¡°Wyrous is bold,¡± he says in his deep voice. ¡°His people take towns and farms in east. He does not stop them. Wyrous is bold.¡± Wyrous is a powerful duke who has taken control of the various bandits and tribes to the east. He has united them and now has armies big enough to crush their small kingdom. The kingdom is worried.


    ¡°What does the my father say?¡± Nathalie asks.


    ¡°King is not concerned. ¡°Ursul replies. ¡°King says if Wyrous attacks the Rently¡¯s will save us. King is not concerned.¡± The Rently¡¯s are another large kingdom that has good relations with them. They have not heard from them for a while.


    ¡°Thank you Ursul,¡± Nathalie replies. ¡°Now I am tired, I will sleep.¡±


    Ursul nods and walks from the stifling room leaving Nathalie to lie and ponder. She is weak and frail but she is wise unlike the rest of her family and she worries what they will do without her to help them. Their kingdom is old, very old and steeped in tradition. The old traditions may have worked well for them in the past but now they¡¯re kingdom is declining and the traditions are not helping to keep it alive. Many of them naively believe that Wyrous will not attack them, that he is some barbarian bandit lord and wouldn¡¯t dare assault such an old and respected house as theirs. These people are the same ones being forced from their homes, or raped and killed in the east. She wishes, not for the first time, that she was strong and able enough to do something. To leave her bed and speak to her family, to tell them what they have to do and to make them listen. But her sickness has been bad lately and it is only Willow¡¯s poultices that allow her to remain conscious and not slip into one of her too constant feverish nightmares. She knows her family will not listen to her, she just hopes they will listen to the cries of their subjects fleeing their homes.


    Next to visit her is Benyard, her oldest brother but still several years younger than her. He does not visit her very often and she knows he does not like to see someone so weak and feeble as her. She understands this and it makes her sad.


    ¡°Nathalie,¡± he says as he enters the room. ¡°I am entering in the squire¡¯s melee. Sir Altham has finally let me compete. Will you be well enough to watch?¡±


    Nathalie shakes her head sadly, she knows she will not be well enough to watch before then. ¡°I¡¯m sorry brother, I wish I could watch and I hope you do well.¡±


    Benyard nods sadly, he suspected as much.


    Then Nathalie continues. ¡°Brother you must talk to father, we can¡¯t let Wyrous keep attacking us like this. We must talk to him, come to an agreement, a peace.¡±


    Benyard shakes his head. ¡°Sister the eastern tribes have been attacking our borders for years, they have never posed a threat to us before. Wyrous rules over hordes of disorganised bandits, were he to actually make open war our knights would drive him away, and we mustn''t forget the Rently¡¯s, they have helped us in the past. You are locked up in this room and I understand how frustrating it must be for you to try and follow the happenings of the world. Leave it to us, we will take care of the kingdom.¡± With that he stands up and leaves before she can say anything else. He is right about some things of course but not others. Ursul is from an eastern tribe and he knows much more about them than anyone else but no one will listen to a barbarian such as him. Willow seems to know far too many things but she is also dismissed by the king and his lords as being an old lady who cares for the children. The eastern tribes were once disparate bandits and barbarians but under Wyrous they have become a force to be reckoned with. Against knights, bound by chivalry and tradition, their superior numbers would overwhelm their small kingdom and all of its history and traditions would be gone. Nathalie does not sleep and thinks long and hard into the night.


    The next morning Thambor chokes on his breakfast. He desperately struggles to breathe and claws at the air as various maids rush to his aid. His mother looks on blankly, sent into a state of shock by her son¡¯s distress. The maids cluster around him and yell frantically at each other. They do not know what to do and before they can do anything the prince is dead. The tragedy is felt across the kingdom. A funeral is held on the river that runs alongside the castle. His body is laid to rest on a raft covered with white flowers and he is sent westward, towards the great lake. Nathalie is too sick to attend and instead weeps to herself in her room. She did not know her younger brother well but she knew him well enough. She forces herself to the window and peeps through the curtain to watch his body drift along the river.


    Willow comes to talk to her after this happens and they speak of things unrelated to her brother. ¡°How old are you Willow?¡± Nathalie asks. ¡°No one seems to remember a time when you weren¡¯t around.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s a big question little princess and it needs a big answer. The old tree in the courtyard, the one all the children play on with all the knots and twisted branches. I was old when it was planted. The crown the king wears, not the fancy one, the other one, the real one. I was old when it was made. The eastern wing of the castle, with all its old dusty rooms and ancient spiderwebs. I was old when it was built. The old woman who totters about the castle telling strange stories to the children. I was but a young girl when she was born.¡±


    Nathalie smiled. Willow was good at getting her to do that. ¡°And how is it that you¡¯ve managed to live so long?¡±


    ¡°Well I just keep tottering about the castle and telling strange stories to the children. I just seem to keep on staying alive, it¡¯s quite convenient.¡±


    ¡°And all the poultices you give me, do you take one yourself to help with staying alive?¡±


    ¡°I have a great many poultices princess, many of them are quite useful for staying alive.¡±


    ¡°Would you have one that could fix me? At least long enough to watch Benyard at the melee?¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s a right big question isn¡¯t it princess. See these poultices don¡¯t work like that, I can fight the disease that¡¯s in you but it¡¯ll fight you as well. You¡¯ll live, I¡¯ll see to that, but after you¡¯ve seen the melee you¡¯ll be a right mess for a long while afterwards. There are other ways to do it you know.¡±


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°He¡¯s my brother, the only one of my family who ever comes to see me.¡± Nathalie replies. ¡°I want to watch.¡±


    ¡°Very well,¡± Willow agrees. ¡°You may think differently later.¡± She leaves to fetch another poultice.


    The day for the melee is sunny and bright with many nobles and peasants crowding around in preparation for the first battle which will just be the squires. Nathalie feels better than she has in a long time and despite still feeling sickly and frail is enjoying walking through the colourful markets and crowds with Ursul behind her. Many of the people do not recognise her but those that do call out in greeting and she smiles and waves back. The loud noises and bright sunlight are not what she is used to and she avoids them as much as is possible, but she never wishes to be back in her prison. She wishes she could spend every day like this.


    She finds her brother in Sir Altham¡¯s tent nervously polishing his armour. When he sees her his face lights up in a smile and he hugs her, carefully. She smiles as well and hugs him back. Then she talks to him about the event. He is so excited she can barely say anything as he lists off all the knights attending. He shows her the tent and the various armour and weapons they have and she smiles and laughs at his excitement and is glad she can be there for him on his big day. Eventually his other squire friends arrive and he leaves with them to go and discuss the melee leaving her and Ursul alone in the tent.


    The melee begins several hours after that and she sits with her parents. Her mother stares blankly at the arena and her father talks to her about meaningless things but she laughs and smiles at him all the same. Their seat is in shade and she is thankful for that as the sun is becoming unbearable for her and she pities the squires who now have to fight in armour. They emerge onto the sandy arena and the horn blows for them to begin. They are all clad in armour and steel and she can not tell any of them apart. They charge at each other hitting one another with their blunted swords but they barely seem to use the swords and instead start wrestling and grappling one another. It is very clumsy and disorientating as the young knights crash all over the arena. Trying as best they can to remain on their feet as swords hammer down on their bodies.


    Nathalie tries to watch but the sun is blinding and she feels her weakness and pain begin to reemerge. Willow warned her of this and she tries to sit through the whole thing but the pain and cold grows to much. She is shivering and shaking and gasping lungfuls of air. The shade is too cold and the sun is too bright and she longs to return to her warm safe prison. She makes herself sit there though, she is looking at the ground, not at the battle but she wants to be there. Wants to see the end. But she can¡¯t. The pain gets worse, worse than it has been for a long time, worse than she can bear. Her parents don¡¯t notice, too occupied with the battle. But Ursul notices and he picks her shaking and trembling form up and takes her back to her room. Her frail and spindly body easy to carry in his strong arms.


    She returns to her bed and waits out the rest of the event growing worse and worse. The event does not last long. Benyard is struck by a freak blow to the neck and does not survive, causing the event to be cut short and mourning to begin. The funeral this time is even worse. The people sympathise with the king and queen, who, having just lost one son, lose another, leaving them with no viable heir apart from their sickly daughter. Nathalie cannot make it to the funeral and is not lucid when it happens. Her sickness overcoming her. Willow and Ursul have to force feed her the poultices that she needs to keep her alive and maids constantly change the sheets and bedding through her hysteria.


    The kingdom is in a deep state of grief when a rider rides to the castle. He is a tall and gaunt man with an unclean beard and a savage and unruly horse the stablehands cannot control. He seeks an audience with the king and bears a letter bearing the seal of Wyrous. The king knows full well that Wyrous is a duke and has no seal. He knows that this man is a barbarian and a marauder. He almost turns the man away, thinking to send him back to his barbarian lord, when Willow, his trusted nanny, convinces him otherwise.


    He reads the letter but makes it clear he does not accept Wyrous¡¯s seal and that he finds it deeply offensive that someone such as him would create one. The man does not care, he simply asks that his letter be read and a response given to him. The king devises a response over the next few days and in that day Nathalie¡¯s terrible hysteria slowly subsides. She is still far too weak to move from her bed and finds talking to anyone difficult, but she does it anyway. Ursul tells her of the man and his request and Willow tells her of the king¡¯s response.


    ¡°He says Wyrous is a terrible man, a cruel barbarian,¡± she says. ¡°The letter asks for peace where he submits to Wyrous, it¡¯s a right big question but he¡¯ll give a right small answer.¡±


    ¡°He should agree,¡± Nathalie says softly. ¡°Or Wyrous will attack.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what the letter says right enough. He won¡¯t agree though, he says the Rently¡¯s will help us.¡±


    ¡°Has he wrote to them?¡±


    ¡°Every day for the past few months. He¡¯s received no replies.¡±


    ¡°Can you make him agree to Wyrous¡¯s terms?¡± Nathalie asks.


    ¡°That¡¯s a right small question that one.¡± Willow replies. ¡°There ain¡¯t no one in this kingdom that can make him agree to those terms.¡± Willow stands up. ¡°Get some rest princess, you¡¯ve had a tough few days.¡± She walks toward the door.


    ¡°Willow,¡± Nathalie says softly and the old woman stops. ¡°Should I have gone to the melee? Was it the right thing to do? There were other ways like you said and if I hadn¡¯t maybe I¡¯d be better enough to try and talk to the king.¡±


    Willow looks back sadly and sighs. Then she leaves the room.


    The king writes his response and gives it to the man with the savage horse and sends him on his way. He starts raving about Wyrous and the horrible things he will do to him, the savage and barbaric nature of his people and the evil and monstrous creature that he is. He begins to marshal his small army. Calling in troops from across the land who gradually begin to leave their homes and walk to his banner. The queen sits in her chambers looking out across the river that has claimed two of her sons, she doesn¡¯t speak to anyone, nor does she listen. Whispers and rumours ripple through the kingdom. Fights and strife break out across it as people begin to fear what the future holds. The few knights in the kingdom mill about at the castle, taking up residence in the dusty east wing and Nathalie listens to their many horses in the courtyard and their loud voices in the feast hall. She hears them joking about how they will defeat Wyrous and his barbarians with or without the Rently¡¯s, how they will fight for the memory of Thambor and Benyard, how they will win honour and glory for themselves and their families. She cries for she knows they will do none of that.


    In the midst of this the man with the savage horse arrives again bearing a second letter. He receives many jeers and slurs from the many knights now living in the castle but he does not mind. He simply seeks another audience with the king and takes a room at the inn. The king agrees, planning to disagree to anything he reads in the letter and send this man back with a message of fear and menace to Wyrous. That night he dreams of menacing words and ominous threats. He does not sleep very much and is very much awake when a tall, gaunt barbarian walks into his room with an axe. He screams but his screams are cut off by the axe. His wife is killed next and then the man makes his escape. The knights who rush through the castle catch no pursuer, only his figure as he escapes them. In the morning the savage horse is gone as is its rider. The king and queen are dead and only one member of the royal family remains.


    Nathalie is crowned in the castle and struggles from her bed to receive the crown. The ceremony is short and sad, few can believe that their fate now rests in the hands of such a young and sickly girl, many of whom have never even seen her. She feebly stands through the ceremony, occasionally requiring assistance from Ursul. Then she sits on the ceremonial throne and is crowned. Then she speaks to the assembled crowd.


    ¡°My people,¡± she says, struggling hard to make her voice loud enough to be heard. ¡°Wyrous rules an army many times our size, with hardened bandits trained with years of marauding and raiding. Our knights may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. Our squires may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. Our peasants may fight and kill a thousand of them, but there will be another thousand. We are a proud people who have lived in these lands for centuries. We have battled through all the storms and wars of the world and have never given up, and have never given in. If we fight now we will lose, you all know this. The Rently¡¯s are not coming, they have abandoned us to our fate. If we fight now we will all die and our kingdom will pass into history. As your queen I will not allow this to happen. I am a sickly and frail queen who most of you wish was not your ruler, but I am. I cannot draw a sword, I cannot lead an army, most times I cannot travel outside. But there is something I can do to protect my people and I am going to do it. I will offer a marriage alliance to Wyrous, he will gain my hand in marriage and the title he has so long craved. This is something he has been working toward his entire life and with this offer I will be able to demand the best treatment for you, my people. We will not be slaughtered, we will not fade into history, we will ally with these people who have so long been our enemies, and in doing so remain who we are. In doing so remain alive. Many of you will disagree with this plan, many will seek to prevent it, do not try, this is the only way to survive as who we are and I will go ahead with it no matter the opposition you put against me. Because I will put the safety of my people before anything else and if you do not understand that you will learn. Thank you.¡±


    They cheer for her. She did not expect that but they do it. Many do not, many despise this idea and despise her as well. But some of them cheer for her and that makes her smile.


    Miles away across hill and river, were no safe road traverses, there sits the castle of the Rently¡¯s and in it are six old women whispering around a cauldron. Hanging from the ceiling are bones, the bones of kings and queens, the blood still on them. The best ingredient for the foulest of magics.

 The Flute of Auriomauch

    There is a girl, naked and trembling, beneath a bed. The cold floor hard against her bare skin and the eerie moonlight peeking in through the thick curtains. Through the room strides a man, also naked but unabashedly walking around. He is why she is trembling, not the cold. He is a short man, rather fat and unfit, not as strong or as fast as her. In his clammy hand he holds a flute, a thin flute made of some feeble dead wood. The girl pushes herself deeper under the bed as the man walks by. He draws closer and closer to the bed, the dark flute in his hand, a stylised bird skull carved on it. The flute, of Auriomach.


    Rho had been named for her great grandmother. Her mother had always told her about her great grandmother, apparently she¡¯d been an artist, a great artist whose paintings were sought across the kingdoms and sold for many times their weight in gold. Where all this gold was now her mother had never specified. They certainly hadn¡¯t ever had any of it. Rho wasn¡¯t the name she used any more of course. That wasn¡¯t a name her clients would like. The name she used now was Selena. She was something of an artist as well. She bought joy and pleasure to people who paid her well for it. Just not the sort of artist her mother had been talking about. It was her mother¡¯s fault of course. She¡¯d never had any money or ability to pursue any other profession, at least none that paid so well.


    She worked at the brothel, Katrina¡¯s. Katrina was now and old and plump woman who could stare down any man she didn¡¯t want in her brothel and who near everyone feared to cross. It helped that she¡¯d probably fucked them sometime when she¡¯d been younger or employed someone who had. With her running the brothel the whores were free to mock and tease the townsfolk with impunity. Selena enjoyed it. She was the most beautiful woman in the town and always got the best customers. Her favourite was Barda, the son of the carpenter whose wealthy father had seen he had a proper education as well as a privileged life. He was tall and attractive with a close cropped beard and powerful muscles. He always requested her by name and she was happy to oblige. The other whores envied her, she knew. They were like her, raised on the streets, or constantly moving from house to house. With a single parent or no parent at all. They had not been born as beautiful as her though, and how they suffered.


    Many men graced the doors of Katrina¡¯s. There was the old woodsman who barely entered the town and seemed more animal than man. There was the strange fisherman who always smelled disgusting and cackled inanely at every girl he saw. Then there was the worst of them. The third son of the fat old mayor. He was short and plump, just like his father, with beady and evil eyes that sent shivers down her spine whenever he looked at her. And look at her he did. Constantly, he would always request her and knead his fat hands as Katrina fetched her. She would reject him, she would reject all of these lesser men, she could afford to. The other girls envied her as they had to sleep with someone or not get paid. So it was in Katrina¡¯s, Selena only slept with the best customers while the other whores were left with her leavings. Her mother had died of disease many years ago and she did not miss her, they had never agreed from what Selena could remember and somehow she doubted her mother approving of her current career.


    Selena awoke to a bright and sunny day. She had not had any man this night and wondered what the day would bring. She left the the brothel and walked through the streets with the sun high in the sky. As a whore she worked at night and rarely roused early. She left the town and walked into the small wood at the edge. It was a quiet wood with easy paths to walk along and many flowers and birds. Many people lived in the wood but she was looking for a certain person. Mother Magda, the old woman who brewed the potion all the whores and many of the village girls drank. It didn¡¯t always work, sometimes one of them would get pregnant, but Magda had a potion for that too. She was very useful that way. She was also often completely insane, but that was forgivable.


    Selena knocked on the door of the old cottage and the old woman let her in.


    ¡°Selena,¡± Magda said staring over her shoulder with a trembling lip. ¡°Come inside, come inside, dark clouds are looming.¡± There were no clouds in the sky.


    Selena followed her inside. The cottage was a mess with all sorts of arcane and esoteric things hanging on the walls and piled up on chests and tables. On one shelf were the ugly green potions. Magda reached up to the shelf and took on with her trembling frail hands. She always looked terrified, her eyes far wider than Selena would¡¯ve thought naturally possible.


    ¡°Be careful Selena,¡± Magda said rushing across the room to peer out through the door. ¡°There are even more clouds now.¡± There weren¡¯t.


    ¡°Thank you Mother,¡± Selena replied, sliding gracefully passed the old woman and through the door. ¡°I¡¯ll watch out for those-¡±


    Magda¡¯s eyes grew even wider and her hand snapped out to grab Selena¡¯s wrist. Selena jumped in surprise and then calmed down.


    ¡°Sorry about that Mother,¡± she said reaching into her pouch and taking out a gold coin. ¡°Will that do? I have-¡±


    ¡°You can survive it, I think. But you won¡¯t, no escape when old Aurio¡¯s on your tail.¡± Then she saw the gold coin and her eyes shrunk a bit to a more natural size. She snatched it. ¡°Thank you Selena.¡± Then she let go of her wrist, closed the door and slipped back inside.


    Selena shrugged and began to walk back to the town. She wasn¡¯t bothered by Magda, she said strange things all the time. The day was bright and sunny, the birds were still singing and this was the day Barda usually came to the brothel. It would be a good day for her, even more so than normal.


    Then she saw a cloud. It wasn¡¯t a black cloud, or even an ominous cloud, just an ordinary fluffy white cloud. There hadn¡¯t been any clouds in the sky when Magda had warned her about them. She watched the cloud. It wasn¡¯t very big and as she watched it it grew smaller until it dispersed and faded away. Did clouds do that? She wasn¡¯t sure.


    She looked around, the sun was still shining, the birds were still singing. In fact they seemed to be singing louder. There was a strange bird singing now, almost like a giggling laugh. She didn¡¯t know much about birds but this one seemed to stand out for some reason. She kept walking back toward the town, clouds and birds were hardly dangerous. There was nothing in this tiny forest that would hurt her. The most dangerous thing was the woodsman and he was terrified of Katrina, same as everybody else.


    She saw a shape in the distance. A rock, or a tree maybe. Then it moved, it moved like a person would move, but it wasn¡¯t a person. Then it dashed into some bushes and disappeared. An animal, some creature that looked strange from this angle and this distance. She walked all the way back to the town, slightly faster than she¡¯d been walking before.


    Barda came to the brothel in the late afternoon while the sun was still shining. He often came early and then went to drink in the tavern at night. He was a skilled minstrel and would entertain the tavern patrons for hours. He asked for her and she walked down the stairs to meet him in her most revealing dress. It wasn¡¯t a very impressive dress, their local tailor wasn¡¯t very skilled and didn¡¯t branch out into the fancy noble gowns she so envied. Barda took her in with his warm eyes and they went up to her room, trading private jibes with each other all the way. They had each other all over her bed and she screamed into the afternoon street. Then he paid her and left, smiling at her as he closed the door. She lay content in her bed and counted the gold, the blankets tousled beneath her.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    She fell asleep with the sun streaming in on her naked body and woke up later when the sun started to set and a cold wind blew in the window. She got up and dressed and closed the window and the curtains, then she went downstairs to mingle with the other girls. When she arrived downstairs she saw the mayor¡¯s son standing there, staring up at her with his beady evil eyes. He held a flute. A black flute made of dead wood.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want-¡± Selena began.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t come to hire you,¡± the mayor¡¯s son said calmly. ¡°I just wanted to play a song for you.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t just-¡±


    Then he began and she stopped. She couldn¡¯t continue, couldn¡¯t speak, couldn¡¯t move, couldn¡¯t breathe. Could only listen. The flute sounded beautiful, but in a bleak and terrible way. Beauty in the way that absolute desolation and misery is beautiful. It isn¡¯t, but through the flute it seemed to be. She could only listen to the notes as they played. And then she heard the laughter, the laughter of that creepy bird and she struggled to move. The flute stopped and she could move. She didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Thank you for listening Selena,¡± the mayor¡¯s son said. Then he turned around and walked away with his dark flute.


    Selena grabbed the stair rail and just stared after the mayor¡¯s son. The other girls in the room glared at her, some whispered to each other. No one had ever played a song for them. For once in her life Selena envied them.


    That night she was a girl again. Living in a rotting house and struggling to keep warm under threadbare sheets as cold wind whistled through the broken window. Her mother downstairs, not talking to her after some fight. Then she stood up and went to the cold window. She looked out and saw only a desolate plain, a grey waste in every direction with cold wind howling across it. She looked into the waste and seemed drawn into it. Away from the safety of home and her mother into the alien wasteland. Empty in every direction except for howling winds and dark clouds. But it wasn¡¯t empty in every direction. In front of her was a shape. A shape that moved like a person, but wasn¡¯t a person.


    She woke up and her bedroom that had been so warm before was cold. She looked at her warm blankets and reached for them only she didn¡¯t. She stood up and walked through the cold to the door. She panicked and rushed back into her bed, away from the door only she didn¡¯t. She unlocked and opened the door then walked out into the hallway and into the street. She struggled against the force moving her body and ran back inside to her room only she didn¡¯t. She walked through the cold dark town, the cold dark town she had always feared walking alone in at night. She tried to scream, tried to run, tried to do anything, only she didn¡¯t.


    She walked into a big house. A house she¡¯d never been to before. She walked up to the door and knocked. She ran away but instead she waited. The door opened and a man so old she could barely believe he was alive greeted her.


    ¡°Selena,¡± he said smiling. ¡°The master is in his room.¡±


    Selena walked past the man and he bowed to her. Around his neck hung the skull of a bird, a tiny skull, a baby bird. She liked baby birds. She grabbed the skull as she walked past and ripped it off the man¡¯s neck only she did. She looked down at the bird skull in her hand, the threads of rope still attached to it. That was strange, why had she been able to do that? She walked through the big house and up some stairs. In the room was a large soft bed and lying on it was a large soft man. The mayor¡¯s son, already naked, with his evil eyes staring at her. On the bedside table was the flute and he stood up and grabbed it as he did so. He walked toward her and she tried to run but instead stayed and watched as he raised the flute to his lips and played another note of beautiful desolation. She tore her clothes off. In a feat of grace and strength, normally reserved only for Barda and her highest paying clients she stripped for this evil eyed monster. His eyes grew more sinister when he smiled with malice as he watched her. Following every movement until she was naked before him. He reached for her and she ran. She ran from the room into the hallway and bolted down it, passed all the doors and into the main room only she did. For some reason her body and mind listened to her and she was able to run, able to flee. She relished it.


    The mayor¡¯s son blinked in shock. That wasn¡¯t supposed to happen. He spun around to grab his clothes and give chase when he saw on the floor, the baby bird¡¯s skull, now shattered into many pieces when Selena had thrown it away as she undressed. How had she gotten that? But of course he knew how she had gotten it, he hadn¡¯t told her not to. There was no time for clothes, who knew how well the flute would even work without the skull. He dashed after her with the dark flute ready.


    She was a girl again. A girl hiding from everyone who wanted to hurt her. She found a bedroom that didn¡¯t look very used and hid under the bed. She trembled in terror and shock, she was trapped, she was trapped in this house with this monster. She heard him moving about the house. She heard him talking with the old man, yelling at him about the bird skull. She couldn¡¯t hear the words very well. The skull was important, somehow, it was linked to the flute, linked to what was happening to her, and she didn¡¯t have it any more. What could she do? Just a little girl, trapped under this bed, at the mercy of the flute.


    The mayor¡¯s son walked into the room and walked around. He was still naked and she watched his feet wander about the room, he looked in the wardrobe, he looked out the window. Then he walked toward her bed. She watched his feet approach and watched as he raised the flute to his mouth. She envied all the other girls. She envied the girl who got the woodsman, the girl who got the fisherman, and she envied the girl who got nobody at all. The girl she¡¯d been before she became a whore. What had that girl done? That girl had fought.


    She pressed off the wall behind her and lunged forward. Her body uncoiling as she leapt at the feet in front of her. She was taller, with more strength and grace than this evil eyed man. All he had was that flute and the flute was just a stick if you didn¡¯t play it. She grabbed his legs and he struggled but she pulled him down and leapt to her feet. She wasn¡¯t a girl any more. She grabbed the flute and tried to pull it from his clammy hand but he held onto it. He stared up at her with those evil eyes, now contorted with hate and fear, and put another hand onto the flute. He looked so ugly and pathetic, lying on the floor, squabbling over a stick like a child. But he wouldn¡¯t let go and she couldn¡¯t pull the flute from his grasp. She heard footsteps and saw the butler approaching. He was old and had so many lines she couldn¡¯t see his face, but he was less frail than he¡¯d looked and he held a sword. A sword! Why did he have a sword? He walked toward her and with both hands on the flute she could only watch.


    Then she heard a crack and stumbled backward with one half of the flute. She crashed to the ground and looked at the dead black wood in her hand. The mayor¡¯s son and his butler both stared at her in horror. Such horror that she wondered if she had somehow changed from her original self into some monster. But they weren¡¯t looking at her. They weren¡¯t really looking at all.


    A shape walked into the room. It walked like a person but it wasn¡¯t a person. It laughed like a bird as it tore them apart.


    ¡°It was her!¡± the mayor¡¯s son screamed. ¡°She broke it, it wasn¡¯t me, it-¡±


    The butler seemed to be praying but it did him no good either. The shape turned from the blood and looked at her. It looked like a person but it wasn¡¯t a person. It looked at the broken piece of flute. Selena offered it to him and smiled weakly. Maybe he would take it back and leave her alone. But there¡¯s no escape when old Aurio¡¯s on your tail.


    Barda left the tavern with the last dregs of its patrons. He¡¯d played there all night and now he needed a place to rest. He could go back to his house with its feeling of home and safety. But Barda cared little for home and safety. He was much more interested in comfort. He went to the big house the mayor¡¯s son lived in. There were so many rooms that they wouldn¡¯t notice him taking one for the night. He walked around the edge of it, weaving through various well trimmed plants and hedges. He found a window and worked his knife under it. His father had given him that knife many years ago and it could cut through anything given time. He opened the window and stepped through. He wandered through the house looking for a bedroom. But he smelled blood, he was well accustomed to blood after singing through many a bar fight. He investigated, working through the rooms until he found the source. There were three of them, all torn to shreds. One was Selena, that was a pity, she¡¯d been good. There was two pieces of flute in the room. A flute made of dead black wood. Made of syncordant wastewood. Barda had always dreamed of making a lute for himself. He took the pieces, why make a regular lute when he could make a magical one. He slept in the next room that night. He slept easily.

 The Wolf in the Forest

    The town of Madaren lies in the depths of a thick forest. The forest is dark and full of strange animals and creatures the further one goes from the town. The people of Madaren are a suspicious lot who hold to many ancient rituals passed down by their ancestors to protect them from the fell beasts of the woods. Things like ancient wind chimes to repel wind spirits, leaving out food to please the earth spirits, and sprinkling salt on their crops to repel demons. No one is left who knows how these rituals work or what to do if a new spirit or demon appears, they only know what their ancestors have left them. And it is not enough.


    A young boy is taken one day, down by the stream where the women fetch water. He is playing on an old dead tree with his friends and they stay out far later than they are supposed to. A dark shape slips from the shadows and catches him in its jaws. The other children flee back to the village wailing and yelling, unsure of what they have just seen. They sob and cry into the soft arms of their mothers and tell their families what they think happened. There are four children and by the end of the night they have seven different stories leaving the townsfolk unsure of just what they are facing. They know one thing though, there is a dark creature out in the forest.


    They send out a hunting party the same night. The biggest and bravest men they can find. The woodcutter, the hunter, the trapper, the musterer, the smith. They each gather what weapons they can find and carrying flickering torches head out into the forest.


    The dark woods press in around them, their torches illuminating nothing more than the ground beneath their feet and flickering shadows obscuring everything else. They trudge on though, unwilling to show fear before any of their companions.


    The smith has never been far in the woods before and finds the looming trees and rustling leaves disconcerting. It is also much colder than in the forge, and much much darker. He has little experience with animals and nature, preferring the steel and fire of his profession. He is the biggest and strongest of them all and carries a grand sword passed down through his family. Yet he is the most frightened.


    The musterer has left most of his dogs behind and takes only Bella, his most loyal one. A great black and white shaggy sheepdog some have mistaken for a bear. She lumbers along next to him, untroubled by the cold forest or the flickering shadows. If there is a creature out there, she will smell it. The musterer has a long dirk and he is the smallest of the men, yet he is hardly afraid at all. For he has roamed these woods by night many a time and now he has four other men with him.


    The hunter and trapper are brothers, each has always strived to outdo the other and they are not going to show fear now. They have caught animals before and know just what to do should they find one. When they reach the river they are the ones who look for tracks and it is the hunter who finds them, aggravating his brother who hoped to find them first. With just the flickering light of their torches they follow the tracks deeper into the woods.


    They are wolf tracks, both of them can recognise that, but it is the biggest wolf they have ever seen. Bigger even than Bella. The sheepdog is nervous, she can smell the wolf and she also knows what it is. She stays close to the musterer who thinks he perhaps should have chosen one of his fiercer dogs. Bella weighs twice as much as him, how does she think he will be able to protect her? He mutters to himself and they continue on through the forest.


    The woodcutter is not afraid. He is just a woodcutter.


    The tracks go deep into the forest and with the amount of blood they find with them they decide the child is dead. Still, with the tracks so fresh now may be their best chance to catch the beast before it harms anyone else so they continue on. The wolf travelled up the stream, higher and higher into the mountains. The forest grows rocky and steep. Moving with torches in one hand and weapons in the other is difficult. The men sheathe their weapons and some of them put out their torches and put them in bags as well. They can always light them again later. The wood grows ever darker as only the musterer and the hunter have torches now. The others scrabble up the hills, clutching onto root and earth, pulling themselves along. In the darkness this is difficult and some of them slip. Sliding down the hills in sprays of dirt. The others have to wait while they traverse the slow dark climb back up.


    The hunter holds his torch close to the ground and in the loose earth following the wolf¡¯s tracks is not difficult. His shadowy figure moves easily ahead of the other four until he stops suddenly. He has reached an end to the tracks, they head into the river and he is not sure where they come out again. Finding them in the dark seems near impossible but he carefully steps over the rushing river and tries anyway. The wolf could have gotten out anywhere and he doesn¡¯t know where to look. His torch is flickering and dying and the shadows obscure everything. He tells the other men this and his brother steps across the river to look for himself. They both look long into the night while the other men slowly follow. The five of them climb slowly up the hill along the river but their search is in vain. They find no tracks.


    But they do see a light.


    It is the trapper that spots it first. Staring at the ground he notices he can see slightly easier and traces this back to a light. A light off in the distance buried among the trees. A house they decide, the light is too still to be a fire. They know of no houses in the forest but they move forward anyway, perhaps the owner of the house knows the whereabouts of the wolf.


    Moving through forest that has not been cleared away by the river is harder but they all manage it. Most of them have done this many times before and can help the smith as he bumbles and stumbles his huge frame through the trees. They do not slide off down the slope and instead arrive at a small old cottage, nestled in the trees, with a light on in the window.


    The musterer walks up to the door with his dog following him and sticking very close to him despite her huge and powerful form. He rolls his eyes at her.


    He knocks and they wait as movement is heard within the cottage. Then a young friendly woman opens the door and smiles at them. She is far from what they had expected and far from the plump and homely women of their home. She is beautiful, even in the flickering light of the torches.


    Then Bella leaps in fright and slips behind the musterers legs. Huddling down for safety despite his small size compared to her. The musterer turns around to wring his hands at her and the woman looks confused.


    ¡°Can I help you?¡± she asks.


    Then the hunter and the trapper move forward. Each carrying one of their few remaining torches from when they were hunting for tracks. The woman¡¯s smile fades as their torches light up her face, and they all see her golden eyes.


    They all know who has golden eyes.


    ¡°She¡¯s a sorceress!¡± The smith cries and he lunges forward with his hammer, shoving the musterer out of the way. But his arm is caught by the woodcutter and he is jerked off balance. The woodcutter says nothing, only leaping forward himself to knock the smith away from the sorceress.


    The hunter and trapper move backward and the woodcutter glares at them, baring his axe. The musterer picks himself up, his huge trembling dog still trying to hide behind him. They all look at the sorceress and her minion looking down at them. Then they all run.


    It is a mad flight back to the village. They scramble and fall down the slope back to the flatter part of the forest. On the way both of their torches go out but they don¡¯t bother to relight them. They only run.


    The smith does not know the way back but he simply follows the sounds of crashing and scrabbling right in front of him. Miraculously none of them get lost. They splash over the river where it is shallow and run past the old dead tree the children were playing in. All four of them stagger back into the town, Bella loping along beside them. The townsfolk see them coming and rush out to meet them. Bringing them warmth and affection, and questions, so many questions.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    This time there is only one story that is told. The men are all experienced and wise and can fill in the gaps fairly easily. After they are done telling it is agreed that the sorceress is responsible. That she is controlling the wolf as she controlled the woodcutter. They decide that something has to be done about her. But for all their ancient rituals and customs, they have no idea what to do.


    Sorcery is a dangerous thing. It is said that no mortal man can kill a sorcerer and there are many who have tried and failed. Some people wish to leave the town, to flee from this horrible creature and her slaves. Others say they should send for help, there must be someone they can find who knows what to do. Still others want to stay and fight. They say the sorceress may well be powerful but they¡¯d like to see her live with a knife stuck through her.


    None of them truly know what a sorcerer is capable of. None of them know what the best way to stop her is. But all of them agree it must be done. She has already killed one child and taken one man under her foul control. Who knows what she will do next.


    The children are not told of this but they listen in and know anyway. Tales begin to spread of just what the sorceress is using their friend¡¯s body for. Just what horrible magic she is doing. They have grown up on tales of sorcery and magic and they have plenty of ideas to use.


    The sun rises but few people have slept that night.


    A new party sets off into the woods. This time numbering twenty men and ten women. Each armed with whatever weapons they can find as well as various wind chimes and other charms. Some bring salt, somewhat to the derision of their peers. Many of the children want to go as well. They have never seen a sorceress. But they are made to stay behind and are watched closely by the old crones who are too weak to fight sorceresses. So they stay and whisper stories about her and the woodsman and the wolf.


    The party leaves at daybreak and marches into the forest. It is dark, even in the light of dawn, the trees still blocking much of the light. But they do not need torches and instead have hands free to carry their weapons. They talk amongst themselves, laughing and singing about the great heroes they are about to become. What other townsfolk have such an opportunity, to slay a sorceress and become as famed as the mightiest of heroes. None of them question why it is only mighty heroes heard about in song that have slain sorcerers.


    As they begin to climb toward the cottage they laugh less and less and their songs fade away. They begin to talk more softly as well and then they stop talking at all. It is all very well to talk of magic things when they are far away but as they grow closer it becomes far more terrifying. Even as the sun rises and the birds begin to sing they fear what they are walking towards. They do not know magic, they know gardening, and thatching, and smithing. They don¡¯t even know war, or anything about what battle is really like. The birds sing happily but the townsfolk do not sing at all.


    Then they reach the cottage.


    Inside the cottage the sorceress looks over a map she has drawn. A map of the forest and the town. She has an inkwell next to her and scratches crosses into the map. Behind her stands her woodcutter guardian. His huge axe strapped to his back. He stares lifelessly ahead while she puzzles over the map.


    She hears movement out in the forest and looks out to see the townsfolk trying to approach her cottage stealthily, carrying weapons and little charms. She should have known this would happen. She stands up from her desk and clicks her fingers to bring the woodcutter with her. She emerges from the cottage and the townsfolk rush toward her. The woodcutter barrels into them but does not draw his axe before they overwhelm him and then they are upon her. Knives and spears plunge into her and she screams as her blood sprays from her body. But that is the villager¡¯s mistake. Physical injury does nothing to a sorceress, but her blood can be deadly.


    In their frenzy they don¡¯t notice the burning and scalding for a second but by then it is too late. They stagger back in agony, colliding with the townsfolk behind them. In the confusion the sorceress gets to her feet, blood dripping from a dozen horrific wounds and then she stares down at them with angry golden eyes.


    A shadow flitters over the sun and wraps around her. Picking her up and taking to the air. It flits through the sky to the woodcutter and casts off the men holding him down. He is taken into the shadow and it vanishes under the trees, leaving the townsfolk injured and confused all around the cottage. Many of them are in agonising pain from her blood and their skin begins to sear and blister as they howl in pain. The others are unsure what to do but try their best to help. Once most of the blood has burned itself away they all limp back to the town. But some of the uninjured ones stay behind and decide to investigate the cottage. They find nothing of interest and are disappointed. There is a map with quill and ink but there are no charms or dolls, no wands or staves, nor any wolves or signs of one. They take everything they can but that is surprisingly little. There is barely even food or water in the cottage.


    Then as they leave they decide to burn it down. The forest is not very dry and the cottage is not too close to many trees. They set it alight and watch it burn before heading back down to the village.


    There they find another child is missing. The old crones tell the story through waves of tears and sobbing. The young children were out playing in the field, far from any trees or the forest at all. But then, the dark shape of the wolf had bolted out from the trees and lunged at them before they could escape. It had slaughtered the miller¡¯s son, a small plump boy, and picked him up in its huge jaws. Then it had calmly walked off while the old crones threw rocks at it and tried to give chase. It seemed the wolf had attacked them right in their moment of weakness while all the rest of the townsfolk were off battling the sorceress. Madaren mourned deeply that day. They had lost another child to this horrible monster and six of their people had been scarred beyond recovery by the blood of the sorceress. The elders tried to heal them but such burns would stay with them for the rest of their lives, and it was feared they might become infected before too long. Some elders even wondered if her blood was still in the wounds, sinking deeper and deeper into the person and turning them into some new magical horror.


    The townsfolk held a melancholic meeting. Their attack on the sorceress had failed, they were sure of that. Some held out hope that she would die from her wounds but the others were doubting it. They figured there was a reason only mighty heroes with magic swords killed sorcerers and seeing her stand up after being stabbed so many times was starting to make them believe that. It took a long time before they decided what to do and it was not a decision they liked. They would barricade the town as best they could. Putting up walls and spikes to stop the wolf. They didn¡¯t have the woodcutter so this would take time. They would also send a messenger to other towns and search for reinforcements, hoping someone would know what to do about their sorceress.


    So they sent their messenger and they started putting up their walls but they all knew walls would do little against the sorceress who could fly. There was little anything could do against the sorceress.


    Night fell and they set a watch around the unfinished walls. They wouldn¡¯t have the wolf capturing any more children unguarded. Many of the guards weren¡¯t too worried about the children though. They had heard about how big the wolf was, they were worried about themselves. They stood there long into the night, next to flickering torches and watchfires they¡¯d set up. They were all relieved to go inside and wake up the next shift after a few hours had passed.


    The night dragged on and guards came and went until eventually the final watch stood, tired and sore, and watched the sun slowly rise over their town. Then a shout of alarm rang out from out by the forest and the townsfolk rushed to see. Was the wolf back? Was it the sorceress riding atop her shadowy creature? But it was neither of them. It was the woodcutter, stumbling out of the woods with his big arms carrying a huge dead wolf. It was scarred and ugly and it looked terrible, even in death. It had a great many wounds but there was a clear axe stroke that split its neck in half, causing its head to swing off the woodcutters arms. He dumped it to the ground and stood there exhausted and covered in blood. He looked confused and far away and the townsfolk stood there confused for a moment as well.


    Then they surged forward and cheered the woodcutter. It seemed clear to them now. The sorceress had died of her wounds after all and the woodcutter had been freed from her control. Then he¡¯d found the wolf, killed it and brought it back to show them. The woodcutter nodded along with all of this, he didn¡¯t really remember much of it. He was just a woodcutter he thought. But he was happy to go to the tavern and have as much ale as he could drink and have all the pretty girls of Madaren tell him how brave he was. He stayed up with the townsfolk and partied long and hard into the night.


    In the forest the sorceress watched and smiled happily. She had saved them all from the wolf after all and now they wouldn¡¯t even worry about her either. They could go on believing that they¡¯d killed her and she could be off to go and help somebody else. The woodsman would be happy and everyone in the town would be safe for a while. It was a pity about the burned townsfolk though, she wished they hadn¡¯t attacked her. That was the problem with sorcerers. They had a bad reputation and so whenever a baby was born with golden eyes someone always tried their best to kill it. It wouldn¡¯t work of course, it never worked. And the baby would grow up by itself, never learning the morals or ethics of its parents. It would only ever learn killing and death for that was what followed it everywhere.


    She hadn¡¯t been like that though, she¡¯d been raised by her parents who hid her golden eyes from the world and she¡¯d learned to only use her magic for good. She tried her best but it was hard. The foul magic of a sorcerer was hard to use for good. She¡¯d mutilated those townsfolk, and she¡¯d raped the woodcutter to birth her great shadow bat, and she¡¯d killed. She¡¯d killed many many people. But she tried, and she would continue to try.


    She walked back into the forest, climbed on her bat, and flew away into the night.

 The Boars Head Knight

    A man sits on a rock looking over a dead battlefield. The battle was yesterday and since then everyone injured has died or are so close as to make little difference. The battlefield is silent save for the screeching of crows. There are no plants anymore, no grass or trees, only dirt and bodies, and weapons. The man has weapons too. He has a sword and a shield and a long spear. On his shield is a painting of a brown boar¡¯s head. That is his symbol, a symbol he chose for himself when he joined Wyrous¡¯ army, hoping to make a name for himself. All of the other soldiers in his company have died in the battle. He can see some of their bodies now, hidden under the screeching crows.


    A crow lands on the rock next to him and looks up at him with its beady eyes. He looks down at it and watches it hop around. It is probably wondering if he is still alive, or if he is just another corpse ready to be feasted on. He shoos the crow away and it squawks as it leaves him. He goes back to watching the battlefield.


    There are voices. Soft voices, kept low, off in the distance. The man on the rock looks for them and sees shapes moving through the battlefield. They are men, other soldiers, each carrying shields and spears just like him. They all carry the same ones though, they all wear the same uniform. Shields of red with the golden flower in the middle. Armour and spears all crafted in the same armouries by the same blacksmiths. They are Caragar men, he wonders if they will take kindly to finding a soldier of Wyrous.


    He watches them as they search the battlefield, turning over bodies and inspecting faces. They don¡¯t look up very much, just down at the carnage and death spilled all over the ground. There are three of them. An old man with long grey hair and hard eyes who looks like he has seen many battles. A young man with hair as golden as the flower on his shield and a skinny body and arms, he looks worried and sick as they investigate corpses. The last man is a tall man with black hair and strong arms, he looks down at the corpses with contempt and loathing.


    It is the tall man who spots the man on the rock first. He points him out to his friends and they whisper together. The man watches them. They finish their whispering and approach, picking their way carefully through the dead. The tall man comes first, followed by the old man, with the young man trailing behind trying desperately to stay as far from any corpses as he can.


    They reach the man on the rock.


    ¡°Morning,¡± the tall man says. Seated on the rock the man is almost at the same height as him. He nods.


    ¡°You one of Wyrous¡¯ men?¡± the tall man asks.


    ¡°I was,¡± the man replies.


    ¡°Seems you lost,¡± the tall man says.


    The man on the rock looks around at all the death and destruction around him. Somewhere a crow screeches.


    ¡°Everyone loses in war,¡± he says. ¡°Save those who enjoy death and violence.¡±


    The tall man nods.


    ¡°Wise words,¡± the old man said, looking up at him. ¡°Are you a knight? What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The man looked down at his shield. With its symbol on it it did look rather like a proper knight¡¯s shield. ¡°There aren¡¯t many knights in Wyrous¡¯ lands. At least none as young as me.¡±


    The old man nodded. ¡°Shame that.¡±


    ¡°My name is Craegan, Craegan of Mullindore.¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it,¡± the old man said.


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t have,¡± Craegan replied. ¡°It¡¯s a small village on a hill. There are no knights there.¡±


    ¡°I suppose not, I suppose not,¡± the old man muttered. ¡°We were working for a knight, Akaron of Carahall. Seems he¡¯s run off now though. We¡¯re trying to find his body, give him a proper burial.


    The man nodded. He¡¯d heard of Akaron.


    ¡°I¡¯m Gara by the way,¡± the old man continued. ¡°This here¡¯s Asaril, Akaron¡¯s brother, and Solin, our charm for good luck,¡± he said pointing to the tall man and the young man respectively.


    Asaril nodded at his introduction. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have family and friends back at your Mullindore but you are still an enemy soldier. I think the only reasonable thing to do is to take you prisoner or kill you.¡±


    Craegan shrugged. ¡°Mullindore was raised when Wyrous invaded. There is nothing left there now save empty houses burnt out long ago.¡± The soldiers went quiet at that, so he continued. ¡°They came in the middle of a feast three years ago. It was the midwinter festival and they were serving all the winter mushrooms and berries and vegetables. And right in the middle of it was a huge boar that old Rulder had managed to hunt down in the forest just the day before. Then the soldiers came and started killing and burning. They came to the table and I grabbed the boar¡¯s head and hit one of them with it, it killed him. Then they overpowered me but their leader wouldn¡¯t let them kill me, after seeing how strong I was they instead decided to make me fight for them. So I did. I fought in all their wars and battles and bled and killed for them. But then they lost and ran away, and I stayed behind.¡±


    The men all listened to his story and said nothing. When he finished they still said nothing until eventually Solin broke the silence. ¡°Did you really kill a man with a boar¡¯s head?¡±


    Craegan nodded sadly. ¡°It was very heavy, heavy enough to kill a man.¡±


    Solin seemed to lean backward a bit, away from Craegan.


    Asaril spoke next. ¡°So you have no love for Wyrous?¡±


    ¡°Few of his men have much love for Wyrous. They only follow him because he gives them victory after victory. I think less of them will follow him now.¡±


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    ¡°Come with us,¡± Gara said. ¡°Help us look for Akaron and then you can come back to Caragar, see something other than violence and bloodshed for a while.¡±


    Craegan smiled. ¡°That would be nice,¡± he said.


    Asaril looked wary. ¡°Give me your weapons,¡± he said. ¡°Best to take no chances.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Craegan said, handing over his spear. He drew his sword and handed that over as well. They all looked around, there were weapons everywhere.


    Asaril noticed this as well. ¡°Stay close to me, if you do anything I don¡¯t like I¡¯ll kill you.¡±


    Craegan nodded. ¡°May I keep my shield, I had it painted especially.¡±


    ¡°You can keep the shield.¡±


    Craegan hopped down off the rock and followed Asaril as he turned away. Gara fell in behind them and began talking and talking. There was a lot he wanted to say about Caragar. Craegan listened. He liked listening.


    They searched all day through the mud and the crows. The cold winter morning slowly grew warmer and warmer until the flies began to gather. They swatted them aside and continued their search. Walking across the ruined plain looking at all the corpses. It had been a huge battle. The last stand of Wyrous against the combined might of three kingdoms. Gara claimed that Caragar had fielded forty thousand soldiers although Craegan had seen the armies before the battle and didn¡¯t think there had been forty thousand in the whole battle. Akaron had fought on the south side of the battle near the river and while the river was slow and shallow Solin feared he might have been washed away. Asaril claimed he was wearing too much armour for that. They splashed in and out of the bloody river, cold blood and colder water soaking their clothes. All the while they found no sign of Akaron, maybe he had deserted after all.


    The sun set and they made camp, setting up small tents and lighting a fire. There wasn¡¯t much wood but Gara found enough bows and arrows lying around to get one going. They sat around the fire and Solin made stew as the night closed in around them.


    ¡°Sorry there¡¯s no boar,¡± Solin said and smiled. ¡°Only turnips I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Gara chuckled but Craegan didn¡¯t. He just stared into the fire. ¡°I lied about the boar,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t kill anyone with a boar¡¯s head.¡±


    Asaril looked at him with suspicion, the other two looked surprised.


    ¡°I told you that so you wouldn¡¯t think I was a loyal soldier of Wyrous¡¯ and kill me. Mullindore wasn¡¯t actually burned.¡±


    ¡°So how did you become a soldier?¡± Gara asked, looking at him curiously.


    ¡°I was chosen because I was strong, like I told you. Just not for being strong enough to kill a man with a boar¡¯s head. The army came around to Mullindore and picked out the strongest of us to join and so I went. I had no particular hatred for Wyrous until he made me fight and kill.¡±


    ¡°Do you hate him now?¡± Asaril asked.


    ¡°So why the boar¡¯s head?¡± asked Solin at the same time.


    Craegan nodded to Asaril. ¡°I watched all the other soldiers die. Where you found me was where my group was slaughtered. I could name almost every man on the ground there. Wyrous took me from my home and put me here, in this wasteland,¡± he gestured across the battlefield. ¡°I hate Wyrous.¡±


    Asaril nodded, seemingly satisfied.


    Solin wasn¡¯t. ¡°And the boar¡¯s head?¡±


    Craegan shrugged. ¡°It was just the shield I was given. Probably belonged to some dead soldier who liked boar¡¯s heads.¡±


    Solin seemed a bit disappointed. ¡°Maybe he killed someone with one.¡± He went back to cooking his stew.


    ¡°Well boar¡¯s head or not you¡¯re one of us now,¡± Gara said happily. ¡°You don¡¯t spend hours looking at corpses in the mud with any old strangers. Besides, we¡¯re all soldiers. We all been through hell and we all come out the other side. I say we should have a drink some day to celebrate. I¡¯ll have to take you all down to the Red Mountain Inn.¡±


    Craegan knew a lot about the Red Mountain Inn. It featured heavily in many of Gara¡¯s stories.


    Solin finished the stew and doled it out into bowls. It was no boar meat but it was something and better than the feeble rations they¡¯d been scraping by on all day. Asaril took first watch and the others crawled into their tent. Gara and Solin had to share a tent and Asaril had one all by himself which left Craegan to sleep under the stars. They didn¡¯t bother tying him up, he didn¡¯t really think they cared if he ran away.


    He lay there, watching the sky.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good shield,¡± Asaril said, sitting on a rock looking off at the battlefield. ¡°Strong, heavy. And well painted for a commoner.¡±


    Craegan shrugged and sat up. ¡°Some other men couldn¡¯t lift it with one arm. Suppose that¡¯s why they gave it to me.¡±


    ¡°You do look fairly strong. What was it you did before they made you join the army.¡±


    ¡°I was a farmer,¡± he lied. The lies were coming easier now. ¡°We farmed sheep and you needed to be strong to shear them.¡±


    Asaril nodded, he was a knight, he knew nothing about farming. ¡°So you came from this town, Mullindore?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Craegan replied. ¡°A small town on a hill, that part was true.¡± It wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Nice place this town?¡±


    ¡°I suppose,¡± he said and stood up to stretch, Asaril was still looking away. ¡°I wasn¡¯t there much, mostly out on the farm.¡±


    ¡°Your family still there are they?¡±


    ¡°I think so. I haven¡¯t been back since I left, always more battles to fight.¡± He stretched back down and picked up a heavy rock. Lifting it back up and feeling his muscles strain, they were still sore from the battle yesterday.


    Asaril sounded thoughtful. ¡°How long was it since you left? Three years?¡±


    ¡°Something like that,¡± Craegan replied, holding the rock in one hand.


    ¡°Because our intelligence claims that Wyrous didn¡¯t start recruiting till six months ago.¡± He started to turn around. ¡°So unless our intelligence is-¡±


    Craegan dashed across the ground, bringing the stone with him right into the side of Asaril¡¯s turning face. There was a crack, there was blood and the stone fell to the ground somewhere. Asaril collapsed with a thump. Craegan looked down at him and then rolled him over to extract his sword.


    Asaril wheezed as he maneuvered the scabbard out from under him. ¡°Why...?¡± he whispered through his broken jaw.


    Craegan drew the sword and looked down at him curiously.


    ¡°Why...,¡± he wheezed again. ¡°You¡¯ve... already... lost...¡±


    Craegan smiled and this smile wasn¡¯t a lie. ¡°No I haven¡¯t,¡± he said shaking his head.


    ¡°But...¡±


    ¡°But only those who enjoy death and violence win in war? Yes, I suppose they do.¡±


    He left the knight to die on the ground and went to the tent of Gara and Solin. By now they¡¯d be asleep, they¡¯d had a long, tiring day. He opened the tent and there they were, lying in their bedrolls beside each other. He stabbed Gara in the leg and his scream woke Solin who tried to scrabble to freedom. The tent fell down and Craegan stepped out of it. Solin rolled frantically trying to escape. Blood soaked through from the inside as Craegan watched.


    ¡°I lied about the boar¡¯s head Solin,¡± he said. ¡°I did choose it, you know why?¡±


    ¡°What have you done? What is happening?¡± Solin cried desperately, still hopelessly entangled in the tent with the screaming Gara.


    ¡°Because in my culture the boar¡¯s head is the symbol for death.¡± He ran his sword through the mess of the tent and the struggling stopped. The screaming didn¡¯t though.


    He walked away, picking up his shield and his pack. He found a sword and spear from corpses and wandered off into the distance. The three soldiers of Caragar dying painfully behind him.

 The Onyx in the Mine

    Outside the grand trading city of Nagathrum is the Black Road. So named because it leads to the Black Mountains, mountains full of ore and onyx and coal. Mountains rich in all the minerals the city could ever want and many it doesn¡¯t. There are many mines set up in the mountains where slaves toil their whole lives without ever seeing the sun. They are brought down into the dim tunnels of rock and dust and made to hack deeper and deeper into the darkness for their masters. These slaves come from many walks of life, some from far off savage lands where primitive warlords sell them to the civilised peoples, some won in wars with neighbouring states and some are simply people of Nagathrum itself forced to trade themselves into slavery to feed their families when times grew tough. Times often grew tough for those not in charge.


    This story follows one particular mine and the adventures of one particular miner. The mine is owned by a rich man called Nargon and he has grown fat and wealthy from the labour of his miners. He is a short man who stuffs himself into leather and old wool so the dust and dirt from the mine doesn¡¯t ruin the lavish robes he keeps at home. He surrounds himself with guards at all times. Tall men who tower over him and over most of the miners. They once wore armour but now they wear leather as well, armour grows far too hot and awkward in the depths of the mine.


    Nargon dismounts and walks through the entrance to start his day, surrounded by four of his guards. Nargon is fat and greedy but he is not lazy, always arriving early and ready to eke out as much ore and coal as possible. The entrance is in a much finer state than the deeper levels of the mine, it is where Nargon spends most of his time, sitting at his desk organising papers that authorise this or that. He is rather good at organising papers. On the top level of the mine is the kitchen where the cook, an old leathery slave of few words and fewer teeth, slowly chops up the morning meal for the miners. Next to the kitchen is the guardhouse where the night shift wait impatiently to leave and go home to their beds. Beside them is the lockhouse, nothing more than a few barred cells dug into the hard rock, some of them with barely room enough to stand up straight. There are four and only one is occupied. A pile of old and dirty rags slumbers in the corner, reeking of filth and unwashed humanity. Under the pile of rags is a slave called Rogo who is in there for blasphemy against the king of Nagathrum. Nargon is excited for today will be the day he finally is to be rid of Rogo. The kingsmen are coming to perform an inspection and will take him away when they leave for trial. And from how well his mine has been going recently it looks all set to easily pass the inspection.


    Nargon strolled down into the lower levels where the miners slept and yelled at them until they woke up and scrambled out of bed, bleary eyed and exhausted from their hard work the day before. He told them of the inspection although they already knew and said that each and every one of them better be on their best behaviour. He came up with many punishments for any who weren¡¯t and the miners were well versed in the truth of these threats.


    So they picked up their picks and their lanterns and trudged down deeper and deeper into the mine until they reached the mines of yesterday and continued to hack away at the rock and earth, spitting dust and dirt into the air, blurring the lanterns and choking the mines. They had all been there a long time, they were used to it. Some of the guards of the night shift watched as Nargon had returned to his office.


    There were two guards this time, a pair of young men who¡¯d learned to fight and bully others from a young age, it had always been the thing they were best at. They stood wearily on a rock that overlooked the miners and talked. It was hard working the night shift, no one was ever awake while they were and the best times of the day always found them sleeping alone in their homes. One of the guards was named Rainan and his life was starting to get better, he said. He¡¯d met a girl at a tavern a few days ago and hadn¡¯t stopped talking about her to the other guard since. The other guard was called Karson and he was starting to get sick of his friend¡¯s obsession. He watched the slaves and listened to words he¡¯d heard many times before.


    The slaves had slowed down in their mining. The clanging of picks and the scraping of rock had quieted. There were still some slaves mining but most of them seemed to be gathering in a huddle behind a rock where they thought the guards couldn¡¯t see them.


    ¡°Stay here,¡± Karson said. He was tired from staying awake all night but he was paid very well to do this job and he didn¡¯t want to mess it up on inspection day. The miners never talked to each other like this, at least not that he¡¯d ever seen. Maybe they talked during the day shift, he wouldn¡¯t know.


    He climbed down the rock and walked over to the slaves, hand on his sword. He shouted at them and they scattered. Rushing back to their posts as quickly as possible. Karson leapt forward, catching a young female miner by the arm.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he growled down at her. His other hand still on his sword.


    She looked up at him, trembling and with soot all over her face. She pointed at another miner, a tall muscular man who¡¯d just picked up a shovel and was hurrying back to his post. Karson recognised him, it was Sairuk, a foreign miner who¡¯d made a lot of trouble for them in the past.


    ¡°What about him?¡± he asked, glaring down at the girl.


    ¡°He-he-he- he found...¡± she stammered.


    ¡°What did he find?¡± he shouted and she cowered before him.


    ¡°He found this guardsman,¡± another miner said as the girl seemed to burst into tears. Karson looked up to see a tall handsome miner standing above him, in one hand he held a huge jagged pick that would punch through leather as easily as flesh and in the other hand he held a huge onyx. It caught the light of the lanterns and even in the dusty mine it seemed to sparkle black.


    Rainan, still up on the guardsman¡¯s rock gasped and Karson heard him rush off. He frowned, why had he done that? He looked around and realised. The mob hadn¡¯t dispersed for very long. They were all standing around him holding picks and shovels, looking down at him holding the sobbing girl. He let her go and stood up, drawing his sword. She ran away into the arms of another miner. They had surrounded him and in all his years guarding this mine he¡¯d never actually had to fight anyone. He was very out of practise.


    ¡°That is the property of Nargon of Nagathrum, give it to me and go back to your posts.¡±


    ¡°Nargon can have it when he comes and takes it from us himself,¡± the handsome slave holding the onyx said.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing but a shiny stone to you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a fortune and you know it.¡±


    ¡°Not down here it isn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Well we¡¯ll just have to take it out of here won¡¯t we.¡±


    Karson almost laughed. ¡°There are so many guards here, you wouldn¡¯t get one hundred metres.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that. Surrender now and we won¡¯t kill you. We¡¯ll tie you up for Nargon to find. He¡¯ll find some way to punish you, maybe even as bad as he punishes us, but he won¡¯t kill you and then you can go back to your family.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a family,¡± Karson said sadly. Then he lunged. He didn¡¯t know the handsome miner, but he doubted he was as good with that pick as Karson was with a sword. Picks were unwieldy weapons, made for chipping stone. Swords were made for killing and that was what he planned to do with them.


    The miner staggered back and the sword swung past him. Then Sairuk¡¯s fist crashed into Karson¡¯s head and he fell sprawling to the rocks. He felt strong arms grab him and though he struggled he could do nothing to prevent them tying his wrists, his ankles, his mouth. They bound him to a rock and left him there. He sat hopeless in the dust and grime.


    Rainan rushed up to the upper levels and ran into the guardhouse. It was almost the end of the night shift, the guards were mostly falling asleep. Two of them had been on the same hand of cards for two hours trying to focus enough to play.


    But they were still guards, and they were hardly going to let some slave miners attack one of their own. They leapt to their feet and carrying swords and lanterns rushed into the mine. Rainan ran to tell Nargon who had a lot of shouting to do about it all. Then he too rushed off into the mine, yelling at the top of his voice.


    Down in the mine the slaves were huddling together talking again but at the sound of the guards they scattered once more.


    Sairuk, heavy pick in one hand, lantern in the other, took off away from the guards to the deepest tunnel in the mine. It was an old abandoned tunnel no one had used in years and stories said no one who¡¯d gone down it had ever come back. It was jagged and rocky, the old path they¡¯d mined long since crumbled away. Sairuk staggered down, struggling to keep his balance with the pick and lantern in each hand. Behind him he heard guards following down the tunnel. They hadn¡¯t been down here, they weren¡¯t miners, working every day in the jagged tunnels and rocks down here. He knew he could evade them as long as he wanted. He tripped on a loose rock and crashed into the bones of some long dead miner. He groaned and slowly sat up, blood trickling from his forehead. The guards found him and grabbed him and tore away his clothes, ripping them open with swords and daggers looking for the onyx and shouting at him and each other. They found nothing. They dragged Sairuk back to the main part of the mine.


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    Other miners ran other ways. Many tried to escape up the tunnel to the entrance. Led by Filmanion, the handsome slave, they leapt out from behind a rock after the guards had passed it and hurtled up the tunnel. Some guards turning to follow them. They ran into Nargon and Rainan coming down and Filmanion took them both by surprise. Knocking Nargon to the ground and crashing into Rainan. Before they picked themselves up the slaves were past them, hurtling toward the entrance. When they reached the top level they scattered in their panic. Most of them hadn¡¯t been up here in a long time and they didn¡¯t know where to go.


    Kara, a tall foreign woman, just as strong as most of the male slaves, ran into the kitchen. There she found the cook who was hiding behind a counter, brandishing a cooking knife, terrified of all the commotion. She looked him in the eye and tried to explain the situation so he could point her to the way out. She got as far as ¡°There¡¯s-¡± before the guards burst in behind her and grabbed her by the arms. Just like Sairuk they tore off her clothes and ripped them apart in search of the onyx. They found nothing and dragged her off to gather with the others.


    Meera, a young woman who had gotten into fights with so many miners and guards she had scars all across her body ran into the guardhouse. Just as she¡¯d expected it was full of weapons. Beaming with glee she picked up the biggest sword she could find. It was a lot heavier than she¡¯d expected and far more unwieldy than years of training made it look. She frowned and then guards burst in behind her. She spun to face them but she stood no chance. Three of them easily knocked the sword from her hands and then shoved her to the ground where they searched her for the onyx. They found nothing and took her back to the others.


    Arna, the girl who¡¯d been so terrorised by Karson in the mine, ran into the lockhouse. It smelled horrible, it was worse than breathing in all the dust and grime she¡¯d grown to hate so much down in the mine. In the only occupied cell was a heap of rags and clothes from which the smell emanated. She eyed it warily and thought she saw a few flies crawling on him. The guards found her staring at the heap in disgust. She yelped as they grabbed her and searched her for the onyx, bursting into tears as they dragged her naked back to the others.


    Filmanion ran into Nargon¡¯s office and saw a keychain hung on a hook. He took it and looked around the room. There were no more doors. He burst from the room, knocking down a guard who¡¯d been about to follow him in and ran toward the next door. As he drew closer he thought he saw light peeking around its edges. Natural light, not the flickering light of the lanterns. Daylight. The door had a big iron lock so he tried the big iron key. Guards ran up behind him and the lock clicked. He spun around and slammed his fist into the guard directly behind him. He fell, slowing the others. Filmanion opened the door and slid out, slamming the door behind him. He locked it from the outside and smiled. He looked up at the sun shining down on him and felt the fresh breeze.


    Wegrel was the captain of the guard at the Mines of Nargon. A position he took very seriously. He always arrived for work several minutes early so he could have time to talk with the night shift, learn all about the goings on at the mine and inquire into their personal lives. He liked to know who worked for him, their interests, their friends and families. He thought that was just one of the qualities that made him a good leader. He also believed himself to be an incredibly organised and tidy person and today he was going to make sure the place was in perfect condition for when the kingsmen came for their inspection. He was wearing his best leather jacket, one that hadn¡¯t been covered in dust and dirt yet and hopefully wouldn¡¯t get too dirty before they arrived, and he¡¯d arrived even earlier than usual just so he could have more time to tidy the place up.


    That was why he saw Filmanion slamming the door and gazing up happily at the sun. Wegrel didn¡¯t only know all of his guards, he knew all of his slaves too and he¡¯d suspected this one would be trouble when they¡¯d brought him in only a few weeks ago. He cursed and spurred his horse forward. Covering the distance between himself and the miner in seconds. Filmanion glanced up at the sound of hoofbeats but it was too late. Wegrel leapt from the horse and grabbed him, pinning him at swordpoint against the door. He took away the keys and opened the entrance dragging him back inside. There the bedraggled guards grabbed the escapee and tore his clothes from him, cutting them virtually into shreds hunting for the onyx. They found nothing so they dragged him down to gather with the others.


    The miners all stood in the middle of the mine, all of them had been gathered. All of them had been searched and most of them were slowly putting on new clothes after their old ones had been shredded. The onyx hadn¡¯t been found. Nargon was furious.


    ¡°I want this entire mine searched! I want that onyx found! Put every man you can on it!¡± he screamed at Wegrel.


    ¡°What about the inspection?¡± Wegrel asked.


    ¡°Fuck the inspection! They won¡¯t be here till midday, I want that thing found and I want it found now! It must¡¯ve been hidden in the mine somewhere, they must have tucked it away!¡±


    ¡°What about the slave who escaped? Why would he have tried to escape if he didn¡¯t have it?¡± Rainan asked.


    ¡°But he didn¡¯t have it did he!¡± Nargon screeched. ¡°We searched him!¡±


    ¡°But what if he hid it somewhere outside?¡±


    ¡°Well search there too! Search everywhere!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he hid it outside,¡± Wegrel said. ¡°I saw him-¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care Wegrel! Find it now! Put everyone on it! All of the night shift and all of the day shift when they get here! I¡¯ll be in my office.¡± He stormed off.


    Wegrel watched him go then gave some orders. He left some guards to watch the miners in case they tried anything and set the rest to combing the mine for the onyx. He even sent some outside even though he¡¯d seen everything Filmanion had done after opening the door. He hadn¡¯t had any time to hide the onyx.


    He went up to see Nargon who was pouring over an outdated map of the mine.


    ¡°Nargon?¡± he asked, walking in.


    ¡°What? Did you find it?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Nargon scowled and went back to the map.


    ¡°Why do we have to find it now? We should be preparing for the inspection, then we can find it afterwards.¡±


    ¡°No no no, don¡¯t you see? Those miners still have it, they must have it somewhere, and they could just give it to the kingsmen. They all hate me, they¡¯d do it just to spite me and they all saw that they aren¡¯t going to escape with it themselves.¡±


    Wegrel frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t think they¡¯d do that.¡±


    ¡°What would you know? Find it! I don¡¯t care how you do it! Torture them if you have to!¡±


    ¡°Torture isn¡¯t generally very reliable, you usually get the information you want rather than-¡±


    ¡°Shut up! Go and look for it, can¡¯t you see I¡¯m working?¡±


    Wegrel shrugged and left the room. They searched throughout the entire mine for most of the morning and found nothing. Even the team combing the bushes and scrub around the entrance had no luck. Eventually midday began to draw nearer and the search was abandoned while the mine was frantically tidied up for the kingsmen to appear. They appeared and as usual looked down on not only the miners but the dirty guards who were even more bedraggled than usual after spending all morning climbing up and down the mine. In their gleaming armour and red cloaks the kingsmen strode among them finding all the flaws and holes and inefficiencies in the mine. Nargon hated them and couldn¡¯t get them gone soon enough. Eagre as he was to get back to finding the onyx and to avoid giving the miners any more contact then necessary with the kingsmen. So they were in and out in about half an hour. Taking the pitiful Rogo with them as they left. Wegrel watched as the mound of rags and filth walked out the door with the guards, that was the first time he¡¯d seen Rogo move in months. He wondered.


    No one had searched Rogo. No one had particularly wanted to and no one had honestly expected he¡¯d have the onyx. How could he? He hadn¡¯t been in the mine at the time.


    So Rogo left the mine and of course he had the onyx. It had been his plan all along, he¡¯d been the one who¡¯d found it all those months ago. So he¡¯d blasphemed the king¡¯s name and been dragged up to the lockhouse where he¡¯d been searched and they¡¯d found nothing because of course he didn¡¯t have the onyx then. The miners had kept it for months, hiding it in deep tunnels away from the guards, discussing their plan. Filmanion had arrived, and still full of hope and bursting with energy he¡¯d been happy to help. They¡¯d waited until the day Rogo was leaving to give the guards as little time to search as possible. Then they¡¯d drawn them all into the mine and made their run for it. When they¡¯d reached the top level they¡¯d known where the lockhouse was. Years ago the old owner had used to put miners there for a few nights to calm down after fighting each other. Nargon hadn¡¯t done that very often, he tended to give them the worst duties possible until they calmed down. So Meera, who¡¯d been picking fights since she got there, had known where they were and she¡¯d told Arna who¡¯d run right to Rogo and given him the onyx.


    Rogo was taken to Nagathrum for trial where he was banished as befits blasphemy. He sold the onyx to an old witch who paid an enormous price for it. He cast off his disgusting rags, shaved his disgusting beard and cleaned himself up, becoming the charming master thief he was beginning to fancy himself as. Then he reentered the country under a false name and returned to the Mines of Nargon. After the pitiful clean up effort after their search and after wasting enormous amounts of time and energy hunting for an onyx that was no longer there the mine was not doing very well. So Nargon was all too happy to sell it to this strange eccentric wealthy foreigner for an exorbitant sum of money. Rogo fired all the guards, and freed all the slaves. Then he fled with them before anyone could discover who he was and have him executed.


    Wegrel knew who he was, though. He¡¯d figured it all out as soon as someone had taken the time to explain to him exactly what had happened. Truth be told he was impressed. He would never have been able to come up with such a plan. There had been a few flaws in it though. This Rogo character didn¡¯t seem very organised. Since he didn¡¯t have a job he figured he might as well try and fix that. He watched them all walking out of the mine and off into the distance. He mounted his horse and followed.

 The Salt Eater

    The mud flats of Arakho extend for many miles across the land. To outsiders they are seen as a smudge on the map containing nothing but savage people living in mud houses and enormous expanses of dirt and dust. The people that live there are the Arak. They are a peaceful people who have little in the way of resources or technologies. They simply live their lives in the mud flats, making do with what they have.


    One of them is called Eya. She is a tall woman who wanders far into the plains and digs up salt to bring back for the tribe. The mud flats are rich in salt and much of their food is covered with it. To outsiders this food can be almost inedible and so few people trade with them for their food. Most people ignore them and leave them to their mud and salt. Most, but not all.


    Far away a man sits in a room behind a desk covered with papers. Spread out across the room is a huge map which is titled in large letters, ¡®The World¡¯. The map is not very accurate, a fact the man is now discovering, but it is the most accurate map he has of the area he is interested in. And he is interested in every area. He has a book he writes in. A big black book whose blank pages he has slowly filled up with facts and information about every place on the map. He has now reached the mud flats of Arakho and he reads through his papers.


    He sends out word to his king. A powerful man in control of many areas on the map. The king learns of this area and he learns of its salt. Salt is cheap and common in Arakho but it is rare and expensive elsewhere. The king is very interested in things rare and expensive. He has made it a habit to find them and take them from the people who used to own them. He does not usually trade.


    Messages are sent out. Little information is known about Arakho and a party of soldiers and explorers is sent to gather more. They are led by a man named Leond, a warrior who has fought in many battles and is well prepared for the gruelling journey. They set out on a ship that can carry a hundred men, and sail to the city of Rasarath. The nearest coastal city to Arakho. From there they begin to ride.


    Meanwhile Eya is out gathering salt. She has a long way to go and is often gone for days at a time. She brings her digging stick with her as well as bags to put the salt in. She has no horse, no dogs, nothing and no one but herself. Alone in the vast plains.


    She is not truly alone though, experience has taught her that. While the mud flats seem empty there is much that lives there. Plants and trees that can survive in the salted ground grow in the harsh sunlight. These plants are dotted few and far between around oases in the plains. She usually stays away from the oases, in the shade of the plants live all sorts of biting bugs and stinging wasps. Then there are mud spiders to feed on the wasps and lizards to feed on the spiders, snakes to feed on the lizards. And there is always flies to feed on the dead. With all the life near the oases there is a lot of death for the flies. There are fewer plants or animals away from the oases. There are mud worms that slither their way through the ground sometimes, and mud lizards that eat them. There are old dead trees, leftover from dried up oases and in the trees there can be spiders and lizards, and sometimes even birds, travelling from far off places. Eya likes seeing the birds.


    Then there is mighty Sambaya, the Salt Eater. He is all the protection Eya ever needs. She has only seen him a few times and each time she has hidden in fear and dread for he is huge. Bigger than the mud houses she lives in while she is not gathering salt. Bigger than the dead scraggly trees. Bigger than any creature she has ever seen or heard of before. She fears Sambaya, but she trusts him too. Her grandmother taught her that when she taught her the ways of the mud flats and the gathering of salt. She taught her that he is the monster who scares off all the other monsters. That he is the great protector of their tribe and while they appease him he will drive off all other evils.


    So every time she finishes her digging and needs to go back, she leaves a bags worth of salt on a rock for the salt eater to have and every time she returns there it is gone with his great footprints leading up to it.


    Sambaya finds the salt by himself as well. He is big enough and strong enough to tear up the ground for it without a digging stick and sometimes Eya can find the great furrows he has made and pick up the salt left behind. She prefers gathering it that way rather than having to dig it up herself in the hot sun.


    She tips out a bag onto the rock and then turns to go home. She has never seen Sambaya up close. He has only ever been a lumbering shadow in the distance to her. He doesn¡¯t come out during the day, she does not know where he goes, nor does she want to find out. He is her protector but he is still a monster.


    She walks for hours and then days and finally returns to the tribe with her bags. It is noisy there. It is always quiet out in the mud flats. She likes the quiet, it is what she is used to. But she likes the noise as well, it is home.


    She smiles at the other villagers as they greet her and wave. They talk to each other and yell at each other and little children run about the streets. She goes to the great storage house in the centre of the town. It is a tall round building with thick walls of mud to keep the food within cool. She crawls through into the cool dark interior and puts her salt bags with the others, then crawls out again.


    Now she has finished her task and the tribe will welcome her back with a great fire and she can see all her friends again. But before then she needs to sleep. She goes back to the house she shares with her family and falls asleep on her bed, her sweaty clothes and empty food bags still on her.


    The party sent by the king ride toward Arakho. They are growing hot and tired and irritable. There are a lot of them and travelling is much slower than Leond would like. There are explorers who must see everything there is to see and talk to everyone there is to talk to. There are rich men, obsessed with investigating and cataloguing every type of plant or rock or animal they find. There are mapmakers who must take measurements of the stars every night and scribble all over their maps. And there is him, who does not care about the sights and the people and the plants and the animals and the stars. He cares about Arakho and how far away it is. But it is getting closer every day.


    Night falls and Eya is awoken by her family who bring her to the great fire pit in the centre of their village where a roaring fire is burning and many of the tribe have already gathered. They cook food and sing songs and Eya tells them of all she has seen out in the mud flats. They tell her all of what has happened at home. Of those who have fallen in love. Of the children who have accomplished new skills. Of the simmering feuds with rival tribes and the relations with the few who trade with them. She listens to it all and stays up all night dancing and singing with her tribe.


    The next day she sleeps most of the day and then spends the next few days helping her family around the house. She meets up with her friends and talks to them of what has been happening. Of all that has changed in the weeks she has been gone. There is always a lot that has changed.


    Eventually after many days pass she gathers up her bags of food and her empty bags to fill with salt. She takes her digging stick and many waterskins and she sets off back into the mud flats. Back into her lonely world of silence and peace.


    The party sent by the king reaches Arkharath, the last city before the mud flats of Arakho. They stay there the night and meet the people there. They see all the salt moving throughout the streets in great bags and the low price charged for it. They see it covering the food and covering it well. They talk to the people through a translator they brought from Rasarath and learn of the great wealth of salt in the mud flats. The next day Leond and his soldiers set out to investigate ahead of the others. They are moving into unknown territory now and it is considered safest to send the soldiers first. Leond approves of this idea because with only his soldiers he can travel much much faster. They ride off from Arkharath and vanish into the distance.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Eya has been gone for a few days. She has gathered very little salt and has not travelled very far. She sleeps alone under the stars as she always does and in the morning she watches the sun rise and thinks she sees a column of smoke off in the distance from her village. She has never seen smoke like that before. She assumes it is because of a great fire in the fire pit, maybe to celebrate the return of some other salt collector. She decides to ignore it and continues on into the mud flats.


    At the village, things are not going well. The soldiers rode in fully armed and so the locals threw spears at them. The spears killed two of the soldiers but the rest made it into the town where they attacked. Killing and raping until they¡¯d gathered up most of the villagers by the fire pit. Leond then walked through each of the houses, bloodlust and rage still rising in him. And tore apart the furnishings with his sword looking for salt. And he found it. In almost every house there was bowls or bags of it. He dragged them all out and tossed them into a sack. Then he found the storage house. He sent in one of his soldiers to crawl through the entrance and take out everything that was in there. The storage house had the village¡¯s entire supply of food for the rest of the year. Some things, like the salt, they could collect year round. But most were seasonal and could not be easily replaced until next year. Then he burned them.


    He kept the salt and burned everything else, sending an ugly black pillar of smoke into the sky. Then he sent back a messenger to tell the others that it was all safe and settled down to wait for them to arrive. Bullying the villagers into obeying him and his men. Serving them and giving them what little food they had left. Some tried to resist and were cut down. Others ran away but with no food they wouldn¡¯t survive long in the mud flats.


    The villagers mourned their dead and carried on. They didn¡¯t speak the language of the soldiers and knew little of what was going on. But they had lived in the harsh mud flats for their entire lives. They were used to hardship and they would bear this one as well. They only hoped they wouldn¡¯t have to bear it for long.


    The elder ones among them discussed it out of hearing of both the soldiers and the other villagers. They had all heard tales from other tribes of soldiers from a different country with a different language and different weapons showing up and taking control. Taking things they did not own and making the locals slave away for them forever. These elder villagers knew that where some of these men came, more would follow, and they began to believe there was nothing they could do about it. They watched the younger villagers huddled up together trying to hide from the soldiers, whispering about what was going on, still hopeful it would get better. The elders weren¡¯t worried for themselves, they knew they would soon die anyway. But they felt terrible sadness that the younger part of their tribe might never grow up happy as they had. They needed to come up with a plan. But they had no food, no weapons and few warriors. A plan was not forthcoming.


    Eya looked back at the village. The smoke had stopped the same day it started. It was strange that there had been smoke during the day. The fires were always lit at night and that one would have had to have burnt during the day to produce the smoke. She shrugged, she would likely learn what had happened when she returned. She had a job to do.


    She dug away at the mud, slowly filling her salt bags with salt and emptying her food bags of food. The sun beat down on her and all around was peaceful silence. Except it wasn¡¯t.


    She heard something. Footsteps, and breathing, heavy breathing. She stopped digging and listened. It was always so quiet on the mud flats, any noise was loud. She listened and there were definitely footsteps and heavy breathing. She climbed up onto a rise and looked out across the empty plains. Except they weren¡¯t empty. Not this time.


    There were footprints. Human ones. There were never human footprints out here apart from her own and these weren¡¯t hers. There were other salt collectors like her but they all had different parts of the mud flats to explore. Never before had anyone got so lost as to come to her part. She followed the footprints. She didn¡¯t have much experience with human footprints. They were smaller than hers though. Did that mean they weren¡¯t dangerous? She hoped that it did.


    She caught up to them quickly. They weren¡¯t moving fast. It was Kaythi, a younger girl of her tribe, staggering her way through the mud flats with no food or water.


    ¡°Kaythi!¡± Eya said in surprise, starting at the sound of her own voice, she never talked out here.


    Kaythi turned toward her with dull eyes. ¡°Eya?¡± she asked in confusion.


    Eya rushed forward and handed her a waterskin. ¡°What¡¯s happened? Why are you here?¡±


    Kaythi drank the waterskin. Eya was somewhat alarmed to see her drink all of it. ¡°Men came to the village. Strange men with strange weapons.¡±


    ¡°What did they do?¡±


    Kaythi breathed heavily some more, her eyes were more focused now. ¡°They killed people, and raped people, and took over and burned all our food except the salt. They made us do things for them. I don¡¯t think they¡¯re going to leave.¡±


    Eya narrowed her eyes and clenched her fist around her digging stick. ¡°They didn¡¯t burn the salt you said?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Kaythi shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    Eya nodded. ¡°Strange men do strange things.¡±


    Back at the village Leond relaxed on one of the beds. They weren¡¯t very comfortable beds. Not like the ones he was used to back home. But as a soldier he¡¯d slept on worse. He was waiting for one of his men to bring him a new girl. He¡¯d liked the first one but she¡¯d run away. He¡¯d considered sending men out to look for her so he could drag her back and have her executed so the next one wouldn¡¯t run away. But he needed all his men here. The rest of his party would probably not arrive for a long time at the speed they travelled even though his messenger had told them to come as fast as possible. So he had to make do with what he had and he knew with fewer men the locals could grow bolder. They had no weapons and little discipline but he¡¯d rather not be killed by some mud covered primitives.


    A soldier walked into the room. He hadn¡¯t brought a girl with him.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Leond asked, annoyed.


    ¡°I went out to explore the mud flats,¡± the soldier said.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t I tell everyone to stay here?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t go far.¡±


    Leond rolled his eyes. ¡°What did you find?¡±


    ¡°Well there were two girls running around out there but they ran off and I didn¡¯t want to go very far.¡±


    Leond cursed. ¡°Was one of them that bitch I had before? It¡¯d be perfect if we could catch her.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the soldier stammered. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t think so. Maybe... Um...¡±


    ¡°What? Is there something else?¡±


    The soldier looked out into the dark night fearfully. Leond rolled his eyes again. ¡°Well... I did see something else.¡±


    ¡°What did you see?¡±


    ¡°Well it was pretty far away, and it was dark, so I¡¯m not really sure...¡±


    ¡°What was it?¡±


    ¡°A monster. A big monster heading for the village.¡±


    Leond rolled his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. ¡°If there was a monster here we would have heard of it. The only thing here is salt.¡± He gestured at all the salt they¡¯d piled up in the corner. ¡°And mud. So much mud.¡± He waved dismissively at the soldier. ¡°Go and do something useful. There¡¯s no monster.¡±


    The soldier left and Leond waited on the bed. Eventually he heard a scream, then felt a rumble.


    From outside the village Eya watched Sambaya tear through the streets. The soldiers didn¡¯t try to attack him, they just ran. He went straight for the biggest house and now she saw he wasn¡¯t actually as big as she¡¯d thought. He was much faster though. With all the shouting and screaming he seemed to grow enraged and with his huge tusks he tore through the mud house, spraying mud and salt everywhere. Then he glared at what few people hadn¡¯t fled yet until they did and started to lick up the salt with his long tongue.


    One of the strange men staggered out of the ruins of the house and flew at him with a sword. The salt eater turned and with his huge tusks flung the man into a building. Then he charged. The man didn¡¯t survive.


    The next day the village put itself back together. Even the great salt eater couldn¡¯t eat that much salt and they still had plenty after he¡¯d left. Eya and Kaythi got a great fire with what little food they could spare to celebrate their victory over the strange men and they told them their whole story of leading Sambaya to the village with a trail of salt.


    The soldiers who escaped fled back to the rest of the party where they told of great Sambaya, the terrible monster under control of the village and the party decided to proceed cautiously. They found a translator and this time instead of approaching with force they approached in peace, offering food and what other treasures they had for the salt. The tribe needed food and were only too happy to trade. The party returned home with more than enough salt and the village lived on. A few days later Eya walked off into the mud flats again. To be in her silence and peace with only the salt eater for company.

 The Song of the Night Fairy

    Deep in the Deepwood there is a great old tree that has been stretching its gnarled fingers up to the sky since the wood was an empty grass plain, since the plain was a barren rocky field, since the rocky field was a war zone between gods and monsters. It is the elder tree and among its leaves and branches live the Fairies of Eld. They are small fragile things, women the size of insects with buzzing wings to carry them about. They live on an old branch hidden far below the canopy. There are whole families of them and all day they dance and sing and frolic in the dappled sunlight. Then at night they squeeze into tiny knots in the branches of the elder tree and curl up to fall asleep. But at night is when all the dark creatures of the Deepwood come out to hunt. All the shadow beetles and midnight wasps and great owls. So one of the fairies stays up at night to watch the forest and look out for these so she can wake up the other fairies if anything comes hunting.


    This fairy is called Alfy, and this is her story.


    She sits on a leaf, as she does every night and dangles her legs into the dark forest below. Looking out at the shadowy branches and leaves. Her wings are dark blue with spots that are in places almost black, as is her hair and her eyes, this is why she was chosen to guard the fairies at night, they said she would never be able to dance happily in the daytime with her dark wings and dark eyes. So she had to watch during the nighttime instead. She didn¡¯t mind. She wrapped her wings around her and as long as she didn¡¯t move very much nothing could see her, so nothing came to eat her. She could just watch.


    But she often became bored just watching. Watching an empty forest all night every night can leave little to do. So she sang. Every night she sang into the dark forest. At first she¡¯d worried that singing would mean the dark creatures could hear her and find her. But she didn¡¯t think they were very good at hearing. The beetles and wasps didn¡¯t seem to notice, although that could be because they had their own hissing droning song their wings sang when they flew. She wasn¡¯t sure about the owls though. She had only ever seen an owl once and it had been very far away. She¡¯d stopped singing and watched it catch a mouse and she¡¯d been terrified. The forest was never quiet, everything made noise, everything had its song. But the owl didn¡¯t have a song. It was as silent as a shadow. At first she¡¯d thought it had been a shadow, descending on the mouse, and the owl had been higher up, casting it. But then the shadow had lifted the mouse into the sky and flown away. She didn¡¯t much like owls.


    She sang her song all throughout the night. Soft and sweetly into the rustling and whispering of the forest. Then the sun began to rise and dappled spots of sunlight started to fall onto the leaves like they always did. So she let her song fade and stood up from her spot. She walked back to her hole in the tree and burrowed deep into it, curling up and slowly falling asleep to the sound of the other fairies talking and chattering far away. They had found something, and they were all very excited. Fairies are easily excited.


    When Alfy awoke they were still chattering away, much more than they usually would this late in the day. She clambered from her hole and emerged onto the leaf where, to her surprise, almost all the fairies were still there, none having gone off to bed yet. And they were all clustered around a large caterpillar that sat in the middle of the leaf nibbling away on a pile of leaf clippings the fairies had collected for it.


    Liann, a tall fairy with bright purple wings and hair saw Alfy and walked over to her.


    ¡°Alfy, look at what we found,¡± she said pointing at the caterpillar. ¡°Isn¡¯t he so pretty?¡±


    Alfy looked at the caterpillar. It was white with red frills running all up and down the sides and bigger ones that looked like horns on its head. It was rather pretty.


    ¡°It just wandered over and kept looking at us so we started feeding it and now it stays here. We think we¡¯ll keep it and one day it¡¯ll turn into a pretty butterfly.¡±


    Alfy nodded. The caterpillar was still nibbling on its leaves. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°I¡¯ll watch it tonight.¡±


    ¡°Great. Come feed him, he¡¯s so cute.¡± Liann dragged Alfy over to the caterpillar which was still nibbling on leaves. Alfy picked up some leaves and held them up to it. The caterpillar sniffed them and then happily munched away. It was a nice feeling, having a pet.


    The other fairies stayed up a lot later this time. Dancing around the caterpillar and singing and laughing as it followed them around. But soon it got too dark for the other fairies and they went to bed, leaving Alfy with the caterpillar. It seemed to be happily munching away on its leaves so Alfy went to her usual spot and sang into the darkness. She was a little worried. What if something came looking for food and saw the caterpillar? It was rather big and kind of slow. What if a beetle came and tried to eat it. There wasn¡¯t much she could do. She could shout a warning but the caterpillar wouldn¡¯t understand. It would just go on eating. She looked back at it, still eating through the pile of leaves. It was strange that it kept eating. She¡¯d never seen anything eat that much before. She supposed caterpillars had to eat a lot if they were ever to turn into butterflies.


    She kept watching the forest and sang into the night.


    It was around halfway through the night when she felt a tremor on the leaf she was sitting on. Her song faltered and she spun around to see the caterpillar had started eating her leaf. She stopped singing and walked over to it angrily. She shooed it away and tried to drive it back to the pile of leaf clippings the other fairies had made. Then she realised there weren¡¯t any, the caterpillar had eaten them all. She scratched her head, that was strange, she was sure there had been a huge pile. How had it eaten them all? She looked down at it. It had started eating her leaf again. She sighed and walked off the leaf onto the branch. She¡¯d just have to find a new leaf while the caterpillar ate that one. And she¡¯d tell the fairies they needed to get more leaves next time.


    She settled down on a branch and began to sing once more. Down below the great dark cockatrice, normally lulled to sleep by her song, stopped stirring, and another peaceful night passed for the elder tree.


    In the morning the caterpillar had worked its way through several leaves and Alfy talked to Liann about getting more leaf clippings today. The fairies agreed and buzzed off to find some while Alfy went to sleep.


    When she awoke there was a huge tower of leaves gathered up by the fairies and the caterpillar was slowly working its way through them. Excited to help care for their new pet all the fairies had gotten involved, and they¡¯d danced and sung all up and down the tree collecting new leaves. They¡¯d also named the caterpillar. It was called Elden now after the elder tree. Alfy thought that wasn¡¯t a very original name but she didn¡¯t say that, it wasn¡¯t her caterpillar. The fairies also seemed to have agreed Elden was male although Alfy knew there was no way they could possibly know that since none of them knew anything about caterpillars. She told them this but they just laughed her off, claiming she didn¡¯t know anything about caterpillars either. Then they all went to bed, leaving her to sing into the forest as normal. The caterpillar munching away on its huge pile of leaves behind her.


    As she sang she thought about what the other fairies had said. She knew things about caterpillars. She¡¯d seen them in the forest while she¡¯d been watching it at night. She¡¯d watched them eating leaves and she¡¯d watched them be eaten by shadow beetles or attacked by midnight wasps. She was sure none of the other fairies had ever seen a caterpillar attacked by a midnight wasp. They probably hadn¡¯t even seen a midnight wasp at all since they only came out at night. She¡¯d seen caterpillars like Elden be attacked by midnight wasps before. Although every time the wasp seemed to fly away and leave the caterpillar alive. That was strange. The caterpillars weren¡¯t very strong or tough and Alfy wasn¡¯t sure what they did to make the wasp fly away. She¡¯d never thought about it before but now she did and her song stopped as she remembered the other thing she¡¯d seen happen to caterpillars. Eventually every caterpillar would build itself a chrysalis and eventually it would come out as a butterfly. But not all of them came out as butterflies. Sometimes the chrysalis would grow bigger and turn black and slowly rot away. And then instead of a butterfly wasps would come out. Small wasps that could fly off to attack more caterpillars.


    But the wasps never ate the caterpillars, only the beetles did.


    She turned back to Elden and watched him eating the huge pile of leaves. Already he¡¯d gotten through much more than she¡¯d expected. Worried by her revelation she started singing again to fill the silence and wandered over to the caterpillar. He was happily eating his way through the leaves and didn¡¯t seem to mind as she investigated his side. She wasn¡¯t sure what the wasps did to the caterpillars but surely to turn into a swarm of wasps would require a lot more food than turning into a single butterfly. She hoped the amount he was eating was normal. She hoped Elden would turn into a butterfly.


    She found scratches, cuts all over his body and one swelled up wound on his back that could have been a wasp sting. A very bad wasp sting.


    She wandered back to her new spot and curled up her wings around her against the night. She sang once more and tried to think of other things than wasps.


    The next day she talked to Liann about wasps but Liann just laughed at her. Everyone knew caterpillars turned into butterflies. She¡¯d never seen one turn into wasps. Alfy tried to tell her that was because it only happened at night but she still wouldn¡¯t listen and instead went off to collect more leaves with her friends. Alfy stood around wondering what to do and eventually decided to get some sleep, she was very tired.


    She dreamed that day, she rarely dreamed but she did then. She dreamed of Elden, looking up from his pile of leaves and opening up his mouth to release wasps. So many wasps that buzzed and droned their horrible song as they swarmed over her. She dreamed of a chrysalis hanging on a dead tree on a dead plain, a black chrysalis with shapes twisting and turning inside of it. She dreamed of a shadow, a huge black shadow, a hole in the whispering forest, a hole of dead silence. And the shadow had wings, and the shadow descended. She dreamed of a blind ugly bird she¡¯d never seen before, a blind ugly bird that tunneled into the elder tree from below and tunneled and tunneled until the elder tree died and the bird¡¯s eggs hatched into even uglier spawn that feasted on the dead tree. And more wasps. There were always wasps.


    She woke up and stayed huddled in her hole for a while. She was sweating and breathing heavily. She barely dreamed and she never dreamed like that. She touched the elder tree. Was there really a blind ugly bird killing it from the inside? Everyone knew the elder tree was magic, it had birthed the fairies, that was why they didn¡¯t grow old and die like other animals, that was why they could speak and think and make things. What if the elder tree could make her dream things it wanted her to see? She was a fairy after all, a creature of the elder tree. What if it was giving her a warning? She didn¡¯t like that idea.


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    She crawled out of her hole and saw the other fairies singing and dancing, more joyous than ever. For hanging off their branch was a chrysalis. A huge green chrysalis bigger than any chrysalis had a right to be. Bigger than any one she¡¯d seen before. Except for the black ones, they were sometimes this big.


    She flew over to Liann who was flitting about the chrysalis singing of butterflies.


    ¡°Liann!¡± she cried and she stopped, turning to see Alfy.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, still smiling and humming her tune.


    ¡°This is a big chrysalis-¡±


    Liann beamed. ¡°I know, it must be all that food we gave him. He¡¯s going to turn into the biggest butterfly.¡± She flew off and joined in a song with some other fairies. Alfy tried to follow but gave up. There were too many other fairies in the way..


    She watched the chrysalis nervously and watched slowly as all the fairies went to bed, leaving just her to guard their pet. She didn¡¯t really have it in her to sing, but listening to only the sounds of the forest was worse so she sang anyway. A quiet, haunting song, about nothing in particular. As she sang she didn¡¯t sit anywhere this time. Instead she flew around the chrysalis, looking at it from every angle. And sure enough, right at the bottom, there was a spot of black. She watched throughout the night as it spread. It didn¡¯t go far but it was definitely there. Some sort of black poison inside the chrysalis. Midnight wasp poison, for growing midnight wasps.


    She had a knife, made from a sharpened piece of wood, that she had to defend from any creatures that might try to eat her. The chrysalis was dangling over a long drop to the ground so she flew to its stem which was still green and vibrant. Still the nice colours of caterpillars and butterflies. But she knew there wouldn¡¯t be any butterflies coming out of this chrysalis. She attacked the stem with her knife, sawing and sawing. Singing all the while just in case some fairy heard her stop and came to check on her. It took a long time and her arms were starting to hurt but eventually she sawed through the last bit and the chrysalis plummeted away. Crashing to the ground far below with a splat. There was a shout of horror behind her and she spun in surprise, her song rapidly faltering.


    There was Liann, having gotten up early, standing on the branch looking down at her.


    ¡°What have you done!¡± she shrieked.


    ¡°No it¡¯s... I...¡±


    ¡°You killed him! You killed Elden!¡±


    ¡°No-¡±


    ¡°You monster! You horrible monster!¡±


    ¡°No-¡± Liann flew away. Alfy sat on the branch feeling terrible. She was tired and sore and felt sick in her throat. She¡¯d never seen someone angry at her before, especially not Liann who was always so happy and friendly. In truth Liann was really the only fairy who was that friendly to her. And now she hated her. Alfy tried not to cry.


    Liann returned with more fairies and they all flew above her shouting and screaming. She just sat on the branch and cried. She couldn¡¯t make herself do anything else.


    Eventually Liann came down and landed in front of her.


    ¡°We¡¯ve decided to banish you from the elder tree. Leave! Now!¡±


    Alfy looked up at her through her tears. She couldn¡¯t think of anything to say. She couldn¡¯t think of anything to do. So she stood up, and wiping away her tears, flew away.


    That day was one of the worst in her life. She was tired and alone and afraid and as she flew she cried some more and as she cried she thought of all the things she was leaving behind. She¡¯d lived there for her whole life. In the shadow of the elder tree. Sitting out on her leaf, singing her song at night. Now it was all gone. Where was she going to go now? What would she do?


    Eventually she found a hole in another tree that wasn¡¯t filled with worms or other bugs and slept there. It was uncomfortable, it was rough and scratchy, not like the elder tree. But she slept there anyway. She cried some more but eventually she fell asleep. This time she didn¡¯t dream.


    She woke up at night, the way she always did. And she emerged from her hole to see a different part of the forest. This time there were different trees, this time there were different shapes in the shadows, this time she didn¡¯t sing. She didn¡¯t know what to do. So she just sat huddled in her hole and watched. And for the second time she could remember, she saw an owl.


    It came out of the dark night like it had last time but this time it was much closer. It came down like a silent shadow and blacked out the light of the stars and moon behind it. It was coming right for her, she watched it, but she didn¡¯t move, she didn¡¯t really care that much anymore.


    It landed on the branch she was on, the branch sunk a little, and then it turned its huge yellow eyes to look at her. She looked back. It was huge, it was bigger than any bug or fairy she¡¯d ever seen. Bigger than mice and rats and even squirrels. It was so big, yet so silent and so fast. And as she looked down she saw some huge deadly claws, sharp enough to rip her to shreds just by landing on her. She felt afraid.


    She sang. A song she¡¯d never sung before, a song fueled by her fear and adrenaline and not held back by wanting to sing quietly so as not to attract dark creatures. She¡¯d always wondered if the owls noticed her singing and now she was going to find out if it was the last thing she ever knew. So she sang, and she sang a lot better than she¡¯d ever realised she could. She stood up and faced the owl and sang directly to it, spreading her wings wide and opening up her body rather than singing in her huddled up way like normal. The owl blinked its huge golden eyes and hopped a bit closer. Watching its big eyes and seeing it hop she realised it wasn¡¯t actually that scary. It was actually kind of cute, in a giant terrifying monster sort of way. She smiled and sang more. She¡¯d never had an audience and now she finally did. She may as well make something of it.


    She sang for a long time but eventually her voice started to grow weary. She could sing for a long time, but at that volume she couldn¡¯t sing forever. So she stopped. The owl blinked at her a few times then took off. The owl¡¯s breeze pushed her back a bit but it was still silent. It was always silent.


    Before she had time to think she leapt off the branch and raced after the owl. She was curious about it and it didn¡¯t scare her anymore. Apparently owls didn¡¯t eat fairies. That was good to know.


    The owl was fast. It sped through the trees and branches easily, weaving and ducking and gliding, folding its huge feathery wings to zip through tight gaps. With its huge wingspan it could cover more ground faster and with less effort than any insect ever could. But fairies are magic, fairies are faster.


    Alfy raced through the forest after the owl. It was the fastest she¡¯d ever flown, faster than she¡¯d known she could fly. The owl was going up so she went up with it. Through the branches, through the leaves, through the canopy and out into the night. Out into the open sky. She¡¯d never been there before. The owl flew off but she stopped and looked around. Looked out across the forest. It was huge, it seemed to go on forever in all directions. There were all sorts of different trees and all sorts of different leaves. She heard a high pitched screech and saw a fluttering shadow in the distance. She wasn¡¯t sure what it was but it was heading toward her. She ducked back into the canopy and hid behind a leaf but she didn¡¯t need to worry. The fluttery shape sped toward her but a shadow descended on it and caught it in deadly claws. The owl crashed into it and they both disappeared into the canopy with a rustle. She hopped back up again and looked out at the forest.


    It was so huge, and so varied, and she¡¯d never even left one tree. She looked for the elder tree but she was a little disoriented. Where she thought it should be there was only a small twisted tree, with leaves that were fraying and discoloured at the edges. That couldn¡¯t be the elder tree, could it? The blind ugly bird flashed through her head. The leaves around their part of the tree had always been a bit like that, but they knew that was only because they didn¡¯t get much sun. But the leaves up at the top shouldn¡¯t look like that. None of the other trees did.


    She jerked out of her revelry when there was a loud rustle and a screech and the fluttery shape exploded out from the canopy. In the moonlight she saw a flash of sparkling blood fly from it as it fluttered off into the distance. The owl rose out of the canopy silently, and flew up searching for more of the fluttery things. Alfy watched it fly. She decided she liked watching it fly. They should have gotten an owl for a pet rather than a caterpillar. Owls were so much better.


    She flew back into the canopy. She wasn¡¯t sure what she was going to do, but she wanted to find out about the ugly bird. She flew to the elder tree but stayed out of sight of the branch the fairies lived on. She flew down and down and down until she reached the forest floor. Here was another place she¡¯d never been to. It was dark here, and damp. She didn¡¯t especially like it.


    She hovered over the ground, circling slowly around the knotted base of the elder tree. She¡¯d been staring into the dark night her whole life but even so she could barely make out anything in the dark forest floor in the middle of the night. There was what looked like the remains of the chrysalis, too broken to make out any caterpillars or wasps. There was a lot of roots of various trees, seemingly competing for space in the damp soil the same way they competed for sunlight at the top of the forest. And on the elder tree, there was a great gaping hole, half buried in soil. And around the edges of the hole something dark and ugly oozed and dripped. Poison, but not midnight wasp poison, something far worse Alfy knew. She didn¡¯t know what it was but it was worse. She knew that.


    She hadn¡¯t lit fire for a long time. Not since the fairies had had a huge party to celebrate their creation from the elder tree all those years ago. But as she¡¯d instinctively known how to do it then, she instinctively knew how to do it now. She had her wooden knife and she broke off a dry stick from the elder tree. Down here there were a lot of dying ones perfect for kindling. She stood on a branch and wrapped the sticks in her wings, then she buzzed them. Fairy wings can move very fast and eventually, after several attempts a spark flew and the dry stick caught. It threw light across the forest floor and cast light on the dark, oozing hole. She swallowed her fear. She had flown with an owl today, she wasn¡¯t going to let fear stop her now. She flew into the hole and ducked through the oozing poison. It wasn¡¯t dripping very fast and was easy to dodge but as she travelled further into the hole it became thicker and there were more oozing drips to fly around. She flew slowly, very careful not to touch any of the poison.


    The hole was disgusting. It smelled terrible and even with her torch it was cold. She struggled to breathe but she kept flying anyway. The elder tree was depending on her. She found some small eggs and ignored them, she had something bigger to find.


    As she flew she started to hear taps up ahead, and the breaking of wood. She started to suspect she knew what that was. Then she rounded a corner and saw the most hideous bird she¡¯d ever seen. It was blind and ugly and featherless and covered in the sticky oozing poison. It spun to fix its dead eyes on her and her torch lit up its horrific beak. It screeched and that was somehow worse than the sight and the smell and it lunged for her.


    She spun around and flew. She wanted to fly fast, to fly as fast as the owl had through the forest. But she wasn¡¯t the owl, and flying through the forest of poison was much more dangerous than the forest of trees. So she carefully wove her way through, heart pounding as the hideous creature bounded after her. It must have felt the heat from the torch, that was how it knew where she was. She stopped and spun around. Waving the torch at its face. It stopped short and screeched again. A dread screech, a terrifying screech, a thousand times worse than the one made by the fluttering shape. Keeping the torch between her and it Alfy slowly backed up through the tunnel. The creature followed her. Ignoring all the drips of poison which just collected on its rank skin. Slowly, very slowly, she backed out of the tunnel and into the fresh air. Away from the smell, away from the sight, away from the screech.


    Then she sang. She threw away the torch and she sang. She sang of freedom and of hope and of her escape from the monster¡¯s lair. And to her surprise the monster listened. It swayed and bobbed its ugly misshapen head and looked at her with its dead pale eyes. And then as she sang its head began to droop and as she sang its eyes began to close, and then it curled up at the exit to its cave and fell asleep.


    Then came the other bird who liked her singing. Silent as a shadow the owl descended through the forest. Its wings spreading out above her and blocking out what little light came through the forest. It fell all the way to the ground and its sharp claws closed around the cockatrice. Its talons entering its throat and heart and killed it instantly. The owl flew away and the cockatrice went with it, much bigger and easier to catch than the bat.


    Alfy entered the hole again and destroyed the eggs, then she flew away to seek a new home, away from her fairy family. Whom she¡¯d saved not once, but twice, as well as saving the whole elder tree.


    She flew away, and never looked back.

 The Witch, The Warlord, and the Minstrel

    This story begins in a tavern, a rather old run-down tavern not known for its class or style, but rather more famed for the rats and roaches in its walls. It is the sort of tavern where men lurk in corners slowly fading into the background as dark stains on the walls. Where large brutes armed better than they have any right to be skulk in the middle of the tavern in huddles and whisper and mutter amongst themselves. Where the owner is constantly wiping the counter and glasses with an old rag that has grown so dirty and ragged it leaves a trail of grime wherever it goes. It is not a very popular tavern.


    But on the night this story begins there is something different in the tavern. Amongst all the drunks and vagabonds and beggars and bandits, is a minstrel. A happy singing playing minstrel dressed in a bright red jacket playing a patterned lute. He sits by an old dead fireplace and sings and plays, his eyes glistening and his mouth smiling around his happy song.


    The rest of the tavern watch him with beady eyes. Glaring at him over empty grimy cups. Suspicion emanating from them. This is not a type of man they have seen in their tavern before, and as with all new things these men encounter, they treat him with suspicion.


    The minstrel plays for a while but eventually he runs out of songs and stops to have a drink and read a book in the corner of the room. The others ignore him now and go back to their business. Quietly reading and drinking are things they understand well. Things that can be safely ignored.


    A soldier crashes into the tavern. He is laughing and staggering and slams into the bar laughing at the tavern owner who looks at him with beady eyes. The soldier is drunk, drunker than he should be. But he is a soldier and soldiers must be treated well or more soldiers will come.


    ¡°What can I get you?¡± the owner says through his moustache, still mechanically wiping a glass.


    The soldier watches the rag wipe the glass for a while then jerks upright and stares at the owner. ¡°A pint of your finest ale! On the house!¡± He bursts into laughter again.


    The owner¡¯s beady eyes narrow. ¡°You¡¯ll have to pay for it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what on the house means,¡± the soldier laughs.


    ¡°You can¡¯t-¡±


    The soldier draws his sword and points it right under the owner¡¯s chin. He is fast even while drunk. Too fast for the owner.


    ¡°I can,¡± the soldier says, smirking.


    ¡°But-¡±


    The soldier cuts him. Not deep, and not much, but fast and skillfully. He opens up a small scar across the owner¡¯s chest and then bursts into cruel laughter. The owner staggers back and crashes into the back of the bar. The soldier continues his cruel laughter and leaps over the counter. Driving his sword toward the stumbling tavern owner. Then there is a thwack and his laughter is cut short. The soldier stops and trips forward, choking on his tongue. Sticking out of his back is a knife thrown by the minstrel who is now standing not far from the bar. He draws another knife.


    The soldier chokes and falls to the ground. The tavern owner stands up and looks at the minstrel leaning over the bar watching the soldier.


    ¡°He bothering you?¡± the minstrel smiles.


    More soldiers come and arrest the minstrel. They drag him off to the dungeons of the local warlord, a man called Wyrous who lives in a castle with his wife, the Witch Queen Nath. A woman rarely seen by the commonfolk who is said to practise dark magics and commit terrible atrocities to those imprisoned by her husband. The dungeons of their castle are feared throughout the land and few who enter them ever leave.


    The minstrel laughs and smiles and sings as he is dragged away. He makes only one request, that he retain his lute to play for the warlord and the queen. The soldiers laugh at him but they let him keep his lute. Both the warlord and the queen enjoy music. What harm could having this minstrel play for them cause? They think none. They are terribly wrong.


    In the castle Wyrous and Nath go about their day. There are plans to be planned, events to be organised, and people to meet and talk to. There are many people to meet and talk to. The two of them are looking over a map of the region with several of their soldiers and leaders around them when Wyrous stops in his explanation. He is a tall man with black hair that once grew wild all over his head and face but now is cut cleanly by the queen¡¯s own barbers. He is pointing at a hill on the map explaining why their forces cannot hold there much longer when he stops abruptly. Everyone looks at him strangely so he turns to his queen who stands beside him.


    ¡°Do you hear that?¡± he asks.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°That music?¡±


    The queen shakes her head. ¡°I hear no music.¡±


    Wyrous nods to himself and turns back to the map. The music is quiet anyway.


    Down in the dungeon the newest prisoner is practising on his lute, playing happily away to himself. No one hears him. No one save for those he wants to hear.


    Eventually Wyrous and Nath find time to see the new prisoner. He comes to them with a plain lute and a red jacket and many smiles and waves. The two of them sit on thrones and watch him, unamused.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± the queen asks.


    ¡°I am called Sirdan my lady,¡± the minstrel replies, bowing lower and with more flourishes than anyone has ever bowed to her before.


    ¡°And what is your crime?¡±


    ¡°I attacked a soldier with a knife,¡± he said, standing back up, still smiling.


    ¡°Do you have anything to say in your defense?¡± Wyrous asked threateningly, he was rather fond of his soldiers. With the way his wars had been going he was starting to run out of them.


    ¡°Only this my lord,¡± Sirdan replied and launched into a song. It wasn¡¯t a particularly good song, nor a particularly bad song. It was simply a song about love and loss and beauty and had any of those present been listening to the minstrel the night before in the tavern they might have wondered why he had gotten so much worse.


    Eventually the queen called an end to the song. She was far too busy to waste time on such a meaningless minstrel.


    ¡°Take him to the dungeons, we¡¯ll deal with him later.¡±


    So he was taken away with his lute and his jacket and smiles, he still had his smiles.


    That night Wyrous climbed into bed next to his queen and the two of them fell asleep worrying about the wars and conflicts without their castle. Except Wyrous did not sleep. He couldn¡¯t. He could only lie awake listening to a soft haunting melody that seemed to play on and on and on. It was a good song this one, masterfully played and masterfully written, but not very happy. It was a desolate song full of darkness and horror and as he floated between sleep and wakefulness his mind was filled with an empty grey plain, stretching out forever beneath dark dark clouds. He walked through the plain to the sound of the melody, floating on howling winds but trapped in the desolation of eternity. There was nothing in the plain, nothing and nothing and nothing and then a tree. A dead jagged tree jutting out of the dead jagged ground. And it stretched toward him.


    He woke up and sat on the edge of the bed, gasping for air and trying to get the image out of his head. But even if he forgot the image the song remained, echoing up through the castle.


    His queen woke up beside him and took his hand in hers.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Can you hear it now?¡± he asked but she shook her head.


    ¡°The music?¡± she asked.


    He nodded.


    The Witch Queen was not much of a witch. She knew a little of magic, she had been taught by her old nurse Willow but Willow was gone now, she¡¯d left when the queen¡¯s old sickness had begun to fade. She was still sick much of the time and rarely had the strength to leave the castle, but she could look after herself now and Willow had said that it was her time to leave. Her title of Witch Queen was given to her by the commonfolk and had more to do with her mystery than with any actual magic she possessed. She knew nothing of music that could only be heard by one person and for all she knew her husband could be mad, but she didn¡¯t believe that. She believed he was sane and this was some type of magic, she just didn¡¯t know what yet. So she sat with him and held him until the music stopped. He was glad of that.


    The next morning the minstrel was rudely awakened by guards slamming open the door to his cell to let Wyrous stroll through. The warlord towered over the minstrel who still lay on his small bed wrapped in his red jacket. Wyrous looked down at him imperiously, Sirdan only smiled.


    ¡°Was he playing last night?¡± the warlord asked the guards.


    ¡°Don¡¯t think so,¡± one of them replied. ¡°I saw him doing something with that lute but I couldn¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    Wyrous nodded. ¡°Break his lute.¡±


    Sirdan¡¯s smile faltered. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t deprive a minstrel of his instrument would you? It-¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    The guard grabbed the lute and smashed it against the wall. Then against the floor. Then he did it again. By the time he was done the pieces of lute all fell to the ground and the strings twanged in the guard¡¯s hand.


    Wyrous turned and grabbed what was left from the guard then strolled back out of the cell. The guards followed, locking the cell door. Behind them Sirdan was grinning again.


    That night Wyrous slept peacefully with his wife. He knew that the horrible smiling minstrel had to be playing the music. It had been coming from below and it had only started after the minstrel had been taken into their dungeons. He knew now he could rest without having to hear that haunting melody again. He was wrong.


    He awoke in the middle of the night to the terrible song and the desolate plain. This time he was in the tree, wrapped in its branches and being squeezed tighter and tighter the more he tried to escape. When he escaped from his nightmare and awoke fully he leapt from his bed and donned his clothes, the music still echoing in his ears. It was louder now, much much louder.


    Nath awoke as well and watched him get dressed.


    ¡°It¡¯s still going,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m going to find the minstrel and catch him playing.¡±


    The music built to a crescendo as he buckled his belt and walked across the room trying not to listen to the desolate, haunting tune. Then he put his hand on the doorknob and it stopped. It faded away into silence.


    He stopped, standing by the door.


    ¡°What happened?¡± the queen asked.


    ¡°It stopped,¡± he said. ¡°He must know I¡¯m coming.¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she replied. ¡°Tell me about this music, what is it, what does it sound like?¡±


    So he told her. He told her about the melody, about the desolate plain and about the tree. As he said it he knew what it sounded like, like the delusions of a madman, like he was insane. But he said it anyway because he trusted her and she listened because she trusted him.


    The next morning Nath went to her library and researched all that she could on trees and music. Wyrous went to his torturer.


    Sirdan was once again awoken by the cell door slamming open. He smiled as Wyrous entered and towered over him once more.


    ¡°My lord what have you come to take from me this time? I have no more lutes I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    Wyrous looked down at him for a while. Sirdan only smiled. ¡°Dagra,¡± he said to his torturer. ¡°You play the lute yourself don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Why yes my lord. I fancy myself rather good at it too.¡±


    ¡°What would you say is the prime quality that any half decent lute player needs.¡±


    ¡°Well there¡¯s a few things my lord, skill definitely, and persistence, that¡¯s very important.¡±


    Wyrous interrupted him. ¡°I was thinking of something else, something more physical.¡±


    ¡°How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Fingers.¡±


    Dagra paused for a moment. ¡°Well yes my lord, I suppose those would be important as well.¡±


    ¡°Take his,¡± he said, pointing at Sirdan.


    ¡°Well certainly my lord,¡± Dagra said casually and pulled out a wicked looking knife.


    Sirdan began to laugh. He rolled about on his bed and laughed. He laughed as Dagra took ahold of his hand in an iron grip. He laughed as the knife bit into his finger and blood began to spray. He laughed as his finger fell from his bloody hand. And then he laughed through the other nine as well. He was still laughing a choked, awkward, spluttering laugh as Wyrous, Dagra and all the guards walked out of the cell and left him to hold his mutilated hands to his chest to stem the blood loss. All he could do was laugh.


    During the day Nath met up with her husband and showed him a picture of a tree in a book. It was a dead jagged tree growing in a dead jagged land.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± he said. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a Tree of the Wastes. It doesn¡¯t grow in this world.¡±


    ¡°What can it do?¡±


    ¡°It can do a lot of things. It¡¯s wood has magical properties and depending on how you harvest it it can do a lot of different things. One of the types of wood that can be harvested is called syncordant wastewood. And it can create magical music.¡±


    ¡°So this song is coming from this type of wood.¡±


    ¡°It seems so, probably an instrument.¡±


    ¡°But I smashed the minstrel¡¯s lute, how can he play his magic song if I smashed his magic lute?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°He must have had another lute. He won¡¯t be able to play another lute without fingers,¡± Wyrous muttered to himself.


    That night the song came again. Louder and more desolate than ever before. Wyrous didn¡¯t let himself sleep, he feared to. He feared to find himself once more in the grip of that tree. Instead he dressed himself and marched down, rousing his guards and his torturer to burst in on the minstrel long after the music had stopped.


    Sirdan lay curled up on his bed cradling his bloody hands. He looked up and Wyrous and smiled.


    Dagra moved forward, he already had his instructions and this time he had brought a bigger knife. Moving quickly and efficiently with all the skill of a surgeon he chopped through one of Sirdan¡¯s arms and then the other.


    The minstrel¡¯s laugh started weak and faded to silence until all he had left was a bloody smile. They took away his arms and slammed the cell door, leaving him in darkness with only the starlight for company. There was no more music that night.


    The next day the queen fell terribly sick and had to remain in bed while she recovered her strength. This wasn¡¯t unusual and happened every few days. She took one of the many potions she¡¯d brewed and rested in order to recover. She didn¡¯t want to take it, she felt her husband needed her and hated her sickness for taking her from him and she still had many important parts of her kingdom to attend to, but her sickness was bad, very bad, and she knew she had to sleep or else lose more than just a day to recover.


    So the warlord ran the castle alone.


    At first things were fine. There was no music and despite all the pressures of the past few months at war and not sleeping the last few nights Wyrous was a strong man and could push through it. He organised his men and pulled back from places he couldn¡¯t hold and pressed places he could. He met with all his captains and spoke to them words of encouragement, words of fire and words of rage. The sort of words that had made him the greatest warlord of his tribes in the first place. He was free of his musical torment and he was going to ensure he won the battles he needed to win.


    But he wasn¡¯t.


    It started low at first. So low he couldn¡¯t hear it at all. So low it faded quietly into the background and mixed with all the other noises. But then it grew louder. Very slowly, extremely slowly, slowly enough he still didn¡¯t notice it because it simply fitted in with the background noise he was hearing anyway. So slowly that the first thing he noticed was a wave of melancholy and fear. A wave of desolation. Because while he didn¡¯t consciously hear it some part of him did and that part reacted the way he had always reacted. With fear.


    At first he attributed the melancholy to the stress of the day. To all the battles that had to be organised and all the people who had to be spoken to. He was losing his war. He knew that. He¡¯d pushed too far too fast and now he was simply fighting to be left alone. That was why he was worried, no other reason.


    But he did hear it eventually. There is only so subtle a sound can be before it must eventually be heard. And when he heard it he felt a wave of dread and a wave of fear. He had taken the minstrel¡¯s lute, he had taken his fingers, he had taken his arms. And through it all he still played. Through it all the music came and continued to play its desolate melody.


    It was getting deafeningly loud now. Louder than he had ever heard it before. And even though he was awake. Even though he¡¯d be looking at a window, or a wall, or a person, he would still see the tree. The dead jagged tree and beyond it the dead jagged landscape. And the tree would reach for him.


    He ran this time. He was usually so composed, so powerful and confident but now he was afraid. Now he was facing something he couldn¡¯t fight. Something he¡¯d tried to fight and something that kept coming back. Now he ran.


    He ran down to the dungeons and as he ran the music grew and the tree reached and sometimes he felt as though he was running into it. It began to tighten around him, to catch his leg, to catch his hand, to trip him, to make him stumble. But he stumbled on as the music played in his ears. As the music hammered in his head.


    He burst into the dungeon and tore a key off a guard as a dead jagged branch began to tighten around his throat. He tried to breathe and the blood pounded in his ears, the music pounded in his head. He could barely squeeze out a few ragged gasps.


    He reached the cell and opened it. The music was howling now, every note seemed to echo through his whole body, playing his skeleton like a xylophone, wrenching and tearing at his body. And the tree kept tightening, around his arms, his legs, his face.


    Sirdan was huddled up on the bed, blood everywhere, facing away from the door into the wall. Wyrous grabbed what was left of his mangled shoulder and rolled him over. He was still smiling.


    He pulled out the huge dagger he carried and plunged it into the minstrel¡¯s chest. This time he didn¡¯t laugh, this time he screamed. But his screams seemed to echo in tune with the music. The terrible music. He jerked the knife around, he pulled and stabbed and twisted and carved out a jagged hole that he reached into and pulled out his heart. The screams stopped, the heartbeat stopped, the music stopped. And the tree stopped tightening.


    Wyrous panted in exhaustion. It was over.


    He left the dead minstrel in the cell and staggered back up to his room, covered in blood. It was over.


    He collapsed on the floor next to the bed and breathed, just breathed. It was over.


    It wasn¡¯t.


    Dagra walked into the room holding a lute. It wasn¡¯t a plain lute like Sirdan had had. It was a patterned lute. A pale base interwoven with dark dark spirals. Jagged spirals, made of jagged wood.


    Wyrous choked in fear.


    ¡°Now now my lord,¡± Dagra said as he began to play the song. ¡°No need to be too worried.¡±


    The branches returned. They were tighter now, tighter than ever before. Wyrous couldn¡¯t move.


    ¡°It¡¯ll all be over quickly.¡± Dagra stopped playing and stabbed Wyrous in the head. ¡°You¡¯ve got some parts my master needs.¡±


    That night the minstrel took his lute and walked out the castle gates. Playing the guards to sleep and smiling his old smile. It was a little strange playing with Wyrous¡¯s fingers and with Wyrous¡¯s arms but he quickly got used to it. And the heart was interesting. It was so big, so full of life and energy. He felt he could run for miles with this heart. His smile grew ever the wider.


    ¡°What have you done?¡± the witch queen asked from behind him. She stood in the doorway, leaning on a stick, looking weak and sickly as ever.


    The minstrel turned to look at her. Still playing his lute and still smiling. ¡°I¡¯ve won,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve killed your husband.¡±


    ¡°How did you play without fingers? How did you play without arms?¡±


    The minstrel smiled even wider. ¡°When I got here I played my little song and I took control of your little torturer. I swapped my lute for his and with him under my control I got him to play the song every night. The song also kept me alive.¡± He looked very happy with himself. Then he spoke directly to her. ¡°They call you Witch Queen Nath. Such a scary name but you aren¡¯t very scary after all are you?¡±


    ¡°I know more of magic than you minstrel.¡±


    ¡°Oh you do do you?¡±


    ¡°I know of all the herbs that can heal and all the herbs that can kill, I know of diseases and poisons and bugs and beetles and fish and snakes, I know of birds and beasts and trees and flowers, and I know of man.¡±


    The minstrel laughed. ¡°You know nothing.¡±


    ¡°I know of the wood of the wastes and I know it is not of this world.¡±


    The minstrel laughed some more and did a little dance. ¡°It¡¯s not, it¡¯s not! And nothing in this world can defend against it!¡±


    ¡°And I know you must have got it from something not of this world.¡±


    The minstrel stopped dancing.


    ¡°And I know that someday that something may want it back.¡± The witch shut the door and hobbled off back into her castle.


    The minstrel turned and walked away. He wasn¡¯t smiling.

 The Hand of the Gull

    Gull walked into the hot arena. Men cheered and shouted at her from the stands above and the huge room was hot with the torchfires and so many pressed bodies. She stood and looked at the other door into the arena as men closed her one behind her. She had no weapons, they weren¡¯t allowed weapons, the men liked it more that way. She didn¡¯t particularly care, she didn¡¯t care about a lot of things any more.


    She idly wondered who she¡¯d be facing today. She¡¯d fought small women and tall women and fast women and strong women. She¡¯d fought silent women with dead eyes. She¡¯d fought loud women who screamed and hissed. She¡¯d fought women who wore little and cheered with the crowd, and she¡¯d fought women who wore nothing at all. The men seemed to like them the most.


    Gull wasn¡¯t small, she wasn¡¯t tall either, she wasn¡¯t silent, she wasn¡¯t loud, she didn¡¯t laugh and cheer or try to interact with the crowd. She had no tricks, no gimmicks, no memorable features. But she always won. So they remembered her.


    The door opened and out walked the tallest women Gull had ever seen. She was from some far off land and wore far off clothes. Her long black hair was tied back in a huge thick braid strewn with coloured stones and her arms bulged with muscle and strength. As she walked in the crowd cheered and Gull felt the heat of the room on her face. She didn¡¯t feel fear, she never felt fear, not for a long time.


    The gamesmaster called out the start of the match in his big booming voice. Gull ignored most of it but she heard her name and she heard her opponent¡¯s name. Hathra. She always learnt their names, and she remembered all of them. That had been important to her, once.


    The gamesmaster finished and Hathra lunged. She was big and she was fast and she crossed the arena easily throwing her huge hands toward Gull. Gull moved too, she leapt forward and struck at Hathra¡¯s throat. She was fast but Hathra was faster. The huge hands grabbed her arms and before she could twist away she was shoved backward and there was a foot for her to trip over. She crashed to the ground and Hathra was on top of her, already twisting her into some new position where she had less control, less leverage. Gull wouldn¡¯t go without a fight though. Fighting was all she was good at. She brought her legs up into Hathra¡¯s stomach and shoved, stretching out as best she could. Hathra faltered and she twisted free then kicked her in the face with her booted foot. As Hathra stumbled back Gull stood up again and backed away. This woman was dangerous, she¡¯d have to be careful.


    Hathra seemed to be pausing too, she was hanging back, watching carefully. The two of them slowly circled each other while the crowd cheered.


    Then there was a horrible screech and another gate opened in the arena. Gull spun around to look and saw a great black cat make its way out eyeing her hungrily. It had been kept caged and been tortured and starved and now it was ravenous. As she looked she felt movement behind her and then Hathra¡¯s huge arm wrapped around her throat. Instinctively she lashed out and found her eye. It exploded beneath her thumb and Hathra staggered back, howling in pain. Then the cat leapt and Gull found herself flung to the ground once again. Huge claws rent her arm and side and she narrowly managed to ward off the slavering jaws and throw the cat off her. It was young and small for its kind. They didn¡¯t put the big ones in with the humans, when they did that they tended to run out humans.


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    But then the cat was back and Gull had barely stood back up again, blood thick on her left side. This time she didn¡¯t fall over and managed to catch the cat¡¯s paw and fling it away, rending her other hand open and spraying blood everywhere.


    This time the cat didn¡¯t return, instead circling around her while Hathra, clutching her ruined eye, circled the other side. Blood poured from her wounds and she felt her heart pumping it out, down onto the sand.


    Then she ran at the cat. She couldn¡¯t catch it of course, she never caught them. But she scared them. It ran away and went back to circling somewhere else. She spun back to Hathra who was staring back at her with her one good eye.


    The crowd cheered, she better do something soon before they released another cat, or something even worse. So she charged at Hathra. Hathra took away her hand, letting blood pour from her eye, and lunged forward, but Gull was too fast this time. She ducked around the hands and then struck at the throat, then the face by that ruined eye. Hathra stumbled and crashed to the ground, reeling in pain. The cat saw its chance and, ignoring Gull, lunged at the fallen Hathra who was on all fours with her head down and the back of her neck open to the sky.


    Gull knew she¡¯d won. She always won. That was who she was and who she would always be. She almost turned away so as not to watch the cat feed. But she didn¡¯t turn away.


    As the cat lunged Hathra¡¯s head jerked up and she got her feet under her and with her huge hands grabbed the cat. In her arms it looked like just a large house cat. It struggled and flailed and fear flashed in its eyes but Hathra didn¡¯t let go. Instead she raised it up and threw it. Threw it high and far and out of the arena. Into the stands.


    The cheering turned to screams as the men ran and the cat, now free to run, ran with them. Hathra turned back to Gull and spoke in a language she didn¡¯t understand, then she gestured at the stands where the cat terrorised the men and crouched to offer a leg up. To offer freedom and a chance to escape.


    Gull looked at her. Did she want a chance to escape? She walked forward because she didn¡¯t know what else to do. She put her foot in Hathra¡¯s hands because she didn¡¯t know what else to do. She jumped up and pulled herself out of the arena because she didn¡¯t know what else to do. Then she turned back to Hathra who was holding her hand up to be pulled to freedom and she knew what to do.


    She took the huge hand in her own bloody one and pulled and Hathra pulled herself up and then grabbed onto the edge of the wall and began to pull herself up. Began to pull her way to freedom. The door was open as men rushed through it and cool air blew over Gull¡¯s face, she hadn¡¯t felt that in a long time, not since she¡¯d started winning, not since she¡¯d become who she was now. Who she would always be.


    Hathra pulled herself up and as she climbed over the edge of the wall Gull shoved her and jumped. She landed on Hathra who landed on her back. There was a crack as Hathra¡¯s back snapped and she whimpered in pain. Then Gull spun her over and took her huge braid in her hands and smashed her head against the hard ground. Then she did it again, and again, and again, until Hathra stopped struggling. Dead at the hand of the Gull like so many before her.


    Then she stood up. By then the screaming had stopped. The cat had escaped but the men had returned, with their whips and weapons and words. And she followed the whips and she followed the words and she went back to her entrance and back to her cage and used the few medicines and stitches she had to put herself back together again. Hathra, her name had been Hathra. It was important to remember that. It had once been important to remember that.

 The Tomb on the Hill

    Part One


    Freyan stands atop a hill looking at the tomb of her family. It is a big tomb, her family is very rich and can afford such things. It stands high over the rest of the graveyard, the angels carved into it looking out over the dead. The sun sets in the distance and Freyan waits for her mother to emerge as she did last night. She doesn¡¯t.


    Freyan is disappointed and unlocks the tomb. She enters it and holds her lantern high casting its dim light over the rows of coffins. She finds her mother¡¯s one, it is close to the front and the spiderwebs and dust that permeates the tomb hasn¡¯t covered it yet. The coffin is not nailed shut. It was once, but the nails have been torn out as though from the outside. Freyan puts the lantern on another coffin and lifts the heavy lid off, peering inside. Her mother lies there, dead. Her eyes are closed and her hands are folded onto her chest. She does not breathe. Freyan feels for a heartbeat but there isn¡¯t one. She puts the coffin lid back down and picks up the lantern. She looks out across the rest of the tomb, nothing stirs save for some loose cobwebs waving in the wind.


    She walks out of the tomb and closes the door, locking it behind her. Then she walks off into the night thinking over what she has learnt. Her mother is dead, she has been dead for two days. That¡¯s what the doctors have said. But last night Freyan heard her mother, and then she followed her voice to the tomb where she saw her and talked with her again. When everyone said she was dead her mother had emerged to tell her one last thing.


    She had told her to kill her father.


    Freyan arrived home later that night and went to bed thinking of all that she knew. She had never seen a time when her mother and father got along. They had always argued and screamed and fought with each other. Then her mother had got sick and then gotten sicker and sicker while all the doctors her father bought for her could do nothing to fix it. Then he¡¯d gotten angry with them as well and argued and screamed with them too.


    But he didn¡¯t argue and scream with her. He was always so kind and gentle with her, and he was the same with all the other children in the family and with all the uncles and aunts and cousins and other relatives. The rest of the family had always taken his side in whatever argument him and her mother had gotten into. Freyan hadn¡¯t though, she¡¯d always been scared of him. Ever since she¡¯d followed him out one night to see where he went. He went to a fighting arena and watched women kill each other with their bare hands. Freyan had been scared of a lot of things after that.


    So she¡¯d talked to her mother a lot, she still felt safe with her. But her mother had been less and less responsive for a while now and eventually she¡¯d died. So Freyan had had no one to talk to. And now it seemed like she really was dead. She wouldn¡¯t be talking to her anymore. But now she had to kill her father. She didn¡¯t know how to do that. She¡¯d never done anything like that before. Her mother had given her instructions though. Very specific instructions. She thought about those instructions for a long time and didn¡¯t sleep much that night.


    The next day everyone was bustling about as they always did. Freyan had to go to class and follow old mistress Bartha around all day learning about history and sewing and the history of sewing. Then she came home and went up to her room to read a book while the rest of her siblings and cousins went to play in the garden. She didn¡¯t much like playing in the garden, she always sneezed and got puffy eyes from all the plants. She much preferred going around town looking at old statues and reading the inscriptions, or the graves at the graveyard. But none of the other children ever wanted to do that. They said the statues were boring and the graves were scary. Freyan didn¡¯t think the graves were very scary, they were interesting. And dead people all the way underground were a lot less scary than live people walking about in the world. So she stayed in her room and read her book, and thought about her instructions.


    Then she went down to dinner and ate it at the big long table with the rest of the family and listened as they all talked about different things. The adults all talked about money and property and how much of it they¡¯d gained or could gain. The children talked about fights they¡¯d had in the garden or people who¡¯d kissed other people in the town. Freyan didn¡¯t talk to anyone about anything. She just ate her dinner and tried not to be noticed.


    That night she went back to the graveyard and waited again as the sun set on the tomb. Except this time she wasn¡¯t alone.


    ¡°Freyan,¡± her father said from behind her making her jump in fright. ¡°It really isn¡¯t okay for you to be sneaking out here every night.¡±


    She looked down the hill at him, she didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°It¡¯s dark and you could get hurt, or lost, and who knows what dangerous things are around here.¡±


    She still didn¡¯t say anything.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go inside, get back to bed.¡± He beckoned for her to come to him.


    She stood there for a while then eventually decided to go with him and went down the hill. He put his arm around her and she felt herself feel afraid as they walked out of the graveyard. As they left she looked back at the tomb and sure enough her mother hadn¡¯t emerged like she had the first night.


    Her father noticed her looking back. ¡°I know you miss her but she¡¯s gone now Freyan, you have to accept that. And don¡¯t worry, she¡¯ll live on forever in our hearts.¡±


    ¡°Did you love her then?¡± she asked as they walked.


    ¡°Well... yes,¡± he replied, slightly surprised. He¡¯d paused when he said it, he always paused when he lied.


    ¡°Then why were you always shouting at her before she got sick?¡±


    Her father smiled. ¡°Love is complicated Freyan, there¡¯s a lot you don¡¯t understand about the world. But you will, someday.¡±


    Freyan walked on, that didn¡¯t seem like a very good answer. As she walked she thought about what she¡¯d been told to do. She was right next to him now, if she had a sharp knife she could maybe stab him in the stomach, or his throat if she got lucky. Then she could run away and leave him to die far away from anyone who could tell who¡¯d done it. But he was much bigger and stronger than she was. Much better at fighting too probably. He could easily overpower her and then everything would be ruined. Besides that wasn¡¯t part of her instructions. And she needed to follow the instructions.


    The next day old mistress Bartha was sick so her class was cancelled. That was the first part of the instructions. Freyan began to follow the rest.


    She went out of the house and down into the town. She didn¡¯t go there very often and it was always interesting to see all the people bustling about and talking to each other. They were very loud though. So Freyan much preferred to watch them from some far off distance. That wasn¡¯t going to work this time though. This time she needed to go through the town to get what she needed.


    She walked past the blacksmith who was hammering away at something. Past a pair of old men sitting on a porch laughing at each other with harsh cackling laughs. Past a group of crying toddlers being herded by a stressed young woman. There were so many noises and so much chaos. Freyan ignored it though, she needed to get to the river.


    As she was pushing her way through the crowds she saw a lot of people sitting out on the streets asking for money. She saw a lot of thin dirty thieves lurking around the backs of stalls trying to knick people¡¯s purses. She saw a lot of old houses being worked on by workmen who were tearing them all down. She knew who those workmen were. They worked for her father, getting him all his money and property that her family was so desperate to have. She didn¡¯t really see why they needed it. They already had plenty and it seemed that other people didn¡¯t have much.


    The town wasn¡¯t all bad though. She did see some people moving through the beggars, giving them money and food. There was Rathom, the baker with his huge belly dispensing bread from a basket and making sure everyone got their fair share. There was old mistress Naya the apothecary treating their injuries and illnesses. And there was Osimond, the pretty young son of the local lord giving out some of his father¡¯s money. Freyan knew a lot about Osimond, her older cousin Linley would not shut up about him.


    She eventually made it through the town and arrived at the river. She followed it to the old willow that leaned all the way down into the water and dug under the mud at the big root to the west. Sure enough there was a sack and sure enough in the sack were bottles of different coloured liquids. She took the black one with the circle on the stopper and put the rest back. That had been the first part of her instructions. Now for the second part, the hard part.


    She returned home with her bottle hidden away in her bag. She knew what it did and she didn¡¯t want to spill any or let anyone see it. So she went back to her room and hid it under her bed then went downstairs for dinner. She had instructions on how to administer the poison. She was supposed to creep into her father¡¯s room at night and drip some on his lips. But that was dangerous, very dangerous, she thought. What if he woke up, what if someone else saw her, what if she couldn¡¯t get into his room and they took away the poison? She had a much better idea.


    After dinner, she went back to her room and waited until the sun was nearly setting before once again she snuck out and went to the tomb on the hill.


    Sure enough her father followed her and as she walked up to it he spoke to her so she turned around. But this time he was not alone. That hadn¡¯t been part of her plan.


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    Standing there next to him was her aunt and uncle as well as the head of their family guard. There was some young woman she didn¡¯t recognise but who had been hanging around her father a lot lately.


    She didn¡¯t know what to do. She couldn¡¯t think, couldn¡¯t do anything as they all beckoned to her and told her all the reasons she shouldn¡¯t be out here. So she looked back at the tomb and went down to them. Went into her hated father¡¯s arms. She wasn¡¯t wearing much, just a nightgown that left her arms and shoulders bare. So when he put his hand on her shoulder he touched her skin where she¡¯d lathered the poison just like she¡¯d planned, based on how he¡¯d done it last night.


    They got a few steps home before he noticed. Before he collapsed to the ground screaming in pain. She just stood there unsure of what to do while her relatives yelled and shouted in alarm.


    But he knew what had caused it, he could feel it on the hand that had touched her, and he wasted little time in telling everyone else that it was her fault. He called her demon and monster and all sorts of horrible things and they believed him. Of course they¡¯d believe him, everyone always believed him.


    So she ran, ran away into the night with the screams of her dying father still echoing in her ears. They tried to save him but she knew he¡¯d die. There was no antidote for Tears of the Widow poison.


    Part Two


    Nayras had once been a master ninja. She could climb sheer buildings and infiltrate the nobility. She¡¯d once fired a crossbow bolt attached to a string from one castle to another and then walked along it to get to her next victim. That had been a long time ago though. Now she was old and worked in an apothecary. She still had all her ninja equipment. Her sword, her masks, even the crossbow she¡¯d used. It was all fairly useless to her now though. Her back ached and her legs trembled and her arms sent shivers of fear up her body whenever she thought about climbing so much as a ladder. She¡¯d really let herself go. She knew some ninjas had joined ancient monk temples high in the mountains and mastered their mind and body so this sort of thing never happened to them. She hadn¡¯t gotten to that point, she¡¯d been hit by a spear in the hip and ever since then her body had never really been the same.


    There was one thing she could still do though. One thing she¡¯d always been good at. And that was poisons.


    Back at her dojo she¡¯d learned of every poison her master had known of and then she¡¯d spent a long period of her life discovering more. She¡¯d always been the best of the best and now that she was an apothecary her talent had only grown stronger.


    Sadly it was much easier to kill people than it was to save them and she was still getting the hang of being an apothecary. People didn¡¯t respect you the same way. They didn¡¯t tend to bow in awe or tremble in fear at your mere presence. They didn¡¯t send emissaries to speak with you for fear of coming themselves. They didn¡¯t see you as a perfect example of human skill and experience just waiting to be unleashed on a new unsuspecting victim.


    No as an apothecary she tended to just talk to people for a long time about the goings on in the town. It was actually very nice she thought.


    But there were some people who knew of her past. To be fair she didn¡¯t really keep it a secret and happily told anyone who asked that she had once been legendary ninja but most people didn¡¯t believe her. She didn¡¯t mind, she quite enjoyed being thought of as the mad old lady in the town, it had a very nice ring to it. But some people believed her.


    She¡¯d been asked up to treat the Lady Astair at the Astair manor as she was horribly sick and dying and with her knowledge of poisons had easily deduced she was being poisoned and quickly came up with a cure for it too. Sadly, she¡¯d happily given the cure to her husband who had turned out to be the one poisoning her so of course he¡¯d gotten rid of it and threatened to have her killed if she spoke of this to anyone. It was damn tricky this apothecary business.


    So she sat in her cottage by the river knitting a scarf and thinking about all the drama up at the Astair manor. She felt she should be trying to help but she wasn¡¯t sure what she should do. Back in her ninja days she worked for her lord and never questioned his judgement. As an apothecary she usually just helped whoever needed helping but she¡¯d never faced any opposition before. She was also fairly confident that with her old tired body she wouldn¡¯t be able to get past the opposition if she had wanted to. So she knitted her scarf.


    It was a nice scarf, it had a picture of a ninja beheading a fat man on it. It was a very red scarf.


    There was a knock at the door. That was strange, people in this town didn¡¯t usually do business at midnight as far as she knew. Just another of the things that was different about being a ninja. She put down her scarf and opened the door. Standing on the doorstep was the Lady Astair, looking terribly sick and about to fall over.


    Naya quickly led her inside and let her collapse onto a soft chair. Then she bustled away to prepare some hot drinks. That was what you always fell back on in the apothecary business.


    ¡°Well I wasn¡¯t expecting to see you here,¡± she said as she made the drinks.


    ¡°No,¡± the Lady replied. ¡°No I don¡¯t suppose you were.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid you¡¯re being poisoned, by your husband. Adderworm Poison, very nasty stuff.¡± Naya had found that calling any symptom, disease or affliction, very nasty stuff was expected of apothecaries.


    The Lady Astair looked off into the distance. ¡°I know, I know. Can you save me?¡±


    ¡°Well I could always give it a go, doesn¡¯t seem likely though, you¡¯ve been being poisoned for a long time.¡± She bustled over with the drinks and sat across from her. ¡°By all rights you should be dead by now, can only blame the poisoner, clearly doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s doing.¡±


    Astair sipped her drink. ¡°You know a lot about that do you? You told us you were some sort of assassin?¡±


    ¡°Ninja.¡±


    ¡°Yes ninja. And you know a lot about poisons.¡±


    ¡°All sorts.¡±


    ¡°Do you still do that? Are you still a ninja?¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯ve still got all my old things, don¡¯t have a lord anymore though.¡±


    ¡°How does that work, do you have contracts or something?¡±


    ¡°No no, I¡¯m a ninja not an assassin,¡± Naya shook her head incredulously.


    ¡°Right, but could I hire you?¡±


    ¡°What for? Fixing you up? You certainly could, probably wouldn¡¯t save you though.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I want you to kill my husband.¡±


    Naya smiled over her drink. ¡°Oh, I see. I¡¯m afraid that might be difficult too.¡±


    ¡°Could you not just poison him or something?¡±


    ¡°People who know the old apothecary is a master ninja aren¡¯t likely to accept anything from them, ¡®specially if they know the old apothecary knows about their secret wife poisoning habit.¡±


    ¡°Well could you give the poison to someone else?¡±


    ¡°Do you have someone in mind?¡±


    Astair thought about it. ¡°Yes I have someone in mind.¡±


    ¡°Good I¡¯ll get one of my poisons and you send them to me.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t be that simple.¡±


    Naya smiled again. ¡°It never is is it? Don¡¯t worry I¡¯m much better at this than at medicine and I¡¯m very good at medicine.¡±


    ¡°You gave the antidote for my poison to my poisoner.¡±


    ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect.¡± Naya sipped her drink.


    The Astair manor was guarded by guards of all kinds. Lady Astair was found at the apothecary house and brought back to the manor within an hour of her leaving which meant the treatment Naya applied soon wore off. At the manor she was watched day and night by someone and there was always someone listening whenever she spoke with any of her children. Her husband never came near her giving her no opportunity to poison him even if she¡¯d had a poison to kill him with. She didn¡¯t though, she had Shadow of the Dream Orchid, a poison that put her into a sleep as still as death.


    They held a funeral for her, a very sad and touching affair and of course Naya attended. That would have been a perfect chance to kill the husband there and then but of course he wouldn¡¯t let her get near him which she¡¯d known would happen. Instead she¡¯d found Freyan who¡¯d been quietly standing at the back and given her a hug and a kiss on the cheek to cheer her up. It didn¡¯t work, in fact it probably made her more upset. That was okay though, Naya was still learning the ways of caring about other people¡¯s emotions and the real reason for the kiss had been to plant the Mindshatter Poison on her skin, a powerful insomniac which was sure to have her wandering the halls of the manor at night.


    She didn¡¯t actually expect that to work. The backup plan was to just wait until she could somehow contact the girl herself and give her the poison but it was nice to be able to flex her poisoning muscles again.


    Luckily, it had worked. Just as the Lady Astair had said, when Freyan couldn¡¯t sleep she wandered the manor and often left it to go see the statues around the outside. So, in her sickly dying state, after Naya had opened up her coffin and treated her as best she could, the Lady had lured her daughter away to the tomb where she¡¯d given her the plan while Naya watched from behind a tree. Her body was old and couldn¡¯t move very fast but stealth was all about moving slowly and she was even better at that now.


    Then she¡¯d eventually managed to poison Freyan¡¯s teacher, old mistress Bartha and make her too sick to teach, giving Freyan the day off. That part hadn¡¯t been particularly easy and in the meantime the Lady Astair had actually died. Naya had tried to save her but the poison had just progressed too far. Luckily though, after her death Naya had managed to make acquaintance with one of Bartha¡¯s friends who came in to see about a wart on her foot. Naya had told her Bartha was looking unhealthy lately and used a lot of big scary apothecary words and sure enough the friend had told Bartha and she¡¯d come running. She had of course been fine but Naya gave her some Essence of Brackenfowl and she¡¯d been harmlessly ill for a few days.


    Then Naya had to admire the next part. Astair had assured her that despite being timid and quiet Freyan got things done when she set her mind to them. Admittedly Naya may have misremembered just how easy it actually was to break into a locked room, drug the occupants, and escape without being seen but Freyan rose to the challenge. Luring her father out into the graveyard and poisoning him there with Tears of the Widow. Very impressive. Tears of the Widow was a powerful poison, very difficult to prepare and Naya was happy to see it being used to its full effect. There was also Tears of the Warlock which only killed women and worked roughly the same way but Naya didn¡¯t have much of that. In the words of an apothecary, it was very nasty stuff, for her at least.


    Then everything went wrong. Naya had been hiding behind her tree watching the proceedings and then everyone started shouting and screaming and cursing the girl. She turned away to hobble her way off when she noticed that the girl was running straight toward her.


    She looked around for a way out, somewhere to hide other than behind this tree. But there wasn¡¯t anywhere that her old legs and her walking stick could get her to in time.


    She turned back around and the girl stopped in front of her, looking up in alarm.


    ¡°Evening,¡± Naya said to her. Then she looked up to see a big guard looking man with a sword bearing down on them. Naya shook her head, disappointed. She never understood why people hired big guards like that, they never worked.


    She shuffled the girl behind her and then walked out from behind the tree to greet the guard. He stopped in surprise and looked down at this old woman who had suddenly appeared.


    ¡°Hello, beautiful weather we¡¯re having isn¡¯t it,¡± she said and gestured arbitrarily at the sky. Confused, the guard glanced vaguely upward.


    She swung her walking stick, flicked the secret lever and the secret blade sliced through his neck. Then she turned back and hobbled away under the tree, gathering Freyan up in her skirts as she went.


    ¡°Come on, let¡¯s go. Say do you have any interest in being an apothecary?¡±


    Freyan was silent.


    ¡°Ninja?¡±

 The Dance of the Fallen Leaves

    Sarasha was a dancer with the Three Angel¡¯s Theatre. A theatre that had been built long ago by a group of dark and mysterious gypsies out of the Black Mountains. They had come down from the mountains clad in animal furs and riding strange stunted black horses never seen in Avus before. It was said they¡¯d woven their strange magics and their dark rituals and bound three angels to the building as they built it. Angels that were said to grant luck and beauty to those on stage.


    The Theatre was still owned by one of the gypsies, an old man who dressed all in black ugly animal furs even though with the success of the theatre he could easily afford proper clothes. He was also covered in different talismans and symbols that were all made of wood and rock and bone and rattled when he moved. His face was all old and twisted up and he had deep dark eyes set back into it that seemed to stare right through the world around him as though it wasn¡¯t there. His name was Rama and despite his odd appearance and strange customs Sarasha liked him. He had taken her in when she¡¯d had nowhere else to go and he was always kind to her and the other dancers.


    He had a young daughter though who Sarasha didn¡¯t like. Her name was Daraim and she always got all the best roles. She was a good dancer, that was clear, but all the other dancers thought they were better and thought that she only got the lead roles because she was the owner¡¯s daughter. So they shunned her and ignored her and tried desperately to get good enough to surpass her.


    Some of the dancers had rich families and didn¡¯t need to dance to survive. They didn¡¯t usually stay very long when they learned they would never get the roles they wanted. They just gave up. Sarasha didn¡¯t give up though, she couldn¡¯t, she had to keep dancing and getting better and better if she wanted enough money to buy food for the week.


    Initially she¡¯d lived in the Theatre with other orphans Rama had taken in and he¡¯d given them food and water and trained them up to dance so eventually they could pay their own way. Sarasha had lived in the Theatre with the other children for a long time but eventually there had been too many and she¡¯d had to leave as one of the older ones. So now she lived in a small old house with three other dancers and struggled to make ends meet.


    The other dancers in her house didn¡¯t really like her very much. She thought they were jealous that she usually had much better roles than them. Because she was a good dancer. A very good dancer. Probably the best at the Theatre in her mind but sadly Rama didn¡¯t seem to see it that way. To him the best dancer would always be Daraim, so Daraim always got to dance the best roles. While Sarasha and the others were overlooked every time.


    This season they were dancing an old story about the harvest. It told the story of a man who went out to harvest his crops but all the crops came to life and frustrated him until he eventually befriended and then fell in love with the Autumn Queen and then all the crops harvested themselves. Sarasha thought it was a fairly silly story. Crops didn¡¯t come to life or harvest themselves. But it had some beautiful music and even more beautiful dances and she hoped for the best role which was the Autumn Queen.


    The day came and the script was put up on the board with all the roles and she didn¡¯t get it. Daraim was the Autumn Queen as expected and she was Naga, the Queen¡¯s Assistant and one of the most tricky and frustrating for the harvester.


    Sarasha was disappointed but she didn¡¯t mind too much. At least she hadn¡¯t gotten the role of Fallen Leaf No 12 like Reyame, one of her housemates, had. Naga didn¡¯t have as many dances as the Autumn Queen but she was one of the more difficult characters to dance with all her tricks she played on the harvester. Sarasha wasn¡¯t worried though, she¡¯d never had a role she couldn¡¯t dance.


    They practiced and trained for months at their moves and sequences. With Daraim as the Autumn Queen and her as Naga. It was the most difficult role she¡¯d ever had and at times she did almost feel like it was too much. With what little food she could scrounge together on her meagre allowance and high rent. With the constant snide remarks and insults her housemates and the other dancers gave her. With the little sleep she could get in between her rush to and from the Theatre. But she pushed through it all, she was the best dancer at the Theatre and she knew it so she was going to do this role perfectly.


    And she did. For the dress rehearsal everything went exactly as it was supposed to go. She jumped and skipped and danced around with Daraim, sneaking and hopping around the harvester and falling into step with the rest of the Fallen Leaves. That was the most beautiful dance. The Dance of the Fallen Leaves when almost all the dancers they had were onstage weaving in and around each other in their beautiful autumn costumes. It had taken a long time to get everything working for that dance since they had so many dancers and everyone still wasn¡¯t perfect in Sarasha¡¯s mind. She would never let herself slip up in the way some of the other dancers did. But it was the best they were going to get and it was unlikely anyone in the audience would notice. Most people who came to the dance didn¡¯t know much about it unfortunately. They just came to see pretty girls dance to pretty music. Many of them came to see their pretty daughter dance to pretty music. Sarasha lamented that. No one would be coming to see her that way. She didn¡¯t have friends outside the Theatre. Her busy life rushing too and from it hadn¡¯t left much time for that.


    There would be people who came to see her. Old men she didn¡¯t like and tried to stay away from but who always seemed to find her anyway. She knew why they did it, she was young and pretty and didn¡¯t have anyone to look after her, no one to care if she disappeared. That made it sting all the more when she watched the other dancers with their parents and families.


    Rama would probably care if she went missing, he had looked after her when she was little and she knew he¡¯d want to look after her now. But she knew he couldn¡¯t do much to help. She lived at her own house now and he was old and busy, unable to do much of anything. On top of that he was a gypsy. People didn¡¯t tend to listen to gypsies unless they were being paid by them. Sarasha just hoped the three angels would give her the luck she needed.


    After the dress rehearsal Rama came up to her and looked up at her with his eerie black eyes.


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    ¡°Sarasha,¡± he said. ¡°Good work, very good. I knew you¡¯d make an excellent Naga.¡±


    Sarasha was proud but also slightly annoyed. Naga was supposed to be shorter than the Autumn Queen and she was taller than Daraim. She thought Daraim would have made a much better Naga had she been chosen.


    ¡°But I was thinking,¡± Rama continued. ¡°You¡¯re probably one of the best dancers here. Maybe even as good as Daraim. Maybe even better.¡± He smiled at her and she smiled back.


    ¡°So for our next production I was thinking we¡¯d do The Princess of Paramon and I was wondering if you¡¯d like to be the Princess?¡±


    Sarasha¡¯s eyes grew wide. The Princess of Paramon was one of the greatest dances ever written. It was usually only performed by incredibly rich companies because it needed a huge stage and over a hundred dancers. Playing the Princess would be the best role the Theatre had ever offered and they were offering it to her, not to Daraim.


    She nodded eagerly and Rama smiled before walking away, his totems jangling.


    That night she barely slept. She found it difficult to sleep normally before a show but this time it was even harder. Her stomach was in knots and her heart beat faster than when she danced. She turned this way and that, unable to lie still as she thought and thought all about the show to come and role after it. All through the night she didn¡¯t stop smiling.


    The next day the show began. Daraim seemed stressed, more stressed than she was normally before a show but Sarasha ignored her, she was used to doing that. She practised a few of her moves to warm up and nailed all of them. Naga wasn¡¯t an easy role to dance but she knew she could do it. There was no role she couldn¡¯t dance, and she didn¡¯t think there ever would be.


    People filed into the building after a while and the dancers all gathered backstage in their costumes. Sarasha was dressed something like a flower, with petals and beautiful colours woven through her dress. Her face was painted green, something to do with being a trickster forest creature. Reyame, playing Fallen Leaf No 12 had an impressive costume too, though not quite as good as hers. It was big and delicate and had plenty of impressive autumnal colours. But Daraim¡¯s costume was the most beautiful. It was everything the Fallen Leaves had and more, she had a crown, she had flowing ribbons and a crest of leaves all around her neck. Sarasha thought it went a bit too far and for once was glad she hadn¡¯t gotten the role. The ribbons would never flow the way they were supposed to all the time. Even if you danced it perfectly it would never be perfect. She hoped the Princess costume wouldn¡¯t be like that.


    The dance began and they spun through all of their moves. The harvester danced around, being spun and bedazzled by all the other dancers. Then Sarasha and Daraim went on and Sarasha spun through all her moves, tricking and trapping the harvester. Dancing as the mad trickster she was. Dancing all throughout the story. Until the dance of the Fallen Leaves.


    There everyone went on, all the leaves, all the crops, her and Daraim. And they danced and spun and leapt and jumped, all across the stage the way they had been trained to do it. As she danced she noticed other dancers making small mistakes, a stumble on a landing, a mistep somewhere, a loose arm somewhere else. The audience seemed to love it though, and she was enjoying herself as she nailed all the moves she¡¯d practiced.


    Then came the end of that dance and she moved toward the front to take her pose with the Autumn Queen. They stood together, arms out to the audience, revelling in applause when someone in the audience stood up. They weren¡¯t supposed to do that, it wasn¡¯t the end yet. And the person standing up had a crossbow.


    Sarasha moved forward, trying to point him out to someone but she was too slow, far too slow. He fired the crossbow at Daraim, she was a gypsy and he resented gypsies for some reason or another. So he fired at Daraim.


    But Daraim wasn¡¯t who he hit. Sarasha had been moving forward and she stopped moving forward as the crossbow bolt went through her stomach and into her spine. She didn¡¯t feel much though. She thought she would have felt more.


    She woke up in a room filled with empty beds. It didn¡¯t smell very nice and all the curtains were closed, blocking out most of the sunlight. Next to her was a big bunch of flowers with a note underneath them. She reached for the note and stopped. She couldn¡¯t feel her legs. She sat back in the bed and thought about that for a long time.


    The priest came and talked to her. He told her her spine had been shattered and that she¡¯d never walk again. That she¡¯d never dance again. He told her she¡¯d been very lucky as well, that she shouldn¡¯t have survived at all and that even with all his healing skill he¡¯d expected her to die from blood loss. But apparently she¡¯d been very strong, very tough, very fit, and very lucky.


    She didn¡¯t think she¡¯d been lucky though. She couldn¡¯t walk anymore, she couldn¡¯t dance. She couldn¡¯t do anything. She wished the crossbow had killed her. Rama had sent the flowers but he hadn¡¯t come himself. Daraim had come and cried and thanked her for saving her life and cried some more. Daraim was shorter than her, if the crossbow bolt had hit her she wouldn¡¯t have survived.


    Daraim told her why Rama wouldn¡¯t come. He felt guilty, he felt terrible apparently and would barely talk to her, nevermind Sarasha. Daraim told her there had been threats on her life but Rama hadn¡¯t taken them seriously and had put on the show anyway. She said his guilt was almost destroying him and he might not be able to run the Theatre anymore.


    Then she¡¯d left and Sarasha had had some blessed silence. She lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling for a long time.


    It was hard to tell how long passed with the curtains all drawn up like that. She drifted in and out of sleep a lot too from all the drugs the priest gave her. So it could¡¯ve been days, it could¡¯ve been weeks. For all she knew it could¡¯ve been months. Before Meyras walked in. He looked just like Rama, except he wore even darker, older animal skins, and instead of totems of wood and rock and bone, he had totems of topaz. Little eyes of shining orange all over his body, on his fingers, on his arms, in his hair, on necklaces dangling onto his chest. He was Rama¡¯s brother, he told her that. She¡¯d never seen him before, never even heard of him. But now he was here and he sat down next to her bed and talked to her, looking down at her with eyes even blacker than Rama¡¯s.


    ¡°You saved my niece,¡± he said. ¡°Rama feels guilty about it, he feels horrible at what¡¯s happened to you. His best dancer. It seems his three angels didn¡¯t give you much luck after all.¡±


    He leant down and took one of the topaz¡¯s dangling around his neck in between thick wrinkled fingers. ¡°He can¡¯t help you now, that stupid priest tottering around somewhere can¡¯t help you now, but there are people who can still help you.¡±


    Sarasha¡¯s eyes were drawn to the topaz as he moved it up and down his fingers. It was very shiny, and dark orange, a deep dark orange like a sunset. And inside there was something even darker still, some dark impurity that drew her eye as it moved through his fingers. Some shape and the shape almost looked like a man.


    ¡°You saved my niece and for that I only want to help you Sarasha.¡± He leaned forward more, she looked up at him rather than at the topaz. ¡°How would you like to dance again?¡±

 The Famine Tree

    On a hill there sits a tree, black as night with leaves as red as blood. It has a gash in it, a terrible gash that looks like some horrible wound on flesh rather than on wood, and out of the gash seeps sap which is blacker, even, than the bark on which it drips. Once this tree was surrounded by a whole forest of other trees but they are all dead and gone now. Once, it was surrounded by the houses and buildings of a town, with great plans to someday turn that town into a city, stretching up the hill and over the tree. Chopping it down to make space for roads and houses like so many other trees. But the tree is still there, and the town is a broken ruin. It¡¯s people dead or gone and it¡¯s houses falling into decay and disrepair. The tree still stands, gazing out over the hill. Its bark black as night and its leaves red as blood.


    This story starts with a group of pilgrims called the Rangals. They had run out of land and resources for their growing population back at home and had set out to find newer and fresher pastures to build upon. The group had travelled over the rocky mountains along crumbling goat trails and through choking forests to finally arrive in a valley on the other side. They¡¯d brought with them horses and carts full of all the things they might need to establish their new town on the other side of the mountains and despite the tough road they¡¯d managed to get most of them through. They were ready to begin building their little town in their little valley and they set to work at once, clearing out the forest around and ploughing up the land to grow crops to sustain them.


    One man, Ardy, was in charge of chopping down the trees for he was strong and powerful and able to fell even the mightiest trees with his axe. He set about the valley clearing all the trees away with his team of men and soon they had taken down every tree in the valley. They relaxed that night by the big fire that had been built in the centre of town and talked with the other men and women who were building houses and planting crops. Ardy talked with an old woman, Henna, who had come with them over the mountains wrapped in her fluffy colourful quilt. She was old and thin and many believed she wouldn¡¯t survive the crossing with what little food they had. But she had made it and was now here to lend her old wisdom and clever hands to the building of their new village.


    ¡°What news does little Ardy bring old Henna today?¡± she asked him chuckling. ¡°What does he find in the valley?¡±


    Ardy stroked his chin and thought about it. It was best to think about things when answering Henna, else she was likely to make fun of you. ¡°I found a lot of trees, all green and happy-like. I found some flowers and lots of grass. I found a brook over to the west where the ground is all muddy but the brook has many flowers and is very pretty. I found a rock,¡± he said, indicating a large rock that was easy to see now that the trees had been cleared away.


    Henna raised her eyebrow at that, looking at him in a demeaning way.


    ¡°It was a big rock,¡± Ardy argued, he gestured with his hands somewhat hopelessly.


    Henna chuckled some more. ¡°Did little Ardy find any animals. Any rabbits or rats, any birds or bugs, any deer or pigs or spiders or flies or squirrels or fish in his very pretty brook?¡±


    Ardy thought about it. He hadn¡¯t noticed with all the noise and commotion of the new village being built but he hadn¡¯t seen any animals. There had been animals all through the trip to the valley, all through the mountains and forests. There were always birds and beetles and spiders and often rabbits or foxes too. But here he hadn¡¯t seen anything.


    ¡°No I didn¡¯t,¡± he said slowly. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re all hiding from the village being built.¡±


    Henna chuckled some more and Ardy suspected he might have said something wrong. ¡°Wherever old Henna goes, all throughout her long life, there are animals everywhere. Under every leaf, under every branch, under every old rotten log, there are animals. Bugs and beetles and worms, there are always worms. But there are no worms here, there are no bugs and beetles and spiders, no flies or frogs or foxes. There are nothing except Rangals and what Rangals have brought with them.¡± Henna pointed over at a packhorse that was grazing away from the fire. ¡°That is Muffins, Muffins is old and wise, like Henna. And Muffins is an animal so Henna thought he might know what was going on.¡± Henna shook her head sadly. ¡°Muffins knows nothing more than we do.¡±


    Ardy was feeling both Henna and Muffins knew more than he did at the moment. ¡°Did you talk to the horse?¡±


    Henna chuckled. ¡°Old Henna has talked to many things and many things have talked to old Henna. Muffins is not one of those things, he does not talk to old Henna no matter how much old Henna talks to him. No no no, old Henna follows him about. Sees what he does. And he doesn¡¯t do anything strange. Only grazes.¡±


    Ardy nodded. That made slightly more sense. Slightly.


    ¡°I¡¯ll look for animals tomorrow,¡± he said. ¡°Me and the others are going up that hill, maybe there will be animals up there.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes yes,¡± Henna muttered. ¡°Little Ardy and old Henna will get to the bottom of this. Even if Muffins will not help.¡±


    Muffins whinied in agreement. He would not help.


    The next day Ardy took his men and they went up the hill all the while on the lookout for animals. But they found no animals at all. In fact after Ardy told them about this one of the men revealed he had in fact seen a single lonely eagle flying high overhead yesterday as they cleared the last trees out of the valley. But today they saw nothing, not even the eagle.


    They examined the hill, looking for which trees would be best to clear out. Most of the trees were happy and healthy just like the ones in the valley had been. But right at the centre of the hill. Crowded out by all the other trees was a shrunken ugly dead black tree. It had no leaves and few branches that hadn¡¯t fallen away. Ardy didn¡¯t think it would take much to clear away that tree at all. So they left it for last. It was in the middle of the hill and far away from the town so they didn¡¯t need to chop it down for a long while yet.


    First they cleared away the trees at the bottom of the hill. Getting plenty of wood and space for the new buildings. This took a few days and they found that working on the hill seemed a lot harder and more exhausting than working on the flat had been. This was something that was fairly understandable. The hill was steep and climbing up and down it carrying heavy axes and then heavy trees was much harder than in the valley. The workers found themselves famished and ready to eat as much as possible when they came home each night to the fire. They would devour all the food everyone had made for them as quickly as possible and then ask for more, leaving little time to converse with old ladies.


    But old Henna would not be ignored for long. After all the trees at the bottom of the hill had been cleared she came up to Ardy as he was polishing off a vegetable pie. There were no animals and so they had no meat but they had what they had brought with them as well as all the natural vegetables and fruits they had found in the valley.


    ¡°Ardy!¡± Henna snapped and he looked up from his pie. Henna was not looking well. Even after just a few days he could see she was thinner and more frail than when they¡¯d last talked. He supposed she was old and these things happened to old people.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, his mouth still full of pie.


    ¡°Little Ardy doesn¡¯t tell me what he found up on the hill? Were there animals? Were there people? Was there a castle made of gingerbread? Old Henna will never know because little Ardy has been spending too much of his time eating pies!¡±


    Ardy swallowed his pie guiltily. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Henna, it¡¯s a hard time working on the hill. We get back and all we want to do is have a bite to eat and then go to bed before we have to do it all again the next day.¡±


    Henna shook her head. ¡°Even now little Ardy still won¡¯t tell old Henna what he finds on the hill. What can old Henna possibly do to get her message through his thick skull? Muffins tells her more these days.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Um... We found trees mostly, and a few rocks but no animals. Technically less animals than in the valley because Mord saw an eagle then. We found an old dead tree at the top of the hill. But we won¡¯t get to that for a long time. We¡¯ve got to clear away the rest of them first.¡±


    Henna nodded. ¡°Thank you Ardy. Now wipe your face, there¡¯s pie all over it.¡± She began to stride away from the fire and the half constructed village.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Ardy asked as he wiped pie from his lips.


    ¡°To see this tree of course. Don¡¯t worry Henna is assured there is nothing out there, no animals, no people.¡±


    ¡°Yes but-¡±


    ¡°Go to bed Ardy. You have lots more trees to clear tomorrow.¡± She strolled off up the hill, wrapped in her colourful quilt.


    Ardy watched her go and considered following her but he was too tired. Every muscle in his body was sore from dragging trees all about and the thought of walking all the way up that hill just made him more exhausted. So instead he trusted old Henna knew what she was doing and went to bed where his worry did little to keep him awake, as tired as he was.


    In the morning Henna had apparently returned but Ardy didn¡¯t have much time to see her before he was off again, clearing trees. They were making good progress, despite the steepness of the hill. In a few days they would reach the top and that dead black tree Henna had seemed so curious about.


    They returned and although he was hungrier than ever Ardy went looking for Henna instead. Unfortunately she wasn¡¯t at the fire with everyone else, she was in her bed, wrapped in her quilt, pale and asleep. Ardy asked her daughter about it and she looked at him with a sorrowful look in her eyes.


    ¡°She is old and tired. She made it all the way here and I think she will be happy to have seen the place we will build our new village. But I do not think she will live very long anymore.¡±


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    Ardy nodded sadly. It seemed strange to him though, she had seemed fine when they first got here, despite everyone doubting her.


    The next day was a holy day for the Rangals and so there was no work. Instead Ardy decided to investigate the top of the hill himself. He walked up to where the dead tree was and on it was a leaf. A single leaf, red as blood. He frowned to himself, he was sure it had had no leaves on it before. He shrugged, he must not have seen that one last time.


    He returned to the village and tried to spend the rest of his day relaxing before he went back to work. But he worried about Henna and about the dead tree with its single red leaf.


    Henna died the next day and they burned her on a pyre as they did with all their dead. There was plenty of spare wood around and many were suggesting they stop cutting down trees and get the workers who¡¯d been doing that to help build houses before the rains came. Ardy disagreed though. He wanted to chop down every tree on that hill, starting with the dead one at the top. His men would never agree to that though, why should they go that far when there were trees at the bottom still. They¡¯d have to work their way up.


    So they did. Despite how hungry they all were, Ardy made them work. He did not like that black tree and he wanted it chopped down. They worked all through the day, chopping and hacking away at the trees and tossing them down the hill. By midday the men were starving and all stopped to eat lunch but Ardy carried on. He hacked away at trees all through the day although sweat began to pour down his body and his arms began to shake with the effort. He began to grow hungry. So very hungry. He could feel a hole gnawing away at his stomach, but he didn¡¯t stop. He knew there would be food when he returned to the village and he knew he could hold out till then. So he chopped and hacked away and his men followed suit around him. One by one they chopped down every tree on the hill until they reached the black one. It was dark now, the sun had set long ago and his men had been protesting for a long time now. They could all see the fire at the bottom of the hill, now cleared of trees, and all had rumbling stomachs at the thought of all the food waiting there. But the black tree was right there.


    Ardy walked toward it, his legs shaking and struggling to hold him aloft with how hungry he was. His axe dragging in the dirt, his arms too weak to carry it properly. It was hard to see in the fading light but it looked like the tree had more leaves. More blood red spots in the darkness, lit only by the dim firelight below, staring down at him. But that wasn¡¯t possible. The tree was dead, and he knew it had only had one leaf before. He knew it. Just like he knew it had once had none.


    He fell on his face in the dirt. Still metres from the tree. He tried to rise, tried to struggle when his men carried him away. But he couldn¡¯t do it anymore. He was too weak and his heart wasn¡¯t in it. He waited to be carried to the warm fire below with all the warm inviting food.


    Ardy didn¡¯t remember much of that night, it was just a blur as he was carried down to the fire. As he tried to eat but was barely strong enough to chew. As he collapsed multiple times and eventually was put to bed. The only thing he did remember was the gnawing pain on his insides. That roar of starvation, true starvation. But he was too tired and woozy to realise it. He shouldn¡¯t have been starving, even after working all day. But he was starving nonetheless, the food he ate feeding the Famine Tree.


    He woke up in a cart. Being slowly transported back to the old Rangal lands. He felt much better, able to think, able to talk, able to eat. There was still that gnawing away in his stomach but it was less now, he could ignore it. They fed him soft foods, soups and porridge, but eventually he could eat other things too. Fruit and vegetables and meat, it was good to eat meat again, they hadn¡¯t had any of that in the valley with no animals to hunt. People were talking about sending herds of animals there to be farmed but there wasn¡¯t much space with all the hills, and transporting a herd through the mountains would be no easy feat. No those living in the valley might have to make do with what they had for now. They wouldn¡¯t mind, it would be an adventure.


    One night Ardy had a dream. He¡¯d eaten some excellent chicken that night and the gnawing in his stomach had almost ceased to exist. He was almost content in a way he hadn¡¯t been since he¡¯d entered the valley, all those months ago.


    In the dream he was drowning. He flailed and thrashed about, his arms and legs moving through something that was thicker than water. He struggled and struggled and then his hand found a handhold and he pulled himself out onto white dead sand. The water dripped in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth, but of course, it wasn¡¯t water. It was blood. He looked up and saw a sea of blood. Stretching out as far as the eye could see, under a sky that was choked with red red clouds. He coughed and spluttered and tried to look up, to stand up, but the blood just poured from his hair into his eyes. He tried to wipe it away but his hand was drenched in blood as well. Eventually he looked around anyway, ignoring the sting as fresh blood poured into his eyes. Then he saw it. The handhold he had grabbed was a root coming out of the sand. A black root that branched off a larger root that branched off a larger one still. For over him, towering high as big as a mountain, was an enormous black tree. With a canopy of red red leaves that stretched out all across the sky. Crushing him in loss and fear and utter despair. But more importantly, crushing him with hunger.


    He woke up because the gnawing in his stomach was too great to bear. He leapt from his bed and crouched, trembling on the ground. That tree was evil. He didn¡¯t know what it was. He didn¡¯t know what it could do. But he knew he had to chop it down. He packed up his things and left the land of the Rangals.


    There weren¡¯t many carts or horses going to the valley but when Ardy told them he needed them to go with the rage of his gnawing belly fueling him on they agreed to change course to something that was miles upon miles out of the way. He found a caravan belonging to a young couple who sold woolen rugs and they agreed to take him to the valley. Reasoning that it would be nice to see it for themselves while it was still under construction.


    So they set off through the mountains and despite the roads now being all mapped out and known, it was the longest trip of Ardy¡¯s life. Through the day his hands grew white as he gripped his axe in fear and frustration. Through the night he tossed and turned on a bed of woolen rugs while his stomach gnawed at him no matter how much he ate. He felt that eating actually did nothing to help him. He felt that he was dying of starvation no matter what he did. It wasn¡¯t him he was feeding, it was the tree.


    So he didn¡¯t eat. He barely drank and he never slept. He gave up all those things for his mission. He knew what it was, and he knew he was not coming back. He didn¡¯t need to survive it, he just needed to survive long enough, and for that he had nothing but his drive to succeed. He hoped that would be enough.


    They arrived in the valley after three weeks of travelling. That was much faster than the road normally took with a caravan but Ardy had made the couple take some unconventional routes to get there faster. Luckily nothing had gone wrong.


    The village was a wreck. Despite months passing, none of the buildings had been finished. Most lay in ruin and disrepair, vines and creepers already crawling up the walls. The people were all thin and haggard. They had created great farms and worked them day and night, producing far more than they could possibly need but no matter how much they ate they were never satisfied. And at the top of the hill, looking down at the whole scene was the tree. It was no longer dead, it was no longer shrunken and weak with only a few leaves. Now it was a magnificent tree, a full canopy of blood red leaves stretching out into the sky, covering the hill and the town in its shadow for much of the day.


    The young couple were shocked at the sight. This wasn¡¯t the new haven for the Rangal people they had been led to believe it would be. This was a hellish nightmare where people were actually dying. Many of the old and young and sick had died since Ardy had left, and soon it would be more than just them dying.


    Ardy told the young couple what they had to do. They had to get everyone out of there as soon as possible. Bring them all back through the mountains and to safety on the other side. The couple asked him how they could move people as sick as these ones and Ardy gave no answer, simply took up his axe and strode toward the hill.


    He walked through the town and saw all the villagers he¡¯d hoped to build a new future with. They were all so sick and frail, worn down to the bones while the tree grew fat on their food. He saw Mord, one of his men who¡¯d seen the eagle. He saw Sennie, a young woman he¡¯d long had a fancy for. He saw Muffins who, true to his word, had not helped.


    They were all so thin and sickly. Hardly the strong people of the next generation of Rangals that had set out from their homeland. Hunger gnawed at his stomach but he began to climb the hill anyway, axe in hand.


    As he climbed the gnawing hole grew bigger. It tore him up until he felt like there was nothing left of him but that terrible gnawing. An endless black void biting and scratching at his body, desperate for food, pleading for food, willing to kill him for food. But still he climbed.


    His legs and arms grew weak and cold sweat began to pour from him, dripping into his eyes as the blood had in his dream. His hands grew clammy on the axe handle and the axe began to grow heavier and heavier. The axe head drooping closer and closer to the ground as he climbed. But still he climbed.


    His head began to pound as the gnawing worked its way up there. His legs shook as he slowly put one in front of the other. It was such a big hill. It never seemed to end. The tree was still so far away.


    But Ardy was not going to give up. He had come this far. He was not going to stop now.


    So even though his heart struggled to beat and his brain struggled to think and his lungs struggled to breathe. Still his legs moved, and still he climbed.


    Until, finally, he reached the tree. And even though a wave of furious hunger and lethargy swept over him as he lifted his axe he chopped at the tree anyway. Cutting a terrible gash deep into the wood. Then he did it again. And again. He could barely see, he could barely breathe, he couldn¡¯t think at all. But he was a woodchopper and he could still chop wood.


    As he chopped a voice whispered through his head, a strange voice. Strange in that it had no words. Only thoughts, only ideas. It told him he would die. That as the tree died it would suck all the life out of him and leave him little more than a husk. Then when that didn¡¯t work it told him everyone in the village would die. That it would do the same to them. It showed him pictures, pictures of Mord and Sennie and Muffins and even Henna who was already dead.


    That worked. That and his dying body made him stop. The axe was embedded deep in the Famine Tree and sap blacker than night was trickling out. Ardy leaned on the axe and his muscles tightened around it as he prepared to pull it out. He couldn¡¯t talk but he could think and the tree understood him when he did.


    He said he would stop. He said he would let the tree live if it let everyone in the village go. The tree was silent for a moment and then it agreed. But he would die, because in a way he already had. There was no medicine that could save him now.


    Ardy nodded and yanked the axe from the tree. Sap and splinters spraying over the hill. He still stood. On legs that were almost dead he stood next to the tree and looked out over the valley. Already people were finding their strength. Strength they hadn¡¯t had before. Whether it was from watching him or from the tree fulfilling its promise he wasn¡¯t sure but they were leaving. The young couple were rounding everyone up and getting them all to leave. To escape this nightmare. To escape the Famine Tree.


    Ardy looked back at the gash he¡¯d rent through the tree. It was a significant gash, he doubted the tree would recover from that anytime soon. But it wasn¡¯t enough to kill it. And he knew now he didn¡¯t have the strength to kill it. He just had to hope it would keep its word.


    He slumped to his knees.


    ¡°Why did you send me that dream?¡± he asked. ¡°It just made me come back and stop you.¡±


    The tree was silent for a moment then it replied with its thoughts and feelings way of speaking. ¡°I wanted to hurt you for trying to hurt me. I thought you were far enough away to be no real threat.¡±


    Ardy grinned. ¡°Stupid little tree.¡±


    The tree seemed put out by that.


    Ardy grinned all the more.


    The tree stands atop its hill looking out across its empty valley. There is a skeleton next to it. Picked clean by maggots and flies that soon starved to death no matter how much they ate. Some might think the skeleton is a part of the tree¡¯s evil magic but it is not. The skeleton is the hero who stopped it. He never received a proper Rangal pyre. But his skull grins up at the tree to this day. It wishes he would stop grinning.

 The Herald of the Inkdrop Queen

    It was a cold evening in Rostalion. Thin grey clouds stretched across the sky and a cold wind howled through the streets, setting the guard¡¯s cloaks fluttering in the breeze. Each guard wore a ragged grey cloak emblazoned with a black moon and arrows, the symbol of House Tethir, the current lords of the town. High atop the keep in the centre of town flew their grey ragged banner with the same symbol. The banners and cloaks were ragged by design, the Tethir liked them best that way, they were supposedly more intimidating. The Tethir were all about being intimidating.


    Rostalion was a town built around a keep at the edge of the world. It was the last town on the Grey Road before Three Kings Pass and the wilderness beyond. Various strange things often walked out of that wilderness. Things that looked like men but were no more than shadows, things that looked like shadows but were men armed with knives, and some things that were neither man nor shadow but walked all the same.


    Rana had seen one of them not too long ago. It had two legs and walked upright, like a man, but it¡¯s body was long and hunched and thin and ended with a face with a snout far too long to be human. It had skulked about the edge of the forest, watching her at her post with its beady black eyes. Then it had retreated back into the forest and she hadn¡¯t seen it again.


    Rana didn¡¯t get easily spooked, she had been sent out to Rostalion because of that. But when the creature had watched her for two hours she had begun to grow worried. So she had come to the chapel they kept at the bottom of the keep. The creature was probably harmless all the way out there in the woods, but there was no harm in trying.


    The chapel had been built long ago along with the keep. It had all been built from old grey wood out of the wilderness to some ominous wilderness god. There were still some folk in the town who still kept that god, Auriomauch they called him, the god of birds and death. But when the Tethir¡¯s had come to Rostalion they had had no place for this dark god. So they had repurposed the chapel, covering the ornate bird carvings with draperies and hangings of their own, stripping away the vines and creepers that made the chapel so dark and oppressive. They had turned it into a chapel to their own god, Vestus, the god of strength and hunting.


    Rana wasn¡¯t particularly religious, she looked up at the shrine of Vestus, a huntsman with the head of a wolf, and wondered what to say.


    ¡®I do not know what manner of creature stalks the woods,¡¯ she thought. ¡®Maybe it is harmless, maybe it is not.¡¯ She looked into the statue¡¯s eyes, they were kindly eyes, not the savage eyes of a wolf that the Tethir¡¯s had probably wanted. The woodcarver who made the statue likely prefered kindly wolves to fierce ones.


    ¡®Ever since I have arrived here it has been an ominous place, and now, being watched by this creature, things are worse. I hope the creature leaves me be. Maybe I am a coward for hoping so, but I do not wish to face creatures that are not human in battle. I fear the forest and what may be hiding in it.¡¯


    The wind howled outside. The statue didn¡¯t respond to her attempt at praying. Rana stood up after a while, trying to get a handle on her thoughts. Then she left the chapel and returned to her house. As she was preparing for bed the horn sounded, far away at the gate to the wilderness. Rana was not on duty tonight and that horn wasn¡¯t for calling the guard, but she went anyway. She was curious and her head was too full of creatures to sleep.


    There was a commotion at the gate as it was opened and some guards rode out to get something. They rode back shortly afterward carrying a body with two arrows in it. But it was not the body of a human, it was the body of her creature. Long and thin with that inhuman snout stretching out from its nose. The guards laid it down in the middle of the road and all the onlookers stared at it. Whispers went through the crowd as the guards decided what to do. They knew there were strange creatures in the wilderness, but they had never seen any up close like this.


    ¡°What happened?¡± Rana asked one of the guards.


    ¡°It was trying to sneak up to the wall. It wouldn¡¯t identify itself so we shot it.¡±


    ¡°Was it armed?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Rana knelt by the creature and examined it. It was definitely her creature, it was the same shape and had the same beady eyes. It wore little clothing and what it did wear was stained with blood, some of it fresh from the arrows, some of it much older. Under its long snout tusks sprouted from its mouth and a long tongue lolled out onto the ground. Rana looked more closely at its mouth. It was hard to tell in the darkness but the mouth looked strange, much darker than everything else, like a child who had been eating dark berries.


    The Lord of Rostalion arrived, Jul Tethir, a tall man atop a tall horse. He dismounted to look at the creature, Rana stepped back.


    ¡°Does anyone know what this is?¡± he asked. There was mostly silence from the crowd.


    ¡°Paka will know,¡± someone said. They all turned to look at him and he shrunk back at the attention. Jul nodded, it was a small town and everybody knew everybody else. Paka was an old healer who had lived in Rostalion his whole life, before the Tethir¡¯s had arrived.


    ¡°Let¡¯s take this to Paka,¡± Jul said and the guards picked it up, following their lord through the streets. The crowd mostly dispersed but Rana followed as well. This was her creature, she wanted to know what it was. It didn¡¯t seem nearly so scary now that it was dead.


    In Paka¡¯s hut the old healer cleared a space on one of his working tables by carelessly sweeping a huge pile of potions and bottles to the floor. Several of them smashed but he seemed not to notice. The guards placed the body on the table and he looked at it with a mad smile. Rana had never noticed before, she¡¯d never really checked, but Paka¡¯s lips were dark too. Not as dark as the creature¡¯s but darker than his skin, dark blue, almost black even.


    ¡°It is a magrend,¡± Paka said dramatically, waving his skinny arms in the air. He was much shorter than them and his arms didn¡¯t reach up very far. ¡°Oh I have never had such an opportunity to examine one so close before.¡±


    ¡°Is it dangerous?¡± Jul asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry brave Lord Protector,¡± Paka said, bravely standing between the lord and the corpse on the table. ¡°If it moves I will protect you.¡±


    Jul rolled his eyes. ¡°Are magrend¡¯s dangerous?¡±


    Paka moved back to the table and sniffed at the magrend¡¯s clothes. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say so. There aren¡¯t too many of them out there and they aren¡¯t aggressive. I¡¯ve never seen one fight anything though.¡±


    ¡°Why did it come here?¡± Rana asked. ¡°Was it looking for something?¡±


    Paka considered this. ¡°Hmm, good question, very good question. I don¡¯t know. They haven¡¯t come down from the wilderness since the time of Old Yoss. He had a big campaign, killed everything he could that was close to the city. Very violent, very bloody. Then you lot got here. Not much left for you to fight.¡± He paced around, stroking his chin. ¡°Maybe it was lost, I doubt it had nefarious intentions, magrends aren¡¯t very nefarious.¡±


    ¡°It didn¡¯t stop when we told it to,¡± one of the guards said defensively.


    ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have understood your language. The magrend have their own language.¡±


    ¡°Will more come?¡± Jul asked.


    ¡°Perhaps. Who knows what could be going on out there in the wilderness.¡±


    ¡°Do you think it was lost?¡± Rana asked seriously. She didn¡¯t think a lost creature would go toward a town full of different creatures.


    ¡°No,¡± Paka said sadly. ¡°The last time the magrend left their homes was when Old Yoss drove them all out. If this one left its home something else must have driven it out.¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea what that might be?¡± Jul asked, worried.


    ¡°No,¡± Paka shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about what¡¯s out there, from my understanding everything tends to leave everything else alone.¡±


    Jul nodded, expecting as much. ¡°We¡¯ll send out a scouting party. If there¡¯s something out there I want to know what it is. Paka do you speak the language of these creatures?¡±


    ¡°Nope, nobody does anymore.¡±


    Rana felt sad at that. She was no longer scared of the magrend, it would have been nice to know more about it.


    The next morning the scouting party left. Rana was in it, along with four other guards and Paka who insisted he was not too old to travel the dangerous wilderness at all. They set off down the Grey Road toward Three Kings Pass and left the town behind them. There had been scouting missions before of course, they were a key part of being a guard at Rostalion. But they¡¯d never found magrends on one before. Rana was oddly excited.


    Before she¡¯d left she¡¯d dug out the little old idol of Vestus she had. She didn¡¯t think it would do much good but it was better to be safe than sorry.


    As they rode Paka told them all about what the wilderness had been like in the old days. As far as Rana could gather it was much the same as now with a few more strange creatures. There were still lots of human tribes and the ones closest to the town still traded with them. A few of the tribes had changed around after some had been wiped out by Old Yoss but most were still the same. They were going to see one of those tribes now, the Shairuk, hopefully they would know what was going on.


    It took three days to get to the closest Shairuk outpost. They likely could have gone faster without Paka but they didn¡¯t mind too much. He was quite entertaining, rambling on about all the plants and animals they passed, and waving his arms in the air excitedly. They didn¡¯t see any more magrends, or any strange creatures. Paka claimed they were all hiding but were definitely there. Rana asked him about all the different creatures and he told her about new creatures every time but some of them she was sure he was just making up, and the details for each creature changed constantly. When she asked him about it he¡¯d just smile his dark lipped smile and chuckle to himself.


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    She¡¯d asked about the dark lips, about the stain around the mouth of the magrend. He¡¯d smiled at that too and told her to look in a stream the next time she was at one. She¡¯d been curious about that but had done it anyway and while at first she found nothing as she looked closer she noticed that her lips too, were beginning to change. To grow darker on the inside just around the mouth, like some infection spreading from within her.


    She¡¯d been horrified at first but Paka had assured her it was natural, something to do with the food around here, the other guards had it too. She hadn¡¯t known what to think of that, she would have liked to know more about it.


    On the third day they arrived at the Shairuk outpost and found it empty. All the huts were still there but almost everything else had gone. All the livestock, all the food, all the weapons, and all the people. Silence descended on their little group and they began to move through the small village, peering into windows from their horses and around corners. It didn¡¯t take much to ensure that the village was abandoned. There were tracks of a large number of people heading off into the forest, away from the Grey Road.


    They all gathered back in the middle of the town and began to talk quietly amongst themselves. It felt wrong to talk loudly in the middle of the abandoned village.


    ¡°They must have been fleeing from something.¡±


    ¡°The magrend must have been too.¡±


    ¡°But we don¡¯t know what. We¡¯ll need to keep going.¡±


    ¡°We-¡±


    Then there was a shout and they spun around. Out of the trees came a man, a man dressed in ragged black clothes with a mouth so black it was hard to see the horrible scars all around it. The scars were still dark and red with blood, one on each side of his mouth as though his cheeks had been cut lengthways. They all moved back in shock.


    The guards formed a protective circle around Paka and pointed their weapons at the man. They were on horseback, he was on the ground and unarmed, but Rana still felt worried.


    The man staggered to a halt and looked up at them with frenzied eyes. ¡°You are completely safe,¡± he said, the panic and desperation in his voice and face implying otherwise.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Rana asked.


    The man looked up at her in desperation. His black lipped mouth opening and shutting a few times before finding words. ¡°I am not Rezeral of the Shairuk, I am not the father of Merin nor the husband of Ashai.¡±


    Rana furrowed her brow in confusion. ¡°Well who are you then?¡±


    The man was almost weeping in desperation now. Then he found something to say. ¡°I am the herald of the Inkdrop Queen,¡± he said triumphantly. ¡°I... I am the herald...¡± he trailed away as he realised they still had no idea what he was talking about.


    The guards began to talk amongst themselves. Some of them wanted to kill him, he was very unsettling. Paka stayed silent, maybe he was scared too.¡±


    ¡°Who is the Inkdrop Queen?¡± Rana asked, trying something a different tactic.


    ¡°She is... she is...¡± he trailed off again. ¡°She is far away,¡± he settled on, seemingly angry at that.


    ¡°And you¡¯re her herald?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, clinging to the word.


    ¡°Is she what drove these people from their homes? Is she why the magrend left the wilderness?¡±


    The man¡¯s eyes filled with tears. His black mouth closed and he looked so sad and pathetic.


    ¡°Answer me!¡± Rana waved her sword at him.


    He staggered back in surprise. ¡°No,¡± he said weakly.


    ¡°Then who did? Why did these people leave their homes?¡±


    ¡°I...¡± he began. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± He looked at the ground and slumped his shoulders.


    ¡°Then are you of any use to us at all?¡± Rana asked, sounding harsher than she intended, she was still a bit unsettled.


    Tears dripped from the man¡¯s eyes, they weren¡¯t black which Rana was thankful for. ¡°No,¡± he said and sat down on the ground in a weeping pile.


    The guards began to talk amongst themselves.


    ¡°What should we do?¡±


    ¡°He said he doesn¡¯t know anything.¡±


    ¡°He must know something, he knows more than we do.¡±


    Paka what¡¯s the matter with him. What¡¯s wrong with his mouth?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Paka said sadly. ¡°I wish we could help him.¡±


    ¡°He might be dangerous, we should be careful.¡±


    They couldn¡¯t decide what to do so they instead stayed in the town, hoping someone more helpful would turn up. Rana tried talking to the man but he wouldn¡¯t answer any of her questions. All the frenzied desperation he¡¯d had originally had gone out of him, now he was just resigned to something, but he wouldn¡¯t tell her what.


    That night Rana slept in one of the abandoned buildings. She took out her little idol of Vestus and looked at it as the sun set outside. She prayed that she would get home safely, she prayed that whatever happened out here it would all be okay, she prayed for herself and for her family far away beyond Rostalion. She even prayed for the unsettling man outside, the herald he called himself. She hadn¡¯t prayed since leaving Rostalion but meeting such a man in the empty village had scared her. She hoped Vestus would give her the strength to get home.


    In the night she was woken up by a scream from the herald. The guard on duty was trying desperately to calm him down but it didn¡¯t seem to be working. Rana grabbed her sword and walked outside, still wearing her clothes from the day before. The herald was cowering before the guard looking up at him pleadingly. When she emerged he looked to her.


    ¡°The Inkdrop Queen is far away,¡± he wailed. ¡°She is so far away!¡±


    ¡°How far away? How many days?¡± Rana knelt down next to him, looking into his panicked eyes, trying to avoid looking at his black scarred mouth.


    His eyes went wide and he thought about it for a second. ¡°One. One day.¡±


    ¡°One day does not seem that far away.¡±


    ¡°Yes it does.¡±


    Rana frowned down at him. ¡°No, it-¡± Then she stopped, an idea was beginning to form. But no, that was ridiculous.


    ¡°What was your name again? Rezeral something?


    ¡°I am not Rezeral of the Shairuk, not father of Merin and not husband of Ashai.¡±


    ¡°Why would you say that?¡± the other guard asked. ¡°He doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rana said. ¡°He doesn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°We should just drive him off. With the racket he¡¯s making he¡¯ll likely attract whatever it is that actually scared off these people.¡± Rana looked back, the other guards were all standing there and most of them seemed to agree with that idea. She didn¡¯t though.


    ¡°You said you were no use to us at all?¡± she said to the herald. ¡°I asked if you were and you said no. But if we forced you you could carry our packs for us, you could cook our food for us, we could sell you as a slave to one of the tribes around here. We could find uses for you I¡¯m sure. So are you any use to us at all?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the herald replied.


    ¡°How many days away is the Inkdrop Queen?¡±


    ¡°One.¡±


    ¡°Is the Inkdrop Queen two days away?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    One of the guards stepped forward. ¡°Now come on one of those was a blatant lie-¡±


    ¡°Is the Inkdrop Queen three days away?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Is the Inkdrop Queen zero days away?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Is the Inkdrop Queen here now?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± one guard said.


    ¡°Get on your horses, get this man a horse. We¡¯re leaving now!¡± Rana shouted. She rushed back inside and grabbed her pack then dashed to her horse. Sure enough the horses were skittish, rustling about in their tethers.


    ¡°Why are we leaving?¡± one of the guard¡¯s said, slowly picking up his pack. ¡°He said the Inkdrop Queen wasn¡¯t here now, whoever that is. So why-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s lying!¡± Rana shouted and shoved the man toward the horses.


    ¡°But if he¡¯s lying why-¡±


    An arrow shot out of the forest and slammed into the side of the building, just missing both her and the other guard. The guards didn¡¯t need much more encouragement.


    Paka emerged and Rana grabbed him. ¡°You understand what¡¯s going on? You think you can talk to him?¡± she asked, nodding at the herald. Another arrow narrowly missed them.


    He nodded slowly. ¡°It will be hard, but I¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    ¡°Good, now go!¡± She spun around and tossed her pack at the herald who was getting to his feet. ¡°Get on my horse!¡± she shouted, pointing at her horse. ¡°I want you to escape, I¡¯ll hold them off.¡±


    The man looked at her with tears in his eyes, but they were happy tears this time. And for the first time since she¡¯d seen him, he smiled. It was an awkward smile but it was a smile nonetheless. She¡¯d understood him, she couldn¡¯t imagine how good it must feel for him to know that.


    The guards, the herald and Paka all mounted as soldiers swarmed from the forests. Arrows flying over them. The guards all pulled up their shields and in the dark most of the arrows missed. But the soldiers on the ground were a different story. They didn¡¯t wear rags and hides like most of the wilderness folk. They wore plate armour, and dotted all across it was a regular pattern, a regular pattern of inkdrops.


    The first soldier didn¡¯t see Rana hiding behind a village house as he rushed to stop the horses. She stabbed him in the back of the neck and then spun around to face the next one. The soldiers stopped running and turned to face her, surrounding her as she stood defiantly, her back against the building wall.


    But as the last few arrows flew the rest of her party got their horses underway and took off down the Grey Road. Rana stood there, surrounded by enemies and watched them leave. Maybe she could have gone with them, maybe there had been enough time. But she had stayed behind, and now she¡¯d have to deal with the consequences. Whatever those consequences were.


    ¡°Surrender,¡± a female voice said. ¡°You cannot resist.¡± The owner of the voice strode into view, she was a tall and graceful woman wearing a beige tunic and cape with the inkdrop pattern on them. Atop her head she wore a black crown, a crown that seemed to drip and glisten with ink. Droplets of it curling down all the way to her head. In her hand she held a sword made of the same stuff as the crown, except the curling droplets were actually there, actually moving. Rana watched fascinated as one dripped off the blade and splashed onto the ground.


    ¡°If I surrender will I be unharmed?¡± Rana asked cautiously.


    ¡°Of course,¡± the Inkdrop Queen replied. ¡°We have nothing to gain from hurting you.¡±


    Rana nodded and tossed down her sword. She had nothing to gain by fighting, she couldn¡¯t win.


    The soldiers lunged forward and grabbed her, wrestling her arms into helpless positions and marching her toward their queen. The queen ran her sword along her finger thoughtfully, one of the inkdrops coalescing on her fingertip. She flicked it away and reached up to grab Rana¡¯s face, drawing her sword back with the other hand.


    Rana panicked and struggled. ¡°You said you wouldn¡¯t hurt me. You said-¡±


    The Queen smiled. ¡°I lied.¡± Then she slashed through Rana¡¯s mouth horizontally, giving her the same red scars, the same terrible injury, she¡¯d given the herald. The black ink sprayed everywhere and Rana felt it and blood fill her mouth and throat. She coughed and spluttered and struggled but could do nothing but hang there and bleed.


    The Queen laughed. ¡°Do you fear the wilderness?¡± she asked softly.


    Rana spat out a glob of blood and ink but she¡¯d already swallowed too much. It was too late. ¡°No,¡± she lied, for lying was all she could do.

 The Cage in the Ground

    Gull was hurting, her left side had been torn open by a wolf in the arena and the anaesthetic she¡¯d put on it was doing nothing to ease the pain. Maybe wolf spit stopped anaesthetic from working. Maybe the wound was infected. It was hard to tell and Gull didn¡¯t know who to go about asking. It wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d felt like this though and it wouldn¡¯t be the last. Life in the arena was like that.


    She opened her eyes, grimacing against the pain and looked around the dark cell she lived in. It was a cage built into the rock below the ground. A dismal dank place raw with the stench of unwashed humanity. But it was home. It had been her home for a long time now. She couldn¡¯t remember the number of days, or weeks, or years. She¡¯d lost track of those a long time ago. But she remembered the names. All those names of women she¡¯d fought in the arena, all those names of women who had died. She could have counted them. Used that as some basis for how long she¡¯d been here. But she never did. She didn¡¯t want to know the number. She didn¡¯t want to know much of anything anymore. Except how to kill, and except how to live. Which right now involved learning how to make some better anaesthetic.


    She had a lot of herbs and poultices that she¡¯d collected from what they gave her when she won and her usual technique was to try mixing the strongest ones together until they worked. It took a long time before they worked.


    She was grinding more herbs with her mortar and pestle when a woman walked up to her cage. Gull stopped and looked up at her with wide eyes, she had never seen a woman outside the cages before, it was very strange. And stranger still was the woman herself. She was not a gladiatrix, or a slave like the women Gull was used to. She was skinny and lithe and walked with a spring in her step that set her long curls bouncing. Atop her curls sat a crumpled baggy hat that matched the rest of her crumpled baggy clothes. In one hand she carried an enormous long staff that split into two prongs at the end, and in the other she carried a flower.


    She looked down at Gull with a lopsided expression. Her floppy hat made her look something like a confused rabbit. Gull had no patience for confused rabbits.


    ¡°Hello,¡± the woman said.


    Gull looked at her and stood up, casting the mortar, pestle and herbs aside. Gull wasn¡¯t tall but she was taller and stronger than this scrawny woman. She looked down at her and narrowed her eyes. With her many scars and muscular frame she knew she must look intimidating. The woman was not intimidated.


    ¡°I came to bring you this,¡± she said holding out the flower. She held it out through the bars of the cage, putting her scrawny hand in easy reach of Gull¡¯s strong arms. She looked at the hand, she could break it, snap it, mangle it beyond recognition. Or she could pull the woman to the bars and strangle her to death before she could do anything. But she knew not to attack the men outside the world of bars and cages and she had to assume this woman was the same.


    ¡°I do not want your flower,¡± she replied. Looking deep into the woman¡¯s eyes. Still, she was not intimidated.


    ¡°Why not? It is a very pretty flower. It could liven the place up for a while.¡±


    ¡°I do not want to liven the place up.¡±


    The woman nodded wisely, now she looked like a rabbit who thought far too much of itself. She withdrew her hand. ¡°Good thinking, wouldn¡¯t want to be reminded too much of the outside world.¡±


    ¡°I do not care about the outside world.¡±


    The woman smiled mischievously, although with her floppy hat and clothes she wasn¡¯t very good at looking mischievous. ¡°But the outside world has so many cool things, like flowers, and trees, and functional anaesthetics.¡±


    Gull froze, although she hadn¡¯t been moving so it was hard to tell. ¡°What do you know about anaesthetics?¡±


    ¡°I know how to make them, all sorts of different ones, ones that work, ones that don¡¯t work, ones that can¡¯t be used too often or a resistance is built up.¡±


    Gull looked down at her herbs. They did only seem to work for a little while before she needed to get new ones of a different type.


    The woman¡¯s smile grew even more mischievous. ¡°Yes I don¡¯t think anything you¡¯ve got there is going to help you much unless you use such a high dose that you get sick. I think you want something much less dangerous, something much friendlier.¡± She held out the flower again. ¡°Something like etherpetal.¡±


    Gull had never heard of etherpetal. She reached out and took the flower. The woman¡¯s skinny hand looked so small and fragile next to hers. She wasn¡¯t used to small and fragile things. She looked at the flower.


    ¡°How do I know I can trust you?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t, you can¡¯t, and you shouldn¡¯t, I lied, that¡¯s not etherflower it¡¯s just a daisy. It won¡¯t do anything at all, just like all your herbs.¡±


    Gull narrowed her eyes again and crushed the daisy in her palm, letting it fall to the floor. ¡°Then why did you give it to me?¡±


    ¡°Because I wanted to give it to you. I can try bring etherflower next time but it¡¯s not easy to get and-¡±


    ¡°Next time?¡±


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll be back. You don¡¯t get much company around here so you¡¯ll want someone to talk to. I can try come tomorrow but I doubt that means much to you. I¡¯ll be here before your next fight if that¡¯s easier to track.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk to you.¡±


    The woman smiled again. ¡°Well then what do you want?¡±


    ¡°Well-¡±


    The woman spun around, her long staff swinging with her. ¡°I¡¯ve got to go, but I¡¯ll be back, don¡¯t worry about me. The names Maeggy by the way, Mad Maeggy. Don¡¯t worry, I already know your name. Goodbye.¡± She bounced off, her curls bouncing beneath her hat.


    Gull looked at the stain from the daisy on her palm. She growled and wiped it onto her tattered clothes before returning to her mortar and pestle.


    Gull didn¡¯t count days or sleeps or anything and it seemed she¡¯d had barely any before the annoying woman returned. This time she had a different flower, it was pink and had petals that curved out strange shapes.


    ¡°Is it etherpetal?¡± she asked, not bothering to stand up from where she was lying.


    ¡°No,¡± the woman said sadly. ¡°It¡¯s an orchid, it¡¯s very pretty. I think it would look good, here.¡± She tucked it into a corner of the cage, it¡¯s petals splaying out to the world.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want it,¡± Gull said.


    ¡°I thought you didn¡¯t care,¡± the woman said.


    Gull thought about it. Then she shrugged, she didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Good, I¡¯ll try to find etherpetal next time. I think I¡¯ve figured out where to look, they say it grows by the river.¡±


    Gull grunted and turned away.


    ¡°Anyway I see you¡¯ve stopped trying to make anaesthetic, probably a good thing, you might hurt yourself.¡±


    ¡°I made it,¡± she growled, turning back around.


    ¡°Did it work?¡± Maeggy smiled.


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    ¡°Yes,¡± Gull lied. Her side was still in agonising pain but she didn¡¯t need Maeggy to know that.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± Maeggy beamed. ¡°I won¡¯t need to get the etherpetal then. That will save time, I can bring a pansy instead, they¡¯re much prettier, or a rose, without thorns of course the guards probably wouldn¡¯t let me give you a rose with thorns.¡±


    Gull frowned, this had never happened before. She had always been independent, lying and dismissing others had never turned out badly.


    ¡°Well I best be off. Flowers to collect, you understand. Nice talking to you, goodbye.¡± Maeggy spun around.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Gull said, angry with herself. ¡°I lied, the anaesthetic didn¡¯t work.¡±


    Maeggy¡¯s mischievous smile returned. ¡°Ah that wasn¡¯t very nice of you. Here I am only trying to help and you go and lie to me. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ll bring you some etherpetal, I feel very confident it¡¯ll be down by the river. But I really must be off. Bye.¡± She hopped away.


    Gull watched her go and cursed. She felt so furious Maeggy had managed to trick her like that, and it hadn¡¯t even been that clever, she¡¯d gone and made a fool of herself. She hadn¡¯t had a conversation as long as that since she¡¯d gotten here, she wasn¡¯t practised at it, that was it. If she could just meet Maeggy in the arena she¡¯d show her what she could do. There she didn¡¯t make a fool of herself.


    She spent a long time thinking about crushing the small skinny woman in the arena. Knocking off that ridiculous floppy hat and watching the mischievous expression be replaced by one of fear. She¡¯d seen many different moves in the arena and she entertained herself with the thought of trying all of them out on Maeggy. It had been a long time since she¡¯d had something so interesting to think about.


    But pain tends to dislike being replaced with something else. It demands attention and when thoughts wander for too long they always must come back to pain. So no matter how much Gull thought about crushing Maeggy she couldn¡¯t help but dream about the etherpetal. About how it would end her pain and let her relax in her cage in peace. So despite another potential humiliating conversation she found herself desperate for Maeggy to return. To bring her a proper cure for all her injuries rather than the feeble anaesthetics she scraped together herself. She hoped she wasn¡¯t lying again.


    Eventually Maeggy returned as she said she would. This time her curly hair was all frazzled and her face and clothes were splotchy with dirt and grime. Gull felt she fitted in better that way.


    ¡°I have brought,¡± Maeggy said when she arrived. ¡°Etherpetal!¡± She brandished a flower triumphantly. As flowers go it was even less impressive than the daisy, barely noticeable next to the orchid which was still sitting in the corner with its colourful petals. The etherpetal was grey and droopy and looked like it was already wilting.


    Gull grunted and tried to look nonchalant, but inside she was ecstatic for an escape from the pain. Maeggy handed over the flower and told her how to prepare it. While she did Maeggy produced another flower, this one much prettier than the etherpetal.


    ¡°It took me a long time to find it so I gathered up some other prettier flowers too. This one¡¯s called wolfsglovebanesky.¡±


    Gull raised an eyebrow at that while she was grinding the etherpetal with the mortar and pestle. ¡°Really?¡±


    Maeggy giggled. ¡°No but it¡¯s actual name is very boring.¡± She produced another flower, her baggy clothes seemed to give her lots of space to hide flowers. ¡°This one is a rose with no thorns as previously promised.¡± She tucked the two flowers next to the orchid, then produced another one. ¡°And this one is a tulip. Where I come from it is said that tulips are the flowers of freedom. I thought you might want a little freedom here in your cage.¡±


    Gull froze. This time she was actually moving so it was noticeable. Her mind raced, freedom, she didn¡¯t want freedom, she¡¯d never wanted freedom. A name flashed through her head, Hathra. Hathra and the whimper she¡¯d made as she¡¯d died. Gull never forgot a name but sometimes she wished she could forget that one, along with the battle that went with it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want freedom,¡± she said and continued grinding the etherpetal, holding the pestle probably harder than she needed to.


    ¡°Oh I know,¡± Maeggy said, standing up from tucking the flowers away. ¡°You don¡¯t care about the outside world. Shame really, it¡¯s quite a nice place. Lots of flowers.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want your stupid flowers!¡± Gull shouted and tossed an old herb at her, it bounced harmlessly off the bars of the cage.


    ¡°You wanted the etherpetal,¡± Maeggy said, cocking her head curiously.


    ¡°I-,¡± Gull was tempted to throw the etherpetal too, in her rage the wound didn¡¯t hurt so much. But she didn¡¯t, she knew too well the value of a good painkiller. ¡°Etherpetal is useful. It can cure pain.¡± She finished grinding it and began to spread it on the wound like she¡¯d been told.


    Maeggy wasn¡¯t smiling anymore, she was just standing there looking down at Gull. ¡°Every flower can cure pain. The foxglove can kill and stop all pain that way. The rose can be given to a lost love to get them back. The tulip, well that can maybe stop you being so angry at yourself all the time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not angry at myself!¡± Gull shouted, then realised shouting that might not have been the best way to convey it. ¡°I¡¯m angry at you with your stupid smile and your stupid hat and your stupid flowers.¡± She finished rubbing the etherpetal on the wound and walked over to the flowers.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t care about the flowers,¡± Maeggy said sadly.


    Gull stopped. No, that was right, she didn¡¯t care about the flowers, they were just pieces of the outside world and the outside world meant nothing to her.


    ¡°I¡¯ll come watch your next fight,¡± Maeggy said. ¡°If you truly don¡¯t care you won¡¯t look for me. But I think you will.¡± She turned and walked away, her curls bouncing under her hat.


    Gull collapsed against the wall and stared at the flowers. A glorious numbing feeling slowly spreading from her side, taking away the pain. What did she care about the flowers, they meant nothing to her. They had to mean nothing. Otherwise...


    Ten minutes later she destroyed the flowers, all of them. The orchid, the made up one, the rose, and then the tulip. She hurled that one out of the cage.


    Then ten minutes later she wished she hadn¡¯t. She missed the flowers, they were a reminder. A reminder of something she didn¡¯t want to be reminded of. She thought about the flowers for a long time.


    Gull strode out into the arena and heard the cheers. She was their favourite, she was always cheered. She looked at the ground for a while, ignoring their cheers, ignoring the heat from the torches and the crowds. Ignoring the growls and snapping of animals in cages somewhere. But eventually she looked up. She¡¯d wondered briefly how she was going to spot Maeggy but she didn¡¯t wonder long. Above the crowds of jeering and cheering men stuck a two pronged staff and perched atop it was Maeggy with her floppy hat and bouncy curls. She looked down at Gull and smiled her mischievous smile.


    The arena¡¯s security had tightened since the panther incident. The walls now had spikes at the top, pointing down, making them almost impossible to climb and there were now guards standing around the outside. They wore no armour since it was too hot in the arena for that but they had wicked swords and they were men. Gull knew that no matter how many women she beat in the arena there would always be men stronger than her. And these men had swords.


    Gull looked at the guards. Usually they looked down at her imperiously. Stoic and superior in their duties, regarding her as no more than a slave they might have to kill. This time though they didn¡¯t look down at her at all. Instead they all just stared ahead with glassy eyes. There were many drugs that circled around the cages of the arena and Gull had seen drugged women before. She knew what they looked like. Maeggy had drugged these guards then, maybe she had underestimated her after all.


    She looked back at Maeggy as the gate for her opponent started to open and she saw Maeggy leap. She realised she had judged Maeggy by the wrong standards, she wasn¡¯t big and powerful, she was small and lithe and leaping from her staff showed just how lithe she was. Gull still liked her chances but meeting someone so fast and graceful in the arena was never fun. She didn¡¯t mind anymore though, she didn¡¯t hate her anymore.


    Maeggy landed on top of the wall and flipped her staff over. It was a long staff, an impractically long staff but it seemed to work for her. It arched down and into the arena and leant against the wall, offering a bridge up. The men surrounding the arena shouted in alarm but Gull was already bounding up the staff before they could respond. Some of them shook the shoulders of the guards who just mumbled incoherently. Others saw Gull coming and ran.


    She crested the wall and all the memories came rushing back. Then the door opened as people ran and she felt the breeze on her face.


    ¡°Meet me in the tulip fields by the river,¡± Maeggy whispered. ¡°Now run!¡± Then she was off, her baggy clothes bouncing away into the crowd. Gull ran after her but men got in her way. They weren¡¯t guards though, they were just feeble men with knives or no weapons at all. She cast them aside, slammed their heads into walls, kicked them, punched them, bit them, and they got out of her way. She emerged into the outside and felt the cool air on her face. Not in all her years in the arena or the cage had she ever felt fresh air. Not in all her years had she ever seen the sky with the stars.


    She ran through the town and no one stopped her. She found the river easily and the tulip fields as well. Even at night she could recognise their shape. The shape that had been etched into her mind and refused to come out the whole time she¡¯d been stuck in the cage. She staggered into the tulip fields and collapsed to her knees, then to her side. She lay there among the tulips and cried into the beautiful night.


    Maeggy found her not long after that and she was not alone. She hadn¡¯t managed to get everyone out from the arena. It had been chaos and she¡¯d lost some and been unable to find others. But she¡¯d saved most of them, that would have to do for today.


    She sent them off back to their families for those that had families. Those that didn¡¯t she sent to work for friends she¡¯d made elsewhere. You made a lot of friends in her line of work. A lot of enemies too.


    Gull she kept with her. She felt she couldn¡¯t trust anyone else with someone so pained and so dangerous. She didn¡¯t tell Gull that though, she didn¡¯t tell her anything. She just let her blindly follow her around. That was how Gull liked it. How she needed it. No explanations, no questions and answers. Just orders. That made Maeggy sad.

 The Beggar in the Thicket

    There is a street wedged in between the houses that is not there to access anything. It is there largely because that is where the houses end and not of any decision it made for itself. It does not lead anywhere, it does not go anywhere, merely winding through some houses to come to a stop at the back of another one. It is a back street, an alley, a path scratched out from the main road beyond it. The street is not used by most people, those who live in houses along it see it as a convenient place to keep their rubbish. Occasionally a child or lost tourist will wander down it only to find it does not go anywhere. There is nothing important in the alley. Only a man, and the man knows he is not very important.


    Wedged at the very back of the alley, between two houses in a grimy spot that neither will admit they own, is an old tattered mattress, likely full of mold and grime. There are old tattered bed clothes and likely old tattered bugs hidden away somewhere. There is a roof over the spot but it still gets damp in the rain. But the beggar has nowhere else to sleep.


    During the day he takes his old mug, the only thing he has left really, out to the real street and hopes someone will toss him a coin out of pity. Sometimes they do and he goes down to old Enger who¡¯ll sell him something for cheap, and sometimes they don¡¯t and he goes back to his bed hungry after rooting through the rubbish bins of his street. He has lived this life for a long time and he does not see it improving any time soon. He has given up on ever escaping his little spot and mainly spends his time thinking dark and outdated thoughts on the world that left him there.


    The beggar¡¯s name is Ulger and this is his story.


    The story begins with a coronation. A new king is crowned, one far harsher and more energetic than the old one. The king orders the dishevelled and ruined areas of the city cleaned up, cleansed he puts it. Ulger is hard to find but since he does not run it is not hard for him to be cleansed. When most of the thieves and whores and orphaned beggars have been evicted a guard wanders down Ulger¡¯s street and sees him sulking in his corner. He has been unable to beg for days and is growing sick from living off only rubbish. The guard yanks him from his spot and he does not resist. He holds in shivering hands his mug, that is all he has left. The guard shouts at him and he mumbles something back. Then he is marched to the edge of the city and told rudely to never come back.


    He stands there on shivering legs and looks back at the city that has always been his home. He looks at the people walking happily through the houses, happy to have filth like him gone. He looks at guards in their clean armour patrolling the walls and streets. He looks at the banners of the new king flying high above the castle. He thinks his dark thoughts. He thinks them for a long time.


    As the sun sets and darkness comes on he finds a new spot to live out in the forest beyond the city. There are few places to find now with so many evicted people trying to eke out a living. Eventually he finds a nice thicket under a cliff, atop the cliff is the castle and as he falls asleep he watches the banners above him flap idly in the wind.


    Things are difficult in the forest. Far more difficult than they were in the city. There is no rubbish to feed on, no people to beg to, no life for those not willing to work, and Ulger has always had trouble finding the will to work when work has never gained him anything. But work he does. With shaking legs and hazy sight he staggers through the forest looking for berries. He finds different berries and tries them, hoping they will not be poisoned. Although if they are perhaps that would not be so bad he thinks. It becomes another dark thought swimming through his mind. The berries do not kill him but they make him sick, much sicker than he¡¯d been before. He spends the night retching outside his thicket. The next day he decides he needs to work out which type of berries are safe so he only tries one type of berry, it does not make him sick. He repeats this until he determines which are safe and which are not. At the end of this process his body and mind are ruined and it is difficult to get to his shaking feet every morning. But he manages it, he has always managed it.


    The berries do not make him sick but they do not make him healthy either. Living off nothing but berries begins to leave a raw pit in his stomach, a raw pit he knows only too well. And he is starting to run out of berries. He tries catching rabbits but they are too quick for him and he knows neither how to make a snare nor what he would need to make it so he gives up on that idea. He tries catching fowl, the big fat forest fowl that burst into the air whenever he approaches but they are too quick as well. All the animals of the forest are hard to catch for a sick man with only his hands. He considers stealing but he does not know how to steal. There are farms with lots of food but they are guarded by dogs and sometimes men. There is the city with markets and storehouses but they are guarded even better. There is the castle towering over him but he lacks the strength to climb it and it is guarded best of all. So he sits in his thicket and starves. And starves and starves.


    He knows he must leave. He must move off and find some better place to live but he lacks the strength to move. He watches the banners flap everyday and the sun rise and fall and all the while he grows weaker and weaker. Willing himself to move, willing himself to leave this cursed thicket. To stand, to stretch, to kick, to move even a small part of himself. But he just lies there, weighed down by his sickness and hunger and dark dark thoughts. He knows he will die here. He knows he is an unimportant man destined to die an unimportant death. He stares up and the banners and curses the king who put him there. Then he closes his eyes.


    But he does not die. For there is still life left in him even if he lacks the strength of will to use it.


    Two men walk past, guards in service to the king. They are patrolling the forest, searching for brigands or thieves or beggars. Ulger watches them approach and fear sets in. He has feared the guards all his life and he does not stop fearing them now. He edges back in the thicket. Burying himself in the dirt and leaves and branches. Edging back slowly so as to make no noise. The thicket goes further back than he thought and as they draw closer he clears out a path behind him, through branches and dirt that comes away easily in his hands. There is a hole in the ground it seems, a hole the thicket has grown over. He quickly excavates the hole, it will be a good place to hide. A good place to die.


    He turns back to look at the guards. They are a good way off, it seems they have moved past him now and there is no danger anymore. But as he looks his hands clear away the last bit of dirt and he falls. For what he thought was a small furrow in the ground was actually a pit, a pit leading into a dark cave. He crashes through, clearing a path through the years and years of thicket that had grown there and slams into the cold hard stone at the bottom. Dirt cascading around him.


    The fall sends adrenaline through him, wakes up muscles that had resigned themselves to their fate. He stands, for the first time in a long time he stands. He is not in a cave, he is in a passage. A passage built beneath the cliff, beneath the castle. It is an old passage, so old that the wall has all but rotted away, opening up the hole he fell through. The passage is dark and the only light comes from the hole but he is used to the dark. He has lived in dark places for a long time.


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    The passage is blocked in one direction, some sort of cave in, he is not sure. So he goes down the other direction. It is a long passage, and it has stairs, he takes the stairs and climbs up and up and up into the cliff. His thicket was at the bottom of the cliff that the castle sat on. He has some idea of where this passage might go.


    His legs have not climbed stairs in a long time, they have not walked in a long time so he is very tired when he eventually reaches the top. But reach the top he does, he will not allow himself to die now, when he is so close to the castle. He does not know what he will do when he reaches the castle, he is not sure he will even be able to get in. But the king lives in the castle and he has many dark thoughts about the king.


    The passage comes to a door with a winch to open it. Winding the winch is hard with his starved arms but the door is built well. Built to support its own weight on strong hinges. The hinges are old and covered in dust, but they still open the door smoothly. It slides to the side and he sees torchlight beyond. Opening the door just a crack so as to avoid giving away his secret as best he can he peeks through.


    He sees the castle storeroom and it is filled with food. So much food of all different kinds. So much food that they could not possibly know if a little bit went missing. His mouth waters as he looks at the food. But the room is not empty. There are no guards this far back into the storeroom but there is a girl. A cute little girl hiding behind one of the shelves of food. She is peering out as well, looking at the spiral staircase that leads into the storeroom from the castle.


    Ulger watches her. He does not know very much about cute little girls. She fidgets and giggles, twisting and turning on her feet. Seemingly waiting for something. Then a cute little boy wanders down the staircase and she sees him and jerks back behind her hiding spot. The boy looks for her, looking up and down between shelves and crates. The girl can barely contain herself, she is smiling so much and giggling.


    Ulger closes his door so they don¡¯t see him but he listens. Eventually the boy finds the girl and she laughs uncontrollably, impressed with her clever hiding spot. The boy says he doesn¡¯t think it was that clever but the girl is not convinced. They leave and wander up the staircase and Ulger listens to them go. He sneaks out of the chamber, grabs as much food as he can carry and disappears back to his thicket, closing the secret door behind him. For once as he watches the banners in the night he does not think dark thoughts.


    Many days pass with Ulger sneaking down into the castle to raid food from the storeroom. He usually goes at night and is never caught. There are guards for the storeroom but they only guard the entrance, not the very back of it where he goes. Since he goes at night he never sees the girl and the boy again. He mostly forgets about them, just some children who live in the castle.


    He builds up much greater strength with the food from the storerooms and manages to explore the forest around him as well. It seems all the other thieves and whores and beggars who tried to hide in the forest were found by the guards and sent even further away. But they never found him. He always has his secret passage to hide in if they ever come looking. So he has the whole forest to himself. Some of the dark thoughts begin to fade from his mind.


    The army does not attack from the cliffside of the castle where he is so he does not see them coming. He hears them though. He hears the fighting and the shouting and the screaming of horses. He leaves his thicket and his forest to investigate, watching the battle from afar. An army, a huge army has arrived outside the city and they are making war with the guards inside it. There are arrows flying everywhere and siege engines and so much shouting and noise and blood. He is reminded of all the red berries he had to eat before he found his secret passage.


    The guards inside the city take heavy casualties but it seems they are winning. Their defenses too good for the attackers to breach. Ulger goes back to his thicket and thinks about the battle.


    At first he does not particularly care about it. He thinks that even if the attackers take the castle and the banners change the storeroom will still be there for him to raid. He does not much care about a change of banners. But then he thinks back to when he was kicked out of his home in the city. Back to when he almost starved to death in the thicket because of the king¡¯s grand decree. The king who¡¯s banners fly above him now. He watches those banners and the dark thoughts return.


    The next day he goes to the army. They are camped outside the city with defenses set up around their camp so they see him coming. Luckily they do not shoot him on sight and take him inside where he tries to talk. He does not expect this to be difficult but he has not really had to talk for so long, it seems he has almost forgotten how.


    ¡°I can... I can... I can get you inside...¡± he stammers, trying to get the words out.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± one of the guards asks him. He looks much the same as the guard who kicked him out of the city all those months ago.


    ¡°Ul... Ulger... a b- b- beggar.¡±


    ¡°How can you get us inside?¡±


    ¡°I know a secret passage... A way into the castle...¡± As he talks it is getting easier.


    The guard does not look so sure.


    ¡°A- a- way into the storerooms... A secret way... A hidden way... Nobody knows but me...¡±


    The guard is tempted to run him through with his sword. He smells terrible and is sickly and shivering. He does not realise Ulger has looked much much worse.


    ¡°You can talk to Sarta,¡± he says leading the way to the leader¡¯s tent. Sarta can deal with this beggar, he thinks. Then he can go back to guard duty.


    Ulger follows the guard to the biggest and fanciest tent in the camp. The guard explains to some other guards what is going on and Ulger is led inside. The tent is like nothing Ulger has seen in a long time. There are plump cushions and fur rugs spread across the grass. Chairs made of soft foldable cloth are dotted about the room. A hugely fat man sits in one of the chairs, his plump hand idly stuffing fruit into his mouth while he watches a thin woman with few clothes dance for him.


    Ulger feels very out of place. The man looks at him curiously and the woman stops dancing.


    ¡°I¡¯m told you can get my men into the castle,¡± the fat man says.


    Ulger nods slowly. ¡°Y- y- yes... I know a secret passage...¡±


    ¡°What is it you want in return?¡± the fat man asks. Eating another grape.


    Ulger pauses, he has never thought about what he wanted in return. He has always resigned himself to what he has and his dark dark thoughts. He looks around the lavish tent. There are a few ideas there of what he might want in return.


    Ulger watches the castle fall from the camp with Sarta and his entourage. There are screams and fire and shouting. Some people try to flee but only escape to the camp itself where more soldiers are waiting to kill them. The slaughter goes on long into the night. Somewhere in the battle there is a particularly high pitched scream. One that means nothing and could come from anyone but it reminds Ulger of a day long ago. A day in the secret passage listening to a cute little girl giggling as she hid from a cute little boy. Ulger tries not to think about them. Tries to forget them like he had before the battle had begun. But he can¡¯t.


    Over the years he tries so very hard to forget. He tries drink and food and women, he tries everything he can buy with the money Sarta gave him. But he is never happy. He is not sure he ever will be. Even with everything he could ever want he is weighed down with dark dark thoughts.

 The Storm Wolf

    Emin had grown up on the back streets of Tuggranoskr, he was familiar with thievery, with lying and cheating, with bribery and extortion, with drugs and drunks, and with the picking of pockets, purses and locks. These things were all encountered regularly for Tuggranoskr is renowned for them. It is a city built atop a rock in the middle of the stormiest part of the ocean by the Nosk. The Nosk were dying out now and there were few people who could still pronounce the city¡¯s name properly.


    They had a rather unique building style, using the bones and tusks of great animals to build their fortress city and affixing them to their many many ships. As such Tuggranoskr loomed out of the ocean like a great jagged monster, its towering cliffs and towering architecture cutting a great hole in the sky. Within the windy streets and rocky cliffs there were lots of places for people like Emin to hide. And hide he did, though rarely from any guards or lawmen for there were few of those in the city, indeed Emin had never seen one. No, in Tuggranoskr the peace was kept by the Pirate Lords. And they did not keep the peace very well.


    For Tuggranoskr was first and foremost a pirate fortress, a place that would welcome any ship for a small tax and offer them the formidable protection of its borders. So while Emin robbed and stole from those he could, there were plenty of hardened pirates he could not dare to steal from unless they were so drunk or drugged as to make it safe again. So he mostly stole from those who lived their whole lives in the city. Those like himself who had been abandoned on the godforsaken island in the middle of the stormiest sea the Nosk could find. Most of them didn¡¯t live very long, if you weren¡¯t smart or fast or strong or at best, all three, you¡¯d be robbed by those who were and be left to die in the cold hard streets.


    Emin was tall and strong for his age, but he wasn¡¯t big like Boy Cassey who lived down by the Ragmere tavern and ate all the old bread and chicken the owner threw out. But Emin was lean and quick as well, and he had a dagger he kept sharp and knew how to use. He wasn¡¯t smart though. Old Yarrow had been smart, he¡¯d been an old washed up pirate with an eyepatch who¡¯d gotten a whole lot of the boys together and with him in charge they¡¯d eaten better than they¡¯d ever done before. But then Boy Cassey had killed him and the whole thing had fallen apart. Emin didn¡¯t much like Boy Cassey.


    Old Yarrow had also had stories. The street boys of Tuggranoskr hadn¡¯t put much stock in stories before, they didn¡¯t put food on the table. But Yarrow had had a way of telling stories that had made them seem important after all. He¡¯d told them all about his life as a pirate. Sailing through storms and huge battles. Robbing and raping and pillaging every ship they could find. Held back by nothing but the limit of their own desires. The whole sea to explore. Yarrow had served on many different pirate ships and had many different stories to tell. And Emin had always had time to listen.


    But there were no stories anymore so Emin would climb up to the top cliffs of the island and look out over the black sea as the sun set. He would imagine himself out there, sailing on some pirate ship. Exploring the world. Escaping his godforsaken island.


    So every day since Yarrow had died he¡¯d gone down to the port and explored, meeting sailors and pirates from far off lands, trying to hear their stories and join their crews. But none of them ever had time for him. They¡¯d toss him bags to carry and laugh at him if they looked at him at all. Then they¡¯d march to the nearest tavern of which there were many and tell each other their stories, never looking at him unless he tried to run off with their bags. Trying to talk to the captains was even harder, they always had other people to talk to, dockmasters, tax collectors, merchants, guides, their crew, other captains, and even other crews. By the time they were done with all that they had no time for Emin, even if they¡¯d noticed him. So every day he would return to his little cave, there were a lot of caves on the island, having failed to find a ship. But that would not be the case forever.


    One day while he was down at the docks a tall pirate with a long dirty grey beard paid him more attention than he¡¯d ever received before. But it was not the attention he wanted.


    ¡°You lost boy?¡± the pirate asked walking up to him far faster and far closer than he really needed to.


    Emin stepped back. ¡°No, no I-¡±


    ¡°Then why you standin¡¯ around gapin¡¯ like that?¡±


    ¡°Well I...¡± behind the bearded pirate his friends were sniggering and watching intently.


    ¡°It¡¯s been a long journey and we just got here, we ain¡¯t got time to deal wi¡¯ boys like you.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯ma deal wi¡¯ ya anyway,¡± the pirate drew his sabre and Emin froze in terror. He was tall but the bearded pirate was taller. He had a dagger but the sabre was much much bigger. He was at the port, right next to the water, there was nowhere to run.


    The bearded pirate swung and Emin dodged out of the way, almost falling into the black water below. Living on the streets he¡¯d never bothered to learn how to swim.


    The pirate swung again but now Emin¡¯s dagger was in his hand. He blocked and felt the shock run up his arm, almost causing him to drop his dagger. Then the sword bit down again and he decided to take his chances in the water. He jumped back and half heartedly flung his dagger at the bearded pirate¡¯s face. Then water enclosed all around him. Filling his eyes, his face, his mouth. He flailed wildly and one of his hands slammed into something hard. He flailed in that direction and managed to wrap his arms around a post supporting the wharf. He pulled his head out of the water and gasped for air. He heard shouting, a lot of shouting and running on the wharf above him. Then a face peered down, one of the bearded pirate¡¯s friends. It saw him and shouted, pointing. He pushed through the water to another post as splashes sounded behind him. He tried to move quickly but he couldn¡¯t bring himself to let go, to plunge back into that cold choking water. Then the splashes caught up to him and a hand grabbed his shirt. He spun around only to see a dockmaster looking at him with a calm but serious face.


    ¡°Come with me boy,¡± he said. ¡°You will not be harmed.¡±


    When Emin managed to climb back onto the wharf he saw that his dagger had embedded itself in the face of the bearded pirate who was now lying dead on the wharf. His friends were arguing with other dockmasters. It seemed security was much more rigidly enforced down here on the docks than it was up in the streets where Emin lived.


    He was quickly dragged away from the docks and tossed into Grusk, the old rotted prison with holes too small to escape from but big enough to let rain in. Some of those in the streets intentionally got sent to prison to get a guaranteed meal. Only it wasn¡¯t guaranteed. There were plenty of hardened pirates in Grusk and not enough food to go around.


    Emin stopped trying after the first few days. A week passed with no food and only rainwater to drink when a dockmaster entered the holding cell. Usually they only came to drop off new prisoners, they didn¡¯t run the prison. But this one had no new prisoners. Instead he looked closely at the faces of all the prisoners until he found Emin. Then he picked him up and dragged him off, ignoring the other prisoner¡¯s protests. His fate firmly out of his hands Emin followed along as they went to some office which was nicer but still had the rotted holes to let rain in.


    In the office was a Nosk man with a short black beard and a long leather coat. He had a sword as well, but it wasn¡¯t the cheap sabres most pirates had to make do with. It was an ornate sword, the type that would likely be found in a royal treasury, not in Tuggranoskr. Emin sat at the desk and looked up at the man. The dockmaster left.


    ¡°I hear you¡¯re the boy that killed Black Shamrock, that¡¯s no easy task.¡±


    Emin shifted in his chair. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°I have no love for Shamrock, he stole a woman from me years ago and had her killed, and many others have suffered far worse at his hand. But he sails under Brego so we can¡¯t lay a hand on him. Not so with you, however.¡±


    ¡°I was thrown in Grusk.¡±


    ¡°Yes and had anyone been able to recognise you you¡¯d have likely been assassinated. There are some advantages to not having a name.¡±


    ¡°I have a name,¡± Emin protested.


    The man raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh yes, what is it?¡±


    Emin paused. In truth he didn¡¯t much like his name, it came from when the older boys had called him Vermin and he¡¯d shortened it so he wouldn¡¯t have to get used to something entirely new. Now was a chance to make up a new name, a pirate name, a name from one of Old Yarrow¡¯s stories. His mind drew a blank. ¡°Emin,¡± he said.


    ¡°Emin,¡± the man nodded. ¡°I suppose it¡¯ll do, but no one knows that name, no one of import like as not. So no one can have you killed. Very useful indeed.¡±


    Emin sat in silence, he was still unsure what was going on.


    ¡°You¡¯re probably wondering why you¡¯re here Emin,¡± the man said.


    Emin shrugged, in truth he¡¯d stopped wondering that a while ago and was now wondering if the man was entirely sane.


    ¡°Well it just so happens that there¡¯s a vacancy on my crew and having an unnamed boy like you onboard, especially one who¡¯s just killed Black Shamrock might be just the person we¡¯re looking for.¡±


    Emin¡¯s eyes grew wide. ¡°You want to take me onto your crew?¡±


    ¡°Well yes, I don¡¯t want someone old like most of the pirates here, and finding someone young with any fighting ability is difficult with no major wars on, so you¡¯re it, best as I can do.¡±


    Emin tried to stop himself from shaking with excitement. He failed. ¡°I¡¯d love to join your crew. I¡¯ve wanted to sail the seas my entire life. To be a pirate just like all the stories.¡±


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The man shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not all like the stories, but that¡¯s perfect. We leave at dawn, be at the port, number 183.¡±


    The man turned to stroll out. ¡°Sorry what¡¯s your name?¡± Emin asked. ¡°Captain?¡± he added hastily.


    The man smiled, ¡°Mangon Tull, or you might know me better as the Storm Wolf.¡± Then he walked out.


    Emin stared after him for a while. He¡¯d never actually heard of either Mangon Tull or the Storm Wolf. But that didn¡¯t matter, he was going to become a pirate, he was going to finally sail away from this place.


    The next day at dawn Emin walked down to the port and found the ship. It was a huge Nosk ship and in typical Nosk fashion was decked out completely in tusks and bones of huge animals. Spikes jutting off from the side of it like some horrid monster. Emin thought it looked spectacular.


    Mangon arrived shortly after Emin did and ushered him aboard. The boat was slowly filling up with other pirates as dawn approached.


    ¡°This is the main deck,¡± the pirate said. ¡°Mast, sails, ship¡¯s wheel, you get the idea.¡± He pointed at a fat man asleep under an enormous feathered hat. ¡°That¡¯s Drengen, he¡¯ll show you how it all works when we¡¯re underway.¡±


    Next they went below decks and Mangon showed him his sleeping quarters. Cramped in there with the other pirates it was arguably worse than his cave back home but he didn¡¯t care. The rest of the tour seemed to be over far too quickly. Emin was hungry for any information he could get while Mangon didn¡¯t seem to care.


    ¡°That there is the brig,¡± Mangon said pointing at a trapdoor in the floor. ¡°There are a few secrets down there and I have the only key so don¡¯t go investigating. And one more thing, this is a ship, we will regularly be miles and miles from safe harbour in the middle of the ocean. This is dangerous and for this reason you are to obey any order I give you, absolutely anything, understand?¡±


    Emin nodded.


    ¡°Good, now go up on deck, and listen to Drengen, we¡¯re leaving soon. Emin raced back on deck where all the other pirates had gathered. They were all talking amongst themselves and when he arrived some of them started talking about him. A few introduced themselves with names he didn¡¯t recognise. Fey Rammon, Beardy Clam, Hark Japur, and Tommos Lisk. Emin introduced himself as well and tried to remember all their names.


    Then Mangon was there and barking orders at people. The first order he barked was aimed at Drengen who jerked awake from his sleep and started yelling as well. Emin did what he was told and soon sails were raised and they were underway. Into the great wide ocean.


    They didn¡¯t go far into the great wide ocean before Emin was violently sick.


    There were a lot of unglamorous things about being a pirate, and Emin had to admit the stories had rather glossed over those parts. There was life aboard ship, stuck in a tiny cabin with ten other men all shouting and arguing. There was having to obey every order barked by either Mangon or Drengen even when it seemed nothing needed doing. There was the backbreaking task of pulling on ropes and raising sails, rowing when the winds died down, and all on the meagre supplies they¡¯d managed to pack into the storage room. There was cleaning, which seemed to be solely his job as the newest recruit and with all the winds and rains out at sea the ship seemed to need constant cleaning. There was the sea sickness as well, he¡¯d felt terrible for the first few days and had trouble sleeping with the rocking of the ship leaving him feeling worse in the morning.


    But the sea sickness had subsided and every day he¡¯d climb up to the crow¡¯s nest and be able to see miles and miles of nothing but the beautiful ocean. He¡¯d heard some sailors and pirates back home claim it was boring, seeing the same empty view day after day. But he could never get bored of it. He could watch the ocean for hours. It was mesmerising.


    Then there were the pirates, the other people aboard the ship which was called the Raggarusk which meant something in Nosk apparently. Some of them hated him and seemed to do things just out of spite, but most of them were nice, and they all partied hard on calm nights, dipping deep into their stores of ale and rum. Emin had hated rum at first but he was getting used to it and he loved the pirate parties. Not since Old Yarrow¡¯s band had he really had friends around him like that.


    And there was Mangon who sparred with him every day. He wasn¡¯t using a dagger now but a proper sabre and under Mangon¡¯s harsh teaching he could feel himself growing better and better. He longed for the day when he¡¯d get to put his new skills to the test. To revel in riches gotten at sea rather than plucked from a drunk¡¯s pocket in the rain. And eventually that day came.


    Up in the crow¡¯s nest Emin spotted a ship far off on the horizon and shouted as loudly as he could to the crew down below. They raised their flags and set off, their sails tugging them across the sea toward their quarry. As they got closer they recognised the ship as a trading vessel for Nagathrum, poorly armed compared to them, and much much slower. The ship fled but it didn¡¯t flee for long.


    They were almost at the other ship now and Emin could see the other crew¡¯s faces as they rushed about the deck. They were building a fire and lighting it inside a brazier. Emin frowned, what were they doing that for? Then he saw it, another ship, far in the distance, bearing toward them. It was a signal, a call for help.


    He turned back to look at Mangon who was talking with Drengen, the other pirates looked too.


    ¡°That looks like a proper navy ship,¡± Drengen said. ¡°Should we cut our losses?¡±


    Mangon shook his head. ¡°No, full speed ahead.¡±


    The pirates cheered but Drengen looked worried. Then Mangon was shouting at them.


    ¡°Alright men, we¡¯ve no time to lose. Let¡¯s get aboard, make sure there¡¯s no resistance and loot everything they¡¯ve got. We¡¯ve got plenty of time as long as none of you fuck around. We clear?¡±


    The pirates nodded their assent. Then they caught them. Fey Rammon and Hark Japur flung two huge grappling hooks onto the deck of the other ship and pulled. The other crew tried to remove them but they were struck down by arrows slung by other pirates before they even got close. The ships drew together and pirates began to leap across the gap. Emin was slightly concerned about the long drop into cold water below but soon there was barely a gap at all and he leapt across as well. Landing lightly on the other ship, sabre in one hand. It was chaos at first as the guards of the ship fought back but they were soon subdued and surrendered. They knew they couldn¡¯t win. By the time Emin got there there wasn¡¯t much to do. But then he heard Mangon shouting orders. While the older, scarier pirates kept the hostages in line he was sent down to the storage room to grab whatever he could find.


    The storage room was packed. They weren¡¯t far from Nagathrum and the ship had just started on its journey, packed to the brim with foodstuffs and money. Emin grabbed a chest and dashed back up the stairs, his legs well used to the rolling sea by now. He tossed it across to Drengen who was waiting back on the Raggarusk and then dashed down for more. With all of them the storage room was soon empty and Mangon had apparently intimidated the captain into giving them everything he had.


    Then they were back on their ship and sailing away. By then the navy ship was close, not close enough to see the people on its deck but close enough to see how big it was. A ship that size would need double the crew they had, maybe more. And it had huge sails that had picked up a lot of speed. Emin very much doubted they could outrun it.


    ¡°We can¡¯t outrun that,¡± Drengen said to Mangon who was back at the ship¡¯s wheel.


    Mangon smiled and once again Emin was gripped by the feeling that he wasn¡¯t entirely sane. ¡°Oh we¡¯re not going to,¡± he said and laughed. Emin didn¡¯t find that especially comforting but Drengen seemed to only be mildly annoyed. He walked down from the ship¡¯s wheel and onto the deck where Emin was sitting, waiting to be told to pull a rope.


    ¡°What did he mean we aren¡¯t going to outrun it?¡± he asked Drengen as he walked by.


    Drengen scowled. ¡°He means we¡¯re going to go somewhere it can¡¯t follow.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°The Stormruns. Weather like this it¡¯ll be hell.¡±


    ¡°Is their ship too big to weather the storm?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Drengen chuckled. ¡°Their captain¡¯s too sane,¡± then he walked off.


    Emin¡¯s confidence sank even lower.


    As they sailed and the navy ship bore down on them they packed away all of the money and foodstuffs they¡¯d looted from the other ship. The navy ship stopped to investigate the looted ship which gave them more time but they were still a bit faster.


    Then he saw the Stormruns in the distance. A huge black cloud stretched across the horizon. He¡¯d seen storms like that before in Tuggranoskr. It was well known that any ship caught out in one would be dashed against the rocks of the city if it made it that far. He hoped there were no rocks in the Stormruns.


    They got closer and it appeared there were a lot of rocks in the Stormruns. The place was littered with them. Towering cliffs jutting out of the heaving sea just like home, except he was on a ship now rather than safe in a cave. The water was getting choppy now and it was difficult to stagger up to the ship¡¯s wheel where Mangon was steering them right into the storm.


    ¡°Captain is this safe?¡± he shouted above the roar of the storm.


    Mangon laughed. ¡°This is why I¡¯m called the Storm Wolf,¡± he said. ¡°I sail through storms and always come out alive.¡± Then he laughed some more.


    Emin staggered back down to the main deck where Drengen was watching the skies and barking orders. Seeing he was busy he went to Fey instead.


    ¡°Does he know what he¡¯s doing?¡± Emin asked, pointing at Mangon.


    Fey rolled his eyes. ¡°What he says is true,¡± he grumbled. ¡°We¡¯ve never been shipwrecked though by hell we¡¯ve tried.¡±


    ¡°But how? Is he just a good sailor?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s okay, I¡¯ve seen better. Naw it¡¯s something to do with whatever he keeps in the brig we think. Something he ain¡¯t willing to share with us. But he keeps us alive, he keeps us rich. Figure we may as well keep doing it.¡±


    The storm hit hard. They were tossed across the ship¡¯s deck as it bucked and rolled in the waves. The huge cliffs leered up at them out of the sea. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed even over the howl of the storm. Drengen¡¯s booming voice roared above the storm, telling them to fix that rope there, to pull that one somewhere else. With trembling fingers Emin obeyed, struggling to pull on the heavy wet ropes.


    A cliff passed by them, then another, then another. A wave took them high and Emin looked out to see rocks buried everywhere under the waves. Then the wave swung back down and they were all gone, how could anyone possibly know where they were? They seemed to be in the rocks for hours and Emin¡¯s seasickness returned. Luckily with all the water splashing over them nobody noticed an extra bit of bile.


    By the end he was shivering and wet and sick and could barely stand. But there was an end. Despite it seeming like there was no safe path to take they sailed through it and out the other side. Emin joined in the half hearted cheer but mostly the crew were exhausted. Mangon seemed fine, standing up at the wheel, drenched in sea water and rainwater and beaming. He let the crew have a rest once they were far enough from the storm and went back into his cabin with a bottle of rum.


    Emin sat there on the deck, and trembled.


    He knocked on the captain¡¯s door and waited to be let in.


    ¡°Come in,¡± Mangon said from inside, a slight drunken slur blurring his words. Emin pushed the door open and found the captain lounged in his chair, the empty rum bottle sitting on the table.


    ¡°Emin!¡± he said loudly, smiling his manic smile. ¡°How did you like your first real day as a pirate. You saw everything, a raid, a storm, a bounty. A great day.¡±


    Emin shuffled nervously. ¡°What¡¯s in the brig captain?¡± he asked. He¡¯d never seen Mangon properly angry before. He hoped this wasn¡¯t a way to set him off.


    Mangon¡¯s smile turned mischievous, he didn¡¯t seem to be getting angry. ¡°That¡¯s my lucky charm. A little secret I keep to keep me safe from storms,¡± he chuckled and poured himself more rum. ¡°Any more questions?¡± he smiled.


    Emin thought it best to quit while he was ahead. The captain didn¡¯t seem at all angry but he wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if he pressed him on his secret. Probably nothing good. He shook his head and walked out. He stood on the deck and looked out at the black ocean. He was familiar with thievery, with lying and cheating, with bribery and extortion, with drugs and drunks, and with the picking of pockets, purses and locks. He¡¯d already been in the brig while everyone else was recovering. He hadn¡¯t found a lucky charm, he hadn¡¯t found anything lucky at all. He¡¯d found, reeking of drugs and looking up at him with mournful brown eyes, a man.

 The Battle of Arnock Bridge

    The city of Karasar is an ancient city that was built by a people whose name has been long lost to history. They had their rich culture and history ground out of them by the Sorcerer King Ceros. A sorcerer born in the rat ridden filthy streets of lower Karasar. He lived on the streets but rose to become a mighty ruler for over a hundred years, bending the city to his every whim. The people were living in misery until one day a hero by the name of Randolph Thar took up the quest to rid Karasar of its evil king. Randolph searched across the land for a weapon capable of killing the sorcerer and found Feather, the Sword in the Sky. A mysterious sword forged of storm clouds. He returned to the city and slew Ceros, dying in the process. He became a hero for the whole city and freed it from tyranny. The Thar family rose to great renown as warriors and heroes and remained that way for the last fifty years.


    That was the story Alphon had been told anyway. That the ornate sword hanging up in his solar was actually Feather, the Sword in the Sky. It was of immaculate craftsmanship, that was certain, but whether or not it was actually magic was hard to determine. He¡¯d taken it to master blacksmiths and asked if they¡¯d be able to make anything like it. They¡¯d grumbled and muttered and claimed that the hilt had too much ornamentation with all the feathers and lightning bolts and such carved into it. They¡¯d go on grumbling and muttering about the weight distribution, the heft, the swing, the tapering, before finally Alphon had managed to drag out of them that no, they couldn¡¯t make anything like it. At least nothing as sharp they said, and nothing that wouldn¡¯t gather dust after hanging on a wall for fifty years.


    So maybe it was magical, Alphon had concluded when he¡¯d been younger. But at that age, magical meant it could grant flight, it could shoot lightning, it could cleave a house in two. He had been disappointed to learn from those who had used it, that it in fact, did none of those things. That for all intents and purposes it was merely a sword, if a very very good one, one that with a bit of practise, could down small trees with a single swing. But the only really magical thing about it was its supposed ability to kill sorcerers. Which, Alphon thought, wasn¡¯t much use any more.


    Alphon had grown older and thought less and less about the sword. Then his father had died in battle and he¡¯d assumed the position at the head of the family which meant the solar became his solar. The sword became his sword. He couldn¡¯t help but wonder, looking up at it, if his father might have survived had he used it in battle. He assumed it probably wouldn¡¯t have helped. As he¡¯d learned, it didn¡¯t do much that a regular sword couldn¡¯t do. And it hadn¡¯t done his grandfather Randolph much good in terms of surviving. So the sword hung there, awaiting the day when it would again be needed. Alphon assumed that that day would never come. That Karasar¡¯s days of dealing with sorcerers were over. How wrong he was.


    Kulrod sat in his tent, ripping a bloody knife through the flesh of his hand, dragging it along the sides of the bones. Blood sprayed from the hand onto the boar carcass laid out across the ground. The whole tent reeked of blood and death and sweat. The sweat of the boar, freshly killed by his hunters and dragged back here for his ritual. The sweat of the hunters who¡¯d filled the tent just moments ago. And the sweat of Kulrod, the sweat pounding down his brow and into his eyes as he dealt with the excruciating pain. No matter how many times he did it it never got easier.


    He yanked the knife out of his hand, spraying blood everywhere. His hand dropped to his side, a jagged cut chopping it nearly in two. The fingers still spasming in pain. He waited as it healed. It didn¡¯t take long.


    Meanwhile the boar¡¯s glassy eyes rolled about in its head. It¡¯s legs kicked feebly and twitched. The sorcerer¡¯s blood burned on its fur, searing its skin and sinking into the still warm body.


    The boar stood up, its neck still gaping from the spear wound that had killed it, its mangled side still sizzling from sorcerer¡¯s blood. It turned to look at Kulrod.


    ¡°You will obey me,¡± Kulrod said. ¡°You will be my raging beast in my army. You will kill who I tell you to kill and hunt who I tell you to hunt. You will be tireless, merciless, furious. You will not stop for anyone other than me and my men.¡±


    ¡°Yesss...s...ss...s...¡± the boar replied, it¡¯s mangled mouth struggling for air it couldn¡¯t breathe.


    ¡°Go join the other animals and await further instructions.¡±


    The boar nodded and walked out, it knew where to go. Beasts raised from the dead with the blood of a sorcerer have a distinctive smell.


    Kulrod stretched out his hand. It was drenched in blood but was otherwise fine. He wiped the blood on a cloth they¡¯d looted from one of the villages. It was a nice cloth, far too nice for such a small ugly village.


    He smiled and tossed the cloth aside. Soon he would have all the cloths he would need, and all the slaves to clean up his rituals for him. Soon he would be the next Sorcerer King of Karasar.


    The sorcerer wasn¡¯t subtle in his approach. Before him fled a deluge of refugees straight into the waiting arms of Karasar and they were all too ready to divulge everything they knew about him and plenty they didn¡¯t. He was ten foot tall and had two heads, they said. He could call on fire and lightning and all the fury of the sky. He walked with an army of dead mangled creatures in the shape of animals, each one impossible to kill with any weapon. His men wore the flesh of the dead to give them strength. His men were dead to give them strength. He was one hundred foot tall and had a hundred heads.


    The stories grew more and more outrageous. Alphon believed none of them. But he knew what a sorcerer coming here meant. He knew that his sword might be needed again. He could have asked someone else to do it. He could have demanded that one of his men or knights rode out to face the sorcerer. But he wouldn¡¯t do that. It was his grandfather that had slain Ceros, it would be him that would slay Kulrod. So he put on his finest armour, gathered up his most loyal knights, took Feather from the wall for what might be the last time. Then he rode out to meet the invading army at Arnock Bridge.


    It was a long way to the bridge. There was Shandran, the little town, then the Howling Forest, filled with wolves, then the Rocklands and the hills. And then finally the Arnock river and across it was the army. It was still very far away and he couldn¡¯t see much from this distance, but there was no giant figure with a hundred heads so that was a good sign.


    One brave messenger volunteered to carry his message and so he was sent forth. In the hours he was gone Alphon could imagine all sorts of horrible things that could befall him. Sending messengers to treat with rival leaders was always a risk. Some vile men had horrific ideas about what they could do to messengers. And this time it wasn¡¯t even a man they were treating with. Who knew what a sorcerer might do to a messenger?


    But he returned, galloping back across the bridge faster than was probably necessary, he came back and delivered the message to Alphon. Kulrod would meet him in single combat at the bridge exactly as requested. He didn¡¯t know whether that was good or bad.


    He knew he could wait within his city walls, set up better defenses and prepare for a siege. But a siege would endanger more lives than just his own, and if the sorcerer truly could only be killed by Feather, it would come down to this anyway. So he¡¯d rather it happened before the entire city was attacked. He wasn¡¯t sure if the sorcerer could only be killed by Feather. He wasn¡¯t sure he could be killed by anything. But that had always been the one constant in all the stories about the sword. It could kill sorcerers. It couldn¡¯t grant flight, it couldn¡¯t shoot lightning, and it couldn¡¯t cleave a house in two. But it could kill sorcerers and if he had anything to say about it, it was going to.


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


    Kulrod was not one hundred foot tall with one hundred heads. He was not even ten foot tall with two heads. He was fairly tall but not inhumanly so and he had just one head. He had black matted hair falling down around his face and a twisted smirk of a mouth. He wore a great fur robe that wrapped around his spindly figure, its fur shaking and shivering in places as though it was still alive, next to him stood two hulking brutes of men, looking sullenly at the ground. But Kulrod was not looking at the ground. He was looking at Alphon with piercing golden eyes.


    ¡°Alphon Thar,¡± Kulrod said from across the river. ¡°I¡¯ve heard many a story of you and your ancestors.¡±


    Alphon shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t put much store in stories,¡± he muttered back.


    Kulrod chuckled. ¡°No? Then how do you know that blade will kill me?¡± he asked, his slow laugh rattling away.


    Alphon shrugged again. ¡°Maybe it will, maybe it won¡¯t.¡± He leapt down from his horse and strolled onto the bridge. ¡°At least I¡¯ll finally find out.¡±


    Kulrod smiled wider. ¡°You are very brave Thar, possibly too brave.¡± He tossed aside his fur cloak and out of it poured spiders. Hundreds of spiders, huge and hairy and reeking of death. They swarmed toward Alphon, rustling over the grass and ground until they reached the bridge and filled it. A black carpet with hundreds of legs sweeping toward him. He struck at one but the others reached him, clambering over each other to cover him. He staggered back and flailed about but they stuck fast, crawling up his armour and in between the gaps until he could feel their furry bodies pressed against him, and he could feel their vicious bites. They were heavy, he¡¯d never thought of spiders as heavy but these ones were and he fell to his knees as they swarmed over him, his face drawing ever closer to that swarming black carpet. Then they were on his face, they¡¯d crawled between his armour and he could feel them on his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. Wriggling and biting and crawling and thrashing.


    He could hear Kulrod laughing, fully laughing now, not just that chuckle he¡¯d had before. He¡¯d never even seen if the sword could hurt him. He¡¯d never found out if it was really magical. Well he¡¯d have to do something about that.


    He thrust up his head, flicking off some spiders and then grabbed his helmet and ripped it off, taking off all the ones on it and inside it. More swarmed onto his face but by then he¡¯d already got a glimpse of the bridge and he could see that all the spiders were on it, exactly where he wanted them.


    He swung the sword, not at the spiders although he probably hit some of them. He swung it at the bridge. It was an old bridge, thick and strong, a bridge that had weathered years and years of the elements. But the sword was Feather, he¡¯d seen it cut an ancient oak tree down in a single swing. The bridge stood no chance.


    Him and the spiders all plunged into the river. It was a small river, not really deep enough for drowning in. If you weren¡¯t a spider.


    He spluttered to the surface, his armour dripping and filled with cold water and all the spiders and wood of the bridge floating slowly away downstream. He could still feel some trapped in his armour, struggling weakly as they were soaked in the water. He didn¡¯t mind though, he was too full of adrenaline to care about a few measly spiders.


    Up on the bank Kulrod had stopped laughing.


    ¡°That is an impressive sword,¡± he said. ¡°But I wonder what you¡¯ll do now that you have no more bridges to chop down.¡± He flicked his finger and his two men began to walk down into the river. Except they didn¡¯t really walk, they sort of shambled. They were wearing armour but Alphon suspected they didn¡¯t need it.


    ¡°These are corpses filled with the vilest of plagues my sorcerer powers could conjure. Even if you do defeat them and go back to Karasar you will only bring plague and death back with you, making things all the easier for me.¡±


    Alphon shrugged again. ¡°I¡¯m not going back.¡± Then he swung and the shambling man¡¯s head came clean off. That didn¡¯t do much though as he kept walking and swung a huge sword at Alphon who ducked back out of the way, slowed by the water. He could smell something other than the reek of death coming off these two. Something that smelled all too much like bile and disease.


    The second corpse was approaching now, bearing a huge club that was far too heavy for anyone to wield effectively. But the corpse swung it like it weighed nothing and Alphon dragged himself through the water out of the way. But he left Feather behind and the club went clean through it, coming out the other side in two pieces. The corpse looked confused and before he could react Alphon took his arm off. The corpses were strong but they were slow, even slowed by the water this was going to be easy.


    The club and the arm attached to it splashed into the water and the corpse looked up at him. It was blocking its friend off and Alphon had a clear swing right through it. Then its body erupted into a blast of blood and bile which struck him like a hammer and sent him crashing into the mud and water of the river. He struggled to his feet as the other corpse moved toward him, its ally collapsing, truly dead now that it had exploded. Alphon tried to stand straight but instead vomited blood into the river. That was a fast acting disease.


    The corpse swung its sword and bent over in sickness, Alphon lacked the coordination to block it with Feather. So he thrust up his wet bracer and caught it with that. He felt the bones in his arm break. The corpse took its sword away to swing again and the last trickle of blood left Alphon¡¯s mouth. He could feel more coming on and a terrible headache but he ignored them as he¡¯d ignored the spiders. He spun around from his crouched position and ripped Feather through the knees of the corpse as it raised its sword.


    It collapsed into the river and Alphon dived away as it too exploded. The bile and blood just missing him. He didn¡¯t need more diseases. He coughed up some more vomit and then looked up at Kulrod standing atop the bank. He wasn¡¯t smiling and chuckling now.


    ¡°You bastard!¡± the sorcerer howled. Alphon moved toward him. ¡°Do you have any idea how difficult those are to make?¡± Alphon¡¯s heart was pounding now, he ignored the bile and blood in his throat, the terrible headache between his ears, the weak feeling in his legs and the throbbing pain in his left arm. ¡°You will pay for this!¡±


    Kulrod raised his hands and Alphon stopped. Not because he wanted too but because the mud of the river had constricted around his feet. He tried to pull free and grumbled in annoyance. Then he heard a roar and looked up to see huge waves coming up from both sides of the river toward him. His eyes grew wide with fear. He¡¯d been ready for the vermin, he¡¯d been ready for the plagues, but he hadn¡¯t been ready for a sorcerer who could control the elements. There hadn¡¯t been any hard evidence Ceros had actually done that, although there were plenty of stories. Maybe that was what he got for not putting much store in stories.


    The waves crashed over him and he disappeared into the swirling muddy water.


    Kulrod stared down at the river, panting. Sweat beading his brow. Why did sorcerer¡¯s have to sweat? They were supposed to be perfect human beings weren¡¯t they? They didn¡¯t need to eat or drink or sleep or breathe. But they had to sweat. He didn¡¯t like that, it made him feel human, made him feel weak. Like he could be killed with a sword.


    He wiped the sweat away and looked up at Alphon¡¯s men arrayed on the other side of the river. The bridge was down but it wouldn¡¯t be hard to cross the river especially when he could control it. The men were looking very worried and some were already starting to turn their horses away. He took one step forward then the river erupted.


    Alphon burst from the river, spectral feathered wings sprouting from his back. The sword had been able to grant flight after all, although it seemed to work best in near death experiences. He hovered over the river and looked down at Kulrod who was staring up at him in shock. Alphon shrugged, ruffling his new fancy wings. Then he bore down on the sorcerer and plunged the sword through his chest, spraying sorcerer¡¯s blood all across the grass.


    Kulrod choked in surprise, the sword piercing the spot where his heart would be if he had one, he¡¯d taken it out long ago and used it in a ritual somewhere, by now he¡¯d quite forgotten where.


    ¡°It is said...¡± Kulrod choked quietly, ¡°that to kill a sorcerer you need a magic weapon.¡±


    Alphon nodded, all his evidence corroborated that.


    ¡°Wielded by a magic creature.¡±


    Alphon¡¯s heart sank. Of course his research had uncovered that too but he¡¯d hoped it had been wrong, prayed it had been wrong. His grandfather hadn¡¯t been magical and he¡¯d killed a sorcerer. Hadn¡¯t he?


    ¡°You...¡± Kulrod said, his voice growing louder as his lungs healed around the sword. ¡°Are not...¡± He grabbed Alphon by the neck. ¡°A magic creature...¡± He snapped his neck with muscles much stronger than any human¡¯s. Alphon¡¯s body went limp and his wings disappeared. He was happy though, the sword had done what he¡¯d really wanted.

 The Bones of Hahkenata

    ¡°Will she find me?¡± the old woman asks.


    ¡®Yes¡¯


    ¡°Will she fight me?¡±


    ¡®No¡¯


    ¡°Will she be taken to see the jars?¡±


    ¡®Yes¡¯


    ¡°Will she fight me then?¡±


    ¡®No¡¯


    ¡°Will she run?¡±


    ¡®Yes¡¯


    ¡°Will she run beneath the great beam?¡±


    ¡®Yes¡¯


    The woman takes a deep breath. It has been a long time since she¡¯s done something like this. She is unsure her old bones will be up to it. ¡°Will I succeed?¡± she asks and tosses the bones one last time.


    The rain beats down on the road, turning the road to dirt and the dirt to mud. The man on the watchtower is bundled up in warm clothing, gloves and furs, yet he is still cold. He was not prepared for weather such as this. It rarely gets this cold in Karasar.


    Beneath him a woman walks through the mud, her hood held up against the rain. She is not the invading army they are looking for, and so she is allowed to pass through the open gates.


    The city is not bustling as it usually is. Everyone is inside, hiding from the rain and the unnatural cold. Occasionally a figure rushes through the rain, splattering along in the mud, desperate to reach shelter as fast as possible. The woman does not rush, she does not splatter in the mud. To her the storm is not a hindrance. To her it is a shield.


    But not everyone has the luxury of shelter. Some are forced to linger in the miserable weather, and it is these men the woman wants.


    A town guard wanders through the muddy streets. He is in no hurry to get anywhere since everywhere he can go will be just as miserable as this. So he trudges along, his uniform hardly adequate in the cold. He sees the woman wandering along and eyes her suspiciously.


    She sees him and walks up to him. He stands and waits for her, hugging himself against the cold. Perhaps she has something to tell him, something that will give him an excuse to go inside or warm up somehow. She does not.


    Instead she talks to him of trivial things, of the cold, of the mud, of the life of a town guard. He finds himself caught up in a conversation he has little control over. He can¡¯t see much of the woman beneath her cloak but her voice has something in it. Something alluring.


    She asks to see his home and he takes her there though he is not sure why. Once they are there he sits down and warms himself by the fire. Although he is sure he never lit it. She keeps talking to him and he follows along, only too happy to talk to her and forget the cold and misery outside.


    Soon she is sitting beside him and then she is atop him completely. They struggle out of their wet clothes and into each other. When they are done her voice takes on a new allure. An allure he is powerless to resist. He tells her everything. Answers every question she asks and the questions are pointed and powerful. He tells her exactly what men and weapons the town has. He tells her their fear of the army led by Kulrod. He tells her what the people think, what the guards think, what the nobles think. He does not tell her what he thinks though. It seems now that she has him she doesn¡¯t care much what he thinks.


    He tells her of all of their defenses and all of their secret passwords and hidden tunnels. And he tells her of Gushkabel.


    When she leaves he remains naked on the floor for far longer than he should. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks he should resume working. But the front of his mind is far more occupied with all the control he has just lost. With what the beautiful woman has done to him. The fire is raging in the hearth despite an absence of firewood, yet he trembles. Out of the hearth the fire stares with a terrible lidless eye.


    The woman exits back into the muddy street and throws her hood back on. She leaves the guard lying content on his floor, quite confident that in all the passion and conversation he never noticed her golden eyes.


    Gushkabel sits on a plush armchair in her small cottage watching the rain beat against the window outside. She is wrapped up in a fur blanket and her fire is going, but her old bones are still cold. They are sore as well, she has been up all day preparing for tonight. The most important night for a long time. The most important night since Ceros.


    Around her her dreamcatchers hang. On the table across from her lies all manner of her mystical workings. A desiccated frog, partially dissected. An ancient tapestry from before the time of gods and kings, used as a tablecloth. A hundred different berries from all across the land, scattered across the table in her hurry for today. And in the center the ceramic bowl with the lidless eye carved into it, and in the bowl little bones.


    She watches the clock, there is still a while to wait. She takes out a butcher¡¯s knife, and sharpens it.


    Out in the rain the woman could swear that there is a beam of sunlight, piercing down from the heavens. She looks up, searching for a gap in the clouds. She finds one and out of it peers a burning lidless eye. An eye that burns like the rising sun. Then it is gone and she keeps walking. She has been seeing that eye in her dreams lately and thinks little of it. She knows little of the ways of gods and demons.


    She reaches the cottage of Gushkabel. It is a squat thing buried away down a back alley with dreamcatchers and berries hanging in the porch. She raises her fist to knock and hears an old voice from within beckon her inside.


    She does not question the voice¡¯s perfect timing. That is something she has grown to expect from mystical women.


    She sits down across from Gushkabel who is knitting, the knife hidden away.


    ¡°How can I help you, young woman?¡± Gushkabel asks politely, her needles clacking away hopelessly. Luckily the woman does not know how to knit either, else she might be suspicious.


    ¡°I have come about Kulrod.¡±


    Gushkabel looks at the woman suspiciously. ¡°What do you want with Kulrod?¡±


    The woman shrugs. ¡°I want to stop him from conquering the city.¡±


    The old woman smiles. ¡°And how do you suppose you are going to do that? Kulrod is a sorcerer.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the woman replies. ¡°It seems he¡¯d be just about unstoppable by most ordinary people.¡±


    ¡°And you are not an ordinary person?¡± Gushkabel asks, slowly putting down her knitting needles and feeble attempt at a scarf.


    The woman throws back her hood and reveals her golden eyes. ¡°Do not be alarmed,¡± she says quickly. ¡°I only wish to help.¡±


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    Gushkabel¡¯s eyes narrow. ¡°Oh I¡¯m sure.¡±


    ¡°I know you have had bad experiences with sorcerers in this city and I know our kind are not to be trusted but I only wish to help you. I am your only hope.¡±


    Gushkabel appears angry at that. ¡°Oh are you now?¡±


    ¡°I was told you are the wisest woman in this city. That you know all the magics and ways of the world. Do not pretend you don¡¯t know how hard it is to kill a sorcerer. Do not pretend you don¡¯t know what they can do.¡±


    ¡°Oh I know all about what they can do. Poisons, vermin, foul blood magics, storms.¡± She gestures vaguely at the storm outside. ¡°I suppose this was your doing.¡±


    The sorceress shrugs. ¡°I needed some reason to hide my face. It¡¯s not easy having these eyes.¡±


    ¡°Oh isn¡¯t it?¡±


    A look of annoyance crosses the sorceress¡¯s perfect face. ¡°I suppose you think all my kind are some sort of horrible abomination.¡±


    Gushkabel shrugs. ¡°Am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°I only wish to help people.¡±


    ¡°You do not help people. You are a sorceress, you are made to hurt people.¡±


    The sorceress grows angry at this. ¡°I am not made for anything. What would you know of being a sorceress?¡±


    ¡°Oh heaven forbid I pretend to know all the magics and ways of the world,¡± Gushkabel exclaims, rolling her eyes. ¡°How many men have you raped in your noble quest to help people?¡±


    Anger drains from the sorceress¡¯s face and she looks concerned. ¡°You do not know what you are-¡±


    ¡°How about you stop pretending you understand what I do and don¡¯t know!¡± Gushkabel says loudly. ¡°You have raped people! Admit it! If you are really as noble as you say you are you likely justified it to yourself with some pathetic excuses about the greater good! You have no idea what you even mean by that!¡± She shakes her head and looks away, muttering something under her breath.


    ¡°It is not my fault my magic works that way! It is not-¡±


    ¡°Not your fault? No of course it isn¡¯t? How could it be your fault you just happen to bewitch people into sleeping with you and losing their free will. All a big misunderstanding really.¡±


    ¡°Doing that has enabled me to help countless communities. To save people!¡±


    ¡°Do you ever check up on the men you rape after you¡¯re done with them? Do you ever go back and see what you¡¯ve left behind? Have you ever tried to help a victim like that?¡±


    ¡°...Well no I don¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°I help people like that. I help the scared and lonely and broken people who¡¯re left behind after someone else has their way. And I don¡¯t need terrible magical powers to do so!¡±


    ¡°I understand it¡¯s horrible! I wish I didn¡¯t have to do it! But I¡¯ve saved so many people! For those people you¡¯ve helped it was never justified! But for me it-!¡±


    A look of disgust crosses Gushkabel¡¯s face. ¡°It is never justified. Even for you. You are not special.¡±


    The sorceress sits back and fumes, staring into the old woman¡¯s eyes. Gushkabel stares right back. It is a strange feeling, someone looking into her eyes who is not afraid or under her control. She thinks for a while. Never before has she been challenged like this. Most people do not challenge sorceresses.


    ¡°I am special,¡± she says eventually. ¡°You are human, mortal, flesh and blood. You do not have the same gifts I do.¡±


    Gushkabel nods sadly. Her disgust fading and turning into something much sadder and more resigned. ¡°Come with me,¡± she says, standing up slowly. Her old bones protesting.


    The sorceress stands up and there is the eye. Rising slowly over the horizon of an endless desert, the sunrise with a long black pupil. It sears into her. Then it is gone and she is following the old woman through the cottage. Her hands tremble but she ignores them. Never before has she seen the eye like that. But she is determined not to show weakness now, not to Gushkabel.


    The old woman opens a door in the hallway and lights a lantern. She enters the dark room beyond and the sorceress follows. The room is old and damp and slimy, the lantern doing little to illuminate the shelves that line the walls. She does not look at the shelves though. She looks at the great scroll hanging over some of the shelves. It reads: At the Great Rock, the Last Stone. Standing in the Circle Alone. There¡¯ll be a Battle, betwixt Night and Day. A Game for Ancient Gods to Play. Thirteen Will be Champions of Night. Inside the Circle, cloaked in Blight. Seven will be-


    Gushkable tears down the scroll before the sorceress can finish making it out in the flickering light. ¡°Do not mind that,¡± she smiles. ¡°Just an old project of mine.¡±


    The sorceress is left looking at the shelves now. Shelves filled with jars that flicker in the light of the lantern. Inside the jars is liquid, something clear and still. All the jars have the liquid but some have more. Some have eyeballs, some have fingers, some have just bones, the flesh decayed off them. In each of these the liquid is not still, it bubbles and boils around the body parts. Searing them, burning them, and filling the room with a horrible smell.


    ¡°What...?¡± the sorceress asks, peering closely at something that might once have been a brain.


    ¡°Have you heard of Ceros the Sorcerer King?¡± Gushkabel asks sadly, gazing around at the shelves and shelves of jars.


    The sorceress thinks for a moment, not about whether she knows Ceros, but about just what might be in the jars. ¡°Yes,¡± she says eventually, horror slowly dawning on her face.


    ¡°You say you are not flesh and blood, you are not human, you are correct. But you say you are not mortal...¡± Gushkabel picks up a jar containing an eyeball and looks down at it. ¡°Ceros thought that too.¡±


    The sorceress runs. She does not know what Gushkabel is. She does not know how she could have overcome a sorcerer king. But she does not care. She is afraid and that is not something she is used to. The lidless eye stares at her out of the sunrise.


    She dashes from the room, Gushkabel makes no attempt to follow her. She sprints through the hallway back toward the first room. She is about to pass under the great beam when Gushkabel pulls a string down in the basement. It dislodges a wedge in the ceiling, a wedge beneath a great chest balanced on the great beam of the cottage roof.


    The chest falls onto the sorceress and it is so heavy even her great magical strength folds before it. It took Gushkabel and ten strong men with levers all day to set that chest up. She will not move it any time soon.


    Gushkabel enters the hallway and edges around the chest.


    ¡°Why? Why would you...? I wanted to help!¡±


    ¡°You are a sorceress,¡± Gushkabel says fetching the butcher¡¯s knife and slipping on heavy gloves. ¡°You are no help to anyone.¡±


    ¡°But without me Kulrod will kill you all!¡± The sorceress struggles desperately but she is trapped. Gushkabel swings down the knife, she knows nothing of knitting, but the knife she can use.


    ¡°He will face a foe far more powerful than you. Do not worry.¡±


    The sorceress tries to tell her that Alphon already failed to stop him at Arnock Bridge. But before she can her head is severed from her body. Without it her vocal chords struggle uselessly. A sorcerer can heal from any wound but not quickly, and Gushkabel works quickly. She dismembers the sorceress and puts all the pieces of her body into the acid filled jars to burn away. It takes all night to sever tendons and rend flesh, all the while being ever so careful not to get the acidic blood on herself. The sorceress is alive through all of it of course, but she stops feeling pain soon after her brain begins dissolving in acid.


    Eventually the sun rises and Gushkabel collapses in her chair after a hard night¡¯s work. It will take forever to clean the bloodstains out from the floor. She doesn¡¯t mind, she has little else to do besides changing the acid in the jars every few weeks. She slips off her gloves and looks out into the growing dawn. She looks at the bowl with the little bones in it and thinks. She had always been going to dismember the sorceress and lock her in the basement, the bones had confirmed it. But she couldn¡¯t help but wonder if, after a bit of teaching and instruction, she couldn¡¯t have been helpful after all.


    Far away Kulrod¡¯s army marches closer.


    The Prophecy of Hahkenata - Transcribed by Gushkabel


    At the the Great Rock, the Last Stone


    Standing in the Circle Alone


    There¡¯ll be a battle, betwixt Night and Day


    A Game for Ancient Gods to Play


    Thirteen will be Champions of Night


    Inside the Circle, cloaked in Blight


    Seven will be Champions of Day


    Outside the Circle they¡¯ll Array


    Night:


    Two will be Demons, reclaiming what they Gave


    Six will be Monsters of Woods and Caves


    Four will be Sorcerers, Immortal and Heartless


    One an Elemental, Fallen into Darkness


    Day:


    Mere mortal men, the Knight, the Queen, the Tailor


    Dancer, Merchant, Scout, and Sailor


    They will Fight but they¡¯ll be Slain


    And Night will Stake it¡¯s Bloody Claim


    Out of Night the Sun Warrior Comes


    Emblazoned on his Chest the Sun


    Behind Him Light will Fill the Sky


    The Final Battle is truly Nigh


    The Champions of Night will Face the Wrath of Day


    As He Casts Down all Standing in His Way

 The Road to Karasar

    A boar rests atop a rock and ignores the rain pelting it¡¯s mutilated flesh. It¡¯s dead glassy eyes stare out at the world and the stench of death it gives off is washed away by the storm. Something for which the human guards standing beside the rock are grateful for.


    ¡°These dead animals worry me,¡± one of them whispers to his neighbour. If the boar hears him it makes no sign.


    The second man shuffles nervously, to speak ill of their sorcerer warlord and his beasts cannot end well, he thinks. ¡°Hmmf,¡± is all he says.


    ¡°I preferred the old days, when Sered led us himself instead of deferring to the sorcerer. Then we was only men you know, and men you can trust more than dead things.¡±


    The second man shuffles some more and looks up at the boar, it hasn¡¯t moved. ¡°Sered could have gathered up all the warriors in the Eastlands and he still would have broken on the walls of Karasar. With Kulrod we can win. Think of that, proper houses fit for kings, and a whole city to wait on us.¡±


    The first man shrugs. ¡°That¡¯s all well and good I suppose. But I don¡¯t mind a little rough riding now and then. Not sure I¡¯ll know what to do with myself in a big city.¡±


    The boar shifts on its rock and peers off somewhere else. The second man lowers his voice further. ¡°It don¡¯t matter anyway. We best do what we¡¯re told or we¡¯ll be the next dead thing sorcerered back to life.¡±


    They look up at the boar and nod silently. Then they go back to watching the surroundings.


    A few hours later the boar leaves the rock and is replaced by a dead snake. The boar shuffles through the camp, which is quiet in the night as everyone remains inside. It finds the tent of Kulrod, the sorcerer warlord and shuffles in unannounced. Inside the sorcerer is looking at his new sword, the one he took off the warrior who tried to kill him. A warrior who came far closer to killing him than anyone else ever has.


    Kulrod notices the boar come in and nods to it. ¡°I still can¡¯t work out how it works,¡± he says about the sword. ¡°He had wings, Whisper Boar, wings! Wings would be useful in taking Karasar.¡±


    ¡°Karass...ss... sssar will ff..fff...ffall,¡± the boar says.


    ¡°Yes but with the true power of the sword it would fall much faster.¡± Kulrod holds it up to the light and admires the ornamentation.


    ¡°Th...th...the men havv...vvv...ve doubtss...ss...s about you,¡± the boar says.


    Kulrod nods but does not look away from the sword.


    ¡°Do you wiss..shh... me to punisss...sshh...hh them?¡±


    Kulrod shakes his head. ¡°No, I am a sorcerer, they will always have doubts about me. Leave me,¡± he gestures at the door.


    The boar frowns, it is not convinced. But it leaves, and Kulrod remains inside the tent examining the sword.


    Outside the rain abruptly ends. The guards out by the rock feel much more comfortable, even with an undead snake curled up next to them.


    The next day the tents are all taken down and the army is ready to march again. It is not a large army, for the Eastlands from which it is drawn are barren and empty of people. But with Kulrod leading it there is little that can stand in its way. They set off through the Rocklands, the undead leading the way. Kulrod and Sered walk together toward the front, they have no horses as Kulrod frightens them.


    ¡°I estimate we are only three days march from Karasar,¡± Sered says. ¡°Our scouts have observed their defenses and they will pose little problem to your animals. Do you have a plan?¡±


    Kulrod thinks for a moment, then keeps thinking.


    ¡°Kulrod?¡± Sered asks.


    ¡°Oh... yes... I mean no I have no plan. What would you suggest?¡±


    Sered frowns. ¡°Is something on your mind?¡±


    ¡°This sword,¡± he replies. ¡°It frustrates me, I have still failed to learn how it works.¡±


    ¡°Well there will be plenty of time for that once we take the city.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I suppose.¡±


    There is a pause.


    ¡°So we should discuss taking the city,¡± Sered continues.


    A man rushes up from the front of the army leaving Kulrod no chance to reply.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Sered asks.


    ¡°Well it¡¯s um...¡± the man tries to explain.


    ¡°Is there a problem?¡± Kulrod asks?


    ¡°Well... no... You better come and see.¡±


    Just off the path the army is taking, nested among the rocks and boulders is a long two pronged staff and perched atop it is a small woman in crumpled baggy clothing and hat. She peers down at Kulrod with a lopsided expression, the staff she is perched on swaying ominously.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the sorcerer asks suspiciously.


    ¡°I am Mad Maeggy, I travel the world and help people in need. Like yourself.¡±


    Kulrod frowns in rage. ¡°I need no help!¡±


    ¡°Do you want us to capture her?¡± one of the men whispers. ¡°Those rocks are quite steep but we could probably get up there.


    ¡°We could always just shoot her, that¡¯d knock her down from that perch,¡± Sered suggests.


    ¡°If you need no help why all the men helping you, and all the cute animals? You seem to need a lot of help and all for a silly little prize.¡±


    ¡°What? No, these men serve me! And it is no silly prize we seek, it is the crown of Karasar!¡±


    ¡°Oh excellent, I can help then.¡± The women reaches into her baggy clothes, the staff swaying further as she does so. She produces a crown which she tosses down to the men below, hitting Sered on the forehead. ¡°Sorry,¡± she winces as he picks it up and glares at her.


    They look at it, it is indeed the crown of Karasar. Or so they assume, having never seen it before.


    ¡°There you go, you can all go home now. I¡¯m just glad you didn¡¯t ask for the throne, there¡¯s no way I could¡¯ve fit that in my trousers.¡±


    Kulrod grows more furious. ¡°What? No!¡±


    ¡°Oh... you think I could have fit the throne in my trousers?¡±


    ¡°No! We don¡¯t want some meaningless crown, we want to rule the city itself!¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    Sered rubs his forehead and looks at the crown in his hands, it is far fancier than anything he¡¯s ever found in the Eastlands.


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    ¡°Do you want me to shoot her?¡± one of his men whispers to him, drawing an arrow.


    ¡°No,¡± he whispers back. ¡°If she can get us this crown perhaps she can be more useful.¡±


    ¡°But why do you want to rule the city?¡±


    ¡°Because...¡± Kulrod thinks for a moment, he wishes now he had figured out how the sword worked, then he could fly up there and make this woman fear him. ¡°Because then we will have power, we will have slaves and wealth and riches, great feasts and festivals, wine and women and weapons. Anything we could ever want.¡±


    The woman laughs which just infuriates Kulrod more. ¡°You are a sorcerer, you can get all that anywhere. You have most of it now, ordering all these men around and preying on the slaves you took in your campaign in the Eastlands. Is that what you want, or is that what they want?¡± She gestures at the rest of the army. ¡°I think what you want are the things that are harder to get than that,¡± she looks at the sword and Kulrod rests his hand on its hilt. Then she topples backwards and out of sight, disappearing among the rocks.


    ¡°Find her,¡± whispers Sered and his men begin to swarm up the rocks after her. They don¡¯t go very fast. Kulrod rests his hand on his sword and thinks.


    ¡°Kulrod, if you send out your animals we can capture this woman easily,¡± Sered says to him. He looks up but his mind is clearly on other things.


    ¡°Oh, yes, find her,¡± he says and his snake slithers up the rocks while an owl takes off from a flagpole. They wait there for a minute but the rest of the army catches up and they are forced to move on.


    That night they make camp and the men return with the owl and the snake. They have found nothing. Sered and Kulrod discuss strategies for the assault on Karasar but the sorcerer¡¯s heart is not in it. He mostly agrees with everything his general says and offers no ideas of his own. Sered is worried as he leaves the tent that night, Kulrod is not the same as the tyrannical warlord who conquered the Eastlands, there is something deeply wrong.


    Kulrod is a sorcerer and so he does not sleep. Instead he stays awake and thinks. He holds the crown, the crown that this whole campaign was about but it is meaningless. Tossed carelessly to him by a woman on the side of the road. He thinks about what he is really here for.


    The next day Sered gives orders to the men that if they see the woman again they are to shoot her on sight. He tries to keep these orders secret from Kulrod but the dead things in the camp hear the whispers and Kulrod learns of these orders. He does nothing though, only thinks.


    Today they enter the Howling Forest, a place full of wolves. He had once planned to gather a pack of undead wolves here but now it hardly seems to matter. They will win with or without them, gathering them is just extra work.


    This time Kulrod walks at the head of the army. Sered tags along beside him much to his own discomfort. The head of the army is where any opposing armies will be. It is alright for Kulrod who is immortal but Sered definitely isn¡¯t.


    The trees stretch overhead and block out the sun, and out in the distance the howling of wolves can be heard. But the forest is thick and dark and seeing very far from the path is difficult. Sered is nervous. Kulrod isn¡¯t.


    Up in the trees a voice calls down to them. ¡°Hello,¡± it says and immediately Sered¡¯s archer shoots at it. Maeggy is perched up in a tree this time, far above the path and looks shocked to see the arrow come her way. She tries to hide behind a branch as the archer loads but he is too fast. The arrow comes for her and then the undead owl swoops in front of it. It pierces straight through the owl and stops. The owl lands softly on the ground and works on removing the arrow stuck through it. As it is dead it seems mostly unaffected by it.


    ¡°Do not shoot!¡± Kulrod says and Sered grows even more nervous. ¡°What do you have to say now Maeggy? More crowns to throw at us?¡±


    The woman grins a lopsided smile, relieved that she hasn¡¯t been shot. ¡°Just checking up on you all. Is your friend¡¯s forehead okay?¡±


    Kulrod smiles, Sered doesn¡¯t like that. ¡°He¡¯ll manage. We are still invading Karasar.¡±


    ¡°Yes I noticed. Any better reasons for it this time?¡±


    Kulrod is still smiling. ¡°It¡¯s more comfortable there.¡±


    Sered is relieved, perhaps his all powerful ally is still going to get him what he wants.


    Maeggy frowns. ¡°You sure about that? You ever been in a big city before?¡±


    The smile slowly fades from Kulrod¡¯s face.


    ¡°It smells and it¡¯s cramped, much more so than out here. And there are so many people! A constant press of bodies and crowds wherever you want to go and whatever you want to do. Can¡¯t even imagine having to run the whole place, keeping everyone in some semblance of order because they are not good at staying in any type of order. A city looks very big and impressive but unless you¡¯re used to it, it¡¯s probably best to stay out here.¡±


    ¡°We do not take orders from you witch!¡± Sered yells.


    Maeggy raises her eyebrows at that, she is not a witch. ¡°No, I¡¯d guess you don¡¯t take orders from anyone,¡± she says down to them, but she is talking to Kulrod and he knows it. She grabs a branch and swings up into the trees. There is rustling and then she is gone.


    Kulrod stands in the middle of the road and looks up at where she went. He looks up for a long time.


    That night they arrive in Shandran, the little town. It is abandoned now, the approaching army has scared everyone off. So they take the houses for themselves, the biggest and best going to Kulrod and Sered. Kulrod lies on a bed and looks up at the ceiling, thinking on the witch¡¯s words. He is in a house now, a house much like those in the city and he does not care. It is merely another place to sleep, somewhere safe from the cold. But he is a sorcerer, he cares nothing for the cold.


    His animals have been telling him for weeks that some of the men have doubts about living in a city. They, like him, are all from farms and small towns in the Eastlands. They know nothing of cities. What if what she says is true? What if a city is a horrible place full of the press and stink of humanity. He thinks of the latrine pits they must dig for the men each time they make camp, they are rank and disgusting and that is only for their small army. What must that be like on a city wide scale. And he would be in charge of it all. Already among his small army he has felt the burden of leadership. Even as a sorcerer he often finds there is never enough resources to do the things that need to be done. He lies there and thinks. Thinking deeply like this is something he has not done for a long time.


    The next day Maeggy does not appear as they march the last few miles toward the city. Sered has all their plans worked out and Kulrod does not speak with him. As they approach the sun sets and the sky grows dark. They make camp on a hill and can see all the lights of the city in the distance. It is huge. There are lights stretching all across the land. Kulrod cannot imagine how many people it must take to make that many lights. Their small camp looks rather pathetic by comparison.


    ¡°It is a big city,¡± he says to Sered as they look on.


    ¡°Yes but we have a sorcerer,¡± Sered replies. ¡°They don¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    Kulrod nods slowly, but that is not what he is worried about.


    In his tent his owl arrives and tells him what it has found. He throws on a cloak, the hood down so his men do not recognise him. Then when he leaves it he puts up the hood and walks silently through the hills and abandoned farms around Karasar.


    Sure enough in an old barn, resting on bales of hay are two women, one muscled and covered in scars, and the other is Maeggy.


    The muscled one leaps up when he appears in the doorway, the dead owl on his shoulder. She grabs a sword but it appears she has no idea how to use it. Maeggy picks up her two-pronged staff and rests lithely on her bare feet, ready to spring away.


    Kulrod puts back his hood and draws his own sword. ¡°Do not try and fight me, you will not win.¡±


    The two women don¡¯t move at all, still in their stances ready for battle. Kulrod sighs and puts his sword away. ¡°I am here to talk.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re listening,¡± Maeggy says and smiles, still ready to jump away.


    ¡°How did Ceros die?¡±


    Maeggy looks confused. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°How did he die? I was thinking about it last night. He was supposedly killed by this sword but the sword alone isn¡¯t enough to kill a sorcerer so he must have been killed by something else.¡±


    Maeggy shrugged. ¡°Maybe Randolph Thar got lucky.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s literally impossible to kill a sorcerer with this sword unless you are a sorcerer yourself.¡±


    Maeggy thinks about this. ¡°Maybe he was a sorcerer?¡±


    ¡°Sorcerer¡¯s can¡¯t produce live children, and even then you¡¯d think someone would have noticed his golden eyes.¡±


    ¡°True, what do you think happened?¡±


    Kulrod shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I was hoping you¡¯d know.¡±


    ¡°I am very wise.¡±


    Kulrod looks to the lights of the city, far in the distance. ¡°I¡¯m thinking there must be something else in that city. Something powerful enough to kill a sorcerer. The sword was just a cover story.¡±


    ¡°Mmm spooky.¡±


    Kulrod keeps looking off into the distance, letting the two women stay in their battle stances for as long as they want. ¡°I suppose whatever it is it couldn¡¯t be safe to go in and try to take Ceros¡¯ place.¡±


    ¡°Yes very true. Best to avoid the city completely.¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a shame.¡± He turns and wanders off into the darkness, leaving the two women in their barn.


    ¡°We should leave,¡± the muscled one says.


    ¡°Yes definitely,¡± Maeggy replies. He hadn¡¯t attacked them but antagonising a sorcerer is always dangerous. They pack up and run away.


    Back in the little town Sered sleeps with one of the slaves they¡¯d captured in the Eastlands when Kulrod bursts in fully dressed in his new spider cloak, wearing his sword at his hip and his owl on his shoulder.


    Sered jerks awake and fumbles desperately for some clothes. ¡°What is it? Are we being attacked?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Kulrod replies and Sered stopps, confused. ¡°I am leaving.¡±


    ¡°Wh-? What! But without you we¡¯ll never take the city.¡±


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t,¡± Kulrod walks out and leaves. A barely clothed Sered stumbling after him.


    Two women sneak through a hidden entrance into Karasar and shortly afterward word spreads that the dreaded sorcerer has left the invading army on the eve of their victory. In the morning the forces of the city bear down upon the little down and destroy the army there, sure enough the sorcerer is nowhere to be seen. He wanders off into the distance, his sword at his hip.

 The Hunt for the Golden Hind

    Lord Duran Berichore travelled under a red banner marked with purple berries. With him came his family, his wife the Lady Berichore and their children, three daughters and one son. They travelled with a significant train of servants, knights and retainers. All trekking across the Grey Road through the dark lands of Xith. It had been a long and gruelling journey for many of the travellers for Xith was a harsh and dangerous land and while the lords and ladies had all manner of servants to wait on them and all manner of guards to usher them to safety, those on the fringes of the company were in far more danger.


    Among them was Mund, the houndmaster. He was old and grizzled and had grumbled about travelling all this way so that the Lady Berichore could see her old family again. He hadn¡¯t wanted to go at all, what was there for him in the Greenlands? But the Lord had insisted that they would need his dogs if they were to go hunting in the great forests on the other side of Xith. So he walked along at the back, his dogs scouting the land around him for interesting smells and sights. They found very few.


    It had been cold and windy, and he¡¯d grown hungry and thirsty in the barren land. He¡¯d also gotten sick and spent a lot of the trip cleaning up the various bodily fluids his body decided it didn¡¯t want. Some of his dogs had gotten sick too, he hated when that happened. They¡¯d all survived though, and while some of them were a bit slower and less energetic than before they were all healthy now. Now as they finally reached the Greenlands on the other side of Xith.


    The lands stretched out before them like a painting. Terraced verdant hills with water flowing lazily down them. Trees in bloom in all shades of red and pink and green, there was so much green. Here and there was a house built in the Greenlands style with upward curving corners and pointed rooves. Each one surrounded by its own little garden of rocks and rivers.


    Mund was not impressed, it was all very beautiful, but all he could think about was the long and harrowing journey they¡¯d have to take to get back.


    They walked through the lands and he called his dogs closer to him even though now there were all manner of interesting smells for them to follow. He would have let them roam but now there were people and lands and his Lord preferred it if his dogs didn¡¯t enter lands owned by other people. So he kept them close to him.


    After three days of travelling through the beautiful countryside they reached Langhold, the great terraced castle of the Umar family. It towered over them, rising up out of the craggy hill and issuing waterfalls down from carvings in the shape of dog¡¯s mouths. That at least, Mund could appreciate.


    They were welcomed by a great chorus of lords and ladies, dressed in the local style. There was all a lot of bowing and hugging and chattering. Mund stood to the side, he much preferred the cheering and raucousness of the peasants he grew up with. These highborn and their many pleasantries confused him.


    ¡°Ah houndmaster,¡± an important looking lord said to him.


    He looked at the lord.


    ¡°We have our own houndmaster Yetta, come I¡¯ll introduce you to him.¡±


    Mund followed into their kennels which smelled strongly of dog, just like home. There were plenty of spare kennels which he put his own dogs in and then waited for the other houndmaster to be found. Soon Yetta emerged, he was short but strong and had a calm smile permanently fixed onto his face.


    ¡°Greetings fellow houndmaster,¡± Yetta said. ¡°Welcome to my kennels, I see you¡¯ve made yourself at home which is excellent, a home is what you¡¯ll be wanting after your long journey.¡±


    Mund nodded grimly. He didn¡¯t like this smiling man. He seemed far too calm. Being calm was necessary for working with animals of course but this wasn¡¯t the sort of calm Mund liked. It felt like Yetta knew something, more than he should.


    ¡°Well my name is Yetta I hope you¡¯ve been introduced, but I¡¯m afraid no one has told me your name. Would you do the honours?¡±


    ¡°Mund.¡±


    Yetta smiled his calm smile. ¡°I look forward to hunting with you.¡±


    ¡°What will we be hunting?¡± Mund asked.


    ¡°I do not know yet. There are many things in the great Langwood, birds, boar, bears.¡±


    ¡°You hunt bears?¡± Mund asked, surprised.


    Yetta smiled his calm smile. ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±


    Mund scowled.


    ¡°Alas, only the bravest among us are permitted to hunt bears. It is very dangerous. Our lord would never let such an esteemed guest as your lord try it.¡±


    ¡°I could try it,¡± Mund said bluntly, crossing his arms.


    Yetta smiled some more. ¡°That hardly seems proper but few things are, out in the wilderness. You¡¯d have to do everything I said though, it is very dangerous to-¡±


    ¡°What makes you think I¡¯d be hunting with you?¡±


    Yetta¡¯s smile disappeared and Mund smirked. ¡°You don¡¯t have the right dogs, or the right experience. You can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid I¡¯d show you up houndmaster? Are you afraid some foreigner can hunt bears better than you?¡±


    Yetta narrowed his eyes. ¡°Fool is the man who makes boasts before learning what he is boasting about.¡±


    ¡°I make no boasts, I merely ask questions.¡±


    ¡°Those are not as dissimilar as you claim. Yet I will not deny you, if you wish to hunt bear on your own then good hunting my friend. Know though, that if you should not come back it is on my head the blame will fall.¡±


    Mund smirked again, that seemed like a win win to him.


    He set out at dawn the next day into the Langwood, his dogs at his heels. They hunted and tracked for days before finding any trace of a bear. Mund relished it though, he had been hunting in the woods back home since he was ten years old. Sleeping on cold hard earth wrapped up in his thick cloak was normal to him. Away from civilisation, away from people, with nothing but his dogs and the forest for company. Just how he liked it.


    But he soon began to realise he wasn¡¯t liking it. Here the night wasn¡¯t cold and the ground was wet as was the air. His thick cloak grew damp with moisture and sweat and stuck to him uncomfortably. Within the canopy the air felt foul and sickly, not like the fresh outdoor air back home.


    His dogs felt it too, they¡¯d pant and pant and lacked all of their usual energy and alertness. When night came they¡¯d drape themselves out across the ground rather than huddling together for warmth. He used his cloak as a pillow and felt exposed, sleeping without it, without his dogs huddled around him.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    He also knew none of the plants in the forest. Normally he knew which mushrooms and berries to eat, how to tell safe plants from poisoned ones, which cured which diseases and which tasted right with which foods. But here everything was strange and unfamiliar. He had to eat the jerky he¡¯d bought for his dogs. He had plenty but it was tough and cold, all the wood too wet to make a fire.


    But he pressed on anyway, and he found a trail, and he found a bear. It was a small bear, only slightly bigger than a large dog, and it was asleep on a tree branch. He shot it and his dogs fell on it before it could react. Hardly dangerous at all.


    He carried it all the way back which took another few days. By the time he returned he was sick of the forest and sick of the jerky he¡¯d been eating for the last week. But he¡¯d made it, he¡¯d done it and he¡¯d proven that hunting bears was easy and no more dangerous than boar, probably less. He dragged his catch back to the kennels to show Yetta, smirking beneath it all.


    Yetta was whittling an arrow and looked up with his calm smile which grew slightly wider when he saw Mund. ¡°You returned,¡± he said happily.


    Mund dumped the bear at Yetta¡¯s feet and smirked. ¡°It went down easily, hardly dangerous at all.¡±


    Yetta¡¯s smile faded. He didn¡¯t seem impressed though, Mund was confused. ¡°That¡¯s a sun bear,¡± he said. ¡°They¡¯re mostly harmless, we don¡¯t hunt those.¡±


    Mund¡¯s heart sank.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± Yetta said and led him out of the kennels. He took him into the great castle and up many stairs. They came across a guard standing at a locked door and after Yetta spoke briefly with him he let them in.


    The room inside was magnificent, decked out in lavish curtains and jeweled ornaments. And across the floor was a huge bearskin, from a creature easily twice the size of the one Mund had slain. He tried not to look surprised, he failed.


    Yetta pointed out the window and Mund looked up from the bearskin. ¡°Those mountains are where these bears live, that¡¯s where we hunt them. I forgot to mention it, you left so fast.¡±


    Mund grew angry, he felt cheated after all those days in the forest. He wasn¡¯t sure what to do though, what could he say? It had been his own fault really.


    ¡°If you want an exciting hunt you could hunt for the Golden Hind,¡± the guard said from behind them.


    Yetta looked surprised, Mund did as well.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Well if you want to show up Yetta, which you obviously do, why don¡¯t you catch the Golden Hind, he¡¯s never been able to catch that.¡±


    ¡°The Golden Hind does not exist,¡± Yetta said.


    ¡°I saw it, and there¡¯s a bunch of people who¡¯ve seen it.¡±


    ¡°There are many deer in the forest, it is easy to see one in the light of the sun and mistake it for the Golden Hind.¡±


    ¡°No it was glowing, and it wasn¡¯t because of the sun.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch it,¡± Mund said impulsively, his anger still burning. ¡°Is it in the lower forest or the mountains?¡±


    ¡°The mountains,¡± the guard replied.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± he said and began to leave the room.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Yetta said and he turned and looked. ¡°I cannot simply allow you to capture the one creature that has so long eluded me while I do nothing.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be joining me?¡± Mund scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m not working with you to catch a deer.¡±


    ¡°No I won¡¯t be joining you. I¡¯ll be hunting it myself, separately. Whoever catches it first is clearly the best hunter.¡±


    Mund grinned, this was going somewhere he liked, this was something he could understand. ¡°What¡¯s the prize?¡±


    ¡°You were just willing to do this without a prize,¡± the guard said, confused.


    ¡°The prize is one hundred golden rayals, or the equivalent in your currency. I suspect my lord will be willing to pay that much for the Golden Hind,¡± Yetta said.


    Mund¡¯s grin grew wider. ¡°Leave at dawn?¡± he asked.


    Yetta smiled his calm smile. ¡°The lord is in the banquet hall with his guests. I will speak to him of the matter then I will leave now.¡± He walked past Mund who was standing tired in the hallway. He¡¯d only gotten back less than an hour ago, this was hardly fair. But then, life wasn¡¯t fair. He sighed and marched down the stairs, he¡¯d have to do something about the dead sun bear before he left.


    It took a long time to find someone who wanted a sun bear pelt and even then they only wanted it if he skinned it for them. He also suspected they¡¯d only wanted that because he¡¯d been particularly menacing when asking about it. Oh well, at least he was making some profit off it. After that he went to the village and asked around about the Golden Hind. Yetta was already off by now but he wanted to be sure he could recognise this thing if he ever found it.


    Information was cheap and plentiful but much of it was contradictory and useless. It had horns, it didn¡¯t have horns, it had a flowing mane, it had eight legs, its eyes were made of solid gold, it was made of solid gold, it was pure white like the moon. That last one seemed unlikely considering the name. What all the stories agreed on was that it glowed, hopefully that would make it easier to spot.


    He finally set out and the tiredness started to set in. He could go for weeks in the wilderness, he¡¯d done it before. But that was in a wilderness he knew, a wilderness that was almost home. Here he couldn¡¯t eat the plants and mushrooms, here he couldn¡¯t cuddle up in his favourite hollows with his cloak and his dogs, here he was constantly trudging through the trees with sweat dripping off him and drenching his clothes. His dogs were even worse, they had to stop every few hours to pant and recover before they could walk on any further. He hadn¡¯t minded so much the first time but something about doing it all again for probably much longer with no break in between made it all far more difficult.


    So on he trudged, and there was no sign of the Golden Hind.


    By the time night came on the first day he was feeling more exhausted than he¡¯d ever felt trekking the wilderness back home. The thick humidity and the stale air just sucked the life out of him. He climbed up on a cliff peering out of the forest, hoping for a breeze from above the treeline to cool him down. But there was no such breeze.


    His dogs collapsed around him as he looked out over the endless forest, watching as the sun set and the stars came out. He knew he should find a place to sleep before it became too dark to see but he was becoming too tired to care.


    Then he had an idea. He smirked his little smile. Such a simple idea and the chances were high that it would work. The energy from his idea spurring him on he hunted around and found a place to sleep.


    Yetta was having a far better time than Mund. He dressed in light clothes as he sped through the forests, his fresh dogs racing along beside him. He followed every trail and every track, hunting down groups of deer in all the spots he knew to look for them. Everywhere they drank, everywhere they ate, he was there, watching. But he didn¡¯t spot the golden hind. He considered going further afield, travelling up to the mountains where it had never been seen before, or out to parts of the forest where the deer didn¡¯t go. But he didn¡¯t. He was nothing if not patient and he was going to stick to the places it was most likely to be. The places it had been seen before. And Yetta was nothing if not patient.


    So he waited, following different deer herds around, always in the shadows, always far back from them. Sometimes he¡¯d kill one and eat it, it was nice to have meat again, but it was hardly the prize he was after.


    Then one day, in a clearing far off in the distance, he saw a deer shining with golden light.


    Mund was at the tavern drinking an ale. He¡¯d gotten a lot of his information there when he¡¯d been gathering it and it was nice to be back. The music was good, the seats were comfortable, and more importantly, in the thick stone room it was cool, much cooler than the sticky forest.


    Yetta walked in and sat across from him. He¡¯d just returned from the forest and was covered in dirt and leaves and grime. Mund had been back for days and was clean and refreshed. Although he had spilled some ale down his shirt so he wasn¡¯t completely clean.


    ¡°They tell me you¡¯ve been back for days,¡± Yetta said as Mund chugged his ale. ¡°They tell me you came back the day after we left in fact.¡±


    Mund put the ale down and nodded. ¡°How¡¯d you go? You find anything?¡±


    Yetta sighed and shook his head. ¡°I found one deer that had just got out of the river and was all wet and shiny in the sunlight. But otherwise no and I don¡¯t think the lord will count that.¡±


    Mund shrugged. ¡°Ah well, have an ale.¡±


    Yetta nodded sadly and ordered an ale. ¡°How¡¯d you know I wouldn¡¯t find it?¡±


    Mund shrugged again. ¡°I didn¡¯t. But you hadn¡¯t found it so far, I figured you¡¯d have a hard time finding it again. And I decided I¡¯d much rather spend my time here than out in that horrid jungle.¡±


    Yetta nodded and sipped his ale. ¡°Ales are much easier to catch. Don¡¯t run very fast.¡±


    Mund smiled. ¡°Good hunting my friend.¡±


    Yetta grinned. ¡°Good hunting.¡±

 The Amulet of the Dead

    The creek bubbled along merrily, the frogs croaked and the birds chirped. Sitting by the creek was a fisherman wearing a big hat and starting to doze off. He jerked awake when there was a thunder of hooves on the path behind him. Five men in dark green cloaks and dark green scarves rode by, stirring up dust in their wake. The fisherman stood up and watched them go by, coughing out the dust as it billowed into his face. They disappeared off into the distance.


    ¡°Finally,¡± he muttered.


    Sirrene finished mopping the floor of the great church and stretched in relief. She knew in the ancient times it had been filled with hundreds of priests and paladins and priestesses and matrons, but she still often wondered if the ancients had had to make it so big. It took her all week to mop the floor properly, working most hours of the day. And most of it was never even used anymore. There were still a few people sitting in the pews praying to themselves, the desperate, the lonely, those who had nowhere else to go. She wished she could help them, talk to them like Father Nox did, but whenever she tried she never knew what to say.


    She picked up her bucket and mop and left the main hall, walking under the great mosaics and sculptures that filled the high ceilings. It was a magnificent building, kept beautiful and majestic through its many years. Mostly by people like her she imagined. The little orphans who worked for the church and cleaned it for little pay and no credit. Not that she minded too much, she had a place to stay, and that was more than some of the people praying there.


    She went back to her room and fell onto her bed, opening her Vatheaglion, the great book of Havath. It was difficult to read, ancient verses in ancient text, but she struggled through it. If she was to be a true priestess some day she had best know her scriptures.


    There was a knock on her door and she opened it to find Father Nox standing there, towering high beneath his dangling dreadlocks, his characteristic smile beaming from his face.


    ¡°I hope I¡¯m not disturbing anything, I have something to show you.¡±


    She nodded and followed him out of the room. The church was huge and there were many places she had never explored. She wondered if even Father Nox knew where they all were after being here so long. It was an enormous building and often at night it felt quite lonely with just the two of them left. She followed him through the winding tunnels around the back, into the cellar and then beyond it. She often wondered why they had a cellar, they weren¡¯t allowed to drink alcohol after all. She used to pretend it was a cave when she had come here as a child hiding from her brother. A nice safe cave where no one would find her. He was dead now, her brother, drank too much, they said. Perhaps he should¡¯ve joined the clergy like her. Then again perhaps not, he would have made a terrible cleric, he would have made a terrible anything.


    They were into tunnels she¡¯d never explored now, places so full of cobwebs and dust it was hard to feel safe at all. But there was a clearly trodden path through the middle. Father Nox had walked this path before.


    ¡°I am going away Sirrene,¡± he said solemnly as they walked. That was unusual, he rarely did anything solemnly. ¡°There is trouble out in the outlying villages, Mother Daiya is dead.¡±


    Sirrene¡¯s eyes grew wide. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Bandits, they are out there preying upon innocent people. There are people hunting them but until they are caught the people out there will suffer and they will need a priest.¡±


    ¡°But what about here? The people here need a priest too.¡±


    ¡°They do, luckily they have one,¡± he grinned back at her. ¡°A little young and inexperienced, not very intelligent-¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡± Sirrene felt terrified. She was no good at being a priestess, she barely knew how to talk to people who weren¡¯t Father Nox or her brother. ¡°But... I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing...¡±


    ¡°Neither do I child,¡± he kept smiling. ¡°Somehow it all works out. And you won¡¯t be alone, that¡¯s why we have come here.¡± They reached the end of their trail, the tunnel continued but it clearly hadn¡¯t been trodden in a long time so thick was it with cobwebs. He produced a key from his robes and unlocked a small stone door in the wall, pulling it open with a puff of dust.


    Beyond was a room, empty save for a pedestal upon which sat an amulet, an amulet with the old symbol of Havath, the symbol from when he was a god of war and wrath before calming in the Temperance. It was a brutal symbol, twisted and jagged, like thorns wrapped around a dead heart. Sirrene had never liked that symbol.


    Father Nox walked into the room and touched the amulet, it glowed a pale glow and a spectral figure floated from it, hanging like mist in the room before them. Sirrene was terrified, she muttered a few prayers but knew none about ghosts.


    ¡°Do not be afraid,¡± Father Nox told her. ¡°She will not hurt you.¡±


    Sirrene hadn¡¯t been paying much attention but when she looked closer she could see the ghost was a woman, wearing robes of the clergy and smiling at her in much the way Father Nox always smiled.


    ¡°Who... who is it?¡± she asked, edging closer to him.


    ¡°She is Riza, my daughter,¡± he said sadly.


    ¡°Hello Sirrene,¡± the ghost said. ¡°Father has told me about you.¡±


    Sirrene smiled nervously. ¡°Um... yes...¡± she said and then immediately regretted it.


    ¡°This is the amulet of the dead. An ancient artifact given to the clergy by Havath during the Old Wars. It is one of the most powerful artifacts in the world able to summon the dead family of the person using it. It has been guarded by the church for as long as the church has stood,¡± Father Nox said.


    ¡°In ancient times the paladins of Havath guarded it,¡± Riza said looking down at the twisted amulet. ¡°They were the strongest knights in the land and it was considered the highest of honours to be chosen as one. But that order faded and now only the priests and priestesses guard it.¡±


    Sirrene realised what was happening. ¡°So now I have to guard it?¡± she squeaked. As if she didn¡¯t have enough to worry about looking after the church already.


    ¡°No no,¡± Riza smiled. ¡°I will guard the amulet while my father is gone, but no one knows of its existence anymore.¡±


    Father Nox chuckled. ¡°I didn¡¯t bring you here to lump more responsibilities on your shoulders. I brought you here to show you Riza. She was a member of the clergy long ago. When she... died I joined it to honour her memory. She can help you with any questions you might have about running the church and helping people with their troubles.¡±


    Riza smiled some more, she was a lot less terrifying now. ¡°I¡¯m sure I can help you with anything you need.¡±


    ¡°Um... yes... I mean thank you... sorry...¡±


    Riza laughed, she sounded just like her father. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll be okay, it¡¯s really much easier than you think.¡±


    Sirrene smiled back, maybe it wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all.


    She had led prayers before and done all the things she would need to do before. It was just that before Father Nox had always been there if she needed help. This time Riza was there but she was down guarding the amulet and not much use unless she had time to go all the way down the tunnels and passages. So Sirrene stumbled through her tasks for the first day, always numb with the fear of doing something wrong. She missed a few lines of various prayers and sung higher than she usually did. There were no babies to baptise which she was grateful for, after the prayer she was shaking so much she thought she might drop them.


    Confessions and guidance was the hardest part. She mostly listened and had no idea what to say, falling back on various verses that vaguely related to the problem. The people didn¡¯t seem to mind though, it seemed the main part was listening and she was good at that.


    After everyone had left she packed up the church and breathed a sigh of relief, it had all been much easier than she¡¯d been afraid of after all. She whistled to herself in the empty church and went down to see Riza. The ghost was still there, hovering in the room next to the glowing amulet. It was all much less scary now, just another part of the majesty of the church.


    ¡°How did it go?¡± Riza asked. ¡°You didn¡¯t come to ask my advice at all,¡± she said proudly and Sirrene felt herself smiling.


    ¡°It went well... yes. I don¡¯t know if I helped anyone as much as Father Nox does, and I didn¡¯t sing very well but...¡±


    Riza chuckled. ¡°No one will mind your singing, they know you don¡¯t have much experience.¡±


    Sirrene nodded and let her eyes drift to the amulet, it was the only thing in the room and it was glowing so it was hard to miss.


    ¡°What are you thinking?¡± Riza asked cautiously, following her gaze.


    ¡°I wonder... if maybe I could speak to my parents...¡± she said slowly.


    Riza¡¯s smile faded. ¡°I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s a good idea, you don¡¯t know your parents do you?¡±


    ¡°No, I know nothing about them. But I could find out.¡± She reached for the amulet. Riza flinched but did nothing to stop her. It was cold, colder even than metal should have been, and it glowed just like when Father Nox had touched it.


    Out of the amulet came a figure, it was hard to recognise it in the spectral form but it was cloaked in tattered rags, slumped against a wall that wasn¡¯t there. Sirrene narrowed her eyes as the figure turned wearily around. He saw her and his eyes filled with rage, he lifted a hand to throw something at her.


    ¡°No!¡± she screamed and he was gone. It was Kiran, her brother.


    Riza looked down sadly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry child but the amulet... it-¡±


    Sirrene¡¯s mouth cracked open in a grin. ¡°This means they¡¯re still alive!¡±


    Riza stopped talking and tried to formulate a response.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you see. If they were dead they would have been here but it was only my brother who was here. So they¡¯re still alive! I¡¯m not actually an orphan!¡±


    ¡°Well perhaps but even if they were alive you have no way of finding them,¡± Riza said, not sharing in her excitement. ¡°This doesn¡¯t really change anything.¡±


    ¡°Well maybe not right now but now I know they¡¯re alive I can start looking.¡±


    Riza still looked doubtful but Sirrene didn¡¯t care. She went to bed happy that night.


    Five men on horses rode into Avathor, their green cloaks billowing in the wind. They were armed but that was not forbidden in the city these days. After all there were bandits afoot, best to be prepared.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Sirrene was woken by a knock at the door of the church. It was a powerful knock that echoed through the whole building as though someone were trying to break down the door. She waited for Father Nox to get it for a moment before realising in a moment of panic that he wasn¡¯t here. She leapt from the bed and struggled into her robes, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she made the long cold walk to the door. It was probably someone here for a late night confession or something of that nature. It wasn¡¯t easy being head priestess.


    ¡°Yes?¡± she asked, sliding open the peephole in the door.


    There was a rich man there doing his best to look sad and miserable in his fine clothes and clean shaven face. ¡°Hello miss, sorry, mother... May me and my companions please come in, we have travelled a long way and we are very sore from riding. We have nowhere else to go and ask only for a moment of rest before we are on our way.¡± He gestured to four other men like him standing out in the wind, their horses already tied to the church gates.


    ¡°Yes yes okay. You¡¯ll have to leave your weapons outside though, this is a church.¡±


    ¡°Of course of course,¡± the man said humbly, taking off his sword and strapping it to his horse. The other men did the same and then returned to the door. Sirrene didn¡¯t like letting them in, they were strangers and she was all alone apart from Riza far below. But she was in the church and in her tired mind she would always be safe in the church.


    She unlocked the door and the men came in, spreading out through the darkened pews. She closed the door behind them and then went around lighting candles with her torch, yawning as she did so. They began to speak in a language she didn¡¯t understand, she mostly ignored them, hopefully they wouldn¡¯t be there for too long and she could return to bed. She walked across the pews to light the other side of the church when a gloved hand grabbed her. Her torch fell to the ground and went out and she was pulled into the grip of one of the men, a small yelp the only resistance she could offer before his other hand closed over her mouth. She felt cold metal against her neck, sharp metal. She probably should have been more careful about their weapons.


    He whispered in her ear and she felt his hot breath on her face. ¡°Scream and you¡¯ll bleed, struggle and you¡¯ll bleed. Make me slip and cut you and you¡¯ll bleed out and we¡¯ll have to find it on our own. But I don¡¯t think any of us want that. Don¡¯t tell us and well... there are other things we can do to you instead of death.¡±


    Another one of the men was talking now, from somewhere behind her. ¡°They have a vow of chastity I think. We could break that.¡±


    The men laughed, she didn¡¯t like that, it was just how her brother used to laugh. She felt the coldness spreading through her body, the calm weight she¡¯d taught herself to push back the tears. She prayed in her head, looking up at the mosaic on the church roof. Havath had saved people in the stories, maybe he could save her now.


    The man took his hand away. ¡°Now,¡± he said slowly, turning her around to face the rest of them. ¡°Nobody needs to get hurt, tell us where it is.¡±


    She stared at them coldly. She had no idea what to do, her brother had never had a knife to her throat, this was a new experience. Her mind raced and got nowhere, so she just stared.


    ¡°Where is the amulet?!¡± One of them shouted in her face. She looked down at the floor, it was best not to look in their eyes she knew. He grabbed her face and made her look at him. ¡°Look me in the eyes when I¡¯m talking to you!¡± Or perhaps not.


    ¡°Maybe she doesn¡¯t know,¡± one of them said and shrugged. Yes, she thought, believe him. ¡°Maybe we should just kill her.¡± No wait, don¡¯t believe him.


    ¡°You want to search this whole fucking place, why don¡¯t you start now. Perhaps you¡¯ll be done by next fucking month.¡±


    ¡°Well she might not know where it is.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± The one holding her shouted right in her ear, she winced. ¡°We don¡¯t know what¡¯s in this place so we¡¯re keeping together and not fighting alright?!¡±


    The others nodded slowly. Sirrene¡¯s racing mind found an idea, it was a stupid idea but as Father Nox was fond of joking, she¡¯d never been particularly intelligent.


    ¡°I can take you to the amulet,¡± she said and they all looked at her. Her heart started hammering, funny how she hadn¡¯t noticed while they were shouting at her before.


    The man holding her stepped back, he still had one hand on her wrist though, squeezing it tighter than was comfortable. ¡°Lead the way,¡± he said.


    She picked up her torch and lit it off a candle then led them to the cellar and into the tunnels. She stopped, it had been a long time since she¡¯d lied to anyone. Lies were discouraged in the church. But before then she¡¯d had to lie to survive, she figured she could still do it.


    ¡°It¡¯s full of traps, step exactly where I step,¡± she said coldly.


    They talked in their own language behind her and her heart beat even faster. It was cold in the tunnel but she was sweating anyway, she hoped the man holding her wrist didn¡¯t notice it through his gloves. She almost laughed at that, what a stupid thing to hope, what a stupid thing to care about right now.


    ¡°Alright, lead the way,¡± they said from behind her. ¡°But go slowly.¡± They¡¯d lit their own torch and she could feel all their eyes on her back in the cramped tunnel. This was the tricky bit, she had to make it all look believable.


    She took a long step to a completely random point on the floor and then looked back to make sure they were all watching. Then she stepped off somewhere else and dragged the man holding her along. She kept stepping like that, going slowly but not too slowly. There was a long way to go, they hadn¡¯t even left the part of the tunnels that she had thoroughly explored yet, plenty of time for her to enact the next part of her plan.


    She waited as they painstakingly tiptoed through the tunnels. Waiting as the men followed close behind her, watching her feet, but not watching her hands.


    She felt his grip loosen as he placed his foot carefully where she had and she acted. Jerking her hand out of his grip. He tried to grab her and was pulled off balance but he righted himself again before he fell to the floor. Then she was off, bounding along the tunnel, still careful to place her feet in randomly selected positions. The men shouted after her but she turned a corner and they were gone, still afraid of the traps she¡¯d invented.


    She hurried through the tunnels and reached the door which she¡¯d foolishly left open the whole time. Inside Riza was still floating there and looked surprised to see her dash in frantically.


    ¡°What-¡±


    Sirrene shushed her and whispered back. ¡°There are men here trying to steal the amulet. I gave them the slip in the tunnels but we need to do something.¡±


    Riza nodded. ¡°Say no more,¡± and she flew out of the room and away into the tunnels, as fast as the wind. Sirrene blinked in surprise, she¡¯d assumed she couldn¡¯t leave the amulet. Why hadn¡¯t she come up and helped her run the church before?


    Back in the tunnel, splayed out across the floor like some bizarre slow dance the five men muttered in their own language. They tossed a few knives and boots out onto the floor and found that nothing happened. So they walked, tentatively at first, but soon they were running. The tunnels split up so so did they, desperate to find the girl and her amulet as fast as possible.


    Sirrene waited in the room with the amulet and prayed. She prayed Riza would be successful and drive off the invaders. She prayed Father Nox would come back and everything would be alright. She prayed that her home in the church wasn¡¯t in danger. She didn¡¯t want to go back to where she¡¯d come from. She¡¯d come so far since then. She felt tears and forced them down. But it was hard this time, facing people who wanted to hurt her was something she¡¯d done many times before, she¡¯d been hurt many times before. But going back to the start, that was something new. She¡¯d never had so much to lose.


    She heard footsteps and peered out cautiously into the tunnels. There were two of the men walking toward her, muttering in their language. She slid back into the room and felt her heart hammering against her chest again. She could close the door but it would be loud and she didn¡¯t have a key to lock it anyway. She looked at the amulet, even without anyone touching it it was still glowing faintly. Or was that from her prayer?


    The voices were getting loud now, then she heard them start to run as they saw the door. The first one burst in, knife in hand and saw the amulet.


    She yanked it off the pedestal and screamed at him. The figure burst from the amulet and impaled him through the chest with a broken spectral bottle, her brother¡¯s favourite weapon of choice. The man looked at her blankly and then crumpled to the floor. Her brother turned to her with his eyes of rage.


    ¡°No,¡± she said and he disappeared again. Then the second man was in the room and he looked down at his dead friend and shouted. She slid the amulet into her robes and huddled in the corner. Then the man saw her and grabbed her, holding his knife to her throat.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± he growled.


    ¡°It¡¯s in the main hall,¡± she lied. ¡°I just wanted to get away... I...¡±


    He growled wordlessly at her and dragged her out of the room. She stumbled over the dead man on the way out and she looked back at him as they ran. It was hard to see in the darkness of the tunnels but a shadow rose from the dead man. A spectral ghostly figure. Then they rounded the corner and he was gone.


    She stumbled after the running man, the dust and cobwebs falling all over her. Was that dead man part of her family? Had she just killed a distant relative? Or even worse, had she just killed her father?


    They emerged into the main hall again. Sirrene could hear screams from down below as Riza and the others fought. Not all the screams were of men though, she wasn¡¯t sure she could rely on Riza to save her this time.


    ¡°Where is it?¡± the man growled. Sirrene hadn¡¯t had much of a plan past this point, she¡¯d hoped in all the time it took to get back here that Riza could have saved her.


    ¡°Um... I...¡±


    ¡°You better not be lying again you little bitch,¡± the man held the knife right up to her face. ¡°Dressen doesn¡¯t like killing little girls but I don¡¯t mind so much. In fact I-¡±


    The door burst open and the great wind howled through the main hall, blowing out most of the candles. Standing in the doorway was Father Nox holding one of the great swords the men had brought with them.


    Sirrene felt hope flood back into her. The man stood back from her to look at what was happening and as he moved away she used her free hand to grab the amulet and throw it to the doorway.


    The man holding her realised what was happening and before she could even see if Father Nox had caught it she was wrapped up in his grip with a knife pressed to her throat.


    ¡°Give me the amulet old man or she dies!¡± The man growled and Sirrene felt all her hopes crash down. Why had she done that? She hadn¡¯t thought that through at all? She was going to be killed and there was nothing she could do about it.


    But she wasn¡¯t. ¡°Alright,¡± she heard Father Nox say from the doorway and she heard the amulet clatter to the ground. The man tossed her to the hard ground and she heard him sprinting across the floor. She looked up groggily to see him pick up the amulet and run through the doorway which Father Nox had walked away from. He cut one of the horse¡¯s tethers and galloped off into the windy night.


    Sirrene cried this time, she had lost it. She had lost the most powerful artifact of Havath, the artifact that the church had guarded and kept safe since it had been formed. She would be cast out and put back to square one, she wouldn¡¯t have her brother but there were plenty of other men like him who¡¯d want to abuse her. She sat on the hard stone floor with her hands around her knees and her head in her lap, and she cried.


    She felt arms fold around her, but they weren¡¯t rough arms like those of the thieves. They were gentle and kind, Father Nox¡¯s arms. She looked up and he hugged her and she tried to apologise through her tears.


    ¡°I... I lost it... I¡¯m sorry... I...¡±


    Father Nox smiled. ¡°It¡¯s okay, you saved you. Considering how many there were, that is impressive enough.¡±


    ¡°But... it¡¯s the most important artifact... in church history...¡±


    ¡°Yes it is,¡± he said warmly. ¡°It has great power and great importance. But it is an artifact. It is a thing. And you are a person. So you are infinitely more important.¡±


    Sirrene sniffed, she didn¡¯t feel very important.


    Riza had disappeared but the other three men were all dead, woundless like the one Sirrene had killed. She looked over his body, his face didn¡¯t look much like hers. But he had to be related to her, that was how the amulet worked.


    ¡°Father when I was using the amulet I saw this man¡¯s ghost. That means he¡¯s my family right?¡±


    Father Nox looked sad when she told him that. Sadder than she¡¯d ever seen him look before. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to tell you this. Especially since you don¡¯t deserve any further pain. But the amulet cares nothing for family.¡±


    Sirrene narrowed her eyes in confusion. ¡°Then how does it-¡±


    ¡°When I was a young man I was full of passion and rage. I came home one night in a drunken fit and grew angry with my daughter for no reason at all. When I realised what I¡¯d truly done I tried to make amends. I forswore drinking and joined the church, becoming a priest as she was a priestess. I told you it only brought back family for two reasons. So I wouldn¡¯t have to explain what kind of man I was and also because I was worried what would happen if you touched the amulet.¡±


    Sirrene¡¯s mind began to turn over slowly, then faster as she began to make connections. The man she¡¯d killed, his daughter Nox had killed.


    ¡°Your brother came in for confessions when he was close to dying. I tried to help him but he was too hateful, too far gone. In truth he didn¡¯t come to make confessions, he came to tell me about you. I am glad you did what you did but in his mind you abandoned him and left him to die. He blames you for his death and that is all the amulet needs.¡±


    She felt sick, she remembered the hate in the ghost¡¯s eyes.


    ¡°Havath was a cruel god once, all the scriptures say so. In the Old Wars bringing an army of those you¡¯d slain in battle to your side would have been a powerful weapon. But now he is changed, now perhaps he realises what a hateful weapon that is. I do not claim to know the minds of gods but perhaps he wanted that hateful thing gone. Now we no longer need to guard it. We no longer need to dwell on the tragedies of the past.¡±


    Sirrene nodded. Her brother was dead. He might blame her but he was wrong. He was wrong about a lot of things. Perhaps it was better the amulet was gone. Perhaps it was better they¡¯d never have to worry about it again.


    The man thunders down the road on his horse, the stolen amulet clutched tightly against his chest. He has done it, he thinks, and from what he can tell there is no one following him. He slowly eases his horse to a walk and looks at the twisted amulet in the pale moonlight. It is dark but beautiful, just like the night around him. There are frogs croaking and the creek bubbling, and music, drifting up from the creek. The fisherman is still there, he has stopped fishing and now he is playing a patterned lute.

 The Castle in the Rain

    Atop the mountain sat the great manor, the Castle Ragothrim, it¡¯s many twisting towers and chambers weaving across the many peaks of the shattered cliffs. The path was thin and winding, climbing slowly up the mountain with the imposing manor glaring down upon it the whole way. It rained upon the path, it rained upon the manor, it rained upon the entire countryside and the rain drained down into the cracks in the shattered mountain and fed the cold depths beneath. The cold depths that rose and rose, making their own way toward the manor.


    On the path a figure walked, hunched and wrapped in a thick cloak they dragged a small cart behind them covered in a black pall. Before them they carried a staff with a lantern swinging and swaying on the end. The figure climbed and atop them beat the rain and above them glared the manor and around them burned the cold.


    The figure made it to the imposing gates, iron bars spiked and thin, held closed with a metal lock in the shape of a human skull, the symbol of Ragoth. They did not wait long before Shaoul Ragoth emerged. He was human, so it was said, but his sunken eyes and pale face filled with thin thin lines told of something else. The figure asked not what though, they were not paid to ask.


    Shaoul unlocked the gates and the figure trundled in, leading their cart behind them. The gates closed with a clang and together they walked into the castle proper. Shaoul thin and imposing in his black fitted clothes, the figure hunched and small, their lantern swinging before them.


    Inside the rest of the castle waited for them. The family of King Vickard Ragoth and their household. Shaoul and his lined face unsettled them but they have lived with him for a long time and have grown used to it. They understand what he does and they accept it easily. None of them understand what the Bone Collector does and they have a hard time accepting it.


    The Bone Collector took off their cloak and set aside the great staff with the dangling lantern. Then they followed Shaoul to the King¡¯s bedroom, behind them the cart, and behind that the whispers.


    Loran Ragoth sat calmly in a plush chair and watched them go. ¡°What sort of man be that?¡± he asked his wife standing tautly beside him.


    His wife is Eyr Ragoth and she is the king¡¯s eldest true child, she is pale and cold just as the rest of her family and like them she wears old clothes magnificent in their day but now worn of colour. ¡°That is no man,¡± she replied. ¡°That is the Bone Collector.¡± She said no more.


    Loran shrugged and snorted softly in derision. She didn¡¯t like talking much, his wife. None of them did in this castle.


    The children were gathered as well, they sat in the middle of all the adults and played with their toy soldiers. No one wanted to tell them what was going on. Bremin Ragoth knew though, he¡¯d heard the screams when they¡¯d found the king and he knew what it meant when the Bone Collector arrived. His soldiers hung uselessly in his hands as he stared off down the corridor where the cart had trundled along.


    In the bedroom of the king the Bone Collector was setting up. They had taken out their instruments from the cart and were picking over the dead body. Shaoul stood by and watched, no expression on his face, there rarely was.


    ¡°The water is rising,¡± the Bone Collector said as they worked. ¡°Soon the castle itself may flood.¡±


    ¡°That is none of your concern,¡± Shaoul replied, still watching with his sunken eyes.


    ¡°It becomes my concern when you and your family can no longer live here,¡± the Bone Collector began to cut. ¡°Who will pay me then? There are few in the market for my kind of work.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you can find work as a pack horse, you drag that cart of yours so well.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± they whispered. ¡°Are you going to stand there all night? This will take hours.¡±


    ¡°I will leave then, if you need anything ask for me, and don¡¯t let anyone else in here until you¡¯re finished.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry Shaoul, I have been doing this for a long time. No one else will enter.¡±


    Shaoul left and strolled away to his own quarters. Meanwhile the rest of the castle remained together in the front room, whispering and muttering to themselves.


    Loran grew impatient, he only recently arrived in the castle and is unaccustomed to the way things are done there. ¡°How long are we going to wait here?¡± he asked his wife.


    She shrugs, marring her perfect posture just briefly. ¡°Last time it was all night.¡±


    ¡°All night? Are we forbidden from the rest of the castle for the entire night?¡±


    ¡°No, it is just safer we remain here.¡±


    ¡°Safer? What is this Bone Collector going to do to us if we leave?¡±


    Her voice drops and she whispers, barely audible against the rain outside. ¡°It is not the Bone Collector who is dangerous.¡±


    ¡°What, Shaoul? It is high time you all stopped fearing him for those thin lines all over his face.¡± Loran leapt from his chair and strode away into the castle, the rest of them watched him go. Eyr reached to try and stop him but he was already gone. Gone before she could tell him it wasn¡¯t Shaoul either that they should be afraid of.


    On the walls of the castle stood a guard. She looked out into the rain with beady black eyes. She peered between the walls and looked down into the lake below, onto the ripples that splayed out across it with every raindrop running off the castle walls. A figure ran past her and she started, falling from her perch. She plummeted toward the water, through the walls and cliffs of the castle. Then she spread her wings and flew off to her master.


    Loran, stomping through the rain, shooed at the bat as it fluttered past.


    Eyr Ragoth strode calmly through the castle after her husband. There was a great commotion back at the gathering as to why he would leave like this. Why she couldn¡¯t keep him under control. Why she should never have brought in an outsider into their family the way she had.


    She felt sad about all that. She had tried and Shaoul and the King had given her their blessing for she had truly loved Loran. But she found it difficult to tell him things, often she didn¡¯t realise she needed to tell him them at all. To her they always seemed so obvious. She hoped that he would be okay.


    She reached their room and entered it, searching for him. It was dark and cold, nothing had been touched since they¡¯d left it to join the gathering hours before. She had lost Loran in the confusion and he apparently hadn¡¯t come this way. Where was he then? She thought but she didn¡¯t think very much before she heard footsteps behind her, footsteps that did not belong to him.


    The Bone Collector worked in silence, taking instrument after instrument from their cart to the king. Working slowly and carefully and cleaning everything as they did so. It was slow work, painfully slow, and painfully exact as well. Yet there was a time limit, the Bone Collector was well aware of the pressing time limit.


    There was a knock on the door and they stopped slowly, careful not to start at the sound and upset the delicate exactitude. They carefully set down the tools and called out to the door.


    ¡°Who is it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s me,¡± said Bremin from the other side of the door. The Bone Collector frowned, it had been a long time since they¡¯d seen the young prince and couldn¡¯t place the voice.


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    ¡°Who is me?¡± they asked.


    ¡°Bremin Ragoth, son of-¡±


    ¡°Yes yes I see,¡± they remembered him now. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°I am looking for Shaoul. Is he there?¡±


    ¡°No, I believe he is in his chambers.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Bremin replied and he walked off. The Bone Collector waited to be sure he was gone and then picked up their instruments again. Now it was time to start on the bones.


    ¡°You are lost Bremin?¡± Eyr said to the boy behind her, slowly turning.


    ¡°No,¡± he replied. ¡°I followed you.¡±


    ¡°And why would you do that?¡± she asked, reaching into one of the pockets on her faded old dress.


    ¡°Because you wandered off. It¡¯s dangerous to wander off.¡±


    ¡°Exceedingly so,¡± she said and felt the cold hilt of her dagger. Her heart was hammering in her chest but she remained tall and composed, she looked down at the boy. He was unarmed, but on his shoulder sat his bat. Some part of her knew she should have gotten one of those from Shaoul instead of his blessing on her husband.


    The bat was fast but she was faster, embedding her dagger deep into its throat as it flew toward her face. But it still slammed into her and by then it had grown to the size of a large dog. She cracked her face against the hard floor and slid into her bedroom, the vampire sliding after her and still growing. Bremin slammed the doors of the room behind them and rammed a chest in front of them, ignoring the scuffling and scrabbling from within as they fought. Then he went to speak to the Bone Collector.


    Loran did not like Castle Ragothrim much, it was cold and dark and always raining. But worst of all he was constantly getting lost, so it was a long time before he arrived at Shaoul¡¯s chambers, having built up just enough time to grow increasingly annoyed. He knocked loudly and Shaoul answered coldly from within.


    ¡°Loran?¡± he asked, no one else in the house would knock in such a way.


    ¡°Yes may I speak with you?¡±


    Shaoul had not sighed in exasperation since he¡¯d fallen from the tower long ago, he had hardly been the emotive type before then either. But Loran had a way of making him feel all sorts of frustration he¡¯d never had to worry about before. What did his sister see in him he often wondered.


    ¡°Yes you may enter,¡± he said and Loran entered, wet from his walk on the battlements. There were ways through the castle that reached Shaoul¡¯s chambers without going outside but Loran was not permitted to know them. ¡°What is it you wish to discuss?¡± Shaoul asked from his desk where he had been writing a letter.


    ¡°I would like to know what it is that¡¯s going on here! I want to know what exactly you¡¯ve done to make all the rest of this castle so utterly terrified of you so as to stay in one room for fear! I would like to know what scheme you¡¯ve cooked up with this Bone Collector so that you suddenly rule the place when the king dies and more importantly I want you to know that I¡¯m having none of it! I am not afraid of you just because you look sick and frail and have a few lines on your face! Eyr¡¯s told me you¡¯re a bastard son and you have no claim to the crown so I won¡¯t have you-!¡±


    ¡°I have done nothing to make anyone in this castle fear me,¡± Shaoul said calmly. He said everything calmly but he was considering breaking that tradition. ¡°I am the castellan, I watch over the day to day affairs and I make no pretensions at claiming the crown. But I am not a bastard,¡± he dropped his voice for that and glared up at Loran with cold dead eyes. ¡°I am a natural son of the king just as Eyr is his natural daughter.¡±


    ¡°She is his oldest true child! His heir! How else would-!¡±


    ¡°Am I interrupting something?¡± Bremin asked from behind them and Loran spun around to look at him.


    ¡°What are you?¡± he began.


    ¡°I merely wish to speak with you Loran, in private,¡± he said politely, looking toward Shaoul fearfully. ¡°About him,¡± he whispered.


    ¡°Well I-¡±


    Shaoul stood up now and glared down at them coldly. ¡°I may not like Loran child but this is blatant even for you. He does not know our traditions or our manners and I will not let you take advantage like this right in front of me.¡±


    Bremin looked surprised, he was ignoring Loran and staring at Shaoul, thinking hard.


    Loran was sick of being ignored. ¡°Just what do you-¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s trying to stop me from helping you,¡± Bremin said. ¡°He needs to be stopped, we must throw him from the window.¡±


    Shaoul sat back down. ¡°As if he¡¯ll believe that.¡±


    Loran was very confused. He looked at Shaoul, then at Bremin, then at Shaoul again. Then Bremin lunged, drawing a knife from somewhere he came at Loran¡¯s throat while he was looking away. But Loran had trained long and hard in days gone by, many a time with Eyr as they¡¯d fallen in love. He was not going to be skewered by a child.


    Bremin felt an arm, impossibly strong, push his knife away. Then he felt something hard and fast slam into his face and he crashed to the floor, blood splattering from his nose. Loran took the knife and pointed it at Bremin, then at Shaoul.


    ¡°What is-?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s trying to usurp the crown,¡± Shaoul said calmly, getting back to writing his letter. ¡°Once I was the heir but then I died and the Bone Collector brought me back, as he is now doing to the king. But a dead man cannot rule the living so the crown will pass to Eyr and her children rather than me and my children,¡± he looked down at Bremin. ¡°Unless of course my child were to dispose of you and Eyr, then the crown would pass to him.¡±


    ¡°But-¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d imagine the vampire I gave him would have been sent after Eyr while he thought he could kill you without one. Very foolish, I¡¯m almost ashamed I raised him that way.¡±


    ¡°So the danger was-¡±


    ¡°Was the rest of the family? Not me or the Bone Collector? Why of course, we have no motive to hurt anyone.¡±


    ¡°Actually I was going to say the danger was the vampire.¡±


    ¡°Oh yes that¡¯s also true, I suppose you¡¯d better go find Eyr and make sure she¡¯s alright.¡±


    Loran looked down at Bremin who was trying desperately to stop bleeding. He couldn¡¯t do the cold calculating look the Ragoth family had so perfected but he could still glare and he could put all his passion and fury behind it. The knife held in the bloody hand helped too.


    ¡°She¡¯s in your bedroom,¡± Bremin squeaked and then Loran was gone.


    Bremin lay on the floor and cried. Shaoul finished his letter and tied it to one of the vampires he bred. He sent her off into the night and then knelt down on the floor to help his son.


    Eyr staggered hurriedly to her feet and watched the shifting growing form of the vampire do the same. It was coughing and hacking at the knife in its throat but it took more than that to kill a vampire. She grabbed her sword from the umbrella stand and fell into a fighting stance, it felt wrong doing it in a dress but she¡¯d have to adjust.


    The vampire climbed onto the bed, bleeding everywhere, and glared at her with black eyes. Then it screamed and it took all the willpower she had not to cover her ears and curl up in a corner, so high was the pitch.


    It lunged and still reeling from the scream her cut was clumsy and it skipped out of the way, scrabbling along the wall with its bat claws, its wings splayed out around it. She cut at it and it jumped over the sword, huge fangs opening toward her throat. She let go of the sword as its body crashed into her and grabbed the pommel of the knife, buried in its throat, forcing its snapping jaws away.


    She crashed to the ground beneath it and felt her head crack against the stone floor but she held strong and pushed it away. It screamed and thrashed on the end of the knife, its claws cutting huge rents in her dress and in her skin, but she didn¡¯t give in. Still she pushed and the pommel drove deeper and deeper into its throat, into its neck, and into its spine.


    It slowly stopped thrashing and collapsed on top of her, its reeking bat fur filling her nose, but she was too tired to move it. Loran found her there and tore the vampire corpse off her before wrapping her up in his arms. They locked the door and waited there, covered in blood, and waited for the Bone Collector to finish their macabre work.


    King Vickard Ragoth emerged from his bedroom and slowly descended into the front room where his family awaited. They were all still waiting there, unwilling to brave the castle because while there was no king the traditions said that the old laws took effect. There weren¡¯t many old laws.


    They watched him walk down the corridor, followed by the Bone Collector, dragging the cart behind them. The king¡¯s skin was pale and his eyes were sunken and his face was covered in thin thin lines. Lines that had once been cuts made to open up the skin and replace the bones.


    He spoke with his family and heard from Shaoul all that had happened. He persuaded Eyr and Loran to emerge and then took the crown from his head and placed it on the head of his daughter. For the dead cannot rule the living.


    The figure descended the mountain, walking away from the towering castle and the shattered cliffs. They held their swaying lantern in front of them and dragged their cart down the winding path. They had fixed the king in time, they were proud of that. Bone collecting was tricky, you had to get all the bones back in before the rot began. Now the king¡¯s bones were under the pall in the cart, trundling along behind.


    The sun was rising but the Bone Collector didn¡¯t extinguish their lantern, it wasn¡¯t just for seeing in the night. The path continued on down the mountain but they didn¡¯t take it, they turned off and went down another path, a secret path. A path leading into the cold depths of the mountain, the cold depths filled with water.


    The path didn¡¯t go far before it reached the water, time was you had to go all the way to the bottom to get there. Now it was just a few steps, soon there would be no path at all. By the path were moorings with ropes tied to them that disappeared into the lake. Some of the moorings were already under the water, the Bone Collector would need to move them soon. They took off the pall and gathered up the king¡¯s bones in a sack, tying it firmly to prevent any of them from escaping. They drove in a new mooring and tied the sack to it with a long rope. Then they cast the bones of King Vickard Ragoth into the Lake of Zarapeth, to soak and prepare for the next Bone Collection.

 The Fire of Karasar

    ¡°Will a sorcerer visit Karasar in the next month?¡± Gushkabel asks routinely.


    ¡®Doom,¡¯ say the bones.


    She frowns and tosses them again. ¡°Will Karasar be in danger?¡±


    ¡®Doom¡¯


    ¡°Will I be in danger?¡± she mutters frantically.


    ¡®Doom¡¯


    ¡°What is happening?¡± she asks panicked, forgetting not to ask open ended questions.


    ¡®Doom¡¯


    She scoops up the bones and thinks desperately what to do. She has always known they can spell ¡®doom¡¯ but she has never seen it before.


    ¡°What should I do?¡± she asks silently, she does not toss the bones.


    Mother Magda stirred her potion with a teaspoon, watching it swirl in its little bottle. She took out the teaspoon and looked at it with her huge eyes, it was riddled with holes that were still steaming and bubbling. They didn¡¯t make teaspoons like they used to, she thought.


    There was a knock at the door and she spun around in surprise, knocking her potion to the ground where it immediately began to burn a hole in the floor. She ignored it and rushed to the door where Gushkabel was waiting.


    The two witches looked at each other, Gushkabel lined and wizened and severe, Magda small with watery eyes and a quivering lip. Magda¡¯s lip quivered more at the sight of her visitor.


    ¡°Gushkabel?¡± she asked in shock. ¡°What brings you here? I haven¡¯t seen you in months.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t seen me in years Magda,¡± Gushkabel corrected.


    ¡°Right, but also months, months change with the seasons so I count with them, one year is much the same as another.¡±


    Gushkabel sighed. ¡°May I come in?¡±


    ¡°Well, you could, but you¡¯d have to push past me and I might fall onto a sharp piece of glass adding further guilt to your conscience.¡±


    Gushkabel sighed. ¡°I apologise for how I have treated you in the past Magda, I need your help now.¡±


    Magda¡¯s quivering lip broke out in a shaky grin. ¡°The great Gushkabel, toppler of tyrants, slayer of sorcerers, reader of bones, needs my help. Needs the help of poor old Mother Magda, who never had a nice set of bones to make herself feel more important than everyone else.¡±


    ¡°Yes, well, I apologise for-¡±


    ¡°You apologise for nothing Gushkabel!¡± Magda¡¯s eyes were growing more watery by the second. ¡°Your mouth moves in the way your brain moves it but the words it speaks it doesn¡¯t mean. You say what you think you have to say to get my help not because you actually believe any of it. You think you¡¯re oh so much better than me and you¡¯re doing a poor job of pretending otherwise.¡± She rubbed her eyes and calmed herself before continuing. Gushkabel was lost for words. ¡°But all that said I will help you,¡± Magda continued. ¡°Not because of some useless apology but because I help people who ask for it.¡± She turned around and walked inside, beckoning her guest after her.


    Gushkabel stood on the doorstep and blinked. Then she followed Magda inside and shut the door. They sat on armchairs in front of a dead fireplace while a newt licked spilled potion off the floor. Magda sipped something out of a teacup that did not look like tea. She didn¡¯t offer Gushkabel any which she was glad for.


    ¡°So what can I help you with?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the bones,¡± she replied quietly, always wary of discussing them with others.


    Magda sniffed in annoyance and sipped her drink. ¡°What¡¯s happened, did you lose them?¡±


    ¡°No, they only read doom now. Every question I ask, ¡®doom¡¯ is the answer.¡±


    Magda sipped her drink some more. ¡°Sounds pretty clear to me. You might be doomed.¡±


    Gushkabel leaned back and sighed. ¡°Maybe I am, but I¡¯d like to know what manner of doom awaits me so I might be prepared for it. If I¡¯m to die there I things I need to take care of first.¡±


    ¡°So you want me to tell you what will happen?¡±


    Gushkabel hesitated. It hurt to rely on Magda¡¯s methods, so much less reliable than her own, but she had no other choice. ¡°Yes,¡± she said curtly. ¡°What can you tell me?¡±


    Magda leaned back and set her drink aside. ¡°I know nothing directly involving you, if I did I¡¯d have sent word to you as soon as I heard of it. From what I do know neither Ahken nor its enemies care about you and your business.¡±


    ¡°What of Karasar? There was a sorcerer warlord there not long ago?¡±


    ¡°Of sorcerers I cannot tell you, they are not easy to see unless they are close by. And Karasar...¡± she trailed off and looked off into the distance with her big watery eyes. Gushkabel shuffled nervously in her chair, Magda¡¯s methods never gave clear answers like hers, and most of the time they gave no answers at all.


    Magda shrugged. ¡°Nothing has its eye on Karasar that I¡¯m aware of.¡±


    ¡°So you cannot help me?¡±


    ¡°No, but that is what you expected, is it not?¡±


    Gushkabel sighed again. ¡°I suppose I had better be going, I am sorry to have bothered you.¡±


    Magda nodded and watched her walk out of the cottage. As she left she called out. ¡°Oh Gushkabel, on the off chance you do survive, there is something else brewing. Something far to the west, very far to the west. Something old Ahken is quite interested in.¡±


    Gushkabel grunted in acknowledgement. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in mind.¡± Then she left and Magda was alone again. She cleaned up the spilled potion and began making it again.


    The night was cold and so the street urchins were clustered around an old brazier that they¡¯d filled with trash to burn. They didn¡¯t talk, they rarely did on cold nights. Much better to focus that energy on huddling under rotting blankets, trying to keep warm.


    They were on a back street, far from being in anyone¡¯s way, but the guard that saw them didn¡¯t care, he just wanted to hurt some people any way he could.


    ¡°Alright you lot! Break it up! Break it up!¡± he shouted as he moved in, holding a club in his hands and kicking at them. Forcing them to scatter into the frigid night. They hung back in the dark, waiting to regroup once he¡¯d gone. He was having none of it.


    ¡°Burning trash like this,¡± he scowled. ¡°Disgusting.¡± He kicked it over and the fire tumbled across the cobblestones and onto the wooden houses beyond. The guard ignored it and turned to shout at the street urchins. Shouting words of hate with no meaning behind them. The urchins ignored him and watched in fascination as the fire licked up the side of the building. They knew somewhere that they should do something, call for help or turn the guard around. But they¡¯d all been on the streets for so long it was difficult for them to care.


    Eventually the guard noticed something and turned around. He screamed in alarm and the street urchins scattered. The guard rushed to get help, or maybe just to escape, he wasn¡¯t sure. Meanwhile the fire burned and burned, inside the house, people screamed.


    It was dry that season in Karasar and the fire spread quickly. People ran and screamed and feeble attempts with bucket chains were made to quell the flames. Warning bells rang and the smoke billowed all above the city. In one of the bell towers a man frantically yanked at the bell rope, holding his other hand over his mouth and coughing and crying in the smoke. The fire was getting closer to him so he gave the bell one more ring and then scrabbled down the stairs, smoke filling the stairwell, his eyes, his lungs.


    He staggered out onto the street and felt the heat of the flames all around him, he ran toward his home and as he ran he saw other people running all about him. Some people were doubled over, coughing and crying, children were screaming. Ahead of him he saw a figure covered in blood and ash crawling from a building that was well ablaze by now. He staggered over to them and tried to pick them up, get them onto his shoulder and carry them to safety.


    But their blood was like acid and it burned into his skin. He fell backward and stared at his hands as the flesh of his palms burned away. In front of him the figure slowly got to their feet, their movements only jerks and spasms. He saw now it was a woman and he watched in amazement as she stood upright, her naked body covered in burns that went all the way to her bones. He watched as the burns healed.


    She was beautiful and she looked down at him with furious golden eyes, the fires blazing behind her. He whimpered in pain for that was all he could think to say.


    Then he heard hacking, pained laughter from behind her. She spun around to see a man climbing from the ruins, his horrific burns also healing, his eyes also golden in the firelight. The bell ringer recognised the man. He was who they made statues of to skewer every year for the harvest festival. He was the bogeyman who was in all the art to scare children or the paintings to reflect on the nature of evil. He was Ceros, Sorcerer King of Karasar, slain by Randolph Thar nigh on fifty years ago. He looked at the burning city with his golden eyes, reared his head back and laughed.


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    There were some in the city who could still remember the time of Ceros. There were those who remembered his horrific experiments involving swathes of sacrifices, his abductions of young men and women who took his fancy, his army of walking dead soldiers patrolling the streets night and day. They recognised his laugh and it chilled them to their bones. Those that weren¡¯t battling the fire were drawn with morbid curiosity toward the ruins of Gushkabel¡¯s house, to see if it were really him.


    The laugh was cut short by a flash from the sky and then a boom of thunder rolled across the city. Slowly it began to rain. The sorceress stood in the rain and watched Ceros stagger from her bolt of lightning. He collapsed into the fiery ruins of Gushkabel¡¯s house.


    She walked forward cautiously, watching the flickering flames. Then the flames exploded and tore across the ground, burning up the blood trail she¡¯d left as a raging inferno to wrap around her and sear into her flesh.


    Ceros stood up from the wreckage and glared at the burning sorceress. ¡°I am king here! You are-¡±


    Wind howled through the city, flattening the flames and brushing embers onto the streets. It hurled from behind the sorceress and quenched the fire on her skin. Then it slammed into Ceros and sent him staggering back. Water from the rain pooled beneath his foot and he slipped, crashing into the burning basement of the house. Then the rain began to pelt down in fury, stinging the bell ringer with its force. But the water didn¡¯t stay there, it slid across the ground, propelled by the wind, to gather in the basement where Ceros was now floundering.


    By the time he stood up it was up to his neck, he swam for the ruined stairs, grabbing at the edges of the ruined house. The sorceress stood over him, her new burns already healing.


    ¡°I am a sorceress bitch,¡± she said and lightning fell down from the smoke filled sky, striking the pool of water Ceros was in. The flash lit up the entire street and the boom of thunder swept the sorceress¡¯s hair back from her and whipped the water off her naked skin. When the flash faded Ceros had disappeared into the dark water below. The sorceress peered over the side, waiting for him to emerge. He didn¡¯t.


    The earth began to rumble and she staggered backward to avoid falling into the water. The ground tipped and heaved and crumbled in with a splash. Around her buildings and people shook and fell and thin cracks began to open up in the ground. Then it stopped and all was calm.


    From a hidden alleyway Gushkabel watched, clutching a cane with white knuckles. She had arrived back as the fire had been starting and had rushed to her house but she¡¯d been too late. The bones were in there, now gone up in flames, and even worse the sorcerers were in there. Ceros and the sorceress, now battling in the middle of the city. It was seeming it was a time for being wrong. First her meeting with Magda, now her imprisoned sorcerers escaping, all her mistakes were beginning to catch up with her. And she was nothing more than a feeble old woman. There was nothing she could do.


    The sorceress had gotten up and was looking at the pile of rubble that had once been Guhskabel¡¯s basement. Ceros was gone, using his earthquake to clear out a path to one of his secret tunnels Gushkabel didn¡¯t doubt. She had no idea what he might have stored down there, she¡¯d found a few but she¡¯d always known there were many more. She stood in her alleyway and felt hopelessness settle in.


    Ceros ran through the tunnel, his bare feet slapping wetly against the floor. He was in excruciating pain from the lightning bolt and his many burns still hadn¡¯t healed. He hadn¡¯t learned much about others like him but it was well known that a sorceress had greater power than a sorcerer. They could birth monsters that could put any he could make to shame, they could control the minds of men and women and even their command over the elements was greater. He knew in another fair fight he would likely come off even worse than he had that time. But he wasn¡¯t going to make it a fair fight.


    The sorceress found a dying woman with burns all over her face and put her out of her misery. She took her clothes and wrapped herself up in them, feeling safer somehow despite how little practical difference it made. She was still in the middle of the street while much of the city looked on her, she wasn¡¯t sure what to do about that. Her rains had extinguished most of the fires although her winds had likely done more harm than good and Ceros¡¯s earthquake had destroyed most of the houses in the immediate area.


    Her head still hurt, like her brain was swelling explosively against the inside of her skull. She assumed it was the acid she¡¯d been dissolving in for who knew how long, her memories of that were fuzzy and almost entirely pain. She just wanted to curl up and let the pain go away but everyone was watching her. She felt she should do something but there was so much pain she couldn¡¯t think long enough to come up with something. So she leaned against a wall and felt her body heal as it always did as everyone watched in fear.


    Then he came back, he wasn¡¯t naked this time but clad in golden armour decorated with sigils of rats and skulls and he was laughing his fearless laugh. In one hand he held a great axe, the axehead coated in glowing blue sigils, that couldn¡¯t be good. In his other hand he held a shield which he pushed in front of himself, then charged.


    The sorceress stood to meet him, she had no weapon and she hadn¡¯t had time to mind control anyone or birth any monsters. She had just herself. And all the elements of the earth and the heavens. She struck him with lightning and she staggered but as she was moving back out of his way his own lightning bolt came down and she crumpled before it, almost collapsing to the ground herself.


    Then he was upon her and she had to conjure a great wind to blast herself along the ground and out of the way of the deadly axe. As it swung she heard it laugh, a tiny musical laugh echoing from the glowing sigils. A laugh that sounded just like Ceros.


    He pulled the axe from the building it had bit into and rounded on her, holding the shield up to protect against lightning. She scrabbled along the ground, she wasn¡¯t used to feeling fear, it had only truly happened once before in her life and that time she wasn¡¯t in danger of actual death. Her mind went numb at the thought.


    Her scrabbling hand landed on something hot and she threw it at him, causing the embers to flare up in his face. As he staggered she leapt to her feet and ran, searching desperately for a way out of this. She reached the crumbled ruin of Gushkabel¡¯s house and jumped over the broken hole in the ground. She didn¡¯t make it and crashed into the side of the pit, hunched up over the other side, desperately trying to pull herself up.


    She heard the laugh behind her and looked to see Ceros walking calmly toward her, laughing. The burns on his face already healed.


    ¡°I told you didn¡¯t I, whore. I am Ceros, the King of Karasar. You think you can fight me here? You are nothing here, not next to me!¡±


    The sorceress scrabbled onto solid ground on the other side and slowly stood up to face him. It was a strange experience, being insulted like that. She¡¯d been called monster and demon and all those sorts of things before. But no one had ever called her nothing, no one had dared. Because she was very far from nothing, she was a sorceress. Bitch.


    All the smoke and ash and dust in the sky that had been left there by the fire suddenly plunged down into the city again. Everything went black and gray and shadowy and all the mortals began coughing and choking in order to breathe. The sorcerers didn¡¯t though, they didn¡¯t need to breathe. So they made no sound or sight to give away their position. Except for a glowing, faintly laughing, blue axe.


    The sorceress flew around the pit in the ground, silently padding on the places she¡¯d scouted out before she brought the smoke down. She could see the axe dangling as Ceros stood there in confusion.


    ¡°What did you-?¡± he began but by then she was already there. She grabbed the axe with one hand and pressed the other into his back. Then she conjured up a great wind which she was prepared for but he wasn¡¯t. He tumbled forward into the hole and she took the axe from him and swung it. The wind blew away most of the smoke and she could see what she had done.


    Ceros fell crashing into the pit and collapsed onto the rubble at the bottom, his leg remained on the street where it bounced once then lay still.


    The smoke rose at her command and she stood above him, holding the axe in one hand. He ditched his shield and crawled out of the pit, trailing his acidic sorcerer blood behind him. She knew he was dead, a magic weapon and a magic creature, that was all it took to kill a sorcerer, so why was he laughing.


    ¡°You dumb whore,¡± he said through laughter as he hauled himself back onto the street next to his leg. ¡°That axe is only magical in my hands.¡± She looked down at the axe, it had stopped glowing. ¡°You think I¡¯d craft something that could actually kill me.¡± He burst out laughing and pulled his severed leg back onto the stump. ¡°You can¡¯t win, no matter what stupid tricks you-¡±


    She chopped off his leg again before he could heal. He screamed in pain and fell backward. ¡°What are you doing?! Just give up! You can¡¯t-¡±


    She picked up the leg and tossed away the axe. It was worth a shot. He held up his hands weakly but he was in pain and lying on the ground, she batted them aside. Then she beat his head in with the piece of bone protruding from the top of his leg. He stopped laughing after that.


    She threw away the bloody leg and stood there, looking down at the dead sorcerer, covered in blood. Her face was expressionless but inside she was happy. She¡¯d killed an evil sorcerer, she¡¯d shown... someone... That had seemed important at some point. Her memories were all messed up by the acid.


    Someone spoke to her and she looked up to see a huge crowd looking at her submissively. They were all tired and wet and huddling together, some had burns, some had limps, some had horrible scars. The man speaking to her was the one with the burned hands. What he was saying was ¡°Are you going to rule over us now instead?¡±


    She looked at him, she looked at all of them. That would be nice, to rule a whole city instead of having to live in the woods all the time, hunted like a monster by the people she tried to help. There would be plenty of men to bed so she could birth all the monsters she could ever want. She had earned it hadn¡¯t she, she¡¯d defeated the last sorcerer king.


    She looked out across the crowd and saw an old woman in an alleyway clutching a cane. She saw the woman and recognised her and became filled with anger and hate. Memories came back, memories of a knife and a chest and an argument. An argument about whether she was truly using her powers for good.


    The old woman shook her head slowly and all the rage and hate and passion slowly bled out of the sorceress. She was right of course, she always had to be right.


    ¡°No,¡± she said to the man, to the crowd. ¡°You are better off ruling yourselves.¡± Then she walked through them and out of the city into the wilds.


    Gushkabel stood in her alley and trembled in residual fear. She had been wrong, she had been wrong about everything. The sorceress wasn¡¯t the monster she¡¯d thought she was, she had spared Karasar even though it had been completely within her power. Gushkabel had lost everything, all her power, all her influence, and she¡¯d assumed that with her loss her city would fall to either Ceros or the sorceress. But it hadn¡¯t, things had turned out okay without her help. She shuddered, things had turned out okay.


    Mother Magda was searching desperately for another teaspoon when there was another knock on the door. She abandoned her search and opened the door to see Gushkabel.


    She frowned, seeing her once in a month was a fantastical occurrence, seeing her twice was getting ridiculous. ¡°Did you bring a teaspoon?¡± she asked curiously.


    Gushkabel looked confused, that was surprising, she never looked confused. ¡°No, why would I bring a teaspoon?¡±


    ¡°Because I can¡¯t find one, really what good are those bones if they can¡¯t predict the useful things you¡¯ll need in the future?¡±


    Gushkabel smiled a thin smile. ¡°The bones are gone, burned in a fire. That was what the doom was all about. They were doomed, not me.¡±


    ¡°Oh... well congratulations. You are not doomed, although now I suppose you don¡¯t have much in the way of magic do you.¡±


    ¡°No... no I don¡¯t.¡±


    Magda beamed. ¡°It¡¯s okay, you don¡¯t need powerful magic to be happy.¡±


    ¡°No you don¡¯t, that¡¯s what I came here about. I owe you an apology, a real one this time. I¡¯m sorry for looking down on you for all those years, and I want to ask you something.¡±


    ¡°Is this more doom stuff? I already told you everything I know about it.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s... I want you to teach me to do what you do... Please...¡±


    Magda beamed even wider. ¡°Well well well, I couldn¡¯t say no to that. Come in come in.¡±


    They sat back down in the same chairs as last time with Magda sipping the same mysterious drink, this time she made two though, and offered one to Gushkabel.


    ¡°Do I really have to drink this?¡± she asked and Magda nodded. She tried a sip, it was unsurprisingly, disgusting.


    Magda sipped her drink and looked off into the distance with her watery eyes. ¡°Well Gushkabel, tell me, what do you know of gods and demons?¡±

 The Knight of Tongues

    The waif hides in the corner of the smithy, feeling the heat of the forge, hearing the clang of the hammer in the hands of Grunnock Mul, the master blacksmith. Grunnock smiles at her and beckons with a meaty finger, she draws closer and watches tentatively. He is kind Grunnock, some say he is too kind, welcoming all manner of homeless children into his forge to steal and make mischief. But she does not believe he is too kind, she believes he is just kind enough. She smiles.


    She watches as he hammers away at the iron, as he makes casts and moulds, as he works the bellows and plunges hot metal into steaming water. And then she finds herself doing those things, slowly she learns, she and all the other apprentices, taken off the streets, learning the trade of the master blacksmith.


    They are not as skilled as Grunnock, they say no one is, but each one learns a different part of his trade, horseshoes, bars, furniture, weapons. All of them masters of their particular craft, but the waif is the most skilled of them all, she makes armour.


    Buric scratched a piece of dust off his pauldron. He always hated it when Riley¡¯s impeccable work was marred. He knew it was hopeless though, they had a long way to go on a long dusty road and the armour was doomed to become caked with dust and grime at some point. Riley looked up at him, riding his horse beside her, and raised her eyebrow. She knew he liked to keep her work clean but she honestly didn¡¯t care, it wouldn¡¯t rust, not for a long time, unless he treated it really terribly. He was an outlander Buric, a ranger before he became a knight. So he wasn¡¯t used to having such expensive equipment.


    They walked along the road, travelling with Lord Haron and his train to castle Elkring. The great King Ramon had called them all to muster his armies and put down some uprising in the south. So they had come as all good lords did. Buric was there because he was a knight, Riley was there because without her work knights tended to die.


    Grunnock had passed away not two years ago and now all the knights of the realm were vying for her to make them armour. She had to refuse most of them, she was only one person and she could only work so fast, but still she had a backlog of over twenty knights to get to. She was just happy she¡¯d been able to make armour for her friends like Buric before being swamped with all these demands from more important people.


    ¡°What do you know of King Ramon?¡± Buric asked her, still searching for blemishes on his armour.


    ¡°He¡¯s a king,¡± Riley replied and Buric nodded sarcastically. ¡°He has a forge he wants me to work in that probably isn¡¯t as good as mine.¡±


    ¡°Ah of course, the most important quality of a king, the quality of his forge.¡±


    ¡°Well what was I supposed to say? He¡¯s asking me here to help outfit an army, I couldn¡¯t do that even with Grunnock¡¯s help.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not being asked to outfit an army, you¡¯re being asked to help outfit an army, there are other armourers in the world too you know.¡±


    Riley snorted. ¡°Are there? Half the knights in the realm don¡¯t seem to think so.¡±


    ¡°Knights are like that,¡± Buric said wisely. ¡°Selfish greedy people, you can¡¯t be an honourable knight unless you¡¯re outfitted in the most honourable equipment obtained through potentially dishonourable means.¡±


    Riley looked up at him, every bit a knight himself. He grinned down at her happily.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued. ¡°What I was getting at was King Ramon¡¯s attitudes, his policies, what people say about him.¡±


    ¡°What do people say about him?¡±


    ¡°They say he¡¯s too soft,¡± Buric continued, looking ahead. ¡°They say a real king would have put down Lord Farro¡¯s uprising months ago. And they say he¡¯s too soft on his son.¡±


    ¡°Careful now, you keep talking like that people are likely to hear you.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Buric grinned. ¡°But perhaps people have already heard what I¡¯m saying, from sources far more credible than me.¡±


    ¡°You are certainly not very credible,¡± Riley japed, but she was grimmer now. Ramon¡¯s son was Prince Edric, the Knight of Tongues, and the horrible things he¡¯d done to his enemies were infamous. She¡¯d never met him before but knights high in nobility had a habit of running into her. She hoped she¡¯d just be fixing a few suits of armour, joking with Buric, and then they could go home. It was much safer at home, and it was much easier to joke with Buric when she still had her tongue.


    The great castle Elkring was a busy place. Tents and scaffolds were set up all around it and the city of Elkring stretched out below. Horses and people went this way and that and what grass had been there once had long been trampled into paths going in every direction. They made their way up to the castle itself and split up, Buric and the other knights going to see the king and Riley off to visit the forge. It was more impressive than she¡¯d been expecting, sporting much more expensive equipment than she¡¯d ever been able to afford at home, she supposed there were some benefits to working for the king. It was busy, extremely busy, filled with weaponsmiths and armourers from all across the land. She felt quite small and in the way at first, just like back in the early days in Grunnock¡¯s smithy. But she¡¯d soon grown out of that.


    By the end of the day she was ordering apprentices around like she¡¯d always been there and had even the most complicated apparatus figured out. They had a lot of metal to get through and she didn¡¯t intend to waste any time.


    That night she reunited with Buric and they exchanged stories of their first days in the castle. She told him all about the different machines and forges and all the progress they¡¯d made on them while his eyes glazed over as she fell back on the technical terms of her trade. Then he told her of the king and his retinue and even described the Knight of Tongues. While they hadn¡¯t spoken, Edric had been at the same table during their welcoming feast and Buric had felt uneasy just being that close to him. It was something in his face, he said, something evil and menacing. Riley laughed it off and made fun of his feeble attempts to describe him. How scary could he be? He was just a man. That was where she was wrong though, he wasn¡¯t just a man, he was a prince, and princes have ways of conjuring up more men.


    Riley spoke with Atarka, the head armourer of castle Elkring. He was an old man, far past his days of lifting a hammer himself, instead ordering his various apprentices to do it. He had known Grunnock well and shared with her many stories long past the point where she cared. She did respect his process though, he had plans and structures set up to see the whole army outfitted by the time the king wanted to march. He knew exactly where he needed everyone to work and exactly how much work needed to be done. So she set to that work with vigor. It wasn¡¯t the same as working at her own forge of course, things were strange and different and cluttered with people. But she managed, she was the best armourer in the realm, so they said, she¡¯d manage.


    That night she found Buric again and once more they discussed their days happily. They didn¡¯t get far though, there was a frenzied announcement that came down the ranks. Lord Farro¡¯s host had been seen much closer to the castle than anyone thought possible. He was breathing down their necks and the army would have to be sent out much sooner than they¡¯d originally thought.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be ready,¡± Riley said to Buric, reminiscing on Atarka¡¯s many plans.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be ready enough,¡± he replied. ¡°We outnumber them and even without the armour you¡¯re producing we still have enough to outfit most of the troops.¡±


    Riley nodded, she was glad she didn¡¯t have to be that soldier who was left without armour.


    They slept in the same tent due to the cramped conditions of the castle and Buric smiled at her from his bedroll. He always did this before he went off to battle, tried to cheer her up, pretend everything was fine.


    ¡°They had another feast today,¡± he said. ¡°Some more lords turning up, you wonder where they get all the food from.¡±


    ¡°You and your feasts,¡± she replied, playing along with his game. ¡°We get stale bread and water down in the forges if we¡¯re lucky.¡±


    ¡°Ah you should have seen it,¡± he sighed happily. ¡°Roast duck and gravy, parsnips and potatoes, and fresh bread straight from the kitchens to mop it all up. Delicious.¡±


    She rolled her eyes. ¡°You didn¡¯t save me any?¡±


    ¡°Ah it would¡¯ve been stale by the time it got to you. A waste really, better to eat it then.¡±


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    ¡°Hmm yes, of course. You-¡±


    Someone threw open the door of the tent and dark shapes swarmed in. Riley scrabbled toward the back of the tent while Buric leapt up and tackled one of the shapes. The shape was a man, and the man held a sword. Buric collapsed to the ground, bleeding everywhere. Riley screamed but no one heard and they¡¯d grabbed her and smothered her scream before she realised what was going on. Riley was strong from working in the forge all day for much of her life, but these men were stronger and there were more of them. She struggled helplessly and watched Buric moan softly on the ground and clutch at his wound. At least he was alive, he better stay alive.


    Someone walked in far too calmly for the situation and he lit a candle, casting light across the tent. Buric was cradling a cut across his chest and all the shapes were knights dressed mostly in black. She recognised the calm man although she¡¯d never seen him before. Perhaps it was his manner, calm and collected, just the way a prince should be. Or perhaps it was his face, cold and foul and menacing, just like Buric had badly described. But most likely it was his armour, black and ornate and with desiccated tongues pinned all over it. Yes it was really the tongues she decided, they gave it away.


    ¡°Take their tongues,¡± Prince Edric said coldly and Riley panicked, struggling desperately against the men to no avail. All the little dreads she¡¯d been feeling about the prince, the fanciful fears she thought were no more than niggling thoughts. They were all coming true and there was nothing she could do about it.


    It hurt when they cut her tongue from her, but she barely felt it, barely felt the blood as it filled her mouth. She was numb with dread and fear and the horror that she would never talk again. They did it to Buric too and she watched them, he was pale from bloodloss and barely seemed to realise what was going on. She idly thought that she would tell him all about it later but then she remembered she¡¯d have no way of doing that. Tears stung her eyes and she looked on numbly.


    Then Edric was there, right in front of her face, smiling a thin smile. ¡°You will help me,¡± he said. ¡°You will forge for me new armour, armour that I will wear into battle against Lord Farro. If you don¡¯t your friend will die.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Simple as that.¡±


    It was difficult to keep from crying, but she managed it. She couldn¡¯t glare at him though, she wasn¡¯t strong enough for that and that just made her tears sting more.


    Lord Haron, the patron of both Buric and Riley, did nothing. He was afraid of Edric and the power and influence he wielded over his father. Further he knew it wasn¡¯t wise to start feuds during war. That just tended to end up with more people killed, so he kept quiet and continued on as normal.


    This left Buric and Riley and on their own, watched over by Edric¡¯s black knights. Buric lay in a bed recovering from his wound and Riley spent every moment she could looking after him, often they¡¯d try to talk to each other before remembering that they couldn¡¯t do that anymore. She¡¯d never learnt to read and he had not the strength to write, so they sat in silence every moment they got. But they did not get many moments. Pulled away from her work on outfitting the army Riley was turned toward a new project. Armour for the Knight of Tongues.


    It was difficult work that much was sure. She couldn¡¯t order the apprentices around and the specifications she¡¯d been given were exact. It was the tongues that hurt most, there had to be spaces for them to be attached which was difficult already but as she was doing it the thought that one of those tongues would be hers kept surfacing in her mind. But she pushed back those thoughts and worked anyway, she could lose herself in her work if it could save her and Buric. She hoped it would save her and Buric. Did the Knight of Tongues ever let people go?


    Prince Edric sat in his favourite chair while a barber combed through his black hair, nimbly trimming off the pieces that refused to fall into line. There was a knock on the door and one of his knights called his name.


    ¡°Come in,¡± he said.


    ¡°It¡¯s the blacksmith girl sir,¡± the knight said once he¡¯d come in. ¡°She keeps gesturing at her measures and at your symbols. We think she wants to measure you.¡±


    ¡°She already has my measurements,¡± Edric said thoughtfully.


    ¡°We told her that, she wasn¡¯t deterred. She apparently wants to measure you herself.¡±


    Edric narrowed his brows. ¡°Well I suppose she knows her craft best. I will see her soon.¡±


    Riley detested being so close to the prince but she measured him anyway. She¡¯d never measured someone so exactly before, but this was one of a kind armour where any error could spell death for her and Buric. So she forced herself through it, checking and double checking and moving him about despite her loathing. When she was done she walked off without giving him any indication she was done, if he was going to take out her tongue he didn¡¯t deserve to hear what she had to say anyway. Shame really, she had some really clever remarks that would  be excellent insults in hindsight.


    The armour was completed only a day before the army was due to ride out to meet Lord Farro and Riley insisted she be the one to put it on the prince, she wasn¡¯t having anyone else messing with her masterpiece. For masterpiece it was, possibly the greatest armour she had ever designed, each piece fit snugly with its neighbours and moved snugly as well. Having such exact measurements had allowed her to stray much closer to a perfect fit than she¡¯d usually permit herself. And fit it did, sliding flawlessly onto the prince¡¯s clothes, wrapping around him, a second skin made of steel, with each surface riddled with hooks upon which to hang tongues. She slid the helmet over his head, fastened it on and then stepped back, she didn¡¯t watch the tongues being attached, she didn¡¯t want to guess which one might be hers.


    Edric rode into the battle feeling his armour riding with him. It was truly the best armour he¡¯d ever worn, the girl had probably exceeded her reputation. It was heavy, as was all armour, but it fit so snugly he would have almost been able to forget it otherwise. It weathered blows and deflected arrows. He was a capable warrior but in the armour he felt invincible, he moved through the battle easily, laying waste to the enemy and leaving their corpses in his wake. He felt it tighten somewhat as he moved, as though it still wasn¡¯t snug enough, as though it had to become truly part of him for his great battle. It was somewhat uncomfortable but it became even easier to move as what little loose parts slid smoothly onto his skin. He relished the feeling, he was unstoppable.


    A tall knight in a tattered cloak rode up to meet him, someone with no colours or standard. A nobody Edric would end beneath his blade. But the nobody was fast, too fast, and too strong. Blows came down faster than Edric could answer, faster than he could think. He swung and swung and every swing hit only air while he was assailed from all sides. But the armour held, that beautiful armour. The man couldn¡¯t have pierced it if he¡¯d had the Knight of Tongues in chains, try as he might. Then the nobody¡¯s sword found the visor and snuck into his helmet. Edric panicked and jerked away but he needn¡¯t have worried. The visor was barred and the blade caught in the bars. When he jerked back the sword was jerked from the man¡¯s hand and spun across the battlefield. Edric roared in triumph and reared his noble horse up, he swung his sword across the defenseless man. He fell and Edric rode over him in the dust, on to greater enemies.


    The day ended in victory for the king and Prince Edric rode back triumphant, his knights carrying many new tongues to add to his collection. As he rode back his helmet became somewhat hot and uncomfortable, being as tight as it was. He felt around for the clasp but it was so smooth and flawless there didn¡¯t seem to be one. There was something though, a latch or a bolt or something, but he didn¡¯t know what it was and decided he¡¯d let someone else remove it when they returned, best not to look the fool in front of his soldiers being unable to remove his own helmet.


    The guard was dead, skewered through the neck by a dagger. The knight and the smith girl were gone, it seemed the knight had been a lot healthier than any of them had realised. Edric sent off a tracker to find them and sat down, beckoning a squire over to remove his armour.


    ¡°It was a magnificent battle,¡± he spoke idly as the squire scrabbled at his helmet. ¡°Someday you¡¯ll be in one. You never truly feel alive until you hold someone else¡¯s life in your hands. Have you ever held someone else¡¯s life in your hands boy?¡±


    ¡°Um... Well...¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s taking you so long? Take the helmet off damn you, I can barely breathe in this thing.¡±


    ¡°Um... It doesn¡¯t.... There¡¯s no...¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no what?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no clasp, or latch, or anything. It¡¯s broken off... I think...¡±


    ¡°Broken...?¡± Edric felt around his helmet at the latch thing he¡¯d found before, it didn¡¯t seem to move very much.


    ¡°Fetch Atarka,¡± he¡¯ll know what to do.¡± The squire rushed away. Edric snorted, perhaps her reputation hadn¡¯t been so perfect after all, she¡¯d made a faulty latch. He¡¯d have to teach her what it meant to make mistakes when his life was involved.


    Atarka arrived, old and wrinkled but still with the powerful build of his youth when he¡¯d been able to hammer out armour with the best of them. He examined the helmet and made some curious noises, somewhere between surprise and annoyance. Then he began to inspect the rest of the armour. Edric tried to ask what he was doing but he shushed him and kept looking. The prince began to grow annoyed.


    ¡°I am your prince. Get me out of this armour immediately or I will-¡±


    ¡°I cannot take your armour off Prince Edric,¡± Atarka said with not quite enough sadness in his voice. ¡°I have never seen armour like this before, it... It is not made to come off.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Edric began to feel something he rarely felt, fear. ¡°But it was put on.¡±


    ¡°Yes and I have some idea of how it was put on but I think it was done with bolts, bolts that were made to break in battle so they could not be undone.¡±


    ¡°But... but... surely you can do something!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid anything I could do would involve fire or hammers, all of which would likely be incredibly harmful to you. The helmet especially, I do not think I could take that off without killing you.¡±


    ¡°Well then find me a better armourer!¡± Edric leapt to his feet and grabbed Atarka by the throat with both hands. Atarka grabbed Edric¡¯s arms and pulled them off angrily. The prince was strong but he was tired from battle and the smith was angry now. But he still spoke with calm.


    ¡°There is only one better armourer and from what your squire told me she has recently escaped. I suggest you find her before...¡±


    ¡°Before what?¡±


    ¡°Well I don¡¯t know but I doubt being stuck in that armour forever will be healthy. How will you eat anything for example?¡±


    Edric¡¯s heart began to beat faster. He still had his own tongue and many more but even with all of them he could not speak.


    He¡¯d been a ranger once, had Buric, he¡¯d lived among the hills and the mountains keeping them free of bandits and vagabonds. So when they ran away they would not be found. Riley walked along beside him, through the trees and rocks. They didn¡¯t speak of course, they couldn¡¯t. She thought that was just as well, then she might be tempted to tell him what she¡¯d done and she didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d think of her then. So they walked in silence and she smiled, not at her freedom but at Edric¡¯s imprisonment. There was no way out of that armour, not even she could take it off. She walked away and left him to die in his own sweat and filth and hunger. She smiled.

 The Book of Malafrien

    The woman floats above the ground, wrapped in mist and a torn thin dress that floats like in water. Her hair floats around her face, both as white and cold as death. Her eyes are dead too, black and cold and rotted away. But even dead they are still so, so angry.


    Ruchessa blinks and the dream is gone, she holds the cold blankets about her and stares out the wet window, into the mist. She buries herself under the blankets and tries to get warm again, but she can¡¯t. She is always cold now.


    Their farm stretches across miles of rugged land torn through by rivers and ravines. The trees and old forests are all cleared away to make space for the sheep but there are still pockets of pines here and there which the children are forbidden from entering. They do anyway.


    There are six of them, a high number for those living out in the country. Their nearest neighbours have only four children and four graves, put there from miscarriages, illnesses, and disappearances into the wilds. But Ruchessa and her siblings have no graves, and so they have grown bold.


    Leading the way in all their adventures is Tomry, a young boy who speaks of dragons and wolves and hideous monsters in the dark forests that need slaying. He wields a stick in the shape of a sword and keeps it in his room after their father accidentally used the last one for kindling and he cried for days.


    Following Tomry is Henna, a girl not four years old who spends most of their adventures with her thumb in her mouth, sticking as close to her elder brother as possible. She has no interesting stories or wise sayings to help them as Tomry does, Ruchessa is not particularly fond of her.


    Next is Marnuk, the second oldest after Ruchessa. He fell down a hillside once while climbing amongst the roots and dirt and now walks with crutches, unable to follow them in some of the highest places they go.


    And then there is Ruchessa, the other two siblings are still in cradles so it is her and the others that make the rounds of the farm. She is the oldest and soon she will be sent away to boarding school so she can learn all the secrets of the world. She has been climbing and crawling and running all over the farm as long as she can remember. Her mother fusses over her dirty clothes and dirtier hair and says she will have to learn to keep herself tidy when she goes to the city for boarding school. Ruchessa is not especially looking forward to that part.


    Today their adventure is taking them up to the old farmstead, yet another place they are forbidden from going. It is an old crumbling building with huge holes everywhere that overlooks the whole farm. Their father says it was built many years ago but then abandoned because it was too high up and hard to get to. It is not too hard for them though.


    ¡°It¡¯s dark in here,¡± Tomry says, cautiously leading the way, stick at the ready.


    ¡°Mm,¡± Henna agrees, sucking on her thumb.


    ¡°It¡¯s not very big,¡± Ruchessa says, disappointed. ¡°It looked bigger on the outside.¡±


    ¡°S probably all this junk,¡± Tomry says wisely, shoving at a box which doesn¡¯t move.


    Marnuk staggers up behind them on his crutches. ¡°Dark in here,¡± he says.


    ¡°I already said that,¡± Tomry hisses at him, trying to open the box.


    Ruchessa is trekking through the dust and old farm equipment to the other end of the farmhouse. There is a huge hole in the wall through which she can see the whole farm. It is very magnificent and beautiful. But she is more interested in the pile of rusty scythes stacked up against the wall. They will beat Tomry¡¯s stick. She happily picks one up but it is much heavier than she expects and she stumbles around. Marnuk limps into the room.


    ¡°That¡¯s dangerous, put it down.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a scythe. Only scary if- if you¡¯re a piece of wheat.¡±


    ¡°Um, well... no...¡±


    ¡°Guys, guys guys!¡± Tomry says from behind them, speaking far too fast. They turn to look and he has pulled up a trapdoor covered in spiderwebs and dust. ¡°A basement, let¡¯s go in.¡±


    Marnuk has reservations but he isn¡¯t brave enough to voice them so the four of them descend, Tomry and Ruchessa going first with their weapons. The stairs are old and rotten but they take the weight of four children. The room is filled with spider webs but the path down the stairs is mostly clear. It is dark in the room but there are small holes that let in just enough light to see by. The room is stone and mostly empty but in the middle is a lectern.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Tomry asks, looking at the lectern.


    ¡°S a speech thing I think,¡± Ruchessa says standing in front of it. ¡°We be gathered here today to witness the crowning of queen Ruchessa! A noble and-¡±


    ¡°Let me have a turn.¡±


    ¡°No, I was here first.¡±


    ¡°I think you should put down the scythe.¡±


    ¡°Mm.¡±


    A cold wind blew through the basement. The children didn¡¯t often stop arguing but this time they did. They stood in silence and shivered. They didn¡¯t run, they couldn¡¯t look scared in front of the others, but they walked a lot faster than was probably necessary. They left the farmhouse covered in cobwebs and went back home. In all their excitement they hadn¡¯t noticed the square patch on the lectern with no dust.


    Ruchessa left for boarding school later that week. She waved goodbye to the rest of her family and then her father took her on the cart to Rundale, a small town and the furthest away from home she¡¯d ever been. She was dressed in her nicest clothes, things she¡¯d always been forbidden from wearing on the farm, which meant she¡¯d always been forbidden from wearing. The clothes were tight and they itched, her parents claimed that feeling would go away eventually. All her belongings were in her suitcase in the back, her parents hadn¡¯t allowed her to bring the scythe, apparently young ladies didn¡¯t have those in the city. From what she¡¯d learned it seemed young ladies didn¡¯t have much in the city.


    As they rode along and the countryside rolled past them her father spoke to her in his kindly way. He was a small man with a big beard that she liked to braid, he still had one of her braids in it now. ¡°The city¡¯s a funny place,¡± he was saying. ¡°It¡¯s so very small and cramped with all the buildings and the people. But it¡¯s oh so big all the same. The first time I went to the city I felt very trapped and squeezed like I was going to burst, you might feel like that too. But you should ride it out, the city¡¯s just different, it¡¯s really not so bad once you get used to it. And who knows, some people like the city, gods bless them, maybe you¡¯ll be one of them.¡±


    Ruchessa nodded along, she couldn¡¯t imagine the city was that much bigger than Rundale, there were lots of people there by her standards, it wasn¡¯t so bad.


    The city was much bigger than Rundale. It was so big she couldn¡¯t even see the whole thing and every street was packed with more people than she had ever seen in her entire life, they were everywhere! The buildings were as big as trees, some were as big as hills, and it was so loud, it was all so much.


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    Even once she got to the boarding house and into her room it was still so loud. There were people in the streets below her window, there were dogs barking and babies crying, there were footsteps on the cobblestones. So many footsteps. She thought she was going to go insane.


    But she didn¡¯t. She rode it out just like her father had said and soon she was used to it. Noises that all faded into the background. She focused on her studies and made friends with the other girls in the boarding house. They weren¡¯t well liked by the girls from the city who thought they were all dirty farmers or worse, immigrants. Ruchessa wasn¡¯t an immigrant but she didn¡¯t see why they didn¡¯t like them. So they hung out in their little group and helped each other with homework and with various misadventures. They stole pies from the kitchens, climbed up onto the roof, someone stole a telescope from somewhere and they used it to look at the stars, they went swimming in the sea and jumped off the wharves. Ruchessa had never seen the sea before, it was salty and cold but she enjoyed it all the same.


    She wrote to her family every month, sending letters with the travelling merchants that went out into the country. She told them of all her adventures and the excitement of the city, they wrote back and told her of what was happening at home, of the sheep and the hills and what was happening to the house, she wasn¡¯t especially interested though, it wasn¡¯t exciting like her adventures she thought. Even Marnuk¡¯s part of the letters, recounting where they¡¯d been exploring, didn¡¯t interest her as much as talking about what she¡¯d been up to. He said that Sammy and Tessa, the young twins, had joined in their expeditions now that they were old enough. He said Tomry couldn¡¯t wait for her to get back so he could show her all the new places he¡¯d found. She¡¯d rather show him all the new places in the city she¡¯d found. She did miss home though, she wished they¡¯d had one last proper adventure before she¡¯d left rather than that short trip to the old farmhouse. To the lectern in the basement and the cold wind.


    Winter came and it rained heavily in the city but the roads didn¡¯t turn to sticky mud like at home. They were all cobbled and curved and all the water just drained off them. It was harder to find merchants to take her letters in the winter, they didn¡¯t travel as much and then they didn¡¯t travel at all. Apparently there¡¯d been a terrible storm, the worst storm in years they said. All the roads were out and contact had been lost with most farms. Ruchessa stayed awake for a long time after she learned that, hoping her family was okay. That was when the nightmares started.


    It was always the mist and the figure of the dead woman floating in it. Eyes long gone but still angry with her somehow. What had she done? Why her? She tossed and turned and huddled down in her warm blankets, keeping herself awake by listening to the rain on the roof.


    Winter stretched into spring and then summer and the roads were finally put back in shape. A letter arrived from her family. They were all fine, they said and she was relieved. Apparently her siblings had all been out exploring, as usual, when the storm hit, but they¡¯d all made it home safely. Her parents had been very worried though and had stopped them from exploring for the whole storm, Tomry had been very upset at that.


    After finishing the letter she began to write one of her own, getting more and more excited as she did so. It was almost the end of the school year and soon she would get to go home and see them all again. The city had been fun but it would be good to get back home, especially with the mist and the nightmares, she didn¡¯t put those in the letter.


    When she was done she sent the letter with one of the many merchants heading that way now that the roads had reopened and eagerly watched them go, awaiting her turn.


    The next month she left with her dad¡¯s old friend Dramos, a big cheery man with a beard even bigger than her dad¡¯s. He wasn¡¯t very cheery today though, he sat quietly in his cart and trundled along muttering to himself.


    Eventually he spoke to her but she didn¡¯t like what he had to say. ¡°The storm¡¯s changed things girl, people up in the country have done all they can to survive... Some people¡¯re... well some people¡¯re different now.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°Well you might get back to your family and find... well... that they¡¯ve changed...¡±


    ¡°My family has changed?¡±


    ¡°Well... yes. I was up there soon as the roads came back, checking out everyone, making sure they¡¯re okay. You¡¯re family¡¯s one of the lucky ones, five children all caught in the storm and they all survived, most folk aren¡¯t that lucky. But when I met them they didn¡¯t seem all that happy about it. You think something like that happens you¡¯ll be over the moon but I never seen your parents so sad.¡±


    Ruchessa folded her arms angrily. ¡°My family will be fine, maybe they¡¯re just sad because they lost some sheep in the storm.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve lost sheep before, before you were born they had some sickness, lost many more sheep than this. Something¡¯s different this time... And there¡¯s one more thing, they sent a letter back with me-¡±


    ¡°For me?¡±


    ¡°No for the school. I know it ain¡¯t right but I read it.¡±


    ¡°What did it say?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re pulling you out of the school next year. You won¡¯t be coming back to the city.¡±


    That was her least favourite part of what he¡¯d said. She didn¡¯t really understand the significance of her parents acting sad, but she knew what that meant. She wouldn¡¯t see any of her new friends again, have any new adventures, swim in the sea anymore. She sat in sad silence for the rest of the ride.


    It was misty back at the farm, Dromas said it was often misty now, probably something to do with the storm he reckoned. Ruchessa wasn¡¯t so sure, she kept seeing movement in the mist and looked for the dead woman but it was always just trees or birds or leaves. But she could feel the eyes on her, those angry dead eyes.


    Dromas let her off near the house and she ran off, dragging her suitcase behind her, eager to escape the mist. She burst through the door and her parents were there. Her mother saw her and took her in her warm arms, crying. Why was she crying?


    ¡°Mum are you okay?¡±


    Her mother didn¡¯t reply, she just sniffed and wiped her tears. Her father wasn¡¯t crying, he looked grim instead, beneath his beard. There were no braids in it, it had been a long time since she¡¯d seen it without braids in it.


    ¡°Come with me,¡± her father said and led her through the house, leaving her mother crying behind her. She looked around confused, what was going on?


    Her father reached the door to the office, a room they were never allowed in and one whose boundaries they had actually respected. He opened the door and there was the dead woman, floating in her cold mist but she wasn¡¯t angry now, now she was happy, and that was all the more terrifying. Ruchessa jerked away but her father was much stronger and pulled her in, by the time she got in the woman was gone, as was the mist, all that remained was an old dusty book on a lectern and a mirror.


    ¡°Be calm Chessa,¡± her father said sadly. ¡°There is nothing to fear.¡± That was a lie but she believed him and stood, scared, in the room. Her father went to the lectern and opened the book, he was already regretting finding it and even more regretting reading it. But there was no choice now, he had to save his family.


    ¡°Take this,¡± he gave her a knife. It wasn¡¯t a knife from the kitchen but rather a knife he used for killing animals, a big knife, a heavy knife. She was not getting any calmer.


    ¡°Come this way,¡± he led her to the mirror where she stared at her own reflection. Did she really look that pale and scared?


    ¡°Reach out,¡± her father said, biting back tears now. ¡°Touch the mirror.¡±


    Ruchessa could have resisted, she could have refused. Her father was in little state to stop her and she had a knife. But she was in the grip of Malafrien now, and Malafrien would have her prize.


    As she reached for the mirror she looked at the knife in her reflection¡¯s hand. It was so big, so deadly, not something she could come to terms with holding, never mind using. It hung heavy in her hand, so heavy she could never lift it. But her reflection could.


    She touched the mirror and the knife came out of it and into her.


    She tries to get warm under the blankets but it is impossible. She is always cold now. She tosses and turns and watches the curling mist, watching for the floating dead woman. She knows it is not a woman now, it is something else, something horrible that hides behind those dead eyes. But it doesn¡¯t matter, it scares her all the same. Or it has.


    Tonight she decides she will no longer be scared. Tonight she will face the mist and whatever might be hiding in it. Tonight she will face the cold.


    She puts on her warmest clothes which do nothing to warm her and sneaks quietly out of the house. The farm is quiet, so very quiet, not like the city. She wants to go back to the city, to see her friends again but her parents have forbidden her, they say she will stay on the farm now to help them. She refuses, she will go back to the city if she has to walk the whole way herself.


    So she starts to walk. She has lived on the farm her whole life and explored its every inch, she knows where she is going. She doesn¡¯t trip or falter and makes it to the edge of the farm. The woman watches her. Malafrien watches her.


    She looks back at her house, smothered in the mist. She is not sure if she will ever come back. Malafrien is sure, Malafrien knows she won¡¯t. Then she turns and walks away and disappears, for she is an illusion, a reflection spawned from the book to mimic the real daughter who was the price her parents paid Malafrien. And illusions cannot go very far from the book that spawns them.


    Malafrien does not mind, and her family likely won¡¯t either, they can make another illusion, they have the knowledge that Malafrien gave them after all their other children died in the storm. The dead woman watches where she disappeared, then she herself disappears. She has other matters to attend to, other books in the hands of other people. The mist around Ruchessa¡¯s household begins to fade, but it is never truly gone.

 The LIttle Lord of the Silent Street

    Duren stands in the street watching the white ash fall around him, plunging the world into silence. He stands tall and lithe, rocking back on feet that are long practised at standing, at running. He is very practised at running. He wears a long tattered cloak to keep the ash off and it covers most of him but his long sword can still be seen poking out below it.


    The soldiers of Lord Carhen make no noise in the ash but he sees them. They wear fierce helmets, carved in the likeness of demons and monsters to terrify their enemies. To terrify little boys like him. He was not terrified anymore. He was done with running.


    The white ash met the red blood of the soldiers and Duren paced lightly along the street. More of them would come and he¡¯d best be ready. He had never lost before, but there was always a first time.


    He found their house, the house of Messer¡¯s Road, the only house still inhabited on Messer¡¯s Road. No one called it that anymore though, not after the ash came, now it was the silent street, and he was the Ash Knight, the Knight of Silence. The Terror of Lower Raharus.


    He walked in.


    Inside was his childhood friend Roony who¡¯d never had much of a stomach for fighting, Duren had always had to protect him from the soldiers and others like them. But Roony was smart, much smarter than Duren and he¡¯d found the last member of their band. Yawl, ancient and wrinkled up like crumpled sheets Yawl sat in the corner and dozed. He had trained Duren with the sword when they¡¯d found him and they¡¯d never had to run from soldiers again.


    ¡°How many?¡± Roony asked, looking through some papers with a quill. It was barely a quill, more a stick which Roony constantly complained about. He much preferred the finer things in life.


    ¡°Twelve,¡± Duren said quietly, he did most things quietly.


    Roony raised his eyebrows in surprise. ¡°Are you injured? Are you...¡±


    Duren shook his head.


    ¡°Twelve... that¡¯s a lot.¡±


    Duren nodded. It was a lot, part of him was ecstatic that he could face so many of the dread soldiers, but he had buried that part deep. Deep under the ash.


    ¡°What helmets did they wear? Any important lords or captains?¡± Roony was all business again.


    Duren took out the masks from his cloak, all the helmets were designed the same way to have interchangeable masks. Yawl often pined for the days when the soldiers were required to make their own helmets. Alas, with the war on there was little time for that now.


    He gave the masks to Roony who looked through them and marked them off on his lists. Keeping track of what they had done, what Duren had done. Duren didn¡¯t know why he did that, the ash didn¡¯t care about Roony¡¯s lists so neither did he.


    He went to his room.


    Outside Raharus, the Deepwood burned.


    It was late at night when the visitor came to the house on Messer¡¯s Road and spoke to Roony. They spoke quietly but in the silence of night and ashfall Duren still heard them. He rose from his bed and descended the stairs but by the time he got there the visitor was gone.


    He looked questioningly at Roony who was tidying his papers.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, he wasn¡¯t a soldier?¡± Roony said, muttering something about a nice binder to keep his papers in.


    Duren kept his questioning face.


    Roony sighed. ¡°He was a messenger, from Lord Sturken.¡±


    Duren¡¯s ears picked up at that. Sturken was the lord besieging the city, the reason all the houses were ruined and abandoned.


    ¡°It was difficult but I managed to contact him a few days ago- no no need to thank me. It turns out all sorts of people are interested in hiring the Knight of Ash.¡±


    Hiring. Duren turned the word over in his head. He¡¯d never been hired before, he¡¯d never had a reason to be.


    ¡°Of course they¡¯d be willing to pay handsomely for someone as renowned as you and we could finally move out of this ruined house- yes yes I know you like it here. But I for one could do with somewhere less dangerous, somewhere beautiful you know- yes the ash is beautiful I know I know, but somewhere... colourful. With all this money I could buy any place I¡¯d like, I could be a lord. A little one, but still a lord.¡±


    Roony grinned up at him and Duren smiled softly back. ¡°How¡¯d that be eh? The Little Lord of Silence and his Knight, the Knight of Ash. We could go places, we could be people Duren, taste those finer things in life. What do you say?¡±


    Duren nodded, there wasn¡¯t much he wanted anymore, there wasn¡¯t much left for ash. But part of him still wanted his friend to be happy, that was all he had after all.


    The next day the messenger came to see Duren and seemed to find him scary and unsettling, as if long silences weren¡¯t the preferred method of communication among most people. Luckily Roony was there to ease things over and keep him comfortable, Roony was an expert in comfort and the lack of it they had around here.


    There was no money changing hands, apparently the sums involved were too big to be performed with actual money. Instead there was paper signed in different places, each piece of paper promising more than the last. The messenger produced a quill much fancier than any Roony had ever been able to acquire and he spent several minutes saying so as they used it. Duren signed everything that was put in front of him. He would betray his city to Lord Sturken and help fight the soldiers who had always bullied him and Roony throughout their lives. He would serve in the Grand Uprising and see the feeble king cast down. He was ready to sign something about being a squire so as to progress to knighthood by the proper channels but Roony stopped him.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°Duren is already a knight. The Ash Knight, the Knight of Silence.¡±


    ¡°Yes but he hasn¡¯t been properly knighted,¡± the messenger claimed.


    ¡°Yawl knighted him,¡± Roony pointed to the old man scrunched up in the corner. Duren knew that was a lie but he did not speak, the ash saw no need to speak.


    The messenger talked to Yawl who assured him he¡¯d been a knight in the army and that he¡¯d knighted Duren in the Silent Street itself. It was all a lie and Duren felt faint stirrings of worry deep within him. But the stirrings were too deep for him to care, most of his feelings were like that now.


    With all the papers signed the messenger left. Apparently he snuck over the walls at night without the guards ever seeing him. For the three of them escaping the city looked to be a lot harder. They ruled the Silent Street but there were many streets between it and freedom and the great wall. But Roony wasn¡¯t bothered, he claimed they weren¡¯t going to be sneaking out. They were going to be walking out after the city was taken, and it would be taken very soon he assured them. Duren trusted him, he was his oldest friend. The deep deep worries didn¡¯t trust him but they were ignored, buried beneath the ash.


    The soldiers came at the street from both sides this time, determined to root out the infestation within their city so they could focus on the actual siege. They weren¡¯t so fortunate. In the thin street they could only approach in single file so Duren only ever fought a maximum of two at once, and two at once was trivial for him. He danced through the white ash, his sword finding the hearts of his enemies while theirs found nothing but air. Two by two they came and two by two they fell until the street was full of bodies and his sword was full of blood. He looked up at the ash falling down on his face, he didn¡¯t feel tired, he didn¡¯t feel worn, he could barely feel his heart pumping in his chest even after all that fighting. But he felt strong. He felt strength pouring down from the sky to cover him up. To smother him until there was nothing of him left. Only power.


    Suffering devastating losses from the Silent Street the forces of Raharus were no match for Lord Sturken¡¯s final push. His forces swarmed over the walls and streets, many falling to the defenders but many more making it over. Lord Carhen hid himself in his walls while around him his city burned and his people surrendered. Eventually his castle was taken, what few defenders that were left proved unable to hold it and he was taken outside and executed as the ash rained down.


    Lord Sturken addressed the crowds and declared a great victory for him and Lord Farro, the leader of the Grand Uprising. Duren, Roony and Yawl were welcomed into the castle to meet and mingle with the victors. Roony soon disappeared and Duren felt quite out of place away from his street and his house. Many soldiers and knights congratulated him, they had heard of him out in the country, terrorising the city from within. Many claimed that without his constant battle in the streets to wear Lord Carhen down they never would have won. Somewhere he felt glory and achievement but mostly he just felt confused. Where was the ash in this castle? Where was his strength?


    Roony introduced him and Yawl to some other knights who had changed sides during the battle with Roony¡¯s help. They had once been soldiers under Lord Carhen, soldiers who had feared the Ash Knight, but now they were together under Lord Sturken and were glad to meet the legend face to face. Duren shook hands and nodded greetings but seeing their monstrous helmets held under their arms still shook the little boy inside of him, hidden safely under the ash.


    There was a feast and a party which Roony insisted they attend. Duren went at first but after an hour of Roony praising everything as being the finest he¡¯d ever experienced he decided to leave. He wandered the battlements, among the ash and looked off into the distance. He couldn¡¯t see far but he could imagine the distant kingdoms and battlefields. Soon he would be riding off to fight in one of those battlefields against the weak king. Soon he would be riding away from the burning Deepwood and away from the ash.


    Maybe he shouldn¡¯t have signed all those papers.


    Sure enough the next day he was off. They claimed he needed a horse to be a knight so he went into the burning Deepwood and found one. He didn¡¯t even try riding any of the ones they gave him, regular animals didn¡¯t like him anymore.


    They rode all day, thundering across the countryside away from Raharus, away from his ash. His strength began to fade, his power slowly disappeared and the little boy squashed down within him, began to awaken. He felt fear, the worry he¡¯d had about Roony, the fear of strange places, and the terror that he felt to be leaving his home, all built up together. But he¡¯d signed the paper, he took his orders from Lord Sturken now. So he rode.


    The battle was furious, it was nothing like the elegant dances he¡¯d performed back in the Silent Street. There was no ash to muffle sounds here and there were so many sounds. Horses shrieked and screamed and men cried over them. The ground thundered with hoofbeats and footbeats and the dust rose up. There was so much dust.


    Coughing and choking Duren and his horse found a warrior in black armour. Armour adorned with strange black flaps. The warrior was tearing his way through their ranks so Duren rode to meet him and called on all the strength he had left. He had lost so much being so far from his ash but he was still strong, still so very strong.


    He danced around the warrior, cutting and slicing, knocking the flaps from his armour and driving devastating blows into it. Blows that would have torn through any of the soldiers back in the Silent Street, but these blows did nothing to him. The warrior kept going, his armour seemingly impregnable. Every blow bouncing off, sending painful jolts up Duren¡¯s arm. It was a long time since he¡¯d felt pain.


    He brought his horse around, bouncing lightly around the flailing warrior and his furious horse. Then he calmed himself as Yawl had taught him, he remembered his dances in the Silent Street. This was not the same, but for a true warrior that would never matter. He hoped some day to be a true warrior. His sword hit the thin visor in an impossible swing, neatly sliding into the one part of the armour with no protection. He expected it to slide right through, sink in and kill this invincible knight, but it didn¡¯t. It stuck, and his dance came to an abrupt end. The sword twisted out of his hands and then fell from the helmet onto the ground. The black knight roared in victory and swung down at Duren who looked up at him defenseless. He crashed to the dust and bled, and all the ash in the world couldn¡¯t cover up his pain.


    Roony shuffled his papers and smiled at the new recruit.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be well-taken care of,¡± he said. ¡°I run a respectable establishment, only the finest mercenaries.¡±


    The recruit nodded and signed his name where he was told to then hurried off. Roony leaned back in his plush velvet chair and sighed happily. He wasn¡¯t a lord yet but he¡¯d get there, he had all the soldiers from Raharus he¡¯d managed to convince to change sides, he had all his old connections with the street urchins, and he had Duren, the Knight of Silence. How hard could it be?


    A messenger came with a grim face and told him what had happened to his oldest friend. He dismissed the messenger and muttered angrily to himself. So it had happened? Duren had finally lost. He supposed there was always a first time. He poured himself some brandy, the finest he¡¯d been able to acquire. It would be harder without Duren but he knew it made little difference. The ruins of Raharus were crawling with veterans and vagabonds desperately searching for employment. He sipped his brandy, he did so enjoy the finer things in life.

 The Library on the Cliff

    Far to the west of the world lies the Library. A towering monolithic structure that stands tall against the storms and rain from the sea behind it. On one side is the land and the road leading to it which stops at its great stone door. On the other side is the steep drop far into the rocky sea below. On this side the depth of the library is visible for it penetrates deep into the earth, making up part of the cliff and disappearing beneath the waves. There are few who know just how far down the Library goes, in fact Sorum the Page believes that there is no one left who knows.


    He has spoken to the Grandmaster and to the Elder Archivists and they have all given him vague answers and changed the subject quickly. One thing he has been able to gather is that there are those who have vanished into the Library¡¯s depths and never returned. He often mentions this to his friends. They do not care.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your business is it Sorum?¡± Zarat says as he takes a larger than necessary bite from a pie. ¡°No one wants to go down there so you don¡¯t have to show them the way.¡±


    ¡°But I want to go down there.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a page, you don¡¯t get to go where you want to go, you have to go where other people want to go.¡± Zarat finished his pie in another enormous bite and then looked around for another.


    ¡°Well one day I might be a scribe and then-¡±


    ¡°Why would you be a scribe? You¡¯ll have to pour over dusty tomes all day. You should be a raven keeper like me.¡± Zarat snuck a pie from a neighbouring plate as the plate¡¯s owner engaged in a heated scholarly debate.


    ¡°You¡¯re an apprentice raven keeper.¡± Sorum said. ¡°And besides the ravens stress me out, they¡¯re all screechy and they bite.¡±


    ¡°They do not bite!¡± Zarat said angrily through his mouthful. ¡°They¡¯re tame, and they¡¯re much less stressful than going down into places no one comes back from. You get to stay up at the rookery and feel the fresh air, it¡¯s very relaxing.¡±


    The next day Zarat sprinted down the stairs from the rookery in terror as his master shouted at the top of his lungs. ¡°Why have all the ravens escaped! What have you done you incompetent boy!¡±


    Sorum rolled his eyes as he ran past. He was looking at his reflection in one of the stained glass windows, trying to get his hair under control. The Lady Essry and her entourage were arriving and he was supposed to be attending them. He heard Zarat crash into an empty brazier and watched as his master caught up with him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened... I don¡¯t...¡±


    ¡°You utter buffoon! You have disrespected the sanctity of-¡±


    Sorum walked off and left them to it. He had best be getting to cleaning the rooms the Lady and her entourage would be staying in. They were large rooms, much grander than his. With enormous stained glass windows looking out on the sea. This particular window told the story of a battle between a great hero in red armour battling a white jagged monster made of bone. Sorum didn¡¯t know that story, he was doubtful anyone did, it seemed to him that most of the stories in the library were long forgotten.


    As he swept the room he noticed the bed had already been made and that a book had been placed on it already. A strange book with nothing on the cover save a dagger. He opened it to find letters he couldn¡¯t read and left it there, he continued sweeping.


    He was almost finished when Bravan walked in. He could tell it was Bravan because Lady Essry hadn¡¯t arrived yet and although he looked uncannily like her Sorum wasn¡¯t falling for that trick again. There were many magical artifacts in the Library and while the Book of Faces was impressive it became less so the tenth time Bravan used it.


    ¡°Hello Bravan.¡±


    ¡°Bravan? I am Lady Essry you insolent page boy and I shall not be spoken to in-¡±


    Sorum threw his broom at him and Bravan dodged out of the way, tripping on his illusory skirts. He crashed to the ground and let out a torrent of unladylike curses.


    Sorum walked over and picked up the broom. ¡°Impersonating a noblewoman! Such an original and intelligent idea! If only I¡¯d seen this trick before...¡±


    Bravan looked up at him from the ground. ¡°Well if you¡¯re so smart why are you still a page?¡±


    Sorum looked away in annoyance, even outsmarting Bravan was no fun, he always had some more spite to express.


    Bravan picked himself up. ¡°Maybe if you weren¡¯t so rude to your superiors you would...¡± he trailed off.


    Sorum frowned, still looking away. Bravan would never trail off in the middle of a sentence like that, he was far too arrogant, especially now he was a scribe. He looked up and saw what Bravan had seen. The book on the bed was open and its pages were flying out swiftly and silently. Forming into a ball, no a head, then a body, all made of paper and covered in the letters of that strange language.


    They watched for a second then it was over and the lithe paper figure had formed, crouched nimbly on the bed. The leather knife shape, carved into the cover was now a leather knife shape in the figure¡¯s hand.


    Bravan opened his mouth to say ¡°-¡± before the figure flew across the room and buried the knife in his chest. Bravan screamed and fell to the ground, blood pouring from his chest. The figure stepped back cleanly out of the path of the blood, Sorum didn¡¯t.


    As he flailed and screamed and bled Bravan¡¯s illusion fell away revealing the boy underneath. The figure cocked its eyeless head curiously, then it looked at Sorum and the letters on its face formed words.


    ¡®Oops.¡¯


    Sorum stammered in surprise. ¡°W-wh-what?¡±


    The letters reformed. ¡®That was not the Lady Essry.¡¯


    ¡°N-n-no...¡±


    The figure nodded, accepting this fact. ¡®Well I¡¯d suggest you run, you look awfully suspicious standing there covered in blood. If you do please take me with you, I can be of service and my employer will not be pleased with my failure.¡¯


    Then it was gone, the pages reformed back into the book on the bed. Sorum stood there for a second in shock. Bravan had stopped screaming and now he could hear footsteps approaching. There were many magical artifacts in the library but he¡¯d never heard of a book who could actually kill people, chances are the book was right, he would look very suspicious.


    He grabbed the book and ran. The footsteps were coming from above so he ran down. Down whole flights of stairs at a time, past bewildered pages and scribes and masters, hoping they didn¡¯t notice the blood on him. He heard some people shouting behind him but they weren¡¯t close enough and the Library was vast. There was always another corridor, another door, another stairwell, for him to descend. Soon the voices began to fade away behind him, he staggered to a window that looked out onto the sea. It was stained glass showing a great migration of some kind, another story he didn¡¯t know. But it was wet, the sea was spraying up against it, he¡¯d never been this close to the sea before. He¡¯d never been this far down.


    He went to open the book but it was already open and the figure formed before him, knife in hand. This time it sheathed the knife and tucked it away somewhere in its pages.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Sorum asked. ¡°What are you?¡±


    ¡®I am the Lexigrael.¡¯


    ¡°What is the Lexigrael?¡± Sorum asked, taking a wild stab at the pronunciation.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡®Me.¡¯


    ¡°Ah yes.¡± He nodded and looked out into the sea. ¡°Why were you trying to kill Lady Essry?¡±


    ¡®I was... employed...¡¯


    ¡°Did you write out those dots just to be dramatic?¡±


    ¡®...Yes...¡¯


    Sorum smiled. He probably shouldn¡¯t be enjoying talking to an assassin so much but he was still recovering from all that had happened.


    ¡°How does one employ the Lexigrael?¡±


    ¡®One must sign a contract upon my pages in my script.¡¯ He held up his arms, revealing all the arcane scribblings, looking closely Sorum could see they were written in different hands.


    ¡®Then I do my best to fulfil the contract.¡¯


    ¡°What¡¯s in it for you?¡±


    The figure looked at its arms and the writing on them. ¡®The contracts and the way they are written tell me much about the people who wrote them. I learn the ways of the world and the people in it and as a book knowing things is really all I want.¡¯


    ¡°What do you know about the lower levels of the Library?¡± Sorum asked eagerly.


    ¡®Nothing.¡¯ the Lexigrael replied and Sorum¡¯s heart sank. ¡®But I know something about the upper five hundred or so levels.¡¯


    ¡°The what?! There are more than five hundred levels?¡±


    ¡®There are thousands of levels. No one knows just how many as far as I am aware. The artifacts and the monsters that use them grow stranger and more dangerous the further down you go. Some believe it goes down forever.¡¯


    Sorum was incredulous, this was everything he¡¯d hoped for and more. ¡°Can you show me some of these artifacts?¡±


    ¡®Well it might be dangerous.¡¯


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a master assassin, can¡¯t you protect me?¡±


    The Lexigrael rocked back and forth uncertainly. ¡®Well... yesss... But not from anything really scary, fire monsters for example?¡¯


    ¡°Are there fire monsters?¡±


    ¡®In some parts, we can stay away from those. What artifact do you want to see?¡¯


    In the Lady Essry¡¯s room the masters all stood around Bravan¡¯s body. They muttered and grumbled and whispered to each other but it was obvious what had happened. They would need to go and find the page boy and execute him. Well... they wouldn¡¯t have to. They had other people who could do that, but they were loathe to deal with those people and were hoping one of the other masters would go and do it first.


    Eventually they left as a group and Zarat, the newly demoted page boy was put in charge of cleaning and preparing a different room for the Lady. They shuffled along through the hallways, each one eager to be last, until eventually they reached the oaken door of Mazzran the Worm. There was only one guard in the library and he was kept chained up in a room of dank marsh and vines. Normally a guard such as that would not be very effective and indeed Mazzran was useless at stopping crimes before they happened, but often the threat of what he¡¯d do after the crime was enough to stop anyone.


    They opened the door and were greeted by the stench of the marsh. Vines fell from the ceiling and dark water pooled on the ground. Mazzran hung naked, suspended by vines over the water, his bare feet just touching it. He looked up at them with red eyes through long black hair and grinned.


    ¡°What can I do for you gentlemen?¡± he asked politely.


    ¡°We have a murderer we¡¯d like you to catch?¡±


    He lunged forward on ¡®catch¡¯, swaying on his vines. Even though they were much too far away to be in trouble all the masters jerked back in surprise. Taking a while to recompose themselves.


    ¡°Well what can I say but ¡®of course¡¯. Anything for the kind masters who keep me so well fed and housed.¡±


    ¡°Yes well. This murderer is called Sorum, he¡¯s a page boy who ran away deep into the library. We think he must have a knife of some kind, judging by the wound on the victim.¡±


    ¡°Deep in the library? How exciting! I¡¯ll leave at once if you could just set me free.¡±


    They looked back and forth at each other, this was the part they loathed. They had ways to catch him again of course, but it had been a long time since they¡¯d had to use them and it was never easy. And for every minute he was free all of their lives were in danger.


    The master in the front was pushed forward and waded fearfully through the marshwater. He brandished his metal staff and touched one end to the wall of the library, poking it through the vines. The other end he brought around and with his hands trembling placed on Mazzran¡¯s chest. Mazzran let out a great laugh of joy and then he was gone, down the staff, into the walls and off to find Sorum.


    The masters stood in the door, he was usually back in a few minutes.


    They came to a fountain, a silent fountain in the middle of the library. A black pool sat beneath four faces that cried black water into it. Sorum peered into the water and saw not even his own reflection.


    ¡°What¡¯s this?¡±


    The Lexigrael shrugged. ¡®Somewhere around here there is a-¡¯


    Sorum had no time to read the rest of the words for a hand had grabbed his foot and he tried to lurch away. Before he even did that though the leather knife had cut the hand and it had disappeared. Sorum¡¯s ungainly lurch sent him tumbling into the black fountain which was much much deeper than it looked, and much much colder. He floundered to the middle and clung to the central pillar beneath the faces. Outside the fountain the Lexigrael peered around. The room was lit by flickering torches but one by one they began to go out.


    ¡°It¡¯s a shame you can¡¯t go in the fountain paper man,¡± a cruel voice said from the walls. ¡°You might be safer in there.¡±


    The Lexigrael had lost its knife, it was simply standing ready, little more than a figure in the rapidly deepening darkness. The second to last torch went out and Sorum looked toward the last one, so did the Lexigrael. Which meant neither of them saw the bloody hand leave the wall on the other side of the room and throw the leather knife.


    The Lexigrael didn¡¯t need to see it though, it¡¯s hand snaked around behind its back and snatched it from the air. Then it leapt over the fountain, clearing the entire room easily to land nimbly by the last torch.


    It was difficult to see in such low light but huge letters began to form on the Lexigrael¡¯s body. ¡®It¡¯s a shame you can¡¯t go in the fountain Mazzran. You might be safer in there.¡¯


    ¡°Ho ho ho,¡± the cruel voice laughed from a face that had emerged to read the letters. ¡°Very clever, and you know my name. This is the most fun I¡¯ve had in a long time.¡±


    Sorum shivered in the cold, he knew the name Mazzran. In his excitement he¡¯d forgotten all about him, not that he knew much about him to begin with. Just that he never failed. He clawed at the pillar and tried desperately not to fall into the black fountain. The water from the faces above him was getting all over him and making him even colder. He hoped the fountain wasn¡¯t full of dark magic, he was starting to regret his constant drive to adventure the lower levels of the library.


    Mazzran tried to grab the Lexigrael¡¯s foot but it was too fast and he narrowly avoided being stabbed again. Next he tried kicking sparks from the torch into its face and it staggered back out of the way. He quenched the torch with his hands but the knife swung back and he had to move them away, the sparks landing on the torch and slowly blossoming back into flame. While the flame was blossoming it was dark though, and the dark was where Mazzran worked best.


    He slid toward where he could feel it¡¯s feet, ready to attack. It moved, then it moved again, it was so fast. Then more feet appeared and they weren¡¯t moving so he grabbed them. That was a mistake.


    It was light enough for the Lexigrael to see by and it watched Sorum¡¯s wet shoes hit the floor. Mazzran¡¯s hand wrapped around one and the knife took off his fingers. He screamed and the sound echoed through the dark room around them.


    Mazzran retreated into his walls, while he was there he was shapeless, formless, he did not bleed. But as soon as he left he would be back in that excruciating pain.


    ¡°Do you want your fingers back?¡± Sorum asked from the safety of the fountain. That blasted fountain, if he¡¯d just been able to kill the boy he could have left without having to fight that accursed thing. But no, where was the fun in that.


    Mazzran reached up through the foot of the Lexigrael with his good hand. The paper crumbled beneath him, crushing its foot, then he was gone before that too fast knife could hit him. But then he grabbed the other foot, crushing that as well. He was laughing now and his laughter shook the room. The Lexigrael crawled toward the fountain and as it did he took one leg at the knee, then the other. Both times he was too quick for the knife, he was getting the hang of it now, and it was too broken to properly retaliate. Then he felt hands on the fountain wall, maybe it could escape into the fountain, but he wasn¡¯t going to let it! He lunged and hit nothing but Sorum¡¯s wet gloves. How did he keep falling for that trick? The knife shattered through the back of his other hand and then pulled. Bound by pain he followed until the Lexigrael had his face out of the stone, vulnerable. Unable to think through the pain he lunged and the paper figure was not nimble enough to dodge now that it had no legs. They went up and then crashed back down into the black fountain. The leather knife buried in Mazzran¡¯s face, the cold water turning the Lexigrael to ribbons. Sorum climbed slowly out of the fountain and stood shivering in the lower levels of the Library. Lower than he was used to anyway, apparently they went much deeper than this. Exploring them all seemed rather less interesting now. He went back to the surface. There were no guards there now.


    Below him the Fountain of Amizan drank in the magic of the Lexigrael and Mazzran the Worm.


    Zarat rushed to the door as the doorbell clanged rudely and constantly. He didn¡¯t think it was very ladylike at all, who did this Essry woman think she was? He reached the door and calmed himself, he had to be polite or he¡¯d never get his old job back. Of course if they never found the ravens he¡¯d also never get his old job back but one problem at a time.


    He opened the door and found all the ravens, he also didn¡¯t find Lady Essry but rather a bedraggled man carrying a patterned lute in one hand and clinging onto the bell for dear life with the other. He was scratched and torn up and had ravens biting and clawing at him, cutting his face and hands and clothes to ribbons.


    He looked up at Zarat with desperate eyes and clutched his lute. ¡°Help me!¡±

 The Most Dangerous Place in the World

    Learning the ways of gods and demons is no trivial task for each demon follows its own rules which often contradict the others in nonsensical patterns of impossibility. Zarapeth, the demon lord of vampires, for example, is weak to the common garlic flower of all things. While his enemy, Raeshara, the werewolf queen, despises silver. Then there is Lorogrush, the faceless, bodiless ooze who is attracted to the strong smell of garlic and repelled by fast flowing water which Zarapeth adores. Auriomauch, the demon lord of birds and death and god of the ancient Rostar people, has his strengths and weaknesses as all demons do but finding them is difficult, even in a library as vast as the great one at the edge of the world. The days of having a department dedicated to demons are gone, leaving just fragments of knowledge drifting about the faculty. The demons are unconcerned, they have no interest in human knowledge, they do not think that way. The Archivists are confident they will never have to worry about demons again.


    The man stumbles up to the great towering library through the storm, clutching his lute with ragged, trembling hands. Around him shriek the ravens, cawing and cawing, screaming and screaming. They tear at his hands, at his back, at his face. He bats them desperately away from his eyes, fearing that squelch as one of their claws finally blinds him. One of the strings on his lute is already broken, torn off by a particularly big raven. He recalls it snapping onto his fingers as being particularly painful. That lute was all he had now against the shadow that had been following him. The shadow that looked like a man but was not a man. Always out of sight but never by much and always with the ravens.


    It had started when he¡¯d been relaxing in the mansion he¡¯d stolen and filled with young men and women lured by his music. He¡¯d been lying on the bed with the window open to let in the sun and a great ugly black crow had landed on the windowsill. It had looked at him and then attacked, leaving feathers and eventually blood all over the room before he¡¯d managed to kill it. Then there had been more of them each day and soon the shadow appeared.


    The magic of the lute usually worked on animals and birds best of all but it was useless against these birds. No matter how well he played they just shrieked over it and attacked him regardless. He started healing himself with the lute and barricading his houses but the birds still found him. And the healing was starting to be less and less effective. Gone were the days when he could use the lute¡¯s magic to remain alive while missing all of his limbs and his heart. Now a small cut on his hand would take days to heal and with all the birds he didn¡¯t have days.


    So he had stumbled toward the library, the one place that might hold a solution to his problem. But as he approached the ravens appeared, more than he¡¯d ever seen before and how they hounded him.


    He bewitched the Lady Essry and her entourage who he met on the way to defend him but the birds got around them easily and then one of the strings broke. That was the point where things began to grow dire. The lute could no longer control others with its music or heal and he had no spare strings to repair it. So he left them bewildered on the path and staggered on himself, blood pouring from his many wounds. The shadow hounding his every footstep, until finally, he reached the library.


    ¡°Um... How can I help you sir?¡± Zarat asked the man at the library doorstep, struggling to maintain his composure.


    The man fell forward and slammed the doors behind him, only a few ravens came in but they were still relentless in their attacks. Outside the other ravens continued to scream.


    ¡°You... you can... stop them...¡± the man pointed at the ravens.


    ¡°Um... yes... well...¡±


    Some Archivists emerged from within the library expecting to find the Lady Essry. ¡°What is this Zarat? Where is Essry? Who is this vagabond who-?¡±


    ¡°We do not have time for this,¡± muttered the man drawing a thin sword stolen from Essry¡¯s guards. Zarat turned to see the Archivists and was not paying attention when the sword skewered his neck, killing him instantly. He felt the darkness envelope him, drowning out the screams of the ravens as the gasps of the Archivists. But there was a booming voice far louder than the darkness beckoning him back. The voice of the amulet of the dead, the voice of Havath, and that is not a voice you ignore..


    The Archivists backed away but they didn¡¯t get very far before Zarat¡¯s ghost rose from the crumbling corpse and took the bloody sword from his own neck. On the man¡¯s orders it killed all three Archivists then began to chase the birds who were much faster and harder to kill. Once they had been driven off the ghost returned and awaited further orders from the man who was relishing his few moments of peace, the only ones he¡¯d had for hours.


    ¡°What do you know of demons scribe?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Zarat replied confidently.


    The man cursed and touched the amulet hanging at his neck again. The ghosts of the recently killed Archivists rose and he asked them the same question. They looked at each other blankly and discussed among themselves before coming to the conclusion that they also knew nothing.


    The man cursed louder this time and swore he saw the shadow out of the corner of his eye. He was on the threshold of panicking now, this place had been his last hope. The birds outside were still screaming.


    ¡°What is it you want to know about demons?¡± one of the Archivists asked. ¡°Because we do have plenty of knowledge of other subjects.¡±


    ¡°I want to kill a demon!¡± the man shouted in panic. ¡°I am being hunted and I want to live!¡±


    The Archivists looked taken aback. It was unlikely any of their aforementioned knowledge of other subjects, would help with that.


    ¡°We used to have an expert on these things,¡± one of them said, drawing the man¡¯s desperate attention. ¡°You could look through his things.¡±


    So the man and his ghosts travelled up through the library. Other Archivists they met shied away from this blood covered vagabond flanked by spirits. This was an unusual sight, even in the library, but they had far more important duties to attend to as they awaited the arrival of the Lady Essry.


    They found the abandoned office, all the books covered in dust and cobwebs and began to read, the ghost of Zarat keeping away the birds. The man found it difficult to concentrate though with that shadow always looming in his mind, and the books were not helpful. Each one written about a different demon or merely a collection of tales about multiple demons with absolutely no order for any of them. The few places it did mention fighting them offered contradictory information about each demon. They had only been there for minutes before the man decided it was hopeless.


    One of the books said there were thousands of demons, he didn¡¯t have time to read up on that many, and who knew where the book on Auriomauch was. He sagged back in defeat, struggling to hold back tears.


    ¡°Actually,¡± one of the Archivists pondered, drawing the man¡¯s attention with fury. ¡°There might be a way...¡± This Archivist was Gendu, an esoteric scholar who studied all manner of subjects to the annoyance of his peers.


    ¡°What way?¡± the man demanded. ¡°Is there some weapon? Some creature that can do it?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Gendu replied. ¡°Or at least not to my knowledge. But there might be a place.¡±


    ¡°A place?¡± The man asked.


    Realisation dawned on some of the other Archivists¡¯ eyes. There was indeed a place that was sometimes whispered about in scholarly circles. It was known to exist, it was just frowned upon to mention it for fear of someone actually going there. The most dangerous place in the world.


    ¡°The monolith,¡± Gendu continued. ¡°Anything can be killed there, anything that touches the monolith dies. I assume it would work on demons.¡±


    The other Archivists nodded, this was something they knew about, not like these strange demon books.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Do you know where it is?¡± the man asked.


    ¡°In theory,¡± the Archivists nodded.


    ¡°Take me there,¡± the man demanded and they left, into the storm of birds which was growing bigger by the minute.


    The man travelled in a covered caravan while his spirits fended off the swarm outside it. The horses were attacked by the birds in order to slow it down and they had to replace them. The man tried killing one and using its spirit only to learn that the amulet did not work on animals, so they continued on, replacing their horses at each town they came to. The cart, a whirling maelstrom of screaming birds and desperate spirits.


    It took multiple days to reach the monolith so the man fitfully slept, still clutching his broken lute, not having the time to stop and fix it. In his dreams he was in an empty wasteland shrouded over by a black sky. He wandered through the wasteland, all of his many tiny wounds and scratches opening up into huge gaping, festering sores. The shadow which looked like a man but was not a man stood over him and laughed. A musical discordant laugh that sounded like a bird but was not a bird. His festering wounds began to bubble and twist and then from them came ravens drenched in his blood and flesh. His heart beat began to intensify and then from his chest burst a great vulture and it led the ravens up to the black sky to join the blackness there. For the blackness was a great teeming swarm of birds, screeching and crying out for his blood. And the swarm descended.


    As they went more birds would join the swarm, draining the countryside of sparrows and blackbirds and hawks and all manner of songbirds. The swarm above the caravan grew bigger and bigger and the man had to have his spirits kill more people to make more spirits to hold them off. Eventually they had passed the last town and when the horses died, torn apart by birds the man had to walk. He had healed a little bit in the caravan but birds would still often get in there so he hadn¡¯t healed much. First he ran but he soon grew tired so he walked, still clutching his lute to him. He had tried abandoning it once, right at the start before he¡¯d left for the library. It hadn¡¯t changed anything so he kept it with him now. If he was going to die he¡¯d rather have his lute with him and if he was going to live, well, he could get right back to where he¡¯d left off.


    As he walked the birds found him and all of his spirits could not hold off the swarm. They tore at his back, his arms, his face, and this time there were many many more. He could barely move without having to bat aside heavy flapping bodies, raking him with sharp claws as he hit them. And many he couldn¡¯t hit at all, nimbly dodging around his flailing arms to bite and claw at him as he walked. Luckily his spirits stopped most of the bigger ones, the hawks and eagles and vultures, leaving him to deal with only the smallest. But the smallest were still devastating.


    As he drew closer to the monolith the land around him started to die. Dead twisted trees on dead and twisted ground. Feeble scrub, hungry and desperate for water but still thick and tangled everywhere. And there was The Shadow of course. With the birds and his arms obscuring his vision he almost couldn¡¯t see it but it was always there. Under a tree or ahead, alone, on the path. Sometimes right behind him reaching for his neck. But it never quite touched him, he wasn¡¯t sure why. He did not know the ways of gods and demons.


    The monolith was not as impressive as he had expected, it was simply a large thin rock about ten or so metres tall, surrounded by a large ring of smaller rocks. There were no trees in the ring, it was empty and as soon as he entered it the birds let him be. They flew away to land menacingly on the many dead trees and branches that looked in on him. The man and his spirits filled the circle, keeping a safe distance from the monolith at its centre. The man strayed as close as he dared to it and the spirits ringed around him, facing the birds.


    The man walked up to the rock and looked at it, it looked disappointingly normal. He ordered one of his spirits to come to him. The spirit was an old man who had worked in a forge in one of the villages. The man had never bothered to learn his name.


    ¡°Touch the rock,¡± he demanded.


    The spirit didn¡¯t want to do that. Even as a humble blacksmith he knew there was something wrong with that rock, no matter how ordinary it looked. But the voice of Havath compelled him. He touched the rock, and he was pulled in. Like air being sucked in by a breath he disappeared into the rock without a trace.


    The man frowned, so it did work. Now all he needed to do was get The Shadow to touch the rock. He sat down and began to think of a plan.


    Crossing between the realms takes a long time and a lot of magic but Auriomauch was doing it anyway. The man and his spirits had to wait a few more days though. The spirits brought water from a nearby stream and managed to kill a few birds which the man cooked and ate. It wasn¡¯t the life he wanted but he was perfectly happy to live like that than not live at all. So he waited. And on the fifth day of waiting, came Auriomauch.


    No longer a shadow he was now whole. In the shape of a man but made of the bones of birds, skulls and wing bones and ribs and claws all woven and meshed together into the shape of a man with a huge ibis skull for a head. And he was wrapped in a thick cloak of black feathers that flaked off behind him as he walked and slowly drifted into the air, covering the sky like ash from a volcano. The man stood behind his spirits and the spirits rallied before him, facing this demon as it walked down the path toward them. Auriomauch was big, much bigger than a human, about half as tall as the monolith. As he drew closer it was clear that the ibis skull was not from any ordinary bird, the man was glad he hadn¡¯t had to face anything that big on his journey.


    He planned to have Auriomauch attack him and as he did the spirits would grab him and redirect him into the monolith. It was risky but he hadn¡¯t been able to think of anything better and it seemed everything was a risk at this point.


    The demon reached the edge of the circle and flung its feathered cloak wide, sweeping a bony arm across the circle, and with one sweep it banished all the spirits. The man¡¯s eyes went wide, that had been his only plan.


    The birds began to sing, thousands of them in discordant shrieking as Auriomauch stepped across the circle. The man backed away, then turned and ran, dropping the lute behind him, he had nothing anymore, no lute no spirits, no magic. And he was facing down a god who had come all the way to this world specifically to kill him. Tears began to pour down his face as he stumbled and staggered around the monolith, staying as close as possible to it.


    Auriomauch walked closer slowly, seemingly in no hurry to catch up with him. The man peered around the monolith and saw the huge clawed bird feet made of bones crunching down onto the earth. He saw one crunch down onto his lute, shattering it into a thousand pieces. He staggered back, no longer trying to stay close to the monolith, just trying to get away. The god stepped around the rock and towered over him, he tripped and fell to the ground, looking back up at the towering creature in front of the towering monolith. The birds sung even louder, drowning out any chance he had to think or act. The terrifying skull stared down at him with empty eyes. The huge clawed hand raised up to end his miserable life. He clutched the amulet and panic filling his heart instinctively threw it.


    It hit Auriomauch in the chest, clattering against the meshed web of bones there. And suddenly the spirits of all the creatures the god had killed appeared. There were thousands of them, hundreds of thousands. They filled the circle, they filled the forest, they filled the sky. Horrible demonic monsters floating above them in spirit form, legions and legions of dead humans or creatures that looked like humans filling the forest, and other gods like him, staring back at him from beyond death.


    The amulet bounced off his chest and fell and all the spirits disappeared but their appearance took the god by surprise and he stepped back. His feet took the form of bird claws and bird claws have a claw pointing backward. The demon stepped back on his long legs and his back claw scraped the very edge of the monolith. He jerked to a stop. His foot disappeared into the rock, then his leg. He flailed with great raking claws and the man got up and ran.


    His heart pounding in his chest, tears still filling his eyes, he stumbled toward the edge of the circle. But he¡¯d done it, he¡¯d won. He¡¯d-


    One last flail of the long claws of Auriomauch caught him. Wrapping around him and raking across his face. He spun with the claws and slammed into the dead dusty ground, crying in pain as blood dripped into his mouth, his nose, his eyes. He turned and saw through the blood the last trace of the god disappear into the monolith. All was still.


    The man writhed in pain on the ground for a long time, his face torn to bloody ribbons by the god¡¯s claws. But eventually he picked himself up, took the amulet and walked away. The birds had stopped singing.


    Mist descends upon the barren land about the monolith. The birds are gone now, the man is gone now, there is nobody left, except the god writhing inside. Floating through the mist is a woman, dead, with eyes rotted away. She carries with her chains, chains that disappear into the mist behind her, fading away as they stretch back to her realm. She reaches the monolith and wraps the chains around her, moving slowly as though underwater in her mist. Once the chains are secure she reaches into the monolith and touches it with a finger. She is instantly jerked forward but the chains snap taught and hold behind her. She doesn¡¯t show it on her dead face but she is in pain, extreme pain.


    She struggles, torn between the chains and the monolith, her arm moving slowly about as it searches the rock. Then she finds what she is looking for and grips it. Then she begins to pull. She digs her feet into the ground and pulls against the grip of the monolith. She flicks one of the chains and something back in her realm begins to pull as well. Together, inch by painstaking inch, they drag her arm out of the monolith. Behind her arm comes her hand and it is holding the bony claw of the bird god. Slowly but surely they drag him from the rock, eventually he can get his feet onto the ground as well and he begins to help them pull.


    The rock roars in a silent roar that only they can hear as its prisoner is released. But he is not truly released, not fully.


    Auriomauch sags to the ground in the circle, covering himself in his cloak of feathers. He has been defeated by a mortal, how embarrassing.


    The demons do not speak to each other as humans do but they convey information in their own way. Through thoughts and feelings in the mist.


    ¡°You are still bound to the monolith,¡± Malafrien conveys to Auriomauch. ¡°You cannot leave the circle now.¡±


    Auriomauch looks up at her, he conveys acknowledgement. Then he asks, ¡°Will you stay with me?¡±

 The Council of Ten

    Kulrod the Beastkeeper of the Eastlands sat before his cairn. Surrounding him were his beasts, hideous monsters raised from the dead by his foul sorcerous blood magic. There was the Whisper Boar, a beast whose lungs had been punctured by the spear that killed it and could now only wheeze. There was the Grey Cat, a thin ragged mountain lion whose decaying skin was crawling with flies. There was the Spider Cloak, newly remade after Alphon Thar of Karasar had drowned the old one. Then there were the Vultures, dead things that perched atop the cairn peering down with their empty eyes.


    Kulrod sat before them all, his great sword across his lap, his wings sprouting behind him, having bent Feather, the Sword of the Sky to his will. He looked down at the messenger who walked slowly up to him, looking as imposing as possible. The messenger was unconcerned, he had seen many things far more imposing than that.


    ¡°The Arbiter sends her summons,¡± the messenger began. ¡°To the Council of Ten.¡±


    Kulrod nodded slowly, he had been expecting this for quite some time. What he had not been expecting was the messenger. ¡°I will be there swiftly. But we have not been introduced, may I ask what is your name?¡±


    ¡°I am Eisen, the Messenger,¡± the messenger responded.


    ¡°You are not a sorcerer,¡± Kulrod observed, looking at the man¡¯s eyes which were brown.


    ¡°No, I am a mere human,¡± Eisen replied.


    ¡°Tell me, Eisen, why is it that a human messenger such as yourself was sent rather than a sorcerer? Surely a sorcerer or sorceress could have travelled faster.¡±


    Eisen¡¯s face did not move, it remained calm and passive as it always was, but inside he grinned. ¡°Before you joined the council we had a sorcerer called Ghizeth the Hasteful. He was killed by a medusae and so we extended an invite to you. He used his magic to train his muscles and lungs to enable him to run as fast as possible. Faster than a horse, faster than a falcon, some say he was faster than a bolt of lightning. But he was not faster than me.¡±


    Kulrod raised his eyebrow sceptically.


    ¡°I am the messenger sent to retrieve all nine other sorcerers for the council and I will do it faster than any of them possibly could.¡±


    Kulrod scoffed. ¡°My dear human I have Feather, the Sword in the Sky, it grants me wings. You cannot possibly be faster than me.¡±


    Eisen¡¯s inner smile grew ever wider. ¡°The Tower of the Arbiter is far away. But the other nine sorcerers are farther still. If you can reach it before I contact all of them and return then perhaps I must concede your superiority.¡±


    Kulrod was growing incredulous now. ¡°You cannot possibly do all that faster than it takes me to fly to the Tower of the Arbiter.¡± He flapped his enormous wings and took off, hovering briefly above his beasts. Then with another mighty flap that rustled up the dust and dirt of the ground he disappeared into the sky.


    Eisen let a small smile break out onto his face. ¡°Oh, but I can.¡±


    The village of Renshaw sits across from a small forest filled with twisted trees and bright flowers. The inhabitants are blessed with excellent weather and fertile crops and in exchange they send Grisselda with a basket of foodstuffs and liquor to the small homely cottage in the middle of the forest. There she speaks happily with Orlok the Blind before giving him the basket, taking last week¡¯s one and returning merrily to the village. Orlok is friendly and kind to the townsfolk but most of them are afraid of him for the gaping holes in his head where his eyes used to be. Some say the crows that frequent the area are his real eyes, they say that he sees all they see and that he is watching the town from afar for some nefarious purpose. There are few visitors to the area and fewer still know anything about crows but every once in a while, Armin, the veterinarian will visit and he will note that these crows have eyes much brighter than any ordinary crow¡¯s eyes. Eyes that are strangely gold.


    In truth Orlok is a sorcerer who cuts out his eyes each week and puts them into his crows. Each week his eyes grow back again only for him to remove them before Grisselda arrives. He watches over the village and uses his sorcery to ensure peaceful weather and a calm harvest, never telling of his macabre practises with the crows.


    There is a knock on his door and his crows see the messenger standing there. He opens it and welcomes him in.


    ¡°I cannot stay long,¡± the messenger says, he still has seven more sorcerers to visit all before Kulrod reaches the Tower. ¡°But the Arbiter summons you for the Council of Ten.¡±


    Orlok nods. ¡°It will be interesting to meet that new boy. The Beastkeeper aye. Has he figured out my trick with the eyes yet?¡± But the messenger is already gone. Orlok sniffs in annoyance and begins to pack his things for the long journey.


    The ocean raged beneath the endless storm and the captain screamed at his men to hoist the sail, to lower the sail, to row harder, to stop rowing. In the midst of it all the messenger moved. He had not been on the ship when it set sail and he would not be on it when it made port, if it ever made port. But he was on it now, and he was carrying a box. There were a lot of boxes and barrels and drums on the ship and someone hiding behind another one was barely noticed in all the chaos. As he wove through the fray he thought that perhaps Kulrod would be better suited to delivering this message, he wouldn¡¯t have had to go through all these extra steps. The messenger shrugged, it didn¡¯t matter, he¡¯d done this many times before, he was becoming practised at it now.


    He reached the side of the boat and waited as the ship rocked in the waves. Waited, waited, until they were right over where he needed them to be. Then he threw it, and the box crashed into the sea, disappearing immediately and sinking as its heavy load dragged it to the ocean floor.


    Bara saw it sinking, a black smudge in the black ocean. She stood up from her rocky seat and drifted over toward it, weighed down by the jewellery she¡¯d crafted. Jewellery that was impossible to wear on the surface where it was too heavy but not down here. She looked up as she drifted along the ocean floor and found the ship. It was possible that they were simply losing cargo by accident, or dumping it for some other reason, but she doubted it. Boxes that sank like that were often for her.


    She reached it and broke it open with a rock, inside was an anchor with a note tied to it. The Arbiter was summoning her again. She cast off her jewellery, leaving it by her cave, and willed the rushing water to send her speeding away.


    Above her the captain breathed a sigh of relief as the storm mysteriously moved off.


    Eisen trod carefully, sensitive not to walk on any of the many mushrooms blooming across the ground. This was where things started to get truly impressive, Kulrod had a long way to go before he could match the presence of the next few sorceresses.


    Emani was tending her Red Scorn mushrooms when he found her. She¡¯d made him learn the names of all of them at one council meeting and he hadn¡¯t had the courage to refuse, besides it might come in useful someday. The Red Scorn mushrooms didn¡¯t look much like mushrooms, more like an explosion of spiralling blood, frozen in soft mushroom form. Emani¡¯s long fingernails carefully guided away the growths that threatened other fungi and from her hands dripped the water she had turned her blood into. She grew her favourite fungi on her body, nurturing them with her own flesh and blood, turned through sorcerous magics into all that they needed.


    She heard him approach and stood up to look down at him, towering on a carpet of swaying tubers, her eyes cold and heartless, surrounded by her crown of fungi. He was a human, an animal, and therefore, to her, a disappointment. Less disappointing than most though since he knew all the names.


    ¡°Red Scorn,¡± he indicated, hoping to curry favour by demonstrating his memory.


    She smiled but it only made her look more cruel. ¡°The council is summoned?¡± she asked and he nodded. Then he left, as fast as he could and for him that was saying something.


    The worst part, Eisen thought, for fetching Loraila, was the screams. The stench of the bog he could handle, the sticky ground and looming danger of quicksand he was okay with. The silent shadows that lurked in the trees and the whooshing ones that soared overhead he could ignore. But the screams, they were just too loud, too horrible. Some of them were human, men she fed to her monsters after she¡¯d lured them there. But some were the screams of the monsters themselves, monsters that had failed to come out right and were in constant pain. Those were the worst screams Eisen thought, those were the ones that made him almost turn and leave. But he didn¡¯t, he was the messenger, and he had a message to deliver.


    Loraila lived in a cottage as well although hers was sunken into the mud and had one of the winged beasts scowling on top of it. Inside there were tunnels and warrens dug into the mud and filled with all manner of her human and inhuman experiments. When the winged beast saw him picking his way out of the trees it howled an inhuman howl and the messenger stopped to wait. That was the other thing he disliked about Loraila, she made him wait. He could go into her cottage to get her, but he wasn¡¯t going in there unless he had a quick way out and of course, as luck would have it, he didn¡¯t. So, he waited and eventually she emerged.


    As mad bog witches went Loraila looked relatively normal other than being covered in mud, blood and no clothes whatsoever. She was a sorceress, so she wasn¡¯t old or ugly but Eisen still found her incredibly unsettling. The huge butcher¡¯s knife she was holding and the unidentifiable monster perched on her shoulder didn¡¯t help.


    ¡°You have been summoned by the Arbiter for the Council of Ten.¡±


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Loraila nodded vigorously, upsetting the monster on her shoulder. She did everything vigorously, much to the concern of Eisen. He began to pick his way away from the cottage while she went to go get cleaned up. Surprisingly she relished her chances to go out with the other sorcerers and always dressed up for the occasion but Eisen could never unsee her manic depravity no matter what nice clothes she was wearing.


    The pyramid was huge and Eisen swore it got bigger every time. Luckily with his methods he never had to navigate the whole thing, quickly reaching the chambers of Pyra, the Scarab Queen. The guards, their armour ornately decorated with scarabs eventually let him into the huge throne room. The vast ornamentations of scarabs and suns stared down at him and Pyra sat high above him, decked out in her full arraignment of robes and jewellery and headdresses. Her golden eyes matched perfectly with the gold of her clothes and throne room and pierced deep into him.


    A servant wrapped in a robe offered him some water but he brushed them away, he had a schedule to keep, and it was hot here. Far too hot for him to want to stay long.


    ¡°The Arbiter summons you to the Council of Ten,¡± he said in the local language, struggling his way through the pronunciations. He was good at it by most standards, but Pyra¡¯s standards were far from most.


    ¡°I will make haste,¡± she replied in the same language.


    ¡°But my queen,¡± one of the nobles standing around began. Eisen hadn¡¯t even noticed them before, such was the glory of the throne and the queen. ¡°We have yet to settle the disputes with-¡°


    The queen raised her hand for silence and the noble stopped. ¡°I will not be gone long and the meetings of the council are far more important than any disputes with our petty neighbours.¡±


    Eisen backed away while they were distracted and disappeared out the corridor, he had been in the pyramid long enough.


    The clansmen sat in the rain huddled muttering to each other as they cleaned off their weapons. They muttered about the clan, they muttered about the chieftain, and most importantly they muttered about the Breygas, their rivals who were finally weakening. They muttered about the war perhaps coming to a close and about returning to see their families again.


    One of the watchers saw a rider atop one of the peaks beneath them, outlined against the dreary misty sky. The other watchers gathered and readied their weapons, it was one rider, there was no need to alert the whole camp.


    The rider crested another peak and this time they saw his full silhouette and the great bearded axe he carried. He was coming on full speed but they were still unconcerned, they merely dug in their spears and braced for his impact. They got it.


    Almost all the spears impaled either him or his horse but that seemed to be of little concern to either of them. With several spears protruding from him the rider cut down the now unarmed watchers and rode all over them. Then he carried on into the camp, one of the watchers cried a warning and the camp rose to meet him but he relished it. Ripping the spears from his body he leapt into the fray and swung about with his axe. The clansmen were hardened warriors and many of their strokes found home, a normal foe would have fallen many times over but he didn¡¯t fall.


    They began to press in on him, trying to surround him in a wall of shields but he was too fast, too strong, too ruthless, as he laid into them. There were shouts and screams and wails of pain but eventually all grew silent as the man walked slowly back to his horse, decapitating a groaning survivor on the way. He pulled some spears out of the horse who looked at him with dead glassy eyes, it was long dead too, just like Kulrod¡¯s beasts.


    He spun around to see a lone figure standing in the middle of the camp looking at him. He dropped into a throwing stance with one of the spears but the figure spoke first. It was a strange accent for the language but he spoke it almost flawlessly.


    ¡°The Arbiter summons you to the Council of Ten, Breyga Forebear of the Clan.¡±


    Breyga lowered his spear and nodded. ¡°Messenger,¡± he said happily. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to see you again so soon.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s been eight years.¡±


    Breyga chuckled. ¡°I am old messenger, old enough to remember when-¡°


    Eisen left before he could begin another one of his ridiculously long stories. Breyga didn¡¯t care and told it anyway.


    The Culler sat atop the mountain in her monastery surrounded by the silence in which she meditated. She had no hair or clothes apart from her brown robes tied to her waist with a simple chord. Despite being one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world she had nothing, for that was what she wanted, nothing.


    The messenger walked through the plants in the mountains to the monastery. It was strange hearing no birds singing, no cicadas chirping, no animals of any kind. They didn¡¯t call her the Culler for nothing.


    She heard him of course, he would have ruined her meditation no doubt. Something that was only slightly worrying. Luckily, she seemed nice and showed no outward signs of wanting to cull him. Personally he didn¡¯t think she wanted to be a part of the council as it interfered with her meditation but her and the Arbiter were old friends and the Arbiter insisted he fetch her every time.


    ¡°I am summoned?¡± she asked, not moving from her seat on the floor.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Eisen replied nodding even though she wasn¡¯t facing him. She didn¡¯t move so he turned and left, trying to be as quiet as possible.


    The last message, Eisen knew, even Kulrod could not deliver. For Thagred, the Mole, lived deep deep underground. Technically Eisen could get there if he really wanted to but he never had. His family had been messengers for generations and one of the fundamental tenets they¡¯d passed down was to never make Thagred think his underground fortress wasn¡¯t completely secure.


    It wasn¡¯t of course, but Thagred wasn¡¯t exactly sane and shattering his illusions could only have bad results. So instead Eisen¡¯s ancestors had set up a different system.


    He walked up to the solid stone bell with the stone circle beneath it. The stone circle was beginning to show cracks, he hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to spend the next eight years replacing it. The circle was only the top of a pillar that went far into the earth. Not all the way to the fortress of course but still very far. Replacing it was a nightmare.


    Eisen checked the sky, it was night in this part of the world, but he could still read the stars to determine the time. It had been less than an hour since he¡¯d met with Kulrod. He grinned his rare smile.


    He pulled a lever and the stone bell slammed down onto the pillar shaking the earth. He heaved it up and did it again, and again. The bell was heavy, and he was already exhausted, so he heaved it up one more time and locked it in place. Then he rested for a few minutes, feeling the pain in his arms subside. Being a messenger didn¡¯t usually involve such physical labour. He stood up and stretched then walked for about a minute, arriving at the Tower of the Arbiter on the opposite side of the world and opened a book to wait for Kulrod.


    The Arbiter sat at the council table, the deck of cards before her. She wore mundane clothes and had mundane grey hair. Her face was lined as even for a sorceress she was old. Slowly the council began to arrive.


    Kulrod, Beastkeeper of the Eastlands walked in looking annoyed about something. Orlok the Blind followed, one of his crows perched on his shoulder. Next came Bara of the Deep, still dripping wet from her underwater home. Behind her glided Emani, Garden Tender, her fungal body towering over them all. Loraila, Nightmare Breeder, came next, wearing an elaborate white dress with white jewellery that was probably made of bone. Following her was Pyra, the Scarab Queen, she had dispensed with her usual extreme clothing for a slightly more reasonable travelling outfit, still arrayed in gold though. Next was Breyga, Forebear of the Clan, finally finished his story and the long journey here. Then the Culler, walking lightly and smoothly to her seat, the others only shying away from her a little bit. Then Thagred the Mole, rough and dirty with a ragged black beard and his bag of chisels and tools strung across his shoulder.


    ¡°Welcome,¡± the Arbiter said when they were all seated. ¡°Thank you for heeding my summons.¡± She began to deal out the cards, they were ornate cards, old cards, cards full of magic. When all the cards were dealt the Arbiter turned over the first one.


    Monolith


    The sorcerers looked closely at the card. The Monolith represented strength and endurance it was said, but there were dark undertones to monoliths. Kulrod turned over the next card.


    Bird


    The sorcerers eyed each other now, but they said nothing yet. The bird represented freedom and expression, some of them were more interested in that than others. Orlok turned over the next card.


    Bird


    They all moved but the Culler moved fastest.


    ¡°Snap!¡±

 The Burning of the Deepwood

    The Deepwood burned, ancient trees as old as the world wreathed in fire. Biting, crackling, burning fire, seeping away at their bark, at their leaves, at their blood. The winds howled and the forest screamed in pain but the fire roared right back. Its fury would not be quenched, its hunger would not be sated until all the forest had been turned to ash in its wake.


    Before the fire flitted the Fiefling, darting forward and back on its cloven hooves. It¡¯s skin like smouldering wood spraying out sparks to grow the flames behind it. It cackled to itself as it darted, loosed from the realm of its master to cleanse the Deepwood. Behind it flitted the Night Fairy, a rapier fashioned by gnomes in her hand. The Fiefling was fast but she was faster and eventually she caught it and plunged the rapier through its back. It let out a yelp, waving its arms in the air, then it collapsed, its smouldering light fading.


    Alfy, the Night Fairy, stopped and panted in exhaustion, sweat coating her body. For three days she had hunted the Fiefling and now she had finally caught it. First, Nian Ra, the Glade Queen had set her on its tail back in Gladsbrook. Then she had followed its ashen wake along the Star Cliffs, seeing all the trees burnt in its path. She¡¯d caught up to the tail of the fire yesterday at Rutterhill and then after two days of non-stop chasing had finally killed it here at the edge of the Deepwood, outside Raharus. The sparks from the Fiefling were starting to ignite and the roaring blaze was beginning to catch up with her again. She could feel its terrible heat cloaking her body, making her sweat even more. The sword felt clammy and loose in her hands and she wanted to drop it. She wanted to just collapse and fall asleep. But the roaring fire told her that would be a bad idea. It had been one thing to kill the Fiefling, that hadn¡¯t been too difficult. Fieflings and fairies were about the same size and shape and fairies were much faster. But it would be another thing entirely to put the fire out. She looked at the blaze drawing nearer and wanted more than anything to collapse before it. For the first time since she¡¯d left, she missed her old home in the Elder Tree.


    Solurghis, the Great Frog sat at the bottom of his murky river watching with big glassy eyes. He couldn¡¯t see much of the fire through all the mud, but he could feel it. The water was hot, too hot. Some of the fish had found it unbearable and swam away, others had simply curled up in muddy corners and died. Solurghis had had Memri fetch their corpses for him to eat while he sat in his own muddy corner holding the heat at bay with his water magics. The others of his brood had already died, their huge bloated bodies needed to be kept cool from the water and with it heating up they had all fallen leaving only him and the pitiful Memri who he bullied into fetching food for him while he kept them both cool enough to live. He hadn¡¯t started eating the other Great Frogs yet, it seemed wrong, even to him. But he had long decided that he would do it rather than starve. Who knew, perhaps they would be delicious?


    A voice floated down through all the mud and water, a beautiful voice singing a beautiful song. He recognised the song of course, it was the Night Fairy, that new adventurer who was going around becoming popular with all the creatures of the Deepwood. Solurghis grumbled to himself, he didn¡¯t want to leave his nice cool corner of the river. It wasn¡¯t easy keeping it cool all the time, if he left and went up to the surface he was likely to bake in the roaring flames up there. The Night Fairy kept singing. Memri looked up at him with her curious pitiful eyes. You didn¡¯t ignore the Night Fairy, they said. Not if you wanted her help with anything and everyone always wanted her help. Solurghis had already gotten her to fetch a few things for him for his magics and he¡¯d even paid her handsomely to kill Ghorizog, the Tyrant of the River and his old master in the water magics. He hadn¡¯t actually seen her kill Ghorizog, although he¡¯d found the body afterwards. Who knew, perhaps she¡¯d be able to kill him?


    Solurghis grumbled and floated his way up to the surface, struggling to maintain his bubble of cool water around him. Memri floated along with him, squeezing her stunted form into the bubble of cool water as best she could. They breached the surface and the Great Frog raised his eyes and mouth out of the water where he immediately felt the heat. The mud and water dripped off him and he felt himself begin to bake before the roar of the fire. His eyes were the first to feel the pain as they began to dry out forcing him to lick them with great gulping slurps.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said between slurps. ¡°What is it¡­ that you want¡­?¡±


    Alfy hovered above him, her thin tiny form buzzing there, holding her rapier casually by her side. To Solurghis the rapier wasn¡¯t very big but it was still intimidating, especially with his eyes so close to it. ¡°We must put out the fire before the entire forest is destroyed,¡± Alfy said, no longer panting as heavily as she had been earlier.


    Solurghis grumbled. ¡°Why should I care¡­ the fire will not reach the river¡­¡±


    Alfy grew angry at that but Solurghis couldn¡¯t see it, he could barely see anything. ¡°The fire will destroy the river as it destroys everything else,¡± she said cooly, maintaining her composure. ¡°There will be no leaves or plants or creatures falling into the river for you and yours to eat. Ash and burned branches will fill it until you cannot see or swim or taste. Smoke will fill the air and you will be unable to breathe when you come to the surface. This fire affects everything, not just us Great Frog, the forest is all connected and-¡°


    ¡°Yes yes¡­ yes¡­ I suppose,¡± Solurghis grumbled. ¡°What should I do then¡­? I can hardly fight the whole forest fire by myself¡­¡±


    Alfy frowned. ¡°Use your water magics to put out as much as you can. I can fetch anything you need to make your magic stronger.¡±


    Solurghis was finding it difficult to think now, such was the pain of the heat. He ducked back down to cloak himself in the cooling water then re-emerged. It was even worse the second time. ¡°I cannot put out much of the fire¡­ My magic isn¡¯t strong enough to fight an entire-¡°


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± Alfy said nonchalantly. ¡°I¡¯m sure Ghorizog could have done it.¡±


    Solurghis grew furious. ¡°I- you-¡­ I-!¡°


    ¡°What do you need Great Frog? More of the Red Mirkweed? Another Moon Lotus?¡±


    The Great Frog simmered in his scalding lake. If he was going to work for the Night Fairy like this he may as well get something worthwhile out of it. Something that might actually allow him to put out the fire but either way would increase his magics tenfold. ¡°There is an old stone idol¡­, the Frogstone¡­, an ancient artefact of my kind¡­. It was stolen from Ghorizog years ago¡­ by gnomes and is now in one of their filthy caves guarded by a rock manticore... With that I can stop your fire¡­ But without it there¡¯s only so much I can do¡­¡±


    Alfy looked at him quietly, he swore she was only doing it to prolong how long he had to stay out of the water. ¡°Get started on the so much you can do. I¡¯ll be back with your Frogstone as soon as I can.¡± Then she was gone, flitting away between the fires.


    Solurghis sank back into his river and sighed. He would get started at some point, but first he had to recover. Then he had to have lunch.


    Alfy sped through the burning forests to the Star Cliffs where the fire had already petered out. Now there was nothing there but stumps and ash. Here and there a few gnomes forlornly dug through the ash, searching for lost belongings, finding none. Alfy flitted over the top of them, heading to the caves. She hoped Solurghis would keep his word and begin cleansing some of the fire. She really should have gotten him to start sooner but she¡¯d been so busy stopping the Fiefling. She still hadn¡¯t slept and wasn¡¯t feeling confident about taking on a manticore. But she had to try, didn¡¯t she? Wasn¡¯t that what she was supposed to do? Her mind drew mostly blanks. She was so tired¡­


    Eventually she landed at the cave of Riddison, the gnomish blacksmith who¡¯d made her rapier. She staggered inside, struggling to maintain her composure and called out to him. He turned from his desk and by the time he saw her she was standing straight up again, feigning awareness.


    ¡°Alfy,¡± he said in surprise. ¡°You look terrible. Are you-¡°


    ¡°There¡¯s no time,¡± she interrupted. ¡°I need to put out this fire and I need the Frogstone to do it.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The Frogstone, it¡­ it¡¯s a¡­¡± Alfy¡¯s tired mind struggled to find words.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Is this to do with Solurghis?¡± Ridderson asked, beginning to grasp what was happening. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t trust him Alfy, he¡¯s not-¡°


    ¡°He¡¯s the only one who can do anything about the fire!¡± she shouted, exasperated. ¡°Maybe you haven¡¯t noticed but the forest is burning down and we need to do something about it and he¡¯s a water wizard!¡± She started panting again as she stumbled to the end of the sentence.


    ¡°Yes but-¡°


    ¡°He says your people stole an idol from his people years ago. Claims he needs it to put out the fire. Apparently it¡¯s guarded by a rock manticore, do you know where it is?¡±


    ¡°Well no but-¡°


    ¡°Thank you, that was all I wanted to know!¡± Alfy turned to leave but Ridderson shouted for her stop. She tried not to but she did, her body was looking for any excuse to stop.


    ¡°Alfy there might be another way,¡± Ridderson said quietly. ¡°A way to put the fire out I mean.¡±


    ¡°Then why,¡± Alfy asked spinning back around menacingly. ¡°Have you not already done it!?¡±


    ¡°Well, because, it¡¯s forbidden. And there¡¯ll be consequences.¡±


    ¡°Consequences worse than losing the entire forest?¡±


    ¡°Well no¡­ well maybe¡­ but¡­¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this,¡± she turned to go but Ridderson was too quick.


    ¡°Take this,¡± he said ripping a stone ring from his hand and pressing it into hers. It was cold, to cold and when it touched her she saw a dread monolith towering over her, sucking everything warm and good and alive right out of her. Then she blinked and it was gone, probably a figment of her tired imagination. She looked at the ring, it was completely unadorned by gems or anything but in the very corner there was a tiny carving of a bird.


    ¡°A bird?¡± she asked.


    Ridderson frowned. ¡°There¡¯s no bird. That¡¯s a ring of Qinar, the Resolute. He can probably save the forest.¡±


    ¡°Probably!¡±


    ¡°Well he will keep his word, unlike Solurghis! You can¡¯t just-¡°


    Alfy left, Ridderson reached after her but she was already long gone and unlike fairies and fieflings, gnomes are not faster than raging wildfire. He didn¡¯t bother chasing her and went back to his desk. ¡°Look after yourself Alfy,¡± he said sadly. ¡°There¡¯s only so many people you can help before you need to start helping yourself.¡±


    The manticore looked terrifying. It was a huge stone gargoyle in the shape of a thin coiling lion. Easily as big as a horse it was covered in spikes, from its tail all the way along its back and up to its mane which was an enormous crown of jagged stony death surrounding its face which was asleep. Alfy was glad of that, also slightly jealous.


    She¡¯d learned of the location of the cave from Argomela, the gnome queen. Initially Argomela had been unwilling to divulge the location of such a secret cave but Alfy and her rapier had been extremely persuasive. So now here she was, creeping around the great manticore toward the back of the cave. As she crept, she noticed it had wings, huge stone things she¡¯d mistaken for the cavern walls initially. They were enormous batlike things that wrapped all the way around the roof, meaning she had to creep under them. There were also huge claws to creep around and the jagged spined tail that curled its way through the cavern. She was quiet though, she was tiny compared to it so it wasn¡¯t too difficult.


    She reached the back of the cave and sure enough there was the idol. It was small, which was fortunate, else it would have been difficult for her to carry, and as idols go it wasn¡¯t particularly good. More of a misshapen rock in roughly the shape of the frog than the great magical artefact she was expecting. Nonetheless she picked it up and began to creep slowly back toward the manticore. Then it spoke and she froze. Its voice was deep and powerful, filling the cave with terrible echoes and rumblings.


    ¡°You,¡± it said slowly. ¡°Are not a gnome.¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Alfy squeaked as it slid about in the cavern. Its huge stone form sliding along the sides of the cave until it turned to face her, crowned in its great jagged mane.


    ¡°You are a fairy,¡± it said with no emotion. ¡°Bearing my master¡¯s ring.¡± That phrase had emotion, curiosity of all things which was much preferable to the wrath she was expecting.


    ¡°Um¡­ yes¡­ I was given it though, I- I didn¡¯t take it¡­¡±


    ¡°You were given it by a gnome?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡±


    ¡°They always were too fond of fairies. My master never reprimanded them for it but perhaps I should.¡±


    ¡°Do you want the ring back or¡­?¡± Alfy offered.


    ¡°I have no use for the ring, just as I have no use for that ridiculous idol. I am merely following a sacred duty passed down to me.¡±


    ¡°What sacred duty?¡±


    ¡°The gnomes live in great fear of the frogs for reasons which are beyond me. Hence they have summoned me to care for their stolen idol and prevent it from falling into the hands of Ghorizog.¡±


    Alfy struggled to hide a small smile. ¡°Ghorizog is dead. I killed him.¡±


    The manticore smiled, revealing even more spikes all through its mouth. ¡°Then I am free.¡± It began the process of turning back around, coiling and writhing its way through the cave with many scrapings and scratchings. It walked to the mouth of the cave and looked out onto the burning forest. Alfy walked under its wing and stood beside it, holding her newly obtained idol.


    ¡°I am told fairies rarely leave the Elder Tree,¡± the manticore said. ¡°They flitter about, singing and dancing and very rarely venture off to places as dangerous as here. Has the Elder Tree burned down?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Alfy replied searching for her old home in the darkness of the forest before her. She found it, still there, still with all her old family.


    ¡°So why are you here? Why not sing and dance and leave the worries of the world to other creatures?¡±


    ¡°I am the Night Fairy,¡± she replied ruffling her wings which were black as night, not like the other fairies who all had colourful wings to light up the day. ¡°I don¡¯t need the Elder Tree anymore.¡±


    The manticore nodded, but it wasn¡¯t convinced. ¡°Are you sure, you look very tired. Perhaps you should-¡°


    Alfy flew away, she¡¯d heard enough of that from Ridderson already. As she flew she heard the great stone wings beating behind her and a rush of air as the huge beast took off into the sky. She didn¡¯t look back though, she didn¡¯t have time to be impressed.


    Solurghis was munching on a leg belonging to a frog called Skurmigi when Alfy got back. He had done nothing to put out the fire but he had discovered that the legs were by far the best part of a frog to eat so he was proud of himself. She called him up with her singing again but this time it was far more intense and even being unable to see much he could tell she was angry when he breached the surface.


    ¡°You have done nothing!¡± she shouted at him.


    ¡°Well¡­ I mean I-¡°


    She stabbed him then. It wasn¡¯t deep but it was painful and he hadn¡¯t felt pain like that since his old duels with Ghorizog. He howled in pain in his gargly way and then instinctively covered his nose where he¡¯d been stabbed with his hands.


    ¡°What was that f-¡°


    ¡°I have your idol, you are going to get to work immediately before I realise your uselessness and wipe out your entire pathetic species!¡±


    Solurghis would have liked to be angry but there was something about the rage of the Night Fairy that made him think better of it. He reached for the idol. Alfy was tired, so very tired at this point so she just dropped it. It splashed into the river and Solurghis sank to retrieve it but Memri got there first. Wrapping her tiny stunted form around it.


    ¡°No Memri, give me the idol,¡± Solurghis gurgled. He knew Memri wasn¡¯t the most intelligent of frogs but that was why she was still alive really. ¡°I need it to stop the fire I-¡°


    Memri gripped the idol tighter and he felt his skin begin to blister and burn as the water flowed out of it. He was surrounded by water but he couldn¡¯t touch it, it all flowed away and the mud flowed it, drying on his skin, caking onto it. He reached for his magics but there was no water to touch, no water to move, no water to control. Memri was controlling all of it.


    ¡°No-¡° he said weakly, floundering about, thrashing. The wound on his nose bled and there was water in that. Not much water, not nearly enough. But he used it anyway, thrusting it through the mud and water in a stream toward Memri. The smaller frog panicked and thrashed away but her stunted form was too slow and the stream flowed into her mouth and nose and eyes, constricting her lungs and choking her. But it was too late, his skin was already too dry and too caked with mud. He floated slowly to surface and looked up at Alfy with glassy eyes. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ he gurgled, feeling the heat of the fire again. ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Then the last of the frogs died and the Night Fairy looked on in horror.


    Alfy collapsed onto the bank and watched the two frogs floating in the river. It had all happened so fast and there had been nothing she could do. They were both dead and now nobody could use the idol. It had all been for nothing, the forest was burning and it would go on burning and there was nothing she could do to stop it.


    The monolith towered over her and she fell toward it, fell toward its inexorable pull.


    She blinked up at the burning forest and the river, red in the firelight. She slowly raised her hand to look at the ring.


    She touched the monolith and felt it drawing her in, stone closing around her with a grip stronger than anything, crushing her, breaking her, pulling her.


    The ring was in her hand, looking up at her. The Ring of Qinar. ¡°I can save the forest,¡± it said. ¡°But I will need something from you. Someday.¡±


    Alfy had left the Elder Tree. She didn¡¯t need it. She didn¡¯t need the protection of gods or demons she could live her life herself. But maybe she had been wrong. Maybe she had been wrong about everything.


    She plunged into the monolith.


    The forest stopped burning. All the fires died out almost instantly and the heat faded away. For how could the fire burn when all the trees it was burning were made of stone?

 The Oaken Court

    Lord Ramon Elkring, Ruler of the Hallowed Realm, Warden of the Coast, the Eastlands, Xith and the Deepwood, Head of the Oaken Court, and Victor at Stallwinds Crest looked at himself in the mirror as Vered, his tailor, adjusted his tunic. He was about to address the court today, the full court. It had been a long time since the full court had been assembled, he¡¯d only been a boy then, back when the Pirate Kings were sweeping in from the sea and they¡¯d needed to drive them back. Since then there hadn¡¯t been anything important enough to call the whole court.


    There had been his inauguration of course but some of the court members were untroubled by the changing of kings and refused to answer summons like that.


    Then there had been Wyrous, a barbarian out of the Eastlands who had amassed a formidable army and seemed unstoppable, wiping out ancient families who had held strong against the Eastlanders for centuries. The Rently¡¯s, unshaken by raids for the last fifty years had all but disappeared before him. Then he¡¯d driven the Caragar forces back to Carahall, only stopping when a mysterious noble girl offered him a marriage alliance and he¡¯d ceased his plundering. The Caragars had still been furious though and had insisted on warring with him but they were denied their revenge when he mysteriously died and peace was forced back upon the land.


    Then further trouble had arisen out of the Eastlands in the form of various sorcerers. That whole business had been even more mysterious as far as Ramon was concerned, supposedly there had been three of them running around at one point which was unheard of and would have definitely merited summoning the whole court had it turned out to be true. Apparently they¡¯d all disappeared as suddenly as they¡¯d appeared implying that they were naught but rumours, which were far more common than sorcerers anyway.


    But now there was the issue of Lord Farro and his uprising. He called it the Grand Uprising and Ramon was hearing that description more and more often among his own men. At first it had seemed like nothing significant, another small coalition of lords who were displeased with the direction he was taking the kingdom. They thought he should have been more tough on Wyrous and the sorcerers, they thought their taxes were too high, they thought the weather was miserable. He really wasn¡¯t sure what some of their complaints were but he hadn¡¯t been too concerned, sending only a small force to deal with them. That small force hadn¡¯t come back.


    So he¡¯d raised up an army, calling in lords and their men from around the land. Weapons and armour had been built and men had been conscripted from across the land. Then things had started to go wrong. Lord Sturken, one of Farro¡¯s allies had taken Raharus, a stronghold of a city built in ancient times to defend against monsters of the Deepwood. The city had fallen much faster than expected and Lord Sturken had rushed out to meet them despite Farro warning him to wait for their full force to be ready.


    Ramon¡¯s army had defeated Sturken at Stallwinds Crest but it had been a narrow thing and Farro¡¯s army was much bigger. Then his son, the fearsome Knight of Tongues, had angered the best blacksmith they¡¯d had and then they¡¯d both disappeared, chasing each other into the forest or something, Ramon wasn¡¯t exactly sure.


    Vered finished straightening the tunic and stepped back. Ramon nodded to him and they walked out to face the Oaken Court.


    The Oaken Court is so named for the great oak tree that grows through the centre of Castle Elkring, the windows and stone walls built seamlessly around it. It isn¡¯t dead but it hasn¡¯t moved or grown in centuries, frozen in place by some magic. The throne room ceiling is covered with its weaving branches and leaves while the roots stretch somewhere far below. Two old women hobbled into the court and took seats, they are Mother Magda and Gushkabel, two of the wisest witches in the Hallowed Realm. They are joined by Sireth, the head ranger from the Deepwood, usually he prefers to stand in the corner where he can see the whole room but today he has matters to discuss with them.


    ¡°A fiefling raged through the Deepwood not three days ago,¡± he said quietly.


    ¡°A fiefling?¡± Magda asked incredulous. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°You told me fieflings were a myth,¡± Gushkabel said to her fellow witch.


    ¡°I thought they were, are you sure it wasn¡¯t just a particularly bad fire?¡±


    Sireth unwrapped something from his cloak and the witches eyes went wide. It was a small lithe body not much bigger than the hand that held it made of burnt wood and ash. The dead body of a fiefling.


    Magda took it and wrapped it up in her own cloak. ¡°This is valuable, extremely valuable.¡±


    ¡°Why would there be a fiefling in the Deepwood?¡± Gushkabel asked.


    ¡°Raqos, the Fire Lord, is stirring. I will have to look into this.¡±


    Behind the three huddled on their seats the door is flung open and Gurren Skreed, Master of Ships, strolled in forcefully, his excessive blue cape billowing behind him. A notorious pirate in his youth Gurren was still distrusted by many. Magda bundled away the fiefling¡¯s corpse further into her cloak. Gurren ignored the ranger and witches and strode over to Eyr Ragoth, the beautiful Queen of Xith who faced him with her cold eyes. Long had Gurren wanted a marriage alliance with her but she was already married, not that that deterred him very much.


    ¡°My Lady,¡± he began. ¡°I hear you have been crowned Queen recently, I apologise for not attending the ceremony as I was not informed.¡±


    ¡°There was no ceremony,¡± she said quietly.


    Gurren gasped. ¡°No ceremony! Oh but you must have a ceremony, this is an exchange of power, an important part of history. I shall throw you a ceremony. I shall come to Xith and bring feasts and musicians and jugglers and servants and we shall throw the greatest ceremony your castle has ever seen.¡±


    Eyr was not impressed but sadly for her Gurren was not concerned by this and continued describing his ceremony.


    Meanwhile the other Royal Masters entered together and moved off to sit by themselves. Gurren embarrassed them and they took every opportunity to distance themselves as much as possible. This time though they weren¡¯t concerned with him and were much more concerned with the war. They had been planning and organising things all day, in their view they didn¡¯t need the rest of the court, concerned as they were with magics and fell creatures. In the end they figured it was them who had to find the money and the men and organise the army and feed it and keep everyone working together while the others all messed about with their strange ideas.


    They were right in the middle of a heated conversation concerning the transport of men from Castle Caragar to Castle Huskron when they noticed Peppers, the Queen of Fools, listening to their conversation. They noticed her because she stuck her painted face between theirs and looked from one to the other, the bells on her hat jangling.


    As little as they respected the other members of the court they respected Peppers less and they were not shy about saying so. Peppers just grinned maniacally at their insults and laughed, bouncing away on the balls of her feet.


    They¡¯d gotten through one more sentence of discussion before Deagon Collett, Master of Coin, noticed that all ten of his rings were missing and groaned in annoyance before following Peppers to get them back. When he caught up with her she held up the rings and smiled.


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    ¡°If you want them back you¡¯re going to have to do something for me,¡± she said happily.


    Deagon rolled his eyes. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    Peppers thought about it much harder than was probably necessary. Deagon had never seen someone put so much effort into just thinking. ¡°I want you to sell all of the mines in the Black Mountains to raise funds for our little war.¡± She tapped her nose as though the war shaking the realm was just a secret between the two of them.


    Deagon snorted in derision, then thought about the suggestion, looking for anything wrong with it. ¡°Um... Nobody wants to buy those mines, they haven¡¯t been profitable for years.¡± He smiled to himself, that was true, no way was he taking a fool¡¯s suggestion.


    Peppers just smiled wider. ¡°Oh but those mines have far more than just precious minerals in them. There¡¯s picks and shovels and guards all bristling with weapons. Not to mention they all look very easy to defend.¡±


    Deagon frowned. ¡°You think someone would want to hide in them?¡±


    ¡°There is a war going on. I¡¯m sure you could find some wealthy merchants who¡¯d love to have their own guards and mountain fortresses.¡±


    Deagon snatched back his rings, some of them fell to the floor and he scowled. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it.¡± He picked up his rings and walked back to the others, cursing the fool for thinking of an idea to raise money before he thought of it.


    The doors swung open once more and Lord Ramon Elkring walked in followed by Vered the tailor. He wasn¡¯t just a tailor though, he was the king¡¯s principle advisor as well as the Master of the Court. It was him who was in charge of sending for all of them wherever they might be. Deagon wondered where he found some of these people, Peppers for example.


    Ramon sat on the throne and the others filed into their seats. Vered looked at them all and scowled at Magda.


    ¡°I did not summon you,¡± he said thinly.


    ¡°She comes with me,¡± Gushkabel said. ¡°Think of her as an... apprentice.¡±


    Magda¡¯s eyes grew wide in annoyance but everyone ignored her.


    Vered shrugged. ¡°Very well, we are still missing one though. Where is Willow?¡±


    Nobody answered, Vered scowled.


    ¡°The hour grows late Vered,¡± the King said from his throne. ¡°We begin now, Willow will come.¡±


    Vered nodded and retreated to his seat. People began speaking over each other before he got there.


    ¡°We must face Farro as soon as possible before he-¡±


    ¡°We must bide our time, we can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°There are disturbing reports from-¡±


    ¡°So as I was saying, this ceremony-¡±


    ¡°Silence!¡± Vered screamed and they quieted. ¡°It has been a long time since this court has met, some of you have never been with us before. We have an order with which we must do things.¡±


    There were nods of agreement and mutterings of assent. This was no way to conduct a meeting of this importance.


    ¡°You will speak one at a time and allow each other to speak, but first, the King.¡±


    ¡°Thank you Vered,¡± Ramon said sagely. ¡°As you all know Lord Farro has mustered a significant army. One far greater than any of us expected, so you are all gathered here to offer whatever help you can in preventing this kingdom from falling into his hands. Gushkabel, what do your totems say?¡±


    The court looked to Gushkabel who did not look pleased. ¡°My totems were destroyed in the Fire of Karasar. I can no longer see the future with much clarity.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d not be able to see the future at all without my help,¡± Magda muttered but was silenced by a withering glare from Vered.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s something, what can you see in the future?¡±


    ¡°Nothing that helps us with this war.¡±


    ¡°If I may speak,¡± Deagon began and no one stopped him. ¡°Relying on these prophecies and totems seems far from reliable. We should be discussing matters of logistics. We have men to move, to arm, to train. Can these totems help with that?¡±


    Gushkabel shook her head. ¡°Not the totems we possess.¡±


    Magda¡¯s hand curled around the lump in her cloak with the fiefling. They didn¡¯t possess any totems yet, but they could make one now. It wouldn¡¯t be useful for training though, only for destruction.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t discount magic too readily Coinmaster,¡± Queen Eyr said quietly. ¡°If Farro has access to anything magical we will want magic of our own to combat it.¡±


    Ramon nodded. ¡°Yes, what can the forces of Xith provide us my Lady?¡±


    ¡°We have various... creatures. Those can be used in war to great effect, they are being outfitted now. As for magic we have none that extends beyond the borders of our castle and that is far from any path Farro will take.¡±


    ¡°What sort of creatures?¡± Gurren asked curiously. They had all heard the myths of the monsters of Xith and many of them were curious to hear which ones were true.


    Queen Eyr just shrugged. ¡°You will see.¡±


    ¡°Well I have no magic,¡± Peppers said happily. ¡°But I hear there¡¯s a lot of magic going on in the Deepwood.¡± She looked at Sireth.


    Sireth looked uncomfortable. ¡°The Deepwood was set on fire by something magical. It was unrelated to Farro though.¡±


    ¡°How bad was the damage?¡± Vered asked.


    ¡°Well the fire itself was looking fairly unstoppable, the magic that drove it was powerful. But then half the trees in the forest were turned to stone by some other magic. I¡¯m still looking into both but I am confident neither of them were related to Farro, and I am similarly confident that neither of them will be much use to us.¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± Bariel, the Master of Arms cried. ¡°All this talk of magic is getting us nowhere. It¡¯s all destroyed or hidden away or unreliable! What use is this to us?¡±


    ¡°That is the sad nature of magic my friend,¡± Vered said. ¡°But if Farro has any magic of his own, especially anything powerful enough to affect the Deepwood, we will need magic to combat it.¡±


    ¡°Fortunately our spies and reports indicate that he has nothing magical whatsoever,¡± the King said. ¡°Only men and weapons and those are all things we can handle, things that behave, reliably.¡±


    There was a collective sigh of relief across the room. Even Peppers seemed happier which hadn¡¯t seemed possible. Then the doors behind them slammed open again and a voice rang out.


    ¡°No.¡± They spun to see a tall thin woman walking toward them. ¡°Farro does have magic.¡±


    ¡°Who the fuck are you?¡± Gurren asked, reverting to his pirate¡¯s tongue.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Vered said thinly, walking toward their visitor. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you must be in the wrong place as the only other person who should be here is Willow and you are clearly not her.¡±


    ¡°Willow is dead,¡± the woman said harshly.


    Vered looked shocked. ¡°How did-?¡±


    ¡°She felt her own death coming and so she left my castle to live out her last days in the Eastlands. There Kulrod found her and tortured her into revealing how his magic sword worked.¡± The woman glared at Gushkabel. ¡°If only someone with powerful magic had stopped him before he¡¯d gotten that sword.¡±


    Gushkabel decided she didn¡¯t like this woman.


    The woman looked back at Vered. ¡°I am the Witch Queen Nath and I represent Willow and the East and I have come to tell you that Farro does indeed possess magic.¡±


    ¡°What sort of magic?¡± the King asked.


    ¡°A totem? A sorcerer?¡± Gushkabel asked. ¡°Some sort of weapon?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Nath replied. ¡°A phoenix.¡±


    The witches drew back in surprise. Magda clutched her fiefling even tighter. Eyr looked curious and everyone else looked confused.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± the King asked.


    ¡°It means,¡± Gushkabel said slowly. ¡°That we may have bigger problems than just a Grand Uprising.¡±


    Ashwyn had been a unicorn once, a noble guardian of the Deepwood, blessed by the Fae Gods of Spring and Glade. Then her horn had been torn from her head by the fiefling and her skin had been burned by its fires. Now she didn¡¯t know what she was but she felt a great kinship with this man. This man who was lying bleeding beneath a pile of corpses on an abandoned battlefield. She pushed the corpses off with her nose and hooves and dragged the man out. He looked dead. He was dead in fact. Cut down by the Knight of Tongues just days ago. Ashwyn had been separated from him in the battle and it had taken her this long, nosing through all the piles of corpses to find him again. She nosed his head and breathed on him. Whinnying right into his face.


    Very slowly he opened his eyes, but they weren¡¯t eyes anymore, just glowing orbs of fire. The Ash Knight died, killed mundanely by the Knight of Tongues on the battlefield. But dying mundanely is only the first step in the life cycle of the phoenix. Duren climbed to his feet, heat radiating off him. Now it was time to rise from the ashes.

 The Thing in the Amber

    In the Sunset Swamp in the Deepwood there is a hut where Kelly the Hermit lives. Kelly is a strange man with a long winding beard and a long winding staff both entwined with pieces of amber. The Sunset Swamp is full of amber, the trees and magic grow it and it seeps into the landscape, glowing in the sunset. The swamp is also full of bees which feed on the lotuses and swamp orchids that festoon the mud and amber of the swamp. Kelly tends to both the bees and amber, keeping the hives well fed and healthy by treating his bees and dredging up amber from the marshes to decorate the place. And so while he is covered in welts from many bee stings Kelly is happy in his beautiful swamp with amber chimes hanging from the trees and sparkling in the sun, sitting on his porch to the sound of bees.


    But all was not well forever in the Sunset Swamp. One day Ghorizog, the tyrannical Water Lord, a giant frog possessing powerful magics moved into the swamp. Kelly was sitting on his porch sipping swamp juice from a bowl when he saw the dark shape moving in the water. He leapt to his spindly feet and waved his staff at it.


    ¡°Begone foul creature!¡± he cried and flung the bowl at it. The bowl sank into the swamp with no effect.


    Ghorizog replied in a deep sonorous growl that echoed through the swamp and through the hut. ¡°I claim this swamp for myself, human, go back to the stinking city you crawled out of.¡±


    Kelly just shook his fist and muttered angrily to himself. Then he stalked inside angrily to think of what to do next. In his hut there was a huge block of amber, something that had been there before he¡¯d come, something he¡¯d built his whole hut around. He didn¡¯t know how far down into the mud it went and he didn¡¯t know how old it was or how long it had been sitting there. What he did know was that it made an excellent shiny wall and lit up beautifully in the sunset. He stared into its orange glow and thought hard about what to do next. No one had ever stood up to Ghorizog in the forest. He was feared throughout not just the Sunset Swamp but the entire Deepwood. There wasn¡¯t much Kelly could do about it, he had no magic or powers of his own, only his bees and his amber and even if he could get all the bees to cooperate they wouldn¡¯t be much good against the tyrant¡¯s magic.


    So he sat and thought and sipped another bowl of swamp juice and hoped Ghorizog would be kind to him. He wasn¡¯t.


    Over the next few days the waters in the swamp began to rise. They flooded Kelly¡¯s hut almost immediately but Kelly didn¡¯t mind. His hut had always leaked and he¡¯d been living in the damp swamp for too long to start caring now. But the bees minded. The hives he¡¯d been keeping on his porch had their lower levels flooded and many bees drowned before he moved them onto his roof. The hut wasn¡¯t built very well and no parts of it were really flat but the roof had the greatest slope of all and Kelly had to make some modifications quickly in order to put the hives up there and there wasn¡¯t a lot of space.


    He went back to his porch and stood in the water to shout at the dark shape beneath it once more. ¡°Ghorizog, you¡¯ve gone too far! Stop this at once before you wash away all the hives of all the bees who live in this swamp!¡±


    Ghorizog¡¯s only response was a deep gurgling sound which Kelly soon realised was merely him laughing. Kelly scowled and stalked back inside, there wasn¡¯t much else he could do.


    Over the next few days the waters rose higher and the beehives Kelly didn¡¯t tend, the wild ones on trees and stumps in the swamp, began to flood. Kelly tried moving them but they crumbled in his hands and some of the bees attacked him. He was forced to abandon them and watch as clouds of bees rose up from sinking hives. They flew off but so many of them were dead already. He sat on his wet porch and grew sad for there was nothing he could do.


    Eventually the night came and with it rains so he retreated inside where he stared up at the huge lump of amber and warmed himself with his little stove which he¡¯d managed to keep dry. The firelight flickered on the amber and he swore he could make out a shape in it, something shadowy and distant that was only really there in the light of the fire, something like the shape of a man.


    Kelly went to bed and put the stove out, plunging the room into darkness. The amber sat there, just a cold dark shape, watching him as he drifted off to sleep. In his sleep he was still sitting by the amber and the fire from the stove was brighter than it had ever been before, brighter than it should be. And the amber was glowing, flickering and dancing shapes moved through it in the firelight and the shapes spoke to him. They didn¡¯t use words, just the crackle and roar of the fire, but he understood them anyway, the Thing in the Amber made him understand.


    Far away Solurghis, the great apprentice to Ghorizog struck a deal with the Night Fairy. He paid her with many of the riches and much of the gold he¡¯d gathered in his rivers and lakes in exchange for the death of his tyrannical old master. Unbeknownst to Kelly, the Night Fairy flew to his swamp and taunted Ghorizog until he emerged from the waters in all his fury, bringing rains and huge spouts of water against her. She dodged them all and embedded her blade deep in his eye, filling him with a poison she¡¯d harvested from a cockatrice. He wallowed in pain for a while before dying and sinking to the bottom of the swamp. Kelly slept through it all, making deals to save his bees with the Thing in the Amber.


    The next day Kelly emerged to see his swamp ruined. In the battle Ghorizog had sprayed water all across the swamp, crushing hives and killing bees everywhere. Kelly raged at him from his porch, waving his staff and ranting and screaming at the shape in the water. The water was murky and it was impossible for him to tell that the great frog was dead already. Instead he simply received no reply and that only made him angrier. So he set about the preparations as he¡¯d been instructed. It took him days but the waters had stopped rising. He took that to mean that Ghorizog was waiting, watching to see what he¡¯d do, something which only made him more paranoid and desperate to finish his work.


    He took the driest wood he could find which wasn¡¯t very much and set about carving it. He¡¯d carved his staff and his hut and his beehives and knew something of carving wood, but this was far more finicky than any of those things had been. The basic shape of the body was simple but the face was lumpy and disfigured and the horns were difficult to get right. Toes would have been impossible but luckily he only had to make cloven hooves which weren¡¯t too difficult. Hardest, though, were the hands. He went through many pieces of wood, reducing them all to kindling before he got anything resembling fingers. He tied all the pieces of his model together with string and then tossed it into the stove which was flickering and glowing next to the amber. In the stove the figure burned, all of Kelly¡¯s hard work quickly going up in flames. But the Thing in the Amber wasn¡¯t having that. The shape that looked like a man grew darker, against the glowing stove Kelly could almost see its arms, its legs, its face. It stared into the fire and gave the burning model its blessing. From the realm of Raqos the Fire Lord and into the burning effigy came the fiefling.


    It crawled from the stove, dripping embers and ashes all across the wet floor and its eyes blazed with fury. The heat from its body set the water boiling and Kelly yelped in fright, climbing out of the way as fast as he could. Then it dropped into the water and with a terrible hiss that sounded something like a scream the water all billowed away in huge clouds of scalding vapour. Kelly cowered on his bed as his house filled with steam and the fiefling strolled outside, leaving tiny burned footprints in the wet floorboards. The waters of the swamp retreated before it but the trees were still too damp to burn. So it dashed away to find dryer forests.


    Kelly cowered in his hut for a long time before eventually peeking out. He saw Ghorizog, now lying in what was left of the swamp waters. One dead eye staring at nothing, the other burst and then blackened with poison. He cheered and danced happily with his staff on his porch, believing what he¡¯d done had saved the swamp. Outside the swamp, the Deepwood burned.


    A week later Riley and Buric travelled in silence through a quiet forest. The forest was quiet because all of the ground was blackened with soot and all of the trees had been turned to stone. They didn¡¯t know why the trees were all turned to stone and they couldn¡¯t discuss it because just weeks ago they¡¯d both had their tongues cut out by Edric Elkring, the Knight of Tongues.


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    Riley watched Buric walk ahead of her sadly. She missed his japes at her, she missed his comments on the state of the world and their place in it. She missed a lot of things. He was trying to teach her to read so that he could teach her to write and then they¡¯d be able to communicate again. But it was hard, so very hard, when neither of them could talk. He would point out an object like a tree or a bird and then write a series of symbols in the ground that she assumed represented it. But there were so many symbols and she couldn¡¯t puzzle out what any individual one meant. So they trudged on in silence.


    Buric watched the forest around him and wished he knew why it was suddenly turned to stone. He had spent many hours in this forest and others like it before becoming a knight and navigating it like this was so different. Nothing moved. The wind would howl and all the trees would stay still, they wouldn¡¯t sway or bend or even rustle. It felt too silent and reminded him every minute of the fact that he couldn¡¯t speak anymore. But even more importantly than that he wished he knew what Riley had done before they¡¯d left. She¡¯d come to him unable to tell him anything but had made it clear that they¡¯d needed to leave. She had never been very good at being subtle and her hand gestures were no exception. So he¡¯d done as she¡¯d demanded and followed her out of there and then into the forest where he¡¯d led them away. She wouldn¡¯t tell him what she¡¯d done, wouldn¡¯t even try, but he knew she¡¯d done something. He knew her too well for her to hide that. He knew she was proud of it but also scared. He just wanted to know so he could maybe be of more help than he was now, leading them into a stone forest.


    There wasn¡¯t any food in the forest since all the animals were gone so they just had to eat fruits they¡¯d collected from the other part of the forest. They ate in silence and barely looked at each other. It was hard to look at each other now, seeing the starved, scared, outlaws they¡¯d become. They¡¯d been the best of friends once, now they barely seemed to know each other.


    The crunching of apples died down and they looked longingly at the fruit on the trees around them, now turned to stone along with everything else. Then they heard something, it was quiet but they weren¡¯t making any noise to drown it out. It was the buzzing of bees. They hadn¡¯t encountered a single animal since they¡¯d entered the stone part of the forest but bees were an animal and bees had honey. They packed up their camp and rushed toward the sound. As they ran the ground grew marshy and soft so they treaded carefully. Luckily the roots of the stone trees were solid footholds for them to step on and the branches provided solid handholds to keep their balance.


    Buric was just turning around to gesture the path he¡¯d taken to Riley when his handhold snapped and he stumbled into the mud. He quickly righted himself before he could sink too much but then he looked at the branch in his hand. It wasn¡¯t stone, it was wood. In the dark forest and the quiet swamp they hadn¡¯t noticed but the trees here weren¡¯t stone anymore, they were back in a regular forest.


    Buric waved the wooden branch at Riley and grinned, he hadn¡¯t done that in a long time. Riley was less enthused about the return to normalcy of the forest but she was enthused by Buric smiling and waving a broken branch around so she grinned as well. They stumbled on ahead, feeling hopeful for the first time in a while. Then they started to see the amber chimes.


    There were so many of them, little pieces of amber strung up in the trees, glowing in the sunlight that filtered down through the canopy. Buric couldn¡¯t help grinning as he brushed through them, watching them swing and sparkle. Riley smiled as well and spun around with them, dancing in the light of the amber. She tripped on a tree root and fell into Buric, sending them both crashing down into the mud. They both laughed for the first time in a long time. It was a choking strangled laugh since they had no tongues but they didn¡¯t care, they laughed anyway as they pushed each other into the mud, the amber jangling and swinging along above them.


    Kelly found them there, making their strange laughing noises. The last time someone had intruded on his domain hadn¡¯t gone well so he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ¡°Who is it that walks so brazenly into the Sunset Swamp?¡± he asked with as much authority as he could muster.


    They stopped playing in the mud and stood up to face him, smiles still on their faces. The smiles slowly faded as they realised they had no way of communicating with this strange man. Buric took his broken branch and tried tracing letters in the mud. It was slow and it was perfectly possible that the man couldn¡¯t read, but he had to try something.


    Kelly looked at the letters and narrowed his eyes even further. It had been a long time since he¡¯d seen letters but he did in fact know how to read. He mouthed out the words to himself as they were written.


    ¡°You¡¯ve lost your tongues eh?¡± he stroked his beard. ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate. Come with me, I¡¯ll get you cleaned up and we¡¯ll have to see what we can do about those tongues.¡±


    Buric and Riley shrugged at each other and followed the strange man into the swamp. They were both armed and the old man seemed harmless enough but they rested their hands on their weapons just in case. As they walked they saw more and more of the amber chimes in the trees and began to see bees flitting about the place. They soon reached a sloping hut, half sunken into the ground with a few bee hives perched precariously on top of it. Inside there was a flickering firelight even though it was by no means cold outside. There was also a terrible stench that hit them, even worse than that of the regular swamp fumes. They saw the source of the stench quickly, a huge bloated frog, that lay dead in a puddle. They looked at it with disgust.


    ¡°Ah yes that there is Ghorizog,¡± Kelly said, noticing them looking at it. ¡°He brought nothing but death and misery to the swamp so me and my... friend, dealt with him.¡± He grinned to himself, he had been forming a closer and closer relationship with his friend ever since.


    They entered the hut and Riley and Buric were hit with a blast of heat. The stove was blazing far harder than it had any right to blaze and the huge lump of amber in the middle of the room was shining in the firelight.


    Kelly strode in proudly, seemingly unaffected by the heat. He tapped the huge lump of amber in the middle of the room and faced them again. ¡°This here¡¯s my friend, the Thing in the Amber. He just might be able to get your voices back.¡±


    Riley and Buric looked at each other, they weren¡¯t hopeful. But nevertheless, feeling worried more for the strange man than themselves they entered and examined the amber. There was something there, some shadow that was flickering in the firelight deep within. Buric shrugged and sat down on a chair that was a little too mouldy for his taste, he wanted nothing to do with it. He¡¯d been thinking about their problem with their voices and there were solutions to it, all they had to do was find someone who could read and write and they could teach Riley. Riley hadn¡¯t seemed very keen on ever going to any towns but now they¡¯d found this strange man, maybe he could help.


    Riley, however, found herself staring deep into the amber. She touched it, it was warm, warmer than it had any right to be, and she stared into the shadow.


    The strange man watched her intently. ¡°If you sleep here he might speak to you, he¡¯ll tell you what to do.¡± He was so sure of himself Riley almost believed it. Buric wasn¡¯t swayed, he had met hermits like this before, they were all the same, so desperate for a conversation they¡¯d talk to absolutely anything at all. Still, he supposed there was no harm in sleeping here, they¡¯d have a roof over their heads at least.


    So they bunkered down for the night and slept on the mouldy floor. Kelly turned the stove off but the room was still unnaturally warm. Riley fell asleep almost immediately, she was strong but she wasn¡¯t used to the days of trekking through the forest that they¡¯d been doing. Buric didn¡¯t sleep, instead he looked up at the amber and ran his hand along it. He grew curious and eventually stood up, picked one of the many unfinished chimes that were lying about and held that close to the huge amber in the middle of the room. He was no expert on these things but they definitely felt different. The bigger amber was stronger, harder, more like a gemstone than the soft amber. Unable to sleep he sat out on the porch and pondered on these things while he listened to the swamp, revelling in the sounds of nature rather than the grim silence of the stone forest. Little did he know that when Raqos had possessed the Ambermound he¡¯d turned the whole thing into his own jewel, topaz.


    Riley and Kelly awoke together in the hut facing the huge lump of amber. It spoke to them in its fiery way and described what they had to do. Kelly grinned at the thought, over the days the Thing in the Amber had been helping him master the bees of his swamp, now it was time to see what he could really do. Riley was less sure, the idea sickened her, but she still preferred it over being unable to speak forever. Buric might not have minded, he could still read and write, but she could do neither of these things and her failure to learn had been making her sadder and sadder on their journeys. She couldn¡¯t live like this, she needed her voice again. So she did everything that was asked of her. She agreed to the deal.


    Buric had dozed off in the early hours of the morning so he didn¡¯t notice when a clump of bees buzzed by him and into the hut. He didn¡¯t notice as Riley lay on the bed while Kelly opened her mouth up and using his whittling knife and trembling hands made the necessary modifications. It hurt of course and she had to fight back hard against waves of panic as the bees crawled into her throat, but she managed it.


    ¡°Can you speak now?¡± Kelly asked, his eyes bulging with anticipation.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Riley hissed back, the bees buzzing the words in her throat. As she said it a tear rolled down her cheek. What had she done?

 The Rider in Red

    Karnell felt hot, too hot. He wasn¡¯t even wearing armour or weapons yet but it was already far too hot. He sat among the war camp sweating, listening to the sounds of the other soldiers bustling around. He stared off at the horizon, at the crest far away and watched the sky shimmer in the heat. He could hear his friends talking in their tent but he didn¡¯t want to go inside, it was even hotter in there. So he sat there and listened, he liked listening.


    There¡¯d been rumours going across the battalion as they¡¯d marched and there were even more rumours now. Why had the generals ordered them so far away from Lord Farro and his armies? Why just them? Why not any other battalions? There was a theory that circled around, a theory that seemed to be formed from whispers heard from the generals. They were a distraction, they were bait. General Rhine hadn¡¯t mentioned what they were doing, he usually didn¡¯t talk much except to shout orders at them, so they¡¯d obeyed. Karnell wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to obey though, he didn¡¯t want to be bait.


    Strangely the scouts hadn¡¯t spotted much following them, just a lone rider who seemed in no hurry to catch up. Karnell wasn¡¯t sure how a lone rider could be much of a threat but whenever it was mentioned to the General his eyes grew wide with fear and he insisted on redoubling their march. Apparently he wanted to reach the old stronghold, Fort Sundrick, before the rider caught up to them. That would be difficult, even travelling as fast as they were, an entire army with all its men and weapons and equipment and wagons and camp followers moved significantly slower than a lone rider on horseback. Karnell was very suspicious of the whole situation, but it was too hot to think much about it. He lay back in the grass and watched the sky.


    He started at a thunder of hoofbeats, one of the scouts galloped back into the camp and wove through the tents to reach the generals. Karnell stood up slowly and followed him. While General Rhine was always quiet about all of these things his scouts didn¡¯t seem to care and he¡¯d offered them no good reason to stay secretive. So while Rhine was whispering frantically the scout spoke easily loud enough for Karnell to hear.


    ¡°Its the rider,¡± he said, Rhine desperately trying to shush him. ¡°He¡¯s almost at the crest, he¡¯ll be upon us in a few hours or so.¡±


    Rhine whispered something back and the scout leaned in to hear it.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know sir, he must have crossed the ravine up north somehow, he¡¯d disappeared a few days ago.¡±


    Karnell pondered that. Crossing the ravine anywhere other than one of the bridges was difficult, on a horse it was practically impossible. Perhaps there was more going on than he realised. Another terrible wave of heat swept over him and the rest of the camp. Soldiers groaned and complained and many emerged from their tents, searching for fresh air that wasn¡¯t much cooler. Karnell thought he saw a few embers drifting through the air, someone had a fire going in this heat? Madness.


    Rhine tugged at the tight collar on his uniform, likely not the best clothing to be wearing in this weather. He whispered something to the scout and then they parted ways, the scout bouncing back onto his horse. Karnell stretched and tried not to let the lethargic heat get to him. He was glad he didn¡¯t have to ride out behind the army, he was glad he didn¡¯t have to do anything right now.


    ¡°Karnell!¡± Rhine snapped and he jumped, his mind had been drifting off. ¡°I want you to take your outriders and ride out behind the army.¡±


    Karnell groaned inwardly. Now? It was so hot though.


    ¡°If the scouts are correct you should see a rider in red. Do not approach him! Take him out with arrows if you can but whatever you do keep away from him and lead him away from the army. Lead him to the forest, lead him to the ravine, I don¡¯t care just keep him as far away as possible. Once you¡¯ve shaken him off you can meet back up with us at Sundrick, if all goes well we¡¯ll be there by nightfall.¡±


    ¡°By nightfall?¡± Karnell¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Forgive me sir but that seems ambitious, especially in this heat.¡±


    ¡°You let me worry about that officer, you just focus on diverting that rider.¡±


    Karnell nodded sadly, he was not looking forward to riding anywhere in this heat, even if he didn¡¯t really have to fight anyone. He wandered off and gathered up his outriders. They were a strange bunch, all master horsemen from the east who¡¯d joined the army long before the conscriptions had come. As such they were better trusted than the average eastern soldier but amongst all the conscripts from the Hallowed Realm proper they didn¡¯t really fit in. Karnell didn¡¯t mind, he still had all his old friends from the original army, and there was something funny about being looked down on by conscripts who could barely handle a spear.


    He mounted his horse, Lorishim, and led his outriders slowly out of the camp. He¡¯d rather not gallop anywhere they didn¡¯t have to in this heat. He¡¯d been with this horse for years, his father had made him catch it on the Eastern Plains ten years ago when it had been a colt and he¡¯d been a boy. He¡¯d named it Lorishim after his grandfather¡¯s horse who¡¯d been named after an ancient eastern word that meant fast or something similar. They didn¡¯t speak that language anymore.


    As they walked Lorishim dragged his feet and snorted. He was sweating heavily in the heat and Karnell hoped he¡¯d been treated well by the battalion¡¯s stablehands. Normally he¡¯d look after his own horse but there were so many horses in the army at the moment things had been standardised much to his annoyance. He felt bad when he reached the edge of the camp and urged Lorishim into a canter then a gallop. He could feel him sucking in huge hungry breaths beneath him in an effort to cool down. He sighed as sweat ran down his own skin, they¡¯d just have to deal with it.


    They rode for about an hour or so, slowly cresting the ridge. Their eastern horses could run for many more hours, even in the heat, but there was no need. There was the rider, walking calmly toward them down below. As they crested the ridge another wave of heat hit them and a few embers flitted past. Now that they¡¯d stopped Karnell began to notice embers floating about everywhere. The grass below them was wilting too, with all these embers about he worried it might catch fire. The rider below them was just a silhouette at this point, against the wilting grass, wavering and shaking in the heat wave. He was supposed to be wearing red Rhine had said, Karnell hoped he wasn¡¯t the cause of the embers.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to get closer to hit him with anything,¡± one of the outriders said.


    Karnell nodded but nobody moved. It almost seemed to be growing hotter as they stood there and the figure moved slowly closer.


    ¡°There¡¯s been a fire,¡± someone said, indicating the many swirling embers. ¡°A big fire.¡±


    ¡°No smoke though,¡± someone else replied. ¡°It¡¯s very strange.¡±


    They were easterners, they all knew stories of witches and demons, and everyone had heard about Kulrod, the Sorcerer. But fire without smoke, that was new to them.


    ¡°I think we should be extremely careful,¡± Karnell said. ¡°Try to make the shot from as far as possible.¡±


    ¡°What if we miss?¡± the first outrider asked, idly watching the embers.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Karnell replied and spurred Lorishim over the crest. They sped down the hill and swung around to the side, staying out of the rider¡¯s apparent path. Karnell wasn¡¯t a great shot from horseback although he¡¯d practised for many hours, but with all of them together surely they¡¯d hit something. They spread out into a line, giving each man a clear shot and drew back their bows. Karnell¡¯s fingers were slick with sweat and further sweat dripped down into his eyes. He felt the rhythmic movement of Lorishim beneath him, standing up in the stirrups to absorb some of the shock. He fired and the other outriders all followed shortly after. The arrows all soared up into the sky and then dropped back down below the horizon. It was a difficult shot that was certain but they¡¯d all made shots like this before. The arrows flashed down around the rider and one of them hit, he was sure of it. But it was hard to tell exactly with all the air shimmering in the heat.


    ¡°Did we get anything?¡±


    ¡°I think-¡±


    Another wave of heat washed over them, far more terrible than any before. The horses whinnied in panic and stepped backward. Still in their stirrups with bows in hand some of the riders nearly fell off, Karnell included. Luckily they all managed to regain their seats and grasp the reigns. Karnell looked about, were the embers moving faster? Almost like they were angry. He felt some bite into his skin as though whipped by a wind that wasn¡¯t there. Then they all heard hoofbeats.


    Looking through the shimmering waves of heat and the sweat that dripped into their eyes they all saw the silhouette of the rider bearing down on them. He was wearing red, Karnell saw, he was almost glowing with it.


    ¡°Run!¡± Karnell screamed and wheeled Lorishim around. They started galloping and sure enough they weren¡¯t galloping toward the army. They¡¯d somewhat achieved their mission then, he supposed.


    The heat was unbearable, he felt it pounding in his head, making his fingers struggle to grip the reigns, his legs struggle to hold him onto Lorishim, his brain struggle to think. He could only wonder how the horses were doing. He spun around to look back and saw the rider approaching them. Usually eastern horses could outrun most others over long distances but if this horse wasn¡¯t affected by the heat he wasn¡¯t sure that was true. He didn¡¯t recognise the horse, it was difficult to see much detail at the distance they were at. Was it some sort of desert horse, bred for these kinds of temperatures. He doubted that though, these were not normal temperatures. The man was even harder to see. It almost seemed like all the heat was coming from him and as such he was wrapped in a curtain of shimmering air. He was wearing red though, that was clear, it seemed to glow through the shimmer, much like embers.


    Karnell looked around, there was nothing but rolling hills and then ahead of them, the ravine. They could follow the ravine in either direction but if this rider had some way of crossing it quickly he might be able to catch up with them if they did that. It wasn¡¯t straight, the ravine, twisting and winding its way through the land. There didn¡¯t seem to be many options.


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    ¡°Kill him!¡± Karnell shouted, his voice hoarse, his throat already dry. He spun around in the saddle again, loading his bow as he did so. His body and mind were both weak with the heat but his muscles remembered what to do. He turned Lorishim with his legs, they were now heading toward the ravine but he didn¡¯t care, he¡¯d deal with that later. He put himself side on with the rider and fired. At this distance he couldn¡¯t possibly miss, he didn¡¯t.


    The arrow skewered right through the shimmering, glowing haze and exploded in a burst of fire and ash and embers, there were so many embers. Part of the rider exploded with it and now he just glowed more, the glow emanating from the embers within. Karnell¡¯s eyes grew wide with fear, the rider hadn¡¯t slowed down at all. More arrows slammed into him with similar results, explosions of embers sprayed the wilted grass. Some of it caught.


    With all the riders whirling around to shoot him the rider picked one at random and gave chase. The fire blazing behind him. Some other riders were heading for the fire and their horses shied away from it. They struggled to gain control and in that time the pursued rider was trapped between the rider in red and the ravine. Karnell shot him again but it did nothing. The outrider stopped and tried to turn away but he was cut down as the glowing, shimmering haze collided with him. The man in red made no attempt to slow down, cutting through the outrider in a burst of sparks and fire and heading straight for the ravine. Karnell brought Lorishim to a stop further down and watched as the horse jumped. No horse could possibly jump that far, surely they would both plunge into the ravine and die. But they didn¡¯t. The horse crashed down on the other side, sparks exploding from its rider. Then they wheeled around and started to run back. Preparing to jump right at him. He wheeled Lorishim around and ran, but not away from the ravine, along it. He had an idea.


    The rider changed direction to intercept him when he jumped. Karnell didn¡¯t care, he just needed a good angle to shoot at. The horse reached the edge of the ravine and bundled its muscles to jump. Karnell fired, but not at the rider. As he fired he decided that it was probably a terrible idea, what if the horse was just made of embers as well? What if it did nothing? But he had to try, he had to try something to keep himself alive. The arrow went straight through the horse¡¯s skull and it stumbled. He didn¡¯t know if it was dead but he didn¡¯t care because it stumbled right into the ravine. The rider let out a scream and fell, tumbling away into the chasm. Karnell leaned over the edge and watched the explosion of sparks as he landed on the bottom. Would that kill him? He hoped so. As the man fell the heat began to fade and Karnell smiled as he felt fresh air on his face once more. His joy didn¡¯t last long.


    ¡°Karnell!¡± one of the other outriders shouted. He looked around and saw the fire that had been started earlier when they¡¯d been shooting the rider. It was now a roaring blaze that stretched from one corner of the ravine to another. All the other outriders had gotten onto the other side but he¡¯d been busy on this side shooting the rider. He was trapped.


    ¡°Uh...¡± he muttered feeling other heat waves wash over him. They weren¡¯t quite as bad as the first ones but he¡¯d still rather avoid them. He supposed there was only one thing for it. He urged Lorishim into a gallop at the fire. It was just grass, it shouldn¡¯t be creating such huge flames, hopefully whatever magic was about wouldn¡¯t make him and his horse catch fire so easily. The smallest part of the fire was right next to the ravine so he headed for that part. It grew hotter and hotter and he groaned as the roaring flames approached him. Getting most horses to jump through that would have been difficult but Lorishim wasn¡¯t most horses, he hoped.


    They sped through, the fire licking at his boots and emerged on the other side, the ravine still there, the fire still blazing behind them. Lorishim screamed in pain and Karnell looked down to see his leg still wrapped in flames. Panic rose in his throat at the sight of his horse like that and he instinctively reached down to try and staunch the flames. Later he would think what a stupid idea that had been, he couldn¡¯t even reach his horse¡¯s legs from where he was. But in all the panicked thrill of the fire he wasn¡¯t thinking, merely reacting. So he reached down, throwing himself completely off balance for when Lorishim bucked in fear and panic. He sailed off his horse and over the ground. He¡¯d been thrown before, many many times. It happened, he was used to it. But he¡¯d never been thrown into a ravine before. The ground disappeared and he fell onto the side of a cliff. He bounced and hit something, then something else, then more and more as he rolled down the side of the cliff.


    Up on the edge of the ravine the other outriders caught Lorishim and staunched the fire on his leg. Then they all ran to a safe distance and watched the fire burn out. Karnell did not emerge.


    Down in the ravine he groaned as pain filled him. Then he felt dread as a wave of heat washed across him and he heard footsteps approaching.


    ¡°You hurt my horse,¡± a voice said, completely lacking emotion.


    Karnell tried to turn his head but his neck was stuck at an awkward angle and even trying to move brought on waves of relentless pain that brought tears to his eyes. The footsteps drew closer and the heat grew worse. He could see the glow now, even without looking at it, and he felt the angry embers begin to bite into him again.


    ¡°Wait wait please...¡± he begged. ¡°I... don¡¯t...¡± He didn¡¯t know what to say, he didn¡¯t know anything he could do other than blabber pathetically at this monster. ¡°I... I... don¡¯t know... what you are...?¡± he settled on, he¡¯d like to know that before he died.


    The monster stopped walking forward. He evidently hadn¡¯t expected that, Karnell hadn¡¯t either, it had just fallen out. ¡°Neither do I,¡± said that emotionless voice.


    Karnell seized on this desperately, still lying in his twisted agonising position. ¡°There is a witch, a witch I know very well, she¡¯ll know what you are,¡± he lied, he wasn¡¯t a very good liar.


    The rider in red remained quiet. Karnell lay there in pain, fear, and sweat for what seemed like far too long a time, how long did it take this monster to think?


    ¡°Why should I work with you? You hurt my horse.¡±


    ¡°I... I... I can fix your horse... I know a lot about horses...¡±


    The rider thought for another very long time. Karnell lay there, unable to do anything about it. Then the footsteps drew closer and the heat grew ever warmer. He felt hands grab his shoulders, hands that burned his skin even through his clothes. Panic rose in him and he couldn¡¯t hold back the tears. The monster had decided to kill him, he was sure of it. The monster spun him over and laid him back down on the floor of the ravine. Now he was looking up and he saw its face. It was a man, just an ordinary man, he wasn¡¯t even wearing red, just ragged brown clothes, the clothes of a conscripted soldier. But where he was wounded glowed embers and they glowed brightly. Brightly enough to make his clothes look red from a distance. His eyes though, were different. They blazed orange like great bonfires screaming down at him and those, combined with his emotionless expression, made him seem like the monster he was.


    ¡°Um...¡± Karnell stuttered looking up at the terrible eyes, unsure of what to do next. The man wasn¡¯t, with far more purpose than seemed reasonable he ripped out one of his own eyes, tearing a great hole in his face that showered sparks down on Karnell. He flinched as the sparks landed on him but that only caused more pain. The eye still glowing through his fingers, the man pressed it to Karnell¡¯s chest and held it there. It was warm, but not warm with the terrible heat and brutal power of the heat waves. It was a comforting warmth, a warmth that spread through his body and washed away his pain. He didn¡¯t know how long it took, it could have been seconds, could have been hours, he was just revelling in the comfort of that warmth. But when the man took away the eye and put it back into his head all the pain was gone.


    Karnell stretched out his limbs and stood up, he was completely healed. The man had healed too, his ember wounds sealing up. His skin still glowed though less brightly, looking closely it looked like under his skin were the embers of a fire, still hot, still glowing. But the fire was out now, the terrible heat that had emanated off him was gone though he was still very warm.


    ¡°Um...¡± Karnell mumbled. ¡°Thanks...¡±


    The man ignored him and strode off through the ravine, Karnell followed him. They found the horse which was in a similar state to Karnell, broken and twisted on the bottom of the ravine. The arrow he¡¯d shot through its head didn¡¯t seem to be there and looking closely he quickly figured out why. There was a horn, or the remains of one, buried away in the fur on its head.


    ¡°A unicorn?¡± Karnell asked and the man shrugged. Karnell looked over the horse, it was twisted and ruined beyond any form of healing, although he''d been that way as well.


    ¡°Can you heal it? The same way you healed me?¡±


    The man nodded. ¡°But her leg is twisted, it will heal wrong.¡± He pointed and Karnell looked, all the legs looked twisted to him but this one was particularly bad. He could straighten it though. Then a thought occurred to him.


    ¡°Were my legs twisted so they¡¯d heal wrong?¡±


    ¡°Could have been,¡± the man mumbled.


    ¡°Did you care?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Karnell shrugged, at least he was honest. He bent down and talked softly to the horse. A unicorn with its horn broken, he hadn¡¯t even been sure he believed in unicorns until now. He stroked the leg gently to get the horse used to his touch. It nickered softly but didn¡¯t seem to be able to move. He moved his hands carefully into position, feeling softly where all the breaks were. He¡¯d done this before, he¡¯d had to use splints and weeks of rest to heal the legs though, now it seemed he had access to glowing eyes, much more effective.


    ¡°Easy,¡± he whispered to the unicorn. ¡°Easy.¡± Then he snapped the leg back into place and the unicorn screamed, it lashed out at him and he jumped nimbly away. It didn¡¯t scream long though, it was too broken for that.


    The man didn¡¯t acknowledge him and stepped wordlessly forward, performing the same trick with his eye that he¡¯d used on Karnell.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Karnell asked him. ¡°I¡¯m Karnell of the Eastlands.¡±


    The man replied first with one of his long silences as the horse healed before their eyes. ¡°Duren,¡± he said eventually. ¡°Of Raharus.¡±


    ¡°And how is it that you can heal with your eyes and explode into flame when you''re injured?¡±


    Duren shrugged, he didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°And why is it that you¡¯re following our army?¡±


    He shrugged again, he did answer this time though. ¡°To kill you all.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Karnell said. ¡°Why do you want to do that?¡±


    Duren stepped back and the unicorn shook out its mane, slowly standing up. He turned to look at Karnell and pressed his eye back into his head. It was hard to tell with those glowing eyes and his almost completely expressionless face but he almost looked sad now. ¡°I have to kill someone,¡± he said, leaving his eye to heal into his head. ¡°I was already fighting your army before, I may as well keep fighting them now.¡±


    ¡°You have to kill someone?¡±


    Duren nodded.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°The fire makes me.¡± He jumped onto his horse. ¡°Now leave, before I kill you!¡± Karnell stepped back and watched as he turned to ride away then realised he was in a ravine and there wasn¡¯t really any way to ride.


    ¡°There¡¯s a staircase at the Ryfold Bridge, you can ride a horse out there,¡± Karnell said. Duren nodded in acknowledgement and galloped off south to Ryfold. He wasn¡¯t sure why he said it. He tried to tell himself that Duren would have found it anyway so it didn¡¯t matter. That if he hadn¡¯t told him he¡¯d have been killed. But he didn¡¯t think that was why he¡¯d done it, he hadn¡¯t been thinking about those things at the time. In truth he decided he felt sorry for him. He felt like the fire really was making him do all these things. That would explain why he was following them so slowly, because he actually didn¡¯t want to fight them. Hopefully that would mean Karnell could rejoin the army before he caught up with them. He could warn them.


    He started the long, slow and painful climb out of the ravine. By the time he reached the top it was night and he was exhausted so he slept on the grass and he dreamed of fire.

 The Rage of the Phoenix

    The phoenix walked out of the ravine leading his horse. His eyes blazed with fire and death and he looked upon the horizon. Across that horizon was Fort Sundrick filled with soldiers for him to kill.


    He didn¡¯t know why he had to kill them. He knew they had done nothing to deserve it. But that wasn¡¯t what it was about. It was about the fire within him that wouldn¡¯t be quenched, about the ash and apathy that had long covered up the lost boy within. Now there was only fire, now there was only the rage of Raqos.


    He mounted his horse and spurred it forward. The time for slowly stalking this army was over. The assault on him had shown that. This army was dangerous after all. The horse was a unicorn, desecrated by the fiefling. Once it was spurred into action it flew forward and it didn¡¯t tire.


    The phoenix was angry now and his fires raged. The grass wilted before him as he rode, some of it dried out and burst into flame. His eyes began to grow hotter in his skull and he roared in pain but he pushed on. There was a long way to go.


    Karnell arrived at Fort Sundrick first. It was a long way to the stairs and you couldn¡¯t ride a horse in the craggy rocks of the ravine. The army had already been there for a few hours and set up considerable defenses. Trebuchets ringed the battlements and an intimidating crossbow sat atop the fortress. But most impressive of all was the great walls themselves. Three of them, increasingly high and increasingly daunting. Each bristling with archers and soldiers. Not that it would do any good against the phoenix.


    As he ran up to the gate the terrible waves of heat were already upon the fortress. Hot winds blew clouds of embers that drifted, stinging and biting, through the castle. In the distance the horizon shimmered with heat. All heralds of its arrival.


    The soldiers were restless upon the battlements. No one had told them exactly what was going on, Karnell suspected he was the only one who knew. Rumours had spread, they didn¡¯t know what was coming, what the mysterious rider in red was. But they knew that they were bait, they were there to lure it away. They knew they weren¡¯t expected to survive.


    Karnell was tired from his frantic rush from the ravine and the sweat from the blistering heat coated him. He stopped at the gate as it was opened before him and let in a painful gasp of air, the heat stinging his lungs. Then he ran. The gates closed behind him as he dashed through, ignoring all the soldiers who marveled at his survival.


    ¡°I need to speak to the General,¡± he said, over and over as people wouldn¡¯t let him pass. They wanted to know why he was alive, how he got away from the rider. He wouldn¡¯t tell them, there was no time.


    The phoenix crested the last ridge and looked upon Fort Sundrick, shimmering in the heat. His eyes were blazing so painfully now he couldn¡¯t think. His skull was being torn apart by rage. He needed a distraction, something else to focus on. The castle was full of them.


    The grass wilted and dried and burned, the air shimmered and embers billowed through it, bugs and spiders and worms crawled away as fast as possible and died as they crawled, their bodies wilting and burning with the grass.


    The soldiers in the castle had seen him. One of them fired the huge crossbow atop the fortress. It was an ambitious shot, an impossible shot surely. But the crossbow of Fort Sundrick had been built to fire impossible shots and it was manned by Enra Sundrick, the latest in a long line of Sundrick¡¯s who had mastered the bow.


    The huge arrow struck the ground where he¡¯d been moments before and then burst into flame. His horse carried him forward over the wilting grass and towards the many little soldiers in the castle. He could see them all with his eyes, little shadows of heat. So many little shadows of heat.


    Karnell reached General Rhine who was atop the battlements watching the flight of an arrow with a telescope.


    ¡°How are you alive?¡± Rhine asked, not looking away from his telescope.


    ¡°I made a temporary deal with the phoenix.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what it is. A phoenix.¡±


    ¡°How do you know? Did it tell you?¡±


    ¡°No I...¡± Karnell had spent his whole flight from the ravine focussing on arriving as fast as possible. He¡¯d not given any thought to what he¡¯d say once he got here. He glanced out and saw a tiny rider silhouette dashing toward the castle across the shimmering hills. He¡¯d better talk fast.


    ¡°Someone else told me but I am certain they were telling the truth. They also told me how to stop it.¡±


    Rhine stiffened and put down his telescope. ¡°They what! How!¡±


    ¡°Well...¡±


    ¡°How!¡± he thundered and Karnell shuddered.


    ¡°Well it needs to agree to it.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a way to cure it, to banish the phoenix and get the man back. But it needs to be willing and-¡±


    ¡°Is it going to be willing?!¡±


    ¡°Um...¡± Karnell had been so sure of his task as he dashed across the hill. It had seemed so simple, get to the fortress first and tell the general what they were up against. But it wasn¡¯t simple, phoenixes weren¡¯t simple at all.


    A cheer ran up along the battlements and the two men spun to look at the rider. It had gotten far closer than should have been possible, but it¡¯d just been struck by one of the huge arrows from the great crossbow and little was left except a huge splash of blazing embers and a horse which slowed to a trot.


    Rhine¡¯s eyes narrowed suspiciously but he was hopeful too. What if it was really that easy?


    Karnell didn¡¯t share his optimism. If the embers could be doused in water while they were like this the phoenix would die. But there was no time for that.


    Eyes so hot he could feel nothing else the phoenix burst from the embers, flinging huge chunks of molten coal all across the hills. His clothing was burned away and now he wore nothing but fire, but what a fire it was. Towering high above him there was nothing visible through it save for those terrible eyes.


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    His horse came back, unbothered by the fire and he mounted her again. Enra slowly underwent the process of reloading the great crossbow but it was too late, he was upon them now.


    ¡°We need water,¡± Karnell said. ¡°If it can be doused while its body is shattered into embers it¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°And curing it?¡± Rhine asked.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem possible. It looks quite angry.¡±


    ¡°Fill every cauldron and bucket we have from the well and make ready to spill them from the battlements,¡± Rhine ordered. ¡°I want as many men on this as possible.¡± Some lieutenants ran off to fulfill the orders.


    The heat waves swept over them and embers stung them as the rider grew nearer.


    ¡°We¡¯re dead aren¡¯t we?¡± Rhine asked.


    Karnell watched the rider approach grimly. It would take time to get the water, he just hoped the walls would hold till then.


    The first wall was the lowest, built last as a wall to ring the houses of the fortress¡¯s inhabitants. The horse and the blazing phoenix leapt it, bringing with them death. Those embers, painful but harmless up till now, swept beneath them and into the soldiers manning the wall. Their clothes burst into flames if they were lucky, if they were unlucky, their skin did. They fired arrows but any that hit disappeared into the blazing fire and had no noticeable effect.


    The monsters landed on the main street and the army rushed out to meet them. The man was unarmed, his sword lost when he¡¯d died his first death. But he had no need for a sword.


    The horse tore down the main street directly into the infantry charging toward them, they hadn¡¯t been able to get any horse, no matter how well trained, to face the phoenix. The men charging were hot, far too hot, and some of them burst into flames but others had armour which couldn¡¯t burn, although inside it was so hot they couldn¡¯t think, could barely breathe. But they were soldiers, they could still fight.


    The phoenix leapt from his horse, soaring through the air, bringing fire with him. He crashed down into a torrent of spears and swords. Blazing embers exploding from his body. The soldiers holding those collapsed, some dead, some still burning, their work done. But their work was not enough. The phoenix strode out of the blaze of his latest death, swords and spears melting and dripping from his body. Then his horse jumped over him and crashed into the next wall of soldiers.


    She was impaled instantly from a forest of weapons and despite her thrashes which killed many more soldiers she fell to the ground dying. Then the phoenix set his eyes upon her and the blazing eyes melted away all the metal and weapons and wounds. She barely even staggered.


    A huge crossbow bolt fell from the sky and tore through the phoenix, spraying his embers and coals all across the street. The soldiers that could still speak cheered. Then all the trebuchets, fired simultaneously, hit their target.


    Karnell and Rhine watched the explosion of rock and fire as the trebuchets destroyed the phoenix and the street beneath it.


    ¡°Is it dead?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Karnell replied. ¡°I think it¡¯s just angrier.¡± The soldiers chased the thrashing horse but it was still too hot down there for them to fight effectively. Then the ground began to melt.


    The phoenix swam through the thick molten rock, burning it all away with his searing eyes. Under the street, under the soldiers and up to the wall. Then up and up the phoenix rose, melting away the wall beneath the first trebuchet. He burst from the wall in an explosion of magma and rock and fire. Especially fire.


    The burning ruins of the trebuchet crashed down around him and he leapt nimbly to a section of wall that hadn¡¯t melted, yet. The whole wall was creaking and starting to collapse. Soldiers charged up to him across the crumbling wall and he brushed them aside. Drenching them in embers with a sweep of his arm and setting their flesh alight whether they were wearing armour or not.


    The wall crashed down in a huge cloud of smoke and dust and the phoenix walked away from it toward the last wall. His horse crested the crumbling wall and landed nimbly beside him. Together they walked toward the final gate which was already on fire. He was too close for the crossbow to hit him now and all the trebuchets not destroyed in the collapse were behind him. They had nothing that could hurt him now. He thought.


    Karnell was sweating but he went out anyway. His clothes and skin were covered in embers and he¡¯d just seen hundreds of soldiers burst into flames for less but he went out anyway. He was exhausted and terrified but he went out anyway.


    Went out to face the phoenix who was sitting atop his horse, drawing ever closer to the last gate.


    ¡°Duren of Raharus!¡± he shouted above the roar of the various fires and occasional collapsing structure. ¡°Phoenix of Raqos! I come to treat with you!¡±


    The phoenix rode its horse forward, eyes blazing through the great fire around it.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this! There is a cure! Raqos gave me the knowledge of it in my dreams in exchange for my service!¡±


    The phoenix barely heard the words, the boy within, trapped under mountains of ash, didn¡¯t hear them either. With its burning eyes rendering all men shadows of heat the phoenix didn¡¯t even recognise the man. But the horse heard, and she recognised the man who had helped save her in the ravine. The horse stopped and so the phoenix¡¯s relentless advance stopped.


    Behind it hundreds of soldiers poured over the collapsed wall and pointed weapons at it but they didn¡¯t attack. They knew a respite when they saw one. The phoenix stood still and faced the man pleading desperately with it.


    Within the mountain of ash Duren breathed. It wasn¡¯t much but it was more than he¡¯d done in a long time. The phoenix, stopped by its horse, registered the words and its eyes blazed.


    It screamed and fell to the ground, clutching at the blazing orbs in its skull. Duren screamed too and ash filled his throat, but he kept screaming.


    The soldiers rushed forward, sensing a moment of weakness. The great phoenix lay incapacitated on the ground, clutching at its eyes as it fought its own battle inside.


    ¡°No!¡± Karnell shouted. He had hope. Feeble hope but hope just the same. Hope that Duren could be saved. His hope withered as a torrent of spears impaled the burning body. It burst into blazing embers, incinerating the soldiers that speared it. Then water poured over the wall.


    It would have worked, the phoenix was killed and in its ember state between life and death. The many torrents and buckets of water that spilled over the wall would have doused the embers and prevented any sort of resurrection. But Karnell hadn¡¯t let the phoenix get close enough to the wall before he¡¯d spoken to it. In truth he hadn¡¯t expected it to stop at all. So the water fell short, most of it dousing Karnell instead. Some splashed onto the embers and the half formed flaming body that emerged from them, but not enough. Karnell stood helpless, looking at the rage of the phoenix.


    All down the side of his body, life dripped away, leaden and rotted and dead. The skin of one arm and one leg was numb, his fingers twitching and spasming as their skin died. And his eye, his eye stopped blazing, there was nothing there but an empty socket, decayed and withered. But the pain of that was nothing compared to the pain of the other one. He screamed in pain and leapt at Karnell. Some of his skin might have died but his muscles were still very much intact and the leap sent him sailing across the entire courtyard. He grabbed the heat shadow and ripped it apart with his bare hands. This insignificant human had nearly killed him. He had actually wounded him in a way that wasn¡¯t going to heal. He screamed as he ground the shadow to bone and the bone to ash.


    Then he destroyed the castle. Tearing it apart, hands melting through the rock even as he ripped pieces away. The castle collapsed upon him and he melted it away as it did. The soldiers in the courtyard ran. He let them, he¡¯d catch them later. He watched the heat shadows in the castle burn out and join his torrent, his molten castle of lava. The pain of the searing lava bathing him took away the searing in his eye and the cold dead numbness of the splash on his body. In that brief moment he felt peace.


    Hundreds of soldiers poured from the ruins of Fortress Sundrick. Running and panting and staggering toward the outer wall, still intact, with the gates flung wide open. Behind them the castle crumbled into lava that slunk along the ground after them. The horse stood in the lava torrent, unfazed, watching one particular soldier run away. Her eyes still worked fine and she had no trouble telling the many humans apart. One heat shadow might look much like another to the phoenix but to her they were very different. She watched him run, but did nothing else.


    Karnell staggered away from the crumbling castle. Around him soldiers dropped like flies, it was too hot to run. Few of them made it, none who¡¯d been in the courtyard. Except him, because he wasn¡¯t too hot, because he was covered in water.

 The Pearl Diver

    Eren had always lived among the rocks and waves of Brind, a small fishing village just down the coast from Nargathrum. She dived for pearls there, plunging deep into the tunnels and furrows beneath the rocks to gather up oysters and mussels to fill the little mesh bag she kept and then crack open on the surface. Usually there would be nothing in them but meat to feed her family but sometimes there would be a pearl and so she called herself a pearl diver.


    When there was a pearl she and her sisters would celebrate and dance out by the fire before setting off for Nargathrum in the morning to sell it. Eren didn¡¯t mind diving into the tossing and writhing ocean next to jagged rocks and shells but going into that city terrified her. The huge black guildspires towered overhead, each one bearing the symbols of its particular guild. Even the Fisher Guild, who they dealt with the most, was far too industrial, far too imposing to be inviting. And the streets were always dirty and brimming with people who were even dirtier. Despite living on a coastal city Eren believed that most of them had never been in the ocean judging by their smell. So her and her sisters would stick together and travel to and from the Fisher Guild as fast as possible, making sure to keep their pearl and later their payment, as out of view and safe as possible.


    They¡¯d return home and dance once more having earned likely enough money to live off for weeks. Eren wouldn¡¯t stop pearl diving though, she loved it. The only time she would stop was during the scarper season when she went fishing for those instead. They were almost impossible to catch by conventional methods as they had no interest in bait, instead tearing up the seafloor with their jagged gyrating mouths. They lived far out at sea most of the time and grew huge, almost as big as people sometimes, and they were vicious.


    Eren¡¯s father had taught her how to hunt them a long time ago and she¡¯d been doing it every year since. There was only one way to do it, swim down with a fisher spear to the depths where they lived and try to stick one before it attacked you and tore you apart with those terrible gyrating jaws. You had to be fast and you had to be accurate. Most of the scarper was just meat or muscle and stabbing it there just made it angry, only getting the brain or the heart was guaranteed to work. Eren always got the heart.


    She was the best at catching them in Brind and Nargathrum, probably the best along the whole coast. So every year when scarper season arrived, even if the year had been hard and there hadn¡¯t been any pearls, they would feast like kings. First they¡¯d always eat one themselves, laying it out across the family table and digging in beside the roaring cook fire. Then Eren would catch more the next day and they¡¯d sell them, and they sold for a lot.


    Scarper weren¡¯t like pearls, you couldn¡¯t walk through Nargathrum and hide one on your person, but they didn¡¯t need to. Every year Oron Thall, the head of the Fisher Guild would come down to Brind with a full caravan of armoured guards and collect up the scarper haul, paying them huge sums of money for the delicacy. After that Eren didn¡¯t have to dive for weeks, often longer. Taking days off to enjoy the world above the waves. That soon got old for her though, she never felt more alive than when she was underwater where everything was weightless and smooth. So soon she¡¯d be back down there, diving for pearls.


    Oron Thall was a large man, having grown fat off the fish and wealth his guild had brought him. He struggled to walk up and down the stairs each day to his office at the top of the fisher guildspire and so had built living quarters for himself up there. Now he imagined himself the lord of a castle, a member of the nobility he¡¯d so long envied. That was the way the guildmasters believed the world was going. They saw no need for lords and hereditary titles, soon, they thought, the world would be run by merchants. Oron thought that that time couldn¡¯t arrive soon enough as Nane Sathis, a member of the Royal Guard, demanded an audience with him with less than a day¡¯s notice. There were a number of other things he¡¯d much rather be doing but the Royal Guard worked in the name of the king or some other such nonsense. So he dressed in his finest robes, patterned like fish scales, and waited for the knight in his office. He didn¡¯t wait long.


    Nane was a huge man, rippling with muscle and authority and bedecked in the finest guardsman outfit money could buy. He burst into the room before he could be announced and began speaking immediately. He was sweating and it seemed he¡¯d ridden all the way there from Castle Elkring, run up all eleven floors of the guildspire and was now conducting the meeting with no time to lose. Oron admired his drive but didn¡¯t really see the need to hurry and poured himself some wine while the knight talked.


    ¡°The Hallowed Realm is facing one of the greatest threats it has ever seen. Lord Farro¡¯s army is bearing down upon the capital and they are led by a phoenix, a monster made of Hellfire and Ruin.¡±


    Oron sipped his wine, that didn¡¯t sound very plausible.


    ¡°We have a plan to stop it but we need a warrior. A very special kind of warrior.¡±


    Oron put down his wine. ¡°I¡¯m run a respectable guild of fishermen, I have one or two mercenaries but I hardly see what you want from-¡±


    ¡°We want a fisherman,¡± Nane said and Oron paused at the absurdity of the statement.


    ¡°Why...?¡±


    ¡°We have to drown the phoenix and we need a man who can battle it underwater, a man who can keep it there while it drowns.¡±


    ¡°You want someone who knows how to fight underwater?¡±


    Nane nodded and Oron sipped his wine. The knight looked desperate but luckily Oron didn¡¯t have to think about it long.


    ¡°I know of someone, she doesn¡¯t work for me though.¡±


    ¡°She?¡±


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m sure you can swallow your chivalry. She¡¯ll impress you I¡¯m sure, and if she can¡¯t fight your phoenix, no one can.¡±


    Nane nodded. ¡°Sounds perfect, send for her immediately.¡±


    Oron paused briefly. ¡°Unfortunately she doesn¡¯t actually work for me.¡±


    Nane raised his eyebrow, hoping he was joking. He wasn¡¯t.


    Eren pulled herself from the water, her hands digging into the rocks, and flung back her hair with a toss of her head. It was cold in the air, covered in sea water as she was, but she just had to deal with it. The sea would churn, the rains would come and the air would be cold after emerging from the ocean, these were the facts of life. Water cascaded off her body and out of her mesh bag filled with shellfish as she climbed up. She reached the top of the rocks and flicked the remaining strands of wet hair from her face, then she looked back toward home and saw her sister standing there looking at her with a huge knight standing next to her.


    They didn¡¯t often get knights in Brind, they didn¡¯t really get visitors at all save for the fisher¡¯s guild. She stood there and looked at him, he spoke.


    ¡°You are Eren of Brind?¡±


    She nodded, she was.


    ¡°The Hallowed Realm is in grave danger and we believe you are the best chance we have to save it.¡±


    Eren blinked a few times, flicking water out of her eyes. There was always water in her eyes after a dive, there was always water everywhere after a dive, on cold days it could take forever to get rid of it all, these were the facts of life. Not included in those facts was the idea that she was somehow integral to saving the entire kingdom, that had never been included.


    ¡°How...?¡± she asked slowly.


    ¡°I am not the best to explain this, I suggest you speak with Gushkabel or the Witch Queen at Castle Elkring, they will explain everything. For now, know that you will be compensated handsomely, the king is thinking one thousand golden griffons.¡±


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    Eren didn¡¯t really know how much that was, she¡¯d never even seen one golden griffon.


    ¡°Um...¡± she said slowly. ¡°What do I have to do?¡±


    ¡°You have to fight someone, and you have to do it underwater. Oron Thall and others have told me that there is no one better at fighting underwater than you.¡±


    Things started to fall into place in Eren¡¯s head. She didn¡¯t know how fighting underwater could ever possibly save the kingdom but if it could it would make sense to choose her. She almost felt honoured, the only issue was that she really didn¡¯t want to have to kill something that wasn¡¯t just a fish. That made her feel slightly sick.


    ¡°For one thousand golden griffons I¡¯ll do it,¡± she said.


    They brought her all the way back to Castle Elkring which wasn¡¯t near the coast. There was a river but it wasn¡¯t really the same. The knight wanted to ride the whole way but she¡¯d never ridden a horse before so they had to take a cart instead, they still travelled fast by her standards though, arriving at the castle on the second day. The castle was huge, far bigger than even the guildspires of Nargathrum, towering high over the countryside and visible from miles away. When they drew closer she saw the huge oak tree that wound its way through the castle, she¡¯d heard of it before but had never really given it much thought. She was in Brind, the oak tree was in Castle Elkring, and those were miles apart, those were the facts of life. As she drew closer though she was starting to wonder if maybe all the facts she¡¯d relied on for so long weren¡¯t necessarily all true.


    They brought her into the castle where she met with two women, one old and one young. The old one was Gushkabel and the young one was the Witch Queen Nath and they explained their great plan. According to Nath some fire demon had been stirring in such a way that meant a phoenix had been born and the phoenix was heading their way. They¡¯d momentarily distracted it by sending it off after a doomed battalion which had given them enough time to prepare. In that time they¡¯d hired every miner and workman for miles around, draining the Black Mountains of their workforce and worked on setting their trap and diverting the river. Eren wasn¡¯t really sure what Gushkabel and Nath had done to help, it seemed like everyone else was doing all the work while they sat around and argued, but it also seemed like things were all done very differently around here than back at home.


    Eren¡¯s role would be to dive into the trap and keep the phoenix down until it could drown, apparently she didn¡¯t have to worry about killing it with her fisher spears since that was supposedly impossible. She still felt worried about stabbing it though, apparently it was in the shape of a man.


    After she¡¯d been briefed it seemed Eren was allowed to simply wander around so she did, eventually finding her way to the river. She sat and watched it and thought about going swimming but it wasn¡¯t the same, nothing was the same here.


    An old woman with huge watery eyes came up to her, not Gushkabel, some other old woman. She sat down beside her and looked into the river as well, she seemed sad.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for bringing you all this way, child, to fight in a war you know nothing about,¡± the woman said.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a child,¡± Eren said. ¡°I made my own choice.¡±


    The woman smiled sadly. ¡°No no of course my apologies. Everyone seems a child to me these days you see. Once I was like that Witch Queen you met, so young and full of energy and far more alert. I¡¯d never have missed this in those days, just like she didn¡¯t. Who knows, if I¡¯d seen it earlier maybe I could have done something before the phoenix had even been born. Then again perhaps not, these things are hard to prevent.¡±


    Eren looked at her, this woman was making even less sense than everyone else around here.


    The woman smiled again. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m rambling on. You must be worried, you must have questions.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not worried,¡± Eren replied. ¡°I will fight the phoenix and I will win or I will lose. Being worried will not change that.¡±


    ¡°I wish I had your courage, child. You are right of course.¡± The woman looked up at her with those watery eyes. The eyes weren¡¯t sinister or intimidating, they were just sad, but they picked her apart all the same. ¡°Remember you are not fighting a human,¡± the woman said sadly. ¡°You are fighting a monster in human form, it might be hard but you cannot show mercy.¡±


    Eren nodded grimly, she was here to fight underwater, she was here to fight a monster and she couldn¡¯t show mercy, those were the facts.


    The heat wave came the next day and embers began to blow over from the west, to blow from Fort Sundrick and the Great Canyon. Plants over there were withering and dying and animals of all kinds were fleeing as best they could. Many horses escaped their stables and disappeared into the fields while others hurt themselves trying. Eren stood in the heat and stinging embers and longed for the cool ocean to take it all away. She didn¡¯t have the ocean, the river would have to do.


    The original plan was to lure the phoenix into their trap with riders but it was apparent that that wasn¡¯t going to work since no animal would go near the heat wave, never mind its source. So they had come up with a new plan, one that involved throwing away lives, many of their plans seemed to involve that, Eren was noticing.


    The first man ran over the hill and even from as far away as they were they could see him turning red and sweating. The phoenix rode after him, of course he had a horse that would go close to him. The phoenix¡¯s skin had all turned black and charred and in his head glowed one eye, a blazing orb that trailed fire behind him, setting the withered grass alight in his path. The running man didn¡¯t get very far before he collapsed and the phoenix rode over him. The next man in line shot him, dropped his bow and ran, he covered even less ground than the first man.


    The phoenix seemed to be riding much faster than should have been possible, his black horse leaping across the ground in seconds. Eren swallowed nervously, soon he¡¯d be upon them. One by one the line of men fell before him until the last man, the one standing right by the trap, fired his arrow and ran. The horse leapt and crushed him, sparks raining down from the phoenix and scorching the ground.


    The troops arrayed behind the trap drew their bows back and the phoenix galloped toward them. Then the ground collapsed beneath him and he fell. The great pit sunk around him and his horse, tonnes of loosely piled dirt spilling in around them. There was a terrible scream that split the air and then came a terrible heat wave, a wave that set the entire castle shimmering. Eren fell to her knees and heard soldiers crashing to the ground around her, fainting in their hot heavy armour. She could barely look up at the glowing pit in the ground and it glowed so brightly she had to avert her eyes. Then she heard the roar of the river.


    The stops pulled away by the collapsing earth, the diverted river plunged into the pit and quenched the raging fire. A huge column of steam erupted from the pit and poured out to cover them all in mist, mist that was blessedly cool. Eren gasped, drawing in the cool air while she could and realised she was trembling. She picked herself up and clutched her fisher spear tightly. The phoenix was trapped and she had to make sure it stayed that way, those were the facts. She ran toward the pit and without thinking about it she dived in.


    The pit was filled with churning water and grime from the disturbed earth but the phoenix¡¯s eye was easy to see. She threw her spear at it and just like home, she didn¡¯t miss. But unlike home, the eye fixed on her and kept glowing. Floating in the churning murky water she didn¡¯t really have much space to move as the phoenix lunged at her, her spear still protruding from its chest. The butt of the spear slammed into her and that was all that prevented the hand from touching her. A hand so hot bubbles of steam were pouring off it, so hot she could feel waves of heat with every swing. Her back slammed up against the wall and it was only years of practise that prevented her breath from being driven from her lungs as the phoenix scrabbled at her and pinned her in the pit. She felt herself being pressed into the loose earth, this wasn¡¯t like the hard unyielding rocks of home. The spear rammed painfully into her and right in front of her she saw the murky form of the phoenix clawing itself up the spear with its other hand, closer and closer. She scrabbled against the earth she was wedged into, desperately tearing it away in her hands. Panic rose in her chest along with an urge to breath, holding her breath like this was so much harder than normal.


    The phoenix reached her and lunged with that terrible hand and then the wall came away in her flailing arms. She slipped out of the hollow she¡¯d been dug into and in a swirl of earth and water and murk she slid away. Then the flailing phoenix crashed into her. It wasn¡¯t the side of his body with the glowing eye but it was still terribly hot and it burned her. A scream rose up in her but she fought it down, down like the panic, like the urge to breathe. She was free of the earth, now she was in the water.


    She kicked away from the phoenix ignoring the searing pain all through her body and slammed against another wall. The phoenix flailed, clearly not used to swimming, and got stuck on her spear still sticking out of it. She moved smoothly and drew a knife from her belt, gliding herself over top of the phoenix, keeping her distance. The knife was usually only for when you missed with a spear and needed protection desperately, since she never missed she¡¯d never used it before. But she was going to use it now. She curled up above the phoenix and bunched up against the wall, preparing for a lunge straight into its head.


    It dislodged the spear in its flailing and looked up at her. In all the murk it had looked like just a shadow but now, looking down at it it looked like a man. It looked afraid and panicked and confused, so very confused. One eye was glowing but the other was just a normal eye belonging to a human. She stabbed that one and sent the phoenix flailing to the bottom of the pit. She emerged shaking and filled her lungs greedily. It was a monster, it wasn¡¯t a man, she was there to kill it. Those were the facts.


    Down in the bottom of the pit the phoenix lay and his heat slowly faded. His horse had escaped, she was much better at swimming than he was so now he was all alone. He had one good eye left and it still blazed. A soft light that lit the water and kept him alive as the soldiers threw dirt on him from above, burying him for good. But at the bottom of that pit that eye still glowed.

 The Second Blade

    Meduramanth the Enigma Castle towered above them as they rode along the path. It¡¯s huge shifting walls tall and thin like spires and covered in those cryptic spiralling runes. Beyond the shifting walls there would be the keep, a keep that had never been breached, nevermind taken, for a thousand years. A thousand years, until now. But this time the invaders had somewhat cheated.


    Lord Farro led the way on his great black horse, his brown and gold patterned cloak trailing over it. He was a tall man, Lord Farro, imposing, intimidating. Lord Sturken, a shorter man who rode behind him in blue and purple colours, had always respected him, always admired his resolve and power. No one ever got the better of Lord Farro they said, he was always one step ahead they said, but they¡¯d also said the Enigma Castle was unbreachable. They¡¯d been wrong about both.


    The small party of lords and their retainers were ushered through the gates and began to follow the string through the maze. The walls towered above them and Lord Sturken watched intently, waiting for them to move, clutching his reins far tighter than necessary. Farro ignored the walls and just rode calmly on ahead, it was his castle after all, or it had been.


    They reached the keep, a building much smaller than the huge shifting walls but also covered in the strange spiralling symbols. No one knew who had built the castle or why they¡¯d left it but the Farros had found it and taken it after working out the secrets of the shifting maze. Surrounding the keep were Farro¡¯s soldiers in their browns and golds but there were also her soldiers, with their dotted armour.


    The lords walked past and into the keep where she had a great map of the Hallowed Realm stretched out on the table. There were different colours for different keeps and castles depending on which side held them. Their side held the most. There was also a new colour, orange, that didn¡¯t occupy anything, instead it stretched in a line from Stallwinds Crest to Fort Sundrick. The path the phoenix had taken, as near as they could figure it.


    She was looking over the map with her generals and some of theirs, with her black lipped slave standing by. Sturken approached the gathering and spoke, eager to offer some new information.


    ¡°The phoenix destroyed Fort Sundrick and everyone there, then it went to Elkring.¡±


    The Inkdrop Queen turned from the map and looked at him, she wasn¡¯t holding her wicked black sword but she did still have her jagged crown with its frozen inkdrops and that made him uncomfortable all the same. He was often uncomfortable with these people.


    ¡°Did it destroy Elkring?¡± she asked him and everyone looked eager.


    ¡°No,¡± Sturken said dejectedly. ¡°They had some sort of trap for it, they drowned it we think.¡±


    The Queen looked back at her map and pondered. ¡°I suppose that would have been too easy.¡±


    They discussed further tactical maneuvers confidently. It seemed obvious that they¡¯d already won, the phoenix may not have destroyed Elkring and won them the war but it had destroyed whole battalions and occupied the king¡¯s forces for days. They had a huge advantage in both numbers and initiative, all that was left was to seize Elkring and claim the Hallowed Realm for the Uprising. Sturken was interested to see who¡¯d be claiming it though. Farro was technically the leader of the Uprising and most of the men and soldiers looked up to him. But he obeyed the Queen for the sake of his wife and children who were miles away in the Wilderness, imprisoned by the best soldiers her considerable money could buy.


    Sturken leaned back and watched them debate tactics. Ever since he¡¯d lost at Stallwinds Crest they¡¯d never respected his opinion. He wasn¡¯t actually sure they¡¯d respected his opinion before that either. He looked over at the Queen¡¯s slave. The ragged woman with the scar across her mouth dribbling with ink. He loved that slave, she was hilarious.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± he asked her quietly, ignoring the discussion before him.


    She looked at him with sadness and he smiled mischievously. ¡°I am not Rana of Rostalion,¡± she sighed and he struggled to keep from laughing. She could only lie, that was what the blade did, turned you into some ridiculous character from a riddle or game. Sturken feared the blade himself of course but as long as the Queen only stuck it in other people he was happy to enjoy its effects.


    ¡°Do you enjoy serving us? Do you enjoy ridicule?¡±


    She didn¡¯t get angry, he was slightly disappointed in that, she only got sadder. ¡°Yes,¡± she lied and he stifled another laugh. It went on like that for the rest of the meeting, her answering his absurd questions. She¡¯d thought at first she could simply choose not to answer but that hadn¡¯t worked either. It wasn¡¯t just that she had to lie, it was that some part of her wanted her to lie, like an addiction, a yearning in the back of her mind. She didn¡¯t have to answer every question but quickly she found the yearning unbearable. Not that it brought any joy when she actually did it, it just drove the yearning back down for a while.


    She left the meeting, following the Inkdrop Queen back to her quarters dejectedly. At first she¡¯d thought that she was chosen as her slave because it would be difficult for her to reveal any secrets but she¡¯d quickly figured out that wasn¡¯t the reason. As she¡¯d discovered in the Wilderness when she¡¯d met the first person to be marked like her, there were ways to disclose any information in the form of blatant lies. No she was the chosen slave because just like Sturken the Queen seemed to take a perverse joy in her affliction. It was less obvious but it was there. She was a joke now, just a character for them to enjoy.


    She could try to kill the Inkdrop Queen of course. She was still a warrior even if she¡¯d lost some of her edge from the constant drudgery of slavery. But the Queen was careful and always slept behind locked doors with her blades close to hand. That was one piece of information Rana knew that nobody else did. There were actually two blades, almost indistinguishable but she was sure that they did different things. There was the one that made you lie but there was another one. One that did something else. The Queen never used that one and Rana was still working out exactly what it did. She had some ideas of course, she had a lot of ideas. But she knew it wasn¡¯t the same as the first one because once when she¡¯d been helping the Queen change she¡¯d seen a scar on her side that bled ink. The Queen had been stabbed and it couldn¡¯t have been by the same blade as Rana since she could still tell the truth, so it must have been by the other one.


    Rana wasn¡¯t sure what she¡¯d do with the information once she¡¯d gotten it. There wasn¡¯t anyone who¡¯d particularly care but she wanted to find out anyway. That way she was doing something, she feared what would happen once she was no longer doing anything.


    After fetching the Queen¡¯s dinner and making her bed she left to wander the castle. She wasn¡¯t allowed out in most of the castle of course, only the keep. The great thin walls were dangerous, they said. They said you could wander into them and never escape, being lost forever and they¡¯d never find so much as a body. She didn¡¯t believe that, she knew someone who regularly wandered the maze and never got lost, he also seemed to find plenty of bodies. Unfortunately, he was even more difficult to get information out of than she was. But he was the only one who talked to her without mockery so she was determined to try.


    Sal was sitting outside the keep on a rock in the courtyard looking up at the shifting walls. He was a strange man, thin and pale and with eyes that seemed wrong and never blinked. He reminded her of a frog or a gecko and she always half expected to see his tongue reach out from his mouth and lick his eyeballs or a snatch a fly. It never did though, much to her disappointment. He had lips that were as dark as hers although he didn¡¯t have a scar and he assured her it was just from living in the Wilderness for so long. The food there did that to you, he said. He could still tell the truth, apparently, she was skeptical if anything he said was truthful.


    ¡°You¡¯re not in the courtyard,¡± she commented. She¡¯d have liked to ask questions, that would have made things easier, but apparently the blade forbid that as well. It was lies only, nothing ambiguous.


    Sal nodded looking up at the walls. ¡°It is a good night to not be in the courtyard. A calm night.¡±


    Rana really wanted to ask him about the maze, but of course, she couldn¡¯t ask anything. She sat down next to him on the rock and thought about it for a while. ¡°I can read that,¡± she pointed at the spiralling symbols on the wall above them.


    Sal looked at her with his seemingly lidless eyes. ¡°It says ¡®Here is the Wall of the White Shark, may it ever be swift and silent in the ocean waters.¡¯¡±


    Her eyes grew wide. He could read them! No one could read them, that was part of the mystery, the enigma of it all.


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    He tilted his head curiously, then he smiled and put a finger to his lips. She¡¯d always assumed that Sal had come from the Wilderness with them because of his dark lips but if he could read the symbols maybe he¡¯d actually been here the whole time. She looked at his smile and wished she could ask him more.


    She pointed to the symbols on another wall and tried to put on a questioning face. It was the best she could do for now.


    Sal rocked his head back and forth, reading the runes. ¡°That says ¡®Here is the Wall of the Praying Mantis, may it remain regal and defined until it senses weakness and the time to strike.¡¯¡± He rocked his head again and looked back at her. ¡°What one is your favourite?¡± he asked. There were two so whichever one she picked he¡¯d know what she really meant.


    ¡°The Mantis,¡± she lied, back when she was young she¡¯d swum a lot in lakes pretending to be a shark. She was a strong swimmer, not that it mattered very much any more.


    Sal rocked his head some more. ¡°I like the Grass Snake,¡± he said. ¡°It is further in, hidden most of the time.¡±


    ¡°I know who made this place,¡± she lied, hoping he¡¯d know and could tell her. ¡°I know why all the walls are named after animals.¡±


    ¡°They are not named after animals,¡± he said. She frowned, that sounded exactly like what she¡¯d say and she was suddenly filled with doubt again about whether anything he¡¯d said was the truth. ¡°They are named after the people who built them,¡± he continued after a while. ¡°And those people were named after animals?¡±


    Who built them? She tried to ask but the question died on her tongue. Sal looked back at the walls and she felt her hope start to fade. Still, she¡¯d learned a lot, perhaps she could learn some more another time, she¡¯d have to think of more questions and ways to ask them.


    Sal stood up and smiled at her as he left, putting his finger to his lips again. He strolled past the guards who let him go and he entered into the maze. He¡¯d be back later with any equipment or provisions he could scrounge from those who¡¯d died in the maze. He took no string, he had no map or compass, maybe he just read the symbols.


    She turned back to the keep and heard the shouts and laughter coming from it. She didn¡¯t really follow what was going on with the phoenix everyone was talking about but from the meeting it had seemed like good news. So they were having a party, she¡¯d rather not go to a party, that was where she¡¯d be mocked the most.


    She went back to the tiny closet of a room she¡¯d been given, barely tall enough to stand and barely wide enough for her bed. It was cosy though, she supposed and she had a shelf to keep her meagre belongings on. She took down her little idol of Vestus, the god of strength and hunting and tried to pray. It was difficult, so difficult now. She had to simply think the prayer, as soon as she whispered it or muttered it or breathed it it died on her lips because it wasn¡¯t a lie, and she wasn¡¯t willing to lie to her god. She prayed for strength, she prayed for hope and she prayed for answers. She didn¡¯t think she was going to achieve much anymore but she could find her answers, that was what kept her going.


    Far out in the maze the Wall of the Grey Wolf slid along the ground, letting out a high pitched scraping whine that sounded almost like a howl.


    Rana was woken by a pounding on her door which shook her whole tiny room. She scrabbled from her bed, slamming her head painfully against the too low stone roof and opened the door, clutching her wounded scalp. The Queen was there, leaning against the wall, reeking of alcohol from the party. She had discarded the crown and her normal war clothing for a comfortable dress, she looked almost like a normal woman coming back home from a tavern. Normal except for the black sword dripping ink that she held in one hand.


    She snapped her fingers at Rana and spun around awkwardly to walk back to her room, the sword trailing toward the ground but not touching it. Even heavily intoxicated the Queen was still a master swordswoman. ¡°Come, slave. Help me out of this dress, and then fetch me some of that chicken from the kitchens. I¡¯m starving.¡±


    ¡°The chicken will still be warm I¡¯m sure,¡± Rana replied as the Queen staggered into her room. The Queen giggled at that and leaned against the wall.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you can manage,¡± she said. ¡°Get the cook to make some more.¡±


    Rana tried to grunt in agreement but the blade forbid that too so she said nothing and started undoing the dress. The Queen stood there swaying and let Rana undress her, the sword slowly trickling ink onto the floor. Rana would have to clean that up.


    She moved the dress down past the Queen¡¯s arms and had to move perilously close to the sword. The Queen was drunk and it would be so easy for her to accidentally impale her helpless slave but there wasn¡¯t much else Rana could do. Keeping her eye on that terrible blade she took off the dress and then she saw it. Underneath all the drips of ink there were symbols etched into the blade, the same symbols that were on all the walls, the symbols that Sal could read. Answers.


    She took off the dress and the Queen collapsed into bed, leaving the blade beside her on the dresser, then she pointed toward the kitchens and Rana went on her way. As she walked she thought about those symbols and how tantalizingly close she¡¯d gotten. If only she could remember them, if only she could show them to Sal, if only she¡¯d been able to read them herself, but she could do none of those things. Because the other thing she¡¯d noticed while so close to the blade was that it was the second one, not the one that made you lie, the one that did something else, the one that had stabbed the Queen. The symbols probably said exactly what it did and she had been so close to them it was infuriating.


    She woke up the cook and got her to make some more chicken despite her insistence on giggling every time Rana spoke in lies. Then she took the chicken back up to the Queen¡¯s room and walked in to find her asleep. Her heart leapt and she froze. The sword was right there, she could kill her right now and there no one could stop her. She walked over and set the chicken down on the dresser. The Queen was lying there, passed out cold and without her crown or her sword she looked just like a normal woman. Rana had never killed someone in their sleep before. It felt a lot less justifiable than during the thrill of battle.


    She picked up the blade and turned it over to look at the runes. It wouldn¡¯t do any good anyway, the guards wouldn¡¯t let her out of the castle so she couldn¡¯t escape and if the Queen died there were plenty of other people who could take her place, the intimidating Lord Farro for one, or worse that bastard Lord Sturken. She found a notebook and a quill and copied the runes then tore out the page to show it to Sal. She replaced everything, leaving it all where it was and left. Anger and disappointment brimming within her. This woman had ruined her life and now she had the chance she was doing nothing about it. But she didn¡¯t really want vengeance, killing the Queen wouldn¡¯t bring her truth back. She just had to learn to live with what she had. She closed the door on the sleeping queen and went back to bed.


    Sal looked at the paper with his lidless eyes and rocked his head back and forth. Rana waited patiently but her patience soon wore out and she waited impatiently. These were the symbols on the second blade, the answer she¡¯d been looking for since she¡¯d found out it existed. Why was he taking so long to read it?


    ¡°This is dark script,¡± Sal said sadly. She¡¯d never seen him sad before. ¡°Written by a dark person.¡±


    ¡°I can read it,¡± Rana lied. ¡°I know what it says.¡±


    Sal seemed uncomfortable as he rocked back and forth. ¡°It says...¡± he paused infuriatingly. ¡°This is the Second Blade of the Spider, forged from the Blood of Irasada, Mother of Medusae. Cleansed be thy name of those this blade touches for you have been blessed by the Spider.¡± He looked up at her with pain in his eyes. ¡°I did not like reading that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sorry.¡± It sounded harsh but he understood. Questions filled her mind, what were the Medusae, what was Irasada, who was the Spider? What did the blade actually do? Although she was starting to suspect an answer to that one. She struggled to form the questions into lies Sal could understand when a voice called to her.


    ¡°Rana!¡± It was one of the soldiers from the Queen¡¯s personal guard. She took the paper from Sal who was all too happy to give it to her and walked slowly over to the guard, tucking the paper away. ¡°The Queen wants you.¡±


    Rana nodded and went to the Queen¡¯s room to find her clearly hungover but maintaining her composure all the same.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t take your vengeance on me when you had the chance?¡± the Queen said as she dressed.


    Rana nodded, that at least, the blade allowed. ¡°There was no one else who could simply step into your place. It would have made a huge difference.¡±


    The Queen shrugged. ¡°Still, I took away your life.¡±


    ¡°I am not still alive. Had I killed you I would not have been killed.¡±


    The Queen smiled as she finished putting on her uniform and stood in front of the mirror, she still had huge bags under her weary eyes. ¡°Yes of course, you are not ruled by vengeance, by hatred, truly you would have made a great warrior.¡±


    ¡°I was never a great warrior.¡±


    The Queen¡¯s smile grew ever wider. ¡°You are wasted as my slave, I can find any number of weaklings to fill that role. I am sending you back to the Wilderness to serve as a soldier there, clearing out our new lands of beasts and monsters.¡±


    ¡°I cannot escape there.¡±


    Rana didn¡¯t think she¡¯d ever seen the queen smile this much. ¡°You will be under the leadership of my sister Ayessa, you can try.¡±


    Rana nodded. Ayessa, she¡¯d heard that name before, she¡¯d heard many names of many of the generals but there was one particular name she had never heard.


    She let herself be dismissed and led back to the Wilderness after gathering her possessions. The secret passage that led into the heart of Meduramanth was now wide open and guarded by the Queen¡¯s forces at all times. She went through with a few guards and into the impossible cave. It didn¡¯t look that unusual, just a short cave with a few torches and a little stream ringed with mushrooms and a few other plants. The impossible part was that it was short, taking only a minute or two to traverse, yet the distance it covered, between the Wilderness and Meduramanth should have taken months.


    She emerged into the little village in the Wilderness that had been converted into a base for the Queen and her forces. The waterfall roared and Rana stood on the other side of the world, a soldier again. She could reclaim her identity perhaps, become something like who she once was. She still had her identity of course, she still had a name. That was something she was fairly sure the Queen did not have.

 The Battle of Castle Elkring

    The army appeared over the horizon as the last stones were being piled upon the grave of the phoenix. It was now a huge stone mound stretching all across the farmlands that had been cleared for the battle. Not only had the pit where the phoenix had fallen been covered up with huge boulders but everything around it had as well in case the phoenix burned its way up somewhere nearby. The work had taken up much of the army¡¯s manpower and half of them were still at the quarry gathering more stones despite everyone¡¯s insistence that they had enough. The old witch wanted to be sure apparently, and sure she had been, although now it just might have cost them all their lives.


    Weary soldiers sweated on the piles of stones and looked down at the approaching force. There¡¯d been no warning, they were still exhausted from hauling rocks all day and they had left all their weapons in the armoury. The army was huge, made up of many lords from many lands, each with their own colours and banners arrayed out along the crest. They were still far away but there wasn¡¯t much time before they¡¯d be bearing down upon them. The soldiers ran, tumbling down from their perches they loped into the armoury to grab what weapons they could. Those who had been sergeants, captains, commanders, struggled to bring some order to the chaos but they¡¯d lost long ago the men they were supposed to be commanding. In the rush to slay the phoenix the army had fallen apart. They trudged to their posts along the walls. Castle Elkring was formidable, a huge fortress built around a huge oak tree as big as a small mountain. But to guard all those walls took a lot of soldiers and they didn¡¯t have that many soldiers any more.


    The army approached, it had a lot of soldiers.


    Within the castle the Oaken Court looked out from the king¡¯s high balcony. It was the middle of the day and it was unnaturally hot, but not so unnatural that embers were howling down out of the sky and the grass was drying up. Still, it wasn¡¯t ideal, their greatest weapon worked best at night.


    Eyr Ragoth, Queen of Xith ignored the heat blazing down on her and watched the army with another queen, the Witch Queen Nath. They were both new to the court and disliked some of the other members who thought to preside over them. They also represented what little hope Elkring still had.


    ¡°Eyr, Nath,¡± King Ramon said, stepping up to them. ¡°How fast can you be ready?¡±


    ¡°I will be prepared long before that army arrives,¡± Nath said.


    Eyr nodded, she would be ready as well.


    Ramon turned and faced the older witches, Gushkabel and Magda. ¡°What does the future hold? Can you see it?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what the future holds my lord,¡± Bariel, the Master of Arms said. ¡°That army is going to march in here and the magnificent force that we¡¯ve been building up these past few months is going to be unable to stop it because they¡¯ve been too busy piling rocks on top of each other!¡±


    ¡°That phoenix would have destroyed the entire castle if not for-¡± Gushkabel began, she did not get far.


    ¡°If not for the trap my men set for it and the fisher girl who fought it for us!¡± Bariel interrupted. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you lot do much of anything except order us around and get us into ridiculous positions like this!¡±


    Gushkabel refused to answer and the king tried to calm his Master of Arms. He didn¡¯t succeed.


    ¡°Bariel, you can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t I, your majesty? These witches have all but admitted they have no magic! All four of them-¡± he gestured broadly to Gushkabel, Magda, Eyr and Nath. ¡°They can¡¯t do anything to help us! What are we supposed to do?!¡±


    ¡°Run,¡± said Vered, the chairman of the Oaken Court, stepping out onto the balcony. ¡°You should run.¡±


    Bariel finally quietened, mainly because of the confusion that distorted his face. ¡°But... but...¡±


    Peppers, the Queen of Fools burst into laughter. ¡°Bariel¡¯s arms are all tired from lifting boulders so he is a master of nothing.¡± No one else seemed to find it at all funny.


    ¡°This is our greatest castle, if we can¡¯t defend this we can¡¯t defend anything!¡± Deagon, the Master of Coin said.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be defending our lives,¡± Vered replied. ¡°Something we certainly can¡¯t do here.¡±


    ¡°We can,¡± Magda said nervously, her watery eyes looking out at the army and her fingers clutched tightly around a red bag.


    Vered raised his eyebrow. ¡°Really, forgive me for having some skepticism.¡±


    ¡°This is our best chance and we have more of a chance than you think. We have a lot more magic than they do.¡±


    ¡°We thought that before and they set a phoenix on us.¡±


    ¡°The phoenix is dead and buried,¡± Gushkabel spat. ¡°All that¡¯s left are weapons and warriors, predictable, monotonous. We have the beasts of Xith at our call, we have the potions of the Witch Queen and we have the fiefling.¡±


    ¡°Yes you¡¯ve said that before, what exactly does this fiefling do?¡± Deagon asked.


    ¡°Well it made the phoenix for one thing.¡±


    ¡°We can make our own phoenix?¡±


    ¡°No, the fiefling is dead. But its body will burn far hotter than anything else, we can tie to arrows and set fires on the enemy that won¡¯t go out.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s... not how fire works,¡± Vered said.


    ¡°It¡¯s how this fire works.¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± the king shouted and they all quieted, he didn¡¯t shout very often, perhaps he was finally growing into the king he should have been years ago. ¡°Bariel, Gurren, get your best archers to Gushkabel and Magda, I want this fire on them as soon as possible. Eyr, Nath, I want you working together as you planned. Vered and you other guildmasters, you¡¯re in charge of logistics, I want everyone to have everything they need or could possibly want at all times. Peppers, run all over the castle and see what parts need shoring up, report back to me. Sireth, join the archers. Is that clear?¡±


    Everyone looked at each other and nodded slowly.


    ¡°Excellent, then get off my balcony!¡±


    They left and the king stood atop his castle and rubbed his aching temple. It took him a while to recover from an outburst like that, he had never been a natural born leader as everyone had wanted him to be. He had better become one though, or he was going to run out of chances.


    The army hadn¡¯t been marching long. They¡¯d set up not far from the castle and relied on the Inkdrop Queen¡¯s network of scouts to keep their location a secret. It hadn¡¯t been easy but Ramon was fielding half the scouts he normally would and now most of them had been killed, or captured and tortured for information.


    So now they were all refreshed and rested and they¡¯d been joined by Lady Vessry and her forces to make a force many times larger than that at the castle. It was a good day, an excellent day to topple a dynasty.


    The army marched upon the castle and the mound of stones before it. They were out of the reach of arrows or even siege weapons but they didn¡¯t have to worry about that yet. First came the mist.


    It was only clouds at first, slowly drifting clouds that no one noticed, at least not until they grew dark enough to blot out the sun and descended. Then the soldiers started to notice and they also started to see the swirling shapes hurtling through the mist. The swirling shapes that seemed to be spreading it. No one saw what the shapes were, no one could see much of anything at that point. But they all heard the screams as those shadows crashed into the soldiers and then swept away back into the air.


    Lord Sturken shouted instructions to his men. ¡°Form up behind me! Form-¡± His instructions ended in a crash and a scream as a shape knocked him from his horse, leaving his body mangled and torn, even through his armour.


    Screams split the air and some men panicked, breaking rank entirely. Lord Farro pulled his horse under control and grimaced at the darkening sky. He could see nothing but the shapes of his men around him and beyond that he couldn¡¯t see far. He grabbed a trembling man standing below him and leaned down into his face. In all the panic and mist and screams he remained calm and the man seemed even more terrified than he¡¯d been before.


    ¡°Charge forward,¡± Farro told him. ¡°And scream.¡±


    The man obeyed, launching himself from Farro¡¯s grip and sprinting off into the mist, toward what was hopefully the castle. He let out what Farro had hoped would be a battlecry but was far more similar to the screams of terror everyone else was making. Farro grimaced in annoyance and kicked his horse forward.


    ¡°Charge!¡± he shouted and galloped away. His men heard him and they charged, what else was there to do but wait there and die?


    A shape came for him, hurtling down out of the mist but he was ready for it. He¡¯d already drawn his sword and he plunged it into the shape as it bore down upon him. It was a winged monster, something like a bat but that was all he saw before it knocked him from his horse. It¡¯s claws tearing through his armour, making him bleed. It bounced away and he groaned in pain as the ground knocked the wind out of him. He struggled to his feet, there was no time for this on a battlefield. He found the dead creature, it was a bat, a giant one, with his sword impaled through it, and it had a belt wrapped around it covered in bottles that were leaking the mist.


    Farro took out his sword and through the rush of bodies charging forward managed to find his horse and mount her again. It took a while though, especially with blood slick on his chest and pain roaring from his side. So he wasn¡¯t at the front of the charge when it emerged into a wall of fire.


    Sireth, the head ranger of the Deepwood stood atop the walls of the castle and fired the last of the arrows tipped with the crumbled body of the fiefling. Most archers had been given two arrows, he¡¯d been given three. He hoped he was up to that extra responsibility. The arrow hit a man who burst into flame instantly and set the ground around him on fire as well. A fire that didn¡¯t go out. It was nice to be on this side of the magical fire for a change.


    Sireth reached for his regular quiver and knocked a regular arrow. There were soldiers breaking through the wall of fire that they¡¯d built up and starting to form ranks. One of the vampires burst from the mist behind them and took out some soldiers before disappearing again. Sireth took aim and fired, they were close now, possibly too close.


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    He heard shouts of alarm and looked toward the grave of the phoenix. Boulders and rocks were crumbling away as the army clambered over it. Magical fire or not it didn¡¯t seem to be able to burn stone. There was a gap in the fire and the enemy poured through. Sireth could do nothing to stop the torrent of soldiers but he could pick off the enemy archers who were setting up atop boulders and firing at the defenders. He hit one, then another. Their focus was on the defenders in front of them, not on him. He took aim at the third.


    Then an arrow stabbed through his arm. He screamed and his shot fell apart in front of him. His aim disappeared and the arrow fell away to nowhere, the bowstring catching on the arrow sticking from his arm and yanking it, causing yet more pain. He collapsed down beneath the walls and cursed.


    He¡¯d been watching the archers at the grave, but there had been other archers getting through elsewhere. Idiot! Blood was trickling down his arm and onto his fingers which twitched painfully. The arrow still stuck right through his arm so he used his other one to snap it off and pull it out. Ignoring the pain as best he could. Around him other soldiers dropped from similar arrow wounds. They¡¯d had a good start but the enemy just seemed to have more archers than them, many many more archers.


    His body shaking with pain he pulled a torn piece of his shirt tight around the wound with his teeth. He panted with exhaustion and tried to stand up, leaning on the wall. Then he heard the clash of swords from atop the wall. The enemy was somehow here already.


    Farro emerged from the mist onto the circle of stones. He teetered on his horse, his head still reeling from his run in with the great bat earlier. Around him soldiers screamed and died in the fire but he looked ahead. Ahead the elite shock troops of the Inkdrop Queen had reached the wall and were shooting their grappling arrows. Farro had almost laughed at the concept when he¡¯d first seen it. You would have to be impossibly accurate and having ropes on the end of an arrow would weigh it down far too much. Not to mention the defenders could simply remove them.


    But he was now starting to think he¡¯d been wrong. Too many roped arrows to count sprung up along the walls and the troops began scaling them incredibly fast. Streams of men running up the walls like spiders on their webs. A few of them were knocked down of course and they all crashed to the ground humiliatingly, but many others reached the top. He was thankful for that. The wall of fire didn¡¯t seem to be dying down and the only way through seemed to be the circle of rocks which hardly seemed a place fit to bring a siege tower.


    He walked his horse slowly through the rocks and listened to the sounds of battle ahead of him. Then more of those mist potions began to fall from the castle walls, their telltale trails of mist flowing behind them. It was a different colour this time Farro realised, darker than before. It wouldn¡¯t be the same thing, there was little advantage to using a blinding mist that close to the walls. Over the sounds of battle he began to hear the screams.


    Sireth staggered to the breached part of the wall above the grave of the phoenix, clutching a sword in his good hand. The battle was a press of bodies, both sides crushed together in a pile of shouts and screams and cries. Sireth could smell sweat and blood and fear all coming off the men in waves. Beside him other soldiers poured some of the witch queen¡¯s potions down at the invaders. He didn¡¯t know what those ones did but from the screams below it didn¡¯t sound good. He also didn¡¯t care, he reached the press of bodies and jumped.


    The men closest to him were all on his side, he had to reach the other side in order to do anything. For most men that would¡¯ve been difficult, even impossible, but Sireth was a ranger of the Deepwood. He¡¯d been running along tree branches before he¡¯d been running on the ground.


    He landed on the merlons and ran along them, the battle on one side and the sheer drop to the ground on the other. His sword found the face of an invader and he tore through it, moving on to the next one. That one saw him coming and tried to block but was too late, he joined his friend on the ground. They hadn¡¯t expected an attack from this direction and he was going to take full advantage of their surprise while it lasted. It didn¡¯t last long.


    The next one got his sword up to block in time and pushed. Sireth realised his mistake at running along the castle so precariously. It left him very little room to fight. He let out a desperate lash at the face of his attacker as he fell. He twisted and caught the wall with his other hand, a trick he¡¯d picked up from many falls in the forest. But in the forest his arm hadn¡¯t had an arrow through it.


    Slamming into the wall like that was too much for the pain in his fingers and he bounced off. He tumbled down to die on the ground.


    ¡°They¡¯ve taken the outer wall and opened the gate,¡± Peppers said, her usual happiness marred.


    Ramon nodded grimly, he¡¯d already sent everyone to the gate, there wasn¡¯t much more he could do.


    ¡°It seems that there are too many of them and not enough of us,¡± the Queen of Fools continued.


    ¡°Yes Peppers,¡± Ramon replied. ¡°It does seem that way.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I had better make up the numbers as best I can,¡± she smiled at him and ran off to the gate. He didn¡¯t try to stop her, getting information as to what was going on hardly seemed important anymore. He knew what was going on, they were losing.


    Gushkabel, Magda and Nath walked in, Queen Eyr was still out flying on a vampire somewhere.


    ¡°You don¡¯t happen to have any good news for me?¡± he asked them sadly.


    Gushkabel shook her head and Nath looked grim.


    ¡°We slowed them down,¡± Magda said. ¡°They¡¯ll have trouble getting through all that fire.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t matter, the gate¡¯s open,¡± Gushkabel said.


    Ramon nodded. ¡°We can¡¯t hold it can we?¡±


    They all shook their heads.


    ¡°Pull back. We¡¯ll hold the keep then. We¡¯ll make them pay for this.¡±


    Lord Farro rode into Castle Elkring. The dead lay everywhere and that acidic mist still hadn¡¯t completely dissipated so his wounds burned. But he rode all the same. It had taken years of planning to get to this point, years of waiting for this very day. He knew the victory wasn¡¯t only his but that hardly seemed relevant right now. They¡¯d done it. He¡¯d done it.


    The Inkdrop Queen rode up beside him and looked upon the keep with him. The keep brimming with soldiers loyal to the crown. They still had a lot of fighting to do, luckily they both liked fighting.


    Eyr Ragoth, Queen of Xith flew over the battlefield. She¡¯d seen battlefields before but never one like this one. Before the castle was a huge cloud of swirling mist, her vampires still dived in and out of that, breaking apart the considerable army still trapped there. In front of that was the huge circle of stones and on either side was the wall of fire pouring smoke up into the sky. The smoke cloud obscured her view a little but she was glad of it for hiding her from the enemy all the same. There were a lot of enemies.


    They¡¯d poured into the castle and now only the great keep with the oak tree growing through it remained unbreached. She dived down to get a better look, her supply of flechettes had all been used up killing soldiers in the mist so now she had to get her hands dirty. She didn¡¯t mind.


    Two people stood in the gate on horses, the way that they weren¡¯t rushing about implied to her that they were important. She¡¯d like to kill at least one important person today. She took the bigger one, swooping down silently, her vampire¡¯s claws reaching for him.


    He turned at the last second and shouted in alarm, alerting his companion. The companion swung a blade dripping with darkness at her as she crashed into the man. Claws puncturing his chest. She blocked the blade with her own and used the force of her dive to drive the woman away from her. The vampire jolted to a stop below her, landing claws deep in the man. Then it began to gather itself to fly off again but the woman was already coming back, whirling her horse around and charging.


    The vampire spread its wings in a mighty flap and launched from the ground, there was a tugging sensation but that was all, they were away. But they weren¡¯t, the tugging had been the woman¡¯s dark sword tearing through the belly of the vampire. It made it a little way before spiralling back to the ground. It was still alive and so it didn¡¯t crash, letting Eyr leap from its back to turn to face the woman charging toward her. She gripped her sword tightly and accepted her fate. Dying out here she¡¯d never be stitched back together by the Bone Collector. She¡¯d never see her home or her husband again.


    She dodged to the side and swung as the horse passed her but she was too slow. The dark blade battered hers aside and found her shoulder. She crashed to the ground, barely able to think through the blood and pain. She tried to stand but the Inkdrop Queen decapitated her before she could.


    The Inkdrop Queen turned from the corpse of the bat-riding woman and looked at Lord Farro, eviscerated in the middle of the courtyard. Well, at least she wouldn¡¯t have to share her victory anymore.


    The battering ram hammered against their door rhythmically. With each crash the soldiers barricading the door were flung back and hastily scrambled to hold it again. Behind them other soldiers were arrayed in battle lines, their weapons all pointing at the door. It didn¡¯t seem like any of them were getting out alive.


    Ramon and what remained of the Oaken Court clustered at the back surrounded by what was left of the royal guard. Peppers and Vered hadn¡¯t come back before they¡¯d sealed the doors and they had reports of Sireth falling from the walls. Eyr Ragoth could have flown away by now and Ramon wouldn¡¯t have blamed her.


    The witches sat nervously and Bariel and Deagon fumed. They¡¯d stopped critiquing everything the witches said now. They¡¯d realised that it wouldn¡¯t much matter anymore.


    Ramon heard the door splinter and crack before the battering ram. He thought of his son, his horrible son who¡¯d tortured and killed as he¡¯d pleased. He¡¯d tried stopping him but the truth was he¡¯d feared him. He¡¯d always feared him. But he was still his son. He wished he was here now.


    ¡°It looks like we¡¯re all going to have to fight,¡± the king said, standing up and placing his hand on his sword. ¡°I doubt any of us will leave here but we can take down a whole lot of these bastards with us!¡±


    Bariel and Gurren leapt to their feet and cheered. The older witches stayed seated but Nath stood and put a hand on a thin sword at her waist. Ramon shuddered to think what poisons it might be coated in.


    ¡°For the King!¡± Bariel shouted.


    ¡°For the Hallowed Realm!¡± Nath cried.


    ¡°For Spite!¡± Gurren cheered and the crowd cheered with them.


    The Inkdrop Queen steered her horse toward one of her captains who was running up to her.


    ¡°What is it?¡± she hissed at him, eager to get on her way to the keep.


    ¡°We¡¯re experiencing a bit of a problem on the west side, your majesty.¡±


    ¡°What sort of problem?!¡± she screamed at him, she didn¡¯t have time for these vague descriptions.


    ¡°Well there¡¯s two of them and they have a... a string...¡±


    ¡°A what?¡±


    ¡°Come and see.¡±


    She galloped to the west side and on her way saw dead men with cuts that were too thin to be made with a sword. She reached a building, an armoury or something, that had been boarded up and was surrounded by her soldiers. Around it lay many of the dead bodies with those cuts.


    ¡°Well go in,¡± she told the soldiers.


    They looked at her nervously, they were all Farro¡¯s soldiers, typical. Why did he have to get himself killed right when she needed him?


    ¡°If you surrender now no one else will be harmed,¡± a female voice from within the building shouted.


    ¡°Shut up Peppers,¡± a male voice hissed.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t surrendering, we have you surrounded!¡± the Inkdrop Queen called back.


    ¡°You may have surrounded us physically but in truth it is we who have you surrounded. In the mind!¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You are not free thinkers, you are bound by-¡±


    ¡°Alright screw this, charge!¡± the Queen shouted and the soldiers reluctantly obeyed.


    They were fast, these two, she had to give them that. Very fast. They leapt from the building, each holding one end of a string and they ducked and wove through her soldiers. The woman was dressed all in motley with a jangling hat and bells and the man wore a simple coat that had far too much thought put into it. Whenever a weapon struck at them they¡¯d block with the string which held somehow and then duck away while the attacker reeled.


    The woman stayed on the building side and the man ducked through the line of soldiers, pulling the string taught. It cut through armour and flesh easily spraying blood across the courtyard. In seconds half of her small force had perished and they quickly began wrapping the string around the other half.


    The man spun out of the way of a sword and started to pull the string back. Then her sword impaled him from behind and he collapsed. The string went slack.


    ¡°Ah,¡± the woman dressed in motley said, dancing back to the armoury. ¡°Could we maybe circle back around to the surrender idea. I¡¯d be willing to compromise perhaps, we could always-¡±


    ¡°Kill her,¡± the Queen said, climbing off her horse to inspect the string. The man must be Vered, the famous tailor who knew more than he should about everything. He looked up at her with dying eyes beneath a fashionable haircut.


    ¡°You can use it... without me...¡± he lied as she picked up the string. The woman had dropped her end of it to run away.


    ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out.¡± She said and raised her sword to stab him again. His eyes looked at her with terror then focused on something else above her. She spun around to see another one of those blasted bat creatures swooping down. She pointed her sword at it but it wasn¡¯t coming for her, it landed on the roof of the armoury. Almost knocking off the motley woman who¡¯d climbed up there to escape.


    The Queen turned to face it and she felt a rush of fear, something she wasn¡¯t used to feeling. It wasn¡¯t that the winged monster was far bigger and uglier than any of the bats she¡¯d seen. It wasn¡¯t that the monster had an almost human face that looked at her with uncanny intelligence. It was the woman who rode the monster, and her golden eyes.

 The Cleanser of Names

    The woman had arrived at the Palace of Flowers in the late hours of the morning. Those hours were quiet in the Palace and the other girls were all resting. Ashaya had been wary of the woman at first, she was a priestess she said, an acolyte who had sworn an oath of blindness for her god, Heraim, the Eyeless. That explained the blindfold she claimed but Ashaya had demanded more, anyone hiding their eyes like that could be a sorceress, it was just good business to check these things.


    So the woman had opened up her blindfold and revealed the two holes in her head where her eyes had been dug out. She took her oath seriously, she said, the blindfold was for others not for her. Ashaya had felt sick looking into those eyes but she had swallowed her unease and accepted the woman into the Palace of Flowers. There were many men who¡¯d pay extra for a virgin priestess after all.


    Things had gone well for a while. She was beautiful, the woman, and attracted all manner of clients. Although she was too confident Ashaya thought and that drove some of them away. There was nothing wrong with confidence of course, many of the girls at the Palace used that as one of their draws, but it wasn¡¯t expected in a sheltered acolyte. Nevertheless she did well there for what little time she was there.


    She was a mysterious woman, barely ever at the Palace when she wasn¡¯t working. She¡¯d disappear into the streets which Ashaya warned against, those could be dangerous streets. But the woman never seemed to come to any harm which was uncanny. A beautiful woman blindfolded, just seemed to invite trouble.


    Ashaya had had her followed once to see where she went. She wore a hood to hide her blindfold and seemed to have no trouble finding her way. She went into the forest and then disappeared, returning that afternoon to get back to work. She refused to say where she¡¯d gone, she refused to say much of anything really.


    She also never took any drugs. Most all the women took something to keep from growing pregnant, many took a lot of other drugs as well. She took none and Ashaya worried she actually wanted a child. Pregnant women did not earn nearly as much money.


    She would sometimes seem to move differently, as though she were hiding something. Something that could be a pregnancy. But she never grew to the size that would indicate that and it was always only for a few days. Ashaya worried about it for a little while but there were many other things to worry about and eventually it no longer bothered her.


    At least until the woman disappeared and her name vanished entirely from Ashaya¡¯s mind.


    At the feet of the Inkdrop Queen Vered lay dying. He didn¡¯t really know what was going on but he could see her pointing her dripping black sword at the blurry figure on the roof. He coughed and felt phlegm and blood fill his throat.


    ¡°It takes a magic weapon to kill a sorcerer but I have one!¡± The Queen was saying. ¡°Surely you wouldn¡¯t risk your life to-¡±


    Vered knew he was going to die, he could feel the life slipping from his body and the consciousness slipping from his mind. But somewhere in all the fuzziness he was annoyed that this woman was ignoring him. Him! The most dangerous and fashionable tailor in the Realm. And he still had his string.


    He clutched at it on the ground with shaking clumsy fingers and managed to pinch it between them. He drew it through his hands and in a motion he¡¯d practised a thousand times he flicked it over the sword that pointed past him.


    The Queen looked down at him and he smiled at her with bloody lips. ¡°You have a magic weapon,¡± he lied. Then he pulled tight the String of Vethimeres and it cut clean through the inkdrop sword, shattering it into three pieces.


    Ink rained down on him and he coughed and choked. His mind slipped away and he died in the courtyard, the last thing he saw was the Queen¡¯s shocked face.


    The battering ram crashed through the grand doors into the Oaken Court and its inhabitants charged. Men and women from all across the Hallowed Realm, conscripted from a hundred different places, serving a hundred different lords, wearing a hundred different colours. They all charged at the invaders in the name of King Ramon Elkring.


    Those holding the battering ram died first, unable to defend themselves at all, they were simply killed and trampled by the charge. Behind them the others struggled to form up, they hadn¡¯t been expecting the door to open just yet. They fell as well in a crush of bodies and the battle spilled out into the courtyard.


    Behind them Magda and Gushkabel watched the charge. The two old witches, standing in the keep beneath the huge tree.


    ¡°Time was I would be out there fighting,¡± Gushkabel reminisced. ¡°Time was when I could fight even a sorcerer.¡±


    Magda watched the battle with her big watery eyes. ¡°Well you don¡¯t have to boast about it you know.¡±


    Gushkabel looked at her. ¡°Well I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t locked away in a cottage studying the omens and signs my whole life. Fat lot of good that¡¯s done you.¡±


    Magda¡¯s mouth dropped open. ¡°I... I... You...¡± she stammered. ¡°You can¡¯t just... Just because you did nothing and then were given one of the most powerful artifacts in the world... You don¡¯t... It... it...¡± she trailed off and looked into the sky.


    Gushkabel snorted. ¡°You¡¯d never have had the stomach for battle, you can¡¯t even-¡±


    Magda slapped her and pointed at an uninteresting point in space.


    ¡°You-¡± Gushkabel began but Magda interrupted her.


    ¡°If you¡¯d studied the signs maybe you¡¯d see it.¡±


    ¡°See what?¡±


    ¡°The sorceress. And it seems she¡¯s here to help us.¡±


    Gushkabel felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She didn¡¯t have a great relationship with the local helpful sorceress.


    The Inkdrop Queen looked down at her shattered blade and the dying tailor beneath it. That was one of the most magical weapons in the world, she didn¡¯t even know it could be broken.


    She looked up at the roof of the armoury where the sorceress was looking down at her from the great beast that had flown her there. She didn¡¯t look angry, just sad, but that didn¡¯t stop her from calling the elements down upon them.


    Wind howled and screamed and frigid hail poured out of the sky that was still full of smoke and mist. What men were left staggered to the ground and the Queen¡¯s horse bolted. She stumbled back as well and barely saw the sorceress¡¯s great monster take flight through all the hail. But she did see it, and she saw it come straight for her. She fell backward and rolled to the side as those huge claws scraped the rock of the courtyard. Hail stung her face and the wind drove her into the ground but she looked up anyway. The monster was about to lunge for her again.


    She swung the ruins of her sword at it feebly, it was a desperate attempt that she knew would achieve nothing. How could it? She barely even had a sword anymore. But the sword was still wrapped in Vered¡¯s magical string, a tiny thin strand that was barely noticeable anymore in all the rain and hail. And the beast was standing on the other end of it.


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


    The string pulled taught and snapped right up through the bottom of the creature¡¯s jaw and then up further. The monster died as it leaped and when it crashed into her its jaws didn¡¯t close around her. Instead she was just sprayed with blood and crushed between it and a pile of crates behind her. The sorceress lost her grip and tumbled over the crates.


    The Queen shoved her way to her feet and ran, the hail was dying down now and she quickly joined with the other fleeing soldiers. She abandoned the ruins of her sword and the string and focussed on running. There was a huge battle ahead of her at the doors of the keep and she disappeared into that. Covered in blood no one would recognise her.


    The sorceress leapt to her feet and brought back her hailstorm, blasting it down toward the soldiers. But all the soldiers had left, running to join the battle at the keep. She growled in annoyance, she¡¯d never find that woman now. She looked down at her monster, killed so quickly. It wouldn¡¯t have lived very long anyway but she¡¯d have liked it if it had made more of a difference in this battle. She always had more though.


    Atop the armoury roof the woman in motley clambered down toward her. That was strange, usually people ran away from an angry sorceress in the middle of a storm she¡¯d summoned.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± she asked, walking toward the battle letting the woman struggle to keep up.


    ¡°Well I¡¯d like to thank you of course.¡± The woman said, gathering up the string. ¡°Without you I¡¯d be as dead as poor Vered. Maybe even deader!¡±


    The sorceress rolled her eyes and spun to face the woman. ¡°You should run. I can¡¯t protect you and I¡¯m going to-¡±


    Ten arrows all flew out of the storm and five of them hit the sorceress, their combined force driving her into the ground. The woman in motley screeched in a high pitched voice and jumped out of the way.


    The sorceress growled and stood up to face the shield wall that was forming up ahead of her and the archers behind them. She ignored the arrows sticking into her and walked painfully forward. More arrows came, and some spears, but in the swirling winds it was hard for them to aim and they barely slowed her down anyway. She stopped around twenty paces from the shield wall and felt the storm swirl around her. It was just about big enough.


    The Inkdrop Queen leapt onto a horse someone had found her and drove it forward as fast as it would go. She didn¡¯t care about the monster¡¯s blood that coated her, she didn¡¯t care about the fear and adrenaline still pumping through her body and making it hard to think. She only cared about getting back to her tent and getting her second sword. You needed a magic weapon to kill a sorcerer, she¡¯d heard that, everyone had heard that. She hoped that you didn¡¯t need anything else.


    ¡°Charge to the left!¡± Magda and Gushkabel shouted at the army in front of them. ¡°The left!¡±


    It was difficult to hear them over the clamour and crash of battle but the king heard. He¡¯d been staying mostly near the back anyway since he wasn¡¯t especially useful dead. ¡°CHARGE LEFT!!¡± he bellowed, giving himself a headache. But the soldiers heard his voice and charged left, away from the sorceress, driving the enemy forces toward her.


    Magda panted and rubbed her old throat. Yelling that hard was difficult.


    ¡°Are you sure there¡¯s a sorceress?¡± Gushkabel asked skeptically, for her yelling was hardly more strenuous than talking.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Magda panted, slightly annoyed.


    ¡°Well you¡¯d have to be seeing her through several feet of stone and a huge battle. That just seems a bit-¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how the omens work. Besides, can you not hear the storm?¡±


    Gushkabel raised her eyebrow. ¡°We¡¯re in a fortified stone building and there¡¯s a huge battle outside of course I can¡¯t hear-¡±


    A terrible boom of thunder rolled through the keep. Magda smiled.


    The lightning struck down into the gathered army disrupting their formation. They staggered away from the strike as the men there died. Then another arc struck them and another boom of thunder echoed through the castle. A man in the front of the shield wall staggered forward and screamed and then more followed. They weren¡¯t going to stand around and wait to die it seemed.


    The sorceress ripped a spear from her body and fell into a fighting stance, around her her storm howled and her golden eyes glowed. She wasn¡¯t afraid of them, what could they do?


    As they hit her she swung her spear in a great arc knocking some of them down. The spear shattered and a man crashed into her, his sword impaling her and his shield knocking her back. She danced lightly backward and twisted his sword out of his grip then yanked it out, spraying her acidic blood everywhere. The men screamed as it splashed onto them. This was why she used hail and not rain, it was much less effective at washing that off.


    The sword wasn¡¯t as long as the spear but it was far sturdier and she slammed it into the soldiers. Beating down on them as they all closed in around her. Their weapons bit into her and she hit back but they had shields, there were so many shields. Her sword bounced off one shield, then another. Weapons cut into her and her blood sprayed harmlessly onto the faceless wall of shields all around her. She¡¯d heard of the phoenix devastating Fort Sundrick and she¡¯d assumed that with her magic she¡¯d be able to do the same. She was wrong.


    She called down lightning and killed some of the men but there were more. There were always more. She flailed with an arm and felt a sword cleave right through it. She fell backward into a wall of shields and swords and someone stabbed her leg, forcing it to crumble beneath her.


    She crashed to the ground, blood and hail dripping all around her and the wall of shields closed in. They were atop her, holding her down, crushing her, and there were so many of them. She tried to push back, she failed.


    Then they began to clear away, she could breathe again, she could think again. She tried to heal but more weapons bit into her, keeping her down, keeping her bleeding.


    She looked up at the gap in the shields and saw the woman had returned and she had another of those black blades. The woman grinned down at her.


    ¡°You won¡¯t stop me sorceress. I have all I need to kill you.¡±


    The sorceress tried to shake her head but a spear buried itself in her spine and drove her to the ground. She felt the black sword bite into the back of her head, it felt different to all the other weapons. It felt cleaner, like it was emptying her of something. But that could have just been the effect of losing some of her brain tissue.


    She lay on the ground in excruciating pain, weapons sticking out from all over her and that numb emptiness stretching across her body. What was left of her forehead pressed into the cold courtyard and she felt herself begin to slowly heal. She was healing, that meant they were leaving her, they thought she was dead. She¡¯d have to show them how wrong they were.


    The King¡¯s forces floundered. They¡¯d gotten much further than expected, something else had distracted the enemy and they¡¯d made it almost all the way into the courtyard. But they weren¡¯t going to make it much further. The enemy was pushing back against them with renewed ferocity now and there were so many of them. They fought and they died and the hail tumbled down around them.


    Gurren Skreed, the Master of Ships stabbed at an enemy and fell back through the press of bodies. He was sweating and panting hard despite the cold. He for one was glad for the hail, it drove away that hellish heat from the phoenix. Just like fighting in a storm out at sea. Someone stabbed him and he winced as the blade slipped through his armour and into his ribs. Just... like... home...


    Three terrible shapes plummeted out of the sky toward where the enemy had been gathered before. Gurren would have had no idea what they were without the lightning strike that suddenly lit the castle. They were like the vampires of Xith except bigger and uglier and more... human.


    Panic filled the enemy ranks and the man who¡¯d stabbed him actually turned around to look at what was going on. Gurren stabbed him back and then looked himself. A woman missing so many body parts she could barely be called a woman anymore sat atop one of the bat things as it flapped into the sky. She only had half a face left and in it one golden eye.


    More lightning began to fall. The enemy fled and Gurren clutched at his injury. He grinned up at the woman who was looking desperately through the fleeing crowds. It seemed someone had angered this sorceress, Gurren was glad it wasn¡¯t him. He walked back to the keep to look for some ale.


    The Inkdrop Queen lay in her tent and slept fitfully. They¡¯d spent the whole day fleeing from the sorceress and her remaining monsters before finally deciding they were far enough away to make camp. The sorceress wouldn¡¯t make the same mistake again, she wouldn¡¯t let herself get drawn into a melee she couldn¡¯t win. She¡¯d just stay in the sky and kill them all with lightning. It would be far too easy for her and far too hard for them.


    The Queen walked through the burning forest. The topaz eyes set into the trees all looking at her. And the thing in the topaz looking at her.


    ¡°You told me I would succeed. We had a deal!¡±


    The thing doesn¡¯t speak, at least not in the way she does. But she understands it all the same. ¡°Malthrys¡¯s grandchildren are hard to predict. But don¡¯t worry, I will find a way to be rid of her. Then you will have your castle. After all, we had a deal.¡±

 The Monster in the Cave

    The Monster slept as it had for many a century. Still digesting the great feast it had had many hundreds of years ago on the medusae of Meduramanth. It didn¡¯t sleep as men slept though, for it was still aware. It still watched, and it still moved.


    It watched as humans moved into the castle it had cleared out, a castle long thought impregnable. It didn¡¯t stir for this though as it cared little for humans and they didn¡¯t find the entrance to it¡¯s cave so they cared less for it. So through the humans it slept.


    Then came the Wayfinder, a human, but a human who knew the Ways. The Wayfinder walked right by it, mapping out the cave and its entrances, drawing out where and how to get to the Monster. The Monster slept in its hole and watched this with curiosity, humans had never entered the Ways before. The Wayfinder moved off, mapping other caves and other paths. It was futile of course, the Ways could not be mapped for they did not remain fixed forever. Old paths would close and new paths would open up. Although humans did not live long enough to see that happen so perhaps to the Wayfinder the maps were useful. The Wayfinder didn¡¯t bother the monster though so through the Wayfinder it slept.


    Then the Wayfinder brought down more humans. The Guild of Messengers, a guild that sprang up right before the monster¡¯s slumbering eyes. These messengers sold their services only to those who paid exorbitant prices and their very existence was a secret kept from most people for they feared what would happen to their business were the Ways to be discovered. Were other people to start learning of the instantaneous travel they could use. So no more people came through the cave in front of the monster save for the messengers. But there were a lot of messengers. They would walk in groups, chatting and laughing and carrying huge sacks of letters and notes, working for the most elite of human society. The monster was starting to dislike human society. It much preferred the age after that of gods and demons, when the world was still raw from great wars of magic and power and fortresses like Meduramanth were the only points of light and civilisation in the darkness. Now the world was noisy and full of bustling, laughing humans. So it did not sleep through the messengers. But it didn¡¯t simply eat them all either, like it had the medusae. For among the messengers was a sorceress, the Arbiter they called her. She was young and still mastering her powers but the monster had no weapon with which to kill her. So it went to speak with its friends.


    One night when the Ways were quiet and the messengers had delivered all their messages for the day the monster awoke. It took a while to open its many eyes and rouse its dreary brain for it had been asleep for a long time. But eventually, it awoke. And then it left its hole, climbing and crawling and sliding along through the cave, down the cave far too steep for humans and into the yawning caverns and labyrinthine tunnels that made up the Ways. There were paths in here that no messenger had ever trod for they were hidden from humans, too small, or too steep, or too high for them, but not for the monster.


    It slid its way through the dark paths, its many eyes blinking and watching the caves for any who might sneak up on it. Nothing did. The Ways had grown quiet of their many dangers over the years, it seemed the humans had claimed them for their own. The monster would have to do something about that.


    It found the High Chamber, the huge cave at the centre of the ways that had been carved out by Yorithen. Unlike the rest of the Ways it was no longer a natural cave, Yorithen had carved out shapes and structures in the walls, patterns and frescoes and gargoyles. The monster hated it.


    At the ceiling of the Chamber stood the monolith. On the surface it was merely in a circle of stones but underground Yorithen had built a whole church around it. On the ground below were the faceless acolytes, so few of them left now after humans had destroyed them to clear the Ways, thinking them merely statues rather than the slow moving creatures they were. Every Stonetide fewer and fewer returned to the Chamber. The monster did not care, the faceless acolytes were made of stone and therefore not edible, and therefore not interesting. Yorithen though, she was interesting.


    She hung on the ceiling beneath the monolith, her many tendrils and tails sifting through the ceiling feasting on all the worms and roaches and maggots that burrowed through the ground, inexorably drawn toward the monolith as it slowly absorbed all the dirt that touched it. Yorithen had built the Chamber to hold it up and she was constantly chipping at it and shoring pieces of it up as the earth around it was drawn to the monolith. It never looked any different though, Yorithen was good at what she did.


    As the monster drew nearer she turned her faceless head to look at it and hissed through her tendrils. ¡°What brings you here oh Monster of Meduramanth?¡±


    ¡°There are humans in my cave, far too many humans. With the monsters gone from the world now it is thick with humanity and they are infesting the Ways.¡±


    Yorithen thought for a while, her tendrils twisting and engorging as they sucked up nutrients. ¡°The medusae would have guarded their secrets had someone not eaten them all. Perhaps it is best that that someone suffers from their inevitable replacement.¡±


    The monster hissed. ¡°The humans will find your temple too, they are already destroying your acolytes.¡±


    ¡°I care little for the acolytes, stupid disgusting inedible things they are!¡±


    ¡°What about you? The humans will surely slay you to get to the power of the monolith.¡±


    ¡°They can try. I am far more powerful than-¡±


    ¡°They have a sorceress.¡±


    Yorithen stopped speaking and it seemed as though her tendrils stopped twisting about quite so much.


    ¡°She is young yet but she is growing in power. If you can give me a weapon to kill her I will make sure you need never worry about these humans again.¡±


    Yorithen thought some more, swaying slowly beneath the monolith. ¡°Perhaps there is something I can give you. A gift, from the monolith to you, in exchange for the death of the sorceress and all the humans in the Ways.¡±


    The monster grinned with its many many teeth. It had not expected Yorithen to give it a weapon. She didn¡¯t trust anyone with her weapons, it most of all. She gave it a chain, the acolytes brought forward with a slowness the monster was willing to wait for, it wasn¡¯t like the humans with their pitifully short lives and need to rush everywhere. A chain wasn¡¯t much of a weapon but the monster knew it was all it was getting so it took it anyway.


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    The chain was made of stone, stone as smooth and cold as marble and at one end there was a hook of wicked weight and sharpness, sharper even than the monster¡¯s claws. That hook could kill a sorceress.


    The monster slid away, days having passed in their conversation and more having passed while the acolytes fetched the chain. Days in which the humans had made so many trips and journeys through the Ways as was their custom. Days in which the sorceress had grown and mastered her powers ever more. The monster planned to ensure there were very few of those days left.


    As it moved back and forth through the Ways, returning to its cave it remembered the last time it had been so active. The attack on Meduramanth where it had eaten all the medusae and then gone through to their original home in the Wilderness and eaten the rest. They hadn¡¯t had a sorceress but they¡¯d had their own magics. The monster still felt the wound from the inkdrop blade before it had eaten the medusae that had carried it. It should have kept the blade rather than leaving it for whatever came along next. It¡¯s claws weren¡¯t very good at holding swords but a sword would have been better than a chain. It slid along dragging the chain behind it. It had wrapped it around its claws many times so as to not drop it and it could easily manipulate the hook at the end this way. The sorceress might be powerful but in the end she still had the body of a human, the body of prey.


    The monster climbed up the steep cave and returned to its hole, careful to avoid any humans on the way, it unwrapped the chain then settled down to wait. It did not have to wait long.


    At this time the Guild of Messengers numbered almost fifty members and each one was kept busy delivering messages all day for the elite of the Hallowed Realm and beyond. So they travelled regularly on the paths they knew. A group of five of them were walking past the path between Meduramanth and the Wilderness when the monster struck. The Arbiter was not among them so it did not use the chain, and it did not need the chain. The monster was patient, extremely patient, for time for it was different than time for humans, but it was also incredibly fast. Within seconds all of the humans were dead and eaten and the messages lay on the ground, undelivered.


    The monster knew that more humans were unlikely to come the same way until the next day so it set off to track down more. One by one the groups fell and eventually the monster returned to its lair to wait for the next group the next day. To it, a wait like that was over in a blink of its many eyes.


    The next group had the Arbiter though, she¡¯d been sent out with all the remaining messengers to find out what had happened to all the groups from yesterday. This group was twenty strong and she¡¯d brought monsters of her own with her but they were pitiful monsters. Nothing like the monster in the cave.


    It fell upon the first monster from its lair and tore out its throat, throwing the human riding it off to break upon the walls of the cave. Then it leapt up as more monsters lunged at it, its claws meeting their bodies as they swatted at it, their weak talons doing little against its hide. The humans shouted at each other and ran about and the last two monsters moved in. The monster raised itself from the dead corpses of its two most recent foes and went to move forward. But the chain caught, the chain that had been wrapped around its claws, ready to kill the sorceress. It caught in the dead bodies of the monsters and dragged the great monster down. It fell awkwardly on top of them and felt weapons pierce into its skin, pain, something it had not felt in a long time.


    It yanked the chain free and roared a terrible roar that shook the very cave around them. Then it forced itself up, the chain tearing blood and organs out of the corpses and spraying them everywhere as the monster brought its claws down on these new threats. It tore through one monster, then the other, then it fell upon the screaming, running humans. It killed one, two, three of them as they ran around beneath it, they were fast but it was a predator, an apex predator, it was faster.


    It spun toward the remaining humans and saw the Arbiter facing it, clearly afraid. She said something in a pathetic human language, something that should have meant nothing to the monster but it didn¡¯t. It meant ¡®stop¡¯. So it stopped.


    Then it shook itself free of the enchantment and lunged forward anyway, the humans fell before it and the sorceress fled. It lunged for her, its claws tearing into her body and her acidic blood spraying all over its skin, biting, burning, so much pain. But the pain was almost over, the sorceress was almost dead. Tearing her body between its claws it went to move the hook toward her then realised it was gone. It looked around in a panic and saw the chain had gotten caught in the bodies of the monsters. The hook was buried somewhere in there, the chain still wrapped around the monster¡¯s arms. The remaining humans were pushing the whole pile of bodies toward the steep cave that led away to the High Chamber. The monster threw away the sorceress¡¯s torn up body and dashed toward the humans but it was too late. All the corpses and the chain with them plunged over the edge and rolled down into the darkness. The monster was fast, it tore up almost all the humans as it had rushed toward them, but it was not fast enough to stop the bodies from plunging over the edge.


    The monsters the sorceress had made might have been pathetic compared to it but combined they were heavy. Too heavy. The chain went taught and the monster toppled over into the cave, clawing and scrabbling on the way down. It crashed into the bodies at the bottom and felt some of its bones break beneath it. It twisted and writhed in pain, desperate to get that chain free, to get that hook and get back to the top where it could rip apart that sorceress.


    The cave started to rumble. It stopped writhing, had crashing to the ground dislodged something? Was writhing going to set the cave crashing down around it? It looked up with many eyes and saw the sorceress, or what was left of her, standing atop the cliff with her hands outstretched, sending her sorcery into the walls of the cave, controlling the elements.


    The monster writhed harder, more desperately but every movement just seemed to wrap the chain around it tighter. Rocks and pebbles and dust began to trickle down around it as the cave shook. The monster let out a howl of rage and fear and pain and then the cave fell on top of it. Burying it in agony.


    Atop the cliff the Arbiter and Erissa, the last Messenger fled the crumbling cave. The Arbiter cried, she had been unable to stop the monster, all her sorcery had been for nothing when it had come to protecting her friends. She vowed to train, to make her voice strong enough to command anyone to do anything. She started by telling Erissa to run faster.  Erissa ran faster.


    Down in the cave the monster lay wounded, its body ruined and crushed. But the monster didn¡¯t die, it was far too strong for that. Instead it went back to sleep, its hibernating slumber where it watched the world around it. It watched the humans stop coming through the Ways in groups, now only one came through at a time, except when that one was training up their child. It watched more humans happen upon the Ways from the Wilderness side and use them to capture Meduramanth, setting up a supply chain from opposite ends of the world just like the medusae had done. It watched the woman walk through, right by its old lair carrying that hated sword that had taken its name. But things were different this time, this time while watching and sleeping the monster had someone to talk to.


    ¡°I can help you,¡± spoke the chain. ¡°I can get you out but you will have to do something for me.¡±


    The monster agreed, there was nothing else it could do. The earth rumbled and shook and moved and slid away and the monster was free. It limped back to its cave but the Ways were changed. Old paths had been closed off and new ones had opened. Its lair was gone so it slunk off to find another one, the chain still dragging along behind it.


    Outside, in the Wilderness, the Inkdrop Queen and her sister watched the cave crumble in behind them. That would prevent anyone from following them back. They¡¯d be safe from the sorceress now.

 The Brothers on the Road

    Ruben sits on the rumbling cart as it trundles toward the silos and looks up at the watchman, sitting on the great boulder overlooking the farm in the darkening sky. He doesn¡¯t talk much, the watchman, but he keeps the farm safe and in these times that is all Ruben can ask for. The cart reaches the silo and Ruben jumps off, beginning to haul the wheat from the cart. By the time he is done the sun has begun to set. He looks up at the watchman one more time before turning his cart around to head home. The war is over now, his sons will soon be back to help keep the farm running. It has been lonely here, just him and the watchman.


    The watchman sits atop the rock for a while longer. The shadows grow long around him and the wheat resembles a shadowy ocean, swaying in the breeze. There are many paths through the farm although only one that leads to the city. It is this path he watches now. It is this path he has been guarding for the last few weeks.


    He thought about going to join the war with everyone else but he has fought in wars before, messy things, so much chaos and panic, and risk. A lot of risk. Guarding this farm all the way out here from bandits and brigands there isn¡¯t a lot of risk. So there is much more time to focus on what he likes about war, the killing.


    Two miles down the path a bandit hangs in a tree by his neck. His fall wasn¡¯t fast enough to break his neck so he is still alive. Both his eyes and his tongue have been ripped out and his hands have been chopped off so no matter how much he scrabbles at the noose it won¡¯t come off. Slowly, ever so slowly, he chokes to death in the night. Around him ravens croak and caw.


    A mile down the road from that there is a river with a thick tree fallen across it. A brigand is tied to the bottom of the tree, a place half in the water and half out. The river ebbs and flows around him and often covers him completely, suffocating him beneath his gag. Each time the river rises so he must take in a deep breath and hope he can hold it. He knows that soon he won¡¯t be able to hold his breath long enough.


    A mile away from that, off the road and in a ditch at the bottom of the farm lies a third man, all his limbs have been cut from him and he is slowly bleeding out through the pitiful bandages the watchman put on him. He struggles to move but he cannot, he tries to scream but he is too far for anyone to hear, anyone except the watchman.


    The watchman sits on his rock and hears the screams stop. He smiles to himself and hops down from the rock to head to the barn he has been given. He picks up his spear and his sword and his trusty shield, painted with the brown head of a boar.


    Nollen and Ryne rode into the small town of Caulder around late afternoon. They booked a room at the inn and stayed there, eager to rest after their long journey on the road. They carried a great many packs and bags from their journeys in the Hallowed Realm. They¡¯d been up and down it, fighting in the great royal army against the Uprising of Farro and his allies. When they¡¯d left Caulder was a peaceful town full of friendly faces where only fat old Sault the town guard carried a weapon and no more than a rusty spear. Times had changed.


    Old Sault was dead, killed by the bandits and vagabonds that had deserted one army or another and sought their fortune in the wild. The faces that frequented the streets and the tavern were long and weary, hardly the joyous ones of before the war. Many sons and daughters had gone off to fight and hadn¡¯t come back and some of those that had come back had been lost to the bandits, either joining them or dying to them. Now everyone had weapons, and some had fought in the war and so knew how to use them. Nollen and Ryne were no strangers to weapons and kept their own close by. Things weren¡¯t the same anymore.


    They sat down at the tavern where a wandering minstrel was trying pitifully to brighten the atmosphere and bought drinks. Reneca, the old barmaid came over to speak to them. Her face was still smiling as it always was but it seemed far more lined and old than it ever had before.


    ¡°Good to see you boys back for a while. I suppose you¡¯ll be off to your old man¡¯s farm in the morning then?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Nollen replied. ¡°Dad¡¯s been running the whole thing hisself all this time, he¡¯ll need a hand bringing in the harvest.¡±


    ¡°And he¡¯ll want some more folks out there who can hold a spear,¡± Ryne continued. ¡°Thing¡¯s¡¯ve gotten a bit more dangerous since we left.¡±


    Reneca agreed. ¡°Aye, definitely. Last I heard though he wasn¡¯t doing too badly, hired some eastern fella to keep watch, seems to be keeping the bandits away. I suppose it¡¯s pretty far out for even bandits to go.¡±


    The two brothers nodded, pleased. Their father was old and had never been the violent type, it was good to know he had some extra security.


    ¡°Can¡¯t say the same for around here though,¡± Reneca continued. ¡°We been hit twice now and we been hit hard. Hardly enough sprouts to go around and never mind wheat. The farms been having trouble producing much with so few hands and our last few carts never arrived. I know Ruben¡¯s next lot was gonna go to the city but if you lads could bring some here folks¡¯d desperately appreciate it. I know it¡¯s dangerous on those roads, ¡®specially with a cart full o¡¯ wheat but it¡¯d mean a lot to folks round here.¡± Reneca smiled her feeble smile and her eyes pleaded with them.


    ¡°We¡¯ll try, you have our word,¡± Nollen promised. ¡°Caulder and its people mean a lot to us and our dad. I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll be willing to help in whatever way he can.¡±


    Reneca¡¯s smile became far more relaxed and genuine. ¡°I knew I could count on you boys. Be careful out there though, it is very dangerous.¡± She wandered off to serve other tables and the brothers turned to each other.


    ¡°Wonder what this watchman¡¯s like,¡± Ryne said.


    ¡°Mmm, I wonder where he came from too. Dad don¡¯t get a lot of visitors out there.¡±


    They discussed the mysterious watchman and the many troubles Caulder and the farms were facing over their meal but were eventually happy to leave all those troubles to the morning and go upstairs to bed.


    The town guard had been considerably strengthened since old Sault died and there were no bandit attacks during the night. The next morning the brothers got up and packed their things, making sure to have their weapons as close as possible and visible as well. It was much safer to win a fight through intimidation than it was through force.


    They mounted their horses and went to set off from the inn when Lemmy, a scrawny man barely more than a boy who drank far too much and had been the only sore spot in Caulder in the old days, ran up to them.


    ¡°Uh... Nollen... Ryne,¡± he stammered. He wasn¡¯t drunk or hungover as far as they could tell, he just permanently seemed to be unsure of himself.


    ¡°What is it Lemmy? We¡¯re about to head off.¡±


    ¡°Y... yes. Y... you¡¯re about to head off to y... your dad¡¯s farm.¡±


    Nollen nodded, somewhat frustrated.


    ¡°It... it¡¯s not safe out there. It... it...¡±


    Nollen sighed. ¡°We know about the bandits, we¡¯ll do our best to avoid them but-¡±


    ¡°N... not the bandits... n... no...¡±


    Nollen frowned, there was something else dangerous out there.


    Lemmy leaned closer which wasn¡¯t ideal as he smelled funny. ¡°I... I know people... people who aren¡¯t great people... deserters, vagabonds... bandits...¡±


    Nollen rolled his eyes, why wasn¡¯t he surprised?


    ¡°B... but they¡¯re all afraid to go out there... Out to your dad¡¯s farm.¡±


    ¡°Afraid of what?¡±


    ¡°Of the... the watchman. The new watchman your dad got. There¡¯s something not right about him, y... you should be careful...¡±


    Nollen leaned back and Lemmy looked away, he seemed to be finished with what he wanted to say. ¡°We¡¯ll be careful,¡± Nollen said. Then they galloped away onto the road toward their farm, toward home.


    It was a long way and in the old days it would take them three days. But now they were experienced horse riders and had ridden in the army far harder and longer than they ever had at home. By the time night came they were over halfway there, having passed the turnoff to Eagon¡¯s farm and the old red tree stump by the river. They stopped riding at the Greengrove and tied up their horses there. They didn¡¯t hobble them so they could be ready to make a quick getaway if necessary. They also lit no fire and instead sat in the dark feasting on the raw supplies they still had from their army days. Even having just one proper meal at an inn had made them miss the comforts of home far too much.


    ¡°I can¡¯t wait to get back and have dad¡¯s bread again,¡± Ryne reminisced. ¡°I can still smell it, cooking in the oven.¡±


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    Nollen nodded vigorously while he tore at his beef jerky with his teeth. ¡°Mmm, that bread they forced into us at Elkring wasn¡¯t the same. It was barely bread!¡±


    ¡°No it¡¯ll be good to be back home. Sitting by the fire instead of in tents all the time. Also away from all that magic going on in Elkring.¡±


    Nollen shuddered. ¡°Ihhh, don¡¯t tell me about it. Those bats, demons out of hell I say, and that sorceress. The further away from her we get the better.¡±


    Ryne nodded definitively. ¡°Yeah I know they were all on our side but that doesn¡¯t make me feel much better about it. The oak tree in the castle was impressive though.¡±


    ¡°True, it-¡± Nollen went silent as he saw movement in the shadows around them. He leapt to his feet and drew his sword, Ryne quickly following suit, abandoning their meal to the ground. They stood back to back and turned to face the three bandits who were slowly circling around them. They wore torn and ragged clothes and looked half starved. One was missing an eye and it was hard to tell in the dark but they all looked like they had scars. Desertion hadn¡¯t treated them well it seemed.


    ¡°Now now, no need to get all antsy,¡± one of the bandits said, his voice carrying along fumes of his pungent breath. The brothers tried not to gag. ¡°We¡¯re just here for what you got and we¡¯ll be on our way. No need for anyone to get hurt, which I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t want since there¡¯s three o¡¯ us and two o¡¯ you.¡±


    The brothers stayed silent. It had always been a possibility and they thought they¡¯d been prepared but now here they were and they didn¡¯t feel particularly prepared. Sure they knew how to fight but so did the bandits and every other time they¡¯d fought there¡¯d been someone more knowledgeable than them telling them what to do. What did you do when you were outnumbered in the middle of the forest? Their basic army training had been surprisingly lacking in that aspect.


    ¡°Now we don¡¯t want to be here all night so why don¡¯t you put down those weapons and we can come to an arrangement.¡± the same bandit spoke again.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have anything,¡± Ryne said nervously, trying to watch two bandits at the same time.


    The talking bandit walked over to the horses who were shying away from these strangers. He grabbed the rope tying one horse to a tree. ¡°Not any more you don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Take your hand off that rope,¡± said another voice from the darkness. The bandit¡¯s eyes went wide and they all spun to see a man sitting on a rock a little distance away with a spear and a shield.


    ¡°I... I... You-¡± the bandit stuttered, backing away from the horses.


    The man stood up, his spear and shield held so naturally in his hands, and walked forward. The bandits walked backward.


    ¡°I think that we should-¡± the talking bandit said, then he ran. The other bandits ran too, disappearing into the dark trees but the talking one didn¡¯t get far. He collapsed with the man¡¯s spear through his leg before he got two steps away. He lay on the ground moaning in pain. The man ignored him.


    ¡°I am Craegan, the watchman of Ruben¡¯s farm,¡± he said to the brothers. ¡°This group has been causing trouble for travellers all up and down the path so I¡¯ve been dealing with them. There will be more, though I suggest you pack up and head to the farm now, you¡¯ll be safe there.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Nollen said. ¡°We¡¯re Ruben¡¯s sons back from the war. We¡¯ll head off immediately, would you like a ride?¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯m going to stay out here for the night and see if I can track down any more. You go on ahead, don¡¯t wait for me. I¡¯ll deal with him,¡± he nudged the bandit on the ground who was crying into the grass.


    The brothers nodded to each other and quickly packed up their temporary campsite. Craegan the watchman retrieved his spear and began trying to question the bandit. Through all the tears and moans of pain he didn¡¯t seem to be getting very far.


    The brothers mounted up and the bandit seemed to suddenly realise what was happening. ¡°No!¡± he cried. ¡°P-p-please no! Don¡¯t leave me with him!¡±


    Craegan looked up at the brothers and shrugged. They shrugged back and galloped off into the night. The bandit shouted after them, pleading for them to come back but his cries soon faded into the distance.


    They reached the farm where their father was asleep so they went back to their beds for what little remained of the night and fell asleep immediately. They woke up in the morning and found Ruben who was overjoyed to see them.


    ¡°Boys! You¡¯re back! What did you get back last night without telling me?¡±


    ¡°You taught us never to wake you up, you always said a farmer needs as much sleep as possible!¡±


    ¡°Bah! I might have made an exception for you two getting back! Come come, sit down for breakfast, I¡¯ll bet you haven¡¯t had any decent bread the whole time you¡¯ve been away.¡±


    They sat down for breakfast and exchanged stories of all that had happened. Ruben didn¡¯t have much to tell, only his story of the watchman who had shown up out of nowhere desperate for a place to stay. Ruben had been suspicious of course, he¡¯d looked just like a deserter, or someone running from something at least, but he hadn¡¯t had it in his heart to turn him away. So he¡¯d taken him on and had been glad for it, no bandits or brigands could get the better of Craegan it seemed.


    The brothers had a great many stories to tell, from their training to their different posts all over the Hallowed Realm, to their different battles including the legendary one at Castle Elkring with magic and mists and sorcery. Then they had the story of their return through Caulder and Craegan saving them in the night. When Ruben heard of Caulder¡¯s plight he instantly agreed that his next harvest should be sent there instead of the city. Caulder wouldn¡¯t be able to pay as much but that was none of Ruben¡¯s concern, he¡¯d make ends meet somehow. Luckily for him Craegan seemed to want as little pay as possible. Ruben was suspicious that he would¡¯ve worked for free if that had been an option.


    The next few days they spent gathering up as big a harvest as possible, enough to feed all of Caulder. The brothers wanted to help Craegan guard the farm but by the time they were done in the fields they were too exhausted to spend the night chasing down bandits. Craegan, it seemed, didn¡¯t need any help. How one man could defend the entire farm as well as he did and strike fear into the hearts of so many bandits they didn¡¯t know and he didn¡¯t tell them. He didn¡¯t talk much, Craegan.


    The harvest was ready quickly, Ruben had already gathered most of it, and they set out the next day after a celebratory feast. It felt strange to be leaving again so soon but they¡¯d be back much sooner this time. So they hitched up the horses to the cart and set it trundling off to Caulder.


    Craegan came with them, much as he was needed on the farm, they all knew he was more needed with all the actual wheat. So the three of them set off, slowly trundling down the road back to Caulder. The brothers tried to strike up a conversation with the watchman but he wasn¡¯t having it.


    ¡°So, where are you from?¡± Nollen asked.


    Craegan shrugged. ¡°Mullindore.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°The Eastlands.¡±


    ¡°And what brings you out here?¡±


    Craegan shrugged again and was silent for a while. ¡°A great many things that I¡¯d rather not go into.¡±


    That was the end of that conversation.


    The return journey took a lot longer than the one day and night that they¡¯d taken on the way there. The cart was slow and with all three of them and huge piles of wheat the horses could only go so fast. So they trundled along for a day and then made camp, lighting a fire this time which made everything feel much homelier. Craegan had slept much of the day and was now guarding the cart and campsite. Before he went to bed Nollen made one last attempt to strike up a conversation.


    ¡°So what is it that makes them so afraid of you? Are you some mighty warrior? A barbarian hero out of the Eastlands?¡±


    Craegan shrugged. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    Nollen looked at him, he had to admit he didn¡¯t look much like a barbarian hero out of the Eastlands. He was big but not that big, strong but not that strong, and he had a homely feel to him, something friendly and comforting even though he was always out in the dark and the wild. Nollen shrugged and went to sleep, he hadn¡¯t known Craegan that long but with him guarding them he felt much much safer.


    Craegan wandered off into the night, making sure to keep close to the campsite. He found no bandits to murder which was disappointing.


    The next day they set off again and made good progress. The brothers talked normally among themselves while Craegan slept. Things were starting to feel like the good old times again. They were safe on the road, delivering a cart of wheat to the folks of Caulder. They were home, it was finally starting to settle in. It was different of course, it would never be the same again they knew, but they were home, that was all that mattered.


    They camped one more night also without incident and then set off once more, arriving in Caulder around noon. The town rejoiced and Reneca came out to give them both hugs. Many people wanted to meet Craegan which seemed to make him uncomfortable, he talked even less than he had on the road.


    ¡°Excellent work boys, excellent work!¡± Reneca said. ¡°I knew you two could do it. I knew you¡¯d be the ones to pull through.¡±


    The brothers grinned. ¡°Ah it was nothing, anything for Caulder.¡±


    ¡°Be careful though,¡± Ryne said. ¡°Make sure you keep that wheat well guarded. Our dad¡¯s watchman won¡¯t be here very long and neither will we.¡±


    ¡°Oh I think we¡¯ll be okay,¡± Reneca said. ¡°We just had some new folks show up in town, real soldier types you know. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ll keep it safe till we can use it. Come on I¡¯ll introduce you.¡±


    They were dragged along to the inn where a group of five men were clustered around a table talking to Lemmy of all people. Next to Lemmy they looked even bigger than they actually were. Huge and muscled and decked out in all manner of leathers and gambeson with more weapons each than the brothers would have known what to do with. They looked over at the group of them walking in and Lemmy¡¯s eyes went wide when he saw Craegan. He tried to leave but one of the men grabbed him and dragged him back without bothering to look.


    ¡°You must be the mysterious watchman,¡± the man said. ¡°We¡¯ve heard a lot about you.¡±


    Craegan shrugged.


    ¡°We work for a mercenary company. A very exclusive mercenary company. We came through here looking to pick up a few deserters, some vagabonds, help them turn their lives around you know. Bring them back in line.¡±


    Craegan shrugged again. ¡°I¡¯m not a deserter.¡±


    The brothers weren¡¯t entirely sure that was true but they weren¡¯t about to undermine him.


    ¡°Oh no I¡¯m aware. No it turns out that all the deserters and vagabonds around these parts are afraid of you. Someone like that, working as a watchman for a farmer, your talents are wasted. We could offer you a lot more, someone like you could really go places working with us.¡±


    Craegan shrugged once more. ¡°I like working here.¡±


    The man grinned. ¡°I¡¯m confident we can change your mind.¡± He handed across a piece of paper which Craegan held in front of him to read. The brothers read it over his shoulder, it was a contract from the Company of Silence, a mercenary company based in Raharus. It offered one hundred gold a year, the brother¡¯s eyes went wide. That was almost fifty times what Craegan was earning working for their father. No one would turn away a deal like that. They would lose him and with him all the security and safety they thought they had regained. They knew how lucky they were to have him, who else could they find to control all the bandits around their farm? They looked at each other in terror, what could they do?


    Craegan handed the contract back and looked the man dead in the eyes. ¡°I like working here.¡±


    A few days later the brothers and the watchman return to the farm. The brothers get back to working on the harvest while the watchman gets back to hunting down bandits. With everyone coming back from the war there are more people on the roads so he has to be more careful with how he hides his kills, but he is okay with that. He just has to get more, creative.

 The Flight through the Forest

    Sessryn had joined the Hallowed Company back in the time of Old Yoss himself. She¡¯d been one of the first to find the cast out lord dredging his funds to gather up armed soldiers in the Greenlands. He came from the Hallowed Realm and so he¡¯d named his company after that, rather pretentious she¡¯d thought.


    She¡¯d been with the company when it had fought for Lady Renlang against the Azure Horde. When it had defeated the Seelso Battalion at White River. When it had gone from strength to strength in the wars and squabbles of the Greenlands. Yoss had had a talent for leading mercenaries, where he came from lords had their own soldiers but in the Greenlands everyone hired their wars out to the professionals and in such an environment he had thrived.


    Then he had taken them further west, along the Grey Road to the Final Fork. There they could have gone North to the Library or South to the Wilderness. Yoss had chosen the Wilderness.


    It was at times like these that Sessryn wished he¡¯d chosen the Library. They were camped in their little huts that they¡¯d built years ago when it was all supposed to be temporary. Her hut hadn¡¯t been built particularly well and it leaked in the rain which it was doing now. She got up and picked up the bucket that had been slowly filling with water, emptying it outside.


    Her muscles protested at the weight of the heavy bucket, she was getting old she knew. Far too old to be out in this godforsaken forest. She stood in the doorway and watched the rain beat down around her, watched the forest bear the weight of the storm. They had to fear storms now apparently, the sorceress could be hiding in any one of them they said. Waiting to bear down on them with lightning and death.


    Some people believed that there was no way she could find them all the way out here but Sessryn wasn¡¯t convinced. It always seemed to her that if something could go wrong, it would go wrong. And it would hardly be difficult for a sorceress to find them, plenty of people knew about the secret tunnel, all it would take was for one of them to be captured and the sorceress would know everything she needed to know.


    The tunnel had been collapsed so maybe she couldn¡¯t come through that way but all she¡¯d have to do was to search the whole Wilderness, something that wouldn¡¯t be that difficult by air. So they were fleeing. The Inkdrop Queen, Old Yoss¡¯s daughter, had decided they were going to leave.


    Sessryn watched the storm, she watched the forest. She was looking forward to leaving.


    As one of the oldest and most trusted members of the company she ended up in the rearguard which was just typical. So as they all began to file out her and some of the older soldiers moved about the place checking on things, ensuring they were leaving nothing of value behind. She¡¯d been in this clearing so long she could remember everything anyway. There was the magical cave that led to Meduramanth, now sealed with the biggest pile of rocks they could gather. There was the roaring waterfall off to the side that fed the river that flowed through the middle. The old bridges they¡¯d built when they first got here, still standing strong.


    She remembered all the old soldiers too, they were easy to recognise from their black black lips. Living in the forest did that to you, they said. There was a newcomer too, the Inkdrop Queen¡¯s slave turned soldier, she had the blackest lips of all. She was talking to someone on the other side of a tree in hushed whispers. Sessryn moved over toward them, she didn¡¯t trust slaves, especially not ones who¡¯d had their lives ruined and had nothing to lose.


    By the time she got there the slave had stopped talking and had turned around to look at her. Sessryn looked around the tree, there was no one there.


    ¡°Who were you talking to?¡± she asked suspiciously.


    ¡°No one,¡± she replied.


    Sessryn narrowed her eyes and looked at the hideous black scar across her mouth, stained with dripping inkdrops. The scar that indicated she had to lie.


    The slave looked guilty.


    They were leaving in a few hours, most people had already gone so Sessryn made sure to keep an eye on the slave. She was subtle about it, she might be old and tired but she could stay out of sight of someone in this camp, the camp she knew so well. So she stayed out of sight and watched. The slave was helping to pack everything up and doing just as much as everyone else. Sessryn watched her the entire time as they loaded up their horses and started to file down the path. It was only then that she made her run for it.


    She was sneaky, she had to give her that. Sessryn only saw her go because she¡¯d been looking for it, but she didn¡¯t have a horse, and Sessryn did. She turned to follow her, whispering in Ayessa¡¯s ear as she left.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to check something out,¡± she said to her commander. ¡°It¡¯s probably nothing, don¡¯t wait for me, I¡¯ll catch up.¡± She smiled at the young woman, Yoss¡¯s other daughter who she¡¯d watched grow from a child into their new commander.


    Ayessa nodded, her sign that that was fine. It was a bit difficult, having a commander that couldn¡¯t speak any truthful commands. Sessryn hated Yoss sometimes for what he¡¯d done to his daughters, testing the blades on them. It really wasn¡¯t fair.


    She moved off through the houses, careful to stay out of sight of the slave if she decided to come back. It was impressive, Ayessa didn¡¯t usually miss much but in the rain and the bustle of leaving there had been an opportunity to escape and she¡¯d taken it. Sessryn wasn¡¯t having it though, she¡¯d follow her, find whoever it was that was working with her and bring them both back so she could finally leave the godforsaken wilderness. Or so she hoped.


    Rana joined up with Sal at their rendezvous point and they began to trek into the Wilderness. Except he wasn¡¯t Sal anymore, he¡¯d changed. He¡¯d always seemed strange, inhuman with his eyes that never blinked. It turned out that he wasn¡¯t human, he was something else, something that could change. At one point he¡¯d been Ayessa ordering her around in front of the other soldiers, at another point he¡¯d been a different slave, cleaning the barracks and whispering in her ear while she trained, now he was his old self again, thin and pale, with lidless eyes and black lips.


    He led her through the forest, ignoring the many paths and trails trekked out by the Inkdrop Queen¡¯s forces and taking other routes instead. They climbed up the hill over rocks and roots and emerged atop the waterfall then they began following the river.


    They didn¡¯t talk much, Sal never talked much and Rana didn¡¯t like to. So the only noise was the roar of the river, but it was a loud roar. Loud enough to mask the hoofbeats of the horse chasing them.


    Sessryn emerged from the treeline and rounded her horse in front of them, drawing a sword and pointing it at them.


    ¡°Where do you two think you¡¯re going?¡± she asked.


    Rana didn¡¯t respond, it wasn¡¯t easy. It seemed that telling lies to do with subterfuge and trickery was all the more tempting. Sal responded though and the urge died away.


    ¡°Ayessa has sent me to fetch things like I did in the castle. Rana is here to guard me.¡±


    Sessryn snorted in derision. ¡°Ayessa didn¡¯t send you anywhere, you ran away! Both of you! Come on, let¡¯s get back to the-¡±


    Sal turned to Rana, already transforming into a new shape. ¡°Swim!¡± he shouted and then dived into the water. The rushing, roaring water that sped off toward the rushing roaring waterfall.


    Rana paused for a second and looked up at Sessryn on her horse, then she dived in as well. It all came back to her, all her days as a girl swimming in the lakes pretending to be a shark. She powered through the water. But this water was not like the still lake water, it was powerful and strong and fighting against her. She felt herself being carried downstream toward the waterfall and could do nothing to stop it, she could only swim on toward the opposite bank. But swim she did, until her arms were aching and her hands were shaking and her body was screaming out in pain. Then she swam some more.


    She grabbed a wet branch on the other side of the river and pulled on it. It snapped off but by then she¡¯d grabbed another one, a stronger one. She pulled herself, wet and shaking, onto the other bank and then looked back to see Sessryn sitting on her horse watching them. The horse did not seem to want to go into the water.


    Beside Rana Sal crawled out of the river, but he wasn¡¯t Sal. This time he was her, complete with her inkdrop stained mouth and scar. She felt quite uncomfortable as the image of her slowly changed back into Sal again.


    ¡°We must go,¡± he said and began walking into the forest, Rana followed him. He¡¯d turned into her to swim across the river, she was the best swimmer he knew. That made her feel a bit better, she had to admit. She wondered if he could turn into a horse, that¡¯d save time. He likely couldn¡¯t though, otherwise he would have done that already. They trekked on.


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    On the other side of the river Sessryn cursed, there was no way she was swimming across that river and her horse didn¡¯t seem very keen either. She could abandon them she supposed, let them eek out whatever miserable life they could in the forest. But she wasn¡¯t going to. She¡¯d seen Sal change into Rana and back again, she¡¯d always known he was strange, but not that strange.


    She could go back and get Ayessa to organise a proper search party and everything but that would really slow things down and they were supposed to be leaving as fast as possible. She cursed again and sped off back down the hill. Back toward the bridges they¡¯d built so long ago that were still holding strong. She¡¯d catch those two and this time she¡¯d make sure they didn¡¯t just escape across the river. This time, she made sure to bring a bow.


    Sal and Rana walked till nightfall. They had taken bags of gear with them when they¡¯d fled but it had all been lost in the river. The rain had cleared up a little but everything was still very wet, Rana was starting to worry she might just die from the cold. Sal, thin and pale and trembling, didn¡¯t seem to be doing much better.


    ¡°The cold is harmless,¡± Rana said ominously. ¡°We must not find shelter.¡±


    ¡°I have not been in this forest for a long time,¡± Sal said. ¡°I forget where everything is. We must keep going upriver though.¡±


    Rana shivered as the chill of night slowly settled in. She looked at Sal walking ahead of her. She wanted desperately to ask him what was going on, what he was, why he knew these things. He¡¯d probably answer too, he could probably tell her all she wanted to know. But she could only lie, there was no way to convey the sort of information she wanted. She remembered the herald, the Herald of the Inkdrop Queen he¡¯d called himself when obviously, he hadn¡¯t been. He¡¯d conveyed information, and they hadn¡¯t even known he could only lie at the time. An idea began to form in her head.


    ¡° I know you will tell me what you are. I know you will tell me where we¡¯re going. I know you will tell me how you know so much and what is going on and who you are. I know this because I know we are going to die soon in the cold.¡± She grinned at him through the rain, it sounded morbid but he¡¯d know what it meant.


    Sal looked back at her those lidless eyes. He seemed sad somehow, maybe it was just the dark and the rain. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he said. ¡°I should tell you all those things. I have lived my whole life lying to humans. It is hard to change now. We may die in this cold, I will tell you as I look for a cave for shelter. There is one around somewhere I think.¡± He moved off through the darkening forest and Rana followed. He was looking intently at everything, trying to find something he recognised.


    ¡°I am a medusae, the Salamander, a child of Irasada.¡±


    Irasada, that sounded familiar. Rana remembered the note he had translated for her, the inscription on the blade, ¡°forged from the blood of Irasada¡±.


    ¡°That name was not on the blade,¡± she lied.


    Sal nodded. ¡°It was. My kin, the Spider, forged those blades from our mother¡¯s blood. The Spider was a horrible person, they ruled over us in Meduramanth and at the waterfall. I thought that when the monster came and killed them the blades were lost forever but I was wrong.¡±


    ¡°I know this monster.¡±


    ¡°The monster may have had a name but it doesn¡¯t anymore, the Cleanser of Names took it. It came out of the cave between the waterfall and Meduramanth and killed every medusae there, including the Spider. I was not there then, I came much later and decided I wanted to live among the heritage of my people even though it was filled with humans. I have worked with them ever since, changing faces as the years pass by. Then I met Rana and she was nice to me, humans are rarely nice to me.¡±


    He turned a corner and his face lit up as he saw a seemingly unremarkable branch. He moved around the tree and back to the river and sure enough there was a cave there, dug into the bank. They both crawled inside.


    ¡°And where we are going,¡± he continued, ringing out his wet clothes. ¡°We are going to see my mother because she will not let anyone near her who does not have her blood.¡± He nodded at her scars and Rana ran a finger over them. ¡°That scar grants you some boons at least,¡± he said. ¡°Although it is far from worth it compared to what you¡¯ve lost.¡±


    ¡°I know Irasada,¡± Rana said, wondering who this mother actually was.


    ¡°She is a god,¡± Sal said thoughtfully. ¡°Or a demon,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°You will probably think of her as a demon. She is bound though, my people bound her in chains of strongest stone. There are caves there, caves like the one we just left, caves that can take us wherever we need to go.¡±


    ¡°I know why you bound your own mother.¡±


    Sal looked at her sadly. ¡°I am sorry Rana, there are some things I cannot tell even you. Some secrets our people keep for very good reasons.¡±


    They went to sleep after that and she dreamed of ink. Swimming in a river of ink and all around her copies of herself drowned. Rana didn¡¯t think she wanted to meet Irasada.


    They woke the next day and they were hungry, they hadn¡¯t eaten anything for most of the day yesterday but Sal assured her that there would be food where they were going, they just had to get there. So they trekked on, through the wet cold forest. It had stopped raining but their clothes were still damp and the night in the cave had not been comfortable. Rana¡¯s stomach complained for hunger and her skin complained for the cold and the damp and her body complained for the ache, but she did not complain. It helped that she somewhat couldn¡¯t.


    So they trekked on, up and up through the Wilderness. Rana hadn¡¯t been there long but it seemed to always be going up, like a huge mountain that never seemed to end. As they walked she thought about gods and demons and she clutched at her little idol to Vestus that was around her neck, at least that had made it through the river. Was she still worthy of Vestus¡¯s love and strength as she ran away from all of her problems, off into the forest to traffic with demons and monsters. She was already marked by a demon and she could no longer pray aloud, it was difficult to pray at all. The inky river rose up around her and she fought back tears as she trekked through the forest.


    They climbed through the mist and mud and trees and eventually they reached a door. It was a secret door but Sal knew where to find it and so he led them there.


    The door was in the back of a cave and it was a sealed stone door marked with the same spiralling patterns as the walls of Meduramanth. Behind the door she could feel the river of ink, waiting to rush into her, to drown her, to smother her. She took a deep breath and the feeling passed, it was only a door.


    Sal put his hand on the door and it slid slowly open, just like how the walls of Meduramanth moved. It opened only a fraction before an arrow hissed past Rana and struck his hand. Sal screamed and fell away from the door which closed again. Rana spun around and drew the sword that she¡¯d also dragged through the river. In the mouth of the cave Sessryn stood, knocking another arrow but Rana wasn¡¯t going to give her the chance. She dashed forward and Sessryn cast aside her bow, drawing her own sword.


    Behind them Sal cried out in alarm but Rana ignored him and attacked. The old woman was fast but Rana was younger and faster. She lashed at her face, then followed up with an immediate second attack. To her surprise Sessryn deflected that one as well, her sword seeming to drop into place almost by accident.


    Then she launched her own attack and it was all Rana could do to keep her back. She wasn¡¯t faster, or stronger, but she seemed to know what Rana was going to do before Rana did and her sword was always in the most dangerous place possible. Slowly Rana backed up before the blistering attack and then her wet hands slipped on her sword after a devastating blow. She couldn¡¯t block the next attack properly and was forced to stumble away, Sessryn pressed her advantage and knocked her to the ground of the cave.


    ¡°Alright, you-¡±


    An arrow shot out from deeper in the cave and pierced Sessryn¡¯s shoulder. She staggered back in agony, clutching the wound and looked up. Rana looked as well and saw three figures with bows emerging from the door which had been opened fully. Sal still lay on the ground beside them, clutching his hand.


    The figures all looked like Sal, pale and with lips blacker than his. The lead figure held up their bow and pointed it at Sessryn who growled in annoyance. They said something to Sal and his eyes went wide with fear. Despite the arrow still sticking out of his hand he climbed to his feet and seemed to be begging with them. One pointed their arrow at him and he backed away, continuing to plead.


    Rana looked at him with a questioning look and he looked back at her. ¡°Run,¡± he mouthed and he seemed so desperate when he said it. She didn¡¯t want to leave him but she really didn¡¯t trust these figures at all. They were watching Sal and Sessryn so she slowly picked up the bow and arrow Sessryn had thrown to the ground.


    Sessryn saw Sal talking as well, she also saw the slave picking up her bow. She hoped that bow wasn¡¯t going to be aimed at her. The arrow wound hurt and her arm would likely never be the same again but she could still fight with her other hand if necessary.


    One of the figures was looking right at her with unnatural eyes. She looked right back and smiled at them, then she threw her sword and moved. The arrows released but she was already diving to the side by then and the sword flew through the air. It missed but the arrow the slave shot from the ground didn¡¯t. Piercing the skull of the only figure who hadn¡¯t fired yet, who¡¯d been pointing their bow at Sal.


    The slave rolled away and the two women left the mouth of the cave behind. They ran together and disappeared into the trees. Sessryn¡¯s horse was there, it was getting skittish, she really should get a braver horse.


    The two women looked at each other. Sessryn gestured to her arm. ¡°I can¡¯t ride very well like this. If you give me a hand I can get you out of here.¡±


    Rana nodded, just like Ayessa did, and leapt onto the horse, pulling her up behind her. An arrow flew by but Rana was already steering the horse away to gallop off into the forest. She felt herself slowly pulling out of that inky river.


    The Salamander walked down the tunnel nursing the arrow in their hand. The other medusae walked around them, furious that their human had escaped. The Salamander hadn¡¯t known, how could they have known.


    ¡°How did he escape?¡± they asked. ¡°Those chains were supposed to be unbreakable.¡±


    The Dragonfly turned to the Salamander, fury still evident behind their eyes. ¡°He made a deal with Qinar, just like we did to get those chains in the first place.¡±


    ¡°But Qinar told us those chains were unbreakable?¡±


    ¡°No, he told us that Irasada would never escape them. He said nothing about if we used them to chain up anyone else.¡±


    The Salamander nodded, that sounded like typical demon behaviour.


    ¡°Now we have to capture him again or make another one and most of us don¡¯t seem particularly eager to try making another one¡± the Dragonfly growled at the Salamander.


    The Salamander stood as tall as could. ¡°Our previous attempts cost many lives-¡±


    ¡°Human lives.¡±


    ¡°Lives nonetheless, and what do we gain from it? He didn¡¯t achieve much in the time he was here.¡±


    ¡°You would rather the medusae fade into obscurity, that we die out completely?¡±


    ¡°We have already faded into obscurity.¡±


    Their group left the tunnel and emerged into the great stone cave across which was strewn two great chains, each one ending in broken manacles. The Salamander looked down at them, they were a sign of disaster that was for sure but they couldn¡¯t help but feel happy anyway. The man who¡¯d been chained up here may have been a sorcerer but he was a man nonetheless and he did not deserve to be chained forever. The medusae might die out because of it but the Salamander didn¡¯t feel as bad about that as they should¡¯ve. They were going to die out anyway.

 The Doctor and the Thief

    Rasarath is a huge, bustling city on the south coast of the Longlands. The only way to get to the Longlands by foot is along the Grey Road and then north through uncharted rocky mountains so no one takes that route. As such all trade to the Longlands is funneled through it. There are merchants and visitors from the Greenlands, from the Hallowed Realm, from Tuggranoskr and from Noth, all mingling together with the locals.


    The merchants trade in slaves and lands and great sums of gold and jewels all guarded by all manner of warriors and mercenaries. There are many who work among the rich merchant classes of the city, making exorbitant amounts of money for their exclusive services. There are architects, chefs, courtesans, and doctors who are the best in their trade and work for only the most exclusive clients, amassing great amounts of money for themselves.


    Rogo sailed into Rasarath on a ship he¡¯d hired from the Hallowed Realm and watched the great golden domes of the city roll into view. There was so much wealth there, so much money, and he already had plans within plans, to steal it.


    The ship docked and Rogo and his band of thieves left, paying the captain as they did so. It had been expensive to get here and even more expensive to arrange accommodation but if everything went to plan it would soon all be worth it. They did not look much like thieves as they strolled through the bustling city. They were dressed either in extravagant clothing, posing as nobles, or in extravagant armour, posing as guards. They were gathered from all across the world and so fit nicely into the chaos and extravagance of Rasarath as they jostled their way through the streets.


    They made it to the mansion of Sebrutha, the friend to all merchants, or so he was named. He¡¯d been only too happy to welcome Rogo and his band into his halls when he¡¯d heard of their plight. Rogo had considered stealing from him but he had little to steal, his wealth and fortunes were all falling into ruin and disrepair, making him all the more desperate to make as many friends in high places as he could, hoping one would take pity on him. So far he¡¯d had no luck and Rogo wasn¡¯t about to help him, he wasn¡¯t quite as high up as he seemed.


    They all filed in to the grand hall, appearing weary from their trek through the busy streets. Those among them posing as guards stepped off to the side while Rogo and those posing as his family met with Sebrutha. Four of those posing as guards carried a palanquin, within which was Arna, a small, frail looking girl who they claimed had a terrible disease that only the greatest of doctors could fix. Sebrutha looked over at the palanquin with unease but greeted the rest of them warmly.


    ¡°Welcome, welcome, to glorious Rasarath. I trust your trip was pleasant.¡±


    ¡°Oh indeed. The seas are much kinder around here than where we come from. Kind enough that poor Arna was able to leave her bed and walk on deck every so often.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, excellent. I trust you¡¯ll be wanting to see our esteemed doctor as soon as possible of course. He lives in a mansion beyond the city, he claims the bustle and chaos are bad for his patients. I say he simply dislikes them himself. The city is where it all happens my friend, I hope very much that you enjoy your stay.¡±


    ¡°Oh no doubt,¡± Rogo replies. ¡°All the same, we¡¯ll be seeing the doctor as soon as possible.¡±


    ¡°Of course of course. I will have horses and carriages ready for you within minutes. The best horses in Rasarath I assure you.¡±


    And so they left the mansion after only just arriving. Carried away into the bustling city and then out into the estates beyond. The doctor¡¯s estate was immaculately kept with gardeners and groundskeepers patrolling the perfect lawns. The huge mansion towered over them, imposing guards looking down from every corner.


    ¡°There are a lot of guards Rogo,¡± whispered Arna from within the carriage as they approached.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, the plan will work,¡± Rogo replied confidently, perhaps too confidently.


    They were ushered in to the mansion where they were brought to a room full of empty beds. Only one was occupied and the curtains were drawn around it. Arna was nestled into another bed and they all crowded around, ignoring the other occupied bed on the other side of the room. They waited for the doctor, whispering to each other in what they hoped was the chatter of nobles. They didn¡¯t wait long.


    Accompanied by his guards the old bald man shuffled into the room and examined the sickly girl in the bed. They had given her a poison that wouldn¡¯t kill her but they hoped it would fool the doctor into thinking she was actually sick. It didn¡¯t.


    ¡°She¡¯s been poisoned,¡± he said quickly.


    Rogo¡¯s eyes went wide in alarm and he looked at the rest of his band. ¡°Get out!¡± he ordered them and they left. ¡°Poisoned?¡± He asked the doctor softly.


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m not sure what sort of poison yet. I¡¯ll have to run some tests.¡±


    ¡°So one of my company has betrayed me?¡± Rogo pondered. ¡°I cannot trust them.¡±


    The doctor rubbed his chin as he examined Arna who was looking as terrified as ever. ¡°Yes,¡± he said idly, far more interested in his patient than any potential betrayal.


    ¡°Would it be possible for your guards to watch them while I determine which of them did it?¡±


    The doctor stopped examining Arna and thought about it. ¡°I suppose. There are a lot of them though.¡±


    ¡°So you have somewhere secure we could lock them?¡±


    ¡°I have a few rooms in the basement that are quite secure. We could put them there.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± Rogo said. ¡°We should do that immediately.¡±


    The doctor nodded and gave the word to his guards. Rogo thought the original plan had been better but the back up plan would work as well. His band muttered and grumbled as they were led off to the basement. There weren¡¯t many rooms there and they were put right next to the vault. They began to take out the tools they¡¯d hidden beneath their extravagant clothes.


    The doctor went back to examining Arna who remained scared and sickly. She wasn¡¯t confident in her acting skills like Rogo was and hoped that she¡¯d look sick enough. Luckily she was supposed to be nervous and on edge which she did well. The doctor didn¡¯t seem to care, he was far more interested in her illness than how she acted.


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    He was mixing some herbs together when there was a huge shout from downstairs. Arna jumped in fright and the doctor turned to look but a guard came in and reassured them.


    ¡°He¡¯s interrogating everyone. It¡¯s getting heated,¡± the guard said and they all winced as the shouted argument continued downstairs between Rogo and other members of the band.


    Meanwhile the others slowly began to tunnel away at the wall to the vault, the sounds of the shouted interrogation drowning out the noise.


    Rogo was having fun as he screamed at Filmanion who screamed right back. ¡°She¡¯s dying! Do you not care!¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me! How many times do I have to tell you! I¡¯d never hurt her!¡±


    ¡°You expect me to just believe that!¡±


    ¡°What evidence do you have!¡±


    ¡°Who else knows anything about poisons!¡±


    Up in the ward the doctor made Arna drink something and poked around her eyes and mouth. She could see he was growing annoyed at the shouted argument happening downstairs. He had moved out of the city to avoid these sorts of things after all.


    Rogo and Filmanion kept shouting at each other, in a different room the others had almost tunnelled all the way into the safe. A guard burst in and shouted over them.


    ¡°Silence!¡± Rogo and Filmanion stopped shouting and looked at him, panting slightly from shouting so much. ¡°The doctor is working on your little daughter and he needs to concentrate! So if you¡¯re going to be interrogating each other you should do it quietly!¡± the guard hissed.


    Rogo and Filmanion looked at each other. They didn¡¯t know if the others had tunnelled through yet. Rogo feigned looking guilty. ¡°Sorry doctor!¡± he shouted and the others rapidly hacked away at the wall. ¡°We¡¯ll be quiet from now on!¡±


    The wall fell away and they caught the slab of rock, edging slowly and silently into the vault.


    The doctor rolled his eyes and went back to his work, poking and prodding at Arna who was now properly terrified that the plan hadn¡¯t worked. She felt sick from the poison but also from the fear that they¡¯d get caught, that it wouldn¡¯t work, that everything would come crashing down. She really wasn¡¯t very good at this whole thievery thing, why did Rogo give her all the most stressful jobs?


    The doctor looked at her eyes and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. She didn¡¯t like that. He gestured for a guard to give him something and he poked her with it, she jumped. He spun away and walked off down the stairs. She stayed in the bed and wondered what was going on.


    Rogo was arguing in whispers now and he jumped in surprise when the door slammed open behind him.


    ¡°I was being quieter, tell the doctor-¡± he stopped when he saw that it was the doctor in the door. Rogo looked confused.


    ¡°I know what the poison was.¡±


    ¡°Oh good.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a paralytic, she doesn¡¯t react the way she should to various stimuli.¡±


    ¡°So... can you fix it?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need to. It¡¯s harmless, it will just put her out for a week or so.¡±


    Rogo narrowed his eyes, he¡¯d really been hoping for some more time.


    ¡°Which begs the question,¡± the doctor continued. ¡°Why did a bunch of unknown merchants turn up out of nowhere with a girl drugged harmlessly, asking for the best doctor in the world?¡±


    ¡°Well we didn¡¯t know it was harmless obviously.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the most common harmless poison in the Hallowed Realm. The poisoner clearly knew it was harmless. So why would he do it?¡±


    Rogo leaned back on a chair and crossed his arms. ¡°What are you implying?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you are who you say you are. I think-¡±


    ¡°You think that we skillfully got ourselves placed right next to your vault so we could dig into it and steal all your money. Good guess that¡¯s exactly what happened. Unfortunately for you we¡¯ve already got in and out with all the money, you can check the vault if you like but I¡¯d suggest you get off after my friends before they get to the city if you want your money back. They do have some very fast horses, the best in Rasarath I¡¯m told.¡±


    The doctor¡¯s eyes grew wide and he spun out of the room. He took some guards with him to the vault and they opened it, painstakingly slowly, each key seeming to take an eternity to fit into the locks. Eventually the door swung open to reveal an empty vault with a hole in the wall leading into one of the other rooms.


    ¡°Did you let anyone out?!¡± the doctor screamed at his guards. ¡°Has anyone left?!¡±


    They shrugged, there were a lot of guards and a lot of rooms, it was possible. The doctor spun around and gathered up as many guards as he dared, taking them to the door. The carriages were still there but he had no idea how many horses there¡¯d been.


    ¡°Get after them!¡± he shouted and his guards sprung up onto horses, galloping off down the road. The doctor panted in exertion, he would get his money back, he would-¡±


    He heard a scream behind him and spun to see one of the guards that he hadn¡¯t just sent away being cut down by Rogo¡¯s band who had all produced weapons from somewhere and were walking toward him. One of them carrying the girl he¡¯d been treating.


    ¡°Thanks for sending all those guards away,¡± Rogo said confidently. ¡°It would¡¯ve been difficult to get through all of them.¡±


    The doctor backed away. ¡°You won¡¯t get away with this. You-¡±


    Rogo slapped him and he crashed to the ground. Then he watched all of them walk past and mount up, carrying all of his gold and wealth with them. They were gone before he could clamber to his old tired feet.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t been able to find them,¡± the doctor said to the man in the bed. ¡°They¡¯ve completely disappeared with all my money.¡±


    ¡°Mmmf,¡± the man grunted in response.


    ¡°You could find them though. You can do a lot of things.¡±


    ¡°Mmmf.¡±


    ¡°You owe me for saving your life, you know. Some people might consider that a debt worth repaying.¡±


    The man shrugged, he wasn¡¯t one of those people.


    The doctor sighed. ¡°I suppose I¡¯ll just have to close up shop. I won¡¯t be able to buy anything to treat any of my patients. Especially my expensive patients.¡± He reached over the man¡¯s face and the terrible scars across it. They were black and corrupted and the man winced as the hand brushed them.


    ¡°Mmmf,¡± the man whimpered and the doctor withdrew his hand. The man looked up at him with angry eyes through the terrible scars. ¡°Alright,¡± he rasped. ¡°I¡¯ll find them for you.¡±


    Wegrel had been following Rogo and his band for weeks. Everywhere they went they seemed to rob and extort the rich, so far they¡¯d never been caught but he doubted their luck could last. He stood at the dock watching their boat in the distance, he¡¯d been so close this time.


    The captain he¡¯d talked to came up to him and assured him that the boat was going back to the Hallowed Realm, Nagathrum specifically. Wegrel thanked him and looked around to find another ship going there. Another man walked up to him, a man with three horrible black scars down his face, hidden poorly under a hood.


    Wegrel narrowed his eyes at the man who rasped at him. ¡°You¡¯re after Rogo and his band of thieves?¡±


    He nodded nervously.


    ¡°What a coincidence. I think we might be able to help each other.¡±


    Wegrel swallowed. ¡°Who are you?¡±


    The man smiled and it contorted all his scars horribly. ¡°Just someone who knows a lot more than Rogo does.¡±


    Wegrel nodded. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯d agree with you there.¡±


    The man¡¯s smile grew wider and more contorted. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±

 The Watcher of Wickoran

    Far to the east there lies a small town called Wickoran. It is nestled away within the woods and groves of the Eastlands and hides itself away from the world very well. There is a path out to the wider world but it is seldom travelled for the inhabitants of Wickoran have all they need.


    There is the Carrock family who hunt in the forest for the great beasts that grow there, beasts that are slower and fatter than any others in the Eastland. Easy to catch and easier to eat, some of the great red elk capable of feeding the whole town.


    Also travelling through the forest are the Merwin family who gather all the wild mushrooms and potatoes and carrots that grow all through the woods. Years of gathering has taught them all the best spots to look and they regularly bring back great baskets of foods and flowers for the town.


    Within the town itself there are families for building, for brewing, for tailoring, for tanning,  for cooking, for cobbling, for carving, and for healing. And so the people of Wickoran are at peace with their little world and reap the great rewards of their blessed land.


    For, although the Eastlands are a wild and dangerous place, none of the great war clans or mercenary armies ever march down the road to Wickoran to take the bountiful forests or enslave the peaceful people, for Wickoran is watched. Watched by a creature that dwells high on a wooded hill in a cave. The creature has been there for as long as anyone in the town has known, they say it was there before the town was built and will be there long after it fades away. It has not left the cave for many years now but in the old stories of the town it left to ward off invaders and its wrath was terrible. So there have not been any invaders since. The creature is the Withrika and from it the town gets its name, this is its story.


    Lisa Nathien lay dying in her bed surrounded by her family. She had been a beloved doctor for the town and her cures and medicines would be missed. Her manner would be missed as well, she was able to make children smile and laugh even while sick or injured, she could keep talking happily away even in the face of horrific wounds, making her patients feel safe and reassured. She was a prominent member of the town council and regularly helped arrange the festivals and holy days the town so enjoyed. She would be missed, especially by her daughter Laura.


    It had been the talk of the town when Lisa and her husband had saved up enough money to send Laura to a proper medical school out in the Hallowed Realm. She had been sent off, guarded by Wesley Carrock and Song Merwin, through the Eastlands and to the Hallowed Realm. She had grown up there, far away from her home and family and had learned much in the ways of medicine and science. For though Lisa had been an excellent doctor she knew there was a lot of knowledge she lacked, and she hoped Laura could learn it all to become a far better doctor than she had.


    Then Laura had returned and found herself back among her family and her old friends, but while she had grown up in the city they had all grown up as well and she found that she no longer fitted in. She had helped her mother of course but she had never been able to connect quite as easily to the townsfolk as she could. They were distrustful of her and her strange techniques learned out in the city not handed down through generations. She fixed them as best she could and she knew she was helping more of them than her mother had been able to before but still they distrusted her and whispered away behind her back.


    She watched her mother lying in bed, slowly dying and dreaded when she¡¯d have to perform all of her duties herself. Slowly her mother slipped away and the family dispersed. Far away the Withrika watched.


    Wesley Carrock climbed through the woods. In one hand he held a great walking staff which he prodded away at the ground with, with the other he pushed aside the branches and leaves around him. Slung across his back was a great bow and a quiver of arrows but he knew he wouldn¡¯t need it. The woods around Wickoran were full of life and bounty but right here it was always silent, no animals came to this hilltop.


    As he climbed he began to tread more carefully, for now battering aside the leaves and branches could be dangerous. There were thorns now, twisted tangled black thorns, and the thorns were strong and would not move if he tried to brush past them. Many a person or animal had wound up tangled up in those thorns unable to get out. Wesley had no intention of being one of those.


    He climbed and climbed, carefully brushing aside any branches and leaves with his staff, ensuring that wherever he stepped was free of the twisted thorns. Up and up he went, following the path of the thorns until he reached the cave at the top of the hill.


    It was a dark cave, cast into shadow by great trees overhead, and it didn¡¯t have a very good view of anything through all the foliage but it was where the watcher lived. Spiralling and twisting out of the cave, snaking in every direction were the black tangling thorns, all originating from here.


    Wesley almost lost his nerve looking up at the dark thorny cave but he continued on anyway. He was a hunter so he didn¡¯t scare easily and he knew in his heart that this creature was the guardian of Wickoran, no matter how outwardly terrifying it might appear.


    He entered the dark cave and the thorns began to move. Slowly, very very slowly they twisted and writhed as the creature at the back of the cave moved toward him. It was almost the shape of a person but much much bigger and made entirely of twisting writhing tangling thorns. In its head there were gaps in the vines that almost looked like eyes and it fixed those on Wesley.


    Wesley swallowed his fear and spoke. ¡°Oh great Withrika,¡± he began. He had never spoken to it before but it seemed like the right type of thing to say. ¡°I come to you begging for your help with my son.¡±


    The Withrika did not respond but it moved closer, thorns sliding and scratching along the walls of the cave. Wesley¡¯s hands squeezed around his staff.


    ¡°He is sick, very sick and I have taken him to see Laura Nathien but...¡± he faltered but the gaze of the Withrika drew more words out of him. ¡°She is not the same Laura she used to be. The Laura I helped take to the city many years ago, she was nice then, friendly and happy like her mother. But now she is cold and distant, she seems to think she is better than us because she has lived in the city, because she has learned things, seen things we haven¡¯t. She doesn¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to live in Wickoran anymore.¡±


    The Withrika was still looking at him so he kept stumbling on. ¡°I don¡¯t trust her, no one does, they say that she poisoned her mother so she could take her job. I don¡¯t want her working on my son, who knows what she¡¯ll do to him. She said she wanted to try leeches, horrible, demonic things, but we refused. I don¡¯t know if she¡¯ll do it anyway though, or perhaps she¡¯ll come up with something even more horrible. Please, I don¡¯t know what to do, can you tell me how to heal my son without her help?¡±


    The Withrika twisted slowly, its thorns slithering about. None came too close to Wesley fortunately. It thought for a time, considering all that had been said. It knew that there were lies in what it was told, it knew Laura had not killed her mother. But it didn¡¯t care about the lies, it only cared about the question.


    It answered, its voice coming from all throughout the cave at the same time, the thorns hissing and scraping along with the words. ¡°Take your son to the river at night, the ford by the old willow tree. Hold his body beneath the water until he stops shivering, then hold him for a few seconds longer. Take him out and warm him again until he returns to life once more. Then your son will be healed without the help of Laura Nathien.¡±


    The Withrika turned and slid slowly to the back of the cave.


    ¡°Thank you oh great Withrika,¡± Wesley called out. ¡°I will do as you have said.¡± He walked slowly out of the cave, picking his way through the thorns, then climbed back down the hill and returned to the town. He dreaded what he had to do, he dreaded it with all his mind. But in his heart he trusted the Withrika.


    Laura left her house early to check on her patient while the sun was still rising. Little Ester Carrock had a dangerous sickness of the blood. Leeches could remove enough of that blood to let his body deal with the rest she knew but his family had not been willing to try that. She could cut him open and drain out blood manually but she didn¡¯t think they¡¯d like that idea either. They wanted some potion or concoction that would magically fix everything but there were none for these kinds of sicknesses. She could delay it though, perhaps she could delay it long enough for his body to deal with it on its own, sometimes that happened. Sometimes.


    She walked up to the Carrock¡¯s house and knocked on their door. Trying to compose something to say that would convince them to let her cut open their son. It was so much harder than in the city where people had actually trusted her. How long would it be before they realised that she knew what she was doing?


    Wesley Carrock opened the door and looked terrible. He had huge bags under red eyes and his face was stricken with grief and guilt. Her heart dropped, she had seen that look before.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked. ¡°Is he okay?¡± She rushed past into Ester¡¯s room despite Wesley¡¯s half hearted attempts to stop her. She tried to think of what could have happened, Ester still had weeks to live before the sickness worsened enough to kill him and she was confident she could prolong that. She threw open the door and was hit by a blast of heat, there was a brazier on the floor and Ester was wrapped up in rugs and furs and blankets on his bed.


    She rushed past the brazier and felt his forehead, it was cold, she couldn¡¯t tell if he was breathing. Wesley came in behind her.


    ¡°What did you do?!¡± she shouted at him. This wouldn¡¯t happen from the sickness, that would only make him hotter, not colder.


    ¡°I...¡± Wesley began but she¡¯d already figured it out. It was a desperate gamble, a last resort she hadn¡¯t ever considered necessary. There were so many other ways that didn¡¯t involve potentially killing the patient.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You froze him didn¡¯t you? Cooled him down enough to kill the sickness?¡±


    ¡°I... yes...¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? Is he even still alive?¡±


    ¡°I... I don¡¯t know...¡± Wesley looked heartbroken and sheepishly looked at the floor. Laura ignored him and frantically listened at Ester¡¯s chest for signs of life. Was he breathing? Was that a heartbeat?


    ¡°I... I¡¯m sorry I just...¡±


    Laura shushed him. She listened, and listened some more. There it was, just barely there. The boy¡¯s heart had been strong yesterday despite his sickness, strong enough that he might just pull through.


    ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± she said and Wesley sagged with relief. ¡°I can save him and the sickness is most likely gone.¡±


    ¡°Th- thank you... I-¡±


    ¡°Never, do this again,¡± she told him firmly. Then went to work on bringing Ester back to life.


    It was many months later that Ayla Merwin slowly climbed up the hill with her walking stick and her bag. Where Wesley had batted aside branches and leaves with ease she moved them gradually aside, her old gnarled arms unable to simply throw them away as Wesley did.


    It took her a long time but eventually she reached the thorns and slowly wove her way through them to the cave. This wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d been to the Withrika, she¡¯d been once when she was a young girl and had been in love with Glen Merwin. Glen and another girl, Jane, had been madly in love and Ayla had been jealous. She¡¯d spoken to the Withrika and it had told her to introduce Jane to another boy, Beven. Sure enough Jane and Beven had grown happily together and Glen had wound up with her. They¡¯d married and she¡¯d changed her name to become the old matriarch of the Merwin family. That was all a long time ago of course and she sometimes regretted her younger self¡¯s actions, getting involved like that. But it had all worked out in the end and everyone had been happy.


    So she kept her secret to herself and thanked the Withrika for getting her what she wanted. Now she was here to do it again.


    She entered the cave and the Withrika emerged, fixing her with those thorny holes that it had for eyes. She¡¯d forgotten just how terrified she¡¯d been back then, just how menacing it really was. But she was not a lovesick little girl anymore. She¡¯d been digging in the ground for mushrooms and potatoes her whole life since then, dealing with whatever horrible bugs or worms had crawled up at her. Venturing through the forest and fending off whatever creatures and shadows menaced her and her family. She wasn¡¯t scared of the Withrika, in her heart she trusted it.


    ¡°Oh noble Withrika,¡± she began, as she had all those years ago. ¡°My granddaughter has fallen in love with another woman,¡± she said. She didn¡¯t wait for the Withrika to respond, she knew it wouldn¡¯t. ¡°While this doesn¡¯t sit quite right with me I maybe would have been willing to overlook it except that it is that terrible doctor, Laura Nathien, with her leeches and her knives. She hasn¡¯t been the same ever since she got back from the city and I don¡¯t like it. I know nobody can prove she killed her mother but I know she did it. I hoped my granddaughter would see what I have seen once she got to know the doctor but she hasn¡¯t. They are getting married in a month¡¯s time and I cannot let it happen. I come to you oh noble Withrika seeking aid as I once did in the past. Can you help me stop this wedding? Can you help me ensure my granddaughter marries someone else and not this doctor?¡±


    The Withrika twisted slowly, its thorns slithering about. It thought for a time, considering what Ayla had said to it. It had watched her grow up and it remembered all those years ago when she had come to it for the first time. It knew she was expecting an answer much the same as then, but it didn¡¯t care about her expectations, it only cared about the question.


    ¡°Take a white mountain flower,¡± it said in its hissing voice. Ayla had forgotten how eerie that was. ¡°There is one growing right now beneath the cliffs of the Turtle Grove, it is white and shaped like a lotus. Do not touch it. Wear gloves, put it in a pouch then take it home to your family. Cook it into a meal and serve it to everyone, your granddaughter, yourself, the doctor if she is there, everyone. That will ensure your granddaughter does not marry Laura Nathien.¡±


    The Withrika turned and slid slowly to the back of the cave.


    ¡°Thank you oh noble Withrika,¡± Ayla said nervously. This was nothing like what she¡¯d had to do last time, this sounded very suspicious. Was she poisoning the doctor, was she poisoning her granddaughter. ¡°Is this flower poison?¡± she called out as the Withrika disappeared into the shadows.


    It stopped and turned slowly to face her, she felt panic now, everyone knew you were only supposed to ask one thing at a time.


    ¡°No,¡± it said, then disappeared. The thorns stopped sliding and hissing and Ayla sagged in relief. She picked her way back out of the cave and set off to find the flower, taking gloves out of her bag on the way.


    That night Laura smiled happily to herself as she went to the Merwin¡¯s house. It had been a hard few months trying to fit in, trying to help the various distrustful townsfolk. But Melody had made it all possible. She knew their relationship had just made some people even angrier but it was all worth it. It made her so much happier.


    She arrived and was let in to sit at the table with Melody and the rest of her family. She knew much of the family didn¡¯t like her but they were growing warmer, all except Melody¡¯s grandmother of course, she was cold and distrustful through and through. Laura had long since given up trying to win her over.


    They chatted and talked about the goings on in the town, Laura had learned long ago that discussing any of her work with these people was a bad idea so she mostly kept quiet. Eventually Ayla Merwin brought out dinner and served it, she seemed happy about something, or at least as happy as she could be, so distrustful all the time. They all began to eat their meal and Laura had to admit it was good, a mushroom stew made from the wild mushrooms the Merwins were so adept at gathering. And despite her dislike of Laura, Ayla was still an excellent cook.


    They ate and chatted and the meal moved on but Ayla began to grow quiet. Normally she would talk with her husband or her children but she was quiet this time. Laura didn¡¯t pay her much attention, she usually didn¡¯t, which was a shame, for then she might have recognised the symptoms.


    Ayla threw up mushroom soup all over the floor and staggered backwards, tumbling out of her chair. The family rushed to help her but she was twisting and seizing all over the ground. They instinctively went to help which meant Laura had to shove past them, they didn¡¯t look to her for help instinctively which slowed her down. Eventually they remembered who she was and she got to Ayla, lying on the ground.


    She began shouting instructions and got some of the stronger men to help her hold her down. She rattled off a list to Melody of things she needed from her place, she didn¡¯t think much about it, she knew what was happening. Only poison acted this fast, she didn¡¯t know who¡¯d poisoned Ayla and she didn¡¯t care but she knew what she had to do.


    She had no idea what the poison was so she had to help Ayla fight against it by bolstering her body¡¯s own defenses with strongroot¡¯s leaf, then she¡¯d hopefully have time to make antitoxins for all the common poisons, or at least the fast acting ones.


    Melody came back and Laura poured as much strongroot¡¯s leaf down the old woman¡¯s throat as she dared before turning away to begin grinding out the first antitoxin, there were only a few poisons that could do this so she should be able to run through them all relatively quickly.


    She poured out a powder into her mortar and pestle and then heard a shout behind her. She spun around to see Ayla¡¯s body convulsing ever more, much worse than she had been before. How had that happened?


    She clearly couldn¡¯t breathe so Laura reached for a knife to cut into her windpipe. She reached for her throat but one of the men holding Ayla down, Laura didn¡¯t know his name, batted her aside.


    ¡°What are you doing?!¡± he shouted at her.


    ¡°I need to cut into her windpipe so she can breathe! I-¡±


    ¡°You were going to cut her neck open?!¡±


    ¡°Yes it-¡±


    ¡°Lisa never cut people¡¯s necks open?!¡± the man had tears streaming down his face but he wasn¡¯t backing down.


    ¡°Lisa wasn¡¯t trained to do it! Please let me! It¡¯s the only way to-¡±


    ¡°You just made her worse!¡± someone else said. ¡°Do you even know what you¡¯re doing?!¡±


    ¡°I... I...¡± Laura tried to stammer out a response but everyone was shouting no one could hear her. She didn¡¯t know what was happening, she didn¡¯t know why the strongroot¡¯s leaf had made things worse, all she knew was that her patient couldn¡¯t breathe and if she couldn¡¯t fix that there wasn¡¯t anything else to be done. She¡¯d thought the family had been growing to trust her a bit more but it seemed like they hadn¡¯t. It seemed no one was going to trust her.


    Ayla died of asphyxiation in minutes, she was an old lady and there was no way she could survive the ordeal very long. Laura trudged dejectedly back to her house, all of her supplies gathered up in her arms. As she left she looked at Melody who refused to look at her. They¡¯d all seen it, she¡¯d made Ayla much worse and then tried to cut her throat open. She had ruined everything.


    Less than a week later Laura Nathien trudged up the hill. She¡¯d worked it out now but no one would listen to her anyway. Ayla had had an incredible allergic reaction, like nothing she¡¯d ever seen before, and to what she had no idea. It hadn¡¯t made sense considering that mushroom stew was the same as every other mushroom stew the old woman had made, stew she¡¯d been eating her whole life. But it explained why strongroot¡¯s leaf had made things worse, and why no one else had been affected.


    So she trudged up the hill to the cave. In the city she¡¯d learned a little about monsters like the Withrika and she¡¯d vowed to never seek its aid. But she had nowhere else to turn to now, so here she was.


    She picked her way through the thorns and entered into the darkness. There it was, emerging to meet her.


    ¡°Withrika,¡± she said, she didn¡¯t give it an epithet, she didn¡¯t think it deserved one. ¡°The town shuns me now, my engagement has been broken off, and no one will trust me to help them. You have helped this town before, you¡¯ve protected it from mercenaries and brigands, I ask you now to protect it from itself. Please, can you help me calm their anger? Can you make them tolerate me again?¡±


    The Withrika thought about this before answering in its hissing voice. ¡°Go to the market in the middle of the day, when everyone is there. Climb up on a stage or a box or something tall and address them. Explain yourself, tell them what happened. That will calm their anger, that will make them tolerate you again.¡±


    Laura swallowed her fear, she didn¡¯t want to do that. She wasn¡¯t very good at talking to individual members of the town, never mind crowds, but the Withrika had spoken and everyone knew it was never wrong.


    She went back down the hill and into the market. The Withrika watched as she found a crate and then waited until most people were there to trade with each other. They hated her, it saw, they shunned her and some of them threw things at her, but to her credit she climbed up on the crate anyway.


    The Withrika watched as it had watched all those years ago when it had been asked to deal with the mercenaries and brigands. It had saved the town as it had been asked. It had saved Ester Carrock as it had been asked. It had stopped the marriage as it had been asked.


    It watched as Laura tried desperately to get the crowd to listen to her but they kept shouting over her. It watched as she fought through tears and fear to make herself heard to no avail. It watched as a particularly angry member of the Merwin family picked up a rock and threw it. She hadn¡¯t been trying to hit her, just to scare her. But she hit her anyway.


    The Withrika watched as the rock smashed into Laura¡¯s skull and killed her. It watched the horror and grief that spread through the town and it watched as their anger drained out of them. As they regretted everything they¡¯d done and not only tolerated her but wished she were still alive. It didn¡¯t care about the people, it only cared about the question.

 The Beast and the Fountain

    Ragave the Beast stalked the tunnels and corridors of the Library. His black bristles stood up on the back of his thick mane and his nose twitched and sniffed, searching for prey in the dark. He grunted with cold foul breath through thin white tusks and moved along, his great jagged claws clicking quietly on the ground.


    There was no one there, not even Reese the pitiful imp. Most living things had long ago moved away from Ragave¡¯s domain. He made it clear that he ruled these corridors of the Library and any other monsters or spells that wished to live there would have to go through him first. Many had tried but so far none had succeeded. For Ragave was ancient and powerful and though he looked like a terrifying monster he was not stupid. For he had been a human once, a long time ago.


    He stalked through his halls. He passed the stained glass window that looked out onto the raging sea. He passed the corridor of mirrors, ignoring the terrifying reflection of himself that tried to eat him. He passed the Fountain of Amizan with its four faces crying into it. It had been growing colder in the room with the fountain and somehow... more silent. The fountain had never made noise but it seemed to make even less noise now. He sniffed it and grunted. The fountain had left him alone and it wasn¡¯t edible so he would leave it alone. He stalked off, back to his own quarters.


    He¡¯d found the rooms of some noble family inexplicably down here among the dark corridors and twisted spells and claimed them for his own. He locked the door and carried the key with him around his neck, the only key. So he was astonished and angry to find the door unlocked and open, just slightly. Enough for an imp to sneak through.


    He charged in and flung open the door, filled with rage at his privacy being invaded for sure enough there was Reese sitting on the dresser reading through his letters, and more importantly, her letters. Reese spun around and looked up at him with his twisted face.


    ¡°Beast!¡± he squeaked in terror. ¡°I didn¡¯t- I wouldn¡¯t- I can¡¯t read.¡±


    Ragave did not believe him and lunged across the room, his huge jagged claws closing around the tiny imp. He had let Reese be the whole time he¡¯d been down here as he felt sorry for him, their situations weren¡¯t so different. But he wouldn¡¯t be letting him be any longer. With a squeak from Reese Ragave tore the tiny imp in half. Spraying black blood across the dresser and the letters.


    Horrified he tossed Reese¡¯s body out the door and slammed it shut. He¡¯d known the imp could squeeze into the keyhole and open it but he¡¯d trusted him not to. He shouldn¡¯t have trusted him.


    Gingerly, with fingers far too cumbersome for such work he picked up the letters and sorted through them. There were the letters he¡¯d written to her, his love, and the letters she¡¯d written back to him. All that he had left of her. He¡¯d been a prince once, before a witch had cursed him to turn into this monster, this thing. He¡¯d fled then, before his wedding could begin, before she could see him like this. He¡¯d come to the Library looking for a cure but they¡¯d had nothing to offer him. Nothing but their own stares and hatred, so he¡¯d fled again and claimed these lower floors for his own. Cultivating an image of the ferocious savage beast of the Library. A monster that was not to be trifled with. He couldn¡¯t have Reese upsetting that image.


    He sorted through the letters and read them as he did. Each one bringing up memories too painful to bear. The blood drops were small and the letters were all still legible but it still pained him to see those letters marred. He shouldn¡¯t have killed Reese, he should have taken him outside and killed him there. Still, the thought of the imp¡¯s disgusting hands touching these letters filled him with rage. He grunted in anger and had to resist the urge to break something, he had this room filled with all the fineries and wealth he had managed to find in the Library and it was his home, his reminder of what he truly was. He breathed slowly out and went to the window, looking out at the storm tossed sea.


    He calmed himself slowly and then looked down at the letters. He had read those words hundreds of times, many hundreds of times. He reached the letter with the most droplets of blood, they were drying now, spreading out to stain the paper and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. This was one of his favourite letters, the letter wherein she¡¯d described a flower field she¡¯d found, writing at length about all the colours and sights and smells and how she¡¯d lost herself among it. Tears came to his eyes as he realised just how marred it truly was, this letter would never be the same again, it would always be stained by Reese¡¯s blood, by his anger.


    He couldn¡¯t finish reading it. He couldn¡¯t bring himself to-


    There was something there. Something at the bottom of the page that hadn¡¯t been there before. It was her writing, it was her hand, writing out in front of him.


    ¡®I miss you,¡¯ it said.


    He spun around, leapt to the dresser, shoved the letters into it and slammed it closed. He breathed slowly and deeply, panic rising up inside him. You could never trust anything in the Library. He¡¯d learnt that within days of living down here. Everything was a spell or a trick or some magical device meant to drive you insane. Meant to kill you. And now, marred by imp¡¯s blood even his letters weren¡¯t safe. The thought filled him with rage.


    He had always felt safe in his quarters, in his sanctum. No spells or monsters had ever come for him here. But now there was something, something corrupting the very things that meant the most to him. He shuddered and grunted furiously. Outside the storm raged and inside he slowly fought the panic within him. He went to bed, fearful of days to come.


    The next day he stalked his corridors again, hunting, searching, desperate for something to take his mind off the letters. He found nothing. So his mind wandered back to them. Those letters and those new words scrawled on the bottom. What if it was true? What if she did miss him? No. He couldn¡¯t think like that, that was just what the Library wanted him to think. But he thought it anyway. Maybe all the twisted magics and spells in the world and in the Library weren¡¯t entirely nefarious. Maybe there was some spell that actually was trying to connect him and her again.


    Could he afford to miss a chance like that? He thought about it. He thought about it for a long time.


    That night he sat down at his dresser and dusted off the old quill and inkpot that had sat there from the day he arrived. Shuddering he drew out the bloodstained letters and placed the offending letter in front of him. Still it said all that it had originally said, about flowers and sunshine and the warm spring. But right at the bottom scrawled in the margin was ¡®I miss you¡¯. Ragave stared at that for a long time. Nothing else appeared so he wrote back underneath it.


    It was hard with his huge jagged claws and the small space in the margin but he managed it.


    ¡®Who are you?¡¯ he wrote and then waited for a reply.


    He didn¡¯t wait long. ¡®Why it¡¯s me of course, silly, Emmantine,¡¯ it wrote back, just the way she would have written. ¡®Don¡¯t you remember me?¡¯


    There was no space left on that letter so he got a fresh piece of paper and wrote beneath it, hoping that would work. ¡®Of course I remember you. I have thought about you every day since I left. But how are you talking to me? How are you writing this?¡¯


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    He waited for seconds but it felt like hours, hoping she could still read what he wrote on this new piece of paper. She could.


    ¡®That makes me so happy. I have thought about you so much as well. I thought after you left that I would never see you again. But there was a fountain, I found a fountain in the woods that you could wish in. I wished to see you and when I drank from it I could see you again. There is a fountain on your side too I see. If you drink from it you will be able to see me. Then-¡¯


    He slammed the letters back into the dresser and spun away from the desk toward the window, huge angry breaths heaving from his sides. The fountain, it was the fountain doing this to him! Of course it had to be something. A trap, a trick, to get him to drink from the fountain. But it had seemed so real, it had seemed just like her.


    He curled up to sleep but he didn¡¯t sleep that night.


    But even monsters have to sleep eventually and eventually sleep, he did, and then dreams found him. The Fountain of Amizan did not yet have the power to alter dreams but it didn¡¯t need to. Ragave dreamt of it anyway. In his dreams he was alone and trapped in the Library for the rest of his life, nothing and no one. Just one more monster to haunt these corridors with no purpose and no hope. What did it matter if it was all a trick of the Fountain, all a trick of the Library? What did he have to lose? How much more of this life, if it was a life, could he take?


    It still took him a long time to make up his mind, to sort through his dreams and his feelings but eventually he took out the letter again and he read what it had written.


    ¡®Then we can write and talk and be together just like we used to, even though we are far apart.¡¯


    She seemed so happy, writing so fast and with so much excitement. So eager to be with him again. He did so want to see her, to watch her playing in that flower field again. It had been so long and his body ached at the thought. He wrote his reply grimly and watched her¡¯s come back, resigned.


    ¡®I¡¯ll do it,¡± he wrote.


    ¡®Oh thank you my love!¡¯ she replied. ¡®I so want to be together again.¡¯


    He picked up the letter and an ornate cup he¡¯d found in the rooms when he¡¯d got here. Then he went to the fountain. It was so quiet, quieter than silence somehow, and cold, very cold. The fountain was black as it always was and when he looked into it there was only blackness. Above him the four faces hung from the ceiling, crying their black tears into the fountain.


    This did not look like a fountain that granted wishes. This did not look like a fountain that would let him see his love again. But there was hope. A tiny spark of hope in the back of his heart. A spark that meant he had to try.


    He looked at the letter again, tears rolling down his cheeks, and dipped the cup into the cold cold fountain. He drank from it and the spark went out.


    In the silence the voice of the fountain roared in his head. A voice like a crashing waterfall that demanded to be obeyed. The fountain had used the magic of the Lexigrael to bring the Beast to it. Now it imparted him with the power of Mazzran the Worm. And it imparted him with its instructions.


    ¡°You will fetch for me the Stone that was stolen. The Stone of Falling Stars.¡± the voice roared and Ragave shuddered in awe of its power. He tried to resist of course, but against such a magic force there was no hope.


    ¡°What- why- what is the Stone of Falling Stars?¡±


    ¡°It is one of the most powerful magical artifacts to ever exist! It was held in this Library for centuries under the guardianship of the Chimaera Cabal. I corrupted them! I conquered them! I had almost reached the stone when it was stolen by Maegara the Thief! She took it far from the Library and hid it in a chest no living creature can reach. None, save for Mazzran the Worm.¡±


    ¡°Who-?¡±


    ¡°He died in my waters not two months ago and I have taken his great power to give to you. You will tunnel through the stone and earth of the Library and then to the Chest of Maegara where you will fetch the stone and bring it back to me!¡±


    ¡°I- I...¡±


    ¡°Beware though!¡± the fountain continued, Ragave¡¯s voice barely legible now. ¡°The stone is a weapon and it wishes to be used. It will do whatever it can to make you use it and as we have just learned you are very easy to manipulate.¡±


    Ragave felt he should be angry at that, but he was too cowed, too afraid of that thundering voice, to care right now.


    ¡°But you must not use it!¡± the fountain continued. ¡°For if you do I shall be furious and I shall have no choice but to seek out your little Emmantine with the forces I can bring to bear. She may not write to you but she still lives and I will put a stop to that should you fail! Bring me my stone, Beast! Now go! Go to the Fisher Plain and the Chest of Maegara. Go!¡± The fountain thundered and Ragave obeyed.


    He sunk into the stone floor of the Library, feeling all of the stone and the corridors he knew so well from the other side. He could feel everything, see everything, sense everything. And he could sense how full of magic it was. He knew now that he had never truly conquered his part of the Library. He had only ruled the corporeal creatures, there were so many spells and curses overlapping and fighting around him that he was amazed he had survived at all. And in the middle of it was the fountain, the cold cold fountain, full of cold cold rage.


    He swam away, sliding and twisting his way effortlessly through the stone. Sliding the way Mazzran the Worm did. He knew of Mazzran, the legendary guard the Archivists employed above. There were many stories about who he was, what he was. They said his power came from a demon, Qinar, the demon of stone. They said he¡¯d made a deal with it after being trapped beneath a falling avalanche, he¡¯d wished to be free and had wound up bound by the Archivists. Ragave believed it, he just wished he had a demon to grant his wish now. His wish for Emmantine to be safe. He didn¡¯t care what consequences befell him as a result.


    But there was no demon to hear his pleas, only the curses and spells of the Library and they cared little for such a corporeal creature. So he left the Library and entered the earth beyond it, tunnelling and swimming toward the wasteland that was the Fisher Plain. The voice was still there in his head, still like thunder but like distant thunder. He was leaving it behind. Soon it was nothing more than a vague feeling, guiding him on, pointing him in the right direction. He could ignore it now, he felt that at this distance the fountain could no longer force him to obey. But he obeyed anyway, he was too afraid not to.


    Around him the ground began to change, his power, Mazzran¡¯s power, didn¡¯t work on living things, and so even in the barren lands around the Library he could only move slowly through the ground, full as it was, with worms and grubs and plants. But as he drew closer to the Fisher Plain there were less living things and he moved faster. Less worms and less grubs and only dead rotted plants. He began to fly.


    Above him he felt a cave, a small cave, barely more than an overhang, and in it a chest. He rose up out of the dead ground and was stunned to see the broken wasteland around him. Everything was grey and destroyed, nothing but bones and bones and bones as far as he could see. Even the cave was a huge skull or some twisted cancerous growth of some great creature. He felt sick looking at it all so he looked down at the chest. It was open, Maegara clearly hadn¡¯t bothered to close it. In it was a red gemstone, sitting on a black cushion. He picked it up and instantly it was in his head. He was sick of things getting in his head.


    ¡°The Beast of the Library eh?¡± the stone said. It¡¯s voice was much nicer, much calmer than the roar of the fountain, but it was still insidious, and it was still in his head, so he loathed it.


    ¡°Why, you have a lot of anger lurking in you,¡± it continued. ¡°No wonder she was afraid of you, no wonder she wanted you gone.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± he asked it, standing in shock. ¡°No, she loved me.¡±


    The stone laughed, and that was somehow much worse than all the rage of the fountain. ¡°Oh you poor child. She loved you? How could she love you? You were just as much a monster then as you are now. Worse even. You were a prince that demanded her hand in marriage. What could she do but pretend to love you?¡±


    ¡°No! You¡¯re lying! She-¡±


    ¡°So she went to the only person who could help her. The only person she knew who had any power over you. The witch, and sure enough the witch got rid of you right enough.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know that!¡± Ragave roared. The sickness he felt was getting worse, he felt like he was about to throw up, and once more tears were stinging his eyes. ¡°She loved me! She-¡±


    ¡°What would you have done if she¡¯d refused you like she wanted to? What did you to do that imp who slighted you? Really it¡¯s all quite pathetic.¡±


    ¡°No! You liar!¡± Ragave threw the stone at the ground, heedless of the fountain¡¯s warnings. It shattered into dust and its power released into the air. Ragave fell to his knees, sickness filling him, tears racking his body. He didn¡¯t notice the sky turn red at first but he noticed the heat on his back so he turned around. Above him the sky was streaked with falling stars that all crashed into the Fisher Plain burying him and it in fire and ruin.


    Many days later, when the fire had cleared the stone reformed in its little chest, ready to wreak more havoc upon the world.

 The Prisoners in the Camp

    Gull wasn¡¯t angry anymore. She was only now realising just how angry she had always been all the time. She couldn¡¯t be angry around Maeggy though, she was too happy, too bright, for that. So she was slowly letting go, forgetting all the pain and rage she had been through.


    They had been travelling the Hallowed Realm helping people. At first Gull had resisted, she couldn¡¯t help people, what did a gladiatrix know about that? She was just there to beat up anyone who tried to hurt Maeggy. But gradually as her rage and pain had faded she had started to help people as well.


    There had been a girl, in a village that was slowly flooding, and while Maeggy sorted out plans to move the village with the elders, Gull had talked with the girl and explained to her what was going on. She hadn¡¯t been very good at it, she wasn¡¯t good at talking to adults, nevermind children. But the girl had been enraptured by her scars and so she¡¯d had plenty of opportunity to practise. Eventually she¡¯d convinced the girl that moving somewhere else would be an adventure and she¡¯d run off happily to tell her parents.


    Then, in the next village there had been an assault. Gull had been ready for a furious fight when they finally found the culprit but Maeggy had warned her that that wasn¡¯t likely to happen. Eventually, sure enough, they¡¯d split up and Gull had found him. He¡¯d had a knife and was huddled in the corner pointing it at her with shaking hands. She¡¯d wanted to thrash him within an inch of his life but instead she¡¯d talked to him. He had done everything out of rage and pain just like she used to and she could understand him very well. Eventually she convinced him to put the knife down and come quietly. No one else was hurt and he wasn¡¯t hanged, as he¡¯d expected to be.


    So they had continued on like that and there was less and less violence as they did. Maeggy didn¡¯t speak about it much but Gull was beginning to think there had maybe only been violence at the start because she¡¯d been looking for it. Indeed, when they¡¯d faced the sorcerer and his entire army at Karasar, they¡¯d driven them away without any bloodshed at all. Well, Maeggy had, Gull had mostly watched from afar with fear and dread. Maeggy never seemed to have any fear or dread. She¡¯d asked about it but Maeggy just laughed, she claimed nobody could possibly want to hurt her, as charming as she was, so what did she have to be afraid of? Gull wasn¡¯t sure about that, she¡¯d certainly wanted to hurt Maeggy when they¡¯d first met, and she¡¯d seen plenty of people get angry enough to attack her or almost attack her as they¡¯d travelled. She just seemed to have a knack for positioning herself just out of reach of anyone too dangerous. She also never got sick, even when they were helping towns infested with sickness Maeggy would be fine. Gull had yet to learn that trick.


    The war came and things began to grow violent again. Deserters and mercenaries roamed the land taking what they wanted and refusing to listen to reason, especially when it was delivered by a strange woman with a floppy hat and a long staff. Gull had learned to fight with weapons, something she¡¯d never done back in the arena. They had to be careful in the war, there were fewer and fewer problems that could be solved without violence. But Maeggy always seemed to find all the ones that could.


    They¡¯d driven out drunkards that had taken over a town. Negotiated a peace between two clans of bandits intent on killing each other. Saved many female prisoners from groups of deserters who seemed to take far more than they could possibly need. Maeggy explained that in doing so they would stretch themselves thin in terms of food and guards and eventually collapse into infighting, but that tended to only hurt the prisoners more. So they would sneak in in the night and inspire hope among the imprisoned before causing some huge distraction and evacuating as many as possible. The deserter groups were never well disciplined and tended to collapse in on themselves as soon as something went wrong. Gull and Maeggy had grown very good at causing things to go wrong.


    The two of them lay on the grass at the top of a crest and watched the lights of the camp below. It was a big camp, bigger than any they¡¯d broken into before. The war was over and these men weren¡¯t deserters anymore, they were full soldiers, trained and hardened in battle and then abandoned when their side lost. Men stood outside the camp peering into the darkness. Three of them. Three guards, that was unheard of, most camps had one on a good day. This was going to be difficult.


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of guards,¡± Gull grunted.


    Maeggy grinned in the moonlight. ¡°I know, isn¡¯t it exciting.¡±


    Gull grunted again. That wasn¡¯t the word she¡¯d have used.


    ¡°Oh don¡¯t be like that,¡± Maeggy tutted. ¡°This way if they see anything they might assume some other guard will deal with it. With only one guard you don¡¯t have that possibility.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather there were no guards.¡±


    ¡°But then who would be there to marvel at our escape?¡±


    Gull snorted. ¡°They won¡¯t be marvelling. They¡¯ll be mad.¡±


    ¡°People are only mad if you¡¯ve impressed them or disappointed them, and we won¡¯t be disappointing them.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Careful, you might disappoint me.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re already mad.¡±


    Mad Maeggy nodded happily, her floppy hat swaying on her head. ¡°Very true, very true.¡±


    Inside the camp Goran looked over their supplies, pacing angrily through the tent and peering at the untidy piles of food that had been thrown together. They were much smaller piles than they had been yesterday, too small he knew. They¡¯d taken on all those blasted women from that town they¡¯d raided and now the food they¡¯d scrounged together wasn¡¯t nearly enough. He wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d been thinking, letting the men do something as stupid as that. Could they not have their fun and then leave them behind. Taking them put so much more pressure on every part of the group. It was childish, that¡¯s what it was, he was dealing with children.


    But those children were all well armed and tended to only listen to him when he gave them vaguely what they wanted, so he had bent to their requests. He was regretting it now.


    Of course they¡¯d been happy to do as he said and not take any prisoners up until now. That was because he was taking them all into the forest and there weren¡¯t any women in the forest. They would only be in there for a few months at most while the Royal Army hunted down bands like theirs. Could the men not restrain themselves that long?


    But apparently not, so here they were, loaded up with prisoners they couldn¡¯t feed and heading into a forest where places to pillage would be few and far between. They¡¯d have to hunt he supposed, he hoped someone knew something about hunting, he certainly didn¡¯t.


    He dragged aside a huge barrel of ale someone had taken. Ridiculously impractical, they couldn¡¯t take something like that with them. Although judging by how light it was the men were already making good progress on it. Behind the barrel was a pile of breads and pastries taken from a bakery. He sniffed them and picked some up, a rat scampered away into the darkness and he cursed. Sure enough most of the breads had been reduced to crumbs. He flung the loaf he was holding down and cursed some more. This was ridiculous, the food they needed was being eaten away and the men insisted on stealing things they couldn¡¯t use. He resisted the urge to knock the barrel over, that wouldn¡¯t go over well with the men.


    He turned and stormed from the tent, trying to think of what to do about their supply problem. He¡¯d have to put someone in charge of sorting that, preserving and rationing the food they had and also planning how to get more. This wasn¡¯t the sort of thing he¡¯d signed up for when he¡¯d corralled all the men who¡¯d been pillaging that town together. Back then it had all been cheering and laughing as he led them wherever they wanted to go and organised ways for them to get whatever they wanted. It had been liberating back then, freed from the rigid command structure of the army they¡¯d been able to do anything, take anything. But there were consequences for living like that. There were always consequences.


    He saw movement in the shadows between the tents. Too fast movement, like someone running or jumping. Who¡¯d be doing anything like that this time of night?


    Groaning in frustration he rounded the corner to see Endran, one of the archers from Avus, twisting the arms of some woman who¡¯d been trying to escape him. Goran sighed inwardly as Endran looked up at him happily. ¡°Don¡¯t worry Goran, I¡¯ve got everything under control,¡± he grinned.


    Goran looked at the girl who was on the verge of tears. ¡°This all better be worth it. We ain¡¯t got enough food for all these women, we hardly got enough food for all of us!¡±


    Endran¡¯s smile diminished somewhat. ¡°Well-¡±


    ¡°Shut up! Take this inside anyway, I don¡¯t want to see you out here when I¡¯m trying to get this place functional!¡± Goran stormed into his tent and muttered angrily to himself as he searched for a candle. Men like Endran only ever thought about one thing and that one thing wasn¡¯t going to serve them very well in the forest.


    ¡°-I¡¯m trying to get this place functional!¡± the tall man shouted angrily before storming into his tent. Gull waited patiently behind that tent as the short man¡¯s response died on his lips. That didn¡¯t put him out for long though, he still had a girl in his arms and soon his sick smile returned. He turned his attention back to her and Gull moved, ramming a dagger through the back of his neck. He squeaked a little bit and then collapsed, Gull grabbed the girl and pulled her to her feet, holding her bloody knife to her lips.


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    The girl looked at her with wet, terrified eyes, but she seemed to understand the message to stay quiet. Gull took the short man¡¯s knife and then led the girl away through the dark tents. Hopefully if anyone saw them it would look just like it had before, some man leading one of the prisoners off to have his way with her. But she didn¡¯t intend for anyone to see them.


    Outside Maeggy was throwing rocks in the bushes with great accuracy and the three guards were walking slowly into the darkness, weapons drawn and pointed. Gull led the girl the other way and they looped all the way around the camp through the night to meet back up at the meeting place.


    ¡°How¡¯d it go?¡± Maeggy asked.


    Gull grunted in response. ¡°Pretty good. No one saw me.¡±


    Maeggy beamed. ¡°Excellent, they won¡¯t even notice anything happened!¡±


    ¡°Y- you killed someone...¡± the girl said in shock.


    Maeggy¡¯s smile disappeared. ¡°They might notice that.¡±


    Gull shrugged. ¡°It happens.¡±


    The girl seemed even more shocked at that, Maeggy just seemed disappointed. ¡°Anyhow,¡± Maeggy continued. ¡°You¡¯re rescued, congratulations. Welcome to the free free world where less people will try to hurt you. But we aren¡¯t just here to rescue you, we want to rescue everyone else as well. So what can you tell us about what¡¯s going on in the camp?¡±


    ¡°W-w-well...¡± the girl was still shaking in terror. Gull had little patience for that sort of thing, and she knew that standing around with her bloody weapons and hands probably wasn¡¯t helping.


    ¡°I¡¯ma clean this,¡± she held up the bloody knife and then wandered off. Behind her the girl opened up to Maeggy about the situation in the camp.


    When Gull returned the girl had gone to sleep and Maeggy was looking grim. Or at least, she wasn¡¯t smiling, which was grim for her.


    ¡°It¡¯s not looking good,¡± Maeggy said with a pout. ¡°Apparently they¡¯re all split up, each woman is kept in a different tent with whichever man took her.¡±


    Gull grunted, that was going to be a pain. Usually they just had to break everyone out of one place, rather than going to each tent individually.


    ¡°They¡¯re also well disciplined I think,¡± Maeggy continued. ¡°Or better disciplined than most deserters.¡±


    Gull nodded, they¡¯d expected as much.


    ¡°Apparently you saw a man, Goran. He¡¯s in charge, he¡¯s pretty scary apparently, but he doesn¡¯t have any women with him. Good for us but I think that means he¡¯s even scarier. Men like that usually know a lot about what¡¯s going on.¡±


    Gull nodded, this was not looking easy, but she was confident Maeggy could figure something out, Maeggy always figured something out. They settled down for the night, Maeggy had no idea what they were going to do.


    Goran swore he only got ten minutes sleep before one of the guards was rudely waking him up.


    ¡°What is it?¡± he growled, fighting back the dregs of sleep to get to his feet.


    ¡°It¡¯s Endran,¡± the guard said nervously. ¡°We found him when we came back this morning.¡±


    Goran groaned, what had Endran gotten himself into this time? He walked outside the tent and nearly stepped on the dead body that lay outside it.


    He cursed loudly and knelt down to look at the body. Right here, right outside his tent this had happened. He was too worn out, too tired, when he¡¯d been in the army he¡¯d have heard it, he¡¯d have been here. Endran was missing his knife and there was a knife wound in his neck, the back of his neck.


    ¡°We figure he took one of the girls out and she must¡¯a stabbed him,¡± one of the guards said. They were all there, beside the body.


    Goran nodded, that would make sense. But that girl hadn¡¯t looked in a stabbing mood and Endran was an archer, he was strong, much stronger than she¡¯d looked.


    ¡°No,¡± Goran said. ¡°There¡¯s something else going on here. Someone else killed him.¡± He stood up and looked out at the hills around them. ¡°Send out a search party to find out who.¡±


    Maeggy and Gull discussed plans, or rather the lack of plans. There was no trick this time, no way to lure everyone away from the tent with the women in it and then break them out. They were spread out, they were everywhere. They would have to lure everyone away from the entire camp and that wasn¡¯t going to happen.


    They watched as a few men mounted up and rode off, looking for the girl who¡¯d escaped. They were already on alert, things were already difficult.


    ¡°We should hide,¡± Gull said and Maeggy agreed, they¡¯d gotten good at hiding.


    ¡°There were some trees over by that hill,¡± Maeggy pointed. ¡°They¡¯ll never find us in there.¡±


    The girl was still with them watching nervously. ¡°Do you have a plan?¡± she asked. She was a lot more confident now than she had been last night, probably Maeggy¡¯s influence Gull imagined.


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Maeggy said. ¡°We need some sort of distraction. In this case a huge distraction,¡± she spread her arms wide in the sky as she said it, her hat flopping about.


    ¡°Are those... easy to make?¡± the girl asked.


    ¡°Well-¡± Maeggy responded but she didn¡¯t finish because at that moment the sky turned red.


    Goran watched as some of the men buried Endran. At least that was one advantage to leadership, you rarely had to do any of the grunt work. Not that there was an absence of work at his level though.


    ¡°Dig it deeper!¡± he shouted as the men looked like they were about to give up. They carried on digging. He was the first to admit that Endran was a horrible person but he was going to give him a proper grave. He believed everyone at least deserved a proper grave.


    He felt a heat on his back and turned to see the sky grow red as roaring motes of white light streaked across it. The burning sky beat down on him and he bent before it, shielding his eyes with his hand. The roar was terrible, the burning was terrible as the falling stars plummeted to earth. They hit miles and miles away, behind the hills, behind the horizon. But he still felt them hit anyway. First there was the light, the enormous explosion that blinded him instantly even through his squinted eyes and raised hand. As his vision slowly cleared he felt the rumbling of the earth and heard the sound, the terrible roar of the heavens crashing to the ground. He staggered back and nearly fell into the grave. He stood there, dazed and woozy, his vision ever so slowly returning.


    He blinked and blinked and blinked and then he saw a scarred woman charging through his camp, killing blinded soldiers where they stood. He staggered forward, drawing his sword to fight her. And then the second star hit.


    Gull knew a distraction when she saw one and she turned and ran as soon as the sky turned red. She ran over the hill and barrelled down it, ignoring the hellish glow of the sky. She looked only at the camp. Men were emerging from their tents to look at the sky, none of them were looking at her.


    She didn¡¯t look at the explosion but it blinded her all the same. Luckily, she¡¯d spent years emerging from dark dark cages into the bright arena. She didn¡¯t stay blind for long.


    By the time she could see again she was in the camp and she¡¯d drawn her sword, she killed one soldier, then the next, then the next. The ground started to shake and the boom of the explosion hit them drowning out any noise she might have made in her massacre.


    She turned and saw Goran charging toward her and drawing his sword. She fell into one of the stances she¡¯d learnt and then everything lit up again. She couldn¡¯t see anything and didn¡¯t have time to move before Goran slammed into her. Luckily he couldn¡¯t see her either and by the time he swung she¡¯d already bounced off him and crashed into the ground.


    She was up before he could see but he was staggering away, swinging at nothing. She ducked off to kill a few more soldiers and spared a glance at the sky, there were so many. The sky was filled with falling stars, she just wanted to curl up in a corner and cover her eyes and ears against their might but she couldn¡¯t. This was her only chance to save the women of the camp and she intended to do it now. So much for doing things without violence.


    Yenna watched the scary woman run off toward the camp, ignoring the burning sky and the lights that were tearing it apart. The strange woman with the staff and the floppy hat stayed beside her and stared up at it, muttering something. What was she saying?


    ¡°No... no it can¡¯t be... no it¡¯s impossible... I... I stopped this...¡±


    Yenna didn¡¯t know what that meant. Yenna didn¡¯t know what any of this meant.


    Gull stood in the middle of the camp, blood covered her sword and her arms ached from swinging it. But far worse was the pain in her ears from the constant explosions and worse still was the pain in her eyes. They were watering and everything looked wrong, it was all too bright, too fuzzy, and the sky was far far too red.


    The ground had stopped shaking but she hadn¡¯t, her legs and arms trembled and it was a struggle to stand. Fighting under that sky had really taken it out of her. And she wasn¡¯t done yet.


    Goran emerged from between the tents, squinting against the brightness and shaking just like her.


    ¡°What are you?¡± he asked. He was much taller and stronger than her but fear was evident in his voice. ¡°What did you do to the sky?¡±


    Gull calmed the ragged breathing that shook her body and stood up tall. Maybe there was one problem she could solve without violence. ¡°I am Hathra, Scourge of Man and I come to you out of the sky to bring my wrath. These men have taken women against their will and as such I bring them death.¡± She smiled to herself as she stood tall, Maeggy would be proud of a speech like this. ¡°You have not,¡± she continued, using the information she¡¯d been told before. Goran¡¯s squinted eyes went wide, she knew things about him that she shouldn¡¯t know. ¡°And as such I spare you provided you stay out of my way,¡± she thundered and stared at him, doing her best to hide the shaking and pain through her body.


    ¡°Uh... uh... right...¡± Goran stammered and ran away. Gull managed to stay on her feet and slowly went through the tents looking for the prisoners. The soldiers had all come out to see what was going on but their prisoners were all locked away, what a perfect distraction.


    Gull returned with all the women she¡¯d rescued soon after the battle. The sky was still red and there were burning trails all across it in the paths the falling stars had taken. Maeggy wasn¡¯t happy which was odd. Maeggy was always happy, maybe Gull had killed too many people, she imagined that might have upset her. But she¡¯d saved all the prisoners, that had to count for something.


    ¡°I have to go,¡± Maeggy said to her, she was still looking up at the sky.


    ¡°Go where?¡± Gull asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know yet, but I¡¯ll have to go somewhere. And you can¡¯t come with me.¡±


    Gull frowned. ¡°Why not? I thought we were a team-¡±


    A tear rolled down Maeggy¡¯s cheek and Gull¡¯s eyes went wide, nothing like this had ever happened before. ¡°We are, but this is something you can¡¯t help me with. This is something no one can help me with. I need to go and clean up this mess on my own,¡± so spoke Maegara, thief of the Stone of Falling Stars.

 The Sickness in the Market

    The market was empty. No people moved through it. No voices were heard. Each stall was abandoned, left to linger in the open air. An unguarded target for any thieves or beggars that happened to be lurking in the shadows. But there were none of those either. The fruit sat baking in the sun, slowly rotting away. The trinkets and toys sat idle on their benches. The pens and stocks hung open, all the animals long since escaped. Nothing moved, nothing breathed, nothing thought. But out of sight little things crawled.


    The Oaken Court sat beneath their towering tree in the throne room. There were less of them now. Sireth, the head ranger of the Deepwood, Eyr Ragoth, Queen of Xith, and Vered the Tailor had all died in the battle for the castle. Others had left, returning to their homes to deal with the aftermath of the war. But there was a newcomer, a newcomer who made many of them extremely uncomfortable. The sorceress they called her, for none of them, including her, knew her name. It had been taken somehow, by the sword of the Inkdrop Queen, who as it turned out, also had no name.


    Strange magics were about and the more mundane members of the court, the Royal Masters and such, were increasingly growing concerned. The Battle for Castle Elkring had been fought with vampires and potions and magical fire and swords made of ink and a sorceress. Not to mention the phoenix that had rampaged across the land melting an entire castle with an army inside it. And now, to make things worse, the sky had turned red and stars had shot across it to explode some place out to the west. The Royal Masters prayed that this was just some natural phenomenon, that all the magic was over, but they were not so lucky.


    ¡°So I have three of the most powerful witches in the world here and none of them can tell me what those falling stars were?¡± King Ramon Elkring spoke from his throne.


    The three witches rankled at having their power compared to the feeble power of the other two but they couldn¡¯t exactly disagree. They knew it wasn¡¯t natural but that was as far as their knowledge stretched. Falling stars were never that bright, and they never landed in almost the exact same location every time. There was something going on but Magda was confident it wasn¡¯t demons, and Nath was confident it wasn¡¯t a phoenix. Gushkabel was confident of nothing but she wasn¡¯t going to act like it.


    ¡°What about you? Sorceress.¡± Ramon turned to the sorceress and struggled to say her title without it sounding like an insult. As king he was within his rights to insult her but while most people would happily insult sorcerers when they weren¡¯t around there was something wrong about insulting an ancient creature of power and magic to its face.


    The sorceress shrugged. ¡°No sorcerer could have done something like that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re sure,¡± Gushkabel asked suspiciously. Time was she was the authority on what sorcerers could and couldn¡¯t do. But having defeated two sorcerers with the help of an all powerful artifact wasn¡¯t quite the same as actually being one. ¡°Sorcerers can manipulate storms and the elements. Could it have been some extension of that?¡±


    The sorceress shook her head, refusing to look at Gushkabel. ¡°Those stars came from beyond the sky and a sorcerer¡¯s powers reach no higher than the sky. Besides, why would a sorcerer need to do that? What could falling stars achieve that enough lightning bolts couldn¡¯t?¡±


    Gushkabel grumbled in agreement. Her gut told her that it wasn¡¯t a sorcerer but she didn¡¯t like agreeing with the sorceress if she could help it.


    ¡°Well if it wasn¡¯t a sorcerer, and it wasn¡¯t a demon, and it wasn¡¯t a phoenix, what was it?¡± Deagon, Royal Master of Coin, asked.


    ¡°Unfortunately, there are still a lot of possibilities outside of those ones,¡± Nath said. ¡°A monster of some kind, perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Regardless,¡± Ramon spoke. ¡°Why would someone do that? There¡¯s absolutely nothing out there, where the stars struck. Our maps show it as a completely barren wasteland.¡±


    Gushkable nodded. ¡°The Fisher Plain,¡± she said wisely, glad she could maintain some knowledge over the rest of them. They didn¡¯t know it was called that.


    ¡°A strange place,¡± Magda spoke with her tiny voice. ¡°Nothing lives there, nothing at all. No one can enter it and live.¡±


    Gushkabel cursed to herself, she didn¡¯t even know the most about that anymore. What was the world coming to?


    ¡°Sounds like a dangerous place to investigate,¡± Ramon said. ¡°And we don¡¯t exactly have the resources to spare sending an expedition right now.¡±


    ¡°I can go,¡± Nath said. Unlike the other witches she was young and having recovered from the sicknesses that had plagued her as a child she was fit as well. ¡°I¡¯ll find out what is happening.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go too,¡± Peppers, Queen of Fools, said happily, dangling from her chair. ¡°It¡¯ll be an adventure.¡±


    Magda tried to pipe up to repeat what she¡¯d said about no one entering the Fisher Plain and living but no one wanted to listen to her.


    ¡°As much as I¡¯m glad to see Peppers go,¡¯ Deagon said and paused as everyone looked at him. ¡°To do something useful,¡± he added hastily. ¡°Why are we investigating this at all? The Fisher Plain, as you called it, is out beyond Xith, beyond the Greenlands even. What does this have to do with us?¡±


    ¡°Hopefully nothing,¡± Gushkabel said. ¡°Hopefully whatever is going on is irrelevant to us and we can continue to focus on rebuilding the city. But if it is important, like the phoenix, like Farro¡¯s army. We had best get a handle on it now before it spirals out of control.¡±


    Peppers laughed. ¡°Yes, pieces of the sky are falling to earth. We better act before things get really out of control.¡±


    Everyone glared at her but she just laughed some more.


    ¡°Nath and Peppers will go and investigate this,¡± the king said. ¡°The rest of us will continue rebuilding Elkring and the Hallowed Realm. The court is dismissed.¡± He rose from his throne and left, the others mingling amongst themselves.


    Gushkabel muttered to Magda quietly. ¡°Why don¡¯t we just send the sorceress, she could fly there and back in days, if not hours.¡±


    Magda looked up at Gushkabel with her watery eyes. ¡°She is more useful than any of us at stopping bandits and vagabonds. And if she leaves this castle is woefully undefended with all the losses we took.¡±


    Gushkabel muttered to herself some more and glared at the sorceress who was walking away. It was true that without her they would be having a much harder time recovering from the war than they were. There were remnants of the armies left all across the land causing trouble and somehow the entire enemy army had disappeared. If it came back they¡¯d need her.


    The two witches left and Magda sighed as Gushkabel kept muttering. She was taking the loss of the Bones of Hahkenata hard now that there was not only a younger, more skilled witch around, but an unfathomably powerful sorceress too. Magda hoped she would be okay. She also hoped that Nath and Peppers would be okay going somewhere as dangerous as the Fisher Plain. But they were both powerful, in their own way, perhaps they¡¯d be okay out there where no one else had been. Well, she thought to herself, almost no one else.


    The Witch Queen Nath and the Queen of Fools left the next morning on the fastest horses they could find. They covered ground quickly, unafraid of the dangerous roads they were travelling on. Nath had potions and poisons far more dangerous than anything they were likely to meet and Peppers still had the String of Vethimeres, even though she no longer had Vered to help use it. So they galloped along, completely unconcerned about the bandits and vagabonds that now plagued these roads.


    Nath had wanted to keep some of the vampires from Xith around but they had all gone home with what was left of their riders, and apparently no one else was allowed to ride them anyway. So they rode horses, which couldn¡¯t fly, but could gallop faster for much longer than vampires.


    They rode for days, passing through Xith and into the Greenlands, then heading north toward the Fisher Plain. Peppers joked and laughed and Nath put up with her insanity, as much as she would never say it she was glad to have someone else along. Especially as they rode closer and closer to that red red sky. The trails of the fallen stars were still there, white against the burning crimson. As they reached the edge of the Greenlands they looked out at the plain in the distance. Looking up into that unholy maw above the barren plain, still burning in some places, Nath was reminded of her research into demons. Didn¡¯t their realms look like this?


    ¡°Very scary,¡± Peppers said wisely. ¡°At least we have love and friendship though. I¡¯m sure that will help.¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Nath nodded idly. ¡°I¡¯m sure Peppers, I¡¯m sure.¡±


    They camped there for the night and the night grew cold. It was difficult to sleep as Nath kept finding herself uncomfortable and moving around, as though the ground itself was wriggling and writhing subtly beneath her. Then her bedroll was doing it, then her clothes.


    She sat up in the night, cold sweat pouring from her skin, and threw up. She shivered and coughed and staggered out of her bedroll feeling unclean, clammy and sweaty, and coated in something, something she couldn¡¯t see, could barely feel, something alive.


    She threw up some more and Peppers tried to help her, she was shaking now and couldn¡¯t think. Could only remember the horrible sicknesses that had plagued her as a child. What a time for them to return. Her joints grew weak and she could barely stand so she collapsed to the ground.


    She didn¡¯t remember much after that. Peppers tried to get her back into the disgusting bedroll, full of things that writhed. But she resisted and Peppers didn¡¯t try very hard because she seemed weak as well. Nath wasn¡¯t sure all the vomit was her own.


    She remembered lying there in filth for what felt like hours, shivering in the cold night. Then she remembered a woman appearing, a woman who soothed their shivering with clean blankets and warmed them with some sort of broth. A broth that drove away the sickness, a broth that drove away the dread.


    She remembered the woman talking as she lay in her fresh blankets, slowly feeling the clammy feeling drain away. She didn¡¯t catch much of what was said, she was in no state to listen. Something about a mistake the woman had made, she said she had to fix something. But she heard the last part. Because the last part was something the woman said many many times to make sure they understood. They couldn¡¯t go back. They could never go back. They were to stay away from Elkring no matter what they heard was going on there.


    By the time they were recovered the next morning the woman was gone.


    ¡°What... what happened?¡± Nath asked, snuggled in her warm clean blankets.


    ¡°We were rescued by an angel,¡± Peppers replied, faining delirium. ¡°The angel of clean blankets and safety.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t go back to the city can we?¡± Nath asked, looking away from the wasteland and back the way they came.


    ¡°No, then the angel will get mad at us,¡± Peppers responded wisely. She grew less happy and more thoughtful. ¡°At this rate the Oaken Court will soon just be the oak tree.¡±


    Nath nodded, she didn¡¯t particularly like the rest of the court, especially the other two witches. But she hoped it wouldn¡¯t fall apart. What else was there holding the Hallowed Realm together?


    ¡°There is a sickness sweeping through the markets,¡± Gushkabel spoke far louder than was probably necessary. ¡°People are falling ill in their hundreds and we don¡¯t have anywhere near enough resources to deal with this right now!¡±


    The Royal Masters were somewhat relieved. Plague and sickness were obviously horrible and would likely devastate the slowly reforming kingdom. But they weren¡¯t magical, and non magical things they could deal with.


    ¡°I shall call in every doctor money can buy,¡± Deagon, the Master of Coin announced.


    ¡°I shall clear out the barracks and turn it into a field hospital,¡± spoke Bariel, Master of Arms. ¡°There aren¡¯t enough soldiers left to fill it anyway.¡±


    ¡°My ships are at our disposal if we need to quarantine people on them,¡± Gurren, Master of Ships offered.


    ¡°All noble offers but I doubt it will achieve anything,¡± Gushkabel replied. ¡°For this plague is magical in nature!¡±


    The Royal Masters struggled to keep from groaning, Gurren didn¡¯t bother and groaned anyway. Not again.


    Ramon¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°These are strange times Gushkabel but what makes you think this plague is magical in nature. Our people are cramped together and conditions are terrible after the war, a natural plague is almost expected in times like these.¡±


    ¡°I think it is magical because we have a sorceress amongst us! Sorcerers are known for causing terrible plagues and I hardly think it is a coincidence that-¡±


    ¡°Why?!¡± the sorceress demanded loudly, her golden eyes almost glowing with rage. ¡°Why would I do that?! I saved this city, I saved these people! Why would I now want to kill them all?!¡±


    ¡°Because you are a sorceress, you have power over plagues. If you don¡¯t want them all to die, end this plague now!¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t do that! I can create a plague but I can¡¯t control one!¡±


    ¡°There are historical records of sorcerers controlling plagues.¡±


    ¡°Maybe with a great deal of practise. But strangely I¡¯ve never found myself using plagues a lot!¡±


    ¡°Well maybe it¡¯s time to start learning! The fact that you haven¡¯t even tried is-¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Ramon shouted. ¡°Gushkabel, this is ridiculous! The sorceress saved us, you included, from the Inkdrop Queen. I¡¯ll admit I was just as wary as the rest of you at trusting such a person, but without her this kingdom would be in shambles and we¡¯d all be dead. What we do know is that there is a plague ravaging the markets and until we know that it¡¯s magical in origin we are going to treat it the way we¡¯d treat any plague. Royal Masters, implement your plans. Sorceress, see if there¡¯s any truth to this suggestion that you can control the plague. And witches,¡± Ramon glowered down at them. ¡°You are supposed to be who people go to when they¡¯re sick. I think it¡¯s time you started acting like it!¡±


    The meeting dispersed and Gushkabel muttered away to Magda. She still didn¡¯t trust the sorceress, even after all that had happened, and when a plague showed up she could think of no other cause. She was ignoring all her considerable knowledge and wisdom to focus on her hatred of the sorceress. Magda sighed heavily as Gushkabel ranted on. What was she to do?


    The sorceress walked through the market which was growing emptier by the day. More and more people grew sick and there were fewer and fewer to man the stalls, fewer and fewer to buy things. She¡¯d originally loved coming to the markets after she¡¯d saved the city. In all the chaos and hustle and bustle no one noticed her golden eyes and she could simply blend in. But now people saw her, and now people feared her. She knew they would, how could you not fear someone who could simply conjure up a thunderstorm and smite you with a bolt of lightning? No matter how many times she saved people, she would still be feared. Such was the life of a sorceress.


    She approached one man who was shivering as he tried to lean confidently on his stall. He was pale and he looked up at her with eyes that seemed to be focusing on something else.


    ¡°Hello,¡± she said and he just looked at her. ¡°You¡¯re sick, you should get help.¡±


    The man shook his head, terrified. ¡°There¡¯s no help to get Miss. It¡¯s all used up by now.¡±


    The sorceress nodded sadly. ¡°Maybe I can help.¡±


    If the man looked terrified before he looked even more terrified now. He didn¡¯t even speak this time, just shook his head and tried to back away. He couldn¡¯t though, he seemed to be holding onto his stall for dear life and so he didn¡¯t move back far. The sorceress nodded sadly and moved on. She wasn¡¯t going to force her help onto people who feared her so much, especially when she didn¡¯t even know if she could help at all. She was trying to change those things about herself, she couldn¡¯t simply make everyone do what she wanted, even if she thought she was helping them. That would make her as bad as all the other sorcerers.


    She heard a scream and ran through the empty market. It didn¡¯t take long to reach a stall with a woman huddled at the foot of it clutching something in her arms. The sorceress¡¯s eyes went wide, was that a baby? Swollen and purple and rotting? She moved closer and saw that it wasn¡¯t a baby, it was the woman¡¯s arm. It had been wrapped in bandages but those had mostly fallen off as the arm had swelled. The sorceress knelt down beside the whimpering woman and her mind went blank as to how she could help. What was she supposed to do? She didn¡¯t know anything about medicine, and as she¡¯d told the Oaken Court, she¡¯d never investigated the part of her powers related to plagues.


    The woman barely seemed to notice a sorceress kneeling down beside her, she just kept whimpering. The sorceress ran her fingers over the infection, trying to feel something the way she felt the elements. She could feel nothing.


    There was another scream and she spun around to see someone pointing at her with purple fingers. She looked around and found that there was more than one of them.


    ¡°What have you done to us?!¡± they shouted.


    ¡°Why couldn¡¯t you just leave us alone?!¡±


    They were crying now, crying and shouting and screaming. She ran away, she wasn¡¯t going to be of any help to anyone today.


    Magda rushed through the castle toward the Oaken Court. There were so many meetings these days it was difficult to keep them all straight. She¡¯d gotten distracted treating the sick down at the barracks that had been turned into a hospital and it had taken her a long time to get here. She¡¯d rather be back there now, much as she hated working on so many patients at a time she knew she¡¯d do a lot more good there than she would in another meeting.


    She could already hear Gushkabel¡¯s shouts as she ran. ¡°She goes to the market and it just gets worse! There¡¯s another plague now! Starting right when she appears! How is that a coincidence?!¡±


    There were some more voices she couldn¡¯t hear and she fretted to herself. What if Gushkabel was right? What if the sorceress was secretly trying to kill them all? It didn¡¯t make sense but then did anything sorcerers did make sense? Gushkabel would know more than her. No! That was how she¡¯d always thought, always trusting others even when she knew more than them. She needed to stand up for her own beliefs. Gushkabel was wrong, and she would make sure no one got hurt from it.


    ¡°We can at least try locking her up and see if the plagues die down!¡± Gushkabel continued. ¡°Who¡¯s going to attack a plague ridden city anyway?¡±


    Magda agreed that attacking a plague ridden city was a bad idea but she wasn¡¯t sure an invading army would necessarily see it that way. She bustled through the corridors and then stumbled. She was walking much faster than was good for her old legs and crashed to the ground awkwardly. Muttering to herself she began to pick herself up and realised she was shaking. She was shaking, and cold, that wasn¡¯t good.


    The voices seemed to be agreeing with Gushkabel. No, they couldn¡¯t do that! She had to stop them. She put her hand against the wall to steady herself and then stopped. She turned her huge watery eyes to the wall. Things were growing blurry, she was sick, she knew that very well. But she had spent years training herself to see things no one else could. She wasn¡¯t going to let a little sickness impede her vision.


    All across the wall things moved, tiny things, invisible things. Things so small there was no way you could ever see them, except that there were so so many. She threw up on the floor and her hand slipped from the wall. She was too sick, far too sick but she started to make the connections. It was obvious now, Gushkabel was wrong after all. It wasn¡¯t sorcerers, it wasn¡¯t demons, and it definitely wasn¡¯t phoenixes this time. That left only one other possibility in this case. It was just that you didn¡¯t usually think of this possibility, it wasn¡¯t natural to think that big.


    Magda faded away into unconsciousness and elsewhere the sorceress was marched humbly off to the cells.

 The Company of Silence

    Roony stepped into his room and began to undress for bed. It had been a long day leading his company, the Company of Silence. They were a very successful company, too successful some suspected. But there weren¡¯t many to suspect left now, Roony had bought them all. In the chaos of the war he had only risen from strength to strength, lapping up deserters and vagabonds and turning them into militants who worked for the highest bidder. Right now that was the king and his Oaken Court but Roony suspected that they wouldn¡¯t be paying well for very long.


    He shrugged off his jacket and sat down in front of his brazier which was still burning. He didn¡¯t know how long it would burn, possibly forever, especially with the fuel he had for it. He began to remove the rings that adorned his fingers and place them on the desk beside him. With his newfound wealth he had been able to buy all manner of rings and jewelry, all the fine things he so enjoyed.


    He took off the last ring, a small black ring that twisted around a small topaz. He set that facing the fire. Then he reached into his pocket and took out the few strands of hair from the horse they had in their stables. No one could ride the horse, no one but Duren, and Duren was dead. Roony didn¡¯t miss him much, he¡¯d never been a very interesting person, Duren. But he missed his skill in battle. He¡¯d only been beaten twice, once by a man in an impenetrable suit of armor and once by a trick set up by the collected forces of Castle Elkring. But Roony had his horse, the unicorn with its horn burned away. And as long as he cared for it, kept it happy and warm, especially warm, it didn¡¯t mind if he took a few hairs from its mane now and then.


    He sprinkled them into the fire and sat back to watch it burn. The topaz in the ring began to blaze almost with its own light and slowly, ever so slowly, another presence began to settle into the room. The fire didn¡¯t blaze this time, instead it flickered and glimmered and seemed to almost want to go out. Roony almost panicked but he held himself back, the fire wouldn¡¯t go out, it couldn¡¯t go out. Could it?


    ¡°Castle Elkring is weak,¡± he said to the fire. ¡°I would so like to march in there and take it from that pitiful king.¡±


    The fire flickered fitfully in response. Roony fought the rising panic and remained seated, calm, in control. The Lord of Fire answered in his strange way, a way without words or meanings but with terrible terrible intent.


    ¡°You want resistance to the plagues that ravage Elkring?¡± Raqos asked. That was unusual, he never asked, he usually knew all he needed to know.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Roony replied eagerly. ¡°Resistance for me and my men.¡± He stared into the fire and it flickered before him. It took a long time, far longer than he¡¯d been expecting, but slowly warmth began to spread over him. Slowly the fire before him began to burn far far back behind his eyes. Burning away all the organs and flesh that could possibly grow sick.


    Far far away in the Forest of Topaz, safe in his own realm, Raqos shuddered in fear.


    Gushkabel sat at the foot of Magda¡¯s bed, listening to the other patients coughing and crying softly in the night. There were many different diseases now, and Gushkabel had seen none of them before. She looked down at Magda, huddled up in blankets slick with sweat. Gushkabel wanted to curse, to scream. She was a witch, she had treated every disease under the sun for the people of Karasar and beyond. Yet now, she was powerless to help her friend.


    It wasn¡¯t just that though, she could deal with even that. The truth was that all her rage and fear was to mask the sadness that threatened to envelop her. The sadness that even after she¡¯d come to Magda begging for help she had still treated her like a lesser witch, a lesser person. Not a colleague, a rival, an inferior rival at that. But they¡¯d both known that without her knucklebones, the Bones of Hahkenata that could predict the future, she was barely a witch at all. What could she do against all this sickness and disease now that Magda was gone, and the Witch Queen too? She¡¯d tried locking up the sorceress but that hadn¡¯t helped. Maybe she was angry at them now and was making the plagues worse. What did she want? Why was she here? Was she really here only to help? Gushkabel had seen the sorceress do many seemingly heroic things but she still had a hard time believing it.


    She sat by Magda¡¯s bed and watched her sleep for a long time. Then eventually she got up and made her way slowly out of the great barrack that had been filled with beds and turned into a hospital. All through the room, little things crawled.


    The sorceress sat in her cell and looked around at the many roots of the great oak tree that made up the prisons of the castle. Around her other criminals whispered and hissed at each other in hushed tones. They were talking about her of course, what else was there to talk about?


    Some of them were sick too, somehow the plagues had made their way all the way down here. She wasn¡¯t sick of course, she was a sorceress, she couldn¡¯t get sick. She could make diseases though. That was one of the most powerful weapons of a sorcerer and one that she had never ever used. Sorcerers had many powers and over their long lives they could work with a certain one, making that one more and more powerful.


    Famous sorcerers from history had done things like that. There was Ghizeth the Hasteful, a sorcerer who had focused on the magic that flowed through his muscles and organs keeping him alive. Growing it stronger and stronger until he could outrun the swiftest of birds. There was the Culler, a sorceress who had mastered her control over people to such an extent that she could simply command them to die. Then there was Monmoria, the plague sorceress. She was the one Gushkabel had talked about earlier, the one who could not only start devastating plagues, but end them as well. She had been ancient though, and the sorceress didn¡¯t doubt she¡¯d done a lot of experimenting to get to that level. Was she supposed to do that? Was it the only way to save Elkring?


    She listened to the whispers of the criminals around her. They were criminals right? Was she supposed to set plagues on them just to see if she could call them off? That didn¡¯t seem right. What if she couldn¡¯t call them off and it just made the problem worse? She put her head in her hands and stifled a long sigh. What was she to do?


    She felt an itch on her arm and scratched it. That was strange, what could have caused something like that? She looked at the arm, it was hard to see in the half light of the dungeons but it looked like it had a rash.


    Panic shot through her, she was a sorceress, she didn¡¯t get sick, she couldn¡¯t get sick?. But her arm itched all the same.


    Marson was sick of all the magic and monsters and wars. He wished that things would get back to normal and he could guard the walls of the castle in peace. But now there was a plague, perhaps several plagues. He never got a moment''s break.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    He looked up at the great oak tree that grew through the castle. All his life and all of living memory it had been there, strong and resolute in the face of whatever changes shook the world. He was in charge of guarding the highest wall and he looked up at the great leaves above him. They were green of course, they had always been green. They had to always be green because the tree didn¡¯t change. But it was changing. Across the green leaves there were little spots of black, and they were growing slowly bigger.


    He turned around and looked back down at the land beyond. The land full of deserters and vagabonds he had to guard against.


    He watched as his least favourite group of deserters and vagabonds rode up to the gate. The Company of Silence flying their banners of a knife through a tongue. No one could miss the blatant mockery of the king¡¯s own son that was inherent in those banners. The king let it slide though, he was in need of every sword arm he could get.


    Marson didn¡¯t like them. He didn¡¯t like anyone who would openly mock his king and he especially didn¡¯t like anyone who worked only for money. The enemy had money, they had a lot of money, and they were out there somewhere, no matter how thoroughly they¡¯d disappeared.


    Gushkabel trudged down the stairs of the castle, deep into the lower levels where the roots of the great oak tree twisted around through the walls. She had done all she could for the patients at the hospital yesterday and most of it hadn¡¯t helped. She had only one feeble hope left, and she dreaded it.


    She walked into the prison and through all the cells made of metal bars woven with stone woven with oak tree. It would have been impressive if her mind hadn¡¯t been so lost thinking about other things.


    Around her the prisoners coughed and muttered. She could see some of them were sick too, somehow the plagues had even managed to reach their way down here. Well the prisoners would have to wait, they didn¡¯t have enough people to treat the innocent, never mind those locked up here. She looked at them as she walked, it was difficult to believe they¡¯d ever get to treating those locked up here.


    She reached the sorceress who was examining one of the roots that wove through her cell. She didn¡¯t seem to notice Gushkabel.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Gushkabel asked and the sorceress almost jumped. That was strange, Gushkabel knew the sorceress hated her but she didn¡¯t fear her, and even if she did she wasn¡¯t the type to jump like that? What had gotten her so afraid?


    The sorceress turned around and walked up to the bars. ¡°The tree is sick,¡± she whispered. ¡°The roots are rotting away from within. I don¡¯t know what-¡±


    ¡°The tree can¡¯t be sick,¡± Gushkabel interrupted. ¡°It¡¯s the Oak Tree, it doesn¡¯t change, it can¡¯t change.¡±


    ¡°Well it is changing. I¡¯ve been locked up in this prison with nothing else to do so I¡¯ve been looking at it and its sick.¡±


    ¡°Well can you-¡±


    ¡°Do anything about it? Tell me, when was the last time you heard of a sorcerer making plants sick? Is that something we can do? Because I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±


    Gushkabel narrowed her eyes. ¡°Just because it¡¯s never happened before doesn¡¯t mean it can¡¯t happen now. I¡¯ve never heard of this many plagues in one place for instance.¡±


    ¡°Do you think you would have heard of a sorceress who could do something like this? Our powers require practise! If I had enough power over plagues to cover a city in them many times over I would be infamous for doing it! How many sorceresses can you name who could do anything like this?¡±


    ¡°Well...¡± Gushkabel began. ¡°One.¡±


    ¡°Yes, one! Monmoria. Remind me again what happened to her?¡±


    Gushkabel sighed in frustration. Everyone knew the story of Monmoria and Prane. The story that showed how, technically, there were two ways to kill a sorcerer. They were two sorcerers who had decided to try and reproduce, to create a sorcerous child. They had both died along with everything for miles around from a hideous blight. No sorcerers had ever tried that again.


    ¡°And,¡± the sorceress continued. ¡°It gets worse. The oak tree may be magic but it is still a tree, and we all know trees can get sick. But,¡± she slammed her arm into the bars right in Gushkabel¡¯s face. It was red and bumpy, a horrible rash stretching almost to her fingers. ¡°Sorcerers,¡± she said intently. ¡°Do, not, get, sick.¡±


    Gushkabel staggered backward in horror. It couldn¡¯t be. She had studied sorcerers her whole life, looking for ways to kill them. You couldn¡¯t kill a sorcerer with disease, they were sustained by magic, they didn¡¯t have bodily functions to fail. She didn¡¯t think, she just ran. Out of the dungeons, back up the stairs, back into the ground levels of the castle. Behind her the sorceress screamed to be let out, screamed that there was no way it could possibly be her fault. Gushkabel barely heard her, she just wanted to get away, to get away from a disease so deadly it could infect a sorceress.


    She staggered to a halt at one of the castle¡¯s windows and looked out to see the Company of Silence marching into the courtyard. She barely registered who they were for a moment but eventually her panicked brain caught up. She appreciated that they kept the immediate vicinity clear of all the rabble left over after the war but she still didn¡¯t like them. And she especially didn¡¯t like their leader, Roony.


    What were they all doing here? Why bring so many armed mercenaries into a city they were supposed to be guarding? She went through the castle to the throne room, the place of what was left of the Oaken Court. No Sireth, no Eyr, no Vered, no Peppers, no Nath, no Magda, and not even the sorceress. What was left of them now?


    As she walked she heard voices, she really thought the Oaken Court should be better protected against eavesdropping, they often discussed important things in there.


    It seemed as though Roony was talking to the king about something. With their luck there was probably some enemy force they¡¯d have to fight off. But why had the whole company come to tell them that? Was the force bearing down on them already?


    Lost in her thoughts and stress Gushkabel barely heard the sounds of a battle in the throne room. But she quickly shook off her idle thoughts and started to run. The battle didn¡¯t last very long. How could it? The Company of Silence greatly outnumbered whatever guards would be in the throne room.


    She burst into the hall leading to the great doors of the Oaken Court. They were flung open and beyond them she saw Roony take king Ramon Elkring by the hair and shove him to the ground. The king cried out in alarm but before he could stand Roony ran him through with his sword.


    Then he looked up and saw her and she swore there was fire far far behind his eyes.


    ¡°Get her!¡± he shouted and she turned and ran. There was only one place to run. Only one person who could save her now. She ran to the sorceress.


    But she was an old woman and the Company of Silence were all young and fit men. They caught her long before she reached the dungeons and cast her to the ground. They didn¡¯t kill her though, they might have use for a witch.


    She grimaced as they dragged her away. They wouldn¡¯t have much of a use for her though. She wasn¡¯t much of a witch.


    In the barracks converted into a hospital Mother Magda slept fitfully. In the tiny gaps of consciousness she managed to snatch she tried to tell someone, anyone, what was going on and what they had to do. But there was rarely anyone around and they could never understand what it was she meant by her ramblings. It didn¡¯t help that she filled them with names that meant nothing. Venesstrifect, a name too long for anyone to remember even if they heard the whole thing before she slipped away, and Maeggy, a common name that could¡¯ve been anyone. There were multiple Maeggy¡¯s in the hospital already, most weren¡¯t doing much better than Magda. But she kept clinging on and she kept rambling, desperate to tell someone what to do. Desperate to tell someone about Maeggy.


    A woman with a floppy hat walked toward Castle Elkring. In one hand she held a long two pronged staff and in the other she held a bag containing the Stone of Falling Stars which whispered words of hatred into her head to try and get her to use it. The gates were still guarded, even in times of plague but they weren¡¯t guarded against women like her. So Maegara the Thief, daughter of Maegritte, daughter of Madga, walked into the infested city of Castle Elkring.

 The Last Star

    The Tursken Tavern was off limits to children but that never stopped Lucy and her friends. There wasn¡¯t usually much there besides boring adults doing boring adult things like drinking and fighting but sometimes, very occasionally, Ben Rosk, the Old Storyteller, would go in there for a drink. It was on those days that Lucy would send Little Scrag to watch the tavern all night and make sure Ben didn¡¯t come out. Then, in the early hours of the morning, she¡¯d go and wake everyone else up. They¡¯d all creep to Little Scrag¡¯s hiding place and he¡¯d assure them that Ben was still in there. Their little group, gathered outside the tavern, would venture in, catching a glare from the owner, to find Ben sitting at his table, empty tankards all around him, waiting for them.


    When Ben saw them a smile would crack his old bearded face and a twinkle would light his eye as they all piled in next to him, waiting for his latest story. As the tavern owner cleaned up after all the other patrons, and as their parents all slept silently in their beds back home, Lucy and her gang would listen to a story.


    Today Ben leaned back and with a knowing grin he sipped the last dregs from a tankard. He set it down and said. ¡°Well children, have I got a story for you today. This one¡¯s got it all, magic, monsters, a cunning tricketty villain. It is, if I do say so myself, quite possibly the best story I know. And it¡¯s all true, every last word of it.¡±


    He winked his twinkling eyes and the children leaned in in excitement. Lucy was skeptical that it would be all true, she was getting a bit old to believe everything Ben said. But the younger kids would believe him and that was good enough for him, so he began.


    ¡°This story is about demons, specifically one rather tricky demon called Malthrys. And it is about sorcerers, a very important story for sorcerers. And it is also,¡± he said, pausing for effect. ¡°About elementals.¡±


    A boy sat in the great barrack of Castle Elkring looking over his mother who lay asleep in one of the many beds that now filled it. She was sick, dying he suspected, just like everyone else. The boy had a sickness too, fits of nausea that swept through his body, taking away his sight, his feelings, his thoughts. They would pass and he would be left dazed and confused, sometimes for hours. But his sickness wasn¡¯t visual, it was something he could hide. So hide it he did, for there were others who needed the help more.


    His mother, for example. She had the purple plague as they called it. Her limbs were turning purple and swollen and slowly rotting away. She was kept sedated, the pain was too great they said. The boy did not think she would ever wake up.


    Beside his mother was an old woman, one of the mysterious witches of the Oaken Court. The nice witch, the one who had been helping so much in the hospital before she too had fallen sick. Even with all the patients from the whole city she had still found time to talk to him and his mother. To whisper in her kindly way with her big watery eyes. She hadn¡¯t told them anything good, everything seemed to be going wrong. But she had made them feel safer anyway. They were in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing.


    The boy looked at the sleeping old woman. They were no longer in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing.


    The boy sat there for hours, relishing the time he had before another bout of nausea swept him. People moved in and out of the hospital visiting loved ones. Some stayed like him, others moved through checking different beds, looking for people, hoping those they looked for hadn¡¯t been moved off to the great pyre out from the city where they burned the dead. One figure moving through the beds caught the boy¡¯s eye. She was not like the other figures, sunken in sorrow and dread, and often their own sicknesses. She moved quickly and with a spring in her step, each step bouncing the large floppy hat that sat on her head.


    She moved through the beds, checking each one. As she drew closer the boy saw she held a bowl of something and she cradled it dearly as she fretted over each bed. Eventually she reached him and smiled down at him from beneath her large floppy hat. It was difficult to see in the dark but her smile looked kind, a bit like the kindly witch who lay beside him.


    She reached the witch and jumped in surprise, almost spilling whatever was in her bowl. The boy watched as she calmed herself and hoisted the woman¡¯s head beneath some pillows before carefully pouring whatever was in the bowl down her throat.


    The boy stood up, desperately praying no bouts of nausea would take him now.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he whispered. This woman looked nothing like the nurses and physicians that frequented the hospital. Perhaps she was a witch but she was like no witch he¡¯d ever seen.


    The woman turned to him and her face broke out in a big smile. She stepped up to him, bringing the bowl with her. ¡°What am I doing? Well that would take a lot of explaining and we don¡¯t have long.¡±


    The boy frowned. ¡°Why don¡¯t we have long?¡±


    The woman¡¯s grin faded a bit and she looked down at what was left in her bowl, a small amount of broth, the rest poured down the old witch¡¯s throat. She looked back at him and smiled some more. ¡°We don¡¯t have long because an old friend of mine doesn¡¯t want us to be here. And they are going to make sure that we aren¡¯t here very soon. So it¡¯d be best if we leave now.¡±


    ¡°Leave? The hospital?¡±


    ¡°No no no,¡± the woman said, shaking her head and by extension her floppy hat. ¡°Leaving the hospital won¡¯t do at all, we have to leave the city.¡±


    ¡°Leave the city?¡±


    ¡°Yes, you and your mother here, and everyone else, needs to leave the city. I¡¯m putting you in charge of organising it, think you can handle that?¡±


    ¡°Um...¡±


    ¡°Here, have some of this to help.¡± She shoved the bowl in his face and before he knew it he was drinking it. It was warm and soothing and gone far too quickly. She took the bowl away and he wanted to ask for more.


    ¡°What... what was that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°That,¡± the woman said slowly, rolling up one of her sleeves to reveal a thin arm underneath. ¡°Was blood,¡± she held out her arm to reveal a scar, freshly stitched up. The boy almost gagged. ¡°Along with some other things to make it actually work. Frighteningly difficult to make that stuff. Should help though.¡±


    ¡°I... I¡¯m not sick...¡± the boy lied.


    The woman narrowed her eyes and brought her face down to his. She lifted up his eyelids and then opened his mouth to look at his teeth. Then she went cross eyed and stuck out her tongue. He recoiled in surprise. ¡°Definitely sick,¡± she said sadly. ¡°I have no idea what you¡¯re sick with. You¡¯d have to ask my grandmother, she knows a lot more about these things. But you¡¯ll be sick. Everyone here will be,¡± she seemed to get a bit more sad, more genuine this time. ¡°Everyone, apart from me.¡±


    ¡°Malthrys was a trickster demon you see,¡± Ben Rosk continued. ¡°A liar and a con artist made out of masks, hundreds of masks, and he could take the form of any of those masks. He could be anyone, anything, he was the master of lies and deceit. But after tricking other gods and demons as well as plenty of humans he grew bored and decided to try something new. Something that would cause havoc and strife for centuries, perhaps for all of time. He decided to create, a sorcerer.¡±


    Roony, the leader of the Company of Silence and conqueror of Castle Elkring sat on his new throne, looking up at the great Oak Tree before him. The Oaken Court was dissolved, the different witches and rangers and other strange folk dead or scattered to the corners of the world. He¡¯d been expecting to have to fight a sorceress but she¡¯d already been locked up, it seemed all too easy. He liked it when things were easy, that left more time to enjoy the finer rewards. He looked around at the throne room, and what rewards those were.


    Embridge lumbered into the throne room, his hulking frame almost as tall as Roony was up on the throne. Embridge had been an excellent addition to the Company of Silence. Brutish as he was he got things done. When Roony had no need for subtlety, Embridge was who he went to. He was a conqueror now, he had no need for subtlety.


    Embridge looked up at the throne and Roony could see the faint flicker of firelight, far far behind his eyes. The firelight they all had, that blessing from Raqos that burned away the diseases of this place. The firelight that kept them safe while all around them people died. Never had conquering a city been easier. Embridge began to speak.


    ¡°People¡¯re leaving,¡± he said with that permanent slur he¡¯d picked up on the streets. Roony had hoped the fire would burn that away but alas. ¡°They¡¯re evacuating the barrack and leaving the city. Some girl wiff a staff¡¯s helping ¡®em out.¡±


    ¡°What girl with a staff?¡± Roony asked, intrigued. Was this some member of the Oaken Court? None of them used staffs though, he was sure of it.


    ¡°Nossure, we ¡®aven¡¯t had a good look at ¡®er. What¡¯s left o¡¯ the guard are working for ¡®er though. We captured one and he told us what he knew.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re based at the barrack?¡± Roony asked.


    ¡°Yea.¡±


    ¡°Clear it out, and bring this girl to me.¡±


    Embridge nodded and started to lumber off. He stopped and turned around, holding up a huge hand. ¡°One o¡¯er fing boss.¡±


    Roony grunted in acknowledgement.


    ¡°You said we can¡¯t get sick eh?¡±


    Roony nodded slowly, a faint glimmer of panic rising in him.


    ¡°Wha¡¯s this then?¡± Embridge asked pointing to a few black spots on his hand. Roony¡¯s eyes went wide but he calmed himself. Embridge wasn¡¯t a particularly clean fellow, it could be dirt for all he knew.


    ¡°It¡¯ll be nothing,¡± he said confidently. ¡°As I said, we can¡¯t get sick.¡±


    Embridge nodded and lumbered off. Roony sat on his throne and resisted the urge to frantically check his body for black spots. How could they get sick? Everything they had to host a sickness had been burned away, they were sustained by magic now. Creatures sustained by magic couldn¡¯t get sick. Could they?


    ¡°You see, Malthrys was a bad demon, a monstrous demon, and he wanted to cause as much strife as possible as much as possible. So he set to work on making sorcerers.¡±


    Lucy coughed in annoyance.


    ¡°And sorceresses,¡± Ben corrected himself, smiling. ¡°But he didn¡¯t want them to be able to use their powers for good. So he decided to give them powers that could only be used for evil. Powers over the elements but only to destroy them. Powers over diseases but no direct power to heal them. And some powers,¡± he went quiet and the children all leaned in. ¡°That required sex with humans,¡± he said the children all giggled. Some of the younger children didn¡¯t know what that meant but they giggled anyway along with the older ones. Lucy stayed quiet and stared at Ben, she wanted to know the rest of the story.


    ¡°But Malthrys made it so that sex with a sorcerer will destroy a human¡¯s body and sex with a sorceress will destroy a human¡¯s mind,¡± Ben continued, ignoring the bouts of giggling that sprung up at his words. ¡°So Malthrys had a perfect plan. Creatures that would be born into humans and inevitably destroy them, causing havoc and pain wherever they went, whether they wanted to or not. And that, for Malthrys, made it all the more beautiful.


    ¡°But how was he going to create these sorcerers and sorceresses, he wondered. For all of those powers were powers Malthrys himself did not have. For that, he would need, elementals.¡±


    The sorceress languished in her cell thinking about things as the rash spread up her body. She was in agony now, everything itched and when she scratched it too much her skin started to come away. She stopped scratching it, she was a magic creature and who knew if her fingernails counted as a magic weapon. It would be just her luck for it to work that way and wind up with her scratching herself to death in this prison cell.


    So instead she entertained herself with her thoughts. Thinking of all the horrible things she could do to Gushkabel for putting her here when she could have helped. She was a sorceress, surely she should be able to help.


    But as she imagined herself hurting Gushkabel other thoughts began to creep in. Other thoughts about her and what she could and couldn¡¯t do, what she would and wouldn¡¯t do, what she had and hadn¡¯t done.


    It dawned on her that maybe she deserved to be in here. That maybe it was time to accept who she really was. And when it came down to it she knew one thing she definitely was. A serial rapist.


    The thought sickened her but she couldn¡¯t deny it was true. Back before she¡¯d met Gushkabel she¡¯d needed to birth monsters and she¡¯d taken whatever men she¡¯d wanted to do it with. She liked to think that because she was a beautiful sorceress they had enjoyed it but she knew that that wasn¡¯t an excuse. How could they enjoy it when they were in her power, under her control?


    After meeting Gushkabel she¡¯d gone on to become a courtesan at a brothel. That had given her a supply of men to birth her monsters and she could almost make herself believe they had liked it, they had wanted it. But there were still problems, she knew. Being with a sorceress like that put them completely in her power and that was an effect that never really wore off. None of them would ever be the same people again.


    She couldn¡¯t birth monsters, she knew that now. She could never justify doing what she did. And perhaps after doing it for so long she deserved to rot in this prison for a while. She looked at the rash on her arm. She hoped she would be here for a while.


    There were footsteps in the prison and she stood up to look, trying to take her mind off that incessant itching. Someone was dragging someone else down to the prison. She narrowed her eyes, she recognised that woman.


    Gushkabel was rudely tossed into the cell next to hers and the man dragging her locked her in then sauntered off. The old woman groaned on the other side of the wall.


    ¡°What are you in for?¡± the sorceress asked. After she said it she realised she should probably have tried to keep the hatred and loathing out of her voice.


    Gushkabel just groaned for a bit in response. ¡°The Castle has been taken over by the Company of Silence. The king is dead.¡±


    The sorceress¡¯s heart sank. The king was dead! What was going to happen now?


    ¡°Can you get us out of here?¡± Gushkabel asked.


    The sorceress thought for a minute and looked around at the cell. It was half stone, half roots of the oak tree that ran through the castle. Roots that were now infested with rot.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for locking you up in here, and for everything else I¡¯ve done to you¡± Gushkabel said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what caused this but it wasn¡¯t you. I¡¯m not sure if you can do something like this but I know that you wouldn¡¯t, now.¡±


    The sorceress looked down at her arm. It was awfully convenient that now Gushkabel needed her help, she believed her and was sorry. She hadn¡¯t been sorry when she¡¯d saved the entire city from an invading army. She hadn¡¯t been sorry when she¡¯d told her that the tree was sick. She hadn¡¯t even been sorry when she¡¯d told her that she, the sorceress, was sick! But she was sorry now, now that she needed her help all of a sudden. How awfully convenient.


    But the sorceress pushed it all down, all the anger and frustration and dreams of one day taking her revenge. She was sorry, that was all that mattered.


    ¡°I can cause an earthquake,¡± she said, touching the rotting tree roots. ¡°But I¡¯m not sure the tree will survive. I¡¯m not sure the castle will survive.¡±


    ¡°Will I survive?¡± Gushkabel asked.


    ¡°Well...¡± the sorceress realised she hadn¡¯t really thought about that.


    Gushkabel laughed. ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry about me. There¡¯s not a lot I can do anymore, I¡¯m learning that rather quickly now, although still a lot slower than perhaps I should have. The other witches know a lot more than me. I just inherited an incredibly powerful artifact from my mother.¡±


    The sorceress¡¯s eyes narrowed, she didn¡¯t know about this. ¡°What artifact?¡±


    Gushkabel chuckled some more from the other side of the wall. ¡°The Bones of Hahkenata. Some knucklebones that answer any question you¡¯d like. I used them to fight you you know. I asked where you¡¯d stand, I asked what you¡¯d do. So I could set up all my traps and chop you up to put in jars.


    I did the same thing to old Ceros, the sorcerer king of Karasar. Everyone thought Randolph killed him with his magic sword but it was really me. Chopping him up like I did you.¡±


    ¡°I killed Ceros in the end,¡± the sorceress said. ¡°When your house burned down we both crawled out and I killed him.¡±


    ¡°Yes that fire burned up the Bones of Hahkenata, without them I¡¯m not really worth very much as it turns out.¡±


    ¡°Without you Ceros would¡¯ve ruled over Karasar for at least another fifty years.¡±


    Gushkabel grunted. ¡°Without you he would¡¯ve ruled over it for potentially hundreds more. It¡¯s no secret I hate sorcerers, and sorceresses too. I still think that most of you are monsters looking to either dominate or destroy much of humanity and I disagree with a lot of what you¡¯ve done.¡±


    The sorceress nodded to herself sadly, she disagreed with a lot of it too.


    ¡°But I think you should destroy this castle right now with me in it. Then you should go out and kill the Company of Silence and take this city back for the people of Castle Elkring. Then I think you should go and fuck yourself.¡±


    The sorceress felt a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ¡°I hate the person that I was. I know now that all the things I thought were justified, weren¡¯t. And you¡¯re right I deserve some form of punishment. But you¡¯re also right that I can¡¯t stay in this castle feeling sorry for myself forever. You may not think you¡¯re worth much but you were worth enough to change me. I think that¡¯s a considerable achievement for an old woman with no magic.¡±


    Gushkabel began to laugh properly now, a good witch¡¯s cackle that echoed through the dungeons as slowly the whole castle began to shake.


    ¡°First Malthrys visited all the elementals in charge of the elements. You might think that was all the elementals but you¡¯d be wrong, we¡¯ll be getting to the other ones in a moment. Most of them ignored him completely, for to an elemental a demon or a god is little more than an annoyance, but some, some of them listened. For elementals are complicated creatures, they are vast and unknowable and difficult to talk to. But Malthrys was very good at talking. He spoke to each of them in different ways, trying out a different tactic until he found one that worked. Although each tactic would usually only work once.


    ¡°For Eckorunda, the earth elemental, living deep underground he promised jewels and gems of a thousand different kinds if it agreed to give him its power over earthquakes.


    ¡°For Shaltharazyx, the storm elemental, living high in the sky he played a game where he danced atop bolts of lightning and after dancing for long enough with none of the bolts hitting him Shaltharazyx agreed to grant him its power over storms.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°For Pyreinhime, the fire elemental, living within the depths of the greatest volcano he promised sacrifices, hundreds and hundreds of them to feed the flames and in exchange it gave him its power over wildfire.


    ¡°The other elementals of this kind he spoke to refused to listen no matter what was promised them, so he turned to other, darker elementals. Elementals of blood, and vermin, and plagues.¡±


    Magda awoke to a sickening swaying and jostling as her bed was carried out of the city. She waited for the sickness and nausea to set in and drag her back under but it didn¡¯t. She was awake, she was fine.


    ¡°Let me up,¡± she squawked, waving her skinny arms in the air. The soldiers carrying her dropped her bed in surprise and it jolted painfully to the ground. She muttered at them as she climbed onto unsteady feet. She could feel the little things crawling and wriggling all through her bed, all through her clothes, all over her skin. She knew there would be hundreds of them, thousands, already inside her, in her throat, in her eyes, in her heart. Numbers beyond reason she knew, numbers that could never be counted. Such was the nature of Venesstrifect.


    With all those small things inside her causing sickness there was no way she could be healthy. No way, except one.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Maeggy,¡± she demanded of one of the soldiers who had dropped her.


    ¡°Uh... uh...¡± he replied.


    ¡°Floppy hat, big staff!¡± Magda demanded channelling her inner Gushkabel, there was no time to mess around, she had to make things happen. There was nothing quite like a near death experience to make someone more assertive.


    ¡°She¡¯s in the barrack still, helping the sick,¡± the soldier said pointing toward the barrack as though Magda didn¡¯t know where it was.


    ¡°Thank you. I¡¯d better be helping her. Give this bed to someone who needs it and carry on soldier.¡± Magda began to hobble as fast as her old tired legs could carry her back into the city and toward the barrack that had been converted into a hospital. Here and there soldiers were carrying beds like hers out of the city to a large tent that had been set up. That was good, getting them all away from Venesstrifect, it was possible they¡¯d actually live out there. Not likely, but possible, to really ensure that they¡¯d need Maeggy¡¯s blood and she did not have enough blood to go around. Although Magda knew her granddaughter wouldn¡¯t have the heart to not try. She just hoped she wouldn¡¯t be too late to stop her from cutting herself to shreds to save all these people.


    Maeggy was feeling quite sick herself back in the barrack. Not from any form of disease, her old friend wouldn¡¯t infect her, but from blood loss. It was so hard to see all this suffering and death and not prevent it when she knew how. She did have to stop herself though, she needed to be fully functioning if she was going to help anyone.


    People moved through the hospital, carrying beds and she stood there leaning on her staff, examining people one by one to check and see if they were fit to help or needed to be carried out themselves. She didn¡¯t know all the diseases, it had been a long time since she¡¯d had contact with Venesstrifect and there were a lot of new ones. But she knew far far more than anyone else could possibly know. Because everyone else who had any contact with it died.


    Her grandmother hobbled up beside her and Maeggy beamed with joy. ¡°Grandma, you¡¯re alive!¡± she said happily, throwing her arms around her, her long staff clattering to the ground.


    Magda hugged her back, her big watery eyes keenly noticing the many cuts on her arms no matter how much she tried to hide them. ¡°I¡¯ve missed you Maeggy,¡± she said happily, letting the moment linger for a second. But in truth there was no time to lose. ¡°There are dark forces at work in this city,¡± she said, breaking away.


    ¡°Oh I¡¯ve noticed,¡± Maeggy replied. ¡°That is why I¡¯m here after all.¡±


    ¡°More than just Venesstrifect,¡± Magda continued. ¡°You,¡± she said to a guard who was overseeing the line of patients. ¡°Fetch me as many mugs of water as you can.¡±


    The guard looked confused but Maeggy glared at him with her cartoonish expression of annoyance and he rushed off.


    ¡°I admire your control over all these soldiers. People didn¡¯t use to take you seriously.¡± Magda said.


    Maeggy sighed. ¡°I used to have a big strong friend to make people take me seriously but I had to leave her behind when I came here. Luckily when I started fixing people they started listening to me.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t been fixing too many people I hope,¡± Magda said looking down at Maeggy¡¯s arms which she was quickly brushing sleeves over.


    ¡°Not too many, only those who have a chance.¡±


    ¡°Do I have a chance?¡±


    ¡°If you stay here, no. If you leave, maybe.¡±


    The guard came back, his hands interwoven through the handles of an impressive amount of mugs. Each one sloshing with water.


    ¡°Excellent work,¡± Magda congratulated. ¡°Put them down just here,¡± she patted a bed.


    ¡°What¡¯s the water for?¡± Maeggy asked.


    Magda shook her head. ¡°Silly girl, what have I told you about asking questions when around other people? If you assume you know everything I¡¯m doing you¡¯ll look much wiser when I actually do it.¡±


    Maeggy nodded, she was not convinced.


    ¡°Do you have a long term plan? I see you¡¯ve relocated everyone to a tent away from the city.¡±


    ¡°That tent is temporary, the people there are being sent off to farmsteads and barns out across the countryside, we need to get everyone as far away as possible, as fast as possible.¡±


    ¡°How large will Venesstrifect grow? This will destroy the Hallowed Realm, you will be needed to-¡±


    ¡°Venesstrifect will not be growing any larger,¡± Maeggy said sadly, actual sadness this time, not the feigned mock sadness she so often put on.


    Magda looked up at her granddaughter with her watery eyes. ¡°But... no... you can¡¯t...¡±


    The door to the barrack burst open and mercenaries from the Company of Silence poured in, swords drawn. People began to scream and run which conveniently meant they all got out of the way.


    Magda picked up a mug of water and hobbled forward slowly. A mercenary rushed up to her and began to shout something at her. He barely finished the first syllable before she threw the water all over him and he collapsed in a screaming pile of ash and steam. The other mercenaries stopped in their tracks as Magda picked up another mug and looked at them.


    ¡°I am a witch,¡± she said and sipped her mug of water. They all looked at their fallen comrade on the floor and ran.


    ¡°What-¡± Maeggy asked as the screaming rapidly died down.


    Magda hissed at her, interrupting. ¡°What did I tell you about asking questions?¡±


    ¡°These elementals were all too happy to help with Malthrys¡¯s evil plan, for they were all as cruel and sinister as he was. Golgorach, the blood elemental gave him all the powers he wanted and more, powers over minds, powers over bodies, and all these powers he wrapped up in sex just the way Malthrys wanted.¡±


    Ben paused for the giggling but there was less of it this time, they were all too wrapped up in the story, so he continued.


    ¡°Zayferalix, the vermin elemental, happily gave Malthrys the power over bugs and spiders and rats and bats and all those other foul creatures that stalk the shadows. For Zayferalix was cruel and petty but also weak of mind and easily bent to the lies of Malthrys.


    ¡°Venesstrifect, the plague elemental, was the cruelest and darkest of them all. Malthrys had trouble communicating with it in the first place without becoming afflicted with a horrible plague himself but he was clever and he managed it. Venesstrifect gave him power over plagues for it is a horrible and vile elemental and it wanted these sorcerous creations to be as horrible and vile as possible but there is another side to Venesstrifect, another side we shall get to in just a moment.


    ¡°Anyhow, now that Malthrys had gathered up all the powers he wanted he birthed the first of the sorcerers and sorceresses, sending them into the wombs of humans to cause trouble and strife throughout the world.


    Malthrys would have kept causing trouble too but he went on to anger the wrong demon. A demon by the name of Qaan, who grew enraged at a prank that had been played on him and hunted Malthrys throughout the world. Now Malthrys was clever and Qaan could not find him so he sought out another demon, Hahkenata, a demon who could see everything. With Hahkenata¡¯s help Qaan found Malthrys and killed him, all that was left of him were his sorcerers and sorceresses.


    ¡°And that is the story of the creation of sorcerers and sorceresses. All true, every word.¡±


    Lucy narrowed her eyes at that, she wasn¡¯t sure any of that was true. Especially the parts about elementals. The other children were giggling away, it seemed that they were just enjoying hearing about all the things their parents forbade them to speak of. But Lucy wasn¡¯t here to giggle at the mention of the word sex, she was here to hear stories.


    ¡°What about the other side?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Other side?¡± Ben asked with that twinkle in his eye, he knew exactly what she was talking about.


    ¡°Other side to V... Vess... Veness...¡±


    ¡°Oh yes the other side to Venesstrifect,¡± he said happily and he had all the children¡¯s attention again. ¡°Well that is a story I only heard about recently, it is a most interesting story, about a child. A child who was raised by an elemental.¡±


    Roony marched out of the castle toward the barrack. He had warned all of his men to stay away from water, not to drink it, not to touch it. They didn¡¯t need to drink anymore, they never felt thirsty with the fire burning away inside them. They still had to feed it though, so they still had to eat. But water would burn them and that was a weakness he had thought no one would know. How had this witch known about it? Hadn¡¯t she been dying a few days ago, that had been what his intelligence had told him.


    He looked down at his foot, it was in a boot now but there were black spots beneath the boot on his toes. Black spots that shouldn¡¯t be there. Maybe he couldn¡¯t rely on his intelligence, maybe there were things at work here that spies and informants couldn¡¯t tell him. Maybe now he was entering the domain of witches.


    At the top of the barrack wall was a long two pronged staff with a woman perched atop it, looking down at them. She looked sickly, just like everyone, but she was grinning wildly beneath her floppy hat.


    ¡°Welcome, oh mighty Company of Silence, to the hospital. I truly hope we can cure your conditions.¡±


    ¡°Who are-¡±


    ¡°Behold!¡± she shouted. ¡°Your affliction has been cured! You can now speak once more! Your silence has been lifted! I hereby dub thee the Company of Moderate Levels of Noise!¡±


    Roony frowned, this was the woman with the staff? Who on earth was she and why was she talking to him like this?


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked, motioning for his men to shoot her.¡±


    ¡°Oh I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you,¡± she said wagging a finger at the men loading bows. ¡°I was willing to parley but everyone else wanted to just tip gallons and gallons of water over you. They think it¡¯s hilarious. Personally I think it¡¯s rather sad that you sold your souls to a demon to burn away disease, leaving you with a gaping weak spot to water, and furthermore...¡± she said loudly, growing a little agitated now. ¡°You are not even immune to all the diseases! You think Raqos can save you from Venesstrifect?! This is an elemental you¡¯re dealing with! The very beings that created the matter and substance of the world itself! There is one creature in the kingdom! One creature in the world! That can survive living in this city and that creature is not you! So I suggest you run away now before things get really bad!¡±


    Roony held up a hand for the men loading bows to stop. They¡¯d stopped anyway, the mention of water had them on edge. Perhaps he¡¯d made a mistake, perhaps-


    The woman perched atop the staff fell off and landed with a thud on the wall, disappearing out of sight. He frowned, that was rather ungraceful, and-


    The ground started to shake, he staggered about as around him buildings and structures wove back and forth faster and faster. Things began to break and crack, he staggered to the ground as a rumbling began to echo out from beneath the earth. Then they heard a crack, a terrible crack that echoed through more than just sound and they spun around to see the great oak tree. The tree that had sat at the heart of Castle Elkring for all of living memory and beyond. The tree that had never changed, never moved, until now. They watched the tree topple over, bringing much of the castle itself with it.


    As the dust billowed out and they all clung desperately to the ground a faint cackling echoed out over the sounds of rubble settling. Then it stopped, and everything was still.


    Roony didn¡¯t wait to see what had happened, through the clouds of dust and debris, he ran. He knew where the gate was and he knew it was open, as he ran he remembered the sorceress. He hoped the rest of his men would distract her long enough for him to make good his escape.


    He heard a rolling boom of thunder and the pitter patter of rain behind him. His men began to scream, it didn¡¯t seem likely that they would hold her off for very long.


    ¡°A woman, a pregnant woman, was raped by a sorcerer. A tragic tale in its own right and one that is all too common. The woman grew sick from this and worried for her child. The sorcerer left her and only later did he learn she was pregnant, and as such he wanted the child to be his, petty as this sorcerer was.


    ¡°The woman and her husband desperately searched for somewhere to hide from this sorcerer and they happened across the Fisher Plain, the home of Venesstrifect. A land stricken by plagues, nothing could live there and the couple hoped they could lure the sorcerer in and then leave him to die while they themselves escaped. Unfortunately, they were wrong. The plagues of Venesstrifect are brutal and the couple barely made it a few steps into the Fisher Plain proper before they became too sick to move. The sorcerer lasted a little longer but he too succumbed.


    ¡°The woman and her husband died but not the child. Intrigued by this child Venesstrifect kept it alive, somehow using its control over plagues for medicinal purposes. Venesstrifect kept the sorcerer alive as well, too sick to move he continued to regenerate as all sorcerers do. Venesstrifect took the flesh of the sorcerer, removed all sicknesses and poisons from it as it was its right to do and fed it to the child. The child grew up to become a healthy baby girl and eventually crawled away into the arms of her grandmother who was waiting on the outskirts of the Fisher Plain, able to see her granddaughter but never reach her.


    ¡°The grandmother took her away but she often found her way back, intrigued by the elemental who had saved her life. Maegara, as she was called, became a thief in the lands around the Fisher Plain. The Greenlands, the Grey Road and even the Library. She would steal from them and then when they gave chase retreat to the Fisher Plain where any pursuit would succumb to the terrible diseases. There she hid all manner of secrets and treasures, just waiting for someone to find them.


    ¡°There was one who could follow her though. The magics of the Library are vast and one of its inhabitants is Mazzran the Worm. I don¡¯t have time to get into his story today but suffice it to say that he followed her back to the Fisher Plain once and there they fought. She returned what she had stolen that day and he returned to the tower riddled with diseases. In his weakened state the archivists captured him, making a drug that would keep him alive and forcing him to work for them. But he swore never to return to the Fisher Plain, terrified of it as he was.


    ¡°So when Maegara came back for her most daring robbery yet the inhabitants of the Library were unable to send Mazzran after her. Which meant that they had to watch helplessly as she ran off with the Stone of Falling Stars, one of the most powerful artifacts in the world. To this day the Stone of Falling Stars lies hidden in the Fisher Plain, unreachable by anyone save for Maegara the Thief and Mazzran the Worm. If Mazzran were to fetch it he would have to make himself solid to carry it back and in doing so likely become infected again. Maegara though, she is immune to all the diseases of Venesstrifect for it cares for her and keeps her safe. She is not a thief any longer, now she uses her thieving skills to care for the innocent. Helping those who are unable to help themselves. I¡¯ve never met her myself but I met her grandmother who told me this story. So this one,¡± he smiled at Lucy, genuinely this time. ¡°This one actually is true.¡±


    Maegara the Thief walked up to the sorceress through the rain. Around them the piles of ash that used to be the Company of Silence washed away.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the sorceress asked.


    Maeggy adjusted her hat, it was very effective against the rain. ¡°I am here to save this city and you are going to help me.¡±


    The sorceress looked down at her. She did not look very impressive.


    ¡°I-¡±


    Mother Magda hobbled up beside her granddaughter and looked up at the sorceress. ¡°She¡¯s with me. Listen to what she has to say.¡±


    ¡°We are evacuating,¡± Maeggy said, throwing her hands in the air. ¡°Get everyone to run away! In an orderly manner of course. Once you get far enough away all your diseases will begin to fade. You¡¯ll definitely live, you¡¯re a sorceress. As for everyone else, eeehhnn, hopefully.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± the sorceress asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain when we¡¯re finished,¡± Magda said. ¡°For now you are going to use whatever power you have to get everyone out as fast as possible.¡±


    ¡°What are you two going to do?¡±


    They both looked very sad at that. ¡°We have...¡± Maeggy said slowly. ¡°An operation to perform.¡±


    The sorceress frowned but she didn¡¯t press them further. She had other things to do.


    Over the next few hours the sorceress moved people out. As much as she loathed it people definitely listened to her. She didn¡¯t use any of her powers, as she was rapidly learning, it was a lot of work to make them actually helpful without causing more problems. But she didn¡¯t need to. Someone as powerful as her in charge smoothed out a lot of problems. Everyone did what they were told and within hours the city was almost completely empty. Anyone who didn¡¯t listen soon changed their mind when the sorceress showed up and things began to run even smoother when bowls of healing broth began to be spread throughout the refugees.


    For deep within the city, by the ruins of the castle Magda drained her daughter¡¯s blood with tears in her eyes. Beside them was a table covered in herbs and poultices with mortar and pestle and a pot bubbling over a fire the sorceress had lit for them.


    Maeggy lay on a spare hospital bed clutching a bag to her chest and fading in and out of consciousness as her blood was drained. They had argued about this a lot. Magda had been adamant that she wasn¡¯t doing it, that she had to leave the city with the rest of them. But as much as she was riding the high of her near death experience Magda had never been very assertive, and deep in her heart she knew Maeggy was right. Even with all their plans and precautions many many people would still die, unless they could be given the only cure that would work. So they had to make as much of that cure as they could.


    Magda gave her granddaughter a mixture of the hasteherb to keep her awake and then gathered up the pot of broth they¡¯d made.


    ¡°We never got enough time together,¡± she said sadly. ¡°You were too good for this world.¡± Magda was crying now, looking at Maeggy, pale and shivering on the bed before her.


    ¡°I was a liar and thief grandma. Especially a thief.¡±


    Magda smiled through her tears. ¡°You were an incredible thief. I¡¯m glad you didn¡¯t become a witch like I wanted. You¡¯d have been wasted as one. I¡¯m going to miss you, more than you can imagine.¡±


    Maeggy smiled as well. ¡°I love you grandma.¡±


    ¡°I love you too Maeggy.¡± Then Magda hobbled off with the pot, meeting the sorceress on the way out who helped her carry it.


    Maeggy lay on her bed waiting for them to leave, clutching the bag to her chest. Within the bag the Stone of Fallen Stars whispered words of hate to her, trying to get her to break it. But she was well used to those words, she ignored them completely and spoke to the air. For the air was filled with wriggling, writhing things. The wriggling writhing things of Venesstrifect.


    ¡°Well old friend, I guess it¡¯s just you and me now,¡± she said. ¡°I know you¡¯re hurt. I should never have hidden this stone on top of you, I¡¯m sorry. I suppose you left the place where you got hurt and came here, where there were lots of people to infect. Good thing you were hurt I suppose, you must have been really hurt for everyone to have lived this long. But now I¡¯m going to hurt you again. You can¡¯t stay here you see, this place is too important. You¡¯ll just spread out and make the whole Hallowed Realm sick. This won¡¯t kill you though, you don¡¯t die that easy. Maybe someday someone will rid the world of all disease and kill you properly. I know Magda wanted me to do that, that was why I got the stone in the first place. Lofty ideals I know. But I could never kill you. Not after what you did for me.¡±


    With hands trembling from blood loss Maegara the thief reached into the bag and pulled out the Stone of Fallen Stars. She had waited the agreed upon three hours for Magda and the sorceress to get out, talking slowly or not at all as the time passed. The words of hate from the stone flowed through her head but she ignored them. She would always ignore them. She didn¡¯t use the stone out of hate.


    Tears rolling down her eyes she crushed the stone between her hands and called down the fury of the heavens upon the ruins of Castle Elkring.


    The sky was still faintly red from the last time the stone was used when these stars began to fall. One, then two, then many. All pummelling into Castle Elkring, the centre of the Hallowed Realm. Everyone who¡¯d evacuated had been told to close their eyes and face away, even then the light was almost too much. The sorceress decided to watch and immediately went blind which was disappointing. She grumbled as she waited for her eyes to heal.


    All across the realm people watched as one star after another tore the sky apart. The rumbling explosions shook the realm, knocking down buildings and trees that were close to the blast.


    Slowly, ever so slowly, the falling stars became less frequent. Soon there was one at a time. Then there was a small one, a tiny one, left straggling behind the others.


    The last star plummeted to earth and it missed the castle, landing just outside it. Landing on a sight that was once known as the Grave of the Phoenix.


    Miles and miles away in the Wilderness the Inkdrop Queen awoke from her sleep, her dream still fresh in her head. The city of Castle Elkring was hers to claim, Raqos had said quietly, far more quiet than he usually was.


    She looked up at the sky and traced the path of the fallen stars. She was beginning to suspect making a deal with a demon had not been the best idea.


    The fires and carnage of the fallen stars took days to die down but Magda was hobbling through it again as soon as it did. She couldn¡¯t find any remnant of her granddaughter¡¯s body but of course there was the stone, reformed as it always did. So she collected that in a pouch, and, ignoring the whispers it sent through her mind, she walked off back to her hut. She¡¯d need to think of someplace better to hide this.


    Duren clambered out of the pile of stones, empty dreadful numbness in one eye and a dull throbbing in the other. A dull throbbing that he knew would soon build up to a raging inferno. He panted in exhaustion, even after all that fire had unearthed him he was still going to take a long time to recover from being doused in water for so long.


    He looked up to see two heat shadows. One, the flickering faded shadow of a human and the other the warm comforting glow of his horse. Seeing her he could almost forget all the pain that constantly wracked his body.


    ¡°I found her in the stables of the Company of Silence. I thought it best you two be reunited,¡± Karnell said.


    Duren walked slowly forward, drawing near the two heat shadows. His eye wasn¡¯t blazing yet, it was still calm, he was still calm. He liked being calm.


    ¡°I can help you,¡± Karnell said. ¡°I can fix you. If you just come with me.¡±


    Duren looked at him, fixing one dead rotted eye socket and one flickering flame on him. Karnell was not afraid, he had accepted his fate.


    ¡°I killed you,¡± Duren said, at such a distance he could recognise the heat shadow.


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t,¡± Karnell replied and they stared at each other for a moment.


    ¡°Give me my horse,¡± Duren said, holding out his hand for the reins. Karnell gave them to him and he swung up onto her back. He let go of the reins, they would burn away soon anyway, he was surprised she¡¯d let them be put on her.


    He looked down at the Karnell heat shadow. So faint, so feeble, so easily snuffed out. An easy way to put off the oncoming pain for a brief second.


    ¡°Where are we going?¡± he asked and Karnell led the way.


    Raqos, son of Qaan, brother of Qinar, was in his realm. He did not sit, he did not stand, he did not walk there. He simply was. He was also sick, and so his realm was sick. He had feared interacting with an elemental but he had done it anyway. He had made that deal and tried to give the Company of Silence immunity to disease. Not only had it not worked but even that limited interaction had been enough for Venesstrifect to spread to him. A mistake. Demons could not afford to make mistakes.


    He didn¡¯t have much time he knew. Soon he would be dead, succumbing to an incurable disease. He could see it with that certainty that demons can often see the future. Knowing how their deals will turn out but missing certain things that perhaps a mortal mind would easily grasp.


    Through the Forest of Topaz, his realm, he thought. All of his plans, all of that inevitability which weighed on the actions of any demon. He would have to enact those plans now, luckily most of the pieces were already in place, many of the deals had already been made.


    His brother was vulnerable. Living in that stationary monolith as he did it should be simple to destroy him. If Raqos was going to die he was going to take his brother with him. The gems in the Forest of Topaz lit up in rage and Raqos reached out to his pieces. It was time to destroy the monolith of Qinar. It was time to destroy the Qinrock.


    Qinrock will Return

 The Port of Nargathrum

    Emin the Pirate was at sea when the sky turned red for the first time. The Raggarusk had been in the northern seas, making its way to Tuggranoskr to spend its ill gotten gains. Emin had been in his characteristic position atop the crows nest, watching the ocean with the boredom that had begun to seep into pirate life after the first few months of excitement when the stars had begun to fall out onto the Fisher Plain, turning the sky red behind them.


    He¡¯d dutifully shouted down to the rest of the crew as was his task but halfway through he¡¯d realised he had no idea what he was shouting about and the words died in his throat. The other pirates had noticed anyway and agreed with his wordless description with their own wordless assessments of ¡°Huh?¡± and ¡°Eh?¡±


    Mangon Tull, the Storm Wolf and captain of their ship had seemed very concerned and had gone down to the brig to check on his lucky charm. They weren¡¯t allowed down there, they weren¡¯t allowed to see what his lucky charm actually was. Not that that had stopped Emin, he¡¯d picked the lock and discovered a drugged mournful man down there. Mangon¡¯s big secret, a secret Emin was willing to keep since if he revealed he¡¯d disobeyed such direct orders he was likely to be punished almost as severely as the man locked in the brig.


    They¡¯d sailed on to Tuggranoskr and spent their ill gotten gains. Discussing the red sky all the way. None of them knew anything about it, even Mangon who explained his worry was about whether or not his lucky charm extended to storms of meteors. When they¡¯d arrived there¡¯d been a host of wild theories as to the magic that had caused it from demons to sorcerers to phoenixes and beyond. Most people believed the Hallowed Realm had been dabbling in too much black magic and this was some sort of divine punishment meted out against it. That was easy for the people of Tuggranoskr to say of course since they weren¡¯t in the Hallowed Realm. What most of them failed to realise was that the Fisher Plain, where the meteors had actually struck, wasn¡¯t in the Hallowed Realm either.


    This minor detail had ceased to matter when only a few short weeks later, when the sky was just beginning to fade to pink and then blue, a second round of meteors had fallen down directly onto the capital of the Hallowed Realm. The Raggarusk had been at sea again at that point, sailing toward Nargathrum under false colours to conduct some trading with a smuggler. Emin had been below decks but he¡¯d been drawn back outside with cries of the world ending and similar. That had been the prevailing attitude among the crew the whole rest of the trip as they sailed into Nargathrum. Mangon insisting that they¡¯d likely be fine despite the hellish sky before them.


    Things in Nargathrum were much worse. From what Emin could gather it had already been full of refugees from the war in the south when the various meteors hit. Those had led to certain groups taking up the same ideas as the pirates had had and deciding that the authorities in the Hallowed Realm were dabbling in black magic and needed to be punished before the meteors took matters into their own hands and descended on Nargathrum.


    So there were riots and burnings and the whole thing was in absolute chaos. A saner man might have cut his losses and run but Mangon decided that such a chaotic environment was perfect for smuggling. So they sailed into the wharf in the dead of night with a lot of hidden cargo that was quite valuable. Emin had sailed in the night before but this time was different. There were no guards on the wharf, there were no harbourmasters or dockhands. But there were plenty of people lurking about, watching them, waiting. Emin didn¡¯t especially like to be watched.


    Mangon was unconcerned as he helmed the ship expertly into the wharf. The figures watching on the side began to move slowly in. Emin and the other pirates moved to the side of the ship and watched them come. As the figures drew closer the pirates began to stand in ways that made their weapons far more visible and the figures began to recede.


    Mangon stood happily at the helm and looked out over the dock. Things were quiet, too quiet for a city that had seemingly fallen into chaos. Although Emin didn¡¯t know much about cities fallen into chaos. All he¡¯d seen so far were a few slightly destroyed buildings on the outskirts and a few completely destroyed buildings in the city as they¡¯d sailed in. Maybe the city wasn¡¯t in such bad shape after all.


    A group of men walked up to the ship, each carrying a weapon like they knew how to use it. Men like that weren¡¯t difficult to find, Emin had learned. Guards, soldiers, deserters. The world was full of them nowadays. What was harder was finding a man with a weapon who wanted to use it. Those men were the savage ones that weren¡¯t quite right in the head and if you could get a few of those pointed in the right direction they could get most anything for you. If they fit into the first category too, even better.


    As the figures drew closer Emin read their expressions. These men had weapons and wanted to use them. Mangon stepped down from the helm and leaned over the side to treat with them.


    ¡°Gentlemen, how can I help you?¡± he asked calmly.


    ¡°You lot the Raggarusk?¡± the man in the front asked. ¡°Rising tide heralds the storm and all that.¡± He spoke the code gruffly and without much fanfare. Emin knew Mangon would hate it.


    ¡°That¡¯s us,¡± Mangon replied. ¡°But you don¡¯t look like Artura, what¡¯s happened to him?¡±


    ¡°We take orders from Rogo now. The Lord of Thieves.¡±


    Mangon snorted so hard he almost choked. ¡°That upstart?! The one with the plans as complicated as every straw in a haystack and just as fragile? Why are you taking orders from him?!¡±


    The man looked angry at that, but mostly surprised. ¡°Rogo conquered the Western side of the Undercity in two days. He¡¯s stolen-¡±


    ¡°When the whole city was falling down around him? Anyone could conquer just about anything in this place right now I¡¯ll bet. There¡¯s probably someone else who¡¯s conquered the Northern, Southern and Eastern sides of the Undercity in half the time.¡±


    ¡°Well...¡±


    ¡°Am I right?¡±


    ¡°Salara¡¯s gangs have seized the rest of the Undercity but they are little more than a pack of rabid animals. They¡¯ll fall to us in a matter of-¡±


    ¡°Salara?! Ha, you¡¯re in trouble. Some of the gangs that follow him might be a bit of a mess but there¡¯s no way you¡¯re taking on Salara and coming out alive.¡±


    Another man from the group stepped forward to face Mangon. This man was calmer and stood taller, staring up at them with a too-pretty face lined in a too-condescending smirk.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t underestimate Rogo, pirate,¡± the man said and Mangon just grinned. ¡°His plans can be complicated but they are effective. They say he robbed all the merchants of Rasarath blind. They say he plucked an onyx from the den of a witch. They say he was born and raised deep underground in a prison of a mine but he escaped and-¡±


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    ¡°You know what else they say about your Rogo little man?¡± Mangon asked cruelly. ¡°They say he is hunted by a man with a thousand shadows. A man with scars that bleed black magic. A man who cannot be killed. The minstrel they call him. Have you heard them say that?¡±


    The smirking man didn¡¯t reply, he did stop smirking though, which was kind of a reply.


    ¡°Now, I want to see Artura, and if I don¡¯t see him in the next hour I am sailing out of this port and selling my wares elsewhere. I¡¯d recommend that you tell Rogo that, he might want these things. The weapons especially. He¡¯s sure to need them against Salara.¡±


    The figures muttered angrily among themselves, clearly enraged at this infuriating pirate captain. Emin knew how they felt. Mangon had a way of getting on people¡¯s nerves. Eventually though they agreed to fetch Artura and some of them went off to get him while some of them stayed behind to make sure they didn¡¯t leave apparently. Not that they¡¯d do much good if the pirates decided to leave. There wasn¡¯t a lot that could stop Mangon doing something when he decided he wanted to do it. Emin wondered if this Rogo person had planned for that.


    Eventually a rather short and mousy looking man was led up to the wharf and he conferred in secret with Mangon who jumped down to whisper in his ear. Emin did his best to look down at the other figures and look scary. He¡¯d been growing taller recently and that helped but he was also very skinny and gangly which wasn¡¯t doing him any favours as an intimidating pirate. Fey Rammon was a tall and skinny pirate, but he managed to make it work, he had a certain grace and litheness, like a cat stalking its prey. Emin did not have this, he moved more like a giraffe stalking its prey.


    Mangon and what was presumably Artura eventually finished their discussions and Mangon gave the signal to start unloading the cargo. The pirates and the thugs from the city worked together to carry the crates from the ship and load them onto the dock. Emin stretched out his back, exhausted from the effort of carrying all those heavy boxes the whole way.


    ¡°Right,¡± Mangon said. ¡°Apparently these folks need our help getting all this to the Undercity. Drengen, Fey stay here and guard the ship, the rest of you pick a crate and let¡¯s get moving.¡±


    Emin almost sagged into a forlorn slump and groaned but he remembered he was supposed to be looking intimidating and stopped himself, only letting a tiny high pitched whine escape his lips. Hopefully no one heard. He picked up a relatively small crate and started shuffling after the thugs who were walking in a line into the dark streets. Mangon and one of the thugs didn¡¯t take crates and instead flitted about the outside of their little train, ensuring none of the figures that had been lurking on the dock earlier decided to launch some sort of attack.


    ¡°Time was we had horses to do this?¡± Mangon whispered to the previously smirking man. ¡°Rogo¡¯s clever plans not include those?¡±


    The man looked furious but he held himself in. ¡°We don¡¯t have many horses left after the riots and those we do have are being used elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°Salara have all the horses then?¡±


    The man didn¡¯t reply.


    Emin¡¯s crate was small but he swore it must¡¯ve been the heaviest one there. No one else seemed to be struggling with theirs¡¯ quite as much as he was. Maybe it had been just his luck to get stuck with the crate that was full of solid gold or something. He lagged behind a bit and no one seemed to care. Perhaps not then. If there was one thing pirates and city thugs had in common, it was their love of gold.


    Those at the front of the line reached a door and the smirking man unlocked it with a key. He let them all in and watched impatiently as they filed through. He soon realised that Emin was a full fifty odd metres behind and frustration filled his face as he looked angrily around to make sure they weren¡¯t being watched. Emin tried to hurry but he wasn¡¯t making much progress so the man left the door and rushed over to him, grabbing one end of the crate and lifting the burden, mercifully, off Emin¡¯s shoulders.


    Together they shuffled to the door and Emin stepped through into a large room, now bustling with pirates and thugs, setting their crates down on the ground. Mangon walked over to Emin silently and cuffed him painfully across the back of the head. Emin¡¯s eyes went fuzzy and in the dark room it took a long time for him to be sure they¡¯d readjusted. There seemed to be shadows at the corner of his vision for too long, something fast flitting by.


    ¡°What were you doing?¡± Mangon hissed quietly.


    ¡°Sorry, I... uh... It was heavy.¡± Emin opened the crate to reveal a collection of swords stacked on top of each other. Well at least they were metal so he felt somewhat justified in his tardiness.


    ¡°Well don¡¯t do it again!¡± Mangon hissed once more and then stalked away.


    Emin looked around the big dark room. They didn¡¯t appear to be anywhere special. They weren¡¯t under the city at all. But everyone had put their crates down, they must have arrived somewhere.


    He moved over to Tommos Lisk and tapped his shoulder. The big pirate turned around, no longer leaning on his crate, which Emin was annoyed to see, seemed to contain piles of gold.


    ¡°W¡¯ tis it boy?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Where are we? We¡¯re not under the city.¡±


    Tommos chuckled. ¡°No, ha ha, no we¡¯re not. Jist wait though. Ye¡¯ll see.¡±


    Emin waited for a bit and watched as the thugs went over the room, checking everything was in order. Then the smirking man who¡¯d helped him carry his crate moved over to something on the wall. A strange shape buried under a cloth. He took away the cloth and then yanked it and the whole room started to tremble. It was a lever and as things shook a very quiet rumble sounded through the room.


    Emin was slightly alarmed but he looked up at Tommos and saw that he was grinning. Then they began to descend. The whole room began to descend. Into the Undercity.


    Jencer the Minstrel, Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death itself, finished his fifth ale. They were starting to go to his head already, it had been a long time since he¡¯d been this drunk. It was difficult though. He¡¯d chased Rogo all the way to Nargathrum and now he¡¯d disappeared into something called the Undercity. What was that supposed to mean? What made matters worse was that Wegrel, that silly little guard who¡¯d tagged along with him. Had also disappeared, and probably had also somehow found his way to the Undercity. It seemed like everyone was going to the Undercity but him. Surely in all the chaos that had wracked the streets in the last few days someone would have been able to tell him how to get into it.


    But they couldn¡¯t. No amount of torture or threats could get anyone to give him any decent information. As much as this had caused his dreaded name to spread all throughout the city he was fairly confident that he was torturing the wrong people.


    He sat back in his chair and considered ordering another ale. Then he looked out at the wharf and saw a ship come in. It was a monstrous ugly twisted ship, a pirate ship if he¡¯d ever seen one, that was for sure. The men on it seemed to be arguing with the men on the wharf and he wondered idly what they were talking about. Then he heard a word. Filtered through the wharf and through his booze-addled skull. ¡°Undercity.¡±


    Jencer the Minstrel, Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death itself stalked quietly out of the tavern, doing his best to remain as inconspicuous as possible. He didn¡¯t give any thought to paying, he¡¯d threatened the barkeep so many times he practically owned the place.


    Even though he was drunk he still treaded carefully. These were trained pirates and mercenaries and even though he supposedly had mastery over death itself, now that he¡¯d lost Auriomauch¡¯s lute he was very much killable. So he stayed far away as they slowly unloaded their cargo. He stayed far away, just tailing them from a great distance as they walked through the streets of Nargathrum. He stayed far away as they all began to file slowly into an inconspicuous looking door.


    He touched the amulet at his neck and summoned the dead spirit of some unimportant farmer he¡¯d killed in some unimportant town. He got the farmer to fly up over the rooftops and wait just out of sight for an opportunity to flit in the door. He got one.


    The mercenary manning the door stepped away for a moment to help one of the pirates who was lagging behind and the spirit flitted in to find somewhere to hide. Jencer the Minstrel, Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death itself fell down in the cold alley and sat there to wait.

 The Storm on the Docks

    Oron Thall was a large man, having grown fat off the fish and wealth his guild had brought him. He struggled to walk up and down the stairs each day to his office at the top of the fisher guildspire and so had built living quarters for himself up there. Then he could imagine himself the lord of a castle, a member of the nobility he¡¯d so long envied. That was the way the guildmasters had believed the world was going. They saw no need for lords and hereditary titles, soon, they thought, the world would be run by merchants.


    Sadly that hadn¡¯t happened. Instead when the capital of the Hallowed Realm had been destroyed first by disease and then by the wrath of the stars themselves the world had fallen to criminals. There¡¯d been riots and looting all throughout Nargathrum, where he lived, and almost all of his material wealth had been stolen. The Royal Bank in the city had been completely destroyed by some fellow Salara who had taken all the money in it to the Undercity and killed all the bankers. Royal reinforcements from the capital were unlikely to arrive anytime soon since there was no capital and no royalty. So Oron had barricaded himself in his tower with his most trusted employees and they were slowly waiting out the days eating what fish they¡¯d had. Fish that was starting to go off.


    They might have been able to escape. Many people still walked about in the city unaccosted as long as they paid tribute to one of the various gangs in the Undercity. But not Oron. In his time as a guildmaster he had gathered enormous amounts of wealth and power at the detriment of most of the ordinary people of Nargathrum. He¡¯d always depended on said wealth and power to protect him from their wrath. But now all his wealth and power was gone, and the wrath of the ordinary people was most definitely still there.


    But he had a plan. It wasn¡¯t a very good plan. It was a plan based on rumours and superstitions. But recently he¡¯d started to put more stock into those. Once, he would have thought of a storm sorceress living underneath the waves as most likely a myth told by sailors. Something they could tell themselves so that they¡¯d know something was in control of the storms that plagued them. But now that sorceresses were fighting in wars and calling storms down upon armies that didn¡¯t seem so far fetched.


    The second problem with myths and superstitions was that they weren¡¯t profitable. So what if there was a storm sorceress at the bottom of the ocean? He couldn¡¯t talk to her. What could he do to convince her to help him? That was the same with most superstitions. Even if they were true there was no way to interact with them reliably.


    But when the crown had come to him for help fighting a phoenix, a monster of Hellfire and Ruin, and he¡¯d sent them Eren the pearl diver. He¡¯d realised that these monsters and superstitions could be managed by ordinary people. So he¡¯d started to look into Bara, the sea sorceress.


    At first he hadn¡¯t found very much. Mainly things he already knew, things everyone knew. That there was supposedly a sorceress, at the bottom of the sea, controlling storms. That wasn¡¯t very helpful. What did this sorceress want? Who was she really? Had anyone ever actually met or seen her?


    Then he¡¯d heard about the Storm Wolf. He¡¯d actually known about the Storm Wolf for a long time, but it had been a while before he¡¯d put two and two together. Most people attributed his ridiculous success at sailing through storms to pure luck but what if it was related? So Oron had done some research on the mysterious Mangon Tull.


    He¡¯d spoken with pirates and sailors alike as well as sending out his many informants to learn all they could. There were stories about Mangon Tull, plenty of them. There were stories about his savagery and his cunning and there were about a hundred stories of him escaping pursuit by sailing right into a deadly storm only to sail right out again. There was one story though, that most people seemed to overlook. The story of how Mangon Tull killed his own brother.


    To most people it was just another story of his savagery and evil but Oron hadn¡¯t been so sure. He¡¯d heard the story from Ullen Sarsk, a Nosk sailor who¡¯d known both of the Tull brothers as boys. He claimed that Sengrid, the younger brother, had fallen in love with a mysterious hermit woman who lived in some hidden cave. Mangon had apparently been jealous and the two brothers had fought.


    Most versions of the story said that Mangon killed Sengrid there but Sarsk¡¯s version was different. He said that Mangon instead captured Sengrid and tried to use his life to blackmail the woman into being with him instead. The woman had apparently then flung herself into the sea to die and Ullen concluded that since no one had ever seen Sengrid again Mangon must have killed him.


    But Oron wasn¡¯t so sure. Mangon had sailed through storms no ship could have possibly survived. But of course, if he had Bara the sea sorceress¡¯s long lost love strung up somewhere on his ship, she wouldn¡¯t dare let any of the storms crush it. Then he¡¯d probably also have some sort of plan for if she tried to get Sengrid back. Killing him seemed logical.


    These string of myths and superstitions likely weren¡¯t going to pay off in any significant way but Oron figured that there was no harm in checking. Because the Raggarusk, Mangon¡¯s ship, had just pulled up in his port. If there really was someone on there that the all powerful sea sorceress cared about deeply that would make an excellent bargaining chip in getting him out of this ruined city. And if there wasn¡¯t, well, acquiring a so far undamaged pirate ship famed for escaping any pursuit also couldn¡¯t hurt.


    So when some of his informants from outside the tower saw the distinctive ship arriving they got word to him immediately. They sent an arrow with an encoded message tied to it slamming into the wall of his tower. He plucked it out, read the message and gathered his allies together to make their escape.


    They wrapped themselves in cloaks and cowls to hide their identities and made it all of two steps before they were surrounded by armed thugs who¡¯d apparently been waiting by the secret entrance this whole time for him to emerge. They must really hate him.


    Luckily most of the thugs were asleep or drunk or both and his two remaining guards made short work of them. He supposed they hadn¡¯t really been prepared to wait out for quite that long. Unfortunately one of them escaped off into the night, probably to get more, so there was no time to lose. They headed to the wharf.


    Fey Rammon had been a pirate for a very long time. He¡¯d served under various different captains and sailed various different seas. He¡¯d met Mangon in a game of cards and had proceeded to win almost too easily. It had astounded him that someone so phenomenally unlucky could be a feared pirate captain and that had intrigued him. So he¡¯d followed him away from the card table and talked with him at the bar until eventually he¡¯d been brought into the fold.


    His years under Mangon had been unlike any years under any other captain. Mangon was bold, so incredibly bold. Yet he always seemed to get away with everything. There was, of course, the storm thing. Sailing through those storms was still just as terrifying as when he¡¯d first done it despite how many they managed to survive. They all knew Mangon had something in the hold, something that kept them afloat in those storms. Fey had been curious but one thing he¡¯d learned on the seas was that it was best to trust your captain. Especially a captain as successful as the Storm Wolf. So he¡¯d stayed away from the brig and let secrets stay secret.


    And what a success it had been? They were known and feared all across the ocean. Mangon could afford to be brash and spiteful to those he worked with like he¡¯d been tonight because there was no one else like him. They could sail into a port like this and sit themselves brazenly on the wharf with just him and Drengen to guard the ship. No one touched the Storm Wolf, no one dared. Fey stared out into the night confident in his own security. This meant he was extra surprised when an arrow went through his skull.


    Drengen hit the deck in shock as another arrow sailed over his head, taking with it his characteristic, enormous hat. He loved that hat. He drew his sabre and crawled to the rail, peering over it into the night, ready to leap down as soon as any more arrows came his way. He tried to avoid looking at Fey¡¯s dead corpse lying next to him. They¡¯d known each other for years.


    On the wharf was a big fat man in a too small cloak as well as two other men, rapidly reloading bows, and some other people skulking in the background. The fat man seemed to be giving orders to the other two while ringing his hands with nervousness.


    Who the fuck were these people? He¡¯d thought the criminals in this city would look tougher than that. Lacking anything better to do he yelled at them in his booming authoritative voice and ducked back behind the rail.


    ¡°Who the fuck are you people?¡± he asked, cutting straight to the point. ¡°Are you stupid enough to think you can take the ship of the Storm Wolf?¡±


    ¡°We know there¡¯s not many of you there,¡± one of them replied. ¡°We saw you all leave.¡±


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


    ¡°Er...¡± Drengen thought. ¡°That may be but there are many more of us here belowdecks. I¡¯d suggest you get away now before they come up.¡± He put his sabre down and reached for Fey¡¯s bow. Fey had already strung it when they¡¯d been put on guard duty, bless him.


    ¡°I think we¡¯ll take our chances,¡± the voice replied, Drengen was reasonably sure it belonged to the fat nervous man. What a twist of fate, being killed by someone so incompetent. He supposed that the luck of the Storm Wolf had to run out sometime.


    There were footfalls on the wharf as they moved toward the ship and Drengen cursed under his breath. He started to knock an arrow with clumsy fingers, it had been so long since he¡¯d had to do this. As he was fumbling with the bow he felt water splashing onto his hands. Rainwater. Well that was just typical.


    He felt the boat shift as the people on the wharf started climbing onto it and he leapt up to shoot at them. There was one of the archers, no longer holding his bow, clambering up right below him. The shot was impossible to miss at that range. Even with his years of neglect. Even using Fey¡¯s unnecessarily large bow with its stupidly big draw weight. Even with the dribbling of rain that was slowly turning into a torrent.


    But he missed anyway. Because the climber was struck by a huge bolt of lightning. Drengen went blind from the light and staggered back, the bow and the arrow going who knows where. The whole boat rocked from the impact and his back crashed into something. It could have been the rail, it could have been the deck, it could have been a jagged spear that impaled him and killed him instantly. He couldn¡¯t tell, he was far too disorientated for that.


    Somewhere, somehow, there was another explosion of light and sound and screams from the deck. He felt heat on his face and raised himself up to look at it. He was still alive which was unfortunate and he could even see. He¡¯d had one eye closed for the bow shot and so it hadn¡¯t gone blind and through it he saw that the ship was on fire. That was probably not good, it was hard to tell. The fat man ran past him ringing his hands and Drengen thought that he should probably stop him but he¡¯d already gone below decks before the thought had finished forming.


    The rain still drenching him he slowly sat himself up. Even with his head still spinning like a rowboat in a whirlpool he knew that a fire on a ship was bad. Very bad. So he crawled slowly toward the cleaning cupboard. There were buckets in there, buckets that could be filled with water.


    Then a huge wave crashed over him and drove him to the deck again. Luckily this time he¡¯d been on his hands and knees and so he didn¡¯t have far to go. Shaking himself off he rolled over and saw a woman on the ship. Where had she come from?


    The fire was out, that was good. But looking at the woman through one eye he figured she could potentially be an even worse problem. She was beautiful, that much was certain. Outlined against the lightning that was now flashing through the sky she glared down at him with furious eyes. Terrible eyes. Golden eyes.


    She had long black hair woven into dreadlocks with seashells and coral all through it. She didn¡¯t wear very much, just rags made of what looked like rubbery kelp. And she was covered in water. Far more water than she could have possibly gotten from the rain. It drenched her hair and her skin and her clothes. Even her golden eyes seemed to have water dripping into them.


    Luckily, despite all her fury and probably magical powers she decided to spare him and walked right past after the fat man. Drengen struggled to remember what it was he¡¯d been doing and then remembered the fire. He had a brief moment of panic before he remembered it was out already and so he just lay there tapping his fingers. Lightning flashed across the sky above him. What was going on?


    Oron didn¡¯t know what was going on. He just knew that he needed to get away from that lightning. What if everything he¡¯d thought had been wrong? What if the ship just had control over the storms somehow? What if there was nothing down here that could help him? Hell, what if that pirate hadn¡¯t been lying and there actually were a whole bunch more pirates about to kill him as he ran down through the ship?


    He reached the bottom and found a locked door. Panic and fear rose up in him and he wanted to just sit down and cry. This wasn¡¯t what he did. He sat at a desk and got other people to do this sort of work for him. He-


    A woman walked up behind him. A beautiful woman wearing kelp and coral. She stared at him furiously with golden eyes.


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me hurt you.¡±


    ¡°You- you already hurt my guards. You killed them!¡±


    ¡°The lightning hit the ship not them, it just knocked them off into the ocean. They¡¯re still alive. You were the only one I couldn¡¯t get in time.¡±


    ¡°Oh... so...¡±


    ¡°What are you doing on this ship?¡± She was still walking toward him and he was powerless to stop her so he tried what he did best. Bargaining.


    ¡°I can help you rescue Sengrid?¡±


    She stopped and stared at him. ¡°You... know...¡±


    ¡°I know about Sengrid and how you were in love and how Mangon captured him. I-¡±


    ¡°You know what poison he uses?¡±


    Oron eyes went wide with fear. Poison? He knew nothing about a poison. ¡°I... of course,¡± he said and immediately regretted it. Lying to a sorceress. What was he thinking? Sure, the combined forces of the Hallowed Realm had been able to kill a phoenix and he had been tangentially involved but that didn¡¯t mean he had any real experience in these matters. That didn¡¯t mean he could play this game with the real powers in the world.


    ¡°What poison does he use then?¡± Bara said, crossing her arms angrily. Oron looked at her, she looked very young. It was difficult to notice before with her regal appearance and intimidating eyes but her expressions, her movements, her face. She was barely more than a teenager. Of course who knew how sorceresses aged, but perhaps there was hope. Perhaps he could manipulate her after all. Perhaps he really was able to play this game. Mangon could after all. Surely if a lowly pirate could do it, an experienced merchant like him would have no trouble.


    ¡°It¡¯s a terrible one, difficult to make, difficult to cure. But not impossible.¡±


    Bara rolled her terrible golden eyes. Oron figured he should likely get to the point, which meant he should figure out what the point was very quickly.


    ¡°I can¡¯t cure it but I know someone who can. A witch, a very powerful witch who helped kill the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    ¡°The.. the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick. You know... the- the Monster of Hellfire and Ruin. The Herald of the Armies of The Uprising. The Rider in Red. The greatest threat the Hallowed Realm has ever known... well I suppose not anymore but... Anyway I helped, you know. Without me it would have surely destroyed Castle Elkring.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± Bara said, unimpressed. ¡°And this witch? Where is she now?¡±


    In his new research into the myths and superstitions of the world Oron had of course started with looking into the witches whose plan it was that had killed the phoenix in the first place. Gushkabel was dead and the Witch Queen Nath could be anywhere, but he knew where Magda was. So this was a question he could answer.


    ¡°She¡¯s in Elkrater.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°You know... the new town that they¡¯re building by the giant crater to house all the refugees from Castle Elkring...¡±


    ¡°I thought you said you helped save Castle Elkring.¡±


    ¡°From the phoenix not from the meteors. You must know the meteors. The whole sky¡¯s red you know!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get out much.¡±


    ¡°Clearly.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, Castle Elkring¡¯s miles away. Who knows how long Sengrid will live without the antidote?¡±


    ¡°Well can¡¯t you just fly him there on one of your monsters?¡± Oron asked, once again flexing the research he¡¯d been doing. Sorceresses had all kinds of monsters at their beck and call, that was something the unnamed sorceress from the war had been famous for.


    But Bara just looked at him in disgust. ¡°No!¡± she said horrified. ¡°I don¡¯t do that. That¡¯s horrible!¡±


    Oron frowned. Maybe he¡¯d missed something. He didn¡¯t have much time to think about it though because Bara leapt forward to glare right up at his face, filling his nostrils with the smell of the sea and filling his heart and body with trembling fear.


    ¡°You are going to tell me the poison¡¯s name. And if I find that you¡¯ve lied to me I will hunt you down across the ends of the earth and I will toss you into the most furious storm I can conjure where you will be tossed around as you slowly freeze and eventually drown into the depths of the sea where no remnant of your body will ever be found.¡±


    ¡°I... uh...¡± Oron muttered. Perhaps he¡¯d been wrong, perhaps there was no way he could play this game, perhaps he was going to die right here right now without ever escaping his once great city. But then he remembered something. Or more specifically someone, someone he¡¯d known about and used long before he¡¯d ever gotten into any of these myths and legends and monsters and superstitions.


    ¡°A poison you say?¡± he said smiling, some of his fear fading away. ¡°In that case I actually might know someone who can help. Someone right here in the city.¡±


    ¡°You might?!¡±


    ¡°Uh I mean I do. She knows more about poisons than anyone else in the Hallowed Realm. Got a poison for everything she does.¡±


    Bara stepped back slowly. ¡°Where can I find her?¡±


    Nayras had once been a master ninja. She could climb sheer buildings and infiltrate the nobility. She¡¯d once fired a crossbow bolt attached to a string from one castle to another and then walked along it to get to her next victim. That had been a long time ago though. Now she was old and worked as a fishmonger. She still had all her ninja equipment. Her sword, her masks, even the crossbow she¡¯d used and she had a new apprentice she was training up, Freyan. Freyan would no doubt master it all soon, especially with all the practise she was getting running about in a city given over to criminals and mercenaries. Nayras was mostly avoiding running about. Her back ached and her legs trembled and her arms sent shivers of fear up her body whenever she thought about climbing so much as a ladder. She¡¯d really let herself go. She knew some ninjas had joined ancient monk temples high in the mountains and mastered their mind and body so this sort of thing never happened to them. She hadn¡¯t gotten to that point, she¡¯d been hit by a spear in the hip and ever since then her body had never really been the same.


    There was one thing she could still do though. One thing she¡¯d always been good at. And that, was poisons.

 The Deal in the Alley

    Wegrel was somewhat regretting his mission to chase Rogo down. It had all started with the daring robbery of Nargon¡¯s mine, where he¡¯d worked as a guard. Rogo, a slave, had stolen a great and powerful onyx almost effortlessly and then used it to buy the freedom of the rest of the slaves. Wegrel had chased him down, doubting his ability to actually survive as a master thief once his luck ran out.


    He¡¯d been slightly wrong of course. Rogo had no trouble when his luck ran out, he just turned to merciless evil. He¡¯d killed and tortured and seemed to have no qualms about doing anything to get what he wanted. Worse still, all the old slaves that he¡¯d taken with him seemed to think he could do no wrong. They¡¯d gone along with all his dark ideas and were turning into a right batch of horrific criminals.


    That was until they¡¯d met the real criminals of course. Salara and his gang who ruled most of the Undercity as well as the mysterious Black Spider. A gang that few people had ever seen and was known only for the grisly corpses marked by their symbol that they left around the borders of their territory whenever anyone was foolish enough to enter it. They were important though, for they issued contracts. Contracts that people tended to uphold because when they didn¡¯t they died no matter what excessive security precautions they¡¯d taken. The web of the spider it was called. So far Wegrel had managed to stay out of it.


    Rogo, it seemed, wasn¡¯t quite as skillful as some of these people. Sure, he¡¯d found the Undercity when he¡¯d pulled a job for Salara but when the city had fallen to riots and looting he¡¯d seen his opportunity to break free and rule the city himself. That hadn¡¯t gone well.


    Their little operation was confined to the edges of the Undercity. The part beneath the dock. It was damp here, and everything leaked, making the whole place stink like the sea. They did have access to the port though and so controlled most of the smuggling from the sea. This didn¡¯t seem to bother Salara much unfortunately as he was sitting on almost all the wealth in the city itself and had plenty of trade by land. Not to mention his main advantage, which was legions of hardened criminals that knew far more about combat than any of Rogo¡¯s original band. Of course he¡¯d picked up a few newcomers like Wegrel who knew quite a bit more but they were still outmatched. There weren¡¯t many newcomers unfortunately, for who wanted to follow a man who was being hunted by the Minstrel.


    Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows as well as having many other dramatic names was a man Wegrel, unfortunately, knew very well. They¡¯d chased Rogo together into this city and along the way Wegrel had learned just what sort of man he really was. Not, insane, not really. And not even really evil, at least not intentionally. He just had absolutely no concern for any life that wasn¡¯t his own. Not to mention his shadows. The little fell spirit things that he summoned sometimes. They were almost completely intangible Wegrel had come to learn. Just little puffs of smoke really, that flitted about. Except for their weapons. Those were just as sharp and deadly as any real steel. Wegrel had left him as soon as possible. Making sure to point him in all the wrong directions before disappearing into the Undercity by dredging up some old contacts he still had from his mercenary days. He¡¯d found Rogo quickly and tried to warn him but Rogo already knew. True to form, Jencer was killing and torturing anyone he could find in pursuit of his goal and so his name had spread. Even to the depths of the Undercity he was known about and he was feared.


    The Black Spider were terrifying but they mostly kept to themselves. The rioters and looters in the streets terrified Wegrel since they were unpredictable and random. But none were as terrifying as the Minstrel. A man with seemingly unlimited magical power, hunting down, specifically this little group of criminals that he¡¯d for some reason decided to join. He¡¯d told himself he could help the misguided escaped slaves who Rogo had corrupted. He¡¯d told himself he could save some of them from the Minstrel. But so far he hadn¡¯t managed it. So far all he¡¯d done was to get himself the worst jobs of the whole bunch. It seemed escaped slaves didn¡¯t trust one of their original captors. The fact that he¡¯d been travelling with the Minstrel likely didn¡¯t help.


    So he just stood guard on one of the most secure passages in the Undercity, watching for hours on end one boring unchanging corridor. The water dripping slowly and painfully loudly through the ceiling. Then the pirates arrived.


    There were loads of them, carrying huge boxes and crates and bantering and arguing with each other and with the mercenaries that worked for Rogo. Walking brazenly through them all was a tall Nosk man with a short black beard, a long leather coat and an ornate sword strapped to his hip. This was a man who wasn¡¯t living with the impending doom of the Minstrel lurking at the back of his mind. This was a man who didn¡¯t seem to have much at the back of his mind. Or, Wegrel liked to imagine, much at the front of his mind either. Surely someone that brazen couldn¡¯t actually be that intelligent. Although, he supposed, Rogo was sometimes that brazen. He once again regretted his newfound career path.


    The pirates all walked off down the corridor and Wegrel watched them go. They were a loud and noisy bunch and with their bickering and carrying on they were very distracting. A lesser guard might have, in fact, been distracted. No doubt most of the undisciplined street urchins that passed for guards around here would have completely missed anything else that had been in the corridor. But Wegrel wasn¡¯t an undisciplined street urchin. He saw everything that was in the corridor. Including the all too familiar shadow flitting along behind.


    The Minstrel¡¯s shadows weren¡¯t actually invisible. Some people believed that they were always there and he just made them visible when he wanted to be intimidating but Wegrel knew that wasn¡¯t the case. Unlike most people, he¡¯d seen the shadows from up close and lived and he knew something of how they worked. They seemed to come from something the Minstrel hid under his clothes beneath his neck, and they went back there afterward. Wegrel wasn¡¯t sure what it was but he hoped it was some sort of weakness that could perhaps be exploited. Maybe the Minstrel wasn¡¯t all powerful after all.


    Jencer the Minstrel, Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death itself, snored softly in an alley. It was rather a nice alley he¡¯d thought. Very warm and with a nice pile of ash and dust to sleep on. Unfortunately he hadn¡¯t been able to sleep very well despite it due to the thunderstorm that had briefly raged overhead. Luckily it had subsided and he was just drifting off to sleep again when one of his spirits shook him awake. It was the unimportant farmer from the unimportant village.


    ¡°Wh- wh- what?¡± he stuttered intelligently, displaying his complete grasp of the situation.


    ¡°I have found the Undercity,¡± the farmer said proudly. Then his face deflated a little bit. ¡°But I was followed,¡± he pointed behind him and Jencer leapt awkwardly to his feet in alarm. ¡°Must I kill him?¡± the farmer asked sadly as the two of them looked across at Wegrel who was stalking toward them.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Jencer shouted, the great quantities of alcohol in his body doing nothing to diminish his incredible intelligence. ¡®You! We- Wi- Winstonson!¡±


    Wegrel frowned. ¡°Jencer,¡± he replied. ¡°You¡¯ve been making a bit of a name for yourself in your hunt.¡±


    ¡°Hunt... hunt... what hunt?¡± Jencer muttered to himself with great wisdom. ¡°Oh yes! Rogo! Where is he! No wait.¡± He turned to the spiritual farmer who was still floating beside him. ¡°Where is he?¡±


    ¡°Rogo?¡± the farmer asked quietly.


    ¡°Yes, Rogo.¡±


    ¡°Well. I didn¡¯t actually see Rogo, but I know how to get to the Undercity.¡±


    ¡°Hmmm, good enough,¡± Jencer replied, immediately developing a masterful plan to find Rogo. ¡°My hunt is almost finished! I have located my quarry and... and... nothing shall stop me now!¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Actually nothing shall stop me... well... ever... Right from the start nothing could have stopped me. Especially now! But also... then!¡± Jencer clarified for those who were less intelligent than him.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Right,¡± Wegrel didn¡¯t seem impressed, which was ridiculous as Jencer was the most impressive thing he¡¯d likely ever seen. ¡°How about a deal,¡± Wegrel said and Jencer narrowed his incredibly impressive eyes into what was undoubtedly an incredibly impressive stare.


    ¡°A deal?¡±


    ¡°Yes. A bet if you will. A game.¡±


    ¡°A game?¡± Jencer liked the sound of this. He loved games, particularly those he won, which was all of them. His strategy was to kill anyone who might be beating him.


    ¡°If you win the game you get to kill Rogo and go home without a care in the world. But if he wins the game you leave and never come back. You let him carry on being alive and he will trouble you and yours no more. Either way, you win.¡±


    Foolish man, of course Jencer would win either way. He¡¯d make sure of that. ¡°Three games,¡± he said abruptly. ¡°I want to win three times.¡±


    ¡°Three games,¡± Wegrel said, slightly surprised. He took out a piece of paper and a quill and wrote something down on it.


    ¡°But if I win, even one game, then I win the whole thing,¡± Jencer said as some voice in the back of his mind niggled him about something.


    Wegrel paused in his writing. ¡°Are you sure becau-¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the Master of Death itself commanded. He wasn¡¯t going to be disobeyed by some lowly town guard. He wasn¡¯t even the guard of a real town, just the bottom of one.


    Wegrel nodded and strode forward, offering the piece of paper. ¡°Stamp some blood here then. From a finger.¡± He pointed at a spot on the paper underneath the various writing and scribbling he¡¯d been doing.


    His mind cloudy and drowsy, Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows, absolutely and totally read the whole thing. Completely in control of his situation and not at all confused he pricked his finger and placed it in the required spot.


    Wegrel nodded curtly at him and then strode off. ¡°Rogo will meet you in that tavern you like to frequent tomorrow morning. You¡¯d best be there.¡±


    He disappeared off down some street and Jencer watched him go. He¡¯d been gone for  a few minutes before everything caught up with the Minstrel and he started to panic.


    Bara the sorceress of the sea looked sadly at her long lost love. He was completely stoned out of his mind by whatever poison it was that Mangon had filled him with. It was so painful seeing him staring up at her sightlessly with such empty eyes. She easily led him out of the ship and onto the dock and tried not to look at him or the fat ugly merchant or the pirate who was still lying on the deck or anything really. She could only think about the fear. The fear of what Mangon had told her in his letter. That he would kill Sengrid if she let anything happen to him or his ship. She didn¡¯t trust this merchant, she didn¡¯t trust this poisoner he had told her about, she didn¡¯t trust humans in general, but she trusted Mangon¡¯s threat, and she knew this would be all that he needed to fulfill it.


    Of course once he had she could hunt him down and either ruin his life or end it but she didn¡¯t want to do that. As hateful and terrible as Mangon was she didn¡¯t want to kill anyone. She just wanted to live happily with Sengrid in their house by the sea. She could be free to swim beneath the waves and he could be free to work on his garden. Unbothered by evil pirates and terrible poisons.


    So she was doing this anyway, because some part of her still believed in that dream. Some very small part of her.


    They left the wharf and she followed Oron through the streets, leading Sengrid, glassy eyed, behind her. Oron¡¯s guards and other companions rejoined them and flanked them on all sides. Not that she needed them. She could see scorch marks on two of the guards¡¯ uniforms. Maybe she¡¯d gotten a bit too close with that lightning.


    They were attacked. Oron explained afterward that many people in this city were jealous of his success and were using the new lawless environment to mete out their anger. Bara wasn¡¯t convinced that was why but she didn¡¯t care. She easily drove off the hoards of rioters with some carefully placed lightning bolts and they continued on their way.


    They reached what had once been a marketplace at the foot of several guildspires but had clearly been the victim of a great deal of looting and was now a ruin. Stalls and carts had been destroyed and all the wares long gone. Windows and doors were smashed and various bits of rubbish and debris lay strewn about, some of it blowing idly in the wind of her simmering storm.


    They reached a fishmonger, which, despite the absolute carnage surrounding it, appeared completely unscathed. It looked almost as though it would open tomorrow morning like nothing had happened.


    Oron knocked on the door to the back and they waited. A light went on inside and after some slow shuffling footsteps the door creaked open revealing an old woman with a lantern who peered out at them.


    ¡°Ah Oron, you¡¯re still alive, pity. Who¡¯ve you bought this time?¡± the woman muttered looking over them all. ¡°Ah Percival, you¡¯ve grown,¡± she tugged one of the guard¡¯s cheeks much to his annoyance. ¡°And Clarence, what happened to you?¡± she brushed off some of the scorch marks on his uniform. ¡°Oh and who is this?!¡± she exclaimed, catching sight of Bara standing in the back. ¡°A sorceress! My gods and angels.¡± She leant over to Oron and whispered to him. ¡°I do hope you know what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    Oron tried to affect an air of confidence. He failed.


    They went inside and sat around a table where Naya, for that was the old woman¡¯s name, examined Sengrid.


    ¡°My gods and angels,¡± she muttered under her breath as she looked over him. They waited for her to tell them something but she just muttered it again.


    Bara cleared her throat. ¡°Can you help him?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been poisoned with Eye of the Water Dragon. I didn¡¯t even know you could make that poison this far from the Blue Isle. It must be infused with something. Lionsroot or witchwood or... something else...¡±


    ¡°Can you cure it?¡± Bara asked desperately. This woman seemed to know what she was talking about but she still wasn¡¯t filling her with confidence.


    ¡°There is an antidote, I¡¯ll have to make it though, that¡¯ll take a few days. It looks like he¡¯s been poisoned multiple times though, how is he still alive?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s fed the antidote,¡± Bara explained. ¡°He¡¯s a hostage, to keep me from destroying Mangon¡¯s ship.¡±


    A smirk grew out across Naya¡¯s face. ¡°Really? That¡¯s bold, clever, but very bold. So the antidote might be on the ship?¡±


    ¡°Mangon will have the antidote and he¡¯ll destroy it if I try to get it from him.¡±


    ¡°I see. How long has this been going on for?¡±


    ¡°Years.¡±


    ¡°Years!¡± Naya exclaimed. ¡°That¡¯s incredibly dangerous. His brain could very well be ruined. You should¡¯ve brought him to me sooner.¡±


    ¡°Well I- Mangon would have killed him if-¡±


    ¡°That trick with the antidote would likely have worked but you are a sorceress. I don¡¯t doubt you could have gotten him away unharmed if you¡¯d wanted to. You just needed to find someone who could cure him. Someone like me.¡±


    ¡°Well I didn¡¯t know about someone like you!¡±


    ¡°Did you look?¡±


    Bara stopped short. She hadn¡¯t. She¡¯d given up almost immediately and sunken down to live beneath the sea. She¡¯d never done well with people, those that didn¡¯t try to kill her made her feel awkward for being a sorceress. But she still should have tried. She should have done something to help Sengrid.


    ¡°Well anyway the odds are in his favour. Part of what makes Eye of the Water Dragon so difficult to make is to do with how well it preserves everything. Most likely his brain and body are fine, if a little out of practise at... well... everything. If he¡¯s been given the antidote and he¡¯s been taking this for years his body should have built up something of an immunity to it. Not enough to save him but enough for me to make an antidote in time. You¡¯re lucky this Mangon fellow didn¡¯t use something really sinister like Dead Drop Violet, although I suppose that would¡¯ve been tricky to get to work on a ship.¡±


    ¡°Can you not cure that?¡±


    ¡°Oh I can cure it but... let¡¯s just say it has other problems. Anyway you all need to get out and let me work. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had to do something like this. Curing poisons is always the hard part.¡±


    Bara walked idly back out onto the street. Her mind buzzing with all that had been said. A woman who could cure Sengrid. A woman who could save him and let them both finally escape from Mangon. Maybe things were actually going to work out. Maybe things were actually going to be okay.


    Two riders crested a hill and looked down at Nargathrum, a city fallen into ruin. One of the riders wore a dark hood that obscured everything about him, his body, his face, his eyes. The other wore almost too little, despite what appeared to be a chilly morning he¡¯d stripped down to just his pants and seemed to be still sweating anyway.


    The man in the hood didn¡¯t speak, he rarely did these days. Not that he had much to begin with. But the barely clothed man spoke. He wanted to do something to mark the occasion now that they were so close to their goal.


    ¡°We need a lot of water magic to cure you and down there, I¡¯m told, is a sorceress who specialises in it. Come on,¡± the man said and Karnell and the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick rode into Nargathrum.

 The First of Three

    The Minstrel sat in his tavern and drummed his fingers idly against his table. It wasn¡¯t actually his tavern, nor was it actually his table. The tavern owner was just too scared of him to go against any of his wishes as were the previous inhabitants of the table. That, in his mind, made those things practically his.


    What wasn¡¯t his yet though was Rogo the Thief. He had been chasing him for what felt like forever and now he was going to walk right in and the Minstrel could kill him. But he wasn¡¯t going to.


    That had been the plan right up until his head had cleared and his panic had subsided and he¡¯d started to think things through. They¡¯d made him sign a contract, they¡¯d made him sign it and mark it with his own blood. He said ¡®they¡¯, it was really that insolent town guard Wegrel, and by ¡®made him¡¯, he had actually been perfectly happy to go along with it while he¡¯d been drunk out of his mind. Why did they want blood he¡¯d wondered? What could you do with blood on a contract? Magic, that¡¯s what you could do.


    The Minstrel had, in his life, collected two of the most powerful magic items in history so he knew something about magic. And he knew that now that they had his blood there was no telling what they¡¯d do with it. So he couldn¡¯t break the contract. Which meant he couldn¡¯t kill Rogo, at least not until he won one of the three games he¡¯d agreed to. That was okay though, all he had to do was to win one of the three games, and for someone as incredibly powerful as him surely that couldn¡¯t be that difficult. He would just cheat, he had magical spirits at his beck and call and now that he wasn¡¯t inebriated he was perfectly capable of making them do whatever he wanted. So he waited, and dreamed up ways that he could cheat. There were quite a few.


    Wegrel walked in first, that traitorous town guard who had gotten him into this whole situation. The Minstrel wanted to kill him but he actually didn¡¯t know everything that had been written on the contract and so he figured it was best to play things safe. Then came Rogo. The man he¡¯d pursued across the entire ocean and all through this wretched city for so long. Walking right up to him, brazen as anything. The Minstrel scowled.


    It didn¡¯t take them long to see him. He was rather distinctive with the three horrific black scars across his face. Those were scars that he¡¯d gotten defeating a god, surely this insolent thief couldn¡¯t be that much trouble. He often liked to forget that he¡¯d defeated the god mostly by accident and the scars had been given to him while he¡¯d been running away in a blind panic. But he¡¯d still won hadn¡¯t he? In the great scheme of things winning was all that really mattered.


    Rogo and Wegrel sat down opposite the Minstrel and they sized each other up. Rogo was rather short and unimpressive, for a master thief and crime lord of the Undercity the Minstrel was quite disappointed.


    ¡°You don¡¯t look very impressive,¡± the Minstrel said, adopting the best sneer he could despite his scars.


    ¡°I could say the same about you,¡± Rogo replied. ¡°They call you the Minstrel but you don¡¯t even have an instrument.¡±


    The Minstrel¡¯s sneer evaporated and he scowled instead. He¡¯d had an instrument once, an instrument that could manipulate the minds and bodies of man and beast, an instrument that could drive people to insanity, that could heal any wound, an instrument stolen from the God of Birdsong himself.


    But Rogo was right, at the moment, he didn¡¯t have an instrument.


    ¡°What is the first game that I¡¯ve agreed to?¡± he asked in annoyance. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose it was specified on the contract.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t,¡± Rogo said and his eyes flicked briefly to Wegrel in annoyance. ¡°The contract allows us room to choose the games. I choose two and you can choose one.¡±


    The Minstrel nodded, that was better than he¡¯d hoped for.


    ¡°The first game,¡± Rogo said, producing two vials from his cloak. ¡°Is the game of cups.¡± He waved the barkeep over who hurried in quickly, desperate to do the Minstrel¡¯s bidding lest he be further plagued by vengeful spirits. The barkeep got them two cups and then left as hurriedly as he¡¯d arrived.


    ¡°One of these vials is poisoned and the other isn¡¯t. I pour one out into each cup and then present them to you. You decide which one is not poisoned and drink that one, I drink-¡±


    ¡°Oh, haha. This game,¡± the Minstrel said. ¡°I¡¯m not playing that game, both are clearly poisoned and you have the antidote.¡±


    ¡°These are the rules of the game as I¡¯ve laid them down. If you don¡¯t want to play you are free to forfeit the contract.¡± Rogo went to unstopper one of the vials and pour it into a cup but the Minstrel stopped him by grabbing his hand. Rogo flinched and for just a second he wasn¡¯t calm and in control, for just a second he was terrified of his legendary hunter. The Minstrel grinned an ugly scarred grin.


    ¡°Those are the rules you say?¡±


    Rogo nodded slowly.


    ¡°There are no other rules?¡±


    ¡°No, I pour out the two vials and then you decide which is poisoned. I drink that one and you drink the other.¡±


    ¡°Excellent,¡± the Minstrel said, getting to his feet. ¡°Then you won¡¯t object to me using whatever means necessary to identify which vial is poisoned.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t hurt or torture me if that¡¯s what you mean, the contract-¡±


    ¡°Oh I¡¯m not going to hurt you. I¡¯m just going to talk to someone.¡± The Minstrel stepped away from the table, dragging Rogo with him. ¡°Someone who knows a lot about these things.¡± With Rogo¡¯s protests dying on his lips the Minstrel took him out of the tavern and toward the fishmonger who was somehow still in business.


    Naya was working late and Freyan worried about her. Ever since the retired ninja had saved her from her vengeful father she worried about all the dangerous chemicals and poisons that she worked with. Naya insisted that she knew what she was doing but she was old. So old, and Freyan knew that someday her old tired hands and her old tired mind would make a simple mistake and then it would all be over.


    So Freyan had decided to learn the art of poisons herself. She had worked valiantly under Naya, mixing and gathering, boiling and distilling, desperate to be able to take over from the old woman before she was too old. But there were so many things to learn. It seemed that every day Naya would remember a new poison with some strange property that they needed for something or other and would set about making it using methods and ingredients Freyan had never heard of. It was hopeless, there were so many poisons.


    But she was making progress, she was making a lot of progress, and she had heard of Eye of the Water Dragon, so she could help with that. Unfortunately Naya had little interest in Freyan¡¯s help making the antidote and was much more interested in Freyan keeping their patient alive.


    She sat upstairs in the little room above the shop and looked over him as he lay asleep in the bed. She had to admit this job was kind of important.


    She hadn¡¯t been there when Naya had been given the job but she¡¯d been told about it all the same. A sorceress, a real live sorceress. Just like the one that had fought in the war. A real sorceress had given them this job because someone was manipulating her through the man she loved. Freyan had to admit that was bold. A mortal man taking on a sorceress like that. There were so many things that could go wrong. Her and Naya, for example.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Freyan was old enough now to have more questions on the sorceress and Sengrid¡¯s relationship. She knew that sorceresses took the minds from anyone they slept with, anyone they were close to. Yet this sorceress had been incredibly worried about this specific man. How did they-? Freyan was very confused.


    She left the man sleeping and looked out over the street through the blinds. It was night and the shadows stretched over every corner. Anyone could be hiding out there, or anything. Freyan had been scared of the city initially when they¡¯d first come here but now she was armed with poisons and with the training and skill of a ninja. Now the things hiding in the shadows feared her.


    Three men walked through the street below, talking quietly among themselves. She recognised them all. She was good at recognising the important people in the city now, and these three were all very important. Except for maybe Wegrel, he wasn¡¯t very important.


    The men walked up to the door of the fishmonger and knocked. Downstairs she heard Naya shuffling toward the door and muttering about being constantly disturbed at such a late hour. Freyan slid silently away from the window, none of the men noticed her. Wegrel and Rogo she wasn¡¯t afraid of. Naya could handle them. But the man with the scars on his face. He was another story.


    They¡¯d been given a patient who was wrapped up in a battle between a sorceress and a pirate, and now a summoner of the spirits of the dead was turning up at their door. That couldn¡¯t be a coincidence. Freyan left the room and walked silently down the hallway to her little room at the end. The little room where she kept her contracts.


    Downstairs Naya opened the door to reveal the Minstrel and his companions. Luckily for her, and her beleaguered patient, the reason they were there was a complete coincidence. She didn¡¯t know that of course and her seasoned ninja heart jumped into her seasoned ninja throat. But her seasoned ninja face showed nothing and she just smiled at her guests.


    ¡°I¡¯d hardly expected visitors at such a late hour. Least of all the most feared man on the streets. What can I do for you three?¡±


    At the mention of ¡®most feared man on the streets¡¯ both Rogo and the Minstrel smugly smirked at each other. Wegrel, standing behind them, rolled his eyes.


    ¡°I need your help in identifying this poison,¡± the Minstrel said, holding up Rogo¡¯s hand which still clutched one of the vials in it. ¡°Specifically, which, of the two of these, is poisoned.¡± He grabbed Rogo¡¯s other hand and held that up as well.


    Naya frowned at them and Wegrel shrugged hopelessly. He¡¯d been against this idea from the start but Rogo had been sure that he could manipulate the Minstrel into taking the wrong vial and conveniently dropping dead for them. That was the problem with these so-called ¡®master¡¯ thieves. They had a ludicrous plan go through once or twice and suddenly they thought they were smarter than everyone. Any normal person would have known that nobody would actually just drink a vial of liquid that you gave them, whether you drank an identical one or not. You needed to be able to force them to do it and it was tricky to force someone as powerful as the Minstrel to do anything. So here they were.


    Naya took both vials, looking at the two men curiously. She unstoppered one and sniffed it, then the other. She repeated that a few times and then corked them back up.


    ¡°Both poisoned,¡± she said and the Minstrel grinned while Rogo scowled. ¡°And not very subtly either.¡± She handed the vials back, one each to the two men. ¡°Will that be all?¡±


    ¡°Yes, thank you madam,¡± the Minstrel replied kindly but she still slammed the door in his face. He seemed unperturbed however. ¡°What did I say?¡±


    ¡°Well-¡±


    ¡°I believe I have correctly interpreted which one was poisoned. Therefore I-¡±


    ¡°The rules of the game stipulated that you have to drink one of the-¡±


    ¡°Yes but clearly-¡±


    ¡°You must-¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Wegrel bellowed using the voice he¡¯d perfected for shouting at slaves and new recruits. The two of them shut up. ¡°Pour both of them out and we¡¯ll fill one with water, one with liquor or something. Then Rogo can mix them up however he likes, and the Minstrel can choose however he likes, without being able to smell them or any such nonsense. Then you can all be pleased with how clever you are and one of you can win without killing the other one just yet.¡±


    The two men paused and looked at Wegrel. He knew neither of them respected him. He was expecting them to keep shouting at each other and then kill one another without his somewhat peaceful solution ever having a chance to work. But they didn¡¯t.


    ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    They poured out the vials and turned to head back to the tavern. Wegrel followed, still blinking from the shock of being obeyed. These were two of the most dangerous men in Nargathrum after all. It was all a bit surreal. Maybe that was just the hot night. He frowned in confusion, had it been that hot before?


    Two men on horses rode quietly past them toward the fishmonger. One was wrapped up in a cloak and paid them no mind but the other nodded absently at them as they passed each other. He was wearing few clothes, the second man, merely trousers and shoes.


    ¡°Evening,¡± he said idly and Wegrel nodded idly back, the heat fogging his mind.


    ¡°Evening,¡± the Minstrel said and after a second Wegrel realised he¡¯d stopped. The scarred man was standing directly in front of the hooded rider and sizing him up and down. They all stopped and slowly a twisted grin broke out across his scarred face. Wegrel realised he was sweating, the heat was becoming suffocating.


    ¡°Excuse me sir, we need to be on our way,¡± the bare chested rider said kindly.


    ¡°Of course of course,¡± the Minstrel said, stepping out of the way and letting the horses continue on. ¡°I just thought I saw something interesting.¡±


    They continued on to the tavern and the heatwave mercifully passed. In fact by the time they reached the tavern Wegrel was almost shivering again in the cold night. Very surreal indeed.


    In the tavern they returned to their table, it¡¯s inhabitants fleeing hurriedly, and Rogo arranged to fill his vials with water and liquor. While he was doing that Wegrel and the Minstrel sat at the table across from each other. He was more terrifying now, the Minstrel, now that he wasn¡¯t passed out in an alley. Wegrel looked at him and tried not to sweat.


    ¡°I think I know what my game will be,¡± the Minstrel said. ¡°Seeing those gentlemen on the way back has given me an idea.¡±


    Wegrel didn¡¯t want to know what sort of idea.


    ¡°I¡¯ll save it till the end though,¡± the Minstrel said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to use this idea when I can just win one of Rogo¡¯s silly games.¡±


    Wegrel didn¡¯t respond and the Minstrel just smiled his cracked smile.


    Eventually Rogo returned and set down two cups on the table. Both of them reeked of liquor. Wegrel tried very hard not to roll his eyes, it seemed Rogo really did not understand the way the game worked.


    ¡°Both of those are liquor,¡± the Minstrel said angrily.


    ¡°They both smell of liquor but they are not both-¡±


    ¡°I watched you put liquor in both. I-¡±


    ¡°You were sitting over here the whole time.¡±


    The Minstrel grinned. ¡°But still, I watched you.¡±


    Rogo stared across the table and seemed to refuse to budge. Wegrel was almost about to say something to him. Try to get him to set it up, yet again. But Rogo spoke first.


    ¡°Drink them both, if they¡¯re both liquor you win.¡±


    The Minstrel looked a little surprised at this and leaned back, he seemed to be listening to something. They weren¡¯t invisible, his spirits, but they could be very hard to see. Wegrel looked very closely and sure enough there was something ephemeral wrapped around his ear.


    ¡°Pick one,¡± Rogo said. ¡°That¡¯s your one, if it¡¯s liquor you lose, if it¡¯s water you win. Then you drink the other one, make sure I¡¯m not lying.¡±


    The Minstrel shrugged. ¡°Very well.¡±


    Rogo reached forward and pushed one to the Minstrel and pulled one back to himself. Then he sat back and waited. The Minstrel listened to his spirit, sadly there was nothing in the rules stopping spirits from watching. Then he leaned forward, took his own cup and drank it. He grimaced, not at the taste of liquor, he¡¯d drunk plenty of that recently, but at the taste of defeat. Then he drank the other one and sure enough, it was water.


    He narrowed his eyes in annoyance and Rogo and Wegrel stood up. ¡°Alright, very good. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow night for the next game then.¡±


    ¡°You will,¡± Rogo replied. ¡°I¡¯ve already got an idea for what it will be.¡± Then he turned and left, Wegrel following after him.


    ¡°How did you do it?¡± the guard asked as they strolled briskly back toward the Undercity. ¡°He was watching you with one of his spirits, so how did-¡±


    ¡°I covered the outside of both cups in liquor, which I presume, to him looked like I was putting liquor in both. Then-¡± Rogo paused for a moment, reflecting on what he¡¯d done. ¡°Then I mixed them in my hands so I didn¡¯t know which was which.¡±


    Wegrel blinked a few times in shock. ¡°You-¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s no correct way to play that game unless you cheat, which he was doing. The only way to stop him cheating was to make it so I didn¡¯t know myself.¡±


    ¡°So it was just chance?¡±


    ¡°Yes and I got lucky. The main reason I did it is because I realise that you¡¯ve been right all along.¡±


    ¡°Right about what?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not as smart as I think I am.¡±


    They walked off into the night. One game down, two to go.

 The Second of Three

    ¡°There is a... an event shall we say. Down by the docks, tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°What sort of event?¡±


    ¡°There will be a series of duels- well... they¡¯re called duels, makes them sound fancy I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I like duels, are we dueling?¡±


    ¡°No, not us, we are betting.¡±


    ¡°Betting?¡±


    ¡°We each bet on the outcome of each duel, whoever wins the most bets wins. If it is a tie, then we can duel.¡±


    ¡°I expect you¡¯ll be cheating somehow?¡±


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±


    ¡°Well I¡¯ll be cheating.¡±


    ¡°I expected nothing less.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you tomorrow then.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll see you tomorrow.¡±


    Emin wasn¡¯t quite sure how he¡¯d gotten himself into this mess. He was almost entirely sure that it wasn¡¯t entirely his fault though. There¡¯d been some sort of commotion on the ship, something had been stolen and Mangon was desperate to get it back, so they were staying in town until they did. Drengen had been the only one left alive by whatever had taken it. Rumours were floating about as to who had done it. Drengen had been sly with the details so Emin had heard that it was sorcerers, mermaids, krakens, and demons from various people. He thought the arrow through Fey¡¯s head was pretty damning that it was likely just ordinary people.


    Whatever the case they were stuck here now and somehow, despite the complete lack of respect Mangon had shown their host they were being put up in rather nice accommodation in the Undercity. It seemed that Rogo wanted more armed men around for some reason. This had all been fine up until whisperings of the Dreys had started.


    Emin and some other pirates had gotten the story from one of Rogo¡¯s thugs. The Dreys were an event held each month down at the old Drey storehouses on the docks. They had long been looted and turned over to the various criminals that had taken the city, including a rather notorious criminal, Shandry Grum. Grum wasn¡¯t much of a threat to anyone anymore. He was an old man who had holed himself up in the storehouses and was protected only by a few members of his family. The reason he was so notorious had to do with what he¡¯d done in the past and to do with the Dreys. A tournament he ran where anyone could enter and fight it out with everyone else for a prize consisting of enough money to guarantee your ticket out of the city, if you weren¡¯t robbed first of course.


    Emin, theoretically, had his ticket out of the city, but it was starting to look uncertain as Mangon had them staying there longer and longer. What¡¯s more, all the other pirates were entering this tournament. So he¡¯d somehow agreed to enter as well, it was rather boring waiting around all day underground, he was missing the sea already. So he¡¯d signed up for this tournament and now here he was in an old storehouse crowded with what felt like hundreds of criminals and brutes united for the Dreys.


    There were people from Rogo¡¯s gang, from Salara¡¯s gang, and probably from the Black Spider gang as well, although they were difficult to recognise since no one knew what they looked like. Plenty of people claimed to work for them though, even some Emin already knew worked for Rogo. There were others who didn¡¯t work for anyone, who had never found their way to the Undercity and as such were victims of the carnage and chaos in the streets. It was difficult to find a safe haven in Nargathrum now that the last of the great guildspires had been taken and looted.


    Then there were, of course, the pirates who fitted right into the general atmosphere of the room. They were missing a few key members. Fey, of course, who was dead, Drengen, who was still on the ship and Mangon and those he trusted most who he¡¯d taken along with him to find what had been taken from him. He didn¡¯t trust Emin of course, and well he shouldn¡¯t since Emin had found out what was in the brig that Mangon hid away from them all. He knew what had been stolen, he¡¯d known about it for a long time. Not that he¡¯d told anyone of course, and no one knew that he knew. But he knew that it was actually a man that was locked away in that brig, a man that had now been rescued by someone, or something if the stories were to be believed. A man that Mangon needed to have locked away before he¡¯d set sail. Emin had considered this for a minute before deciding that he wasn¡¯t smart enough to figure out what was actually going on and instead decided to try and enjoy himself at the Dreys.


    He wasn¡¯t enjoying himself at the Dreys. Things were far too crowded and the thugs and criminals of Nargathrum were very loud. He didn¡¯t mind such conditions on a ship were there was fresh air and the sea breeze but here in this sweltering room he was almost suffocating. So he wormed his way through the crowd and out onto the docks. Here was the fresh air and the sea breeze. He looked out at the dark ocean and sighed, it was so peaceful out here, so calm and idyllic.


    Then a horrifically scarred man walked up to him and spontaneously threatened his life.


    ¡°What are you doing out here on the docks?¡± the scarred man asked, walking quietly up behind him. Emin turned around, he hadn¡¯t been threatened yet but he was still wary of any strangers in this city. The man had three long dark scars down his face, impossibly dark, and impossibly ugly, they seemed to be glistening with black acid or something, Emin was mesmerised.


    ¡°Do you know who I am?¡± the man asked.


    Emin shook himself out of his mesmerisation and answered the stranger. He did know who he was, this man was rather infamous in Nargathrum, particularly in Rogo¡¯s gang.


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    ¡°You¡¯re the Minstrel, the man with a thousand shadows.¡± Emin resisted the urge to look around for more shadows, it was dark so it was hard to tell how many shadows the man had.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right,¡± said the man, ¡°and you, young boy, are a competitor in tonight¡¯s events.¡±


    ¡°Um... yes,¡± Emin replied nervously, the man was standing beside him now looking out at the ocean. He didn¡¯t have a weapon from what Emin could tell, and he wasn¡¯t especially big or strong looking, but the scars were terrifying on their own and everyone knew that this man was a bearer of the darkest of magics.


    ¡°You are going to lose your matches tonight, every one of them, or,¡± the man paused and looked at him with those terrible scars, ¡°I am going to kill you.¡±


    Emin nodded, it seemed the right thing to do. Then he turned around and went back inside, things were a lot less idyllic out here now. As he left the Minstrel called out to him.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name, boy?¡± he asked and Emin halted, sweat beginning to trickle down the back of his neck.


    ¡°Fey,¡± he lied convincingly, it seemed the right thing to do.


    Duren breathed. It had been a long time since he¡¯d done that. He was buried under ash, mountains and mountains of ash. Ash so high and so endless the entire world must¡¯ve been burned to make it. Under all that the ash filled his lungs choking them completely, it filled his eyes, crusting them over and shutting them beneath layers and layers of it, it sunk in through his mouth, through his nose, through his skin, and into his brain. Beneath all that he couldn¡¯t think, he could do nothing but die. Except he hadn¡¯t died, instead he had breathed. It had been a dusty, choky breath that wracked his body with pain, but it had been a breath nonetheless. Because now there wasn¡¯t just ash, now there was a cool, calming water that began to wash the ash away. Now there was hope.


    Karnell watched as Bara, the Storm Sorceress of the Seas worked the seawater around the Phoenix. He wasn¡¯t sure exactly what she was doing, all he¡¯d been told was that she¡¯d know what to do. She was keeping him asleep somehow, which was important since he¡¯d been getting angrier and angrier as they¡¯d gotten closer to Nargathrum. Now he looked like he was finally at peace. One eye and half of his body was still dead and ruined from the battle at Fort Sundrick but the other eye, usually blazing with the fury of a raging inferno, was closed for once, it¡¯s light only faintly shining through the eyelid as he lay in ocean by the beach, only his face showing above the water.


    Karnell watched. He had done it, he had finally saved him.


    Emin lost his first match on purpose. It had definitely been on purpose. It had nothing to do with the fact that his opponent was twice his size and ten times his strength. No Emin had let him win, as a good blackmailed person should. Unfortunately for him his next opponent was actually smaller and weaker than he was and he really didn¡¯t want to have to lose in front of all the other pirates.


    She was a small girl who seemed to be there against her will and was glaring up at him with all the rage of an imprisoned animal. Emin wasn¡¯t too bothered though, he¡¯d fought more adorable opponents both at sea and back home in the streets. Looks like that could be deceiving, and Emin wasn¡¯t going to be deceived.


    The bell rang and he stepped toward her but she moved and she moved fast. He tried to strike her but she dodged away and punched him hard in the ribs and back causing him to stagger. Then she followed up with a kick that almost sent him crashing to the ground but he recovered and swung around to fend her off, she darted lightly back.


    It looked like he was going to be deceived. But that didn¡¯t mean he was going to lose.


    The next time she came he was ready. He¡¯d fought fast people before, back on the streets there were loads of them, he¡¯d been one. It seemed that life as a pirate with a weapon had made him forget how to fight without one. Well, he was going to remember and he was going to do it fast. All thoughts of being blackmailed had left him as he swung, and this time he made sure he connected.


    It was a glancing blow and it threw him off balance but it threw her off balance more and they both staggered clumsily away. He wasn¡¯t reeling from a blow to the head though and he recovered first, coming in for another swing. He missed this time and suffered a few more hits to his side but he lashed out and fended her off once more.


    Then before she had a chance to recover, he lunged. She moved out of the way but he managed to get a hand around her arm. Both the hand and the arm were slick with sweat but he tugged at her anyway and slowed her down enough to land his other hand right in her jaw. She toppled to the ground and he stood there panting as the bell rang.


    The pirates cheered and the girl scrambled back to her feet, glaring angrily at him. Then all the thoughts of blackmail started to come rushing back. He looked around for the scarred man and didn¡¯t see him. Maybe there¡¯d be a chance for him to slip out unnoticed.


    There wasn¡¯t, he had another match to fight. He fought in many more, including facing the girl once again, and this time he made sure to lose everything. He couldn¡¯t afford to get caught up in the thrill of the battle again, painful as losing was.


    By the end of the night he was bruised and bloody and looking around desperately for somewhere to go, somewhere to hide. He wormed his way out of the Dreys and ran.


    ¡°Looks like you lost.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°I guess cheating isn¡¯t the best policy for these things after all.¡±


    ¡°...¡±


    ¡°Anyway I earned a lot of money on all those bets. It seems that fate might just be on my side for this little game of ours.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    ¡°When shall we next meet? I¡¯m rather-¡±


    ¡°We shall next meet when you¡¯ve finished my game?¡±


    ¡°Your game?¡±


    ¡°Yes, my game is simple. There is a man in this city, a horrible man who has killed possibly hundreds of people. The first of us to kill him wins.¡±


    ¡°You want me to kill this man?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll even give you an hour¡¯s head start.¡±


    ¡°...Okay, how will I recognise this man?¡±


    ¡°He was the hooded man we saw on the way back from the fishmonger¡¯s place the other night. I¡¯d suggest you start there.¡±


    ¡°How will you know I¡¯ve killed him?¡±


    ¡°I want you to bring me his eye.¡±


    ¡°His eye?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°How will you be able to tell his eye from anyone else¡¯s eye?¡±


    ¡°Oh believe me... I will.¡±


    Normally when a Phoenix was submerged in water it would be vulnerable. Unable to regenerate in the huge burst of fire and ruin that allowed it to return from the dead. However, the water that the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick was submerged in was carefully controlled to be harmless to him. This meant that when an arrow flew down from the beach, past Karnell, and into his head, he regenerated just as any phoenix would. In a huge explosion of fire and ruin.

 The Third of Ten

    Dead Drop Violet was a difficult poison to make, and an even more difficult poison to maintain. For it required maintaining, unlike most poisons which could be administered and then forgotten about. It was so difficult in fact that Freyan had gotten it wrong the first few times she¡¯d tried. Most of the people she¡¯d poisoned hadn¡¯t died at all while one had died rather violently and unexpectedly despite her best attempts to save him. Luckily he¡¯d been a serial killer so she didn¡¯t feel particularly guilty about it.


    Naya didn¡¯t know that Freyan had perfected it of course. She wasn¡¯t allowed to dabble in the higher poisons, the ones so dangerous you only handled them with gloves and masks. The ones that required ingredients from far off places imported by smugglers at ridiculous expense. But Freyan worked with them anyway.


    She¡¯d stolen one of the exotic violets and grown her own garden of them down in the Undercity. They were difficult to grow but she¡¯d managed. She knew that if Naya had really been on the top of her game she would have known about it but she was getting old these days. Older than she liked to admit. So Freyan worked her garden in secret. Stealing off into the night to tend to it.


    And what a garden it was. Spreading out through some of the most secretive parts of the Undercity. Hidden away from prying eyes by locks and doors and most importantly, by fear. That part of the Undercity was thought to belong to the gang they called the Black Spider. In reality that gang was just her and her flowers.


    She distributed contracts, marked with the poison, and people would sign them in blood. Blood that then became infused with Dead Drop Violet. People would break the contracts of course. They were all thieves and beggars and liars so some of them broke the contracts. Then she would mix their blood in with the water she gave the flowers. Then the pollen of the violets would bond to that person and only that person. Then, of course, that person would die.


    It didn¡¯t matter where they hid or what security they locked themselves behind. The drafty networks of the Undercity spread the pollen all across it and then it drifted up into the city above. No one could escape it unless they left the city entirely and it was difficult to do that these days.


    Few people broke her contracts anymore.


    She perched atop a building, looking down at Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows. He¡¯d signed one of her contracts. He was in her little web and she could kill him if she wanted to. But he hadn¡¯t broken the contract yet. He hadn¡¯t done anything against her and hers and so she was reluctant to arbitrarily kill him.


    Yet he was the most powerful person in the city. Wreathed in the powerful magic of gods and demons. Of course there was a sorceress here now as well, maybe she was more powerful, Freyan didn¡¯t know. What she did know was that this man had caused enormous amounts of suffering in her city and could very well cause much more. But he hadn¡¯t yet broken her contract. Could she really just kill him even though he hadn¡¯t broken her contract? Would that not lead to people no longer trusting her contracts? Would that not lead to nobody buying the contracts anymore and no longer giving her the money she needed to conduct her whole operation?


    She left the rooftop and flitted her way back through the city, back to her garden. She looked down at her flowers and at the tiny vial of Jencer¡¯s blood she¡¯d scraped from the contract. Above her, out by the docks, the Phoenix of Fort Sundrick burst into flame.


    The Phoenix climbed slowly to his feet, the water around him hissing and bubbling and shrouding him in a cloud of steam. Half his face was ruined and melted which warped his mouth into an angry grimace, which left one of his eyes dead and drooping. But the other burned with the rage of a thousand infernos, staring out of the steam. It stared out at the little shadows of heat that were people screaming and running away. It stared out at the archer who was standing on a rooftop, paralysed with shock, his heat shadow pulsing much too fast as his heartbeat sped up. It stared out at the pair of golden eyes that stared right back at him. Golden eyes belonging to a creature almost as powerful as him. Filled with rage and newfound fear the Phoenix attacked those golden eyes.


    Bara staggered back as the cloud of steam with the burning eye in the middle lunged toward her but she wasn¡¯t nearly fast enough. Hands that burned into her flesh grabbed onto her and she screamed. The water of the ocean rolled off in clouds and clouds of roiling vapour, the only thing keeping the blistering inferno at bay.


    She reached for that and drew the ocean forward in a huge wave that crashed over them both. Smothering the steam, smothering the monster, smothering the heat. The hands let go of her and the Phoenix staggered away, fighting through the roiling water which evaporated around it. She sat up, her wounds still stinging fiercely in the cold water. She couldn¡¯t see much through the mist. Only the glow of that eye as the monster ran away from her, as it ran away from the ocean, from the water. She wasn¡¯t going to be allowing that.


    Bara reached out her magic and felt her ocean around her. The ocean she¡¯d lived in her whole life. The ocean that listened to her and only her. She pulled it forward in a titanic wave that towered above her and crashed down toward the docks as the Phoenix staggered up them. It was out of the water now, and it was starting to glow a worrying shade of orange.


    It met her wave with a wave of its own. A wave of hellfire and ruin and debris that tore the docks to pieces before it. The two forces of the elements met and exploded into steam and vapour and a roaring hiss, but water is heavier than fire and the momentum of Bara¡¯s wave carried it over and onto the docks where it settled with a crash beneath the new clouds of roiling steam that were billowing about.


    She pulled herself out of the water, standing in the waves and looked into the blank whiteness before her, now silent after the rage of that explosion. The raging glowing eye of the Phoenix was nowhere to be seen. It was gone, hiding somewhere. Fleeing before her. She picked her way through the lapping waves to go and find it.


    Rogo stared in shock at the monster as it exploded into fire and ash and steam. A chunk of burning lava landed on the rooftop beside him but he didn¡¯t flinch. He was too in shock to flinch. Luckily for him when everything exploded for a second time from the waves of the ocean and the rooftop he was standing on fell apart he was shaken from his horror and started to run.


    He should have known the game wouldn¡¯t be that easy. He should have known that Jencer wouldn¡¯t set him a task like that. A task that he could actually do. He staggered through the steam and mist that was now pouring from the sea and filling up the city. He didn¡¯t know where he was going. He vaguely remembered he¡¯d had an escape plan at some point but he didn¡¯t know what it was anymore. What did plans matter in the face of whatever that thing had been? What did anything matter? He just needed to get away, to-


    He didn¡¯t get very far.


    Karnell was not an angry man at the best of times. He liked to think of himself as calm, patient, serene even. But when the goal he¡¯d been working toward for months, the goal he¡¯d sold his soul to a demon to achieve, was interrupted by some archer on a roof. Then he became angry.


    There was a lot of mist and steam filling the streets and docks and lots of explosions and fire. But, sadly, he was well used to that sort of chaos. He mounted Ashwyn, the Phoenix¡¯s horse, who seemed only too happy to chase down the archer, just as he was. In the steam and mist he couldn¡¯t see much but Ashwyn could, and she found the fleeing archer in seconds.


    She slammed into him and he crashed to the ground with a crunch that pleased Karnell more than it possibly should have. Then she loomed over him and Karnell looked down at the man who was rolling slowly over, blood trickling from his face.


    ¡°Do you have any idea what you¡¯ve done?!¡± Karnell shouted down at him, he had a sword drawn somehow and he was pointing it down at the archer. Ashwyn snorted angrily.


    ¡°I... I...¡± The man¡¯s eyes slowly refocused. Behind them there was another big explosion. ¡°I... I failed... to kill him...¡±


    ¡°Yes! Yes you failed and now the whole city will likely burn for it!¡±


    ¡°Who... who is he...?¡±


    Karnell¡¯s eyes bulged with rage. ¡°You don¡¯t even know who he is? Why were you trying to kill him then?!¡±


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    The man smiled and almost seemed to be trying to laugh but he thought better of it. ¡°It was just a game... just a silly game...¡±


    Karnell had heard enough, he rammed the sword through the man¡¯s throat and then Ashwyn galloped away with him. As much as she wanted to help her phoenix, she wanted to live more, and a sorceress might actually be able to kill her. Behind them the ocean started exploding.


    Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows, Fell Scarred Magi, Binder of Auriomauch, Master of Death Itself, had graciously given his opponent in the three games an hour-long head start in his hunt for the Phoenix. That had been for two reasons. First, just in case Rogo had somehow managed to actually pull it off, he would get the Eye of a Phoenix, attain immortality once again, and then be able to kill Rogo at his leisure, without having to actually do any work. But second, and much more importantly, he had to hunt down that insolent little pirate boy who had failed to lose all his matches. He figured an hour should about do it. How many places could the boy go where his spirits couldn¡¯t find him?


    It had been about half an hour and the boy had clearly gone somewhere where the spirits couldn¡¯t find him. They¡¯d seen him go into the Undercity, since apparently that was an open highway these days, but then they¡¯d lost him.


    Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows, so long denied entry into the Undercity. Burst in with a flourish, driving off anyone who tried to stop him with his army of spectral spirits. Unfortunately he ran into Wegrel who was sitting in the corridor looking up at him sadly.


    ¡°What are you here for?¡± Wegrel asked and Jencer very nearly considered killing him just for daring to speak to him again. But he didn¡¯t, with a herculean effort he managed to restrain himself and interrogate him instead.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for a pirate boy. Tall and gangly, frightened of most anything, especially me. I¡¯m in a bit of a rush so if you tell me where he is I might not kill you.¡±


    Wegrel smiled. ¡°Oh yes him. He went somewhere no one will dare follow him. Rather brave actually in my opinion. Stupid. But brave.¡±


    ¡°Where did he go?¡± Jencer asked, completely unafraid of course, as always, but still letting a healthy amount of caution creep into his thoughts.


    ¡°Black Spider territory,¡± Wegrel replied and pointed down another corridor. ¡°Ran right through there he did, straight past the sign of the spider.¡± He grinned up at Jencer who¡¯s ingenious mind had already decided on the best course of action but was just taking it¡¯s time to mull things over. Wegrel turned and left. ¡°Follow him, if you dare, Man of a Thousand Shadows,¡± he said as he disappeared down another corridor.


    Jencer took a long time mulling things over but then again he wasn¡¯t in a rush and was really just pausing for dramatic effect. Then he turned and walked down the corridor into the territory of the Black Spider.


    Freyan watched him enter from one of her secret spy holes and rushed off to add his blood to her garden. Everyone knew you didn¡¯t enter the territory of the Black Spider.


    Bara walked through the city looking for the glowing red eye. She bought with her her ocean, lapping around her feet and slowly swelling up over the docks and into the city with her, extinguishing some of the fires that had been started up. She didn¡¯t bother to hide much, she was cloaked in the mist and fog from her battle, no one could see anything in that. No one, except the Phoenix.


    It reached out from its hiding place behind a building as she walked by and grabbed her wrist in its burning hand. She cried out and tried to bring up the sea against it but it was too fast and too strong. Bara had never fought anyone as strong as her before so she was completely unprepared and completely off balance when the Phoenix threw her. It yanked her from her safe cool ocean and tossed her into the harsh burning air. She flew down the street and then crashed through a building. Fragments of wood and brick and iron rending through her flesh as the building collapsed around her. Then she heard the Phoenix¡¯s footsteps as it ran down the street toward her.


    She was apart from her ocean now, but she still had the mist, and she still had the rain. She darted from the building, ignoring the many wounds that riddled her body and cloaked herself in mist. Then she conjured a storm, the biggest storm she¡¯d ever conjured. She would need it to fight this monster.


    The rain hissing from its skin the Phoenix didn¡¯t seem fazed by the mist. Zoning in on her as she ran. She darted behind another house for cover but that house burst into flame and the Phoenix emerged from it. It lunged for her and she caught it, pushing those deadly sizzling hands away from her face. They struggled in the rain. The heat from the Phoenix burning and blistering her skin away while her storm withered its skin and body. And all around them steam and mist roared into being. Her storm¡¯s attempt to keep the raging inferno of the Phoenix from building. The fire grew hotter and hotter but the rain only poured down more and more. Behind them she slowly pulled on her ocean, begging it to come closer, to reach all the way out here to her aid. Raindrops fell in droves, the rain turned into a torrent, then a flood, that cascaded down upon them. But still the Phoenix burned, it¡¯s eye boring into her with rage as all around her the rain burned away. She struggled to hold onto it but her hands burned away and it slipped free. She couldn¡¯t heal nearly as fast as it could and she tried to stagger back but it kicked her in the chest and she flew backward through the rain into another building.


    Once more it ran toward her but this time she already had her storm. She struck the running monster with a bolt of lightning. That was possibly not one of her best ideas.


    Engulfed in heat that finally repelled the rain for a brief second the Phoenix exploded, instantly regenerating all the wounds it had suffered from the rain. The ensuing inferno engulfed it and the entire street. Bara¡¯s eyes burned away as she tried to shield herself from the white hot explosion that walked toward her. She couldn¡¯t see anything, couldn¡¯t hear anything, but her blistering body still felt the heat of the inferno, now gone far beyond the point where mere rain could stop it, and she felt the heat of that eye, somehow hotter still than the cataclysm that surrounded it.


    Her body was so shrivelled and burned that she barely felt the hands that grabbed her and slammed her into the ground. She barely registered when they did it again, and again and again. The ground was mercifully soft the second time, and even softer the third time. But the soft ground stuck to her and only burned her more. She would have cried out but her mouth wasn¡¯t working, most of her wasn¡¯t working.


    The Phoenix slammed its foe again and again into the melting cobblestones. Its rage and fury pouring off it in a bigger inferno than it had ever conjured before. This sorceress had thought to challenge it. This sorceress had thought to fight it and win. Never again! It was the Phoenix! It could not be beaten!


    So great was its rage and so absorbed was it in its task of crushing the sorceress into ash that it didn¡¯t notice the ocean creeping up around it. It didn¡¯t notice the surging sweeps of a tide that was far from natural. It didn¡¯t even notice the first wave that crashed down upon it breaking its inferno. But it noticed the second.


    Jencer heard the explosions and ran. Unfortunately for him he ran back to the only exit from the Undercity he knew and that was by the docks. This meant that by the time he got there the battle at the docks had blasted open the Undercity completely and it was now filling with water. He staggered out and tried to make sense of what was going on. There were explosions but there wasn¡¯t a whole lot of fire, that was strange. For some reason there were enormous torrents of rain. He sent his spirits out to investigate when a huge wave slammed into the docks, and him. The Master of Death Itself, tumbled through the city, elegantly of course, and crashed into a heap in a back alley. He staggered to his feet and then he saw it, down a street the Phoenix was fighting someone in hand to hand combat. How was that possible?


    Despite the rain the waves of heat coming off the Phoenix were incredible and he staggered back behind a house. One of his spirits shouted in his ear over the rain and wind of the storm.


    ¡°It¡¯s a sorceress! He¡¯s fighting a sorceress!¡±


    ¡°Is he winning?¡± Jencer asked back. Or he would have if the wind didn¡¯t snatch his words away rather rudely. He didn¡¯t know who would win in the battle between a Phoenix and a sorceress. But he¡¯d rather not stick around to find out despite the possibility of snagging a Phoenix¡¯s eye to attain immortality again.


    He made it one step of his hasty retreat before he choked on something and sagged to his knees. He coughed a few times and narrowed his eyes in confusion, it felt like something was swelling up inside his brain, something painful and sick and ugly. He vomited all across the street, food and drink and blood. It was swept up in the rain but he knew he¡¯d tasted blood. He felt the swelling in his head again and he knew he didn¡¯t have long.


    ¡°Get me his eye!!!¡± he shouted at his spirits and then collapsed to the ground, coughing and spluttering in his own blood.


    Bara¡¯s skin was gone as were much of her hands and head along with parts of the rest of her body. She didn¡¯t heal like the Phoenix, it could heal by exploding in its inferno or with its eye and both of those worked much better than her healing. But she could still heal, and that was what she did as she pulled her ocean around her.


    The Phoenix cowered before the waves, its ferocious inferno dying down further and further with each surge, and the surges came in rapid succession, each building atop the last. Bara pulled herself away through the waters and then sat herself up. With wind and water and storm howling around her she slowly lifted into the air.


    The Phoenix looked up through its cowering hands and through all the waves and ocean and storm around it. It fixed that dread eye upon her, full of rage and pain and anger. But then, admitting defeat at last, the eye winked out.


    Bara of the Deep, Sorceress of Storms, Queen of Oceans, Third in the Council of Ten, surged forward and carried the Phoenix with her to the bottom of the ocean. It didn¡¯t make it that far, it didn¡¯t even make it out of the city. It turned to ash in her hands and her waves carried it away. She sank down to the bottom of the ocean without it. Returning to her home, to where she was safe and healthy to heal. It took her a long time to heal from all the wounds she¡¯d suffered in that battle.


    Karnell and Ashwyn stood atop a hill and looked down at another ruined city. It was difficult to see anything with the storm still raging but there were still clearly great fires yet to die down. People were screaming and crying and all manner of other sounds drifted up to them on the hill.


    Karnell watched for a few seconds longer but he knew what he¡¯d seen. The great raging fire had died away, the Phoenix was dead, he¡¯d failed. Ashwyn didn¡¯t have reins so he tried to tug gently on her mane to turn her away to leave. But she didn¡¯t leave, there was still more yet to happen.

 The Escape from the Ruins

    Emin emerged from the territory of the Black Spider and into the flooded ruined city. He was, surprisingly, alive. Neither the Black Spider nor the flood nor the explosions nor the Man of a Thousand Shadows had managed to kill him. He was feeling quite good about himself.


    Half of the city was destroyed and the other half was on fire. Luckily it was raining and the fires were slowly going out. Emin wandered through the destroyed half, the coastal half. What buildings hadn¡¯t been reduced to ash had been swept away by the water. The huge Guildspires in the centre of the city had collapsed. Much of the city had collapsed into the Undercity and the rain was rapidly flooding it.


    As he walked toward the dock Emin realised just how much of the city had been built over the sea as it had now all sunk into the water. Entire buildings and bridges lay sunken into the lapping tides and many had already been broken up and swept out to sea. Emin reached a great gaping hole in the cobblestone road that had already been filled up with water. He didn¡¯t know how deep the water was and so he went around. Climbing up the shattered husk of a building beside him. The building was full of ash that was being swept away by the rain and he climbed up that, crunching his way to the top.


    He stood atop the ruined building and looked out across the city. There were people everywhere, desperately searching for loved ones or frozen in horror. The looting hadn¡¯t started yet, but it would, even when there was nothing left to loot.


    Looking out the other way was the ocean, roaring and crashing beneath the rain. It was filled with bits of the city that had been swept out. Boats and ships of all sizes lay sinking or sunken out there, most did not look salvageable.


    Emin stood in the rain for a while, the ash beneath him slowly sliding away as the rain fell over it. Then something moved in the ash, something small. He looked down and saw a little creature clambering it¡¯s way out of the ash and dust and into the rain. It shook itself and looked up at him with big yellow eyes and the rain swept the ash from its body, revealing a small wet bird. It was difficult to tell, so stained was the bird with ash, but it was red and seemed to have long trailing feathers.


    Emin watched as the bird ruffled its wings, squawked a few times, and then lifted itself into the air. It was bigger than he¡¯d thought, about the size of a cat with its wings fully outstretched. It looped around him a few times and he smiled before it swept away into the rain, flying away from the coast, away from the city. Emin watched it go, it was difficult to see in the rain but it looked like it landed on someone, a rider maybe, but whatever it was disappeared from sight.


    He climbed down from his pile of ash and froze. Before him, lying in the middle of the road as though asleep, was Jencer. Those horrible black scars rent his sleeping face apart and his whole body was soaked with rain. His hands were at his chest and one clutched something tightly, something that almost seemed to be glowing.


    Emin stared but the magi¡¯s eyes were closed and he didn¡¯t seem to have noticed him. He looked around for a way out, some place to escape too, instead he saw a girl.


    She was perched atop a ruined building, just like he had been, and she was looking down at Jencer, just like he was.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he whispered to her and slowly crept toward her. He had no idea who this person was but he felt safer with someone else than alone by himself with the Man of a Thousand Shadows.


    She watched him creep closer with a look that was almost disdain. That didn¡¯t bode well but he went closer anyway.


    ¡°He should be dead,¡± she said, looking back at Jencer.


    Emin looked at him as well. He could be dead, he wasn¡¯t very lively. But dead people didn¡¯t usually die in such a calm position, especially in the middle of a thunderstorm and many fiery explosions.


    ¡°Why should he be dead?¡± he asked, climbing up next to the girl. She barely spared him a glance, still looking at the prone magi in the road.


    ¡°I poisoned him,¡± she said and Emin could hear a hint of pride despite her air of confidence and indifference.


    ¡°He looks pretty dead,¡± Emin said.


    ¡°If he died from this poison he wouldn¡¯t look like that.¡±


    Emin nodded, he didn¡¯t know a lot about poison. ¡°Perhaps he died from something else.¡± It would be nice, he thought, if Jencer was dead. That would mean he was no longer being pursued by the most powerful magi in the city.


    ¡°No, I watched him as the poison took effect. It was working. Then one of his shadows bought him something.¡± She pointed at the hand that was clutched at his chest holding something. ¡°Some sort of glowing orb. It healed him I think. I couldn¡¯t get close enough to kill him properly since his shadows were around.¡±


    Emin was slightly taken aback at the idea of wanting to get closer to Jencer. He considered the man to be something to stay as far away from as possible. The only reason he wasn¡¯t running right now was because he was afraid it would wake him up.


    ¡°So now he has a magic healing glowing orb as well as all his shadows?¡± Emin asked. He didn¡¯t like the sound of that.


    ¡°It seems that way,¡± the girl replied, far more nonchalant than Emin thought appropriate.


    ¡°Well I think I¡¯m going to hope he¡¯s forgotten about me and run- What are you doing?¡± He asked as she seemed to be drawing a knife from her belt. ¡°You¡¯re not going to throw that are you? You-¡±


    She threw it. Emin almost ran, every part of his body wanted to run, but he stayed anyway and watched the knife, because some part of him wanted to see it work.


    Besseron had been a hunter for his village when he¡¯d been alive, and a rather good one too. He had, in fact, just returned from a highly successful hunting trip when he¡¯d been slaughtered by Jencer and his shadows. He¡¯d been happily settling in to feast on the great roast boar he¡¯d caught, ignoring the strange growth in the number of birds in the village.


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    Then Jencer¡¯s cart had come through town, the birds had attacked it in fury, but his shadows had defended him as best they could. The great swarm of spirits and birds and horror had swept through the village and before he¡¯d known it some shadow had run him through with a sword and he was defending the cart as well. Battling the birds for hours, then days, then weeks. He never tired though, as a spirit he was tireless, flawless, the only problem was he had no will of his own anymore.


    Now all he did was as Jencer commanded. Kill this person, fetch this object, find this entrance. He was but a shadow of himself, following along with whatever he was told. Most of the other spirits hated it. He never spoke to them but he knew that they hated it. Having their minds slowly eroded before the commands of their master.


    It wasn¡¯t all bad though. Sometimes they had exciting commands. Sometimes they had to fly through a storm of fire and rain to pluck the eye from a still living Phoenix in the middle of the maelstrom. Besseron had been rather proud of that.


    Now he¡¯d been commanded to protect Jencer and so he watched the surroundings. He saw the boy and the girl of course, he even heard some of their whispers. But he wasn¡¯t going to kill them unless commanded to do so so he simply remained hidden and watched.


    Until the girl threw her dagger at Jencer. That, he deemed, was something he needed to protect from. So he flew out, his ethereal body flitting perfectly where he needed it to be. He reached out and with flawless muscles and tireless arms, caught the dagger.


    Except that he flinched back out of instinct, leaving his arm intangible so that the dagger passed right through it. Oops, he thought as the dagger slammed, point first, into Jencer¡¯s chest.


    As soon as the Man of a Thousand Shadows opened his eyes and pulled the knife from  his chest Emin was gone. He leapt from the building and ran through the wet ruined streets. He had no idea what happened to the girl and he didn¡¯t really care. He was far more focused on threading his way through the ruins to get away from those shadows. You couldn¡¯t hide from them, he knew. They could spread out and find you anywhere, and as he was about to rapidly learn. You couldn¡¯t run from them.


    He glanced behind him and saw a torrent of shadows pouring down the street, swords and pitchforks and other weapons all pointed at him. There was no escape, there was no remorse. They were going to impale him and he was going to die.


    Then he tripped. Looking backward he hadn¡¯t noticed another huge gaping hole in the street and he fell into it, splashing into the water that filled it. He floundered around for a bit but Emin was a pirate, he wasn¡¯t good at talking, or fighting, or running, or much of anything really, but if there was one thing he could do, it was swim.


    He swung himself around in the water and looked up. It was hard to see through the water and the rain hitting it but he could tell the sky was filled with the shadows, the endless tide of spirits. He watched them and as best he could tell they watched him. He waited a second and realised he was still alive. They were all waiting there, just swirling above. They couldn¡¯t enter the water.


    He smiled to himself under the water. They were like mist, or fog, they could float on the water but they couldn¡¯t go in it. He twisted himself around effortlessly and kicked away, he wasn¡¯t even struggling to hold his breath yet. He would make these spirits work for their kills if it was the last thing he did. Leaving the spirits helplessly behind, Emin swam away into the flooded Undercity.


    Freyan was fast, Naya had beaten that into her in their training sessions. A ninja was fast, particularly a female one who couldn¡¯t always rely on strength. So Freyan had practised running and jumping and slipping her way through the nooks and crannies of the city much faster than any human pursuer could possibly follow. But she was not being followed by humans.


    No matter how fast she ran, no matter how many holes or cracks she ducked down they were always right behind her. The only reason she was still alive was because in the rain and ash and her constantly changing directions they couldn¡¯t find her immediately. But she was running out of directions to change.


    They were everywhere, every time she turned she saw a flitting shadow whooshing past where she¡¯d been. Every step she took she saw more and more emerging from the floors and walls behind her. Every heartbeat that pumped through her skull she swore that more and more were encircling her, and there were a lot of heartbeats now.


    Then something splashed out of the water beside her and grabbed her. That was stupid, how had she not seen that in time, that wasn¡¯t very ninja-like.


    ¡°Hold your breath,¡± the something said and, lacking the time or energy to fight it, she did. Emin pulled her into the water and then swam away with her. The spirits circled the spot they¡¯d disappeared but there was nothing they could do.


    Naya¡¯s shop was not on fire. She couldn¡¯t be having a setback like that with business as it was. So when she¡¯d first bought the place she¡¯d coated it in Winterfish Oil. Nothing burned that was coated in Winterfish Oil although now she wished she¡¯d applied it to other people¡¯s houses. Could¡¯ve made a killing.


    She sat in the shop and watched the city burn around her. In her youth she¡¯d have been out there helping people. Knowing this place there¡¯d be looters and thieves running about harassing folk. Just the place for a master ninja. Sadly she was far too old for that nonsense. She just hoped there¡¯d be people left afterward for her to put back together. She looked down at her patient, given to her by the Sorceress of the Sea, at least she¡¯d put him back together.


    He was asleep now but he was practically cured. He just needed a lot of rest and then he¡¯d have to wake his brain back up again. Hopefully the sorceress was still alive, Naya had liked her.


    Thankfully Freyan was still alive she noted as Freyan and some boy rounded a corner and ran toward the shop. They were both sopping wet and seemed to be afraid for their very lives. Naya grew worried.


    ¡°What are-?¡±


    ¡°We have to leave! He¡¯s after us! The Scarred Man!¡± Freyan shouted which Naya didn¡¯t consider much of an explanation.


    ¡°Who is-¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll take our old horses and head inland! We need to get as far away as possible!¡± She was already packing various things into a bag while the boy collapsed into a chair panting with exhaustion.


    ¡°Okay but who-¡±


    Freyan ran upstairs still talking but Naya couldn¡¯t hear what she was saying. The boy looked around in surprise at all the potions and poisons that lined the walls.


    ¡°And who are you dear?¡± Naya asked him, trying to act friendly.


    ¡°Um... I¡¯m Emin... I... Emin.¡±


    ¡°Emin eh? And you got on the wrong side of old Jencer? That was a rather silly thing to do.¡±


    ¡°Um... yes... well...¡±


    Freyan burst back downstairs with a bag stuffed with belongings. ¡°I won¡¯t tell you exactly where we¡¯re going just in case someone decides to torture you for information,¡± she told Naya who grinned, she¡¯d trained her well.


    She grabbed the boy and dragged him off toward the back where the horses were. ¡°Thank you for everything you¡¯ve taught me. I hope I see you again some day.¡±


    The door slammed and they were gone, she heard the horses clopping away down the street. Naya sat back down, she¡¯d only just stood up, and patted the hand of her patient who was still asleep.


    ¡°Just you and me now then is it?¡± She looked out at the ruins and the rain. ¡°Just you and me.¡±

 The Lost Wolf

    The bedraggled man staggered through the rain away from the ruined city. He had lost everything in that storm. His ship, his crew, even his brother, held so long as a hostage against Bara the sorceress of the sea. He didn¡¯t know whether his brother was alive or dead but either way he no longer had any leverage against the might and rage of the sea. He was no longer, the Storm Wolf.


    He could have stayed with his crew, he could have tried to find them in the wreckage and get them all back together. He could have tried to salvage what little he could out of the disaster that had befallen him. But he hadn¡¯t. Instead he was running. Because somewhere in that city, or at least close by, was a sorceress who hated him more than anyone else in the world. A sorceress who he¡¯d manipulated and tortured for years by chaining up her love, his brother, on his ship and exploiting her with his life.


    Without his brother there was nothing to stop her from hunting him down and killing him. He was slightly surprised she hadn¡¯t already done so. He had no defense. He had only the clothes on his back, a sword strapped to his side, and layers of caked mud and ash from the ruins of the city. None of that would do anything against an enraged sorceress and he knew how well she could find his ship in a storm. He figured it couldn¡¯t be that hard for her to find him out here.


    On weary legs, he crested a hill and looked out across the land. The Hallowed Realm they called it. He couldn¡¯t imagine why, it had just had one city beset by invasion, plague and falling stars and another blown up by a storm. That didn¡¯t seem very Hallowed to him.


    But it was a realm, that was certain. A great and vast land, and as a pirate, he wasn¡¯t very at home on land.


    He was almost relieved when, several days later, he was attacked by bandits. At that point he hadn¡¯t eaten in days and had been walking so long the world was starting to blur together around him. Perhaps if he¡¯d been healthy he would have seen them before they emerged from the trees. But then again, perhaps not, this wasn¡¯t the sea, this wasn¡¯t his home.


    ¡°You¡¯re a right sorry bastard aren¡¯t ya?¡± the first bandit said in a grating voice that dragged the bedraggled man out of his haze.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nice sword though,¡± the second bandit said and moved forward, holding his own sword at the bedraggled man¡¯s throat.


    The bedraggled man fixed his eyes on the sword that was pointing at him. Slowly everything came back into focus and he began to realise what was going on, where he was, who he was. His legs were weary from walking but his arms were still strong.


    Mangon Tull, the Scourge of the Northern Seas, Conqueror of the Storm Sorceress drew his sword and batted away the bandit¡¯s one. Before any of them could move he grabbed the bandit and held him in a chokehold, the sword at his neck.


    He grinned at the other bandits who were looking at him in shock. He didn¡¯t blame them, he couldn¡¯t imagine how pathetic and weak he must have looked moments ago.


    It was difficult to choke out words through his mouth that hadn¡¯t eaten or spoken in days but he managed it. ¡°I am Mangon Tull, you may have heard of me.¡±


    The looks on their faces made it clear that they hadn¡¯t. Typical.


    ¡°As you can see I have fallen on hard times but with food and water I can be a capable warrior. Likely better than any man here. I ask little from you, merely a place at your campsite and food to eat, in exchange I can-¡±


    A voice interrupted him from behind, a much calmer voice than those of the other bandits. A voice in command of the situation. ¡°Mangon Tull eh? I think I have heard of you, not by that name though. What is it? The Storm Wombat?¡±


    ¡°The Storm Wolf,¡± Mangon growled, tightening his grip on the bandit and turning to face the speaker.


    ¡°Oh yes, my apologies. Where we¡¯re from neither Storm Wolves nor Wombats are common so we get you mixed up.¡± The speaker was a tall man atop a strange grey horse, just as rough and rugged as the other bandits but he had an authoritative sneer, a sneer that Mangon had had up until a few days ago.


    ¡°I am Sered of the Eastlands. This little band I lead is what¡¯s left of an army.¡±


    ¡°The world has not been kind to armies,¡± Mangon said sympathetically, he couldn¡¯t afford to be arrogant and bold here. He needed to dredge up his old skills as a subservient follower, that would take some getting used to.


    ¡°The world has not been kind to anyone. You can come with us, we will give you the food and lodging you require and in exchange you will tell us everything you know about what has happened in Nargathrum.¡±


    Mangon nodded and slowly released the man he held, keeping as alert and dangerous as possible despite being tired, starved and outnumbered. Sered beckoned for him to follow and they all walked off through the countryside. It only took them cresting one hill to fill Mangon¡¯s heart with terror. Of course they were going back toward the sea.


    He didn¡¯t run though, this was likely his only chance to find food and shelter and if he ran they¡¯d probably kill him for his weapons. So he stayed with them and prayed to all the gods and angels and demons he knew that the sorceress couldn¡¯t find him on land. In his travels he¡¯d learned of quite a few but he doubted any of them could help him. He trudged slowly toward that yawning blue expanse, once a welcoming home, now a terrifying place. The sorceress had always been able to find him in storms, could she find him here?


    They reached the bandit¡¯s camp within the hour and fortunately it wasn¡¯t too close to the sea. By that time it was getting dark and Mangon¡¯s head was beginning to swim as the gnawing hunger grew. The bandits laughed at him as he stumbled weakly forward but they gave him some jerky and stale bread which he quickly tore into. Sered could see that he was in no state to recount any tales and so let him sleep in a tent. He briefly noted that he shared the tent with others but he remembered no other details as he passed out immediately, letting sleep fully take him for the first time since Nargathrum.


    When he woke they were setting out again and to his horror they were not only heading toward the sea but toward Nargathrum. He considered running at that point. He could cut his losses and try to get out before any of them could stop him but he realised that in his hunger and drowsiness they¡¯d taken his weapons, he wouldn¡¯t get far without those. So he prayed some more and he kept walking.


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    Sered rode alongside him on a strange grey horse with flowers in its mane but before Mangon could get a good look he was being interrogated about the city.


    ¡°So, Storm Wolf, the great port of Nargathrum, given into looters and violence, suddenly explodes before us. Not only that but there is a storm, something you are famed for surviving, yet you barely survive. Tell me all you can.¡±


    ¡°Well I...¡± Mangon struggled to think, his brain still clouded by drowsiness and hunger. He decided that explaining his deal with the sorceress and the resultant catastrophe was a bad idea. ¡°I don¡¯t know, I suppose my luck finally ran out,¡± he grinned up at Sered, putting on his least aggravating smile. He was quite proud of that smile, he hadn¡¯t known if he still had it.


    ¡°L...L...Liessss...sss...¡± hissed a voice and Mangon jumped, the inhuman whisper rattling his tired brain.


    Sered just laughed as he searched for who had said that. ¡°My horse seems to think you do know something about what happened.¡±


    Mangon¡¯s eyes grew wide in fear and surprise and he looked more closely at the horse. It wasn¡¯t just grey, it was rotted and mutilated, it was clearly dead. Yet on it strode anyway with Sered astride it. It glanced at him with dead, glassy eyes and then turned back to look at the road. Mangon¡¯s heart filled with horror, not more magic.


    ¡°How-?¡±


    ¡°I told you we were the remnants of an army, I didn¡¯t say which army,¡± Sered answered. ¡°You likely wouldn¡¯t have heard of us anyway but we were an army serving under Kulrod, the Sorcerer of the Eastlands.¡±


    Mangon¡¯s heart sank, another sorcerer. Was he here? In this group? Had he fled one sorcerer just to end up in the clutches of another?


    ¡°He abandoned us on the eve of our victory and our forces were decimated. Those of us who escaped have been living off the land even before all the other fallen armies started doing it. I was his right hand man, I had great plans and dreams for conquering Karasar but they all came to nothing when he left. He took most of his magic with him but he forgot this horse that he gave to me and commanded to follow my orders. He¡¯s been a very useful horse, if a bit rotted and probably not long for this world, hence the flowers to stop the smell.¡± He gestured to the flowers woven through the horse¡¯s mane. They were all over the saddle and flanks as well, some of them stuck through the rotting flesh itself. Mangon looked away, he thought he might be sick.


    ¡°Anyway, the relevant part is that Geren here can tell when you¡¯re lying. He¡¯s just magic like that. So I ask again, what do you know about what happened at Nargathrum?¡±


    Mangon stared ahead for a moment, letting his tired thoughts catch up to the situation. The man had a magic horse that would be able to tell if he was lying. Well he supposed that made about as much sense as what happened in Nargathrum.


    He didn¡¯t try to be sly or subtle, he didn¡¯t have the energy to conjure up clever vagaries and half truths. So instead he just told Sered and his magic horse everything he knew. He told him about his brother and Bara, his sorceress lover from the sea. He told him about his plan and how well it had worked for so long. Then he told him about how it had all completely fallen apart. He didn¡¯t know why the city had exploded and he didn¡¯t know why he was still alive but he was fairly confident Bara had caused the storms so he told Sered that. It felt relieving to finally be able to say it all, with no lies or secrets. Like a weight had lifted from his chest. Despite all the magic and fear he at least felt a little bit happier to be sharing that secret at last.


    This happiness was quickly quenched when Sered responded to his tale. ¡°Well in that case we¡¯ll probably have to get rid of you.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what-?¡±


    ¡°You said it yourself. This sorceress likely wants to kill you and if her method to do that is to sweep you away with a big storm we don¡¯t want to be near you when that happens.¡±


    ¡°Yes but-¡±


    ¡°I say we throw you in the ocean, what do you think Geren?¡±


    The horse snorted.


    ¡°I like that idea,¡± a voice from behind them said, a voice that Mangon recognised as the man he¡¯d held a sword to yesterday. He tried to stutter out a response but there were too many cheers of approval and words of support from the other bandits. It turned out they¡¯d all slowly come to listen to his story as he¡¯d been talking and now they all wanted to see its grisly end. His arguments died in his throat and he did nothing as they bound him and changed direction, now heading not to the sea and Nargathrum, but straight for the sea. He struggled to think of what to do, what to say. All his plans, all his cunning and guile was leading here. This couldn¡¯t be happening, could it? To make things worse as they kept dragging him it started to rain.


    By the time they reached the ocean the rain had become a downpour complete with dark clouds and howling winds. A storm, just like the ones he¡¯d so long exploited.


    ¡°Looks like your sorceress is here to claim you now!¡± Sered shouted over the rain at him. Mangon ignored him and looked down at the sea. Of course they couldn¡¯t have picked a nice beach, no, they were atop a great cliff and the sea was churning and raging down below. He¡¯d spent the last hour of their journey praying and he was running out of gods to pray to. Once he¡¯d visited an island far away in the Scarlet Seas, trading for rare spices as well as ingredients for his poisons. The inhabitants had had a great hall lined with topaz and in it a sacred fire that was never allowed to go out. He had sat with them and feasted on the food cooked by their fire. He wasn¡¯t sure how helpful a god of fire could be in his situation but he prayed anyway. The last words he uttered as he was hurled into the storm-tossed ocean were a prayer to Raqos.


    Argive of the Cliffs sat in his hut on the edge of the world and snickered at the storm as it swept away. It was a big one, no doubt about that, had some magic lurking about in it too. But it hadn¡¯t hurt him, his hut was too strong for that. He snickered some more. His hut had survived a lot more than that.


    He walked down to the brine flats with his dredger sack and slipped on his walking shoes out of habit. He got halfway to the beach before he snickered again, realising he didn¡¯t need them anymore. Still, good to be careful about these things. He picked through some old shipwrecks but he¡¯d already taken everything interesting from them and the time had passed when he needed to take uninteresting things. So he moved on and walked the miles and miles of brine flats to get to the shore. There was a new ship that looked mostly intact, that would definitely have some interesting things to dredge up. He strode on eagerly but then he saw a black shape sticking out of the brine flats. It was small so he decided to investigate that first. It was likely just a bit of driftwood or a dead shark or something but as he drew closer he became more curious. Not driftwood, even closer, not a shark. It was a man, and a living one too. That was very interesting.


    Mangon awoke in darkness. But it was a soft warm darkness for there was a damp cloth resting on his face. This was fortunate as the last thing he remembered was his face burning away. In fact there were still echoes of that, not only on his face but his hands and neck as well. But it wasn¡¯t the burning of the fire and lightning he¡¯d escaped in Nargathrum. It was another type of burning, like acid.


    He moved his aching hand to lift the warm cloth from his aching face and peer at his surroundings. There was an old one-armed man with a long beard carving something on the other side of a small room. The old man raised a bushy eyebrow and peered down at him.


    ¡°Rest up my friend, you¡¯ve been in the brine a long time. You¡¯re lucky you got here when you did. Even a few weeks ago that long in the brine likely would have killed you. But the brine flats are healing. Soon they won¡¯t be brine flats at all.¡± The old man snickered to himself and carried on carving.


    ¡°I... what-?¡± Mangon asked, utterly confused by the situation.


    ¡°I¡¯ll explain it all in the morning,¡± the old man continued, still carving. ¡°It¡¯s a long story, a good story, but a long story. For now rest up.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s in this story?¡± Mangon asked, slightly worried. ¡°There had better not be any storms or magic shadows or sorcerers.¡±


    The old man snickered some more. ¡°Oh no, out here we don¡¯t have such simple problems as those. No, this story is about elementals.¡±

 The Brine Elemental

    It was a dreary day when I came to the great Brine Flats, when I stood atop the great limestone cliffs and stared down upon miles and miles of stinking beachland. Nothing grew there, nothing lived there, for nothing could. Anything left there for even a moment would dissolve in the acidic wasteland that was the home of Phandraleon, the Brine Elemental.


    My father had lured him here after my grandfather had flooded his old home. Now it was my turn to destroy him for good. I set down my pack and I began chipping away at the limestone.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the rude pirate interrupted. ¡°What is an elemental?¡±


    Argive of the Cliffs stuttered to a stop in his story. He¡¯d never considered that someone wouldn¡¯t know what an elemental was. He¡¯d spent his life fighting one. ¡°Well it¡¯s... well... Imagine all the rocks in the world. Every pebble and stone and boulder all the way up to the largest mountains. A huge number of rocks, an incomprehensible number of rocks. Now, imagine all of those rocks are the home of a living thing. Not something you can see, but something that¡¯s there all the same. Every time you step on some pebbles it knows. Every time a rock falls from a mountain it is there. Every time the earth is split apart by an earthquake or an eruption it grows angry. That is the rock elemental.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure rocks don¡¯t get angry.¡±


    ¡°Not like we do no, elementals don¡¯t think like us, they are far too big in scale for that. But they get angry all the same. And when you battle one in its home it gets very angry indeed. Now, I have a story to tell.¡±


    ¡°Yes yes, sorry sorry.¡±


    ¡°Right, so I was chipping into the limestone.


    You see my father had spent his entire life filling this dreary edge of the world with acid and brine, far from any civilisations. So when Phandraleon moved and looked for a place to rest he came here. Right into our trap. For surrounding this beachland were huge cliffs, great pillars of limestone. Miles and miles of the stuff, expanding in all directions, pillars and piles as far as the eye could see. You may have noticed that there is none there now.


    That is because I chipped away at it and I built my little hut out on the Brine Flat out of limestone. I built great tall shoes to go back and forth across the Flat out of limestone. I took more and more limestone from those great cliffs and built with it down here, for limestone does not dissolve in acid like everything else. No limestone destroys acid just as acid destroys limestone. Everywhere I walked I left tracks that burned at Phandraleon. Everything I built burned him even as he did his best to burn it right back. For ten years I did this, building and burning, scraping away at the cliffs. But then he began to grow truly angry.


    Every night a huge wave of acid and brine would slowly rise up from the Flats and chase me into the cliffs and through them. I would run on my dissolving shoes and all around me the cliffs would break and shatter and crumble, falling into the acid. Every night I climbed out of that hissing tide of acid and avalanches. Cutting myself on the rocks in the dark and then getting acid in the wounds. But every night I would survive, I would stitch myself back up with herbs and medicines and then every morning I would go back and add more and more limestone to the Flats.


    Each time he chased me into the cliffs he would burn himself up further as he dissolved the pieces of the cliff that fell into him. So each time I ran this gauntlet I was making more and more progress toward my goal. The goal of being the first person to kill an elemental. This continued for another ten years. Some days I would not return and gather my strength elsewhere to avoid the chase but most nights I was here, digging by day and running by night. But it seems ten years is the time it takes for Phandraleon¡¯s ancient brain to tick over, because after another ten years his strategy changed. After another ten years came the pillars of acid.


    At first it seemed that I had a moment of relief for a few months passed with the waves of acid decreasing in strength and then stopping entirely. I was beginning to consider that maybe for a moment I might have faced the worse of what Phandraleon had to offer but he was only just beginning. One day when I was returning to my hut, walking across the acid on my stone shoes the Flat started to rumble and shake. I ran back to the safety of the cliffs but it was not me he hunted. No, instead the earth beneath my hut erupted in the wet brine and sludge of the Flats. A great pillar of acid and foulness consumed it and towered high into the air. For a moment I thought I might have avoided the blast entirely but then it stopped rising and then it began to fall.


    The acid rain fell down all across the Brine Flat and the limestone cliffs. With my hut destroyed I had nowhere to hide but in those cliffs and they burned and sizzled away before the rain. It rained all night and all throughout the night the cliffs crumbled and fell, my various caves of safety threatening to crush me but I managed to dodge through them and live out the night for I was young then you see. In the morning great piles of limestone had fallen into the brine flats and were slowly dissolving there, burning away into Phandraleon. Meanwhile my entire hut had been destroyed and many of my possessions lost to the Flats. However, knowing how dangerous the Flats were I kept another store of things far from them and I went there now, gathering all I would need. For my work was not done yet.


    Now each night the Brine Flats would erupt and rain down upon the world, often multiple times each night. Searing away the cliffs and searing away my various hiding places. I burrowed deep down into the limestone, worming my way into a deep cave and then digging it out further. Each night I would return there and then each morning I would dig myself out, praying my cave did not collapse in the night.


    I no longer built a hut on the Brine Flats, they were far too volatile for that. Instead I simply tossed as much limestone as I could into them each day. There was a great deal of it lying around as each night more would break off. However, as it happened I needn¡¯t have bothered. For there was something else at work now. Something I would discover very soon.


    One night in my cave I awoke to a horrible stench and I flailed about in the darkness before managing to light a flickering lamp. It was difficult to see anything in the cave but soon I noticed a shining reflection of my lamp. Looking closer I saw a black reflective shape had spread out in one corner of the cave. A shape that was the foulest of brine. For while I had long treated the limestone cliffs as a safe haven, vulnerable only to attacks from above, I had not realised the extent of my foe¡¯s power. While he had been spitting pillars of acid at me he had also been spreading out beneath the limestone cliffs. Melting them away from below to get to me. That night he had finally penetrated into my cave and worse still, he had done so from the twisted pile of rubble that I used as an entrance. I could not flee that way, rife as it was with acid, so I instead had to take up my pickaxe and dig blindly into the limestone, trying to tunnel my way out, the acid closing in behind me.


    But it was still night on the surface and the acid rains had not ceased so even as I tunneled and undermined the limestone it melted away above me. Combined the great cliff I had made my home in stood no chance and it cracked, giving me a brief sight of freedom as well as a sky drenched in acid rain. But then it crumbled. My tunnel, my cliff, my home all fell in around me. Crushing me, trapping me beneath piles of limestone while below the brine worked its way up and above the rain worked its way down.


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    I soon discovered I could move most of my body save for my arm which was trapped beneath a large portion of the cliff. I struggled to free it to no avail and so I simply waited in the cliffs to die. But I did not go to my death in misery. For I knew that in working his way under the entirety of the limestone cliffs Phandraleon had doomed himself. It would not be long before they all dissolved into him and took away all that gave him substance. He could rage and roil with his waves and his pillars all he liked. But even in death I would have won. So I faced my doom in peace.


    But I was not doomed. Some days I wish I had died there for what came next was absolute misery but I still had the knowledge in my heart that I had won, that I had succeeded. So I faced what came next and I lived to fight another day. So let me tell you the rest of what happened that hellish night.


    I don¡¯t know whether it was the brine rising from below or the rains trickling in from above but something started to fill the cavity within which my arm was trapped. First my hands and fingers began to burn, then the whole of my arm. Soon the pain was so great I could barely remember what was burning or where I was. I rent and tore at my prison, desperate to escape from the searing pain and I fortunately did not have to endure for very long as the acids of Phandraleon work quickly. So while it seemed an eternity to me at the time I deduced later that it could not have been more than a few minutes. My arm, melted and ruined by the acids that were now filling up the cavity the rest of my body was in, came away in my flailings, and leaving it there I fled, bleeding and burning, out into the world above.


    Tossing away the rocks and rubble that imprisoned me with my remaining arm I burst out into the searing acid rain. This rain was far worse than what I had seen before. Phandraleon had been ramping up his attacks and now each drop left huge searing holes in the limestone it splashed onto. Several of these drops and their splashes hit me as I ran through the pockmarked wasteland and melted away much of my clothes and skin as well as what remained of my arm. But I soon reached shelter and then I began the long and difficult task of moving from shelter to shelter, cover to cover, taking things one crumbling outcrop at a time. I slowly moved further and further from the Brine Flats, from the source of the rain while all around me the limestone crumbled and fell into the acid beneath it.


    In the morning the rains did not stop and nor did I. Moving further and further away. The worst was behind me though as elementals do not move fast, especially when they are being burned away by limestone. So I trekked and traveled, scrambling and sliding. My body cut to shreds my limestone and melted away by acid. For seven days I fled, leaving the limestone cliffs on the second day and entering a forest, still pursued by the acid rain. Eventually I rested by a lake as the last drops of the rain faded away. I tended to my wounds for three months. Using what I could find in the forest to keep myself alive. My arm was gone and I had to learn to function without it making the recovery process even more difficult. Then, on the fourth month, I returned to what had become my home.


    The limestone was mostly gone, only a few of the largest pieces still remained and they had been worn down to almost nothing, just small lumps sticking out of the Brine Flats. The Flats themselves had expanded, covering where the cliffs had been and more. But they were no longer as acidic as they once had been. I built new shoes, dredger shoes, designed to walk on this new, weaker acid. Then I began to explore. My foe was not yet dead though he was dying. It would take many years for him to fully burn away to all the limestone he had just consumed. But he was far too weak to challenge me. At last I was free to make the Brine Flats my home proper.


    I built a hut, a wooden one this time, although I set it atop great stilts that slowly burned away from below as I replaced them from above. I began walking out to the beach and dragging food and wood and cargo from what the sea washed up there. Each time I would go I¡¯d find that the acid worked its way into the ships and wood slower than the time before. For Phandraleon was dying, I had won.


    But there is one more part to this story. One final scene if you will, something I¡¯m still not sure was real. Perhaps this last part was just a dream but demons are known to speak in dreams, why not elementals. So perhaps it was a dream but still real all the same. Regardless, the story goes like this.


    One night I was sitting on my porch, looking out across the Brine Flats and the sea beyond, lit up by the bright shining stars and moon. I was enjoying a fine brandy I¡¯d found in some shipwreck and content with my success, my triumph over Phandraleon.


    Then the brine flats began to stir. It wasn¡¯t a rumble, not this time, but it stirred nonetheless. I considered fleeing but I was old at this point and my days of mad scrambles through the cliffs were behind me. So I simply sat there and waited to see what Phandraleon had as a last ditch effort against me.


    Before me a shape rose out of the brine, a slimy pile of acid and disgust that reeked far stronger than the rest of the Flats smelt in those days. It rose up until it was about my height and then sat there for a minute. I took another sip of my brandy and watched it, helpless to do anything meaningful before a shape that was likely most of what remained of Phandraleon himself. The shape looked at me in what way a pile of acid and brine can, and then it bowed. It bent over itself, the top end extending out toward me. It stayed there for a few seconds while I looked on in absolute wonder. Then it collapsed and faded away back into the Brine Flats.


    The rest of that night I sat on my porch and watched the Brine Flats, astonished by what I¡¯d just seen. I had studied elementals my entire life and my family had been researching them for generations. Nowhere was there any record of something like that taking place. Was I the first person in history to ever witness the true form of an elemental? And had that elemental showed respect? Admitting his defeat and acknowledging my success? I suppose I shall never know the truth but that matters little for I know what I saw and I would be surprised if any other humans ever see something similar. An elemental, in a form not as a force of nature, but as a living creature, much like a human or demon, yet far more powerful.


    In the years that followed I never saw that shape again and the acid of the Brine Flats grew weaker and weaker. Nowadays I have walked across it with no shoes at all for short periods and soon I imagine it will be nothing but harmless mud, safe for children. I suppose it is inevitable that people come here, as you have done, washed up in boats or simply exploring the far edges of the map. So far no one else has survived the journey here and the Brine Flats themselves but as they grow less dangerous surely more and more of you will arrive.


    ¡°Yes... yes I¡¯m sure that¡¯s a possibility,¡± the rude pirate, Mangon Tull replied. Thinking back to how he¡¯d gotten here as the old man rambled on about elementals. Getting here wasn¡¯t easy. There were great rocky cliffs and reefs and regular raging storms. He didn¡¯t know how he knew this, he hadn¡¯t actually come that way. He¡¯d come a different way. He¡¯d come through fire.


    Deep below the world Phandraleon lay dying. He had been beaten by a human. Tricked into consuming enormous mountains of limestone and now he was being crushed by it. He had accepted it though. Elementals are in some ways victims of their own inevitability and after that fateful night his own weakness was dragging him down to die as more and more of him dissolved his powers grew weaker and weaker, unable to slow the process until eventually it would consume him. As an elemental Phandraleon didn¡¯t see but he was aware all the same and as he died he became aware of a monolith. The monolith didn¡¯t speak but neither did Phandraleon. They understood one another. An agreement was made and as the limestone fell further and further into the earth, crushing all before it, Phandraleon faded away. He disappeared, into darkness.


    The Prophecy of Hahkenata - Transcribed by Gushkabel


    Night:


    Two will be Demons, reclaiming what they Gave


    Six will be Monsters of Woods and Caves


    Four will be Sorcerers, Immortal and Heartless


    One an Elemental, Fallen into Darkness

 The Conqueror of Nargathrum

    Kulrod, Beastkeeper of the Eastlands, Wielder of Feather, the Sword in the Sky, First in the Council of Ten, flew toward Nargathrum. He could have flown with the wings his sword granted him but he didn¡¯t. Instead he flew atop his greatest creation, a monster stitched together from the blood and bone and flesh of many animals. A creation big enough to carry his many legions of beasts and birds. A creation that bore down toward Nargathrum.


    He had been flying across the Hallowed Realm, investigating the various bits and pieces of chaos and anarchy left after the war and the falling stars when he¡¯d seen the storms gathering over the city. He knew they weren¡¯t natural storms, in fact he recognised his fellow council member¡¯s work. He had been curious but perfectly happy to leave her to her own endeavors until he¡¯d seen the great pillars of flame and huge explosions bursting through the raging storms. He¡¯d grown curious and so he¡¯d flown back to his home and gathered his beasts before returning. He did not know whether he came to help or hinder his fellow sorcerer but he came all the same. There was something happening in Nargathrum and he would find out what.


    Wegrel walked back into Nargathrum slowly. He had been out searching for tracks for a long time and he wanted to take his time coming back. Pick his way through the wreckage and flooding one step at a time. There wasn¡¯t much of a city left now. What part of it hadn¡¯t been swept out to sea had been blown to pieces by the great battle between Bara and the Phoenix. Wegrel knew what had happened, Jencer had told him the details, but most of the city had no idea and so rumors had spread. Most people thought it was a Phoenix although few realised it was the legendary Phoenix of Fort Sundrick. The most popular theory was that the Phoenix was a punishment for all the looting and pillaging in the aftermath of the war. Not that this had stopped the looting and pillaging at all.


    The greatest display of anarchy had been the tearing down of the last great Guildspires and piling them all up in a great heap in the middle of the city. That heap was the centre of the town now and on it lived the top looters and pillagers the city had to offer. Salara, the once great criminal scourge of the city. The remnants of the town guard, now a corrupt protection racket. Some leftover pirates who had made it through the whole ordeal.


    But ruling them all was Jencer, the Man of a Thousand Shadows. That was who Wegrel reported to now. Already feared and reviled throughout the city he had emerged from the carnage looking healthy as ever save for his scars and claimed his spot atop the pile. They all answered to him, every criminal and every guard and every pirate. Even lowly old Wegrel answered to him now, and so he¡¯d been sent off to track down the little boy who had so angered Jencer.


    He reached the great pile of rubble and began clambering up it. Various people milled about in what was a wasteland of dust and debris. Great lakes and puddles of water from the flooding spread throughout various holes in the pile and probably eroded it away from beneath. Wegrel didn¡¯t mind though, he likely wouldn¡¯t be here for long. Not now that he¡¯d found the tracks. Jencer would want to move out to follow them soon enough.


    He reached the top of the pile and there was Jencer sitting there drinking some of the finest wine looted from the fallen Guildspires. Drinking and surveying his new domain. Beneath his shirt was the little shape where all the shadows came from. Wegrel knew what it was now, he¡¯d seen it up close, an amulet, the Amulet of the Dead.


    But that wasn¡¯t all Jencer hid on his person. On a second necklace, visible through the shirt was the glowing Eye of the Phoenix. The great orb that had saved him from the poisons of the Black Spider. That mysterious gang had disappeared completely as the city crumbled and Wegrel was glad it had, he didn¡¯t want people that powerful under the thumb of Jencer like everyone else was.


    He reached the minstrel who hadn¡¯t even noticed him yet, so absorbed as he was in his wine and his view. So Wegrel spoke first.


    ¡°Why do you want this boy? How could he be important to someone like you?¡±


    Jencer looked up from his view and grinned his crooked grin. The Eye of the Phoenix could heal many things it seemed but it could not heal those ugly black scars across his face.


    ¡°The boy is unimportant.¡± Jencer replied. ¡°But I promised him I¡¯d kill him and the promise is important. When you deal in magical artefacts as I do Wegrel you learn just how important promises are. Now, did you find anything?¡±


    Wegrel paused and sighed softly. He wished he could lie, send Jencer off in some random direction. Maybe into the ocean. But he couldn¡¯t lie, shadows couldn¡¯t lie. ¡°He went south, someone else went with him. They took horses.¡±


    Jencer laughed again and went back to looking at his view. Wegrel looked with him. ¡°Excellent, we¡¯ll leave in the morning.¡±


    Together they gazed out at the city. A huge city, a ruined city. A city of shadows.


    Sered stood atop the cliff and looked out across the ocean. He was used to the stench of rotting flesh and decay but even he was struggling to breathe. Yet he looked all the same. For at the bottom of the cliff was not an ocean of water, but one of dead bodies, floating in the sea. It was a fair distance out before he could even see water again and out there some stray corpses floating still.


    The people of Nargathrum, all dead and tossed into the oceans to rot. Sered was not a particularly religious man, nor, he supposed, a particularly honourable one. But he stood at that cliff all the same and paid the dead their respects. He poured a pitcher of wine that they¡¯d stolen over the cliff and said a few final words, fighting back tears from the stench.


    He was about to turn to go, to leave that awful place when he saw something down the coast, something that was very much alive. A great shape floated in the water, a slowly twisting shape that swam idly among the corpses. Atop the shape were legions of animals, beasts and birds all standing still and rigid and alert. He recognised the animals but he barely paid them any mind, instead he watched the figure ahead of them. The winged figure who floated above the corpses with his arms cut open, dripping his blood into their mouths. Kulrod, just gifted with a whole host of corpses to raise from the dead.


    Kulrod hadn¡¯t seen him and it seemed the animals hadn¡¯t either. He could leave. Leave this horrible place behind. That had been the plan, after the old woman had told them what had happened at Nargathrum the plan had been to say a few words for the dead and then flee. But Sered didn¡¯t flee. He was not afraid of his old ally.


    ¡°Kulrod!¡± he shouted down the cliff after walking along it toward the sorcerer.


    Kulrod looked about for the voice before finally squinting up into the sun and seeing him standing there.


    ¡°Who¡¯re...?¡± Kulrod asked, squinting further. ¡°Sered?! What are you doing in this corner of the world?¡±


    ¡°Saying a prayer for the dead,¡± he replied. ¡°Tad more respectful than what you¡¯re doing.¡±


    Kulrod looked back down at the bloody ritual he was performing. ¡°These bodies will only waste away to rot and ruin here. They will destroy the coastline. I merely take what is offered.¡±


    Sered shrugged. ¡°Where are you taking them?¡±


    ¡°Nargathrum. Strange things are happening there and I plan to investigate.¡± He looked back up. ¡°Best to be prepared.¡±


    ¡°I coulda told you what happened in Nargathrum,¡± Sered replied, turning to face the ruined city. ¡°An old woman, an apothecary type, escaped from it and she told us everything.¡±


    Kulrod paused in his ritual. Sered grinned, he clearly didn¡¯t like being at a loss toward his old ally. ¡°What did she tell you?¡±


    Sered considered telling him nothing. Kulrod had abandoned him long ago and he¡¯d lost everything because of it. But he didn¡¯t, because there was something in that city that needed to be stopped and maybe a sorcerer with an army of corpses could do it. ¡°What do you know of Bara, Sorceress of the Deep?¡±


    The man of a thousand shadows slept, resting for the morning when he and his legions of the dead would march out to hunt down the boy who had so wronged him. When he went to sleep he had been content, legions of shadows at his beck and call, the Eye of the Phoenix warming him and healing any of his wounds, and the buzz of the copious amounts of wine he had drunk to celebrate his victory.


    But in his dreams he had none of those. In his dreams he was naked and alone in the Forest of Topaz. The warmth from the Eye had turned into a choking heatwave, the buzz from the alcohol had turned into a hazy fugue that slowed his thoughts, and the shadows. There were no shadows in the blazing forest, only whispers. And the whispers asked him to make a deal.


    Jencer didn¡¯t like birds. That was something Wegrel had learned early when traveling with him. While at sea whenever a sea bird would fly past he¡¯d go belowdecks. On land he¡¯d hide indoors whenever he saw them or regularly send his shadows after them to amuse himself. Now that he was completely in control of the city there were whole legions of shadows tasked with keeping them out. Initially, Wegrel had learned, he¡¯d been afraid to use the Amulet to its full potential. But now, protected by the Eye of the Phoenix Jencer was raising as many ghosts as possible, willing to slaughter an entire city. Now, there were no birds for miles around, only shadows.


    Wegrel looked up at the sky and saw some strange shapes passing high above them. Strange in that they looked very much like birds. Jencer didn¡¯t notice, he was asleep and reeking of alcohol in the most comfortable bed they¡¯d been able to find and restore in the ruined city.


    Wegrel had been instructed to defend Jencer from anything dangerous but he had no such instructions regarding chasing away birds and so he merely watched. He watched as the shapes grew closer and closer, circling high above the city. He watched as tiny shapes seemed to split off from the birds, to leap from their backs almost. But no, surely that couldn¡¯t make sense. What kind of birds-?


    Wegrel stopped thinking as the shapes crashed into the city and exploded into great billowing fumes of something. He instinctively held his breath but then realised that he didn¡¯t need to breathe so he just floated there in shock. He couldn¡¯t see anything, he had no idea what those shapes had been or what was going on. This was obviously some sort of attack but he had no idea what to do, he was blind in the black fog.


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    Then he heard the skittering.


    Jencer awoke to the burning eye of the Phoenix struggling to purge the deadly toxic fumes from his lungs. He hacked and coughed and his mouth and eyes burned as whatever it was ate away at him. He couldn¡¯t see anything, he couldn¡¯t breathe, he could barely think. But he could still command his shadows mentally.


    He brought them all around him and made them spin, flying and whirling around him in a deadly swirl that drove away the fumes. Coughing and gagging he stood up, the burning in his chest and face slowly subsiding as the burning eye at his chest healed him. Then he saw the spiders.


    Before he could command his hordes of shadows to stop them they leapt onto him and began tearing into his newly healed flesh. He staggered back and almost fell into the swirling mass of shadows keeping the fumes at bay, but he didn¡¯t. Instead he battered away the spiders and commanded some of the spirits to help him in prying them off and killing them. The pain was intense, the swarm was unending and the fear that he¡¯d been in this position before and barely lived rattled him to the bone. This time though he had the Eye of the Phoenix, he couldn¡¯t die while he had that, and he had far more spirits.


    He commanded them to tell him what was going on and of course Wegrel knew what was going on, when didn¡¯t he? There were shapes in the sky, shapes that were dropping out of the sky and filling his city with spiders and poison fumes. He didn¡¯t need all his spirits down here, some of them he sent up to kill whatever it was attacking him in the sky. He just hoped it wasn¡¯t the same monstrous bird that had given him his scars in the first place.


    Kulrod watched his many hundreds of corpses leap into the city, each one of them packed with both deadly toxic fumes and hordes of spiders made from the small bones and tendons those corpses no longer needed. He hoped that it would be enough to kill Jencer but he wasn¡¯t expecting it to work, and sure enough only minutes after the attack had begun the deadly shadows began billowing out of the clouds of poison. Kulrod leapt from his floating flesh fortress and dived toward them. He had no idea if this would work but there wasn¡¯t much else to try. If he couldn¡¯t kill the shadows he¡¯d never reach Jencer and if he couldn¡¯t reach Jencer he may as well give up now. So he dove, because while it was perhaps unlikely he could kill the shadows with Feather it was even less likely that they could kill him. He was a sorcerer, and they were already dead.


    It was a long way down to the city, he¡¯d purposely flown as high as he possibly could to keep his birds and animals away from the hordes of shadows and so it took him a long time to fall. He could see the world spread out before him, the great coast that he¡¯d recently picked clean of corpses, the hill and cave where Sered and his men now hid, awaiting the outcome of the battle, and the great fume choked city below him, out of which flew a horde of shadows. He fell so fast they barely saw him and none of them were expecting someone like him.


    Feather, an artifact made by a sky god, tore through shadows made by an artifact of a war god. The sky god won. All around Kulrod shadows shattered into ethereal dust and dissipated. He summoned the great wings his sword granted him and flung himself out of the way of the shadows before they could realise what happened. A few of their ethereal weapons swung at places he¡¯d been but he was far too fast for them. He came around for another pass and they wilted before him. The sword seemingly moving the air and wind itself to drive his foes toward it.


    Even though most of the shadows were down in the city keeping the fumes and spiders at bay there were still a sizeable number of them and Kulrod received many wounds and scars as he dispatched them all. But dispatch them all he did and he hovered high above the poison choked city, his wounds slowly healing in the midst of an empty battlefield. He looked down at the swirling horde of shadows, now very visible in the hole they made in the fumes. He shifted his body around, ensuring nothing important was yet to heal, then dived into the city.


    Jencer staggered through his city, his protective circle of spirits moving with him. They were doing well at keeping the spiders at bay now but the fog was starting to grow so thick it had begun to leak through the wall and he was struggling to breathe again. But he had enough breath left to think, to plan. There was a tower, mostly destroyed, but partially intact and hopefully tall enough to reach out of these choking clouds.


    So he ran that way, his shadows mowing down hordes of spiders beyond the little protective circle they made for him and the terrible black fog mostly kept at bay. Yet he was coughing and choking on it anyway and he was staggering and slipping through the ruins of the city. He was tired, it had been a long time since he¡¯d had to run like this, since he¡¯d had to run for his life. The fog choked him, the ruins bucked up and down beneath him and his magical necklaces hung heavy on his neck, the Eye of the Phoenix burning hot as it burned the poison away. Too hot.


    He reached the tower and began to climb, some of the stairs crumbling away beneath him until he was crawling. He was sweating now too, the Eye burning away at his chest, his hands slippery with sweat as he struggled to climb through the crumbling tower.


    Then he was back in the Forest of Topaz and the heat was unbearable as Raqos, the demon lord of fire himself gazed down upon him, offering him a deal, offering him a way out.


    He reached the top of the tower and it was choked in poison and spiders too. But there were less of them and he began to breathe more easily, he began to calm himself, the forest began to fade.


    Then something impossibly fast landed on the tower next to his swarm of shadows. He flinched away from it, still on his hands and knees like the helpless creature he was. He fought down his panic, whatever was out there couldn¡¯t get to him through his wall of shadows, he was safe, he was-


    A blade sliced through the swarm of shadows and they dissipated before it. A great gaping hole opened up in the impenetrable swirling wall as the wind itself seemed to drive the shadows into the blade. Beyond the hole stood a terrifying figure, great wings and blade all dripping with the poisonous fumes and staring down at him with rageful golden eyes.


    The poison and spiders all plunged through the gap in the barrier and swarmed him, covering his body, his face, his lungs. All thoughts, all plans, all hope was gone and even the forest began to flicker away.


    Sobbing, utterly defeated he reached up and touched the blazing topaz. He accepted a deal with Raqos.


    Demons are free to alter the bodies and possessions of those who have entered deals with them but they may only perform a certain number of great and powerful acts upon the greater world when hidden away in their realms. Usually they save these acts for situations of great emergency but Raqos, having dealt with Venesstrifect, the Plague Elemental, is dying. He has no qualms about using as much power as possible in these times.


    Naya the old apothecary stood atop weary old legs atop a weary old hill and watched the city in the distance. It was choked with a fog she¡¯d help make, a fog that should kill everything in it almost immediately. But Kulrod still hadn¡¯t returned to them victorious. She¡¯d suspected as much, there was something more to Jencer than his shadows. Something that had let him survive the poison her student had administered to him. Freyan had thought she¡¯d hidden her secret activities from Naya but Naya was far more aware than she realised. She knew many things about what happened in the city. At least, until now.


    Sered stood beside her watching as well, once a would be conqueror, now a lowly vagabond with naught to show for his brush with greatness but an undead horse that was unlikely to last much longer before it rotted away.


    ¡°He¡¯s learned a few new tricks since he was with me,¡± Sered said, looking up at the great undead beasts cobbled together from many corpses circling high above the city. ¡°Makes you wonder how that scarred man¡¯s still alive.¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± Naya replied. ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with Jencer, something keeping him alive. Something-¡±


    They had to both shield their eyes as the city was swept by a huge blast of flame. It was over as quickly as it came and they stood blinking in the darkness. The fog had all burned away leaving the city clear and visible again.


    ¡°That poison is water-based,¡± Naya said. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be flammable.¡±


    Sered grimaced. ¡°The fog may not be flammable but Kulrod is.¡±


    Jencer leapt to his feet as all the fog and spiders were burnt away. Before him the sorcerer stood wreathed in flames, his wings, his clothes, his hair, all alight. But he didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    Before the first swing of that deadly blade could come Jencer sent every spirit he had to swarm the burning figure before him. They heaped atop him, a flood of shadows and death and the burning sorcerer met them. Packed as closely as they were each of his swings took huge swathes out of the shadowy army. Tens of them, hundreds, dissipated before him. But there were still hundreds left.


    They tore into him, plunging their shadowy weapons and blades into his flesh, spraying burning sorcerer blood across the tower. Yet still he swung and with each swing he chopped their numbers in half. For he was a sorcerer and by themselves the shadows couldn¡¯t kill him, but Jencer knew what needed to be done.


    Keeping back from the sprays of acidic blood he commanded his spirits to close in on the arm that held the devastating blade. To chip away at it and take the hand from the arm and the sword from the hand. But the sorcerer was fast, each time the shadows congealed on the arm he would rip it free from their blades and drive them back with another great swing. There were a mere twenty spirits left now, then ten, then five.


    Then a great towering shadow, one Jencer had never seen before, loomed behind the sorcerer, drew an axe from somewhere and hacked through the sorcerer¡¯s wrist. The hand fell away to the side, the blade shearing through another shadow and then a different spirit caught it.


    Wegrel bought Jencer the blade and before the burning, bleeding, amputated sorcerer could flee he drove it through his chest, the cut impossibly clean. The sorcerer looked up at him, somehow those angry golden eyes had survived the whole assault from the shadows.


    ¡°The... the...¡± he spluttered.


    All his injuries healed by the Eye and Raqos Jencer responded quietly. ¡°I am an amalgamation of two people stitched together by the magic of Auriomauch, I am a magic creature.¡± He smiled an ugly smile twisted by his black scars.


    ¡°The... council will stop you...¡± the sorcerer spluttered as he died. ¡°The council will kill you...¡±


    Jencer stood up as his foe slumped to the ground and died. Around him hovered a mere four shadows, Wegrel, the tall mysterious one, and two others. He had gained a magic blade and slain a sorcerer with it but still he was afraid. He had made a deal with Raqos, one of the most temperamental of demons, and now there was a mysterious council he had to worry about. He looked at the four shadows remaining. Perhaps it was time to lay low for a while.


    Naya, Sered and the rest of his band watched the great monstrous birds Kulrod had built tumble away into the ocean. He¡¯d decided that they would have been too easy for the spirits to kill and so had left them in reserve. They fell for a long time.


    Behind them Sered¡¯s horse slumped away and came apart as it did, dying along with all of Kulrod¡¯s other creations.


    ¡°We should leave,¡± Sered said and Naya nodded.


    As they saddled other horses Naya found the one man who was still watching the city. Sengrid Tull, the man she¡¯d only recently cured from the nefarious poisons of his brother.


    ¡°If we leave will she ever find me again?¡± he asked.


    Naya wasn¡¯t the best at comforting patients, that skill had never been in high demand when she¡¯d trained as a ninja. ¡°If you stay, you¡¯ll likely die and then she¡¯ll never find you again.¡±


    Sengrid nodded sadly and then stood up slowly to join the others. The poison had left him slow and weak. She looked down at her old body, just like her. Poisons or no poisons roaming the wartorn world alone would be dangerous for people like them. She didn¡¯t trust Sered but right now he was the best hope they had of staying safe. So they climbed into her cart filled with all her supplies and rode off with him and his band. Fleeing from a city they thought to be full of shadows.


    Wegrel waited in the Amulet as Jencer found his own way without shadows to help him. There were only four of them now and he was scared, even when he¡¯d been worried about the contract Wegrel had never seen him this scared. So they all hid inside the Amulet to lessen the chances of him being recognised.


    Wegrel knew two of the shadows who remained. One was Keya, a washerwoman from some village Jencer had visited when he¡¯d been plagued by birds. He knew rather a lot about her in fact as she was all too happy to talk. The other was Faros, one of the thugs from Salara¡¯s gang who Wegrel had known while they¡¯d both been alive.


    But the last shadow he had never seen before, even Keya had never seen him before. That shadow had cut the hand from the sorcerer in that great battle. He was a powerful warrior, even more so now that he was a shadow. So far he hadn¡¯t spoken to the other three but Wegrel was determined to speak with him at some point. Because while Jencer seemed unstoppable with his Eye of the Phoenix and whatever trick he¡¯d pulled to burn away the sorcerer¡¯s attack, he was afraid of a great many things. And one of the things he was afraid of was that shadow. Wegrel was determined to find out why.

 The Umberlago

    The Wilderness was not like any other forest in the world. There were other magical forests such as the Deepwood and the Deadwood but those were limited, those did not go on forever. There were monsters in the depths of the Wilderness that gods and demons feared, monsters beyond the edges of the world itself. That was why the Wilderness was perfect for those wishing to hide from all manner of gods and demons. The perfect home for the medusae.


    Rana stepped out of her cave and into the pouring rain. She ignored the rain, ignored the mud and ignored the sinking feeling of hopelessness in her stomach. She walked down the muddy riverbank to the river to fetch water using the old waterskin Sessryn still had. They were running out of food again, she¡¯d need to go hunting tomorrow. Initially she hadn¡¯t minded hunting, she¡¯d been good at it even. But then they¡¯d run out of arrows. Things were much more difficult now.


    She reached the river and as she knelt down to fill the waterskin she saw it. A huge boar, bigger and wilder than any she¡¯d ever seen even in great feasts, dead and lying half in the river upstream. But it wasn¡¯t just dead, it had been torn near in half and left to lie there, torn in half by something even bigger and wilder than the boar.


    She hovered there for a minute, her eyes fixed on the boar and her hands a few inches above the rushing water. She couldn¡¯t fill up her waterskin here, the river was befouled, but she wasn¡¯t worried about that. She was worried about what had done this to the boar. For a whole minute she waited and listened and heard nothing but the rain. If whatever it was was here it was being quiet.


    Very slowly she stood back up and made her way up the river, her eyes flicking back and forth, searching for anything lurking among the rain and trees. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her hands were slippery with rain and sweat. The rain kept dripping into her eyes and she had to blink constantly to keep it out, making her feel blind and exposed.


    There were certain animals she knew of that perhaps could have done that to a boar. Perhaps a large bear or tiger, but she imagined most such animals wouldn¡¯t have simply left the body in the river. They killed for food not for whatever had happened here.


    She reached the spot in the river where the boar lay and looked at it more closely. It was on the other side of the river but even from where she stood she could see the ripped flesh and broken bones. Something had disemboweled this boar and then abandoned it. She filled up the waterskin in the unfouled water and then left. She hoped to never see what it was.


    Sessryn was sick, she¡¯d been shot in the shoulder many days ago by those strange men that weren¡¯t men with too big eyes. They¡¯d hidden in a cave and dressed the wound, protecting it from infection and rot but even so she was old and in the cold and the rain she was sick.


    Rana, the black-lipped woman returned from the river with the waterskin, walking in from the rain with water pouring down from her. Her mouth was black and scarred, marked eternally by lies, and her eyes were wide and fearful, Sessryn hadn¡¯t seen her scared like that for a long time, not since they¡¯d run from the men that weren¡¯t men.


    ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, knowing that she wouldn¡¯t get a straight answer. It was difficult, trying to understand Rana.


    The scarred woman set down the waterskin and thought for a moment, clutching at her necklace as she tried to think of what to say. ¡°There was not a wild boar down by the river. Had there been one it would not have been ripped to shreds. There are no monsters in these wilds.¡±


    Sessryn resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the stream of lies and trick sentences and instead tried to decipher it. Picking her way through these childish riddles was her life now. Gods and demons how she hated magic.


    ¡°There is a boar down by the river ripped to shreds by some big monster. Did you see the monster?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Rana replied so immediately that Sessryn almost believed her before she remembered herself. Okay, so they didn¡¯t know what the monster was. There were plenty of monsters that lurked about in the Wilderness. She¡¯d killed plenty of them back in the army. Some had even been big enough to rip a boar apart. But the two of them, alone deep in the forest without arrows wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against any such monster.


    She looked up at the horse they still had, tied to a rock in the cave resting. If such a monster found them they¡¯d just have to run.


    The next day the monster found them. Rana was sleeping with dreams drenched in sticky black ink when two small empty eyes began to peer out of the torrent no matter which way she turned. She found herself in the cave, still wrapped in the tendrils of sleep with the afterimage of the eyes staring at her from the cave wall. Slowly her mind caught up with her surroundings and the eyes faded away back into the dream. But she didn¡¯t, something was wrong.


    She slowly turned over to face the mouth of the cave, it was still raining and the sound of the rain drowned out any other noise from outside. She kept turning and saw the horse, silent and shivering, desperately straining on its rope. She shook Sessryn awake as quietly as possible and then crawled ever so quietly to the mouth of the cave.


    She peered out through the rain, through the trees and saw nothing. Just the plants and rain and clouds beyond them. They¡¯d been lucky in finding a cave on a hill with a good view of the surrounding wilds. Had there been any raging monster crashing through trees down below she¡¯d have seen it. But instead she just saw the rain and the forest.


    Beside her Sessryn woozily mumbled something and Rana tried to shush her but her throat caught and she choked on a sound that wasn¡¯t a lie. She recovered quickly though and never lost focus on her rain-drenched surroundings. Which was when she saw it.


    It had been there the whole time, blending in, not with the forest, but with the clouds and the rain. A creature tall and mistlike with great shadowy arms stretching down among the trees turned slowly around, moving slowly through the still gray dullness of the sky. One hand lifted up, a huge claw that looked far more real and physical than the rest of the monster¡¯s misty form. The claw wove its way seamlessly back through the trees and onto the ground and with that great step the monster turned fully around, revealing its head. Revealing its two small empty eyes.


    The two of them untied the horse, mounted it and ran. Gathering the things they¡¯d packed last night in case of something like this. Within moments they were out of the cave and galloping through the forest but within moments the monster was threading its way through the trees toward them. It was so tall and while it didn¡¯t seem to move quickly it covered great distance with each stride of its huge legs. Rana took the horse¡¯s reigns and didn¡¯t look back but she could feel those eyes boring into the back of her head. Those empty hollow eyes that still burned as an afterimage in the corner of her vision, leftover from her dream.


    The horse ran, twisting and turning through the mud and foliage, crashing its way through trees and branches awkwardly. He was not made to run through dense wilds, unlike the monster. Rana didn¡¯t know where they were going and soon realised she had little control over the horse at all. He was simply leading them away as fast as possible and she and Sessryn were clinging on for dear life. With that in mind she glanced a look back, a flick of the head to gauge just how close it was to them.


    That flick of the head was all it took to fill her with terror. The monster loomed over them, easily within striking distance, easily keeping pace, one claw raised to slowly lower down next to them as it took its next huge monstrous step. The misty body filling the sky and the too small head with the too small empty eyes looking down at them.


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    Rana turned back to hug the horse¡¯s mane and trembled with cold and fear. The eyes burning away on the edges of her vision like empty lights. Eyes full not of malice, but curiosity.


    She didn¡¯t know how long they ran. She didn¡¯t even know why they were running anymore when it was so clear that the monster could catch them if it wished. She only knew that they ran off in a random direction until the monster left them and then they ran some more. Stopping only when they saw a light through the trees, a light that looked warm and homely and welcoming. The horse seemed eager to head toward it but Rana pulled him to a halt, all three of them were sweating and trembling and Rana swore she could hear each of their hammering heartbeats.


    Slowly she caught her breath and then spoke to the others. ¡°We know that light is safe,¡± she lied and then waited for Sessryn to respond. It was infuriating how long the woman seemed to take to translate Rana¡¯s relatively simple lies. Sal had been able to do it instantly and she swore Sessryn actively took time to mentally roll her eyes at the whole situation before figuring out what had been said. Rana was tempted to not speak at all most of the time.


    ¡°We should investigate,¡± Sessryn responded eventually. ¡°If it is somewhere safe we¡¯ll want to be there in case that thing comes back.¡±


    Rana nodded and dismounted. ¡°I will not investigate. Do not wait here,¡± she set off before Sessryn even had a chance to translate. Putting into practise all that skill she¡¯d honed as a ranger in the Wilderness back in the old days Rana slunk through the undergrowth. It had stopped raining but everything was still wet and cold. The water crept down her hair and back and sept into her clothes. She ignored it. She may have been scarred and enslaved and forsaken but she was still a warrior of these wilds, no matter how far she might happen to wander into them. So she crept on.


    The light came from a strange little hut that sat at the crest of a great hill looking out over the forest. Outside the hut was a garden with little vegetables and a little pond inside a stone wall. The hut itself had a light on and Rana could see all the way inside through windows with no inner frames where a figure moved about. It was a large figure, a fat woman by the look of it although she moved around quickly and it was difficult to tell. Rana watched for a while and it soon became apparent that the woman was baking something inside. First she watched her chop things up, then mix things together and eventually a warm inviting smell began to ooze out of the little hut. It was at that point that Rana realised just how long she¡¯d been crouching in the cold wet wilds and she longed for a warm building and warm baking. She turned and went back to tell Sessryn.


    ¡°I am old and tired and sick,¡± Sessryn said. ¡°If it is some witch magic bullshit I¡¯d rather die inside there than out here to some mist monster.¡±


    Rana wanted to argue, she wanted to say that the mist monster had had the chance to kill them and hadn¡¯t, that they¡¯d last out here this long and that anything inside the hut had to be dangerous in some capacity to survive out here. But she couldn¡¯t bring herself to say it. She wanted to be inside a nice warm home too and arguing was so so difficult when Sessryn could barely understand her anyway. So she went along and they both walked right up to the hut and in the back of her mind Rana knew that she was using her condition as an excuse not to protest. She was letting the lies and the magic get to her. But she was too tired to fight it anymore. She walked up to the hut and knocked on the door.


    They heard bustling and shifting inside as someone moved about and then the door opened, greeting them with a wave of warm air and the smell of freshly baked cookies. A large fat woman in an apron stood in the opened door and beamed at them with a welcoming smile.


    ¡°Well well well, guests!¡± she said happily. ¡°You look dreadful darlings come in come in. Here leave your horse on the porch out of the rain.¡±


    Before they could react the woman was weaving through them to tie their horse up on the porch and then bustling them inside the nice warm hut.


    ¡°I must say you¡¯ve arrived at precisely the right time, the cookies are fresh out of the oven and I do say they¡¯re delicious. I¡¯ll get you some now darlings.¡±


    ¡°Um...¡± Sessryn said as the woman bustled off into the kitchen to fetch the cookies. ¡°Excuse me but who are you?¡± Rana didn¡¯t speak, fearful of what this woman might think of her lies but she was glad Sessryn had, she was suspicious as well. What was this homely woman doing out here in the Wilderness? There was clearly something going on.


    ¡°Oh silly me,¡± the woman said bustling back in with a plateful of cookies that she set down on the table in front of them before taking a seat in one of many plush chairs and nibbling at a cookie. ¡°I am Nettie, the Protector of the Wilds. I make sure all the monsters and beasties are playing nice and not wandering off to cause trouble in other parts of the world.¡±


    ¡°You... what?¡± Sessryn asked, still confused.


    Nettie grinned. ¡°I¡¯m a witch you could say. I help keep the balance.¡± She nibbled some more on her cookie. ¡°When a monster starts causing trouble I¡¯ll spread potions of sleep through its watering spots. When some beasties are all being eaten I¡¯ll take them in under my wing and keep them safe until they¡¯re ready to face the world again. When a monster wanders through, intent on leaving the Wilderness I¡¯ll confuse it and distract it with magics and lies and soon it¡¯ll be wandering back where it came. While I¡¯m around this part of the Wilderness all keeps in harmony.¡± She beamed again. ¡°But enough about me, what brings you here and why do you look so dreadful, have you been running from something?¡±


    Sessryn looked to Rana who stared back with eyes still full of fear and worry. But Sessryn had met witches before and they were a trustworthy lot, it wasn¡¯t that hard to believe that one might be living out here performing whatever witchcraft such a forest might need. Rana watched as Sessryn nibbled on the cookie and responded.


    ¡°We were fleeing from a monster, a great grey creature as tall as the clouds with great claws and little empty eyes.¡±


    Nettie nodded sagely while still eating her cookies. ¡°Ah yes, old Umberlago. Not evil or hungry, just curious. Often she¡¯ll just watch but more recently she¡¯s been taking creatures apart to see how they work, not a pretty sight that unfortunately.¡±


    Rana thought of the boar, torn apart and left to die just to see how it worked, that sounded pretty evil to her.


    Sessryn continued, still nibbling on the cookie. ¡°Before that we ran into some strange creatures up by the river, men that weren¡¯t men with eyes that were too big and a cave covered in symbols like the ones in Meduramanth back in the Hallowed Realm, we actually came through the tunnel from there but it¡¯s been blocked off now and-¡±


    Rana¡¯s eyes grew wide with fear, Sessryn was telling this strange woman everything! What if they couldn¡¯t trust her? What if she wasn¡¯t what she said she was? She tried to say something but her mouth twisted up in lies and in her panic she could think of nothing to say. Nettie said something instead.


    ¡°The Medusae are who you speak of,¡± she said beaming. ¡°They are the ones who built Meduramanth and first used the Ways that you used to get from Meduramanth to here. They have hid in the shadows of the human world for generations because they need humans as humans need cattle.¡±


    ¡°What?!¡± Sessryn said and tried to stand up but she slipped and fell back into her chair. While she lay there woozily Nettie continued.


    ¡°Medusae cannot breed with themselves, only with humans and the offspring of a human and a medusae is a sorcerer. That is where all sorcerers come from, medusae sneaking into the homes and lives of humans and giving them children in the guise of human women and human men. Those children are abandoned of course, left for the humans to deal with because a normal sorcerer is useless to the medusae. They need a special sorcerer and they had one but he escaped. Now they want to produce another and they need humans to do it.¡±


    ¡°Wait but...¡± Sessryn stuttered as she slowly seemed to come to her senses. Rana was struggling to process too, all she could think of was the smell of the cookies, that dizzying smell. Poisoned, of course they were poisoned. Nettie had eaten them too but who knew how the poison worked, who knew what magic was at play?


    ¡°I was exiled from medusae society after I killed others of my kind. Forsaken to live in this hut but now I hear of two women, one of child-bearing age, fleeing my people through the forest. If I were to return these women perhaps I could reclaim my home and have my crimes forgiven.¡± Nettie stood up and her great bulbous form began to change. Her fat became muscle and her weakness became strength. She was no longer a kindly fat woman but a great hulking figure looming over the two of them, a figure with the eyes of a medusae. Sessryn was too poisoned to run but Rana wasn¡¯t.


    She knew she couldn¡¯t fight in her weakened state but she could run and she did. She bounced off the door, her head spinning as the shape that used to be Nettie moved toward her. It was locked, of course it was locked, so she flung herself through the window. The windows had no inner frames and so nothing stopped her as she crashed through onto the porch.


    The shock of the cold fresh air hit her face and she clambered to her feet and ran, forgetting Sessryn, forgetting the horse, forgetting where she was going she just ran. The hut was on the crest of a hill and she ran down the hill, hearing the door flung open behind her as Nettie gave chase. The cold wind and what was left of the rain rushed past her as she ran down one ridge of the hill, then another, then...


    The sky itself turned to face her as she reached the last ridge, looking down into the forest below. But standing in that forest, looking up at her with small empty eyes, was the Umberlago.

 The Forest of Wood and the Forest of Fire

    The army marched grimly through the rain-drenched Wilderness. Their war had been lost, their queen had retreated from the world and now some of their members had started to go missing. It had started with Sessryn, an old soldier who had made the original trek out here and served in the Hallowed Company. Then they¡¯d marched far from their original camp, leaving the secret tunnel behind. But something had followed them.


    The scouts and outriders had confirmed it, finding huge clawed footprints in the mud and in one case seeing a great shadow crawling across the horizon. They had also heard chains, clinking and rattling in the quiet nights and found great tracks made by huge chains being dragged across the ground.


    There were many theories and some of the oldest and wisest among them had many suggestions as to what the monster could be but it was commonly suspected that it had been chained deep underground and when they¡¯d collapsed the tunnel it had been released somehow.


    At first it had only taken outriders one at a time so they¡¯d paired them up but then the pairs had started to disappear. Now only groups of five or more went scouting but the monster would take those as well. But it had grown bolder than that.


    It was raining and Arthus struggled to keep the cold wind from reaching the card table in front of him. He had the worst seat in the table, with this backside to the outside of the tent all the rain and cold reached him most of all. What was worse was that he was losing badly at cards.


    ¡°You can¡¯t play flowers onto tridents like that,¡± Ragava reprimanded him as he played a card.


    ¡°But you did it before-¡±


    ¡°That was in the betting round,¡± she snickered. ¡°You can¡¯t-¡±


    They all heard it and the whole card table turned to look out into the rain and darkness beyond, where the scream had come from. Card game abandoned they picked up weapons and ran out into the campsite, splashing and sliding through the mud and rain. There were screams, more of them now, louder and more terrified coming from across the camp but worst of all there was clanging and rattling. Like the rattling of chains.


    Arthus could see nothing in the dark rain and he didn¡¯t notice the great flailing length of chain until it crashed down beside him and splashed him with mud. He stopped in shock, it was a huge chain, and it had been moving fast enough to cut him in half. Then it whipped away back into the darkness, back to the tent that the monster had attacked.


    The tent was in ruins, flailing and whipping around as the dark slithering shape tore through it, devouring all inside. Arthus had no idea what he was going to do when he reached that writhing shape. His spear, that he¡¯d trained for so long to use, seemed insignificant compared to that shape. Sliding and slipping on the mud he slowed himself to a stop. The screaming had stopped, the monster was still thrashing about, tangled in the tent and the chains. He saw a glint of something out of the corner of his eye, something shiny in the rain, moving too fast.


    He threw himself to the muddy ground and felt the chain whip over him as the monster flung itself around. He heard a great tearing sound and looked up to see a huge claw rip through the canvas of what was left of the tent. Inside the tent was darkness and out of the darkness came eyes. So many furious eyes all glaring down at him from within a huge dark shape that he soon realised was merely the monster¡¯s head, it was huge.


    He lunged. Somehow lying prone in the mud facing such a terrifying being, he found it within himself to pick up his spear and hurl himself at those eyes. The monster moved and his blow was only a glancing one, but he wasn¡¯t sure a perfect lunge would have had much impact anyway. Then one of the claws, and there were so many claws, flung at him and while he avoided the razor sharp points the creature¡¯s great hand slapped him and the world spun around him, the air driven from his lungs. He remembered hitting something and then little after that.


    The Inkdrop Queen sat in the Forest of Topaz and meditated. All around her was the comforting glow of the gemstones, so warm, so inviting. Much more inviting than the cold harsh reality she actually lived in. Here she could forget the sorceress she¡¯d angered. She could forget the monsters and darkness of the Wilderness around her. She could forget the wound her father had given her so long ago, the wound that had taken her name.


    She felt hands on her shoulders, shaking her, trying to wake her from her meditation. She didn¡¯t want to wake up. She wanted to stay in the warmth, where Raqos could protect her. She had to stay where it was safe. Where she could forget-


    Something hit her, something cold and wet and not from the Forest of Topaz. She staggered back and the world flickered away with her flickering eyelids. She groaned and slowly regained her footing in the dark dark cold world. She was back now, she didn¡¯t want to be back.


    She couldn¡¯t see anything as her eyes adjusted to the new darkness but she recognised the shape of her sister. Ayessa had been wounded by their father too, she had the worst of it, unable to tell the truth. Yet right now the Inkdrop Queen didn¡¯t care, she just wanted to return to her warmth.


    ¡°Did you... did you hit me?¡±


    Ayessa grunted in response. ¡°No,¡± she said spitefully.


    Another figure spoke and the Inkdrop Queen realised with a start that there was someone else in the tent with them. ¡°Your majesty,¡± one of Ayessa¡¯s most trusted generals spoke. ¡°The monster has attacked the camp, we lost a whole tent full of soldiers before we managed to drive it away with spears and bows. It is growing stronger, we must do something, we must-¡±


    ¡°What-¡± the Inkdrop Queen hissed. ¡°-would you have me do?¡± She glared up at this new figure, now growing irrationally angry at being awoken from her meditation. ¡°We have already doubled the guard, we¡¯ve been patrolling to learn where it is but we can never find it. This monster is not something we can defeat.¡± She looked away and spoke more quietly. ¡°We never should have come here.¡±


    ¡°Well we need to-¡±


    ¡°Leave me!¡± she shouted at the general, sitting back down on her bed. She was cold, so very cold, she missed her forest. There was nothing for her here.


    The general stood there for a second and she worried for a moment he was going to disobey her. Then he left. Ayessa looked down at her, it was hard to tell in the dark but it looked like her face was full of pity.


    ¡°Get out,¡± the Queen told her angrily.


    Ayessa spat at the Queen¡¯s face and then turned and left the tent. Not long ago the Queen would have had her punished brutally for disrespect like that. But now she didn¡¯t care. Now all she wanted was the warmth and comfort of her forest. She tried to achieve the peace and tranquility she needed to get back. She¡¯d been getting better at it, the more she went the easier it became, like putting on well-worn boots. This time though, she would never make it.


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    The shouts and cries outside penetrated her tranquility and while she eventually managed to tune it out by then the soldiers had finished riling themselves up and entered her tent. Dizzy and confused she did little to stop them dragging her from the tent and rising up against her. They stripped her of her crown, her tent and its contents, and all the wealth and influence she used to command the army.


    They left her in the Wilderness well outside the camp with the clothes on her back, a few scraps of food, warnings of what would happen should she return, and her sword. The Cleanser of Names. No one else wanted to use the sword of black ink magic that many thought had gotten them into this mess.


    She staggered through the cold wet forest, unable to tell if the water on her face was rain or tears. She didn¡¯t know where she went in the dark, she didn¡¯t know which way the camp was or which way the monster was. She just staggered along until she found a fallen tree and collapsed under that. Shivering and shaking she desperately reached for her forest, for safety. She found it and she slept. Within the topaz all around her Raqos stirred.


    She awoke in the cold forest. The branches and leaves she¡¯d fallen into formed something of a sheltering hole for her to rest in and through the night her body had warmed it into something resembling comfort despite the many branches digging into her. The cold still hurt though, so she reached for her forest and it burned her.


    She cried out in shock as Raqos raged against her. The god of fire didn¡¯t speak but he made her understand and he made her fear.


    ¡°You are no queen! Not anymore! You are no use to me now!¡±


    She almost screamed as he burned her but it was over so quickly and she was lying in the Wilderness once more, trembling and cold. She lay there in shock for a long time, unable to muster the will to move. It had been taken from her, everything. She no longer had her safe place to retreat to. She just had reality. She lay on the ground and trembled for a long time.


    She could think, she couldn¡¯t move, but she could think. And everything she thought about just made her want to lie there more. She had nothing. She didn¡¯t have an army, she didn¡¯t have a home, she didn¡¯t have her sister. She wasn¡¯t even... she wasn¡¯t... What had Raqos said? She wasn¡¯t a-


    It wasn¡¯t a branch digging into her. She¡¯d felt that only once before. It was the blade. Terrified she¡¯d lose even more to the blade she leapt to her feet and scrambled out of the nest of branches and leaves, the cold forgotten, the hopelessness forgotten. She wasn¡¯t a Queen, she wasn¡¯t the Inkdrop Queen. The blade had almost taken even that title from her.


    She looked down at it lying in the nest in the scabbard scrawled with spiralling symbols. She didn¡¯t want to pick it up, what if it was the source of all of her problems? But it had saved her, in its own way. Without it she might have just lain there forever and died.


    Still shaking from the cold she picked it up and hooked the scabbard to her belt. It was all she had. She ate the scraps of food she¡¯d been left with and set off downhill. Walking downhill wasn¡¯t guaranteed to lead out of the Wilderness but in general it seemed to slope down, back toward civilization. And going down was easier, she needed easy things at the moment.


    She didn¡¯t know how long she walked. Luckily it had stopped raining and the sun was out, drying the dew on the trees and drying her clothes that had been drenched last night. She was lucky to be alive. If the rain had kept on she would have definitely died out here without her forest to retreat to.


    Far too quickly for her liking the sun began to set and she began to search for a place to rest. She could no longer just collapse into the bush and rely on Raqos to keep her alive, she needed somewhere safe from the rain and the elements. A cave perhaps, or some sort of shelter.


    She saw a towering cliff in the distance and moved toward that. There were towering pillars of rock all around it. Surely there had to be caves or holes or something she could spend the night in. The sun had almost gone by the time she reached it and a few stray clouds were beginning to move back over the sky. She didn¡¯t want to be caught out in the rain.


    She found a small gap between two of the rocks, sheltered overhead, and crawled into it. Twisting around to face the Wilderness outside. She could see most of the rest of the cliff face and she was somewhat high up, giving her a good view over a large part of the Wilderness. As the sun set lower and lower lights started to appear out there. The lights of her army. She could see them, they weren¡¯t that far away. She could easily reach them tomorrow, providing she lived that long. But they¡¯d warned her not to return. They would kill her, just like everything else in this forest. She was alone.


    She awoke to screams and quickly realised they were coming from the camp. From her army. The monster was clearly back and who knew how many would be lost to it this time. She couldn¡¯t see anything from where she was save for the lights of the camp and she knew that the best thing to do was simply go back to sleep but without her comfortable forest to retreat to she¡¯d been sleeping fitfully and now she did not sleep at all.


    The screaming eventually stopped and she prayed the monster had been driven off. She prayed her army had not lost too many lives. That was all she could do now, pray.


    Then all her prayers came true. A dark shape, heralded only by the sound of chains clinking on stone, slithered its way up the cliff not far from where she hid. The shape disappeared into some cave deep within the darkness of the cliffside. She couldn¡¯t see nothing and quickly the clinking of chains quieted to nothing. She lay there frozen in shock, unable to move, barely able to breathe for fear the monster could hear her. She was paralysed with terror and the cold of night began to set in. She wanted her forest, she wanted her warmth and safety. She couldn¡¯t be out here, mere metres from that terrible monster.


    She... she... she felt it again. Something digging into her side and knowing what it was she grabbed it and moved the scabbard away from her. She¡¯d moved, her hand had moved. She could move, she wasn¡¯t trapped. Her heart still hammering and her breath coming in choked gasps she slowly, ever so slowly crawled out of her hole. It became easier as she crawled, as the great monster moved slowly to the back of her mind and she focussed only on crawling. Slowly her heart stopped hammering and she began to regain her breathing. Slowly she emerged from her hole and then fled back into the forest, away from that cliffside, the Cleanser of Names hanging at her hip.


    She had nowhere to sleep and instead she sat down on a log in the darkness. It wasn¡¯t raining and so she merely stared up at the cliffside, at the cave where she¡¯d seen the monster crawl. It was there, probably eating the soldiers it had taken from her army, or maybe asleep. When did it sleep? It was never out during the day.


    She sat there and thought for the whole night and slowly she started to realise things. She had no army, she had no hope, she was lost in the middle of a vast jungle slowly starving to death, but she had a sword, and maybe that sword could kill the monster. Maybe she could still be of some use to someone even if she was destined to die herself.


    The forest flickered in the back of her mind, just out of reach. But she didn¡¯t reach for it, she looked up at the night and faced reality. She waited quietly for the morning to come.


    The monster didn¡¯t sleep as humans slept. It was aware of its surroundings and so it did not fear sleeping in its relatively exposed cave. It knew when animals wandering by caught its scent and fled. It knew when the  sun rose and chased away the clouds of night. And it knew when a strange human walked brazenly up to its cave. It watched her curiously as she climbed for a while. She was weak and scared and pathetic, even for a human. What was she doing here?


    The monster opened its many eyes and crawled forward to look down at her out of its cave. She looked up and it could sense her fear, she reeked of it. But then she drew a sword, that sword. The sword that had taken the monster¡¯s name. The monster had killed the wielder of that sword once but it had been injured, with a wound that would never heal. It knew not what being wounded again would do.


    It fled. The Monster of the Ways, the Scourge of Meduramanth, Devourer of Medusae, Bearer of the Chain. It fled before a weak, scared human with a sword. It knew it could kill her but it didn¡¯t know if it could avoid that sword and it wasn¡¯t worth the risk. Not when it could leave the humans who¡¯d almost left the Wilderness anyway. Not when it could instead hunt its favourite prey that it knew dwelt further in the Wilderness. The medusae, now lacking, apparently, their most powerful weapon.

 The Liar on the Mountain

    It was curious, the monster, she remembered that despite the haze filling her brain. It was curious and only killed things to see how they worked on the inside. It had chased her before and had the chance to kill her but it hadn¡¯t, maybe she was more interesting to it alive. She stood on a hill and it stood on the ground below but still it was tall enough to look down on her, so it did, with those small empty eyes. She looked up at it, fearing that any moment the other monster chasing her would catch up, but instead she looked up into the eyes of the Umberlago and smiled with her scarred black lips. Its eyes seemed to fix on those, on the scars, and as she stood there, trembling with fear and cold, the Umberlago¡¯s huge claws lifted up from the ground and came slowly down to touch her scars. It was curious after all.


    She heard movement behind her, the sound of the enraged medusae crashing down the hill after her. She spoke to the Umberlago, its great claws retracting as her mouth opened. She didn¡¯t know why she spoke, even if it could understand her she¡¯d be lying all the same. But she spoke anyway and the Umberlago listened.


    ¡°I am the prisoner of the medusae,¡± she lied. ¡°I am their captive to bear their monstrous children and to never escape. I am truly lost.¡±


    The monster lifted its gaze to look up at the huge medusae barrelling down the hill toward them. Rana was close to it now, she could make out the grey fur hidden behind the mist that gathered around it and see the great black claws dripping with dew from the forest floor. The great claws had felt cold on her face when the monster had touched her and it felt cold even through her clothes when they curled around her body and lifted her from the hillside. The Umberlago whisked her away into the mist.


    Sessryn awoke to pain. She¡¯d been growing old and trekking through the Wilderness for days had not been kind to her but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt now. They¡¯d dragged her through the forest apparently, dragged her from that witch¡¯s hut back to the cave of the medusae. The woman wasn¡¯t a witch, she remembered. That had been a lie, she was a medusae disguised as a witch to capture them with the cookies. The cookies had been poisoned, the medusae, Nettie, had eaten them yet they¡¯d been poisoned anyway. Another lie. There seemed to be no end to the lies in this godforsaken forest.


    She rolled over and realised she was on a cold stone floor in a cold stone cell. Light came from off up the hallway and illuminated the walls of the cell that were etched with those same spiralling symbols, the medusae¡¯s symbols.


    She sat up slowly, wincing at the pain in her body, it was a struggle to keep from crying out. But she must have made some noise because someone she couldn¡¯t see from another cell heard her moving and responded, with a voice she recognised.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± Nettie said grimly and Sessryn winced in surprise and pain. She laid her back against the wall and tried to sit comfortably. She wanted to ignore this woman who¡¯d tricked her. She didn¡¯t want to have to deal with any more lies or magic or whatever other bullshit this forest had to offer. But she knew she had to talk to her, she had to find out as much as she could, even if it turned out to be false. So after sitting against the wall swallowing her pride for some time she responded.


    ¡°You¡¯re locked up too?¡± she asked coldly.


    Nettie chuckled with her homely voice. ¡°Yes,¡± she replied sadly. ¡°Yes I am. As it turns out bringing back just one woman, especially one so old, wasn¡¯t enough to guarantee my freedom, so here I am with you.¡±


    Sessryn felt hope, Nettie hadn¡¯t brought back Rana. She remembered that Rana hadn¡¯t eaten any of the cookies, perhaps she¡¯d avoided the poison, perhaps she¡¯d escaped.


    ¡°What happened to R-, to my companion?¡±


    Nettie chuckled some more. ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry we know her name, her friend was forced to tell us everything. Well, I say us but I suppose I¡¯m as much of an outsider now as you.¡± Nettie sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to Rana. She was taken by the Umberlago before I could capture her.¡±


    ¡°By the...¡± Sessryn struggled to remember, ¡°the monster from the mist?¡±


    ¡°Yes, the monster. I¡¯ve seen it take things before, to study them I suppose, but I¡¯ve never seen them return, so I wouldn¡¯t hold out too much hope for Rana.¡±


    Sessryn sat in the cell and tried to drown out the many pains of her body with her thoughts but her thoughts were no comfort either.


    Rana was still dizzy from inhaling the poisonous fumes of the cookies and that, combined with the low air pressure from the height the Umberlago took her to caused her to pass out. When she awoke she was incredibly woozy and it took her a long time to realise what she was looking at.


    She was looking at the world. She was atop a mountain, a huge flat mountaintop and before her was the Wilderness stretching off ahead. She could see the end of the Wilderness and the Greenlands beyond, the farms and kingdoms and countries little more than specks from where she lay. She feared to go too close to the edge of the cliff and instead she rolled over slowly to look back. Beyond her more mountains towered ever higher and higher, stretching off into the distance as the mist took them. She was at the top of the world and she wasn¡¯t even close to being at the top of the Wilderness.


    It was difficult to breathe and she felt incredibly dizzy and strange but she crawled to the side of the mountain anyway and began to search for a way down. Looking at the drop almost made her feel sick it was so far but it wasn¡¯t a sheer drop. Had she been in a better state and not been trembling with fear of falling she decided that she¡¯d be able to climb down. Even so after looking for only a second she crawled back to the middle and lay there terrified. She did not want to climb down that mountain.


    After a few hours of lying atop the mountain and trying to breathe the Umberlago returned. Its claw appeared over the side and then the rest of it, led by those empty eyes. It carried with it a boar that seemed small and helpless in its huge claw. Rana scrambled to her feet as it set the boar down on the mountaintop with her and then settled back against the grey sky to watch.


    The boar, freed from the claws entrapping it immediately ran to the edge of the cliff looking for a way down. It was grunting and huffing in fear and Rana could tell it was in a state of panic. She backed away while still trying to stay as far from the edge as she could and put her hand on the hilt of her sword. The Umberlago had blessedly left her with all of her possessions.


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    The boar quickly decided there was no way down the mountain and instead spun to face Rana and the Umberlago behind her. It was terrified and panicked and it must have seen her as a threat as it ran right at her, heedless of the terrifying drop awaiting them on all sides.


    Rana drew her sword and let her instincts wash away all her fear and dizziness. She was being attacked, she knew what to do when she was being attacked. She crouched on the ground and as the boar reached her thrust all her weight into the sword, driving it cleanly through its brain. The boar died and they both slid and then panic returned as she desperately tried to extract herself from it before they both tumbled over the edge.


    She flailed and scrabbled and beneath her the ground scraped past, loose stones and gravel easing their inevitable passage toward the edge. The boar was so heavy and if it had been difficult to breathe before it was impossible now. Her brain clouded with terror and panic as she flailed helplessly and inneffectively. She was so terrified as she gasped for breath that she barely noticed as they came to a stop less than a metre from the edge.


    Eventually she extricated herself and desperately scrambled back to the middle of the mountaintop, leaving the boar with her sword stuck in it. There she sat and looked up at the Umberlago which was looking down at them both with its curious empty eyes.


    She wondered if it wanted her to talk again. She couldn¡¯t think of anything to say and was still trying to breathe properly so she said nothing at all. Then it turned away and disappeared on its long legs down the mountain. Rana sat and trembled and began to notice the many gashes the boar had given her. She went through her pack, which she¡¯d miraculously kept with her this whole time, and took out needle and thread. Slowly, painstakingly, she began to stitch herself back together.


    The Monster of the Ways stalked through the Wilderness up and up toward the Cave of the Medusae. The world had been ruled by humans for so long that it had forgotten their distinctive scent but this forest was thick with it, this forest was their home. It salivated at the thought of devouring them all.


    It was on the trail of one now, a young medusae, sent out to scout the surroundings in a hidden, camouflaged form. The medusae were the masters of lies and deception and they could hide themselves from almost anything. Almost anything.


    The monster had been hunting medusae since there had been medusae to hunt. It knew all their old tricks. They could hide their shapes by changing them in time with the swaying of the trees. They could hide their bodies by adopting shifting patterns of colours and camouflage. They could move silently through their forest and even mask their scent by overlaying it with the scents of others, but the monster could still smell them. The monster could still find them.


    The young scout was crouched atop a tall rock disguising their frail form in the colours and shapes of the rock. The monster moved toward and in days gone by it would have fallen upon them silently and devoured them before they knew they were hunted at all. But these days the monster was no longer silent, these days it had the chain. The magical chain it had originally acquired to kill a sorceress with now wrapped and wove itself hopelessly entangled among the monster¡¯s many legs. The chain dragged on the ground and bumped into things letting the medusae hear the monster long before it was in lunging distance.


    Their colours shifting and twisting, still desperately trying to blend in with the surroundings, the medusae ran. Leaping from their perch and sprinting away into the forest. The monster gave chase. The forest flew past it as it bounded and slithered after its prey. The chain slowed it down but it was still much to fast for anything on human legs to outrun it. It drew closer, closer still, as the medusae frantically bounded through the forest.


    The monster became aware of a new scent, a stronger scent. Something huge and dangerous, and everywhere. But it ignored it, it was so close to catching its prey. Then the two empty eyes appeared out of the sky and both medusae and monster screeched to a halt in surprise. There were many monsters of the Wilderness and the Umberlago was one that even the Monster of the Ways feared. An unknowable, ancient creature that tore apart creatures, strong or weak, for its own amusement. With the chain the monster was unsure it could outrun it.


    But the Umberlago was uninterested in the monster, instead its great claw descended from the sky and gathered up the petrified medusae. Then it wandered off with its new prize, leaving the monster to lurk in the forest with nothing. The monster slithered away to find somewhere it could hide from such creatures. It had been a long time since it had had to worry about things more dangerous than it.


    The Panther stalked through the forest just like their namesake, slowly picking out the trail of the Jackal, the young medusae who had not returned from scouting. The humans were gone and the presence of the Umberlago had been keeping most other monsters out of the area meaning there was, as far as they knew, no reason the Jackal would not have returned. Of course, the Umberlago could have taken them. It was an unpredictable creature, but in the past it had taken a medusae apart and since then seemed to have little interest in them.


    So the Panther followed the trail searching for any hints as to new threats that had entered their territory. And they found one. They did not recognise the marks of the dragged chain in the mud but they recognised the footprints. The nameless monster that had decimated the medusae all those years ago in Meduramanth. Now it was here and now they no longer had the blades that so terrified it, lost to civil wars and humans long ago. The Panther abandoned the search for the Jackal, they would have to find their own way home if they were alive at all. The presence of the monster made that unlikely.


    Rana sat atop the mountain and stretched her leg, testing her stitches. She had to be careful but they would hold, she could climb down the mountain. Taking a long deep breath and fighting against the panic of not getting much air when doing so she stood up and did up her pack for the last time before turning to face the side of the mountain she deemed easiest to climb down. It wasn¡¯t too steep, she knew in the right frame of mind it wouldn¡¯t be that hard to descend, but it would be difficult to enter that frame of mind up here.


    She walked to the edge of the mountain and saw the Umberlago emerging from the treeline below, scaling the cliffside easily with its huge claws and eerily light body that always seemed to be floating among the clouds. She backed away from the edge and returned to the centre. She didn¡¯t know if it would be angry at her trying to escape, she didn¡¯t know if it would be angry that she¡¯d killed the boar. She didn¡¯t know anything about it and had decided that doing as little as possible was likely the best course of action. Then it crested the mountain and set down a medusae.


    The two of them stared at each other while the Umberlago once again retreated to watch them both. Rana had spent time with Sal and knew that medusae did not act the same as humans, they were cold, alien, difficult to read, likely something to do with the shapeshifting. But she could tell that this one was afraid.


    ¡°You¡¯re... you¡¯re her...¡± the medusae spoke, unused to the common language. ¡°The woman who escaped the Hornet.¡±


    So Nettie¡¯s real medusae name had been the Hornet, that fit with them all having animal names.


    ¡°I... I can help you,¡± the medusae continued. ¡°If we work together and get back to the forest I can help you avoid my people.¡±


    Rana stared at them. They were a shapeshifter, a master of lies and deceit whose mother was the very being that had given her her curse. But Rana could lie too. She looked up at the Umberlago whose small empty eyes were on her, waiting to see how she¡¯d respond.


    ¡°I will help you get back to the forest,¡± she said, letting her curse guide her words. ¡°If you are telling the truth then you can trust me.¡±


    She looked back at the Umberlago whose head moved ever so slightly to the side, she took that as an approving nod. Then she pointed the medusae to the path she¡¯d found and together they began to descend the mountain.

 The Cave of Shapeshifters

    Rana stood atop an ocean of ink, black and glistening in all directions. A drop of ink landed on her head and trickled coldly down her neck. A lie, a simple white lie she¡¯d told at some point. Another drop hit her and dripped down her face. Then another landed on her hand. Two more lies. There were more drops now, landing coldly all over her body and trickling down her skin. So many drops, so many lies. They were bigger now, and faster, and colder as well. Somehow even with all of them drenching her they still managed to hit with cold fury each and every time.


    The ocean she stood in had begun to rise. It had reached her waist, then her chest, then her neck. Still the drops came as she desperately scrambled to keep afloat. Her face was all that was above the surface now and drops landed in it. Soaking into her nose, her eyes, her mouth. Filling her mouth with cold black lies. She couldn¡¯t breathe. She was drowning. Yet she swam anyway. On a tide of lies she swam higher and higher, toward the sky and the being there that was raining lies down upon her.


    The Inkdrop Queen wandered through the forest letting her aching legs drag her ever further, down and down the mountain. Out of the Wilderness, toward civilisation. It was a great slope the Wilderness and leaving it was easy, you just had to fall down. That was something the Inkdrop Queen had become good at of late. She staggered down the slope.


    She heard a commotion, a rusting in the leaves and froze, her hand instinctively grabbing the hilt of her deadly blade. The rustling could have been anything, any manner of monster or beast ready to tear her apart, but it had a voice. A human voice.


    She didn¡¯t let her guard down entirely but felt hope rather than fear. She was starving, bedraggled and likely doomed to die in this forest without someone to save her, this person might be her only chance.


    What the voice was saying wasn¡¯t clear, it mainly sounded like it was cursing and swearing at the surroundings, something the Inkdrop Queen could relate to. Then the bearer of the voice staggered out in front of her. It was a soldier, one of her soldiers. The soldier stopped in surprise and looked up at her in shock.


    ¡°My... my Queen,¡± the soldier said and bowed. ¡°How did you find yourself out here away from our company?¡±


    The Inkdrop Queen didn¡¯t reply. Her soldiers had mutinied against her and left her to die in the forest, this one should have known that. Unless he was also lost in the forest.


    ¡°Give me your own name and intentions and I shall give you mine,¡± she replied cautiously, ever more suspicious.


    ¡°I was in a scouting party, your majesty,¡± the soldier replied. ¡°But I was split from the group in all this rain, I¡¯ve been wandering the woods ever since. Name¡¯s Tarkin.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in good condition to have been wandering the woods, when did this happen?¡± The Inkdrop Queen was suspicious now. If Tarkin had truly been lost in the woods before the mutiny he¡¯d be looking far worse than he did now.


    ¡°Well it can¡¯t have been more than-¡± Tarkin lunged and the Queen drew her inky blade to meet his. He wasn¡¯t skilled, he wasn¡¯t even strong and she easily parried his blow, driving him back. But then something flicked out of the trees beside her and before she could move a blade was at her throat.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t drop the sword right now I will kill you,¡± a voice said behind her. She recognised that voice, she knew it well. Rana, the liar. She almost called the bluff, knowing it was a lie she was ready to spin around and attack but she thought better of it. It could be a lie because Rana wasn¡¯t going to kill her if she didn¡¯t drop the sword but it could also be a lie that Rana was going to kill her anyway.


    So she paused and thought and as she did Rana took the sword from her weak and frightened hand. Then the blade disappeared from her throat and Rana vanished back into the woods, followed by Tarkin. The Inkdrop Queen stood there in shock, that blade had been all she¡¯d had in this Wilderness. It had been her only hope.


    Rana and the Jackal walked back through the woods, the Jackal quickly changing back into their original form. Rana held the great inkdrop blade, the Cleanser of Names. The Jackal had come to her and promised to help her in evading the medusae and escaping. She¡¯d agreed and had told them she wanted to get as far from all the medusae as possible. She looked down at the terrifying blade, dripping with the devastating black ink. She¡¯d lied.


    The Dragonfly guarded the door to the cave. It was a stone door built using ancient medusae magics that let those on the inside see through it like glass while those on the outside would see nothing but stone. So they looked through it tirelessly, terrified that some day soon, the Monster would come. That ancient enemy of the medusae who had slaughtered their kind once and driven them back to cower in this cave long ago. They had thought it dead, gone, as it was, for so long. But it was back, the tracks were unmistakable and scouts had reported that it had been troubling the humans.


    Back when they¡¯d fought it the first time they¡¯d had the Spider. A dark and sinister medusae who constructed the Inkdrop Blades. The only blades that had been able to properly pierce its skin. The humans had the blades now and the Spider had been killed by the Monster. Now they had few weapons, if any, that could hurt it. Now the Dragonfly watched the door and waited for their doom.


    But the Monster was not the first thing to come to the door. Instead it was a human, a very familiar human with an ink-scarred mouth and an inkdrop blade. She was wielding it as brazen as anything, seemingly unafraid of the ancient beings within the cave. She called out into the cave and spoke far too clearly, far too well.


    ¡°Your most hateful enemy has returned after many years. If you wish to battle the Monster you will need this.¡± She brandished the blade. ¡°I will give you the Cleanser of Names but only if you release my companion, Sessryn of the Hallowed Company.¡± She stared down at the entrance to the cave and the Dragonfly stared back in shock. Those were all true, everything she¡¯d said was true, but she¡¯d been scarred by the ink, she couldn¡¯t tell the truth, the Salamander had told them as much. Was this a medusae impersonating her? Had she somehow fixed her condition?


    The Dragonfly flung open the door and stepped out, bow at the ready. ¡°You do not speak in lies?¡± they questioned, walking slowly forward. ¡°Why is this?¡±


    The human smiled. ¡°I have made peace with your mother Irasada. She has released me from my curse.¡±


    The Dragonfly¡¯s eyes narrowed, they were still very suspicious. ¡°You will give us that blade of your own free volition and in exchange we need only release your companion?¡±


    Rana nodded, she slid the blade back into its sheath, the sheath she¡¯d coated in the ink from the real blade not minutes ago.


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    The medusae continued. ¡°I will need more confirmation. If you can speak honestly then answer me this: What colour is the sky?¡±


    Rana suppressed a smile. From what she knew of the monster it wasn¡¯t hateful, just hungry, if anything she was a more hateful enemy of these people than it was. They also didn¡¯t need any weapons just to wish to fight the monster, nevermind the Cleanser of Names. And of course she planned to give only the fake blade that she had held before if her demands were met. She hadn¡¯t broken any curse, she¡¯d just become better at working with it.


    ¡°Blue,¡± she replied and the Dragonfly nodded, forced to accept her words as the truth. Of course, in the cloudy and dreary Wilderness, the sky was gray.


    The Jackal sat gagged and tied to a tree. The trickster woman had made them tell her everything. All about the monster, about the cave, about the medusae. They were supposed to be a shapechanger, a liar and a deceiver, but they¡¯d spent their whole life locked up in a cave with no one to talk to but other medusae. They¡¯d never interacted with humans and had no idea how they acted. And then there was her voice. Her mouth and face was blackened and scarred but somehow her voice made you want to believe it. There was something there, something as convincing as the lies of the medusae themselves.


    So here they were. Bound and gagged in a forest with a monster that specialised in hunting their kind. The woman had said she wasn¡¯t coming back. That meant the Jackal was all alone. They started struggling against their bonds.


    It had been almost an hour by their reckoning when they felt it. They heard nothing, saw nothing, all seemed much the same in the forest. But there was something there, something that hadn¡¯t been there before. Something huge. Something hungry.


    The Jackal stopped struggling, in all honesty the bonds seemed unbreakable, and simply sat there and tried to stop trembling. The presence moved around. Circling and circling through the trees. Always out of sight and always blending in with the sounds of the forest. But the Jackal knew it was there. Round and round it went, slowly approaching, slowly slithering forward, its eyes boring into their body, their face, the back of their neck.


    The Jackal had fled the monster once before and been saved by the Umberlago. It knew all the stories of the creature, of how it was unstoppable and how it devoured hundreds of medusae. What had never been in the stories was the monster¡¯s chain. The Jackal might have been the only medusae to ever see the Monster¡¯s chain and live. It was a great ugly black thing, not unlike the chains the medusae used to bind Irasada, wrapped around and through the monster¡¯s many legs. It jangled and clinked when it ran but maybe when it was moving slowly it could keep the chain silent. Or maybe this wasn¡¯t the monster at all, maybe this presence was something else. Something harmless.


    The chain clinked and the Jackal¡¯s eyes jerked to see the last few links of chain sliding off a rock and into the trees. It was the Monster. It wasn¡¯t just some random animal or creature. It was the Monster and it was here.


    The Jackal began to struggle frantically, their heart hammering and driving pulses of terror through their veins. In the fear they completely lost track of where the Monster had been, they likely never had a good bead on it anyway. They struggled and struggled and their heart hammered and hammered and then suddenly the restraints came free. Rana¡¯s restraints, able to withstand hours of struggling without budging an inch, simply came loose. The Jackal staggered off into the forest at speed, not noticing the great claw marks in the ropes where the monster had shorn through them from behind.


    The young medusae staggered off through the trees tearing the gag and any remnants of rope from them in fear. They staggered away, rapidly picking up pace and rapidly moving toward the cave of the medusae. Their new home. Their new sanctuary.


    Slithering quietly but quickly through the forest, the Monster followed.


    Sessryn was brought out of the cave and into the light where her chains were undone and left to clatter to the ground. Her eyes adjusted to the light and there she saw Rana looking  up at her.


    ¡°You... you...¡±


    Rana stepped forward and whispered in her ear one of those infuriating riddles. Luckily this one was fairly clear. ¡°You should not leave as fast as you can. You should not escape and find your Inkdrop Queen to the east not far from the river, unnarmed, unprotected and defenseless.¡±


    Sessryn nodded slowly, she still needed to process what she was hearing but she was able to do it fast. She picked back up her weapons and belongings the medusae had returned to her and mounted her horse. She looked down at Rana.


    ¡°Do you have a plan?¡±


    Rana smiled with her black scarred mouth, Sessryn had never seen her do that before. ¡°No, not at all.¡±


    Then she stepped back to the cave and the medusae surrounding them closed in, forcing the two of them apart. Hemming Rana into the cave entrance and pushing Sessryn out.


    ¡°You can have the Cleanser of Names,¡± Rana said holding the Inkdrop Queen¡¯s sword, all dripping in black ink, aloft. ¡°I know you would be honourable and would not take more than agreed in our deal. I know you would not capture me and attempt to use me to prolong the existence of your species. But I go with you anyway for your sake and so none may say I did not honour the deal.¡±


    To everyone¡¯s surprise including Sessryn¡¯s and the gathered medusae Rana strolled into the cave of her own accord, still holding the dripping black sword. Taken by surprise the medusae all followed leaving just Sessryn and one lone medusae behind. They all similar to her but this one she recognised. This was the one from back in Meduramanth who had led them through the shifting walls. The one who¡¯d run away with Rana in the first place.


    ¡°What is she doing?¡± Sessryn asked him. ¡°Is she going to be okay?¡±


    ¡°For once since I met her I have no idea what she¡¯s doing,¡± Sal replied. ¡°For once she is lying and obscuring the truth. The closer she gets to my mother the stronger her curse will grow and it will be all the more difficult to disbelieve her. But even that may not be enough to save her from my people.¡±


    Sessryn nodded idly, she really had no idea what was happening. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I chased you and tried to drag you back to the Hallowed Company,¡± she said. Then she rode off into the forest, fully intending to never lay eyes on any of the medusae or their like again.


    Rana marched through the caves and halls of the lair of the medusae. All around her were intricate murals and sculptures of abstract shapes which she ignored. Instead she walked deeper and deeper into the cave, toward the room where the medusae kept their mother, Irasada, the Goddess of Lies. As she walked she felt as though the ink was brimming up inside her. Filling her body, filling her mind, filling her mouth with lies. She was on the brink of drowning in them and the only way to stay afloat was to keep going, to keep getting further and further into this cave and into this lie.


    She walked through a room with broken chains. The room where the special sorcerer had once been bound before he¡¯d escaped. The room right beyond this was the one where Irasada was bound, she was sure of it. The medusae marched behind her, all just as caught up in her lie as she was. Just specks in the rushing current of ink. Caught up in-


    ¡°Stop!¡± shouted a voice and she stopped. So close to her goal. So close to the goddess who had given her her curse with a weapon that could kill it. But the voice came from a medusae and this was the home of the medusae. They could stop her if they wanted to, as soon as the lie dissolved it would all be over. So she stopped and turned around feeling her hope drain slowly away.


    The medusae was tall and thin and wearing an old robe of feathers. They walked through the crowd toward Rana who stood still, fighting the urge to make a run for it.


    ¡°You promised us a sword,¡± the medusae said, reaching her and towering over her. ¡°You stroll in here so brazenly without giving-¡±


    Rana thrust the hilt of her sword at them and gestured for them to take it. Painstakingly slowly the medusae took the hilt and drew the blade from the scabbard, the black ink that coated it dripping everywhere. The medusae all gazed in awe as they were finally reunited with their ancestral weapon. The strongest blade they had that had wounded the Monster before.


    Rana turned away and kept walking, leaving her old sword, coated in ink in the hands of the medusae, the real Cleanser of Names in her old scabbard at her side. She saw a great door ahead of her and briefly wondered how she was to get it open when the entire cave shuddered.


    They all spun around to face the mouth of the cave and heard screams as well as the rattling of chains. The chains meant nothing to the medusae, they hadn¡¯t heard the Jackal¡¯s experience but Rana knew what they meant. The Monster had arrived.

 The Demon Queen of Lies

    Rana lunged at a random medusae as they all rushed past, pinning them to the wall. Her knife pressed against their throat and their eyes went wide.


    ¡°Take me to Irasada and I will let you go,¡± she lied as all around her medusae panicked and frantically rushed to the aid of their brethren or away from the monster. This medusae, already in a state of fear nodded nervously and Rana let them walk, holding them at knifepoint the whole time. In all the chaos she had hoped that no one would notice them. That she could just lie her way to the goddess of ink that had given her her curse and then figure out what to do after that. She had survived the Umberlago, she had survived the medusae, she could survive this.


    But, unfortunately for her, the chaos around her was not entirely to her aid. One of the medusae dashed past, already changing shape into some sort of warrior and in doing so crashed into her, knocking her away from her prisoner. The prisoner dashed away and she was left helpless in the middle of the great cave as all around her figures rushed too and fro, preparing to meet their ancient foe, the great Monster. The Monster who¡¯s chains, even now, could be heard rattling and crashing against the entrance of the cave as it fought those stationed there.


    Rana felt overwhelmed, before her stood a great impenetrable stone door and behind it Irasada, her only hope at lifting the curse. In all the noise and panic she couldn¡¯t think, she couldn¡¯t revise her plan or envision anything else, because her head was filled with ink and lies. She was drowning in ink, all around her the chaos roared and within she drowned, unable to swim. But then a hand touched her.


    She turned and saw a medusae, just like all the others, but this one she recognised. This was was Sal. He grabbed her arm and dragged her away. Away from the chaos and panic and slightly closer to the surface of the ink, slightly closer to breathing again.


    They reached a corner of the great cave and Rana panted with exertion, waiting for her mind to clear. It didn¡¯t. ¡°You are brave coming here,¡± Sal said. ¡°What did you hope to achieve?¡±


    Rana tried to speak and the words died in her throat, she didn¡¯t want to lie to Sal, she couldn¡¯t. But she couldn¡¯t tell the truth either. Her mind struggled and flailed in the darkness, slipping further from the surface.


    ¡°I am here to rescue my friend,¡± she lied, the lies dragging her further into the ink.


    Sal nodded, understanding, even Sal believed she was cured of her curse. ¡°Follow me.¡± Panic and tears welling up within her Rana followed Sal, maintaining her calm lying composure on the surface. They moved out of the main chamber and up one of the paths that led outside.


    The Eagle strode forward bearing the Cleanser of Names in one hand and their staff in the other. The staff had many magical properties woven into it for long had the Eagle sought to imitate the workings of their ancient brethren the Spider. But the powers of the staff paled in comparison to the sword and what it could do. It could kill anything, it could kill the monster.


    At first it had not been clear what was attacking them but a young medusae had run into the main chamber and screamed what was happening sending everyone into panic. Some had run for the secret exits out of the cave but some were standing to fight and the Eagle led them. Ahead were screams and that incessant rattling and crashing of chains. The chains were new, perhaps they would hinder it enough that they might have more of a chance than their forebears had. Slowly they marched forward and slowly the screams ahead of them began to die down, then they stopped. The monster had finished those near the entrance of the cave, it would be coming for them now. The Eagle looked up at the great sword, the Cleanser of Names, dripping in ink and- They looked at the point of the sword, which they¡¯d been holding aloft to inspire the other medusae forward. It was clean, the ink was dripping off and behind it was nothing more than a normal sword. A normal sword that would have no chance to slay the Monster. The Eagle almost turned back to look for the woman they¡¯d taken the sword from but then the Monster barrelled out of the cave.


    The Panther ran back through the caves toward the main chamber, a spear emblazoned with the glyphs of the medusae in their hands. There were screams and cries of pain and terror below and the clattering of chains. The Panther had not recognised the tracks that accompanied the Monster¡¯s ones but they realised now that they¡¯d been chains. This was the Monster itself, it was back and in their home. The Panther ran to help.


    They met another medusae, a younger one, running the other way, fleeing the monster. This was understandable, the medusae had spent hundreds of years hiding from their problems, most of them no longer knew how to fight. But the Panther had no time for such cowards, they needed every medusae to help them now. So the Panther stopped and held the other medusae at spearpoint, they were the Ferret, a young and tricky medusae who the Panther was not surprised to see fleeing.


    ¡°Your people need you,¡± the Panther said, gesturing for them to head back. ¡°There are weapons in the Great Hall, we can still slay this beast.¡±


    The Ferret shook their head in terror. ¡°No we can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°We-¡± There were more footsteps and then more figures emerged, other medusae, some of them young but some of them old as well. All fleeing, so many of them were fleeing, and this was only one exit tunnel.


    ¡°Stop! You must-¡± the Panther shouted but the medusae did not listen and the ones at the back shoved into the ones at the front, pushing them into the spear. The Panther did not want to slay their own kind, that was forbidden, but they could not simply let these capable warriors go either. So they held their ground and let them fall upon the spear. The medusae piled up and the Panther began to fight.


    Many medusae died upon the point of the spear and still more came. Their bodies, living and dead piled up against the Panther and pushed them against the wall, some slipping past to run up the tunnel. They no longer fought for the hope of sending the others back to help the battle. Now they simply fought to stay alive. Soon there were only three medusae left. Then two, then one. The others were gone, either dead to join the many bloody dead on the floor or alive and running off in on direction or the other. There was only one left and... and... Gods and demons there was so much blood on the floor. The Panther wondered how much of it was their own.


    Two new figures hurried up the tunnel to see this face off between the two remaining medusae. The Panther welcomed the respite as the other medusae turned to face them.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the woman. The one who bought the Cleanser of Names!¡±


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    The Cleanser of Names? That was a weapon that could kill the monster, then there was still hope after all. The Panther looked at the figures, one was a medusae, the one from Meduramanth and the other was a human woman. But she barely looked human anymore, she was so pale and sickly and with such a huge black scar across her mouth. A scar that seemed to grow bigger and darker in the shifting light of the tunnel. If this woman had the Cleanser of Names then the Panther would take it from her and use it to slay the Monster. There was still hope. There was still- The Panther moved to lunge at the two new figures but the woman had already fled back down the tunnel, dragging her medusae companion with her. The Panther looked around, they were so tired and the world was beginning to grow hazy around them. The other medusae was gone, all the medusae were gone. They looked down at the many corpses laying below them. They were all gone.


    The Monster burst into the great chamber of the cave and saw before it a medusae force lined up to meet it just like the medusae forces of old. All of them darting and shifting and changing shapes and colours to confuse the eye, but the Monster had too many eyes and too keen a nose to be fooled by tricks like that, especially when each and every one of them reeked of fear. The Monster drank it up.


    But one figure was not shifting and changing colours. One figure stood tall and proud in the centre bearing a blade, a familiar blade coated in black ink. The Cleanser of Names. The figure seemed uncertain, unsure of themselves but the Monster was weary of them all the same. The medusae were crafty and sometimes the ones among them that looked the weakest had hidden strength and this one wielded that deadly blade. Last time the Monster had eaten the wielder of that blade and received only an injury but who knew what a second such injury would do. The Monster did not have a second name to be taken.


    So instead of lunging forward at the terrified medusae with the sword it flung its newly acquired chain, sending it in a great arc across the room toward the figure, moving fast as a whip. However, while fast, the chain was not accurate and it caught on one of the many hiding medusae scattered throughout the room. Slicing deep into their flesh and rending them apart but stopping the chain dead in its tracks.


    The sword wielder saw this grisly carnage and seemed to gain their courage. They raised the blade, screamed a war cry and charged forward, shifting and changing to blend in as best they could with the background and their fellows. The other medusae all charged forward as well and the Monster longed to leap at them all and tear them apart as it had those in the outer rooms. But instead it had to play things cautiously, ducking and darting around that figure in the middle and tearing apart the others that surrounded it. This was far from easy as the medusae were fast and skilled despite being fragile beneath its claws. What¡¯s more each time it leapt or slithered to the side to stay back from the sword the chain would flick and twist with it. Occasionally it would split open another medusae but most of the time it would just get in the Monster¡¯s way. So it desperately fought its foes and the chain and tried to maneuver the battle so that it could send the chain at the figure with the sword. In doing all of that it didn¡¯t notice the four figures emerge back into the chamber, one of whom carried in a scabbard, the actual sword.


    Sal followed Rana back into the main chamber of the cave and witnessed the carnage of the Monster of the Ways tearing into what brave medusae had stayed to fight it. They were not warlike creatures, far more adept at deception and intrigue, and hundreds of years of hiding in the forest had not improved their courage. So many of them had fled and few were left to stand up to the creature. Sal watched as its great claws rent through two of their brethren. They turned away and continued following Rana. They had little love for many of the other medusae and their archaic ideas of medusae superiority, but it still hurt to see such brutality, especially after seeing what had happened in the exit cave.


    Rana was not heading to any of the other exits to the chamber, even though many of them were easily reachable without traversing the great battle that occupied much of the chamber. Instead she walked straight to the great door at the rear of the chamber. The door that housed Irasada.


    ¡°Wait! What are you doing?! Rana what-¡± Sal shouted rushing toward her but then she spun around and grabbed him, tossing him against the door and drawing a knife against his throat, just like she¡¯d done to the other medusae. The other medusae that she¡¯d asked to take her to Irasada.


    ¡°What do you...?¡± Sal asked in fear.


    Rana simply looked at the door she held him against. Her eyes were glassy and cold now and her skin was ashen white. The great scar across her mouth had grown darker and was growing darker still. Realization began to dawn in Sal¡¯s eyes. He had wanted to believe her, all the medusae had wanted to believe her because that was how the magic worked. But she¡¯d been lying the whole time.


    ¡°If I don¡¯t open this door?¡± he asked, terrified. ¡°Will you kill me?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said coldly and pressed the blade further into his throat.


    He turned and found rune that opened the door.


    Behind her the blood covered spear wielding medusae from the cave burst out and looked at them with hazy eyes. ¡°Give me the swo-¡± they began, but Rana spun around and drew her sword, plunging it into the medusae¡¯s neck. But it wasn¡¯t her sword. It was the Inkdrop Blade, the Cleanser of Names. Sal¡¯s eyes widened, she hadn¡¯t given the Eagle the Inkdrop Blade at all, she had the real one this whole time. It had all been a lie, a huge lie. The only human he had trusted back in Meduramanth had just lied to him and threatened to kill him. And around him all of his people died powerless to fight the Monster because they had the wrong weapon.


    The lock clicked and the great stone doors swung slowly inwards, revealing the chained demon within.


    The Dragonfly, one of the oldest, wisest and most powerful among the medusae; ran. They darted up the tunnel desperate to escape from that ancient and primal creature that all the forces of Meduramanth and the old medusae empire had been powerless against. They remembered that day well when the Monster had come upon Meduramanth. They had run then too and because of it they had lived to this day. They intended to go on living.


    Behind them the roars and screams and clashing of chains echoed and so it was some time before they noticed the rumbling. But eventually they had to stop and watch in horror as the cave they fled through shook around them and then began to crumble. They clung on for dear life and then fell to the side as part of the cave was torn away by a great white claw. Another claw wormed its way through and seemed to pass right over the Dragonfly only to rend the cave apart beneath them. Then came the eyes, two small empty eyes tunneling their way into the cave ahead of a great white misty body.


    The Dragonfly cowered in fear as the Umberlago crawled into the cavern of the medusae. It had taken apart creatures large and small to see how they worked. It had put all manner of different creatures together to see how they interacted. It was a curious creature and it wished to see all manner of interesting things. And something very interesting was about to happen.


    Rana walked through the flood of ink and lies toward the great pulsing mass of inky flesh that lay chained in the centre of the ink drenched chamber. It was something akin to a spider but fleshier and with many more mouths. It had no eyes but it looked at her all the same and she felt strangely welcome within the terrible inky void it drew her into.


    The many mouths spoke many lies, both great and small, whispering all the lies she had ever told or had told to her and more. But above them all, drowning all but the loudest out the mouths begged for one thing.


    ¡°Release me,¡± they cried, pain and suffering racking every syllable, for the chains did not simply bind the demon, they wove through it and into it as well, ensuring there was no escape. Rana walked up to the great spider, to Irasada, the Demon Queen of Lies. She took the Cleanser of Names, a sword made with the Demon Queen¡¯s own blood, she did not know if it was capable of harming her, let alone killing her, but she felt it was the right thing to do. She turned away from the surface and plunged deeper into the drowning inky void, letting it fill her nose, her mouth, her lungs. She plunged the blade deep into the demon before her. The Cavern of the Medusae rang with Irasada¡¯s screams.

 The Inkdrop Storm

    The Monster of the Ways slithered across the floor of the cavern, it¡¯s deadly chain wrapped around it. It could unravel most of it given time but time was something it did not have for the medusae wielding that deadly sword ran at it, their body shifting and changing to blend into the background beyond it. And the background was easy to blend into because it had filled up with fog and mist that had all billowed in down a side passage. The mist of the Umberlago.


    The Monster looked up into the mists, it couldn¡¯t see the two little eyes of the Umberlago but it knew it was there. The whole cavern reeked of it. The Monster knew it couldn¡¯t battle such a creature in its current state, wrapped up in its chain and evading the medusae, but the Umberlago did not seem interested in the Monster, it was looking at something else.


    The Monster scrabbled frantically to unravel the chain. If it could get enough of it loose it could fling it at the medusae like a whip. But it couldn¡¯t, so it had to do something it had feared the whole time. The medusae lunged at it with the deadly Inkdrop Blade and the Monster lunged back, letting the blade bounce off its skin and crushing the medusae with its claws. Long ago that blade had cut it once and taken its original name, now it returned and the cut seemed less severe this time, the Monster wasn¡¯t sure it could feel it at all. Maybe the second time that blade cut you was harmless. The Monster cautiously began to unravel the chain, content at losing no more to that sword.


    Then it heard the screams. The entire cavern seemed to echo with them and the monster clutched its claws to its sensitive ears but that didn¡¯t help. The screams were everywhere, in the cave, in its ears, in its head. They weren¡¯t the screams of humans or monsters, they were the unholy screams of something not of this world at all. A demon, a demon here to tear the monster apart. It flailed on the floor, desperately seeking an escape from the sound when something cold and wet landed on it. Something cool that seemed to not be violently shaking the screams. The monster looked at it. It was ink. More inkdrops began to fall, drenching the whole cavern. The Monster let them fall and let them drown out the screams. Soon it was drenched in ink and mist and slowly the screaming began to fade. It opened its many eyes and looked out across the cavern. A cavern filled with ink and dead and dying medusae. It flexed its many claws and blinked its many eyes. The screams were fading and while it was raining ink the ink seemed harmless. Slowly and cautiously, the Monster slithered forward.


    Rana stepped out of the prison of Irasada, still holding the Inkdrop Blade in one hand, completely dripping with the black ink of the demon. Behind her Irasada gave her last screams and slipped into death, the mother of the medusae, whom they had bound for so long, achieving her freedom at last. Before Rana were two monsters. The Chained Monster who slowly slithered across the cave to investigate the fake inkdrop blade and the Umberlago. That huge creature, cloaked in mist, now finally having its form revealed by the raining drops of ink that coated it. It was thin and wolflike with long terrible legs that ended in those huge and terrible claws. It stared down at her with its two small eyes. She stared right back with black eyes dripping with ink.


    Sal lay in the corner of the room and trembled, gazing at the dead majesty of Irasada, the Mother of the Medusae. She was dead, her last shudders of life wracking her body. Truly Sal had never cared for Irasada, the demon queen of lies who had so cursed his people when she¡¯d created them. But without her there was no way to create more medusae. Without her his species was doomed to extinction even if they could create one of their special sorcerers. Sal slowly stood up on trembling legs. Drenched in the inkdrops that were now pouring down from the ceiling, he grinned.


    The Monster turned from the sword, now drenched in ink and fixed its many eyes on the figure that had just emerged into the room. The Monster knew little of gods and demons but it had visited the Monolith long ago. The Monolith that bound Qinar, the Demon God of Stone. It knew the foul otherworldly smell of demons and this figure reeked of it. They had black eyes. That wasn¡¯t normal for humans or medusae, and the eyes were dripping with ink, just like the walls and ceiling of the chamber.


    The Monster prowled closer, ignoring the towering figure of the Umberlago that still lurked within the cave. That creature seemed to have ignored it so far and it was confident it could bolt out of the cave if the bigger, much slower creature, took too much interest in it. So instead it looked at the figure, and it soon realized that the figure carried another Inkdrop Blade.


    Rana stepped forward toward the Chained Monster, watching its many eyes fixate upon her. She was no longer drowning in the ink and lies of her mind. Now she commanded them. Now she was dancing upon the sea of ink.


    ¡°I am the Inkdrop Queen,¡± she spoke to the monster and the magic of Irasada, absorbed through the sword, fueled her words. They were ancient and terrible, understandable by any being, be they monsters or humans, and of course, all of them lies. ¡°If you face me I shall call upon my demonic form and slay you here and now in this chamber.¡± She raised up the sword and settled comfortably into a battle stance. ¡°I look forward to it.¡±


    The Monster stood there for a second and the black ink rain continued to pour, coating the chamber floor and dripping down all those standing in it. The Monster slowly unraveled its chain, now slick and loose with ink. The chain clattered and clanged against itself and the stone making the only sound in the chamber other than the drops of rain. The medusae both living and dying waited with baited breath for the Monster¡¯s decision. The Umberlago, towering over them all, watched with its small eyes.


    The Monster¡¯s chain finally became unravelled, revealing that the last hooks of it dug deep into the skin of its arms, unable to be removed by its clumsy claws. Then it turned and ran, disappearing down the chamber, splashing through the ink.


    Rana smiled and looked around at what medusae were left. She had done it, she-


    The Umberlago, ever curious, reached over with its great claws and split the sword wielding figure in half to see how she worked.


    Sessryn found the Inkdrop Queen, the original one, dying by the river. She clearly hadn¡¯t eaten in days and looked up at Sessryn with dazed and confused eyes.


    ¡°My... my soldier... Traitor...¡± she muttered and Sessryn looked down at her sadly. This woman had led their armies to almost conquer the Hallowed Realm itself, taking the crown from the incompetent Lord Elkring. Yet here she was, reduced to little more than a dying refugee in the Wilderness. She¡¯d even had her sword taken from her by Rana. She had nothing and barely seemed like she even wanted to be saved. But Rana was going to save her anyway.


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    She leapt down from the horse and tossed her old queen over the back of him, securing her to the saddle so she wouldn¡¯t fall. It was hardly the most dignified arrangement for someone who¡¯d once been such a powerful noble and warlord. But it would have to do.


    As she tied the queen, who was too weak to do more than groan in protest, to the saddle, Sessryn felt something cool and quiet land on her hand. She looked at the black smudge that lay there and slowly looked up at the sky. Clouds were spreading across the sky from the cave she¡¯d just left. Clouds as black as ink. Part of her wanted to stay, part of her for some reason wanted to walk right back to the centre of those clouds and learn what was going on, to give in to the brewing storm of lies. But a much bigger part of her was sick of this forest and everything in it, so she mounted the horse and rode away, dragging her dying queen with her. Around her the drops of ink from the storm began to fall.


    Sal staggered back into the main chamber and watched in horror as the Umberlago¡¯s huge claws descended on Rana and ripped her in half. They went through her like she wasn¡¯t there and before he knew it the Umberlago was picking up her torn remains as they fell away before it. No, they weren¡¯t falling away, they were dripping away.


    Sword, clothes and all, what was left of Rana turned to ink and fell into the puddle of it that covered the entire floor of the cave. The Umberlago tilted its head curiously, had it been tricked, or was Rana really made out of ink now?


    The middle of the floor exploded up in a burst of ink and Rana flew out of it, plunging her sword toward the ink drenched body of the Umberlago. The creature let out an unearthly whimper before its body seemed to dissipate into mist and the ink that had coated it fell down, covering Rana. When that ink splashed to the floor ten Rana¡¯s stood up from it, each of them with ink spilling from their eyes and mouths, each of them searching for the Umberlago that still lurked in the cave.


    Sal didn¡¯t see the Umberlago reform but Rana did and her and all her copies fell down back into the pool of ink as the great claw swept across them. Ten blades of ink swung up after the claw passed over them but they all bounced off it. They would need to cut flesh to wound the Umberlago.


    Sal was finding it hard to see now with how much ink was drenching the cave, drenching him. The copies of Rana all split up and the Umberlago seemed to be searching for an exit. Its long thin wolflike body flowing over its long legs to a small side passage in the wall of the chamber. But a copy of Rana emerged from the ink on the floor and swung a blade at it driving it away. It went to another exit and once more a copy appeared. The copies likely weren¡¯t the real Rana but the Umberlago wasn¡¯t willing to take that chance. It whimpered once more as the many figures began to surround it and the storm beat down on it.


    It tried to dissipate into mist but the inkdrops were so intense that they pounded the mist to the ground and it had to quickly reform but with its leg at the wrong angle. Its small eyes frantically searched for a way out as all the copies of Rana and presumably Rana herself surrounded it. Each one dripping with ink from their eyes and their mouth. Each of the swords swinging and whispering illegible words. Names, Sal realised, the names the sword had taken, and it was about to take one more. Likely along with the creature¡¯s life.


    ¡°Rana!¡± Sal shouted and all the copies and the Umberlago looked to him. He struggled to speak with the ink dripping into his eyes and mouth but he spoke anyway. ¡°There has been enough violence and death today,¡± he said and watched as the many copies of the human he¡¯d watched become this monster all looked at him with angry black eyes.


    Then, one by one the copies dripped away back into the growing puddle of ink beneath them. Only one Rana remained and that one looked up at the wounded Umberlago before her. She spoke again in her commanding demonic voice.


    ¡°Leave us,¡± she said and the Umberlago obeyed. The once terrifying creature crawling away, desperately to escape the Inkdrop Queen and her storm. Rana watched it go. She had done it, she¡¯d won. She dissolved into ink and disappeared.


    The Salamander stood atop the Runerock. A ruin of a medusae structure, built when the humans were still living in caves. The Salamander had been alive when it had been built but the thousands upon thousands of years had turned the memory into nothing but mist and haze. What they did remember was the Serpent¡¯s Horn that had hung there and that they now held in their hands. The horn that would call the medusae in times of emergency. The last time it had been blown was after the Monster of the Ways had destroyed them all at Meduramanth, now it had just been blown again. The Salamander waited as all across the Wilderness, all across the world, medusae heard it.


    ¡°How many will come?¡± a young medusae asked. One of the second generation, the Ferret, one who had run and had narrowly avoided dying on the Panther¡¯s spear.


    The Salamander shrugged. ¡°Many are dead, and many fear to show their faces,¡± the looked down at the Panther who looked away in shame. ¡°But many will come.¡±


    A figure walked out of the Wilderness, a figure Sal had seen many times before but never like this. A human woman wielding an inkdrop blade but without scars or inkstains, without black eyes or ink dripping from her. Rana looked healthy for someone who had just slain a demon and absorbed some of its power.


    The medusae looked at her warily. Even though the storm had stopped much of the forest was still drenched in ink and it was unclear whether she was to blame. Sal found it difficult to trust her either, he had been so stupid, believing her even when he knew he couldn¡¯t. She had threatened to kill him and now here she was.


    ¡°No more of your race can be born,¡± she said bluntly, calmly sitting down on a log. ¡°You have no more need for sorcerers.¡±


    ¡°How do we know she isn¡¯t lying-?¡±


    ¡°You are not welcome here human-!¡±


    ¡°What did you do to our-?¡±


    Rana¡¯s eyes went black and bled ink, black clouds gathered in the sky and the shadows grew longer, fear and dread and hopelessness emanated from the once so calm figure sitting on the log. The medusae were silent. Then it all vanished and Rana was normal once more.


    ¡°If you produce any more sorcerers I shall hear of it and I shall find you. You may hide among humans but you may not hide from me.¡±


    The medusae were still silent. The Salamander was too. Could Rana actually find them? Could she see their true forms when they took human ones? If anyone could do that surely it would be Irasada, but Rana wasn¡¯t Irasada. She just had some of her powers and Sal was starting to believe that she had far less of her powers than it appeared. What better way to hide your true abilities than with the illusions and magics of the Queen of Lies herself. What if, Sal was beginning to wonder, she still couldn¡¯t tell the truth? Sal looked down at his brethren, all gathered before the Runerock. He wanted to believe that no more sorcerers would be created and that Rana would stop them. But who could be sure when you were dealing with the Demon Queen of Lies?


    Far away the Dragonfly heard the Serpent¡¯s Horn and stopped running through the forest. They could go to the Runerock and reunite with what was left of their people but what would be the point? Some medusae may have survived but unless the Monster was dead they would never survive for long. They collapsed to the ground, panting, exhausted, they had run a long way. They had run even out of the Inkdrop Storm and so the ground wasn¡¯t soft and muddy to collapse into but hard and full of rocks. The Dragonfly looked down at the rocks and remembered. Long long ago when they¡¯d chained Irasada to be able to make more medusae they had gotten the chains from Qinar, the Demon God of Stone. An inevitable god whose actions were written in rock, as slow as they were unstoppable. The Dragonfly looked up and there was the Monolith, that rock in which was bound Qinar.


    Demons did not speak as mortals spoke apart from Irasada and her lies but Qinar made himself understood. It was time, the Dragonfly learned, to pay up their end of the bargain. The Dragonfly slowly stood up on trembling legs. They wished they could go to the Runerock now, but they were bound by other rules. The Monolith vanished and they were alone in the forest again. They slowly stood up and began to walk. Their entire race had made that deal, why was it them who had to fulfill it?


    In the ancient cavern of the medusae all the oldest and mightiest warriors save the impulsive and reckless Panther lay dead. The Dragonfly, for all their fear, was the best the medusae had left to offer.

 The Rebuilding

    Elkring had been ravaged once by war, once by plague and once by falling stars. The survivors had gathered nearby the Elkrater and begun to rebuild. They were led by the nameless sorceress, the Rain Mage, they called her for her storms and rain that she bought to nourish the crops. She no longer birthed monsters or called upon her powers of fire and ruin, instead she turned to merely running the rebirth of a broken people.


    The military had deserted or turned their backs on war and so the fledgling city was vulnerable to the many brigands and vagabonds left by the carnage of the war. The Rain Mage was powerful but she could not be everywhere at once and that was were Gull came in. She was no leader, she was no glorious hero like all those who had originally led Elkring and who had died in the war. But she was all they had and so she trained up the small collection of recruits she could find and set them to patrolling the city of Elkrater as it slowly built itself up from the ground.


    First came the task of feeding not only the inhabitants but the many refugees who flocked to the city daily, often beset on the road by brigands and criminals. They arrived through the newly built city gates in droves, many of them dying or sick while the city had few who could care for them. Luckily the witches, Magda and Nath had learned much in their time caring for the city while it had been stricken with plague and them and their many new apprentices kept even the most unfortunate arrivals from dying. This, sadly, meant more mouths to feed.


    Gull and the Rain Mage organised great farming projects. Reclaiming the land ravaged by war and plotting it with crops and animals, imported from Nargathrum or from surrounding farmlands. This still paled in comparison to the demand however and after Nargathrum was devastated by mysterious magics it became apparent that the scale of their farming project would be woefully inadequate and so Gull left on a mission.


    She established trade with the Greenlands, a land as yet untouched by war and through diligent policing of the long road between them managed to transport great quantities of food and goods into Elkrater. Yet the city was hungrier still and so Gull went to the Eastlands, a savage country regularly at war with the Hallowed Realm itself and lacking greatly in resources anyway. But Gull went to them for they had soldiers and with soldiers she could reclaim the land from brigands and bandits and turn it into farmable land. The Eastlanders had once had their own sorcerer and had planned to conquer the Hallowed Realm with his great power but Gull and Mad Maeggy had put a stop to that long ago. So now they bent the knee before the Rain Mage and joined Gull¡¯s fledgling force.


    Finally, after setting out to reclaim the land Gull ventured into the Deepwood. A mysterious place filled with magic and trickery and recently itself ravaged by something as its trees had first caught fire and then turned to stone. She met with many of the strange denizens of its wood. Fae queens and elven kings before finally coming to the denizen of the wood who seemed most like her. A mercenary who performed all the difficult tasks required by the others of the Deepwood. Alfy the Night Fairy. The two of them forged an alliance never before seen between humans and fae creatures and the Deepwood offered up its considerable resources to aid the struggling humans and in exchange the humans sent them gold. For while their food supplies and cities had been destroyed, a venture into the ruins of Nargathrum had uncovered enormous piles of gold hoarded for decades by the merchants of that city who had died in the mysterious scourge of Nargathrum. So while Gull had little in the way of food or goods she had gold to spend and spend it she did.


    They tore down the wooden walls and rebuilt them in stone. Dwarves and gnomes from the Deepwood flocked to the city to turn it into a fortress, the like of which had never been seen in the Hallowed Realm, possibly the world. Rivers and roads were carved out of the ground, connecting the four allied lands together. Fae, witches and sorcerers all worked together to rebuild a civilisation that had nearly been lost to the darkness of war. Months went by, years. The new realm was built and a people grew back. They had faced wars and magics and the elemental forces of the world itself. Yet they were still there.


    Slowly the flood of refugees began to waver, soon it was a trickle, then it stopped all together. The city had been built and the realm had been saved and Gull had taken on enormous amounts of responsibility. She was now in charge of the royal guard with the royals themselves so far absent. The old king had died in the war and his son was missing, presumed dead. There was no clear line of succession and in the rebuilding the old titles of various lords had meant little before the Rain Mage. Yet the Rain Mage did not want to be queen and Gull thought that was for the best. Despite her growing reputation she was still a sorceress and was distrusted by many. What¡¯s more she would never die barring extraordinary circumstances and Gull thought it wise to not have such a ruler. So instead they held a vote. Many of the old lords and ladies wished the vote to be exclusive to them but Gull turned them down. This new realm was for everyone, and everyone would have a say.


    Gathering the votes was one of the most difficult logistical tasks she had had to face in the entire time. It was ambiguous whether many of those living in far flung places were part of the new realm at all and getting to them to explain the situation was difficult if it was decided they were. What¡¯s more in the years of the Rebuilding many once bandits and brigands had taken their own lands and become farmers and laborers giving service to Elkrater. Many protested that such criminals who had robbed them on the street would have a say but Gull knew that distinguishing between these people and those who had followed all the laws during those early years would be next to impossible. So she instead gathered their votes all the same. It was during this time that she began to have visions. All across the realm she travelled in a cart that carried piles upon piles of papers and she began to watch those papers burn. Each night she would dream of fire and ruin and even by day the fire wormed its way into her sight. She tried to ignore it, tried to simply focus on travelling to the next stop, and the next one. Giving her speech to the next group, and the next one. Adding their votes to the pile and trying not to look even when her eyes told her that it was burning. But it wasn¡¯t burning, nothing was burning, except for in her mind.


    But her mind kept burning and then came the voice. A sickly, twisted, ugly voice, that didn¡¯t speak, but still somehow made itself understood.


    ¡°Knight...¡± it said. ¡°Great knight... You cannot do this alone...¡± It said and Gull was tempted to believe it. She had been working non-stop since the fall of the city and there was still no sign of her many responsibilities slowing down any time soon. She missed Maeggy, smart, witty Maeggy, she would know what to do.


    The fires and the voice continued and Gull ignored them. She could almost tune them out, almost convince herself that there was nothing there. That everything was fine as she buried herself in her duties. But sometimes, on the particularly long stretches of road when she had little to do but stare at the countryside, she was drawn into it and she watched the countryside burn.


    It only grew worse when she saw the man. He was just an ordinary man, living an ordinary life in a reclaimed farm shack. He could have been anyone, he could have even been a farmer the whole time but Gull doubted it. No, she recognised the man from her days in the pit. From her days as a gladiatrix, forced to fight other women and animals for the amusement of men and she remembered this one. She gathered his vote calmly but all the while she watched him burn.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°I can help you knight...¡± the voice said. ¡°I can grant you your revenge...¡±


    Gull had been tempted by the voice before and she was even more tempted by it now. She watched the man write out his vote and rage and burning anger filled her as all around her fires raged. She could barely think, she could barely breathe, she just stood there in the fire, her hand twitching toward her sword. But then she saw a flower. A pretty little flower in a vase on the man¡¯s table. A little flower that just happened to be the same as the flower Maeggy had offered her all those years ago in her cage. She didn¡¯t remember what the flower was, she was fairly sure Maeggy had lied about it anyway, but she remembered the flower.


    She also then remembered that she was not angry with this man. The fire may have been angry but she wasn¡¯t. She was not angry with her past life, not that part of it. This man may have stolen her life and done horrible things to her but in recent times she had found that she no longer cared. She didn¡¯t have time to care, not about someone as worthless as him.


    She took his vote, added it to the pile and rode the cart away, the flames dying behind her.


    Finally she returned to Elkrater and then came the time to count the votes. Luckily she could delegate that particular task to those more skilled than her while she returned to running the city. It was a great fortress now, raising high into the air above the Great Crater and the memorial at its base. The Rain Mage had been busy and all across the surrounding lands great irrigated farmlands grew. The people were fed and at last peace had come to the realm. She watched as it all began to burn.


    She did not understand, she had turned it down when it asked if she wanted help, she had turned it down when it asked if she wanted revenge. What more could it ask of her? What more could she-


    She looked back at the memorial. The great stone slab in the center of the crater inscribed with all the names of those who had died. Gull knew almost none of the people inscribed upon it. But she knew one. The flames were asking if she wanted Mad Maeggy. Her friend, her saviour and the saviour of this whole realm. Maeggy had given her magical blood to protect the people from the plague before sacrificing herself to drive it away entirely. Gull had been helpless before it and had stood by and watched from afar. The other things she could breeze by. Running things was not something she was passionate about but it was something she just got on and did, encouraged by all the recruits and people she¡¯d trained. And revenge wasn¡¯t something she¡¯d even thought about since escaping that fighting ring. But Maeggy. She did miss Maeggy.


    ¡°I can bring her back knight...¡± the voice said. ¡°You can see her again...¡±


    Gull stared into the flames and thought.


    The votes were counted and Peppers, the Queen of Fools, jangled her way up the steps of the castle to bring forth the news. She found Gull staring down into the crater from a high tower, a far away look in her eyes.


    ¡°Gull, Gull,¡± she said happily. ¡°Now is no time to be brooding. There is great news, excellent news!¡±


    Gull looked up at Peppers and tried to push the burning and raging flame to the back of her head. Peppers reminded her of Maeggy a little and that hurt. That hurt so very bad.


    ¡°The votes have all been counted. We counted them up and we counted them down and we counted them each other way and there is a clear winner!¡±


    Gull did not respond, occupied as she was with the fire that was now threatening to consume everything, including Peppers. Luckily Peppers didn¡¯t seem to mind.


    ¡°It¡¯s you Gull!¡± Peppers said happily and Gull took a moment to understand. ¡°You won, most everyone voted for you. Not a lord or a witch or a merchant. You, the Head of the Guard.¡±


    ¡°M... me...?¡± Gull asked, her shock pushing back the flames a little.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Peppers replied. ¡°Queen Gull, the Queen of Elkrater and beyond.¡±


    Gull blinked a few times and looked back out at the memorial. She was queen. After all that work, all that toil and labor the people had seen her and voted for her. A pit fighter who had crawled out of the ground, helped Maeggy on her adventures and worked her way up to a position of power. She looked down at the memorial and the flames slowly began to recede. All her life she had been a warrior, a fighter, someone who was only good for killing things. But now, now she was something else.


    Maeggy was dead, she had died a heroes death and Gull had no wish to pervert that by bringing her back in whatever undead form this fire demon had planned. She walked down the stairs with Peppers who was loudly and comically introducing her as Queen Gull to all before them. She found a soldier who seemed just as shocked as she was and handed him her sword. Whispering to the voice in her head which was shrivelling away in fear and horror she said. ¡°I am no knight.¡± Then the flames died away entirely as she strode out to embrace her new role as Queen of the Hallowed Realm.


    The Arbiter looked across the wreckage of Nargathrum. Where Elkring had been rebuilt into Elkrater, a truly glorious city and a testament to the resilience of the peoples of the Hallowed Realm, Nargathrum had rotted. It was a festering cesspool of seawater and decay and the Arbiter believed it was only a matter of time before some new evil moved in. But she was not interested in new evils, she cared only about old ones. More importantly the thing that had done this to Nargathrum, the thing that had killed Kulrod.


    The two who had agreed to meet her strode up the hill. They were early, that was fortunate, the Arbiter hated people to be late. She was tempted to use her voice, her most powerful weapon, and command them to divulge all their secrets immediately but she had to admit that they might be useful later. The woman was a poisoner and apothecary, a member of some ancient sect of ninjas, and the man was an old warlord out of the Eastlands, who now served as a bodyguard for the poisoner as she traveled the new land and sold her wares. Apparently they knew a great deal about what had happened in Nargathrum and had some idea of what the great Scourge as they called it might be. The Arbiter was desperate to learn.


    They spoke for almost an hour with the Arbiter asking many questions as to the nature of the Scourge. The Man of a Thousand Shadows they called him. The Arbiter knew a great deal about the world and the magical artifacts in it. This man clearly had the legendary Amulet of the Dead. A relic rumored to have been lost thousands of years ago. But that was not all it seemed. For in Kulrod¡¯s great attack involving all the reanimated forces of Nargathrum the man had used some sort of great power involving fire. That could be many things but whatever it was the Arbiter was worried. What was even more worrying was that the man now had the Sword in the Sky, stolen from Kulrod. This man was dangerous, much more dangerous than any other recent threats the Council of Sorcerers had faced. The world was healing, that was true, but if someone was going to strike at her sorcerers. Not to mention destroying an entire city. That was something the Arbiter would have to do something about.


    She left the poisoner and her bodyguard and returned through the Ways to her tower. There she picked up a red bow with red arrows. She did not want to face someone with the Amulet of the Dead alone, and her sorcerers were unlikely to want to help battle someone capable of killing them. But she had another friend, a newer sorcerer just recently escaped from the clutches of the medusae. The special sorcerer capable of producing more medusae, come to her broken and wounded from his many years imprisoned.


    She fired the bow and the red arrow grew wings and turned into a red bird which flew across the world. It flew long and fast and eventually turned back into an arrow to plummet to the ground beside a man sitting and reading outside a small hut on a small island. The man put down his book and took a note from the arrow. He unfolded it and read it with his blood red eyes.

 The Seekers in the Shadows

    Wegrel flew. The land and world flashed by him as his ghostly form sped over it. He was a bolt of dim spectral shadow, barely visible at that speed except in the brightest light. It should have been enjoyable, flying over the world at those speeds. But despite his best efforts Wegrel felt nothing. Even when he ignored the fact that he was bound to serve the Scar-Faced Man for the rest of his existence. Even when he ignored the many lives he¡¯d claimed and horrific acts he¡¯d performed and would be commanded to perform again. Even forgetting all of that there was still something that stopped him from feeling joy at his new abilities. Something was missing. Life was missing.


    He¡¯d been dead for years now, trailing along after the Scar-Faced Man with the other shadows. Hunting, searching, for something that could be given to the Scar-Faced Man to protect him further. To ensure that no more sorcerers dropped out of the sky and nearly killed him again. Of course he had the sword now, the sword that could kill the shadows for good which he¡¯d taken from the sorcerer. But there was something else far more powerful than the sword. Something that had decimated the Fisher Plain and then decimated the Hallowed Realm itself. The Stone of Falling Stars.


    Of course, it had been easy to track at first. Wegrel and the other shadows had simply gone to the giant crater in the center of the realm and looked for it there. They knew that shortly after broken to call the meteors the stone would reform in the crater. So they¡¯d assumed that they¡¯d be able to find whoever had picked it up nearby and take it from them. Unfortunately this had not proven so simple. They¡¯d spent years searching the new city as it had been built as well as the bags and pockets of everyone who entered or left. They had found many things but the stone was not one of them.


    It soon became apparent to Wegrel that someone wise or powerful had taken the stone and hidden it where even shadows couldn¡¯t find it. What¡¯s more they noticed that word of the Scar-Faced Man had begun to spread amongst the city. Somewhere rumors had started up and worst of all, many of them were true. The tales told of the battle between the Scar-Faced Man and the Beastmaster Sorcerer at the ruins of Nargathrum became local legends and many of them were surprisingly accurate, right down to the abilities and magicks used by both participants. This meant that whoever did have the stone would likely take precautions against shadows. This wouldn¡¯t have been a problem except for the fact that the shadows had one readily available weakness, water, and tales of that weakness were spreading as well.


    Wegrel returned to the meeting place of the shadows, a dark grove nigh inaccessible to humans but all too easy for them to reach. There he waited for the other three to arrive. There were only four of them now after the sorcerer had destroyed the rest. The Scar-Faced Man had made more but those he kept by his side as protection while the original four were sent out to find his ultimate weapon.


    The next to arrive was Faros, a thug and a criminal from one of the worst gangs in Nargathrum. While there had still been a Nargathrum.


    ¡°Find anything new?¡± Wegrel asked and Faros grunted.


    ¡°Nothing in the east. I searched for days out there, all the farmlands surrounding the crater and beyond. I found nothing in the least bit magical save for the Rainbringer and her clouds.¡±


    Wegrel nodded ready to give his own report but Faros continued.


    ¡°I¡¯m sick of this searching, day by day, week by week, all the same thing. Hiding, cowering out of sight so no one knows the Scar-Faced Man is looking for anything. We are not sniveling thieves. We are warriors. Nightmares of death and darkness. Invulnerable warriors who could slay everyone in these lands!¡±


    Wegrel waited calmly for him to finish. Faros was violent and arrogant and seemed to have become much worse since dying but he lacked the attention span to maintain one of his rants for very long without outside input.


    ¡°Careful what you say about invulnerability. There were thousands of us once before the Beastmaster cut us down to only four. There could easily be another weapon out there that can do the same as his sword.¡±


    Faros grunted. ¡°Bah, if such a weapon existed we¡¯d have found it by now. The Scar-Faced Man has the sword and with that we are truly unstoppable. I detest all this hiding and fear.¡±


    Wegrel didn¡¯t bother replying this time. In truth he was worried that Faros could be right. What if the Scar-Faced Man truly was unstoppable now? What if he repeated what he did to Nargathrum except on an even greater scale? What if there was no one who could stop him now that he had the sword? Wegrel feared what might happen if the Scar-Faced Man was unstoppable.


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    The next to arrive was Keya. Once a healthy young woman from some small village the Scar-Faced Man had torn through. Now she was a sickly fading shadow. She was not a monster like Faros who wished for nothing but violence. She, like Wegrel, would prefer the Scar-Faced Man die and this could all be over. It was good to have a kindred soul in her. Wegrel definitely needed it in these challenging times.


    Still, they were under the control of the Scar-Faced Man and Wegrel still had to locate their quarry as quickly as possible. ¡°Greetings Keya, what have you found?¡±


    ¡°Greetings Wegrel, Faros,¡± she replied. ¡°I searched the west all along the great road and the many villages and towns nearby. I found nothing. Only many many people living happy lives free of the ruin of shadow magic and war. New and old families claiming new and old land. The Hallowed Realm is healing and I could find nothing to tear it apart.¡±


    Wegrel knew she wasn¡¯t lying. They were compelled by the magic that built their very beings to follow the instructions of the Bearer of the Amulet and the Scar-Faced Man had told them to find the Stone of Falling Stars. So they would work together and tell each other everything they knew.


    Faros snorted at Keya¡¯s words but Wegrel welcomed them. They may be forced to do horrific things but they were still people at the end of that and some of them weren¡¯t monsters like Faros, or like the Scar-Faced Man.


    ¡°I searched the city itself and I too found nothing although there is a lot of water. The entire castle is surrounded by it. A moat almost although covered in bridges. People seem to believe that just having water on the ground keeps us out. That we cannot fly over it at all. It seems the rumours about how we cannot enter water have become distorted. People believe any amount of water will keep away the evil spirits. Some merely have jars of it at their doors. I looked into all such jars and scanned the moat but there was nothing in any of them. Nor was there anything in the city itself. It may be time we reported to the Scar-Faced Man the news of our failure.¡±


    Keya and Faros nodded. ¡°Yes,¡± Faros replied. ¡°Are we even sure this relic exists?¡±


    Wegrel shrugged. He believed it did exist and he dreaded what would happen if the Scar-Faced Man found it. But it was possible that it wasn¡¯t real. There were a lot of magical powers and relics floating around these days. It could have been any number of things that caused the stars to fall on Castle Elkring.


    They waited in their grove for the last member of their party to return and eventually he did. He had never given them his name and Wegrel knew him only as the Warlord. He spoke as little as possible to them and never spoke to the Scar-Faced Man but he didn¡¯t seem to mind. The Scar-Faced Man had no reason to fear his shadows but he feared the Warlord anyway and instead received all his reports through Wegrel. The Warlord had been sent to scout the far and distant lands out from the city. They didn¡¯t expect he would find anything given such a huge area to search but he had looked anyway, and now he returned, as grim and silent as ever.


    ¡°Warlord,¡± Wegrel said as he arrived. ¡°The three of us have found nothing and we have been discussing ending our search here. We must eventually report to the Scar-Faced Man that we cannot find anything or we will be searching forever. So unless you have found something we-¡±


    ¡°I have found something,¡± the Warlord replied in his grim voice. The three others froze. Wegrel and Keya out of fear of what might happen and Faros out of joy. Wegrel spoke first before Faros could interject with his terrible ideas.


    ¡°What did you find?¡±


    ¡°I found the stone itself. In an abandoned hut high up in the mountains. Unfortunately it is in a water jar in a chest in a vault and so I had no hope of retrieving it. The Minstrel might be able to though.¡±


    Wegrel felt faint glimmers of cold and horror spread throughout his body and he knew he should be more horrified. But even hearing such horrible news the worst his dead form could manage was apathetic worry.


    ¡°We will tell the Scar-Faced Man this,¡± Wegrel replied, using the term their master preferred. The Warlord called him whatever he liked and since the two never spoke it never came up but Wegrel was in constant conversation with him and so needed to keep his names in order.


    The four of them flew from the grove back to their master¡¯s hiding place far to the north. It was night and no one noticed the four quick shadows in the darkness.


    The Witch Queen Nath awoke in the darkness and looked about her room. There was nothing there except darkness but something had woken her. She looked harder and saw nothing more than an empty room. Her wardrobe closed as she¡¯d left it. Her thick curtains shut to block out what little moonlight tried to peek in through the window. Her desk immaculately tidy and- No. There was a note on her desk in the middle of it where she worked. A space she was sure she had left clean when she¡¯d gone to bed.


    She picked up the note and took it to the window where she opened the curtains to read it by moonlight. Before she read any of the note itself her eyes darted to the signature at the bottom. A signature she knew well from seeing it signed upon many papers. It had been signed on her wedding papers.


    But her husband was dead. Killed long ago, by a minstrel.

 The Minstrel in the Maze

    ¡°I have heard much of you, Minstrel. I¡¯ve picked up many pieces of information and collated them together to form a picture of you. From where you obtained your lute infused with the magic of Auriomauch I do not know. But I know you used it to torment and kill Wyrous of the Eastlands. The next time you appeared in my knowledge you had lost the lute and gained a scar, likely a scar given to you by Auriomauch himself. You are lucky that was all he gave you.


    ¡°You also obtained from somewhere the mythical Amulet of the Dead, an artifact I myself had thought lost, destroyed even. For while the Amulet is powerful it is supposedly fragile and you are lucky it was not damaged during your exploits in Nargathrum. For I know much about your exploits in Nargathrum.


    ¡°First you made a name for yourself by trying and failing to find Rogo despite all the great power over the dead at your disposal. Then you agreed to a series of games, indeed I have read the contract you signed, given to me by the Black Spider Gang themselves. A clever little thing, getting poison into your body without you even noticing. Poison that was just waiting to be activated.


    ¡°It is truly a shame that the poison was not activated sooner for much of your destruction could have been avoided. Sadly you noticed a Phoenix in the latter stages of its life arrive in Nargathrum and if my deductions are correct you managed to obtain its eye to heal yourself right before succumbing to the poison. Lucky once again.


    ¡°After that you wasted no time in slaughtering all who remained in the destroyed city and conquering it for yourself. At this point you had the Amulet to master death and the Eye of the Phoenix to master life. You must have thought yourself invincible. But you were not.


    ¡°My last source relates to me the story of your battle with Kulrod of the Beastlands. The battle where one sorcerer and one blade should have killed you despite all your powers and artifacts. Why didn¡¯t it? I have a few theories. The Demon Lord of Fire has been stirring and I myself have encountered some of those unfortunate enough to enter into a deal with him. I suspect that he saved you and in doing so gave you the sword the sorcerer slaughtered all of your shadows with.


    ¡°Now you have the Amulet, the Eye and the Sword and you are likely feeling unstoppable once more. I have no doubt you¡¯ll be searching for the Stone of Falling Stars next. If you do find it and I hope you don¡¯t I leave this note for you to let you know that there are still those in this world more knowledgeable than you. I know every trick you¡¯ve used, every artifact you have. And I know far more than you possibly could about the demon you have sold yourself too.


    ¡°I now ask you this; a final query before you claim the Stone if you can; you survived Auriomauch which means you must have gotten very lucky once. You survived the poisons of the Black Spider, getting very lucky again. And lastly you survived a battle with Kulrod by taking a deal with Raqos at the last moment, lucky a third time. Do you really believe this luck will last? Do you think you can continue to play with powerful artifacts and live? For I believe that underneath the Amulet and the Eye and the Sword there is just a little man whose luck is running out.¡±


    The Minstrel put down the note and looked over it at the vault in the wall. His shadows floated around him, Wegrel, Taros, Keya and the Warlord. They had all read the note as well, they were silent as their master pondered it, as anger and fear began to appear across his face.


    ¡°Who is this person?¡± he asked scrunching up the paper the note was written on in a white fist. ¡°And how do they know all this about me?¡±


    The shadows remained silent. They did not know. In all their hunting and investigating, searching the world for the Stone they had learned nothing of who had taken it after it was used to destroy Elkring. They could not speak to anyone other than the Minstrel and so what information they had gathered was only through listening in on conversations they happened to notice and they had never heard anyone mention the Stone. They had only found it through a systematic canvassing of the entire countryside around Elkring and even then it had taken them years.


    Now the Minstrel and his shadows stood in the hut before the great vault that contained the Stone and they had found a note written by someone who knew the Minstrel far too well. Someone they knew nothing about, someone who could be anyone. The Minstrel had slaughtered an entire city, fought a demon and a sorcerer and lived. Yet this mysterious person. Someone who was probably a human with little to no access to magic. This person scared him.


    ¡°The vault is likely trapped,¡± Faros spoke. ¡°If they knew you were coming they would probably have-¡±


    ¡°I am aware,¡± the Minstrel replied, tossing the crumpled note away. ¡°Look inside it again, tell me all that you can see.¡±


    The shadows flowed into the vault and examined it. Inside the vault was a chest bolted to the floor and inside the chest was a metal jar bolted to the chest. The jar was filled with water and at the bottom of the jar was the Stone of Falling Stars. A little red gemstone, glowing so faintly it was only visible within the pitch blackness of the water jar. The shadows could not enter water, that was a weakness they had that it seemed this mysterious person also knew. So they could only look down at the stone from above and even then they could hear it trying to whisper in their heads. The words were not clear but the malice was. The Stone was one of the most evil and destructive artifacts in the world. It wanted to be used.


    The shadows flowed back out of the vault.


    ¡°We found nothing,¡± they said to the Minstrel who glared at them angrily.


    ¡°Check again,¡± he replied.


    This time he stood well outside the hut and made them attempt to trigger any traps they potentially couldn¡¯t find. The shadows were insubstantial but their weapons weren¡¯t and so they flew about inside the vault attacking everything they could, making the whole hut ring with the sound of metal clanging on metal. Yet nothing moved. Everything in the vault was bolted down and so they could budge neither the chest nor the jar while all they could do to the walls was give them the lightest scratches.


    Soon they returned to the Minstrel and told him that once more they had been unable to find anything. The Minstrel though, was still angry and scared.


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    So he made them do it again, and then once more, before he finally walked back into the hut himself. He drew Feather, the Sword in the Sky, the magical blade he had taken from Kulrod when he¡¯d slain him at Nargathrum. With that he gathered his courage and rent the door to the vault in two. The two halves of the door crashed to the ground and dust and rubble and noise filled the hut, covering the shadows and the Minstrel.


    Then, slowly, the noise faded and the dust began to settle and there was the chest in the centre of the vault. Ever so slowly the Minstrel walked forward into a vault whose walls and floor were covered in the scratches of his shadows. He stepped over the collapsed doors and stood before the chest. It was a metal chest made of something harder than the vault as the shadows had been unable to mark it for all their efforts. But the Sword in the Sky could mark it.


    The Minstrel swept the sword horizontally and shore the top of the chest clean off, sending it clattering away. He looked down at the metal jar within, the water lapping gently against the sides and deep within it the red gemstone. He could already hear the whispers. He reached for the stone, the most directly powerful artifact he had ever seen and he had seen some powerful artifacts. His hand plunged through the cold water that had kept away all of his shadows and he leaned over, putting his face right above the water to see within, putting his mouth and nose directly into the stream of odorless fumes coming out of the poisoned jar.


    The stone disappeared. His hand found nothing and he looked desperately into the jar where it had been moments ago. He scrabbled around inside it, sloshing the water out of the jar but he found nothing. He stood up in confusion, his arm still dripping with the water.


    ¡°Where is-?¡± he said to his shadows but they were gone. He stood alone in the hut. He reached for the Amulet at his chest but that was gone too. So was the Eye, and the Sword he¡¯d just been holding. He had nothing, no weapons, no magic. He spun around, frantically searching for anything as fear began to grip him. He could still hear the whispers of the stone. The whispers of hatred and anger, but most terrifying for him. The whispers of mockery. He had failed. He had fallen into some trap and despite all of his powers and all of his magic he had lost.


    He turned back to escape but the door was back, sealed once more with him inside. He felt panic rising and turned to look back at the chest but now that was gone too. But there was a door, a door in the wall that hadn¡¯t been there before. Fear filling him he reached for the door and opened it. Beyond it was a corridor that he ran down, but the corridor branched off into more corridors and those corridors branched off into more. It was a maze and by the time he turned around he had already lost track of the way he¡¯d come.


    His heart was hammering and sweat was dripping down him. He tried to relax, tried to calm himself and analyse the situation logically. Some part of his brain knew that there was an explanation for this. This was magic or witchcraft or something and if he could just think about it for a minute he¡¯d be able to figure out what it was. Then he heard skittering.


    He turned and there it was, a raven, hopping along the corridor toward him, looking up at him with curious eyes. The fear rose up in him again, bringing with it the memories of the birds that had so nearly torn him apart all those years ago. This time he had no shadows to defend him, this time he had nothing.


    He blinked and the bird was gone and he breathed a sigh of relief. Then it landed on his shoulder. He screamed and batted it away before running into the maze. He no longer cared where he went, he just wanted to get away.


    As he ran he heard more skittering and then the chirping and cawing of birds. Then they started to fly. All around him were wingbeats and they were catching up no matter how fast he ran. Then they started to billow out from the corridors, swooping and screaming and attacking him. He felt the bites of their beaks and the stings of their claws and he had no artifacts to beat them back with this time. He swatted at them with his hands and arms but they just tore into those as well. His body was bleeding and burning with pain and there was no Eye of the Phoenix to heal him. He opened his mouth to scream but a voice interrupted him.


    It was a calm and soothing voice and even as it spoke the birds vanished leaving him uninjured but covered in blood. He wiped the blood from his eyes and looked up to see he was in a central chamber of the maze and in front of him sat a man whose eyes were closed. The man was the one speaking.


    He was bald and dressed in monastic robes patterned with symbols of eyes and a spiralling symbol of an eye was tattooed on his forehead as well. He spoke simply and the Minstrel listened.


    ¡°It seems you are very afraid,¡± the man said. ¡°Be not afraid in the maze for it will reflect your fears upon you.¡±


    ¡°I am not afraid,¡± the Minstrel lied, flicking the blood from his hands and looking around the chamber for more birds.


    ¡°You cannot lie to me,¡± the man spoke. ¡°All of your feelings are in plain view in here. I see your hatred and contempt for me. I see your rage and most of all I see your incredible arrogance. Misplaced arrogance.¡±


    ¡°Who are you?¡± the Minstrel shouted, growing angry now. He could still hear the whispers of the stone now that the birds had quieted and the whispers were growing louder and angrier.


    ¡°I am the Trapmaker,¡± the man replied, still remaining calm and not opening his eyes. ¡°I am who witches go to when they need help dealing with your kind. With monsters. But while you may be a monster you are still a man. A man in far over his head.¡±


    ¡°You know nothing about me!¡±


    ¡°I know everything about you.¡±


    ¡°If I am so weak and you so powerful why am I still alive? If you truly could kill me why trap me in this maze instead?¡± The whispers were becoming deafening now and the faint red glow of the stone was starting to turn the chamber red. ¡°Why not face me and-¡±


    ¡°You are not trapped in this maze. Not physically at least. Your mind is here, bound by the poisons I put in the water jar. Poisons that the Eye of the Phoenix could not heal you from and poisons your shadows could not detect. You were an interesting challenge to set a trap for with all the powers you hold.¡±


    The entire chamber was glowing red now and still the Trapmaker sat calmly with his eyes closed. The Minstrel had no weapon but his anger overcame his fear and he marched angrily toward the man sitting on the ground.


    ¡°So it was tricks and poisons again? Is that all you people can bring against me? Is that the best you can conjure?!¡±


    The man smiled. ¡°Oh but tricks and poisons are my speciality.¡±


    ¡°Who are you anyway?! If I¡¯m here because you poisoned me how did you get here?! What are-?!¡± The Minstrel reached the man and reached down to open those infuriating eyes. The whole room was red as a sunrise and he could almost feel the heat of the stone. He could almost feel the rage and fury of the Falling Stars.


    He reached toward the eyes but just before he touched them they opened. They were redder than anything else in the room.


    ¡°-you?¡± the Minstrel tailed off. Golden eyes were for sorcerers but red eyes? What did red eyes mean?


    ¡°I am the Trapmaker,¡± the man said as all around him the room began to grow hotter. ¡°Enjoy my trap.¡± Then he disappeared and the Minstrel cowered as all around him there were suddenly Falling Stars.


    Back in the hut the shadows watched helplessly as the Minstrel stood frozen, staring down at the stone in the water jar. Wegrel, Keya and Faros all murmured amongst themselves. What had they missed, what trap had been sprung and what had happened to the Minstrel? Why wasn¡¯t the Eye of the Phoenix healing him? The Warlord simply hovered beyond, looking down at the note all scrunched up. There was information in there that only one living person could know. Information about the lute imbued with the power of Auriomauch. The lute that had killed him.

 The Knight

    The monastery looked strange in the sunset. The great arches lit up from behind by the sun looked somewhat like glowing red eyes peering down from atop the mountain. Berrand and his men were not concerned however, they were far more interested in finding a place of rest for the night for out here in the Eastlands the night was not safe.


    So as the shadows lengthened and night fell they rode up the winding staircase to the monastery. It was a strange monastery indeed, it appeared on none of their maps although there wasn¡¯t much on the map out here. Even the Eastlanders rarely ventured out this far. But Berrand and his men were out there, hunting the beast that had been preying on livestock, and if the monastery would take them in it would be a perfect spot to hunker in down in for the night.


    By the time they reached the top darkness had fallen and what little light was left to them came from the stars and faint lanterns within the monastery. In the darkness it was hard to make out the symbols on the monastery but they were for no god Berrand recognised, eyes of some sort, it appeared.


    He knocked loudly on the great oaken door and then turned to find Reyse, he¡¯d been a pastor once, perhaps he knew what kind of monastery on the edge of the world they were walking into. ¡°You recognise those eyes, Reyse?¡± Berrand asked him. ¡°You know what type¡¯a place this is?¡±


    Reyse shook his head. ¡°I never heard o¡¯ no god with symbols o¡¯ eyes,¡± he replied, then paused. ¡°Might a¡¯ heard o¡¯ some demons though.¡±


    Berrand frowned in the night but the great doors creaked open before he could reply. A small man stood in the doors wearing a thick robe and a hood to protect him from the cold. He pulled back his hood to reveal a friendly face with an eye symbol tattooed on his forehead and eyes that didn¡¯t look quite right but in the darkness Berrand couldn¡¯t make out why.


    ¡°Welcome friends,¡± the man said kindly. ¡°How may I help you?¡±


    Berrand turned his horse back to face the man. ¡°We seek shelter. A place to rest for the night, if you¡¯ll have us. I am Berrand, and these are my rangers, we¡¯ve been hunting a beast that has been preying on livestock in farms to the south of here.¡±


    The man nodded, his eyes not seeming to be focussed on anything. ¡°Certainly, follow me, I¡¯ll show you to the stables.¡±


    ¡°Why thank you kind stranger,¡± Berrand said, dismounting and leading his horse around the back of the monastery after the man. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, what name do you go by? And what is this place? I never seen it on no map.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t turn to face Berrand and it was only because he was walking beside him that he saw the grin. ¡°As it happens, sadly, I do mind you asking. I take no offence though and understand your curiosity. However, what we do here is of the utmost secrecy, hence why we are so far out at the edge of the world.¡±


    Berrand was slightly taken aback. ¡°Well... I...¡±


    ¡°Oh you need not worry. We do not hide from people like you, rather sorcerers, witches, and other... more dangerous things. Here are the stables.¡± The man showed them some basic stables at the back of the monastery with a small pony standing obliviously in the corner.


    They stabled their horses and then followed the man into the monastery. Berrand was becoming concerned about this secretive monastery. He had managed to avoid all the wars and magics that had stricken Elkring. Staying well clear of sorcerers, witches, and whatever else. He didn¡¯t want to get caught up in it now.


    But on the other hand he was tired, as were his men. Surely one night in here couldn¡¯t be that big of a problem. Especially if they kept guard.


    The monk, for presumably he was a monk, led them through what appeared to be a rather bare and uninteresting monastery. There were a few other monks who appeared to be tidying or meditating as they all prepared for bed themselves, but other than that it appeared empty of any shrines or statues to whatever the eye symbols represented.


    ¡°Do not go in there,¡± the monk said as they walked past a rather imposing looking door.


    ¡°Why not?¡± Berrand asked, hardly expecting an answer.


    ¡°There is a creature in there,¡± the monk replied. ¡°A monster I have worked hard to trap.¡±


    ¡°If you have it trapped why don¡¯t you kill it?¡± Berrand asked, rather bluntly and the monk simply grinned again.


    ¡°We are not killers here Berrand the Ranger, not even of monsters. Here are our spare rooms I trust they will be more comfortable for you than a night in the wild.¡±


    Berrand and his rangers walked into the rooms. It was still too dark to properly tell what was off about the monk¡¯s eyes. What¡¯s more all the other monks had seemed perfectly ordinary. What was it about this one that just seemed so wrong?


    The monk left them to get settled and they packed into the rooms where Berrand gathered his men. ¡°Alright, there¡¯s definitely something suspicious going on here. I don¡¯t trust any of these monks, particularly the one with the eye on his forehead. Reyse, what demons do you know about that have eye symbols?¡±


    Reyse shrugged. ¡°Hahkenata I think has an eye. ¡®e sees the future, stuff like that. Mebbe Malafrien, queen of cold and spirits.¡±


    ¡°Okay do you think these people could be a cult o¡¯ one o¡¯ those?¡±


    Reyse shrugged again. ¡°I really dunno. If they were I¡¯d think it¡¯d be more obvious.¡±


    ¡°Well they ain¡¯t gonna exactly advertise that they¡¯re a demon cult, are they?¡± Lukor replied and Berrand grimaced as he raised his voice slightly above the whisper they were speaking in.


    ¡°Well they are hidden away up here. You¡¯d think they wouldn¡¯t care since no one¡¯s ever gonna find them,¡± Reyse said.


    ¡°We found them didn¡¯t we?¡±


    ¡°Shut up,¡± Berrand growled, careful to keep his voice low. ¡°Alright, well whoever they are, I don¡¯t trust¡¯em. But I think we just sleep here for the night, keep a watch, and then we leave in the morning. We don¡¯t bother them, they don¡¯t bother us.¡±


    ¡°I dunno,¡± Lukor continued. ¡°You heard him talkin¡¯ about magic and sorcerers, what if they pull some magic on us?¡±


    ¡°We ain¡¯t seen anything that indicates they¡¯re doing magic,¡± Berrand replied. ¡°In fact I ain¡¯t seen much at all. They just look like ordinary monks in a mostly empty monastery. The only weird part is that door they told us not to open but I ain¡¯t gonna open that regardless so it don¡¯t matter.¡±


    The others muttered to themselves but mostly they seemed to agree. ¡°What if behind that door is the beast we¡¯re hunting?¡± Allator, one of the quieter, gentler, rangers asked and the others all looked at him. Encouraged by this he continued. ¡°What if these people are the ones letting it out as part of whatever sick cult they¡¯re in?¡±


    The men muttered about this and Berrand felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.


    ¡°We ain¡¯t found a trace o¡¯ the beast.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re stayin¡¯ so secretive up here.¡±


    ¡°Worth investigatin¡¯ at least.¡±


    ¡°That little guy said he trapped it, surely we can take it if-¡±


    ¡°Enough!¡± Berrand whispered as loud as he dared. ¡°These people have taken us in and while they may seem like a secret death cult, they ain¡¯t done any harm to us yet. We are gonna sleep in this room for one night. One night! And then we¡¯re gonna leave for the morning. If we can¡¯t stay in a house without attacking the hosts for a night then we don¡¯t stand a chance at finding this beast. Lukor, you¡¯re taking first watch, watch order is as normal. Now if you¡¯ll excuse me I¡¯m going to get to bed.¡±


    The rangers grumbled but gradually they began to settle down although all of them wondered, sometimes quite loudly, about what was behind that door.


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    Malathar walked through the quiet monastery to the great circle at the edge that faced outward over the Eastlands and beyond. From the courtyard you could see all the way to Elkring and in the clear night it was an impressive sight. There he found the High Monk, sitting there, meditating. The High Monk who never slept, who only sat in his monastery and watched.


    Malathar sat down beside him and looked out at the view. It was an excellent place to meditate out here. He could see why the High Monk chose to do so when the rest of the world was asleep.


    He turned to look at Malathar and opened his eyes. In the darkness it was barely visible but Malathar knew what to look for. Red eyes, the eyes that marked the High Monk as neither human nor sorcerer, but something else entirely.


    ¡°I am leaving for a while Malathar,¡± the High Monk said sadly. ¡°One of my traps has been sprung, my most dangerous quarry of all.¡±


    Malathar nodded. While he was here they called him the High Monk, but outside, to the witches and the wise who knew of him, he was the Trapmaker.


    ¡°The Minstrel?¡± Malathar asked. ¡°Did the trap work?¡±


    He turned back to face out toward Elkring, to where somewhere he¡¯d set up a trap for the Minstrel, one of the most dangerous men alive. ¡°It did,¡± he spoke, still sad. ¡°I can trust no one else with this. I must go myself and deal with this man before he breaks free or someone finds him. I leave you in charge of the monastery. Take care of the rangers. They do not trust us of course, but they will be on their way tomorrow.¡± The High Monk stood up and produced an arrow from somewhere within his robes. A red arrow. He twirled it within his fingers and plunged it into the ground. ¡°I will return shortly Malathar. Providing that all goes well of course.¡±


    He stood back as the red arrow transformed into a red horse. Malathar had seen it many times but it still shocked him the speed at which it happened. The High Monk mounted his horse and rode it toward the edge of the courtyard.


    ¡°Godspeed High Monk,¡± Malathar said reverently.


    The High Monk turned back and grinned. ¡°Do not call gods on me Malathar, you know what they think of my kind. And I am not a High Monk any more. For now I am the Trapmaker.¡± With that he spun around, kicked his magical horse and it leapt from the courtyard to speed off down the mountain. Malathar stood and watched him leave. It was always difficult dealing with demons. Even a fragment of one.


    Lukor heard the hoofbeats and leapt to the window. He saw the monk, still in his robes and with his distinct shaven head, galloping off down the mountain. Lukor had never been the brightest of rangers, but he knew that the only horses in the stable had been theirs and a pony. The monk was not riding a pony.


    He shook awake Allator who was closest to him. ¡°Allator,¡± he hissed and the quiet ranger blinked in confusion as he slowly woke up.


    ¡°Wh-what?¡±


    ¡°That monk stole one of our horses.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s riding away on a horse and there weren¡¯t any horses in the stables apart from ours.¡±


    ¡°So he¡¯s robbing us?¡±


    ¡°Damn right he is. Come on, let¡¯s get after him, we can-¡±


    ¡°Nuh, I ain¡¯t leaving till I see what¡¯s behind that door,¡± Allator replied and Lukor froze in surprise. Normally Allator was quiet and reserved, following along with what the others decided. What had suddenly made him so desperate to see what was behind the door?


    ¡°Why do you care what-¡±


    ¡°Think about it. We¡¯re looking for a monster. They¡¯ve got a monster. They just stole one of our horses, perhaps more so clearly they¡¯re up to something. Let¡¯s kill the monster, then we can chase this stupid monk.¡±


    Lukor thought about it. He really didn¡¯t like this idea. ¡°Well we should at least bring more than just the two of us.¡±


    Allator nodded. ¡°Let¡¯s leave Berrand, he¡¯d say it was a terrible idea. We¡¯ll wake Reyse, and Thren.¡±


    Lukor nodded, amazed that he was actually going along with this plan. Although it did make a lot of sense when you thought about it. The monks were releasing this monster on the farms to the south in accordance with whatever evil demon they worshipped. Now they¡¯d had a band of rangers hunting said monster turn up on their doorstep so they clearly planned to kill them, probably in a sacrifice to their demon. The monk had stolen their horse likely to get help from whatever other monks inhabited these godforsaken mountains. It was all making a twisted sort of sense and the best way to determine the truth was just to open the door and slay the monster. So the four of them gathered up their weapons and went to the mysterious door in the hallway. To their surprise it pushed open rather easily.


    Beyond the door was a room full of weapons with another door at the back. This door looked even more formidable than the first one had and was locked up tight. Luckily there was a key hanging on the wall. Clearly the monks hadn¡¯t really thought about anyone trying to break the monster out.


    Allator boldly took the key and put it into the door, unlocking it. The door slid slowly open and they all readied their weapons.


    Malathar walked calmly back to bed, perfectly content to simply fall asleep, safe in the mountains. But he remembered the key. They¡¯d just left the key to the prison hanging right next to it so they could open and close the door as needed. But now these strangers were here and who knew what they might get up to. Malathar decided he should go and grab the key and take it to bed with him, just to be safe. He turned around and walked back through the monastery until he saw the door to the weapons room wide open. Then he started running.


    The four rangers aimed swords and bows at the darkness beyond the door but there was no monster there. There was just a man, an ordinary homely man. He looked up at them and spoke in a voice that sounded far more ordinary and welcoming than the monk¡¯s had.


    ¡°You are not monks?¡± he asked curiously standing up slowly.


    The rangers gradually lowered their weapons. They could see the whole room the man was in and there was nowhere for a monster to hide. Just a bed, a chamber pot, an empty food tray, a cell. A prison that the monks were keeping this man in.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± Allator asked, Lukor was glad he was taking the lead. ¡°Why have the monks imprisoned you here?¡±


    The man shrugged. ¡°I suspect they want to sacrifice me to whatever demon or dark god they worship.¡±


    ¡°They worship a demon?¡± Lukor asked.


    ¡°Well they must,¡± the man said. ¡°Look around you, this is no holy temple. Why are all the shrines hidden? Why are the only symbols a mysterious eye? And of course I¡¯m sure you noticed the head monk¡¯s eyes.¡±


    The rangers looked at each other, there had been something wrong with his eyes but in the darkness they hadn¡¯t been able to pin down what it was.


    ¡°What is wrong with his eyes?¡± Lukor asked suspiciously.


    The man shrugged again. ¡°They¡¯re blood red, the eyes of a demon.¡±


    Malathar rounded the corner and his mouth dropped open, the monster was free. He¡¯d only been in charge a few minutes and the rangers had already opened the door.


    ¡°Stop! Close the-¡±


    The rangers spun around as he ran forward to try and close the door and two of them grabbed him. The monster remained calm, simply looking at them all with empty eyes. His eyes that were somewhat comforting but Malathar knew were anything but.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± one ranger shouted into his ear. ¡°Why have you trapped this man and why did your head monk steal our horse?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Malathar pleaded as the monster slowly walked out of his cell, looking up at the weapons hanging on the wall around him. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, he¡¯s-¡±


    The monster took a sword from the wall and drove it straight through Malathar¡¯s neck. The rangers were too slow to stop him.


    ¡°What did you-?¡± Allator asked as he released the monk to lie gurgling on the ground.


    The man shrugged. ¡°He was a cultist, he would have only lied to you. You say the head monk stole one of your horses?¡±


    ¡°We could have interrogated him, we could have learned something!¡± Allator continued and the man shrugged.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m sorry. I only worried his cries would wake the others and they would all attack us before we had a chance to escape.¡±


    ¡°Well I suppose-¡±


    ¡°Forget it,¡± Lukor said, also leaving the monk to die on the ground. ¡°We need to get our horse back so we can all get the hell out of here! Reyse, Thren, wake the others,¡± he said, sending them running out of the room. ¡°You,¡± he pointed at the man. ¡°I still don¡¯t trust you so I want-¡±


    The man stuck his sword straight through Lukor¡¯s throat next. ¡°Good,¡± he said, still in his comforting voice. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t.¡±


    Allator¡¯s eyes went wide but before he could react the man had another sword and it was stuck in his throat. The man smiled at him, then pulled back both swords leaving both rangers to collapse to the ground and die. He put down one sword and then walked back to the wall of weapons. The sword he had was good, he wouldn¡¯t need another weapon now, but he was still missing something. He picked up his old shield and slung it back on his arm. The shield of the Boar¡¯s Head Knight.


    After he¡¯d killed all the rangers as they woke he moved on to the monks. Some of them were awake but none of them were skilled enough with their weapons to challenge him and his only regret was that he lacked the time to stick around and make their deaths more painful. These monks had locked him up for years after they¡¯d tricked him into that stupid trap back at the farm. But there was something else he needed to do.


    He walked to the edge of the courtyard and looked off the mountain into the land beyond. Sure enough the Red-Eyed Monk rode a horse off across the land below. He was heading north which was strange because there was nothing to the north except the Whisper Pass. The nearest pass through which you could get to the Hallowed Realm. But there was another way to the Hallowed Realm, a faster way known only to the Mullindore. The mysterious raiders who once stalked these mountains raising the great direwolves until they¡¯d all fought and killed each other. Until Craegan and Wyrous were the last ones left. Wyrous was dead now too he knew. So much death, so much pointless violence. He relished it.


    Craegan watched the Red-Eyed Monk ride off into the distance and slowly walked to the stables. The ranger¡¯s horses were of the Eastlands and while they likely never would have outrun the direwolf they were hunting they would do for catching up to the Red-Eyed Monk. He untied a few of them and swung into the saddle, setting off down the mountain.


    As he rode he heard that voice in his head that had so bothered him all the long years he¡¯d been trapped in that monastery. The voice offering to break him out that he had only given in to a week ago. The voice of Raqos the Demon God of Fire.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Raqos said as he rode, filling his head with annoying visions of fire and topaz. ¡°You will make an excellent knight to lead my forces.¡±


    Craegan of the Mullindore growled at the voice in his head. Raqos only laughed and filled Craegan¡¯s head with fire.