《Belustera: Paradisus Lost》


 Prologue

    ¡°My King!¡± The courier burst through the door, fearful and breathless.


    Raylen Dawnsworn suddenly stood from his seat at the head of the table. The Ambrosi king¡¯s advisors followed suit. ¡°What is the meaning of this interruption?¡±


    ¡°Urgent news! The Namintum... invaded! Strange people... headed this way!¡± The elf¡¯s trembling fingers fumbled clumsily in his attempt to detach the message tube from his belt. He knelt before King Dawnsworn and offered it to him shakily.


    Raylen made no hesitation in unrolling the letter and all eyes became fixated on him, advisors and servants alike eager for the contents of the letter to be revealed. ¡°Human,¡± he mumbled, brow furrowed. Not a soul in the room knew what it meant or what it was. After considering the words hastily scrawled on the parchment, the king looked to his advisors, seemingly at a loss. ¡°The Namintum have fallen.¡± Panicked whispers echoed through the chamber. What terrible force could possibly have overcome the most formidable of the elven tribes? ¡°Assemble the Skyscreamers, scout the border,¡± he said solemnly. ¡°They come for us now.¡±


    As King Dawnsworn spoke the first order of war, human forces had already razed an Ambrosi city. None were spared the wrath of conquest, and all warnings, it seemed, arrived too late to save most. The humans poured over the land, leveling everyone and everything in their path until the fateful day of reckoning finally arrived, and they approached the great gates of Paradisus, the very last bastion of elven life on all of Belustera.


    Refugees from towns near and far rushed into the towering city, while King Dawnsworn and his lords watched from the palace warspire as the humans blasted to pieces the great stone walls that once kept them safe. ¡°Your Majesty, it is do or die,¡± one of his counsel urged. ¡°We cannot wait any longer. We must utilize the artifact.¡± Knowing the demise of the Ferolis elves, corrupted by the power of their sacred staff, the king feared he may damn his people to a similar fate if he had to resort to its use. ¡°Protect what remains of our people, My Liege. Do you not hear them crying out for you to save them?¡±


    There must be another way, he tried to reason with himself. He turned away from the carnage below to face the crystalline staff which lay suspended in the center of the room, casting a peaceful, blue glow upon them all. No. There was no other way. Only Brothers¡¯ Foresight could save them now. Raylen dared to touch his fingertips to the arcane barrier that had safely encased the staff for so many millennia, and an opening molded to his intruding fingers. The barrier disappeared with a blinding flash as he took the holy weapon into his grasp. He wasted no time teleporting to the square where his subjects awaited their seemingly imminent slaughter.


    ¡°Citizens!¡± His booming voice and the unmistakable presence of Brothers¡¯ Foresight allayed their hysteria and commanded silence. ¡°I call upon your aid to save our civilization in this, our darkest hour! The future of our people depends on the action you take here today! Onward! For the glory of Paradisus!¡± The people gave a hearty shout and followed after their tenacious king to face the strange human troops.


    On Raylen¡¯s orders, citizens and soldiers joined their arcane power together to form a wall across the line of human forces, effectively halting the enemy¡¯s approach. They charged mindlessly in their misguided belief that the violet energy before them was harmless, but quickly learned they would not be able to press forward when it turned their warriors to ash. Boulders and flaming arrows also disintegrated at the slightest touch. It seemed the invasion had been stopped.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    For three straight days, the Ambrosi kept vigil. On the fourth day, the sea of human soldiers parted to allow a group of regal men riding ornately armored steeds to pass, until they were face-to-face with King Dawnsworn himself. ¡°I am King Torelaine of Oakenhold,¡± the heavily-bearded man began, peering down his crooked nose at Raylen. In his conquest, he had picked up enough Elvish to make his demands known. ¡°This wall of yours,¡± he gestured with some irritation, ¡°has tested my patience long enough. Surrender your staff and I may spare you.¡±


    Unfazed by the threat, stoic King Dawnsworn stood firm. ¡°You will not have it.¡±


    To the surprise of the Ambrosi, one of Torelaine¡¯s lords revealed The Hand of Change, the conquered Namintum¡¯s most sacred artifact, passing it to their king as he stepped down from his horse. The holy staff, crafted by the same divine hands as the one they sought, effortlessly pierced the arcane wall, separating it as if pushing through window dressings, just wide enough for him to pass through. In his other hand, Torelaine unsheathed his sword and held its tip out to Dawnsworn. ¡°I will.¡± The elves began to falter. Raylen did not.


    A blast of energy burst from Brothers¡¯ Foresight, pushing Torelaine back through the wall with such force that he dropped The Hand of Change. The humans clambered over one another to reclaim it before the barrier could close, only to see themselves turned to ash. Torelaine screamed and cursed Dawnsworn, swearing he and his men would never leave until they had taken the elven artifacts, and wiped every last elf off the face of Belustera.


    The unwavering conviction with which Torelaine made his proclamation shook Dawnsworn¡¯s composure. He looked to the frightened faces of his people, each of them wordlessly pleading for him to end this terror. He had already used the artifact once. ¡°One more time,¡± he quietly begged of the gods. ¡°Let me grant them reprieve.¡± He held the staff to the heavens and it began to glow. The land trembled violently, darkness opening beneath the feet of the human frontline with a deafening crack and swallowing them as the land behind the barrier began to rise.


    By the grace of the gods, Paradisus was lifted into the sky, leaving only an empty crater in its stead.


    When finally they could allow the barrier to expire, the Life Mages of Paradisus collapsed from exhaustion. The elves were saved. King Dawnsworn sent his people to their homes to recuperate, while he and his advisors would begin talks of how to proceed with the kingdom¡¯s affairs. An air of uneasiness sifted through the citizenry, as though something had been overlooked in the bedlam.


    The very same week, Dark Mage assassins infiltrated the Palace of Twilight and murdered King Dawnsworn, his queen, and their heirs in the dead of night. The Revolution of Stars began and the streets ran red with the blood of Life Mages, retribution for the thousands of years of Dark Mage persecution imposed by the Dawnsworn dynasty. On the third night of terror, the surviving Life Mages were rounded up and brought to the palace square before the one responsible for the revolution: Vyndalor Starshade.


    Brothers¡¯ Foresight in hand, he stood aloft the crowds at the doors of the King¡¯s Palace. ¡°A new era is upon us! Now and forevermore, Paradisus shall be ruled by the children of the Beautiful Dark!¡± The Dark Mages roared their approval. ¡°Never again shall we abide the chains of oppression heaved upon us by our inferiors; it is high time they came to know our suffering!¡± Once more, his followers cheered their savior, and he turned his attention to the trembling mass of Life Mages before him. ¡°You will kneel, or you will die,¡± he warned them.


    The first one to resist was brought to Vyndalor. He demonstrated a terrible power the world had forgotten, slowly, painfully draining the life essence from the screaming dissenter until his face became gaunt, his eyes empty, and his body motionless. A skeleton loosely draped with skin fell at his feet, and upon returning his gaze to the Life Mages, they knelt.

 Chapter I

    ¡°Lunoc! Lunoc, come here. I need your help!¡±


    The young Dark Mage heaved a sigh, standing from the messy desk in the corner where he¡¯d been studying diligently. He tied up his long, violet hair behind his head to get it out of his way. ¡°You know, Father,¡± he began to complain, ¡°the exam is tomorrow, and I would quite like to pass.¡±


    ¡°Oh, come now, you have a minute to help me drag in some bolts.¡± Eroan struggled with the large sack over his shoulder before his son forcefully took it from him. ¡°Knock that off, I asked for your help.¡±


    ¡°Just thank me instead of chastising my concern for your advanced age,¡± Lunoc joked, setting it in the corner nearest Eroan¡¯s workstation. ¡°What¡¯re all these for, anyway?¡± He asked, peeking through the beautiful rolls of colorful fabrics. In the right light, some of them even shimmered. ¡°They look a little above your usual pay grade.¡±


    Eroan shook his head and chuckled. ¡°It would seem High Councilor Starshade finally caught wind of my work.¡±


    ¡°And just how did the old fetcher do that?¡±


    ¡°I tailored the rest of the Lunar Council¡¯s robes.¡± The two of them laughed and Lunoc finished bringing in the rest of the materials. ¡°Things have been good these past few months with all these high-up fellows wanting robes. But the High Councilor himself... If I can impress him, we¡¯ll be feasting like kings.¡±


    ¡°And here I thought you hated them,¡± Lunoc questioned, returning to his desk.


    ¡°I don¡¯t hate their coin.¡± Eroan immediately set to work cutting through a swathe of fabric. It was dark as night, subtly glittering like stars with every movement.


    ¡°Well, maybe we¡¯d have more coin if you¡¯d let me join the Enforcers.¡± Lunoc watched with some disappointment as the corner of his father¡¯s lip curled. ¡°The academy has been sending invitations for years!¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not.¡± The pace at which Eroan worked increased in tandem with his mounting anger. ¡°You''ll have nothing to do with the council, and you especially won¡¯t be working for them, do you hear me? You keep your head low and The Reclamation won¡¯t come looking for you.¡±


    ¡°Pff, I¡¯m not afraid of The Reclamation,¡± Lunoc scoffed. ¡°And what if I don¡¯t want to be a tailor? It¡¯s tedious and boring and¡ª¡±


    ¡°And safe. Study.¡±


    Lunoc groaned, leaning over the back of his chair as his silver eyes rolled into the back of his head. ¡°Noxum¡¯s stars, Father,¡± he started, lurching eagerly over the desk, ¡°I¡¯m so much better with magic than this nonsense, and you know it! If you¡¯d just let me¡ª¡± He flinched as Eroan¡¯s fists came down against his work table.


    Eroan took in a long breath, recomposing himself. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to protect you, Lunoc.¡± He slowly stepped across the room, the only room in their little home, and thoughtfully set his hands on his son¡¯s shoulders. The old elf stared wistfully at Lunoc, reminiscing of a time when they didn¡¯t have to fear for their lives. ¡°You''re meant for so much more than this. And someday, when things are better in Paradisus, I know you¡¯ll be what you were truly meant to be. But right now,¡± he paused to draw a tired breath, ¡°this is just the way things have to be. Sometimes, we have to do things we don¡¯t necessarily want to¡­ so that we can survive.¡±


    It had been this way since the Life Mages of The Reclamation began terrorizing the city nearly a decade ago. Anymore, it seemed only a couple days could go by without another explosion ripping through buildings and people. The people of Paradisus had grown uncomfortably accustomed to the violence. Brawls broke out in the streets. People disappeared from their homes and never returned. Never in their history had Life Mages and Dark Mages been so polarized, and the Lunar Council did little, if anything, to quell it. And to young Lunoc, it only appeared to be getting worse, not better. Eroan¡¯s words of comfort meant nothing.


    Eroan¡¯s stare persisted, and a smile grew on his face. ¡°One and the same, you and your mother,¡± a delighted huff escaped his nose, ¡°heads always in the clouds, always dreaming big¡­ and gentle as lambs,¡± he emphasized. ¡°You¡¯re not cut out for that butchery, Lunoc. Please, son,¡± he pleaded, squeezing his son¡¯s shoulders, ¡°just study. You¡¯ll pass the exam, have your license, and then you and I can really get to work.¡±


    Work, Lunoc thought with some contempt, his gaze dipping away. Work was all he¡¯d ever done since his mother was taken by the sleeping sickness. Tailoring left him no time for friends or fun, though he knew that many of his old friends eventually became caught up in the same predicament. Between having friends and having food to eat, the choice was obvious.


    Eroan returned to his workstation, still on about it as he continued working on the fabric. ¡°Just think, together, we could make enough coin to open a store in the market. Our very own father-son operation. And when the people see that even the High Councilor wears our robes, there¡¯ll be a line through the city just to place an order!¡± His excitement went unrequited. Looking up from his work, he watched an unenthusiastic Lunoc, head tiredly propped up by his hand, turning slowly through the pages of a study manual. Eroan exhaled his disappointment and focused once more on his latest project. Each worked silently until the weight of their eyelids became too heavy, and they recited a prayer before retiring for the night.


    While most of the city slumbered, others took advantage of the night¡¯s tranquility to scheme. In the cover of the willglows outside the Owlcrest home, agents of The Reclamation were hard at work assembling the innards of an arcane bomb. The next guard patrol wouldn¡¯t make its rounds for another hour. The two fellows stifled their laughter, relishing the thought of the destruction to come. Upon completion, they fled across the courtyard and feigned shouts for help to draw out as many Dark Mages as they were able.


    They gained only the attention of Eroan, who awoke from a deep sleep, alarmed by the distressed shouting. ¡°Lunoc,¡± he whispered harshly as he sat upright, shaking his son awake. ¡°Lunoc, get under the bed, now!¡±


    Half-asleep, Lunoc questioned Eroan¡¯s request only to be repeatedly prodded until he was out of the bed and under it. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t move, don¡¯t make a sound. I¡¯ll tell you when it¡¯s safe.¡± Eroan shuffled through a drawer in his work desk for his dagger, drew the hood of his robe over his head, and cautiously walked out the door. Looking back and forth over the courtyard, he found no one. Not even a trace of anyone. He stepped around the side of the house, still nothing.


    Then, the world went white and silent. And suddenly, there was truly nothing.


    The rebels, in their excitement to see signs of movement through the darkness, detonated their bomb, taking Eroan and most of the house with it.


    Neighbors swarmed the scene almost immediately, but by then, the crafty rebels were long gone. Onlookers feverishly sifted through the rubble for signs of life. Only Lunoc was found, beneath the ruined bed. He was dragged out of what remained of the house and sat in the courtyard by his neighbors. The boy¡¯s vacant stare disconcerted them. ¡°Lunoc!¡± One shouted at him as another shook him vigorously. ¡°Lunoc, are you alright?!¡±


    Lunoc wasn¡¯t sure what was happening. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. He couldn¡¯t even focus his eyes, staring past them all at nothing in particular. This didn¡¯t look like his home. Where was he? Wasn¡¯t he just lying in bed?


    The world was moving too quickly. Before Lunoc could even realize it, heavily armored guards were carrying him away. In a blink, it seemed as though they¡¯d crossed the entire city. Had he been unconscious? Was he dreaming?


    He was in yet another new place. Strange Life Mage women were staring at him, speaking amongst themselves with voices he still couldn¡¯t hear. They were beautifully dressed, each adorned with the same uniform. They were court healers, the only Life Mages in Paradisus not forbidden to practice restorative magics. They carefully cut away what was left of his clothing, and each time they touched him, there was horrible, searing pain that he couldn¡¯t even bring himself to flinch at. He felt as though he were frozen. They pulled the arcane shards from his flesh, one by one, and only once they were finished prying every tiny crystal out of him did they finally heal the gaping wounds left behind. The explosion also caused severe mana burns to his skin in several places, disfiguring him terribly, and those were no less painful to heal. When the healers were finished with him, he appeared as though none of it had ever happened.


    The women spoke to Lunoc again, first quietly, and then with shouts until they realized the explosion had surely deafened him. One stepped forward and, by simply cupping her hands over his ears and casting a spell, restored his hearing. ¡°Lord Owlcrest?¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Sound. It made him jump, pulling him out of his trance. Though he never answered them, they took this as a sign that he could hear again, gave him new clothes to wear, and considered their work finished.


    Lunoc was left alone in this room for quite some time before someone finally came in. The door creaked, and a tall, regal-looking fellow made his entrance, heavily decorated with precious jewels and gold, a cloak made of the finest silk trailing behind him, surely of his father¡¯s making. Beside him, two heavily armored, elite guards walked perfectly in sync, almost mirror images of one another. ¡°You must be the young Lord Owlcrest,¡± the robed figure said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. As the stranger stepped into a better light, Lunoc noticed his prominent stomach, and wondered if he¡¯d ever seen someone so well-fed before. ¡°I am the Minister of Order. You may simply call me Minister Moonflight. I have precious little time, so let us get down to business. Your father, Eroan, was killed in the explosion.¡±


    The news should¡¯ve shaken Lunoc, profoundly saddened him, but he felt nothing, said nothing, did nothing. Perhaps he was still in shock. Perhaps he was still waiting to wake up from what he thought could only be a horrible nightmare.


    Confused by Lunoc¡¯s lack of response, the Minister¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°And,¡± he started again with some awkwardness, ¡°you will, of course, be subject to an inheritance tax, and an audit of his year¡¯s income will ¡­¡±


    Lunoc¡¯s mind seemed to turn off. His empty stare was fixated on the plump Minister Moonflight, and though he could certainly hear, he wasn¡¯t listening. There was no sadness, no regret, no remorse in the Minister¡¯s voice, only a cold, unfeeling statement of fact. Taxes this, certificates that. And when it was clear that Lunoc would keep his silence, the Minister dismissed him without hesitation. These people didn¡¯t care about what had happened to Eroan. They certainly wouldn¡¯t care what would become of him.


    Only when Lunoc was allowed to revisit what remained of his home was he finally cognizant of the world. The sky wept with him as he tripped through the debris in search of anything that could be salvaged. The only item not ruined by the explosion was a family heirloom, a bronze medallion bearing the face of an owl, passed down since its original forging by an old Namintum family friend whose name was now forever lost with Eroan¡¯s passing. Lunoc brushed the dust away from its eyes, topaz gems glimmering and reflecting the presence of a cloaked figure behind him. He turned dejectedly to face Vyndalor Starshade. ¡°Leave me,¡± he muttered.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come to offer my condolences, young Lord Owlcrest,¡± the High Councilor answered with a voice Lunoc imagined best suited a snake. A smile very nearly threatened to tear across Vyndalor¡¯s lips, from behind which the boy would not be surprised to see a forked tongue slither out. By Ambrosi standards, the High Councilor was tall and lanky. His silken hair, a violet so deep as to challenge a moonless night, flowed gently over his shoulders and down to his waist at its longest.


    ¡°Condolences?¡± Lunoc snapped. ¡°For what, your robes?!¡±


    ¡°Of course not. Eroan was a fine citizen, and I merely¡ª¡±


    ¡°Begone!¡± He dared to shove the High Councilor away. ¡°My father would not abide your presence and neither shall I!¡± He turned his back to continue his search.


    A silence fell between them before Vyndalor stepped forward and set a pale hand on Lunoc¡¯s shoulder. ¡°What will you do now?¡± Silence again. ¡°You have no family. No home. No worldly possessions. No coin or work.¡±


    Lunoc ducked away from Vyndalor¡¯s touch, falling back a step to face him. ¡°I understand now why he hated you! Those Reclamation dogs destroy everything you and your ilk leave your scent on! Something as petty a-as making a robe for you got him killed! Now you¡¯ve come to ensure they dispose of me as well! Go!¡±


    ¡°Oh, you poor, misguided boy,¡± High Councilor Starshade shook his head with pity, touching a hand to his own gaunt face. ¡°You honestly believe your father was their mark?¡± Lunoc¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°The Reclamation wanted you.¡±


    Lunoc¡¯s eyes widened, blinking only as the rain splashed against his face. ¡°Me? Wh... Why?! What did I do?!¡±


    ¡°Not a thing. They merely fear the untapped power within you.¡± It began to make sense to Lunoc why the council so often harassed Eroan, trying every way they knew to convince him to let his son train in the academy. Lunoc had something the council wanted. ¡°I¡¯ve come to make you an offer.¡±


    ¡°I want nothing to do with this war. Can¡¯t you see I¡¯ve lost enough? I won¡¯t allow you to send me to my death,¡± he resisted.


    ¡°They¡¯ve already sent Eroan to his!¡± Vyndalor¡¯s voice lost its gentleness, seething anger as Lunoc tested his patience. He pushed a painted, claw-like fingernail into his chest. ¡°You are already part of this war whether you like it or not, and refusal to answer this transgression in kind only serves to embolden the rebels and weaken our people¡¯s resolve! Don¡¯t be a fool, boy; we are beyond the stage of pacifism! They will not leave you be merely because you wish it so! Even now, they skulk about, watching, waiting for the moment I take my leave to slit your throat!¡±


    The bushes across the courtyard rustled immediately after the High Councilor¡¯s statement. Lunoc¡¯s heart thumped in his throat.


    ¡°Listen, and listen well,¡± Vyndalor continued with a calm but firm tone. ¡°If you don¡¯t come with me now, you¡¯ll not live to see the light of another moon. They will string you up by your innards in this very courtyard while you still live and breathe, and the last thing you¡¯ll hear before the mercy of death overtakes you is their laughter.¡±


    Lunoc¡¯s eyes scanned the ruins as though his father had hidden an answer for him somewhere within the rubble. Without Eroan¡¯s guidance, the decision was his own, though it seemed there was truly only one option.


    ¡°He protected you for as long as he was able. Now, you must fend for yourself.¡± Vyndalor removed his cloak and set it over the boy¡¯s head and shoulders to warm him. ¡°Let me help you, Lunoc. Surely you were meant for so much more than this meager life you¡¯ve led.¡± Overcome with grief, it took nothing else for Lunoc to collapse into the arms of the High Councilor. ¡°There, there, child. All will be made right in due time.¡±


    ? ? ?


    The Reclamation operated out of an unsuspecting, dilapidated farmhouse in the rolling hills beyond the city walls. Though disappointed with the final report delivered to her by her field agents, Solancia Sunblood, beloved mistress of revolution, appeared as unfazed as ever. She lounged lazily in her comfy war room chair, legs crossed and dangling playfully over one of its arms. ¡°No matter; we¡¯ll catch him.¡± Bad news rarely put her out of sorts. Her people greatly admired this relentless optimism, and she knew it kept their spirits high in these trying times.


    ¡°My Lady, h¡ª¡±


    Golden eyes looked to Silvyn with some annoyance over top of the report.


    Silvyn Lightsguard was rumored to be among the oldest of elves alive in Paradisus, second only to Vyndalor Starshade. Their kind typically lived to see 15,000 years, and very rarely more. Silvyn had managed to avoid death for 10,874 years, and it showed. His lengthy, silken hair still showed hints of a once bold crimson at its ends, but it had long since grayed. Wrinkles, like spiderwebs, cracked the skin around his tired, honey-hued eyes when he smiled, but were much more subtle when his expression was at rest. His long face was becoming more gaunt as the years wore on, his cheeks and eyes losing their volume, though it only served to make him look more dignified. These markers of age were envied by all Ambrosi, and commanded a deep respect. Someone who lived that long was surely blessed or, at the very least, doing something right.


    He would never understand her disdain for commonplace formalities and titles. He sighed. ¡°Solancia... I advised against this operation from the start, and with adequate reason. Lunoc was no more a threat to you or I than rain to a fish. Eroan made a point of keeping the Lunar Council at bay, but with him dead, they¡¯re free to turn the boy into a killer. With training, Lunoc will no longer be your arcane equal, but your superior. We have made him into a threat.¡±


    Her bountiful, flaxen hair gently fell behind her, over the other arm of the chair as she threw her head back to laugh ¡°I¡¯m hardly threatened by the son of a tailor. Goodness, Silvyn, how long have you known me?¡±


    Silvyn was caught unawares by the question only briefly. He had an answer for everything. ¡°Since before you were a gleam in your father¡¯s eye, girl,¡± Silvyn shook his head, ¡°but that has nothing to do with¡ª¡±


    ¡°And in all my 427 years, when have I ever failed to settle my scores?¡±


    ¡°Solancia, you are making a terrible miscal¡ª¡±


    ¡°Never. Correct!¡± She gleefully jumped up from her seat at the planning table, gave Silvyn a loving, but wholly dismissive pat on the arm, and trotted up the stairs of the dingy cellar for the overgrown field behind the farmhouse where her soldiers eagerly awaited their orders.


    Solancia was needlessly helped onto a short stack of old, wooden supply crates by two of her burlier soldiers, so she might be able to address them all. Over the top of the untended fields, the setting sun touched her with its fading warmth, as though blessing her personally. Among her people, the Life Mages, she was truly set apart, in beauty and in power. All who knew her saw and felt this. And when Luxen¡¯s benevolent sun shone on her, those who still believed knew she had His favor.


    ¡°Good people,¡± she began to some whooping, ¡°all current projects are hereby suspended until further notice.¡± The tone of the crowd changed instantaneously, whispers of confusion making their rounds. ¡°As you know, Lunoc Owlcrest was the intended target of our latest operation. He has evaded us and been adopted into the ranks of the council¡¯s lackeys!¡± The rebels booed and shouted angrily. ¡°As we¡¯ve heard it said countless times, so do we echo back to them and to Lunoc: There is nowhere to run!¡± They spoke the words with her, having repeatedly heard the warning from the Minister of Order after public executions of their comrades. ¡°We shall flush that shifty fox from his hole! Owlcrest will be ours!¡±


    Their cheers carried on the wind, and each drank to the excitement of the coming hunt.