ã€ŠThe Silver Curseã€‹


 Book 1: Chapter 1 - Youre A Horrible Pacifist

    ¡°I won¡¯t be fighting in the match today,¡± Rasp said. ¡°I¡¯m a pacifist now. In case you haven¡¯t heard.¡±

    ¡°You stabbed me with a fork at breakfast.¡±

    Rasp placed his hand on Faris¡¯s shoulder in the same manner others did to him when trying to convey a sense of reassurance. Faris¡¯s taut muscles flinched beneath the unwelcome touch. That was only fair, Rasp supposed. He had stabbed Faris at breakfast. But honestly, what did he expect after serving him a bowl of oversalted oat mush? If there was any real crime, it was Faris¡¯s idea of a hearty breakfast. ¡°That was a long time ago. I¡¯ve since realized the error of my ways.¡±

    Faris¡¯s voice was flat with disbelief. ¡°If I searched your pockets, I bet I¡¯d find another fork to stab me with the moment my back¡¯s turned.¡±

    ¡°Not true.¡± It was a butter knife, actually. And Rasp wouldn¡¯t wait for Faris¡¯s back to be turned. There was hardly a challenge in that.

    Faris, one of the many faun folk that resided in the village, produced a loud, breathy snort, accompanied by an irritated flap of his ears. It sounded like a leathery butterfly trying to take flight. One that gave up after a single snap of its useless wings, forced to concede that perhaps walking was the more practical option, after all.

    Rasp was human. In the isolated mountains where he had been raised, other than the occasional missing eye or amputated leg, his people lacked severely in the diversity department. Here, in the quaint little village known as Lonebrook, the citizens were a good mix of species, though the majority were fauns. After having spent every waking moment in the company of his keeper, Faris Belfast, Rasp had cultivated a rather detailed understanding of faun mannerisms. This particular sound meant the time to turn and run had been precisely thirty seconds ago.

    ¡°Bye!¡± Rasp spun sharply on his heel and hightailed it in the direction of the front door.

    ¡°Oh, come on. I just finished spot-cleaning the blood off my jacket from your last getaway. Why do you insist on doing this the hard way?¡± The faun¡¯s hooves clacked against the hardwood as he took chase. Reluctantly, from the sound of his slow, dragging steps. His voice reverberated along the narrow walls of the dim hallway, nipping at Rasp¡¯s heels. ¡°You can¡¯t see, idiot! This never works out for you!¡±

    The worn floorboards creaked underfoot as Rasp doubled his speed. Burnt incense, intermingled with the earthy undertones of faun musk, hung heavy in the air like stale clouds. He breathed the familiar scents in through his nose and out his mouth as the blurry green and brown tinted walls passed at a dizzying rate. Without warning, the heavy oak door swung open ahead of him with a raspy groan. A channel of harsh light poured in from the outside and illuminated the surrounding gloom.

    ¡°Gangway!¡± Rasp called to the fuzzy shape that took up most of the doorway.

    ¡°Mister Snow, you blind fool!¡± the washerwoman squawked as she scuttled backward in fright, hooves scraping the stone porch in her haste to escape the oncoming collision. ¡°You¡¯re going to be the death of me one of these days, I swear it!¡±

    Her squat frame, backlit by the gray light of the outdoors, had a peculiar lump protruding from her hip area that suggested she was carrying something. A basket, Rasp realized as he drew nearer. A maniacal smile formed across his face. ¡°Why, Miss Beechum, is that the freshly dried laundry?¡±

    ¡°You know it is, boy. And don¡¯t you even think about rolling in my clean sheets again.¡±

    ¡°Here, let Faris help you with that!¡± Rasp grabbed the reed basket from her and heaved it behind him. There was a curse, followed immediately by a dry crunch and heavy thump as Faris failed to dodge the basket on his way out the door. Not slowing his breakneck pace, Rasp cleared the stone steps in a single leap and landed ankle-deep in an icy puddle. Cold mud squelched between his bare toes as he forced his legs to move even faster across the slippery courtyard.

    Thlop, thlop, thlop. The sound of Faris¡¯s fast footsteps grew louder behind him. ¡°You¡¯re dead when I catch you!¡±

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    As far as escapes went, this one was poorly thought out. The courtyard of Belfast Manor was open and kept clear of obstacles. Navigating it would be a breeze. It was the woodlot beyond that presented a complication. Rasp didn¡¯t normally give problems much thought. For the most part, this tactic worked remarkably well for him. Right up until it came time to face said problem, which, alas, was now. The terrain underfoot shifted from mud to loose piles of slippery, wet leaves. Around him, the crisp air turned sharp with the lingering scent of decayed vegetation and damp soil.

    Faris¡¯s voice rang out from behind him with sudden urgency. ¡°Tree! To your left!¡±

    Rasp dodged right, narrowly missing the towering object that came into blurred focus far too late to be helpful. More trees cropped up along the edge of his murky vision, forcing him to slow his pace in order to avoid running face-first into them. ¡°I thought you wanted me dead,¡± he puffed, already beginning to feel the invisible fire that burned within his lungs. It tightened like a hot vise over his throat and clogged his airways.

    ¡°By my hand, obviously. There¡¯s no satisfaction in watching you get taken out by a tree.¡±

    Faris sounded nearer than before. Another cruel reminder that any moment now Rasp¡¯s keeper would be upon him and his sudden rendezvous through the woods would be cut regrettably short. There would be consequences for inciting a chase, of course. But it rarely amounted to anything serious. Despite Faris¡¯s threats, his people did things differently than the mountain folk. They were light-handed and used words in lieu of fists.

    Rasp didn¡¯t understand their peculiar ways any more than he had six months ago, when he first arrived in Lonebrook. There was something deeply unsettling about walking away with a simple telling off when he rightfully deserved a thrashing. At first, he mistook their gentleness for pity. It seemed plausible, given how helpless he was after the whole left-for-dead thing. But their treatment of him never changed, not even after he was strong enough to defend himself. Rasp had begun to wonder if they were taunting him. Treating him like an invalid as a reminder that he would never again be what he once was.

    Gods, Rasp thought. Is this who he was now? The mighty Rasp Stoneclaw reduced to being chased by a physically inferior opponent? And for what, a stolen butter knife? This was degrading. Downright humiliating, in fact. A year ago it was he who¡¯d held the power. In Rasp¡¯s prime, before the exile, the good folk of Lonebrook would have cowered in his presence. Now? Now they laughed. He, a formidable Stoneclaw warrior, the Iron Devil himself, was but a shadow of his former glorious might. And they knew it.

    A hand grabbed the base of his neck and yanked him backward. ¡°Caught you, you little¡ª¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still a Stoneclaw!¡±

    A properly executed back throw was a beautiful thing. The one Rasp attempted could only be classified as a thing. He seized Faris¡¯s hand and tucked it into position, then stopped, bent at the waist, and allowed the faun¡¯s momentum to send him hurtling the rest of the way over. Faris rolled over the top of him and struck the ground. As did Rasp, too, unfortunately, since their arms were still intertwined. The pair tumbled downhill in a flailing tangle of limbs and muffled curses through the slimy, leaf-littered muck, until at last they rolled to a stop with the aid of a very sturdy tree trunk.

    Despite the ache in his lungs and the sudden, excruciating pain that flared across the hinge of his elbow, Rasp recovered first. He clambered over Faris, clawing, punching, grabbing at whatever he could find. ¡°And stop calling me little! I¡¯m bigger than you!¡±

    ¡°Not where it counts.¡± Faris¡¯s knee shot upward and slammed into the delicate spot between Rasp¡¯s legs. The impact stole the last of the air from Rasp¡¯s battered lungs.

    Rasp wheezed, unable to speak as he slowly listed to the side. He struck the cold forest floor in a splatter of wet leaves and mud. No matter how vehemently he willed his legs to get up and take flight once more, the fight was gone. The festering rage that boiled deep within his gut settled to a gentle simmer as pain took up its place. Rasp drew his knees to his chest and desperately tried to recall the steps necessary to breathe. Something about in and out?

    ¡°First of all, you¡¯re a horrible pacifist,¡± Faris panted. There was a noticeable pause as he sucked in enough breath to continue his rant. ¡°Secondly, you do not announce to the world who you are! Only my family knows. And for good reason. The townsfolk would hang you from the nearest tree if they knew who you were. Understand?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s agreement came in the form of a low-pitched moan.

    This was not good enough for Faris, who clamped his hand over Rasp¡¯s shoulder in a manner that was neither friendly nor reassuring. Painful was the foremost word that came to mind. ¡°So when people ask, you tell them your name is?¡±

    ¡°Snow.¡±

    Faris¡¯s grip tightened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what was that?¡±

    ¡°Snow! My name is Snow.¡± Rasp batted him away with his hand and slumped back into the mud with a whimpered groan. At times like these, a little voice emerged in the back of his head. Not to offer comfort, of course, but to add a layer of insult to the steady stream of agony coursing through his already tormented body. Without hesitation, it slunk from the dark, unvisited corner of Rasp¡¯s mind and bared its ugly teeth.

    Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

 2 - Winds Of Change

    The breeze rattled the barren tops of the birch and poplar trees like a symphony of hollow bones. Leaves leftover from the autumn past, curled and slick with slime, tumbled lazily across the swampy ground, stirring the air with the growing stench of forest rot. The harsh call of a blue jay rang in the distance. Rasp, however, noticed none of this over his own pained wheezing. Save for one sound, which dragged him kicking and screaming from his internal wallowing.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t tell Father about this,¡± Faris snapped.

    The bolts of lightning slamming between his sore legs had lessened to a deep, throbbing ache. Hot tears stung Rasp¡¯s eyes as he managed to speak around shaky gasps. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I don¡¯t tell him you whore me out for fights!¡±

    Faris¡¯s father, the esteemed Judge Trant Belfast, served as the elected official for the sleepy village of Lonebrook. A former soldier turned peacekeeper, Trant had been attempting to teach Rasp the joys of reformation and what it meant to embrace a future without violence. The judge¡¯s efforts, albeit noble, had fallen largely on deaf ears. Rasp could strive to be a better person, sure. But violence was a basic tenet of being a mountain man. And as much as Rasp enjoyed protesting Faris¡¯s arranged fights, he enjoyed the actual fighting even more.

    ¡°Go ahead, tell him,¡± Faris said. ¡°He¡¯ll have no choice but to appoint you a new keeper. And let¡¯s be honest here, you¡¯re a handful. The whole village knows it. No one would accept. Father would be forced to take up the position himself. Do you really want to spend your days listening to him drone on about the philosophies of the enlightened mind? Or would you rather stir up shit with me?¡±

    Rasp decided no answer was better than confirming what Faris obviously already knew.

    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought.¡±

    The sensible thing would have been to let it go. Sensible, however, was not how Rasp had ended up as a long-term guest of the Belfast household. A guest who couldn¡¯t leave or go outside to take a piss without someone hovering over him, for that matter. Rasp raised his head from the cradle of his arms and hawked a glob of phlegm in the vicinity of what he hoped was Faris¡¯s smug face.

    ¡°Gods dammit!¡± There was a rustle of damp foliage as the faun scrambled backward out of spitting range. ¡°What is with you today? You claim you don¡¯t want to fight, but you¡¯ve been trying to pick a scrap with me since breakfast. The whole reason for the matches is to vent your rage in a controlled environment. Which you love, by the way. Why are you acting like an ungrateful brat all of a sudden?¡± Why indeed?

    An uneasy feeling had been gnawing at his insides all morning, hanging heavy in his soul like a black cloud on the horizon. Rasp could feel the winds of change stirring. What exactly it would bring, he didn¡¯t know. His life in Lonebrook wasn¡¯t anything spectacular. But it was a life, at the very least¡ªa living, breathing one that allowed him to exist outside the confines of a prison cell. Something worth celebrating, really, considering his people wanted him dead and his enemies wanted him deader. A quiet existence in Lonebrook was the absolute best his outcast ass could hope for.

    Rasp couldn¡¯t say any of this, of course. Faris wasn¡¯t born the cursed offspring of a mighty Stoneclaw leader. He wouldn¡¯t understand. And there were some things that just couldn¡¯t be explained to outsiders. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re yammering on about. The only thing troubling me is my stomach. Must be those oats you tried to poison me with earlier.¡±

    ¡°Fine, don¡¯t tell me,¡± Faris said. ¡°If you want to avoid the subject so badly, we¡¯ll get right down to business. You¡¯re still fighting in today¡¯s match. And we¡¯re headed there next. But first, you¡¯re gonna hand over whatever it is you stole.¡±

    Or I¡¯m going to kick you in the gems again was the part Faris didn¡¯t need to say. Stifling a groan, Rasp eased upright and searched his pockets. He produced a spoon, a butter knife, and what he suspected was a little tidbit of jewelry, and deposited them into Faris¡¯s outstretched hand.

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    ¡°This is Mum¡¯s earring. She¡¯s been looking for this one,¡± Faris said with a remarkable lack of accusation in his voice.

    Rasp was a thief, yes, but not of jewelry. And certainly not anything belonging to Faris¡¯s saint of a mother, Novera Belfast. Rasp only pocketed things of the sharp, stabby variety. The earring was something he¡¯d simply picked up during one of his restless nights wandering the halls while the rest of the household slept, pleasantly unaware of his nocturnal activities.

    ¡°Where¡¯d you find it?¡± Faris asked.

    ¡°In my foot.¡± That was the trouble with wandering without shoes. You found a lot of interesting things with the bottoms of your feet. The earring hadn¡¯t been nearly as bad as the time he found the lost embroidery needle.

    Faris pried Rasp¡¯s fingers back and placed the earring in the center of his palm. ¡°You¡¯d make her day if you returned it to her. She might even bake those sweet buns you like so much.¡±

    ¡°I was waiting for the right moment.¡± Rasp had hoped to give it to her in private, away from the watchful eye of her son. While he normally enjoyed Faris¡¯s relentless taunting, sometimes it reminded him too much of home. Faris was like the unofficial seventh brother that Rasp neither wanted nor asked for, but got all the same. ¡°She seemed sad the last few days. Did you notice?¡±

    Faris produced a hoarse laugh from the back of his throat as he reached under Rasp¡¯s arm and heaved him upright. ¡°The Iron Devil¡¯s got a soft spot for my mum. Who would have thought?¡±

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯ve just got a soft spot for her buns.¡± Rasp ducked to the side to avoid Faris¡¯s upcoming slap. He was semi-successful; Faris¡¯s hand glanced harmlessly off Rasp¡¯s shoulder. He spun out of range, throwing his arms out at his sides in a playful manner. ¡°What? I can¡¯t help it. They¡¯re so warm and buttery. Don¡¯t get me started on the sticky sweetness. It¡¯s no wonder your father hoards them all to himself.¡±

    The faun¡¯s stocky shape bridged the distance between them in a single lunge. ¡°If I hear another word out of your mouth about my mum, I¡¯m going to jump into that ring and kick your ass myself.¡±

    Rasp linked his elbow with Faris¡¯s and started off at a clumsy skip, not entirely sure what direction he was supposed to be going. He picked one nevertheless, certain Faris would correct their trajectory along the way. ¡°Don¡¯t make promises you can¡¯t keep, Dingle. It¡¯s cruel to keep stringing me along with that same empty threat, you know.¡±

    ¡°Stop prancing and save your energy for the match. I don¡¯t want another repeat of the woodcutter incident.¡±

    Rasp slowed his pace to match Faris¡¯s. He did so not out of obedience, but for the fact that he¡¯d tweaked his knee in the tumble and skipping sent jolts of white hot agony up his thigh with every unnecessary bounce. A point in the favor of his opponent, he supposed. Rasp rarely lost a match. Maybe today would be some lucky sap¡¯s day. Maybe Rasp would lose on purpose, just to stick it to Faris.

    ¡°The woodcutter? I won that one.¡±

    ¡°You bit the man¡¯s ear off! I had to pay him half the pot to keep his mouth shut. You revert to dirty tricks when you¡¯re tired. Which is great for the crowds, don¡¯t get me wrong. Half the people are there just to see what stunt you¡¯re going to pull. But you¡¯ve got to rein it in a little. We¡¯re starting to draw attention.¡±

    It was only the tip of the ear, technically. Not the whole thing. And Rasp had been generous enough to spit it out and give it back afterward. ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Who¡¯s on the chopping block today?¡±

    ¡°The blacksmith.¡±

    ¡°Again?¡± He would have thought the smith had learned his lesson by now. There were only so many times you could have your nose broken before you realized that fighting wasn¡¯t your forte. The blacksmith outmatched him in both size and strength, but Rasp hailed from the Iron Ridge. Combat was his people¡¯s favorite pastime and as such, mountain folk warriors were downright vicious. As were their healers and foragers and schoolteachers. Gods above, even the babies could bite off an unsuspecting finger when they wanted.

    Faris¡¯s gruff voice cut back in. ¡°I suspect the blacksmith is out for revenge.¡±

    ¡°It was just a nose break!¡±

    ¡°Not for that. It was the hickey you planted on his neck afterward. His missus wasn¡¯t very pleased. Seamus had to spend the next week sleeping in the forge, from what I heard.¡±

    A snaggletoothed grin spread across Rasp¡¯s thin mouth. ¡°So you¡¯re saying I should rub some lip color on his collar this time? Dingle, you devious little cuss. You really shouldn¡¯t encourage me this way.¡±

    Faris hooked his arm tighter and pulled Rasp along the slippery trail with a grunt. ¡°Just focus on winning the match, alright? Seamus is not as twisted as you are, but he is bigger. And he¡¯s going to come at you with everything he¡¯s got.¡±

 3 - Fight Like A Man

    Seamus gave the fight his all. It was a pity that his all amounted to all of nothing. Bigger wasn¡¯t always better, not when your opponent could simply sidestep you at every turn. Which, given Rasp¡¯s inability to see most of what was going on, succeeded only in making the blacksmith angrier. Rasp, standing with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, allowed Seamus to do the majority of the work. Each time the faun charged, Rasp waited until the last possible second to duck safely out of the way. It was a continual dance. Left, right, back and forth, Rasp strung him along, purposefully stoking his opponent¡¯s mounting frustration.

    ¡°Stop moving and fight me like a man!¡± Seamus bellowed.

    ¡°I am fighting you like a man.¡± Rasp rocked back on his heels and cracked a grin. ¡°We like to dance around the issue until the other party gives up. Did no one tell you?¡±

    This quip earned several drunken guffaws from the surrounding crowd. Faris had been right. There were more villagers present than usual. Rasp wasn¡¯t sure how many exactly, as their shapes all melded into a continuous gray blur around him. But he could pick out individual voices he hadn¡¯t heard before. The smell, too, was worse. Someone near the orchard end had already vomited on their neighbor¡¯s shoes.

    Seamus emitted a frustrated snort and charged. While Rasp couldn¡¯t pick out the finer features of his opponent¡¯s face or clothes, it was hard to miss the imposing brown shape growing noticeably larger in his limited field of vision. With the blacksmith all but blinded by rage, Rasp made his move at last. He faked right and then ducked, taking the faun down with a sweep of his leg.

    Rasp dropped into the mud and caught Seamus from behind. Seamus flipped onto his back, but it didn¡¯t matter. Rasp¡¯s legs were already wrapped over the faun¡¯s chest. He locked his ankles and secured Seamus¡¯s head with one arm while clamping down over his throat with the other. This was no longer a fight, but a test of endurance. Specifically, if Rasp¡¯s strength would outlast Seamus¡¯s need to breathe.

    The heavyset faun¡¯s muscles twitched beneath Rasp. Already, he could feel Seamus¡¯s strength begin to sap. Only a few seconds more, and it would all be over. The smell of sweat and faun musk permeated Rasp¡¯s nostrils and trickled into his mouth, coating his tongue in a salty, gag-inducing film. The edges of his mouth began to water as that morning¡¯s oat mush threatened to make a reappearance.

    Gods, not now, Rasp pleaded. His antics were only entertaining if they were at someone else¡¯s expense. Vomiting now would only ensure the majority of the splatter ended up on himself. He wanted the crowd to laugh with him, not at him.

    ¡°Mister Snow.¡± A stern voice cut through the ruckus with the weight of a sledgehammer. The crowd went eerily quiet until the only sound Rasp could hear was the snap of brittle twigs underfoot as the speaker drew nearer. ¡°Kindly release Seamus. The doctor has already made three house calls this week. Let¡¯s not waste her time with another.¡± Shit.

    Rasp was all smiles. Like a puppy eager to show off its newest trick, he rolled away and left his opponent facedown in the mud, gasping for breath. He shot upright and attempted to dust the grime from his trousers, succeeding only in smearing it further into the grain of the thick wool. ¡°Nice day for a stroll, sir?¡±

    Judge Trant Belfast¡¯s voice was flat with irritation. ¡°Where is your keeper?¡±

    Rasp gripped the wet soil between his toes as he considered which direction to run. The surrounding landscape was uneven and riddled with white spruce and poplars. While inconvenient, the trees were the least of his worries. It was the inconspicuous hazards like upturned roots, ground squirrel burrows, and the occasional steep cliffside that presented the true peril. As much as it pained him to admit, Rasp stood a better chance of talking his way out of trouble. A feat he was well practiced in, except the part where anyone believed him. Particularly Judge Belfast.

    ¡°Who, Faris?¡± Rasp said. ¡°I think he fell down a well somewhere. These nice people offered to help pull him out. But then Seamus and I got into a bit of a disagreement over who got to carry the rope. That¡¯s what you walked in on, in case you were wondering.¡±

    ¡°Are you finished?¡± Trant asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Is it working?¡±

    There was that damn snort again. Followed closely by an ear flap. And then a hoof stomp. Oh dear gods, the holy trifecta. Trant wasn¡¯t just mad, he was positively fuming. Rasp wondered if this would be enough to make the judge reconsider his stance on pacifism.

    Faris was going to owe him big for this. Rasp didn¡¯t take responsibility for his own actions, let alone someone else¡¯s. ¡°Oh, alright. You caught me. He didn¡¯t fall down the well. I pushed him.¡±

    If Faris had any sense at all, he¡¯d be halfway back to the house by now. He was a survivor who, above all else, valued self-preservation and knowing the precise moment to slip out the back unnoticed. Which failed to explain why the idiot chose that moment to step forward from the crowd and accept his fate. ¡°You can stop now,¡± he said, placing his hand on Rasp¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°I¡¯m here, Father.¡±

    Trant¡¯s calm voice sent a chill up Rasp¡¯s spine. ¡°Out of the well so soon?¡±

    ¡°It was more of a trough, really.¡±

    ¡°I came to check on this so-called training regimen of yours. Imagine my surprise when I found not an exercise yard, but an unauthorized gambling operation. I suppose it explains why half the village is sporting mysterious bruises.¡± Before Faris could interrupt, Trant continued, ¡°At least tell me you split the earnings. Your ward is doing most of the work.¡± ¡°I¡ªuh,¡± Faris stammered.

    ¡°Snow, has Faris been giving you a fair share?¡±

    Rasp paused to consider his answer. Judge Belfast had most definitely laid a verbal trap for him to stumble into. Alas, the only way for Rasp to find it was to fall in headfirst. A nervous grin spread across his muddied face. ¡°He pays me in buttons, actually. He doesn¡¯t think I know the difference.¡±

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    ¡°You never complained before!¡±

    With a wearisome sigh, Trant turned and addressed the crowd. ¡°Go home, all of you. If you have time to stand around then you¡¯re not busy enough. Anyone caught out here again will be assigned extra work duties.¡±

    The blurred shapes around them shifted, moving as one back through the sparse orchard toward the main path. The clearing grew eerily quiet once more. Rasp rolled his weight from one foot to the other, feeling suddenly exposed. Trant and Faris spoke softly beside him, but he didn¡¯t catch a word they said. The skin on the back of his arms prickled as he tilted his head this way and that, listening for a sound that was not there. Something was wrong.

    The croak of a raven echoed between the trees. Alas, there wasn¡¯t time to decipher its warning call. Trant¡¯s gruff voice snapped Rasp back to the present. ¡°Hold out your hand, Snow.¡±

    Rasp curled his fingers in hesitation. Why? Was he going to slap it? Cut it off, perhaps? That didn¡¯t seem very pacifistic. Maybe he¡¯d finally succeeded in pushing the judge over the moralistic cliffside. After a few agonizing seconds of deliberation, Rasp raised his hand in front of him.

    ¡°Palm up, boy.¡±

    Rasp twisted his hand into the correct position and was taken aback when the judge deposited something cold and clinking into it. A fistful of coins, he realized. Collected from Faris¡¯s money purse, no doubt. What in the realm was this?

    ¡°In the future,¡± Trant said, ¡°if you let my son take advantage of you, at least make sure you¡¯re getting a share.¡±

    Rasp sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. ¡°I¡¯m very confused right now.¡±

    ¡°Did you just pocket my half?¡± Faris said to his father.

    A sharp snort from Trant silenced his son¡¯s protests. ¡°Take Snow back to the house and get him presentable. We have guests,¡± he added, with a tone Rasp couldn¡¯t quite pin down. ¡°And for the gods¡¯ sakes, take him the back way. I can¡¯t afford for the two of you to be seen like this.¡±

    With a meek acknowledgment to his father, Faris hooked his arm through Rasp¡¯s and escorted him from the clearing. The journey was as awkward as it was quiet. For a long while, the only sound between them was the occasional splash of a puddle underfoot. They were already halfway, having cut through the back apple orchard and nearing the garden that was presently little more than an empty stretch of frozen dirt, before Rasp found the courage to speak.

    ¡°How dead are we?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Faris murmured. ¡°That didn¡¯t go anything like I expected.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe he didn¡¯t hit you.¡±

    ¡°Father¡¯s never hit me.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Rasp concluded, ¡°explains why you turned out so rotten.¡±

    This earned a lackluster shove from Faris. His heart wasn¡¯t in it though, as made evident by the fact that Rasp was still standing. ¡°What¡¯s your excuse then? Hit too many times?¡±

    Not hard enough, Rasp¡¯s father would have said. That was probably the most confounding piece to this puzzle of a situation. Like Trant, Rasp¡¯s father had also been the leader of his people. But the two men¡¯s approaches to discipline were as different as night from day. Paler Stoneclaw had ruled with an iron first. Honor and duty came before all else, including his sons. Judge Belfast may not have understood Faris, but he didn¡¯t spend his every waking moment tearing him down one fault at a time. Beneath all the bickering, Rasp swore the two actually liked each other. A fact he still couldn¡¯t seem to wrap his mind around.

    ¡°Faris!¡± a gentle voice hissed, tearing Rasp from his thoughts.

    Faris jerked to a stop. ¡°Mum?¡±

    Novera Belfast¡¯s voice came from within the blurry tangle of shoulder-height shrubbery located to their right. ¡°In the thicket, dear. You¡¯ll have to come to me, I¡¯m afraid. It¡¯s best if I¡¯m not seen near the house.¡±

    Faris released his grip on Rasp¡¯s arm and grabbed his hand instead, pulling him into the very heart of the twisted nest of interwoven branches and brittle twigs. Rasp considered making a snide comment about the unexpected hand holding, but the thorns that tore at his bare arms and face sufficiently distracted him from doing so.

    Faris didn¡¯t appear to mind. With his fist locked around Rasp¡¯s hand, tightening each time his ward pulled in the opposite direction, Faris plowed a path through the thicket and delivered them safely onto the other side. Rasp¡¯s only consolation was that the ground here was less thick with stabby vegetation. He felt Faris¡¯s grip lessen and ripped free, muttering as he picked the thorns from his abraded skin.

    ¡°You¡¯re wearing your travel clothes,¡± Faris whispered, his hoarse voice marked with sudden urgency. ¡°Mum, what¡¯s going on? Why are you leaving? It¡¯s not seekers, is it? It¡¯s too early in the season for them to be here.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not from the division, no,¡± Novera said. Her scruffy shape was roughly the same height as Faris¡¯s. For some reason, Rasp always envisioned her taller. It was the demeanor, he decided. Novera had the temperament of a housecat. Warm, affectionate, and capable of sending the entire household scurrying like a nest of plague rats with a single hiss. ¡°Your father asked me to take my students into the hills as a precaution. I don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ll be away. I¡¯m sorry, I wish I had more time. I only wanted to say goodbye.¡±

    Faris staggered forward and enveloped his mother in what Rasp assumed was a heartfelt embrace. That, or they were trying to strangle each other in the most inefficient way possible. Rasp shuffled his aching feet and tilted his head in the other direction, silently wishing Faris had left him on the path. He didn¡¯t like this sort of thing. The way their voices cracked with unabashed emotion, the crying, all that disgusting snuffling¡ªit left him uneasy. Like a turtle without its shell.

    Faris¡¯s and Novera¡¯s hushed conversation shifted to goodbyes as Rasp¡¯s thoughts turned inward. He had overheard Novera and Trant arguing a few nights before. They weren¡¯t yelling, merely talking loud enough for a person creeping the halls to overhear. Rasp didn¡¯t catch most of what was said. He¡¯d heard Novera sobbing afterward, though. And the judge had been in something of a mood ever since. Was it somehow related to this?

    Rasp nearly jumped out of his skin when Novera clasped his hand with her own. Despite the lines that creased her calloused palm, her grip was as strong as his. ¡°I know you¡¯re not what everyone thinks you are,¡± Novera said softly. ¡°And there will always be those who won¡¯t accept you. Just know it gets easier once you¡¯re able to accept it yourself. No one wants to be the first break in the family chain.¡±

    Rasp stared up at the shifting gray light that filtered in through the hazy branches overhead. Novera often knew what she was talking about. He just wished, for the life of him, that he knew what she was talking about, too. His banishment from the Iron Ridge, maybe? It¡¯d hurt, sure, but Rasp was over it now. There was no sense in wallowing over a situation you couldn¡¯t change.

    Something about Novera¡¯s goodbye felt strangely permanent. ¡°Am I going to see you again?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, love. I wish I could take you and Faris with me, but I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s not in the cards.¡±

    What an odd thing to say. Faris, he could understand. He was her blasted son, after all. Rasp was just an overstayed houseguest that may or may not have been a prisoner. Despite this, Novera was nice to him. Possibly the nicest anyone had ever been to him. But that didn¡¯t explain why she¡¯d take him with her, or why she was leaving in the first place.

    Maybe it was the same reason Rasp had been picking fights all morning. The apprehension in the air, the feeling that something was coming. Rasp could feel it stewing in his lower gut, twisting his intestines into knots as the dread slowly ate away at him from the inside out. Did Novera feel it, too?

    The scent of lemongrass and tears enveloped Rasp as Novera threw her arms around him with a sudden shaking shudder, whispering so only he would hear, ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll take care of my son.¡±

 Book 2: Chapter 1 - Rising Waters

    Veins of yellow light pulsed through the trembling rock, weaving across the walls of the cramped storeroom and out into the passage beyond, like shimmering streams branching from a river. A deafening rumble tore through the cavern seconds before the ground jolted beneath Oralia¡¯s feet with such force it nearly threw her off balance. She steadied herself, straining to listen over the rampant beat of her own heart as another section of the pass gave way farther down. Rasp¡¯s magic was the only thing keeping the rest of the cavern intact. Judging from the way the yellow light pouring from his body flickered and waned, it would not hold for long.

    Oralia¡¯s gaze dropped to Faris. The faun was crouched on the ground beside Rasp, doing whatever he could to ensure the witch¡¯s concentration did not slip. Oralia had stayed back with the pair to see that they were not left behind once the rest of the party had gotten through. It was a mistake she would not likely live to regret.

    ¡°We have waited long enough,¡± Oralia said. ¡°Anyone who is getting through the pass already has. We are leaving now.¡±

    ¡°You hear that, Dingle? Time to go.¡± Faris threaded his arm under Rasp¡¯s shoulder and attempted to heave him upright.

    ¡°Don¡¯t touch me!¡± Rasp snapped, shrugging Faris off as he kept his palms planted against the floor.

    ¡°We have to go,¡± Faris insisted.

    ¡°You have to go! I can¡¯t.¡± There was a waver in Rasp¡¯s already strained voice. It was a sad, undulating note that felt unrelated to the fact he was holding up a mountain pass through sheer willpower and determination alone. ¡°It¡¯s slipping, Faris. I can¡¯t hold my magic and run. Go without me.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°Go!¡±

    Faris swiveled his head in Oralia¡¯s direction. His pale eyes were wide with terror and pleading for something he dared not ask aloud. ¡°Then let someone else do the running for you. We¡¯re not leaving you.¡±

    How generous of Faris to volunteer her. As the faun did not appear to possess the ability to carry a full-grown human on his own, Oralia suspected the honor would be left to her.

    To the seventh realm of chaos with it! With the mountain coming down over the top of them, she didn¡¯t have time to argue. Oralia crossed the buckling storeroom in two short strides and stooped to throw the stubborn witch over her shoulder, when a second shockwave tore through the chamber, jerking her footing out from under her and knocking her to the ground.

    The storeroom rattled as a hairline crack split open across the ceiling, raining loose pebbles and debris over them. Oralia rolled onto all fours, coughing the dust from her lungs as her gaze followed the pulsing yellow light back to its source. Rasp was still bent against the ground, eyes screwed shut as he poured the last of his strength into keeping the storeroom from collapsing over them.

    Oralia reached for him a second time. Rasp sensed her nearing presence and bared his teeth threateningly. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. Try to move me and you¡¯ll sever my connection.¡±

    Her hands froze midair, inches from his glowing body as the weight of his statement settled in her gut.

    ¡°Take Faris and get the fuck out of here already!¡± Rasp snapped.

    She knew well enough not to argue. Doing so would only waste time and Rasp¡¯s dwindling strength. Rolling to her feet, Oralia seized Faris by the elbow and dragged him toward the entrance. The faun fought, thrashing to escape her iron grip, but his physical prowess was pitiful compared to hers.

    Faris¡¯s hooves scraped futilely against the stone floor, attempting to slow their progress. ¡°We can¡¯t leave him!¡±

    It was not often that Oralia agreed with Rasp over anything, but for once the boy was talking sense. She pulled Faris along as she broke into a trot. ¡°I cannot move him, Faris. It will bring the entire cavern down if I try. At least do him the courtesy of making his sacrifice mean something.¡±

    She was almost to the doorway when a dark shape came bounding through. ¡°No time for that, swabbies. Get back!¡± Rali¡¯s voice rang out over the growing clamor. ¡°She¡¯s coming down!¡±

    Rali was barely inside when the passage gave out behind her. The earth rumbled and roared as the ancient supports finally gave way to the pressure. The insides of the mountain spilled forth, filling the empty passage as it caved in on itself. Oralia pulled Rali to her as the surrounding walls shook so fiercely, it rattled her clenched teeth together. There was no place to run, nowhere to hide. All Oralia could do was cover her head and wait for what she hoped would be a swift end.

    Splintered slabs of rock fell from the ceiling and struck the ground in bursts of razor-edged shrapnel. The shaking continued, and yet, the worst of it never reached them. Confused, Oralia tentatively slit her eyes open. A dull yellow light lit the gloom, highlighting the falling debris and shifting clouds of dust. Oralia found herself crouched at the center of the storeroom with Rali huddled into her and Faris balled at their feet. Rasp had moved from his original position and now knelt beside the trio with his hands braced against the buckled floor, screaming.

    Waves of dancing yellow light poured from his body and weaved into a tight, protective shell overhead, shielding them from the falling debris. The cavern chamber shook and shuddered in protest, but the magic, as stubborn as its wielder, held strong against the onslaught. Minutes passed before the mountain yielded. The quaking gradually died away until the only sound left was the hiss of falling dirt from the cracked ceiling above.

    With an agonized whimper, Rasp¡¯s arms gave out beneath him and he collapsed against the upturned ground. The yellow light dimmed as the tendrils of magic dissipated into dark nothingness.

    Oralia blinked as her eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. Dust kicked up by the cave-in clouded the air. She pulled her tunic over her mouth and nose to keep from breathing in the worst of it. Unable to see more than a few inches from her face, Oralia groped the area around her for familiar bearings.

    ¡°Ow.¡± A pained voice came from the floor. ¡°Those are my fingers you¡¯re stepping on.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, Faris.¡± Oralia lifted her boot, grateful that at the very least that the faun was alive and hadn¡¯t succumbed to shock. ¡°Can you reach Rasp? Is he alive?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not so sure I¡¯m alive, to be honest.¡±

    ¡°You are speaking to me, Faris. I assure you, you are very much alive.¡± For how long, however, remained to be seen. Oralia kept that particular thought to herself. She left him to check on Rasp as she turned her attention to the other member of the party currently huddled against her. ¡°Ralizak?¡±

    Rali¡¯s fingers were dug so deeply into Oralia¡¯s waist, she could already feel the muscle bruising. The dwarf didn¡¯t reply. She only held on tighter, trembling.

    Oralia rested her hand lightly on Rali¡¯s head, unsure of what she could possibly say to comfort her. ¡°Rali, are you hurt?¡±

    ¡°I can hear them,¡± Rali whimpered with her face pressed into Oralia¡¯s flank. ¡°They¡¯re screaming and I can¡¯t reach them.¡±

    Apart from the occasional shift of rock, Oralia heard nothing. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°Udduc and Henog. I can¡¯t hear Fraegar anymore. She¡¯s gone quiet.¡±

    Oh gods. The collapse, of course. She should have known to send Rali ahead with the others.

    Oralia drew her arm over Rali, feeling the dwarf¡¯s shoulders rise and fall with each shaky sob. Rali wasn¡¯t in the present time. She was stuck years in the past, thousands of miles away, reliving the worst moment of her life. Red Rock, the famous breach¡ªhow Quartz Ralizak first earned her notoriety¡ª was not the glorious tale of heroism the realm painted it to be.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I am here with you, Rali. You are not alone.¡± Slowly, Oralia eased them to the floor.

    ¡°They¡¯re all going quiet. Henog¡¯s crying but I can¡¯t hear Udduc anymore.¡± Rali pressed closer, sobbing, ¡°Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!¡±

    Rali was working as lead tunneler on the southwest shaft when the enemy broke through. She brought the shaft down to stop the invasion, with her and her crew still inside. Rali spent three days underground, listening to her friends die before the rescue team dug her out. She was the only survivor.

    Red Rock was the reason Ralizak refused to go back underground, why she awoke in the night screaming and turned to the bottle to get through the next day. It was the reason the other dwarfs hated her. The realm pretended the reassignment was a promotion, that serving under Oralia was some form of reward for Rali¡¯s bravery. In truth, it was the only option she had. No one else, especially not the dwarfs, would tolerate a glorified killer.

    Oralia gently pried one of Rali¡¯s hands from her side and searched her fingers. ¡°Where is your ring?¡±

    Tears streamed from the lieutenant¡¯s tightly closed eyes, leaving streaks on her dirt-caked face. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m so sorry, Henog. I had to.¡±

    Faris¡¯s voice cut through the dark. ¡°She traded it for a handle of booze.¡±

    Oralia whipped her head at him, tusks bared. Her ferocity, alas, was wasted upon the faun, who could see no further than his own nose in the gloom. ¡°That was her grounding ring,¡± Oralia said, fighting to keep her voice calm for Rali¡¯s sake. ¡°She uses it for flashbacks.¡±

    ¡°Well nobody told me!¡±

    She and the young Belfast were going to have a serious talk about dealing contraband to an addict when they were through. Provided they got through. Oralia removed the pendant from her neck and cupped it in Rali¡¯s trembling hands. ¡°Open your eyes, Rali. What do you see?¡±

    The dwarf¡¯s reply came between fast, panicked gasps for air. ¡°A necklace.¡±

    ¡°Take a slow breath with me. Hold it.¡± They repeated the exercise three times, until Rali¡¯s breathing was less irregular. Oralia kept her voice calm yet firm, as if this was a perfectly ordinary exercise and they weren¡¯t trapped gods knew how far underground without any hope for rescue. ¡°Describe the necklace to me.¡±

    ¡°White gold chain,¡± Rali sniffled, brushing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. The effort left dark streaks across her dirtied face. ¡°Amorphous mineraloid gemstone.¡±

    Even in the midst of a flashback, a dwarf was still a dwarf. Oralia prompted her further. ¡°And to a layman you would call it . . . ?¡±

    ¡°A blue fire opal.¡± Rali turned the stone over in her dirt-smudged fingers. Her breathing was still unnaturally quick, but coming down. ¡°It¡¯s a good size, but the color¡¯s clouded. Usually you see a lot more blue and some green or violet. This one looks like it¡¯s turning gray.¡±

    That wasn¡¯t right. The stone was normally a bright sapphire blue. Oralia tilted her head to get a better view of the pendant held in Rali¡¯s hands as a new series of panicked thoughts rampaged through her head. Something was amiss. Was Whisper¡¯s magic thinner here? The Iron Ridge was named for its rich, mineral-laden rock. Was it possible that the iron was interfering with the power stored in the stone?

    There was another possibility as well. One she did not dare consider given their already bleak circumstances.

    ¡°I¡ªI know this necklace. My friend . . . she wears it.¡± Rali placed the opal into her palm and tapped it. When the stone stayed the same dreary color, she repeated the action several times more to no avail. ¡°I feel like something should be happening. Like someone should be shouting at me. Is this thing broken?¡±

    Oralia breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Rali was starting to come out of it. The severity of the attacks had lessened over the years. In the beginning, they¡¯d lasted hours. Now, with time and practice, Rali had found ways to bring herself around much faster. The issue of Whisper¡¯s fading magic, however, was an entirely different matter. Something that would have to wait until later, after their rescue.

    The rescue that Oralia was not so certain was coming.

    ¡°Uh, Protector?¡±

    Oralia lifted her eyes to look at Faris. With Rali recovering, she could at last focus her attention on the other downed member of the group. ¡°Please tell me Rasp is alive.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s in and out of it, but he¡¯s still breathing at least. That¡¯s not the problem.¡± Faris posed his concerns as a question, as if hoping it was simply a figment of his imagination and not reality. ¡°Does the floor feel wetter to you?¡±

    Oralia felt the ground and winced, realizing that the buckled stone indeed felt wetter than it had mere moments before. The first rule of a cave-in was to stay where you were and await help. This, alas, did not apply to flooding. Through the shifting gloom, she could see the doorway was still intact. She only hoped the stairwell to the surface was in similar condition.

    Oralia jumped upright, her knees screaming, and pulled Rali with her. ¡°Up, Ralizak. We need to get to higher ground.¡±

    ¡°Hm?¡± Rali gazed up at Oralia with a far-off look in her eyes, as if caught in a dream.

    Oralia¡¯s stomach dropped another rung lower. Although she was aware of her surroundings, Rali was still not processing the danger around her. Such inattentiveness did not bode well for an emergency evacuation.

    The dwarf lifted one boot curiously. ¡°Why are my feet wet?¡±

    ¡°There is a slight flooding issue.¡± There was no sense in making Rali panic. Faris was already doing enough of that for the both of them. ¡°We need to go up the stairs and find the exit. Can you walk, Ralizak?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather sit.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Oralia yanked her upright again. ¡°Do not do that.¡±

    ¡°Oralia,¡± Faris said, his voice wavering, ¡°I can¡¯t get Rasp to come around.¡±

    Perhaps it was a small blessing that the faun possessed horrible night vision, otherwise he would have seen the absolute despair etched across her face. Calm, Oralia told herself. You have to stay calm. At least on the outside, else everything will go to shit.

    Not that everything wasn¡¯t already shit. What was worse than shit? Oh yes, drowning. Definitely drowning.

    ¡°I will carry Rasp,¡± Oralia said. ¡°We are going to move single file. I hold your hand, Faris, and you hold Rali¡¯s. Do not let her sit.¡±

    ¡°Or we won¡¯t get her up again. And dammit, I can¡¯t carry two bodies!¡± was the part Oralia kindly left unsaid. Gods, she wished she had some rope.

    She¡¯d sent her pack on up with the rest of the supplies. A lot of good it did her now.

    Faris stood and shook the water from his left hoof. ¡°Is this a good time to point out the water¡¯s getting higher? We¡¯re at ankle height here.¡±

    ¡°I noticed. Thank you for your astute observation.¡± Oralia heaved Rasp¡¯s limp body by the arm and ducked low, slinging him over her shoulder. She reached for Faris and he squeezed her fingers so tightly she nearly snapped her tusks at him.

    No time for that, go!

    Water splashed underfoot as she sprinted through the narrow doorway and out the other side, pulling the others with her. The mouth of the cavern was completely caved in. She could hear the fast trickle of water worming its way through the rubble. This, she realized, was the source of the flooding.

    The foot of the stairwell was only partially obstructed. Oralia wedged herself between the fallen slabs of ceiling and led the others through. She bounded up the stone steps, grimacing as the muscles in her legs and lower back competed for the title of most abused. Faris kept pace. So much so, he kept accidentally nicking her in the back of her calves with his sharp hooves.

    Trouble up ahead caused Oralia to skid to a stop. Faris didn¡¯t react nearly as quickly and slammed into her. With his face firmly pressed into her lower back, Faris emitted a muffled ¡°Maybe warn me we¡¯re stopping next time?¡±

    She caught the wall and steadied herself, grateful the faun hadn¡¯t thrown her completely off balance. Oralia crouched lower and examined the break in the stairway. Even equipped with night vision, she was unable to see past a few yards of darkness, leaving her with the grizzly conclusion that the bottom was a very, very long way down. ¡°Some of the steps have fallen. The other side appears stable, but I cannot cross with all of you. You are going to have

    to jump, Faris.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    The sound of churning water below told her there wasn¡¯t time to consider an alternative course. ¡°You cross first and I will throw the others to you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this plan.¡±

    ¡°Would you rather I throw you?¡± As much as Oralia tried to make it sound like a genuine offer, it still came across as mildly threatening.

    ¡°Not really.¡±

    ¡°You are a faun, Faris. You were born to do this. Take three steps back for a running start. Lift your feet high so you do not trip. Full speed. When I say jump, you jump.¡±

    Reluctantly, Faris let go of Rali and did as instructed. ¡°I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!¡± He screamed as he broke into a run.

    ¡°Jump!¡±

    The faun¡¯s hooves scraped against the rock one last time before he sprang high over her head and sailed across the gap. He struck the other side and slipped, coming to a grinding halt inches from the drop-off. To Oralia¡¯s relief, the staircase held beneath him.

    With Faris safely on the other side, Oralia turned her attention to the next person to brave the crossing. ¡°Ralizak, can you hear me?¡±

    The dwarf lifted her head, still oblivious to the danger. ¡°Huh?¡±

    Oralia draped Rasp¡¯s limp form over the stairs and checked to make sure her feet were firmly planted with her knees bent. She¡¯d left most of the heavy lifting to Curly since his enlistment. Gods, she hoped she didn¡¯t break her back attempting this. ¡°I am going to throw you across the pit to Faris, alright? If you get to the other side and start to slip, try to grab onto something. Preferably not Faris.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Rali snapped from her daze too late.

    Oralia heaved with all her might and threw the dwarf, perhaps too forcefully, into the awaiting arms of Faris. Faris didn¡¯t catch Rali so much as he cushioned her landing. They were both shouting incoherently at her by the time the pair had recovered enough to stand, but Oralia wasn¡¯t listening. She repositioned Rasp securely over both shoulders before skirting several steps back in preparation for her own running start.

    Her voice reverberated off the surrounding rock. ¡°I would advise getting out of the way.¡±

    ¡°Oh shit, she¡¯s coming in hot!¡± Rali scrambled up the stairs, hauling Faris by the elbow with her.

    Move, Oralia commanded, and her leaden legs obeyed. She pounded up the stone steps and pushed off, keeping her sights focused on her landing and not the dark, gaping chasm below. She came down on the other side with both feet planted below her, knees bent to absorb the impact. The staircase shuddered and groaned beneath her. Already, she could feel the fractured stone beginning to slide.

    Oralia forced one throbbing foot in front of the other. ¡°Go!¡±

 2 - Memory Ever After

    Fresh out of the mind fog, Rali grabbed Faris by the hand and led the procession up the stairs at a bounding sprint. ¡°Come on, bucko! Lift those knees or she¡¯s going to plow right over us.¡±

    Behind her, Oralia heard a rumbling crack as the lower portion of the stone steps broke away and fell into the rift below, bouncing against the sides until the clatter was swallowed by distance altogether. She didn¡¯t dare look back to see how much of the staircase was still intact. She kept her gaze straight forward and her concentration focused on lifting her feet high enough not to catch on the uneven steps as she hurtled upward. Rasp hung slack over her shoulder. His body was unnaturally hot, causing her to perspire more than the situation already demanded. Still, she would take a little sweat over kicking and screaming, and was relieved she did not have to make the death-defying escape with Rasp¡¯s running commentary in her ear.

    With the exception of a few dislodged boulders and the occasional shattered step, the rest of the climb went quickly. It wasn¡¯t until they turned the corner, where the doorway to the surface should have been, that death mocked them.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Rali panted as she slowed to a halt.

    ¡°What?¡± Faris whipped his shaggy head from side to side, attempting, unsuccessfully, to see what they were seeing. His nostrils flared in and out as he tested the air. ¡°What is it? I can smell fresh air. We¡¯re close, aren¡¯t we?¡±

    ¡°Well, technically, yes,¡± the dwarf said grimly. ¡°Unfortunately, the doorway is about thirty feet above us. This part of the stairwell must have collapsed during the cave-in.¡±

    ¡°The lower stairs gave out just after we crossed.¡± Oralia sucked in lungfuls of dusty cavern air between ragged sentences. Her legs felt like thick jelly and the inside of her chest burned. Speaking only exacerbated the hot, smoldering sensation within her lungs, but she persisted in the unlikely event Rali or Faris panicked and tried to turn back. ¡°We cannot go back the way we came.¡±

    ¡°Take a breather, boss. I¡¯ll see if I can find us an alternate way out.¡±

    Unable to muster a verbal reply, Oralia merely nodded, watching as her lieutenant carefully picked her way across what remained of the damaged stairwell. Tapped for the foreseeable future, Oralia supposed it was as good of a time as any to lose the dead weight hanging from her shoulders. She bent and arranged Rasp onto the steps, ensuring any sudden movement wouldn¡¯t send him careening back down them. Finished, she stood straight and flexed her aching shoulder blades until they popped.

    Her gaze moved out across the gloomy destruction. The steps ended a few feet from where they stood, butting up against a mound of broken rubble, which stretched for ten yards or so before hitting a solid rock wall. Above them, a small length of the original staircase was still intact. It jutted out over the destruction like a tantalizing prize, just out of reach. Even if by some miracle they could access it, the exit beyond was blocked. Oralia could see small shafts of sunlight filtering in between the cracks from the other side.

    Rali returned from her search a short while later, delivering the grim report Oralia had already reached on her own. ¡°We can¡¯t go up and we can¡¯t go back down. Looks like we¡¯re stuck here for the meantime.¡±

    Faris stood beside Oralia, wringing his hands. He had his head tilted upward at the ceiling. ¡°The exit¡¯s just on the other side, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°What used to be the exit is just up yonder, yes,¡± Rali replied grimly. ¡°Doesn¡¯t appear to have held during all the shaking, though. Even if by some miracle we were able to get up there, we¡¯d have to tunnel our way out.¡±

    ¡°My point is, everyone who did get through is just on the other side, right? Wouldn¡¯t the logical thing be to call for help? Let them handle the tunneling part, maybe?¡± Before either Rali or Oralia could explain why this plan was less than ideal, Faris cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ¡°Help! Can anybody h¡ª¡±

    Rali lunged forward and clamped her hands securely over his mouth, muffling the scream. ¡°Not a good idea, bucko,¡± she hissed. She tilted her head, scanning the surrounding walls for any signs of disturbance. The crumbling passage, fortunately, appeared unaffected by Faris¡¯s distress call. ¡°No loud noises from here on out. The vibrations of your voice are liable to trigger a second collapse. Let¡¯s avoid making Rali a dwarf pancake, alright?¡±

    ¡°But . . .¡± Faris pushed her hands away as his mind raced to come up with a viable solution. ¡°But . . . but how do we . . .¡±

    Oralia examined the nearest wall as she stretched her legs. The sides of the stairwell were smooth and shot straight up. Her sharp eyes scoured the stone siding for crags or footholds and found none. Even with the proper equipment, the walls would be near impossible to climb. ¡°We wait and hope someone on the other side of the doorway is working to dig us out.¡±

    ¡°Oh my gods.¡± Faris sank down, pulling his knees to his chest. ¡°We¡¯re dead. That¡¯s what you¡¯re saying, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Chin up, Faris. We¡¯ve got an ace up our sleeve, remember?¡± Rali¡¯s feet clomped lightly against the stone, echoing from one end of the cavern to the next as she moved to Rasp¡¯s side. With some effort, the dwarf sat him against the wall and jabbed her forefinger into his chest. ¡°Hey, you, bucko. Nap time¡¯s over. How¡¯s about you rebuild the steps or try lifting us to that platform up yonder, yeah?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyes flickered open briefly before his entire body slumped back onto the steps like the world¡¯s most dramatic puddle.

    Rali was having none of it. With stubborn determination, she seized him by the wrists and clapped his palms together. ¡°Come on, spark. Don¡¯t just sit there. Do something.¡±

    Curling his upper lip, Rasp awarded her a faceful of spit for her efforts.

    ¡°Leave him be, Rali.¡± Oralia grimaced as she kneaded the stiffness from her arms. The likelihood of someone coming to their rescue before the water reached them was slim. Still, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to be a little more limber for whatever obstacle awaited them next. She severely hoped it didn¡¯t involve swimming. ¡°He has overextended himself. Upset him now and he is liable to bring the rest of the cavern down on top of us.¡±

    Magic was a give and take. Every time a witch accessed their power, there was a letdown period immediately after. The severity of the crash depended on the amount of energy expended. In Rasp¡¯s case, it was a small wonder the boy was still breathing. Not only had he held the pass aloft, but his magic had extended beyond the cave, lifting the boulders along the cliffside into the air as well. It was an amateur mistake, exerting one¡¯s power beyond the area of focus, but that didn¡¯t make it any less impressive. Oralia had seen more practiced witches drop dead from less.

    It was a shame his survival instincts were still holding strong. A sudden death from overexertion would have been a mercy compared to drowning. From below, accentuated by the cavernous quiet, the steady sounds of gushing water crept ever closer.

    Dread hung thick in the air like a swarming cloud of gnats over a swamp. Without light, Oralia was forced to rely on the encroaching waterline to gauge time¡¯s passing. It had been too long, she feared, watching the dark, lapping line as it climbed steadily higher. Help would not be coming. They would have heard something by now if it were.

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    The others seemed to sense their impending doom as well. They sat arranged along the upper steps, waiting in silence for the flood to claim them.

    Rasp stirred below. Having spent most of their stay drifting in and out of consciousness, he was finally coming around on his own. The man¡¯s lips curled into a grimace as he explored the area around him with his fingertips. ¡°. . . Where am I?¡±

    Faris¡¯s head was buried in his arms. He didn¡¯t bother to lift it, offering only a grim reply. ¡°Dead.¡±

    ¡°If that were true, you and I would not be in the same place.¡±

    ¡°The cave-in collapsed the exit. We are trapped in what used to be the upper stairwell,¡± Oralia answered, knowing he wasn¡¯t going to get much of an answer from the other two.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re here.¡± Rasp frowned. ¡°I guess this is the bad place.¡±

    Oralia resisted the urge to kick him. ¡°I just carried your carcass up half a mile of stairs.¡±

    ¡°And I held up a cave-in long enough for your people to get through. I think that makes us even.¡±

    ¡°A cave-in you triggered!¡± She froze, realizing she¡¯d said that louder than she¡¯d meant to. Her voice echoed along the cavernous stone walls, growing fainter in the distance before the eerie quiet returned. Oralia released her bated breath, relieved that the splintered ceiling had remained in place above them.

    Faris lifted his head from his trembling arms, mouth flared into a snarl as he glared in Rasp¡¯s general direction. ¡°Speaking of which, I¡¯m still mad at you for that by the way. I knew you were planning to ditch us, but would it have killed you to have pulled me aside for an actual goodbye? And not just an ¡®I hate you, Faris, name the dog after me?¡¯ Shameful!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Oralia¡¯s brow furrowed at his heated admission

    Faris, realizing this was perhaps the wrong thing to say in her presence, shrank back down, stammering, ¡°I mean, how dare you. I had no idea whatsoever. Bad Rasp.¡±

    Of course Faris knew Rasp had been planning to attempt something stupid.

    Not the time, Oralia decided. If she was going to die in the next hour, she wanted to do it with the least amount of bickering possible. Preferably no bickering at all. Was it too much to ask to simply drown in peace?

    ¡°Look, I didn¡¯t know about the swamplanders, alright? That wasn¡¯t part of the plan. I tried to hold the pass long enough for all of you to get through.¡± Rasp seemed to be directing this at Faris and possibly Rali, as Oralia doubted he truly cared what happened to her. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for you to get stuck down here with me.¡±

    Faris narrowed his eyes, which naturally had no effect as Rasp had no way of knowing. ¡°You knew you were going to get stuck, didn¡¯t you? You were practically begging us to leave you.¡±

    ¡°It was either you or me. I chose you. I can¡¯t help it that you three were stupid enough to try and pull me out afterward!¡±

    ¡°Stupid?¡± Rali balled her hand into a tight fist and drew back for maximum impact. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s it. I¡¯m going to cave your face in, you ungrateful shit!¡±

    ¡°Ralizak, no.¡± Oralia reached out and caught her lieutenant by the wrist. She suspected it was an empty threat, but the extent of Rali¡¯s recklessness had a funny way of surprising her. The last thing they needed was for the boy to accidentally finish what he had started. ¡°Hitting him solves nothing.¡±

    Rali wrenched free, massaging her hand as she grumbled, ¡°That¡¯s not true. It would definitely make me feel better. Who knows, maybe the little pervert would enjoy it as much as I would.¡±

    A glare from Oralia was all that was necessary to convince her lieutenant to drop the subject. Rali crossed her stubby arms with a harrumph. ¡°Can¡¯t fault me for trying to make it a little more exciting, you know. This isn¡¯t how I pictured it.¡±

    ¡°Pictured what?¡±

    ¡°Dying,¡± Rali said. ¡°I always imagined it would happen in battle. Blades swinging, blood gushing, the stuff they sing songs about. One moment I¡¯m on my feet, and the next, everything¡¯s growing fuzzy as my friends gather around me, telling me it¡¯s not my time yet. Suddenly, the warm and fuzzies set in and, as the world goes dark for the final time, the last words I hear are how great I am. How no one will ever be the same without me.¡±

    Her graphic imagery must have stirred something back to life in Faris. He shook his head at her, both ears flicking in irritation. ¡°Who in their right mind pictures their death? Much less like that?¡±

    Wordlessly, Rasp raised his hand.

    ¡°It¡¯s not that unheard of, bucko. Some of us just prefer to go out with flair is all.¡± Rali¡¯s gaze traveled the damaged stairwell as she spoke, eliciting a silent shudder that worked down her shoulders. ¡°Not in some quiet, dark tomb underground where no one can hear you.¡±

    Faris glared up at the ceiling with a sigh. ¡°Unfortunately, some of us can still hear you.¡±

    Dread must have been getting to her, because Rali refused to give in to the silence. Whether the others appreciated it or not, she remained bent on lifting the mood. That, or at least keeping the peace and quiet at bay for as long as possible. ¡°You know, being that it¡¯s the end and all and we¡¯re already on the subject, I suppose it¡¯s appropriate to ask if any of you believe in memory ever after?¡±

    No one responded. It was of no matter to Rali, who carried on without missing a beat anyway. ¡°Memory ever after is the orc equivalent of the afterlife, in case you didn¡¯t know. Except, instead of going into some magical beyond, you exist in a part of your own past. Essentially, right before you die, you think of your happiest memory. After you¡¯ve breathed your last breath, you wake up there and you get to relive it forever.¡± ¡°Does sound kind of nice,¡± Faris admitted.

    ¡°I thought so, too. Do you believe in it, Oralia?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Oralia answered before realizing perhaps the truth wasn¡¯t necessary.

    ¡°Alright, well we¡¯re going to pretend for however long we¡¯ve got left that you all do. Think of your best memory. I want details, people. Paint me a picture so I feel like I¡¯m there.¡±

    There was a general grumble of reluctance, but no one refused outright.

    Rali demonstrated by volunteering her version of the afterlife first. ¡°I want to go back to the time Mika Strongborn and I ran away and spent three days together, alone, in a cottage in the woods. It was pouring buckets outside, but inside the fire was roaring and we fell asleep each night listening to the rain.¡± Rali closed her eyes, smiling. ¡°Mika was my first love. He was young and dumb, but sweet. And his beard was so soft. I could bury my face in it forever.¡±

    Faris gawked at her, surprise written across his dirt-speckled face. ¡°I did not realize you were such a romantic.¡±

    ¡°Granted, that was before his mother kicked down the door and sent him off to work in his uncle¡¯s mine halfway across the territory,¡± Rali said absentmindedly. ¡°What about you, Faris? Where are you going to spend eternity? Fleecing someone? Rolling in a giant pile of money?¡±

    ¡°End of the week supper. The one right before the realm came knocking at our door. Back when things were simpler.¡± By the warm look on his face, he was there now, reliving it. ¡°The end of the workweek was the cook¡¯s days off and Mum always insisted we make one of the evening meals together as a family. Father and I had been fighting something fierce that week. But the rule was, no matter how bad the quarreling got, our differences were put aside until afterward.

    ¡°I got up early that day to help mum make the bread. Dinglehead was being as helpful as usual, so we stuck him on the opposite counter out of the way. Father came in a little later to start the stew. Mum kept distracting him with questions and every time he¡¯d go back to chopping, half of his diced vegetables would be gone. He got through an entire bunch of carrots before Father realized Rasp was tossing handfuls out the window whenever his back was turned. Mum laughed so hard she cried. Which got me going too, and before long everyone was on the floor ¡¯cause no one could stand. Father eventually composed himself and made a big show of banishing them to the parlor. It was only me and him after that. We spent the rest of the afternoon just us two in the kitchen. I can¡¯t for the life of me remember what we talked about, but for the first time in weeks, it didn¡¯t feel like there was an invisible weight hanging over us.¡±

    ¡°Your best memory is making dinner?¡± Rasp¡¯s muffled voice came from below. The Stoneclaw was stretched on his back across one of the lower steps, with his arms tucked behind his head, staring upward at nothing. ¡°Not even the best part, where you get to eat it. No, you want to live forever making it.¡±

    ¡°Some of us had a decent homelife, alright? And yes, I enjoyed spending time with my family,¡± Faris snapped. ¡°Now tell me yours so I can judge it just as harshly.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t have to. I¡¯m going to come back as a warbear and haunt the shit out of my brothers.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, Rasp,¡± Rali said. ¡°You¡¯ve got to have a happy memory in there somewhere. How do you want to spend eternity? Are you raiding a village? Doing despicable things to your penis?¡±

    ¡°Fine, what are the rules? Do I die knowing everything I know now? Or only what I knew in that moment?¡±

    ¡°You return as you were in the memory,¡± Rali answered. ¡°No knowledge of the future or the fact that you¡¯re dead.¡±

    The boy was quiet for some time, as though actually considering his answer.  At last, in a far-off voice, Rasp replied, ¡°Holding my son for the first time.¡±

 3 - Winter Solstice Eve

    Faris¡¯s ears twitched as he sat up with a start. ¡°You have a child?¡±

    Rasp, lost in the memory, spoke with an unusually peaceful expression on his scarred face. ¡°He¡¯s perfect. Tiny, with a little tuft of hair and the biggest brown eyes you ever saw. It¡¯s the middle of the night and we¡¯re in the rocking chair by the window, watching the snow fall. His mother¡¯s asleep in the bed across from us. She had a difficult birth, but she¡¯s okay now. My brothers have all tiptoed in to say hello. Even Father comes by and tells me I finally did something right. For the next few weeks, life is the best it¡¯s ever been.¡±

    ¡°You have a child?¡± Faris said again, this time louder. ¡°He¡¯s probably up at the Stoneclaw village right now and you¡¯re just content to lie here and die?

    Why aren¡¯t you fighting to get back to him?¡±

    ¡°I visit with him often enough.¡±

    ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°Mother brings him with the rest of the flock sometimes.¡±

    ¡°. . . Oh.¡± Faris sank back down as the stiffness in his shoulders wilted. ¡°Oh muck, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t make it to spring. ¡®Failure to thrive¡¯ is what the healer called it. His mother couldn¡¯t stand to look at me afterward. Said it was the curse that did it. She picked up and moved right after.¡± Rasp¡¯s normally grating voice was as soft as a whisper. ¡°He doesn¡¯t remember who I am anymore. That¡¯s the problem with coming back as a raven when you die so young. Having not been in your body long enough, the human part won¡¯t stick. Probably for the best, really. One less person to disappoint.¡±

    ¡°Oh my gods, will you stop?¡± Rali said, wiping her grubby hands hastily under her eyes. ¡°Even your happiest memory is horribly depressing.¡±

    Rasp only shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re the one who asked.¡±

    ¡°Oralia, I know you don¡¯t believe in happily ever after, but you¡¯re going to have to give me something,¡± Rali said, still sniffling. ¡°Make it up for all I care, but gods dammit, don¡¯t mention any dead babies!¡±

    Oralia was seated on the topmost step above Rali and Faris. Below, through the creeping dark and scattered rubble, she could see the black water was already halfway up the stairway and rising. Rather than draw attention to it, she reached under her chainmail and withdrew a tarnished flask from the hidden pocket sewn into her tunic. Ignoring the teary-eyed look of indignation from Rali, Oralia took a swig, wincing as the bite of peppercorn brandy worked through her sinuses. She slumped lower, sighing, ¡°Sharing an eternity in a warm bed with Sascha sounds lovely about now.¡±

    ¡°Wait, hold up!¡± Rasp sat upright, pointing vaguely in her direction. ¡°First of all, I smell booze. Give it here. We¡¯re sharing. Secondly, you and the mountain are a thing? How is that possible? He¡¯s so nice! And you, well you¡¯re, ah . . . you.¡±

    ¡°Sascha tied you to a log,¡± Faris reminded him.

    ¡°Exactly! Had I shanked anyone else with a potato peeler, they would¡¯ve kicked my skull in.¡±

    Rali intercepted the flask on its way to Rasp and took a swig. With her pale face scrunched into a bitter grimace, she snarled, ¡°Gods, this stuff is the worst! This is why you drink it, isn¡¯t it? ¡¯Cause you know even I¡¯m not desperate enough to swipe it from you!¡± She took another fast slug with the same results as the first. Finished forcing the swallow down, she narrowed her red-rimmed eyes at Oralia accusingly. ¡°Now, let¡¯s circle back to that important bit. Are you finally admitting feelings for the fuckmate?¡±

    ¡°I said lovely, not in love.¡±

    Rali fended off Rasp¡¯s grabbing hands only to have her prize snatched from her clutches by Faris. Wiping the last of the moisture from her grime-coated cheeks, the dwarf turned back to Oralia and crossed her arms challengingly. ¡°I say this as your friend who loves you. You¡¯ve got to get over this personal hang-up of yours. Denying the existence of feelings does not make a person strong. True strength is acknowledging your emotions in spite of the possibility of rejection.¡±

    ¡°Gods, Rali,¡± Faris said. ¡°That¡¯s actually kind of insightful.¡±

    ¡°Well, obviously. I¡¯m not just all drunk and disorderly. I have layers too, you know!¡±

    Oralia tilted her head back and gazed up at the darkness that seemed to stretch endlessly overhead. It was not so much for the view as it was to avoid Rali¡¯s withering glare. ¡°Still not in love.¡±

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    ¡°And you¡¯re sticking with that?¡±

    ¡°Until the day I die.¡± Which, judging from the level of the steadily rising water, was not too far off.

    ¡°Fine, then your answer doesn¡¯t count. You don¡¯t get to settle for some mediocre afterlife just because it¡¯s quiet. Try again. I want to hear your best memory. And you better make it a good one, or I¡¯ll just annoy you until I can¡¯t speak anymore on account of the water filling my lungs.¡±

    ¡°You said I could make it u¡ª¡±

    Rali clapped her hands to drown out Oralia¡¯s protests. ¡°I don¡¯t care what I said before! I changed my mind. No made-up fantasies about warm beds and blankets and people you may or may not love. I want the real deal.¡±

    Alas, from her lieutenant¡¯s fixed expression, Oralia knew it would be pointless to argue. If this was their last moment together, she may as well make it worthwhile. ¡°Winter Solstice Eve.¡± She plucked the flask from Rasp and threw her head back, finishing it in a single slug. It burned like liquid fire the whole way down. ¡°That first year Curly joined the four.¡±

    They¡¯d gotten snowed-in in a remote village north of Sunstorn and had to spend the holiday trapped in a tiny cottage together. Curly, missing his family, was in the pits and could barely be roused out of bed. With nowhere to go, Oralia announced they would take the day off to celebrate.

    Ellisar slipped out through one of the top windows of the cottage and came back lugging the top of a spruce down the stairs with her. The decorations were left to Oralia, who regrettably could not recall the steps required to fold the paper lanterns. In the end, most of them resembled crumpled snot tissues more closely than lanterns, but it was the thought that counted, surely. While Oralia cursed over bits of paper, Snag and Rali scrounged the pantry for whatever ingredients they could throw together for a last-minute feast. If she remembered correctly, the menu included such oddities as reconstituted pork strips with a side of apricot preserve, mushroom-and-pickle turnovers, and a host of intricate hors d¡¯oeuvres that looked far prettier than they tasted.

    A cough from Rali drew Oralia back to the present, reminding her that she was supposed to be saying all of this out loud. ¡°The food was barely edible and my attempt to decorate was even worse. The only thing I remember being good was the apple cider. I was three cups in before I realized Snaglebrag spiked it.¡± After that, their quiet, awkward evening took a turn for the unexpected. Snag, to this day, declared his innocence, insisting it was one of the others who tampered with his cider. No one, naturally, ever came forward to claim responsibility.

    ¡°Gods, that was the only time any of us ever saw you absolutely smashed. You were so fun,¡± Rali laughed. ¡°I convinced you to sing sea shanties with me, remember? You knew the harmony, but not the words, so we just made them up as we went.¡±

    ¡°And then you had us falling out of our chairs with your impressions.¡± Oralia had particularly enjoyed Rali¡¯s impression of her, which involved a very thorough run-through of Oralia¡¯s many facial expressions. The more memorable titles included ¡®someone shut this idiot up,¡¯ ¡®I don¡¯t care who designed the bodice, I¡¯m not wearing it,¡¯ and Oralia¡¯s personal favorite, ¡®for the love of gods, Ellisar, stop stealing the silverware.¡¯

    ¡°Oh, and the presents! El gave us all presents. Do you remember that?¡±

    ¡°Yes. All items she had stolen from us over the years, returned and wrapped with sprigs of holly.¡± Oralia covered her face, surprised by her unexpected smile. ¡°I got the key to my apartment. What did you get?¡±

    ¡°All the pages she¡¯d ripped out of my books over the years. They were all the naughty bits, too. Story¡¯s not the same without all those, you know.¡± Rali rolled her head back, groaning, ¡°Oh my gods, the pipe. She gave Snag his pipe back and he played that wretched thing all night.¡±

    Oralia peeked at Rali through her fingers. The smile on the dwarf¡¯s rosy face was real, just like her own. ¡°How did we get him to stop? I do not recall.¡±

    ¡°You plucked him from his chair, determined to teach him to dance. When Snag eventually escaped into the rafters, Ellisar cut in and the two of you waltzed for hours. I got Curly to twirl with me a few times, but we kept tripping over each other¡¯s feet and ended up on the floor. Somehow it turned into a wrestling match.¡±

    Outside the cottage was dark, but inside, by the light of the hearth, spirits were high. The smell of cinnamon and fresh spruce permeated the air. Oralia remembered the sounds of laughter, lots of slurred cursing, and filthy jokes, accentuated by the soft squeal of Snag¡¯s pipe in the background. For the first time in many years, home felt a little closer. They¡¯d done it for Curly. But now, sitting in the dark of a collapsed cavern with water steadily rising below, Oralia realized she¡¯d needed it just as much as he had. There had never been time for family. And the game she played was too dangerous for friends. Her faithful four had somehow filled the void. She would be lucky to spend eternity with them.

    ¡°Is it too late to change my answer?¡± Rali said, lifting her head hopefully.

    ¡°I mean, if you don¡¯t mind sharing it with me?¡±

    ¡°You are going to give up Mika Strongborn for us?¡±

    ¡°Eh, it was young love. Before I realized a full beard and shiny helm didn¡¯t make up for a milquetoast personality.¡±

    ¡°Happy to have you, as always.¡±

    ¡°Gods almighty!¡± Rasp gagged. ¡°Faris, is the water high enough for me to jump in yet? I¡¯d rather get it over with than to listen to this heartfelt crap.¡±

    ¡°Will you shut up?¡± Faris said.

    ¡°I forget, you¡¯re a sap for this cutesy family stuff, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°No, I mean actually shut up. I think I hear something coming from the other side.¡± Faris jumped upright and signaled for the others to remain quiet. His next words seemed directed at Rali. ¡°Permission to yell now? Or are you still concerned about spending the afterlife as a pancake?¡±

    ¡°Just try not to bring the whole mountain down.¡±

    Faris cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, ¡°Here! We¡¯re in here!¡±

    Oralia craned her head and listened. The digging grew louder until a significant clump of dirt and rubble fell away, allowing a shaft of light through. There was some muttered cursing as part of the hole caved back in. After a few more minutes of furious digging, the opening was large enough for a lithe figure to wriggle through. Dropping to his belly, their rescuer slid out onto the remaining strip of platform and peeked his head tentatively over the side.

 Prologue [Start of Book Three]

    Behind him, the ominous snap of brittle twigs trampled underfoot grew louder. The beast¡¯s gait had picked up, transitioning from a slow lumber to a trot. The low-lying brush rustled as whatever was following him plunged brazenly through the undergrowth in pursuit. With his heart drumming against his ribcage like a frantic bat fluttering from its cave, Faris quickened his pace.

    Tried to, anyway. His efforts resulted in him missing his next step and tumbling head over heels over a fallen log and down the subsequent hillside just behind. Faris¡¯s battered body rolled to a stop among a bed of ferns at the base of the lush knoll. He tried to stand and screamed instead as pain rocketed up his ankle. ¡°Muck!¡±

    A gruff growl sounded above him.

    No, no, no! A paralyzing chill blossomed within his chest, threatening to cut off his airway. With ice coursing through his veins, Faris forced his aching body back onto his feet. Not like this. He got to die in a fabulous house surrounded by money! Not by a bear. Gods, he hated bears. Why was it always bears?If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Figures. Here he was on the hunt for his idiot witch best friend, whom he desperately needed in order to save his family and his village, and a damn bear had to go and muck it all up! It was hard enough with half the United Territories falling into open rebellion and his own ugly mug plastered on every wanted poster from Adderwood to Castle Bay, but noooooo. This misadventure couldn¡¯t possibly have been complete without something trying to eat him!

    Croak! A raven descended from the upper boughs of a paper birch and flapped its dark wings at him, uttering unintelligible noises.

    ¡°For the last time, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying,¡± Faris hissed under his breath. He really should have learned how to distinguish the ravens from one another, because he honestly had no idea which member of Rasp¡¯s family he was currently yelling at.

    Croak.

    ¡°Yes, a bear. I¡¯m aware, thank you.¡±

    The crunch of approaching footsteps reminded Faris that he was supposed to be running for his life. Gritting his teeth, he limped along, certain he could hear the huffing breath of the beast grow louder as it slowly closed the gap between them.

 123 - Thats Cannibalism [Book Three]

    ¡°Look, I like charred snake as much as the next person. Nothing hits the spot better when you¡¯re stumbling home after a night at the tavern.¡± Rasp tore another chunk of piping hot meat from the skewer with his front teeth, feeling the warm juices dribble down his chin. He wiped the grease from his scratchy beard with the back of his sleeve as he wandered between the busy vendor stalls, sweeping his cane across the cobblestone street ahead of him.

    A flood of blurry citizens flowed around him as if he were a turtle among a stampede of rabbits. As most passersby avoided acknowledging him, Rasp felt inclined to return the favor. He carried on, still chewing, ¡°All I¡¯m saying is that the local kebab business could do with some variety. Remember that muskrat we had a couple months back? Practically orgasmic.¡±

    Croak.

    ¡°What do you mean you preferred the chicken?¡± He lifted the half-eaten skewer higher, allowing the raven perched on his shoulder to tear a morsel free with a violent shake of its head. ¡°You¡¯re a bird. Isn¡¯t that, like, I don¡¯t know, cannibalism or something?¡±

    Unable to speak clearly around the beak full of meat he was scarfing down, Father gargled his reply instead.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re not a chicken! It¡¯s just weird, is all.¡± Croak!

    ¡°For the last time, I did not eat that man¡¯s foot. I bit down a little too hard and a piece got in my mouth. I panicked and swallowed. Me accidentally ingesting the tip of someone¡¯s pinky toe is not the same as you going out of your way to eat another bird because you enjoy the flavor.¡±

    Although the mass of festivalgoers shuffling around him constituted little more than hazy shadows, Rasp was certain he saw a number of heads turn in his direction. In all fairness, the blind vagrant sharing a skewer of crackled pork belly with the raven perched on his shoulder was probably reason enough to stare. Even without proper eyesight, he knew he looked a mess. His silver hair had grown out and now hung around his ears in a dirty, tangled mess. He had several months¡¯ worth of a patchy beard on his chin and the layer of filth was probably the only thing keeping his traveling clothes from falling apart at the seams.

    Around them, the late-evening air was crisp and laden with the fragrance of bloomed chili spices, roasted meats, and enough cut onions to make his eyes weep. The dark sky was held at bay by countless twinkling yellow lanterns strung between the food stalls that lined either side of the bustling street. The Hanover city market was alive with activity as vendors cried out their wares to the passing patrons. The swaths of festivalgoers swarmed around Rasp, going out of their way not to touch him. As much as he would like to pretend this was out of conscientiousness for his cane, he suspected the odor from his unwashed skin was probably equally responsible for their wide berth.

    Under Father¡¯s semi-helpful direction, Rasp was able to navigate the throng of blurry shapes until the street widened into a piazza of some sort. A structure rose up out of the cobblestones at the center of the city square. Rasp struck out toward it, certain he now knew what this curious landmark was. As he drew nearer, the soothing trickle of babbling water reached his ears, confirming that this was another one of the realm¡¯s curious creations known as a fountain.

    The more of the realm Rasp explored, the less of it he understood. Fountains, for example, had no function other than something to be enjoyed. Apparently you weren¡¯t supposed to drink or bathe in them¡ªa fact Rasp had learned the hard way. Lucky for him, Whisper had managed to talk the local authorities into releasing him with a warning after explaining that Rasp had been kicked in the head by several horses as a child.

    He rested his cane against the lip of the fountain and sat on the damp stone. Mist from the water feature pitter-pattered against his shoulders each time the evening breeze changed direction. Ignoring the chill, Rasp tugged a steaming chunk of pork from the skewer and tossed it into the air above him. Father leapt from his shoulder in a flurry of dark feathers and claws to retrieve it.

    With his traveling companion temporarily distracted, Rasp scarfed down the rest of the food as quickly as he could. The last charred morsel was being shoved into the side of his cheek when Father landed on the stone lip beside him with an undignified screech.

    ¡°Wha¡¯?¡± Rasp managed around the mouthful. ¡°I¡¯m bigger than you. I get more.¡±

    He regretted his gluttony almost immediately. The coarse salt crust was so thick it made his tongue burn. Attempting to chew the pork into a more manageable size, Rasp instinctively reached for the waterskin hanging from his hip when he remembered he wasn¡¯t wearing it. The waterskin was back with the rest of his meager belongings, stashed under a bush¡ªcoincidentally, the same place he was supposed to be.

    Waiting for the other members of his party to return from their errands was boring though. And with the enticing sounds and smells of the Hanover Harvest Festival calling to him from within the city walls, Rasp had no choice but to abandon his post and wander aimlessly inside. For strictly educational purposes of course. After all, how could he expect to learn to blend in as an ordinary citizen of the realm if he spent all his time hiding in the bushes? That sounded more akin to a pervert and he didn¡¯t wish to be mistaken for one of those. Again.

    A blurry passerby drew closer. Rasp felt his heart rate spike, fearing they were going to strike up a conversation. His fear was for naught, he realized when something struck the cobblestone between his feet with a metallic clink.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Rasp squinted at the mysterious shadow as they shuffled back into the indiscernible tide of moving bodies. Forcing down the rest of his food with a difficult swallow, he asked, ¡°Did they just throw something at me?¡±

    And Whisper said he could never pass for an ordinary citizen, ha! These people weren¡¯t so different from him after all. They, too, threw random objects at strangers. The thrower could stand to work on their aim though. It hadn¡¯t even gotten close to hitting him. Every experienced antagonist knew you aimed for either the head or the nuts. Those were the fundamentals of being an asshole.

    Croak.

    ¡°He threw money at us?¡± Rasp tilted his head to the side curiously. He saw Father¡¯s blurry shape start to move for the prize and leapt into action, shooing the raven back as he scrambled to be the first to claim it. ¡°Get your dirty talons out of here! You don¡¯t even use money.¡±

    Croak! Croak! Croak!

    ¡°I don¡¯t care how shiny it is. He threw it at me, therefore it¡¯s mine!¡± His grease-covered fingers were just grasping the coin when Father¡¯s body struck him in the back of the head. With an awkward squawk, Rasp toppled over onto the cobbled stone. He twisted and turned, flailing his arms and legs in order to keep the persistent raven at bay.

    Father¡¯s talons skittered against the cobbled road as he hopped just outside of Rasp¡¯s range, croaking up a storm.

    ¡°Of course I¡¯m acting like a child! I am a child. Your child, specifically! What¡¯s that say about your stellar parenting, huh?¡±

    They continued in this manner for several moments more before Father gave up. It was a good thing too, because Rasp was now completely winded and in severe need of something to drink. With a groan, he rested his head against the rough stone and stared up at the lantern-obstructed sky as he considered all of the poor decisions that had led him to this new personal low.

    Traveling the land with his mentor, Whisper, wasn¡¯t all bad. In fact, it came with some very unique upsides. In addition to learning how to actually use his powers, Rasp was also getting to see life outside of the Iron Ridge. Well, not actually seeing it. Experiencing it was probably a more accurate description. But he got to taste it, and smell it, hear all of its terrible sounds. And sometimes, amid the ever-present chaos of running from one territory to the next, scouring the realm for some ancient artifact he didn¡¯t care about, he got to kick a few asses too.

    It almost made it all worthwhile¡ªwas what he told himself every morning as he dragged his protesting carcass out of whatever hidey-hole they¡¯d bunkered down in for the night. Some days, the lies were all that kept him going. Tall tales such as: one day this will all be over; your enemies can¡¯t possibly come after you for the rest of your life; maybe you¡¯ll get to see Faris again.

    ¡°Is there a problem here?¡± The blurry outline of a person loomed over the top of him where he still stared pointlessly upward.

    Rasp couldn¡¯t make out anything distinct about their features, but from the authoritative tone, he assumed they were wearing a uniform¡ªthe kind that usually came equipped with a little shiny badge pinned to their breast pocket, a baton hanging from their hip, and a false sense of superiority. Best to play it safe then.

    ¡°A horrid creature attacked me,¡± Rasp said. ¡°I barely escaped with my life!¡±

    There was a notable pause as the looming shape appeared to twist his head this way and that, searching the surrounding area for the creature in question. ¡°All I see is a bird.¡±

    ¡°Ah, well therein lies the problem, good sir. For I cannot see anything. I had no way of knowing whether the foul beast was a bird or a small, feathery dragon.¡±

    The officer¡¯s voice changed from mildly concerned to it¡¯s time to move along, sir. ¡°We received several noise complaints¡ª¡±

    ¡°Yes, it seems it was a very noisy bird,¡± Rasp agreed.

    ¡°You were referring to it as ¡®Father¡¯?¡±

    Croak!

    ¡°Hey, you stay out of this! No one asked you,¡± Rasp snapped before realizing this probably wasn¡¯t making his case. ¡°I call anyone who attacks me Father. Ingrained childhood trauma and whatnot. It¡¯s a bit of a reflex.¡±

    Rasp pushed himself into a sitting position and scanned the area around him in the event things took a turn for the chaotic. He could barely make out his cane resting against the brim of the stone fountain several paces away. If he moved quickly enough, he could probably grab it before the officer grabbed him. Whether or not he¡¯d be able to get any farther was a question he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted the answer to.

    ¡°I see. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight, sir?¡± The officer probably already had a convenient place in mind. The kind of room that came devoid of all furniture with white, padded walls and a padlocked door.

    ¡°I do. In fact, it¡¯s probably time I get headed in that direction now.¡± Rasp rolled swiftly to his feet and was moving back toward the fountain when the officer¡¯s hand clamped firmly over his shoulder, yanking him to an abrupt halt.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to make any assumptions about your circumstances, but if you would allow me to help, I think I might be able to find you someplace with a nice bed, maybe a hot meal, a bath . . . ¡±

    Some fashionable wrist bracelets, a nice shiny chain or two, Rasp¡¯s brain kindly filled in the blanks. Ducking low, he slipped the man¡¯s grip and whipped around, moving steadily backward until his calves struck the fountain. ¡°Oh no, no, no. That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±

    Croak.

    ¡°More than one?¡± Rasp¡¯s eyes darted back and forth across the muddled city square, realizing he could make out the faint outlines of three other officers closing in around him. ¡°Fuck! Why didn¡¯t you say something before?¡±

    Father¡¯s reply was idiotic as expected.

    ¡°Because I wouldn¡¯t give you the damn money, really? Fine, take it! I¡¯m not going to need it wherever I¡¯m going, am I?¡± Rasp hurled the offending coin in the direction of the officer, whose shadowy figure was edging noticeably closer.

    His attacker dodged, narrowly avoiding a collision with the squawking ball of feathers and fury that chased recklessly after the coin. ¡°Easy, old man.¡±

    ¡°Old man?¡± Rasp felt the drum of his heartbeat quicken as heat flushed across his face.

    ¡°Let¡¯s not make a scene here. Come quietly and we can get all of this sorted out for you.¡±

    Rasp was still caught up on the ¡°old man¡± part. He¡¯d thought it had been bad when everyone used to call him ¡°boy¡± all the time, but this was so, so much worse. Just because his hair was silver didn¡¯t make him old. It was times like this, Rasp found, that the best way to prove he wasn¡¯t some old geezer was to act as immaturely as possible. Granted, the argument could be made that this was his solution for everything, but there wasn¡¯t any sense in fixing what had been broken for too long already.

    ¡°Good sir,¡± Rasp said as the familiar warmth of magic lit a fire within his weary bones, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I refuse to do anything quietly!¡±

 124 - Father-Son Bonding

    Alright, easy does it. Time to exercise some of that control Whisper is always hammering into your thick head.

    Magic flooded down Rasp¡¯s forearms and pooled in his hands until each greasy fingertip thrummed with energy. He held it, allowing its intensity to build until his core was near bursting. With an idle flick of his fingers, a rush of water spilled over the side of the fountain behind him in a single, rolling wave.

    The cries around him were more surprised than terrified, which meant his strategy was working. The water wasn¡¯t meant as a means of destruction. It was simply the first step in a brilliant plan of escape that would, ideally, harm as few people as possible, including himself.

    Rasp leapt backward onto the fountain, ensuring his feet were not touching the tide that rolled soundlessly across the open city square. Already, he could see several of the advancing figures had overcome their shock and had remembered they were supposed to be catching him. According to Father, there were four pursuers in total. Rasp could hear their footsteps splashing through ankle-deep water toward him.

    Father landed on his shoulder in a dark flutter of wings, voicing his concerns regarding the validity of Rasp¡¯s plan.

    ¡°I know they¡¯re getting closer. Stop rushing me.¡±

    Blocking out the raven¡¯s unhelpful response, Rasp drew inward. He pictured the energy burning within him and redirected it into his hands. Channeling his concentration, he tempered the raging fire, transforming it from hot to cold. He waited, allowing the magic to complete the change before casting it downward with a wave of his hand. Below him, the cobblestone crackled and popped as a layer of frost spread across the surface of the water, rendering it to ice.

    So far so good. Twice now he¡¯d managed to tap into his powers without awakening the beast within. This was good. This was working.

    ¡°What in the name of chaos?¡± the closest officer cried.

    When Rasp opened his eyes again he saw the man¡¯s blurry form lurch to a halt, unable to move forward with his boots stuck within a sheet of ice. A quick visual sweep of the surrounding area confirmed that the shadowy outlines of his cronies appeared to be having similar difficulties.

    It was a shame Whisper wasn¡¯t here to see his accomplishment. His mentor might have actually been proud of him for a change. Of course, in order to brag about it later, Rasp first had to ensure he actually got away.

    Ignoring the impulse to jump from the fountain and attempt a swift escape, Rasp eased his way onto the ice, checking to be sure he had his footing before skidding out across the slippery square. He was making slow but steady progress when he heard the ice shatter behind him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that the lead officer had broken a foot free and was working on the other. Rasp attempted to pick up his speed but succeeded only in losing his balance and falling over.

    Father took to the air above his head. Croak!

    ¡°My stick?¡± Crap. In a valiant effort to control his inner rage, Rasp had gotten so caught up in the getaway, he¡¯d mistakenly left his cane behind.

    ¡°That would have been helpful to know back at the fountain!¡± Father¡¯s explanation was as petty as could be expected.

    ¡°Because you didn¡¯t get your coin, really?¡± So much for his valiant effort. Rasp could feel his temper beginning to stir along with his rising panic. ¡°I will make it up to you, I swear. Now help me figure a way out of this!¡±

    A second shattering of ice warned that his pursuer now had both feet free. Amid a slew of cursing, the officer¡¯s hazy shape started to move, shuffling rather comically in his direction. Rasp pulled to his knees and scrambled away on all fours, wincing as his bare skin tried to fuse with the passing ice. He continued despite the pain, focused on making sense of whatever nonsense Father was croaking up a storm about.

    ¡°Just like ice-skating?¡± he repeated. It was official. The damn bird was out of his pea-sized mind. ¡°I never learned how to ice-skate. You said it was for pansies!¡±

    Father continued to shout unhelpful advice at him from above.

    Despite his best efforts, he wasn¡¯t getting anywhere very quickly on all fours. Additionally, two more pursuers had broken free from the ice and were now in slow pursuit. Whispering a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening, Rasp rose shakily onto his feet, keeping his hands out in front of him in case he toppled over again. ¡°Alright! We¡¯ll do it your way. Tell me what to do.¡±

    The large raven landed on the ice several paces ahead of him, squawking instructions as he hopped and skipped along the path he wished for Rasp to take.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have time to put my socks over my shoes. Jump to the next step!¡±

    Rasp listened to Father¡¯s instructions, feeling the icy grip of panic spread throughout his body. No time to think, just do. Filling his lungs with what was sure to be his last breath, Rasp bent forward and repositioned his center of gravity until it was over his feet. With one boot firmly planted, he pushed off with the other. To his absolute shock, he slid smoothly across the ice without falling. Excitement bubbled in his chest as he repeated Father¡¯s instructions a second time, both amazed and utterly delighted to find the results were the same as the first.

    ¡°Dad, look, look! I¡¯m doing it!¡±

    Rasp heard the ice crunch behind him as one of his pissed-off pursuers started to gain on him.

    Croak!

    ¡°Don¡¯t think, just do¡± rang through his head once more. Per Father¡¯s instructions, Rasp pushed off once more, this time pivoting with his stationary foot in order to change direction. The motion threw his body spinning sideways, barely escaping the dark shape that leapt at him from behind. Rasp bent his knees to regain his balance until he slid to a successful stop. This time, when a second hazy form staggered closer, he was ready.

    Rasp pivoted out of their grasp with relative ease. Emboldened by his newfound skill, he pressed forward, alternating feet as he built speed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the blurry shadows of his pursuers were so far in the distance they were now indistinguishable from the background. Rasp kept moving, certain at any moment, he would reach the edge of the ice floe and fall flat on his face, but the end never came. The ice stretched on even after he reached the towering buildings and slid into an adjoining side street.

    The fleeing, alas, was made more difficult by the sheer volume of people who refused to get out of his way. It was only after his third collision that Rasp realized it was not intentional. From the frantic shouts and crunching of ice, a fair amount of the festivalgoers were trapped in place. Under Father¡¯s watchful direction, Rasp dodged and weaved his way through the confused crowd.

    He was making decent progress when an uncomfortable warmth seeped from the soles of his shoes upward. Glancing down, he saw a faint pulsing glow illuminating the ice beneath his feet. The unfamiliar magic shot upward, shattering the surface layer with a resounding crack! A swirling mass of broken ice and stone lifted him in the air and whipped him sideways. Rasp slammed into a nearby vendor cart, snapping the stand from its wooden wheels along with what he imagined were several, if not all, of his ribs in the process.

    Rasp lifted his head with a groan and tried to make sense of the twinkling specks of light dancing along the edge of his muddled vision. Through the shifting gloom, he saw the newest player advance toward him.

    ¡°By the order of the Division of Divination, I hereby order you to surrender!¡±

    One of these idiots, great. As if fleeing from a squad of city police hadn¡¯t been bad enough, apparently Rasp¡¯s antics had drawn the attention of something far worse.

    ¡°Put your hands where¡ª¡± The rest of the division member¡¯s words were cut off by a violent gust of wind that sent her careening back down the icy cobbled street like a dried leaf caught in a tornado.

    ¡°Fucking witches,¡± Rasp cursed, attempting to roll to his feet but succeeding in landing face-first against the slick stone pavers. ¡°I hate witches!¡±

    ¡°You are a witch,¡± an unfamiliar voice said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t remind me,¡± Rasp muttered. ¡°Figures you were watching along the sidelines this whole time, being unhelpful as usual. Were you planning to step in at all or just watch me crash and burn?¡±

    ¡°I did step in.¡±

    ¡°A little on the late side, don¡¯t you think?¡±

    ¡°I would not have had to step in had you stayed with the bags as instructed.¡± A hand reached down and grasped his wrist. From the lack of concern in the stranger¡¯s voice, Rasp knew this wasn¡¯t a stranger at all, but one of his mentor¡¯s many disguises. Traveling in their true form, after all, would have simply caused more problems¡ªprimarily the kind involving pitchfork-wielding mobs.

    ¡°Now, if you¡¯re done making a spectacle of yourself, I suggest we make a quick exit. Where there is one member of the division, there are many.¡± Whisper did not pull Rasp to his feet. Their hand on his wrist was simply to remind him that if he didn¡¯t make the effort himself, the fae would overcompensate with magic.

    ¡°You should be thankful it was as little of a spectacle as it was.¡± Rasp stood and hooked his arm through Whisper¡¯s, starting off at an awkward limp as he attempted to match their stride. ¡°Believe me, I could have made that way more spectacular.¡±

    Whisper pulled Rasp behind a random building and out the other end into a narrow alleyway. Dark and stinking of garbage, the street was thankfully free of ice, making passage much faster. ¡°They¡¯ll have eyes on the main gate by now. We¡¯ll have to find another way through.¡±

    Rasp found himself wondering if this other way through would involve obliterating a portion of the city wall. Not that he was opposed to it, of course, but such methods did seem to be in direct conflict with their agreed upon try to be subtle, dammit way of doing things.

    ¡°We are not blowing a hole in anything.¡± Whisper increased their pace from a fast shuffle to a clumsy run.

    ¡°Stop reading my thoughts!¡±

    ¡°Stop thinking stupid thoughts and I won¡¯t have to read them to tell you they¡¯re stupid.¡±

    ¡°You know, I¡¯m starting to think most mentors don¡¯t spend half their time calling their apprentices stupid.¡± Rasp tightened his grip on Whisper¡¯s arm as he struggled to keep pace. With the absence of the lanterns, he was unable to make out anything more than vague passing shadows.

    ¡°Correct. What does that say about you, little bird?¡±

    ¡°Stop turning this around on me! Did you see what I did at the fountain? Problem-solving without overreacting. I dipped into my magic without stirring the darkness. You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    ¡°Yes, yes.¡± Whisper veered to the side, tugging Rasp around a corner he hadn¡¯t seen coming. ¡°The performance was exemplary. Your reluctance to set anything on fire was particularly commendable. Well done.¡±

    Rasp was continually impressed by his mentor¡¯s ability to turn even the most benign of compliments into an insult. He opened his mouth, prepared to volley a barrage of venom-laced insults, when a sudden hiss from Whisper cut him short.

    Rasp fell silent not so much out of a willingness to obey, but because he was already short of breath and shouting while running was only exacerbating the fire burning within his lungs. Over the rasping pant of his own breath, he heard the echo of fast footsteps close in behind them.

 125 - A Heartfelt Reunion

    ¡°Get your hands off me!¡± Daana¡¯s voice reverberated against the vaulted ceiling with such magnitude, the entire palace was probably aware of the disturbance taking place in the grand entryway.

    Startled by her volume, the guard slightly lessened his crushing grip on Daana¡¯s elbow. She ripped her arm free and staggered several steps backward. The worn tread of her boots slid on the slick gold and white marble tile as she put space between her and the palace guard, ensuring she had adequate room to dodge in the event he tried to grab her a second time. She supposed she could kick him between the legs as she had done to the guard who intercepted her on the steps, but that would only add to her growing troubles.

    The palace guard overcame his momentary shock and, with a firmly set jaw, moved toward her again. His right hand shot out to grab her, but Daana sidestepped him. ¡°I already told you,¡± he snarled. ¡°No one enters the palace without an appointment. Either you leave now, willingly, or you shall do so under arrest.¡±

    ¡°For the last damn time, I don¡¯t need an appointment because I live here! I am Daana Lazuli.¡±

    ¡°That joke gets less funny every time you tell it.¡±

    She caught a glimpse of her grimy reflection in one of the gold-plated mirrors mounted along the wall. At the very least, the guard¡¯s reaction was understandable. Daana looked more like a street urchin than she did the proud member of a noble house. She wasn¡¯t even going to address the fact that if it weren¡¯t for the dress, it would have been next to impossible to tell she was a lady.

    ¡°Alright, I admit this looks bad.¡± Daana steadily backed away, keeping a watchful eye on the second palace guard, who was slinking up along the hallway from behind. The grand entryway staircase was only ten yards to her left. With a little skill and a heap of luck, there was a chance she could reach it before either of them nabbed her. ¡°I only jumped the fence because the sentries at the gate wouldn¡¯t let me in. And yes, I might have kicked the guard that intercepted me on the steps . . . several times, but he was being unnecessarily rough. If you would just fetch my uncle, Geralt Lazuli, Speaker of the People, he could clear up this little misunderstanding right away.¡±

    The rear guard rushed forward without warning, the heels of their boots clacking thunderously against the tile. Daana dodged the approaching guard but flubbed the footing. While her coordination was subpar, her timing was not. She threw her momentum into a roll and sprang into a low crouch, saving her face from a most unpleasant encounter with the floor.

    With a horrendous squeak, she slid across the freshly waxed marble until she came to a stop several feet from the bottom of the staircase. The fact that she was facing the wrong way did little to dampen her astonishment. Damn, she thought, whipping around in order to face the oncoming enemy.

    Why couldn¡¯t I have done that when one of the others was watching?

    Not the guards, obviously. The pair had witnessed her unexpected feat of agility and were steadily advancing with more caution than before. They even had shortswords drawn. She didn¡¯t know whether to feel flattered or insulted by that.

    ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡± A harsh voice rang out from above.

    Even after months away, Daana still flinched at the familiar tone. The guards halted in their tracks, allowing Daana a brief second to glance over her shoulder. An elf with light brown skin and tightly braided hair stood at the top step. The hem of his long, black robes pooled at his feet. His eyes were ice gray, like frost-coated silver.

    The elf¡¯s gaze settled on Daana and his lower lip fell open with a slight tremble. ¡°Daana?¡±

    She¡¯d thought she was prepared for this moment, but dread fluttered like an injured butterfly in the pit of her stomach regardless. On cue, a tight smile pulled mechanically across her lips. Daana threw out her hands to welcome him, nearly choking on the word as it squeaked free from her dry throat. ¡°Uncle!¡±

    An amalgamation of various emotions flickered across his sharp features, none of which Daana could identify with any certainty. Her unannounced arrival must have come as a surprise even to him because, for the first time in her life, Uncle appeared to be at a loss for words.

    ¡°How?¡± he managed, finally.

    She swallowed hard, fighting the instinct to open her mouth and let it all come pouring out in a desperate bid to win his approval.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°I will explain everything, I assure you.¡± Daana tilted her head at the sword-wielding guards. Thankfully Uncle¡¯s presence appeared to be keeping the pair at bay for the moment. ¡°Do you think you could do something about my present situation first? This is, after all, a heartfelt reunion and not an interrogation. I¡¯ll pretend not to be offended that your muscle didn¡¯t recognize me.¡±

    ¡°I will take it from here, thank you.¡± Geralt dismissed the palace guards with a wave of his hand as he skittered down the stairs, his dark robe billowing majestically in his wake. Somehow Uncle managed to make even a rushed descent look regal. He reached the bottom of the staircase and pulled Daana into his arms.

    Her heartbeat doubled as she stood frozen, unsure of whether to pull away or give in. Uncle had never been the affectionate type. In fact, she couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d hugged her. Was this proof that she¡¯d misjudged the situation? That maybe things between them weren¡¯t as horrible as she¡¯d been led to believe?

    The embrace was as awkward as it was short-lived. Geralt pulled swiftly away, the edges of his sharp nostrils wrinkling in disgust. ¡°Why do you smell like a dung heap? Dear girl, in all of this time away, tell me you haven¡¯t forgotten how to bathe.¡±

    Ah, there it was. Cruel reality right on schedule.

    ¡°This may come as a surprise, but there weren¡¯t many opportunities to freshen up while trekking through lawless territory on my own, Uncle,¡± Daana replied in an overly chipper tone. The filth was an added layer of protection as well. Overeager soldiers and suspicious townsfolk would have noticed the highborn elf passing through, but no one batted an eye at another bedraggled traveler. With war waging across the territories, displaced refugees had been turning up in the capital in record numbers. No one had noticed the stowaway that slipped through the gates among them.

    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± Unless he was weaponizing the impact of uninterrupted eye contact to make a point, Uncle Geralt¡¯s gaze never lingered in the same place for long. His stare lifted from Daana as he spoke, sweeping the area around them. ¡°I want to hear all about it. But perhaps somewhere private. Come.¡±

    He led her into the stateroom, pausing at the doorway to speak with a passing servant. Daana drifted into the room ahead of him. The blue-and-gold stateroom stretched around her in a glimmering display of bloated opulence. Three of the four pastel-blue walls sported spiraling columns of gold and ivory. The spaces between the columns were lined with tufted chairs and lounges, above which hung giant, tastefully boring paintings all depicting variations of the same floral garden. The fourth wall proudly displayed a gilded hearth nearly the size of a small storehouse, fashioned to look like the mouth of a snarling dragon. The polished marble flooring was obscured from sight by the plush blue rug that sank nearly half an inch under her weight. Overhead, three crystal chandeliers showered the stateroom in pale, flickering light.

    Among the lavish furnishings, the only detail out of place, regretfully, appeared to be her.

    Daana shifted nervously, clasping her hands in front of her in order to avoid adjusting her poorly fitted dress for the umpteenth time. The garment had been nabbed from an unattended clothesline several towns over. Despite her best efforts to adjust the fit to conform to her body, the waist still cut uncomfortably deep into her stomach. No matter how she tried, her gaze kept wandering back to the pedestals that lined either side of the hearth with various shiny treasures.

    The doors closed behind her softly, disrupting Daana¡¯s internal debate over which valuable would fetch the best price on the street.

    ¡°I have food on its way.¡± Geralt imparted one of his tight-lipped smiles. The kind that never seemed to reach his eyes. ¡°In the meantime, I want to know everything. Starting with how it is you got here?¡±

    ¡°Walked mostly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, but how? Your last known whereabouts were in Adderwood, held hostage by the enemy. I have the ransom notes to prove it. How did you manage to escape and make your way all the way here without anyone knowing?¡±

    While Uncle had used the word ¡°anyone,¡± he actually meant ¡°me.¡± All her life, he had insisted that information was the greatest power and wielded it with far more accuracy than any weapon. The fact that Daana had managed to break out on her own without his notice was probably eating away at him from the inside.

    ¡°Oh, so you did receive the ransom notes.¡± Daana couldn¡¯t deny the sting of disappointment that pulled tight at her throat. It was one thing to be ignorant of your niece being held captive. But to know and purposely do nothing? Rat bastard. ¡°Didn¡¯t ever get around to paying them, I guess. You did read the part where my captors threatened to cut off my fingers, right?¡±

    Uncle¡¯s mouth parted, horrified. Daana laughed it off with a playful shove. He stumbled several steps backward before regaining his composure.

    A pity. Perhaps she¡¯d give it another try near the top of the stairs.

    ¡°I¡¯m kidding, Uncle! Although I suppose it¡¯s good I took care of things when I got the chance.¡± Daana lifted her hands, wiggling her fingers at him. ¡°Else I might be short a few of these.¡±

    ¡°Daana . . . ¡± His frosted gray eyes were focused on her arm and not her words. Uncle Geralt reached out and grasped her wrist, gently pushing back her sleeve to get a better view of the black, branching veins that snaked up the inside of her forearm. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Oh yeah. That.

    Daana had run this same conversation through her head so many times, she was certain she¡¯d covered all her bases. And yet, somehow the explanation for the dark magic writhing beneath her skin had slipped her mind completely. If she was being honest with herself, it was because it scared her to think about.

    Honesty, however, was the last thing on her mind and Daana offered Uncle Geralt a nervous smile instead. ¡°Did you say there was food coming? Because I don¡¯t know about you, but I could really go for a strong cup of tea about now.¡±

    And a few shots of gin for added measure. Or a bottle. Maybe a case.

 195 - Loathsome Responsibility [Book 4]

    Two days. Two long, endless days of lifting his feet and putting them down someplace slightly further away without a wink of shuteye had Rasp on the brink of no return. His body was spent, broken, barely holding on by a thread. Nay, not a thread ¨C one of the thin filaments that made up a thread, only thinner, stripped in half, tattered and breaking. That was what he hung by. But Rasp couldn¡¯t afford to let go, not yet, not now, not ever. He¡¯d already lost his mind to the madness and couldn¡¯t afford to lose his body too. It alone kept him going. That and Faris, he supposed, who poked and prodded him without mercy anytime he showed signs of stopping.

    It was a shame Faris couldn¡¯t do anything about the creeping shadows wreaking havoc within Rasp¡¯s mind. Danger suddenly lurked everywhere, including the places it didn¡¯t.

    Rasp bristled at the sound of the needle-laden boughs as they creaked and groaned overhead. Ordinarily he would have blamed such movement on the wind without a second thought, but that¡¯s what they wanted him to believe. The enemy was crafty that way. They didn¡¯t aim to tear the group apart from the outside alone, no, that would have taken too much time. They were working from the inside out, using every opportunity to wear at their nerves, little by little, until the group lost their grasp on reality and stumbled blindly into an awaiting trap.

    Rasp was on to them, though. Whereas the rest of the group plunged ahead unaware, he alone kept track of the enemy¡¯s constant whereabouts. The hypnotic sway of the boughs overhead, for example, wasn¡¯t just the wind, but witches. Hiding, lurking, waiting to pounce. His pursuers were simultaneously all around and nowhere to be seen. The enemy stayed close, causing havoc anytime Rasp¡¯s group slowed their breakneck pace, but were always just far enough out of reach to avoid retaliation. They had the numbers too. Which meant any time one group of harassers got winded, they could simply swap places with the next.

    The worst part was that it was working.

    Whisper, stricken with iron poisoning, rode within the confines of Rasp¡¯s pack in their white weasel form, taking up as little room as possible. The fae drifted in and out of consciousness. Each bout of restless sleep lasted a little longer. Soon, Rasp feared his mentor would stop awakening at all. Hop was starting to lag as well. His heavy hooves dragged across the soft dirt, barely able to lift them high enough to avoid snagging on the treacherous roots that wove across the dark forest floor. Short of strapping Hop to the back of a bear, Rasp didn¡¯t know how they would continue the moment the faun collapsed and couldn¡¯t get up again.

    ¡°Rasp?¡± Faris¡¯s voice, low and hoarse, broke Rasp from fixating on the dancing weave of shadows. The surrounding forest looked the same as it always did, blurry, looming, and suffocatingly dark, but that didn¡¯t stop Rasp from scouring the murky shadows in search of the enemy. He knew they were there, maybe not up close, but nearby, and he wasn¡¯t going to drop his guard for a second.

    Faris tugged Rasp¡¯s arm for all he was worth. ¡°Rasp!¡±

    ¡°What, Dingle?¡±

    ¡°How close are they?¡± Faris asked. ¡°Because I think I¡¯m onto something, but I can¡¯t risk being overheard.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯d better communicate it telepathically, Faris, ¡®cause they¡¯re all around. Open your eyes. Can¡¯t you see?¡±

    Shadows. Shadows everywhere and closing in. Why was he the only one who noticed?

    ¡°I see the paranoia has set in,¡± Faris said with a sigh. ¡°How about giving your magic a try instead? No offense, but it might be a bit more reliable than your eyesight, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Offense taken.¡± So, so much offense. If it weren¡¯t for the cold numbness slowly leaching the life from his body, Rasp was certain he would have felt the sting from Faris¡¯s insult from head to toe.

    In the grand scheme of things, however, he supposed it wouldn¡¯t hurt to confirm what he already knew. Like his energy, his powers were running on reserves. Rasp was too spent to manipulate any of the surrounding elements. It wouldn¡¯t be long before his power wore down completely. But, for at least a little longer, his sixth sense continued to hold out against the fatigue that was slowly eating away at his flesh from the inside out.

    Rasp didn¡¯t bother with any of the fancy hand movements. Preservation was the name of the game now and every ounce of strength counted. He closed his eyes and drew within himself, allowing his dwindling magic to complete a swift sweep of the surrounding area. He was surprised at what he found. The enemy was not lurking in the surrounding shadows as previously thought, but keeping a handy buffer between them. That probably had something to do with the enraged bear that had charged their ranks earlier that morning. June had managed to take down one and scatter the rest, but it had come at the cost of a singed left flank. She refused to admit that she was in pain, but the telltale drag in her walk said otherwise.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Rasp whispered.

    ¡°Is that a dammit, they¡¯re close, or dammit, Faris was right?¡± It was remarkable. For someone whose legs should have turned to jelly ages ago, Faris still had the energy for petty questions.

    Rasp scraped the bottom of the barrel for the kick needed to provide an equally petty answer. ¡°Don¡¯t gloat, Faris. It¡¯s unbecoming.¡±

    ¡°Are you ready to hear my plan yet?¡±

    Despite his best efforts, Rasp still came across a little too desperate with his delivery. ¡°For the love of gods, yes, please. And make it a good one.¡±

    The faun had been studying his maps over the past two days, trying to use whatever sparse landmarks were available to pinpoint their location. Father had been helpful in that regard initially, able to communicate the shape and direction of any nearby mountains or rivers. The enemies caught on rather quickly though, and it wasn¡¯t long before their shapeshifters took to the skies. Father had nearly broken a wing in a tussle with an eagle. He was grounded now, forced to stay close to the group for protection.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve figured out where we are,¡± Faris explained in a whisper. ¡°Based on the shape of the river and the mountain range to the south, we¡¯re deep in the wilds of Yuback territory. We must have crossed the border sometime last night.¡±

    ¡°Does that change anything?¡± Hop said. There was no hope in his voice. It was hollow, empty, and brimming with numbness. The fact that he had the mental capacity to listen, much less respond, was nothing short of a miracle. It was the first thing he¡¯d said all day. Naturally, he had to go and ruin it by being well-informed. ¡°There aren¡¯t many settlements in Yuback. And even if we found one, I doubt they would lend a helping hand to the likes of us.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Of course it changes things,¡± June grunted. ¡°We¡¯ll know where we died.¡±

    Faris cut through their negativity and got right to the fucking point. ¡°I think we¡¯re near Kalikose.¡±

    ¡°Guesuntite.¡± Rasp seized his opportunity to alleviate the mood for even just one bloody second. He could feel the looming dread drift lower. It already had Hop and June was steadily getting pulled under. He couldn¡¯t afford to lose Faris too.

    ¡°It¡¯s an ancient ruined city, Rasp. I¡¯ve mentioned it before. Not that you would remember.¡± Hop paused, as if waiting for Rasp to prove him wrong, before coming to the conclusion that nobody ever listened to his long-winded tirades about history-this and important information-that. ¡°Kalikose was destroyed in the early days of the realm during the Great Expansion. It was one of the last holdouts in the territory and the Realm made an example of them to deter others.¡±

    ¡°Only the surface was destroyed,¡± Faris corrected. ¡°Kalikose was one of the first joint civilizations. Humans lived in the upper district, above ground, with dwarfs in the lower. According to my father¡¯s history books, the realm used water elementals to flood the underground city, but there was no mention of it being destroyed. As the flooding happened over a millennium ago, there is speculation that the water has likely receded by now.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re grasping at straws,¡± Hop said.

    ¡°Yeah? I don¡¯t see anyone else coming up with any ideas. What we¡¯re doing isn¡¯t working. We¡¯re caught out in the open with the enemy on all sides. It doesn¡¯t matter how far we get, they will be waiting to pounce the moment we drop. Going underground would take away their advantage. Put us on even footing.¡±

    ¡°To what end?¡± Hop challenged. ¡°We get underground and then what? So what if the resistance doesn¡¯t follow? It doesn¡¯t matter. All they have to do is wait topside for us to come back out again.¡±

    ¡°We find a tunnel that leads outside of the city and get out that way.¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re really grasping at straws.¡±

    ¡°The place was built by dwarves. They had to have built multiple ways in and out. It¡¯s what they do!¡± Faris, in a desperate bid to win someone to his side, truly did start to grasp at straws, throwing out whatever baseless argument he could think of. ¡°We might even find an active harmony stone along the way.¡±

    Rasp perked up at the mention of a harmony stone. It was bait, put out purposely for him, no doubt, but he couldn¡¯t help but sink his teeth into the hope being dangled on a string in front of his face. ¡°For real?¡±

    A rune stone had helped Whisper recover their strength once before. It was a long shot, but it was something, wasn¡¯t it? Something was certainly better than nothing.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know that, Rasp,¡± Hop said. ¡°The realm would have destroyed any existing harmony stones when the city was overthrown.¡±

    ¡°Leaving the ones underground still intact,¡± Faris replied matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Is your entire plan based upon the theoretical existence of secret tunnels and rune stones?¡± Hop, in spite of his overwhelming exhaustion, then proceeded to lay out in no uncertain terms why Faris¡¯s plan was doomed from the start. ¡°One, even if we could reach it in time, there is no guarantee the underground city is even still standing. Two, there is a reason no one goes there, Faris. Do you know how many adventuring parties went into Kalikose that never came back out? All of them.¡±

    The white faun snorted his disapproval. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you believe in the ghost stories.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d be better off taking our chances with the resistance. At least they want us alive.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you turn around and surrender then?¡±

    Even Rasp flinched at the harshness in Faris¡¯s tone. The combination of fatigue and despair was starting to pull everyone apart at the seams. While he didn¡¯t relish the idea of traveling into the haunted underworld of an ancient, drowned city, their present circumstances weren¡¯t any better. ¡°What kind of ghosts are we talking about here, Hop?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, Rasp. No one does, because no one who has ever gone into Kalikose has ever come back out.¡±

    ¡°Then where do the stories come from?¡± June wondered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, alright? I just know we shouldn¡¯t go anywhere near it!¡± Hop must have been near his breaking point because he relied on logic and reason to defend his argument, never volume. Not until now, at least.

    ¡°Noted, thank you.¡± Rasp turned to his sister. Her hazy shape limped along beside him, trying to conceal involuntary whimpers of pain each time she brushed her wounded leg against the undergrowth. ¡°What about you? Any ideas?¡±

    ¡°I say we last stand these fuckers. Hunker down and wait for them to draw close and then unleash all of chaos onto their sorry asses.¡±

    June was, admittedly, grieving the loss of Aunt Dagmar in the most traditional Stoneclaw way possible. Unfortunately for her, the people she wanted to rip limb from limb had learned to evade her after what she¡¯d done to the last witch that¡¯d dared to get too close.

    ¡°They¡¯re not planning to kill us,¡± Hop reminded her. ¡°The entire point of this is to return us to their leader in as few pieces as possible.¡±

    ¡°Except for me,¡± Faris said. ¡°They have no use for a non-magical faun.¡±

    Well that explained some of his desperation at least. Unlike the realm, the resistance had not appeared to have caught on that Faris was the key to getting Rasp to do anything. Their captors would only see him as a liability and cut his throat the soonest chance they got.

    It was June that broke the grim silence. ¡°I¡¯m not really keen on becoming some witch¡¯s magical bitch. So if we¡¯re not going to last-stand then I suppose I¡¯d rather take my chances underground.¡±

    ¡°How well can you see in the dark?¡± Faris asked June.

    ¡°Decent in my bear form.¡±

    ¡°You and Rasp can communicate when you¡¯re in your bear form, right? As he does the ravens?¡± Faris said, seemingly noticing the look of surprise Rasp shot his way. ¡°What? I saw you talking to her during your little bear back riding lesson the other day. I notice things. This should not be a surprise to you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rasp admitted. ¡°We can understand each other.¡±

    ¡°Then I vote we go underground. We¡¯ve got four witches and a devilishly handsome faun. Surely that¡¯s some kind of leg up, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m game,¡± June said without hesitation.

    ¡°Me too,¡± Rasp said.

    ¡°For the record, you¡¯re all insane,¡± Hop snapped. ¡°Additionally, we should at least consult Whisper before agreeing to something so reckless.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Whisper.¡± Rasp gave the pack strapped to his shoulders a little shake. ¡°You heard all that right? You wanna go battle ghosts underground? I¡¯m sure you could find some way to guise it as training.¡± There was a suspicious lack of response. No grumbles or growls, not even a shifting of movement. Rasp could feel the weak pulse of their magic, indicating that they were still breathing, but had succumbed to a deep sleep.

    ¡°What did Whisper say?¡± Hop demanded.

    There are moments in life when one realizes that the people they once depended upon to guide them are no longer around. Rasp¡¯s entire life, there had always been someone there to guide him. Tell him what to do, what not to do, please, please, for the love of gods, do that with clothes on. Whether or not Rasp listened was an entirely different matter, of course. But today, for possibly the first time, he found himself without that outside voice, telling him which path to take. The others felt it too, whether they realized it or not. The closest thing they had to a leader was fading and while Rasp loathed the idea of taking on any sort of responsibility, someone needed to make a decision. Why it had to be him, he didn¡¯t know. But Faris was right. It was time they tried something different.

    ¡°Whisper said yes.¡± That was perhaps too agreeable for Whisper, thus Rasp felt inclined to make it a teensy bit more believable. ¡°Also, that everyone here is an idiot.¡±

 196 - False Hope

    Kalikose. It took effort not to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the very mention of the name. Rasp knew finding refuge in the ruins of an abandoned underground city was fanatical thinking at best. It was a silly idea made all the sillier by Hop¡¯s assertions that the city was haunted. Ghosts or not, it didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d never reach it. Rasp had only agreed to look for Kalikose because it offered an alternative to slowly walking themselves to death for nothing. At least this way they had hope, even if it was the false kind.

    But false hope was better than no hope. Or worse, surrender ¡ª an option whose existence Rasp so far refused to acknowledge. Regrettably, it would only take a few more days of endless drudgery before he started to consider it. With any luck he would drop dead from exhaustion before it came to that, though.

    Until then, it was all about Kalikose. A totally real city that definitely existed and was somehow a better alternative to death. Hurray!

    Rasp kept his reservations to himself, naturally. There wasn¡¯t any sense in letting the others know Faris¡¯s plan was a crock of shit. Which was why, after another half day of slogging through the forest with death at their backs, Rasp was surprised when they stumbled across landmarks that proved they were headed in the right direction. The signs were innocuous at first, simple, unnoteworthy, easy to dismiss. The crumbling remains of an abandoned bridge here, a broken tower there, the washed out remnants of a cobbled road underfoot.

    Armed with his father¡¯s maps, some navigational assistance from Father, and the desperate determination of a dead man bent on evading his doom, Faris drove them onward tirelessly. By the end, even Rasp was beginning to believe the fantasy was real. Kalikose defied logic, sure, but the idea of salvation was a drug unlike any other, and the gods be damned, Faris knew how to peddle his shit. Every twist and turn of the forest came with fresh evidence that they were nearly there.

    Salvation was at hand. They only had to keep going. A few steps more, Faris insisted. That was it. And then they would be saved, freed from the waking nightmare of being hunted for their magic.

    And then it happened. They took the final few steps and arrived at the top of a slippery, fern-infested hill. The trees parted and a ray of sunshine struck down from the clouds, illuminating the lost city below. An angelic choir of pudgy-faced cherubs descended from the heavens to herald the momentous occasion, filling the musty forest air with harmonic song.

    Yep. You¡¯ve officially lost it.

    Okay, admittedly, it probably didn¡¯t happen quite like that. Especially not the choir, as Rasp was so hungry he might¡¯ve considered eating one of the pudgy-faced fuckers. But what good was having an overactive imagination if not to exercise a little creative licensing from time to time? It¡¯s not like he could see what the rest of the group was gawking at. In fact, had it not been for Faris¡¯s fervent chatter, insisting that they¡¯d found the damned place, Rasp would¡¯ve assumed they were still stuck forest-deep amongst an endless sea of suffocating trees. The passing landscape hadn¡¯t changed in any significant way. It was still trees, trees, and more trees, blocking out the blessed sunlight, rendering night indistinguishable from day.

    ¡°Ready?¡± June¡¯s voice broke Rasp from his thoughts.

    His companions each took shifts acting as his guide. He hadn¡¯t bothered to keep track of who or when or how they decided it was someone else¡¯s turn to walk the blind man into the nearest tree, but evidently his sister was on duty now. Under normal circumstances, Rasp wouldn¡¯t have minded so much except, like him, her attention tended to wander. Which meant he tended to wander under her care, too. The last time he¡¯d been left under her watch he damn near wandered off a ledge.

    Rasp held his arms close to his body to keep her from seizing him by the elbow and leading him somewhere worse. ¡°You¡¯re actually watching where we step this time, right?¡±

    ¡°Why are you being such a baby all of the sudden?¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°All of the sudden?¡± Faris¡¯s mocking voice called out from somewhere below.

    Rasp ignored him, focusing instead on the much closer problem at hand. ¡°I¡¯m not being a baby, dear sister. I¡¯m ensuring the hands I¡¯m being entrusted to are paying attention this time.¡±

    ¡°Look, I get it. You¡¯re doing that thing where you act mad about something else because acknowledging the truth is hard, but we don¡¯t have time for this.¡± June pried Rasp¡¯s left hand away from the protection of his body. The fact that she was using only a fraction of her strength was almost as insulting as the words pouring from her mouth. ¡°As much as I would love to stand here and assuage your feelings about venturing deep into the haunted underground city, we¡¯ve got to get a move on. Come on now. No more dilly-dallying.¡±

    Gods he missed the mule. ¡°I wasn¡¯t dilly-dallying.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh, sure. Like you weren¡¯t stalling on account of how freaky the city looks.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t see how freaky the city looks.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right.¡± June threaded her arm through his and started off down the slippery sloped hill regardless of whether or not Rasp was prepared to follow. ¡°Never mind then. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    ¡°Should I be worried how the city looks? June? June!¡±

    In true Stoneclaw tradition, June chose the path of most resistance and slid down the steep hillside at a pace a few steps shy of a freefall. Rasp clung to her like a babe, whimpering obscenities under his breath each time he nearly lost his footing. Eventually, after more close encounters than he cared to remember, the pair reached the foot of the hill. Here the spongy terrain was artificially flat. While it was not uncommon for forests to have flat spots, this was far too uniform to be natural. There was no denying that this part of the forest might have once been tamed by civilization.

    An irritated ear flap reminded June and Rasp they¡¯d fallen behind and that Faris and Hop were waiting for them to catch up. From Hop¡¯s labored breathing, he probably didn¡¯t mind the delay, but their self-appointed guide felt otherwise. ¡°Don¡¯t lag,¡± Faris cautioned as he assumed the lead once more. ¡°This is not the kind of place you want to get separated in.¡±

    While this was sound advice in itself, Rasp couldn¡¯t help but wonder why Faris had felt the need to state the obvious. Getting split apart would certainly make it easier for the enemy to pick them off one by one. Had this been Faris¡¯s sole concern, however, Rasp was certain he would have said as much.

    On cue, the overactive imagination kicked in and started running with wild theories concerning the creepy, abandoned city and whatever had stuck around to haunt it. Ghost stories existed for a reason, after all. And while Rasp firmly believed ninety percent of them could be attributed to tales spun by older siblings, the remaining ten percent fell to the supernatural. As each step brought them closer to the city, and the creepy crawly sense of dread crept from the back of his neck and down his spine, Rasp couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the rumors surrounding Kalikose were not the product of spiteful older brothers.

    The damp air dropped several degrees as they passed under the crumbling remnants of what had once been the main gates. With his left arm still hooked firmly through June¡¯s elbow, Rasp ran his hand along the tangle of lichen sprouting from the surrounding walls. His fingertips dug deep, burrowing through layer upon layer of wet moss and scum to find stone. Rasp pulled his hand away with a grimace, concluding the walls constituted more flora than stone. The wilderness had reclaimed the abandoned city as its own.

    Moss, thick and spongy like wet wool, clung to every available surface ¡ª the walls, the ground, probably the air too, in the form of invisible spore clouds, waiting to be sucked up into some unsuspecting beast¡¯s lungs and start its life cycle anew. Rasp yanked the sweat-soaked bandana that hung loosely around his neck up over his mouth at the thought. The smells wormed their way in through the musty fabric regardless, clouding Rasp¡¯s nose with the stench of wet leaves and sticky sweet pollen.

    It took him a moment to realize why the smells felt out of place. Unlike the rest of the forest, nature here seemed blissfully unaware that fall was in full swing. It was as if Kalikose had been cut off from the rest of the territory, content to exist within its own private bubble, free of outsider interference.

    Terror crawled down the back of Rasp¡¯s neck like an invisible spider. His sixth sense kept tugging at him, insisting something was nearby, watching, waiting, lurking, but each time he scanned the ruins for signs of foreign magic, he found nothing at all. Something was there, though. He could feel it.

    The enemy must have sensed it as well. According to Father¡¯s report, they¡¯d retreated back into the forest and were in the midst of a heated debate similar to one Rasp¡¯s group had had that morning. Traipsing blindly into a haunted city brought out the superstition in even the worst of people, apparently. Rasp had to give Faris credit for that. While it wasn¡¯t ideal, the faun¡¯s plan was giving their pursuers pause.

    It wouldn¡¯t last though. Ultimately, the decision would come down to whom the resistance feared most: ghosts or their leader. And Rasp had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer.

 197 - Nothing

    Finding Kalikose was only half the battle. Faris¡¯s maps showed the theoretical location of the lost city, not its contents. Accessing the underground district required a still-functioning gateway. And they needed to find it quickly, before the enemy reformed rank and swooped in to collect them. Alas, the only way to find a gateway was to go looking for it. Meaning that, even after nearly three days on the run, there would be no stopping. Just go, go, go until they either found the stairway or dropped dead trying.

    Faris insisted they could rest once they were underground. Worn to the bone, exhausted, and tempers flaring left and right, Rasp feared it would only be a matter of time before the others got fed up enough to put Faris in the ground, six feet under. Metaphorically, of course, as nobody had the reserves to dig a damn grave. Hop was already on the brink of no return, with June not far behind.

    It didn¡¯t help that every time June made a suggestion, her idea was shot down almost immediately. On the other hand, it probably would¡¯ve helped had she offered sound suggestions and not moronic dribble such as:

    ¡°We should split up.¡± June slogged down yet another overgrown alleyway, pulling Rasp with her. He¡¯d lost track of how many they¡¯d searched so far. This one, like all the others before, was proving fruitless.

    ¡°No,¡± Hop and Faris chorused together. Although the two butted heads like mountain goats establishing dominance, they at least agreed that splitting up was a terrible idea.

    ¡°We¡¯d be able to cover more ground,¡± June insisted. ¡°Plus, we¡¯re losing the light here. It¡¯s going to be dark soon. Without night vision, you¡¯re all going to be useless.¡±

    ¡°I was already useless,¡± Rasp reminded her ever-so-helpfully.

    ¡°We¡¯re stronger as a unit,¡± Faris said.

    June was ready with a snappy retort. ¡°You know what would make us even stronger? Finding the damn stairway.¡±

    Faris must have been worn down beyond belief because he folded the argument and issued a long, regretful sigh instead. ¡°Fine, go ahead if you want. But stay within hearing, alright?¡±

    ¡°Finally, thank you.¡± June¡¯s grip tightened on Rasp¡¯s arm as she started off with fresh vigor in her step. ¡°Oh, and by the way, I¡¯m taking this one with me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Rasp squirmed for all he was worth to get away. Unfortunately, his sister had strength on her side, and dragged him along in her wake regardless. ¡°Unhand me! I didn¡¯t ask for this.¡±

    ¡°Really? You¡¯d rather stay with them?¡± For the first time in days, June managed to sound something other than angry. Her tone practically dripped with amusement. ¡°Granted, I don¡¯t know what that tall fucker can do other than hide, but I know Faris can¡¯t fight for shit. I¡¯d take my chances with the bear, if I were you.¡±

    Strangely, that actually made sense. Rasp ceased his futile struggle and fell in step beside her. ¡°While you raise a good point, I fail to see what you get out of this.¡±

    ¡°You would fail to see that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m allowed to make blind jokes, not you. We¡¯re not that familiar yet.¡±

    Too tired to lift his heels all the way, Rasp¡¯s aching feet dragged through the patches of overgrown grass. The soft soil compacted underfoot, stirring the sweet smells of grass and soil into the air. Rasp kept his ears open and his head held to the side. If something gave Faris and Hop trouble, he didn¡¯t want to be caught unaware.

    ¡°Then I guess this¡¯ll give us a chance to get familiar, won¡¯t it?¡± June said.

    Rasp wasn¡¯t convinced. He might have said as much as well, except the unnerving tickle on the back of his neck was back in full force. It spread from the neck down, lifting every hair on end, warning something was amiss. His surroundings were nothing more than a continuous green and gray blur, but he scanned the towering moss-riddled walls anyway, all while listening for something out of place.

    ¡°I saw what you did to that witch when Faris and I were under attack.¡± June continued talking, unaware of Rasp¡¯s sudden bout of the heebie-jeebies. ¡°If I¡¯m going to be dragging someone else¡¯s weight around, it might as well be the guy who can obliterate an opponent with a wave of his hand.¡±

    Once more, Rasp¡¯s search came up empty. He smoothed down the hairs on the back of his neck with his free hand, muttering, ¡°So you admit it then. You are scared.¡±

    ¡°Fuck yeah. This place is giving me the creeps.¡±

    Rasp chewed his lip, unsure of how much he wanted to share. The group already was on edge. And, despite the rough and tumble front June had been putting on, apparently even she was having reservations about traipsing through haunted ruins. ¡°So,¡± he started, struggling to keep his tone casual, ¡°do you feel it too, then?¡±

    June stopped in her tracks. ¡°Feel what?¡±

    ¡°Like someone¡¯s watching us?¡±

    She uncurled her arms from his and took a step back. ¡°Shit, Rasp. Read the damn room. If you are fucking with me right now, I¡¯m going to¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± He held his hands away from his body, palms out in the universal sign of ¡®please don¡¯t punch me¡¯. She refrained, which Rasp took as his cue to keep talking. ¡°Ever since we got here I¡¯ve had this feeling like, I don¡¯t know, we¡¯re not alone, maybe?¡±

    ¡°Oh my gods,¡± June groaned. ¡°This is how it starts, you know. First it¡¯s a feeling, and then you start hearing things, and, before you know, the furniture starts moving on its own accord¨C¡±

    Her rant was cut short as a part of the wall gave way only paces from where they stood. The collapse was small. Over almost as swiftly as it had begun. Rasp fanned the dust away from his face and sniffed, noting the sweet fragrances of grass and dirt paled against the sudden stench of stale air.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Despite her choice of words, there was no anger in June¡¯s voice. The same could not be said for fear. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    Rasp reached for her. Partly because he wanted to get closer and needed a working set of eyes to do so, but also because the panic in June¡¯s voice indicated she was mere seconds from bolting back the way they¡¯d come ¡ª with or without him. Rasp¡¯s fingers made contact with her wrist and worked their way upwards, cinching themselves tightly around her elbow. He urged her forward with his knee and was pleasantly surprised when she refrained from kicking him back.

    ¡°Feel free to clue me in here any time now, sis,¡± he said. ¡°The suspense is killing me.¡±

    ¡°The wall next to us just opened? I mean, not that it was really much of a wall, more like a mound of rubble, but anyway, now there¡¯s sort of a hole where there wasn¡¯t and¡­¡­¡± June¡¯s voice trailed as she edged them closer.

    Rasp heard the sharp intake of air through her nostrils. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Stairs.¡±

    ¡°Is it just me, or does that seem convenient? Like, too convenient.¡± Rasp wanted to stop but his mouth was on a roll and it would say it¡¯s piece, in full, whether he wanted to hear it or not. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a hidden gateway with stairs to the underground and, what do you know, one creepy feeling later, and it appears!¡±

    Unless of course the stairs were to something else, which then rendered all of this one big fat coincidence and nothing more. Unfortunately, June¡¯s next words killed this theory before it was given a chance to thrive.

    ¡°The stairs go down deep,¡± she whispered.

    Gods dammit! Yes, he wanted to be the one to find the secret underground passage so he could rub it in Faris¡¯s stupid, smug face, but not like this! Rasp mirrored his sister¡¯s low whisper. ¡°How deep?¡±

    ¡°Too hard to tell in this form.¡± June left Rasp¡¯s side and, after what sounded like a brief struggle, was shoving a warm bundle of cloth into his arms. ¡°Here. Hold these for me, will ya?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s question died on his tongue a split second later, when he realized it was a wadded up bundle of clothing. Still warm too, from residual body heat. Shrugging, Rasp swung his pack around to the front and unfastened the top, dumping the wad of clothing inside.

    ¡°Sorry, Whisper,¡± he said only after remembering he had a passenger curled up inside. He felt the fae¡¯s little body flinch in protest, before it settled back down without complaint. That was worrying. Even in animal form, be it it hiss, snarl, or bite, Whisper always found a way to communicate their displeasure.

    Rasp could hear the wet snap and pop as June¡¯s bones shifted beside him. Her transformation wasn¡¯t instantaneous, meaning he had a few seconds to investigate. Rasp closed his eyes and stirred his sixth sense from its slumber. It responded with the enthusiasm of a hungover man bent on staying in bed. Rasp persisted. He dug deeper, willing it into obedience until, at last, his magic sensitivity groggily flickered to life and spread, searching the inside of his pack for telltale signs of life.

    Whisper¡¯s faint blue magic pulsed within Rasp¡¯s mind¡¯s eye, allowing a small wave of relief to wash over him. His mentor¡¯s power burned a little brighter than before. Sleep was allowing them to regain their strength.

    A low grunt from June broke Rasp¡¯s concentration. He shook his head, summoning the concentration needed to translate her animal sounds into something intelligible. The stench of water rot was coming from deep beyond the rubble, June insisted.

    Rasp wove his fingers into her thick fur and ventured a tentative step closer. His nose was nowhere near as sharp as hers, but he could smell the unnerving stench coming from within the opening all the same. It was wet and rotten and reeked of death.

    There was something else too, beyond the revolting smell. Static hung in the air. The sensation grew stronger as Rasp neared, sending the hairs on his arm on end once more. He closed his eyes and focused on what his sixth sense was trying to tell him. A faint amethyst cloud appeared within his mind¡¯s eye. It rippled and writhed, growing stronger, as if it too sensed him. Like a faint lullaby lost to memory, the magic called to him, beckoning him inside.

    June growled and started to back away.

    ¡°There you are! What happened to staying within hearing? We¡¯ve been calling for¡­¡± Faris¡¯s anger petered out as the soft, dragging scape of his hooves drew nearer. ¡°What did you find?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyes snapped open. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean nothing? I can see stairs, Rasp.¡± Faris pushed past to the front of the opening. ¡°They¡¯re intact, too. Muck me, I think you found it.¡±

    Rasp seized the back of Faris¡¯s tunic and yanked him backwards. ¡°Don¡¯t! There¡¯s something down there.¡±

    ¡°What do you¨C¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± Hop thundered as he raced towards them. ¡°They¡¯ve reached the gate. We need to move, now!¡±

    June huffed as her large paws stamped against the ground. Her fight or flight instinct was in full swing now and if they didn¡¯t make a split decision, she was going to go full berserk on the advancing horde.

    ¡°Faris,¡± Rasp said, ¡°We can¡¯t go in there. There¡¯s something down there. I can feel it.¡±

    Croak! Father swooped in overhead, calling out his warning.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± The tightness in Rasp¡¯s chest doubled as he translated Father¡¯s message for the others. ¡°They¡¯re not just through the main gate. They¡¯ve got groups moving around the rest of the city as well. They¡¯re blocking us in.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s worse, Rasp?¡± It wasn¡¯t a rhetorical question. From Faris¡¯s somber voice, he was legitimately asking. ¡°Facing an overpowered horde of witches? Or whatever it is that¡¯s down there?¡±

    Dread settled in his belly like a stone at the bottom of a still pond. Rasp turned his head in the direction of the gateway. He didn¡¯t know. Fuck, how was he supposed to know? And why were they asking him? He should have been the last person to take advice from.

    The clack of Hop¡¯s hooves slowed as he neared them, huffing and puffing for breath. ¡°Are we going or not?¡±

    Fuck it. He wasn¡¯t cut out to be some witch¡¯s magical bitch.

    ¡°Everyone inside.¡± Rasp tightened his grip on June¡¯s scruff, urging her forward with his knee. She clambered through the opening, guiding him up and over the lip of broken stone and into the slick stairwell beyond. Rasp stopped and turned, waiting for the others to follow. It wasn¡¯t until they were inside that he decided how to ensure they wouldn¡¯t be followed.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± he said. ¡°Find something to hide behind if you can.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please no,¡± Hop whimpered, having caught on to what Rasp was doing well ahead of the others.

    Croak. The call echoed against the wet stone behind him, filling the space with its ominous sound. Evidently even Father had his reservations. That said a lot for someone who hadn¡¯t hesitated to gobble up a witch when given the chance.

    Too late. There wasn¡¯t any turning back now.

    Rasp dug deep, deep down, summoning the last of his power. Faint gold and yellow magic sprang from his fingers and weaved into the air. With a flick of his hand, he sent it burrowing into the surrounding rock like worms to dirt. The entrance shook and rumbled as the stubborn stone bent to Rasp¡¯s will.

    The entrance collapsed. The gateway went dark. And a man, two fauns, a bear, and raven found themselves trapped in a world of pitch black. The soft rumble of shifting rock and debris slowly died away, making way for the most hair-raising sound of all ¡ª nothing.

 198 - Two Words: Raw Egg

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this. I¡¯m fuming. Positively fuming!¡± Rali¡¯s harsh whisper echoed along the tunnel until it sounded as if there were multiple dwarfs all angrily talking over one another at once.

    The air underground was hot and stale. An olfactory amalgamation of dust, soil, and musty sock hung suffocatingly thick all around them. The stench pervaded the nostrils, the mouth, and eventually worked its way all the way down into the lungs themselves.

    Rali carried on, seemingly unbothered by the abysmal lack of fresh air. ¡°I¡¯ve been at your side for almost eighty years, loyal, loving, committed, and still, you insist on keeping secrets from me. Does my friendship mean nothing to you, Oralia?¡±

    Oralia placed one leaden foot in front of the other again, and again, and again, focused on reaching the end of the cramped tunnel system and, by extension, Briony¡¯s cottage. Her hurried pace was not due to the fact that she had an irate dwarf nipping at her heels ¡ª although that certainly helped ¡ª but because shock threatened to take her out at the knees and she needed to reach Sascha before she lost control of her body altogether.

    What she was supposed to say to him, she had no idea. But looking her fuckmate in the eye before ripping the rug out from under his feet seemed as good of a place to start as any.

    ¡°You¡¯re seriously not going to tell me what Novera said?¡± Rali persisted.

    ¡°I did tell you what Novera said.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about the deal you struck, sure. You help save her village and she helps you with your dark entity problem. But I¡¯m not an idiot, Oralia. I can tell there was more. Whatever Novera said, it¡¯s gone and rattled your cage something fierce. You haven¡¯t looked this pale since that time Ellisar filled your bed with scorpions!¡±

    Suddenly a bed brimming with scorpions didn¡¯t seem so bad. Oralia clicked her tusks in mild exasperation. ¡°Do you trust that I will tell you when it is time?¡±

    ¡°No! Because I don¡¯t trust your sense of timing,¡± Rali said. ¡°What if it¡¯s too late?¡±

    ¡°I assure you, you will know by the time it is too late.¡±

    ¡°Well that just makes me want to know it even more!¡±

    Oralia and Rali were not the only ones in the tunnel. Briony walked at the head of the procession, the warm glow of her lantern painting the bowed walls in flickering shades of yellow. Fauns possessed exceptional hearing. Anything Oralia said, even in the faintest of whispers, would undoubtedly be overheard. Oralia would tell Rali eventually, as she would the others, but that time was not now. Not while her mind was racing at full speed in every direction available.

    Sascha deserved to know first before anyone else. It was only fair considering Oralia¡¯s current predicament was partially his fault! But it was more than that. Sascha would know what to do, what to say, how to prevent Oralia¡¯s self-destructive thoughts from imploding on the spot. He was good at that sort of thing. Unless of course this was one of those situations that caught even him by surprise, at which point he would be as useless as her.

    He is definitely going to be surprised.

    Regardless of Sascha¡¯s reaction, at the very least Oralia wouldn¡¯t have to bear the burden alone. They could spend the rest of the night spiraling down a long pit of despair together, wondering how in the seven realms of chaos this had happened. They could take turns lamenting about how they were too old, too tired, and too cursed with dark magic to be entrusted with the care of a child.

    ¡°I got it!¡± The dwarf¡¯s voice rang out from behind. In true Rali fashion, instead of simply dropping the topic, she decided to narrow the answer down through guesswork. ¡°You just found out you have a long lost evil twin.¡±

    ¡°No, Rali.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re the evil one, huh? Checks out.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Your parents were secretly evil?¡±

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Oralia spun around to face her. Although undeniably faster, her dwarf lieutenant had opted to walk at the back of the procession, to keep Oralia from falling too far behind, most likely. That and to prod her with jabs in both the literal and metaphorical sense. ¡°Do you think it is helping? I am already riddled with every kind of guilt imaginable. Is it necessary to add to my anguish right now?¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    The distant glow from Briony¡¯s lantern painted Rali¡¯s dirt-smudged face in an unsettling light. A wolfish smile slowly spread from ear to ear, demonstrating the unnerving fact that dwarfs possessed more teeth than most people gave them credit for.

    The smile came with a revelation as well ¡ª for Oralia, not Rali. The orc ran a weary hand down her sweat-soaked brow with a sigh. ¡°Oh my gods. You are doing this on purpose.¡±

    In the strangest turn of events, Rali said absolutely nothing. Unlike her smile, which said everything and then some. Too much, in fact.

    Oralia continued, more for her own benefit, as speaking her thoughts aloud helped process what was taking place. ¡°You are badgering me with harmless accusations because you can tell something is wrong.¡±

    Rali¡¯s smile agreed.

    ¡°As you are my closest friend, you know me better than anyone else. Including the fact that I am mere moments away from a critical breakdown in the most inconvenient location possible.¡± Oralia paused, giving herself time to string the final few pieces together in a way that made sense. At least she hoped so. Sense had lost most of its meaning as of late. ¡°All of this is to keep me focused on you, and your paltry complaints, so that I do not venture too far into my own head.¡±

    ¡°Who? Me?¡± The smile broke and Rali¡¯s lips contorted to a demeaning pout instead. ¡°Nah, boss. I just like annoying you.¡±

    The light of Briony¡¯s lantern grew fainter. Unlike them, their faun escort refused to stop. She disappeared around a bend up ahead, taking the light with her.

    While neither Oralia nor Rali needed the light to find their way, losing their guide would certainly prove disastrous. Oralia gazed fondly down at her friend for a split second more, before turning to follow the fading yellow light. ¡°You are wrong, by the way,¡± she said to Rali from over her shoulder. ¡°It was not my twin I discovered, but yours.¡±

    ¡°Afraid that¡¯s not possible, boss.¡± Rali¡¯s clomping footsteps started up again behind her. ¡°I took care of her ages ago. Made it look like a baking accident.¡±

    ¡°How does one perish from a baking accident?¡±

    ¡°Two words: raw egg.¡±

    ¡°That explains absolutely nothing.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯re not thinking creatively.¡±

    And so they went, traveling the depths of the underground tunnel system beneath the village of Lonebrook, carrying on an increasingly absurd conversation to keep Oralia¡¯s consuming dread at bay. It worked, too, right up until the point they reached the entrance and Oralia found Sascha pacing outside of the root cellar, anxiously awaiting her return.

    Their eyes met and Oralia froze, torn between running to him and whipping back around and taking her chances with the tunnel. The dwarf at her back was making the latter option slightly less doable. Further proof that Rali¡¯s choice in the lineup had not only been intentional, but served more than one purpose.

    ¡°Moonflower?¡± Sascha started towards her.

    Oralia snapped from her trance and edged a tentative step forward. ¡°Have you been waiting this whole time? You should have gone to bed.¡±

    ¡°Do you really expect me to be able to sleep at a time like this?¡±

    No, but it certainly would have made Oralia¡¯s return slightly easier. He¡¯d been her driving force to return as quickly as possible and yet, having trekked all that way to see him, she still didn¡¯t know what she was supposed to say.

    Sascha¡¯s worried gaze shifted from Oralia to Rali. A single look from the dwarf¡¯s dirt-smudged face told him everything he needed to know.

    Oralia was still trying to interpret Rali¡¯s expression when Sascha made his move. He offered her both his arm and a bewitching smile. ¡°Walk with me?¡±

    Timidly, Oralia threaded her arm through his. Every muscle in her legs protested the idea of walking a single step further, but she persisted because the alternative meant laying everything out in front of everyone. At least this way she could ensure there was a sizable distance between them and the cottage before the hysterics began. Whether it¡¯d be from her or Sascha, she did not yet know.

    ¡°You may have to drag me the way back,¡± Oralia said.

    ¡°As opposed to carrying you?¡±

    ¡°Dragging is more dignified.¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Sascha replied in that sort of amused tone parents reserved for overdramatic toddlers. Perhaps it was good he was already so well versed at it, considering the news she was about to drop on him.

    It was well past midnight. Traces of moonlight broke through the thick cloud coverage overhead, dotting the dark forest floor with scattered pools of pale light. The autumn breeze was crisp. It whispered softly overhead, stirring the remaining red and yellow leaves that stubbornly clung to the bare branches. The night was picturesque.

    Much unlike the nauseous churning in Oralia¡¯s gut that threatened to transform her insides to outsides. As much as she detested the walk, she also didn¡¯t want it to end. Stopping meant talking and talking meant knowing what she was supposed to say.

    And then the inevitable happened. Sascha led her to a fallen tree, bathed in patchy moonlight, and settled down. He thumped the top of the log in an unspoken invitation to join him.

    Oralia remained standing. She tilted her chin skyward and closed her eyes, trying to calm the rampaging gallop of her heartbeat.

    Good gods, what was she supposed to say?

 199 - The It

    Autumn clung to the land like a stubborn tick. While commendable, its tenacity was for naught. Its hold diminished with each passing day. The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the trees were one hard frost shy of dropping the rest of their yellow and orange leaves at the foot of their mighty trunks. Winter was on its way. Soon the ground would freeze, the forest would go dormant, and thick layers of white snow would blanket everything in sight.

    Oralia despised being away from home during winter. The coming season would be unlike most as, for the first time in decades, she no longer possessed a home to return to. She had no house, no bed, no hearth, destined to spend the bitter months holed up in hiding, burdened with the prospects of death and new life at the same time. The thought was almost as chilling as the cool night air teasing the back of her neck.

    ¡°Moonflower?¡± Sascha¡¯s rumbling voice coaxed Oralia from her thoughts. He thumped the tree with the flat of his hand once more, producing a solid thud. ¡°Are you going to sit down?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Really? Because from here it looks like you¡¯re considering scaling the nearest tree.¡±

    Oralia snapped her eyes away from the closest cottonwood, realizing she had been staring rather intently at it. ¡°I feel like scaling a tree,¡± she admitted. ¡°Given the circumstances, however, I think that would be ill-advised.¡±

    ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± Sascha said with the gentle patience of someone well acquainted with the art of luring stray cats into the home with scraps of food and soothing sounds.

    Oralia loved it almost as much as she hated it. Mostly because it was working. Stifling a sigh, she joined him on the fallen tree. ¡°I need to speak with you.¡±

    Good start. Keep going.

    ¡°And I¡­it is not something I can speak about with ease.¡±

    Sascha waited for her to finish.

    Oralia was annoyed by his patience. Why couldn¡¯t he interrupt her like everyone else? Would it make admitting any of this easier? No. But a little distraction would have been nice. ¡°The infection is bad, as we suspected, but Novera believes it to be treatable. She has sworn to do everything in her power to find a cure in exchange for liberating her village.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Sascha¡¯s tone suggested he¡¯d steeled himself for the worse and what he got was not that. His voice lifted, betraying the relief that eased the deep worry lines around his doleful eyes. ¡°This is good news then, yes? We already knew you were going to stay and fight. This is more hope than we had before.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more.¡± Oralia took a breath to ease what remained of her frayed nerves. It didn¡¯t help, but at least she was still breathing. ¡°The darkness is not solely responsible for my poor health. There is another condition at play.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s brow furrowed. He looked her up and down, as if expecting to be able to diagnose the issue from a single glance.

    The words still didn¡¯t come. Oralia reached for his hand instead and placed it on her stomach. There wasn¡¯t any sort of distinguishable bump yet, aside from what she¡¯d had from dinner perhaps, but surely it was the sentiment that counted.

    Suddenly it was Sascha who looked to be mere moments away from bolting up the nearest cottonwood. Eyes wide, he opened and closed his mouth several times before finally settling on a single-worded question. ¡°...You¡¯re?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    More stunned silence.

    Oralia hadn¡¯t known what to expect. She was still reeling from the news herself. Still, nothing at all was not the reaction she¡¯d been hoping for. She lifted Sascha¡¯s hand from her stomach and let it drop, clicking her tusks against her upper teeth as she did so. ¡°I am warning you now, if the next question you ask is whether or not it is yours, you will be the one running for the trees.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡± It was as if her words had drifted in one ear and out the other, unheard. A giddy smile pulled across Sascha¡¯s handsome features. ¡°I¡¯m going to be a dad. You¡¯re going to be a mom.¡±

    The very word nearly sent Oralia scrambling.

    Sascha placed his hand on her leg as the smile slowly slipped from his face. The reality of their situation had finally started to settle. His joy swiftly transformed to concern. ¡°The dark magic,¡± he said. ¡°Will it affect the baby?¡±

    Oh gods, another word she wasn¡¯t ready to hear! Oralia severely wanted to slap her arms to stop her skin from crawling. She refrained from doing so, prevented only by the concerned stare her fuckmate was giving her. ¡°I do not know. Novera says the¡­it is strong, though.¡±

    ¡°The it?¡±

    Oralia almost smiled. Her refusal to call the ¡®it¡¯ by any other name was ridiculous and it was a small relief that Sascha thought so as well. It meant he was still functioning, at least. Better than her, anyway. Unfortunately, the next words out of Oralia¡¯s mouth immediately swallowed the temporary relief Sascha¡¯s interruption had provided. ¡°If left untreated, the infection will claim me and the it.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Sascha processed the information in silence before contributing his thoughts. ¡°I see why you are reluctant to call the it by any other name.¡± His hand moved from the top of her thigh and settled over her own, offering a reassuring squeeze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You must be terrified.¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± Terrified was an understatement. And yet, amongst the spiral of fear and anxiety, she kept glimmers of hope too. Having a family brought with it some form of normalcy. She could settle down, put up the sword, do all the things she¡¯d been swearing to do since retirement. Provided she and the ¡®it¡¯ survived, of course. After liberating a village from realm control without an army. Just her, a handful of fighters, against an enemy with all the resources it needed to hunker down for the winter and wait them out.

    Her thoughts had finally caught up to what her body had been trying to tell her all evening ¡ª they were doomed. She was doomed. The entire situation at hand was doomed.

    Fuck.

    ¡°I¡¯m here for you, Moonflower.¡± Sascha squeezed her hand again. ¡°For you and little Merrick.¡±

    The mere mention of the name stopped Oralia¡¯s internal spiral dead in its tracks. The foul word rolled off her tongue tasting of soot and spite. ¡°Merrick?¡±

    ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your mother¡¯s name!¡±

    Sascha¡¯s other arm snaked around the back of Oralia¡¯s waist and pulled her closer. His roguish smile came with a wink. ¡°It¡¯s strategic, Moonflower. Name our firstborn after her and Mother will have no other choice but to start liking you.¡±

    ¡°Your mother hates me.¡±

    ¡°Which is why my plan is undeniably brilliant.¡±

    As much as it made her blood boil, Sascha¡¯s teasing served its purpose. Some of Oralia¡¯s inner turmoil eased. She lifted her gaze, meeting him in the eye for what felt like the first time all evening. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    ¡°What you already plan to do, I suspect.¡±

    ¡°Ignore all of my problems until they go away?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, that¡¯s a terrible plan,¡± Sascha said. ¡°For the record, I think we¡¯d be decent at parenting if we tried. If you wanted to, that is.¡±

    ¡°My mother died in battle when I was nine. Father passed shortly after of a broken heart.¡± Oralia¡¯s gaze dropped to her feet. ¡°The mere act of staying alive would put me above my parents.¡± The bar was practically on the floor and yet, it still seemed insurmountable.

    ¡°And look at the bright side. If we pass, your sister can raise little Merrick.¡±

    Oralia whipped her head around at him and glared.

    Unfortunately, all it did was encourage his teasing smile to spread further across his face, revealing his front teeth. ¡°No? Well then there¡¯s always Grandma Merrick.¡±

    ¡°Who hates me.¡± While it wasn¡¯t a favorable detail, it was important enough to bring up again, just in case Sascha had missed it the first time.

    ¡°We¡¯re asking her to raise our orphaned child, not you. It¡¯ll be fine. Mom will take good care of little Merrick.¡±

    Oralia buried her face into his chest with a groan. ¡°I refuse to name any of our future children after your mother. I will not give her that satisfaction.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so we¡¯re having more than one, are we? How ambitious of you, Moonflower. You¡¯re going to have to stay alive to carry that out, though. At least long enough to complete the collection.¡±

    She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, feeling as though she was holding on for dear life. She was grateful for the teasing. If anything, it made the moment less devastating than it could have been. Unfortunately, no amount of jesting could fully alleviate the worry gnawing at her from the inside. ¡°I¡¯m still scared.¡±

    He rested his chin against the top of her head. ¡°Me too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared something will happen to it before it is born. I¡¯m scared the darkness will claim it and me, before it is time. And that you will be left alone.¡± She took a breath before admitting, ¡°And even if none of that comes to fruition, I¡¯m still scared that I¡¯m not ready for this. Of all the perils I have faced in my life, this one terrifies me the most.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more afraid to fuck up our future children than you are to die in battle?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Admittedly, that¡¯s not the sort of reassurance I¡¯d like to hear at the moment, but I can¡¯t tell you how to feel. You won¡¯t be perfect at it, nor will I. But at least you can fix the mistakes you make with them. There¡¯s no coming back from death.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking sense.¡±

    His hand moved up into her hair. ¡°Someone has to.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, I am going to have to fight.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    The foul taste of soot and spite vanished from her tongue, replaced instead with that of fermented herring. Oralia nearly choked on her own wretched words. ¡°You¡¯re not going to tell me no?¡±

    With her face pressed up against him, Oralia had no way of seeing Sascha¡¯s reaction. From his voice, she could tell he had one eyebrow raised higher than the other in skepticism. ¡°Would you listen if I did?¡±

    ¡°Of course I would listen.¡± Heeding his words, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast. It wasn¡¯t in Oralia¡¯s nature to alter course purely on the whim of another, but this was Sascha and he, above anyone else, deserved a say in the matter. His objection would at least make her consider any and all possible alternatives.

    It was time to cut the bullshit and get straight to the heart of the matter. Oralia lifted her head and locked eyes with him. ¡°I am about to gather an army to overthrow the realm presence in Lonebrook. I intend to do so while cursed with dark magic and carrying your child. If you have any objection to this plan, say so now, before I commit to something I cannot back out of.¡±

    ¡°I object to everything about this plan.¡± He allowed the idea to settle before finishing his thoughts. ¡°But I also realize we do not have an alternative. If I want to spend the rest of my life with you and little Merrick, then I will agree. So long as you promise to not push me away when things get difficult.¡±

    That was doable, right? All she had to do was assemble an army, defeat an enemy that had already claimed the high ground, and survive the dark magic coursing through her veins while carrying a child. Oh, and avoid being a complete asshole to her fuckmate while doing so. All perfectly feasible! So, so feasible. A sane person would have thrown in the towel right then and there and declared it a lost cause. That was the thing about sanity, though. Those that followed the path of sanity typically had better options. Oralia was down to just two ¡ª pull it off or die trying.

    She buried her face back into Sascha¡¯s chest with a groan.

    His strong fingers worked their way back through her hair and scraped along her scalp. ¡°What¡¯s that, dear? Was that a ¡®Yes, Sascha, love of my life. I swear I¡¯m not going to do that thing where I push people away the moment the going gets tough¡¯?¡±

    Whatever swear words slipped free of Oralia¡¯s open mouth were muffled by his shirt.

    ¡°Yes, I know. I love you, too,¡± Sascha carried on, misinterpreting her sounds as he wished. ¡°I was only kidding about Merrick, by the way. But since you fancy it so much, I suppose I could consider it. For your sake.¡±

 200 - Acoustic Warfare

    Daana¡¯s first week of travel through the flatlands was uneventful. The long days were spent in the saddle crossing a seemingly endless stretch of flat tundra, following the horizon and Snag¡¯s innate sense of direction. Daana¡¯s steed was of the same bloodline as Wormy. The breed was native to the flatlands and fared the cold winters and limited nutrition better than their southern cousins. It was not uncommon to see wild herds of tusked, shaggy horses roaming the tundra as they traveled.

    The horses were not the only creatures to call the open tundra home. In the last two days alone, Daana had seen giant elk, cinnamon-colored bears, and herds of small deer with antlers so ornamental they looked as if they¡¯d been designed by an overzealous artist and not nature. There were also goblins. Lots of goblins.

    On her own, Daana would not have noticed them. But Snag certainly did. He was on high alert at all times, announcing whenever he saw a glimpse of an ear or yellow eyes peeking out of a burrow as they passed. The goblins would keep their distance with Ashwyn in tow, he explained. Although the area didn¡¯t get very many orcs passing through, goblins knew an apex predator when they saw one. Aside from a few looky-loos, Snag expected their passage to go unhindered.

    Which failed to explain why, on the eight morning, Daana awoke to the shrill shriek of a flute murdering what might have been a song. It was some distance away, carried to them on the wind which, unfortunately, did nothing to damper its horrific sound. The butchered flute playing ceased after several sharp trills and the meadow grew eerily quiet once more.

    Daana tentatively uncovered her ears, prepared to snap her hands back into place the moment the ¡°music¡± picked up again. Her stare darted to Snag. ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°Give me a minute here.¡± Snag withdrew the carved pipe from his pocket and responded with several piercing notes of his own.

    ¡°Good goddess.¡± Ashwyn rolled upright out of bed with a groan. She plugged her forefingers knuckle-deep in each ear, still wincing at every horrific sound emitting from Snag¡¯s pipe. ¡°Are we under attack? ¡®Cause this is starting to feel like acoustic warfare.¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯re just havin¡¯ a conversation. This is how different clans communicate with another. Now hush, I gotta listen for the reply.¡± Snag fanned his weathered ears like sails catching the breeze and listened.

    Three sharp notes and a trill followed. Unable to read Snag¡¯s concentrated expression, Daana asked, ¡°Are they friendly?¡±

    ¡°Friendly?¡± The goblin swiveled his head at her, brows pressed together in disbelief. His answer, fortunately, had far less of a bite than his bared teeth would imply. ¡°Of course they¡¯re friendly, girl. What kind of question is that? Do you think a baddie would¡¯ve signaled first if they intended to rob us?¡±

    Heat flushed over Daana¡¯s nose and spread to the tips of her ears. The sudden warmth stung against the crisp morning air. Overhead, the sky was overcast and gray. Dense blankets of fog swept across the open plains, herded by the wind.

    ¡°It could be a trap,¡± Daana said, attempting to offset her embarrassment. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re trying to lure us into a false sense of ease.¡±

    ¡°Suppose,¡± Snag conceded with a lackluster shrug.

    His ears stood at attention when the flute sounded a third time, noticeably closer than before. Snag nodded along until the song playing finished. He responded with two sharp staccatos and a low, drawn out note before stowing the pipe back into the confines of his jacket. ¡°They claim they just want to barter. They¡¯re on the lookout for medicinal herbs and spices. Said they¡¯re willing to part with some firebrew for hard to get stuff.¡±

    ¡°And if it¡¯s a trap?¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Only one way to find out, girl.¡±

    Ashwyn unplugged her fingers from her ears and repositioned them on either side of her forehead. Gritting her teeth, the orc massaged her aching temples with slow, deep circles. Despite an uneventful trip so far, her appearance was ragged, bordering on threadbare. She put on a brave face when she knew Daana was watching, but the disheartened sighs and dark rings beneath her eyes grew more prevalent with each passing day.

    ¡°You got all of that from a couple trills, Snaggy?¡± Ashwyn said.

    ¡°Nifty, ain¡¯t it? I tried teaching your sister¡¯s crew, but none of them had the ear for it. Just accused me of playing sounds to torture them.¡±

    ¡°You did play sounds just to torture them,¡± Daana countered.

    ¡°I mean, in the end, sure. But it didn¡¯t start out that way.¡± He scurried over to his saddlebags and rummaged through them as he talked. ¡°Now, our guests are probably just being nosey little fucks and wanna see what we¡¯re doing this far out. But I brought spices just in case they intend to do some actual bartering. Stick to our story and watch what you say. Just because they¡¯re not speaking to you in Utotrian doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t understand it.¡±

    ¡°Oh! I could practice my Laftak,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Knock yourself out, kid. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had a good laugh.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that bad.¡±

    Snag glanced over his shoulder at her, still grinning. ¡°You should try asking them where the library is again. They won¡¯t be expecting that.¡±

    ¡°Har, har, har.¡±

    Once upon a time, Daana would¡¯ve been insulted by Snag¡¯s taunting. Her pride had learned to take a bashing since then and, on the grand scale of personal insults, his teasing barely made it on the board. With that said, her insatiable need to be a helpful, contributing member of the group was still alive and well, and demanded to be validated. Fortunately, there were other meaningful ways to contribute that did not involve making a fool of herself.

    Breakfast, for example, did not require one to be versed in any language but hunger. And in that category, Daana was an expert.

    She threw her warm bedding aside and ambled over to the firepit, ignoring the protesting twinge in her stiff legs as the cold seeped through her wool leggings. The fire from the night before had died down to embers, but it would do. Daana set the cast iron pan over the top of the glowing coals and filled it with water.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    Their campsite butted up against a solid wall of rock formation, sheltering them from the harsh winds that buffeted the land from the east. They were surrounded on all sides by a sea of yellow and brown tundra grass. The vegetation was tall, well over waist height, and provided convenient cover for the approaching goblins.

    The wall of swaying tundra grass parted without warning, and a trio of goblins came traipsing through. They were small and thin, like Snag, with similar moss-colored skin and adorned with bits and bobs of jewelry. Unlike him, however, their faces were not creased from the decades of life in the saddle. Their hides were smooth and relatively unblemished. Daana wasn¡¯t an expert on goblin age by any stretch, but she guessed the trio were on the cusp of adulthood. This was further confirmed by their choice of jewelry. A goblin earned each decorated band through accomplishment. As a result, it was the elders that often sported the more impressive body modifications. Snag claimed the young often used whatever shiny substitutions they could get their claws on to appear more impressive to outsiders.

    If anything, it only made them look silly, but Daana supposed that probably wasn¡¯t something worth pointing out.

    The young goblins gave Daana a courteous once-over. Ashwyn¡¯s visual inspection lasted a little longer on the account that there was more of her to take in, including the rather impressive array of weapons arranged on the ground around her. It was Snag who commanded the brunt of their attention. All three stared at him wide-eyed, unable to tear their gaze from him long enough to feign interest elsewhere.

    It was just as well that Snag was handling the negotiations. Daana didn¡¯t think the trio would¡¯ve been able to break from their mesmerization had they tried.

    Snag noticed this as well. He threw his hands in the air exasperation. ¡°Oi! Are you here to trade or gawk?¡±

    The bravest of the three edged closer, wringing his gnarled hands together. He spoke slowly, voice riddled with hesitance. If Daana¡¯s Laftak was to be trusted, he said something along the lines of ¡®are you him?¡¯

    Oh dear. This was the exact scenario they¡¯d hoped to avoid. The flatlands still had an active warrant for Snaglebrag Flint¡¯s head. And while Snag had packed enough gold to ensure he could bribe his way out of a situation if necessary, he would be reluctant to part with it so soon.

    Daana added two scoops of dried oats to the pan of boiling water as she watched the scene unfold with bated breath. Snag kept his expression perfectly blank. Alas, his response was spoken far too quickly for her to catch anything of significance. The young goblins all replied at the same time, gesturing with their hands as they rocked back and forth on sinewy legs, speaking over one another.

    Snag attempted to quell their enthusiasm by switching back to the common tongue. ¡°Nah, nah, nah,¡± he said, waving his clawed hand dismissively. ¡°I know what bloke you¡¯re talking about. But he ain¡¯t me. Last I heard, that ol¡¯ traitor was still causing havoc down south in the territories.¡±

    ¡°Traitor?¡± The smallest of the three piped up. She was the most curious-looking of the bunch. She had more fashion statements strung through her ears than anyone else around her, including Snag. Amongst her unusual collection of faux-jewelry were fish hooks, a lure, and what looked to be several modified spoon heads.

    Spoon Ear placed her balled hands at her hips and marched up to Snag with the unearned confidence of a teenager. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about! How long have you been out of the lands, huh?¡±

    ¡°Judging by his accent, too long,¡± one of the others added. He was the tallest, hovering an inch or two above Snag, but looked thin enough to get snapped in half by a light breeze. Twig, Daana decided, was a befitting name until she learned otherwise.

    Snag¡¯s lower jaw trembled as he fought to keep the fury from his face. He was failing, of course, no matter the effort he was putting into it. ¡°Are you here to trade or not? You¡¯re wasting my time.¡±

    The third, yet unnamed goblin shared an eager, needle-toothed smile with the others, earning himself the nickname Smiley. ¡°He even speaks like a realm dog. The words flow right off his tongue all pretty-like.¡±

    ¡°Well if he¡¯s Snaglebrag¡± ¡ª Twig tilted his claw in Ashwyn¡¯s direction ¡ª ¡°that would make this one the protector, yeah?¡±

    Spoon Ear turned in Ashwyn¡¯s direction and bowed, dipping so low her jeweled ears swept across the trampled ground. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±

    Ashwyn was unable to contain her snort of laughter. ¡°No, mate. Far from it.¡±

    They obviously didn¡¯t believe her as, if on cue, the trio¡¯s attention shifted to Daana with the sort of wide-eyed reverence she¡¯d only ever experienced in fantasies. It was downright beautiful. Underserved, too, as the goblins had obviously mistaken her for the notorious elf huntress, Ellisar Farrow. Daana decided she wasn¡¯t going to waste her breath correcting the misconception ¡ª and no, not simply because she liked the attention.

    Denying the accusation would be too obvious. She would have to divert their attention through more creative means.

    Daana folded a handful of dried berries into the pan of simmering oats. ¡°You all look hungry. Care to join us for breakfast? I made extra.¡±

    ¡°Extra? What are you talking about extra?¡± Ashwyn glared at Daana¡¯s single pan of breakfast as if it¡¯d personally offended her.

    Thanks to Daana¡¯s culinary exploits, the crisp morning air was now laden with the warm smells of toasted oats and berries. A touch of cinnamon and honey would have elevated the meal beyond its simple means, but Daana had neither on her. There simply wasn¡¯t room for such extravagancies when it came to life on the road.

    Ashwyn folded her arms over her chest and scowled. ¡°I could eat that whole pan by myself.¡±

    So much for her brilliant plan to distract the goblins from uncovering Snag¡¯s identity. Daana swallowed the expletive that threatened to roll from her tongue and settled on a sugary-sweet reply instead. ¡°Could you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°The whole pan?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well you¡¯re not supposed to eat the pan, are you?¡±

    Having fallen silent during the exchange, the trio of young goblins burst into snorts of raspy laughter. Overcome with mirth, they switched back to their mother tongue and carried on a conversation of their own. Judging from the abundance of finger pointing and knee slapping, the three were deciding what inedible object the big dum-dum orc would try to eat next.

    Ashwyn clicked her tusks softly. Her unamused gaze settled over Daana with a weight that could be felt from across the fire. ¡®You may have saved our hides, but your ass is mine¡¯ the orc¡¯s dark eyes promised.

    Daana shuddered, certain she would feel the full brunt of Ashwyn¡¯s wrath during their next training session.

    It wasn¡¯t fair. She¡¯d only tried to help ¡ª and succeeded, by the way. The goblins¡¯ attention was no longer on whether or not Daana and her companions were wanted fugitives of the realm. And yes, admittedly, Daana¡¯s strategy had taken a cheap shot at the ¡®stupid orc¡¯ stereotype that Ashwyn despised with every bone in her body, but it¡¯d served a purpose! Thanks to Daana¡¯s swift thinking, she, Snag, and Ashwyn were no longer on the cusp of being turned over to a higher authority.

    Despite all the very good arguments weaving through Daana¡¯s thoughts, Ashwyn¡¯s stony expression suggested that she wouldn¡¯t care when it came time for payback. Perhaps the orc would feel differently if Daana could lower the trio¡¯s guard even more, possibly enough to get information. Surely even Ashwyn couldn¡¯t punish her for gathering intelligence.

    Daana removed the pan from the coals and set it onto the cooling stone. ¡°Who¡¯s hungry? Where I¡¯m from, guests eat first.¡±

    The goblins eyed her up and down suspiciously. It was Smiley who edged a hair closer, sniffing the air. ¡°Is that ¡®cause it¡¯s poisoned?¡±

    Daana¡¯s brow furrowed as she considered the best way to handle his slight. Attempting to correct the goblin wouldn¡¯t get anywhere. He was a teenager, after all, and taking flack from a stranger had never been any teenager¡¯s strong suit. Daana would know, she¡¯d been a teenager far longer than most people her age.

    Shrugging, she offered the pan to Ashwyn instead. ¡°Good news. I guess they¡¯re not hungry. More for you then.¡±

 201 - Once Upon A Time

    ¡°Wait, wait, wait!¡± All three goblins fought to talk over one another, excusing Smiley¡¯s poor manners as they watched, eyes fixed on the steaming pan of oats as if it was the single most important desire in the entire world.

    Daana could practically hear the gurgling of their empty bellies. With the three goblins fixated on breakfast, they failed to notice the faint look of approval stretched across Snag¡¯s weathered face. Unlike Daana, who definitely noticed, and both loved and hated it at the same time. On one hand, it was wonderful knowing that he trusted her to do this her way. On the other, the thought of failing in front of an audience was a blunder she would not live down so easily.

    Especially not with the way Ashwyn was still glaring at her for giving away half their breakfast.

    Daana filled their three wooden bowls and distributed them to her eager guests before ladling the rest into whatever containers she had on hand. It wasn¡¯t an extravagant meal by any means, but the goblins didn¡¯t appear to mind. They crouched beside one another, snapping up their food as quickly as possible while eyeing their neighbor¡¯s bowl in hopes of helping them finish.

    Snag eventually gave up standing guard and settled onto the ground with everyone else. He stirred his oats, feigning interest in the food as he pried the trio for information in the least obvious way possible.

    According to their guests, whatever disputes normally pitted one goblin den against another had simmered for the season. With fall turning swiftly into winter, the threat of the first harsh snowfall had everyone scrambling to stock their underground larders.

    ¡°You should reach the eastern border without trouble. Especially with that one in your company.¡± Smiley indicated Ashwyn with a tilt of his jeweled head. ¡°No den¡¯s going to risk their best fighters trying to take on a behemoth when they¡¯ve got hungry mouths to feed.¡±

    Snag¡¯s ears flattened against the back of his head. ¡°Who said we were headed to the border?¡±

    ¡°All the riders come and go through there,¡± Smiley said. ¡°Everyone knows Adderwood is the easiest way to sneak in an¡¯ out of the realm. The border¡¯s wide with plenty of cover and not enough soldiers to police anything beyond the main road. Sneaking past is easy-peasy.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s ears perked. ¡°We¡¯re not the first riders you¡¯ve seen?¡±

    ¡°You kiddin¡¯? For months now, there¡¯s been entire¡ª¡± Smiley was cut short by a stiff elbow to the ribs from Spoon Ear. The pair exchanged heated glances before Smiley¡¯s shoulders sank in defeat. He stabbed at the last few bites of oat mush with his spoon, resigned to a sulking silence.

    Content her companion was not about to give away vital information for free, Spoon Ear took charge of the conversation. ¡°We came here to trade, yeah? Seems like you all want information, not firebrew. We¡¯ll be happy to supply it.¡±

    An eager grin split Twig¡¯s face from ear to ear. ¡°For the right price, of course.¡±

    Ashwyn stared at them for a disconcerting amount of time before shifting her weary gaze to Snag. ¡°What¡¯s goblin taste like? These fuckers had the gall to eat my breakfast and are now asking for more.¡±

    Snag made a limp, so-so gesture with his hand. ¡°Similar to wild rabbit, but stringier. Not good raw though. Too many parasites.¡±

    ¡°These three don¡¯t look old enough to be carrying parasites.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d still be better off boiling them alive. Might help if you filet the skin first.¡±

    Daana immediately recognized their game. It was a common one. Someone played the role of baddie while their counterpart worked their mark from the nice angle. With Snag and Ashwyn both filling the role of the calloused killer, it seemed the remaining position had been left for her. Just as well, she supposed. She had already proved to be generous once already.

    Wordlessly, Daana knelt beside the supply bag and pulled free a bundle of cheesecloth and crinkly paper. She removed four strips of the thin sliced meat and arranged them into neat lines within the pan. The goblins watched her every move as she navigated the cast iron back over the glowing embers. Their wariness soon gave way to hunger when the pork strips began to sizzle and pop, releasing the glorious smell of bacon into the air.

    ¡°This is something special I picked up for the journey. Very hard to come by out here. Very pricey when you do find it.¡± Daana used her wooden utensil to keep the bacon strips from touching, ensuring each was given enough room to crisp evenly. She had no doubt Snag would give her an earful for wasting his good vittles but, for the moment, all he could do was glare at her from afar.

    Daana¡¯s next words were going to make him even more mad. ¡°The first one to tell us about the recent travelers can have it all.¡±

    Their salivating mouths all snapped shut simultaneously. The three goblins no longer stared at the bacon, but each other. Silently sizing one another up, attempting to scare the others into keeping their silence.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s determination.¡± Ashwyn extended her empty tin cup in Daana¡¯s direction. ¡°Since they¡¯re not interested, I¡¯ll take one of those to temper my hunger, thank you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still floppy,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°It¡¯s bacon, not a cock. Give it here.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Flipping a limp strip onto her spoon, Daana maneuvered it from the sizzling pan to Ashwyn¡¯s cup with a steadiness that surprised even herself. She noted the way the goblins¡¯ heads moved, following the path of the morsel from pan to cup. Ashwyn noticed too, and made a show of savoring every greasy bite. The fact that she refused to break eye contact with the trio while doing so was a choice Daana didn¡¯t fully understand but, nevertheless, knew not to question.

    When finished, Ashwyn jutted her empty cup in Daana¡¯s direction. ¡°More.¡±

    Smiley broke first. ¡°The riders are the elf witch¡¯s people. Lots of them, as of late. Just three weeks ago a party of forty strong slipped through the border into the realm.¡±

    Daana moved the cooked bacon onto a flat slab of rock to cool. ¡°Have any riders come back?¡±

    ¡°None so far.¡± Smiley fended off Twig¡¯s little fists as the other goblin attempted to pummel him back into silence. ¡°Maybe a single rider now and then, but it¡¯s usually only a messenger of some type.¡±

    Ashwyn prevented Daana from passing out the bacon with a lift of her hand. ¡°What about from the other side?¡± she asked. ¡°How many riders from the realm have you seen slinking through these parts?¡±

    ¡°Besides you three?¡± Smiley challenged.

    ¡°You¡¯re about to lose half your bacon, boyo.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, alright.¡± Smiley stood, ignoring the angry chittering sounds from his companions. ¡°There were lots of realm soldiers mucking about at first, but the defeat in Adderwood sent them packing. Our den leader says their armies drew back into the interior territories.¡±

    Ashwyn drummed her fingertips against her leg. ¡°What defeat in Adderwood?¡±

    The young goblin appeared genuinely confused by her question. ¡°You seriously don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s playing you, idiot!¡± Spoon Ear hissed.

    ¡°If I already knew, I wouldn¡¯t be asking.¡± Ashwyn flashed her teeth at the little goblin, warning her against interrupting again. ¡°Now, don¡¯t make me repeat myself. It makes me hungry. What happened in Adderwood?¡±

    ¡°Nah-uh! You don¡¯t say another word.¡± Spoon Ear was not so easily intimidated. She smacked the back of Smiley¡¯s head as she shot to her feet and returned Ashwyn¡¯s heated stare. ¡°If you lot want to know so bad, then you¡¯re going to pay for it. With more than just a handful of scraps, I might add.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t any sense in pussyfooting around. It was time to make an offer they couldn¡¯t refuse. ¡°All of this for the information.¡± Daana held aloft the remaining wrapped rasher of bacon, ignoring Snag¡¯s muffled whimper. ¡°No more, no less. You answer all our questions¨C¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t tell anybody where you got it, either. Or I will make it my personal life mission to hunt the three of you down and strip the flesh from your bones with my teeth,¡± Ashwyn finished.

    Smiley and Twig both watched Spoon Ear for her answer. The little goblin gave her nod of approval. With the matter settled, she extended her hand in Daana¡¯s direction, demanding what was owed.

    Daana narrowed her eyes. ¡°Information first.¡±

    Spoon Ear rolled her eyes and gestured for the other two to fill in the gaps.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know?¡± Smiley had to ask once more, just for clarification. Ashwyn¡¯s unamused expression was the only answer he received. ¡°Adderwood rebelled. They chased the realm out and declared their independence.¡±

    Twig spoke up next, having switched his wide-eyed gaze from Spoon Ear to Ashwyn. ¡°Word is they¡¯ve got the turncoat on their side.¡±

    ¡°The who?¡± Ashwyn said.

    He waggled his eyebrows in a manner that suggested he knew that she wasn¡¯t being forthright about her identity. ¡°The protector.¡±

    ¡°For the last time, I¡¯m not the protector.¡±

    Twig twirled his spoon in one hand, shrugging. ¡°You look like her.¡±

    ¡°I can assure you, she would never stoop to eating a goblin just because it annoyed her.¡±

    Twig¡¯s face paled as he dropped his gaze back down. Smiley jumped back in, proving once more to be a wealth of information, ¡°The elders say the upheaval has got the realm figureheads nervous. It¡¯s the first time one of the territories has successfully broken away and it¡¯s only a matter of time before some of the others try to do the same.¡±

    ¡°What about the protector?¡± Ashwyn said. ¡°Is she still in Adderwood?¡±

    Smiley¡¯s expression said, ¡®pretty sure she¡¯s sitting right here¡¯. His mouth, however, offered a more diplomatic, ¡°Your guess is as good as ours.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s valiant attempt to wrangle additional information out of the trio proved otherwise fruitless. They had nothing else to offer. Finally, with their bargaining commenced, the trio gathered their rasher of bacon and turned to leave. Spoon Ear glanced back over her shoulder one last time. Her yellow eyes were wide and rimmed in white, offering a look that was almost sorrowful in nature. She uttered something in Laftak before slipping away, lost to sight amongst the tall sea of swaying grass.

    Snag¡¯s stony expression soured.

    Ashwyn rose, adjusting her belt as she did so. For the sake of not scaring off their company, she had remained seated throughout the exchange. She set about rolling up her bedding in the most violent way possible. ¡°How many more times are we going to have to do that? Talk about a waste of time.¡± She glanced sharply out of the corner of her eye at Daana, adding, ¡°And bacon.¡±

    ¡°We still have all of our stuff and no one is trying to prevent us from reaching our destination,¡± Daana replied. ¡°I consider that a win.¡±

    Ashwyn turned to Snag for support. ¡°You¡¯re not going to back me up here? It was your bacon she gave away.¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t appear to have heard.

    Daana waved her hand in front of his face. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± He recoiled, his earrings jingling, as if he¡¯s been snapped from a trance unexpectedly. ¡°Yeah, sure. Whatever.¡±

    Daana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his incredibly convincing statement. ¡°Something bothering you? What did the little one say just before she left?¡±

    Snag played with the ring strung through his lip, one of the unconscious signs that he was deep in thought. ¡°She claims the bounty put on Snaglebrag¡¯s head was lifted some time ago. The powers that be issued a full pardon. The old toad is considering something of a hero now for helping dismantle the realm an¡¯ all that.¡±

    Daana suspected there was more he wasn¡¯t volunteering. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s been welcomed back home.¡±

    Ashwyn finished rolling her bed roll into a more manageable size. ¡°Sounds like a stroke of luck to me.¡±

    Daana couldn¡¯t get a full read on Snag¡¯s face and how he was taking this newfound information. ¡°Is that something he wants? To return home?¡±

    ¡°Once upon a time, maybe. But now,¡± his thin voice trailed, as if he was unsure what words were supposed to follow. ¡°He¡¯s not so sure what home is. That word lost all meaning decades ago.¡±

 202 - A Sentient Bag Of Flesh And Bone

    Everything was wet. The crumbling stairway, the spongy walls, the very dingy air itself. The dampness was inescapable. It saturated Rasp¡¯s clothes until his swampy garments clung to him like a second, irritating skin. Alas, there wasn¡¯t time to stop and peel the fabric from his body. The group was still moving steadily downwards, following the ancient stairway into the underground city below, and nobody wanted to stop and watch him strip.

    At least that¡¯s what Faris said, who complained each time Rasp held up the procession to unstick his shirt from his gaunt stomach. Stupid Faris. It wasn¡¯t like the faun would see anything. It was pitch black all around. The rest of the group was suddenly just as blind as Rasp was, except for June, of course. But she wouldn¡¯t have cared much about the nudity. She was probably thinking the same thing as Rasp. Only she had it worse. Instead of damp, itchy clothes, she had an entire shaggy hide of dense bear fur to contend with. She couldn¡¯t exactly peel it off in a moment of frustration, either.

    The only one equipped with night vision, June led the procession in her bear form with Rasp at her side, clinging to the scruff of her neck for all he was worth. Father took up his customary perch on Rasp¡¯s shoulder and had the audacity to doze off. The raven would awaken each time Rasp slipped, scold him for doing so, and then drift back to sleep as they weren¡¯t stumbling headfirst into an underground grave. Rasp was envious. What he would give to ride piggyback on someone else right now.

    He would have asked June to carry him, but she was a bit preoccupied with keeping them alive at the moment. Rasp figured of the two, that might have been the more important task. June took her sweet time testing the integrity of each step before committing her full weight to it. And then she would do the same with the next, and the next, and the next, until Rasp had lost track altogether. He didn¡¯t mind the slow pace. Of all the many things to bellyache over, making sure they didn¡¯t fall to their deaths certainly wasn¡¯t one of them.

    They were a half an hour into the descent when their circumstances took a drastic turn for the better. The impenetrable darkness receded and a ghoulish blue glow gradually filled Rasp¡¯s poor vision.

    Huh, he thought, craning his head from side to side as he took in the full scope of the strange glow. The hallucinations set in faster than expected.

    ¡°Anyone else tripping right now?¡± he asked, just to be sure.

    ¡°I see it too.¡± Faris sounded equally as confused. ¡°It¡¯s breathtaking. Like blue and green stars caught in the ceiling.¡±

    ¡°I think the word you¡¯re looking for is creepy, Dingle.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s bioluminescent algae,¡± Hop explained. Due to the moist environment, the algae thrived. It was sprawled across the domed ceiling and walls, illuminating the stairwell below in an eerie glow. Creepiness aside, the algae did eliminate the need for torches ¡ª which was just as well because, according to their know-it-all artificer, the algae also emitted highly flammable gas. A single flame would be enough to set off a fire ball of epic, albeit lethal, proportions.

    No fire was reiterated to Rasp several times.

    ¡°Yes, I get it,¡± Rasp groaned after the fourth such reiteration. It was starting to feel personal now. Of course he wouldn¡¯t set them on fire. He had nothing to set them on fire with. There was not a single ounce of magic left in his weary body. He was little more than a sentient bag of flesh and bone, wrapped in skin to keep his gooey bits from oozing out all over the place.

    The bioluminescent glow rendered the dark stairway significantly less dark. With their path now visible, the order of the party changed. Faris assumed the lead, with June behind him and Rasp and Hop situated at the end.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be much further now,¡± Hop said, giving Rasp¡¯s elbow a reassuring squeeze.

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Rasp tugged the bandana firmly back over his nose. All the talk about algae and gas made him glad he¡¯d thought to cover his mouth. He didn¡¯t appreciate how the sheen of sweat running down his face kept causing the bandana to slip, but constantly readjusting it was a price he was willing to pay when the alternative involved inhaling toxic algae excretion.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Know what?¡±

    Oh dear. Hop was already losing himself to delirium. Rasp couldn¡¯t have that. If anyone was going to go mad, it was him. He¡¯s earned it, after all. ¡°That it won¡¯t be much further. Can you see the city below?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I meant my legs. They¡¯re not making it much further.¡±

    Somehow that was worse. ¡°It¡¯s alright. If it comes to that I¡¯ll just ride you down the steps like a toboggan.¡±

    ¡°That sounds painful.¡±

    ¡°It certainly will be. For you, anyway. I¡¯m looking forward to it, personally.¡± Hop was fortunate to have a friend like Rasp. Despite the faun¡¯s wearisome protests, Rasp¡¯s cheery conversation kept Hop¡¯s spirits high enough to keep going. And yet, each word came at a steep cost to Rasp. Sleep pulled at him, weighing heavy in the back of his skull like a low hanging cloud. Every step felt like it would be his last. He persisted, however, knowing if he gave in, it would be he who went down the slippery steps as a toboggan.

    What remained of his pride refused to let that happen.

    ¡°Be careful on these last few steps,¡± Faris¡¯s hushed voice warned from somewhere below. ¡°They¡¯re caked in mud and are as slippery as muck.¡±

    The aftermath of years of flooding, Rasp¡¯s brain volunteered. He didn¡¯t pay much attention to it. The part he chose to fixate on was Faris¡¯s use of ¡®last few¡¯, which indicated that, at long last, they¡¯d reached the bottom.

    Hop navigated the slippery steps alongside him, their arms locked together in a manner that assured Rasp that if he were to fall, Hop would most certainly be dragged down with him. The faun took a deep, shaky breath the moment they reached the final step and moved out across flatter ground. The wet floor squished and squelched underfoot with a texture a little too spongy to be mud.

    The smell was equally as revolting, like the lovechild of putrid flesh and sulfur. The stench infiltrated Rasp¡¯s protective bandana, coating the inside of his mouth with the sour sting of stomach acid. It was a taste Rasp was familiar with, thanks to the years he¡¯d spent drunk off his ass. The acidity pooling under his tongue usually meant he was in for a night of projectile vomiting. He swallowed the bile back down, knowing it would be a waste of effort. There wasn¡¯t anything left in his empty gut to spew.

    Hop led him through the last bit of cramped stairwell and into whatever space existed beyond the exit. Rasp felt a shift in the air as the chamber opened up around them. It was still oppressively damp, but the suffocating sense of confinement disappeared. Rasp craned his head upwards and squinted, realizing the soft eerie glow of the algae was significantly higher than it had been in the stairwell. The bioluminescence wasn¡¯t restricted to the ceiling, either. Rasp could see a whole cluster of blurry, illuminated shapes as the party delved deeper into what remained of the underground city.

    ¡°Are these homes?¡± Rasp asked, gesturing to the nearest glowing structure.

    ¡°Former businesses, probably,¡± Hop replied. ¡°The streets are too wide for residences. Hard to know for sure, though. Everything but the stone has rotted away.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll find an inn.¡± Rasp meant it as a joke. Still, like most jokes, it held a small granule of truth. While he didn¡¯t expect to find a fully furnished inn amongst the ruins, he wouldn¡¯t turn down a nice dry spot to curl up in while his body recovered from three days on the run with no sleep.

    ¡°It¡¯s absolutely fascinating, really,¡± Hop carried on, fueled by the passion of discovery. ¡°By destroying one habitat, the flooding inadvertently created a whole new eco¨C¡±

    ¡°Hop, I love it when you get this excited, really. But help me find somewhere to collapse first,¡± Rasp pleaded. ¡°You can tell me all about the glow in the dark bugs while I¡¯m drifting off to sleep.¡±

    ¡°No sense of wonder,¡± Hop muttered under his breath, adding, ¡°Also, for the record, they¡¯re not bugs.¡±

    Rasp patted his arm lovingly. ¡°Yes, yes, save it for bedtime.¡±

    Rasp and Hop moved slowly through the waterlogged streets. They would stop along any promising prospects, allowing for June and Faris to scout the inside in search of somewhere suitable to bunker down for the night, or day, or whatever fucking time it was. They traveled along the outskirts of the glowing city, scouring a multitude of dilapidated buildings as they went, until Faris finally settled on something passable.

    Rasp questioned nothing. In fact, he didn¡¯t even possess the willpower to complain when Hop tugged him up one final flight of stone steps. The room could¡¯ve been a torture chamber for all he cared. What mattered was that the floor was reasonably dry and the room had the benefit of having four stable walls still standing. A miracle, really.

    Rasp let the others decide who would take first watch as he unraveled his bedroll and collapsed onto it. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the blankets. And then, for hours, he laid motionless, all but dead to the world. Like the others around him, Rasp slept deep, pleasantly unaware of the soft scuttling sounds coming from the main floor below.

 203 - Intruders

    Rasp awoke to horrific squawking. Or maybe he¡¯d dreamed it. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Real, dream, hallucination, whatever it was, it didn¡¯t matter. His body demanded more sleep and was willing to ignore whatever in chaos was going on around him to get it. Rasp¡¯s heavy eyelids closed the same moment a feathered monster descended over him, beating the back of his head with its wings as it screeched and roared. It demanded he rise and deal with the intruders.

    Intruders?

    The word stirred Rasp from his sleep in the same way a toothpick might disturb a giant vat of cold molasses which, suffice to say, was not much at all.

    Intruders. His confused thoughts clung to the word as his mind slipped back under. It was an important word, he knew that. It meant something¡­something¡­fuck it. He was too tired to remember.

    The feathery beast stabbed at his head, drawing blood.

    ¡°Bad!¡± Rasp shot upright, clutching the wet spot behind his ear. ¡°It meams something bad!¡±

    Faris was curled on the ground beside him. The faun stirred, still groggy with sleep. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Intruders!¡± The rest of Father¡¯s warning tumbled free of Rasp¡¯s mouth as he shook Faris awake. ¡°Get up! Dad says we¡¯re not safe.¡±

    Faint blue-green light filtered in from what might have been a window across from them. The only other light available was the random spattering of bioluminescent algae that coated the interior walls of the room. Regrettably, neither were bright enough to help Rasp pick out any discernible shapes amongst the gloom.

    ¡°Anyone got a match?¡±

    ¡°No fire,¡± Hop said from further down.

    ¡°Alright, Mister Artificer,¡± Rasp snapped, stifling the embarrassment of having forgotten Hop¡¯s number one rule already. ¡°A little light please?¡±

    A split second later, the brilliant blue from Hop¡¯s headlamp cut through the surrounding gloom. Rasp jumped, not at the sudden light, but the myriad of stout, dark shapes that lined the far side of the room.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± June hissed between her teeth.

    Rasp waited, nearly three seconds in full, before having to ask the obvious. ¡°Someone want to tell me what we¡¯re looking at?¡±

    ¡°Dwarfs, I think,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°What do you mean you think? Are they dwarfs or not?¡± A thought occurred to him that Rasp didn¡¯t necessarily cherish saying out loud, but did so anyway. ¡°They¡¯re not ghost dwarfs, are they?¡±

    ¡°Very much alive. Just a little different in appearance than what I¡¯m used to.¡± Faris added, a little louder, for the benefit of the ghost dwarfs, probably, ¡°But very friendly and nice, I¡¯m sure. They probably don¡¯t mean us any harm and just want payment for crossing into their land, yeah?¡±

    A gravelly voice responded in an unfamiliar language. It rose in volume, growing more fast and fervent by the second. The speaker carried on with gusto, her intensity building, building, building, until the oration finished with a dramatic flourish. A multitude of voices echoed the speaker¡¯s final words in perfect unison.

    The whole thing reminded Rasp of his cousin twice removed, who¡¯d turned into something of a zealot towards the end of his life. The man had a similar manner of speech and could whip an entire crowd into a blind frenzy relying simply on the power of words and superstition. Why Rasp¡¯s mind felt the need to recall Cousin Vernon was not a simple misfiring of internal synapses, but to help him identify the reason he suddenly wanted to scrub his skin with a copper scouring pad.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°Great,¡± Rasp muttered with a shudder. ¡°We found an underground cult. Just what we needed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d argue that the cult found us,¡± June whispered back.

    One of the dwarfs stepped forward, distinguished himself from the crowd. He was courteous enough to address them in the common tongue. ¡°Our ancestors have long foretold the arrival of the Kriegaar. The priestess welcomes you, great warriors, to the world below.¡±

    No one dared correct him. A shame, really, as it left the honor to Rasp. ¡°I think you might have us confused with someone else.¡±

    ¡°No mistake has been made,¡± the dwarf assured him. ¡°Priestess Oreword senses the Kriegaar amongst you.¡±

    ¡°The what?¡± June said.

    There were some hushed mutterings between the translator and the priestess before a suitable answer was proffered. ¡°The Kriegaar is the savior of our people. The legend has been passed down from generation to generation since the time of the great flood, telling of a warrior destined to best the great beast in battle and free our city from its reign of terror.¡±

    Great, more prophecies. And not just the typical ¡®chosen one¡¯ bullshit, but a prophecy that involved monsters and underground cults, too! Just what they needed. Rasp shot his hand over his head and waved it about, as if he were an impatient student eager to be called upon by the class instructor. ¡°And what if the great warrior refuses?¡±

    ¡°They will not,¡± the spokesperson said with the unwavering confidence of one who had grown up in a cult and, thus, never learned to question anything.

    ¡°What if they do?¡±

    Irritation bubbled over the spokesperson¡¯s previously confident tone. ¡°You are not the great warrior. You wouldn¡¯t know.¡±

    Ouch. Not that Rasp wanted to be, but still, it wasn¡¯t fair to just count him out like that. Ignoring the way Faris was using his elbow to dig deep into his ribs, Rasp kept poking the proverbial bear simply for the hell of it. ¡°What if I am?¡±

    ¡°Then that is for our priestess to decide. Be still while she assesses you.¡±

    Another shape shuffled forward, lit by the ominous glow of Hop¡¯s blue headlamp. Rasp squinted at Priestess Oreword¡¯s shape, trying and failing to determine whether the dwarf walked with a hunch or was naturally hump shaped. The priestess started at the far end, chanting under her breath as she passed over Hop, and then June, Faris next, and then stopped over Rasp. She pressed so close he could practically taste the crushed rose petal incense and tobacco smoke wafting from her musty clothes.

    The chanting ended as a pair of leathery, wrinkled hands seized him by the head and explored his face. Rasp tried to pull away but the priestess was terrifyingly strong and held him in place with ease. The rough face fondling lasted a few uncomfortable seconds more before Priestess Oreword released him, tsking her disapproval.

    ¡°Told you I wasn¡¯t him,¡± Rasp grumbled.

    The priestess shoved him aside and, from the sounds of it, was in the process of searching his bedding for the missing warrior. She let out an exalted cry and the crowd of cult members lining the wall echoed her words in unison.

    ¡°Faris?¡± Rasp was unable to make out what the priestess held aloft for the rest of the clan to see. ¡°A little help?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got your pack.¡±

    He didn¡¯t mean to, but a harsh bark of laughter escaped his mouth all the same. ¡°Is their salvation my dirty underwear? There¡¯s nothing in the pack except¡­¡±

    Oh fuck.

    ¡°I assume from your stunned silence that you¡¯ve finally caught on,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Gods dammit! Why couldn¡¯t the dwarfs have been ghosts?¡±

    ¡°I would argue that these people are ghosts,¡± Hop ventured, from further down. ¡°I suspect, given their clothing, they are the remnants of what was once Kalikose. It¡¯s like we¡¯ve traveled back in time.¡±

    Rasp crossed his arms, issuing an irritated sigh. ¡°Why do you sound so excited about it?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m just relieved it¡¯s not a monster.¡±

    ¡°Did you miss the part where they said the Kriegaar was supposed to defeat a beast?¡± June demanded.

    ¡°Oh, that. Right.¡± The relief drained from Hop¡¯s voice like liquid from a burst wineskin. ¡°I think my self-preservation may have glossed over that tidbit, actually.¡±

    June¡¯s voice dropped, not so much a whisper as it was a growl. ¡°I don¡¯t know about you guys, but my self-preservation is telling me it¡¯s time to make a run for it.¡±

 204 - Closed Doors Lead To Open Windows

    ¡°Will someone please listen?¡± Hop¡¯s hoof slammed against the stone floor with a resounding crack. The noise spurred a wave of hushed murmurs amongst the surrounding voices, but did nothing to earn an engaged audience. Hop spoke with the telltale waver of someone who really didn¡¯t want to do the talking. Alas, as no one else in his group was volunteering, it was either talk or fight, and Hop would do just about anything to avoid the latter. ¡°There¡¯s been a mistake. We are not who you think we are. We didn¡¯t mean to trespass. If you would just return our pack, we¡¯ll go back the way we came.¡±

    The dwarf spokesperson, having previously identified himself as Bromm, communicated this to the others. Evidently it wasn¡¯t what the mob wanted to hear. Their voices raised in volume, until the entire room was one loud, buzzing din.

    Danger hung in the air. Tempers on both sides flared as the tension steadily built within the cramped room until it was thick enough to choke on. And yet, even with danger looming over their heads, poised to strike down the moment someone ventured a step too far, Faris still could not help but point out the painfully obvious. ¡°This isn¡¯t working.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying my best,¡± Hop said. ¡°Feel free to jump in any time now.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯re doing your best. It¡¯s not you I¡¯m frustrated with.¡± The white faun¡¯s blurry shape paced back and forth as he spoke. ¡°How many more times do we have to repeat ¡®we¡¯re not here to save your asses¡¯ before someone finally gets it!¡±

    Rasp was the only one still sitting. Hop and Faris¡¯s respective shapes were closest to him, huddled together, attempting to plot their way to freedom without having to rely on violence. It was going as well as expected. Squinting, Rasp was fairly certain he could make out June¡¯s lithe silhouette further down. For the moment, she remained in human form, which was good. There was a chance the cult didn¡¯t yet know they had a shapeshifter on their hands. It could play to their advantage if things went downhill.

    Rasp snapped back into the conversation when he heard Faris shout, ¡°Just give us our pack and we¡¯ll go!¡±

    Spokesperson Bromm and Priestess Oreword held a heated exchange before the former¡¯s voice boomed back across the room with such force it rattled the rafters overhead. ¡°If you wish to go, then so be it. But the Kriegaar stays.¡±

    Of the many, many things Whisper hated, being kept as property ranked at the very tippy top of the list. Having escaped enslavement once before, Rasp knew his mentor would rather die than serve another master so long as they lived. Better yet, Whisper would prefer others to die. Which failed to explain why the fae hadn¡¯t yet burst from the pack and laid waste to their cult captors.

    Hop and Faris¡¯s voices muddled together as Rasp bowed his head and drew within himself. The few hours of sleep had done his body good. After minimal prodding, his sixth sense flickered to life and swept the room in search of magical auras. It passed over Hop and June¡¯s familiar energy signatures, drawn like a moth to flame to an aura Rasp had not seen before. The magic burned brighter than anyone else¡¯s in the room. Ripples of silver lifted from squat shape and dispersed into the darkness beyond.

    Priestess Oreword, he realized, drawing in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. While it was impossible to determine the extent of her abilities from his sixth sense alone, the sheer magnitude of power wafting from her aura was enough to convince Rasp that it wasn¡¯t necessary to find out. There wasn¡¯t any reason to fight. After all, as Hop insisted, they could solve their differences peacefully. So long as peacefully involved snatching the pack and sprinting their way back to the surface as quickly as possible.

    Rasp moved on from the priestess in search of his mentor¡¯s telltale blue glow. His heart sank when he found it. Whisper¡¯s energy burned low, flickering in out like the last stubborn nub of candlewick. No wonder Whisper hadn¡¯t interfered. They were barely alive. It would not be long, Rasp feared, before the fae had nothing left to burn.

    Rasp blinked his aura vision away and stood. His head protested the sudden shift and sent a wave of dizziness that nearly dropped his ass back onto the ground. Someone caught him, fortunately. What was even more fortunate was the fact that it was the same someone to whom he wished to speak.

    ¡°Faris.¡± Rasp kept his voice purposely low. Only the Bromm appeared versed in the common tongue. With all the hubbub going on around them, the dwarf was unlikely to overhear. ¡°What are our chances of making a run for it?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re trapped on the third story, Rasp,¡± Faris hissed back. ¡°They¡¯ve got us surrounded. How are we going to manage that if we can¡¯t even get to the door?¡±

    Rasp flexed his fingers, taking stock of his reserves. His magic had returned. Not completely, of course, but Rasp was certain he had enough stamina to attempt something stupid. He tilted his head at the faint blue-green glow coming from what he assumed was the outside. He¡¯d mistaken for a window, initially. But along with the return of his faculties came the realization that the opening was far too big to be a mere window. ¡°Am I wrong in thinking that¡¯s a balcony?¡±

    ¡°It is.¡±

    ¡°Is it open?¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with anything? So what if it is? Are we proposing we jump?¡± There was a thoughtful pause before Faris realized this was indeed what Rasp was proposing. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°Remember the time I flew you over the forest? I got us safely back to the ground all in one piece then, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Barely! And that was just me. There are two others you¡¯d have to carry, all at once, not to mention the fact that we don¡¯t have Whisper.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    All good points. Rasp, naturally, ignored the bulk of them. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re going to steal Whisper back, Dingle. And then we¡¯ll jump.¡±

    ¡°Not happening.¡±

    ¡°Think about it. The dwarfs have got us surrounded. They know they have the advantage. Even if you grab the pack, they¡¯re not expecting you to go anywhere with it. Only an idiot would jump out the window.¡±

    ¡°I want you to think about what you just said.¡±

    ¡°Steal the pack, Faris.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Faris blew a breath of hot air out his nostrils. ¡°You do it.¡±

    It took all of Rasp¡¯s control not to throw his hands out at his sides in exasperation. Not making a scene, as it turned out, was extremely difficult to do when your supposed best friend refused to listen to reason. ¡°I think it¡¯s pretty fucking obvious why I¡¯m not the right person for the job.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯ll be too busy jumping out a window?¡± Faris replied.

    Fuck it. This wasn¡¯t getting anywhere. If you wanted something done, you had to outsource it to someone who asked as few questions as possible. ¡°June?¡± Rasp whipped his head in his sister¡¯s direction. ¡°Grab my bag.¡±

    ¡°On it!¡±

    ¡°June, no!¡± Faris shouted after her.

    By then it was too late, of course. The human¡¯s sinewy form had already bounded across the room and seized her prize from Priestess Oreword. ¡°Got it! Now what?¡±

    ¡°Grab onto Hop.¡± Rasp linked arms with both fauns, one on either side of him. He barreled forward, dragging them with him. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Hop¡¯s attempt to struggle free was pathetic at best. He seemed to realize that whatever Rasp was planning, they were doing regardless of his feelings on the matter. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What are we doing?¡±

    Rasp raced for the balcony. He pulled them through the rotted doorway and onto the ledge of stone jutting out over the exterior of the building. ¡°We¡¯re jumping!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no wind underground!¡± Faris screamed.

    Rasp¡¯s legs curled beneath him as his feet pushed off into the air, propelling them up and over what remained of the railing. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You use wind to fly, idiot! There¡¯s no wind underground!¡±

    Oh.

    Shit.

    The gravely screech of shifting stone rumbled from the streetway below. The group¡¯s sudden plummet was impeded by the mound of rubble that rose up to catch them halfway. Pain shot up Rasp¡¯s legs as his feet struck the slippery stone. He yelped, lost his balance, and fell, pulling everyone else with him as he tumbled helplessly down the rocky outcrop.

    Faris recovered first. He yanked Rasp to his feet, snapping, ¡°Thank you for not letting us die, but could you have picked something a little less painful?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyes darting back and forth across the dimly lit gloom, legs trembling. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡±

    Faris pulled him into an awkward run. From the fast, squelching footsteps paces ahead, Rasp assumed Hop and June had taken the lead. Admittedly, it was difficult to tell now that Hop¡¯s headlamp had gone out. Probably for the best though, considering they wanted to make it as difficult to follow them as possible.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t you?¡± Faris repeated. ¡°What was your plan then?¡±

    Attempting to talk in the middle of a full sprint after having tumbled down a mountain of rubble was not doing Rasp¡¯s fraying temper any favors. His blood boiled as hot as the scuffed skin on nose. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I froze, okay?¡±

    ¡°You were just going to let us die?¡±

    ¡°Can you two do this later?¡± Hop called over his shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re going to be on us any second now. Yelling is only going to give our position away.¡±

    Apparently Faris was only willing to listen to reason when it came from someone else. The faun shut his infernal gob and focused on not running Rasp face-first into a wall. The ancient buildings passed by in a nauseating blur of pulsing lights and shadows. It was having a strobe effect on Rasp¡¯s poor vision, rendering him even more confused than he already was. He clung to Faris¡¯s elbow, knowing if they got separated he would never find his way out on his own.

    They were rounding what felt like the umpteenth corner when something struck out at Rasp and wrapped around his ankle. It cinched tighter, drawing blood as it yanked his feet out from under him. Rasp slammed onto his stomach with a wet splatter. The snare around his ankle tightened, snaking further up his legs as it did so, anchoring itself into his skin with what felt like barbed teeth. It started to pull, dragging him backwards through the slime-coated muck.

    The tried and true Stoneclaw instinct to fight to the death kicked in at last. Rasp flipped over, snapping the dagger strapped to his side and started hacking away at the thorny vine entangled around his ankle. He felt the tendril writhe as it switched its hold to avoid the cold steel. Rasp kept cutting, ignoring the wet splatter that marked his face and clothes as he reduced it to pieces. With one final hacking cut, he severed the vine¡¯s hold and kicked it away in disgust.

    Blood and plant matter oozed down his battered leg as Rasp staggered to his feet. He could hear screaming all around, the voices of his friends echoed off the stone structure, calling from all sides. The mix of sound, strobing lights, and adrenaline clouded his head. Rasp stumbled blindly forward, unable to pinpoint the location of others.

    Confused, Rasp didn¡¯t register the approaching hooves until he was already caught in Faris¡¯s grasp, being dragged in the opposite direction at a speed born of pure desperation. ¡°This way!¡± Faris said.

    Rasp gritted his teeth as bolts of pain lanced up his injured leg. He persisted, slamming his heels against the soft ground in order to keep pace. The sounds of the scuffle grew fainter behind them. ¡°What was the fuck was that?¡±

    ¡°Vines, I think? But they were alive?¡± Faris sounded as though he didn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d seen with his own eyes.

    ¡°Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t get them out in time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re just leaving them?¡± The guttural roar of a bear rang out in the distance. Rasp tried to pull free from Faris¡¯s iron grasp. ¡°Faris, this isn¡¯t right. We can¡¯t just leave them. We have to go back.¡±

    ¡°The dwarfs were already cutting them loose when I grabbed you. They won¡¯t harm them, not while we have the pack.¡±

    Shit. Shit. Shit.

    ¡°Whisper, if you could fucking wake up right now, it would be really helpful!¡± Rasp didn¡¯t expect an answer, so it wasn¡¯t really much of a surprise when he didn¡¯t receive one.

    ¡°The pack¡¯s our only bargaining chip,¡± Faris carried one. He was obviously talking out loud as a means to calm his own nerves because it wasn¡¯t like Rasp had anything helpful to contribute. ¡°If they catch us, then we have nothing. We have to stay ahead of them. Hole up somewhere safe and then¡ª¡±

    The last of Faris¡¯s words turned into a scream as his arm jerked free from Rasp¡¯s grasp.

 205 - Home At Last

    Rasp spun around and grabbed blindly for Faris. His fingers caught only air. Shit, shit, shit!

    ¡°Faris!¡±

    ¡°On the ground, Dinglehead!¡±

    Faris continued to scream obscenities at the top of his lungs, both at Rasp and the carnivorous vines attempting to render him into a meal. Rasp followed the sounds of the struggle but with so many algae-encrusted buildings clustered together so close, the damn echo was throwing him off. He¡¯d get a few steps only to realize Faris¡¯s voice was coming from somewhere else. Panicked, Rasp would then run the other way, lose his sense of direction, stop, and try it all over again.

    ¡°What are you doing? I¡¯m over here!¡±

    ¡°You say that like I can see you!¡± Rasp¡¯s own frantic words sparked the start of an idea.

    He couldn¡¯t see worth shit, granted, but a light source would help. Sunlight was obviously out of the question, as was fire, for entirely different reasons. The only form of light available underground was the dull, bioluminescent glow of the surrounding algae. That was nature, right? Whisper claimed Rasp could manipulate all forms of nature and surely even slippery-slimy algae counted!

    Rasp closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, willing the algae to respond. Normally his fingertips burned when channeling an element. Unfortunately, as nothing about his present situation qualified as normal, this applied to whatever in chaos was going on with his tactile sensitivity as well. His skin went cold, suddenly wet and slick with a texture that was a little too close to snot for comfort. Had he not known any better, Rasp would have sworn he¡¯d just shoved his arm elbow-deep up the wrong end of a¡ª

    Focus, idiot! His racing thoughts chimed in. Magic now, needlessly graphic analogies later!

    Ignoring the sudden urge to wipe his palms furiously against the fabric of his trousers, Rasp harnessed the surrounding glow and condensed it into a single ball of pulsing light between his hands.

    The glow cooled against his slick palms as Rasp channeled everything he had into generating his own light source. A split second later, when the magic had grown frigid enough to singe his skin, Rasp released the ball of light into the air. It erupted overhead in an ethereal mist of glowing green and blue particles.

    It wasn¡¯t much, certainly not as bright as a fire ball would have been, but it provided just enough light for Rasp to pinpoint Faris¡¯s struggling form amongst the gloom.

    He surged forward, blade in hand. To Rasp¡¯s surprise, the lingering cloud of glowing particles followed, as if tethered to him via an invisible lead. He didn¡¯t question the logistics of it. It was a stroke of luck and he would take whatever boon fate threw his way. Guided by the faint, bioluminescent glow, Rasp leapt over Faris and hacked at the vines coiled around the faun¡¯s lower legs. Wet, frothy sap drenched his skin and clothes as he worked, intermixing with the hot sweat dripping from his brow. He got a mouthful of sour plant splatter in the process, too. It burned as it slowly oozed down the back of his tongue.

    Rasp spat the foul taste from his mouth, certain he could already feel his tongue going limp.

    Venom, great. At least that explained why his leg was swollen and felt like it was being actively ripped apart by fire ants.

    The cloud of light sank lower as its luminescent particles lost their spark and started to fade. Rasp¡¯s steel blade shimmered in the ghoulish glow as he sliced away the final pieces of vine clinging to Faris¡¯s leg. At last, Rasp severed its hold and kicked it away. He watched, mouth agape in horror, as the blurry vines slithered off in retreat, leaving a trail of white, glistening froth in their wake.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Faris¡¯s voice was weak and raspy. He took a desperate gulp of air before concluding his heartfelt sentiments. ¡°For not setting me on fire.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me any bright ideas, Dingle. Now come on, up, up, up. I¡¯m pretty sure the cloud of light might have just given our position away.¡± Rasp reached down and heaved Faris to his feet. The faun teetered for a moment, attempted a single step, and then crumpled beneath his own weight.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Shhhhhit,¡± the faun said.

    Rasp frantically pulled at Faris¡¯s slack arm. ¡°Get up! What are you doing?¡±

    Faris¡¯s words were slow and slurred. ¡°I don¡¯t feel so good.¡±

    A warning croak rang out above them as Father neared. As much as Rasp wanted to demand where the fuck the old man had been this whole time, heeding Father¡¯s message took priority. For now, anyway. ¡°We have to go, come on. Get up. Dad says the cult is right around the corner.¡±

    ¡°Take the pack and go.¡± With the last of his strength, Faris shoved the pack into Rasp¡¯s arms in a move that sent the latter sprawling backwards.

    Rasp¡¯s quick footing spared himself from landing on his ass. ¡°Are you fucking crazy? I just spent all my magic saving your worthless hide. I¡¯m not leaving you!¡±

    ¡°The dwarfs won¡¯t kill me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m about to kill you if you don¡¯t get up off your haunches right now!¡±

    Father¡¯s wings beat the air as he caught Rasp¡¯s hair between his talons and pulled, screeching for him to run.

    ¡°For once in your mucking life, just listen to me,¡± Faris said. ¡°Go!¡±

    Against every instinct screaming at him to stay and fight, Rasp obeyed. Cursing Faris under his breath, he stumbled along, barely processing Father¡¯s directions as the towering, algae-riddled buildings whizzed past. This was madness. Absolute madness. He, a blind man, drained of magic, taking his chances alone in an underground city rife with predatory plants, a fanatic cult, and gods knows what else. Even with Father¡¯s aid, Rasp wouldn¡¯t last the day, much less the hour on his own.

    He couldn¡¯t do this. He couldn¡¯t do this. He couldn¡¯t do this.

    Croak! Father¡¯s warning came a moment too late.

    The ground shifted beneath Rasp¡¯s feet, throwing him sideways. He fell onto his side and slid several paces, clutching his worn pack for all he was worth. Rasp¡¯s aching body slid amongst the wet moss and rubble. He waited, with bated breath, listening for whatever monster was about to try to claim him as its next meal.

    Whatever the beast was, it was certainly taking its sweet time revealing itself.

    Rasp slung to pack on his back and retrieved his knife. He would lose, undoubtedly, but at least he could go down fighting. Maybe even give the beast an upset stomach on his way down. The ground shifted again. Rock and stone scraped and screeched together as the decayed street rearranged itself near his feet. The deafening noise lasted for several heartbeats before it, too, fell eerily quiet.

    The temperature changed. A cool draft swept over him, pulling at his loose clothes and hair, beckoned him closer.

    Rasp squinted at the ominous pile of rubble that had formed at his feet. Unfortunately, doing so did nothing to make his surroundings any clearer. ¡°Dad?¡±

    The raven landed on his shoulder and uttered a series of low knocking sounds from the back of his throat.

    ¡°The street just opened up,¡± Rasp repeated. He might have been astonished had this been the first time it¡¯d had happened.

    Deep down, he knew he should have turned and run, but Rasp was rooted to the spot with fear. Every hair on his arms raised as a familiar magic pulled at him, whispering in his ear. Little one, you did it. You found me, it crooned. Come inside now, hurry. And all of your troubles will vanish.

    The voice was eerily familiar and yet, for the life of him, Rasp couldn¡¯t recall why. He¡¯d heard it before, but the harder he tried to remember, the further it slipped away, like trying to recall a dream the morning after.

    Father beat the back of Rasp¡¯s head with his wings, urging him to move. Rasp wouldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t. He was frozen, unable to do anything but sit on his ass and wait for the inevitable to happen. Confused, terrified, with the alluring whisper dancing between his ears, Rasp missed the thundering footsteps that came up swiftly from behind.

    One moment, the lovely magic lady was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and in the next, Rasp was being seized by the arm and dragged away from the rift. There was lots of yelling involved, too. From Rasp¡¯s rescuer, not him. Rasp was in too much shock to do anything but yelp each time his injured leg bumped and scraped against the spongy ground.

    The language barrier prevented Rasp from understanding what all the yelling was about, but it was just as well because his dwarf rescuer didn¡¯t sound very happy with him. Rasp didn¡¯t fight, not even when a second pair of hands snapped the blade from his hand and helped hoist him upright. Rasp¡¯s shaky legs refused to bear his weight and collapsed like soggy noodles. His rescuers muttered to each other as they set off, carrying Rasp between them.

    His body grew heavier and heavier as he lost command of his limbs. First his legs, then his arms, and then his head. Rasp¡¯s chin bounced uselessly against his chest as his neck gave out too. The vine¡¯s venom had taken its toll, he realized, suddenly, painfully aware that the agonizing throb in his leg had spread to his hip.

    Rasp¡¯s consciousness slipped away as the glowing bioluminescent algae wove into a living tapestry of light. Tiny pinpricks of blue-green glow danced, whirled, and wheeled against an ink black backdrop. The black expanded, swallowing the light. And then there was nothing. No light. No smell. No outside sound. The only noises Rasp heard were the slowing thud of his heartbeat and the alluring whisper that rippled across his fading thoughts, as soft and supple as silk.

    Don¡¯t fret, my dear. It is not yet time. Rest, recover, and rejoice, for you are home at last.

 206 - Epic Proportions

    More Lonebrook villagers had managed to slip the realm¡¯s net than Oralia first realized. Those unable to fight had already been smuggled out of the territory, leaving a handful of able-bodied citizens to help overthrow the residing realm power. Seemingly overnight, Briony¡¯s quiet cottage had turned into a madhouse. Volunteers scurried in and out of the front door like rats fleeing the storm drain before a flood. The small dining table had moved from the kitchen to the front room and was currently serving as a war table.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand.¡± Briony paced the small strip of floor alongside the unlit fireplace. The sharp click-clack of her hooves echoed as she stomped back and forth like a temperamental alley cat. ¡°Why aren¡¯t we calling in the resistance? They have both the numbers and the power we need. Not to mention the fact that you¡¯ve been working hand in hand with their leader this whole time. Of all people, surely Larkspur would answer your call for help.¡±

    Oralia had done her best to tiptoe around the details regarding her working relationship with Larkspur Denari ¡ª rather, the lack of one ¡ª all morning. Yes, it was true that Larkspur believed Oralia worked for her. It was also true that Larkspur believed a lot of things that were inherently false. Calling upon the Sons and Daughters of Resistance would only result in a sternly worded letter, demanding Oralia stop playing war and return to her rightful place at Larkspur¡¯s side. Lonebrook and its inhabitants would fall to the realm and Oralia would be forced to confront the budding dictator she¡¯d been passively avoiding for years.

    It was a lose-lose situation all around, which was why Oralia had doing everything in her power to avoid involving the resistance. ¡°Larkspur has no personal stake in Lonebrook. If it falls, it falls. She has no reason to interfere.¡±

    ¡°No reason?¡± Briony whipped around. ¡°Lonebrook was a fundamental link in her chain!¡±

    ¡°A chain that is now broken.¡± Oralia did not look up from the message she was writing with painstaking care. The constant tremble in her hand had rendered her normally neat penmanship embarrassingly sloppy. Surely it was the content of the letter, not its presentation, that mattered. Still, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that her requests for aid would be better received had they not looked like they¡¯d been penned by an inebriated chicken.

    ¡°You served your purpose, Briony,¡± Oralia continued. ¡°And although it may pain her to lose Lonebrook, Larkspur cannot waste her resources trying to save every ally caught in the fold.¡±

    Briony slammed her hoof against the floorboards, causing the window to rattle in its frame. ¡°That¡¯s it? You¡¯re not even going to ask! Seven realms, Oralia, at least grovel a little bit! Maybe she¡¯ll throw us a bone.¡±

    ¡°You have been sending the resistance written requests for weeks. How well has that fared for you? Have you received a single reply?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then there you have it. Now you know where you rank on Larkspur¡¯s scale of importance.¡± Pain was sometimes necessary to drive a point home, and thus, Oralia did nothing to soften the sting of her next words. ¡°Your cause does not even merit a reply.¡±

    ¡°Well of course not.¡± Briony switched tactics with remarkable ease. ¡°Why would they respond? After all, I¡¯m just a lowly smuggler in a broken chain. My name doesn¡¯t have the same political pull as Oralia Dawnsight, former Protector of the Realm.¡±

    Briony graciously left off the newer additions of: ¡®traitor of the empire¡¯ and ¡®wanted fugitive¡¯.

    Oralia grudgingly set her paperwork aside and massaged her eyelids, using it as an excuse to not engage Briony in direct eye contact. ¡°Even if Larkspur was feeling generous enough to extend us her army, they would not reach Lonebrook in time. We must focus on more obtainable prospects.¡±

    ¡°Like who?¡±

    Oralia rested her hand on the stack of folded envelopes resting on the table beside her. ¡°I am calling in some favors.¡±

    There was a timid knock at the entrance that cut off Briony¡¯s line of questioning. The faun looked to the entryway and her irritated expression softened to confusion. ¡°Ellery?¡± She gestured for the newcomer to enter. ¡°What are you doing here? I¡¯m not supposed to see you until the end of the week.¡±

    A faun with a shaggy mop of brown hair and a matching beard stepped closer, offering a reassuring wave of his hand that was a little too trembly to be convincing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to surprise you like this, Briony, but something¡¯s come up.¡± His gaze darted in Oralia¡¯s direction. Whereas others would have at least tried to disguise their impolite ogling, he openly stared with wide, worried eyes.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Unlike his stare, Ellery¡¯s words were directed at Briony. ¡°I made sure no one saw me.¡±

    Fauns had an unspoken language of their own. A hoof stomp coupled with an ear flick could articulate an entire conversation without uttering a single word. Oralia shuffled papers as she watched the pair from the corner of her eye, hoping to decipher some of the back-and-forth conversation taking place in front of her. The newcomer, Ellery, must have been inquiring about Oralia¡¯s presence because Briony answered his question verbally.

    ¡°She¡¯s a friend.¡± The dismissive wave Briony offered was certainly well practiced as it managed to look convincing. ¡°Here to help. Whatever you need to tell me can be said in front of her.¡±

    No name was offered, just ¡®friend¡¯, Oralia noted. From the alarmed expression on his face, it was likely Ellery already suspected who she was. Still, Oralia appreciated Briony not spelling it out on the off chance his face always looked that way.

    Ellery took the woven hat from his shaggy head and held it in front of body like a shield. His strong hands unconsciously twisted the rim as he spoke. ¡°An armed company from the Division of Divination rode into town two nights ago. They¡¯re led by an elf by the name of Tarathiel Cray.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s hand froze as a bolt of panic shot down her spine.

    ¡°It¡¯s not good, Briony,¡± Ellery said. ¡°Cray¡¯s taken charge of the operation. He claims the soldiers have been too soft on traitors and aims to remedy that. He¡¯s already got us woodcutters working extra shifts for the rest of the week to help build something in the town square. No one knows what it is yet, only that it requires lots of lumber.¡±

    Briony was quiet for several beats as she digested this information. ¡°Any word from the main house?¡±

    The hat wringing intensified. ¡°Tensions are high. Mum said Judge Belfast didn¡¯t take the news well. He and Mister Cray fought and now the judge had been locked up in his own jailhouse. No one¡¯s seen head nor tail of Novera since.¡±

    ¡°Ellery¡¯s mother is the washerwoman at Belfast Manor,¡± Briony explained to Oralia. ¡°She¡¯s been our main source of information. She passes on whatever she can to him and vice versa.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s all I¡¯ve got for you,¡± Ellery said, already edging for the hallway. ¡°It seemed important enough not to sit on. I¡¯ve got to get back to work though, before someone notices.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ellery. Can we still meet at the end of the week as arranged? In case you learn something in the meantime?¡±

    He offered a solemn nod.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Briony said again with a genuine smile. ¡°Be safe. Give your mother my love.¡± Briony waited until the click of his hooves disappeared down the hallway and out the front door before the smile faded. She stomped across the room and collapsed onto the green settee with a groan.

    ¡°Out with it,¡± Briony said from where she was steadily sinking into the cushions.

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    ¡°I saw your face when Ellery mentioned Tarathiel Cray. I haven¡¯t heard that name mentioned before, but you obviously have.¡±

    The lack of notoriety surrounding the name Tarathiel Cray was by design. As his secret right hand, Geralt Lazuli had done his utmost to keep Cray out of the public eye. The elf was an enigma, a name without a face, someone who operated in the shadow¡¯s on Geralt¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°Cray is Geralt Lazuli¡¯s personal attack dog,¡± Oralia explained. ¡°I have never seen him face-to-face, but he is a powerful witch with a reputation for cruelty. His presence in Lonebrook means that Geralt has grown tired of waiting.¡±

    Briony slammed her clenched fist against the green couch cushion. ¡°I knew it had to be something bad. Ellery doesn¡¯t take risks, not like this. We only ever meet in the dead of the night. For him to come here unannounced means it¡¯s urgent.¡±

    Oralia agreed. She spared Briony¡¯s feelings by saying as much, however. Confirming that they were knee-deep and sinking in the proverbial quicksand of worsening situations wouldn¡¯t do either of them any good.

    ¡°Any idea what he¡¯s up to?¡± the faun said, glaring up at the ceiling. ¡°Honestly, what could Cray possibly be building? The village already has everything it needs to keep a small army for the winter. Extra fortifications, perhaps? Maybe they¡¯re going to put up walls and seal everyone inside?¡±

    ¡°The details are too vague. It could be any number of things.¡± The fact that Tarathiel Cray was involved meant the project was something detrimental ¡ª certainly worth investigating. ¡°If I could see it in person, however, perhaps even from a distance, I might be able to tell you.¡±

    Oralia heard the front door open and close with a slam. The sounds of incessant bickering followed as several pairs of footsteps made their way down the hallway in her direction. ¡°It will have to wait until later, I am afraid. I need to go over some matters with my team first.¡±

    Briony sat up on the settee. ¡°Are you booting me out of my own house?¡±

    ¡°Certainly not. You are more than welcome to stay and listen to the arguing if you like. Who knows, you might even be fortunate enough to witness the resulting fistfight.¡± Alas, Oralia was only half joking. From the way Mul and Lingon were going at it from the hallway, the likelihood of a brawl was in full swing already.

    Briony stood and made her prompt exit. ¡°You¡¯re right. I should investigate this mysterious project further. I¡¯ll see if I can find us a look-out point that won¡¯t get us seen.¡±

    Oralia nodded her agreement. Unlike Briony, she could not skip the impending fight. Her letters were written, the cards dealt, and now the only thing left to do was to play her hand and stand back to watch the chaos unfold. The meeting about to take place was not going to go over well. It would cause an argument of epic proportions. Of this, Oralia had no doubt, as she intended to be the one to start it.

 207 - Unfinished Business

    Oralia was sealing the last of her letters by the time the team came pushing and shoving their way into the makeshift war room. The only member missing was Sascha, who already knew the details of Oralia¡¯s plan and had taken it upon himself to forage for fresh ingredients as far from the cottage as physically possible. She preferred it that way, actually. Sascha was like a calming balm, capable of soothing even the worst of tempers. A people pleaser by nature, his first instinct would be to find a middle ground. Oralia, however, didn¡¯t need compromise, she needed results. And if stoking a few tempers is what it took, then so be it.

    ¡°Alright, boss. As requested, we¡¯ve got the whole gang here. One elf, one gobby, two dingleberries, and yours truly.¡± Rali jostled her way through the ragtag ensemble until she stood front and center. Rali could sniff out an impending fight in the same way a shark could sense blood in the water. Her tone was overly cheerful as a result, leery of what was about to happen and, more importantly, which side of the scrimmage she was going to be on. ¡°What¡¯s this about, eh?¡±

    Oralia skipped the niceties and dove straight into making demands. ¡°Mul, Lingon, I need one of you to find a raven and get a letter to your brother Bil immediately.¡±

    Lingon stood with a finger shoved halfway up his left nostril. He didn¡¯t seem particularly bothered to be caught picking his nose in the middle of the war room. The finger remained lodged in place as his incessant need to question everything reared its ugly head. ¡°What for?¡±

    Oralia took a breath, not due to a lack of answer, but because she already knew his response and dreaded the tedious back-and-forth that was to follow. ¡°I am asking for Bil¡¯s help.¡±

    ¡°Help? Ha! You don¡¯t just need help, you need an army.¡± Lingon said, still working away at what might have been a bit of petrified brain matter. ¡°There ain¡¯t no better army than a Stoneclaw army and you know it, which is why that letter¡¯s probably asking to borrow his.¡±

    Having your plans predicted so easily by a man with a knuckle jammed halfway up his brain cavity was a complicated feeling. One to which Oralia could not quite put words.

    A triumphant smile spread across Lingon¡¯s narrow face. ¡°Called it.¡±

    Oralia pushed her annoyance aside and answered truthfully. ¡°Yes, I am asking his army.¡±

    Although the Stoneclaw army was a relatively small one, the reputation of its warriors was far-reaching. Even a handful of mountain folk had the potential to sway the impending conflict in Lonebrook¡¯s favor.

    ¡°Fat chance of that,¡± Mul said with a scoff. ¡°No letter is gonna convince Bil to get off his ass now that he¡¯s finally found someplace for the clan to settle.¡±

    It was as she feared. Naturally, Oralia had a backup plan already prepared. ¡°Then one of you will have to go and plead my case in person.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand.¡± Mul crossed his burly arms over his chest and widened his defiant stance. It was a commendable effort, but a wasted one nonetheless. Relying on physical intimidation was generally a lost cause when your opponent was a fully grown orc. The human, alas, did not rely on intimidation alone, but words too. Logical ones. The worst kind.

    ¡°Just because you¡¯re friendly with us doesn¡¯t mean Bil¡¯s gonna feel the same way. You¡¯re the one who brought destruction to our mountain in the first place, remember? Bil¡¯s not going to lend you shit.¡±

    ¡°It was the three of you who chased your younger brother, Rasp, from the Iron Ridge in the first place,¡± Oralia challenged. She remained seated. While standing and towering over Mul would certainly help put the human in his place, she vowed to reserve it until absolutely necessary. For now, she would allow the facts of the matter to do the heavy lifting on her behalf. ¡°The same younger brother who bears silver hair, the irrefutable mark of a Stoneclaw leader, if I am not mistaken.¡±

    Some of Mul¡¯s resolve shrank along with his shoulders. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°You attempted to murder him, as both your brother and your leader. As the silver-hair, it is within his power to execute anyone who plotted against him, including family.¡±

    ¡°But he¨C¡±

    Oralia cut Mul off before he could finish his sentiment. ¡°Yes, Rasp spared your life once before, out of urgency for the situation. That does not mean your brother has forgiven you. I believe this is what humans refer to as ¡®unfinished business¡¯.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Mul and Lingon traded wary looks. Neither interrupted this time, focused on containing the mounting panic raging behind their wide eyes.

    Oralia continued, content to watch them squirm beneath the weight of their own actions. ¡°If I were you, I would be doing everything in my power to make things right with him. Starting with Lonebrook. Rasp cares about the people who reside here. Enough so, that if you were to help save the village, he may be willing to forgive the unforgivable and overlook your assassination attempt.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± Lingon dropped the finger from his nose as his stare lifted, taking in the empty space above Oralia¡¯s head.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Mul agreed, also refusing eye contact.

    ¡°Is that a yes, gentlemen?¡±

    With nothing left to pick, Lingon¡¯s hands didn¡¯t appear to know what to do with their down time. He fiddled with the tattered ends of his jacket as he spoke. ¡°I suppose it might be wise to try and get back in the little twerp¡¯s good graces.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Oralia replied. ¡°Pack your things.¡±

    Lingon¡¯s nomadic stare whipped back in her direction. ¡°You want us to leave now? Right before all the action starts?¡±

    ¡°Only one of you, ideally.¡± Oralia selected the topmost letter from the pile and extended it in his direction. ¡°You know where your clan is now. It is a long shot, I understand. But, like you, I am hopeful that your older brother will see the wisdom in appeasing the true leader of your clan. If Bil wishes to be spared from Rasp¡¯s wrath, he will allow the sender to return with a portion of his army.¡±

    Was Oralia effectively pulling this, as Rali would put so eloquently, ¡®out of her ass¡¯? Yes. Although she did not doubt that Rasp still harbored animosity towards his brothers, she did not know to what depths it extended. Fortunately, Rasp wasn¡¯t here to contest her strategy. And even if he were, Oralia was certain he would have approved of rescuing his chosen family by any means necessary. Doubly so if it meant torturing his brothers with the reminder of their own foul deeds.

    ¡°Not it!¡± Mul announced, slamming a clenched fist into his brother¡¯s arm.

    Lingon recoiled, clutching his injured arm with a snarl curled over his thin lips. ¡°You can¡¯t call dibs on staying!

    ¡°Can and did.¡±

    ¡°Over my dead body.¡± Lingon put up his guard and shifted his weight to his back foot. Pound for pound, he would never match Mul¡¯s brute strength, but Lingon had speed on his side and Oralia had seen him use it to his advantage far more times than she cared to remember. The sneer on his face twisted into a smile. ¡°We settle this fair and square, just like we always do.¡±

    Oralia snapped her tusks against her upper teeth. To her surprise, the brothers heeded her warning, and stopped squaring the other up. ¡°If one more fist fight breaks out between you two in this house, I will send both of you to deliver the message.¡±

    She wouldn¡¯t, actually. Oralia needed to keep her numbers in Lonebrook strong, but neither of them needed to know that. ¡°Mul,¡± Oralia said, ¡°you stay. Lingon, take the letter and the fastest horse you can find. Leave immediately.¡±

    The slender man looked like he wanted to argue but Oralia¡¯s unflinching stare convinced him to reconsider. Grumbling his acknowledgement, Lingon took the letter and stomped out. For all of Lingon¡¯s speed and cunning, Mul was still the better fighter. His size and strength would be crucial for the trials to come. And, with his main source of conflict having been removed, perhaps there would be less complaining in general as well.

    Grinning from ear to ear, Mul waggled his eyebrows at Rali in a manner that no one, the most desperate of humans included, would have found seductive. ¡°You hear that, Pickle? Even the boss knows our love is too strong to keep us apart.¡±

    Oralia squashed Mul¡¯s hopes before her lieutenant had the opportunity to squash him in the literal sense. ¡°Rali will be returning to Adderwood.¡±

    Both Rali and Mul jerked their heads back in Oralia¡¯s direction. ¡°She is?¡± Rali said. ¡°Can¡¯t you send someone else? Somebody a little less important, maybe?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go!¡± Kalihn¡¯s arm shot into the air. ¡°No offense to any of you, but after all that fun in the woods with the fire witch and marauding gangs of bandits, I¡¯m not interested in partaking in an actual battle.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Rali agreed.

    ¡°Kalihn, thank you for your service.¡± Oralia refrained from the addition ¡®it was an honor watching you duck behind the corner the moment there was any action¡¯. ¡°You are free to do as you wish. If that includes traveling to Adderwood, Rali will ensure you arrive there safely.¡±

    Rali placed her hands on her hips. ¡°Excuse me? Just ¡®cause I call you boss, doesn¡¯t mean I have to do what you say.¡±

    ¡°As reluctant as I am to lose you, friend, I need someone who will not hesitate to throw their weight around. The New Adderwood Republic just gained their independence. Their leaders will not be in any hurry to squander their resources jumping straight into another rebellion. You will have to make them reconsider.¡± Oralia paused, uncertain of whether or not her next words were a step too far. ¡°At the very least, Captain Bernstein will be pleased to see you.¡±

    The giddy smile faded from Mul¡¯s face. ¡°Uncalled for! You can¡¯t send the love of my life into the arms of another man and expect me to be happy about it.¡±

    ¡°I do not expect you to be happy about it.¡± Oralia¡¯s gaze shifted from Mul to Rali. ¡°Either of you, but it is necessary.¡±

    This was not the last Oralia was going to hear on the matter. The unbridled fire dancing within the dwarf¡¯s dark eyes promised that there was more to come. Much, much more. Oralia would be lucky if she had two fully functioning ear drums by the time Rali was done saying her piece. The argument, luckily, could be postponed a little bit longer as Oralia had one last item to deal with before Rali was allowed to release all seven realms of chaos upon her in a single go.

 208 - Plausible Deniability

    The tension within the makeshift war room was so thick the proverbial knife would have snapped in half trying to cut through it. A metaphorical sledgehammer might have done the trick but, as far as evocative imagery went, it simply didn¡¯t have the same impact. Running a weary hand down her face, Oralia left the crafting of idioms to the experts and turned at last to the only member of her team she had not yet addressed. Ever the strong silent type, Dewpetal stood alongside the doorway with an expression that assured everyone in the room she knew exactly what was going on, language barrier be damned.

    Dewpetal spoke Yolcavisch, the dominant language of the swamplands. Despite Oralia¡¯s best efforts, she simply didn¡¯t have the ear for it. She stressed the wrong syllables, bungled her inflections and, according to Lingon, butchered tenses like a meat merchant drunk on fermented yak milk. Thanks to Lingon¡¯s many, many degrading lessons, Oralia could at least offer the traditional Yolcavisch greeting without stuttering.

    At least she hoped she did. Entrusting a Stoneclaw to teach her the correct translation and not some horrid insult was an honest to gods concern.

    Oralia greeted Dewpetal in the goblin¡¯s mother tongue. Dewpetal merely nodded, responding in the same manner she always did. That was as far as Oralia¡¯s linguistic abilities could take her. She relied on Mul to translate the rest. ¡°Tell Dewpetal that this is not her fight and that if she wishes to leave, she may accompany Rali and Kalihn back to Adderwood.¡±

    Battle was not the Stoneclaw clan¡¯s only strong suit. Unbeknownst to most, the mountain folk were quite gifted in their command of other languages as well. From a geographic standpoint, Oralia supposed it made sense. The Iron Ridge was a long sliver of territory surrounded on all sides by three larger nations. Oralia firmly believed the mountain folk had learned fluency not out of necessity, but for the mere want of yelling obscenities at their neighbors in a shared tongue.

    Mul worked through Oralia¡¯s message slowly, relying on an abundance of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions to get his point across.

    Dewpetal wore a slightly amused expression on her gnarled face as she patiently waited for Mul to finish. She copied his manner of speaking, offering a slow, methodical response, as one would when negotiating with a toddler.

    ¡°She wants to know if her performance has been¡­¡± Mul looked back at Dewpetal and confirmed the word once more before finishing his statement. ¡°Unsatisfactory?¡±

    Gods no. The goblin was not only lethal, but managed to do it without questioning a single order. Not to mention the lack of complaining. And while all of this could merely be chalked up to the language barrier, Dewpetal seemed genuinely happy to be helpful. Something with which Oralia had very little experience. If only the goblin¡¯s habits would have rubbed off on the others.

    ¡°Unsatisfactory?¡± Oralia repeated. ¡°No. I would dare say her performance has been exemplary.¡±

    Mul recrossed his arms. ¡°In that case, Dewpetal says she¡¯s a little insulted that you¡¯re trying to send her away. She intends to honor her contract in full.¡±

    That could prove to be an issue. Not that the goblin wished to keep fighting, but that Oralia¡¯s financial reserves would only last so long. As much as she wished for the situation in Lonebrook to be resolved in a timely manner, that was rarely the case with these sorts of things. ¡°I cannot hold Dewpetal to a contract if I do not have the funds with which to pay her. There is only enough silver to retain her services for a few more weeks at most.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s facial expression changed when Mul communicated this to her. She rattled off a series of words that were a little too quick for him to catch. After a few back and forths, Mul was able to work out the reason why. ¡°Money won¡¯t be an issue. Says she¡¯s doing it for redemption.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure that is what she said?¡± Perhaps Oralia had been too hasty in sending Lingon on his way so soon. He was undoubtedly the better translator of the two. She wondered if there was still time to run out and catch him.

    Unaware of Oralia¡¯s thoughts, Mul carried on his explanation. ¡°Apparently Dewpetal suffered some kind of disgrace back in the flatlands? Anyway, this is her way of proving herself.¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    While helping dismantle the realm certainly had the potential to elevate the goblin¡¯s status in the eyes of her fellow swamplanders, this seemed like an overly complicated way of doing so. Once more, Oralia pressed Mul for clarification. ¡°Are you positive that you are translating that correctly?¡±

    Mul lifted one burly shoulder on a careless shrug. ¡°She said it worked for Snag.¡±

    Had it? That too seemed strange. Unfortunately, Oralia did not have the time nor mental wherewithal to sift through the finite pieces for the bare facts of the matter. She would not turn down a helping hand, particularly when it was a competent one. At such a convenient price, too.

    ¡°Very well. Company dismissed.¡± A wave of Oralia¡¯s hand sent everyone but Rali filing out into the adjoining hallway.

    Oh gods, here it was. The fight Oralia had been dreading all morning. She braced herself for the onslaught, but said nothing, preferring for Rali to to be the first to launch the verbal assault.

    The dwarf was abnormally silent. With her lower jaw locked and shoulders squared, Rali marched over and planted both palms onto the table with a slam. She followed Oralia¡¯s example and said nothing, content to stare with narrowed, unblinking eyes.

    The staring contest lasted nearly half a minute before Oralia was forced to concede. The wooden chair legs creaked beneath her in protest as she leaned back with a sigh. ¡°Please do not render this molehill into a cliffside.¡±

    ¡°Mountain,¡± Rali corrected.

    Oralia supposed Rali would know. She was, after all, the expert at creating mountains of issues wherever she went. Oralia didn¡¯t mind so much when they were on the same side, but today was different. For the first time in a long time, they were not of the same mind and Oralia¡¯s opinion would not be swayed, come hell or high water.

    Which is why Rali¡¯s next words, spoken low, like a gravely hiss, caught Oralia completely by surprise. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    Oralia waited, cautiously, as if expecting a follow up statement that would render Rali¡¯s acceptance void. ¡°You will?¡±

    ¡°Not because you¡¯re telling me to,¡± Rali clarified, ¡°but because you¡¯re right. Short of going yourself ¡ª which I would argue for if I didn¡¯t already know it¡¯d be a waste of good breath ¡ª I am the only one those Adderwood fuckos might listen to.¡±

    An unexpected wave of relief washed over Oralia, easing some of the heat from her face. ¡°Thank you, friend.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ¡®friend¡¯ me, missy! We¡¯re going to lay down some ground rules first.¡±

    ¡°Again, when was it you become my mother?¡±

    ¡°You think this is the role I want? You¡¯re supposed to be the responsible one, not me!¡± Typically this is where a normal person would start to count off on their fingers, using their digits as a visual tally. Rali went for a more creative approach and relied solely on one, raising her middle finger with the introduction of each new rule. ¡°Now, number one: no doing anything stupid or reckless until I get back. Number two: don¡¯t go near the village. Don¡¯t talk to strangers. Bring a jacket with you even if it doesn¡¯t feel cold and lastly, don¡¯t even think about getting all chummy with Briony while I¡¯m away. If I come back and you two are best friends, I will bring the full might of all seven realms of chaos down upon you!¡±

    ¡°As opposed to channeling that might at the enemy?¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s up to you, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Oralia could not fight the smile that broke across her weary face. She stood, walked several steps around the table, and pulled Rali in for a hug. ¡°I could never replace you.¡±

    Rali squeezed back. ¡°Damn right, you can¡¯t. I am the stubborn tick in your side and you¡¯re stuck with me whether you like it or not!¡±

    ¡°Do me one favor,¡± Oralia said.

    ¡°No, never! You¡¯ve all exhausted all my favors. What, with sending me away when you¡¯re at your most vulnerable. Who¡¯s supposed to protect you and the wee one, huh? You think Sascha¡¯s going to sit at the foot of your bed and keep watch for would-be intruders all night long?¡±

    ¡°I would prefer you stopped doing that, actually.¡±

    ¡°Well wish granted, because I won¡¯t be here. ¡®Cause of you and your cockamamie plans!¡±

    This was not the fight Oralia had expected. It was going rather smoothly, all things considered. She still had two fully functioning kneecaps and Rali hadn¡¯t threatened to start breaking the furniture. Oralia stood back and placed her hands on Rali¡¯s shoulders as one did when imparting pertinent information to someone whose attention wandered as aimlessly a stray dog. ¡°As I was saying, do me a favor and save all of this dramatic energy for Adderwood. It is going to take everything you have got to sway their council.¡±

    Rali stood back and snapped off a sharp salute. ¡°Use fire and explosives, got it.¡±

    ¡°That is not what I said.¡±

    ¡°Look at you using that brain of yours.¡± Rali tapped the side of her nose as she swung about and stomped for the door. ¡°Plausible deniability. Smart thinking, boss!¡±

 209 - Pansies In A Slop Bucket

    A color-streaked sky stretched overhead, painting the endless fields of rolling grasses in the late autumn hues of salmon and gold. The fading sun slowly sank below the western horizon at their backs. White puffs of cotton grass danced in the cool breeze, kicking up an aroma similar to nettle and steeped bitter leaves. With the twilight hour approaching, a peacefulness settled over the swaying tundra. It was calm. It was beautiful. And it went entirely unnoticed by Daana, who was on the verge of throwing herself from the saddle.

    Everything hurt. Her legs, her back, places no respectable lady dared mention in front of company. Daana no longer fancied herself a lady but, regardless of whatever she qualified as these days ¡ª ruffian, outlaw, overgrown baby ¡ª admitting her ass hurt came with a guaranteed amount of embarrassment she¡¯d rather avoid. She suffered in silence instead, trying to recall whether or not sitting for prolonged periods of time had always been this agonizing. The pain was particularly noticeable on horseback. Daana swore she could feel her hip bones steadily wearing away against the leather saddle beneath her.

    Her horse plodded on, blissfully unaware that each bobbing stride sent a jolt of pins and needles into the last place anyone wanted pins and needles. Daana wouldn¡¯t be able to sit still for much longer. Which was unfortunate, considering they wouldn¡¯t be stopping anytime soon. Snag was hellbent on using every last shred of available light. He insisted they would set camp only after nightfall and not a moment sooner.

    ¡°We¡¯re not stopping,¡± Snag said from his position at the lead of the procession.

    Daana glared at the back of his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t have to. You were thinking it. I could tell, what with all that restless squirming you keep doing back there.¡± Snag¡¯s small frame sat straight in the saddle with his long ears fanned wide, shifting directions at will as he listened for would-be trouble. ¡°The closer we get to the border, the better.¡±

    Snag wouldn¡¯t divulge much else. Daana knew this as she¡¯d tried to pry him for information several times that day already. Daana decided to try her luck with Ashwyn instead. She twisted around in the saddle to get a better view of the orc riding behind her. Like Snag, Ashwyn was on high alert. She held her mouth partially open, pulling in the breeze through her nostrils and running the air over her tongue, silently processing what the different scents were telling her.

    ¡°Any change?¡± Daana asked.

    Ashwyn¡¯s unfocused gaze stared straight ahead, as if she¡¯d shut off her ability to process visual information to better concentrate on smell. ¡°I¡¯m picking up more than yesterday. Little buggers keep increasing their numbers.¡±

    An unknown number of goblins had been trailing them since their breakfast encounter two days prior. Although Daana occasionally caught the sounds of whispered voices and the scurry of bodies darting through the tall grasses, she had yet to see any of their goblin pursuers. So far their followers weren¡¯t hostile. The majority trailed a quarter of a mile or so behind, maintaining a healthy distance at all times.

    The undulating sway of the tundra grass had a hypnotic effect. Daana feared if she stared too long, she¡¯d forget herself entirely. She rid herself of the feeling with a shake of her head. ¡°What do you think it means?¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s brow furrowed, as though the question was a direct insult to her intelligence. ¡°That more goblins are following us? What else would it mean?¡±

    ¡°I meant why.¡±

    ¡°Then you should have bloody said that!¡±

    Snag¡¯s raspy voice rang out ahead of them. ¡°They¡¯re following us because some bright-eyed youngsters went and told every den in the area how a nice traveling caravan gave them a whole rasher of bacon for some measly information. The rest are just trying to figure out how to get in on the action.¡±

    The tips of Daana¡¯s ears burned as she turned back around and sank lower in the saddle. ¡°Are you worried about theft?¡±

    ¡°Not really. They¡¯re looking for handouts, not trouble.¡±

    It was a fair assessment. After all, Snag would know better than anyone how the area¡¯s dens operated. And while Daana did not doubt the truth of his statement, she suspected there was more at play than he was letting on. ¡°Are you sure this doesn¡¯t have to do with the other thing they said?¡± Daana prodded. ¡°You know, regarding that infamous goblin who¡¯s been welcomed back home?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± Snag said.

    ¡°I mean, who wouldn¡¯t want to catch a glimpse of a renowned hero? Seems something like that could draw a crowd just as easily as handouts.¡±

    Snag had a developed unique way of shutting down Daana¡¯s arguments without having to neither confirm nor deny her suspicions. Naturally, it involved pain. ¡°What¡¯s that? You wanna keep riding through the night, girl? Keep talking and your wish shall come true.¡±

    ¡°For goddess¡¯s sake! Quit while you¡¯re ahead, Peaches!¡± Ashwyn snapped her tusks with a mighty crack. Daana swore she saw the surrounding grass quiver in fear. ¡°I swear, if we have to go all night because of you, I¡¯m going to double your training exercises in the morning.¡±

    ¡°It was simply an observation,¡± Daana replied smartly.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I have an observation for you,¡± Ashwyn said through gritted teeth. ¡°Stop, else you¡¯re hurt in places you aren¡¯t even aware of.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a threat, not an observation.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll become an observation when I watch you run drills from dawn to dusk!¡± The orc¡¯s voice rose to match her escalating irritation. ¡°Sleep will be but a past memory.¡±

    Daana rolled her eyes. Her observation had been a legitimate one. In fact, given Snag¡¯s overreaction, it was probably more than legitimate. Possibly even accurate. As pointing this out would not end well for her, Daana did the sensible thing and bit back her tongue. That, and she spent the rest of the ride making faces at the back of Snag¡¯s head ¡ª which wasn¡¯t so much sensible as it was petty, but dammit it was something.

    The trio rode until the sky turned from dusky pink to violet, and then ink black. The stars were in full display by the time Snag found a suitable spot to rest. He built a sheltered fire while Ashwyn roped off the perimeter with strands of low hanging twine attached to bells. The bells were an alarm system, meant to give them the split second they needed to cut through the first wave of attackers if and when they were jumped in the dead of the night, according to Ashwyn anyway.

    Daana was left to tend to the horses. Normally she didn¡¯t mind, but her arms and legs were unbearably stiff and each saddle suddenly felt like it weighed ten times what it normally did. The brush down went smoother, except for when it came to Wormy, who kept nipping at her pockets in his relentless demand to be spoiled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have any apples,¡± Daana insisted as the nosy horse muzzled her jacket, probing for something edible.

    This didn¡¯t stop Wormy, who decided the end of Daana¡¯s braid was just as delicious.

    ¡°No, no, no!¡± She tried to pull her hair free of the horse¡¯s mouth, but her efforts were for naught. In a mere matter of seconds, the situation turned from a rescue attempt to a painful game of tug-of-war. ¡°Snag, help! He¡¯s turned cannibalistic!¡±

    ¡°Predatory,¡± Snag corrected.

    Daana attempted to whip her head in his direction, which was difficult considering she was still battling the mutant pig-horse for her hair. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Wormy¡¯s not an elf. And unless you¡¯re implying you¡¯re suddenly a horse, it¡¯s not really cannibalism, now is it?¡±

    Ashwyn was knelt on the ground, still rigging her alarm bells. She snorted her amusement. ¡°We all knew she was a horse¡¯s ass already. At least now she¡¯s admitting it.¡±

    ¡°Wormy is an opportunist eater.¡± Snag carried on as if his precious beast wasn¡¯t inches away from munching on someone¡¯s head. ¡°Saw him eat a snake once. Wasn¡¯t even hungry, just ate it ¡®cause¨C¡±

    ¡°Snag!¡± Daana yelled.

    A single, sharp whistle from his owner was all that was necessary to convince Wormy to relinquish her hair. Daana gathered the soggy mess protectively into her hands. The edges of her nostrils wrinkled in disgust as she realized her meticulous braiding had been for nothing. Her hair was now a wet, matted tangle that smelled overwhelmingly similar to a pigsty. Awarding Wormy her fiercest glare, she turned and limped towards the cook pit, unsure of how exactly she was going to remove the stench of putrid horse mouth from her head.

    She snatched the blanket from her bedroll and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulder before settling onto the cold ground next to Snag. Her sores flared, largely forgotten until now, kindly reminded her that sitting on the ground was not any better than a saddle. Daana refused to stew on it. Not when there was a mutant pig-horse that deserved the focus of her growing ire.

    Snag kept his eyes on the simmering liquid within the soup pot. The tips of his needle-like teeth were sunk well into his bottom lip, fighting a smile.

    ¡°It¡¯s not funny,¡± Daana muttered.

    ¡°I told you making your head smell like a bucket of flowers was a bad idea.¡±

    ¡°Bouquet.¡±

    Gods forbid she actually smell like something other than sweat and horse! That was the part all of the grand adventure stories conveniently left out. Everyone smelled awful all of the time. What was even more unrealistic was the hero¡¯s kiss at the end of each brazen rescue. The cloud of body odor and perpetual morning breath would have been enough to convince any damsel to choose life with the dragon.

    ¡°Nah.¡± Snag¡¯s harsh voice cleaved the strange thread Daana¡¯s mind was swiftly spiraling down. The goblin gave the mysterious contents of his stew a few slow stirs as the smile stretched further across his leathery face. ¡°I meant what I said. Your hair definitely smelled like pansies in a slop bucket.¡±

    Daana narrowed her eyes at him.

    As usual, glaring did little to deter Snag¡¯s relentless teasing. ¡°What?¡± He feigned innocence, clasping a hand to his chest. ¡°I said slop and not shit, didn¡¯t I? See? I cater to your precious feelings sometimes.¡±

    Daana awarded him her fiercest scowl yet. In lieu of stopping, Snag merely thumbed his nose up at her instead.

    Ashwyn dropped down onto the ground between them, disrupting their silent battle of wills. ¡°Goddess, I¡¯m starving. I hope that stew¡¯s nearly ready, else I¡¯m gonna have to find some other means of nourishment.¡±

    Daana noticed the way the orc was eyeing her hair and switched her mangled braid to her other shoulder, out of reach. ¡°Hilarious.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I thought so, too.¡±

    The stew was ready not long after. Snag was in the middle of ladling portions when a shrill screech blasted over the top of the grasslands. His ears shot into the air, eyes so wide, each pupil floated like a miniature island in a sea of yellow. The squeal of the pipe persisted, working through a series of off-key notes in the most torturous manner possible.

    Daana watched Snag¡¯s face for clues. The subtle eye twitch was certainly indicative of something. It was too bad she didn¡¯t know what.

    ¡°More visitors?¡± she asked, once the message had been delivered in full.

    Ashwyn tucked her bowl of steaming stew closer to her chest with a snarl. ¡°Greedy little buggers aren¡¯t getting my dinner this time. Better eat up quick, Daana. Before they get here.¡±

    At the moment, food wasn¡¯t her main concern. Nor was it the possibility of another goblin encounter. Daana was far more troubled by Snag¡¯s rapid transition from teasing asshole to stone statue. She swore he hadn¡¯t blinked once since the pipe music started. ¡°What¡¯s the message? What are they saying?¡±

    His lower jaw quivered, needled teeth glistening in the low light of the cook fire. ¡°I¡­¡± His voice failed him and, gathering his courage for a second attempt, he still only managed to get a single word out. ¡°I¡­¡±

    Daana¡¯s heartbeat picked up. ¡°You, what?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Snag¡¯s ears drooped as his entire body sank, as though he was attempting to become one with the ground. Finally, around the quivering of his tongue, the words tumbled free with a whimper. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here.¡±

 210 - Remember Me As I Was: Naked And Screaming

    Rasp awoke dead. When he jerked his head free of the damp pillow, his skin hot to the touch and coated in a sheen of sweat, he was surprised to find the afterlife had provided him with a coffin. What was even more surprising was that it was downright comfortable. The funeral shroud placed delicately over his prone form was warm and smelled of citrus and crushed cloves. It was a little insulting they¡¯d arranged him facedown but, then again, between his face and his ass, the latter was the more appealing feature.

    ¡®Here lies the biggest pain in the ass to have ever lived¡¯, his headstone would say. No. That wasn¡¯t right. Rasp deserved better than that. After all, he¡¯d helped stop a damn apocalypse! Never mind the fact that he¡¯d been the one to set it off in the first place ¡ª that little tidbit didn¡¯t matter. The point was, he¡¯d overcome his old ways and turned into something good, for the betterment of all mortal-kind.

    Now that was someone who deserved a decent head stone. Something along the lines of: ¡®remember me as I was: naked and screaming¡¯.

    Nah. Still not right.

    It was missing something. A punch of emotion, perhaps. Anyone visiting his gravestone needed to be reminded just how much he meant to them. ¡®It should have been you, Faris¡¯.

    As Rasp laid there, facedown in his burial pillow, arranging the details of his funeral, he gradually became aware of another presence. Something was nearby. It shuffled about, heavy feet dragging across the floor as ancient wooden boards groaned beneath its weight.

    Floorboards? Rasp thought.

    That wasn¡¯t right. They didn¡¯t bury people above ground. For fuck¡¯s sake, if they¡¯d left him facedown in an open casket for all the word to see, he was going to have to come back and haunt someone!

    Had Rasp still possessed survival instincts, they would have demanded he put his head back down and remain still, and wait for the danger to pass. As he was already dead, he had no need for survival instincts. Thus, Rasp flipped over, fighting to remove the dark shroud that served as the thin layer between him and the world of the living.

    ¡°Get off me!¡± he cursed, struggling to untangle the sheet from his unruly limbs.

    Rasp¡¯s arms were numb and cumbersome, as if they¡¯d been left out in the cold too long. He tried to use his legs to assist in getting himself free, but all he got for his effort was a shooting pain in his right ankle. Clutching his throbbing foot, he fell back into the coffin, only partially aware that he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

    Heavy footsteps clomped against the floorboards moments before the shroud was lifted from Rasp¡¯s mangled corpse. His rescuer spoke. The guttural words, alas, were not any Rasp recognized.

    Rasp twisted his head from side to side in a futile attempt to take in his surroundings. For some incredibly cruel reason, even in death he was blind. That didn¡¯t seem very fair. It wasn¡¯t total darkness, however. He could make out a dim light flickering not far from his final resting place. A tallow candle, according to his nose. His tongue agreed as the dingy air tasted remarkably similar to rancid bacon grease.

    The candle did a piss poor job of illuminating the surrounding room. Fuzzy shapes and shadows filled the space, arranged in a way indicative of furniture and, therefore, a tripping hazard. Not that running from death would do him any good, but it was nice to have a contingency plan just in case.

    A stout form loomed over the top of him, still talking at a volume far too loud for their given proximity.

    Rasp shooed the angel of death away with a limp wave of his hand. ¡°Will you give it a rest? Pace yourself, for the gods¡¯ sakes. You¡¯ve got all eternity to torture me.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    The speaker relented, for a few seconds anyway, before stating something that sounded like it might have been a question.

    ¡°I don¡¯t speak ghost yet, sorry.¡±

    The speaker tried again. This time more slowly, with distinct pauses between each word. It was similar to the manner in which Rasp used to explain to his brothers why clutching a bunch of feathers before jumping off a cliff would not work. Regrettably, Rasp happened to be the dim-wit in this particular scenario and failed to grasp the angel of death¡¯s meaning.

    ¡°Talking slower does not make me understand a language I don¡¯t speak!¡± He crossed his arms over his chest, muttering, ¡°Just makes me feel stupid.¡±

    The speaker sighed. The heavy, full-bodied kind that usually involved a nose pinch or some other demonstration of mental exhaustion. ¡°You¡­¡± they said, struggling to piece the words together.

    ¡°I understood that.¡± Rasp sat straighter. ¡°Go on. Me, what?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s encouragement gave the angel of death the motivation he needed to finish his sentence. ¡°Stay.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave?¡± Rasp was really nailing this whole communicating with the dead thing.

    The speaker stepped away, repeating the command. ¡°Stay.¡±

    Rasp held his palms aloft in the universal sign of ¡®I¡¯ll do exactly what you say until your back¡¯s turned and then, well, no promises. But don¡¯t worry about that.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯m staying,¡± Rasp said. ¡°See? Not going anywhere, am I?¡±

    A heavy door creaked open and shut, followed by the unmistakable jingle of metal keys as the lock was twisted shut from the other side. Damn. A locked door was going to make the ¡®stay¡¯ order significantly harder to disobey. Clever death. What did the afterlife need locks for anyway? Was it possible for a ghost to stumble his way back to the side of the living?

    You know you¡¯re not dead.

    It was true, Rasp supposed. What he¡¯d initially mistook for a coffin was clearly just a bed with an understuffed straw mattress. It¡¯d been so long since he¡¯d slept on anything other than cold, hard ground that it had merely felt heavenly. Acknowledging that he was alive came with a daunting to-do list, however, which was probably why he¡¯d been putting off his inevitable resurrection for as long as possible. A corpse could just lounge around without a care. Unlike him, who now had to get out of bed, break out, locate the others, and then get them all topside before anyone noticed.

    Groaning, Rasp scooted his way to the edge of the bed and swung his stiff legs over, surprised to find the floor much closer than he expected. He gripped the cold wood with his bare toes, feeling every buckle and crease underfoot as he considered how he¡¯d become a giant without noticing.

    His brain helpfully provided the answer. You¡¯ve been captured by dwarfs, idiot. All of their furniture is close to the ground.

    Oh, right. The whole captured by an underground cult had felt so much like a bad dream, he¡¯d simply dismissed it as one. Kind of sad that, in comparison, death was the more desirable option. He definitely wasn¡¯t staying put now. Rasp held his breath as he willed his leaden legs into an upright position. The dull throb in his right ankle neatly stepped over the threshold from tolerable to ¡®oh my gods, someone hand me the bone saw, I¡¯ve got hack this fucking thing off!¡¯

    Rasp flopped back down onto the bed with a mangled scream, writhing as an invisible wave of blistering fire rolled up his leg. After a few moments of pathetic sobbing, able to do little more than remember to breathe around the tightness in his chest, the brunt of the pain subsided. Rasp worked his fingers down his pantleg and gingerly lifted the hem of his trousers away from his swollen flesh. His ankle was hot to the touch and bulbous, stretched tight with an ungodly amount of liquid pooled beneath the skin.

    The dwarf¡¯s ¡®stay¡¯ order seemed a little less ominous now. Rasp wiggled his way back into the center of the sagging mattress, resigned to stay put. This, alas, left his thoughts to wander unchecked.

    If he was alive, it meant the others were too, right? Gods, he hoped so. He wouldn¡¯t make a good virginal sacrifice on his own, after all. And why was it always virgins anyway? Was it because the deity was awful at sacrifice and simply didn¡¯t want its victims to be none the wiser? ¡®Stick me with your teeth, oh great and awful one! Stick me harder! Are you sticking me? No, seriously? Is that it? Wait, you¡¯re done? No, no, no. It was fine. I just imagined my first time, I don¡¯t know, a little more torturous is all¡¯.

    Rasp tried to distract himself with absurd sacrificial situations, but his mind kept wandering back to the one topic he wished to avoid. The voice. That soft, crooning sound that had called to him from the darkness, beckoning him to find it. The memory sent chills shimmying down his overheated skin. Whatever it was, it wanted him. And, like all of his past love interests, the more they wanted him, the more desperate Rasp was to get away.

    A bum leg, mysterious voices, and an underground cult set on sending him to his death. Good gods, Rasp thought as he ran a heavy hand down his face. How in the realm was he going to get them out of this one?

 211 - The Nameless One

    The jingle of iron keys warned Rasp that he had visitors. There was a metallic clunk and a vigorous twist before the heavy bolt slid away. Rusted hinges squealed in protest as the door swung open, allowing a channel of blinding light to filter in from the outside. Rasp eased his head up off the pillow, using his elbows for support, and squinted at the obnoxiously bright doorway.

    Two blurry shapes shuffled inside, their stout forms backlit by the light pouring in from the hallway. The pair ducked in surprise when a dark projectile rocketed over their heads in a frenzy of feathers and talons.

    Croak! Father circled the room twice, chattering up a storm, before settling onto Rasp¡¯s pillow in an uneasy fluff of bristled feathers.

    ¡°Good to see you too,¡± Rasp murmured, refusing to look away from the open doorway. Alas, rushing the exit wouldn¡¯t do him any good with a hobbled leg. He¡¯d be lucky to get a single step in before his injury felled him. Still didn¡¯t stop him from trying to gauge the distance from the bed to the door, though. ¡°You didn¡¯t happen to find any of the others before me, Dad, did you?¡±

    Father had, actually. Faris, Hop, and June were being housed in separate rooms nearby, purposely isolated from one another. Father¡¯s attempts to dart inside and check on them had been unsuccessful. He didn¡¯t know what state any of them were in, but the lack of sounds coming from within their rooms hadn¡¯t sat right with him. He¡¯d started to fear they were all dead, Rasp included. That is until he heard all the commotion about ghosts and the afterlife from out in the hallway.

    Across the room from Rasp, the dwarfs finished their hushed conversation and stepped all the way inside. Hinges squealing, the door slammed shut behind them, rendering the chamber oppressively dark once more. One of the entrants stopped about halfway, content to venture no further. A single set of heavy footsteps continued on alone.

    Father hissed a warning but the newcomer shuffled along, unfazed by Rasp¡¯s feathery watchdog. The dwarf reached Rasp¡¯s bedside and sat without being invited. The straw mattress sagged beneath their combined weight. Rasp¡¯s visitor didn¡¯t speak, not at first, but he knew who she was from a single sniff. The overpowering combination of crushed rose petals and tobacco smoke told him it was Priestess Oreword.

    A wiser man knew to keep his silence and wait for the enemy to reveal their hand. Rasp was certainly not wise and barely qualified as man most of the time, but even he could keep his mouth shut when he wanted. He locked his jaw, quieting the nagging thoughts demanding to know what had happened to the rest of his party.

    The priestess leaned closer and, once more, helped herself to Rasp¡¯s face without asking. She cupped his chin in her calloused hands and looked him over, muttering to herself as she did so.

    ¡°No touching!¡± Rasp snapped, pulling away.

    The interpreter, Bromm, was content to keep his distance and translate from afar. ¡°Priestess Oreword believes the nameless one calls to you. You have heard it, yes?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what any of that means, but you¡¯re not getting another word out of me until I know everyone else is alive and safe.¡±

    ¡°Your companions are still recovering,¡± Bromm explained. ¡°All four of you were poisoned during your escape. The body will flush the toxin on its own, but it takes time. You are the first to regain consciousness.¡±

    Unbelievable. A whole party taken out by a damn weed! Just one more reason to hate vegetables, Rasp supposed. ¡°But they¡¯re all good, right? Expected to make a full recovery?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Thanks to our people, of course. Who saved you from becoming plant fodder.¡±

    Well this was awkward. It wasn¡¯t everyday you had to credit a cult for saving your skin. Rasp reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Thanks, I guess.¡±

    ¡°As a show of your appreciation, Priestess Oreword would like you to speak with her truthfully. Starting with what it was that brought you down here. A voice, perhaps? One that calls to you in your head?¡±

    ¡°Desperation is what brought us here, not a voice. We went underground because it was the only option to avoid capture.¡± Rasp paused, momentarily conflicted, before spilling the rest of the truth. He didn¡¯t like revealing all his cards so soon, but if the dwarfs knew about the voice, then maybe they¡¯d know how to stop it from worming its way into his brain. ¡°But I did hear a voice. It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve heard it, either. I heard it once before, back on the surface. It reached me through a harmony stone.¡±

    ¡°A harmony stone?¡± Bromm repeated.

    ¡°Yeah. Giant pillar built to honor fae or something. Details are a bit fuzzy but the thing was huge and crawling with magic.¡±

    Bromm and Priestess Oreword murmured back and forth in hushed, worried tones.

    Rasp waited, but neither seemed inclined to include him in the discovery process. ¡°It¡¯s something bad, isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s why you¡¯re keeping it all hush-hush.¡±

    Finally, Bromm delivered the grim news, in the matter-of-fact manner that he seemed incapable of deviating from. ¡°You are being hunted by an ancient monster, whom we call the nameless one.¡±

    What a terribly unclever name. And while Rasp sorely wanted to point out that referring to something as nameless was still giving a fucking name, deep down he knew it didn¡¯t matter. Arguing pointless details served no other purpose but to distract himself from what was truly taking place. The monster, as ridiculously named as it was, deserved his full attention.

    ¡°The nameless one is an enchanter,¡± Bromm explained. ¡°It projects its voice into the minds of prey and puts them under its spell. Victims caught in the throes of its siren song are then lured into the beast¡¯s lair, destined to never to be seen again. The priestess believes the nameless one has found a way to tap into the harmony stones above ground and uses them as means to broaden its range.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    ¡°It wishes to consume you,¡± Bromm continued, as if his prior explanation had not been abundantly clear on its own.

    ¡°Yeah, I got that,¡± Rasp said quietly. He then added, less quietly, as the anger started to bubble up from within. ¡°Of course it wants to eat me. Why is it no one ever wants me around purely for the sake of my company? I am a delightful person!¡±

    Father politely disagreed.

    ¡°No one asked you, old man!¡±

    Bromm and Priestess Oreword fell silent. Rasp imagined they were too busy trading skeptical glances to point out he¡¯d been nothing but a thorn in their sides so far. ¡°Okay, mostly a delight. It doesn¡¯t apply to people trying to use me as a sacrifice.¡± Rasp gestured for Bromm to carry on. ¡°Anyway, I get the strangest feeling you¡¯re not done telling me about your magic beastie. Go on. Get it over with. Tell how truly fucked I am.¡±

    ¡°The nameless one is a remnant from the age of raw magic. It goes dormant after eating, often decades at a time. The more magic a meal provides, the longer it sleeps. For centuries the beast has feasted upon surface dwellers lured into the underground by its siren song.¡±

    Rasp remembered Hop mentioning how none of the parties sent to explore Kalikose had ever returned. Being fed to a nameless monstrosity was fucking grim, even for a cult.

    Rasp¡¯s face must have given his thoughts away because Bromm¡¯s matter-of-fact tone actually changed. It now carried the unmistakable sting of offense. ¡°We are not monsters. Our people put up every preventative measure to stop surface dwellers from entering the underground, including collapsing the existing gateways. It has been over three decades since the last outsider stepped foot inside our city. The only reason you made it this far is because you are in the company of the Kriegaar. It was predestined fate.¡±

    Rasp held up his hands in protest. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything!¡±

    Priestess Oreword placed her hand on Rasp¡¯s elbow in a silent order for him to shut up and let her handle Bromm herself. Although her tone was gentle, Rasp sensed an underlying disapproval ¡ª like a parent assuring their ruly offspring that they weren¡¯t mad, simply disappointed. Having been the recipient of many such lectures, Rasp had the sudden inexplicable urge to crawl under the bed.

    When Bromm addressed Rasp again, the defensiveness had bled from his voice, replaced instead with sorrow. Rather than apologize for his outburst, he merely picked where he¡¯d left off. ¡°Without magic to sustain it, the nameless one has grown ravenous. The beast has turned to eating flesh. It has claimed ten from our clan so far.¡±

    Oof, that was a depressing thought. Rasp almost felt bad for them now. Still, saving an underground cult from an ancient monster wasn¡¯t on his to-do list. He had his own people to save.

    ¡°Flesh does not sustain the nameless one for long. It only makes the beast hungrier.¡± Bromm twisted the metaphorical knife a little deeper with each word. ¡°Priestess Oreword charmed our homes, making it so the beast¡¯s song could not be heard from within our walls, but our defenses have only made the nameless one more desperate. For the first time in many millennia, it has abandoned its lair to snatch our citizens from the city itself.¡±

    Rasp interrupted. ¡°And this fabled Kriegaar of yours is supposed to swoop in and save you from nameless one, correct?¡±

    That¡¯s right. He had been paying attention.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, how?¡± Not that Rasp intended to be the one to do the slaying, but he was mildly curious.

    ¡°We¡­¡± Bromm¡¯s voice trailed, before admitting with a resigned sigh, ¡°We don¡¯t know. All who have faced the creature have fallen. We don¡¯t even know what it looks like.¡±

    Naturally. How silly of Rasp to assume the cult had any idea how to make their hero¡¯s job slightly less difficult. It was not often that Rasp thought of Daana, especially not in the ¡®I wish she were here¡¯ capacity. But now was one of the few exceptions. She would have known immediately what sort of beasty they were dealing with. She might have even been able to tell him how to defeat it without all the cryptic beating around the bush that accompanied these types of conversations. Again, not that Rasp had any intention of being the one to defeat it. He was merely noting that such information would have been helpful, if not for him, than for the cult and any inevitable heroes suckered into helping.

    Pointing out how unrealistic their plan was probably wouldn¡¯t go over so well. Rasp tried a different approach, one often referred to by Faris as logic. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just leave then? The nameless one can¡¯t eat you if you¡¯re not here.¡±

    ¡°You speak blasphemy, sir! This is our ancestral home! We have been here since the beginning, from before the floods and the outsiders and¡ª¡±

    Priestess Oreword came to Rasp¡¯s rescue once more. While he didn¡¯t understand a lick of what either of them were saying, Rasp did notice how the priestess¡¯s cadence lacked the theatrics she had used back at the tower. She sounded like a regular person and not some power-hungry zealot with a desperate audience clinging to every word.

    ¡°Priestess Oreword believes the Kriegaar is a member of your group.¡± Bromm switched back to the common tongue without warning. ¡°The issue is¡ª¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re half dead?¡± Rasp ventured. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s been a problem for us too, lately. I¡¯m afraid Whisper¡¯s really not in any shape to battling monsters.¡± All joking aside, it was rather lousy when the person responsible for your training kept nearly dying all of the time.

    ¡°Priestess Oreword is a healer.¡±

    A glimmer of hope broke through, like a ray of sunshine on an overcast day. Naturally, Rasp¡¯s first instinct was to be wary of it. ¡°What kind of healer?¡± He knew the priestess was magical. Her power buzzed so strongly it made his skin itch, as though he was covered in invisible ants. ¡°Are we talking magic healer or the kind that¡¯s only good for terrible tasting tonics?¡±

    ¡°She can remove the hex currently exacerbating the Kriegaar¡¯s illness. The priestess will return them to their former strength, but she cannot remove the poisoning itself. Your companion will still succumb to their illness. Priestess Oreword will only be providing them more time.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t what Rasp wanted to hear, but it was certainly better than nothing. A functional Whisper was better than a dead one. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the priestess is willing to do this out of the kindness of her heart?¡±

    ¡°Priestess Oreword offers a trade. The health of you and your companions in exchange for defeating the monster.¡±

    It would have been really nice had another member of Rasp¡¯s crew been present to offer advice. Unfortunately, that wasn¡¯t possible, not with the rest of the team currently out of action. Which meant the honor was all his. Might as well make it worth his while.

    ¡°How do I know your priestess is capable?¡± Rasp asked.

    Bromm took the bait, as expected. ¡°You dare question the competence of Priestess Oreword?¡±

    Rasp raised his hands innocently. ¡°Talk is cheap, that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying. Maybe if she was willing to prove her mettle first¡± ¡ª he wiggled his injured foot for emphasis and immediately regretted it. Searing pain shot up his swollen leg, causing the rest of his sentence to issue in the form of a gasp ¡ª ¡°I might be more inclined to talk the Kriegaar into agreeing?¡±

 212 - Easy Peasy

    Alright, play it cool. You have them right where you want them. Rasp took a breath to settle his galloping heartbeat, mindful to keep the excitement welling within his chest from bleeding over into his expression. He reached over and gave Father¡¯s feathery head a few loving pats to steady his nerves. Disgusted by the open show of affection, Father suddenly decided he didn¡¯t care whether or not his son lived and flew off elsewhere.

    ¡°Love you too, Dad!¡±

    Fortunately, the dwarf translator, Bromm, was still too upset from having his priestess¡¯s magical competence called into question to ask whose father Rasp was professing his love for. He considered his approach a few painful seconds more before asking, ¡°You want Priestess Oreword to prove herself, is that what this is?¡±

    As far as fiddles went, Bromm was proving quite easy to play. The translator¡¯s unwavering devotion to his priestess was also his greatest weakness. Rasp took secret delight in pushing that particular sore spot over, and over, and over again until he got what wanted. ¡°Look, no offense, but blind faith just doesn¡¯t come natural to me, alright? Saying she can heal and doing it are two very different things. I¡¯ve learned to be skeptical of everyone until they prove otherwise.¡±

    ¡°You may as well spit in her face!¡± Bromm was getting worked up into a tizzy. Still positioned near the center of the room, the angry dwarf slowly edged a step closer with each word out of Rasp¡¯s insolent mouth. ¡°Who are you to make demands of us?¡±

    Rasp merely shrugged. ¡°I said ¡®no offense¡¯.¡±

    Priestess Oreword took offense anyway. Rasp could tell from the way her hand locked onto his swollen ankle the moment Bromm finished his angry translation. Rasp yelped as he fell from his inclined position and struck the straw mattress with a padded slam. His leg seized up. Every muscle locked into place, stretched taut. The cramping moved higher until his lower half was completely engulfed in phantom fire.

    He wanted to thrash. Every survival instinct in his body commanded him to fight the agony coursing through his battered limbs, but he couldn¡¯t. Rasp stared up at the gloomy ceiling as helpless as the day he was born. His mouth opened and closed uselessly, unable to pull air into his shriveled lungs. Through the haze of debilitating pain, he caught the sound of rhythmic chanting. It sounded further away than it should have.

    Rasp lost his grip on reality as the room started to spin. The salty fumes of the tallow candle intermixed with the smoke and crushed flowers from the priestess¡¯s musty clothes. His body suddenly felt light. Panicked, he gripped the straw mattress with all the strength in his trembling hands, certain he was about to lift clear into the air. The dark, muddled corners of his vision knitted together as the only source of light faded. Just as he was about to lose consciousness altogether, the whirling stopped.

    Weight returned to his body and Rasp slammed back down onto the mattress. His eyes were still open, he realized, as the dim light of the tallow candle banished the darkness back to its shadowy corners. For what felt like the first time in minutes, his lungs inflated, allowing him to draw breath. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow. Rasp moved to wipe it away only to discover the skin on his forehead was blazingly hot.

    Priestess Oreword produced a barking laugh as she patted his injured ankle. She was talking again, too, but Rasp was too distracted by the absence of pain to pay any attention. Gathering his courage, he wiggled his toes and braced himself, expecting to feel the agonized sting of a thousand fire ants biting him all at once. To his surprise, he felt nothing at all.

    ¡°Are you convinced?¡± Bromm asked smugly.

    ¡°I think so,¡± Rasp croaked.

    Rasp eased into a sitting position and drew his leg closer. A quick examination confirmed that the swelling was gone. The cuts inflicted by the carnivorous vines had vanished, leaving his skin whole and unblemished. Seven realms, he wasn¡¯t even sore any more! This was good. He could work with this. Once the rest of the group was healed, they could pretend to go looking for the beasty and then cut and run the moment the opportunity presented itself.

    Amidst the swirl of shock and awe, a single nagging disappointment wormed its way through, dampening Rasp¡¯s gratitude. He still couldn¡¯t see shit. ¡°What about here?¡± He turned in Bromm¡¯s direction, pointing at his eyes. ¡°Can she fix this too?¡±

    ¡°She cannot fix ugly.¡±

    ¡°Not my face, my eyes!¡± It took great restraint not to call the smug dwarf every filthy name in the book. ¡°She fixed my leg. What about my vision?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re blind.¡± Bromm said this as a statement, not a question, in the sort of tone that implied several unspoken questions had suddenly been answered. All save for one, that was. ¡°Is that why you leapt off a three story balcony?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah. That¡¯s why I did that.¡± Rasp neatly packed up his embarrassment and cast it aside. ¡°Ask her if she can fix my vision.¡±

    Oh please, oh please, oh please. Rasp¡¯s thoughts raced as he waited for Bromm to communicate his request to the priestess. For the first time since he could remember, life suddenly didn¡¯t feel so bleak. He¡¯d learned to live with his disability the best he could, yes, but maybe he didn¡¯t have to. Maybe there was another way. Ironically, it came at the hand of magic ¡ª something he¡¯d once detested with every bone in his body, but that was old Rasp¡¯s way of thinking and old Rasp had never had to cross a busy street without the benefit of being able to see oncoming carriages.

    Bromm concluded his hushed conversation with Priestess Oreword and delivered her answer to Rasp. ¡°No.¡±

    With a single word, Rasp¡¯s rising hopes plummeted, fizzling out of existence along with his dreams for a brighter, less stumbly future. ¡°No?¡± he repeated. ¡°But my leg and the poison, a-and Whisper. You¡¯re telling me she can bring a fae back from the brink of death but a few measly eyes are too much for her? I thought you said she was all-powerful!¡±

    There was a thoughtful pause as Bromm considered how much he wanted to say. ¡°It is not a matter of ability, but of station. Priestess Oreword says it is not her place to interfere with the will of the gods.¡±

    The what? Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake! This is why nobody liked religious cults. Rasp pointed to his eyes again. ¡°She thinks the gods did this to me?¡±

    The other end of the straw mattress lifted as Priestess Oreword stood and moved for the door, uttering something in her mother tongue.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Bromm dutifully translated. ¡°Take it up with the gods.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll do that, thanks,¡± Rasp muttered.

    Okay, maybe he¡¯d claimed his loss of vision was an atonement from fate for killing his father and unleashing a dark entity, but he hadn¡¯t actually meant it. Not really. That was just something he said when he was down in the dumps and feeling sorry for himself. Fate was a scapegoat. A convenient way to explain all the shitty things that happened to him without having to take an ounce of responsibility for his part. As far as Rasp was concerned, fate was as real as the gods and let¡¯s just say there was a reason he didn¡¯t recite his prayers before bed anymore.

    Bromm cleared his throat to garner Rasp¡¯s spiraling attention. ¡°Reexamine your faith later,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s work to do. Come.¡±

    If by reexamine Bromm meant shove his feelings of disappointment deep, deep down out of reach forever, then Rasp was already well ahead of him. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and then hesitated. Not because he was afraid the pain might return the moment he stood, but because he had a general dislike of being told what to do. ¡°You¡¯re not taking me to go kill the nameless one right now are you?¡±

    Of course not,¡± Bromm scoffed. ¡°You are not the Kriegaar. You could not possibly kill the monster on your own.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence. I appreciate that, truly.¡± Rasp remained seated just in case. ¡°Mind telling me where we¡¯re going then?¡±

    ¡°The Priestess requires your assistance with the Kriegaar.¡± The dwarf translator paused, either unsure how to phrase the sentence or simply out of reluctance to utter it aloud. ¡°They have¡­disappeared.¡±

    Rasp shot to his feet. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We need your help locating them.¡±

    ¡°Alright, you heard the man, Dad. Let¡¯s go.¡± Rasp stormed his way across the room, bumping into several pieces of solid furniture in the process, and locked arms with Bromm. The dwarf was fast, Rasp had to give him that. Bromm slipped his grip and stepped out of reach with the speed and reflexes of someone not shaped like a boulder.

    Bromm¡¯s voice dripped with both suspicion and disgust. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Rasp extended his hand in what he hoped passed for a less hostile approach. ¡°As previously explained, my eyes don¡¯t work all that well. And seeing as your priestess is unwilling to fix that¡± ¡ª okay, maybe he hadn¡¯t quite shoved his disappointment completely out of reach yet ¡ª ¡°then the only way I¡¯m making it there is if someone leads me.¡±

    Rasp flinched when an arm strung through his from the other side and pulled him close. The cloud of fetid tobacco smoke wafting from the clothes told him it was the priestess. While her bent, blurry form implied that she was old, possibly frail, the strength in which she was holding him to her side seemed to indicate the exact opposite.

    With a single command, she started back towards the doorway, pulling Rasp with her. Father took up his customary perch on Rasp¡¯s shoulder and muttered nervously under his breath as the priestess opened the door. The adjoining hallway was unlike any Rasp had ever encountered before. Being that he was in the company of dwarfs and miles underground, he¡¯d expected to traverse along a dark, gloomy tunnel system.

    Whatever the space was around him, it wasn¡¯t that. While the smells were what Rasp expected ¡ª wet, musty, and stale ¡ª the hallway was obnoxiously bright. The surrounding walls shimmered in a sea of twinkling blues and greens. He didn¡¯t dare touch it to confirm his suspicions, but he felt confident to assume that the surrounding light source was another trick of bioluminescent algae. It was ten times brighter than the stuff he¡¯d encountered within the ruined city.

    He shielded his eyes as he clung helplessly to the priestess, vaguely aware that they had turned a corner. ¡°Gods, it¡¯s bright!¡±

    ¡°I thought you were blind,¡± Bromm said from where he walked behind them.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work that way,¡± Rasp huffed, slightly peeved that he was still having to explain this to people. It wasn¡¯t that hard of a concept to grasp! ¡°Blindness isn¡¯t always an all or nothing. I can differentiate light from dark. Shapes too, if they¡¯re close enough.¡±

    ¡°But not balconies.¡±

    Father cackled, prompting the heat already burning its way across Rasp¡¯s face to sting just a tad hotter. Before Rasp could snap back with something he¡¯d regret, Bromm went ahead and explained the purpose of the shimmering walls. ¡°The light helps deter the monster.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t the only thing the light was deterring. Rasp could already feel the telltale throb of a migraine start to pulse behind his eyes. Hopefully their little detour through the bright-as-fuck passageways would be over soon. In the meantime, he¡¯d have to find a way to distract himself. Maybe even learn a thing or two.

    ¡°So,¡± he said, twisting his head this way and that in order to listen to the echo of his voice. The sound didn¡¯t travel far, suggesting the walls were narrower than the surrounding light made them seem. He raised his hand over his head and brushed the ceiling. It was like touching fish eggs covered in thick mucus. Stifling a gag, Rasp withdrew his hand from the ceiling and wiped his fingers clean against the priestess¡¯s robe ¡ª silently delighted to discover the area he touched glowed with the same light as the walls. ¡°You mind explaining how you lost the Kriegaar?¡±

    Apparently it was a bit of a sore subject given the translator¡¯s reluctant huff. ¡°The vessel in which you were transporting the Kriegaar¡ª¡±

    ¡°Fancy way of saying pack, but sure.¡±

    ¡°The guards did not want to disturb the mighty one, so they placed the Kriegaar¡¯s pack in a sealed room and left them be. Priestess Oreword arrived to discover that the Kriegaar was no longer within the pack at all.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s voice had a bit of a screech to it. ¡°You lost Whisper? Like lost-lost?¡±

    The priestess muttered something, giving Rasp¡¯s arm an extra ungentle tug as she continued leading him on through the damp, green and blue hallway.

    ¡°We believe the Kriegaar is still in the room,¡± Bromm said. ¡°Just not in the same state as they were before.¡±

    ¡°Okay, now you¡¯ve lost me.¡±

    Bromm heaved a heavy sigh before admitting everything he had hoped to leave unsaid. ¡°Priestess Oreword believes your companion is a shapeshifter. They were in a living form when we first encountered them, and now they are not.¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t think he was following along in the way he was meant to. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me they¡¯re in a dead form.¡±

    Bromm¡¯s gravely voice had quite the edge to it. ¡°Do you know anything about fae?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t speak for the species as a whole, but I do know this one in particular is a conniving little shit who doesn¡¯t delve too deep into the personal stuff. So yes, and no, at the same time.¡±

    ¡°Traveling with one of the mightiest beings in existence and he doesn¡¯t even know it,¡± Bromm muttered under his breath with what might have been a disgusted shake of his head. Fortunately, the dwarf took it upon himself to educate the ignorant. ¡°Fae are capable of adopting inanimate forms, usually only as a last resort. Without senses, they are blind to their surroundings. They fall into a state of stasis and can remain dormant for eons.¡±

    Whisper, you clever bastard.

    It took all of Rasp¡¯s willpower not to laugh out loud. Even weak and dying, Whisper still found a way to disrupt the plans others made on their behalf. ¡°So one of the objects in my pack isn¡¯t an object at all. Which means Whisper¡¯s not actually missing, you just don¡¯t know what form they¡¯ve taken.¡±

    ¡°Yes. We believe the Kriegaar is using their glamour as a cloaking mechanism. The priestess is unable to distinguish them from the other items housed within the pack.¡±

    The corners of Rasp¡¯s mouth curled into a smile. ¡°How unfortunate for you.¡±

    ¡°It will be your misfortune as well if the Kriegaar is not recovered soon. Your friend is too weak to awaken without the priestess¡¯s intervention.¡± Bromm let that revelation sink in for a moment before neatly steering the conversation back in the direction he wished it to go. ¡°Priestess Oreword senses a bond between the two of you. Locating the Kriegaar is something you should be able to do, yes?¡±

    Maybe? Only one way to find out, Rasp supposed. ¡°Oh, sure. Absolutely. Should be easy-peasy.¡±

 213 - Celebratory Biting

    He couldn¡¯t believe it, his captors had gone and lost Whisper. Rasp would¡¯ve been a little more forgiving had they¡¯d simply misplaced the little cuss, but no, they¡¯d lost-lost his fae mentor. The cult didn¡¯t even know whether or not the sneaky bastard was still under their roof. Not to mention the whole tall tale regarding fae being able to transform into non-living objects. That was probably just some excuse to shift the blame onto Rasp once the finger pointing started.

    Gods, he wished Faris was here right now. This seemed like the sort of bargaining chip Faris would use to leverage the situation back in their favor. Without his best friend to elbow him in the gut to keep him from saying something stupid, however, Rasp feared this was a prospective bargaining chip he didn¡¯t know what to do with.

    Don¡¯t overcomplicate it. Stick to the plan, his thoughts cut in. Focus on getting everyone healed. And then, when the cult has lowered their guard, you¡¯re gonna book it back to the surface as fast as you can and put all this behind you.

    Rasp imagined Faris would have come up with something more eloquent. But Faris wasn¡¯t here and, therefore, this plan was as good as it was going to get.

    ¡°Easy-peasy?¡± Bromm rumbled, repeating Rasp¡¯s words slowly, as though he was saying them for the first time. ¡°I am unfamiliar with that expression.¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh, it¡¯s kinda like ¡®piece of cake¡¯.¡±

    ¡°What is like a piece of cake?¡±

    Once more, for what would neither be the first nor last time, Rasp remembered the rest of the mortal world was woefully behind on human phrases. Normally he would have delighted at the opportunity to pass down horrifically incorrect idioms, but now didn¡¯t seem like the best time to spread misinformation.

    ¡°I meant finding Whisper would be easy, okay? Sorry for the confusion.¡± Rasp moved head from side to side, trying to make out something other than the nauseatingly bright glow of the bioluminescent algae. ¡°Are we almost there? Feels like we¡¯ve been walking forever.¡±

    Bromm was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to give it up so easily. ¡°You say locating the Kriegaar will be easy for you, but you do not sound certain.¡±

    Uncertainty, unlike idioms, apparently crossed the cultural barrier without issue. Rasp blew a sigh out of the corner of his mouth, admitting, ¡°You¡¯re asking a blind man to sift through a bag of trinkets to find the one that isn¡¯t an actual trinket. Excuse me for being a little apprehensive about it.¡±

    Such a task would¡¯ve been undeniably easier had Rasp not been looting his way through the realm. He wasn¡¯t sure what sort of hole he¡¯d been trying to fill, but stolen bits and bobs helped soothe the ache, temporarily anyway. The loot went into his bag, the hurt eased, and Rasp swore to never do it again ¡ª at least until the next opportunity presented itself. It¡¯d gotten to the point where he no longer paid attention to what he was stealing. His poor decisions, as they were wont to do, had come back to bite him in the ass. Trying to decipher what was stolen goods versus what was an unconscious fae cloaking its magic was going to be interesting.

    Priestess Oreword pulled Rasp to a stop without warning, allowing Bromm to shoulder past. The familiar jingle of iron keys echoed along the surrounding stone before another heavy door drew open.

    The chamber was unfathomably dark. A fact Rasp never thought he¡¯d be grateful for. The stale air grew colder as he passed through the doorway, noting how the flooring underfoot had shifted from crude rock to set tiles. There was something else about the room too. Something that set his senses on edge. The hairs on his arms raised on end in a manner that felt unrelated to the cold. A familiar sensation buzzed at the tip of each finger as he traveled deeper into the chamber.

    His memory flashed back to the night he, Hop, and Whisper had spent within the ghost village, and how it had felt to be near a harmony stone. This was similar, but ten times stronger. He didn¡¯t dare switch to his aura vision for fear of what he might see. The sheer power emitting from within the room would have been too much for his fragile sixth sense to take in.

    Father must have felt it too because the superstitious old codger leapt off Rasp¡¯s shoulder and fluttered back out the door, wishing Rasp a painless death.

    Un-fucking-believable. Rasp bit back every colorful expletive dancing on his curled tongue and gritted out a question directed at Bromm instead. ¡°Is there a harmony stone in here?¡±

    ¡°Yes. This chamber is a hallowed place of worship,¡± Bromm said, sealing the heavy door behind them. ¡°Priestess Oreword thought the stone¡¯s presence would help the Kriegaar feel at ease.¡±

    Ease was the last thing Rasp felt. He unlinked arms with the priestess and shuffled sideways until he found the wall with his outstretched hand. It was comprised of polished stone with unidentifiable markings etched along its surface. ¡°Your nameless beastie reached me through one of these stones. What¡¯s to stop it from using this one?¡±

    ¡°The chamber is charmed. The nameless one¡¯s power cannot reach here.¡±

    That made Rasp feel slightly better. He was still tracing the charms etched into the stone walls when Bromm¡¯s heavy footsteps approached from behind. Rasp turned the same moment a familiar pack was shoved into his open arms.

    ¡°Retrieve the Kriegaar,¡± Bromm said.

    ¡°You got a table or something I could work at? I mean, I could dump all this on the floor if you want, but that seems a tad unnecessary.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    Grumbling beneath his breath, the male dwarf took Rasp by the arm and led him to the far side of the room. Rasp made the mistake of not halting when his escort did and slammed his hip into a piece of heavy furniture. Gritting his teeth, he explored the area with his free hand, determining the object in question was a ceremonial table of some sort, fitted with a linen, unlit candles, and a pot of incense.

    Rasp set the pack onto the low table and began sorting its contents. He set the known items aside ¡ª his extra socks, gloves, and hat all went into a pile beside him, as did the tooth brush and tin cup, bowl, and folding knives. To his dismay, he didn¡¯t find any scraps of food as he rummaged through the remaining items. Maybe that was a good thing. He wouldn¡¯t have put it past Whisper to disguise themself as a piece of jerky. An interesting way to go though, eaten by your errant pupil.

    Only a handful of items remained. A smattering of jewelry he¡¯d probably pocketed with the intention of hocking the next time they were in a town; Faris¡¯s coin purse ¡ª which he didn¡¯t recall taking but wasn¡¯t out of the realm of possibility; and a bundle wrapped in cloth. Rasp placed the others off to the side as he unraveled the cloth with painstaking care. He felt a spark the moment he touched the object within. Rasp shook his head in disbelief as he ran his fingers from the base of the weighted pommel all the way to the tip of the dagger. Leave it to Whisper to transform into the one object he would grab in the heat of the moment.

    Is this really you? Rasp inquired.

    The dagger didn¡¯t respond. Either Whisper truly had fallen into a deep state of stasis or Rasp was simply the idiot talking to an inanimate object. He twirled the knife between his fingers, hoping today of all days wasn¡¯t the one he finally lost his pinky by being a show-off. ¡°I think this is it,¡± he said. ¡°So now what?¡±

    Bromm sounded further away than he¡¯d previously been. Likely due to the fact that Rasp was now openly wielding a weapon. ¡°I will deliver the Kriegaar to Priestess Oreword.¡±

    Bromm still wasn¡¯t making any effort to inch closer. Rasp suspected he knew why. With a sigh, he flipped the knife around and offered it hilt-first.

    ¡°I would prefer it if you set it down, actually.¡± Bromm added, mimicking the phrase Rasp had used earlier that day, ¡°No offense.¡±

    ¡°Offense taken.¡± Rasp lowered the blade onto the table and stepped away. For being fake, it sure felt like a damn good knife ¡ª well honed with a good grip and evenly balanced. If he wasn¡¯t partially convinced that the blade wasn¡¯t a fae trick, he would have considered keeping it. A myriad of intrusive questions flooded Rasp¡¯s thoughts as he sought the wall, giving Bromm space to work.

    Could he even kill with a knife that wasn¡¯t actually a knife? He thought back to all of those times when he and Whisper had gotten cornered in and how a decent sword would have made all the difference. Had his trainer been holding out on him all this time? Maybe if they both survived what was to come Rasp would get his chance to ask. Along with all sorts of other intrusive things such as: is it limited just to knives? Could you shapeshift into other inanimate objects? Like money? Could I use you to buy a decent cart? Wait, wait, wait, what if we make you the cart?

    Bromm collected the dagger and moved back across the room with it. Rasp heard the strike of a match a split second before a pale yellow light sprang to life. The flame moved downwards, igniting a cluster of candles that had been arranged onto the floor. Priestess Oreword lit a pot of incense as well, filling the chamber with a stifling cloud of sage, yarrow, and mugwort leaves.

    The unholy combination of dried herbs and tallow candles caused Rasp¡¯s eyes to water. The stench wormed its way up his nose, into his mouth, and down his throat, filling his lungs until those too burned with irritation. Rasp tugged his shirt over his nose and through his mouth, fighting the sudden urge to dry heave.

    If nothing else, at least the light from candles allowed him to make out what was taking place across from him. Sort of, anyway. Priestess Oreword¡¯s hazy shape knelt amongst her collection of candles. Her shadowy head bobbed up and down as she chanted. Her words were soft at first, but grew in volume until the entire chamber echoed with her spell. An icy prickle ran down the back of Rasp¡¯s neck as the priestess¡¯s power filled the room. Her magic was like a vacuum, pulling in every shred of warmth until the chamber was as cold as a root cellar in the dead of winter.

    Her chanting crescendoed as the yellow candles danced and flickered around her. An icy wind whipped across Rasp¡¯s face, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. As otherworldly as it was to feel a breeze within a fully enclosed room, he took it as a promising sign. Whisper¡¯s power was returning. Already, Rasp could see the yellow light of the candles had taken on a blue tint. The blue grew, until the entire room danced in its eerie glow.

    A burst of magic erupted at the center of the priestess¡¯s circle. Crackling, the electric blue glowed bright as day before it went out with a hiss, extinguishing the candles in a dramatic flourish. Aside from some coughing from the priestess, the area was deathly quiet. Rasp leaned forward, attempting to assess what was going on.

    He jumped in surprise when he felt tiny clawed feet scramble up his leg and onto his shoulder. A familiar furry body coiled itself around his neck. What have you done now?

    You mean besides saving your miserable life? Gods, you¡¯d think his mentor would be just a little bit more grateful to be alive and restored to good health. But no, straight into the accusations they went.

    You didn¡¯t save my life, little bird. She did.

    Does it really matter who did what? It was my idea, okay? Relax and let me handle this. Now that you¡¯re back to your old cheery self, we can get the fuck out of here.

    Yes! It very much matters!

    Rasp, taken aback by Whisper¡¯s unexpected anger, grew quiet. Obviously he¡¯d messed up somewhere. He just failed to see how or when it had happened.

    With a heavy sigh, Whisper kindly filled in the missing blanks for him. By removing the hex, little bird, I have now incurred a life debt. A life debt that I do not owe to you, but to the one who saved me.

    Oh fuck. He¡¯d forgotten all about the stupid rules fae had to adhere to. Rasp was aware that the dwarfs were watching them. He could feel their eyes locked on him, attempting to decipher what was happening. It was for this reason he continued to communicate through thought. Okay, but does she know that?

    It does not matter if she knows or not. My magic is bound to her until the debt is repaid.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    What did you promise them in exchange for removing the hex?

    So, long story, but they think you¡¯re the fabled warrior meant to save them from the nameless monster terrorizing their home.

    For fuck¡¯s sake. You brought me back from the dead just to watch me die again? What were you thinking?

    I was thinking, ¡®gee, it sure would be a shame if the person I am depending upon to teach me things up and dies!¡¯ I mean, you¡¯re alive now, aren¡¯t you? Shouldn¡¯t that be something to celebrate?

    In lieu of a reply, Rasp felt a set of needled teeth latch onto his neck. He slapped at the weasel curled around his shoulders, squawking, ¡°Biting is not how we celebrate!¡±

 214 - Practice Makes Perfect

    The old saying ¡®practice makes perfect¡¯ was a bald faced lie and whoever invented it deserved to be drawn and quartered. Practice did, in fact, not make perfect. Not when the practice involved forcing one¡¯s body through a cramped tunnel system made for those of a significantly smaller stature. In this case, practice meant prolonged torture because, no matter which way Oralia contorted her body, her aching joints protested by seizing up on her at every inconvenient opportunity.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Briony¡¯s disembodied voice echoed along the tunnel from up ahead.

    ¡°I did not say anything,¡± Oralia managed through gritted teeth.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I heard you muttering something under your breath. Was it ¡®I hate this, I hate this, I hate this¡¯ again? Or have you already moved on to something more colorful?¡±

    The yellow light provided by Briony¡¯s lantern glowed faintly from beyond the next bend. It didn¡¯t move, which meant the little faun had stopped to wait for her. Oralia watched the light as she wormed her way through the tight passage, praying Briony stayed where she was and didn¡¯t backtrack in her direction. Coated in sheen of sweat and dirt, with her shoulders wedged tight against the narrow walls, Oralia was a sight too humiliating to behold.

    ¡°Must be a trick of the senses.¡± Oralia unwedged one shoulder with great difficulty. She sank lower to the ground and crawled forward on her stomach, inching her way free one arm length at a time. ¡°That is known to happen deep underground. They say your senses start to turn on you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re twenty feet below the surface,¡± Briony snorted.

    Briony¡¯s information only added insult to injury. A meager stretch of dirt was all that stood between Oralia and her ability to walk unobstructed. How utterly cruel. And yet, ditching the underground tunnel system in favor of walking would have come with its own problems. Immediate arrest and or death, namely. As those options were slightly less favorable to crawling on her hands and knees, Oralia grudgingly stuck to the low, cramped passages of Lonebrook¡¯s underground tunnels.

    With one last twist, Oralia freed her upper body from the narrow passage and dragged herself, hand over hand, until the tunnel widened enough for her to change positions. She gathered her stiff legs beneath her and rose. She staggered along with her head bent down to avoid scraping the ceiling, mindful not to brush the walls as she walked. Walking with a hunch certainly beat crawling on her belly, but not by much.

    The yellow glow of Briony¡¯s lantern grew brighter as Oralia rounded the final corner. ¡°You made it,¡± the faun congratulated. ¡°For a moment there I was worried I was going to have to dig you out.¡±

    Oralia ran a calloused hand over her warm forehead, groaning, ¡°Have I told you how much I hate this?¡±

    ¡°Repeatedly,¡± Briony said. ¡°Which is usually when I remind you that you didn¡¯t have to come. You could have sent one of the others.¡±

    ¡°I find the best way to know what is truly going on is to see it for myself.¡± It was a poor excuse and Oralia knew it.

    As did Briony, judging from the slow shake of her horns. ¡°Right.¡± The brown and tan faun started walking again. ¡°You¡¯re here because you were the best one for the job. Definitely doesn''t have anything to do with that makeshift army you¡¯ve got holed up at my place, all sitting on their hands, waiting for you to tell them what to do.¡±

    ¡°Army?¡± It was Oralia¡¯s turn to scoff. ¡°We barely have the numbers to qualify as an angry rabble.¡±

    It had been a week since Lingon and Rali left to solicit help from their closest neighbors. Oralia had not yet heard from either, but she herself was making minor progress elsewhere. Like Briony, there were others that lived on the outskirts of the village and had managed to escape the realm¡¯s net. They were mostly farmers and a few woodsmen, but Oralia was not in a position to be picky. She accepted whatever help was offered.

    Down to just two trained fighters, Oralia had left Mul and Dewpetal in charge of drills while she went with Briony to investigate the structure being erected in the village square. No one had been able to confirm what it was so far. Worse yet, Briony¡¯s primary contact, a woodcutter by the name of Ellery, had failed to make their last meeting. With rumors circulating and their usual contacts haven fallen eerily silent, Oralia decided it was time she and Briony investigated the matter themselves ¡ª even if it meant doing so from a distance.

    There were no markers underground to offer direction, but it was of no matter to Briony. She walked with the sort of confidence that suggested she could have found her way through the intricate tunnel systems with her eyes closed. After a few more disorientating twists and turns, the faun stopped at the base of a wooden ladder, announcing they¡¯d arrived at their final destination.

    ¡°Ready to breathe fresh air again?¡± the faun asked in what might have been a halfhearted attempt at positive motivation.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Oralia kept her thoughts to herself as she eyed the exit warily. She¡¯d developed a deep distrust of rickety ladders since having arrived in Lonebrook, and this one¡¯s half-rotted appearance was doing little to put her fears aside.

    ¡°Seen that look before.¡± Briony hung the lantern from the hook on the wall for safekeeping before starting the climb. ¡°The usual system, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. And thank you.¡± Oralia watched the faun¡¯s stocky form scurry up the ladder with a nimbleness that was typically reserved for squirrels. Their ¡®usual system¡¯ involved keeping Oralia¡¯s feet safely planted on solid ground until absolutely necessary. Briony would ascend first, throw open the hatch, and then signal for her once confirming the area above was clear.

    The imitated coo of a ringneck dove indicated that Briony had accomplished her portion of the system faster than usual. Oralia tried not to take issue with that as she slung one heavy foot onto the lowest rung of the ladder and tested her weight against it. Despite its decrepit appearance, the wood held strong. With her fortune, it would remain intact until about the halfway mark. Maybe a little higher if she was truly lucky.

    ¡°You will not drop, you will not drop, you will not drop,¡± she repeated to herself as she climbed, not entirely sure if she was speaking to herself or the ladder. Heights had never bothered her much before, but the combination of tall ladders, tight spaces, and being stuck underground seemed to have taken its toll on her formerly steely nerves. The fact that she stood to lose more than just her own life in the event of a fall likely had something to do with it as well.

    Not the time, she told her brain. For the first time in forever, her mind obeyed and all thoughts concerning the growing life inside of her were dutifully shoved aside. Climbing was Oralia¡¯s sole focus. Gradually, one rung after another, she hauled her worn body all the way to the top and through the narrow hatch at the end.

    Oralia¡¯s efforts were rewarded by the cool kiss of fresh air and waning sunlight.

    ¡°I commend your lack of cursing.¡± Her cheeky companion greeted her arrival with a smirk.

    ¡°It helped that the ladder maintained its structural integrity this time.¡± A thick carpet of moss and wet grass lined the forest floor at their feet. Oralia briefly considered flopping down and allowing the dampness to cool her overheated skin. Alas, with the sun already dipping beyond the horizon, there simply wasn¡¯t time. Not to mention that Briony would never take Oralia seriously again if she succumbed to such childish impulses.

    ¡°Ready?¡± the faun said.

    Oralia tore her gaze from the inviting ground with a nod of her head. ¡°Ready.¡±

    Briony plucked a blade of grass and chewed it as she assumed the lead once more. Unlike Oralia, the faun had no difficulty finding her way through a forest where every tree looked damn near identical to its neighbors. Oralia stuck close, knowing she¡¯d never find her way out again if she were to lose her guide. They were a ways outside of town, using the surrounding woods for cover. The realm patrols didn¡¯t venture far from the main road anymore ¡ª likely due to the fact that whenever someone did, they never returned.

    ¡°It took me a while to find this place,¡± Briony whispered as she walked. Even without the threat of eavesdroppers, whispering seemed to be the sensible thing to do. ¡°One of the original founders of the village used to live there. The eccentric type, apparently. Over the generations the family gave up on maintaining the place and moved elsewhere. Wildfire took out the main structures, but the old pigeon tower is still standing.¡±

    ¡°The what tower?¡±

    ¡°Pigeon tower.¡± Briony shrugged. ¡°I told you, eccentrics. Anyway, there¡¯s a stairway built into the outside that leads to the roof. Seemed stable enough.¡±

    ¡°Briony, I mean this in the best way, but I do not think I have ever met a faun like you.¡±

    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    The two-faced lying, smuggling, and callus killing immediately sprang to mind. Fauns were supposed to be a peaceful species. They came to war when the horns called, sure, but most didn¡¯t have the stomach for bloodshed. Even Faris, whom Oralia had come to know over their time together, looked like he would have rather been just about anywhere else most of the time. Not Briony, though. She seemed quite content to be right smack dab in the middle of danger.

    That felt entirely too personal to share so Oralia offered something more practical. ¡°It was my understanding that fauns avoid heights and yet, here you are, climbing crumbling towers without hesitation.¡±

    ¡°Climbed?¡± Briony twisted her head around at Oralia, still chewing the blade of grass sticking out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I climbed the damn thing. Oh no, no, no. I just threw a bunch of rocks at it.¡±

    ¡°...You threw rocks at it?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Didn¡¯t fall, either. Means it¡¯s stable, right?¡±

    Oralia¡¯s eyes grew wide as her heavy footsteps slowed to a stop. It had taken all manner of reassurance to convince Sascha not to accompany her on the scouting mission. Climbing an ancient pigeon tower seemed like the sort of thing he would have put his foot down over. Was this a lost cause? Would it have been better to turn back now, before curiosity got the better of her? Gods dammit, she¡¯d gone all this way, too! So many miles of crawling underground all for no¡ª

    ¡°Oralia.¡± Briony¡¯s voice took on a serious nature. ¡°That was a joke.¡±

    ¡°It was?¡± She failed to see the humor in the jest, but that may not have been the humor¡¯s fault.

    ¡°I was making a jab at you. Of course I tested the stairs. How else would I have known we could see the village square from the top?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Gods, it was times like these that Oralia yearned for her old team. Even if she didn¡¯t understand the joke, someone would explain it to her. Eventually. Perhaps Briony would be kind enough to extend a similar courtesy. ¡°What is humorous about falling through crumbling stairs?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wound so tight, is all. I was just trying to loosen some of¡± ¡ª Briony made a vague gesture with her fingers in Oralia¡¯s direction ¡ª ¡°this.¡±

    Think of a joke. Think of a joke. Think of a joke.

    ¡°Maybe I like it tight.¡±

    Fuck. Not that one.

 215 - A Statement

    Oralia had never been successful at joke-telling. Her sense of comedic timing and ability to ad lib on the spot were not so much undeveloped as they were nonexistent. It didn¡¯t help that on the few occasions she ventured out of her comfort zone, her efforts were rarely recognized as humor. Today was the exception. For what might have been the first time in her life, Oralia not only delivered a joke with the appropriate timing, but somehow managed to stick the landing as well.

    Not in the way she intended, of course.

    ¡®Maybe I like it tight.¡¯ Good gods, Oralia! Could you have said anything any worse had you tried?

    Unfortunately, it was too late to take it back. Briony had already heard. The faun¡¯s upper teeth were sunk deep into her lower lip in an attempt to stifle the snorts of laughter bubbling up from within her chest. Briony¡¯s willpower gave out almost immediately and she doubled over, holding her sides as tears streamed down her face.

    If nothing else, at least Sascha would get a kick out of it later. Provided Oralia recovered enough of her dignity to tell him, that is. With a strained smile that said ¡®yes, I know what I just said and I undisputedly meant it, too¡¯, Oralia stepped around Briony and continued onward. She had no idea where she was going, but far, far away seemed as good of a direction as any. Briony would compose herself in due time and correct their trajectory as needed. At least Oralia hoped so. Judging from the laughter growing fainter with each step, there was a chance Oralia would be traversing alone for the foreseeable future.

    Dammit.

    A mere matter of strides later and Oralia had already lost sight of her guide. She backtracked, forced to rely on her sense of sound to guide her. Briony was as Oralia had left her, still hunched in half, holding her sides as she shook with mirth.

    It wasn¡¯t that funny. Oralia folded her arms with a sigh. ¡°Are you coming or not? It will be nightfall soon.¡±

    Briony could barely stand on her quivering legs. She outstretched her arms in Oralia¡¯s direction, gasping, ¡°I can¡¯t walk. Carry me.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s your fault!¡±

    ¡°Lower your voice.¡± Not necessarily because Oralia expected anyone to be out this far, but because doing so had the potential to end the conversation sooner.

    Still fighting a fit of giggles, Briony swung one cloven hoof in front of the other as she stumbled forward through the tangled undergrowth, drunk on mirth. ¡°You know,¡± she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. ¡°I think I¡¯m starting to see it now.¡±

    Silence, Oralia decided, was the only way forward. Perhaps if she refused to partake in the conversation, Briony would let it die a natural death.

    The little faun gave Oralia¡¯s forearm a reassuring pat as she staggered past. ¡°This whole time I¡¯ve been thinking you¡¯re some stuffy old battle-ax, but you have a fun side, don¡¯t you? Only, you like to pretend you don¡¯t. So you surround yourself with degenerates so nobody notices.¡±

    ¡°You got all of that from one bad joke?¡± Oh dear. The hormones raging through her system were making her transparent. Nobody had any right to be able to see through her so clearly. ¡°I think you may be reaching a little.¡±

    Briony plowed on ahead with a newly recovered sense of balance. ¡°Nope. I definitely see it now. There won¡¯t be putting you back in that box. One could almost say it¡¯s too tight for you now?¡±

    Oh, for the love of gods. Oralia followed Briony¡¯s path with a despairing shake of her head. ¡°I will not be living this down anytime soon, will I?¡±

    ¡°To be fair, I¡¯m just doing what I was told. Didn¡¯t expect it to be this fun, though. So I¡¯ve got that going for me, at least.¡±

    Doing what she was told? Oralia chewed on this as she ducked to avoid the low hanging bows of black spruce. The answer, she realized, was obvious. She uttered the name through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to slam her fist into the nearest tree. ¡°Ralizak.¡±

    ¡°She had concerns that without her around you would ¡ª now how did she put it? It was rather graphic, if I recall.¡±

    ¡°There is no need to share.¡±

    Briony did so anyway, with great relish. ¡°Reinsert the stick up your ass? Something along those lines, anyway.¡±

    What a lovely sentiment. Oralia would be sure to thank her lieutenant properly by demoting Rali the moment she returned. Unless of course Rali returned with an army, in which case Oralia would have to settle for a stern brow-beating. No, she could do better than that. Forget the demotion, Oralia would hit her where it really hurt: a promotion. It was perfect! Rali avoided responsibility at all costs. She would despise the extra authority with every delinquent bone in her body.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    The surrounding landscape changed as Oralia followed her guide, silently plotting her revenge. The trees were shorter, as though they¡¯d regrown over the past decade or so. Remnants of hand-built structures started to crop up amongst the tangled overgrowth as well. A portion of a fence here, a moss-covered retaining wall there, a raised garden bed overrun with dandelions up ahead. The slope of the terrain shifted, rising into a steep fern-covered hill. They passed several skeletal remains of burnt buildings as they climbed ¡ª all of which were now rotted and adorned with a variety of moss and fungi.

    Oralia reached the top of the hill breathless from exertion. Much unlike Briony, who appeared utterly unaffected by the strenuous climb. The faun pointed across what might have once been a well-tended courtyard. ¡°There¡¯s our lookout point.¡±

    The stone pigeon tower was nearly indistinguishable from its dim surroundings thanks to a generous tangle of wild ivy. It was the only structure on the property untouched by ruin. Having withstood the test time, fire, and abandonment, the tower was a testament to its craftsmanship. As Oralia neared, throat tightening at the sight of the crumbling stone staircase that spiraled around the exterior, she hoped said craftsmanship could withstand the full weight of an orc as well.

    Briony ascended first. Her hooves scraped for traction against the worn stone as she moved up the spiraling staircase at a snail¡¯s pace. Oralia appreciated the lack of rush as it gave her the time necessary to consider each step carefully. The ivy was thick and slippery. A single misstep was all that separated her from a gruesome fall.

    The last of the waning light dipped beyond the western horizon and the sky grew dark. Patches of the star-speckled sky peeked through the interlaced canopy overhead. The moon was but a sliver. Its pale glow was too weak to light the way. Unequipped with night vision, Briony was forced to forfeit the lead at the halfway mark. Oralia took charge from there, offering both her hand and directions as needed.

    It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d reached the final steps that Oralia realized there was no roof. The top of the pigeon tower had been left open to the elements, allowing for its feathery occupants to come and go freely. There was belvedere across from her, located on the opposite end, but the only way to reach it was via a narrow stone platform that jutted out precariously over the rim of the open aviary. It had possessed handrails at one point. Naturally, those had been worn away by the elements, much like the platform itself.

    Sensing Oralia¡¯s hesitation, Briony offered an uncharacteristic word of encouragement. ¡°It¡¯s not going to fall.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± Was she stalling? Absolutely. But for good reason! Death by pigeon tower was such a stupidly memorable way to go. Oralia wanted to be remembered for her actions, good and bad, not for being the idiot who fell to their death after slipping on bird poo!

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Briony replied a little too honestly. She could have at least made something up to settle Oralia¡¯s nerves. ¡°But it hasn¡¯t fallen yet and we¡¯re not exactly flush with other options here.¡±

    Oralia still did not find this a good enough reason to sidle out onto the rickety platform of slippery death.

    ¡°Alright look, if you die, I¡¯ll spin a story, yeah? It wasn¡¯t a fall that got you, it was something better. More memorable. Death by bear mauling, or what have you.¡±

    Oddly, Briony¡¯s offer made her feel slightly better. That or the last of Oralia¡¯s sanity had finally thrown in the towel. Cautiously, one slow step at a time, she edged out across the platform, trying not to gag at the rancid smell emitting from the inside. It held strong, fortunately, allowing Oralia to reach the much sturdier belvedere on the other side. Briony made it across safely, too, in half the time it had taken Oralia.

    Oralia had to admit, putrid bird shit aside, the tower did make for an ideal lookout. Built atop one of the hills overlooking the village, she could make out each individual home situated in the valley below. Had there been sunlight to aid her vision, she might have even been able to count the number of guards patrolling the roadways. The village square stood out at its center, a distinct patch of nothing amongst a sea of straw-thatched roofs.

    Oralia extended her hand in Briony¡¯s direction expectantly. ¡°The spyglass?¡±

    The faun dutifully produced the item from the pouch strapped to her side. She hovered close, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other as she waited for Oralia¡¯s assessment. ¡°They¡¯d just started construction last time I was up here. Couldn¡¯t tell what it was then.¡±

    Oralia lifted the spyglass to her right eye. The village square came into focus, as did the structure erected at its center. Her stomach dropped.

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± All former traces of humor bled out from Briony¡¯s voice in an instant. ¡°I can tell by your face. What is it?¡±

    ¡°Gallows.¡± Not just a simple double post and beam setup, either. Someone had gone through the effort of constructing an elaborate design, complete with stairs, trapdoors, and enough space to execute a dozen prisoners at once. It was not any ordinary gallows, it was a statement from Geralt Lazuli himself and it said: I built this all for you.

    ¡°...But¡­but Ellery would have told me. He wouldn¡¯t have let this happen without¡­¡± Briony¡¯s words failed her, momentarily, before she picked up again, searching for an alternate explanation. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Briony.¡± Oralia collapsed the spy glass as the churning in her stomach doubled. The words were like hot bile on her tongue. ¡°There are two villagers hanging from it. One of which is Ellery.¡±

    ¡°Oh gods,¡± the faun whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

    ¡°Did Ellery know about the tunnels?¡±

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t think so.¡± Briony lifted her trembling chin as tears streamed down her cheeks, searching Oralia¡¯s face with wild desperation. Briony¡¯s glassy eyes grew wide and rimmed in white. ¡°But he knew about my cottage.¡±

    The queasiness in Oralia¡¯s gut solidified into a cold lump of ice. Ellery may not have known about the tunnel systems, but it didn¡¯t matter how Briony was getting to and fro if there wasn¡¯t a safehouse to return to. Even trained soldiers cracked under the pressure of torture. There was no reason to expect an innocent villager to fare any better. The realm would have squeezed Ellery for every drop of information he possessed, including the location of their hideout.

    Briony was already scurrying back across the platform for the stairs. ¡°We need to get back! We have to warn the others before it¡¯s too late.¡±

 216 - Den Brother

    The harsh trill of a goblin pipe rang out across the endless expanse of empty flat land before the tune died away, carried off by the wind. Blessed silence returned. For a few lovely seconds, anyway, before the stupid pipe-player realized his message was being willfully ignored.

    ¡°Oi!¡± The stranger¡¯s reedy voice shouted over the shifting sway of the tundra grass, shrill enough to startle a flock of nesting birds from their evening roosts. ¡°You¡¯re seriously not going to answer, you greedy little prick? I¡¯m not going to let one measly orc get between me and my kin. Just you wait and see!¡±

    ¡°Kin?¡± Daana repeated in astonishment. Her brown eyes grew large and wide, like sad dinner plates with no munchies on them. The elf¡¯s accusing stare settled over Snag, pressing him closer to the ground under its weight. ¡°What¡¯s he mean by kin, Snag?¡±

    His instincts were to run, but that didn¡¯t seem very fair to either of his companions, both of whom were watching him like hungry hawks. Snag wrapped his bony arms around his leather cuirass and hugged himself tighter. It didn¡¯t do anything to alleviate the gnawing dread in his belly, but it kept him from diving head first into the surrounding grass for cover. That was something, surely.

    ¡°You misheard,¡± Snag explained. ¡°He said, uh, kitten.¡±

    ¡°Kinky,¡± Ashwyn said around a generous mouthful of stew. If she was troubled by the approaching goblins, she didn¡¯t show it. The orc seemed more concerned with scarfing down her dinner than the possibility of being held up by an entire den.

    Snag wished he had that kind of confidence.

    ¡°That makes absolutely no sense, Snag.¡± Daana persisted as the reddish tinge in her cheeks spread to her pointed ears. ¡°He clearly said kin, not kitten. Is that a member of your family out there?¡±

    The reedy voice rang out once more. ¡°I¡¯m heading your way, you impudent little wretch!¡±

    Snag wished the ground would split open and gobble him whole. Or maybe it could take the approaching goblin instead. Yeah, that would be better. Two stones, one turkey sort of thing, or however that nonsensical human saying went. The voice emitting from between Snag¡¯s tightly clenched teeth was odd in that it didn¡¯t sound like his own. It was as if he¡¯d swallowed a tiny goblin and it was speaking from the lump currently lodged in his throat.

    ¡°Tell him I¡¯m not here.¡±

    Dried grass crunched underfoot as someone stomped purposefully in their direction. Daana had her head tilted to the side, listening as the approaching goblin grew unmistakably closer. ¡°Who is he?¡±

    ¡°Fangle Bogfoot,¡± Snag gave in with a low-pitched wail. ¡°My den brother.¡±

    Ashwyn had made good progress on dinner. Having already emptied her bowl, she was currently eyeing the leftovers still simmering over the fire. ¡°Before you clarify what in the seven realms a den brother is, does anyone else want more stew? Because I¡¯m about to polish it off.¡±

    ¡°How can you be hungry at a time like this?¡± Daana demanded.

    ¡°Shove off, Peaches. Some of us like to eat our feelings, okay?¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t hear the rest of their petty squabbling as his thoughts turned inwards. What was a den brother? Gods, you¡¯d think after having spent so much time with him, they would have bothered to learn a thing or two about goblins by now! Of course that would have meant being open about these sorts of things. Not really a possibility considering Snag fancied himself a steel trap rusted shut most days. Come to think of it, sharing such details probably would have made all of this a bit easier. Now he had to speed run them through a crash course on goblin culture before Fangle arrived.

    Shit.

    ¡°As soon as a goblin is old enough to walk on his own, he gets tossed into the same burrow as all the other babes born that same season,¡± Snag explained, still curled in the fetal position upon the ground. ¡°There were so many of us, it was impossible to keep straight who was actually related to you. Everyone who shared the same sleeping burrow automatically became your den kin. The shared space was supposed to make things equal, so that nobody got favored treatment. Except Fangle was the son of the den leader and he made sure everybody knew it. Little shit tormented me my whole life and never once got slapped down for it.¡±

    Daana stirred her stew thoughtfully. ¡°So Fangle was your childhood bully, got it. Why¡¯s he here?¡±

    Dammit. Why did she have to be so quick with the questions? Why couldn¡¯t she just sit in a hungry stupor like Ashwyn? Snag knew if he didn¡¯t provide an answer she¡¯d just keep at it. ¡°He¡¯s probably upset that I didn¡¯t stop in and offer my respects when we passed the ol¡¯ homestead about ten miles back.¡± Snag paused, before adding reluctantly, ¡°Apparently Fangle¡¯s the new den leader now.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°What? I purposely gave the den a three mile berth. I was hoping Fangle wouldn¡¯t catch wind of our presence until we had a decent head start.¡±

    Daana set her steaming bowl of chow by her feet and crossed her arms, pinning him beneath an unrelenting glare. ¡°Are you avoiding him because you¡¯re still scared of him? You, the most notorious goblin in all the land, famous for inciting civil war within the United Territories of the Realm?¡±

    Snag produced a knocking sound from within his chest. His attempt to deter Daana was wildly unsuccessful on the account that it sounded less like a threat and more like a dying shrew.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    The elf shook her head in disbelief. ¡°Seems like he should be the one afraid of you.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s annoying voice carried on the breeze, substantially closer than it had been the last time Snag had had the misfortune of hearing it. ¡°I¡¯m done waiting, Snaglebrag. And don¡¯t you get any bright ideas about fighting me, either. I¡¯ve got more than a hundred of our kin hunkered down in the grass waiting to jump in the moment you cause trouble.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s nostrils twitched as she tested the air. Stifling a snort, she reached for the stew pot and ladled herself another steaming portion. ¡°He¡¯s bluffing. I smell ten goblins, maybe twelve, tops.¡±

    ¡°Oh! An¡¯ one last thing,¡± Fangle called.

    Daana wriggled the tip of her pinky into her ear, wincing at the goblin¡¯s unnecessary volume. ¡°Does he always talk this much?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from you, Peaches.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Daana bristled at the accusation. ¡°At least I know something about volume control.¡±

    ¡°Snaglebrag! Oi, Snaglebrag! I¡¯m talking to you!¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Snag leapt to his feet and threw his clawed hands into the air in exasperation. ¡°What, Fangle? What more could you possibly have to say that can¡¯t be said to my face?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got your mam with me. So yeah. Don¡¯t get clever.¡±

    ¡°Mam?¡± Snag¡¯s eyes darted back and forth as he toyed with the ring strung through his lip, ruminating in his thoughts. Why did Fangle have Mam with him? By Snag¡¯s count, that old bag of bones should have been buried in the ground decades ago. There was something foul afoot here and he didn¡¯t like it.

    Snag smelled the goblins before he saw them. It was a familiar scent, a mix of bog laurel, smoke, and black river silt. It summoned an old squirmy feeling in the pit of his gut, something he thought had died years ago. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, Snag watched as the rustling grass parted, allowing a pair of goblins to pop into view.

    The first was Fangle. Snag hasn¡¯t seen the cuss in years but he looked virtually the same. Maybe a little older. Definitely more ugly. Fangle was a weathered, wiry goblin who¡¯s collection of bangles was rather impressive considering he was missing sizable chunks from both ears. He was similar in size to Snag. In fact, everything about him was suspiciously similar to Snag. From his jewels, to his tattoos, all the way down to his choice of clothing. All except for the bone-handled dagger, for Fangle had not just one, but three strapped to his person.

    Always overkill with this one.

    Fangle swaggered into the center of camp, moving to the tips of his toes in order to look down his nose at Snag. ¡°Still puny as ever, I see, Snaglebrag.¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Snag murmured, half listening. He tilted his head to get a better view of the second goblin. Mam appeared to be having trouble navigating the long grass. Her bent frame was obscured by a thick, woven shawl. The elderly goblin hobbled closer, stopping every few paces to fight the thorns that snagged her loose garments like cat claws to furniture.

    ¡°You sure went through a lot of trouble to drag an old lady out here, Fangle.¡± Snag spoke without lifting his gaze from the elderly goblin, who appeared to be losing the battle against the thorns.

    ¡°You never did have much respect for authority,¡± Fangle replied. ¡°I figured if there was anyone who¡¯d get through to you, it would be your dear ol¡¯ mam.¡±

    Snag¡¯s stare moved from the old goblin woman and settled over his den brother. ¡°That¡¯s not Mam.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean that¡¯s not your mam? Of course it is!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think I wouldn¡¯t recognize my own mother?¡±

    ¡°Well you have been away for some time,¡± Fangle said. ¡°People change as they age, you know. You certainly did. You¡¯re ugly as fuck as now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not my mam. The smell¡¯s wrong!¡± Mam¡¯s smell was that of sweaty sausages on a hot summer day. The elderly goblin across from him had a bitter fragrance, like crushed dandelion leaves.

    ¡°Oi!¡± Fangle twisted around in the direction of the elderly goblin, motioning for her to join them faster. ¡°I thought you said this tadpole was one of your brood.¡±

    ¡°I said it was possible! I had so many damn nippers, it¡¯s impossible to remember them all. Not without a good look at his face first.¡± The elderly female yanked at her skirts until the cloth tore free of the thistles ensnaring it. She stomped closer, huffing, ¡°I don¡¯t see why you couldn¡¯t have just brought him back to the den, Fangle. I can¡¯t walk a damn foot in this tall grass without getting hooked on something!¡±

    Not-Mam managed several steps before her foot caught on Ashwyn¡¯s alarm system and she went down in a tangle of twine and jingling bells. Neither Snag nor Fangle moved to assist her. Both remained stock-still, staring the other down, waiting to see who would break from the standoff first.

    ¡°You¡¯re both acting ridiculous.¡± Daana, bless her heart, shoved to her feet with a muttered curse and stomped over to help the flailing goblin. With a few twists and turns of the twine, the elf had Not-Mam untangled from the alarm system. Daana extended her hand to the elderly goblin. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Not-Mam stared at Daana¡¯s hand as if expecting it to bite her. ¡°What¡¯s she doing, Fangle? She want money?¡±

    Daana¡¯s insulted expression said everything her mouth didn¡¯t. ¡°No, I¡¯m helping you.¡±

    Unconvinced, Not-Mam uttered something in Laftak under the false assumption that Daana wouldn¡¯t understand.

    A smile tugged at the corner of Snag¡¯s mouth when Daana¡¯s hands shot to her hips in outrage. ¡°Excuse me?¡± the elf said, having the sense not to stomp her feet even though she looked like she really, really wanted to. ¡°How dare you! I¡¯m not planning to rob anyone!¡±

    Snag snickered at the older goblin¡¯s shock. ¡°What¡¯s there to steal? Those bangles of yours aren¡¯t even real gold anyway.¡±

    With a look that could have curdled a rock, Not-Mam grabbed Daana¡¯s hand and heaved herself upright. Sniffing her disapproval, she adjusted her skirts and stomped towards Snag and Fangle, grumbling, ¡°He¡¯d better hope he¡¯s not one of mine, else he¡¯s about to get his ears clipped.¡±

    Shoving Fangle aside, Not-Mam took Snag¡¯s face in her claws and twisted it this way and that, squinting one eye as she peered up at him. Snag¡¯s weak protests went ignored. With a calculating sniff, she released him, turning back to Fangle. ¡°Not mine.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s expression fell. ¡°What do you mean he¡¯s not yours?¡±

    ¡°Not mine,¡± Not-Mam repeated. She mistook Fangle¡¯s dejected expression for confusion and began listing all the different ways to make her point, if not clearer, than certainly more graphic. ¡°I¡¯m not his mam. He¡¯s not my runt. Didn¡¯t slip from my loins in a puddle of¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know what it means!¡± Fangle cried.

    ¡°Good. Not as stupid as you look then.¡± Not-Mam wrinkled her brow as she studied Snag one last time. With a huff of disapproval, she turned and shuffled over the cook pit to warm her hands by the fire. ¡°He is blood, though. Got the family nose. Sister¡¯s brood, probably. She only ever birthed scrawny ones.¡±

    ¡°Bet you¡¯re feeling mighty stupid now, aren¡¯t you, Fangle?¡± Snag crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly.

    ¡°Oh shut up!¡± the other goblin said. ¡°This doesn¡¯t change anything, Snaglebrag. We¡¯ve still got business, me and you. And I ain¡¯t leaving until it¡¯s settled.¡±

 217 - Bad Name

    Snag didn¡¯t align himself with any of the almighty deities believed to control the reins of fate. It was all tall tales as far as he was concerned. Even if such beings existed, it wouldn¡¯t have changed his stance on the matter. No god or goddess had ever granted him any favors, after all. Snag had been born with smarts, not brawn, into a goblin clan that considered intelligence synonymous with trying to rise above one¡¯s social station. He¡¯d learned to fight the hard way, sure, but skills didn¡¯t make up for a puny body. Physically speaking, Snag made a plucked chicken look formidable in compassion.

    Fortunately for him, Fangle wasn¡¯t much bigger. Still, a little height would¡¯ve gone a long way in the intimidation department. Snag widened his stance, flashing Fangle a cocky smile. ¡°Are you finished playing games yet?¡±

    ¡°I playing ain¡¯t games, Snaggy. I told you, this is business.¡±

    ¡°Sure it is.¡± Snag added insult to injury with the inclusion of a dramatic eye roll. He hoped Daana saw, mostly because he¡¯d learned it from her. ¡°This is the whole reason I went around the den, you know. So I wouldn¡¯t have to put up with your nonsense.¡±

    ¡°Put up with us?¡± A tint of red flushed across Fangle¡¯s weathered face. ¡°It¡¯s us who¡¯ve been putting up with you! Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you caused us? Abandoning your family was bad enough, but then you became a traitor, too. And, to top it all off, you went and joined the other side! You gave us a bad name. The other dens refused to do any trade with us on account of you.

    Snag opened his mouth to speak but Fangle wasn¡¯t finished.

    ¡°And now, the moment you finally do something right, get your name cleared, raise the status of the goblin across the land, you refuse to come home! We¡¯re the laughing stock of the community. Do you know how that makes us look? We were screwed with you and now we¡¯re screwed without you. And you couldn¡¯t even be bothered to stop in and throw us a bone, eh? Selfish little maggot.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Snag reached up and scratched the back of his head as his former nerve emptied like a popped wine skin. However he was expecting this confrontation to go, it was certainly not in this direction. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°Damn right you should be!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize.¡± Snag¡¯s voice was small.

    ¡°Yeah, you didn¡¯t. Did you?¡±

    Snag gestured to Not-Mam halfheartedly. ¡°Can we cut the theatrics? You don¡¯t need to be dragging the elderly out into the wilderness just to make me feel guilty. What is it you want? It¡¯s money, innit? It¡¯s always money.¡±

    ¡°Money?¡± Insult danced across Fangle¡¯s red face. ¡°I don¡¯t want money!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°No! I want you, numbskull. Forget your fucking money. Been in the realm so long you¡¯ve started to think like one of them, eh? No, dingus, I want you back in our den and at my side. My number two.¡±

    Snag¡¯s gaze darted to Ashwyn and Daana. The former was too preoccupied with guarding her dinner to be paying attention, but Daana had heard every word. Her eyes screamed ¡®don¡¯t you dare¡¯ while her mouth, oddly, said nothing at all on account of it being snapped shut. He sort of whished her eyes would snap shut, too, so she¡¯d stop looking at him like a kicked puppy.

    Snag turned back to Fangle with a sigh. ¡°And this was your elaborate scheme? Dragging an old lady who ain¡¯t even my mam out here to guilt me into coming back home?¡±

    ¡°Told him it was stupid plan,¡± Not-Mam muttered. The elderly goblin was crouched alongside the fire, rubbing her gnarled hands together for warmth as she edged unmistakably closer to the simmering cook pot. A loud snap of Ashwyn¡¯s tusks convinced her that whatever was in the pot wasn¡¯t worth losing a hand over.

    Fangle didn¡¯t notice. He slung his scrawny arm over Snag¡¯s shoulder and pulled him close. ¡°Your influence is in your name, Snaglebrag. Everyone knows about the former traitor turned hero. You pitted the United Territories of Realm against itself! Tore it apart from the inside. I want you by my side and then, together, we¡¯re going to rub in all the other dens¡¯ faces. We¡¯ll become the most powerful clan in the land! Those who scorned us will come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.¡±

    Fangle let the idea settle before prompting a response out of Snag with a gentle shake. ¡°Sounds good, doesn¡¯t it? I can see my brilliance has kindled the fire in your eyes. What do you say?¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t sound so sure himself. ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Fangle¡¯s ears went stiff as a board. ¡°What do you mean no? A goblin¡¯s nothing without his family. You of all people should know that by now. How you managed to scrape by on your own in the territories is beyond me.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Snag said. ¡°I made a new family.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s accusatory stare immediately settled over Daana and Ashwyn. ¡°I know what family is, brother. An orc and an elf do not a family make.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°There¡¯s a dwarf too. And another orc and¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll get you a wife!¡± Fangle announced as if the idea had just come to him and was worth shouting at the top of his lungs.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want a wife.¡±

    The other goblin scrunched his face up at Snag¡¯s protest. ¡°Well, I suppose we could arrange for a husband. It¡¯s not really the done thing in these parts, but if it means keeping you happy, I s¡¯ppose we could try to be a bit more ¡ª how do the realm folk put it? Accepting?¡±

    Snag¡¯s voice was flat and did not match the sudden impulse he had to slam his head against something solid. ¡°That¡¯s lovely, Fangle. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Not as lovely as your future husband will be. I promise you that, Snaglebrag. We¡¯ll get you a real looker.¡±

    ¡°It was sarcasm, idiot!¡±

    Fangle¡¯s shoulders lowered as he rolled this thought around in his head. ¡°What¡¯s sarcasm?¡±

    ¡°When you say something you don¡¯t mean.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that just lying?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s different, because it¡¯s supposed to be funny. Like a mean joke. Gah ¡ª I don¡¯t have time to explain this to you!¡± They¡¯d wandered so far off course, Snag feared he didn¡¯t know how to get the conversation back on the right track again. Not that he necessarily wanted to finish his conversation with Fangle, but there were a few items worth setting straight. ¡°I don¡¯t want a husband, alright? Or a wife. No spouse. No mate. No concubines.¡±

    Another brilliant idea lit within Fangle¡¯s yellow eyes and he opened his mouth to deliver it.

    Snag took some small joy in cutting him short, shouting, ¡°No puppies either!¡±

    ¡°Not even a nice juicy one?¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°Well what do you want then?¡±

    ¡°Nothing! I don¡¯t want any part of this, Fangle. I¡¯m sorry you all suffered because of me, but I¡¯m not coming home. I got things to see, people to do.¡± From the corner of his eye, Snag saw Daana¡¯s eyes bulge, proving yet again that he should not have trusted idioms from a Stoneclaw. Daana desperately wanted to say something. Her face practically screamed ¡®you¡¯re saying that wrong¡¯ but she had the sense to keep it to herself. There was a time and place for corrections and the middle of a damn standoff was definitely not it.

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Fangle protested, sounding just like the snot-nosed brat Snag had grown up with all those years ago.

    ¡°No, Fangle. Being driven from your home¡¯s not fair. Being kicked out of your land for trying to help a stranger isn¡¯t fair. Saying goodbye to your closest friend when you knew full well it should have been you that died isn¡¯t fair!¡± Crap. Snag hadn¡¯t meant for that last one to slip out. Regardless, he couldn¡¯t seem to stop the hot torrent of excrement bubbling its way up his gullet and out his mouth. ¡°So don¡¯t you tell me about life being fair because I¡¯ve lived it! Nothing has ever been fair for me. And I¡¯ll be damned before you march on in here and demand what you think you deserve from me too, alright?¡±

    ¡°Snagle¨C¡±

    ¡°Shit, Fangle! That¡¯s all you¡¯re ever getting from me!¡± The rage boiled over inside of him and Snag suddenly had the insatiable need to kick something over and over. Even in the throes of madness, the logical portion of his brain decided against taking his anger out on Fangle. He chose a hapless shrub instead, and kicked and kicked and kicked until the shrub was nothing more than a few bare branches sticking out of the ground. Snag stared at it, chest heaving, ignoring the twitch in his lower eyelid. He felt simultaneously better and burdened with the insatiable urge to do it all over again.

    ¡°Snag?¡±

    Daana¡¯s voice snapped him from his mania. Snag¡¯s startled gaze shifted back to Fangle and the elderly goblin. Both were frozen in place staring at him as he¡¯d sprouted a second head. Crap on a cracker. This was not going at all as he intended. So much for cool, collected Snag. He was acting like a downright monster.

    ¡°Fangle,¡± Snag started.

    ¡°I won¡¯t bother you no more,¡± Fangle murmured. ¡°This was a stupid idea anyway. Shouldn¡¯t have come here. Don¡¯t know what I was thinking.¡±

    This was what he wanted, wasn¡¯t it? Fangle was leaving empty-handed, having been bested by the more clever goblin. Snag should have been elated and yet, he didn¡¯t feel like it. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he settled on an answer which would have normally made him question his own sanity. ¡°Wait here.¡±

    Snag stomped away into the grass. Once certain no thieving sneaks were watching him, he dug up one of his money stashes. While time consuming, burying his wealth each night ensured that if anyone jumped them in the night, they would only make off with the handful of decoy change he kept in Wormy¡¯s saddlebag. Snag fished a small sack of coin from the hole before replacing the dirt back over the top.

    With his prize in hand, Snag trudged back to camp and jutted it at Fangle. ¡°Here. Take it.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s scowl darkened. ¡°I said I don¡¯t want your money.¡±

    ¡°You want me to snap at you again instead? Take it and go.¡±

    Reluctantly, the other goblin accepted it. ¡°Alright, but it was your idea.¡±

    ¡°It was.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye then. I guess.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want to¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    With one final confused look over his shoulder, Fangle took Not-Mam by the arm and led her away until both of their sinewy forms disappeared into the swaying tundra grass.

    With a disgruntled sigh, Snag dropped back onto the ground between his gobsmacked companions. Ashwyn had the cook pot sitting in the dirt between her legs, scraping the bottom clean with a wooden spoon. Wordlessly, she jutted the spoon in his direction, offering Snag the last bite of stew.

    Snag shook his head no, miserably.

    Daana tried the more personable approach. She reached out and touched his shoulder, asking, ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    What kind of question was that? Alright? How could he possibly be alright? Instead of facing his issues, he went and lost his temper and made a fool of himself. And then, when he could have just talked it out like damned adult, he took the coward¡¯s approach and gave Fangle a sackful of coin...

    ¡°Fuck me.¡± Snag raised his head as his inner thoughts transformed from misery to horror. ¡°I think I just got played. I handed that asshole a sack of money!¡±

    ¡°Thought that seemed out of character for you,¡± Ashwyn grunted, still bent on scraping the last bits of burnt supper from the bottom of the cast iron pot.

    ¡°That clever bastard! Why didn¡¯t one of you stop me?¡±

 218 - Poor Planning

    A tallow candle burned at the center of the small table, filling the room with the greasy undertones of rendered animal fat. The chamber was different from the one Rasp had awoken in. It was larger, for one, with enough bunks to sleep at least a dozen. Rasp¡¯s missing companions gradually trickled in, one by one. Once everyone was assembled, Priestess Oreword gave some congratulatory spiel and an offering of food, before she left with Whisper and Bromm to go over the details of the assignment. At the time, Rasp dared not join them ¡ª not with Whisper on the verge of taking his head off. But now, seated at the deathly silent table, barely able to breathe around the gradual tightening in his chest, he regretted staying just as badly.

    At least he knew where he stood with Whisper. The others hadn¡¯t uttered so much as a peep since learning their fate.

    Rasp stirred his food in silence, unable to stomach anything more than a single bite of the soft, yeasty mush. His stomach growled in protest but his will to eat was gone. How could he focus on something so trivial when Faris, Hop, and June were gathered around him, each one slowly coming to terms with the realization that they would never step foot on the surface again? The very thought made him want to disintegrate in a vat of his own stomach acid.

    Unlike Whisper, the others hadn¡¯t reacted to the news with screaming or biting. They sat quiet instead, allowing the mounting dread to grow so thick, it was physically painful. Rasp wished someone would yell, throw a fist, kick his head in maybe. Anything would have been better than the all-consuming silence.

    Father¡¯s blurry shape pitter-pattered towards him, talons scraping against the polished wood table as he went. The raven dipped his beak into Rasp¡¯s food and regretted it immediately. Father screeched in disgust and whipped his head back and forth, ridding his mouth of offensive flavor. His erratic movements succeeded in splattering the lukewarm mush over Rasp¡¯s face and down the front of his shirt.

    ¡°So melodramatic.¡± Hop¡¯s low voice mumbled from across the circular table. ¡°It doesn¡¯t taste that bad.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon? This shit tastes like a mushroom¡¯s butthole,¡± June disagreed.

    The tabletop lurched as Hop caught himself against it, beating his chest in what sounded like an attempt to loosen the mouthful of mush that¡¯d lodged itself down the wrong pipe. ¡°An apt comparison,¡± he managed between violent, hacking coughs.

    For whatever reason, Hop¡¯s polite attempt to not cough his breakfast back up in front of everyone only encouraged June¡¯s descriptive contributions. ¡°I will say this, it¡¯s not nearly as bad as the time I ate a nest full of snake eggs. Raw, mind you.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem entirely abnormal for a bear,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Who said anything about being a bear?¡±

    ¡°Dear gods. Tell me you were drunk.¡±

    ¡°I wish. Might have helped me forget all the squiggly bones getting caught in my throat on the way down.¡±

    Hop was back to making wet, heaving noises.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t even the worst part.¡± June sounded rather pleased with herself. Rasp may not have been able to witness the shit-eating grin spread across her face, but he heard it loud and clear. ¡°The whole thing left me as sick as a dog. I was laid up for three days. Had hot chunks blowing out of me from both ends like a brown fountain.¡±

    There was a metallic clatter as Faris dropped his spoon onto the table and pushed his bowl away in defeat. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but I think she might actually be worse than you.¡±

    It took Rasp several seconds to register that Faris was talking to him. ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°In all our time together, you never once compared yourself to a shit fountain.¡±

    ¡°I said brown,¡± June corrected, pausing to chew and swallow a mouthful of bitter mush. ¡°I am a lady, after all. Gotta leave some things to the imagination.¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t understand. Dread still hung in the air. They were still cursed to die a grisly death trying to defeat an unknown, powerful evil ¡ª because of him no less. He was the last person Faris should have wanted to talk to. In fact, he was surprised they were even letting him join them at the table at all. By all rights they should have kicked him out into the hallway to suffer alone like he deserved. And yet, his three former friends carried on as usual, as if he hadn¡¯t thrown away their lives in a reckless bid to outsmart their captors.

    Rasp¡¯s knee slammed into the table the moment Faris nudged his elbow. ¡°I¡¯m not going to repeat what you sister called the food,¡± the faun started.

    ¡°Mushroom butthole,¡± June gleefully obliged.

    ¡°But you get really cranky when you¡¯re hungry and I don¡¯t want to deal with that. So do us all a favor and eat something, yeah?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s voice caught in his throat before it wriggled free in the form of a hoarse squeak. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to make me spoon feed you, just know, I¡¯m not going to spare the dragon noises on account of there being company. You¡¯re getting the full experience.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t hold it back anymore. ¡°How?¡± Rasp blurted out, feeling the wild thoughts churning inside of him start to boil up and spill over like froth on an unwatched pot. ¡°How can you all just be okay with this? I fucked up and everyone¡¯s just acting like it never happened.¡±

    There was a stretch of silence that seemed to go for ages before Faris said, ¡°It was my stupid idea to come here. Not yours.¡±

    ¡°If we¡¯d done it my way, we would have already been dead by now,¡± June added. ¡°Granted, it would have been the most badass last stand ever. But dead is dead.¡±

    What followed could only be described as an awkward, purposeful pause. Rasp didn¡¯t understand its meaning. At least not until someone struck the table with the flat of their open hand, causing the furniture¡¯s stout legs to shudder in protest. ¡°Ahem,¡± June cleared her throat in an unsubtle manner.

    ¡°What?¡± Hop said. ¡°Why are you both looking at me like that?¡±

    ¡°This is the part where you say something disparaging about yourself,¡± Faris informed him.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    June helpfully provided the answer. ¡°Because even though Rasp may have been the one to strike the idiotic deal, it¡¯s not his fault he was put in that position. We all agreed to come here.¡± Hop must have needed more convincing, because she followed it up with something more likely to appeal to Hop¡¯s strong sense of self-preservation. ¡°Also it might boost our chances of survival if our second strongest player was fully functioning and not a sad shadow of a man wallowing in guilt. Just saying.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Hop said. He sounded torn, as if conflicted between doing what was best for the group and satisfying his incessant need to remain factual. ¡°In that case, I was foolish for listening to all of you then?¡±

    ¡°Well done,¡± Faris congratulated.

    ¡°There. See, little brother?¡± June said proudly. ¡°Everyone fucked up, not just you.¡±

    ¡°Some of us less so than others,¡± Hop muttered under his breath.

    They were letting him off the hook, just like that? Just as Rasp finally felt he was getting a grasp on the unspoken rules of friendship, something like this would come along and turn everything he thought he knew on its head. He had so many questions but he feared if he voiced them aloud, his friends would realize their error in judgment and take it all back.

    The start of a second emotional spiral was beginning to drag Rasp under when another nudge from Faris nearly knocked him from his chair. ¡°You really are stuck, aren¡¯t you? She just called you little and you didn¡¯t even rage about it.¡±

    Rasp lifted his head. ¡°She did?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only fair,¡± June replied. ¡°You are littler than me.¡±

    ¡°...I.¡± His eyes swept back and forth across the candle-lit table, unable to make out anything more than three obscure shadows. They were staring expectantly at him. He could feel it. Except he didn¡¯t know what they were expecting from him because none of this was going anything like it should have been.

    ¡°You?¡± Faris prompted.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Despite his efforts, Rasp still couldn¡¯t get out anything more than that single stupid word.

    ¡°Are angry!¡± The legs of June¡¯s chair scraped the tile floor as she leapt eagerly to her feet. ¡°I just called you little and now your blood is boiling with rage. Come at me, little brother. Let¡¯s see who can draw first blood!¡±

    Am so confused, his thoughts filled in the words his tongue could not. Rasp slid his chair back and stood, stumbling blindly across the dingy room. He found the exit with his foot first and, after a brief, frantic search, located the handle and yanked the door open.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± June shouted after him.

    ¡°I need some air,¡± was all he managed to get out before he slammed the door shut behind him. The nauseating brightness of the hallway was only made worse by his mounting panic. Rasp closed his eyes as he sank to the ground, arms wrapped around his chest so tight it was inhibiting his ability to breathe. The rapid drum of his heartbeat filled his ears until it drowned out all other sounds.

    Which was probably the reason he didn¡¯t hear the approaching guard¡¯s footsteps. Not even the yelling. Truth be told, he didn¡¯t even realize he was sharing the hallway with another person, not until they started nudging him the toe of their boot.

    Rasp smacked the bothersome boot away with a slap. ¡°Stop that! I¡¯m not running away, I¡¯m just¡­¡± He didn¡¯t have a good answer for that and, thus, let the sentence die on his lips unfinished.

    Good gods, he was running away, wasn¡¯t he? Maybe not from the nightmare of battling underground monsters, but his friends, at least, and their olive branch of undeserved forgiveness.

    The door opened and shut behind him. A set of clacking hoof steps approached, ignoring the angry shouts from the guard as the person they belonged to eased onto the floor next to Rasp. Rasp¡¯s heartbeat started to take off again. Forcing a slow breath, he drew his knees to his chest and cinched his arms tight around them.

    ¡°That was something,¡± Faris said, finally. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day you turned down a fight.¡±

    Rasp forced the words past the growing lump in his throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I was impressed with your restraint, actually.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯m not talking about the fight.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you being a dick about it?¡±

    ¡°Would that help?¡±

    Rasp realized it was probably meant as a rhetorical question but, nevertheless, he felt like some sort of verbal berating would actually make him feel better. Waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop was downright insufferable. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Faris sighed. It was a deep, bone-rattling sound. ¡°Two days ago I was on the verge of exhaustion, running from a group of witches who would have killed me the moment they caught up to us. My brilliant solution was to ignore common sense and take refuge in a haunted underground city. Where, after you single-handedly got us free of a deranged cult, I led us right into a nest of carnivorous plants. You¡¯re not being a dick to me about it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Doesn¡¯t feel great.¡±

    ¡°I,¡± Rasp started, feeling the words begin to form within his head. ¡°I think I get what you¡¯re saying now.¡±

    ¡°Good. Because I¡¯m trying not to fixate on it.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re right, by the way.¡± A small flicker of his old self returned as Rasp felt an involuntary smile tug at the corner of his downturned mouth. ¡°This is all your fault. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯d started to think otherwise.¡±

    ¡°What? No, that¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Say no more, Dingle. I heard your message loud and clear.¡± He turned and planted his hand on Faris¡¯s broad shoulder, fighting to keep the guilt from bleeding into his strained smile. ¡°I forgive you.¡±

    It was hard to tell given the obnoxious glow of the algae covered walls, but Rasp was pretty sure Faris was staring at him in what was surely heartfelt gratitude. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you decided not to be a dick about it.¡±

    ¡°You certainly don¡¯t make it easy for me.¡± Rasp slid his hand from Faris¡¯s shoulder and slumped back over his knees. ¡°Thanks for not being a dick, either. I don¡¯t know what I did to make you want to be my friend, but I thank the gods each and every day that you haven¡¯t come to your senses yet.¡±

    Apparently all the emotionally vulnerable crap was just as hard for Faris, because his response came in the form of a noncommittal grunt.

    Rasp preferred it that way. ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°We should probably go back inside the room. Our guard friend here doesn¡¯t look too happy.¡±

    Rasp tilted his head and squinted, realizing he¡¯d forgotten all about the guard. Having given up on the shouting, the dwarf¡¯s hazy shape loomed over them, muttering unintelligible things under his breath. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s a good start,¡± Rasp said. ¡°But I meant as in ¡®now what do we do to keep from dying¡¯?¡±

    Faris heaved to his feet, offering an entirely unhelpful solution. ¡°I suppose we could try the ¡®keep living¡¯ option.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an option?¡±

    The faun bent over and helped pull Rasp upright. ¡°Unfortunately it comes with the downside of having to pre-plan and think things through ahead of time. Finding out what sort of beast we¡¯re dealing with, for example, would be a step in the right direction. From there, we can discover potential weakness and determine a viable strategy for taking the beast down without getting anyone killed.¡±

    ¡°Disgusting. Who in their right mind would go through all that effort for something that may not even work?¡±

    ¡°People who fancy living, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Ugh.¡± Rasp shuddered. ¡°Next you¡¯ll be telling me you¡¯re one of those people.¡±

    ¡°I try to be when I can.¡±

    ¡°Tell you what, Dingle, you can do all the planning for the both of us. Just point me in the direction of the monster and tell me what to do.¡±

    Faris directed their steps back towards the room where the others were waiting. ¡°That is an example of poor planning.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re an example of poor planning.¡±

    The guard swung the door open in front of them. Faris led the way through, issuing one final sigh as the pair slipped from the bright-ass hallway into the dimly lit room that smelled like singed hog fat. ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that logic.¡±

 219 - Worm On A Hook

    Rasp was working through his second helping of yeasty mush when the heavy door creaked open and shut. A single pair of footsteps shuffled inside ¡ª reluctantly, judging by their slow, dragging steps. The individual hairs on Rasp¡¯s arm lifted, the same way they did right before a thunder and lightning storm. Considering there weren¡¯t many storms underground, the only other logical explanation was that the new arrival was Whisper and, more importantly, that their magic was stronger than it had been in months. Under normal circumstances, Rasp would have considered Whisper¡¯s revived strength a leg-up. Currently, however, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if said power was about to come crashing down on his head.

    Rasp took a breath to steady his nerves and focused on the surrounding details of the room to keep grounded. He heard June dozing on one of the bunks near the back. Her soft breaths were slow and steady. Hop and Faris were at the table. The former stood and started to clear away the breakfast dishes, either out of the incessant need to look busy or to make room for something.

    ¡°Are you finished with that, Rasp?¡± Hop asked.

    Rasp hugged the bowl to his chest, ignoring the impulse to hiss at the blurry hand that reached expectantly in his direction. ¡°Mine.¡±

    ¡°Welcome back,¡± Faris greeted Whisper. ¡°Did our captors give you reading material?¡±

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled in annoyance. ¡°I insisted upon it. They cannot expect me to vanquish a nameless abomination I know nothing about. At the very least, I¡¯d like to know what species of monster I¡¯ll be pitted against before it kills me.¡±

    ¡°Before it kills us.¡± Hop¡¯s assurance was meant to be a joke, but he flubbed the landing. The result was something far more ominous sounding. Probably didn¡¯t help that everyone in the room was already thinking it anyway.

    ¡°Is this all they had?¡± Faris was unable to mask the sting of disappointment from his voice. His chair squeaked in protest as he stood and pushed it out of the way, helping spread the research materials across the freshly cleared table. ¡°A couple of scrolls and a few journal entries?¡±

    ¡°These were the only things salvageable,¡± Whisper explained. ¡°Moisture got to the rest of it.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°Forgive me for asking the obvious.¡± Hop¡¯s burly shape returned to the table and filled the empty seat next to Rasp. ¡°But is there something preventing the inhabitants from simply leaving? Abandoning the haunted underground city seems like a far more sensible option than this.¡±

    ¡°You mean waiting around for a prophesied hero to randomly show up and save you from your problems isn¡¯t sensible?¡± Faris countered.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem, Hop,¡± Rasp said, scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon for last morsels of sustenance. It wasn¡¯t very enjoyable, but it was filling the empty void of his stomach decently well. Seeing as he wasn¡¯t sure whether or not this would be his last meal, he supposed he¡¯d at least make it count. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a fanatical cult. Can¡¯t reason someone out of a position they didn¡¯t reason themselves into.¡±

    Hop drummed his fingers against the table in thought. ¡°That¡¯s uncharacteristically deep of you, Rasp.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t credit me. I don¡¯t have the brains to string together that kind of philosophical horseshit. It was written on a slip of paper stuffed inside a cookie, remember? You read it to me. ¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. After I had to fight you to keep you from eating the paper.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to know I¡¯m not the only one who has to pry things out of your mouth,¡± Faris said in a tone dripping with envy.

    ¡°Now, now, Dingle, no need to be jealous. There¡¯s plenty of my mouth to go around.¡± Rasp tried to lick his spoon in a seductive manner but succeeded only in smearing a little bit of the foul mush across his nose.

    ¡°As loath as I am to agree with him,¡± Whisper¡¯s melodic voice cut in with the sharpness of honed steel as they redirected the conversation back to the topic at hand, ¡°the little bird is correct. I tried to reason with the priestess, but she and her people have been isolated from the outside world for too long. The unknown terrifies them more than the monster. They have put their faith in the appearance of this Kriegaar and will not be swayed otherwise.¡±

    At least Whisper was talking to him again. Or at least in his general direction. That was something, Rasp supposed.

    ¡°Just our luck,¡± Faris grumbled as he leafed through whatever ancient tomes Whisper had placed on the table. The parchment was stiff from years of unuse and protested each turn of the page with a sound that would¡¯ve haunted any respectable librarian for years to come. ¡°So what¡¯s the next step? Sift through the records in hopes we find something to identify what monster we¡¯re dealing with?¡±

    ¡°That is my hope, yes,¡± Whisper replied.

    ¡°And you can read this, right? Because I can¡¯t make heads nor tails of it.¡±

    ¡°Regretfully, no.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Hop and Faris shouted in unison.

    ¡°Better hope there¡¯s pictures,¡± Rasp said.

    Whisper ignored Rasp¡¯s contribution and moved the conversation along as though the Stoneclaw had ceased to exist entirely. ¡°The interpreter has offered his services with the research. Unfortunately, he seems reluctant to even speak of the creature out loud. Aside from translating the text, I do not expect him to be overtly helpful in identifying it.¡±

    The memory of the soft, lulling voice resurfaced. Rasp shrank down in his chair, feeling suddenly cold despite the oppressive mugginess that clouded the room. ¡°Did they mention that it¡¯s telepathic?¡±

    ¡°It was mentioned,¡± Whisper¡¯s reply was automatic, as if they¡¯d simply answered without realizing the magnitude of Rasp¡¯s words. The fae¡¯s quills rattled disquietly as they stopped and considered what Rasp was actually saying. ¡°How did you know that?¡±

    ¡°Because its voice gets in my head the same way yours does.¡± Except of course that the monster was nicer to him. Probably because it wished to eat him which, unfortunately, only reinforced Rasp¡¯s general distrust of anyone who showed him a lick of kindness. He sank ever-lower as he recalled the other key information from his encounter. ¡°I think it¡¯s some kind of earth elemental, too.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Because?¡± Whisper prompted.

    ¡°It opened up a rift in the ground and tried to lure me inside. Might¡¯ve been the second time, actually, come to think of it.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wait, wait.¡± Faris seized the information and ran with it. ¡°When we leapt from the balcony and the ground heaved up to meet us, you said that wasn¡¯t you.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me. I was trying to summon wind in a place that doesn¡¯t have active air currents, remember?¡±

    ¡°Vividly,¡± Hop assured him.

    Faris continued undeterred. ¡°Could it have been the monster?¡±

    ¡°Are you proposing that the monster saved me?¡± Rasp scoffed.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Faris said. ¡°It¡¯s obviously hungry and you¡¯re the biggest source of magic it¡¯s come across in a while. Seems only logical that it¡¯d intervene to keep you from splattering across the ground. Magic eaters can only feed on live prey, after all.¡±

    What a horrific mental image. Unfortunately, no amount of shoving could get it to retreat back into the far recesses of his mind. Rasp shuddered at the thought of being consumed alive. ¡°I don¡¯t like this theory.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, it is the best theory we have so far,¡± Hop said.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Faris said with the sort of smugness you could feel from across the table. ¡°It¡¯s nice to be appreciated for my brilliant ideas for a change.¡±

    Rasp demonstrated his appreciation with a single finger, lifting it high enough in the air for not just Faris, but for everyone else assembled around the table to see as well.

    ¡°So we have a monster that can manipulate the ground, is telepathic, and feeds on magic.¡± The furious scribbling of charcoal against parchment indicated that Hop had appointed himself the official notetaker. ¡°That does help narrow it down some.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you know what it is?¡± Rasp asked hopefully.

    ¡°I¡¯m the wrong person to ask. If it¡¯s information on ancient magical beasts you want, you should probably start with the person who was alive around the same time the old ones went out of existence.¡±

    Ah, yes. Rasp had been avoiding addressing that person for obvious reasons. Physically, he couldn¡¯t sink any lower in his chair, but that didn¡¯t stop him from trying. ¡°Normally I would, but said person is currently furious at me and probably wouldn¡¯t answer even if I tried.¡±

    ¡°While I am still upset at your recklessness, little bird, I am not furious.¡±

    Rasp was afraid to ask why.

    Whisper was more than happy to provide the reason without the need for him to ask. ¡°Seeing as you volunteered me as the monster slayer, I will be doing the same for you.¡±

    Rasp shrugged. ¡°I already assumed I would be helping you slay it.¡±

    ¡°You misunderstand. I am not volunteering you as the slayer.¡±

    Rasp was about to ask what other position he could possibly take up when the answer struck him speechless. Nearly speechless, anyway, as he opened his mouth out of reflex and a surprisingly coherent string of words came tumbling out. ¡°You¡¯re making me the bait?¡±

    ¡°A fitting consequence, in my opinion,¡± Whisper said. ¡°The creature already has a connection to you. Once we¡¯ve determined how to defeat it, you can have the honor of drawing it in.¡±

    Rasp had absolutely no leg to stand on and his mentor knew it, too. Instead of verbally accepting Whisper¡¯s thorn-riddled olive branch, he made a vague ¡®yes, yes, it is to be expected¡¯ gesture with his hand.

    ¡°To answer the original question, yes, I suspect I may know what the nameless one is. It will require more research to confirm, but as of right now I believe it to be the predecessor of the burrowing drake.¡±

    ¡°A dragon?¡± Rasp said. Why couldn¡¯t it have ever been something less terrifying? Why couldn¡¯t the nameless have been a giant gopher? Or mole? As the appointed bait, he¡¯d have much rather faced down something cute and fuzzy.

    ¡°The predecessor of the burrowing drake,¡± Whisper repeated, putting specific emphasis on the fact that, similar to themself, the dragon was old as shit. ¡°Like mortal-kind, the dragons and drakes that exist today are a byproduct of survival. They had to adapt in order to endure a world of dwindling magic, and are now but a shadow of their ancestors¡¯ former might. The nameless one will be more clever than any dragon you have ever faced. It will be reluctant to leave the protection of its lair, which is why we must give it no other choice. If we can drive it mad with hunger, it will emerge eventually. Once it is lured into position, the drake¡¯s vulnerability to light is how we may be able to thwart its telepathic abilities, making it susceptible to attack.¡±

    Whisper paused, allowing the idea to set in, before issuing a sigh through tightly clenched teeth. ¡°In light of recent discoveries, however, I believe we have one small complication.¡±

    ¡°One?¡± Faris repeated. ¡°This whole scenario is one massive complication after another.¡±

    ¡°We do not yet know the extent of the beast¡¯s telepathic connection.¡± Whisper continued, ¡°My own telepathy only allows me to glimpse thoughts, nothing deeper. There are those with power that exceeds far beyond mine, capable of accessing not only thoughts, but memories as well. The nameless could have access to everything the little bird knows the moment he steps out from under the priestess¡¯s protection. It is for this reason the little bird cannot know the full plan prior to its execution.¡±

    Rasp shot taller in the chair. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°The fact that the nameless one can communicate with you in a modern language is indicative of an extremely powerful magic, little bird. It¡¯s a risk we cannot take.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s that work if I¡¯m supposed to be the bait?¡±

    In true Whisper fashion, the fae answered in the most horrific way possible. ¡°Is it necessary for the fisherman to tell the worm its fate when stringing it upon the hook?¡±

    Rasp hadn¡¯t thought of that. In fact, he was now wishing Whisper hadn¡¯t mentioned it at all. Already, he could feel the warm mush begin to shift in his gut, threatening to lurch upwards at any moment.

    Whisper helpfully answered their own question. ¡°The bait need not know the how. All it has to do is lure the monster into the trap.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s tongue failed him as a slew of frantic ideas stampeded across his thoughts. Following that logic, wouldn¡¯t the monster also know that he was the bait? And, by extension, that there were others waiting to defeat it? Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe if the nameless one sensed a trap it simply wouldn¡¯t show up at all. And then it wouldn¡¯t matter whether or not Rasp was the bait because the beast would know to stay in the safety of its lair. But then how would they get back to the surface? They wouldn¡¯t leave until the beast was dead and it couldn¡¯t be dead if they never found it!

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Whisper congratulated. The small fae was suddenly at Rasp¡¯s side, pulling him from his chair and herding him towards the door. ¡°Continue running those thoughts just like that. Keep anything listening in a constant state of confusion. I knew you would be exemplary at this.¡±

    Rasp dug his heels against the worn floorboards with limited success. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°This chamber is charmed, meaning the creature¡¯s magic cannot reach those within. For this to work, you have to be outside of the priestess¡¯s protection spell.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just throw me out in the cold!¡±

    ¡°Never fear, little bird. We¡¯ll have a special place arranged just for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting the distinct feeling it¡¯s going to involve being strapped between two posts with nothing but a skimpy dress on.¡±

    ¡°Come now, boy. You¡¯re being preposterous. Between the planning and information gathering, where would I possibly find the time to locate a dress in your size?¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t know which was more terrifying. The fact that Whisper was intending to use him as a maiden sacrifice without knowing how or when, or that his mentor was suddenly cracking jokes. At least he hoped they were jokes. Good gods, maybe Whisper was serious.

    ¡°Whisper, in case it wasn¡¯t abundantly clear before, I¡¯m sorry I made a deal on your behalf without thinking it through. I will learn from this and do better next time.¡±

    Rasp stumbled out into the adjoining hallway, shielding his eyes against the unrelenting glow of the bioluminescent algae. Whisper¡¯s voice echoed throughout his head as the door slammed shut behind him. I would normally say something encouraging, but it would be best if your thoughts were panicked right now. So, with that said, let us hope there will be a next time.

 220 - Dark Passenger

    Oralia gazed down the open hatchway into the dark tunnel system below, torn between descending into the underground or turning back and finding a safer means to reach Briony¡¯s cottage. Ultimately, either decision would cost her. While the tunnels were undeniably faster, the question now was whether or not they were still secure. Short of running into an enemy patrol, she and Briony had no way of knowing whether they would be traversing the tunnel system alone. The remaining option would be to ditch the tunnels and hoof it through the forest on foot. An option that, while safer, would prove considerably slower. By Briony¡¯s estimation, an alternate route through the woods would tack on an extra hour.

    Oralia knew deep in her gut that they didn¡¯t have that kind of time.

    Filling her lungs with one final breath of cool night air, she lowered herself into the open hatch and down the rickety ladder. Her boots struck the compacted dirt below with a soft thud. She waited, testing the air for unfamiliar smells as her ears strained to catch anything out of the ordinary. The seconds slowly ticked by as Oralia stood stock-still, gathering as much information from her senses as possible. Neither her ears nor nose detected anything amiss.

    Oralia whistled for her companion to follow. The hatch eased shut, sealing the shaft in darkness as Briony clambered down the creaky ladder with less confidence than she¡¯d gone up. With Briony shaken and unable to see in the dark, it was up to Oralia to lead. She took a coil of rope from Briony¡¯s pack and pressed it into the faun¡¯s trembling hand. Wrapping the other end around her palm, Oralia moved deeper into the tunnel, unpleasantly aware that her ability to lead was soon going to get increasingly more difficult as the winding passage narrowed.

    The journey was slow and tedious without a lantern to light the way. Tediousness trumped recklessness, however. Lighting the candle lantern was not a risk they could afford. Any light whatsoever would immediately give their position away to whatever else was lurking underground. It was for this reason the hormones raging through Oralia¡¯s bloodstream proved unexpectedly useful. Orcs possessed a keen sense of smell on their own, but the added sensitivity was making it possible for her to retrace their steps simply by smell.

    She and Briony were making decent headway when a commotion stopped her in her tracks. Briony heard it as well. The little faun froze in place, eyes wide and ears fanned. ¡°That came from behind,¡± Briony whispered as her eyes darted back and forth, panicked. ¡°Near the hatch we came in through, I¡¯d wager.¡±

    Oralia crouched lower. Her voice uttered so softly, she barely heard it over the rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears. ¡°Is it unheard of for animals to get trapped down here?¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t an animal.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell how many?¡± As much as she tried, the source of the commotion was still too far away for Oralia¡¯s sense of smell to be of any help.

    ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m not really that keen to find out either.¡±

    Oralia bit back her agreement. As feared, the tunnels were compromised. Aside from numbers, the other pressing question was whether or not the approaching soldiers were of the magical variety. She and Briony would have better luck against regular military forces, but she suspected Tarathiel Cray, Geralt¡¯s second in command, knew that as well. If Cray was half as crafty as his reputation led her to believe, then he would¡¯ve sent witches to collect them. While sensible as far as strategies went, the fact that Oralia was playing host to a dark entity with an insatiable thirst for magic would not play out well for either side.

    Oralia blinked hard, dismissing the growing vision of dancing flames and the stench of charred flesh before it had time to fully form. Magical or not, the enemy was not yet close enough to rouse her dark passenger and she intended to keep it that way. She drew the folded parchment and chalk stick from her pocket and set about etching a crude symbol into the compacted dirt.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Briony hissed. Even at such close proximity, her lack of night vision prohibited her from seeing what was taking place.

    ¡°Making a seer¡¯s trap,¡± Oralia replied. ¡°I suspect our pursuers are from the division. If so, their magic will activate the symbol.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t hold them.¡±

    ¡°I am aware.¡± The seer¡¯s trap served only as a temporary annoyance against anything higher than a mid-level witch, but the resulting flash was all Oralia needed. She did not intend to be anywhere near the symbol if and when it went off. She only needed it to be a beacon to tell her whether or not their pursuers were magical and how far behind they were.

    Finished, Oralia stood and tucked the chalk stick back into the safety of her pocket. ¡°Where is the nearest hatchway? The sooner we vacate the tunnels, the better.¡±

    Briony¡¯s amber eyes darted back and forth as she racked her brain for the answer. ¡°Not far,¡± she said, drawing the information from memory. ¡°Keep following this passage until the next fork, take a left, and there¡¯ll be an exit just beyond that.¡±

    Oralia nodded her agreement and then realized Briony had no way of knowing. Still, she dared not speak anymore than necessary. The faint sounds coming from behind were growing steadily clearer, indicating it was time for them to be on their way. She gave the rope a gentle tug before setting off, moving as quickly and quietly as the cramped passage would allow.

    They¡¯d reached the fork in the passage when the light from the seer¡¯s trap flared to life behind them. A startled yelp rang out, followed by muttered cursing as the unsuspecting witch fought his way free. Several voices responded, each of them hailing from a different section of the tunnel system. Oralia darted down the left passageway as the muffled thump of thundering footsteps closed in around them.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    An icy chill rippled through her veins, awakened by the sudden concentration of magic. Drawing the food in, how thoughtful of you, orc. It has been too long since I¡¯ve had a substantial feed. These offerings will do nicely.

    She¡¯d found the fork in the passage and gone left, as instructed. Where in the seven realms of chaos was the blasted ladder? Oralia snapped her tusks together softly as she scoured the narrowing passage for signs of the exit. Her heartbeat doubled as the enemy drew closer. With their cover blown, the soldiers abandoned their previous sense of stealth in favor of speed. Multiple sets of fast footsteps thundered down the tunnel in Oralia and Briony¡¯s direction.

    Ladder, ladder, where the fuck is the ladder?

    Come now, don¡¯t do that, the dark entity whispered. Turn back and let us face them together. I cannot afford to have you die, remember?

    Oralia found it, at last. She reached the ladder and urged Briony to ascend ahead of her with an ungentle push. Oralia¡¯s heart leapt into her throat as the leading set of footsteps reached the fork in the passage and hurtled towards her.

    The cold beneath her skin writhed in anticipation. This one is strong, orc. Suitable, perhaps, as a replacement vessel.

    Briony reached the top of the ladder and threw her shoulder against the sealed hatch. The lid¡¯s rusted hinges squealed as it opened, allowing a shaft of dim light to filter down from above. The sudden illumination blurred Oralia¡¯s vision as she tore her way up the rickety ladder with the speed and desperation of a rat escaping the cat¡¯s jaws.

    No! Go back. The dark entity raged within her. Do as I instruct, and I will allow you and your unborn child to walk away with your lives.

    She could ensure that herself. Oralia reached the hatchway and fought her way through, grabbing on to whatever handholds she could find on the outside. Briony seized her by the arm and assisted her the rest of the way through. Once free, Oralia turned and slammed the hatch shut, eyes darting across the dark landscape in search of something heavy to weigh it down. Her answer came in the form of a giant, lichen covered boulder.

    ¡°Stand over the exit,¡± Oralia ordered as she stooped to retrieve it, gritting her teeth as she heaved with her legs bent. She walked it several steps before dropping the boulder over the wooden hatch. It wouldn¡¯t hold long against witches, but enough, perhaps, to allow her and Briony to disappear into the woods with a decent head start.

    ¡°Do you know where we are?¡± Oralia panted, wiping the sheen of perspiration from her eyes.

    Briony didn¡¯t answer. She lifted her head instead, nostrils flaring as she tested the air. Her eyes went wide, completely rimmed in white. ¡°I smell smoke.¡±

    Oralia drew air in through her nostrils and ran it across her tongue. The breeze was heavy with ash and smoke. Oralia¡¯s gaze met Briony¡¯s. She saw a flash of panic dart across the faun¡¯s stricken face.

    ¡°Briony,¡± Oralia started, but it was too late.

    The faun took off at top speed, crashing through the thick underbrush.

    Oralia sprinted after her, leaping over entire thickets when possible and plowing through when it wasn¡¯t. She was running at full speed and, still, the space between her and Briony grew further by the second. Keeping pace was infinitely harder when pitted against a species born to run. Oralia set her jaw and continued on, wincing as the worsening stitch in her side reminded her that her aging body was no longer suited for such a task.

    Oralia didn¡¯t know how long she followed Briony¡¯s haphazard trail. Her head insisted it had only been minutes, but her legs argued for hours. Her lungs didn¡¯t care how much time had passed so long as she stopped before they collapsed in on themselves. The smell of smoke grew thicker, burning the inside of her nasal passages and down her throat, into her chest as she ran.

    A steep hill rose above her. The trail of trampled ferns told her Briony had gone up this way. Grudgingly, with her lungs seizing and leaden legs threatening to buckle, Oralia staggered her way onward. She found Briony at the top, staring out over the dark woods. There was a fire in the distance. A dark plume of smoke billowed above it, spiraling skyward like a beacon.

    ¡°That¡¯s my house,¡± Briony whimpered. The distant firelight flickered in her eyes as she watched the flames engulf her home, spellbound by the dancing blaze. ¡°Every instinct in my body is telling me to go down there and rip them a new one. To fight back. To try and save the people they¡¯re about to hurt. But we can¡¯t do that, can we?¡±

    A wave of grief crashed over Oralia, dispelling the last of her strength. He caught herself against a tree as her stiff legs finally gave out. The word felt like serrated glass against her swollen throat. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Argh!¡± It had been a rhetorical question no doubt. But the answer infuriated Briony all the same. She paced back and forth through the tall grass, kicking at the ground. ¡°We escaped their net and this is their way of drawing us back in, isn¡¯t it? And the fucked up thing is that it¡¯s working!¡±

    Oralia watched the dancing flames, unable to blink away the hot tears welling up within her eyes. There was a chance they had gotten away. Sascha could be hunkered down, hiding somewhere, waiting for the heat to die down before he went looking for her. Just as she should have been doing.

    Briony continued to pace. She clasped her hands behind her back as she swept back and forth, racking her brains for a solution. ¡°They found my place and the tunnel systems. Someone talked. Which means the realm probably raided the other safehouses as well.¡±

    ¡°Briony, look.¡± With the cottage fire burning bright, Oralia hadn¡¯t noticed the other, smaller lights glowing within the woods below. They were nothing more than pinpricks of light weaving through the dark trees. ¡°Those are lanterns.¡±

    The faun stopped pacing long enough to observe. She tilted her horns to the side, confused. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°The soldiers are sweeping the woods.¡± Oralia felt a small lift as her spirits picked themselves off the floor and dusted off. ¡°They are looking for stragglers. Some must have gotten away.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good news.¡± Briony appeared to be desperate for some form of silver lining, no matter how small. ¡°We should go find the stragglers then, right? Before the soldiers do?¡±

    Oralia pushed off from the tee and placed her hand on the faun¡¯s shoulder. It was not a gesture of comfort, but a means to ensure Briony didn¡¯t take off on foot a second time. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°We lie low. If anyone escapes their net, we will find them when the forest is no longer crawling with soldiers.¡±

 221 - The Dog That Caught The Carriage

    The remainder of the journey from the flatlands to the Adderwood border took three days and was unremarkable in almost every way. This in itself was surprising, considering Daana¡¯s small company was still being followed by an untold number of goblins. The curious onlookers kept their distance, however, seemingly content to catch a glimpse of the infamous Snaglebrag Flint from afar.

    Although the trailing goblins left the traveling party unbothered, their ever-lurking presence was having a noticeable effect on Snag. He hadn¡¯t said much since the encounter with his den brother, but Daana caught the melancholic glances he slipped over his shoulder when he thought no one was looking. His long ears stayed drooped and his leathery skin looked less green than normal. And then there were the sighs. Long, pitiful sounding things that grew more frequent as the hours in the saddle slowly inched past.

    Ashwyn normally excelled at lightening even the dreariest of moods, but she was as miserable as Snag. The last three days she hadn¡¯t done more than eat and sleep when she wasn¡¯t preoccupied with keeping herself from slumping off her horse.

    ¡°There it is,¡± Snag announced from his position as the lead rider. ¡°The great and mighty Adderwood border.¡±

    Daana shielded her eyes against the gray light provided by the overcast sky and squinted. The vast, undulating sea of brown and tan grasses extended nearly all the way to the horizon, where it was bisected by a snaking river. Beyond the river, the open tundra stretched a ways before disappearing beneath a scraggly tree line. The trees grew thicker, until eventually the ground was lost to sight altogether, swallowed by the mighty Adderwood forest.

    Daana had expected to feel an overwhelming sense of relief. They¡¯d successfully reached Adderwood and were one step closer to finding Oralia and proving to Daana¡¯s mother that she was both competent and capable. It took her by surprise when it was tears of sadness, not joy, that stung the edges of her eyes.

    ¡°Good gods. I know why that one is blubbering all the time,¡± Snag said, gesturing to Ashwyn who wore the misery on her face openly and without shame. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, girl, huh? Did you get broken up with too when I wasn¡¯t looking?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Daana¡¯s voice trailed as she smudged her tears away with the back of her sleeve. She took a quick breath before finding the strength to finish her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you.¡±

    The tattered remnants of Snag¡¯s left ear raised slightly higher than the other. ¡°Am I going somewhere?¡±

    ¡°No, see that¡¯s the thing. I don¡¯t think you are.¡±

    Snag¡¯s befuddled expression indicated that he was not following her, admittedly, scattered logic. ¡°You want to run that by me one more time?¡±

    ¡°You got us to the border, as asked. You¡¯re part¡¯s done and I think you should stay.¡± Daana found it suddenly difficult to look him in the eye and averted her gaze elsewhere. It didn¡¯t help ease her pooling sadness, but it made talking slightly easier. ¡°Your family welcomed you back with open arms, Snag. They practically begged you to come home. Let¡¯s not kid ourselves, you don¡¯t have a stake in this war. You deserve to sit this one out with people who want to be with you.¡±

    His voice cracked with hurt. ¡°You don¡¯t want me?¡±

    ¡°Of course I want you! If I had my way, you¡¯d stick around forever. But that¡¯s fair. Not to you. You deserve to be happy and I think staying in the flatlands might actually be your chance to have that.¡± Daana shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, fighting the fresh crop of tears that trickled down her face. The crisp air burned against the hot tears, which was a bit of a relief actually, as it served to distract her from the hurt welling up on the inside. ¡°You helped me find my family and now maybe it¡¯s my turn to send you to yours.¡±

    ¡°She makes a good point!¡± a disembodied voice called from the surrounding grass.

    ¡°Lots of points!¡± another readily agreed.

    A third said, ¡°Come be happy, Snaglebrag. Join your family and leave the gloomy orc and elf behind.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Ashwyn straight ahead with a scowl, as if ignoring the newcomers would make them cease to exist. ¡°The bacon bandits are back.¡±

    ¡°No we¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s nobody here but us wild grasses.¡±

    Ashwyn clicked her tusks at the three young goblins. ¡°You brats better scram or I¡¯m going make good on my threat to eat you. Goddess knows I¡¯m hungry enough to try!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not feelings, orc. You can¡¯t eat us!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d have to work to catch us anyway.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Yeah! An¡¯ if you move as slow as you think, we¡¯re gonna be just fine.¡±

    Their taunting served as the final nail in their shared coffin. Ashwyn not only reached her breaking point, but went hurtling over it like a pole vaulter conquering a wall. She leapt from her steed and barreled into the long grass at a speed fueled by untethered rage. Daana remained seated, watching the chase unfold with fascination. Although she¡¯d seen Snag gallop on all fours when the situation called for it, Daana hadn¡¯t realized orcs could do the same. Ashwyn stayed low to the ground, concealed by the wild overgrowth as she hunted her prey down with startling agility.

    A thunderous roar lit the air seconds before she jumped. Ashwyn¡¯s burly form sailed over the top of the tundra grass before it plunged back into the tangle of vegetation. The pounce must have been successful because, after a short tousle, complete with lots of undignified shrieking, the orc stood and strode out of the grass, carrying a squirming goblin by its ankle.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me!¡± the goblin wailed. Daana recognized him as Twig, the tallest of the three goblin teenagers. Twig suddenly didn¡¯t look very tall hanging upside down by an orc three times his size. ¡°It was the others that said all that nasty stuff. I like orcs.¡±

    Ashwyn came to a standstill alongside Daana¡¯s horse, her wailing prize still in hand. She held the goblin at arm¡¯s length as the anger drained from her curled lips. ¡°Huh,¡± she said, broad shoulders heaving with each labored breath. ¡°I kinda feel like the dog that caught the carriage here.¡±

    ¡°Put me down!¡± Twig sobbed.

    A smirk broke across Snag¡¯s gnarled features. ¡°Now, now, show some follow through, Ashwyn. You caught the damn thing, now eat it.¡±

    ¡°No, no, no! Don¡¯t do that! I¡¯ll make you sick.¡± Twig ceased his useless struggling and twisted his head, eyes darting across his upside down surroundings until his stare settled on Daana. ¡°Elf, help me! You don¡¯t want my death on your conscience, do you? Talk some sense into the big meany.¡±

    Apparently even teenagers could pick up on the fact that Daana was a giant softie. Still, it¡¯d be worthwhile to try and get something out of the altercation before Ashwyn grew bored of her new plaything. She addressed her companions instead. ¡°It seems shortsighted to eat him straight away. Shouldn¡¯t we press him for information first? Ask a few questions? See what he knows?¡±

    ¡°My only question is what goblin tastes like.¡± Ashwyn¡¯s threatening smile consisted almost entirely of bared teeth. ¡°And I¡¯m about to find out.¡±

    Daana slid from her shaggy horse onto the ground. Placing her hands on her hips, she strode closer, only stopping until she and Twig were inches apart. ¡°What are you doing out here anyway? I thought we told you to stay away.¡±

    ¡°Nothing! Just enjoying the outdoors, is all.¡±

    He knows you¡¯re the softie. Prove him wrong. Make him squirm.

    Daana narrowed her eyes, channeling some of the venom from her expression into her voice. ¡°Do you know what happened to the last little runt who lied to us? Ashwyn took a stick, just like this one¡± ¡ª Daana ripped a hollow reed from the soft dirt and rolled it around in her hands ¡ª ¡°and stuck it through his skull and gave it a good stir. Turned his brain to soup. And then, once it was nothing more than pink sludge, she slurped it through the stick like a straw just like this.¡±

    Twig wasn¡¯t the only one scared speechless by Daana¡¯s disturbing slurping sound. Both Ashwyn and Snag were staring at her with their mouths agape, horrified.

    Apparently we draw the line at pink sludge soup. Noted.

    Considering the damage was already done, Daana supposed the only thing left to do was to stay committed to her new role as the deranged elf. It was better than being softie, at least. Daana took the hollow reed in both hands and snapped it, smiling when the splintering crack jolted all three back to their senses. ¡°Are you still with us, friend?¡± she said to Twig. ¡°It looks like you might have blacked out on me for a second there.¡±

    Twig¡¯s mouth trembled as a babble of senseless sounds rolled off his tongue.

    ¡°Oh good. There you are.¡± Daana tapped the broken end of the reed against his cheek. ¡°Anyway, what was it you were saying about being out here?¡±

    ¡°Our den leader sent us!¡± The words flew out of Twig¡¯s mouth faster than he could string them together. ¡°Word is the infamous Snaglebrag turned down his familial den. He¡¯s free game now.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hunting him?¡±

    ¡°Hunt?¡± The young goblin¡¯s face scrunched in genuine confusion. ¡°No. To recruit, dummy.¡±

    Daana raised one eyebrow at him challengingly. ¡°Dummy?¡±

    Twig¡¯s head shrank into his shoulders as he stammered his apology. ¡°Sorry, miss. It¡¯s all this blood rushing to my head. Makes me say things I don¡¯t mean.¡±

    Daana waved her hand at Ashwyn and said, ¡°You can put him down now. I¡¯m certain he¡¯s not foolish enough to try and outrun you a second time.¡±

    The sour look on Ashwyn¡¯s face read as ¡®oh, I take orders from you now?¡¯ Thankfully the orc bit back her displeasure and played along, flipping the goblin head over heels and setting him back on his feet. She kept a firm grasp on the back of his neck. Not to keep him from running, Daana realized, but from toppling over. The sudden quake in the poor boy¡¯s legs looked severe enough to drop him on his face.

    ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve sufficiently scared the piss out of the scoundrel. Congratulations.¡± With a grudging sigh, Snag abandoned his horse and wandered over. Daana didn¡¯t know whether it was curiosity or pity that fueled his involvement, but Snag snatched the broken reed from her hands and wagged it at her. ¡°I¡¯ll take it from here, thanks.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Daana had only been playing the part as a means to acquire information. Which failed to explain why she suddenly felt cheated, like the fox poised to lose its hard earned kill to the wolf. ¡°You choose to swoop in now? After I¡¯ve done all the work to soften him up?¡±

    ¡°Simmer down, secretary,¡± Snag chided. ¡°Your part¡¯s done here.¡±

    Daana shifted her weight to her right foot to keep from stomping it. ¡°I haven¡¯t been your secretary in weeks!¡±

    ¡°I know. I miss it more and more each day. It was a simpler time. Quieter, people not hounding me from dawn to dusk.¡± Snag tossed the stick over his shoulder, adding wistfully, ¡°Less talk of brain soup.¡±

 222 - Worth More Than Gold

    Daana stepped reluctantly to the side, surrendering the rest of the interrogation to Snag. He swaggered forward, sizing the young goblin up and down. Snag¡¯s wrinkled expression was caught somewhere between bored and woefully unimpressed. Unlike Twig, who was a jittery mess. He twiddled his clawed hands and kept glancing over his shoulder at the surrounding tundra grass, as though considering whether or not to make a break for it. It would be pointless to try, of course, considering Ashwyn¡¯s proximity. She¡¯d grab him before the young goblin got more than two steps in.

    Twig must have arrived at the same conclusion as he remained where he was, resigned to his fate. He cowered lower when Snag came to a stop in front of him, separated only by a small stretch of ground. ¡°I didn¡¯t do nothing,¡± Twig said, in the event Snag hadn¡¯t heard the first three times he¡¯d claimed as much. ¡°Just let me go. I won¡¯t bother you no more.¡±

    ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t do anything. I believe you.¡± Snag flashed the sort of smile one would expect from a snake. ¡°I just want some clarification, is all. You said some things that piqued my interest and it¡¯s going to drive me crazy until I know what you meant. You¡¯ll be free to go after that. Promise.¡±

    Whether or not Twig believed a word out of Snag¡¯s mouth was irrelevant. The young goblin was trapped either way. Wordlessly, he bobbed his trembling head in agreement.

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Snag withdrew the intricately carved pipe from the confines of his jacket and offered it his interrogee. ¡°Now, first thing¡¯s first, you¡¯re gonna assure all your mates out there that you¡¯ve come to no harm and that they can all just stay where they are.¡±

    Twig stared at the instrument with wide eyes, unable to look away.

    ¡°Ashwyn clunk you on the head too hard, boy? It¡¯s a pipe, not a knife. I ain¡¯t gonna stick you with it.¡±

    Nervously, Twig accepted the pipe and produced a series of sharp notes. A second pipe responded, its shrill screech dampened by distance. Even Daana¡¯s sharp elven ears couldn¡¯t pinpoint where it was coming from amongst the sea of swaying tundra grass.

    Snag listened and then, once the message was delivered in full, nodded his satisfaction. ¡°Good. Now that that¡¯s taken care of, let¡¯s get down to business, shall we?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a business,¡± Twig wailed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have much in the way of smarts either, boy, but we won¡¯t let that stop you.¡± Snag drew his arm around Twig¡¯s shoulder in an unusual display of chumminess. The disgust must have shown on Daana¡¯s face because the look he shot her warned that now was not the time to mention it. And also, there would never be a good time to mention it. Ever.

    Snag gave Twig a gentle shake, as if attempting to jiggle the answers loose like pieces of silver from a coin jar. ¡°Now what¡¯s all this talk about Snaglebrag rejecting his old clan, huh?¡±

    ¡°Our den leader said you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Snaglebrag, not me,¡± Snag corrected with an uncomfortably tight smile.

    Twig attempted again. ¡°He claimed Snag turned down his clan¡¯s offer for reconciliation. Not really a surprise, boss said. They¡¯re the pithiest of all the clans. Can¡¯t fault Snaglebrag for not wanting to associate with such a sorry lot.¡±

    Snag¡¯s ears started to droop. ¡°Is that so?¡±

    ¡°Word is he had to bribe Fangle to get him to leave him alone.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    Twig¡¯s confidence was on the mend. He stood taller, growing more animated as he got to the good part of his explanation. ¡°Anyway, now that the old den has been officially turned down, the boss said it was time to make a move. He tasked us with bringing Snag in for a sit down so he could make an offer you couldn¡¯t refuse.¡±

    Snag was too caught in thought to catch Twig¡¯s mistake and reaffirm, once more, that he and the infamous Snaglebrag Flint were not one of the same. Snag removed his arm from Twig¡¯s shoulder and stepped away, fiddling with the ring strung through his lip. ¡°And what happens to the Fangle¡¯s den?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Twig said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ¡°They keep scrounging in the dirt for scraps like the bottom feeders they are, and you ascend to the top of the goblin hierarchy. Boss is prepared to offer whatever you want. Power, status, munchies, you get to have it all.¡±

    ¡°And what do you get out of this?¡± Snag demanded.

    Twig puffed out his scrawny chest and stood, if not straighter, something that looked less like a sagging weed. ¡°Boss promised us our first bangle.¡± He pointed to one of the paint chipped fishing lures hanging from his left ear. ¡°A real one. Made of gold.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have status after that. And respect.¡±

    Having given up playing guard, Ashwyn moved to Daana¡¯s side. The orc leaned closer and whispered under her breath. ¡°His eye¡¯s doing that twitchy thing again. Should we be worried?¡±

    Snag¡¯s eyes darted in their direction, having undoubtedly heard regardless of Ashwyn¡¯s attempt to keep her volume low. ¡°Stay here, boy.¡± He started in their direction with slow, reluctant steps. ¡°I have to convene with these two a moment.¡±

    If Daana wasn¡¯t concerned before, she certainly was now.

    ¡°So,¡± Snag started, once he¡¯d reached them.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Daana grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him closer. ¡°We¡¯ve got goblins all around, remember? We¡¯d better do this right and huddle.¡±

    Ashwyn rolled her head back with a groan. ¡°Good goddess, Peaches. No.¡±

    ¡°Come on!¡± Daana said. ¡°You guys never want to do what I want to do.¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s stupid.¡± The orc stubbornly stood her ground, as if huddling would somehow tarnish her already less than stellar reputation. An odd concern considering she¡¯d been running around on all fours terrorizing a bunch of teenagers not ten minutes before. ¡°Nobody actually huddles to make a plan.¡±

    Maybe it was an attempt to lighten the mood. Maybe Daana was using it as an excuse to delay the inevitable even just a few seconds more. Regardless of her underlying reasons, she kept at it with the sort of cheerful desperation of someone moments away from losing their best friend. ¡°Not true. I used to see it all of the time. And just once in my life, I¡¯d like to be inside the huddle and not the one standing on the outside wondering what sort of nasty things they¡¯re saying about me.¡±

    ¡°Peaches, that¡¯s the saddest thing you¡¯ve said so far.¡±

    Daana widened her eyes pitifully. ¡°Please?¡±

    Trading exasperating glances, Snag and Ashwyn gave in, reluctantly forming a huddle with Daana. The positioning was a little awkward considering the orc had to crouch and the goblin had to be on damn near tiptoe, but they managed it in the end. Ashwyn¡¯s gruff voice conveyed every inch of her mounting discomfort. ¡°Alright, Snaggy, spit it out. What¡¯s going on, mate? You look like how I feel and, suffice to say, it¡¯s not a pretty sight.¡±

    Her assessment wasn¡¯t wrong. The color from Snag¡¯s weathered features had gone from green to gray, as if the life was slowly being sapped out of his body. ¡°I think I made a mistake with the way I handled Fangle,¡± Snag admitted. ¡°By turning him down, I made the old den¡¯s reputation even worse. Now nobody¡¯s going to want anything to do with them.¡±

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t care,¡± Ashwyn reminded him.

    ¡°I say lots of things I don¡¯t mean.¡± A cold look from Ashwyn convinced Snag to keep the explanation coming. ¡°And anyway, I meant it in the ¡®I don¡¯t care to help you¡¯ sort of way. I didn¡¯t intend to make things for them worse.¡±

    Daana piped up with, ¡°How do you clear something like that up?¡±

    Snag¡¯s gaze dropped to his feet, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°I think you already know.¡±

    Damn right I did. Unfortunately, this particular instance of correctness didn¡¯t come with the usual sense of accomplishment. Grief swelled up inside of her instead. Daana shifted her grasp from Snag¡¯s shoulder to his hand, fighting another bout of spontaneous tears. ¡°Would it be rude to say I told you so right now? Would you prefer it if I just think it?¡±

    He, too, seemed incapable of expressing his feelings in a mature fashion. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you where to shove it if you do.¡±

    Oh gods. He was really considering it. Really, really considering it. And yes, she may have been the one to suggest staying, but that didn¡¯t mean she wanted it to happen. Since when did anyone listen to her anyways? Daana tried her best to smile around the pain shredding her to pieces on the inside. ¡°We¡¯ve got to come through here again on our way back. We¡¯ll be sure to stop in and say hi.¡±

    ¡°You will?¡± Snag said.

    Ashwyn thumped his shoulder, hard, from the way he grimaced. ¡°Of course! We¡¯re going to need directions, after all. You know Peaches and I didn¡¯t pay a lick of attention to how you got us this far.¡±

    Panic darted behind Snag¡¯s yellow eyes. Daana could tell he wanted to fight the decision. He wanted to scream, complain, argue why it was the most foolish idea ever conceived, and then yell at them some more for not talking him out of it. Daana squeezed his hand again. She gave not the answer she wanted, but the one he needed. ¡°Go. We¡¯ll be fine without you.¡±

    ¡°Promise you¡¯re not going to do anything stupid?¡±

    ¡°I would never promise that.¡±

    Snag turned to Ashwyn, his face contorting in the strangest way, as if it was fighting the urge to melt off and slump into the dirt between his clawed feet. ¡°I know better than to ask, but at least try to do things the smart way? For my sake? So I can sleep at night?¡±

    The orc offered a highly convincing shrug. ¡°Sure, mate.¡±

    Reluctantly, Daana released his gnarled hand and threw her hood up over her head as she walked swiftly back to her horse, fighting the pressure building behind her eyes. Wayward tears slipped free and trickled down her cheeks regardless. ¡°You¡¯re going to do great.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you start blubbering again. All it¡¯s going to do is send me away faster.¡± Ignoring the moisture pooling in his own eyes, Snag turned back to Twig, muttering as he unfastened one of the bangles from his tattered ear. ¡°You see this, boy? This here is a real mark of status. I didn¡¯t get this one from running some silly errand. This was earned through blood and grit.¡±

    Twig wrinkled his nose at the curious disk-shaped dangle. ¡°It¡¯s not gold.¡±

    ¡°Dragon scale,¡± Snag replied. ¡°Carved it myself after I killed the beast using nothing but a clothesline and a cheese knife.¡±

    Daana sorely wanted to point out that she¡¯d witnessed him pick it up at a vendor stall three months prior, but decided against shattering whatever illusion Snag was crafting. Twig was fully enraptured, staring wide eyed at the bangle as if it was the answer to all his life¡¯s problems.

    ¡°You want a real mark of status, boy?¡± Snag held the prize just out of reach as he outlined his conditions. ¡°Spread the word. Tell all the dens in the area that Snaglebrag Flint has come home and he¡¯s going to restore his clan to their former might. Do that, and your first bangle will be worth more than gold.¡±

 223 - Welcome Home

    Many years ago, before the death of his father, the failed assassination attempt, and the resulting loss of his eyesight, Rasp used to wander the neighboring territories at whim. It was mostly boring, unexciting forest, but occasionally he would stumble across a stretch of farmland. To an ordinary citizen of the realm, a farmstead was just another component of everyday life. Home to some, a familiar sight to many, a passing dot along the carriage road, if you were really lucky. But to Rasp, an outsider who had spent his entire life crammed inside the colorless belly of a mountain, farms were a never ending source of wonder.

    There were cows and horses to watch, dogs to befriend, and enough rats in the hayloft to keep his stomach full for days. But it was the people who¡¯d fascinated him the most. Rasp never approached any of them outright ¡ª except for Priss, of course, the rebellious farmer¡¯s daughter who¡¯d happily demonstrated that haylofts had uses beyond catching rats. Priss had been the exception to the rule, though. Rasp had kept his distance from all other citizens of the realm, content to watch their antics from afar. The farm folk were always coming and going, up from dawn until dusk, laboring away on their little patch of heaven.

    It was on one such visit, deep in the late autumn months, that Rasp discovered the love of his life. And no, he wasn¡¯t talking about Priss. He¡¯d been wrestling with the farm dogs behind the barn when an unfamiliar scent struck him low. It was a warm smell, thick with the sweet, tangy aroma of plums and a savory kick of thyme. Abandoning the dogs, Rasp had followed it to the small farm cottage. He found himself near the kitchen, with the love of his life cooling on an open windowsill.

    He had never seen a galette before and, consequently, had no idea what it was. But, at that moment, Rasp realized he was in love. Looking back, he wished he¡¯d left money and not a catch of dead rats as payment on the sill, but his understanding of how the outside world operated was tragically undeveloped at the time. He took off with the pastry as fast as his legs would go, nearly dropping his prize several times on account of the blistering heat radiating from the not-yet-cooled plate.

    Finding a suitable tree with plenty of leaf cover, Rasp climbed into the boughs and ate the galette out of sight. The first bite nearly made him cry. It was the best thing he¡¯d ever tasted. Warm, sweet, and buttery, with just enough hit of thyme to make the inside of his nose itch. He devoured it in a single sitting and couldn¡¯t move for hours, even after the screams from the farmhouse sent the farmer and his sons racing up and down the property with their pitchforks and shovels in hand.

    Rasp never forgot that galette. Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when nature was calling but he was still too cold to take care of business, he would drift between consciousness, dreaming of licking the dark, sticky syrup from his fingertips. Even now, the smell of caramelized plums and thyme called to him, beckoning him to come find it again, and relive one of the best moments of his life.

    Admittedly, given Rasp¡¯s circumstances, it seemed strange that memories of a long-gone dessert had become the focus of his thoughts. But after spending an untold number of days trapped underground, being paraded about as designated monster bait, his memories were one of the few safe havens he had left. In some ironic twist of fate, Rasp himself had become the plum galette. At least in the poetic sense. While his companions had kindly not sealed him inside a buttery pastry shell destined for the oven, he was food nonetheless. Fortunately for him, being monster food was relatively easy. All he had to do was sit, wait, and occasionally throw out a spell or two to drive the nameless one mad with hunger.

    All in all, not bad, so long as you ignored the part where he stood a good chance of getting eaten.

    The days passed uneventfully. Rasp slept in the open, under an endless expanse of soft, green glowing algae in what was once a grand colosseum. It even had a complex system of interconnected rooms built beneath the stands which, according to know-it-all Hop, was called a ¡®hypogeum¡¯. While Rasp didn¡¯t care much for the name, nor the accompanying history lesson, he did like discovering that a few of the hypogeum¡¯s old rooms were still filled with abandoned weaponry. He liked that very much. Particularly the part that involved him dragging weapons in and out all day, creating nifty piles in the open arena area above. For what reason? Other than to be a nuisance and play with stabby things, he wasn¡¯t so sure there was one.

    It gave him something to preoccupy his time, at the very least. And good gods did he need that more than ever. While he was free to wander the arena grounds and accompanying hypogeum at will, Rasp wasn¡¯t allowed beyond the colosseum walls. Keeping him locked inside was for his own protection, Bromm assured him. The dwarf translator told many a story of a spellbound citizen following the beast¡¯s voice to its lair, destined to never be seen again.

    Rasp didn¡¯t like those stories and preferred to think of pie instead.

    Sometimes, when he wasn''t sleeping, griping, or building giant piles of swords, he and Whisper would practice his magic. His mentor seemed to have taken a special interest in Rasp¡¯s newfound glow spell. They spent hours working to harness the luminescence of the surrounding algae and channel it into a usable light source. At a reasonable glow, Rasp could hold the light for several minutes at a time, but Whisper kept pushing him to make it brighter. ¡®Like the sun¡¯ his mentor would tell him each time his attempts to push the spell to a satisfactory level failed to impress.

    Normally Rasp would have demanded to know why he needed to emulate the sun. He saved his breath as the inevitable answer would be ¡®the worm doesn¡¯t get to ask questions¡¯. Just like the worm wasn¡¯t allowed out of the locked colosseum, or allowed to be apart of the many, many hushed meetings his teammates had without him, or ask questions about how long this side adventure was going to fucking take. In the end, however, he suspected he knew the reason, but even that came with a host of problems.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    If the nameless one possessed the ability to read his thoughts, then it could theoretically know everything he knew. Ultimately, it was better for everyone if Rasp was kept in the dark. And while he felt slightly left out each time his friends left for one of their whispered team meetings, it wasn¡¯t forever. They always came back again, usually with food in hand and some residual argument to keep him entertained. Whisper retired in the evenings to the protection of the charmed chambers, but Faris and June always stayed the night with Rasp. As of late, Hop had started to hang around more and more as well.

    Their evenings together were quickly becoming Rasp¡¯s favorite part of the day. For one thing, no one was expecting him to train, and he could lounge at ease, trading stories beneath the otherworldly glow of the bioluminescent algae.

    ¡°So there I was¡ª¡± Faris, the natural born story-teller, had a flair for making even the most mundane shit sound fantastical. It didn¡¯t matter if Rasp had heard the story before or, better yet, been involved, he sat hanging on to every word just like the others ¡°¡ªalone, wet, freezing my ass off, and running for my life. It didn¡¯t know what it was at first, but it was big, and it kept on my trail like a wolf on a kill.¡±

    ¡°Wolves don¡¯t chase kills,¡± June interjected. ¡°By definition, a kill¡¯s already dead. You mean prey. Wolves chase prey. And usually as a pack, not as a solitary¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shhh,¡± Hop shushed. He made an ideal audience member. Whereas Rasp and June made it their unspoken mission to derail Faris¡¯s retelling as often as possible, Hop actively participated, encouraging the story to unfold in the most dramatic way possible. ¡°Will you please let him finish?¡±

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry,¡± Rasp said. ¡°Faris doesn¡¯t mind a little edging now and then.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but I get the distinct feeling that I¡¯m better off that way,¡± Hop replied.

    June, naturally, insisted on remedying Hop¡¯s willful ignorance. ¡°It means¡ª¡±

    ¡°It was a bear! Biggest one I¡¯d ever seen.¡± Faris kept the story going in spite of the constant interruptions from his easily distracted audience. ¡°It chased me for three days before I succumbed to exhaustion. I didn¡¯t expect to wake up again. And when I did, I was even more surprised to find the damn thing sitting on top of me.¡±

    ¡°Oh please,¡± June muttered. ¡°It¡¯s not like you would have preferred me sitting on your in my other body.¡±

    Faris flapped one of his ears. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind your human form if clothing wasn¡¯t such a foreign concept to your family.¡±

    ¡°No way around it, I¡¯m afraid,¡± June said. ¡°I¡¯ve got to take the clothes off before I shift, otherwise they¡¯ll rip. And once I¡¯m in bear form, there¡¯s no practical way to carry them. Kind of ruins the illusion to see a giant bear carrying a bag in its mouth, after all. Ergo, I simply travel without. A little nudity never hurt anybody.¡± She paused, adding with a dramatic sigh, ¡°That is until fuss bucket here insisted he carry some for me in his pack.¡±

    An unexpected yawn escaped Rasp¡¯s open mouth. It was the third one in nearly as many minutes. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he could feel the weight of the day¡¯s activities pulling his heavy eyelids further down. There was no use fighting it, he supposed. Rasp drew his blanket tight around his shoulders and settled onto the ground. Faris and June¡¯s competing voices rose and fell above his head, their words slowly melding together into a soothing hum.

    He was in that in-between state, not quite asleep, not fully awake, when the spongy dirt beneath him began to vibrate. It was gentle at first, like the buzz of a hummingbird¡¯s wings in flight. The intensity doubled, tripled, quadrupled in the span of mere seconds as something worked its way upwards. With a thunderous boom, the dirt tore open, sending a wave of rock and dirt raining down over the enclosed arena. Rasp scrambled, shielding his head against the onslaught as he rolled to avoid the worst of it.

    Finally, the buckling ground settled. Rasp squinted near where the rift had torn the arena asunder, gasping when a blurry shadow hauled its gargantuan body from the crevice. A soothing voice rippled across his mind as the beast slithered nearer, its great head rearing in the air high above him. My dear, I have been calling for you. Why do you not answer?

    Rasp jumped to his feet and staggered backwards. The soft moss and dirt pulsed beneath him, as if the ground was alive, thrumming with a heartbeat of its own. He opened his mouth to scream but the voice swept over his mind, quieting his troubled thoughts.

    Do not be afraid. I am here to help you. Come with me and I will make everything as it should be.

    Rasp¡¯s sixth sense buzzed a warning around the edges of his mind, like a fly trapped in a web, but he couldn¡¯t discern the individual words. Panic overtook him as his instinct to fight battled against the rush of calmness surging through his veins.

    A firm hand seized him by the shoulder, yanking him from the path of danger. ¡°Rasp!¡± Hop¡¯s voice was muffled as though he were yards away and not standing right next to him. ¡°The glow spell now!¡±

    Rasp obeyed without question. He drew within, summoning every available thread of magic as he pictured a glow as bright as the sun. The power built within his hands, fighting his control until, at last, Rasp released and willed the light into existence. Three things happened as a result. The first was the blinding light that pulsed across the colosseum, highlighting the decrepit arena in an eerie green glow. Second was the resulting screech from the creature that was far too close to him than it should have been. Third was the blistering sting that struck Rasp¡¯s chest, causing him to stumble several steps backwards as a mysterious heat burrowed deep into his flesh and branched out.

    ¡°Hold up! Cut off his magic! It¡¯s not a borrowing dra¨C¡± The rest of Faris¡¯s warning was swallowed by distance. It was nothing more than an indistinguishable hum now, melding seamlessly amidst the other droning voices until all three vanished completely.

    The searing heat within Rasp¡¯s chest cooled. An overwhelming sense of peace caused his hands to fall uselessly to his sides, the spell on his lips forgotten. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes as the surrounding glow rained down from above, like algae-frosted snowflakes. He should¡¯ve been bothered that the light was dwindling, some minuscule portion of his mind insisted, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it¡¯d come. Pinpricks of light danced along the edges of Rasp¡¯s muddled vision as the earth began to sway in rhythm to the heartbeat thrumming beneath his feet.

    Hush now, my dear. Don¡¯t fret. Don¡¯t fight. Let go of the pain you¡¯ve been holding. You have no need for it anymore.

    The voice enveloped him in velvety softness as the fight drained from his body. With a muffled whimper, unaware of the screams coming from all around, Rasp closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness.

    Welcome home.

 224 - Foolish Talk

    Rasp awoke to the tantalizing smell of sweet plums, buttery crust, and thyme. His eyes fluttered open, blinking at the harsh light pouring in from the window. Sunspots dotted his vision for a few seconds before they cleared, giving way to a familiar room. He was seated on a pine bench, with his upper half slumped over a matching rectangular table. The tabletop was scarred, burned, and pitted from four generations of abuse. He ran his hand over the polished surface, feeling a smile pull at his lips when his fingertips brushed against the anatomical drawing he¡¯d etched into the grain as a teenager. No amount of buffing had ever been able to get it out.

    Mother insisted he sit in front of the etching at every meal afterwards, hopeful, perhaps, that if he stared at it over and over again, he would one day come to realize his shame. Unfortunately, all it did was make him giddy. Even now, he felt the irresistible itch to grab the nearest knife and add a few curly-q hairs.

    ¡°Is there where you¡¯ve been? I wondered why it was so quiet.¡± A woman strode into the room and heaved a stack of plates from one of the overcrowded shelves lining the wall. ¡°You¡¯re not carving anymore penises into my table, are you?¡±

    A sharp pain lanced through Rasp¡¯s chest. He sat straight, fighting his sudden inability to breathe. ¡°Mom?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± She hummed as she worked.

    ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± What a stupid thing to say. So stupid in fact, Rasp wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d said it. Of course it was her. He could see her clear as day, couldn¡¯t he? Why did that feel like it was out of the ordinary?

    Mother turned in his direction, pushing the dark auburn hair from her eyes. A soft smile hovered over her lips. ¡°Were you expecting someone else?¡±

    Words failed him. He felt happy and sad at the same time and, for the life of him, couldn¡¯t figure out why. Rasp wanted to push to his feet, rush over, and hold her in his arms and never let go again. But something was holding him back. There was a strange, squiggly feeling in the back of his skull. It pulsed, barely, like the former ache of a long-forgotten injury.

    Try as he might, his words still weren¡¯t behaving correctly. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±

    Mother waited patiently for him to finish.

    Gah! Why was this suddenly so hard? It was there, right on the tip of his tongue, but the harder he pursued it, the farther the old ache drifted out of reach.

    Mother¡¯s hands went to her hips. ¡°Are you going to finish your thought? I am what?¡±

    Unfortunately, her prompting did the opposite of what she intended and the word Rasp was searching for vanished from his memory. He blinked, attempting to recall what he¡¯d meant to say. She was¡­something. Something important. Something that made him sad. Except that had changed, because seeing her again made him less sad. Happy then? Was that it?

    Yes, he decided, as a tentative smile pulled across his downturned mouth. He was happy. Whatever it was he thought he knew, didn¡¯t matter anymore because everything was just how it was supposed to be. ¡°Never mind. It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Mother asked.

    Her smile made Rasp¡¯s spirits lift even higher. Whatever this inexplicable sense of happiness was, he never wanted it to end. It was as if all the frayed strings in his life had finally pulled together, resulting in a tapestry more beautiful than his wildest dreams. He just hadn¡¯t been able to see it before. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Come on then.¡± Mother gestured for him to join her. ¡°Help me set the table.¡±

    ¡°You want me to help?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t let me set the table since Mul and I used your favorite plates for slingshot pra¡ª¡± The blood rushed from Rasp¡¯s head as he stood. He staggered forward, holding a hand to his eyes as he waited for the room to stop spinning. When he opened them again, the plates had moved from the back counter to the table. Cutlery had been laid out too, along with an assortment of mismatched goblets and neatly folded napkins.

    That was odd. The squiggly feeling was back at it again, wriggling around like a worm loose in his skull.

    Mother set the extra napkins down and approached, resting her hand on his shoulder. ¡°Are you alright, Raspberry?¡±

    Was he? Good gods, it felt like he was losing his mind. Things kept shifting on him and he couldn¡¯t tell if it was him or the things that were out of sorts. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    ¡°Look at me, dear.¡±

    Rasp did as she asked, taken aback by what he saw. Somewhere along the way, he¡¯d forgotten what she¡¯d looked like. How her smile could light a room. The way the lines between her eyebrows crinkled together when he compared her cooking to a bloated porcupine. He gazed into familiar eyes, deep like pools of green tranquility.

    An unexplained thought wormed free from his tongue. ¡°I thought you only had one eye.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s vision blurred as the room shifted again. This time, when he regained his composure, Mother was back standing alongside the counter, sorting utensils. Rasp opened his mouth to demand an explanation when a short, wiry man burst into the room, carrying a squealing child on his shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s my favorite bastard,¡± he said, setting the boy onto the ground. ¡°Go on. Go kick your dad in the shin like I showed you.¡±

    ¡°Not now. Get out,¡± Rasp commanded, refusing to let go of the thought else it might slip through his grasp once more. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of something.¡±

    ¡°What? Too busy for your own damn son, Raspy?¡±

    His what? Rasp turned, locking eyes with the short man as the squirming sensation in the back of his head fell eerily still. A different feeling flooded his insides. Confusion, mostly. He had never felt at ease in this particular man¡¯s presence before, but the more he stared, the more the years of animosity melted away like ice during the breakup season. Even now, the word felt dirty in his mouth. ¡°Dad.¡±

    ¡°Son,¡± Father greeted in a similar fashion.

    For all his faults, Father could at least be counted on for one thing. He didn¡¯t put up with bullshit. Rasp tilted his head at him, watching his father¡¯s expression for its customary tells. ¡°Does any of this feel odd to you?¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been odd to me, Raspberry. Can¡¯t be helped, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    That sounded right. Or at least like something his father would say. Chewing his lip, Rasp¡¯s gaze moved lower, realizing he¡¯d forgotten all about the small child that was now meandering dangerously in his direction. The boy looked like one of Bil¡¯s kids, but scrawnier. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Did you get hit on the head again, boy?¡± Father demanded with a laugh. ¡°Gods, I take your wee lad for a single afternoon and you forget him entirely.¡±

    Rasp startled backwards until his legs struck the bench and he sat to keep from falling over. Before he could protest, the boy was clambering into his lap. Rasp¡¯s first instinct was to shove the kid to the floor, but something stayed his hand. He looked the boy over, marveling at his dark wavy hair and brilliant brown eyes. There was a familiar warmth in the boy¡¯s expression. It pulled Rasp in, melting all of his former trepidations.

    Rasp reached out and ruffled the boy¡¯s hair, not sure why it was summoning tears to his eyes. This time, when the obnoxious squirming sensation returned, he ignored it. He didn¡¯t care anymore. Odd or not, this was a moment that he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible.

    ¡°You¡¯re bigger than I remember,¡± Rasp said to his son.

    ¡°See? I told you it would happen, didn¡¯t I?¡± Father shuffled from the doorway towards the table. ¡°One day they¡¯re wee little babes, and the next you¡¯re having to stand on tiptoe to see eye to eye.¡±

    The boy whipped his head around at the old man, mouth curled in protest. ¡°I¡¯m not a baby. I¡¯m big!¡±

    ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you?¡± Rasp said, his voice as soft as a whisper. It felt like he¡¯d been asleep for ages, living the day-to-day of a distant nightmare for so long, he¡¯d accepted it as reality. But he was awake now. The nightmare had faded save for a few lingering feelings that he just couldn¡¯t quite shake.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to report that your boy is a born huntsman,¡± Father said, settling into the chair at the head of the table. ¡°Leaps ahead of where you were at his age.¡±

    ¡°What would you know, old man?¡± Rasp said. ¡°Bil taught me to hunt, not you.¡±

    ¡°I guess that explains it then. The blind leading the blind.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s head jerked to attention. ¡°What was that?¡±

    Father seemed more interested in his drink. He drained half his mug in a single gulp before wiping the droplets from his silver whiskers with the back of his sleeve, ignoring the neatly folded napkin to his left. ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°What you just said.¡± Already, Rasp could feel the words dissipating from his memory. He tried to focus on them, but they turned to dust. Rasp struck his fist against the table with a resounding slam. ¡°What did you say?¡±

    ¡°Gods, Raspberry, have a drink already. You¡¯re acting all out of sorts.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s stare settled on the mug in front of him, brimming with a honey-colored liquid. The drink had always been there, hadn¡¯t it? What in the realm was wrong with him today? He really was losing his mind. Rasp raised the cup to his lips, barely tasting the warm ale that slid down his throat. Behind him, the rest of the family barged into the dining room, arranging themselves around the table.

    Rasp nearly spat his drink back up the moment a young woman placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. ¡°Excuse me?¡± he croaked, staring up at her wide-eyed.

    ¡°Is that any way to greet the love of your life?¡±

    Rasp set the mug back down, blinking hard. ¡°What the fuck are you talking about? You up and left me after our baby¡­¡± He paused, thoughts racing across his mind as he tried and failed to find the missing pieces of this puzzle. Something wasn¡¯t adding up. Rasp met her unflinching gaze. He¡¯d loved her, once. But not anymore. At least he didn¡¯t think so. Had it all been a dream? It felt like so much more had happened between then and now but for the life of him, he couldn¡¯t recall any of it.

    ¡°Ignore him,¡± Mother murmured as she moved about, setting various dishes onto the table. ¡°He¡¯s in his head again.¡±

    The young woman trailed her fingers down his arm. ¡°I think I might know how to snap him out of it.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t fucking touch me!¡± Rasp slapped her hand away as an unknown fire lit within his belly, battling against the cool calmness that kept trying to extinguish the rising flames. ¡°Not after what you did. You said I was cursed, remember? And that it was my fault that¡­¡± Rasp¡¯s voice trailed, realizing he could no longer recall what horrendous misdeed had caused the irreparable rift between them.

    For a split second, the young woman¡¯s eyes went cold, like frost. Rasp remembered that look, and the way it used to shred his insides to minced meat. Before he could put his thoughts to words the room shifted again and the young woman was pink in the face and on the verge of tears. ¡°Why are you being so cruel?¡± she said, lower lip quivering. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you? You¡¯re not acting like yourself.¡±

    He didn¡¯t have anything to say to that. Heat flushed across his face as Rasp averted his gaze. The boy in his lap stared back up at him, brown eyes wide and glistening with the innocence of youth. The more they looked at each other, the more the surrounding calmness settled deeper in Rasp¡¯s bones, eating away at his unease. How could he yell in front of someone so innocent? That wasn¡¯t fair. The boy hadn¡¯t done anything wrong.

    Rasp was about to give in, to shut out the squirmy feeling in the back of his head and accept the calmness for what it was, when one final thought flashed across his mind. ¡°I don¡¯t know his name.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± one of his brothers chimed in from further down the table. ¡°Dumbass here doesn¡¯t remember what he named his own kid.¡±

    Rasp ignored the offender, too concentrated on extracting the details from his shifting memory to retaliate. ¡°We were waiting for his name day. We had a few picked out, I remember, I wrote a list on paper.¡± The mental image of that list being thrown in the fire darted before his eyes. He tried to latch onto it, to decipher its meaning, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

    ¡°You changed your mind at the last second,¡± the young woman reminded him, offering a placating smile.

    ¡°I did?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my first choice, but you seemed so excited, I couldn¡¯t tell you no. I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s grown on me since.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t I remember?¡± Rasp demanded, feeling his heartbeat spike once more. ¡°Why don¡¯t I remember his name? That¡¯s something I should remember, right? My own son¡¯s fucking name?¡±

    Mother and the young woman traded concerned looks before the latter supplied the answer. ¡°It¡¯s Faris.¡±

    Oh. Right. Now that they mentioned it, that name did sound familiar. A swell of relief broke over the top of him. Rasp relaxed back onto the bench, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Gods, what was wrong with him? Faris was a good kid, the best son an undeserving dad could ask for. He loved Faris, and Faris loved him. Sure, they never actually said it out loud, but it was in the little things. The way Faris would call him names, like Dinglehead.

    ¡°Dinglehead?¡± Rasp managed to get the word out before the memory dissipated.

    ¡°Eat,¡± Mother commanded, shoving a slice of plum galette in his direction.

    It smelled heavenly, rich, sweet, and savory, all rolled into a buttery crust and piping hot from the oven. The thick aroma of thyme wafted into the air, carried by the steam, and worked its way into his nose, causing both his eyes and his mouth to water. One bite, and Rasp would forget his troubles. He didn¡¯t know how he knew this, he just did.

    Father leaned over the table in his direction, whispering, ¡°It¡¯s time to wake up, Raspberry.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Mother huffed as she moved to the other end of the table and sat. ¡°We are going to have a pleasant family meal for a change. Now, no more of this foolish talk. Everyone eat.¡±

    On cue, the dinner conversation rose up to a deafening hum as each dish passed from hand to hand, from one end to the next. Ordinarily Rasp would have fought tooth and nail to secure his portion, but his appetite was suddenly gone. He watched each dish pass by confused as to how something this right could possibly feel so wrong.

    ¡°Raspberry.¡±

    He followed his father¡¯s voice, locking eyes with the small man. Rasp used to hate how much they looked alike. Same small, wiry frame, and narrow face. The only difference was Father¡¯s age and silver hair. Rasp was fortunate that his mop of unruly tangles was the same color as mother¡¯s.

    ¡°Wake up!¡±

    Startled, Rasp released the lock of hair he was holding, swearing he saw a shimmer of silver. The surrounding hum grew louder, each individual voice blending together as the room crescendoed into blaring din. The colors swirled as Rasp¡¯s vision went fuzzy. The only detail that remained in focus was his father.

    Father leaned forward, fingertips digging into the table, and shouted, ¡°You need to wake up, boy. Wake up!¡±

 225 - Wake Up

    Croak, croak, croak!

    Rasp jerked awake, pulling a mouthful of wet, dingy air into his lungs with gasp. His face was unbearably hot, slick with sweat and a slippery substance he couldn¡¯t identify. The heat, however, was only skin deep, unable to penetrate the flesh underneath. Rasp¡¯s bones felt ice cold. A barrage of competing emotions slammed into him at once ¡ª pain, confusion, panic¡­hunger? The growing pang in his empty gut only added to his already overwhelming sense of confusion.

    A rush of cool wind stung Rasp¡¯s face as Father¡¯s wings beat the air in front of him, screeching for his son to get his ass in motion.

    Rasp rolled just as a blurred object struck the ground where he¡¯d been a split second before, tearing open the spongy soil in a splatter of wet muck and moss. Rasp scrambled to his hands and knees, prepared to dart forward when some six sense flashed like a green-blue beacon within his head, warning him to remain still. Another blurred object struck down in front of him, knocking Father from the air.

    He should have been stricken with terror and yet Rasp couldn¡¯t shake the sudden, inexplicable urge to lunge forward and bite whatever was trying to skewer him. You cannot eat the monster! his thoughts screamed, snapping him from his hunger-induced trance. Grab Dad and go!

    Rasp seized the squawking raven and tucked him safely under one arm, hissing to keep quiet. By some miracle Father listened and the pair fell eerily still as the beast moved in the dark around them. Crouched low to the ground, stock-still and with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, Rasp was too focused on passing for a statue to notice the squirming feeling in the back of his head had not only returned, but was growing. The sensation built, and built, and built, until it burst. Warmth lanced down Rasp¡¯s spine and flooded his cold bones. The warmth spread into his flesh, through muscle, sinew, hair, and beyond. Rasp gasped as the alien sensation took hold. His skin felt stretched, as if his tactile senses extended beyond their physical limitations.

    The monster moved around him. He felt its armored body shift overhead, segmented joints creaking and clicking against one another like iron armor. The green warning lights returned, flooding Rasp¡¯s muddled vision. The flashes melded with his newfound sense of touch and, together, formed a mental image that caused his stomach to drop.

    His magical signature burned yellow, huddled so tiny and small beneath a giant, shifting green beast. Even in his mind¡¯s eye, the beast was barely a blurred shape. Taking a deep breath, Rasp closed his eyes and focused on what he could feel. His magic bloomed across its body, spreading along its smooth, armored hide. The nameless one was long, nearly six meters in length, with a shell-like segmented body and more barbed legs than he could count. His magic reached the bulbous head, inspecting a pair of mandibles large enough to cut a giant in half, when a sudden flash of green warned him that it was time to move.

    ¡°Fly!¡± Rasp tossed Father into the air and then threw his own body to the side, managing to avoid the barbed leg that struck at him, only to be caught by another. Pain seared through Rasp¡¯s left flank as the curved barbs dug into his flesh. His six sense dissipated, leaving him blind once more, as pain and panic set in. Rasp thrashed, tearing away from the monster¡¯s spiny leg. He got only a few steps away before a second appendage pinned him.

    He struggled, screaming, as more legs curled around him. They drew tighter, steadily crushing the life from his struggling body. No matter how he flailed and thrashed, Rasp couldn¡¯t get free. His skin was sticky with blood as each attempt drove the barbed spines deeper. Magic pooled in his hands. Panicked and losing blood, his mind was suddenly void of all spells, as though the last five months of training was being sapped out of him through a straw.

    A coolness spread from his chest, soothing the burn as it slithered and slunk up his outstretched arms and into his hands. Dark magic leapt forth from his open palms and dispersed into the air. Rasp flinched at the horrific screech that followed. The monster pinning him to the ground shifted, its legs trembling as it struggled to fight off its invisible attacker. The pull of magic changed. The ice in Rasp¡¯s veins crackled and popped as the darkness fed, draining the magic of the would-be hunter into itself and, by extension, its horrified human vessel. Rasp¡¯s frozen limbs ached as unfamiliar magic pooled within his bones.

    ¡°No magic, baby brother!¡± June¡¯s voice cut through the deafening clamor a split second before her lithe shape sprang from the surrounding shadows. ¡°Cut it off!¡±

    Rasp severed his magic just as a spray of hot, acidic blood splattered over his face. He sputtered, coughing up mouthfuls of sour bile as one of the humongous legs pinning him down gave way. Rasp saw a flash of steel amidst the glowing, green gloom before more blood rained over him. The beast squealed in agony as its gigantean body shifted, legs clicking and creaking as they pulled away to escape the wrath of June¡¯s blade. She drove it back, shouting every Stoneclaw obscenity known to man.

    ¡°Come on, up, up, up!¡± Faris was suddenly alongside him, grabbing Rasp under the arm and yanking him to his feet. Rasp took a single, shaky step and nearly fell on his face. The soft ground below him was slick with pools of warm blood.

    ¡°You two better move it!¡± June warned. ¡°I can¡¯t hold this thing by myself much longer.¡±

    Rasp latched onto Faris¡¯s arm for dear life as the faun hauled him across the upturned arena. Faris refused to slow his breakneck pace to accommodate Rasp¡¯s numb legs. Rasp was dragged along by the arm instead, tripping and stumbling on what felt like every rock and exposed root system along the way, impeding their swift escape.

    ¡°Come on, Rasp,¡± Faris pleaded, trying to lift him higher. ¡°You¡¯ve got to run.¡±

    To his credit, Rasp tried. But his legs were the equivalent of soggy noodles and could barely manage a crawl, much less a run. Loud hoof steps thundered against the upturned ground as another member of the team darted out from hiding to assist them. Hop hooked his arm under Rasp¡¯s shoulder and lifted. So far, in fact, Rasp¡¯s feet dangled above the dirt, his body suspended between the two fauns who surged forward at a speed more likely to assure their survival.

    It was only once they were behind the safety of cover that Rasp was set down onto his own wobbly feet again. He might have collapsed had it not been for Faris, who seized him around the middle in what might have been a well-intended hug. That or he was trying to kill Rasp in the most slow, yet still painful, way possible.

    ¡°I thought you were dead,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Love me less.¡± Rasp¡¯s voice came out sounding more like a croak than its usual overly loud self. As much as he appreciated the opportunity to keep living, he couldn¡¯t help but feel guilty about leaving his sister, as mad as she was, on the battlefield all by her lonesome. He desperately tapped Faris¡¯s shoulder, begging to be let go.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Faris seemed reluctant to release him, but did so anyway. He remained uncomfortably close, as if concerned he had to be within arm¡¯s reach in the unlikely event Rasp wanted to have a second go at death. ¡°You can¡¯t go back out there.¡±

    It was as if Faris had read his damn mind. ¡°June¡¯s out there battling it by herself.¡±

    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, she appears to be enjoying herself,¡± Hop contributed. ¡°Your sword piles came in handy. As soon as she loses one, she simply picks up another.¡±

    ¡°Rasp, seriously, you can¡¯t go back out there,¡± Faris said again, as though he feared his best friend hadn¡¯t heard the first time. ¡°We were wrong to try to use magic against it. The nameless one uses a witch¡¯s magic as a connection, a way to put them into a trance as it feeds. How you managed to fight its enchantment off on your own is beyond me.¡±

    ¡°Because he didn¡¯t do it on his own,¡± Hop said. His voice was marked with worry. It was impossible to know whether it was directed at the monster or Rasp. ¡°He¡¯s carrying a parasitic entity that also feeds on magic. The hunter unwittingly became the hunted the moment it tried to leech his power.¡±

    Score one for being magically cursed. Unfortunately, whatever magic the dark entity had managed to siphon from the beast wasn¡¯t enough. The dark power writhing beneath Rasp¡¯s veins was ravenous for more. Rasp raised his hand and wiped the saliva from his panting mouth, hoping the others wouldn¡¯t point out the fact that he was literally drooling with hunger. ¡°So we¡¯re just going to stand here talking instead? What do we do? Better yet, where¡¯s Whisper?¡±

    ¡°Better be on their mucking way,¡± Faris said.

    Hop added, dejectedly, ¡°I¡¯m not sure how useful Whisper¡¯s going to be if they can¡¯t use their magic.¡±

    In other words, they were fucked. Great. Rasp searched the area around him for something to collapse against. His fingers brushed against pitted stone and, after confirming the object was sturdy enough to bear his weight, leaned against it. Unsummoned, the squiggly sensational returned. It moved down his neck, across his arms, and spread into the carved rock. Rasp tilted his head, squinting upwards as his spreading magic painted a mental picture of a towering stone column.

    He didn¡¯t want to move, but felt compelled to simply for curiosity¡¯s sake. Using his hands to guide him, Rasp navigated to the edge of the column and peeked out around it. From there it wasn¡¯t difficult to locate the monster. Rasp¡¯s magic followed the vibrations in the ground to the source of the commotion. He felt familiar, barbed legs and moved upwards, across the beast¡¯s smooth hide.

    Once more, his sixth sense filled in the gaps, displaying a ghostly imprint of an image that he knew he was not actually seeing. No matter how many times he blinked, however, the image was still there each time he opened his eyes. ¡°Faris,¡± he said, feeling ¡ª for a lack of better word ¡ª squiggly both inside and out. ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with my eyes.¡±

    ¡°No shit,¡± Faris muttered. ¡°Look, I know you just came to, but I need you to listen. You have to stay here. Magic is useless against this thing. It¡¯s not a drake, like we thought. It¡¯s a¡ª¡±

    Rasp squinted, realizing he could make out a faint giant, yet familiar, shape. ¡°Looks like a centipede.¡±

    ¡°Scolopendra,¡± Faris corrected without thinking. ¡°Same idea, basically. Except it¡¯s much, much bigger and¡­¡± His voice trailed for a moment as his thoughts caught up to his mouth. ¡°How do you know what it looks like?¡±

    Rasp made a vague flailing motion with his fingertips. ¡°I¡¯m not seeing it with my eyes. I feel it with my magic, like feel-it-feel-it. Every movement of its body feels it¡¯s a part of my own. It¡¯s like aura vision, but clearer. I could count the legs on the legs on the centipede if I wanted to.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re seeing without seeing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Dingle. My senses and my magic have blended together here.¡± Rasp placed a finger against his temple. ¡°It¡¯s all mishy-mashy. Working together to create an image in my brain.¡±

    Unfortunately, this statement made about as much sense out loud as it had in his head. Gods, whatever trance the beast had put him in had certainly done a number on him.

    To his credit, Faris actually stopped and seemed to be considering the insanity spewing from Rasp¡¯s mouth. He asked, ¡°Can you see me?¡±

    Rasp turned and willed his magic in Faris¡¯s direction. ¡°Huh. I¡¯m not getting anything from you. But it worked with the column.¡±

    ¡°The column is covered in bioluminescent algae,¡± Hop noted, speaking in that slow tone of voice that implied he was already forming a hypothesis. ¡°Just like the scolopendra.¡±

    Rasp nodded along despite having no idea what either of his friends were getting at. He could hear the ruckus June was making and the old Stoneclaw urge to take up arms and join the fray was growing impossible to ignore.

    ¡°Can you see the ground?¡± Faris asked. ¡°Walls? Literally anything else?¡±

    Rasp narrowed his eyes as his gaze swept across the strange green, glowing alien-scape around him. ¡°Vaguely, I think.¡±

    ¡°The algae!¡± For whatever reason, Hop felt it was necessary to shout his findings.

    ¡°Not so loud,¡± Faris hissed.

    ¡°You hit the monster with a glow spell right before you went under,¡± Hop continued as the former trepidation bled from his voice. For the first in weeks, he sounded damn near hopeful. ¡°I think you¡¯re still connected to the algae. Whatever the algae touches, you touch too. It must have combined with your aura vision. Your senses are working together, just like we practiced.¡±

    Damn. And here Rasp thought Hop was going to come up with something logical. The poor artificer had finally, truly lost his remaining marbles. ¡°Sorry, Hop. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a thing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s going to have to be a thing.¡± Faris pressed a blade into Rasp¡¯s hand. ¡°The only way to take this thing out is piece by piece. June and I have been hacking legs off left and right. It¡¯ll bleed out a lot faster if there are four of us working it from all sides.¡±

    ¡°Four?¡± The hope in Hop¡¯s voice immediately vanished. ¡°I can¡¯t wield a blade. I¡¯ve only ever seen combat from the sidelines.¡±

    ¡°Just pretend the sword¡¯s a scalpel,¡± Rasp offered helpfully. ¡°And the monster¡¯s legs are teeth and you¡¯re just there to remove them, one by one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how dentistry works, Rasp.¡±

    ¡°You could always be the bait,¡± Faris said. ¡°It¡¯s probably not too keen to snack on Rasp now that it knows he bites back. You¡¯ve got magic, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Hop would make an irresistible little snack,¡± Rasp agreed.

    He may not have been able to see Faris nodding, but Rasp was one hundred percent certain the faun was doing so, even if he wasn¡¯t aware of it himself. ¡°Very.¡±

    Hop begrudgingly accepted the offer to lop off legs with a weak whimper. ¡°Is this really our plan, Faris? Hack it to death?¡±

    ¡°It feeds on magic. There¡¯s not much else we can do.¡±

    ¡°We could run,¡± Hop pointed out.

    Faris proceeded to tell Hop all the many reasons why running wouldn¡¯t work. Rasp left him to it. There were other, better things he should have been doing anyway. A burning warmth pulsed from within his chest, banishing the lingering chill as the rush of battle flooded his veins. He was going to get to fight something? Without magic? It was everything he¡¯d ever wanted, except the part where he died a horrific death at the end.

    Rasp switched the blade to his dominant hand and reached for Faris, offering a final goodbye. ¡°In case I don¡¯t live to tell you, I¡¯m glad to have you as my friend and not my son.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You were a terrible son!¡± Rasp charged out across the arena with his alien senses pulsing within his head. He couldn¡¯t see the ground, but each pulse and tremble beneath his feet painted a mental landscape that he dared not question. The centipede pulsed like a red hot beacon at its center.

 226 - The Fret-Creator

    Time passed like the slow drip of cold molasses in the dead of winter. Oralia spent the first two days in a torturous state, too exhausted to keep her eyes open while simultaneously too anxious to sleep. It resulted in a lot of unnecessary tossing and turning as her consciousness slipped into traumatic, dream-like hallucinations. She was running, always running. Sometimes through walls of fire, or dark, endless tunnels as smoke and ash steadily filled the air. Fear would jolt her awake again and the torturous cycle would start anew.

    The nightmares weren¡¯t the only thing keeping a restful sleep at bay. The parasitic voice within Oralia¡¯s head tormented her with its ceaseless pleas of hunger. Militarized witches from the Division of Divination stalked the forest and the dark entity had taken notice. It pervaded Oralia¡¯s thoughts, its poison writhing beneath her skin, promising all manner of rewards if she would just get close enough for a taste.

    Eventually, driven to the brink of madness, Oralia unfastened the chain from her neck and stashed the amulet in Briony¡¯s pack. With their connection severed, the entity¡¯s fervent whisperings vanished from her thoughts. Alas, even without a voice, the dark entity made its presence known. The dark veins burrowed within Oralia¡¯s flesh wriggled and writhed whenever a division witch passed by. It always seemed to happen just as she was drifting asleep. Oralia was beginning to suspect it was intentional, as though it was the dark entity¡¯s way of sending a message:

    You will not rest until my demands are met.

    Unfortunately for the entity, when it came to stubborn tenacity, Oralia could not be beat. The entity would have to let her sleep eventually. Its survival depended on her own. Until then, she would simply have to find something else to occupy her time. Oralia sat hunched in the dark instead, peering out of the tangled root system that partially obstructed the cave entrance, watching the surrounding wilderness for movement.

    Unable to rely on her normal supply of safehouses, Briony had found a small cave for them to hunker down in and wait out the ongoing manhunt. The surrounding forest was rife with activity at first. Hunting parties scoured the area, coming and going at all hours. As the days slowly crawled past, Oralia saw less and less of them. These were soldiers, after all, not professional trackers. Whatever meager trail she and Briony left had been trampled over so many times by now, she doubted even the best bloodhound in the territory could have picked it up again.

    Which was why on the fourth day Oralia nearly leapt out her skin when a ratty figure darted out from underneath a tangle of undergrowth, scuttled across the mossy ground on all fours, and ducked inside the hidden mouth of the cave.

    Oralia seized the intruder and slammed him to the ground, hand already curled around his throat to prevent the inevitable scream.

    The man threw up his hands, hissing, ¡°It¡¯s me, idiot!¡±

    ¡°Mul?¡± Oralia slid her dagger back into its sheath. Torn between relief and outrage, she considered leaving her hand on his throat as a reminder not to spring up on her like that ever again. Ultimately, she decided against strangling him. Doing so would only convince the Stoneclaw to keep doing it.

    Mul eased upright, broad chest heaving, wide-eyed and unable to utter anything more than a hoarse croak. His coarse hair had escaped its usual braid. The sections that weren¡¯t plastered to his head with dirt and tree sap stuck in the air at odd angles, reminding Oralia of a large, awkward baby bird. He was coated from head to toe in a crust of dried mud and pine needles ¡ª a tactic she¡¯d seen the Stoneclaw brothers use before to disguise their scent. Despite Mul¡¯s best efforts, the air around him was thick with the sour stench of sweat and fear.

    Something about his demeanor made her skin crawl. It took a second look-over before Oralia realized what unspoken change her instincts were picking up. In all their months together, she had never seen Mul Stoneclaw show an ounce of fear. And now, huddled on the ground beside her, shaking like a leaf, the man couldn¡¯t fake his bravado any longer. He was downright terrified.

    Oralia reached for her waterskin and pressed it into his trembling hand instead. ¡°Take a drink and catch your breath.¡±

    She winced when Mul threw his head back and drained the waterskin in a single gulp. Having rationed it for the past four days, their water supply had already been running on empty. The skin would need to be refilled again, soon, but that was a worry for later. Presently, all Oralia wanted was answers. Resisting the urge to shake the burly man by the shoulders in a desperate bid for information, she bit back her questions and waited for Mul to recover his ability to talk.

    Briony was less patient. She scuttled closer on her hands and knees until she and Mul were nearly pressed nose to nose. ¡°How¡¯d you find us?¡± She hissed, her amber eyes searching the man¡¯s dirtied face for clues. ¡°I made damn sure we didn¡¯t leave a trail. What about you, huh? How well did you make sure you weren¡¯t followed?¡±If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Insult furrowed across Mul¡¯s wrinkled brow. His lower jaw quivered open, practically choking on the single word that escaped his parched lips. ¡°Followed?¡±

    ¡°You could have led them right to us!¡±

    The few patches of bare skin on Mul¡¯s forehead burned beet red. ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    Oralia awarded Briony his fiercest ¡®back off¡¯ glare. Its reception was not entirely successful as Briony appeared unintimidated, but the faun did grudgingly give the man space to breathe. Once certain she would not be required to break up a fist fight, Oralia returned her attention back to Mul. There were more pressing questions on her mind, but she started with the customary ones nonetheless. ¡°Are you injured?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he rasped.

    His statement was false. Oralia could see a multitude of crusted scabs and green and purple bruises running down his neck. Amidst the overpowering odors of mud and body odor, she detected the faint whiff of dried blood as well. It was pride, probably, that kept Mul from disclosing whatever injuries he¡¯d sustained during his escape.

    At the moment, Oralia wasn¡¯t going to fight him on it. Not with so many other questions still unanswered. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Briony interjected with a huff. ¡°We know what happened.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s second glare was more successful than the first, convincing the impatient faun to settle back down and stop interjecting. Oralia found herself wishing she could recall the saying Rali had about assumptions and how they correlated with rear ends, but the words weren¡¯t aligning correctly in her head. She stuck with what she knew ¡ª blunt and to the point. ¡°We were not there, Briony. We do not know what happened. He was. I value facts over assumptions.¡±

    The smirk on Mul¡¯s face vanished the moment Oralia¡¯s stare swept back over him. He sat a little taller, struggling to piece the night in question together into a coherent string of events. ¡°We were attacked. I don¡¯t know who was supposed to be on watch, but the enemy must have gotten to ¡®em first, because nobody sounded the alarm. I awoke to screams and the smell of the roof on fire. I ran into Sascha trying to fumble my way out and he made us a nifty hole in the wall. Practically brought down half the house in the process.¡±

    Mul took another gasping breath. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just soldiers waiting for us on the outside, they had witches too. Our only saving grace was the powder charge I¡¯d swiped from Rali. It was squirreled away in my pack under the bunk. The fire must have set it off because the damn thing blew the roof to smithereens seconds after Sascha and I stumbled out into the yard. The blast scattered the awaiting soldiers, allowing us to slip past into the trees.¡±

    ¡°Did anyone else get away?¡± Oralia asked.

    Mul¡¯s slack jaw clenched as the ruddiness faded from his dirt covered cheeks. He shook his head no.

    She knew it had been a long shot ¡ª that perhaps more than one member of her team had evaded capture. But it was such hope that had kept her functioning the last few days in waiting. The reality of the situation, the one kept at bay by wishful thinking alone, came crashing down all in an instance. Oralia¡¯s tongue felt numb, unable to form the words with which to speak.

    ¡°Sascha?¡± was the only sound she managed to get out.

    ¡°Taken.¡± Mul still stared dejectedly at the ground, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°We made it a ways together, but the soldiers were too fast. Sascha held them off so I could get away.¡±

    No, no, no. Oralia felt her last sliver of hope wither and die. Why would he do that? Why would he throw his life away so recklessly? He was supposed to be the cautious one, dammit!

    ¡°Sascha, uh, gave me a message for you.¡± Mul raised his head and locked eyes with Oralia as words that were certainly not his own rumbled from his mouth. ¡°No lone martyr shit. He said to stay low and wait for help.¡±

    Oralia sank back on her knees. It was a sensible message. Sascha knew her well enough to anticipate that her first instinct would be to try to free him. Still, she could have done with a little ¡®I love you. You can do this. I know it goes against everything you believe in, but you have to trust me. I will be okay without you¡¯.

    She spoke to Mul without looking at him, her gaze boring into the side of the cave wall. ¡°And if help doesn¡¯t come?¡±

    Mul bristled at the absurdity of the question. ¡°Your beau and I really didn¡¯t have time to go back and forth with the hypothetical scenarios, you know. What, with the running for my life with a pack of wild witches hot on my heels and all.¡±

    How utterly cruel, Oralia thought as she deflated into a puddle of limp defeat. It was she who was supposed to cause the worry. She was the one who rollicked about with reckless abandon, tempting death at every turn. Sascha was the fretter and she was, by default, the fret-creator. It was a dynamic that, while not perfect, worked for them. Except when it didn¡¯t, which was now ¡ª as for some terrible reason, their roles had reversed.

    Being on the wrong side of worry felt like drowning from the inside out. Concern clogged Oralia¡¯s airways, dragging her down, down, down into the deepest pit of despair. Her instinct was to fight their oppressors tooth and nail, but she couldn¡¯t. Sascha¡¯s message had been clear. She felt paralyzed by his words, torn between what she wanted to do and what she was supposed to do.

    Stay low. Wait for help.

 227 - Bees

    With Oralia having gone comatose with worry, Briony took over the questioning. The little faun¡¯s gruff demeanor immediately transformed the conversation from a debriefing between allies to something more akin to an interrogation. Briony crossed her arms and scowled as she looked Mul up and down with suspicion. ¡°So you, and you alone, managed to get out by the skin of your teeth, is that it?¡±

    ¡°What? You find that hard to believe?¡± Mul returned her scowl with interest. ¡°I am a capable Stoneclaw warrior.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡± Briony shrugged. ¡°What I really want to know is how in the seven realms you managed to find us. We¡¯ve been hunkered down in this same spot for four days. Four days, and not once has any of the passing soldiers taken notice. And then you come along and find us on your first go. It¡¯s like you already knew where we were hiding.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a hunter,¡± Mul replied. ¡°I track things for a living. It really wasn¡¯t that difficult.¡±

    ¡°In a forest teeming with soldiers?¡± Briony challenged. ¡°Without even knowing where to start? I covered our tracks as we went. No one should have been able to find us.¡±

    ¡°Well the soldiers don¡¯t have a raven watching their backs, do they?¡±

    ¡°So it wasn¡¯t you, it was your weird bird family then?¡± Briony¡¯s stare lost some of its severity. ¡°I find that more believable, actually.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Mul snapped. ¡°Glad I was able to put your suspicions to bed.¡±

    Unfortunately for him, Briony was far from putting anything to bed, particularly her ongoing interrogation. ¡°On the other hand, I can¡¯t help but notice that you look like you¡¯ve been through the seventh realm of chaos and back.¡±

    ¡°You think? I just spent the last four days running for my life.¡± Mul folded his burly arms over his chest with a huff. ¡°And, in case you care at all, no, I don¡¯t want to talk about it. So bugger off and let me be.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lying. You sold us out, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    If murder was an expression, Mul was certainly wearing it now. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he whipped his head at her, bearing his teeth in a snarl. ¡°What the fuck are you going on about now, faun?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying, what if you didn¡¯t get away?¡± Briony countered. ¡°Maybe they caught you, threatened you with death, said that they¡¯d give you your freedom if you helped find us, huh? That seems just as plausible as you single-handedly escaping all on your own.¡±

    ¡°My gods, you¡¯ve gone batty, haven¡¯t you?¡± Mul glared past Briony at Oralia. ¡°You¡¯re hearing this, right? The hermit¡¯s off her rocker.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not my name!¡±

    Oralia continued to stare at the crumbling cave wall. She had overheard every word of their conversation, yes, but the will to deal with it was gone. Just like her team. And Sascha. And her determination to press on.

    ¡°I¡¯m not batty,¡± Briony said to Mul. ¡°I¡¯m suspicious. What you¡¯re telling me isn¡¯t making any sense. Look at you! Your clothes are practically singed from your body. You obviously had a close encounter with a witch and somehow not only survived, but got away too!¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    Briony pressed her face closer to his. ¡°So that¡¯s suspicious. You¡¯re suspicious.¡±

    Briony broke him, and not in the way she expected, either. Mul¡¯s eyes welled with tears. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. They chased me down and then they-they¡­they infected me.¡± The rest of his story was swallowed in a single, pained wail as Mul buried his face into his arms.

    Briony¡¯s left ear flickered in confusion. ¡°Infected you?¡±

    ¡°I said I don¡¯t want to talk about it!¡±

    ¡°Did they hex you?¡±

    All she got for her efforts was more pitiful wailing.

    Briony swiveled in Oralia¡¯s direction, her face notably paler than it had been before. ¡°A little help, please? There are spells that can be traced by the caster. If they hexed him and then let him go, he could have led them right to us.¡±

    ¡°Magical hexes are your department,¡± Oralia replied, voice laden with numbness. ¡°Not mine.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well you¡¯re the nice one, not me! Do that thing you do, come on.¡±

    Oralia stared at the faun, confused.

    Briony threw her hands into the air to help illustrate her point. ¡°Make him feel, I don¡¯t know, worth something, maybe? Get him to a functioning state so he¡¯ll tell me what I want to know.¡±

    Slowly, feeling as though her bones weighed twice what they should have, Oralia abandoned her spot on the ground and crawled closer. It was strange to think that, between her and Briony, she was considered the more supportive one. She rested her hand on Mul¡¯s left shoulder, feeling every heave and shudder. ¡°In what way did they infect you, Mul?¡±

    Mul lifted his head from his arms. The tears streaming from his eyes had left trails of clean skin peeking through the thick grime caked over his face. His husky voice was so low, Oralia strained to catch it. ¡°I caught their disease.¡±

    Unless the disease was madness, Oralia had her doubts. ¡°How so?¡±

    His thick eyebrows furrowed at the question. ¡°What¡¯s not to get? They infected me. I caught their disease!¡± A glimpse of pain pinched his broad features, as though admitting this out loud was simply too much for one man to bear. Mul¡¯s hairy head sagged back down near his chest. ¡°They made me one of them.¡±Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡°I am not following,¡± Oralia said.

    Mul¡¯s muffled words came in the form of a wail. ¡°They made me a witch.¡±

    Oralia pulled her hand away. While what he was claiming was not possible, she could no longer ignore the churning in her gut. The dark veins beneath her skin buzzed ever-so-slightly. She¡¯d chalked it up to mere nerves, before. Perhaps there was more to Mul¡¯s story than she realized.

    Briony shook her head in disbelief. ¡°That doesn¡¯t happen.¡±

    ¡°They did!¡± Mul insisted. ¡°I¡¯m the living proof, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    Oralia cut back in before Briony reduced her efforts back to square one again. ¡°I would not know, Mul. You have yet to tell us what happened.¡±

    ¡°Fine!¡± he snapped. ¡°There were two of them, alright? Real witchy-witches. They followed me after Sascha and I split up. The magic devils got me cornered and were laughing ¡®cause they had fancy spells and shit and I couldn¡¯t get close enough to touch them. They took their time, toying with me over and over again, making me angry. And that¡¯s when it happened. Something inside me broke. My skin started to burn and my stomach got that tingly feeling, like when you fall backwards off something real tall.¡±

    Oralia waited, but Mul¡¯s story required further prompting. ¡°And then?¡±

    ¡°Bees.¡±

    ¡°Come again?¡±

    Mul ran a broad hand over his dirt-caked face as his voice trembled. ¡°There were bees, Oralia. Everywhere. At night! My eardrums are still vibrating with their murderous hum.¡±

    Oralia turned to Briony for clarification. Unfortunately, the faun appeared as confused as she felt.

    ¡°It was a miracle I didn¡¯t get stung,¡± Mul said. ¡°The bees swarmed my attackers instead, chased ¡®em off. Judging from the screams, I don¡¯t think they got very far though.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Mul glared at Oralia through the gap in his fingers. His red, teary eyes had a glimmer of mania to them. ¡°You don¡¯t believe me.¡±

    ¡°I do, Mul. It was traumatic for you, I can see that. I am simply processing everything that has happened, that is all.¡± Bees? A murderous swarm of killer bees? The truth was in Mul¡¯s expression, however, and Oralia did not doubt his story. She simply wondered how much stranger this misadventure was going to get before it claimed her sanity entirely. For the meantime she could at least pretend to know what she was doing.

    ¡°What happened afterwards?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I went and hid with my tail between my legs like a coward.¡± Mul wiped the dampness from his face with his muddied sleeve, which succeeded only in spreading the grime coating his face. ¡°A raven found me the next morning. They led me to an old bunker and that¡¯s where I stayed until it located you lot.¡±

    Briony raised her horned head. ¡°Bunker?¡±

    Mul snarled at her. ¡°What? You gonna give me shit for that, too? Accuse me of colluding with the enemy some more?¡±

    ¡°What bunker? Where?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°It was buried underground way out in the trees. Looked like it hadn¡¯t been touched in decades.¡±

    ¡°Can you take us there?¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± Mul demanded.

    ¡°Not now.¡± Oralia cut in before either of them started up another screaming match. ¡°Any move will be made after dark, when we are least likely to run into a patrol. Provided you can find it again, Mul, of course.¡±

    ¡°Of course I can. I¡¯m a tracker, remember?¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Good was the last thing Oralia was feeling but it wouldn¡¯t help to make such an admission. ¡°Rest now, Mul. Briony and I will alert you if anything comes up.¡±

    Mul, temporarily placated by the fact that someone was telling him what to do, peeled his hands away from his face and curled into a ball in the dirt. Oralia waited until his panicked breaths grew slow with sleep, before nudging Briony to join her near the mouth of the cave.

    ¡°You did not question the validity of this so-called bunker,¡± Oralia noted.

    ¡°A secret underground bunker is more believable than bees,¡± Briony replied. She plucked a wet leaf from the dirt floor and rolled it before sticking it between her teeth. It wasn¡¯t very appetizing from the face she made the moment she started to chew, but it gave her something to do nonetheless. ¡°Lonebrook didn¡¯t always rely on tunnels, you know. Before that, they used bunkers. The bunkers worked great in theory, but not so much in actuality. Especially not in the spring, when the ground was prone to flooding. Trant had all the bunkers closed up once they got the tunnel system in working order. Supposedly there¡¯s one or two in the area still standing.¡±

    ¡°Who else knows about this?¡±

    Briony shrugged. ¡°Only Trant and Novera, as far as I know. The bunkers were abandoned ages ago, before I ever got involved. I doubt anyone even remembers they¡¯re still standing.¡±

    Oralia hesitated before asking, ¡°And you trust Trant and Novera Belfast did not sell us out?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t them.¡±

    Oralia didn¡¯t press the issue. Briony knew the Belfasts better than she did. She could only sit back and hope that if Mul could retrace his steps in the dark, it would not be straight into a trap. If nothing else, sitting on her hands would be slightly easier to do in something other than a damp burrow.

    Briony chewed the rolled leaf as she stared out through the tangle of hanging vines, shaking her horns with a scoff. ¡°I¡¯m still stuck on that other thing he said. Can you believe it? Bees.¡±

    ¡°I do not think Mul is lying.¡±

    ¡°I know he¡¯s not lying. That one¡¯s not creative enough to come up with something like that on his own.¡±

    ¡°Twice now, he has gotten stuck in a seers trap,¡± Oralia said, watching the still forest from between the tangle of overhanging tree roots. ¡°Is it possible for magical abilities to crop up late in life?¡± She didn''t know Mul¡¯s exact age. Mankind had relatively short life spans, and what would have been considered barely out of adolescence for an orc was practically geriatric for a human. Mul was older than Rasp, though. Which meant if his magic was just now appearing, it was most definitely late.

    ¡°Latent magic isn¡¯t unheard of,¡± Briony agreed somewhat reluctantly, as if she was still coming to terms with the idea that someone so undeserving had been gifted with power. ¡°It¡¯s rare in humans, though. They usually start showing signs in childhood, early adolescence at the latest.¡±

    ¡°I imagine, given the environment he grew up in, suppressing it would have been necessary for survival.¡± Rasp had done the same, or tried to anyway. Gifted with unimaginable power, the younger Stoneclaw brother had found it much harder to keep his magic a secret. Denying its existence had only ever brought him more pain.

    ¡°But to not even know?¡± Briony said.

    ¡°Denial is a powerful tool.¡±

    ¡°Kind of like how we¡¯re in denial? That somehow evading capture is going to do a lick of good?¡±

    ¡°It gives hope.¡±

    ¡°To whom?¡± Briony demanded.

    ¡°They at least know someone is on the outside. We could be stringing together an elaborate escape plan for all they know.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that go against everything your lover warned you not to do?¡±

    ¡°It does,¡± Oralia agreed, unable to disguise the hitch in her voice. ¡°But that is the nature of hope. It does not conform to reality. We could be amassing an army, for all they know. Secretly skirting around the sidelines, dismantling the ruling power one piece at a time.¡±

    Briony stopped chewing to point out, ¡°We¡¯re sitting on our hands doing nothing.¡±

    ¡°Which is what we will continue to do. So as long as we remain at large, hope will have to do the rest.¡±

 228 - Middle Management

    The scent of smoke and ash wafted on the crisp breeze, intermingling with the stench of old blood and decay. Sascha was seated on the damp ground, hands bound, tied to a post next to the smoldering remains of Briony¡¯s cottage. There were two other posts positioned on either side of him. Dewpetal was tied to his left. The other poor fellow fastened to the post on Sascha¡¯s right, a woodsman, whose name he did not know, was slumped forward, not moving. From the corner of his eye, Sascha saw flies crawling out of faun¡¯s slack mouth.

    Another day without water and he and Dewpetal would succumb to a similar fate.

    ¡®Tell us where she is and we¡¯ll give you a drink¡¯ the soldiers had promised over and over again, dangling their water skins in front of his face like a carrot on a stick. Sascha never gave them what they wanted. Eventually, when they finished proving their mettle by kicking a bound orc, they would retreat to the safety of their shelter, forced to wait for Oralia to reveal herself the good old fashioned way.

    At first, Sascha feared she would come tearing through the trees right into the awaiting trap. But she never showed. The days slowly trickled past, her scent went cold, and the hunting parties continued to return to camp empty-handed. Sascha took comfort in that. There was a chance Mul had found Oralia first and delivered Sascha¡¯s message.

    Stay put. Wait for help.

    Oh how Sascha didn¡¯t envy the messenger. His love didn¡¯t like being told what to do, particularly when it involved death and danger. But, by gods, she¡¯d listened. And if it came at the price of his own life, strung out on a post, left to succumb to the elements, at least he¡¯d die knowing he finally got to have the last word on something.

    Sascha tilted his head back and stared at the overcast sky. The last of the red and orange leaves clung stubbornly to their spindly branches, trembling in the wind. There would be rain soon, possibly before nightfall. It would be a blessing at first, the moment he caught the first few drops on his parched tongue. But, ultimately, the weather would be his and Dewpetal¡¯s final undoing. The rain would drench their clothes and steal the remaining heat from their bodies. From the way the little goblin already shivered, she would go first. By morning, she and Sascha would join the growing heap of bodies piled near the broken remnants of the stone cottage.

    Loud voices erupted from the string of tents tucked within the tree line on the other side of the skeletal remains of the cottage. The tents belonged to the top officers and were positioned out of Sascha¡¯s line of sight. He could hear them, though. Particularly when they went at each other like a pack of feral cats.

    Angry footsteps thudded against the soft dirt in his direction. ¡°That¡¯s it! I¡¯ve had enough of your commander¡¯s cruelty. I¡¯m cutting them down.¡±

    The voice belonged to Sergeant Lorn Windshot, the highest ranking officer within the military unit occupying Lonebrook. Four days ago, Sergeant Windshot had been considered middle management. An unfortunate tragedy during the raid involving both the former captain and lieutenant, however, had left the unit in Windshot¡¯s unexpected hands. Although they had yet to speak in person, Sascha was familiar with the sergeant¡¯s type. People like Windshot actively sought out middling positions of power. Too high to be given grunt work and too low to be held responsible for the unit¡¯s failings, they sort of floated near the middle, content to collect a paycheck and go utterly unnoticed by anyone of importance.

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s former sense of obscurity was gone, yanked out from under him in the blink of an eye. He found himself in power with no idea how to wield it. The magical squadron sent in from Division of Divination had noticed, and had been using it to their advantage. They were running things now and seemed to have made it their personal mission to trip up the newly promoted head of the military in whatever ways they could. Their tactics so far consisted of questioning the sergeant¡¯s every move.

    ¡°Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?¡± A second set of footsteps followed in the sergeant¡¯s wake. The voice that accompanied the light steps set Sascha¡¯s remaining nerves on edge. The voice was the equivalent of apple cider vinegar personified ¡ª an unholy mix of sweet, foul, and acidic all rolled into one. ¡°Cray said to leave them up.¡±

    ¡°Do you see those clouds overhead? Feel the heaviness in the air?¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s voice replied. He was at the halfway point and demonstrated no signs of lessening his furious stride. ¡°No, of course you don¡¯t. Because you, Aster, are a high-ranking witch sent from the division. This is probably the first time you¡¯ve ever spent any significant time in the wilderness outside of a carriage.¡±

    ¡°Was that your attempt to insult me? I¡¯d tell you to try harder, but I know you¡¯re doing your best,¡± Aster¡¯s acidic voice crooned. ¡°Your point, Sergeant, please. Before I succumb to boredom.¡±

    ¡°Your boss can either keep baiting this failed trap of his, hoping to lure Commander Dawnsight in, or he can have living prisoners. But he cannot have both. Another night out here and there will be no one left for him to interrogate.¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s footsteps reached the line of posts and stopped. ¡°Seven realms, this one¡¯s already dead!¡±

    The sergeant called for someone to deal with the body before moving on to finish what he¡¯d started. He crouched down and worked a short blade through the thick rope binding Sascha¡¯s hands around the pole at his back. ¡°Now listen here,¡± Sergeant Windshot said to Sascha in his best authoritative voice. ¡°I am trying to help you. Cooperate, and I will personally see to it that the two of you are taken to the jailhouse. You can spend the night someplace dry with a roof over your head.¡±

    The taut cords cutting into Sascha¡¯s wrists loosened before the rope fell away, freeing him from the post. Sascha slowly gathered his stiff arms to the front, fighting to contain snarls of pain as his stiff joints protested any and all movement. His hands were drained of color and numb. The pins and needles sensation started in his fingertips and steadily moved upwards as blood returned to his lifeless extremities.

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s lanky figure emerged from Sascha¡¯s left. His pale face was gaunt and narrow, seemingly at odds with his squared jaw. Whereas most human officers kept their hair short, cropped damn near to the skull, Windshot¡¯s sandy brown mop was shoulder-length and shaggy ¡ª an attempt, no doubt, to hide the pointed ears that peaked out when he turned his head too quickly.

    The sergeant crouched back down onto his haunches and wagged his knife at Sascha as if he were a mother chiding a disobedient child. ¡°I¡¯m not a bad man. At least I try not to be. I believe in treating people fair, which apparently doesn¡¯t produce results, according to some.¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s worried gaze darted past Sascha, settling on the witch still standing just out of sight, most likely. ¡°So do the smart things and work with me. Try anything stupid and Cray¡¯s pup here will gladly spill your guts lickety-split.¡±Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    The witch¡¯s lumpy form materialized from the shadows as she strode into his line of sight. She was bundled in robes so thick, the only part of her exposed to the cold was the skin on her face, half obscured by the heavy hood pulled over her eyes. Aster¡¯s warm breath crystalized into the air when she spoke. ¡°Are you nearly finished, Sergeant? I was under the impression you didn¡¯t subscribe to torture. Gods above, long-winded speeches out in the cold certainly qualify as barbarism in my book.¡±

    He looked like he wanted to stab her, with words, not his knife. And yet, the confidence wasn¡¯t there. Sergeant Windshot merely shook his head, muttering under his breath, as he shuffled over and cut Dewpetal free from the wooden post.

    The little goblin slumped forward with a gurgled whimper. She laid there, lifeless, as if she¡¯d learned long ago that realm soldiers treated dead goblins kinder than their living counterparts. It would have been a commendable performance if it were not for the involuntary tremble that racked her crumpled body.

    ¡°Alright, up. The both of you,¡± the sergeant ordered.

    ¡°Gods, Lorn,¡± Aster scoffed, her voice bitter and laced with derision. ¡°You¡¯re not going to shackle them first?¡±

    ¡°Why? You or one of yours would incinerate them the moment they tried anything anyway.¡±

    Aster held a gloved hand to her forehead with a groan. ¡°This is why you never made captain, you understand that, right? It doesn¡¯t matter if the ropes are pointless or not, it¡¯s about projecting an image. If not for the prisoners or the villagers, then your own men. It¡¯s about giving the impression that you¡¯re in charge.¡±

    ¡°Well I¡¯m not, am I? Not really. You and your boss, Mister Cray, made that perfectly clear, thank you.¡±

    Sascha left them to argue as he slowly staggered to his feet. It was a difficult process, involving lots of false starts, but by some miracle he managed it in the end. His rigid legs were already threatening to collapse out from under him, but Sascha persisted, knowing the circulation would do them some good. It would have to, because he didn¡¯t have a choice. He either made it to the jailhouse on his own two feet or he¡¯d join the growing pile of bodies off to the side, destined for a mass unmarked grave.

    He couldn¡¯t do that to Oralia. Gods forbid, she¡¯d held up her end of the bargain and was staying clear of the danger. The least he could do was remain alive a little bit longer.

    Sergeant Windshot stared up at him with wide eyes, as if only now realizing the full extent of Sascha¡¯s size. To be fair, it was a look Sascha had grown accustomed to. The fact that it was being worn by his captor made it slightly more concerning than usual, however. Sascha stooped his shoulders to appear slightly less intimidating. The effect was wasted on Sergeant Windshot, who appeared to be regretting his decision regarding the lack of shackles already.

    Aster noticed as well. A cruel, tight-lipped smile pulled across her dark complexion. The hood shifted and, for a briefest of moments, Sascha saw two pale, green eyes glistening from beneath the shadow of her cowl. ¡°I take back what I said, Sergeant. Escorting this one unchained will certainly prove your rank in the eyes of the men. Come, let¡¯s go.¡± She whipped around, her long robes billowing dramatically in her wake. ¡°I¡¯ll accompany you.¡±

    ¡°Dewpetal?¡± The name scraped in Sascha¡¯s throat like stone against dry sand.

    The tiny goblin was slumped across the damp ground, unresponsive. Instinctively, Sascha started to reach for her when Sergeant Windshot leapt to the side, ensuring he was safely out of range. Sascha froze. Alas, any movement, no matter how small, was bound to come across as intimidating when you loomed eight feet in the air. Didn¡¯t help that his captor appeared to be nervous by nature to start with.

    ¡°I¡¯m just going to help her up,¡± Sascha explained, breath bated, eyes locked on the sergeant¡¯s right hand and consequently the sword it was hovering over. Perhaps a bit of placation would help ease the sergeant¡¯s high strung nerves. ¡°If that¡¯s alright with you, sir.¡±

    Assured that he was most definitely the one in charge, Sergeant Windshot gave an affirmative nod. His hand remained resting on the hilt of his sword. ¡°Have at it. And today, if you don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s already starting to sprinkle.¡±

    Sascha bent down and tapped Dewpetal¡¯s shoulder. She turned her head and gazed back up at him through weary, half-lidded eyes. Sascha lifted his hands, urging her to get up. The little goblin tried. She got only a few inches off the ground before her strength gave out and she dropped back down in a trembling heap.

    ¡°Corporal,¡± Sergeant Windshot called to one of the officers dragging the dead faun to the body pile. ¡°You¡¯ll have come back for this one, too, when you¡¯re finished.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not that far gone, sir,¡± Sascha said. ¡°Just cold. I¡¯ll get her.¡±

    The hot flush of panic set in, breathing life back into Sascha¡¯s stiff joints. He knelt on one knee and locked eyes with Dewpetal, trying to convey the urgency of the situation through expression alone. She needed to get up, now, or she¡¯d be on her way to the body pit. Had this been any other member of the team, Sascha would have simply thrown them over his shoulder and called it day. But Dewpetal was a goblin, and goblins detested being reminded of their size. Lifting her from the ground ran the risk of sparking her temper. An angry goblin was no different than a dog gone rabid, as far as most citizens of the realm were concerned. The soldiers would not hesitate to put her out of her misery the moment she bared her teeth.

    Sascha tapped both hands to his chest and then folded his arms, as if cradling an infant. Dewpetal lifted her head and looked around, assessing the situation. Her half-lidded eyes swept from Sergeant Windshot, past the cluster of soldiers hovering nearby, and settled on the pile of bodies heaped near the smoldering ruins of Briony¡¯s cottage. Realization struck like a bolt of lightning and Dewpetal made up her mind rather quickly. Gathering the last of her strength, she leapt into Sascha¡¯s awaiting arms and tucked herself into a ball, as if making herself as small as possible would somehow be easier to carry.

    She felt like ice in his arms. Sascha heaved up onto his feet and turned back to Sergeant Windshot, only to find the man openly staring, his expression torn between confusion and repulsion. ¡°Is it like a pet then?¡± the sergeant asked. ¡°Is that why it doesn¡¯t speak?¡±

    Thank the gods Dewpetal didn¡¯t understand enough Utotrian to know what the man said. Sascha would have had to rip her off of the sergeant¡¯s face, whatever was left of it in the handful of seconds it would take to wrench her claws free, of course. ¡°No, not a pet. She¡¯s uh¡­¡± Sascha wracked his brain for a way to explain the language barrier without revealing Dewpetal¡¯s secret. Being a goblin was bad enough, but being a goblin from the swamplands was the social equivalent of having a death warrant stamped on your head. The upper western realm territories had been in conflict with the swampies for ages and nobody, particularly not soldiers, took to a trespassing swamplander kindly.

    ¡°She¡¯s still a baby,¡± Sascha said.

    ¡°A baby?¡± Sergeant Windshot repeated, unconvinced.

    ¡°Maybe a smidge older. She¡¯s a late bloomer. Hasn¡¯t learned to talk yet.¡± As if to prove his point, Sascha started to bounce Dewpetal in his arms, feverishly hoping it wouldn¡¯t earn him a faceful of needle-sharp teeth.

    ¡°That goblin slew four soldiers and cleaved the arm clear off one of Cray¡¯s witches,¡± Sergeant Windshot said.

    ¡°Her? No.¡± Sascha feigned disbelief. ¡°Look at the size of her, sir. She¡¯s barely big enough to wield a cheese knife.¡±

    ¡°Today, Sergeant!¡± Aster¡¯s harsh voice rang out from further up ahead. She¡¯d been forced to stop on the account of no one following her and seemed quite bothered by it. Her bundled frame shivered in the cold beneath the sagging trees.

    A faint smirk pulled at the corner of the sergeant¡¯s downturned mouth, as though he took some small delight in her suffering. His sword hand fell harmlessly to his side as he signaled for three of the surrounding soldiers to join the procession. ¡°Alright then, let¡¯s go. Can¡¯t have Mister Cray¡¯s favorite pup out shivering in the cold, can we?¡±

 229 - Tarathiel Cray

    Sascha had visited Lonebrook once before, not too long ago, near the start of summer. Back then the village¡¯s winding dirt streets had been alive and bustling with activity. He remembered the hordes of curious children in particular, and how they used to hide around each corner, popping their heads out every now and then to get a proper look at him. The adults weren¡¯t any better. Slightly less conspicuous in their approach, perhaps, but just as curious. Sascha was used to being gawked at. He didn¡¯t mind, so long as the onlookers stuck to snooping and left their torches and pitchforks at home.

    His heart dropped ever-lower as Sergeant Windshot led the procession from the surrounding woods into the village. Lonebrook was a sad shadow of its former glory. The bustling streets were empty and the gangs of unruly children eerily absent. The windows were closed, curtains drawn, and in some cases, boarded up entirely. The people out and about appeared to be soldiers and, unlike Lonebrook¡¯s inhabitants, they openly stared with derision, not curiosity, painted on their miserable faces.

    The light sprinkle turned to rain, rendering the winding streets to mud. Sergeant Windshot maintained his unhurried pace. Sascha appreciated the lack of urgency given the sorry state of his stiff legs but he could tell from the sergeant¡¯s smirking face that the set pace had not been for his benefit. Their division witch escort, Aster, acted like a pampered housecat caught out in a downpour. She huffed and hissed, hurling vitriol-laced jabs at Sergeant Windshot at every opportunity, egging him on to react. Windshot was quite content to sit back and let the weather fight his battle for him.

    The procession crossed into the village square on their way to the jailhouse. The stench of putrid flesh permeated the wet air, spoiling the comforting smells of rain and mud. Sascha pulled Dewpetal¡¯s shivering body closer as they passed beneath the gallows. Two villagers hung limp on the platform above, their lifeless bodies rotating slowly in the breeze. They¡¯d been up there a while, given the stage of decomposition.

    Sergeant Windshot winced when he saw them. Shaking his head, the officer muttered something unintelligible under his breath and quickened his pace.

    They reached the jailhouse shortly after. It was a small, stone-crafted building that looked as though it hadn¡¯t seen much use until recently. The front served as a reception area, fitted with a solid wood desk and an assortment of chairs, all of which were currently huddled around the lit hearth in the corner. The two soldiers manning the room stood to attention at their unexpected arrival. They, like the other soldiers they¡¯d passed along the way, did nothing to disguise their blatant disgust.

    Originally, Sascha had assumed that their disgust was for Dewpetal and him. He was taken aback to realize he was wrong. The soldiers weren¡¯t glaring at him, they were glaring at Aster. She noticed as well and simply smiled, silently daring them to say whatever it was they were obviously holding back.

    ¡°Sit down,¡± Sergeant Windshot ordered, wearily. ¡°It¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    Aster¡¯s wolfish smile turned into a pout. ¡°Must you always be such a wet blanket?¡±

    Sergeant Windshot fetched the keys from the wall, retorting, ¡°Don¡¯t you have a master to be reporting to? I¡¯m sure you¡¯re just dying to tell him how I cut his prisoners down.¡±

    Aster held her gloved hands out at her sides as she twirled around, employing a strange gait that looked to be several bounces shy of a skip. Her voice, too, had an unusual singsong quality to it. ¡°It won¡¯t be me doing the dying when he finds out, Sergeant.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot gave another sorry shake of his shaggy head before kicking open the door behind the reception desk and leading the prisoners into the adjoining passage. The short hallway branched up ahead. The funk of old cooking oil and burnt tea leaves bled in from the left ¡ª from the kitchen area, likely. Sascha and Dewpetal were escorted down the right, through another heavily barred door and into the awaiting cell block.

    For such a small village, Sascha was surprised Lonebrook¡¯s founders had bothered with a jailhouse at all. What¡¯s worse, they¡¯d taken the steps necessary to craft a structurally sound one. With more than one cell! Granted, there were still only two, but that was twice as many as he expected. Both cells shared a thick, stone wall at their back, with rows of unbendable iron at their front. The spacing of each bar had been taken into consideration as well. Not even Dewpetal, equipped with the flexible spine of a cat, could hope to squeeze her way through.

    Damn Lonebrook and its industrious inhabitants, Sascha cursed. Their adherence to such high standards of quality and craftsmanship would be his undoing. His hopes of breaking down through sheer force alone withered before his eyes. Even armed with a sledgehammer, he doubted he¡¯d be able to knock a sizeable enough hole to fit through before someone raised the alarm.

    Sergeant Windshot drew open the barred door and signaled for both prisoners to make themselves at home. Sascha winced when the door slammed shut behind him. This was the second time he¡¯d found himself on the wrong side of a cell and he didn¡¯t like it any better than the first. At least there wasn¡¯t an unstable mountain threatening to crumble on top of him this time, he supposed.

    Sergeant Windshot gave the pair a halfhearted speech about minding their manners before he filed out, taking his soldiers with him.

    Dewpetal waited until the entryway door was slammed shut and bolted before sliding from Sascha¡¯s arms and onto the floor. She didn¡¯t get much further. Exhausted, the little goblin spread out over the cold stone like a puddle.

    The cell was tiny and the cot bolted against the back wall was comically undersized. It did have a blanket tucked neatly over the straw mattress, however. And, seeing as this was Lonebrook and its inhabitants gave an inordinate amount of shits to each detail, it meant the blanket would be of decent quality. None of that thin, moth hole-riddled garbage the army passed off as bedding. Sascha lumbered over to the cot and snatched the covering from the mattress.

    Blanket in hand, Sascha turned back around and froze. In his haste to retrieve the blanket, he¡¯d missed the dead rat curled on the ground. Its mangled corpse rested directly between him and Dewpetal. Dewpetal was staring at it as well, except instead of revulsion, Sascha saw hunger in her eyes.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°No,¡± he warned. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. It¡¯s spoiled. You can smell the rot, can¡¯t you?¡±

    Dewpetal was beyond thinking about it. She rose up onto all fours, prepared to pounce, and slunk closer.

    Neither of them had eaten in four days. And whereas Sascha had ample reserves, Dewpetal was mostly skin and bone. He couldn¡¯t fault her for being desperate for a meal, but this wasn¡¯t food, it was suicide. ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can beg some bread off one of the guards.¡± Sascha edged a cautious step forward as he stretched the blanket between his hands, trying to reason with her. ¡°Just don¡¯t do anything rash before then, please?¡±

    Dewpetal lunged forward, but Sascha was a hair quicker. He threw the blanket over the top of her and kicked the decomposing rodent off to the side. It slid a ways before coming to a stop alongside the front of the cell, still regretfully inside the bars.

    Dewpetal rose up onto her back legs and ripped the blanket away, hurling it onto the floor. A heated stomp of her foot informed Sascha that what she put in her mouth was none of his blasted business.

    Dewpetal had yet to notice the rat was still inside the cell. Sascha tried to keep her attention on him as he slowly circled around her, set on tossing the soiled corpse between the bars before the goblin could scarf it down. ¡°You can¡¯t eat a spoiled rat,¡± he insisted. ¡°It¡¯ll be the death of you. Damn thing is probably crawling with disease.¡±

    Dewpetal gave him the finger, as she had seen Mul and Lingon do countless times in the past.

    ¡°I know this is the starvation talking, but that¡¯s still incredibly rude.¡±

    The middle finger on Dewpetal¡¯s left hand slowly lifted into the air, joining that of her right.

    A few more steps was all Sascha needed to close the distance. He bent and snatched up the blanket as he sidled past. The thick cloth had worked surprisingly well as a deterrent the first time. While he hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to employ it a second, it was crucial to have a backup plan handy just in case. He narrowed his eyes at the goblin and her willful display of defiance. ¡°Better get it out of your system now. You make that gesture to one of the soldiers and they¡¯ll gladly lop those fingers off for you.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s wrinkled brow indicated she sensed something amiss. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and spied the rat corpse alongside the bars. She spun around and pounced, only to be caught in the infernal blanket a second time. Dewpetal howled with outrage, but her snapping jaws and slicing claws caught only fabric as she tried to fight her way out of Sascha¡¯s makeshift net.

    ¡°I am well aware how ridiculous this looks,¡± Sascha grunted, struggling to keep the goblin contained within the blanket long enough to dispose of the rat properly. He kicked it again, but the emaciated body struck the bars and stopped, still inside.

    Oh gods, he whimpered. He was going to have to touch it.

    Wincing, Sascha reached down and gingerly picked it up by the tail. The rancid stench of rotted meat filled his nostrils. Gagging, Sascha tossed it between the bars and shuddered. He released the squirming blanket and looked desperately across the cell, searching for something, anything, with which to wash his hands. The rusted chamber pot in the corner was his only option and, for obvious reasons, he decided whatever was housed inside was infinitely worse than touching a dead rat.

    Dewpetal¡¯s head popped up out of the top of the blanket as she shouted something at him Yolkavisch.

    ¡°I stand by what I did.¡± Sascha reluctantly wiped his hand against the back of his pant leg. ¡°Name calling isn¡¯t going to help.¡±

    Dewpetal continued to do so anyway.

    ¡°She says to stop treating her like the mother of your child,¡± a third, weary voice emitted from the corner.

    Sascha flinched in surprise as the sting of embarrassment crept across his nose. And here he¡¯d thought they¡¯d been alone. He hated to think someone had just bore witness to their undignified squabble. He turned, silently kicking himself for not thinking to check the cell next to them sooner. To his credit, the cell¡¯s sole occupant was easy to miss. The prisoner, a dark brown faun, was in the far corner, wrapped in an equally dark blanket, role-playing a shadow with remarkable accuracy. Had the prisoner not spoken, Sascha would not have noticed him at all.

    What was even more surprising than the faun¡¯s presence was the fact that he understood Yolkavisch ¡ª a language that by proximity alone, should have been foreign to him.

    Dewpetal tucked the blanket around her shoulders as she sagged against the bars, lamenting her woes to an understanding audience.

    The faun generously translated. ¡°She understands you miss Oralia, but you can¡¯t use her as a stand-in. Find someone else to fuss over.¡± The faun¡¯s sad, brown eyes drifted to the ceiling, as though he¡¯d lost interest in the situation already. ¡°That¡¯s the gist of it, anyway. I excluded the majority of the insults. They weren¡¯t worth repeating.¡±

    Sascha moved closer to the barred divider that separated their cells. ¡°Judge Belfast?¡±

    ¡°In the flesh,¡± Judge Belfast replied, still staring at the ceiling. The judge was thin and frail. Dried blood matted his graying beard and the discolored skin on the left side of his face was so swollen, it nearly swallowed his eye. ¡°What¡¯s left of it anyway.¡±

    ¡°Did the soldiers do this to you?¡± Sascha asked.

    Judge Belfast opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated before anything of substance spilled forth. His long ears flicked to the side. Whatever sounds had him on alert were too faint for Sascha to hear. Not for Dewpetal, though. She threw the blanket back over her head and scurried to the back, tucking herself underneath the bunk, out of sight.

    The ominous echo of footsteps filled the room as someone swept down the hallway towards them. The bolt scraped against metal as it was drawn back before the entryway door swung open and sharply-dressed elf strode inside. He wore no emblem, no badge, nor seal to identify his title. His attire, while clean and nicely fitted, was simple. Hardly a step above everyday clothing. Expensive, sure, but certainly nothing resembling a uniform. Sascha couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was intentional, as though whoever this newcomer was, he used not glamour, but the mundane, to hide in plain sight.

    The elf had a plain face, with plain hair, and plain clothes. Everything about him was utterly unremarkable. Easily forgotten, unnoticed, just another face in the crowd ¡ª save for the ring on his left small finger. The band was thick and boring, but the blue stone had the unfortunate quality of drawing the eye.

    The elf noticed Sascha staring and tugged his sleeve back over it. ¡°This is it then?¡± he said. Even his voice sounded bored. It was flat and free of inflection. ¡°Oralia¡¯s Dawnsight¡¯s mighty army? Frankly, I¡¯m insulted. I came all the way from the capital expecting a fight and what do I get?¡±

    His disinterested gaze swept from Sascha to where Dewpetal was hiding beneath the bunk, and then back again. He appeared as enthused with the situation as someone about to eat a boiled sock. ¡°An orc, a goblin, and a handful of country bumpkins. I expected more from her.¡±

    Something tugged at the back of Sascha¡¯s mind, a long-forgotten instinct carried over from when the first orcs walked the land. It awakened, without warning, and set every nerve in his body on edge. The elf standing before him was no elf at all, but a viper. Every buried instinct pulsing through Sascha¡¯s veins demanded he smash it, immediately, before it was given the opportunity to strike.

    ¡°Where are my manners? Forgive me. I¡¯m so accustomed to sticking to the shadows, I often forget to introduce myself.¡± the elf tutted. The mask of plain indifference slipped from his face, allowing a venomous smile to take its place. ¡°Tarathiel Cray. I don¡¯t bother with titles, but Mister Cray¡¯s fine if you insist on them.¡±

 230 - Mad Dog Unleashed

    Tarathiel Cray. The name alone explained Sascha¡¯s instinct to stomp the elf into the ground the moment he set eyes on him. Sascha wasn¡¯t prone to violence by nature, but if even half of what Oralia had said about Cray were true, then it would be worth sacrificing the last of his morals by snapping the elf¡¯s neck here and now. Alas, the sturdy line of bars separating them was going to make Cray¡¯s untimely demise difficult to pull off.

    ¡°Remind me,¡± Cray said, tapping the tips of his index fingers against one another in thought, ¡°who are you again? I feel like I should know you.¡±

    ¡°The cook,¡± Sascha replied flatly.

    ¡°The cook!¡± Cray¡¯s voice took on an unnerving note of joviality, as if this revelation entertained him somehow. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re the one Geralt enlisted to catch Oralia doing whatever it is Oralia does.¡±

    That was, admittedly, a bit of a sensitive spot in Sascha¡¯s relationship with Oralia. They¡¯d obviously worked past it, but he didn¡¯t like being reminded that said past existed.

    ¡°Frankly, I don¡¯t understand the bizarre relationship our benefactors have with one another. I dare say, it borders on obsessive. Geralt and Oralia spend so time much wondering what the other is thinking of them, it¡¯s positively exhausting. Just hurry up and fuck already, right?¡± Cray noted Sascha¡¯s expression and feigned embarrassment, quite poorly. ¡°Oh, my mistake. You probably don¡¯t wish for that, do you?¡±

    Sascha locked his jaw to prevent clicking his tusks.

    ¡°Anyway, I told Geralt that using you as a spy was a stupid idea. I suggested having you drawn and quartered publicly to get under Oralia¡¯s skin, but Geralt¡¯s all about his image. Insisted it was too extreme.¡± The cutting smile on Cray¡¯s face widened. ¡°Would have saved him an awful lot of trouble had he listened to me.¡±

    Tarathiel Cray was Geralt¡¯s second-in-command. Oralia had once described him as an ¡®aggressive dog on a leash¡¯. Rumors of Cray¡¯s work had spread far and wide. And yet, despite his notorious reputation, few actually knew what he looked like. Geralt kept his second-in-command tucked away in the shadows, free of titles, status, or any other information that could be used to identify him. Oralia, herself, claimed to have never seen him. Sascha was beginning to understand why.

    Cray wasn¡¯t merely an aggressive dog on a leash, he was a mad one, practically foaming at the mouth. It was easy for Geralt to bring his second-in-command to heel when he was kept on such a tight leash, but circumstances had changed. Cray had been released into the wild and, judging from the bodies hanging in the square, was already finding cruel ways to exact his newfound freedom.

    ¡°Are you still with me, friend?¡± Cray¡¯s voice drew Sascha from his thoughts.

    Sascha swallowed the trickle of stomach acid steadily clawing its way up his throat. He didn¡¯t dare speak, not even to give one of his customary one-word answers that was little more than an impartial sound.

    ¡°Shall we move on to our business then?¡± The elf was forced to carry on talking when Sascha refused to provide an answer. Cray steepled his hands together and used them to slice the air as he spoke. ¡°I suspect, given who you are, politely asking you to tell me where Oralia is would be a waste of breath. The Speaker of the People insists on his silly protocols, however, so I will do my due diligence and ask.¡±

    Cray took a dramatic breath, as if following a set procedure physically pained him. ¡°Where is Oralia?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Sascha said.

    ¡°Mhm, mhm, mhm.¡± Cray nodded as though he was fully engaged in Sascha¡¯s response. ¡°And you¡¯re sticking with that answer?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±

    Cray dropped his hands and offered a sympathetic pout. It, too, was a mask. Just like every other facial expression he¡¯d worn so far. It was unnerving how easily he slipped from one to the next. ¡°Oh, dear. The hard way it is then. Not that I mind, but you might.¡±

    The old buried instants were back, this time insisting it was time for Sascha to turn tail and run.

    ¡°Never fear. I¡¯ll make it quick. Afraid I can¡¯t say the same for it being painless, though.¡± Cray stepped closer to the bars a little too enthusiastically, causing something hidden beneath his simple gray tunic to clink together. He made a face when he noticed Sascha staring. ¡°Lightweight armor,¡± he explained, drawing back the neck of his tunic to expose a thin coat of chainmail. ¡°Iron, of course. With some silver embellishments for added protection.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    He should have kept quiet, but the question rolled off of Sascha¡¯s tongue before he had the sense to snap his confounded tusks shut. ¡°Protection against what?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not the one that¡¯s supposed to be asking questions here, friend. That¡¯s my job. One I take very seriously, as you¡¯re about to find out.¡± Cray rolled back his sleeves with a dramatic flourish and positioned his lithe fingers against his temples. It was the sort of parlor trick you¡¯d expect from the soothsayer at the local carnival. Sascha¡¯s skepticism damn near doubled the moment Cray started to hum. All Cray¡¯s performance was missing was a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and a crystal ball.

    Sascha heard Dewpetal whimper behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder at her the same moment a blistering heat erupted within his skull. The raging inferno spread like wildfire, its smoke clogging the internal cogs and gears of his mind until everything screeched to a halt. Sascha¡¯s legs lost the ability to stand. He collapsed onto the cold ground, muscles spasming as waves of heat rippled through his flesh.

    His heart pounded against his chest, thumping faster, faster, faster, until it felt like it was going to burst.

    Cray¡¯s voice cut through his panicking thoughts. ¡°Where is Oralia?¡±

    Sascha¡¯s thoughts betrayed him. Memories flashed before his eyes, one after another in rapid succession, like a dealer shuffling cards. He saw Oralia and their last moments together before she disappeared back into the tunnel hidden behind Briony¡¯s house. He should have gone with her. God¡¯s dammit, why hadn¡¯t he? So what if the passageway had been small? He should have gone anyway. At least then he¡¯d know where she was, or if she¡¯d gotten out safely. Have a better idea, at the very least, of where the rest of the tunnels led or any other of Briony¡¯s secret hiding places.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know where she is.¡± Cray¡¯s voice broke the spell, allowing Sascha¡¯s pain to ease from a raging wildfire to a gentle burn. ¡°What a shame. Such information would have been incredibly insightful.¡±

    Sascha stayed close to the ground, fearful any sudden movement would cause the debilitating pain to return. He filled his blistering lungs with a shaky gasp of musty air. His throat felt raw and dry. The breath barely made it past his tightening airways.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know Oralia¡¯s whereabouts, her plan, not even where she might have gone. I¡¯m starting to think you don¡¯t even know this woman at all.¡± Cray tut-tutted from the other side of the bars. He crouched onto his haunches and he gazed down at Sascha, disappointed. ¡°Surely there¡¯s something of note you can tell me.¡±

    Heat pierced the inside of his skull once more, like molten claws tearing through soft flesh. Sascha snarled as his memories zipped past. He saw the days leading up to the raid on Briony¡¯s cottage ¡ª the mornings waking up with Oralia in his arms, their nights spent alone, the murderous look she gave him each time she caught him staring at her ass, and the way she nearly died of embarrassment when he caught her staring at his.

    ¡°Ugh, boring,¡± Cray muttered. An exasperated flick of his hand sped the memories along faster.

    The images flashed before Sascha¡¯s eyes at a dizzying rate. The invisible heat coiled around his mind cinched tighter. It burned, sizzled, and popped, lighting his internal pathways aflame as Cray swept through his memories at the speed of light. And then, without warning, it stopped. Time froze as the unbearable heat eased to a simmer. Sascha found himself in the woods at night, beneath a spare canopy of shriveled leaves. The crisp breeze prickled his blistered skin as the soothing scents of soil and forest decay filled his burnt airways.

    Oralia was there as well. Something was bothering her, more than usual based on the way she looked like a deer one sudden movement away from bolting for the hills. The warm hum of his own voice filled his ears, but Sascha couldn¡¯t make out what was said. He strained to listen but the words melded together into an indistinguishable drone. And then Oralia took his hand in hers and placed it on her stomach.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s something!¡± Cray exclaimed.

    The memory vanished, along with the smells of the forest and the cool breeze. Sascha lurched upright, gasping for breath. Panic flooded his tortured veins as he stared across at the smiling face of his captor.

    ¡°She¡¯s with child,¡± Cray said. ¡°Your child, in fact. Which is even better.¡±

    The last thread of Sascha¡¯s strength failed him. He slumped back down and drew his knees to his chest, shuddering as the last dregs of heat and pain rippled along his spent body.

    Cray¡¯s eager smile was split from ear to ear ¡°Now this, this I can use. Thank you so much for your assistance. You have been most helpful.¡±

    The elf jumped back onto his feet and strode for the exit. He reached the door and then paused, as if suddenly remembering Sascha was not the only prisoner worth tormenting. Cray¡¯s gray gaze settled on Judge Belfast¡¯s huddled form. ¡°Oh hello, Trant,¡± Cray crooned, offering a sympathetic wave. ¡°Rest assured, I haven¡¯t forgotten about you. I¡¯ve got my hands full at the moment, but never fear, I¡¯ll make time for another one of our chats soon enough. Maybe you¡¯ll come to your senses before then.¡±

    Cray drew open the door left, voice echoing along the passage behind him. ¡°What a shame that would be.¡±

 231 - Its Whats Its

    Crossing the border from the flatlands into what was now the New Adderwood Republic was remarkably easy. The territory was made up of large swathes of untouched wilderness with a handful of settlements scattered haphazardly along the map, connected by a single road. What few patrols Daana and Ashwyn happened across weren¡¯t all that concerned with two lowly travelers. The majority of the territory¡¯s forces were assembled along the southern border, which, consequently, just happened to be where the celebrated traitor to the realm, Oralia Dawnsight, was last seen. Following the single road, the journey from the north into Adderwood¡¯s southernmost settlement, Fairguard, took only three days and passed smoothly.

    ¡°Oi! Look at the size of that wall, would ya?¡± a reedy voice called out behind them. ¡°What are they trying to keep out? Giants?¡±

    Relatively smoothly, Daana conceded. The part of the journey where she and Ashwyn unknowingly picked up three teenage tagalongs had not gone down quite as swimmingly as the rest. Daana whipped her head over her shoulder in time to see a set of long, goblin ears disappear into the brush alongside the road at their backs.

    ¡°How are they still here?¡± Daana hissed to Ashwyn. ¡°I thought we lost them at the river.¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re demons, Peaches, not gobbies.¡±

    No matter how many times Ashwyn had taken it upon herself to chase the trio off, the goblins always came back again. The physical toll it had taken on the orc was almost as severe as the mental one. Ashwyn hadn¡¯t had a decent sleep in the past three days, not since waking up in the middle of the night to discover the first snow had fallen and blanketed their makeshift camp in a layer of frozen death. The snow, admittedly, hadn¡¯t bothered Ashwyn nearly as much as the three shivering bodies that¡¯d burrowed underneath her bedding for warmth.

    Daana¡¯s stare swept from the surrounding brush back to the settlement. Fairguard wasn¡¯t particularly impressive, not compared to the realm¡¯s capital city, anyway. But to a goblin who¡¯d spent their life in a burrow underground, she could see how the settlement¡¯s rugged palisade walls might have been awe-inspiring. Maybe even enough to dissuade their goblin entourage from sneaking inside.

    ¡°Alright, end of the line.¡± Daana spun her shaggy steed about-face with a press of her right knee. The dirt road behind them stretched into the surrounding trees until it was swallowed by darkness. She saw no signs of the goblins, but she knew they were there. They were always there, lurking just out of sight. ¡°You¡¯ve had your adventure. Go home. This is no place for children.¡±

    ¡°Who are you calling children?¡± Spoon Ear¡¯s incensed squeak erupted from the bushes to the right.

    Smiley and Twig¡¯s replies echoed their companion¡¯s sentiment from various parts of the undergrowth.

    ¡°Go home,¡± Daana repeated.

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make names for ourselves!¡±

    Fat chance of that. Daana didn¡¯t even know what their real names were. There wasn¡¯t any point in making the official introductions now, anyway. Not when the oversized brats should have been on their way home. Asking their names would only encourage them to stick around some more.

    ¡°Come on, Peaches.¡± Ashwyn spurred her horse forward with a click of her tongue, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief. ¡°If it didn¡¯t work the first hundred times you told them to get lost, I don¡¯t see why it¡¯d work now. If they¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll figure it out on their own before the cold kills ¡®em.¡±

    The guard manning the front gates barred them from entering longer than necessary. Not out of malice, either. He reminded Daana of an over-energetic puppy who¡¯d been left out in the yard with no one to play with. Poor thing was practically starved for company. So much so, that he missed all of the not-so-subtle social cues from Ashwyn that she didn¡¯t have the time nor mental energy for meaningless chit-chat. Feigning her best smile, Daana grudgingly picked up Ashwyn¡¯s slack and obliged him. Eventually, when the guard had had his fill, he let them in, passing along a recommendation for the Copperstone Inn in case they needed lodging.

    Somehow Daana had ended up with a strip of parchment containing the guard¡¯s name and apartment number, as well. She gave her thanks as she and Ashwyn slipped through the gates, fighting the urge to throw the paper over her shoulder.

    ¡°What was that about?¡± Daana asked once certain they were safely out of hearing.

    ¡°How sheltered did you grow up again?¡± Ashwyn took in Daana¡¯s scowl and came to her own conclusion rather quickly. ¡°Extremely sheltered, that¡¯s right. Probably didn¡¯t see anything outside those palace walls until you were half-grown.¡±

    ¡°I was allowed outside the palace!¡±

    ¡°Allowed?¡± Ashwyn repeated. ¡°You hear yourself, right?¡±

    ¡°Okay, fine. I was sheltered. What does that have to do with the guard at the gate? I was just doing what you normally do.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? And what is it I normally do?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re polite and friendly, and you smile a lot.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. And when I do it, it comes across as mildly threatening. From someone with a pretty face like you, it looks like flirting.¡± Ashwyn glanced at Daana to catch her reaction. The abject horror stretched across Daana¡¯s face, unfortunately, only convinced her to keep the explanation coming. ¡°As far as that bloke at the gate is concerned, you just threw yourself at him.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Daana made a fist, crumpling the strip of paper in her hand as the heat on her face spread to her ears.

    Ashwyn¡¯s laugh echoed along the fronts of the rickety buildings as the pair plodded their way through the settlement on horseback. Fairguard wasn¡¯t large by any stretch of the imagination. The majority of its buildings were made up of wooden structures crammed together, with rickety walkways crisscrossing between them. Rain had transformed the dirt streets to mud as the pair moved deeper into the settlement. Daana could see the top of the Copperstone Inn rising above the rickety thatch roofs up ahead. The inn was an impressive feat of architectural ingenuity that, nestled amongst the rest of the ramshackle town, looked as out of place as a diamond-encrusted tiara on a donkey.

    Daana might have been taken aback by the inn¡¯s grandeur had she not still been fixated on the guard at the gate. ¡°All I did was smile!¡±

    ¡°Still stewing on that, are we?¡± Ashwyn said.

    ¡°It¡¯s not fair. I was just copying what you do. It¡¯s not my fault I don¡¯t have scary-looking tusks to make my smile more menacing.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s an alternative, you know. Lean into it. Use what you got. Flirt your way into getting what you want.¡±

    ¡°Good gods, no. Gross. Now you¡¯re starting to sound like Ellis¡ª¡± The name quickly died on the tip of Daana¡¯s tongue. Alas, the damage was already done. Across from her, the cheeky smile faded from Ashwyn¡¯s face. Daana wanted to kick herself. Ashwyn hadn¡¯t been the same since the breakup. Any mention of Ellisar was like twisting the knife already buried hilt-deep in her chest.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. It¡¯s not your fault. As our dearly-departed Snaggy once said, ¡®It¡¯s what¡¯s it¡¯s¡¯.¡±

    That was all it took. A single mention of his name and Daana was the one on the verge of sliding off the horse into a puddle of sadness. She felt the familiar creeping sadness claw its way back up her throat. ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that,¡± she snapped. ¡°It makes it sound like he¡¯s dead.¡±

    Snag wasn¡¯t dead, he was just gone. Happier, probably, now that he had a real family to share his life with. Daana hardly missed his constant complaining at all. In fact, she¡¯d gone out of her way not to think about it. It¡¯d been working surprisingly well, too, right up until his name was mentioned and the blasted waterworks started up anew.

    ¡°Shit, my bad,¡± Ashwyn said with a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re not at the top of our game when we¡¯re missing our people, are we?¡±

    ¡°You miss her?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I fucking miss her.¡±

    Daana¡¯s teary gaze dropped to the crumpled slip of parchment nestled in her hand. A terrible idea formed itself within her head. So far time and space had yet to ease her pain. Perhaps something more fleeting would help shove her grief aside, even if it was just for a night or two.

    Daana¡¯s poor idea must have shown in her face because Ashwyn was quick to shut it down. ¡°Good goddess, girl, no. That¡¯s not the answer. Take it from someone with experience, drowning your troubles between the sheets doesn¡¯t hasten the healing. All it provides is a momentary distraction.¡±

    And yet, a distraction didn¡¯t sound too bad.

    ¡°The pain all comes flooding back the next morning, as fresh as the day it happened.¡± Ashwyn added with a frown, ¡°That and sometimes a rash, too.¡±

    The tantalizing appeal of a momentary distraction vanished from Daana¡¯s thoughts at the mere mention of a rash. ¡°Ew.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you think heartache is bad? Wait ¡®til you¡¯ve got a broken heart and an angry quim. You¡¯ll be crying tears of genuine sadness while scuffling around on the ground like a dog dragging its bottom, helpless against the itching.¡±

    ¡°We really should know less about each other.¡±

    The street underfoot transitioned from dirt to dirt-covered cobblestone as Daana¡¯s horse turned the corner and the front steps of the Copperstone Inn came into view. A small trickle of relief eased the suffocating sense of grief and disgust weighing her down. The small sum of money Snag had snuck into her saddlebag when she wasn¡¯t looking meant she could afford a bath, a warm meal, and most importantly, a private room free of whatever horrific things slipped from Ashwyn¡¯s mouth uninhibited.

    A plucky stable hand darted out across the courtyard to meet them. He was only halfway when the front doors to the inn burst open at the top of the freshly-swept steps. A thunderous voice filled the crisp air, its boom echoing off the surrounding stone until it sounded as if there was an army of belligerent dwarfs stomping down the steps, and not just the one. Technically, there were two. It was easy to miss the second dwarf, however, considering he was still at the top of the stairs, attempting to realign the damaged doors.

    The stable hand took one look at the angry dwarf and turned back the way he came, leaving Daana and Ashwyn to fend for themselves.

    ¡°Un-fucking-believable!¡± the dwarf thundered. ¡°¡®Not our concern¡¯. We risked our necks for Adderwood and when it¡¯s time to return the favor, suddenly it¡¯s all about weighing risk and choosing their battles.¡±

    The quiet dwarf was still at the top of the stairs. Having corrected the alignment of the doors, he seemed torn between following his companion or ducking back inside. Heaving a reluctant sigh, he started down the stone steps after her. ¡°Just because you disagree with the seneschal¡¯s decision, does not mean he is wrong.¡±

    ¡°Oh, look at that. You¡¯re defending him. Again. Big surprise.¡± She spun around and placed her hands on her hips. ¡°What happened to having my back, huh? You were supposed to be on my side.¡±

    ¡°I serve the New Adderwood Republic.¡± The dwarf soldier squared his shoulders as he spoke. ¡°I said I would help you get an audience with the seneschal, which is what I did. He made the call not to get involved, Rali. And, frankly, given your lack of information regarding the conflict, I agree with his decision.¡±

    The angry dwarf whipped back around, shouting unintelligible noises. She threw her hands in the air over her head and was about to storm off when she froze, as if only now noticing she had a bewildered audience. More noises vacated her slack-jawed mouth, but they weren¡¯t so much angry as they were confused. Possibly relieved.

    Daana lifted her hand and waved. ¡°Hi, Rali.¡±

    ¡°Daana?¡± Some of the anger melted away as relief flooded Rali¡¯s wide eyes. ¡°Oh, my gods. I never thought I¡¯d be happy to see your stupid face again.¡±

    Caught in a constant tide of shifting principles, with the ebb and flow of time continually reshaping Daana until her former sense of self had been worn, weathered, and washed away, it was nice to see some things hadn¡¯t changed at all. Hardship had not reshaped Rali in any significant way. The dwarf lieutenant was still as brash and insulting as ever.

    Daana¡¯s friendly wave went from four fingers and a thumb down to just one. ¡°I missed you, too.¡±

 232 - Rhetorical Questions

    ¡°You lost my family?¡± Rali¡¯s incredulous screech carried far and wide on the crisp autumn breeze. It echoed along the cobblestone courtyard, down the adjoining dirt road, and bounced between the rickety wood buildings before being swallowed by the distance.

    ¡°Rali, please,¡± the other dwarf pleaded. He, unlike her, seemed quite conscientious to the fact that a crowd had gathered around the front windows and was now watching from within the safety of the nearby inn. ¡°Lower your voice. There is no need to advertise your business to the entire settlement.¡±

    Rali whipped around at him, cheeks flushed with color and her lower lip trembling. ¡°These two idiots lost Snag and Ellisar!¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t lose them,¡± Daana replied matter-of-factly. ¡°They left on their own volition. Which they¡¯re allowed to do, by the way. They are, after all, adults with free will.¡±

    Rali¡¯s fury reflected in her dark eyes. Her accusing stare leapt from Daana to Ashwyn and struck down with the force of an iron anvil. ¡°What did you do? You fucked it up, didn¡¯t you?¡± Rali edged a daring step forward, fists curled and held stiffly at her sides. ¡°I know El. Forget moving mountains, she would have burned every last pile of dirt to the ground if it meant getting you back. And now, suddenly, you¡¯re free and she¡¯s nowhere to be seen?¡±

    Ashwyn snapped her tusks threateningly. ¡°What are you getting at?¡±

    ¡°I think you know what I¡¯m getting at.¡±

    ¡°Then say it to my face.¡±

    ¡°Rali,¡± her dwarf companion said again.

    Whereas Rali¡¯s tone was that of an anvil, his was calm, cool, and collected, laced with a thread of caution. The dwarf¡¯s demeanor reminded Daana of a pond. It may have been still on the surface, but the water ran deep, and when push came to shove, it could sink the other two with hardly any effort.

    Ashwyn must have sensed it, too, because she backed off, attempting to clear her hot-blooded thoughts with a shake of her head.

    Rali, on the other hand, still looked like she wanted to punch something. That something being Ashwyn, specifically. ¡°It¡¯s suspicious! That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡±

    The other dwarf clamped his broad hand over Rali¡¯s shoulder and squeezed, as if trying to remind her that, again, this was a public space and she was making a spectacle of herself. He was smidge taller than her, with long, copper-colored hair and an intricately braided beard to match. Judging from fitted leather armor and polished breastplate, Daana surmised he was military of some kind. Higher up in ranking, too, based on the brightly-colored cape fastened to his shoulders. Whoever he was, he seemed to value his reputation given the way he kept glancing back over his shoulder at the inn doors, as if expecting someone higher up to come bursting down the steps with a letter of disciplinary action in hand.

    Ashwyn appeared done with the conversation as well, for reasons unrelated to her reputation. Gathering the reins in one hand, she led both horses toward the stable area, calling over her shoulder to Daana. ¡°I¡¯ll tackle the room and board arrangements. You deal with the shouty one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Miss Shouty One to you, madam! And don¡¯t think you¡¯re squeaking your way out of an explanation. I¡¯m going to get the story out of you sooner or later, believe me.¡±

    Daana watched the orc disappear into the stable area, slightly jealous that Ashwyn had thought of it first. While Daana wasn¡¯t normally one to volunteer for grunt work, it was preferable to the alternative. Rali was already too worked up to have a productive conversation. Anything Daana said would be seen as an attack and, ultimately, used to bludgeon her into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

    For that reason, Daana kept her explanation simple and to the point. ¡°They broke up, Rali. Ellisar left. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±

    ¡°Says who? You?¡± Rali shot back. ¡°You would think that wouldn¡¯t you? No offense, but you¡¯re still taking everything at face value, kid. You haven¡¯t learned to dig deep yet. If you want the truth, then you¡¯ve got to really sink your claws into the heart of things.¡±

    Given the talon-like motion Rali was making with her hands, Daana wasn¡¯t so sure the part involving claws was entirely metaphorical. She stood her ground nonetheless, stifling the urge to put more space between them. ¡°I¡¯d rather not, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, figured as much.¡±

    ¡°Rali,¡± the other dwarf said again, as if it was the only word he knew.

    ¡°Alright, fine. Moving on. What about Snag then?¡± Rali heeded her companion¡¯s interjection in the same way a cat might obey its master commands to stop shredding the furniture. In lieu of sharpening her claws on the couch, she pivoted topics, setting her sights on the plush carpet instead. ¡°You break up with him, too? Snap his wee little heart in half? Crush his hopes of having a daughter that didn¡¯t take him for granted all the time?¡±

    Daana scowled. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Nah, nah, nah. You don¡¯t ask the rhetorical questions here, that¡¯s my job. You¡¯re supposed to be explaining to me how you managed to run off the people I depend upon to get shit done.¡±Stolen novel; please report.

    ¡°Snag went home to his family.¡±

    ¡°See, that¡¯s how I know you¡¯re full of it.¡± Rali threw her hands over her head, exclaiming, ¡°I¡¯m his blooming family! Me! And if Snag had returned to his family, then he¡¯d be here and you and I wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡±

    This was obviously getting nowhere. Rali wasn¡¯t the one Daana was here for anyway. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but is Oralia around?¡± Daana asked. ¡°I feel like talking to her is going to be somehow less hostile than whatever is going on with you right now.¡±

    Which was really saying something considering how much Oralia openly detested Daana.

    Rali¡¯s eyes doubled in size as her lips curled back, preparing her worst tongue-lashing yet. Her dwarf companion intervened in the nick of time. He uttered something to Rali in an unfamiliar tongue. Despite Daana¡¯s best efforts, she couldn¡¯t make out a single word of it. It must have been serious though, because the look Rali gave him would have knocked the air out of someone with a weaker constitution. He returned the look, along with a raised eyebrow, as if daring her to take him up on his challenge.

    ¡°Fine!¡± Rali snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll wait until we¡¯re somewhere more private. But don¡¯t think a breather is going to make me any more hospitable!¡±

    She stomped off, content to pace back and forth along the edge of the courtyard, muttering and mumbling to herself as perfectly sane people are wont to do.

    ¡°Captain Almas Bernstein.¡±

    The voice drew Daana¡¯s attention from Rali to the speaker. The dwarf had his hand outstretched in her direction. Oddly, it wasn¡¯t palm-up, demanding some sort of payment. The hand was held perpendicular, in the friendly sort of way normal people used to introduce themselves.

    Good gods, Daana cursed as she snapped from her stupor and shook it. It had been so long since she¡¯d been around someone with manners that she¡¯d nearly forgotten how to use her own. ¡°Daana.¡±

    She purposely left out the addition of ¡®Lazuli¡¯. The surname came equipped with all sorts of poor associations that were, rightfully, well deserved. She didn¡¯t need the family reputation causing her more problems than it already did. Especially not out here, in a territory that had just declared itself independent of her uncle¡¯s control.

    Former uncle, she had to remind herself.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the greater details will have to be discussed somewhere more private. The short of it is, however, Oralia is not here,¡± Captain Bernstein said. While his focus was on Daana, she could not help but notice the way he kept breaking eye contact to check on Rali, making sure she hadn¡¯t stormed off to set something aflame yet. ¡°Rali was sent to Fairguard to enlist the help of the New Adderwood Republic army and, suffice to say, things are not going to plan.¡±

    Of course not. Because nothing involving Daana and Oralia working together ever had to come easily. ¡°That explains the shouting, at least,¡± Daana murmured.

    ¡°Does it?¡± The captain cocked his head to the side curiously. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever known Rali to have two volumes. Loud and deafening.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true. Take now, for example.¡± Daana smiled at the captain¡¯s joke. ¡°Technically, I think this counts as the silent treatment.¡±

    ¡°And here I thought the silent treatment would involve less noise.¡±

    The front doors opened and closed behind them. Daana glanced over her shoulder to witness Ashwyn¡¯s return. The orc descended the stairs without the customary bounce in her step. She was halfway down when she stopped in her tracks altogether. Her face paled, as she¡¯d just seen a ghost.

    Daana followed Ashwyn¡¯s stare across the cobblestone courtyard and to the street. A tall, willowy elf was making her way toward them. Her loose, straw-colored hair billowed in the breeze behind her. She was graceful, feminine, and, aside from looks, one hundred everything Ellisar was not. Still, Daana couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she was encountering a younger version of the infamous Ellisar Farrow, one who had yet to lose their sense of humanity.

    ¡°You can stop gawking now,¡± Daana called to Ashwyn. ¡°It¡¯s not her.¡±

    ¡°I know that!¡± Ashwyn descended the last of the stairs, still tracking the approaching elf¡¯s movements with no attempt at subtlety whatsoever. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­look at her Daana. The similarities. It¡¯s downright uncanny.¡±

    Rali reluctantly rejoined the group at the base of the steps, grumbling, ¡°Yeah, until she opens her mouth.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Rali! Captain.¡± The elf waved to the dwarfs as she approached. Her steps faltered several paces short of the stone stairs. Not for the sake of conversation, Daana suspected, but due to the manner in which Ashwyn was openly staring. The elf offered a nervous smile. ¡°Everything alright?¡±

    ¡°Nothing you can help with, Kalihn.¡± Rali shooed her off with an irritated flick of her hands. ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    Kalihn remained where she was. ¡°Are you sure there isn¡¯t something wrong with your friend there? Her face is, uh, concerning.¡±

    Rali gave up on moving Kalihn along and decided it was time the rest of the group took their leave. She persuaded Ashwyn forward with a helpful kick to the back of her shin. ¡°Don¡¯t pay any mind to her, Kalihn. Can¡¯t be helped, I¡¯m afraid. Ashwyn¡¯s just never seen an elf before.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t she an elf?¡± Kalihn pointed at Daana.

    ¡°Is she? Huh,¡± Rali said as she continued to persuade Ashwyn to move along. It was like watching a small boulder trying to move a much bigger boulder. ¡°Honestly, I thought Daana was some sort of horse, what with the smell and all.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Daana protested.

    Ashwyn acted as if she hadn¡¯t heard a word of what was going on around her. ¡°Dinner?¡± she blurted out, still staring utterly transfixed at the blonde-haired elf. ¡°With me? Tonight?¡±

    ¡°Oh, my. Goodness,¡± Kalihn stammered. ¡°Well, I, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Keep walking, Kalihn,¡± Rali said.

    ¡°Right, yes. I think I¡¯ll do that.¡± Kalihn bounded up the steps as quickly as her feet could carry her.

    Daana seized Ashwyn by the arm and attempted to drag her into step. It wasn¡¯t working as well as she would have liked, but at least they were moving again. ¡°Bad idea,¡± she said. ¡°You were just telling me not to give in to momentary distractions, remember? It¡¯s not going to heal anything.¡±

    ¡°Relax, Peaches. I¡¯m not going to try to bed her.¡± Ashwyn twisted her head around and watched Kalihn disappear up the steps and into the inn. ¡°I just need her to slap me across the face real hard and tell me I¡¯m not worth the time of day. It¡¯ll all be out of my system after that, I promise.¡±

    Rali¡¯s bushy eyebrows raised high in her forehead as she fell into step alongside them. ¡°Does it have to be from Kalihn, specifically? Because if it¡¯s an open invitation, I¡¯ll hit you as many times as you want. Free of charge. Don¡¯t even need to buy me dinner first.¡±

    Captain Bernstein caught Rali¡¯s raised hand by the wrist as it swung past, preventing it from making contact. ¡°I think you¡¯ve made enough scenes for one day, Miss Ralizak.¡±

 233 - Make Haste

    Captain Bernstein¡¯s personal quarters was a live-in basement beneath the local bakery. Once serving as extra storage for the business, the basement had recently been renovated into a livable space suited for those that preferred the oppressive lack of windows. From what Daana could see, ¡°recently renovated¡± was a fancy description for slapping a lock on the door and throwing a few rugs down. According to the captain, underground accommodations were hard to come by in Fairguard. It had taken him months to secure such lodging and he¡¯d be damned if he let a few inconveniences like the lack of designated closet space and a properly insulated ceiling get between him and a proper home underground.

    The apartment consisted of a bed, a couch that looked as though it was currently serving as a second bed, and a table set so low, it did away with the need for chairs by forcing those gathered around it to make due with the floor instead. Daana had sat at such low tables before, but those usually involved cushions of some kind. A second quick visual sweep of the unit confirmed that Captain Bernstein didn¡¯t believe in pillows. There wasn¡¯t even one on the bed.

    ¡°Sorry about the mess,¡± the captain said as he knelt down to light the solitary candle on the table.

    ¡°Mess?¡± Ashwyn twisted her head back and forth, puzzled. Having had enough of sitting on the ground, she opted for the couch instead. ¡°Mess would imply you have belongings, mate. Garbage, at the very least. It doesn¡¯t even look like anyone lives here.¡±

    ¡°I meant the bed actually. The one you¡¯re now sitting on.¡± The warm glow from the candle lit the captain¡¯s bearded face, highlighting the ruddy blush that crept across his nose. His gaze swept from Ashwyn to Rali. ¡°The one someone promised to tidy before storming off to her appointment with the seneschal this morning.¡±

    Daana suspected it was not intentional ¡ª the only people who ever willfully stoked Rali¡¯s temper were those actively looking for an excuse to lose a fight, and the captain didn¡¯t strike as the type ¡ª but the remark had the unintended effect of igniting Rali¡¯s highly combustible temper all the same. Her face grew red with fury as she drew breath, preparing to unleash whatever onslaught was brewing behind her dark, glistening eyes.

    ¡°Can you throttle him later?¡± Daana piped up, stealing Rali¡¯s thunder before the sheer magnitude of its unbridled fury rendered the basement into a pile of unrecognizable rubble. ¡°Preferably when I¡¯m not here? Ashwyn and I are looking for Oralia and, according to Captain Bernstein, she¡¯s no longer here. Where is she?¡±

    Shockingly, Rali actually provided an answer. It was one word and spoken with the sort of venom one would expect from a snake, not a dwarf. ¡°Lonebrook.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Daana said. ¡°Anything else I need to know before we head that way?¡±

    ¡°Nah, nothing important.¡± Rali dismissed her with a wave. ¡°You two go ahead. Walk straight into Geralt¡¯s trap, see how that goes for you.¡±

    Fortunately, several increasingly sarcastic responses later, Daana was able to get an adequate rundown of the situation. The village of Lonebrook had been seized by realm forces in an attempt to bait Faris and, by extension, Rasp into returning home. Oralia needed proper forces to overthrow the occupiers, which was what Rali was supposed to be doing. Only, actually getting the forces they needed was proving more difficult than expected.

    ¡°It¡¯s not right,¡± Rali insisted. ¡°I was sent to convince the council and they¡¯re not even here to hear my case.¡±

    Captain Bernstein had the unfortunate position of playing middleman in which he took Rali¡¯s angry ramblings and translated them into something that would make sense to Daana and Ashwyn. ¡°With the war over, the council have returned to their homes outside of Fairgaurd. The local seneschal has the power to bring Oralia¡¯s call for aid to their attention, but he¡¯s been less than helpful so far. Seneschal Brastbrow refuses to send the motion to the council for an official vote.¡±

    ¡°Which is why we need to march back into his office and change his mind,¡± Rali said.

    ¡°And tell him what, exactly?¡± Captain Bernstein challenged. ¡°You already argued your case. You have no new information. What purpose does it serve to rehash what has already been said?¡±

    ¡°Whose side are you on again?¡±

    ¡°Rali, please. You know where I stand on this.¡±

    Daana interrupted with a question of her own. ¡°What were the seneschal¡¯s reasons for refusing the request in the first place?¡±

    The captain looked relieved for the opportunity to field an actual question and not just a string of insults. ¡°It is not a matter of not wanting to help, it is a matter of practicality. Conceivability. Logic. New Adderwood just secured its own independence. Our forces are weary and our supplies need to be replenished. There¡¯s the issue of timing as well, with winter on its way. And even if all of that was resolved, there is the disturbing lack of concrete information.¡±

    ¡°I gave you what I have,¡± Rali snapped.

    The captain continued, set on proving a point. He listed the issues on each finger as he spoke. ¡°We don¡¯t have enemy numbers, we don¡¯t have a timeline, we don¡¯t even know if there¡¯s anyone left in the village to save. It would be suicide to march an army into enemy territory because a single village has been taken hostage by one of Geralt Lazuli¡¯s lackeys.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Rali shot him a glare. ¡°Tarathiel Cray is not a mere lackey.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, it¡¯s not a name neither I nor the Seneschal Brastbrow recognize.¡±

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s not one you recognize! The whole point of having a secret attack dog is to keep it a secret!¡± Rali¡¯s temper was beginning to flare again. ¡°Nobody panics when he shows up because nobody knows who he is. Let me tell you, bucko, Tarathiel Cray is not someone to be trifled with.¡±

    The first mention of the name had caught Daana off guard. Rali, having used it a second time, assured Daana that she had not simply misheard. Unease flooded her insides as she fought to get the words out around the sudden tightening of her throat. ¡°Cray is in Lonebrook?¡±

    ¡°See? I told you it wasn¡¯t a name I made up. Daana knows who he is.¡± Rali paused and blinked, as if reevaluating the merit of her own statement. She turned and gazed up at Daana as an amalgamation of confusion and disbelief glazed over her former outrage. ¡°Hold up, you know Cray? I mean, given who you are, you might have crossed paths once or twice, but you look like you know him. Like, really know him.¡±

    Captain Bernstein tilted his head suspiciously. ¡°Why would Daana know him?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a Lazuli,¡± Rali replied.

    The captain eyes widened in panic. Ashwyn must have noticed as well because she sat up straight on the couch, glaring daggers at Rali for spilling the proverbial beans. ¡°She¡¯s a Lazuli in name only. There¡¯s no relation between her and Geralt. And believe me, she¡¯d be the first to spill his blood if given half the chance.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m harboring a Lazuli under my roof?¡± the captain said.

    ¡°For the love of gods, forget about my last name for one damned second and pay attention! There are far bigger issues at play here.¡± Daana locked eyes with the captain. She saw a glimmer of panic behind his stare, but he hadn¡¯t whipped around and raced for the stairs yet, which, all things considered, was about as good as she could hope for. She had to get it out, make him understand, quickly, before she was placed under arrest for the crime of sharing a surname with a power-hungry maniac.

    ¡°Tarathiel Cray is in Lonebrook,¡± Daana reiterated that part because it truly was worth repeating. ¡°And you¡¯re all just sitting on the sidelines twiddling your thumbs? Does New Adderwood not understand what is at stake here? Do you?¡±

    Captain Bernstein obviously had no answer for her.

    ¡°Tarathiel Cray is not some lowly pawn in Geralt¡¯s army, he¡¯s the fucking queen. While the Speaker of the People hides behind his castle walls, it¡¯s Cray who¡¯s out there in the field doing all the heavy lifting. And he¡¯s not some mindless yes-man, either. He¡¯s a powerful witch who doesn¡¯t just rely on magic, but his cunning and ruthlessness too. If Cray is in Lonebrook, then it¡¯s no longer a matter of if Rasp is going to be lured into his trap, but when. And you had better believe that Cray has a contingency plan for netting Whisper, too. He¡¯s probably got a whole squadron from the Division of Divination lying in wait.¡±

    Admittedly, it was a lot of information to take in at once. Rali grudgingly filled in what gaps she could, including who Rasp and Whisper were and why it would be a bad idea for them to fall into realm custody.

    ¡°And not just them, but Oralia too,¡± Daana said. ¡°Who, last I checked, is not only infected with a piece of a dark entity, but is carrying an old one in a powerstone around her neck. Do you understand how dangerous that is?¡±

    Captain Bernstein still wasn¡¯t getting it. None of them were getting it. Geralt was moving his final pieces into play and no one else could see the full board!

    Something took over inside of her, as if all the years of coaching, tutoring, and learning to hold one¡¯s ground in court had finally decided to pay off. Even her voice changed. Daana sounded as though she was addressing a formal debate panel and not three nobodies in a stuffy basement. ¡°So while Adderwood sits back and does nothing, Geralt gets everything he wants. He gets a witch, a fae, and a dark entity without a fight. And do you know what happens when he has all three?

    ¡°It¡¯s over. He wins. Geralt crushes Lonebrook and then he sets his sights on anyone else who¡¯s ever defied him. And you had better believe that New Adderwood is the first to go. Make no mistake, Geralt let you win your independence because he had his sights elsewhere. The moment Lonebrook falls is the same moment he comes back to Adderwood to claim what is his.¡±

    A stunned silence settled. At least Daana hoped it was the stunned sort and that Captain Bernstein wasn¡¯t using the time to secretly plot the best way to place her under arrest without a fight.

    ¡°I,¡± the captain started, ¡°I think that¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°It?¡± Rali asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s your winning argument. What the seneschal needs to hear.¡± Captain Bernstein started towards Daana, and then stopped, realizing that she was on the verge of bolting for the stairs. He held up his hands to show no ill intent. ¡°Miss Lazuli, I think you might be the key to this. If you can tell everything to Seneschal Brastbrow that you just told me, then he will have to bring it to the council¡¯s attention immediately.¡±

    ¡°Does he have to know that I¡¯m a Lazuli?¡± It was a petty detail, yes, but also one that could easily prove deadly with the wrong crowd.

    ¡°Your credibility hinges on that fact, I¡¯m afraid. You know how Geralt Lazuli operates because you have seen it firsthand.¡± Captain Bernstein gestured to the door at the top of the stairs. ¡°Please, if what you said is true, then we do not have a moment to waste.¡±

    Daana nodded her agreement whilst stealing a quick at Ashwyn, as if to confirm whether or not she was about to walk headfirst into a trap. Ashwyn¡¯s enthusiastic thumbs-up was not encouraging.

    Rali started to move for the stairs but was stopped by Captain Bernstein. ¡°I think it would be better if you stayed here.¡± The captain¡¯s worried gaze swept from Rali to Ashwyn. ¡°Both of you.¡±

    ¡°Like chaos I am,¡± Rali said. ¡°This is my fight.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too close to it, Rali. You¡¯re already lost your cool with the seneschal once. You¡¯re loud, and passionate, and everything a dwarf is not supposed to be, and I admire that about you, but that¡¯s not what we need right now. The seneschal needs to hear cold, hard facts.¡±

    Rali gestured to Daana. ¡°She¡¯s not even a dwarf!¡±

    ¡°But she knows how to get through to one.¡±

    Rali¡¯s shoulders deflated at the realization that she was being left behind.

    ¡°Save your fight for the battle you can win,¡± Captain Bernstein said. ¡°Let Daana and I handle this.¡± He gave Rali one last look before turning for the door. ¡°We must make haste, Miss Lazuli. You have a very stubborn mind to change.¡±

 234 - Making Amends

    An icy chill rippled across Whisper¡¯s scaled hide, stirring the fae from their slumber. Groggily, they lifted their head and sniffed the air. It smelled faintly of rotted soil and old, coagulated blood. Whisper closed their eyes, opened their sixth sense, and listened to what the magic was telling them. The fae¡¯s mind merged with the aether, the plane on which all magic existed, and was unnerved by what they saw. The aether was alight with competing magics of many shapes and colors. The strongest of which was not a color at all, but a black hole, slowly pulling the others into its all-consuming void.

    Whisper¡¯s eyes snapped open as realization shot down their spine like a jolt of cold lightning ¡ª the monster was near.

    By all rights, Whisper should have leapt up out of bed, shifted to a faster form, and jetted out across the underground city to help, but the fae hesitated. The chill continued to creep along their spine, lifting each quill on end. The nameless one¡¯s power should not have been able to infiltrate the priestess¡¯s protection charm, and yet, here it was, turning Whisper¡¯s blood to ice. If the pull was already this strong, Whisper feared what they would encounter the moment they stepped outside Priestess Oreword¡¯s domain.

    Sudden heat pinpricked the insides of Whisper¡¯s scaled hands. The fae leapt up out of bed, cursing as they wrung the sting from their fingers and scurried for the door. Damn fae contracts! Unlike mortal kind, fulfilling a deal was not a matter of honor, pride, or outstanding moral convictions. Contracts between fae were magic-bound. For Whisper, specifically, it meant hesitating to uphold their agreement any longer would result in debilitating pain. It would keep at it too, increasing intensity until the fae was forced to comply.

    Whisper slipped out the door into the nauseatingly bright hallway and broke into a sprint. They saw two guards headed their way, to inform them that the beast had arrived, no doubt. But the fae paid the pair no mind. Whisper leapt into the air and shook off the confines of their corporeal body, hurtling past the stunned guards as a shifting cloud of dark blue smoke. The airborne fae followed the twist and turn of the hallway until they reached an open window and shot out into the still air above the underground city.

    The nameless one¡¯s magic amplified tenfold. Its icy chill nipped at the fae¡¯s proverbial heels, searching for a way to burrow inside, but without a corporeal form, the magic had nothing to latch on to. Whisper set their sights on the coliseum and jetted towards it. The arena was still a ways off, but with the gap steadily closing, they were certain they could reach the boy from such range.

    Whisper channeled their thoughts into the unsuspecting human¡¯s head, silently steeling themself for the emotional backlash that often accompanied entering the unhinged abyss known as Rasp¡¯s collective conscience.

    Little bird? Whisper called out to him.

    Whisper¡¯s incorporeal particles spasmed the moment their consciousness fused with Rasp¡¯s thoughts. Their phantom form went rigid with shock, unable to scream. Whisper wasn¡¯t connected to just one mind, but thousands. There were no intelligible thoughts, only dark and light, warm and cold, and an unsettling squiggly sensation, like maggots wriggling beneath skin. Whisper¡¯s consciousness was stretched too far, too tight. The fae dropped from the air, their phantom form involuntarily shifting as they plummeted towards the ground.

    Whisper struck a decayed rooftop before rolling off and landing in a puddle of wet, mossy muck in what remained of the alley below. Panicked, they severed their telepathic connection, rapidly untangling their thoughts from Rasp¡¯s mind and whatever chaos the damn boy was currently connected to.

    ¡°Wet,¡± Whisper snarled as they staggered to their feet, shaking off the cold slime clinging to their quills. Alas, while the wet itself was gone, the infernal squirmy sensation remained. The fae¡¯s quills bristled in disgust. ¡°Why do I feel damp inside and out?¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Whatever unpleasant spell Rasp was wielding, it had to have been working. The nameless one¡¯s magic stirred the surrounding air, angry and restless. On some minuscule level, Whisper understood the monster¡¯s frustration. The boy had all the makings of an easy meal ¡ª unimaginable power, a startling lack of ability, and the sort of impulsivity that often led to an early grave. And yet, Rasp was no babe in the woods. He¡¯d sooner dive down your open gullet and choke you to death from the inside than go down easily.

    Shaking the stubborn chill from their scaled hands, Whisper was about to shift forms when a pleasant voice whispered in their ear. There you are, O Mighty One. We¡¯ve been calling all these years. Why have you ignored us so?

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled together as a blanket of frosty air enveloped their body. The cold sting seeped between the cracks in their armored scales and permeated deep within the flesh. ¡°Given up the boy already, have you?¡± Whisper bared their needled teeth at the disembodied voice. Its soothing tone grated the inside of the fae¡¯s ears like teeth clipping a metal spoon. ¡°I¡¯ll give you more trouble than he will.¡±

    We¡¯re not here for the boy.

    A likely story. Whisper had no doubt that the nameless one was beginning to realize it¡¯d bit off more than it could chew. As foolish and inexperienced as he may have been, Rasp possessed a unique talent for ruining even the best-laid plans. The monster had realized this and set its sights on a different meal, one not only rife with power, but weakened by iron poisoning.

    But Whisper was no easy meal. The priestess''s healing magic had returned the fae to their former strength.

    ¡°Is it me you seek, then?¡± Whisper asked.

    Of course, O Great One. We have awaited you for centuries.

    How flattering.

    ¡°Then you seek not food, but death.¡± Whisper leapt from the ground, wind whipping around them, propelling them higher, and shifted into a shapeless cloud.

    It was too late. Mild panic surged across Whisper¡¯s particles at the realization that the nameless one had already latched on. Its silken voice rippled across Whisper¡¯s racing thoughts, soothing the panic as its frosty chill seeped deeper. All we¡¯ve ever wanted is for you to come home. It was no longer one voice, but many. Their familiarity stirred old memories of a bygone era. Why must you keep fighting us?

    Whisper could feel the monster shuffling through their memories as idly as a student perusing category cards in the library. The nameless one was searching for a weakness. Whisper would have to act before it found one. Their incorporeal form zipped through the air, their particles growing colder as the gap between them and the nameless one steadily closed.

    A mental door creaked open and light flooded into an unvisited corner of Whisper¡¯s memory. Whisper flinched, trying to shut the monster out, but it seeped under the door regardless.

    Oh, stubborn D¡¯zeahr, the voices crooned. You cannot fight us any more than you can fight your guilty conscience.

    Get out of my head! Whisper screamed.

    You need not make amends to those you lost. We¡¯re already here, D¡¯zeahr. Waiting for you.

    How dare the monster use their true name! Fury burned within Whisper¡¯s phantasmal manifestation as their particles shifted, taking on the shape of their most powerful form. If the nameless one wanted mighty, then mighty it would get!

    The snarl that worked its way up Whisper¡¯s scaled throat erupted out of their jagged maw as a roar. Their powerful wings lifted them high, higher, higher, stirring the musty air as the coliseum grew smaller below. Fury boiled inside of them. With a final snap of their lethal jaws, Whisper dove, dropping towards the crumbled arena below, set on destroying the parasitical voice that slowly chipped away at their control.

    No more fighting. No more fuss. Your people have forgiven you, the silken voice crooned as the chill wormed deeper, flooding Whisper¡¯s bones. The gentle words soothed the years of hurt, the ache and burn of regret eased as Whisper¡¯s internal rage began to flicker out. It¡¯s time to come home. We are waiting.

 235 - Talons And Teeth

    The world was lit with a pulsing, squiggly blue-green glow. Not only could Rasp see, but he could feel, too. Everything. The moss-carpeted arena, the deteriorating stands, columns, and walls, even the beast itself. It was as if Rasp¡¯s tactile sense had been plucked from his body and wrapped around the entire coliseum, force-feeding him every scrap of information the bioluminescent algae could provide. An ordinary man would have lost his mind to the strain. Rasp, on the other hand, didn¡¯t have much of one to lose to begin with. The extra senses slipped neatly into the empty space behind his eyes and merged as one with his aura vision, converting the sensory overload into visual hallucination he could not only see, but feel, smell, hear, and probably taste if he really, really wanted to.

    For obvious reasons, he wasn¡¯t all that curious to know what algae tasted like.

    Had Rasp possessed the time to sit back and truly consider the mechanics of what was taking place in his head, the whole thing would have fallen apart immediately. Sometimes, when it came to magic, Rasp found it was better not to know. It wasn¡¯t like he needed to understand how or why he¡¯d merged consciousness with a million different, miniscule lifeforms all at once. All that mattered was that it was working. For the first time since being chased down the Iron Ridge, beaten bloody, and left for dead, he could see the battlefield in front of him. And by the gods, that wasn¡¯t the sort of thing you questioned. You made the most of it while it lasted!

    Rasp darted back and forth, weaving between the monster¡¯s spindly legs, hacking and chopping as cold blood spurted with each wild swing. June¡¯s green aura signature danced along the edges of his peripheral vision, doing the same. She announced her accumulating tally with each victorious swing. No matter how quickly Rasp butchered away, June kept pulling ahead in numbers. Truth be told, he really wasn¡¯t that bothered she was beating him. She was a Stoneclaw, after all, with the inner strength of a bear on her side. By all rights, she should have been leading the pack.

    The only problem was she wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!¡± Hop¡¯s baritone voice was laden with a complicated blend of fear, exasperation, and utter disgust.

    Hop, having taken Rasp¡¯s nonsensical advice to wield the sword as if it were a giant scalpel to heart, had surged ahead in numbers. Whereas the others had to hack and chop multiple times to sever a leg, the faun¡¯s sheer strength and years of surgical experience meant he could cleave through an armored limb with a single, deft slice. What¡¯s worse, the overgrown baby wasn¡¯t even trying to win! He¡¯d cut and run ¡ªliterally ¡ª all while bemoaning the arean¡¯s abysmal lack of hiding places.

    As the faun had no interest in flaunting his numbers, June kindly kept a tally on his behalf. Alas, having not grown up on the Iron Ridge, she didn¡¯t quite grasp the Stoneclaw tried and true tradition of fudging the numbers. ¡°Seven realms, Hop! That¡¯s eighteen already. Save some for the rest of us.¡±

    Hop¡¯s pale violet aura severed a leg and then ducked aside, trying and failing to avoid the ensuing splatter of bug guts. ¡°Is that an option?¡± He sounded more than ready to forfeit his title in exchange for being allowed to go cower along the sidelines. ¡°Say the word and I¡¯ll leave all the rest to you two, I swear.¡±

    ¡°Three!¡± Faris¡¯s incensed voice rang out from further away. Truth be told, Rasp kept forgetting he was there. Between Faris¡¯s lack of magical aura and overall battle prowess, he was easy to miss. ¡°I¡¯m here too!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave all the rest to the three of you.¡± Hop corrected himself, adding, ¡°Sorry, Faris.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Hop. It¡¯s nice to be included considering this was my idea.¡±

    ¡°My original point still stands, however. The three of you should be fine without me.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance, Hopalong,¡± Rasp said.

    Was he miffed that it took him three solid whacks to cleaver a scolopendra leg compared to Hop¡¯s one? Yes. Did a small part of him want to send the blasted faun away so Rasp could claim the title of Champion Leg-Whacker for himself? Also yes. Was Champion Leg-Whacker a stupid title that no one in their right mind wanted to lay claim to in the first place? Maybe. So what if he suddenly wanted it more than anything else in life? A title was a title! And yet, as annoying as Hop¡¯s unexpected cleaving skills were, that wasn¡¯t the sort of thing you discarded for the sake of a bruised ego. The faun would have to stay if they hoped to win.

    That said, Rasp didn¡¯t have to lose graciously. ¡°Honestly, Hop, if you can¡¯t enjoy hacking off an ancient monster¡¯s limbs one by one before it devours you, were you ever truly living to begin with?¡±

    ¡°There is so much wrong with that statement that I don¡¯t even know where to start.¡±

    ¡°Good, then don¡¯t. Keep chopping!¡± Faris shouted. ¡°Both of you!¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Rasp snapped back. ¡°Don¡¯t give me any of that lip! I can chop, argue, and beat your ass at the same time.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    ¡°Bold words for the man currently in third place.¡±

    ¡°Oh, shut up!¡± It wasn¡¯t like he wasn¡¯t trying! Rasp was having to keep multiple powers in check in once. Not only was he juggling the combined consciousness of the algae and his aura vision, but he was actively having to keep the dark entity at bay as well. It writhed beneath his skin, eagerly awaiting the moment Rasp¡¯s control slipped and it could feast on the scolopendra¡¯s magic once more.

    ¡°Faris!¡± Hop tried to appeal to the so-called brains of the operation.¡°Faris, this isn¡¯t working!¡±

    Hop¡¯s pale magical signature ducked to avoid being stabbed through by the retaliated swing of a giant centipede leg. Rasp felt how the wet ground trembled beneath Hop¡¯s hooves and the way the scolopendra¡¯s armored appendage sliced through the air, missing the faun¡¯s hunched form by a fraction. ¡°We¡¯re trying to drain an ocean one drop of water at a time!¡± Hop scrambled backwards to avoid a second strike. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how many legs we cut, it won¡¯t bleed out quickly enough to make a difference.¡±

    Rasp felt a ripple surge through the earth beneath their feet. The soil erupted, ripping the ground out from under them as a torrent of rubble shot skyward. Rasp lifted his hand and stopped the wave, preventing it from crushing everyone below ¡ª even the bellyaching ones, because he truly was just that generous. As much as he wanted to hurtle the razor-edged shrapnel back at the beast, doing so counted as using magic against it, exactly what the creature wanted. It fed on magic, including any spells used against it. Reluctantly, Rasp maneuvered the airborne rubble away from the arena and let it drop.

    The creature screeched, infuriated by Rasp¡¯s sense of control, and whipped its mighty body about to punish him for it. A hundred different legs shifted above him. Rasp rolled onto his hands and knees and scuttled across the upturned ground like the rat in the kitchen, managing to avoid being skewered by the beast¡¯s blade-like appendages. The ground shuddered softly as someone ducked and dodged the maze of twisting legs to reach him.

    The lack of a magical signature should have given the culprit away, but Rasp was still pleasantly surprised to find Faris snatching him from the ground and pulling him to safety. ¡°Come on, Dinglehead, this way!¡±

    A phantasmal leg struck into the soft ground directly in front of them. A second and third followed suit, cutting off their escape, and trapping the pair within a cage of barbed, armored legs. Rasp felt a fourth leg position itself into a strike-formation above them. ¡°Move, Faris!¡± he shrieked as he hacked away at the legs being used to cage them.

    The fourth leg struck the same moment a familiar purple aura came cutting through from the outside. Hop slashed and kicked his way through. His bloodied blade met the fourth leg as it came crashing down and severed it at the joint with a single swing. He even added a war-cry, which went something along the lines of ¡°I¡¯m dirty and gross, there¡¯s blood in my mouth, and I want to go home!¡±

    The war-cry needed work, but Rasp appreciated the part where he and Faris weren¡¯t rendered into meat sack kabobs. ¡°Hopalong,¡± Rasp gasp, scuttling out of the way, ¡°I love you.¡±

    ¡°No, no love. Think up a different plan instead.¡±

    Faris grabbed Rasp by the arm and dragged him behind the nearest green-blue column. ¡°I think he might be right.¡± Faris didn¡¯t sound too happy about it, either. ¡°This thing has more legs than we can chop. We¡¯ll tire long before it does.¡±

    At which point, the nameless one would have four hot and ready snacks waiting for it. That didn¡¯t sit too well with Rasp. He peeked around the crumbling column, keeping his gaze fixed on the shifting body above in case it turned on him again. ¡°You think it¡¯s just messing with us?¡±

    ¡°I think it was expecting an easy meal, not this. It¡¯s a bit of a lose-lose situation. It¡¯s not getting fed, and we¡¯re not going to win,¡± Faris said. ¡°If we keep harrying it like this, it might go back underground.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s ears perked at the suggestion. ¡°Why are you saying that like it¡¯s a bad thing?¡±

    ¡°Because we can¡¯t leave until we kill it. I don¡¯t know about you, but I¡¯m sure as chaos not going to hang around for the next two centuries waiting for it to come out of hibernation again!¡±

    Rasp flinched when earth groaned and screeched beneath the surface. His consciousness zipped to the affected area in the question. He could feel the beast¡¯s original tunnel, the one it had used to gain access to the arena at the start. The tunnel walls were shifting, widening, opening up again in anticipation of a quick getaway. ¡°Fuck,¡± he snarled, glaring out of the corner of his eye at Faris¡¯s murky shadow. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not some kind of mindreader?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s about to bolt, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    It was Rasp¡¯s turn to play mindreader. ¡°Yeah. And you¡¯re about to tell me something stupid too, aren¡¯t you? Like, ¡®hurry up, Rasp, we¡¯ve got to stop it¡¯.¡±

    ¡°We? No.¡± Faris snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve got to stop it. I¡¯m perfectly happy to stay right here and shout encouragement from the sidelines.¡±

    ¡°Fuck me! How am I supposed to do that if I can¡¯t use magic against it, huh?¡±

    ¡°Collapse its tunnel.¡± There was what felt like a deliberate pause before Faris added the missing piece. ¡°With your magic, not your hands.¡±

    ¡°I knew that!¡± Rasp snapped as he broke into a run. Thanks to the algae, he didn¡¯t necessarily have to be close to the tunnel in order to collapse it. He could literally feel it from across the arena. He just didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near Faris and his backseat spell casting when it came time to bring it down. He channeled his focus as he raced across the broken ground, feeling every crack and cranny within the tunnel for a weak point. He found one near the entrance and poured his magic into the split, ripping it wider.

    Rasp slowed to a halt as the ground shook and buckled beneath his power. He dug deep, pouring more and more into the weakening tunnel. Yellow light leapt from his outstretched hands and burrowed into the soil until every splintered crack glowed the same color of his magic. It was working. He could feel the tunnel walls beginning to give way. The walls trembled and bowed as clumps of earth shook free. Enraptured in his spell, Rasp failed to notice several important details.

    Firstly, the scolopendra had stopped at the entrance at the tunnel and was now standing stock-still, testing the air with its mandibles. Secondly, was the sudden presence of wind in a place where wind did not exist. The third, possibly most important detail, was the giant, dragon-shaped magical aura currently barreling down towards the open arena in a lethal blur of outstretched talons and teeth.

 236 - What Is Already Dead

    The musty air whipped and whirled as Whisper folded their wings at their sides and dove for the open arena below. Their wind magic built, stirring loose dirt and debris into a cloud around them like the tail of a comet. The fae¡¯s blood boiled beneath their scaled hide as hot as molten magma. The musty air felt cold in comparison. It stung the exposed flesh around Whisper¡¯s eyes as they dropped.

    Easy. A surge of cool magic flooded their veins, rendering their piping-hot fury to a warm simmer. Do not give it a hold.

    It was the same lesson they¡¯d reiterated time and time again to the little bird. A hot temper made one more susceptible to mistakes. Mistakes led to weaknesses, which was exactly what the enemy was counting on. Whisper had to stay centered, focused on the task ahead, and not fall prey to the nameless one¡¯s siren song. Whisper could feel the beast¡¯s magic working away at the edges of their mind, prodding, jabbing, searching for a way to burrow inside.

    Reaching the colosseum, Whisper fanned out their leathery wings and swept over what remained of the circular stone wall and rows of broken stadium seating. Below, the arena floor had been torn asunder. The ground was split open and fractured, with the gaping mouth of a tunnel near its center. Whisper saw the creature responsible for the damage, an insectoid with plated armor scales, a long segmented body, and hundreds upon hundreds of sickle-like legs. The mortals scurried beneath its plated body, taking the beast out one piece at a time. It wouldn¡¯t do any good, though. Not against a creature of such magnitude.

    The air currents whipped harder as Whisper willed a wind spell into existence. Broken slabs of stadium seating lifted from the stands and joined the spinning whirlwind as the fae gathered their strength for a fatal attack. The mortals took note and scattered like roaches in the light. Lifting safely above the raging torrent, Whisper unleashed the full wrath of their spell. A torrent of raging air thundered across the arena. It rose up and slammed down over the unsuspecting insectoid, burying its body beneath a wave of rock and debris. The wind stirred a cloud of loose sediment into the air, cloaking the arena floor from sight.

    The nameless one was still alive. Whisper could hear the creak of its leathery armor as it fought to dig free from the rubble. Blood still boiling, the fae repeated the spell twice more, until certain their quarry would not rise ever again.

    The ground shook and shuddered as the last of the rubble slid to a still until, at last, a deathly silence descended over the broken arena. Whisper circled overhead, unable to see beyond the clouds of sediment hanging thick in the air. Warily, the dragon fae landed. They listened for the dying shrieks of their vanquished foe, but they heard nothing. No whimper, no screech, no final, rattling breath.

    Something about the eerie quiet felt amiss.

    Cautiously, Whisper crept through the gloom, their spines raised on end, prepared for ambush.

    Oh stubborn, D¡¯zeahr. A myriad of distant, whispered voices echoed within Whisper¡¯s mind. You cannot kill what is already dead.

    Whisper recognized the long-lost voices of their people. It was all a trick. A deception. The nameless one was still pulling from Whisper¡¯s buried memories. The dragon fae crept deeper into the murky cloud of dust and debris, listening for the telltale creak of the scolependra¡¯s insectoid armor. A wind spell may not have finished it off, but perhaps snapping the magical bug¡¯s head from its body between their teeth would suffice. Whisper¡¯s jaws opened and closed in anticipation.

    Do not fear, wayward warrior. The voices grew louder as the fog closed in. At long last, you have found your way home.

    This wasn¡¯t right. Whisper¡¯s clawed feet froze in place as they lifted their head higher, attempting to see over the gloom. The cloud of dust stretched on endlessly in all directions. The arena should not have been this big. Something else was at play and, judging from the way Whisper¡¯s scaled hide tingled, they suspected it was the start of an enchantment. The fae unfurled their mighty wings and summoned the wind necessary for flight, but the air remained still.

    Stifling a roar, Whisper attempted the spell again. There was no wind. No breeze. Nothing.

    Your trials are over, old friend. Put down the burden you bear. Your people have forgiven you. We welcome you home.

    Snapping their jaws, Whisper tried to dispel the disembodied voices with a violent shake of their head. It was all lies. Poor ones, at that! The beast intended to use Whisper¡¯s deepest secrets against them, but it wasn¡¯t getting it right. Whisper didn¡¯t want forgiveness for what they¡¯d done. They didn¡¯t deserve forgiveness. They¡¯d given up on the very notion long ago.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    Whisper only wanted to set things right. Return to the world to its rightful sense of balance. Then, and only then, could they unshoulder the burden they¡¯d been carrying for so long.

    You were our greatest warrior, D¡¯zeahr. The blue dragon with a heart of fire. But you were stubborn, resistant to change. You saw our kindness and mistook it for weakness. When we refused to change, you left. You abandoned your post. And the world took advantage.

    Whisper¡¯s clawed feet stamped at the ground as the centuries of pent-up guilt flooded their senses. The memories came next ¡ª the dark moments the fae had kept locked away, hidden from the light, left to fester and rot in obscurity.

    It was true. In a fit of rage, unable to convince their people to curb their generosity, to see mortal-kind for the leech it was, Whisper left. They had sworn an oath to protect the fae, but how could they? Their people needed to be protected from themselves. Whisper had warned that their unchecked generosity would be their undoing, but they wouldn¡¯t listen. So Whisper left. They traveled the land for many centuries, waiting for their people to come to their senses and call Whisper home.

    But the call never came.

    Eventually, Whisper returned to their ancestral city, prepared to grovel and make amends. The time away had left them homesick. And although their opinion of the mortals had not softened, they were prepared to concede that perhaps they had been wrong. What was worse than being wrong, however, was being right. There was no one left when Whisper returned. Their people, their way of life, their home ¡ª all gone, taken by the greedy mortals.

    I warned them! Whisper¡¯s thoughts combated the foreign voices within their head. But they wouldn¡¯t listen. They followed their hearts, not reason, and this is where it got them.

    You left us.

    I had no choice. You forced me out!

    You swore to protect us.

    How could I, when I couldn¡¯t even protect you from yourselves? You did this! Not me!

    We tried to call you home, but you couldn¡¯t hear.

    That wasn¡¯t right. Whisper would have heard. They would have heeded the call from halfway across the world if necessary. That¡¯s not true!

    It is, D¡¯zeahr. Just as we are calling now. Can you not hear us? The swirl of voice built to a scream. They whipped up, thundering and howling within Whisper¡¯s mind. Have you truly lost your way? Are you so far gone that your ears refuse to hear what is all around you?

    I don¡¯t hear¡ª

    Then open your ears!

    The growing clamor stopped as an eerie calm settled over Whisper¡¯s thoughts. A long-forgotten melody began to play. It was faint at first, swallowed not by distance, but through space and time itself. It called to Whisper, each forlorn note battering away at the last of the fae¡¯s resistance as the song sprang to life.

    Be still, O Great One. Little by little, the pain subsided. With each melodic word, Whisper¡¯s guilt and shame steadily slipped away. You need not fight anymore. Your trials are over. Your suffering is at its end.

    That was all Whisper had ever truly wanted, wasn¡¯t it? To be done. To return home and recover all that had been lost? There was an incessant sensation buzzing in the back of their head like an angry wasp. It was trying to tell Whisper something but the soothing words made it difficult to hear.

    Open your eyes and see all that you have accomplished.

    Whisper¡¯s vision changed. The crumbling coliseum and upturned arena faded away before their eyes as a world painted anew shifted into focus. The land was flush with life and color. There was harmony and balance. The mortals had finally learned to be content ¡ª no more of their constant taking, taking, taking. The surviving fae no longer cowered within the shadows. They walked the land freely once more. And the wind shifter, the dying race from which Whisper claimed to be the last, was revived and awakened. The species lived on. Whisper wasn¡¯t the last. They hadn¡¯t doomed their people as they¡¯d been led to believe. The species was alive and well and flourishing.

    Whisper had done it. They¡¯d brought them back. They¡¯d righted the wrong they¡¯d committed so many years before. All was forgiven and they could finally rest.

    Their bones were weary and tired. They ached to be still, to return to the ground, and to surrender to the continuous cycle of life. Their magic would go to another. Their flesh to the ground. And maybe, just maybe, their knowledge would pass on to the next generation. Everything was as it was, as it should have been. At long last, the end had come. Whisper embraced it, ready to move on from the mortal plane into the next.

    As Whisper¡¯s mind faded, giving in to the lulling voices, a sudden searing pain lanced up their scaled arm. The pain was accompanied by a scream.

    ¡°For muck¡¯s sake, wake up!¡±

    The enchanting beauty came crashing down all around. Color bled from Whisper¡¯s surroundings until all that remained was murky clouds of darkness. Something shifted in front of them, a dark shadow backlit by the faintest green-blue glow. Whisper squinted at it, trying to make out its shape. The shadow lurched without warning. The scolopendra¡¯s head broke through the cloud of dust and sediment, mandibles held wide and closed around Whisper¡¯s neck. The beast¡¯s jaws cinched tight, cutting through scale and flesh as the pair tumbled over the broken ground.

 237 - The Dragon, The Roach, And The Devil

    Whisper shifted forms a split second before the beast¡¯s mandibles snapped shut. The fae¡¯s panicked back-blue particles retreated, surging away from the lethal, snapping, snarling insectoid. Every survival instinct flashed inside Whisper¡¯s head like a warning beacon, demanding they take to the air and flee, but they couldn¡¯t. Their magic bound them to the arena. A deal had been made to defeat the nameless one, and Whisper couldn¡¯t back out of a fae contract even if it meant certain death.

    The scolopendra shrieked in fury as its long body uncoiled, searching for the surrounding area for the meal that had escaped from between its armored jaws. Hundreds of spindly legs thudded against the soft ground. The creak and groan of hard-shelled armor filled the still air. The nameless one scuttled across the upturned arena, its long, pincered mandibles opening and closing, testing the air for the quarry that¡¯d slipped away.

    Whisper¡¯s incorporeal form hung in the air, frozen with uncertainty.

    A familiar shape hurtled past below, weapon in hand, and disappeared beneath the plated underside of the beast. Whisper did not fully grasp what they were seeing. Not so much what they were seeing, actually, but why. The attacker, a mere human ¡ª the proverbial cockroach of all mortal-kind ¡ª went at the beast with no plan, no plausible means of defense, and absolutely no chance of winning. And yet, there was no fear. No hesitation. No magical bond compelling them to take on the impossible. The human¡¯s charge was as selfless as it was stupid.

    Perplexing, as well, considering this particular human normally could not see this well. It seemed as though the boy had finally learned to meld his magic and aura sense into something useful. A pity that it had to happen now, mere moments before his death.

    Under normal circumstances, Whisper would have hung back and waited for the mortal to die, leveraging the distraction to move in and strike a killing blow. But that no longer felt right. Whisper not only knew this particular roach, but deep down, buried under a heap of denial, a small part of them might have actually liked the boy. Not as an equal, of course. More like a pet. Rasp was like an overly talkative mutt that had somehow, some way, worn away some of Whisper¡¯s long-held disdain for mortal-kind.

    No, as much as it pained them, the fae couldn¡¯t let the belligerent bug die on their behalf. At least not without trying to prevent it. Whisper¡¯s particles buzzed in annoyance as they reformed, assuming their mighty dragon body once more. They immediately regretted it as, a mere moment later, a sudden spasm of pain flooded up their foreleg.

    Hissing, Whisper tilted the long muzzle down and came eye-to-eye with the source of pain. A white faun stood brazenly between Whisper¡¯s clawed forefeet. ¡°About muckin¡¯ time!¡± the white devil screamed. ¡°Are you finally ready to listen? I¡¯m warning you now, you¡¯re going to go and get yourself caught in another enchantment if you don¡¯t.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s eyes narrowed. Beneath their scaled hide, their blood bubbled and boiled with fresh fire. They did not like this particular faun. He was clever. Too clever. And had developed a nasty habit of spoiling Whisper¡¯s plans. Whisper raised their foot, poised to crush the annoying little fiend while they had the chance.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you even think about it!¡± Faris said. ¡°Look, I know you don¡¯t like me, and I feel the same about you, but we¡¯re on the same team here. So put your petty opinions aside, open your damn ears, and listen.¡±

    Whisper winced at Faris¡¯s words. The brazen faun spoke as if they were equals ¡ª an insult of the highest order! While Whisper¡¯s opinion on mortal-kind had softened over the years, the affront of being considered ¡®one of the team¡¯ had yet to lose its sting. Unfortunately, if Whisper hoped to survive the scolopendra and return to the surface, this was one mortal they were going to have to get along with. Temporarily, anyway.

    Reluctantly, Whisper lowered their clawed foot back onto the ground and channeled their voice into the Faris¡¯s head telepathically.

    Speak, Whisper said.

    The single word clanged like a damn tower bell within Whisper¡¯s mind. Telepathic communication was not normally this painful. But Faris was a tricky devil and bore a charm specifically crafted to ward off would-be mind readers. Whisper was able to infiltrate Faris¡¯s thoughts not through might and power, but because the faun allowed it. This of course only contributed to Whisper¡¯s overall dislike of Faris. A mighty fae forced to seek permission from a lesser being was as unnatural as it was infuriating.

    ¡°The beast feeds on magic,¡± Faris explained. ¡°The more power you throw at it, the quicker it drains you. You can¡¯t use spells against it. Got that? No magic.¡±

    An irritated growl rattled from the depths of Whisper¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, you¡¯re pissy ¡®cause it used your own power against you. I get it. It almost got Rasp that way, too.¡± Faris scaled a pile of nearby debris to avoid having to shout over the ruckus. The little bird and the other two were keeping the scolopendra sufficiently distracted. From the urgency in Faris¡¯s voice, he was fully aware that their efforts would not hold out for much longer. ¡°No magic means we¡¯ve got to kill this thing with brute force. And in case you haven¡¯t noticed, loping legs off isn¡¯t doing much good. We¡¯ve got to stick it where it¡¯s going to count.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s tail twitched from side to side as they studied the insectoid beast. Ripping its head off would surely do the trick, but getting close without getting caught in its jaws was going to be an issue.

    ¡°Forget trying to tear it to pieces. You can end it in one go. See that spire?¡± The faun pointed to a tall, steepled tower that loomed above the edge of the colosseum in the distance. ¡°Fly the beast up and drop it over the tower. Let gravity do the work for you.¡±

    Clever faun. Whisper took great care to ensure this thought was not telepathically transmitted to Faris. Not necessarily because of the mental strain associated with doing so, but because Faris already had enough ego as it was. There was no need to actively increase its size.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Whisper unfolded their great, leathery wings and snapped them up and down, building momentum, before pushing off into the air. The scolopendra saw them coming and reared up, poised for the anticipated attack. Its lethal mandibles snapped open and shut, as hundreds of legs stabbed at the air, clicking and creaking its long, segmented body, warning the dragon to keep its distance. Eyes focused on Whisper, the nameless one failed to notice Rasp had scrambled up a mound of rubble, awkwardly carrying a lance over his shoulder. The weapon, one of the many lying scattered along the edges of the arena, was far too big and cumbersome for the Stoneclaw to wield effectively. Effective, however, was not so much Rasp¡¯s aim. He didn¡¯t intend to kill the scolopendra but to distract it. In the most annoying way possible, naturally.

    Rasp positioned himself beneath the beast¡¯s underbelly, directly below the delicate, sinewy hinge where the armored segments connected, and thrust the lance upward, driving it into the soft joint. The nameless shrieked and flailed, its long body spasming as it twisted about, clawing uselessly at the weapon lodged deep between its plated armor. One of its legs struck Rasp and sent him careening back down the rubble pile. The scolopendra¡¯s head followed, jaws snapping at the air as it tried to catch him in its mouth.

    Whisper seized their opening. They swooped down and grabbed the beast¡¯s segmented hide near the middle. It squirmed and shrieked beneath them, coiling its gargantuan body as it tried to struggle free. Whisper¡¯s talons sank deeper into its armored shell as their heavy wings beat the air, slowly lifting the thrashing scolopendra high, higher, higher.

    The strain was strong and Whisper¡¯s old bones felt weak. They cleared their mind and focused all of their energy on the steady beat of their wings. Little by little, the looming spire neared.

    Foolish fae! The nameless one¡¯s voice was no longer sweet but reeked of fear. Its magic wore at Whisper¡¯s focus, desperate to splinter the frayed mental threads holding everything together. You help the very mortals that wish you dead! They will do to you what you will do to me!

    Whisper lifted up and over the spire. Its sharp iron point was green with eons of rust and algae.

    We are the last of our kind. All that remains of the age of magic and you dare help them? The nameless one¡¯s haunting shrieks tore at Whisper¡¯s mind, searching for a hold. Your people will never forgive you! Your kind will never come back. You are the last wind shifter to walk the land and no matter how you help them, the mortals will never allow your kind to return! The last of the great beings die with us!

    There is no us. Just you. Whisper released the scolopendra from their claws and jetted upwards. For a few more seconds, anyway.

    The beast fell, its long body uncoiling, legs flailing, onto the spire below. The iron spike ripped through its plated armor in a burst of shell and wet innards. The spire slowed the scolopendra¡¯s descent, but the body continued to fall, gradually sliding down the pointed shaft. Cracks splintered down the tower¡¯s facade. With a grating groan, the building gave way, unable to hold the dying beast¡¯s weight. The nameless one shuddered its final, feeble spasms as the tower disintegrated into rubble beneath it.

    The tower collapsed against the next, causing a cataclysmic wave of destruction. Ancient buildings toppled and fell amidst a cloud of dust and algae glow. The resulting shrapnel struck the crumbling coliseum wall, sending it spilling over the stadium and into the open arena. Airborne, heavy wings beating the musty air, Whisper studied the stadium below. Rasp had Hop and June at his side, shielding them against the destruction with his magic. But Faris hadn¡¯t reached the shield in time. Alone, without magic or a place to hide, the white faun was poised to be crushed by the destruction.

    Slain by his own plan. Oh, how sweet the irony tasted.

    To hang back and let it happen would cost Whisper nothing. They could claim innocence. Insisting the faun¡¯s death was not their doing. It would be true, too. And yet, the little bird loved the stupid faun far more than he realized. By removing one problem, Whisper would inadvertently create another. Whisper recalled their time on the road together, when it was just the two of them, and how the little bird¡¯s bemoaning about loneliness never ceased.

    That was it, Whisper told themself as their mighty wings folded at their sides. They plummeted towards the crumbling arena like an arrow released from a bow, zipping ahead of the wave of destruction. This was a move borne of necessity, not generosity. Whisper wasn¡¯t saving Faris because the faun deserved to live, they were doing it to prevent Rasp¡¯s inevitable complaining.

    Whisper swooped low and caught Faris in their outstretched claws a split second ahead of the landslide. Whisper rode the current of destruction across what remained of the open arena before lifting over the coliseum wall and into the space beyond. They carried Faris a ways before touching back down in an open square, free of crumbling buildings and falling rock. The polite thing would have been to come to a full stop before setting Faris back onto the ground. Whisper let him drop instead.

    The fae fanned their leathery wings wide and landed as delicately onto the mossy ground as a butterfly to a flower petal. The same could not be said for poor Faris. Whisper folded their wings and tilted their scaled head to the side, relishing the way the faun¡¯s body flipped and tumbled head over hooves before eventually rolling to stop. He didn¡¯t move for several seconds, as if uncertain whether or not he was dead.

    Finally, coughing and sputtering the debris from his lungs, the white faun lifted his horned head from the protective curl of his arms. ¡°You?¡± Faris stammered, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and horror. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me. It was you who saved me?¡±

    Oh, dear me. Whisper looked away. I mistook you for the useful faun.

    ¡°Bullshit!¡± A harsh laugh escaped Faris¡¯s throat as he staggered to his hooves and took stock of the damage. ¡°At least own up to it. You saved me on purpose, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    A mistake I will not make twice, Whisper assured him

    ¡°Better double-check your math, Whisper. This is the second time you¡¯ve saved me.¡±

    Whisper didn¡¯t expect gratitude, certainly not from Faris. The faun, above all else, knew better than to thank a fae. Still, Faris could have been a little bit grateful. After all, Whisper ¡ª an unimaginably powerful fae ¡ª went out of their way to save a mere mortal without asking anything in return. At the very least, that deserved respect, not a cocksure attitude!

    ¡°I suppose you did owe me,¡± Faris carried on, flashing a devilish smile. ¡°Considering I¡¯m the one that broke you from the beast¡¯s enchantment in the first place.¡±

    Are you injured? Whisper inquired, grimacing at the way each word stung.

    ¡°How sweet of you to ask. Honestly, not really.¡±

    The fae lifted their upper lip and revealed their hooked teeth. Would you like to be?

    It was as if the threat did not even register. The infernal mortal merely smiled wider, offering insolence in lieu of fear. ¡°Hey, you know what I just realized? The priestess got it all wrong. You¡¯re not Kriegaar. I am. It wasn¡¯t magic that defeated the beast, it was smarts. Therefore, I am the Kriegaar and you¡¯re just the dragon that happened to carry out my bidding.¡±

    Whisper stood and started to slowly amble away, shaking their great spiny head in disbelief.

    Faris trailed in their wake, mindful to keep clear of Whisper¡¯s sweeping tail. ¡°Bet you regret saving me now.¡±

    Gloat while you can, Whisper hissed. Your day will come soon enough.

 238 - Canary In A Cage

    ¡°Break, damn you!¡± Cray¡¯s scream reverberated against the cellblock¡¯s solid stone walls. The elf stood at the front of the cramped cell, his knees bent, arms raised, with his fingertips dug deep into his temples. He hummed louder, willing his magic to infiltrate his victim¡¯s thoughts. Judge Belfast, the current focus of Cray¡¯s growing ire, merely gazed back at his captor with a purposefully blank expression. The judge didn¡¯t squirm, didn¡¯t scream, not even a fidget. If it weren¡¯t for the occasional blink of an eye, Sascha would have sworn he was already dead.

    Cray¡¯s magic wasn¡¯t working. Despite all of his obnoxious humming and posturing, the only thing his efforts earned him was a worsening temper.

    Sascha and Dewpetal huddled together at the back of their shared cell, helpless to do anything but watch as the telepath¡¯s cool demeanor steadily slipped further and further into a downward spiral of madness. A handful of nervous yes-men lingered awkwardly near the doorway, looking as if they, too, wished to be anywhere else but here. Aster and Sergeant Windshot were the only ones Sascha recognized by name. The latter was pale in the face and on the verge of fainting. Aster jostled Sergeant Windshot back to attention with a taunting nudge. Despite the warmth of the room, her cowl was still pulled protectively tight over her head. Only her eyes and brief flashes of her face were visible.

    Aster¡¯s maniacal smile, however, carried over on her sticky-sweet voice. She, alone, was the only one brave enough to speak up. ¡°He¡¯s making a mockery of you, sir.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Cray¡¯s head whipped around at her. A snarl curled his upper lip. ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking your opinion, Aster.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot pressed flat against the wall, as if the closer he was to it, the greater the chance he and the wall would become one. Cray¡¯s fury was not focused on him, however, but on the stammering witch to his right. A waver of fear betrayed Aster¡¯s formerly cheery voice as she tried to backpedal her way into Cray¡¯s good graces. ¡°I just thought maybe you needed some help¡ª¡±

    ¡°You thought?¡± Cray repeated.

    ¡°¡ªsoftening him up a little.¡± Aster finished her sentence. She realized her mistake and yet, for whatever reason, kept desperately digging her hole deeper. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean anything bad by it, sir. I just thought¡ª¡±

    ¡°You keep saying that word like it means something. I do not pay you to think, Aster. I do the thinking. Me!¡± Cray¡¯s unnerving stare successfully forced his second-in-command into a pitiful cower. ¡°Now do us both a favor and keep your mouth closed before I have it sewn shut, what do you say?¡±

    Aster¡¯s hooded head bobbled in silent agreement.

    ¡°Good.¡± A tight smile pulled at Cray¡¯s thin mouth as he swiveled his attention back to Judge Belfast. He threw his hands out at his sides, shaking his head in exasperation, as he slowly meandered to the front of the cell. ¡°Do you see the effect you have, Trant? What happens when you defy me? It spreads.¡±

    Judge Belfast remained seated on the cot at the back of his cell, studying Cray¡¯s increasingly frenzied antics through tired, solemn eyes. He¡¯d said nothing since the start of the interrogation, allowing Cray to carry on their one-sided conversation all on his own. Sascha wasn¡¯t sure which infuriated their captor more ¡ª Trant¡¯s refusal to engage or the fact that the old faun was strangely impervious to Cray¡¯s telepathic abilities.

    ¡°You and I both know we can¡¯t have dissension spreading unchecked through the ranks. That would make me very angry, Trant. And you don¡¯t want to see me angry.¡± Cray was all the way to the bars now. ¡°So work with me here. We can settle this as gentlemen without the need for further bloodshed, yes?¡±

    Trant¡¯s bruised and battered face remained indifferent to Cray¡¯s plea for cooperation.

    The elf gripped the iron bars between his hands and pressed against them. ¡°Tell me, where are Oralia and the village herbalist hiding?¡±

    No answer.

    ¡°I gleaned the minds of everyone in your service. I found out about the tunnels, the cottage in the woods, and every hideout from here to Adderwood, and still, Oralia is nowhere to be found. No one can tell me where she is except you, Trant.¡± Cray¡¯s fingers were clenched so tight the color bled from his knuckles. ¡°You and your damned wife, neither of which I can read because ¡ª surprise, surprise ¡ª someone went and charmed your thoughts! Not very sportsmanship-like, you know. How am I supposed to adhere to Geralt¡¯s rules if you go and cheat, huh?¡±

    Cray had been ranting and raving for nearly half an hour, his temper alternating between hot to cold without rhyme or reason. He¡¯d learned nothing so far, unlike Sascha, who was relieved to discover that Oralia and Briony were still on the lam. Cray had broken everyone beneath Trant, plucking the information needed to flush out wherever the pair might have gone into hiding. And yet, he kept running into the same issue over and over again. No one knew where they were.

    No one except possibly Trant and Novera Belfast, that was. According to Cray¡¯s interrogees, the Belfasts alone possessed the complete knowledge of every defunct hiding spot in the territory. It wasn¡¯t something written down, either. They¡¯d committed it to memory. Normally that wouldn¡¯t have been a problem for someone like Cray, but the Belfasts had come prepared. The elf couldn¡¯t access their thoughts. During his rantings, he¡¯d described it as a wall, and no matter how hard he battered and rammed away at it, the mental barrier refused to budge.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Cray stood back and pinched his nose, filling his lungs with a calming breath. ¡°I just want a location, Trant. That¡¯s all you have to give me. And then this nightmare can end. Your precious village and all its inhabitants will be spared, you have my word.¡±

    Trant stared back at him with the vacant expression of someone who¡¯d buried himself deep, deep down with no intention of ever coming up for air again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t test me,¡± Cray warned. ¡°You know what happens when you test me, Trant. Someone else pays the price for your stubbornness.¡±

    Still nothing.

    ¡°Fine, have it your way. The hard way it is.¡± Cray spun around on his heel and gestured to the cluster of yes-men arranged near the doorway. ¡°Fetch the judge for me. It¡¯s time to remind him that disobedience has consequences.¡±

    Aster pushed away from the wall, eager to prove her worth, only to be stopped by Cray¡¯s outstretched hand.

    ¡°Not you,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t be able to attend this time. Your talents are needed elsewhere.¡±

    Aster opened her mouth to question his order and then remembered herself. She sealed her lips, trying not to openly tremble as she awaited whatever cruel fate Cray had in mind.

    ¡°My pet has been in an unholy uproar since we arrived. One can only handle so much shrieking before they snap, you know. Be a dear, Aster, and go up to the manor house and bring its crate here.¡± Cray¡¯s gaze wandered the room before settling on Sascha and Dewpetal¡¯s huddled forms. ¡°I think it¡¯ll feel more at home in the jailhouse. Give my little monster a chance to get familiar with its next playthings.¡±

    Aster went ashen in the face. ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Sergeant Windshot, you may accompany her,¡± Cray ordered as he swept out the door, calling over his shoulder to his remaining lackeys. ¡°Collect the judge, gentlemen, if you would. A public hanging¡¯s no good if he¡¯s not there to witness it firsthand. It¡¯s important that his people can look him in the eye while they dance from a rope.¡±

    Aster and Sergeant Windshot filled out into the hallway in Cray¡¯s wake, leaving the remaining goons to carry out their master¡¯s bidding.

    Trant¡¯s stoic composure finally broke. He staggered to his feet and readied himself for a fight. The old faun lowered his horned head and watched, warily, as Cray¡¯s goons approached the front of his cell. The goons were not ordinary soldiers. Given their extravagant cloaks and lack of uniform, they were members of the Division of Divination¡¯s magical order ¡ª thugs with magic, as Oralia used to describe them.

    Unlocked, the barred cell door swung open with a slow, grating groan. The pair filed inside. ¡°Watch him close,¡± the taller of the two warned as he flexed his hands, anticipating a fight. ¡°And don¡¯t let his age fool you. Mortan got his leg shattered the last time we had to wrangle the old goat out of his cage.¡±

    Trant didn¡¯t give them the satisfaction of pleading for mercy. He bent his knees and lowered his body into a defensive crouch, watching for openings as the pair closed in.

    ¡°Forget that. I¡¯m not risking my life for niceties.¡± The shorter thug called to Trant, ¡°You hear that? Hands over your head, old man, right now. Or you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Magic rippled down his hand, proving he meant what he said.

    Judge Belfast stomped his hoof, silently daring the young buck to try his luck.

    The witch happily obliged him. Shouting an incantation at the top of his lungs, he swept his hand in front of him, sending forth a spray of frost and ice. The stone-tiled floor cracked and buckled as the wave of frozen particles barreled toward the judge.

    Trant timed his move with practiced precision. One moment he was in range and, in the next, he was gone, his movements cloaked by the glimmering ice crystals clouding the air. His dark shape came hurtling out of the swirling frost and slammed head-first into the ice witch¡¯s unsuspecting chest. The witch collapsed with a wet gurgle, writhing and clawing on the slick floor as he fought for a breath that wouldn¡¯t come.

    The second thug hollered as he willed a spell into the air. Only the first two syllables escaped his mouth before the incantation morphed into a scream. Trant gave no quarter. He focused the force of his kick in that tender spot where the gentlemen¡¯s legs connected. The witch went down in a sobbing pile, unable to sound the alarm around his own choking wails of agony.

    Trant flew out the open cell door and made a break for the exit. He barely made it beyond the doorway before his body came hurtling backward, propelled by a roiling wave of black shadow. The old faun was flung clear across the room. He struck the bars and went limp, body sliding helplessly to the ground.

    Aster¡¯s light footsteps echoed softly as she strode confidently back into the cell block. ¡°Stupid old man,¡± she cursed as the room fell unnaturally dark around her. ¡°Did you really think that would work? Did you think you would get away? All you did was make this worse!¡±

    Aster raised her gloved hand into the air and clenched her fist. The room went pitch black as phantom shapes leapt from the shadows and descended over Trant. His pained screams lit the air.

    Every hair on Sascha¡¯s neck lifted on end as he leapt to his feet. ¡°Call it off!¡± He reached the front of the cell but could do little more than pull uselessly at the heavy iron bars. ¡°You¡¯ve made your point. Let him go!¡±

    Aster¡¯s eyes blazed bright green beneath the dip of her cowl. She ignored Sascha¡¯s pleas and continued to manifest beastly shapes from the darkness, exacting her pent rage on the old faun.

    ¡°Aster!¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s willowy frame broke from the protection of the doorway and bounded inside. ¡°Stop before he¡¯s dead. Cray wants him alive!¡±

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s command fell on deaf ears.

    He seized the shadow witch by the wrist and tried to shake some sense back into her. ¡°He¡¯ll take it on you, and you know it! Cray needs a neck for the chopping block and if you don¡¯t stop this instant, it¡¯ll be yours!¡±

    His words got through to her. Aster dropped her magic with an undignified snarl. The phantom shapes slunk back into the shadows as the dark veil lifted away, allowing light to return to the room. Judge Belfast¡¯s trembling frame stayed curled on the ground. The stone tile around him was covered in blood and frayed strips of torn fabric.

    ¡°You feel that, old man? The cuts in your hide. The blood? The cold fear running down your spine?¡± Aster drew her gloved hand under her nose, wiping the small trail of blood that trickled from her left nostril. ¡°That¡¯s only a taste of what is to come. Cray will see reason eventually. He¡¯ll use me, just you wait. And when that time comes, I¡¯m going to make you and your missus sing like canaries.¡±

 239 - A Better Orc

    Dewpetal skittered up and down the vertical rows of heavy iron bars, testing every crack and crevice for weaknesses. A goblin¡¯s skull was the largest point on their skeleton. If they could force their head through a space, then it was only a mere matter of twisting and contorting to get their body to follow. Alas, it was a wasted effort. Dewpetal had already checked the cell upon arrival for vulnerabilities and had come up empty-handed. The fact that she was rechecking was not because she¡¯d overlooked something, but because her only other option was to do nothing at all. And she, unlike Sascha, was determined to stave off the suffocating dread looming over their heads any way she could.

    Sascha didn¡¯t move from his spot on the cold ground. He felt paralyzed, catatonic, unable to do anything but sit and wait for the worst to come. Fear had immobilized his body but not his thoughts. The angry voices within his head ran in a hundred different directions at the same time, pulling, ripping, shredding the former threads that had previously held everything together.

    Why had he just stood there? Why hadn¡¯t he tried to intervene sooner? A better orc would have commanded Aster to stand down regardless of what side of the bars they were on. Oralia would have done it. Seven realms, Sascha¡¯s own mother could¡¯ve had that damned shadow witch bawling her eyes out with nothing more than a few choice words. Why didn¡¯t he have that? What was it about him that made it so damn hard to wield even a fraction of power? Size was indicative of might and yet, here he was, the biggest orc most had ever seen, and it all meant absolute shit because whatever magic ingredient it took to be a warrior had skipped him over.

    Amidst the fear and terror pumping through Sascha¡¯s veins, old feelings of inadequacy started to awaken and stir. He thought he¡¯d put them to rest years ago, but that was the issue with insecurities, they never fully went away. They simply went dormant, content to hibernate during the times of plenty, knowing one day they¡¯d get the chance to rear their ugly heads once more.

    Weakling ¡ª the words one by one traveled his thoughts on an endless loop ¡ª coward, spineless.

    Sascha was all of the above and then some. His mother used to complain that his physical stature had been wasted on someone so docile. She and Father had never fully accepted that, for all the size and strength in the world, Sascha simply didn¡¯t have the heart of a hot-blooded warrior. Still, they pressured him to be something he wasn¡¯t ¡ª strong, fierce, someone they could be proud of, but Sascha could never rise to the challenge.

    And then he met Oralia, and suddenly everything he¡¯d thought about himself, every shortcoming that paralyzed him with fear, slowly corroded away. She didn¡¯t believe in the old orc traditions, probably because she didn¡¯t adhere to the mold herself. She¡¯d accepted Sascha as he was without hesitation. No, it was more than that. She¡¯d admitted on more than one occasion that his gentle demeanor was what had drawn her to him in the first place.

    Over the years, as their casual on-again-off-again relationship developed into something more, Sascha¡¯s feelings of inadequacy were put to rest. He was strong in his own right, just not the way orc society had wanted him to be. And yet, stuck in another unbreakable cage, destined for the noose, Sascha was starting to fear he¡¯d relied on Oralia¡¯s strength a little too much.

    He could have used their time together to learn from her. Imitate the way she commanded a room. What tone to use, what words to choose, how to let an unspoken threat dangle in the air like a hammer poised to come crashing down the moment negotiations didn¡¯t go his way. Sascha silently kicked himself. He¡¯d had all the means to learn from the expert and he¡¯d wasted it. And now, without Oralia at his side, he was helpless to make a difference. The one thing he needed to do, the one thing he should have been able to do, he couldn¡¯t. For fuck¡¯s sake, he couldn¡¯t make Cray¡¯s goons listen any more than he could break down the wall he was leaning against.

    Useless fuck! The insult joined the others steadily swirling within his aching skull. Snapping his tusks, Sascha slammed his clenched fist against the ground.

    ¡°Sa-cha?¡±

    Reluctantly, Sascha lifted his eyes and met Dewpetal¡¯s concerned stare. The little goblin gestured as she spoke in her mother tongue, informing him that pounding at the floor wouldn¡¯t do any good. She then pointed at the wall, as if suggesting he take his mounting frustrations out on it instead.

    Sascha shook his head no.

    Dewpetal pointed to the wall again before hunching her shoulders and shuffling over to it, employing her best angry orc stomp. She was hopeful, perhaps, that all Sascha needed was a demonstration to get him going.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I don¡¯t walk like that,¡± Sascha sighed.

    Still in character, Dewpetal pounded her tiny fists against the wall to demonstrate what Sascha should have been doing.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that not all orcs fly off the handle into a rampage on command. Some can¡¯t even do it at all.¡± Sascha couldn¡¯t believe the words that slipped so easily from his mouth. He¡¯d never told anyone that before. Not even Oralia. Like power, the ability to slip into a blind rampage had bypassed Sascha completely. He¡¯d faked a few, sure ¡ª it wasn¡¯t all that hard when you were an eight-foot orc with the size and magnitude of a small mountain. All Sascha ever had to do was stomp around, snarl, and break things.

    Days from death and his most shameful secrets were finally coming to light. Sascha was suddenly grateful Dewpetal didn¡¯t understand most of what he said. Regardless, he still felt the need to clarify a few things. ¡°Even if I could rampage, that is a solid stone wall. I could beat my fists against it until they were bloody stumps and it wouldn¡¯t make a lick of difference. It¡¯s going to take a force greater than me to budge that.¡±

    She may not have understood the bulk of his statement, but the little goblin got the gist of it nonetheless. Dewpetal¡¯s leathery face pulled into a scowl.

    Ugh. Why did her expression remind him of his mother? Sascha buried his head into his arms with a groan.

    Dewpetal resumed her rounds with a disapproving click of her tongue. She was on what had to be her fifth walkabout when she stopped dead in her tracks. The little goblin¡¯s large ears fanned wide, picking up sounds too faint for Sascha to hear. She lifted her short snout and sniffed the air. Both she and Sascha flinched when a beastly howl erupted from somewhere near the front of the jailhouse. The howl bounced along the stone hallway towards them. It was an otherworldly sound. The sort that came straight out of the faery tales of the old ¡ª the kind where the hero went into the deep dark wood, destined to never return.

    The howl grew closer.

    Dewpetal dropped onto all fours with a panicked squeak and scurried to the back of the cell, tucking herself under the cot as far back as she could go.

    Sascha desperately wanted to join her. Once more, his confounded size prevented him from being able to do anything but sit and wait out in the open, exposed to whatever unimaginable nightmare was making its way toward the cell block. For the second time that day, every hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. There was magic in the air, he could feel it. It didn¡¯t belong to Aster this time, however. It felt different. Colder. Older. Something born from an era long forgotten.

    As the howling moved closer, so too did the heavy sound of wood and metal being dragged along the stone ground. Sascha was soon able to pick up voices as well. Neither Aster nor Sergeant Windshot sounded grateful for the task they¡¯d been given and were taking their ire out on each other.

    ¡°Watch the corner!¡± Aster shouted from beyond the doorway. The pair were not yet in sight, still struggling to make their way through the narrow corridor leading to the cellblock.

    ¡°I am watching the corner!¡± Sergeant Windshot replied. ¡°This would go a lot quicker if you stopped dropping your end.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me for having sensitive elf ears. That¡¯s not something you would understand, Lorn, is it?¡± There was a deliberate pause before Aster delivered her crushing blow with a sneer. ¡°Oh wait. I suppose you would, wouldn¡¯t you? Partly, anyway. Based on those ears you work so hard to keep hidden.¡±

    ¡°Oh, shut up and lift, Aster!¡±

    The heavy wooden door banged open and the back of Sergeant Windshot¡¯s body came staggering into view, struggling to keep his end of the large crate from catching on the doorframe. The crate¡¯s size and shape reminded Sascha of a palanquin, except instead of polished mahogany, it was constructed of iron and steel with intricate silver scrollwork weaving up and down its armored sides. Two long iron poles extended from the front and back of the litter, allowing for it to be carried. Judging from the way Aster could barely lift her end off the ground, it required four people to carry it, not two. All part of Cray¡¯s punishment, probably.

    A vicious snarl erupted from within the crate. The palanquin lurched violently as whatever was inside hurled its body against the walls of its armored cage. Aster screamed and dropped the carry poles, pulling her arms protectively to her chest. Unable to support the palanquin¡¯s weight all on his own, Lorn lost his grip and the crate struck the stone floor with a resounding slam.

    ¡°Dammit, Aster!¡± The sergeant¡¯s face turned bright red as he hopped up and down on one leg, cradling his injured foot. ¡°Why¡¯d you let go?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t yell at me!¡± The witch¡¯s gloved hands moved from her chest to her throat. She clasped her neck and backed away, prepared to bolt at the first sign of danger. Aster¡¯s wide-eyed stare was not fixed on Sergeant Windshot but on the fallen crate. Whatever was inside now paced back and forth restlessly. Its body made a soft, rattling sound when it moved.

    Sergeant Windshot continued his futile one-legged jig. ¡°For the gods¡¯ sake, Aster, you had one job!¡±

    ¡°It tried to attack!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s in a damn cage!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand. You have no idea what¡¯s in there.¡± Aster took a fast gulp of air, adding, ¡°What it¡¯s capable of.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, your face gives me a pretty good idea.¡±

    Wordlessly, Aster¡¯s glare shifted from the crate to the sergeant.

    ¡°What?¡± Sergeant Windshot snapped. ¡°You can poke fun at my ears but I can¡¯t bring up those unsightly scars on your face? So much for having thick skin, huh?¡±

    ¡°Forget it! I¡¯m done.¡± Aster whipped around and stomped back through the open doorway. ¡°You can put that damn crate wherever you want. I relocated Cray¡¯s precious pet to the jailhouse, as requested. It¡¯s your problem now.¡±

 240 - Of Pain, Death, And Vengeance

    Aster¡¯s robed form disappeared from sight, leaving Sergeant Windshot to deal with the toppled crate on his own. He had the sense to not curse her to the seventh realm of chaos and back until after she was out of earshot. Grumbling, the sergeant pushed off from the wall and took an experimental step, testing whether his injured foot would bear his weight. His dark expression concluded that, shattered foot or not, someone was going to have to shove the crate into the far corner. And, unfortunately, the only someone around to do it was him.

    Wincing with each pained step, he hobbled over to the cage, seized it by the carry poles, and heaved it into an upright position. Cray¡¯s pet snarled and howled, filling the enclosed chamber with its displeasure. Eventually, it too grew weary of its own noises and settled into a disquieting silence.

    Sergeant Windshot had worked himself into a full sweat by the time he got the blasted contraption pushed all the way up against the far wall. Finished, he sank to the ground with a whimpered groan, mindful to keep a reasonable distance between him and the crate. His distrusting glare suggested that Cray¡¯s pet would not hesitate to tip its cage onto him a second time if given the chance.

    The sergeant¡¯s dead-eyed stare wandered the cellblock before settling on Sascha. Windshot¡¯s nostrils wrinkled in disgust. ¡°What?¡±

    Sascha considered saying nothing. Or, if not that, next to nothing. Now would have been the time to employ one of his noncommittal sounds, the kind he intentionally left open to the interpretation of his audience. But Sergeant Windshot wasn¡¯t like the others. Sascha sensed there was still a sliver of humanity buried somewhere deep inside. Cautiously, Sascha wetted his lips before speaking. ¡°It¡¯s just telling is all.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot tugged a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket and used it to mop the excess moisture from his brow. ¡°Spare me the riddles and just say what you mean. I am not in the mood for the verbal runaround.¡±

    Here it was, the moment that would either make or break him. ¡°It is telling that you would rather be in here, wrangling monsters in the cellblock, than partake in whatever is going on out there.¡±

    ¡°How would you know?¡±

    ¡°Because you could have left the moment Aster did,¡± Sascha said. ¡°Instead, you stayed and spent the better part of twenty minutes wrangling that cage as if it was a piece of furniture. Which tells me that no matter what that beast is, or how badly it could hurt you, you would still rather deal with literal monsters than be out there watching the ones disguised as people torture innocents.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s face darkened but said nothing, unwilling to admit the obvious.

    It was risky but Sascha couldn¡¯t stop now. There was too much at stake to remain silent. ¡°You¡¯re not like Cray or his goons. You¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you take me for a fool?¡± The man¡¯s shoulders bristled defensively. ¡°I was not born yesterday. I know where you¡¯re going with this and you can stop right there before it costs you your tongue. Do not look to me to change things. Whatever power you think I have doesn¡¯t exist.¡±

    Sascha kept his cool. ¡°Says the man on the other side of the bars.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear it!¡± The sergeant crumpled his handkerchief into a ball and threw it aside. It didn¡¯t have the dramatic effect he intended. The light, airy cloth drifted gently to the ground.

    Dewpetal slunk out from under the cot and scurried over. She placed her clawed hand on Sascha¡¯s arm, pleading with him, wordlessly, to stop prodding the proverbial beast before it tore off their faces.

    Sascha held a finger to his lips, promising to keep quiet. It didn¡¯t matter anyway. There was no longer any need for him to speak. The damage was done. His words had struck a nerve with the sergeant. All that was left to do now was sit back and watch as the man¡¯s guilty conscience unraveled before their eyes one tattered thread at a time.

    ¡°Will you stop looking at me like that?¡± Sergeant Windshot snapped.

    Sascha raised a single eyebrow as if to say ¡®I¡¯m days away from execution. How else would you like me to look at you?¡¯

    ¡°That¡¯s not any better!¡± The man¡¯s shoulders lost their rigidity as his head sagged down into his open hands with an agonized moan. His fingers curled into his hairline. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for this.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s confused expression darted from Sascha to the sergeant, and then back again. She lifted her hands, demanding to know how Sascha had broken the weeping man without saying anything.

    Sascha lifted one massive shoulder in an innocent shrug.

    She didn¡¯t believe him, obviously, but short of throwing another temper tantrum, there wasn¡¯t anything Dewpetal could do but hang back and watch the peculiar situation unfold.

    ¡°Look, you¡¯re right, alright?¡± Sergeant Windshot lifted his teary-eyed face from his hands with a gasping breath. He collected himself and then, glancing suspiciously from left to right, lowered his voice to a venomous whisper. ¡°I¡¯m not like them. No one should be like them. But I¡¯m here now, aren¡¯t I? Stuck in an impossible situation, forced to stand back and watch as Cray wreaks havoc on an entire village for kicks.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t what I want either. Believe me, I¡¯d do something if it would matter, but it won¡¯t. Others have tried. People braver than me tried and failed.¡± Whatever complicated emotions had kept the sergeant up for the past week were slowly starting to trickle free. A hairline crack had fractured the metaphorical dam. There was no stopping it now. The words slid free of his trembling mouth uninhibited. ¡°I¡¯m only a sergeant. What do you think happened to the captain? Or the lieutenant? They stood up to Cray, that¡¯s what. And paid the price for it, too.¡±

    There was more to the story. Alas, the only way to get it was to prod a little further. Sascha temporarily redacted his vow of silence and asked, ¡°He killed them?¡±

    Dewpetal stomped her foot in protest.

    ¡°Made it look like a mishap,¡± Sergeant Windshot muttered. ¡°It happened during the raid. They claimed it was a freak accident. Accident, my ass. I saw their bodies. The only thing that could have done that kind of damage doesn¡¯t come from the wrong end of a sword.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Both of Sascha¡¯s eyebrows went up this time, feigning his surprise.

    ¡°My money¡¯s on Aster. The carnage had her name all over it.¡± The sergeant gathered his feet beneath him and crept closer, keeping close to the ground. ¡°And that¡¯s exactly what¡¯s in store for me if I so much as look at Cray wrong. Understand? So whatever it is you want me to do, forget it. It¡¯s not happening. I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s not fair, I know. But someone¡¯s gotta hang, and I¡¯d rather it not be me.¡±

    The sadness Sascha willed into his expression was genuine. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too.¡±

    A heavy door slammed open from near the front of the jailhouse. Sergeant Windshot tilted his head to the side, revealing the pointed tip of an ear, and listened as several sets of footsteps moved down the hallway in their direction. Panic flooded his haggard features. As nimble as a cat, the sergeant jumped back onto his feet. He didn¡¯t bother with the door. Given the estimated size of the oncoming party, there wasn¡¯t room in the hallway for him to slip past. Sergeant Windshot tucked himself against the wall instead, doing his damnest to pass for a stone fixture.

    The new arrivals filed swiftly inside. Two of Cray¡¯s goons led, dragging Judge Belfast between them, with their commander trailing casually behind. Trant¡¯s beaten body sagged between his escorts, a bent, broken shadow of his earlier self. The goons tossed him into the open cell and the old faun went down like a sack of potatoes. Trant curled into the fetal position and went still.

    A wave of Cray¡¯s hand sent the goons filing out the door. Sergeant Windshot slipped in behind them.

    Cray noticed. He tilted his head curiously, but said nothing. He, alone, lingered, waiting for the room to clear before he approached the bars with a sad shake of his head. ¡°That¡¯s another two dead, Trant. Two deaths you could have prevented. I¡¯m afraid your village is going to run out of people before my point gets through that thick skull of yours.¡±

    Cray allowed the weight of his words to settle as he unconsciously fiddled with the ring on his left hand. The blue stone caught a stray beam of gray light filtering in from the barred window. For the briefest of moments, the gloomy cell block was cast in a cascade of sparking glimmers. Cray quickly tucked his hand back into his sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to fear you won¡¯t break, no matter what pressure I apply to your neck. That only leaves me with one choice, you know. I¡¯ll have to break Novera, not you. Perhaps your loving wife will finally come around when she¡¯s forced to watch you dance on a rope.¡±

    A rumbling growl filled the room.

    Cray did not appreciate being interrupted. Pulling a face, he turned and approached the crate. He traced his fingers along the cage¡¯s silver inlay. ¡°Sorry, my pet,¡± he crooned. ¡°This one¡¯s not for you, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    Cray knelt in front of the bolted door and slid the narrow view slot open. ¡°You poor dear. Did Aster forget to open your window? No wonder you¡¯re so feisty.¡±

    The sight of its master sent the beast into a rage. Unearthly snarls lit the air as the armored cage lurched and shuddered. The beast threw itself against the bolted door over and over again to no avail.

    ¡°There, there. No need to be so upset. I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m saving you for someone better.¡± Cray¡¯s smug smile pulled tighter across his thin lips. ¡°A few someones, actually.¡±

    Ice bolted down Sascha¡¯s spine when he realized Cray was watching him from the corner of his eye.

    ¡°First, Oralia,¡± the elf told his pet, watching the blood drain from Sascha¡¯s face. ¡°One would think, being with child, she would know to stay away, but I have just the thing to draw her out into hiding. Her downfall will be her own bleeding heart.¡±

    Cray¡¯s gleeful stare settled back over Judge Belfast¡¯s still form. Unknowingly, like a child toying with their hair, his fingers returned to the ring on his hand. ¡°And then, my pet, you can have the judge¡¯s dear sweet boy. And whomever he brings back with him. Someone powerful, I hope. It¡¯s been so long since you¡¯ve had a good bloodbath, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Sascha could not tear his terror-stricken gaze from the elf¡¯s ring. He swore he saw the opal change color. A distant memory tugged at the back of his mind, demanding he pay attention, look closer, and remember why the strange static sensation rippling up and down his arms felt eerily familiar.

    Cray¡¯s gray eyes hardened, noticing the way Sascha was openly gawking at his ring. The elf touched his finger to his temple and a bolt of searing hot pain erupted within Sascha¡¯s skull. ¡°My, oh my.¡± Cray¡¯s voice sounded inside and outside of Sascha¡¯s head at the same time. ¡°You¡¯ve seen a powerstone before, haven¡¯t you? Tell me where.¡±

    A slew of images flashed before Sascha¡¯s eyes. The pressure pushing against the inside of his skull swelled as his memories darted past in a nauseating blur of color. He relived the battle on Mount Hook, and that pivotal moment when the tide turned and Daana defeated the dark entity by channeling it into an empty power stone.

    ¡°My gods,¡± Cray gasped.

    The searing pain relented. Sascha slumped forward, gasping for breath as Cray¡¯s thoughts untangled from his own. He refused to lift his eyes and look his deranged captor in the face. He didn¡¯t want to face the reality of what he¡¯d just done. To witness the secrets he¡¯d betrayed.

    Sascha felt Cray¡¯s unnerving smile widen.

    ¡°A dark entity trapped in a powerstone? Not only that but Oralia¡¯s the one carrying it?¡± Cray¡¯s tone bordered on giddy. ¡°Oh dear, Sascha, thank you! You have no idea the gift you¡¯ve given me.¡±

    The elf¡¯s ominous steps approached the bars. ¡°All that¡¯s left now is to draw her in. For that, I¡¯ll need your help. It¡¯s nothing personal, of course. I have to exploit what weakness Oralia possesses. Unfortunate news for you, my friend, I¡¯m afraid. As far as weaknesses go, you are her worst.¡±

    A better orc would have flown into a blind rage right then and there. Threatening him, the love of his life, his unborn child, the unspeakable things Cray had done to innocents ¡ª it had all the makings of a rampage, and still, Sascha couldn¡¯t channel his fury into something useful.

    Weakling. Coward. Useless fuck!

    ¡°Now, now, good sir. There¡¯s no need to torture yourself.¡± Cray flashed another winning smile. ¡°That¡¯s my job.¡±

    The elf meandered to the exit, cherishing the way each purposely drawn-out step made his captives shudder. He called over his shoulder to Judge Belfast. ¡°I¡¯m feeling unusually generous today, Trant. I¡¯ll give you a few days to reconsider my offer. You¡¯ve proven willing to let others die for your moral convictions. It¡¯ll be interesting to see if your own life is held to the same standards.¡±

    Cray paused in the doorway, tracing the heavy grain of the wooden door with his fingertip. ¡°I want you to know that, no matter how much you irk me, I will be kind to you even in death. You will not have to meet your end alone. I¡¯ll see to it that Sascha and the little green one here keep you company. The three of you can swing lifelessly in the breeze together.¡±

    Sascha winced when the door slammed shut. The terror pumping through his veins refused to settle. He didn¡¯t want to look at the crate. He wanted to turn a blind eye to it. Pretend it didn¡¯t exist. Live out his few remaining days ignorant of the horror that awaited Oralia¡¯s arrival. The cold static buzzing up and down his arms, however, refused to be disregarded so easily. It commanded attention, demanding Sascha acknowledge the source and face his fears. Reluctantly, Sascha¡¯s gaze moved to the crate.

    The open viewing slot was empty.

    Something inside shifted. Darkness moving within darkness, the undefined edges of the creature¡¯s shape melded as one with the shadows. Every hair on Sascha¡¯s neck stood on end when a pair of silvery eyes materialized from within the shifting veil of black. The eyes, framed by the narrow viewing slot, gazed back at him. There was no voice to accompany the beast¡¯s stare. There was no need. Its unbridled fury transcended spoken word.

    The eyes spoke of pain, of death, of an unbridled desire to wreak vengeance upon the unsuspecting world.

 241 - Full Hog

    Seneschal Brastbrow¡¯s office was located on the first floor of the Copperstone Inn. The short trek from Captain Bernstein¡¯s apartment back to the inn passed in a hurried blur. One moment, Daana was climbing the slippery steps to the front doors and, in the next, she was being ushered before the most powerful officiant in the entire city. She regretted not changing first. Having just arrived, she was still wearing her travel clothes and certainly smelled like it, too. On the other hand, the stench could work in her favor. Anyone with a working nose would probably agree to just about anything to get the lingering odor of horse and sweat out of their office.

    Seneschal Brastbrow was not pleased to see them. The elderly dwarf slouched in the oversized wingback chair behind his desk, unconsciously twisting the ends of a graying beard. He lifted his liver-spotted hand with a sigh and reluctantly gave Daana the floor. At first, he didn¡¯t appear to be listening, not attentively anyway. But as Daana moved through the finer points of her argument one by one, highlighting exactly what Geralt Lazuli stood to gain from Adderwood¡¯s lack of involvement, Seneschal Brastbrow¡¯s posture changed. It was subtle at first. A lift of the shoulders, straightening of the spine. Eventually, he moved the edge of his seat and leaned out over his desk, as if being slightly closer to Daana would allow him to digest her words faster.

    Daana¡¯s former fear, trepidation, the knot of dread forming in her throat, little by little, it all melted away as she spoke. Once more, as it had done in the captain¡¯s apartment, a sense of purpose took over. The words came easily, spoken in a voice so confident, that Daana could have sworn it belonged to someone else. She spoke of Geralt, his second-in-command Tarathiel Cray, and how together they stood to bring the rest of the continent to its knees.

    The office fell deathly quiet when Daana finished speaking. There were four of them in the room in total: Daana, Captain Bernstein, Seneschal Brastbrow, and the latter¡¯s clerical clerk, tasked with transcribing the meeting. Caught in the moment, the clerk had stopped scribbling halfway through Daana¡¯s speech. The woman¡¯s round face was drained of color by the time Daana finished speaking. Wordlessly, the clerk swiveled her head at the seneschal, breath bated, awaiting his answer. She was no longer a mere notetaker. At that moment, having heard Daana¡¯s warning, the clerk was now a witness to history. One of the few who could claim they were present for that pivotal moment when, for better or worse, a single head of government decided the outcome of the war.

    Daana gnawed her bottom lip as the seconds painfully ticked past. Surely her speech had gotten through to the seneschal. She¡¯d spelled it out in no uncertain terms. There were only two choices: either assist Oralia by sending aid to Lonebrook, or do nothing, and succumb to Geralt¡¯s control.

    Captain Bernstein''s soft footsteps broke the silence. Abandoning his position along the wall, he joined Daana at the center of the room. ¡°Seneschal Brastbrow?¡± the captain prompted, on the off chance the elderly seneschal had forgotten the room was anxiously awaiting an answer.

    Seneschal Brastbrow closed his eyes and exhaled, deeply, before giving his decision. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± The word was like soot on Daana¡¯s tongue. Her face flushed red with heat and spread to the tips of her pointed ears. Dropping her previous sense of poise, she took a daring step forward. ¡°Your refusal to act puts every citizen in peril, including your own! How can you possibly sit there, after hearing the evidence, and still say no?¡±

    ¡°Captain Bernstein, please control your guest.¡±

    ¡°Control me?¡± Daana repeated a few decibels shy of a scream. She glanced down at Captain Bernstein, half expecting him to follow orders, but the poor man looked to be in shock.

    ¡°No?¡± The captain, still fixated on the seneschal¡¯s answer, appeared to not have heard. His lips moved, as though he had more to say, but could not find the words.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Captain Bernstein,¡± the seneschal warned.

    The captain¡¯s momentary stupor faded. He found his voice again, along with a heaping side of anger. ¡°No?¡± he boomed. ¡°How can you possibly say no? Did you not hear a word Miss Lazuli just spoke?¡±

    ¡°I heard every word,¡± Seneschal Brastbrow assured him, neatly rearranging the papers on his desk to avoid eye contact. ¡°My answer remains the same. I cannot forward this to the council, I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Sorry? You don¡¯t know the meaning of sorry. Not yet.¡± Captain Bernstein unclipped the decorative cape from his shoulders and slammed it down onto the seneschal''s desk.

    Brastbrow¡¯s white eyebrows lifted high on his wrinkled forehead. His expression was more amused than taken aback. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no point in wearing this if it¡¯s meaningless. Your shortsightedness has ensured that I will soon have no one left to protect.¡± Captain Bernstein turned and stormed for the door.

    ¡°Almas, stop,¡± the seneschal called after him not in the tone of a superior, but as a friend. It was a tired, pleading sort of sound. Seneschal Brastbrow¡¯s attention swept from Bernstein to the clerical clerk. ¡°That¡¯s all for today, Winda, thank you. You may go.¡±

    Winda gathered her things and left, reluctantly, from the looks of it. Something was about to happen and she appeared disappointed that she wasn¡¯t being allowed in on it. Captain Bernstein must have suspected the same. He closed the door after the clerk before making his way back into the center of the room. The captain¡¯s steps were slow and cautious. An unmistakable glint of suspicion flickered behind his glassy eyes as the former outrage stretched across his bearded face lessened. ¡°What are you up to?¡±

    ¡°Are you done being dramatic?¡± Seneschal Brastbrow countered.

    ¡°That depends on what you say next. I can get more dramatic, believe me. And if that¡¯s not enough to convince you, I can just as easily go fetch Rali. As you well know, she¡¯s been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to go full hog on you.¡±

    The seneschal offered a tight-lipped smile in response.

    Unbelievable. Daana shook her head, utterly perplexed. Seneschal Brastbrow barely reacted to her speech, not so much as a single wince. And yet, a mere mention of Rali was all it took to get the old man to react? Daana wished she¡¯d known this information sooner. She could have worked it into her argument somehow. ¡®Do as I say or feel the full force of a disgruntled Quartz Ralizak!¡¯

    ¡°Miss Lazuli.¡± Seneschal Brastbrow¡¯s voice snapped Daana from her fictitious back-and-forth. ¡°Make no mistake, your argument is convincing. I believe if I sent it to the council, in time, they would agree.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± Daana said. ¡°That¡¯s what I want you to do.¡±

    ¡°No, Miss Lazuli. What you want is an army. Immediately, I might add. According to your timeline, by the time the council is done hemming and hawing over the details, it will be too late. Lonebrook will have already fallen and with it, Geralt Lazuli gains the upper hand he needs to decimate the rest of us.¡±

    It was a fair point, Daana conceded, which is the reason she kept her mouth and waited for what she hoped was a contingency plan.

    The seneschal addressed the other dwarf in the room. ¡°Captain Bernstein.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Back to sir, already, are we?¡± Seneschal Brastbrow mused. He lifted the captain¡¯s discarded cape into the air. ¡°If you¡¯re finished with the theatrics, I would suggest you take this. I realize it is only a symbol of power, but you¡¯re going to need all the help you can get.¡±

    Tentatively, the captain accepted the cape.

    ¡°Take half of the Fairguard¡¯s forces and march for Lonebrook.¡± Seneschal Brastbrow added, ¡°Quickly, if you will. The sooner you¡¯re gone, the better.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± Captain Bernstein said, confused.

    ¡°I fear this is one of those situations where it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission, Captain. I will make it clear to the council that it was I who gave the order. As far as they will be concerned, you were simply following the chain of command.¡±

    ¡°This will ruin you,¡± the captain said.

    ¡°I would rather have my career ruined at the hands of my own people than that of Geralt Lazuli.¡± Seneschal Brastbrow waved them away with a single command. ¡°Go.¡±

 172 - Undeserving

    Red and orange flames burned bright against the surrounding sea of dark trees. The sweltering air within the burning ring was thick with smoke and ash. Hands still held aloft, unable to wipe the sheen of sweat that dripped down her brow and collected along the tips of her eyelashes, Oralia was forced to rely on blinking alone to clear her vision. It was working as well as was to be expected, which meant barely at all. Oralia persisted, ignoring the sting of ash against the exposed skin on her face as she kept her gaze locked on the scruffy witch across from her.

    ¡°First things first.¡± Grettie unslung the rusted dagger from her belt and gestured to the mossy forest floor. The oppressive heat was taking its toll on the plants within the circle. The sprawl of ferns and short grasses, once vibrant and fanned upright, were now wilted and bent towards the ground. ¡°Throw down that sword and any other stabbies you got on you.¡±

    Oralia unbuckled the sword belt from her hip and dropped it. She slid the weapon further away with her foot, hoping to put the fidgety witch at ease. Not like it mattered, anyway. A sword in the hand didn¡¯t make much of a difference when your opponent could incinerate you from a distance.

    ¡°Good, good,¡± Grettie said with a bob of her head, frizzy hair bouncing. The persistent twitch in her fingers seemed at odds with her confident smile. ¡°Now put your hands behind your head and get on the ground. Nice and slow like.¡±

    Oralia bent her knees and started to ease down, glancing out of the corner of her eye at the symbol etched into the dirt behind her. Even to the discerning eye, the seer¡¯s trap would be hard to spot.

    ¡°I said slow!¡± Grettie slashed the air with her rusted dagger for emphasis. ¡°And watch those hands! You even think of trying something, and I¡¯ll burn you to the ground without a second thought.¡±

    Moving at the speed of cold molasses, Oralia dutifully placed her hands on the back of her neck and slowly sank to the ground. She couldn¡¯t help but note that the dark entity writhing beneath her skin had gone suspiciously silent. It wasn¡¯t that she missed the additional voice, per se, but even the slightest distraction from the dread boring a hole through the bottom of her gut would have been appreciated.

    Oralia eased down onto her stomach. With her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle, she watched as Grettie edged closer, unraveling a coil of rope from her pocket as she did so.

    Five, four, three¡­

    Grettie¡¯s cautious footsteps sidled by, disappearing from Oralia¡¯s line of sight as the witch moved to secure her hands. Oralia remained still, heartbeat pounding within her ears as she controlled her breaths, slowly counting down the seconds as they ticked past.

    Two, one¡­

    Grettie stooped to loop the rope around Oralia¡¯s wrists the same moment the orc shot to her knees, throwing her head back with all of her might. The back of Oralia¡¯s skull struck Grettie¡¯s unprotected face with a soft crunch. Screaming, thrown off balance by Oralia¡¯s force, the witch stumbled backward into the awaiting seer¡¯s trap. The rune flared to life as a ring of red light shot skyward. Severed from Grettie¡¯s magic, the dancing ring of red and orange flames sputtered out.

    Oralia leapt awkwardly to her feet. She managed three steps before her balance gave out and she crumpled back onto the ground amongst the wilted ferns and grasses. Her lungs burned with each ragged breath as she clawed her way forward, dragging her disobedient legs behind her. The lack of clean air was wreaking havoc on her mind, jamming the inner cogs of wheels with the same smoky grime that was currently clogging her airways.

    She was nearly to the dark ring of scorched, smoldering earth when the seer¡¯s trap began to flicker. Oralia glanced over her shoulder, watching in terror as Grettie¡¯s magic overpowered the symbol. With one final flare, the seer¡¯s trap erupted in a plume of smoke and ash. Grettie¡¯s dark shape leapt free and charged in Oralia¡¯s direction, throwing her hands into the air above her head.

    Oralia flung her body into a roll, narrowly avoiding the burst of flame that incinerated the drooped groundcover in her wake. She crashed through a patch of wilted bracken as a blistering heat engulfed her right leg. Searing pain jolted up her thigh, traveling along the nerves straight to her brain. It struck like a kick to the teeth, clearing the mental fog from her mind.

    If nothing else, her undignified flailing served to extinguish the flames eating away at her pantleg. Her haphazard roll eventually came to an end and Oralia found herself hidden amongst a wild tangle of overgrowth. She moved onto all fours, using the thick blanket of smoke as cover as a trickle of energy returned to her weary bones. Eyes fixed on Grettie, Oralia steadily worked her way backwards.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    You won¡¯t make it if you run.

    Oralia ground her teeth together as she slunk further back. Whether it was due to sheer stubbornness or the fact that she detested the idea of listening to a predatory spirit hitching a ride inside her body, she vowed to do the exact opposite of what the entity wanted.

    Charge her.

    Dead, Oralia decided. The dark entity clearly wanted her dead! It was the only logical conclusion to such an asinine demand.

    You¡¯ll die if you don¡¯t.

    The nearest tree was only paces away. A few more seconds, that¡¯s all she needed, and then she would have the cover necessary to turn and run, using her second wind to carry her as fast and as far as her legs would go. Alas, unable to see where she was placing each foot, Oralia misstepped, inadvertently snapping a twig beneath her heel. The sound rang out like a beacon, drawing Grettie¡¯s attention. The witch¡¯s eyes narrowed as she whipped about, twitchy hands already poised for the killing blow.

    The dark entity¡¯s voice thundered across Oralia¡¯s thoughts. Charge her, now!

    Fuck it. She was dead anyway. She could at least try to take the witch out with her.

    Oralia surged forward and body slammed Grettie to the ground. Hot magic erupted against her skin. The snap of flames crackled and popped within her ears as bursts of color flashed across her vision. The dark magic beneath her skin flooded down Oralia¡¯s arms, cooling the blistering heat as it pooled into her hands. It was too much. The searing heat and blistering cold, intermixed with the crushing weight in her lungs as every ounce of energy drained from her limbs. Oralia¡¯s eyes rolled upwards, her surroundings nothing more than a smoky blur as her body went limp.

    She struck the ground, incapacitated by the waves of debilitating pain causing her chest to tighten.

    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Grettie was back on her feet, blood streaming from her broken nose, staring wide-eyed at her hands. The twitch in the witch¡¯s fingers was gone, replaced instead by a familiar inky darkness that wriggled like leeches beneath her paper-thin skin. Already, Oralia could see the infection had spread from Grettie¡¯s hands and was traveling up her scrawny arms.

    ¡°Was that supposed to weaken me, orc?¡± A maniacal grin spread across the witch¡¯s blood-smeared face. ¡°It barely hurt. In fact, I feel stronger than ever!¡±

    Grettie curled the fingers of her right hand and lifted it overhead. A blaze of fire shot skyward, nearly twenty feet in height, and engulfed the upper branches of the nearest tree.

    ¡°Oh shit! You see that, orc? You see what you did to me? Watch this!¡± She lifted both hands and a blaze of fire sprang up from the earth and encircled them once more. The dancing wall of flames was twice as tall as the last one. Clouds of smoke thick with ash and soot churned within the circle, blanketing the interior until the light filtering down from above was lost sight altogether.

    Oralia gasped for breath as Grettie stepped closer. The flickering red and orange flames illuminated the witch¡¯s dirty skin in an unnerving yellow glow. Her bloodshot eyes were wide and rimmed in white. From beneath her shirt collar, Oralia saw dark, branching tendrils snaking their way up Grettie¡¯s slender neck.

    Her voice was distorted, brittle and cracking along the edges like weather-worn paper. ¡°Now just wait to see what I do with you.¡±

    Grettie raised her hand once more. Red magic crackled down her arm and gathered in her fingertips. The magic built until it was blinding and then, without warning, flared black. The entity burst to life, spiraling back up Grettie¡¯s forearm in a plume of shifting darkness, consuming all in its wake.

    The sinister smile bled from Grettie¡¯s face as her laugh contorted into a scream. The witch¡¯s skin pulled taut as the muscle and flesh underneath turned to dust. Her face shifted in color from tan to white, to a sickly blue. With her withered hand still outstretched before her, the final scream faded from Grettie¡¯s hollowed mouth and her empty husk crumpled to the ground, disintegrating into a pile of bone and charred ash.

    The ring of fire went out in a puff of black smoke.

    Acid shot up Oralia¡¯s throat and pooled inside her mouth as she stared at what was left of Grettie. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

    Oralia heaved herself into a sitting position, coughing the burning particles from her lungs as she drew back her shirt. What she saw caused a second volley of acid to fill her mouth. The dark veins snaking along her collarbones were still there.

    The witch was an undeserving vessel. The entity¡¯s voice rippled across her panicking mind. Fit only for a quick meal. You and I are still intertwined, orc. As we will continue to be until you find me a vessel fit for service.

    ¡°But you transferred bodies. I felt it. I felt you leave¨C¡±

    I gave but a piece. You may not possess the magic I require to form a new body, but you are unusually resilient for an inferior being. You will continue to serve as my vessel until you are no longer useful to me.

    That had only been a piece. With only a sliver, the darkness had consumed the witch from the inside out in the blink of an eye. This time, when the nausea clawed its way up her tightening throat, Oralia gave into it. She folded over, retching the contents of her stomach onto the smoldering ground as her body trembled, helpless against the onslaught.

    Overcome with fear, Oralia didn¡¯t hear the voices calling out to her, or the hurried thunder of feet against the ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw two blurry forms break through the shifting blanket of smoke. They were shouting something, but their voices were distant and muffled, like a stranger calling from the bottom of a well. Oralia remained hunched over, barely cognizant of the pair of strong hands that seized her below the arms and dragged her from the smoldering ring of ash and death.

 Update - Short Hiatus (Will Be Back 3/12)

    First off, thank you to those that reached out via private message to check on me after Tuesday''s chapter. The community on here is amazing. I''m okay. Life has just thrown some curveballs I was not expecting this month and it has severely cut into my writing time.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    I''m going to take a short hiatus to handle some things. Chapters will start posting again next month on 3/12.

    Saturday''s chapter (2/24) will go up as scheduled. It''s already done, so I see no reason to hold it back while I get everything else sorted.

    As always, thanks for reading. :)

 173 - When Brothers Were Brothers and Blankets Were Blankets

    Rasp awoke from the strangest dream. Reuniting with Faris had been nice¨Ca bit bittersweet now that he was slowly starting to rouse and grasp the fact that it wasn¡¯t real, but enjoyable while it lasted. He still found the part involving the bear who was also somehow a sister rather confusing. All in all, it hadn¡¯t been the craziest dream he¡¯d ever experienced, just odd. An odd dream for an odd man, he supposed. Given the events of the past year, he wasn¡¯t sure he even knew what normal looked like anymore.

    Rasp¡¯s eyelids fluttered open and took in the muddled gloom around him. Nightfall, likely, given the absence of any light whatsoever. A cold wind rattled the dry leaves overhead. Normally he hated the sound as it meant another miserable night without the warmth of a fire, but the fur blankets strewn across his numb body were warding off even the fiercest chill. Lulled into complacency by the blissful warmth, Rasp tucked his chin back into his arms and closed his eyes. He was already drifting back asleep when a pesky thought wiggled its way to the forefront of his mind.

    You don¡¯t own any fur blankets.

    ¡°Hop!¡± Rasp shot upright. Tried anyway, as the pelt draped over him now felt less like a blanket and more akin to a furry boulder. A warm, furry boulder, with an inexplicable amount of fat and muscle bulging beneath its loose, shaggy skin. Rasp shoved with his hands, desperately trying to squirm out from under what he feverishly hoped wasn¡¯t a bear.

    His rough movements elicited a low growl from his stubborn blanket. Waves of vibrations rippled through the furry pelt and buzzed against Rasp¡¯s skin, similar to that of a giant, purring cat. He froze, not entirely from fear this time, but with a good mix of equal parts anger and confusion as well.

    ¡°Boney asshole?¡± Rasp repeated. While being able to understand the bear probably should have come as a shock, it was her response itself that bore the brunt of his bewilderment. ¡°Who taught you to name-call? That sounds like a painful medical condition, not an insult!¡±

    The bear lamented her woes with a low-pitched wine.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how growing up without a father applies in this scenario.¡± Rasp supposed he should have been grateful the bear wasn¡¯t trying to eat him. Would have been nice to be able to feel his legs though. He reached up and gave her a tentative pat, signifying his wish to tap-out before the suffocation set in.

    She did not appear to notice, preferring to air her grievances regarding her upbringing to a captive audience.

    ¡°Believe me, you didn¡¯t miss out on anything worthwhile. Our brothers are terrible.¡±

    Our brothers? Rasp wasn¡¯t sure when he¡¯d decided to go along with the sister story, but something about it felt unusually natural. Too natural, in fact. The lack of air was clearly getting to him. Gathering his heavy limbs, he pushed with both his hands and knees in a futile attempt to prevent the damn beast from smothering him. It was not going as well as he¡¯d hoped. ¡°Get. Off!¡±

    Finally, the unmovable weight lifted, allowing Rasp to scramble out from under it. He didn¡¯t make it very far before his wobbly legs gave out beneath him. Whipping his head from side to side, he gathered what limited information he could with his slow-moving senses. It was definitely nightfall, he was still in the forest, and¨Cjudging from the suspicious lack of commentary from either Hop or Faris¨Che and the bear might have been alone.

    Also, he was suddenly cold. So much so, he almost considered worming his way back under the bear. Pride won out, however, and he drew his arms over his chest and settled for a more dignified shivering instead. ¡°Where are the others? You didn¡¯t eat them, did you?¡±

    The bear huffed an incensed reply.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, that was insensitive of me, wasn¡¯t it?¡± Strange, stomach-churning noises were coming from the bear¡¯s direction. The series of wet pops and cracks were eerily similar to the time Mul dislocated his shoulder¨Cminus the screaming, of course. Rasp decided he didn¡¯t want to know, and carried on talking. ¡°How dare I accuse you of eating anyone. It¡¯s all a hurtful bear stereotype. Never mind the fact that you were eating a witch earlier.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t eating the witch!¡± A woman¡¯s voice roared back at him, sounding deeper and more gargled than it had any right to.

    Probably still mid-transition, Rasp supposed. He was caught between being grateful and somewhat remorseful that his poor vision prohibited him from witnessing the spectacle for himself. In the end, judging from the gruesome sounds, not being able to see was probably for the best. He didn¡¯t need to add anymore nightmare fuel to the steady fire already burning within his troubled thoughts.

    ¡°Look, we¡¯ve all dabbled in cannibalism from time to time,¡± he carried on. ¡°I accidentally swallowed a toe and you ate a witch¡¯s face off. I¡¯m not saying they¡¯re the same, but I get it. Sometimes your mouth is just in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡±

    ¡°Your mouth is about to be in the wrong place.¡±

    Rasp was about to tell her where she could put her mouth when the response withered on his tongue. The shapeshifter was under the false impression she was his sister. And while Juneberry was obviously mistaken, Rasp couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that incestuous jokes bordered a line even he didn¡¯t want to cross.

    ¡°Oh, come on. You were about to say something snarky, I can tell. Don¡¯t hold back on me now.¡±

    ¡°You never answered my question.¡± Gods, it was really saying something when it was him having to steer the conversation back on track. ¡°Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°Faris and that other fellow went to go collect your stuff. Said something about fetching a mule. I¡¯m not sure if that¡¯s a euphemism for something, so I didn¡¯t question it.¡± The woman¡¯s voice grew louder as her footsteps approached. Rasp assumed she¡¯d finished shifting forms. For one, her voice sounded more human than it had before and, two, the oppressive smell of animal musk and fur was no longer trying to jam its way up his nose.

    Juneberry settled down onto the leaf-littered ground beside him, adding, ¡°Faris thought we would benefit from having a quiet moment to get acquainted.¡±

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Rasp failed to see what for. Just because Faris was entertaining Juneberry¡¯s delusions didn¡¯t mean he had to follow suit. He tilted his head to the side instead, suddenly noticing the suspicious lack of squabbling. ¡°Did they take Father with them?¡±

    ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The other raven.¡± Describing Father would have been a waste of effort as volatile and stabby were not generally linked with one¡¯s physical appearance. ¡°Loud? Abrasive? Rather pecky?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you mean the ¡®no good, dirty rotten, sad excuse of a man¡¯!¡± For whatever reason, Juneberry delivered the line without any malice in her voice, as if this was simply the way she¡¯d been taught to refer to her father. Rasp¡¯s wheezing laugh must have tipped her off that something was amiss because, after patiently waiting for him to compose himself enough to listen, she said with markedly less confidence, ¡°Do you suppose that¡¯s why he flew off in a huff earlier? I didn¡¯t mean anything by it. That¡¯s what Aunty always called him.¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s great. Keep calling him that. He¡¯ll learn to love it.¡± If it wasn¡¯t such a mouthful, Rasp might have considered adopting it himself. But it was just so hard to beat the efficiency of ¡®rat bastard¡¯.

    ¡°Father left shortly after you passed out.¡± The way Juneberry said the name made it seem as if it was one she¡¯d not used with any sort of frequency before. ¡°I¡¯m sure he said where he was going but, between you and me, I¡¯ve never been around this many people before. Keeping track of who said what is really hard! Is it normal for everyone to talk on top of each other all the time?¡±

    Rasp stared straight ahead into the murky gloom as his former sense of mirth faded away. Truth be told, he wasn¡¯t all that interested in getting to know Juneberry. He didn¡¯t see the point. She wouldn¡¯t have a reason to stick around once learning they weren¡¯t actually related. ¡°In my family we just hit each other. Talking was for those who didn¡¯t know how to use their fists.¡±

    ¡°That sounds lovely. I can¡¯t wait to meet the rest of them.¡±

    It was time to shatter some realities, it seemed. ¡°Look, Juneberry¨C¡±

    ¡°Just June, is fine. Sounds like you¡¯re talking to a pie otherwise.¡±

    That definitely wasn¡¯t helping the ¡®you¡¯re not my sister¡¯ case Rasp was currently trying to make. ¡°I¡¯m grateful for you helping Faris find me and keeping him safe and all, but I think you¡¯ve got the wrong person. Just because you happen to have an equally shitty name doesn¡¯t make us kin. I¡¯m starting to think having unfit parents might be a universal thing.¡±

    In lieu of an intelligible reply, June crept closer. Dried leaves crunched beneath her knees as she leaned forward and placed both hands on either side of Rasp¡¯s face.

    It was strange being on the receiving end of unwanted physical contact for a change. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard twins sometimes have an otherworldly connection. Like they can talk to each other without using words. I¡¯m testing ours,¡± June explained as she adjusted her grip on his face. ¡°Can you feel anything?¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t think embarrassment was the answer she was looking for. Unrelated, Faris and Hop were going to get a serious talking to for daring to leave him in the company of a deluded bear-woman. Rasp slapped her hands away and sat straighter, deciding it was time to put his foot down. ¡°First of all, that¡¯s stupid. Secondly, we¡¯re not twins. My twin was a boy and he died at birth.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s just the story Mom told everyone,¡± June replied matter-of-factly. ¡°She made it up to keep both of us safe.¡±

    Lies and hearsay!

    Unable to refute June¡¯s claim without relying exclusively on every expletive in his vast repertoire of indecent language, Rasp settled for saying nothing at all.

    Alas, she continued the conversation regardless of Rasp¡¯s lack of involvement. ¡°In case you hadn¡¯t caught on, I¡¯m a shapeshifter. A bear, specifically. I shifted forms shortly after birth and gave Mom quite the scare when she found a cub in the cradle where her daughter should have been.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t believe me, do you?¡±

    ¡°I do not.¡±

    ¡°We actually look a lot alike. Obviously you¡¯re the ugly twin, but the resemblance is there.¡±

    ¡°Insulting me isn¡¯t going to win me over.¡±

    ¡°Then maybe you could try asking thoughtful, adult questions instead of sulking like a baby, yeah?¡±

    Fuck, she sounded just like their mother¨Chis mother! Not theirs. Not yet anyway. Rasp slowly sank lower to the ground, feeling as if another life-shattering revelation was about to smack him across the face.

    As it turned out, thoughtful, adult questions were difficult to ask. June was alarmingly patient for someone who supposedly had the same hot-tempered Stoneclaw blood pumping through their veins. She explained her existence in the most digestible way possible and, in the end, with the help of small words and repeating her answers until they were hammered into his thick skull, Rasp felt he had a decent handle of the events circulating their birth.

    His mother¨Ctheir mother¨Cwas an underhanded, bold-faced, two-timing liar! And he loved her all the more for it.

    The best way to tell a convincing lie was to take the truth and twist it ever so slightly. Tal Stoneclaw had indeed bore twins during her sixth pregnancy. One boy, one girl and, for magical reasons, the girl became a bear several hours after birth. At that moment, Tal realized two things: baby Juneberry was magical, and her son Raspberry was irrefutably the sixth son born of a mighty Stoneclaw leader. In the name of stupid superstition, she feared both children would not be allowed to live.

    So Tal lied. She claimed the twins were male, but sadly one did not survive the first night. She had Juneberry whisked down the mountain and placed into the care of an estranged family member. While her husband, Paler Stoneclaw, may have been the head of the clan, Tal was the voice that whispered in his ear. ¡®The sixth son is dead so that the seventh can grow into the mightiest warrior the Stoneclaw clan has ever seen¡¯. And it worked, at least for a little while. Due to her quick thinking, Rasp¡¯s differences went unnoticed long enough for him to grow into adolescence.

    June, on the other hand, thrived. She was brought up in secret by their estranged aunt living just outside of the Mossborn territory. The pair kept squirreled away in the dark woods where the only people who could find her were the ones she wanted to. It was an ideal arrangement. Juneberry had all the room and support a fledgling shapeshifter needed to grow. In addition to teaching her to read, write, and all the survival skills necessary to survive on her own, Aunt Dagmar also passed on her love of magic and the true history of the Stoneclaw people.

    ¡°You¡¯re awfully quiet,¡± June remarked once the epiphany had had a chance to settle. ¡°You got all that?¡±

    He did, sort of. Rasp¡¯s stunned silence wasn¡¯t in the absorption of the information itself, but what it meant for him. As selfish as it was, learning he had a sister was trumped by the fact that irrefutable proof that he was the sixth son born of a mighty Stoneclaw leader, destined to bring death and destruction upon the world. While he¡¯d always had his suspicions, at least there had been a convenient layer of doubt to keep his fears his bay. The benefit of plausible deniability no longer applied now.

    He sat in stunned silence for a few awkward seconds, failing to notice the sudden draft that blustered the ends of his hair into his eyes. He pushed the bothersome strands back with his hand with a defeated sigh. ¡°I think so¨C¡±

    The sentiment was drowned out by the predatory growl that rumbled in the back of June¡¯s throat. She shot to her feet, snarling, ¡°You.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s only comfort was in the knowledge that June was not growling at him. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The blue porcupine from the mountain.¡± June raised her voice, calling out to someone further away. ¡°I know you¡¯re there, you little shit. I¡¯d know that smell anywhere. You¡¯re not spiking with your toxic quills this time!¡±

 174 - The Schemiest Schemers

    The hair-raising growl rumbling from the back of June¡¯s throat would have made an ordinary man turn and run. Rasp, alas, was not an ordinary man. And while unordinary was an apt description most days, he feared what he was about to attempt landed him squarely in ¡®stupid man¡¯ territory. He reached out, searching along the ground until he found June¡¯s bare foot beside him. He heaved forward, wrapping all four limbs around the trunk of her leg like an unruly child clinging to the equally unruly parent about to kick some ass at a children¡¯s stoolball game.

    June tried to shake Rasp from her leg. Other than rattling his brain a little, her attempts were largely unsuccessful. She settled for dragging him with her, one stubborn step at a time. She gritted out between clenched teeth, ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Preventing unnecessary death.¡± Rasp tightened his grip around her leg. He was surprised to feel the familiar scratch of wool trousers and not bare skin scuffing up the side of his face. June had done him the courtesy of donning clothes after changing forms. Thoughtful, but unnecessary. After all, he wasn¡¯t a prude like Faris. If it weren¡¯t for the bitter cold, Rasp was certain his people would have done away with clothing altogether.

    Despite Rasp¡¯s admirable efforts, they were still moving at a speed too fast for his liking. He dug his heels into the dirt to further impede June¡¯s progress. ¡°In case I wasn¡¯t clear, it¡¯s your death I¡¯m preventing!¡±

    ¡°My death?¡± June ceased dragging Rasp¡¯s ass across the bumpy terrain. The air of incredulousness in her voice seemed to imply her hands had already gone to her hips. Better that than continuing towards her inevitable death, Rasp supposed. ¡°That blue porcupine may have gotten the jump on me before,¡± June said, ¡°but I¡¯m ready for it this time. Gonna make me a nice hat afterwards.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a porcupine, that¡¯s a fae.¡± Rasp raised his voice, for June¡¯s benefit, but probably not in the way she thought. ¡°A fae who wouldn¡¯t dream of smiting an unfamiliar human while their apprentice is clinging to her leg, I imagine!¡±

    Whisper¡¯s voice carried on the breeze towards them. ¡°You¡¯re right, because dreaming would be irrelevant. I could drop her from this distance regardless of your proximity.¡±

    ¡°But you won¡¯t, right?¡±

    Whisper¡¯s response was not so much words as it was an unintelligible grumble.

    At the very least, their interaction had June reconsidering her plans for a new hat. ¡°Hold up. You two know each other?¡±

    ¡°Intimately.¡±

    ¡°No, not intimately,¡± Whisper snapped. ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Whisper. They fancy themselves my mentor, when really it¡¯s me doing most of the teaching,¡± Rasp said. While June may have stopped uttering animalistic growls, that didn¡¯t convince him to release his grip on her leg just yet. He knew from personal experience the lengths a hotheaded Stoneclaw would go to settle a slight. ¡°Whisper, this is June. She¡¯s family. Don¡¯t be a dick.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled back, promising nothing.

    At least his mentor wasn¡¯t throwing things. A good sign, all things considered. ¡°Now that we¡¯ve got introductions out of the way, I¡¯m interested to know how the two of you know each other.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± Whisper replied.

    ¡°We do!¡± June insisted with a stomp of her foot that set an unpleasant rattle up Rasp¡¯s spine. ¡°I looked a little different last time, is all.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s silence was effective in communicating their absolute disinterest in the matter. With a huff, June¡¯s voice changed back in Rasp¡¯s direction, explaining, ¡°I was hunting on the ridge last summer when a freak flash flood struck, nearly sweeping me off the mountain. I was making my way to higher ground when I heard shouting and came across a faun trapped under a tree limb. Having grown up around Lonebrook, I knew of Faris even if he didn¡¯t know of me. I was in the midst of trying to rescue him when this one¨C¡±

    Rasp assumed from the jerk of her body, June was pointing accusingly in Whisper¡¯s direction. That, or giving the finger, both of which the fae definitely deserved.

    ¡°¨Cshowed up out of nowhere and started whipping toxic quills at me!¡±

    ¡°Did I?¡± Whereas Rasp would have expected confusion, defensiveness, perhaps even a tiny smidge of remorse, Whisper proved him wrong once more by sounding more amused than anything. ¡°I seem to recall a magic bear, not a woman.¡±

    ¡°I was the bear! And whatever you hit me with knocked me on my ass for three days! By the time I awoke, all the chaos had already ended! There was no one left on the mountain. It was very confusing.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyebrows lifted. Not in reaction to what June had said, but what his mentor wasn¡¯t saying. ¡°Magic bear?¡± he repeated. ¡°Whisper, you knew she had magic?¡±

    ¡°Of course. Just as I could tell you had magic the first time we met.¡±

    ¡°And you still attacked her?¡±

    ¡°You say that like it surprises you, little bird. I was under the impairment of severe iron poisoning and I needed Faris to get to you. I simply didn¡¯t have time to deal with any other distractions so I made the distraction go away.¡±

    The taut muscles in June¡¯s leg relaxed. Rasp suspected her will to fight had deflated along with her pride. Not without getting the last word, of course. ¡°I could have helped.¡±

    ¡°Considering your version of helping involved trying to rescue a prey species whilst in bear form, I maintain that I made the correct decision.¡± Whisper¡¯s soft footsteps tentatively approached. ¡°Her magical signature is similar to yours, little bird. You mentioned family, but there is a resemblance that would suggest this one is more than just a Stoneclaw.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m his sister.¡±

    ¡°Fascinating.¡± Whisper¡¯s curiosity got the better of them and the small fae scuttled closer. Still clinging to June¡¯s leg, Rasp felt Whisper press past him as they poked and prodded at the very human they¡¯d intended to kill only moments ago. ¡°Your magic is markedly more controlled than his. Were you dropped on your head less as a child?¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Heat stung the tip of Rasp¡¯s nose. ¡°What happened to not being a dick?¡±

    ¡°Asking innocent questions does not make one a dick, little bird. Wishing aloud that you had been brought up under the same circumstances as your sibling, thus allowing you to have a competent grasp on your abilities and therefore decreasing my workload, would be dickish. I said nothing to that effect.¡± To add insult to injury, Whisper delivered this with a patronizing pat to Rasp¡¯s head. ¡°I only thought it.¡±

    Rasp was debating whether a fae hex would be worth snapping Whisper¡¯s fingers off with his teeth when the sounds of approaching footsteps spared him from yet another stupid decision. Still clinging to June¡¯s leg, he felt her upper body shift in the direction of the oncoming commotion. ¡°Oh, hey look. They¡¯re back. And there was a mule.¡± June rapped her knuckles against the top of his head in a manner that was probably meant to come across as friendly. Felt mostly painful, though. ¡°Guess it wasn¡¯t a euphemism, after all.¡±

    Faris sounded remarkably similar to a parent who¡¯d just walked in on a roomful of children caught painting the walls with jam. ¡°What in the gods¡¯ names are you doing?¡±

    Rasp decided now was as good of a time to let go of June¡¯s leg as any. Well, actually, several minutes prior would have been better, but that ship had already sailed. He untangled himself from his sister and scooted away. ¡°Saving lives, Faris! What¡¯s it look like?¡±

    ¡°...Not that?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not that,¡± Hop agreed.

    Rasp threw his hands in the air. ¡°Oh shut up!¡±

    Rasp wasn¡¯t the only one upset by the pair¡¯s unannounced arrival. The wind whipped overhead, stirring the blanket of dried leaves from the forest floor in a flurry of crinkly movement. ¡°Faun,¡± Whisper greeted Faris with no warmth in their voice whatsoever. ¡°I should have known you were behind this.¡±

    Faris mirrored Whisper¡¯s enthusiasm. ¡°Oh look, Rasp still hasn¡¯t managed to kill you yet. Impressive.¡±

    ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°Why do you think I¡¯m here?¡± Faris countered. ¡°For him, obviously.¡±

    Well this certainly was a rare treat. In the past, the only people who¡¯d ever fought over Rasp were those seeking to kick his ass. And while both Whisper and Faris wanted something from him¨Cbe it awakening their magical egg or simply for the sake of friendship¨Cit was rather nice knowing the end result wouldn¡¯t be a beatdown for a change. Not for him, anyway. Based on the severity of their dislike for one another, there was a good chance the pair would be at each other¡¯s throats in no time.

    ¡°June, right?¡± Hop stammered, acutely aware of the sudden tension hanging over their heads. ¡°Do you think you could assist me with something? Away from here, preferably.¡±

    ¡°And miss the action?¡±

    ¡°Yes, actually. That was the point. I was trying to be discreet, but I can see how that may have been misguided of me.¡±

    ¡°No way. This is just getting good,¡± June grunted. ¡°Take Rasp.¡±

    ¡°I got the idea that he needs to be here for this. Unlike you and I, who could be anywhere else right now. Far, far away, ideally.¡±

    ¡°You can go, June,¡± Faris said. ¡°I know how to handle myself.¡±

    ¡°Handle yourself? Is that what we¡¯re calling running and screaming nowadays?¡±

    The telltale thump of Faris¡¯s hoof striking the dirt rang out. ¡°Will you go already?¡±

    Hop, fortunately, was well versed in the art of getting stubborn Stoneclaws to fall in line without the need for superfluous hoof stomping or ear fluttering. ¡°Have you ever had a corn cake?¡±

    ¡°Corn cake? What¡¯s a corn cake? Is it food?¡± June perked up at the idea. Her footsteps were fast and light, already pitter-pattering off in Hop¡¯s direction, mirroring the sudden eagerness in her tone. ¡°Please tell me it¡¯s food. Shapeshifting is such strenuous work and I¡¯m always so hungry. Faris is a stickler for rations.¡±

    June¡¯s voice faded in the distance as the pair moved away, affording those remaining the privacy needed to hash things out. Rasp found himself conflicted. On the one hand, he knew he had to stay and help smooth over whatever altercation was about to take place between Whisper and Faris. But, at the same time, the other hand promised corn cakes. What rightfully should have been his corn cakes.

    And yet, the other-other hand, the third, oftentimes forgotten hand, insisted he could do both. Surely Faris and Whisper wouldn¡¯t kill each other in the few, short minutes it took to secure a bite to eat while they got all of their pleasantries out of the way.

    ¡°Not you,¡± both Faris and Whisper said together the moment Rasp started to gather his feet beneath him.

    Rasp settled back down with a groan. ¡°You know why you two hate each other? Because you¡¯re too much alike!¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t compare me to this psychopath.¡±

    ¡°At least this psychopath isn¡¯t stupid!¡± Whisper shot back. The agitation in the fae¡¯s voice was damn near palpable. ¡°Every competing power in the United Territories is scouring the countryside for the little bird right now. You know that, yes? You could have led any number of enemies right to us!¡±

    ¡°They didn¡¯t need me for that. You two have been leaving a nice trail of destruction in your wake wherever you go.¡± Twigs and leaves crunched under hoof as Faris drew closer, his voice growing markedly louder as the gap between them diminished. ¡°And yes, I am very much aware every power in the territories is out to get Rasp. You want to know how I know that? Because Geralt Lazuli placed a mucking bounty on my head! I¡¯ve spent the last two months on the run because suddenly everyone wants to use me to get to the realm¡¯s most powerful witch!¡±

    Aw, Faris thought he was the most powerful. That was almost as flattering as it was sad.

    ¡°And that¡¯s not the half of it,¡± Faris continued. ¡°I managed to slip Geralt¡¯s snare, so he set his sights on my village instead. He¡¯s got the place locked down, no one in, no one out, trying to lure me home.¡±

    A sudden hurt struck Rasp square in the chest. ¡°Mom and dad?¡±

    ¡°Alive and well, last I heard. But I¡¯m not sure for how much longer. Which is why I need you to come back with me before that changes.¡±

    Rasp did not claim to be a brilliant strategist by any stretch, but even he saw the obvious holes in such a plan. ¡°...Wouldn¡¯t Geralt be expecting that?¡±

    ¡°As I said before, stupid,¡± Whisper agreed with a disapproving tsk. ¡°That is exactly what Geralt Lazuli is expecting you to do. I haven¡¯t spent the last four months keeping the little bird out of enemy hands just to let you run headlong into a trap with him. Forget it, faun. It¡¯s out of the question.¡±

    ¡°Rasp doesn¡¯t need your permission,¡± Faris argued.

    Whisper said something cutting in return and two voices rose in volume as tempers flared, leaving Rasp to ponder an alternative that could save his adopted family whilst skirting Geralt¡¯s trap. ¡°You know what they wouldn¡¯t be expecting?¡± he said, slowly, still piecing the ideas together. ¡°Me and a wind shifter.¡±

    ¡°Do you know why they wouldn¡¯t be expecting that, little bird? Because it¡¯s assumed the wind shifter is too intelligent to go along with something that idiotic!¡±

    ¡°Faris¡¯s family is my family too. And whether you approve of it or not, I¡¯m going to help them. So if you want to keep me around to hatch your egg, then you¡¯d better find a way to make it work.¡±

    There was an uncomfortable pause before Whisper muttered out of the corner of their mouth, ¡°It¡¯s not an egg.¡±

    Un-fucking-believable. Him, the king of petty squabbles, was having to act as referee to his betterers. Rasp should have been stuffing his face hole with a hot corn cake right now, not playing peacemaker! ¡°I meant what I said earlier,¡± he replied. ¡°You two are the same. The schemiest schemers I know. For the gods¡¯ sakes, put your differences aside and figure something out! If I have to form a plan all on my own we¡¯re as good as dead. And then you both would look like idiots.¡±

 175 - A Final Deal

    The forest giants swayed overhead in a symphony of quaking leaves and groaning boughs. Without light, Rasp had no way of telling what either Faris or Whisper were doing. The severe lack of angry pacing painted its own picture within his mind. He envisioned the pair staring the other down, face-to-face, seconds from verbally ripping into one another all over again.

    It was Faris who conceded his silence. With a full-body sigh, the faun bit back his anger and extended the proverbial olive branch in a manner that almost sounded sincere. ¡°What¡¯s this about an egg?¡±

    Naturally, Whisper¡¯s first instinct was to set the olive branch on fire. ¡°Nothing. It doesn¡¯t concern you.¡±

    ¡°Whisper,¡± Rasp groaned, running a heavy hand over his face, ¡°do you really want the explanation to come from me? I mean, really-really? Because if that¡¯s the case, I¡¯m going to make it as uncomfortable for you as possible. Lots of intimate details, if you catch my drift.¡±

    The fae rattled their quills so fiercely, Rasp swore he felt the aftershock thrum within his achy bones. Threat or not, at least it got them talking. Sort of. ¡°It is not an egg.¡± A second glare from Rasp managed to extract further information from Whisper in the most insulting way possible. ¡°The little bird calls it that because it¡¯s the closest comparison he can wrap his feeble mind around. It is an unawakened of my kind.¡±

    ¡°A baby, you mean?¡± Faris said.

    Whisper¡¯s tone seemed to suggest the use of ¡®baby¡¯ was only slightly more tolerable to ¡®egg¡¯. ¡°Essentially.¡±

    ¡°Great, glad we got one thing clarified. Now tell me what does that have to do with not saving my village?¡±

    Whisper, once more, took their sweet time saying nothing at all, prompting Rasp to fill in the necessary blanks. ¡°Because it¡¯s the only egg left of their species and Whisper lost it. We¡¯ve been running up and down the whole countryside for months looking for it. Whisper¡¯s under the impression it¡¯s amongst a collection of magical artifacts, which may or may not be located in the military settlement not far from here. Owned by Geralt Lazuli, of course.¡±

    ¡°Of course it is,¡± Faris said with a groan.

    Rasp tilted his head in Whisper¡¯s direction, flashing a threatening smile. ¡°See how easy that was? That¡¯s what you should be doing. Not me.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t sure at what point he¡¯d managed to break Whisper but, at last, with one final quill rattle, the fae stopped being a stubborn stick in the mud and offered something actually useful. ¡°Today¡¯s scouting mission confirmed that the artifact is indeed within the settlement. I wasn¡¯t able to breach the tower it¡¯s being housed in, but I could feel it calling to me.¡± Whisper¡¯s irritated voice shifted to Faris, explaining, ¡°I need the little bird¡¯s help to awaken it once it¡¯s been recovered. Which is why I cannot risk losing him to one of Geralt¡¯s traps.¡±

    The answer seemed fairly obvious to Rasp. ¡°Then we break into the settlement, steal the egg, and then go save Faris¡¯s family. There, solved.¡±

    ¡°It is not a task to be taken lightly, little bird. The artifact is being safeguarded against fae magic. Due to the nature of the charms, I am unable to step foot within the tower walls. I would need someone of the magical variety who is unaffected by both iron and silver in order to do so on my behalf.¡±

    ¡°Okay, but I can still do it.¡±

    ¡°For your sake, I hope that was a misguided jest. I should not have to state the many obvious reasons as to why that would not work.¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡± Rasp rolled his eyes. So many stipulations. It was as if Whisper didn¡¯t actually want the job done. ¡°Faris and I can do it.¡±

    ¡°Forgive me for not being clearer. While you and the faun could breach the tower without harm, neither of you would not be able to locate the object itself. It is a magical artifact, under the guise of glamour, being stored in a vicinity filled with every other sort of magical artifact imaginable. The sheer abundance of power would overwhelm your magic sensitivity beyond repair, little bird. Provided you didn''t touch something cursed that killed you first.¡±

    ¡°So what you¡¯re saying is that you need an expert. A whole team, from the sounds of it,¡± Faris said. ¡°Do you know how long it would take for you to assemble one? A proper one? Weeks, if not months. I don¡¯t have that kind of time.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± Whisper agreed. ¡°But I do.¡±

    ¡°Except you¡¯re not great at dealing with people. I am. Come back to free Lonebrook and, once it¡¯s done, I¡¯ll help you assemble the best gods damn specialists money can buy.¡±

    ¡°But¨C¡±

    Whisper barely got a word out before Faris cut them off. ¡°No. It¡¯s your turn to listen and hear how stupid you¡¯re being for a change. You get one chance at recovering your egg. If you fail, Geralt will know someone¡¯s discovered his hoard. Which means he¡¯s going to bring half his army down here and move it again. You can¡¯t afford that possibility. You¡¯ve found your artifact and it¡¯s safe. It¡¯s not going anywhere. We take care of my crisis first and then we¡¯ll fix yours.¡±

    Whisper said nothing, resigned to their hostile silence. The wind whipping overhead was enough of an indication to prove that, even if they didn¡¯t like what Faris was saying, the faun was arguing sense.

    ¡°You know Rasp is going to come with me anyway,¡± Faris persisted. ¡°You might as well ensure he comes back in as few pieces as possible.¡±

    The wind whipped harder as Whisper¡¯s fury doubled. ¡°As my apprentice, he is to accompany me until I have released him from service. That was our contract that he and I agreed upon. If I don¡¯t go, then neither does he.¡±

    Rasp had only one card left to play. Ideally, he¡¯d planned to hold onto it, squirrel it away until the absolute last moment, but it appeared as if the moment had come to reveal his winning hand. ¡°If Faris doesn¡¯t get his family back, then neither do you.¡±

    The wind dropped without warning. ¡°Come again?¡±

    ¡°You just said so yourself. Our deal stated I was to be your apprentice. Agreeing to help awaken your egg was never part of the original contract.¡±

    ¡°¡®I vow to find a way to give you the happy ending you deserve,¡¯¡± Whisper quoted back at him. ¡°That¡¯s what you told me only last night.¡±

    A saner man would not have laughed at a fae to their face. As unhinged and stupid seemed to go together like butter and toast, Rasp did so with great relish. ¡°That¡¯s the thing, though. What I said and what you think I said are two different things. I could have been flirting with you for all you know.¡±

    Unable to argue with Rasp¡¯s surprisingly sound logic, Whisper switched tactics, the edge of their voice fraying ever-so noticeably. ¡°You don¡¯t even want your magic!¡±

    ¡°But you do.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± For the first time in ever, the fae appeared to be at an actual loss for words.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Rasp considered offering a patronizing pat to the side of Whisper¡¯s scaled face. Alas, with darkness making it damn near impossible to pinpoint the fae amongst the gloom, it wasn¡¯t worth the risk of accidentally pricking himself on one of their quills again. Rasp settled for a shit-eating grin instead. ¡°I may not be the brightest, but I pick up things along the way. A good fae contract is supposed to be watertight and you overlooked several holes in yours.¡±

    ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Whisper said, finally.

    ¡°I know, look at me, learning shit. Who would have thought?¡±

    Rasp felt a scaled hand grip his shoulder and pull. ¡°We need to speak in private. Now.¡±

    Whisper wasn¡¯t physically strong enough to drag him anywhere, but Rasp sensed this was one of those times that it would be better to go along willingly. He stood and Whisper¡¯s grip shifted from his shoulder to his elbow, still pulling with the desperation of a leashed dog set on being the first to piss on the tree in the yard.

    ¡°Rasp,¡± Faris said, voice laced with unease, ¡°are you sure about this?¡±

    Fuck no. Everyone knew you weren¡¯t supposed to waltz hand-in-hand with a psychopathic fae into the dark woods at night. But Rasp also knew that whatever Whisper was about to tell him likely couldn¡¯t be said in front of Faris. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, Dingle. I¡¯ll scream for you if I need anything, alright?¡±

    ¡°You sure?¡±

    Faris really wasn¡¯t letting this one go. Probably best to put his fears at ease. ¡°I¡¯m sure. In fact, go start packing your bags. I have a feeling we¡¯ll be on our way back to your village in no time.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have any bags to pack, but I appreciate your confidence.¡±

    ¡°Well you should go get some bags then. And a few cute outfits too. A splash of color, maybe? You know, something to bring out the adoration for me in your eyes.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t see my eyes!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the thought that counts, Dingle,¡± Rasp called over his shoulder as Whisper pulled him away. They walked for a short ways¨Csome more effectively than others as Rasp did quite a bit of tripping. Eventually, the pair reached a suitable distance away and Whisper halted. And then they just stood there in awkward silence glaring at one another. At least that¡¯s what Rasp assumed they were doing. Short of reaching out and touching Whisper¡¯s face, he had no real way of knowing what sort of expression was curled across their ugly mug.

    ¡°Is this really what you want, little bird?¡±

    ¡°You mean saving Faris¡¯s family?¡± Want probably wasn¡¯t the word he¡¯d use to describe it. Need to do, morally obligated to do, would never forgive himself if he stood back and did nothing? Yes, a thousand times over. Want? No. Nobody wanted to run headlong into a trap designed specifically to capture and use you against your will. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Whisper demanded.

    ¡°What do you mean why? You¡¯re doing the same thing, aren¡¯t you? You¡¯re risking your neck to ensure the fate of your people. It¡¯s not any different than what I¡¯m doing.¡±

    ¡°These people are not your own. They¡¯re not even the same species!¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°So?¡± Whisper repeated, voice raising several octaves in indignation. The wind picked up again, ripping through the quaking treetops overhead for several seconds before it stilled, along with Whisper¡¯s temper. When the fae spoke again, they sounded as though a few deep breaths had done them some good. Their tone was calmer, more collected, less likely to kill Rasp on the spot. ¡°I do not like this, little bird.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s stupid and reckless.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Rasp waited patiently for Whisper to add the inevitable ¡®you are stupid and reckless¡¯.

    ¡°But your loyalty to those you consider kin will always be the driving force in your life. It is, in some ways, commendable. Stupid nonetheless, but commendable.¡± There was another reluctant pause before the fae added, ¡°I will not stop you. If this is what you need to do, then so be it.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°However¨C¡±

    Ah, the catch. Rasp had known to expect one.

    ¡°¨Cif you want my help, which you will undoubtedly need if you expect this venture to not go up in flames, then I will ask something of you. A trade, if you will.¡± Whisper waited for Rasp¡¯s resulting protest. His mentor continued speaking when it became abundantly clear that Rasp didn¡¯t intend to offer one. ¡°Your magic. You already agreed to gift some in order to awaken the youngling, but for this, I want all of it.¡±

    All of it? Rasp was caught between relief and suspicion. ¡°You said you didn¡¯t want to do that before.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t fair before. By taking all of your magic I would have been ridding you of a life extended beyond regular human years, of power, and influence. I could not ask that of you for nothing. And now I have something to offer. My help for your magic.¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t see a downside. A shorter lifespan, maybe. Not that it meant much. He¡¯d already exceeded everyone¡¯s expectations for how long he would live anyway. Besides, what good was a long life if he didn¡¯t have a weird faun family to share it with? Oh, and there was a bear now too. June seemed like she would make a lively addition to his list of furry relatives.

    Common sense dictated that he give life-altering decisions such as this extensive thought. Thus, Rasp waited at least ten seconds before agreeing. He offered his open hand in Whisper¡¯s blurry direction. ¡°Deal.¡±

    ¡°Deal?¡± The calmness drained from Whisper¡¯s voice. ¡°Just like that? No consideration at all to how this affects you?¡±

    A fine layer of confusion settled over Rasp¡¯s preexisting suspicion. ¡°Why are you so angry? You¡¯re the one who asked for it. Shouldn¡¯t you be happy?¡±

    ¡°No! I¡¯m not happy!¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re not thinking! I am asking for the most important piece of yourself and you¡¯re just giving it away without any forethought. This is how it starts. This is how people take advantage of you!¡± Whisper stomped off, their tiny footsteps slamming against the dried leaves as they paced back and forth, working themselves up into another frenzy. ¡°Why is it I¡¯m the only one who can see that? No matter what I say, how much I demand, you¡¯re not going to change, are you?¡±

    Rasp shielded his face from the flurry of leaves being stirred into the air by Whisper¡¯s tantrum. ¡°Why are you getting mad at me? It was your deal. I was only agreeing to it.¡±

    ¡°Exactly! You¡¯re blindly agreeing to something without considering what it means for your future. After everything I¡¯ve taught, you¡¯re still thinking with your heart and not your brain!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why that¡¯s a problem.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯re going to end up the same as them if you don¡¯t stop!¡±

    ¡°Them?¡±

    ¡°Yes, them! Like you, they were too blind to see the greed of mortal-kind.¡± Whisper¡¯s restless pacing lost some of its vigor. ¡°They gave and gave, not because they had to, but because they wanted to. And it cost them everything. As it will you.¡±

    The dots were starting to connect within Rasp¡¯s mind. Whisper wasn¡¯t mad at him. Not entirely, anyway. ¡°I believe you when you say it will cost me everything. The difference is I don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°You should!¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because!¡± Whisper hesitated, their voice marked with desperation as they searched for an answer Rasp could wrap his mind around. ¡°It¡¯s¡­it¡¯s not natural. It goes against self-preservation. Why would anyone give up everything for another?¡±

    Rasp lifted one shoulder in a hapless shrug. ¡°Stupidity?¡±

    The dried leaves fell back to the ground as Whisper issued a long, wearisome sigh. ¡°Sometimes I think you might be more like my people than I ever was, little bird. I have been the last of my kind for centuries and yet, I¡¯m beginning to realize that perhaps I¡¯ve always been alone.¡±

    ¡°Nah, I call bullshit.¡± Rasp stifled any ensuing argument with a wave of his hand. ¡°Are you a selfish, self-serving little prick? Absolutely. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Despite all that, you may not be giving up everything, but you are dedicating a substantial effort to bring your people back, no? I think that counts for something.¡±

    Whisper gagged at the implication, sounding like a cat with a hairball lodged in its throat.

    ¡°In fact, I think saving Faris¡¯s village presents a very unique opportunity for you. For the first time in ever, you could go against your conniving nature and help simply out of the kindness of your heart. You know, baby steps and whatnot.¡±

    ¡°Over my dead body.¡±

    Worth a shot, Rasp supposed.

    ¡°There is a fine line between generosity and allowing yourself to be robbed blind, little bird. Helping your family is noble. Walking headfirst into a trap in order to do so is the opposite of that. I would hate for you to lose everything in order to learn such a valuable lesson, so I will not take everything. Just your magic. If you want my help, my offer still stands.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not changing my mind.¡±

    ¡°I know. Which is why I need you to take this more seriously than you have anything else in your life. You are about to strike a fae contract. Once the deal is struck, the conditions are binding.¡±

    In that case, Rasp realized it was probably worth stating his conditions aloud. ¡°You will journey with us and use your power to spare Lonebrook and its people from destruction. In exchange, Faris will help you assemble a team to rescue your unawakened egg. Afterwards, my magic is yours. All of it.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s scaled hand grasped his and magic sparked between them, sealing the covenant.

 176 - Beneath A Sea Of Stars

    Consciousness slowly returned to Daana¡¯s body. The first thing she noticed was how the jolting gait beneath her lacked the smooth roll and sway of the ocean. Confused, Daana forced her heavy eyelids open and squinted at the pale light stretched above. Orange and pink clouds streaked across the sky like brushstrokes on a lavender canvas. The breeze tickling her nose was wrong as well. The familiar stench of salt and water rot had been replaced with the sweet undertones of fireweed and tundra grass.

    The cool night air stung the skin on her face, but the rest of her body was warm, wrapped tight in a mound of blankets. The warmth was placating, lulling her back into another dreamless sleep. Daana was already drifting off again when her hearing returned, transforming the low hum of background noise into distinguishable voices.

    ¡°Shh, Ellie, look. I think she¡¯s finally coming around. For real this time.¡±

    Ellisar¡¯s dry voice replied, ¡°And that requires us to be quiet because?¡±

    ¡°In case she tries to say something.¡± Ashwyn spoke notably lower, almost quiet enough to be considered a whisper¨Chad the loud orc any concept of what constituted a whisper. ¡°I want to be able to hear.¡±

    ¡°Should we hide and shout ¡®surprise¡¯ too?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t. She¡¯s a jumpy little thing. Might kill her. Probably best just to smile and wave.¡±

    ¡°For the gods¡¯ sakes, how about you two just don¡¯t do anything?¡± Daana recognized the third, scratchy voice as Snag¡¯s. It was coming from the opposite direction of the other two. ¡°Give her some space. Let her come around on her own, would ya?¡±

    Like a moth drawn to flame, Daana followed the voices, fighting the weariness that bogged her down. After several unsuccessful tries, she was able to keep her eyes open long enough for her blurred vision to clear. Tilting her head to the side, she found herself swaddled like an infant, lying on her back in what appeared to be the back of a small wooden cart.

    Cart.

    The word burned bright within her muddled thoughts as a swell of relief washed over her. Cart meant land. They¡¯d reached land! Overcome with joy, Daana tried to sit upright. To her credit, she got nearly halfway before her body remembered it was broken. Every muscle in her back seized tight in protest, squeezing the air from her lungs. Daana slumped back down, unable to scream.

    ¡°Maybe don¡¯t do that,¡± Ellisar said helpfully.

    Daana rolled onto her side, drawing her knees to her chest as she breathed through the waves of pain radiating from her lower back. Squinting through the hot tears pooling within her eyes, she could just make out Ellisar¡¯s and Ashwyn¡¯s respective shapes trailing behind the cart. ¡°Fuck,¡± Daana gasped between tightly clenched teeth. ¡°It hurts just to breathe. What did I break?¡±

    Everything? Definitely everything. It was the only explanation for the sheer agony coursing through her veins.

    ¡°Nothing important,¡± Snag assured her, his voice drifting down from above. He was bent over the back of the seat, staring back down at her. His expression, a combination of relief and concern, seemed to be at odds with itself. The creases around Snag¡¯s yellow eyes softened when he said, ¡°You¡¯re just beat up is all.¡±

    In that case, Daana hated to imagine what it felt like to break something important. ¡°Is everyone else okay?¡±

    ¡°Ashwyn lost her hand,¡± Ellisar said.

    Daana¡¯s stare shot back in their direction in time to see the orc¡¯s shoulders slump miserably. ¡°Why must you keep reminding me? Damn seagull swooped down and swiped it right out of my clutches! It was going to be your anniversary present, Ellie dear¡±

    ¡°Eh. Probably for the best. You know how I feel about handouts.¡±

    Ashwyn raised her hand to her forehead dramatically. ¡°My poor heart. It¡¯s been backhanded with your callous words.¡±

    The pair were acting stranger than usual. While lighthearted banter was commonplace for Ashwyn, it was rare for Ellisar to partake so willingly. Daana peered at the latter more carefully. The elf¡¯s normally pale face had a touch of color and there was a twinkle in her eyes Daana hadn¡¯t seen before. Was she¡­giddy? Dear gods, it looked downright unnatural.

    Daana twisted around, gritting at Snag through clenched teeth as stabbing pains rippled across her bruised rib cage. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with El?¡±

    ¡°She blew another hole in the Ducky Luck before jumping overboard. Been quite pleased with herself ever since.¡±

    Ellisar tilted her head up at the darkening sky with a dreamy expression on her face. ¡°Best night of my life.¡±

    Ashwyn promptly forgot all about her lost hand. ¡°The best night of your life, really? Nothing else comes to mind like, oh I don¡¯t know, a particularly passionate night with your wife, perhaps?¡±

    ¡°I recall we kissed quite passionately after I sank the ship.¡±

    ¡°I was resuscitating you!¡±

    ¡°And I came to beneath a sea of stars, with the flickering firelight of a sinking ship in the background and your beautiful face whispering sweet nothings in my ear.¡±

    ¡°I was screaming ¡®don¡¯t die, don¡¯t die, don¡¯t you fucking die on me¡¯.¡±

    ¡°As I said, best night of my life.¡±

    Daana¡¯s eyebrows furrowed together as the pieces of the night in question slowly emerged from the dark recesses of her mind. The effort resulted in a noxious stabbing sensation deep within her skull. She massaged her aching temples with her fingers, stammering, ¡°I-I remember the fire. Was it the powder charges that caused it? The rest is all a blur.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The gathering grew suspiciously quiet. Daana glanced up in time to catch the nervous glance Ashwyn and Snag traded over the top of her head. The fact that neither was volunteering information even after getting caught was even more troubling. Gritting her teeth, Daana held a hand to her side and eased into a sitting position. Despite her attempt to take it slow, the change in elevation still made her head swim. She closed her eyes and waited for her vision to stop spinning before demanding answers.

    ¡°Alright, out with it,¡± she said. ¡°What is it you aren¡¯t telling me?¡±

    Snag and Ashwyn still had their eyes locked together, engaged in a silent conversation Daana hadn¡¯t been invited to. Their efforts to break the news gently were thwarted by Ellisar. ¡°You killed an air elemental by siphoning all their magic in a single go and then made it rain lightning fire from the sky,¡± the elf said nonchalantly. ¡°Hands down, the most impressive thing you¡¯ve ever done.¡±

    Ashwyn swiveled her head at her. ¡°Ellie!¡±

    ¡°What? I gave her a compliment. No mention of the spread, as requested.¡± Ellisar crossed her arms over her narrow chest triumphantly. ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡±

    Spread? Gripping her sleeve, Daana peeled the fabric away from her skin, unable to contain the startled gasp that leapt from the back of her throat. The black veins snaking up her arms had spread. It branched past the elbow, already halfway to her shoulder. A quick examination of her other arm proved the same.

    Panicked, Daana searched their faces for a sense of reassurance and found none. ¡°You¡¯re all looking at me like I¡¯m a sick puppy. It¡¯s bad, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°You were convulsing when we got you out of the water and onto the long boat,¡± Snag admitted. ¡°You should have been chilled to the bone after a dip in the ocean, but your skin was hot to the touch. I wasn¡¯t sure you were going to make it through the night.¡±

    ¡°How long have I been out?¡±

    ¡°Four days.¡±

    Ashwyn interjected with what was clearly forced cheerfulness. ¡°The good news is, while we didn¡¯t make our intended port, we made it ashore and are in the flatlands. A little further south than expected, but we made good progress while you were out. Traded the boat for a cart and are already halfway to our destination. If we keep going at this rate, we should reach your mother in three days¡¯ time.¡±

    That was good news, right? Her mother would have answers and maybe even a cure. Her mother who just happened to be a witch, surrounded by an army of witches, all with powerful magic. Magic Daana could siphon at any moment and use to destroy everyone without meaning to. The more she considered it, the more it was sounding less and less like good news.

    Ashwyn noticed Daana¡¯s dismayed expression. ¡°I know those marks seem like an impossible setback, Peaches. But your mother will have answers. Her people will have you fixed right as rain before you know it.¡±

    Daana drew her knees to her chest and slumped over them, wincing at the twinge of protest in her back. ¡°What if it doesn¡¯t work? What if she doesn¡¯t have answers? What if she takes one look at me and tells me to turn back around again?¡±

    ¡°Sounds about right,¡± Ellisar agreed.

    ¡°Ellie! Ashwyn hissed.

    ¡°Her mom¡¯s a bitch. There¡¯s no sense in telling her fantasies.¡±

    ¡°We all know what sort of high opinion you have of Larkspur. You never fail to bring it up at every opportunity.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°So I¡¯m saying maybe this is the opportunity not to bring it up.¡±

    ¡°Say, was that a rabbit I just saw?¡± Snag¡¯s nervous smile bordered on manic as the severity of his glare wilted the arguing pair into submission. ¡°Maybe you two should go do some hunting, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Ew,¡± Ellisar said, wrinkling her nose. ¡°Why? So you two can have another heart to heart?¡±

    ¡°El, so help me, another smart word out of you and I¡¯m gonna drive a stake through your heart.¡±

    ¡°Goddess, what I would do for a steak right now,¡± Ashwyn muttered wistfully. ¡°Almost as good as a hand. Except you can eat it.¡±

    Whereas Ashwyn was oblivious to the lethality of Snag¡¯s glare, Ellisar took note. In a rare show of compliance, she threaded her hand through Ashwyn¡¯s and pulled the orc off of the narrow, winding road and into the sea of swaying tundra grass. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s find you that steak. Let these two get all their touchy-feely shit out of the way.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re actually hunting, right? That¡¯s not some sort of euphemism? Because I might cry if you drag me all the way out there just to take your pants off.¡±

    ¡°Food first,¡± Ellisar said, disappearing into the grass. ¡°Then pants off.¡±

    Daana waited until the pair had disappeared from sight before gathering her leaden legs beneath her. The left side of the cart struck a bump, causing her to lose what little balance she had. Daana caught herself against the short wood siding, saving her battered body from a painful spill. She waited, allowing her equilibrium to return, before swinging one leg up and over the back of the driver¡¯s seat. It was tedious work. She could feel Snag¡¯s concerned gaze watching her the entire time, but he kept his reservations to himself. A fact she was grateful for.

    Finally, breathless, convinced her bones had turned to jelly from four days of unuse, Daana settled triumphantly onto the hard seat beside him.

    ¡°Do I want to know what you¡¯re doing?¡± he said after a moment of awkward silence.

    ¡°Sitting.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that logic.¡±

    ¡°I feel like you, of all people, could,¡± Daana replied.

    ¡°You¡¯re right. But I won¡¯t.¡± Snag clutched Wormy¡¯s reins as though he was afraid they would rip out of his gnarled hands. The shaggy horse clomped along ahead of them, tail swishing back and forth without a care in the world.

    Overcome with exhaustion, Daana slumped over and rested her head against Snag¡¯s bony shoulder. She half expected him to shove her off, but he didn¡¯t. The goblin only clutched the reins all the tighter as some of the lovely green color drained from his pained face.

    The pale lavender sky stretched on overhead, steadily giving way to the inky blackness spreading from the east. The sun was low. The last of its brilliant orange rays caught the edges of the clouds, making them appear more gold than gray. A sea of tall grasses spread up and over the undulating hills on either side, as far as the eye could see.

    For the first time in weeks, Daana felt like an animal set free of its cage.

    As she took in the cool evening air, listening to the distant calls of the crickets and frogs, she recalled how her freedom had not come so freely. The weight in her chest grew heavier at the realization that the greatest cost had yet to be paid. Daana had never known family, not in any traditional sense anyway. And now, days away from reuniting with her own flesh and blood, something screamed at her to turn back. She¡¯d forged her own bonds and the thought of closing that chapter of her life in order to start anew suddenly felt like a fate worse than death.

    Snag would be fine without her, she was certain of that. She just wasn¡¯t sure if the reverse was true. Blinking the tears from her eyes, Daana swallowed the grief building within her throat and resolved to make the most of the time she had. She rode the rest of the night with her head bouncing against his shoulder, savoring the sounds of the night, as remorse clawed at the back of her mind like a cat begging to be let back into its cage.

 177 - The Great Larkspur Denari

    For three days Daana¡¯s company traveled along the winding dirt road. The flatlands stretched around them in an endless expanse of yellow and tan tundra. The days were warm and the nights were cool, harried by a relentless wind that swept from the south, filling the air with the constant quiver of dry grass.

    It was well after sunset. A dense blanket of charcoal gray clouds stretched overhead as far as the eye could see. The moon, a waning sliver of pale light, glowed faintly in the distance, obscured by the overcast sky. Given the late hour, Snag normally would have called it quits and settled down somewhere off the road, but on this particular night he kept going. It wasn¡¯t until they crested a particularly steep hill that Daana realized why. A settlement sat nestled in the shallow valley below, made up of hundreds of clay houses surrounded by a curtain wall of solid stone. Firelight from within the huts poured through the square windows, illuminating the settlement in a warm, homey glow.

    Daana sat wrapped in a blanket in front of the cart with Snag. The goblin¡¯s gaze was not focused on the town itself, but the sea of tents encircling the settlement walls. Orange and yellow campfires dotted the dark landscape like stars in a clear dark night. ¡°Don¡¯t like the looks of that,¡± he murmured, left ear twitching, filling the air with the soft, metallic jangle of hooped earrings. ¡°You¡¯re all seeing this too, right?¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± Ashwyn gave a low whistle of approval as she moved to stand alongside Wormy. ¡°If I didn¡¯t know better, I would say Larkspur has amassed herself an army.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s our cue.¡± Ellisar looped her arm through Ashwyn¡¯s and started back down the winding dirt path, calling over her shoulder as she did so, ¡°Daana, it¡¯s been terrible. You¡¯re home safe now. Our part in this is done.¡±

    Ashwyn slid her arm free with practiced ease. ¡°My goddess, Ellie. We¡¯ve come all this way. The least we can do is introduce the poor girl to her mother.¡±

    ¡°Daana defeated the dark entity! Escaped Geralt¡¯s clutches! Burned Alkurth to the ground with a flick of her fingers! She needs no introduction.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡± Daana feigned surprise. ¡°That¡¯s what, two compliments in almost as many days? Ellisar, I fear you must be losing your edge.¡±

    ¡°You wore me down. Congratulations.¡± Ellisar hooked her fingers through the back of Ashwyn¡¯s belt and continued her futile pulling. ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    Despite Ellisar¡¯s increasingly desperate attempts to usher her along, Ashwyn remained where she stood. The harsh lines around her eyes softened as she twisted her upper body in order to gaze back at Ellisar. ¡°This is because you don¡¯t want to see Larkspur, isn¡¯t it? I was really hoping that after all of this time, you would have set your bad blood aside.¡±

    ¡°She got us captured. And instead of taking any of the blame, she let us stand trial in her stead! And don¡¯t get me started on the fucking ship.¡± Ellisar ceased her struggle and spun around. Her eyes lacked the fire laced within her words. ¡°Before the Fall was the closest thing I had to a child and she fucking sank it!¡±

    ¡°She wasn¡¯t even onboard when it sank,¡± Ashwyn reminded her.

    ¡°Well it would have been better for us all if she had been!¡±

    ¡°You did love that ship.¡± The orc tapped her chin as she considered a solution that would appeal to them both. ¡°Look, if you would rather stay out here with the cart, that¡¯s perfectly fine. I¡¯ll pop in, say hello, and then I¡¯ll be out again before you know it.¡±

    ¡°You said the same thing on our honeymoon. Next thing I knew, we were smuggling a cargo load of escapees across the border.¡±

    ¡°That was one time.¡±

    ¡°It was twelve!¡±

    A pearly smile split across Ashwyn¡¯s tusked face. ¡°Made for an unforgettable honeymoon, no?¡±

    Ellisar¡¯s sour expression agreed for entirely different reasons.

    ¡°I¡¯d like it stated for the record that I¡¯ve been free a total of twenty-nine days now and I have volunteered us in exactly zero causes, no matter how noble they might¡¯ve been. If you don¡¯t trust me, then you¡¯re welcome to act as my escort.¡± When Ellisar¡¯s fixed expression refused to budge on the matter, Ashwyn started off without her, gesturing for Daana to follow. ¡°Come on, Peaches. Let¡¯s go spring a surprise family reunion on your mother.¡±

    Daana clambered down from the cart, glancing up at Snag as she did so. ¡°Are you coming too?¡±

    Snag remained seated on the driver''s bench, wearing an expression nearly identical to the one stretched across Ellisar¡¯s face. He shook his head no. ¡°As much as I would love to traipse through the middle of an unknown army to meet the elf who¡¯s daughter I sold to her worst enemy, I think it¡¯s best that I stay with the horse, thank you.¡±

    Daana¡¯s heart felt as if it¡¯d been yanked from her chest and stomped on. ¡°You won¡¯t leave without saying goodbye, right?¡±

    His ears flattened against the back of his head as he peered down his nose at her. Despite Snag¡¯s best efforts, a smidge of sadness managed to leak through. Not in his words, of course, which remained as stubbornly apathetic as ever. ¡°I won¡¯t now, I guess.¡±

    ¡°Good. Because I¡¯d never forgive you if you left before I could give Wormy a hug and kiss.¡± Daana started off down the hill after Ashwyn, noting from the corner of her eye that Ellisar slunk along behind them with slow, reluctant footsteps.

    Swaying rows of cotton grass flanked either side of the winding path that led to the front gates. Daana drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as they followed it past row after row of wedge-shaped tents and into the heart of the encampment surrounding the settlement. The trio¡¯s passage did not go unnoticed. Several figures clad in leather armor stood and watched their progress, content to let them pass in peace. It wasn¡¯t until they reached the gates that anyone bothered to speak to them.

    A guard appeared at the top of the gatehouse wall, holding a lantern aloft as they peered down at the trio assembled below. Their greeting was as painfully generic as the giant wood and iron doors barring Daana¡¯s company from entry. ¡°Who goes there?¡±

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Even after stating their business it took several back and forths for Ashwyn to convince the guard that no, it couldn¡¯t wait until morning and yes, they would like for the Sage Supreme to be roused in the middle of the night just for them. She assured the guard that they really were that special. Ashwyn¡¯s persistence won out in the end and the guard grudgingly disappeared, leaving the trio to stand in the middle of the path and wait.

    The wait was unbearably long. Daana was reconsidering spending one last night in the back of the wagon when one side of the double doors drew open with a heavy groan. A small armed party was assembled on the other side, ready to receive them. A faun festooned in a red cloak stepped forward, his bespectacled eyes darting between the three of them before settling on Ashwyn as the obvious leader. ¡°Commander Pride,¡± he greeted, with clinical coldness.

    ¡°Hear that, Ellie? Barely been sprung free of that dungeon a month now and I¡¯ve already earned myself a title. Not sure what for, though.¡± To the untrained eye, Ashwyn¡¯s smile was easy, almost friendly, but Daana saw the unease that pulled tight around the corners of her slate-gray eyes. ¡°And who might you be, friend? Gotta say, I¡¯m a little disappointed Larky didn¡¯t come greet us herself.¡±

    ¡°I am Havershire, the Sage Superior¡¯s chief advisor. I have been instructed to escort you inside.¡± The faun was all business, wasting few words and even fewer fucks. Daana couldn¡¯t blame him. From the unkempt state of his salt and pepper gray hair, he¡¯d obviously been dragged out from a warm bed to deal with the riff raff assembled at the gate. ¡°I ask that you bring only your key people. The rest of your forces can make camp outside of the wall, along with the others. There is not enough room and board for everyone.¡±

    ¡°Forces?¡± Once more, Ashwyn glanced at Ellisar for clues.

    The elf merely lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary,¡± Ashwyn said to Havershire. ¡° As you can see, it will be just us three. Ellie and I aren¡¯t even planning to stay the night. A quick in and out and we¡¯ll be on our way.¡±

    Something about this caused the faun¡¯s irritated expression to change. He took another gander at the three. Whatever answers he sought, however, did not appear to be found. ¡°Very well,¡± the faun said, pushing his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. ¡°As a final request, the Sage Superior asks that you leave your weapons at the gate. You may collect them upon your return.¡±

    This, evidently, was enough to finally break Ellisar from her hostile silence. She edged a daring step forward, snarling, ¡°Is Lark out of her fucking mind?¡±

    The glare the faun shot her way would have stopped an ordinary opponent dead in their tracks. Being that the recipient was Ellisar, it did the opposite, encouraging several more steps from the outraged elf. To his credit, Havershire stood his ground, as if dealing with unhinged swordsmen was simply part of the job. ¡°It is a standard request. And, given the upheaval surrounding the two of you as of late, a sensible one.¡±

    ¡°Oh come on, Ellie. Everyone knows you¡¯re just as deadly with a sword as you are without one. It encourages creativity.¡± Ashwyn stripped her weapons from her side and delivered them into the awaiting hands of the surrounding guards. Not without instructions, of course. ¡°Do be careful with those, please. They¡¯re family heirlooms. Not mine, of course. But whoever I stole them off of probably cares.¡±

    Daana followed suit, as did Ellisar, albeit with a substantial amount of muttered cursing.

    ¡°This way then.¡± Havershire led as the armored escorts fell into a strategic formation around them.

    The trio were escorted through a maze of cramped side streets, crisscrossing their way into the very heart of the settlement at what could have only been the most convoluted way possible. Eventually, after countless confusing twists and turns later, a towering structure rose up over the clay houses. It was three stories high and, unlike the neighboring stone and clay huts, built from wood. The flatlands were tundra, making trees a sparse commodity. The fact that someone had built an entire building out of wood meant the lodge was significant to the town in some way.

    Hopefully not a prison, Daana thought, given the way the armed guards kept stealing wary glances over their shoulders at her.

    They arrived at the lodge from the back and were ushered through what looked to be the servant¡¯s entrance. Havershire led them through a dark room cluttered with stacked chairs and linens, before crossing over into the main room. Long tables took up most of the interior. There was an unlit fireplace in the corner next to a raised platform with a variety of ornately carved chairs on display. Timber beams stretched high above them, crisscrossing along the underside of the steeply pitched roof.

    ¡°Wait here,¡± Havershire instructed as he dismissed the armed escort with a wave of his hand. ¡°The Sage Superior will be along shortly.¡±

    ¡°You keep saying that like it¡¯s a real title.¡± Ellisar didn¡¯t hide the disdain from her tone as her gaze wandered the great hall. ¡°Probably made it up herself. Nice to see Larkspur¡¯s ego is as inflated as ever.¡±

    Havershire¡¯s brow wrinkled. His mouth opened, poised to volley venom-laced words, when he thought better of it. Snapping his jaw shut, the aged faun offered a tight-lipped smile before exiting the way he¡¯d come, taking care to close the door in his wake with an ungentle slam.

    ¡°Sweet goddess, Ellie. You saw the army assembled outside the gates. You can¡¯t say things like that.¡± Alone for the first time since entering the settlement, Ashwyn allowed her stiff shoulders to relax. She ran a broad hand over her worried face, uttering, ¡°I don¡¯t know what in chaos is going on but, given the circumstances, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to be on our best behavior for the time be¡­¡±

    Her voice trailed once realizing Ellisar wasn¡¯t where she¡¯d been only seconds before. Ashwyn¡¯s dark eyes scoured the empty hall for a few panicked seconds before finding her. ¡°What in the goddess¡¯s name are you doing? Get down from there!¡±

    Using the natural grooves in log siding, Ellisar was working her way up the wall like a squirrel to a tree. She reached the nearest beam and jumped for it, pulling herself over until she disappeared from sight entirely. Ellisar¡¯s dry voice called back down, accompanied by a faint echo. ¡°If Larkspur¡¯s going to waste our time playing games, then I am not going to participate. I¡¯m taking a nap. Holler for me when you¡¯re done getting jerked around.¡±

    ¡°Dear goddess, she is going to be the death of me,¡± Ashwyn muttered under her breath.

    Daana left them to argue as she moved to inspect the rest of the space. Judging from the tables, the room appeared to be a formal dining hall. The main entrance was across from her and made up of a pair of grand, ornately carved double doors. There was a third door off to her left which, given the lingering smell of cooked onions and stew, likely led to a kitchen area. Had Ashwyn not advised them to be on their best behavior, Daana might have considered picking the kitchen entrance open and seeing what sort of goods were on offer.

    Making a good first impression. Not stealing from your mother, Daana reminded herself as she shuffled along. Eventually, weary from boredom and a lack of sleep, she joined the table Ashwyn was unceremoniously strewn over the top of. Daana plopped down onto the bench seat across from her with a groan. ¡°I¡¯m starting to think Ellisar had the right idea. How long is this going to take?¡±

    Ashwyn spoke with the side of her face plastered against the table. ¡°To your mother¡¯s credit, we did show up in the middle of the night, Peaches. It¡¯s to be expected. A few more minutes won¡¯t kill you.¡±

    ¡°Savor them.¡± Ellisar¡¯s dry voice rang out from above. ¡°Soon you¡¯ll look back fondly on the time before you met the great Larkspur Denari.¡±

    ¡°I know you can¡¯t see my hands, but I¡¯m holding up ten fingers nonetheless,¡± Ashwyn replied.

    Daana slumped over the table, cradling her head in her hands. She had just started to nod off when the main entrance jerked open behind them, allowing a cold wind to stir the stale air. Daana twisted around, heartbeat drumming loudly in her ears, watching wide-eyed as a sharply dressed figure stormed into the unlit hall, looking fit to set it afire.

    ¡°Ashwyn Pride,¡± the elf¡¯s velvety voice was like spider silk, soft but unbreaking. ¡°What in the seven realms of chaos took you so long?¡±

 178 - Cutthroat Snake

    Two red-robed soldiers followed in the sage superior¡¯s wake. The metal armor fitted beneath their robes clinked softly as they moved at an awkward pace, caught between keeping up with their esteemed leader and maintaining an air of regality. Sadly, they failed on both accounts, looking less like imposing escorts and more akin to crabs scuttling along the beach amidst low tide. Once inside, the soldiers heaved the ornately carved doors shut before taking their positions on either side of the grand entryway.

    Daana¡¯s sixth sense told her the pair were magical. She could feel power wafting off of them from across the gathering hall. That, however, was nothing in comparison to the raw energy emitting from the elf that strode confidently towards them. The call of magic rippled over¡¯s Daana¡¯s skin, teasing every hair into the air. She took a breath, trying desperately to ignore what felt like ants crawling up her spine, and focused on the sage superior instead.

    The elf in question was several inches taller than Daana, with dark, spiraling curls, and features so sharp, they could cut with a single glance. She wore a cropped blue cape over a thick, padded doublet. The paired skirt was plain but sensible, unlike her boots, which had more buckles and ties than a carriage harness. Considering the amount of time that had gone into securing the sage superior¡¯s footwear, it was a small miracle she¡¯d arrived in a timely manner at all.

    Not important, Daana told herself. Here we go. Play it cool. You¡¯re a competent, badass, long lost daughter not looking for anyone¡¯s approval, just answers.

    In spite of the internal pep talk, Daana¡¯s legs still wobbled as she stepped away from the table, intent on meeting the approaching elf halfway. The sage superior didn¡¯t offer so much as a courtesy glance as she swept past, eyes narrowed and focused on Ashwyn. For all of the effort poured into her appearance, the same care, alas, did not extend to the elf¡¯s sense of decorum.

    ¡°Ashwyn Pride,¡± her voice rang out until the very rafters shuddered in protest, ¡°where is my army?¡±

    An expert in the game of tit-for-tat, Ashwyn remained seated at the long table. She drummed her fingertips against the stained wood, utterly unintimidated by the sage superior¡¯s curt greeting. ¡°Outside the settlement walls last I checked.¡± She tilted her head to the side and flashed a winning smile. ¡°Are you in the habit of losing your armies, Larky? Kind of hard to miss a thing like that.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s brisk steps stopped short of the table. ¡°How many did you bring with you?¡±

    ¡°Three.¡±

    ¡°Three hundred or three thousand?¡±

    ¡°Three thousand?¡± Ashwyn said with a strained laugh. ¡°Look, if you¡¯re really desperate to stretch the numbers, I suppose we could bump it to four if you counted the horse. He is an honorary member of the team at this point. But that¡¯s the best I can do.¡±

    The sage superior held her tongue as a flush of color tinted her brown skin an unflattering shade of red. And then, just as she looked to be on the verge of losing her temper, the fury vanished, dismissed with a wearisome roll of her dark eyes. ¡°Oh dear gods,¡± Larkspur murmured, raising a hand to massage the wrinkle lines cutting across her forehead. ¡°It¡¯s been so long since someone has dared utter a witticism in my presence, I fear I no longer recognize them.¡±

    Ashwyn only smiled as her gaze darted to Daana as if to say ¡®what the fuck¡¯s a witticism?¡¯

    ¡°Forgive my sharpness, old friend,¡± Larkspur continued. ¡°As all of my correspondences have gone unanswered thus far, I feared that I was being willfully ignored.¡±

    Ashwyn, like Daana, had absolutely no idea what the elf was rambling on about. Unlike Daana, Ashwyn decided she didn¡¯t care. The orc saw her opportunity and seized it, neatly steering the conversation back in the direction she intended it to go. ¡°No apology necessary.¡± She gestured for Daana to approach. ¡°Now, as to why I am here. Larkspur, allow me to introduce you to¨C¡±

    ¡°You can introduce me to your officials soon enough. First, I want to hear the news on Oralia. Surely she is well on her way by now, yes? With an actual army in tow, I should hope.¡±

    ¡°...I think there may be some confusion here, Larky. I didn¡¯t show up on your doorstep on Oralia¡¯s behalf.¡±

    ¡°Enough with the useless jests already. I do not enjoy them. Just as I am not enjoying the course of this conversation. Stop stalling and tell me where your sister is.¡± Larkspur continued in spite of Ashwyn¡¯s obvious confusion, as if hoping a spew of critical information would jog the orc¡¯s poor memory. ¡°I issued a call-to-arms months ago. Four months, Ashwyn. That should have warranted a response by now. I cannot keep sitting idle while Oralia traipses the countryside uprooting every insignificant realm outpost she stumbles across. Her place is here, by my side. I¨C¡±

    Larkspur stopped mid-rant, noticing the way Ashwyn¡¯s open-mouthed gaze had wandered back to Daana. The sage superior¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Why do you keep looking at the elfling? Should I be demanding answers from your inferior instead? I swear, it¡¯s like you don¡¯t even realize¡­¡±

    A flash of clarity extinguished the fire burning within Larkspur¡¯s umber eyes. ¡°You,¡± she started, forced to try again when the rest of her sentiment neglected to roll from her tongue in a single go, ¡°you don¡¯t know what is going on, do you?¡±

    ¡°No idea,¡± Ashwyn assured her.

    ¡°And you don¡¯t have an army with you?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not.¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°And Oralia?¡± Larkspur¡¯s eyebrows lifted high on her head, almost pleadingly.

    ¡°Could have settled down and started an orphanage for wayward criminals, for all I know. Oralia and I haven¡¯t spoken in years.¡±

    The fire within Larkspur¡¯s dark eyes rekindled with twice the fury as before. ¡°That cutthroat snake! I knew she couldn¡¯t be trusted.¡± Her foot slammed against the hardwood floor as she looked up and down the gathering hall with sudden, dead set purpose. The sage superior¡¯s harsh glare passed over Daana only briefly in her search. ¡°Where is she?¡±

    ¡°Larky, I told you. Oralia¡¯s not here.¡±

    ¡°Not Oralia. Your damned wife!¡±

    The snap of Ashwyn¡¯s tusks was so powerful, it elicited a flinch from everyone gathered, including the guards. The orc stood and squared her shoulders, imparting a particularly leveling glare that made Daana grateful it was not aimed at her. ¡°Speak about Ellisar in that tone again and I will walk out that door without another word. Is that understood?¡±

    From the corner of her vision, Daana saw the way the soldiers¡¯ hands moved to their sides, palming the hilt of their swords as they waited for the command to charge. Their faces were grim. Even without a weapon in hand, Ashwyn¡¯s physical stature made armed witch soldiers think twice about challenging her.

    Larkspur¡¯s clenched jaw softened as her proud shoulders dropped. For the first time since her arrival, she looked something other than angry. ¡°Ashwyn, my dear friend, forgive me. I think we both may have been misled. Will you allow me to explain my side? And then I will hear yours?¡±

    Once more, Daana¡¯s and Ashwyn¡¯s eyes met. With a single raised eyebrow, Ashwyn sought Daana¡¯s permission, circumventing the need for spoken words. While this was not the homecoming Daana had hoped for, they were here and her mother was present. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to push the introductions until everyone was on the same page, she supposed. Daana waved her hand as she bit back a sigh, signifying that it was alright with her.

    Larkspur noticed the curious back-and-forth and, from her curled expression, was biting back a myriad of questions. Why in the seven realms of chaos Commander Pride was taking orders from a lowly elfling topped the list, undoubtedly.

    ¡°By all means, then,¡± Ashwyn said. ¡°Explain to us what is going on.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s explanation was well-rehearsed, as if she¡¯d spent a lifetime rearranging the words within her head until they were perfect. ¡°After I fled the realm, I did not simply disappear into obsoletion. I have been planning, plotting, designing a way to make everything right again. For the last seventy-four years, I have been training refugee witches with the sole intention of overthrowing the Division of Divination and, by extension, the United Territories of the Realm.¡±

    There was an uncomfortable drop in conversation as Larkspur waited, watching Ashwyn¡¯s blank expression for a tell. If she was expecting some sort of grand response, she didn¡¯t get one. Ashwyn offered the verbal equivalent of a patronizing pat to the head. ¡°Good for you, Lark.¡±

    ¡°None of this is supposed to be a surprise to you. You were supposed to have been kept in the loop!¡± Larkspur pinched the bridge of her nose and winced. ¡°I am on the cusp of war. This is not the time to be discovering that the person tasked with delivering my messages willfully neglected to pass the information along! Is this why Oralia isn¡¯t here? Did your wife conveniently forget to tell her as well?¡±

    ¡°Can we circle back to that actually? I¡¯m still not sure what any of this has to do with Ellisar.¡±

    ¡°She was my point of contact! I¡¯ve been sending Ellisar correspondences ever since her enlistment into Oralia¡¯s faithful four. She¡¯s been acting on my behalf for the better part of a century: siphoning witches from the Division of Divination, sending and receiving intelligence, sowing dissension, paving the way for revolution. While she wasn¡¯t my first choice, her resilience to death made her an ideal courier. I had no reason to doubt Ellisar¡¯s competence.¡± Larkspur paused, adding, ¡°Until recently, that is. When all contact from her stopped completely.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± was all Ashwyn managed.

    Larkspur¡¯s body language softened as she stepped tentatively closer. ¡°She really didn¡¯t tell you?¡±

    Slowly, as if in a daze, Ashwyn shook her head no.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. As her partner I thought surely you, out of everyone, would have known.¡± Larkspur gathered the orc¡¯s right hand into her own and clasped it. ¡°At the very least, consider what I¡¯m offering. What it could mean for the realm. We would be starting over, just like you always wanted. I need Oralia to handle the military operations, but I need you to rebuild. I always told you I would find a way to repay your generosity, and this is it. Together, we could make this land a haven for all. Isn¡¯t that what you always wanted?¡±

    Poor Ashwyn looked like she¡¯d been roused from a nightmare. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly, still having some trouble separating reality from imagination.

    ¡°I am offering you a position as one of the key advisors. There is a long road ahead, yes, but after everything you have sacrificed, you deserve to see your ideas come to fruition. I need you by my side.¡±

    Gingerly, with marked care, Ashwyn removed her hand from Larkspur¡¯s grasp. ¡°That¡¯s thoughtful of you, but I¡¯m not here to join your cause, Larky. I came to reunite you with your daughter.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s head swiveled back in Daana¡¯s direction. Her stare settled this time, actually taking Daana in versus simply glancing over the top of her. ¡°This is your worst joke yet.¡±

    ¡°Funny how the truth works that way.¡± Despite the nervous smile that split across her face, the gleam in Ashwyn¡¯s flint-colored eyes was heavy. The orc held out her arm and ushered Larkspur in Daana¡¯s direction. ¡°It¡¯s a bit of a long story. The short of it is, there was a shipwreck, your daughter was found and smuggled back into the realm, raised by your mortal enemy, and is just now discovering her roots.¡±

    Daana lifted her hand and offered a nervous wave. Whatever words were beginning to form on the tip of her tongue died the moment she found herself swept up in Ashwyn¡¯s path, being forcefully herded towards the door.

    ¡°Obviously you two have a lot of catching up to do,¡± Ashwyn said. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it.¡±

    ¡°Hold on!¡± Daana tried to slow their progress by digging her heels into the slick hardwood. Alas, all she got for her efforts was a horrific squeaking sound as the worn tread of her boots skidded along the top of the floor unhindered. ¡°You said you were going to introduce us first!¡±

    ¡°I just did.¡±

    The sage superior was equally helpless against Ashwyn¡¯s strength. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for this. We have a rebellion to go over!¡±

    ¡°See to the door please, gents,¡± Ashwyn told the soldiers who, caught in a moment of bewilderment, followed her orders without question. ¡°We can discuss your war afterwards, Larky. You and Daana catch up. I have to take care of a few personal matters in the meantime.¡±

    In a mere matter of strides, Daana found herself ushered out the doorway, down the front steps, and standing in the cool night air. From Larkspur¡¯s perplexed expression, she appeared equally as confused as to how they got there. The sage superior glanced over her shoulder, blinking in surprise as the double doors drew shut behind them.

    Larkspur¡¯s frown deepened around the edges. ¡°I forgot how persuasive she can be.¡±

 179 - Love Of A Mother

    A frigid breeze whipped overhead, laden with the soothing scents of dry cotton grass and smoke from wood burning fires. The sky was dark and overcast, but the cobblestone beneath Daana¡¯s feet was bathed in the warm yellow glow from the street lamps that lined the outside of the gathering hall. While she could have blamed the shiver that crawled its way up her spine on the chill night air, Daana knew it was unrelated to the weather. A growing sense of unease churned within her stomach. It twisted her intestines into slippery knots, tugging tighter, tighter, tighter with each agonizing second that passed.

    Larkspur Denari, the witch, the rebel, the idealistic revolutionist, possibly mother, stood only paces away wearing an expression of absolute indifference. Nay, it was worse than that. For a second, the sage superior¡¯s mask slipped, and Daana saw utter revulsion burning within her dark, umber eyes. The elf straightened her stance as she inhaled sharply through her nose and said, ¡°And here I thought I¡¯d finally put this behind me.¡±

    Fearful of sounding stupid, Daana said nothing. Alas, it came at the price of merely looking stupid.

    ¡°Go on then,¡± Larkspur said with an impatient flick of her wrist. ¡°Spin your lies. Paint me a picture. Convince me how you¡¯re my long lost daughter, just like all the other fakes that have cropped up over the years.¡±

    All the hours spent rehearsing what she was going to say slipped through Daana¡¯s grasp like loose sand between tightly clenched fingers. Her left shoulder lifted, as if possessing a will of its own. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°How? You travel all this way and that¡¯s the most you can say? You dare waste my time with a measly how?¡± Larkspur peered down her nose at Daana, debating whether to use her heel or words to squash her into unrecognizable pulp. The latter won out, for the time being anyway. ¡°You are not the first to turn up on my doorstep claiming to be my long lost child. If money is your intent, I have none. I am also regrettably short of patience. So if you wish to keep your head, remove it from my sight immediately.¡±

    The tips of Daana¡¯s ears burned against the crisp night air. ¡°I don¡¯t want your money!¡±

    ¡°Of course you don¡¯t. No one ever admits that right out of the gate,¡± Larkspur said with an uncouth roll of her eyes. It looked entirely out of place on someone who was the visual epitome of elven grace and nobility. She shooed Daana away with a halfhearted wave of her hand. ¡°Spare me the theatrics and go away.¡±

    ¡°Ah! Right there! Did you see that? You just rolled your eyes.¡±

    ¡°You are supposed to be roleplaying my child, child. Not the other way around. What of it?¡±

    ¡°It used to drive Uncle¨C¡± Daana nearly bit her tongue on the word. Even after months of hating his guts, it was still a hard habit to break. ¡°It used to drive Geralt Lazuli mad. And now I think I know why. Every time I gave him disrespect, all he could see was you.¡±

    ¡°That does not prove anything.¡±

    ¡°Watch!¡± Daana mimicked the facial expression. ¡°Do you see it? You probably got in just as much trouble for it at the division as I did.¡±

    The disgust burning within Larkspur¡¯s eyes shifted to confusion, laced with the tiniest trace of pity. It was the sort of look typically reserved for two legged dogs and particularly ugly babies. ¡°...You are a very strange elfling.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I grew up hearing that a lot too.¡± Daana¡¯s shoulders slumped miserably. Meeting her mother wasn¡¯t anything like she pictured it to be. Already, she could feel the weight of disappointment creeping up from within, threatening to drag her under. ¡°Look, I just want answers, okay? I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m your daughter or not. But Ellisar seemed to think so and Geralt Lazuli told me the same. I¡¯m not here to con you. I just want to know who I am.¡±

    ¡°And why would I be able to tell you that? How would I know who you are?¡±

    ¡°My gods, Ellisar was right. I never thought I¡¯d see the day. You are a bitch.¡± Daana threw her hands into the air as she spun on her heel, suddenly intent on being anywhere else. A tavern, a hayloft, the bottom of a pig trough, all sounded better than being berated by some stuck-up snob. ¡°Forget it. Obviously I¡¯m just wasting both our time.¡±

    ¡°Wait.¡±

    The sheer force of the command bore down on her like a sledgehammer. Daana hadn¡¯t intended to obey, but her feet betrayed her. She froze mid-step, unable to do little more than set her raised boot onto the ground beside the other to keep from losing her balance and falling over. Clenching her jaw, Daana resolved to keep her back to the sage superior. It was a rather pitiful attempt as far as acts of defiance went, but at least it was something.

    Larkspur¡¯s boots scuffed softly against the cobblestone as she approached from behind. She appeared from the corner of Daana¡¯s vision, walking with her hands clasped neatly behind her back. At last, having drawn out her steps in the most aggravating way possible, Larkspur came to a standstill directly in front of her. Her gaze traveled up and down Daana as if she was evaluating a prize heifer. ¡°Did you just call me a bitch?¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Now was probably not the time to inquire whether or not the sage superior¡¯s ears were working. Daana offered another shrug, trying not to draw attention to the sudden sheen of sweat dripping down her brow. ¡°If the shoe fits.¡±

    ¡°Hm.¡± The start of a smile cut across Larkspur¡¯s sharp mouth. ¡°Now that does sound like me. What¡¯s your age, elfling?¡±

    ¡°Seventy-six?¡±

    ¡°Are you asking me or telling me?¡±

    ¡°Considering I don¡¯t even know my real name, let¡¯s consider it an optimistic guess.¡± Daana¡¯s gaze dropped to her hands, suddenly aware of the stirring sensation beneath her skin. The darkness in her veins could sense the raw magic pouring from Larkspur. It pulled at Daana, urging her to reach out and take it, to feed the hunger gnawing at her from the inside.

    Daana took a breath to steady her nerves instead and said, ¡°You were just telling me to leave. Are we doing that or not?¡±

    She didn¡¯t like the way Larkspur¡¯s intense stare bored right through her, rooting out her darkest secrets without having to lift a finger. Finally, with her mouth pinched to the side, the sage superior uttered a single word. ¡°Ren.¡±

    ¡°Blen. Look at that, I can say nonsensical words too. Is that what we¡¯re doing now?¡± Daana winced the moment the words fled her mouth. That might have been a step too far. Regrettably, the more time you spent around the dredges of society, the more your own propriety tended to slip.

    ¡°Ren is what I named my daughter,¡± Larkspur said. ¡°I will admit, there is some resemblance. Although that nose and those hips did not come from me.¡±

    Un-be-lievable. They had known each other an entire five minutes and her mother was making unwanted comments about her appearance already.

    Larkspur stepped closer, cupping Daana¡¯s chin in her hand as she lifted her face, allowing her to peer deep into her eyes. ¡°What sort of witch are you?¡±

    ¡°The terrible kind?¡± Daana offered. The joke landed as remarkably as she expected it to, prompting her to provide a more substantial answer. ¡°I¡¯m magic-sensitive.¡±

    ¡°Interesting. Then why am I sensing magic?¡±

    Damn. Apparently it was time to move on to that nasty bit of business already. Daana had hoped they could actually talk a little more before explaining why she had sought out her mother¡¯s help. Jerking her head free, Daana drew back the corner of her sleeve and exposed the marred skin underneath. ¡°Because of this I think. It¡¯s the other reason I¡¯m here, actually.¡±

    Larkspur withdrew her hand as if she¡¯d touched a leper. To her credit, at least she didn¡¯t scream or run away. Curiosity piqued, taking care to clasp her hands safely behind her back, the sage superior leaned closer and examined the dark veins writhing beneath Daana¡¯s skin. Her tight-lipped expression was a mix of unease and morbid fascination. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°The remnants of a dark entity. A small piece, anyway.¡± Daana paused, recalling the name Whisper had used. ¡°Referred to as an old one, I think?¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s gaze lifted from Daana¡¯s wrist to her face. The older elf¡¯s eyes were wide and rimmed in white. ¡°You encountered an old one? And survived? How did it mark you in this way without its power consuming you?¡±

    The intensity of her mother¡¯s stare made Daana want to shy away. Unfortunately, her traitorous feet were still fixed in place. ¡°I didn¡¯t do it by myself. It was a joint effort. Another witch trapped the entity while I channeled its power into a powerstone.¡±

    ¡°Dear gods, child. I have heard rumors of an incident on the Iron Ridge. I even sent my best people into the territories to investigate the wild claims circulating around the Stoneclaw witch, but I have yet to learn anything useful. You were there when it happened? You helped?¡±

    The slight hint of admiration in Larkspur¡¯s voice was enough to pick Daana¡¯s spirits back up off the floor. ¡°You heard about the battle on the mountain?¡±

    ¡°Anyone who is anyone has heard. Every world power is in a mad scramble to find those responsible.¡± Larkspur lowered her voice, glancing around them as if to check for unexpected eavesdroppers. It seemed like overkill considering it was the middle of the night and the only other people within earshot were the guards, who were keeping a respectable distance. ¡°Do you have it with you, child? The powerstone? I would very much like to see it.¡±

    Daana gripped her wrist, feeling her queasiness start to return. ¡°Uh, no. I don¡¯t have it.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s dark eyebrows rose high on her head. ¡°It is with the Stoneclaw witch then?¡±

    Those left on the mountain after the battle had agreed it would be best for someone of the unmagical persuasion to keep the powerstone. It was fine by Daana, as she wanted to be nowhere near the damned thing. ¡°I have no idea.¡± Daana adopted her best look of innocence. ¡°I went into shock shortly after the ordeal. When I awoke the other witch was already gone.¡±

    Carried off by a dragon. Gone. Po-tay-toe. Po-tah-toe. Same difference, as Snag was fond of saying.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t inquire about the stone¡¯s whereabouts?¡±

    ¡°Of course I did. But nobody tells me anything.¡± As she had learned from Ellisar, the best lies were the ones that encompassed a partial truth.

    Larkspur¡¯s expression grew unreadable as she drew back, her brown skin illuminated by the flickering lantern light. ¡°Who else was on the mountain with you?¡±

    Crap.

    A knowing smile hovered over her mother¡¯s lips. ¡°The stone is with Oralia, of course.¡±

    How? How had she gotten the answer without being told? Quickly, Daana tried to recover some of the ground she had unknowingly lost. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m not sure where the stone is. You would be better off asking¨C¡±

    ¡°Say no more, child. I understand the need to keep it secret. It would be devastating for something of that magnitude to fall into enemy hands. I have no doubt that my most trusted general is keeping it safe.¡± Larkspur tilted her head skyward, muttering, ¡°Provided Oralia remembers her place and returns to my side before I am forced to retrieve her myself.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t any way to backpedal now. Daana chose silence instead. After a moment of deep thought, Larkspur offered Daana a soft pat on the shoulder. It felt like the pity touch one gave to a spurned suitor. ¡°I think it would be best to revisit this in the morning, after everyone has had a chance to sleep. Tomorrow you and I can get to know each other better. And you then can tell me all about your adventures on the mountain.¡±

 180 - After Everything

    Ashwyn waited for Larkspur¡¯s escorts to usher out and skitter down the large stone steps before heaving the heavy double doors shut. She felt a twinge of guilt for throwing Daana out into the cold, especially with someone as inhospitable as her mother, but there were more pressing matters at hand. An inescapable pressure swelled within her chest, clawing its way upwards and outwards, until the pressure reached her eyes. She had been betrayed many times in her life, but this was more than the usual hurt. She felt cut open and split in half with her insides spilling out, exposed and vulnerable.

    Clenching her hand, Ashwyn leaned into the heavy wood of the door, fighting the urge to drive her fist through it. ¡°Is this why you didn¡¯t want to come?¡± Her voice echoed along the steeply pitched ceiling, bouncing from one wall to the next. ¡°Because you knew Larkspur had a position here waiting for me? And instead of being upfront about it, discussing it like a grown adult, you chose to hide it from me?¡±

    There was a soft rustle behind her. Ashwyn turned, breath bated as Ellisar dropped down in front of her. How she had gotten down from the rafters so quickly was unclear. At the very least, she was willing to do this face to face. That meant something, didn¡¯t it? Ashwyn found herself clinging to the hope that this was all merely an oversight. Ellisar could be cruel and fickle at times, yes, but surely there was an explanation that could alleviate the pressure building behind her eyes.

    As the seconds slowly ticked past and the pair stared without speaking, the hope for a simple miscommunication flickered out. Ashwyn¡¯s hope transformed into a pit that threatened to swallow her whole. Her tongue was suddenly so unbearably dry she felt the words scrape along the roof of her mouth on their way out. ¡°Is it true?¡±

    When Ellisar¡¯s eventual answer came, the only thing telling about it was the way she artfully dodged the very question itself. ¡°I just spent the last sixty years working my ass off to free you from that dungeon. Don¡¯t throw that away.¡±

    ¡°I know you sacrificed, Ellisar. I will always owe you that. But right now you owe me the truth. Is what Larkspur saying true?¡±

    Ellisar¡¯s jaw was locked. Ashwyn could hear the elf¡¯s molars being ground into powder from the back of her mouth.

    ¡°Answer me!¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t going to let her talk you into throwing your life away for another lost cause, alright? So yeah, it¡¯s true,¡± the elf said. ¡°I told Larkspur what she wanted to hear to keep her from meddling in my affairs. I didn¡¯t earn your freedom just to have you taken away again. I earned it so that we could spend it together. Forgive me for not wanting some power hungry maniac to get in the way of that!¡±

    ¡°You are my partner. A partner does not get to make unilateral decisions without consulting the other half. You know this. You agreed to this.¡±

    Ellisar narrowed her eyes. ¡°Just like you volunteered us to pick up all those escaped witches the night of the massacre? Or how about after your sister caught us, when you single handedly volunteered to sacrifice yourself to the realm so that Larkspur could run free? Funny how you didn¡¯t need my input back then.¡±

    Ashwyn held the swelling pressure at bay, trying her damndest to remain level-headed when every instinct screamed at her to fight fire with fire. The fear of what might slip out if she did was all that held her back. ¡°That¡¯s not fair, Ellisar. I was transparent with you on both of those issues.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, to tell me you were doing them! You never asked bloody permission, did you?¡±

    Once more her wife successfully managed to reroute the conversation. ¡°Stop changing the subject. You should have told me about Larkspur, and the war, and my supposed role in all of it.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t tell you because you would have considered it.¡±

    ¡°Of course I would have considered it!¡± The words that flew from her mouth caught even Ashwyn by surprise. Her anger was awakening something in her. Something that had slowly festered during those long years in confinement. As much as she tried, she could never rid herself of the resentment. For years she shoved the feelings down, trying to make do with the hope that one day it would not matter. But the resentment did not dwindle. It merely went dormant, slowly breeding resentment in the dark, unvisited corners of her mind.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    For the first time since her escape, the resentment bubbled over. ¡°I¡¯m allowed to have dreams too, aren¡¯t I? Yes, you got to work your ass off, Ellisar. Don¡¯t remind me. But I didn¡¯t. While you were off fighting in wars and risking your life with your friends, I sat for seventy-three years in that dungeon waiting for the chance for my life to start again.¡±

    ¡°Unbelievable,¡± Ellisar said. ¡°You¡¯re jealous? Because I got to run myself ragged serving your sister? I¡¯m sorry you¡¯re the one who got left behind, but how is that my fault?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you bringing it up?¡±

    ¡°Because you act like I owe you for it!¡±

    Ellisar blinked, taken aback, but said nothing.

    That was the funny thing about buried issues. As soon as you uncovered one, the rest had an unfortunate way of clawing their way to the surface. Ashwyn couldn¡¯t stop the words coming from her mouth had she tried. The sad part was, she didn¡¯t want to. After years of trying, maybe it was finally time to stop. ¡°I never asked you to save me. I told you to cut and run the moment Oralia¡¯s back was turned.¡±

    Hurt glimpsed Ellisar¡¯s stoic face. It was replaced almost as quickly by rage. ¡°I stayed because I love you!¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± Hot tears slipped from Ashwyn¡¯s eyes unbidden. She didn¡¯t try to stop those, either. There wasn¡¯t any point. They both knew what was coming next. ¡°And I love you, too. But is that enough to keep justifying this? First the massacre, and then the escape, our trial, now this. Are we just using another crisis to stall the inevitable? Could it be that it¡¯s easier to be mad at our circumstances than it is to stop and evaluate whether or not we ever worked to begin with?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking say it.¡±

    ¡°We were growing apart, Ellie. Even before all of this. There is no sense in denying it.¡±

    ¡°Fuck! You¡¯re calling it now? After everything?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not calling anything. I am telling you where I stand. Whether or not you decide this relationship is still worth it to you is for you to decide.¡± Ashwyn stood straighter, drawing an unsteady breath. ¡°My place is here. It always has been. I would love nothing more than to have you by my side.¡±

    ¡°Ashwyn, do you even hear yourself? Larkspur is insane!¡±

    ¡°Others have said the same about you.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s it then? One lousy speech about how the two of you are going to make the world a better place and you roll over like an obedient dog? Just like that? Larkspur will do to you what she does best. She will chew you up and spit you out the moment you¡¯re no longer useful to her. Is that what you want?¡±

    ¡°Now you suddenly care what I want?¡±

    ¡°You are playing right into her hand! This is what she does.¡± Ellisar made a gesture with her hands, as if gripping an invisible object and ripping it to shreds. ¡°She takes good things, things that are whole, full of promise, and she dismantles them piece by piece, until there¡¯s nothing worth keeping. And then she throws them away, because that¡¯s all people are to her¨Cdisposable trash.¡±

    Ellisar¡¯s animated hands uncurled and fell uselessly to her sides. ¡°She broke me, Ashwyn. Just as she is going to do to you.¡±

    For years Ashwyn had tried to pry behind those stubborn golden eyes, to glimpse the inner workings, to learn what had happened to render Ellisar so mangled beyond repair. For the first time, Ashwyn was starting to see the hairline cracks. Had she persisted, she may have been able to break the very wall down itself. But that required the willpower to do so. And, after fighting an unwinnable battle for so long, she found herself not lacking the power, but the will itself.

    Hardness settled in Ellisar¡¯s golden eyes at the realization that her sudden bout of openness was too little too late. ¡°I¡¯m not going stand by and watch her turn you into an empty shell of a person.¡±

    Ashwyn had unknowingly been preparing for this moment for years. It had been hard in the dungeon, sometimes going months between correspondence, all the while wondering if each letter from Ellisar would be her last. That might have been easier. At least she could have written the failings of their relationship off to circumstances outside of her control.

    This hurt so much more. ¡°Then it seems we¡¯ve reached an impasse.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not coming back. Not this time. If this is really what you want, then you¡¯d better be damned sure.¡±

    How could anyone be sure of anything? The only certainty Ashwyn felt was the suffocating tightness that coiled around the base of her throat. Filling her lungs to capacity felt impossible. Her breathing grew short, springing forth in small, short gasps as a second burst of tears welled within her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Ellisar. I think this might be goodbye.¡±

    She looked like she wanted to kill something. Ellisar¡¯s eyes were wide and gleaming with murderous intent. Her upper lip curled back but whatever vile words danced across her tongue died there. A half second later, she turned swiftly on her heel and strode back across the gathering hall, wrenched the side door open, and slipped soundlessly away.

    The urge to call out, to race after her, to gather the stupid elf in her arms and demand she come to her senses, all of it pulled at Ashwyn. But she remained still. Watching, with tears streaming down her face, as the love of her life disappeared into the night, stealing her heart one final time.

 181 - The Unsurvivable

    The faint chirps and warbles of birdsong seemed strangely far away when Oralia awoke. Other than the birds, there appeared to be an overwhelming absence of noise. Which was odd, considering Mul and Lingon argued so frequently their quarrels often carried over into their sleep. It was not unusual to hear one grumbling something unintelligible at the other in the dead of night. Something was off. Tentatively, with eyes still stubbornly screwed shut, Oralia drew air in through her nose and out the gap between her tusks, confirming her mounting suspicions. The surrounding aromas were not the usual ambience of wet soil and forest rot, but of dusty, leather bound books and the sweet undertones of burnt incense.

    Oralia¡¯s heavy eyelids eased open. The blistering light pouring in around her convinced her to snap them shut almost immediately. Head swimming, Oralia felt around her with her dominant hand, intent on piecing the clues together regardless of whether or not she had the full use of her vision. The nest of warm, fluffy blankets piled beneath her was far too soft to be her own. There was a pillow as well¨Ca commodity unfit for life on the road.

    Wherever she was, Oralia concluded, it was certainly not camp.

    A part of her wanted to ignore this revelation and drift peacefully back to sleep. The larger, more stubborn part of her promptly squashed the idea out of existence and set about attempting to assess her situation once more. This time, when Oralia forced her reluctant eyes open, she realized that the surrounding brightness was not from the spirit realm calling her home, but from the large bay window to her right.

    Not dead. Good start.

    Her eyelids clamped shut once more, allowing the noxious boiling sensation within her gut to die down to a simmer. The logical parts of her brain slowly stirred back to life as she waited. Both the sunlight and the window from which it poured through indicated she was inside a dwelling, which also explained the overwhelming scent of old books and incense. Unfortunately, in order to learn anything more required opening her eyes again¨Ca task which seemed far more difficult than usual. After a few steadying breaths, Oralia turned her head away from the window and took in as much of her surroundings as her weak vision could bear.

    She lay on a wooden floor, propped up on a makeshift cot of patchwork quilts and pillows. Oralia¡¯s proximity to the ground gave the illusion that the room was large but, at her full height, she was quite certain the top of her head would have grazed the ceiling. The walls were painted a faded yellow and adorned with homely decorations of dried flower wreaths and aged parchment framed in wood. A myriad of potted plants hung from hooks on the low ceiling above, suspended by artistically woven hangers made of knotted hemp rope. There was an ancient green settee behind her. Beyond that, she suspected, was the open entryway leading to the rest of the house.

    What Oralia found most peculiar, however, was the lack of people.

    Her nose told her that there had been multiple persons in the house recently. Fauns, primarily, based on the lingering presence of musk and fur. There had been at least one orc in the past day or so, and what might have been a number of humans as well. Despite the overwhelming evidence that the home was occupied, Oralia could not hear anyone moving about. An opportune time, perhaps, to be on her way before said residents returned.

    Unlike opening her eyes which had, admittedly, been a struggle, sitting upright proved downright torturous. Every muscle in her swollen abdomen seized the moment she attempted to lift her shoulders from the pillowy cot. Stifling a snarl, Oralia eased back down, allowing the spasms to run their course. When the worst of it was past, she stubbornly unclenched her jaw and attempted once more.

    Oralia¡¯s forehead was coated in a hot sheen of sweat by the time she¡¯d managed to gather her knees beneath her. Sucking in a final gulp of incense-infused air, she planted one bare foot against the cold wood flooring and heaved her unwilling body into a wobbly stand. She managed two shaky steps before her legs gave out. Oralia caught herself against the green settee, saving herself from a more painful fall.

    ¡°I¡¯d tell you to stop being an idiot and sit your ass back down, but listening to reason never was your strong suit.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s shoulders bristled. Lifting her head, her gaze followed the voice to its source. A brown and tan faun leaned against the archway, stirring a cup of tea with an unamused expression hovering over her fuzzy eyebrows.

    Oralia¡¯s voice came out dry and gruff. ¡°Briony?¡±

    ¡°Hello, Protector,¡± Briony replied, still stirring her tea, looking every inch the epitome of boredom. ¡°Although I suppose you probably don¡¯t go by that anymore. Do you fancy Oralia these days or is there a new title I should call you by?¡±

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± The words had the misfortune of leaving Oralia¡¯s mouth before she realized her energy would have been better spent on something more along the lines of: where am I? How did I get here? And why in the seven realms of chaos am I as weak as a newborn?

    ¡°This is my home. I live here,¡± Briony stated matter-of-factly. ¡°The better question is, what are you doing here? Last I heard, you and your ilk were causing havoc along the Adderwood border. So strange of you to pop up in Lonebrook without warning.¡±

    Her team! For the gods¡¯ sakes, why hadn¡¯t she asked about her team? Tearing her eyes from Briony, Oralia searched the hallway beyond for any signs of her people. She forced her mounting panic down with a difficult swallow. ¡°My team is not here, are they?¡±

    ¡°Gods no. We found you all by your lonesome in a most unusual situation. I¡¯ve got eyes and ears all over these woods, though. Your crew isn¡¯t far. I was reluctant to extend an invitation without knowing what sort of trouble would be walking through my doorway first.¡±

    Fatigue got the best of her. Grasping the wooden frame of the settee for support, Oralia twisted around and eased her trembling body to the floor. The couch would have been undeniably more comfortable but, given its size and apparent age, wasn¡¯t worth the risk of it breaking and further upsetting her already irritated host.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    The resonating click-clack of Briony¡¯s hooves grew louder as the faun moved from the archway. Her tan and brown shape appeared moments later on the opposite end of the settee. Briony sat on the edge of the green cushion and crossed her legs at the ankles, keeping her steely amber eyes locked on Oralia.

    Suspecting the faun was not going to offer anything more on the location of her team without having her own questions answered first, Oralia obliged her the best she could. It was a shame she was too weary to remember what the original question had been. ¡°What is it you wish to know?¡±

    Briony gave her tea another thoughtful stir. ¡°Why you¡¯re here.¡±

    That much was easy at least. Oralia didn¡¯t even have to lie. ¡°To find Faris. We have reason to believe that the realm is going to use him to lure Rasp out of hiding.¡±

    ¡°You sure you¡¯re not here hunting witches?¡±

    That was probably meant as a verbal jab, but Oralia answered truthfully on the off chance it was a legitimate question. ¡°We are not here hunting witches.¡±

    ¡°Then why was it I found you with a fire elemental?¡± Briony lifted the teacup to her chin and took a breath, inhaling the warm steam though her nostrils. ¡°At least that¡¯s what I assume it was. Hard to tell given the state of the remains.¡±

    Warm bile pooled in the back of Oralia¡¯s throat as the memory of burnt flesh and crackling flames flashed to the forefront of her mind. She sank lower to the floor, feeling an inexplicable chill roll across her bare arms. She used her palms to rub the life back into the forearms, but the cold persisted. The sensation spread until the remaining warmth in her bones was replaced by ice.

    Something soft descended over her shoulders, causing Oralia to flinch in surprise. She settled back down once realizing it was nothing more than a blanket. Confused, her wary stare returned to the faun beside her.

    ¡°You were shivering.¡± Briony tilted her horns in the direction of the unlit hearth. ¡°I can get a fire going if you want.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Oralia squeezed her eyelids shut, attempting to drown out the sounds of the hungry, lapping tongues of flame that danced along the edges of her frayed memory. Through clenched teeth, she gritted out, ¡°No fire, thank you.¡±

    ¡°That witch did a number on you, didn¡¯t they? How in the gods did you manage to defeat a fire elemental?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± The cold writhing beneath Oralia¡¯s flesh flared once more. ¡°I do not know. My memory of the incident is foggy at best.¡±

    Although she couldn¡¯t see Briony¡¯s expression, the faun¡¯s words sounded utterly unconvinced. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have anything to do with that curious looking rash you¡¯ve got on your chest, would it? Or the powerstone you carry around your neck?¡±

    Instinctively, Oralia reached for the pendant. She didn¡¯t know why she felt a rush of relief when her fingers made contact with the stone¡¯s cool, smooth surface. By all rights, she should have wanted it gone.

    ¡°You nearly broke my hand when I tried to remove it,¡± Briony continued. ¡°Which was alarming, considering the tonic I¡¯d given you for the pain was supposed to have put you under.¡±

    Oralia eased her eyes back open, fearful she already knew what direction Briony¡¯s line of interrogation would be taking. ¡°Did I? My apologies.¡±

    The withering look the faun imparted rivaled even Oralia¡¯s best ¡®don¡¯t fuck with me¡¯ glare. Briony¡¯s tone was as cold as the ice rampaging through Oralia¡¯s veins. ¡°In case you have forgotten, I was on the mountain with you when all the shit went down. I know what that stone is, Oralia. And know what is in it. Your wounds are identical to Daana¡¯s. Which means whatever is afflicting you, was caused by the dark entity. I think all of this would go a lot easier for both of us if you were up front about what is going on.¡±

    Right. Oralia actually had forgotten about Briony¡¯s involvement on the mountain. If she was not mistaken, trapping the dark entity into the powerstone might have been the faun¡¯s idea. With a pained sigh, Oralia pulled the collar of the billowy nightshirt¨Cnot her own, might have even been a bedsheet at one point in its life¨Cand exposed her collarbones. ¡°We did not defeat the spirit on the mountain. Not completely. While Daana was able to contain the dark entity within the powerstone, a small piece of it burrowed into each of us.¡±

    Briony interrupted her recount, raising one eyebrow in concern, ¡°Even Rasp?¡±

    ¡°No one has had any contact with either him or Whisper since the incident. I do not know for sure, but would not be surprised. Rasp was in closer contact with the spirit than any of us.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not good.¡±

    What little energy she possessed was already beginning to dwindle. Oralia forewent a verbal reply in favor of a less taxing nod of agreement. Briony was right, of course. If the dark entity was having this much of a toll on her, a non-magical person, she hated to imagine what sort of consequences it would exact on an overpowered, highly unstable witch. Hopefully Whisper was faring better in their efforts to cure the infection than she was. Having no desire to say any of this aloud, Oralia drew a breath and picked up where she had left off.

    ¡°On its own, the infection is mild. I feel more drained than usual, but it is not unbearable. When paired with the powerstone, however, it can,¡± she paused, reluctant to share this part as the only other people who knew were those closest to her. ¡°...It speaks to me.¡±

    Briony¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°It what?¡±

    ¡°Here.¡± She pressed her index finger to the side of her head. ¡°Telepathically. In the same way Whisper used to.¡±

    ¡°So why wear the stone then? Why not delegate it to someone else, or just, I don¡¯t know, not wear it at all? Keep it confined somewhere safe?¡±

    ¡°Ralizak would tell you it is because I am an unwavering martyr that enjoys making myself suffer.¡± It wasn¡¯t wrong, Oralia supposed. ¡°The truth is, I cannot afford to have the stone fall into the wrong hands. Between the constant travel and rearranging and repacking of bags, having the pendant misplaced or stolen was simply too great of a risk to gamble. Carrying the stone comes with its own downsides, which is why I took on the task personally.¡±

    Sascha and Rali insisted on taking turns as well, but that was not something Oralia felt the need to share. Briony had the information she needed. And, judging by the pinched look on her face, she was sifting through it very carefully for all the little details Oralia didn¡¯t say.

    ¡°Gods, woman,¡± the faun muttered at last with a disapproving shake of her horns. ¡°You are the living epitome of pigheadedness.¡±

    ¡°So I am told. Quite often.¡± Oralia eased into a sitting position a little less murderous on her back, pausing to wait for the room to stop spinning, before speaking through her tusks. ¡°Now that I have satisfied your curiosity and, hopefully, reservations as to why I am here, I would appreciate it if you would point me in the direction of my team.¡±

    Briony¡¯s attempt to withhold her laughter resulted in a choking snort instead. She dipped forward, holding her shaking sides as if Oralia had told a particularly humorous quip. ¡°Oh you precious thing. You¡¯re just not accustomed to anyone else being in charge, are you? You may as well make yourself comfortable. Neither of us are leaving this room until I learn how you killed the fire elemental.¡±

 182 - Logical Solutions For An Illogical Problem

    Briony¡¯s tea had to have gone cold by now. The faun didn¡¯t appear to notice. She continued to swirl the lukewarm beverage with slow, deliberate twirls of her spoon as she sat on the edge of the green settee, looking every inch like a hungry lioness poised to pounce. Her amber eyes narrowed, allowing a haughty smile to pull at the corner of her mouth. ¡°Thought I wouldn¡¯t notice, did you? You gave more information than I expected, I¡¯ll grant you that. But the way you skirted around your encounter with a fire elemental was quite telling.¡±

    Shit.

    Oralia had been so careful too. While the obvious answer was to lie, she feared Briony would see right through her deceit. The alternative, unfortunately, wasn¡¯t any better. The truth was so utterly outlandish that anyone with a lick of common sense would dismiss it as pure fantasy. Oralia sighed, running a calloused hand down her broad face. ¡°I had hoped it would slip your notice.¡±

    Briony¡¯s ears flicked in irritation. The leathery snap wasn¡¯t nearly as threatening as a hoof stomp, but the warning to stop testing her patience came through crystal clear regardless. ¡°Stalling isn¡¯t going to reunite you with your team any faster. As I said before, I need to know what sort of trouble you¡¯re in before it becomes my own.¡±

    Sascha is out there searching for you right now. Probably thinks you¡¯re dead. The sooner you get through this, the sooner you can ease his suffering. Maybe he¡¯ll even feed you when he¡¯s done lamenting over the loss of his favorite pot.

    Reluctantly Oralia opted for the truth. ¡°The fire elemental and I crossed paths during an ambush. I and another member of my team were out fetching water when we were set upon by her and her bandits. My companion and I ran in opposite directions to divide their numbers.¡±

    Okay, mostly the truth. Oralia¡¯s recount was, admittedly, an over-generous description for what truly happened. It certainly beat ¡®my idiot companion ran screaming at the first sign of danger¡¯. Oralia continued, gaze focused on the rhythmic stir of Briony¡¯s spoon as she spoke. ¡°The fire elemental took chase and used her magic to corner me with the intent to kill. Nearly succeeded, in fact.¡±

    The stench of smoke and burnt hair flooded Oralia¡¯s senses once more. The flush of heat that scorched the skin on her forehead was at odds with the ice thrumming deep within her aching bones. Her heartbeat galloped along, steadily gaining speed, like a runaway horse. The only thing that kept Oralia centered was the mesmeric stir of Briony¡¯s spoon. She kept her gaze locked on it, fighting the growing swell of panic stirring to life from within.

    ¡°By all rights you should be dead.¡±

    ¡°I should,¡± Oralia agreed, marveling at how hollow the words came across.

    ¡°And yet you¡¯re not. How?¡±

    ¡°The dark entity saved me. As I am its host, it is reliant on me for survival. The one thing I cannot provide is food. The same could not be said for the fire elemental. Her mistake was trapping us together. At such close proximity, the entity used the elemental¡¯s magic to jump hosts, or at least a piece of it did, in order to feed.¡± The words flowing from her mouth did not sound like her own. Oralia felt detached, as if severed from her mind and body, allowed to sit back as an unconscious part of her filled in the necessary blanks. ¡°The spirit consumed the witch from the inside out in a matter of seconds.¡±

    Briony¡¯s hand froze in place, halting the rhythmic stir of her spoon. The faun¡¯s amber eyes were wide and rimmed in white. She said nothing, resigned to an alarmed silence as she mentally sifted through Oralia¡¯s recount, arranging and rearranging the pieces to make sense of it all.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what sort of answer I was expecting,¡± Briony said. ¡°Admittedly not¡­that.¡±

    ¡°You actually believe me?¡±

    ¡°I wish I didn¡¯t, but yes. That¡¯s far too creative for you to have come up with on your own.¡± Slowly, Briony started up her stirring again, too caught in thought to notice the drop of brown liquid that dribbled down the side of her cup and landed between the folds of her skirt. ¡°You realize what sort of problem this powerstone presents, right?¡±

    Problem was a gross understatement. In the wrong hands, the wielder could use the powerstone to wipe out the world¡¯s most powerful witches without having to lift a finger. It came at the cost of playing host to an evil entity, of course, but Oralia suspected that wouldn¡¯t deter those hungriest for power. ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°This is the sort of problem I didn¡¯t want to welcome into my home, Oralia.¡±

    ¡°You could solve that by allowing me to walk out.¡±

    ¡°No, I know about its existence now. I may not have much of a conscience, but there¡¯s enough of one to realize that would be a bad idea.¡± Briony drew a breath of incense-infused air in through her nostrils and out her mouth, before summoning the courage to ask, ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯ve tried destroying the stone?¡±

    Ah yes, the desperate search for a logical solution to an illogical problem. Oralia knew that dance all too well. ¡°The stone cannot be destroyed by ordinary means. Believe me, we tried. Daana and I nearly died when Ellisar cast it into the fire. The answer, I fear, is in its creation. The powerstone was created by magic and, therefore, can only be destroyed by magic.¡±

    ¡°Magic?¡±

    Oralia was fairly certain she¡¯d said the word correctly. She was not given the opportunity to confirm her statement as Briony gave a sudden snap of her fingers. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re here!¡±

    Confused, Oralia said nothing, allowing the faun to reveal whatever thoughts were racing behind her wide, gleaming eyes. It was not a long wait, fortunately.

    ¡°Oralia, you snake.¡± The contemplative look slipped from Briony¡¯s face and was replaced with a sly smile. She shook her fuzzy head, chuckling, ¡°You were lying through your teeth before, weren¡¯t you? And to think I fell for it so easily.¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    Briony lifted the spoon from her teacup and set it daintily onto the side table beside her. ¡°You¡¯re not here for Faris. You¡¯re here to seek Novera¡¯s help regarding the powerstone and its hold on you.¡±

    ¡°Novera Belfast?¡± Oralia failed to see what connection existed between the infection coursing through her veins and Faris¡¯s mother. ¡°I am afraid I do not follow.¡±

    ¡°Oh please, you can stop pretending. Finding Faris was a believable cover while it lasted, but I¡¯ve seen through it now. There¡¯s no sense in sticking with an obvious lie.¡±

    Oralia allowed her confused silence to speak on her behalf.

    ¡°That is why you¡¯re here, isn¡¯t it?¡± Several more uncomfortable seconds lapsed before Briony realized her error in judgment. A sheepish blush transformed her tanned cheeks a warm shade of pink. ¡°Oh good gods, you really don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°Obviously not.¡±

    Briony lowered the untouched cup of tea and rested it against the top of her legs. ¡°Huh.¡±

    The faun¡¯s sudden, tight-lipped silence was telling. Alas, for the life of her, Oralia couldn¡¯t pinpoint what information she was supposed to be gleaning from it. And, at the moment, it wasn¡¯t her primary concern. Her first priority was reuniting with those still looking for her. ¡°I am unaware of what Novera Belfast brings to the equation. If she is able to assist in any way, I will gladly seek her out but, as I mentioned before, I am here to find Faris. The realm cannot be allowed to use him to get to Rasp. Finding Faris first seemed like the obvious way to prevent this.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± Briony¡¯s ears lowered as if having difficulty coming to terms with this information. ¡°That¡¯s really the only reason you¡¯re here? You¡¯re not here for Novera? Or on the behalf of the resistance, maybe?¡±

    ¡°I am in no way affiliated with the Sons and Daughters of Resistance.¡± Oralia was quick to stamp out that misconception.

    Unfortunately, it did not seem to matter as Briony regurgitated the same misinformation Oralia had been combatting for months. ¡°Everyone else seems to think otherwise. Your fellow figureheads, for one. According to the realm, you single handedly spearheaded the rebellion yourself.¡±

    Oralia pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing, ¡°I helped move witches from the realm into the flatlands to keep them out of the hands of the Division of Divination. That was as far as my involvement went. It was not my intention for my actions to devolve into a full blown war.¡±

    ¡°But it did. And now you¡¯re helping.¡±

    ¡°I helped Adderwood obtain its independence. Did I assist with the rebellion? Yes. Was it on the behalf of the Sons and Daughters of Resistance? No. I have no issue helping the people win their freedom. I draw the line at transferring the reins of power from the hands of one power-hungry dictator to that of another.¡±

    ¡°...Oh.¡±

    Oralia raised her eyebrow at the crestfallen faun. ¡°Why does this knowledge upset you?¡±

    Briony stared at the worn floorboards as she spoke. ¡°The realm¡¯s taken Lonebrook hostage. They came looking for Faris, as you suspected, but the little weasel managed to slip their nets. Geralt¡¯s got a stranglehold on the village. He¡¯s trying to lure Faris back by tightening the noose around the people¡¯s necks. When we found you, I had hoped that it was on the behalf of the resistance. That you were here to free us, as you had Adderwood.¡±

    It was Oralia¡¯s turn to utter, ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. For a second I thought maybe we had a chance. I¡¯ll save you from wasting any more of your time. Faris isn¡¯t here. I haven¡¯t heard from him in months.¡± Briony¡¯s crestfallen stare swept to the window, adding, ¡°Novera might have some secret means to contact him, though.¡±

    Oralia considered this information. It was bait, most likely. A last-ditch attempt to rope her into another rebellion without begging for her help. ¡°If Geralt has the village on lockdown, as you say, I imagine securing an audience with Novera would be next to impossible then?¡±

    Having given up on actually drinking her tea, Briony set it into the small side table next to the spoon. ¡°Difficult, not impossible. That is with the right help, of course.¡±

    ¡°And the price for securing this help?¡±

    Briony dropped her act for what might have been the first time in, well probably ever, really. Her amber eyes widened and her ears drooped, looking like a shivering dog begging to be let inside. ¡°Stay? Help us? There are a lot of good people trapped in that village. The realm is growing impatient. It won¡¯t be long before they start applying the pressure. And unfortunately, it¡¯s going to be to our necks.¡±

    Oralia ignored the urge to blindly agree. ¡°I cannot make a decision of this magnitude on my own. Your cause is worthy, make no mistake. But I am one person, and I cannot dictate the lives of my team without consulting them first.¡±

    The puppy dog expression faded and Briony¡¯s face went blank once more. ¡°The only leverage I have over you right now is that you are separated from them. Bringing them in before a deal has been struck defeats the whole purpose.¡±

    Oralia pulled the blanket tighter over her shoulders. She couldn¡¯t remember the last time she¡¯d felt this cold. She was indoors, protected from the elements and still, she was shaking like a damn leaf. ¡°This may come as a surprise to you, Briony, but it is not always necessary to use blackmail in order to get me to do something. I helped Adderwood without them having to resort to extortion.¡±

    ¡°Adderwood had an army,¡± Briony replied.

    That much was true. And, without knowing the numbers or the stakes, it was a factor that was definitely going to weigh heavily on Oralia¡¯s decision. She wasn¡¯t going to say that of course. First and foremost, Oralia had to assure Briony that she would not turn and run the moment she was reunited with her team. ¡°You implied that Novera may have insight about¨C¡± she gestured to the dark veins branching beneath her collarbones ¡°¨Cthis?¡±

    The faun perked up a little. ¡°No promises, but this sort of thing is up her alley.¡±

    ¡°And she may have a way of contacting Faris?¡±

    ¡°I think so.¡±

    ¡°Then that alone is enough to at least stay and consider our options.¡±

    ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll go fetch your precious team. But if any of them try to stab me, I¡¯m not above shattering kneecaps!¡± With a breathy snort, the little faun stood.

    Oralia attempted to do the same with less success. A withering glare from her host prompted Oralia to sink back down onto the floor.

    ¡°I said me, not you. For the gods¡¯ sakes, woman. You¡¯re in no shape to go trampling through a forest.¡±

    Oralia had to give credit where credit was due. For being nearly two full heads shorter than her, Briony could certainly put on an intimidating front when she wanted to. The orc lifted her hands in defeat. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Briony went over the house rules, accentuating each command with a hoof stomp. ¡°No leaving the house. Don¡¯t go through my shit. If you see any soldiers, run. If you get caught, you and I never saw each other.¡±

    Oralia considered pointing out that the ¡®no leaving the house¡¯ rule was in direct conflict with the ¡®run in the case of soldiers¡¯ rule. Not wanting to make an issue of it, she bit back her tongue and offered a nod of confirmation instead. ¡°Understood. I will stay here and await your return.¡±

    Oralia waited for Briony to leave before dragging her aching carcass back over to the makeshift bed on the floor. It was a pathetic, undignified, and horrifically painful process that Oralia did not wish for anyone to witness, especially not the person who was depending on her to save their village. Briony knew she was weak, undoubtedly. It just made Oralia feel better not having her watch.

    Oralia eased into the nest of soft pillows and blankets. She had no intention of sleeping, but the quiet combined with the velvety softness of the cot soon lulled her into a dreamless slumber.

 183 - One Of Those Living Dead Situations

    ¡°Welp, it¡¯s official. The boss¡¯s dead.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not dead. For fuck¡¯s sake, Lingon, she was snoring when we walked in.¡±

    ¡°T¡¯was but a death rattle, dear brother.¡±

    The voices, one thin and nasally and the other deep and guttural, roused Oralia from her dreamless sleep. Her heavy eyelids eased open to find two human men crouched on either side of her. Regrettably, she recognized the pair instantly.

    ¡°Not dead,¡± Mul grunted at his brother. ¡°Told you.¡±

    Lingon peered closer, brushing a stray lock of long brown hair from his narrow face. ¡°How do we know this isn¡¯t one of those living dead situations?¡±

    ¡°Because she¡¯s not dead! You want me to kill her to prove it to you?¡±

    Oralia held up her hand, wincing at the effort it took to stay Mul from drawing his sword. ¡°That will not be necessary, thank you.¡±

    Lingon narrowed his eyes at her. ¡°Just what an undead would say.¡±

    Clenching her jaw, Oralia heaved forward into a sitting position. Pain lanced up her spine and erupted within her aching skull like a lightning strike, spawning a cloud of blinding spots that blinked along the edges of her vision. A crippling wave of nausea followed. Oralia closed her eyes and breathed through it. It was only after the tightness in chest and abdomen had eased that she regained the ability to form words.

    ¡°Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°Still tearing the forest apart looking for you, probably.¡± Mul straightened his posture. He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and swaggered a few steps away, eyeing the yellow walls in search of something worthy of his attention. ¡°Me an¡¯ Dingleberry were actually not far from here. We¡¯d found a hidden trail and were following it when this mouthy little faun popped up out of nowhere, insisting she knew your whereabouts.¡±

    Oralia found that scenario highly unlikely for several reasons. One, as Briony possessed a fully functioning sense of self-preservation, she would have known not to approach either Mul or Lingon outright. Secondly, of the many, many qualities the Stoneclaw brothers lacked, a deep distrust of strangers was not one of them. The pair would have never blindly followed a strange faun into the woods.

    She clicked her tusks softly and sighed. ¡°None of that is true.¡±

    ¡°That bit about us being close by was!¡±

    ¡°We did actually find a secret trail,¡± Lingon insisted. His reluctant expression implied there was more to the story than either of them were letting on. Fortunately it took only a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact to coax the rest of it out of him. Lingon hurried through it, hopeful, perhaps, that if he blurted it out all in one breath, Oralia would only catch half of what was said.

    ¡°And then we came across this giant tree and I bet Mul I could climb to the top faster than him. While I was proving my mettle, a faun came up out of nowhere and stole our packs. We raced after her and it wasn¡¯t until we got to this here cottage that the little thief announced that you were inside and that if we didn¡¯t believe her, we could go see for ourselves.¡± He dipped forward, small chest heaving as he gulped in a giant breath of air. ¡°There, happy?¡±

    Mul nodded in agreement. ¡°The faun also said not to steal her shit before disappearing back into the woods. Which seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.¡±

    Oralia mentally sifted through the wealth over-information for the important pieces. Her efforts produced only one. ¡°Briony is not here?¡±

    ¡°Fetching the others, likely,¡± Mul said, scratching the underside of his beard. ¡°We broke up into groups for the search. Most of them went in the other direction.¡±

    ¡°The whole camp was worried sick about you.¡± Lingon moved to the red brick fireplace and busied himself with rifling through the trinkets carefully arranged along the mantle. ¡°Not me an¡¯ Mul, obviously. But everyone else¡¯s been tearing the woods apart trying to figure out what happened to you after the bandit attack.¡±

    The mention of the attack sparked Oralia¡¯s memory. She lifted her head from where it was buried between her hands. ¡°The bandits¨C¡±

    Mul cut her off with a flippant flick of his wrist. ¡°Didn¡¯t stand a chance. Thanks to Kalihn¡¯s screaming, we heard them coming a mile away. It wasn¡¯t until after we made short work of them that we realized you were still missing. And then we saw the smoke in the distance, but when we got there, all that was left was charred remains.¡±

    While Mul¡¯s brief explanation answered most of her questions, it inadvertently sparked several more. Most notably, whether or not the added stress had caused Sascha¡¯s hair to go gray. Perhaps it had simply skipped that step and fallen out entirely. Her fuckmate worried excessively over even the most mundane of things. Oralia hated to imagine what sort of toll an actual crisis was taking upon him.

    ¡°And Sascha?¡± she asked timidly.

    ¡°In a fucking mood,¡± Mul replied.

    Lingon spun around on his heel, throwing his slender arms out at his sides. ¡°He kept going, morning, noon, and night, insisting he wouldn¡¯t stop until he found you. And of course all the rest of us felt bad, so we kept going too. Sascha refused all breaks. Wouldn¡¯t even stop to catch his breath. You should ¡®ave seen the look he gave me when I politely asked him to stop and make me a sandwich!¡±

    Oralia was spared from replying by a sudden, unexpected tap at the window. She twisted her head in the direction of the noise, squinting through the barrage of sunlight filtering in from outside. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Both brothers acted strangely indifferent to the ominous tapping. Together, they answered as one, ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°It is not nothing.¡± In addition to the increasingly loud tapping, Oralia swore she heard the harsh, rattling croak of a raven. ¡°There is a bird outside clearly trying to garner your attention.¡±

    Now that she thought of it, this was not the first time either. While Rasp may have been the only one of his people capable of understanding the ravens, it did not stop the ravens from communicating with the rest of the family. Trying to communicate, anyway, as Mul and Lingon obviously had no intention of listening.

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    Lingon stormed across the room and threw the window open. ¡°Go away! We already told you, we¡¯re not interested!¡±

    The raven fluttered past him and circled the room twice before coming to rest on the green settee. Ruffling its feathery head, the raven slung open its cavernous maw and argued back just as loudly.

    Oralia¡¯s sharp eyes spied something fastened to its spindly leg. ¡°It appears to have a message for you.¡±

    Mul dropped onto the opposite side of the couch with a huff, glaring daggers at the noisy bird. ¡°Yeah, we know. And I guarantee you it says the same thing as the last three.¡±

    Lingon paced in front of the couch, pointing his finger at the raven as he passed. ¡°And you can tell that ugly fuck that our answer is still no. We¡¯re not coming home. He can have the throne. We don¡¯t bloody care!¡±

    Throne? The use of the word had Oralia¡¯s thoughts churning. She strung the bits and pieces of information together until it produced something, if not cohesive, then as close to it as she was going to get. ¡°Lingon,¡± Oralia said, taking care to keep her voice level. He already looked like a spooked horse prepared to bolt. There was no sense in sending him dashing out the front door prematurely. At least not until her curiosity was satiated. ¡°Has Bil been trying to reach you this entire time?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Lingon scoffed, still nervously pacing. ¡°No. Of course not.¡±

    Bil Stoneclaw, the eldest and possibly most competent of the royal siblings, had vacated Mount Hook prior to the battle. With their home destroyed and their warring neighbors in an active scramble to seize territory, Bil and the Stoneclaw clan had seemingly vanished without a trace. Until now, Oralia had been under the impression that Mul and Lingon had hung around simply because they didn¡¯t know where to go next.

    Bil, evidently, was not the only Stoneclaw to have gone into hiding. ¡°How long has your brother been trying to reach you?¡±

    Lingon had the expression of a child caught pinching sweets from the kitchen. Stifling a groan, he collapsed onto the ancient settee beside Mul, uncaring of the fact that he nearly squashed the raven messenger doing so. Lingon ran a lithe hand over his face and groaned. ¡°I don¡¯t know. A few weeks maybe? A month, tops.¡±

    ¡°I do not understand,¡± Oralia said. ¡°You told me you did not know the location of your clan. I thought it was the only reason keeping you here. When the truth is, not only do you know where Bil is, but he has been summoning you home, and you could have been well on your way a month ago?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah.¡± Lingon¡¯s face reddened as his gaze dropped sheepishly to his feet. ¡°The thing is we don¡¯t want to go home.¡±

    ¡°Come again?¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t want to go home, alright? This is the most adventure Mul an¡¯ I have ever had and the thought of going back is just¡­well, horrible.¡±

    Mul nudged Lingon in the ribs with his elbow, murmuring, ¡°Tell her about the banana.¡±

    Lingon elbowed him back twice as hard. ¡°I don¡¯t want to tell her about the stupid banana!¡±

    ¡°We tried a banana for the first time back in Adderwood.¡± Mul grudgingly took on the task himself. His eyes were wide and his expression was unusually sincere. ¡°I didn¡¯t even know such a thing existed. It was the best thing I¡¯d ever tasted. I ain¡¯t ever going to see another one of those if I go back to the Iron Ridge.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s tone was woefully unimpressed. ¡°A banana?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not just the banana.¡± Lingon tried to explain their reasoning better which, for whatever reason, involved an excessive amount of hand gestures. He grasped at the air with his fingers as if plucking the answer from nothing. ¡°The banana is just, I don¡¯t know, symbolic of everything we haven¡¯t tried, I guess?¡±

    Oralia wished there was someone else present with whom she could exchange confused glances. Her only option was the raven, however. And she was not quite prepared to stoop to that level of desperation yet. ¡°If you stay, you forfeit your claim to the throne. Neither of you can lead your people if you are not with them.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, we considered that.¡± Lingon continued talking to his shoes, unwilling to meet Oralia¡¯s unflinching stare. ¡°Bil can have it. It¡¯s better he doesn¡¯t know what he¡¯s missing, else you¡¯d have one more of us tagging along after you. Seven realms, probably a whole clan.¡±

    ¡°I do not want a clan behind me! Not even one as formidable as the Stoneclaws.¡± Oralia¡¯s unexpected outburst was as much of a surprise to the brothers as it was to her. ¡°This is only temporary. I have no intention of traveling the land and freeing each individual territory from realm control one after the other.¡±

    Mul nudged Lingon with his shoulder as a grin slowly pulled across his bearded face. ¡°Temporary, right.¡±

    The younger brother nodded his agreement. ¡°She¡¯s got the fever something fierce.¡±

    Although Oralia understood the majority of the words that came from the pair, their meaning was often lost in translation. This case being no exception. Oralia attempted to massage the growing ache from her temples. ¡°I am not ill.¡±

    ¡°Martyr fever,¡± Lingon clarified. ¡°You can act detached all you want, but it¡¯s as plain as the tusks on your face. You could have been free of this mess months ago, but each time you were given the chance to step back, you plunged right back in. This ¡®temporary¡¯ schtick ain¡¯t fooling anyone but yourself.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Her voice trailed as she could not outright deny it. If it was this obvious to these two, it meant everyone else already knew as well. Everyone but herself, of course. That seemed to be the nature of how this sort of thing worked. Oralia was always the last to fully understand her own motivations. ¡°I do not wish to talk about it.¡±

    Although the pair themselves said nothing, the smug delight on their faces assured Oralia that her days of secrecy were long gone. Somewhere along the line she¡¯d become completely transparent. Not that she was about to open that up for discussion either. ¡°You are the subject here, not me,¡± she said sternly. ¡°Am I to understand that the two of you would rather follow me, to your own detriment, possibly death, than return to your people?¡±

    ¡°Why is this so hard for you to wrap your head around?¡± Mul¡¯s eyebrows shot high on his head, as though offended by the very question itself. ¡°Our lives were utterly boring before all this. All we did was drink and fight each other.¡±

    ¡°That is all you do now,¡± Oralia reminded him.

    ¡°Not true. We fight other people now too.¡±

    ¡°And make love afterwards.¡± Lingon added, quickly, ¡°With other folks, not each other. Or the dead bodies.¡±

    ¡°So glad you clarified that last part,¡± Mul told him.

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    Oralia had always kept strange company. She supposed this wasn¡¯t any stranger than her previous team. More annoying, perhaps. On some level she almost felt honored. To have not one, but two capable Stoneclaw warriors in her personal company spoke volumes. Their impact probably would have been more meaningful could she convince them to let their reputation speak for itself, versus opening their mouths to let every thought pass through unchecked. And yet, mouthiness aside, the pair would be imperative to the trials that loomed ahead. Possibly enough to swing the fate of Lonebrook in her favor.

    Lingon lifted his head curiously. ¡°Anybody else feel the ground shaking?¡±

    Mul rose and hurried across the room, poking his head out the open window to get a better view. ¡°Looks like the mouthy faun found the rest of the party, after all.¡± He glanced over his shoulder at Oralia and waggled his eyebrows in a manner that begged to be slapped. ¡°Your beau looks to be in an awful hurry. Do you think he¡¯ll slow down or just snap the door off its hinges on his way in?¡±

    Oralia rose onto stiff legs and reached for Mul, using him as a means to keep her balance. He didn¡¯t offer much in the way of support, but at least he didn¡¯t shrug her off. Every step was excruciating. Oralia stubbornly persisted, shuffling one foot in front of the other, knowing speed was of the essence.

    ¡°If you want to sleep with a roof over your head tonight,¡± she said, gasping as a surge of pins and needles moved down her legs, ¡°get me outside before he knocks the whole fucking house down.¡±

 184 - Too Stubborn to Die

    Three days passed since Oralia first awoke in an unfamiliar cottage. Three. Blasted. Days. And still, the unsteady tremble in her hands persisted. Thanks to the uncontrollable tremors, even the most mundane of activities had become a challenge. Eating, in particular, topped the list. The few times she managed to get a spoon to her mouth without spilling its contents down the front of her tunic were for naught, as the food came back up almost as quickly as it went down.

    And, as if body trembles and the constant, pendulous swing between ravenous and nauseous wasn¡¯t enough, her sleep was plagued by unrelenting nightmares as well. Each time Oralia closed her eyes, the fire elemental¡¯s death replayed over and over. No amount of meditation or concentrated thought helped. Her dreams ended the same regardless¨Ctrapped within a ring of red and orange crackling flames, choking on stomach acid as the putrid stench of singed hair and flesh slowly filled her blistered lungs.

    Worst of all was the toll her recent inflictions had taken on her temper. Her former sense of patience was gone. Oralia found herself short, snippy, and acting so utterly out of character, she feared her mind was ripping apart at the seams. Her team graciously took it all in stride. Too graciously, which revulsed her even more. The lack of back-talk, the pitiful glances any time her hands spasmed beyond her control, the way everyone suddenly volunteered for extra work outside of the cottage¨Cit was belittling in the worst of ways.

    Briony¡¯s homestead was situated several miles outside of the village of Lonebrook, hidden so deep within the trees, the realm soldiers had yet to find her. Briony insisted Oralia¡¯s team would be safe so long as no one did anything to draw unwanted attention. In spite of the warning, Rali, the unofficial face of unwanted attention, convinced Briony to take her closer to town. They were there now, with Dewpetal in tow, scouting the outskirts of Lonebrook for whatever it was Rali was looking for.

    Mul and Lingon were quick to follow Rali¡¯s lead and slipped away soon after, promising on each other¡¯s lives that they would stay out of trouble. For reasons unknown, their errand involved taking Kalihn with them. Kalihn normally avoided the brothers like the plague. Evidently she wanted to avoid the cottage even more, as she readily accepted their invitation to leave without any of her usual bellyaching.

    ¡°Moonflower,¡± Sascha¡¯s voice disrupted Oralia¡¯s internal stewing, ¡°is something upsetting you?¡±

    Oralia ceased drumming her fingers absentmindedly against the linen tablecloth. She was seated at the table tucked into the corner of the balmy kitchen. Sascha was across from her, laboring away on another broth. This one smelled faintly of ginger, garlic, and green onion. ¡°Not at all. Why do you ask?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re grumbling under your breath over there like a badger in heat.¡±

    What a horrifically descriptive comparison. At least he had the decency to call her a badger and not a sow, she supposed.

    Sascha had his back to her, scraping a handful of finely minced herbs from the cutting board into the cauldron hanging over the fire. He normally hummed while he worked, but today his carefree noises were strangely absent. ¡°Are you sure there isn¡¯t something eating at you?¡±

    ¡°A dark entity.¡±

    Oralia heard the exasperated click of his tusks from all the way across the room. Had her answer been overly-literal? Of course. But honestly, Sascha should have known better. Ridiculous questions deserved equally ridiculous answers.

    Sascha kept his eyes on his work as he used a broad, wooden spoon to stir the pot¡¯s simmering contents. ¡°Anything else?¡±

    ¡°Nothing at all.¡± As if on cue, her left hand spasmed, causing her fingers to curl painfully in on themselves. Oralia slammed the flat of her palm against the table and held it there. She gave her right hand the side-eye, warning it to stay in line else it would suffer the same fate as the left. ¡°Do not even think about it,¡± she cautioned. ¡°I am not above drawing blood.¡±

    Her gaze returned to Sascha and she discovered he was staring over his shoulder at her with both eyebrows raised high on his forehead and mouth held slightly agape.

    ¡°What?¡± Oralia demanded.

    ¡°You¡¯re the one threatening your own appendages, Moonflower. You tell me.¡±

    Oralia released her hand from the table and curled it into a tightly clenched fist. ¡°I have, admittedly, not been feeling like myself lately.¡±

    ¡°I noticed,¡± Sascha assured her. ¡°Which is why I bribed the others to make themselves scarce for the evening. It¡¯s time to stop tiptoeing around the issue and address it head on.¡±

    Dear gods help her. She¡¯d been a little crankier than usual, yes. But surely not anything intervention-worthy! Also, why hadn¡¯t any of the others warned her? At least given her a head start. Useless legs be damned, Oralia would have made it work. She sank lower onto the wooden bench as she studied the exit from the corner of her eye, all the while wondering if it was too late to slip out the back door and catch up to Rali and Briony. She could drag herself the whole way if need be.

    Sascha turned to face her, wiping his gargantuan hands on his flower print apron as he did. His expression fell the moment he saw her face. ¡°Why do you look like a child about to be reprimanded?¡±

    ¡°Because I feel like I am about to be reprimanded.¡±

    ¡°I mean, if that¡¯s what you want.¡± Sascha narrowed one eye as he wagged his spoon at her playfully. ¡°Eat all of your dinner or it¡¯s straight to bed.¡±

    While he had meant it as teasing, she was seriously considering the straight to bed option.

    Sascha withdrew a set of wooden bowls from the cupboard and held the pair in one hand whilst ladling hot soup with the other. He delivered both bowls of steaming broth to the table without spilling a drop. He offered Oralia a gentle smile, under the false assumption that a little reassurance would be enough to keep her from bolting the moment he sat down.

    ¡°It¡¯s just me, Moonflower. I won¡¯t say a word if you drop the soup. There¡¯s always plenty more.¡± A look, caught somewhere between genuine concern and playfulness, pulled at the corners of Sascha¡¯s eyes as he eased onto the bench beside her. ¡°I could try spoon feeding you again if you wanted. You might get more in your mouth if you refrained from biting me this time.¡±

    She refused to let his charm soothe her fraying nerves. ¡°Stop trying to flirt with me. You said there was an issue to be addressed. Seven realms, get it over with before I die of suspense.¡±

    Oh gods. Too harsh, Oralia realized as the smile slipped from Sascha¡¯s mouth and transformed into a pained grimace. Moisture started to collect around the edges of his sorrowful eyes. Oralia reached for his hand, the words already curling over her tongue, when he beat her to it.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Sascha said.

    ¡°No, do not be.¡± She winced. ¡°That was uncalled for.¡±

    He flipped his hand over and clasped hers with a gentle squeeze. ¡°I sent the others away because I have some groveling to do. The soup is my very pathetic attempt at an apology. The start of one, anyway.¡±

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    And here Oralia thought she could not possibly have been anymore confused. She should have been the one begging for forgiveness, not him. ¡°I do not follow.¡±

    ¡°I was reckless and put you in danger,¡± he started. ¡°I was the one who sent Kalihn with you to fetch water the day of the attack. She was annoying me. I thought it would be more fun if she annoyed you instead. My carelessness nearly got you killed.¡±

    Oralia waited for more. When Sascha¡¯s agonizing admission stopped there, she was forced to ask, ¡°Is that all?¡±

    ¡°I understand if you want space. I can sleep in another room, or outside if you would prefer¨C¡±

    ¡°No need. You are forgiven.¡±

    He blinked several times, struggling to come to terms with her response. ¡°Just like that?¡±

    There wasn¡¯t anything to forgive as far as Oralia was concerned. She¡¯d merely said it to stop him from making a fool of himself. Oralia reached for her bowl and raised it to her mouth, fighting to control the unsteady tremble in her hands. The broth was light and savory, with a pleasant kick of heat at the end. ¡°Ellisar used to try to kill me all the time. Kept me on my toes. She came to the eventual conclusion that I am simply too stubborn to die.¡±

    Come to think of it, Ellisar might have actually said stupid, not stubborn.

    ¡°Oralia, please,¡± Sascha said. ¡°You¡¯ve been in a silent rage for the last three days. Will you stop pretending that everything is okay between us? You¡¯re allowed to be mad at me.¡±

    Half of that statement was true. Not the critical part, through. Oralia set the bowl back onto the table, fighting the sudden urge to roll her eyes. ¡°Sascha, I am not mad at you.¡±

    ¡°You threatened to disembowel Lingon earlier.¡±

    ¡°Because he was chewing with his mouth open like a damn horse!¡± Oralia said. Unfortunately, Sascha¡¯s resulting stretch of silence left her with no other choice but to explain herself. ¡°I am mad at my circumstances. Not you.¡±

    ¡°Well you should be mad at me.¡±

    ¡°Should I be?¡± Oralia repeated, feeling the floodgates of rampaging emotions begin to open. No, no, no, not now. Not here. Hold it together!

    Unfortunately, like the rest of her confounded body, her tongue rebelled, spilling every volatile emotion churning within her tightening chest. ¡°My own body is betraying me. And you think I should hold you accountable for that? Should I blame you for the nightmares as well? Why stop there? I could blame you for the way I wake up each morning weaker than the last. Or how my strength does not recover the way it used to? Is that what you want to hear, love? That this is all your fault somehow?¡±

    ¡°You almost died.¡±

    ¡°I almost die all of the time!¡±

    He wrapped one burly arm behind her back and tugged her closer. The tightness felt good, even if she didn¡¯t want to admit it. Regrettably, instead of simply accepting her forgiveness and fetching her another bowl of soup, the big lug kept trying to assuage his guilt. ¡°How can you say that? How can you dismiss it so casually like it¡¯s nothing?¡±

    ¡°Because the alternative is not any better. I will let you handle the dwelling for both of us.¡±

    Unfortunately, he did just that. ¡°This is twice now I thought I had lost you.¡±

    Twice that Sascha knew of. Oralia decided against bringing up all the other near-death experiences she hadn¡¯t bothered to tell him about.

    Sascha buried his face into her neck. His hot breath tickled her skin as he spoke. ¡°I¡¯m not sure anyone else would have survived what you did.¡±

    Oralia hadn¡¯t spoken in depth about what had transpired with the witch. Other than a short, not-entirely-accurate description, she avoided even thinking about it. Not that that was successful considering she still saw Grettie¡¯s face each time she closed her eyes. She tried to play it off as a joke but her words rang hollow instead. ¡°As I said, too stubborn to die.¡±

    ¡°Will you please take this seriously? Briony says they pulled you out of a fire, Oralia. Most people don¡¯t survive being engulfed in fire.¡±

    She supposed now was not the time to argue semantics and point out that she had been inside the wall of fire, not engulfed by it. Additionally, the flames had already extinguished by the time help arrived. Alas, stating ¡®they found me in a smoldering ring of ash next to the burnt corpse of the deranged witch that tried to kill me¡¯ would not have helped her case in the way she wanted.

    Against every instinct urging her to turn this into a heated debate, Oralia bit back the poison on her tongue and leaned into him. She reached up and threaded her fingers into the curl of Sascha¡¯s beard, feeling every shake and tremble of his unsteady breath. ¡°I wish I could tell you that this was the last time. That, from here on out, I would avoid every risk to cross my path. But you and I both know that would be a lie.¡±

    Wordlessly, he squeezed her tighter.

    ¡°Assisting Lonebrook is going to put me right back in the path of death and danger,¡± Oralia reminded him.

    ¡°You haven¡¯t had your meeting with Novera yet. It¡¯s not too late to back out and give retirement a try.¡±

    A harsh laugh caught within Oralia¡¯s throat. It was woefully inappropriate given the utter lack of humor in her next words. ¡°For you, maybe. As Rali would say, ¡®that ship has sailed¡¯. I would not fault you for leaving, however.¡±

    ¡°Why would I leave?¡±

    ¡°Because I have already made up my mind.¡±

    ¡°You act like it¡¯s your job to save everyone. It¡¯s not. You are one person.¡±

    ¡°Believe it or not, but I am capable of being selfish as well. I am not trying to save everyone. I am trying to save myself.¡± Oralia peeled back her tunic to reveal her collarbones. As over-dramatic as the gesture may have been, she had every right to be as dramatic as she wanted. Her opportunities to embrace the melodramatic were running regretfully short. ¡°The infection has spread, Sascha. Time is not on my side. Any hope for a cure lies in the hands of Novera Belfast. That said, she cannot help me if she is dead.¡±

    At the very least, the reason for her underlying rage was becoming clearer now. Whatever Oralia did, no matter the choice she made, death awaited her at the end of each turn. The question was now whether she chose the short path, and fought, or opted for the slightly longer one, and spent her remaining time sipping soup with Sascha whilst her body slowly wasted away.

    There was no choice, as far as Oralia was concerned. Death by the sword was preferable to the agony of being consumed alive by a dark entity. ¡°I can either fight or I can run,¡± she said. ¡°There is a small chance I survive both the battle and the illness. Running, on the other hand, only postpones the inevitable. A few months, maybe. A year, tops. That is not a life I wish to live.¡±

    Sascha fell painfully silent. Fresh tears welled within his eyes as he slowly came to terms with the gravity of the situation. Oralia¡¯s attention swept back over the rest of the kitchen, unable to hold his gaze any longer. Unlike his hand, which she was currently squeezing to a pulp.

    ¡°How long have you known?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I knew something was off the moment I regained consciousness,¡± Oralia admitted. She had had her suspicions since the beginning, of course. But those had been easy to ignore, to shove into the far recesses of her mind in hopes that they would remain just that, unsubstantiated concerns. ¡°I chalked it up to exhaustion initially. But with a new ailment cropping up each day, I fear the incident with the fire elemental has accelerated the severity of my condition.¡±

    Her next words were the most painful to say. ¡°I am sorry, Sascha. I understand if this is too much to ask of you.¡±

    And there it was: the ultimatum she had unknowingly been fighting for the past three days. Perhaps the lashing out had merely been a last-ditch, subconscious effort to drive the others away, Sascha included. After all, just because Oralia had accepted her fate, didn¡¯t mean the others had to follow suit. They could go on to live perfectly happy lives without her.

    ¡°Seven realms, woman.¡± Sascha threw both arms around her and pulled her close, burying his face back into her neck. ¡°Stop being ridiculous. You know what my answer is.¡±

    Tears streamed freely down Oralia¡¯s face. Somewhere along the way she¡¯d forgotten how to breathe. She took in a sudden gasp of air, only now realizing how dry her throat felt.

    ¡°Did you think I was going to say something different?¡± Sascha demanded.

    ¡°Yes? I am being rather pigheaded right now.¡±

    ¡°That we can agree on.¡± Like his voice, Sascha¡¯s arms shuddered with each shaky breath. ¡°Just promise me you¡¯ll be more careful. Let someone else sacrifice themselves in the face of danger every once in a while, yeah?¡±

    A weak smile pulled at Oralia¡¯s mouth. ¡°But I am so good at it.¡±

    ¡°The best,¡± he agreed. ¡°I believe the run-in with the fire elemental has met your yearly quota, however. And, seeing as I cannot possibly stomach another heart attack, I think it¡¯s best you retire from that aspect of martyrdom.¡±

    Oralia held two fingers into the air. ¡°On my honor, I swear to never go near another fire elemental so long as I live.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Sascha gave her another loving squeeze. ¡°Now, I believe you mentioned something about nightmares? Want to tell me about those?¡±

    ¡°Fuck no. I am nauseous enough as it is, thank you.¡±

 185 - The Very Best Idea

    Croak, croak, croak! Dagmar¡¯s lecture carried far and wide on the cold morning breeze. Each obnoxious croak and caw bounced along trees, reverberating from one sagging pine to the next.

    It was morning, too early for the sun to be out judging from the gray shifting light. Plumes of mist wafted along the forest floor, soaking everything, including Rasp, to the bone. He sat in the center of the encampment with a blanket pulled tight over his shivering shoulders, listening as Hop and Whisper hurried about, preparing for their departure. June was off to the side, receiving a loving earful from their Aunt Dagmar. June herself said little, giving small grunts and sighs of acknowledgement every now and then, as if to confirm that she was indeed listening and not shriveling up inside from humiliation.

    Rasp wriggled the tip of his pinky finger into his ear with a grimace. He found himself in somewhat of an awkward situation. For what may very well have been the first time in existence, he was not the recipient of a raven¡¯s frenzied lecture. That in itself wasn¡¯t so bad, actually. It was the fact that he, unlike the others, understood every embarrassing word that spilled from the raven¡¯s croaking maw. He felt like a creep, listening in from the other side of a closed door on a deep, sentimental conversation.

    He also might have been a teeny, tiny bit jealous that no raven had ever showered him with such unbridled adoration.

    ¡°Are you sure Dagmar and June are both Stoneclaws?¡± Rasp whispered under his breath to Faris.

    Faris was hunched on the damp ground beside him, trying to savor a steaming cup of hot nettle tea. Trying being the keyword as there was no way in the seven realms of chaos anybody, not even stubborn Faris, could enjoy the taste of boiled spinach and dirt. ¡°Why?¡± the faun said, failing to stifle the reflexive gag after braving another sip. ¡°What¡¯s Dagmar saying?¡±

    ¡°Terrible things.¡±

    ¡°And what part of that strikes you as unusual? Sounds like typical Stoneclaw behavior to me.¡±

    ¡°No, not that kind of terrible. Terrible lovey-dovey things, Faris. Like ¡®I love you. Please don¡¯t do anything stupid. Watch out for cliffs, and deep running water, and consider everything out of your brother¡¯s mouth a lie.¡¯¡±

    Faris patted Rasp¡¯s back, feigning sympathy. ¡°Must be tough to learn that not everyone in your family is an asshole.¡±

    ¡°Drive that blade straight into my heart, why don¡¯t you?¡± Once upon a time, Rasp wouldn¡¯t have thought twice about smacking the faun upside the head for his blatant disrespect. Being a reformed person, however, came with changes. The most prominent was allowing his words to do all of his heavy hitting. ¡°You know, your in-depth knowledge of my family really speaks volumes about you, Dingle.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid to know what it says.¡±

    ¡°Really highlights your obsession for me. Not only do you have the ins and outs of my family dynamics committed to memory, but you apparently missed me so much, you had to go and find my twin as a replacement.¡±

    ¡°That was as insightful as I expected it to be.¡± Faris managed another sip of the foul-smelling tea before gritting out, ¡°Although, at the risk of deflating your ego, I would like it stated for the record that it was June who found me. Not the other way around.¡±

    ¡°A likely story.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s actually a rather funny story. Or at least she thinks so, given the amount of times she keeps bringing it up.¡±

    Rasp supposed it was only fair to return the favor and take an equal interest in Faris¡¯s life. He twirled his fingers in the air, motioning for the faun to get story time over with.

    ¡°June was my neighbor. Not that I knew that, of course, considering she and Dagmar kept to themselves. They lived their whole lives just outside of Lonebrook without anyone ever realizing it. June knew about me, about you, about the realm, all of it. It wasn¡¯t until Geralt Lazuli seized control of my village that she finally decided it was time to stop hiding. She tracked me down after I fled so we could join forces and find you together.¡±

    ¡°I thought you said this was a funny story,¡± Rasp said. Unless Faris had meant funny in the ironic sense. In which case, Rasp was still severely disappointed. He had a deep dislike of irony, particularly the way it kept sticking its hand uninvited into his life and giving the shit a vigorous stir.

    ¡°Can I keep going or do you want to keep interrupting some more?¡± Faris demanded. Another unenthusiastic hand wave got the faun going again. ¡°Turns out a shapeshifter¡¯s forms have both positives and negatives. June¡¯s human form can talk, but it can¡¯t run, not as fast as a faun anyway. She had to use her bear form to keep pace with me. Chased me for three days straight until I collapsed from absolute exhaustion.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not funny, Dingle. What you¡¯re feeling is sad.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re an expert on feelings now, are you?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yes. I have to be now that I¡¯m all mature and in tune with my emotional side.¡± Rasp said, listing the most common culprits. ¡°Happy. Sad. Angry. The whole spectrum.¡±

    ¡°You know there are more than three emotions, right?¡±

    ¡°I prefer to stick to the basics, thank you. Any more than that and it starts to get confusing. Anyway, was that the end of your sad story, or is there an actual funny part?¡±

    Faris paused thoughtfully before admitting, ¡°Well I did eventually wake up with a bear sitting on top of me. To keep me from running away, she insists.¡±

    That would have been almost funny if Rasp had not experienced something eerily similar only the day before. The terror of waking up pinned beneath a living fur blanket, however, was still too fresh in his mind to crack jokes about.

    ¡°It was not my best moment,¡± Faris carried on. ¡°There was a lot of screaming after that. From me, mostly. Until June shifted into her human form and explained who in the seven realms she was and why she was following me.¡±

    ¡°Was she naked?¡±

    ¡°Is that honestly all you¡¯re getting from this?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a legitimate question!¡± Rasp knew for a fact that Whisper possessed a magic cloak to avoid winding up naked as a jaybird each time they went from dragon to angry porcupine. Whisper jokingly threatened to gift him the magic cloak upon their death to spare the world from having to witness Rasp¡¯s bare ass ever again. The final joke was on Whisper, of course, as Rasp intended to wear it as a hat.

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    Faris¡¯s blurry shape slumped forward as he shook his horns from side to side in exasperation. ¡°Yes, Rasp. It¡¯s not like a bear can wear human clothes.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± Rasp was starting to see the humor in the story now. ¡°The nude form makes you all squeamish. She¡¯s lucky you didn¡¯t keel over with fright.¡±

    In what could have only been an attempt to make his tea more palpable, Faris snapped the tip of a pine twig between his teeth and chewed. His words were muffled slightly by the sounds of his back molars grinding the sprig to pulp. ¡°The whole thing¡¯s given me something of a complex, truth be told. I have nightmares about being hunted by bears now.¡±

    It was Rasp¡¯s turn to offer his friend a patronizing pat to the back. He aimed too high and got the back of Faris¡¯s neck. But, as with most things, it was the thought that counted. ¡°I appreciate the hardships you endured to come find me. Bears. Naked women. Two of your biggest fears.¡±

    ¡°If only you meant that.¡±

    ¡°Of course I do.¡±

    Faris¡¯s tea sloshed against the tin cup as he swirled it from side to side, lacking the motivation, much less stomach, to drink it. ¡°In that case, I might feel a smidge better if you finished my tea for me.¡±

    ¡°Gods no. I wouldn¡¯t have traded with you if I¡¯d intended to drink that shit in the first place.¡±

    ¡°You did what?¡±

    ¡°I switched the mugs when you weren¡¯t looking.¡± Rasp allowed a devilish grin to split across his face. ¡°Hop¡¯s always brewing up the most horrible concoctions for me, insisting it¡¯s for my health. Normally I just toss ¡®em when he¡¯s not looking, but my mouth felt like a desert after that third corn cake this morning so I drank yours instead.¡±

    ¡°You gave me poisoned tea?¡±

    ¡°Medicinal tea,¡± Rasp corrected. ¡°Your cup was lovely, by the way. Floral with just a hint of sweetness.¡±

    ¡°This tastes like ass!¡±

    Rasp raised a single eyebrow at Faris. ¡°Which begs the question why you¡¯re still drinking it.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you why,¡± Faris said in that huffy sort of voice that implied he was building towards something profound. Whether or not it would be profoundly stupid was yet to be determined. ¡°Because, for the first time in two months, I woke up to someone waiting on me hand and hoof for a change. I opened my eyes and there was a plate of warm food and tea waiting for me. Do you know how rare that is?¡±

    Considering Faris had effectively described how Rasp awoke most mornings, he couldn¡¯t say he did. ¡°So you¡¯re forcing yourself to endure the taste of ass out of gratitude?¡±

    ¡°My reasoning made a lot more sense before you started poking holes in it,¡± Faris grumbled. ¡°Honestly, sometimes I don¡¯t think you even realize how good you¡¯ve got it. All of these strappingly handsome fauns coming out of the woodwork to keep you alive and well fed and you barely notice. It¡¯s downright criminal.¡±

    Rasp gnawed the corner of his lip as he considered Faris¡¯s words. Not the part about the lack of gratitude, of course. It was far too early in the morning for that sort of self-reflection. ¡°Are you implying there are two strappingly handsome fauns in this scenario?¡±

    Faris chose the wrong moment to finish the final dregs of his tea. Choking, the faun¡¯s blurry shape heaving forward with a wet sputter, coughing droplets of foul tea from his lungs as he beat his chest with his fist. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t help but notice you used the plural.¡±

    Speaking clearly was still proving to be a bit of a challenge for Faris, who could do little more than cough and gag, trying not to upend all of the breakfast he¡¯d worked so hard to swallow down in the first place.

    Rasp tilted his head back, wondering aloud, ¡°Then again, maybe I just misheard.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s it,¡± Faris said weakly. ¡°Obviously.¡±

    ¡°Obviously,¡± Rasp agreed.

    From the sudden swell in obnoxious croaking, Dagmar¡¯s fond farewells were coming to a close. As much as Rasp would have liked to razz Faris indefinitely, he supposed it was only proper to see the old bird off. Using the faun¡¯s shoulder as support, Rasp heaved himself onto his feet, calling loud enough for the entire camp to hear. ¡°Hey, Hop! Faris says that¡¯s the best nettle tea he¡¯s ever had and he¡¯s too bashful to ask for another. Would you be a dear and remedy that for him?¡±

    With Faris¡¯s hissed ¡°I hate you¡± still ringing in his ears, Rasp shuffled out across the leaf-littered encampment. He kept his feet close to the ground, sliding each boot through the damp forest debris to avoid getting snagged on any unseen obstacles as he followed the sounds of Dagmar¡¯s lively chatter.

    ¡°Aunty Dagmar,¡± Rasp called in his best singsong voice as he dangerously drew within pecking range. ¡°I thought the point of leaving was to, you know, actually leave at some point?¡±

    June spoke on the raven¡¯s behalf. ¡°Sorry. She¡¯s almost on her way. Just saying her goodbyes, is all.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I heard.¡±

    ¡°...Oh, right,¡± June said, as if only now remembering she was no longer the only one capable of understanding the ravens.

    Rasp managed to make the entire journey without tripping. Almost. A tree root caught him by surprise at the very end and he fell forward with a startled yelp. June reached out and caught him before he made impact with the spongy ground. Grumbling his thanks, Rasp placed his hand on her shoulder as he steadied himself. Amidst the rush of relief, he could not help but feel a slight ping of annoyance at the realization that his sister was taller than him.

    We¡¯re just going to pretend that didn¡¯t happen.

    Unfortunately, June hadn¡¯t yet perfected the ability to read the annoyance on his face and asked with disgustingly genuine concern. ¡°You alright?¡±

    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± Rasp wiped the stringy hair from eyes as he ever-so gracefully navigated the conversation to a topic unrelated to his fall. Any would do at this point. The entire reason he bothered coming this way seemed to be a logical start. ¡°We¡¯re going to be traveling again soon. Aunty Dagmar might have to wrap up the goodbyes if she wants to reach Lonebrook before we do.¡±

    Faris¡¯s plan involved sending Dagmar ahead of them to deliver a message to one of his contacts hidden outside of the village. Blessed with wings and a familiarity with the area, she was the obvious choice for a messenger. That, and because Father flat-out refused. The successful delivery of the message, however, hinged upon the raven actually reaching her destination. An impossibility if Dagmar never actually got around to the departing part.

    ¡°Aunty,¡± Rasp said, putting on his best grown up voice, ¡°I promise I will not let anything happen to your precious bear cub. You can be on your way now. June will be safe with me.¡±

    Croak!

    Out of habit, June started to explain, ¡°Aunty said¨C¡±

    ¡°I know what Aunty said!¡± Rasp took a breath, allowing it to wash away the sting of Dagmar¡¯s insult, before offering an alternative. ¡°June will be safe with Faris.¡±

    Croak.

    ¡°Fine! Hop, then. He¡¯s always telling me not to do things because they¡¯re too dangerous. On his life, I swear Hop will keep your precious bouncing baby girl safe.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Hop¡¯s voice called from across the encampment. ¡°Why did I just hear my name?¡±

    ¡°No reason.¡± Rasp turned back to the raven, squinting up at what he hoped was her blurred shape perched in the bare boughs above him. ¡°We are in a race against time. Please go. I promise you there will be no shenanigans whatsoever.¡±

    With a gargled screech, Dagmar fluttered away, muttering something about the dramatic decline in hospitality shown by the new generation of Stoneclaw leadership.

    June waited until the old bird had flown out of hearing before speaking her mind. ¡°That was all a lie, right? I was looking forward to the shenanigans, personally.¡±

    ¡°Every word. Now, completely unrelated, I have a pressing question for you.¡± Rasp tilted his head up at June as his most brilliant idea of the day, possibly his life, nearly burst from his chest with excitement. The words practically leapt from his mouth on their own accord. Fearful, perhaps, that if he didn¡¯t get them out as quickly as possible, the idea would disappear into the aether itself, destined to go uncommitted for all of time. ¡°Do bears wear saddles?¡±

 186 - Bears Dont Wear Saddles

    Rasp adjusted his hips as he gathered great fistfuls of musty fur into his hands and leaned forward. The smell was a lot stronger than a mule. Not in a bad way, either. Unlike Bonecrusher, the scent of June¡¯s fur was oddly familiar, like tundra and sweet grass in the fall. Tightening one¡¯s legs was an important aspect to bareback horse riding. Unfortunately, try as he might, the same principle did not appear to apply to bareback bear riding.

    Note to self, Rasp told himself as he felt his left leg begin to slip, don¡¯t say bareback bear riding out loud. Ever.

    Finding a stable riding position atop a bear was like trying to wrap one¡¯s legs around a fuzzy barrel made of jelly. Each time Rasp thought he¡¯d finally found the sweet spot, the layer of fat beneath June¡¯s shaggy hide would shift and he¡¯d lose his grip, causing him to list dangerously to one side. It might have been easier had his sister been a little bear, but alas, it was not so. June was hands down the largest bear he¡¯d ever encountered. Unnaturally big, in fact¨Cclose to the size of the fabled warbear spirits that haunted the cliffs of the Iron Ridge territory.

    Oh for fuck¡¯s sake.

    For what was not the first time, nor last time, Rasp found himself marveling at just how badly the Stoneclaw clan had butchered their own history. Warbears his ass. The truth was becoming clearer now. What his people had mistook for the reanimated soul of a witch was nothing more than a magical shapeshifter, whose only crime involved being born into a family of superstitious idiots.

    A low growl broke Rasp from his thoughts. June¡¯s irritated rumble reverberated up through her ribs and into Rasp¡¯s legs, settling deep within his narrow chest.

    ¡°Patience is a virtue,¡± he reminded her as he made the final adjustments to his form. Not that it really mattered. Anyone with half a brain knew he was destined for the ground. At the very least, he could ensure he was out of everyone else¡¯s line of sight before that happened. Pride, unlike his physical wellbeing, was worth preserving, after all.

    Sadly, not everyone agreed with this sentiment. ¡°Are you sure this is wise?¡± Hop called from off to the side, where he was undoubtedly wringing the life from his hands with worry. ¡°It took a lot of effort to fix your teeth and I am going to be vexed if I have to do it all over again.¡±

    ¡°Honestly, Hop, do you even hear yourself?¡± Rasp said. ¡°If this was wise, I wouldn¡¯t be doing it.¡±

    June stamped her front feet nervously.

    ¡°Of course we¡¯re still doing it.¡± Rasp wrangled his legs into position the best he could before wiping away the hot sheen of perspiration that clouded his eyes. Wicking the sweat off didn¡¯t improve his visibility any, as his surroundings appeared as bleak and blurry as ever, but it lessened the sting at least. ¡°Alright.¡± He took a breath and let it out slowly as he leaned forward. ¡°Ready?¡±

    June gave a raspy grunt of acknowledgement.

    ¡°Good, now hurry up. Let¡¯s go! Before Faris has time to chime in and tell us why this is going to fail.¡±

    ¡°Oh no, no, no. Don¡¯t mind me.¡± Faris¡¯s voice hailed from a reasonable distance away. He sounded far enough away not to get caught up in the inevitable consequences, but still within range to enjoy witnessing said consequences in all their stupendous glory. ¡°I¡¯m just here for the show. Carry on.¡±

    Hop offered a final, meek protest. ¡°But he could get hurt.¡±

    ¡°How else do you get him to learn anything?¡±

    Rasp applied slight pressure to June¡¯s sides with his heels. Not enough to hurt, simply to spur her along in a manner that did not result in an angry bear flipping over and ripping him to shreds. ¡°Yah!¡±

    June took off at a lumbering gallop. The dark green and brown outlines of the trees flew past at a blurred rate. Rasp heard the heavy crunch of dried leaves and broken branches as June plowed through the forest floor at a steady gait. The bear¡¯s shoulders were taller than her hips and with each long, mismatched stride, Rasp felt himself slide further down her back. He held on with all the strength in his hands, unwilling to ruin such a perfect experience with something as lame as falling off the back of a charging bear.

    For the briefest of moments, his heart soared. This was the first spot of fun he¡¯d had in what felt like ages. He was going home, his best friend had found him, and on top of all that, Rasp had discovered a sister who was just as easily swayed down the path of impulsive recklessness as himself. The fact that said same sister was unopposed to allowing him to ride piggyback on her bear form was simply the cherry on top of whatever dessert people put cherries on top of¨Che honestly didn¡¯t know, because he always ate the cherries before they could be made into something.

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    But, much like the debilitating stomach cramps that came from eating a whole bucket of cherries, all good things had to come to an end. The end to Rasp¡¯s fun came at the bottom of a rather steep hill several moments after he slipped from June¡¯s bounding form and hit the leafy ground and rolled. He tumbled head over heels, cursing each time he struck a rock or half buried tree root on his way down. With one last stomach-wrenching summersault, he slammed face first onto the ground and slid to an undignified stop.

    It was Faris who reached him first. Crashing through the underbrush, the faun appeared at Rasp¡¯s side mere seconds after he¡¯d come to a full stop. Or maybe it just felt that way. The fuzzy floating pinpoints of light that clogged Rasp¡¯s muddled vision indicated that perhaps he¡¯d hit his head a little harder than he first thought. The truth was he had no idea how long he¡¯d been lying with his face buried in the dirt.

    ¡°Muck, are you alright?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m fine.¡± A jolt of pain coursed down his lower back as Faris helped ease him into an upright position. Rasp ignored it, squinting at Faris¡¯s blurry shape. ¡°Have there always been two of you?¡±

    Faris¡¯s head twisted around, calling back over his shoulder with a distinct waver in his voice. ¡°Hop?¡±

    ¡°Kidding!¡± Rasp surged forward, pushing Faris to the ground as he leapt upright and started back up the hill, ignoring the twinge of pain in his left shoulder. The loose leaves slipped underfoot, making his progress uphill far less impressive than he¡¯d intended. Rasp grabbed at whatever handholds he could find as he dug the tips of his boots into the slick hillside. Unfortunately, the harder he attempted to climb, the faster he seemed to slip. After about the third attempt, he reluctantly slid to a standstill at the base of the hill.

    Faris¡¯s white shape stood waiting for him. Although Rasp couldn¡¯t confirm it with his eyes, he suspected the faun had his arms crossed and a rather unimpressed expression on his face. ¡°This is sad, Dingle Head. I¡¯m getting secondhand embarrassment just watching.¡±

    ¡°You try doing this with your eyes closed and tell me how it works out for you!¡±

    ¡°Ooh, I touched a nerve, didn¡¯t I? Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re embarrassed.¡±

    Heat stung the tip of Rasp¡¯s smarting nose¨Cand not just where the rough ground had abraded the skin, either. As much as Rasp wanted to deny the accusation, he could feel the heat already working its way to his ears. There was no use in denying it when his complexion was already giving him away. That didn¡¯t mean he had to admit to it, of course. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned away.

    ¡°Touchy, touchy, touchy,¡± Faris tsked as he hooked his arm through Rasp¡¯s. ¡°Come on then. We¡¯ll go together.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Whisper¡¯s voice rang out from the hilltop above. ¡°Don¡¯t help him. He was the one who insisted on behaving like a fool. He cannot expect someone else to pull him out every time he gets stuck attempting something stupid. Stand back and allow him to find his own way.¡±

    The intensity of the heat stinging Rasp¡¯s face doubled. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°You have more magic in a single pinky finger than most witches could hope to achieve in their lifetime. Use it.¡±

    Rasp threw his free hand into the air in exasperation. ¡°What¡¯s the point? You¡¯re just going to take it away anyway!¡±

    ¡°I cannot do that if you don¡¯t know how to first use it.¡±

    With a groan, Rasp unthreaded his arm from Faris¡¯s and stood back, considering his options. He knew asking for a hint on what Whisper expected him to do would only result in a sternly worded lecture about how he needed to actually try before giving up. It would be best to hem and haw for several minutes before throwing in the proverbial towel.

    Giving up already?

    Dammit. He hated that Whisper could read him even from a distance. I¡¯m thinking.

    About giving up. Yes, I know.

    This would be easier if you weren¡¯t breathing down my neck. At least give me a chance to fail first. Rasp felt Whisper¡¯s buzzing thoughts detangle themselves from his own. He probably could have thought that nicer, but unscheduled training sessions made him grumpy. Not that regular training sessions didn¡¯t do the same, but at least he had ample time to complain about those beforehand.

    Besides, Faris was watching. The same Faris who had gone out of his way to find him so that they could save Lonebrook together. The last thing Rasp wanted was to give his best friend second thoughts, not after everything he¡¯d gone through to get here.

    Perhaps it would help if you stopped fawning over the blasted faun and focused.

    ¡°Shut up!¡±

    ¡°Rasp,¡± Faris said after a moment of unease, ¡°nobody said anything.¡±

    ¡°Well they were thinking it. Now hush, Dingle. I need to focus.¡±

    In an unexpected show of encouragement, Faris reached out and touched Rasp¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You can do it. I believe in you.¡±

    Rasp fought the full-body cringe that shimmied up his spine. He gagged, ¡°Gods, Dingle. Don¡¯t do that. It¡¯s so much worse.¡±

    ¡°Fine. But if you don¡¯t hurry it up, I¡¯m going to do it again. Except this time I¡¯m going to tell you how good you are, and how proud I am, and how you¡¯ve come so far just to make your skin crawl.¡±

    Forget disappointing Faris, that was motivation in itself. Rasp corralled his wandering thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on his senses. Both fire and water¨Cthe easiest elements for him to manipulate¨Cwere in short supply at the moment. He could feel the wind on his face, however, and hear the creak of the trees overhead, and feel the solid dirt beneath his feet. While he could bend flora to his will to a degree, it wasn¡¯t easy and without sight, nearly impossible to get it to do what he wanted. Thus, he chose the wind.

    This would require a second, working pair of eyes however. Someone to tell him how high to go and whether or not it was safe to let them drop. ¡°Dingle.¡± He outstretched his hand in Faris¡¯s direction. ¡°I¡¯m going to need you for this.¡±

    Faris was rightfully suspicious. ¡°What for?¡±

    Rasp seized him by the arm all the same. ¡°It helps to have someone who can see how far the ground is below me.¡±

 187 - Out Of Place

    With his arm locked firmly in the crook of Faris¡¯s elbow, Rasp drew inwards, pulling the wind in his direction. A raging gust swept beneath them, lifting their feet from the leaf-littered ground. Faris abandoned his futile attempts to squirm free and threw his arms around Rasp with all his strength, wailing something about this being a terrible idea. Rasp paid the panicking faun no mind. For the gods¡¯ sakes, they were barely even off the ground yet! He wouldn¡¯t have to take Faris¡¯s screaming seriously until they were at least a little bit higher.

    With a flick of his hand, the gust swept them upwards. And while this worked just as well as he had hoped, Rasp may have misjudged one tiny detail¨Cthe thick canopy stretched overhead. Gnarled, twisted branches, thick with leathery leaves, tore at his face and clothes as the pair broke through the treetops.

    Faris, fortunately, was a bit of a natural at his role as the lookout. ¡°Big branch! Go left, left, left!¡±

    Rasp twitched his finger and they banked left, barely missing the thick limb that Rasp swore had come out of nowhere. Faris insisted otherwise, but that¡¯s why he was the lookout, after all. A few narrow misses later, and the pair broke through the top of the canopy and into the clear airspace above. Bright blue light inundated Rasp¡¯s weak vision. He shielded his eyes from the worst of it, but the dramatic shift from light to dark made his head swim nonetheless.

    Carried by the wind, they rose higher, higher, higher. The air was fresh, almost crisp tasting as it filled Rasp¡¯s lungs. For the first time in weeks, he felt the full power of the sun against his bare skin. The experience would have been divine if it were not for the icy winds hellbent on tearing the threadbare clothes from his body. The current whipped about them, howling as it pushed and pulled the pair in whatever direction it pleased.

    Faris trembled against Rasp for reasons unrelated to the chill. ¡°Why are the trees below us, Rasp? You were supposed to get to the top of the hill, not the top of the mucking forest!¡±

    ¡°Poor planning? I dunno. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ve done this before.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve never done this before?¡± Faris¡¯s high-pitched reply came out sounding more akin to a scream than a question.

    ¡°I can tell you¡¯re impressed.¡±

    ¡°But you know how to get down, right?¡±

    Of course he did. What a silly thing to ask. ¡°I assume the same way we got up. Except, you know, the opposite direction.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to drop us?¡±

    Rasp inhaled sharply through clenched teeth as Faris squeezed tighter, crushing all the crisp air from his lungs in the process. Rasp took a shallow breath and said, ¡°Gently, Dingle. I¡¯m going to gently drop us.¡±

    ¡°Okay, it¡¯s fine. It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine.¡± Faris didn¡¯t seem to be listening to Rasp anymore. He self soothed by talking himself through the situation instead. ¡°Whisper¡¯s a dragon. They can come save us if we get stuck. Or if we drop too fast or¨C¡±

    ¡°Well, not anymore actually.¡± Rasp hated to burst his bubble, but it was only fair that Faris knew the truth. ¡°I mean, Whisper still has a dragon form, yes. But it draws too much power to use. It¡¯s sort of an emergency use only kind of thing.¡±

    ¡°This is an emergency!¡±

    ¡°Now who¡¯s being dramatic?¡±

    ¡°Are you telling me we¡¯re on our own?¡±

    ¡°Oh please, I got us up here. I can get us down just as easily.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s surviving the going down part that¡¯s important, Rasp!¡±

    ¡°Now that you mention it, I am feeling suddenly weak.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you mucking dare!¡±

    Old Rasp would have let them drop a few stories simply for the funsies. Old Rasp was a bit of a dick, though. The more Current Rasp distanced himself from his former self, the more he realized he was lucky he¡¯d managed to retain a single friend at all. Also, if he wanted to keep retaining his only friend, it would probably be best to ensure he got them both to the ground safe and sound. ¡°Alright, I¡¯m done being an ass, I swear. We¡¯ll take it nice and slow, okay? In all honesty, I didn¡¯t actually mean to go this high.¡±

    Faris clung to him tighter, whimpering, ¡°Not helping.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to need your eyes though. You don¡¯t happen to see a clear spot around here, do you? I don¡¯t know about you, but breaking through the treetops last time resulted in a few sticks in places that weren¡¯t there before.¡± That last part wasn¡¯t actually true, but Rasp hoped the joke would help calm Faris¡¯s fraying nerves.

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    After a few steady breaths, the faun worked up the courage to open his eyes again. It came with a bit of a shock, apparently, as every muscle in Faris¡¯s body seized in terror. ¡°For muck¡¯s sake, Rasp! Do you realize how high we are?¡±

    ¡°If I knew that, I wouldn¡¯t need your eyes, now would I?¡±

    A dark shadow passed over Rasp¡¯s face. Instinctively, he craned his head upwards, squinting at the blurred shape that circled soundlessly above. ¡°Dad?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a hawk, idiot.¡±

    Certainly explained the lack of obnoxious squawking. ¡°Kinda weird for it to be here, right?¡±

    ¡°What, in the air? Where they hunt? Spend their free time? No, Dingle Head. I don¡¯t think the hawk is the one out of place here!¡± Faris screamed. ¡°And you do know why it¡¯s above us, don¡¯t you? Because it recognizes an easy meal when it sees one! Any moment now, it¡¯ll be stripping the flesh from our dead bodies. If there¡¯s anything left after we splatter across the ground, that is.¡±

    ¡°Splattering would make the picking easier,¡± Rasp conceded.

    Eventually, once he got all of the death and doom out of his system, Faris composed himself enough to provide actual assistance. He spied a small, swampy patch devoid of trees and, between the cursing and muttered insults, directed Rasp over the top of it. On Faris¡¯s command, Rasp began the descent, slowly.

    They were only halfway down, according to Faris, when the ache in Rasp¡¯s lower back transitioned from a dull thrum to what felt like pulsing spasms of lightning. The bolts lanced up and down his spine as it spread wave after wave of white hot agony to his extremities. The familiar buzz of magic waned, giving way to pain and exhaustion. Rasp was barely holding on by a thread by the time the blurry ground rose up beneath them.

    Long blades of grass, wet with morning dew, brushed against his trousers as Rasp¡¯s heels struck soft ground at last. With a wave of his hand, he severed his magical connection, leaving only the tingling loss of sensation in his numb fingertips. The numbness did not apply to his shoulder and, thus, he felt the full force of Faris¡¯s punch. Rasp stumbled several steps backwards before falling flat on his ass.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ever do that again!¡± Faris emphasized his scream with a hoof stomp.

    ¡°...Urg.¡±

    Rasp decided against trying to get up in the event Faris wanted a second go at him. He went limp amongst the damp grass, feeling the wet squish of the muddy ground splatter beneath him. Exhausted and magically spent, he laid perfectly still, listening as the sounds of the forest intermixed with Faris¡¯s relentless pacing.

    It took half an hour for the rest of the party to find them. June was the first to arrive on the scene. Having shifted back from bear to human, her willowy shadow came bursting out of the trees at a full sprint. ¡°That was amazing!¡± June¡¯s wet footsteps carried her all the way to Rasp¡¯s side. She bent over and tugged ruthlessly on his arm, not bothering to check if Rasp was even alive before attempting to heave his limp carcass from the grass. ¡°Can I go next? Please, please, please!¡±

    Hop was not far behind with the mule and Whisper in tow. Unlike June, he stayed tucked along the trees, allowing his baritone voice to carry across the clearing from afar. ¡°Nobody should be doing that again.¡±

    Rasp raised his finger triumphantly into the air above his head. ¡°I conquered the hill, as requested.¡±

    Faris was still angrily pacing back and forth from the sounds of it. ¡°You could have done it in a less dramatic fashion, you know. You got lucky today, Rasp. But you can¡¯t do that kind of shit when we¡¯re in real danger. My village is at stake.¡±

    ¡®My family is in your incompetent hands¡¯ was the part he wasn¡¯t saying.

    The breeze shifted directions, unsticking the sweat-soaked hairs that clung to Rasp¡¯s forehead. He felt a swell of magic ripple across his skin as Whisper touched down beside him. The faun may not be impressed by your feat of magic, but I am.

    That certainly came as a surprise. Rasp said nothing, waiting instead for the inevitable follow up, which would undoubtedly include such words as ¡®however¡¯, ¡®but¡¯, or ¡®idiot¡¯.

    Unfortunately, Whisper had other plans which, for some gods awful reason, involved introspection. Do you understand the importance of what just took place, little bird?

    I got over the hill like you asked me to? Without dying either, Rasp would have liked to have added. Seemed a little redundant though, considering Whisper would be attempting to converse with a corpse otherwise.

    Indeed, you did. More importantly, you used the full extent of your magic without stirring the darkness.

    Oh shit. He had, hadn¡¯t he? Rasp hadn¡¯t been able to do that since becoming an unwilling host to the dark magic. Small spells he could squeak past with, sure, but this hadn¡¯t been a small spell. No, in fact, he¡¯d all but drained his power with the flying nonsense. He should have been elated, but he felt mostly confused instead.

    This is not the first time, either. You achieved the same yesterday, when you first reunited with your friend. Whisper allowed the thought to sink in before asking, Do you know why these two instances were different from the others? Why you were able to use the full extent of your powers without losing control?

    If you tell me it¡¯s the power of love or some shit like that, I might just hit you.

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled together, daring him to try. You were not angry.

    While it may not have been the power of love, Rasp still found the answer nauseatingly stupid.

    Anger is what awoke the spirit in the first place. It is how it first reached you. By controlling your anger, feeling it without becoming consumed by it, you are denying the dark entity access to the rest of you.

    That¡¯s it? That¡¯s all it took? This whole time Rasp could have been using his magic without the threat of losing control and all it would have taken was not being angry? For reasons perhaps too ironic to fully grasp, this knowledge served only to make him angrier. The scuffed skin on his face stung in the cool morning air as a ripple of heat flushed all the way from the tip of his nose to his forehead.

    ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± Rasp didn¡¯t care if the others didn¡¯t know what he was yelling about, he had to get the rage out before it had time to dig its claws in and fester. ¡°Is that why you kept pushing all this emotional wellbeing bullcrap? It actually had a purpose? I thought you were just trying to make me more tolerable to be around.¡±

    And you¡¯re back to being angry. Right on schedule.

 188 - Hospitality

    Breakfast was a simple bowl of cooked oats topped with simmered apples and a drizzle of honey. After months on the road, it was the best meal Daana had eaten in recent memory. Sure, the simple fare may have paled in comparison to the celebratory feasts back at Sunstorn, but Daana did her utmost to forget those parts of her past. Amidst the constant reorganization of memories¨Cshoving this here, cramming this there, pretending that one solstice eve tumble down the stairs never happened¨Cher table manners somehow got lost in the shuffle. Daana¡¯s once prim, poised posture was gone. Her former self would have balked at the disheveled elf woman parading in her place, wearing scrappy, ill-fitted clothing, hunched over a table, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of oats into her mouth as quickly as it would go down.

    To be fair, Daana¡¯s former self would not be the only one to gawk. In fact, a good number of the other patrons seated around the assortment of tables were doing their best not to openly stare. Part of that could have been Snag¡¯s fault as well. Not that he was doing anything to garner attention, of course. People leered at him regardless.

    Daana put down the spoon and took a long draught of water. Even that tasted better than it ever had before. Which failed to explain why her breakfast companion wasn¡¯t partaking in any of it. ¡°You know it¡¯s not poisoned, right?¡±

    ¡°You hope,¡± Snag replied.

    Daana shoveled down another spoonful of sweet oats as she considered something smart to say. ¡°Nah, you wouldn¡¯t let me eat it if it was.¡±

    Ordinarily he would have said something quippy in return, but Snag appeared too preoccupied with checking his peripherals to bother. The pair were seated in the bustling meal hall at a table shoved all the way in the corner. Snag was across from Daana with his back to the wall, watching the morning¡¯s breakfast patrons come and go with his jagged mouth held in an uneasy grimace. Although the goblin clutched his spoon as if it were a weapon, his bowl of oats remained untouched.

    The night before, after the bizarre introduction to her mother, Daana had gone back outside of the walls to fetch her belongings. What had started as a pathetic attempt to say goodbye to Snag turned into her begging him to stay at least one night. After many tears¨Chers, not his¨Che acquiesced, ultimately insisting it was because he wished to replenish his supplies and not because Daana was making an idiot of herself.

    She almost felt bad for inviting him inside now. Almost. The steady supply of food was doing wonders to keep the unpleasant feelings at bay. Daana lifted her bowl of oats and tilted her head towards the double doors behind her. ¡°I can take this outside if you want. Bring yours too. Even if you¡¯re not going to eat it.¡±

    No sense in letting good food go to waste, after all.

    A flood of stark light swept across the inside of the great hall as the doors opened with a creaking wail behind her. While the hall didn¡¯t fall deathly quiet, the volume certainly dropped in a noticeable way. Curious, Daana twisted around on the bench to get a glimpse of what was taking place. The disturbance was Ashwyn, whose height made her stick out amongst the hungry crowd like a shark fin across water. Despite the bustling crowd, Ashwyn was across the room in no time at all. Probably helped the way the other patrons practically leapt to the side to avoid crossing her path.

    The shared bench wobbled under the orc¡¯s weight when she dropped down next to Daana. From there she just sort of melted, like candle wax on a hot day, and spread out across the top of the table.

    ¡°You look awful,¡± Daana said around another mouthful of honey-drizzled oats.

    Normally this would have provoked some sort of response out of the orc¨Ca laugh, a quip, a hearty punch. Ashwyn said nothing, choosing to remain a sad, melted puddle of an orc instead.

    Daana and Snag traded worried glances. His pinched brow warned her not to say another word. ¡°This is a job for El,¡± he said, hurriedly glancing about, as if expecting the elf in question to materialize out of the shadows at any moment. ¡°Where is she?¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s hollow voice was but a ghost of its normal might. ¡°Gone.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean gone?¡± Snag¡¯s long ear shot into the air. ¡°Gone where? Like to bed? The tavern? She¡¯s not already in jail again, is she?¡±

    ¡°We¡­uh¡­¡± Ashwyn¡¯s hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles draining of all color. ¡°She left.¡±

    ¡°Without you?¡± Daana prompted.

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck!¡± Snag stood, shoving away from his seat as he threw the spoon across the table with a clatter, uncaring that the occupants seated closest to them were scooting further away. ¡°That¡¯s it? She just up and left? Without even bothering to say goodbye or tell me where she was headed?¡±

    ¡°We fought, Snag. It was ugly.¡±

    ¡°Well she¡¯s coming back, right? I mean this is what she does, innit? You two fight, she burns something to the ground, gets blistering drunk, and then comes crawling back the second she¡¯s sobered up again?¡±

    The sound that squeaked out of Ashwyn¡¯s mouth had more in common with a whimper than a sigh. ¡°Not this time, mate.¡±

    Daana placed her open hand over Ashwyn¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°Me too.¡±

    Daana didn¡¯t know what else to say. As fate would have it, it wasn¡¯t necessary to say anything. The double doors opened behind them once more. This time, the doors stayed open, flooding the room with sunlight spilling in from the outside. Blinking the sunspots from her eyes, Daana glanced over her shoulder and watched as the faun from the previous night left his entourage at the entrance and approached, hooves clacking against the hardwood flooring with a resounding clack clack. Havershire halted just short of their table, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and looking rather annoyed at having to see their faces again so soon.

    ¡°The sage superior will see you now.¡± His hardened gaze swept from Daana to Ashwyn. ¡°Both of you.¡±

    Daana glanced over at Snag, who had not only sat back down, but appeared to be attempting to camouflage with the wall. Daana bit back her tongue, realizing drawing attention to him would likely result in him trying to slip under the table itself.

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    Alas, she was not the only one to notice. The aged faun peered at Snag over the top of his rounded spectacles with sudden, careful interest. ¡°You¡¯re the goblin.¡±

    A cold look flitted across Snag¡¯s gnarled face. ¡°What gave it away?¡±

    ¡°You are one of General Dawnsight¡¯s trusted four, yes?¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± Snag adopted his best look of innocence, this maneuver included blinking his eyes and tilting his head to the side like a confused puppy. ¡°Oh, no. Not me, sir. I¡¯m but a humble gobby guide. I¡¯m just here to collect my payment for delivering these two safe and sound.¡±

    It took great effort for Daana not to roll her eyes as Snag extended his open palm in her direction. She considered putting her spoon in his outstretched hand as she certainly didn¡¯t have any other means to pay him.

    Unfortunately for Snag, Havershire was not an idiot.

    ¡°We have been expecting a message from your commanding officer for some time now. Come.¡± The faun whirled around, his red robe billowing dramatically in his wake as he strode back the way he had come, calling over his shoulder, ¡°You may explain to the sage superior in person why you are so late.¡±

    ¡°But I¨C¡± Snag¡¯s protest petered out when he noticed the entourage of soldiers waiting for them by the doorway. With a muffled whimper, he stood and followed after, casting nervous glances from left to right, searching for the nearest escape route undoubtedly.

    Daana meant to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but all that did was make him jump a foot into the air. She quickly withdrew her hand. ¡°Sorry.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t do that! You¡¯re liable to lose a hand that way.¡±

    Ashwyn leaned closer, murmuring at a volume the others would be hard pressed to overhear. ¡°You alright, mate?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a bloody message,¡± he hissed. ¡°Your sister never involved me in any of the resistance stuff. I mean, I knew about it, she knew I knew about it, but we both just pretended I didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°You want me to cause a distraction so you can hightail it out here?¡± Ashwyn tried to smile but it was clear that her heart wasn¡¯t in it.

    ¡°And go where? Ellisar and I were supposed to travel back to the coast together.¡± Snag walked between them, wringing his gnarled hands as he considered his options. ¡°Should have run when I had the chance.¡±

    Daana didn¡¯t necessarily have any sway with her mother, but she supposed it wouldn¡¯t hurt to at least try to explain the situation on Snag¡¯s behalf. ¡°Do you want me to say something to her?¡±

    ¡°Daana, I mean this in the very best way, but dear gods, girl, no. Just let me handle how I see fit, ¡®kay?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that bad at negotiating.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, I think it¡¯s safe to assume the person with a giant army outside her walls is going to be infinitely better at it.¡±

    With Havershire in the lead, and the soldiers flanking in what reminded Daana of the v-formation used by migratory birds, the trio were paraded down several bustling dirt streets. She tried to keep track of the twists and turns, but with so many new sights, smells, and sounds, she was soon too overwhelmed with taking it all in to remember if their last turn had been a right or a left. From Snag¡¯s worsening posture, he likely already had a mental map of the main streetways down.

    At last, their travels brought them to a clay building that looked suspiciously like all of the others around it. They were herded down a short flight of stone steps and into the low set doorway of the basement apartment below. It was an open room with various tables overflowing with books, scrolls and loose parchment. The few half windows scattered across the walls were closed with their thick curtains drawn shut, cutting out all natural light from the outside. Half-burnt candles littered the room, their melted wax spilling over the sides of their copper holders and leaving hardened deposits on the tabletops and floors.

    Larkspur was bent over a table at the center of the stuffy room, trading low, heated words with an elf in red and gold embroidered robe. She finished her conversation before straightening her posture and approaching her guests, meticulously placing one slender boot in front of the other as her dark eyes swept from one to the next. Her attire was the same as the night before. Ridiculous boots included. Daana only noticed this because the buckles rattled slightly with each purposeful step.

    Larkspur¡¯s gaze settled on Snag with the weight of an anvil. ¡°Ashwyn, was it necessary to bring your stable hand?¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± A nervous laugh erupted from Snag¡¯s mouth. He spun around and marched towards the doorway. ¡°Daana, Ashwyn, it¡¯s been a pleasure. If you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯m off to go saddle a horse.¡±

    Havershire stepped swiftly into Snag¡¯s path, barring him from the exit. The wizened faun gazed over the top of him at Larkspur. ¡°Sage superior, this is one of General Dawnsight¡¯s trusted four.¡±

    ¡°The goblin?¡± Larkspur¡¯s dark brows knitted together. After a moment of thought, she dismissed her confusion with a wave of her hand. ¡°Of course she sent the goblin. He was the only one familiar with the territory.¡±

    ¡°Who, by the way, loves being referred to as ¡®the goblin¡¯ and not his actual name,¡± Snag muttered under his breath.

    ¡°My apologies Mister¡­¡± Larkspur¡¯s words trailed as she realized her error. She searched the faun¡¯s face, probing the answer to a question she dared not ask out loud.

    Daana nearly bit her own tongue to keep from speaking on Snag¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°Snuglebum Flint,¡± Havershire answered with a remarkably straight-face. The same could not be said for the guards standing alongside the entryway who buried their faces into their sleeves to muffle their snickers.

    ¡°What? No! That¡¯s not¡­¡± Snag stopped trying to sidle around the red-robed faun and ran a clawed hand down his forehead, muttering, ¡°I¡¯m going to strangle that boy the next time I see him. Damn maggot calls me that one time and it¡¯s all anybody remembers.¡±

    Larkspur cut back in. ¡°My apologies, Mister Flint. You must under¨C¡±

    ¡°Not to worry, Miss Daana¡¯s mum. No need for introductions. I was just on my way out.¡± Alas, each time Snag nearly reached the door, the stubborn faun stepped in front of him once more. It was a very bizarre game that neither looked to be winning. Nor enjoying, for that matter.

    The same could be said for Larkspur, whose stare hardened at the embarrassing display. ¡°Mister Flint, you are late. And I do not like to be kept waiting. What news do you have from Oralia? Tell me she is on her way.¡±

    ¡°How the fuck would I know?¡± Snag gestured to Ashwyn with an overdramatic sweep of his arm. ¡°I just spent the last month springing this one from a dungeon. And if that wasn¡¯t hard enough, I then got roped in making sure they got delivered safely to your doorstep. Which, you¡¯re welcome for, by the way. Considering one of ¡®ems your long lost daughter.¡±

    Larkspur studied his outstretched hand as her sharp features contorted from anger to confusion. ¡°What is he doing?¡±

    Daana looked to the ceiling above, stifling her reflexive groan. ¡°He wants you to pay him.¡±

    ¡°How bold.¡±

    ¡°Worth a try.¡± Snag said with a shrug, returning his hand to his side. ¡°Anyway, I don¡¯t have a message from Oralia. She was in Adderwood last I saw her. I¡¯d tell you to start there, but she doesn¡¯t stay in one place for long these days. So¡­good luck with your search then?¡±

    The room went still as all eyes swept to Larkspur. Daana swore it suddenly felt ten degrees cooler. An inexplicable shiver shot up her spine. The seconds slowly ticked past until, at last, the unthinkable happened. A smile pulled across the sage superior¡¯s mouth. ¡°Mister Flint, you appear to be in a hurry to leave. I hope that isn¡¯t my doing.¡±

    Snag, wisely, said nothing at all. Still didn¡¯t stop him from eyeballing the door with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, though.

    ¡°You went through all of this trouble to reunite me with my daughter,¡± Larkspur continued. ¡°Please, allow me to show you the hospitality you deserve. I believe a seat at my table is in order.¡±

    ¡°I, uh, don¡¯t want that.¡±

    ¡°You seem to be under the misconception that I¡¯m giving you a choice.¡±

 189 - Damage Assessment

    For as long as Daana could remember, there had always been a little fire demon that danced in the back of her head whenever an unfair situation arose. It had earned her a good deal of trouble in her youth. Suppressing it had been a matter of survival during her academy days. Try as she might, however, the fire never completely went away. Watching the uncomfortable standoff between Snag and her mother not only sparked the coals of Daana¡¯s inner rage, but incited live flame. This had the additional, unfortunate effect of wiping Snag¡¯s warning not to get involved from her memory.

    Daana stepped boldly forward. ¡°Where do you get off threatening him like that?¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s annoyance shifted from Snag to Daana. A subtle wave of her hand kept her guards positioned near the doorway. The sage superior remained otherwise cool, content to watch Daana¡¯s fiery spiral peter itself out.

    ¡°He,¡± Daana said as she gestured to Snag, who looked to be on the verge of melting into a puddle of green goblin goo, ¡°is not a part of this. I asked him to bring me here as a favor. I will not stand idle while you threaten him.¡± Daana couldn¡¯t be sure, considering her eyes were locked on her mother, but she swore she saw the low-burning candles flicker along the corner of her vision.

    Several seconds crept past before Larkspur was forced to ask, ¡°Well?¡±

    ¡°Well what?¡±

    ¡°You said you would not stand idle. What do you intend to do about it?¡±

    Crap. Daana hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead. That was the problem with her inner demon. It was all flash and fizzle with no real heat. ¡°I¡­¡± Daana¡¯s voice trailed as her mind desperately searched for an answer. For some terrible reason, the solution it settled on was one of Willem¡¯s old lessons about killing one¡¯s enemies with kindness. ¡°I will have to ask you politely to stop doing that. If Snag wishes to leave, then let him.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s expression was woefully unimpressed. She pivoted accusingly in Ashwyn¡¯s direction, hands on her hips, as if this was the orc¡¯s fault somehow. ¡°All this time together, and that¡¯s the best she could come up with? What have you been teaching her?¡±

    ¡°How to throw a decent right hook, mostly.¡± Ashwyn¡¯s teasing tone did not match her posture. The orc may not have had any weapons on hand, but she looked prepared to make do with her fists if needed. ¡°I suspect it will take someone far more experienced than me to teach her how to throw her weight around. Speaking of which, are you done having your fun? You stand to lose her again if you keep this up.¡±

    ¡°She won¡¯t leave. She can¡¯t afford to.¡± Larkspur gestured unenthusiastically to the red-robed elf still seated at the table. ¡°I brought in my finest healer to assess Daana¡¯s condition. Walking out that door means walking away from any possibility of a cure.¡±

    Daana was damn near mad enough to walk out anyway. The tips of her ears burned as she ground her back molars to keep from saying something that would only make her situation worse. She flinched when she felt a clawed hand touch her own.

    Snag sidled up alongside Daana. For her own sake, she pretended the hand clutching was out of support and not to prevent her from doing something they would both regret. ¡°A healer?¡± he said, tone dripping with doubt.

    Snag¡¯s skepticism was understandable. Even back at the Division of Divination, a place crawling with every type of witch and magic imaginable, healers had been practically unheard of. Not due to rarity, but demand. Healers were a commodity, often snatched up by the rich and powerful the moment a fledgling witch started to show a talent for the healing arts. Like all things deemed worthy of value, healers were a magical resource hoarded almost exclusively by those at the very top of the social hierarchy. To a commoner, a healer was the witch equivalent of a unicorn¨Crumored to be real and, yet, destined to never see one.

    ¡°I have several healers in my service,¡± Larkspur told Snag. ¡°Nevil is my own personal attendant. The best in the land.¡±

    Snag mulled over this information with careful consideration. ¡°And if we stay for your sit-down, answer your questions, Daana gets healed?¡±

    Larkspur had them in the palm of her hand and knew it. With a tight smile, she turned and strode for the table, calling over her shoulder. ¡°If there is any cure to be had, yes. That¡¯s the idea.¡±

    ¡°Healer first,¡± Snag said, giving Daana the silent side-eye to shut it and let him handle things. ¡°Then we answer your questions.¡±

    Larkspur traded pointed looks with Havershire before conceding the matter with an unceremonious shrug of her shoulders. ¡°Fine.¡±

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    ¡°This way, dear.¡± One cue, Nevil, the red-robed healer, stood and shepherded Daana into one of the open chairs clustered around the table. His nervous stare was not fixed on her, but Ashwyn and Snag, who were both hovering a little too close for his comfort. ¡°I don¡¯t normally allow spectators, but I get the distinct feeling these two won¡¯t be leaving without a fuss.¡±

    Wordlessly, Snag allowed his unblinking stare to confirm the healer¡¯s intuition.

    ¡°You are welcome to stay so long as you sit and promise not to interfere.¡±

    Ashwyn slid into the open chair beside them and clapped Daana¡¯s shoulder in what was probably meant as a reassuring gesture. ¡°You¡¯ve got this, Peaches. We¡¯ll be right here if you need us.¡±

    ¡°Not interfering,¡± Nevil reiterated.

    ¡°Not interfering,¡± Ashwyn said with the sort of toothy smile that warned she would decide what constituted ¡®interfering¡¯.

    Finally, the healer gave Daana his full attention. ¡°If you would show me the markings, dear.¡±

    Daana unbuttoned her sleeve and pulled back the fabric, allowing it to bunch at the elbow. Although the dark veins snaked higher now, almost to her shoulder, she was not about to yank off her top in front of a room of her mother¡¯s closest advisors. She still had some small semblance of dignity, after all.

    With a reassuring smile, Nevil stepped forward and took Daana¡¯s hand into his own. His slender fingers started at the wrist and moved upwards, humming to himself as he worked. Daana felt the heat of magic pass between them. She opened her mouth to protest, but it was too late. Pain struck her behind the eyes as the dark magic surged forward like a ravenous dog on a chain. She tried to pull away but the elf had gone into a full trance. His eyes were closed and he swayed back and forth, holding Daana¡¯s arm in a vice-like grip.

    Dark magic rippled beneath her skin, pulling at her flesh as it tried to bridge the connection. Pain radiated in her arm like a thousand hot needles stabbing her at once. It was too much. Daana folded over, fighting the waves of nausea as sour bile trickled up the back of her throat and flooded across her tongue. Unable to focus, the room faded in and out around her. Pinpricks of flashing light danced across her vision even after she screwed her eyes shut tight.

    Chair legs jerked against the wood floor as several voices thundered in the background all at once. The noise swelled, filling the room with a heated exchange of words. The only voice Daana could distinguish amongst the fray belonged to Snag.

    ¡°Snag, help me!¡± Daana screamed.

    The din crescendoed in sequence with the pain radiating within her arm. The darkness was growing. It spread out, its undulating tendrils weaving a vast tapestry across the inner workings of her mind. The barbed hooks pulled tighter, tighter, tighter, until the last of the dancing pinpricks of light faded into nothing.

    At first, there was only darkness. Pitch black, like the inside of a cave that stretched on endlessly in every direction. And then, above her, a calming light flickered. It didn¡¯t crackle or pop, but flowed as effortlessly as water as it doubled in size. Its shimmering waves branched outwards, transforming from rippling rivers into babbling brooks and streams as it overtook the darkness.

    The pain subsided. A cooling calmness swept over her as Daana released the scream clenched between her gritted teeth. Her body relaxed, lulled into a tranquil trance as she felt the strange magic shroud her in its comforting embrace. It didn¡¯t pull tight like the darkness. It was as light and airy as muslin cloth on a crisp spring morning. Even if she possessed the strength to fight, she no longer had the will. It was peaceful here.

    Daana sank further into the magic, allowing it to course through her veins and heal the blistering ache.

    ¡°Daana!¡±

    No, she thought. She didn¡¯t want to return to the outside. Not yet. Not now that she had finally found a small sliver of peace. The pain was gone; nobody was trying to run her down; she was reunited with her long lost mother. For the first time in ages, all was right with the world again. And she so desperately didn¡¯t want to let go.

    The voice hovering on the outside of her consciousness was annoyingly persistent. ¡°Daana! Come out of it.¡±

    The glowing light faded. It dissipated into nothing as Daana slowly emerged onto the outside. It was only then that she realized her eyes were open. The warm candlelight caused her to blink the swell of hot tears from her murky vision. The fuzzy shapes around her gradually shifted back in focus. Snag and Ashwyn were crouched on either side of her, wide-eyed, with the color drained from their bleak faces.

    ¡°Thank gods,¡± Snag muttered as his ears drooped in relief. ¡°Ashwyn looked like she was about ready to slap you. Probably would have just sent you back under.¡±

    ¡°I know my strength,¡± the orc retorted. ¡°It would have only been a little baby slap.¡±

    The red-robed healer stood between them. His narrow arms were hugged to his chest and he was trembling. Nevil was incapable of tearing her gaze from Daana. Behind him, Daana caught a glimpse of her mother. Larkspur was bent over the table, fervently whispering with the red-robed faun.

    When Daana found her voice again, it was weaker than she expected. ¡°What just happened?¡±

    Ashwyn and Snag both looked to the healer for clarification, as if they weren¡¯t quite sure themselves.

    ¡°I was assessing the damage,¡± Nevil stammered, still unable to break eye contact with Daana. The poor thing looked like a wounded animal staring down the predator as it steadily closed in. ¡°The infection is unlike anything I¡¯ve felt before. I-I was doing the best I could to fight it, but then I lost control¨C¡±

    ¡°Oh!¡± Daana¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°I wasn¡¯t thinking, I¡¯m sorry. I should have warned you. The darkness responds to magic. It can take control and¨C¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t the darkness, child. It was you.¡±

 190 - A School Of Hungry Sharks

    It was you. The healer¡¯s ominous words echoed within Daana¡¯s mind as she gazed up at his stricken face.

    Nevil¡¯s hazel eyes were rimmed in white and his lower lip quivered. The worry lines marring the tanned skin around his face were noticeably deeper than before, more akin to trenches than wrinkles now. The elf held his hands protectively to his chest and edged a step backward. ¡°It was your power that tapped into mine.¡±

    ¡°Nevil?¡± Larkspur called from the head of the table. Concern shone in her dark eyes. She was already halfway out of her chair by the time Nevil finished his statement.

    ¡°The dark entity is not consuming you. You are consuming it.¡±

    ¡°Say no more, Nevil.¡± Larkspur strode swiftly around the table and placed a firm hand on the quaking elf¡¯s shoulder. ¡°There¡¯s no need to frighten the poor thing. Daana has been through enough as it is. I apologize if she caught you by surprise, my friend. It was an accident, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Broken from his trance, Nevil turned and glared venomously at Larkspur. ¡°You said she was magic-sensitive. I¡¯m telling you right now, that girl is¨C¡±

    ¡°Is talented beyond her years, I know,¡± Larkspur agreed. For the first time since they¡¯d met, Daana watched the cold mask slip from her mother¡¯s stern face. A genuine warmth lit Larkspur¡¯s eyes, coaxing the start of a smile. Even her words seemed less severe than before. ¡°She is my daughter, Nevil. It is to be expected.¡±

    The dread fluttering in Daana¡¯s gut settled. A fuzzy sensation blossomed within her chest instead, matching the warmth of her mother¡¯s smile. The feeling was infectious. It spread all the way to her head until Daana was so dizzy with joy, she was afraid she might float to the ceiling. Tears slipped from her eyes again uninvited. Hurriedly, she brushed them away with the back of her sleeve, hoping no one noticed.

    Nevil stood with a puzzled look on his long face. ¡°She¡¯s your¡­¡±

    ¡°Daughter,¡± Larkspur said, still smiling.

    ¡°That certainly explains some things,¡± he muttered as relief vanquished some of the fear pooling behind his eyes. ¡°A warning would have been nice. I¡¯m more successful at warding off power drain when I know to expect it.¡±

    ¡°Again, I apologize. I was not certain of her lineage, myself. Until now, that is.¡± Larkspur¡¯s gaze moved over Daana. Fortunately, she caught the unspoken question stretched across Daana¡¯s face and answered without prompting. ¡°Your powers work much like mine. To a lesser extent, mind you, but the similarities are undeniable.¡±

    Larkspur allowed the information a moment to sink in before returning her attention to the elf healer. ¡°Were you able to purge the infection?¡±

    Nevil rubbed his hands together, attempting to warm them. ¡°Not even close. I was able to diminish the infection, lessen the spread some, but it is only a temporary means. What is ailing your daughter is only a small piece of a bigger entity. The only way to completely remove it would be to eradicate the original source.¡±

    ¡°And what happens if we fail to do so before her powers consume it entirely?¡±

    Nevil¡¯s grim stare wandered the room, unable to look either Daana or Larkspur in the eyes. ¡°Best case scenario, over the course of the next year, your daughter dies a slow, painful death.¡±

    ¡°And worst case?¡± Daana interjected when Nevil left the rest of his assessment unsaid.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone knows what happens when a mortal absorbs the ancient power of an old one. If it were the whole entity, you would die. Since this is only a piece, I cannot say for certain. Not anything good is the only conclusion I can offer.¡±

    ¡°Daana, I will do everything in my power to ensure it does not come to that.¡± Larkspur¡¯s face grew somber as she drew inward, consumed with thought. Finally, with her mind made up, she turned to Snag and Ashwyn. ¡°I have offered my best healer¡¯s services, as promised. At this time, I can do no more for my daughter. Her cure lies within the powerstone currently in Oralia¡¯s possession. Before we decide how best to retrieve it, however, we must address the recent breakdown in communication. It has become abundantly clear that none of us are on the same page.¡±

    ¡°Here we go,¡± Snag muttered under his breath as he took up the empty chair on the other side of Daana. He scooted it closer, ensuring there was enough room to kick her under the table if and when the need arose. From his firmly wrinkled brow, it was some small wonder he hadn¡¯t already started.

    Reseated at the head of the table, Larkspur studied Snag in the same way an apex predator watched a scavenger approach its hard earned kill. She leaned forward with her lithe hands steepled under her chin. ¡°You really have no message from Oralia?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He was still nervously eyeing the exit and trying not to look suspicious in doing so. ¡°Like I already said, I wasn¡¯t even supposed to be here. Just got guilted into it.¡±

    The sage superior eased back in her chair, unconsciously gnawing the edge of her bottom lip as she fit Snag¡¯s information into the wealth of thoughts stampeding behind her dark eyes. ¡°May as well get this over with.¡± Larkspur gestured to Ashwyn with a halfhearted roll of her wrist. ¡°Where is Ellisar? I was told she was at the gate last night. As much as I would love for us to continue avoiding one another indefinitely, my patience is running thin. There are a number of questions I would like for her to answer.¡±

    Daana had never seen Ashwyn so miserable before. The orc¡¯s long face looked like it was about to slide off onto the floor and wallow in a pool of its own tears. ¡°She left.¡±

    Larkspur raised a single eyebrow higher than the other. ¡°I hate to pry, dear friend, but in what capacity? Did she leave in the sense that she is currently wandering the wilderness inebriated? Is she waiting for you to join her at the next closest settlement or¨C¡±

    ¡°Left for good,¡± Ashwyn clarified, her voice barely a whisper.

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    ¡°Oh.¡± After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Larkspur added, ¡°You have my sympathies then.¡±

    Larkspur at least had the sense, if not decency, to abandon her line of questioning. Such courtesy did not apply to her faun advisor, Havershire, who braced the flat of his hands onto the table and leaned out over them to get a better view of the grieving orc. ¡°Is it true that all this time you were unaware of our activities?¡±

    ¡°You mean the resistance? Not a fucking clue.¡±

    ¡°Ellisar never told you?¡±

    Ashwyn bristled defensively. ¡°Are you expecting a different answer from me each time you ask the same fucking question? I already told you, no. Ellie did her best to keep me from getting involved.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s knuckles rapped softly against the tabletop, garnering the attention of her advisor. Once more, the pair communicated through a series of meaningful expressions, each in turn growing more exaggerated in effort to sway to the other. Finally, settling back into his chair, Havershire conceded the argument. ¡°This would at least explain why your call to arms has gone unanswered,¡± he said to Larkspur. ¡°It is very likely that Protector Dawnsight is simply unaware that we have need of her here.¡±

    Larkspur did not look nearly as convinced. She leaned further back in her chair, mouth twisting to the side as she glared at the center of the table with conviction. ¡°I already don¡¯t like where this is going.¡±

    The elderly faun offered only an amused smile. It looked more smug than pleased.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to propose sending a company to fetch her,¡± Larkspur continued. ¡°I should not have to remind you that we just sent reinforcements into the United Territories to handle the rogue witch situation. I cannot afford to stretch my remaining forces any thinner than they already are.¡±

    Havershire tilted his horned head at Ashwyn. ¡°Then it is fortunate that our solution is sitting in front of us. After having sat in a dungeon all this time, I¡¯m sure Commander Pride would be more than happy to take on the task and prove herself to you.¡±

    Happy was not an accurate description of whatever expression Ashwyn¡¯s face was attempting to pull together. ¡°Whoa, slow down, mate. I barely just accepted Larkspur¡¯s offer to be a part of this. Give me time to breathe.¡±

    ¡°We don¡¯t have time,¡± the faun replied sharply. ¡°There will be no part for you to play if things remain as they are. We need your sister. Bringing her here is a task for which you are uniquely suited, given her notorious lack of trust in others. You are our best option.¡±

    ¡°About that,¡± Ashwyn said with a pained grimace. ¡°After what I dragged Oralia through last time, trust is probably the last thing she feels for me. Love, fondness, sure. I¡¯m afraid it¡¯s going to be a while before I can unburn the trust bridge, so to speak. Oralia is not likely to listen to a word I say.¡±

    Havershire went quiet as he considered an alternative solution. With a forlorn sigh, the aged faun slipped the round spectacles from his face and set about cleaning the lens with the edge of his robe. ¡°We have no choice then,¡± he said to Larkspur. ¡°We¡¯ll have to send Daana with her.¡±

    ¡°Me?¡± Daana squeaked.

    ¡°Her?¡± Snag shot to attention, choking on his surprise. ¡°She¡¯s infected, barely fit to travel! Would sooner sink in quicksand than find her away across the flatlands.¡±

    ¡°First of all, rude,¡± Daana said, narrowing her eyes at Snag. Her next words were aimed at her mother. ¡°Secondly, who said I wanted any part of this? I came here for answers, not to run your errands.¡±

    ¡°You came here to save yourself,¡± Larkspur corrected. ¡°I will not mince my words. The fact of the matter is, you are dying. Regardless of whether it¡¯s the dark entity absorbing your power, or vice versa, the effects will kill you within the year all the same. Your cure lies within the powerstone, which happens to be with the very person whom I need delivered to my side. Our end goals may be different, but the answer to both is the same. Accompany Ashwyn to bring back both Oralia and the powerstone, and you will get your life back.¡±

    Daana sat back in a stupor, processing her mother¡¯s blunt words. It was one thing to know you were dying. To have it stated aloud, in such certain terms, hit entirely different.

    ¡°That¡¯s all fine and dandy, Larky,¡± Ashwyn said, ¡°but it still doesn¡¯t negate the fact that Daana and I don¡¯t know the way.¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s fingers drummed against the table as her stare settled back over Snag for what felt like the umpteenth time that hour. If her furrowed eyebrows were any indication, her opinion of him had not improved. ¡°If only there was a guide willing to show you the way. One, preferably, who already demonstrates an unusual investment in keeping my daughter alive.¡±

    Snag loudly sucked his teeth. ¡°You¡¯ll be disheartened to hear I¡¯ve stopped taking on charity work. My services are in high demand. A lot of the deep-pockets types are scrambling to find passage between the territories. I stand to make a fortune on this upcoming war.¡±

    Havershire leaned over and whispered into Larkspur¡¯s ear. Her expression darkened as she listened. Reluctantly, she extended Havershire¡¯s offer. ¡°We will give you ten day¡¯s worth of supplies, fresh horses, and ten gold now, with another ten upon your return and completion of the assignment.¡±

    Snag¡¯s lower jaw slung open, momentarily taken aback by the offer. ¡°You¡¯re offering actual money?¡±

    ¡°I could arrange to pay you in rocks if you¡¯d prefer,¡± Larkspur replied smartly.

    ¡°No, no, uh, money¡¯s good. It¡¯s just whether or not it¡¯s enough, you see. Awful long way¡­and, uh¡­¡± Caught in an unexpected daze, Snag was unable to form the necessary words to bargain. Probably wasn¡¯t used to people attempting to meet him halfway right out of the gate.

    Ashwyn kindly stepped in on his behalf. ¡°Twenty gold now and another twenty upon completion.¡±

    This seemed to do the trick. The goblin shook his head with a rattle of earrings, blinking up at the orc in confusion. ¡°If I agree, you realize you¡¯re on the hook to tag along, right? I only mention it ¡®cause you didn¡¯t seem like you were all that keen on the idea just a moment ago.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be much help moping around here. Besides, it might be good to see Ra Ra again. She always was the best at pulling me out of my relational slumps.¡±

    Snag wrinkled his nose at her. ¡°You sure you got the right sister? I seem to recall Oralia threatening to drop the others over the nearest cliff any time one of them brought up their romantic woes.¡±

    ¡°I said the best, didn¡¯t I? A strong kick in the pants might be just what I need.¡±

    ¡°You have a¡­point.¡± Snag said, refusing to admit whatever Ashwyn¡¯s point was, it was obviously a terrible one. ¡°Well sounds like it¡¯s all settled then. The three of us go fetch Oralia for, what was it again, fifty gold?¡±

    Larkspur¡¯s annoyed expression remained steadfast. Her voice cut back in with an edge as sharp as a well honed blade. ¡°Fifteen gold now, and another fifteen afterwards. Final offer.¡±

    Nobody said anything. A swift kick from Snag soon clued Daana as to why. Both Snag and Ashwyn were staring rather expectantly in her direction, awaiting her say. It caught her by surprise actually. All her life, Daana¡¯s opinion had not been one held in high regard. Her wishes were often swept to the side with little to no concern. The moment might have been a tender one had everyone else in the room not been watching her like a school of hungry sharks.

    ¡°Fine. So long as long as you don¡¯t make me step foot on another boat,¡± she said. Two sinking ships was already two too many for a single lifetime.

    Ashwyn flashed her a pearly smile. ¡°Hope you¡¯re a strong swimmer then.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m with Tadpole on this one. No more water,¡± Snag said with a shudder. And then, in what was quite possibly the most daring move Daana had seen of him yet, Snag spat into the palm of his hand and offered it to Larkspur with a needled smile. ¡°Sounds like we¡¯ve got ourselves a deal.¡±

    She ignored the outstretched hand, offering only a solemn nod of her head. It was difficult to see but, behind her mask of cold disinterest, Larkspur¡¯s dark eyes danced in the flickering candlelight, reflecting the smile her mouth refused to form. It was the smile of a predator. All teeth and venom.

 191 - Questionable Stability

    There were many things fauns were known for. They were unmatched in endurance, speed, and cunning. The one characteristic Oralia had never expected to find on such a list, however, was digging. Dwarfs were excellent diggers, goblins too, but Oralia had never thought to lump a cloven-footed species into the same category. As it turned out, the fauns of Lonebrook had not only mastered the art of underground tunneling, they¡¯d managed to do it without anyone from the outside catching on.

    Briony¡¯s cottage was the epitome of quaint homespun living, with its stacked stone walls, straw thatch roof, and picturesque gardens. All part of the guise, Oralia concluded. On first glance, no one would have suspected they were standing over the secret underbelly of Lonebrook¡¯s smuggling operation. The entrance to the tunnel system was located in the root cellar, hidden behind several shelves of preserved goods and crate upon crate of vegetables. Hers was but one of many tunnel exits scattered throughout the village, Briony had explained. The passage she intended to lead Oralia and Rali through would deposit them in the wooded lot along the outskirts of Belfast Manor.

    ¡°Under our feet this whole time,¡± Oralia said as she stood at the mouth of the tunnel, reluctant to follow Briony all the way inside. The size of the shaft had been built with a faun¡¯s height in mind, not a seven foot tall orc. The stooping didn¡¯t bother her so much. Unlike the crawling, which Briony warned was definitely going to happen as several sections of the tunnel were narrower than others.

    ¡°How many witches came through here?¡± Oralia asked.

    ¡°Anywhere from a few dozen to a few hundred every year,¡± Briony replied. She stood several paces within the tunnel, lantern in hand, waiting for Oralia and Rali to follow. ¡°Couldn¡¯t give you an exact number. That wasn¡¯t something we ever dared write down. Now, are you going to insist on a breakdown of its construction too, or can we mosey along?¡±

    Rali lingered outside of the entrance near Oralia, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. ¡°I would, actually. For comfort reasons.¡±

    Briony rolled her eyes with a snort and started off into the dim tunnel system without them. ¡°We¡¯re burning candlelight, let¡¯s go.¡±

    Oralia noted the way the dwarf wrung her hands, causing the tips of her fingers to turn pink. ¡°I could task you with guarding the entrance if it would make you feel better.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Rali dropped the hand wringing and adopted a withering glare instead. ¡°Remind me again, what¡¯s our rule?¡±

    ¡°No more lone martyr shit,¡± Oralia sighed.

    ¡°That¡¯s right, missy! And just because I have to follow you into a dark, dingy tunnel of questionable stability doesn¡¯t mean you get to go at it alone!¡± To prove her point, Rali swung her arms dramatically at her sides and marched in after Briony. ¡°Your fuckmate and I have a new arrangement that one of us must accompany you at all times. Seeing as he¡¯s more liable to get stuck down here, the honor fell to me.¡±

    Oralia ducked inside, forced to bend at the knees in order to avoid scraping the top of her bent head against the low ceiling. Thanks to bedrest and Sascha¡¯s insatiable need to shove soup in her face, she wasn¡¯t as miserably weak as she¡¯d been only a few days before. Still, there was no doubt in Oralia¡¯s mind that her lower back would be screaming in agony by the night¡¯s end. ¡°I am forever in your debt, Ralizak.¡±

    ¡°Oh believe me, I am aware!¡±

    ¡°Not so loud,¡± Briony hissed from her position at the front of the procession.

    ¡°It¡¯s because the tunnel is going to come crumbling down on us, isn¡¯t it?¡± Rali whispered to Briony. ¡°I knew I should have demanded some blueprints before stepping foot in this place.¡±

    The light of the lantern bobbed on ahead, obscured slightly by Briony¡¯s and Rali¡¯s respective shapes as they walked single file. Unlike Oralia, the pair could stand at their full height without banging their heads on the ceiling. ¡°The tunnel is perfectly stable,¡± Briony insisted. ¡°It¡¯s your volume I¡¯m worried about. The last thing we want is to alert the local forces that we¡¯ve got an escape route right under their noses.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about that. How come the Belfasts aren¡¯t utilizing it? Kind of defeats the purpose of having an emergency escape tunnel, doesn¡¯t it?¡± While the questions were genuine, Rali was most definitely using talking as a way to alleviate her mounting anxiety. Oralia could tell by the rigidity of the dwarf¡¯s shoulders that she was a few panicked thoughts from slipping into an episode.

    Maybe they should have brought Sascha instead, after all.

    Even at a whisper, the cavernous shaft amplified Briony¡¯s voice, allowing Oralia to catch the majority of her response without having to strain to listen. ¡°Too suspicious. Our occupiers would know something was up the moment either Trant or Novera went missing. The Belfasts insisted we move the most vulnerable out first: the old, the young, folks nobody would notice. Progress was slow and the soldiers were starting to get suspicious. They¡¯ve tightened their stronghold on the place since. We haven¡¯t been able to spring anybody in weeks.¡±

    The smell of stale air and damp soil grew thicker as the trio traveled further into the maze of tunnels. Eventually even Rali stopped talking, allowing the rest of the walk to pass in silence. Relative silence, at least. The few times Oralia had to crawl in order to squeeze through a narrow passage involved a plethora of muttered snarls and cursing. The instances were few and far between, thankfully, and after a half an hour their underground journey came to an end at the bottom of a ladder.

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    ¡°You didn¡¯t mention there¡¯d be any climbing involved.¡± Rali crossed her arms over her chest and glared suspiciously up at the ladder.

    ¡°I thought it¡¯d be best to wait to tell you. You know, limit the complaining to the least amount possible. Now, do me a favor and hold the lantern. I¡¯ve got to go check for Novera¡¯s signal.¡± Briony pressed the lantern into Rali¡¯s hands before scuttling up the wooden ladder with practiced ease. Although the worn wood appeared rather old and somewhat rickety, it held strong against the faun¡¯s weight. Oralia only hoped it would extend her the same courtesy.

    Metal hinges opened and closed above them with a soft creak, sending down a small cascade of loose dirt. Dingy light from the outside filtered down for a few seconds before Briony snapped the secret door shut behind her. Oralia was content to wait in silence. The same could not be said for her dwarf companion.

    ¡°Alright, now that she¡¯s gone, I¡¯m gonna say it.¡± Rali twisted around to look at Oralia with disbelief dancing in her dark eyes. ¡°How the fuck did we miss this? An entire tunnel system for moving witches in and out of the realm and we never noticed?¡±

    ¡°How would we have known?¡±

    ¡°Just look at the place, Oralia! It¡¯s not your small-time operation. This thing¡¯s elaborate.¡±

    Oralia could not help but smirk at Rali. ¡°Are you upset they did not invite you into their secret tunnel system sooner?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying we spent a whole lot of time around Faris. I thought we¡¯d achieved the status of friends by the end there, actually. And not once did the little bugger mention any of this!¡±

    ¡°I suspect there is a lot about the Belfast family we do not yet know.¡± Including whether they would offer information on Faris¡¯s whereabouts. Traitor to the realm or not, there was still the sticky issue that Trant and Novera held Oralia personally responsible for the death of their daughters. It would be nice if Faris had cleared up that misconception prior to fleeing the territory, but she wouldn¡¯t hold her breath on the matter.

    The squeak of rusted hinges sounded once more. ¡°It¡¯s clear,¡± Briony whispered from above. ¡°Leave the lantern behind.¡±

    Rali¡¯s uneasy gaze shifted from the ladder to Oralia and back again. She stepped dutifully aside. ¡°Bosses first.¡±

    ¡°To be clear, you want me to climb ahead of you? So that if the ladder gives out you cushion my fall? Am I understanding that correctly, Ralizak?¡±

    ¡°Oh no, no, no,¡± Rali clucked with a simple shake of her head. ¡°You see, I¡¯m going to be standing back a ways. That way if the unthinkable were to happen, help will be administered immediately and, most importantly, not flattened in the process.¡±

    ¡°I feel so much better about this already.¡± Oralia tested her weight against the first rung. So far so good. The rest of the climb was pleasantly uneventful except for the step that snapped in half about midway up. Oralia had caught herself on the rung below it and, after a few steadying breaths, continued all the way to the open hatchway. The little wooden door was open, allowing a glimpse of the dark, star speckled sky between the treetops above.

    Oralia heaved herself free of the hatch door, grateful that her wide shoulders and hips managed to pass through without a whole lot of undignified wriggling. Briony sat in the tall grass beside the entrance, waiting for her.

    ¡°The loud one?¡± the faun asked, quirking an eyebrow at Oralia.

    A tentative glance back down the shaft confirmed Oralia¡¯s suspicions. ¡°It might be a few minutes.¡± Had it not been for the ¡®no lone martyr shit¡¯ rule, she would have considered telling Rali to stay behind and await their return. Knowing doing so would only result in more shouting, Oralia settled into the cool grass alongside Briony and waited for the dwarf¡¯s eventual arrival.

    Rali emerged several minutes later, muttering unintelligible curses under her breath as she fought to pull herself free of the hatch. ¡°Should¡­have¡­been¡­ Sascha,¡± was the only part Oralia was able to make out. The dwarf pulled herself all the way over the lip and slumped face-first onto the ground with a whimpered groan.

    ¡°Are we finished with the dramatics yet?¡± Briony asked. ¡°Novera can only stay out so long before someone notices she¡¯s missing.¡±

    ¡°We could go and you can catch up,¡± Oralia offered.

    ¡°Over my dead body!¡±

    ¡°To be clear, I¡¯m not hauling anyone¡¯s dead body anywhere,¡± Briony said. ¡°The best you can hope for is a shallow grave and a nice bed of moss over the top to decompose you quicker.¡±

    A toothy smile split across Rali¡¯s dirtied face as her gaze shifted from Briony back to Oralia. ¡°Now hear me out, boss. I know you keep saying we¡¯re out of the game and no more faithful followers, and yada, yada, yada, but this one¡¯s got real potential. She just talked about dumping my body without even batting an eye.¡±

    ¡°Most people would be concerned by that notion, Ralizak.¡±

    ¡°Come on. At least let me swap her for the two dingleberries. Briony¡¯s worth twice what they are put together.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who or what the ¡®dingleberries¡¯ are, but I¡¯m good, thank you. Now let¡¯s get a move on.¡±

    Briony led them through the new patch of dark forest at a fast walk. She would stop from time to time, her large ears moving up and down as she listened for sounds too soft for Oralia to hear. After several starts and stops, she delivered them into a thicket. From a distance, the large patches of gnarled, twisted branches appeared impenetrable. Briony proved this was nothing more than a cleverly arranged illusion the moment she turned and slipped in through a hidden entrance.

    The faun weaved her way through the tangled maze with the sort of confidence that came from having done so many times before. Each time Oralia thought they¡¯d hit a dead end, Briony would duck to the side, revealing yet another hidden passage. At last, they reached the center where a cloaked figure stood awaiting them.

    A subtle hand gesture from Novera signaled for Briony to scurry off again, likely to keep watch. At least that¡¯s what Oralia hoped it meant. She tilted her head for Rali to do the same.

    ¡°What? Got a crick in your neck, boss? Trekking underground bent in half will do that to you, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Go keep Briony company, please.¡± Oralia looked to the dark canopy above with an exasperated groan. To her surprise, she saw something unexpected hidden away amongst the gnarled branches.

    ¡°Oh, you mean recruit her,¡± Rali said with a wink so blatant it was practically audible. ¡°Say no more. I¡¯m on it.¡±

 192 - Resilient

    Oralia felt naked without her sword. Leaving it behind was not a decision she¡¯d made lightly. Ultimately, given the uncontrollable tremors in her hands, it was the realization that she¡¯d be more likely to drop it than swing it that¡¯d convinced her to go without. She had other weapons, of course. All of which were strapped on her person, tucked conveniently out of sight. She was relieved when neither Briony nor Novera asked her to remove them before making her approach. While she had no reason to suspect the Belfasts of selling her out to the enemy, it was better to be cautious than dead.

    ¡°Madam Belfast.¡± Oralia halted mere paces from Novera¡¯s cloaked figure and dipped her head in respect.

    Novera did not return the bow. From her hollow stare, Oralia sensed it was not out of disrespect. Novera¡¯s far-off expression was one Oralia had seen many times before on battle stricken soldiers returning from the field. The faun¡¯s sad brown eyes searched Oralia¡¯s face as she spoke. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know what to call you anymore.¡±

    ¡°I prefer Oralia, but ¡®traitor¡¯ seems to be the more popular option in these parts.¡±

    Several stunned seconds passed before the edges of Novera¡¯s downturned mouth attempted a smile. ¡°Was that a joke?¡± The faun shook her head slowly, causing the ringlets of coiled hair gathered around her shoulders to bounce and sway. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d live to see the day.¡±

    The joke had taken damn near three months to craft and Oralia was quite proud of it. In addition to landing, it did as Oralia intended, breaking the silent tension that hung thick in the around them.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see a familiar face.¡± Novera¡¯s smile faded. ¡°But I suspect you¡¯re here for the same reason the realm is. I¡¯ll spare you the runaround. No one knows where Rasp is. Faris left several months ago to find him and I haven¡¯t heard from either since.¡±

    It was mostly the truth, but there was more Novera wasn¡¯t saying. Such information would only come with trust. Something Oralia severely lacked in her present situation. ¡°I understand why you would be reluctant to trust me, Novera. My reputation, the horrible things I have done in the name of the realm, it is a lot for anyone to overlook. But I swear to you, whether you realized it or not, you and I have been on the same side since the massacre in Sunstorn.¡±

    Also only partly true. As Oralia understood it, Lonebrook had been working hand-in-hand with the resistance since the Night of Stolen Lives. Oralia had only let the resistance think she was in their pocket. Playing both sides was infinitely easier when both parties thought they owned you. Naturally, this was not something one uttered aloud when trying to win favor with someone who¡¯d already picked the losing side.

    ¡°Faris told us as much.¡± Novera¡¯s left ear flicked as the sadness slowly trickled from her somber expression. ¡°Which, if it were true, makes me wonder why you¡¯re here. If your loyalty is to Larkspur, then wouldn¡¯t you be with her now? Trant and I are no fools. We know Lonebrook is not worth saving. Pragmatically, speaking.¡±

    Fuck. So much for keeping her questionable allegiances unsaid.

    The faun narrowed her eyes. ¡°Whose side are you really on?¡±

    ¡°The people¡¯s. I have no desire to be a revolutionist. I am simply trying to right a wrong before it hurts more people.¡± Oralia neatly steered the conversation back on track whilst conveniently skipping over the part that mentioned saving her own skin as well. ¡°As you know, Rasp cannot fall into the realm¡¯s hands. Finding your son first can prevent that from happening.¡±

    ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t know where Faris is.¡±

    ¡°While that may be true, I suspect you have a way of communicating with him.¡± Oralia lifted her head and squinted at the gnarled branches above. She spied three ravens disguised amongst the dark foliage. ¡°If I am not mistaken, these individuals belong to Rasp¡¯s flock. Would be quite useful for running messages between you and others on the outside, I imagine.¡±

    Novera stomped her hoof against the ground. ¡°I don¡¯t know where Faris is and that¡¯s the truth! My last message forbade him from coming home.¡±

    ¡°At the expense of you and your village?¡±

    ¡°It is a price we are willing to pay.¡± Novera lifted her chin and locked eyes with Oralia. The downcast faun from earlier was gone, replaced with the steely-eyed determination of someone who¡¯d already accepted their fate. ¡°Faris cannot be allowed to return. I know my son. He¡¯d travel through the seven realms of chaos to get back here. Whatever happens to his father and me, I ask only that you keep him away.¡±

    ¡°I could,¡± Oralia agreed. ¡°Or I could eliminate the problem at its source. Faris will have no reason to come home, risking capture, if his village is already saved.¡± As noble as Novera¡¯s intentions were, she was right about one thing: Faris would fight. And he would keep fighting, tirelessly, until his parents were dead and he turned around and blamed Oralia for standing by and doing nothing. And he would be right for doing so. Perhaps if he learned someone else was already stepping in, he¡¯d do the smart thing and stay hidden.

    ¡°How?¡± Novera challenged. ¡°Do you have an army Briony isn¡¯t unaware of? According to her, your crew is looking awfully skeletal these days.¡±

    ¡°I do not have an army yet,¡± Oralia admitted. ¡°But I do have a number of favors to call in. How long do we have?¡±

    ¡°A handful of weeks at most.¡± Novera allowed a moment of silence to pass between them, still searching Oralia¡¯s face for unspoken truths. She must have found her answer because the creases around her eyes softened. ¡°I believe you when you say you want to help the people. But I¡¯m not convinced your motivations are entirely selfless.¡±

    There was no sense in denying it. And yet, the willingness to admit it felt equally wrong. Oralia opted to say nothing at all, allowing Novera to come to her own conclusion.

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    ¡°You must be in dire need of my help to risk everything for a village that amounts to little more than a speck on a map.¡±

    ¡°I am,¡± Oralia said. ¡°Although, I still do not know what it is you do.¡± Briony had not been very forthcoming with those details.

    Wordlessly, Novera raised her right hand into the air and a spark of silver magic rippled across her fingers.

    That. Explained. A. Lot.

    Of course Faris¡¯s mother was a witch! His sisters had to have inherited it from someone. Forget tunnels, how they¡¯d managed to miss this was well beyond her. For the life of her, Oralia could do little more than gawk like a fish gasping for air. She found her words several stunned seconds later. ¡°You are a healer?¡±

    ¡°The term healer is a bit of a misnomer. As with most things, it is a spectrum of power. There are those that can make a person¡¯s condition better, and those that can only make it worse. I¡¯m afraid my abilities fall somewhere in-between. I cannot heal, I cannot hex, but I can detect afflictions and abnormalities. My real gift is in the research that comes afterwards. Unlike most healers, I rely on knowledge and medicine to help people, not magic.¡±

    Novera started to move forward. ¡°May I see the affected area?¡±

    Oralia stepped swiftly away. ¡°I cannot allow you to do that. The last time I came in contact with a witch it ended¡­¡±

    The crisp autumn air faded away as the stench of smoke and charred flesh filled Oralia¡¯s nostrils. She knew it was a hallucination, a cursed byproduct of her own tortured mind, but she felt the singe of ash against her skin all the same. The heat clawed its way inside her mouth, lighting her throat on fire as it seeped into her blistered lungs. Blinking the invisible sting from her eyes, Oralia took a steadying breath. ¡°It ended horrifically.¡±

    Novera¡¯s voice worked as an elixir, soothing the blistering ache tearing at the fabric of Oralia¡¯s mine. ¡°I have examined many curses before,¡± the faun assured her, coaxing Oralia¡¯s eyes back open. ¡°I know how to take precautions.¡±

    Oralia hesitated. This is what she wanted, wasn¡¯t it? Someone who could provide definitive answers? Suddenly she wasn¡¯t so sure. Either her condition was treatable, and there was a chance she would survive the dark magic coursing through her veins, or it wasn¡¯t. At least not knowing left her options open. A definitive answer meant she couldn¡¯t cling to the safety net of denial any longer.

    Fighting the constant tremble in her fingers, Oralia unfastened the top row of buttons and drew back the cloth of her tunic, exposing the dark branching veins that snaked along her collar bones.

    Novera placed her hand against Oralia¡¯s sternum. A warm pulse of magic rippled from the faun¡¯s palm and spread across Oralia¡¯s clammy flesh. She felt the darkness respond. Unlike Novera¡¯s magic it didn¡¯t push, it pulled instead, attempting to draw more of the foreign magic into itself. Novera¡¯s eyes flared an eerie, silver blue. Her hand lingered only a moment longer, before she pulled away.

    ¡°I am afraid to ask,¡± Oralia admitted.

    The light in Novera¡¯s eyes faded to normal again. ¡°It will prove fatal if left untreated. Although you do not possess the magic necessary to increase the dark entity¡¯s strength, it is slowly sapping yours.¡±

    ¡°Untreated.¡± Oralia rolled the word around in her mouth as she considered the gravity of Novera¡¯s diagnosis. ¡°That would imply it can be reversed?¡±

    ¡°The easiest way would be to allow the spirit to switch hosts. Given what I¡¯ve heard about your encounter with a fire elemental, I should not have to explain why that would be a very poor idea.¡±

    The smell of smoke teased at the corner of Oralia¡¯s mind as her thoughts returned to the nightmare that awaited her each time she drifted to sleep. She saw the terror in Grettie¡¯s wild eyes as the dark entity consumed her from the inside out. ¡®Unfitting¡¯ had been the spirit¡¯s words. It wished for a host more powerful. For the fate of the world, it was imperative to prevent that from happening.

    Novera wrung the last of the magic from her fingers as she spoke. ¡°How to extract it without the use of another vessel will be more difficult. Especially given your unique situation. I will need time to research the answer. Time I may not have unless the realm¡¯s stranglehold on the village is removed.¡±

    There it was¨Cthe unspoken deal Oralia had known to expect. There was no sense in dancing around the topic anymore than necessary. They both knew the severity stakes now. ¡°I require a healer with your talents. You need a warrior to liberate your village. Assisting one another is the only way either of us makes it out of this damned conflict alive. Will you accept my help?¡±

    ¡°I will, gratefully.¡± Novera¡¯s tone was unconvinced, as though she was holding back many unspoken doubts. ¡°In order to uphold my end, I will need to know more about the affliction. Any particular changes or symptoms I should be aware of?¡±

    Oralia rattled off the list of usual suspects: weakness, nausea, muscle spasms, and body aches. It wasn¡¯t until she reached the end of her very extensive list that she realized Novera was fighting to constrain an amused smile.

    Oralia furrowed her brow. ¡°Did I say something humorous?¡±

    ¡°I thought perhaps you were feigning ignorance before, but you really don¡¯t know, do you?¡± Novera shook her head. ¡°My dear, yes, you are infected. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. But did you ever stop to consider that perhaps there was an additional explanation at play? The dark entity is not the only lifeform sapping your strength.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s gaze followed Novera¡¯s pointed stare all the way down to her midsection. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Afraid so.¡±

    ¡°That is not possible. I have always been careful.¡± Admittedly, after surviving the magical showdown with an ancient, awakened spirit back on the Iron Ridge, she may have been less than careful a few times. But only a few. And it shouldn¡¯t have mattered anyway! Oralia thought her age had put the matter to rest a century ago.

    Novera¡¯s timid smile was now a full blown smirk, accentuating the worry lines around her tired eyes and mouth. ¡°It¡¯s early. A few months at most. Orcs normally carry for ten, so you have at least eight more to come to terms with reality.¡±

    This was not reality. Not the one Oralia lived in, anyway. Sure, in the middle of the night, when her sleepless thoughts were left to wander unchecked, the occasion ¡®what if¡¯ scenario had crossed her mind. But that¡¯s all it had even been. Magical thinking. Oralia hated how, slowly but surely, the fantastical was bleeding over into actuality.

    Competing emotions tore at Oralia¡¯s racing thoughts. Alas, her body wasn¡¯t faring any better. It felt like she was drowning outside of water. There was air all around her and yet her damn lungs couldn¡¯t fill. ¡°Is it¡­salvageable?¡±

    ¡°It?¡±

    ¡°If I call it by any other name, then my situation ceases to be a hypothetical.¡±

    ¡°Faris was right. You are more melodramatic than you let on.¡± Novera reached out and gave Oralia¡¯s hand a reassuring squeeze. ¡°Rest assured, I sense it takes after you already.¡±

    Oralia didn¡¯t know what that was supposed to mean.

    Fortunately, Novera spared her the awkwardness of having to guess. ¡°The child is strong and, I daresay, stubbornly resilient.¡±

    Oralia sucked in a mouthful of cool night air as the weight of the situation came crashing down upon her. Amidst the chaos, a single thought wormed its way through. Oh dear gods. Sascha¡¯s going to have two of me to deal with.

 193 - A Proper Groveling

    It was proving to be another cold night without the warmth of a fire. Rasp¡¯s party had traveled until the sun was beyond the horizon before bunking down for the evening. Exhausted, Whisper had gone swiftly to sleep, leaving the others to settle. A lack of fire meant dinner was another cold meal of hard cheese, dried meat, and corn cakes. Not that Rasp was complaining. Food was one of the few things in his life that remained consistently good. The right handful of ingredients could temper moods, foster harmony, brighten the soul, and all without a single complaint.

    Unlike Faris. Who took every opportunity to complain, which was a real feat considering his recent commitment to the silent treatment. If there was anyone who could manage such an undertaking, it was Faris, of course. He made his complaints known by sitting as far away as possible, refusing to share his dinner, and, worst of all, giving an irritated flap of his ear anytime Rasp attempted to contribute to the conversation.

    It was around the fourth unnecessary ear flap that Rasp was finally bothered enough by it to say something. ¡°Faris, are you still mad at me?¡±

    Rasp received a breathy snort in response. While it may not have been words, It was enough to inform him that Faris was not only still mad from earlier, but positively fuming.

    Oh boy, here goes. Rasp pulled a face, realizing the only thing left to do was utter all of the mushy stuff his former self would have kept mum even under the pain of torture. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for being an ass, Dingle. I won¡¯t be so careless next time.¡±

    Claiming he wouldn¡¯t put Faris¡¯s life in danger again was a promise both of them knew he wouldn¡¯t be able to keep. This was a sort of halfway measure Rasp could at least try to stick by.

    Faris uttered a single, gruff word. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯ll be more considerate of your feelings next time.¡± That sounded like something an emotionally mature human would say. Gods, he was getting good at this. The saying part¨Cnot the turning words into actions bit. But there was plenty of time to work on that along the way. The important thing was that Faris now knew he was sorry and the obvious thing would be to put his grudge aside and just maybe share the rest of his cheese.

    ¡°And?¡± Faris repeated.

    ¡°...I¡¯m sorry I didn¡¯t realize you were scared of heights?¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Gods, what more do you want? Do you want me to get on my knees for you, Faris?¡± Rasp assumed the position with his hands flung out at his sides. He edged forward amongst the dried leaves and pine needles, snapping, ¡°Grovel a little bit? Roll around in the dirt, maybe? I¡¯m not a mind reader. Tell me what it is you want!¡±

    After a moment of awkward silence, in which Rasp assumed everyone was staring at him with mixed expressions, Faris answered. ¡°No, this is good. I just wanted to see how far I could push you.¡± To add insult to injury, the bastard reached out and patted Rasp¡¯s head like an obedient dog. ¡°Your groveling could use some work but, frankly, I¡¯m impressed you got this far. Well done.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s it. You¡¯re dead!¡± Rasp launched himself at Faris¡¯s fuzzy shape. The faun went tumbling backwards into the dirt with Rasp scrambling over the top of him. Faris was quick to toss him aside, but Rasp was on his feet and hurtling back over him in no time at all. Grasping each other, they rolled across the leafy ground with neither seeming capable of getting the upper hand on the other. This was surprising, actually. Faris was normally a lot faster to put Rasp in his place.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe this! You¡¯re out of shape.¡± Rasp laughed as he wriggled free of Faris¡¯s grasp with relative ease. He switched positions before Faris could catch him, hooking the crook of his arm over the faun¡¯s throat from behind. ¡°Four months without me was all it took to turn you soft.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not soft!¡± Faris managed to choke out between sputtered gasps for air.

    ¡°Gross. There¡¯s such a thing as too much information, Dingle.¡±

    Over the strained huffs and grunts of their very sad attempt at reconciliation, Rasp heard June¡¯s voice announce to no one in particular. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve seen a thing or two about the birds and bees, but never anything quite like this. It¡¯s like they¡¯re trying to strangle each other with their love.¡±

    Hop, per usual, was focused on the unimportant part of what June said. ¡°I have a feeling I¡¯m going to regret asking, but you¡¯ve seen a thing or two?¡±

    ¡°Well yeah, sure. My home was in this secluded bit of forest just outside of Faris¡¯s village. Aunty Dagmar hid our place real well using magic and whatnot. Very idyllic. Sort of became a secret nookie spot for all the local lovers.¡±

    ¡°Dear gods, there¡¯s that regret. I feel it now.¡±

    ¡°Hey, if they wanted to keep it private, they wouldn¡¯t have been doing it in my front yard,¡± June said. ¡°Oddly, I only ever saw Faris there once.¡±

    ¡°No, no, no!¡± Faris sputtered from the ground, where Rasp was still trapping him in a headlock. ¡°June, whatever you¡¯re about to say next, just don¡¯t.¡±

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Relax, Faris. I¡¯m not going to say anything scandalous. All I saw was you getting your heart broken by that Billings lad. Real tragic, actually. Was like watching someone¡¯s soul wither and leave their body,¡± June said. ¡°I suppose I should be congratulating you. It¡¯s good to see you finally found your special someone. Would still prefer it if you two consecrated your love somewhere out of sight, though. Just saying. He is my brother. Feels weird.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s shoulders bristled at the implication. ¡°We¡¯re just friends!¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± June agreed, unconvinced.

    ¡°Tell her, Faris!¡±

    ¡°To be honest, I¡¯m not even sure we¡¯re friends anymore.¡± Faris panted as he tried to break free of the stranglehold Rasp had around his neck. ¡°This is not how friends treat one another!¡±

    ¡°Agree to disagree.¡± Over the drumming of the heartbeat in his ears, Rasp could just barely pick out Father¡¯s call in the distance. He ignored it, adjusting his stranglehold on Faris¡¯s throat so that his friend could still breathe but not get away. This, after all, was far better than listening to his father gripe about Rasp scarfing down all of his dinner without sharing. ¡°A true friend gives you the walloping you deserve. That¡¯s how you know I¡¯m a true friend, Faris. I don¡¯t put on the kiddie gloves when it comes time to teach you a lesson!¡±

    ¡°I am not the one who needs to be taught a lesson!¡±

    Croak!

    ¡°And yet, our circumstances would be switched if you were in better shape now, wouldn¡¯t it? Consider this my way of encouraging you to do better.¡±

    At last, Faris broke Rasp¡¯s hold and rolled forward, flipping him over his shoulders and into the dirt with a slam. ¡°I¡¯m going to end you!¡±

    The abrupt landing knocked the air from Rasp¡¯s lungs. He managed a weak smile despite the sudden inability to catch his breath. ¡°See? It¡¯s working already.¡±

    Rasp heard Faris¡¯s hooves scrape against the ground as he lunged. Given the lack of light, Rasp couldn¡¯t see the fucker coming but knew he was moments away from having his insides turned into outsides. Wind whipped between them a split second before Faris¡¯s dark form descended, throwing the pair sprawling several feet in opposite directions.

    Crap. They¡¯d gone too far, apparently, and awoken the only slumbering member of the party. Rasp rolled onto his side and covered his head, waiting for the whirlwind of debris to run its course. Whisper didn¡¯t have the energy necessary to maintain the torrent for long. As predicted, the gale died down shortly after.

    Rasp kept his arms wrapped over his head in the event he provoked a second whirlwind. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry. We didn¡¯t mean to wake you, but you could have just used your words you know.¡±

    Don¡¯t speak.

    Somebody was grumpier than usual.

    Stop running your thoughts and listen. Your father¡¯s mind is moving too rapidly for me to translate. Tell me what he is saying.

    The soft pitter-patter of clawed feet hopped along the dirt beside Rasp, indicating that Father was no longer airborne. Rasp listened to the raven¡¯s guttural clicks and caws before attempting to translate for the rest of the group. ¡°He says¨C¡±

    Using your thoughts, little bird. I fear there are others listening.

    The dots within Rasp¡¯s mind not only connected, but started to flash like giant beacons of fire. We¡¯re being stalked, he translated. Father didn¡¯t get an exact count, but they¡¯ve got numbers on their side and they¡¯re closing in. We need to move east before they surround us completely.

    I will communicate this with the others. Please remain silent.

    Rasp heard a muffled squeak across from him. It had come from June, the only one of the four that had not yet had the displeasure of having a second voice in their head. She was coping better than most though, managing to stifle her surprise.

    Whisper had instructed Rasp to keep quiet, not still. He unwrapped his arms from around his head and used them to push his body into an upright position. Tilting his head side to side, Rasp strained to catch any signs of danger. He heard the rattle of the breeze blustering the treetops above and the harmonic songs of the frogs and crickets hidden amongst the undergrowth below, but nothing he deemed out of place.

    Warmth rippled across his skin, warning him of a lurking presence that hadn¡¯t been there before.

    Drawing within himself, Rasp cut off the outside world and summoned his sixth sense. Due to that afternoon¡¯s unexpected flying lesson, his powers had not yet fully returned. While this meant he didn¡¯t have the reserves necessary to cause mass destruction, he had enough to investigate. Rasp unclenched his hand and his magic swept across the group. With his aura vision activated, he could pick out the individual signatures of the magically-gifted members of the group. Hop¡¯s aura glowed pale purple, June¡¯s was beside the faun, a lovely pulsing green, with Whisper¡¯s sapphire energy glowing brighter than both of theirs combined.

    The source of the additional presence was a little further away and¡­up? In the trees, likely, given its unusual proximity from the ground. It was small, too, and glowed with a green energy similar to June¡¯s. Rasp wasn¡¯t sure if any of the others were watching him, but he tried anyway. He lifted his finger, pointing in the direction of the unfamiliar aura.

    Father provided the answer with a low hiss.

    A¡­hawk? Rasp furrowed his brow, unsure of whether he¡¯d heard right. That¡¯s what was spying on them? Sure, he had ravens to do his spywork, but as far as he was concerned, that was an ability tied specifically to his people. Was that something other witches could do as well? Suddenly he wasn¡¯t feeling so special.

    Whisper¡¯s voice rippled across his mind. A shapeshifter.

    That explained why they had similar energy to June then. Also, fuck. Rasp suspected he knew the answer, but didn¡¯t see the harm in allowing someone else to shatter his hopes for a successful escape. He channeled his thoughts to Whisper, asking, So if we run?

    It will follow, Whisper confirmed. Alerting the others of our movement.

    You got a plan then?

    We kill it. And then we run like all of chaos is behind us.

    Rasp¡¯s mind was already scattering in several different directions when his sixth sense pinged stronger than before, alerting him of another magical presence. This one was larger, human-sized, judging from the shape of its glistening silver aura. The magical stranger strode boldly out from between the trees and called out in a nauseatingly familiar tone, ¡°Good evening again, gents! And lady. And¡­¡± there was a noticeable pause as Rasp assumed the speaker¡¯s stare settled on Whisper. ¡°Whatever our fae friend goes by. I must say, it¡¯s a relief to finally have all of you together at once. It¡¯s going to make this so much easier for me.¡±

 194 - The Cruel Smile Of Fate [End of Book 3]

    Rasp¡¯s mind raced, sifting through memories of the last several days to place the speaker. The pieces fitted together rather quickly¨Cthe voice, the distinct silver aura, the smug confidence that made Rasp want to drive his fist into the speaker¡¯s face repeatedly. ¡°Dingle?¡± He called over his shoulder to Faris. ¡°Is this the witch you hobbled the other day? You know, when I was saving your ass from the earth elemental?¡±

    Faris¡¯s voice was laden with trepidation. So much so, he didn¡¯t bother to correct Rasp¡¯s totally accurate recount of the fight. ¡°I could have sworn I broke his leg.¡±

    ¡°Irvan.¡± The approaching witch kindly reminded them of his name. ¡°And you did indeed, Mister Belfast. Fortunately for me, broken bones are but a minor inconvenience.¡±

    Rasp cursed their luck. This was why it was essential to ensure every member of the decimated party was taken care of before moving on. Sole survivors bent on revenge had a nasty habit of causing unexpected hiccups down the road. Admittedly, sole survivors weren¡¯t usually this calm and collected. Irvan was behaving like a perfect gentleman so far, which, in Rasp¡¯s limited experience with perfect gentlemen, meant there was a wolf lurking beneath the polished veneer.

    Faris must have sensed it too. ¡°How do you know my name?¡±

    ¡°We know your importance now, and how the Speaker of the People is using you to draw the devil witch into his net. I¡¯m afraid we had to take steps to keep that from happening.¡± Irvan¡¯s silver aura came to a standstill at the edge of camp across from them. Rasp heard the creak of old leather being drawn open. A momentary rustle followed before Irvan withdrew something from his bag and tossed it before them. Regrettably, without the aid of light, Rasp couldn¡¯t tell what it was. All he heard was the soft thud of something feathery strike the ground.

    ¡°Auntie!¡± June¡¯s shriek turned to an agonized wail. Her howl morphed into something deeper, an animalistic, guttural roar, as her bones rearranged themselves with a series of wet pops and snaps into a form better suited for ripping out throats with her teeth.

    ¡°Sorry about your messenger bird.¡± Irvan remained hauntingly apathetic to June¡¯s transformation. His next words were the same as the first, calm, collected, and dripping with feigned sympathy. ¡°And your mule.¡±

    From the corner of his eye, Rasp saw the hawk¡¯s green aura swoop down from its perch and hurtle past. A pained bray filled the still night air a split moment before Bonecrusher¡¯s heavy body struck the ground. Rasp whipped around, following her panicked screams to their source. The mule¡¯s cries of pain faded as her thrashing legs went still. The shapeshifter¡¯s aura stood beside the dying mule, glimmering notably larger than it had been only moments before.

    The newcomer could shift faster than June, indicating either a surplus of power, experience, or an unfortunate combination of the two. Alas, such critical information was lost on June. Caught in the throes of bloodlust, her bear-shaped aura barreled towards the newcomer with a roar. The attacker shifted again, as effortlessly as before. Their feathery wings beat the air as they took to the sky, only to be slammed back down from a swipe of June¡¯s front paw. Their auras tangled together in a symphony of shrieks and snarls as the entire encampment turned to chaos.

    Scalding hot magic filled the air. Rasp winced, feeling it singe the hair from his eyebrows as the blistering wind whipped in Irvan¡¯s direction. Irvan responded, his silver glow thrumming brighter as he willed an incantation to life. The spell surged forth like a wave across still water. Rasp was knocked off his feet when the two magics clashed. The competing auras flared, lighting the surrounding darkness ablaze with blue and silver. The tang of sweet fruit and moss permeated the gusty air, battling for supremacy against the overpowering stench of spoiled garlic and metal.

    Rasp staggered to his feet, only to dive back down again to avoid being crushed by June¡¯s flailing shape as she and the other shifter tumbled past, interlocked in battle.

    Seven realms! He¡¯d never felt so out of place during a battle before. Rasp was used to being caught in the action, center stage, with hot rage pumping through his veins. Not like this, utterly useless and stuck on the sidelines. Rasp clambered back onto his unsteady legs in time to see a wave of silver magic engulf the blue. A blazing pulse of light rippled from Irvan¡¯s phantom form as he chanted unfamiliar words. The spell burned as bright as a solar flare before blinking out entirely.

    Darkness returned and blanketed the stony forest floor in night¡¯s shadow once more.

    Whisper¡¯s small aura crumpled to the ground with an agonized whimper. Their magic flickered, steadily fading until its telltale blue glow was barely perceptible. Rasp stumbled towards Whisper¡¯s dimming form, feeling the ice cold grip of fear seize his heart. ¡°No, no, no.¡± He hollered over his shoulder, not a hundred percent sure where the fifth member of their party had ended up amidst the shuffle, ¡°Hop! A little help?¡±

    Hop, probably hunkered down somewhere in fear, did not answer Rasp¡¯s call for aid. Not in the verbal sense anyway. Rasp did hear the rustle of brush as the timid faun extracted himself from whatever vegetation he¡¯d dove headfirst into the moment trouble had broken out.

    ¡°Tell me what you see, Hop,¡± Rasp prompted.

    ¡°Whisper¡¯s alive,¡± Hop said with marked hesitation. ¡°But it¡¯s not good.¡±

    Rasp altered course, moving towards Irvan like a suicidal moth drawn to a particularly annoying flame. ¡°You¡¯re going to tell me what the fuck you just did,¡± he said, putting on his best ¡®that¡¯s right, I¡¯m in charge here¡¯ voice. It was a shame none of the rest of him reflected as such. ¡°Or I¡¯m going to pull your fingernails off one by one and feed them to you until you choke.¡±

    ¡°You pompous little shit.¡± Irvan¡¯s gratingly annoying voice was still as bold and brash as ever, but interlaced with an unmistakable thread of pain. ¡°You burned two of my colleagues alive and crushed another. And you have the audacity to be angry at me?¡±

    ¡°That should have been your sign to stop trying to take us prisoner, yeah?¡±

    ¡°I offered you the chance to come peacefully. All you had to do was say yes!¡± Contrary to Irvan¡¯s rise in volume, his silver aura was steadily dimming. ¡°¡®Make an example. Change his mind.¡¯ That¡¯s what the Sage Superior told me. Well there it is, boy.¡± Irvan spat at the ground, whether it was from a mouthful of blood or simple disdain, Rasp couldn¡¯t decipher. ¡°Let¡¯s see how far you get without your fae master.¡±

    Fury rose up from the depths and flooded Rasp¡¯s tightening chest with molten rage. He dug deep, summoning any magic he could find. But there was nothing to spare. His reserves hadn¡¯t yet recovered from that day¡¯s flying adventure. Rasp¡¯s hands clenched as he considered doing something horrifically stupid. Fists didn¡¯t require magic. And, from Irvan¡¯s labored breath, it sounded as if Whisper had done more than half of the work already. Rasp would just be completing the job.

    ¡°Message received.¡± A predatory smile split across Rasp¡¯s face. ¡°I think it¡¯s time for me to send your boss a message back.¡±

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°Stay where you are or the fae dies!¡± Irvan¡¯s voice flooded with panic. Still, their aura dimmed fainter and fainter as magic slowly bled from his body. ¡°I already willed the iron poisoning deeper. Come any closer, I¡¯ll send it straight to their heart. Your master will be dead before you reach me.¡±

    ¡°Rasp!¡± Hop yelled, halting Rasp in his tracks. ¡°For once in your life, think before acting, please. I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re dealing with yet. Don¡¯t go out of your way to make it worse.¡±

    All eyes were on him. Rasp could feel it. Somewhere amongst the chaos, June, Faris, and the mystery shapeshifter must have realized shit was going down and ceased their fighting. They¡¯d all gone deathly quiet, save for the sounds of June¡¯s huffing breathing. ¡°Is what he saying true?¡± Rasp asked Hop. ¡°Can he make the iron poisoning go to Whisper¡¯s heart?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but I don¡¯t think we can¡¯t risk finding out, either.¡±

    Shit. And here he was, blood pumping and ready for a fight. Rasp glared in Irvan¡¯s direction and scowled. ¡°So how exactly do you see this ending? Is this one of those, agree to come with us and I¡¯ll lift the hex situations?¡±

    Irvan¡¯s laugh was even more unnerving than his speaking voice. The strength in the witch¡¯s legs gave out as his phantom aura sank to the ground. Talking sounded as though it had become more a chore which, regrettably, still didn¡¯t prevent Irvan from doing it in the most annoying way possible. ¡°No, no, dear boy. Such a plan would be far too easy for you to thwart. I just cursed your fae friend to death, you see. If you wish for them to live, then you will need the Sage Superior¡¯s mercy to lift the hex.¡±

    Hop was speaking in a low voice to Whisper. Unfortunately, Rasp couldn¡¯t make out what was being said on account of Irvan¡¯s loudmouth ramblings. The witch carried on, ¡°I can tell you¡¯re still thinking of running. And yes, you might slip through our fingers again tonight, but you won¡¯t get far. There are over thirty members of The Sons and Daughter of Resistance assembled all around these woods. They¡¯re not going to waste their energy on a direct attack, either. They have orders to hound you, run you ragged day and night, waiting for the exhaustion to set in as their net steadily draws tighter. When they finally make their move, none of you will have the strength to fight.¡±

    Dread hung thick in the air like smoke from a poorly ventilated fire. It clogged the airways, choking off Rasp¡¯s air as the realization that they were doomed slowly sank in.

    Irvan issued his final ultimatum with the sort of smugness that implied he knew they were had. ¡°Surrender, now, and it won¡¯t have to come to that. I¡¯ll take you back to the Sage Superior, myself, and get this all sorted out for you.¡±

    Caught in an internal whirlwind of racing thoughts, Rasp didn¡¯t hear Faris¡¯s approaching hoof steps until he pressed close, whispering, ¡°If he possesses the power to hex, then he possesses the power to lift it as well. We don¡¯t need their leader. We just need to get it out of him.¡±

    ¡°And how do we do that?¡± Rasp asked, hopeful that the answer involved fists.

    ¡°Adriel,¡± Irvan disrupted their whispered huddle as he called across to the shapeshifter who, by some sheer miracle, was still apparently alive. ¡°It¡¯s time. Return to the others and send word to the Sage Superior. Tell her they refused.¡±

    ¡°Your rest was earned well, Brother Irvan,¡± Adriel replied.

    ¡°Now hold on, we haven¡¯t decided¨C¡± The rest of Faris¡¯s sentence was swallowed by a gasping squeak, followed by a whispered, ¡°Muck.¡±

    Across from him, Rasp watched mystified as Irvan¡¯s weak silver glow was swallowed by the dark. He didn¡¯t want to ask. Feared to, in fact, but short of going up and prodding the body with a stick, there wasn¡¯t any other way to know. ¡°Did he just¡­¡±

    Faris sounded as stunned as Rasp felt. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    While Rasp had fully intended to carry out the job himself, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder what powers could drive a man to such extremes. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°To force our hand,¡± Faris replied grimly.

    Little bird, Whisper¡¯s voice rippled across Rasp¡¯s thoughts, sickly and weak. Stop the shapeshifter. Buy us time.

    While he would never admit it, Rasp was secretly grateful someone was finally telling him what to do. He turned and charged in Adriel¡¯s direction. The shapeshifter saw him coming and shifted to something smaller. Too small to be a hawk, Rasp realized, as he watched the tiny green glow dart between June¡¯s paws. June¡¯s bear form was too cumbersome to catch it. She stamped about, snapping her jaws, and eliciting frustrated growls each time the tiny creature eluded her.

    Rasp cleared the stretch of encampment and threw himself into a dive, clasping his hands around the little green aura as his body struck the ground and rolled. The shapeshifter gave a squeak of terror, their tiny, fuzzy body clawing at Rasp¡¯s hands, as it forced its mouse-shaped body through his fingers. The shapeshifter leapt free with Rasp hot on its tail.

    Sharp branches whipped at Rasp¡¯s unprotected face as he scrambled on all fours after the mouse. In what was possibly the most undignified fight of his life, against an opponent a hundredth his size, Rasp flipped, flailed, and rolled his way to victory. Sore, bleeding, and desperately trying to fill his blistering lungs, he rose from the prickly undergrowth victorious. He proudly held his interlocked hands aloft.

    ¡°I got¨Cah!¡± Pain ripped through Rasp¡¯s body as the mouse sank its teeth into him. His hands spasmed, loosening his interlaced fingers just enough for his quarry to spring free. Father¡¯s harsh cry reverberated within Rasp¡¯s ears as the raven swooped down from above. There was a furious flap of feathery wings and a sudden, piercing shriek before the ruckus went suspiciously quiet.

    Rasp sucked the blood weeping from his hand, silently hoping magic shapeshifting mice didn¡¯t carry disease. He glanced back and forth, realizing he no longer saw the shapeshifter¡¯s tiny green glow. ¡°Dad?¡±

    Croak?

    There were far more pressing matters at hand, undoubtedly. Still, Rasp couldn¡¯t move past the nauseating feeling churning in the pit of stomach until he knew for certain. ¡°Did you just¡­eat him?¡±

    Father confirmed Rasp¡¯s suspicions with a snap of his bill.

    Rasp attempted to process this shocking information. Unfortunately, this involved stating all of it out loud. ¡°You¡¯re a bird, who used to be human. Who just ate a mouse, that was actually a person.¡±

    ¡°Rasp,¡± Faris called, trying to snap him out of it.

    Unfortunately, there would be no snapping of anything. Rasp feared his mind had beat Faris to it. ¡°On the scale of cannibalism, I think this might be a six.¡± He listened to his father¡¯s resulting protest before nodding his head in stunned agreement. ¡°You know what, I¡¯ll give it to you. It¡¯s a seven.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this,¡± Faris said, touching Rasp¡¯s elbow in that concerned way friend¡¯s do when they realize they¡¯re the only sane one left, ¡°but I think your father¡¯s cannibalism is the least of our concerns right now.¡±

    Right. Back to the hopeless reality of death and gloom. Rasp turned in Whisper¡¯s direction as the last of his phantom vision petered out, giving way to utter darkness. Rather fitting, given the circumstances. ¡°How do we fix this?¡±

    To his relief, it was Whisper who answered. Well, relieved until the weight of their words settled, at least. After that, there would be no relief. ¡°We don¡¯t. There isn¡¯t time.¡± Whisper¡¯s voice was weak and writhing with agony. ¡°We have to move before our pursuers realize they no longer have eyes on our location.¡±

    ¡°And then what?¡±

    ¡°I am going into a state of stasis within your pack.¡±

    Terrible start so far. Rasp hoped that whatever Whisper said next, it would be better and, most importantly, not delivered in riddle form. He really hated that. Clear cut instructions were the only way to go.

    ¡°At which point,¡± Whisper said between small gasps for breath, ¡°you may have to try your hand at taking charge in my absence.¡±

    The impossible weight of responsibility settled onto Rasp¡¯s impetuous shoulders. Other than being born with a natural capacity for ordering others about, he didn¡¯t know the first thing about being a leader. Somewhere, beyond the veil of space and time, he felt the cruel face of fate smiling down upon him, elated that he¡¯d finally exhausted his ability to run. There was no other option now. The sixth son of a mighty Stoneclaw warrior, bearer of the silver-hair, was being called to step up and accept the role assigned to him.

    Dear gods, Rasp thought as the overwhelming urge to crawl into a hole and hide swept over him. Why couldn¡¯t it have been a damn riddle instead?

 Status Update (Updated 6/25)

    I made this announcement some weeks ago in an author''s note, but I''ll go ahead and announce it here for visibility for those who missed it.

    As of today''s chapter, book three is complete. I''m going to take a break to whip this manuscript into shape for the publisher while working on book four. Rest assured, I''m not going anywhere. I''ve got three more books in this series in varies stages of draft, waiting and ready to go.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    I plan to start posting new chapters again at the beginning of August. I''ll be sure to announce any updates as they come. As always, thanks for reading. Hope to see you again in two months.

    Edit Update - Did I saw August? Yeah, it''s looking more like September at this rate.

 195 - Loathsome Responsibility [Book 4]

    Two days. Two long, endless days of lifting his feet and putting them down someplace slightly further away without a wink of shuteye had Rasp on the brink of no return. His body was spent, broken, barely holding on by a thread. Nay, not a thread ¨C one of the thin filaments that made up a thread, only thinner, stripped in half, tattered and breaking. That was what he hung by. But Rasp couldn¡¯t afford to let go, not yet, not now, not ever. He¡¯d already lost his mind to the madness and couldn¡¯t afford to lose his body too. It alone kept him going. That and Faris, he supposed, who poked and prodded him without mercy anytime he showed signs of stopping.

    It was a shame Faris couldn¡¯t do anything about the creeping shadows wreaking havoc within Rasp¡¯s mind. Danger suddenly lurked everywhere, including the places it didn¡¯t.

    Rasp bristled at the sound of the needle-laden boughs as they creaked and groaned overhead. Ordinarily he would have blamed such movement on the wind without a second thought, but that¡¯s what they wanted him to believe. The enemy was crafty that way. They didn¡¯t aim to tear the group apart from the outside alone, no, that would have taken too much time. They were working from the inside out, using every opportunity to wear at their nerves, little by little, until the group lost their grasp on reality and stumbled blindly into an awaiting trap.

    Rasp was on to them, though. Whereas the rest of the group plunged ahead unaware, he alone kept track of the enemy¡¯s constant whereabouts. The hypnotic sway of the boughs overhead, for example, wasn¡¯t just the wind, but witches. Hiding, lurking, waiting to pounce. His pursuers were simultaneously all around and nowhere to be seen. The enemy stayed close, causing havoc anytime Rasp¡¯s group slowed their breakneck pace, but were always just far enough out of reach to avoid retaliation. They had the numbers too. Which meant any time one group of harassers got winded, they could simply swap places with the next.

    The worst part was that it was working.

    Whisper, stricken with iron poisoning, rode within the confines of Rasp¡¯s pack in their white weasel form, taking up as little room as possible. The fae drifted in and out of consciousness. Each bout of restless sleep lasted a little longer. Soon, Rasp feared his mentor would stop awakening at all. Hop was starting to lag as well. His heavy hooves dragged across the soft dirt, barely able to lift them high enough to avoid snagging on the treacherous roots that wove across the dark forest floor. Short of strapping Hop to the back of a bear, Rasp didn¡¯t know how they would continue the moment the faun collapsed and couldn¡¯t get up again.

    ¡°Rasp?¡± Faris¡¯s voice, low and hoarse, broke Rasp from fixating on the dancing weave of shadows. The surrounding forest looked the same as it always did, blurry, looming, and suffocatingly dark, but that didn¡¯t stop Rasp from scouring the murky shadows in search of the enemy. He knew they were there, maybe not up close, but nearby, and he wasn¡¯t going to drop his guard for a second.

    Faris tugged Rasp¡¯s arm for all he was worth. ¡°Rasp!¡±

    ¡°What, Dingle?¡±

    ¡°How close are they?¡± Faris asked. ¡°Because I think I¡¯m onto something, but I can¡¯t risk being overheard.¡±

    ¡°Then you¡¯d better communicate it telepathically, Faris, ¡®cause they¡¯re all around. Open your eyes. Can¡¯t you see?¡±

    Shadows. Shadows everywhere and closing in. Why was he the only one who noticed?

    ¡°I see the paranoia has set in,¡± Faris said with a sigh. ¡°How about giving your magic a try instead? No offense, but it might be a bit more reliable than your eyesight, yeah?¡±

    ¡°Offense taken.¡± So, so much offense. If it weren¡¯t for the cold numbness slowly leaching the life from his body, Rasp was certain he would have felt the sting from Faris¡¯s insult from head to toe.

    In the grand scheme of things, however, he supposed it wouldn¡¯t hurt to confirm what he already knew. Like his energy, his powers were running on reserves. Rasp was too spent to manipulate any of the surrounding elements. It wouldn¡¯t be long before his power wore down completely. But, for at least a little longer, his sixth sense continued to hold out against the fatigue that was slowly eating away at his flesh from the inside out.

    Rasp didn¡¯t bother with any of the fancy hand movements. Preservation was the name of the game now and every ounce of strength counted. He closed his eyes and drew within himself, allowing his dwindling magic to complete a swift sweep of the surrounding area. He was surprised at what he found. The enemy was not lurking in the surrounding shadows as previously thought, but keeping a handy buffer between them. That probably had something to do with the enraged bear that had charged their ranks earlier that morning. June had managed to take down one and scatter the rest, but it had come at the cost of a singed left flank. She refused to admit that she was in pain, but the telltale drag in her walk said otherwise.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Rasp whispered.

    ¡°Is that a dammit, they¡¯re close, or dammit, Faris was right?¡± It was remarkable. For someone whose legs should have turned to jelly ages ago, Faris still had the energy for petty questions.

    Rasp scraped the bottom of the barrel for the kick needed to provide an equally petty answer. ¡°Don¡¯t gloat, Faris. It¡¯s unbecoming.¡±

    ¡°Are you ready to hear my plan yet?¡±

    Despite his best efforts, Rasp still came across a little too desperate with his delivery. ¡°For the love of gods, yes, please. And make it a good one.¡±

    The faun had been studying his maps over the past two days, trying to use whatever sparse landmarks were available to pinpoint their location. Father had been helpful in that regard initially, able to communicate the shape and direction of any nearby mountains or rivers. The enemies caught on rather quickly though, and it wasn¡¯t long before their shapeshifters took to the skies. Father had nearly broken a wing in a tussle with an eagle. He was grounded now, forced to stay close to the group for protection.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ve figured out where we are,¡± Faris explained in a whisper. ¡°Based on the shape of the river and the mountain range to the south, we¡¯re deep in the wilds of Yuback territory. We must have crossed the border sometime last night.¡±

    ¡°Does that change anything?¡± Hop said. There was no hope in his voice. It was hollow, empty, and brimming with numbness. The fact that he had the mental capacity to listen, much less respond, was nothing short of a miracle. It was the first thing he¡¯d said all day. Naturally, he had to go and ruin it by being well-informed. ¡°There aren¡¯t many settlements in Yuback. And even if we found one, I doubt they would lend a helping hand to the likes of us.¡±

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    ¡°Of course it changes things,¡± June grunted. ¡°We¡¯ll know where we died.¡±

    Faris cut through their negativity and got right to the fucking point. ¡°I think we¡¯re near Kalikose.¡±

    ¡°Guesuntite.¡± Rasp seized his opportunity to alleviate the mood for even just one bloody second. He could feel the looming dread drift lower. It already had Hop and June was steadily getting pulled under. He couldn¡¯t afford to lose Faris too.

    ¡°It¡¯s an ancient ruined city, Rasp. I¡¯ve mentioned it before. Not that you would remember.¡± Hop paused, as if waiting for Rasp to prove him wrong, before coming to the conclusion that nobody ever listened to his long-winded tirades about history-this and important information-that. ¡°Kalikose was destroyed in the early days of the realm during the Great Expansion. It was one of the last holdouts in the territory and the Realm made an example of them to deter others.¡±

    ¡°Only the surface was destroyed,¡± Faris corrected. ¡°Kalikose was one of the first joint civilizations. Humans lived in the upper district, above ground, with dwarfs in the lower. According to my father¡¯s history books, the realm used water elementals to flood the underground city, but there was no mention of it being destroyed. As the flooding happened over a millennium ago, there is speculation that the water has likely receded by now.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re grasping at straws,¡± Hop said.

    ¡°Yeah? I don¡¯t see anyone else coming up with any ideas. What we¡¯re doing isn¡¯t working. We¡¯re caught out in the open with the enemy on all sides. It doesn¡¯t matter how far we get, they will be waiting to pounce the moment we drop. Going underground would take away their advantage. Put us on even footing.¡±

    ¡°To what end?¡± Hop challenged. ¡°We get underground and then what? So what if the resistance doesn¡¯t follow? It doesn¡¯t matter. All they have to do is wait topside for us to come back out again.¡±

    ¡°We find a tunnel that leads outside of the city and get out that way.¡±

    ¡°Now you¡¯re really grasping at straws.¡±

    ¡°The place was built by dwarves. They had to have built multiple ways in and out. It¡¯s what they do!¡± Faris, in a desperate bid to win someone to his side, truly did start to grasp at straws, throwing out whatever baseless argument he could think of. ¡°We might even find an active harmony stone along the way.¡±

    Rasp perked up at the mention of a harmony stone. It was bait, put out purposely for him, no doubt, but he couldn¡¯t help but sink his teeth into the hope being dangled on a string in front of his face. ¡°For real?¡±

    A rune stone had helped Whisper recover their strength once before. It was a long shot, but it was something, wasn¡¯t it? Something was certainly better than nothing.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know that, Rasp,¡± Hop said. ¡°The realm would have destroyed any existing harmony stones when the city was overthrown.¡±

    ¡°Leaving the ones underground still intact,¡± Faris replied matter-of-factly.

    ¡°Is your entire plan based upon the theoretical existence of secret tunnels and rune stones?¡± Hop, in spite of his overwhelming exhaustion, then proceeded to lay out in no uncertain terms why Faris¡¯s plan was doomed from the start. ¡°One, even if we could reach it in time, there is no guarantee the underground city is even still standing. Two, there is a reason no one goes there, Faris. Do you know how many adventuring parties went into Kalikose that never came back out? All of them.¡±

    The white faun snorted his disapproval. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you believe in the ghost stories.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯d be better off taking our chances with the resistance. At least they want us alive.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t you turn around and surrender then?¡±

    Even Rasp flinched at the harshness in Faris¡¯s tone. The combination of fatigue and despair was starting to pull everyone apart at the seams. While he didn¡¯t relish the idea of traveling into the haunted underworld of an ancient, drowned city, their present circumstances weren¡¯t any better. ¡°What kind of ghosts are we talking about here, Hop?¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, Rasp. No one does, because no one who has ever gone into Kalikose has ever come back out.¡±

    ¡°Then where do the stories come from?¡± June wondered.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, alright? I just know we shouldn¡¯t go anywhere near it!¡± Hop must have been near his breaking point because he relied on logic and reason to defend his argument, never volume. Not until now, at least.

    ¡°Noted, thank you.¡± Rasp turned to his sister. Her hazy shape limped along beside him, trying to conceal involuntary whimpers of pain each time she brushed her wounded leg against the undergrowth. ¡°What about you? Any ideas?¡±

    ¡°I say we last stand these fuckers. Hunker down and wait for them to draw close and then unleash all of chaos onto their sorry asses.¡±

    June was, admittedly, grieving the loss of Aunt Dagmar in the most traditional Stoneclaw way possible. Unfortunately for her, the people she wanted to rip limb from limb had learned to evade her after what she¡¯d done to the last witch that¡¯d dared to get too close.

    ¡°They¡¯re not planning to kill us,¡± Hop reminded her. ¡°The entire point of this is to return us to their leader in as few pieces as possible.¡±

    ¡°Except for me,¡± Faris said. ¡°They have no use for a non-magical faun.¡±

    Well that explained some of his desperation at least. Unlike the realm, the resistance had not appeared to have caught on that Faris was the key to getting Rasp to do anything. Their captors would only see him as a liability and cut his throat the soonest chance they got.

    It was June that broke the grim silence. ¡°I¡¯m not really keen on becoming some witch¡¯s magical bitch. So if we¡¯re not going to last-stand then I suppose I¡¯d rather take my chances underground.¡±

    ¡°How well can you see in the dark?¡± Faris asked June

    ¡°Decent in my bear form.¡±

    ¡°You and Rasp can communicate when you¡¯re in your bear form, right? As he does the ravens?¡± Faris said, seemingly noticing the look of surprise Rasp shot his way. ¡°What? I saw you talking to her during your little bear back riding lesson the other day. I notice things. This should not be a surprise to you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rasp admitted. ¡°We can understand each other.¡±

    ¡°Then I vote we go underground. We¡¯ve got four witches and a devilishly handsome faun. Surely that¡¯s some kind of leg up, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m game,¡± June said without hesitation.

    ¡°Me too,¡± Rasp said.

    ¡°For the record, you¡¯re all insane,¡± Hop snapped. ¡°Additionally, we should at least consult Whisper before agreeing to something so reckless.¡±

    ¡°Hey, Whisper.¡± Rasp gave the pack strapped to his shoulders a little shake. ¡°You heard all that right? You wanna go battle ghosts underground? I¡¯m sure you could find some way to guise it as training.¡± There was a suspicious lack of response. No grumbles or growls, not even a shifting of movement. Rasp could feel the weak pulse of their magic, indicating that they were still breathing, but had succumbed to a deep sleep.

    ¡°What did Whisper say?¡± Hop demanded.

    There are moments in life when one realizes that the people they once depended upon to guide them are no longer around. Rasp¡¯s entire life, there had always been someone there to guide him. Tell him what to do, what not to do, please, please, for the love of gods, do that with clothes on. Whether or not Rasp listened was an entirely different matter, of course. But today, for possibly the first time, he found himself without that outside voice, telling him which path to take. The others felt it too, whether they realized it or not. The closest thing they had to a leader was fading and while Rasp loathed the idea of taking on any sort of responsibility, someone needed to make a decision. Why it had to be him, he didn¡¯t know. But Faris was right. It was time they tried something different.

    ¡°Whisper said yes.¡± That was perhaps too agreeable for Whisper, thus Rasp felt inclined to make it a teensy bit more believable. ¡°Also, that everyone here is an idiot.¡±

 196 - False Hope

    Kalikose. It took effort not to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the very mention of the name. Rasp knew finding refuge in the ruins of an abandoned underground city was fanatical thinking at best. It was a silly idea made all the sillier by Hop¡¯s assertions that the city was haunted. Ghosts or not, it didn¡¯t matter. They¡¯d never reach it. Rasp had only agreed to look for Kalikose because it offered an alternative to slowly walking themselves to death for nothing. At least this way they had hope, even if it was the false kind.

    But false hope was better than no hope. Or worse, surrender ¡ª an option whose existence Rasp so far refused to acknowledge. Regrettably, it would only take a few more days of endless drudgery before he started to consider it. With any luck he would drop dead from exhaustion before it came to that, though.

    Until then, it was all about Kalikose. A totally real city that definitely existed and was somehow a better alternative to death. Hurray!

    Rasp kept his reservations to himself, naturally. There wasn¡¯t any sense in letting the others know Faris¡¯s plan was a crock of shit. Which was why, after another half day of slogging through the forest with death at their backs, Rasp was surprised when they stumbled across landmarks that proved they were headed in the right direction. The signs were innocuous at first, simple, unnoteworthy, easy to dismiss. The crumbling remains of an abandoned bridge here, a broken tower there, the washed out remnants of a cobbled road underfoot.

    Armed with his father¡¯s maps, some navigational assistance from Father, and the desperate determination of a dead man bent on evading his doom, Faris drove them onward tirelessly. By the end, even Rasp was beginning to believe the fantasy was real. Kalikose defied logic, sure, but the idea of salvation was a drug unlike any other, and the gods be damned, Faris knew how to peddle his shit. Every twist and turn of the forest came with fresh evidence that they were nearly there.

    Salvation was at hand. They only had to keep going. A few steps more, Faris insisted. That was it. And then they would be saved, freed from the waking nightmare of being hunted for their magic.

    And then it happened. They took the final few steps and arrived at the top of a slippery, fern-infested hill. The trees parted and a ray of sunshine struck down from the clouds, illuminating the lost city below. An angelic choir of pudgy-faced cherubs descended from the heavens to herald the momentous occasion, filling the musty forest air with harmonic song.

    Yep. You¡¯ve officially lost it.

    Okay, admittedly, it probably didn¡¯t happen quite like that. Especially not the choir, as Rasp was so hungry he might¡¯ve considered eating one of the pudgy-faced fuckers. But what good was having an overactive imagination if not to exercise a little creative licensing from time to time? It¡¯s not like he could see what the rest of the group was gawking at. In fact, had it not been for Faris¡¯s fervent chatter, insisting that they¡¯d found the damned place, Rasp would¡¯ve assumed they were still stuck forest-deep amongst an endless sea of suffocating trees. The passing landscape hadn¡¯t changed in any significant way. It was still trees, trees, and more trees, blocking out the blessed sunlight, rendering night indistinguishable from day.

    ¡°Ready?¡± June¡¯s voice broke Rasp from his thoughts.

    His companions each took shifts acting as his guide. He hadn¡¯t bothered to keep track of who or when or how they decided it was someone else¡¯s turn to walk the blind man into the nearest tree, but evidently his sister was on duty now. Under normal circumstances, Rasp wouldn¡¯t have minded so much except, like him, her attention tended to wander. Which meant he tended to wander under her care, too. The last time he¡¯d been left under her watch he damn near wandered off a ledge.

    Rasp held his arms close to his body to keep her from seizing him by the elbow and leading him somewhere worse. ¡°You¡¯re actually watching where we step this time, right?¡±

    ¡°Why are you being such a baby all of the sudden?¡±

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    ¡°All of the sudden?¡± Faris¡¯s mocking voice called out from somewhere below.

    Rasp ignored him, focusing instead on the much closer problem at hand. ¡°I¡¯m not being a baby, dear sister. I¡¯m ensuring the hands I¡¯m being entrusted to are paying attention this time.¡±

    ¡°Look, I get it. You¡¯re doing that thing where you act mad about something else because acknowledging the truth is hard, but we don¡¯t have time for this.¡± June pried Rasp¡¯s left hand away from the protection of his body. The fact that she was using only a fraction of her strength was almost as insulting as the words pouring from her mouth. ¡°As much as I would love to stand here and assuage your feelings about venturing deep into the haunted underground city, we¡¯ve got to get a move on. Come on now. No more dilly-dallying.¡±

    Gods he missed the mule. ¡°I wasn¡¯t dilly-dallying.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh, sure. Like you weren¡¯t stalling on account of how freaky the city looks.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t see how freaky the city looks.¡±

    ¡°Oh, right.¡± June threaded her arm through his and started off down the slippery sloped hill regardless of whether or not Rasp was prepared to follow. ¡°Never mind then. Let¡¯s go!¡±

    ¡°Should I be worried how the city looks? June? June!¡±

    In true Stoneclaw tradition, June chose the path of most resistance and slid down the steep hillside at a pace a few steps shy of a freefall. Rasp clung to her like a babe, whimpering obscenities under his breath each time he nearly lost his footing. Eventually, after more close encounters than he cared to remember, the pair reached the foot of the hill. Here the spongy terrain was artificially flat. While it was not uncommon for forests to have flat spots, this was far too uniform to be natural. There was no denying that this part of the forest might have once been tamed by civilization.

    An irritated ear flap reminded June and Rasp they¡¯d fallen behind and that Faris and Hop were waiting for them to catch up. From Hop¡¯s labored breathing, he probably didn¡¯t mind the delay, but their self-appointed guide felt otherwise. ¡°Don¡¯t lag,¡± Faris cautioned as he assumed the lead once more. ¡°This is not the kind of place you want to get separated in.¡±

    While this was sound advice in itself, Rasp couldn¡¯t help but wonder why Faris had felt the need to state the obvious. Getting split apart would certainly make it easier for the enemy to pick them off one by one. Had this been Faris¡¯s sole concern, however, Rasp was certain he would have said as much.

    On cue, the overactive imagination kicked in and started running with wild theories concerning the creepy, abandoned city and whatever had stuck around to haunt it. Ghost stories existed for a reason, after all. And while Rasp firmly believed ninety percent of them could be attributed to tales spun by older siblings, the remaining ten percent fell to the supernatural. As each step brought them closer to the city, and the creepy crawly sense of dread crept from the back of his neck and down his spine, Rasp couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the rumors surrounding Kalikose were not the product of spiteful older brothers.

    The damp air dropped several degrees as they passed under the crumbling remnants of what had once been the main gates. With his left arm still hooked firmly through June¡¯s elbow, Rasp ran his hand along the tangle of lichen sprouting from the surrounding walls. His fingertips dug deep, burrowing through layer upon layer of wet moss and scum to find stone. Rasp pulled his hand away with a grimace, concluding the walls constituted more flora than stone. The wilderness had reclaimed the abandoned city as its own.

    Moss, thick and spongy like wet wool, clung to every available surface ¡ª the walls, the ground, probably the air too, in the form of invisible spore clouds, waiting to be sucked up into some unsuspecting beast¡¯s lungs and start its life cycle anew. Rasp yanked the sweat-soaked bandana that hung loosely around his neck up over his mouth at the thought. The smells wormed their way in through the musty fabric regardless, clouding Rasp¡¯s nose with the stench of wet leaves and sticky sweet pollen.

    It took him a moment to realize why the smells felt out of place. Unlike the rest of the forest, nature here seemed blissfully unaware that fall was in full swing. It was as if Kalikose had been cut off from the rest of the territory, content to exist within its own private bubble, free of outsider interference.

    Terror crawled down the back of Rasp¡¯s neck like an invisible spider. His six sense kept tugging at him, insisting something was nearby, watching, waiting, lurking, but each time he scanned the ruins for signs of foreign magic, he found nothing at all. Something was there, though. He could feel it.

    The enemy must have sensed it as well. According to Father¡¯s report, they¡¯d retreated back into the forest and were in the midst of a heated debate similar to one Rasp¡¯s group had had that morning. Traipsing blindly into a haunted city brought out the superstition in even the worst of people, apparently. Rasp had to give Faris credit for that. While it wasn¡¯t ideal, the faun¡¯s plan was giving their pursuers pause.

    It wouldn¡¯t last though. Ultimately, the decision would come down to whom the resistance feared most: ghosts or their leader. And Rasp had a sneaking suspicion he already knew the answer.

 197 - Nothing

    Finding Kalikose was only half the battle. Faris¡¯s maps showed the theoretical location of the lost city, not its contents. Accessing the underground district required a still-functioning gateway. And they needed to find it quickly, before the enemy reformed rank and swooped in to collect them. Alas, the only way to find a gateway was to go looking for it. Meaning that, even after nearly three days on the run, there would be no stopping. Just go, go, go until they either found the stairway or dropped dead trying.

    Faris insisted they could rest once they were underground. Worn to bone, exhausted, and tempers flaring left and right, Rasp feared it would only be a matter of time before the others got fed up enough to put Faris in the ground, six feet under. Metaphorically, of course, as nobody had the reserves to dig a damn grave. Hop was already on the brink of no return, with June not far behind.

    It didn¡¯t help that every time June made a suggestion, her idea was shot down almost immediately. On the other hand, it probably would¡¯ve helped had she offered sound suggestions and not moronic dribble such as:

    ¡°We should split up.¡± June slogged down yet another overgrown alleyway, pulling Rasp with her. He¡¯d lost track of how many they¡¯d searched so far. This one, like all the others before, was proving fruitless.

    ¡°No,¡± Hop and Faris chorused together. Although the two butted heads like mountain goats establishing dominance, they at least agreed that splitting up was a terrible idea.

    ¡°We¡¯d be able to cover more ground,¡± June insisted. ¡°Plus, we¡¯re losing the light here. It¡¯s going to be dark soon. Without night vision, you¡¯re all going to be useless.¡±

    ¡°I was already useless,¡± Rasp reminded her ever-so-helpfully.

    ¡°We¡¯re stronger as a unit,¡± Faris said.

    June was ready with a snappy retort. ¡°You know what would make us even stronger? Finding the damn stairway.¡±

    Faris must have been worn down beyond belief because he folded the argument and issued a long, regretful sigh instead. ¡°Fine, go ahead if you want. But stay within hearing, alright?¡±

    ¡°Finally, thank you.¡± June¡¯s grip tightened on Rasp¡¯s arm as she started off with fresh vigor in her step. ¡°Oh, and by the way, I¡¯m taking this one with me.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Rasp squirmed for all he was worth to get away. Unfortunately, his sister had strength on her side, and dragged him along in her wake regardless. ¡°Unhand me! I didn¡¯t ask for this.¡±

    ¡°Really? You¡¯d rather stay with them?¡± For the first time in days, June managed to sound something other than angry. Her tone practically dripped with amusement. ¡°Granted, I don¡¯t know what that tall fucker can do other than hide, but I know Faris can¡¯t fight for shit. I¡¯d take my chances with the bear, if I were you.¡±

    Strangely, that actually made sense. Rasp ceased his futile struggle and fell in step beside her. ¡°While you raise a good point, I fail to see what you get out of this.¡±

    ¡°You would fail to see that, wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Hey! I¡¯m allowed to make blind jokes, not you. We¡¯re not that familiar yet.¡±

    Too tired to lift his heels all the way, Rasp¡¯s aching feet dragged through the patches of overgrown grass. The soft soil compacted underfoot, stirring the sweet smells of grass and soil into the air. Rasp kept his ears open and his head held to the side. If something gave Faris and Hop trouble, he didn¡¯t want to be caught unaware.

    ¡°Then I guess this¡¯ll give us a chance to get familiar, won¡¯t it?¡± June said.

    Rasp wasn¡¯t convinced. He might have said as much as well, except the unnerving tickle on the back of his neck was back in full force. It spread from the neck down, lifting every hair on end, warning something was amiss. His surroundings were nothing more than a continuous green and gray blur, but he scanned the towering moss-riddled walls anyway, all while listening for something out of place.

    ¡°I saw what you did to that witch when Faris and I were under attack.¡± June continued talking, unaware of Rasp¡¯s sudden bout of the heebie-jeebies. ¡°If I¡¯m going to be dragging someone else¡¯s weight around, it might as well be the guy who can obliterate an opponent with a wave of his hand.¡±

    Once more, Rasp¡¯s search came up empty. He smoothed down the hairs on the back of his neck with his free hand, muttering, ¡°So you admit it then. You are scared.¡±

    ¡°Fuck yeah. This place is giving me the creeps.¡±

    Rasp chewed his lip, unsure of how much he wanted to share. The group already was on edge. And, despite the rough and tumble front June had been putting on, apparently even she was having reservations about traipsing through haunted ruins. ¡°So,¡± he started, struggling to keep his tone casual, ¡°do you feel it too, then?¡±

    June stopped in her tracks. ¡°Feel what?¡±

    ¡°Like someone¡¯s watching us?¡±

    She uncurled her arms from his and took a step back. ¡°Shit, Rasp. Read the damn room. If you are fucking with me right now, I¡¯m going to¨C¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± He held his hands away from his body, palms out in the universal sign of ¡®please don¡¯t punch me¡¯. She refrained, which Rasp took as his cue to keep talking. ¡°Ever since we got here I¡¯ve had this feeling like, I don¡¯t know, we¡¯re not alone, maybe?¡±

    ¡°Oh my gods,¡± June groaned. ¡°This is how it starts, you know. First it¡¯s a feeling, and then you start hearing things, and, before you know, the furniture starts moving on its own accord¨C¡±

    Her rant was cut short as a part of the wall gave away only paces from where they stood. The collapse was small. Over almost as swiftly as it had begun. Rasp fanned the dust away from his face and sniffed, noting the sweet fragrances of grass and dirt paled against the sudden stench of stale air.

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    Despite her choice of words, there was no anger in June¡¯s voice. The same could not be said for fear. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking kidding me.¡±

    Rasp reached for her. Partly because he wanted to get closer and needed a working set of eyes to do so, but also because the panic in June¡¯s voice indicated she was mere seconds from bolting back the way they¡¯d come ¡ª with or without him. Rasp¡¯s fingers made contact with her wrist and worked their way upwards, cinching themselves tightly around her elbow. He urged her forward with his knee and was pleasantly surprised when she refrained from kicking him back.

    ¡°Feel free to clue me in here any time now, sis,¡± he said. ¡°The suspense is killing me.¡±

    ¡°The wall next to us just opened? I mean, not that it was really much of a wall, more like a mound of rubble, but anyway, now there¡¯s sort of a hole where there wasn¡¯t and¡­¡­¡± June¡¯s voice trailed as she edged them closer.

    Rasp heard the sharp intake of air through her nostrils. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Stairs.¡±

    ¡°Is it just me, or does that seem convenient? Like, too convenient.¡± Rasp wanted to stop but his mouth was on a roll and it would say it¡¯s piece, in full, whether he wanted to hear it or not. ¡°We¡¯re looking for a hidden gateway with stairs to the underground and, what do you know, one creepy feeling later, and it appears!¡±

    Unless of course the stairs were to something else, which then rendered all of this one big fat coincidence and nothing more. Unfortunately, June¡¯s next words killed this theory before it was given a chance to thrive.

    ¡°The stairs go down deep,¡± she whispered.

    Gods dammit! Yes, he wanted to be the one to find the secret underground passage so he could rub it in Faris¡¯s stupid, smug face, but not like this! Rasp mirrored his sister¡¯s low whisper. ¡°How deep?¡±

    ¡°Too hard to tell in this form.¡± June left Rasp¡¯s side and, after what sounded like a brief struggle, was shoving a warm bundle of cloth into his arms. ¡°Here. Hold these for me, will ya?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s question died on his tongue a split second later, when he realized it was a wadded up bundle of clothing. Still warm too, from residual body heat. Shrugging, Rasp swung his pack around to the front and unfastened the top, dumping the wad of clothing inside.

    ¡°Sorry, Whisper,¡± he said only after remembering he had a passenger curled up inside. He felt the fae¡¯s little body flinch in protest, before it settled back down without complaint. That was worrying. Even in animal form, be it it hiss, snarl, or bite, Whisper always found a way to communicate their displeasure.

    Rasp could hear the wet snap and pop as June¡¯s bones shifted beside him. Her transformation wasn¡¯t instantaneous, meaning he had a few seconds to investigate. Rasp closed his eyes and stirred his sixth sense from its slumber. It responded with the enthusiasm of a hungover man bent on staying in bed. Rasp persisted. He dug deeper, willing it into obedience until, at last, his magic sensitivity groggily flickered to life and spread, searching the inside of his pack for telltale signs of life.

    Whisper¡¯s faint blue magic pulsed within Rasp¡¯s mind¡¯s eye, allowing a small wave of relief to wash over him. His mentor¡¯s power burned a little brighter than before. Sleep was allowing them to regain their strength.

    A low grunt from June broke Rasp¡¯s concentration. He shook his head, summoning the concentration needed to translate her animal sounds into something intelligible. The stench of water rot was coming from deep beyond the rubble, June insisted.

    Rasp wove his fingers into her thick fur and ventured a tentative step closer. His nose was nowhere near as sharp as hers, but he could smell the unnerving stench coming from within the opening all the same. It was wet and rotten and reeked of death.

    There was something else too, beyond the revolting smell. Static hung in the air. The sensation grew stronger as Rasp neared, sending the hairs on his arm on end once more. He closed his eyes and focused on what his sixth sense was trying to tell him. A faint amethyst cloud appeared within his mind¡¯s eye. It rippled and writhed, growing stronger, as if it too sensed him. Like a faint lullaby lost to memory, the magic called to him, beckoning him inside.

    June growled and started to back away.

    ¡°There you are! What happened to staying within hearing? We¡¯ve been calling for¡­¡± Faris¡¯s anger petered out as the soft, dragging scape of his hooves drew nearer. ¡°What did you find?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyes snapped open. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean nothing? I can see stairs, Rasp.¡± Faris pushed past to the front of the opening. ¡°They¡¯re intact, too. Muck me, I think you found it.¡±

    Rasp seized the back of Faris¡¯s tunic and yanked him backwards. ¡°Don¡¯t! There¡¯s something down there.¡±

    ¡°What do you¨C¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± Hop thundered as he raced towards them. ¡°They¡¯ve reached the gate. We need to move, now!¡±

    June huffed as her large paws stamped against the ground. Her fight or flight instinct was in full swing now and if they didn¡¯t make a split decision, she was going to go full berserk on the advancing horde.

    ¡°Faris,¡± Rasp said, ¡°We can¡¯t go in there. There¡¯s something down there. I can feel it.¡±

    Croak! Father swooped in overhead, calling out his warning.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± The tightness in Rasp¡¯s chest doubled as he translated Father¡¯s message for the others. ¡°They¡¯re not just through the main gate. They¡¯ve got groups moving around the rest of the city as well. They¡¯re blocking us in.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s worse, Rasp?¡± It wasn¡¯t a rhetorical question. From Faris¡¯s somber voice, he was legitimately asking. ¡°Facing an overpowered horde of witches? Or whatever it is that¡¯s down there?¡±

    Dread settled in his belly like a stone at the bottom of a still pond. Rasp turned his head in the direction of the gateway. He didn¡¯t know. Fuck, how was he supposed to know? And why were they asking him? He should have been the last person to take advice from.

    The clack of Hop¡¯s hooves slowed as he neared them, huffing and puffing for breath. ¡°Are we going or not?¡±

    Fuck it. He wasn¡¯t cut out to be some witch¡¯s magical bitch.

    ¡°Everyone inside.¡± Rasp tightened his grip on June¡¯s scruff, urging her forward with his knee. She clambered through the opening, guiding him up and over the lip of broken stone and into the slick stairwell beyond. Rasp stopped and turned, waiting for the others to follow. It wasn¡¯t until they were inside that he decided how to ensure they wouldn¡¯t be followed.

    ¡°Stay back,¡± he said. ¡°Find something to hide behind if you can.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please no,¡± Hop whimpered, having caught on to what Rasp was doing well ahead of the others.

    Croak. The call echoed against the wet stone behind him, filling the space with its ominous sound. Evidently even Father had his reservations. That said a lot for someone who hadn¡¯t hesitated to gobble up a witch when given the chance.

    Too late. There wasn¡¯t any turning back now.

    Rasp dug deep, deep down, summoning the last of his power. Faint gold and yellow magic sprang from his fingers and weaved into the air. With a flick of his hand, he sent it burrowing into the surrounding rock like worms to dirt. The entrance shook and rumbled as the stubborn stone bent to Rasp¡¯s will.

    The entrance collapsed. The gateway went dark. And a man, two fauns, a bear, and raven found themselves trapped in a world of pitch black. The soft rumble of shifting rock and debris slowly died away, making way for the most hair-raising sound of all ¡ª nothing.

 198 - Two Words: Raw Egg

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe this. I¡¯m fuming. Positively fuming!¡± Rali¡¯s harsh whisper echoed along the tunnel until it sounded as if there were multiple dwarfs all angrily talking over one another at once.

    The air underground was hot and stale. An olfactory amalgamation of dust, soil, and musty sock hung suffocatingly thick all around them. The stench pervaded the nostrils, the mouth, and eventually worked its way all the way down into the lungs themselves.

    Rali carried on, seemingly unbothered by the abysmal lack of fresh air. ¡°I¡¯ve been at your side for almost eighty years, loyal, loving, committed, and still, you insist on keeping secrets from me. Does my friendship mean nothing to you, Oralia?¡±

    Oralia placed one leaden foot in front of the other again, and again, and again, focused on reaching the end of the cramped tunnel system and, by extension, Briony¡¯s cottage. Her hurried pace was not due to the fact that she had an irate dwarf nipping at her heels ¡ª although that certainly helped ¡ª but because shock threatened to take her out at the knees and she needed to reach Sascha before she lost control of her body altogether.

    What she was supposed to say to him, she had no idea. But looking her fuckmate in the eye before ripping the rug out from under his feet seemed as good of a place to start as any.

    ¡°You¡¯re seriously not going to tell me what Novera said?¡± Rali persisted.

    ¡°I did tell you what Novera said.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, about the deal you struck, sure. You help save her village and she helps you with your dark entity problem. But I¡¯m not an idiot, Oralia. I can tell there was more. Whatever Novera said, it¡¯s gone and rattled your cage something fierce. You haven¡¯t looked this pale since that time Ellisar filled your bed with scorpions!¡±

    Suddenly a bed brimming with scorpions didn¡¯t seem so bad. Oralia clicked her tusks in mild exasperation. ¡°Do you trust that I will tell you when it is time?¡±

    ¡°No! Because I don¡¯t trust your sense of timing,¡± Rali said. ¡°What if it¡¯s too late?¡±

    ¡°I assure you, you will know by the time it is too late.¡±

    ¡°Well that just makes me want to know it even more!¡±

    Oralia and Rali were not the only ones in the tunnel. Briony walked at the head of the procession, the warm glow of her lantern painting the bowed walls in flickering shades of yellow. Fauns possessed exceptional hearing. Anything Oralia said, even in the faintest of whispers, would undoubtedly be overheard. Oralia would tell Rali eventually, as she would the others, but that time was not now. Not while her mind was racing at full speed in every direction available.

    Sascha deserved to know first before anyone else. It was only fair considering Oralia¡¯s current predicament was partially his fault! But it was more than that. Sascha would know what to do, what to say, how to prevent Oralia¡¯s self-destructive thoughts from imploding on the spot. He was good at that sort of thing. Unless of course this was one of those situations that caught even him by surprise, at which point he would be as useless as her.

    He is definitely going to be surprised.

    Regardless of Sascha¡¯s reaction, at the very least Oralia wouldn¡¯t have to bear the burden alone. They could spend the rest of the night spiraling down a long pit of despair together, wondering how in the seven realms of chaos this had happened. They could take turns lamenting about how they were too old, too tired, and too cursed with dark magic to be entrusted with the care of a child.

    ¡°I got it!¡± The dwarf¡¯s voice rang out from behind. In true Rali fashion, instead of simply dropping the topic, she decided to narrow the answer down through guesswork. ¡°You just found out you have a long lost evil twin.¡±

    ¡°No, Rali.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re the evil one, huh? Checks out.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Your parents were secretly evil?¡±

    ¡°Why are you doing this?¡± Oralia spun around to face her. Although undeniably faster, her dwarf lieutenant had opted to walk at the back of the procession, to keep Oralia from falling too far behind, most likely. That and to prod her with jabs in both the literal and metaphorical sense. ¡°Do you think it is helping? I am already riddled with every kind of guilt imaginable. Is it necessary to add to my anguish right now?¡±

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    The distant glow from Briony¡¯s lantern painted Rali¡¯s dirt-smudged face in an unsettling light. A wolfish smile slowly spread from ear to ear, demonstrating the unnerving fact that dwarfs possessed more teeth than most people gave them credit for.

    The smile came with a revelation as well ¡ª for Oralia, not Rali. The orc ran a weary hand down her sweat-soaked brow with a sigh. ¡°Oh my gods. You are doing this on purpose.¡±

    In the strangest turn of events, Rali said absolutely nothing. Unlike her smile, which said everything and then some. Too much, in fact.

    Oralia continued, more for her own benefit, as speaking her thoughts aloud helped process what was taking place. ¡°You are badgering me with harmless accusations because you can tell something is wrong.¡±

    Rali¡¯s smile agreed.

    ¡°As you are my closest friend, you know me better than anyone else. Including the fact that I am mere moments away from a critical breakdown in the most inconvenient location possible.¡± Oralia paused, giving herself time to string the final few pieces together in a way that made sense. At least she hoped so. Sense had lost most of its meaning as of late. ¡°All of this is to keep me focused on you, and your paltry complaints, so that I do not venture too far into my own head.¡±

    ¡°Who? Me?¡± The smile broke and Rali¡¯s lips contorted to a demeaning pout instead. ¡°Nah, boss. I just like annoying you.¡±

    The light of Briony¡¯s lantern grew fainter. Unlike them, their faun escort refused to stop. She disappeared around a bend up ahead, taking the light with her.

    While neither Oralia nor Rali needed the light to find their way, losing their guide would certainly prove disastrous. Oralia gazed fondly down at her friend for a split second more, before turning to follow the fading yellow light. ¡°You are wrong, by the way,¡± she said to Rali from over her shoulder. ¡°It was not my twin I discovered, but yours.¡±

    ¡°Afraid that¡¯s not possible, boss.¡± Rali¡¯s clomping footsteps started up again behind her. ¡°I took care of her ages ago. Made it look like a baking accident.¡±

    ¡°How does one perish from a baking accident?¡±

    ¡°Two words: raw egg.¡±

    ¡°That explains absolutely nothing.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯re not thinking creatively.¡±

    And so they went, traveling the depths of the underground tunnel system beneath the village of Lonebrook, carrying on an increasingly absurd conversation to keep Oralia¡¯s consuming dread at bay. It worked, too, right up until the point they reached the entrance and Oralia found Sascha pacing outside of the root cellar, anxiously awaiting her return.

    Their eyes met and Oralia froze, torn between running to him and whipping back around and taking her chances with the tunnel. The dwarf at her back was making the latter option slightly less doable. Further proof that Rali¡¯s choice in the lineup had not only been intentional, but served more than one purpose.

    ¡°Moonflower?¡± Sascha started towards her.

    Oralia snapped from her trance and edged a tentative step forward. ¡°Have you been waiting this whole time? You should have gone to bed.¡±

    ¡°Do you really expect me to be able to sleep at a time like this?¡±

    No, but it certainly would have made Oralia¡¯s return slightly easier. He¡¯d been her driving force to return as quickly as possible and yet, having trekked all that way to see him, she still didn¡¯t know what she was supposed to say.

    Sascha¡¯s worried gaze shifted from Oralia to Rali. A single look from the dwarf¡¯s dirt-smudged face told him everything he needed to know.

    Oralia was still trying to interpret Rali¡¯s expression when Sascha made his move. He offered her both his arm and a bewitching smile. ¡°Walk with me?¡±

    Timidly, Oralia threaded her arm through his. Every muscle in her legs protested the idea of walking a single step further, but she persisted because the alternative meant laying everything out in front of everyone. At least this way she could ensure there was a sizable distance between them and the cottage before the hysterics began. Whether it¡¯d be from her or Sascha, she did not yet know.

    ¡°You may have to drag me the way back,¡± Oralia said.

    ¡°As opposed to carrying you?¡±

    ¡°Dragging is more dignified.¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Sascha replied in that sort of amused tone parents reserved for overdramatic toddlers. Perhaps it was good he was already so well versed at it, considering the news she was about to drop on him.

    It was well past midnight. Traces of moonlight broke through the thick cloud coverage overhead, dotting the dark forest floor with scattered pools of pale light. The autumn breeze was crisp. It whispered softly overhead, stirring the remaining red and yellow leaves that stubbornly clung to the bare branches. The night was picturesque.

    Much unlike the nauseous churning in Oralia¡¯s gut that threatened to transform her insides to outsides. As much as she detested the walk, she also didn¡¯t want it to end. Stopping meant talking and talking meant knowing what she was supposed to say.

    And then the inevitable happened. Sascha led her to a fallen tree, bathed in patchy moonlight, and settled down. He thumped the top of the log in an unspoken invitation to join him.

    Oralia remained standing. She tilted her chin skyward and closed her eyes, trying to calm the rampaging gallop of her heartbeat.

    Good gods, what was she supposed to say?

 199 - The It

    Autumn clung to the land like a stubborn tick. While commendable, its tenacity was for naught. Its hold diminished with each passing day. The days grew shorter, the nights colder, and the trees were one hard frost shy of dropping the rest of their yellow and orange leaves at the foot of their mighty trunks. Winter was on its way. Soon the ground would freeze, the forest would go dormant, and thick layers of white snow would blanket everything in sight.

    Oralia despised being away from home during winter. The coming season would be unlike most as, for the first time in decades, she no longer possessed a home to return to. She had no house, no bed, no hearth, destined to spend the bitter months holed up in hiding, burdened with the prospects of death and new life at the same time. The thought was almost as chilling as the cool night air teasing the back of her neck.

    ¡°Moonflower?¡± Sascha¡¯s rumbling voice coaxed Oralia from her thoughts. He thumped the tree with the flat of his hand once more, producing a solid thud. ¡°Are you going to sit down?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°Really? Because from here it looks like you¡¯re considering scaling the nearest tree.¡±

    Oralia snapped her eyes away from the closest cottonwood, realizing she had been staring rather intently at it. ¡°I feel like scaling a tree,¡± she admitted. ¡°Given the circumstances, however, I think that would be ill-advised.¡±

    ¡°And why¡¯s that?¡± Sascha said with the gentle patience of someone well acquainted with the art of luring stray cats into the home with scraps of food and soothing sounds.

    Oralia loved it almost as much as she hated it. Mostly because it was working. Stifling a sigh, she joined him on the fallen tree. ¡°I need to speak with you.¡±

    Good start. Keep going.

    ¡°And I¡­it is not something I can speak about with ease.¡±

    Sascha waited for her to finish.

    Oralia was annoyed by his patience. Why couldn¡¯t he interrupt her like everyone else? Would it make admitting any of this easier? No. But a little distraction would have been nice. ¡°The infection is bad, as we suspected, but Novera believes it to be treatable. She has sworn to do everything in her power to find a cure in exchange for liberating her village.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡± Sascha¡¯s tone suggested he¡¯d steeled himself for the worse and what he got was not that. His voice lifted, betraying the relief that eased the deep worry lines around his doleful eyes. ¡°This is good news then, yes? We already knew you were going to stay and fight. This is more hope than we had before.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s more.¡± Oralia took a breath to ease what remained of her frayed nerves. It didn¡¯t help, but at least she was still breathing. ¡°The darkness is not solely responsible for my poor health. There is another condition at play.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s brow furrowed. He looked her up and down, as if expecting to be able to diagnose the issue from a single glance.

    The words still didn¡¯t come. Oralia reached for his hand instead and placed it on her stomach. There wasn¡¯t any sort of distinguishable bump yet, aside from what she¡¯d had from dinner perhaps, but surely it was the sentiment that counted.

    Suddenly it was Sascha who looked to be mere moments away from bolting up the nearest cottonwood. Eyes wide, he opened and closed his mouth several times before finally settling on a single-worded question. ¡°...You¡¯re?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    More stunned silence.

    Oralia hadn¡¯t known what to expect. She was still reeling from the news herself. Still, nothing at all was not the reaction she¡¯d been hoping for. She lifted Sascha¡¯s hand from her stomach and let it drop, clicking her tusks against her upper teeth as she did so. ¡°I am warning you now, if the next question you ask is whether or not it is yours, you will be the one running for the trees.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t believe it.¡± It was as if her words had drifted in one ear and out the other, unheard. A giddy smile pulled across Sascha¡¯s handsome features. ¡°I¡¯m going to be a dad. You¡¯re going to be a mom.¡±

    The very word nearly sent Oralia scrambling.

    Sascha placed his hand on her leg as the smile slowly slipped from his face. The reality of their situation had finally started to settle. His joy swiftly transformed to concern. ¡°The dark magic,¡± he said. ¡°Will it affect the baby?¡±

    Oh gods, another word she wasn¡¯t ready to hear! Oralia severely wanted to slap her arms to stop her skin from crawling. She refrained from doing so, prevented only by the concerned stare her fuckmate was giving her. ¡°I do not know. Novera says the¡­it is strong, though.¡±

    ¡°The it?¡±

    Oralia almost smiled. Her refusal to call the ¡®it¡¯ by any other name was ridiculous and it was a small relief that Sascha thought so as well. It meant he was still functioning, at least. Better than her, anyway. Unfortunately, the next words out of Oralia¡¯s mouth immediately swallowed the temporary relief Sascha¡¯s interruption had provided. ¡°If left untreated, the infection will claim me and the it.¡±

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    Sascha processed the information in silence before contributing his thoughts. ¡°I see why you are reluctant to call the it by any other name.¡± His hand moved from the top of her thigh and settled over her own, offering a reassuring squeeze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You must be terrified.¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± Terrified was an understatement. And yet, amongst the spiral of fear and anxiety, she kept glimmers of hope too. Having a family brought with it some form of normalcy. She could settle down, put up the sword, do all the things she¡¯d been swearing to do since retirement. Provided she and the ¡®it¡¯ survived, of course. After liberating a village from realm control without an army. Just her, a handful of fighters, against an enemy with all the resources it needed to hunker down for the winter and wait them out.

    Her thoughts had finally caught up to what her body had been trying to tell her all evening ¡ª they were doomed. She was doomed. The entire situation at hand was doomed.

    Fuck.

    ¡°I¡¯m here for you, Moonflower.¡± Sascha squeezed her hand again. ¡°For you and little Merrick.¡±

    The mere mention of the name stopped Oralia¡¯s internal spiral dead in its tracks. The foul word rolled off her tongue tasting of soot and spite. ¡°Merrick?¡±

    ¡°I knew you¡¯d like it.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your mother¡¯s name!¡±

    Sascha¡¯s other arm snaked around the back of Oralia¡¯s waist and pulled her closer. His roguish smile came with a wink. ¡°It¡¯s strategic, Moonflower. Name our firstborn after her and Mother will have no other choice but to start liking you.¡±

    ¡°Your mother hates me.¡±

    ¡°Which is why my plan is undeniably brilliant.¡±

    As much as it made her blood boil, Sascha¡¯s teasing served its purpose. Some of Oralia¡¯s inner turmoil eased. She lifted her gaze, meeting him in the eye for what felt like the first time all evening. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    ¡°What you already plan to do, I suspect.¡±

    ¡°Ignore all of my problems until they go away?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, that¡¯s a terrible plan,¡± Sascha said. ¡°For the record, I think we¡¯d be decent at parenting if we tried. If you wanted to, that is.¡±

    ¡°My mother died in battle when I was nine. Father passed shortly after of a broken heart.¡± Oralia¡¯s gaze dropped to her feet. ¡°The mere act of staying alive would put me above my parents.¡± The bar was practically on the floor and yet, it still seemed insurmountable.

    ¡°And look at the bright side. If we pass, your sister can raise little Merrick.¡±

    Oralia whipped her head around at him and glared.

    Unfortunately, all it did was encourage his teasing smile to spread further across his face, revealing his front teeth. ¡°No? Well then there¡¯s always Grandma Merrick.¡±

    ¡°Who hates me.¡± While it wasn¡¯t a favorable detail, it was important enough to bring up again, just in case Sascha had missed it the first time.

    ¡°We¡¯re asking her to raise our orphaned child, not you. It¡¯ll be fine. Mom will take good care of little Merrick.¡±

    Oralia buried her face into his chest with a groan. ¡°I refuse to name any of our future children after your mother. I will not give her that satisfaction.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so we¡¯re having more than one, are we? How ambitious of you, Moonflower. You¡¯re going to have to stay alive to carry that out, though. At least long enough to complete the collection.¡±

    She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, feeling as though she was holding on for dear life. She was grateful for the teasing. If anything, it made the moment less devastating than it could have been. Unfortunately, no amount of jesting could fully alleviate the worry gnawing at her from the inside. ¡°I¡¯m still scared.¡±

    He rested his chin against the top of her head. ¡°Me too.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared something will happen to it before it is born. I¡¯m scared the darkness will claim it and me, before it is time. And that you will be left alone.¡± She took a breath before admitting, ¡°And even if none of that comes to fruition, I¡¯m still scared that I¡¯m not ready for this. Of all the perils I have faced in my life, this one terrifies me the most.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more afraid to fuck up our future children than you are to die in battle?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°Admittedly, that¡¯s not the sort of reassurance I¡¯d like to hear at the moment, but I can¡¯t tell you how to feel. You won¡¯t be perfect at it, nor will I. But at least you can fix the mistakes you make with them. There¡¯s no coming back from death.¡±

    ¡°Stop talking sense.¡±

    His hand moved up into her hair. ¡°Someone has to.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, I am going to have to fight.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    The foul taste of soot and spite vanished from her tongue, replaced instead with that of fermented herring. Oralia nearly choked on her own wretched words. ¡°You¡¯re not going to tell me no?¡±

    With her face pressed up against him, Oralia had no way of seeing Sascha¡¯s reaction. From his voice, she could tell he had one eyebrow raised higher than the other in skepticism. ¡°Would you listen if I did?¡±

    ¡°Of course I would listen.¡± Heeding his words, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast. It wasn¡¯t in Oralia¡¯s nature to alter course purely on the whim of another, but this was Sascha and he, above anyone else, deserved a say in the matter. His objection would at least make her consider any and all possible alternatives.

    It was time to cut the bullshit and get straight to the heart of the matter. Oralia lifted her head and locked eyes with him. ¡°I am about to gather an army to overthrow the realm presence in Lonebrook. I intend to do so while cursed with dark magic and carrying your child. If you have any objection to this plan, say so now, before I commit to something I cannot back out of.¡±

    ¡°I object to everything about this plan.¡± He allowed the idea to settle before finishing his thoughts. ¡°But I also realize we do not have an alternative. If I want to spend the rest of my life with you and little Merrick, then I will agree. So long as you promise to not push me away when things get difficult.¡±

    That was doable, right? All she had to do was assemble an army, defeat an enemy that had already claimed the high ground, and survive the dark magic coursing through her veins while carrying a child. Oh, and avoid being a complete asshole to her fuckmate while doing so. All perfectly feasible! So, so feasible. A sane person would have thrown in the towel right then and there and declared it a lost cause. That was the thing about sanity, though. Those that followed the path of sanity typically had better options. Oralia was down to just two ¡ª pull it off or die trying.

    She buried her face back into Sascha¡¯s chest with a groan.

    His strong fingers worked their way back through her hair and scraped along her scalp. ¡°What¡¯s that, dear? Was that a ¡®Yes, Sascha, love of my life. I swear I¡¯m not going to do that thing where I push people away the moment the going gets tough¡¯?¡±

    Whatever swear words slipped free of Oralia¡¯s open mouth were muffled by his shirt.

    ¡°Yes, I know. I love you, too,¡± Sascha carried on, misinterpreting her sounds as he wished. ¡°I was only kidding about Merrick, by the way. But since you fancy it so much, I suppose I could consider it. For your sake.¡±

 200 - Acoustic Warfare

    Daana¡¯s first week of travel through the flatlands was uneventful. The long days were spent in the saddle crossing a seemingly endless stretch of flat tundra, following the horizon and Snag¡¯s innate sense of direction. Daana¡¯s steed was of the same bloodline as Wormy. The breed was native to the flatlands and fared the cold winters and limited nutrition better than their southern cousins. It was not uncommon to see wild herds of tusked, shaggy horses roaming the tundra as they traveled.

    The horses were not the only creatures to call the open tundra home. In the last two days alone, Daana had seen giant elk, cinnamon-colored bears, and herds of small deer with antlers so ornamental they looked as if they¡¯d been designed by an overzealous artist and not nature. There were also goblins. Lots of goblins.

    On her own, Daana would not have noticed them. But Snag certainly did. He was on high alert at all times, announcing whenever he saw a glimpse of an ear or yellow eyes peeking out of a burrow as they passed. The goblins would keep their distance with Ashwyn in tow, he explained. Although the area didn¡¯t get very many orcs passing through, goblins knew an apex predator when they saw one. Aside from a few looky-loos, Snag expected their passage to go unhindered.

    Which failed to explain why, on the eight morning, Daana awoke to the shrill shriek of a flute murdering what might have been a song. It was some distance away, carried to them on the wind which, unfortunately, did nothing to damper its horrific sound. The butchered flute playing ceased after several sharp trills and the meadow grew eerily quiet once more.

    Daana tentatively uncovered her ears, prepared to snap her hands back into place the moment the ¡°music¡± picked up again. Her stare darted to Snag. ¡°What was that?¡±

    ¡°Give me a minute here.¡± Snag withdrew the carved pipe from his pocket and responded with several piercing notes of his own.

    ¡°Good goddess.¡± Ashwyn rolled upright out of bed with a groan. She plugged her forefingers knuckle-deep in each ear, still wincing at every horrific sound emitting from Snag¡¯s pipe. ¡°Are we under attack? ¡®Cause this is starting to feel like acoustic warfare.¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯re just havin¡¯ a conversation. This is how different clans communicate with another. Now hush, I gotta listen for the reply.¡± Snag fanned his weathered ears like sails catching the breeze and listened.

    Three sharp notes and a trill followed. Unable to read Snag¡¯s concentrated expression, Daana asked, ¡°Are they friendly?¡±

    ¡°Friendly?¡± The goblin swiveled his head at her, brows pressed together in disbelief. His answer, fortunately, had far less of a bite than his bared teeth would imply. ¡°Of course they¡¯re friendly, girl. What kind of question is that? Do you think a baddie would¡¯ve signaled first if they intended to rob us?¡±

    Heat flushed over Daana¡¯s nose and spread to the tips of her ears. The sudden warmth stung against the crisp morning air. Overhead, the sky was overcast and gray. Dense blankets of fog swept across the open plains, herded by the wind.

    ¡°It could be a trap,¡± Daana said, attempting to offset her embarrassment. ¡°Maybe they¡¯re trying to lure us into a false sense of ease.¡±

    ¡°Suppose,¡± Snag conceded with a lackluster shrug.

    His ears stood at attention when the flute sounded a third time, noticeably closer than before. Snag nodded along until the song playing finished. He responded with two sharp staccatos and a low, drawn out note before stowing the pipe back into the confines of his jacket. ¡°They claim they just want to barter. They¡¯re on the lookout for medicinal herbs and spices. Said they¡¯re willing to part with some firebrew for hard to get stuff.¡±

    ¡°And if it¡¯s a trap?¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Only one way to find out, girl.¡±

    Ashwyn unplugged her fingers from her ears and repositioned them on either side of her forehead. Gritting her teeth, the orc massaged her aching temples with slow, deep circles. Despite an uneventful trip so far, her appearance was ragged, bordering on threadbare. She put on a brave face when she knew Daana was watching, but the disheartened sighs and dark rings beneath her eyes grew more prevalent with each passing day.

    ¡°You got all of that from a couple trills, Snaggy?¡± Ashwyn said.

    ¡°Nifty, ain¡¯t it? I tried teaching your sister¡¯s crew, but none of them had the ear for it. Just accused me of playing sounds to torture them.¡±

    ¡°You did play sounds just to torture them,¡± Daana countered.

    ¡°I mean, in the end, sure. But it didn¡¯t start out that way.¡± He scurried over to his saddlebags and rummaged through them as he talked. ¡°Now, our guests are probably just being nosey little fucks and wanna see what we¡¯re doing this far out. But I brought spices just in case they intend to do some actual bartering. Stick to our story and watch what you say. Just because they¡¯re not speaking to you in Utotrian doesn¡¯t mean they don¡¯t understand it.¡±

    ¡°Oh! I could practice my Laftak,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Knock yourself out, kid. It¡¯s been a while since I¡¯ve had a good laugh.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not that bad.¡±

    Snag glanced over his shoulder at her, still grinning. ¡°You should try asking them where the library is again. They won¡¯t be expecting that.¡±

    ¡°Har, har, har.¡±

    Once upon a time, Daana would¡¯ve been insulted by Snag¡¯s taunting. Her pride had learned to take a bashing since then and, on the grand scale of personal insults, his teasing barely made it on the board. With that said, her insatiable need to be a helpful, contributing member of the group was still alive and well, and demanded to be validated. Fortunately, there were other meaningful ways to contribute that did not involve making a fool of herself.

    Breakfast, for example, did not require one to be versed in any language but hunger. And in that category, Daana was an expert.

    She threw her warm bedding aside and ambled over to the firepit, ignoring the protesting twinge in her stiff legs as the cold seeped through her wool leggings. The fire from the night before had died down to embers, but it would do. Daana set the cast iron pan over the top of the glowing coals and filled it with water.

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Their campsite butted up against a solid wall of rock formation, sheltering them from the harsh winds that buffeted the land from the east. They were surrounded on all sides by a sea of yellow and brown tundra grass. The vegetation was tall, well over waist height, and provided convenient cover for the approaching goblins.

    The wall of swaying tundra grass parted without warning, and a trio of goblins came traipsing through. They were small and thin, like Snag, with similar moss-colored skin and adorned with bits and bobs of jewelry. Unlike him, however, their faces were not creased from the decades of life in the saddle. Their hides were smooth and relatively unblemished. Daana wasn¡¯t an expert on goblin age by any stretch, but she guessed the trio were on the cusp of adulthood. This was further confirmed by their choice of jewelry. A goblin earned each decorated band through accomplishment. As a result, it was the elders that often sported the more impressive body modifications. Snag claimed the young often used whatever shiny substitutions they could get their claws on to appear more impressive to outsiders.

    If anything, it only made them look silly, but Daana supposed that probably wasn¡¯t something worth pointing out.

    The young goblins gave Daana a courteous once-over. Ashwyn¡¯s visual inspection lasted a little longer on the account that there was more of her to take in, including the rather impressive array of weapons arranged on the ground around her. It was Snag who commanded the brunt of their attention. All three stared at him wide-eyed, unable to tear their gaze from him long enough to feign interest elsewhere.

    It was just as well that Snag was handling the negotiations. Daana didn¡¯t think the trio would¡¯ve been able to break from their mesmerization had they tried.

    Snag noticed this as well. He threw his hands in the air exasperation. ¡°Oi! Are you here to trade or gawk?¡±

    The bravest of the three edged closer, wringing his gnarled hands together. He spoke slowly, voice riddled with hesitance. If Daana¡¯s Laftak was to be trusted, he said something along the lines of ¡®are you him?¡¯

    Oh dear. This was the exact scenario they¡¯d hoped to avoid. The flatlands still had an active warrant for Sbaglebrag Flint¡¯s head. And while Snag had packed enough gold to ensure he could bribe his way out of a situation if necessary, he would be reluctant to part with it so soon.

    Daana added two scoops of dried oats to the pan of boiling water as she watched the scene unfold with bated breath. Snag kept his expression perfectly blank. Alas, his response was spoken far too quickly for her to catch anything of significance. The young goblins all replied at the same time, gesturing with their hands as they rocked back and forth on sinewy legs, speaking over one another.

    Snag attempted to quell their enthusiasm by switching back to the common tongue. ¡°Nah, nah, nah,¡± he said, waving his clawed hand dismissively. ¡°I know what bloke you¡¯re talking about. But he ain¡¯t me. Last I heard, that ol¡¯ traitor was still causing havoc down south in the territories.¡±

    ¡°Traitor?¡± The smallest of the three piped up. She was the most curious-looking of the bunch. She had more fashion statements strung through her ears than anyone else around her, including Snag. Amongst her unusual collection of faux-jewelry were fish hooks, a lure, and what looked to be several modified spoon heads.

    Spoon Ear placed her balled hands at her hips and marched up to Snag with the unearned confidence of a teenager. ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about! How long have you been out of the lands, huh?¡±

    ¡°Judging by his accent, too long,¡± one of the others added. He was the tallest, hovering an inch or two above Snag, but looked thin enough to get snapped in half by a light breeze. Twig, Daana decided, was a befitting name until she learned otherwise.

    Snag¡¯s lower jaw trembled as he fought to keep the fury from his face. He was failing, of course, no matter the effort he was putting into it. ¡°Are you here to trade or not? You¡¯re wasting my time.¡±

    The third, yet unnamed goblin shared an eager, needle-toothed smile with the others, earning himself the nickname Smiley. ¡°He even speaks like a realm dog. The words flow right off his tongue all pretty-like.¡±

    ¡°Well if he¡¯s Snaglebrag¡± ¡ª Twig tilted his claw in Ashwyn¡¯s direction ¡ª ¡°that would make this one the protector, yeah?¡±

    Spoon Ear turned in Ashwyn¡¯s direction and bowed, dipping so low her jeweled ears swept across the trampled ground. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±

    Ashwyn was unable to contain her snort of laughter. ¡°No, mate. Far from it.¡±

    They obviously didn¡¯t believe her as, if on cue, the trio¡¯s attention shifted to Daana with the sort of wide-eyed reverence she¡¯d only ever experienced in fantasies. It was downright beautiful. Underserved, too, as the goblins had obviously mistaken her for the notorious elf huntress, Ellisar Farrow. Daana decided she wasn¡¯t going to waste her breath correcting the misconception ¡ª and no, not simply because she liked the attention.

    Denying the accusation would be too obvious. She would have to divert their attention through more creative means.

    Daana folded a handful of dried berries into the pan of simmering oats. ¡°You all look hungry. Care to join us for breakfast? I made extra.¡±

    ¡°Extra? What are you talking about extra?¡± Ashwyn glared at Daana¡¯s single pan of breakfast as if it¡¯d personally offended her.

    Thanks to Daana¡¯s culinary exploits, the crisp morning air was now laden with the warm smells of toasted oats and berries. A touch of cinnamon and honey would have elevated the meal beyond its simple means, but Daana had neither on her. There simply wasn¡¯t room for such extravagancies when it came to life on the road.

    Ashwyn folded her arms over her chest and scowled. ¡°I could eat that whole pan by myself.¡±

    So much for her brilliant plan to distract the goblins from uncovering Snag¡¯s identity. Daana swallowed the expletive that threatened to roll from her tongue and settled on a sugary-sweet reply instead. ¡°Could you?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡±

    ¡°The whole pan?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well you¡¯re not supposed to eat the pan, are you?¡±

    Having fallen silent during the exchange, the trio of young goblins burst into snorts of raspy laughter. Overcome with mirth, they switched back to their mother tongue and carried on a conversation of their own. Judging from the abundance of finger pointing and knee slapping, the three were deciding what inedible object the big dum-dum orc would try to eat next.

    Ashwyn clicked her tusks softly. Her unamused gaze settled over Daana with a weight that could be felt from across the fire. ¡®You may have saved our hides, but your ass is mine¡¯ the orc¡¯s dark eyes promised.

    Daana shuddered, certain she would feel the full brunt of Ashwyn¡¯s wrath during their next training session.

    It wasn¡¯t fair. She¡¯d only tried to help ¡ª and succeeded, by the way. The goblins¡¯ attention was no longer on whether or not Daana and her companions were wanted fugitives of the realm. And yes, admittedly, Daana¡¯s strategy had taken a cheap shot at the ¡®stupid orc¡¯ stereotype that Ashwyn despised with every bone in her body, but it¡¯d served a purpose! Thanks to Daana¡¯s swift thinking, she, Snag, and Ashwyn were no longer on the cusp of being turned over to a higher authority.

    Despite all the very good arguments weaving through Daana¡¯s thoughts, Ashwyn¡¯s stony expression suggested that she wouldn¡¯t care when it came time for payback. Perhaps the orc would feel differently if Daana could lower the trio¡¯s guard even more, possibly enough to get information. Surely even Ashwyn couldn¡¯t punish her for gathering intelligence.

    Daana removed the pan from the coals and set it onto the cooling stone. ¡°Who¡¯s hungry? Where I¡¯m from, guests eat first.¡±

    The goblins eyed her up and down suspiciously. It was Smiley who edged a hair closer, sniffing the air. ¡°Is that ¡®cause it¡¯s poisoned?¡±

    Daana¡¯s brow furrowed as she considered the best way to handle his slight. Attempting to correct the goblin wouldn¡¯t get anywhere. He was a teenager, after all, and taking flack from a stranger had never been any teenager¡¯s strong suit. Daana would know, she¡¯d been a teenager far longer than most people her age.

    Shrugging, she offered the pan to Ashwyn instead. ¡°Good news. I guess they¡¯re not hungry. More for you then.¡±

 201 - Once Upon A Time

    ¡°Wait, wait, wait!¡± All three goblins fought to talk over one another, excusing Smiley¡¯s poor manners as they watched, eyes fixed on the steaming pan of oats as if it was the single most important desire in the entire world.

    Daana could practically hear the gurgling of their empty bellies. With the three goblins fixated on breakfast, they failed to notice the faint look of approval stretched across Snag¡¯s weathered face. Unlike Daana, who definitely noticed, and both loved and hated it at the same time. On one hand, it was wonderful knowing that he trusted her to do this her way. On the other, the thought of failing in front of an audience was a blunder she would not live down so easily.

    Especially not with the way Ashwyn was still glaring at her for giving away half their breakfast.

    Daana filled their three wooden bowls and distributed them to her eager guests before ladling the rest into whatever containers she had on hand. It wasn¡¯t an extravagant meal by any means, but the goblins didn¡¯t appear to mind. They crouched beside one another, snapping up their food as quickly as possible while eyeing their neighbor¡¯s bowl in hopes of helping them finish.

    Snag eventually gave up standing guard and settled onto the ground with everyone else. He stirred his oats, feigning interest in the food as he pried the trio for information in the least obvious way possible.

    According to their guests, whatever disputes normally pitted one goblin den against another had simmered for the season. With fall turning swiftly into winter, the threat of the first harsh snowfall had everyone scrambling to stock their underground ladders.

    ¡°You should reach the eastern border without trouble. Especially with that one in your company.¡± Smiley indicated Ashwyn with a tilt of his jeweled head. ¡°No den¡¯s going to risk their best fighters trying to take on a behemoth when they¡¯ve got hungry mouths to feed.¡±

    Snag¡¯s ears flattened against the back of his head. ¡°Who said we were headed to the border?¡±

    ¡°All the riders come and go through there,¡± Smiley said. ¡°Everyone knows Adderwood is the easiest way to sneak in an¡¯ out of the realm. The border¡¯s wide with plenty of cover and not enough soldiers to police anything beyond the main road. Sneaking past is easy-peasy.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s ears perked. ¡°We¡¯re not the first riders you¡¯ve seen?¡±

    ¡°You kiddin¡¯? For months now, there¡¯s been entire¡ª¡± Smiley was cut short by a stiff elbow to the ribs from Spoon Ear. The pair exchanged heated glances before Smiley¡¯s shoulders sank in defeat. He stabbed at the last few bites of oat mush with his spoon, resigned to a sulking silence.

    Content her companion was not about to give away vital information for free, Spoon Ear took charge of the conversation. ¡°We came here to trade, yeah? Seems like you all want information, not firebrew. We¡¯ll be happy to supply it.¡±

    An eager grin split Twig¡¯s face from ear to ear. ¡°For the right price, of course.¡±

    Ashwyn stared at them for a disconcerting amount of time before shifting her weary gaze to Snag. ¡°What¡¯s goblin taste like? These fuckers had the gall to eat my breakfast and are now asking for more.¡±

    Snag made a limp, so-so gesture with his hand. ¡°Similar to wild rabbit, but stringier. Not good raw though. Too many parasites.¡±

    ¡°These three don¡¯t look old enough to be carrying parasites.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d still be better off boiling them alive. Might help if you filet the skin first.¡±

    Daana immediately recognized their game. It was a common one. Someone played the role of baddie while their counterpart worked their mark from the nice angle. With Snag and Ashwyn both filling the role of the calloused killer, it seemed the remaining position had been left for her. Just as well, she supposed. She had already proved to be generous once already.

    Wordlessly, Daana knelt beside the supply bag and pulled free a bundle of cheesecloth and crinkly paper. She removed four strips of the thin sliced meat and arranged them into neat lines within the pan. The goblins watched her every move as she navigated the cast iron back over the glowing embers. Their wariness soon gave way to hunger when the pork strips began to sizzle and pop, releasing the glorious smell of bacon into the air.

    ¡°This is something special I picked up for the journey. Very hard to come by out here. Very pricey when you do find it.¡± Daana used her wooden utensil to keep the bacon strips from touching, ensuring each was given enough room to crisp evenly. She had no doubt Snag would give her an earful for wasting his good vittles but, for the moment, all he could do was glare at her from afar.

    Daana¡¯s next words were going to make him even more mad. ¡°The first one to tell us about the recent travelers can have it all.¡±

    Their salivating mouths all snapped shut simultaneously. The three goblins no longer stared at the bacon, but each other. Silently sizing one another up, attempting to scare the others into keeping their silence.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s determination.¡± Ashwyn extended her empty tin cup in Daana¡¯s direction. ¡°Since they¡¯re not interested, I¡¯ll take one of those to temper my hunger, thank you.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s still floppy,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°It¡¯s bacon, not a cock. Give it here.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Flipping a limp strip onto her spoon, Daana maneuvered it from the sizzling pan to Ashwyn¡¯s cup with a steadiness that surprised even herself. She noted the way the goblins¡¯ heads moved, following the path of the morsel from pan to cup. Ashwyn noticed too, and made a show of savoring every greasy bite. The fact that she refused to break eye contact with the trio while doing so was a choice Daana didn¡¯t fully understand but, nevertheless, knew not to question.

    When finished, Ashwyn jutted her empty cup in Daana¡¯s direction. ¡°More.¡±

    Smiley broke first. ¡°The riders are the elf witch¡¯s people. Lots of them, as of late. Just three weeks ago a party of forty strong slipped through the border into the realm.¡±

    Daana moved the cooked bacon onto a flat slab of rock to cool. ¡°Have any riders come back?¡±

    ¡°None so far.¡± Smiley fended off Twig¡¯s little fists as the other goblin attempted to pummel him back into silence. ¡°Maybe a single rider now and then, but it¡¯s usually only a messenger of some type.¡±

    Ashwyn prevented Daana from passing out the bacon with a lift of her hand. ¡°What about from the other side?¡± she asked. ¡°How many riders from the realm have you seen slinking through these parts?¡±

    ¡°Besides you three?¡± Smiley challenged.

    ¡°You¡¯re about to lose half your bacon, boyo.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright, alright.¡± Smiley stood, ignoring the angry chittering sounds from his companions. ¡°There were lots of realm soldiers mucking about at first, but the defeat in Adderwood sent them packing. Our den leader says their armies drew back into the interior territories.¡±

    Ashwyn drummed her fingertips against her leg. ¡°What defeat in Adderwood?¡±

    The young goblin appeared genuinely confused by her question. ¡°You seriously don¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s playing you, idiot!¡± Spoon Ear hissed.

    ¡°If I already knew, I wouldn¡¯t be asking.¡± Ashwyn flashed her teeth at the little goblin, warning her against interrupting again. ¡°Now, don¡¯t make me repeat myself. It makes me hungry. What happened in Adderwood?¡±

    ¡°Nah-uh! You don¡¯t say another word.¡± Spoon Ear was not so easily intimidated. She smacked the back of Smiley¡¯s head as she shot to her feet and returned Ashwyn¡¯s heated stare. ¡°If you lot want to know so bad, then you¡¯re going to pay for it. With more than just a handful of scraps, I might add.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t any sense in pussyfooting around. It was time to make an offer they couldn¡¯t refuse. ¡°All of this for the information.¡± Daana held aloft the remaining wrapped rasher of bacon, ignoring Snag¡¯s muffled whimper. ¡°No more, no less. You answer all our questions¨C¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t tell anybody where you got it, either. Or I will make it my personal life mission to hunt the three of you down and strip the flesh from your bones with my teeth,¡± Ashwyn finished.

    Smiley and Twig both watched Spoon Ear for her answer. The little goblin gave her nod of approval. With the matter settled, she extended her hand in Daana¡¯s direction, demanding what was owed.

    Daana narrowed her eyes. ¡°Information first.¡±

    Spoon Ear rolled her eyes and gestured for the other two to fill in the gaps.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know?¡± Smiley had to ask once more, just for clarification. Ashwyn¡¯s unamused expression was the only answer he received. ¡°Adderwood rebelled. They chased the realm out and declared their independence.¡±

    Twig spoke up next, having switched his wide-eyed gaze from Spoon Ear to Ashwyn. ¡°Word is they¡¯ve got the turncoat on their side.¡±

    ¡°The who?¡± Ashwyn said.

    He waggled his eyebrows in a manner that suggested he knew that she wasn¡¯t being forthright about her identity. ¡°The protector.¡±

    ¡°For the last time, I¡¯m not the protector.¡±

    Twig twirled his spoon in one hand, shrugging. ¡°You look like her.¡±

    ¡°I can assure you, she would never stoop to eating a goblin just because it annoyed her.¡±

    Twig¡¯s face paled as he dropped his gaze back down. Smiley jumped back in, proving once more to be a wealth of information, ¡°The elders say the upheaval has got the realm figureheads nervous. It¡¯s the first time one of the territories has successfully broken away and it¡¯s only a matter of time before some of the others try to do the same.¡±

    ¡°What about the protector?¡± Ashwyn said. ¡°Is she still in Adderwood?¡±

    Smiley¡¯s expression said, ¡®pretty sure she¡¯s sitting right here¡¯. His mouth, however, offered a more diplomatic, ¡°Your guess is as good as ours.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s valiant attempt to wrangle additional information out of the trio proved otherwise fruitless. They had nothing else to offer. Finally, with their bargaining commenced, the trio gathered their rasher of bacon and turned to leave. Spoon Ear glanced back over her shoulder one last time. Her yellow eyes were wide and rimmed in white, offering a look that was almost sorrowful in nature. She uttered something in Laftak before slipping away, lost to sight amongst the tall sea of swaying grass.

    Snag¡¯s stony expression soured.

    Ashwyn rose, adjusting her belt as she did so. For the sake of not scaring off their company, she had remained seated throughout the exchange. She set about rolling up her bedding in the most violent way possible. ¡°How many more times are we going to have to do that? Talk about a waste of time.¡± She glanced sharply out of the corner of her eye at Daana, adding, ¡°And bacon.¡±

    ¡°We still have all of our stuff and no one is trying to prevent us from reaching our destination,¡± Daana replied. ¡°I consider that a win.¡±

    Ashwyn turned to Snag for support. ¡°You¡¯re not going to back me up here? It was your bacon she gave away.¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t appear to have heard.

    Daana waved her hand in front of his face. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± He recoiled, his earrings jingling, as if he¡¯s been snapped from a trance unexpectedly. ¡°Yeah, sure. Whatever.¡±

    Daana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his incredibly convincing statement. ¡°Something bothering you? What did the little one say just before she left?¡±

    Snag played with the ring strung through his lip, one of the unconscious signs that he was deep in thought. ¡°She claims the bounty put on Snaglebrag¡¯s head was lifted some time ago. The powers that be issued a full pardon. The old toad is considering something of a hero now for helping dismantle the realm an¡¯ all that.¡±

    Daana suspected there was more he wasn¡¯t volunteering. ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s been welcomed back home.¡±

    Ashwyn finished rolling her bed roll into a more manageable size. ¡°Sounds like a stroke of luck to me.¡±

    Daana couldn¡¯t get a full read on Snag¡¯s face and how he was taking this newfound information. ¡°Is that something he wants? To return home?¡±

    ¡°Once upon a time, maybe. But now,¡± his thin voice trailed, as if he was unsure what words were supposed to follow. ¡°He¡¯s not so sure what home is. That word lost all meaning decades ago.¡±

 202 - A Sentient Bag Of Flesh And Bone

    Everything was wet. The crumbling stairway, the spongy walls, the very dingy air itself. The dampness was inescapable. It saturated Rasp¡¯s clothes until his swampy garments clung to him like a second, irritating skin. Alas, there wasn¡¯t time to stop and peel the fabric from his body. The group was still moving steadily downwards, following the ancient stairway into the underground city below, and nobody wanted to stop and watch him strip.

    At least that¡¯s what Faris said, who complained each time Rasp held up the procession to unstick his shirt from his gaunt stomach. Stupid Faris. It wasn¡¯t like the faun would see anything. It was pitch black all around. The rest of the group was suddenly just as blind as Rasp was, except for June, of course. But she wouldn¡¯t have cared much about the nudity. She was probably thinking the same thing as Rasp. Only she had it worse. Instead of damp, itchy clothes, she had an entire shaggy hide of dense bear fur to contend with. She couldn¡¯t exactly peel it off in a moment of frustration, either.

    The only one equipped with night vision, June led the procession in her bear form with Rasp at her side, clinging to the scruff of her neck for all he was worth. Father took up his customary perch on Rasp¡¯s shoulder and had the audacity to doze off. The raven would awaken each time Rasp slipped, scold him for doing so, and then drift back to sleep as they weren¡¯t stumbling headfirst into an underground grave. Rasp was envious. What he would give to ride piggyback on someone else right now.

    He would have asked June to carry him, but she was a bit preoccupied with keeping them alive at the moment. Rasp figured of the two, that might have been the more important task. June took her sweet time testing the integrity of each step before committing her full weight to it. And then she would do the same with the next, and the next, and the next, until Rasp had lost track altogether. He didn¡¯t mind the slow pace. Of all the many things to bellyache over, making sure they didn¡¯t fall to their deaths certainly wasn¡¯t one of them.

    They were a half an hour into the descent when their circumstances took a drastic turn for the better. The impenetrable darkness receded and a ghoulish blue glow gradually filled Rasp¡¯s poor vision.

    Huh, he thought, craning his head from side to side as he took in the full scope of the strange glow. The hallucinations set in faster than expected.

    ¡°Anyone else tripping right now?¡± he asked, just to be sure.

    ¡°I see it too.¡± Faris sounded equally as confused. ¡°It¡¯s breathtaking. Like blue and green stars caught in the ceiling.¡±

    ¡°I think the word you¡¯re looking for is creepy, Dingle.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s bioluminescent algae,¡± Hop explained. Due to the moist environment, the algae thrived. It was sprawled across the domed ceiling and walls, illuminating the stairwell below in an eerie glow. Creepiness aside, the algae did eliminate the need for torches ¡ª which was just as well because, according to their know-it-all artificer, the algae also emitted highly flammable gas. A single flame would be enough to set off a fire ball of epic, albeit lethal, proportions.

    No fire was reiterated to Rasp several times.

    ¡°Yes, I get it,¡± Rasp groaned after the fourth such reiteration. It was starting to feel personal now. Of course he wouldn¡¯t set them on fire. He had nothing to set them on fire with. There was not a single ounce of magic left in his weary body. He was little more than a sentient bag of flesh and bone, wrapped in skin to keep his gooey bits from oozing out all over the place.

    The bioluminescent glow rendered the dark stairway significantly less dark. With their path now visible, the order of the party changed. Faris assumed the lead, with June behind him and Rasp and Hop situated at the end.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be much further now,¡± Hop said, giving Rasp¡¯s elbow a reassuring squeeze.

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Rasp tugged the bandana firmly back over his nose. All the talk about algae and gas made him glad he¡¯d thought to cover his mouth. He didn¡¯t appreciate how the sheen of sweat running down his face kept causing the bandana to slip, but constantly readjusting it was a price he was willing to pay when the alternative involved inhaling toxic algae excretion.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°Know what?¡±

    Oh dear. Hop was already losing himself to delirium. Rasp couldn¡¯t have that. If anyone was going to go mad, it was him. He¡¯s earned it, after all. ¡°That it won¡¯t be much further. Can you see the city below?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I meant my legs. They¡¯re not making it much further.¡±

    Somehow that was worse. ¡°It¡¯s alright. If it comes to that I¡¯ll just ride you down the steps like a toboggan.¡±

    ¡°That sounds painful.¡±

    ¡°It certainly will be. For you, anyway. I¡¯m looking forward to it, personally.¡± Hop was fortunate to have a friend like Rasp. Despite the faun¡¯s wearisome protests, Rasp¡¯s cheery conversation kept Hop¡¯s spirits high enough to keep going. And yet, each word came at a steep cost to Rasp. Sleep pulled at him, weighing heavy in the back of his skull like a low hanging cloud. Every step felt like it would be his last. He persisted, however, knowing if he gave in, it would be he who went down the slippery steps as a toboggan.

    What remained of his pride refused to let that happen.

    ¡°Be careful on these last few steps,¡± Faris¡¯s hushed voice warned from somewhere below. ¡°They¡¯re caked in mud and are as slippery as muck.¡±

    The aftermath of years of flooding, Rasp¡¯s brain volunteered. He didn¡¯t pay much attention to it. The part he chose to fixate on was Faris¡¯s use of ¡®last few¡¯, which indicated that, at long last, they¡¯d reached the bottom.

    Hop navigated the slippery steps alongside him, their arms locked together in a manner that assured Rasp that if he were to fall, Hop would most certainly be dragged down with him. The faun took a deep, shaky breath the moment they reached the final step and moved out across flatter ground. The wet floor squished and squelched underfoot with a texture a little too spongy to be mud.

    The smell was equally as revolting, like the lovechild of putrid flesh and sulfur. The stench infiltrated Rasp¡¯s protective bandana, coating the inside of his mouth with the sour sting of stomach acid. It was a taste Rasp was familiar with, thanks to the years he¡¯d spent drunk off his ass. The acidity pooling under his tongue usually meant he was in for a night of projectile vomiting. He swallowed the bile back down, knowing it would be a waste of effort. There wasn¡¯t anything left in his empty gut to spew.

    Hop led him through the last bit of cramped stairwell and into whatever space existed beyond the exit. Rasp felt a shift in the air as the chamber opened up around them. It was still oppressively damp, but the suffocating sense of confinement disappeared. Rasp craned his head upwards and squinted, realizing the soft eerie glow of the algae was significantly higher than it had been in the stairwell. The bioluminescence wasn¡¯t restricted to the ceiling, either. Rasp could see a whole cluster of blurry, illuminated shapes as the party delved deeper into what remained of the underground city.

    ¡°Are these homes?¡± Rasp asked, gesturing to the nearest glowing structure.

    ¡°Former businesses, probably,¡± Hop replied. ¡°The streets are too wide for residences. Hard to know for sure, though. Everything but the stone has rotted away.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we¡¯ll find an inn.¡± Rasp meant it as a joke. Still, like most jokes, it held a small granule of truth. While he didn¡¯t expect to find a fully furnished inn amongst the ruins, he wouldn¡¯t turn down a nice dry spot to curl up in while his body recovered from three days on the run with no sleep.

    ¡°It¡¯s absolutely fascinating, really,¡± Hop carried on, fueled by the passion of discovery. ¡°By destroying one habitat, the flooding inadvertently created a whole new eco¨C¡±

    ¡°Hop, I love it when you get this excited, really. But help me find somewhere to collapse first,¡± Rasp pleaded. ¡°You can tell me all about the glow in the dark bugs while I¡¯m drifting off to sleep.¡±

    ¡°No sense of wonder,¡± Hop muttered under his breath, adding, ¡°Also, for the record, they¡¯re not bugs.¡±

    Rasp patted his arm lovingly. ¡°Yes, yes, save it for bedtime.¡±

    Rasp and Hop moved slowly through the waterlogged streets. They would stop along any promising prospects, allowing for June and Faris to scout the inside in search of somewhere suitable to bunker down for the night, or day, or whatever fucking time it was. They traveled along the outskirts of the glowing city, scouring a multitude of dilapidated buildings as they went, until Faris finally settled on something passable.

    Rasp questioned nothing. In fact, he didn¡¯t even possess the willpower to complain when Hop tugged him up one final flight of stone steps. The room could¡¯ve been a torture chamber for all he cared. What mattered was that the floor was reasonably dry and the room had the benefit of having four stable walls still standing. A miracle, really.

    Rasp let the others decide who would take first watch as he unraveled his bedroll and collapsed onto it. He fell asleep the moment his head touched the blankets. And then, for hours, he laid motionless, all but dead to the world. Like the others around him, Rasp slept deep, pleasantly unaware of the soft scuttling sounds coming from the main floor below.

 203 - Intruders

    Rasp awoke to horrific squawking. Or maybe he¡¯d dreamed it. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Real, dream, hallucination, whatever it was, it didn¡¯t matter. His body demanded more sleep and was willing to ignore whatever in chaos was going on around him to get it. Rasp¡¯s heavy eyelids closed the same moment a feathered monster descended over him, beating the back of his head with its wings as it screeched and roared. It demanded he rise and deal with the intruders.

    Intruders?

    The word stirred Rasp from his sleep in the same way a toothpick might disturb a giant vat of cold molasses which, suffice to say, was not much at all.

    Intruders. His confused thoughts clung to the word as his mind slipped back under. It was an important word, he knew that. It meant something¡­something¡­fuck it. He was too tired to remember.

    The feathery beast stabbed at his head, drawing blood.

    ¡°Bad!¡± Rasp shot upright, clutching the wet spot behind his ear. ¡°It meams something bad!¡±

    Faris was curled on the ground beside him. The faun stirred, still groggy with sleep. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Intruders!¡± The rest of Father¡¯s warning tumbled free of Rasp¡¯s mouth as he shook Faris awake. ¡°Get up! Dad says we¡¯re not safe.¡±

    Faint blue-green light filtered in from what might have been a window across from them. The only other light available was the random spattering of bioluminescent algae that coated the interior walls of the room. Regrettably, neither were bright enough to help Rasp pick out any discernible shapes amongst the gloom.

    ¡°Anyone got a match?¡±

    ¡°No fire,¡± Hop said from further down.

    ¡°Alright, Mister Artificer,¡± Rasp snapped, stifling the embarrassment of having forgotten Hop¡¯s number one rule already. ¡°A little light please?¡±

    A split second later, the brilliant blue from Hop¡¯s headlamp cut through the surrounding gloom. Rasp jumped, not at the sudden light, but the myriad of stout, dark shapes that lined the far side of the room.

    ¡°Fuck,¡± June hissed between her teeth.

    Rasp waited, nearly three seconds in full, before having to ask the obvious. ¡°Someone want to tell me what we¡¯re looking at?¡±

    ¡°Dwarfs, I think,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°What do you mean you think? Are they dwarfs or not?¡± A thought occurred to him that Rasp didn¡¯t necessarily cherish saying out loud, but did so anyway. ¡°They¡¯re not ghost dwarfs, are they?¡±

    ¡°Very much alive. Just a little different in appearance than what I¡¯m used to.¡± Faris added, a little louder, for the benefit of the ghost dwarfs, probably, ¡°But very friendly and nice, I¡¯m sure. They probably don¡¯t mean us any harm and just want payment for crossing into their land, yeah?¡±

    A gravelly voice responded in an unfamiliar language. It rose in volume, growing more fast and fervent by the second. The speaker carried on with gusto, her intensity building, building, building, until the oration finished with a dramatic flourish. A multitude of voices echoed the speaker¡¯s final words in perfect unison.

    The whole thing reminded Rasp of his cousin twice removed, who¡¯d turned into something of a zealot towards the end of his life. The man had a similar manner of speech and could whip an entire crowd into a blind frenzy relying simply on the power of words and superstition. Why Rasp¡¯s mind felt the need to recall Cousin Vernon was not a simple misfiring of internal synapses, but to help him identify the reason he suddenly wanted to scrub his skin with a copper scouring pad.

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    ¡°Great,¡± Rasp muttered with a shudder. ¡°We found an underground cult. Just what we needed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d argue that the cult found us,¡± June whispered back.

    One of the dwarfs stepped forward, distinguished himself from the crowd. He was courteous enough to address them in the common tongue. ¡°Our ancestors have long foretold the arrival of the Kriegaar. The priestess welcomes you, great warriors, to the world below.¡±

    No one dared correct him. A shame, really, as it left the honor to Rasp. ¡°I think you might have us confused with someone else.¡±

    ¡°No mistake has been made,¡± the dwarf assured him. ¡°Priestess Oreword senses the Kriegaar amongst you.¡±

    ¡°The what?¡± June said.

    There were some hushed mutterings between the translator and the priestess before a suitable answer was proffered. ¡°The Kriegaar is the savior of our people. The legend has been passed down from generation to generation since the time of the great flood, telling of a warrior destined to best the great beast in battle and free our city from its reign of terror.¡±

    Great, more prophecies. And not just the typical ¡®chosen one¡¯ bullshit, but a prophecy that involved monsters and underground cults, too! Just what they needed. Rasp shot his hand over his head and waved it about, as if he were an impatient student eager to be called upon by the class instructor. ¡°And what if the great warrior refuses?¡±

    ¡°They will not,¡± the spokesperson said with the unwavering confidence of one who had grown up in a cult and, thus, never learned to question anything.

    ¡°What if they do?¡±

    Irritation bubbled over the spokesperson¡¯s previously confident tone. ¡°You are not the great warrior. You wouldn¡¯t know.¡±

    Ouch. Not that Rasp wanted to be, but still, it wasn¡¯t fair to just count him out like that. Ignoring the way Faris was using his elbow to dig deep into his ribs, Rasp kept poking the proverbial bear simply for the hell of it. ¡°What if I am?¡±

    ¡°Then that is for our priestess to decide. Be still while she assesses you.¡±

    Another shape shuffled forward, lit by the ominous glow of Hop¡¯s blue headlamp. Rasp squinted at Priestess Oreword¡¯s shape, trying and failing to determine whether the dwarf walked with a hunch or was naturally hump shaped. The priestess started at the far end, chanting under her breath as she passed over Hop, and then June, Faris next, and then stopped over Rasp. She pressed so close he could practically taste the crushed rose petal incense and tobacco smoke wafting from her musty clothes.

    The chanting ended as a pair of leathery, wrinkled hands seized him by the head and explored his face. Rasp tried to pull away but the priestess was terrifyingly strong and held him in place with ease. The rough face fondling lasted a few uncomfortable seconds more before Priestess Oreword released him, tsking her disapproval.

    ¡°Told you I wasn¡¯t him,¡± Rasp grumbled.

    The priestess shoved him aside and, from the sounds of it, was in the process of searching his bedding for the missing warrior. She let out an exalted cry and the crowd of cult members lining the wall echoed her words in unison.

    ¡°Faris?¡± Rasp was unable to make out what the priestess held aloft for the rest of the clan to see. ¡°A little help?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s got your pack.¡±

    He didn¡¯t mean to, but a harsh bark of laughter escaped his mouth all the same. ¡°Is their salvation my dirty underwear? There¡¯s nothing in the pack except¡­¡±

    Oh fuck.

    ¡°I assume from your stunned silence that you¡¯ve finally caught on,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Gods dammit! Why couldn¡¯t the dwarfs have been ghosts?¡±

    ¡°I would argue that these people are ghosts,¡± Hop ventured, from further down. ¡°I suspect, given their clothing, they are the remnants of what was once Kalikose. It¡¯s like we¡¯ve traveled back in time.¡±

    Rasp crossed his arms, issuing an irritated sigh. ¡°Why do you sound so excited about it?¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯m just relieved it¡¯s not a monster.¡±

    ¡°Did you miss the part where they said the Kriegaar was supposed to defeat a beast?¡± June demanded.

    ¡°Oh, that. Right.¡± The relief drained from Hop¡¯s voice like liquid from a burst wineskin. ¡°I think my self-preservation may have glossed over that tidbit, actually.¡±

    June¡¯s voice dropped, not so much a whisper as it was a growl. ¡°I don¡¯t know about you guys, but my self-preservation is telling me it¡¯s time to make a run for it.¡±

 204 - Closed Doors Lead To Open Windows

    ¡°Will someone please listen?¡± Hop¡¯s hoof slammed against the stone floor with a resounding crack. The noise spurred a wave of hushed murmurs amongst the surrounding voices, but did nothing to earn an engaged audience. Hop spoke with the telltale waver of someone who really didn¡¯t want to do the talking. Alas, as no one else in his group was volunteering, it was either talk or fight, and Hop would do just about anything to avoid the latter. ¡°There¡¯s been a mistake. We are not who you think we are. We didn¡¯t mean to trespass. If you would just return our pack, we¡¯ll go back the way we came.¡±

    The dwarf spokesperson, having previously identified himself as Bromm, communicated this to the others. Evidently it wasn¡¯t what the mob wanted to hear. Their voices raised in volume, until the entire room was one loud, buzzing din.

    Danger hung in the air. Tempers on both sides flared as the tension steadily built within the cramped room until it was thick enough to choke on. And yet, even with danger looming over their heads, poised to strike down the moment someone ventured a step too far, Faris still could not help but point out the painfully obvious. ¡°This isn¡¯t working.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m trying my best,¡± Hop said. ¡°Feel free to jump in any time now.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯re doing your best. It¡¯s not you I¡¯m frustrated with.¡± The white faun¡¯s blurry shape paced back and forth as he spoke. ¡°How many more times do we have to repeat ¡®we¡¯re not here to save your asses¡¯ before someone finally gets it!¡±

    Rasp was the only one still sitting. Hop and Faris¡¯s respective shapes were closest to him, huddled together, attempting to plot their way to freedom without having to rely on violence. It was going as well as expected. Squinting, Rasp was fairly certain he could make out June¡¯s lithe silhouette further down. For the moment, she remained in human form, which was good. There was a chance the cult didn¡¯t yet know they had a shapeshifter on their hands. It could play to their advantage if things went downhill.

    Rasp snapped back into the conversation when he heard Faris shout, ¡°Just give us our pack and we¡¯ll go!¡±

    Spokesperson Bromm and Priestess Oreword held a heated exchange before the former¡¯s voice boomed back across the room with such force it rattled the rafters overhead. ¡°If you wish to go, then so be it. But the Kriegaar stays.¡±

    Of the many, many things Whisper hated, being kept as property ranked at the very tippy top of the list. Having escaped enslavement once before, Rasp knew his mentor would rather die than serve another master so long as they lived. Better yet, Whisper would prefer others to die. Which failed to explain why the fae hadn¡¯t yet burst from the pack and laid waste to their cult captors.

    Hop and Faris¡¯s voices muddled together as Rasp bowed his head and drew within himself. The few hours of sleep had done his body good. After minimal prodding, his sixth sense flickered to life and swept the room in search of magical auras. It passed over Hop and June¡¯s familiar energy signatures, drawn like a moth to flame to an aura Rasp had not seen before. The magic burned brighter than anyone else¡¯s in the room. Ripples of silver lifted from squat shape and dispersed into the darkness beyond.

    Priestess Oreword, he realized, drawing in a sharp breath through clenched teeth. While it was impossible to determine the extent of her abilities from his sixth sense alone, the sheer magnitude of power wafting from her aura was enough to convince Rasp that it wasn¡¯t necessary to find out. There wasn¡¯t any reason to fight. After all, as Hop insisted, they could solve their differences peacefully. So long as peacefully involved snatching the pack and sprinting their way back to the surface as quickly as possible.

    Rasp moved on from the priestess in search of his mentor¡¯s telltale blue glow. His heart sank when he found it. Whisper¡¯s energy burned low, flickering in out like the last stubborn nub of candlewick. No wonder Whisper hadn¡¯t interfered. They were barely alive. It would not be long, Rasp feared, before the fae had nothing left to burn.

    Rasp blinked his aura vision away and stood. His head protested the sudden shift and sent a wave of dizziness that nearly dropped his ass back onto the ground. Someone caught him, fortunately. What was even more fortunate was the fact that it was the same someone to whom he wished to speak.

    ¡°Faris.¡± Rasp kept his voice purposely low. Only the Bromm appeared versed in the common tongue. With all the hubbub going on around them, the dwarf was unlikely to overhear. ¡°What are our chances of making a run for it?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re trapped on the third story, Rasp,¡± Faris hissed back. ¡°They¡¯ve got us surrounded. How are we going to manage that if we can¡¯t even get to the door?¡±

    Rasp flexed his fingers, taking stock of his reserves. His magic had returned. Not completely, of course, but Rasp was certain he had enough stamina to attempt something stupid. He tilted his head at the faint blue-green glow coming from what he assumed was the outside. He¡¯d mistaken for a window, initially. But along with the return of his faculties came the realization that the opening was far too big to be a mere window. ¡°Am I wrong in thinking that¡¯s a balcony?¡±

    ¡°It is.¡±

    ¡°Is it open?¡±

    ¡°What does that have to do with anything? So what if it is? Are we proposing we jump?¡± There was a thoughtful pause before Faris realized this was indeed what Rasp was proposing. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°Remember the time I flew you over the forest? I got us safely back to the ground all in one piece then, didn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Barely! And that was just me. There are two others you¡¯d have to carry, all at once, not to mention the fact that we don¡¯t have Whisper.¡±

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    All good points. Rasp, naturally, ignored the bulk of them. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re going to steal Whisper back, Dingle. And then we¡¯ll jump.¡±

    ¡°Not happening.¡±

    ¡°Think about it. The dwarfs have got us surrounded. They know they have the advantage. Even if you grab the pack, they¡¯re not expecting you to go anywhere with it. Only an idiot would jump out the window.¡±

    ¡°I want you to think about what you just said.¡±

    ¡°Steal the pack, Faris.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Faris blew a breath of hot air out his nostrils. ¡°You do it.¡±

    It took all of Rasp¡¯s control not to throw his hands out at his sides in exasperation. Not making a scene, as it turned out, was extremely difficult to do when your supposed best friend refused to listen to reason. ¡°I think it¡¯s pretty fucking obvious why I¡¯m not the right person for the job.¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯ll be too busy jumping out a window?¡± Faris replied.

    Fuck it. This wasn¡¯t getting anywhere. If you wanted something done, you had to outsource it to someone who asked as few questions as possible. ¡°June?¡± Rasp whipped his head in his sister¡¯s direction. ¡°Grab my bag.¡±

    ¡°On it!¡±

    ¡°June, no!¡± Faris shouted after her.

    By then it was too late, of course. The human¡¯s sinewy form had already bounded across the room and seized her prize from Priestess Oreword. ¡°Got it! Now what?¡±

    ¡°Grab onto Hop.¡± Rasp linked arms with both fauns, one on either side of him. He barreled forward, dragging them with him. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡±

    Hop¡¯s attempt to struggle free was pathetic at best. He seemed to realize that whatever Rasp was planning, they were doing regardless of his feelings on the matter. ¡°What¡¯s going on? What are we doing?¡±

    Rasp raced for the balcony. He pulled them through the rotted doorway and onto the ledge of stone jutting out over the exterior of the building. ¡°We¡¯re jumping!¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no wind underground!¡± Faris screamed.

    Rasp¡¯s legs curled beneath him as his feet pushed off into the air, propelling them up and over what remained of the railing. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You use wind to fly, idiot! There¡¯s no wind underground!¡±

    Oh.

    Shit.

    The gravely screech of shifting stone rumbled from the streetway below. The group¡¯s sudden plummet was impeded by the mound of rubble that rose up to catch them halfway. Pain shot up Rasp¡¯s legs as his feet struck the slippery stone. He yelped, lost his balance, and fell, pulling everyone else with him as he tumbled helplessly down the rocky outcrop.

    Faris recovered first. He yanked Rasp to his feet, snapping, ¡°Thank you for not letting us die, but could you have picked something a little less painful?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s eyes darting back and forth across the dimly lit gloom, legs trembling. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡±

    Faris pulled him into an awkward run. From the fast, squelching footsteps paces ahead, Rasp assumed Hop and June had taken the lead. Admittedly, it was difficult to tell now that Hop¡¯s headlamp had gone out. Probably for the best though, considering they wanted to make it as difficult to follow them as possible.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t you?¡± Faris repeated. ¡°What was your plan then?¡±

    Attempting to talk in the middle of a full sprint after having tumbled down a mountain of rubble was not doing Rasp¡¯s fraying temper any favors. His blood boiled as hot as the scuffed skin on nose. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I froze, okay?¡±

    ¡°You were just going to let us die?¡±

    ¡°Can you two do this later?¡± Hop called over his shoulder. ¡°They¡¯re going to be on us any second now. Yelling is only going to give our position away.¡±

    Apparently Faris was only willing to listen to reason when it came from someone else. The faun shut his infernal gob and focused on not running Rasp face-first into a wall. The ancient buildings passed by in a nauseating blur of pulsing lights and shadows. It was having a strobe effect on Rasp¡¯s poor vision, rendering him even more confused than he already was. He clung to Faris¡¯s elbow, knowing if they got separated he would never find his way out on his own.

    They were rounding what felt like the umpteenth corner when something struck out at Rasp and wrapped around his ankle. It cinched tighter, drawing blood as it yanked his feet out from under him. Rasp slammed onto his stomach with a wet splatter. The snare around his ankle tightened, snaking further up his legs as it did so, anchoring itself into his skin with what felt like barbed teeth. It started to pull, dragging him backwards through the slime-coated muck.

    The tried and true Stoneclaw instinct to fight to the death kicked in at last. Rasp flipped over, snapping the dagger strapped to his side and started hacking away at the thorny vine entangled around his ankle. He felt the tendril writhe as it switched its hold to avoid the cold steel. Rasp kept cutting, ignoring the wet splatter that marked his face and clothes as he reduced it to pieces. With one final hacking cut, he severed the vine¡¯s hold and kicked it away in disgust.

    Blood and plant matter oozed down his battered leg as Rasp staggered to his feet. He could hear screaming all around, the voices of his friends echoed off the stone structure, calling from all sides. The mix of sound, strobing lights, and adrenaline clouded his head. Rasp stumbled blindly forward, unable to pinpoint the location of others.

    Confused, Rasp didn¡¯t register the approaching hooves until he was already caught in Faris¡¯s grasp, being dragged in the opposite direction at a speed born of pure desperation. ¡°This way!¡± Faris said.

    Rasp gritted his teeth as bolts of pain lanced up his injured leg. He persisted, slamming his heels against the soft ground in order to keep pace. The sounds of the scuffle grew fainter behind them. ¡°What was the fuck was that?¡±

    ¡°Vines, I think? But they were alive?¡± Faris sounded as though he didn¡¯t believe what he¡¯d seen with his own eyes.

    ¡°Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t get them out in time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re just leaving them?¡± The guttural roar of a bear rang out in the distance. Rasp tried to pull free from Faris¡¯s iron grasp. ¡°Faris, this isn¡¯t right. We can¡¯t just leave them. We have to go back.¡±

    ¡°The dwarfs were already cutting them loose when I grabbed you. They won¡¯t harm them, not while we have the pack.¡±

    Shit. Shit. Shit.

    ¡°Whisper, if you could fucking wake up right now, it would be really helpful!¡± Rasp didn¡¯t expect an answer, so it wasn¡¯t really much of a surprise when he didn¡¯t receive one.

    ¡°The pack¡¯s our only bargaining chip,¡± Faris carried one. He was obviously talking out loud as a means to calm his own nerves because it wasn¡¯t like Rasp had anything helpful to contribute. ¡°If they catch us, then we have nothing. We have to stay ahead of them. Hole up somewhere safe and then¡ª¡±

    The last of Faris¡¯s words turned into a scream as his arm jerked free from Rasp¡¯s grasp.

 205 - Home At Last

    Rasp spun around and grabbed blindly for Faris. His fingers caught only air. Shit, shit, shit!

    ¡°Faris!¡±

    ¡°On the ground, Dinglehead!¡±

    Faris continued to scream obscenities at the top of his lungs, both at Rasp and the carnivorous vines attempting to render him into a meal. Rasp followed the sounds of the struggle but with so many algae-encrusted buildings clustered together so close, the damn echo was throwing him off. He¡¯d get a few steps only to realize Faris¡¯s voice was coming from somewhere else. Panicked, Rasp would then run the other way, lose his sense of direction, stop, and try it all over again.

    ¡°What are you doing? I¡¯m over here!¡±

    ¡°You say that like I can see you!¡± Rasp¡¯s own frantic words sparked the start of an idea.

    He couldn¡¯t see worth shit, granted, but a light source would help. Sunlight was obviously out of the question, as was fire, for entirely different reasons. The only form of light available underground was the dull, bioluminescent glow of the surrounding algae. That was nature, right? Whisper claimed Rasp could manipulate all forms of nature and surely even slippery-slimy algae counted!

    Rasp closed his eyes and reached out with his magic, willing the algae to respond. Normally his fingertips burned when channeling an element. Unfortunately, as nothing about his present situation qualified as normal, this applied to whatever in chaos was going on with his tactile sensitivity as well. His skin went cold, suddenly wet and slick with a texture that was a little too close to snot for comfort. Had he not known any better, Rasp would have sworn he¡¯d just shoved his arm elbow-deep up the wrong end of a¡ª

    Focus, idiot! His racing thoughts chimed in. Magic now, needlessly graphic analogies later!

    Ignoring the sudden urge to wipe his palms furiously against the fabric of his trousers, Rasp harnessed the surrounding glow and condensed it into a single ball of pulsing light between his hands.

    The glow cooled against his slick palms as Rasp channeled everything he had into generating his own light source. A split second later, when the magic had grown frigid enough to singe his skin, Rasp released the ball of light into the air. It erupted overhead in an ethereal mist of glowing green and blue particles.

    It wasn¡¯t much, certainly not as bright as a fire ball would have been, but it provided just enough light for Rasp to pinpoint Faris¡¯s struggling form amongst the gloom.

    He surged forward, blade in hand. To Rasp¡¯s surprise, the lingering cloud of glowing particles followed, as if tethered to him via an invisible lead. He didn¡¯t question the logistics of it. It was a stroke of luck and he would take whatever boon fate threw his way. Guided by the faint, bioluminescent glow, Rasp leapt over Faris and hacked at the vines coiled around the faun¡¯s lower legs. Wet, frothy sap drenched his skin and clothes as he worked, intermixing with the hot sweat dripping from his brow. He got a mouthful of sour plant splatter in the process, too. It burned as it slowly oozed down the back of his tongue.

    Rasp spat the foul taste from his mouth, certain he could already feel his tongue going limp.

    Venom, great. At least that explained why his leg was swollen and felt like it was being actively ripped apart by fire ants.

    The cloud of light sank lower as its luminescent particles lost their spark and started to fade. Rasp¡¯s steel blade shimmered in the ghoulish glow as he sliced away the final pieces of vine clinging to Faris¡¯s leg. At last, Rasp severed its hold and kicked it away. He watched, mouth agape in horror, as the blurry vines slithered off in retreat, leaving a trail of white, glistening froth in their wake.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Faris¡¯s voice was weak and raspy. He took a desperate gulp of air before concluding his heartfelt sentiments. ¡°For not setting me on fire.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me any bright ideas, Dingle. Now come on, up, up, up. I¡¯m pretty sure the cloud of light might have just given our position away.¡± Rasp reached down and heaved Faris to his feet. The faun teetered for a moment, attempted a single step, and then crumpled beneath his own weight.

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    ¡°Shhhhhit,¡± the faun said.

    Rasp frantically pulled at Faris¡¯s slack arm. ¡°Get up! What are you doing?¡±

    Faris¡¯s words were slow and slurred. ¡°I don¡¯t feel so good.¡±

    A warning croak rang out above them as Father neared. As much as Rasp wanted to demand where the fuck the old man had been this whole time, heeding Father¡¯s message took priority. For now, anyway. ¡°We have to go, come on. Get up. Dad says the cult is right around the corner.¡±

    ¡°Take the pack and go.¡± With the last of his strength, Faris shoved the pack into Rasp¡¯s arms in a move that sent the latter sprawling backwards.

    Rasp¡¯s quick footing spared himself from landing on his ass. ¡°Are you fucking crazy? I just spent all my magic saving your worthless hide. I¡¯m not leaving you!¡±

    ¡°The dwarfs won¡¯t kill me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m about to kill you if you don¡¯t get up off your haunches right now!¡±

    Father¡¯s wings beat the air as he caught Rasp¡¯s hair between his talons and pulled, screeching for him to run.

    ¡°For once in your mucking life, just listen to me,¡± Faris said. ¡°Go!¡±

    Against every instinct screaming at him to stay and fight, Rasp obeyed. Cursing Faris under his breath, he stumbled along, barely processing Father¡¯s directions as the towering, algae-riddled buildings whizzed past. This was madness. Absolute madness. He, a blind man, drained of magic, taking his chances alone in an underground city rife with predatory plants, a fanatic cult, and gods knows what else. Even with Father¡¯s aid, Rasp wouldn¡¯t last the day, much less the hour on his own.

    He couldn¡¯t do this. He couldn¡¯t do this. He couldn¡¯t do this.

    Croak! Father¡¯s warning came a moment too late.

    The ground shifted beneath Rasp¡¯s feet, throwing him sideways. He fell onto his side and slid several paces, clutching his worn pack for all he was worth. Rasp¡¯s aching body slid amongst the wet moss and rubble. He waited, with bated breath, listening for whatever monster was about to try to claim him as its next meal.

    Whatever the beast was, it was certainly taking its sweet time revealing itself.

    Rasp slung to pack on his back and retrieved his knife. He would lose, undoubtedly, but at least he could go down fighting. Maybe even give the beast an upset stomach on his way down. The ground shifted again. Rock and stone scraped and screeched together as the decayed street rearranged itself near his feet. The deafening noise lasted for several heartbeats before it, too, fell eerily quiet.

    The temperature changed. A cool draft swept over him, pulling at his loose clothes and hair, beckoned him closer.

    Rasp squinted at the ominous pile of rubble that had formed at his feet. Unfortunately, doing so did nothing to make his surroundings any clearer. ¡°Dad?¡±

    The raven landed on his shoulder and uttered a series of low knocking sounds from the back of his throat.

    ¡°The street just opened up,¡± Rasp repeated. He might have been astonished had this been the first time it¡¯d had happened.

    Deep down, he knew he should have turned and run, but Rasp was rooted to the spot with fear. Every hair on his arms raised as a familiar magic pulled at him, whispering in his ear. Little one, you did it. You found me, it crooned. Come inside now, hurry. And all of your troubles will vanish.

    The voice was eerily familiar and yet, for the life of him, Rasp couldn¡¯t recall why. He¡¯d heard it before, but the harder he tried to remember, the further it slipped away, like trying to recall a dream the morning after.

    Father beat the back of Rasp¡¯s head with his wings, urging him to move. Rasp wouldn¡¯t. He couldn¡¯t. He was frozen, unable to do anything but sit on his ass and wait for the inevitable to happen. Confused, terrified, with the alluring whisper dancing between his ears, Rasp missed the thundering footsteps that came up swiftly from behind.

    One moment, the lovely magic lady was whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and in the next, Rasp was being seized by the arm and dragged away from the rift. There was lots of yelling involved, too. From Rasp¡¯s rescuer, not him. Rasp was in too much shock to do anything but yelp each time his injured leg bumped and scraped against the spongy ground.

    The language barrier prevented Rasp from understanding what all the yelling was about, but it was just as well because his dwarf rescuer didn¡¯t sound very happy with him. Rasp didn¡¯t fight, not even when a second pair of hands snapped the blade from his hand and helped hoist him upright. Rasp¡¯s shaky legs refused to bear his weight and collapsed like soggy noodles. His rescuers muttered to each other as they set off, carrying Rasp between them.

    His body grew heavier and heavier as he lost command of his limbs. First his legs, then his arms, and then his head. Rasp¡¯s chin bounced uselessly against his chest as his neck gave out too. The vine¡¯s venom had taken its toll, he realized, suddenly, painfully aware that the agonizing throb in his leg had spread to his hip.

    Rasp¡¯s consciousness slipped away as the glowing bioluminescent algae wove into a living tapestry of light. Tiny pinpricks of blue-green glow danced, whirled, and wheeled against an ink black backdrop. The black expanded, swallowing the light. And then there was nothing. No light. No smell. No outside sound. The only noises Rasp heard were the slowing thud of his heartbeat and the alluring whisper that rippled across his fading thoughts, as soft and supple as silk.

    Don¡¯t fret, my dear. It is not yet time. Rest, recover, and rejoice, for you are home at last.

 206 - Epic Proportions

    More Lonebrook villagers had managed to slip the realm¡¯s net than Oralia first realized. Those unable to fight had already been smuggled out of the territory, leaving a handful of able-bodied citizens to help overthrow the residing realm power. Seemingly overnight, Briony¡¯s quiet cottage had turned into a madhouse. Volunteers scurried in and out of the front door like rats fleeing the storm drain before a flood. The small dining table had moved from the kitchen to the front room and was currently serving as a war table.

    ¡°I still don¡¯t understand.¡± Briony paced the small strip of floor alongside the unlit fireplace. The sharp click-clack of her hooves echoed as she stomped back and forth like a temperamental alley cat. ¡°Why aren¡¯t we calling in the resistance? They have both the numbers and the power we need. Not to mention the fact that you¡¯ve been working hand in hand with their leader this whole time. Of all people, surely Larkspur would answer your call for help.¡±

    Oralia had done her best to tiptoe around the details regarding her working relationship with Larkspur Denari ¡ª rather, the lack of one ¡ª all morning. Yes, it was true that Larkspur believed Oralia worked for her. It was also true that Larkspur believed a lot of things that were inherently false. Calling upon the Sons and Daughters of Resistance would only result in a sternly worded letter, demanding Oralia stop playing war and return to her rightful place at Larkspur¡¯s side. Lonebrook and its inhabitants would fall to the realm and Oralia would be forced to confront the budding dictator she¡¯d been passively avoiding for years.

    It was a lose-lose situation all around, which was why Oralia had doing everything in her power to avoid involving the resistance. ¡°Larkspur has no personal stake in Lonebrook. If it falls, it falls. She has no reason to interfere.¡±

    ¡°No reason?¡± Briony whipped around. ¡°Lonebrook was a fundamental link in her chain!¡±

    ¡°A chain that is now broken.¡± Oralia did not look up from the message she was writing with painstaking care. The constant tremble in her hand had rendered her normally neat penmanship embarrassingly sloppy. Surely it was the content of the letter, not its presentation, that mattered. Still, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that her requests for aid would be better received had they not looked like they¡¯d been penned by an inebriated chicken.

    ¡°You served your purpose, Briony,¡± Oralia continued. ¡°And although it may pain her to lose Lonebrook, Larkspur cannot waste her resources trying to save every ally caught in the fold.¡±

    Briony slammed her hoof against the floorboards, causing the window to rattle in its frame. ¡°That¡¯s it? You¡¯re not even going to ask! Seven realms, Oralia, at least grovel a little bit! Maybe she¡¯ll throw us a bone.¡±

    ¡°You have been sending the resistance written requests for weeks. How well has that fared for you? Have you received a single reply?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Then there you have it. Now you know where you rank on Larkspur¡¯s scale of importance.¡± Pain was sometimes necessary to drive a point home, and thus, Oralia did nothing to soften the sting of her next words. ¡°Your cause does not even merit a reply.¡±

    ¡°Well of course not.¡± Briony switched tactics with remarkable ease. ¡°Why would they respond? After all, I¡¯m just a lowly smuggler in a broken chain. My name doesn¡¯t have the same political pull as Oralia Dawnsight, former Protector of the Realm.¡±

    Briony graciously left off the newer additions of: ¡®traitor of the empire¡¯ and ¡®wanted fugitive¡¯.

    Oralia grudgingly set her paperwork aside and massaged her eyelids, using it as an excuse to not engage Briony in direct eye contact. ¡°Even if Larkspur was feeling generous enough to extend us her army, they would not reach Lonebrook in time. We must focus on more obtainable prospects.¡±

    ¡°Like who?¡±

    Oralia rested her hand on the stack of folded envelopes resting on the table beside her. ¡°I am calling in some favors.¡±

    There was a timid knock at the entrance that cut off Briony¡¯s line of questioning. The faun looked to the entryway and her irritated expression softened to confusion. ¡°Ellery?¡± She gestured for the newcomer to enter. ¡°What are you doing here? I¡¯m not supposed to see you until the end of the week.¡±

    A faun with a shaggy mop of brown hair and a matching beard stepped closer, offering a reassuring wave of his hand that was a little too trembly to be convincing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry to surprise you like this, Briony, but something¡¯s come up.¡± His gaze darted in Oralia¡¯s direction. Whereas others would have at least tried to disguise their impolite ogling, he openly stared with wide, worried eyes.

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    Unlike his stare, Ellery¡¯s words were directed at Briony. ¡°I made sure no one saw me.¡±

    Fauns had an unspoken language of their own. A hoof stomp coupled with an ear flick could articulate an entire conversation without uttering a single word. Oralia shuffled papers as she watched the pair from the corner of her eye, hoping to decipher some of the back-and-forth conversation taking place in front of her. The newcomer, Ellery, must have been inquiring about Oralia¡¯s presence because Briony answered his question verbally.

    ¡°She¡¯s a friend.¡± The dismissive wave Briony offered was certainly well practiced as it managed to look convincing. ¡°Here to help. Whatever you need to tell me can be said in front of her.¡±

    No name was offered, just ¡®friend¡¯, Oralia noted. From the alarmed expression on his face, it was likely Ellery already suspected who she was. Still, Oralia appreciated Briony not spelling it out on the off chance his face always looked that way.

    Ellery took the woven hat from his shaggy head and held it in front of body like a shield. His strong hands unconsciously twisted the rim as he spoke. ¡°An armed company from the Division of Divination rode into town two nights ago. They¡¯re led by an elf by the name of Tarathiel Cray.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s hand froze as a bolt of panic shot down her spine.

    ¡°It¡¯s not good, Briony,¡± Ellery said. ¡°Cray¡¯s taken charge of the operation. He claims the soldiers have been too soft on traitors and aims to remedy that. He¡¯s already got us woodcutters working extra shifts for the rest of the week to help build something in the town square. No one knows what it is yet, only that it requires lots of lumber.¡±

    Briony was quiet for several beats as she digested this information. ¡°Any word from the main house?¡±

    The hat wringing intensified. ¡°Tensions are high. Mum said Judge Belfast didn¡¯t take the news well. He and Mister Cray fought and now the judge had been locked up in his own jailhouse. No one¡¯s seen head nor tail of Novera since.¡±

    ¡°Ellery¡¯s mother is the washerwoman at Belfast Manor,¡± Briony explained to Oralia. ¡°She¡¯s been our main source of information. She passes on whatever she can to him and vice versa.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s all I¡¯ve got for you,¡± Ellery said, already edging for the hallway. ¡°It seemed important enough not to sit on. I¡¯ve got to get back to work though, before someone notices.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ellery. Can we still meet at the end of the week as arranged? In case you learn something in the meantime?¡±

    He offered a solemn nod.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Briony said again with a genuine smile. ¡°Be safe. Give your mother my love.¡± Briony waited until the click of his hooves disappeared down the hallway and out the front door before the smile faded. She stomped across the room and collapsed onto the green settee with a groan.

    ¡°Out with it,¡± Briony said from where she was steadily sinking into the cushions.

    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±

    ¡°I saw your face when Ellery mentioned Tarathiel Cray. I haven¡¯t heard that name mentioned before, but you obviously have.¡±

    The lack of notoriety surrounding the name Tarathiel Cray was by design. As his secret right hand, Geralt Lazuli had done his utmost to keep Cray out of the public eye. The elf was an enigma, a name without a face, someone who operated in the shadow¡¯s on Geralt¡¯s behalf.

    ¡°Cray is Geralt Lazuli¡¯s personal attack dog,¡± Oralia explained. ¡°I have never seen him face-to-face, but he is a powerful witch with a reputation for cruelty. His presence in Lonebrook means that Geralt has grown tired of waiting.¡±

    Briony slammed her clenched fist against the green couch cushion. ¡°I knew it had to be something bad. Ellery doesn¡¯t take risks, not like this. We only ever meet in the dead of the night. For him to come here unannounced means it¡¯s urgent.¡±

    Oralia agreed. She spared Briony¡¯s feelings by saying as much, however. Confirming that they were knee-deep and sinking in the proverbial quicksand of worsening situations wouldn¡¯t do either of them any good.

    ¡°Any idea what he¡¯s up to?¡± the faun said, glaring up at the ceiling. ¡°Honestly, what could Cray possibly be building? The village already has everything it needs to keep a small army for the winter. Extra fortifications, perhaps? Maybe they¡¯re going to put up walls and seal everyone inside?¡±

    ¡°The details are too vague. It could be any number of things.¡± The fact that Tarathiel Cray was involved meant the project was something detrimental ¡ª certainly worth investigating. ¡°If I could see it in person, however, perhaps even from a distance, I might be able to tell you.¡±

    Oralia heard the front door open and close with a slam. The sounds of incessant bickering followed as several pairs of footsteps made their way down the hallway in her direction. ¡°It will have to wait until later, I am afraid. I need to go over some matters with my team first.¡±

    Briony sat up on the settee. ¡°Are you booting me out of my own house?¡±

    ¡°Certainly not. You are more than welcome to stay and listen to the arguing if you like. Who knows, you might even be fortunate enough to witness the resulting fistfight.¡± Alas, Oralia was only half joking. From the way Mul and Lingon were going at it from the hallway, the likelihood of a brawl was in full swing already.

    Briony stood and made her prompt exit. ¡°You¡¯re right. I should investigate this mysterious project further. I¡¯ll see if I can find us a look-out point that won¡¯t get us seen.¡±

    Oralia nodded her agreement. Unlike Briony, she could not skip the impending fight. Her letters were written, the cards dealt, and now the only thing left to do was to play her hand and stand back to watch the chaos unfold. The meeting about to take place was not going to go over well. It would cause an argument of epic proportions. Of this, Oralia had no doubt, as she intended to be the one to start it.

 207 - Unfinished Business

    Oralia was sealing the last of her letters by the time the team came pushing and shoving their way into the makeshift war room. The only member missing was Sascha, who already knew the details of Oralia¡¯s plan and had taken it upon himself to forage for fresh ingredients as far from the cottage as physically possible. She preferred it that way, actually. Sascha was like a calming balm, capable of soothing even the worst of tempers. A people pleaser by nature, his first instinct would be to find a middle ground. Oralia, however, didn¡¯t need compromise, she needed results. And if stoking a few tempers is what it took, then so be it.

    ¡°Alright, boss. As requested, we¡¯ve got the whole gang here. One elf, one gobby, two dingleberries, and yours truly.¡± Rali jostled her way through the ragtag ensemble until she stood front and center. Rali could sniff out an impending fight in the same way a shark could sense blood in the water. Her tone was overly cheerful as a result, leery of what was about to happen and, more importantly, which side of the scrimmage she was going to be on. ¡°What¡¯s this about, eh?¡±

    Oralia skipped the niceties and dove straight into making demands. ¡°Mul, Lingon, I need one of you to find a raven and get a letter to your brother Bil immediately.¡±

    Lingon stood with a finger shoved halfway up his left nostril. He didn¡¯t seem particularly bothered to be caught picking his nose in the middle of the war room. The finger remained lodged in place as his incessant need to question everything reared its ugly head. ¡°What for?¡±

    Oralia took a breath, not due to a lack of answer, but because she already knew his response and dreaded the tedious back-and-forth that was to follow. ¡°I am asking for Bil¡¯s help.¡±

    ¡°Help? Ha! You don¡¯t just need help, you need an army.¡± Lingon said, still working away at what might have been a bit of petrified brain matter. ¡°There ain¡¯t no better army than a Stoneclaw army and you know it, which is why that letter¡¯s probably asking to borrow his.¡±

    Having your plans predicted so easily by a man with a knuckle jammed halfway up his brain cavity was a complicated feeling. One to which Oralia could not quite put words.

    A triumphant smile spread across Lingon¡¯s narrow face. ¡°Called it.¡±

    Oralia pushed her annoyance aside and answered truthfully. ¡°Yes, I am asking his army.¡±

    Although the Stoneclaw army was a relatively small one, the reputation of its warriors was far-reaching. Even a handful of mountain folk had the potential to sway the impending conflict in Lonebrook¡¯s favor.

    ¡°Fat chance of that,¡± Mul said with a scoff. ¡°No letter is gonna convince Bil to get off his ass now that he¡¯s finally found someplace for the clan to settle.¡±

    It was as she feared. Naturally, Oralia had a backup plan already prepared. ¡°Then one of you will have to go and plead my case in person.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand.¡± Mul crossed his burly arms over his chest and widened his defiant stance. It was a commendable effort, but a wasted one nonetheless. Relying on physical intimidation was generally a lost cause when your opponent was a fully grown orc. The human, alas, did not rely on intimidation alone, but words too. Logical ones. The worst kind.

    ¡°Just because you¡¯re friendly with us doesn¡¯t mean Bil¡¯s gonna feel the same way. You¡¯re the one who brought destruction to our mountain in the first place, remember? Bil¡¯s not going to lend you shit.¡±

    ¡°It was the three of you who chased your younger brother, Rasp, from the Iron Ridge in the first place,¡± Oralia challenged. She remained seated. While standing and towering over Mul would certainly help put the human in his place, she vowed to reserve it until absolutely necessary. For now, she would allow the facts of the matter to do the heavy lifting on her behalf. ¡°The same younger brother who bears silver hair, the irrefutable mark of a Stoneclaw leader, if I am not mistaken.¡±

    Some of Mul¡¯s resolve shrank along with his shoulders. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°You attempted to murder him, as both your brother and your leader. As the silver-hair, it is within his power to execute anyone who plotted against him, including family.¡±

    ¡°But he¨C¡±

    Oralia cut Mul off before he could finish his sentiment. ¡°Yes, Rasp spared your life once before, out of urgency for the situation. That does not mean your brother has forgiven you. I believe this is what humans refer to as ¡®unfinished business¡¯.¡±

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    Mul and Lingon traded wary looks. Neither interrupted this time, focused on containing the mounting panic raging behind their wide eyes.

    Oralia continued, content to watch them squirm beneath the weight of their own actions. ¡°If I were you, I would be doing everything in my power to make things right with him. Starting with Lonebrook. Rasp cares about the people who reside here. Enough so, that if you were to help save the village, he may be willing to forgive the unforgivable and overlook your assassination attempt.¡±

    ¡°Huh.¡± Lingon dropped the finger from his nose as his stare lifted, taking in the empty space above Oralia¡¯s head.

    ¡°Huh,¡± Mul agreed, also refusing eye contact.

    ¡°Is that a yes, gentlemen?¡±

    With nothing left to pick, Lingon¡¯s hands didn¡¯t appear to know what to do with their down time. He fiddled with the tattered ends of his jacket as he spoke. ¡°I suppose it might be wise to try and get back in the little twerp¡¯s good graces.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Oralia replied. ¡°Pack your things.¡±

    Lingon¡¯s nomadic stare whipped back in her direction. ¡°You want us to leave now? Right before all the action starts?¡±

    ¡°Only one of you, ideally.¡± Oralia selected the topmost letter from the pile and extended it in his direction. ¡°You know where your clan is now. It is a long shot, I understand. But, like you, I am hopeful that your older brother will see the wisdom in appeasing the true leader of your clan. If Bil wishes to be spared from Rasp¡¯s wrath, he will allow the sender to return with a portion of his army.¡±

    Was Oralia effectively pulling this, as Rali would put so eloquently, ¡®out of her ass¡¯? Yes. Although she did not doubt that Rasp still harbored animosity towards his brothers, she did not know to what depths it extended. Fortunately, Rasp wasn¡¯t here to contest her strategy. And even if he were, Oralia was certain he would have approved of rescuing his chosen family by any means necessary. Doubly so if it meant torturing his brothers with the reminder of their own foul deeds.

    ¡°Not it!¡± Mul announced, slamming a clenched fist into his brother¡¯s arm.

    Lingon recoiled, clutching his injured arm with a snarl curled over his thin lips. ¡°You can¡¯t call dibs on staying!

    ¡°Can and did.¡±

    ¡°Over my dead body.¡± Lingon put up his guard and shifted his weight to his back foot. Pound for pound, he would never match Mul¡¯s brute strength, but Lingon had speed on his side and Oralia had seen him use it to his advantage far more times than she cared to remember. The sneer on his face twisted into a smile. ¡°We settle this fair and square, just like we always do.¡±

    Oralia snapped her tusks against her upper teeth. To her surprise, the brothers heeded her warning, and stopped squaring the other up. ¡°If one more fist fight breaks out between you two in this house, I will send both of you to deliver the message.¡±

    She wouldn¡¯t, actually. Oralia needed to keep her numbers in Lonebrook strong, but neither of them needed to know that. ¡°Mul,¡± Oralia said, ¡°you stay. Lingon, take the letter and the fastest horse you can find. Leave immediately.¡±

    The slender man looked like he wanted to argue but Oralia¡¯s unflinching stare convinced him to reconsider. Grumbling his acknowledgement, Lingon took the letter and stomped out. For all of Lingon¡¯s speed and cunning, Mul was still the better fighter. His size and strength would be crucial for the trials to come. And, with his main source of conflict having been removed, perhaps there would be less complaining in general as well.

    Grinning from ear to ear, Mul waggled his eyebrows at Rali in a manner that no one, the most desperate of humans included, would have found seductive. ¡°You hear that, Pickle? Even the boss knows our love is too strong to keep us apart.¡±

    Oralia squashed Mul¡¯s hopes before her lieutenant had the opportunity to squash him in the literal sense. ¡°Rali will be returning to Adderwood.¡±

    Both Rali and Mul jerked their heads back in Oralia¡¯s direction. ¡°She is?¡± Rali said. ¡°Can¡¯t you send someone else? Somebody a little less important, maybe?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll go!¡± Kalihn¡¯s arm shot into the air. ¡°No offense to any of you, but after all that fun in the woods with the fire witch and marauding gangs of bandits, I¡¯m not interested in partaking in an actual battle.¡±

    ¡°Perfect,¡± Rali agreed.

    ¡°Kalihn, thank you for your service.¡± Oralia refrained from the addition ¡®it was an honor watching you duck behind the corner the moment there was any action¡¯. ¡°You are free to do as you wish. If that includes traveling to Adderwood, Rali will ensure you arrive there safely.¡±

    Rali placed her hands on her hips. ¡°Excuse me? Just ¡®cause I call you boss, doesn¡¯t mean I have to do what you say.¡±

    ¡°As reluctant as I am to lose you, friend, I need someone who will not hesitate to throw their weight around. The New Adderwood Republic just gained their independence. Their leaders will not be in any hurry to squander their resources jumping straight into another rebellion. You will have to make them reconsider.¡± Oralia paused, uncertain of whether or not her next words were a step too far. ¡°At the very least, Captain Bernstein will be pleased to see you.¡±

    The giddy smile faded from Mul¡¯s face. ¡°Uncalled for! You can¡¯t send the love of my life into the arms of another man and expect me to be happy about it.¡±

    ¡°I do not expect you to be happy about it.¡± Oralia¡¯s gaze shifted from Mul to Rali. ¡°Either of you, but it is necessary.¡±

    This was not the last Oralia was going to hear on the matter. The unbridled fire dancing within the dwarf¡¯s dark eyes promised that there was more to come. Much, much more. Oralia would be lucky if she had two fully functioning ear drums by the time Rali was done saying her piece. The argument, luckily, could be postponed a little bit longer as Oralia had one last item to deal with before Rali was allowed to release all seven realms of chaos upon her in a single go.

 208 - Plausible Deniability

    The tension within the makeshift war room was so thick the proverbial knife would have snapped in half trying to cut through it. A metaphorical sledgehammer might have done the trick but, as far as evocative imagery went, it simply didn¡¯t have the same impact. Running a weary hand down her face, Oralia left the crafting of idioms to the experts and turned at last to the only member of her team she had not yet addressed. Ever the strong silent type, Dewpetal stood alongside the doorway with an expression that assured everyone in the room she knew exactly what was going on, language barrier be damned.

    Dewpetal spoke Yolcavisch, the dominant language of the swamplands. Despite Oralia¡¯s best efforts, she simply didn¡¯t have the ear for it. She stressed the wrong syllables, bungled her inflections and, according to Lingon, butchered tenses like a meat merchant drunk on fermented yak milk. Thanks to Lingon¡¯s many, many degrading lessons, Oralia could at least offer the traditional Yolcavisch greeting without stuttering.

    At least she hoped she did. Entrusting a Stoneclaw to teach her the correct translation and not some horrid insult was an honest to gods concern.

    Oralia greeted Dewpetal in the goblin¡¯s mother tongue. Dewpetal merely nodded, responding in the same manner she always did. That was as far as Oralia¡¯s linguistic abilities could take her. She relied on Mul to translate the rest. ¡°Tell Dewpetal that this is not her fight and that if she wishes to leave, she may accompany Rali and Kalihn back to Adderwood.¡±

    Battle was not the Stoneclaw clan¡¯s only strong suit. Unbeknownst to most, the mountain folk were quite gifted in their command of other languages as well. From a geographic standpoint, Oralia supposed it made sense. The Iron Ridge was a long sliver of territory surrounded on all sides by three larger nations. Oralia firmly believed the mountain folk had learned fluency not out of necessity, but for the mere want of yelling obscenities at their neighbors in a shared tongue.

    Mul worked through Oralia¡¯s message slowly, relying on an abundance of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions to get his point across.

    Dewpetal wore a slightly amused expression on her gnarled face as she patiently waited for Mul to finish. She copied his manner of speaking, offering a slow, methodical response, as one would when negotiating with a toddler.

    ¡°She wants to know if her performance has been¡­¡± Mul looked back at Dewpetal and confirmed the word once more before finishing his statement. ¡°Unsatisfactory?¡±

    Gods no. The goblin was not only lethal, but managed to do it without questioning a single order. Not to mention the lack of complaining. And while all of this could merely be chalked up to the language barrier, Dewpetal seemed genuinely happy to be helpful. Something with which Oralia had very little experience. If only the goblin¡¯s habits would have rubbed off on the others.

    ¡°Unsatisfactory?¡± Oralia repeated. ¡°No. I would dare say her performance has been exemplary.¡±

    Mul recrossed his arms. ¡°In that case, Dewpetal says she¡¯s a little insulted that you¡¯re trying to send her away. She intends to honor her contract in full.¡±

    That could prove to be an issue. Not that the goblin wished to keep fighting, but that Oralia¡¯s financial reserves would only last so long. As much as she wished for the situation in Lonebrook to be resolved in a timely manner, that was rarely the case with these sorts of things. ¡°I cannot hold Dewpetal to a contract if I do not have the funds with which to pay her. There is only enough silver to retain her services for a few more weeks at most.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s facial expression changed when Mul communicated this to her. She rattled off a series of words that were a little too quick for him to catch. After a few back and forths, Mul was able to work out the reason why. ¡°Money won¡¯t be an issue. Says she¡¯s doing it for redemption.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure that is what she said?¡± Perhaps Oralia had been too hasty in sending Lingon on his way so soon. He was undoubtedly the better translator of the two. She wondered if there was still time to run out and catch him.

    Unaware of Oralia¡¯s thoughts, Mul carried on his explanation. ¡°Apparently Dewpetal suffered some kind of disgrace back in the flatlands? Anyway, this is her way of proving herself.¡±

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    While helping dismantle the realm certainly had the potential to elevate the goblin¡¯s status in the eyes of her fellow swamplanders, this seemed like an overly complicated way of doing so. Once more, Oralia pressed Mul for clarification. ¡°Are you positive that you are translating that correctly?¡±

    Mul lifted one burly shoulder on a careless shrug. ¡°She said it worked for Snag.¡±

    Had it? That too seemed strange. Unfortunately, Oralia did not have the time nor mental wherewithal to sift through the finite pieces for the bare facts of the matter. She would not turn down a helping hand, particularly when it was a competent one. At such a convenient price, too.

    ¡°Very well. Company dismissed.¡± A wave of Oralia¡¯s hand sent everyone but Rali filing out into the adjoining hallway.

    Oh gods, here it was. The fight Oralia had been dreading all morning. She braced herself for the onslaught, but said nothing, preferring for Rali to to be the first to launch the verbal assault.

    The dwarf was abnormally silent. With her lower jaw locked and shoulders squared, Rali marched over and planted both palms onto the table with a slam. She followed Oralia¡¯s example and said nothing, content to stare with narrowed, unblinking eyes.

    The staring contest lasted nearly half a minute before Oralia was forced to concede. The wooden chair legs creaked beneath her in protest as she leaned back with a sigh. ¡°Please do not render this molehill into a cliffside.¡±

    ¡°Mountain,¡± Rali corrected.

    Oralia supposed Rali would know. She was, after all, the expert at creating mountains of issues wherever she went. Oralia didn¡¯t mind so much when they were on the same side, but today was different. For the first time in a long time, they were not of the same mind and Oralia¡¯s opinion would not be swayed, come hell or high water.

    Which is why Rali¡¯s next words, spoken low, like a gravely hiss, caught Oralia completely by surprise. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡±

    Oralia waited, cautiously, as if expecting a follow up statement that would render Rali¡¯s acceptance void. ¡°You will?¡±

    ¡°Not because you¡¯re telling me to,¡± Rali clarified, ¡°but because you¡¯re right. Short of going yourself ¡ª which I would argue for if I didn¡¯t already know it¡¯d be a waste of good breath ¡ª I am the only one those Adderwood fuckos might listen to.¡±

    An unexpected wave of relief washed over Oralia, easing some of the heat from her face. ¡°Thank you, friend.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you ¡®friend¡¯ me, missy! We¡¯re going to lay down some ground rules first.¡±

    ¡°Again, when was it you become my mother?¡±

    ¡°You think this is the role I want? You¡¯re supposed to be the responsible one, not me!¡± Typically this is where a normal person would start to count off on their fingers, using their digits as a visual tally. Rali went for a more creative approach and relied solely on one, raising her middle finger with the introduction of each new rule. ¡°Now, number one: no doing anything stupid or reckless until I get back. Number two: don¡¯t go near the village. Don¡¯t talk to strangers. Bring a jacket with you even if it doesn¡¯t feel cold and lastly, don¡¯t even think about getting all chummy with Briony while I¡¯m away. If I come back and you two are best friends, I will bring the full might of all seven realms of chaos down upon you!¡±

    ¡°As opposed to channeling that might at the enemy?¡±

    ¡°I guess that¡¯s up to you, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Oralia could not fight the smile that broke across her weary face. She stood, walked several steps around the table, and pulled Rali in for a hug. ¡°I could never replace you.¡±

    Rali squeezed back. ¡°Damn right, you can¡¯t. I am the stubborn tick in your side and you¡¯re stuck with me whether you like it or not!¡±

    ¡°Do me one favor,¡± Oralia said.

    ¡°No, never! You¡¯ve all exhausted all my favors. What, with sending me away when you¡¯re at your most vulnerable. Who¡¯s supposed to protect you and the wee one, huh? You think Sascha¡¯s going to sit at the foot of your bed and keep watch for would-be intruders all night long?¡±

    ¡°I would prefer you stopped doing that, actually.¡±

    ¡°Well wish granted, because I won¡¯t be here. ¡®Cause of you and your cockamamie plans!¡±

    This was not the fight Oralia had expected. It was going rather smoothly, all things considered. She still had two fully functioning kneecaps and Rali hadn¡¯t threatened to start breaking the furniture. Oralia stood back and placed her hands on Rali¡¯s shoulders as one did when imparting pertinent information to someone whose attention wandered as aimlessly a stray dog. ¡°As I was saying, do me a favor and save all of this dramatic energy for Adderwood. It is going to take everything you have got to sway their council.¡±

    Rali stood back and snapped off a sharp salute. ¡°Use fire and explosives, got it.¡±

    ¡°That is not what I said.¡±

    ¡°Look at you using that brain of yours.¡± Rali tapped the side of her nose as she swung about and stomped for the door. ¡°Plausible deniability. Smart thinking, boss!¡±

 209 - Pansies In A Slop Bucket

    A color-streaked sky stretched overhead, painting the endless fields of rolling grasses in the late autumn hues of salmon and gold. The fading sun slowly sank below the western horizon at their backs. White puffs of cotton grass danced in the cool breeze, kicking up an aroma similar to nettle and steeped bitter leaves. With the twilight hour approaching, a peacefulness settled over the swaying tundra. It was calm. It was beautiful. And it went entirely unnoticed by Daana, who was on the verge of throwing herself from the saddle.

    Everything hurt. Her legs, her back, places no respectable lady dared mention in front of company. Daana no longer fancied herself a lady but, regardless of whatever she qualified as these days ¡ª ruffian, outlaw, overgrown baby ¡ª admitting her ass hurt came with a guaranteed amount of embarrassment she¡¯d rather avoid. She suffered in silence instead, trying to recall whether or not sitting for prolonged periods of time had always been this agonizing. The pain was particularly noticeable on horseback. Daana swore she could feel her hip bones steadily wearing away against the leather saddle beneath her.

    Her horse plodded on, blissfully unaware that each bobbing stride sent a jolt of pins and needles into the last place anyone wanted pins and needles. Daana wouldn¡¯t be able to sit still for much longer. Which was unfortunate, considering they wouldn¡¯t be stopping anytime soon. Snag was hellbent on using every last shred of available light. He insisted they would set camp only after nightfall and not a moment sooner.

    ¡°We¡¯re not stopping,¡± Snag said from his position at the lead of the procession.

    Daana glared at the back of his head. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything.¡±

    ¡°Didn¡¯t have to. You were thinking it. I could tell, what with all that restless squirming you keep doing back there.¡± Snag¡¯s small frame sat straight in the saddle with his long ears fanned wide, shifting directions at will as he listened for would-be trouble. ¡°The closer we get to the border, the better.¡±

    Snag wouldn¡¯t divulge much else. Daana knew this as she¡¯d tried to pry him for information several times that day already. Daana decided to try her luck with Ashwyn instead. She twisted around in the saddle to get a better view of the orc riding behind her. Like Snag, Ashwyn was on high alert. She held her mouth partially open, pulling in the breeze through her nostrils and running the air over her tongue, silently processing what the different scents were telling her.

    ¡°Any change?¡± Daana asked.

    Ashwyn¡¯s unfocused gaze stared straight ahead, as if she¡¯d shut off her ability to process visual information to better concentrate on smell. ¡°I¡¯m picking up more than yesterday. Little buggers keep increasing their numbers.¡±

    An unknown number of goblins had been trailing them since their breakfast encounter two days prior. Although Daana occasionally caught the sounds of whispered voices and the scurry of bodies darting through the tall grasses, she had yet to see any of their goblin pursuers. So far their followers weren¡¯t hostile. The majority trailed a quarter of a mile or so behind, maintaining a healthy distance at all times.

    The undulating sway of the tundra grass had a hypnotic effect. Daana feared if she stared too long, she¡¯d forget herself entirely. She rid herself of the feeling with a shake of her head. ¡°What do you think it means?¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s brow furrowed, as though the question was a direct insult to her intelligence. ¡°That more goblins are following us? What else would it mean?¡±

    ¡°I meant why.¡±

    ¡°Then you should have bloody said that!¡±

    Snag¡¯s raspy voice rang out ahead of them. ¡°They¡¯re following us because some bright-eyed youngsters went and told every den in the area how a nice traveling caravan gave them a whole rasher of bacon for some measly information. The rest are just trying to figure out how to get in on the action.¡±

    The tips of Daana¡¯s ears burned as she turned back around and sank lower in the saddle. ¡°Are you worried about theft?¡±

    ¡°Not really. They¡¯re looking for handouts, not trouble.¡±

    It was a fair assessment. After all, Snag would know better than anyone how the area¡¯s dens operated. And while Daana did not doubt the truth of his statement, she suspected there was more at play than he was letting on. ¡°Are you sure this doesn¡¯t have to do with the other thing they said?¡± Daana prodded. ¡°You know, regarding that infamous goblin who¡¯s been welcomed back home?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t start,¡± Snag said.

    ¡°I mean, who wouldn¡¯t want to catch a glimpse of a renowned hero? Seems something like that could draw a crowd just as easily as handouts.¡±

    Snag had a developed unique way of shutting down Daana¡¯s arguments without having to neither confirm nor deny her suspicions. Naturally, it involved pain. ¡°What¡¯s that? You wanna keep riding through the night, girl? Keep talking and your wish shall come true.¡±

    ¡°For goddess¡¯s sake! Quit while you¡¯re ahead, Peaches!¡± Ashwyn snapped her tusks with a mighty crack. Daana swore she saw the surrounding grass quiver in fear. ¡°I swear, if we have to go all night because of you, I¡¯m going to double your training exercises in the morning.¡±

    ¡°It was simply an observation,¡± Daana replied smartly.

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    ¡°I have an observation for you,¡± Ashwyn said through gritted teeth. ¡°Stop, else you¡¯re hurt in places you aren¡¯t even aware of.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a threat, not an observation.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯ll become an observation when I watch you run drills from dawn to dusk!¡± The orc¡¯s voice rose to match her escalating irritation. ¡°Sleep will be but a past memory.¡±

    Daana rolled her eyes. Her observation had been a legitimate one. In fact, given Snag¡¯s overreaction, it was probably more than legitimate. Possibly even accurate. As pointing this out would not end well for her, Daana did the sensible thing and bit back her tongue. That, and she spent the rest of the ride making faces at the back of Snag¡¯s head ¡ª which wasn¡¯t so much sensible as it was petty, but dammit it was something.

    The trio rode until the sky turned from dusky pink to violet, and then ink black. The stars were in full display by the time Snag found a suitable spot to rest. He built a sheltered fire while Ashwyn roped off the perimeter with strands of low hanging twine attached to bells. The bells were an alarm system, meant to give them the split second they needed to cut through the first wave of attackers if and when they were jumped in the dead of the night, according to Ashwyn anyway.

    Daana was left to tend to the horses. Normally she didn¡¯t mind, but her arms and legs were unbearably stiff and each saddle suddenly felt like it weighed ten times what it normally did. The brush down went smoother, except for when it came to Wormy, who kept nipping at her pockets in his relentless demand to be spoiled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t have any apples,¡± Daana insisted as the nosy horse muzzled her jacket, probing for something edible.

    This didn¡¯t stop Wormy, who decided the end of Daana¡¯s braid was just as delicious.

    ¡°No, no, no!¡± She tried to pull her hair free of the horse¡¯s mouth, but her efforts were for naught. In a mere matter of seconds, the situation turned from a rescue attempt to a painful game of tug-of-war. ¡°Snag, help! He¡¯s turned cannibalistic!¡±

    ¡°Predatory,¡± Snag corrected.

    Daana attempted to whip her head in his direction, which was difficult considering she was still battling the mutant pig-horse for her hair. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Wormy¡¯s not an elf. And unless you¡¯re implying you¡¯re suddenly a horse, it¡¯s not really cannibalism, now is it?¡±

    Ashwyn was knelt on the ground, still rigging her alarm bells. She snorted her amusement. ¡°We all knew she was a horse¡¯s ass already. At least now she¡¯s admitting it.¡±

    ¡°Wormy is an opportunist eater.¡± Snag carried on as if his precious beast wasn¡¯t inches away from munching on someone¡¯s head. ¡°Saw him eat a snake once. Wasn¡¯t even hungry, just ate it ¡®cause¨C¡±

    ¡°Snag!¡± Daana yelled.

    A single, sharp whistle from his owner was all that was necessary to convince Wormy to relinquish her hair. Daana gathered the soggy mess protectively into her hands. The edges of her nostrils wrinkled in disgust as she realized her meticulous braiding had been for nothing. Her hair was now a wet, matted tangle that smelled overwhelmingly similar to a pigsty. Awarding Wormy her fiercest glare, she turned and limped towards the cook pit, unsure of how exactly she was going to remove the stench of putrid horse mouth from her head.

    She snatched the blanket from her bedroll and wrapped it snuggly around her shoulder before settling onto the cold ground next to Snag. Her sores flared, largely forgotten until now, kindly reminded her that sitting on the ground was not any better than a saddle. Daana refused to stew on it. Not when there was a mutant pig-horse that deserved the focus of her growing ire.

    Snag kept his eyes on the simmering liquid within the soup pot. The tips of his needle-like teeth were sunk well into his bottom lip, fighting a smile.

    ¡°It¡¯s not funny,¡± Daana muttered.

    ¡°I told you making your head smell like a bucket of flowers was a bad idea.¡±

    ¡°Bouquet.¡±

    Gods forbid she actually smell like something other than sweat and horse! That was the part all of the grand adventure stories conveniently left out. Everyone smelled awful all of the time. What was even more unrealistic was the hero¡¯s kiss at the end of each brazen rescue. The cloud of body odor and perpetual morning breath would have been enough to convince any damsel to choose life with the dragon.

    ¡°Nah.¡± Snag¡¯s harsh voice cleaved the strange thread Daana¡¯s mind was swiftly spiraling down. The goblin gave the mysterious contents of his stew a few slow stirs as the smile stretched further across his leathery face. ¡°I meant what I said. Your hair definitely smelled like pansies in a slop bucket.¡±

    Daana narrowed her eyes at him.

    As usual, glaring did little to deter Snag¡¯s relentless teasing. ¡°What?¡± He feigned innocence, clasping a hand to his chest. ¡°I said slop and not shit, didn¡¯t I? See? I cater to your precious feelings sometimes.¡±

    Daana awarded him her fiercest scowl yet. In lieu of stopping, Snag merely thumbed his nose up at her instead.

    Ashwyn dropped down onto the ground between them, disrupting their silent battle of wills. ¡°Goddess, I¡¯m starving. I hope that stew¡¯s nearly ready, else I¡¯m gonna have to find some other means of nourishment.¡±

    Daana noticed the way the orc was eyeing her hair and switched her mangled braid to her other shoulder, out of reach. ¡°Hilarious.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I thought so, too.¡±

    The stew was ready not long after. Snag was in the middle of ladling portions when a shrill screech blasted over the top of the grasslands. His ears shot into the air, eyes so wide, each pupil floated like a miniature island in a sea of yellow. The squeal of the pipe persisted, working through a series of off-key notes in the most torturous manner possible.

    Daana watched Snag¡¯s face for clues. The subtle eye twitch was certainly indicative of something. It was too bad she didn¡¯t know what.

    ¡°More visitors?¡± she asked, once the message had been delivered in full.

    Ashwyn tucked her bowl of steaming stew closer to her chest with a snarl. ¡°Greedy little buggers aren¡¯t getting my dinner this time. Better eat up quick, Daana. Before they get here.¡±

    At the moment, food wasn¡¯t her main concern. Nor was it the possibility of another goblin encounter. Daana was far more troubled by Snag¡¯s rapid transition from teasing asshole to stone statue. She swore he hadn¡¯t blinked once since the pipe music started. ¡°What¡¯s the message? What are they saying?¡±

    His lower jaw quivered, needled teeth glistening in the low light of the cook fire. ¡°I¡­¡± His voice failed him and, gathering his courage for a second attempt, he still only managed to get a single word out. ¡°I¡­¡±

    Daana¡¯s heartbeat picked up. ¡°You, what?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Snag¡¯s ears drooped as his entire body sank, as though he was attempting to become one with the ground. Finally, around the quivering of his tongue, the words tumbled free with a whimper. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here.¡±

 210 - Remember Me As I Was: Naked And Screaming

    Rasp awoke dead. When he jerked his head free of the damp pillow, his skin hot to the touch and coated in a sheen of sweat, he was surprised to find the afterlife had provided him with a coffin. What was even more surprising was that it was downright comfortable. The funeral shroud placed delicately over his prone form was warm and smelled of citrus and crushed cloves. It was a little insulting they¡¯d arranged him facedown but, then again, between his face and his ass, the latter was the more appealing feature.

    ¡®Here lies the biggest pain in the ass to have ever lived¡¯, his headstone would say. No. That wasn¡¯t right. Rasp deserved better than that. After all, he¡¯d helped stop a damn apocalypse! Never mind the fact that he¡¯d been the one to set it off in the first place ¡ª that little tidbit didn¡¯t matter. The point was, he¡¯d overcome his old ways and turned into something good, for the betterment of all mortal-kind.

    Now that was someone who deserved a decent head stone. Something along the lines of: ¡®remember me as I was: naked and screaming¡¯.

    Nah. Still not right.

    It was missing something. A punch of emotion, perhaps. Anyone visiting his gravestone needed to be reminded just how much he meant to them. ¡®It should have been you, Faris¡¯.

    As Rasp laid there, facedown in his burial pillow, arranging the details of his funeral, he gradually became aware of another presence. Something was nearby. It shuffled about, heavy feet dragging across the floor as ancient wooden boards groaned beneath its weight.

    Floorboards? Rasp thought.

    That wasn¡¯t right. They didn¡¯t bury people above ground. For fuck¡¯s sake, if they¡¯d left him facedown in an open casket for all the word to see, he was going to have to come back and haunt someone!

    Had Rasp still possessed survival instincts, they would have demanded he put his head back down and remain still, and wait for the danger to pass. As he was already dead, he had no need for survival instincts. Thus, Rasp flipped over, fighting to remove the dark shroud that served as the thin layer between him and the world of the living.

    ¡°Get off me!¡± he cursed, struggling to untangle the sheet from his unruly limbs.

    Rasp¡¯s arms were numb and cumbersome, as if they¡¯d been left out in the cold too long. He tried to use his legs to assist in getting himself free, but all he got for his effort was a shooting pain in his right ankle. Clutching his throbbing foot, he fell back into the coffin, only partially aware that he was screaming at the top of his lungs.

    Heavy footsteps clomped against the floorboards moments before the shroud was lifted from Rasp¡¯s mangled corpse. His rescuer spoke. The guttural words, alas, were not any Rasp recognized.

    Rasp twisted his head from side to side in a futile attempt to take in his surroundings. For some incredibly cruel reason, even in death he was blind. That didn¡¯t seem very fair. It wasn¡¯t total darkness, however. He could make out a dim light flickering not far from his final resting place. A tallow candle, according to his nose. His tongue agreed as the dingy air tasted remarkably similar to rancid bacon grease.

    The candle did a piss poor job of illuminating the surrounding room. Fuzzy shapes and shadows filled the space, arranged in a way indicative of furniture and, therefore, a tripping hazard. Not that running from death would do him any good, but it was nice to have a contingency plan just in case.

    A stout form loomed over the top of him, still talking at a volume far too loud for their given proximity.

    Rasp shooed the angel of death away with a limp wave of his hand. ¡°Will you give it a rest? Pace yourself, for the gods¡¯ sakes. You¡¯ve got all eternity to torture me.¡±

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    The speaker relented, for a few seconds anyway, before stating something that sounded like it might have been a question.

    ¡°I don¡¯t speak ghost yet, sorry.¡±

    The speaker tried again. This time more slowly, with distinct pauses between each word. It was similar to the manner in which Rasp used to explain to his brothers why clutching a bunch of feathers before jumping off a cliff would not work. Regrettably, Rasp happened to be the dim-wit in this particular scenario and failed to grasp the angel of death¡¯s meaning.

    ¡°Talking slower does not make me understand a language I don¡¯t speak!¡± He crossed his arms over his chest, muttering, ¡°Just makes me feel stupid.¡±

    The speaker sighed. The heavy, full-bodied kind that usually involved a nose pinch or some other demonstration of mental exhaustion. ¡°You¡­¡± they said, struggling to piece the words together.

    ¡°I understood that.¡± Rasp sat straighter. ¡°Go on. Me, what?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s encouragement gave the angel of death the motivation he needed to finish his sentence. ¡°Stay.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t leave?¡± Rasp was really nailing this whole communicating with the dead thing.

    The speaker stepped away, repeating the command. ¡°Stay.¡±

    Rasp held his palms aloft in the universal sign of ¡®I¡¯ll do exactly what you say until your back¡¯s turned and then, well, no promises. But don¡¯t worry about that.¡¯

    ¡°I¡¯m staying,¡± Rasp said. ¡°See? Not going anywhere, am I?¡±

    A heavy door creaked open and shut, followed by the unmistakable jingle of metal keys as the lock was twisted shut from the other side. Damn. A locked door was going to make the ¡®stay¡¯ order significantly harder to disobey. Clever death. What did the afterlife need locks for anyway? Was it possible for a ghost to stumble his way back to the side of the living?

    You know you¡¯re not dead.

    It was true, Rasp supposed. What he¡¯d initially mistook for a coffin was clearly just a bed with an understuffed straw mattress. It¡¯d been so long since he¡¯d slept on anything other than cold, hard ground that it had merely felt heavenly. Acknowledging that he was alive came with a daunting to-do list, however, which was probably why he¡¯d been putting off his inevitable resurrection for as long as possible. A corpse could just lounge around without a care. Unlike him, who now had to get out of bed, break out, locate the others, and then get them all topside before anyone noticed.

    Groaning, Rasp scooted his way to the edge of the bed and swung his stiff legs over, surprised to find the floor much closer than he expected. He gripped the cold wood with his bare toes, feeling every buckle and crease underfoot as he considered how he¡¯d become a giant without noticing.

    His brain helpfully provided the answer. You¡¯ve been captured by dwarfs, idiot. All of their furniture is close to the ground.

    Oh, right. The whole captured by an underground cult had felt so much like a bad dream, he¡¯d simply dismissed it as one. Kind of sad that, in comparison, death was the more desirable option. He definitely wasn¡¯t staying put now. Rasp held his breath as he willed his leaden legs into an upright position. The dull throb in his right ankle neatly stepped over the threshold from tolerable to ¡®oh my gods, someone hand me the bone saw, I¡¯ve got hack this fucking thing off!¡¯

    Rasp flopped back down onto the bed with a mangled scream, writhing as an invisible wave of blistering fire rolled up his leg. After a few moments of pathetic sobbing, able to do little more than remember to breathe around the tightness in his chest, the brunt of the pain subsided. Rasp worked his fingers down his pantleg and gingerly lifted the hem of his trousers away from his swollen flesh. His ankle was hot to the touch and bulbous, stretched tight with an ungodly amount of liquid pooled beneath the skin.

    The dwarf¡¯s ¡®stay¡¯ order seemed a little less ominous now. Rasp wiggled his way back into the center of the sagging mattress, resigned to stay put. This, alas, left his thoughts to wander unchecked.

    If he was alive, it meant the others were too, right? Gods, he hoped so. He wouldn¡¯t make a good virginal sacrifice on his own, after all. And why was it always virgins anyway? Was it because the deity was awful at sacrifice and simply didn¡¯t want its victims to be none the wiser? ¡®Stick me with your teeth, oh great and awful one! Stick me harder! Are you sticking me? No, seriously? Is that it? Wait, you¡¯re done? No, no, no. It was fine. I just imagined my first time, I don¡¯t know, a little more torturous is all¡¯.

    Rasp tried to distract himself with absurd sacrificial situations, but his mind kept wandering back to the one topic he wished to avoid. The voice. That soft, crooning sound that had called to him from the darkness, beckoning him to find it. The memory sent chills shimmying down his overheated skin. Whatever it was, it wanted him. And, like all of his past love interests, the more they wanted him, the more desperate Rasp was to get away.

    A bum leg, mysterious voices, and an underground cult set on sending him to his death. Good gods, Rasp thought as he ran a heavy hand down his face. How in the realm was he going to get them out of this one?

 211 - The Nameless One

    The jingle of iron keys warned Rasp that he had visitors. There was a metallic clunk and a vigorous twist before the heavy bolt slid away. Rusted hinges squealed in protest as the door swung open, allowing a channel of blinding light to filter in from the outside. Rasp eased his head up off the pillow, using his elbows for support, and squinted at the obnoxiously bright doorway.

    Two blurry shapes shuffled inside, their stout forms backlit by the light pouring in from the hallway. The pair ducked in surprise when a dark projectile rocketed over their heads in a frenzy of feathers and talons.

    Croak! Father circled the room twice, chattering up a storm, before settling onto Rasp¡¯s pillow in an uneasy fluff of bristled feathers.

    ¡°Good to see you too,¡± Rasp murmured, refusing to look away from the open doorway. Alas, rushing the exit wouldn¡¯t do him any good with a hobbled leg. He¡¯d be lucky to get a single step in before his injury felled him. Still didn¡¯t stop him from trying to gauge the distance from the bed to the door, though. ¡°You didn¡¯t happen to find any of the others before me, Dad, did you?¡±

    Father had, actually. Faris, Hop, and June were being housed in separate rooms nearby, purposely isolated from one another. Father¡¯s attempts to dart inside and check on them had been unsuccessful. He didn¡¯t know what state any of them were in, but the lack of sounds coming from within their rooms hadn¡¯t sat right with him. He¡¯d started to fear they were all dead, Rasp included. That is until he heard all the commotion about ghosts and the afterlife from out in the hallway.

    Across the room from Rasp, the dwarfs finished their hushed conversation and stepped all the way inside. Hinges squealing, the door slammed shut behind them, rendering the chamber oppressively dark once more. One of the entrants stopped about halfway, content to venture no further. A single set of heavy footsteps continued on alone.

    Father hissed a warning but the newcomer shuffled along, unfazed by Rasp¡¯s feathery watchdog. The dwarf reached Rasp¡¯s bedside and sat without being invited. The straw mattress sagged beneath their combined weight. Rasp¡¯s visitor didn¡¯t speak, not at first, but he knew who she was from a single sniff. The overpowering combination of crushed rose petals and tobacco smoke told him it was Priestess Oreword.

    A wiser man knew to keep his silence and wait for the enemy to reveal their hand. Rasp was certainly not wise and barely qualified as man most of the time, but even he could keep his mouth shut when he wanted. He locked his jaw, quieting the nagging thoughts demanding to know what had happened to the rest of his party.

    The priestess leaned closer and, once more, helped herself to Rasp¡¯s face without asking. She cupped his chin in her calloused hands and looked him over, muttering to herself as she did so.

    ¡°No touching!¡± Rasp snapped, pulling away.

    The interpreter, Bromm, was content to keep his distance and translate from afar. ¡°Priestess Oreword believes the nameless one calls to you. You have heard it, yes?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what any of that means, but you¡¯re not getting another word out of me until I know everyone else is alive and safe.¡±

    ¡°Your companions are still recovering,¡± Bromm explained. ¡°All four of you were poisoned during your escape. The body will flush the toxin on its own, but it takes time. You are the first to regain consciousness.¡±

    Unbelievable. A whole party taken out by a damn weed! Just one more reason to hate vegetables, Rasp supposed. ¡°But they¡¯re all good, right? Expected to make a full recovery?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Thanks to our people, of course. Who saved you from becoming plant fodder.¡±

    Well this was awkward. It wasn¡¯t everyday you had to credit a cult for saving your skin. Rasp reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Thanks, I guess.¡±

    ¡°As a show of your appreciation, Priestess Oreword would like you to speak with her truthfully. Starting with what it was that brought you down here. A voice, perhaps? One that calls to you in your head?¡±

    ¡°Desperation is what brought us here, not a voice. We went underground because it was the only option to avoid capture.¡± Rasp paused, momentarily conflicted, before spilling the rest of the truth. He didn¡¯t like revealing all his cards so soon, but if the dwarfs knew about the voice, then maybe they¡¯d know how to stop it from worming its way into his brain. ¡°But I did hear a voice. It¡¯s not the first time I¡¯ve heard it, either. I heard it once before, back on the surface. It reached me through a harmony stone.¡±

    ¡°A harmony stone?¡± Bromm repeated.

    ¡°Yeah. Giant pillar built to honor fae or something. Details are a bit fuzzy but the thing was huge and crawling with magic.¡±

    Bromm and Priestess Oreword murmured back and forth in hushed, worried tones.

    Rasp waited, but neither seemed inclined to include him in the discovery process. ¡°It¡¯s something bad, isn¡¯t it? That¡¯s why you¡¯re keeping it all hush-hush.¡±

    Finally, Bromm delivered the grim news, in the matter-of-fact manner that he seemed incapable of deviating from. ¡°You are being hunted by an ancient monster, whom we call the nameless one.¡±

    What a terribly unclever name. And while Rasp sorely wanted to point out that referring to something as nameless was still giving a fucking name, deep down he knew it didn¡¯t matter. Arguing pointless details served no other purpose but to distract himself from what was truly taking place. The monster, as ridiculously named as it was, deserved his full attention.

    ¡°The nameless one is an enchanter,¡± Bromm explained. ¡°It projects its voice into the minds of prey and puts them under its spell. Victims caught in the throes of its siren song are then lured into the beast¡¯s lair, destined to never to be seen again. The priestess believes the nameless one has found a way to tap into the harmony stones above ground and uses them as means to broaden its range.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    ¡°It wishes to consume you,¡± Bromm continued, as if his prior explanation had not been abundantly clear on its own.

    ¡°Yeah, I got that,¡± Rasp said quietly. He then added, less quietly, as the anger started to bubble up from within. ¡°Of course it wants to eat me. Why is it no one ever wants me around purely for the sake of my company? I am a delightful person!¡±

    Father politely disagreed.

    ¡°No one asked you, old man!¡±

    Bromm and Priestess Oreword fell silent. Rasp imagined they were too busy trading skeptical glances to point out he¡¯d been nothing but a thorn in their sides so far. ¡°Okay, mostly a delight. It doesn¡¯t apply to people trying to use me as a sacrifice.¡± Rasp gestured for Bromm to carry on. ¡°Anyway, I get the strangest feeling you¡¯re not done telling me about your magic beastie. Go on. Get it over with. Tell how truly fucked I am.¡±

    ¡°The nameless one is a remnant from the age of raw magic. It goes dormant after eating, often decades at a time. The more magic a meal provides, the longer it sleeps. For centuries the beast has feasted upon surface dwellers lured into the underground by its siren song.¡±

    Rasp remembered Hop mentioning how none of the parties sent to explore Kalikose had ever returned. Being fed to a nameless monstrosity was fucking grim, even for cult.

    Rasp¡¯s face must have given his thoughts away because Bromm¡¯s matter-of-fact tone actually changed. It now carried the unmistakable sting of offense. ¡°We are not monsters. Our people put up every preventative measure to stop surface dwellers from entering the underground, including collapsing the existing gateways. It has been over three decades since the last outsider stepped foot inside our city. The only reason you made it this far is because you are in the company of the Kriegaar. It was predestined fate.¡±

    Rasp held up his hands in protest. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything!¡±

    Priestess Oreword placed her hand on Rasp¡¯s elbow in a silent order for him to shut up and let her handle Bromm herself. Although her tone was gentle, Rasp sensed an underlying disapproval ¡ª like a parent assuring their ruly offspring that they weren¡¯t mad, simply disappointed. Having been the recipient of many such lectures, Rasp had the sudden inexplicable urge to crawl under the bed.

    When Bromm addressed Rasp again, the defensiveness had bled from his voice, replaced instead with sorrow. Rather than apologize for his outburst, he merely picked where he¡¯d left off. ¡°Without magic to sustain it, the nameless one has grown ravenous. The beast has turned to eating flesh. It has claimed ten from our clan so far.¡±

    Oof, that was a depressing thought. Rasp almost felt bad for them now. Still, saving an underground cult from an ancient monster wasn¡¯t on his to-do list. He had his own people to save.

    ¡°Flesh does not sustain the nameless one for long. It only makes the beast hungrier.¡± Bromm twisted the metaphorical knife a little deeper with each word. ¡°Priestess Oreword charmed our homes, making it so the beast¡¯s song could not be heard from within our walls, but our defenses have only made the nameless one more desperate. For the first time in many millennia, it has abandoned its lair to snatch our citizens from the city itself.¡±

    Rasp interrupted. ¡°And this fabled Kriegaar of yours is supposed to swoop in and save you from nameless one, correct?¡±

    That¡¯s right. He had been paying attention.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Well, how?¡± Not that Rasp intended to be the one to do the slaying, but he was mildly curious.

    ¡°We¡­¡± Bromm¡¯s voice trailed, before admitting with a resigned sigh, ¡°We don¡¯t know. All who have faced the creature have fallen. We don¡¯t even know what it looks like.¡±

    Naturally. How silly of Rasp to assume the cult had any idea how to make their hero¡¯s job slightly less difficult. It was not often that Rasp thought of Daana, especially not in the ¡®I wish she were here¡¯ capacity. But now was one of the few exceptions. She would have known immediately what sort of beasty they were dealing with. She might have even been able to tell him how to defeat it without all the cryptic beating around the bush that accompanied these types of conversations. Again, not that Rasp had any intention of being the one to defeat it. He was merely noting that such information would have been helpful, if not for him, than for the cult and any inevitable heroes suckered into helping.

    Pointing out how unrealistic their plan was probably wouldn¡¯t go over so well. Rasp tried a different approach, one often referred to by Faris as logic. ¡°Why don¡¯t you just leave then? The nameless one can¡¯t eat you if you¡¯re not here.¡±

    ¡°You speak blasphemy, sir! This is our ancestral home! We have been here since the beginning, from before the floods and the outsiders and¡ª¡±

    Priestess Oreword came to Rasp¡¯s rescue once more. While he didn¡¯t understand a lick of what either of them were saying, Rasp did notice how the priestess¡¯s cadence lacked the theatrics she had used back at the tower. She sounded like a regular person and not some power-hungry zealot with a desperate audience clinging to every word.

    ¡°Priestess Oreword believes the Kriegaar is a member of your group.¡± Bromm switched back to the common tongue without warning. ¡°The issue is¡ª¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re half dead?¡± Rasp ventured. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s been a problem for us too, lately. I¡¯m afraid Whisper¡¯s really not in any shape to battling monsters.¡± All joking aside, it was rather lousy when the person responsible for your training kept nearly dying all of the time.

    ¡°Priestess Oreword is a healer.¡±

    A glimmer of hope broke through, like a ray of sunshine on an overcast day. Naturally, Rasp¡¯s first instinct was to be wary of it. ¡°What kind of healer?¡± He knew the priestess was magical. Her power buzzed so strongly it made his skin itch, as though he was covered in invisible ants. ¡°Are we talking magic healer or the kind that¡¯s only good for terrible tasting tonics?¡±

    ¡°She can remove the hex currently exacerbating the Kriegaar¡¯s illness. The priestess will return them to their former strength, but she cannot remove the poisoning itself. Your companion will still succumb to their illness. Priestess Oreword will only be providing them more time.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t what Rasp wanted to hear, but it was certainly better than nothing. A functional Whisper was better than a dead one. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose the priestess is willing to do this out of the kindness of her heart?¡±

    ¡°Priestess Oreword offers a trade. The health of you and your companions in exchange for defeating the monster.¡±

    It would have been really nice had another member of Rasp¡¯s crew been present to offer advice. Unfortunately, that wasn¡¯t possible, not with the rest of the team currently out of action. Which meant the honor was all his. Might as well make it worth his while.

    ¡°How do I know your priestess is capable?¡± Rasp asked.

    Bromm took the bait, as expected. ¡°You dare question the competence of Priestess Oreword?¡±

    Rasp raised his hands innocently. ¡°Talk is cheap, that¡¯s all I¡¯m saying. Maybe if she was willing to prove her mettle first¡± ¡ª he wiggled his injured foot for emphasis and immediately regretted it. Searing pain shot up his swollen leg, causing the rest of his sentence to issue in the form of a gasp ¡ª ¡°I might be more inclined to talk the Kriegaar into agreeing?¡±

 212 - Easy Peasy

    Alright, play it cool. You have them right where you want them. Rasp took a breath to settle his galloping heartbeat, mindful to keep the excitement welling within his chest from bleeding over into his expression. He reached over and gave Father¡¯s feathery head a few loving pats to steady his nerves. Disgusted by the open show of affection, Father suddenly decided he didn¡¯t care whether or not his son lived and flew off elsewhere.

    ¡°Love you too, Dad!¡±

    Fortunately, the dwarf translator, Bromm, was still too upset from having his priestess¡¯s magical competence called into question to ask whose father Rasp was professing his love for. He considered his approach a few painful seconds more before asking, ¡°You want Priestess Oreword to prove herself, is that what this is?¡±

    As far as fiddles went, Bromm was proving quite easy to play. The translator¡¯s unwavering devotion to his priestess was also his greatest weakness. Rasp took secret delight in pushing that particular sore spot over, and over, and over again until he got what wanted. ¡°Look, no offense, but blind faith just doesn¡¯t come natural to me, alright? Saying she can heal and doing it are two very different things. I¡¯ve learned to be skeptical of everyone until they prove otherwise.¡±

    ¡°You may as well spit in her face!¡± Bromm was getting worked up into a tizzy. Still positioned near the center of the room, the angry dwarf slowly edged a step closer with each word out of Rasp¡¯s insolent mouth. ¡°Who are you to make demands of us?¡±

    Rasp merely shrugged. ¡°I said ¡®no offense¡¯.¡±

    Priestess Oreword took offense anyway. Rasp could tell from the way her hand locked onto his swollen ankle the moment Bromm finished his angry translation. Rasp yelped as he fell from his inclined position and struck the straw mattress with a padded slam. His leg seized up. Every muscle locked into place, stretched taut. The cramping moved higher until his lower half was completely engulfed in phantom fire.

    He wanted to thrash. Every survival instinct in his body commanded him to fight the agony coursing through his battered limbs, but he couldn¡¯t. Rasp stared up at the gloomy ceiling as helpless as the day he was born. His mouth opened and closed uselessly, unable to pull air into his shriveled lungs. Through the haze of debilitating pain, he caught the sound of rhythmic chanting. It sounded further away than it should have.

    Rasp lost his grip on reality as the room started to spin. The salty fumes of the tallow candle intermixed with the smoke and crushed flowers from the priestess¡¯s musty clothes. His body suddenly felt light. Panicked, he gripped the straw mattress with all the strength in his trembling hands, certain he was about to lift clear into the air. The dark, muddled corners of his vision knitted together as the only source of light faded. Just as he was about to lose consciousness altogether, the whirling stopped.

    Weight returned to his body and Rasp slammed back down onto the mattress. His eyes were still open, he realized, as the dim light of the tallow candle banished the darkness back to its shadowy corners. For what felt like the first time in minutes, his lungs inflated, allowing him to draw breath. A bead of sweat dripped down his brow. Rasp moved to wipe it away only to discover the skin on his forehead was blazingly hot.

    Priestess Oreword produced a barking laugh as she patted his injured ankle. She was talking again, too, but Rasp was too distracted by the absence of pain to pay any attention. Gathering his courage, he wiggled his toes and braced himself, expecting to feel the agonized sting of a thousand fire ants biting him all at once. To his surprise, he felt nothing at all.

    ¡°Are you convinced?¡± Bromm asked smugly.

    ¡°I think so,¡± Rasp croaked.

    Rasp eased into a sitting position and drew his leg closer. A quick examination confirmed that the swelling was gone. The cuts inflicted by the carnivorous vines had vanished, leaving his skin whole and unblemished. Seven realms, he wasn¡¯t even sore any more! This was good. He could work with this. Once the rest of the group was healed, they could pretend to go looking for the beasty and then cut and run the moment the opportunity presented itself.

    Amidst the swirl of shock and awe, a single nagging disappointment wormed its way through, dampening Rasp¡¯s gratitude. He still couldn¡¯t see shit. ¡°What about here?¡± He turned in Bromm¡¯s direction, pointing at his eyes. ¡°Can she fix this too?¡±

    ¡°She cannot fix ugly.¡±

    ¡°Not my face, my eyes!¡± It took great restraint not to call the smug dwarf every filthy name in the book. ¡°She fixed my leg. What about my vision?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re blind.¡± Bromm said this as a statement, not a question, in the sort of tone that implied several unspoken questions had suddenly been answered. All save for one, that was. ¡°Is that why you leapt off a three story balcony?¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah. That¡¯s why I did that.¡± Rasp neatly packed up his embarrassment and cast it aside. ¡°Ask her if she can fix my vision.¡±

    Oh please, oh please, oh please. Rasp¡¯s thoughts raced as he waited for Bromm to communicate his request to the priestess. For the first time since he could remember, life suddenly didn¡¯t feel so bleak. He¡¯d learned to live with his disability the best he could, yes, but maybe he didn¡¯t have to. Maybe there was another way. Ironically, it came at the hand of magic ¡ª something he¡¯d once detested with every bone in his body, but that was old Rasp¡¯s way of thinking and old Rasp had never had to cross a busy street without the benefit of being able to see oncoming carriages.

    Bromm concluded his hushed conversation with Priestess Oreword and delivered her answer to Rasp. ¡°No.¡±

    With a single word, Rasp¡¯s rising hopes plummeted, fizzling out of existence along with his dreams for a brighter, less stumbly future. ¡°No?¡± he repeated. ¡°But my leg and the poison, a-and Whisper. You¡¯re telling me she can bring a fae back from the brink of death but a few measly eyes are too much for her? I thought you said she was all-powerful!¡±

    There was a thoughtful pause as Bromm considered how much he wanted to say. ¡°It is not a matter of ability, but of station. Priestess Oreword says it is not her place to interfere with the will of the gods.¡±

    The what? Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake! This is why nobody liked religious cults. Rasp pointed to his eyes again. ¡°She thinks the gods did this to me?¡±

    The other end of the straw mattress lifted as Priestess Oreword stood and moved for the door, uttering something in her mother tongue.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Bromm dutifully translated. ¡°Take it up with the gods.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll do that, thanks,¡± Rasp muttered.

    Okay, maybe he¡¯d claimed his loss of vision was an atonement from fate for killing his father and unleashing a dark entity, but he hadn¡¯t actually meant it. Not really. That was just something he said when he was down in the dumps and feeling sorry for himself. Fate was a scapegoat. A convenient way to explain all the shitty things that happened to him without having to take an ounce of responsibility for his part. As far as Rasp was concerned, fate was as real as the gods and let¡¯s just say there was a reason he didn¡¯t recite his prayers before bed anymore.

    Bromm cleared his throat to garner Rasp¡¯s spiraling attention. ¡°Reexamine your faith later,¡± he said. ¡°There¡¯s work to do. Come.¡±

    If by reexamine Bromm meant shove his feelings of disappointment deep, deep down out of reach forever, then Rasp was already well ahead of him. Reluctantly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and then hesitated. Not because he was afraid the pain might return the moment he stood, but because he had a general dislike of being told what to do. ¡°You¡¯re not taking me to go kill the nameless one right now are you?¡±

    Of course not,¡± Bromm scoffed. ¡°You are not the Kriegaar. You could not possibly kill the monster on your own.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence. I appreciate that, truly.¡± Rasp remained seated just in case. ¡°Mind telling me where we¡¯re going then?¡±

    ¡°The Priestess requires your assistance with the Kriegaar.¡± The dwarf translator paused, either unsure how to phrase the sentence or simply out of reluctance to utter it aloud. ¡°They have¡­disappeared.¡±

    Rasp shot to his feet. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We need your help locating them.¡±

    ¡°Alright, you heard the man, Dad. Let¡¯s go.¡± Rasp stormed his way across the room, bumping into several pieces of solid furniture in the process, and locked arms with Bromm. The dwarf was fast, Rasp had to give him that. Bromm slipped his grip and stepped out of reach with the speed and reflexes of someone not shaped like a boulder.

    Bromm¡¯s voice dripped with both suspicion and disgust. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    Rasp extended his hand in what he hoped passed for a less hostile approach. ¡°As previously explained, my eyes don¡¯t work all that well. And seeing as your priestess is unwilling to fix that¡± ¡ª okay, maybe he hadn¡¯t quite shoved his disappointment completely out of reach yet ¡ª ¡°then the only way I¡¯m making it there is if someone leads me.¡±

    Rasp flinched when an arm strung through his from the other side and pulled him close. The cloud of fetid tobacco smoke wafting from the clothes told him it was the priestess. While her bent, blurry form implied that she was old, possibly frail, the strength in which she was holding him to her side seemed to indicate the exact opposite.

    With a single command, she started back towards the doorway, pulling Rasp with her. Father took up his customary perch on Rasp¡¯s shoulder and muttered nervously under his breath as the priestess opened the door. The adjoining hallway was unlike any Rasp had ever encountered before. Being that he was in the company of dwarfs and miles underground, he¡¯d expected to traverse along a dark, gloomy tunnel system.

    Whatever the space was around him, it wasn¡¯t that. While the smells were what Rasp expected ¡ª wet, musty, and stale ¡ª the hallway was obnoxiously bright. The surrounding walls shimmered in a sea of twinkling blues and greens. He didn¡¯t dare touch it to confirm his suspicions, but he felt confident to assume that the surrounding light source was another trick of bioluminescent algae. It was ten times brighter than the stuff he¡¯d encountered within the ruined city.

    He shielded his eyes as he clung helplessly to the priestess, vaguely aware that they had turned a corner. ¡°Gods, it¡¯s bright!¡±

    ¡°I thought you were blind,¡± Bromm said from where he walked behind them.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t work that way,¡± Rasp huffed, slightly peeved that he was still having to explain this to people. It wasn¡¯t that hard of a concept to grasp! ¡°Blindness isn¡¯t always an all or nothing. I can differentiate light from dark. Shapes too, if they¡¯re close enough.¡±

    ¡°But not balconies.¡±

    Father cackled, prompting the heat already burning its way across Rasp¡¯s face to sting just a tad hotter. Before Rasp could snap back with something he¡¯d regret, Bromm went ahead and explained the purpose of the shimmering walls. ¡°The light helps deter the monster.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t the only thing the light was deterring. Rasp could already feel the telltale throb of a migraine start to pulse behind his eyes. Hopefully their little detour through the bright-as-fuck passageways would be over soon. In the meantime, he¡¯d have to find a way to distract himself. Maybe even learn a thing or two.

    ¡°So,¡± he said, twisting his head this way and that in order to listen to the echo of his voice. The sound didn¡¯t travel far, suggesting the walls were narrower than the surrounding light made them seem. He raised his hand over his head and brushed the ceiling. It was like touching fish eggs covered in thick mucus. Stifling a gag, Rasp withdrew his hand from the ceiling and wiped his fingers clean against the priestess¡¯s robe ¡ª silently delighted to discover the area he touched glowed with the same light as the walls. ¡°You mind explaining how you lost the Kriegaar?¡±

    Apparently it was a bit of a sore subject given the translator¡¯s reluctant huff. ¡°The vessel in which you were transporting the Kriegaar¡ª¡±

    ¡°Fancy way of saying pack, but sure.¡±

    ¡°The guards did not want to disturb the mighty one, so they placed the Kriegaar¡¯s pack in a sealed room and left them be. Priestess Oreword arrived to discover that the Kriegaar was no longer within the pack at all.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s voice had a bit of a screech to it. ¡°You lost Whisper? Like lost-lost?¡±

    The priestess muttered something, giving Rasp¡¯s arm an extra ungentle tug as she continued leading him on through the damp, green and blue hallway.

    ¡°We believe the Kriegaar is still in the room,¡± Bromm said. ¡°Just not in the same state as they were before.¡±

    ¡°Okay, now you¡¯ve lost me.¡±

    Bromm heaved a heavy sigh before admitting everything he had hoped to leave unsaid. ¡°Priestess Oreword believes your companion is a shapeshifter. They were in a living form when we first encountered them, and now they are not.¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t think he was following along in the way he was meant to. ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me they¡¯re in a dead form.¡±

    Bromm¡¯s gravely voice had quite the edge to it. ¡°Do you know anything about fae?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t speak for the species as a whole, but I do know this one in particular is a conniving little shit who doesn¡¯t delve too deep into the personal stuff. So yes, and no, at the same time.¡±

    ¡°Traveling with one of the mightiest beings in existence and he doesn¡¯t even know it,¡± Bromm muttered under his breath with what might have been a disgusted shake of his head. Fortunately, the dwarf took it upon himself to educate the ignorant. ¡°Fae are capable of adopting inanimate forms, usually only as a last resort. Without senses, they are blind to their surroundings. They fall into a state of stasis and can remain dormant for eons.¡±

    Whisper, you clever bastard.

    It took all of Rasp¡¯s willpower not to laugh out loud. Even weak and dying, Whisper still found a way to disrupt the plans others made on their behalf. ¡°So one of the objects in my pack isn¡¯t an object at all. Which means Whisper¡¯s not actually missing, you just don¡¯t know what form they¡¯ve taken.¡±

    ¡°Yes. We believe the Kriegaar is using their glamour as a cloaking mechanism. The priestess is unable to distinguish them from the other items housed within the pack.¡±

    The corners of Rasp¡¯s mouth curled into a smile. ¡°How unfortunate for you.¡±

    ¡°It will be your misfortune as well if the Kriegaar is not recovered soon. Your friend is too weak to awaken without the priestess¡¯s intervention.¡± Bromm let that revelation sink in for a moment before neatly steering the conversation back in the direction he wished it to go. ¡°Priestess Oreword senses a bond between the two of you. Locating the Kriegaar is something you should be able to do, yes?¡±

    Maybe? Only one way to find out, Rasp supposed. ¡°Oh, sure. Absolutely. Should be easy-peasy.¡±

 213 - Celebratory Biting

    He couldn¡¯t believe it, his captors had gone and lost Whisper. Rasp would¡¯ve been a little more forgiving had they¡¯d simply misplaced the little cuss, but no, they¡¯d lost-lost his fae mentor. The cult didn¡¯t even know whether or not the sneaky bastard was still under their roof. Not to mention the whole tall tale regarding fae being able to transform into non-living objects. That was probably just some excuse to shift the blame onto Rasp once the finger pointing started.

    Gods, he wished Faris was here right now. This seemed like the sort of bargaining chip Faris would use to leverage the situation back in their favor. Without his best friend to elbow him in the gut to keep him from saying something stupid, however, Rasp feared this was a prospective bargaining chip he didn¡¯t know what to do with.

    Don¡¯t overcomplicate it. Stick to the plan, his thoughts cut in. Focus on getting everyone healed. And then, when the cult has lowered their guard, you¡¯re gonna book it back to the surface as fast as you can and put all this behind you.

    Rasp imagined Faris would have come up with something more eloquent. But Faris wasn¡¯t here and, therefore, this plan was as good as it was going to get.

    ¡°Easy-peasy?¡± Bromm rumbled, repeating Rasp¡¯s words slowly, as though he was saying them for the first time. ¡°I am unfamiliar with that expression.¡±

    ¡°Oh, uh, it¡¯s kinda like ¡®piece of cake¡¯.¡±

    ¡°What is like a piece of cake?¡±

    Once more, for what would neither be the first nor last time, Rasp remembered the rest of the mortal world was woefully behind on human phrases. Normally he would have delighted at the opportunity to pass down horrifically incorrect idioms, but now didn¡¯t seem like the best time to spread misinformation.

    ¡°I meant finding Whisper would be easy, okay? Sorry for the confusion.¡± Rasp moved head from side to side, trying to make out something other than the nauseatingly bright glow of the bioluminescent algae. ¡°Are we almost there? Feels like we¡¯ve been walking forever.¡±

    Bromm was like a dog with a bone, unwilling to give it up so easily. ¡°You say locating the Kriegaar will be easy for you, but you do not sound certain.¡±

    Uncertainty, unlike idioms, apparently crossed the cultural barrier without issue. Rasp blew a sigh out of the corner of his mouth, admitting, ¡°You¡¯re asking a blind man to sift through a bag of trinkets to find the one that isn¡¯t an actual trinket. Excuse me for being a little apprehensive about it.¡±

    Such a task would¡¯ve been undeniably easier had Rasp not been looting his way through the realm. He wasn¡¯t sure what sort of hole he¡¯d been trying to fill, but stolen bits and bobs helped soothe the ache, temporarily anyway. The loot went into his bag, the hurt eased, and Rasp swore to never do it again ¡ª at least until the next opportunity presented itself. It¡¯d gotten to the point where he no longer paid attention to what he was stealing. His poor decisions, as they were wont to do, had come back to bite him in the ass. Trying to decipher what was stolen goods versus what was an unconscious fae cloaking its magic was going to be interesting.

    Priestess Oreword pulled Rasp to a stop without warning, allowing Bromm to shoulder past. The familiar jingle of iron keys echoed along the surrounding stone before another heavy door drew open.

    The chamber was unfathomably dark. A fact Rasp never thought he¡¯d be grateful for. The stale air grew colder as he passed through the doorway, noting how the flooring underfoot had shifted from crude rock to set tiles. There was something else about the room too. Something that set his senses on edge. The hairs on his arms raised on end in a manner that felt unrelated to the cold. A familiar sensation buzzed at the tip of each finger as he traveled deeper into the chamber.

    His memory flashed back to the night he, Hop, and Whisper had spent within the ghost village, and how it had felt to be near a harmony stone. This was similar, but ten times stronger. He didn¡¯t dare switch to his aura vision for fear of what he might see. The sheer power emitting from within the room would have been too much for his fragile sixth sense to take in.

    Father must have felt it too because the superstitious old codger leapt off Rasp¡¯s shoulder and fluttered back out the door, wishing Rasp a painless death.

    Un-fucking-believable. Rasp bit back every colorful expletive dancing on his curled tongue and gritted out a question directed at Bromm instead. ¡°Is there a harmony stone in here?¡±

    ¡°Yes. This chamber is a hallowed place of worship,¡± Bromm said, sealing the heavy door behind them. ¡°Priestess Oreword thought the stone¡¯s presence would help the Kriegaar feel at ease.¡±

    Ease was the last thing Rasp felt. He unlinked arms with the priestess and shuffled sideways until he found the wall with his outstretched hand. It was comprised of polished stone with unidentifiable markings etched along its surface. ¡°Your nameless beastie reached me through one of these stones. What¡¯s to stop it from using this one?¡±

    ¡°The chamber is charmed. The nameless one¡¯s power cannot reach here.¡±

    That made Rasp feel slightly better. He was still tracing the charms etched into the stone walls when Bromm¡¯s heavy footsteps approached from behind. Rasp turned the same moment a familiar pack was shoved into his open arms.

    ¡°Retrieve the Kriegaar,¡± Bromm said.

    ¡°You got a table or something I could work at? I mean, I could dump all this on the floor if you want, but that seems a tad unnecessary.¡±Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Grumbling beneath his breath, the male dwarf took Rasp by the arm and led him to the far side of the room. Rasp made the mistake of not halting when his escort did and slammed his hip into a piece of heavy furniture. Gritting his teeth, he explored the area with his free hand, determining the object in question was a ceremonial table of some sort, fitted with a linen, unlit candles, and a pot of incense.

    Rasp set the pack onto the low table and began sorting its contents. He set the known items aside ¡ª his extra socks, gloves, and hat all went into a pile beside him, as did the tooth brush and tin cup, bowl, and folding knives. To his dismay, he didn¡¯t find any scraps of food as he rummaged through the remaining items. Maybe that was a good thing. He wouldn¡¯t have put it past Whisper to disguise themself as a piece of jerky. An interesting way to go though, eaten by your errant pupil.

    Only a handful of items remained. A smattering of jewelry he¡¯d probably pocketed with the intention of hocking the next time they were in a town; Faris¡¯s coin purse ¡ª which he didn¡¯t recall taking but wasn¡¯t out of the realm of possibility; and a bundle wrapped in cloth. Rasp placed the others off to the side as he unraveled the cloth with painstaking care. He felt a spark the moment he touched the object within. Rasp shook his head in disbelief as he ran his fingers from the base of the weighted pommel all the way to the tip of the dagger. Leave it to Whisper to transform into the one object he would grab in the heat of the moment.

    Is this really you? Rasp inquired.

    The dagger didn¡¯t respond. Either Whisper truly had fallen into a deep state of stasis or Rasp was simply the idiot talking to an inanimate object. He twirled the knife between his fingers, hoping today of all days wasn¡¯t the one he finally lost his pinky by being a show-off. ¡°I think this is it,¡± he said. ¡°So now what?¡±

    Bromm sounded further away than he¡¯d previously been. Likely due to the fact that Rasp was now openly wielding a weapon. ¡°I will deliver the Kriegaar to Priestess Oreword.¡±

    Bromm still wasn¡¯t making any effort to inch closer. Rasp suspected he knew why. With a sigh, he flipped the knife around and offered it hilt-first.

    ¡°I would prefer it if you set it down, actually.¡± Bromm added, mimicking the phrase Rasp had used earlier that day, ¡°No offense.¡±

    ¡°Offense taken.¡± Rasp lowered the blade onto the table and stepped away. For being fake, it sure felt like a damn good knife ¡ª well honed with a good grip and evenly balanced. If he wasn¡¯t partially convinced that the blade wasn¡¯t a fae trick, he would have considered keeping it. A myriad of intrusive questions flooded Rasp¡¯s thoughts as he sought the wall, giving Bromm space to work.

    Could he even kill with a knife that wasn¡¯t actually a knife? He thought back to all of those times when he and Whisper had gotten cornered in and how a decent sword would have made all the difference. Had his trainer been holding out on him all this time? Maybe if they both survived what was to come Rasp would get his chance to ask. Along with all sorts of other intrusive things such as: is it limited just to knives? Could you shapeshift into other inanimate objects? Like money? Could I use you to buy a decent cart? Wait, wait, wait, what if we make you the cart?

    Bromm collected the dagger and moved back across the room with it. Rasp heard the strike of a match a split second before a pale yellow light sprang to life. The flame moved downwards, igniting a cluster of candles that had been arranged onto the floor. Priestess Oreword lit a pot of incense as well, filling the chamber with a stifling cloud of sage, yarrow, and mugwort leaves.

    The unholy combination of dried herbs and tallow candles caused Rasp¡¯s eyes to water. The stench wormed its way up his nose, into his mouth, and down his throat, filling his lungs until those too burned with irritation. Rasp tugged his shirt over his nose and through his mouth, fighting the sudden urge to dry heave.

    If nothing else, at least the light from candles allowed him to make out what was taking place across from him. Sort of, anyway. Priestess Oreword¡¯s hazy shape knelt amongst her collection of candles. Her shadowy head bobbed up and down as she chanted. Her words were soft at first, but grew in volume until the entire chamber echoed with her spell. An icy prickle ran down the back of Rasp¡¯s neck as the priestess¡¯s power filled the room. Her magic was like a vacuum, pulling in every shred of warmth until the chamber was as cold as a root cellar in the dead of winter.

    Her chanting crescendoed as the yellow candles danced and flickered around her. An icy wind whipped across Rasp¡¯s face, bringing fresh tears to his eyes. As otherworldly as it was to feel a breeze within a fully enclosed room, he took it as a promising sign. Whisper¡¯s power was returning. Already, Rasp could see the yellow light of the candles had taken on a blue tint. The blue grew, until the entire room danced in its eerie glow.

    A burst of magic erupted at the center of the priestess¡¯s circle. Crackling, the electric blue glowed bright as day before it went out with a hiss, extinguishing the candles in a dramatic flourish. Aside from some coughing from the priestess, the area was deathly quiet. Rasp leaned forward, attempting to assess what was going on.

    He jumped in surprise when he felt tiny clawed feet scramble up his leg and onto his shoulder. A familiar furry body coiled itself around his neck. What have you done now?

    You mean besides saving your miserable life? Gods, you¡¯d think his mentor would be just a little bit more grateful to be alive and restored to good health. But no, straight into the accusations they went.

    You didn¡¯t save my life, little bird. She did.

    Does it really matter who did what? It was my idea, okay? Relax and let me handle this. Now that you¡¯re back to your old cheery self, we can get the fuck out of here.

    Yes! It very much matters!

    Rasp, taken aback by Whisper¡¯s unexpected anger, grew quiet. Obviously he¡¯d messed up somewhere. He just failed to see how or when it had happened.

    With a heavy sigh, Whisper kindly filled in the missing blanks for him. By removing the hex, little bird, I have now incurred a life debt. A life debt that I do not owe to you, but to the one who saved me.

    Oh fuck. He¡¯d forgotten all about the stupid rules fae had to adhere to. Rasp was aware that the dwarfs were watching them. He could feel their eyes locked on him, attempting to decipher what was happening. It was for this reason he continued to communicate through thought. Okay, but does she know that?

    It does not matter if she knows or not. My magic is bound to her until the debt is repaid.

    ¡°Fuck!¡±

    What did you promise them in exchange for removing the hex?

    So, long story, but they think you¡¯re the fabled warrior meant to save them from the nameless monster terrorizing their home.

    For fuck¡¯s sake. You brought me back from the dead just to watch me die again? What were you thinking?

    I was thinking, ¡®gee, it sure would be a shame if the person I am depending upon to teach me things up and dies!¡¯ I mean, you¡¯re alive now, aren¡¯t you? Shouldn¡¯t that be something to celebrate?

    In lieu of a reply, Rasp felt a set of needled teeth latch onto his neck. He slapped at the weasel curled around his shoulders, squawking, ¡°Biting is not how we celebrate!¡±

 214 - Practice Makes Perfect

    The old saying ¡®practice makes perfect¡¯ was a bald faced lie and whoever invented it deserved to be drawn and quartered. Practice did, in fact, not make perfect. Not when the practice involved forcing one¡¯s body through a cramped tunnel system made for those of a significantly smaller stature. In this case, practice meant prolonged torture because, no matter which way Oralia contorted her body, her aching joints protested by seizing up on her at every inconvenient opportunity.

    ¡°What was that?¡± Briony¡¯s disembodied voice echoed along the tunnel from up ahead.

    ¡°I did not say anything,¡± Oralia managed through gritted teeth.

    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I heard you muttering something under your breath. Was it ¡®I hate this, I hate this, I hate this¡¯ again? Or have you already moved on to something more colorful?¡±

    The yellow light provided by Briony¡¯s lantern glowed faintly from beyond the next bend. It didn¡¯t move, which meant the little faun had stopped to wait for her. Oralia watched the light as she wormed her way through the tight passage, praying Briony stayed where she was and didn¡¯t backtrack in her direction. Coated in sheen of sweat and dirt, with her shoulders wedged tight against the narrow walls, Oralia was a sight too humiliating to behold.

    ¡°Must be a trick of the senses.¡± Oralia unwedged one shoulder with great difficulty. She sank lower to the ground and crawled forward on her stomach, inching her way free one arm length at a time. ¡°That is known to happen deep underground. They say your senses start to turn on you.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re twenty feet below the surface,¡± Briony snorted.

    Briony¡¯s information only added insult to injury. A meager stretch of dirt was all that stood between Oralia and her ability to walk unobstructed. How utterly cruel. And yet, ditching the underground tunnel system in favor of walking would have come with its own problems. Immediate arrest and or death, namely. As those options were slightly less favorable to crawling on her hands and knees, Oralia grudgingly stuck to the low, cramped passages of Lonebrook¡¯s underground tunnels.

    With one last twist, Oralia freed her upper body from the narrow passage and dragged herself, hand over hand, until the tunnel widened enough for her to change positions. She gathered her stiff legs beneath her and rose. She staggered along with her head bent down to avoid scraping the ceiling, mindful not to brush the walls as she walked. Walking with a hunch certainly beat crawling on her belly, but not by much.

    The yellow glow of Briony¡¯s lantern grew brighter as Oralia rounded the final corner. ¡°You made it,¡± the faun congratulated. ¡°For a moment there I was worried I was going to have to dig you out.¡±

    Oralia ran a calloused hand over her warm forehead, groaning, ¡°Have I told you how much I hate this?¡±

    ¡°Repeatedly,¡± Briony said. ¡°Which is usually when I remind you that you didn¡¯t have to come. You could have sent one of the others.¡±

    ¡°I find the best way to know what is truly going on is to see it for myself.¡± It was a poor excuse and Oralia knew it.

    As did Briony, judging from the slow shake of her horns. ¡°Right.¡± The brown and tan faun started walking again. ¡°You¡¯re here because you were the best one for the job. Definitely doesn''t have anything to do with that makeshift army you¡¯ve got holed up at my place, all sitting on their hands, waiting for you to tell them what to do.¡±

    ¡°Army?¡± It was Oralia¡¯s turn to scoff. ¡°We barely have the numbers to qualify as an angry rabble.¡±

    It had been a week since Lingon and Rali left to solicit help from their closest neighbors. Oralia had not yet heard from either, but she herself was making minor progress elsewhere. Like Briony, there were others that lived on the outskirts of the village and had managed to escape the realm¡¯s net. They were mostly farmers and a few woodsmen, but Oralia was not in a position to be picky. She accepted whatever help was offered.

    Down to just two trained fighters, Oralia had left Mul and Dewpetal in charge of drills while she went with Briony to investigate the structure being erected in the village square. No one had been able to confirm what it was so far. Worse yet, Briony¡¯s primary contact, a woodcutter by the name of Ellery, had failed to make their last meeting. With rumors circulating and their usual contacts haven fallen eerily silent, Oralia decided it was time she and Briony investigated the matter themselves ¡ª even if it meant doing so from a distance.

    There were no markers underground to offer direction, but it was of no matter to Briony. She walked with the sort of confidence that suggested she could have found her way through the intricate tunnel systems with her eyes closed. After a few more disorientating twists and turns, the faun stopped at the base of a wooden ladder, announcing they¡¯d arrived at their final destination.

    ¡°Ready to breathe fresh air again?¡± the faun asked in what might have been a halfhearted attempt at positive motivation.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Oralia kept her thoughts to herself as she eyed the exit warily. She¡¯d developed a deep distrust of rickety ladders since having arrived in Lonebrook, and this one¡¯s half-rotted appearance was doing little to put her fears aside.

    ¡°Seen that look before.¡± Briony hung the lantern from the hook on the wall for safekeeping before starting the climb. ¡°The usual system, then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. And thank you.¡± Oralia watched the faun¡¯s stocky form scurry up the ladder with a nimbleness that was typically reserved for squirrels. Their ¡®usual system¡¯ involved keeping Oralia¡¯s feet safely planted on solid ground until absolutely necessary. Briony would ascend first, throw open the hatch, and then signal for her once confirming the area above was clear.

    The imitated coo of a ringneck dove indicated that Briony had accomplished her portion of the system faster than usual. Oralia tried not to take issue with that as she slung one heavy foot onto the lowest rung of the ladder and tested her weight against it. Despite its decrepit appearance, the wood held strong. With her fortune, it would remain intact until about the halfway mark. Maybe a little higher if she was truly lucky.

    ¡°You will not drop, you will not drop, you will not drop,¡± she repeated to herself as she climbed, not entirely sure if she was speaking to herself or the ladder. Heights had never bothered her much before, but the combination of tall ladders, tight spaces, and being stuck underground seemed to have taken its toll on her formerly steely nerves. The fact that she stood to lose more than just her own life in the event of a fall likely had something to do with it as well.

    Not the time, she told her brain. For the first time in forever, her mind obeyed and all thoughts concerning the growing life inside of her were dutifully shoved aside. Climbing was Oralia¡¯s sole focus. Gradually, one rung after another, she hauled her worn body all the way to the top and through the narrow hatch at the end.

    Oralia¡¯s efforts were rewarded by the cool kiss of fresh air and waning sunlight.

    ¡°I commend your lack of cursing.¡± Her cheeky companion greeted her arrival with a smirk.

    ¡°It helped that the ladder maintained its structural integrity this time.¡± A thick carpet of moss and wet grass lined the forest floor at their feet. Oralia briefly considered flopping down and allowing the dampness to cool her overheated skin. Alas, with the sun already dipping beyond the horizon, there simply wasn¡¯t time. Not to mention that Briony would never take Oralia seriously again if she succumbed to such childish impulses.

    ¡°Ready?¡± the faun said.

    Oralia tore her gaze from the inviting ground with a nod of her head. ¡°Ready.¡±

    Briony plucked a blade of grass and chewed it as she assumed the lead once more. Unlike Oralia, the faun had no difficulty finding her way through a forest where every tree looked damn near identical to its neighbors. Oralia stuck close, knowing she¡¯d never find her way out again if she were to lose her guide. They were a ways outside of town, using the surrounding woods for cover. The realm patrols didn¡¯t venture far from the main road anymore ¡ª likely due to the fact that whenever someone did, they never returned.

    ¡°It took me a while to find this place,¡± Briony whispered as she walked. Even without the threat of eavesdroppers, whispering seemed to be the sensible thing to do. ¡°One of the original founders of the village used to live there. The eccentric type, apparently. Over the generations the family gave up on maintaining the place and moved elsewhere. Wildfire took out the main structures, but the old pigeon tower is still standing.¡±

    ¡°The what tower?¡±

    ¡°Pigeon tower.¡± Briony shrugged. ¡°I told you, eccentrics. Anyway, there¡¯s a stairway built into the outside that leads to the roof. Seemed stable enough.¡±

    ¡°Briony, I mean this in the best way, but I do not think I have ever met a faun like you.¡±

    ¡°What makes you say that?¡±

    The two-faced lying, smuggling, and callus killing immediately sprang to mind. Fauns were supposed to be a peaceful species. They came to war when the horns called, sure, but most didn¡¯t have the stomach for bloodshed. Even Faris, whom Oralia had come to know over their time together, looked like he would have rather been just about anywhere else most of the time. Not Briony, though. She seemed quite content to be right smack dab in the middle of danger.

    That felt entirely too personal to share so Oralia offered something more practical. ¡°It was my understanding that fauns avoid heights and yet, here you are, climbing crumbling towers without hesitation.¡±

    ¡°Climbed?¡± Briony twisted her head around at Oralia, still chewing the blade of grass sticking out of the corner of her mouth. ¡°I didn¡¯t say I climbed the damn thing. Oh no, no, no. I just threw a bunch of rocks at it.¡±

    ¡°...You threw rocks at it?¡±

    ¡°Yep. Didn¡¯t fall, either. Means it¡¯s stable, right?¡±

    Oralia¡¯s eyes grew wide as her heavy footsteps slowed to a stop. It had taken all manner of reassurance to convince Sascha not to accompany her on the scouting mission. Climbing an ancient pigeon tower seemed like the sort of thing he would have put his foot down over. Was this a lost cause? Would it have been better to turn back now, before curiosity got the better of her? Gods dammit, she¡¯d gone all this way, too! So many miles of crawling underground all for no¡ª

    ¡°Oralia.¡± Briony¡¯s voice took on a serious nature. ¡°That was a joke.¡±

    ¡°It was?¡± She failed to see the humor in the jest, but that may not have been the humor¡¯s fault.

    ¡°I was making a jab at you. Of course I tested the stairs. How else would I have known we could see the village square from the top?¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Gods, it was times like these that Oralia yearned for her old team. Even if she didn¡¯t understand the joke, someone would explain it to her. Eventually. Perhaps Briony would be kind enough to extend a similar courtesy. ¡°What is humorous about falling through crumbling stairs?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wound so tight, is all. I was just trying to loosen some of¡± ¡ª Briony made a vague gesture with her fingers in Oralia¡¯s direction ¡ª ¡°this.¡±

    Think of a joke. Think of a joke. Think of a joke.

    ¡°Maybe I like it tight.¡±

    Fuck. Not that one.

 215 - A Statement

    Oralia had never been successful at joke-telling. Her sense of comedic timing and ability to ad lib on the spot were not so much undeveloped as they were nonexistent. It didn¡¯t help that on the few occasions she ventured out of her comfort zone, her efforts were rarely recognized as humor. Today was the exception. For what might have been the first time in her life, Oralia not only delivered a joke with the appropriate timing, but somehow managed to stick the landing as well.

    Not in the way she intended, of course.

    ¡®Maybe I like it tight.¡¯ Good gods, Oralia! Could you have said anything any worse had you tried?

    Unfortunately, it was too late to take it back. Briony had already heard. The faun¡¯s upper teeth were sunk deep into her lower lip in an attempt to stifle the snorts of laughter bubbling up from within her chest. Briony¡¯s willpower gave out almost immediately and she doubled over, holding her sides as tears streamed down her face.

    If nothing else, at least Sascha would get a kick out of it later. Provided Oralia recovered enough of her dignity to tell him, that is. With a strained smile that said ¡®yes, I know what I just said and I undisputedly meant it, too¡¯, Oralia stepped around Briony and continued onward. She had no idea where she was going, but far, far away seemed as good of a direction as any. Briony would compose herself in due time and correct their trajectory as needed. At least Oralia hoped so. Judging from the laughter growing fainter with each step, there was a chance Oralia would be traversing alone for the foreseeable future.

    Dammit.

    A mere matter of strides later and Oralia had already lost sight of her guide. She backtracked, forced to rely on her sense of sound to guide her. Briony was as Oralia had left her, still hunched in half, holding her sides as she shook with mirth.

    It wasn¡¯t that funny. Oralia folded her arms with a sigh. ¡°Are you coming or not? It will be nightfall soon.¡±

    Briony could barely stand on her quivering legs. She outstretched her arms in Oralia¡¯s direction, gasping, ¡°I can¡¯t walk. Carry me.¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s your fault!¡±

    ¡°Lower your voice.¡± Not necessarily because Oralia expected anyone to be out this far, but because doing so had the potential to end the conversation sooner.

    Still fighting a fit of giggles, Briony swung one cloven hoof in front of the other as she stumbled forward through the tangled undergrowth, drunk on mirth. ¡°You know,¡± she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. ¡°I think I¡¯m starting to see it now.¡±

    Silence, Oralia decided, was the only way forward. Perhaps if she refused to partake in the conversation, Briony would let it die a natural death.

    The little faun gave Oralia¡¯s forearm a reassuring pat as she staggered past. ¡°This whole time I¡¯ve been thinking you¡¯re some stuffy old battle-ax, but you have a fun side, don¡¯t you? Only, you like to pretend you don¡¯t. So you surround yourself with degenerates so nobody notices.¡±

    ¡°You got all of that from one bad joke?¡± Oh dear. The hormones raging through her system were making her transparent. Nobody had any right to be able to see through her so clearly. ¡°I think you may be reaching a little.¡±

    Briony plowed on ahead with a newly recovered sense of balance. ¡°Nope. I definitely see it now. There won¡¯t be putting you back in that box. One could almost say it¡¯s too tight for you now?¡±

    Oh, for the love of gods. Oralia followed Briony¡¯s path with a despairing shake of her head. ¡°I will not be living this down anytime soon, will I?¡±

    ¡°To be fair, I¡¯m just doing what I was told. Didn¡¯t expect it to be this fun, though. So I¡¯ve got that going for me, at least.¡±

    Doing what she was told? Oralia chewed on this as she ducked to avoid the low hanging bows of black spruce. The answer, she realized, was obvious. She uttered the name through clenched teeth, resisting the urge to slam her fist into the nearest tree. ¡°Ralizak.¡±

    ¡°She had concerns that without her around you would ¡ª now how did she put it? It was rather graphic, if I recall.¡±

    ¡°There is no need to share.¡±

    Briony did so anyway, with great relish. ¡°Reinsert the stick up your ass? Something along those lines, anyway.¡±

    What a lovely sentiment. Oralia would be sure to thank her lieutenant properly by demoting Rali the moment she returned. Unless of course Rali returned with an army, in which case Oralia would have to settle for a stern brow-beating. No, she could do better than that. Forget the demotion, Oralia would hit her where it really hurt: a promotion. It was perfect! Rali avoided responsibility at all costs. She would despise the extra authority with every delinquent bone in her body.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    The surrounding landscape changed as Oralia followed her guide, silently plotting her revenge. The trees were shorter, as though they¡¯d regrown over the past decade or so. Remnants of hand-built structures started to crop up amongst the tangled overgrowth as well. A portion of a fence here, a moss-covered retaining wall there, a raised garden bed overrun with dandelions up ahead. The slope of the terrain shifted, rising into a steep fern-covered hill. They passed several skeletal remains of burnt buildings as they climbed ¡ª all of which were now rotted and adorned with a variety of moss and fungi.

    Oralia reached the top of the hill breathless from exertion. Much unlike Briony, who appeared utterly unaffected by the strenuous climb. The faun pointed across what might have once been a well-tended courtyard. ¡°There¡¯s our lookout point.¡±

    The stone pigeon tower was nearly indistinguishable from its dim surroundings thanks to a generous tangle of wild ivy. It was the only structure on the property untouched by ruin. Having withstood the test time, fire, and abandonment, the tower was a testament to its craftsmanship. As Oralia neared, throat tightening at the sight of the crumbling stone staircase that spiraled around the exterior, she hoped said craftsmanship could withstand the full weight of an orc as well.

    Briony ascended first. Her hooves scraped for traction against the worn stone as she moved up the spiraling staircase at a snail¡¯s pace. Oralia appreciated the lack of rush as it gave her the time necessary to consider each step carefully. The ivy was thick and slippery. A single misstep was all that separated her from a gruesome fall.

    The last of the waning light dipped beyond the western horizon and the sky grew dark. Patches of the star-speckled sky peeked through the interlaced canopy overhead. The moon was but a sliver. Its pale glow was too weak to light the way. Unequipped with night vision, Briony was forced to forfeit the lead at the halfway mark. Oralia took charge from there, offering both her hand and directions as needed.

    It wasn¡¯t until she¡¯d reached the final steps that Oralia realized there was no roof. The top of the pigeon tower had been left open to the elements, allowing for its feathery occupants to come and go freely. There was belvedere across from her, located on the opposite end, but the only way to reach it was via a narrow stone platform that jutted out precariously over the rim of the open aviary. It had possessed handrails at one point. Naturally, those had been worn away by the elements, much like the platform itself.

    Sensing Oralia¡¯s hesitation, Briony offered an uncharacteristic word of encouragement. ¡°It¡¯s not going to fall.¡±

    ¡°How can you be so sure?¡± Was she stalling? Absolutely. But for good reason! Death by pigeon tower was such a stupidly memorable way to go. Oralia wanted to be remembered for her actions, good and bad, not for being the idiot who fell to their death after slipping on bird poo!

    ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Briony replied a little too honestly. She could have at least made something up to settle Oralia¡¯s nerves. ¡°But it hasn¡¯t fallen yet and we¡¯re not exactly flush with other options here.¡±

    Oralia still did not find this a good enough reason to sidle out onto the rickety platform of slippery death.

    ¡°Alright look, if you die, I¡¯ll spin a story, yeah? It wasn¡¯t a fall that got you, it was something better. More memorable. Death by bear mauling, or what have you.¡±

    Oddly, Briony¡¯s offer made her feel slightly better. That or the last of Oralia¡¯s sanity had finally thrown in the towel. Cautiously, one slow step at a time, she edged out across the platform, trying not to gag at the rancid smell emitting from the inside. It held strong, fortunately, allowing Oralia to reach the much sturdier belvedere on the other side. Briony made it across safely, too, in half the time it had taken Oralia.

    Oralia had to admit, putrid bird shit aside, the tower did make for an ideal lookout. Built atop one of the hills overlooking the village, she could make out each individual home situated in the valley below. Had there been sunlight to aid her vision, she might have even been able to count the number of guards patrolling the roadways. The village square stood out at its center, a distinct patch of nothing amongst a sea of straw-thatched roofs.

    Oralia extended her hand in Briony¡¯s direction expectantly. ¡°The spyglass?¡±

    The faun dutifully produced the item from the pouch strapped to her side. She hovered close, shifting her weight from one hoof to the other as she waited for Oralia¡¯s assessment. ¡°They¡¯d just started construction last time I was up here. Couldn¡¯t tell what it was then.¡±

    Oralia lifted the spyglass to her right eye. The village square came into focus, as did the structure erected at its center. Her stomach dropped.

    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡± All former traces of humor bled out from Briony¡¯s voice in an instant. ¡°I can tell by your face. What is it?¡±

    ¡°Gallows.¡± Not just a simple double post and beam setup, either. Someone had gone through the effort of constructing an elaborate design, complete with stairs, trapdoors, and enough space to execute a dozen prisoners at once. It was not any ordinary gallows, it was a statement from Geralt Lazuli himself and it said: I built this all for you.

    ¡°...But¡­but Ellery would have told me. He wouldn¡¯t have let this happen without¡­¡± Briony¡¯s words failed her, momentarily, before she picked up again, searching for an alternate explanation. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Briony.¡± Oralia collapsed the spy glass as the churning in her stomach doubled. The words were like hot bile on her tongue. ¡°There are two villagers hanging from it. One of which is Ellery.¡±

    ¡°Oh gods,¡± the faun whimpered, her voice barely a whisper.

    ¡°Did Ellery know about the tunnels?¡±

    ¡°I-I don¡¯t think so.¡± Briony lifted her trembling chin as tears streamed down her cheeks, searching Oralia¡¯s face with wild desperation. Briony¡¯s glassy eyes grew wide and rimmed in white. ¡°But he knew about my cottage.¡±

    The queasiness in Oralia¡¯s gut solidified into a cold lump of ice. Ellery may not have known about the tunnel systems, but it didn¡¯t matter how Briony was getting to and fro if there wasn¡¯t a safehouse to return to. Even trained soldiers cracked under the pressure of torture. There was no reason to expect an innocent villager to fare any better. The realm would have squeezed Ellery for every drop of information he possessed, including the location of their hideout.

    Briony was already scurrying back across the platform for the stairs. ¡°We need to get back! We have to warn the others before it¡¯s too late.¡±

 216 - Den Brother

    The harsh trill of a goblin pipe rang out across the endless expanse of empty flat land before the tune died away, carried off by the wind. Blessed silence returned. For a few lovely seconds, anyway, before the stupid pipe-player realized his message was being willfully ignored.

    ¡°Oi!¡± The stranger¡¯s reedy voice shouted over the shifting sway of the tundra grass, shrill enough to startle a flock of nesting birds from their evening roosts. ¡°You¡¯re seriously not going to answer, you greedy little prick? I¡¯m not going to let one measly orc get between me and my kin. Just you wait and see!¡±

    ¡°Kin?¡± Daana repeated in astonishment. Her brown eyes grew large and wide, like sad dinner plates with no munchies on them. The elf¡¯s accusing stare settled over Snag, pressing him closer to the ground under its weight. ¡°What¡¯s he mean by kin, Snag?¡±

    His instincts were to run, but that didn¡¯t seem very fair to either of his companions, both of whom were watching him like hungry hawks. Snag wrapped his bony arms around his leather cuirass and hugged himself tighter. It didn¡¯t do anything to alleviate the gnawing dread in his belly, but it kept him from diving head first into the surrounding grass for cover. That was something, surely.

    ¡°You misheard,¡± Snag explained. ¡°He said, uh, kitten.¡±

    ¡°Kinky,¡± Ashwyn said around a generous mouthful of stew. If she was troubled by the approaching goblins, she didn¡¯t show it. The orc seemed more concerned with scarfing down her dinner than the possibility of being held up by an entire den.

    Snag wished he had that kind of confidence.

    ¡°That makes absolutely no sense, Snag.¡± Daana persisted as the reddish tinge in her cheeks spread to her pointed ears. ¡°He clearly said kin, not kitten. Is that a member of your family out there?¡±

    The reedy voice rang out once more. ¡°I¡¯m heading your way, you impudent little wretch!¡±

    Snag wished the ground would split open and gobble him whole. Or maybe it could take the approaching goblin instead. Yeah, that would be better. Two stones, one turkey sort of thing, or however that nonsensical human saying went. The voice emitting from between Snag¡¯s tightly clenched teeth was odd in that it didn¡¯t sound like his own. It was as if he¡¯d swallowed a tiny goblin and it was speaking from the lump currently lodged in his throat.

    ¡°Tell him I¡¯m not here.¡±

    Dried grass crunched underfoot as someone stomped purposefully in their direction. Daana had her head tilted to the side, listening as the approaching goblin grew unmistakably closer. ¡°Who is he?¡±

    ¡°Fangle Bogfoot,¡± Snag gave in with a low-pitched wail. ¡°My den brother.¡±

    Ashwyn had made good progress on dinner. Having already emptied her bowl, she was currently eyeing the leftovers still simmering over the fire. ¡°Before you clarify what in the seven realms a den brother is, does anyone else want more stew? Because I¡¯m about to polish it off.¡±

    ¡°How can you be hungry at a time like this?¡± Daana demanded.

    ¡°Shove off, Peaches. Some of us like to eat our feelings, okay?¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t hear the rest of their petty squabbling as his thoughts turned inwards. What was a den brother? Gods, you¡¯d think after having spent so much time with him, they would have bothered to learn a thing or two about goblins by now! Of course that would have meant being open about these sorts of things. Not really a possibility considering Snag fancied himself a steel trap rusted shut most days. Come to think of it, sharing such details probably would have made all of this a bit easier. Now he had to speed run them through a crash course on goblin culture before Fangle arrived.

    Shit.

    ¡°As soon as a goblin is old enough to walk on his own, he gets tossed into the same burrow as all the other babes born that same season,¡± Snag explained, still curled in the fetal position upon the ground. ¡°There were so many of us, it was impossible to keep straight who was actually related to you. Everyone who shared the same sleeping burrow automatically became your den kin. The shared space was supposed to make things equal, so that nobody got favored treatment. Except Fangle was the son of the den leader and he made sure everybody knew it. Little shit tormented me my whole life and never once got slapped down for it.¡±

    Daana stirred her stew thoughtfully. ¡°So Fangle was your childhood bully, got it. Why¡¯s he here?¡±

    Dammit. Why did she have to be so quick with the questions? Why couldn¡¯t she just sit in a hungry stupor like Ashwyn? Snag knew if he didn¡¯t provide an answer she¡¯d just keep at it. ¡°He¡¯s probably upset that I didn¡¯t stop in and offer my respects when we passed the ol¡¯ homestead about ten miles back.¡± Snag paused, before adding reluctantly, ¡°Apparently Fangle¡¯s the new den leader now.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°What? I purposely gave the den a three mile berth. I was hoping Fangle wouldn¡¯t catch wind of our presence until we had a decent head start.¡±

    Daana set her steaming bowl of chow by her feet and crossed her arms, pinning him beneath an unrelenting glare. ¡°Are you avoiding him because you¡¯re still scared of him? You, the most notorious goblin in all the land, famous for inciting civil war within the United Territories of the Realm?¡±

    Snag produced a knocking sound from within his chest. His attempt to deter Daana was wildly unsuccessful on the account that it sounded less like a threat and more like a dying shrew.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    The elf shook her head in disbelief. ¡°Seems like he should be the one afraid of you.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s annoying voice carried on the breeze, substantially closer than it had been the last time Snag had had the misfortune of hearing it. ¡°I¡¯m done waiting, Snaglebrag. And don¡¯t you get any bright ideas about fighting me, either. I¡¯ve got more than a hundred of our kin hunkered down in the grass waiting to jump in the moment you cause trouble.¡±

    Ashwyn¡¯s nostrils twitched as she tested the air. Stifling a snort, she reached for the stew pot and ladled herself another steaming portion. ¡°He¡¯s bluffing. I smell ten goblins, maybe twelve, tops.¡±

    ¡°Oh! An¡¯ one last thing,¡± Fangle called.

    Daana wriggled the tip of her pinky into her ear, wincing at the goblin¡¯s unnecessary volume. ¡°Does he always talk this much?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from you, Peaches.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Daana bristled at the accusation. ¡°At least I know something about volume control.¡±

    ¡°Snaglebrag! Oi, Snaglebrag! I¡¯m talking to you!¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake!¡± Snag leapt to his feet and threw his clawed hands into the air in exasperation. ¡°What, Fangle? What more could you possibly have to say that can¡¯t be said to my face?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got your mam with me. So yeah. Don¡¯t get clever.¡±

    ¡°Mam?¡± Snag¡¯s eyes darted back and forth as he toyed with the ring strung through his lip, ruminating in his thoughts. Why did Fangle have Mam with him? By Snag¡¯s count, that old bag of bones should have been buried in the ground decades ago. There was something foul afoot here and he didn¡¯t like it.

    Snag smelled the goblins before he saw them. It was a familiar scent, a mix of bog laurel, smoke, and black river silt. It summoned an old squirmy feeling in the pit of his gut, something he thought had died years ago. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, Snag watched as the rustling grass parted, allowing a pair of goblins to pop into view.

    The first was Fangle. Snag hasn¡¯t seen the cuss in years but he looked virtually the same. Maybe a little older. Definitely more ugly. Fangle was a weathered, wiry goblin who¡¯s collection of bangles was rather impressive considering he was missing sizable chunks from both ears. He was similar in size to Snag. In fact, everything about him was suspiciously similar to Snag. From his jewels, to his tattoos, all the way down to his choice of clothing. All except for the bone-handled dagger, for Fangle had not just one, but three strapped to his person.

    Always overkill with this one.

    Fangle swaggered into the center of camp, moving to the tips of his toes in order to look down his nose at Snag. ¡°Still puny as ever, I see, Snaglebrag.¡±

    ¡°Mhm,¡± Snag murmured, half listening. He tilted his head to get a better view of the second goblin. Mam appeared to be having trouble navigating the long grass. Her bent frame was obscured by a thick, woven shawl. The elderly goblin hobbled closer, stopping every few paces to fight the thorns that snagged her loose garments like cat claws to furniture.

    ¡°You sure went through a lot of trouble to drag an old lady out here, Fangle.¡± Snag spoke without lifting his gaze from the elderly goblin, who appeared to be losing the battle against the thorns.

    ¡°You never did have much respect for authority,¡± Fangle replied. ¡°I figured if there was anyone who¡¯d get through to you, it would be your dear ol¡¯ mam.¡±

    Snag¡¯s stare moved from the old goblin woman and settled over his den brother. ¡°That¡¯s not Mam.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean that¡¯s not your mam? Of course it is!¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t think I wouldn¡¯t recognize my own mother?¡±

    ¡°Well you have been away for some time,¡± Fangle said. ¡°People change as they age, you know. You certainly did. You¡¯re ugly as fuck as now.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not my mam. The smell¡¯s wrong!¡± Mam¡¯s smell was that of sweaty sausages on a hot summer day. The elderly goblin across from him had a bitter fragrance, like crushed dandelion leaves.

    ¡°Oi!¡± Fangle twisted around in the direction of the elderly goblin, motioning for her to join them faster. ¡°I thought you said this tadpole was one of your brood.¡±

    ¡°I said it was possible! I had so many damn nippers, it¡¯s impossible to remember them all. Not without a good look at his face first.¡± The elderly female yanked at her skirts until the cloth tore free of the thistles ensnaring it. She stomped closer, huffing, ¡°I don¡¯t see why you couldn¡¯t have just brought him back to the den, Fangle. I can¡¯t walk a damn foot in this tall grass without getting hooked on something!¡±

    Not-Mam managed several steps before her foot caught on Ashwyn¡¯s alarm system and she went down in a tangle of twine and jingling bells. Neither Snag nor Fangle moved to assist her. Both remained stock-still, staring the other down, waiting to see who would break from the standoff first.

    ¡°You¡¯re both acting ridiculous.¡± Daana, bless her heart, shoved to her feet with a muttered curse and stomped over to help the flailing goblin. With a few twists and turns of the twine, the elf had Not-Mam untangled from the alarm system. Daana extended her hand to the elderly goblin. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Not-Mam stared at Daana¡¯s hand as if expecting it to bite her. ¡°What¡¯s she doing, Fangle? She want money?¡±

    Daana¡¯s insulted expression said everything her mouth didn¡¯t. ¡°No, I¡¯m helping you.¡±

    Unconvinced, Not-Mam uttered something in Laftak under the false assumption that Daana wouldn¡¯t understand.

    A smile tugged at the corner of Snag¡¯s mouth when Daana¡¯s hands shot to her hips in outrage. ¡°Excuse me?¡± the elf said, having the sense not to stomp her feet even though she looked like she really, really wanted to. ¡°How dare you! I¡¯m not planning to rob anyone!¡±

    Snag snickered at the older goblin¡¯s shock. ¡°What¡¯s there to steal? Those bangles of yours aren¡¯t even real gold anyway.¡±

    With a look that could have curdled a rock, Not-Mam grabbed Daana¡¯s hand and heaved herself upright. Sniffing her disapproval, she adjusted her skirts and stomped towards Snag and Fangle, grumbling, ¡°He¡¯d better hope he¡¯s not one of mine, else he¡¯s about to get his ears clipped.¡±

    Shoving Fangle aside, Not-Mam took Snag¡¯s face in her claws and twisted it this way and that, squinting one eye as she peered up at him. Snag¡¯s weak protests went ignored. With a calculating sniff, she released him, turning back to Fangle. ¡°Not mine.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s expression fell. ¡°What do you mean he¡¯s not yours?¡±

    ¡°Not mine,¡± Not-Mam repeated. She mistook Fangle¡¯s dejected expression for confusion and began listing all the different ways to make her point, if not clearer, than certainly more graphic. ¡°I¡¯m not his mam. He¡¯s not my runt. Didn¡¯t slip from my loins in a puddle of¡ª¡±

    ¡°I know what it means!¡± Fangle cried.

    ¡°Good. Not as stupid as you look then.¡± Not-Mam wrinkled her brow as she studied Snag one last time. With a huff of disapproval, she turned and shuffled over the cook pit to warm her hands by the fire. ¡°He is blood, though. Got the family nose. Sister¡¯s brood, probably. She only ever birthed scrawny ones.¡±

    ¡°Bet you¡¯re feeling mighty stupid now, aren¡¯t you, Fangle?¡± Snag crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly.

    ¡°Oh shut up!¡± the other goblin said. ¡°This doesn¡¯t change anything, Snaglebrag. We¡¯ve still got business, me and you. And I ain¡¯t leaving until it¡¯s settled.¡±

 217 - Bad Name

    Snag didn¡¯t align himself with any of the almighty deities believed to control the reins of fate. It was all tall tales as far as he was concerned. Even if such beings existed, it wouldn¡¯t have changed his stance on the matter. No god or goddess had ever granted him any favors, after all. Snag had been born with smarts, not brawn, into a goblin clan that considered intelligence synonymous with trying to rise above one¡¯s social station. He¡¯d learned to fight the hard way, sure, but skills didn¡¯t make up for a puny body. Physically speaking, Snag made a plucked chicken look formidable in compassion.

    Fortunately for him, Fangle wasn¡¯t much bigger. Still, a little height would¡¯ve gone a long way in the intimidation department. Snag widened his stance, flashing Fangle a cocky smile. ¡°Are you finished playing games yet?¡±

    ¡°I playing ain¡¯t games, Snaggy. I told you, this is business.¡±

    ¡°Sure it is.¡± Snag added insult to injury with the inclusion of a dramatic eye roll. He hoped Daana saw, mostly because he¡¯d learned it from her. ¡°This is the whole reason I went around the den, you know. So I wouldn¡¯t have to put up with your nonsense.¡±

    ¡°Put up with us?¡± A tint of red flushed across Fangle¡¯s weathered face. ¡°It¡¯s us who¡¯ve been putting up with you! Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you caused us? Abandoning your family was bad enough, but then you became a traitor, too. And, to top it all off, you went and joined the other side! You gave us a bad name. The other dens refused to do any trade with us on account of you.

    Snag opened his mouth to speak but Fangle wasn¡¯t finished.

    ¡°And now, the moment you finally do something right, get your name cleared, raise the status of the goblin across the land, you refuse to come home! We¡¯re the laughing stock of the community. Do you know how that makes us look? We were screwed with you and now we¡¯re screwed without you. And you couldn¡¯t even be bothered to stop in and throw us a bone, eh? Selfish little maggot.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Snag reached up and scratched the back of his head as his former nerve emptied like a popped wine skin. However he was expecting this confrontation to go, it was certainly not in this direction. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±

    ¡°Damn right you should be!¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t realize.¡± Snag¡¯s voice was small.

    ¡°Yeah, you didn¡¯t. Did you?¡±

    Snag gestured to Not-Mam halfheartedly. ¡°Can we cut the theatrics? You don¡¯t need to be dragging the elderly out into the wilderness just to make me feel guilty. What is it you want? It¡¯s money, innit? It¡¯s always money.¡±

    ¡°Money?¡± Insult danced across Fangle¡¯s red face. ¡°I don¡¯t want money!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°No! I want you, numbskull. Forget your fucking money. Been in the realm so long you¡¯ve started to think like one of them, eh? No, dingus, I want you back in our den and at my side. My number two.¡±

    Snag¡¯s gaze darted to Ashwyn and Daana. The former was too preoccupied with guarding her dinner to be paying attention, but Daana had heard every word. Her eyes screamed ¡®don¡¯t you dare¡¯ while her mouth, oddly, said nothing at all on account of it being snapped shut. He sort of whished her eyes would snap shut, too, so she¡¯d stop looking at him like a kicked puppy.

    Snag turned back to Fangle with a sigh. ¡°And this was your elaborate scheme? Dragging an old lady who ain¡¯t even my mam out here to guilt me into coming back home?¡±

    ¡°Told him it was stupid plan,¡± Not-Mam muttered. The elderly goblin was crouched alongside the fire, rubbing her gnarled hands together for warmth as she edged unmistakably closer to the simmering cook pot. A loud snap of Ashwyn¡¯s tusks convinced her that whatever was in the pot wasn¡¯t worth losing a hand over.

    Fangle didn¡¯t notice. He slung his scrawny arm over Snag¡¯s shoulder and pulled him close. ¡°Your influence is in your name, Snaglebrag. Everyone knows about the former traitor turned hero. You pitted the United Territories of Realm against itself! Tore it apart from the inside. I want you by my side and then, together, we¡¯re going to rub in all the other dens¡¯ faces. We¡¯ll become the most powerful clan in the land! Those who scorned us will come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.¡±

    Fangle let the idea settle before prompting a response out of Snag with a gentle shake. ¡°Sounds good, doesn¡¯t it? I can see my brilliance has kindled the fire in your eyes. What do you say?¡±

    Snag didn¡¯t sound so sure himself. ¡°No?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Fangle¡¯s ears went stiff as a board. ¡°What do you mean no? A goblin¡¯s nothing without his family. You of all people should know that by now. How you managed to scrape by on your own in the territories is beyond me.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± Snag said. ¡°I made a new family.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s accusatory stare immediately settled over Daana and Ashwyn. ¡°I know what family is, brother. An orc and an elf do not a family make.¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°There¡¯s a dwarf too. And another orc and¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll get you a wife!¡± Fangle announced as if the idea had just come to him and was worth shouting at the top of his lungs.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want a wife.¡±

    The other goblin scrunched his face up at Snag¡¯s protest. ¡°Well, I suppose we could arrange for a husband. It¡¯s not really the done thing in these parts, but if it means keeping you happy, I s¡¯ppose we could try to be a bit more ¡ª how do the realm folk put it? Accepting?¡±

    Snag¡¯s voice was flat and did not match the sudden impulse he had to slam his head against something solid. ¡°That¡¯s lovely, Fangle. Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Not as lovely as your future husband will be. I promise you that, Snaglebrag. We¡¯ll get you a real looker.¡±

    ¡°It was sarcasm, idiot!¡±

    Fangle¡¯s shoulders lowered as he rolled this thought around in his head. ¡°What¡¯s sarcasm?¡±

    ¡°When you say something you don¡¯t mean.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that just lying?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s different, because it¡¯s supposed to be funny. Like a mean joke. Gah ¡ª I don¡¯t have time to explain this to you!¡± They¡¯d wandered so far off course, Snag feared he didn¡¯t know how to get the conversation back on the right track again. Not that he necessarily wanted to finish his conversation with Fangle, but there were a few items worth setting straight. ¡°I don¡¯t want a husband, alright? Or a wife. No spouse. No mate. No concubines.¡±

    Another brilliant idea lit within Fangle¡¯s yellow eyes and he opened his mouth to deliver it.

    Snag took some small joy in cutting him short, shouting, ¡°No puppies either!¡±

    ¡°Not even a nice juicy one?¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°Well what do you want then?¡±

    ¡°Nothing! I don¡¯t want any part of this, Fangle. I¡¯m sorry you all suffered because of me, but I¡¯m not coming home. I got things to see, people to do.¡± From the corner of his eye, Snag saw Daana¡¯s eyes bulge, proving yet again that he should not have trusted idioms from a Stoneclaw. Daana desperately wanted to say something. Her face practically screamed ¡®you¡¯re saying that wrong¡¯ but she had the sense to keep it to herself. There was a time and place for corrections and the middle of a damn standoff was definitely not it.

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± Fangle protested, sounding just like the snot-nosed brat Snag had grown up with all those years ago.

    ¡°No, Fangle. Being driven from your home¡¯s not fair. Being kicked out of your land for trying to help a stranger isn¡¯t fair. Saying goodbye to your closest friend when you knew full well it should have been you that died isn¡¯t fair!¡± Crap. Snag hadn¡¯t meant for that last one to slip out. Regardless, he couldn¡¯t seem to stop the hot torrent of excrement bubbling its way up his gullet and out his mouth. ¡°So don¡¯t you tell me about life being fair because I¡¯ve lived it! Nothing has ever been fair for me. And I¡¯ll be damned before you march on in here and demand what you think you deserve from me too, alright?¡±

    ¡°Snagle¨C¡±

    ¡°Shit, Fangle! That¡¯s all you¡¯re ever getting from me!¡± The rage boiled over inside of him and Snag suddenly had the insatiable need to kick something over and over. Even in the throes of madness, the logical portion of his brain decided against taking his anger out on Fangle. He chose a hapless shrub instead, and kicked and kicked and kicked until the shrub was nothing more than a few bare branches sticking out of the ground. Snag stared at it, chest heaving, ignoring the twitch in his lower eyelid. He felt simultaneously better and burdened with the insatiable urge to do it all over again.

    ¡°Snag?¡±

    Daana¡¯s voice snapped him from his mania. Snag¡¯s startled gaze shifted back to Fangle and the elderly goblin. Both were frozen in place staring at him as he¡¯d sprouted a second head. Crap on a cracker. This was not going at all as he intended. So much for cool, collected Snag. He was acting like a downright monster.

    ¡°Fangle,¡± Snag started.

    ¡°I won¡¯t bother you no more,¡± Fangle murmured. ¡°This was a stupid idea anyway. Shouldn¡¯t have come here. Don¡¯t know what I was thinking.¡±

    This was what he wanted, wasn¡¯t it? Fangle was leaving empty-handed, having been bested by the more clever goblin. Snag should have been elated and yet, he didn¡¯t feel like it. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he settled on an answer which would have normally made him question his own sanity. ¡°Wait here.¡±

    Snag stomped away into the grass. Once certain no thieving sneaks were watching him, he dug up one of his money stashes. While time consuming, burying his wealth each night ensured that if anyone jumped them in the night, they would only make off with the handful of decoy change he kept in Wormy¡¯s saddlebag. Snag fished a small sack of coin from the hole before replacing the dirt back over the top.

    With his prize in hand, Snag trudged back to camp and jutted it at Fangle. ¡°Here. Take it.¡±

    Fangle¡¯s scowl darkened. ¡°I said I don¡¯t want your money.¡±

    ¡°You want me to snap at you again instead? Take it and go.¡±

    Reluctantly, the other goblin accepted it. ¡°Alright, but it was your idea.¡±

    ¡°It was.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye then. I guess.¡±

    ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want to¡ª¡±

    ¡°No!¡±

    With one final confused look over his shoulder, Fangle took Not-Mam by the arm and led her away until both of their sinewy forms disappeared into the swaying tundra grass.

    With a disgruntled sigh, Snag dropped back onto the ground between his gobsmacked companions. Ashwyn had the cook pot sitting in the dirt between her legs, scraping the bottom clean with a wooden spoon. Wordlessly, she jutted the spoon in his direction, offering Snag the last bite of stew.

    Snag shook his head no, miserably.

    Daana tried the more personable approach. She reached out and touched his shoulder, asking, ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    What kind of question was that? Alright? How could he possibly be alright? Instead of facing his issues, he went and lost his temper and made a fool of himself. And then, when he could have just talked it out like damned adult, he took the coward¡¯s approach and gave Fangle a sackful of coin...

    ¡°Fuck me.¡± Snag raised his head as his inner thoughts transformed from misery to horror. ¡°I think I just got played. I handed that asshole a sack of money!¡±

    ¡°Thought that seemed out of character for you,¡± Ashwyn grunted, still bent on scraping the last bits of burnt supper from the bottom of the cast iron pot.

    ¡°That clever bastard! Why didn¡¯t one of you stop me?¡±

 218 - Poor Planning

    A tallow candle burned at the center of the small table, filling the room with the greasy undertones of rendered animal fat. The chamber was different from the one Rasp had awoken in. It was larger, for one, with enough bunks to sleep at least a dozen. Rasp¡¯s missing companions gradually trickled in, one by one. Once everyone was assembled, Priestess Oreword gave some congratulatory spiel and an offering of food, before she left with Whisper and Bromm to go over the details of the assignment. At the time, Rasp dared not join them ¡ª not with Whisper on the verge of taking his head off. But now, seated at the deathly silent table, barely able to breathe around the gradual tightening in his chest, he regretted staying just as badly.

    At least he knew where he stood with Whisper. The others hadn¡¯t uttered so much as a peep since learning their fate.

    Rasp stirred his food in silence, unable to stomach anything more than a single bite of the soft, yeasty mush. His stomach growled in protest but his will to eat was gone. How could he focus on something so trivial when Faris, Hop, and June were gathered around him, each one slowly coming to terms with the realization that they would never step foot on the surface again? The very thought made him want to disintegrate in a vat of his own stomach acid.

    Unlike Whisper, the others hadn¡¯t reacted to the news with screaming or biting. They sat quiet instead, allowing the mounting dread to grow so thick, it was physically painful. Rasp wished someone would yell, throw a fist, kick his head in maybe. Anything would have been better than the all-consuming silence.

    Father¡¯s blurry shape pitter-pattered towards him, talons scraping against the polished wood table as he went. The raven dipped his beak into Rasp¡¯s food and regretted it immediately. Father screeched in disgust and whipped his head back and forth, ridding his mouth of offensive flavor. His erratic movements succeeded in splattering the lukewarm mush over Rasp¡¯s face and down the front of his shirt.

    ¡°So melodramatic.¡± Hop¡¯s low voice mumbled from across the circular table. ¡°It doesn¡¯t taste that bad.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon? This shit tastes like a mushroom¡¯s butthole,¡± June disagreed.

    The tabletop lurched as Hop caught himself against it, beating his chest in what sounded like an attempt to loosen the mouthful of mush that¡¯d lodged itself down the wrong pipe. ¡°An apt comparison,¡± he managed between violent, hacking coughs.

    For whatever reason, Hop¡¯s polite attempt to not cough his breakfast back up in front of everyone only encouraged June¡¯s descriptive contributions. ¡°I will say this, it¡¯s not nearly as bad as the time I ate a nest full of snake eggs. Raw, mind you.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem entirely abnormal for a bear,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Who said anything about being a bear?¡±

    ¡°Dear gods. Tell me you were drunk.¡±

    ¡°I wish. Might have helped me forget all the squiggly bones getting caught in my throat on the way down.¡±

    Hop was back to making wet, heaving noises.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t even the worst part.¡± June sounded rather pleased with herself. Rasp may not have been able to witness the shit-eating grin spread across her face, but he heard it loud and clear. ¡°The whole thing left me as sick as a dog. I was laid up for three days. Had hot chunks blowing out of me from both ends like a brown fountain.¡±

    There was a metallic clatter as Faris dropped his spoon onto the table and pushed his bowl away in defeat. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but I think she might actually be worse than you.¡±

    It took Rasp several seconds to register that Faris was talking to him. ¡°Me?¡±

    ¡°In all our time together, you never once compared yourself to a shit fountain.¡±

    ¡°I said brown,¡± June corrected, pausing to chew and swallow a mouthful of bitter mush. ¡°I am a lady, after all. Gotta leave some things to the imagination.¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t understand. Dread still hung in the air. They were still cursed to die a grisly death trying to defeat an unknown, powerful evil ¡ª because of him no less. He was the last person Faris should have wanted to talk to. In fact, he was surprised they were even letting him join them at the table at all. By all rights they should have kicked him out into the hallway to suffer alone like he deserved. And yet, his three former friends carried on as usual, as if he hadn¡¯t thrown away their lives in a reckless bid to outsmart their captors.

    Rasp¡¯s knee slammed into the table the moment Faris nudged his elbow. ¡°I¡¯m not going to repeat what you sister called the food,¡± the faun started.

    ¡°Mushroom butthole,¡± June gleefully obliged.

    ¡°But you get really cranky when you¡¯re hungry and I don¡¯t want to deal with that. So do us all a favor and eat something, yeah?¡±

    Rasp¡¯s voice caught in his throat before it wriggled free in the form of a hoarse squeak. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to make me spoon feed you, just know, I¡¯m not going to spare the dragon noises on account of there being company. You¡¯re getting the full experience.¡±

    He couldn¡¯t hold it back anymore. ¡°How?¡± Rasp blurted out, feeling the wild thoughts churning inside of him start to boil up and spill over like froth on an unwatched pot. ¡°How can you all just be okay with this? I fucked up and everyone¡¯s just acting like it never happened.¡±

    There was a stretch of silence that seemed to go for ages before Faris said, ¡°It was my stupid idea to come here. Not yours.¡±

    ¡°If we¡¯d done it my way, we would have already been dead by now,¡± June added. ¡°Granted, it would have been the most badass last stand ever. But dead is dead.¡±

    What followed could only be described as an awkward, purposeful pause. Rasp didn¡¯t understand its meaning. At least not until someone struck the table with the flat of their open hand, causing the furniture¡¯s stout legs to shudder in protest. ¡°Ahem,¡± June cleared her throat in an unsubtle manner.

    ¡°What?¡± Hop said. ¡°Why are you both looking at me like that?¡±

    ¡°This is the part where you say something disparaging about yourself,¡± Faris informed him.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    June helpfully provided the answer. ¡°Because even though Rasp may have been the one to strike the idiotic deal, it¡¯s not his fault he was put in that position. We all agreed to come here.¡± Hop must have needed more convincing, because she followed it up with something more likely to appeal to Hop¡¯s strong sense of self-preservation. ¡°Also it might boost our chances of survival if our second strongest player was fully functioning and not a sad shadow of a man wallowing in guilt. Just saying.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Hop said. He sounded torn, as if conflicted between doing what was best for the group and satisfying his incessant need to remain factual. ¡°In that case, I was foolish for listening to all of you then?¡±

    ¡°Well done,¡± Faris congratulated.

    ¡°There. See, little brother?¡± June said proudly. ¡°Everyone fucked up, not just you.¡±

    ¡°Some of us less so than others,¡± Hop muttered under his breath.

    They were letting him off the hook, just like that? Just as Rasp finally felt he was getting a grasp on the unspoken rules of friendship, something like this would come along and turn everything he thought he knew on its head. He had so many questions but he feared if he voiced them aloud, his friends would realize their error in judgment and take it all back.

    The start of a second emotional spiral was beginning to drag Rasp under when another nudge from Faris nearly knocked him from his chair. ¡°You really are stuck, aren¡¯t you? She just called you little and you didn¡¯t even rage about it.¡±

    Rasp lifted his head. ¡°She did?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s only fair,¡± June replied. ¡°You are littler than me.¡±

    ¡°...I.¡± His eyes swept back and forth across the candle-lit table, unable to make out anything more than three obscure shadows. They were staring expectantly at him. He could feel it. Except he didn¡¯t know what they were expecting from him because none of this was going anything like it should have been.

    ¡°You?¡± Faris prompted.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Despite his efforts, Rasp still couldn¡¯t get out anything more than that single stupid word.

    ¡°Are angry!¡± The legs of June¡¯s chair scraped the tile floor as she leapt eagerly to her feet. ¡°I just called you little and now your blood is boiling with rage. Come at me, little brother. Let¡¯s see who can draw first blood!¡±

    Am so confused, his thoughts filled in the words his tongue could not. Rasp slid his chair back and stood, stumbling blindly across the dingy room. He found the exit with his foot first and, after a brief, frantic search, located the handle and yanked the door open.

    ¡°Where are you going?¡± June shouted after him.

    ¡°I need some air,¡± was all he managed to get out before he slammed the door shut behind him. The nauseating brightness of the hallway was only made worse by his mounting panic. Rasp closed his eyes as he sank to the ground, arms wrapped around his chest so tight it was inhibiting his ability to breathe. The rapid drum of his heartbeat filled his ears until it drowned out all other sounds.

    Which was probably the reason he didn¡¯t hear the approaching guard¡¯s footsteps. Not even the yelling. Truth be told, he didn¡¯t even realize he was sharing the hallway with another person, not until they started nudging him the toe of their boot.

    Rasp smacked the bothersome boot away with a slap. ¡°Stop that! I¡¯m not running away, I¡¯m just¡­¡± He didn¡¯t have a good answer for that and, thus, let the sentence die on his lips unfinished.

    Good gods, he was running away, wasn¡¯t he? Maybe not from the nightmare of battling underground monsters, but his friends, at least, and their olive branch of undeserved forgiveness.

    The door opened and shut behind him. A set of clacking hoof steps approached, ignoring the angry shouts from the guard as the person they belonged to eased onto the floor next to Rasp. Rasp¡¯s heartbeat started to take off again. Forcing a slow breath, he drew his knees to his chest and cinched his arms tight around them.

    ¡°That was something,¡± Faris said, finally. ¡°Never thought I¡¯d see the day you turned down a fight.¡±

    Rasp forced the words past the growing lump in his throat. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°I was impressed with your restraint, actually.¡±

    ¡°You know I¡¯m not talking about the fight.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you being a dick about it?¡±

    ¡°Would that help?¡±

    Rasp realized it was probably meant as a rhetorical question but, nevertheless, he felt like some sort of verbal berating would actually make him feel better. Waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop was downright insufferable. ¡°Maybe.¡±

    Faris sighed. It was a deep, bone-rattling sound. ¡°Two days ago I was on the verge of exhaustion, running from a group of witches who would have killed me the moment they caught up to us. My brilliant solution was to ignore common sense and take refuge in a haunted underground city. Where, after you single-handedly got us free of a deranged cult, I led us right into a nest of carnivorous plants. You¡¯re not being a dick to me about it.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Doesn¡¯t feel great.¡±

    ¡°I,¡± Rasp started, feeling the words begin to form within his head. ¡°I think I get what you¡¯re saying now.¡±

    ¡°Good. Because I¡¯m trying not to fixate on it.¡±

    ¡°And you¡¯re right, by the way.¡± A small flicker of his old self returned as Rasp felt an involuntary smile tug at the corner of his downturned mouth. ¡°This is all your fault. I don¡¯t know why I¡¯d started to think otherwise.¡±

    ¡°What? No, that¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Say no more, Dingle. I heard your message loud and clear.¡± He turned and planted his hand on Faris¡¯s broad shoulder, fighting to keep the guilt from bleeding into his strained smile. ¡°I forgive you.¡±

    It was hard to tell given the obnoxious glow of the algae covered walls, but Rasp was pretty sure Faris was staring at him in what was surely heartfelt gratitude. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you decided not to be a dick about it.¡±

    ¡°You certainly don¡¯t make it easy for me.¡± Rasp slid his hand from Faris¡¯s shoulder and slumped back over his knees. ¡°Thanks for not being a dick, either. I don¡¯t know what I did to make you want to be my friend, but I thank the gods each and every day that you haven¡¯t come to your senses yet.¡±

    Apparently all the emotionally vulnerable crap was just as hard for Faris, because his response came in the form of a noncommittal grunt.

    Rasp preferred it that way. ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°We should probably go back inside the room. Our guard friend here doesn¡¯t look too happy.¡±

    Rasp tilted his head and squinted, realizing he¡¯d forgotten all about the guard. Having given up on the shouting, the dwarf¡¯s hazy shape loomed over them, muttering unintelligible things under his breath. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s a good start,¡± Rasp said. ¡°But I meant as in ¡®now what do we do to keep from dying¡¯?¡±

    Faris heaved to his feet, offering an entirely unhelpful solution. ¡°I suppose we could try the ¡®keep living¡¯ option.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s an option?¡±

    The faun bent over and helped pull Rasp upright. ¡°Unfortunately it comes with the downside of having to pre-plan and think things through ahead of time. Finding out what sort of beast we¡¯re dealing with, for example, would be a step in the right direction. From there, we can discover potential weakness and determine a viable strategy for taking the beast down without getting anyone killed.¡±

    ¡°Disgusting. Who in their right mind would go through all that effort for something that may not even work?¡±

    ¡°People who fancy living, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°Ugh.¡± Rasp shuddered. ¡°Next you¡¯ll be telling me you¡¯re one of those people.¡±

    ¡°I try to be when I can.¡±

    ¡°Tell you what, Dingle, you can do all the planning for the both of us. Just point me in the direction of the monster and tell me what to do.¡±

    Faris directed their steps back towards the room where the others were waiting. ¡°That is an example of poor planning.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re an example of poor planning.¡±

    The guard swung the door open in front of them. Faris led the way through, issuing one final sigh as the pair slipped from the bright-ass hallway into the dimly lit room that smelled like singed hog fat. ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that logic.¡±

 219 - Worm On A Hook

    Rasp was working through his second helping of yeasty mush when the heavy door creaked open and shut. A single pair of footsteps shuffled inside ¡ª reluctantly, judging by their slow, dragging steps. The individual hairs on Rasp¡¯s arm lifted, the same way they did right before a thunder and lightning storm. Considering there weren¡¯t many storms underground, the only other logical explanation was that the new arrival was Whisper and, more importantly, that their magic was stronger than it had been in months. Under normal circumstances, Rasp would have considered Whisper¡¯s revived strength a leg-up. Currently, however, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if said power was about to come crashing down on his head.

    Rasp took a breath to steady his nerves and focused on the surrounding details of the room to keep grounded. He heard June dozing on one of the bunks near the back. Her soft breaths were slow and steady. Hop and Faris were at the table. The former stood and started to clear away the breakfast dishes, either out of the incessant need to look busy or to make room for something.

    ¡°Are you finished with that, Rasp?¡± Hop asked.

    Rasp hugged the bowl to his chest, ignoring the impulse to hiss at the blurry hand that reached expectantly in his direction. ¡°Mine.¡±

    ¡°Welcome back,¡± Faris greeted Whisper. ¡°Did our captors give you reading material?¡±

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled in annoyance. ¡°I insisted upon it. They cannot expect me to vanquish a nameless abomination I know nothing about. At the very least, I¡¯d like to know what species of monster I¡¯ll be pitted against before it kills me.¡±

    ¡°Before it kills us.¡± Hop¡¯s assurance was meant to be a joke, but he flubbed the landing. The result was something far more ominous sounding. Probably didn¡¯t help that everyone in the room was already thinking it anyway.

    ¡°Is this all they had?¡± Faris was unable to mask the sting of disappointment from his voice. His chair squeaked in protest as he stood and pushed it out of the way, helping spread the research materials across the freshly cleared table. ¡°A couple of scrolls and a few journal entries?¡±

    ¡°These were the only things salvageable,¡± Whisper explained. ¡°Moisture got to the rest of it.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡±

    ¡°Forgive me for asking the obvious.¡± Hop¡¯s burly shape returned to the table and filled the empty seat next to Rasp. ¡°But is there something preventing the inhabitants from simply leaving? Abandoning the haunted underground city seems like a far more sensible option than this.¡±

    ¡°You mean waiting around for a prophesied hero to randomly show up and save you from your problems isn¡¯t sensible?¡± Faris countered.

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s your problem, Hop,¡± Rasp said, scraping the bottom of his bowl with his spoon for last morsels of sustenance. It wasn¡¯t very enjoyable, but it was filling the empty void of his stomach decently well. Seeing as he wasn¡¯t sure whether or not this would be his last meal, he supposed he¡¯d at least make it count. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a fanatical cult. Can¡¯t reason someone out of a position they didn¡¯t reason themselves into.¡±

    Hop drummed his fingers against the table in thought. ¡°That¡¯s uncharacteristically deep of you, Rasp.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t credit me. I don¡¯t have the brains to string together that kind of philosophical horseshit. It was written on a slip of paper stuffed inside a cookie, remember? You read it to me. ¡±

    ¡°Oh, right. After I had to fight you to keep you from eating the paper.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m glad to know I¡¯m not the only one who has to pry things out of your mouth,¡± Faris said in a tone dripping with envy.

    ¡°Now, now, Dingle, no need to be jealous. There¡¯s plenty of my mouth to go around.¡± Rasp tried to lick his spoon in a seductive manner but succeeded only in smearing a little bit of the foul mush across his nose.

    ¡°As loath as I am to agree with him,¡± Whisper¡¯s melodic voice cut in with the sharpness of honed steel as they redirected the conversation back to the topic at hand, ¡°the little bird is correct. I tried to reason with the priestess, but she and her people have been isolated from the outside world for too long. The unknown terrifies them more than the monster. They have put their faith in the appearance of this Kriegaar and will not be swayed otherwise.¡±

    At least Whisper was talking to him again. Or at least in his general direction. That was something, Rasp supposed.

    ¡°Just our luck,¡± Faris grumbled as he leafed through whatever ancient tomes Whisper had placed on the table. The parchment was stiff from years of unuse and protested each turn of the page with a sound that would¡¯ve haunted any respectable librarian for years to come. ¡°So what¡¯s the next step? Sift through the records in hopes we find something to identify what monster we¡¯re dealing with?¡±

    ¡°That is my hope, yes,¡± Whisper replied.

    ¡°And you can read this, right? Because I can¡¯t make heads nor tails of it.¡±

    ¡°Regretfully, no.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Hop and Faris shouted in unison.

    ¡°Better hope there¡¯s pictures,¡± Rasp said.

    Whisper ignored Rasp¡¯s contribution and moved the conversation along as though the Stoneclaw had ceased to exist entirely. ¡°The interpreter has offered his services with the research. Unfortunately, he seems reluctant to even speak of the creature out loud. Aside from translating the text, I do not expect him to be overtly helpful in identifying it.¡±

    The memory of the soft, lulling voice resurfaced. Rasp shrank down in his chair, feeling suddenly cold despite the oppressive mugginess that clouded the room. ¡°Did they mention that it¡¯s telepathic?¡±

    ¡°It was mentioned,¡± Whisper¡¯s reply was automatic, as if they¡¯d simply answered without realizing the magnitude of Rasp¡¯s words. The fae¡¯s quills rattled disquietly as they stopped and considered what Rasp was actually saying. ¡°How did you know that?¡±

    ¡°Because its voice gets in my head the same way yours does.¡± Except of course that the monster was nicer to him. Probably because it wished to eat him which, unfortunately, only reinforced Rasp¡¯s general distrust of anyone who showed him a lick of kindness. He sank ever-lower as he recalled the other key information from his encounter. ¡°I think it¡¯s some kind of earth elemental, too.¡±The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Because?¡± Whisper prompted.

    ¡°It opened up a rift in the ground and tried to lure me inside. Might¡¯ve been the second time, actually, come to think of it.¡±

    ¡°Wait, wait, wait.¡± Faris seized the information and ran with it. ¡°When we leapt from the balcony and the ground heaved up to meet us, you said that wasn¡¯t you.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me. I was trying to summon wind in a place that doesn¡¯t have active air currents, remember?¡±

    ¡°Vividly,¡± Hop assured him.

    Faris continued undeterred. ¡°Could it have been the monster?¡±

    ¡°Are you proposing that the monster saved me?¡± Rasp scoffed.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Faris said. ¡°It¡¯s obviously hungry and you¡¯re the biggest source of magic it¡¯s come across in a while. Seems only logical that it¡¯d intervene to keep you from splattering across the ground. Magic eaters can only feed on live prey, after all.¡±

    What a horrific mental image. Unfortunately, no amount of shoving could get it to retreat back into the far recesses of his mind. Rasp shuddered at the thought of being consumed alive. ¡°I don¡¯t like this theory.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, it is the best theory we have so far,¡± Hop said.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± Faris said with the sort of smugness you could feel from across the table. ¡°It¡¯s nice to be appreciated for my brilliant ideas for a change.¡±

    Rasp demonstrated his appreciation with a single finger, lifting it high enough in the air for not just Faris, but for everyone else assembled around the table to see as well.

    ¡°So we have a monster that can manipulate the ground, is telepathic, and feeds on magic.¡± The furious scribbling of charcoal against parchment indicated that Hop had appointed himself the official notetaker. ¡°That does help narrow it down some.¡±

    ¡°Does that mean you know what it is?¡± Rasp asked hopefully.

    ¡°I¡¯m the wrong person to ask. If it¡¯s information on ancient magical beasts you want, you should probably start with the person who was alive around the same time the old ones went out of existence.¡±

    Ah, yes. Rasp had been avoiding addressing that person for obvious reasons. Physically, he couldn¡¯t sink any lower in his chair, but that didn¡¯t stop him from trying. ¡°Normally I would, but said person is currently furious at me and probably wouldn¡¯t answer even if I tried.¡±

    ¡°While I am still upset at your recklessness, little bird, I am not furious.¡±

    Rasp was afraid to ask why.

    Whisper was more than happy to provide the reason without the need for him to ask. ¡°Seeing as you volunteered me as the monster slayer, I will be doing the same for you.¡±

    Rasp shrugged. ¡°I already assumed I would be helping you slay it.¡±

    ¡°You misunderstand. I am not volunteering you as the slayer.¡±

    Rasp was about to ask what other position he could possibly take up when the answer struck him speechless. Nearly speechless, anyway, as he opened his mouth out of reflex and a surprisingly coherent string of words came tumbling out. ¡°You¡¯re making me the bait?¡±

    ¡°A fitting consequence, in my opinion,¡± Whisper said. ¡°The creature already has a connection to you. Once we¡¯ve determined how to defeat it, you can have the honor of drawing it in.¡±

    Rasp had absolutely no leg to stand on and his mentor knew it, too. Instead of verbally accepting Whisper¡¯s thorn-riddled olive branch, he made a vague ¡®yes, yes, it is to be expected¡¯ gesture with his hand.

    ¡°To answer the original question, yes, I suspect I may know what the nameless one is. It will require more research to confirm, but as of right now I believe it to be the predecessor of the burrowing drake.¡±

    ¡°A dragon?¡± Rasp said. Why couldn¡¯t it have ever been something less terrifying? Why couldn¡¯t the nameless have been a giant gopher? Or mole? As the appointed bait, he¡¯d have much rather faced down something cute and fuzzy.

    ¡°The predecessor of the burrowing drake,¡± Whisper repeated, putting specific emphasis on the fact that, similar to themself, the dragon was old as shit. ¡°Like mortal-kind, the dragons and drakes that exist today are a byproduct of survival. They had to adapt in order to endure a world of dwindling magic, and are now but a shadow of their ancestors¡¯ former might. The nameless one will be more clever than any dragon you have ever faced. It will be reluctant to leave the protection of its lair, which is why we must give it no other choice. If we can drive it mad with hunger, it will emerge eventually. Once it is lured into position, the drake¡¯s vulnerability to light is how we may be able to thwart its telepathic abilities, making it susceptible to attack.¡±

    Whisper paused, allowing the idea to set in, before issuing a sigh through tightly clenched teeth. ¡°In light of recent discoveries, however, I believe we have one small complication.¡±

    ¡°One?¡± Faris repeated. ¡°This whole scenario is one massive complication after another.¡±

    ¡°We do not yet know the extent of the beast¡¯s telepathic connection.¡± Whisper continued, ¡°My own telepathy only allows me to glimpse thoughts, nothing deeper. There are those with power that exceeds far beyond mine, capable of accessing not only thoughts, but memories as well. The nameless could have access to everything the little bird knows the moment he steps out from under the priestess¡¯s protection. It is for this reason the little bird cannot know the full plan prior to its execution.¡±

    Rasp shot taller in the chair. ¡°Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°The fact that the nameless one can communicate with you in a modern language is indicative of an extremely powerful magic, little bird. It¡¯s a risk we cannot take.¡±

    ¡°How¡¯s that work if I¡¯m supposed to be the bait?¡±

    In true Whisper fashion, the fae answered in the most horrific way possible. ¡°Is it necessary for the fisherman to tell the worm its fate when stringing it upon the hook?¡±

    Rasp hadn¡¯t thought of that. In fact, he was now wishing Whisper hadn¡¯t mentioned it at all. Already, he could feel the warm mush begin to shift in his gut, threatening to lurch upwards at any moment.

    Whisper helpfully answered their own question. ¡°The bait need not know the how. All it has to do is lure the monster into the trap.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s tongue failed him as a slew of frantic ideas stampeded across his thoughts. Following that logic, wouldn¡¯t the monster also know that he was the bait? And, by extension, that there were others waiting to defeat it? Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe if the nameless one sensed a trap it simply wouldn¡¯t show up at all. And then it wouldn¡¯t matter whether or not Rasp was the bait because the beast would know to stay in the safety of its lair. But then how would they get back to the surface? They wouldn¡¯t leave until the beast was dead and it couldn¡¯t be dead if they never found it!

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Whisper congratulated. The small fae was suddenly at Rasp¡¯s side, pulling him from his chair and herding him towards the door. ¡°Continue running those thoughts just like that. Keep anything listening in a constant state of confusion. I knew you would be exemplary at this.¡±

    Rasp dug his heels against the worn floorboards with limited success. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°This chamber is charmed, meaning the creature¡¯s magic cannot reach those within. For this to work, you have to be outside of the priestess¡¯s protection spell.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just throw me out in the cold!¡±

    ¡°Never fear, little bird. We¡¯ll have a special place arranged just for you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m getting the distinct feeling it¡¯s going to involve being strapped between two posts with nothing but a skimpy dress on.¡±

    ¡°Come now, boy. You¡¯re being preposterous. Between the planning and information gathering, where would I possibly find the time to locate a dress in your size?¡±

    Rasp didn¡¯t know which was more terrifying. The fact that Whisper was intending to use him as a maiden sacrifice without knowing how or when, or that his mentor was suddenly cracking jokes. At least he hoped they were jokes. Good gods, maybe Whisper was serious.

    ¡°Whisper, in case it wasn¡¯t abundantly clear before, I¡¯m sorry I made a deal on your behalf without thinking it through. I will learn from this and do better next time.¡±

    Rasp stumbled out into the adjoining hallway, shielding his eyes against the unrelenting glow of the bioluminescent algae. Whisper¡¯s voice echoed throughout his head as the door slammed shut behind him. I would normally say something encouraging, but it would be best if your thoughts were panicked right now. So, with that said, let us hope there will be a next time.

 220 - Dark Passenger

    Oralia gazed down the open hatchway into the dark tunnel system below, torn between descending into the underground or turning back and finding a safer means to reach Briony¡¯s cottage. Ultimately, either decision would cost her. While the tunnels were undeniably faster, the question now was whether or not they were still secure. Short of running into an enemy patrol, she and Briony had no way of knowing whether they would be traversing the tunnel system alone. The remaining option would be to ditch the tunnels and hoof it through the forest on foot. An option that, while safer, would prove considerably slower. By Briony¡¯s estimation, an alternate route through the woods would tack on an extra hour.

    Oralia knew deep in her gut that they didn¡¯t have that kind of time.

    Filling her lungs with one final breath of cool night air, she lowered herself into the open hatch and down the rickety ladder. Her boots struck the compacted dirt below with a soft thud. She waited, testing the air for unfamiliar smells as her ears strained to catch anything out of the ordinary. The seconds slowly ticked by as Oralia stood stock-still, gathering as much information from her senses as possible. Neither her ears nor nose detected anything amiss.

    Oralia whistled for her companion to follow. The hatch eased shut, sealing the shaft in darkness as Briony clambered down the creaky ladder with less confidence than she¡¯d gone up. With Briony shaken and unable to see in the dark, it was up to Oralia to lead. She took a coil of rope from Briony¡¯s pack and pressed it into the faun¡¯s trembling hand. Wrapping the other end around her palm, Oralia moved deeper into the tunnel, unpleasantly aware that her ability to lead was soon going to get increasingly more difficult as the winding passage narrowed.

    The journey was slow and tedious without a lantern to light the way. Tediousness trumped recklessness, however. Lighting the candle lantern was not a risk they could afford. Any light whatsoever would immediately give their position away to whatever else was lurking underground. It was for this reason the hormones raging through Oralia¡¯s bloodstream proved unexpectedly useful. Orcs possessed a keen sense of smell on their own, but the added sensitivity was making it possible for her to retrace their steps simply by smell.

    She and Briony were making decent headway when a commotion stopped her in her tracks. Briony heard it as well. The little faun froze in place, eyes wide and ears fanned. ¡°That came from behind,¡± Briony whispered as her eyes darted back and forth, panicked. ¡°Near the hatch we came in through, I¡¯d wager.¡±

    Oralia crouched lower. Her voice uttered so softly, she barely heard it over the rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears. ¡°Is it unheard of for animals to get trapped down here?¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t an animal.¡±

    ¡°Can you tell how many?¡± As much as she tried, the source of the commotion was still too far away for Oralia¡¯s sense of smell to be of any help.

    ¡°Not yet. I¡¯m not really that keen to find out either.¡±

    Oralia bit back her agreement. As feared, the tunnels were compromised. Aside from numbers, the other pressing question was whether or not the approaching soldiers were of the magical variety. She and Briony would have better luck against regular military forces, but she suspected Tarathiel Cray, Geralt¡¯s second in command, knew that as well. If Cray was half as crafty as his reputation led her to believe, then he would¡¯ve sent witches to collect them. While sensible as far as strategies went, the fact that Oralia was playing host to a dark entity with an insatiable thirst for magic would not play out well for either side.

    Oralia blinked hard, dismissing the growing vision of dancing flames and the stench of charred flesh before it had time to fully form. Magical or not, the enemy was not yet close enough to rouse her dark passenger and she intended to keep it that way. She drew the folded parchment and chalk stick from her pocket and set about etching a crude symbol into the compacted dirt.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Briony hissed. Even at such close proximity, her lack of night vision prohibited her from seeing what was taking place.

    ¡°Making a seer¡¯s trap,¡± Oralia replied. ¡°I suspect our pursuers are from the division. If so, their magic will activate the symbol.¡±

    ¡°That won¡¯t hold them.¡±

    ¡°I am aware.¡± The seer¡¯s trap served only as a temporary annoyance against anything higher than a mid-level witch, but the resulting flash was all Oralia needed. She did not intend to be anywhere near the symbol if and when it went off. She only needed it to be a beacon to tell her whether or not their pursuers were magical and how far behind they were.

    Finished, Oralia stood and tucked the chalk stick back into the safety of her pocket. ¡°Where is the nearest hatchway? The sooner we vacate the tunnels, the better.¡±

    Briony¡¯s amber eyes darted back and forth as she racked her brain for the answer. ¡°Not far,¡± she said, drawing the information from memory. ¡°Keep following this passage until the next fork, take a left, and there¡¯ll be an exit just beyond that.¡±

    Oralia nodded her agreement and then realized Briony had no way of knowing. Still, she dared not speak anymore than necessary. The faint sounds coming from behind were growing steadily clearer, indicating it was time for them to be on their way. She gave the rope a gentle tug before setting off, moving as quickly and quietly as the cramped passage would allow.

    They¡¯d reached the fork in the passage when the light from the seer¡¯s trap flared to life behind them. A startled yelp rang out, followed by muttered cursing as the unsuspecting witch fought his way free. Several voices responded, each of them hailing from a different section of the tunnel system. Oralia darted down the left passageway as the muffled thump of thundering footsteps closed in around them.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    An icy chill rippled through her veins, awakened by the sudden concentration of magic. Drawing the food in, how thoughtful of you, orc. It has been too long since I¡¯ve had a substantial feed. These offerings will do nicely.

    She¡¯d found the fork in the passage and gone left, as instructed. Where in the seven realms of chaos was the blasted ladder? Oralia snapped her tusks together softly as she scoured the narrowing passage for signs of the exit. Her heartbeat doubled as the enemy drew closer. With their cover blown, the soldiers abandoned their previous sense of stealth in favor of speed. Multiple sets of fast footsteps thundered down the tunnel in Oralia and Briony¡¯s direction.

    Ladder, ladder, where the fuck is the ladder?

    Come now, don¡¯t do that, the dark entity whispered. Turn back and let us face them together. I cannot afford to have you die, remember?

    Oralia found it, at last. She reached the ladder and urged Briony to ascend ahead of her with an ungentle push. Oralia¡¯s heart leapt into her throat as the leading set of footsteps reached the fork in the passage and hurtled towards her.

    The cold beneath her skin writhed in anticipation. This one is strong, orc. Suitable, perhaps, as a replacement vessel.

    Briony reached the top of the ladder and threw her shoulder against the sealed hatch. The lid¡¯s rusted hinges squealed as it opened, allowing a shaft of dim light to filter down from above. The sudden illumination blurred Oralia¡¯s vision as she tore her way up the rickety ladder with the speed and desperation of a rat escaping the cat¡¯s jaws.

    No! Go back. The dark entity raged within her. Do as I instruct, and I will allow you and your unborn child to walk away with your lives.

    She could ensure that herself. Oralia reached the hatchway and fought her way through, grabbing on to whatever handholds she could find on the outside. Briony seized her by the arm and assisted her the rest of the way through. Once free, Oralia turned and slammed the hatch shut, eyes darting across the dark landscape in search of something heavy to weigh it down. Her answer came in the form of a giant, lichen covered boulder.

    ¡°Stand over the exit,¡± Oralia ordered as she stooped to retrieve it, gritting her teeth as she heaved with her legs bent. She walked it several steps before dropping the boulder over the wooden hatch. It wouldn¡¯t hold long against witches, but enough, perhaps, to allow her and Briony to disappear into the woods with a decent head start.

    ¡°Do you know where we are?¡± Oralia panted, wiping the sheen of perspiration from her eyes.

    Briony didn¡¯t answer. She lifted her head instead, nostrils flaring as she tested the air. Her eyes went wide, completely rimmed in white. ¡°I smell smoke.¡±

    Oralia drew air in through her nostrils and ran it across her tongue. The breeze was heavy with ash and smoke. Oralia¡¯s gaze met Briony¡¯s. She saw a flash of panic dart across the faun¡¯s stricken face.

    ¡°Briony,¡± Oralia started, but it was too late.

    The faun took off at top speed, crashing through the thick underbrush.

    Oralia sprinted after her, leaping over entire thickets when possible and plowing through when it wasn¡¯t. She was running at full speed and, still, the space between her and Briony grew further by the second. Keeping pace was infinitely harder when pitted against a species born to run. Oralia set her jaw and continued on, wincing as the worsening stitch in her side reminded her that her aging body was no longer suited for such a task.

    Oralia didn¡¯t know how long she followed Briony¡¯s haphazard trail. Her head insisted it had only been minutes, but her legs argued for hours. Her lungs didn¡¯t care how much time had passed so long as she stopped before they collapsed in on themselves. The smell of smoke grew thicker, burning the inside of her nasal passages and down her throat, into her chest as she ran.

    A steep hill rose above her. The trail of trampled ferns told her Briony had gone up this way. Grudgingly, with her lungs seizing and leaden legs threatening to buckle, Oralia staggered her way onward. She found Briony at the top, staring out over the dark woods. There was a fire in the distance. A dark plume of smoke billowed above it, spiraling skyward like a beacon.

    ¡°That¡¯s my house,¡± Briony whimpered. The distant firelight flickered in her eyes as she watched the flames engulf her home, spellbound by the dancing blaze. ¡°Every instinct in my body is telling me to go down there and rip them a new one. To fight back. To try and save the people they¡¯re about to hurt. But we can¡¯t do that, can we?¡±

    A wave of grief crashed over Oralia, dispelling the last of her strength. He caught herself against a tree as her stiff legs finally gave out. The word felt like serrated glass against her swollen throat. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Argh!¡± It had been a rhetorical question no doubt. But the answer infuriated Briony all the same. She paced back and forth through the tall grass, kicking at the ground. ¡°We escaped their net and this is their way of drawing us back in, isn¡¯t it? And the fucked up thing is that it¡¯s working!¡±

    Oralia watched the dancing flames, unable to blink away the hot tears welling up within her eyes. There was a chance they had gotten away. Sascha could be hunkered down, hiding somewhere, waiting for the heat to die down before he went looking for her. Just as she should have been doing.

    Briony continued to pace. She clasped her hands behind her back as she swept back and forth, racking her brains for a solution. ¡°They found my place and the tunnel systems. Someone talked. Which means the realm probably raided the other safehouses as well.¡±

    ¡°Briony, look.¡± With the cottage fire burning bright, Oralia hadn¡¯t noticed the other, smaller lights glowing within the woods below. They were nothing more than pinpricks of light weaving through the dark trees. ¡°Those are lanterns.¡±

    The faun stopped pacing long enough to observe. She tilted her horns to the side, confused. ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°The soldiers are sweeping the woods.¡± Oralia felt a small lift as her spirits picked themselves off the floor and dusted off. ¡°They are looking for stragglers. Some must have gotten away.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good news.¡± Briony appeared to be desperate for some form of silver lining, no matter how small. ¡°We should go find the stragglers then, right? Before the soldiers do?¡±

    Oralia pushed off from the tee and placed her hand on the faun¡¯s shoulder. It was not a gesture of comfort, but a means to ensure Briony didn¡¯t take off on foot a second time. ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°We lie low. If anyone escapes their net, we will find them when the forest is no longer crawling with soldiers.¡±

 221 - The Dog That Caught The Carriage

    The remainder of the journey from the flatlands to the Adderwood border took three days and was unremarkable in almost every way. This in itself was surprising, considering Daana¡¯s small company was still being followed by an untold number of goblins. The curious onlookers kept their distance, however, seemingly content to catch a glimpse of the infamous Snaglebrag Flint from afar.

    Although the trailing goblins left the traveling party unbothered, their ever-lurking presence was having a noticeable effect on Snag. He hadn¡¯t said much since the encounter with his den brother, but Daana caught the melancholic glances he slipped over his shoulder when he thought no one was looking. His long ears stayed drooped and his leathery skin looked less green than normal. And then there were the sighs. Long, pitiful sounding things that grew more frequent as the hours in the saddle slowly inched past.

    Ashwyn normally excelled at lightening even the dreariest of moods, but she was as miserable as Snag. The last three days she hadn¡¯t done more than eat and sleep when she wasn¡¯t preoccupied with keeping herself from slumping off her horse.

    ¡°There it is,¡± Snag announced from his position as the lead rider. ¡°The great and mighty Adderwood border.¡±

    Daana shielded her eyes against the gray light provided by the overcast sky and squinted. The vast, undulating sea of brown and tan grasses extended nearly all the way to the horizon, where it was bisected by a snaking river. Beyond the river, the open tundra stretched a ways before disappearing beneath a scraggly tree line. The trees grew thicker, until eventually the ground was lost to sight altogether, swallowed by the mighty Adderwood forest.

    Daana had expected to feel an overwhelming sense of relief. They¡¯d successfully reached Adderwood and were one step closer to finding Oralia and proving to Daana¡¯s mother that she was both competent and capable. It took her by surprise when it was tears of sadness, not joy, that stung the edges of her eyes.

    ¡°Good gods. I know why that one is blubbering all the time,¡± Snag said, gesturing to Ashwyn who wore the misery on her face openly and without shame. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, girl, huh? Did you get broken up with too when I wasn¡¯t looking?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± Daana¡¯s voice trailed as she smudged her tears away with the back of her sleeve. She took a quick breath before finding the strength to finish her thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you.¡±

    The tattered remnants of Snag¡¯s left ear raised slightly higher than the other. ¡°Am I going somewhere?¡±

    ¡°No, see that¡¯s the thing. I don¡¯t think you are.¡±

    Snag¡¯s befuddled expression indicated that he was not following her, admittedly, scattered logic. ¡°You want to run that by me one more time?¡±

    ¡°You got us to the border, as asked. You¡¯re part¡¯s done and I think you should stay.¡± Daana found it suddenly difficult to look him in the eye and averted her gaze elsewhere. It didn¡¯t help ease her pooling sadness, but it made talking slightly easier. ¡°Your family welcomed you back with open arms, Snag. They practically begged you to come home. Let¡¯s not kid ourselves, you don¡¯t have a stake in this war. You deserve to sit this one out with people who want to be with you.¡±

    His voice cracked with hurt. ¡°You don¡¯t want me?¡±

    ¡°Of course I want you! If I had my way, you¡¯d stick around forever. But that¡¯s fair. Not to you. You deserve to be happy and I think staying in the flatlands might actually be your chance to have that.¡± Daana shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, fighting the fresh crop of tears that trickled down her face. The crisp air burned against the hot tears, which was a bit of a relief actually, as it served to distract her from the hurt welling up on the inside. ¡°You helped me find my family and now maybe it¡¯s my turn to send you to yours.¡±

    ¡°She makes a good point!¡± a disembodied voice called from the surrounding grass.

    ¡°Lots of points!¡± another readily agreed.

    A third said, ¡°Come be happy, Snaglebrag. Join your family and leave the gloomy orc and elf behind.¡±

    ¡°Great.¡± Ashwyn straight ahead with a scowl, as if ignoring the newcomers would make them cease to exist. ¡°The bacon bandits are back.¡±

    ¡°No we¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s nobody here but us wild grasses.¡±

    Ashwyn clicked her tusks at the three young goblins. ¡°You brats better scram or I¡¯m going make good on my threat to eat you. Goddess knows I¡¯m hungry enough to try!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not feelings, orc. You can¡¯t eat us!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯d have to work to catch us anyway.¡±This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    ¡°Yeah! An¡¯ if you move as slow as you think, we¡¯re gonna be just fine.¡±

    Their taunting served as the final nail in their shared coffin. Ashwyn not only reached her breaking point, but went hurtling over it like a pole vaulter conquering a wall. She leapt from her steed and barreled into the long grass at a speed fueled by untethered rage. Daana remained seated, watching the chase unfold with fascination. Although she¡¯d seen Snag gallop on all fours when the situation called for it, Daana hadn¡¯t realized orcs could do the same. Ashwyn stayed low to the ground, concealed by the wild overgrowth as she hunted her prey down with startling agility.

    A thunderous roar lit the air seconds before she jumped. Ashwyn¡¯s burly form sailed over the top of the tundra grass before it plunged back into the tangle of vegetation. The pounce must have been successful because, after a short tousle, complete with lots of undignified shrieking, the orc stood and strode out of the grass, carrying a squirming goblin by its ankle.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t me!¡± the goblin wailed. Daana recognized him as Twig, the tallest of the three goblin teenagers. Twig suddenly didn¡¯t look very tall hanging upside down by an orc three times his size. ¡°It was the others that said all that nasty stuff. I like orcs.¡±

    Ashwyn came to a standstill alongside Daana¡¯s horse, her wailing prize still in hand. She held the goblin at arm¡¯s length as the anger drained from her curled lips. ¡°Huh,¡± she said, broad shoulders heaving with each labored breath. ¡°I kinda feel like the dog that caught the carriage here.¡±

    ¡°Put me down!¡± Twig sobbed.

    A smirk broke across Snag¡¯s gnarled features. ¡°Now, now, show some follow through, Ashwyn. You caught the damn thing, now eat it.¡±

    ¡°No, no, no! Don¡¯t do that! I¡¯ll make you sick.¡± Twig ceased his useless struggling and twisted his head, eyes darting across his upside down surroundings until his stare settled on Daana. ¡°Elf, help me! You don¡¯t want my death on your conscience, do you? Talk some sense into the big meany.¡±

    Apparently even teenagers could pick up on the fact that Daana was a giant softie. Still, it¡¯d be worthwhile to try and get something out of the altercation before Ashwyn grew bored of her new plaything. She addressed her companions instead. ¡°It seems shortsighted to eat him straight away. Shouldn¡¯t we press him for information first? Ask a few questions? See what he knows?¡±

    ¡°My only question is what goblin tastes like.¡± Ashwyn¡¯s threatening smile consisted almost entirely of bared teeth. ¡°And I¡¯m about to find out.¡±

    Daana slid from her shaggy horse onto the ground. Placing her hands on her hips, she strode closer, only stopping until she and Twig were inches apart. ¡°What are you doing out here anyway? I thought we told you to stay away.¡±

    ¡°Nothing! Just enjoying the outdoors, is all.¡±

    He knows you¡¯re the softie. Prove him wrong. Make him squirm.

    Daana narrowed her eyes, channeling some of the venom from her expression into her voice. ¡°Do you know what happened to the last little runt who lied to us? Ashwyn took a stick, just like this one¡± ¡ª Daana ripped a hollow reed from the soft dirt and rolled it around in her hands ¡ª ¡°and stuck it through his skull and gave it a good stir. Turned his brain to soup. And then, once it was nothing more than pink sludge, she slurped it through the stick like a straw just like this.¡±

    Twig wasn¡¯t the only one scared speechless by Daana¡¯s disturbing slurping sound. Both Ashwyn and Snag were staring at her with their mouths agape, horrified.

    Apparently we draw the line at pink sludge soup. Noted.

    Considering the damage was already done, Daana supposed the only thing left to do was to stay committed to her new role as the deranged elf. It was better than being softie, at least. Daana took the hollow reed in both hands and snapped it, smiling when the splintering crack jolted all three back to their senses. ¡°Are you still with us, friend?¡± she said to Twig. ¡°It looks like you might have blacked out on me for a second there.¡±

    Twig¡¯s mouth trembled as a babble of senseless sounds rolled off his tongue.

    ¡°Oh good. There you are.¡± Daana tapped the broken end of the reed against his cheek. ¡°Anyway, what was it you were saying about being out here?¡±

    ¡°Our den leader sent us!¡± The words flew out of Twig¡¯s mouth faster than he could string them together. ¡°Word is the infamous Snaglebrag turned down his familial den. He¡¯s free game now.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re hunting him?¡±

    ¡°Hunt?¡± The young goblin¡¯s face scrunched in genuine confusion. ¡°No. To recruit, dummy.¡±

    Daana raised one eyebrow at him challengingly. ¡°Dummy?¡±

    Twig¡¯s head shrank into his shoulders as he stammered his apology. ¡°Sorry, miss. It¡¯s all this blood rushing to my head. Makes me say things I don¡¯t mean.¡±

    Daana waved her hand at Ashwyn and said, ¡°You can put him down now. I¡¯m certain he¡¯s not foolish enough to try and outrun you a second time.¡±

    The sour look on Ashwyn¡¯s face read as ¡®oh, I take orders from you now?¡¯ Thankfully the orc bit back her displeasure and played along, flipping the goblin head over heels and setting him back on his feet. She kept a firm grasp on the back of his neck. Not to keep him from running, Daana realized, but from toppling over. The sudden quake in the poor boy¡¯s legs looked severe enough to drop him on his face.

    ¡°Alright, you¡¯ve sufficiently scared the piss out of the scoundrel. Congratulations.¡± With a grudging sigh, Snag abandoned his horse and wandered over. Daana didn¡¯t know whether it was curiosity or pity that fueled his involvement, but Snag snatched the broken reed from her hands and wagged it at her. ¡°I¡¯ll take it from here, thanks.¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Daana had only been playing the part as a means to acquire information. Which failed to explain why she suddenly felt cheated, like the fox poised to lose its hard earned kill to the wolf. ¡°You choose to swoop in now? After I¡¯ve done all the work to soften him up?¡±

    ¡°Simmer down, secretary,¡± Snag chided. ¡°Your part¡¯s done here.¡±

    Daana shifted her weight to her right foot to keep from stomping it. ¡°I haven¡¯t been your secretary in weeks!¡±

    ¡°I know. I miss it more and more each day. It was a simpler time. Quieter, people not hounding me from dawn to dusk.¡± Snag tossed the stick over his shoulder, adding wistfully, ¡°Less talk of brain soup.¡±

 222 - Worth More Than Gold

    Daana stepped reluctantly to the side, surrendering the rest of the interrogation to Snag. He swaggered forward, sizing the young goblin up and down. Snag¡¯s wrinkled expression was caught somewhere between bored and woefully unimpressed. Unlike Twig, who was a jittery mess. He twiddled his clawed hands and kept glancing over his shoulder at the surrounding tundra grass, as though considering whether or not to make a break for it. It would be pointless to try, of course, considering Ashwyn¡¯s proximity. She¡¯d grab him before the young goblin got more than two steps in.

    Twig must have arrived at the same conclusion as he remained where he was, resigned to his fate. He cowered lower when Snag came to a stop in front of him, separated only by a small stretch of ground. ¡°I didn¡¯t do nothing,¡± Twig said, in the event Snag hadn¡¯t heard the first three times he¡¯d claimed as much. ¡°Just let me go. I won¡¯t bother you no more.¡±

    ¡°Of course you didn¡¯t do anything. I believe you.¡± Snag flashed the sort of smile one would expect from a snake. ¡°I just want some clarification, is all. You said some things that piqued my interest and it¡¯s going to drive me crazy until I know what you meant. You¡¯ll be free to go after that. Promise.¡±

    Whether or not Twig believed a word out of Snag¡¯s mouth was irrelevant. The young goblin was trapped either way. Wordlessly, he bobbed his trembling head in agreement.

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Snag withdrew the intricately carved pipe from the confines of his jacket and offered it his interrogee. ¡°Now, first thing¡¯s first, you¡¯re gonna assure all your mates out there that you¡¯ve come to no harm and that they can all just stay where they are.¡±

    Twig stared at the instrument with wide eyes, unable to look away.

    ¡°Ashwyn clunk you on the head too hard, boy? It¡¯s a pipe, not a knife. I ain¡¯t gonna stick you with it.¡±

    Nervously, Twig accepted the pipe and produced a series of sharp notes. A second pipe responded, its shrill screech dampened by distance. Even Daana¡¯s sharp elven ears couldn¡¯t pinpoint where it was coming from amongst the sea of swaying tundra grass.

    Snag listened and then, once the message was delivered in full, nodded his satisfaction. ¡°Good. Now that that¡¯s taken care of, let¡¯s get down to business, shall we?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a business,¡± Twig wailed.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have much in the way of smarts either, boy, but we won¡¯t let that stop you.¡± Snag drew his arm around Twig¡¯s shoulder in an unusual display of chumminess. The disgust must have shown on Daana¡¯s face because the look he shot her warned that now was not the time to mention it. And also, there would never be a good time to mention it. Ever.

    Snag gave Twig a gentle shake, as if attempting to jiggle the answers loose like pieces of silver from a coin jar. ¡°Now what¡¯s all this talk about Snaglebrag rejecting his old clan, huh?¡±

    ¡°Our den leader said you¡ª¡±

    ¡°Snaglebrag, not me,¡± Snag corrected with an uncomfortably tight smile.

    Twig attempted again. ¡°He claimed Snag turned down his clan¡¯s offer for reconciliation. Not really a surprise, boss said. They¡¯re the pithiest of all the clans. Can¡¯t fault Snaglebrag for not wanting to associate with such a sorry lot.¡±

    Snag¡¯s ears started to droop. ¡°Is that so?¡±

    ¡°Word is he had to bribe Fangle to get him to leave him alone.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    Twig¡¯s confidence was on the mend. He stood taller, growing more animated as he got to the good part of his explanation. ¡°Anyway, now that the old den has been officially turned down, the boss said it was time to make a move. He tasked us with bringing Snag in for a sit down so he could make an offer you couldn¡¯t refuse.¡±

    Snag was too caught in thought to catch Twig¡¯s mistake and reaffirm, once more, that he and the infamous Snaglebrag Flint were not one of the same. Snag removed his arm from Twig¡¯s shoulder and stepped away, fiddling with the ring strung through his lip. ¡°And what happens to the Fangle¡¯s den?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Twig said with a dismissive wave of his hand. ¡°They keep scrounging in the dirt for scraps like the bottom feeders they are, and you ascend to the top of the goblin hierarchy. Boss is prepared to offer whatever you want. Power, status, munchies, you get to have it all.¡±

    ¡°And what do you get out of this?¡± Snag demanded.

    Twig puffed out his scrawny chest and stood, if not straighter, something that looked less like a sagging weed. ¡°Boss promised us our first bangle.¡± He pointed to one of the paint chipped fishing lures hanging from his left ear. ¡°A real one. Made of gold.¡±

    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°I¡¯ll have status after that. And respect.¡±

    Having given up playing guard, Ashwyn moved to Daana¡¯s side. The orc leaned closer and whispered under her breath. ¡°His eye¡¯s doing that twitchy thing again. Should we be worried?¡±

    Snag¡¯s eyes darted in their direction, having undoubtedly heard regardless of Ashwyn¡¯s attempt to keep her volume low. ¡°Stay here, boy.¡± He started in their direction with slow, reluctant steps. ¡°I have to convene with these two a moment.¡±

    If Daana wasn¡¯t concerned before, she certainly was now.

    ¡°So,¡± Snag started, once he¡¯d reached them.

    ¡°Wait!¡± Daana grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him closer. ¡°We¡¯ve got goblins all around, remember? We¡¯d better do this right and huddle.¡±

    Ashwyn rolled her head back with a groan. ¡°Good goddess, Peaches. No.¡±

    ¡°Come on!¡± Daana said. ¡°You guys never want to do what I want to do.¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s stupid.¡± The orc stubbornly stood her ground, as if huddling would somehow tarnish her already less than stellar reputation. An odd concern considering she¡¯d been running around on all fours terrorizing a bunch of teenagers not ten minutes before. ¡°Nobody actually huddles to make a plan.¡±

    Maybe it was an attempt to lighten the mood. Maybe Daana was using it as an excuse to delay the inevitable even just a few seconds more. Regardless of her underlying reasons, she kept at it with the sort of cheerful desperation of someone moments away from losing their best friend. ¡°Not true. I used to see it all of the time. And just once in my life, I¡¯d like to be inside the huddle and not the one standing on the outside wondering what sort of nasty things they¡¯re saying about me.¡±

    ¡°Peaches, that¡¯s the saddest thing you¡¯ve said so far.¡±

    Daana widened her eyes pitifully. ¡°Please?¡±

    Trading exasperating glances, Snag and Ashwyn gave in, reluctantly forming a huddle with Daana. The positioning was a little awkward considering the orc had to crouch and the goblin had to be on damn near tiptoe, but they managed it in the end. Ashwyn¡¯s gruff voice conveyed every inch of her mounting discomfort. ¡°Alright, Snaggy, spit it out. What¡¯s going on, mate? You look like how I feel and, suffice to say, it¡¯s not a pretty sight.¡±

    Her assessment wasn¡¯t wrong. The color from Snag¡¯s weathered features had gone from green to gray, as if the life was slowly being sapped out of his body. ¡°I think I made a mistake with the way I handled Fangle,¡± Snag admitted. ¡°By turning him down, I made the old den¡¯s reputation even worse. Now nobody¡¯s going to want anything to do with them.¡±

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t care,¡± Ashwyn reminded him.

    ¡°I say lots of things I don¡¯t mean.¡± A cold look from Ashwyn convinced Snag to keep the explanation coming. ¡°And anyway, I meant it in the ¡®I don¡¯t care to help you¡¯ sort of way. I didn¡¯t intend to make things for them worse.¡±

    Daana piped up with, ¡°How do you clear something like that up?¡±

    Snag¡¯s gaze dropped to his feet, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°I think you already know.¡±

    Damn right I did. Unfortunately, this particular instance of correctness didn¡¯t come with the usual sense of accomplishment. Grief swelled up inside of her instead. Daana shifted her grasp from Snag¡¯s shoulder to his hand, fighting another bout of spontaneous tears. ¡°Would it be rude to say I told you so right now? Would you prefer it if I just think it?¡±

    He, too, seemed incapable of expressing his feelings in a mature fashion. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you where to shove it if you do.¡±

    Oh gods. He was really considering it. Really, really considering it. And yes, she may have been the one to suggest staying, but that didn¡¯t mean she wanted it to happen. Since when did anyone listen to her anyways? Daana tried her best to smile around the pain shredding her to pieces on the inside. ¡°We¡¯ve got to come through here again on our way back. We¡¯ll be sure to stop in and say hi.¡±

    ¡°You will?¡± Snag said.

    Ashwyn thumped his shoulder, hard, from the way he grimaced. ¡°Of course! We¡¯re going to need directions, after all. You know Peaches and I didn¡¯t pay a lick of attention to how you got us this far.¡±

    Panic darted behind Snag¡¯s yellow eyes. Daana could tell he wanted to fight the decision. He wanted to scream, complain, argue why it was the most foolish idea ever conceived, and then yell at them some more for not talking him out of it. Daana squeezed his hand again. She gave not the answer she wanted, but the one he needed. ¡°Go. We¡¯ll be fine without you.¡±

    ¡°Promise you¡¯re not going to do anything stupid?¡±

    ¡°I would never promise that.¡±

    Snag turned to Ashwyn, his face contorting in the strangest way, as if it was fighting the urge to melt off and slump into the dirt between his clawed feet. ¡°I know better than to ask, but at least try to do things the smart way? For my sake? So I can sleep at night?¡±

    The orc offered a highly convincing shrug. ¡°Sure, mate.¡±

    Reluctantly, Daana released his gnarled hand and threw her hood up over her head as she walked swiftly back to her horse, fighting the pressure building behind her eyes. Wayward tears slipped free and trickled down her cheeks regardless. ¡°You¡¯re going to do great.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t you start blubbering again. All it¡¯s going to do is send me away faster.¡± Ignoring the moisture pooling in his own eyes, Snag turned back to Twig, muttering as he unfastened one of the bangles from his tattered ear. ¡°You see this, boy? This here is a real mark of status. I didn¡¯t get this one from running some silly errand. This was earned through blood and grit.¡±

    Twig wrinkled his nose at the curious disk-shaped dangle. ¡°It¡¯s not gold.¡±

    ¡°Dragon scale,¡± Snag replied. ¡°Carved it myself after I killed the beast using nothing but a clothesline and a cheese knife.¡±

    Daana sorely wanted to point out that she¡¯d witnessed him pick it up at a vendor stall three months prior, but decided against shattering whatever illusion Snag was crafting. Twig was fully enraptured, staring wide eyed at the bangle as if it was the answer to all his life¡¯s problems.

    ¡°You want a real mark of status, boy?¡± Snag held the prize just out of reach as he outlined his conditions. ¡°Spread the word. Tell all the dens in the area that Snaglebrag Flint has come home and he¡¯s going to restore his clan to their former might. Do that, and your first bangle will be worth more than gold.¡±

 223 - Welcome Home

    Many years ago, before the death of his father, the failed assassination attempt, and the resulting loss of his eyesight, Rasp used to wander the neighboring territories at whim. It was mostly boring, unexciting forest, but occasionally he would stumble across a stretch of farmland. To an ordinary citizen of the realm, a farmstead was just another component of everyday life. Home to some, a familiar sight to many, a passing dot along the carriage road, if you were really lucky. But to Rasp, an outsider who had spent his entire life crammed inside the colorless belly of a mountain, farms were a never ending source of wonder.

    There were cows and horses to watch, dogs to befriend, and enough rats in the hayloft to keep his stomach full for days. But it was the people who¡¯d fascinated him the most. Rasp never approached any of them outright ¡ª except for Priss, of course, the rebellious farmer¡¯s daughter who¡¯d happily demonstrated that haylofts had uses beyond catching rats. Priss had been the exception to the rule, though. Rasp had kept his distance from all other citizens of the realm, content to watch their antics from afar. The farm folk were always coming and going, up from dawn until dusk, laboring away on their little patch of heaven.

    It was on one such visit, deep in the late autumn months, that Rasp discovered the love of his life. And no, he wasn¡¯t talking about Priss. He¡¯d been wrestling with the farm dogs behind the barn when an unfamiliar scent struck him low. It was a warm smell, thick with the sweet, tangy aroma of plums and a savory kick of thyme. Abandoning the dogs, Rasp had followed it to the small farm cottage. He found himself near the kitchen, with the love of his life cooling on an open windowsill.

    He had never seen a galette before and, consequently, had no idea what it was. But, at that moment, Rasp realized he was in love. Looking back, he wished he¡¯d left money and not a catch of dead rats as payment on the sill, but his understanding of how the outside world operated was tragically undeveloped at the time. He took off with the pastry as fast as his legs would go, nearly dropping his prize several times on account of the blistering heat radiating from the not-yet-cooled plate.

    Finding a suitable tree with plenty of leaf cover, Rasp climbed into the boughs and ate the galette out of sight. The first bite nearly made him cry. It was the best thing he¡¯d ever tasted. Warm, sweet, and buttery, with just enough hit of thyme to make the inside of his nose itch. He devoured it in a single sitting and couldn¡¯t move for hours, even after the screams from the farmhouse sent the farmer and his sons racing up and down the property with their pitchforks and shovels in hand.

    Rasp never forgot that galette. Sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning, when nature was calling but he was still too cold to take care of business, he would drift between consciousness, dreaming of licking the dark, sticky syrup from his fingertips. Even now, the smell of caramelized plums and thyme called to him, beckoning him to come find it again, and relive one of the best moments of his life.

    Admittedly, given Rasp¡¯s circumstances, it seemed strange that memories of a long-gone dessert had become the focus of his thoughts. But after spending an untold number of days trapped underground, being paraded about as designated monster bait, his memories were one of the few safe havens he had left. In some ironic twist of fate, Rasp himself had become the plum galette. At least in the poetic sense. While his companions had kindly not sealed him inside a buttery pastry shell destined for the oven, he was food nonetheless. Fortunately for him, being monster food was relatively easy. All he had to do was sit, wait, and occasionally throw out a spell or two to drive the nameless one mad with hunger.

    All in all, not bad, so long as you ignored the part where he stood a good chance of getting eaten.

    The days passed uneventfully. Rasp slept in the open, under an endless expanse of soft, green glowing algae in what was once a grand colosseum. It even had a complex system of interconnected rooms built beneath the stands which, according to know-it-all Hop, was called a ¡®hypogeum¡¯. While Rasp didn¡¯t care much for the name, nor the accompanying history lesson, he did like discovering that a few of the hypogeum¡¯s old rooms were still filled with abandoned weaponry. He liked that very much. Particularly the part that involved him dragging weapons in and out all day, creating nifty piles in the open arena area above. For what reason? Other than to be a nuisance and play with stabby things, he wasn¡¯t so sure there was one.

    It gave him something to preoccupy his time, at the very least. And good gods did he need that more than ever. While he was free to wander the arena grounds and accompanying hypogeum at will, Rasp wasn¡¯t allowed beyond the colosseum walls. Keeping him locked inside was for his own protection, Bromm assured him. The dwarf translator told many a story of a spellbound citizen following the beast¡¯s voice to its lair, destined to never be seen again.

    Rasp didn¡¯t like those stories and preferred to think of pie instead.

    Sometimes, when he wasn''t sleeping, griping, or building giant piles of swords, he and Whisper would practice his magic. His mentor seemed to have taken a special interest in Rasp¡¯s newfound glow spell. They spent hours working to harness the luminescence of the surrounding algae and channel it into a usable light source. At a reasonable glow, Rasp could hold the light for several minutes at a time, but Whisper kept pushing him to make it brighter. ¡®Like the sun¡¯ his mentor would tell him each time his attempts to push the spell to a satisfactory level failed to impress.

    Normally Rasp would have demanded to know why he needed to emulate the sun. He saved his breath as the inevitable answer would be ¡®the worm doesn¡¯t get to ask questions¡¯. Just like the worm wasn¡¯t allowed out of the locked colosseum, or allowed to be apart of the many, many hushed meetings his teammates had without him, or ask questions about how long this side adventure was going to fucking take. In the end, however, he suspected he knew the reason, but even that came with a host of problems.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    If the nameless one possessed the ability to read his thoughts, then it could theoretically know everything he knew. Ultimately, it was better for everyone if Rasp was kept in the dark. And while he felt slightly left out each time his friends left for one of their whispered team meetings, it wasn¡¯t forever. They always came back again, usually with food in hand and some residual argument to keep him entertained. Whisper retired in the evenings to the protection of the charmed chambers, but Faris and June always stayed the night with Rasp. As of late, Hop had started to hang around more and more as well.

    Their evenings together were quickly becoming Rasp¡¯s favorite part of the day. For one thing, no one was expecting him to train, and he could lounge at ease, trading stories beneath the otherworldly glow of the bioluminescent algae.

    ¡°So there I was¡ª¡± Faris, the natural born story-teller, had a flair for making even the most mundane shit sound fantastical. It didn¡¯t matter if Rasp had heard the story before or, better yet, been involved, he sat hanging on to every word just like the others ¡°¡ªalone, wet, freezing my ass off, and running for my life. It didn¡¯t know what it was at first, but it was big, and it kept on my trail like a wolf on a kill.¡±

    ¡°Wolves don¡¯t chase kills,¡± June interjected. ¡°By definition, a kill¡¯s already dead. You mean prey. Wolves chase prey. And usually as a pack, not as a solitary¡ª¡±

    ¡°Shhh,¡± Hop shushed. He made an ideal audience member. Whereas Rasp and June made it their unspoken mission to derail Faris¡¯s retelling as often as possible, Hop actively participated, encouraging the story to unfold in the most dramatic way possible. ¡°Will you please let him finish?¡±

    ¡°Nah, don¡¯t worry,¡± Rasp said. ¡°Faris doesn¡¯t mind a little edging now and then.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, but I get the distinct feeling that I¡¯m better off that way,¡± Hop replied.

    June, naturally, insisted on remedying Hop¡¯s willful ignorance. ¡°It means¡ª¡±

    ¡°It was a bear! Biggest one I¡¯d ever seen.¡± Faris kept the story going in spite of the constant interruptions from his easily distracted audience. ¡°It chased me for three days before I succumbed to exhaustion. I didn¡¯t expect to wake up again. And when I did, I was even more surprised to find the damn thing sitting on top of me.¡±

    ¡°Oh please,¡± June muttered. ¡°It¡¯s not like you would have preferred me sitting on your in my other body.¡±

    Faris flapped one of his ears. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind your human form if clothing wasn¡¯t such a foreign concept to your family.¡±

    ¡°No way around it, I¡¯m afraid,¡± June said. ¡°I¡¯ve got to take the clothes off before I shift, otherwise they¡¯ll rip. And once I¡¯m in bear form, there¡¯s no practical way to carry them. Kind of ruins the illusion to see a giant bear carrying a bag in its mouth, after all. Ergo, I simply travel without. A little nudity never hurt anybody.¡± She paused, adding with a dramatic sigh, ¡°That is until fuss bucket here insisted he carry some for me in his pack.¡±

    An unexpected yawn escaped Rasp¡¯s open mouth. It was the third one in nearly as many minutes. Despite his best efforts to stay awake, he could feel the weight of the day¡¯s activities pulling his heavy eyelids further down. There was no use fighting it, he supposed. Rasp drew his blanket tight around his shoulders and settled onto the ground. Faris and June¡¯s competing voices rose and fell above his head, their words slowly melding together into a soothing hum.

    He was in that in-between state, not quite asleep, not fully awake, when the spongy dirt beneath him began to vibrate. It was gentle at first, like the buzz of a hummingbird¡¯s wings in flight. The intensity doubled, tripled, quadrupled in the span of mere seconds as something worked its way upwards. With a thunderous boom, the dirt tore open, sending a wave of rock and dirt raining down over the enclosed arena. Rasp scrambled, shielding his head against the onslaught as he rolled to avoid the worst of it.

    Finally, the buckling ground settled. Rasp squinted near where the rift had torn the arena asunder, gasping when a blurry shadow hauled its gargantuan body from the crevice. A soothing voice rippled across his mind as the beast slithered nearer, its great head rearing in the air high above him. My dear, I have been calling for you. Why do you not answer?

    Rasp jumped to his feet and staggered backwards. The soft moss and dirt pulsed beneath him, as if the ground was alive, thrumming with a heartbeat of its own. He opened his mouth to scream but the voice swept over his mind, quieting his troubled thoughts.

    Do not be afraid. I am here to help you. Come with me and I will make everything as it should be.

    Rasp¡¯s sixth sense buzzed a warning around the edges of his mind, like a fly trapped in a web, but he couldn¡¯t discern the individual words. Panic overtook him as his instinct to fight battled against the rush of calmness surging through his veins.

    A firm hand seized him by the shoulder, yanking him from the path of danger. ¡°Rasp!¡± Hop¡¯s voice was muffled as though he were yards away and not standing right next to him. ¡°The glow spell now!¡±

    Rasp obeyed without question. He drew within, summoning every available thread of magic as he pictured a glow as bright as the sun. The power built within his hands, fighting his control until, at last, Rasp released and willed the light into existence. Three things happened as a result. The first was the blinding light that pulsed across the colosseum, highlighting the decrepit arena in an eerie green glow. Second was the resulting screech from the creature that was far too close to him than it should have been. Third was the blistering sting that struck Rasp¡¯s chest, causing him to stumble several steps backwards as a mysterious heat burrowed deep into his flesh and branched out.

    ¡°Hold up! Cut off his magic! It¡¯s not a borrowing dra¨C¡± The rest of Faris¡¯s warning was swallowed by distance. It was nothing more than an indistinguishable hum now, melding seamlessly amidst the other droning voices until all three vanished completely.

    The searing heat within Rasp¡¯s chest cooled. An overwhelming sense of peace caused his hands to fall uselessly to his sides, the spell on his lips forgotten. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes as the surrounding glow rained down from above, like algae-frosted snowflakes. He should¡¯ve been bothered that the light was dwindling, some minuscule portion of his mind insisted, but the thought disappeared as quickly as it¡¯d come. Pinpricks of light danced along the edges of Rasp¡¯s muddled vision as the earth began to sway in rhythm to the heartbeat thrumming beneath his feet.

    Hush now, my dear. Don¡¯t fret. Don¡¯t fight. Let go of the pain you¡¯ve been holding. You have no need for it anymore.

    The voice enveloped him in velvety softness as the fight drained from his body. With a muffled whimper, unaware of the screams coming from all around, Rasp closed his eyes and gave in to the darkness.

    Welcome home.

 224 - Foolish Talk

    Rasp awoke to the tantalizing smell of sweet plums, buttery crust, and thyme. His eyes fluttered open, blinking at the harsh light pouring in from the window. Sunspots dotted his vision for a few seconds before they cleared, giving way to a familiar room. He was seated on a pine bench, with his upper half slumped over a matching rectangular table. The tabletop was scarred, burned, and pitted from four generations of abuse. He ran his hand over the polished surface, feeling a smile pull at his lips when his fingertips brushed against the anatomical drawing he¡¯d etched into the grain as a teenager. No amount of buffing had ever been able to get it out.

    Mother insisted he sit in front of the etching at every meal afterwards, hopeful, perhaps, that if he stared at it over and over again, he would one day come to realize his shame. Unfortunately, all it did was make him giddy. Even now, he felt the irresistible itch to grab the nearest knife and add a few curly-q hairs.

    ¡°Is there where you¡¯ve been? I wondered why it was so quiet.¡± A woman strode into the room and heaved a stack of plates from one of the overcrowded shelves lining the wall. ¡°You¡¯re not carving anymore penises into my table, are you?¡±

    A sharp pain lanced through Rasp¡¯s chest. He sat straight, fighting his sudden inability to breathe. ¡°Mom?¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± She hummed as she worked.

    ¡°It¡¯s you.¡± What a stupid thing to say. So stupid in fact, Rasp wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d said it. Of course it was her. He could see her clear as day, couldn¡¯t he? Why did that feel like it was out of the ordinary?

    Mother turned in his direction, pushing the dark auburn hair from her eyes. A soft smile hovered over her lips. ¡°Were you expecting someone else?¡±

    Words failed him. He felt happy and sad at the same time and, for the life of him, couldn¡¯t figure out why. Rasp wanted to push to his feet, rush over, and hold her in his arms and never let go again. But something was holding him back. There was a strange, squiggly feeling in the back of his skull. It pulsed, barely, like the former ache of a long-forgotten injury.

    Try as he might, his words still weren¡¯t behaving correctly. ¡°You¡¯re¡­¡±

    Mother waited patiently for him to finish.

    Gah! Why was this suddenly so hard? It was there, right on the tip of his tongue, but the harder he pursued it, the farther the old ache drifted out of reach.

    Mother¡¯s hands went to her hips. ¡°Are you going to finish your thought? I am what?¡±

    Unfortunately, her prompting did the opposite of what she intended and the word Rasp was searching for vanished from his memory. He blinked, attempting to recall what he¡¯d meant to say. She was¡­something. Something important. Something that made him sad. Except that had changed, because seeing her again made him less sad. Happy then? Was that it?

    Yes, he decided, as a tentative smile pulled across his downturned mouth. He was happy. Whatever it was he thought he knew, didn¡¯t matter anymore because everything was just how it was supposed to be. ¡°Never mind. It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Mother asked.

    Her smile made Rasp¡¯s spirits lift even higher. Whatever this inexplicable sense of happiness was, he never wanted it to end. It was as if all the frayed strings in his life had finally pulled together, resulting in a tapestry more beautiful than his wildest dreams. He just hadn¡¯t been able to see it before. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Come on then.¡± Mother gestured for him to join her. ¡°Help me set the table.¡±

    ¡°You want me to help?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you.¡±

    ¡°You haven¡¯t let me set the table since Mul and I used your favorite plates for slingshot pra¡ª¡± The blood rushed from Rasp¡¯s head as he stood. He staggered forward, holding a hand to his eyes as he waited for the room to stop spinning. When he opened them again, the plates had moved from the back counter to the table. Cutlery had been laid out too, along with an assortment of mismatched goblets and neatly folded napkins.

    That was odd. The squiggly feeling was back at it again, wriggling around like a worm loose in his skull.

    Mother set the extra napkins down and approached, resting her hand on his shoulder. ¡°Are you alright, Raspberry?¡±

    Was he? Good gods, it felt like he was losing his mind. Things kept shifting on him and he couldn¡¯t tell if it was him or the things that were out of sorts. ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡±

    ¡°Look at me, dear.¡±

    Rasp did as she asked, taken aback by what he saw. Somewhere along the way, he¡¯d forgotten what she¡¯d looked like. How her smile could light a room. The way the lines between her eyebrows crinkled together when he compared her cooking to a bloated porcupine. He gazed into familiar eyes, deep like pools of green tranquility.

    An unexplained thought wormed free from his tongue. ¡°I thought you only had one eye.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s vision blurred as the room shifted again. This time, when he regained his composure, Mother was back standing alongside the counter, sorting utensils. Rasp opened his mouth to demand an explanation when a short, wiry man burst into the room, carrying a squealing child on his shoulders. ¡°There¡¯s my favorite bastard,¡± he said, setting the boy onto the ground. ¡°Go on. Go kick your dad in the shin like I showed you.¡±

    ¡°Not now. Get out,¡± Rasp commanded, refusing to let go of the thought else it might slip through his grasp once more. ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of something.¡±

    ¡°What? Too busy for your own damn son, Raspy?¡±

    His what? Rasp turned, locking eyes with the short man as the squirming sensation in the back of his head fell eerily still. A different feeling flooded his insides. Confusion, mostly. He had never felt at ease in this particular man¡¯s presence before, but the more he stared, the more the years of animosity melted away like ice during the breakup season. Even now, the word felt dirty in his mouth. ¡°Dad.¡±

    ¡°Son,¡± Father greeted in a similar fashion.

    For all his faults, Father could at least be counted on for one thing. He didn¡¯t put up with bullshit. Rasp tilted his head at him, watching his father¡¯s expression for its customary tells. ¡°Does any of this feel odd to you?¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always been odd to me, Raspberry. Can¡¯t be helped, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    That sounded right. Or at least like something his father would say. Chewing his lip, Rasp¡¯s gaze moved lower, realizing he¡¯d forgotten all about the small child that was now meandering dangerously in his direction. The boy looked like one of Bil¡¯s kids, but scrawnier. ¡°Who¡¯s this?¡±

    ¡°Did you get hit on the head again, boy?¡± Father demanded with a laugh. ¡°Gods, I take your wee lad for a single afternoon and you forget him entirely.¡±

    Rasp startled backwards until his legs struck the bench and he sat to keep from falling over. Before he could protest, the boy was clambering into his lap. Rasp¡¯s first instinct was to shove the kid to the floor, but something stayed his hand. He looked the boy over, marveling at his dark wavy hair and brilliant brown eyes. There was a familiar warmth in the boy¡¯s expression. It pulled Rasp in, melting all of his former trepidations.

    Rasp reached out and ruffled the boy¡¯s hair, not sure why it was summoning tears to his eyes. This time, when the obnoxious squirming sensation returned, he ignored it. He didn¡¯t care anymore. Odd or not, this was a moment that he wanted to hold on to for as long as possible.

    ¡°You¡¯re bigger than I remember,¡± Rasp said to his son.

    ¡°See? I told you it would happen, didn¡¯t I?¡± Father shuffled from the doorway towards the table. ¡°One day they¡¯re wee little babes, and the next you¡¯re having to stand on tiptoe to see eye to eye.¡±

    The boy whipped his head around at the old man, mouth curled in protest. ¡°I¡¯m not a baby. I¡¯m big!¡±

    ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you?¡± Rasp said, his voice as soft as a whisper. It felt like he¡¯d been asleep for ages, living the day-to-day of a distant nightmare for so long, he¡¯d accepted it as reality. But he was awake now. The nightmare had faded save for a few lingering feelings that he just couldn¡¯t quite shake.

    ¡°I¡¯m happy to report that your boy is a born huntsman,¡± Father said, settling into the chair at the head of the table. ¡°Leaps ahead of where you were at his age.¡±

    ¡°What would you know, old man?¡± Rasp said. ¡°Bil taught me to hunt, not you.¡±

    ¡°I guess that explains it then. The blind leading the blind.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s head jerked to attention. ¡°What was that?¡±

    Father seemed more interested in his drink. He drained half his mug in a single gulp before wiping the droplets from his silver whiskers with the back of his sleeve, ignoring the neatly folded napkin to his left. ¡°Hm?¡±

    ¡°What you just said.¡± Already, Rasp could feel the words dissipating from his memory. He tried to focus on them, but they turned to dust. Rasp struck his fist against the table with a resounding slam. ¡°What did you say?¡±

    ¡°Gods, Raspberry, have a drink already. You¡¯re acting all out of sorts.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s stare settled on the mug in front of him, brimming with a honey-colored liquid. The drink had always been there, hadn¡¯t it? What in the realm was wrong with him today? He really was losing his mind. Rasp raised the cup to his lips, barely tasting the warm ale that slid down his throat. Behind him, the rest of the family barged into the dining room, arranging themselves around the table.

    Rasp nearly spat his drink back up the moment a young woman placed her hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. ¡°Excuse me?¡± he croaked, staring up at her wide-eyed.

    ¡°Is that any way to greet the love of your life?¡±

    Rasp set the mug back down, blinking hard. ¡°What the fuck are you talking about? You up and left me after our baby¡­¡± He paused, thoughts racing across his mind as he tried and failed to find the missing pieces of this puzzle. Something wasn¡¯t adding up. Rasp met her unflinching gaze. He¡¯d loved her, once. But not anymore. At least he didn¡¯t think so. Had it all been a dream? It felt like so much more had happened between then and now but for the life of him, he couldn¡¯t recall any of it.

    ¡°Ignore him,¡± Mother murmured as she moved about, setting various dishes onto the table. ¡°He¡¯s in his head again.¡±

    The young woman trailed her fingers down his arm. ¡°I think I might know how to snap him out of it.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t fucking touch me!¡± Rasp slapped her hand away as an unknown fire lit within his belly, battling against the cool calmness that kept trying to extinguish the rising flames. ¡°Not after what you did. You said I was cursed, remember? And that it was my fault that¡­¡± Rasp¡¯s voice trailed, realizing he could no longer recall what horrendous misdeed had caused the irreparable rift between them.

    For a split second, the young woman¡¯s eyes went cold, like frost. Rasp remembered that look, and the way it used to shred his insides to minced meat. Before he could put his thoughts to words the room shifted again and the young woman was pink in the face and on the verge of tears. ¡°Why are you being so cruel?¡± she said, lower lip quivering. ¡°What¡¯s gotten into you? You¡¯re not acting like yourself.¡±

    He didn¡¯t have anything to say to that. Heat flushed across his face as Rasp averted his gaze. The boy in his lap stared back up at him, brown eyes wide and glistening with the innocence of youth. The more they looked at each other, the more the surrounding calmness settled deeper in Rasp¡¯s bones, eating away at his unease. How could he yell in front of someone so innocent? That wasn¡¯t fair. The boy hadn¡¯t done anything wrong.

    Rasp was about to give in, to shut out the squirmy feeling in the back of his head and accept the calmness for what it was, when one final thought flashed across his mind. ¡°I don¡¯t know his name.¡±

    ¡°Ha!¡± one of his brothers chimed in from further down the table. ¡°Dumbass here doesn¡¯t remember what he named his own kid.¡±

    Rasp ignored the offender, too concentrated on extracting the details from his shifting memory to retaliate. ¡°We were waiting for his name day. We had a few picked out, I remember, I wrote a list on paper.¡± The mental image of that list being thrown in the fire darted before his eyes. He tried to latch onto it, to decipher its meaning, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

    ¡°You changed your mind at the last second,¡± the young woman reminded him, offering a placating smile.

    ¡°I did?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t my first choice, but you seemed so excited, I couldn¡¯t tell you no. I¡¯ll admit, it¡¯s grown on me since.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t I remember?¡± Rasp demanded, feeling his heartbeat spike once more. ¡°Why don¡¯t I remember his name? That¡¯s something I should remember, right? My own son¡¯s fucking name?¡±

    Mother and the young woman traded concerned looks before the latter supplied the answer. ¡°It¡¯s Faris.¡±

    Oh. Right. Now that they mentioned it, that name did sound familiar. A swell of relief broke over the top of him. Rasp relaxed back onto the bench, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. Gods, what was wrong with him? Faris was a good kid, the best son an undeserving dad could ask for. He loved Faris, and Faris loved him. Sure, they never actually said it out loud, but it was in the little things. The way Faris would call him names, like Dinglehead.

    ¡°Dinglehead?¡± Rasp managed to get the word out before the memory dissipated.

    ¡°Eat,¡± Mother commanded, shoving a slice of plum galette in his direction.

    It smelled heavenly, rich, sweet, and savory, all rolled into a buttery crust and piping hot from the oven. The thick aroma of thyme wafted into the air, carried by the steam, and worked its way into his nose, causing both his eyes and his mouth to water. One bite, and Rasp would forget his troubles. He didn¡¯t know how he knew this, he just did.

    Father leaned over the table in his direction, whispering, ¡°It¡¯s time to wake up, Raspberry.¡±

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Mother huffed as she moved to the other end of the table and sat. ¡°We are going to have a pleasant family meal for a change. Now, no more of this foolish talk. Everyone eat.¡±

    On cue, the dinner conversation rose up to a deafening hum as each dish passed from hand to hand, from one end to the next. Ordinarily Rasp would have fought tooth and nail to secure his portion, but his appetite was suddenly gone. He watched each dish pass by confused as to how something this right could possibly feel so wrong.

    ¡°Raspberry.¡±

    He followed his father¡¯s voice, locking eyes with the small man. Rasp used to hate how much they looked alike. Same small, wiry frame, and narrow face. The only difference was Father¡¯s age and silver hair. Rasp was fortunate that his mop of unruly tangles was the same color as mother¡¯s.

    ¡°Wake up!¡±

    Startled, Rasp released the lock of hair he was holding, swearing he saw a shimmer of silver. The surrounding hum grew louder, each individual voice blending together as the room crescendoed into blaring din. The colors swirled as Rasp¡¯s vision went fuzzy. The only detail that remained in focus was his father.

    Father leaned forward, fingertips digging into the table, and shouted, ¡°You need to wake up, boy. Wake up!¡±

 225 - Wake Up

    Croak, croak, croak!

    Rasp jerked awake, pulling a mouthful of wet, dingy air into his lungs with gasp. His face was unbearably hot, slick with sweat and a slippery substance he couldn¡¯t identify. The heat, however, was only skin deep, unable to penetrate the flesh underneath. Rasp¡¯s bones felt ice cold. A barrage of competing emotions slammed into him at once ¡ª pain, confusion, panic¡­hunger? The growing pang in his empty gut only added to his already overwhelming sense of confusion.

    A rush of cool wind stung Rasp¡¯s face as Father¡¯s wings beat the air in front of him, screeching for his son to get his ass in motion.

    Rasp rolled just as a blurred object struck the ground where he¡¯d been a split second before, tearing open the spongy soil in a splatter of wet muck and moss. Rasp scrambled to his hands and knees, prepared to dart forward when some six sense flashed like a green-blue beacon within his head, warning him to remain still. Another blurred object struck down in front of him, knocking Father from the air.

    He should have been stricken with terror and yet Rasp couldn¡¯t shake the sudden, inexplicable urge to lunge forward and bite whatever was trying to skewer him. You cannot eat the monster! his thoughts screamed, snapping him from his hunger-induced trance. Grab Dad and go!

    Rasp seized the squawking raven and tucked him safely under one arm, hissing to keep quiet. By some miracle Father listened and the pair fell eerily still as the beast moved in the dark around them. Crouched low to the ground, stock-still and with his heartbeat pounding in his ears, Rasp was too focused on passing for a statue to notice the squirming feeling in the back of his head had not only returned, but was growing. The sensation built, and built, and built, until it burst. Warmth lanced down Rasp¡¯s spine and flooded his cold bones. The warmth spread into his flesh, through muscle, sinew, hair, and beyond. Rasp gasped as the alien sensation took hold. His skin felt stretched, as if his tactile senses extended beyond their physical limitations.

    The monster moved around him. He felt its armored body shift overhead, segmented joints creaking and clicking against one another like iron armor. The green warning lights returned, flooding Rasp¡¯s muddled vision. The flashes melded with his newfound sense of touch and, together, formed a mental image that caused his stomach to drop.

    His magical signature burned yellow, huddled so tiny and small beneath a giant, shifting green beast. Even in his mind¡¯s eye, the beast was barely a blurred shape. Taking a deep breath, Rasp closed his eyes and focused on what he could feel. His magic bloomed across its body, spreading along its smooth, armored hide. The nameless one was long, nearly six meters in length, with a shell-like segmented body and more barbed legs than he could count. His magic reached the bulbous head, inspecting a pair of mandibles large enough to cut a giant in half, when a sudden flash of green warned him that it was time to move.

    ¡°Fly!¡± Rasp tossed Father into the air and then threw his own body to the side, managing to avoid the barbed leg that struck at him, only to be caught by another. Pain seared through Rasp¡¯s left flank as the curved barbs dug into his flesh. His six sense dissipated, leaving him blind once more, as pain and panic set in. Rasp trashed, tearing away from the monster¡¯s spiny leg. He got only a few steps away before a second appendage pinned him.

    He struggled, screaming, as more legs curled around him. They drew tighter, steadily crushing the life from his struggling body. No matter how he flailed and thrashed, Rasp couldn¡¯t get free. His skin was sticky with blood as each attempt drove the barbed spines deeper. Magic pooled in his hands. Panicked and losing blood, his mind was suddenly void of all spells, as though the last five months of training was being sapped out of him through a straw.

    A coolness spread from his chest, soothing the burn as it slithered and slunk up his outstretched arms and into his hands. Dark magic leapt forth from his open palms and dispersed into the air. Rasp flinched at the horrific screech that followed. The monster pinning him to the ground shifted, its legs trembling as it struggled to fight off its invisible attacker. The pull of magic changed. The ice in Rasp¡¯s veins crackled and popped as the darkness fed, draining the magic of the would-be hunter into itself and, by extension, its horrified human vessel. Rasp¡¯s frozen limbs ached as unfamiliar magic pooled within his bones.

    ¡°No magic, baby brother!¡± June¡¯s voice cut through the deafening clamor a split second before her lithe shape sprang from the surrounding shadows. ¡°Cut it off!¡±

    Rasp severed his magic just as a spray of hot, acidic blood splattered over his face. He sputtered, coughing up mouthfuls of sour bile as one of the humongous legs pinning him down gave way. Rasp saw a flash of steel amidst the glowing, green gloom before more blood rained over him. The beast squealed in agony as its gigantean body shifted, legs clicking and creaking as they pulled away to escape the wrath of June¡¯s blade. She drove it back, shouting every Stoneclaw obscenity known to man.

    ¡°Come on, up, up, up!¡± Faris was suddenly alongside him, grabbing Rasp under the arm and yanking him to his feet. Rasp took a single, shaky step and nearly fell on his face. The soft ground below him was slick with pools of warm blood.

    ¡°You two better move it!¡± June warned. ¡°I can¡¯t hold this thing by myself much longer.¡±

    Rasp latched onto Faris¡¯s arm for dear life as the faun hauled him across the upturned arena. Faris refused to slow his breakneck pace to accommodate Rasp¡¯s numb legs. Rasp was dragged along by the arm instead, tripping and stumbling on what felt like every rock and exposed root system along the way, impeding their swift escape.

    ¡°Come on, Rasp,¡± Faris pleaded, trying to lift him higher. ¡°You¡¯ve got to run.¡±

    To his credit, Rasp tried. But his legs were the equivalent of soggy noodles and could barely manage a crawl, much less a run. Loud hoof steps thundered against the upturned ground as another member of the team darted out from hiding to assist them. Hop hooked his arm under Rasp¡¯s shoulder and lifted. So far, in fact, Rasp¡¯s feet dangled above the dirt, his body suspended between the two fauns who surged forward at a speed more likely to assure their survival.

    It was only once they were behind the safety of cover that Rasp was set down onto his own wobbly feet again. He might have collapsed had it not been for Faris, who seized him around the middle in what might have been a well-intended hug. That or he was trying to kill Rasp in the most slow, yet still painful, way possible.

    ¡°I thought you were dead,¡± Faris said.

    ¡°Love me less.¡± Rasp¡¯s voice came out sounding more like a croak than its usual overly loud self. As much as he appreciated the opportunity to keep living, he couldn¡¯t help but feel guilty about leaving his sister, as mad as she was, on the battlefield all by her lonesome. He desperately tapped Faris¡¯s shoulder, begging to be let go.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Faris seemed reluctant to release him, but did so anyway. He remained uncomfortably close, as if concerned he had to be within arm¡¯s reach in the unlikely event Rasp wanted to have a second go at death. ¡°You can¡¯t go back out there.¡±

    It was as if Faris had read his damn mind. ¡°June¡¯s out there battling it by herself.¡±

    ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, she appears to be enjoying herself,¡± Hop contributed. ¡°Your sword piles came in handy. As soon as she loses one, she simply picks up another.¡±

    ¡°Rasp, seriously, you can¡¯t go back out there,¡± Faris said again, as though he feared his best friend hadn¡¯t heard the first time. ¡°We were wrong to try to use magic against it. The nameless one uses a witch¡¯s magic as a connection, a way to put them into a trance as it feeds. How you managed to fight its enchantment off on your own is beyond me.¡±

    ¡°Because he didn¡¯t do it on his own,¡± Hop said. His voice was marked with worry. It was impossible to know whether it was directed at the monster or Rasp. ¡°He¡¯s carrying a parasitic entity that also feeds on magic. The hunter unwittingly became the hunted the moment it tried to leech his power.¡±

    Score one for being magically cursed. Unfortunately, whatever magic the dark entity had managed to siphon from the beast wasn¡¯t enough. The dark power writhing beneath Rasp¡¯s veins was ravenous for more. Rasp raised his hand and wiped the saliva from his panting mouth, hoping the others wouldn¡¯t point out the fact that he was literally drooling with hunger. ¡°So we¡¯re just going to stand here talking instead? What do we do? Better yet, where¡¯s Whisper?¡±

    ¡°Better be on their mucking way,¡± Faris said.

    Hop added, dejectedly, ¡°I¡¯m not sure how useful Whisper¡¯s going to be if they can¡¯t use their magic.¡±

    In other words, they were fucked. Great. Rasp searched the area around him for something to collapse against. His fingers brushed against pitted stone and, after confirming the object was sturdy enough to bear his weight, leaned against it. Unsummoned, the squiggly sensational returned. It moved down his neck, across his arms, and spread into the carved rock. Rasp tilted his head, squinting upwards as his spreading magic painted a mental picture of a towering stone column.

    He didn¡¯t want to move, but felt compelled to simply for curiosity¡¯s sake. Using his hands to guide him, Rasp navigated to the edge of the column and peeked out around it. From there it wasn¡¯t difficult to locate the monster. Rasp¡¯s magic followed the vibrations in the ground to the source of the commotion. He felt familiar, barbed legs and moved upwards, across the beast¡¯s smooth hide.

    Once more, his sixth sense filled in the gaps, displaying a ghostly imprint of an image that he knew he was not actually seeing. No matter how many times he blinked, however, the image was still there each time he opened his eyes. ¡°Faris,¡± he said, feeling ¡ª for a lack of better word ¡ª squiggly both inside and out. ¡°There¡¯s something wrong with my eyes.¡±

    ¡°No shit,¡± Faris muttered. ¡°Look, I know you just came to, but I need you to listen. You have to stay here. Magic is useless against this thing. It¡¯s not a drake, like we thought. It¡¯s a¡ª¡±

    Rasp squinted, realizing he could make out a faint giant, yet familiar, shape. ¡°Looks like a centipede.¡±

    ¡°Scolopendra,¡± Faris corrected without thinking. ¡°Same idea, basically. Except it¡¯s much, much bigger and¡­¡± His voice trailed for a moment as his thoughts caught up to his mouth. ¡°How do you know what it looks like?¡±

    Rasp made a vague flailing motion with his fingertips. ¡°I¡¯m not seeing it with my eyes. I feel it with my magic, like feel-it-feel-it. Every movement of its body feels it¡¯s a part of my own. It¡¯s like aura vision, but clearer. I could count the legs on the legs on the centipede if I wanted to.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re seeing without seeing?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Dingle. My senses and my magic have blended together here.¡± Rasp placed a finger against his temple. ¡°It¡¯s all mishy-mashy. Working together to create an image in my brain.¡±

    Unfortunately, this statement made about as much sense out loud as it had in his head. Gods, whatever trance the beast had put him in had certainly done a number on him.

    To his credit, Faris actually stopped and seemed to be considering the insanity spewing from Rasp¡¯s mouth. He asked, ¡°Can you see me?¡±

    Rasp turned and willed his magic in Faris¡¯s direction. ¡°Huh. I¡¯m not getting anything from you. But it worked with the column.¡±

    ¡°The column is covered in bioluminescent algae,¡± Hop noted, speaking in that slow tone of voice that implied he was already forming a hypothesis. ¡°Just like the scolopendra.¡±

    Rasp nodded along despite having no idea what either of his friends were getting at. He could hear the ruckus June was making and the old Stoneclaw urge to take up arms and join the fray was growing impossible to ignore.

    ¡°Can you see the ground?¡± Faris asked. ¡°Walls? Literally anything else?¡±

    Rasp narrowed his eyes as his gaze swept across the strange green, glowing alien-scape around him. ¡°Vaguely, I think.¡±

    ¡°The algae!¡± For whatever reason, Hop felt it was necessary to shout his findings.

    ¡°Not so loud,¡± Faris hissed.

    ¡°You hit the monster with a glow spell right before you went under,¡± Hop continued as the former trepidation bled from his voice. For the first in weeks, he sounded damn near hopeful. ¡°I think you¡¯re still connected to the algae. Whatever the algae touches, you touch too. It must have combined with your aura vision. Your senses are working together, just like we practiced.¡±

    Damn. And here Rasp thought Hop was going to come up with something logical. The poor artificer had finally, truly lost his remaining marbles. ¡°Sorry, Hop. I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a thing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s going to have to be a thing.¡± Faris pressed a blade into Rasp¡¯s hand. ¡°The only way to take this thing out is piece by piece. June and I have been hacking legs off left and right. It¡¯ll bleed out a lot faster if there are four of us working it from all sides.¡±

    ¡°Four?¡± The hope in Hop¡¯s voice immediately vanished. ¡°I can¡¯t wield a blade. I¡¯ve only ever seen combat from the sidelines.¡±

    ¡°Just pretend the sword¡¯s a scalpel,¡± Rasp offered helpfully. ¡°And the monster¡¯s legs are teeth and you¡¯re just there to remove them, one by one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not how dentistry works, Rasp.¡±

    ¡°You could always be the bait,¡± Faris said. ¡°It¡¯s probably not too keen to snack on Rasp now that it knows he bites back. You¡¯ve got magic, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Hop would make an irresistible little snack,¡± Rasp agreed.

    He may not have been able to see Faris nodding, but Rasp was one hundred percent certain the faun was doing so, even if he wasn¡¯t aware of it himself. ¡°Very.¡±

    Hop begrudgingly accepted the offer to lop off legs with a weak whimper. ¡°Is this really our plan, Faris? Hack it to death?¡±

    ¡°It feeds on magic. There¡¯s not much else we can do.¡±

    ¡°We could run,¡± Hop pointed out.

    Faris proceeded to tell Hop all the many reasons why running wouldn¡¯t work. Rasp left him to it. There were other, better things he should have been doing anyway. A burning warmth pulsed from within his chest, banishing the lingering chill as the rush of battle flooded his veins. He was going to get to fight something? Without magic? It was everything he¡¯d ever wanted, except the part where he died a horrific death at the end.

    Rasp switched the blade to his dominant hand and reached for Faris, offering a final goodbye. ¡°In case I don¡¯t live to tell you, I¡¯m glad to have you as my friend and not my son.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°You were a terrible son!¡± Rasp charged out across the arena with his alien senses pulsing within his head. He couldn¡¯t see the ground, but each pulse and tremble beneath his feet painted a mental landscape that he dared not question. The centipede pulsed like a red hot beacon at its center.

 226 - The Fret-Creator

    Time passed like the slow drip of cold molasses in the dead of winter. Oralia spent the first two days in a torturous state, too exhausted to keep her eyes open while simultaneously too anxious to sleep. It resulted in a lot of unnecessary tossing and turning as her consciousness slipped into traumatic, dream-like hallucinations. She was running, always running. Sometimes through walls of fire, or dark, endless tunnels as smoke and ash steadily filled the air. Fear would jolt her awake again and the torturous cycle would start anew.

    The nightmares weren¡¯t the only thing keeping a restful sleep at bay. The parasitic voice within Oralia¡¯s head tormented her with its ceaseless pleas of hunger. Militarized witches from the Division of Divination stalked the forest and the dark entity had taken notice. It pervaded Oralia¡¯s thoughts, its poison writhing beneath her skin, promising all manner of rewards if she would just get close enough for a taste.

    Eventually, driven to the brink of madness, Oralia unfastened the chain from her neck and stashed the amulet in Briony¡¯s pack. With their connection severed, the entity¡¯s fervent whisperings vanished from her thoughts. Alas, even without a voice, the dark entity made its presence known. The dark veins burrowed within Oralia¡¯s flesh wriggled and writhed whenever a division witch passed by. It always seemed to happen just as she was drifting asleep. Oralia was beginning to suspect it was intentional, as though it was the dark entity¡¯s way of sending a message:

    You will not rest until my demands are met.

    Unfortunately for the entity, when it came to stubborn tenacity, Oralia could not be beat. The entity would have to let her sleep eventually. Its survival depended on her own. Until then, she would simply have to find something else to occupy her time. Oralia sat hunched in the dark instead, peering out of the tangled root system that partially obstructed the cave entrance, watching the surrounding wilderness for movement.

    Unable to rely on her normal supply of safehouses, Briony had found a small cave for them to hunker down in and wait out the ongoing manhunt. The surrounding forest was rife with activity at first. Hunting parties scoured the area, coming and going at all hours. As the days slowly crawled past, Oralia saw less and less of them. These were soldiers, after all, not professional trackers. Whatever meager trail she and Briony left had been trampled over so many times by now, she doubted even the best bloodhound in the territory could have picked it up again.

    Which was why on the fourth day Oralia nearly leapt out her skin when a ratty figure darted out from underneath a tangle of undergrowth, scuttled across the mossy ground on all fours, and ducked inside the hidden mouth of the cave.

    Oralia seized the intruder and slammed him to the ground, hand already curled around his throat to prevent the inevitable scream.

    The man threw up his hands, hissing, ¡°It¡¯s me, idiot!¡±

    ¡°Mul?¡± Oralia slid her dagger back into its sheath. Torn between relief and outrage, she considered leaving her hand on his throat as a reminder not to spring up on her like that ever again. Ultimately, she decided against strangling him. Doing so would only convince the Stoneclaw to keep doing it.

    Mul eased upright, broad chest heaving, wide-eyed and unable to utter anything more than a hoarse croak. His coarse hair had escaped its usual braid. The sections that weren¡¯t plastered to his head with dirt and tree sap stuck in the air at odd angles, reminding Oralia of a large, awkward baby bird. He was coated from head to toe in a crust of dried mud and pine needles ¡ª a tactic she¡¯d seen the Stoneclaw brothers use before to disguise their scent. Despite Mul¡¯s best efforts, the air around him was thick with the sour stench of sweat and fear.

    Something about his demeanor made her skin crawl. It took a second look-over before Oralia realized what unspoken change her instincts were picking up. In all their months together, she had never seen Mul Stoneclaw show an ounce of fear. And now, huddled on the ground beside her, shaking like a leaf, the man couldn¡¯t fake his bravado any longer. He was downright terrified.

    Oralia reached for her waterskin and pressed it into his trembling hand instead. ¡°Take a drink and catch your breath.¡±

    She winced when Mul threw his head back and drained the waterskin in a single gulp. Having rationed it for the past four days, their water supply had already been running on empty. The skin would need to be refilled again, soon, but that was a worry for later. Presently, all Oralia wanted was answers. Resisting the urge to shake the burly man by the shoulders in a desperate bid for information, she bit back her questions and waited for Mul to recover his ability to talk.

    Briony was less patient. She scuttled closer on her hands and knees until she and Mul were nearly pressed nose to nose. ¡°How¡¯d you find us?¡± She hissed, her amber eyes searching the man¡¯s dirtied face for clues. ¡°I made damn sure we didn¡¯t leave a trail. What about you, huh? How well did you make sure you weren¡¯t followed?¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    Insult furrowed across Mul¡¯s wrinkled brow. His lower jaw quivered open, practically choking on the single word that escaped his parched lips. ¡°Followed?¡±

    ¡°You could have led them right to us!¡±

    The few patches of bare skin on Mul¡¯s forehead burned beet red. ¡°Fuck you.¡±

    Oralia awarded Briony his fiercest ¡®back off¡¯ glare. Its reception was not entirely successful as Briony appeared unintimidated, but the faun did grudgingly give the man space to breathe. Once certain she would not be required to break up a fist fight, Oralia returned her attention back to Mul. There were more pressing questions on her mind, but she started with the customary ones nonetheless. ¡°Are you injured?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he rasped.

    His statement was false. Oralia could see a multitude of crusted scabs and green and purple bruises running down his neck. Amidst the overpowering odors of mud and body odor, she detected the faint whiff of dried blood as well. It was pride, probably, that kept Mul from disclosing whatever injuries he¡¯d sustained during his escape.

    At the moment, Oralia wasn¡¯t going to fight him on it. Not with so many other questions still unanswered. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Briony interjected with a huff. ¡°We know what happened.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s second glare was more successful than the first, convincing the impatient faun to settle back down and stop interjecting. Oralia found herself wishing she could recall the saying Rali had about assumptions and how they correlated with rear ends, but the words weren¡¯t aligning correctly in her head. She stuck with what she knew ¡ª blunt and to the point. ¡°We were not there, Briony. We do not know what happened. He was. I value facts over assumptions.¡±

    The smirk on Mul¡¯s face vanished the moment Oralia¡¯s stare swept back over him. He sat a little taller, struggling to piece the night in question together into a coherent string of events. ¡°We were attacked. I don¡¯t know who was supposed to be on watch, but the enemy must have gotten to ¡®em first, because nobody sounded the alarm. I awoke to screams and the smell of the roof on fire. I ran into Sascha trying to fumble my way out and he made us a nifty hole in the wall. Practically brought down half the house in the process.¡±

    Mul took another gasping breath. ¡°It wasn¡¯t just soldiers waiting for us on the outside, they had witches too. Our only saving grace was the powder charge I¡¯d swiped from Rali. It was squirreled away in my pack under the bunk. The fire must have set it off because the damn thing blew the roof to smithereens seconds after Sascha and I stumbled out into the yard. The blast scattered the awaiting soldiers, allowing us to slip past into the trees.¡±

    ¡°Did anyone else get away?¡± Oralia asked.

    Mul¡¯s slack jaw clenched as the ruddiness faded from his dirt covered cheeks. He shook his head no.

    She knew it had been a long shot ¡ª that perhaps more than one member of her team had evaded capture. But it was such hope that had kept her functioning the last few days in waiting. The reality of the situation, the one kept at bay by wishful thinking alone, came crashing down all in an instance. Oralia¡¯s tongue felt numb, unable to form the words with which to speak.

    ¡°Sascha?¡± was the only sound she managed to get out.

    ¡°Taken.¡± Mul still stared dejectedly at the ground, unable to meet her gaze. ¡°We it a ways together, but the soldiers were too fast. Sascha held them off so I could get away.¡±

    No, no, no. Oralia felt her last sliver of hope wither and die. Why would he do that? Why would he throw his life away so recklessly? He was supposed to be the cautious one, dammit!

    ¡°Sascha, uh, gave me a message for you.¡± Mul raised his head and locked eyes with Oralia as words that were certainly not his own rumbled from his mouth. ¡°No lone martyr shit. He said to stay low and wait for help.¡±

    Oralia sank back on her knees. It was a sensible message. Sascha knew her well enough to anticipate that her first instinct would be to try to free him. Still, she could have done with a little ¡®I love you. You can do this. I know it goes against everything you believe in, but you have to trust me. I will be okay without you¡¯.

    She spoke to Mul without looking at him, her gaze boring into the side of the cave wall. ¡°And if help doesn¡¯t come?¡±

    Mul bristled at the absurdity of the question. ¡°Your beau and I really didn¡¯t have time to go back and forth with the hypothetical scenarios, you know. What, with the running for my life with a pack of wild witches hot on my heels and all.¡±

    How utterly cruel, Oralia thought as she deflated into a puddle of limp defeat. It was she who was supposed to cause the worry. She was the one who rollicked about with reckless abandon, tempting death at every turn. Sascha was the fretter and she was, by default, the fret-creator. It was a dynamic that, while not perfect, worked for them. Except when it didn¡¯t, which was now ¡ª as for some terrible reason, their roles had reversed.

    Being on the wrong side of worry felt like drowning from the inside out. Concern clogged Oralia¡¯s airways, dragging her down, down, down into the deepest pit of despair. Her instinct was to fight their oppressors tooth and nail, but she couldn¡¯t. Sascha¡¯s message had been clear. She felt paralyzed by his words, torn between what she wanted to do and what she was supposed to do.

    Stay low. Wait for help.

 227 - Bees

    With Oralia having gone comatose with worry, Briony took over the questioning. The little faun¡¯s gruff demeanor immediately transformed the conversation from a debriefing between allies to something more akin to an interrogation. Briony crossed her arms and scowled as she looked Mul up and down with suspicion. ¡°So you, and you alone, managed to get out by the skin of your teeth, is that it?¡±

    ¡°What? You find that hard to believe?¡± Mul returned her scowl with interest. ¡°I am a capable Stoneclaw warrior.¡±

    ¡°Maybe. Maybe not.¡± Briony shrugged. ¡°What I really want to know is how in the seven realms you managed to find us. We¡¯ve been hunkered down in this same spot for four days. Four days, and not once has any of the passing soldiers taken notice. And then you come along and find us on your first go. It¡¯s like you already knew where we were hiding.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a hunter,¡± Mul replied. ¡°I track things for a living. It really wasn¡¯t that difficult.¡±

    ¡°In a forest teeming with soldiers?¡± Briony challenged. ¡°Without even knowing where to start? I covered our tracks as we went. No one should have been able to find us.¡±

    ¡°Well the soldiers don¡¯t have a raven watching their backs, do they?¡±

    ¡°So it wasn¡¯t you, it was your weird bird family then?¡± Briony¡¯s stare lost some of its severity. ¡°I find that more believable, actually.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Mul snapped. ¡°Glad I was able to put your suspicions to bed.¡±

    Unfortunately for him, Briony was far from putting anything to bed, particularly her ongoing interrogation. ¡°On the other hand, I can¡¯t help but notice that you look like you¡¯ve been through the seventh realm of chaos and back.¡±

    ¡°You think? I just spent the last four days running for my life.¡± Mul folded his burly arms over his chest with a huff. ¡°And, in case you care at all, no, I don¡¯t want to talk about it. So bugger off and let me be.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re lying. You sold us out, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    If murder was an expression, Mul was certainly wearing it now. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as he whipped his head at her, bearing his teeth in a snarl. ¡°What the fuck are you going on about now, faun?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m saying, what if you didn¡¯t get away?¡± Briony countered. ¡°Maybe they caught you, threatened you with death, said that they¡¯d give you your freedom if you helped find us, huh? That seems just as plausible as you single-handedly escaping all on your own.¡±

    ¡°My gods, you¡¯ve gone batty, haven¡¯t you?¡± Mul glared past Briony at Oralia. ¡°You¡¯re hearing this, right? The hermit¡¯s off her rocker.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not my name!¡±

    Oralia continued to stare at the crumbling cave wall. She had overheard every word of their conversation, yes, but the will to deal with it was gone. Just like her team. And Sascha. And her determination to press on.

    ¡°I¡¯m not batty,¡± Briony said to Mul. ¡°I¡¯m suspicious. What you¡¯re telling me isn¡¯t making any sense. Look at you! Your clothes are practically singed from your body. You obviously had a close encounter with a witch and somehow not only survived, but got away too!¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    Briony pressed her face closer to his. ¡°So that¡¯s suspicious. You¡¯re suspicious.¡±

    Briony broke him, and not in the way she expected, either. Mul¡¯s eyes welled with tears. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. They chased me down and then they-they¡­they infected me.¡± The rest of his story was swallowed in a single, pained wail as Mul buried his face into his arms.

    Briony¡¯s left ear flickered in confusion. ¡°Infected you?¡±

    ¡°I said I don¡¯t want to talk about it!¡±

    ¡°Did they hex you?¡±

    All she got for her efforts was more pitiful wailing.

    Briony swiveled in Oralia¡¯s direction, her face notably paler than it had been before. ¡°A little help, please? There are spells that can be traced by the caster. If they hexed him and then let him go, he could have led them right to us.¡±

    ¡°Magical hexes are your department,¡± Oralia replied, voice laden with numbness. ¡°Not mine.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well you¡¯re the nice one, not me! Do that thing you do, come on.¡±

    Oralia stared at the faun, confused.

    Briony threw her hands into the air to help illustrate her point. ¡°Make him feel, I don¡¯t know, worth something, maybe? Get him to a functioning state so he¡¯ll tell me what I want to know.¡±

    Slowly, feeling as though her bones weighed twice what they should have, Oralia abandoned her spot on the ground and crawled closer. It was strange to think that, between her and Briony, she was considered the more supportive one. She rested her hand on Mul¡¯s left shoulder, feeling every heave and shudder. ¡°In what way did they infect you, Mul?¡±

    Mul lifted his head from his arms. The tears streaming from his eyes had left trails of clean skin peeking through the thick grime caked over his face. His husky voice was so low, Oralia strained to catch it. ¡°I caught their disease.¡±

    Unless the disease was madness, Oralia had her doubts. ¡°How so?¡±

    His thick eyebrows furrowed at the question. ¡°What¡¯s not to get? They infected me. I caught their disease!¡± A glimpse of pain pinched his broad features, as though admitting this out loud was simply too much for one man to bear. Mul¡¯s hairy head sagged back down near his chest. ¡°They made me one of them.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    ¡°I am not following,¡± Oralia said.

    Mul¡¯s muffled words came in the form of a wail. ¡°They made me a witch.¡±

    Oralia pulled her hand away. While what he was claiming was not possible, she could no longer ignore the churning in her gut. The dark veins beneath her skin buzzed ever-so-slightly. She¡¯d chalked it up to mere nerves, before. Perhaps there was more to Mul¡¯s story than she realized.

    Briony shook her head in disbelief. ¡°That doesn¡¯t happen.¡±

    ¡°They did!¡± Mul insisted. ¡°I¡¯m the living proof, aren¡¯t I?¡±

    Oralia cut back in before Briony reduced her efforts back to square one again. ¡°I would not know, Mul. You have yet to tell us what happened.¡±

    ¡°Fine!¡± he snapped. ¡°There were two of them, alright? Real witchy-witches. They followed me after Sascha and I split up. The magic devils got me cornered and were laughing ¡®cause they had fancy spells and shit and I couldn¡¯t get close enough to touch them. They took their time, toying with me over and over again, making me angry. And that¡¯s when it happened. Something inside me broke. My skin started to burn and my stomach got that tingly feeling, like when you fall backwards off something real tall.¡±

    Oralia waited, but Mul¡¯s story required further prompting. ¡°And then?¡±

    ¡°Bees.¡±

    ¡°Come again?¡±

    Mul ran a broad hand over his dirt-caked face as his voice trembled. ¡°There were bees, Oralia. Everywhere. At night! My eardrums are still vibrating with their murderous hum.¡±

    Oralia turned to Briony for clarification. Unfortunately, the faun appeared as confused as she felt.

    ¡°It was a miracle I didn¡¯t get stung,¡± Mul said. ¡°The bees swarmed my attackers instead, chased ¡®em off. Judging from the screams, I don¡¯t think they got very far though.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    Mul glared at Oralia through the gap in his fingers. His red, teary eyes had a glimmer of mania to them. ¡°You don¡¯t believe me.¡±

    ¡°I do, Mul. It was traumatic for you, I can see that. I am simply processing everything that has happened, that is all.¡± Bees? A murderous swarm of killer bees? The truth was in Mul¡¯s expression, however, and Oralia did not doubt his story. She simply wondered how much stranger this misadventure was going to get before it claimed her sanity entirely. For the meantime she could at least pretend to know what she was doing.

    ¡°What happened afterwards?¡± she asked.

    ¡°I went and hid with my tail between my legs like a coward.¡± Mul wiped the dampness from his face with his muddied sleeve, which succeeded only in spreading the grime coating his face. ¡°A raven found me the next morning. They led me to an old bunker and that¡¯s where I stayed until it located you lot.¡±

    Briony raised her horned head. ¡°Bunker?¡±

    Mul snarled at her. ¡°What? You gonna give me shit for that, too? Accuse me of colluding with the enemy some more?¡±

    ¡°What bunker? Where?¡±

    He shrugged. ¡°It was buried underground way out in the trees. Looked like it hadn¡¯t been touched in decades.¡±

    ¡°Can you take us there?¡±

    ¡°Now?¡± Mul demanded.

    ¡°Not now.¡± Oralia cut in before either of them started up another screaming match. ¡°Any move will be made after dark, when we are least likely to run into a patrol. Provided you can find it again, Mul, of course.¡±

    ¡°Of course I can. I¡¯m a tracker, remember?¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Good was the last thing Oralia was feeling but it wouldn¡¯t help to make such an admission. ¡°Rest now, Mul. Briony and I will alert you if anything comes up.¡±

    Mul, temporarily placated by the fact that someone was telling him what to do, peeled his hands away from his face and curled into a ball in the dirt. Oralia waited until his panicked breaths grew slow with sleep, before nudging Briony to join her near the mouth of the cave.

    ¡°You did not question the validity of this so-called bunker,¡± Oralia noted.

    ¡°A secret underground bunker is more believable than bees,¡± Briony replied. She plucked a wet leaf from the dirt floor and rolled it before sticking it between her teeth. It wasn¡¯t very appetizing from the face she made the moment she started to chew, but it gave her something to do nonetheless. ¡°Lonebrook didn¡¯t always rely on tunnels, you know. Before that, they used bunkers. The bunkers worked great in theory, but not so much in actuality. Especially not in the spring, when the ground was prone to flooding. Trant had all the bunkers closed up once they got the tunnel system in working order. Supposedly there¡¯s one or two in the area still standing.¡±

    ¡°Who else knows about this?¡±

    Briony shrugged. ¡°Only Trant and Novera, as far as I know. The bunkers were abandoned ages ago, before I ever got involved. I doubt anyone even remembers they¡¯re still standing.¡±

    Oralia hesitated before asking, ¡°And you trust Trant and Novera Belfast did not sell us out?¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t them.¡±

    Oralia didn¡¯t press the issue. Briony knew the Belfasts better than she did. She could only sit back and hope that if Mul could retrace his steps in the dark, it would not be straight into a trap. If nothing else, sitting on her hands would be slightly easier to do in something other than a damp burrow.

    Briony chewed the rolled leaf as she stared out through the tangle of hanging vines, shaking her horns with a scoff. ¡°I¡¯m still stuck on that other thing he said. Can you believe it? Bees.¡±

    ¡°I do not think Mul is lying.¡±

    ¡°I know he¡¯s not lying. That one¡¯s not creative enough to come up with something like that on his own.¡±

    ¡°Twice now, he has gotten stuck in a seers trap,¡± Oralia said, watching the still forest from between the tangle of overhanging tree roots. ¡°Is it possible for magical abilities to crop up late in life?¡± She didn''t know Mul¡¯s exact age. Mankind had relatively short life spans, and what would have been considered barely out of adolescence for an orc was practically geriatric for a human. Mul was older than Rasp, though. Which meant if his magic was just now appearing, it was most definitely late.

    ¡°Latent magic isn¡¯t unheard of,¡± Briony agreed somewhat reluctantly, as if she was still coming to terms with the idea that someone so undeserving had been gifted with power. ¡°It¡¯s rare in humans, though. They usually start showing signs in childhood, early adolescence at the latest.¡±

    ¡°I imagine, given the environment he grew up in, suppressing it would have been necessary for survival.¡± Rasp had done the same, or tried to anyway. Gifted with unimaginable power, the younger Stoneclaw brother had found it much harder to keep his magic a secret. Denying its existence had only ever brought him more pain.

    ¡°But to not even know?¡± Briony said.

    ¡°Denial is a powerful tool.¡±

    ¡°Kind of like how we¡¯re in denial? That somehow evading capture is going to do a lick of good?¡±

    ¡°It gives hope.¡±

    ¡°To whom?¡± Briony demanded.

    ¡°They at least know someone is on the outside. We could be stringing together an elaborate escape plan for all they know.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t that go against everything your lover warned you not to do?¡±

    ¡°It does,¡± Oralia agreed, unable to disguise the hitch in her voice. ¡°But that is the nature of hope. It does not conform to reality. We could be amassing an army, for all they know. Secretly skirting around the sidelines, dismantling the ruling power one piece at a time.¡±

    Briony stopped chewing to point out, ¡°We¡¯re sitting on our hands doing nothing.¡±

    ¡°Which is what we will continue to do. So as long as we remain at large, hope will have to do the rest.¡±

 228 - Middle Management

    The scent of smoke and ash wafted on the crisp breeze, intermingling with the stench of old blood and decay. Sascha was seated on the damp ground, hands bound, tied to a post next to the smoldering remains of Briony¡¯s cottage. There were two other posts positioned on either side of him. Dewpetal was tied to his left. The other poor fellow fastened to the post on Sascha¡¯s right, a woodsman, whose name he did not know, was slumped forward, not moving. From the corner of his eye, Sascha saw flies crawling out of faun¡¯s slack mouth.

    Another day without water and he and Dewpetal would succumb to a similar fate.

    ¡®Tell us where she is and we¡¯ll give you a drink¡¯ the soldiers had promised over and over again, dangling their water skins in front of his face like a carrot on a stick. Sascha never gave them what they wanted. Eventually, when they finished proving their mettle by kicking a bound orc, they would retreat to the safety of the shelter, forced to wait for Oralia to reveal herself the good old fashioned way.

    At first, Sascha feared she would come tearing through the trees right into the awaiting trap. But she never showed. The days slowly trickled past, her scent went cold, and the hunting parties continued to return to camp empty-handed. Sascha took comfort in that. There was a chance Mul had found Oralia first and delivered Sascha¡¯s message.

    Stay put. Wait for help.

    Oh how Sascha didn¡¯t envy the messenger. His love didn¡¯t like being told what to do, particularly when it involved death and danger. But, by gods, she¡¯d listened. And if it came at the price of his own life, strung out on a post, left to succumb to the elements, at least he¡¯d die knowing he finally got to have the last word on something.

    Sascha tilted his head back and stared at the overcast sky. The last of the red and orange leaves clung stubbornly to their spindly branches, trembling in the wind. There would be rain soon, possibly before nightfall. It would be a blessing at first, the moment he caught the first few drops on his parched tongue. But, ultimately, the weather be he and Dewpetal¡¯s final undoing. The rain would drench their clothes and steal the remaining heat from their bodies. From the way the little goblin already shivered, she would go first. By morning, she and Sascha would join the growing heap of bodies piled near the broken remnants of the stone cottage.

    Loud voices erupted from the string of tents tucked within the tree line on the other side of the skeletal remains of the cottage. The tents belonged to the top officers and were positioned out of Sascha¡¯s line of sight. He could hear them, though. Particularly when they went at each other like a pack of feral cats.

    Angry footsteps thudded against the soft dirt in his direction. ¡°That¡¯s it! I¡¯ve had enough of your commander¡¯s cruelty. I¡¯m cutting them down.¡±

    The voice belonged to Sergeant Lorn Windshot, the highest ranking officer within the military unit occupying Lonebrook. Four days ago, Sergeant Windshot had been considered middle management. An unfortunate tragedy during the raid involving both the former captain and lieutenant, however, had left the unit in Windshot¡¯s unexpected hands. Although they had yet to speak in person, Sascha was familiar with the sergeant¡¯s type. People like Windshot actively sought out middling positions of power. Too high to be given grunt work and too low to be held responsible for the unit¡¯s failings, they sort of floated near the middle, content to collect a paycheck and go utterly unnoticed by anyone of importance.

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s former sense of obscurity was gone, yanked out from under him in the blink of an eye. He found himself in power with no idea how to wield it. The magical squadron sent in from Division of Divination had noticed, and had been using it to their advantage. They were running things now and seemed to have made it their personal mission to trip up the newly promoted head of the military in whatever ways they could. Their tactics so far consisted of questioning the sergeant¡¯s every move.

    ¡°Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?¡± A second set of footsteps followed in the sergeant¡¯s wake. The voice that accompanied the light steps set Sascha¡¯s remaining nerves on edge. The voice was the equivalent of apple cider vinegar personified ¡ª an unholy mix of sweet, foul, and acidic all rolled into one. ¡°Cray said to leave them up.¡±

    ¡°Do you see those clouds overhead? Feel the heaviness in the air?¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s voice replied. He was at the halfway point and demonstrated no signs of lessening his furious stride. ¡°No, of course you don¡¯t. Because you, Aster, are a high-ranking witch sent from the division. This is probably the first time you¡¯ve ever spent any significant time in the wilderness outside of a carriage.¡±

    ¡°Was that your attempt to insult me? I¡¯d tell you to try harder but I know you¡¯re doing your best.¡± Aster¡¯s acidic voice crooned. ¡°Your point, Sergeant, please. Before I succumb to boredom.¡±

    ¡°Your boss can either keep baiting this failed trap of his, hoping to lure Commander Dawnsight in, or he can have living prisoners. But he cannot have both. Another night out here and there will be no one left for him to interrogate.¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s footsteps reached the line of posts and stopped. ¡°Seven realms, this one¡¯s already dead!¡±

    The sergeant called for someone to deal with the body before moving on to finish what he¡¯d started. He crouched down and worked a short blade through the thick rope binding Sascha¡¯s hands around the pole at his back. ¡°Now listen here,¡± Sergeant Windshot said to Sascha in his best authoritative voice. ¡°I am trying to help you. Cooperate, and I will personally see to it that the two of you are taken to the jailhouse. You can spend the night someplace dry with a roof over your head.¡±

    The taut cords cutting into Sascha¡¯s wrists loosened before the rope fell away, freeing him from the post. Sascha slowly gathered his stiff arms to the front, fighting to contain snarls of pain as his stiff joints protested any and all movement. His hands were drained of color and numb. The pins and needles sensation started in his fingertips and steadily moved upwards as blood returned to his lifeless extremities.

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s lanky figure emerged from Sascha¡¯s left. His pale face was gaunt and narrow, seemingly at odds with his squared jaw. Whereas most human officers kept their hair short, cropped damn near to the skull, Windshot¡¯s sandy brown mop was shoulder-length and shaggy ¡ª an attempt, no doubt, to hide the pointed ears that peaked out when he turned his head too quickly.

    The sergeant crouched back down onto his haunches and wagged his knife at Sascha as if he were a mother chiding a disobedient child. ¡°I¡¯m not a bad man. At least I try not to be. I believe in treating people fair, which apparently doesn¡¯t produce results, according to some.¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s worried gaze darted past Sascha, settling on the witch still standing just out of sight, most likely. ¡°So do the smart things and work with me. Try anything stupid and Cray¡¯s pup here will gladly spill your guts lickety-split.¡±Stolen story; please report.

    The witch¡¯s lumpy form materialized from the shadows as she strode into his line of sight. She was bundled in robes so thick, the only part of her exposed to the cold was the skin on her face, half obscured by the heavy hood pulled over her eyes. Aster¡¯s warm breath crystalized into the air when she spoke. ¡°Are you nearly finished, Sergeant? I was under the impression you didn¡¯t subscribe to torture. Gods above, long-winded speeches out in the cold certainly qualify as barbarism in my book.¡±

    He looked like he wanted to stab her, with words, not his knife. And yet, the confidence wasn¡¯t there. Sergeant Windshot merely shook his head, muttering under his breath, as he shuffled over and cut Dewpetal free from the wooden post.

    The little goblin slumped forward with a gurgled whimper. She laid there, lifeless, as if she¡¯d learned long ago that realm soldiers treated dead goblins kinder than their living counterparts. It would have been a commendable performance if it were not for the involuntary tremble that racked her crumpled body.

    ¡°Alright, up. The both of you,¡± the sergeant ordered.

    ¡°Gods, Lorn,¡± Aster scoffed, her voice bitter and laced with derision. ¡°You¡¯re not going to shackle them first?¡±

    ¡°Why? You or one of yours would incinerate them the moment they tried anything anyway.¡±

    Aster held a gloved hand to her forehead with a groan. ¡°This is why you never made captain, you understand that, right? It doesn¡¯t matter if the ropes are pointless or not, it¡¯s about projecting an image. If not for the prisoners or the villagers, then your own men. It¡¯s about giving the impression that you¡¯re in charge.¡±

    ¡°Well I¡¯m not, am I? Not really. You and your boss, Mister Cray, made that perfectly clear, thank you.¡±

    Sascha left them to argue as he slowly staggered to his feet. It was a difficult process, involving lots of false starts, but by some miracle he managed it in the end. His rigid legs were already threatening to collapse out from under him, but Sascha persisted, knowing the circulation would do them some good. It would have to, because he didn¡¯t have a choice. He either made it to the jailhouse on his own two feet or he¡¯d join the growing pile of bodies off to the side, destined for a mass unmarked grave.

    He couldn¡¯t do that to Oralia. Gods forbid, she¡¯d held up her end of the bargain and was staying clear of the danger. The least he could do was remain alive a little bit longer.

    Sergeant Windshot stared up at him with wide eyes, as if only now realizing the full extent of Sascha¡¯s size. To be fair, it was a look Sascha had grown accustomed to. The fact that it was being worn by his captor made it slightly more concerning than usual, however. Sascha stooped his shoulders to appear slightly less intimidating. The effect was wasted on Sergeant Windshot, who appeared to be regretting his decision regarding the lack of shackles already.

    Aster noticed as well. A cruel, tight-lipped smile pulled across her dark complexion. The hood shifted and, for a briefest of moments, Sascha saw two pale, green eyes glistening from beneath the shadow of her cowl. ¡°I take back what I said, Sergeant. Escorting this one unchained will certainly prove your rank in the eyes of the men. Come, let¡¯s go.¡± She whipped around, her long robes billowing dramatically in her wake. ¡°I¡¯ll accompany you.¡±

    ¡°Dewpetal?¡± The name scraped in Sascha¡¯s throat like stone against dry sand.

    The tiny goblin was slumped across the damp ground, unresponsive. Instinctively, Sascha started to reach for her when Sergeant Windshot leapt to the side, ensuring he was safely out of range. Sascha froze. Alas, any movement, no matter how small, was bound to come across as intimidating when you loomed eight feet in the air. Didn¡¯t help that his captor appeared to be nervous by nature to start with.

    ¡°I¡¯m just going to help her up,¡± Sascha explained, breath bated, eyes locked on the sergeant¡¯s right hand and consequently the sword it was hovering over. Perhaps a bit of placation would help ease the sergeant¡¯s high strung nerves. ¡°If that¡¯s alright with you, sir.¡±

    Assured that he was most definitely the one in charge, Sergeant Windshot gave an affirmative nod. His hand remained resting on the hilt of his sword. ¡°Have at it. And today, if you don¡¯t mind. It¡¯s already starting to sprinkle.¡±

    Sascha bent down and tapped Dewpetal¡¯s shoulder. She turned her head and gazed back up at him through weary, half-lidded eyes. Sascha lifted his hands, urging her to get up. The little goblin tried. She got only a few inches off the ground before her strength gave out and she dropped back down in a trembling heap.

    ¡°Corporal,¡± Sergeant Windshot called to one of the officers dragging the dead faun to the body pile. ¡°You¡¯ll have come back for this one, too, when you¡¯re finished.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s not that far gone, sir,¡± Sascha said. ¡°Just cold. I¡¯ll get her.¡±

    The hot flush of panic set in, breathing life back into Sascha¡¯s stiff joints. He knelt on one knee and locked eyes with Dewpetal, trying to convey the urgency of the situation through expression alone. She needed to get up, now, or she¡¯d be on her way to the body pit. Had this been any other member of the team, Sascha would have simply thrown them over his shoulder and called it day. But Dewpetal was a goblin, and goblins detested being reminded of their size. Lifting her from the ground ran the risk of sparking her temper. An angry goblin was no different than a dog gone rabid, as far as most citizens of the realm were concerned. The soldiers would not hesitate to put her out of her misery the moment she bared her teeth.

    Sascha tapped both hands to his chest and then folded his arms, as if cradling an infant. Dewpetal lifted her head and looked around, assessing the situation. Her half-lidded eyes swept from Sergeant Windshot, past the cluster of soldiers hovering nearby, and settled on the pile of bodies heaped near the smoldering ruins of Briony¡¯s cottage. Realization struck like a bolt of lightning and Dewpetal made up her mind rather quickly. Gathering the last of her strength, she leapt into Sascha¡¯s awaiting arms and tucked herself into a ball, as if making herself as small as possible would somehow be easier to carry.

    She felt like ice in his arms. Sascha heaved up onto his feet and turned back to Sergeant Windshot, only to find the man openly staring, his expression torn between confusion and repulsion. ¡°Is it like a pet then?¡± the sergeant asked. ¡°Is that why it doesn¡¯t speak?¡±

    Thank the gods Dewpetal didn¡¯t understand enough Utotrian to know what the man said. Sascha would have had to rip her off of the sergeant¡¯s face, whatever was left of it in the handful of seconds it would take to wrench her claws free, of course. ¡°No, not a pet. She¡¯s uh¡­¡± Sascha wracked his brain for a way to explain the language barrier without revealing Dewpetal¡¯s secret. Being a goblin was bad enough, but being a goblin from the swamplands was the social equivalent of having a death warrant stamped on your head. The upper western realm territories had been in conflict with the swampies for ages and nobody, particularly not soldiers, took to a trespassing swamplander kindly.

    ¡°She¡¯s still a baby,¡± Sascha said.

    ¡°A baby?¡± Sergeant Windshot repeated, unconvinced.

    ¡°Maybe a smidge older. She¡¯s a late bloomer. Hasn¡¯t learned to talk yet.¡± As if to prove his point, Sascha started to bounce Dewpetal in his arms, feverishly hoping it wouldn¡¯t earn him a faceful of needle-sharp teeth.

    ¡°That goblin slew four soldiers and cleaved the arm clear off one of Cray¡¯s witches,¡± Sergeant Windshot said.

    ¡°Her? No.¡± Sascha feigned disbelief. ¡°Look at the size of her, sir. She¡¯s barely big enough to wield a cheese knife.¡±

    ¡°Today, Sergeant!¡± Aster¡¯s harsh voice rang out from further up ahead. She¡¯d been forced to stop on the account of no one following her and seemed quite bothered by it. Her bundled frame shivered in the cold beneath the sagging trees.

    A faint smirk pulled at the corner of the sergeant¡¯s downturned mouth, as though he took some small delight in her suffering. His sword hand fell harmlessly to his side as he signaled for three of the surrounding soldiers to join the procession. ¡°Alright then, let¡¯s go. Can¡¯t have Mister Cray¡¯s favorite pup out shivering in the cold, can we?¡±

 229 - Tarathiel Cray

    Sascha had visited Lonebrook once before, not too long ago, near the start of summer. Back then the village¡¯s winding dirt streets had been alive and bustling with activity. He remembered the hordes of curious children in particular, and how they used to hide around each corner, popping their heads out every now and then to get a proper look at him. The adults weren¡¯t any better. Slightly less conspicuous in their approach, perhaps, but just as curious. Sascha was used to being gawked at. He didn¡¯t mind, so long as the onlookers stuck to snooping and left their torches and pitchforks at home.

    His heart dropped ever-lower as Sergeant Windshot led the procession from the surrounding woods into the village. Lonebrook was a sad shadow of its former glory. The bustling streets were empty and the gangs of unruly children eerily absent. The windows were closed, curtains drawn, and in some cases, boarded up entirely. The people out and about appeared to be soldiers and, unlike Lonebrook¡¯s inhabitants, they openly stared with derision, not curiosity, painted on their miserable faces.

    The light sprinkle turned to rain, rendering the winding streets to mud. Sergeant Windshot maintained his unhurried pace. Sascha appreciated the lack of urgency given the sorry state of his stiff legs but he could tell from the sergeant¡¯s smirking face that the set pace had not been for his benefit. Their division witch escort, Aster, acted like a pampered housecat caught out in a downpour. She huffed and hissed, hurling vitriol-laced jabs at Sergeant Windshot at every opportunity, egging him on to react. Windshot was quite content to sit back and let the weather fight his battle for him.

    The procession crossed into the village square on their way to the jailhouse. The stench of putrid flesh permeated the wet air, spoiling the comforting smells of rain and mud. Sascha pulled Dewpetal¡¯s shivering body closer as they passed beneath the gallows. Two villagers hung limp on the platform above, their lifeless bodies rotating slowly in the breeze. They¡¯d been up there a while, given the stage of decomposition.

    Sergeant Windshot winced when he saw them. Shaking his head, the officer muttered something unintelligible under his breath and quickened his pace.

    They reached the jailhouse shortly after. It was a small, stone-crafted building that looked as though it hadn¡¯t seen much use until recently. The front served as a reception area, fitted with a solid wood desk and an assortment of chairs, all of which were currently huddled around the lit hearth in the corner. The two soldiers manning the room stood to attention at their unexpected arrival. They, like the other soldiers they¡¯d passed along the way, did nothing to disguise their blatant disgust.

    Originally, Sascha had assumed that their disgust was for Dewpetal and him. He was taken aback to realize he was wrong. The soldiers weren¡¯t glaring at him, they were glaring at Aster. She noticed as well and simply smiled, silently daring them to say whatever it was they were obviously holding back.

    ¡°Sit down,¡± Sergeant Windshot ordered, wearily. ¡°It¡¯s not worth it.¡±

    Aster¡¯s wolfish smile turned into a pout. ¡°Must you always be such a wet blanket?¡±

    Sergeant Windshot fetched the keys from the wall, retorting, ¡°Don¡¯t you have a master to be reporting to? I¡¯m sure you¡¯re just dying to tell him how I cut his prisoners down.¡±

    Aster held her gloved hands out at her sides as she twirled around, employing a strange gait that looked to be several bounces shy of a skip. Her voice, too, had an unusual singsong quality to it. ¡°It won¡¯t be me doing the dying when he finds out, Sergeant.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot gave another sorry shake of his shaggy head before kicking open the door behind the reception desk and leading the prisoners into the adjoining passage. The short hallway branched up ahead. The funk of old cooking oil and burnt tea leaves bled in from the left ¡ª from the kitchen area, likely. Sascha and Dewpetal were escorted down the right, through another heavily barred door and into the awaiting cell block.

    For such a small village, Sascha was surprised Lonebrook¡¯s founders had bothered with a jailhouse at all. What¡¯s worse, they¡¯d taken the steps necessary to craft a structurally sound one. With more than one cell! Granted, there were still only two, but that was twice as many as he expected. Both cells shared a thick, stone wall at their back, with rows of unbendable iron at their front. The spacing of each bar had been taken into consideration as well. Not even Dewpetal, equipped with the flexible spine of a cat, could hope to squeeze her way through.

    Damn Lonebrook and its industrious inhabitants, Sascha cursed. Their adherence to such high standards of quality and craftsmanship would be his undoing. His hopes of breaking down through sheer force alone withered before his eyes. Even armed with a sledgehammer, he doubted he¡¯d be able to knock a sizeable enough hole to fit through before someone raised the alarm.

    Sergeant Windshot drew open the barred door and signaled for both prisoners to make themselves at home. Sascha winced when the door slammed shut behind him. This was the second time he¡¯d found himself on the wrong side of a cell and he didn¡¯t like it any better than the first. At least there wasn¡¯t an unstable mountain threatening to crumble on top of him this time, he supposed.

    Sergeant Windshot gave the pair a halfhearted speech about minding their manners before he filed out, taking his soldiers with him.

    Dewpetal waited until the entryway door was slammed shut and bolted before sliding from Sascha¡¯s arms and onto the floor. She didn¡¯t get much further. Exhausted, the little goblin spread out over the cold stone like a puddle.

    The cell was tiny and the cot bolted against the back wall was comically undersized. It did have a blanket tucked neatly over the straw mattress, however. And, seeing as this was Lonebrook and its inhabitants gave an inordinate amount of shits to each detail, it meant the blanket would be of decent quality. None of that thin, moth hole-riddled garbage the army passed off as bedding. Sascha lumbered over to the cot and snatched the covering from the mattress.

    Blanket in hand, Sascha turned back around and froze. In his haste to retrieve the blanket, he¡¯d missed the dead rat curled on the ground. Its mangled corpse rested directly between him and Dewpetal. Dewpetal was staring at it as well, except instead of revulsion, Sascha saw hunger in her eyes.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°No,¡± he warned. ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it. It¡¯s spoiled. You can smell the rot, can¡¯t you?¡±

    Dewpetal was beyond thinking about it. She rose up onto all fours, prepared to pounce, and slunk closer.

    Neither of them had eaten in four days. And whereas Sascha had ample reserves, Dewpetal was mostly skin and bone. He couldn¡¯t fault her for being desperate for a meal, but this wasn¡¯t food, it was suicide. ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can beg some bread off one of the guards.¡± Sascha edged a cautious step forward as he stretched the blanket between his hands, trying to reason with her. ¡°Just don¡¯t do anything rash before then, please?¡±

    Dewpetal lunged forward, but Sascha was a hair quicker. He threw the blanket over the top of her and kicked the decomposing rodent off to the side. It slid a ways before coming to a stop alongside the front of the cell, still regretfully inside the bars.

    Dewpetal rose up onto her back legs and ripped the blanket away, hurling it onto the floor. A heated stomp of her foot informed Sascha that what she put in her mouth was none of his blasted business.

    Dewpetal had yet to notice the rat was still inside the cell. Sascha tried to keep her attention on him as he slowly circled around her, set on tossing the soiled corpse between the bars before the goblin could scarf it down. ¡°You can¡¯t eat a spoiled rat,¡± he insisted. ¡°It¡¯ll be the death of you. Damn thing is probably crawling with disease.¡±

    Dewpetal gave him the finger, as she had seen Mul and Lingon do countless times in the past.

    ¡°I know this is the starvation talking, but that¡¯s still incredibly rude.¡±

    The middle finger on Dewpetal¡¯s left hand slowly lifted into the air, joining that of her right.

    A few more steps was all Sascha needed to close the distance. He bent and snatched up the blanket as he sidled past. The thick cloth had worked surprisingly well as a deterrent the first time. While he hoped he wouldn¡¯t have to employ it a second, it was crucial to have a backup plan handy just in case. He narrowed his eyes at the goblin and her willful display of defiance. ¡°Better get it out of your system now. You make that gesture to one of the soldiers and they¡¯ll gladly lop those fingers off for you.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s wrinkled brow indicated she sensed something amiss. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and spied the rat corpse alongside the bars. She spun around and pounced, only to be caught in the infernal blanket a second time. Dewpetal howled with outrage, but her snapping jaws and slicing claws caught only fabric as she tried to fight her way out of Sascha¡¯s makeshift net.

    ¡°I am well aware how ridiculous this looks,¡± Sascha grunted, struggling to keep the goblin contained within the blanket long enough to dispose of the rat properly. He kicked it again, but the emaciated body struck the bars and stopped, still inside.

    Oh gods, he whimpered. He was going to have to touch it.

    Wincing, Sascha reached down and gingerly picked it up by the tail. The rancid stench of rotted meat filled his nostrils. Gagging, Sascha tossed it between the bars and shuddered. He released the squirming blanket and looked desperately across the cell, searching for something, anything, with which to wash his hands. The rusted chamber pot in the corner was his only option and, for obvious reasons, he decided whatever was housed inside was infinitely worse than touching a dead rat.

    Dewpetal¡¯s head popped up out of the top of the blanket as she shouted something at him Yolkavisch.

    ¡°I stand by what I did.¡± Sascha reluctantly wiped his hand against the back of his pant leg. ¡°Name calling isn¡¯t going to help.¡±

    Dewpetal continued to do so anyway.

    ¡°She says to stop treating her like the mother of your child,¡± a third, weary voice emitted from the corner.

    Sascha flinched in surprise as the sting of embarrassment crept across his nose. And here he¡¯d thought they¡¯d been alone. He hated to think someone had just bore witness to their undignified squabble. He turned, silently kicking himself for not thinking to check the cell next to them sooner. To his credit, the cell¡¯s sole occupant was easy to miss. The prisoner, a dark brown faun, was in the far corner, wrapped in an equally dark blanket, role-playing a shadow with remarkable accuracy. Had the prisoner not spoken, Sascha would not have noticed him at all.

    What was even more surprising than the faun¡¯s presence was the fact that he understood Yolkavisch ¡ª a language that by proximity alone, should have been foreign to him.

    Dewpetal tucked the blanket around her shoulders as she sagged against the bars, lamenting her woes to an understanding audience.

    The faun generously translated. ¡°She understands you miss Oralia, but you can¡¯t use her as a stand-in. Find someone else to fuss over.¡± The faun¡¯s sad, brown eyes drifted to the ceiling, as though he¡¯d lost interest in the situation already. ¡°That¡¯s the gist of it, anyway. I excluded the majority of the insults. They weren¡¯t worth repeating.¡±

    Sascha moved closer to the barred divider that separated their cells. ¡°Judge Belfast?¡±

    ¡°In the flesh,¡± Judge Belfast replied, still staring at the ceiling. The judge was thin and frail. Dried blood matted his graying beard and the discolored skin on the left side of his face was so swollen, it nearly swallowed his eye. ¡°What¡¯s left of it anyway.¡±

    ¡°Did the soldiers do this to you?¡± Sascha asked.

    Judge Belfast opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated before anything of substance spilled forth. His long ears flicked to the side. Whatever sounds had him on alert were too faint for Sascha to hear. Not for Dewpetal, though. She threw the blanket back over her head and scurried to the back, tucking herself underneath the bunk, out of sight.

    The ominous echo of footsteps filled the room as someone swept down the hallway towards them. The bolt scraped against metal as it was drawn back before the entryway door swung open and sharply-dressed elf strode inside. He wore no emblem, no badge, nor seal to identify his title. His attire, while clean and nicely fitted, was simple. Hardly a step above everyday clothing. Expensive, sure, but certainly nothing resembling a uniform. Sascha couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that it was intentional, as though whoever this newcomer was, he used not glamour, but the mundane, to hide in plain sight.

    The elf had a plain face, with plain hair, and plain clothes. Everything about him was utterly unremarkable. Easily forgotten, unnoticed, just another face in the crowd ¡ª save for the ring on his left small finger. The band was thick and boring, but the blue stone had the unfortunate quality of drawing the eye.

    The elf noticed Sascha staring and tugged his sleeve back over it. ¡°This is it then?¡± he said. Even his voice sounded bored. It was flat and free of inflection. ¡°Oralia¡¯s Dawnsight¡¯s mighty army? Frankly, I¡¯m insulted. I came all the way from the capital expecting a fight and what do I get?¡±

    His disinterested gaze swept from Sascha to where Dewpetal was hiding beneath the bunk, and then back again. He appeared as enthused with the situation as someone about to eat a boiled sock. ¡°An orc, a goblin, and a handful of country bumpkins. I expected more from her.¡±

    Something tugged at the back of Sascha¡¯s mind, a long-forgotten instinct carried over from when the first orcs walked the land. It awakened, without warning, and set every nerve in his body on edge. The elf standing before him was no elf at all, but a viper. Every buried instinct pulsing through Sascha¡¯s veins demanded he smash it, immediately, before it was given the opportunity to strike.

    ¡°Where are my manners? Forgive me. I¡¯m so accustomed to sticking to the shadows, I often forget to introduce myself.¡± the elf tutted. The mask of plain indifference slipped from his face, allowing a venomous smile to take its place. ¡°Tarathiel Cray. I don¡¯t bother with titles, but Mister Cray¡¯s fine if you insist on them.¡±

 230 - Mad Dog Unleashed

    Tarathiel Cray. The name alone explained Sascha¡¯s instinct to stomp the elf into the ground the moment he set eyes on him. Sascha wasn¡¯t prone to violence by nature, but if even half of what Oralia had said about Cray were true, then it would be worth sacrificing the last of his morals by snapping the elf¡¯s neck here and now. Alas, the sturdy line of bars separating them was going to make Cray¡¯s untimely demise difficult to pull off.

    ¡°Remind me,¡± Cray said, tapping the tips of his index fingers against one another in thought, ¡°who are you again? I feel like I should know you.¡±

    ¡°The cook,¡± Sascha replied flatly.

    ¡°The cook!¡± Cray¡¯s voice took on an unnerving note of joviality, as if this revelation entertained him somehow. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re the one Geralt enlisted to catch Oralia doing whatever it is Oralia does.¡±

    That was, admittedly, a bit of a sensitive spot in Sascha¡¯s relationship with Oralia. They¡¯d obviously worked past it, but he didn¡¯t like being reminded that said past existed.

    ¡°Frankly, I don¡¯t understand the bizarre relationship our benefactors have with one another. I dare say, it borders on obsessive. Geralt and Oralia spend so time much wondering what the other is thinking of them, it¡¯s positively exhausting. Just hurry up and fuck already, right?¡± Cray noted Sascha¡¯s expression and feigned embarrassment, quite poorly. ¡°Oh, my mistake. You probably don¡¯t wish for that, do you?¡±

    Sascha locked his jaw to prevent clicking his tusks.

    ¡°Anyway, I told Geralt that using you as a spy was a stupid idea. I suggested having you drawn and quartered publicly to get under Oralia¡¯s skin, but Geralt¡¯s all about his image. Insisted it was too extreme.¡± The cutting smile on Cray¡¯s face widened. ¡°Would have saved him an awful lot of trouble had he listened to me.¡±

    Tarathiel Cray was Geralt¡¯s second-in-command. Oralia had once described him as an ¡®aggressive dog on a leash¡¯. Rumors of Cray¡¯s work had spread far and wide. And yet, despite his notorious reputation, few actually knew what he looked like. Geralt kept his second-in-command tucked away in the shadows, free of titles, status, or any other information that could be used to identify him. Oralia, herself, claimed to have never seen him. Sascha was beginning to understand why.

    Cray wasn¡¯t merely an aggressive dog on a leash, he was a mad one, practically foaming at the mouth. It was easy for Geralt to bring his second-in-command to heel when he was kept on such a tight leash, but circumstances had changed. Cray had been released into the wild and, judging from the bodies hanging in the square, was already finding cruel ways to exact his newfound freedom.

    ¡°Are you still with me, friend?¡± Cray¡¯s voice drew Sascha from his thoughts.

    Sascha swallowed the trickle of stomach acid steadily clawing its way up his throat. He didn¡¯t dare speak, not even to give one of his customary one-word answers that was little more than an impartial sound.

    ¡°Shall we move on to our business then?¡± The elf was forced to carry on talking when Sascha refused to provide an answer. Cray steepled his hands together and used them to slice the air as he spoke. ¡°I suspect, given who you are, politely asking you to tell me where Oralia is would be a waste of breath. The Speaker of the People insists on his silly protocols, however, so I will do my due diligence and ask.¡±

    Cray took a dramatic breath, as if following a set procedure physically pained him. ¡°Where is Oralia?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Sascha said.

    ¡°Mhm, mhm, mhm.¡± Cray nodded as though he was fully engaged in Sascha¡¯s response. ¡°And you¡¯re sticking with that answer?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±

    Cray dropped his hands and offered a sympathetic pout. It, too, was a mask. Just like every other facial expression he¡¯d worn so far. It was unnerving how easily he slipped from one to the next. ¡°Oh, dear. The hard way it is then. Not that I mind, but you might.¡±

    The old buried instants were back, this time insisting it was time for Sascha to turn tail and run.

    ¡°Never fear. I¡¯ll make it quick. Afraid I can¡¯t say the same for it being painless, though.¡± Cray stepped closer to the bars a little too enthusiastically, causing something hidden beneath his simple gray tunic to clink together. He made a face when he noticed Sascha staring. ¡°Lightweight armor,¡± he explained, drawing back the neck of his tunic to expose a thin coat of chainmail. ¡°Iron, of course. With some silver embellishments for added protection.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He should have kept quiet, but the question rolled off of Sascha¡¯s tongue before he had the sense to snap his confounded tusks shut. ¡°Protection against what?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not the one that¡¯s supposed to be asking questions here, friend. That¡¯s my job. One I take very seriously, as you¡¯re about to find out.¡± Cray rolled back his sleeves with a dramatic flourish and positioned his lithe fingers against his temples. It was the sort of parlor trick you¡¯d expect from the soothsayer at the local carnival. Sascha¡¯s skepticism damn near doubled the moment Cray started to hum. All Cray¡¯s performance was missing was a floppy, wide-brimmed hat and a crystal ball.

    Sascha heard Dewpetal whimper behind him. He turned to look over his shoulder at her the same moment a blistering heat erupted within his skull. The raging inferno spread like wildfire, its smoke clogging the internal cogs and gears of his mind until everything screeched to a halt. Sascha¡¯s legs lost the ability to stand. He collapsed onto the cold ground, muscles spasming as waves of heat rippled through his flesh.

    His heart pounded against his chest, thumping faster, faster, faster, until it felt like it was going to burst.

    Cray¡¯s voice cut through his panicking thoughts. ¡°Where is Oralia?¡±

    Sascha¡¯s thoughts betrayed him. Memories flashed before his eyes, one after another in rapid succession, like a dealer shuffling cards. He saw Oralia and their last moments together before she disappeared back into the tunnel hidden behind Briony¡¯s house. He should have gone with her. God¡¯s dammit, why hadn¡¯t he? So what if the passageway had been small? He should have gone anyway. At least then he¡¯d know where she was, or if she¡¯d gotten out safely. Have a better idea, at the very least, of where the rest of the tunnels led or any other of Briony¡¯s secret hiding places.

    ¡°You really don¡¯t know where she is.¡± Cray¡¯s voice broke the spell, allowing Sascha¡¯s pain to ease from a raging wildfire to a gentle burn. ¡°What a shame. Such information would have been incredibly insightful.¡±

    Sascha stayed close to the ground, fearful any sudden movement would cause the debilitating pain to return. He filled his blistering lungs with a shaky gasp of musty air. His throat felt raw and dry. The breath barely made it past his tightening airways.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know Oralia¡¯s whereabouts, her plan, not even where she might have gone. I¡¯m starting to think you don¡¯t even know this woman at all.¡± Cray tut-tutted from the other side of the bars. He crouched onto his haunches and he gazed down at Sascha, disappointed. ¡°Surely there¡¯s something of note you can tell me.¡±

    Heat pierced the inside of his skull once more, like molten claws tearing through soft flesh. Sascha snarled as his memories zipped past. He saw the days leading up to the raid on Briony¡¯s cottage ¡ª the mornings waking up with Oralia in his arms, their nights spent alone, the murderous look she gave him each time she caught him staring at her ass, and the way she nearly died of embarrassment when he caught her staring at his.

    ¡°Ugh, boring,¡± Cray muttered. An exasperated flick of his hand sped the memories along faster.

    The images flashed before Sascha¡¯s eyes at a dizzying rate. The invisible heat coiled around his mind cinched tighter. It burned, sizzled, and popped, lighting his internal pathways aflame as Cray swept through his memories at the speed of light. And then, without warning, it stopped. Time froze as the unbearable heat eased to a simmer. Sascha found himself in the woods at night, beneath a spare canopy of shriveled leaves. The crisp breeze prickled his blistered skin as the soothing scents of soil and forest decay filled his burnt airways.

    Oralia was there as well. Something was bothering her, more than usual based on the way she looked like a deer one sudden movement away from bolting for the hills. The warm hum of his own voice filled his ears, but Sascha couldn¡¯t make out what was said. He strained to listen but the words melded together into an indistinguishable drone. And then Oralia took his hand in hers and placed it on her stomach.

    ¡°Now that¡¯s something!¡± Cray exclaimed.

    The memory vanished, along with the smells of the forest and the cool breeze. Sascha lurched upright, gasping for breath. Panic flooded his tortured veins as he stared across at the smiling face of his captor.

    ¡°She¡¯s with child,¡± Cray said. ¡°Your child, in fact. Which is even better.¡±

    The last thread of Sascha¡¯s strength failed him. He slumped back down and drew his knees to his chest, shuddering as the last dregs of heat and pain rippled along his spent body.

    Cray¡¯s eager smile was split from ear to ear ¡°Now this, this I can use. Thank you so much for your assistance. You have been most helpful.¡±

    The elf jumped back onto his feet and strode for the exit. He reached the door and then paused, as if suddenly remembering Sascha was not the only prisoner worth tormenting. Cray¡¯s gray gaze settled on Judge Belfast¡¯s huddled form. ¡°Oh hello, Trant,¡± Cray crooned, offering a sympathetic wave. ¡°Rest assured, I haven¡¯t forgotten about you. I¡¯ve got my hands full at the moment, but never fear, I¡¯ll make time for another one of our chats soon enough. Maybe you¡¯ll come to your senses before then.¡±

    Cray drew open the door left, voice echoing along the passage behind him. ¡°What a shame that would be.¡±

 231 - Its Whats Its

    Crossing the border from the flatlands into what was now the New Adderwood Republic was remarkably easy. The territory was made up of large swathes of untouched wilderness with a handful of settlements scattered haphazardly along the map, connected by a single road. What few patrols Daana and Ashwyn happened across weren¡¯t all that concerned with two lowly travelers. The majority of the territory¡¯s forces were assembled along the southern border, which, consequently, just happened to be where the celebrated traitor to the realm, Oralia Dawnsight, was last seen. Following the single road, the journey from the north into Adderwood¡¯s southernmost settlement, Fairguard, took only three days and passed smoothly.

    ¡°Oi! Look at the size of that wall, would ya?¡± a reedy voice called out behind them. ¡°What are they trying to keep out? Giants?¡±

    Relatively smoothly, Daana conceded. The part of the journey where she and Ashwyn unknowingly picked up three teenage tagalongs had not gone down quite as swimmingly as the rest. Daana whipped her head over her shoulder in time to see a set of long, goblin ears disappear into the brush alongside the road at their backs.

    ¡°How are they still here?¡± Daana hissed to Ashwyn. ¡°I thought we lost them at the river.¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re demons, Peaches, not gobbies.¡±

    No matter how many times Ashwyn had taken it upon herself to chase the trio off, the goblins always came back again. The physical toll it had taken on the orc was almost as severe as the mental one. Ashwyn hadn¡¯t had a decent sleep in the past three days, not since waking up in the middle of the night to discover the first snow had fallen and blanketed their makeshift camp in a layer of frozen death. The snow, admittedly, hadn¡¯t bothered Ashwyn nearly as much as the three shivering bodies that¡¯d burrowed underneath her bedding for warmth.

    Daana¡¯s stare swept from the surrounding brush back to the settlement. Fairguard wasn¡¯t particularly impressive, not compared to the realm¡¯s capital city, anyway. But to a goblin who¡¯d spent their life in a burrow underground, she could see how the settlement¡¯s rugged palisade walls might have been awe-inspiring. Maybe even enough to dissuade their goblin entourage from sneaking inside.

    ¡°Alright, end of the line.¡± Daana spun her shaggy steed about-face with a press of her right knee. The dirt road behind them stretched into the surrounding trees until it was swallowed by darkness. She saw no signs of the goblins, but she knew they were there. They were always there, lurking just out of sight. ¡°You¡¯ve had your adventure. Go home. This is no place for children.¡±

    ¡°Who are you calling children?¡± Spoon Ear¡¯s incensed squeak erupted from the bushes to the right.

    Smiley and Twig¡¯s replies echoed their companion¡¯s sentiment from various parts of the undergrowth.

    ¡°Go home,¡± Daana repeated.

    ¡°No!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re gonna make names for ourselves!¡±

    Fat chance of that. Daana didn¡¯t even know what their real names were. There wasn¡¯t any point in making the official introductions now, anyway. Not when the oversized brats should have been on their way home. Asking their names would only encourage them to stick around some more.

    ¡°Come on, Peaches.¡± Ashwyn spurred her horse forward with a click of her tongue, shaking her head from side to side in disbelief. ¡°If it didn¡¯t work the first hundred times you told them to get lost, I don¡¯t see why it¡¯d work now. If they¡¯re lucky, they¡¯ll figure it out on their own before the cold kills ¡®em.¡±

    The guard manning the front gates barred them from entering longer than necessary. Not out of malice, either. He reminded Daana of an over-energetic puppy who¡¯d been left out in the yard with no one to play with. Poor thing was practically starved for company. So much so, that he missed all of the not-so-subtle social cues from Ashwyn that she didn¡¯t have the time nor mental energy for meaningless chit-chat. Feigning her best smile, Daana grudgingly picked up Ashwyn¡¯s slack and obliged him. Eventually, when the guard had had his fill, he let them in, passing along a recommendation for the Copperstone Inn in case they needed lodging.

    Somehow Daana had ended up with a strip of parchment containing the guard¡¯s name and apartment number, as well. She gave her thanks as she and Ashwyn slipped through the gates, fighting the urge to throw the paper over her shoulder.

    ¡°What was that about?¡± Daana asked once certain they were safely out of hearing.

    ¡°How sheltered did you grow up again?¡± Ashwyn took in Daana¡¯s scowl and came to her own conclusion rather quickly. ¡°Extremely sheltered, that¡¯s right. Probably didn¡¯t see anything outside those palace walls until you were half-grown.¡±

    ¡°I was allowed outside the palace!¡±

    ¡°Allowed?¡± Ashwyn repeated. ¡°You hear yourself, right?¡±

    ¡°Okay, fine. I was sheltered. What does that have to do with the guard at the gate? I was just doing what you normally do.¡±

    ¡°Yeah? And what is it I normally do?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re polite and friendly, and you smile a lot.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. And when I do it, it comes across as mildly threatening. From someone with a pretty face like you, it looks like flirting.¡± Ashwyn glanced at Daana to catch her reaction. The abject horror stretched across Daana¡¯s face, unfortunately, only convinced her to keep the explanation coming. ¡°As far as that bloke at the gate is concerned, you just threw yourself at him.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Daana made a fist, crumpling the strip of paper in her hand as the heat on her face spread to her ears.

    Ashwyn¡¯s laugh echoed along the fronts of the rickety buildings as the pair plodded their way through the settlement on horseback. Fairguard wasn¡¯t large by any stretch of the imagination. The majority of its buildings were made up of wooden structures crammed together, with rickety walkways crisscrossing between them. Rain had transformed the dirt streets to mud as the pair moved deeper into the settlement. Daana could see the top of the Copperstone Inn rising above the rickety thatch roofs up ahead. The inn was an impressive feat of architectural ingenuity that, nestled amongst the rest of the ramshackle town, looked as out of place as a diamond-encrusted tiara on a donkey.

    Daana might have been taken aback by the inn¡¯s grandeur had she not still been fixated on the guard at the gate. ¡°All I did was smile!¡±

    ¡°Still stewing on that, are we?¡± Ashwyn said.

    ¡°It¡¯s not fair. I was just copying what you do. It¡¯s not my fault I don¡¯t have scary-looking tusks to make my smile more menacing.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s an alternative, you know. Lean into it. Use what you got. Flirt your way into getting what you want.¡±

    ¡°Good gods, no. Gross. Now you¡¯re starting to sound like Ellis¡ª¡± The name quickly died on the tip of Daana¡¯s tongue. Alas, the damage was already done. Across from her, the cheeky smile faded from Ashwyn¡¯s face. Daana wanted to kick herself. Ashwyn hadn¡¯t been the same since the breakup. Any mention of Ellisar was like twisting the knife already buried hilt-deep in her chest.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Daana said.

    ¡°Don¡¯t be. It¡¯s not your fault. As our dearly-departed Snaggy once said, ¡®It¡¯s what¡¯s it¡¯s¡¯.¡±

    That was all it took. A single mention of his name and Daana was the one on the verge of sliding off the horse into a puddle of sadness. She felt the familiar creeping sadness claw its way back up her throat. ¡°Don¡¯t say it like that,¡± she snapped. ¡°It makes it sound like he¡¯s dead.¡±

    Snag wasn¡¯t dead, he was just gone. Happier, probably, now that he had a real family to share his life with. Daana hardly missed his constant complaining at all. In fact, she¡¯d gone out of her way not to think about it. It¡¯d been working surprisingly well, too, right up until his name was mentioned and the blasted waterworks started up anew.

    ¡°Shit, my bad,¡± Ashwyn said with a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re not at the top of our game when we¡¯re missing our people, are we?¡±

    ¡°You miss her?¡±

    ¡°Of course, I fucking miss her.¡±

    Daana¡¯s teary gaze dropped to the crumpled slip of parchment nestled in her hand. A terrible idea formed itself within her head. So far time and space had yet to ease her pain. Perhaps something more fleeting would help shove her grief aside, even if it was just for a night or two.

    Daana¡¯s poor idea must have shown in her face because Ashwyn was quick to shut it down. ¡°Good goddess, girl, no. That¡¯s not the answer. Take it from someone with experience, drowning your troubles between the sheets doesn¡¯t hasten the healing. All it provides is a momentary distraction.¡±

    And yet, a distraction didn¡¯t sound too bad.

    ¡°The pain all comes flooding back the next morning, as fresh as the day it happened.¡± Ashwyn added with a frown, ¡°That and sometimes a rash, too.¡±

    The tantalizing appeal of a momentary distraction vanished from Daana¡¯s thoughts at the mere mention of a rash. ¡°Ew.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, you think heartache is bad? Wait ¡®til you¡¯ve got a broken heart and an angry quim. You¡¯ll be crying tears of genuine sadness while scuffling around on the ground like a dog dragging its bottom, helpless against the itching.¡±

    ¡°We really should know less about each other.¡±

    The street underfoot transitioned from dirt to dirt-covered cobblestone as Daana¡¯s horse turned the corner and the front steps of the Copperstone Inn came into view. A small trickle of relief eased the suffocating sense of grief and disgust weighing her down. The small sum of money Snag had snuck into her saddlebag when she wasn¡¯t looking meant she could afford a bath, a warm meal, and most importantly, a private room free of whatever horrific things slipped from Ashwyn¡¯s mouth uninhibited.

    A plucky stable hand darted out across the courtyard to meet them. He was only halfway when the front doors to the inn burst open at the top of the freshly-swept steps. A thunderous voice filled the crisp air, its boom echoing off the surrounding stone until it sounded as if there was an army of belligerent dwarfs stomping down the steps, and not just the one. Technically, there were two. It was easy to miss the second dwarf, however, considering he was still at the top of the stairs, attempting to realign the damaged doors.

    The stable hand took one look at the angry dwarf and turned back the way he came, leaving Daana and Ashwyn to fend for themselves.

    ¡°Un-fucking-believable!¡± the dwarf thundered. ¡°¡®Not our concern¡¯. We risked our necks for Adderwood and when it¡¯s time to return the favor, suddenly it¡¯s all about weighing risk and choosing their battles.¡±

    The quiet dwarf was still at the top of the stairs. Having corrected the alignment of the doors, he seemed torn between following his companion or ducking back inside. Heaving a reluctant sigh, he started down the stone steps after her. ¡°Just because you disagree with the seneschal¡¯s decision, does not mean he is wrong.¡±

    ¡°Oh, look at that. You¡¯re defending him. Again. Big surprise.¡± She spun around and placed her hands on her hips. ¡°What happened to having my back, huh? You were supposed to be on my side.¡±

    ¡°I serve the New Adderwood Republic.¡± The dwarf soldier squared his shoulders as he spoke. ¡°I said I would help you get an audience with the seneschal, which is what I did. He made the call not to get involved, Rali. And, frankly, given your lack of information regarding the conflict, I agree with his decision.¡±

    The angry dwarf whipped back around, shouting unintelligible noises. She threw her hands in the air over her head and was about to storm off when she froze, as if only now noticing she had a bewildered audience. More noises vacated her slack-jawed mouth, but they weren¡¯t so much angry as they were confused. Possibly relieved.

    Daana lifted her hand and waved. ¡°Hi, Rali.¡±

    ¡°Daana?¡± Some of the anger melted away as relief flooded Rali¡¯s wide eyes. ¡°Oh, my gods. I never thought I¡¯d be happy to see your stupid face again.¡±

    Caught in a constant tide of shifting principles, with the ebb and flow of time continually reshaping Daana until her former sense of self had been worn, weathered, and washed away, it was nice to see some things hadn¡¯t changed at all. Hardship had not reshaped Rali in any significant way. The dwarf lieutenant was still as brash and insulting as ever.

    Daana¡¯s friendly wave went from four fingers and a thumb down to just one. ¡°I missed you, too.¡±

 232 - Rhetorical Questions

    ¡°You lost my family?¡± Rali¡¯s incredulous screech carried far and wide on the crisp autumn breeze. It echoed along the cobblestone courtyard, down the adjoining dirt road, and bounced between the rickety wood buildings before being swallowed by the distance.

    ¡°Rali, please,¡± the other dwarf pleaded. He, unlike her, seemed quite conscientious to the fact that a crowd had gathered around the front windows and was now watching from within the safety of the nearby inn. ¡°Lower your voice. There is no need to advertise your business to the entire settlement.¡±

    Rali whipped around at him, cheeks flushed with color and her lower lip trembling. ¡°These two idiots lost Snag and Ellisar!¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t lose them,¡± Daana replied matter-of-factly. ¡°They left on their own volition. Which they¡¯re allowed to do, by the way. They are, after all, adults with free will.¡±

    Rali¡¯s fury reflected in her dark eyes. Her accusing stare leapt from Daana to Ashwyn and struck down with the force of an iron anvil. ¡°What did you do? You fucked it up, didn¡¯t you?¡± Rali edged a daring step forward, fists curled and held stiffly at her sides. ¡°I know El. Forget moving mountains, she would have burned every last pile of dirt to the ground if it meant getting you back. And now, suddenly, you¡¯re free and she¡¯s nowhere to be seen?¡±

    Ashwyn snapped her tusks threateningly. ¡°What are you getting at?¡±

    ¡°I think you know what I¡¯m getting at.¡±

    ¡°Then say it to my face.¡±

    ¡°Rali,¡± her dwarf companion said again.

    Whereas Rali¡¯s tone was that of an anvil, his was calm, cool, and collected, laced with a thread of caution. The dwarf¡¯s demeanor reminded Daana of a pond. It may have been still on the surface, but the water ran deep, and when push came to shove, it could sink the other two with hardly any effort.

    Ashwyn must have sensed it, too, because she backed off, attempting to clear her hot-blooded thoughts with a shake of her head.

    Rali, on the other hand, still looked like she wanted to punch something. That something being Ashwyn, specifically. ¡°It¡¯s suspicious! That¡¯s all I¡¯m saying.¡±

    The other dwarf clamped his broad hand over Rali¡¯s shoulder and squeezed, as if trying to remind her that, again, this was a public space and she was making a spectacle of herself. He was smidge taller than her, with long, copper-colored hair and an intricately braided beard to match. Judging from fitted leather armor and polished breastplate, Daana surmised he was military of some kind. Higher up in ranking, too, based on the brightly-colored cape fastened to his shoulders. Whoever he was, he seemed to value his reputation given the way he kept glancing back over his shoulder at the inn doors, as if expecting someone higher up to come bursting down the steps with a letter of disciplinary action in hand.

    Ashwyn appeared done with the conversation as well, for reasons unrelated to her reputation. Gathering the reins in one hand, she led both horses toward the stable area, calling over her shoulder to Daana. ¡°I¡¯ll tackle the room and board arrangements. You deal with the shouty one.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s Miss Shouty One to you, madam! And don¡¯t think you¡¯re squeaking your way out of an explanation. I¡¯m going to get the story out of you sooner or later, believe me.¡±

    Daana watched the orc disappear into the stable area, slightly jealous that Ashwyn had thought of it first. While Daana wasn¡¯t normally one to volunteer for grunt work, it was preferable to the alternative. Rali was already too worked up to have a productive conversation. Anything Daana said would be seen as an attack and, ultimately, used to bludgeon her into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

    For that reason, Daana kept her explanation simple and to the point. ¡°They broke up, Rali. Ellisar left. That¡¯s all there is to it.¡±

    ¡°Says who? You?¡± Rali shot back. ¡°You would think that wouldn¡¯t you? No offense, but you¡¯re still taking everything at face value, kid. You haven¡¯t learned to dig deep yet. If you want the truth, then you¡¯ve got to really sink your claws into the heart of things.¡±

    Given the talon-like motion Rali was making with her hands, Daana wasn¡¯t so sure the part involving claws was entirely metaphorical. She stood her ground nonetheless, stifling the urge to put more space between them. ¡°I¡¯d rather not, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, figured as much.¡±

    ¡°Rali,¡± the other dwarf said again, as if it was the only word he knew.

    ¡°Alright, fine. Moving on. What about Snag then?¡± Rali heeded her companion¡¯s interjection in the same way a cat might obey its master commands to stop shredding the furniture. In lieu of sharpening her claws on the couch, she pivoted topics, setting her sights on the plush carpet instead. ¡°You break up with him, too? Snap his wee little heart in half? Crush his hopes of having a daughter that didn¡¯t take him for granted all the time?¡±

    Daana scowled. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Nah, nah, nah. You don¡¯t ask the rhetorical questions here, that¡¯s my job. You¡¯re supposed to be explaining to me how you managed to run off the people I depend upon to get shit done.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Snag went home to his family.¡±

    ¡°See, that¡¯s how I know you¡¯re full of it.¡± Rali threw her hands over her head, exclaiming, ¡°I¡¯m his blooming family! Me! And if Snag had returned to his family, then he¡¯d be here and you and I wouldn¡¯t be having this conversation.¡±

    This was obviously getting nowhere. Rali wasn¡¯t the one Daana was here for anyway. ¡°I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m saying this, but is Oralia around?¡± Daana asked. ¡°I feel like talking to her is going to be somehow less hostile than whatever is going on with you right now.¡±

    Which was really saying something considering how much Oralia openly detested Daana.

    Rali¡¯s eyes doubled in size as her lips curled back, preparing her worst tongue-lashing yet. Her dwarf companion intervened in the nick of time. He uttered something to Rali in an unfamiliar tongue. Despite Daana¡¯s best efforts, she couldn¡¯t make out a single word of it. It must have been serious though, because the look Rali gave him would have knocked the air out of someone with a weaker constitution. He returned the look, along with a raised eyebrow, as if daring her to take him up on his challenge.

    ¡°Fine!¡± Rali snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll wait until we¡¯re somewhere more private. But don¡¯t think a breather is going to make me any more hospitable!¡±

    She stomped off, content to pace back and forth along the edge of the courtyard, muttering and mumbling to herself as perfectly sane people are wont to do.

    ¡°Captain Almas Bernstein.¡±

    The voice drew Daana¡¯s attention from Rali to the speaker. The dwarf had his hand outstretched in her direction. Oddly, it wasn¡¯t palm-up, demanding some sort of payment. The hand was held perpendicular, in the friendly sort of way normal people used to introduce themselves.

    Good gods, Daana cursed as she snapped from her stupor and shook it. It had been so long since she¡¯d been around someone with manners that she¡¯d nearly forgotten how to use her own. ¡°Daana.¡±

    She purposely left out the addition of ¡®Lazuli¡¯. The surname came equipped with all sorts of poor associations that were, rightfully, well deserved. She didn¡¯t need the family reputation causing her more problems than it already did. Especially not out here, in a territory that had just declared itself independent of her uncle¡¯s control.

    Former uncle, she had to remind herself.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid the greater details will have to be discussed somewhere more private. The short of it is, however, Oralia is not here,¡± Captain Bernstein said. While his focus was on Daana, she could not help but notice the way he kept breaking eye contact to check on Rali, making sure she hadn¡¯t stormed off to set something aflame yet. ¡°Rali was sent to Fairguard to enlist the help of the New Adderwood Republic army and, suffice to say, things are not going to plan.¡±

    Of course not. Because nothing involving Daana and Oralia working together ever had to come easily. ¡°That explains the shouting, at least,¡± Daana murmured.

    ¡°Does it?¡± The captain cocked his head to the side curiously. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever known Rali to have two volumes. Loud and deafening.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true. Take now, for example.¡± Daana smiled at the captain¡¯s joke. ¡°Technically, I think this counts as the silent treatment.¡±

    ¡°And here I thought the silent treatment would involve less noise.¡±

    The front doors opened and closed behind them. Daana glanced over her shoulder to witness Ashwyn¡¯s return. The orc descended the stairs without the customary bounce in her step. She was halfway down when she stopped in her tracks altogether. Her face paled, as she¡¯d just seen a ghost.

    Daana followed Ashwyn¡¯s stare across the cobblestone courtyard and to the street. A tall, willowy elf was making her way toward them. Her loose, straw-colored hair billowed in the breeze behind her. She was graceful, feminine, and, aside from looks, one hundred everything Ellisar was not. Still, Daana couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that she was encountering a younger version of the infamous Ellisar Farrow, one who had yet to lose their sense of humanity.

    ¡°You can stop gawking now,¡± Daana called to Ashwyn. ¡°It¡¯s not her.¡±

    ¡°I know that!¡± Ashwyn descended the last of the stairs, still tracking the approaching elf¡¯s movements with no attempt at subtlety whatsoever. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­look at her Daana. The similarities. It¡¯s downright uncanny.¡±

    Rali reluctantly rejoined the group at the base of the steps, grumbling, ¡°Yeah, until she opens her mouth.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Rali! Captain.¡± The elf waved to the dwarfs as she approached. Her steps faltered several paces short of the stone stairs. Not for the sake of conversation, Daana suspected, but due to the manner in which Ashwyn was openly staring. The elf offered a nervous smile. ¡°Everything alright?¡±

    ¡°Nothing you can help with, Kalihn.¡± Rali shooed her off with an irritated flick of her hands. ¡°Goodbye.¡±

    Kalihn remained where she was. ¡°Are you sure there isn¡¯t something wrong with your friend there? Her face is, uh, concerning.¡±

    Rali gave up on moving Kalihn along and decided it was time the rest of the group took their leave. She persuaded Ashwyn forward with a helpful kick to the back of her shin. ¡°Don¡¯t pay any mind to her, Kalihn. Can¡¯t be helped, I¡¯m afraid. Ashwyn¡¯s just never seen an elf before.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t she an elf?¡± Kalihn pointed at Daana.

    ¡°Is she? Huh,¡± Rali said as she continued to persuade Ashwyn to move along. It was like watching a small boulder trying to move a much bigger boulder. ¡°Honestly, I thought Daana was some sort of horse, what with the smell and all.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Daana protested.

    Ashwyn acted as if she hadn¡¯t heard a word of what was going on around her. ¡°Dinner?¡± she blurted out, still staring utterly transfixed at the blonde-haired elf. ¡°With me? Tonight?¡±

    ¡°Oh, my. Goodness,¡± Kalihn stammered. ¡°Well, I, uh¡­¡±

    ¡°Keep walking, Kalihn,¡± Rali said.

    ¡°Right, yes. I think I¡¯ll do that.¡± Kalihn bounded up the steps as quickly as her feet could carry her.

    Daana seized Ashwyn by the arm and attempted to drag her into step. It wasn¡¯t working as well as she would have liked, but at least they were moving again. ¡°Bad idea,¡± she said. ¡°You were just telling me not to give in to momentary distractions, remember? It¡¯s not going to heal anything.¡±

    ¡°Relax, Peaches. I¡¯m not going to try to bed her.¡± Ashwyn twisted her head around and watched Kalihn disappear up the steps and into the inn. ¡°I just need her to slap me across the face real hard and tell me I¡¯m not worth the time of day. It¡¯ll all be out of my system after that, I promise.¡±

    Rali¡¯s bushy eyebrows raised high in her forehead as she fell into step alongside them. ¡°Does it have to be from Kalihn, specifically? Because if it¡¯s an open invitation, I¡¯ll hit you as many times as you want. Free of charge. Don¡¯t even need to buy me dinner first.¡±

    Captain Bernstein caught Rali¡¯s raised hand by the wrist as it swung past, preventing it from making contact. ¡°I think you¡¯ve made enough scenes for one day, Miss Ralizak.¡±

 233 - Make Haste

    Captain Bernstein¡¯s personal quarters was a live-in basement beneath the local bakery. Once serving as extra storage for the business, the basement had recently been renovated into a livable space suited for those that preferred the oppressive lack of windows. From what Daana could see, ¡°recently renovated¡± was a fancy description for slapping a lock on the door and throwing a few rugs down. According to the captain, underground accommodations were hard to come by in Fairguard. It had taken him months to secure such lodging and he¡¯d be damned if he let a few inconveniences like the lack of designated closet space and a properly insulated ceiling get between him and a proper home underground.

    The apartment consisted of a bed, a couch that looked as though it was currently serving as a second bed, and a table set so low, it did away with the need for chairs by forcing those gathered around it to make due with the floor instead. Daana had sat at such low tables before, but those usually involved cushions of some kind. A second quick visual sweep of the unit confirmed that Captain Bernstein didn¡¯t believe in pillows. There wasn¡¯t even one on the bed.

    ¡°Sorry about the mess,¡± the captain said as he knelt down to light the solitary candle on the table.

    ¡°Mess?¡± Ashwyn twisted her head back and forth, puzzled. Having had enough of sitting on the ground, she opted for the couch instead. ¡°Mess would imply you have belongings, mate. Garbage, at the very least. It doesn¡¯t even look like anyone lives here.¡±

    ¡°I meant the bed actually. The one you¡¯re now sitting on.¡± The warm glow from the candle lit the captain¡¯s bearded face, highlighting the ruddy blush that crept across his nose. His gaze swept from Ashwyn to Rali. ¡°The one someone promised to tidy before storming off to her appointment with the seneschal this morning.¡±

    Daana suspected it was not intentional ¡ª the only people who ever willfully stoked Rali¡¯s temper were those actively looking for an excuse to lose a fight, and the captain didn¡¯t strike as the type ¡ª but the remark had the unintended effect of igniting Rali¡¯s highly combustible temper all the same. Her face grew red with fury as she drew breath, preparing to unleash whatever onslaught was brewing behind her dark, glistening eyes.

    ¡°Can you throttle him later?¡± Daana piped up, stealing Rali¡¯s thunder before the sheer magnitude of its unbridled fury rendered the basement into a pile of unrecognizable rubble. ¡°Preferably when I¡¯m not here? Ashwyn and I are looking for Oralia and, according to Captain Bernstein, she¡¯s no longer here. Where is she?¡±

    Shockingly, Rali actually provided an answer. It was one word and spoken with the sort of venom one would expect from a snake, not a dwarf. ¡°Lonebrook.¡±

    ¡°Great,¡± Daana said. ¡°Anything else I need to know before we head that way?¡±

    ¡°Nah, nothing important.¡± Rali dismissed her with a wave. ¡°You two go ahead. Walk straight into Geralt¡¯s trap, see how that goes for you.¡±

    Fortunately, several increasingly sarcastic responses later, Daana was able to get an adequate rundown of the situation. The village of Lonebrook had been seized by realm forces in an attempt to bait Faris and, by extension, Rasp into returning home. Oralia needed proper forces to overthrow the occupiers, which was what Rali was supposed to be doing. Only, actually getting the forces they needed was proving more difficult than expected.

    ¡°It¡¯s not right,¡± Rali insisted. ¡°I was sent to convince the council and they¡¯re not even here to hear my case.¡±

    Captain Bernstein had the unfortunate position of playing middleman in which he took Rali¡¯s angry ramblings and translated them into something that would make sense to Daana and Ashwyn. ¡°With the war over, the council have returned to their homes outside of Fairgaurd. The local seneschal has the power to bring Oralia¡¯s call for aid to their attention, but he¡¯s been less than helpful so far. Seneschal Brastbrow refuses to send the motion to the council for an official vote.¡±

    ¡°Which is why we need to march back into his office and change his mind,¡± Rali said.

    ¡°And tell him what, exactly?¡± Captain Bernstein challenged. ¡°You already argued your case. You have no new information. What purpose does it serve to rehash what has already been said?¡±

    ¡°Whose side are you on again?¡±

    ¡°Rali, please. You know where I stand on this.¡±

    Daana interrupted with a question of her own. ¡°What were the seneschal¡¯s reasons for refusing the request in the first place?¡±

    The captain looked relieved for the opportunity to field an actual question and not just a string of insults. ¡°It is not a matter of not wanting to help, it is a matter of practicality. Conceivability. Logic. New Adderwood just secured its own independence. Our forces are weary and our supplies need to be replenished. There¡¯s the issue of timing as well, with winter on its way. And even if all of that was resolved, there is the disturbing lack of concrete information.¡±

    ¡°I gave you what I have,¡± Rali snapped.

    The captain continued, set on proving a point. He listed the issues on each finger as he spoke. ¡°We don¡¯t have enemy numbers, we don¡¯t have a timeline, we don¡¯t even know if there¡¯s anyone left in the village to save. It would be suicide to march an army into enemy territory because a single village has been taken hostage by one of Geralt Lazuli¡¯s lackeys.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Rali shot him a glare. ¡°Tarathiel Cray is not a mere lackey.¡±

    ¡°Regardless, it¡¯s not a name neither I nor the Seneschal Brastbrow recognize.¡±

    ¡°Of course it¡¯s not one you recognize! The whole point of having a secret attack dog is to keep it a secret!¡± Rali¡¯s temper was beginning to flare again. ¡°Nobody panics when he shows up because nobody knows who he is. Let me tell you, bucko, Tarathiel Cray is not someone to be trifled with.¡±

    The first mention of the name had caught Daana off guard. Rali, having used it a second time, assured Daana that she had not simply misheard. Unease flooded her insides as she fought to get the words out around the sudden tightening of her throat. ¡°Cray is in Lonebrook?¡±

    ¡°See? I told you it wasn¡¯t a name I made up. Daana knows who he is.¡± Rali paused and blinked, as if reevaluating the merit of her own statement. She turned and gazed up at Daana as an amalgamation of confusion and disbelief glazed over her former outrage. ¡°Hold up, you know Cray? I mean, given who you are, you might have crossed paths once or twice, but you look like you know him. Like, really know him.¡±

    Captain Bernstein tilted his head suspiciously. ¡°Why would Daana know him?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s a Lazuli,¡± Rali replied.

    The captain eyes widened in panic. Ashwyn must have noticed as well because she sat up straight on the couch, glaring daggers at Rali for spilling the proverbial beans. ¡°She¡¯s a Lazuli in name only. There¡¯s no relation between her and Geralt. And believe me, she¡¯d be the first to spill his blood if given half the chance.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m harboring a Lazuli under my roof?¡± the captain said.

    ¡°For the love of gods, forget about my last name for one damned second and pay attention! There are far bigger issues at play here.¡± Daana locked eyes with the captain. She saw a glimmer of panic behind his stare, but he hadn¡¯t whipped around and raced for the stairs yet, which, all things considered, was about as good as she could hope for. She had to get it out, make him understand, quickly, before she was placed under arrest for the crime of sharing a surname with a power-hungry maniac.

    ¡°Tarathiel Cray is in Lonebrook,¡± Daana reiterated that part because it truly was worth repeating. ¡°And you¡¯re all just sitting on the sidelines twiddling your thumbs? Does New Adderwood not understand what is at stake here? Do you?¡±

    Captain Bernstein obviously had no answer for her.

    ¡°Tarathiel Cray is not some lowly pawn in Geralt¡¯s army, he¡¯s the fucking queen. While the Speaker of the People hides behind his castle walls, it¡¯s Cray who¡¯s out there in the field doing all the heavy lifting. And he¡¯s not some mindless yes-man, either. He¡¯s a powerful witch who doesn¡¯t just rely on magic, but his cunning and ruthlessness too. If Cray is in Lonebrook, then it¡¯s no longer a matter of if Rasp is going to be lured into his trap, but when. And you had better believe that Cray has a contingency plan for netting Whisper, too. He¡¯s probably got a whole squadron from the Division of Division lying in wait.¡±

    Admittedly, it was a lot of information to take in at once. Rali grudgingly filled in what gaps she could, including who Rasp and Whisper were and why it would be a bad idea for them to fall into realm custody.

    ¡°And not just them, but Oralia too,¡± Daana said. ¡°Who, last I checked, is not only infected with a piece of a dark entity, but is carrying an old one in a powerstone around her neck. Do you understand how dangerous that is?¡±

    Captain Bernstein still wasn¡¯t getting it. None of them were getting it. Geralt was moving his final pieces into play and no one else could see the full board!

    Something took over inside of her, as if all the years of coaching, tutoring, and learning to hold one¡¯s ground in court had finally decided to pay off. Even her voice changed. Daana sounded as though she was addressing a formal debate panel and not three nobodies in a stuffy basement. ¡°So while Adderwood sits back and does nothing, Geralt gets everything he wants. He gets a witch, a fae, and a dark entity without a fight. And do you know what happens when he has all three?

    ¡°It¡¯s over. He wins. Geralt crushes Lonebrook and then he sets his sights on anyone else who¡¯s ever defied him. And you had better believe that New Adderwood is the first to go. Make no mistake, Geralt let you win your independence because he had his sights elsewhere. The moment Lonebrook falls is the same moment he comes back to Adderwood to claim what is his.¡±

    A stunned silence settled. At least Daana hoped it was the stunned sort and that Captain Bernstein wasn¡¯t using the time to secretly plot the best way to place her under arrest without a fight.

    ¡°I,¡± the captain started, ¡°I think that¡¯s it.¡±

    ¡°It?¡± Rali asked.

    ¡°That¡¯s your winning argument. What the seneschal needs to hear.¡± Captain Bernstein started towards Daana, and then stopped, realizing that she was on the verge of bolting for the stairs. He held up his hands to show no ill intent. ¡°Miss Lazuli, I think you might be the key to this. If you can tell everything to Seneschal Brastbrow that you just told me, then he will have to bring it to the council¡¯s attention immediately.¡±

    ¡°Does he have to know that I¡¯m a Lazuli?¡± It was a petty detail, yes, but also one that could easily prove deadly with the wrong crowd.

    ¡°Your credibility hinges on that fact, I¡¯m afraid. You know how Geralt Lazuli operates because you have seen it firsthand.¡± Captain Bernstein gestured to the door at the top of the stairs. ¡°Please, if what you said is true, then we do not have a moment to waste.¡±

    Daana nodded her agreement whilst stealing a quick at Ashwyn, as if to confirm whether or not she was about to walk headfirst into a trap. Ashwyn¡¯s enthusiastic thumbs-up was not encouraging.

    Rali started to move for the stairs but was stopped by Captain Bernstein. ¡°I think it would be better if you stayed here.¡± The captain¡¯s worried gaze swept from Rali to Ashwyn. ¡°Both of you.¡±

    ¡°Like chaos I am,¡± Rali said. ¡°This is my fight.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re too close to it, Rali. You¡¯re already lost your cool with the seneschal once. You¡¯re loud, and passionate, and everything a dwarf is not supposed to be, and I admire that about you, but that¡¯s not what we need right now. The seneschal needs to hear cold, hard facts.¡±

    Rali gestured to Daana. ¡°She¡¯s not even a dwarf!¡±

    ¡°But she knows how to get through to one.¡±

    Rali¡¯s shoulders deflated at the realization that she was being left behind.

    ¡°Save your fight for the battle you can win,¡± Captain Bernstein said. ¡°Let Daana and I handle this.¡± He gave Rali one last look before turning for the door. ¡°We must make haste, Miss Lazuli. You have a very stubborn mind to change.¡±

 234 - Making Amends

    An icy chill rippled across Whisper¡¯s scaled hide, stirring the fae from their slumber. Groggily, they lifted their head and sniffed the air. It smelled faintly of rotted soil and old, coagulated blood. Whisper closed their eyes, opened their sixth sense, and listened to what the magic was telling them. The fae¡¯s mind merged with the aether, the plane on which all magic existed, and was unnerved by what they saw. The aether was alight with competing magics of many shapes and colors. The strongest of which was not a color at all, but a black hole, slowly pulling the others into its all-consuming void.

    Whisper¡¯s eyes snapped open as realization shot down their spine like a jolt of cold lightning ¡ª the monster was near.

    By all rights, Whisper should have leapt up out of bed, shifted to a faster form, and jetted out across the underground city to help, but the fae hesitated. The chill continued to creep along their spine, lifting each quill on end. The nameless one¡¯s power should not have been able to infiltrate the priestess¡¯s protection charm, and yet, here it was, turning Whisper¡¯s blood to ice. If the pull was already this strong, Whisper feared what they would encounter the moment they stepped outside Priestess Oreword¡¯s domain.

    Sudden heat pinpricked the insides of Whisper¡¯s scaled hands. The fae leapt up out of bed, cursing as they wrung the sting from their fingers and scurried for the door. Damn fae contracts! Unlike mortal kind, fulfilling a deal was not a matter of honor, pride, or outstanding moral convictions. Contracts between fae were magic-bound. For Whisper, specifically, it meant hesitating to uphold their agreement any longer would result in debilitating pain. It would keep at it too, increasing intensity until the fae was forced to comply.

    Whisper slipped out the door into the nauseatingly bright hallway and broke into a sprint. They saw two guards headed their way, to inform them that the beast had arrived, no doubt. But the fae paid the pair no mind. Whisper leapt into the air and shook off the confines of their corporeal body, hurtling past the stunned guards as a shifting cloud of dark blue smoke. The airborne fae followed the twist and turn of the hallway until they reached an open window and shot out into the still air above the underground city.

    The nameless one¡¯s magic amplified tenfold. Its icy chill nipped at the fae¡¯s proverbial heels, searching for a way to burrow inside, but without a corporeal form, the magic had nothing to latch on to. Whisper set their sights on the coliseum and jetted towards it. The arena was still a ways off, but with the gap steadily closing, they were certain they could reach the boy from such range.

    Whisper channeled their thoughts into the unsuspecting human¡¯s head, silently steeling themself for the emotional backlash that often accompanied entering the unhinged abyss known as Rasp¡¯s collective conscience.

    Little bird? Whisper called out to him.

    Whisper¡¯s incorporeal particles spasmed the moment their consciousness fused with Rasp¡¯s thoughts. Their phantom form went rigid with shock, unable to scream. Whisper wasn¡¯t connected to just one mind, but thousands. There were no intelligible thoughts, only dark and light, warm and cold, and an unsettling squiggly sensation, like maggots wriggling beneath skin. Whisper¡¯s consciousness was stretched too far, too tight. The fae dropped from the air, their phantom form involuntarily shifting as they plummeted towards the ground.

    Whisper struck a decayed rooftop before rolling off and landing into a puddle of wet, mossy muck in what remained of the alley below. Panicked, they severed their telepathic connection, rapidly untangling their thoughts from Rasp¡¯s mind and whatever in chaos the damn boy was currently connected to.

    ¡°Wet,¡± Whisper snarled as they staggered to their feet, shaking off the cold slime clinging to their quills. Alas, while the wet itself was gone, the infernal squirmy sensation remained. The fae¡¯s quills bristled in disgust. ¡°Why do I feel damp inside and out?¡±Stolen story; please report.

    Whatever unpleasant spell Rasp was wielding, it had to have been working. The nameless one¡¯s magic stirred the surrounding air, angry and restless. On some minuscule level, Whisper understood the monster¡¯s frustration. The boy had all the makings of an easy meal ¡ª unimaginable power, a startling lack of ability, and the sort of impulsivity that often led to an early grave. And yet, Rasp was no babe in the woods. He¡¯d sooner dive down your open gullet and choke you to death from the inside than go down easily.

    Shaking the stubborn chill from their scaled hands, Whisper was about to shift forms when a pleasant voice whispered in their ear. There you are, O Mighty One. We¡¯ve been calling all these years. Why have you ignored us so?

    Whisper¡¯s quills rattled together as a blanket of frosty air enveloped their body. The cold sting seeped between the cracks in their armored scales and permeated deep within the flesh. ¡°Given up the boy already, have you?¡± Whisper bared their needled teeth at the disembodied voice. Its soothing tone grated the inside of the fae¡¯s ears like teeth clipping a metal spoon. ¡°I¡¯ll give you more trouble than he will.¡±

    We¡¯re not here for the boy.

    A likely story. Whisper had no doubt that the nameless one was beginning to realize it¡¯d bit off more than it could chew. As foolish and inexperienced as he may have been, Rasp possessed a unique talent for ruining even the best-laid plans. The monster had realized this and set its sights on a different meal, one not only rife with power, but weakened by iron poisoning.

    But Whisper was no easy meal. The priestess''s healing magic had returned the fae to their former strength.

    ¡°Is it me you seek, then?¡± Whisper asked.

    Of course, O Great One. We have awaited you for centuries.

    How flattering.

    ¡°Then you seek not food, but death.¡± Whisper leapt from the ground, wind whipping around them, propelling them higher, and shifted into a shapeless cloud.

    It was too late. Mild panic surged across Whisper¡¯s particles at the realization that the nameless one had already latched on. Its silken voice rippled across Whisper¡¯s racing thoughts, soothing the panic as its frosty chill seeped deeper. All we¡¯ve ever wanted is for you to come home. It was no longer one voice, but many. Their familiarity stirred old memories of a bygone era. Why must you keep fighting us?

    Whisper could feel the monster shuffling through their memories as idly as a student perusing category cards in the library. The nameless one was searching for a weakness. Whisper would have to act before it found one. Their incorporeal form zipped through the air, their particles growing colder as the gap between them and the nameless one steadily closed.

    A mental door creaked open and light flooded into an unvisited corner of Whisper¡¯s memory. Whisper flinched, trying to shut the monster out, but it seeped under the door regardless.

    Oh, stubborn D¡¯zeahr, the voices crooned. You cannot fight us any more than you can fight your guilty conscience.

    Get out of my head! Whisper screamed.

    You need not make amends to those you lost. We¡¯re already here, D¡¯zeahr. Waiting for you.

    How dare the monster use their true name! Fury burned within Whisper¡¯s phantasmal manifestation as their particles shifted, taking on the shape of their most powerful form. If the nameless one wanted mighty, then mighty it would get!

    The snarl that worked its way up Whisper¡¯s scaled throat erupted out of their jagged maw as a roar. Their powerful wings lifted them high, higher, higher, stirring the musty air as the coliseum grew smaller below. Fury boiled inside of them. With a final snap of their lethal jaws, Whisper dove, dropping towards the crumbled arena below, set on destroying the parasitical voice that slowly chipped away at their control.

    No more fighting. No more fuss. Your people have forgiven you, the silken voice crooned as the chill wormed deeper, flooding Whisper¡¯s bones. The gentle words soothed the years of hurt, the ache and burn of regret eased as Whisper¡¯s internal rage began to flicker out. It¡¯s time to come home. We are waiting.

 235 - Talons And Teeth

    The world was lit with a pulsing, squiggly blue-green glow. Not only could Rasp see, but he could feel, too. Everything. The moss-carpeted arena, the deteriorating stands, columns, and walls, even the beast itself. It was as if Rasp¡¯s tactile sense had been plucked from his body and wrapped around the entire coliseum, force-feeding him every scrap of information the bioluminescent algae could provide. An ordinary man would have lost his mind to the strain. Rasp, on the other hand, didn¡¯t have much of one to lose to begin with. The extra senses slipped neatly into the empty space behind his eyes and merged as one with his aura vision, converting the sensory overload into visual hallucination he could not only see, but feel, smell, hear, and probably taste if he really, really wanted to.

    For obvious reasons, he wasn¡¯t all that curious to know what algae tasted like.

    Had Rasp possessed the time to sit back and truly consider the mechanics of what was taking place in his head, the whole thing would have fallen apart immediately. Sometimes, when it came to magic, Rasp found it was better not to know. It wasn¡¯t like he needed to understand how or why he¡¯d merged consciousness with a million different, miniscule lifeforms all at once. All that mattered was that it was working. For the first time since being chased down the Iron Ridge, beaten bloody, and left for dead, he could see the battlefield in front of him. And by the gods, that wasn¡¯t the sort of thing you questioned. You made the most of it while it lasted!

    Rasp darted back and forth, weaving between the monster¡¯s spindly legs, hacking and chopping as cold blood spurted with each wild swing. June¡¯s green aura signature danced along the edges of his peripheral vision, doing the same. She announced her accumulating tally with each victorious swing. No matter how quickly Rasp butchered away, June kept pulling ahead in numbers. Truth be told, he really wasn¡¯t that bothered she was beating him. She was a Stoneclaw, after all, with the inner strength of a bear on her side. By all rights, she should have been leading the pack.

    The only problem was she wasn¡¯t.

    ¡°I hate this, I hate this, I hate this!¡± Hop¡¯s baritone voice was laden with a complicated blend of fear, exasperation, and utter disgust.

    Hop, having taken Rasp¡¯s nonsensical advice to wield the sword as if it were a giant scalpel to heart, had surged ahead in numbers. Whereas the others had to hack and chop multiple times to sever a leg, the faun¡¯s sheer strength and years of surgical experience meant he could cleave through an armored limb with a single, deft slice. What¡¯s worse, the overgrown baby wasn¡¯t even trying to win! He¡¯d cut and run ¡ªliterally ¡ª all while bemoaning the arean¡¯s abysmal lack of hiding places.

    As the faun had no interest in flaunting his numbers, June kindly kept a tally on his behalf. Alas, having not grown up on the Iron Ridge, she didn¡¯t quite grasp the Stoneclaw tried and true tradition of fudging the numbers. ¡°Seven realms, Hop! That¡¯s eighteen already. Save some for the rest of us.¡±

    Hop¡¯s pale violet aura severed a leg and then ducked aside, trying and failing to avoid the ensuing splatter of bug guts. ¡°Is that an option?¡± He sounded more than ready to forfeit his title in exchange for being allowed to go cower along the sidelines. ¡°Say the word and I¡¯ll leave all the rest to you two, I swear.¡±

    ¡°Three!¡± Faris¡¯s incensed voice rang out from further away. Truth be told, Rasp kept forgetting he was there. Between Faris¡¯s lack of magical aura and overall battle prowess, he was easy to miss. ¡°I¡¯m here too!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll leave all the rest to the three of you.¡± Hop corrected himself, adding, ¡°Sorry, Faris.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Hop. It¡¯s nice to be included considering this was my idea.¡±

    ¡°My original point still stands, however. The three of you should be fine without me.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance, Hopalong,¡± Rasp said.

    Was he miffed that it took him three solid whacks to cleaver a scolopendra leg compared to Hop¡¯s one? Yes. Did a small part of him want to send the blasted faun away so Rasp could claim the title of Champion Leg-Whacker for himself? Also yes. Was Champion Leg-Whacker a stupid title that no one in their right mind wanted to lay claim to in the first place? Maybe. So what if he suddenly wanted it more than anything else in life? A title was a title! And yet, as annoying as Hop¡¯s unexpected cleaving skills were, that wasn¡¯t the sort of thing you discarded for the sake of a bruised ego. The faun would have to stay if they hoped to win.

    That said, Rasp didn¡¯t have to lose graciously. ¡°Honestly, Hop, if you can¡¯t enjoy hacking off an ancient monster¡¯s limbs one by one before it devours you, were you ever truly living to begin with?¡±

    ¡°There is so much wrong with that statement that I don¡¯t even know where to start.¡±

    ¡°Good, then don¡¯t. Keep chopping!¡± Faris shouted. ¡°Both of you!¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Rasp snapped back. ¡°Don¡¯t give me any of that lip! I can chop, argue, and beat your ass at the same time.¡±If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°Bold words for the man currently in third place.¡±

    ¡°Oh, shut up!¡± It wasn¡¯t like he wasn¡¯t trying! Rasp was having to keep multiple powers in check in once. Not only was he juggling the combined consciousness of the algae and his aura vision, but he was actively having to keep the dark entity at bay as well. It writhed beneath his skin, eagerly awaiting the moment Rasp¡¯s control slipped and it could feast on the scolopendra¡¯s magic once more.

    ¡°Faris!¡± Hop tried to appeal to the so-called brains of the operation.¡°Faris, this isn¡¯t working!¡±

    Hop¡¯s pale magical signature ducked to avoid being stabbed through by the retaliated swing of a giant centipede leg. Rasp felt how the wet ground trembled beneath Hop¡¯s hooves and the way the scolopendra¡¯s armored appendage sliced through the air, missing the faun¡¯s hunched form by a fraction. ¡°We¡¯re trying to drain an ocean one drop of water at a time!¡± Hop scrambled backwards to avoid a second strike. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter how many legs we cut, it won¡¯t bleed out quickly enough to make a difference.¡±

    Rasp felt a ripple surge through the earth beneath their feet. The soil erupted, ripping the ground out from under them as a torrent of rubble shot skyward. Rasp lifted his hand and stopped the wave, preventing it from crushing everyone below ¡ª even the bellyaching ones, because he truly was just that generous. As much as he wanted to hurtle the razor-edged shrapnel back at the beast, doing so counted as using magic against it, exactly what the creature wanted. It fed on magic, including any spells used against it. Reluctantly, Rasp maneuvered the airborne rubble away from the arena and let it drop.

    The creature screeched, infuriated by Rasp¡¯s sense of control, and whipped its mighty body about to punish him for it. A hundred different legs shifted above him. Rasp rolled onto his hands and knees and scuttled across the upturned ground like the rat in the kitchen, managing to avoid being skewered by the beast¡¯s blade-like appendages. The ground shuddered softly as someone ducked and dodged the maze of twisting legs to reach him.

    The lack of a magical signature should have given the culprit away, but Rasp was still pleasantly surprised to find Faris snatching him from the ground and pulling him to safety. ¡°Come on, Dinglehead, this way!¡±

    A phantasmal leg struck into the soft ground directly in front of them. A second and third followed suit, cutting off their escape, and trapping the pair within a cage of barbed, armored legs. Rasp felt a fourth leg position itself into a strike-formation above them. ¡°Move, Frais!¡± he shrieked as he hacked away at the legs being used to cage them.

    The fourth leg struck the same moment a familiar purple aura came cutting through from the outside. Hop slashed and kicked his way through. His bloodied blade met the fourth leg as it came crashing down and severed it at the joint with a single swing. He even added a war-cry, which went something along the lines of ¡°I¡¯m dirty and gross, there¡¯s blood in my mouth, and I want to go home!¡±

    The war-cry needed work, but Rasp appreciated the part where he and Faris weren¡¯t rendered into meat sack kabobs. ¡°Hopalong,¡± Rasp gasp, scuttling out of the way, ¡°I love you.¡±

    ¡°No, no love. Think up a different plan instead.¡±

    Faris grabbed Rasp by the arm and dragged him behind the nearest green-blue column. ¡°I think he might be right.¡± Faris didn¡¯t sound too happy about it, either. ¡°This thing has more legs than we can chop. We¡¯ll tire long before it does.¡±

    At which point, the nameless one would have four hot and ready snacks waiting for it. That didn¡¯t sit too well with Rasp. He peeked around the crumbling column, keeping his gaze fixed on the shifting body above in case it turned on him again. ¡°You think it¡¯s just messing with us?¡±

    ¡°I think it was expecting an easy meal, not this. It¡¯s a bit of a lose-lose situation. It¡¯s not getting fed, and we¡¯re not going to win,¡± Faris said. ¡°If we keep harrying it like this, it might go back underground.¡±

    Rasp¡¯s ears perked at the suggestion. ¡°Why are you saying that like it¡¯s a bad thing?¡±

    ¡°Because we can¡¯t leave until we kill it. I don¡¯t know about you, but I¡¯m sure as chaos not going to hang around for the next two centuries waiting for it to come out of hibernation again!¡±

    Rasp flinched when earth groaned and screeched beneath the surface. His consciousness zipped to the affected area in the question. He could feel the beast¡¯s original tunnel, the one it had used to gain access to the arena at the start. The tunnel walls were shifting, widening, opening up again in anticipation of a quick getaway. ¡°Fuck,¡± he snarled, glaring out of the corner of his eye at Faris¡¯s murky shadow. ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re not some kind of mindreader?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s about to bolt, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    It was Rasp¡¯s turn to play mindreader. ¡°Yeah. And you¡¯re about to tell me something stupid too, aren¡¯t you? Like, ¡®hurry up, Rasp, we¡¯ve got to stop it¡¯.¡±

    ¡°We? No.¡± Faris snorted. ¡°You¡¯ve got to stop it. I¡¯m perfectly happy to stay right here and shout encouragement from the sidelines.¡±

    ¡°Fuck me! How am I supposed to do that if I can¡¯t use magic against it, huh?¡±

    ¡°Collapse its tunnel.¡± There was what felt like a deliberate pause before Faris added the missing piece. ¡°With your magic, not your hands.¡±

    ¡°I knew that!¡± Rasp snapped as he broke into a run. Thanks to the algae, he didn¡¯t necessarily have to be close to the tunnel in order to collapse it. He could literally feel it from across the arena. He just didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near Faris and his backseat spell casting when it came time to bring it down. He channeled his focus as he raced across the broken ground, feeling every crack and cranny within the tunnel for a weak point. He found one near the entrance and poured his magic into the split, ripping it wider.

    Rasp slowed to a halt as the ground shook and buckled beneath his power. He dug deep, pouring more and more into the weakening tunnel. Yellow light leapt from his outstretched hands and burrowed into the soil until every splintered crack glowed the same color of his magic. It was working. He could feel the tunnel walls beginning to give way. The walls trembled and bowed as clumps of earth shook free. Enraptured in his spell, Rasp failed to notice several important details.

    Firstly, the scolopendra had stopped at the entrance at the tunnel and was now standing stock-still, testing the air with its mandibles. Secondly, was the sudden presence of wind in a place where wind did not exist. The third, possibly most important detail, was the giant, dragon-shaped magical aura currently barreling down towards the open arena in a lethal blur of outstretched talons and teeth.

 236 - What Is Already Dead

    The musty air whipped and whirled as Whisper folded their wings at their sides and dove for the open arena below. Their wind magic built, stirring loose dirt and debris into a cloud around them like the tail of a comet. The fae¡¯s blood boiled beneath their scaled hide as hot as molten magma. The musty air felt cold in comparison. It stung the exposed flesh around Whisper¡¯s eyes as they dropped.

    Easy. A surge of cool magic flooded their veins, rendering their piping-hot fury to a warm simmer. Do not give it a hold.

    It was the same lesson they¡¯d reiterated time and time again to the little bird. A hot temper made one more susceptible to mistakes. Mistakes led to weaknesses, which was exactly what the enemy was counting on. Whisper had to stay centered, focused on the task ahead, and not fall prey to the nameless one¡¯s siren song. Whisper could feel the beast¡¯s magic working away at the edges of their mind, prodding, jabbing, searching for a way to burrow inside.

    Reaching the colosseum, Whisper fanned out their leathery wings and swept over what remained of the circular stone wall and rows of broken stadium seating. Below, the arena floor had been torn asunder. The ground was split open and fractured, with the gaping mouth of a tunnel near its center. Whisper saw the creature responsible for the damage, an insectoid with plated armor scales, a long segmented body, and hundreds upon hundreds of sickle-like legs. The mortals scurried beneath its plated body, taking the beast out one piece at a time. It wouldn¡¯t do any good, though. Not against a creature of such magnitude.

    The air currents whipped harder as Whisper willed a wind spell into existence. Broken slabs of stadium seating lifted from the stands and joined the spinning whirlwind as the fae gathered their strength for a fatal attack. The mortals took note and scattered like roaches in the light. Lifting safely above the raging torrent, Whisper unleashed the full wrath of their spell. A torrent of raging air thundered across the arena. It rose up and slammed down over the unsuspecting insectoid, burying its body beneath a wave of rock and debris. The wind stirred a cloud of loose sediment into the air, cloaking the arena floor from sight.

    The nameless one was still alive. Whisper could hear the creak of its leathery armor as it fought to dig free from the rubble. Blood still boiling, the fae repeated the spell twice more, until certain their quarry would not rise ever again.

    The ground shook and shuddered as the last of the rubble slid to a still until, at last, a deathly silence descended over the broken arena. Whisper circled overhead, unable to see beyond the clouds of sediment hanging thick in the air. Warily, the dragon fae landed. They listened for the dying shrieks of their vanquished foe, but they heard nothing. No whimper, no screech, no final, rattling breath.

    Something about the eerie quiet felt amiss.

    Cautiously, Whisper crept through the gloom, their spines raised on end, prepared for ambush.

    Oh stubborn, D¡¯zeahr. A myriad of distant, whispered voices echoed within Whisper¡¯s mind. You cannot kill what is already dead.

    Whisper recognized the long-lost voices of their people. It was all a trick. A deception. The nameless one was still pulling from Whisper¡¯s buried memories. The dragon fae crept deeper into the murky cloud of dust and debris, listening for the telltale creak of the scolependra¡¯s insectoid armor. A wind spell may not have finished it off, but perhaps snapping the magical bug¡¯s head from its body between their teeth would suffice. Whisper¡¯s opened and closed in anticipation.

    Do not fear, wayward warrior. The voices grew louder as the fog closed in. At long last, you have found your way home.

    This wasn¡¯t right. Whisper¡¯s clawed feet froze in place as they lifted their head higher, attempting to see over the gloom. The cloud of dust stretched on endlessly in all directions. The arena should not have been this big. Something else was at play and, judging from the way Whisper¡¯s scaled hide tingled, they suspected it was the start of an enchantment. The fae unfurled their mighty wings and summoned the wind necessary for flight, but the air remained still.

    Stifling a roar, Whisper attempted the spell again. There was no wind. No breeze. Nothing.

    Your trials are over, old friend. Put down the burden you bear. Your people have forgiven you. We welcome you home.

    Snapping their jaws, Whisper tried to dispel the disembodied voices with a violent shake of their head. It was all lies. Poor ones, at that! The beast intended to use Whisper¡¯s deepest secrets against them, but it wasn¡¯t getting it right. Whisper didn¡¯t want forgiveness for what they¡¯d done. They didn¡¯t deserve forgiveness. They¡¯d given up on the very notion long ago.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Whisper only wanted to set things right. Return to the world to its rightful sense of balance. Then, and only then, could they unshoulder the burden they¡¯d been carrying for so long.

    You were our greatest warrior, D¡¯zeahr. The blue dragon with a heart of fire. But you were stubborn, resistant to change. You saw our kindness and mistook it for weakness. When we refused to change, you left. You abandoned your post. And the world took advantage.

    Whisper¡¯s clawed feet stamped at the ground as the centuries of pent-up guilt flooded their senses. The memories came next ¡ª the dark moments the fae had kept locked away, hidden from the light, left to fester and rot in obscurity.

    It was true. In a fit of rage, unable to convince their people to curb their generosity, to see mortal-kind for the leech it was, Whisper left. They had sworn an oath to protect the fae, but how could they? Their people needed to be protected from themselves. Whisper had warned that their unchecked generosity would be their undoing, but they wouldn¡¯t listen. So Whisper left. They traveled the land for many centuries, waiting for their people to come to their senses and call Whisper home.

    But the call never came.

    Eventually, Whisper returned to their ancestral city, prepared to grovel and make amends. The time away had left them homesick. And although their opinion of the mortals had not softened, they were prepared to concede that perhaps they had been wrong. What was worse than being wrong, however, was being right. There was no one left when Whisper returned. Their people, their way of life, their home ¡ª all gone, taken by the greedy mortals.

    I warned them! Whisper¡¯s thoughts combated the foreign voices within their head. But they wouldn¡¯t listen. They followed their hearts, not reason, and this is where it got them.

    You left us.

    I had no choice. You forced me out!

    You swore to protect us.

    How could I, when I couldn¡¯t even protect you from yourselves? You did this! Not me!

    We tried to call you home, but you couldn¡¯t hear.

    That wasn¡¯t right. Whisper would have heard. They would have heeded the call from halfway across the world if necessary. That¡¯s not true!

    It is, D¡¯zeahr. Just as we are calling now. Can you not hear us? The swirl of voice built to a scream. They whipped up, thundering and howling within Whisper¡¯s mind. Have you truly lost your way? Are you so far gone that your ears refuse to hear what is all around you?

    I don¡¯t hear¡ª

    Then open your ears!

    The growing clamor stopped as an eerie calm settled over Whisper¡¯s thoughts. A long-forgotten melody began to play. It was faint at first, swallowed not by distance, but through space and time itself. It called to Whisper, each forlorn note battering away at the last of the fae¡¯s resistance as the song sprang to life.

    Be still, O Great One. Little by little, the pain subsided. With each melodic word, Whisper¡¯s guilt and shame steadily slipped away. You need not fight anymore. Your trials are over. Your suffering is at its end.

    That was all Whisper had ever truly wanted, wasn¡¯t it? To be done. To return home and recover all that had been lost? There was an incessant sensation buzzing in the back of their head like an angry wasp. It was trying to tell Whisper something but the soothing words made it difficult to hear.

    Open your eyes and see all that you have accomplished.

    Whisper¡¯s vision changed. The crumbling coliseum and upturned arena faded away before their eyes as a world painted anew shifted into focus. The land was flush with life and color. There was harmony and balance. The mortals had finally learned to be content ¡ª no more of their constant taking, taking, taking. The surviving fae no longer cowered within the shadows. They walked the land freely once more. And the wind shifter, the dying race from which Whisper claimed to be the last, was revived and awakened. The species lived on. Whisper wasn¡¯t the last. They hadn¡¯t doomed their people as they¡¯d been led to believe. The species was alive and well and flourishing.

    Whisper had done it. They¡¯d brought them back. They¡¯d righted the wrong they¡¯d committed so many years before. All was forgiven and they could finally rest.

    Their bones were weary and tired. They ached to be still, to return to the ground, and to surrender to the continuous cycle of life. Their magic would go to another. Their flesh to the ground. And maybe, just maybe, their knowledge would pass on to the next generation. Everything was as it was, as it should have been. At long last, the end had come. Whisper embraced it, ready to move on from the mortal plane into the next.

    As Whisper¡¯s mind faded, giving in to the lulling voices, a sudden searing pain lanced up their scaled arm. The pain was accompanied by a scream.

    ¡°For muck¡¯s sake, wake up!¡±

    The enchanting beauty came crashing down all around. Color bled from Whisper¡¯s surroundings until all that remained was murky cloud darkness. Something shifted in front of them, a dark shadow backlit by the faintest green-blue glow. Whisper squinted at it, trying to make out its shape. The shadow lurched without warning. The scolopendra¡¯s head broke through the cloud of dust and sediment, mandibles held wide and closed around Whisper¡¯s neck. The beast¡¯s jaws cinched tight, cutting through scale and flesh as the pair tumbled over the broken ground.

 237 - The Dragon, The Roach, And The Devil

    Whisper shifted forms a split second before the beast¡¯s mandibles snapped shut. The fae¡¯s panicked back-blue particles retreated, surging away from the lethal, snapping, snarling insectoid. Every survival instinct flashed inside Whisper¡¯s head like a warning beacon, demanding they take to the air and flee, but they couldn¡¯t. Their magic bound them to the arena. A deal had been made to defeat the nameless one, and Whisper couldn¡¯t back out of a fae contract even if it meant certain death.

    The scolopendra shrieked in fury as its long body uncoiled, searching for the surrounding area for the meal that had escaped from between its armored jaws. Hundreds of spindly legs thudded against the soft ground. The creak and groan of hard-shelled armor filled the still air. The nameless one scuttled across the upturned arena, its long, pincered mandibles opening and closing, testing the air for the quarry that¡¯d slipped away.

    Whisper¡¯s incorporeal form hung in the air, frozen with uncertainty.

    A familiar shape hurtled past below, weapon in hand, and disappeared beneath the plated underside of the beast. Whisper did not fully grasp what they were seeing. Not so much what they were seeing, actually, but why. The attacker, a mere human ¡ª the proverbial cockroach of all mortal-kind ¡ª went at the beast with no plan, no plausible means of defense, and absolutely no chance of winning. And yet, there was no fear. No hesitation. No magical bond compelling them to take on the impossible. The human¡¯s charge was as selfless as it was stupid.

    Complexing, as well, considering this particular human normally could not see this well. It seemed as though the boy had finally learned to meld his magic and aura sense into something useful. A pity that it had to happen now, mere moments before his death.

    Under normal circumstances, Whisper would have hung back and waited for the mortal to die, leveraging the distraction to move in and strike a killing blow. But that no longer felt right. Whisper not only knew this particular roach, but deep down, buried under a heap of denial, a small part of them might have actually liked the boy. Not as an equal, of course. More like a pet. Rasp was like an overly talkative mutt that had somehow, some way, worn away some of Whisper¡¯s long-held disdain for mortal-kind.

    No, as much as it pained them, the fae couldn¡¯t let the belligerent bug die on their behalf. At least not without trying to prevent it. Whisper¡¯s particles buzzed in annoyance as they reformed, assuming their mighty dragon body once more. They immediately regretted it as, a mere moment later, a sudden spasm of pain flooded up their foreleg.

    Hissing, Whisper tilted the long muzzle down and came eye-to-eye with the source of pain. A white faun stood brazenly between Whisper¡¯s clawed forefeet. ¡°About muckin¡¯ time!¡± the white devil screamed. ¡°Are you finally ready to listen? I¡¯m warning you now, you¡¯re going to go and get yourself caught in another enchantment if you don¡¯t.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s eyes narrowed. Beneath their scaled hide, their blood bubbled and boiled with fresh fire. They did not like this particular faun. He was clever. Too clever. And had developed a nasty habit of spoiling Whisper¡¯s plans. Whisper raised their foot, poised to crush the annoying little fiend while they had the chance.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you even think about it!¡± Faris said. ¡°Look, I know you don¡¯t like me, and I feel the same about you, but we¡¯re on the same team here. So put your petty opinions aside, open your damn ears, and listen.¡±

    Whisper winced at Faris¡¯s words. The brazen faun spoke as if they were equals ¡ª an insult of the highest order! While Whisper¡¯s opinion on mortal-kind had softened over the years, the affront of being considered ¡®one of the team¡¯ had yet to lose its sting. Unfortunately, if Whisper hoped to survive the scolopendra and return to the surface, this was one mortal they were going to have to get along with. Temporarily, anyway.

    Reluctantly, Whisper lowered their clawed foot back onto the ground and channeled their voice into the Faris¡¯s head telepathically.

    Speak, Whisper said.

    The single word clanged like a damn tower bell within Whisper¡¯s mind. Telepathic communication was not normally this painful. But Faris was a tricky devil and bore a charm specifically crafted to ward off would-be mindreaders. Whisper was able to infiltrate Faris¡¯s thoughts not through might and power, but because the faun allowed it. This of course only contributed to Whisper¡¯s overall dislike of Faris. A mighty fae forced to seek permission from a lesser being was as unnatural as it was infuriating.

    ¡°The beast feeds on magic,¡± Faris explained. ¡°The more power you throw at it, the quicker it drains you. You can¡¯t use spells against it. Got that? No magic.¡±

    An irritated growl rattled from the depths of Whisper¡¯s throat.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, you¡¯re pissy ¡®cause it used your own power against you. I get it. It almost got Rasp that way, too.¡± Faris scaled a pile of nearby debris to avoid having to shout over the ruckus. The little bird and the other two were keeping the scolopendra sufficiently distracted. From the urgency in Faris¡¯s voice, he was fully aware that their efforts would not hold out for much longer. ¡°No magic means we¡¯ve got to kill this thing with brute force. And in case you haven¡¯t noticed, loping legs off isn¡¯t doing much good. We¡¯ve got to stick it where it¡¯s going to count.¡±

    Whisper¡¯s tail twitched from side to side as they studied the insectoid beast. Ripping its head off would surely do the trick, but getting close without getting caught in its jaws was going to be an issue.

    ¡°Forget trying to tear it to pieces. You can end it in one go. See that spire?¡± The faun pointed to a tall, steepled tower that loomed above the edge of the colosseum in the distance. ¡°Fly the beast up and drop it over the tower. Let gravity do the work for you.¡±

    Clever faun. Whisper took great care to ensure this thought was not telepathically transmitted to Faris. Not necessarily because of the mental strain associated with doing so, but because Faris already had enough ego as it was. There was no need to actively increase its size.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Whisper unfolded their great, leathery wings and snapped them up and down, building momentum, before pushing off into the air. The scolopendra saw them coming and reared up, poised for the anticipated attack. Its lethal mandibles snapped open and shut, as hundreds of legs stabbed at the air, clicking and creaking its long, segmented body, warning the dragon to keep its distance. Eyes focused on Whisper, the nameless one failed to notice Rasp had scrambled up a mound of rubble, awkwardly carrying a lance over his shoulder. The weapon, one of the many lying scattered along the edges of the arena, was far too big and cumbersome for the Stoneclaw to wield effectively. Effective, however, was not so much Rasp¡¯s aim. He didn¡¯t intend to kill the scolopendra but to distract it. In the most annoying way possible, naturally.

    Rasp positioned himself beneath the beast¡¯s underbelly, directly below the delicate, sinewy hinge where the armored segments connected, and thrust the lance upward, driving it into the soft joint. The nameless shrieked and flailed, its long body spasming as it twisted about, clawing uselessly at the weapon lodged deep between its plated armor. One of its legs struck Rasp and sent him careening back down the rubble pile. The scoloprendra¡¯s head followed, jaws snapping at the air as it tried to catch him in its mouth.

    Whisper seized their opening. They swooped down and grabbed the beast¡¯s segmented hide near the middle. It squirmed and shrieked beneath them, coiling its gargantuan body as it tried to struggle free. Whisper¡¯s talons sank deeper into its armored shell as their heavy wings beat the air, slowly lifting the thrashing scolopendra high, higher, higher.

    The strain was strong and Whisper¡¯s old bones felt weak. They cleared their mind and focused all of their energy on the steady of their beats. Little by little, the looming spire neared.

    Foolish fae! The nameless one¡¯s voice was no longer sweet but reeked of fear. Its magic wore at Whisper¡¯s focus, desperate to splinter the frayed mental threads holding everything together. You help the very mortals that wish you dead! They will do to you what you will do to me!

    Whisper lifted up and over the spire. Its sharp iron point was green with eons of rust and algae.

    We are the last of our kind. All that remains of the age of magic and you dare help them? The nameless one¡¯s haunting shrieks tore at Whisper¡¯s mind, searching for a hold. Your people will never forgive you! Your kind will never come back. You are the last wind shifter to walk the land and no matter how you help them, the mortals will never allow your kind to return! The last of the great beings die with us!

    There is no us. Just you. Whisper released the scolopendra from their claws and jetted upwards. For a few more seconds, anyway.

    The beast fell, its long body unoiling, legs flailing, onto the spire below. The iron spike ripped through its plated armor in a burst of shell and wet innards. The spire slowed the scolopenra¡¯s descent, but the body continued to fall, gradually sliding down the pointed shaft. Cracks splintered down the tower¡¯s facade. With a grating groan, the building gave way, unable to hold the dying beast¡¯s weight. The nameless one shuddered its final, feeble spasms as the tower disintegrated into rubble beneath it.

    The tower collapsed against the next, causing a cataclysmic wave of destruction. Ancient buildings toppled and fell amidst a cloud of dust and algae glow. The resulting shrapnel struck the crumbling coliseum wall, sending it spilling over the stadium and into the open arena. Airborn, heavy wings beating the musty air, Whisper studied the stadium below. Rasp had Hop and June at his side, shielding them against the destruction with his magic. But Faris hadn¡¯t reached the shield in time. Alone, without magic or a place to hide, the white faun was poised to be crushed by the destruction.

    Slain by his own plan. Oh, how sweet the irony tasted.

    To hang back and let it happen would cost Whisper nothing. They could claim innocence. Insisting the faun¡¯s death was not their doing. It would be true, too. And yet, the little bird loved the stupid faun far more than he realized. By removing one problem, Whisper would inadvertently create another. Whisper recalled their time on the road together, when it was just the two of them, and how the little bird¡¯s bemoaning about loneliness never ceased.

    That was it, Whisper told themself as their mighty wings folded at their sides. They plummeted towards the crumbling arena like an arrow released from a bow, zipping ahead of the wave of destruction. This was a move borne of necessity, not generosity. Whisper wasn¡¯t saving Faris because the faun deserved to live, they were doing it to prevent Rasp¡¯s inevitable complaining.

    Whisper swooped low and caught Faris in their outstretched claws a split second ahead of the landslide. Whisper rode the current of destruction across what remained of the open arena before lifting over the coliseum wall and into the space beyond. They carried Faris a ways before touching back down in an open square, free of crumbling buildings and falling rock. The polite thing would have been to come to a full stop before setting Faris back onto the ground. Whisper let him drop instead.

    The fae fanned their leathery wings wide and landed as delicately onto the mossy ground as a butterfly to a flower petal. The same could not be said for poor Faris. Whisper folded their wings and they tilted their scaled head to the side, relishing the way the faun¡¯s body flipped and tumbled head over hooves before eventually rolling to stop. He didn¡¯t move for several seconds, as if uncertain whether or not he was dead.

    Finally, coughing and sputtering the debris from his lungs, the white faun lifted his horned head from the protective curl of his arms. ¡°You?¡± Faris stammered, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and horror. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me. It was you who saved me?¡±

    Oh, dear me. Whisper looked away. I mistook you for the useful faun.

    ¡°Bullshit!¡± A harsh laugh escaped Faris¡¯s throat as he staggered to his hooves and took stock of the damage. ¡°At least own up to it. You saved me on purpose, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    A mistake I will not make twice, Whisper assured him

    ¡°Better double-check your math, Whisper. This is the second time you¡¯ve saved me.¡±

    Whisper didn¡¯t expect gratitude, certainly not from Faris. The faun, above all else, knew better than to thank a fae. Still, Faris could have been a little bit grateful. After all, Whisper ¡ª an unimaginably powerful fae ¡ª went out of their way to save a mere mortal without asking anything in return. At the very least, that deserved respect, not a cocksure attitude!

    ¡°I suppose you did owe me,¡± Faris carried on, flashing a devilish smile. ¡°Considering I¡¯m the one that broke you from the beast¡¯s enchantment in the first place.¡±

    Are you injured? Whisper inquired, grimacing at the way each word stung.

    ¡°How sweet of you to ask. Honestly, not really.¡±

    The fae lifted their upper lip and revealed their hooked teeth. Would you like to be?

    It was as if the threat did not even register. The infernal mortal merely smiled wider, offering insolence in lieu of fear. ¡°Hey, you know what I just realized? The priestess got it all wrong. You¡¯re not Kriegaar. I am. It wasn¡¯t magic that defeated the beast, it was smarts. Therefore, I am the Kriegaar and you¡¯re just the dragon that happened to carry out my bidding.¡±

    Whisper stood and started to slowly amble away, shaking their great spiny head in disbelief.

    Faris trailed in their wake, mindful to keep clear of Whisper¡¯s sweeping tail. ¡°Bet you regret saving me now.¡±

    Gloat while you can, Whisper hissed. Your day will come soon enough.

 238 - Canary In A Cage

    ¡°Break, damn you!¡± Cray¡¯s scream reverberated against the cellblock¡¯s solid stone walls. The elf stood at the front of the cramped cell, his knees bent, arms raised, with his fingertips dug deep into his temples. He hummed louder, willing his magic to infiltrate his victim¡¯s thoughts. Judge Belfast, the current focus of Cray¡¯s growing ire, merely gazed back at his captor with a purposefully blank expression. The judge didn¡¯t squirm, didn¡¯t scream, not even a fidget. If it weren¡¯t for the occasional blink of an eye, Sascha would have sworn he was already dead.

    Cray¡¯s magic wasn¡¯t working. Despite all of his obnoxious humming and posturing, the only thing his efforts earned him was a worsening temper.

    Sascha and Dewpetal huddled together at the back of their shared cell, helpless to do anything but watch as the telepath¡¯s cool demeanor steadily slipped further and further into a downward spiral of madness. A handful of nervous yes-men lingered awkwardly near the doorway, looking as if they, too, wished to be anywhere else but here. Aster and Sergeant Windshot were the only ones Sascha recognized by name. The latter was pale in the face and on the verge of fainting. Aster jostled Sergeant Windshot back to attention with a taunting nudge. Despite the warmth of the room, her cowl was still pulled protectively tight over her head. Only her eyes and brief flashes of her face were visible.

    Aster¡¯s maniacal smile, however, carried over on her sticky-sweet voice. She, alone, was the only one brave enough to speak up. ¡°He¡¯s making a mockery of you, sir.¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± Cray¡¯s head whipped around at her. A snarl curled his upper lip. ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking your opinion, Aster.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot pressed flat against the wall, as if the closer he was to it, the greater the chance he and the wall would become one. Cray¡¯s fury was not focused on him, however, but on the stammering witch to his right. A waver of fear betrayed Aster¡¯s formerly cheery voice as she tried to backpedal her way into Cray¡¯s good graces. ¡°I just thought maybe you needed some help¡ª¡±

    ¡°You thought?¡± Cray repeated.

    ¡°¡ªsoftening him up a little.¡± Aster finished her sentence. She realized her mistake and yet, for whatever reason, kept desperately digging her hole deeper. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean anything bad by it, sir. I just thought¡ª¡±

    ¡°You keep saying that word like it means something. I do not pay you to think, Aster. I do the thinking. Me!¡± Cray¡¯s unnerving stare successfully forced his second-in-command into a pitiful cower. ¡°Now do us both a favor and keep your mouth closed before I have it sewn shut, what do you say?¡±

    Aster¡¯s hooded head bobbled in silent agreement.

    ¡°Good.¡± A tight smile pulled at Cray¡¯s thin mouth as he swiveled his attention back to Judge Belfast. He threw his hands out at his sides, shaking his head in exasperation, as he slowly meandered to the front of the cell. ¡°Do you see the effect you have, Trant? What happens when you defy me? It spreads.¡±

    Judge Belfast remained seated on the cot at the back of his cell, studying Cray¡¯s increasingly frenzied antics through tired, solemn eyes. He¡¯d said nothing since the start of the interrogation, allowing Cray to carry on their one-sided conversation all on his own. Sascha wasn¡¯t sure which infuriated their captor more ¡ª Trant¡¯s refusal to engage or the fact that the old faun was strangely impervious to Cray¡¯s telepathic abilities.

    ¡°You and I both know we can¡¯t have dissension spreading unchecked through the ranks. That would make me very angry, Trant. And you don¡¯t want to see me angry.¡± Cray was all the way to the bars now. ¡°So work with me here. We can settle this as gentlemen without the need for further bloodshed, yes?¡±

    Trant¡¯s bruised and battered face remained indifferent to Cray¡¯s plea for cooperation.

    The elf gripped the iron bars between his hands and pressed against them. ¡°Tell me, where are Oralia and the village herbalist hiding?¡±

    No answer.

    ¡°I gleaned the minds of everyone in your service. I found out about the tunnels, the cottage in the woods, and every hideout from here to Adderwood, and still, Oralia is nowhere to be found. No one can tell me where she is except you, Trant.¡± Cray¡¯s fingers were clenched so tight the color bled from his knuckles. ¡°You and your damned wife, neither of which I can read because ¡ª surprise, surprise ¡ª someone went and charmed your thoughts! Not very sportsmanship-like, you know. How am I supposed to adhere to Geralt¡¯s rules if you go and cheat, huh?¡±

    Cray had been ranting and raving for nearly half an hour, his temper alternating between hot to cold without rhyme or reason. He¡¯d learned nothing so far, unlike Sascha, who was relieved to discover that Oralia and Briony were still on the lam. Cray had broken everyone beneath Trant, plucking the information needed to flush out wherever the pair might have gone into hiding. And yet, he kept running into the same issue over and over again. No one knew where they were.

    No one except possibly Trant and Novera Belfast, that was. According to Cray¡¯s interrogees, the Belfasts alone possessed the complete knowledge of every defunct hiding spot in the territory. It wasn¡¯t something written down, either. They¡¯d committed it to memory. Normally that wouldn¡¯t have been a problem for someone like Cray, but the Belfasts had come prepared. The elf couldn¡¯t access their thoughts. During his rantings, he¡¯d described it as a wall, and no matter how hard he battered and rammed away at it, the mental barrier refused to budge.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Cray stood back and pinched his nose, filling his lungs with a calming breath. ¡°I just want a location, Trant. That¡¯s all you have to give me. And then this nightmare can end. Your precious village and all its inhabitants will be spared, you have my word.¡±

    Trant stared back at him with the vacant expression of someone who¡¯d buried himself deep, deep down with no intention of ever coming up for air again.

    ¡°Don¡¯t test me,¡± Cray warned. ¡°You know what happens when you test me, Trant. Someone else pays the price for your stubbornness.¡±

    Still nothing.

    ¡°Fine, have it your way. The hard way it is.¡± Cray spun around on his heel and gestured to the cluster of yes-men arranged near the doorway. ¡°Fetch the judge for me. It¡¯s time to remind him that disobedience has consequences.¡±

    Aster pushed away from the wall, eager to prove her worth, only to be stopped by Cray¡¯s outstretched hand.

    ¡°Not you,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m afraid you won¡¯t be able to attend this time. Your talents are needed elsewhere.¡±

    Aster opened her mouth to question his order and then remembered herself. She sealed her lips, trying not to openly tremble as she awaited whatever cruel fate Cray had in mind.

    ¡°My pet has been in an unholy uproar since we arrived. One can only handle so much shrieking before they snap, you know. Be a dear, Aster, and go up to the manor house and bring its crate here.¡± Cray¡¯s gaze wandered the room before settling on Sascha and Dewpetal¡¯s huddled forms. ¡°I think it¡¯ll feel more at home in the jailhouse. Give my little monster a chance to get familiar with its next playthings.¡±

    Aster went ashen in the face. ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Sergeant Windshot, you may accompany her,¡± Cray ordered as he swept out the door, calling over his shoulder to his remaining lackeys. ¡°Collect the judge, gentlemen, if you would. A public hanging¡¯s no good if he¡¯s not there to witness it firsthand. It¡¯s important that his people can look him in the eye while they dance from a rope.¡±

    Aster and Sergeant Windshot filled out into the hallway in Cray¡¯s wake, leaving the remaining goons to carry out their master¡¯s bidding.

    Trant¡¯s stoic composure finally broke. He staggered to his feet and readied himself for a fight. The old faun lowered his horned head and watched, warily, as Cray¡¯s goons approached the front of his cell. The goons were not ordinary soldiers. Given their extravagant cloaks and lack of uniform, they were members of the Division of Divination¡¯s magical order ¡ª thugs with magic, as Oralia used to describe them.

    Unlocked, the barred cell door swung open with a slow, grating groan. The pair filed inside. ¡°Watch him close,¡± the taller of the two warned as he flexed his hands, anticipating a fight. ¡°And don¡¯t let his age fool you. Mortan got his leg shattered the last time we had to wrangle the old goat out of his cage.¡±

    Trant didn¡¯t give them the satisfaction of pleading for mercy. He bent his knees and lowered his body into a defensive crouch, watching for openings as the pair closed in.

    ¡°Forget that. I¡¯m not risking my life for niceties.¡± The shorter thug called to Trant, ¡°You hear that? Hands over your head, old man, right now. Or you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Magic rippled down his hand, proving he meant what he said.

    Judge Belfast stomped his hoof, silently daring the young buck to try his luck.

    The witch happily obliged him. Shouting an incantation at the top of his lungs, he swept his hand in front of him, sending forth a spray of frost and ice. The stone-tiled floor cracked and buckled as the wave of frozen particles barreled toward the judge.

    Trant timed his move with practiced precision. One moment he was in range and, in the next, he was gone, his movements cloaked by the glimmering ice crystals clouding the air. His dark shape came hurtling out of the swirling frost and slammed head-first into the ice witch¡¯s unsuspecting chest. The witch collapsed with a wet gurgle, writhing and clawing on the slick floor as he fought for a breath that wouldn¡¯t come.

    The second thug hollered as he willed a spell into the air. Only the first two syllables escaped his mouth before the incantation morphed into a scream. Trant gave no quarter. He focused the force of his kick in that tender spot where the gentlemen¡¯s legs connected. The witch went down in a sobbing pile, unable to sound the alarm around his own choking wails of agony.

    Trant flew out the open cell door and made a break for the exit. He barely made it beyond the doorway before his body came hurtling backward, propelled by a roiling wave of black shadow. The old faun was flung clear across the room. He struck the bars and went limp, body sliding helplessly to the ground.

    Aster¡¯s light footsteps echoed softly as she strode confidently back into the cell block. ¡°Stupid old man,¡± she cursed as the room fell unnaturally dark around her. ¡°Did you really think that would work? Did you think you would get away? All you did was make this worse!¡±

    Aster raised her gloved hand into the air and clenched her fist. The room went pitch black as phantom shapes leapt from the shadows and descended over Trant. His pained screams lit the air.

    Every hair on Sascha¡¯s neck lifted on end as he leapt to his feet. ¡°Call it off!¡± He reached the front of the cell but could do little more than pull uselessly at the heavy iron bars. ¡°You¡¯ve made your point. Let him go!¡±

    Aster¡¯s eyes blazed bright green beneath the dip of her cowl. She ignored Sascha¡¯s pleas and continued to manifest beastly shapes from the darkness, exacting her pent rage on the old faun.

    ¡°Aster!¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s willowy frame broke from the protection of the doorway and bounded inside. ¡°Stop before he¡¯s dead. Cray wants him alive!¡±

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s command fell on deaf ears.

    He seized the shadow witch by the wrist and tried to shake some sense back into her. ¡°He¡¯ll take it on you, and you know it! Cray needs a neck for the chopping block and if you don¡¯t stop this instant, it¡¯ll be yours!¡±

    His words got through to her. Aster dropped her magic with an undignified snarl. The phantom shapes slunk back into the shadows as the dark veil lifted away, allowing light to return to the room. Judge Belfast¡¯s trembling frame stayed curled on the ground. The stone tile around him was covered in blood and frayed strips of torn fabric.

    ¡°You feel that, old man? The cuts in your hide. The blood? The cold fear running down your spine?¡± Aster drew her gloved hand under her nose, wiping the small trail of blood that trickled from her left nostril. ¡°That¡¯s only a taste of what is to come. Cray will see reason eventually. He¡¯ll use me, just you wait. And when that time comes, I¡¯m going to make you and your missus sing like canaries.¡±

 240 - Of Pain, Death, And Vengeance

    Aster¡¯s robed form disappeared from sight, leaving Sergeant Windshot to deal with the toppled crate on his own. He had the sense to not curse her to the seventh realm of chaos and back until after she was out of earshot. Grumbling, the sergeant pushed off from the wall and took an experimental step, testing whether his injured foot would bear his weight. His dark expression concluded that, shattered foot or not, someone was going to have to shove the crate into the far corner. And, unfortunately, the only someone around to do it was him.

    Wincing with each pained step, he hobbled over to the cage, seized it by the carry poles, and heaved it into an upright position. Cray¡¯s pet snarled and howled, filling the enclosed chamber with its displeasure. Eventually, it too grew weary of its own noises and settled into a disquieting silence.

    Sergeant Windshot had worked himself into a full sweat by the time he got the blasted contraption pushed all the way up against the far wall. Finished, he sank to the ground with a whimpered groan, mindful to keep a reasonable distance between him and the crate. His distrusting glare suggested that Cray¡¯s pet would not hesitate to tip its cage onto him a second time if given the chance.

    The sergeant¡¯s dead-eyed stare wandered the cellblock before settling on Sascha. Windshot¡¯s nostrils wrinkled in disgust. ¡°What?¡±

    Sascha considered saying nothing. Or, if not that, next to nothing. Now would have been the time to employ one of his noncommittal sounds, the kind he intentionally left open to the interpretation of his audience. But Sergeant Windshot wasn¡¯t like the others. Sascha sensed there was still a sliver of humanity buried somewhere deep inside. Cautiously, Sascha wetted his lips before speaking. ¡°It¡¯s just telling is all.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot tugged a wrinkled handkerchief from his pocket and used it to mop the excess moisture from his brow. ¡°Spare me the riddles and just say what you mean. I am not in the mood for the verbal runaround.¡±

    Here it was, the moment that would either make or break him. ¡°It is telling that you would rather be in here, wrangling monsters in the cellblock, than partake in whatever is going on out there.¡±

    ¡°How would you know?¡±

    ¡°Because you could have left the moment Aster did,¡± Sascha said. ¡°Instead, you stayed and spent the better part of twenty minutes wrangling that cage as if it was a piece of furniture. Which tells me that no matter what that beast is, or how badly it could hurt you, you would still rather deal with literal monsters than be out there watching the ones disguised as people torture innocents.¡±

    Sergeant Windshot¡¯s face darkened but said nothing, unwilling to admit the obvious.

    It was risky but Sascha couldn¡¯t stop now. There was too much at stake to remain silent. ¡°You¡¯re not like Cray or his goons. You¡ª¡±

    ¡°Do you take me for a fool?¡± The man¡¯s shoulders bristled defensively. ¡°I was not born yesterday. I know where you¡¯re going with this and you can stop right there before it costs you your tongue. Do not look to me to change things. Whatever power you think I have doesn¡¯t exist.¡±

    Sascha kept his cool. ¡°Says the man on the other side of the bars.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear it!¡± The sergeant crumpled his handkerchief into a ball and threw it aside. It didn¡¯t have the dramatic effect he intended. The light, airy cloth drifted gently to the ground.

    Dewpetal slunk out from under the cot and scurried over. She placed her clawed hand on Sascha¡¯s arm, pleading with him, wordlessly, to stop prodding the proverbial beast before it tore off their faces.

    Sascha held a finger to his lips, promising to keep quiet. It didn¡¯t matter anyway. There was no longer any need for him to speak. The damage was done. His words had struck a nerve with the sergeant. All that was left to do now was sit back and watch as the man¡¯s guilty conscience unraveled before their eyes one tattered thread at a time.

    ¡°Will you stop looking at me like that?¡± Sergeant Windshot snapped.

    Sascha raised a single eyebrow as if to say ¡®I¡¯m days away from execution. How else would you like me to look at you?¡¯

    ¡°That¡¯s not any better!¡± The man¡¯s shoulders lost their rigidity as his head sagged down into his open hands with an agonized moan. His fingers curled into his hairline. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask for this.¡±

    Dewpetal¡¯s confused expression darted from Sascha to the sergeant, and then back again. She lifted her hands, demanding to know how Sascha had broken the weeping man without saying anything.

    Sascha lifted one massive shoulder in an innocent shrug.

    She didn¡¯t believe him, obviously, but short of throwing another temper tantrum, there wasn¡¯t anything Dewpetal could do but hang back and watch the peculiar situation unfold.

    ¡°Look, you¡¯re right, alright?¡± Sergeant Windshot lifted his teary-eyed face from his hands with a gasping breath. He collected himself and then, glancing suspiciously from left to right, lowered his voice to a venomous whisper. ¡°I¡¯m not like them. No one should be like them. But I¡¯m here now, aren¡¯t I? Stuck in an impossible situation, forced to stand back and watch as Cray wreaks havoc on an entire village for kicks.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t what I want either. Believe me, I¡¯d do something if it would matter, but it won¡¯t. Others have tried. People braver than me tried and failed.¡± Whatever complicated emotions had kept the sergeant up for the past week were slowly starting to trickle free. A hairline crack had fractured the metaphorical dam. There was no stopping it now. The words slid free of his trembling mouth uninhibited. ¡°I¡¯m only a sergeant. What do you think happened to the captain? Or the lieutenant? They stood up to Cray, that¡¯s what. And paid the price for it, too.¡±

    There was more to the story. Alas, the only way to get it was to prod a little further. Sascha temporarily redacted his vow of silence and asked, ¡°He killed them?¡±

    Dewpetal stomped her foot in protest.

    ¡°Made it look like a mishap,¡± Sergeant Windshot muttered. ¡°It happened during the raid. They claimed it was a freak accident. Accident, my ass. I saw their bodies. The only thing that could have done that kind of damage doesn¡¯t come from the wrong end of a sword.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Both of Sascha¡¯s eyebrows went up this time, feigning his surprise.

    ¡°My money¡¯s on Aster. The carnage had her name all over it.¡± The sergeant gathered his feet beneath him and crept closer, keeping close to the ground. ¡°And that¡¯s exactly what¡¯s in store for me if I so much as look at Cray wrong. Understand? So whatever it is you want me to do, forget it. It¡¯s not happening. I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s not fair, I know. But someone¡¯s gotta hang, and I¡¯d rather it not be me.¡±

    The sadness Sascha willed into his expression was genuine. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too.¡±

    A heavy door slammed open from near the front of the jailhouse. Sergeant Windshot tilted his head to the side, revealing the pointed tip of an ear, and listened as several sets of footsteps moved down the hallway in their direction. Panic flooded his haggard features. As nimble as a cat, the sergeant jumped back onto his feet. He didn¡¯t bother with the door. Given the estimated size of the oncoming party, there wasn¡¯t room in the hallway for him to slip past. Sergeant Windshot tucked himself against the wall instead, doing his damnest to pass for a stone fixture.

    The new arrivals filed swiftly inside. Two of Cray¡¯s goons led, dragging Judge Belfast between them, with their commander trailing casually behind. Trant¡¯s beaten body sagged between his escorts, a bent, broken shadow of his earlier self. The goons tossed him into the open cell and the old faun went down like a sack of potatoes. Trant curled into the fetal position and went still.

    A wave of Cray¡¯s hand sent the goons filing out the door. Sergeant Windshot slipped in behind them.

    Cray noticed. He tilted his head curiously, but said nothing. He, alone, lingered, waiting for the room to clear before he approached the bars with a sad shake of his head. ¡°That¡¯s another two dead, Trant. Two deaths you could have prevented. I¡¯m afraid your village is going to run out of people before my point gets through that thick skull of yours.¡±

    Cray allowed the weight of his words to settle as he unconsciously fiddled with the ring on his left hand. The blue stone caught a stray beam of gray light filtering in from the barred window. For the briefest of moments, the gloomy cell block was cast in a cascade of sparking glimmers. Cray quickly tucked his hand back into his sleeve. ¡°I¡¯m beginning to fear you won¡¯t break, no matter what pressure I apply to your neck. That only leaves me with one choice, you know. I¡¯ll have to break Novera, not you. Perhaps your loving wife will finally come around when she¡¯s forced to watch you dance on a rope.¡±

    A rumbling growl filled the room.

    Cray did not appreciate being interrupted. Pulling a face, he turned and approached the crate. He traced his fingers along the cage¡¯s silver inlay. ¡°Sorry, my pet,¡± he crooned. ¡°This one¡¯s not for you, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    Cray knelt in front of the bolted door and slid the narrow view slot open. ¡°You poor dear. Did Aster forget to open your window? No wonder you¡¯re so feisty.¡±

    The sight of its master sent the beast into a rage. Unearthly snarls lit the air as the armored cage lurched and shuddered. The beast threw itself against the bolted door over and over again to no avail.

    ¡°There, there. No need to be so upset. I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m saving you for someone better.¡± Cray¡¯s smug smile pulled tighter across his thin lips. ¡°A few someones, actually.¡±

    Ice bolted down Sascha¡¯s spine when he realized Cray was watching him from the corner of his eye.

    ¡°First, Oralia,¡± the elf told his pet, watching the blood drain from Sascha¡¯s face. ¡°One would think, being with child, she would know to stay away, but I have just the thing to draw her out into hiding. Her downfall will be her own bleeding heart.¡±

    Cray¡¯s gleeful stare settled back over Judge Belfast¡¯s still form. Unknowingly, like a child toying with their hair, his fingers returned to the ring on his hand. ¡°And then, my pet, you can have the judge¡¯s dear sweet boy. And whomever he brings back with him. Someone powerful, I hope. It¡¯s been so long since you¡¯ve had a good bloodbath, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    Sascha could not tear his terror-stricken gaze from the elf¡¯s ring. He swore he saw the opal change color. A distant memory tugged at the back of his mind, demanding he pay attention, look closer, and remember why the strange static sensation rippling up and down his arms felt eerily familiar.

    Cray¡¯s gray eyes hardened, noticing the way Sascha was openly gawking at his ring. The elf touched his finger to his temple and a bolt of searing hot pain erupted within Sascha¡¯s skull. ¡°My, oh my.¡± Cray¡¯s voice sounded inside and outside of Sascha¡¯s head at the same time. ¡°You¡¯ve seen a powerstone before, haven¡¯t you? Tell me where.¡±

    A slew of images flashed before Sascha¡¯s eyes. The pressure pushing against the inside of his skull swelled as his memories darted past in a nauseating blur of color. He relived the battle on Mount Hook, and that pivotal moment when the tide turned and Daana defeated the dark entity by channeling it into an empty power stone.

    ¡°My gods,¡± Cray gasped.

    The searing pain relented. Sascha slumped forward, gasping for breath as Cray¡¯s thoughts untangled from his own. He refused to lift his eyes and look his deranged captor in the face. He didn¡¯t want to face the reality of what he¡¯d just done. To witness the secrets he¡¯d betrayed.

    Sascha felt Cray¡¯s unnerving smile widen.

    ¡°A dark entity trapped in a powerstone? Not only that but Oralia¡¯s the one carrying it?¡± Cray¡¯s tone bordered on giddy. ¡°Oh dear, Sascha, thank you! You have no idea the gift you¡¯ve given me.¡±

    The elf¡¯s ominous steps approached the bars. ¡°All that¡¯s left now is to draw her in. For that, I¡¯ll need your help. It¡¯s nothing personal, of course. I have to exploit what weakness Oralia possesses. Unfortunate news for you, my friend, I¡¯m afraid. As far as weaknesses go, you are her worst.¡±

    A better orc would have flown into a blind rage right then and there. Threatening him, the love of his life, his unborn child, the unspeakable things Cray had done to innocents ¡ª it had all the makings of a rampage, and still, Sascha couldn¡¯t channel his fury into something useful.

    Weakling. Coward. Useless fuck!

    ¡°Now, now, good sir. There¡¯s no need to torture yourself.¡± Cray flashed another winning smile. ¡°That¡¯s my job.¡±

    The elf meandered to the exit, cherishing the way each purposely drawn-out step made his captives shudder. He called over his shoulder to Judge Belfast. ¡°I¡¯m feeling unusually generous today, Trant. I¡¯ll give you a few days to reconsider my offer. You¡¯ve proven willing to let others die for your moral convictions. It¡¯ll be interesting to see if your own life is held to the same standards.¡±

    Cray paused in the doorway, tracing the heavy grain of the wooden door with his fingertip. ¡°I want you to know that, no matter how much you irk me, I will be kind to you even in death. You will not have to meet your end alone. I¡¯ll see to it that Sascha and the little green one here keep you company. The three of you can swing lifelessly in the breeze together.¡±

    Sascha winced when the door slammed shut. The terror pumping through his veins refused to settle. He didn¡¯t want to look at the crate. He wanted to turn a blind eye to it. Pretend it didn¡¯t exist. Live out his few remaining days ignorant of the horror that awaited Oralia¡¯s arrival. The cold static buzzing up and down his arms, however, refused to be disregarded so easily. It commanded attention, demanding Sascha acknowledge the source and face his fears. Reluctantly, Sascha¡¯s gaze moved to the crate.

    The open viewing slot was empty.

    Something inside shifted. Darkness moving within darkness, the undefined edges of the creature¡¯s shape melded as one with the shadows. Every hair on Sascha¡¯s neck stood on end when a pair of silvery eyes materialized from within the shifting veil of black. The eyes, framed by the narrow viewing slot, gazed back at him. There was no voice to accompany the beast¡¯s stare. There was no need. Its unbridled fury transcended spoken word.

    The eyes spoke of pain, of death, of an unbridled desire to wreak vengeance upon the unsuspecting world.

 242 - Stumpy And Round

    Fairguard¡¯s waterlogged streetways were suspiciously quiet. Not due to a lack of people either, Ashwyn noted. Citizens and soldiers alike scurried to and fro across the mazework of wooden planks connecting one rickety building to the next. All around, the settlement was abuzz with hushed excitement. Everywhere Ashwyn looked, people crowded together in small groups, whispering fervently to one another. Regrettably, the hushed whispers fell silent each time Ashwyn neared. The dirty looks that followed were not aimed at her, she soon realized, but at her reluctant tagalong. Rali followed in Ashwyn¡¯s wake, unaffected by the stares, as if the potency of public disdain had worn off ages ago.

    Fairgaurd¡¯s population was primarily dwarfs and they did not hide their contempt for the infamous upstart, Quartz Ralizak. There wasn¡¯t time to get to the bottom of that, either. The weather was turning. Every bitter breath Ashwyn drew into her lungs was cold and stiflingly dry, carrying the icy promise of soon-to-be snow. The last thing she needed was to be caught outside when the first flurry started. Unlike the whispering denizens, however, Ashwyn didn¡¯t have a choice. She had to find what she was looking for ¡ª whom, specifically ¡ª before either party froze to death.

    The large orc slogged along the muddy streets, checking all of the settlement¡¯s hidden nooks and crannies as she went, doing her best not to draw attention. On her own, said task would have been a breeze. Unfortunately, the one thing Rali attracted in droves was attention, particularly of the unwanted variety.

    ¡°We should go check the tavern,¡± Rali said, pretending not to notice the glaring huddle of onlookers across from them. ¡°See if your missing gobbies are in there.¡±

    ¡°We already checked the tavern.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t hurt to look again.¡± The stocky dwarf slowly meandered along in Ashwyn¡¯s wake with her hands stuffed deep in her pockets, shivering from the worsening cold. ¡°We could press a few people, see if anyone¡¯s seen anything, warm up by the fire, and maybe grab a drink or two while we¡¯re at it.¡±

    That sounded lovely, actually. Except for the part that involved drinking with Rali. Ashwyn had no doubt that they¡¯d wake up under a broken table somewhere, sporting injuries from a bar fight neither of them remembered. ¡°Tell you what, Rals, we¡¯ll split up. You go do that and I¡¯ll keep doing what I¡¯m doing, what do you say? I¡¯ll come find you when I need you.¡±

    Rali frowned at the suggestion. ¡°Won¡¯t work.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Funny. Ashwyn¡¯s power of suggestion usually worked on people.

    ¡°You can¡¯t exactly pay my way if you¡¯re out here catching your death in the cold.¡±

    ¡°Of course not,¡± Ashwyn muttered as she turned a sudden, sharp corner and disappeared down the dark alleyway squeezed between two rickety buildings, hopeful that Rali wouldn¡¯t follow. She needed Rali, eventually, yes. But not yet. The least the damn dwarf could do was go darken someone else¡¯s existence for the time being.

    Having scoured the streets of Fairguard for the better part of the afternoon, Ashwyn was starting to run out of places to look. She¡¯d already checked outside the settlement walls, and walked up and down the road along the forest, before concluding that her missing goblin entourage must have snuck their way inside. Figures, the one time Ashwyn needed their help, and suddenly the bothersome trio were nowhere to be found.

    To Ashwyn¡¯s dismay, Rali¡¯s squat form came swaggering around the corner, mouth still running. ¡°Have we ruled out yet that these little voices you heard were real and not, say, I don¡¯t know, a drug-fueled hallucination?¡±

    Ashwyn stiffened at the slight. Rali¡¯s constant verbal poking and prodding was steadily wearing her dwindling patience razor thin. ¡°Do you know what I give for a drug-fueled hallucination right now? I¡¯ve been involuntarily sober for weeks!¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡± Rali gazed up at her with a look caught somewhere between irritated and bored. ¡°I watched you swipe a bottle in the market on our way out.¡±

    ¡°And I haven¡¯t slung it back yet, have I? It¡¯s for drowning my sorrows later. Until then, I¡¯m still painfully unintoxicated, thank you very much.¡± Ashwyn glanced over her shoulder in time to catch the glimpse of disgust that flitted across Rali¡¯s otherwise bored expression. Insult lanced down the orc¡¯s rigid spine. Instinctively, Ashwyn clicked her tusks against her upper teeth as a warning. ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like that.¡±

    Rali, naturally, continued to do so, adding the slightest lift of an eyebrow to truly drive her point home.

    ¡°You¡¯re one to talk, you know. I can smell the liquor on you a mile away.¡±

    As blessed as Rali¡¯s silence was, it didn¡¯t last. The final straw snapped and the anger she¡¯d been bottling up all afternoon finally bubbled over. ¡°Damn right, I¡¯m one to talk! I¡¯m allowed to be like this. I earned it. I tried my darndest and nobody wanted to listen. What about you, huh? Can you say the same? Did you even try to meet Ellisar halfway before running her off?¡±

    ¡°This again? Seriously?¡±

    ¡°Yes, seriously. Because, unlike you apparently, I don¡¯t give up on people the moment things get sticky.¡±

    Rali¡¯s words were the verbal equivalent of a sucker punch to the gut. Ashwyn nearly doubled over, feeling her breath expel from her frigid lungs, as she whipped around to face her opponent head-on.

    ¡°And, for the record,¡± Rali added, ¡°it¡¯s not just El I¡¯m mad about. You lost Snag too.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t lose him.¡±

    ¡°But you didn¡¯t very well stop him either, did you? He should have been a fucking breeze. All you had to do was make Snag feel more sorry for you than he does about himself.¡± Rali sucked her front teeth as she looked Ashwyn up and down with a look of blatant disdain. ¡°I bet you didn¡¯t even try.¡±

    The tip of Ashwyn¡¯s nose stung against the cold as a blistering heat built beneath her blue-gray skin. ¡°For the last fucking time, I didn¡¯t run off your family.¡±

    ¡°You see, you say that, but they¡¯re not here, are they?¡±

    Not worth it. Not worth it. Not worth it, Ashwyn chanted her internal mantra as she turned and continued her search down the long dark alley. Find the goblins first. Fistfight Rali later.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Flipping the tables, are we?¡± The dwarf¡¯s baritone voice hollered after her. ¡°You can run all you like, but you¡¯re not shaking me. I¡¯m here to the end, just like a true friend should be.¡±

    ¡°Will you give it a rest?¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Rali replied. ¡°Will it bring back my family?¡±

    Gods dammit! Like a dog with its teeth already sunk in, Rali wasn¡¯t going to let it go until she¡¯d satiated her need for blood. Ashwyn whipped about and took three intimidating steps in her direction before stopping. ¡°Will picking a fight with me bring back your family?¡±

    The dwarf brazenly held her ground. ¡°No, but it might make me feel better.¡±

    ¡°You want to do this right now? Then fine, we¡¯ll do it.¡± Forget fists, Ashwyn was going to fight with words. ¡°Yes, Ellisar and I ended things. It fucking sucks. For her, for me, for you, everyone involved. A lifetime built together down the drain, just like that. I get why you¡¯re mad, Rali. You¡¯d obviously rather have her here than me, but the fact is I¡¯m the one who showed up. And I think that¡¯s what¡¯s really gone and put the bur in your britches. You¡¯re finally learning that your friendship didn¡¯t mean nearly as much to her as did you.¡±

    Whatever Rali had mentally steeled herself against, it certainly wasn¡¯t that. The hurt slipped through around the edges of her expression.

    ¡°Welcome to Ellisar!¡± Ashwyn threw her hands out at her sides with far more flourish than she felt inside. ¡°You¡¯ll drive yourself mad thinking you can change her. Believe me, I¡¯m the expert in that department.¡±

    Rali¡¯s face changed. An impenetrable mask of cold calculatedness settled into place, dispelling any trace of her former hurt. ¡°Nah, see, I never tried to change her. That¡¯s the difference between you and me.¡±

    ¡°Good for you then.¡± Ashwyn forced a tight-lipped smile. ¡°Now you want to continue beating this dead horse or can we go back to finding our messengers?¡±

    Rali¡¯s expression made it abundantly clear which of those two options she preferred. In fact, it offered a third option, one which involved beating Ashwyn instead of the dead horse.

    It was time to pull out the full stops, apparently. ¡°We could always talk about what¡¯s going on between you and the captain. Or, rather, what¡¯s not going on between the two of you?¡±

    Rali¡¯s mask stayed fixed in place. ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± Ashwyn challenged. ¡°Because there¡¯s chemistry there. I could practically taste it when the two of you interact. And don¡¯t think I notice the sad way he looks at you, or you him. Or that fact that even though you¡¯ve clearly slept together, you¡¯re not sharing a bed. You¡¯ve been demoted to the couch, Rali. That must sting.¡±

    ¡°I like my space.¡± She shrugged.

    ¡°So I¡¯ve heard. El always said you were real good at pushing prospective partners away. You¡¯d let them get just close enough to see a glimpse of what¡¯s inside and then you¡¯d shut them out. Can¡¯t say I blame you. If you don¡¯t like what¡¯s on the inside, how could anyone else, right?¡± Schmoozing and fighting weren¡¯t Ashwyn¡¯s only gifts. You didn¡¯t survive a life of degeneracy without knowing how to read your mark. Normally Ashwyn wouldn¡¯t have bothered with someone with Rali, as the prize wasn¡¯t worth the cost, but the dwarf had brought it upon herself and Ashwyn was determined to use every underhanded tactic she had to cut her low.

    ¡°Good guess,¡± Rali congratulated, still sounding strangely distant. ¡°Wasn¡¯t me this time though. Not entirely, anyway.¡±

    Ashwyn had aimed to cut Rali low. She wanted an angry, explosive opponent. Anger was uncomplicated. It was both predictable and easily exploited, something Ashwyn had intended to use to her advantage. This, however, was not that. She was supposed to be working the dwarf into an angry fireball of fury, not relating to her on a personal level!

    Ashwyn ran a heavy hand down her weary face with a sigh. ¡°He pushed you out before you could push him? Is that it?¡±

    Rali¡¯s mask of indifference slipped. Unconsciously, she shifted her weight from foot to foot as she spoke. ¡°In a way. We were a thing for a while, and then we weren¡¯t. I was stupid to think things would go back to the way they were before I left. But it can¡¯t. We want different things. He suggested we just stay friends. Keep things clean this time around, avoid getting caught up in something that won¡¯t last.¡±

    This wasn¡¯t going at all how Ashwyn expected. ¡°Ah.¡±

    ¡°The worst part is he¡¯s nice about it. Offered his couch and even got me in front of the seneschal. Twice, actually.¡± Rali managed a weak, halfhearted laugh. ¡°And then I blew up on his boss and nearly got us thrown out. So I guess it¡¯s probably better we didn¡¯t get entangled this time.¡±

    Well, that certainly explained the underlying anger. In addition to losing her family, and failing Oralia, her closest friend, Rali was mourning the loss of her lover, too. No wonder she¡¯d been so hellbent on picking a fight. Ashwyn unclenched her jaw with another weak sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t like feeling sorry for you.¡±

    ¡°Good. Don¡¯t,¡± Rali said. ¡°Can¡¯t have you holding punches when I kick your ass for losing the best thing that ever happened to you.¡±

    ¡°Can we postpone the ass-kicking for later then?¡± Ashwyn rubbed her arms for warmth as she craned her head back and gazed up at the thick, gray clouds overhead. Little specks of white were already slowly drifting downward. ¡°We¡¯re in a race against time and the elements here. We¡¯ve got to send our message along before the snow makes the roads untravellable.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Rali conceded with a huff. ¡°But only because it involves bringing Snag home, where he belongs.¡±

    ¡°Boo!¡± A shrill voice called out from somewhere along the roofline. ¡°No making up, we want to see blood.¡±

    Two additional voices joined the first until the alley was filled with the prepubescent squeak of disgruntled teenagers.

    ¡°Yeah, teach the big meanie orc a lesson!¡±

    ¡°Bully her like she bullied us.¡±

    Relief washed over Ashwyn. That, and annoyance, as obviously the little buggers had not only been watching her, but listening too. She raised her voice to be heard over the clamor. ¡°You three still want to make a name for yourselves?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Spoon Ear¡¯s distinctively shrill voice echoed back down. ¡°Depends on what you¡¯re asking of us.¡±

    Ashwyn stepped aside, gesturing to Rali. ¡°The three of you have obviously heard of Snag¡¯s former team, the faithful four. I¡¯d like to introduce you to the most notorious member of the bunch.¡±

    As quick as lightning, the three young goblins materialized out of the shadows and into the alleyway. Twig edged tentatively closer, attempting to peer past Ashwyn. ¡°You fooling with us, orc? That¡¯s not really her, is it?¡±

    Spoon Ear tilted her head to the side curiously. ¡°She¡¯s so stumpy.¡±

    ¡°And round,¡± Smiley contributed.

    ¡°Stumpy and round.¡± Ashwyn gazed back over her shoulder at Rali with a smirk. ¡°Are you just going to stand there and take that from them?¡±

    ¡°Alright, listen here, buckos,¡± Rali barreled forward. ¡°Unless the name you¡¯re looking for is dead, it¡¯d do you some good to shut your gobs and open your ears. What do you say?¡±

    The trio fell silent as they shrank back in a stunned mix of fear and adoration.

    Rali fed on their fear like a shark to blood. She paced in front of them, eyeing each one up and down. ¡°You want a name? A title? Reputation? I¡¯ve got just the thing to make you the who¡¯s who of all goblin-kind. Lucky for you swabbies it¡¯s not even going to be that hard. All you¡¯ve got to do is run a little message back to Snag for me. Think you can handle that?¡±

    They nodded their heads in unison.

    ¡°Excellent!¡± Rali clapped her hands together in agreement. ¡°Now listen good, because we¡¯re gonna go over this word-for-word until you¡¯ve got it right. The whole fate of the world may very well be resting on your wee little heads.¡±

 243 - Rat Boy

    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s try it again. One more time.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to try it again.¡± Mul tilted his head back with a groan.

    ¡°I am well aware of your inherent dislike of magic. But so help me, Mulberry Stoneclaw, as the gods as my witness, you will learn to use the gifts you were given. Now,¡± Briony said, pointing to the corner, ¡°coax the mouse out of hiding.¡±

    Mul crossed his burly arms defiantly over his chest. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Mul¡¯s bullheadedness was no match for the unbridled intensity of Briony¡¯s stare. Still, that didn¡¯t mean he was going to give in without a fight. Oralia was convinced the man enjoyed the quarreling almost as much as he enjoyed not partaking in his lessons. ¡°Why?¡± Mul challenged. ¡°What¡¯s the point if you¡¯re not going to let me do it my way?¡±

    ¡°Because your way involves eating the mouse.¡± Briony¡¯s hands appeared to have a will of their own. They thrashed about in front of her face as the faun spoke, wiggling and waving like uncoordinated dancers fueled by fury, not talent. ¡°You are an animal spirit. Your powers allow you to communicate with animals and, in some exceptional cases, command them, not eat them!¡±

    Oralia¡¯s restless gaze wandered the dingy walls of the subterranean bunker as the pair argued. She¡¯d already lost track of how many days she, Mul, and Briony had been squirreled away underground. Too many, apparently, as her companions had clearly succumbed to a vicious bout of cabin fever. She couldn¡¯t blame them. There wasn¡¯t much else to do but sleep, sit, and squabble.

    Squabbling, in particular, appeared to be the preferred choice.

    Their current hideout was in the sort of poor condition one expected from an abandoned safe house. Groundwater leached in through the surrounding dirt and pooled in the low spots, rendering the once compacted dirt spongey to the step. There was no furniture, not in working condition anyway. The random scattering of rotted piles of decomposed wood was all that remained of the hideout¡¯s former furnishings. It wasn¡¯t all bad, though. Despite its years of abandonment, the bunker still had a solid foundation, soundproof walls, a roof that only leaked when it rained, and a somewhat operable ventilation system. Oralia and Mul had spent their first day underground cleaning out the old vent shafts, ensuring that if they were to die underground, it would be due to one another and not air deprivation.

    Oralia had tried to stay busy after that. She moved from room to room, cleaning out the adjoining chambers the best she could, ensuring the space was prepared for a sudden influx in numbers. It was wishful thinking, sure, but it gave her something to occupy her time. The fact that it had taken several days was a small blessing. The bunker was large. Less of a subterranean basement and more akin to a gopher burrow, with three separate hallways that branched off of the main room into smaller, more intimate spaces.

    The cleanout and, by extension, Oralia¡¯s sense of purpose did not last. By the third day, the only things left to do were remain alive and uncaptured. While, in theory, these seemed like simple tasks, Oralia found them downright unbearable. She was a doer, a shaker, someone who didn¡¯t side idle while there was danger afoot. She belonged smack dab in the middle of it! And yet, here she was, forced to do the one thing she absolutely detested with every errant bone in her body ¡ª nothing.

    She was so utterly desperate for something to do that she¡¯d reverted to weaving handicrafts from dried grass. It was a pastime she¡¯d learned as a child and not something she¡¯d expected to be doing while on the lam. It kept her trembling hands occupied, at least. Oralia already had a pile of rings and bracelets and was midway through a decorative crown that would either be placed on Mul¡¯s head or shoved down his throat, depending on her mood when she finished it.

    ¡°Mulberry Stoneclaw!¡±

    Briony¡¯s shout drew Oralia¡¯s wandering attention back to her quarreling companions. Somewhere during the last few days, the faun had discovered the power of utilizing Mul¡¯s full name. It wasn¡¯t so much effective as it was annoying, but Oralia suspected that was precisely the reason she kept doing it. The theory was that a riled, reactive Mul was better than an unresponsive one. It was for the best. There very well couldn¡¯t be two sad sacks bringing the mood down. Oralia had already chosen that role for herself and she was proving quite good at it.

    ¡°Stop stalling,¡± Briony ordered with a harsh snort, ¡°and use your powers.¡±

    Surprisingly, Mul obeyed. He clamped his belligerent mouth shut, narrowed his eyes with concentration, and channeled his thoughts into the aether. At Briony, naturally, not the mouse in the corner. Because gods forbid a Stoneclaw carry out an order without some form of malicious compliance.

    Briony¡¯s eyebrows knitted together, unamused. ¡°I am not a mouse.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± Mul agreed. ¡°You have more in common with a rat, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Ugh!¡± Briony curled her hands into tightly balled fists. ¡°What is it with your family and your magical hang-ups? First that little brat brother of yours and now you. Why are you all so afraid of power? Do you know what I would give to get even a fraction of what you have? It¡¯s not fair!¡±

    In an unexpected show of compassion, Mul leaned over and placed his hand on Briony¡¯s shoulder. He didn¡¯t say anything, which was somehow even more compassionate.

    Briony was rightfully suspicious. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Trying to infect you.¡±

    ¡°For the last time, you don¡¯t become a witch by being infected by one. That¡¯s not a thing.¡±

    ¡°Then explain the bees.¡±

    ¡°I did explain the bees.¡± Briony removed his hand from her shoulder with all the care of someone not trying to contract a contagious skin fungus, and let it drop away from her. ¡°Like it or not, you¡¯re what we call an animal spirit. It just happened that your powers were repressed from a lifetime of equating magic with evil. Like everything else you keep bottled up, it broke through during a time of overwhelming stress. And now that it¡¯s out in the open, there will be no shoving it back down. You¡¯re going to have to learn to use it.¡±

    Animal spirits came from the same branch of magic as nature elementals. Except, instead of affecting plant life, their powers influenced animals. At least that was Briony¡¯s heavily watered-down version of it. Oralia was too depressed to delve any deeper and Mul certainly didn¡¯t have an interest either. Unlike Briony, who had suddenly made it her life¡¯s mission to teach the stubborn Stoneclaw how to wield his natural talents. It was a move born of desperation, likely. But at least it gave Briony and, by extension Mul, something productive to fight over while they sat on their hands waiting for help to arrive.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Mul gave in at last. ¡°But does it have to be a mouse? I don¡¯t want to be the guy who talks to vermin. I can already hear Lingon¡¯s taunting. He¡¯d call me Mouse Man.¡±

    ¡°Why are you concerned with what your brother thinks? He¡¯s not even here.¡±

    ¡°Rat Boy,¡± Mul carried on. He flinched when he realized Briony was still glaring rather expectantly at him, urging him to move along to the part that involved doing things without bringing up every potential obstacle along the way. ¡°What if we tried with something more formidable, like a wolf? Or a falcon, maybe? Now that¡¯d be badass. Lingon couldn¡¯t say shit about that if there was a bird pecking his eyes out.¡±

    Briony gestured around them. ¡°Do you see any wolves or falcons down here?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he agreed with a sigh. ¡°It¡¯s obviously a sign we should give up. Clearly wasn¡¯t meant to be.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t just jump in and link with a wolf anyway,¡± Briony said, switching tactics. ¡°You have to start small, hone your skills, build the pathways, steadily work your way up. A mouse today is a wolf tomorrow.¡± She paused before feeling the need to rectify her former statement. ¡°Or, in your case, never. Considering a tiny little mouse is obviously too much for you.¡±

    Her tactic worked. The insult inspired yet another argument which, inevitably, spurred Mul to prove Briony wrong through any means necessary, including doing exactly what it was she wanted him to do. Face scrunched in concentration with his fingertips burrowed deep into his temples, Mul slowly but surely coaxed the mouse out of hiding. It was nearly halfway to him when the harsh call of a raven rattled down through an open ventilation pipe and filled the bunker with its disembodied croak.

    ¡°Not now,¡± Mul grunted, still hunched forward, willing the mouse forward. ¡°I¡¯m busy!¡±

    ¡°It could be a message.¡± Oralia tossed her weaving aside and stood. She sprinted across the room to lift the hatch and allow their guest inside. The raven¡¯s screech of gratitude rang in Oralia¡¯s ears as its feathery body hurtled past her head.

    Ravens from the Iron Ridge, much like their human Stoneclaw counterparts, knew nothing of volume control. Oralia plugged her already ringing ears, wincing as the large bird circled the room, croaking up a storm.

    Mul appeared indifferent to the bird¡¯s obvious urgency. ¡°Gods dammit, Crow! You scared the mouse away!¡± he cried, throwing his hands out in exasperation. ¡°I almost had it eating out of the palm of my hand.¡±

    The raven landed near Mul¡¯s feet and ruffled its feathers.

    ¡°Of course, I was going to eat it,¡± Mul sneered. ¡°Might¡¯ve even shared had you not scared it away with your chicken squawk!¡±

    Croak!

    ¡°You¡¯re only proving my point.¡±

    Briony stood and shuffled over to Oralia. The faun leaned closer, whispering, ¡°Do you think he even realizes he¡¯s using his powers right now?¡±

    ¡°Would it be quieter if he did?¡± Oralia said with her fingers still stuffed in her ears.

    ¡°There¡¯d probably be a lot more crying.¡±

    Oralia¡¯s concern was not for Mul¡¯s accidental use of magic, but who had sent the raven and, more importantly, what the strip of message strapped to its left foot said. ¡°Mul,¡± she said, attempting to wield some control over the situation, ¡°what does the message say? Can you read it?¡±

    Mul offered his hand to the noisy raven who, after several threatening snaps of its beak, reluctantly accepted the invitation to perch. Supporting the bird¡¯s weight with one hand, Mul unfastened the message clipped to its food with the other. ¡°It¡¯s from Rali,¡± Mul explained without bothering to unravel the strip of parchment. He offered it to Oralia instead. ¡°According to featherhead here, she¡¯s on her way with reinforcements.¡±

    Hope sparked in Oralia¡¯s chest, igniting the fire she feared had gone out permanently. She didn¡¯t know whether to kiss Mul or the damn bird. Retaining what little of her dignity she had left, she swept Briony up in her arms instead and squeezed. ¡°She did it! I knew she could.¡±

    ¡°Put me down!¡± Briony squirmed in her arms. ¡°I¡¯m not the hugging type.¡±

    Oralia set her back down still in one piece, albeit a little more breathless than before. ¡°How do you feel about being the stabbing type?¡±

    The faun straightened her wrinkled clothes as the weariness lifted from her expression. ¡°Now that I can get behind.¡±

 244 - Burning Bridges

    Against insurmountable odds, Rasp had held up his end of the bargain with Priestess Oreword. The nameless one, the faceless terror that¡¯d preyed on the people of Kalikose for centuries, was dead. Priestess Oreword, overjoyed with the news, was quick to honor her end of the deal. She fitted each member of Rasp¡¯s traveling party with food and supplies and promptly sent them on their merry way. The translator, Bromm, led the expedition, tasked with delivering the heroes as close to the Mossborn territory as the underground road system would allow.

    Rasp had never encountered being treated as a hero before. And while he didn¡¯t care for the hearty back slaps and cheering, he did like the part of being a hero where people gave him things, particularly food. It was almost enough to make him reconsider his hard stance against heroism ¡ª right up until he discovered the only way to return to Lonebrook as a celebrated hero was on foot. This, he decided, was unacceptable. What good was being a hero if you couldn¡¯t ride around bragging about it? A hero didn¡¯t walk! His elevated status demanded a symbol of station that would separate him from the commoner.

    Alas, Rasp¡¯s outrage was for naught. Priestess Oreword¡¯s underground cult didn¡¯t own any horses. Her cult members also loudly objected to being ridden like small, sturdy horses. Thus, without horses, mules, or even a dwarf to lug his lazy bones about, Rasp was forced to rely on his own two feet. Which meant walking. Lots of walking. And while on some level Rasp appreciated that walking was better than being slowly digested in the belly of a giant bug beast, this knowledge didn¡¯t make his feet ache any less.

    The escort party traveled for days along dark, twisting passages. The endless trek was broken up only by the occasional need to stop and sleep. Faris and Hop, having grown chummy through their shared death-experience, stayed near the front, carrying on a lively conversation. Whisper kept to themself near the middle while June and Rasp took up the rear, content to be as far from everyone else as possible.

    It was for the better. The endless death march was making Rasp irritable and June, having lived a formerly solitary existence, insisted she¡¯d had her fill of people for a lifetime.

    ¡°Come on, really?¡± Faris¡¯s voice bounced along the dark tunnel in their direction. ¡°You two are falling behind again.¡±

    June¡¯s arm was strung through Rasp¡¯s own, assisting him almost as much as she was utilizing him as something to lean against. Her arm stiffened. ¡°Dammit,¡± she muttered under her breath. ¡°We¡¯ve been spotted.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not backtracking, is he?¡± Rasp whispered back.

    ¡°Headed this way.¡±

    ¡°Fuck,¡± Rasp hissed. ¡°Hide me.¡±

    Faris had been in an uncharacteristically positive mood since the monster¡¯s defeat. It¡¯d been endearing at first, when everyone else felt similar, but now, many days and miles later, Faris¡¯s bottomless positivity was like sandpaper to Rasp¡¯s fraying nerves.

    ¡°Need a break?¡± Faris¡¯s voice was suddenly a lot closer than it had been moments before. Worse yet, Rasp had the nagging suspicion Faris¡¯s question was directed at June, not him.

    Rasp yanked his sister¡¯s arm with a growl. ¡°Don¡¯t you fucking leave me.¡±

    ¡°Uh, yeah. You know what, a break sounds lovely. Thanks.¡± And, just like that, June abandoned his side, perfectly content to offer up Rasp as the sacrificial lamb to save her own skin.

    Rasp flinched when Faris sidled up alongside him, linking arms.

    ¡°You¡¯re lagging more than usual,¡± the faun remarked.

    ¡°Some of us are still recovering,¡± Rasp reminded him for the umpteenth time. And while he couldn¡¯t keep using the same excuse over and over, it did hold some truth. The magical aftereffects of combining consciousness with millions of single-celled blobs of algae had drained him. He could feel his power returning, but it was unbearably slow, like trying to refill an entire ocean one measly droplet at a time.

    Rasp could practically hear the smug smile dripping from Faris¡¯s voice. ¡°Still?¡± he said. ¡°Must be hard not being the Kreigaar.¡±

    Ah, yes. And there was that, as well. Who could forget? Certainly not Rasp, considering Faris took every opportunity to remind everyone involved that he ¡ª not Whisper, not Rasp, no one else who helped ¡ª was the fabled Kreigaar hero. It¡¯d been funny the first few hundred times. Now it was just annoying. Just like Faris¡¯s stupid, upbeat attitude and way he fawned over Hop like they¡¯d been best friends for years. It was as if Faris had forgotten that they weren¡¯t out of the proverbial woods yet. They still had to reach the surface, return home, and face whatever trials awaited them in Lonebrook. All while trying not to die!

    Faris nudged Rasp from his thoughts with a bump of his shoulder. ¡°Why are you so grumpy?¡±

    ¡°Why are you so happy?¡± Rasp deflected.

    ¡°Because I¡¯m still alive and it feels like home¡¯s closer than it¡¯s ever been.¡±

    Rasp supposed those were good reasons to celebrate, but still, he couldn¡¯t bring himself to share Faris¡¯s cheer.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been in a dark mood since we left the city,¡± Faris carried on. ¡°In fact, it seems to have started the exact moment you got back from your talk with the priestess.¡±

    Ugly feelings stirred in the pit of Rasp¡¯s gut. Anger bubbled and churned, clawing its way up his neck as the old flames of rage lit anew, pumping his veins with fresh poison. He forced the bile back down with a difficult swallow, refusing to allow it to spill across his tongue.

    ¡°What did you two talk about?¡± Faris wondered.

    ¡°Why are we having this conversation now?¡± Was it a piss poor attempt at deflection? Yes. Would it work? Absolutely not. But Rasp was determined to stall the inevitable for as long as possible.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°Because you would have bit my head off when I first noticed. Figured I¡¯d give you time to work through it, but you¡¯ve only gotten worse. What¡¯d she say to you?¡±

    Rasp really, really, really didn¡¯t want to talk about it. Except for the miniscule part of him that did, apparently, as the words came shooting out of his mouth like a greased hog on an oil slick. ¡°The priestess is a healer, right? Put us all back together after our run in with the poison vines? Practically brought Whisper back from the dead, remember?¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s powerful,¡± Faris agreed. ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡±

    ¡°Well I went back and begged her to do something, anything, about my vision. And she refused. Not because she couldn¡¯t, but because she insists it¡¯s all part of a stupid plan from the gods and she¡¯s not allowed to interfere.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    ¡°Yeah. Ridiculous, right?,¡± Rasp said. ¡°Now you know. And we don¡¯t ever have to talk about it again.¡±

    The faun mulled something over in his head for what felt like ages before doing the exact opposite of what Rasp said. ¡°Are you mad about the lack of healing or the part about the gods?¡±

    ¡°Both.¡±

    ¡°Fair,¡± Faris conceded. ¡°Talk more about the thing with the gods, though. I¡¯m curious about that.¡±

    In a mere matter of words, Faris had successfully singled out the root cause of Rasp¡¯s worsening temper. And, instead of leaving the topic the fuck alone, the damn faun insisted on jabbing it with a stick over and over, as if he wanted Rasp to explode! ¡°It¡¯s all religious mumbo-jumbo, Dingle. There¡¯s nothing to talk about.¡±

    ¡°Mhm.¡±

    Fuck, why did his best friend have to be so good at this? Rasp threw his free hand into dingy air over his head. ¡°The priestess thinks I¡¯m avoiding my fate! That I¡¯ve got some preordained destiny ahead of me and instead of embracing it, I¡¯ve spent my life running away from it.¡±

    ¡°Did she say what you were running away from?¡±

    ¡°Of course not! That¡¯s the whole priestess schtick, isn¡¯t it? They keep things intentionally vague that way no one can ever call them out on their bullshit.¡± Rasp shook his head in an attempt to rid his mind of the icky feelings that clouded his thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t believe any of it, but it¡¯s still stirring up all kinds of old feelings. I¡¯m the sixth son of a mighty Stoneclaw leader, remember? I thought I was past this death and darkness prophecy, but here it is, still haunting me wherever I go.¡±

    Faris hesitated before speaking. For good reason too, because his words were like jagged chunks of salt being compacting into a gaping wound. ¡°You did kind of already release death and darkness on the world. In the form of a dark entity.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for reminding me.¡±

    ¡°But my point is, you¡¯re trying to fix it. Maybe that¡¯s your destiny.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m not running away from that.¡± Dear gods, was he running away from destiny by trying to fix his mistake? What was he supposed to do? Stand back and let the darkness win? Fuck that. The gods, or fate, or whoever supposedly controlled the strings could all go shove their heads up where the sun didn¡¯t shine if that was what they had in store for him.

    Faris tried a different approach. ¡°What do you plan to do when you win? Let¡¯s say Lonebrook¡¯s saved, you finish your business with Whisper, and find a cure for the darkness. What then?¡±

    ¡°Nothing.¡± Blessed, lovely nothing. It was too good to be true, but that was the nature of dreams. This particular dream was the light at the end of the tunnel, propelling Rasp stubbornly forward.

    Faris, naturally, had to go and ruin it. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re not supposed to do nothing. Maybe when you¡¯re done righting your wrongs, you¡¯re supposed to do more.¡±

    ¡°More?¡± What a horrible, dirty, rotten thought. Rasp lifted the corner of his lip in disgust. ¡°Like what?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. But you¡¯ve got unimaginable power. Maybe you¡¯re meant to use it for something bigger. To help people, maybe?¡±

    ¡°Ah-ha! See, that¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. By the end of this, I won¡¯t have power. I¡¯m giving it all to Whisper¡¯s egg.¡±

    There was a thoughtful pause before Faris ventured. ¡°You¡¯re giving up your magic?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°All of it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Dingle. Do I need to say two times more for you?¡±

    Apparently not, as Faris had a reply ready. ¡°And you don¡¯t consider that running away from fate?¡±

    He hadn¡¯t. Not until now, anyway. ¡°I consider it saving the world, actually. No good could have ever come from the likes of me having magic.¡±

    ¡°Except when you do good things with it, like saving innocent villages and stopping the spread of ancient dark entities.¡±

    It was remarkable how much this conversation was not making him feel better. ¡°I¡¯m done talking about this. We can burn that bridge when we get to it, m¡¯kay?¡±

    Faris, fortunately, was prevented from laying out in no uncertain terms all of the reasons for which Rasp was wrong by the excited chatter up ahead. The pair fell silent as they listened for the cause of the sudden shift in attitude. The reason was almost enough to lift Rasp¡¯s own low spirits ¡ª they¡¯d reached the final gateway. After days and days of endless walking, the surface was tantalizingly near. They¡¯d been traveling at an incline for so long, Rasp had started to think they¡¯d never reach it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t think this is getting you out of anything,¡± Faris murmured under his breath. ¡°We¡¯re revisiting this.¡±

    That sounded like Future Rasp¡¯s problem and was, therefore, remarkably easy to agree to considering Present Rasp didn¡¯t intend to live long enough to deal with it. ¡°Whatever you say.¡±

    It was a lie and they both knew it, but home was suddenly a lot closer than it had ever been and Faris was too overcome with the urge to get topside to care. He locked his arm tighter and quickened his pace, dragging Rasp tripping and stumbling with him. The air grew fresher as they staggered up the final stretch. Rasp heard muttered grumbling and strained voices as the escort party fought with the door. He and Faris had caught up by the time dwarfs wedged the stone slab door open.

    Blazing white light spilled inside. Rasp shielding his eyes with his free hand and tried to stop, but Faris kept going, drawn to the lit doorway like an insect to the alluring dance of a lantern¡¯s flame. Blinded, with his limited vision swimming, head screaming, and feet protesting, Rasp graciously allowed Faris to haul his dead weight up and over the final step and out into the open air beyond. For the first time in weeks, his lungs filled with uncirculated air. It was clean, fresh, and bitterly cold.

    Rasp blindly searched the ground with his foot, confirming what the clammy skin on his nose and ears were trying to tell him. ¡°There¡¯s snow already?¡±

    Good gods, how long had they been underground?

    The snowball that splattered against Rasp¡¯s face confirmed his astute observation. ¡°Fuck yeah!¡± June¡¯s hazy form frolicked in the sunlight, whipping handfuls of snow at the rest of them, overcome with joy.

    Rasp whipped the wetness from his face. ¡°Now what?¡±

    ¡°Muck me, I know where we are. I recognize those mountains. Home is just beyond.¡± Faris sounded happy enough to join June in the snow. He didn¡¯t, though. Not while they were still in the presence of the dwarfs. The almighty Kriegaar couldn¡¯t be seen frolicking like an imbecile, after all. ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan and you¡¯re going to love it.¡±

    Rasp hung his head. ¡°It involves more walking, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    ¡°Almost exclusively. All the way home.¡±

 245 - Red-Hot Rage

    It was early morning and the sun had not yet risen, rendering the cellblock impossibly dark. After a restless night of tossing and turning to no avail, Sascha had finally started to doze off when all of chaos broke loose. The wooden door flung open, its iron hinges screaming, allowing a stream of armored soldiers and cloaked division witches to pour into the cramped cell block. Disorientated, Sascha barely had time to stagger to his feet before his cell was wrenched open and flooded with jostling bodies.

    The witches stood back, allowing the soldiers to risk their necks bringing Sascha down. The military unit moved in as one in a tight ring, relying on sheer numbers to overwhelm the orc¡¯s raw strength. Rope overhead, crisscrossing over his body as the soldiers worked to immobilize him. Sascha struggled and thrashed, jaws snapping, feet stomping. He knocked two soldiers to the ground and shattered the foot of a third before the unit had his arms pinned securely to his sides.

    Arms bound, tangled in rope, and surrounded by a ring of soldiers pulling to keep the tension tight, Sascha was soon immobilized. He could do little more than sway back and forth. A screeching clamor lit the air behind him. Sascha twisted his head around to find Dewpetal had met a similar fate. Being the size of an orc child, hers was on a smaller scale, naturally, but the crew tasked with her containment looked equally as nervous as the ones assembled around Sascha.

    It was impressive, actually. Sascha wagered Cray had half the military force squeezed into the cell block just for the occasion. Sascha¡¯s gaze swept the cell block, searching for the unit¡¯s commander. It didn¡¯t take long. As expected, he found Sergeant Windshot pressed against the wall near the open exit, actively avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room, Sascha included.

    Oddly, no one had touched Judge Belfast¡¯s cell yet. His barred door was still locked shut. Wincing, the old faun limped to the center of his cell and stood as tall and proud as his broken body would allow. He fixed his solemn eyes on the door to the hallway and remained silent, awaiting the inevitable.

    ¡°Times up, old man.¡± Aster¡¯s harsh voice preceded her as her cloaked form entered the cell block, lantern in hand. The lantern¡¯s flickering flame spilled into the room, blinding all of those assembled as its warm glow painted the dingy walls in warm hues of yellow and orange. Aster¡¯s deliberately slow steps carried her to the front of Judge Belfast¡¯s cell. She stopped at the barred door and lifted the lantern, highlighting Trant¡¯s battered face. ¡°Mister Cray¡¯s offer remains the same. Tell him where Oralia is hiding and he¡¯ll spare your miserable life. You move back to the main house with the missus, these two here survive to see another sunrise, and your quaint little village lives happily ever after.¡±

    Trant squinted at the warm light flooding his face but remained otherwise still. He stood motionless, tall, and most aggravating of all, stoically silent.

    Aster tried once more. Not because she wanted the old faun to agree, Sascha suspected, but because she enjoyed drawing the stifling dread out for as long as possible. ¡°It¡¯s a good deal, no?¡±

    Stubborn, stoic Trant said nothing.

    ¡°What a shame.¡± Aster feigned disappointment with a tut of her tongue. The cowl wrapped securely around her head kept her face hidden in shadow. And yet, the devilish smile that split across her lips carried over on her voice all the same. ¡°Well, best get to it then. You¡¯ve got an eager crowd ready and waiting.¡±

    Aster spun around and practically skipped her way back out in the dark hallway, calling over her shoulder, ¡°I trust you can handle the rest from here, Lorn? No excessive hand-holding needed?¡±

    Sergeant Windshot reluctantly parted with the wall, his face pale and drained of color. There was an unusual hardness in his eyes. It wasn¡¯t malicious, but brimming with the sort of purposeful apathy needed to survive his cold, changing world. ¡°Prepare the prisoners for transfer,¡± he said, before addressing two of his soldiers by name and rank. ¡°See to Judge Belfast. Escort him to the square.¡±

    Judge Belfast accepted his fate without resistance. He remained stock-still as the cell door creaked open and the soldiers filed inside. One tugged the judge¡¯s arms behind his back while the other snapped manacles over his wrists before they shoved him forward, tripping and stumbling out the door. Trant broke his silence as he shuffled past. His words, riddled with guilt and sadness, were not directed at Sergeant Windshot, nor the surrounding soldiers, but at his fellow prisoners.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± was all the judge managed as his dark, bloodshot eyes filled with tears. The soldiers marched him from the cell block and out of sight. The haunting echo of his voice grew faint with distance. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    Trant may have accepted his fate without a fight, but Dewpetal subscribed to the time-honored tradition of battling to the last breath. She threw herself into a violent roll, ripping the rope from her handlers¡¯ hands, screeching at the top of her lungs as she darted between the confused unit¡¯s legs, evading capture. The commotion stirred Cray¡¯s pet into action. The iron crate in the corner rocked and shuddered as the caged beast inside hurled itself against the sides. Its blood-curdling snarls intermixed with Dewpetal¡¯s war cry along with the confused shouts of the soldiers until the entire cell block was one deafening uproar.

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    Dewpetal¡¯s tiny frame scurried past Sascha¡¯s ankles. The soldier hot on her heels followed without thinking. Sascha felled the man with a sweep of his leg and then slammed his foot down. The man¡¯s ribs gave way, snapping with a grizzly crunch beneath the weight of his heel. Gagging, Sascha uttered a soft apology for shattering the man¡¯s ribcage before lashing out with his foot at the next soldier to venture within reach.

    Any other orc, big or small, would have flown into a rampage right then and there. The situation had all the makings of proper rage ¡ª the threat of execution; the smell of blood and sweat in the air, the raised, panicked voices; the cutting pain of the braided ropes as they dug deep into Sascha¡¯s flesh each time the soldiers pulled the leads taut. Sascha certainly tried. Gave it his all. He kicked and thrashed and uttered sounds from between his tightly clenched teeth that he hadn¡¯t ever heard before, and still, he got nothing. The blinding surge of red-hot rage refused to be summoned from the depths.

    Despite their best efforts, Dewpetal was recaptured in the end and the pair were hauled kicking and thrashing out of the cell and into the adjoining hallway. Sascha didn¡¯t make it easy for them. The progress was agonizingly slow and he threw whatever obstacle he could to impede the journey for even a few seconds more. Ultimately, he would fail. Execution was not a matter of if, but when. But at the very least could meet his end knowing that he had not gone quietly.

    The arduous struggle from the jailhouse to the gallows was somehow both agonizingly long as if caught in slow motion, and over too quickly. As Aster had claimed, the whole town had been gathered within the square, flanked on all sides by the other half of the military force. Novera Belfast stood front and center with Cray at her side. Her stoic expression broke when Sascha and Dewpetal arrived. Forgetting herself, Novera lunged forward but was quickly wrangled back into place by the division goon positioned at her left.

    This was no mere execution of ordinary criminals. The village authority, Judge Trant Belfast, was being sentenced to death along with two traitors of the realm. As such, Cray intended to make a spectacle of it. He slowly clambered up the solid wood steps and addressed the crowd with a heavy sigh. Sascha didn¡¯t hear a word the damn elf said. It was all an obnoxious hum as Cray laid it on thick, gesturing and emoting somber expressions of regret he obviously did not feel. It was all a farce. Hidden behind Cray¡¯s metaphorical mask, Sascha saw the giddy excitement in his gray eyes. He relished what he was about to do.

    ¡°Any final words?¡± Cray¡¯s question cut through the noise in Sascha¡¯s head. Snapping back to reality, Sascha ascertained that the question had been directed at Judge Belfast. One last opportunity, perhaps, to change his mind.

    Wordlessly, Judge Belfast forced a blast of air out of his nostrils. His hot breath crystallized into the cold air around him.

    ¡°Very well. The goblin first then.¡± Cray swept his lithe hand in Dewpetal¡¯s direction. A cutting smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, betraying him as he turned back to the deathly silent crowd. ¡°Unlike before, each prisoner will be hanged one at a time, giving our dear friend Judge Belfast time to reconsider his loyalties. If his mind remains unchanged by the time the others have stopped kicking, then he¡¯ll have the honor of joining them.¡±

    Sascha moved to shield Dewpetal with his body, but it was no use. His handlers heaved him out of the way before he could interfere. Poor Dewpetal was dragged up the stairs and onto the platform without delay. A noose was slipped over her head and pulled tight before her escorts stepped away, allowing the hangman to conclude the rest.

    The lever pulled. The trapdoor fell. And the little goblin dropped. Her long, clawed feet kicked desperately in the air as her rigid body slowly started to spin.

    Cray¡¯s mouth formed a disappointed pout. ¡°The neck didn¡¯t snap.¡±

    He turned in disgust to the hangman, prompting a panicked explanation from the would-be-executioner. ¡°The beast is too light. Not enough weight for a clean snap.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have all day for this. You and you¡± ¡ª Cray halfheartedly gestured at a pair of soldiers assembled near the front of the crowd ¡ª ¡°grab its feet and hurry things along.¡±

    ¡°Stop!¡± Sergeant Windshot shouldered his way to the front, his voice cracked and filled with an abysmal lack of authority. He¡¯d finally cracked under the pressure, unable to hide in the shadows to save his own skin any longer. He shouted to his men, ¡°As your commanding officer, I¡¯m ordering you to cut her down!¡±

    The men hesitated. Uncertain, their stares shifted from Sergeant Windshot to Cray.

    ¡°Your orders don¡¯t come from him!¡± Sergeant Windshot¡¯s hand rested on the hilt of his sword. ¡°They come from me. Cut her down this instant!¡±

    Hot bile spilled from Sascha¡¯s throat into his mouth as he watched, horrified, as the soldiers in question latched onto one of Dewpetal¡¯s furiously kicking feet and started to pull. Cray offered the stammering sergeant a small, cutting smile before ordering his immediate arrest. The crowd shifted, bodies surging, as shouts lit the air. The noise crescendoed until it peaked, melding into an obnoxious, buzzing hum.

    A burst of heat erupted behind Sascha¡¯s eyes. Its warmth spread like wildfire, setting his veins aflame, awakening a fury he had never felt before. His blood-curdling roar cut through the obnoxious hum as he pitched forward, yanking his handlers into striking range. The heat behind Sasha¡¯s eyes swept over his mind, coating it in a protective fog as his vision blinked out. For a few terrifying seconds, he saw only intermittent flashes of what was happening all around him. Blood, broken limbs, the smashed, frightened faces of soldiers before the life left their bodies. The flashes, too, began to fade. Soon there was nothing except blind, red-hot rage.

 246 - Rampage

    Sascha¡¯s mind was walled off from the outside. He was free of the jailhouse and still trapped, only this time it was a cage of his own creation! Four shifting walls of darkness rose high overhead with him smack dab at its center. The space was ever-expanding. No matter how far he ran in any and all directions, the walls remained the same distance away, towering like ancient centuries. The walls appeared solid but there had to be a weak spot somewhere, because every now and then a sense would slip through. Sometimes it was a still-image, a flash of light, a sound, or the faint smell of blood and fear. The details were sparse, however, and never enough to paint a clear picture of what was taking place outside of Sascha¡¯s mental prison.

    Whatever it was, it must have been bad. Sascha¡¯s skin buzzed like an angry hornet¡¯s nest trapped under a blanket. The sensation wasn¡¯t strong, just persistent. Cut off or not, he knew the reason behind the obnoxious tremble. The buzz was Cray¡¯s magic desperately trying to worm its way back into Sascha¡¯s thick orc skull. Against all odds, the barrier held, simultaneously keeping Cray out and Sascha¡¯s mental awareness locked firmly inside.

    A flare of color erupted in the distance, painting Sascha¡¯s shadowed world in a dazzling blaze of incandescent red and orange. An invisible wave of heat accompanied the flash. It rolled over him. Sascha flinched as the sweltering warmth dispersed the obnoxious buzzing sensation that crawled up and down the inside of his skin. The stench of singed flesh and hair filled his nostrils and lungs. And then, as quickly as the sensations had come, they were gone, filtered out by whatever biological mechanisms were protecting him from the chaos taking place outside of his own damn head.

    Alone, confused, cut off from the control of his own body, Sascha was left with only his thoughts. His mind kept wandering back to Oralia and, by extension, his unborn child. The one destined to grow up never having met their father ¡ª provided the child was allowed to grow up at all. Cray intended to slaughter Sascha¡¯s family, using him as bait to lure Oralia out of hiding. As much as Sascha wanted to believe she wouldn¡¯t fall for it, he knew the sight of his beaten and battered corpse strung up for all the world to see would cloud her better judgment.

    Sascha could prevent that from happening, however. He couldn¡¯t be strung up if there wasn¡¯t anything of him left to hang. Or, better yet, if there wasn¡¯t anyone left to do the hanging. The thought elicited a barrage of emotions. Rage, hate, fear, with a crippling heap of heartbreak. It condensed into a single hot lump at the center of his gut before bursting into a wave of raw energy, adding fuel to the existing fire. He¡¯d need every scrap of motivation he could find to keep the rampage in full swing for as long as possible.

    This was the day he was going to die. Soon too, likely. If not by the hand of another, then due to the strain of the rampage itself. He may not have understood the exact manner in which the rampage operated, but its purpose was clear. The chemicals pumping through his veins had not only bound his thoughts but numbed his flesh to touch, as well. It was protecting him from the harsh reality that his body was being torn to bits by magic and steel alike.

    For that, Sascha was thankful. He didn¡¯t particularly savor pain and the sight of blood had always made him squeamish. At least this way he could inflict maximum damage to Cray¡¯s forces without having to feel its toll.

    He saw another flash of red. Felt a small blip of pain. The sensations immediately faded, swallowed by the dark, looming walls. And then something happened Sascha hadn¡¯t expected. A soft, strained voice called to him from the other side.

    ¡°Sascha!¡± it said, growing louder with each repetition. ¡°Sascha, come out of it!¡±

    It took him a moment to identify the voice as female. His mind didn¡¯t offer a name as to whom the voice belonged, but it was familiar. In a distant, long-forgotten sort of way. The voice was pleasant, he knew that. And Sascha liked the way each soothing word smoothed the blistering heat burning beneath his skin. Alas, it wasn¡¯t enough to convince him to drop his anger. Breaking free meant losing everything that was currently keeping him alive. He didn¡¯t want to die scared and broken, knowing that his final sacrifice had failed.

    ¡°Sascha!¡± the voice kept at it, more strained than before. ¡°Let go, please.¡±

    ¡°Novera!¡± A second voice rang out, this one belonging to Judge Belfast. It was loud, but further away, echoing in a manner that suggested they were surrounded by stone.

    ¡°Stay back, Trant!¡±

    ¡°Stay back, my ass! He¡¯s one squeeze from snapping your neck!¡± the sound of the judge¡¯s panicked hoofsteps thundered closer.

    ¡°He¡¯s almost out of it. Trust me,¡± the woman replied. Trant¡¯s reluctant steps slowed to stop nearby. A shaky breath followed before her soft voice slipped through Sascha¡¯s mental barrier like water across silk. ¡°Sascha, you¡¯re almost there. I can feel you getting closer. Follow my voice, dear. Whatever you do, don¡¯t squeeze.¡±

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    Squeeze? What was in the seven realms of chaos was she talking about?

    Reluctantly, Sascha let go. The dark walls crumbled, allowing shifting swaths of light to flood his mind. His vision returned, slowly, and Sascha found himself knelt over the swampy ground in what looked to be a dark alley. There was someone else with him. He squinted through the haze, realizing the person in question was Novera Belfast. She stared back at him with an alarmingly soft expression for someone who had a giant orc hand curled around her neck.

    Sascha released her with a startled gasp. He stared at his hand in disbelief. Knuckles split to the bones, his usual slate gray skin was stained dark red-brown with blood.

    What had he done?

    ¡°Remember to breathe, love.¡± Novera¡¯s gentle voice drew Sascha¡¯s attention back to her. His vision was still hazy, riddled with dancing pinpricks of light, but his ability to see detail was steadily trickling back. Novera looked as if she¡¯d been in a fistfight. There was a fresh split across her face and her clothes were dirtied and torn, none of which detracted from the relief that welled within her bright eyes.

    ¡°There you are,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°Welcome back. Take it slow, if you can. Your other senses will return on their own if you let them.¡±

    Sascha twisted his head and peered hard at his muddled surroundings. Judge Belfast hovered nearby, looking far worse for wear than Sascha had last seen him. There was a stolen shortsword held loosely in his right hand. Its formerly polished blade dripped red with blood. Judge Belfast¡¯s expression was grim. He saw Sascha staring and tried to wink. The effort was wasted, however, considering the poor fellow¡¯s left eye was swollen shut and matted with blood, grime, and hair.

    Beyond the judge, a thick blanket of gray mist hung heavy in the damp air, making Sascha¡¯s already piss-poor vision work twice as hard. Surrounded by walls of stone, they appeared to be in a dead-end alley wedged between two cottages. The mouth of the alley was dizzyingly bright. Sascha squinted at it harder. Dark shadows darted past through the roiling cloud of early morning mist. There was shouting, too, and the occasional clang of steel on the steel. The ground shook and shuddered in the distance.

    The thick clouds shifted overhead and a stray shaft of sunlight flooded the streetway. It poured into the mouth of the alley, highlighting a long trail of bodies lying crumpled in the mud.

    Sascha¡¯s heart leapt into his throat, sending a wave of sour stomach acid spilling into his mouth and over his tongue. Oh gods, he thought, glancing back at his bloodied hand. That had been him, hadn¡¯t it? He was the one responsible. How many others had he killed? Who had he killed? The bodies strewn across the ground were all uniformed, but there was no telling who else he¡¯d brought down while caught in the throes of a blind rampage.

    Had he hurt others? Civilians? Innocents? Good gods, he¡¯d come to with his hand around Novera¡¯s throat! If he had done that then he could have done anything!

    His heartbeat quickened until the sound beat like a drum within his aching head. Sascha¡¯s breathing picked up, faster, faster, faster until his whole chest was so tight it felt like it was going to burst. But no matter how much air he pulled into his burning lungs, it wasn¡¯t enough. He couldn¡¯t breathe.

    ¡°You¡¯re losing him, Novera,¡± Judge Belfast stepped closer, protectively. ¡°Grab the girl and get out of there.¡±

    ¡°Trant,¡± Novera hissed, shushing him.

    ¡°He¡¯s about to go under again.¡±

    Girl? What girl were they talking about? There wasn¡¯t a child in sight! Sascha didn¡¯t have time to get to the bottom of it, however, as Novera was speaking to him again. Her soft, lulling voice lured his attention back to her. ¡°You are not going to slip under again, alright? I¡¯m going to get you out of this. We¡¯re going to start with slow, deep breaths.¡±

    Sascha did as he was instructed. Several breaths later and the tightening in his chest lessened, allowing him to speak. The words cut like broken shards of glass all the way from his throat to his tongue. ¡°What girl?¡±

    Wordlessly, Novera¡¯s amber eyes shifted from Sascha¡¯s face to something lower.

    Sascha followed her gaze. He was plastered in blood and grime, desperately cradling a small limp body to his chest with his other arm. He gasped, his sharp breath sending a bolt of metaphorical lighting deep into his burning lungs. Tears fell unbidden, stinging his abraded flesh, as he placed Dewpetal gingerly onto the wet ground.

    Novera swept forward and rearranged the little goblin¡¯s head, checking for a pulse just below the jaw, along the windpipe. A deep red and purple line cut across Dewpetal¡¯s throat where the noose had dug into her leathery hide.

    They¡¯d hung her. Sascha remembered how the drop had failed to kill her and the way her pitiful body dangled, feet kicking. The sight had driven him mad with rage. After that, things got a bit fuzzy. He didn¡¯t remember how she¡¯d gotten down or ended up tucked in the crook of his arm. It must have been him that ripped her down, surely. Had he fought with only one arm, cradling a goblin like a babe the entire time? Hundreds of unanswered questions flooded his aching skull, but ultimately, there was only one that mattered.

    ¡°Is she¡­¡± Was all Sascha could rasp out.

    ¡°Still breathing,¡± Novera replied. Although she offered a small, reassuring smile, the worry in her eyes communicated a deeper concern. Her eyes darted to Trant. ¡°Sascha¡¯s out of it now. For the girl¡¯s sake, we can¡¯t linger any longer.¡±

    ¡°The evacuation team said they¡¯d send someone back for us,¡± Trant said.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have that sort of time.¡±

    Trant caught every word Novera didn¡¯t say. His gaze dropped to Dewpetal¡¯s limp body and the hard glint in his working eye softened with pity. ¡°We don¡¯t,¡± the grizzled faun agreed, turning to limp toward the open end of the dark alley. ¡°I¡¯ll go check, but we may have to make a break for it on our own.¡±

 247 - Got You

    What in the seven realms of chaos was going on?

    Sascha¡¯s sluggish thoughts struggled to play catch-up. He combed through his hazy memories, attempting to spark something, anything, to bring him back up to speed. The last thing he remembered was being chained and forced to stand alongside the gallows, awaiting his turn to be hanged. He¡¯d flown into a blind rage shortly after. Unfortunately, that was the point where his recollection of the events stopped short. By the process of elimination, he¡¯d obviously ripped Dewpetal free and battled his way out. And then he ended up here, beaten and bloody, with Trant and Novera Belfast at his side.

    He was missing information. A lot of information. The village must have had outside help. There was no way Sascha had gotten this far on his own. By all rights, Cray¡¯s witches should have ended him the moment he broke free. Something else was afoot. Twice now the Belfast¡¯s had mentioned an evacuation team without explaining who was conducting it, or where said evacuation team had come from, or why they¡¯d waited until the last fucking minute to conduct their rescue!

    Sascha¡¯s confusion must have shown on his face because Novera reached over and gave his trembling hand a reassuring squeeze. ¡°Oralia did as she promised. She brought help, and not a moment too soon.¡±

    Oralia? Sascha whipped his head from side to side as if expecting his beloved to materialize out of the shadows at the mere mention of her name.

    ¡°You played a critical part in her arrival as well,¡± Novera said. ¡°Your rampage was the final spark Sergeant Windshot needed to switch sides. Half of the military forces joined him, along with the rest of the village. Most of Cray¡¯s forces were already in attendance when the fight broke out. The commotion caused the remaining watch to abandon their post, drawing them into the village square, leaving the perimeter unguarded. Oralia¡¯s army slipped in unnoticed.¡±

    By the gods, she¡¯d done it! He¡¯d never doubted her. Sascha just hadn¡¯t counted on surviving long enough to see it come to fruition. Even still, a nagging thought tugged at the back of his mind, snuffing at whatever hope he desperately wanted to feel.

    It took effort to form the words. ¡°What about Cray?¡±

    ¡°The coward fled as soon as reinforcements arrived.¡± Novera gave a disgusted shake of her horns. ¡°His top officers held out a little longer. But they, too, scattered once realizing the tide had shifted.¡±

    ¡°This is no time to get overconfident, Novera,¡± Trant called over his shoulder. He was still steadily moving down along the alley, making his way to the open end. The noticeable limp in his left leg slowed his progress significantly. ¡°This fight is far from over. The element of surprise gave Oralia the upper hand this time, but Cray won¡¯t make that mistake again. Once he¡¯s gotten his witches regrouped, they¡¯ll come at us with everything they¡¯ve got. Including that pet of his that he¡¯s got locked up in the jailhouse.¡±

    The beast!

    Sascha¡¯s spine went rigid as a swell of fear crested over him, smothering all former inklings of hope. Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is what Cray had wanted all along! He¡¯d told Sascha as much from the beginning. He meant to draw Oralia in, and by the gods, he¡¯d done it! Oralia had just led her army straight into Cray¡¯s trap!

    Sascha turned to Judge Belfast as his heartbeat quickened. ¡°This is what Cray wants. We have to warn her. She has to pull her forces back now.¡±

    ¡°Do you think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Judge Belfast spun around to face him. A harsh thread of insult wove throughout the faun¡¯s tone. ¡°Believe me, I endured far more of Cray¡¯s monologues than did you. I could recite his entire plan forwards and backward by heart.¡±

    Novera¡¯s right ear flapped, sounding like a leathery twig snapping in two.

    ¡°Forgive me,¡± Trant relented as the sudden fire leaked from his weary expression. ¡°I passed the message along to the dwarf captain spearheading the attack. Our allies are well aware that this is a trap. Captain Bernstein is only holding the enemy back long enough to evacuate any remaining civilians.¡±

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    Judge Belfast turned back around and pressed his shoulders flat against the stone wall, peeking his head around the corner. By now the fighting had swept past them. Judging by the sound, the battle had moved to the far side of the village. An occasional boom erupted in the distance, causing both the ground and surrounding walls to shudder in protest.

    Trant¡¯s news was grim. ¡°No sign of the evacuation party, I¡¯m afraid. Looks like we¡¯ll be doing this on our own.¡±

    ¡°Get to your feet, Sascha,¡± Novera commanded softly. She gathered Dewpetal in her arms, mindful of the goblin¡¯s sagging head, and heaved upright with a labored grunt.

    ¡°Novera, please.¡± Trant hurried over from the mouth of the entrance, left leg struggling to keep up. ¡°Let me. Don¡¯t hurt yourself.¡±

    She shot him a look that could have curdled lukewarm water. ¡°Hurt? I am the least injured of the three of us. If anyone¡¯s going to be carrying this poor girl out of here, it¡¯ll be me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Trant insisted.

    ¡°Good, then be a dear and put that sword to use.¡± Novera redistributed Dewpetal¡¯s weight within her arms. ¡°You may be old, but you can still swing a blade better than half of these upstarts.¡±

    An amused smile split across Judge Belfast¡¯s weary face. ¡°Old?¡±

    ¡°Yes, love. Old. Be grateful I didn¡¯t mention your appearance. Frankly, I hardly recognize you now that you¡¯re all skin and bones.¡± Finished with her husband, Novera addressed Sascha next. ¡°You¡¯ll have to get up now. The only way you¡¯re getting out of here is on your own two feet.¡±

    Sascha obeyed. He got all the way up onto one knee before the dizziness struck. His vision swam as wave after wave of nausea pelted him from the inside out, scattering his senses. Sascha lost his balance and landed back in the mud with a wet splatter, shuddering as his body punished him for pushing it past its limit. A sudden heat burst from within his rapidly beating chest and spread like wildfire across his skin. The blistering tendrils moved up his neck, over his face, and bore deep into his skill. It felt like hot pokers stabbing through his eyes, rendering his thoughts to screams.

    His vision started to dim.

    ¡°Come on, Sascha.¡± He couldn¡¯t make out Novera¡¯s shape anymore, but he could hear her calling. Her voice fluttered, brimming with panic. ¡°Don¡¯t give up now. You¡¯ve got to try.¡±

    Gritting his teeth, Sascha heaved upright once more, got halfway, and then collapsed. It was too much. The rampage had taken its toll. His body was spent, left without an ounce of energy to spare. ¡°Go without me,¡± he rasped.

    ¡°Try again!¡±

    ¡°Novera,¡± Trant said sternly.

    ¡°Get up!¡± Her hoof struck the wet ground with force.

    Trant sounded closer than he had been before. Sascha couldn¡¯t see beyond the growing shadows forming within his eyes, but he wagered the judge was alongside Novera now, desperately pulling his wife away. ¡°Novera,¡± Trant pleaded, ¡°look at him. He can¡¯t. You said so yourself, we don¡¯t have time. We have to go.¡±

    ¡°No, Trant! Oralia will never forgive us.¡±

    Trant had no immediate response. And yet, his somber silence communicated everything his mouth could not. Living parmounted forgiveness, and if they didn¡¯t move, they would have neither.

    Magic boomed in the distance. Shouts and screams rang out over the clang of steel. And then, lightly at first, but growing, the telltale sound of thundering footsteps rose above the faraway clamor. The footsteps moved fast in their direction.

    ¡°The evacuation team?¡± Novera asked hopefully.

    Judge Belfast¡¯s slow hoof steps limped once more to the mouth of the hallway. ¡°Oh, thanks gods. Yes, and they¡¯ve got the push we¡¯re going to need. Out of the way, dear, hurry. She¡¯s coming in at full speed.¡±

    Had he been in better control of his faculties, Sascha might have questioned who exactly this ¡®she¡¯ was. Mere minutes ago, the answer would have rejuvenated him, convinced him to climb back up onto his feet and meet her halfway. But that was before. And this was now. And whatever strength he previously had was gone. He steadily slipped into the roiling darkness beneath his eyes. Exhaustion pulled heavily at his eyelids, promising relief if he¡¯d just let go one last time.

    Voices rang out as the footsteps neared, but the sounds condensed together into a single low hum. Dark shapes and shadows swept in over him, but Sascha no longer knew if they were real or figments of his own fading mind. And then, just as his eyes closed for what promised to be the final time, a sudden warmth pressed against the underside of his chin. It was warm and familiar, and lovingly coaxed his head upwards.

    Her voice called to him. The sound shot through him to his core, relighting the flame moments before it snuffed out permanently. It set him afire. His consciousness shot to the surface, clawing its way out of the writhing clouds of darkness, desperate to see her even for one second more.

    Sascha¡¯s left eye eased open and he saw a blurry, familiar face gazing back down at him. Oralia cupped his trembling chin with both hands and smiled. Warmth flooded his insides, convincing his blasted legs they could keep it together just a little longer. He would move mountains for that smile.

    To his utter delight, he received a second smile! This one bigger and bolder than all her previous smiles combined. It came with the words, too. The most beautiful ones he¡¯d ever heard.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got you.¡±

 248 - Proposal

    Oralia forced a slow, ragged breath between her tusks as she looked Sascha up and down, taking stock of the damage. The thick layer of blood, mud, and grime made it difficult to calculate the damage''s severity, but it looked bad. Very bad. The kind of bad that warranted being carried off the battlefield on a stretcher. Unfortunately, they didn¡¯t have a stretcher big enough for the task nor the hands required to lift it. A cart might do, but Oralia hadn¡¯t seen one of those during her sweep of the village, either.

    She bit back a whimper and hid the growing worry from her face.

    ¡°Hello, Sunflower,¡± Oralia said, softly ghosting her fingers along the side of his face. She didn¡¯t want to inflict pain by brushing against the open cuts and bruises that marred Sascha¡¯s flesh, but he seemed to respond to her touch the most. ¡°You were so brave.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s lips were split and a chalky blue-gray, nearly drained of color. He still managed a small, adoring smile.

    ¡°I am going to get you out of here, understand? You and me, together. But I am going to need your help. I need you to get up. Can you do that for me?¡±

    Mul and Briony hovered behind Oralia¡¯s crouched form. She could feel their eyes boring down on her, their breath bated, anxiously waiting for what would happen next. Oralia shared their anxiety, but couldn¡¯t show it. Sascha needed her to be strong. He needed to believe that he really could rise onto his own two feet and stagger away to safety. Oralia needed to believe it, too, because the alternative meant soldiering on without him and, good gods, she didn¡¯t have that kind of strength.

    ¡°You can do it,¡± she said, fighting the tightness in her throat. ¡°Show me.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s burly arms shifted into position. He braced his knuckles against the ground and used the combined strength in his arms and legs to lift his large body. Oralia locked her hands under his right arm and used her knees to lift. Mul ducked under Sascha¡¯s left and did the same. Sascha was nearly halfway upright when his legs gave out. His knees buckled and the rest of him followed, collapsing into a pained pile back into the wet dirt.

    The distress that bled into Sascha¡¯s agonized expression made her heart lurch. ¡°It is alright.¡± Oralia rubbed her hand against his shoulder for comfort. ¡°Catch your breath and we will try it again.¡±

    She meant what she said. She would keep trying, they both would, until it either worked or it didn¡¯t. Nothing else mattered to her. Not the battle, not the war, not even the fate of the world that hung precariously in the balance. Oralia had no desire to live in a rectified world if there was no Sascha with which to share it. That was her decision, however. And it was unfair to exact it on anyone else.

    Her teary-eyed stare swept over the grim faces of Trant and Novera Belfast before settling on her crew. Mul and Briony were all that remained of the second evacuation team. The rest had already retreated into the protection of the woods and to the secret underground bunker beyond. ¡°Take the Belfasts and go.¡±

    Mul¡¯s bushy brow furrowed over his eyes. ¡°On our own?¡±

    ¡°Briony knows the way better than do I.¡±

    ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I¡¯ve got a bee in my bonnet about. I¡¯m not worried about losing my way, I¡¯m concerned about you,¡± Mul replied. ¡°You¡¯re not going to be able to get the big feller out on your own.¡±

    She really wished he hadn¡¯t just said that out loud. Sascha wouldn¡¯t agree to it if he knew she intended to share his fate, for better or for worse. Oralia kept a straight face to assure Mul she¡¯d already considered his point and had it covered. ¡°Then come back for me after you have delivered the Belfast¡¯s to safety. Briony may know the way, but they will need your brawn to fend against enemy attackers.¡±

    ¡°My brawn? Briony shattered three skulls today using nothing but her own head. These blokes don¡¯t need me.¡±

    Trant and Novera Belfast lingered awkwardly near the mouth of the alley, nervous to be on their way. The latter held Dewpetal¡¯s limp body cradled in her arms. They were right to be anxious. Time was of the essence and Oralia had already wasted enough arguing. ¡°A head is no good against steel, Mul. No more arguing. Go.¡±

    ¡°But¡ª¡±

    ¡°The quicker you leave, the quicker you can return.¡±

    Mul¡¯s eyes narrowed, only half convinced. ¡°Fine.¡±

    ¡°Good. And do not half-ass it, either.¡± Oralia shooed him away with a wave of her hand. Her eyes settled on Briony. The somber look on the tan and brown faun¡¯s face nearly caused Oralia¡¯s mask to slip. Unlike Mul, Briony knew it was simply an excuse to get them to safety. Oralia could speak of returning all she liked, but talking about it didn¡¯t make it any less of a fantasy.

    Oralia offered Briony a grateful nod as her throat cinched tighter, causing her words to waver. ¡°When you see Rali or my sister, Ashwyn, give them my thanks. Tell them I could not pass up my last opportunity for lone martyr shit.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be alone, ¡®cause I¡¯ll be coming back!¡± Mul assured her as he herded the others out the open end of the alley with his outstretched arms.

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    ¡°Your daring escape would be more successful if you lowered your voice,¡± Oralia called after him.

    ¡°Na-uh! You don¡¯t get to tell me how to evacuate from afar. I¡¯m boss-less now and I¡¯ll do it any which way I like!¡±

    Judge Belfast must have hit Mul over the head with reason, as the Stoneclaw¡¯s resounding voice went thankfully quiet shortly after they turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

    Oralia¡¯s attention, at last, returned to Sascha¡¯s pitiful form. She caught the flash of pained guilt that crossed his battered face and challenged it with a single, raised eyebrow. ¡°I hope you have caught your breath, my love, because I am not giving up on you. Mark my words, this will not be your final resting place. We are making it out of this accursed village together.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s mouth parted and her own pitiful name rasped free. ¡°...Oralia.¡±

    ¡°Sascha Yukah, as the gods as my witness, I will drag your body inch by inch if necessary.¡±

    He reached for her hand, pleadingly. His formerly iron grip was disturbingly limp. ¡°Think of the baby.¡±

    Think of the baby? Seven realms, she was thinking of the baby! Particularly how she couldn¡¯t possibly raise it on her own without her better half. Others may have had the strength, but not her. Oralia needed Sascha just as badly as the life growing inside of her needed its father. ¡°Stow it,¡± she ordered. ¡°Whatever else you have to say, don¡¯t. I do not want to hear it. Save your strength for the long walk.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s trembling arm dropped to his side. Having given up on words, he didn¡¯t speak. Unfortunately, this wasn¡¯t the only thing he¡¯d appeared to have given up on. He didn¡¯t struggle to his feet. He sat still, instead, like a miserable lump, desperately waiting for Oralia to reach the same conclusion he¡¯d already accepted himself.

    He was giving up. No, worse, he¡¯d already given up. One measly attempt to get to his feet and he¡¯d called it quits. Oralia didn¡¯t give in so easily, though. She had one last underhanded tactic up her metaphorical sleeve and if it didn¡¯t spur him to reconsider, then she¡¯d have to accept that nothing would.

    Oralia dug deep into the hidden pocket stitched into the inside of her jacket and pulled a hidden treasure free. She¡¯d intended to do this with a real ring, not one of the silly woven bands she¡¯d used to kill time in hiding. She certainly hadn¡¯t planned for this to happen now, either. But, as many before her had learned the hard way, sometimes the right moment wasn¡¯t a matter of setting, mood, or proper planning, but of seizing the opportunity before it slipped through your fingers.

    ¡°Marry me,¡± she said.

    Sascha¡¯s wide eyes were too transfixed on the woven ring clasped between her fingers to look her in the face and gauge whether she was serious. ¡°Now?¡±

    ¡°No, not now. Where in chaos would I find an officiant in the middle of an evacuation?¡± Oralia held the ring tantalizingly closer. ¡°You say yes now and we marry later. I do not care when or where, so long as it is outside of this wretched village.¡±

    Finally, his gaze lifted from the ring to her eyes.

    Oralia saw the beginnings of color trickle back into his ashen complexion. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. ¡°I have no intention of marrying a corpse,¡± she said. ¡°So if you would like to do more than merely picture our wedding day, I suggest you try finding those feet of yours.¡±

    Wordlessly, he extended his hand in her direction, fingers splayed, demanding his bribe upfront.

    Oralia¡¯s smirk transformed into a full smile, front teeth and all, as she slipped the ring onto his finger. ¡°Is that a yes?¡±

    ¡°You know damn well it¡¯s a yes,¡± Sascha grumbled. He shifted his body, slowly gathering his arms and legs beneath him. ¡°Figures you¡¯d wait for a moment like this to finally pop the question. Even had the bloody ring and everything!¡±

    His anger was good. It meant there was still enough of him left over to feel, to fight, and, ultimately, ensure they died somewhere other than a dark, dingy alley. The sounds of battle waged in the distance, farther away than before. Oralia had left Rali and Captain Bernstein in charge of the fighting, with explicit instructions to push the enemy to the far side of the village, away from the residential area. There was a small chance she and Sascha could make it on foot if they started now before Captain Berstein pulled his forces back.

    Oralia positioned herself next to Sascha, locking her hands under his left arm. Ideally, she would have been positioned behind him and assisted him upright with her arms locked around his chest, but his sheer size prevented her from being able to reach all the way around. ¡°I am going to help pull you up onto your feet,¡± she instructed, ¡°and then you¡¯re going to use all the strength on your legs to stand. After that, you and I will go one step at a time.¡±

    It took three attempts before together, they got Sascha upright and semi-steady. Oralia tucked herself under his left arm, shouldering his weight, while Sascha steadied himself against the alley wall with his right. From there, it was simply a matter of stubbornly placing one foot in front of the other. The going was agonizingly slow but, eventually, they staggered out of the alley and into the street. Oralia made sure they stayed close to the stone cottages, as a means of support and to better disguise their escape. Little by little, step by step, the pair made their way through the maze of tightly packed cottages until those too started to recede, offering heartening glimpses of the dark tree line beyond.

    They were nearly to the final edge of town when Oralia caught movement from the corner of her eye. She followed it, watching as an elf darted out from the safety of a boarded-up house and scurried over to join them. ¡°Oh thank goodness,¡± he panted as the gap swiftly closed between them. ¡°I was afraid I¡¯d missed you. What luck, I have, stumbling across you all the way out here.¡±

    Sascha¡¯s body tensed against her. Amidst the worry and exhaustion weighing her heavy limbs down, Oralia felt a familiar chill stir to life within her bones. Liquid ice pooled deep inside her chest, stealing her breath, as the pendant hung around her neck burned so cold, it nearly singed her skin.

    ¡°Sascha,¡± Oralia said under her breath, studying the newcomer warily. The elf wore neither a military uniform nor the decorative robes of the Division of Divination. She saw a decorative blade tucked beneath his cloak, but he approached with his hands held in the air as if he were a friend, not foe. Pleasant demeanor be damned. Oralia couldn¡¯t shake the sudden urge to draw her sword and run the stranger through. ¡°Who is this?¡±

    Sascha unslung his left arm from around her shoulders and staggered forward, placing his gargantuan body between them as a shield. He refused to tear his eyes from the approaching elf. A single word emitted from between his clenched teeth. ¡°Run.¡±

 249 - A Fitting Meal

    Oralia¡¯s hand shot to the hilt of her blade when a blistering heat erupted behind her eyes. Her fingers spasmed and the broadsword slid back into its sheath undrawn. The pressure within her head swelled. It clogged her ears and pressed against her eyes, building, building, building, until her skull felt like it would split like an overripe melon. She dropped to her knees and clawed at her eyes in a futile attempt to relieve the mounting pressure.

    A bone-rattling roar broke through the static cotton sensation filling her ears. The pressure alleviated, slightly, allowing for Oralia to ease her eyes open. Sascha, the source of the commotion, was using the last of his strength to go head-to-head with the elf newcomer. He lumbered across from Oralia, lurching and swiping at their attacker. The elf dodged each of Sascha¡¯s swings with surefooted ease. Their attacker was calm, collected, and unnervingly giddy given the maniacal smile split across his thin lips.

    Oralia may not have recognized the face, but there was no need for introductions. Deep in her aching bones, she knew that the mad elf could have only been the infamous Taratheil Cray. The rumors regarding his magical capabilities were true, too, given the way the darkness stirred with hunger beneath her skin.

    Sascha glanced over his shoulder at her and bared his tusks. ¡°Leave, now! Before he calls in his beast!¡±

    ¡°Ruining my surprises, are you?¡± Cray dodged another labored swipe from Sascha and then lifted his fingers to his temples, exacting his revenge. ¡°For shame!¡±

    Sascha¡¯s body jerked to a stop mid-lurch. His hands shot to his head and clutched over his ears as he fell to his knees. His furious roar transformed into snarls of pain.

    Cray circled him with a shake of his head. ¡°That was the original plan, yes. But I¡¯m realizing now I don¡¯t need my pet to take care of your beloved. Alone, without an army or a mate worthy of protecting her, I think I¡¯ll carry out the task myself.¡± Cray¡¯s maniacal smile pulled tight, flashing a row of off-white teeth. ¡°The mother of your unborn child will die by my hand, Sascha. And, in exchange for all of the trouble you caused, I¡¯ll give you the pleasure of watching her take her dying breath, before I finish you off too.¡±

    As powerful as Cray¡¯s magic was, he could not wield his debilitating powers over two victims at once. With his powers focused on putting Sascha to heel, Oralia felt the pressure in her head recede. A mixture of rage and dark magic flooded her veins, propelling her forward. Sword drawn, she was mere steps away before Cray jumped back into the game. The elf pivoted on his heel, dodging the deadly swing of Oralia¡¯s blade, and channeled the full force of his powers back onto her.

    Pain crackled like lightning down Oralia¡¯s spine. She shook it off with a stubborn snap of her tusks and pulled herself back into a fighter¡¯s stance, watching for her opening.

    ¡°Dear gods, you are as hopeless as they say, aren¡¯t you?¡± Cray¡¯s harsh laugh bounced between the empty stone cottages. He was on the move again, this time circling her with an overconfident strut. ¡°Just look at you! Your sword against my magic, really?¡±

    The powerstone pulsed against Oralia¡¯s skin, urging her closer. For a split second, the memory of the fire witch flashed across her vision. She remembered the hot, suffocating smoke and ash. The blistering heat and taste of burnt flesh and hair in her mouth. She had swore never again and yet the insatiable pang of hunger drove her forward. With a pounding pain in her head and a flaring cold turning her chest to ice, she charged.

    Cray laughed again, delighted by her stubborn futility. ¡°How?¡± he demanded, neatly dancing out of range. He could have felled her with another mind attack and yet he refrained. It was not out of good sportsmanship, Oralia suspected, but because he loved drawing out the game as long as possible. ¡°How is it you¡¯ve given Geralt the runaround for this long? And to think he could have been rid of you years ago had he just handed it over to me. This is childsplay!¡±

    His gloating nearly got his throat split. Cray ducked out of the way in the nick of time. Humiliated, the smile slipped from his face and his gray eyes went cold as he unleashed his magic, intent on punishing her for daring to embarrass him. The sword dropped from Oralia¡¯s spasming hand as Cray¡¯s magic brought her to her knees. He drove wave after wave of debilitating pain into her skull, ripping tears into her mind like blazing rods of molten metal to paper.

    Oralia¡¯s vision went in and out, flashing from light to dark, as her surroundings started to spin. Disorientated, her sense of balance fled. She was unable to get up. Her heavy limbs were useless. Her body refused to move. She sagged her head against the ground and closed her eyes, feeling the burning in her head spread to her chest. And, just as her struggling lungs threatened to draw their final breath, the unexpected happened. The blistering heat sputtered out. Its raging fire tempered to a lukewarm and then to nothing. No warmth. Her chest was ice cold, void of all heat.

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    Finally, a disembodied voice rippled across Oralia¡¯s screaming mind. The entity latched onto Cray¡¯s magic and pulled, lapping up the excessive power like a ravenous animal. At long last, after starving me for months, sparing nothing but pitiful crumbs, you offer a fitting meal!

    Oralia forced her eyes open and lifted her head. She squinted, peering through blurry, tear-filled vision as the maniacal smile dropped from Cray¡¯s ashen face. They were still connected. She could feel the angry buzz of Cray¡¯s magic pouring into her skull and yet, she felt nothing. The elf¡¯s eyes grew wide and panicked. The confusion set in. Followed immediately by fury. Whatever the dark entity was doing, it¡¯d somehow melded their minds together. Oralia could hear Cray¡¯s racing thoughts as if they were her own.

    Oralia Dawnsight did not possess magic, his thoughts screamed. She was as ordinary as she was predictable. She didn¡¯t possess the ability to overpower a witch! And nor would she. He, Tatheriel Cray, would not be bested by some simpleton with a sword!

    Cray doubled his attack. He willed more power into her, lighting her skull aflame only to have his spell fizzle out. The more Cray gave, the more the entity fed. Its dark power wriggled and writhed beneath Oralia¡¯s skin stronger than ever before. The entity¡¯s cold presence flooded from her chest, up her neck, and into her swelling head, cooling the fire.

    The entity¡¯s voice rippled through her. For someone so ordinary, you were an unexpectedly good host orc. But I have needs you cannot fulfill. The mad elf will serve as a satisfactory replacement.

    A spark of panic wormed its way through the deluge of rage and pain flooding Oralia¡¯s clouded mind. No, no, no!

    As promised, I will spare your life for having delivered my new body.

    Oralia¡¯s thoughts screamed every obscenity known to her. The only thing keeping the dark entity from wreaking its fury on the world was the absence of a magical host and Cray had unwittingly provided one ripe for the picking! Stubbornly, Oralia pushed with her hands, picking her agonized body from the ground, intent on severing Cray¡¯s magic before the entity bridged the gap between them. She got only part way but her arms gave out like spineless jelly and she collapsed back against the muddy street.

    The wet ground trembled beneath her. She lifted her eyes in time to see Sascha¡¯s blurred form slam into Cray. The pair went down together in a flurry of flailing arms and legs. Cray yelped and bounced against the ground, freed from the dark entity¡¯s grasp. Oralia¡¯s rigid muscles relaxed as the elf¡¯s magic released its claws from her mind. The dark entity shrieked and howled in fury, but without magic, it had no power. No hold. Oralia forced it back down, shuttering its voice from her thoughts.

    Her body demanded she stay still and give it time to recover, but her heart had other concerns. Gritting her teeth, she rose shakily onto her hands and knees and dragged her way to Sascha¡¯s side. He lay amongst the wet mud, sides heaving, gazing back at her with a rather pleased look on his face.

    ¡°I told you to run,¡± he rasped between ragged breaths.

    ¡°Did you?¡± she panted. ¡°I must have been too busy not listening.¡±

    ¡°You!¡± Cray¡¯s undignified screech lit the air as the elf struggled to his feet. Alas, the weight of Sascha¡¯s body had failed to crush the witch into a pile of unrecognizable pulp. The wiry bastard staggered upright, looking only slightly worse for the wear. Physically speaking, anyway. His former mania was gone, Oralia noted, replaced instead with a fear so strong, that she could smell its salty stench through the blood and wet grime clogging the inside of her nostrils.

    Cray¡¯s eyes, bloodshot and rimmed in white, were fixed on Oralia. ¡°What the fuck are you?¡±

    Cray finally realized his dilemma and it shook him to his core. He couldn¡¯t use his magic against Oralia, not without opening himself up to something far, far worse. Which, without an army, bodyguards, or even a decent weapon at his side, left him woefully disadvantaged. Oralia patted Sascha¡¯s bloodied cheek, encouraging him to hold on just a little longer, before she gathered her leaden legs beneath her and commanded them back into action.

    She rose, stiffly, and retrieved her fallen sword. It felt heavier than she remembered, but it was of no matter. She didn¡¯t expect to have to wield it for long.

    Cray shied out of reach, eyes darting back and forth across the streetway, searching for the nearest dark alley to disappear into. He raised his hand to his mouth and spoke softly into the ring on his pinky finger. Oralia didn¡¯t catch the words, but she did notice how the blue stone shimmered. It was unnatural, otherworldly, and far too familiar for comfort.

    ¡°Take the big one¡¯s advice, Oralia,¡± Cray said.

    A ghastly shriek lit the cool air in the distance. Overhead, the wind shifted. A cold, bitter current whipped through the narrow streetway, ripping sheets of straw-thatch from the rooftops as it raged past, filling the air with dirt and debris.

    Cray¡¯s unnerving smile returned. ¡°Run.¡±

 250 - Waltzing Into A Trap

    ¡°I don¡¯t like this,¡± Rali said. Despite her best efforts to maintain a whisper, her voice bounced along the upturned hallway and disappeared around the bend. She, Ashwyn, and Daana were mid-way through another ransacked cottage, clearing the way for the evacuation team.

    Captain Bernstein¡¯s lieutenant had been tasked with spearheading the evacuation efforts. She and her squadron were currently assembled outside of the cottage, waiting to extract any survivors once the structure was cleared of danger. The lieutenant was a cautious individual and refused to move in until absolutely certain the premise was void of potential conflict ¡ª which seemed to include Ashwyn and Rali as well. Daana didn¡¯t fault the lieutenant for actively avoiding them. While competent warriors, the quarrelsome pair were one snide comment away from ripping each other to pieces.

    ¡°Don¡¯t like this?¡± Ashwyn repeated Rali¡¯s words, confused. She worked as she spoke, kicking in another barricaded door with a grunt. The door burst apart in a shower of paint-chipped splinters. Ashwyn darted inside, calling over her shoulder to Rali in a voice that was a far cry from a whisper. ¡°It¡¯s fighting. You sneak, you stab, you move on. What¡¯s not to like?¡±

    Rali¡¯s restless gaze swept the hallway, passing over Daana in the process, before concluding that the only danger lurking nearby was their loudmouth teammate. With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, Rali signaled for Daana to keep watch before ducking inside the room Ashwyn had disappeared into. Daana dutifully tucked herself against the wall, wincing at the way their private conversation drifted back into the hallway as clear as day, amplified by the surrounding stone.

    ¡°It¡¯s too easy,¡± Rali said.

    Ashwyn sounded tired from both the conversation and kicking doors down. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re just too good at it. It¡¯s not a challenge anymore.¡±

    ¡°Flattering, but no.¡±

    Daana had lost track of how many buildings the trio had swept so far. They were on what Rali lovingly referred to as ¡®shit detail¡¯. With Captain Bernstein keeping Cray¡¯s forces pinned down on the far side of the village, it was Rali, Ashwyn, and Daana who combed the buildings ahead of the evacuation team, clearing the area of any threats that would hinder the rescue effort.

    While Daana was grateful not to be out front and center, she suspected the assignment wasn¡¯t based on skill or merit. Rali and Ashwyn were the personification of dried tinder boxes¡ªone stray ember away from bursting into flames and taking out everyone in their immediate proximity. Captain Bernstein was a sensible man and, instead of trying to wrangle them into obedience, had tasked them with causing trouble elsewhere. Far, far away from him, preferably.

    Ashwyn¡¯s bulky form reemerged back through the broken doorway with Rali at her heels. The orc massaged her shoulder as she walked. ¡°Can¡¯t help but notice you two are leaving me with all the heavy lifting. Maybe that¡¯s why it feels too easy. You¡¯re not pulling your weight.¡±

    For all her unease, Rali¡¯s pettiness still reigned supreme. ¡°My kill count begs to differ.¡±

    ¡°Only because you swoop in while I¡¯m still breaking the doors down! It¡¯s not fair. A girl¡¯s gotta catch her breath, you know. You¡¯re like a fucking vulture. Ready to jump in and capitalize on someone else¡¯s hard work.¡±

    The two warriors moved down the cluttered hallway, clearing it of debris. Daana hefted her shield onto her shoulder and followed. She tried to take comfort in Ashwyn¡¯s positivity, but no amount of empty platitudes could shake the nagging feeling that Rali was right.

    ¡°I agree with Rali.¡± Daana¡¯s uneasy gaze swept across the piles of scattered furniture that littered the house. Whatever fight had taken place had moved on already. Other than giving the civilians cowering in the basement a fright, the sweep had proved rather uneventful. ¡°This is too easy.¡±

    ¡°Oh, gods.¡± Ashwyn tilted her head back with a groan, shoving an upturned side table out of the way as she trudged past. ¡°Not you, too.¡±

    Rali glanced over her shoulder at Daana, as if only now remembering the latter existed. Her cutting words were directed at Ashwyn. ¡°Remind me, why is the princess here again? Shouldn¡¯t she be somewhere more suited for her talents? Like the sickbay, or body disposal, or handing out tea cakes?¡±

    Between the sword and shield, Daana didn¡¯t have the spare hand necessary to give Rali the finger. She made do with her eyes which, judging from Rali¡¯s unaffected expression, failed to wield her desired magnitude. Didn¡¯t stop Daana from trying, though.

    ¡°Believe me, you¡¯re gonna want Daana around the moment we run into a witch.¡± Ashwyn strode confidently down the hallway and back out the broken front door, signaling for the evacuation team to move in.

    Daana skittered down the steps and tucked herself off to the side, making room for the rescue party. ¡°There are two civilians in the basement,¡± she explained. ¡°Ashwyn scared them shitless breaking the door down. Approach calmly and you might have better luck extracting them than we did.¡±

    Instructions finished, Daana rushed to catch up. Rali and Ashwyn were already discussing strategy with Captain Bernstein''s lieutenant, whom Daana knew simply as ¡®Lieutenant¡¯ on account of not remembering the dwarf¡¯s actual name. Once upon a time, Daana might have felt bad about that, but the last few days had been such a flurry of new names and faces, that it was a small miracle Daana had retrained her own.

    Already a bundle of nerves, the dwarf lieutenant appeared somehow more distressed than usual as she outlined their final target. Daana shouldered her way between Ashwyn and Rali just in time to miss the important bit. Rali, fortunately, helpfully filled in the missing details with a restrained hiss.

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    ¡°The jailhouse?¡± Rali¡¯s pale face flushed with outrage. ¡°You¡¯re not serious, are you? Tell me you¡¯re joking.¡±

    ¡°There could be civilians locked inside,¡± the lieutenant insisted.

    ¡°You know what else jailhouses have inside?¡± Rali retorted, itemizing her concerns on her fingers. ¡°Soldiers, ample hiding places, and weapons. And that¡¯s not even touching on the fortifications! You don¡¯t seriously expect Ashwyn to be able to break the door down on her own, do you?¡±

    Ashwyn rubbed the soreness from her shoulder at the thought. ¡°Also, having just escaped a dungeon, I¡¯m reluctant to willingly waltz back in one. Just saying.¡±

    The lieutenant had a crude, hand-drawn map of the village stretched between her hands. Briony had provided the map and a quick rundown of the most likely places they would find friend and foe alike hiding. The nervous lieutenant kept her gaze focused on the squiggly lines not out of concentration but to avoid looking directly at Rali. ¡°The Captain mentioned something about a powder charge?¡±

    ¡°Tough toodles, bucko,¡± Rali said. ¡°Fresh out, I¡¯m afraid. Just used my last one.¡±

    ¡°Ah, yes. Well, in that case¡­¡± Still no eye contact. Unconsciously, the dwarf lieutenant¡¯s shoulders steadily shrank smaller in a misguided attempt to make herself less of a target. ¡°Captain Bernstein said to remind you that you are a very capable soldier. You¡¯re as quick on your feet as you are in the mind and that¡­¡± Again, the lieutenant¡¯s voice trailed.

    ¡°And what?¡± Ashwyn gave the cowering lieutenant an impatient nudge. ¡°Come on. You can¡¯t chicken out on us now, right when it¡¯s about to get spicy.¡±

    Still staring at the hand-drawn map, the lieutenant missed the heated glare that passed over the top of her head from Rali to Ashwyn. ¡°He said,¡± the dwarf lieutenant tried again, ¡°that you owe him.¡±

    Rali¡¯s pale face flushed beet red. ¡°Owe him?¡±

    ¡°His words, not mine,¡± the lieutenant was quick to make that part crystal clear. She lifted the map so high it now conveniently concealed her face.

    ¡°Un-fucking-believable!¡± Rali smacked her clenched fist into her open palm. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll do it. Please pass on to your dear Cappy that I look forward to hand-delivering everything he¡¯s owed when we¡¯re done here.¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± The lieutenant hesitated. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means.¡±

    ¡°Good! A little mystery¡¯s good for the imagination, yeah?¡±

    Rali was not the only one upset by their current prospects. Ashwyn¡¯s reluctance, however, had more to do with the target itself, and not so much the interpersonal dynamics involved. She turned and studied the jailhouse across from them with a slow, disapproving shake of her head. ¡°We¡¯re not really considering this, are we, Rals?¡±

    ¡°Apparently we don¡¯t have to.¡± Although her words were directed at Ashwyn, Rali¡¯s glare was focused on the cowering lieutenant. ¡°The dear captain kindly did all the considering for us!¡±

    Abandoning the huddle, Daana moved to the mouth of the alley to get a closer look. The jailhouse door was open, hanging partially ajar. It was a small, sturdy building, comprised of solid stone with barred windows and a clay-tiled roof.

    Daana watched from the corner of her eye as Ashwyn joined her along the mouth of the alley. ¡°Can we revisit the ¡®this doesn¡¯t feel right¡¯ feeling from earlier?¡± Daana shifted her weight from one foot to the other, trying to rid her stomach of the dread that gnawed at it from the inside. ¡°Don¡¯t you find it strange that we haven¡¯t run into any witches yet? It¡¯s all been ordinary soldiers so far.¡±

    ¡°The witches are all at the front,¡± the lieutenant replied matter-of-factly, as if grateful for the opportunity to change topics. ¡°You can hear them, can¡¯t you? Sounds like the captain is keeping them busy.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve met lots of witches in my lifetime,¡± Daana said. ¡°Do you know where they like to be during a fight? Anywhere but the front. Hiding in the back, in the closet, behind someone taller.¡±

    ¡°She says, hiding behind the orc,¡± Rali muttered.

    ¡°She¡¯s not hiding behind me,¡± Ashwyn corrected. ¡°She¡¯s hiding next to me. It¡¯s more dignified.¡±

    Good gods, she didn¡¯t have time for their petty squabbling. Daana stepped away from Ashwyn, highlighting her concerns in hopes that her teammates would either listen or, preferably, prove her growing trepidations wrong. ¡°The only thing that would keep the witches up front is Cray and last we heard, he¡¯s still unaccounted for. If he¡¯s not there, then neither are his people. Not the smart ones, anyway. They¡¯re probably all in hiding, waiting to ambush us the moment he gives the word.¡±

    Ashwyn and Rali exchanged looks.

    ¡°She has a point,¡± Ashwyn conceded.

    ¡°I know, I just don¡¯t like it is all.¡± Rali shuddered, not from the cold, but the fact that she was having to take Daana¡¯s objections into consideration. ¡°I don¡¯t see how this changes things. What are we supposed to do?¡±

    ¡°We could start by not going inside the obviously ambushed jailhouse?¡± Daana suggested.

    ¡°It¡¯s not me you¡¯ve got to convince.¡± Rali flung her hands pointedly in the lieutenant¡¯s direction. ¡°Tell her!¡±

    Danna straightened her shoulders and stood tall. Her sharp tongue curled in anticipation, prepared to unleash her most convincing argument yet, when a blood-curdling scream erupted from within the jailhouse, deflating her courage like a popped wineskin. The heinous sound reverberated along the stone walls until the entire alley trembled beneath their feet. And then, as quickly as it had come, the noise stopped. An eerie silence settled. Daana, Rali, and Ashwyn stood stock-still, breath drawn, torn between ducking back down the alley and waiting around to witness first-hand whatever horrific fate awaited them.

    Swallowing a gulp of cold air, Daana brazenly edged forward, squinting at the front of the building. The breeze picked up, causing the annoying flyaway hairs that¡¯d escaped her braid to whip and whirl, obstructing her view. Daana brushed the hairs from her eyes, suddenly aware that every hair on her arm was lifted. Her skin buzzed, warning her something was amiss. Stubbornly, she searched the surrounding area, determined to know what it was her sixth-sense was telling her. The wind swept harder, blustering against her. It was then she realized it. The wind wasn¡¯t coming from above the jailhouse, but within.

    Daana spun around, screaming, ¡°Get behind something!¡±

    The front door blew off its hinges with a rusted scream and hurtled through the air flipping front over back as effortlessly as a dried leaf caught in the breeze. Debris rained down around them. Daana dove to the ground and covered her head, partially aware that Ashwyn and Rali had done the same. Ashwyn shouted, her voice almost completely swallowed by the howl of the wind, ¡°I think this changes things!¡±

 251 - Be Not Like The Meek Candle Flame

    The wind whipped and whirled violently overhead. It tugged at Daana¡¯s cloak and hair, loosening several dark, pleated strands from her braid. Around her, dirt and clumps of soggy leaves lifted into the churning air and joined the swirl of splintered wood and stone caught in the current. Daana pulled her arms tighter over her head, wincing each time an airborne projectile whistled past, narrowly missing her prone body.

    The dark magic festering beneath her skin sprang to life. It started as a crawling sensation in the tip of each finger before flooding up her arms, over her shoulder, and down her spine. The icy cold wriggled, writhed, and squirmed, silently screaming at her to do something other than lie on her stomach like a sacrificial lamb on the altar of death.

    The deafening wind howled louder as the magic wielder approached. The power was old, lethal, somehow foreign, and yet terrifyingly familiar at the same time. It strummed her sixth sense like a long-forgotten song. She didn¡¯t know the words, but fragments of the discordant tune lifted from the catacombs of her memory and played in the dark space behind her eyes, teasing at her memory. The wind, the ancient feel to the magic, the way it stoked her ravenous hunger ¡ª alone, each detail could have easily been chalked up to mere coincidence, but together they signified something much, much worse.

    Cautiously, Daana lifted her head and peered out between the protective curl of her arms. Her gaze swept over the upturned street to the jailhouse¡¯s front stoop. Bare, open, rid of its front door, Daana saw only empty darkness within. There was nothing and yet, she couldn¡¯t look away. Her eyes were drawn to the darkness like metal to a magnetic pull. And then it moved. A shadow materialized from the gloom and slunk down the jailhouse steps and into the grim, gray light. The beast was small, with heavily scarred blue, scaled skin and long, elfin ears. The cascade of white quills that sprang from its head and spilled down its shoulders and along the length of its spine were cropped painfully close to its body.

    ¡°Fuck me,¡± Rali hissed beneath her breath. ¡°Daana, tell me that¡¯s not what I think it is.¡±

    Daana gulped. ¡°It is.¡±

    Daana¡¯s first thought wasn¡¯t of horror nor fear, but pity. The broken fae that limped down the jailhouse steps wasn¡¯t her enemy. Their thin, mangled body spoke of a life of torment at the hands of a brutal master. Heat stung the tips of Daana¡¯s ears as a flood of anger followed. It wasn¡¯t fair. The fae couldn¡¯t help that Taratheil Cray was a sadistic psychopath. And yet, against their will, driven by the unbreakable bond of fae magic, the wind shifter would be forced to fight Cray¡¯s battle and decimate all who defied him.

    Daana included.

    The wind shifter reached the bottom step and went still. A pair of slit, silvery eyes glowed against its dark hide. Its scaled head, crowned in broken quills, lifted. The fae tested the air and then followed the scent with its eerie gaze, settling over the three warriors hiding amongst the mud. It locked eyes with Daana the same moment the wind dropped and the air fell sickeningly still.

    Rali¡¯s muttered curse matched what Daana was feeling. ¡°Shit.¡±

    Their unspoken plan to remain still and blend in with the ground in hopes of being overlooked had just flown out the metaphorical window. They¡¯d been spotted. And while the mangled fae across from them showed no signs of advancing, the fact that it wasn¡¯t the least bit intimidated by their presence neatly slid their already grim chances of survival from bad to worse.

    ¡°Fuck fighting and whatever that is.¡± Ashwyn chanced a worried glance over her shoulder into the alley behind them. Whatever she saw didn¡¯t appear to lend any confidence. ¡°The evacuation team certainly lived up to its name. It¡¯s just us, apparently.¡± Her wide-eyed stare darted from the closest doorway to the still fae, and then back again, calculating the distance. ¡°We could try the lieutenant¡¯s strategy and retreat with our tails between our legs.¡±

    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t get halfway before that thing caught us.¡± Cover blown, Rali saw no sense in pretending to be one with the mud any longer. The stocky dwarf staggered to her feet and drew her shortsword. ¡°Like my dear old ma used to say, be not like the meek candle flame that cowers to the wind, but of wildfire. For even after its expiration, it is remembered by the scorched ground left behind.¡±

    Ashwyn reluctantly stood and readied herself with a slow shake of her head. ¡°Your mother did not say that.¡±

    ¡°Not in so many words, perhaps,¡± Rali admitted with a shrug. ¡°But it was implied. Between all of the drunken rantings, of course.¡±

    ¡°The only sage advice my mother imparted was to stop jumping on the furniture.¡± The orc reached down and assisted Daana to her feet with a strong yank. ¡°You got any words of wisdom to add, Peaches?¡±

    Motionless, the fae was still staring at her. Its silvery eyes burrowed deep into Daana¡¯s soul, rooting out every buried secret. Like her breath, Daana¡¯s words emitted from between her chattering teeth with a tremble. ¡°I wasn¡¯t with my mother long enough to have a lasting impact,¡± she said, filling her lungs with a fast gulp of cold air. ¡°But I seem to recall a good friend advising me not to do anything stupid.¡±

    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°Talk about being set up for failure,¡± Rali laughed. It was a harsh, nervous sound, accompanied by an unconscious shiver.

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think he really thought that one through.¡± Daana¡¯s insatiable hunger demanded that she stop talking and rush out to meet her magical opponent head-on. A healthy mix of dread and fear, however, kept her feet firmly planted in the soft mud. The fae had yet to move and she would be damned if she was the one responsible for ending the standoff.

    Unlike her feet, her mouth ran freely. ¡°Admittedly, I miss him.¡±

    Naturally, her grief simply couldn¡¯t wait a few minutes more for her to be dead. Daana¡¯s emotions had to go and betray her, allowing a few fat tears to slip down her face unhindered. Barely a week had passed since Daana had sworn to Snag that she wouldn¡¯t do anything stupid. Barely a week and, already, she was breaking her promise. Having fought alongside a wind shifter once before, Daana knew the destruction the species was capable of. What¡¯s more, she knew their only hope of stopping the fae depended on her ability to drain its magic before it took them out first. That required moving closer, however, a feat she was less than thrilled about.

    Daana blinked the hot moisture from her eyes as she tightened her grip on her sword. ¡°But I¡¯m glad he¡¯s not here. As far as stupid goes, this definitely takes the cake.¡±

    ¡°I wish Ellie was here.¡± The words slipped free of Ashwyn¡¯s mouth as if she¡¯d spoken without realizing it. ¡°She loved cake.¡±

    Rali muttered her agreement, along with the addition of breakfast being the obviously superior food of choice.

    Having grown bored of waiting, the wind shifter broke from its hypnotic trance. The fae tilted their short-spined head to the side as their glowing gaze swept from Daana to the others, taking silent stock of what threat the trio posed. The assessment concluded insultingly fast. And then, as if to rub salt into the proverbial wound, its face contorted into a sickly smile. It was a thin, needle-toothed smirk that assured the others that whatever happened next wouldn¡¯t be a fight, but a game.

    ¡°And it¡¯s taunting us,¡± Ashwyn said. ¡°Lovely.¡±

    Rali, suffering from an uncharacteristic lack of words, repeated the same one she¡¯d used before. ¡°Shit.¡±

    The breeze picked up again. Gently, at first. A calm wind that merely teased the air. Little by little, each idle churn gained momentum until the breeze transformed into a gust. The whipping current was nearing a gale by the time Daana started to lose her footing. She bent her knees and hunched lower, glancing at the others for direction. The fae¡¯s magic grew thick in the air around them. It rippled across Daana¡¯s skin until her mouth watered with hunger.

    Her feet slipped, followed almost immediately by her dwindling control. Danna stumbled several steps forward as ice flooded down her hands and pooled in each fingertip. Sparks of dark energy erupted from her hands. It crackled and popped in the air like the static from rubbing two blankets together. Daana dropped her sword with a startled yelp and lifted her dominant hand higher, watching, mystified, as translucent coils of magic rose from her skin. The translucent plumes of smoke-like magic were swept away, picked up by the pull of the fae¡¯s wind spell.

    Her fingertips pulsed as the dark entity started to pull, snatching loose magic from the air and siphoning it back into its mortal host. The wind lessened. Its howling gale started to fizzle out as the force behind its power drained. The stolen magic slammed into Daana like a boot to the chest. She staggered backwards, coughing as gasping as the fae¡¯s ancient power coursed through her ice-cold veins.

    ¡°Shit, girl, are you draining it from here?¡± Ashwyn¡¯s voice was all but swallowed by the howling wind.

    ¡°It¡¯s not me!¡± Daana screamed. At least she didn¡¯t think so. It was the dark entity, surely, using her abilities as a convenient means to feed.

    A blood-curdling shriek lit the air. Confused, the wind shifter lurched forward, throwing one clawed hand overhead, summoning a gust mighty enough to splatter its obnoxious playthings into the nearest cottage.

    Daana dropped her shield and threw both hands in front of her. Dark magic poured from her fingertips, draining the spell¡¯s raw power a split second before it came crashing down over their heads. The gust swept past no stronger than a summer breeze.

    The wind dropped, cut off by its wielder. An amalgamation of fury and bewilderment furrowed across the fae¡¯s gnarled face. The weight of its stare rested solely on Daana. One by one, the fae¡¯s broken quills flattened against the back of its head as its eyes narrowed to silver slits. Hands clenched, it prepared to summon its worst spell yet when it froze, its entire body rigid.

    Rali glanced at Daana out of the corner of her eye. ¡°Is that not-not-you, too?¡±

    ¡°Not me,¡± Daana gasped as the freezing chill eased. The dark entity writhed eagerly beneath her skin, poised and waiting for its next opportunity to feed.

    The wind shifter snapped from its trance with a rattle of its broken quills. Its eerie silver gaze lifted from Daana and settled on the rooftop overhead. Snarling, the fae shook free of its solid body and shot into the air as a roiling cloud of blue-black smoke and disappeared on the wind.

    ¡°We won?¡± Rali sounded rightfully skeptical.

    ¡°Why do you sound so disappointed by it?¡± Ashwyn demanded.

    ¡°No, she¡¯s right.¡± Again. Ugh, Daana didn¡¯t like admitting it a second time any more than she did the first. ¡°That was too easy.¡±

    Confused, Daana closed her eyes and drew in, channeling her sixth sense. A silver thread of magic pinged in the distance. It was faint but powerful. She could feel it summoning the wind shifter, demanding it heed the call. She followed the thread to its source and her eyes shot open. ¡°It¡¯s Cray.¡± Daana snatched her sword and shield from the ground. ¡°He¡¯s calling the wind shifter to him. We have to follow it.¡±

 252 - Reunited At Last

    ¡°Daana, hold up!¡± Ashwyn¡¯s ragged voice reverberated along the maze of dark, stone alleyways as she took chase, struggling to catch up with the light-footed elf before she disappeared from sight entirely. Ashwyn huffed and puffed as her aching lungs threatened to catch fire. Good goddess, when had the girl gotten so damn fast? Ashwyn had never seen Daana move quite so quickly before. Naturally, the one time the girl showed some hustle it was in the wrong direction. They should have been running from imminent death, not towards it!

    ¡°Why are you following that thing?¡± Ashwyn paused, trying to recall what Daana and Rali had called the strange spiny beast. A wind lifter? Shifter? Shitter? Goddess, who the fuck cared? All that mattered was that it was deadly and not something to be chased. ¡°You understand that you¡¯re willfully charging into the open arms of death and danger, right?¡±

    And I¡¯m the idiot blindly following you!

    Following, alas, could not be helped. Ashwyn had promised both Snag and the girl¡¯s mother that she would keep Daana safe. Admittedly, she hadn¡¯t done a stellar job of that so far, but there was no time like the present to put some actual effort in.

    ¡°Daana, please! At least slow down so I don¡¯t lose you.¡±

    Puddles sloshed underfoot as Ashwyn¡¯s boots slammed against the slick streetway, struggling to keep up as the elf¡¯s cloaked form disappeared around another bend. Ashwyn shot around the corner after her. Daana ran with her stare fixed upwards, tracking the beast¡¯s incorporeal form as it swept across the gray sky. Behind her, Ashwyn heard the wet thud of heavy footsteps close in, signaling that Rali had also joined the chase. The orc glanced over her shoulder to confirm her suspicions and was rewarded with a look from Rali that would have qualified as aggravated assault.

    Great. Just great! It was bad enough that Ashwyn¡¯s last moments had to be spent chasing Daana, but now she had to do it in the company of the grumpy dwarf as well!

    Daana¡¯s voice called to her from up ahead. ¡°Remember when I kept mentioning that something wasn¡¯t right? How I found it suspicious that Cray and his top witches aren¡¯t fighting back?¡±

    ¡°Vividly,¡± Ashwyn assured her between labored breaths.

    ¡°I suspect Cray ordered his most powerful people to lie in wait and not move until he gave the signal.¡±

    No shit, Peaches! Ashwyn kept her exasperation to herself on account of not wanting to waste precious breath arguing what everyone already knew. Of course Cray had held back his best people. The trap wouldn¡¯t have worked, otherwise. The orc channeled her mounting irritation into a single word, urging Daana to finish detailing her theory without unnecessary amounts of prompting. ¡°And?¡±

    Daana pointed skyward at the wind shifter. ¡°I think that¡¯s the signal.¡±

    Rali¡¯s stocky form jogged into view. She fell into step alongside Ashwyn, content to keep pace with the slowest member of their party. Unlike Ashwyn, Rali had the necessary lung capacity to run and yell simultaneously. She put it to good use too, hollering, ¡°So your brilliant plan is to follow the signal straight into Cray¡¯s trap?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think the trap¡¯s meant for us. We¡¯re not important.¡±

    Daana outlined her reasoning between desperate inhales and exhales of breath. As far as Cray was concerned, none of them meant anything. Not Daana, not Ashwyn, not Rali, not even the New Adderwood army. They were simply annoying obstacles Cray had to deal with to access the one person he considered worth his time ¡ª his employer¡¯s arch nemesis, Oralia Dawnsight.

    Oralia had surprised everyone, the enemy included, by removing herself from the fight. Having handed control of the situation over to Captain Bernstein, Oralia had assigned herself to the secondary evacuation team, the unit least likely to run into conflict. Daana suspected the move had thrown off Cray¡¯s plan. He wasn¡¯t going to call in his top players to decimate the New Adderwood army if Oralia wasn¡¯t there to be a part of it. There was no dramatic flare to that.

    Oralia¡¯s strategy had bought them time. Said time, however, had finally run out. At long last, Cray must have found his quarry. Which is why they had to reach him and, by extension, Oralia, before Cray¡¯s legion of division witches did.

    Silence was never good when it came to Rali ¡ª not that Ashwyn necessarily preferred the alternative. But the fact that the dwarf wasn¡¯t profusely picking apart Daana¡¯s theory piece by piece meant there was some validity to it. A whole lot, given the deathly quiet. Ashwyn felt conflicted by the sudden lack of bickering as the trio neared the edge of the village. They were running to their deaths. Each and every one of them knew it, and yet, they didn¡¯t turn back. They didn¡¯t alter course. They kept going knowing the grim fate that awaited them. And while death had always been on the table, it felt wrong to willfully throw oneself into its open arms without at least a little bit of complaining.

    ¡°For the record,¡± Ashwyn wheezed, her hot breath billowing into the frosty air in front of her, ¡°I wanted it stated that this was not my idea.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the right thing to do,¡± Rali retorted with a scoff. ¡°Of course it¡¯s not your idea.¡±

    ¡°Good. ¡®Cause when Snag resurrects our ghosts lookin¡¯ to kick someone¡¯s ass, I¡¯m gonna be pointing fingers at you two.¡±

    There. She felt better now. Well, not by much really, but at least Ashwyn could claim she didn¡¯t go quietly.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    It was good timing, too, considering they¡¯d reached their destination. Ashwyn squinted at the gray sky, watching as their quarry¡¯s shapeless form dipped down, lost to sight behind the looming row of stone cottages up ahead. The others picked up speed, forcing Ashwyn to do the same. She pushed her leaden legs harder, heartbeat pounding like a hammer against her chest, and rounded the final corner hot on Daana¡¯s heels.

    In hindsight, they should have slowed down and assessed the situation instead of bursting out into the open without knowing the stakes, but such was the nature of hindsight. You didn¡¯t realize your blunder until after it¡¯d bitten you square in the ass. The trio burst into the open street at the same time Cray¡¯s beast touched back down in a turbulent whirlwind of biting air. The violent gust sent them scattering like dried leaves caught in the typhoon.

    Ashwyn flipped head over heels before rolling to a stop with a slam in the middle of someone¡¯s front yard. Daana was strewn across the wet grass beside her, groaning, but alive. Quick as a flash, Ashwyn seized the elf by the cloak and rolled behind a raised garden bed, dragging Daana with her. It wouldn¡¯t protect in the event of a magical ambush, but at least it afforded cover while Ashwyn assessed the situation at hand.

    Aside from them and the spiny-wind bastard, there were three others. Oralia, a hulking mass that could not have been anyone else but Ashwyn¡¯s childhood chum, Sascha, and a third, whom she did not recognize. By process of elimination, the third had to be Cray. Alas, the sheer force of being hurtled through the splintered remains of someone¡¯s picketed fence by his own pet failed to kill him. The elf staggered to his feet, his face bloodied and pink with outrage.

    Cray¡¯s trembling finger shot forward, pointing at Oralia¡¯s collapsed form. His shrill voice cut through the howling wind at a screech. ¡°What are you waiting for? Kill¡ª¡±

    The command turned to ash on his tongue the moment a generous-sized stone glanced off the side of his unprotected head. Cray went down with a mangled scream, clutching his face as his hands turned red with blood.

    ¡°No one cares!¡± Rali, the source of the rock-throwing, sprang up from hiding and cut across the street in Cray¡¯s direction. ¡°Daana, you handle the wind shifter. I¡¯ll take care of screechy.¡±

    Ashwyn leapt to her feet to assist.

    ¡°Not you!¡± Rali barked over her shoulder without looking. ¡°Get Oralia to safety. And don¡¯t even think about running her off like you did the rest of my family. If I find she¡¯s gone, there will be reparations to pay!¡±

    Ashwyn snapped her tusks with a sigh. Rali really wasn¡¯t ever going to let that go, was she? Stifling the urge to call the damn dwarf every colorful name in the book, Ashwyn altered course. Oralia was already up and moving. Bent over with a hand clasped to her side, she staggered to where Sascha¡¯s unmoving bulk lay slumped on the ground.

    Ashwyn¡¯s heart lurched at the pitiful sight. She thundered across the street and slid to a stop just shy of Sascha¡¯s still form. ¡°Fuck. Tell me he¡¯s not dead.¡±

    Sascha batted Ashwyn away with a labored wave of his hand. ¡°Not yet,¡± he assured her, delivering a leveling glare that said something along the lines of ¡®Hello, old friend. Remember all of those times I took the fall for your childhood misadventures? It¡¯s time to pay the piper.¡¯

    It was remarkable, really. It¡¯d been nearly a century since Ashwyn had last set eyes on him and still, she could read Sascha¡¯s expression as clear as day. He tilted his bruised and battered head in Oralia¡¯s direction without breaking eye contact. ¡°Get her out of here.¡±

    Oralia hooked her hand under Sascha¡¯s arm and locked it tight. ¡°Not without you.¡±

    ¡°Ashwyn,¡± Sascha rumbled, still avoiding Oralia¡¯s stubborn stare. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you have to drag her out kicking and screaming. Do it.¡±

    Fuck. He meant it. He was serious. Tentatively, Ashwyn glanced at her sister and regretted it immediately. Oralia¡¯s expression was equally easy to read. It said: ¡®Touch me and I will end you¡¯.

    Gods dammit! Four hundred years old and her sister was still the same stubborn bossy-britches she remembered. Experience had taught Ashwyn that there wasn¡¯t any use arguing. Once Oralia sent her mind to something, there would be no changing it. ¡°Sorry, mate. She will forever be scarier than you are,¡± Ashwyn said to Sascha as she took up her position on the other side of him. ¡°Alright, Ra-Ra. On the count of three, we lift. Ready?¡±

    Whether it was the use of her favorite nickname or her innate inability to follow someone else¡¯s lead, Oralia, naturally, overrode Ashwyn¡¯s directions and substituted her own. She lurched upright with a strained grunt. ¡°Three!¡±

    Ashwyn clamped her eyes shut and heaved for all she was worth, straining to match her sister¡¯s intensity. ¡°Still can¡¯t let anyone else be in charge, I see!¡±

    Between their combined efforts, Sasha was assisted to his feet. Both orc sisters ducked under each gargantuan arm, supporting his weight from underneath. Their success was met with outrage.

    ¡°Be careful!¡± Sacha said.

    The absolute nerve! Here she was risking a broken spine hauling Sascha¡¯s ungrateful ass off the battlefield, and he dared to complain! Ashwyn staggered a step forward, snapping, ¡°I am being careful, you overgrown mountain!¡±

    ¡°Not you, her.¡± Sascha¡¯s scowl was directed at Oralia. The recipient pretended not to notice, which only served to aggravate the big guy further. ¡°She needs to be careful.¡±

    ¡°What the fuck for?¡± Ashwyn bent forward for a better view of her sister¡¯s face. Oralia kept her mouth clamped shut and her steely gaze forward, channeling all of her dwindling energy at the task at hand. Despite her commendable efforts to keep a blank expression, Oralia¡¯s face revealed everything her confounded tongue didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Sweet goddess!¡± Ashwyn gasped, nearly missing her next step. ¡°Seriously?¡±

    Sascha snapped his tusks in confirmation. ¡°Seriously.¡±

    Overcome with the sudden urge to shake her sister by the shoulders, Ashwyn had to make do with a stomp of her foot. ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Ra-Ra! Why didn¡¯t you say anything before?¡±

    In addition to sniffing out secrets, little sisters also possessed the inexplicable gift of breaking their older sibling¡¯s commitment to the silent treatment. Oralia¡¯s short tone reflected her feelings on the matter. ¡°We had all of five seconds to catch up before it was off to war. There was no time.¡±

    ¡°It would have taken half of that to mention, ¡®hey, by the way, lil sis, I¡¯m knocked up. Oh, your former best mate, Sasha, you remember him, don¡¯t you? He¡¯s the dear old dad. Mind lending me a hand breaking him free?¡¯¡±

    ¡°I would not utter those if they were my last,¡± Oralia replied.

    ¡°Well, the good news is, they¡¯re not going to be your last words, are they? Now get moving. We¡¯re getting both of you out here pronto!¡± They were nearing the final row of houses. Ashwyn could see the dark line of trees just beyond. She twisted her head back over her shoulder, watching as Daana and Rali took on Cray and his deranged pet together. Dread clogged her throat as the pair grew small in the distance.

    Ashwyn had taught Daana the best she could. She only hoped it would be enough.

 253 - Little Spell-Thief

    ¡°You useless beast!¡± Cray¡¯s bloodied hand pressed against the seeping wound on his forehead. Matted hair clung to the side of his face, wet and slick with blood. He positioned himself behind the wind shifter, allowing it to serve as a living barrier between him and his attackers. ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there, you fool. Protect your master!¡±

    ¡°Daana,¡± Rali shouted over Cray¡¯s frothing rage, ¡°whatever you¡¯re doing, keep at it!¡±

    It was the first positive thing Rali had said to her all day. Which was nice, but also rather conflicting considering Daana wasn¡¯t doing anything at all. She and the wind shifter were caught in a standoff, sizing one another up and down, waiting for the other to make the first move. They both knew the moment the fae weaponized their magic against her would be the same moment Daana would bleed their power dry, as she¡¯d done before.

    Wordlessly, the wind shifter¡¯s silvery gaze locked eyes with her. Daana shivered. Her skin goose-pimpled as the fae¡¯s power washed over her. Its potency filled her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Panic set in. What in chaos was she doing? This wasn¡¯t a mere witch, this was a fae. One of the most powerful beings in the world enslaved to the whim of a madman. She wasn¡¯t equipped to take on a wind shifter!

    Quiet your thoughts, little spell-thief, and listen. We do not have much time.

    Daana¡¯s eyes widened as an unfamiliar voice entangled within her thoughts. She turned her head, slowly, feeling as if every muscle in her neck was made of stone. Time stood still around her. The mist hung like a cloud of swirling cotton in the air. Cray stood frozen in place with his mouth open but unmoving. Rali¡¯s form was only paces away from him. Her shortsword was drawn and there was a mask of grim determination etched across her dirtied face.

    Daana squinted harder, realizing they weren¡¯t completely frozen. Both were moving at a miniscule pace, nearly imperceptible to the naked eye.

    The strange voice echoed within her head once more. Run.

    Daana¡¯s gaze moved back to the wind shifter, taken aback. She was unable to speak. Her tongue was heavy and unmoving, like a bag of wet sand.

    He will order me to kill you, and I must obey. Only one of us will walk away.

    Daana saw something unexpected in the fae¡¯s grim expression. Swallowing her words, she channeled her thoughts into a reply. You¡¯re afraid of me.

    I see what you are, little spell thief. I feel what powers belong to you and what powers do not. You are not alone in that body. You carry an old magic that grows stronger with every spell you take. The fae¡¯s silvery gaze stared back at her unblinkingly, pleading with Daana to see reason. You do not possess the strength to defeat me on your own. To fight would require embracing the darkness.

    Dread swelled within her, amplifying to the suffocating tightness. Daana had no reason to believe the fae and yet, deep down, she knew their words to be true. The darkness had awakened. Its ravenous hunger steadily gnawed away at her control.

    I fear not what you are, little spell-thief, but what you will become. Spare not just yourself, but the world. No good will come of this.

    The fae was giving her the chance to escape with her life. Hot tears trickled from Daana¡¯s frozen eyes. No good will come if I walk away, either.

    Forget what you think you know! Today, there will be no winners. No victories. The fae¡¯s singsong voice was shrill with panic. Hurry now! Cray¡¯s witches draw near. They will not show you the same mercy.

    The fae¡¯s spell was waning. Daana saw movement begin to pick up around her. The cloaking mist swirled and churned in sluggish circles slightly faster than before. They were almost out of time.

    It was a tempting offer, one made out of genuine concern, and not just mere desperation. Daana sensed the fae was being genuine. Even after suffering unspeakable atrocities at the hands of mortal-kind, it still did not want to see the world plunge into darkness. But that¡¯s what would happen if Daana tucked her tail between her legs and ran. Cray would chase down Oralia and retrieve the powerstone. Everything else would fall soon after.

    Daana¡¯s only hope was to stop him. Here. Now. Even if it cost her everything.

    Their minds were intertwined. The fae saw Daana¡¯s reasoning and understood, finally, why she could not flee. Its expression saddened. The elf that walks away from this will no longer be you, child. The darkness will take control. You will live the rest of your years as a prisoner to the whims of another. That is not a fate I wish upon anyone.

    Then after I kill Cray, Daana said, blinking the tears from her eyes and as she steeled herself for the inevitable, make sure I don¡¯t walk away either.

    Time unfroze.

    Rali barrelled forward in Cray¡¯s direction with her sword drawn. The elf placed both hands against his bloodied forehead and willed a telepathic spell in her direction, causing Rali to miss her next step. The dwarf crumpled to the ground, screaming.

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    Cray¡¯s manic stare swiveled around and settled on the motionless fae. ¡°Useless mongrel!¡± he snarled. ¡°Do the only thing you are good for! Attack! Kill them!¡±

    The wind shifter flinched away from its master.

    ¡°What are you waiting¡ª¡± The remainder of Cray¡¯s sentence died on his quivering tongue the moment his gaze settled on Daana. With his focus caught between Rali and the wind shifter, he hadn¡¯t given her much more than a passing glance. Confusion flooded his twisted expression as he struggled to place why she looked familiar to him.

    He arrived at the conclusion, eventually. Recognition glimmered within his gray eyes. ¡°Daana, my dear, how good it is to see you alive and well.¡± The niceties bled from Cray¡¯s tone when his attention returned to the wind shifter. ¡°I see your conundrum now. You cannot use magic because you know this one will weaponize it against you.¡±

    The fae flinched again, expecting the worst.

    ¡°Your solution is simple, then. Don¡¯t use magic.¡± Cray sent them spilling forward with a brutal kick. ¡°Tear her to pieces. That¡¯s an order!¡±

    A blanket of blue-black smoke cloaked the fae¡¯s movements as its broken body lifted from the ground. Magic rippled through the air. Behind the veil of dark smoke, the fae¡¯s spiny shadow shifted into something larger, sleeker, and undoubtedly more deadly. A giant striped cat materialized from the gloom, armed with wicked claws and saber-toothed fangs. The tiger approached Daana with its head down, muscles rippling beneath a matted pelt of black and orange fur.

    Shit. Daana backed away, choking on her fear. Magic-stealing powers wouldn¡¯t do her any good against claws and teeth. One swipe of its paw was all it would take to reduce her to a pile of bloody ribbons.

    The tiger charged. Its slinky body dipped low to the ground and then sprang, sailing high through the air in a black and orange blur of teeth and claws. The fae¡¯s panicked voice erupted within Daana¡¯s head. Now, little spell-thief!

    Daana ducked behind her shield and screamed the first thing that came to mind. ¡°Stay back!¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a spell, and yet, the surrounding magic responded all the same. Daana¡¯s abilities reached into the aether and pulled, ripping magic from the approaching fae. Stolen power flooded her veins. Her fingertips crackled and popped, lighting her bones aflame. A spray of magic burst forth from her hands in a surge of blinding light. The spell knocked the tiger aside effortlessly. The black and orange beast flipped and tumbled across the road, splashing through puddles and mud, until its careening body slammed to a painful stop.

    Daana peered over the top of her shield, taken aback. She wanted to hurt Cray, not the wind shifter, but the fae was bound to protect its master. She had to drain one to get to the other. Everything about this was wrong. Particularly the part where it felt just the tiniest bit right. The insatiable hunger that had long lay dormant in Daana¡¯s veins demanded more.

    The tiger rose unsteadily onto all fours and growled, urging her to do it again.

    Stolen magic rippled down Daana¡¯s arms and pooled within her hands. Cold heat scorched her fingertips. Daana did not have to speak. All she had to do was think it and the power obeyed instinctively, without protest. Hands trembling, she lifted her sword and pointed it at the approaching beast. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Shimmering strands of incandescent light lifted from the shapeshifter¡¯s form and poured into Daana. The darkness beneath her skin lapped up the influx of power as eagerly as a ravenous dog. Still, the brazen fae approached. It didn¡¯t fight the pull, it gave willingly. Dropping the sword from her grip, Daana extended her fingers and drew in. Blazing blue light lit the air as the fae¡¯s magic became her own. Daana clenched her fingers into a fist and flung her arm wide, sweeping the fae aside, clearing the path to Cray.

    Rali was still on the ground, clutching her head as tears streamed down her reddened face. Cray hovered nearby, just out of reach. He was bent over with his forefingers pressed against his temples, actively tearing Rali¡¯s mind apart from the inside.

    Daana lifted her palm in Cray¡¯s direction and pulled.

    This time, when the spine-tingling sting of unfamiliar magic filled her chest, she was ready for it. The icy chill spread from her fingers, up her arms, and down her spine. Unconsciously, Daana drew air deep into her lungs, allowing the magic to wash over her, before releasing her breath. The breath that seeped between her teeth was colder than the air around her.

    Cray¡¯s eyes snapped open with a yelp. He looked at Rali, confused, and then to Daana. The confusion on his face turned to annoyance. ¡°Since when were you ever this competent?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been so long since we¡¯ve seen one another, Mister Cray.¡± Daana saw the tiger slinking towards her from the corner of her eye. She pretended not to notice. Her cold breath puffed billows of ice into the air. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve changed some since my academy days.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my dear. I can certainly see that.¡± Cray did his best not to openly stare at the tiger moving in from behind. He spoke with his hands, ensuring Daana¡¯s attention was on him. ¡°Speaking of which, would it be uncouth of me to point out that you¡¯re glowing?¡±

    Daana glanced at her hands. The brown skin on her fingertips had taken on a most unusual hue. It wasn¡¯t merely one color, but many. A swirling amalgamation of stolen magic from both Cray and the wind shifter. The change was already in full swing. It wouldn¡¯t be long before all semblance of control slipped from her feeble hands. She had to make her sacrifice count.

    Eyes still locked on Cray, Daana advanced. Her feet moved beneath her, and yet she barely felt each step. Her body was no longer her own. She felt the darkness swallowing her. Soon, she would be nothing more than a passenger, forced to watch through the window of her eyes as the world burned.

    Cray¡¯s eyes went wide with panic. ¡°Daana, no! Please, we can¡ª¡±

    Daana extended her hand in his direction. His power pulled at her fingertips, teasing her with its tantalizing allure. She didn¡¯t snap it from her host''s body as she¡¯d done before. There wasn¡¯t any need. Daana twitched her fingers and Cray¡¯s power obeyed, condensing into a ball of light within his skull. She willed his magic smaller, tighter, until it grew molten hot.

    Rali¡¯s panicked voice added to the swirl of screams, shouting something about reinforcements.

    Daana didn¡¯t understand what Rali meant. But it didn¡¯t matter. In a mere matter of seconds, Cray would be dead, and so would she. She balled her hand into a fist, fingernails digging deep into her palm, and willed Cray¡¯s powers to burn brighter. And then the unthinkable happened. Beastly shapes sprang from the surrounding shadows onto her. Teeth and claws ripped at Daana¡¯s flesh, forcing her to drop the spell.

    The last thing Daana saw was Cray¡¯s haggard face, white with fear and fury, before the roiling shadows swallowed her whole.

 254 - Bled Dry

    The monsters came at Daana from all sides. Teeth gnashing, talons slashing, the shadow beasts tore her flesh from bone. Screaming, Daana kicked and flailed. She threw her hands into the air and pulled, siphoning the surrounding magic as quickly as she could, but her veins did not fill. It was like trying to catch mist in her hand. No matter how far into the aether she reached or how deeply she drew, the thread of magic disintegrated to dust within her grasp. Her power waned, unable to feed.

    A set of crushing jaws latched onto Daana¡¯s ankle and dragged her down. The horde descended. Desperate, she flipped over onto her stomach and dragged her body, hand over hand, across the swampy ground, but it was to no avail. The gnashing teeth and talons pulled her back into the fray.

    Little spell-thief! The wind shifter¡¯s voice pierced her skull like hot steel through butter. Their panic buzzed inside Daana¡¯s head. Reinforcements have arrived! Take everything I have, now! Hurry! Before the coward retreats!

    Clenching her eyes shut, Daana stubbornly lifted her hand and pulled with all she had.

    The fae¡¯s desperate screech grew faint. End him!

    Daana reached and reached and reached, but no magic welled within her outstretched fingers. It was too late. The fae was out of range. Cray had already fled, taking the wind shifter and Daana¡¯s hope of ending everything here and now with him.

    Snapping and snarling, the shadow creatures closed in. Their shifting shapes melded together as one and formed an impenetrable barrier around her.

    It was too much. There were too many. Daana had no escape. The pain crescendoed until every thread of her corporeal being stretched too far, too tight. Her mind, a screaming void of pain and fear, held together by brittle threads of sheer tenacity, snapped under the pressure. The frayed ends unraveled as Daana came apart at the seams. Her pieces drifted away, swallowed whole by the thrumming pain.

    Arms curled over her head, she tucked her broken body into a tight ball and drew in, shutting herself off from the outside.

    It was the moment of weakness the dark entity had been waiting for. Cold ripples slithered and slunk beneath Daana¡¯s skin, spreading poison from head to toe, filling in the gaps between her severed seams. Tugging, pulling, mending, the dark entity put her back together again. When it spoke, Daana was startled to hear not a foreign voice, but her own.

    Alone, we are broken. Shattered remnants without power. But together ¡ª the last lingering traces of heat fled Daana¡¯s body as the entity slipped neatly into place ¡ª we are strong.

    The entity had been waiting so long for this moment. Daana didn¡¯t know how she knew this, she just did. She and the entity were now one. It knew her thoughts and, for the first time, she was exposed to the inner workings of its own mind. The entity¡¯s excitement belonged to both of them. An eager shiver rippled through Daana¡¯s leaden bones, igniting a fire that burned with cold rage. A tiny, distant voice tugged at the back of her mind, insisting she panic. But she couldn¡¯t. The very sensation blipped out of existence, along with her pain, fear, and doubt. For the first time in ages, she felt relief.

    There was no pain here. No failure. No crushing dread. It was wrong, yes, she knew deep, deep down. But how could something so wrong feel so right?

    Our eyes are open now. Gaze upon our enemy and see them for what they truly are.

    Daana¡¯s eyes opened. A blazing light surged forth from her body, dispelling the shadow horde. Yipping and yelping in surprise, the shapeless beasts drew back. Their glowing eyes burned against the swirling dark of their incorporeal bodies as they watched, cowering in fear, as Daana uncurled her body from the fetal position. Several of the larger beasts edged forward, bloodied teeth snapping, but they didn¡¯t commit to the attack. Their prey was no longer a hapless elf girl. She was something else. Something far more dangerous.

    Daana paid them no mind.

    She stood, slowly, as if caught in a dream, and gazed out across the strange land around her. A blindfold had been ripped from her eyes. The land was simultaneously familiar and completely alien. The invisible barrier separating the world of magic from that of the mortal had faded, allowing the two planes to overlap. For the first time, Daana could see. Really see. A complex tapestry of living magic wove through the air, snaking around the slew of mortal bodies caught in slow motion.

    Time was acting squirrely again. Daana was too enraptured by her surroundings to consider the how or why of it.

    She studied the shadowy beasts encircling her. They were no longer monstrous creatures comprised of teeth and claws, but mere shadows. A mindless illusion born of shadow magic. No wonder she hadn¡¯t been able to draw their power. The beasts had no magic. They were nothing more than puppets dangled on a string. Daana saw the crystalline threads that tethered the shadow beasts together and followed them with her eyes.

    The streetway was more crowded than when she saw it last. Shapes rose and fell over one another all around. Not only had Cray¡¯s witches arrived, but so too had the resistance. Captain Bernstein¡¯s forces clashed with witches and realm soldiers alike. Caught in the fray of battle, both enemy and ally paid her no mind. Daana returned the favor and continued to trace the thread of shadow magic to its wielder.

    The shadowmancer stood brazenly at the center of the street. Shapes danced around her, pining for the opportunity to strike her low, but a circle of roiling shadow beasts kept the witch¡¯s attackers at bay. She stood tall, enraptured in a cloud of darkness, backlit by an unearthly glow. The witch¡¯s hood slipped down over her shoulders, revealing a face mangled by scars and blazing green eyes.

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    Aster. The witch¡¯s name sprang unsummoned from the catacombs of Daana¡¯s distant memory. A long-forgotten envy resurfaced. Ice rippled beneath Daana¡¯s skin at the mere mention of Aster¡¯s name.

    Aster Leoren had been an upperclassmen during Daana¡¯s first year at the academy. Destined for greatness, the shadowmancer ensured everyone else understood their inferiority to her. Daana remembered hiding in the supply closet as Aster roamed the halls, hellbent on tormenting the unworthy. Without magic of her own, Daana had been a favorite target of Aster¡¯s. Not even the Lazuli surname had protected Daana from the shadowmancer¡¯s cruelty.

    Aster cocked her head to the side curiously. Her blazing green eyes searched Daana¡¯s face. Daana had hoped for a glimpse of recognition. A moment of realization followed swiftly by a wave of fear and regret. All Daana got was an arrogant smile instead.

    Unbelievable. After years of torment, Daana¡¯s old nemesis didn¡¯t even recognize her!

    Show her what we¡¯ve become. The thought fanned the cold flames burning inside her chest. Make her feel the same fear she inflicted on us.

    Time snapped back to its normal pace as Daana broke into a run. A surge of light erupted from her hands as she barreled through the shadow horde. The shapeless beasts scattered, snarling and snapping to escape the blistering light. Quickly recovering, the horde reformed and took chase, biting at Daana¡¯s heels. Sharp fangs sank into Daana¡¯s left ankle, but the pain didn¡¯t register. Sensation was merely a blip now. She felt nothing but the rage clawing its way up her throat.

    Wet mud sucked at her boots as Daana slammed her feet against the ground, increasing her speed. Magic zipped back and forth through the air. Daana swept it up as she ran until her glowing hands quivered, filled to bursting with stolen power.

    Aster saw Daana coming. A maniacal laugh burst from her mouth as she threw up her arm, sending a fresh wave of shadow beasts to meet Daana head-on. The horde rose into a wave of inky black and slammed into her. Daana ground her heels into the ground and pushed back. Magic blistered and popped over her skin as Daana edged forward one painstaking step at a time.

    With her hands held in front of her, she touched her index fingers together and focused. A ball of white light formed where the tips of her fingers met. Daana channeled the unfamiliar power flooding her veins, willing the ball of light bigger. The ball grew bigger, bigger, bigger, tearing a hole through the suffocating swirl of shadow. Daana slipped through as easily as water to a drain.

    Free of the horde, she returned Aster¡¯s cocky smile.

    Infuriated, Aster sent wave after wave at Daana. No matter what she tried, how many beasts she summoned from the shadows, their size and intensity, Daana kept advancing. Finally, enraptured in a swirl of cutting teeth and claws, Daana cut through one last time and landed inside of Aster¡¯s protective barrier. The shadowmancer¡¯s hand rose, but Daana was faster. She drew in.

    Threads of dark and light poured into Daana. The surrounding shadows whipped and whirled, cloaking them in darkness as Daana felt Aster¡¯s power fade. The shadowmancer was weakening. Daana felt the shadowmancer emptying. Daana pulled harder, faster. Darkness clouded her vision as Aster¡¯s corrosive powers pooled within her body, becoming her own.

    The dark entity writhed with glee. More, it demanded. Bleed her dry.

    A glimmer of silver steel cut through the darkness. Hot pain erupted from the center of Daana¡¯s torso. The drain stopped. Her fingers itched and curled, demanding more, but no power came. The dark shadows slowly dissipated from her eyes.

    Confused, crippled with pain, Daana glanced down. A blade was struck through her chainmail. The broken loops of tarnished steel ran red with blood. Daana¡¯s stricken gaze moved from the blade to its wielder. Aster was pressed up against her, hands still gripping the tarnished handle. The shadowmancer smiled, her face pale and drained of color, and then pulled, wrenching the blade free in a spray of blood.

    Daana¡¯s trembling legs buckled beneath her. She sank to the wet, bloodied ground. The blistering heat in her stomach spread, dissipating the former cold. Pain returned to her body. She threw her back and screamed, but no sound came forth. Hot liquid bubbled up her throat and over her tongue. It tasted of iron and stomach acid.

    She reached out her trembling hand and tapped into the aether one last time. Her waning powers reached Aster. Desperate, Daana tried to pull, but the opposite happened. As soon as her powers made the connection, the writhing poison housed within her veins surged in the opposite direction. Daana watched, helpless, as the dark entity left her.

    She tried to speak but only a wet gargle emitted from her frothy mouth.

    The dark entity¡¯s survival depended on a living host. It was leaving her, using her own siphoning powers as a means to relocate hosts!

    Aster¡¯s eyes flooded with color as she lifted one hand, watching with fascination as dark lines rippled beneath her scarred flesh. Her expression was void of fear. Her smile returned, wider, brighter, more manic than ever before. ¡°You idiot.¡± Her voice was distorted. ¡°You took on more than you can handle and look where it got you. You¡¯re dead and I¡¯m more powerful than ever before.¡±

    Daana tried to scuttle away, but her limbs failed her. She slumped onto her back, unable to move.

    Cackling, Aster stepped closer, twiddling the blade in her hand. ¡°As a thank you, I¡¯ll make it quick. One neat little cut across the throat and all your trouble will be over.¡± Her eyes reflected the ice in her smile. ¡°It¡¯s the least I can¡ª¡±

    The sharp point of a sword erupted through her chest from the back. Aster staggered forward with a wet gurgle. Dropping the knife, her hands clawed uselessly at the steel protruding from her chest. The front of her tunic ran black with blood. The blade wrenched free with a grizzly tug before it was brought back down on her again and again between hoarse screams. The shadowmancer crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

    Daana¡¯s vision faded in and out. Groggily, she lifted her gaze to the hazy form standing over Aster¡¯s dead body. The soldier¡¯s tattered uniform identified him as a sergeant, but his horrified expression implied that he¡¯d rather be in just about any other profession. Behind the layer of blood and grime, Daana saw a panic-stricken face, fearful eyes, and the tips of pointed ears poking out from beneath a loose tangle of hair. The man¡¯s eyes met Daana¡¯s. The sight of her snapped him from his daze.

    ¡°Hold on, miss!¡± He darted forward.

    Daana¡¯s scream caught in her throat when his heavy hands pressed down against her abdomen. She writhed, helplessly, as he cut a strip of cloth from her cloak and bound the wound. Her vision turned black the moment her broken body was lifted from the wet ground. His arms gathered around her. The last thing Daana remembered was the warmth of his body pressed against hers.