《The Nature of Shadow and Death》


 Part 1

    I¡¯ve never taken issue with being an assassin. The Agency is extremely efficient in the sharing of information. Lists of wrongdoings with proof of the same were never left out. We only killed those needing killing. Unsanctioned thieves unwilling to join the Thieves¡¯ Guild, bureaucratic contract breakers, traffickers of people and illicit material, and murderers were the primary targets. I worked with a party of adventurers who ended up being pivotal in the War of the Shard, taking on assignments in whatever city or village we found ourselves.


    And those times were good. I felt as though what I was doing led to a better Artan. A better Sartak City. I still do.


    But then I met Cara. After the Dokkalfar took my eye she had offered to use her druidic magic to fix it. I declined, but she insisted on tending to my other wounds. Maybe it was the desperate nature of war or fate, but we quickly grew close.


    She didn¡¯t like what I did, but she understood it. When the time came, the decision was a simple one. I love her more than anything. Certainly more than the Agency.


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    So I left. I earned my retirement through blood and death. Over the years, I avenged and revenged for people with little understanding of the nature of death. Of how death affects those around it.


    Death is often confused as being the end. Some assume that after death there is nothing. The shades that dwell in the plane of Penumbra alone are proof that this is not true. It both creates and ends pain. It is the cause of war and peace alike. The death of one can save many.


    Perhaps my death could have done the same. Perhaps more would have died had I been killed early in my career. I don¡¯t know if my life will be weighted well on Chaldia¡¯s scale, but I know that Cara is a weight to the good. And I will die trying to be better for her sake.


    ~Syler Dunn~

 Chapter 1: Listen

    The red woolen blanket slid over his lover¡¯s shoulder as she rolled over in bed. Blue curtains fluttered with the cool winter breeze, the scent of many breakfasts wafting in from adjacent homes. He loved to watch her move when she slept, and gently ran a finger along her spine, reveling in her softness. She shivered slightly, but did not wake. He rose shortly thereafter.


    Almost always the first to wake up, he walked to the washroom. His fingers ran through his tousled black hair. The mirror in front of the sink reflected the sunrise onto the scarring across his torso, intricate black runes that traced around his shoulders, across his back, and along both arms. A memory of the past.


    Once finished, it was only a few short steps into their kitchen. He grabbed a handful of potatoes and an onion, setting them on a wooden cutting board. The runes on his right arm pulsed as a knife made from shadow formed in his hand. He loved using his shadow blades for cooking now. Better than their previous use.


    Gently removing the skillet from the rack and heaping some butter into it, the cooking began. He chopped spices, added salt and peppers, and capped it off with several slices of bacon. The smell was wonderful and he knew that she would wake soon. He put on a pot of water and ground some coffee into their usual cups.


    The sound of shifting blankets and soft footsteps. ¡°That smells amazing.¡±


    Syler smiled, ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so. Good morning, wife!¡±


    She smiled back, her fiery red hair showing the signs of heavy sleep, ¡°Good morning, husband!¡±


    After she too had stepped into the washroom for a few moments, she returned wearing a silk robe that made him consider abandoning his cooking. He barely resisted. Breakfast was plated and coffee brewed. A passionate kiss before sitting at the small table. She adjusted the red flowers resting in a vase in the center of the table, tracing a small rune in the air and causing one of the buds to bloom.


    ¡°What are you up to today, my love?¡± Syler asked.


    ¡°I was thinking of going to the Prisoner''s Tankard,¡± Cara said. The Prisoner¡¯s Tankard was held every year, pitting the worst criminals against one another to the death. This practice both fully funded the prison system for the rest of the year and rid the system of its most heinous criminals.


    ¡°Have fun with that. I''ve already seen more than my share of death.¡±


    ¡°I know. That''s why I didn''t invite you.¡±


    ¡°Why do you go to that every year?¡±


    ¡°To remind me of how society maintains balance,¡± she said. A wave of deja vu struck Syler.


    ¡°This all feels so strange.¡±


    ¡°It should,¡± she said, her face suddenly stern, ¡°it isn¡¯t real.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Syler was going to articulate a better question, but his eyes widened as black tendrils spread through Cara¡¯s veins, starting from her chest and spreading up her neck into her face and along her arms.


    Her cheeks became sunken, her skin sallow. ¡°YOU DIDN¡¯T SAVE ME!¡± she screamed, reaching out with a bony crooked hand.


    Syler started awake, the grass around him damp with dew. The red flowers near his head were familiar. He reached out, running his hand over the lettering of the headstone. Cara Dunn, Loving Wife. Not intending to fall asleep there, Syler brushed a tear away and rose. This nightmare was not unfamiliar to him, and neither was the dream.


    It seemed as though it had been years since he found her in their home after returning from a supply run to the Agricultural district in the south-western area of Sartak City. Three weeks. Killed by shadow magic. The same magic he used. The magic of Penumbra.


    The canvas rags Syler wore itched, but he ignored it as he walked numbly through the Graveyard Barracks, the district along the easternmost wall of the city. The undead occasionally walked the grounds of the graveyard, a byproduct of all the death and misery found there. Syler had made doubly sure that Cara would not rise again, knowing he would be unable to deal with that. She had been blessed and marked by a priest of Chaldia, the goddess of the Veil.


    Without realizing it, Syler had meandered north to the Pale Ale, a tavern of flickering candles and myriad secrets. The tavern stood next to the Braving Grounds, where the elite guards sworn to keep the undead in check trained and fought. Orcs, who made up the majority of the guard presence of Sartak City and subsequently the majority of those frequenting this tavern, were fiercely loyal to clan and family. And were susceptible to the occasional minor corruption or two.


    ¡°Blue Eye,¡± the barkeep said with a nod. Wiping a freshly washed mug, a stout dwarf stood behind the bar, with skin that seemed as granite and hair as black as Syler¡¯s, intricately braided beard encrusted with gems that matched the ruby gemstones that were his eyes. He motioned to an empty stool, which Syler took.


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    ¡°Baryl.¡±


    ¡°Water?¡± Baryl asked.


    Syler nodded.


    A freshly cleaned mug of water was placed before him. He slid a white draka, the standard coin of the realm made from the shed scales of dragons, across the bar. It was far too much money, and Baryl had tried to give him change the first time, but Syler had just left it on the bar. He tucked the coin away with a nod.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you ever buy booze?¡±


    ¡°Why would I?¡± Syler said.


    ¡°Everyone has their reasons. You more than most, I presume.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t presume.¡±


    Baryl raised his hands, ¡°No judgment here, my friend, but you have been coming here every morning for the past two weeks, ordering water and watching all my patrons come and go.¡±


    ¡°I meant no offense.¡±


    ¡°And none has been taken. Feels strange, is all.¡±


    Syler nodded, grabbed his mug of water and moved to his usual corner table. He closed his eyes and focused, and his right eye flared with a faint blue glow beneath his eyelid. The tavern, once relatively dark with just the fireplace and handful of candles for light, seemed to him to be bathed in a light as blue as his eye. A gift for his injuries and bravery during the War of the Shard back in 4883. Five years ago. The Dokkalfar had taken his eye, and the gifted technomage gnomes of the Guild had given it back. Technology and magic working together.


    Every orc in the Pale Ale bore a weapon, wreathed in slightly brighter light. Even Baryl had an axe he kept behind the bar for special occasions. None of that interested him. He sat and sipped, ordering a small meal several hours later. Fried potatoes and onions with bacon. Cara¡¯s favorite.


    It only took a week for him to spot it. Money exchanges hands. Searches neglected. The Guild doesn¡¯t take too kindly to bribery or contraband being allowed into the city, at least when it didn''t benefit them. It was a matter of time before they sent someone to correct the issue.


    Some time later, a rift of darkness crossed into the blue light. A portal from Penumbra, the shadow realm the Guild had created centuries ago. Out slunk an orc. Or one who appeared as one, anyway. He could see a lithe elven figure dressed in the black garb of an Agent beneath the illusion.


    A quick swig to finish his water brought him to his feet. A bawdy orc on his third mug of ale was raucously retelling a recent battle in the graveyards. Cheers muffled other sounds. A hand hooked around an elbow. A swift tug to a nearby table.


    ¡°¡®Ey, what¡¯re ya doin¡¯?¡±


    No need for the accent here, brother. Syler signed to the illusory orc now sitting next to him. The secret language used by the Agents was a complex sequence of subtle hand movements.


    Why do you interfere, Exiled?


    I figured you¡¯d be in here eventually.


    The elf smirked under the illusion. What do you want?


    Who killed Cara?


    The smirk disappeared. I don¡¯t have that information. I did not.


    Who does?


    Who do you think?


    Syler swore under his breath. Where?


    Where else? Temple District, at the Badger.


    Another swear. Without another word Syler stood and walked out of the tavern.


    The Sexy Badger tavern was the main hub for Agents, used to gather information and deliver contracts to those working in the city. Once he left the Agency he was forbidden from entering the Badger again, unless he wanted back in. He walked back into the graveyard, pointedly heading toward a group of skeletons wandering through the headstones.


    The canvas overcoat drifted to the ground as Syler drew near. The black runes across his body pulsed and shadow wrapped around him, starting at his back and looping around his torso, spreading down his arms and legs. The wraps looped around his face and head, leaving only a slit at his eyes. The cowl was the last part of the Penumbra armor to form. He reached behind him, touched another rune on his back, and drew a small shaft made from similar shadow stuff. It expanded out the upper and lower limbs of a bow, a narrow line of darkness forming the string. He drew the string, an arrow forming as he did so.


    The first two of the seven skeletons fell before the others knew what was happening, the dark arrows dissolving into dark mist from the skulls as the bones clattered to the ground. He darted in, dropping the bow, which began to dissolve away as the arrows before it, and drew two long shadowy daggers. Skeletal fingers reached out to grab at him, but Syler was faster, rolling between two of the undead and rising back to his feet with a thrust, breaking several ribs of the skeleton before him and severing the spine at its median. It continued to reach for him even as it fell to the ground, just managing to grab and scratch at Syler¡¯s ankle.


    A swift kick sent the top half of the skeleton to smash into another one nearby, destroying both into a pile of bones. The two he¡¯d rolled past reached him from behind, scratching at his back. The black leather repelled one of the attacks.


    Syler grunted as he felt a scratch at his neck, a trickle of warm blood seeping down beneath his armor. As they reared back to strike again, he spun, holding out both daggers to intercept. Their forward momentum smashed their skulls into his daggers, dissipating the necromantic Teknaus, the ambient magic that had raised them.


    A dagger throw took out the final skeleton, and Syler leaned against a nearby headstone, pressing a hand to his wound. It was superficial, thankfully.


    Syler already felt a bit better, though he knew the gravity of necessity. He returned to Cara''s stone.


    "My love, I once told you I''d never go back to what I was. I''m afraid I can''t hold to that now. I''m sorry. I love you. I''ll return when it''s done."

 Chapter 2: Performance

    Sartak City is composed of 10 triangular districts, each separated by either thick protective walls or the Sarta River which passes through the lower part of the city. One such heavy, gated wall separated Syler from the Temple district and the knowledge he sought. Three orcish guards stood before the northern gate, recently closed for the night. They straightened to attention when Syler stepped into view from a small yet densely treed garden area.


    ¡°B-Blue Eye?¡± the middle one stammered.


    ¡°Open the gate.¡±


    A heavy swallow, ¡°Curfew is at sundown. We can¡¯t open the gate for civilians.¡±


    Syler looked down at his armor then back at the guard, ¡°Open the gate.¡±


    The guards looked at each other, sighed, and shifted the thick oak beam from across the gate, opening a crack just large enough for Syler to fit through.


    The temples to the twelve deities reside close to the center of the Temple district. The Sexy Badger saloon was the sole saloon in this district and sat at the northern point of the triangle. It was a beautiful five story building, taller than most and certainly taller than the nearby houses, able to be seen a great distance off. It was a gaudy red with golden trim and tassel curtains, belying the dangers within.


    Syler stepped into a nearby alley, willing his armor to shift. The wrappings around his face melted away and the armor itself changed into a dark brown, more akin to regular leathers. He left the cowl and pulled it low over his face to conceal his magical eye. He stepped back out and took up a small limp, shifting his body to appear as though an old injury impeded his movement.


    The Badger was gaudier on the inside than out. Plush carpets coated most of the floor, with squashy pillows on squashier couches. Patrons sat drinking expensive wines and discussing the night¡¯s activities with beautiful workers wearing practically nothing. Information was the game. Drink and sex were the pieces.


    Zadrera, the gorgon matron of the Badger, slipped from her position near the front door before Syler, smiling sweetly. Her purple scaled snake hair shifted demurely, flickering tongues tasting the air around the newcomer. Her silk slip left nothing to the imagination.


    ¡°Welcome to the Sexy Badger,¡± she said with a voice as silky as her slip, ¡°where your wishes come true. What is your desire?¡±


    ¡°The strongest drink and stronger bed,¡± Syler said with a slight slur, hoping the old code still worked.


    Zadrera¡¯s smile never shifted, ¡°Right this way, sir.¡±


    She led him to the bar that spanned across the right side of the main room, to the third stool from the opening to the drink area. He limped and sat, pulling a green draka from his pocket. The green draka was worth 100 of the white draka, a valuable coin indeed. There was a section of the bar in front of his stool that had an indentation. He slid the coin into the indentation, watching as it melted away, a shimmer of magic encompassing the area around the stool and the other side of the bar, where stood Zadrera.


    ¡°Zadrera Manborn,¡± Syler said, knowing his words would not be heard by anyone else in the tavern. The magic of that area of the bar not only blocked sound from escaping, but created an illusion of Zadrera and himself engrossed in asinine conversation.


    ¡°Seems I do not have the pleasure,¡± she said.


    Syler pulled back his cowl. Her expression flickered, surprise in her eyes for only a moment.


    ¡°Blue Eye, I expected you sooner, given the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Cara was killed using Penumbral magic. Who did it, and who paid for it?¡±


    ¡°Information like that has a major cost. Revealing a client. You know that.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about the cost. Whatever it is, I will pay it.¡±


    ¡°One hundred blue draka, or completion of an S-rank target.¡±


    Syler glared at her. She knew he didn¡¯t have one hundred blue draka. Blue draka were worth 1,000 green draka, or 100,000 white draka, reserved for the largest merchant deals or payouts for high-difficulty targets. Through gritted teeth he said, ¡°Who?¡±


    Zadrera smiled sweetly and slid a rolled up piece of parchment to him, ¡°Malakia Zil¡¯Matarid, Mau thief, tan fur with darker fringe, especially around her ears. Suspected of stealing significant valuables from various members of the Guild and killing several high ranked nobles. None who have attempted it have returned.¡±


    Syler unfurled the scroll as she spoke. An image of a humanoid cat wearing blue leathers was centered at the top. Below the image was ¡®Grand Larceny against the Guild, Murder of several Penumbra Agents and Guild members. Pay is 100 Blue Draka with Proof of Death. Last seen at the Scattered Blood Bar in the Stacks.¡¯


    ¡°She looks like a noble,¡± Syler said. ¡°Noble Mau aren¡¯t usually thieves.¡±


    Zadrera shrugged, ¡°Apparently raised by the Mau pariah to be a thief. Her parents are unknown at present.¡±


    ¡°My room, please.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± she handed him a key with the number 63 dangling from a small chain. ¡°Company?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He tucked the scroll into his pocket and tapped the bar twice, feeling the magical aura dissipate.


    ¡°Syler,¡± she said as he turned away toward the elevator. He didn¡¯t turn but did pause a step. ¡°Welcome back.¡±


    <hr>


    The elevator was down the hallway opposite the front door. He stuck the key into the small hole beneath the buttons that showed the five floors of the building. A sixth button appeared next to the keyhole with a bold number six upon it. He pushed the button and waited. The elevator went down instead of up, and he stepped out into another hallway. Number 63. A room far less gaudy, with only a bed, a side table, a small kitchenette stocked with simple food, and a bathroom near the bed.


    He entered the bathroom and knelt near the toilet, reaching behind it and pushing a section of the wall. A soft click from the kitchenette. A secret panel with a pouch set within. Stacks of green and blue draka. Not enough to buy the info, but enough to get attention. He pushed another button inside the secret panel and the bottom of the end table popped open. Another pouch, this one a magical hip-pouch. He focused on it with his eye, checking the contents. Satisfied, he pressed the bag to his hip, a strip of shadow magic securing it.


    Before he began, he knew he needed rest. After bandaging his neck wound, he was asleep as his head hit the pillow.


    <hr>


    ¡°Why must we learn this, sir?¡± Syler asked. He was seated at a table alongside several other boys and girls he had seen on the streets before he was pulled into the Agency for training.


    ¡°It is important you understand the nature and history of the world, to both understand yourself and your targets.¡± A tall jackspring man with the face and ears of a jackrabbit said. ¡°Now, why do we use draka?¡±


    The most studious student, a halfling girl he knew as Winny, answered, ¡°Around the time of the Guild¡¯s forming 2500 years ago, dragon corpses littered the land from some ancient unknown cataclysmic event or battle. We had been trading before that with stones, beads, even precious metals like gold and silver. But our most abundant resource at the time was dragon scales. Pallerva the Goddess of Wisdom and Commerce taught us how to mark the scales with Teknaus to avoid fake coins and improve relations between the races, working together to forge draka, sir.¡±


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    ¡°Excellent, Winny. And, not you this time, how did they decide on the scaling of draka.¡±


    A shy deoful boy with small horns sticking out from his long hair raised his hand.


    ¡°Yes, Destin?¡±


    ¡°Availability, sir?¡±


    ¡°Correct. Many dragons had died during a great battle. The black dragons, who had served Maliphus, the god of Undeath, were the most numerous, followed by the red dragons of Samusan the god of battle, the white dragons of Chaldia the goddess of death, the green dragons of Telperia the goddess of Nature, and the blue dragons of Atlantia the goddess of the sea. Other dragons have been found as well, but these were the most numerous, and thus best served our purpose. How is their value determined? Syler?¡±


    Syler¡¯s face slipped from his hand and almost hit the desk before he shot upright, ¡°Huh?¡±


    The teacher struck Syler in the face, knocking him from his chair. In a calm voice he said, ¡°What is my name, boy?¡±


    ¡°Ears, sir,¡± Syler wiped blood from the side of his mouth, trying to hold back tears.


    Ears smirked, ¡°And why do you think they call me that?¡±


    ¡°Your ears, sir?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. My hearing is better than you may think. I heard your breathing shift to the rhythm of sleep. You will address me as sir after any statements you make to me, is that clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Now, how is the value of draka determined other than availability?¡±


    ¡°The amount of Teknaus infused into each coin, sir.¡±


    Ears smiled and moved back to the chalkboard at the front of the classroom. ¡°Very good. Yes, the time and effort required to create the coins is directly proportional to the value of the coin and the magic therein. This is why you should always attempt to remove any money from your target¡¯s personage before engaging them in combat. Some runecasters can utilize draka to perform powerful and dangerous runes.¡±


    Ears walked in front of Syler¡¯s desk, kneeling and moving his face in close.¡±But you won¡¯t have to worry about that will you, husband?¡± Fiery red hair began to grow out from Ears¡¯s head as the ears shrank. His wife¡¯s face.


    Syler sat up so fast he nearly fell out of bed. He checked the time. Six hours had passed. More than he usually got these days.


    After doing his morning calisthenics, Syler got to work. It would take a few days to get everything in place. He limped his fake limp back to the bar in the main room. In the wee hours of the morning, the foyer was much quieter. He sat at the bar. Zadrera moved to where he sat, wearing a different colored slip than the one last night.


    ¡°Morning.¡±


    ¡°Morning. May I have a glass of water, please?¡±


    She poured him a glass. ¡°Sleep well?¡±


    Syler only grunted, taking several gulps. He set the mug to his right to keep the area in front of him clear. He signed, I need an alias, and some rumors spread.


    She signed in kind, Do you have a name? What rumors?


    Zandar Shipwright, a merchant baron from the western coast city of Eleacar, is utilizing the Whitley Mansion to showcase the fabulous art and magical wonders he has collected over the years and hold an auction for his retirement.


    And who will be providing these magic items and art pieces?


    I¡¯ll handle that.


    100 white draka.


    Syler reached into his hip-pouch and stacked up the draka, finished his water, and limped out of the Sexy Badger.


    He meandered several blocks down before stepping into an alley and shifting his armor again, this time a dark red with golden trim. Fanciful. He focused on his eye and it changed to resemble his other, normal eye. He strode out of the alley and headed southwest, taking the open gate into the central Guildhall district. He wasn¡¯t there long, immediately taking the adjacent lower gate into the Noble Ward.


    The Noble Ward was filled with sprawling familial estates, fountained gardens accentuating enormous mansions. Syler walked west, the Western Sartak Docks on his right and passing a handful of buildings along the left. The second building he passed was Lillard Lodge, which had tasteful wrought iron guardrails showcasing the symbol of the Guild, the letter G encompassed by a square, the slogan written in the Elven tongue around it. ¡®No debt left unpaid.¡¯


    Behind the next several buildings loomed a dwarven community several buildings across. The Frostbeard Smithy and Taphouse sat in its center. Though he couldn¡¯t get much out of alcohol himself, being immune to poisons from arguably the worst part of Agency training, he had tried the Frostbeard Ale once several years back and it held up to its reputation. After a moment of thought he turned north and found himself in the Frostbeard Smithy and Taphouse. The rhythmic sounds of hammer against anvil could be heard far before he entered the building, and it was significantly louder now. A large bell hung next to the bar with a small hammer tied to a rope dangling from it. Armor, weapons, mugs, nails, really anything that could be crafted in a smithing workshop lined the walls with little paper tags. Some were shiny silver, some gold, and others looking to be an amalgamation of different metallic and chromatic colors. Dragon scales not used for the coin process usually passed to smiths who could reshape them into beautiful and magically strong objects. Behind the bar were several casks marked with the mug of ale sporting a pointed icy beard.


    The bell rang out loudly.


    ¡°One sec!¡± a thick dwarvish brogue cried out. The hammering stopped and a dwarf stepped from behind the casks. Unlike Baryl, this dwarf had a lighter, almost blond beard, skin that was darker like damp compacted soil, and emerald gemstones for eyes. ¡°What can I do ya for?¡±


    Standing straighter than he normally did, slightly raising his nose, Syler said, ¡°I do say, my good dwarf, that the reputation of the Frostbeard name has been spoken as far as Eleacar and I had wished to acquire some for a party several weeks hence. But I am not so sure now!¡±


    ¡°Oh, but ya ain¡¯t tried it straight from the tap, bein¡¯ so far as Eleacar!¡± the dwarf grabbed a mug off the shelf, wiped it quickly and filled the mug about halfway.


    ¡°This is the second time you have addressed me and not given your name! You are quite rude, sir.¡±


    The mug slid a little on the bar before stopping in front of Syler. ¡°Oh! My apologies. Me name is Ulfgar Frostbeard! Me dad runs the shop usually, but he is out getting some supplies for the next batch.¡±


    Syler nodded, gingerly picking up the mug and sniffing its contents, ¡°Indeed, and I am Zandar Shipwright. I¡¯ve come to set up an auction so that I may retire comfortably. An auction that needs food and drink. I suppose you can provide the latter.¡± He took a drink. It was smoother than he remembered, tasting of masterfully fermented barley. ¡°Bold and fruity! Yes, I must have some of this! Five barrels, in one week''s time.¡±


    Ulfgar seemed shocked but excited to make the deal. ¡°Five barrels, eh? I reckon we can provide that for 200 white draka, 40 per barrel.¡±


    Syler slid 2 green draka across the bar, and held up a third, ¡°Do me a favor and spread the word of my upcoming auction and this is yours.¡± Vigorous agreement. Syler downed the rest of the mug, gave his thanks and strode back to the southern road. After passing several more too large houses, the road branched off toward the north, leading him eventually to his desired destination.


    The Whitley mansion looked to be made of an obsidian stone, with massive pillars holding up the overhanging crimson terra cotta roof. A low brick wall encircled the front porch minus about 15 feet at its very center, opening to the short set of steps leading up. At a table on the front porch enjoying a rather large platter of various luncheon meats, cheeses, and breads, sat a thin man in a navy blue robe under which was an expensive suit, and a pretty woman about his age in a flowing floral dress. He had reddish orange hair, pale skin, and freckles that covered much of his person. She had olive skin, dark hair, and a bright smile as they spoke of the day''s events and not much else. She spotted him first.


    ¡°Hello, sir,¡± her accent was different, and he couldn¡¯t place its origin.


    Syler bowed politely, ¡°Hello, ma¡¯am. I am Zandar Shipwright.¡± She glanced at the man when she heard the surname. ¡°If I am not imposing, I wondered if I might join you for lunch?¡±


    The man spoke this time, ¡°I am Gene Whitley, and this is my wife Pilar. You may indeed join us for lunch, as we have far more than we need.¡±


    ¡°Many thanks.¡± He stepped up to the porch and sat down across from them. He picked up a plate and grabbed just enough to seem polite.


    ¡°Did I hear you correctly when you said your last name is Shipwright?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°Any relation to Bartle?¡±


    Syler almost laughed, ¡°My third cousin has really gotten big for his breeches, hasn¡¯t he?¡±


    ¡°Well, he is one of the heroes from the War of the Shard,¡± Pilar said.


    ¡°So he is. I was wandering around this beautiful district you all have here when I noticed your immaculate home.¡±


    ¡°My lovely wife runs a tight ship here,¡± Gene winked at Syler. Pilar smiled but rolled her eyes.


    ¡°So she does! I will get right to the brass tacks, so to speak. I have brought numerous art pieces and items of particular magical interest with me from Eleacar and would like to hold an auction here.¡±


    ¡°An auction?¡± Gene and Pilar again exchanged glances. ¡°Why here?¡±


    ¡°I spoke with cousin Bartle and he said that Whitley Manor was the finest place to hold such things, plus, we can make it a ball as well. Really bring in the crowd.¡±


    Pilar¡¯s eyes sparkled, ¡°A ball and an auction?! It will be the talk of the town.¡±


    ¡°I am set to head back in a few weeks time, so it would also need to happen soon. A tenday from today, in fact.¡±


    Gene nodded, ¡°Yes, yes! I will begin arrangements.¡±


    ¡°You are most kind to allow me to use your beautiful abode. Here,¡± Syler placed a single blue draka on the table, ¡°this should more than cover everything.¡±

 Chapter 3: Gather Information

    The Shipwright house was only a little further north than Whitley Manor, and was, to no surprise to Syler, the smallest house in the Noble Ward. It looked a bit like a ship itself, with round windows and an upper deck with heavy wooden guardrail. Decorative cannons, at least he thought they were decorative, stuck out of several of the windows. A nice touch.


    Knocking on the door with three hard raps, Syler stepped back. A notch in the door swung open and an eye peeked out.


    ¡°No visitors!¡± a familiar voice.


    ¡°And what about old friends?¡± he had dropped the pompous accent and allowed his eye briefly to flash blue.


    The notch swung shut and the door opened. Bartle had been a seafaring swashbuckler, turned storyteller and paladin of Pallerva, the goddess of Wisdom and Commerce. He was a few years older than Syler, and time and war had given him some salt in his close cropped dark hair, the slight point of his half-elven ears tucked behind his tricorn cap. He wore a crushed velvet blue overcoat with disheveled pajamas underneath.


    Pulled into the house with a handshake that became a hug, Syler smiled and gripped both of Bartle¡¯s shoulders, pushing him to arm¡¯s length. He noticed pieces of Bartle¡¯s full plate armor scattered around the foyer and his cloak made from various pirate flags hanging from a hook against the wall to his left. Four swords of different types were resting in an umbrella stand next to the door.


    ¡°You look like shit, my friend,¡± Bartle said.


    ¡°Same to you,¡± Syler responded. ¡°Need me to shave your face for you?¡±


    ¡°Ha ha, no. Morrigan likes my scruffy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure she does.¡±


    ¡°I never thought you¡¯d be back here.¡±


    ¡°Me neither,¡± water began to gather in his eye.


    Bartle motioned to a small table in the kitchen, ¡°It seems you have a story to tell. A sad one at that. I¡¯ll make us some tea while you gather your thoughts.¡±


    After serving the tea, Bartle sighed into an adjacent chair. ¡°I know what you have to say is going to be difficult. And given that she is not with you, it must involve Cara.¡±


    Syler let the tears flow freely hearing someone else say her name. He nodded.


    ¡°Clerics couldn¡¯t revive her?¡±


    He shook his head, ¡°No, she was killed using Penumbral magic.¡±


    ¡°The Agency?¡±


    Syler nodded.


    ¡°I thought you were untouchable after you left?¡±


    ¡°Apparently not. Money must have been too good.¡±


    ¡°You know the Agency doesn¡¯t need money. Could she have done something to require this response?¡±


    The dagger appeared in his hand faster than it ever had before, slamming hard into the table and sticking straight up as it bit into the wood. ¡°No! She is¡­ was not like that. She would never disrupt the Guild.¡±


    ¡°Then why?¡±


    ¡°That is something I intend to find out. Will you help me?¡±


    Bartle took a deep sip of tea in thought before answering, ¡°We fought together during the war. You saved my life more times than I¡¯d care to admit. I did the same for you. Anything you need.¡±


    Syler laid out his plan and Bartle added some ideas of his own. He would also spread the word that his cousin Zandar was visiting Sartak City from Eleacar and was hosting a ball that also served as his retirement auction. With Bartle¡¯s influence the word would spread like wildfire.


    <hr>


    The next day, news of the event of the year was on the front page of all papers and posters had been placed in every tavern board in the city. Excited chatter could be heard at every corner in all ten districts. Rumors of fabulous items up for auction, wondrously powerful magic items, beautiful art from all around Artan, and the best food, drink, and music was to be present at this event. Every wealthy person in the city had been sent invitations and already reserved their places.


    Still wearing his fancy red leathers, Syler had returned to the southern section of the Temple district. Sven¡¯s Coffee Shop, where he sells everything but coffee. Every adventurer worth their salt knew of Sven and his wondrous shop, filled with magic items, potions, and mundane general items like rope, caltrops, clothing, and art. Anything you want or need he either has or can get quickly, and Syler would swear that the store was larger on the inside than the dimensions of the building, though he never cared to measure it. His usefulness to the Guild has been immeasurable, and Sven had been classified as an Untouchable decades ago.


    Sven was a Glamida, around 7 feet tall, and had wiry hair that covered his similarly wiry musculature. He had the face of a llama, and would make funny screaming sounds when excited or laughing. He wore puffy purple pants and an embroidered red vest, a bright pink shawl wrapped around his back and tucked in at his elbows. He never seemed to sleep and could be found running his shop at all hours of the day and night.


    The little bell jingled as Syler pushed open the door into the shop.


    ¡°¡®Ello! Welcome to Sven¡¯s Coffee Shop, where we sell everything but coffee! How may I help you today?¡± A brief pause, ¡°Ah, Syler, it has been years since you stepped into my shop.¡± His accent was thick but didn¡¯t have a discernible placement. Maybe Syler had just not been to his hometown yet.


    ¡°How do you always see through my illusions?¡±


    ¡°Merely changing your eye and clothing color doesn¡¯t change you all that much.¡±


    He smirked, ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡±


    ¡°What do you need?¡±


    ¡°Expensive art and magic items for an auction.¡±


    ¡°Ah! You are the fancy Zandar. Your secret is safe with me.¡± Sven winked. ¡°Okay, I think we can accommodate that. How much?¡±


    Syler put a blue draka down on the counter. ¡°This much.¡±


    Sven inspected the blue draka. ¡°That¡¯s a lot of art, my friend. Anything in particular?¡±


    ¡°Nothing local, throw in a few magic items that will draw attention, but nothing too crazy, like the side collection of an old adventurer.¡± Sven nodded. ¡°Can you put a trace on them?¡±


    ¡°For your eye?¡± Syler nodded. ¡°Of course!¡±


    ¡°Undetectable?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hurt you would think otherwise,¡± Sven placed a hand over his chest in feigned shock.


    ¡°Can you deliver them to Bartle¡¯s house?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ll be there tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°No, thank you!¡± he scooped the blue draka into his pocket. ¡°Come again, and be safe out there!¡±


    ¡°If only,¡± he muttered as he moved toward the door. He turned back, grabbed a loaf of fresh bread from an adjacent table, gave a little salute with it, and stepped out into the bright morning air. As he tore a chunk from the bread, he slipped into the alley next to the shop. Four people in bedraggled and worn clothing were sifting through the garbage bins lining the alley. Syler whistled, drawing their attention, lifting up the loaf to help them focus.


    ¡°The rest of this loaf and 10 white draka for the person who can direct me to the Darket.¡± Syler found the colloquial combining of Dark Market to Darket a bit stupid, but he didn¡¯t create the group, he just benefited from it.


    Two of the four ran immediately. One ignored the request and went back to digging around for scraps. The final person walked slowly up to Syler. A young avian boy with amber eyes, dark blue feathers, and a black beak, wearing what Syler thought was a reworked potato sack reached out his hand expectantly.


    ¡°Bread now, coin with information.¡±


    The boy agreed, snatching the bread and ripping a huge chunk off with his beak. After a moment to swallow, the boy spoke, his voice high and musical. ¡°Sewer system hub under the Armed Onion Inn in the Syler District.¡±


    ¡°The password?¡±


    ¡°Coin first.¡±


    ¡°I know the rules,¡± Syler said as he handed over 5 white draka.


    ¡°Blarg.¡±


    ¡°Not the strangest they¡¯ve had. How long?¡± He handed over two more coins.


    ¡°Moving in two days.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, kid.¡± He gave the boy five more white draka. ¡°Don¡¯t spend it all at once.¡±


    The first district of Sartak City was the only one to his knowledge that had changed names over time. Before most recently taking his own name, the district had different names throughout his lifetime. Names like Meric, the current Arch-mage of the University of Magi, Kagun, the current Guildmaster, and even Bartle¡¯s name had been used.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Syler didn''t like his name being used, but had no control over the title change. To everyone not in the know, Syler was just a stealthy adventurer who was pivotal in the war. The Guild was exceptionally good at information control.


    Near the Armed Onion Inn was an entrance into the expansive sewer system that spanned throughout the entirety of Sartak City, even underneath the river. The area beneath the river was the lowest point, and the most dangerous. Runecasters from the University set up a series of gelatinous oozes, semi-sentient acidic creatures that are constantly moving through, dissolving any waste that may have gotten stuck on the way to the great ooze vats underneath the river. The oozes could dissolve bone, flesh, and most organic materials, and the sewers had become a common dumping ground or place to hide certain types of valuables.


    The Darket took advantage of this and learned the patterns of the oozes. Moving on when they got too close, searching areas with potential contraband, finding abandoned corpses to use for blackmail, etc. The place, Syler knew, would have what he needed.


    It was early in the afternoon by the time he got near the Armed Onion Inn. The sewer entrance was a hinged grate on the side of the road near an unfortunately well lit alley. He made several loops around the entrance into the sewers to ensure no one was hanging about or watching. As he approached the latch the two lampposts on either side of the alley¡¯s entrance went out. He stopped and sat hard against the wall, his cowl dropping over his face. His eye flared to life underneath, showing him the area. The hatch opened and two figures exited. One he recognized as Gene wearing nondescript clothes. The other was a tan furred Mau with darker fringe and blue leather armor.


    Malakia.


    After they had passed, Syler considered following them, but he had a few more things to plan first. He would need to have a chat with Gene after all of this was finished. The lamps went out as he drew near the hatch as well, and he entered silently into the sewers.


    The runes of crafting and nature had been etched into every dark metallic panel that lined the floor, walls, and ceiling. Protection from the acidic oozes. The acrid smell wasn¡¯t great, but better than the alternative. Small orbs of light lined either side of the tunnel after he drew closer to the Darket. The orbs stopped at what appeared to be a blank section of wall. Syler gently tapped.


    A small window opened from the center of the panel. Brown fur and pointed, twitchy nose. ¡°Password.¡± The voice was lower than expected.


    ¡°Blarg.¡±


    The window slammed shut and the panel swung in. Three ratkin, short humanoids with the fur, face, and tails resembling rats, each held crossbows and eyed Syler up and down. The center one was visibly older than the others, with lighter grey fur and a bit wobbly on his legs. He spotted Syler¡¯s still glowing blue eye first. ¡°Blue Eye?¡±


    ¡°Grik.¡±


    He stowed his crossbow, waved the others to do the same, and extended a hand. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you again.¡±


    Syler grasped his hand firmly, ¡°You are doing well, I hope?¡±


    ¡°I am. How¡¯s Cara?¡± Syler¡¯s focus shifted to the floor at Grik¡¯s feet. Grik nodded solemnly. ¡°I feel sorry for whoever is responsible.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t. Is Frango still around?¡±


    Grik nodded, ¡°She is, but few are willing to deal with her.¡± He pointed deeper into the crowded space lined with stalls. ¡°Should be 6 stalls down on the right. The smell should lead you right to her.¡±


    ¡°One more thing.¡±


    ¡°Sure,¡± Grik said.


    ¡°A red haired man and a Mau in blue leathers were here recently, did they purchase anything?¡±


    The younger ratkin on Grik¡¯s right nodded, ¡°I saw them chatting with a few different mercenary groups. The man had a set of scrolls he was handing out to a few of them. Ask the Silver Tongues.¡±


    Syler slipped 10 white draka into the kid¡¯s hand as he walked past them.


    The Darket had everything you could possibly want that was illegal according to Guild laws. Exotic animals, items of wicked magic, stolen art, even mercenary contract killers could be acquired here. The noise was loud as folks bartered with one another, trading coin, goods, or services for other such things. The Agency and therefore the Guild knew about the Darket, and it was allowed to function and prosper because of its usefulness. Syler had heard once it came close to being shut down several years back when someone tried to sell slaves. The Guild does not tolerate slavery.


    Syler and many others of the Agency used the Darket for getting poisons and venoms. And no one was better at the craft than Kuku Frango.


    The first time Syler had met Frango was when he had been a relatively new Agent, he thought that she was in fact a three foot tall silky chicken wearing an extremely dirty tunic that may have at one point been white. Her tunic was even dirtier now and had several new burnt holes. She was a halfling who wore a headdress of feathers, handcrafted boots that looked like chicken feet, and a trail of feathers on the back of her tunic, giving her the appearance of a large chicken. A necklace about her neck contained various items she may or may not use for her runecasting or rituals; a chicken foot, the toe of some kind of creature, several icosahedral, or twenty-sided, crystals bound with wire, some things that look like they may have once been an onion, a lime and some other citrus fruit (now long dried up and a bit moldy), and of course the skull of a chicken she called Spectral. Her tunic had many pockets filled with various items of no value whatsoever. She had very few teeth as she had used them in her experiments and instead wore a magically strengthened beak that looked like that of a chicken¡¯s to break up her harder foods so she can more properly eat.


    Her stand was cluttered, with almost no visible table space. A cauldron sat in the center, purple smoke drifting over the rim and running down the cauldron, hovering around the numerous vials of different sizes that lay scattered about. She was sitting on a crate, her eyes down and focused on a mortar and pestle, grinding something Syler couldn¡¯t see into powder.


    ¡°Purple today, Frango?¡± A tiny crossbow bolt stuck into his shoulder before he could react. It stung but didn¡¯t go too deep. The hand-held crossbow suddenly in Kuku¡¯s hand lay empty. Syler winced as he plucked the bolt, the Penumbral armor repairing the tear instantly. ¡°Hello to you too.¡±


    She still didn¡¯t look up, ¡°My name is Kuku. The Frango name is dead.¡±


    He rubbed a finger across the venom on the dart, putting it to his lips. After a moment, he said, ¡°I think a little less crawler venom and more from the umber worm would give this a little more kick.¡±


    She added more leaves to the mortar and continued grinding, ¡°Ah, another Agent. Not seen one of you in a bit.¡±


    ¡°No? I think if you quit trying to kill your customers you may get more business.¡±


    ¡°Why would I want more business?¡±


    ¡°Money for your experiments?¡±


    She cackled, dumping the ground contents into the cauldron. The purple smoke darkened to violet.


    Syler continued, ¡°I need a Blue Eye special.¡±


    Kuku finally looked up at her newest customer. She almost dropped her stirring stick, but plucked it up with both hands angrily waving it at him. ¡°Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°I just told you.¡±


    ¡°You killed my sisters!¡±


    ¡°They poisoned everyone at a Guild merchant conference,¡± Syler said, careful not to shift his tone in the slightest.


    ¡°Those merchants were trying to steal their land!¡±


    ¡°There were better options than killing 30 Guild members.¡±


    ¡°Fuck¡¯em!¡±


    ¡°Now Kuku, you know the Guild leaves no debts unpaid.¡±


    She swung her stick at him and he let it strike, feeling a faint trickle of blood flow from his nose. ¡°You will get nothing from me!¡±


    ¡°I wish it didn¡¯t have to be that way. You had no part in it. I understand your pain.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t feel loss if you have not loved, you sick bastard!¡± Another stinging blow to his shoulder.


    A coldness washed over Syler¡¯s face, ¡°You know nothing of my life, Frango.¡±


    Kuku made an angry clucking noise and swung out again. This time Syler caught the stick with his right hand, twisting it away, his left shooting out to grab Kuku by the throat and pull her face close to his own. A shadow dagger materialized in his right hand and pressed against her gut.


    ¡°Do you think I wanted to kill your sisters? That what I did had something to do with you at all? I did what I needed to do. As you have done. As all must do.¡±


    Tears rolled down Kuku¡¯s cheeks, but her words were steady, ¡°Kill me. Allow me to join my sisters. Only right it be you who does it.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± He set her back down on the stool and handed her the stirring stick.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t kill the innocent.¡±


    ¡°I brew poisons and mix venoms with magic. I¡¯m not so innocent.¡±


    ¡°You craft instruments of death, but you don¡¯t deal the killing blow. That would be like calling a bowyer a murderer because someone was killed with the bow they created.¡±


    ¡°You are a fool.¡±


    ¡°An honest one.¡±


    ¡°Three green.¡±


    Syler reached his hand into his coin purse, ¡°That¡¯s a bit steep.¡±


    ¡°Four green.¡±


    He set five green draka on her table.


    She glared at him, and her eyes never left his as she began grabbing vials from her table. She pulled a smaller cauldron out and traced the rune of Farroh, the God of the Sun. A small flame lined the bottom.


    Several minutes later Kuku handed him a single vial of bright blue liquid. ¡°Get out of my sight.¡±


    A particularly nasty mercenary group known as the Silver Tongues always had a booth toward the farthest point of the Darket¡¯s entrance. They specialized in ¡®accidental¡¯ deaths, making their kills seem as though the deceased was quite unlucky or was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The leader of this group was an Artiface, an extremely rare sentient marionette puppet with the soul of a criminal trapped inside of it. The rumor was that it was the botched attempt at a resurrection ritual of the original leader of the group.


    At the center of the table was a tiny throne made from a dark metal lined with patchwork leather that seemed to be the tanned skin of various humanoids. Some of the patches bore fur, others did not. Seated on this throne, surrounded by heavily muscled goons, sat the Artiface, wearing a dark suit and a bowler hat, idly chewing on an unlit cigar.


    Syler set his magic eye to appear like the other before approaching, pulling his cowl to cover some of his other features. He placed a single green draka before the seated puppet.


    An extremely deep and gravelly voice emanated from the puppet, ¡°And what brings a rogue like yourself to the Silver Tongues?¡±


    ¡°A red haired man and a Mau in blue armor were seen in the Darket. I wish to know what they purchased.¡±


    ¡°That is a lot of information,¡± it scooped up the green draka, ¡°a green may not be enough.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t push it, Crowley.¡±


    Crowley¡¯s head tilted, its eyes narrowed. It snapped a finger and the burliest woman Syler had ever seen stepped in front, her corded arms brandishing a heavy length of chain. ¡°Are you familiar with the chain of respect? It¡¯s the chain she¡¯ll beat you with until you respect me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m all about second chances, Crowley. Yet you keep pushing the bounds of my patience.¡±


    The woman pulled her hands together and swung down at him with all her considerable might. Syler side-stepped, the shadow dagger forming in his hand as he lined up the trajectory and held out the dagger. The woman howled in pain, clutching at the stumps of the two missing fingers from her left hand as the chain clattered to the ground. The other goons bristled behind Crowley, but he held a hand up, his face twisting in rage.


    ¡°What did they purchase?¡± Syler asked again, allowing the dagger to melt away from his hand.


    ¡°How dare-¡± Crowley began to say, but its bleeding enforcer screamed in rage, charging at Syler, catching him off guard and grabbing both of his arms. She pulled him hard, his cowl falling from over his head, and attempted to smash her face into his. His cowl shifted into a spike like a unicorn horn from his forehead. The spike detached as her body fell to the floor, the wisp of shadow sliding into his boot. Syler adjusted the armor as it slipped back into place.


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing about second chances,¡± Syler said, addressing the others, whose rage shifted to stunned silence, ¡°Some people just refuse to take advantage of them.¡±


    With a look of recognition, Crowley hastily reached into his coat pocket and removed a small rolled up piece of parchment, holding it out to Syler. ¡°Pack it up. We¡¯re leaving. And take her with us.¡±


    ¡°Boss?¡±


    ¡°If you want to end up like her, stay. I¡¯m leaving before he kills me again.¡±


    Syler stepped just outside of the Darket before unfurling the parchment. It was a contract to kill one Zandar Shipwright during the ball, 100 green draka with proof of death, 200 if it looked like an accident. Part of the parchment contained an image that looked vaguely like him, minus the glowing eye.

 Chapter 4: Move Silently

    The next few days Syler spent at the Sexy Badger, resting, healing, and thinking on his plans. And plucking up his courage. The kill and the hunt did not make him nervous. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was his next confrontation that gave him pause.


    Home. After finding her there he couldn¡¯t cross the threshold. The pain of loss overlapped the joy of memory. But he must return. He needed the amulet.


    The small single story house Cara and he had lived in was in the Syler District, four houses southwest of Sanctuary Tavern. She had painted it a natural green, reminding her of her childhood forest home. The shutters were the yellow of sunlight, reflecting beautifully off of the small planters she had kept at every window.


    It was midnight when he stood in front of the home. Perhaps the dark could mask some pain. The blue curtains seemed almost black in the darkness. The herbs and flowers in the planters had withered, brown with decay. Dirt and dust had begun to pile up on the front porch. The dark brown door was locked and the screen slashed. He wiped his eyes, set his jaw, and unlocked the door, revealing the soft loveseat with her hand-stitched throw pillows. A small table with a bowl for keys and change was on the right, next to her coat hanging on a hook.


    He gingerly ran his hand over her coat, grabbing a sleeve and bringing it to his face. It still smelled like her. Like nature and gardening. Like love.


    It was several minutes before he could compose himself.


    The sitting room and the kitchen were a singular space, a hallway opposite the front door leading to the bedrooms and washrooms. A bowl of fuzzy produce rested upon the kitchen counter next to the carved wooden block that held their knives.


    One was missing.


    He had not noticed that when he last left the house. Or it wasn¡¯t missing then. Still recovering from the emotion of his return, he moved in a slight daze toward the hallway. The guest washroom was the first door on the left, and he glanced through the ajar door only for a second. What he needed wasn¡¯t there. The door on the right was the guest room. Not there either. The door at the end was closed. He took a deep breath and pushed it open. The blue curtains still fluttered in the slight breeze. The red woolen blanket was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Several more steps brought him into the master washroom. A full length mirror stood against the wall opposite the sink and toilet. Syler turned on the sink¡¯s hot and cold taps to fully open. His pinky pushed up into the faucet and he heard a click as the full length mirror swung slightly on hidden hinges.


    Behind the mirror were a series of cubbies from the floor to about halfway up, each about a cubic foot. Above that were numerous hooks that held jewelry and several magic items. At the bottom were stacks of papers of no use to him presently. He dumped the few coins he had left in his current pouch into a more filled one, placing the empty bag on the shelf. No weapons were stored there as he needed none beyond the runes upon himself. A small box held a ring that he slid on his right ring finger. He pulled Kuku¡¯s vial from his pocket and touched it to the ring while speaking a word, which pulled it into the ring.  He grabbed what appeared to be several small pieces of Tekrystal etched with the runes of Naut the God of Knowledge, and Farroh, Lord of the Sun.


    Teknaus, the magic of the realm, comes in the same primary forms as matter. Solid, liquid, gas. The solid form is formally known as Tekrystal, and is commonly used by runecasters for minor enchantments or to enhance the power of the runes they cast.


    The next item he grabbed was the amulet hanging in the center of the secret space and put it on. It was a locket, and opening it he saw the image of a small dog with curly yellow fur, stumpy legs, and a very short tail.


    He smiled for the first time since entering the house, whispering, ¡°My little potato.¡±


    Tootsie was a real dog, once. He had found her in an alley after he had fled from his fourth foster home in the city. She was eating discarded corn chips the first time he saw her. He was starving, and she walked over to him, bringing him one of her chips. They became inseparable after that.


    The Agency had allowed him to keep her in his room, feeding and training her between classroom and training sessions. She licked his face in concern when he was going through the painful poison and venom immunity training. She stayed by his side through it all.


    Then she got sick. He did not know what she had gotten, or if it was just her old age catching up to her. When he graduated to full Agent he was given one boon to ask of the Guild. This amulet was their gift. Tootsie was now magically bound to the amulet, and he could say her name and bring her out. He didn¡¯t have the heart to do it inside of their home, so he shut the locket and grabbed the next item.


    In the uppermost cubby there were two identical adamantine rods, each a foot long with a button on one end. He checked each of them to ensure they still worked, clicking the buttons and releasing them. Each rod floated where he had pushed the button. Satisfied, he clicked the buttons again and placed them into his extradimensional hip-pouch.


    ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± a feminine yet deep voice said from the other side of the still open mirror.


    ¡°Why are you in my home?"


    ¡°Been looking for a certain roguish hero. Heard he lives in this house but hasn¡¯t returned since his wife was killed.¡±


    ¡°You heard incorrectly.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I did.¡±


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°What do you want?¡±


    ¡°You. Dead.¡±


    ¡°Do I get a last request?¡±


    The voice laughed softly. ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°Not in this house. It has seen enough death.¡±


    ¡°By all means. Shut the mirror and keep your hands up.¡±


    Slowly shutting the door, Syler turned with his hands up, palms facing his opponent. They were androgynous, tall and muscular, holding the kitchen knife he had noticed missing. They had pointed ears and skin as white as paper. A Dokkalfar. Death Elf. Dressed in robes with a magical hue his eye scanned as a rune from Samusan, the Lord of Battle. Mage armor. Great.


    The Death Elves were on the opposing side during the War of the Shard, attempting to awaken the chaotic god Kalak. Syler had killed so many of them during that time he had no idea which one they were trying to avenge. This was not the first time. No doubt he was the villainous origin of many of their kind.


    Too bad for them he had his own revenge to plot. They both walked outside. Syler never dropped his hands and the Dokkalfar never turned their sight away from him. There were fewer guards out and about this late, and of course none were in sight.


    ¡°May I ask the name of my killer?¡± Syler said.


    ¡°Alexandros Teken¡¯Rae.¡±


    ¡°Frederin?¡±


    ¡°My brother.¡±


    ¡°I remember him.¡±


    ¡°How would you prefer to die?¡± Alexandros said.


    ¡°Quickly.¡±


    ¡°So be it!¡± Alexandros drew a grey tekrystal from his robe and shoved his hand toward the ground, and Syler heard the shifting of stone behind him, turning to see an earth elemental rise up from the ground.


    It seemed Alexandros was prepared.


    Syler turned and ran toward his foe, drawing and firing his shadow bow in one fluid motion. The arrow ricocheted off their magic shield. He focused on the porch of the house and whispered, ¡°Come here, Toots.¡± There was a small popping sound and an adorable little 12 pound yellow haired dog sat on the top step of the porch.


    Syler had no time to greet Tootsie, diving to his left as a massive stone limb crashed down where he had been standing. He fired several arrows into the elemental, but it had little effect.


    Alexandros traced the hunting rune of Turkan, Lord of the Hunt, in the air, summoning three magical arrows that struck Syler in his chest and left leg. He grunted in pain and focused on his runes, reaching his hand out and sending a small ball of shadow at Alexandros, narrowly missing him.


    The wind left Syler¡¯s lungs as the elemental threw a horizontal punch, launching him 15 feet into the wooden fence at the edge of his yard. He burst through it, sending wooden shards scattering around him. From his prone position, he threw two shadow daggers as he rolled to his feet, one striking the elemental, the other finally finding purchase on the mage, piercing their shoulder.


    Alexandros, enraged by the dagger dissolving away from their shoulder, drew the sun rune with their left hand, the battle rune with their right and smashed them together, an arc of lightning directed at Syler.


    For the first time in over a year, Syler tapped into the runes across his body to shadowstep into the plane of darkness. Into Penumbra.


    The lightning created stark shadows of those around it, including the elemental. Syler seemed to melt away as the lightning bolt smashed through where he was, blasting a large chunk off the elemental. Penumbra was a place of complete and terrible darkness to any who could not tap into its power. Syler was able to see the yard, the house, the elemental, all shades of gray. The only black areas were those shadows through which he could cross. At a distance he thought both close and far away, shadow creatures flitted about. One of the dangers of shadow stepping into Penumbra. The reason no one but a very select few could travel anything but short distances therein. He willed himself forward, stepping out of Penumbra from the shadow of the elemental. Two more daggers thrown. One bounced harmlessly off the magic shield. The other piercing Alexandros¡¯s hip. A glancing blow.


    ¡°I tire of this! Kill him!¡± they said, drawing the sun rune, a thin beam of lightning striking Syler in the gut, doubling him over as electricity wracked his body. The elemental kicked Syler, cracking a rib and sending him rolling to a stop right in front of Alexandros.


    A red glob struck the front of their robes as Syler spit and laughed.


    ¡°I¡¯m about to kill you and you laugh?¡± they said.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ not going¡­ to kill me,¡± Syler wheezed.


    ¡°And what makes you think that?¡±


    ¡°I have a Tootsie.¡± A huge black shadow smashed into Alexandros, knocking them to the ground.


    The shadow ball he threw toward Alexandros had closely missed them. On purpose. Tootsie had playfully grabbed the shadow ball, the Penumbral magic infusing into her as it did Syler with his armor. Tootsie grew, her muscles bulging, teeth lengthening, her fur shifting from yellow to black, her eyes glowing the same blue as Syler¡¯s.


    The magic armor of the Dokkalfar stood no chance against the pure brawn of Tootsie¡¯s shadow form. She had gotten their neck with her tackle, and playfully shook her head, snapping it instantly. The pain from the energy in Syler¡¯s gut subsided, the magic no longer sustained by the now dead Alexandros. His rib was still cracked, though, and he struggled to rise to his feet.


    With Alexandros dead, the elemental was now free from control. It struck out at the nearest creature, Tootsie. She was still playing with her new toy, and was surprised when an earthen fist slammed into her side. She let out a small gasp and slid several feet, her claws digging deep ruts in the ground. She growled and lunged, biting and clawing at the elemental. Syler stood up straight, summoned his bow and fired two more arrows, each finding purchase with the same small effect as before. The elemental tried to shake off the shadow hound, but she had latched on and was playing her favorite game, tugging against the strength of the elemental.


    The arm she had been pulling popped off, and she ran away from Syler and the elemental, dragging the flailing limb along the way. Two more arrows struck its body as Syler moved in the same direction. The elemental charged them and Syler charged right back, diving between its legs at the last moment, the dagger in each hand biting deep into its legs, chunks of earth and stone falling to the ground.


    ¡°I guess we keep hitting it until it falls down, Toots!¡±


    Tootsie dropped the inert limb and darted forward, clawing deep gashes into the elemental, scattering more stone and soil across the yard. A few more well placed strikes and all that was left was rubble.


    ¡°Thanks, girl,¡± Syler said with a small smile, bending to rest his hands against his knees, focusing on his breathing. A big wet tongue smashed into his face. He couldn¡¯t help but laugh, ¡°Gross.¡± He had to raise his arms to scratch Tootsie behind the ears. As he did, he slowly drained the penumbral magic back into his runes. He bent with a groan to pick up his adorable little yellow dog, patted her on the head and began heading down to Bartle¡¯s house, his limp no longer an affectation.

 Chapter 5: Medicine

    The southeastern gate from the Syler district was closed like all the gates were at night. Two orc guards in chainmail wearing swords on their sides and loaded crossbows on their backs stood watch.


    Hands shifted to hilts as Syler approached. He willed the Agency logo, a windblown tattered black cloak, to form on the palm of his currently red armor, and kept his eye faintly lit.


    ¡°Cute dog.¡±


    He held up the logo to the guards. "Thanks. A Dokkalfar attacked me four houses down from Sanctuary Tavern. No need to investigate the death. I claim it. I''ll ignore the incompetence of missing their entry into the district for now."


    The guards nodded. One of them removed from a pocket a small Tekrystal and relayed the info. She covered the crystal and whispered, ¡°The body?¡±


    Syler shrugged, ¡°Dump it for the oozes. They may have some magic items on them. All yours.¡±


    The crystal-holding guard¡¯s eyes filled with greed, and she tapped the other. ¡°I got the gate, you go get the items-I mean, body.¡± He ran off.


    ¡°Open the gate.¡±


    ¡°Of course, sir.¡± She slapped the gate a single time. A tap returned from the other side and the gate opened.


    He set Tootsie down and she walked happily beside him, her toenails clickety clacking on the cobblestones. She was never great at being quiet outside of her shadow form. ¡°Bartle will be happy to see you.¡± Her stubby tail wagged excitedly.


    Thirty minutes and two more gates later, the familiar sight of the Shipwright home came into view. Bartle opened the door on the second knock. Crates of various sizes were stacked haphazardly throughout the house.


    ¡°By Pallerva¡¯s purse, how much did you give Sven?!¡±


    ¡°Enough.¡±


    ¡°Clearly,¡± he heard a tiny clacky stomping. ¡°Oh my goodness!¡± Tootsie jumped into Bartle¡¯s outstretched hands and he cradled her like a baby and rubbed her tummy. She liked it for a few seconds, then began to squirm to get down. ¡°Okay, okay. Come in. No need to limp here.¡±


    ¡°Not really by choice.¡±


    Bartle set Tootsie down and looked closer at Syler, spotting his wince as he moved. He immediately grabbed a chair and moved it so Syler could sit without moving too much more. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Dokkalfar runecaster with an earth elemental.¡±


    ¡°In the city?¡±


    ¡°In my house.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    Syler shrugged, which proved to be a mistake as he made a sharp intake of air. "I don''t know. No time to figure it out right now."


    ¡°May I?¡± Bartle asked, his hand slightly glowing with the power of Pallerva.


    The armor peeled away from his torso, revealing a massive bruise that spread across his chest. ¡°I think a rib is broken.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can.¡± Bartle pressed his hand against Syler¡¯s chest, muttering prayers to the Goddess of Wisdom and Commerce. Warmth and light spread from Bartle¡¯s hand, the purple and blue fading to Syler¡¯s natural hue. ¡°I was able to mostly fix your rib, but it¡¯ll be sore for a few days and you should avoid getting hit there until it has healed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll try, but that may be difficult,¡± Syler stood, his shadow armor refilling the gap.


    ¡°I know.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something else.¡±


    Bartle raised his eyebrows, ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I saw Malakia with Gene exiting the Darket.¡±


    ¡°That is unlike Gene.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure about that? He was in common clothes to be less conspicuous. And he was handing out this.¡± Syler handed the scroll to Bartle.


    ¡°Damn. Malakia must have something on him, something to force him into this.¡±


    ¡°I thought the same. Didn¡¯t seem the type. He also probably used some of the money I gave him for the ball to set up the bounty.¡±


    ¡°So she has you killed, seemingly by accident-¡±


    ¡°And she gets to steal loot that no longer has an owner. None of the other nobles would care about a noble from across Pyderon who was killed, outside of the scandal of it all.¡±


    ¡°They would expect me to be, plus there is the resurrection ritual,¡± Bartle noted.


    ¡°True, but there are ways around it, and the loot would be long gone by then.¡±


    Bartle nodded in thought as Syler brought Tootsie back into the amulet, ¡°So, what¡¯s the plan?¡±


    <hr>


    Several hours later, the decorations were heavily underway at the Whitley mansion as Syler snuck up to one of the thick trees set around the manor¡¯s expansive backyard. Tables and chairs already littered the area, and ribbons with baubles of light had been wrapped around the trees, limbs, and the legs of the tables, creating an ambience of faerie lights.


    Uniformed laborers were moving around the grounds, setting up additional tables, chairs, and the outdoor area for some of the auction items. Syler shifted his armor to match the uniforms, grabbed a nearby chair and walked with purpose toward the mansion.


    Ten paces from the entryway Gene burst out from the double doors, another uniformed worker trailing behind and taking notes. He looked as though he had not been sleeping very well. Syler hastily turned away and busied himself with realigning several chairs.


    ¡°We need more light out here!¡± Gene yelled. ¡°Bring more runecasters to make more.¡± He began walking through and checking every aspect of the outdoor setup. Syler didn¡¯t waste a moment and headed into the enormous house. The rear doors had glass panels shaped into an elegant W. Through the doors was a foyer with several barstools and tall tables ready for the hors d''oeuvres. On the right Syler found three sets of double doors twenty-five feet apart, each open to a massive ballroom. At the far corner were several instruments playing soft music without any musicians.


    Syler ignored the ballroom beyond a cursory glance and instead continued to the staircase up a little further along. He shifted his armor back to its usual black leather as he passed several well decorated but impersonal guest rooms, a bathroom with a wading pool for the tub, and a walk-in closet that looked like he could fit his entire house inside. The door at the end of the hall was shut and he had no trouble picking the lock. The master bedroom was a mess, the bedding shredded and down feathers spread all over.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    His eye flared blue as he scanned around the room. A dresser had small scuffs, as though it had been struck by a blade. Several small holes in the walls near the master bathroom. Darts or hand crossbow bolts. The bathroom door was ajar and Syler noticed the cabinet door under the sink had a sizable hole in it.


    A one sided fight happened here. The target had tried to flee into the bathroom and hide under the sink. A failed attempt. He was kneeling to investigate the storage cabinet when he heard the bedroom door slam. Gene''s voice. Syler stepped behind the bathroom door and peeked out. He hadn''t been using his eye downstairs. Now he saw Gene slowly shrink, his skin and hair darkening, hair flowing out to her lower back. Pilar.


    She let her shapeshifting rune end and grabbed a torn piece of cloth from the side of the bed, holding it to her face as she sobbed. Syler understood the feeling all too well. She hadn''t even noticed the door was open.


    Syler shifted his eye to match the other, his armor to the red leather with gold trim, and raised both of his hands unthreateningly in front, palms facing Pilar. He was wary and ready to move if she got offensive with her magic. "Pilar?"


    She jumped and orange teknaus flickered at her fingertips, but she didn''t release any magic. "Zandar? How did you get in here?"


    "I picked the lock." He saw no reason to lie.


    "Oh." The surprise faded back into sadness.


    "I want to help. I was looking for Gene and thought for a moment that you were him. Is he here?" He didn¡¯t want to make any assumptions.


    Pilar walked over to the scarred dresser and returned with a slip of parchment. ¡°I was out when he was taken. They left this.¡±


    ¡®It is to my understanding that you will be hosting a most exquisite ball and auction for a wealthy man named Zandar. You will help us acquire his more valuable goods if you wish to see Gene alive again. You will bring the manifest of goods for auction to the warehouse south of Lillard Lodge as soon as you acquire it. ~M¡¯


    ¡°That is why you were with Mal in the Syler District last night shaped as Gene.¡±


    ¡°What?... No. You saw Gene last night?! Mal? Is that this M person?¡± she was speaking very quickly, near panic.


    Syler swore at himself internally. Maybe he should have followed them after all. He sat at the edge of the bed. ¡°Okay, I think I am getting a better layout here. I am going to need your help as much as you need mine. My real name is Syler."


    Her eyes brightened at the revelation. "The hero?"


    "I''m no hero."


    "To many, you are."


    He ignored the praise and continued, "M is Malakia, a renowned thief and thorn in the Guild¡¯s side. My target. She brought her captive to the Syler district to negotiate the death of Zandar to make her theft even cleaner.¡± Pilar¡¯s eyes had grown larger and larger as he spoke. ¡°She must have known you have the ability to change your physical appearance magically, and thus kidnapped Gene for you to help.¡±


    She nodded, ¡°Yes, he was taken two days ago. I brought the auction manifest yesterday.¡±


    ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Why is that good?¡±


    ¡°If you hadn¡¯t it would have been problematic for Gene. Did she tell you her plan?¡±


    ¡°I only spoke with an orcish man.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Syler sighed, ¡°I doubt he knew enough to tell you anything useful.¡±


    ¡°Only that I was not to interfere.¡±


    ¡°I figured as much. You keep going as instructed by her. We don¡¯t want to play our hand until necessary.¡±


    ¡°What are you going to do?¡±


    ¡°Plausible deniability, Pilar. Please describe this orcish man.¡±


    <hr>


    It was midafternoon the same day when the wagons arrived at the Shipwright home to gather up the auction items. Syler had lunch with Bartle and finalized a few things. He climbed up into the rafters as soon as the workers arrived, calling upon his runic tattoos to deepen the shadows where he hid. His eye could see the traces Sven had left on each of the items within the crates, seeing a faint line whenever they were moved out the house into the carts. The worker giving the orders matched the description of the orc Pilar had interacted with at the warehouse. He was heavily muscled from years of combat training, and he had three deep scars across his face, likely from an animal attack.


    After the last of the crates was loaded up, Syler hopped down. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Anytime,¡± Bartle said, gripping him into a hug, ¡°don¡¯t die.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    The trace led Syler along a roundabout path to the Whitley manor. It took the road heading east, then turning south and turning east again into a small, densely forested area that many of the nobles used for paid ¡°hunting¡± trips, magically summoning beasts for sport. When Syler arrived at the bend into the forest, the trace had not yet returned to the road.


    Flitting from shadow to shadow in the forest, the carts finally came into view. There were more wagons than had loaded up, and Syler noted the workers exchanging crates from the new carts to the old. Clever. The scarred orc held a wand made from a yellow wood with tiny runes etched into the handle and along the shaft that he was waving over each crate, scanning them for magical traces. He smiled as he saw them crack open boxes and remove the false traces Sven had placed inside the crates and move them into the new ones. He focused his eye on the new crates, seeing well made fakes within. The carts eventually parted ways, the ones filled with the stolen goods rolling deeper into the forest to head out the other side, the fakes trundling back to the road heading south to the Whitley home. He spotted more guards at the edge of the wood who began walking in step with the carts.


    Syler followed behind the carts, through the open southeastern gate back into the Temple district. They trundled along the Temple District docks that ran along the Sarta River that cut through the lower portion of Sartak City, turning south again to cross the bridge into the Tenth District. The tenth district was called the Stacks, packed to the brim with those desperate to make a better life for themselves. The streets in the Stacks were narrow, the buildings haphazardly placed aggressively against one another. As the district overflowed with refugees and laborers when the city population spiked, they began to build upwards. Misshapen but sturdy huts were stacked up to five high, with narrow scaffolding and very steep stairs. Scaling to the top and keeping to the rooftops, Syler kept the carts in view, jumping from roof to roof.


    The carts moved slowly through the streets, the guards splitting in front and behind to avoid running into the scaffolding. After several aggressive strikes against too-slow pedestrians, word spread quickly through the stacks, and streets were largely empty by the time they rolled up to the Scattered Blood Bar¡¯s northern alley. Syler removed the rods from his pack and leapt across the narrow road, pressing the button as he reached the apex of the jump. The rod held fast, suspended above the road. He reached out with the other, clicked it in place, and freed the first rod, shifting hand over hand, locking and unlocking the rods to function as a horizontal ladder. He reached the rooftop of the Scattered Blood Bar and landed silently, stowing the rods back into his pouch.


    Three unconscious people lay in a pile with empty bottles in their hands, a satyr with the light brown fur and legs of a goat with a reed pipe dangling around his neck and a vibrant purple vest and two leapus men, rabbit folk with several piercings along their ears and not very much by way of clothing. He ignored them for now and peered down into the alley.


    The scarred orc waved the same wand that he had used to scan the packages, and the cobblestone in the alley began to vibrate, shifting over one another and creating an opening and a ramp leading down.


    ¡°That explains why she hasn¡¯t been found yet,¡± he muttered to himself. He knew much of the city, but there were still secrets to discover, it seemed. The ramp shifted back to the flat alleyway shortly after the carts disappeared. The trace trailed off there as well. He saw it trail away before getting too deep or behind too much material for his eye to track.


    Alertness would be high for at least the next day, until Zandar was out of the picture, likely. Rushing in now would likely prove to be difficult. He kneeled next to the satyr, gently shaking him awake. His eyes fluttered open in a squint.


    ¡°It¡¯s still daylight. My shift ain¡¯t up yet.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care much about that, sir.¡±


    The satyr¡¯s eyes focused on Syler. He sat up straight, reeling for a moment, pushing himself back against the short barrier that surrounded the rooftop, ¡°This isn¡¯t happening. You¡¯re not here right now.¡±


    ¡°¡®Fraid so, bud.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t your bud, you prick.¡±


    ¡°You know as well as I that it wasn''t my fault.¡±


    The satyr threw the nearby bottle at him, which smashed to shards several feet to Syler¡¯s right, ¡°The fuck it wasn¡¯t!¡±


    ¡°Ryn, it was raining and he slipped. He¡¯d had too much to drink. As it appears you are doing now.¡±


    ¡°I loved him!¡± tears flowed freely down Ryn¡¯s face. ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m truly sorry that he fell.¡±


    A short cackle, ¡°I¡¯m sure you are. Why did you come here?¡±


    Syler took a steadying breath, ¡°Revenge.¡±


    Ryn shook his head, ¡°Not good enough.¡±


    ¡°My wife is dead.¡±


    The anger in Ryn¡¯s eyes lessened slightly, ¡°Unrevivable?¡± Syler nodded. ¡°I assure you I was not involved.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m not here for you, other than to ask for your help.¡±


    ¡°With what?¡±


    ¡°Malakia.¡±


    ¡°The Mau? Why her?¡±


    ¡°Not your concern. I need information. You can get it.¡±


    ¡°And why would I want to help you?¡±


    Syler held up a small bag of coins. ¡°Enough to resurrect him.¡±

 Chapter 6: Deception

    The ball was far more elegant when the decorations were complete. Nobles from the district and a few from nearby cities had gathered together for what would surely be a night to remember. Treasures from far away lands dotted tables around the central dance floor, gold and silver streamers drifting in the light breeze that kept the room cool. Tables ladened with hors d''oeuvres and fancy wine were dotted around the outskirts of the terrace and the foyer outside the ballroom.


    Zandar milled about, Tootsie in hand, chatting lightly with Bartle, who naturally arrived late and sparkling in his vibrant full plate armor, his pirate flag cloak fluttering behind him via some minor enchantment. Morrigan wore a long green silk dress with a slit that ran up to her thigh, accentuated with living vines and colorful leaves.  Bartle introduced him to many of the nobles, people whose names he already knew. A few he didn''t. The nobility of Sartak City was as varied as its people. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Satyrs, a rather large family of the rabbit folk Leapi, several halflings, and three rather stuffy Mau families. All but the Mau insisted on giving Tootsie a pat here or a scratch there. The Mau thought her distasteful, but were polite nonetheless.


    Zandar recognized Malakia immediately, and maneuvered Bartle and Morrigan to intercept, handing Tootsie to Morrigan as they walked. She was wearing an elegant green dress with silver trim and was wearing two large rings on each hand, each bearing a different color gemstone.


    Bartle wasn''t one to go unintroduced. "May I say that dress is spectacular! My name is Bartle Shipwright. This is my lovely wife Morrigan and this is my cousin Zandar."


    "Gwenivere Maltarid." She lied as she focused her gaze on Zandar.


    The music shifted to a more intimate tune. "Will you dance with me, Gwen?"


    "Of course."


    Zandar took Gwen''s pawlike hand and led her onto the dancefloor. He pulled her close and began to move in step with the music. She followed smoothly.


    "They say you''re from Eleacar?" Gwen said.


    "I am."


    "I can''t say I''ve ever been."


    "It''s beautiful like your city, though a bit smaller. How long have you been in Sartak City?"


    "We came here when I was a child."


    "So no memories of other places?"


    "Only of travelling by sea to get here."


    The music picked up speed and so did they, changing to a more fluid jig.


    "I hope the auction objects are of interest to you then."


    Her eyes sparkled, "Very much of interest, yes."


    "Anything in particular grabbing your fancy?"


    "The cloak made from the hide of dispanthers. It''s simply marvelous."


    "As are you, Gwen. Perhaps we can remove that from the auction list just for you." He knew she had already replaced said cloak with a fake.


    "Well, aren''t you sweet?"


    "Have you tried the Frostbeard Ale yet?"


    "I try not to drink on the job."


    "You''re working now?" Zandar feigned a frown, "And here I thought we were having a grand time."


    She glanced around, checking on the Mau families milling about. "Oh we are! But these people aren''t always as they seem."


    "We rarely are."


    "You fascinate me, Zandar. Why would you not sell your acquisitions in Eleacar? Why come all this way?"


    Zandar laughed softly, "My cousin assured me that the nobles here would be much more interested in my items than in my origin city. It made sense. Plus he paid for the teleportation rune circle to bring me here."


    She nodded, "I see. Is your wife here?"


    "I never married. Bartle is my only surviving relative. The war was brutal to the Shipwrights of Eleacar."


    Darkness passed quickly across her face, "You know what? I think I''ll have that drink."


    Zandar smiled. "I''ll be right back."


    "No. I''ll go get them. You wait here."


    Zandar nodded and Gwen stepped away from the dance floor. He picked up dancing with another noble but kept his eyes on Gwen. She reached the drink table, tapped one of her rings against the inside of one of the glasses, and brought them back to Syler. After bowing out of the dance floor they took a seat at one of the nearby ballroom tables.


    Sipping the glass handed to him, he noticed it was a little too bitter. Sleeping poison. He had ten minutes before it would normally take effect.


    "This is very good ale," Syler said.


    "Yes it is."


    "You simultaneously seem like you don''t belong here but you fit in perfectly."


    "I feel the very same way about you.¡± Gwen gently placed a hand on his forearm. ¡°Will you walk with me?"


    Zandar smiled and nodded. "Yes I will."


    He spotted movement in the shadows on the outside edges of the party.


    Bartle approached with Tootsie in tow.


    "Gwen and I are going for a walk," Syler said as he scooped his dog from Bartle''s grasp.


    "Be careful out there," Bartle warned.


    Syler turned to face just outside of Gwen''s vision and flickered his eyes at Bartle. "With the guards out we should be fine."


    Gwen shifted uncomfortably, "Don''t worry, Gwen. This is Tootsie. She''s harmless."


    He tapped his medallion to Tootsie''s nose and she dissipated in a puff of smoke the same color as her golden yellow fur. Gwen relaxed after the puff was gone. Syler yawned as they reached the outskirts of the party.


    As they moved further from the lights and sounds of the party, he clocked several figures hiding in alleyways along their path who began to follow at a distance. Eventually there were eight of them.


    When Syler thought about 8 minutes had passed, he began to stumble.


    Gwen smiled, "You feeling okay?¡±


    ¡°I must''ve had a bit too much Frostbeard ale," he slurred his words.


    She smiled, ¡°I hope you had a good time.¡±


    ¡°Had? Leaving so soon?¡± he stumbled again.


    ¡°I''d best get back to the party.¡±


    "We should."


    "Just me, not you." She began to slip away.


    "Just you?"


    "For the alibi."


    "Huh?" Syler allowed his limbs to go limp, collapsing forward, his face slamming hard into the cobblestone road. He didn¡¯t react, keeping his eyes closed and remaining limp. His eye rotated behind the lid, watching as the mercenaries approached.


    He felt the flutter of fabric brush his face as Malakia knelt. He felt a soft furred hand brush his cheek. ¡°It¡¯s really too bad. I can¡¯t have you interfering,¡± she purred softly.


    He heard a wagon roll up.


    Malakia ran back in the direction of the party. As soon as she was out of sight, the goons drew weapons.


    Syler rolled to the side as three crossbow bolts ricocheted off the cobblestone. As he stood, he summoned his bow and fired, the shadow arrow thudding into the chest of the nearest bounty hunter. There were too many of them to face alone.


    So he ran, leaping onto the cart and sliding to the other side, a convenient barrier. He willed the armor wraps around his front to shift to the back, thickening the protection as he ran down the nearby alley. Several bolts struck the wagon and two hit his lower back almost simultaneously, nearly bowling him over.


    Neither pierced though, so he continued heading east along the road toward the warehouses of the West Sartak Docks. He weaved through passing carts, always trying to keep something between him and the hunters.


    He made sure he would be spotted darting between two large warehouses.


    When the bounty hunters turned the corner, they saw no evidence of Syler''s presence, so they began rummaging through the dumpsters and various other containers.


    From the roof, Syler surveyed his foes. He did not see the one he had shot in the chest. Already down to seven.


    The Silver Tongues were the lead group, it would seem. Two glamidae, heavily muscled llama faced folk like Sven who wielded heavy scimitars, lead the search. Three dwarves in chainmail who looked as though they may be triplets with their dark grey skin, quartz eyes, and black beards scanned the rooftops with their loaded crossbows. Two humans surveyed the alleyway from the back of the group. The nearest one stood a head taller than the other, metallic plates shifting silently as she gripped her heavy shield and shortspear. A thin human man in grey robes stood at the far back of the group, his hands held out in front, the nature rune in the left and hunting rune in the right. A small glowing line pointed in Syler¡¯s direction.


    The Unerring Location ritual.


    ¡°He¡¯s on the roof,¡± the rune mage said.


    ¡°Climb!¡± his bodyguard yelled at the glamidae, who grabbed clawlike contraptions hanging from their belts and began climbing the wall of the warehouse. She turned to face the robed man. ¡°They will flush-¡±


    A black arrow flew from one of the dumpsters and struck the bodyguard¡¯s helmet, the arrowhead sticking several inches out of the other side. The spear and shield clattered to the ground before she collapsed.


    Another arrow bounced off of the magical shield the rune mage quickly threw out. The mage backed out of the alley, beginning to etch runes in the air before him.


    From the shadow of one of the crossbowmen, a figure rose, black leather wraps covering his entire body, dark red horns jutting from the red skin of his forehead. Syler saw the shadowstep from the rooftop and stood, leaning over and firing two arrows of his own, narrowly missing one of the climbing glamidae and striking the other in the shoulder. They climbed on.


    Daggers flashed out as the horned assassin struck the nearest dwarf in the chest, scoring a deep cut and drawing dark brown blood. He rolled sidelong, dodging the dwarven bolts as he reached the wall of the warehouse. A much smaller figure hopped out of the dumpster, similarly wrapped in black, golden blond hair pulled back into a tight bun. She fired two more arrows, striking the injured dwarf twice in the back. With a groan the dwarf fell, shifting back into the stone from whence it came.


    The runecaster finished etching the runes. Death, Knowledge, Stone. A green beam flashed out at the horned assassin. He tried to dodge, but the beam struck him in the left shoulder.


    His arm and part of his shoulder disintegrated into a fine gray powder. He screamed in pain and collapsed to the ground, clutching at the shoulder as his armor magically wrapped around it, stifling the bleeding.


    With strong pulls of their climbing gear the glamidae leapt onto the rooftop where Syler stood, swords drawn and swinging in from the left and right. Syler clicked the rods he had drawn into place and the swords scraped harmlessly against them. He left the rods floating there and threw a shadow dagger at each of the glamidae. One moved his sword to intercept, throwing it out wide. The other tried the same, but it struck true into the warrior¡¯s right leg.


    The dwarven crossbowmen took advantage of the distraction, reloaded, and fired on the screaming assassin. He dodged away from one of the bolts into another. It bit deeply into his lower abdomen, knocking his breath from him.


    With a cry of rage, the small figure dove into the dumpster¡¯s shadow, shifted through Penumbra behind the runecaster, and drove two daggers into his back, puncturing a lung and severing the spine. With a wheeze the mage fell onto his face.


    The severely injured horned assassin managed to return to his feet and growled, his eyes flaring with power. The pain he felt arced out, blasting into the chest of the nearest dwarf, leaving behind scorched lines that spurted with dark brown blood and launched him through the warehouse wall.


    The roof shook slightly from the flying dwarf as Syler darted around, avoiding most of the strikes from the pursuing glamidae. These were excellent fighters, and he felt the handful of small cuts they had already landed. He tapped one of the runes etched on his forearm and pointed at the ground between them, and darkness enveloped them. The glamidae began swinging wildly, hastily backing up to try to get out of the darkness.


    The comfort of familiarity washed over him as he recovered his footing in the magical darkness, summoned his shadow bow, and fired two arrows into the chest of the glamida nearest the edge of the roof, knocking him off balance to tumble off the rooftop.


    The final dwarf leveled his reloaded crossbow at the horned man, but the bolt flew out wide as a glamida corpse landed on him.


    The small figure rushed to the aid of the other as he collapsed to the ground. ¡°Destin!¡± she cried out and caught him, helping him sit against the warehouse wall. His eyes were tight with pain, his breathing labored.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°That rune was pretty nasty, huh?¡± he grunted, gripping the bolt sticking out from his abdomen.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she said, reaching into her pouch and pulling out a small vial filled with slightly glowing blue liquid.


    Back on the roof, the surviving glamida stumbled out of the sphere of darkness, still swinging wildly. Having recovered his sight again, and seeing the magical darkness, he realized that they may have overstepped. That Zandar was no mere noble. He began to run across to the opposite side of the roof, but an arrow struck him in the leg and he fell, landing hard.


    ¡°Not yet, friend,¡± Syler stepped out from the darkness, and moved to recover his floating rods. ¡°We need to chat a bit first.¡± He moved gingerly, checking over the cuts along his arms and chest. The warrior moved to a sitting position and was focused on his breathing, covering his leg wound with one hand as he grabbed a medical wrap from a waist pouch.


    ¡°I have nothing to say to you.¡±


    Syler willed his magical eye to flash brightly. ¡°I respectfully disagree. You work for Crowley and the Silver Tongues, and you took on a job that you failed to complete. He¡¯ll kill you if you go back empty handed.¡±


    ¡°Blue Eye? Crowley¡¯s trying to get me killed.¡±


    ¡°Not unless you don¡¯t tell me what I want to know.¡±


    The glamida looked at Syler for several moments before nodding.


    ¡°Glad we¡¯re on the same page. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Llarkin Scimitar.¡±


    ¡°How many more groups were hired to kill me?¡±


    ¡°The scroll was given to every mercenary group in the Darket.¡±


    Syler nodded, ¡°Did the Silver Tongues get first shot?¡±


    ¡°No. We just got here first.¡±


    ¡°Why are you a member?¡±


    ¡°Frequent battles to prove myself and hone my skill."


    ¡°Fair enough. Now the big question. How good of a liar are you?¡±


    Llarkin tilted his head in confusion. ¡°Not great, but not terrible. Why?¡±


    Syler willed a bit of his shadow armor to form a torn piece of Zandar¡¯s armor, red with gold trim. "You need proof, right?"


    "That is dishonorable. I will not lie about this."


    "It''s no lie. Zandar was never real, so he is neither alive nor dead. But not everyone needs to know that. You get paid and the heat on Zandar drops to zero."


    Llarkin considered his words for several moments. "I''ve no guarantee that I won''t be hunted down by you or the Agency at some later time after I turn this in."


    "The only reason I would hunt you down in the future is if you cross me or the Guild. And I know you aren¡¯t stupid. The money you will be paid likely came from me anyway.¡±


    Llarkin nodded, ¡°I accept your terms.¡± He grabbed the piece of shadow leather and gingerly got to his feet.


    Syler pulled the arrow that had pinned Llarkin to the roof. ¡°Should heal normally. I didn¡¯t shatter any bones.. Fight with skill, Llarkin.¡±


    ¡°Die with honor, Blue Eye.¡± Llarkin didn¡¯t seem surprised that Syler knew the Glamida honorific.


    Syler landed softly back in the alley shortly thereafter, rolling to soften the blow. Destin sat with his back against the wall, eyes closed and breathing softly. His wounds were being tended by the other. ¡°Are you okay, Winny?¡±


    The golden-haired halfling assassin didn¡¯t turn or stop dressing the wounds. ¡°Heard you were back in, had to see it for ourselves. Weren¡¯t expecting this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you showed up when you did. Sped up the work.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± Destin whispered, ¡°that damned mage took my arm.¡±


    ¡°Go to the Circle. They can grow that back for you. They¡¯ll need two healing potions and enough draka to complete the Regeneration ritual.¡±


    Winny moved to stand before Syler, ¡°Speaking of, sorry to hear about Cara.¡± Syler gave an appreciative nod. ¡°As soon as we heard we tried to find out who did it, but it came from above our clearance.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for trying.¡±


    ¡°Will you join us to the Circle?¡±


    ¡°No. I¡¯m working. I have a wagon you can use if you don¡¯t mind dropping me off somewhere first.¡±


    Destin grunted as Winny helped him stand, limping toward the road, ¡°That would be great.¡±


    <hr>


    After he was covered in the wagon, Syler shifted just enough to peak out. It would be several minutes before they arrived at the Scattered Blood Bar. He reached into his extradimensional bag and pulled out one of his stationary rods. He set it on his chest and focused. The armor wrapped around and secured the rod, leaving only the button on the end exposed.


    Winny slapped the side of the wagon twice as they slowed and Syler rolled out, landing on his feet near the back alley of the pub. He dipped into the shadows and drew out a handful of green draka, slipping them into a small pouch and tucking it away.


    The Scattered Blood Bar, true to its name, was constructed of wood from the Lyrah Forest to the north, where the Circle dwelt. The wood was speckled with fresh dark reds and old deep browns. Tables and chairs surrounded a pit used to solve petty disputes and to entertain the people of the Stacks. It promised a meal at the least for anyone willing to fight. The pit was busy every night.


    Cheers erupted from the crowd as a heavy blow was struck. Syler slipped in unnoticed and slid into a booth across from a patron holding a mug in one hand and his reed pipe in the other, playing along with the bands¡¯ aggressive accompaniment.


    ¡°Ryn.¡±


    The satyr set the mug down and held up a finger, continuing to play his pipe, the tempo increasing as the fight reached its crescendo. With a loud cheer one of the combatants was finally down.


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    ¡°Had to tie up a few loose ends.¡±


    ¡°You look like shit.¡±


    ¡°Some ends don¡¯t like being tied.¡±


    Ryn smirked, ¡°No doubt.¡±


    ¡°Were you successful?¡±


    ¡°Of course. You have it?¡±


    Syler set the small pouch of draka onto the table, wrapping his hand around it to mostly conceal the coin.


    ¡°Left from the front doors. Three blocks down, grate in the right hand alleyway. Left from the ladder to the intersection. Press the fourth plate rivet up from the ground. Panel opens into a small tunnel that will lead to the garage.¡±


    Syler slid the bag into Ryn¡¯s hand with a handshake, accepting the small map in the same shake. ¡°Go see Bartle Shipwright in the Noble district. Tell him Blue Eye sent you. He knows the right people."


    Ryn looked down and gripped the bag tightly. "Thank you for this." When he looked back up Syler was gone.


    Several minutes later Syler silently slid open the secret door into the underground garage. Two guards walked around the area, checking for unwanted guests.


    Two arrows flew from behind one of the carts, both striking the orc in the chest. She howled and fell backward, landing hard on the ground. The other person, a similarly heavily muscled human, drew a sword and charged at Syler.


    The button made the rod stick in the air as it intercepted the swing. Sparks flashed and the guard balked at what should have been a clean swipe. Syler left the rod behind as he pushed himself away from the cart. The orc was standing by the time the other guard regained his composure. Shadow daggers flew, striking the orc in the chest and leg.


    With eyes aglow with rage, she kept coming, faster than Syler thought possible. With a shove he found himself slammed against the wall, arms pinned to his side. The air left his lungs as he struggled against the orc.


    ¡°What will you do now, puny one?¡± the orc growled as she slammed her face into Syler¡¯s.


    Blood flowed freely from his nose as he responded, ¡°Hang on tight.¡± His eye flared bright blue, surprise loosening the orc¡¯s grip slightly. Syler reached up to touch the guard¡¯s arm, and shifted into Penumbra, willing a bit of his innate shadow magic to grant her sight in the realm of shadows.


    Shades of grey and black encompassed the realm around them. Distant figures of shadow shifted around, disappearing and reappearing several feet from their origin. The orc guard released Syler, her jaw slack and eyes wide.


    ¡°What is this place?¡±


    ¡°Penumbra,¡± Syler saw no point in lying.


    Beads of sweat across her brow, the orc¡¯s rage melted away into fear, ¡°It¡¯s real?!¡±


    The shadow figures seemed to hear her shout and began rushing forward, closing the distance.


    ¡°Of course it is.¡±


    ¡°Take me back!¡± The shadows drew close enough to see more of their form. Humanoid figures wrapped in flowing shadows. Taut skin over angular bone. Dull grey eyes. Sharp, bony fingers.


    Syler grabbed her arm and shifted back right as the nearest shadow figure reached out to touch the orc, its hand plunging into her head. She collapsed to the ground, tears running down her cheeks and moisture down the front of her pants, her eyes catatonic and her mouth open in a silent scream. The other guard, having seen them disappear and reappear a few moments later, hesitated.


    ¡°My soul,¡± the orc muttered, drawing her legs up to her chin and beginning to rock back and forth. ¡°Penumbra is real! The shades! My soul!¡±


    Not knowing what had happened to her, the other guard charged and swung at Syler, shifting the direction of the swing as Syler dove to the side.


    Click!


    The sword arc struck nothing as Syler stopped in mid air. The rod secured in his armor holding him aloft.


    Two shadow daggers flashed out. One struck the wrist, the guard dropping his sword as the strength left his hand.


    The other thrust into the guard¡¯s left side, angled slightly upward to pierce a lung. The guard collapsed in a wheezing pile. Syler pressed the button on the rod again and crouched next to the dying guard.


    After giving them both a quick end and hiding the bodies, Syler crept to the door leading further into Malakia¡¯s base of operations. He hoped Ryn¡¯s information was good. Her base was a long abandoned section of the sewer she had paid to have magically hidden away and sealed from entry by anyone without the wand, but the construction crew secreted in the tunnel for a quick egress.


    A hallway ten feet across and a hundred feet long led away from the doorway, with three doors on the left and two on the right, spaced alternately throughout, the end closed off with a brick wall. He noticed that some of the art hanging on the walls had been among the items reported as stolen. He checked the map, then silently walked to the first door, gently turning the handle and pushing it open. Several rows of bunks lined either side of the room. Ten beds. Ten sleeping thieves working for Malakia.


    After several minutes of work Syler left the room. Ten problems fewer.


    The next door, this time on the right, led into a kitchen. No signs of life.


    ¡°You really pulled through, Ryn,¡± Syler whispered.


    The second left door was the treasure room, according to Ryn''s map. He looked over the door. A keyhole and a viewport. He activated his eye and saw through the door to the line leading to a crossbow trap. And two human guards flanking the door.


    He jiggled the door handle hard. The guard jumped, opened the viewport, and peeked through, seeing an empty hallway.


    Syler deepened his voice, a decent approximation of the orc guard from the wagon. ¡°We killed Zandar and have more loot to store.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the password? Where are you?¡±


    He could now see into the room. The shadow figures were close now, so he had to work fast. He tapped into the shadow magic and stepped back into Penumbra, running the few steps and narrowly dodging the clawing hands as he stepped back through into the vault.


    He thought there may have been multiple tables, but there was so much in there he could barely see them. Piles of black, red, and white draka sat on separate tables, stacks of scrolls, and rows and rows of framed paintings haphazardly leaned against one another. Separated out on other tables are the tagged items provided by Sven. A veritable dragon¡¯s hoard.


    He reached into his bag of holding and retrieved his two stationary rods as the two guards moved to either side of him, blades drawn. He felt the sting of the cut on his arm and the sticky blood from his nose. He embraced it, taking on a wild look.


    The guards attacked at the same time, swords swinging in symmetrical angles. Syler dropped to the floor, holding one of the rods vertically and pushing the button, swinging out to the right with the other. The blades hit the rod at the same time as the other rod tripped the right guard. As he hit the ground, Syler punched the guard in the face and pushed the rod hard against the guard''s chest, locking him down.


    Syler kipped up as the guard began to struggle against the rod. He pushed the button to free the vertical rod and swung it at the left guard, but his sword intercepted the rod and parried it out wide. Syler followed the movement, but found himself too near one of the crowded tables. He couldn¡¯t move away from the guard so he moved closer instead. The guard couldn¡¯t get the sword in an advantageous position with Syler so close, so he attempted to shove him away.


    Syler shifted slightly, shaped a shadow dagger into his left hand, blade facing down, and allowed the momentum of the shove to knock him on top of the prone and struggling guard. The knife drove to the hilt into the guard¡¯s chest and with a final wheeze he stopped struggling. Syler released the handle and the blade began to melt away as he rolled, freeing the rod again.With both stationary rods in his hands he stood and walked forward, pressing the button quickly to parry an incoming overhead strike with his left and striking out with his right, hitting the guard in the ribs.


    With a cry of pain, the guard stepped back, rubbing the quickly forming bruise.


    ¡°What are you?¡± the guard hissed between gritted teeth.


    Syler said nothing, but darted back in. Strikes from both sides were parried, no ground gained or lost. They separated again, Syler with a small cut on his right arm, the guard with several new bruises.


    The rods clattered to the floor, and the guard thought he had an opening to finish the fight. Airborn shards of shadow struck the charging guard full in the face, his forward momentum causing his body to backflip on top of the other.


    Taking a few moments to catch his breath, Syler looked over the items Sven had set up with the mark. He spotted a small box of transparent bottles filled with various colored potions.  All but two didn¡¯t interest him. He grabbed one containing bronze liquid, Teknaus attuned to Gaius¡¯s life magic, twisted off the cap and downed it. He felt the warmth wash over him and he watched as the cuts on his arms close up and felt the pain in his nose subside. The other potion that he pocketed contained a liquid that was mostly pearlescent with swirls of bronze.


    After he disarmed the crossbow and unlocked the door, Syler grasped his amulet and stepped into the hallway.


    ¡°Alright, buddy. Time to play.¡± Tootsie materialized with a puff of golden yellow smoke and padded over to Syler. He bent to scratch her behind the ears, willing some shadow magic into her. He stood and kept scratching, eventually having to reach up slightly to keep in line with her growth.


    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a man tied up or somehow restrained in the next room. Don¡¯t hurt him. Everyone else is fair game.¡± A large black tongue brushed across his face, cleaning off most of the blood. He tousled the dark, curly fur.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay, Toots. Just a few bumps. Stay out here. I¡¯ll whistle for you.¡±


    Tootsie sat obediently and tilted her head curiously, her glowing blue eyes wide with playful joy.


    Syler silently picked the lock on the next door, gently swinging it open. Two cells were constructed against the right wall, complete with thick metal bars and dangling chains. The barred door was open on one of them. Against the left wall, a desk with a large chest next to it faced the cells.


    They stood in front of the desk. The three claw scars across the orc''s face accentuated his rage. Gene stood very still in front of the brute, a knife against his throat, blood trickling from several cuts across his exposed chest.


    The dagger pierced the orc''s hand holding the knife. Gene ducked under the loosening grasp and ran back into the cell, slamming the door shut to keep out of reach.


    Without hesitation the orc growled and drew his sword, a wickedly barbed longsword, and ignoring the wound to his hand charged and swung at Syler. Two crossed knives intercepted the swing, the force pushing Syler back into the door, slamming it shut. He threw them as he straightened, one harmlessly flying over the orc''s shoulder, the other nicking his right cheek.


    As the knives reformed in his hands he rolled, trying to get some distance away from the raging orc. A heavy kick sent him crashing against Gene''s cell, knocking his breath away. He managed to narrowly dodge a downward chop, the blade biting into the floor.


    Vines erupted from the floor, grabbing at Syler''s ankles and pulling him to the spot. He whistled loudly. The orc''s next attack was disrupted by the door splintering inward.


    The orc turned and backed up to face both of his opponents. Tootsie rushed him, jaws open wide. The brute struck home with his blade, drawing a deep growling yelp from her as similar vines wrapped around her torso and legs. She fell against the desk, struggling against the binds.


    The distraction was just long enough for Syler to get free of the vines. Three daggers struck the orc, one in the chest and two in his right leg. Still he came forward, the rage keeping him from feeling the wounds. Syler stepped back on his left foot and leaned, narrowly avoiding a sidelong swing of the sword. The orc tucked the blade close to his torso and thrust out. The shadow dagger formed in Syler''s right hand as he struck out, angling the blade upward.


    Pain erupted from Syler''s left shoulder as the sword struck true. Simultaneously, the tip of his knife extended an inch from the top of the orc¡¯s skull. Syler pushed through the strike, shifting the momentum so the orc fell backwards. The vines receded from Tootsie as the orc¡¯s connection to the sword began to fade. He pulled the blade free from his shoulder and the shadow armor covered the wound to staunch the bleeding. To his great surprise, instead of falling, the orcish warrior stumbled back a step, somehow still up, blood running freely from beneath his jaw as the shadow dagger dissipated.


    Tootsie rolled to her feet and leapt at the orc, slamming him to the ground with thick claws digging into his chest. With a shuddering breath, the orc finally stilled. She stood and stumbled over toward Syler, who looked over her injuries. The cut wasn''t extremely deep and the vines weren''t thorny. "Sorry, buddy. Didn''t know the sword could do that."


    The Penumbral magic was already closing up the gash in Tootsie''s side as she licked Syler''s face, cleaning him as best she could.


    The cell door swung open as Gene shuffled out, eyes wide.


    "I''m glad you''re alive."


    "Thank you, sir, for saving me."


    "The least I could do. You''re here because of me." Syler handed Gene a healing potion, which he gratefully drank.


    "I''ve never met you before, though I know who you are." Gene tapped his face under the eye.


    Syler willed his eye to shift back to match and his armor to become red and gold again.


    "Zandar?"


    "Indeed. You''ve been instrumental in the success of this. Don''t open any of the side doors. Take this wand and take one of the carts. The wand will allow you to leave out the back alley of the Scattered Blood Bar. Head north until you get to a main road. Go to Bartle''s house in as roundabout a fashion as you can."


    "Pilar?"


    "She''s okay. And she''ll remain so unless you go to the ball."


    "That''s tonight? Damn. I¡¯ve lost track of time down here." Gene reached a hand out. "Thank you again."


    Syler grasped his hand. "Anytime."


    Gene picked up the wand and stepped out the door, but peaked back in a moment later. "I just had a thought. What about the gates? They''ll be closed off this late."


    ¡°True. Just go into the Temple District and head east to the Corner Inn. I¡¯ll meet you there when I can.¡±

 Chapter 7: Sneak Attack

    Syler silently entered the last door on the left. Malakia''s chamber. Opulent wealth flaunted only for her personal taste. Magic paintings with moving figures adorned the walls. Handcrafted colorful rugs overlapped and covered the entirety of the hard metallic floor. A four poster bed meticulously made stood opposite the room from the door. Two squashy armchairs faced a fireplace with magical fire that shed only light. A large chest sat at the foot of the bed.


    A quick scan. A picked lock. The chest opened. A pile of magic items. Weapons, bracers, amulets. A deck of cards held inside an intricately carved leather case. A bone the size of his forearm wrapped with crimson leathers on one end. He tossed that to Toots, who happily plopped down and began gnawing on it.


    He wasn''t interested in most of the rest of it, but he picked up a small piece of black fabric, a one foot diameter circle. He set it on the ground and began unfolding it, seeming to double its size with every fold.


    When it reached 8 feet in diameter, the center oscillated open, revealing a pit 10 feet deep, filled with draka and gemstones. He picked a diamond the size of his fist from the hole.


    After tucking the refolded fabric into his armor, Syler locked the chest again, set the diamond on top of the chest, and pulled the vial from Kuku from his ring. He added drops of the Blue Eye Special onto the gem, rubbing it in to ensure fully coating it. The bright blue color quickly faded. After scanning the walls he gripped the edge of a large landscape painting by renowned Avian painter Will McWho and pulled, swinging it open along a secret hinge. A doorway opened into a small landing and a ladder to the surface. He applied more Blue Eye Special to several of the higher ladder rungs and closed the painting.


    He closed the door behind him as Tootsie and he stepped back into the hall. He leaned against the wall and slid down, groaning as he sat. Tootsie¡¯s enormous shadowhound head pressed into his lap as she laid next to him, pressing her weight against the door.


    Syler scratched her behind her ear as he gingerly pressed the area of his chest where the vine sword pierced, gritting his teeth against the pain. ¡°Got me pretty good. Take watch while I rest a bit, will you? Nudge me if you catch sound or smell of her.¡±


    Tootsie grunted in agreement. The gentle rhythm of sleep followed soon after.


    An hour later, he was awakened by an excited headbutt to the shoulder. He opened his eyes to see Tootsie sitting in front of him, tongue curled up in a happy pant, three arrow shafts buried deep into her torso. He sat forward immediately, worried, and surveyed the hallway.


    Four bodies were scattered around the hall, guards he did not recognize. The next shift. Not expecting a shadowhound. Broken bows and bloody bones.


    ¡°Good girl!¡± he patted her on the head, ¡°Thank you for letting me sleep. Our target here yet?¡± Tootsie shook her head. ¡°Okay, you¡¯ve earned a good rest yourself, buddy.¡± The arrows clattered to the ground as Tootsie returned to her yellow furred form, only registering as small scratches on her skin.


    A small puff of golden yellow smoke later and Syler was alone, his mechanical eye trained on the master suite as he cleaned up the mess, dragging the bodies from the hall into the barracks. Not much he could do about the blood, so he left that for the recovery and clean up crew that the Guild would no doubt send once he was finished.


    A short time later, Syler was sitting opposite the door when he heard Malakia climbing down the ladder. She stepped through the opening made by the painting, removed her gloves and loosened the tightness of her bodice, sighing in relief. She was gathering up the fringe of her dress to begin removing it when she noticed the diamond resting on the chest. Tilting her head, she walked to the gem and examined it briefly, turning full circle to see if anything else was out of place. Seeing nothing as such, she gingerly picked up the diamond, rolling it over in her hand.


    Syler deactivated his blue eye¡¯s glow and shifted his armor back to Zandar¡¯s red and gold. ¡°Nothing else has been moved,¡± Syler said as he opened the door, causing Malakia to drop the gem in surprise.


    ¡°Zandar? How?¡±


    ¡°Malakia, I am here to sell my old wares from when I was an adventurer, many of which you wanted for yourself, if your treasure room is any indication. If you think a few mercenaries are capable of taking me out, I might be a little offended.¡±


    Shock quickly shifted to anger, ¡°No, how did you get in here?¡±


    ¡°Into your private sanctum? None of your business.¡±


    She drew a small dagger from within her dress and threw it at Syler. One of the red leather strips lashed out, the blade piercing it and sticking fast. Syler plucked the knife from his armor as it returned to its natural form, shifting from the red and gold to the telltale ebony hues of Penumbra.


    ¡°This is a good blade,¡± Syler said, ¡°You mind if I keep it?¡±


    Malakia growled in response.


    Syler motioned to the two chairs, ¡°Will you sit with me?¡±


    ¡°You need to leave.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t. Ends to tie up and all that.¡±


    ¡°Now!¡± she yelled and lunged at him, but almost lost her footing.


    ¡°The dizziness will only increase over time. It¡¯s better if you sit down.¡± He approached her and she swung at him, overreaching and falling to her hands and knees. Syler picked up the diamond with one hand and pulled her up with another, guiding her to a chair.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    ¡°Let me put it this way. The Guild always pays its debts, and you owe much.¡±


    Fear flooded her face, and she shifted slightly in her vain attempt to get away, but her muscles were no longer responding.


    ¡°You kidnapped a nobleman to coerce his wife, and not for the first time, mind you. You¡¯ve hired unsanctioned assassins to kill me and dozens others. You¡¯ve stolen from the rich and the poor alike. You¡¯ve personally eluded and killed Penumbra agents.¡±


    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry!¡± Malakia began to plead.


    Syler shook his head as he formed a shadow blade in his right hand, dropping to one knee next to Mal''s chair. ¡°When your victims pled, did you show them mercy?¡±


    ¡°I don''t want to die! I''m sorry!¡± It came out a whisper.


    ¡°Sorry doesn¡¯t settle debts.¡±


    <hr>


    The Corner Inn was abuzz with dock workers and clergy alike. Gene sat at the central table, sipping a mug of Frostbeard ale and enjoying the nightly revelry. Syler made no attempt to hide his entry, and Gene motioned for him to an adjacent chair he had kept empty.


    ¡°- and the misfired crossbow bolt hit the central beam that had been on fire, making it buckle and the building collapsed on them!¡± The crowd groaned.  ¡°The click of stationary rods alone saved them from being crushed under the weight!¡± The crowd at the table erupted in laughter and cheers.


    ¡°You ready?¡± Syler said after taking his seat.


    ¡°You have exceptional timing. I just finished my story.¡±


    ¡°The clerics healed you.¡±


    ¡°A benefit to crashing a party in the Temple District.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Gene stood and addressed the crowd, ¡°Alas, friends! I must be going now. I¡¯ll be sure to come back with more stories for you.¡± More cheers as they walked into the brisk night air.


    The cart trundled back westward, passing through the two lower gates into the Noble District. Syler shifted his armor into the dress of a driver.


    ¡°I wanted to thank you again for your help in the sewers.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry that you were taken by her. I didn¡¯t intend to involve you so directly.¡±


    ¡°It all worked out in the end.¡±


    ¡°Even so.¡±


    ¡°Apology accepted.¡±


    Syler nodded. The brakes whistled lightly as Syler parked the cart in front of the Whitley residence. People still milled about, mostly cleaning up the mess left behind by the party, and there were several guards present talking to Pilar and several angry partygoers.


    They ran up to the commotion and Gene pulled Pilar into a long kiss.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Pilar pushed Gene to arm¡¯s length and looked him over.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine! Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°Just stressed, my love!¡± She hugged him again and turned her relief to Syler, ¡°Thank you for saving him. Did you get her?¡±


    An orc guard to whom she had been speaking looked confused and irritated. ¡°Her who? We are not finished here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got this,¡± Syler told them, ¡°Go relax.¡±


    ¡°She tried to sell us fake magic items! Arrest her now!¡± a particularly angry looking human woman in a red dress with close cropped hair yelled at the orc guard.


    ¡°You can¡¯t leave yet, ma¡¯am.¡±


    Syler¡¯s eye flared blue, ¡°Any issues you have with her you can direct to me.¡±


    The woman blanched and she fled deeper into the crowd.


    ¡°Evening, Thokk.¡±


    The guard clipped his pen back into his clipboard, ¡°Evening, Blue Eye. You working again?¡±


    ¡°Just sorting some stuff out.¡±


    ¡°You Zandar?¡± Syler nodded. ¡°Fake magic items?¡±


    ¡°Switched in transit here.¡±


    Thokk pulled the pen from the clipboard again, ¡°Where?¡±


    Syler held up a finger and ran over to where Gene and Pilar had moved to rest, returning with the wand Gene had used to escape. ¡°Privately.¡± He stepped into the cart and held the door for Thokk to enter. Once they sat down he continued, ¡°Behind the Scattered Blood Bar in the Stacks. This wand will get you in there. The alley drops into an abandoned section of tunnel.¡±


    ¡°How many?¡±


    ¡°Around twenty, including Malakia.¡± Thokk nodded, and continued his hasty note taking. ¡°Penumbra claims the others. I claim the Mau. Center door on the left hand side from the garage is the treasure room. All stolen goods, including the auction items.¡±


    Thokk finished up his notes and looked up at Syler, ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°The earnings from the auction are to go to the Wyat Orphanage in the Valance District.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll let Pilar know.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± He left without another word. Thokk leaned back in the seat and took a deep calming breath before leaving the cart.


    <hr>


    ¡°You¡¯re earlier than I expected,¡± Zadrera said.


    Syler placed a Mau ear on the bar, slid another green draka into the bar to trigger the private zone. ¡°The client?¡±


    ¡°No foreplay, eh?¡±


    ¡°The client.¡±


    She pouted, but answered, ¡°Maxwell Lawson.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±


    ¡°The Guild takes breaking contracts seriously.¡±


    ¡°What I did cleared the contract.¡±


    Zadrera shook her head, ¡°What you did released you from the Agency.¡±


    ¡°We made sure the engagement contract was canceled as part of the deal!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you. The Guildmaster approved the action.¡±


    ¡°Kagun approved it?¡±


    Zadrera nodded.


    Syler pulled out a tekrystal with the Knowledge and Sun runes etched into it. He tapped the runes and whispered, ¡°Raynard Lawson.¡±


    A deep voice came from the stone, ¡°Hello?¡±


    ¡°Are you enjoying Longbottom Plantation?¡±


    After a brief pause, ¡°Blue-Eye. How are you enjoying retirement?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. Cara is dead.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to hear that. You have my condolences.¡±


    ¡°I found out today who is responsible.¡±


    ¡°I assure you it was not me.¡±


    ¡°I know it wasn¡¯t you.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you calling me?¡±


    ¡°It was Maxwell.¡±


    A longer pause. ¡°Oh.¡±


    Syler heard a string of muffled profanity from the stone. ¡°I¡¯d rather do this easy.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°So be it.¡±

 Part 2

    I had always believed that my past actions had led me on the good path. The correct path. Not righteous by any means, but correct. The greater good, some say.


    Killing someone else, even for justifiable reasons, taints your soul. It leaves a mark that some can see but few truly understand. Many groups embrace this, such as the orcish guards who kill and risk being killed on a daily basis or the Dokkalfar, literally Death Elves, who worship Chaldia, the very goddess who oversees such things.


    Most things get easier as time and practice dictate. Not necessarily so with dealing death. Mechanically you improve over time as survival yields skill. But the emotional toll on the unprepared can be immense. Part of Penumbra training is developing the mental durability to continue the work. Some avoid thinking about it by preoccupying themselves with other tasks, like Winny, who dotes on Destin as though he were a brother, focusing on his well-being. Others, like Destin, mentally justify it as protecting others. They became a two-person team from necessity, not convenience.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    After the war, when the need for teaming up with Bartle and the rest was no longer necessary, I returned to working alone for the most part. This worked best for me because not having someone to look after afforded me better focus. That said, there are some things that are just too big to do alone. When the risk of failure surpasses the need of success, help becomes necessary. Cara helped me fully understand the power of assistance.


    I don¡¯t like asking for help, but I¡¯ll be damned before I let my pride get me killed before I right the wrong. I love and miss you, Cara. Now and Always.


    ~Syler Dunn~

 Chapter 8: Druidcraft

    ¡°Sit down!¡± A thick, tan hand slammed against the heavy stone table nestled in the central room of the Longbottom Plantation¡¯s secret sub-basement. A huge man with salt and pepper hair, a very bushy mustache, and dressed in blue finery with protective runes sewn into the fabric towered over the two men who quickly took their seats.


    ¡°Maxwell, my dear boy, do you know who lived here before us?¡±


    The older of the two seated, late in his thirties, shifted uncomfortably. He wore dark leather armor enchanted to silence his movement, and even his chair shifting made no noise. His hair was dark and cut in the same fashion as his father, and he sported a wispy mustache in the vain attempt at mimicry.


    ¡°The Longbottoms?¡±


    ¡°An extensive halfling family, with ties even up to the Guildmaster himself. How could such a well-connected family give up all of this potential wealth to us?¡±


    Admon, the red-haired man in the other chair, quietly raised his hand. He was still in the now slightly disheveled suit he had worn to the Zandar auction and ball.


    ¡°I know you know this, Admon, I am addressing your brother.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Max¡¯s eyes dropped to the table. The same hand that struck the table wrapped around his neck and lifted him until his feet dangled an inch from the floor.


    ¡°YOU DON¡¯T KNOW?!¡± Raynard plunged his other fist into Maxwell¡¯s gut as he released him, launching him into the reinforced wall. Choking wheezing came from the crumpled form as Raynard straightened his suit.


    ¡°The Longbottoms were ruthless slavers who hid their activities for long enough to become entrenched in the politics of the Guild. A family discovered what they were up to and they disappeared. Every. Single. One of them. Come sit down.¡±


    Maxwell stood slowly and returned to his seat in a route that kept him as far from his father as possible.


    ¡°They had dirt on everyone who made the kinds of decisions that would have gotten them in trouble, and created it when there wasn¡¯t any.¡± Raynard sat down in the chair opposite them.


    ¡°One day the Guildmaster had enough, and he sent a few of his Agents to take them out. None returned. So he sent more. Same result. Eventually, he just dedicated himself to stopping them when and where he could.¡± He paused, looking at each of them individually. ¡°But then one day the word gets around that Blue-Eye wanted out of the Agency, out of Penumbra. Training like that is costly and time consuming, so Agents are in for the long haul. Dedicated. But he found something he was more dedicated to than the Guild. So, the Guildmaster gave him the impossible task. The bodies he stacked up that week laid the foundation for where we are today.¡±


    He clenched both fists. ¡°I received a message from Blue-Eye today.¡± The two brothers swallowed hard. ¡°Had a nice chat with him. His wife had just been killed by the very Agency he once worked for. The one person he was dedicated to more than the Agency. His. Singular. Focus.¡± He pulled his arms back and gripped the edge of the table so hard they heard it creak. ¡°And I find out, from him, almost a year to the day after his retirement, that my very own son is the person who put out the contract that killed her. WITH MY OWN DRAKA!¡±


    "It wasn''t me!" Admon stood and backed up against the wall as the table splintered just a few feet from his head. Maxwell focused on a small stone at his feet.


    "If I hadn''t promised your mother I''d look after you, you''d be left tied up in front of the Guildhall with a bow on your head."


    Max stirred and glared up at his father, ¡°She nearly ruined us!¡±


    Raynard clenched his fist to strike his son again, but took a steadying breath instead. ¡°I know, son. The problem wasn¡¯t that our contract was nullified, but why, and for whom.¡±


    ¡°Our engagement contract must not have really been nullified,¡± Admon said, ¡°or the approval for Penumbra would never have happened.¡±


    A look of surprise crossed Raynard¡¯s face, ¡°I - I hadn¡¯t considered that. Why did the Guildmaster allow such a thing?¡±


    Maxwell nodded in appreciation to Admon when his father wasn¡¯t looking, ¡°I don¡¯t know, they never told me why it was approved, only that it was.¡±


    ¡°You will stay here, in the safety of this room, until I can get this sorted out.¡± He raised a finger to stop the incoming protest.


    <hr>


    Steam rose from the fresh cups of coffee that rested on Bartle''s kitchen table. An unnaturally beautiful woman with skin the color of a walnut tree and small leaves growing throughout her mossy hair sat next to Bartle opposite Syler after setting the mugs down.


    "Thank you, dear," Bartle said.


    "Thanks, Morrigan."


    "Anytime."


    ¡°That satyr Ryn you sent my way seems nice.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, he''s a pro at gathering information. And I was peripherally involved in the event that killed his husband a few years back. Thanks for getting him to the right people.¡±


    "It''s no trouble at all. What did you find out?"


    Syler sipped thoughtfully before answering. "Maxwell Lawson, the brother of the man who was politically engaged to Cara before we got together."


    "The Lawson''s run Longbottom Plantation after¡­"


    "After I retired."


    Bartle nodded.


    "That''s the problem. They have surely improved the antiquated defenses since I was last there. I barely survived it last time."


    "So we need info."


    "And," Syler took a deep breath, "I need help.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll help however we can,¡± Bartle said. ¡°I know you won¡¯t stop until it¡¯s done, and I don¡¯t want to see you die.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I need to go to the Circle.¡±


    Morrigan shook her head, ¡°They aren¡¯t fond of you since you took Cara.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t take her, she chose love over politics.¡±


    ¡°Calista doesn¡¯t see it that way.¡±


    ¡°But I now have something she wants, and I need a token for entry.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you can remain civil when speaking to them?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m really more concerned about her,¡± Bartle said. ¡°She is¡­ stubborn.¡±


    ¡°Just like her daughter,¡± Syler said.


    ¡°Giving you my token tells them, and her, that I am granting you entry, and forgiveness,¡± Morrigan said as she raised a hand, the Nature rune creating a walnut with the letter ¡®M¡¯ embossed across it. ¡°Do not mar my reputation.¡±


    Syler gingerly took the walnut, turned her hand and kissed the top. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of it. Do you mind if I take a nap here?¡±


    ¡°Of course not. The guest room is free. You remember where it is?¡± Syler nodded and stepped away, taking the stairs up to the landing that surrounded the sitting room.


    Bartle called out after him, ¡°And please shower.¡±


    After they heard the shower begin, Bartle said, ¡°Are you sure about giving him the token, my dear?¡±


    ¡°Yes. If I didn¡¯t, the Circle would have tried trapping him or holding him hostage. And I couldn¡¯t imagine him going along with that.¡±


    ¡°He wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. He would kill many and probably die trying to get back to the city.¡±


    Bartle nodded. "He''s likely going to need assistance beyond the token."


    "And you want to help him?"


    "I do. He has never hesitated to do the same for us."


    "What if it becomes too dangerous?"


    Bartle downed the rest of his coffee, "Our lives are worth more than his revenge. I''ll try to get everyone out of this alive, but I won¡¯t let him sacrifice myself or others for this."


    <hr>


    After Syler had awoken several hours later, he said his goodbyes and began his trek north to the Henge of the Ancients, the home of the druidic Circle. Cara''s old stomping grounds.


    He summoned Tootsie after he had stepped from the northeastern outer gate, infusing her with enough shadow magic that he had to look up at her.


    ¡°Ready to run, buddy?¡±


    He leapt onto her back, gripped her black fur tightly, and began his ride out northeast from the Valance District. The road ran parallel to the edge of the Lyrah Forest. Two days on the road before turning away west into the forest.


    The forest was never really Syler''s preferred locale, though Cara had taught him much during their time together. The dense forest embraced him with an aura of ancient wisdom and tranquility as he approached the druids'' sacred grove. The Henge of the Ancients.


    As he neared the grove, Syler was met by a group of druids, their dark brown, fur lined armors blending with the lush surroundings. Their eyes, filled with curiosity and cautious skepticism, settled upon him. The archdruid, Calista, stepped forward with an aura of both authority and coldness.


    ¡°Syler. You are not the first shadowling to visit us this tenday. Should I be concerned?¡± Calista¡¯s voice rang out clearly, not hindered by the thick forest around them. There was no kindness in it.


    ¡°How do they fare?¡±


    ¡°Answer my question first.¡±


    ¡°You needn¡¯t be concerned with us. In fact, you¡¯re going to want to hear what I have to say.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it.¡±


    ¡°How do they fare?¡± Syler asked again.


    ¡°The small one was fine before they arrived, and the deoful will be within the tenday. They brought exactly what they needed for the limb regeneration,¡± she stared pointedly at Syler.


    ¡°I told them the price for such things.¡±


    ¡°You freely give our secrets to others.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve met Winny and Destin before, and you are currently helping them now. If you didn¡¯t like or trust them you would have turned them away or tried to chase them off.¡±


    Calista just stood glaring at him. He drew out the walnut with the M emblazoned on it and held it out in his open palm. She took it and turned it over in her hand. ¡°Morrigan¡¯s token?¡±


    ¡°I wish to speak with you, to all of you.¡±


    She handed the walnut to the druid standing next to her, a dwarf with green hair and leaves interwoven into his beard, his emerald gemstone eyes glittering as he soundlessly tucked it away. ¡°Five minutes.¡± She spun on her heels and walked back into the grove. Syler nodded and followed after.


    The Henge of the Ancients stood as a sacred sanctuary nestled deep within the lush and untamed forest. As Syler approached the Henge, the verdant canopy of ancient trees opened up to reveal a breathtaking sight that seemed to transcend time and space. At the heart of the grove, weathered and towering standing stones surrounded a circular clearing, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings depicting the history of the druidic Circle. These stones, known as the ¡®Ancients,¡¯ were said to hold the wisdom and memories of generations past. As the sun rises and sets, the stones cast mystical shadows upon the ground, painting a living tapestry of nature''s eternal dance.


    The air within the Henge was charged with a palpable aura of serenity and energy, emanating from the natural ley lines that intersect beneath the ancient stones. Vibrant flora of every hue flourished around the clearing, their roots seemingly interconnected with the wisdom of the land. The soothing symphony of nature''s harmonies resonated through the air, composed of the gentle rustling of leaves, the distant calls of woodland creatures, and the whispering winds that carried the secrets of the forest.


    Enchanted wildlife, both mundane and mystical, roamed freely, sensing the druids'' benevolence. Luminous fireflies danced around the circle of stones, and flocks of vibrant birds soared gracefully overhead. Rare and elusive creatures, guardians of the grove, were rumored to appear to those deemed worthy by the Ancients.


    At the heart of the Henge, beneath an awe-inspiring ancient oak tree, stood a stone altar where the druids gathered to perform sacred rituals and seek guidance from the spirits of nature. Its surface was etched with symbols representing the elements, the seasons, and the delicate balance of the world.


    The druids'' dwellings blended harmoniously with nature, appearing as intricately designed treehouses and earthen huts. Each abode boasted living walls adorned with vines and flowers, as if the very forest itself embraced the druids'' homes.


    As Syler followed the group of druids, others began to gather around. He nodded at Winny and Destin, who were seated on a moss covered bench alongside one of the enormous stones. A tiny arm was already growing from Destin''s stump.


    Calista reached the altar, her retinue fanned out around the tree, and she spun to face Syler. "Five minutes."


    Syler stood very still as he spoke, his normal eye focused on Calista as the other scanned around the whole area. "It''s been a month and a few days since Cara was killed."


    "By one of your own," Calista said.


    "By a member of Penumbra, yes. During this time I have been looking for the person responsible, as the Agency typically wouldn''t send Agents for nullified contracts. I now know who is the responsible party."


    Silence dropped across the grove as even the animals listened intently.


    ¡°Maxwell Lawson.¡± Whispers rustled through the crowd. ¡°He claimed breach of contract.¡±


    Calista¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°The engagement contract?¡±


    ¡°The one I had nullified.¡±


    ¡°Longbottom Plantation.¡±


    Syler nodded. ¡°Kagun permitted the writ. I don¡¯t know why yet, but I will find out.¡±


    ¡°And why come to us with this information?¡±


    ¡°I need your help.¡±


    Her expression went neutral, ¡°We will not be conspiratorial in your murder plot.¡±


    ¡°Not even to avenge one of your own?¡±


    Tears flowed down her cheeks, but her tone stayed cold, ¡°Surely you do not think we have not spoken at great length about what to do if we were to receive this information. You are operating unsanctioned by the Guild, I take it?¡±


    ¡°His death¡¯s not yet approved, but that¡¯s one of my next stops. The information was gathered legitimately.¡±


    ¡°It does not change that this is a fool¡¯s errand.¡±


    ¡°I will get it approved.¡±


    The green haired Dwarf chimed in, ¡°You are not one of us, and you want us to risk our lives for you.¡±


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I want you to risk your lives for Cara. I agree that this is a fool¡¯s errand. That¡¯s why I came to ask for help. I can¡¯t do it alone.¡±


    Winny and Destin walked over to the front of the crowd, disappearing into the shadows and stepping out from Syler¡¯s. ¡°We will help,¡± Winny said.


    Destin grasped Syler¡¯s shoulder, ¡°I owe you that much at least.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Syler said.


    ¡°And now you have help,¡± Calista said smugly, ¡°surely the four of you are more than capable.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know natural magic like you do.¡±


    ¡°Clearly.¡±


    ¡°I see where Cara got her stubbornness.¡±


    ¡°Your time is up, shadow-walker.¡±


    Syler squared up his shoulders, took a steadying breath, and said, ¡°I invoke the Trial of the Ancient Veil.¡±


    The dwarf scoffed, but Calista tilted her head in curiosity, ¡°That takes at least a month to complete by people who have completed druidic training. It will take you even longer, if you can complete it at all.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take as long as I must for her sake.¡±


    ¡°Give us a moment. Council,¡± Calista stepped away from the altar and several high ranking druids followed behind. The crowd erupted in discussion of the events of the day.


    Syler turned to face Winny and Destin.


    ¡°Are you sure about this?¡± Winny asked.


    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s the only way to earn their help.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯ll be gone a month at least. What do you want us to do while you¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°Find out as much as you can about the security improvements the Lawsons put into the plantation. Keep Bartle Shipwright informed of what you¡¯ve discovered. He¡¯ll be helping us, too.¡±


    ¡°Simple enough.¡±


    ¡°And any information on why Kagun would have approved the writ.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Destin shook Syler¡¯s hand. ¡°Penumbra guide you.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t die out here,¡± WInny said, pulling him down into a hug.


    ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±


    Winny and Destin said their goodbyes to the druids who helped them and left the grove towards the road to the east. Syler kneeled onto the soft moss, resting his hands on his knees as he sat on his feet, staring ahead to where Calista had gone. He took several steadying breaths, taking in the scent of the colorful flora around him. He patted Tootsie''s enormous flank, pulling the shadow back into his tattoos. Her little yellow form immediately began sniffing everything in sight.


    A young girl, by his reckoning only six or seven years old, scampered over while her father wasn¡¯t looking and sat next to Syler, reaching her hand out to Tootsie. Tootsie, after a brief glance and affirming nod, sniffed her hand gingerly before flopping over onto her side. The girl happily gave her belly rubs. Syler smiled in spite of himself.


    Calista and the others returned to the central clearing, and the girl scampered back into the crowd. Tootsie groaned in protest as the scritches stopped, so Syler absentmindedly crouched to continue them as he watched Calista.


    ¡°Because of your relationship with my daughter, and the approval of the council, you are granted permission to complete the trial. You must first connect with nature, deeper than you have ever done before. You are to stay here in the heart of the Henge of the Ancients, immersing yourself in nature¡¯s embrace. Twigly,¡± she motioned to the green-haired Dwarf, ¡°will be your guardian. No one else is permitted to enter this area until the first part of the trial is complete.¡±


    The druids began to scatter deeper into the woods, Calista included, but Twigly stayed behind and leaned against the huge central oak tree several feet to the left of the altar.


    ¡°This your first time being a guardian?¡± Syer asked.


    Twigly said nothing.


    The dense canopy overhead filtered the sunlight, creating a soft, dappled glow that danced upon the forest floor. Syler walked around the oak to find a secluded spot beneath the sheltering branches. He found supplies laid in a small pile and set up a simple camp. Several of the woolen blankets from the druids'' circle he used to form a lean-to. He cleared a small area of leaves and began gathering small stones.


    ¡°Tootsie, help me with this, will you?¡± She excitedly began rooting around through the soil in search of small stones.


    With his initial haul, he began laying them out into a circle, the start of his fire pit. He filled in the circle as Tootsie brought more and more stones, though he had to gather the final ones himself because she grew tired and curled up in the leaf pile, gently snoring soon after.


    After completing the pit, Syler built a fire, rubbing his hands against the cold of the descending twilight. As he sat before the flames, Tootsie walked over and curled into his lap. Syler closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seeking to align himself with the rhythm of nature.


    The first night was the hardest. The shadows seemed to dance around him, whispering fragments of sorrow and regret. Memories of loss and pain stirred within his heart, but he resisted the urge to push them away. Instead, he allowed the feelings to flow through him, acknowledging their existence without judgment, cleansing tears streaming down from his eye..


    As the night progressed, a sense of peace washed over him. The moon rose in the sky, casting a silvery glow that highlighted the delicate beauty of the forest. Syler found himself observing the ebb and flow of life around him¡ªthe gentle sway of branches, the playful dance of fireflies, and the quiet whispers of the wind through the leaves.


    <hr>


    The wintry wind whistled against the shuttered windows of their home. Steam feathered up from wooden bowls filled with stew resting upon the soft green tablecloth.


    ¡°The Trial of the Ancient Viel?¡± Syler asked as he sipped from the silver goblet etched with leaves he¡¯d surprised Cara with the week before.


    ¡°All druid acolytes must finish it before becoming a full member of the Circle,¡± Cara answered between spoonfuls of stew.


    ¡°And how does one finish it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a test to prove your connection with nature, both internal and external. It¡¯s different for everyone, though most of the druids experience slightly similar events.¡±


    ¡°Have any non-druids completed the trial?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Not sure why anyone other than a druid would want to attempt the trial, unless they needed something only Circle members can access.¡±


    ¡°What did you experience on your trial?¡±


    ¡°I learned that my mother¡¯s shoes were not ones I needed to fill. That my life was my own. The history etched into the Ancients came alive before me, showing me the past and how it connected to my present. I came to understand my place in the natural world. And perhaps more interestingly, it showed me you.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that years before we met?¡±


    ¡°It was, but nonetheless I saw a man wrapped in shadow, a man whose fate was intertwined with my own. Sharp, yet gentle.¡±


    Syler smiled and leaned over the table to kiss her. ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you chose me.¡±


    ¡°And I would do it again, and again.¡±


    <hr>


    With each passing night, Syler and Tootsie learned to communicate with the spirits of the forest in their own unique ways. While Syler walked around the Ancients meditating on the druidic history carved within, Tootsie seemed to possess an innate understanding of the woodland creatures. She would dart off into the undergrowth, only to return alongside a friendly raccoon or a curious owl perched on her back.


    Syler chuckled, "You truly have a gift, Toots. You make friends wherever you go."


    Tootsie wagged her stubby tail in response, her eyes shining with joy. Together, they observed the harmony of the forest, the interconnectedness of all living beings, and the constant cycle of death and renewal.


    Twigly stood ever vigilant, silently leaning against the tree, never changing his position except to shift his weight from foot to foot or to bend down and pick up a stone to eat.


    During the days, Syler spent the hours he wasn¡¯t gathering and preparing food studying the area around him. His magical eye could sense the presence of strong nature magic spread all throughout the henge, most strongly at the altar. The runes etched into the altar were in the druidic language. Over time, he noticed the runes on the altar beginning to change, to rearrange, and on the fifth day of his trial, his magical eye was finally able to translate the text.


    Where shadow meets light, harmony is found.


    In nature''s might, balance is bound.


    Guided by spirits old and new


    Tooth and claw, bone and sinew.


    Beneath the watchful gaze of moon,


    Through day and night doth we attune.


    Through whispers of trees, secrets unfolding.


    The spirits of nature by Druids embolden.


    To wield both shadow¡¯s and nature''s rune,


    You must first earn the Ancient¡¯s boon.


    The companion you keep will show the way,


    Syler, be wary but do not stray.


    Penumbra will be your doom


    Unless you let your magic bloom.


    Embrace your nature deep within


    And then defeat your darker twin.


    The final stage will be a test


    Against the guardian you¡¯ll be pressed.


    The choice you make will push resolve


    And force your viewpoint to evolve.


    The altar mentioned him by name. It¡¯s different for everyone, Cara¡¯s voice echoed in his mind. A fight and a choice? What is the Ancient¡¯s boon? He didn¡¯t know, but he believed the henge would reveal it in time.


    Two more days of meditation on the words of the altar passed before it happened. As he looked over the Ancient nearest to his camp, seeing a massive battle between the druids and an enormous red dragon, a sharp bark echoed through the canopy. Tootsie¡¯s bark. He ran to where she was and saw her barking at a trio of chittering squirrels. She hated squirrels usually, but seemed more to be conversing than trying to chase them away. He kneeled next to her and watched.


    Tootsie touched her nose to the soft soil and began to draw lines, the squirrels chattering along the way. She drew a symbol around a square foot area. Nature. Syler had no instances of the Nature rune throughout his shadow magic tattoos, but he recognized it from Cara¡¯s magical workings. Once the rune was completed it glowed a dull green. Instinctually he reached his hand out, palm down, on the center of the rune.


    ¡°Y¡¯all sure this¡¯ll work?¡± a slightly deep yet feminine voice said with an accent he recognized from regions south of Sartak City, along the southern coast of the continent of Pyderon.


    ¡°Of course it will!¡± a much higher toned voice answered. ¡°We know what we¡¯re doing.¡±


    ¡°Ya¡¯d better.¡±


    It took several beats before Syler realized the barking and chittering had stopped.


    ¡°Can you understand me?¡± Tootsie said.


    ¡°Holy shit.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, yes. I understand you.¡±


    ¡°Good! We¡¯ve only got-¡± she looked at the squirrels, who shrugged, ¡°a short time before it fades.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re talking to me right now.¡±


    ¡°Well, ya need to get over that quick, because we got stuff to talk about.¡± Syler nodded in agreement. ¡°First things first.¡± She walked over and sat in front of him. ¡°I love ya. Pick me up.¡±


    He did as instructed.


    ¡°Tummy rubs.¡±


    He looked incredulously at her.


    ¡°Did I stutter?¡±


    ¡°No, you did not,¡± Syler said as he cradled her and began scratching her belly.


    ¡°That¡¯s the good good! Walk me over to the big ass oak tree in the middle. The squirrels told me about the entry.¡±


    ¡°The entry?¡±


    ¡°Ya better give me time to explain shit to ya!¡± she tilted her head with her characteristic sass.


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°Like I was sayin¡¯, about twenty-five feet up, on the opposite side of the tree from the altar, they said a shadowy door opened up yesterday. I reckoned that was right up yer alley, but had no way to tell ya, ¡®til now. These squirrels really know their stuff.¡±


    His eye trained on the area she mentioned, and sure enough the faint green glow that encompassed the area gave way to the darkness of shadow magic.


    ¡°Hey, why did you stop?¡± she said.


    ¡°We¡¯re done with tummy rubs for a bit.¡±


    ¡°The hell we are!¡±


    He set her down and sat next to her. ¡°I need to ask you something.¡±


    She huffed, but sat and nodded.


    ¡°Do you have memories in the amulet?¡±


    She tilted her head slightly, ¡°No. I only know time outside the amulet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. Do you like the shadow infusion?¡±


    ¡°Of course I do! I wouldn¡¯t do it if I didn¡¯t.¡±


    Syler smiled, ¡°Also good.¡± He hesitated a moment. ¡°I didn¡¯t get the chance to ask you if you wanted to be put in the amulet. It was selfish of me, but I don¡¯t regret it.¡±


    ¡°And ya shouldn¡¯t. I¡¯m glad ya did. I wouldn¡¯t be around to be with you otherwise.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Toots. I love you.¡±


    ¡°I love ya- bark!¡± The rune¡¯s effect had worn off.


    With tears running down his face, he patted Tootsie on the head, ¡°You helped more than you can know, girl. Time for you to go back into the amulet for a time.¡±


    A puff of yellow smoke later and Syler was standing alone in front of the tree, looking up at the entryway. The oak tree was gnarled enough that the climb would be a simple one. Or should be, at least.


    Placing a hand on the tree, Syler felt the rough, gnarled bark. Far easier to scale than a building. He gently set his foot in a low hold and began to push himself, reaching up to set his grip. As he began climbing, he felt his armor begin to recede back into the tattoos that ran across his body, leaving him in only his undergarment. The green haze of natural magic also diminished as the power of his eye was suppressed.


    ¡°It¡¯s all part of the trial,¡± Syler whispered to himself when he tried to summon the armor back and nothing happened.


    Though the shadows had never troubled Syler before, the portal before him gave him a moment of hesitation. The unknown awaited him beyond, and he took a steadying breath to bolster his resolve. With a cautious movement, he extended a foot into the depths of the shadow portal, and to his surprise, an unseen force tugged him inside. The shadow runes etched onto his skin pulsed faintly, a reminder of their latent power. Even within this realm, he could see, though everything was cast in shades of grey¡ªthe distinct palette of the shadow realm. Penumbra.


    Looking around, he saw that this area was not mirroring the material plane. It was a small enclosed room, with no windows or doors, and two chairs five feet apart facing each other, a stark contrast to the serene beauty of the Grove.


    One chair sat empty, a silent invitation. In the other sat a figure fully enclosed in the black Penumbral armor, only his eyes visible. One of which was glowing blue.


    Syler swallowed hard, walked the few feet to the chair, and sat, looking himself in the eyes.


    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±


    ¡°This has no time limit.¡±


    A fist wrapped in black leathers smashed into his face. Syler had attempted to push back against the chair, but found it solidly stuck to the floor.


    He said nothing but wiped a bit of blood from his lip.


    ¡°You¡¯ve been hiding for too long.¡±


    Syler¡¯s silence remained unbroken, his eyes set with a mixture of defiance and resolve. The shadow¡¯s words resonated with his innermost thoughts. The blow had struck a chord within him, rousing memories of his self-imposed exile and his long-neglected pursuit of justice.


    ¡°Because I chose love?¡±


    ¡°No. You attempted to become something you aren¡¯t, to find inner peace where there is none.¡±


    ¡°She was my peace!¡±


    The shadow figure stood. ¡°SHE WAS THE BOX WHERE YOU HID YOUR PAIN!¡±


    Syler stood and lashed out, striking the shadow where he had been struck moments before. The shadow figure fell back into the chair.


    ¡°No,¡± Syler¡¯s tone was calm, but he let the tears flow freely, ¡°My love for her, and hers for me, was genuine. Her death has caused more pain than- anything before.¡±


    ¡°Than anything before?¡±


    Syler had to take several moments before continuing, ¡°My parents¡¯ death, almost starving on the streets, the absolute hell that was Penumbra training, the War of the Shard, to name a few.¡±


    The shadow figure leaned forward, ¡°No. That is not where your pain lies.¡± A surprised look. ¡°It¡¯s the regret. It¡¯s why you chose to leave the only family you had ever known to attempt a new family. You thought that you¡¯d missed out on an aspect of life that you had no business being in.¡±


    Syler put his head in his hands, his thousand yard stare peeking out between his fingers.


    ¡°You thought you could escape the life that fate chose for you.¡±


    He whispered, ¡°Enough.¡±


    ¡°You failed. And your failure added another regret. That you¡¯d ever met Cara.¡±


    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± Syler shouted. The mask of the shadow peeled back, revealing his own smiling face, though the smile did not reach the eyes.


    It was true. Damn it all but it was true. Black tendrils began to run across his skin, his emotional pain manifesting as physical pain. He screamed, but didn¡¯t know if it was pain or rage that fueled it. He fell to his knees and curled as he fell to the side, pain overtaking his senses.


    ¡°You don¡¯t believe,¡± the voice from the shadow was no longer his own, but a softer toned woman¡¯s voice. At the sound of her voice, the pain lessened.


    Returning to a sitting position, Syler looked up and saw a black robe flowing over soft curves, flaring up to her face, a skull with a black knife stuck to the hilt through the skull¡¯s top.


    ¡°Chaldia,¡± Syler whispered, pushing himself away against the wall.


    Chaldia, the Lady of Death, overseer of the Veil between life and death, loomed over him. ¡°The souls you trap in Penumbra have all been judged as worthy of such a fate.¡±


    ¡°Even Cara¡¯s?¡± Syler spat, glaring up at her.


    Ignoring his question, she continued, ¡°Betrayers, murderers, slavers, condemned to wander the wastes of Penumbra. But that is not their final destination.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°If everyone killed by shadow magic stayed in Penumbra indefinitely, the plane would be overrun with shades.¡±


    ¡°How long do they stay?¡±


    ¡°As long as it takes for the shadow to purify their souls.¡±


    ¡°That makes no sense.¡±


    Chaldia¡¯s bony hand grabbed him around his neck faster than he could see the movement, and he found himself seated in the chair again, across from her. She didn¡¯t squeeze but held him firm.


    ¡°Your knowledge of history is weak. The shadow realm you tap into exists because I allow it to be so. Because the Teknaus that composes the souls of the wicked must be cleansed before returning to the Veil.¡±


    He tapped the robe covering her extended arm and she released him. ¡°The Agency didn¡¯t teach us this in our training.¡±


    ¡°You are one of very few who now know the truth of it.¡± His brain ran through several loops before his eyes widened. ¡°Now you see?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why Cara isn¡¯t in Penumbra!¡±


    Chaldia nodded, ¡°She had very little need for purification, and left Penumbra shortly after arriving.¡±


    ¡°But she can¡¯t be resurrected since she isn¡¯t there anymore?¡±


    ¡°No, Syler.¡± She waved a hand to the right of them and a third chair formed from shadow. A bright green glow blinded him for a moment before revealing the figure.


    Cara. Whatever Syler was going to say ended in choking sobs. She looked as she had before her death, before the veins of black caressed her skin.


    ¡°My dearest husband, I love you so. I know you want me to return, but as nature intended I died when it was my time. I died for a reason that I do not myself understand.¡±


    ¡°I miss you so much,¡± Syler choked out between sobs.


    ¡°I miss you too. I know it is difficult. I fought hard to avoid it, but you need to know that I am at peace, returned to the nature I loved.¡±


    He reached out for her, and she gently traced her fingers along his hand. As she did, her form began to change, and starting from her feet she melted away into a swirl of green teknaus, a stark contrast from the surrounding shadows. Chaldia spun her hands together, pulling the mist into a sphere. As her hands moved, the sphere changed into the Nature rune of Telperia, the goddess of the forest, and she pushed it toward Syler.


    Warmth spread across his chest as the rune etched across his skin.


    ¡°Now she is always with you.¡±


    Syler gingerly touched his newest rune tattoo, ¡°Can she speak to me through this?¡±


    ¡°It is a fragment of who she was, but the majority of her consciousness remains in the Veil.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer.¡±


    Chaldia¡¯s form changed back to his own, the mask still pulled back to reveal his own face, the smile now reaching the eyes.


    ¡°You''ve faced the shadows of your past, and are no longer confined by them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need time to process all of this.¡±


    ¡°I know. I¡¯m you, remember?¡±


    His shadowy copy burst into streamers of black leather, wrapping him fully, leaving no skin exposed. His eyes were the last to be covered, and after a few moments he willed it to retract. He found himself standing before the altar. Looking down he saw the dark green outline of the nature rune as though it were embossed on the leather straps of his shadow armor. He willed the leather there to retract as well, and Twigly, who was still leaning against the oak tree, gasped.


    The rune was still there.

 Chapter 9: Commune with Nature

    Night had fallen over the grove, long shadows dancing along the ancient stones. Silence hung over the place, and even the typically vocal birds were quiet.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± Twigly asked, speaking to Syler for the first time since the trial began.


    ¡°I was in the tree, but it was only for a few minutes.¡±


    ¡°I have not seen you in three weeks.¡±


    ¡°That can¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°Time is sometimes strange during the Trial of the Ancient Veil.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was Chaldia?¡± Syler whispered to himself.


    ¡°What did you say?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. It felt like a few minutes at the most when I was there.¡±


    Twigly shrugged.


    Then the shadows began to retreat from the center of the grove. The green glow of nature-based Teknaus grew brighter and brighter. Lines of swirling magic pulled the small stones that littered the clearing, rolling them over one another and beginning to form a humanoid shape. Twigly knelt before the forming creature, and Syler chose to do the same, keeping his eyes on it.


    The guardian stood 30 feet tall, its enormous stone head brushing against the canopy branches. The stones that made up its form continuously rolled around, almost making the figure appear blurred. It reached out a hand to Syler and one of its stones floated above, suddenly flaring brighter than all the others. It then returned to the body and rolled up to the head, dipping in and out from under the mass.


    A voice resonated from the sound of the stones, ¡°You must get the bright stone.¡±


    Syler looked over to Twigly, ¡°Do people actually fight the guardian?¡±


    ¡°You can try. I would not recommend it,¡± Twigly said flatly.


    ¡°I figured that.¡± Stepping up to the guardian, he gently tried to grab one of the shifting rocks. It easily pulled away from his grip and continued its trajectory.


    ¡°No climbing either. Great,¡± Syler looked around to the nearby trees. ¡°Unless¡­¡±


    Climbing the tree was simple enough, and the intertwining canopy was strong enough to support his weight. When he got within 10 feet of the guardian, the canopy unraveled at his feet. He tried to grab at the vines but they were suddenly slick with grease and he fell, landing with a roll. His legs throbbed from the hard landing, so he sat next to the guardian to rub the soreness.


    ¡°The final stage will be a test, against the guardian you¡¯ll be pressed. That part is obvious. The choice you make will push resolve and force your viewpoint to evolve. Trickier. The choice I make? What choice?¡±


    He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, taking in the grinding noise around him. It was too bright for him to shadowstep, and the stones were too small for that anyway. Nature seemed to be acting against him. At least the birds and beasts weren¡¯t attacking him. Likely they left when the guardian showed. He thought of Cara and what she would have done.


    Once, early in their relationship, he had shadowstepped to the roof of their house and put their market basket at the highest point to prank her. She turned into a large owl and flew to the basket, easily grabbed it and flung it at him, drawing an impressed laugh.


    His eyes popped open, ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± He looked down and ran his fingers along the embossed nature rune on his armor. The warmth emanating from it was comforting. Focusing on the rune, he thought of the flight of a bird. He felt some of his own energy pulled into the rune, more than when he used his shadow tattoos. Exhaustion washed over him as he felt additional strips of leather spring from his back, the structure of wings forming around him, shadowy leather feathers extending to fill out the wingspan.


    The wings were dark green, like the embossed rune, and he tentatively felt them out. His wings twitched, then suddenly expanded out, a ten-foot wingspan. He shook his arms and shifted from leg to leg to fight against the exhaustion, then he flapped his wings.


    He rose a little off the ground and immediately fell back to his feet.


    ¡°Okay, you can do this.¡±


    ¡°It gets easier with practice,¡± Twigly said, having returned to his leaning position.


    ¡°I sure hope so.¡±


    He flew a few laps around the outskirts of the clearing, staying close to the ground to reduce the chances of injuring himself, only falling a few times. Staying near the oak he flew up to the canopy, trying to grab an acorn. The movement of the wings was disorienting, and it took him several attempts before he was able to pluck it from the branch.


    The wings faltered, several of the feathers dissipating in puffs of green. Syler fell, landing hard on a root and rolling up next to the guardian, the wings fully dissolved by the time he stopped himself.


    ¡°Ouch,¡± he muttered as he repositioned to lay on his back, looking up at the canopy. ¡°Wings aren¡¯t long term, it would seem.¡±


    A thick-fingered hand came into view, ¡°They never are, unless you are avian, of course.¡±


    Syler took his hand and was pulled to his feet. ¡°Thank you, Twigly.¡±


    ¡°You are welcome. You should rest before you try the wings again. Use them too often and it could drain too much of your Teknaus.¡±


    ¡°Which would kill me.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Duly noted.¡± Syler motioned to the guardian, ¡°Is there a time limit to the guardian?¡±


    ¡°There was not one for mine, but I do not know.¡±


    ¡°Right. Your first time as a guide.¡±


    After resting for an hour, Syler tried again, beginning to feel out how to properly use his newfound ability. In the second attempt he learned to dodge left and right. In the fourth attempt, he learned to tuck his wings in a dive and flare them out just before smashing into the ground. After several more days of practice, with much guidance from Twigly, Syler felt comfortable enough to go for the bright stone.


    Syler ran at the guardian, who seemed to sense his readiness, jumping at the last moment and summoning his wings, dodging to the left as the guardian swung its huge right arm at him. The bright stone still spun around the guardian¡¯s head, and Syler darted for it, reaching out.


    The left arm slugged him hard in the side, spinning him out wide from the stone. He recovered and flew around to the back side of the guardian. At least what he thought was behind. The shifting stones reversed the guardian¡¯s direction as quickly as he could fly around it. Both arms swung out at him, seeking to crush him between. He tucked in his wings, falling beneath as the swirling stones crashed together.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Syler darted up between the arms, dodging as branches from the canopy reached for him. He reached out as the branches finally grabbed his wings, tearing them from his back. It wasn¡¯t painful.


    Another swing from the guardian was. He pulled his arms in and willed the armor on his back to eject out as he flew 30 feet to slam into a large tree. The leather strip loops bent as he struck, softening his landing, though he gained a few more scrapes and cuts as he rolled several feet from the tree.


    Taking huge gulps of air as the blow emptied his lungs, he didn¡¯t dare move until he assessed the damage. He heard the heavy footfalls of Twigly.


    ¡°I think,¡± Syler wheezed, ¡°my ribs are broken.¡±


    ¡°Let me see,¡± Twigly said, gently pulling Syler¡¯s arms away, pausing as he noticed the green light emitting from his right hand. ¡°You got the stone!¡±


    Syler uncurled his fingers, the bright stone resting in his hand.


    The graveled voice echoed through the clearing, ¡°You have earned the Benediction of the Ancients.¡± The stones stopped swirling, the magic faded, and a pile of gravel remained.


    <hr>


    Several days later, after numerous sessions with the healing magic of the druids, Syler stepped from Twigly¡¯s treehouse, feeling much more refreshed than he had in a long time. He¡¯d spent the long hours of rest contemplating the events of the trial, especially facing off against himself. And Chaldia. Cara was more with him than he thought she would ever be since her passing.


    The click-clack of Tootsie¡¯s nails on the stones, now spread back out over the clearing, echoed in the silence as they walked to the center. Calista stood before the altar, upon which rested the bright stone, still glowing with natural magic, and a clay jar filled with the liquid refined Teknaus she had attuned to Telperia, goddess of nature.


    ¡°You are ready.¡± It wasn¡¯t a question.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    The other druids stepped into the clearing, forming a circle along the outskirts. Calista hovered her hand over the jar, drawing tendrils of teknaus to float before her. She began moving her hands around the teknaus, forming an intricate series of runes hovering in the air, pushing and tweaking them with nimble fingers. A faint buzzing sound began several minutes into her work, steadily growing in intensity.


    When it became nearly unbearable, Calista pushed the runes at Syler. They flew around him, expanding in size before lowering to the ground. The spirits of druids past¡ªthe Ancients¡ªgathered, their ethereal forms like flickering flames in the twilight. Their presence was palpable, a collective embodiment of centuries of wisdom and guidance. Standing between Syler and Calista stood the ethereal form of Cara, smiling proudly at him.


    "Syler," Calista''s voice carried a resonance that seemed to touch the very soul, "you have journeyed through the trials that test both heart and spirit. You have embraced the teachings of our grove and forged a connection with the very essence of nature."


    The Ancients took a step closer, ethereal hands beginning to interlock  between those close enough to do so.


    "With the blessings of the Ancients and the heart of the grove, we mark you a protector of nature," Calista''s voice echoed through the clearing, each word a note in a powerful symphony of acceptance and unity. ¡°Though you are no druid, you have been marked as a friend and ally.¡±


    Another step closer, all intertwined now. The Ancients extended their arms at Syler, palms parallel to the ground, interlocked fingers. Cara never took her eyes away from him.


    "May this rune remind you to wield your shadow magic responsibly, to protect the realm with the wisdom of the druids, and to uphold the delicate balance of nature."


    A flash of skull and robe appeared behind Calista for only a moment before disappearing behind her. The ethereal figures one by one burst into mist that swirled around Syler before being pulled into his newest rune.


    ¡°I love you,¡± Cara mouthed silently, waiting to be the last figure to join into his rune.


    ¡°I love you, too,¡± Syler whispered, nodding to Calista as the ritual ended. The druids surrounding him cheered and ran up to welcome him into their family.


    After a short and noisy gathering, the druids set out a celebratory feast. Twigly directed Syler to a seat next to Calista, near the middle of the long table. Tootsie sat in Syler¡¯s lap and pawed at him for bites of chicken every chance she got.


    ¡°You are the first non-druid to complete the Trial of the Ancient Veil in at least a century,¡± Twigly said between spoonfuls of gravel.


    ¡°I did what was necessary.¡±


    ¡°Because you need help.¡±


    ¡°Because I need help.¡±


    Calista dabbed a strangely spongy looking leaf to either side of her mouth, ¡°You are an ally now, and help will be given provided it does not upset the balance.¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± Syler said, ¡°because your help will be needed to correct the balance. The Lawsons will likely have bolstered their defenses, and there is no doubt a significant bounty out for my head.¡±


    ¡°I will not sacrifice any of our circle.¡±


    ¡°If it becomes too dangerous, I understand if you need to have your people back down. The majority of you will be used as a scare tactic anyway.¡±


    Calista tilted her head slightly, ¡°Scare tactic?¡±


    ¡°The Lawsons aren¡¯t exactly complicated people. Raynard will ramp up the security around his facility. Maxwell and Admon will be in the sub-basement. They wouldn¡¯t dream that most of the Circle of the Ancients would come knocking on their doorstep.¡±


    ¡°They killed one of our own, why would they not think that?¡±


    ¡°For the same reason that I had to complete the trial. You would not have helped me otherwise, right?¡±


    ¡°If it weren¡¯t for the council, you still would not have our help,¡± Calista said.


    Syler sighed, maintaining eye contact, ¡°I understand you don¡¯t like me.¡±


    The crowd began to quiet as Calista responded, ¡°Shadow-walker, your life lacked balance. Cara added the light to your darkness, love to your hatred, attempting to balance the scales. A noble goal, but not enough.¡±


    ¡°She gave me balance, gave me something to live for other than myself.¡±


    ¡°Her fate was tied with yours.¡±


    ¡°And you think I am responsible for her death.¡±


    Calista slammed her fist into the table, ¡°The Lawsons wouldn¡¯t have killed her if it weren¡¯t for you.¡±


    He refused to raise his voice. ¡°She would have married someone else, been killed anyway, and that person wouldn¡¯t have been as uniquely qualified to even the scale. To repay the debt.¡±


    ¡°SHE WOULD HAVE MARRIED INTO THE LAWSONS AND BEEN FINE!¡± Calista yelled, tears streaming down her face.


    Syler shook his head, ¡°No, Calista. She didn¡¯t want to marry into the Lawson family for political gain. She, and you, didn¡¯t even know Admon or the Lawsons at all.¡±


    ¡°We would have gotten our-¡± she hesitated.


    Syler¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Our what, Calista? What do the Lawsons have that you would trade your only daughter for it?¡±


    Any chatter there was dropped to silence.


    ¡°The Eldergrove Crown.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s pretend I don¡¯t know what that is,¡± Syler said with a bit more sarcasm than he intended.


    ¡°The crown is made from the intertwined branches of the central oak of our grove, inset with four tekrystals attuned to the energies of battle, crafting, knowledge, and wisdom.¡±


    ¡°Not nature?¡±


    ¡°Druids can already channel the power of nature, the Eldergrove Crown grants additional ability to defend the grove. It was created back during a time when our connection to nature was at its zenith, with the help from runecasters of the time. Its power was coveted by many, and it was stolen many years ago. We thought it lost to time, but a year or so ago the Lawsons brought us the news that they had somehow acquired the Eldergrove Crown and wanted to negotiate.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why they wanted to marry a druid into the family. Because they can¡¯t use the crown without one.¡± Calista nodded. ¡°And they figured that a druid bound to them through marriage would be more amenable to do what they wanted.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Syler slipped a bit of chicken to Tootsie as he considered his response. ¡°No doubt they have it locked away in their sub-basement. They wouldn¡¯t trust it to be anywhere else. Certainly not any bank vaults in the city. I¡¯ll get the crown for you.¡±


    The muttering increased at the crowded table. Calista, to his great surprise, smiled warmly, ¡°The Circle of the Ancients will owe you a great debt if you succeed.¡±


    ¡°Your help in this endeavor will be enough payment. Besides, I already owe you a great debt.¡±


    Calista acknowledged his meaning, ¡°We will be ready and awaiting your signal. Twigly?¡±


    ¡°Archdruid,¡± he answered.


    ¡°You will go with Syler, find a tree close enough to the plantation, and open the doorway to the oak, when the time is right, of course.¡± She held out a palm sized carving of a clock, the numbering inset with glittering gemstones.


    Twigly hesitated, ¡°If I may-¡±


    ¡°You understand Abon''s Time rune, something few here do,¡± Callista said firmly. ¡°Such understanding is needed to get us there quickly.¡±


    ¡°Yes, mistress,¡± he slid his chair back, stood, and bowed deeply as he took the object.


    ¡°We¡¯ll head out tomorrow morning,¡± Syler told him, ¡°after our feasting is done.¡±

 Chapter 10: Great Weapon Fighting

    The journey out of the Lyrah Forest unfolded with a serenity that seemed to mirror the ancient trees'' whispered blessings. Syler walked in the dappled sunlight, his footsteps accompanied by the soft rustling of leaves and the distant melody of birdsong, Twigly and Tootsie at his side.


    Twigly''s knowledge of the forest was evident as he led them along a path that bypassed potentially troublesome areas. His keen eyes seemed to discern the landscape''s secrets, guiding them with the familiarity of home. His connection to the animals was equally remarkable, as he paused every now and then to converse with a chattering squirrel or offer a few words to a curious rabbit.


    Syler watched in fascination as Twigly interacted with the forest''s inhabitants. It was as if a silent language flowed between them¡ªa language of respect and mutual understanding. Each conversation, though wordless to Syler, carried a weight of camaraderie that spoke volumes about the bond between the druid and the creatures of the forest.


    Amidst their journey, they came across a small clearing bathed in sunlight. A gentle brook bubbled nearby, its melody harmonizing with the symphony of nature around them. Twigly crouched down, his fingers brushing against the thick grass that carpeted the ground.


    "The forest has its own rhythm," Twigly mused, his voice a soothing melody that blended seamlessly with the surroundings. "Each creature, each tree, adds to its song."


    Syler settled beside him. "It''s beautiful," he replied, his gaze fixed on the play of light and shadow among the leaves.


    Twigly''s emerald gemstone eyes twinkled with a hidden depth of wisdom. "You are part of this song now, Syler. Your steps echo in its melody, your presence intertwines with its harmony."


    As the journey continued, Syler couldn''t help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. With Twigly as his guide, he ventured back into the world beyond the Lyrah Forest, and with each step, he carried the lessons of the forest in his heart, the knowledge that nature''s magic was not a force to be controlled, but a symphony to be embraced.


    ¡°How long has it been since you¡¯ve been in the city?¡± Syler asked as the outline of Sartak City came into view on the evening of their second day on the road.


    ¡°A decade at least.¡±


    ¡°Much has changed.¡±


    ¡°I doubt it,¡± Twigly said.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°The struggle for life is the same in all areas of Artan, be it cities, forests, deserts, or oceans.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ fair enough. We¡¯ll camp here and head into the city tomorrow morning. Should be some good stones around for your meal. Just don¡¯t eat the road.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    Syler laid out his bedroll while Twigly dug the hole into which he built the fire, setting up a small pile of stones as he did so.


    ¡°Could people who are not Dwarves eat stone?¡± Syler asked as they warmed themselves by the flames.


    ¡°Teknaus is infused in everything, but not all Teknaus is useful for consumption. Urrutia, our Stone Mother, made us capable of using the Teknaus infused in stone and soil. Few other creatures are capable of processing stone attuned teknaus for internal energy.¡±


    ¡°And you can eat things like bread and meat?¡±


    ¡°Technically yes, but I find it does not make me feel as good as when I consume what I should. I do like ale, though.¡±


    ¡°Many do.¡±


    ¡°Not you.¡± It wasn''t a question.


    Syler poked a stick at the embers, ¡°Part of becoming a Penumbra Agent involves a cocktail of the most heinous venoms and poisons and just enough healing tonic to keep you alive. The pain was the worst physical pain I¡¯ve ever experienced. The result is that I am now immune to such things. Drinking does nothing for me, so I typically only do it to prove my Agent status, though Frostbeard does make a good one.¡±


    ¡°I am surprised you speak so freely of your training.¡±


    ¡°I trust you to keep private information private.¡±


    ¡°Of course. I am going to rest,¡± Twigly, without another word, stood and walked over to stand on the patch of soft dirt he had dug from the fire pit. He set his feet shoulder width apart and bent his knees slightly. Starting from his boots, the color of his gear and his skin shifted into marbled granite, the transformation stopping at his emerald gemstone eyes, which remained as such.


    Syler sat for another hour after Twigly had returned to stone, thinking about the events that led him to this point. He never thought he would have been marked with Telperia¡¯s rune, or that he could access some of its power so quickly. Before his mind delved too deeply into thinking about Cara, he stood, tapped into the rune to spread his wings, and flew out into the night sky. He did several laps around the camp, moving further and further out, surveying the countryside. He saw various birds flying much higher than he was currently comfortable with, he saw a pack of wild dogs roaming for anything they could find along a natural ditch that ran in the eastern direction toward the Bay of Palad. The struggle for life. The wind was cool against his face, and he felt a sense of peace that faded to determination as he landed back in their camp.


    <hr>


    Syler and Twigly entered Sartak City from the northeastern gate, into the Valance District, and paused in front of the Jade Stables. Twigly looked upon it with a pride only Dwarves could muster.


    The Jade Stables, nestled within the bustling Valance District of Sartak City, was a masterful testament to the artistry of Dwarven architecture blended with the practicality required for a thriving stable. The exterior of the stables was characterized by the juxtaposition of rich earthy tones and polished metals. The fa?ade was crafted from warm, mossy stone, interwoven with intricate patterns of braided metalwork that paid homage to Dwarven heritage. Above the entrance, a grand archway rose, its frame adorned with dwarven runes and ornate metalwork, reflecting the stables'' connection to the city''s history.


    To the left, a series of beautifully designed stables stood in an organized row. Each stall was a testament to Dwarven precision, with sturdy wooden walls etched with motifs of mountains, hammers, and anvils¡ªsymbols of craftsmanship and strength. The stalls'' doors were adorned with ironwork hinges and handles, showcasing the attention to detail that marked Dwarven craftsmanship.


    ¡°I thought you might want to take a moment here,¡± Syler said.


    ¡°Thank you. My people have done tremendous work throughout this city.¡±


    ¡°Yes they have. We need to go to the Agricultural District, the southwesternmost sector, to the Santar Arena. So you¡¯re going to get to see much more,¡± Syler spoke briefly with the proprietor of the Jade Stables, a ruby eyed dwarf named Vistra, and rented horses for them.


    As Syler and Twigly embarked on their journey through Sartak City, the vibrant tapestry of the city''s hustle and bustle enveloped them, painting a picture of diverse life and activity. Their path led them through several distinct districts, each with its own character and energy.


    Through the Valance District, the air was alive with the chatter of vendors and the footsteps of city dwellers. Elven residences stood like ethereal havens amidst the urban landscape, their architecture marked by graceful curves and intricate woodwork. Ivy-clad walls whispered of nature''s touch even within the city''s heart. As they moved further, the alluring aroma of steam and herbs welcomed them to the Elfsong Bathhouse, a place of relaxation and rejuvenation where people sought solace from the city''s hubbub.


    The transition to the Guildhall District was marked by a shift in atmosphere. The Elemental Alehouse exuded a warm glow, offering refuge to both tired adventurers and guild artisans alike. Further along the southwestern winding road, the Hall of Records loomed, its grand entranceway flanked by towering pillars, a place where knowledge was stored and staunchly protected. The area in the southernmost point of the Guildhall District was the Garden of Heroes, which stood as a testament to valor and courage, statues of legendary figures seeming to whisper their stories to the wind.


    Syler tried to hasten them along past this, but Twigly saw it anyway and called for the horses to stop. Syler found his horse listened far more to Twigly than to him.


    ¡°You have a statue here,¡± Twigly said as he directed the horses nearer to it. A ten foot statue of carved stone showed Syler among a section of the garden labeled as the Heroes of the War of the Shard.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want it to be made.¡±


    ¡°But they did it anyway.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have any say in the goings-on of the Artisan Offices. I didn¡¯t do what I did during the war for notoriety.¡±


    ¡°None of us did.¡±


    ¡°You fought too?¡±


    ¡°Jolak threatened all of Artan, not just Sartak City. We fought alongside those who sought to return the balance.¡±


    ¡°We did the same, in our way. This statue makes me uncomfortable, let¡¯s go.¡±


    The sound of distant waves and creaking ships greeted them as they briefly passed through the Noble Ward Docks. Glistening water stretched along the wide Sartak River, a testament to the city''s maritime connections. Ships of all sizes, adorned with flags of various cities and merchants, swayed gently, heavy rope locking them to docks as the shippers and loaders, automatons of Gnomish make, loaded and unloaded cargo.


    After crossing an ornate bridge they reached the Agricultural District, and the scent of freshly tilled earth and livestock filled the air. Farms dotted the landscape, where crops swayed in the breeze like a painter''s brush strokes across a canvas. Farmers bustled about, tending to the land with a dedication that spoke of generations of tradition.


    Finally, they arrived at the Santar Arena, where the energy seemed to intensify. Orcish motifs adorned the architecture, and the sound of cheers and roaring excitement echoed from within. The arena stood as a coliseum of competition, where warriors from all walks of life tested their mettle in battles of skill and strength. Banners fluttered in the wind, each representing a champion or a hopeful contender.


    The largest banner drifting above the main entryway was a red field with a faceless muscular figure with four arms, two as normal from the shoulders and two extending from the torso, grey and metallic in hue. Syler pointed up to the banner.


    ¡°That¡¯s the guy we need to see.¡±


    ¡°Looks like one of the statues that was near yours.¡±


    ¡°We were part of the same adventuring group back before and during the war.¡±


    Twigly nodded, but said nothing further as they hitched their horses outside the arena. The crowd pressed around the front doors, draka in hand to buy tickets from the booth or snacks from footbound vendors. Two enormous orcs guarded the front doors, checking tickets for entry.


    ¡°Might be a minute to get a ticket,¡± Twigly said, eyeing the crowd.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that,¡± Syler said as he walked straight to the guards. ¡°Here to see the big man.¡±


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Who¡¯re you?¡± the left one asked, stepping menacingly closer.


    ¡°Never mind that, my friend,¡± he willed the Penumbra sigil to his palm and held it out.¡±Myself and my companion are going to be entering now.¡±


    The menace melted away, ¡°Of course, sir.¡± The orcs pulled the doors open enough for them to enter. The interior of the lobby space was occupied by a gift shop full of little trinkets and various types of ale and food. Syler bought them both strips of well seasoned jerky and a fist sized quartz stone with ¡°Santar Dornson¡± and a facsimile of his banner etched into it.


    ¡°I do not want this,¡± Twigly said as Syler handed him the stone.


    ¡°Thought you might keep it as a snack later.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Thank you.¡±


    Syler had been to the arena numerous times, and he led them around the stairs leading up to the stands to an unassuming door. A strikingly handsome, teenage half-orc leaned against the adjacent door, nose deep in a small book. He was dressed in finery, and ignored the noise of the lobby with practiced ease.


    ¡°Aelar Santarson,¡± Syler said.


    The boy looked up, eyes brightening, ¡°Syler? It¡¯s been a while.¡± His voice was deeper than normal for someone his age. They shook hands.


    ¡°Keeping up with your studies?¡±


    He held up the book, then noticed Syler wasn¡¯t alone, ¡°Mom makes me. Who is he?¡±


    ¡°Of course she does. This is Twigly. Twigly, meet Aelar Santarson.¡±


    Twigly offered a thick-fingered hand, which Aelar shook. After a moment of looking him over, Twigly said, ¡°You have a touch of fey about you.¡±


    Syler and Aelar looked at each other, surprised, ¡°You can tell that?¡±


    ¡°When one is attuned with nature, yes. Telperia, goddess of the woods, has many ties with the fey realm.¡±


    ¡°Interesting,¡± Syler said, ¡°his mother is a water nymph our adventuring group saved early on in our adventures.¡±


    ¡°So you come by your magic naturally,¡± Twigly stated.


    Aelar laughed, ¡°Do you do parties?¡±


    ¡°I like a good party now and then, yes.¡±


    Syler laughed, ¡°Don¡¯t we all! Where¡¯s your old man?¡±


    ¡°Getting ready for his next bout.,¡± Aelar pointed at the nearby door. ¡°Mom told him he shouldn¡¯t fight this one, but he¡¯s stubborn.¡±


    ¡°Fight this one what?¡±


    ¡°A sun hydra, I think he called it.¡±


    ¡°He didn¡¯t do what I think he did, right? Sun hydras aren¡¯t a thing.¡±


    Aelar smiled, ¡°If by that you mean he dipped the hydra in Sun attuned Teknaus, then yes.¡±


    Twigly looked horrified, ¡°That is monstrous!¡±


    ¡°It is now,¡± Syler said. ¡°Let¡¯s go have a little chat.¡±


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Aelar said as he returned to his reading.


    As they walked down the hall lined with the mounted heads of various monsters Santar had killed in the Arena, Twigly said, ¡°I do not like this Santar.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t met him yet.¡±


    ¡°He forcefully alters the natural balance of creatures.¡±


    ¡°Hydra¡¯s aren¡¯t natural creatures.¡±


    ¡°And that makes it okay?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that, Twigly. Hydras are dangerous, and tilt the scales of balance independently of being altered by Teknaus pools. In our early adventuring days we passed by a small town where every single person there had been slain by a beast we later found to be a hydra.¡±


    ¡°And this one did something similar?¡±


    ¡°That I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s capable and more than willing to do such things. This is us.¡±


    Syler didn¡¯t even bother knocking. He turned the handle and stepped in, wincing at the squeaky door.


    ¡°Ready for show?¡± The hulking seven foot tall form bellowed while flexing in front of a mirror, his voice rumbling like a rockslide.Santar wore only loose fitting pants, rippling muscles cascading across his exposed back. His lower two metallic arms flexed alongside the others, though they showed no visible changes when doing so. His head and facial hair was a thick stubble, and Twigly could see bushy hair across his barrel chest, except in the center, where a scar started at his belly button and ended halfway up his pectoral muscles. A similarly shaped scar was mirrored on his back.


    ¡°Not so sure you are, big guy,¡± Syler said with a big grin.


    Santar spun, and faster than Twigly could react, pulled them both into a hug, spinning them around once before setting them down.


    ¡°Shadowman! How you?¡±


    ¡°Not so good, friend. Not so good. Looks like business is good for you.¡±


    ¡°Busy-ness good. Amy run that part.¡± He struck a dramatic pose, ¡°ME FIGHT!¡±


    ¡°Yes, you do! This is Twigly, by the way.¡±


    Twigly held out his hand, ¡°I have not heard much about you.¡±


    ¡°Shadowman¡¯s friend my friend now,¡± Santar¡¯s hand fully engulfed Twigly¡¯s and he shook perhaps a bit harder than he meant to.


    ¡°You running out of challenging things to fight?¡±


    Santar thought for a moment, sticking his tongue out, but shrugged, ¡°Amy say people want show. Fought many things. We make new things for fighting.¡±


    Twigly frowned at him, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be doing that.¡±


    Santar shrugged, ¡°Okay. AMY!¡±


    From a side door stepped Amorina, and both Syler and Twigly unintentionally stared. Her long blond hair seemed constantly in the state of being partially damp, but that only accentuated her striking fey facial features. She wore a silk gown and her water shawl which left a small trail of water drops wherever she went. Her bare feet made no sound against the stone floor.


    ¡°Yes, my love?¡± her voice was melodic like gently shifting wind chimes. ¡°Oh! We have guests. You should have told me.¡±


    Twigly bowed low. Syler nodded at her. ¡°Hey, Amy.¡±


    ¡°Syler, it¡¯s great to see you! Sorry about Cara.¡±


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    ¡°Green Dwarf say we no should do sun hydra!¡±


    Amorina looked over at Twigly before smiling warmly at him, ¡°Circle of the Ancients?¡±


    ¡°Yes, madam,¡± Twigly had become even more rigidly formal.


    ¡°All of our monsters are locally sourced, captured by our hunters. The hydra you have concerns about was captured on the outskirts of Monal, south of here. It had been attacking travelers on the road between here and there.¡±


    Twigly didn¡¯t respond, but looked down at his boots.


    ¡°I¡¯m of the Lyrah River that passes not far from your Grove. I, too, seek to maintain nature¡¯s balance.¡±


    ¡°See!¡± Santar said gleefully, moving to stand next to her.


    ¡°My apologies, madam,¡± Twigly bowed again.


    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly alright, dear.¡±


    ¡°Do you need any help out there?¡± Syler asked Santar.


    His eyes lit up, ¡°You want fight?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll fight with you if you¡¯ll fight with me.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Amorina said, placing her hand on Santar before he could excitedly agree.


    Syler took a deep breath. ¡°I know who killed Cara.¡±


    ¡°Revenge!¡± Santar shifted his feet eagerly.


    ¡°No, my dear,¡± Amy¡¯s eyes blazed with a rage that matched his own, ¡°balance. A life for a life. It¡¯s a shame I have to look after Aelar, or I would join you.¡±


    She pulled her hand back and Santar began to dance around his prep room, bellowing with joy. On the wall next to his mirror rested two greataxes as tall as he. He hefted them onto his shoulders as he passed them along his dance.


    Amorina stepped before Syler and pulled him into a hug, whispering into his ear. ¡°You bring my Santar back to me.¡±


    ¡°I will.¡±


    <hr>


    Santar paced in front of the arena bay doors, swinging his axes while Syler and Twigly stood several feet back.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come fight with us,¡± Syler said.


    ¡°A creature so afflicted by over absorption of Teknaus will be challenging for even the two of you. My help may just tip the scales. I do have a question.¡±


    ¡°Shoot,¡± Syler said as the muffled voice of the announcer began the opener.


    ¡°Why the extra arms?¡±


    ¡°He had them added in preparation for the war. We knew it was coming. The process had¡­ consequences.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Twigly asked.


    ¡°There was a loss of mental acuity in exchange for increased strength.¡±


    ¡°Ah. That explains the-¡±


    ¡°Stunted speech, yeah.¡±


    ¡°And the scar?¡±


    ¡°Giant threw a tree at him,¡± Syler said, surprised when Twigly spat in disgust. ¡°Not fond of giants, I take it?¡±


    Before he could answer, the announcer finished and the doors fell open. The atmosphere in the Santar Arena was electric, charged with anticipation as the spectators filled the stands, their roars and cheers echoing like thunder. The sun beat down from above, casting a fierce glare on the sandy arena floor. In the center, the imposing figure of the Sun Hydra stood, its scales shimmering like molten gold under the blazing sun. Its eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, and fire danced along its serpentine body, an embodiment of the elemental forces it commanded.


    With a deafening roar, the sun hydra lunged forward, its fiery maw gaping wide. Twigly plunged his hands into the sand, sending up a wall of sand to deflect the onslaught of flames. Syler and Santar ran out in opposite directions. Syler threw several daggers as he ran, piercing the hydra¡¯s flank.


    Santar slammed his greataxes together, the runes etched into them flaring. Ice spread over the one held in his left hands, tendrils of steam drifting from the blade. Arcs of blue lightning erupted upon the other.


    The hydra, its fiery maw still agape, turned its attention toward the approaching Santar. With a primal roar, it unleashed another torrent of flames, hoping to incinerate the formidable half-orc. But Santar''s determination was unyielding. He raised his axes in a sweeping arc, the icy blade slicing through the flames with a hiss of steam while the lightning-charged blade absorbed the energy of the fire.


    As Santar reached the hydra, his axes descended in a devastating symphony of destruction. The icy blade struck first, biting into one of the creature''s necks and coating it in a layer of frost. The lightning-charged blade followed suit, its electric tendrils surging through the frozen neck, sending shards and a writhing head to the ground. A forceful burst of heat launched Santar away.


    Twigly quickly filled the space, slamming his fists together. As he did so, his form began to shift, swelling to taller than Santar, the sand around him flowing over his body and hardening. The sharp crystalline fist of the sand elemental smashed into one of the fiery faces. It cried out in pain and bit back at him, powerful jaws ripping off chunks of glass, which melted from the heat, dripping beads sizzling into the sand.


    Syler''s wings lifted him to near the top of the hemispherical shield that protected the audience from collateral damage, tapping a rune on his upper back and summoning his shadow bow. He rained dark pain upon the hydra as two more heads grew out from the writhing neck Santar left behind. Tucking his wings to narrowly avoid a blast of flame from the new heads, Syler put two arrows through one of heads, making it drop uselessly.


    Santar roared to his feet, his eyes alight with rage. A blast of flame erupted his way, but he ran through it, smiling through the pain. He plunged his iced axe deep into the hydra''s chest, but his incoming lightning axe was met with powerful jaws. The hydra pulled hard against Santar''s grip, but only succeeded in lifting him briefly from the sands. He yanked his embedded axe free, bringing a roar of pain from the hydra, loosening its grip on the axe.


    The glassy shards from Twigly''s fist cut deeply into the quickly melting frozen gash, hot blood rushing out over his fist. Santar''s axes swung out in opposite directions, each severing a head that darted in to bite at Twigly. Four more heads sprouted, their roar drowned out by the excitement of the crowd.


    "Stop with the head severing!" Syler called out as he loosed more arrows into the beast''s flank. Flames burst from the newly formed maws, and Syler rolled hard in the sand, smoke rising from burning wings. He popped up to one knee, two more arrows biting deep into the hydra.


    The beast was beginning to slow, and Santar made a decision. Axes crashed to the sandy floor as he rushed the sun hydra, plunging his metallic golem hands deep into the wounds he had created. The dull grey metal turned orange quickly as sun Teknaus infused blood pumped over them. With a roar he pulled his arms out wide, rending the beast in half.


    Seeing the incoming spray of liquid fire coming his way, Syler dove behind Twigly, falling into his shadow.


    The quiet of the Penumbral shadows of the mirrored arena washed over him. Several shades lurking in the stands spun quickly his direction. As they began to fly at him, time seemed to slow.


    The skull faced visage of Chaldia stepped from around one of the pillars. "Much like the forest, Penumbra has its own rhythm, too. Master its beat, master yourself."


    If the shades noticed her, they didn''t show it, rushing around her to get at Syler. If this had occurred last month, he would have escaped Penumbra before they could reach him.


    He stood his ground.


    The nearest shade reached at him, and he swung his right arm out, intercepting the bony claw. He gripped its arm and spun, using the momentum to slam the shade into the next one as it drew close.


    There was a puff of smoke as the two dissolved, reforming back in the stands where they had begun.


    A third and fourth approached him from either side, but he held out his hands, vines of nature and shadow magic lashing out to bind them, dropping them to the ground.


    "We were taught to fear this place. The truth was withheld. My power''s stronger here." He threw two shadow daggers at the next approaching shade, pinning it to the adjacent wall.


    "You learn quickly."


    "Easier when failure means death."


    He would have sworn the skull face smiled. "So it is, fated one. You are close to mastering yourself. There is still much to do."


    Syler felt himself ejected from Penumbra, landing on his back next to Santar, whose face and torso were scarred from the burning blood of the sun hydra. The crowd cheered as Santar raised his arms and roared, before unconsciousness overtook him.


    <hr>


    The healing magic spread across Santar''s burnt skin, the charred black shifting back to his deep tan.


    "Sorry, Amy."


    "He''s impetuous, my darling fool. You were there to help, and you have my thanks."


    "You''re welcome. I''m glad he''ll be joining me. We''ll look after him."


    Amorina smiled, "You''d better!"


    "Please send him to Bartle''s when he recovers."

 Chapter 11: Gather Your Party

    The Sexy Badger tavern was crowded as Syler and Twigly stepped into the common room. Perfumes mixed with the smell of booze and sweat. Zadrera stood behind the bar, nonchalantly cleaning a mug while watching over her establishment.


    "This place is¡­"


    Syler shrugged, "Yep. Make yourself at home. I''ll only be a minute."


    As Syler stepped over to the bar, Twigly sat on a poof nearest to the door, silently watching the goings-on.


    "Where have you been?" Zadrera said with genuine relief.


    "Had to take care of something."


    "Given you''re here, and the friend you left by the door, you must have been successful."


    "Quite. Don''t worry about him. Please let Destin and Winny know I''m back and to meet me as soon as they can."


    Zadrera nodded. "Anything else?"


    "Any word from Kagun?"


    "Nothing''s crossed my desk, no."


    "Thank you." Syler pushed back from the bar, but Zadrera placed a hand on his.


    "Wait." She turned and rifled through a stack of papers. "These were left for you two weeks ago. About an hour between deliveries."


    Two letters. One significantly heavier than the other. He flipped the heavy one first. The Lawson seal. He tucked it into his pocket for later and flipped the lighter one. His breath caught.


    Her handwriting.


    Swallowing down the surge of emotion, Syler tucked it away too and left the bar, motioning for Twigly to follow.


    "That is a fascinating place," Twigly said with a look more of curiosity than desire.


    Syler, too distracted to answer, walked in silence until they stood before Bartle''s front door. Gentle music drifted from the open window as the smell of sweet and savory pies wafted from the same.


    The door swung open as Syler was raising his hand to knock. "You''re back!" Bartle pulled him into a hug, then hastily pushed him to arms length. "You, sir, smell like a forest of sweaty lumberjacks."


    "I''m going to shower," Syler said numbly, shifting past Bartle to head upstairs.


    "Is he okay?" Bartle asked Twigly.


    Twigly looked up at Bartle, "He was silent the whole way here after receiving letters from the Sexy Badger."


    "He''ll tell us when he''s ready."


    <hr>


    Syler''s hands shook slightly as he looked over the letter. The red wax seal displayed the symbol she had created to represent the Grove. He took several heavy, steadying breaths, summoned a shadow blade, and gently popped the seal. The paper carried hints of her bathing oils, and the scent sent tears down his face.


    My Dearest Syler,


    I love you so very much, and I am sorry you have to receive this letter, as it means I have passed across the Veil. Hopefully this is after a long life of happiness, but knowing us, likely not. Shadows of the past have a way of returning.


    As I was most likely killed, you are now no doubt on the hunt for the killer. I can not stop you, so I can only give you advice. Do not do this for revenge. Revenge only creates more darkness in your heart. I do not wish for you to fill with darkness, but to move on from this. Find joy and light in life, feel the grass between your toes, give Toots lots of pats for me. And if you must fight, do it for justice and peace. For balance.


    Do not let the shadow overtake you. I love you.


    Cara


    She had told him similar things in the trial, but reading her words bolstered his resolve. He set the hot water running, wiped the tears from his face, and opened the heavy envelope from the Lawsons. It was too small to possess any kind of dangerous traps, so he dumped it across the bathroom counter.


    One small parchment, one larger folded one, and a cloth wrapped object scattered across the counter. He started with the small parchment.


    Syler,


    I never wanted Cara to die. My idiot brother pushed the issue, and here we are. I don''t want to die for his mistakes. Hopefully this will push leniency toward me. Last week, our father had a state of the art security door installed to keep us safely locked up.


    It''s unpickable, and you need one of three amulets to disarm it. I picked Max''s amulet, and enclosed it in this envelope. The larger parchment has the general guard locations near the sealed door, the best I can do.


    Please don''t kill me.


    Admon Lawson


    The amulet in the cloth bag was unlike any Syler had seen before. It had the Lawson seal on the front, and six legs that bent away from the seal, giving it a slightly beetle-like appearance.


    The map was crudely drawn, clearly done in secret. Assuming it was correct, the information would be incredibly valuable in the planning.


    When Syler walked back down the stairs, Bartle''s table was crowded. Bartle, Morrigan, Twigly, Santar, and the newly arrived Winny and Destin all cradled cups of hot tea in hand. Morrigan motioned to the final empty chair and unclaimed mug.


    "I see you all made it. Good. There is much to discuss. Thanks for the tea."


    "Anytime," Morrigan answered.


    Destin and Winny shared a look, then she spoke up, "We''ll start. You were gone for a bit, so we did some digging."


    She pulled out an old, tattered piece of paper. "This is from the Construction office."


    "The what?" Santar scratched his head.


    Bartle patted him on the shoulder, "It''s in the Guild District. They hold onto all the paper with drawings of buildings in the city."


    "Gotcha!" Santar downed the tiny cup of tea with one gulp, then pulled out a bejeweled tankard that filled itself with golden ale as he set it upon the table.


    As Destin unfolded the paper, Syler took a sip of tea. "Two mugs max, big guy. Need you in top form today."


    Santar laughed and drank deeply.


    Morrigan leaned over the layout, "We may all need some liquid courage for this."If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "What do you mean, dear?"


    "The enchantments shown here are complex, very dangerous, and will take time to decipher."


    Syler sighed, "Time we don''t have. The longer we wait, the more dangerous the Lawson''s are making our task. I know they changed the vault door in the sub basement while I was tied up in the Grove, likely more."


    He placed the Lawson envelope on the table next to the enchantment blueprints. Morrigan read Admon''s letter aloud. Destin snickered at the last sentence.


    "I have no intentions of killing anyone but Maxwell, though I fear Raynard may need some persuading, hence why the big guy is here."


    "But we need to know how to dismantle these other, old enchantments if we want to have a chance at getting down there," Bartle said.


    "How do we do that?"


    Morrigan ran her hand along the outer edges of the blueprints, stopping in the lower right corner. "Oba Oddamor."


    "The enchanter?" Bartle asked, "She''s been dead for at least a century now."


    Santar patted him hard on the back, pushing him into the table, "You speak to ghost! I dig!"


    Syler raised an eyebrow, "That''s¡­ surprisingly clever. Can you still do that?"


    Bartle shrugged, "It''s been a while since I''ve done it, and I need to prepare it. Do we even know where she''s buried?"


    "I do," Syler said, "I''ve recently been spending a lot of time in the graveyard district. Saw the name in passing while ambling through the gravestones."


    He told them where he saw the headstone, then Bartle, Morrigan, and Santar left to question the dead.


    "While they are doing that, what will we do?" Twigly asked.


    Winny tapped on the blueprint at a point on the second floor. "You see this mark?"


    Twigly nodded thinking out loud, "It is a barrier?"


    "Prismatic," Destin said. Twigly whistled.


    "We talked to several runecasters at the University of Magi, and they said it''s practically impassable."


    "Can we dispel it?" Syler asked.


    Winny shook her head, "Not without significant time and equipment. Can''t phase through it either."


    "And I''m guessing it emits light."


    "Yep. No shadow walking."


    "Damn."


    "Can we burrow under it?" Twigly said, etching a small rune in the air before him.


    "The barrier likely encases the whole area. We need to cancel it out somehow. Shut it down."


    Destin thrummed his fingers against the table nervously. "Nullstone."


    Syler began shaking his head just as Winny excitedly patted Destin on the back. "Not possible."


    A look of confusion spread across Twigly''s face, "I am unfamiliar with the nullstone."


    "It temporarily creates an area where no runes function. But they''re heavily regulated by the Guild since one was used to collapse a building held up by runes several decades ago," Syler said as he stood and began pacing.


    Winny stood also, but adventure glistened in her eyes. "Are we going to the Penumbral Sanctorum?" Syler stopped pacing, and Destin looked agape. "It''s the only place we know for sure will have one."


    "We only saw it once," Destin balked. "And during training they said to infiltrate means certain death. Wraiths surround it."


    "And you can only get to it through Penumbra itself. Extremely dangerous," Syler said, "but that does give me an idea. Twigly, can you shield us from them somehow?"


    Twigly closed his eyes in thought for several moments before answering, "There are such runes that protect against the undead, depending on what you are trying to do. Are you wanting more of a physical shield or making us invisible to them?"


    "Invisible would be ideal, as we don''t want to engage with them unless absolutely necessary."


    "Masking our presence requires more Teknaus than the physical shield, and will not last as long."


    "How long can you give us?" Winny said.


    "A few minutes at the most." Destin swore under his breath as Winny sighed.


    "We only need to get through the door, so that should be enough time," Syler said with more hope than he felt.


    "Then let us get to it!"


    <hr>


    Night had fully fallen by the time Bartle, Morrigan, and Santar entered the fourth district of Sartak City. The housing that skirted the walls of the district were all but covered in the dust that seemed to constantly settle across the area. Santar sneezed and waved his hands before his face.


    "Gross dust."


    "Indeed," Bartle said, heading for the nearest graveyard. "We''re near the crematorium. Try to avoid the ash clouds."


    Morrigan etched the hunting rune and the death rune in the air before her and muttered, "Oba Oddamor." A line appeared where the runes had been and it turned, pointing deeper into the graveyard. "This way."


    They walked for several minutes before the first skeleton rose from the soft earth to their right. It wore dirty tattered clothes and slowly ambled toward them. Hands erupted from the soil around the first, and one became eight. Eight became thirty.


    Bartle stood close to his wife with his shield up, ready to fight should the need arise.


    He needn''t have bothered.


    Santar clapped all four of his hands with glee and ran over to them, not even bothering to tap into his primal rage or draw his weapons. He had been fighting very strong creatures in the arena for years. A few skeletons shouldn''t be a problem.


    Bones scattered across the ground as he swung punch after punch. He bent down to grab a skeleton by its leg and swing it at another, bursting them both into piles.


    Santar didn''t notice the bones rolling longer than they should, amalgamating into a large pile.


    Bartle did.


    As the necrotic energy coalesced through the gathering bones, Bartle palmed the medallion around his neck, the symbol of Pallerva the goddess of wisdom and commerce alighting with power. The chain popped loose as he extended his arm and muttered a prayer. A radiant beam blasted out from the symbol, striking the roiling bones. Many burst into ash, but the movement continued.


    The bone golem rose to a height of 7 feet, a chunk of its middle missing from Bartle''s holy blast.


    The sea rune of Atlantia and the stone rune of Urrutia etched out before Morrigan as she drew liquid Teknaus from a small receptacle at her side. The ground beneath the bone golem became fluid, sinking down to its waist before the ground became solid again.


    Santar kept happily throwing the skeletons around, not noticing the golem until it had already been trapped in the ground. He finally drew his axes. Frost and lightning smashed into the shifting bone golem, the roar of laughter accompanying scattering bones.


    The golem clawed at Santar, tearing a huge gash across his chest. It did little to slow him, and the icy axe sent frost across the hulking shoulder.


    Bartle drew his rapier and ran around to the flank the golem, radiant energy coating his blade as he struck the frozen shoulder. With a sizzle the arm fell from the golem, the bones still shifting to return to the creature''s body.


    Flames erupted around Morrigan as her form shifted into a fire elemental, floating into the same space as the golem and slipping among the shifting bones.


    The sound of crackling intensified as dry bones blackened and the golem began to burn from the inside out.


    ¡°Pretty fire not steal my kill!¡± Santar roared, his rage flaring up as he pressed the advantage. Bartle''s presence opposite him kept the golem from maintaining a singular focus. His axes swung in horizontally, cutting the golem in half, the top crashing hard against a headstone, crushing it.


    The golem''s movements were beginning to slow, and the swirl of bones was becoming less as they burned. Bartle held out his symbol once more and a burst of radiance burst from the clouds above, shattering any remaining movement. The flame shifted away and died down, Morrigan seeming to step from behind a burning curtain, she had a small cut across her torso.


    ¡°Be more careful, Santar. Please.¡± Morrigan etched the life rune and pressed it into her torso, the small cuts disappearing. She winced and waivered unsteadily for a moment.


    Having already put his axes across his back, Santar sat down against another of the headstones, taking a few moments to calm, ¡°Singy priest man stole kill. Not pretty fire. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°My dear, can you fix the headstone?¡±


    ¡°We''ll let the caretakers know what''s happened. I don''t want to expend too much energy in case we need to fight more of those things. Why don''t we cremate the people buried here again?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Bartle said, ¡°they tried that for a time. With so much death centered here, with no remains to animate we got ghosts, ash wisps, and other incorporeal manifestations. Harder to kill without Teknaus infused weapons, so they pretty quickly went back to burying them.¡±


    Oba Oddamor''s tombstone was elaborate, with runic carving across it that kept it clean and free of damage. She had designed it herself before her passing. It stood obelisk, black with gold etchings. The only bits of color were the series of inset spoons that lined along the base. These were of varying colors, sizes, and shapes.


    ¡°Spoons!¡± Santar said, poking at them with a thick finger.


    ¡°Enchanters can be odd sometimes,¡± Bartle said.


    Morrigan agreed, ¡°And who knows what purpose these may have served, if any at all. Could just be sentimental junk.¡±


    Bartle pulled a small book from a pouch he kept at his side. ¡°Santar, if you would be so kind as to dig up the coffin. My dear, the Soul Communion.¡±


    Santar dropped his axes to the ground before plunging his four hands into the soil, piling up soil.


    Morrigan opened her coin pouch, ¡°The Soul Communion can affect an individual,¡± she stacked ten white draka on the headstone. ¡°We''ll need more than two minutes, so Diameter is too short a time to ask our questions, so you''ll be concentrating on this,¡± Bartle nodded, and Morrigan counted out 100 white draka in ten stacks of ten. ¡° She stacked ten more white draka, ¡°And of course you''ll be touching her for the ritual. Should only take a little more than a half hour, working together.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, my love.¡±


    He grabbed one of the stacks and began laying out the draka in a pattern of the rune of Pallerva, Goddess of Wisdom, while Morrigan did the same for the rune of Chaldia, Goddess of Death.

 Chapter 12: Venturing Forth

    Shadows hung low in the redness of dusk as Syler and his companions neared the Guild''s main building, called Guild Central,  directly in the center of the city. Lanterns on either side of the entrance emitted soft magical light. The white noise of the bustle of the city seemed especially loud tonight.


    ¡°Seven stories?¡± Twigly looked up in awe. ¡°As tall as many of our trees!¡±


    Guild Central''s outer columns were of brilliant white dragon bones, which needed no magical reinforcement. The stonework masonry was immaculate, each brick set with Urrutia Stonemother''s rune, embellished with shaped metallic dragon scales.


    ¡°Built during the days when dragon materials were abundant, several thousand years ago,¡± Winny said as though reading it from a book.


    The interior was as ornate as the exterior, and despite the lateness of the hour people still milled about the foyer. No one paid them any mind as they maneuvered silently across the space to a set of elevators.


    ¡°Close your eyes, Twigly,¡± Destin said.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Accessing the area we need is a trade secret,¡± Syler answered.


    ¡°Like stonecraft,¡± Twigly nodded in understanding as he turned to face a corner and closed his eyes.


    ¡°And we should wrap him in shadow,¡± Destin said, pointing out Twigly''s leafy leathers.


    ¡°Agreed. With three it shouldn''t be too heavy a drain.¡±


    Syler, Winny, and Destin put a hand on Twigly''s back, a bit of shadow shifting from each of them to wrap Twigly in similar looking shadowy leathers.


    ¡°This armor¡¯s illusory, and close inspection will show it false.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Winny held up her hand to the series of buttons, willing a tendril of her shadow armor to an area beneath the basement button. The shadow passed through the panel, and the elevator began moving down.


    ¡°You can look now,¡± Syler said as he patted Twigly''s shoulder.


    The elevator went down far beyond the basement level, travelling for almost 20 seconds deeper down.


    ¡°It feels strange being back here,¡± Syler muttered.


    Winny and Destin agreed. After the initial training was completed, most Agents never set foot in the training facility again. Unless they became trainers, of course.


    Twigly gasped as the elevator opened, the internal lights going out as it did so. The darkness was so complete that it took Twigly several moments to shift into his innate darkvision. Their noses twitched as the smell of blood, sweat, and death hung heavy in the air.


    A ten foot wide empty hallway of shaped stone reached for 30 feet before branching left and right.


    They took the left turn, spotting movement near the end of the again branching hallway. Syler continued calmly, ignoring the shifting forms, trainees sneaking out late.


    Twigly tightened his hands into fists, the slight cracking of his knuckles echoing impossibly loud through the silent hallway. Syler looked back at him and raised a finger to his lips.


    The hallways felt to him like he had been there yesterday. The silence was as deafening as when he had first arrived to begin his training. Several doorways, all missing doors, dotted the labyrinth of halls as they walked about. The scent of blood and death grew stronger as they maneuvered deeper into the facility.


    We are close to the Bloodpool, he signed to Winny and Destin. Twigly gagged as the smell became almost unbearable.


    <hr>


    He awoke in the dark, his body still sore from the training they had endured the weeks before.


    Ears, his primary trainer, had his long ears tied back behind his head as he strode silently into Syler''s room.


    It''s time to dip, Ears signed. Syler had barely managed to tap into the Penumbral magic to see through the darkness, and missed the first half. He didn''t need it. He patted the still sleeping Tootsie on the head and loudly sighed as he stood.


    Oops.


    Ears struck fast, punching Syler in the face. The pain washed over him, and he grunted involuntarily, earning him another punch. He kept himself quiet and stood, wiping the blood from his nose, glaring at his trainer, but doing nothing but following behind.


    The Bloodpool was possibly the worst part of the training. Ears pushed a switch slowly up, the light in the room gradually increasing. Syler let the darkvision ebb away and the pool lay before them.


    The ten foot diameter pool was 5 feet deep. And full of viscera. Blood was the majority of what filled the pool, but innards and body parts also floated within it.


    Ears handed him a potion that protected him from disease, which he begrudgingly drank, nearly gagging as he handed the empty vial back and taking a step closer. The stink was so strong in the room that the potion, if it had a different taste, ended up tasting like the smell anyway.


    Syler had vomited the first time he entered this room two weeks prior, and the smell still made him want to gag. He had tried the first time to remove his clothing, but that had been met with a severe beating.


    He stepped gingerly onto the first step, feeling his toes smash something against the hard step. Bile rose to his throat, but he managed to keep it down.


    Another step. The solid viscera shifted around his knees. Another step. His hands dipped into the gore, making him recoil slightly. Not enough to draw attention, thankfully. Another step. Something spherical entered his right hand. He lifted it out of the pool. He wished he hadn''t.


    He couldn''t stop it from happening, adding his stomach¡¯s contents to the mix.


    A shadowy dagger pommel struck him in the shoulder. Syler glared back at Ears and took the final step, now up to his chin.


    He was forced to stay in the pool for ten long minutes, moving through it and even to submerge fully at least once.


    A small section of the room was cordoned off by a curtain, a showerhead affixed above. He stood under the flowing water until Ears forced him out. He didn''t think he would ever feel clean again.


    Permission to ask a question, sir? Syler signed. Ears nodded. Why the Bloodpool, sir?


    When you finish your training, you will shroud yourself with death, embrace the nuance of blood and bone, and dance in the shadow of justice. And none of it will be worse than this. Syler couldn¡¯t argue that point.


    It took another three weeks of daily dips for Syler to not throw up upon entry into the Bloodpool. It took him longer than Destin, and Winny took even longer than him.


    Some time later, as their training neared its zenith, the entire class stood around the Bloodpool.


    ¡°It¡¯s been years now since most of you have been this near the pool,¡± Ears spoke softly, but pierced the silence. ¡°You have learned most of what I can teach you. Those of you who made it this far deserve to learn something new, something you may find useful. Syler, what is the Penumbral Sanctorum?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Where we store particularly powerful artifacts we don¡¯t want getting out to the general public, sir.¡±


    ¡°Yes, and we are going to drop an item off there today.¡±


    Winny slipped her hand into Destin¡¯s hand and gripped tight, ¡°Won¡¯t that be dangerous?¡±


    ¡°Extremely, but we¡¯ll be fine,¡± Ears whistled and ten Agents entered the now cramped room.


    ¡°Shroud your armors, and these Agents will amplify it. We will be all but invisible to the shades who watch over the Sanctorum.¡±


    Syler and the others tapped into their learned shadow magic, deepening the strips of shadow that surrounded them. Dark tendrils drifted from the Agents that surrounded them, and all but their eyes could be seen.


    ¡°Very good,¡± Ears looked over everyone, then spread his arms out wide, ¡°The entrance is here. Once we shadowstep into Penumbra, we are going to plunge into the Bloodpool.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± one of the other students said with as much enthusiasm as they all felt.


    They all stepped into the shadow plane. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    And took the plunge.


    <hr>


    The Bloodpool doorway, like the others, held no door. Syler led the way, sliding up against the wall and peeking into the room.


    A single figure stood facing the steps, back to them. Ears tucked back.


    ¡°Your druid friend is quite loud, Syler Dunn.¡± They all stepped into the room, but said nothing, until Ears turned to face them. His fur was grey with age, but his eyes were just as fierce as Syler remembered.


    ¡°He is not, sir,¡± Syler answered without expression, ¡°you knew we would need a stone.¡±


    ¡°As soon as I heard of Cara¡¯s death, yes. And I see you dragged Winny and Destin with you.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t happen to have already gotten one for us, sir?¡± Syler expected the dagger that flew his way, and his fingers wrapped around the hilt before the blade struck his face. He smiled, and let the blade melt away before taking a step closer.


    ¡°Max¡¯s death is not officially sanctioned, thus far at least.¡±


    ¡°Ask me if I give a fuck, sir.¡±


    Ears ignored the impertinence, ¡°You were the one who finally took down Malakia.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Syler answered, despite it not being a question. Winny beamed while Destin pointedly looked at the ground.


    A faint smile dashed across Ears¡¯s face, ¡°I trained you well.¡±


    Syler matched the smirk, ¡°Yes, sir.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t have the amplified shroud down there.¡±


    Winny finally spoke up, ¡°We¡¯ll be fine, sir. Twigly will make us invisible.¡±


    ¡°We lost two of you last time even with the shrouding.¡±


    ¡°We,¡± Syler motioned to his compatriots, ¡°are far more capable now than we were then, sir.¡±


    Ears reached out a hand to Syler, much to his surprise. He gripped the hand of his mentor, who squeezed it for several moments, ¡°You are capable, and I¡¯m coming with you.¡± He held up his hand to silence the forthcoming protest. Syler nodded.


    ¡°So this is the one who trained you?¡± Twigly asked.


    ¡°It feels like he still is,¡± Destin said.


    ¡°Yes it does,¡± said Syler, never taking his eyes from Ears, ¡°but we really should get started.¡±


    Twigly pulled a small figurine from his hip pouch. It was draka shaped by a scalesmith made to appear as a stalking panther.


    ¡°There is already a ring around this pool. May I use it?¡± Twigly asked Ears.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°I need,¡± Twigly thought for several moments, ¡°85 white draka and about three minutes, less if you all help me.¡±


    As they fished out the coins from various bags and wallets, he continued, ¡°Invisible Passage will last for two minutes. We do not have the time for me to make it last any longer. Spread the draka in equidistant spacing along that inset circle.¡±


    Twigly closed his gemstone eyes for several moments in concentration, and when he opened them again his right index finger glowed alum and the left was black as night.


    In the air before him he began to trace the Hunting and the Shadow runes, leaving faint outlines of each as his fingers deftly wove. When he finished he began anew, the runes becoming more clearly visible with each passage.


    With all four working to complete the ritual, invisibility washed over them all after less than a minute had passed.


    Syler could still see their outlines using his eye, and he gathered everyone within touching distance.


    ¡°You may want to close your eyes for this part, Twigly.¡± Winny said.


    ¡°I have never seen Penumbra before. I will do no such thing.¡±


    Winny nodded, ¡°Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡±


    Syler gripped Twigly¡¯s shoulder again, like he had before, and they all melted into the shadows. He had grown to enjoy the prickling tingle that accompanied the planar shift that was stronger when transporting others. He felt the energy leave his body and when they had finally arrived a heartbeat later, it took him a moment to catch his breath. The dark greys of Penumbra shifted to opaque black upon the surface of the pool.


    Twigly fell to a knee, quivering. ¡°What¡­ were those¡­ shapes?¡± he asked between dry heaves.


    ¡°No time,¡± Syler said as he stepped into the blackness of the pool.


    The thicker shadow felt like walking through a heavy cream, and where the bottom of Bloodpool usually was there were instead more stairs leading deeper down. The shadow barrier was only five feet thick, the stairwell returning to the nondescript dark greys. The stairs extended 30 feet down, with a small landing every ten feet. At the bottom landing was a door.


    He waited until everyone had reached the landing before gently pushing the door open. Twigly gasped.


    The room was enormous, lined with tables on which were numerous objects of different sizes, shapes, and colors. Powerful artifacts, some older than Penumbra itself, lay tagged out in the open.


    Floating above the tables near the high ceiling was a writhing mass of shades. It was difficult to tell where one ended and another began.


    Ears placed a finger to his lips and crouched low, silently darting from table to table, hastily looking over them before moving on to the next. They all followed, flitting from table to table as they looked for the nullstone.


    After what felt like an eternity, they reached a series of tables on which rested numerous stones. Winny, being the smallest, stepped out from the table and began gingerly looking. There were several seeing stones, a palm sized red stone of seemingly random jagged facets, and a large, rune covered diamond labeled as a solar crystal.


    Near the center of the second table she searched were several null stones, small emerald stones the size of Syler''s thumb. She grabbed two, slight surprise when she noticed she was visible again. A quick glance told her the rest.


    Time had run out.


    The movement on the ceiling stopped. Dark, veiled faces all turned at once to Winny.


    They all reacted simultaneously. Ears darted out from under his table, throwing daggers into the writhing mass. Winny, to her credit, just began running to the exit, keeping low and trying to stay under tables as much as possible. Twigly rolled out and shifted, his form blazing with firelight which seemed to be largely absorbed by the shadow around them.


    Syler shouted for them to run, to flee this place. He stood his ground, drawing his dark bow and firing arrows into the writhing mass. He called for his companion and added his Penumbral magic as she poofed in, glad to have Toots in his time of need.


    The shades surged down at Syler, several dissipating from daggers thrown by Destin and Ears. Syler dove away from the hoard, the raucous noise deafening as it shattered a nearby table, scattering ancient artifacts.


    Tootsie jumped from table to table, dark claws and teeth raking at shades that had separated from the hoard.


    The shade hoard branched out, gouging bloody lines across Ears and Destin who fought desperately against them. Winny paused in her run to fire a few arrows, dissolving several shades in puffs of shadowy dust.


    They kept moving toward the exit, dodging and shooting and throwing as much to simply keep the shades at bay as to harm them.


    Syler cried out as claws scratched out at him from all sides. Twigly smashed shades with his flaming form as he floated onward, scattering ashy dust over the tables as he went. Before reaching the exit however, the shades focused on him, knocking away his fiery form and sending him smashing several tables as he was launched away.


    ¡°No!¡± Syler roared and ran to protect Twigly.


    Tootsie was faster. She leapt across the large room in two bounds, sliding to stand over the struggling Twigly.


    Ears was right alongside Syler, blood flowing from a spot on his head where one of his ears had been.


    ¡°Grab him and run!¡¯ Ears yelled over the din. He spun and threw dagger after dagger.


    It wasn''t enough.


    A tendril of the shade hoard smashed into Ears, ignoring the arrows from Destin and Winny, who both stood next to the stairs leading out.


    With a cry Ears was lifted up into the writhing mass. Tootsie grabbed at his heel, trying to pull him back down.


    The green Nature rune on Syler''s chest flared to life as wings burst from his back. He flew straight into the hoard at the spot holding Ears, sending vines of shadow as he cut a swath through them. The dark vines cut through the shades like roots through stone, a cloud of dust trailing behind him as he flew.


    Ears fell back to the floor, one of his legs crumpling beneath him.


    Tootsie tugged all the harder, pulling Ears toward the exit, not waiting for the others as she burst up the stairs.


    Twigly limped his way to the stairs as well, watching helplessly as the shade hoard, many of which were already reforming in the space above, roiled around Syler.


    The darkness was complete inside the hoard, only his glowing blue eye able to pierce through to see his friends had reached the exit.


    I will not die here! The thought continuously repeated through his mind. He felt his energy wavering. The wings and the vines had almost fully tapped him, and he could only summon a single shadow dagger to defend himself. He darted through the hoard, unable to avoid every claw. His wings faltered and he fell plummeting to the foot of the stairs, limp from unconsciousness.


    Twigly and Destin caught him, pulling him up through the heavy shadow barrier before the hoard could grab him again.


    Tootsie bounded to Syler''s prone form as they all stepped out from the shadow. He was covered in blood and gashes. She gently pawed at him, the shadow retreating from her form back into him, the magic automatically wrapping the worst of the wounds to staunch the bleeding.


    Twigly grabbed a small container from his bag and began meticulously applying a foul smelling ointment to Syler''s smaller cuts and scrapes.


    Winny began looking after Destin and Ears, who both bled from numerous sources. Ears shooed her away, plucking a vial from within his armor and staring at it for several moments.


    ¡°Twigly,¡± Ears grunted, pulling himself to a sitting position, reaching vial out to him.


    Twigly took it and rushed back to Syler, administering the potion.


    The seeping blood from behind the tight bonds of the armor strips stopped and Syler sat bolt upright, summoning his dagger and brandishing it around him.


    ¡°You do not happen to have any more of those, do you?¡± Twigly asked, having finished his task.


    ¡°No,¡± he said as he collapsed onto his back, his breathing coming in fast and shallow.


    Syler crawled over to where Ears lay, grabbing him by the hand, ¡°Come on, sir. Get up.¡±


    Ears looked at each of his former students individually, ¡°Not this time. I''m damn proud of who you all became.¡±


    His breathing began to weaken.


    ¡°Winny, Destin, take Twigly to the elevator.¡±


    Tears streamed down Winny''s cherubic face, and Destin looked for the first time in many years at his former teacher. He nodded and they left the room, turning the corner out of sight.


    ¡°We were going to have to change your name to Ear,¡± Syler said as he pulled a metal knife from his side pouch.


    ¡°No, use the shadow dagger.¡±


    ¡°But then there''s no way for you to come back.¡±


    ¡°I''m already tainted by the shades,¡± he pointed to his hands, the black tendrils already spreading through his veins. ¡°Besides, I wouldn''t want to return anyway.¡±


    Dark tears formed around his eyes, the blackness even visible therein.


    Ears placed his palm against Syler''s chest, and the Penumbral magic that was his armor began to melt away, funneling into Syler. The tattoos on Ears also began to wane, becoming lighter and lighter, as much as Syler understood his own were becoming clearer and darker.


    Syler felt his connection to the shadow plane, weakened from overuse in the Sanctorum, strengthened beyond what he had experienced before.


    The removal of Ears''s armor set his wounds to flowing faster, and his breathing grew more ragged.


    The knife Syler formed in his right hand looked more solid than he had been able to manifest before.


    ¡°Be at peace, you go to join those who protect the realm of shadow.¡±


    The elevator ride back up was a silent one.

 Chapter 13: Riddles in the Light

    ¡°What was that about?¡± Bartle said to his wife as Santar was heaping the soil back over Oba¡¯s grave.


    ¡°Runecasters of old love speaking in riddles, dear.¡±


    ¡°Of course they do. Why wouldn''t they? I can''t wait to shower,¡± Bartle clapped his hands against his pants, small poofs of dried dirt making tiny, slowly settling clouds around him.


    ¡°I am sure it will make sense when we get there,¡± Morrigan said as she hooked her arm into his.


    ¡°Hole is full!¡± Santar roared as he shook, clumps of dirt scattering around him.


    ¡°Hopefully the others were more successful than we were.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    The three stopped over at the nearest temple to Chaldia to inform them of the bone golem remains, then headed deeper into the city. The lights were still off at the Shipwright residence when they arrived.


    ¡°We here first,¡± Santar said.


    Bartle held the door for Morrigan and Santar to enter, ¡°I imagine whatever they went to do took more time than our task. Especially with you helping us.¡± Santar happily patted Bartle''s shoulder, nearly knocking down.


    ¡°Let us get cleaned up, the time is nearly upon us.¡±


    Bartle and Morrigan had already finished cleaning up and Santar was soaking in the large tub upstairs when Syler and company trudged into the house. Sadness was etched across all but Twigly''s bloodied face.


    Bartle noticed them first and placed a hand to his wife''s. ¡°Are you okay?¡±


    Morrigan gasped and shot to her feet, looking over their injuries.


    ¡°No,¡± Syler muttered as he waved her away. ¡°But we did get the nullstone.¡±


    ¡°And you''re all more or less unscathed,¡± Bartle said as he moved to be centered around them, held his medallion and the Life rune flared brightly, warm healing magic washing over them. Their visible wounds began closing, leaving only faint lines. He sat down to catch his breath.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Syler said as he rolled his shoulders. ¡°Were you successful?¡±


    ¡°Yes. We have information from Oba,¡± Morrigan pulled a sheaf of parchment from her dress and handed it to Syler.


    Syler read aloud:


    Beneath the plantation, where three secrets lie,


    The basement is trapped beneath one lock and key.


    Ablaze with the light, where four echoes sigh,


    Dual perilous puzzles for those daring to see.


    Beware the floor where false steps tread,


    One must hold the trigger where pitfalls are spread.


    To navigate this deadly snare,


    Seek the eyes that keenly stare.


    A maze of magic, elusive and sly


    Veiling the path with a deceitful sky.


    To pierce the ruse and avoid despair


    Bring a mind astute with perceptive flair.


    A room filled with flames, dangerous and wild,


    Guards the passage, where truth is reviled.


    To soothe the blaze and clear the space


    A painful truth you thus must face.


    The final step, prismatic barrier


    To conquer locked secrets, silent and grand.


    Allows no flesh, be it two-legs or terrier,


    To breach the vault without proper command.


    ¡°Riddles, why is it always riddles?¡± Destin said, shaking his head as Syler tossed the paper onto the table.


    Winny answered, ¡°Oba was a runecaster, and a strange one at that, if history be truth. She enjoyed finding ways to avoid telling folks anything directly.¡±


    Syler nodded. ¡°The last part is simple enough. That''s why we got the nullstone.¡±


    ¡°The rest is a bit vague without being there to see what it may mean,¡± Winny said, looking over Morrigan''s beautiful handwriting as she memorized the riddle.


    Syler rubbed the stubble on his chin in thought before speaking, ¡°I think we have everything we need.¡±


    ¡°And everyone,¡± Bartle said.


    ¡°Agreed. While we''re all here, we should go over the plan.¡±


    Morrigan stood again, ¡°I''ll make us all some food.¡±


    Santar descended the staircase with a towel wrapped around his head as the smells of baking bread and roasting meat filled the Shipwright home. Syler and company laid out the final plan.


    ¡°The only person I need to kill is Maxwell Lawson, and I''d like to avoid any collateral deaths if possible.¡±


    ¡°His father will not let this happen without a fight,¡± Syler motioned to Santar, ¡°That''s where you come in, big guy. You''re the distraction for Raynard. He''s stronger than most, and may embibe potions to further increase his power.¡±


    ¡°Not stronger than me!¡± Santar flexed his four arms and bellowed with laughter.


    ¡°Somewhere in the sub-basement is an artifact I must retrieve for the Archdruid. The Eldergrove Crown.¡±


    Morrigan''s gasp was involuntary, ¡°They have the Crown?¡± Syler nodded. ¡°That explains so much.¡±


    ¡°If someone finds the crown before me, get it out of the basement to the Archdruid as quickly as possible.¡± Nods all around. Morrigan described its appearance for them all.


    He focused on Destin and Winny, ¡°We are going nonlethal unless you absolutely must. The Lawson''s will have hired mercenaries from many groups and I don''t know if any of the guards have writs.¡±


    ¡°We will have the outer guards taken care of anyway, if all goes according to plan,¡± Twigly said as he withdrew and held aloft the wooden clock.


    ¡°How many are coming?¡± Morrigan asked, understanding the clock''s use.


    ¡°Enough to balance the scales.¡±


    She nodded.


    ¡°The druids will distract the outer guards, maybe even pulling some from inside. Then our group enters.¡±


    ¡°And what''s after that?¡±


    ¡°Not knowing the fullness of what''s there makes complete planning impossible, so I figured we''d wing it once we get in.¡±


    Winny frowned, ¡°I don''t like having no plan.¡±


    ¡°I know. Me neither. But knowing the riddle should help us once we get there, and with the guard layout,¡± he placed Admon''s hand drawn map on the table, ¡°we should be able to coordinate accordingly.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± She didn''t look fine.


    A look of sadness spread over Syler''s face, his wan smile looking back in memory, ¡°Our trainer told us over and again that no plan is ever comprehensive and-¡±


    ¡°Never survives its execution unchanged,¡± Destin finished.


    ¡°Exactly. It will be best to do this at night, so everyone rest up. Morrigan, can you send word that it''s going to happen tonight?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Twigly, how much time do you need for the ritual?¡±


    ¡°Three minutes, and 70 white draka.¡±


    ¡°Great. No problem. We meet at the outskirts of Longbottom Plantation at dusk.¡±


    ¡°I have plenty of space for any who wish to rest here,¡± Bartle said.


    Syler, Winny, Destin and Twigly decided to stay. Santar left for his home near the arena.


    Twigly stood on a slab of stone Morrigan moved up to one of the empty rooms, and was about to phase into his resting statue form when a gentle knock pulled his focus. ¡°Come in.¡±


    Syler stepped in and sat on the bed next to the slab. ¡°Before we do this, I have a question.¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    ¡°How did you come to understand the Shadow rune? I get the Nature and Hunting ones, but not many choose to learn the Shadow rune.¡±


    Twigly smiled, ¡°I was not always a druid, just as you were not always an Agent.¡±


    ¡°Before I was an Agent, I was a starving orphan, stealing to survive. The Agency was the only life I knew before Cara.¡±


    ¡°I studied at the University of Magi in Adaldrida east of the Lyrah Forest. I was determined to find some way to bring my Founder back.¡±


    ¡°The Time rune?¡±


    Twigly nodded, ¡°The Dwarf who found me committed crimes against the Guild.¡±


    ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°I thought that understanding what destroyed my Founder would help me find a way to restore them to life.¡±


    ¡°Killed by an Agent?¡± Twigly nodded, his expression only a hint of sadness. ¡°Before we entered Penumbra, you mentioned having never seen it. Your studies never showed you the path to the Shadow plane?¡±


    ¡°I do not have the tattoos as you have, that aid you in the shadowstep.¡±


    ¡°But you tried?¡±


    ¡°My desperate attempts grew near to madness, and the final leg of my search brought me to the Henge of the Ancients.¡±


    ¡°Where you stayed.¡±


    ¡°Where I learned a deeper truth about balance, where I learned that what happened was the result of their actions. Where I learned to see the truth of life and death.¡±


    Syler silently waited for him to continue.


    ¡°A deer that loses awareness when drinking from a river will die by the focused panther that hides in the bushes. Each action, each choice has consequences, leading to the result. The panther lives on.¡±


    ¡°So he does.¡±


    ¡°Just like you,¡± Twigly poked a stubby finger into Syler''s chest in the center of the Nature rune.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°During our time together during the Trial, you told me of Cara''s death. Why did the Agent choose that time to strike?¡±


    Syler thought back to the day he found Cara, ¡°The Agent who killed Cara waited for when I left for the market, ensuring I would not interfere.¡±


    ¡°And leaving you alive.¡±


    That hadn''t occurred to him before. ¡°You think I was left alive for a specific purpose?¡±


    ¡°You are technically a loose end. One with the skills to be a major thorn in the Agency''s side, yet they have made no effort to silence you, have in fact provided you with help via Destin and Winny, who would step away under direct order to do so. Why?¡±


    After several moments of thought, Syler said, ¡°Thank you. I have much to consider.¡±


    ¡°You are welcome. You are one of us now, though you may not see yourself as such. Now a question of my own.¡±


    ¡°Anything.¡±


    ¡°When we shadowstepped, I saw shapes in the space between the planes. I saw¡­¡± Twigly leaned back trying to think of a way to put it words.


    ¡°Ears always said ¡®If you had no regrets for any decision you''ve made in your past, you would see nothing between the planes.¡¯ You saw memories of your past that you regret, events you wish you could have done differently. It''s part of the cost for stepping into the source of the Agency''s power, designed long ago by people far smarter than us.¡±


    ¡°And you were taught during training to resist such mental battery?¡± Syler nodded. ¡°If I may ask, what do you see?¡±


    ¡°Leaving that morning for the damned market,¡± Syler stood to leave, more questions now than when he knocked on the door.


    <hr>


    The curtains drifted lazily from the breeze, the cozy red blanket covering them both. Syler, like he did most mornings, enjoyed Cara''s rhythmic breathing as she faced away from him.


    How had he come to find such peace after all the turmoil of his life? He didn''t know, but he refused to waste any of it.


    He kissed her right shoulder near the nape of her neck, drawing an unconscious shift of movement. He smiled and arose, beginning his morning ablutions. The black runic tattoos were darker than he remembered, and a strange green rune was centered on his chest, Telperia¡¯s Nature rune. Something to ask his lovely wife about when she arose, perhaps.


    ¡°Sy? Where''d you go?¡±


    ¡°In here, my dear.¡±


    ¡°Come back here and cuddle.¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma''am!¡±


    He ran to the bed, diving and shifting his momentum to land softly next to her. He held her close, drowning in her emerald eyes. She still smelled of the flowers she tended.


    ¡°I love you so,¡± she said, gently kissing him.


    ¡°I love you more.¡±


    He held her tight for several minutes, kissing her on her forehead. ¡°What is this rune on my chest?¡±


    She pushed back to look it over, ¡°It''s so I''ll never be far from you, even in death.¡±


    Her thin nightgown shifted, thickening and blackening, her face shifted to a skull with blazing white eyes. Syler writhed away, falling off the bed.


    Boney fingers interlocked beneath the skull that shifted into view above him.


    ¡°Hello again, fated one.¡±


    ¡°You ruined a perfect dream.¡±


    ¡°That I created.¡±


    ¡°Why do you torment me?¡±


    ¡°This is not to torment, but to remind you for whom you fight.¡±


    ¡°I need no reminder.¡±


    ¡°She is with me,¡± Chaldia said, tapping her temple, ¡°and with you.¡± She tapped the rune on his chest.


    ¡°So she is no longer a shade?¡±


    ¡°No, child. She was a shade for less than a single day. She is at peace.¡± Syler sighed with relief. ¡°You, fortunate or not, have a while yet before you may find peace.¡±


    ¡°I only knew peace for a year of my life.¡±


    ¡°And now you truly understand what you fight to protect. Families throughout Artan live in relative peace not dissimilar to what you had. Because of the efforts of a few. Because of the actions of those fated to maintain said peace.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°They drilled that into our heads the entirety of our training.¡±


    ¡°And yet you didn''t fully grasp the meaning until recently.¡±


    ¡°May I ask a question?¡± Syler rose and walked over to the chest of drawers, leaning against them as Chaldia continued to lounge on the bed, her boney feet kicking gently in the air.


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°Why me?¡±


    Though she had no lips, Syler could tell by her glowing eyes she had smiled.


    ¡°The events of one''s life all lead to a final crux. An ultimate decision. A fated choice. You already know the answer. It lives in your training. It dwells in your skill. It resides in your past. All the events of your life have led to one you cannot avoid. It''s why they waited for you to leave. It''s why the Guild helps when it should harm.¡±


    Syler shot to a seated position from his bed in Bartle''s home. He understood.


    The sky was a reddish hue when he stepped downstairs to find everyone else already awake.


    ¡°Why didn''t you wake me?¡±


    ¡°We tried,¡± Winny said after swallowing a piece of honeyed bread she had almost finished.


    ¡°It''s now or never.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    A heavy knock on the door. Santar had returned.


    At the bridge crossing from the Noble District on their trek south toward the plantation within the Agriculture District, Syler called over an orc guard.


    ¡°Yes, sir?¡± the orc looked surprised at the presence of the motley crew.


    Syler flared his eye brightly for emphasis, ¡°I need you to spread the word through the guardhouses.¡±


    ¡°What message, sir?¡±


    ¡°There''s going to be violence at the Longbottom Plantation tonight. We''ll keep deaths to a minimum, but we will have no interference by the guards. Is that understood?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir!¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The guard ran away as fast as his legs would carry him.


    ¡°Nicely done,¡± Bartle said as they walked through the gate.


    ¡°Not the first, won''t be the last.¡±


    They turn to follow the road east, passing several farms before turning south again, passing the Arena. Several folks moved to approach the Arena champion Santar, but veered away when they spotted those around him.


    There was a small forested area to the west of the southerly road that brought them to the Longbottom Plantation.


    Twigly and Morrigan led them among the trees, searching for one large enough for the ritual.


    Near the center they found one, an old gnarled oak tree.


    Twigly and Morrigan set to work, laying out the draka. Twigly set the gem encrusted wooden clock sculpture in a small opening of the tree. He traced the Time rune as Morrigan did the same for the Nature rune, the pearlescent glow meeting the green in a swirl of power that widened into a glowing doorway.


    Callista was the first to step through, followed by many other druids. One hundred in total flowed into the tiny forest within Sartak City before the doorway closed behind them.


    ¡°We stand with you, Syler.¡± The first time Callista called him by his name.


    ¡°Thank you. Stay hidden in the forest until I give the signal.¡±


    Then Syler and company stepped to the edge of the forest.


    Mercenaries from almost every known group in the Darket hung around the outside of the plantation.


    Destin scanned across the groups, ¡°I count around 300 strong, more or less.¡±


    ¡°They''ve been here long enough to get bored,¡± Winny said with a smirk, ¡°the fools.¡±


    Two scouts walked southerly on the other side of the road. Both were ratkin, with the twitching nose and long tail of the rat, brown fur bristling under sturdy leather armor, inanely chattering to one another.


    Winny drew her shadow bow and fired an arrow to thud loudly into a nearby tree.


    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± One ratkin said to the other.


    ¡°Of course, you idiot, go check it out!¡±


    The ratkin drew his short sword and slunk quietly to the source.


    Destin and Winny stepped into the shadows of the trees, slipping behind each ratkin simultaneously.


    The roadside one spotted Winny. He reached for his bow, ¡°Watch-¡±


    The pommel of Destin''s shadow dagger smashed into the back of the scout''s neck and Winny leapt onto the other, her thighs squeezing around the other''s neck before he could raise the alarm. Destin gently dragged his unconscious cargo into the outskirts of the forest.


    Twigly pulled some nearby vines and began tying them up.


    ¡°Looks like we''re down to 298,¡± Bartle smirked.


    ¡°Unless we shadowstep the whole way, it''s going to be impossible to get by unnoticed, and it''s too far to do that safely.¡± Syler looked for any opening in the surrounding gatherings. They were too many.


    ¡°No time for a ritual to hide us,¡± Bartle said, ¡°They''ll realize two of their scouts are missing by then.¡±


    ¡°We charge ''em!¡± Santar said louder than Syler would have liked.


    ¡°Not our preferred way, but desperate times and all,¡± a deep voice from behind a nearby tree.


    Twenty figures covered with the black strips of shadow armor stepped into view around them.


    ¡°Guildmaster Kagun sends his regards,¡± the one nearest Syler passed him a rolled up parchment.


    After unrolling it, Syler quickly read the document, his eyes widening with surprise. Winny and Destin recognized it for what it was, a look of concern flashing between them. A writ of execution.


    As he tucked the paper away, he said, ¡°So you aren''t here to kill me.¡±


    ¡°If we were there''d be more than 20 of us. No, we''re here to help.¡±


    ¡°Good. We need it. Morrigan?¡±


    Morrigan growled, grey fur erupting across her skin, her hide armor and staff melding into her form as her face elongated. The large grey wolf howled.


    Callista in the lead, the druids ran out from the forest, flashes of fur, feather, teeth and claws accompanying forms of earth, air, fire, and water elementals. Syler and company ran alongside them.


    The nearest mercenaries were swarmed in surprise. Screams of pain joined roars of beasts as black arrows and blades thudded across the battlefield. The surprise was over quickly, and the mercenaries rallied against the druids and agents. Wild forms dropped as arrows, bullets, and flashes of runic power rained down into the druid ranks.


    Santar gleefully led the charge to the house, using mercenaries as weapons against other mercenaries, bowling over many with each throw. Morrigan rushed those knocked prone, breaking bones with gnashing teeth.


    Bartle darted between his allies, his rapier dancing around his foes before he got surrounded. Sword, mace, and club beat down against his plate armor, scoring minor cuts between the plates and painful reverberations through the heavy blows.


    Twigly''s huge stone fist smashed an opening for Bartle to run forward, swiping blades gaining ground.


    Then they reached the rear guard. The runecasters.


    Syler watched as lightning chained out into Santar, lancing out to Morrigan, whose wolf form dissipated as she brought her staff to bear, Bartle, moving unsteadily for several moments as the lightning danced across his metallic plate, then Syler dove away as it arced at him, narrowly avoiding the bolt, only to be engulfed in flames from another caster. His armor covered him fully, protecting him from the heat. His eye flared beneath the shroud, allowing him to fight unhindered by the blinding, guarding straps.


    His dark form burst from the magical flames, smoke wisping from his armor, his bow pulled taught. His first arrow struck the caster who blasted him with fire in the knee, shattering the cap. The second struck hard in the shoulder, pinning her to the ground, the pain dropping her into unconsciousness.


    He had no time to look over the battlefield. The door into the plantation drew nearer. Santar roared in rage, ignoring blow after blow, bleeding from many wounds as he slammed into the front doors.


    Splinters shot inward, the door handle striking an unsuspecting ogre guard square between the eyes as sharp wooden shards pierced through his studded leather armor.


    With a gurgle the dead ogre crashed to the floor.


    ¡°Oops,¡± Santar growled without remorse.


    The foyer of the Longbottom Plantation was almost bigger than Syler''s entire house, with ornately curving staircases winding up to the upper floor and a central table with a small candy dish. Archers fired down from the landing, arrows thudding into Santar and the floor around him.


    As Santar charged upstairs, Twigly, back to being a Dwarf again, ran in alongside Syler, his cudgel barely deflecting an incoming chop from a glamida''s scimitar.


    ¡°Llarkin?¡± Syler asked as he thrust his dagger at an opening left by the deflected blow.


    ¡°Blue-eye,¡± the glamida answered, rolling his hip to the side, avoiding all but the slightest cut.


    ¡°Still with the Silver Tongues?¡± Syler drew out his stationery rods as he rolled to Llarkin''s right, the horizontal strike passing over him harmlessly.


    ¡°Nah, Raynard pays better,¡± he swung his scimitar in angular arc, sparks glancing off of the intercepting rod. ¡°Plus I have a chance to fight you again.¡±


    A tangled mess of bow, quiver, and archer landed hard on top of Llarkin, crumpling him to the ground.


    ¡°No time for that, I''m afraid,¡± Syler said as he stashed his stationery rods back to his pouch.


    Llarkin struggled to free himself from the archer, but Syler''s shadow blade extended to his throat.


    ¡°I only need to kill Maxwell,¡± Syler said. A deft throw landed pommel into the face of a human guard who burst into the foyer from the right door.


    Llarkin''s expression didn''t change, but he did stop struggling, ¡°Looks like a debt is owed again.¡±


    ¡°Take as many as you are able away from this place and I''ll consider us even.¡±


    Llarkin nodded as four more guards, two of them llamafolk like him, a jackspring and an Avian with owl-like facial features, charged into the foyer from deeper within.


    Syler helped Llarkin to his feet. ¡°Stow your blades!¡± Llarkin bellowed at them.


    Hesitation.


    ¡°Now!¡± They stood straighter, confusion across faces, but didn''t put their blades away. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    ¡°But the bounty-¡±


    ¡°Isn''t worth your life.¡±


    Bartle and Morrigan ran in as the conversation continued, and the group continued through the central doors that led to the dining area. Winny and Destin were lagging a bit behind.


    Syler led the way. ¡°From the drawings, the basement access is in the larders. I never had to go down there when I¡­ left the Agency. The previous owners weren''t the sharpest knives in the drawer.¡±


    They met no further resistance until they reached the kitchen. The claxxon of combat still rang outside.


    Santar poked at Bartle, then at the numerous small wounds and arrows across his barrelled chest, ¡°Ouchies.¡±


    ¡°I need to look at this lock and key business, you have time. Twigly, please find Winny and Destin, if you please.¡±


    ¡°I hope they''re alright,¡± Morrigan said as she snapped one of the arrows and started pushing it through, drawing a grunt from Santar. Bartle held Pallerva''s symbol aloft, sending waves of healing magic to all of them.


    ¡°They look after one another,¡± Twigly said. He faced away from the larder, his eyes scanning for oncoming foes as he slipped back the way they had come.


    The larder was filled with the finest foods available in Sartak City.  Syler grabbed a small bag of thinly sliced deep fried potatoes, and crunched away as he scanned the floor. The basement access panel hadn''t been moved or sealed. Lawsons weren''t always very smart.


    Syler pushed a barrel along the visible scratches across the floor, and there it was. His eye scanned through the hatch, showing no one in the attached stairwell below.


    The tied roll of leather he took from his pouch unrolled out before him, Syler ran his nimble fingers across the various thieves¡¯ tools, selecting several picks. His blue eye focused on the lock, clearly magical. A perilous puzzle indeed.


    The moment his first pick crossed the threshold into the locking mechanism, an intensely bright light flared from the lock. It went out immediately when he instinctively pulled the pick, spots swimming across his vision.


    Bartle poked his head in the larder, ¡°What was that flash?¡±


    Syler shook his head to try to get the spots to dissipate, ¡°The basement is trapped beneath one lock and key ablaze with light-¡±


    ¡°Where four echoes sigh, dual perilous puzzles for those daring to see,¡± Bartle finished.


    ¡°Stand back,¡± Syler tapped into his runic tattoo, filling the larder with magical darkness and tried the lock again. The brightness was absorbed completely within, and his vision shifted to the greys of darkvision.


    ¡°They are okay,¡± Twigly called. Syler paused for a moment, hearing a thud.


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Winny''s voice piped up cheerily. ¡°Got a bit side tracked. We made it!¡±


    The lockpicks deftly moved across the pistons, but he noticed that the telltale sounds of compressed pin tumblers was off, or there was an accompanying sound that threw off any would-be thieves. Echoes.


    ¡°Come on, open for me,¡± Syler whispered as he kept at it. Not being able to rely on the sounds made it harder, but not impossible.


    As he compressed the fourth and final pin tumbler, lightning arced into the picks, his hands instinctively pulling away. ¡°Damn it!¡±


    He felt Winny''s presence next to him, ¡°The final pin shocked me.¡±


    ¡°You started from front to back?¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°How many are there?¡±


    ¡°Four.¡±


    Thudding sounds from the kitchen. ¡°Hurry up!¡± Twigly shouted. ¡°We''ll hold them off as long as we can!¡±


    ¡°Give me the first part again,¡± Syler said.


    ¡°Beneath the plantation, where three secrets lie, the basement is trapped beneath one lock and key, ablaze with the light where four echoes sigh, dual perilous puzz- that''s it!¡± Winny exclaimed. ¡°Compress in this order: third, first, fourth, second.¡±


    The lock clicked open. They pulled the trap door, revealing the stairs within. ¡°Let''s go!¡± Syler led his group deeper into the basement. Santar slammed the trap door shut and they all heard sliding above.


    ¡°Looks like we''re here until it''s done.¡±


    Santar pushed against the door, but it wouldn''t budge. A set of lightly glowing runes in an outline of a key was etched on the underside of the trapdoor.


    The foot of the stairs opened out into a larger room after a short hall. When Syler reached the widening he stopped them.


    The room was brightly lit, extending left and right from the opening 20 feet. The same distance of depth into the room led to a mirror that encompassed the entire wall opposite the opening.


    Bartle raised his eyebrows, ¡°Why is the furniture only in the reflection?¡±


    ¡°And where are we?¡± Destin said.


    Syler gingerly slid a foot into the room. His reflection appeared, but it was noticeably out of focus.


    ¡°Ah,¡± Destin''s question answered.


    Morrigan etched the knowledge rune twice and the sun rune before her, gold and copper identifying energies arching out into a sphere in the middle of the empty room. ¡°This room has the Hunting, Shadow, Chaos, and Crafting runes within it, in varying combinations.¡±


    ¡°Oba used Kalak''s rune?¡±


    ¡°Yes, but I''m not sure yet how.¡±


    Syler stepped gently into the room. The reflection showed a decorated sitting room with a colorful rug and elaborate tiles. On either side of the opening were two paintings, each depicting a different halfling dressed in noble finery. The space around him seemed made of blank grey stone. He scanned the room with his activated blue eye.


    The invisible furniture was limned the same bright blue, but he found that the floor was lined with something he couldn''t see through. Solid across the whole floor.


    He reached to touch a chaise lounge near him in the reflection. Resistance. Plush padding.


    ¡°Interesting. Everyone stay back. Winny and Destin, this room is undoubtedly trapped.¡±


    ¡°On it,¡± Destin said as they too stepped into the room.


    ¡°Syler,¡± Bartle was focused on the reflection. ¡°I think you''re less blurry now.¡±


    Indeed, as he moved back closer to the entryway, his reflection drifted further out of focus. ¡°Curious.¡±


    He navigated around to the front of the poofed chair, able to make out the details of his face in the reflection.


    A panel in the floor dropped open. Destin dove to try to catch him, but Syler fell into a pit. Without thinking his wings shot out, accidentally slamming into Destin mid-dive and launching him into one of the nearby invisible couches. The hole was only 5 feet square, and his extended wings prevented him from plummeting into the spikes he saw below.


    He flexed his wings, launching himself to his feet next to the hole, which closed  again as soon as he stepped away from the opening.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Syler asked as Destin shifted to a seated position.


    ¡°Feels weird sitting on something I can''t see.¡±


    ¡°Looks like we should stay blurred.¡±


    ¡°Pitfalls, like the second part of the riddle!¡± Winny said with perhaps more excitement than intended. ¡°Beware the floor where false steps tread. One must hold the trigger where pitfalls are spread. To navigate this deadly snare, seek the eyes that keenly stare.¡±


    Syler, Winny, and Destin searched around the room, focused on their reflections and marking the areas that were clearly trapped, tracing the areas with wisps of shadow.


    ¡°You all can enter now, just avoid the marked areas.¡±


    Twigly was first to step into the room, and with a brief flash of light, the entry was sealed with a barrier.


    Morrigan poked at the barrier, ¡°Impassable.¡±


    Twigly poked from his side and found he could still pass through it. When he stepped back into the hall, the barrier dissipated. Bartle stepped through and the barrier returned with the same results.


    ¡°Looks like it has limited capacity,¡± Twigly said.


    Winny paced around one of the pits rubbing her hands together in thought, ¡°Maybe a reference to the first stanza and the four echoes, or Oba just liked the number four.¡±


    Syler looked over the reflection again. ¡°There aren''t any statues or suits of armor, so the ¡®eyes that keenly stare¡¯ must be from the Longbottom paintings.¡±


    Still seeing through the invisibility, Syler moved closer to the paintings. The first on the left most side when facing the hall was a handsome older halfling woman, one of the first Longbottom matriarchs. Karan Longbottom was the inscribed name. She had curly blond hair and wore a flowing, deep purple dress and a glare that could spoil milk. She was looking toward the center of the room.


    The next painting was a family portrait, depicting the parents looming menacingly over their four children, two girls and two boys all with curly blond hair. One of the boys¡¯ faces was scratched off to the point of seeing the wood backing beneath it. As with Karan, they wore finery of rare blues and purples, flaunting wealth. Kayln, Kristof, Kyra, Krystine, Kane, and - the final name was scratched out. The adults and children looked toward the wall on Syler''s left.


    The third painting, now on the other side of the opening, was of a younger Karan standing next to a dark haired man, two young halflings sitting between them. Karan, Thom, Kristof, and Kylen Longbottom. They looked to the wall on Syler''s left.


    The final painting was somber, with Karan, Thom, and an older Kristof standing around a coffin, Kylen''s features on the form in the open casket. All eyes looked to the right wall.


    Syler returned to the first painting and tried to lift it. It was either far heavier than appeared or it was fixed to the wall. He lifted the second easily from its hook, but set it back to look over them again.


    ¡°So they need to be rearranged,¡± Bartle said. He motioned to Destin and they pulled down the paintings.


    ¡°It looks like the paintings tell a bit of the history of the Longbottom family,¡± Bartle said. ¡°Do you know the name of the one they scratched out?¡±


    ¡°Not offhand, no. I recognize the names and faces of the larger family portrait. They were here when I completed my retirement.¡±


    ¡°And thus would be the most recent portrait,¡± Bartle set the painting on the furthest right hook.


    Syler set the one with the coffin next to the Karan''s, and Destin placed the last one.


    Click. The floor in the center of the room slid open and a pedestal rose up, a palm sized golden button in its center.


    Syler inspected around the button, finding no evidence of traps and placed his palm on the button. A pulse of energy rippled over the mirror, leaving an opening to venture further in. Two guards stood in the opening and fired their heavy crossbows at Syler.


    Bartle shoved him out of the way, the bolts striking true, punching through his heavy plate mail. With a grunt, Bartle slumped to the ground, his breathing belabored. As Syler''s hand left the button, the mirror returned to its original state.


    ¡°NO!¡± Morrigan cried out, banging against the barrier. Destin pulled Bartle back through the barrier, trailing a thick line of blood. Twigly already had his healing poultice out ready to begin administering what aid he could.


    As they worked on stabilizing Bartle, Santar rushed into the room. Winny reached to grip the upper ledge of the pedestal, hiding as best she could behind the heavy stone. Syler stood moving to where the opening was as Santar stood before him.


    ¡°Now!¡±


    Winny pushed the button, and Santar burst through the doorway, arms sweeping wildly. He knocked crossbows aside as he grabbed both guards by their skulls with his lower mechanical arms.


    ¡°YOU HURT MY BUDDY!¡± Santar screamed, a bloody mist covering his face as he brought his hands together.


    Syler noted the ten foot wide hallway running about 30 feet before branching left and right. Three more guards burst into view from the right, stunned momentarily by the gore before them.


    Daggers from either side of him flipped end over end, piercing the left guard through the neck and the right in the chest. As the blades melted away from the fallen forms, the middle guard dropped his crossbow and fled deeper into the basement.


    Syler ran back to where Bartle was already sitting up, blood dribbling down from his mouth.


    ¡°Thank goodness Pallerva has blessed me against poisons.¡±


    ¡°Indeed. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°You''d''ve done the same for me.¡±


    ¡°And not been hit,¡± Syler smiled. Bartle''s laugh quickly became a pained sound.


    ¡°He needs to rest,¡± Morrigan said. ¡°I''ll look after him.¡±


    Syler nodded, ¡°Agreed. Would you mind pressing the button for us?¡±


    ¡°Too many people.¡±


    ¡°Santar and Destin are already across the threshold.¡±


    ¡°Assuming the mirror is the threshold.¡±


    It was. The group of seven was down to five.


    The doorway closed behind them as they reached the split in the hall.


    ¡°Vault is left, stairs further down to the right,¡± Destin said.


    ¡°Why does it appear to branch in multiple directions?¡± Indeed, both the left and right paths led to a multitude of branching intersections. A single glowing line stretched on the ceiling out several such intersections before turning out of sight.


    Winny recited, ¡°A maze of magic, elusive and sly, veiling the path with a deceitful sky. To pierce the ruse and avoid despair bring a mind astute with perceptive flair.¡±


    While they began discussing the stanza, Santar rifled through the belongings of the dead guards. He found several small pouches of draka, tossing them aside. He looked over the masterfully crafted crossbows and slung one across his back. He found several rings he didn''t care about, a ring of keys from which he liked the jangly sounds, and found they all wore the same amulet with the Lawson crest. He popped one from the neck of the guard, appreciating the encrusted gems, and put it around his neck before joining the others.


    ¡°-the glowing path on the ceiling must be false,¡± Winny was saying.


    ¡°Of course, but how do we find the route out?¡±


    Santar cheerily said, ¡°Glowy line on floor?¡±


    ¡°There isn''t a floor line.¡±


    Santar nodded vigorously, ¡°Yes there is!¡± He reached down and poked a thick finger on the ground.


    ¡°There''s nothing there, big guy,¡± Syler said before noticing the Lawson amulet around his neck. ¡°Where''d you get that?¡±


    Santar motioned to the guards.


    Twigly grabbed one of the amulets, ¡°Oh. It is true there is a line on the floor now.¡±


    ¡°So the guards don''t get lost in the maze!¡± Winny''s typical excitement.


    ¡°Of course! You''re a genius, big guy!¡±


    Santar, having never been called that before, beamed with pride and thrust his chest out. ¡°I am!¡± He jangled the keys happily.


    ¡°There¡¯s not enough for everyone, so lead the way,¡± Syler said, letting all but himself wear the amulets.