《The Land of Many Kings》


 One

    Night was giving way to dawn, and all the fury and the biting steel died out with the soldiers. Those still alive retreated, or else stumbled, haggard and bleeding, lurching and heaving, limping with wounds, walking nowhere in particular¨Cwalking in a daze, walking among the intoxicating decay.


    The purple sky was made sepulchral as it draped itself over the field, a funeral shroud gently gauzing the dead. The dirt was in clots and the blood was in clots and now a strange calm crept itself between the bodies and unfurled over the knoll. It was the kind of profound silence that can only come after tragedy, one leaden and hazy, making everything distant and weightless and remote, making of everything a mirage. But it wasn¡¯t a mirage. The horror of it, the blood of it, the burnt flesh of it, the mangled bones of it¨Cit was all real.


    Akura¡¯a took stock of the ghosts. Not even ten feet from where she stood was her brother, Karkori¡¯i, his heavy frame slumped over, the fang of a rapier thrusting through his body at an angle, its hilt pushing into the mud. His brown blood crusted on the blade, which had pierced cleanly through his pebbled skin. Less clean was the cut through his pelts, which were caught halfway up the blade, clinging to the stick of his blood, their fringed edges whipping in the wind like flags of surrender. Decades she and her brother had been by each other¡¯s side, decades they had held one another up¨Cdecades erased in a moment.


    On another slope to the east was Othoku¡¯u, whom she had been drinking around the fire with but two nights ago, telling crude jokes and laughing until she had tears in her eyes. Now he was mute, a husk whose life had drained out the gash a claymore cut in his head.


    Near the crest of a small hill, she could see the body of Bolgera¡¯a, pinned down in a hail of arrows. She and Bolgera¡¯a had been playmates as orclings. They would stage mock battles just like this¨CBolgera¡¯a the orc, and Akura¡¯a the marauding human. Akura¡¯a would always let Bolgera¡¯a win. They had grown apart, but now, staring at her lifeless body on the hill, Bolgera¡¯a felt like a sister to her, and Akura¡¯a wished it had ended like their childhood games instead.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    She looked over her shoulder and saw Sauro¡¯o splayed across the grass. They had been lovers once. His torso¨Cwhich she had once wrapped her arms about in ecstatic embrace¨Cwas ripped open, his viscera oozing out. His face¨Cwhich had been wide-eyed and wild in bed, ravenous with an appetite for her flesh, for her touch¨Cwas now empty, his eyes distant and dim and ashen, the fire gone out.


    And there were nearly as many human bodies as orc. Their pale, wispy remains lay scattered across the scum like delicate piles of frayed silk. She should have hated them. She should have thrilled at every glob of their tenderized flesh that dotted the hill. But she didn¡¯t. There was no revenge, no justice. Her body had lost the ability to produce any sensation whatsoever. There was only aching numbness.


    As she continued to survey the quiet desolation, she noticed a movement on the ground near a small outcropping of rocks. One of the strewn bodies twitched. It was a human. Without thinking, she lumbered over to investigate. The soft-bodied thing reached up at her, not knowing whether she was friend or foe. It couldn¡¯t know, because its face was half smashed. One eye had burst, the other swollen shut. It reached, sensing a presence. Its other arm was arranged at an odd angle, the bone obviously shattered under the flesh. And one side of its chest was seeping fresh crimson rivulets onto the ruddy earth. It was a pathetic sight, a quivering, broken bit of pulp. Its hand reached, trembling, and it opened its mouth to speak, but only phlegm and bile escaped, bubbling like a witch¡¯s cauldron full of foul, acrid poison. Only death burbled to the surface. It trembled and coughed and was drowning in its own fluids and Akura¡¯a looked on it with pity.


    And she wondered, as she raised her club aloft, whom this human might have once loved, and which of these other bloody smears it might have laughed around a fire with but last night, and which it had told secrets to and played games with as a child. She wondered if this human had killed one of her friends or family. She wondered if she had killed one of its. She wondered what else it might have done had it not been here, on this cursed day.


    She wondered all of this as she smashed its brains into the ground.

 Two

    ¡°Is it safe to do this here?¡±


    Garridan shrugged, not because he was unsure¨Che just didn¡¯t care. ¡°They know my business.¡±


    ¡°But they don¡¯t know mine.¡±


    ¡°They do now they¡¯ve seen you with me.¡±


    Across the tavern, Potz eyed them suspiciously. The goblin stabbed one of his long, knobby fingers at the pair. ¡°Anybody know the bloke with Garridan? If¡¯n you do, might wanna sleep with one eye open.¡±


    Hugh slid him a tankard. ¡°Shut up and drink your ale, ¡®fya know what¡¯s good for ya.¡±


    Potz downed it in a swallow and wiped his mouth with his arm. ¡°How you think that conversation goes down? Don¡¯t understand it.¡±


    Berta shook her head. ¡°Don¡¯t think normal folks is meant to.¡±


    ¡°Seems like a waste of coin to me,¡± Wayland said. ¡°If you ain¡¯t got the stomach fer doin¡¯ the killin¡¯ yourself, just buy a pint and drown yer sorrows.¡± They all stared across the room, not caring to hide it, and watched the strange ritual unfold.


    Garridan had shown up two, maybe three years ago. Hugh and Berta couldn¡¯t be sure. Time at this tiny outpost didn¡¯t roll on so much as evaporate, the days dispersed by the wind like tufts of dandelion, impossible to track or count. Garridan arrived one blustery night, silently staking his claim to a table tucked in the corner near the hearth. Didn¡¯t ask for food, didn¡¯t ask for drink. Didn¡¯t talk to anybody. He just sat in the back and smoldered like one of the logs in the fire. Berta had eventually wandered over and offered him an ale, which he took. But it wasn¡¯t until morning was ready to break across the hills that he finally approached the counter and asked for a room. He¡¯d stayed there ever since.


    Night after night he hunched in that corner, sitting like a scorch mark, wrapped in his dark leathers, his presence searing into everyone else. They couldn¡¯t escape him. Even if they kept their eyes on their ale, their backs turned to him, they could still feel his presence. Eventually, Berta and Hugh adjusted. Nobody knew what he did, but he paid for his room and his drink, so they were content. But once in a while, he would receive visitors. Faces were always grim and serious. Eyes were always askance. Money was always exchanged. So the next time Garridan would pass a coin to Berta or Hugh, something would gnaw at them.


    Potz had been the one to put it together. He¡¯d spent some time in the Far-flung Territories and had met many men who offered such services. They called them ¡°dusters¡± out east. He¡¯d seen the hushed meetings, he¡¯d moved among the lurking forms; goblins had a history as prey, and they had long ago learned to recognize predators. Stories began to swirl among the tavern¡¯s regulars, the strangest claiming that the scar near Garridan¡¯s eye was the mark of Drah¡¯Kull, that he was a thrall of the Dread Dragon. Potz didn¡¯t buy all that, but he knew better than to cross Garridan. Hugh and Berta wondered whether they should still shelter the assassin, but they eventually decided every deal they saw was a deal where they weren¡¯t the mark.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Aware of his audience, the client leaned in and whispered, ¡°How are you going to do it?¡±


    Garridan tapped the table. ¡°Money.¡±


    ¡°Half now?¡±


    ¡°Half now.¡±


    The client reached into this tunic and pulled out a small sack. He opened it and showed it to Garridan. ¡°This should do?¡±


    Garridan nodded.


    ¡°So, how are you going to do it?¡± he persisted.


    ¡°Probably while he¡¯s asleep.¡±


    The man recoiled. ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem very honorable.¡±


    Garridan didn¡¯t care to waste time pointing out the irony. Instead, he just pocketed the coin. ¡°Honor costs extra.¡±


    At that moment, the door to the tavern creaked open and a bulky, robed figure sulked in. It lumbered toward the bar and took a spot next to Wayland. It felt oppressively close to him, nearly pushing him off his stool, its size devouring space wherever it moved. It rested a massive hand on the counter and their eyes all went wide as they saw the green, pebbled skin and razor claws.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for a room,¡± Akura¡¯a said.


    Hugh turned to Berta and she shook her head. He shrugged an apology at the orc but refused to stare her in the eye. ¡°All booked up. Sorry.¡±


    Akura¡¯a looked about, gauging the faces around her. Fear had stricken most of them like a plague, and now their features were pulled tightly back, their eyes wide, begging for mercy even as their words stuck in their throats. She simply asked for an ale.


    Berta handed her one with a tremoring hand.


    Akura¡¯a found a seat near the fire. Two men were at an adjacent table, and as she sat, one scurried off like a roach from an overturned rock. The other was a statue, his gaze granite and unyielding. There was no terror in his eyes, no disgust. He gave a slight nod which she returned.


    A deeply uncomfortable silence began to inflate through the tavern, pushing the air out of the room, pressing on everybody¨Cexcept the orc and assassin. They seemed immune, each taking slow, steady sips of ale as they watched the others squirm.


    ¡°Some sort of joke?¡± Wayland finally whispered. ¡°An orc walks into a bar¡­¡±


    Potz grimaced. ¡°¡®Punchline¡¯ might turn out too literal for me. Think I¡¯m gone.¡± He quickly gathered his things and was on his way to the door when he heard Akura¡¯a ask Garridan about the pale blue light on the horizon.


    ¡°Is it a settlement?¡± she wondered.


    Potz was mostly in to self-preservation, but occasionally the reflex was so strong that it produced something resembling concern for others. Even he couldn¡¯t let this poor, thick lunk head into certain doom. ¡°Never go to the blue light. No one goes to the blue light.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Only death there.¡± He pushed the door open and the chilled night air slithered in, tickling at the fire. He turned, his eyes narrowing around her like a vice. ¡°Don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡± And with that, he scampered away.


    ¡°Where are you headed?¡± Garridan asked.


    ¡°I need to find a caravan heading east that will let me join.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re looking for a settlement¨Cyou need a trading post?¡±


    The orc nodded.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t many places or people gonna be sympathetic to an orc.¡±


    Akura¡¯a looked toward the bar at what remained of the audience. Their stares scattered like vultures from carrion when a bigger, hungrier scavenger comes along.  ¡°Not accustomed to it, anyway.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d do best sticking to the shadows. I can help with that.¡± He pushed his chair out, scraping it loudly against the planks of the floor and motioned for her to follow him. ¡°You can stay in my room for the night. Hugh and Berta won¡¯t mind.¡±

 Three

    There was only death in the blue light.


    The ghastly glow was a byproduct of the necromancer Aeterneau¡¯s massive army of thralls. Not the zombies that sloughed about the moors like the skin from their rotting corpses, nor the skeletons that splintered and creaked as they scraped about. No¨Cthe light emanated from the thousands of wraiths and specters that swirled through the atmosphere like currents of snaking wind, their hushed edges feathering into the very aether, waiting to be breathed into the lungs of the living.


    The amber glimmer of a settlement was usually a beacon to travellers, promise of a hearth, ale, and some stew to coat their stomachs. But the light of Aeterneau¡¯s kingdom was hollow and icy; it spiked through one¡¯s core like a lance, shivering through the nerves until it evaporated out of the skin as pure dread. It was a portent, and it repelled all who saw it.


    It was grisly¨Cprofane¨Cto watch a soul twist about the air. Souls were perfect, pure things; they weren¡¯t meant to be exposed to the sludge and sin of the mortal plane. The body was a soul¡¯s armor, and it absorbed the grit of evil as a breastplate weathers a blow. But here the souls wreathed themselves about Aeterneau¡¯s decrepit fortress, like a voluminous bouquet left upon a ruined gravestone. Ripped from the Hereafter and free from their binding husks, the souls howled across the sky, the naked, feral, filthy things.


    Seen from a distance, the light seemed to oscillate, and every time it quivered, a chill was sent coursing down the spine of those who beheld it as they realized that they watched a damned soul etch itself into the night, its pure essence poisoning the tainted air.


    Now, the swarm of souls beheld a different light. This one dim and feeble¨Ca lone campfire miles in the distance. It appeared on the horizon like the flickering of a dying wick, sending one thin thread of smoke curling up and about. A soul broke free from the mass and moved like a fog through the air, across the parapet of the outerwall, and into a window of the main fortress. It crept along the moss-eaten stones and slunk over the uneven stairs until it hovered before the throne of Aeterneau.


    It must be said the necromancer was as much a phantom as his thralls. He slouched in his throne, a gargoyle in repose, his form obscured by a thick, black cowl and cloak. He barely moved when the ghost presented itself before him and spoke. A cursed whisper filled the chamber.


    The sound of spirits was an uncanny tongue to those who weren¡¯t fluent. It was impossible to tell whether it was a real sound, vibrating through the air like any other, or whether it originated in the brain, a terrible hissing conjured by the spirits that buzzed back and forth, scratching against the inside of the skull. But Aeterneau understood the language well¨Cobscenity was melody to his ears.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°A fire but miles out?¡± He sneered. ¡°Go see what our intrepid campers are up to. But don¡¯t engage.¡±


    Satisfied with its assignment, the ghost slipped back out and began gliding across the moors. Apart from the collective, its light became nearly imperceptible. Instead, all that gave it away were slight distortions in the air from its ethereal form. This made spirits wonderful spies, and Aeterneau frequently employed them to watch the travellers that skirted his fortress.


    The spirit streamed across the sky and plummeted down as it approached the fire. It camouflaged itself in the churning smoke, making sure its own shifting form was hidden in the wind-sculpted veil.


    It was a small party¨Cjust two organ sacs huddled in the glow. The larger and greener sac was finishing a bit of roasted meat and tossed the bone into the fire.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been heading north,¡± it said, looking up and gauging the delicate sweep of stars above.


    The smaller sac nodded, picking at his teeth. ¡°Fair-sized settlement not too far north¨CFort Blakely. Where I¡¯m headed. Lots of trading caravans pass through. You should be able to join one heading east.¡±


    The lumpier flesh mound studied its companion. ¡°What¡¯s in Fort Blakely for you?¡±


    The other¡¯s response was immediate, reflexive, like a shield lifted to meet a swinging sword¨C¡°What¡¯s out east for you?¡±


    ¡°Not what¡¯s there. What¡¯s here.¡±


    ¡°Running, then?¡±


    The thicker clump of matter nodded at the light from Aeterneau¡¯s in the distance. ¡°You say death is there. I¡¯ve seen death. Too much¡­too much.¡± It pointed its sturdy slab of arm meat at the other. ¡°Your turn.¡±


    The smaller smirked. ¡°You barely told me anything. But I¡¯ll play. There¡¯s a royal caravan soon to pass through Blakely.¡±


    ¡°This interests you?¡±


    ¡°Guess you could say I¡¯m a fan of highborns.¡±


    The heavier meatbag snorted, sensing bullshit.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t think a little death would scare an orc off. Your kind pride themselves on that, don¡¯t they? Honor, bravery¡­all that nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Little death?¡±


    ¡°Seen plenty in my time.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps you should be running, too.¡±


    The small one nodded and they fell silent. They just sat there, their squishy hearts beating, their spongy lungs inflating, their flabby stomachs squelching. All the heinous fluids and bits and glops of them just slouching and oozing as the sacs aspirated¨Cit was too much for the spirit to take.


    It peeled itself out of the tumbling plume of smoke and bolted back to Aeterneau¡¯s throne. It dutifully reported every mundane detail of the conversation, but Aeterneau¡¯s interest was piqued. At the end of the soul¡¯s infernal hissing, he leaned anxiously forward. ¡°A royal caravan?¡± Aeterneau had seen it before¨Cwhen sovereigns were on the move, often their borders were, too. A demonic  smile possessed the necromancer¡¯s lips. ¡°A cold draft is stirring, and war nips at its heels.¡±

 Four

    The most valuable thing that Fort Blakely offered was a crowd to slip into.


    It was the largest of the settlements that dotted the moors, and as a bustling trading outpost, it was known for its diversity¨Cit wasn¡¯t unusual to see dwarves, elves, and goblins browsing its shops or drinking at its taverns. Even the occasional merfolk could be found, enjoying the damp air and moist earth.


    Orcs were rarer, but if there was any place outside their own encampments they might be met with a stare rather than a sword through the gut, this was it.


    Akura¡¯a kept her hood pulled low and her arms hidden under her cloak. Still, she couldn¡¯t mask her bulk or height, and as she and Garridan moved through the throng, whispers were exchanged, fingers pointed.


    ¡°I know a small bar on the outskirts, across town. We should head there,¡± Garridan suggested.


    ¡°What¡¯s there?¡±


    ¡°Criminals. Vermin. We¡¯ll fit right in.¡±


    He led her through an open air market, filled with the sound of squawking vendors hawking soiled root vegetables and the chorus of industry¨Cpumping bellows, hammer on steel, knife on pelt as leather makers scudded hides. In the town square, a young bard with porcelain skin and a voice just as fair was singing, and she picked up a few of his gilded lyrics as they fluttered by¨C


    When the winter weather withered away


    And spring rolled round in blossom n¡¯ bloom


    The nymphs and sylphs did frolic and play


    The sprites and gnomes did dust off the gloom


    And barely did they notice the ground


    And nary a care did they give as they did¨C


    The fields were now full of brown mound


    To mark the graves of soldiers amid


    Bounteous flowers, spring¡¯s sweet memorial,


    Delicate aromas masking the dread.


    But wolves too keen, and oh so fossorial


    Unburied the past, dug up the dead.


    The words landed in her brain like lead. She tried to concentrate on other bits of the ruckus, voices in the crowd, coins clinking as they changed hands¨Canything to drown out the singing.


    Fortunately, they soon left behind the bustle and were making their way through a labyrinth of alleys, cramped and quiet. The buildings in this part of Blakely were older, clearly from the original settlement. Cracked stone and rotted wood decorated window casings like crow¡¯s feet, while roofs slumped like shoulders at the bottom of a hunched back.


    Garridan waved Akura¡¯a through a small door and into a rickety tavern. The alleys were quiet because all of the vagrants that would normally haunt them were here, gathered round small tables, some playing cards, others telling stories, some laughing raucously, others studiously devouring meals.


    Garridan pointed to a table in the corner. ¡°You wait. I¡¯ll get us some drinks. And the barkeep might know somethin¡¯.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°About what?¡±


    ¡°Bout which caravans would actually take you East, rather than turn you in.¡±


    She did as he said and sat, her back to the walls so she could keep watch. A woman stood at the hearth stirring a pot of soup. She looked Akura¡¯a over but didn¡¯t flinch when the orc met her stare. Instead, one of her brows slowly raised, unimpressed.


    At the bar, Garridan was speaking with the bartender. The barkeep was cooperative and calmly answered each of Garridan¡¯s questions, but the whole time, he wiped the counter and sized up Akura¡¯a. She held his gaze until their line of sight was interrupted by the frame of a tall, balding man.


    ¡°Howdy,¡± he said cheerily. He offered Akura¡¯a his hand and when she didn¡¯t take it he chortled and choked a bit and smiled dumbly. ¡°I don¡¯t bite,¡± he said. ¡°Fact, that worry should be more on my end, no?¡±


    Akura¡¯a was quiet.


    ¡°Come on, now.¡± He pulled the chair across from her out and sat. ¡°We don¡¯t discriminate round here. How could we? But the one thing you gotta do is take a joke.¡± He leaned in expectantly, the table creaking under the weight of his elbows. Akura¡¯a blinked heavily, said nothing. She watched as he glistened in the firelight, sweat dripping down his brow. His smile was vacant, his eyes like polished pebbles, all of the emotion and nuance rubbed out. His features were just a smooth bit of nothing. He remained perched upon the table for a moment, waiting for her to break the beat. Finally giving up, he leaned back and his smile flattened. He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. ¡°Tough egg to crack, ain¡¯t ya? Well, I¡¯m William. Pleased to make your ¡®quaintance and all that. Over there is Nicholas. And that¡¯s Richard. And Walter. The fellas, y¡¯know? Like I said, you ain¡¯t gotta worry bout nobody judging you round here. Ol¡¯ Nick, well, it¡¯s a ¡®propriate name ¡®cause he was a thief. Don¡¯t worry, he¡¯s been rehabilitated,¡±¨Che gave a greasy wink as he said this¨C¡°least since yesterday. Nicked a few coins from a veggie vendor, he did. But he swears he turned a corner this mornin¡¯. And Walter here, he¡¯s a real good guy. Just the usual vices, yeah? Booze, gamblin¡¯, whores. Richard? Well, the less said ¡®bout him the better, but, somebody had to let the lout sit at their table, right? And me? Well, I admit, I was a bit rowdy in my youth, but¡­¡± He held his arms out so she could take a good look. He seemed malproportioned with long limbs that bulged at the joints and a gaunt torso. His tunic drooped around his knobby frame like a sagging bandage, yellowing with sweat instead of pus. ¡°Well, who¡¯s got the energy to be rowdy anymore, eh?¡± He wiped his brow again and panted, exhausted from his own relentless introduction.


    ¡°I¡¯m Akura¡¯a.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all?¡±


    That was all.


    ¡°Well,¡±¨Che took in a deep breath and somehow found a second wind¨C¡°I couldn¡¯t help but overhear your friend there at the bar. Seems your headin¡¯ out East? How far? Just curious. To Deepvale? They might be a little less prejudiced ¡®gainst your kind there. But still, wouldn¡¯t ¡®spect a warm welcome. ¡®Course, maybe you ain¡¯t lookin¡¯ for that. Maybe you just lookin¡¯ for some warmer weather. Hear you can¡¯t get no better than the Arukadian coasts. Never seen ¡®em myself. But what I have seen is the Far-flungs. And I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ that¡¯s where you¡¯re really headin¡¯, now isn¡¯t it?¡± He raised his brows expectantly and a wave of wrinkles washed across his oily forehead. ¡°Lotta people get it in their minds to play pioneer and head out to the Far-flungs. Most of ¡®em ain¡¯t got a clue. Life¡¯s hard out there. Got a million stories. Suppose you got time for a few of ¡®em, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°There a problem?¡± Garridan now hovered behind the stranger like a shadow.


    The man turned but was completely unfazed by the simmering shade behind him. ¡°No problem at all, chief. Just gettin¡¯ to know each other. I was ¡®bout ready to tell her ¡®bout the Far-flungs.¡±


    Akura¡¯a had never needed rescued before, but now her eyes were pleading with Garridan.


    The stranger didn¡¯t notice. He was already off, lost in the thicket of his past. ¡°¨Cnow you ever heard of¨C¡± he motioned for Garridan to sit. ¡°Go on, pull up a seat. You ever heard of¡­¡±

 Five

    The morning was a jewel, and the sun alighted on its every facet. It danced along the quivering blades of grass and splashed itself recklessly across the faces of boulders that stood to meet it. It rippled along the billowing tents at camp, and it glinted off the gentle rapids of the river as they murmured along.


    Baultu¡¯u took a deep breath into his massive lungs, gulping down the glittering air. He loved cloudless and bright mornings like this. They made work seem less like toil and more like hobby. He was eager to walk to the river¡¯s edge, pail in hand, and to scoop up her cool waters. The tent needed patching, and that seemed like a fine chore for the afternoon. But first, he thought, he would find Sulma and see if she needed anything.


    She was outside, sweeping the ground, her broom kicking up clouds of dust that she would disturb again as soon as they settled. It wasn¡¯t unusual to see her around the encampment ¡°tidying up.¡± She would dust the ground, the rocks, the bark of trees; she would even thrust the broom into the canopy and dust the leaves. This always brought a shower of them down, which just gave her something else to sweep up.


    Always, the all of everything was covered with dust.


    The world was constantly shedding its dessicated skin, all of it detritus, and she swept it all into riotous clouds and in the swirls she saw the future. The patterns revealed things to her. So many things. Sad things. Happy things. Small things. Seismic things. Distant things. Impending things.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t ever gonna get the outdoors clean,¡± Baultu¡¯u teased.


    She barely looked up but gave a polite laugh. ¡°Who¡¯d want to. I see through the dust.¡±


    As a shaman, Sulma held a high post, but her methods were odd. The others derided her in private, but not Baultu¡¯u. Even when she stopped using her echo, and asked others to do the same, he still found her endearing. Maybe more so. She insisted the echo was just one more thing that could be shed.


    ¡°Wondering if there were any chores I could do for you this morning.¡±


    ¡°No, no, no.¡± She kept sweeping, looking more disturbed with each new plume of dirt she kicked up. ¡°Clouds ain¡¯t kind today. Today¡¯s no day at all for chores.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not a cloud in the sky.¡± He held his arms out and basked in the sunbeams.


    ¡°You know what I mean.¡±


    ¡°Come on, now. It¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Now, maybe.¡± She stopped suddenly and pointed to the horizon. ¡°They¡¯re coming.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡± He squinted but could see nothing.


    ¡°But they¡¯re missing so many.¡±


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    Still, he saw nothing. ¡°Sulma, what are you on about? You sure I can¡¯t fetch you some water? Build you a fire so you can cook some lunch?¡±


    She smacked him with the broom. ¡°Don¡¯t be a twit. Who could eat? Today¡¯s no day at all for eating.¡± She swept some more, stirred new storms. ¡°There they are. You see ¡®em? There they are,¡± she said, staring into the gritty vortex.


    Sure enough, on the horizon, a line of tiny figures, still indistinct, inched into view. ¡°Who are they?¡±


    ¡°Us. Ours. From the northern encampment. But¡­they¡¯re missing so many.¡± Her tone was puzzled. She watched with searing intensity the final particles of dust that fell back to the ground, hoping that in them she would find the disappeared. The earth silently embraced the motes. ¡°So many¡­dead.¡± She lurched over as if struck by a club and thrust the broom into the ground to hold herself up.


    Baultu¡¯u rushed to her side to support her. ¡°What you mean?¡±


    She looked up and her eyes clutched him with bloodcurdling sympathy. ¡°Karkori¡¯i¡­Baultu¡¯u, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she whispered. ¡°I¡¯m so, so sorry.¡±


    A strange feeling seized his chest. It was as if he had been instantly hollowed out. Gone. It was gone.


    ¡°Hold on, Sulma,¡± he said. ¡°We don¡¯t know nothin¡¯ yet. Just need to wait.¡±


    She gripped his arm and shook her head and he knew. Her eyes closed as a new vision struck her. ¡°And Akura¡¯a¡­¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°No. You¡¯re right. No. She isn¡¯t dead.¡± Heavy tears began to drift from her eyes, running down the gulleys of her pebbled cheeks. ¡°Worse, Baultu¡¯u. I¡¯m so sorry.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not making any sense, Sulma.¡±


    ¡°She isn¡¯t dead. But she isn¡¯t with them. She¡¯s gone.¡±


    His knees began to buckle, and he wasn¡¯t sure he would be able to hold her up any longer. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°She deserted.¡± Her whisper was frenzied, and it came out a bristling hiss. ¡°She¡¯s gone, Baultu¡¯u. She ran.¡±


    The hollow in his chest filled as quickly as it had emptied. In the vacuum, a new feeling mineralized¨Cjagged resentment, obsidian anger.


    ¡°She wouldn¡¯t. She was one of our strongest. One of our best.¡±


    Sulma finally righted herself. She wiped the tears from her face and prepared to sweep again, but it wasn¡¯t necessary. She knew. They both knew. The future was certain. ¡°She ran, Baultu¡¯u. We both know what the Codes say. They¡¯ll send a Retriever. They¡¯ll have her head.¡±

 Six

    ¡°¡­and he says to Matthias, he says to him, ¡®Tell your father he¡¯s a right maggot and not to show his face round here again.¡¯ Well, didn¡¯t have much to do with me, I s¡¯pose, but I just didn¡¯t think that was anyway to talk to a customer. So I decided I wouldn¡¯t be showin¡¯ my face round there no more, neither. So when you¡¯re headed out east, don¡¯t go to Groz¡¯s. Groz¡¯s Oasis it¡¯s called¨Cdid I mention the name?¡±


    He had. At least three other times. Akura¡¯a had lost count. Garridan tapped out well before that. He busied himself with polishing his small dagger and daydreaming about plunging it into William¡¯s throat, changing the drivel coming out of his mouth into bloody, gurgling spatter.


    ¡°Groz is a right bastard, that¡¯s for sure. People much friendlier back here. Well, to folks like me, at least. Real cutthroat world out east.¡± He noticed that Akura¡¯a¡¯s tankard was empty and she was staring into it, almost hypnotized. He grabbed it away from her and smiled broadly. ¡°Next round¡¯s on me.¡±


    ¡°How much do you charge?¡± she whispered to Garridan as William approached the barkeep.


    ¡°On the house,¡± the assassin replied. ¡°But I thought you¡¯d seen enough death?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Maybe you could just do me instead?¡±


    Garridan laughed and stashed his blade back in his boot. ¡°Listen, what I was gonna tell you before Will here¡­there is a caravan should be moving through soon you¡¯d be safe with.¡±


    She grunted, urging him to continue.


    ¡°Dwarven caravan. Wasn¡¯t surprised. Dwarves don¡¯t know a stranger. Need to ask around about a guy named Haveraul Got-the-Goods. Works a route between here and the Far-flungs. We hook you up with him, you should be good to go.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Still not sure why you¡¯re helping me.¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Me neither.¡±


    ¡°I owe you a debt I¡¯ll never be able to repay.¡±


    He waved her off. ¡°I only worry about debts owed in gold.¡±


    ¡°Here ya, go.¡± William slammed down two ales, splashing some onto the table and beamed at Akura¡¯a and Garridan. ¡°Got time for one more story?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah, c¡¯mon. Make an ol¡¯ drunk¡¯s day. Don¡¯t often get a new audience round here.¡±


    Garridan rose and cracked his back. ¡°Think we might take a look around. Errands to run.¡±


    But William insisted. ¡°Least till you finish yer ales.¡±


    Akura¡¯a shook her head and politely pushed the tankard away. ¡°Thanks, but we need to¨C¡±


    ¡°Now don¡¯t be rude,¡± William said. His tone was suddenly as slick as his oleaginous flesh.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Garridan was instantly alert. His reflexes were like a wolf¡¯s, and the slightest change in the air could make him bristle and bare fang. He zeroed in on the spilled ale, which was now sending faint, delicate wisps of smoke into the air.


    Akura¡¯a rolled her eyes and slumped back, resigned to suffering another of William¡¯s epics. She picked up her tankard but Garridan quickly knocked it from her hand, sending it splashing to the floor. The boards crackled and smoked as the tainted ale sizzled into their grain.


    ¡°Son of a bitch. Didn¡¯t want to have to get messy,¡± William hissed. He pulled a dagger from his tunic and lunged at Akura¡¯a, but Garridan was faster. He grabbed William¡¯s arm and twisted with merciless strength. His movement was crisp and surgical, and the bone responded instantly by cracking just as clean. William howled in agony and the dagger slipped from his hand and thudded against the table.


    ¡°Bastard!¡± he spat and fell to the floor.


    Nicholas, Richard, and Walter all stood and prepared to take Garridan together, but they hesitated as he unsheathed his sword and beckoned them over. ¡°Don¡¯t be shy,¡± he snarled.


    Still heaving in pain, William threw his good hand blindly onto the tabletop, feeling around for his weapon. Akura¡¯a watched as his limp limb flopped about. She could have easily moved the dagger out of his reach, but she was frozen. All at once, the day of the massacre erupted inside her brain¨Call of the blood, all of the noise, all of the confusion. All of the violence detonated and her body rattled as the painful ejecta of it scraped at her insides. William finally landed on the weapon, but before he could even lift it from the table, Garridan¡¯s blade plunged keenly down.


    William¡¯s severed hand slumped over the dagger like a corpse. His encroaching posse now retreated, their eyes wide,their mouths shut, their hands up in surrender.


    ¡°Sword down!¡±


    Garridan looked toward the bar where the shout had come from and saw a face from his past.


    It was a past more remote than the time that separated him from it might suggest. It was hazy not through the fog of years, but because it was a past he had seen with different eyes, as a different person.


    Akura¡¯a¡¯s senses were finally returning to her and she saw the strange look of recognition in Garridan¡¯s eyes. She followed his gaze and saw a knight in finely polished armor¨Ctoo fine to have been a local. Hovering behind the knight was the bard she had seen in the town square, the one with a voice like a salve and lyrics like a wound.


    ¡°Drop your sword, Garridan, and come with me,¡± the knight commanded.


    The bard stepped cautiously forward and grabbed the knight¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Gerard, the man on the ground pulled his weapon first. I saw it. He was trying to murder the orc.¡±


    Gerard stepped closer and looked at the spilled tankard, the floorboards still sizzling. ¡°Laced with simmerspores.¡± He turned to Garridan. ¡°Like something you¡¯d do.¡±


    The assassin had no reaction.


    ¡°Why attack the orc?¡± Gerard asked William.


    ¡°Why? They¡¯re all sc-sc¨C¡± He coughed and wheezed and was on the verge of losing consciousness but fought to answer. ¡°Scum. My brother. One of these bastards¨Cone of these. Killed him. They should all¨Call¨Call rot.¡± His last word was thick with poison, and coughing it out drained whatever was left in him. He slumped over unconscious, bleeding out.


    Gerard nudged the knobby lump of a man with his foot. ¡°Find him some medical help. Fast. We¡¯ll deal with him if he lives. And you.¡± He looked at Garridan. ¡°Are you going to come quietly?¡±


    ¡°But Gerard.¡±


    The knight held his hand up to silence the bard. ¡°Trust me, Isaac. This man needs to be taken in. So?¡±


    Garridan¡¯s face moved not a muscle, but he silently placed his sword on the table and fished his dagger from his boot and forfeited it, too.


    ¡°Wise decision.¡±


    Akura¡¯a still couldn¡¯t bring her legs to move, but she reached out. ¡°Garridan¡­he was only trying to protect me.¡±


    ¡°What about the orc?¡± one of the drunks demanded.


    ¡°What about the orc?¡± Gerard roared. He pushed Garridan toward the door. ¡°Seems she was minding her own business. I suggest the rest of you do the same.¡±


    Garridan turned, his face still stony, his eyes still flint, and nodded at Akura¡¯a. ¡°Haveraul Got-the-Goods. Find him. ¡®Fore one of these bastards tries to finish what he started.¡±

 Seven

    The barracks of Fort Blakely were damp and quiet, the sort of tucked-away environment that was Garridan¡¯s natural habitat. He liked quiet. Quiet was the medium in which he worked. He moved quietly. He lived quietly.


    It wasn¡¯t the first cell he¡¯d seen. Probably wouldn¡¯t be the last. But there was something different about this one, about its silence. It was stagnant and stale and laced with suggestion. It seemed to fold in on itself, and any mind unlucky enough to be stuck in its tar did the same, turning over all sorts of images and thoughts long-exiled.


    Gerard. It must have been four years. Or was it five? He couldn¡¯t be sure. He couldn¡¯t remember the exact day. He couldn¡¯t even remember the season. Had the summer sun humiliated him, glaring down, beaming at him relentlessly as he was cast out of the Academy? Or had woolen winter clouds provided merciful cover?  He couldn¡¯t remember, strange as it was.


    So many of the details of that day were still fresh and vivid to him. But it was a chiaroscuro¨Cthe parts that his mind cast in light were brilliant, blinding, sharp, painful. But so much about it had retreated into the dark, dimmed and blotted out by the shadows. He couldn¡¯t remember the day, the season. He couldn¡¯t remember what Aldis had said. He couldn¡¯t remember what he had said back. But he remembered the strange look on Gerard¡¯s face as he left.


    He remembered Gerard¡¯s eyes. He remembered their evenness, the lids lowered just slightly so as not to show surprise or regret or remorse, but not so far that they were narrowed in shame or squeezed together in sadness. They were even and blue like the sea on the horizon.


    There was treachery in their cool, blue blankness. His eyes hid how he felt¨Cwhatever he felt. It was a look he had prepared, practiced. Artificial. His lips, too. Just the same. Flat and partially bitten in and totally without feeling. He remembered Gerard¡¯s face that day because he had never seen it so hollow.


    The phantom of those weird, uncanny eyes stirred a new feeling. This one in his gut. It was a spark of anger, like a flint strike, bright and concentrated and fleeting.


    He saw the Deepvale conspirator. He saw the blood. And he saw Gerard¡¯s eyes again, as Gerard knelt over the splayed elf. But these eyes were almost wounding in their candor. The lids were fully retracted. The whites bulged. The irises bulged. The pupils bulged¨Cthese were eyes that had exploded with panic. These were eyes that rattled the core and begged¨Cbegged. They didn¡¯t know what they begged for, but they latched onto you like a frightened child and they pleaded and they begged for help and they wept. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    They cried like a frightened child because he must have been one that day.


    The flint struck again.


    He remembered his first mark. He remembered eyes just like Gerard¡¯s the day the conspirator was killed. As Garridan pulled the blade out, the eyes were wide and white and frightened and they asked for mercy even though they knew it couldn¡¯t be given now. As the mark¡¯s stomach bled out, those eyes watered and silent tears fell over his cheeks and he opened his mouth to speak but he couldn¡¯t¨Cand now, thinking about it, Garridan wasn¡¯t sure who those wide and frightened eyes belonged to. He didn¡¯t know whose dry and breathless mouth had gasped for words. He didn¡¯t know whose cheeks were damp with tears¨Cthe mark¡¯s or his?


    The blood, though, that wasn¡¯t his. He had pulled the blade out¨Cit made a strange, sticky gurgle and then the red leapt out¨Cand the mark fell forward into Garridan¡¯s arms, like an exhausted lover. He had supported the man¡¯s weight for a moment, unsure what to do.  But then he simply let go and took a step back and the man slumped to the ground, limp and lifeless. Garridan looked down and found his white tunic smeared with the man¡¯s viscera. He always wore black after that.


    The flint struck again.


    He remembered Juliana and Thomas, and their eyes, too. They were pained and they glistened in the dim light, wet with tenderness and regret. When he saw their eyes, for some reason, he saw them in the same room. Like it had all happened in the same place. He knew that was impossible. They belonged to his different lives. They had haunted different places. But there they were in his brain, in the same small room bathed in the same amniotic, amber light. And they were the same eyes.


    The flint struck again.


    Ignition.


    They were all the same eyes, and they reeled round in his mind like desert birds. Anger, regret, sorrow, guilt, shame. The eyes faded and left only their impressions, their ghosts. Feelings. Flickerings. The only eyes now were his, the whites having soured into sulfur, the pupils having atrophied into slits. He did not know who he was. His own sense of self had dissolved with the eyes like so much dust. The cell¨Calready suffocatingly small¨Cshrank even more. He didn¡¯t know it. It made no sense to him. The rusted bars, the stones covered in a rash of lichen, the rotting wood. It was all just matter, of no consequence and no meaning. His claws bit into the stone. His muscular tail and his membranous wings pushed at the timber walls. He flexed, and the matter gave way. The room erupted and there was pale gray all around. It was all thin, invigorating air, and he lifted up and into it, and soon he was flying and cutting through it with an otherworldly grace, as though he were the wind itself.

 Eight

    ¡°I¡¯m just saying it¡¯s not like you,¡± Isaac said.


    ¡°Leave it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never taken someone in without cause.¡±


    Gerard looked at the soft poet with hard eyes. ¡°I told you, I had reason.¡±


    ¡°Then what was it?¡±


    ¡°You trust me, don¡¯t you?¡± Isaac¡¯s loyalty was his weakness.


    ¡°You know him.¡±


    ¡°I said, leave it.¡± And he did.


    They moved together in silence, heading toward Blakely¡¯s southern gate. They had to finalize preparations for the arrival of Prince Holden of Talvivald. Gerard and Isaac had been sent as emissaries of the Draclaudian Empire, under order of King Edmund, to receive Holden and his caravan. They would then travel as escorts with the Prince to the capital, where he was to meet Princess Ysabelle.


    Houses Draclaudus and Baneblade would soon be merged.


    One of the gate guards saluted as Gerard approached. ¡°Sir.¡±


    ¡°We need access to the southern redoubt.¡±


    The guard nodded. ¡°Things should be just about ready. Allard is already there, making preparations. He¡¯ll let you in.¡±


    They left the city proper and headed toward a hill south of it, on top of which sat a small, hexagonal fort. The redoubt was one of the newest constructions in Fort Blakely, and a grim reminder of the preparations for war that were underway.


    ¡°Do we knock?¡± Isaac asked, looking at the ponderous oaken door that barred their entrance.


    ¡°No need for that,¡± a voice called to them. Allard smiled down from the top of the redoubt, in his typically fine raiment, all jewels and furs and flattery. ¡°Such an honor to have two of the court¡¯s most venerated with us. And under such exciting circumstances. I¡¯ll be down in just a moment. I can¡¯t wait for you to see what we¡¯ve made of it.¡± He darted out of sight, and soon the heavy door was creaking open, inviting their entrance.


    Inside, the cold, martial interior of the fort had been transformed. What was once a barren, hollow bunker that sent frosty reverberations bouncing back and forth was now lavish and full. There was a massive wooden table with a centerpiece that overflowed with ripe fruit. All around, tapestries had been hung to absorb and soften the sounds. The chairs were covered in furs and the bed was surrounded by heavy brocade drapery.


    ¡°Magnificent, isn¡¯t it?¡± Allard could barely contain his excitement.


    Gerard nodded. ¡°Very impressive. Where¡¯d you get it all?¡±


    ¡°Stripped some of it from my own manor. Other things were borrowed from the guild members. If I had a little more time, I could accessorize with a few other odds and ends, you know, vases, paintings. Anything just to spruce it up a bit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Gerard assured him. ¡°He¡¯s only staying a night.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Yes, but so much hangs on his visit. Everything should be perfect, no?¡± He now turned eagerly to Isaac. ¡°I am a devoted admirer of your lyrics. I don¡¯t suppose my humble work might inspire any in the future?¡±


    Isaac smiled awkwardly and shrugged. ¡°I¡­never know when the muse will strike.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I imagine it must be a fickle thing. But Gerard here seems to inspire some of your finest.¡±


    Isaac wasn¡¯t sure who he was complimenting.


    But Allard was already halfway up the steps, almost skipping, so pleased was he with his arrangements. ¡°You must see what I¡¯ve done with the roof,¡± he said, plunging back outside.


    Gerard plucked a grape from the bowl and popped it in his mouth. ¡°Excitable as ever.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve worked with him before?¡±


    ¡°¡®Allard the mallard¡¯ we call him. Well, not to his face.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because that would be rude.¡±


    Isaac laughed and shook his head. ¡°You know what I mean. Why the name?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s an odd duck. But a good man. Good at what he does.¡±


    ¡°What¡­does he do?¡±


    Gerard swept his hand around, not sure how to describe it. ¡°This.¡± He began to ascend the stairs, following Allard. ¡°If he does become one of your lyrics, you¡¯d probably call him something like¡±¨Che paused, struggling to mimic his friend¡¯s grandiloquence¨C¡°I don¡¯t know¡­a prodigious procurer of things?¡±


    ¡°Is that what my poetry sounds like to you?¡±


    ¡°No good?¡±


    Isaac bounded past him, taking the stairs two at a time. ¡°Dreadful.¡±


    Gerard¡¯s stern brow broke, and his eyes softened in mock offense. ¡°You wound me.¡±


    At the top of the stairs, Isaac turned and smiled. ¡°Then I must be a keener critic than poet.¡±


    They rejoined Allard, though he barely noticed. He was busy tightening the fabric of a canopy and fluffing pillows and straightening blankets and furs that had been slung over low-lying lounges.


    ¡°Prince Holden can relax under the stars when he stays, if he should want. Inside our out, it¡¯s luxury. All that¡¯s missing is the drink. A few barrels of ale are being delivered later. More than enough for his entire entourage.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well,¡± Gerard said.


    ¡°So tell me, really,¡± Allard began, adjusting a fur with exacting precision so that it looked carelessly thrown, ¡°what do you think of all this? Merging houses, forging alliances?¡±


    Gerard shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not paid to have opinions.¡±


    Allard turned to Isaac, who simply shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m paid to have the king¡¯s opinions.¡±


    ¡°Your reticence is deafening, gentlemen. But worry not, I shan¡¯t say a word.¡±


    They stood for a moment, taking in the scenery. There was thin cloud cover, and so the sky was gray, but in a pale, luminescent way. The diffuse light ignited the green on the moors. They could sometimes look dim and swampy, browns and olives dominating the faces of the rolling hills. But on sunny days, or days like this one, their green was made glittering and citrine, like a carpet of spring buds ready to bloom.


    A lyric was taking shape in Isaac¡¯s head when its meter was dashed by an explosion. The three turned in unison back toward Blakely just in time to see a writhing, reptilian figure surging through the sky.


    ¡°What is that?¡± Allard gasped.


    ¡°A dragon?¡± Isaac was in shock.


    ¡°How is that even possible?¡± Gerard asked.


    Allard bolted back toward the door, his jewels jangling and robes fluttering as he went. He gave a panicked motion for them to follow. ¡°Must needs the gentlemen be reminded we are at a fortification? I suggest we use it.¡±


    The black dragon pulled a sharp angle and plunged low to the ground, gliding over the moor like a void, it¡¯s shadow slithering their direction.


    Isaac grabbed Gerard by the arm and tried to pull him toward the door. But the knight was immovable. Instead, he unsheathed his sword and stepped toward the parapet.


    The creature cut the space between them at an alarming rate, searing straight forward like an obsidian meteorite.


    ¡°Gerard! Please!¡± Isaac pleaded.


    The impact was imminent. But at the very last second, the lizard arced violently upward. For a brief moment¨Ca moment frozen forever in Isaac¡¯s brain¨CGerard¡¯s form was cast in relief against the dragon¡¯s. Usually, his armor made him look stout and unyielding, like an imperious statue. But now, his shining carapace made him look beetle-like¨Can insect¨Csmall and vulnerable.


    The dragon rose higher and higher. Its serrated form was dulled as the wispy clouds enrobed it, and soon it had dissolved into the gray completely, leaving only a surge of air in its wake.


    Isaac¡¯s heart had leapt into his throat, and his panicked lungs struggled to draw breath. ¡°Where¡­where did it come from?¡±

 Nine

    The crowd stood around the debris in shocked silence. Splinters of the timber walls littered the ground like pine needles on a winter forest floor. Shards of iron, too, lay scattered in the ruin.


    Hundreds of eyes were locked upon the spot where the barracks had been and now were not, trying to understand what had happened.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t see a thing,¡± the guard said. He¡¯d been in a different part of the building that was miraculously still standing, though it was now a creaking, fragile slump of wood.


    ¡°You saw what we all saw,¡± a man next to him said. ¡°Giant dragon burst out. How that even possible? Ain¡¯t no dragons been round these parts in ages.¡±


    ¡°Hadta been some sorta fierce magic,¡± the man¡¯s wife said. ¡°Ain¡¯t no other explanation.¡±


    ¡°Did he eat the prisoner?¡± The guard wasn¡¯t thinking straight. He couldn¡¯t, not with his ears still ringing and his stomach still clenched.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be dense,¡± a goblin said. ¡°He was the dragon.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t look like no sorcerer I ever saw.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem with mages, see,¡± an older woman offered. ¡°Never know what tricks they hidin¡¯ till they ain¡¯t hidin¡¯ anymore. Menaces, the lot of ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid,¡± shouted someone else. ¡°Mages ain¡¯t shapeshifters. Cursed are.¡±


    ¡°Mages can be cursed.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t nobody gonna curse themselves, though.¡±


    ¡°He had the mark,¡± another insisted. ¡°I saw when they drug him in there. He had the mark.¡±


    Akura¡¯a now found her way to the scene and was relieved that there was no soft flesh among the carnage. ¡°What happened?¡± she asked a man next to her.


    ¡°Orcs now, too? What more do we need? This place¡¯s gone to shit.¡± He threw his hands up in exasperation and walked away.


    A dwarf nearby approached, chuckling sympathetically. ¡°Don¡¯t mind the locals. They ain¡¯t used to this kind of excitement.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a dwarf,¡± Akura¡¯a said.


    ¡°You¡¯re an orc. Now, where we go from there?¡±


    ¡°Do you know a dwarf named Haveraul?¡±


    He kicked at the dirt, his head shaking. ¡°You think we just all know each other?¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Her shoulders slumped and she shrank back a bit. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m no better than they are.¡±


    A chortle burst from the dwarf¡¯s belly like a cannonball. It was a compact, heavy laugh, and its recoil left his chest and stomach heaving. ¡°I¡¯m just teasin¡¯ ya, lass,¡± he said. ¡°I amHaveraul. Ol¡¯ Haveraul Got-the-Goods.¡±


    Relief washed over her, and Akura¡¯a felt like she could have plucked the plump git off the ground and squeezed him till he wasn¡¯t round anymore. ¡°I needed to find you. I¡¯m so glad I did.¡±


    Her ran his fingers through his beard and nodded. ¡°Well, that¡¯s good to hear. I¡¯m glad you did, too. Now you mind tellin¡¯ me why? You lookin¡¯ for something? It¡¯s true; I got the biggest selection around.¡±


    ¡°No, no. I need your help. But¡­did you see what happened here?¡±


    He nodded gravely. ¡°Barracks blew up. Dragon flew out. Made a right mess, as y¡¯can see. Pretty unbelievable stuff, even I have to admit.¡±If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°But where¡¯s Garridan?¡±


    ¡°The lad they brought in today?¡±


    ¡°You saw him?¡±


    Haveraul shook his head. ¡°Naw. Just hearin¡¯ the rumors. Think your friend was a wee weredragon, lass.¡±


    ¡°Weredragon? Never heard of one.¡± She looked back over to the ruin and saw the claw marks gouged into the dusty ground. ¡°Werewolves I know. Had to fight the gnolls off before. They hunt our livestock.¡±


    ¡°Aye, can be proper pests. But weredragons are a thing, too.¡±


    ¡°Had no idea.¡±


    ¡°You can be a were-anything, I¡¯d s¡¯pose, if the curse is strong enough.¡±


    Nothing about this made much sense to Akura¡¯a, but she was just happy to know that Garridan was alive¨Cwherever he was. Whoever he was. Whatever he was.


    Haveraul stared as the thoughts sloshed silently in her head. He cleared his gravelly throat to prompt her, but she was still distracted. ¡°Umm,¡±¨Cwaving at her¨C¡°you said you needed my help?¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry.¡± She nodded. ¡°Yes. I need a way out east.¡±


    ¡°Ah, forget werewolves and weredragons, you just need a bit of wherewithal.¡± He grinned, pleased with his little witticism¨Csuch were the kinds of delicacies dwarves savored.


    The orc was unmoved.


    His face scrunched into a knot of wrinkles, but he waved her along. ¡°Come back to my camp. Let¡¯s talk a bit more.¡±


    They left behind the crowd, hearsay still swirling about¨Cthe last thing Akura¡¯a heard was an indignant man certain this must have been some sort of Deepvale sabotage, terrorism to thwart the merging of houses.


    Haveraul showed her to a caravan parked in a circle on the outskirts of the town square. A few other dwarves were milling about, one helping a customer, the other packing goods into the back of a wagon.


    ¡°That there is Laterra Thinks-a-Lot, and the one finishing up with the customer is Darben Twice-as-Glad. Don¡¯t know where Rovel is. May have been back at the crowd ¡®round the barracks, actually. He¡¯s always nosin¡¯ about.¡±


    ¡°Now that ain¡¯t a sight you see every day,¡± Darben chirped. He handed the woman¡¯s change back to her and she followed his eyeline. She went pale as she saw Akura¡¯a¡¯s hulking figure approach and she hurried away, clutching her purchase tightly to her chest. ¡°Who¡¯s this you¡¯re bringin¡¯ us, eh, Haver?¡± Darben said. ¡°What she need? Gotta little somethin¡¯ for everybody.¡±


    ¡°Not a buyer,¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°More likely a companion.¡±


    Laterra stopped what she was doing and dusted her hands on her trousers. ¡°A tagalong orc, eh?¡± She wiped her brow and planted her wrists firmly into her hips. ¡°Well, would be nice to have some extry muscle, that¡¯s for sure.¡±


    Haveraul guffawed. ¡°Looks like you¡¯ve been hired already.¡± He pointed to a stool sitting beside a haphazard display of goods¨Cbooks, weapons, leathers. She sat, and he leaned against some stacked crates, eyeing her up and down. ¡°Headin¡¯ out east, eh? To Deepvale, or further?¡±


    ¡°Think it would be safest if I went further.¡±


    ¡°Opposite¡¯s true for most. But you maybe right, bein¡¯ an orc and all. But see, now you worryin¡¯ me a little. Talkin¡¯ bout what¡¯s safe. Gotta make sure my folks is safe. Don¡¯t wanna be exposin¡¯ us to nothin¡¯ dangerous.¡±


    Akura¡¯a nodded, stared at the dirt. ¡°I won¡¯t lie: it might not be safe to take me. They¡¯ll be sending a Retriever. Probably already looking for me.¡±


    He squinted, like he was trying to see past her pebbled skin. ¡°What¡¯d you do?¡±


    ¡°I ran. No more serious a crime to orcs than that.¡±


    ¡°But what did you run from?¡±


    She now looked at him, her eyes glassy and sad and innocent. She didn¡¯t know how to answer. But whatever he saw in them, it was what he needed to. He pushed himself off the crates and patted her on the back. ¡°Let me talk to the others.¡±


    She watched as the three conversed. Darben smiled the whole time, nodding agreeably. Laterra was stoic, her hands still on her hips, her face inscrutable. Akura¡¯a looked around, trying to find anything else to give her attention. She picked up a filigreed book and ran her hands gently over its fine cover. It was simply titled Ruminations. She flipped it open and read:


    ¡°I once knew dwarves in down-deep Larrigan,


    Who drowned all their sorrow in pray¡¯r and gin.


    So blurred were their words


    The Lords heard horrid slurs


    And smote the dumb lumps fer blasphemin¡¯¡±


    ¡°Ah,¡± Haveraul said, approaching. ¡°That¡¯s a good¡¯n. Barull Way-With-Words. He¡¯s our finest wordsmith. One of our great thinkers. Love his stuff.¡±


    She flipped to a new page:


    ¡°There once was an orc from the south


    Who had a rough, tough, toothy mouth.


    Despite this clear danger,


    Th¡¯orc knew not a stranger


    And gave oral, do you think it uncouth?¡±


    She held it up to him and frowned. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take no offense, now. I¡¯m sure plenty of orcs can actually¨C¡±


    ¡°Ruminations?¡±


    He cocked his head at her. ¡°Yeah, you know, like, thoughts.¡±


    ¡°I know what¨C¡± She closed the book and sat it back amongst his things. She was afraid she wasn¡¯t helping her case.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± he said, ¡°I talked to the others. You can come with us. We make a few stops along the way¨Cwon¡¯t be a straight shot to the Far-flungs. But, you lift some boxes¨Cand lighten up a bit¨Cand we¡¯ll be glad to have you along. Sound good?¡±

 Ten

    It started with a glance¨Ca pair of eyes brushing against the fine curve of a neck. A chiffon hand alighting on a knee like a butterfly¨Cjust as skittish, fluttering away at the slightest movement.


    It continued with chance encounters that were hardly chance at all. They were whispered plots, intricate plans. They were labyrinthine by design, tangled and tricky because complications made the air between them prickly, the thrill more electric. These were deliberate heists where they stole time together in empty halls and darkened corridors.


    It grew when they saw each other even when they were apart. She on her balcony, looking out over the roofs of the city, and farther out, over the rolling hills of the moors, and farther out still, over the rolling contours of his arms, his shoulders. He at the Academy, staring intently at the target, perspiration on his brow, the bowstring pulled taut. Her eyes would softly open in his head and his stomach would clutch. He would release, and euphoria would wash over him. The arrow would lance through the air and strike. Crisp. Piercing. Pleasing.


    It became real the first time he found himself in her chamber. He had walked over to the crackling fire while she wafted by the bed in her diaphanous dress, its petaled edges shivering¨Cmaybe a draft, maybe her nerves. The flames doused him in velvet orange, burnished him like a statue, made him seem surreal, impossible, a figure out of a legend. She had stepped cautiously forward, put her hand to his cheek, made sure he was flesh. Down his neck, and over the chest of his breastplate, down and around his side, where she loosened the straps that held his armor in place, and lower still, into his pants, made sure he was blood.  He lifted the armor over his head, and she followed by lifting his tunic. She slipped out of her dress, and it fell to the floor in a puddle, its lace and organza like lingering vapor. There was a fragile translucence to her beauty, but she led him to the bed with a confident grasp and sharp, unwavering desire. They made love and when they finished, her sweaty, exhausted frame wilted on top of him, her damp blonde hair running like flaxen rivers over his chest and down his sides.


    It would end much the same. They had made love, and her soft, swooning body had poured itself over him, her limbs limp, her hair cascading round, her body rising and falling with each of his heavy breaths. He, too, was spent, his body still thrumming with echoes of pleasure. He moved his hand and took hers up, their fingers enweaving. Hers were slender and pale, his heavier and dark, and he liked the way their skin looked pressed together, a perfect complement. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    She lifted her cheek from his chest and looked up into his dusty, green eyes. ¡°We could stay like this forever,¡± she said.


    He smiled at her sadly and brushed her matted bangs away from her eyes. ¡°I wish¨C¡± but he didn¡¯t know what to say to. So the wish just hung in the air, unsaid.


    She wished it, too.


    He gently rolled out from under her, and stood, putting his leather trousers back on. He threw his tunic over his head, but it made it only halfway down. She had sat up and caught it, and now pressed her lips gently against his back.


    ¡°You mustn¡¯t go,¡± she whispered into his flesh.


    ¡°Ysabelle,¡± he said, turning and kneeling, taking her cheeks into his hands. ¡°I have to.¡±


    ¡°No. Stay.¡±


    ¡°You are meant for different things¨Cbetter things. You always were.¡±


    ¡°We could tell my father.¡± She kissed his palm before returning it to her cheek. ¡°He would be happy for us. He loves you.¡±


    ¡°He trusts me. As a faithful servant. This¨Cus¨Cbetrays him.¡±


    ¡°No. He would want me to be happy.¡±


    ¡°I¡­hope that Holden will make you happy. I pray to the Five every day that he does.¡±


    She jerked her head out of his hands. ¡°Am I meant to be Queen, or am I a pawn?¡±


    ¡°None of this is a game.¡± He sat on the bed, but stared at the floor, not Ysabelle. ¡°Your father has driven the orcs from their northernmost settlement. He¡¯s preparing to eliminate Aeterneau. He¡¯s strengthening our fortifications, building our armament, training more soldiers than ever. Your marriage is the final piece of it all. The final preparation before he takes Deepvale. Everything hinges on it. Can we be the ones to dash all that? This kingdom has been your life. It¡¯s been my home. Can we deny it?¡±


    ¡°Darwyn¡­¡± She ran her finger along the edge of his pointed ear, to his lobe, which she caressed with her thumb.


    ¡°You never expected to fall in love with an elf, after all. Did you?¡± He looked at her, but she dared not answer. She refused to cede him any ground. ¡°Is it so hard to think that you might love again? And you can love in the open. Your love will unite people. What is ours? What has it ever been but a dirty secret. A threat.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said forcefully. ¡°Say what you want of our future¨Cdon¡¯t speak ill of our love.¡±


    He stood up and moved toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re right. I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry¨Cthis has to be the last time.¡± He cracked the door open and slipped out. The last thing he saw as he left was the fine curve of her neck and a chiffon hand wiping tears away.

 Eleven

    Edmund looked at the map, examined its borders. The parchment was old and yellowed and losing its integrity, fraying at the edges. The ink, too, was fading away, making the borders it traced indistinct. So old, and yet nothing had changed in that time.


    Making the map new would be his legacy.


    Aldis pointed to a spot just outside the Windcleft Moors and drug his finger to the south. ¡°The orcs¡¯ nearest settlement now lies somewhere around here.¡±


    ¡°And the likelihood of retaliation?¡±


    The general shrugged. ¡°I couldn¡¯t guess what they¡¯ll decide. Hard to know what to expect from the brain of a brute. Not much.¡± He laughed at his own joke and leaned back in his chair. ¡°But should they decide to strike back, we¡¯d be more than prepared. I¡¯ve sent troops south to set up fortifications where their camp was. If they march north, we¡¯ll know well in advance. And if you want us to squash the vermin once and for all, you need only give the word.¡±


    Edmund shook his head, unconcerned. ¡°What about our friend, the hermit on the moors? I worry more about him than the orcs.¡±


    ¡°Aeterneau?¡± Aldis sneered. ¡°Same offer. Give the word, and I¡¯ll have our army descend on him like a plague.¡±


    Alfraed, Edmund¡¯s chief advisor, sat at the far end of the table and hissed his displeasure. ¡°He is the plague.¡±


    Edmund held his hand up to check Alfraed, but nodded his agreement. ¡°Every soldier that falls on the battlefield is just another recruit for him. To fight a necromancer¡¯s army is to feed him.¡±


    Aldis grunted. ¡°No one has offered a better solution.¡± He immediately regretted the sharpness in his tone and bowed his head slightly. ¡°Your Majesty.¡±


    Edmund spun the heavy rings that burdened his hands. ¡°Are you giving me cause to relieve you of your post? You are my primary military strategist, Aldis. You are the one that should have better solutions.¡±


    Alfraed laughed¨Cit was laced with malice. ¡°You really can¡¯t expect much from the brain of a brute.¡±


    ¡°Only the king¡¯s favor saves you, you detestable little man. Everyone around here would be glad to run you through with their sword if only Our Liege would allow it.¡±


    Alfraed ignored the oaf. ¡°It just so happens, My Liege, that I might have a solution to the necromancer.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±


    ¡°Any sort of direct confrontation with Aeterneau would be inadvisable. So we must pursue a more roundabout solution. I¡¯ve given the matter much thought. And I confess,¡± here he put his hand to his heart in an over-dramatic flourish, ¡°for a time I thought this riddle might get the best of me. But poring through my tomes, I came across something that gave me pause. Something that I think might be the key.¡± He opened a book to a page he had marked and slid it over to Edmund.


    ¡°Cursed Ink? What¡¯s this?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± his advisor said. ¡°It¡¯s duplicitous. It¡¯s insidious. It¡¯s nefarious. It¡¯s delicious. It¡¯s precisely what we need¨Cto assassinate the necromancer.¡±


    ¡°A coward¡¯s solution,¡± Aldis said. ¡°Hardly surprising from you.¡±


    ¡°Quiet, Aldis. Go on.¡±


    Alfraed¡¯s face lit up with wicked amusement. ¡°It truly is an admirable bit of treachery. Almost poetic in its mechanism.¡±


    ¡°Out with it,¡± Aldis urged.


    ¡°The ink is actually a potion. Just not one you consume. You use it as you use any ink. But anyone who signs their name with it is instantly slain.¡±


    The king looked over the page with greater interest now. ¡°Fascinating.¡±


    ¡°Its an extremely archaic bit of magic. I found reference to it only in this tome. And there¡¯s no recipe provided.¡±


    The king closed the book and read its filigreed title¨CAncient Alchemies. ¡°Have you spoken to Odo about this?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Your Majesty. I inquired immediately when I came upon it. He¡¯s unfamiliar.¡±


    Aldis wasn¡¯t surprised. ¡°He¡¯s a worthless old coot, like you. Just more personable.¡±


    Edmund stood and moved to the window, staring out. It was still light, and the spectral glow of Aeterneau¡¯s was washed out by the sparkling sky. But soon, a satin twilight would drape itself over the hills, and the grim glimmer would again haunt the horizon. Edmund knew it had grown in intensity. He knew the wound had opened wider, threatening to swallow them. He knew the infection was evolving, and soon the whole countryside would be diseased, awash with an infernal sepsis. ¡°Aldis, if you aren¡¯t going to contribute, you are free to leave.¡± He turned back to the table and frowned. ¡°But I don¡¯t understand why you bring this to me, Alfraed, if we don¡¯t have any way of manufacturing it.¡±


    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°But I think I might know who does¡­¡± Alfraed let the end of his thought float in tantalizing silence.


    The king was more tolerant than most, but even he could tire of Alfraed¡¯s affectations. ¡°Speak plainly.¡±


    ¡°One of the Coven. Beatrice. She¡¯s a master alchemist, or so they say.¡±


    Aldis knocked his goblet over in frustration, the ancient wood of the table greedily drinking the burgundy wine into its grain. ¡°Trading one lunatic sorcerer for another? That¡¯s your answer? He¡¯s madder than we thought.¡±


    ¡°You think she would agree to help?¡± the king said.


    ¡°Your Majesty, you can¡¯t be honestly entertaining this.¡±


    ¡°If you had a better solution, I wouldn¡¯t need to, but here we are.¡±


    Alfraed shrugged, unsure. The Coven were nearly as reclusive as Aeterneau. ¡°There isn¡¯t any harm in asking.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s true,¡± Aldis said, ¡°you shouldn¡¯t have any qualms about asking her yourself.¡±


    Alfraed reeled in offense. ¡°Many qualms. My time is valuable. I won¡¯t waste it on errands. Send one of your lackies.¡±


    ¡°Gerard is escorting Prince Holden,¡± Edmund thought aloud. ¡°Who else would you suggest, Aldis?¡±


    Before Aldis could reply, Darwyn strode into the room, bowing his head at the king. ¡°Your Majesty.¡± He was disheveled, his breastplate hastily strapped in place, his braids pulled into a knotted tangle. But nobody noticed. They simply saw their answer.

 Twelve

    Night hung over Darwyn like a dripping mollusk. It slumped heavy and damp on his shoulders, and there was something prehensile about it¨Cits murk like tentacles wrapping about him, worming their way into his brain, constricting.


    There was a rustle in the underbrush ahead of him and he paused, his hand quickly finding the hilt of his sword. The growth quivered again, and in the umber, it looked almost as if the brush was something else entirely. Something alive. Able to breathe.


    He inhaled and froze.


    Nothing¨Ccould be anything.


    He exhaled and moved forward, deeper into the tangle. The moon¡¯s already wan light was choked by the labyrinth of canopy overhead. It crept above him like a pregnant storm cloud. In the dark, shapes were not shapes but suggestions. Everything was indecipherable. It was all reduced to a dusty, dark aether that swirled in one¡¯s imagination, manifesting here as a thing, and there as another. All of a sudden, in primordial dark, what was behind, or just at the edges, developed a thicker gravity than what lay ahead. And yet, in primordial dark, who could tell the difference between ahead or behind, between what lingered at the edges and what lumbered dead before you. It was all the same formless haunting.


    Darwyn felt a chill and he knew it wasn¡¯t from the cool air, but instead was taking hold in his core¨Cthese were cursed lands. A howl rang out, and though the sound was clear and bright and piercing, there was something surreal about it. It wreathed itself about the air, hanging like a cobweb.


    He halted, searching for any sign of the sound¡¯s origin, but all he could hear was the beating of his own heart.


    Everything was still, and still there was nothing.


    He took another very slow step forward and the sensation of being watched suddenly overcame him. He spun quickly¨Cleft, then right¨Ca full sweep. He half expected a teeming mass of fiendish eyes to be peering out of the black, searing into him. But there was nothing.


    Nothing.


    And yet, he was being watched. A pair of eyes deep in the wood, remote, hidden from him, watched his every move through the iridescent mist of a divination sphere.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°I think,¡± Beatrice said to Ophelia, ¡°that it needs a touch of vesperwing. Would muffle sounds.¡±


    Ophelia nodded, but was mostly interested in her book.


    ¡°Did you even hear me?¡±


    ¡°Touch of vesperwing,¡± she said, licking her finger and gently turning the page.


    ¡°What are you reading?¡±


    ¡°Rolfe¡¯s newest. The Toiled Fields.¡±


    ¡°Ladies,¡± Lilith said, waving them over to her sphere. ¡°Come have a look. I think we have a visitor.¡±


    Ophelia plucked the reading glasses from the perch of her nose and a crease of skepticism cut across her brow. ¡°In the dead of night?¡±


    Lilith waved more emphatically. ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    Beatrice took her potion with her, stirring the whole time. She gazed into the green and blue swirl and the form of a knight emerged from the vapor. ¡°Hm. Seems it. Peculiar.¡± She returned to her apothecary table and began quickly checking the drawers for vesperwing.


    Ophelia made her way over. ¡°An elf,¡± she observed.


    ¡°Someone from Deepvale all the way out here?¡± A scheme drew together in Lilith¡¯s head and her eyes gleamed. ¡°He¡¯s so far out. We have to offer him shelter,¡± she said in a put-on pout.


    ¡°Not from Deepvale. Nearby. Ebontarn.¡±


    ¡°How can you tell?¡± Lilith asked.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you know your heraldry?¡±


    Lilith shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m normally just trying to get them out of their armor.¡±


    Ophelia pointed to an insignia on his surcoat. ¡°The hippocampus. He¡¯s definitely Draclaudian.¡±


    ¡°An errand boy for Edmund, then?¡±


    Beatrice looked as though a foul stench had just wafted in. ¡°I¡¯ve no desire to deal with boorish kings. One of you two can handle this.¡±


    ¡°Poor thing seems so on edge,¡± Lilith laughed.


    ¡°You know the stories they tell about these woods,¡± Ophelia said. ¡°That even the plants want to eat you.¡±


    Beatrice smiled. ¡°Glad my work is recognized.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t we help him?¡± Lilith pleaded.


    ¡°Why?¡± Ophelia put her glasses back on and sat, legs crossed, in her reading chair. She opened to her spot and tried to settle back into the swaying cadence of Rolfe¡¯s summery prose. ¡°Let him stumble through the dark on his own. Maybe we¡¯ll get lucky and he won¡¯t find us.¡±


    ¡°You two are a drag,¡± Lilith said, looking back into the glimmering sphere and into the elf¡¯s alert eyes.


    Darwyn continued his determined plunge into the thicket, slowly adapting to the phantom gaze that gripped him. At first, it burned like nettles on his skin. But after a while, it smoothed into a strange, buzzing piquancy. And after that, he became immune; it quieted into a hum that became more and more diffuse until he could no longer feel the witch¡¯s eyes vibrating on him.


    So comfortable had he become that he began to think the Coven was a hoax, that he¡¯d been sent on an impossible task. That all of the whispers of these woods¡¯ nocturnal horrors¨Cwerewolves and man-eating plants and gloom so viscous it must be poison¨Cwere paranoid nonsense.  There was nothing out here but soggy vegetation and the trill of crickets. Whatever chill gripped him earlier began to thaw, and now he only worried what he would say to His Majesty when he returned with nothing.

 Thirteen

    As if summoned by his crystallizing sense of defeat, a strange spark fizzed to life in front of Darwyn. At first, the will o¡¯ wisp was just a formless sparkle, dancing madly about in the dark. But after a moment, it started to take a shape. The light sculpted itself a pair of legs, then arms. A head lifted out of the center and a pair of wings out of its back. Its contours warped and suddenly, it was the shape of a small, winged sylph. It extended a beckoning finger and then darted deeper into the murky wood. When Darwyn did not immediately follow, it stopped midflight, turned, and placed its diminutive hands on its hips.


    Darwyn unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the luminous spirit. It simply cocked its small head and zipped back over, hovering near the point of his brand, as if considering it. It landed on the blade and began to gingerly tip-toe its way toward the hilt. When it arrived, it looked him in his eyes¨Cnow wide with astonishment¨Cand pointed emphatically the direction it had come from. He flung the blade quickly to the side, trying to throw the creature into the brush,  but the fairy merely resumed its flight as the blade dropped out from under it. It shook its head in disappointment and again pointed.


    Darwyn slowly resheathed his sword and considered his options. He finally nodded, and the sprite flitted forward. He followed the path it lit for him, stumbling over rotting logs and ducking between criscrossed branches. He followed it for what seemed an eternity before it shot ahead like a bolt of lighting, illuminating a clearing in the distance.


    As he broke the threshold, he found himself in a well-maintained garden. None of the the forest¡¯s heavy, sentinel trees, none of its wild, scraggly underbrush marred the pristine grounds. The sprite darted about, flying in wide arcs around the garden, illuminating all manner of exotic flowers. He approached one that was a deep lavender in color, its magnificent petals unfurling like heavy tapestries. It was gigantic, and gave off a sweet, citrus smell. He leaned toward it and one of its stamen whipped violently and unexpectedly about his wrist and pulled him in.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mess with that one if I were you.¡±


    He looked behind him as the plant continued to tug. There was a picturesque cottage tucked among the flowers, and framed in its doorway was a woman, her face lit by the hovering fairy, its features placid and unimpressed. The woman was holding a bottle and she continued to stir its contents while she watched Darwyn.


    ¡°Is it poisonous?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Goodness, no. But it is carnivorous.¡±


    He looked back toward the flower as it greedily inched him closer. He recoiled and quickly cut through its tendril with his sword. The tension released and he stumbled backward and fell to the ground, throbs of pain shooting up his tailbone.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± the woman snarled. She rushed out not to his aid, but the plant¡¯s. She knelt by it and tenderly examined the cut. Her head swiveled and her furious gaze grasped him with the sharp, swift precision of a raptor seizing a rodent. ¡°Do you have any idea how long it took to cultivate this specimen?¡±


    Darwyn picked himself up out of the dirt and dusted himself off. ¡°It was trying to eat me.¡± He looked back at the cottage and saw two new faces staring at him from the door. One was framed with waves of flame-red hair that swirled like the patterns of a finely illuminated manuscript. This face wore an expression of curiosity, of anticipation. The other was outlined with raven-black hair and its eyes were equally dark to match. They sat behind a pair of spectacles, and perhaps because of this, Darwyn felt as though this woman was observing him with a sort of detached, scientific interest.


    ¡°Why have you come here?¡± Ophelia asked, stepping out of the cottage, her arms folded in front of her like an aegis.


    ¡°Do I stand before the Ladies of the Coven?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s even more handsome in person,¡± Lilith said. She motioned for him to approach, and the luminous sylph mimicked her movement.


    ¡°Did you send the sprite?¡±


    She smiled and held her hand out, the sylph resting on her palm. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want you to get lost in the woods at night. Not safe.¡± She closed her fist and the light was instantly snuffed out. Darkness washed over the garden like a blight.


    ¡°Why have you come here?¡± Ophelia repeated.


    ¡°King Edmund requests your assistance.¡±


    ¡°And why, pray tell,¡± Beatrice said, rejoining the others, ¡°should we care in the least if Edmund needs our assistance? He¡¯d sooner abdicate the throne than deign to help one of us.¡±


    ¡°He is the king,¡± Darwyn said, his voice steady and resolute.


    ¡°Was that a reason?¡± Beatrice wondered. ¡°Or just a dull observation. I honestly can¡¯t tell.¡±


    Ophelia smirked¨CDarwyn was a much easier read than Rolfe¡¯s prose. ¡°I think it was a threat.¡±


    ¡°He seems very into authority,¡± Lilith mused. ¡°I can work with that.¡±


    ¡°Please, do not resist. Make this easy on all of us.¡±


    ¡°Tell us more,¡± Ophelia said. ¡°What does Edmund need of us?¡±


    Darwyn shook his head, unsure of the particulars. ¡°I would struggle to even say.¡±


    Beatrice was relieved. ¡°Very well, then. Say no more, indeed, and leave.¡±


    ¡°I understand that His Majesty is in need of a master alchemist.¡±


    Ophelia turned to Beatrice and smiled sympathetically. ¡°Looks like this will be your burden after all.¡±


    ¡°A nuisance,¡± she said. ¡°What does he need with an alchemist?¡±


    Darwyn shook his head again.


    Ophelia¡¯s arms dropped limply to her side in frustration. ¡°Useless.¡±


    Darwyn held his hand out. ¡°Please. It is apparently a very rare potion. They don¡¯t know how to mix it.¡±


    Lilith strode out of the cottage, her dark, silk robes fluttering behind her. She placed her hand on Darwyn¡¯s side and swung around him¨Cher movement liquid¨Cto face the others. ¡°How can you say no to a face like this?¡± she asked, as she laid her head gently against his shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s help him. Pretty please?¡±

 Fourteen

    Sulma let the earth settle. For days now, she had had been hiding away in her tent. The camp would have seemed dead without her busywork, but with those from the northern settlement made refugees, there were new noises, new lives filling the space she left.That had distracted Baultu¡¯u at first, but he finally began to wonder what had happened. The last he had seen her was at the river, where she was gently stirring the water into small eddies, disturbing the silt from the bed and watching it rise in cloud-like blooms.


    After that¨Cnothing. Not a sound was heard from her, even as the other shamans had become consumed with divining the location of the deserter.


    Baultu¡¯u gave no warning, peeled the flap of her tent back, and thrust his head into the dim shelter. Some embers in the pit cast a feeble light, just enough for Sulma to sit and read her books. As the scorching white of the outside ripped into the tent, she fussed at Baultu¡¯u and tossed one of her manuscripts at his blockface.


    ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing, you dunce?¡±


    ¡°Weren¡¯t for the little bit of smoke seepin¡¯ out your seams, woulda thought you died.¡±


    ¡°I ain¡¯t dead, and I ain¡¯t wanna be bothered, so shoo.¡±


    ¡°Sulma¡­what¡¯s going on?¡± He moved the rest of the way in, letting the flap blot the sun out again. He dropped to his haunches and sat by the fire. ¡°Why you disappeared on us?¡±


    She looked at her book, but Baultu¡¯u could tell she wasn¡¯t reading. ¡°Just ain¡¯t felt like goin¡¯ out.¡±


    ¡°You wanna look at me?¡±


    She shook her head.


    Baultu¡¯u pushed the book down and met her eyes. ¡°Sulma¡­we¡¯re friends.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m hiding.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you think I could use a friend right now?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why I¡¯m hiding,¡± she said again, reopening her book.


    ¡°What¡¯d you see in the water, Sulma?¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    ¡°Dammit, Sulma. Stop all this.¡±


    ¡°What do you think I saw?¡± She looked up, her eyes now wet with tears.


    ¡°You saw her, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Clear as the sky, I saw her. I know where she is, Baultu¡¯u. And they¡¯re going to ask. They¡¯ll do what they have to to tear it out of me. But I won¡¯t let them. I just gotta lay low. The others¡¯ll muddle through. Probably see something murky. Let ¡®em send the Retriever out on a hunch. She¡¯ll stand a chance that way.¡± She leaned forward and put her hand on his heavy shoulder, and held her other up to his heavy heart, which beat sluggishly through his chest. ¡°I¡¯ll keep your daughter safe, Baultu¡¯u.¡±


    He squeezed her hand and whispered ¡°thank you.¡±


    ¡°But it¡¯s best if you just leave me be, and make sure the others leave me be, too. Tell ¡®em I¡¯m sick. Tell ¡®em whatever you need to.¡±


    ¡°Sulma¡­tell me. Where¨Cwh¡­¡± he trailed off.


    The air was dense with his silent question. ¡°I know, I know,¡± she said. ¡°But isn¡¯t it enough that you know she¡¯s alive?¡± She felt his sturdy frame shrink in her grasp and she sighed. ¡°Of course it¡¯s not, love. Of course it¡¯s not. I understand.¡± She pulled him close, cradling him. ¡°The water showed me. I watched it tumble and swirl, and I could feel that she watched it do the same. She saw it, too. It turned against the rocks..."


    ...one after another, the waves turned against the rocks. As they crested, they would change from azure to white and then crash against the edge of the continent and shatter into a million glinting, translucent drops. The sea here worked a strange alchemy, transmuting cobalt to diamond with every turn.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­beautiful,¡± Akura¡¯a said.


    ¡°Aye,¡± Haveraul agreed. There was a childlike sincerity in her tone he found infectious. As they stood on the cliff watching the sea lather itself, he was tickled to witness it through new eyes again.


    Suddenly, the lights of the city nestled into the cliffside were fireflies and the facades of the colorful houses like multi-faceted gems jutting from the rock. The whole scene breathed; it¡¯s oxygen was intoxicating. It pumped their blood into a pleasing froth, like the waves on the coast. ¡°Aye,¡± he said again, exhaling.


    ¡°I¡¯d only ever seen Mere Amaury.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t s¡¯pose many orcs get out to Deepvale. Seen a few refugees, like you, in the Far-flungs, but never in Arukadia.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a refugee.¡±


    He nodded, said nothing.


    ¡°You two done gawkin¡¯?¡± Laterra said. She waved them back to their wagon impatiently. ¡°Inn¡¯ll be booked up if we don¡¯t get a move on.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon.¡± He tapped her on the elbow¨Cabout as high as he could reach. ¡°Let¡¯s go. It¡¯s even prettier up close. I promise.¡±


    Akura¡¯a hopped into the back of the too-small wagon and her stomach gurgled. ¡°I¡¯m starving.¡±


    Haveraul whipped the reins and the horses began a measured trot down an incline leading toward the city. ¡°Make a mean grilled squid ¡®round these parts. Ever had squid?¡±


    ¡°Never heard of it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, well¡­it¡¯s a sort of¡­well, it¡¯s kinda hard to describe.¡±


    ¡°Is it meat?¡±


    ¡°¡®Course.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll like it.¡±


    ¡°Little squiggly and squishy.¡±


    She shrugged. ¡°Everything¡¯s squishy to an orc.¡±

 Fifteen

    The waves were restless, but the breeze was a calming salve. It sauntered through the tight streets of Arukadia and ambled gently up and down the zigzagging stairs. Sometimes it would quiet itself and loiter in a plaza for just a moment. Everything was suffused with its tranquility, especially the people, and they moved with an easy elegance that Akura¡¯a hadn¡¯t seen before, almost as if in slow motion. She enjoyed it¨Cits delicacy, its purposefulness, its fluidity.


    Her companions were a different story. Dwarves were compact and brick-like, but their energy was elastic. The pitch of their voice was volatile, careening about, ploughing roughshod through the delicate air and punctuated with heaps of laughter.


    Rovel Tells-Tall-Tales was showing Akura¡¯a how he had earned his name. He had already colorfully narrated stories about felled giants and torrid romances with sylphs whose existence was surely as ethereal as the beauty he ascribed to them. Now he was engaged in a particularly unbelievable epic about how he had single-handedly thwarted an all-out war from breaking out among the Far-flung Territories. Every beat he hit and inflection in his voice seemed deliberate, but not in a way that made his story rote or predictable. The opposite. He was a master-craftsman, and he had lovingly polished these stories, every retelling a new and more perfect draft. He reminded her a bit of Othoku¡¯u, which was painful at first, but soon became a source of warmth and comfort. His stories were little escapes, and she was happy to dissolve into them when she could.


    ¡°And see, the goblins knew that they didn¡¯t stand a chance on their own, but they knew that the second they allied with either the Draclaudians or the Deepvalers, they¡¯d be the low ¡®uns on the totem pole. Didn¡¯t matter which side they picked, they knew once the dust settled, they¡¯d be the next ones on the choppin¡¯ block. That¡¯s why they¡¯ve always been given more to them behind-the-scenes machinations. Whip-smart¡±¨Che tapped his forehead¨C¡°So, instead of picking a side, they supplied both with arms, and just did their best to poke and prod until one of the sides snapped and attacked the other. Then they¡¯d just kick back¡±¨Che mimicked the motion¨C¡°and wait for them to tear each other limb from limb. And then they¡¯d swoop in with the money they made from the arms sales and offer aid. Basically buy peoples¡¯ allegiance. Clever bastards. Now¨CI ain¡¯t got a thing against goblins. Just this particular band of ¡®em sorta had some nasty imperial aspirations. And it woulda cut in to our profits, ¡®cause they woulda made sure they had a monopoly on the market. So, that¡¯s when I set into motion, see¨C¡±


    ¡°Alright, Rovel,¡± Haveraul said, tossing a chunk of stale bread at him to shut him up. ¡°Give her ear a rest.¡±


    ¡°But he¡¯s just getting to the good part,¡± Darben protested.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t any part of that story I need to hear for the tenth time,¡± Laterra said.


    Haveraul pulled on the reins and the horses slowed their trot. He pointed toward a street vendor, who had a small fire going and several large barrels of fish and other seafood. ¡°This one right here,¡± he said. ¡°She¡¯s got the best grub ¡®round here.¡±


    The elf smiled at them as the carts all came to a stop. ¡°I do love when my dwarves are in town. It¡¯s so much more lively.¡± Her grin quickly faded when she noticed the orc. Akura¡¯a steeled herself for whatever was to come¨Cmore like Blakely, she expected. The elf quickly thought better of herself, though, and the smile returned. The bright white of her teeth peeked out again, like the timid sun from behind a cloud. ¡°Have a new companion? It¡¯s very nice to meet you.¡± She held out her hand. ¡°I¡¯m Ida.¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Akura¡¯a hesitated,  but then shook it delicately. ¡°I¡¯m Akura¡¯a.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s very unusual to see your kind here.¡±


    ¡°We tend to keep to ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad to have you.¡± She looked at Haveraul and winked. ¡°See you picked up another strapping lass to do the heavy-lifting for you. You lazy git.¡±


    ¡°Them¡¯s fightin¡¯ words,¡± he said. ¡°And you know dwarves¨Cwe¡¯re lovers, not fighters. So how bout you give me some of that grilled squid I love so much?¡±


    But Ida wasn¡¯t one to be hurried. ¡°I have to ask¨Cwhat could possibly make you travel with this lot? Don¡¯t get me wrong¨Cthey¡¯re great for a visit. But if I had to stay with ¡®em?¡±


    Akura¡¯a still wasn¡¯t sure how to answer that question. But she figured she¡¯d better start saying something. ¡°I just really needed a ride out east¡­ And orcs can¡¯t exactly be choosy about their friends.¡±


    Darben laughed. ¡°We help her out and she insults us!¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Akura¡¯a said. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it like that.¡±


    ¡°She ain¡¯t there yet, Darben,¡± he said, punching the dwarf on the shoulder. He turned back to Ida. ¡°Can¡¯t give her too much guff yet. She still takes it serious.¡± And now he looked to Akura¡¯a and gave her a buoyant grin. ¡°¡®Sides, you ain¡¯t wrong. Your last friend turned out to be a weredragon, ¡®member that?¡±


    Ida¡¯s face crinkled with doubt. ¡°You been listenin¡¯ to too many of Rovel¡¯s stories, Haver.¡±


    ¡°Cross my heart! Tell her.¡±


    Akura¡¯a shrugged. ¡°I¡­didn¡¯t see anything.¡±


    Ida put a hand to her hip and thrust it out, waiting for Haver to explain himself.


    ¡°¡®Course,¡± Akura¡¯a clarified, ¡°I think he blew the barracks up. So maybe?¡± She shrugged.


    Haveraul mimicked Ida, hand on outthrust hip, and a pair of impish dimples signaled her surrender. ¡°See,¡± she said, ¡°this is why I love you all¨Cin doses.¡± She turned and reached into one of her barrels, pulling a squid out. ¡°So many good stories.¡±


    There was something exfoliating about the idle chatter, the benign pleasantries. Akura¡¯a luxuriated in them as they scrubbed the grit from her graveled skin, like she was shedding her old self.


    ¡°Speakin¡¯ of my stories,¡± Rovel said, ¡°I was just in the middle of one when we pulled up. Think we¡¯re ready for the third act.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Ida said, ¡°I¡¯ve been left behind. Catch me up?¡±


    ¡°Sure. So you see¨C¡±


    Laterra interrupted because Rovel never gave abridged versions. ¡°Far-flungs. Deepvalers, Draclaudians hate each other. Goblins playing both sides. Bout to break into war. Got it?¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡± Ida held up the gloppy critter so they could see. ¡°This one suit ya?¡±


    Haveraul nodded. ¡°Any¡¯ll do. I¡¯m starved.¡±


    Ida threw it onto the grill and it made a peculiar splat. She looked back at them ready for Rovel to continue his story, but Akura¡¯a remained fixated on the squid. She watched as its soft-body sloughed between the bars of the grill, swelling and bulging. As the heat from the fire began to cook it, its skin bubbled and blistered and a strange burbling noise escaped its dermis. It was something between a solid and a liquid, and there was something in its sludge that unnerved her.


    Gelatinous and oozing, slowly seeping, weeping strange sweat¡­


    Panic poured over her in hot waves. Her stomach clutched and all she could see was the brain of that poor smudge of a person.


    A person she had made a smudge.


    Its brains had oozed. They had quivered and sweated out a strange liquid¡­


    Before she knew what was happening, Akura¡¯a vomited. Her own fluids oozed, stomach acid and pain and disgust and wild fever escaping. Her body was trying desperately to rid itself of a strange, phantom pathogen.


    Haveraul jumped back in reflex, and Ida had to turn away, or else she felt she might get sick, too.


    When it seemed like it had finished, Akura¡¯a looked up and tried to apologize, but the squid was still sizzling, and all she could do was shut her eyes tight and hold her stomach.

 Sixteen

    It had been an inauspicious start to the merging of the Houses. Holden had arrived with Blakely still in disarray, gripped in a mania, vendors and customers more likely exchanging gossip than coin in the aftermath. And despite Allard¡¯s considerable efforts, they were not able to clean up what remained of the barracks before Holden¡¯s caravan reached the city.


    They had nothing to offer the Prince but meager greetings and confused explanations.


    Holden graciously acted as if it was no bother. If anything, he reacted with faint interest, having never laid eyes on a dragon himself.


    They had all left, but Isaac remained behind on Gerard¡¯s orders. Gerard had asked him to interview some of the locals who saw the event nearer than they, to collect their accounts so a more thorough report could be made to King Edmund. Isaac thought it was an uncharitable phrasing¨C¡°nearer than us¡±¨Che could still feel the sudden thud of wind as its great black bulk thundered by. But he¡¯d said nothing and nodded agreeably. Eagerly, even. It was rare for Gerard to entrust him with such a task¨Cnormally he stuck to lyrics.


    He hadn¡¯t been very successful. It was no fault of his own¨Che was exceedingly thorough in seeking out witnesses. But their accounts were already tainted by the impurities of time and exaggeration.


    He was told stories about the way locals had actually faced the beast down, forcing it to flee. He was told it had two heads¨Cor three. He was told that it had swallowed men whole. He was even told it must have been an inside job¨Cthe work of Edmund to try and make the people feel less safe, to justify His Majesty¡¯s imperial aspirations.


    Isaac found that idea particularly fascinating. It was wrong in its specifics, but what struck Isaac most were its generalities: that this man earnestly seemed to think kings cared to justify their wars¨Cor that their peoples asked them to. It had never seemed that way to him. But¡­normally he stuck to lyrics.


    When it was clear Isaac wasn¡¯t going to gather anything more illuminating than what he already had, Allard prepared him some travelling supplies, a horse, and bid him farewell.


    Evening was fast approaching, and he decided that he should find a spot to settle in for the night. He was following close along the shore of a small stream, and in the distance he saw a dark hump splayed across the bank, partly submerged in the gentle current. He approached slowly, carefully, and as he came upon it he could tell it was the shape of a man. Even closer, and he was rendered dumb¨Cthe man Gerard had taken in. The man who was, presumably, the dragon that had nearly ended them. His heart began to beat rapidly against his chest, and a scattering of impulses and questions crackled through his brain. Was the man dead? If not, should he make sure he was? Should he flee as fast and as far as he could? Should he try to take the man back into custody? How could he? With what?Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    He looked round quickly as though he were guilty of something, as if someone might see him. He didn¡¯t know why. The moors were quiet and their ceaseless, rolling emptiness cared not what decision he made. Looking just downstream of the man¡¯s body, he saw faint ribbons of red swirling in the current, becoming dilute, and vanishing as the water carried the blood further and further away.


    He jumped off his horse and checked the man for a pulse. Life still throbbed in him. He rolled him over and saw that he had slumped onto a jagged stone, and it had cut deeply into his abdomen. Isaac drug his body further up the bank with great effort, and quickly began unstrapping the leather vest from around his torso. Near the wound, the banding had become matted and sticky with congealed blood. He peeled it away gingerly and as he did, fresh, crimson streams started to seep out.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± the man groaned, his consciousness slowly returning to him.


    ¡°Saving your life,¡± the bard said, fishing a knife from his rucksack. ¡°This may sting,¡±¨Cand he cut quickly through the man¡¯s black tunic. He hesitated before removing it, afraid of what the wound might look like.


    ¡°What are you waiting for?¡± Garridan¡¯s voice was hoarse and some of his consonants were only gasped air.


    ¡°I¡­I¡¯ve never done this,¡± Isaac admitted.


    His voice only gravel¨C¡°Removed a man¡¯s shirt?¡±


    ¡°What? No. I mean¨C¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll do it,¡± Garridan grunted and moved to take the tunic off. But he was exhausted and could barely lift his arms.


    ¡°No¡­no. I¡¯ll do it. I just¡­don¡¯t know how bad it is.¡±


    ¡°Then find out.¡±


    Isaac inhaled and pulled the shirt away. The assassin had a naturally toned build¨Cshaped by combat practice and prowling the shadows. His chest was speckled with hair that thinned down his stomach, revealing smooth sides, one of which was smeared with purple-brown blood. Garridan winced as the fabric pulled away but said nothing. He rolled as much as he could onto his uninjured side to give Isaac a better look. The wound was jagged and looked deep, and where the skin should meet it instead puckered and seeped fresh blood. Isaac cringed and a shiver ran through him. ¡°It¡¯s¡­¡±


    ¡°Just say it.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­not good.¡±

 Seventeen

    ¡°How not good?¡±


    ¡°I¡­I don¡¯t know. How do you feel?¡±


    ¡°Like a rock jammed itself halfway through my side.¡±


    ¡°But not like you¡¯re dying?¡±


    Garridan coughed, and it was sputtering and sodden. Isaac feared it was blood that made it wet. ¡°I¡¯d wager,¡± the assassin said weakly, ¡°they¡¯re pretty similar feelings.¡± He felt the wound himself and groaned at the stabbing pain. ¡°How¡­how far are we from¡­¡±


    ¡°A day¡¯s travel. I have supplies. I can suture it but¡­¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve never done this before.¡±


    ¡°¡­yes.¡±


    Garridan turned and looked at him with surprising clarity. ¡°There¡¯s a first time for everything.¡±


    Isaac fumbled through his rucksack. He felt the thread and the thin bone needle, but hesitated. He turned back and stared at the limp man. ¡°I¨CI don¡¯t even know if I shouldhelp you.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think Gerard should take me in. Now you want to let me die?¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯re a¡­¡±


    Garridan pushed himself up and roared in pain. He pointed to Isaac¡¯s bag. ¡°Give it to me. I¡¯ll do it if you can¡¯t. If you won¡¯t.¡±


    Isaac took the thread and needle over and gently took Garridan¡¯s shoulders and laid him back down, trembling. ¡°No. I¡¯ll do it. But then you talk.¡±


    Garridan nodded and Isaac set quickly to work. The first pull of the needle made him wince. He could feel the the texture of the thread vibrating as he pulled it through the flesh. Garridan inhaled sharply, gritted his teeth, but stayed mostly silent. Looping through and through, the skin came back together in a ragged seam. A last trickle of blood dripped out and Isaac cleaned the wound with antiseptic and wrapped Garridan¡¯s whole waist in gauze bandaging.


    ¡°Did it hurt?¡±


    ¡°Would have hurt less if you weren¡¯t shaking so much.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Garridan waved him off and rolled over onto his good side. ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± he said, his voice faint. ¡°Think I¡¯m just gonna rest m¡¯eyes for a minute.¡±


    Isaac set up a small camp as night fell. When everything was prepared, he tapped Garridan, trying to stir him so he could move him into the tent. Once they were resituated, Garridan again rolled on his side, ready to fall back asleep.


    ¡°Wait,¡± Isaac said.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You said you would talk.¡±


    Garridan laid flat on his back and stared at the fabric of the tent, which sagged very close to his face. He lifted his good arm and batted at the falling roof. ¡°Not good at much besides lyrics are you?¡±Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°You know I¡¯m a bard?¡±


    ¡°I know who you are. I know Gerard.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I want to know¨Chow do you know Gerard?¡±


    ¡°Just¡­crossed paths before.¡±


    ¡°You were just protecting the orc. Why would he take you in? He wouldn¡¯t tell me.¡±


    ¡°What happened to the orc?¡± Garridan stopped his rhythmic punching of the fabric and turned to Isaac, his eyes wide with genuine concern.


    Isaac shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. Sorry. But why did Gerard take you in?¡±


    ¡°Gerard knows what I do.¡±


    ¡°But not what you are. He didn¡¯t know you were a weredragon.¡±


    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s not it. What do you do?¡±


    Gerard rolled away from Isaac and laid his head on his bicep, closing his eyes. ¡°Contract work.¡±


    ¡°The mark near your eye. Some were saying it¡¯s the mark of the Dread Dragon.¡±


    ¡°People say a lot things that are bullshit.¡±


    ¡°Then how did you become a weredragon?¡±


    ¡°Long story.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve got all night.¡±


    With great effort, Garridan pulled himself upright. The lids of his eyes were heavy, his whites glassy, reflecting the light of the fire just outside the tent. He hunched over, one hand braced against the soft ground, the other holding his stomach. He looked beaten, but his voice was steadier now, and he spoke with care. ¡°Not a story I feel like telling right now.¡±


    Isaac scooted closer to him, careful, afraid. ¡°Then¡­at least tell me how you know Gerard. Him taking you in¨Cit was out of character.¡±


    Garridan tried to laugh, but it came out a seizing cough. ¡°Was it really?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Or are you just buying into your own stories?¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Garridan said nothing at first. He let the silence sag on Isaac like the dilapidated tent. When he finally spoke, he said only, ¡°You know, I have a favorite of yours.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°¡®The Brigands of Whisperlight Falls.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­why that one?¡±


    ¡°Recite it for me.¡±


    Shrinking back¨C¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°C¡¯mon,¡± the assassin urged.


    But the bard wouldn¡¯t; he turned his head away, couldn¡¯t even look Garridan in the eye.


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll do it,¡± Garridan said. ¡°I have it memorized.¡± He inhaled deeply, and then started, slow and quiet, with menace, almost snarling it out, like a cur through bared teeth¨C


    ¡°There were whispers in the nearby village


    Louder than the falls,


    Whispers of a band of brigands


    Barbarous cabal


    There were thieves thought they found a haunt,


    Pickings ripe for plunder


    Thieves who thought they¡¯d shirk the law


    Tear decency asunder


    There were victims that had their goods


    Taken from their hands,


    Victims who had their hands taken¨C¡±


    Garridan¡¯s rhythm was interrupted by a cough, and when he tried to refind it, his voice had been made raspy again, flecked with phlegm.


    Isaac reluctantly finished it for him--


    ¡°Cut by brigands brands.


    There were heroes¨Cplenty¨Cand they said


    ¡®No more the villains take!¡¯


    Heroes who left and ne¡¯er came back


    But for their own wake.


    But then there was a sword¨CGerard¡¯s¨C


    That cut the bandits down


    A sword that blitzed and cleansed the stain,


    Restored hope to the town


    And now there are no frightened whispers


    Only joyous songs abound


    Now there are no thieves or victims


    Only a new hero crowned


    ¡­Why that one?¡±


    ¡°Personal connection.¡±


    ¡°Would you speak plainly?¡± Isaac pleaded.


    ¡°Because it shows what a fraud he is. He didn¡¯t save that village.¡±


    ¡°But he did,¡± Isaac insisted. ¡°I was there.¡±


    ¡°When he actually raided the camp?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­no. I was at the village.¡±


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t very thorough. Maybe he actually took care of some. I don¡¯t know. But as soon as you two rode off into the sunset, some of ¡®em came right back.¡±


    ¡°How do you know?¡±


    Garridan¡¯s hand clutched, digging into the soft peat. ¡°Because I¡¯m the one the village finally hired to take them out.¡± His breathing was labored and his side ached, but he barely noticed. ¡°Seven men that day. Seven men I had to kill, because Gerard couldn¡¯t do the job. And he has poems written about him. You need to quit buying into the shit you peddle. Your friend is no hero.¡± He surrendered his iron grip on the clotted  earth and laid back down. ¡°I¡¯m going to sleep now. I trust I¡¯ll wake unharmed?¡±


    Isaac made no reply but gently placed a blanket over him and handed him a second, still rolled, to use as a pillow.

 Eighteen

    Isaac woke to a hand over his mouth. Garridan¡¯s face was oppressively close, and he could feel the assassin¡¯s hot breath spread across his cheek.


    ¡°If you want to live, you will listen to me very carefully,¡± he whispered. His voice was so low that Isaac could barely hear him even as the assassin¡¯s lips were pressed nearly against his ear.


    It took a moment for Isaac¡¯s awareness to solidify. Fitful dreams had left it soft mush. But when it did, panic immediately seized him. He tried to scream, but the assassin quickly moved his hand from the bard¡¯s mouth to his throat and squeezed, closing off the air.


    He should have never helped. He was a fool. He should have trusted Gerard. Now he would die here, at the hands of this criminal, with nothing but this flaccid tent to mark his grave. An ignoble end. His eyes began to water.


    Garridan slowly relented, loosening his grip, bit by bit, trying to keep the bard from loudly and suddenly sucking down air.


    ¡°I said be quiet.¡± He looked into Isaac¡¯s panicked, betrayed eyes and instantly understood. ¡°Not me,¡± he whispered, and he gestured with his head to noises outside the tent.


    Isaac could hear shuffling and hushed voices.


    ¡°If you want to live, listen to me,¡± he repeated. He reached over, wincing as every nerve along his side ignited in flames, and grabbed the small bone needle Isaac had used to suture his wound. He put it in Isaac¡¯s palm and closed his fingers around it. He then pulled one of his eyelids down and pointed at it. ¡°The eye,¡± he whispered. ¡°And don¡¯t hesitate¨Cthey won¡¯t.¡± But nothing registered in Isaac¡¯s face but fear. ¡°I need you to understand,¡± Garridan said.


    Isaac nodded and Garridan slid back over to his spot. He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep and Isaac mimicked him. He pressed his lids together so tightly it ached, as though it would shield him from whatever was going to happen. Outside, he listened to the bandits.


    ¡°Lucky day. Would you look at this? Lotta gold. Some sorta noble? Can¡¯t be a trader. Don¡¯t have no stock.¡±


    ¡°Who gives a shit who he is. He¡¯s got coin. All that matters. We¡¯ll take the horse, too. And the clothes. Pretty nice. Fetch a fair price.¡±


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯mma take care of him.¡±


    Isaac listened as the man¡¯s feet squished on the damp ground, first up near his head, then down around the side of the tent, coming to the front. His heart beat faster with every step. He heard the fabric rustle as the man thrust his head in. And then out. The squishing moved back around the side and up by his head again.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°There¡¯s two of ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t there be another horse?¡±


    Total silence. Isaac swallowed and thought he had never heard a louder sound.


    Finally¨C¡°Who cares? Just hurry up.¡±


    The squishing of the man¡¯s feet circled back around again. Isaac had broken out into a sweat, and the cool, damp air felt like a thousand needles dragging across his skin. He heard the man crouch onto his knees and scoot into the tent.


    It had to be now.


    Isaac¡¯s eyes flew open and he lunged¨Cit seemed to happen in slow motion even though it was but an instant. He could feel his body float through the air as it plunged toward the bandit, he could feel the weight of the needle in his hand, as though it were made of lead and not porous bone. And he could sense the slight adjustment in the bandit¡¯s weight, pushing his bulk onto one leg so that he leaned out of the way and Isaac¡¯s strike cut only through air.


    The bandit held a knife and prepared to retaliate, but before he could, Garridan had lurched forward, grabbed the bandit¡¯s hand, and used it to plunge the blade into his neck. He pulled it out and a jet of crimson spurted out and soaked the side of the tent. The thief crumpled instantly.


    The other bandit heard the struggle and was rushing to see what had happened. Garridan threw the blade through the side of the tent and sliced the man¡¯s calf. He dropped and scudded across the soft ground. Garridan lifted the side of the tent, collapsing the whole structure into a ball of bloodied fabric, and he slammed the knife into the man¡¯s back. It was over as quickly as it had begun.


    ¡°Aggh¨C¡± Garridan slumped into the wadded fabric just as Isaac had been able to wiggle out from under it. The assassin¡¯s adrenaline subsided and was replaced with pain that broke across his side like swells of thick magma.


    Isaac sat up and looked at the scene with horror and astonishment. ¡°What¨Chow¨Care you alright?¡± he stammered.


    ¡°No thanks to you,¡± Garridan panted. He looked down at his side and saw that his gauze was damp and red. ¡°Think I may have torn a stitch.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll look at it,¡± Isaac said. He crawled over and gently peeled the dirtied bandage back. Several of the stitches had broken, and the flesh pulled apart again. He replaced the sutures and re-cleaned the wound and collected the crumpled tent, carefully pulling it out from under Garridan and moving even further away from the stream¡¯s bank.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡± Garridan asked.


    ¡°To repitch the tent.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not moving again,¡± the assassin said, still out of breath. ¡°Had enough for tonight.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t mean to sleep by their corpses?¡±


    Garridan waved Isaac¡¯s worry off. ¡°Not the corpses that make it hard to sleep.¡± He laid his head down and began to drift off¨Cor maybe pass out¨Calmost immediately. ¡°Slept a lot worse,¡± he said, the words soft and drowsy and faraway.


    The next day, Garridan woke and found himself in the tent. For a moment, he thought the body next to him was Isaac¡¯s, that the bard must have dragged him into the shelter overnight. But it wasn¡¯t¨Cit was the bandit whose neck had been stabbed. With much effort, Garridan scooted outside and saw that he hadn¡¯t been moved¨Cnothing had. Isaac had simply repitched the tent where it stood, so that Garridan was sheltered. The bard himself was many yards distant, under nothing but a thin blanket and the moor¡¯s cloudy sky. He was curled in the fetal position and used his arm as a pillow.


    Garridan limped up the bank and nudged the bard with his boot. Isaac¡¯s eyes slowly creaked open and he stretched as he sat up. He shivered as he looked back at the camp and what happened in the night returned to him, the horror of it slowly percolating back into his consciousness.


    ¡°What do we do with them?¡± he asked softly.


    Garridan shrugged. ¡°Leave ¡®em for the scavengers.¡±

 Nineteen

    Ysabelle watched from her balcony as the caravan marched itself up the main thoroughfare toward the castle¡¯s courtyard; an invisible, creeping dread preceded them.It slithered up her spine and wound around her stomach, squeezing it into an uncomfortable ball, dense with nerves.


    ¡°Your Highness,¡± Odo motioned to her from the door. ¡°You¡¯ll be wanted in the great hall to meet Holden.¡±


    She turned and feigned a smile. ¡°Yes, of course.¡± She joined him and as they walked she took up his arm, laying her head gently on his shoulder.


    ¡°Oh, and what did I do to deserve this honor?¡±


    ¡°What do you think of all of this?¡± Ysabelle asked quietly. ¡°Everything is going to change¡­¡±


    The old mage ran his free hand through his beard, nodding thoughtfully. ¡°I see¨Cnerves. That¡¯s all. It¡¯s to be expected, Your Highness. Many demands are placed on you as a member of a royal family. Your subjects and your court expect composure, confidence. Self-possession. But you¡¯re allowed doubts like anybody else.¡±


    ¡°Am I allowed to show them?¡± she wondered. She lifted her head from his shoulder and nudged him with her hip. ¡°And you didn¡¯t answer my question.¡±


    ¡°If it is the King¡¯s will, then it shall be done. I trust your father¡¯s wisdom.¡±


    Settling her head again on the perch of his shoulder¨C¡°But¡­what if I don¡¯t like him?¡±


    He patted the back of her hand and rested his on top of hers. His knuckles were knobby and arthritic and his skin was thin and translucent, revealing every tributary of his purple-blue veins. But there was such warmth that emanated from his rough fingertips. ¡°I have the utmost faith that the Five shall guard your heart and guide it wisely.


    A sudden impulse washed over her. It felt like this was the last moment she had before her secret became fossilized¨Cpermanent, unchanging, and buried deep, deep below the surface. She wanted desperately to vocalize it, to ease the pressure she felt by letting out one breathless, liberating confession. If she said it¨CI¡¯m already in love¨Cthat would give it consequence. Secrets were vast reservoirs of potential energy¨Cthey became truly powerful when they were secrets no more, when that potential erupted as pure kinetic force. And Ysabelle was ready to light the fuse, to scuttle the dam. She was ready to litter their lives with debris if it might halt this strange inertia that now barreled toward her.


    But Darwyn would suffer most of all, and so she said nothing. It would have to stay a little, white-hot pain buried deep below the surface and lacquered over with her smiles and politeness.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    In the great hall, the Edmund and some of the other members of the court had already gathered. Ysabelle caught her father¡¯s eyes and he nodded at her, but she said nothing, moved not a muscle in her face.


    The doors were opened and a few knights in ceremonial armor stepped in. They flanked the door and faced inward. The small corridor they made framed a handsome man with a braided beard, covered in armor made of a strange, glistening blue-green metal Ysabelle had never seen before, and embellished with voluminous furs, including a cape that danced in the gentle breeze. A robed chamberlain shuffled in and announced Holden: ¡°His Royal Highness, of the mighty House Baneblade, Prince Holden of Talvivald.¡±


    Holden moved with a casual, confident stride, leading with his chest¨Clike a preening bird but without its delicacy. He was muscled and robust, a stout bear of a man.


    Alfraed stepped forward and bowed, then swept his hand toward Edmund. ¡°And may I present, His Majesty, of the noble House Draclaudus, King of the Draclaudian Empire, Edmund.¡±


    ¡°It is our great honor to welcome you to our kingdom,¡± Edmund said. ¡°And to our home¨CHighspire Hold.¡±


    Alfraed turned and motioned for Ysabelle to step forward. She hesitated. He motioned again more emphatically, and she timidly complied. ¡°King Edmund¡¯s daughter, heir apparent, Her Resplendence, Ysabelle.¡±


    Holden stepped forward and smiled broadly. ¡°Your advisor speaks the truth.¡± He bowed and with lowered head said, ¡°Your beauty casts a humbling light on us all. It is my great honor to make your acquaintance.¡±


    Ysabelle moved to say something, but she suddenly had a strange out-of-body experience. As her sense of self seemed to wisp into the air and dissipate like so much mist, so too did her voice. She could think of nothing to say. She had nothing to say to this man. He was a stranger. And so they stood in silence, and Holden remained bowed, waiting for her to release him.


    Odo stepped forward and patted her gently on the shoulder.


    Still, no words came. Instead, the nerves that were nudged into motion caused her to turn abruptly and start walking away. Everything was remote.


    Several of the others called after her, but she continued her retreat.


    Holden finally righted himself, and to the others¡¯ relief, his face held no anger or disappointment. He seemed to take no umbrage. Instead, his brow was creased with bemusement, and the very corner of his mouth held a slight upturn. It wasn¡¯t the kind of greeting he was used to, but he savored that. With lives dictated by ritual and protocol, even unpleasant surprises could elicit a certain frisson.


    Ysabelle continued her retreat, not even thinking where her feet were taking her. She soon found herself near the library. It would be quiet and still¨Cand one of the last places they would look. She cracked the door open and slipped in.


    She was surprised to hear voices echoing and flitting about in the eaves like bats. Usually the scholars and scribes were dead silent as they worked. But as she listened a moment longer, she realized these were women¡¯s voices. She quietly shuffled past the rows of bookcases, looking down each aisle. It was hard to trace the voices in the cavernous space. Finally, near the back, she found the source¨Cthree young women all huddled around a large tome laid open on an oaken table.


    The one with fiery red hair looked up and blinked quizzically at her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said. ¡°Were we being too loud?¡±

 Twenty

    The three women that stood before Ysabelle were peculiar. They wore dark silk dresses, one with belled sleeves, another with a capelet, and the other with many flowing layers and ruffles that seemed to match the volume of her wild bramble of red hair. They were not servants or staff. Certainly not one of the ascetics that usually skulked about the library.


    ¡°You must be the witches Darwyn brought back,¡± Ysabelle said. ¡°I heard him speak of you.¡±


    ¡°More like we brought him back,¡± one of them said.


    The one with the fiery mane pointed to herself. ¡°Lilith¡±¨Cand gestured to the other two¨C¡°Beatrice and Ophelia.¡±


    ¡°And you,¡± Ophelia said, wiping her glasses on one of her swooping sleeves, ¡°must be Ysabelle. No one else would be dressed in such fine raiment.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± she said, pausing as she waited for them to bow. Instead, the murder of crows stood perfectly still, their eyes wide and empty save for Lilith. Hers held an interest¨Cthough faint.


    ¡°Impressive bit of brick and mortar you have here,¡± Lilith finally said. ¡°What do you call it? Highspire?¡±


    Beatrice¡¯s lip curled. ¡°Always with the dreadfully overdone names.¡±


    ¡°I like it,¡± Lilith said matter-of-factly.


    Ophelia¡¯s interest had returned to the book. ¡°Lilith has a taste for the gaudy and ostentatious.¡±


    ¡°I like to think I have a taste for everything,¡± she clarified. ¡°A real lust for life.¡± She winked at Ysabelle.


    ¡°We were just admiring your collection,¡± Ophelia said, not looking up. ¡°Vast stores of knowledge here. Most enviable.¡±


    ¡°They were admiring your collection and boring me with it,¡± Lilith explained. Her face lit up suddenly and with a great flourish she plunged toward Ysabelle and took up her arm. The princess normally would have been appalled by a commoner laying hand to her, but her mind was still mostly elsewhere and so she followed as Lilith led her away.


    ¡°I¡¯ve had the best idea,¡± the witch said. ¡°Why don¡¯t we take a walk? You can take me on a tour. Everyone was so wrapped up in preparing for some prince that we were never given a proper greeting or introduction.¡±


    When they neared the door, Ysabelle finally came to her senses and wriggled out of Lilith¡¯s grasp. She turned half-away from it and shrank back as though it frightened her. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be seen by anybody right now.¡±


    ¡°Oh!¡± Lilith swooped towards her again, sensing a hint of salacious gossip in the air as sure as a shark sensed blood in the water. ¡°You¡¯re hiding.¡± She laughed; it seemed an octave lower than her speaking voice, smooth and sultry. ¡°Care to tell from whom?¡±


    Beatrice leaned out from behind the bookshelf and cut Lilith with a serrated stare. ¡°Stop pestering the heir apparent. Are you trying to be beheaded before we go?¡±


    ¡°They should be so lucky as to have my head.¡± She turned back to Ysabelle, her face now flat with boredom. ¡°Never mind. You don¡¯t need to tell me.¡± She sauntered away, her hips swaying, guiding her over to the windows where late-afternoon light slanted through. She played her hands through the sharp beams and smiled as their warmth enveloped her. ¡°I love the light just now,¡± she said.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± Ysabelle asked.


    Lilith pointed to her slender, exaggerated shadow which cut starkly across the stone floor. It looked as if a small chasm had opened up, a canyon splitting and streaking out from the hem of her dress. ¡°Look how it pulls. Like it¡¯s trying to tear away. But you can¡¯t quite exorcise it.¡± Her head was cocked to one side as though she¡¯d never seen her shadow before. ¡°Or it can¡¯t quite exorcise you.¡± A smile drifted across her lips and floated away just as fast, like one of the dust motes in the beams. She quickly turned to look out the window to the city below, the shafts of light still cascading round her.


    ¡°That¡¯s a strange thing to say,¡± Ysabelle remarked.


    ¡°What else is there to do here¡±¨CLilith collapsed onto a bench as though drained of energy¨C¡°besides say strange things?¡± She flicked her wrist nonchalantly. ¡°Your turn. Go on. Say something strange.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°That so?¡±


    ¡°I¡­wouldn¡¯t know what to,¡± Ysabelle admitted.


    Lilith propped herself up on an elbow, her posture slack, her dress hanging over the bench like dark moss. Her face held disappointment, but not surprise. ¡°I figured as much.¡± She flicked her wrist again, this time to dismiss the Princess.


    Ysabelle should have taken offense, but she complied, and made her way silently back to the other two. Beatrice had wandered over to a row of shelves that held not tomes but alchemical ingredients the scholars sometimes used for study or reference.


    ¡°Your library is impressive, but your store of ingredients leaves much to be desired.¡±


    ¡°Odo has many more in his chamber, I¡¯m sure,¡± Ysabelle said.


    ¡°Odo is the court mage?¡± Ophelia asked.


    Ysabelle nodded.


    ¡°Why would your father desire our assistance if he already pays for a wizard¡¯s services?¡± It sounded like a question she was asking herself, but a moment later she looked up, her eyes boring into Ysabelle.


    Ysabelle shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He doesn¡¯t talk to me about such things.¡±


    ¡°What does he talk to you about?¡±


    The truth was they talked very little. ¡°I¡¯d rather not say.¡±


    ¡°I really love the city,¡± Lilith remarked loudly, standing again at the window. ¡°So many people. So much noise.¡± Her voice sounded hollow as it bounced off the stone walls and drifted into the high ceilings.


    ¡°Another point of disagreement,¡± Ophelia said. ¡°Lilith thrives off noise. Chaos. People. She¡¯s afflicted with a terrible, sentimental loneliness. Beatrice and I are much more private. The only people I like are fictional.¡±


    Ysabelle pulled a chair out and sat, running her finger along the filigreed cover of one of the books Ophelia had laid upon the table. ¡°There are constantly people buzzing about when you¡¯re a royal. But people aren¡¯t the cure to loneliness. It¡¯s not hard to be lonely. Just hard to be alone.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s a strange thing to say!¡± Lilith¡¯s voice was tinged with surprise.


    At that moment, the heavy door of the library creaked open, and a set of boots thumped across the stone floors. Ysabelle clutched the table in reflex, and her already pale skin drained of whatever hint of pink it had.


    Lilith glided over to the knight in an instant, her dress swirling round her as she did him. ¡°Well, it¡¯s about time they sent somebody to officially welcome us.¡±


    Gerard was stoic and stone-still. ¡°Have you seen Her Highness, Ysabelle?¡±


    Ysabelle shook her head emphatically, though Lilith could not see her. Ophelia held her hand up to calm the princess and then quietly stood and moved out from behind the row of books. ¡°Hello,¡± she said. ¡°And you would be?¡±


    He ignored her question¨C¡°Have you seen Her Highness?¡±


    ¡°To be honest,¡± Ophelia replied, approaching, ¡°I¡¯ve never met her, and wouldn¡¯t know exactly what she looked like.¡±


    He was unamused. ¡°You would know the princess if you saw her, rest assured.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate your confidence in us.¡±


    Beatrice, too, went to greet Gerard. ¡°I¡¯m sure that we¡¯ve seen only a few balding scholars shuffling about in here with us. They¡¯ve gone now.¡±


    Gerard¡¯s eyes followed Lilith as she slowly circled. ¡°And you? You¡¯ve seen nothing?¡±


    ¡°Cross my heart,¡± she said, laying her hand delicately on her chest.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry to bother you, then.¡± He turned and moved toward the door. ¡°If you should see her, please tell her His Majesty wishes a word.¡±


    Lilith waved. ¡°As long as you promise to save us from boredom soon.¡±


    Gerard said nothing but nodded as he left.


    Ysabelle peeked out from behind the books. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    The murder dispersed, each returning to their previous perch. ¡°It is a bit rude,¡± Ophelia said as she resumed her place in the book, ¡°for them not to have sent someone.¡±

 Twenty-One

    Haveraul insisted on sightseeing. He hoped¨Cthough he would never admit it to Akura¡¯a, though she knew anyway¨Cthat it would help cure her of whatever ailed her. He¡¯d seen the look in her eyes when she first saw the coast and Arukadia¡¯s vibrant jewel-toned dwellings nestled among the rocks. It was delight¨Cairy and effusive and unlike the sullen gloom that seemed to cling to her otherwise. He thought maybe he could unearth that feeling again. Maybe that would help. So while the others stayed behind and bartered with the locals, he and Akura¡¯a had left on a hike that had lasted all afternoon. Now as the sun was beginning to dip near the horizon and had painted the sky in vibrant swathes of color, they came upon an inlet and Haveraul pointed to the opening of a sea cave.


    ¡°That there is Talerielle¡¯s Grotto,¡± he said. ¡°Ever heard of it?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°You¡¯re in for a real surprise.¡± He clambered down part of the jagged coast and motioned for her to follow.


    ***


    Sulma slunk past the bonfire where the others were gathered for food. It had been days now since she had properly left her tent, and she had started to go stir-crazy. Not for want of company¨Cshe didn¡¯t want company. She was content in her solitude. But staying inside deprived her of her vision. There was only so much dust to disturb in her tent. So as the others gathered for a communal meal, she slipped quietly out and past them.


    The crickets were beginning their chorus, the satisfying scent of the fire perfumed the camp, and the moon hung like a pendant in the purpling sky. It would have been a beautiful evening, Sulma thought, if there weren¡¯t so many ghosts in the air.


    She stayed crouched and quiet long after the camp was out of sight, fearful of things unseen, things that needed to be seen.


    She made her way to the river. That is where she had last seen Akura¡¯a, and maybe that is where she would find her again. The babble of its gentle flow was the perfect complement to the crickets; their thrumming had a prickly fuzziness to it, whereas the water over the slick stones was smooth and mellifluous.


    She reached the river¡¯s edge and hesitated. She felt blind in the tent¨Ccut off, out of the loop, impotent. But free to see again, she knew how painful looking could be.


    ***


    The grotto was miraculous. The particular rock formation the waves carved into was a geode¨Cthe cavernous hollow was lined with veins of crystal in a riot of blues, pinks, and purples. These reflected the light of the setting sun and sent serpentine shivers of color dancing across the surface of the water. Akura¡¯a gasped the moment she laid eyes on the iridescing waves.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Not too shabby, eh?¡± Haveraul prompted.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± Akura¡¯a said. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen color so vibrant.¡±


    ¡°A long history this ol¡¯ cave has. Wish Rovel had come along. He¡¯d be a lot better at tellin¡¯ it.¡±


    Akura¡¯a bent down next to a small tidal pool and marvelled at the self-contained world. ¡°They¡¯re as colorful as the cave,¡± she exclaimed.


    ¡°They?¡± Haver wandered over to investigate.


    Akura¡¯a had her broad face pressed nearly against the water, her eyes wide, letting her pupils bounce about from creature to creature. In the pool were all manner of anemones and coral and urchins and echinoderms. She knew names for none of them, but she was delighted at their abstraction¨Clike the Godsmiths had indulged their wildest fancies when crafting them. They were spiked and tentacled, soft and shelled, whorled and plump, spotted and striped and burning with intense, saturated color. Even their movement was amorphous and hard to describe¨Cwith no arms or legs they instead quivered and slithered and scooted and undulated and drifted. A small seahorse had wrapped its tail about a bit of seaweed and bobbed back and forth, its small, nodular body dancing to the rhythms of this miraculous, miniature world. It looked so content.


    She stood up and looked again at the crystalline roof, and then the shimmering pool below it. She didn¡¯t know what to give her attention. And that¡¯s when she noticed a large stone hand holding a spear reaching out of the water. And tucked into a small alcove, there was another statue half submerged, one of its hands held out, as if clawing at the rocks, trying to climb out of the water it was slipping into.


    ¡°How did I miss those?¡± she wondered aloud.


    ¡°Lot to take in at first,¡± Haver said. ¡°Them¡¯s Talerielle¡¯s Idols. Lot more than just those.¡± He pointed to the bottom of the pool, which ran deeper than expected in the middle. Akura¡¯a stepped up to the edge, where water was just lapping up and over, coating the rocks in a thin film. She looked down to the sea floor, through the chromatic swirl.


    ***


    Sulma dipped her hand in and stirred the sediment on the bottom. Mud and dirt began to rise and turn in slow circles. She watched silently, holding her breath, waiting for visions to emerge. But there was nothing. The rotation of the water became imperceptible, and soon the silt was separating itself, falling in wispy slow motion back to the riverbed.


    Sulma sighed and waded in. She yelped as the icy water glazed itself along her legs. She trudged south a bit, and toward the middle of the stream, where an outcropping of rocks split and frothed the waters, creating a web of whirlpools and rapids. She anchored herself on these rocks, and reached in, scraping up a huge clump of mud and debris. She watched as the current picked it all up and pummeled it across the sides of the rocks, and tossed it about in the twirling eddies. The dirt had more life here. More secrets to tell. She watched as a small pebble and leaf became caught in the orbit of one of the whirlpools. She watched as they moved closer and closer to the center, being pulled toward their inescapable fate, and something started to emerge.


    ***


    Even through the density of color, Akura¡¯a could see that littered across the bottom were ancient statues. Their solid, unyielding forms were made soft and malleable by the light refracting through the undulant water. They were broken and battered, their limbs swept about and lodged in the earth at odd angles.


    It was a cemetery, full of bodies.


    It was a battlefield, scattered with corpses.


    And even as the creeping water distorted their forms and softened them so that they looked like ectoplasmic ghosts, Akura¡¯a would still catch glimpses¨Cwhen the angle of the light was just right¨Cof hollow eyes frozen wide forever in horror.


    She was instantly back on the knoll.

 Twenty-Two

    ¡°Akura¡¯a!¡±


    She was shaken from her slumber and met with a familiar face made strange, partly by her drowsiness and partly by the worry that seized it. It was Karkori¡¯i¡¯s.


    He shook her again and pulled her to her feet before her brain could send the signal to her legs. He thrust a club into her hand and pointed out the tent.


    ¡°A siege,¡± he barked. ¡°Hundreds of them. They are pushing toward us quickly.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± she whispered, her voice still hoarse with sleep. ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°It must be the Draclaudians.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ve done nothing to provoke them,¡± she pleaded. And she was right. But Karkori¡¯i was not the one who could show them mercy.


    He said nothing as he rushed out of her tent, but he did take a moment to look back at her. One last time.


    ¡°Why?¡± Sulma whispered. They had done nothing.


    Akura¡¯a began to hyperventilate and went down on one knee. Haveraul grabbed her forearm and patted her on the back. ¡°Now hold on, love. Try to breathe deeper. Slower. It¡¯s alright.¡± But it wasn¡¯t.


    The arrows arrived before the soldiers. They arced through the air in crisp, parallel trajectories, like a flock of migrating birds. As was so often the case, the terror was tinged with beauty, which only made it more horrible. Some of the orcs stood before the lancing missiles in awe, hypnotized.


    Many hesitated, arrested by the terrible elegance, and that was enough¨Ctheir shields were not lifted in time.


    As the arrows rained down, Sulma lurched and tucked herself between some of the rocks, cowering, her hands over her head. ¡°Make it stop,¡± she hissed.


    ¡°Make it stop.¡± Akura¡¯a whimpered, crouched, pushed back onto her forearm, hiding behind her shield. It was a grim symphony all around¨Cthe hollow thwoop that signaled the arrows¡¯ violent speed, the spongy thud as they drove themselves into the damp ground, the crackle as they smashed against her shield, vibrating it, threatening to splinter through, the wet sticking as they found flesh, and worst of all, the clipped cry of the victim. Always unfinished. A half-cry. All they could manage before the arrows plunged in and pushed the life out of them.


    Sulma¡¯s breathing became stuttered, cut short. She could manage only panicked gasps.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    After the barrage of arrows, there was an extended silence. And then, a quiet, ominous rumble made the night air quiver. It was inaudible at first, and instead could be felt through the ground. But as the stampede of horses drew closer, their hooves rolled on the knolls like distant thunder.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± Akura¡¯a said.


    ¡°Who¡¯s coming?¡± Haveraul looked around, but the grotto was empty. Only his and Akura¡¯a¡¯s voices bounced off the sharp sides of the crystal that surrounded them. They were alone.


    ¡°Brace yourself,¡± Sauro¡¯o said. ¡°Stand your ground and show no mercy!¡±


    The mounted soldiers arrived like a storm¨Cfirst the rain, then the thunder, then the strike of lightning as their raised blades¨Cflashing in the pallid moonlight¨Cstabbed down and ripped through the mob of orcs. Akura¡¯a had only impressions of this moment: the broad, white sides of horses blurring by, fragmented limbs in armor brandishing shards of lightning, heaps of bodies crumpling in and instant. None of these images were precise in her mind, but their fuzziness did nothing to dull their pain. Every one of them struck her as cleanly, as savagely, as obscenely, as any of the swords might have.


    She did the only thing she could do¨Cshe swung. She swung so hard that Haveraul fell backward and whimpered.


    ¡°Akura¡¯a! Akura¡¯a! What are you doing?¡±


    She roared in reply and continued to swing. Bodies rained down around her, horses scudded across the earth. Every blow she landed was somehow even worse than the blows that felled her kinsmen. Every blow she landed drained a little bit of life from her. And Sulma felt every one of the blows in her gut. She moved to grip her stomach and lost her footing on the slippery rock. She tumbled into the river where the current swiftly picked her up.


    Akura¡¯a swang so hard that she fell into the sea and drifted down, heavy and unmoving, to become another corpse littered on the bottom. A bit of detritus that the world could so easily shed.


    Being pushed by the current, Sulma¡¯s panicked clawings and kickings were causing riots of dirt and mud to be dredged up. She opened her eyes and stared upstream into the cloud and a new image emerged to her. She heard Sauro¡¯o¡¯s voice echo¨Cshow no mercy¨Cbut she again saw Akura¡¯a. She saw Akura¡¯a standing over a broken, pathetic figure, pondering the poor clump of cells and organs and softness. She saw Akura¡¯a with her club raised aloft. And she saw Akura¡¯a decisively offer the mercy Sauro¡¯o had encouraged them to deny.


    She understood all too well now.


    It was an image of such pain. All she could do was look away.


    Sulma twisted in the water so she was facing downstream and her vision shifted once more.


    As she drifted to the bottom, Akura¡¯a felt a strange calm envelop her. She opened her eyes to embrace whatever had brought it upon her. In the water above her was a figure. Its form was fantastic, like the creatures in the tide pool. It was a creature of pure movement, without shape. Its color, too, was elusive. It shimmered. Maybe these mystic waters had borne a being of pure incandescence.


    Sulma saw in the distance a figure appear to her. At first, the vision was out of focus, soft, formless. But the harder she stared, the closer she came to drowning, the sharper the image. It was a dark and ominous figure. A man. There was another with him, but the vision wanted her to focus on this man. This man in the dark leathers. This man, with the strange mark near his eye. She needed to know this man.


    She reached.


    She reached, and the vision reached back. She was pulled from the water, gasping and alive.

 Twenty-Three

    Sometimes, Garridan would receive visitors at the Wayward Inn. His clients. But he had never shown up with somebody in tow. Whenever he returned, he returned alone. This new development sent a ripple of unease among the regulars.


    ¡°Think it¡¯s another client?¡±


    ¡°Or a mark?¡±


    ¡°Nah. Wouldn¡¯t make sense for him to be a mark,¡± Potz reckoned. ¡°He woulda already offed him. You don¡¯t wine and dine ¡®em before you kill ¡®em.¡±


    ¡°You really think?¡± Hugh desperately wanted assurance, or else he might feel morally obligated to warn the poor kid.


    ¡°Think he¡¯s one like Garridan?¡± Berta wondered.


    ¡°Looks pretty soft to me,¡± Wayland said.


    Potz took a swig of his ale and nodded agreement. ¡°Yeah, don¡¯t look like no duster I ever saw.


    ¡°But, not lookin¡¯ like a duster would be a pretty good quality in a duster, no?¡± Berta wiped a tankard, thought carefully.


    She had a point. A good point. But Potz shook his head again to convince himself. He preferred it his way. ¡°No. Not a chance.¡± One was enough.


    Garridan approached and they all fumbled over themselves trying to sound like they¡¯d been talking about anything else.


    He either didn¡¯t notice or didn¡¯t care. ¡°Two ales,¡± he said, tossing a few coins onto the bar.


    ¡°Friend of yours?¡± Wayland asked.


    Garridan shrugged. ¡°Acquaintance.¡± He returned to the table and sat across from Isaac.


    ¡°They seem pretty interested in us,¡± the bard said.


    Garridan leaned back in his chair and stared dead at the pack around the bar. They quickly and oh-so-casually began to mind their own business. ¡°They¡¯re like that anytime somebody is here to talk to me.¡±


    ¡°They know what you are?¡±


    ¡°You can say it.¡±


    ¡°They know you¡¯re,¡± but Isaac trailed off. ¡°Can I ask something?¡±


    Garridan raised his brow expectantly.


    ¡°Who¡­why were you in Fort Blakely?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s it matter? You were there for everything that happened. Nothin¡¯ new I can tell ya.¡±


    Berta interrupted and placed their drinks on the table. She smiled and cocked her head, trying to suss the new guy out.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Isaac said, holding up the drink. He nodded politely, trying to dismiss her.


    ¡°It¡¯s always nice to see a new face round here. Don¡¯t get a lot of ¡®em. Bein¡¯ a bit out of the way and all.¡±


    ¡°Hence the name.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± A pause. ¡°Oh. Yeah. Yeah. Of course. Gotta say, you¡¯re a bit more put-together than mosta the folk that come through here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes, well¨C¡± he was reluctant.


    Garridan took a long drink and then answered for him. ¡°Kid spends a lot of time at Highspire. Member of the court.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Berta nearly stumbled back. ¡°I¨CI had no idea,¡± she stammered. ¡°Really?¡±


    Isaac smiled and shrugged and just wished she would go away.


    ¡°I woulda cleaned up a bit more. Spruced it up, you know?¡± She turned and mouthed he¡¯s from Highspire at the others. They looked back and forth at each other in disbelief, trying to let this new wrinkle settle in.


    ¡°You can spot a duster, but not a member of the court?¡± Wayland groused at Potz.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± the goblin snapped back.


    ¡°In his defense,¡± Hugh said, ¡°ain¡¯t nobody would let Potz near a royal court.¡±


    Berta apologized again for the mess.


    ¡°No need to be sorry,¡± Isaac said. ¡°It¡¯s¡­quaint.¡±


    Berta gave them an awkward smile and her arm jerked¨Csomething between a wave and a shrug¨Cand she went back to the bar to begin whispering with the others.


    ¡°I wish you hadn¡¯t told her that,¡± Isaac said.


    Garridan was running a coin between his fingers. His hand moved with such precision and confidence he didn¡¯t even have to look at it. The coin moved effortlessly back and forth, glinting in the firelight. Instead, Garridan looked at Isaac with bored, unrepentant eyes. ¡°Oh yeah?¡± he said and made no effort to carry the conversation further.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Isaac said after a brief silence. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be ungrateful. You saved my life.¡±


    ¡°I returned a favor. Listen, I know someone like you shouldn¡¯t be buddying around with someone like me. Don¡¯t bother me none. I work alone anyway.¡± He let the coin fall to the table and trapped it under a finger. ¡°What you¡¯re gonna do is this: you¡¯re gonna rent a room for the night, you¡¯re gonna get up early, you¡¯re gonna head back to Ebontarn, and you¡¯re not gonna speak my name ever again. You can go back to writing love poems or whatever it is you do.¡±


    Isaac¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°They serve a very important¨C¡±


    ¡°Kid, I don¡¯t give a shit. That¡¯s the point.¡±


    ¡°So I go back to Highspire and that means what? I just let you go back to¡­¡±


    ¡°Starting to sound like your friend. You gonna try and take me in?¡±


    Isaac slumped his shoulders. ¡°I don¡¯t mean¡­but how can I just leave knowing what you do?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been doin¡¯ it for a while now. You were none the wiser before.¡± He slid the coin over. ¡°Go tell Hugh and Berta you want a room.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need it. I have gold.¡±


    ¡°Yours or the King¡¯s? They gonna ask questions ¡®bout where you spent it? I ain¡¯t worried for you. I don¡¯t wanna be the answer to any questions you¡¯re asked.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want Gerard to know.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want anyone to know,¡± he said in a low, feral tone. ¡°I¡¯m getting bored. That¡¯s a step before angry.¡±


    Isaac still refused the coin, but hesitantly approached the bar.


    Potz hopped off his stool and bowed. ¡°Your Excellence.¡±


    ¡°Oh, uh,¡± Isaac gently lifted the goblin¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I have no such title. You don¡¯t need to do that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll have to excuse ol¡¯ Potz here,¡± Wayland said matter-of-factly. ¡°He¡¯s a massive kiss-ass.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll need a room for the evening,¡± Isaac said.


    Hugh nodded enthusiastically. ¡°We¡¯ll get one done up real nice for you.¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t be necessary.¡±


    ¡°Course it is,¡± Berta insisted.


    Isaac nodded silently and returned to Garridan. ¡°Before I retire¡­one last question.¡±


    The assassin grunted his cooperation.


    ¡°Will you please, plainly, tell me what happened between you and Gerard. How you know him.¡±


    Garridan took a swig. ¡°I¡¯ll make you a deal,¡± he said from behind his tankard. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what happened between us when you can say, plainly, what it is I do.¡±


    Isaac stared at the assassin for a moment before turning and walking toward the stairs. Garridan laughed as he went.

 Twenty-Four

    The voices were muffled, but urgent. If his sleep hadn¡¯t been fitful, Isaac might not have heard them at all. But he woke¨Che wasn¡¯t sure what time, only that it must have been the middle of the night¨Cto a conversation which was clearly heated, the tones stabbed with accusation and anger.


    But that was all he could hear¨Ctones. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. One of the voices was clearly Garridan¡¯s. He recognized its gravel. They must have been in the next room over. He stood and placed his ear against the splintering wood walls. The vibrations took shape, and the tones crystalized into words.


    ¡°¡­expect results.¡±


    ¡°Things took a turn.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what you have to say?¡±


    No reply.


    ¡°Completely unacceptable. Given what you were paid.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit whether you accept it or not.¡±


    ¡°Then I expect a refund.¡±


    ¡°Not gonna happen.¡±


    ¡°Impudent little vermin.¡±


    ¡°Namecalling sure as shit isn¡¯t going to get you your money back. Or whoever¡¯s money it was. You knew the terms of the agreement. And I assume you explained them to your superior. No one was ignorant here.¡±


    There was a long silence.


    ¡°How did you get the wound?¡±


    ¡°Unrelated.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll decide that. I need assurance that you aren¡¯t complicating things.¡±


    ¡°Complicating things? Is that a joke?¡±


    ¡°Why should it be? I pay you, you kill Holden. It¡¯s a simple transaction.¡±


    Isaac lurched away from the wall and nearly lost his balance. He couldn¡¯t have heard that¨Cyet he was sure he did. His heart began to beat so hard his chest ached, and he was overcome with chills as he sweated and the cool night air grazed his skin. He forced himself to continue listening, though his gut, sinking lower and lower, was desperately trying to get him to sever himself from all of this.


    ¡°¡­know a damn thing about what this entails. You just circle around, far away¨Csafe¨Cwaiting for it to be done, like the fucking vultures you are. That¡¯s fine. I get it. But you will let me do my damn job.¡±


    ¡°Clearly you can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take another stab at it  when he heads back north.¡±


    ¡°The politics will be different now that he¡¯s met Ysabelle. You¡¯ll receive half the agreed upon amount after it¡¯s done.¡±


    Garridan made no attempt to argue. Isaac heard a door open and shut and held his breath¨Che didn¡¯t know why¨Cas he listened to a pair of boots scuffle down the hall and stairs.


    Against his better judgment¨Cagainst all reason¨Che left his room and threw Garridan¡¯s door open.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    The assassin sat in the corner, leaning back in a chair, the gentle amber-orange of a dim lantern softening his edges, making him look almost sympathetic as he checked his reddening bandage. He looked up at the bard completely without surprise.


    ¡°Think it needs changed.¡± He nodded toward a roll of gauze sitting on a dresser.


    Isaac picked it up and walked over, handing it to him. But Garridan instead stood¨Cvery close to him¨Cand put his hands behind his head. His eyes moved down to his wound, prompting Isaac.


    Isaac hesitated, but slowly began to unwind the bandages from around Garridan¡¯s abdomen. ¡°How¡¯s it look?¡±


    ¡°¡­Not good.¡±


    ¡°Always the same diagnosis with you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not been long.¡± Isaac¡¯s fingers were hovering near the torn flesh.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± Garridan said.


    He touched it and heard Garridan take a pained breath. The wound was ridged and uneven. It felt tougher than he imagined, like a piece of stitched, boiled leather. Though it reminded him of armor, Isaac felt a stinging vulnerability. He pulled suddenly away.


    Even in the soft light, he could see Garridan¡¯s skin begin to change. It began to raise in spots, faint shadows rippling across his torso like a mosaic.


    Scales? Were these scales? Isaac¡¯s heart was beating fast again. Was Garridan shifting? Adrenaline curled over him like a wave, but rushed away as fast as it came when he realized no, they weren¡¯t scales. Just goosebumps.


    ¡°It should probably be treated with antiseptic again,¡± Garridan said. He pointed to a bottle on the nightstand.


    Isaac finished changing the bandages and Garridan fell back into his chair silently.


    ¡°Did you want something?¡± Garridan finally asked.


    ¡°I¡­heard you. Through the walls.¡±


    ¡°Did you?¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t just leave now.¡±


    Garridan said nothing, just rubbed his eyes as though he had a headache.


    ¡°What do you expect me to do?¡±


    ¡°Are you asking me how to solve your problems? When I¡¯m your problem?¡± He laughed. ¡°I¡¯m done holding your hand.¡±


    Isaac could feel himself flush, the capillaries in his cheeks blooming like roses. He didn¡¯t know if it was anger or embarrassment or something else. He just knew this was useless. Talking to Garridan was useless. He moved toward the door.


    ¡°Isaac.¡±


    He turned back sharply, his face blank.


    ¡°Do you want to hear the story of the first man I ever killed?¡±


    ¡°Not really.¡±


    ¡°I think you do.¡±


    He pointed toward the bed for Isaac to sit. ¡°A few years ago, I was a knight in the Academy.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Probably just a bit before you showed up at court. Who knows. Maybe we crossed paths in Ebontarn.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s how you know Gerard.¡±


    The assassin nodded.


    ¡°Why aren¡¯t you there now?¡±


    ¡°Kicked out.¡±


    ¡°I assumed. But why?¡±


    ¡°You probably still hear about it. Councillor Arnoldus?¡±


    Isaac¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯re the one who killed Arnoldus?¡±


    Garridan shrugged. ¡°So they say.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°It was an honest mistake.¡±


    Isaac looked incredulous. ¡°A sword may honestly find a man¡¯s heart, but rarely is it a mistake.¡±


    Garridan¡¯s mouth turned up at the corner as though he savored the accusation. ¡°He was killed because one of his letters was intercepted. He was sending information to Deepvale.¡±


    ¡°He was a double agent. He was sending exactly what His Majesty wanted. And giving His Majesty valuable information about Deepvale.¡±


    ¡°How could we know that? The letter was plain as day. He was a conspirator. A spy. A traitor. The punishment is death.¡±


    ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t the one who found the letter.¡±


    ¡°Then¨Cno.¡±


    Garridan nodded and his smile became more sadistic.


    ¡°So Gerard discovered the letter? And then you took it upon yourself to mete out the punishment. What possessed you? Why not alert His Majesty? Let justice run its course?¡±


    ¡°I honestly don¡¯t know.¡±


    Isaac nodded, some part of him understanding. ¡°Sometimes we don¡¯t know our own motives.¡±


    Garridan¡¯s scabrous laugh filled the room and he held his side. ¡°I don¡¯t know because they weren¡¯t my motives. Don¡¯t you get it? I¡¯m not the one who did it. That would be your idol.¡± He was snarling now. ¡°Gerard¡¯s the one who killed Arnoldus.¡±


    Isaac leapt to his feet at the provocation. ¡°That¡¯s a lie. Gerard has always served the King well. He would never act so capriciously. So carelessly.¡±


    All of the obscene pleasure Garridan seemed to take in telling his story disintegrated at once with Isaac¡¯s agitation. He slung his arm over the back of his chair and continued casually, quietly. ¡°We were best friends. That¡¯s why I did it.¡±


    ¡°Did what?¡±


    ¡°Took the blame. Arnoldus laid the truth out with his final breath. Gerard knew what he¡¯d done. The mistake he¡¯d made. He panicked. If you¡¯d seen how scared he was¡­to see someone like that. Someone you care about. To see them so frightened¡­so I took the blame.¡± He leaned over and blew the quivering flame of the lamp out, dousing the room in sticky black. ¡°Arnoldus was the first man whose blood was on my hands. Haven¡¯t looked back since.¡±

 Twenty-Five

    Ysabelle loved the view from her balcony. From the perch of Highspire, all of Ebontarn was rendered in miniature. ¡°What the falcon sees,¡± her mother had called it.


    As a child, that confused Ysabelle, and she asked her mother what she meant.


    ¡°Our smallness,¡± she replied. Ysabelle remembered how she had giggled at that answer, delighted. She was small, and she hated it. Surrounded by Councillors in voluminous robes and knights in sturdy sets of gleaming armor, everything around her felt big, and in its bigness, important. She hated the feeling of smallness she had when she sat at a table with adults, or stood, staring at their knees, while they discussed heavy matters that still somehow floated above her head. So the idea that they were all small absolutely delighted her.


    From above, the houses of the city looked tightly packed. All you could see was a knot of shingled roofs with a few shy gables peeking out. Here and there, occasional plumes of smoke wafted out of chimneys like wastrels, their trails drifting lazily this way, then that, then back again.


    Darwyn had taken to burning a fire in his manor any day he was not at the castle. He would start when the sun was directly overhead¨Cthe same time every day. That way, as Ysabelle looked out, she could find his plume and take comfort in it. It had taken her some days to figure out which of the ribbons of smoke was his, but once she knew, it drew her eye every time, like a beacon.


    She watched it now and it had never felt so far away, so fragile, but neither had the fire that made it burned more deeply in her. She wondered if he would keep it burning for her, even after.


    There was a knock at the door and she heard Alfraed¡¯s muffled voice strain to push through the timber. ¡°Prince Holden requests an audience.¡± There was a pause. ¡°A properaudience.¡±


    She rolled her eyes and let out an irritated sigh. The door of her chamber was a small blessing, allowing her to indulge her pettiness, her anger. Sometimes her door and her balcony were all that kept her sane, her room the only pocket of air in this dusty, suffocating catacomb.


    She wouldn¡¯t give them up.


    ¡°You may send him,¡± she replied flatly.


    ¡°But Your Highness,¡±¨Cthe door now creaked open and his inconvenienced, poisonous little face poked in¨C¡°do you really think that would be appropriate?¡±


    Her stare cracked like a whip. ¡°You mean to wed me to him. He can see my bedchamber.¡±


    ¡°Yes, of course. My mistake.¡± Alfraed scurried away.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She returned her attention to the city below. She did love the view, until she started to think about it from the other end. What did they see when they looked up?


    The smoke from Darwyn¡¯s chimney was thinning into a diffuse haze. She planted her elbows on the rail of her balcony and propped her head on her hands. A slow breeze fluttered the hem of her dress, but everything else was still. The day was bright and crisp with white sunlight, but motionless, as if everything was arrested, frozen in a glinting glass bead. It was all just a lovely knick-knack to sit on a shelf and collect dust.


    ¡°A tremendous view,¡± Holden said, lingering by the threshold.


    Ysabelle didn¡¯t turn to look at him, and remained hunched over the rail. ¡°In some lights.¡±


    He joined her, approaching slowly, leaning onto his forearms. He turned to look at her but said nothing. When she finally met his glance, he greeted her with a kind smile.


    She tried to return it.


    He showed mercy and turned back toward the view, saving her the effort. ¡°I know this must be¡­¡± He hesitated, searching for his words among the pitched roofs and peaking gables. ¡°¡­strange. It¡¯s all a bit strange, isn¡¯t it? The life of a princess. A prince. You live as much for the kingdom as yourself. To be told whom you must love¨C¡±


    ¡°Whom you must marry.¡±


    ¡°Yes. I misspeak. I know all that must trouble you.¡±


    ¡°Does it not you?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve spent my life preparing for it. ¡±


    ¡°I have, too. And yet somehow I¡¯m still not ready for it.¡±


    ¡°Was your parents¡¯ marriage arranged?¡±


    A tiny bird darted by, a small bunch of grass in its beak. It landed on the canine of a snarling gargoyle and placed the clump carefully, adding it to a partially-built nest, like a mason lays a brick. The nest sat perilously in the beast¡¯s agape jaws. Ysabelle nodded.


    ¡°Was it a happy marriage?¡±


    Her eyes narrowed. ¡°That¡¯s quite a thing to ask.¡±


    ¡°Forgive my forwardness.¡± He rubbed the back of his neck, felt it was getting sweaty. Nerves? Must be the sun, he thought¨Cit was always hidden behind a heavy blanket of ice gray clouds in Talvivald. ¡°My parents¡¯ marriage was arranged,¡± he offered.


    ¡°Most royals¡¯ are.¡±


    ¡°But it was a happy one. I remember when father was ill¨Cwas dying¨Chow she held vigil over his bed, though the kingdom still relied on her every decision. And somehow, she managed not to neglect that. But she sat with him for so many hours. And read to him. He had a keen interest in the magical arts, and she was something of a hobbyist in them. She would keep him company reading him the driest of textbooks.¡± Holden¡¯s eyes were now lost over the cityscape, watching how the plumes from the chimneys mingled with, became indistinguishable from, the clouds. Their dim sootiness became invigorating white as they traveled further up and out and away, until eventually they were invisible, just air and freedom. It was the first moment Ysabelle liked him¨Cwhen she recognized his errant gaze. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget,¡± he said, ¡°their last exchange. He grabbed her hand and said, ¡®I¡¯m sorry I have to go,¡¯ and she looked at him with the tenderest eyes and said ¡®I¡¯m sorry I have to stay.¡¯ I think about my father often, but still, all these years later, the thing that makes me cry is her eyes when she said that.¡± He turned to her, again seeking permission. ¡°Your parents, were¡­¡±


    ¡°They happy?¡±


    He nodded.


    What was the honest answer?


    Sometimes.


    Like so many marriages. Sometimes. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sad. And sometimes not happy, which wasn¡¯t the same as sad.


    ¡°Still quite a thing to ask,¡± she said and left him with the bird.

 Twenty-Six

    Isaac secured his rucksack and patted his horse¡¯s neck.


    ¡°We¡¯re leaving soon,¡± he reassured her.


    He wandered back into the tavern, hoping to fill his stomach with a heavy breakfast before he set out. And hoping to finish before Garridan came down for the day.


    But opening the door, he was already foiled. Garridan sat at his usual table, perfectly still, save for his mobile eyes, which were locked onto Isaac¡¯s every move. Isaac could barely stand to look at him. His mere presence felt poisonous.


    Berta put a plate of steak and eggs down on a table and smiled warmly at him. ¡°Figured you¡¯d need a full belly for the trip,¡± she said.


    ¡°You thought right.¡± He sat, his back to Garridan, and began eagerly consuming the food. He heard the assassin¡¯s chair scoot across the floor and he looked up at the bar in reflex, searching for a reason not to talk to him. Only the goblin was here yet. He would have to do. ¡°You,¡± Isaac said. ¡°At the bar.¡±


    Potz turned, his face painted with confusion. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you join me?¡±


    ¡°Me? Why?¡±


    ¡°Good for us to know the King¡¯s subjects better. Come, talk to me.¡±


    Hugh and Berta shrugged, but then shooed the nervous goblin away. He tottered over and bowed again.


    ¡°My friend, again, that¡¯s not necessary.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. Sorry.¡± Potz righted himself and hopped up into a chair.


    ¡°Tell me, what brings you here everyday?¡±


    ¡°The booze,¡± Potz said matter-of-factly. ¡°Boredom.¡±


    Isaac could feel Garridan¡¯s eyes on him. Or maybe it was just the heat from the fire. He tried to ignore it. ¡°What about...about...being a goblin?¡±


    Potz cocked his head. ¡°That¡¯s a weird question.¡± He turned it around--¡°What about being a human?¡±


    Isaac shrugged, admitting it was a stupid question. ¡°Sorry. I just mean, are you treated well? Are you--¡± He was flailing desperately.


    ¡°Potz, beat it,¡± Garridan said. ¡°Isaac and I need to talk. In private.¡±


    The goblin looked back and forth between them, not sure who to listen to. Isaac¡¯s eyes were pleading, Garridan¡¯s predatory.


    ¡°You understand,¡± Garridan said, pulling the chair across from Potz out and sitting, ¡°that I¡¯m capable of killing without the promise of gold, right?¡±


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Potz said to Isaac, and he scampered quickly back to the bar, glad to be free of whatever twisted game they were playing.


    ¡°That was incredibly unnecessary. Is violence all you know?¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Isaac¡¯s tone was lacerating, but Garridan was numb to it. ¡°That¡¯s rich coming from someone paid to glorify it. Anyway, Potz responds to two things: flattery and threats.¡±


    Isaac slid his plate away, sapped of his appetite. ¡°What do you want? Are you just here to torment me more? Is it sport for you?¡±


    ¡°Actually,¡± Garridan said, pulling the plate over and beginning to eat, ¡°I wanted to apologize. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Mhmm.¡± He quit with the utensils and picked the steak up, tearing a chunk of the flesh away like a scavenging mongrel. ¡°What good does it do you to know the truth? It¡¯s all in the past now. What can you do with it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing,¡± Isaac hissed, lunging forward, stabbing his finger angrily on the table. ¡°Because it¡¯s not the truth. You think I can¡¯t see through your lies?¡±


    Garridan only leaned in closer, licking his lips. ¡°Think what you want. I know what happened.¡±


    ¡°Why would I ever believe a common criminal over Gerard? Over Aldis?¡±


    ¡°Probably better you don¡¯t believe me. The truth is messy. Makes things complicated. Might as well forget you ever heard it. It would only get in the way, and you have a job to do.¡±


    ¡°And you?¡±


    Wiping his mouth on his wrist--¡°And me?¡±


    ¡°You have a job, too.¡± Now low and simmering--¡°And that puts us at cross-purposes.¡±


    Garridan leaned back, a sly grin slithering across his face. He liked seeing a bit of spark in Isaac. A spine. ¡°I suppose it does. What do you think we should do about that?¡±


    Isaac said nothing, just searched Garridan¡¯s face, trying to read it. It was no use. When the assassin wanted it, his features became a desert--remote and arid. His eyes might glisten, wet with promise, but it was always a mirage.


    Garridan pulled a small knife out from a sheath attached to his belt. He laid it gently upon the table and pushed it toward Isaac. ¡°You could take that. Turn it on me. It¡¯s your duty. I¡¯m an enemy of the kingdom, after all.¡±


    ¡°Take it back,¡± Isaac said, the small blade pushing his eyes away. ¡°You know I won¡¯t do that.¡±


    ¡°If you did--it would be all over. Nobody would mourn. Nobody would blame you.¡±


    ¡°Put it away.¡±


    ¡°Pick it up, and this whole problem goes away right now. I won¡¯t fight back. I swear¡±


    ¡°Put it away.¡±


    ¡°Or is that not why you hesitate?¡±


    ¡°Damn it. Would you put it away?¡± Isaac begged.


    A look of regret flashed across Garridan¡¯s face--but maybe that was just a mirage, too. It was gone so fast, replaced with a repellant satisfaction as he put the knife in its sheath and leaned back in his chair, triumphant. ¡°Well...if not that, then what?¡±


    Isaac leaned in, whispering. ¡°Just...promise me. Promise me you won¡¯t go through with it. That¡¯s all I ask.¡±


    Garridan was silent.


    ¡°Just...let me leave here knowing that. And I won¡¯t take anything else I learned with me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Garridan said. ¡°I can¡¯t do that. Even if I did: would you believe me? Could you? You already don¡¯t.¡±


    Isaac nodded. ¡°You¡¯re right. I probably couldn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Just tell them, kid. Go ahead and warn them. Maybe it coulda been different if last night didn¡¯t happen but...let¡¯s just let our purposes cross, and we¡¯ll see what happens.¡±


    ¡°No. There¡¯s another way.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll pay you not to. Whatever your employer is offering, I¡¯ll double it.¡±


    The soft crackle of the fire filled the silence left between them. Garridan finally nodded. ¡°Guess I can¡¯t argue with that.¡±


    Isaac retrieved a great deal of gold from his belongings. He paid Berta and Hugh and thanked them. He nodded a goodbye to Potz. And then he returned to Garridan, and tossed the whole remaining sack of coin on the table. ¡°Is that enough?¡±


    Garridan hefted it and nodded. ¡°But why? Could be so much easier for you.¡±


    Isaac shook his head. ¡°No. This is the best way.¡± He walked to the door but turned back just before he left. ¡°I hope I never see you again.¡±

 Twenty-Seven

    Ophelia, Beatrice, and Lilith had finally been granted an audience with the king. It was absolutely invidious they¡¯d been made to wait, considering he had invited them.


    Lilith drummed her nails in rapid succession across the heavy table. The noise seemed to drive the oafish-looking knight across from her crazy, his features contracting every time she did it. Which only made her want to do it more.


    They were also joined by an irritable and irritating advisor, a nearly-mummified wizard who seemed like at any moment he might crumble into a pile of dust, and--mercifully--two handsome knights. One was Darwyn, the other was the man who had found them in the library earlier when he was in search of Ysabelle. The king had still yet to show up, but they were promised he was on his way.


    The silence that settled over the room gnashed at the Draclaudians, but the witches were unbothered. Ophelia and Beatrice preferred it to small talk, and Lilith, with her nails and whistling and flirtatious glances had turned it into a game.


    Finally, the door was opened and Edmund entered. Everyone stood except for the guests.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be insolent,¡± Aldis barked.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t subjects,¡± Ophelia said flatly.


    ¡°The woods you haunt are within Draclaudian territory.¡±


    ¡°We were there before the expansion of your Empire; we¡¯ll be there after.¡±


    Beatrice smiled. ¡°If you¡¯d care to annex our humble cottage, you¡¯re free to try. But you haven¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Who would waste time on you?¡± he spat.


    ¡°Aldis,¡± Edmund said sharply. ¡°That¡¯s enough. They are our guests, and you will treat them with respect and make them feel welcome.¡±


    Edmund sat and the others followed. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± he began slowly, ¡°that you¡¯re curious as to why I brought you here. Especially given that I already employ the services of a master wizard.¡±


    Odo smiled kindly at the recognition and Lilith stifled a laugh.


    ¡°We are,¡± Ophelia cut in. ¡°But we don¡¯t care for labored explanations. Our time is valuable. Be plain.¡±


    ¡°I can appreciate that.¡± He snapped his fingers at Alfraed, and the advisor slid a book toward the witches. ¡°The marked passage, if you would,¡± Edmund said.


    They opened the book and read. Their expressions were blank. They would yield nothing until they knew more.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Their silence eventually prompted the king. ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± he said slowly, ¡°that you¡¯re aware of Aeterneau?¡±


    ¡°What of him?¡±


    ¡°You know what he is? What he does?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure we know better than you,¡± Ophelia said. It had the phrasing of an insult, but not the tone--it was a statement of fact, said with the same cool detachment that possessed her eyes.


    ¡°Yes. I suppose you would, being so skilled in the magical arts. Then...you understand the threat that he poses?¡±


    ¡°Now we¡¯re getting somewhere,¡± Lilith said. ¡°He¡¯s making judgments. Which means we¡¯re playing politics.¡±


    ¡°Does he pose a threat?¡± Beatrice asked. ¡°I don¡¯t believe he does, to us.¡±


    The king smiled, well aware of their game. ¡°Perhaps not. But you feel it is okay for him to attack us--our citizens mind, you. Not us,¡± he said, gesturing at his entourage around the table. ¡°Because why else would he be growing his army? We see it every night. The light intensifies as more damned souls pollute the air. You think it is okay to rip souls from the hereafter? To desecrate the sanctity of life? His goal is mass murder. His goal is to reap more souls for his army. I¡¯m sure you¡¯re right that you understand the necromancer better. And so I¡¯m sure you know that I speak the truth.¡±


    Ophelia¡¯s features were still granite. ¡°I asked for plainness: tell us what this passage has to do with Aeterneau.¡±


    Lilith¡¯s eyes gleamed as they held the king¡¯s, waiting expectantly, knowing exactly what he was about to ask of them.


    ¡°Odo, despite his considerable talents and depth of knowledge, is unfamiliar with how to mix the ink. We hope that you can help us, so that we can use it to trick the necromancer and assassinate him.¡±


    ¡°And now,¡± Beatrice said, ¡°the other important part.¡±


    Edmund was confused.


    ¡°What¡¯s in it for us,¡± Lilith said. ¡°Favors don¡¯t come free.¡±


    ¡°How about your continued ¡®sovereignty,¡¯¡± Aldis quipped. ¡°Do this for us, and we won¡¯t raze that forest to the ground. Don¡¯t and we¡¯ll--¡±


    ¡°Aldis, silence!¡± He inhaled, buried his aggravation, and turned to the witches. ¡°Ladies, you have my sincerest apologies.¡±


    ¡°Aldis is known for his tactics, not his tact,¡± Alfraed snickered.


    ¡°Never mind all that,¡± Ophelia said. ¡°Besides: he¡¯s not wrong. There is, honestly, quite little of value that you could offer us.¡±


    ¡°I have much of value,¡± Edmund assured her.


    ¡°It¡¯s what you value that means little to us.¡±


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Lilith whispered.


    Ophelia turned to Beatrice. ¡°You¡¯d be the one mixing the elixir. It¡¯s up to you.¡±


    Beatrice looked again at the book. There was no recipe. It would be easy enough to say that, like Odo, she was unaware of how to mix it. It wouldn¡¯t even be a lie. But the fact that she didn¡¯t know is what made her want to do it. She looked to Edmund. ¡°You would make good on Aldis¡¯ promise?¡±


    The King was surprised it would be so easy. ¡°Have we yet tried to subjugate you?¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t yet tried to subjugate Aeterneau, either. And yet here we now are, discussing his assassination.¡± She pointed to Lilith. ¡°It might interest you to know that my friend¡¯s specialty is divination. The future is always hazy, its edges soft and out of focus. But we have seen one thing very clearly: your imperialist heart. So I ask you again: you will make good on what the boor says? You will leave us be?¡±

 Twenty-Eight

    ¡°I really don¡¯t see why we¡¯re doing this for them,¡± Lilith said. Ophelia and Beatrice were roaming the shelves of the library, grabbing every alchemical text they could find. Lilith, who sometimes at least started a task with them, sat this one out from the start, twirling her hair and punctuating long silences with occasional complaints.


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who said we should help them in the first place,¡± Beatrice reminded her. ¡°O and I were quite happy to turn them away.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not interested now that it¡¯s dusty old kings asking things of us, and not strapping knights,¡± Ophelia quipped.


    ¡°Oh shut up,¡± Lilith snapped back. ¡°It was an excuse to go somewhere different. But now we¡¯re just holed up in this castle instead of the cottage. And they aren¡¯t exactly treating us like honored guests. And what they¡¯re asking¡­¡±


    Beatrice stopped and turned, leaning against the shelf. ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s not a decision I make lightly. It¡¯s not a decision I¡¯ve made at all. Not yet. I could still change my mind. But¡­you saw it the first night we were here.¡±


    ¡°The light?¡±


    Beatrice nodded.


    Lilith swept some of her hair in front of her face, and peered out from behind the curtain of curled tendrils. ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡±


    ¡°I saw it.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°I think,¡± Ophelia interjected, ¡°what she¡¯s saying is we both saw it. We saw it for what it was. And if we could see it¡­¡±


    Beatrice finished for her¨C¡°then someone more attuned to such things, like you, Lily, could recognize it, too.¡±


    They weren¡¯t wrong. From her room, Lilith had a tremendous view of the city and the countryside beyond. And she watched that first evening as the sun set. The star was laid to rest, then rose from the dead, drained of its pink and red, made pale and chilly, tinged with the iciness of moonlight, but somehow colder still. More hollow. The light of Aeterneau¡¯s kingdom took the place of the sun¨Ca necrotic light that oozed like pus into the air.


    It was almost thrilling to see at first, something so profane, but the thrill was quickly drained and gave way to an itchy dread, that grew and grew, until it wasn¡¯t itchy any more, but overwhelming¨Cburning. And Lilith¡¯s sensitivity to things that hadn¡¯t yet transpired was amplified by this light made of lives that long ago transpired. In the past, she saw vibrant visions of the future. Pestilence. War. Famine. Suffering. Decay.


    The ghosts revealed themselves as exactly what they were.


    Lilith nodded and slowly stood to join the others in their search. Moments later, the door to the library opened and Ysabelle peeked cautiously down the row the witches were examining.


    ¡°Oh, look who¡¯s here,¡± Lilith said, blowing a cloud of dust from the cover of an ancient book. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°Did your father send you to check on us?¡± Ophelia asked.


    Ysabelle shook her head. ¡°No. I just came to talk.¡±


    ¡°Please do,¡± Lilith said. ¡°I find all the silence in here dreadful.¡±


    Ysabelle hovered, unsure what to do with the invitation. She sat at the table the alchemical textbooks were stacked on and began to pick at their bindings. ¡°Tell me,¡± she said finally, ¡°how did the three of you come to find each other?¡±


    ¡°Beatrice and I have been friends since childhood,¡± Ophelia explained. ¡°Lilith¡­we met later.¡±


    Ysabelle nodded politely, though it was a vague answer.


    Beatrice tried to clarify¨C ¡°We didn¡¯t quite fit anywhere else. So we decided not to fit in together.¡±


    ¡°I envy you,¡± Ysabelle said. ¡°Sometimes l¡¯d like nothing more than to not be¡­what I am.¡±


    ¡°So many girls spend days dreaming of being a princess,¡± Beatrice said. ¡°And the princess dreams of being a peasant.¡± Her tone was mocking.


    ¡°You think I lie?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re ignorant,¡± Ophelia corrected. Her words had the cut of an insult, but her disinterested tone made them more painful¨Cit made them sound like a diagnosis. Impartial. Scientific. ¡°I think you have no idea what life looks like outside of these walls. Which makes it easy to romanticize.¡±


    Ysabelle made no effort to defend herself. Instead, she stood and quietly moved to the bookcase. ¡°I can help you look, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    Beatrice nodded. ¡°That would be lovely.¡±


    ¡°I know of one,¡± Ysabelle said, crouching and gliding quickly along the bottom row, ¡°that must be particularly old. I remember looking through it as a child, for one of my lessons. Even back then it seemed like it might fall apart at any moment.¡± She finally stopped and retrieved a book that once upon a time might have been a deep shade of burgundy, but was now a dingy whisper of that color. She handed it to Lilith, who was immediately unimpressed and tossed it to Beatrice.


    ¡°This is a text by Aldusa.¡±


    Ysabelle nodded, though the name meant nothing to her.


    ¡°Aldusa is maybe the greatest alchemist who ever lived. To find an original copy of one of her texts¡­this is miraculous.¡±


    ¡°I just remember it as a boring textbook,¡± Ysabelle said apologetically.


    Beatrice added it to the pile. ¡°I¡¯ll enjoy reading that one.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Ysabelle walked over and picked the book back up. ¡°I do remember one particular potion in this book.¡± She flipped the disintegrating, fibrous pages carefully, her eyes rapidly scanning them. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about it a lot lately.¡±


    Lilith approached and looked over her shoulder. When Ysabelle finally found what she was looking for, Lilith¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°That¡¯s barbaric. Why? Who would ever?¡±


    Beatrice took the book, her interest piqued. ¡°It¡¯s a hex. A ¡®Potion of Poisoned Passion.¡¯¡± She skimmed Aldusa¡¯s scribblings on the elixir. ¡°Why have you been thinking of this?¡±


    ¡°Do you think you could make it for me?¡±


    Ophelia was skeptical. ¡°You said it was a hex?¡± she asked Beatrice, and then turned fiercely toward the princess. ¡°Why would we help you hex someone? Your father is foisting enough guilt on us. We needn¡¯t seek any more out.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not for someone else. It¡¯s for me.¡±


    Ophelia grabbed the book from Beatrice and read:


    This potion will manifest a hex that is sensitive to emotion, to desire. It will make the kiss from a woman¡¯s lips poisonous, lethal to any for which she does not hold love in her heart.


    She looked up and gripped the princess with unforgiving, incredulous eyes.


    But Ysabelle insisted: ¡°It¡¯s for me.¡±


    ¡°Odo should have the skills to mix this. Why have you not asked him?¡± Beatrice asked.


    Lilith put her hand to her hip and rolled her eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t ask stupid questions. It¡¯s obvious why she came to us. Just be honest with her¨Cwill you help or not?¡±


    Ysabelle smiled at Lilith for her support.


    ¡°And when the planned nuptials fall apart because of a poisoned bride, your father will rightly blame us and have our heads. This is foolish,¡± Beatrice said.


    ¡°I swear it,¡± Ysabelle pleaded. ¡°I will take all the blame. I will say that I stole it from your belongings. That it was already mixed and I stole it and that you had no knowledge. I don¡¯t even know if I¡¯ll take it yet. I don¡¯t know. I just¡­I need the option. I need a way out.¡± Desperation was bleeding into her voice. ¡°Please.¡±


    Ophelia and Beatrice looked to each other, each seeing their own resignation in the other¡¯s eyes.

 Twenty-Nine

    Haveraul slid Akura¡¯a an ale. ¡°You ready to talk?¡±


    They¡¯d only been able to get Akura¡¯a back after Haveraul trudged all the way into town on his own and picked up Laterra, Darben, Rovel, and one of their carts. Without Laterra¡¯s muscle it would have been an impossible task, but they somehow managed to hoist the limp orc--if a lump as thick and calloused as an orc could ever really be limp--into the cart.


    She¡¯d been just coherent enough that night for them to explain to her how a Cnidellan had saved her. They¡¯d tried to explain to her what a Cnidellan was--a translucent, wispy, soft-bodied race of merlfolk--but their description seemed as impossible to her febrile brain as the vision she had as she sank into the water.


    She¡¯d spent the next days in bed while they did business and prepared to move on to the next leg of their journey. Finally, tonight she had joined them at a small, tucked-in tavern. She looked healthier, but no less troubled.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid,¡± she said, ¡°talking might only make it worse.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Rovel said, ¡°what if ya talk around it? Just say enough, y¡¯know, to help us out. Not the details. Just the gist.¡±


    She nodded, but her eyes were frightened as she began. ¡°Not long ago, Draclaudians stormed our camp. Unprovoked. A massacre. We defended ourselves, but so many were lost. And I--¡± She stopped as the ice-cold prickle of phantom panic began to materialize, its glass mist trying to cut through. She fought to keep it at bay. She inhaled deeply and retreated--¡°I ran away. I deserted. It¡¯s a high crime to my people, running. There must be a Retriever after me.¡±


    ¡°Bah,¡± Haver said. ¡°How could they even know where we are?¡±


    ¡°The shamans will find me if the Godsmiths will it.¡±


    Laterra was even more skeptical. ¡°Ain¡¯t nobody willin¡¯ you to be punished. Gods is just fairytales people tell each other. For comfort. For control. Don¡¯t matter. Nothin¡¯ makes ¡®em more real.¡±


    ¡°And ain¡¯t no shame in running from a fight,¡± Darben said. ¡°Seems dwarves is the only ones that ever learned that. Everybody rushin¡¯ to war like it¡¯s sport. Dumbasses.¡± It was the most riled up Akura¡¯a had seen Darben, and she offered him a weak smile as thanks.


    ¡°I just...keeping reliving it.¡± She said it as an apology. ¡°It feels so real.¡±Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause it is, love,¡± Haveraul said. ¡°The emotions, anyway. We¡¯re gonna get you out east. We¡¯ll find something better there.¡±


    ***


    It was Baultu¡¯u that had pulled Sulma from the river. He¡¯d watched as she slunk past the camp and had followed her, observing quietly from a patch of reeds along the shore.


    She was typically cranky, even as she gulped air into her soggy lungs, insisting his heroics hadn¡¯t been necessary. He¡¯d walked her back--her protesting the whole time--and tucked her in and had given her a few days to recuperate.


    Now he was headed back to her tent, and the others, seeing the direction he was headed, just shook their heads at him. They¡¯d given up on her.


    ¡°You¡¯re wastin¡¯ your time, Baultu¡¯u,¡± Varna¡¯a hollered at him. She was making a stew and tut-tutted as she tossed some root vegetables into the simmering pot. ¡°The ol¡¯ loon ain¡¯t worth it anymore. She don¡¯t want our help anyway. Let her be.¡±


    He stopped and breathed deeply, savoring the earthy aroma that lingered above her pot. ¡°Smells good.¡±


    ¡°Have a bowl,¡± she offered.


    But he shook his head. ¡°I have to,¡± he reckoned. ¡°She¡¯s been a friend for so long.¡±


    ¡°If she¡¯s broke, though, it ain¡¯t on you to fix it. Don¡¯t kill yourself trying.¡± She plucked a few herb leaves from their fibrous stems and tossed them in, where they swirled delicately on top. ¡°Don¡¯t lose yourself to somebody else. You¡¯ve lost enough already.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why,¡± he said as he walked away, ¡°I can¡¯t afford to lose a friend.¡±


    Sulma¡¯s tent sat at the very edge of the encampment, just close enough that it felt a part of the settlement, but just far enough that it felt apart. Just as she liked it. The flap was closed and everything was quiet. But as Baultu¡¯u leaned down to investigate, Sulma plunged out, grabbed him by the arm and drug him in, like a spider dragging a cricket into a burrow.


    ¡°It¡¯s happened,¡± she whispered violently.


    ¡°You finally lost your mind?¡±


    She punched him in the shoulder. ¡°This isn¡¯t a joke. Baultu¡¯u: those old hacks musta got lucky. They found her somehow. Don¡¯t know how. I didn¡¯t think they had it in ¡®em. Hoped they didn¡¯t, at least. Thought maybe the Godsmiths would blind them. I know they¡¯re on her side. I just know it.¡±


    He eased her back onto her cot. ¡°Now slow down. Slow down. How do you know they found her?¡±


    ¡°Because I saw it.¡±


    ¡°Saw what? Saw them see her?¡±


    ¡°No, no. The Retriever. Saw him heading toward Arukadia. It¡¯s Gawro¡¯o. Saw that sack of shit sure as anything, ridin¡¯ toward Arukadia, club in hand.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all? Baultu¡¯u: this could be it. If he brings Akura¡¯a back, she¡¯ll be put to death.¡±


    Sadness broke across his gravelly face, but...it wasn¡¯t quite right. It seemed more for her than for his daughter. He reached over and squeezed her hand. ¡°Sulma. You¡¯ve been a better friend than I have any right to ask for. And you¡¯ve been a better friend than Akura¡¯a deserves. She deserted us. It¡¯s...painful. But she isn¡¯t part of this tribe anymore. I have been trying to come to terms with death of not one child, but two. My heart is broken...but she is the one who broke it. We must accept this.¡±


    She pulled her hand away. He was a stranger to her all of a sudden. She pointed toward the flap. ¡°You have not seen what I have.¡±


    ¡°Sulma¡­¡±


    She pointed. ¡°You need to go. May the Godsmiths give you clarity.¡±

 Thirty

    The last thing Sulma grabbed was her broom. She had taken little else with her--a few extra pelts, a few pounds of cured meat, a small textile she could perhaps use as a lean-to. None of it would do her much good if she couldn¡¯t find the man in the dark leathers. She¡¯d seen his face, but not the path to him. But she couldn¡¯t wait any longer. Her broom could come with her and she would dust the path as she walked it, until its destination became clear.


    ¡°Sulma!¡±


    It was Baultu¡¯u, running up behind her, trying to catch up. She kept walking.


    ¡°Sulma!¡± he called again. He had no intention of allowing her to leave.


    ¡°Let her go,¡± she heard another yell.


    She saw Baruli¡¯i lingering near the edge of camp, watching her go. The old crone was shaking her head. She always was a judgmental cow. The worst of the other shamans. Sulma could feel Baruli¡¯i¡¯s eyes boring into the back of her skull as she walked, and an impulse took over. Sulma spun around and barked, ¡°How do you feel, Baruli¡¯i? Condemning a poor, scared soul to death. And for what? Choosing peace over war? I don¡¯t recognize this tribe anymore.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re only lucky you were a never a warrior to begin with,¡± Baruli¡¯i snarled back. ¡°Or I¡¯d gladly send a Retriever to bring you to heel, too.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to see you try!¡±


    Baultu¡¯u slowed his jog as he came up next to Baruli¡¯i. ¡°Don¡¯t trade barbs with her. It¡¯s the last thing we need.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who cares if she goes.¡±


    ¡°Well he can stop caring!¡± Sulma shouted back. ¡°I don¡¯t need his concern. How¡¯d you see it, anyway? You good-for-nothing¡¯s always had the vision of an earthworm.¡±


    Baruli¡¯i laughed vindictively.


    ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Baultu¡¯u warned.


    But Baruli¡¯i knew it would sever them for good. It was for the best of the tribe. ¡°You loon,¡± she crowed. ¡°We didn¡¯t have to see it. We heard it...from you!¡±


    Sulma stopped dead in her tracks and clenched her fists. She could stomach a lot, but this aspersion was too much to bear. ¡°That¡¯s a lie,¡± she roared. But all at once, it hit her. She knew the only person she had told, the only way they could trace the information back to her...The knife in her back dropped her to her knees. ¡°No,¡± she choked. ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡± She looked up, wrath beaming out of her wild, wounded eyes. ¡°You son of a bitch.¡± She gripped Baultu¡¯u with a look that crushed him. It was not hatred. That he could have accepted. But this was something more primal. A revulsion that rooted deeper in her gut, producing the rotten, wormed fruit of disgust. ¡°You don¡¯t need the Godsmiths¡¯ clarity,¡± she said. ¡°You need their forgiveness.¡±Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ***


    Akura¡¯a looked at the dwarves like they must be joking. ¡°This?¡±


    Haveraul nodded, his grin as wide as his gut. ¡°You ever been?¡±


    She shook her head.


    ¡°Much easier than hoofin¡¯ it across the continent. Faster.¡±


    Her neck craned, trying to take the whole of the ship in. The sun was filtered through the linen sails, and the light that painted her face was soft and diffuse. The wind billowed the fabric and plucked the rigging like a string instrument.


    ¡°We take small boats on the inland rivers, the meres. But this¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me an orc is scared of the water,¡± Rovel said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t know,¡± Haver said. ¡°They¡¯re pretty solid. Prolly do sink like stones. In fact, we know this one does!¡± His heavy, chugging guffaw drew the attention of some of the others crowding the pier and Laterra socked him.


    ¡°Shut up, you old coot.¡±


    They all started up the gangplank, but Akura¡¯a stayed put.


    The four circled round on the deck, unsure what to do.


    ¡°She¡¯s broken,¡± Laterra said matter-of-factly. ¡°Don¡¯t know that there¡¯s nothin¡¯ we can do for her.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t just leave her, though,¡± Rovel said, scratching at his beard.


    ¡°¡®Course not,¡± Haveraul said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±


    ¡°But if it¡¯s gonna be like this every step of the way...we can¡¯t take her, either,¡± Rovel reckoned, playing out both sides of the argument. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s hard enough making it in the Far-flungs if you¡¯re healthy and strappin¡¯. You show up a shell...won¡¯t last long at all.¡±


    Darben had enough--¡°Are your souls as calloused as your gnarled feet? What kinda dwarves are ye?¡±


    ¡°Darb¡¯s right,¡± Haveraul said. ¡°We¡¯ll do what dwarves do best: exactly what we can.¡± He walked back down the gangplank to get her. She was completely frozen in place. Her pupils were the only thing that moved as she sized the ship up, examining it as if it were a problem to solve. He said nothing, and instead, simply extended his hand to her.


    She looked at is as skeptically as she did the vessel.


    He insisted, holding his fingers out even wider.


    Her posture slackened and her eyes quit buzzing nervously. She held her hand out and took his. She tried to be delicate--it was so much smaller than hers--but his grip was firm and comforting.


    He nodded cheerfully and began back up the ramp with Akura¡¯a just a step behind.


    Laterra was busy checking their wares one last time, making sure everything was secured in the carts, but Darben and Rovel were leaned against the rail and watched them walk up.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Rovel said, ¡°I¡¯ll keep ya entertained. Won¡¯t even give you time to think ¡®bout the sea serpents lurkin just a few fathoms deep.¡± He winked and Darben just rolled his eyes. ¡°Got lotsa good tales best told at sea. Even better: most of ¡®em got tunes. Call ¡®em ¡®chanteys!¡±


    ¡°If only he had the voice for it,¡± Haveraul said. ¡°C¡¯mon, lass. I¡¯ll show you ¡®round below deck. And be prepared: it might take you a minute to get your sea legs.¡±


    None of them noticed the figure perched on the cliff just to the west of the city. Its scaly, muted green skin provided perfect cover among the moss-dusted rocks, and he stood stone-still as the water continued to beat relentlessly against the shore below. The gargoyle¡¯s eyes narrowed, locked onto his prey. His hunt was nearly at its close.

 Thirty-One

    ¡°Hm¡­¡± Haveraul was moving his head side to side, twisting this way and that, examining the board from every angle.


    ¡°Does it show you something new if you look at it from the right or left?¡± Akura¡¯a teased him.


    ¡°Never a good idea for a novice to trash talk,¡± he chided.


    Akura¡¯a held her hands up innocently. ¡°Look all you want.¡±


    He pulled an emerald from his pouch and placed it triumphantly on the board, then proceeded to jump three of her jewels. He picked them up and gave her a wink. ¡°This game rewards patient play.¡±


    He¡¯d barely finished his brag before Akura¡¯a had placed a ruby down and jumped five of his gems in turn. He¡¯d sprung her trap.


    ¡°Hey now!¡± he protested. ¡°I thought you said you never played Jewel Jump.¡±


    ¡°Haven¡¯t,¡± she said. ¡°I just pick things up quickly.¡±


    ¡°How much did we bet?¡± he said rubbing the back of his head, regretting his decisions.


    ¡°Ah, what¡¯s the matter, Haver?¡± Laterra said. ¡°Orc got your gold?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t take too much from him,¡± Rovel said. ¡°You¡¯ll bruise his ego. Makin¡¯ gold¡¯s all he¡¯s good for!¡±


    There was a heavy crash that sounded like it came from the cargo hold. They all stopped what they were doing and looked at each other.


    Akura¡¯a was quickly acclimating to the creaks and groans that came with seafaring, but this was something else. Muffled shouts could be heard through the floor.


    ¡°What you think that ruckus is about?¡± Darben asked.


    ¡°Oh god, we¡¯re sinking. It¡¯s not my time yet,¡± Rovel whimpered.


    ¡°Get a grip,¡± Laterra said. ¡°You¡¯re useless in a pinch, ain¡¯t ya? We probably should go see if they need help, though.¡±


    There were a few successive thuds, and the shouting intensified. Then: a heavier sound with inertia. It pushed through the boards like they were paper.


    Akura¡¯a knew immediately: she had been found. ¡°It¡¯s him,¡± she whispered.


    ¡°Him who?¡± Haver asked.


    ¡°The Retriever.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    ¡°Now you don¡¯t know that.¡±


    But the others looked at him with honest eyes and he admitted it--¡°Alright, well, then...we¡¯ll just have ta hide ya.¡±


    ¡°For how long?¡± Laterra said.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Akura¡¯a said. ¡°He wouldn¡¯t be on the ship if he weren¡¯t sure I was here.¡± She stood slowly up and bowed her head at them. ¡°You¡¯ve all been very kind. I can¡¯t thank you enough. I¡¯m sorry for the trouble I¡¯ve caused.¡±


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Darben asked, a slight quiver in his voice.


    ¡°Turning myself in. There¡¯s no point in resisting.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you can take him,¡± Laterra said. ¡°Specially with us by your side.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± She was forceful. ¡°I will not lift a club again. And you will not interfere. No one else has to come to harm.¡± She walked out of the room and made her way toward the commotion.


    A man bolted past her, the point of a drawn dagger leading him. ¡°Stow away!¡± he yelled. ¡°In the holds.¡±


    Akura¡¯a descended the steps and found a scene of pure chaos. Everywhere were toppled or shattered boxes, their items spilled across the floor--unfurling textiles, dessicated meats, even broken bottles of spice, the contents of which had been kicked into the air, filling it with stinging, perfumed clouds.


    Near the back was Gawro¡¯o. She recognized him immediately even underneath the ceremonial paint he wore. He¡¯d grown up in the tent next to her, and she¡¯d harbored a crush on him as an adolescent. She felt like she was looking at another ghost.


    He held a club in one hand and one of the crew in his other. Four other crew members hoverd feet away, weapons drawn, waiting for a vulnerable moment when they could strike.


    Gawro¡¯o flared his nostrils, snorted--dared them.


    One took the bait and lunged in. Despite his size, Gawro¡¯o was far more nimble. He brought the crewman he held in front of his body and used him as a shield. The attacker¡¯s blade found the man¡¯s thigh. He tried to cry out in pain, but the orc¡¯s claws were crushing his windpipe, and only desperate, clipped gasps escaped. Gawro¡¯o tossed the helpless man to the ground and he skidded to a stop, chirping and limp, like a naked baby bird that had fallen from a nest. The orc swung his club around, giving it only half an effort, and knocked the attacker into a stack of boxes.


    The others exchanged panicked glances, but knew what they had to do. They all pounced together, hoping at least one blade would find its way through. But Gawro¡¯o grabbed his club at both ends and held it in front of himself, catching all three swords. The brands bit deeply into the wooden handle, and when Gawro¡¯o pulled his weapon back, he wrenched the blades from the men¡¯s hands.


    He laughed at their pathetic attempt and charged forward, shoulder first, sending all three jerking back like gangly marionettes, their joints  flopping as they soared through the air and crumpling in on themselves as they landed. He plucked their swords from his club one at a time and they slowly began to stir.


    He walked over to one and looked down, slamming the head of his cudgel into his palm, relishing each stout, satisfying smack. ¡°Would you like to play dead?¡± he asked, poking the man with the tapered end of his weapon, ¡°Or do I need to make it so?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the man huffed. ¡°Please. What do you want? Are you a pirate? You can have everything on board. I swear.¡±


    He locked eyes with Akura¡¯a. She made no move to defend herself. No move to evade him. ¡°Put the club down,¡± she said. ¡°I beg you.¡± Her eyes shut. She couldn¡¯t look any longer.


    ¡°Anything,¡± the man on the floor blurted again. ¡°I promise. As much as you want.¡±


    Gawro¡¯o dropped the club, letting it fall into the man¡¯s gut, eliciting a pained groan. ¡°There¡¯s only one thing I came for.¡±