ã€ŠThe First Allianceã€‹


 Odd Jobs

    The overhead sun bore down on the splintered redwood of the cart as the lopsided wheels ricketed against their axles. The dirt-beaten path was dotted with large, half-buried stones that caused the cubic crates and cylindrical barrels to rattle. Tall trees with large green leaves lined the road, offering convenient shade to seemingly the entire forest - except for where the cart was riding. Two donkeys, one much larger than the other, pulled against frayed ropes, dragging the vehicle''s heft behind them. The beasts were branded with a sigil resembling a gavel inside a castle tower.

    In the front of the cart sat two elven men, one significantly older than the other. The older of the two was Acadian Finch. His once chestnut-colored hair was tied back in a short ponytail that stretched the silver at his temples far back around his head. Thick wires of hair covered his chin and jaw, hiding any hint of a mouth he might have had. A worn grey tunic hid beneath a green cloak that covered a set of copper and leather shoulder pauldrons. His armored boots added to the well-armored hunter visage he maintained.

    The younger of the two was a boy called Arsa. His pointed ears poked through the tangle of black-brown hair that lay untamed atop his head. A wardrobe made of tan leather and cream-colored cloth was shrouded by a fur-lined purple cape. An elegantly crafted bow hung off his back, a quiver of arrows crossing it in the opposite direction. The bow looked to be made of some sort of scaly hide with gold-encrusted tips at the ends. He kept his lavender-colored eyes fixed on the donkey before him, a soft apathy tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    In the back of the cart sat two other men whose appearances clashed against the dim woody colors of the cargo. On one side, a tan young man with shoulder-length black hair lay lounging bare-chested against the sun. An open vest made of rags slid open to display an athletic torso covered in tribal, almost runic, black tattoos. A necklace of shark¡¯s teeth dangled lazily around his throat as a set of thick metal wristbands beat against the wood. This was Fran?ois deStuer, but he insisted his comrades call him Frank.

    Opposite Frank was an even younger man who was not quite an elf, but not quite a human either. The half-elf, as he was known, was clad in shining metallic armor trimmed in a bright blue. A long and pointed sword was latched away at his side while a broad shield, the same shining metal as his armor, lay by his feet, etched with a symbol that looked like a trident surrounded by globes. Despite the sweat sliding down his temples and the monotonous journey he had spent the former three hours enduring, a broad smile never left his face. This was Flynn Willheim.

    They had been given the cart and the donkeys the previous night after taking on a job. They were told the cargo they carried would supply a storefront in the village of Krandaelyn, a short journey south of the trade city, Evercold. No questions asked; all gold received.

    Before long, Flynn had begun singing a song. Arsa took a deep inhale as his ears twitched at the pitchy tune. His neck popped as he turned round to face the half-elf, ¡°Talking was not included in the job description.¡± His lavender eyes remained fixed on Flynn¡¯s freckled complexion.

    ¡°I¡¯m not talking. I¡¯m singing!¡± he said with a smile you could hear.

    Frank sighed, ¡°It¡¯s getting old, all the same. We should be getting close now. Right, Acorn?¡±

    The oldest among them grumbled a cough, ¡°If yer meanin¡¯ Acadian, then yes. Arsa¡¯s right, though, Flynn. Shuddup.¡±

    Flynn snorted a high humph before the group fell silent once more. The quiet fell on the restless knight, who couldn¡¯t resist tapping his metal-plated legs with a rhythmic ting ting ting. Arsa¡¯s pointed ears twitched once more, but he refrained from saying anything. The tapping turned into a whistle, and the whistle into a hum. The hum grew into a whisper, which before long became singing once again. Frank, who was still laid back with his hands now behind his head, squinted open one eye to see the agitated Arsa struggling to hold in a reaction. He smirked, eagerly awaiting what would happen next.

    Arsa exploded to his feet, pulling a sheathed dagger from the strap around his thigh and pointing it at Flynn. The boy tilted his head toward the elf, grinning even wider than he had before. The sudden commotion startled the smaller donkey, forcing the cart into an awkward jostle. One of the barrels fell off the back end of the wagon as Acadian halted the cart¡¯s movement.

    ¡°Boys, cool it or I will take us back to Evercold and y¡¯all can find yer own way to get yer money,¡± the man said, grabbing Arsa by the cape and pulling him back to the seat. Frank, laughing to himself, had hopped off the cart to fetch the cargo that had fallen off. As he lifted the not-so-heavy barrel back onto the platform, the glimmer of something silver yonder in the thicket caught his eye. While Arsa and Flynn bickered, he stepped closer to investigate.

    He knelt to the brush, his bare knees steeping into the dry dirt. With a wave of his hand, his tattoos began to glow a dim blue as the shrubbery parted at his command. Inside the vines was a silver-tipped arrow stuck in the root. He pulled it free, careful not to pull the arrowhead from the shaft. He examined it for a moment before looking off into the direction from which it must have flown.

    A wall of trees stood like a gate, obscuring the dark woods beyond. The ground rose up about ten feet at a slope, forming a steep hill. As Frank¡¯s golden eyes searched for anything among the bark, a rustle in the foliage gathered the attention of the three in the cart as well (who were still bickering about the necessity of travel songs). Flynn grabbed hold of his shield and lept from the cart, placing himself intentionally in front of the others. Arsa stood in place, pulling the bow from his back and notching an arrow. Acadian stepped down from the cart as well, pulling out a crossbow from beneath the seat and loading an arrow into the flight groove.

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    With all eyes fixed on the treeline, another rattle of leaves shook from the hill. Flynn began stepping slowly forward, careful not to make too much noise inside the echo-prone armor. Just as he reached the edge of the path, an object like a boulder lept from the top of the hill, tumbling down with loud thuds and high-pitched cries with every impact. As it landed on the dirt road, the group saw that it wasn¡¯t a boulder at all, but rather a very sturdy dwarf tangled up with a rather thin goblin.

    The dwarf was no more than four and a half feet tall, dawning an assortment of fur-lined animal hides and bone-plated armor. His long beard reached far below his belly and was tied in three different places. A messy top-knot held his unkempt hair out of his face. As he landed atop the pale-green goblin, he shouted a guttural roar before pummeling into the poor thing¡¯s egg-shaped face.

    The four had hardly any time to react before another squeal came from the opposite side of the road. A smaller goblin came running out of the thicket, a short bow, that was much too large for him, in hand.

    ¡°She¡¯s gonna kill me!¡± he cried, snot dripping from his upturned nose. Just then, a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, her green eyes hooded by bored eyelids. Her pitch-black hair hung over her face, obscuring most of her features. Pale, almost greenish skin clung tightly to the woman¡¯s sinewy frame. A tattered and torn white dress held onto a single bony shoulder, the bottom caked with moss and mud. She threw out her hand, revealing missing fingernails and protruding cephalic veins. As she did so, her eyes began to glow. Roots erupted violently from the earth, ensnaring the goblin¡¯s ankles. He screamed as he was pulled to the ground and toward the woman.

    The roots lifted him by his feet, dangling him upside down in front of the pale lady. She tilted her head to one side before grabbing his short throat, her arm striking like a serpent. The veins in her hand pulsated a deep purple as the goblin began to cough and sputter out drops of red blood. When she had finished with him, she flicked her wrist, commanding the roots to toss the corpse away.

    Frank and Arsa had gathered behind Acadian, who stood ready behind Flynn. The donkeys were whinnying and stomping, anxious to run. Acadian ordered everyone back on the cart, and they did as he said. Before he could whip the reins and move them out of the fight, another silver-tipped arrow flew through the air and glanced off of Flynn¡¯s shoulder pouldron. Three more goblins, all clothes in gilly suits and rags lept from the trees where they had been hiding and onto the cart. All four men on the cart, and all three goblins, shouted at one another.

    Arsa kicked one of the attackers square in the snout, launching it from the cart. It tumbled off and landed with a skid in the dirt. It looked up with a snarl, a crescent-shaped grin of razor-like teeth baring their yellowed facades. One of the goblins scurried up Frank¡¯s leg, reaching for his necklace. His tattoos began to alight a bright red as he thrust his palm into the creature¡¯s face. A sound like hot oil and the smell of burning flesh filled the clearing, the goblin scrambling to pry itself out of Frank¡¯s hand.

    The remaining goblin unsheathed a crude dagger and attempted to thrust it into Flynn¡¯s midsection. The boy gave a polite shake of the head before grabbing the assailant by the arm and flinging it into the air. While the thing traveled, Acadian aimed his crossbow at the target, launching an arrow on its descent, pinning it to a nearby tree trunk by its hide tunic.

    The goblin Arsa had kicked climbed back onto the cart. It nimbly leaped over the crates and barrels, tunneling toward Arsa¡¯s throat with a dagger in hand. As it jumped with the dagger above its head, Arsa quickly notched an arrow and let it fly point-blank at the goblin. The force of the strike didn¡¯t pierce the green flesh but did knock it back.

    At this point, the dwarf had finished his assault on the goblin he had entered with and turned his attention to the other greenlings in the vicinity. His eyes darted to and fixated on the one dangling from the tree, pinned by Acadian. The boulder of a man charged at the tree and reached for the feet of the goblin before releasing another roar. His arms quickly sprouted thick fur and something like a tail emerged from beneath the hides. Like an animal, he climbed up the tree using all four limbs to reach the goblin. With one hand, he pried the wriggling goblin from the arrow and threw it with force to the ground. He then leaped off and landed feet first into the creature¡¯s chest, its rib cage cracking like the sound of a dozen fragile branches. The dwarf looked up with rage-filled eyes, his animalistic form continuing to overtake his body.

    The goblin in Frank¡¯s hand eventually pulled himself free and stumbled off the side of the cart. Blinded, he tripped over himself trying to run to the trees. The pale woman then whispered a strange string of words and pointed at him. Vines slithered from the trees and grabbed at his limbs. He was lifted up by his wrists and ankles, shouting in fear and agony. Slowly, as though admiring a painting, the woman approached the pained form of the goblin. She drove a blackened forefinger into the center of his forehead as she whispered another incantation. The goblin began to choke before becoming very still. Its green form then melted away into a black ichor, dripping into a puddle in the grass below.

    With all the other goblins dead, the final one looked at the tall folks with panicked eyes. He picked up the dagger off the barrel and hurled the arrow that knocked him back into the woods. He twisted onto his small bare feet and darted like a wounded woodland creature to the brush. Acadian¡¯s eyes darkened a deep maroon color as he stared into the foliage. Something like a silhouette appeared to him through the shrubbery and grass. He held the crossbow up to his eye and stuck the tip of his tongue out of his lips. He pulled the trigger, firing an arrow directly into the nape of the fleeing goblin¡¯s neck.

    The gathered company eyed one another with anxious breath. The dwarf returned to the more humanoid form he had when he tumbled down the hill. Arsa noticed his hands drifting to a pair of stone handaxes holstered at his sides. He notched another arrow.

    The pale woman stood silently, examining the others like a prodigy might examine a chess board. The roots and vines she had summoned quickly began to wither without her attention fixed on them.

    Acadian reloaded his crossbow and held it at the ready. He turned slightly, squaring his stature in the direction of the unknown figures. ¡°We oughtta get goin¡¯ now. Best that none of this gets any messier than it a¡¯ready is, ya hear?¡±

    Before anyone could respond, Flynn had jumped from the cart, landing in his armor with a startling clang.

    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Flynn!¡±

 Rewards

    The gathered company stood in silence for a while, eyeing one another with suspicious glances. Silence lingered over them, the only sounds being that of some nearby birds and the creaking wood of the cart under the shifting weight of those atop it. To everyone¡¯s surprise, it was the pale woman who broke the quiet.

    ¡°Lower your weapons,¡± she said while staring at the elves. ¡°I have no interest in you.¡±

    Frank looked offended. He placed his fingers over his chest and cocked his head at her, ¡°Well we might have interest in you, now. That was powerful magic you used. Are you a sorcerer as well?¡±

    The woman glowered at Frank, assessing him. ¡°Trained as a wizard. Blessed as a druid. Not by my choosing, mind you. And not that it is any of your concern either way.¡±

    At this point, the dwarf had hurried over to where Flynn was standing. He circled him, his nose twitching with loud sniffs like a search hound looking for a lost parcel or a missing person. Flynn repeated his introduction, his smile never ceasing.

    The dwarf paused in front of him and looked up, ¡°Gostor. You¡¯re short.¡±

    A playful glint flashed in Flynn¡¯s eyes as he responded, ¡°You¡¯re shorter.¡± The dwarf grunted, letting loose a powerful kick in the elf¡¯s armored shins. The kick¡¯s force reverberated through the entire suit of armor, sending shivers up the wearer¡¯s spine. Somehow, there was no pain, but instead, a sensation almost like adrenaline filled him.

    The interaction sent nearby birds from the branches and brought everyone¡¯s attention back to the center. The woman began to leave, striding into the woods. Acadian lowered his crossbow and called out to her, ¡°The both of you oughtta come with us. Yuns kept safe the wagon. Only right for ya to get a cut of the reward.¡±

    Arsa backhanded Acadian¡¯s arm in protest. The older elf shrugged it off. Before anyone could say another word, Gostor was already scrambling onto the cart in Flynn¡¯s seat. He began picking up the crates and barrels, which were much larger than himself, with considerable ease. He started shaking them like a child with wrapped gift boxes trying to determine their contents.

    The woman turned her head, but not her body, back to the group, ¡°I do not need coin.¡±

    ¡°You certainly need rest,¡± Frank said, now leaning on the edge of the cart. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend, but you look like you¡¯ve been walking through the forest for quite some time. Come with us.¡± At this, she turned to fully face them. Something tugged at the corners of her nose. It wasn¡¯t disgust, but something closer to caution. Slowly, she stepped onto the wagon. Frank took her by the hand to help her up. At first, she drew back from him but hesitantly accepted. When she had sat next to him, he asked for her name.

    The lady looked away, her eyes moving around the scene like she was remembering something important. ¡°Circe,¡± she said quietly.

    Acadian sat back down and took up the reins once more. The cart moved more slowly with the extra weight - most of which was coming from the surprisingly dense dwarf. Arsa never un-notched the arrow from his bow and kept his head at a slight angle, listening for any unwelcome movements from their new companions.

    As they had become used to, Flynn¡¯s youthful voice was the only one to fill the journey. Eventually, Gostor hopped off the box he had been sitting on and picked up Flynn¡¯s shield. The elf made no protest but watched with childlike curiosity. Gostor traced the symbol on the shield with his thick fingers

    ¡°Bane,¡± said Gostor.

    Flynn¡¯s smile expanded even wider, ¡°Are you a champion of Bane as well? I¡¯ve not met anyone outside of Veridian who worships him.¡±

    Gostor set down the shield and grunted again. He shook his head, ¡°Bad.¡±

    For the first time since they had known him, Flynn¡¯s smile melted into a look of concern. ¡°Don¡¯t say that,¡± he picked up the shield and held it close to his chest. ¡°Bane is good. He protected humanity from Derogaan during the War of Gods. We must honor his goodwill with worship.¡±

    Gostor shook his head with more determination. He tapped the shield several times with his palm. ¡°Bane. God of fate. Fate is unkind. Good people die. Bad people live.¡±

    Flynn¡¯s look of concern faded even farther into one of frightening disdain. He began to whisper, ¡°Do not speak ill of Bane. Your blasphemy will be punished.¡± The sword at his side began to glow with a yellow-white aura, like a white-hot metal in a forge. As his gauntleted hand began to reach for the hilt, Acadian threw an arm over the seat to grab him.

    ¡°Cool it,¡± he said. Flynn blinked hard and looked around, as though he had just woken up from a nightmare. The glow on his sword faded and he released the grip on his shield. He scooted a little further from Gostor, who had remained expressionless the whole time. There was a moment of silence that layered over the fresh tension.

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    ¡°He¡¯s right, you know,¡± Circe said. They all looked at her. ¡°Humanity gave gods their titles. Before that, they were just¡­ people. Powerful people. Asyn. Ohena. Braphion. Erius. Bane. Have you ever considered the things we deify don¡¯t want to be worshipped?¡±

    Flynn scowled at her, ¡°I¡¯ve seen the good things Bane has done for people.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯ve seen the things your church has done in his name. The gods left us after the war. They couldn¡¯t stand to see who they murdered their siblings for. Your Bane included,¡± she locked eyes with him, never allowing him to break the stare.

    They stopped talking after this. The rest of the ride was filled with silence, with no more songs from Flynn. A few hours before sunset, they had arrived at the wooden gates of Krandaelyn.

    Krandaelyn was bigger than the common village but smaller than the Seven Cities of Hydraan. It sat comfortably between two trade routes, which made it ideal for merchants and travelers to pass through. Well-sized wooden and thatch buildings were erected haphazardly, creating a confusing and unorganized layout of the circular town. To the north side lived a more residential district, with square houses and a sizable inn. To the south was more of a mercantile, with a large bazaar full of merchants and craftsfolk selling an assortment of tools and adventuring gear.

    A double-story bar was the heart of the south side, rising high above the bazaar and the other low-level huts that decorated the mercantile. Potted plants and upside-down topiaries added a welcoming nature to the face of the establishment. Significant care seemed to be placed on the appearance of the bar, which had a sign hanging out front labeling it as The Sore Horn.

    Along the eastern wall was the largest building in the city, rising well above everything else like an ever-watchful giant. It was the only building to be made of stone instead of wood and expressed an imposing presence over the town. It appeared to be a town hall, perhaps. Or maybe a courthouse. Its purpose was not explicit, but it seemed important nonetheless.

    Hanging from the mysterious building and several of the streetlamps were well-kept red banners. The banners were embroidered in silver and featured the same gavel-and-tower symbol that the donkeys pulling the cart had been branded with.

    The group approached the village from the western-facing gate, entering the wide street between the residential and merchants¡¯ districts. Two guards, one male human and one female half-orc, stood at either side of the gate. Upon seeing the marks on the donkeys, the two stood aside to allow the wagon to pass through. Acadian halted the cart just before the gate.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a delivery fer Gunnar Stone. Know where we can find em?¡± he asked.

    The half-orc dug her spear into the ground and adjusted the metal plate armor around her torso. Her speech was slightly slurred due to the two protruding tusks at the corners of her mouth, ¡°Gunnar¡¯s usually over at the bazaar. If he ain¡¯t there, find a Red Baron and ask. They¡¯ll know.¡± Acadian gave a nod and rolled the cart through the gate.

    Frank leaned across the cart and stuck his head between Acadian and Arsa, ¡°What¡¯s a Red Baron?¡±

    Arsa spoke without turning to look at Frank, ¡°They run things here. Used to be a small group of bodyguards for the Townmaster. Now they just bully people and tax them, too. Don¡¯t talk to one. Even if they seem friendly.¡±

    They quickly pulled into a section just off the merchant¡¯s entrance filled with other carts and wagons. Outside the entrance to the bazaar¡¯s tents was a small human man arguing with a tall elven guard. He was shouting something about late deliveries and incomplete orders. The guard stared emotionlessly ahead, one of their eyes twitching at every spit-filled complaint.

    Acadian dismounted the cart, handing the reins to Arsa. He stepped behind the short man and cleared his throat, crossing his arms against his chest. The man suddenly stopped his shouting and swiveled around on his heel.

    ¡°Acadian! My good sir, how lovely to see you,¡± the man pulled Acadian¡¯s hand free and shook it with ferocity. ¡°I hope the journey didn¡¯t give you too much trouble. Is the cargo secured?¡± He glanced around the elf at the cart, his head tilting in anxious surprise at the two additions to the hired party.

    Gunnar Stone was a wealthy man who enjoyed showing it everywhere he went. He wore a collection of thick rings on his fingers as well as lavish fur coats that dusted the ground he walked on. His balding brown hair made his head look like a wilting onion. The fat rolls around his neck were constantly damp with sweat, either from the heat of his coats or the intensity of his shouting. Acadian had worked with him several times before, taking up low-pay, low-stakes jobs.

    ¡°Ran into some goblin ambushers but made it out a¡¯right. No supplies lost or damaged. Picked up some helpers ¡®long the way, though. Kept everything safe from the goblins.¡±

    Gunnar reached into his pocket for a hefty coin purse, ¡°Very good, very good. Let¡¯s see here. Forty gold pieces for the lot of you.¡± He began meticulously counting out coins.

    ¡°Sixty,¡± Acadian said calmly. Gunnar¡¯s eyes slowly trailed from his coins to meet Acadian¡¯s. He chuckled.

    ¡°Funny man, you are. The job was ten gold pieces for four escorts.¡±

    Acadian crossed his arms again, ¡°The job was ten gold pieces for anyone who protected the cargo. Or do I need to pull out our contract and take it to the Townmaster?¡±

    Gunnar¡¯s face turned a bright red and sweat began to bead around his lip. ¡°No!¡± he squeaked louder than he intended. ¡°I was only kidding, Acadian, you know me. Always a kidder. Of course, here are your¡­ sixty gold pieces.¡± He handed over the gold, which Acadian counted in front of him. When he confirmed the correct amount, he nodded to the man and turned back to the group. Just as soon as he caught his breath, Gunnar shouted after him, ¡°Oh! And I¡¯ve recommended your services to the nearby church. They¡¯re looking for someone of your particular skill set. Give them a visit, won¡¯t you?¡±

    Acadian paused, clenching his jaw. Skill set. He squeezed his fists and tried to keep his face from showing a sneer. Taking a deep breath, he continued back to the others.

    The church needed a hunter.

 Visits

    Acadian and Flynn went to the Inn to secure lodging for the night. After discussing the potential new job with the group, Circe had agreed to join them only out of an admitted curiosity for Frank¡¯s magic. Gostor grunted twice, which they all took to mean he would come, too.

    The Inn was a non-distinct building, with a barely-peaked thatch roof resting atop an otherwise square house. A few townsfolk sat in plush chairs by the windows, watching the sunset behind the conic trees beyond the village wall. The polished wood floor rested beneath a soft rug featuring a latticed pattern of crimson and grey. An unlit fireplace sat against the back wall beside the staircase that led to the upper floors. A semi-circular desk with neatly stacked parchments and a rather large ledger was placed prominently on the other side of the staircase.

    Behind the desk was a tall human man with a thin frame. A shock of bright white hair clouded his head like a cotton ball. He wore a tightly fitted vest that had seen better years, as expressed by the fraying lace around the seams. His dull blue eyes brightened as Acadian and Flynn approached.

    ¡°Welcome in, friends,¡± the man said with a forced gleefulness.

    Acadian set his leather pouch of coins on the desk and opened it. ¡°How much for four rooms?¡± he asked.

    The price was cheaper than anticipated, but he didn¡¯t argue. He counted out some silver coins and a couple of coppers before sliding them across the desk to the innkeeper. Flynn had already wandered off, looking around the space. His smile had returned, seeming to have forgotten the tension he had fallen under earlier that day. He sat at a table with a young couple enjoying the sunset and began to introduce himself.

    Elsewhere in the village, Frank, Arsa, and Gostor made their way into the Sore Horn tavern. The tavern was warmly lit, with mounted candles on every beam. Round tables were scattered throughout with wooden stools sitting at an even height around each. Old but well-crafted portraits hung on the walls accompanied by the heads of multi-antlered beasts that looked like bears with cat whiskers and finned ears. A group of burly-looking tavern-goers sat whooping and hollering toward the back corner, paying little mind to the three who had just walked in.

    Behind the bar, which took up the entire length of the left-most wall, was a halfling woman with a thick mass of straw-colored hair tied in a top knot on her head. She was scrubbing clean some glasses with her thick forearms, partially hidden by the long ruffles from her cloth dress. When she saw the newcomers step inside, she set down the glass and seemed to step up on something behind the bar to meet their eye level.

    Well, two of their eye levels.

    ¡°Come on in, now, don¡¯t be shy,¡± she said, gesturing for them to meet her at the bar. ¡°Name¡¯s Grista. Welcome into the Sore Horn. Can I get y¡¯all something to drink? Something to eat? What are you in the mood for?¡±

    Arsa haphazardly asked for a glass of water while Frank requested a local wine. Gostor climbed up onto a stool, which started to bow under his weight, and stared at the woman with wide eyes. He watched her as she quickly maneuvered around the bar, multitasking both orders - not that they were all that difficult to fulfill. When she had delivered the water and the wine, she turned to Gostor and asked him what he would like.

    ¡°Drink,¡± he said without blinking. Their gaze lingered on one another for a while. Grista eventually broke it, sizing Gostor up and down before reaching for a tankard.

    ¡°Haven¡¯t met too many dwarves in my day,¡± she said, filling the mug with ale from a large barrel keg that was sticking out of the wall. ¡°Always a good time when one of you swings by, though. Only folk I¡¯ve ever met that can keep up with me.¡± She placed the tankard down with a wink. Before she even stepped away from the counter, Gostor had swallowed down the entire brew in two gulps. Grista smiled an impressed grin. The dwarf pushed the tankard forward for a refill.

    Frank sat with his back against the bar, examining the place and sipping his goblet of wine. The taste was bitter with the strong grasp of alcohol but had a varied lacing of different berries and a hint of coconut infused into it as well. It was strangely tropical. As he swirled the wine around in the glass, the base tapped the edge of one of his metal cuffs, letting free a metallic ringing sound. He set the glass down and covered the cuff, a pained sneer tugging at the corner of his nose. The ringing subsided and he closed his eyes.

    When he opened them again, one of the thuggish patrons from the corner had approached and sat down beside him. The man wasn¡¯t human, but also wasn¡¯t elven. He was tall, with his arms and face covered in thick brown fur. He had long pointed ears coming out of a mane of hair that coated his head and neck. Besides looking ape-like, he seemed altogether humanoid. The creature smiled, revealing jagged and broken teeth inside his maw.

    ¡°Don¡¯ fink I¡¯s seen you¡¯s around ¡®ere before,¡± he spat in a thick accent. ¡°Whas¡¯ your name, pretty boy?¡±

    Frank rolled his eyes and swiveled to face the man square on, ¡°King Fran?ois deStuer. And who might you be, oaf?¡±

    The man laughed, ignoring Frank¡¯s question, ¡°King?! Oy, fellas. Dis one finks he¡¯s a king!¡± The other thugs had gotten up to gawk at the royalty brought to their attention. Altogether there were five of them, none of the others as questionably human as the first. Besides the casual rough-around-the-edges presentation, they appeared more or less normal townsfolk. They wore bulky padded armor and carried extremely worn blades at their sides. Each of them had the symbol of the gavel and tower pinned on their chestpiece. One of the humans was bald and covered in black tattoos that wrote out various sayings from across the Cities of Hydraan.

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    Among all of them, only one was not laughing with the others. A female elf in the group kept her arms close to her chest, her light blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail that lay across her shoulder. She squinted at Frank with a relaxed face.

    ¡°My apologies, Your Majesty,¡± said the bald man, who began an exaggerated bow. ¡°Forgive us for not preparing the way for your entrance.¡± More laughter erupted.

    Arsa, who had been watching from the other side of the bar, now quickly approached Frank. He grabbed the collar of his vest and began pulling him out of his seat.

    ¡°We had better get going,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°We¡¯re just passing through, anyway. Gostor, let¡¯s go.¡± Gostor had finished his eighteenth tankard and burned through half of the coin he had just received. Grista gave him another wink and a wave as Arsa guided him out the door. Frank stared at the group of laughing patrons as his elven companion pulled him outside. The stern-faced woman shook her head at him as the doors closed behind them.

    When they entered into the open air, Arsa threw both of them forward in front of him. He placed his hand on the small of Frank¡¯s back and the top of Gostor¡¯s head, guiding them toward the Inn. ¡°I told you not to talk to the Barons, Frank. They¡¯re bad news,¡± he said.

    ¡°That brute asked my name. I gave it.¡±

    Arsa groaned, ¡°You said you were a king.¡±

    Frank stopped walking and faced Arsa, ¡°I am a king.¡± The look of offense covered his face.

    The elf sighed, half sympathetically, half pleading, ¡°You don¡¯t know that. Not for sure.¡±

    At this point, Gostor had taken an interest in the conversation. He pointed to Frank and then started patting his own head, ¡°King?¡± Frank looked between the other two before stomping off in the direction of the Inn with an air of frustration. Arsa followed after him with a deep breath, trailed by Gostor, who was still patting his head.

    Circe had found her way to a marble shrine built atop a hill within the village. The shrine featured a statue of a figure in the middle of a fountain. The figure was tall and lean, the gender of whom was indiscernible. They were clothed in flowing robes and expressed a contented smile. In one hand, they held an overflowing pile of coins; in the other was a wand made from the antler of a stag. Kneeling before the fountain was a young woman with straight, long red hair. She wore a simple black tunic over a plain white knee-length dress. Around her forehead was a gold circlet that resembled the antler held by the statue.

    ¡°Praying to Hiarus?¡± Circe asked, startling the young woman. The girl let out a quick shriek at the sight of the pale lady before standing and dusting herself off.

    ¡°Y-yes, ma¡¯am. I am a nun at the church. Well, a nun in training, that is. I¡¯ve only recently taken my vows.¡±

    Circe walked forward and stood beside her. She looked up at the stone figure, ¡°I don¡¯t understand the hubris of Hiarus. God of Fame. Fortune. Wealth. It is rather prideful, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±

    The girl looked at the ground, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t, no. Hiarus despises pride. Their blessings fall on those who would do away with their own wealth to aid those in need.¡±

    In the water of the fountain, coins shined against the fading reds and golds of the setting sun. Circe reached a cold, pale hand into the water and plucked a coin from the shallow pool. The nun gave a small gasp but did not interfere. ¡°And what happens to the greedy, then?¡± she asked.

    ¡°G-greed is p-punished by Hiarus.¡±

    ¡°Is it? Or is greed simply non-sustaining? Never fulfilling,¡± she moved closer to the girl. ¡°Ever punishing.¡±

    Circe pushed the coin into the nun¡¯s hand and left her there. As she walked back down the hill, the girl stared after her. Her heart was racing and her face was flushed. She looked down at the coin and then back at Circe. She was not certain she had not just spoken with a ghost.

    Back at the Inn, Acadian had already gone up to one of the rooms to rest. Flynn was conversing with one of the patrons in the lobby - the only one that would speak to him, as the others had quickly left once they realized the boy wouldn¡¯t go away. The sun had now set, leaving the lit interiors of the Inn and the tavern across the street the only businesses lighting the village center. More patrons had started filling the tavern, leaving the Inn a more quiet respite from the revelry occurring elsewhere.

    Flynn sighed, ¡°I still write home every chance I get. I miss them all often, but I couldn¡¯t ignore my calling. You understand, right?¡±

    A gruff, older man sat opposite Flynn with a thick cigar in between his fingers. His black hair was starting to grey at the temples and his beard was well trimmed. He crossed his legs and sank lower into the seat. He released a puff of smoke before speaking in a low voice, ¡°Of course. You can¡¯t just ignore a calling from your deity. You¡¯re supposed to be out here guiding the lost ones, right? Give it time. You¡¯ll make your family proud, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    Flynn was beaming, ¡°You¡¯re a real breath of fresh air, Alek. I wish my friends all felt the same as you. They just don¡¯t understand the pressure I¡¯m under. Or the honor I carry.¡±

    Alek took another breath of the cigar, ¡°They¡¯ll come around, kid. Hey, seeing is believing, yeah? So, show them. Make them see.¡± Flynn began nodding in revelatory agreement. It was then that Frank, Arsa, and Gostor stepped inside the Inn. Frank and Arsa looked similarly frustrated while Gostor was still tapping his head.

    The man behind the desk perked up at their entrance and cleared his throat. ¡°Party of Acadian Finch?¡±

    Frank gave a half-hearted nod. The Innkeeper grabbed three keys from the pigeonholes behind him and handed them over. Gostor followed Frank up the stairs, but Arsa stayed put, his eyes fixed on Flynn and his new friend.

    ¡°We¡¯re heading up, Flynn,¡± he said, stepping closer to the window the pair were sitting by.

    Flynn simply smiled, ¡°I¡¯ll be up in a while.¡±

    Arsa stood his ground, trying hard not to look at the man across from Flynn. ¡°We¡¯re all heading up.¡±

    Alek moved his head, trying to catch Arsa¡¯s eyes, ¡°He can stay and chat if he likes.¡±

    ¡°Apologies, sir. Our party needs him upstairs. We have a job to discuss.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t technically a lie. Alek shifted his head and sat back in his chair, dismissing Flynn with a friendly nod. Flynn rose from his seat with a bit of confusion and waved before heading loudly up the stairs. Arsa followed, stopping just before the steps to glance back at Alek. His eyes lingered on the gavel and tower on the man¡¯s chest before he quickly joined the others.

 New Beginnings

    Morning arrived through the drafty windows of the Krandaelyn Inn, sunlight stealing into the tired eyelids of those who resided inside. Acadian and Arsa had shared a room while Flynn and Frank did the same. Gostor got a room to himself, which he quickly dismissed and opted to sleep on the wooden floor outside the door. Circe never returned to the Inn, though Frank continuously checked out the window in hopes that she hadn¡¯t abandoned them.

    The group had not discussed the job proposal as Arsa had said they would, much to Flynn¡¯s confusion. When he woke, he hurriedly put back on his armor and sprinted down the stairs hoping to find Alek. The man was not there.

    One by one, the group met each other in the lobby, partaking in the tea that the innkeeper conveniently provided. They sat in scattered positions are the space as they gathered their energy. Eventually, the front doors creaked open as Circe stepped inside.

    The innkeeper shuddered at her presence, his head rearing back from the shock. He stuttered as he asked if he could help her, but she ignored him and glided toward the others. She grabbed a cup of tea and sat near Acadian.

    ¡°Where were you last night? Thought you¡¯d up and left us,¡± he said.

    She took a long sip, ¡°Walking. Watching. Meeting the locals.¡±

    They all stared at her, not quite believing she made any friendly acquaintances. Arsa was sitting on the ledge of an alcoved window hugging his knees to his chest. He met Circe¡¯s gaze before sighing, ¡°I don¡¯t know about you.¡±

    The corners of her lips turned in the first smile they had seen her wear.

    Once they had all fully woken up, they followed Acadian and Arsa to the church building. It was a medium-sized office building, clearly not built to become a place of worship. A set of double doors opened into what was once a reception area, now transformed into a welcoming lobby. Symbols of the god Hiarus were sewn into tapestries that hung on the walls. The sigil was that of a large goblet with a golden handle. Around the opening space were several people all dressed in a similar fashion: White tops and tunics secured with black belts and lower wear.

    On the back wall, behind what may have been an office desk, were lines of statutes carved and inlaid with gold:

    Share Abundance. Give freely of your bounty.

    Aid the Needy. Offer your hand to those in distress.

    Foster Generosity. Encourage acts of giving.

    Honor the Giver. Celebrate those who give selflessly.

    Cultivate Gratitude. Express joy for all you receive.

    Flynn looked on at the commands and the congregation nearby with a mixed look of disgust and sympathy. He was itching to disciple the lost sheep but had been warned from doing so by his party. Alek¡¯s words echoed in his head. Show them. Make them see. He resumed his wide and overtly friendly smile.

    Acadian approached one of the holy people, set apart from the commonfolk gathered for worship by the ribbon decorated with the symbol of Hiarus around their neck. They were a young man with a bright face and deep smile lines around their eyes and nose.

    ¡°We been told y¡¯all need hunters. Gunnar Stone sent us,¡± he said.

    The young man smiled, the lines around his eyes extending. He gave a shallow bow to them, his eyes fixating a Circe a moment longer than the others. ¡°Yes. Follow me to the High Priestess.¡±

    The boy led them through the worship hall. A long, wide hallways that had been filled with pews and chandeliers from the ceiling. The decor kept with the common theming of gold embroidery and inlays. A few commoners and staff members were praying at the pews, but not too many this early in the morning. At the end of the hall was another statue of Hiarus, identical to the one on the hill. Instead of a fountain at their feet, there was a wide oval-shaped bowl overflowing with gold and other valuable items, gemstones, and jewelry.

    Beyond the hall, there was a series of open offices and prayer rooms. Staff members were cleaning and opening windows, letting the morning air fill the space. Their guide led them to a closed door and knocked before turning the handle and letting them inside.

    The small office became quickly cramped with the entire party filing inside. The room was bare except for a tidy desk and high-backed chair, plush with stuffed velvet. On the walls were two banners of Hiarus that hung to the floor. A bookshelf sat against one wall with spellbooks and holy texts. At the back wall was a circular window with velvet curtains drawn back to let light in. Sitting in the chair behind the desk, silhouetted by the light, was a thin, pale woman.

    At first, she resembled Circe, with long dark hair against sickly pale skin. Though, the longer they looked at her, the less disheveled she appeared. Her hair was clean and tied back, allowing the black hair to fall in waves down her back. Her black robes looked soft and fitted her well, clearly tailored to her specifically. She wore many rings on her fingers and a golden necklace adorned with prismatic jewels that lay on her chest. Her lips and eyes were painted with a deep rouge color.

    As the group stepped in, she stood from her chair and leaned across the desk to shake each of their hands. ¡°Good morning, friends. I am Sister Rosalynd,¡± she said, her voice deep and raspy.

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    Frank raised an eyebrow, ¡°You look young to be a High Priestess.¡± Arsa stepped on his foot and shot him an angered look. Rosalynd didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    ¡°When you¡¯re raised in the church from the moment you exit the womb, you climb the ladder faster than most,¡± she smiled and sat back down, leaving the group to stand shoulder to shoulder. ¡°I understand you have particular expertise for finding things. Things that, perhaps, are guarded by dangerous creatures.¡±

    Acadian felt a familiar heat in the space above his heart, ¡°I¡¯m not sure we¡¯re what yer lookin¡¯ for, then. Assumin¡¯ the beast yer suggestin¡¯ is of a specific¡­ variety.¡± The others glanced at him with confused expressions. Had he not advocated for taking the job? Why back out now?

    Rosalynd shared their expression, though with more empathy behind her eyes. She requested that she speak with Acadian alone and, begrudgingly, the others left the office. When the two were by themselves, she waved her hand in a circular motion.

    ¡°Seyilla,¡± she whispered. As the words left her lips, some of the books left the shelves, twisting and contorting around themselves to create a chair behind Acadian. ¡°Sit, please.¡±

    Acadian sat, ¡°We aren¡¯t dragon hunters. You¡¯ll have to find someone else.¡±

    ¡°Except that you are, Acadian Finch. Your reputation precedes you. How many dragons have you claimed?¡± she was leaning forward on her hands, lowering her face to find his eyes.

    He failed to look away from her. Instead, his gaze darkened, ¡°One too few.¡±

    She stood and turned her back to him, instead looking out the window behind the desk. She let out a solemn sigh, ¡°The war with the Empires is far from over, even if the fighting has ceased. There are people out there - good people. Your people, Mr. Finch. They¡¯re suffering. War does not end with peace. It never ends. The tidal waves do not recede into nothing, they return to the ocean to crash again tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°What is this about?¡± he cut her off. He was coming to realize how exactly she became High Priestess. She knew how to get someone to do what she wanted.

    ¡°A spellbook. Besior¡¯s spellbook,¡± her tone became more severe. ¡°His spellbook is said to house spells that aren¡¯t found in any other library. Not in Hydraan, the Empires, nowhere.¡±

    ¡°And why do you want it?¡± he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair of books.

    She gave a soft chuckle, ¡°Security. Those spells are from Besior himself. Homemade. Unregulated. Imagine the people we could save with that kind of magic. We could heal the debilitated. Rehome the displaced. Defend against future assaults.¡±

    ¡°No one thing should have all that power. Not you or your church. Certainly not anyone involved in the war,¡± he began to stand up, but she spoke an incantation that forced him back into the seat.

    ¡°And we won¡¯t. I will personally deliver and teach these spells to those on the front lines and the Cities that were most affected. Then the spellbook will go to the councils in Ailaydan, where it will be kept safe and studied by the unbiased scholars there.¡±

    He squinted, ¡°Ailaydan is where yer church operates out of. Yer not foolin¡¯ me, ma¡¯am.¡±

    Her confident expression melted into something more innocent; more desperate, ¡°Please. We are trying to do our part to save those who can¡¯t save themselves. You of all people know what that¡¯s like.¡±

    His hardened focus flickered and his eyes shifted away from her. She suppressed a smile. She had him.

    Rosalynd told him of a dragon called Kienivaris who is suspected to keep Besior¡¯s spellbook in her hoard. The trouble was that the dragon was a powerful Concealer, her abilities lending themselves to staying hidden from those who would seek their master.

    ¡°North of the village is a witch in the Danheim Forest. Agaas, her name is. The church attempted to expel her from the area years ago, but couldn¡¯t manage it. Wicked as she may be, she knows as much about dragons as you do. If anyone will have a lead on this Concealer, she will.¡±

    With a slow and deep breath, Acadian accepted the job. He signed a document with Rosalynd, sealing the deal and securing appropriate compensation. She wished him well with a kind and thankful smile, but he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling it was another attack on his pathos. He left the room and closed the door behind him.

    Out in the fellowship hall, the others sat in wait. Frank and Arsa were laid out on some empty pews, bored and counting wooden beams along the ceiling. Circe sat alone, staring at a young girl across the aisle from her who was scooting farther and farther away. Flynn was standing in front of a couple of praying nuns, lecturing them about the fortune awaiting them at the Church of Bane. A couple of the staff were trying, and failing, to pull Gostor out of the bowl of valuables in front of the statue.

    Acadian cleared his throat, calling the group out of the church to meet him outside. Flynn had to help get Gostor out of the bowl and, moreover, remove the coins and jewelry from his pockets as they left the building.

    Outside in the sun, the party gathered around the elf, who looked more tired than he had back at the Inn. Arsa looked particularly impatient.

    ¡°What was that about? You bring us over here just to turn down the job?¡± he vented.

    ¡°I accepted it. But I don¡¯t expect y¡¯all to come.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Flynn and Frank said. Circe raised a puzzled brow while simultaneously holding onto Gostor¡¯s scruff to prevent him from running back inside.

    ¡°It¡¯s a dragon. They want a spellbook guarded by a dragon. Concealer type, too. I¡¯m not gettin¡¯ yuns in that kinda trouble,¡± he pushed through the circle of companions and began heading in the direction of the gate.

    Arsa sped to his side, ¡°Hold on, now. We¡¯re a team. We do these things together.¡± He was trying hard to get Acadian to look at him.

    ¡°Not this time,¡± the elf responded.

    They all chased after Acadian, who was determined to charge forward without them. Each of them attempted to dissuade him from leaving on his own as he silently paid for a small cart and horse, and began to throw his bag into it.

    ¡°Stop,¡± the voice of Circe called out, louder than they all thought she was capable of. ¡°I don¡¯t care what detestable brand of hubris you possess that makes you think you can leave behind these people who care for your wellbeing, but it is severely unattractive. You clearly have a history with this variety of quests and, whatever your past with them may be, you have a troupe who has demanded you allow them to aid you. Your hesitations do not matter so long as these individuals decide you are worth tending to, and it seems to me they have decided upon just that. Now, enough with this stubborn facade. Grow up, take a breath, and let them do what they damn well please.¡± The group fell silent as they stared on in amazement at the woman before them. Her fragile, near corpse-like body had no bearing on the immense power she wielded with words alone. Acadian¡¯s jaw was slightly agape from the speech.

    Circe crossed her arms with an unimpressed countenance.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming, too, of course.¡±

 Findings

    The group piled onto one another in the small back of the cart while Acadian guided the single horse up front, who was having a particularly difficult time pulling so much weight. The ride would have been awkward and silent if it weren¡¯t for the persistent chattering of Flynn, which made it awkward and quite loud. At one point, Gostor caught sight of a squirrel and began to chase after it, but a stern hand from Arsa on his shoulder convinced him to sit back down.

    Frank was waving his fingers gently through the air, weaving a translucent strand of blue magic around his hand. With each motion, the tattoos across his body flittered a sparkling aqua coloration. The magic in his hand seemed to bubble and foam, as though he had plucked a single wave from the ocean and tossed it about in his hand. Circe¡¯s eyes followed every crest and rotation.

    ¡°Where did you learn your magic?¡± she asked, not caring about Flynn¡¯s ongoing monologue about his love for the color green.

    Frank glanced up from his magic and, with a gentle movement, passed the magic through the air to swirl around Circe¡¯s head. The magic folded in on itself, becoming a small dolphin made entirely of the wave. It leaped up and down in circles before splashing into nothing and disappearing like water vapor.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t,¡± he said, tossing his black hair over the side of the cart. ¡°It came to me as soon as I was¡­ As soon as I left my home.¡±

    Circe caught his hesitation, but decided not to pry, ¡°A warlock, then? Was your talent bestowed on you by something?¡±

    ¡°Nothing so binding, I think. It just happened, like something had been unleashed in me. Though, it had always been there. Waiting.¡±

    Arsa was wrestling Gostor back into the cart. Something in the woods had caught his eye and he was determined to retrieve it. By the time the others knew what was happening - aside from Flynn who was still talking - Gostor had landed on the path with a hard thud and was scampering off into the thicket. Acadian halted the horse and began to tie the reins onto a low-hanging tree branch. He groaned and nodded to Arsa.

    The younger elf took out his bow and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glowing a soft crimson. In the brush was the outline of a dwarf on all fours, running in the opposite direction. Arsa high stepped over the tall grass and gave chase.

    ¡°Gostor,¡± he called. ¡°Get back here.¡±

    Whether or not he had heard Arsa was anyone¡¯s guess. The thick pitter-patter of his padded hands and heavy boots served as an additional guide to Arsa¡¯s enchanted eyes.

    Arsa eventually caught up to Gostor when he had stopped in front of a tall womanly statue, long overgrown with moss and lichen. The statue had two round amethysts in its eyes and around its neck was a bronze necklace with a large topaz socketed in the middle. The figure stood tall in a sturdy robe tied in several places down her form. In one hand, she held a hollow lantern; in the other was a measuring scale.

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    Bumera, Arsa thought. Gostor was digging at the statue¡¯s feet for something. As Arsa drew closer, he saw that he was pulling up a stone treasure chest. It was about as tall as Gostor and twice as sturdy. There was no lock on the front, but a small knob like a rocky door handle. Without hesitation, Gostor opened it.

    Arsa¡¯s protest caught in his throat as the ground beneath them began to quiver. The grass around them almost started to melt as the soil became very soft, almost like water. They both started to sink, the liquified earth tugging at their legs and pulling them downward. Gostor flailed around with hearty grunts, using his handaxes to try and pull himself up - but to no avail.

    Arsa looked around frantically, searching for something to grab onto, but he was already too far into the melted dirt. With nothing left to hold or pull, he allowed his eyes to flicker into a deep green color.

    ¡°Planirey!¡± he shouted. At once, the vines and branches that twisted together overhead leaned downward like spindly hands toward Arsa. With the hand that was not clinging to his bow, he grabbed onto the tree limb. With great force, he began to be pried from the earth. He was afraid he might lose his boots when he held down the end of his bow to Gostor. It took a moment for the dwarf to realize what was happening before he got the idea to grab on. As he was pulled free, he extended his legs and squeezed tightly to pull the chest up with him.

    When both of them had come out of the dirt, the ground instantly sealed to solid earth again. Arsa let go, allowing them to fall to the ground. Gostor had not waited for either of them to get to their feet before trying to open the chest again. This time, it opened with no issue.

    From Arsa¡¯s perspective on the ground, the chest appeared empty. When he stood, though, he saw it was far from it. Inside was a single purple egg. It was not just any purple, however. It was amethyst. The egg was slightly larger than Gostor¡¯s head and weighed as much as a small river rock.

    Gostor picked up the egg and sniffed it. Whatever he smelled must not have been to his liking as he immediately tossed it behind him. Arsa caught it reflexively before it hit the ground with wide, fearful eyes. Gostor then began to climb the very tall statue with the same speed he had climbed the tree to the suspended goblin the day prior. Once he reached her outstretched arm, he pulled off the necklace and pried out the gemstone eyes. He then hopped down and trodded back the way they came as though it were any other day.

    Arsa stared down at the egg, his heart beating quickly. The amethyst glinted against the streams of sunlight pouring in from the leafy canopy overhead. He knew what child rested inside, for he had seen this kind of egg before. His thoughts moved to his companions at the cart; one of them, in particular, would not take kindly to this acquisition. He carefully stowed the egg in his bag, wrapped it in some spare cloths and parchments, and sprung out of the forest after Gostor.

    ¡°Everything alright?¡± Acadian asked, leaning against the tree with his crossbow notched and at the ready. Gostor, who was already wearing the necklace and playing with the gemstones, was in the process of bounding back into his seat.

    Arsa took a breath, ¡°Yeah, just a trapped monument. But we¡¯re good. Got some treasure out of it to sell later.¡±

    Circe turned round to face him, ¡°Are you certain you weren¡¯t cursed?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so. There weren¡¯t any runes and it didn¡¯t seem to expel any magic when we took the valuables. Let¡¯s get on, then.¡±

    And so they did. Arsa kept a gentle hand on his bag, pressing it close to his hip. He was thankful Gostor hadn¡¯t said anything about the egg and was instead just happy to have the necklace. Though, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder why the dragon egg was there - under a statue of Bumera. What use has a shrine to the goddess of Balance for an amethyst dragon?

    A sickening second thought dashed through Arsa¡¯s mind: Who had left it there and would they be expecting it to be in the same place when they came back?

 Ghosts

    The moon, Vexir, hung low against the dark navy sky surrounded by a choir of twinkling stars. A long belt of stars wrapped around the center of the atmosphere, acting as a guiding path for the celestial bodies to dance across. The trees of the Danheim Forest reached upward like outstretched arms toward the sky. Their trunks were not particularly thick, but densely packed together, their tangled roots protruding from the earth to create a path of stumbling blocks in the dark of the night.

    Acadian slowed their pace when they had traveled a good way north of Krandaelyn. He called Flynn closer to the front of the cart and told him to keep an eye out. At once, Flynn had actually silenced his own voice and instead whispered, ¡°Invenalum.¡± His green eyes shifted to a divine gold color.

    To him, the world became a dull grey, except for a wispy trail of golden magic that swam across the colorless ground. The trail wound like a slithering snake through the trees and off into the distance where Flynn could not see. He instructed Acadian to move forward, then guided him around the forest labyrinth toward the magically revealed path.

    After several minutes of quiet trotting and rattling from the cart bouncing along the uneven path, they arrived at a tall structure amid a clearing. The tower was a crumbling edifice of old and cracked stone brick. Gnarled vines snaked their way up the walls and ingrained themselves in any alcove within the decrepit spire. The tree clearing made way for the moonlight to peer down like a spotlight onto the lone tower, making it seem all the more isolated. It was frighteningly quiet, not even a cicada seeming to sing here.

    One by one, the group dismounted their cart and stepped softly in front of the shambled wooden door. Rusty hinges seemed to hold the door closed. At the foot of the entryway were shards of glass. Looking up, they saw broken-out windows along the sides of the tower, the frames of which bent outward, as though something in side had frantically tried to escape.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone lives here,¡± Frank said with an air of boredom, crossing his arms across his chest.

    Flynn narrowed his still golden eyes up at the window, ¡°No one lives here. But that doesn¡¯t mean someone isn¡¯t inside.¡± His spell revealed the golden path of magic sweeping under the door. From behind the shattered window frame overhead, a gaunt and sallow woman glared down at the living party gathered at her doorstep. When her empty eye sockets met Flynn¡¯s knowing glance, she disappeared.

    Acadian put his hand on Flynn¡¯s shoulder, ¡°This is the place. You can drop it.¡± Flynn blinked and his eyes returned to their usual hue. Acadian looked at Gostor and nodded to the door. The dwarf smiled and pulled free his handaxes. A moment later, the wooden barrier was brought down in wood chips, and the molded, dusty interior was revealed.

    The inside was a web of narrow, winding staircases that led to the peaked roof of the tower. A cold and damp air wafted to the intruders, immediately forcing them to shallow their breathing. The walls were lined with old, broken shelves of worn tomes and artifacts. Among the books and torn tapestries that littered the floor were bones, humanoid in nature. Arsa used the tip of his bow to overturn and straighten out one of the crumpled draperies. Even with the moth-eaten and frayed fabric obscuring the image, it was clear these tapestries depicted grotesque scenes of ancient torture and painful magic.

    Acadian sneered at the ground beneath him, shouting, ¡°We come to seek audience with the witch, Agaas.¡±

    A sound echoed around them like a laugh, or perhaps a sob. A rush of air pushed against them all, causing clouds of dust to rise in the air. They coughed and waved the grime from their faces as old candlesticks all around the tower began to light with ghostly blue flames. Out of the dust, a figure began to materialize behind the obscuration.

    A woman, translucent in nature, stood with her head unnaturally bent downward, her wet-looking white hair falling like icicle daggers well past her torso. She wore a black-blue gown beneath a leather corset with strings far too long for it. Her wrists were bangled with silvery bracelets and jewelry. Around her neck was a silver collar, squeezing tighter than what could have possibly been comfortable. A terrible cracking sound echoed in the chamber as her neck snapped straight up, revealing a very, very dead face. The woman had no eyes, only black voids inside her empty sockets. Her cheeks were sunken in, with one side having a missing chunk of flesh entirely. Her lips were thin and pale purple, the flesh seeming to be torn at the edges of her corrupted smile.

    She began to levitate off the floor, ¡°An audience with Agaas, he says. What joy it brings me to be needed.¡± She disappeared in a cloud of dust and then reappeared next to Acadian. Despite being incorporeal, her presence carried the smell of a corpse.

    The elf tried not to look into her sockets, ¡°We seek the location of a tome. A spellbook that once belonged to a wizard called Besior.¡±

    Agaas tilted her head nearly completely to her shoulder, ¡°Besior, he says. I know the tome. I know it well. I know where he hid it. And why.¡± She began to chuckle again - or cry.

    Flynn stepped closer to her, causing her head to jolt in his direction, ¡°Can you tell us where to find it? It can aid a great many people. We can give you offerings, should you require payment.¡± His tone was formal, which caught those who hadn¡¯t traveled with him long by surprise. He seemed to have more conversational awareness than he seemed.

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    ¡°Offerings, he says,¡± Agaas appeared by Flynn now. ¡°What kind of offerings does he bring me?¡±

    Flynn glanced around at the others. His eyes landed on Gostor, who was still wearing the topaz amulet. He walked over and placed his hand on it, ¡°We have jewels.¡± Gostor grunted and pulled away, clasping his hand overtop the necklace. The specter looked around, displeased. She floated between them all, getting uncomfortable close to Circe. The woman didn¡¯t even glance at her as she floated by, keeping her eyes trained on a pageless book on the floor.

    Eventually, Agaas stopped in front of Frank. She reached out a pale hand that passed through one of the metal cuffs on his wrists, ¡°I do not want your jewels. I crave your praise. Yes, yes. I want you to bow.¡±

    Frank¡¯s face flashed red, and so did his tattoos. He jerked his hand away from the ghost, saying nothing but glaring directly into her eyeless face. The others gave one another unsure glances, but Flynn was the first to drop to his knee.

    ¡°If it will reveal the location of the book,¡± he said. Arsa looked to Acadian with concern, but he shook his head and kneeled as well, prompting Arsa to follow suit. Gostor laid down and spread out his arms and legs, but Circe and Frank stood their ground.

    When the others¡¯ knees touched the ground, Agaas turned her head like an owl and opened her mouth, the corners of her lips ripping open to reveal an unhinged jaw. She screamed, ¡°Not you!¡± They all grasped at their ears. Even Gostor rolled over to muffle the sound.

    She turned to face Frank, floating ever closer to him. She whispered, ¡°Him.¡± Frank clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. This made Agaas smile.

    He shook his head, ¡°I will not bow to you. I will not bow to anyone. I am -,¡± he looked at Arsa, who was still holding his head in pain, ¡°I won¡¯t.¡±

    The smile faded from the ghostly face, ¡°Then you shall never find Besior¡¯s spellbook.¡± The ghost then vanished from the space. Flynn began to call back out for her, but she did not answer. Gostor growled as he got up on all fours before trotting up the stairs - to no one¡¯s notice. Acadian and Arsa got to their feet and approached Frank.

    Arsa lowered his head and looked up at him in a pleading way, ¡°Just kneel. It doesn¡¯t have to mean anything more than getting the book.¡±

    Acadian joined, ¡°He¡¯s right, Frank. Gotta do what she says to get what we came for. Just swallow yer pride and do what she wants.¡±

    Frank was appalled, ¡°I will not. I swore I would never bow to someone who did not deserve it. Not again.¡± He held his fists at his side, almost hiding the cuffs behind him.

    Gostor had found his way up the web of ever-narrowing stairs and into a bed chamber at the highest point of the tower. In the room, he could see the broken window with sheer curtains that jerked around in the night wind that filtered through the opening. The blue flame candles burned in here as well, casting eerie shadows dancing along the cracked stone walls. A decaying four-poster bed with tattered curtains sat in the middle of the room, the colors of the fabrics faded to a ghostly pale grey. An ornate vanity with a cracked mirror and tarnished metal adornments stood against the wall near the window, covered in cobwebs. On it was what looked to be an out-of-place letter - out of place due to its less worn appearance.

    Gostor sat up in the chair against the vanity, grabbed the letter, and turned it round in his hands. On the back was a purple seal with what looked to be an eye surrounded by several small circles in front of a star. He slid his finger to open the letter but stopped at the sound of a loud crash downstairs. Placing the letter in the chestpiece of his leather armor, he leaped from the chair. As he approached the door, his curiosity turned him back toward the bed. He crept slowly toward it and gripped the dusty-covered fabrics that fell from the poles that obscured the bed within. Pulling them back, he revealed a long-decayed corpse lying tucked under the covers. The long silvery hair fell off the sides of the mattress and the skeletal face lay perfectly centered within a torn pillow. Around the body¡¯s neck was a silver pendant bearing the same symbol as the letter¡¯s seal. Gostor plucked it from the throat and hurried back down the stairs.

    The dwarf jumped off the final stair to find Frank getting to his feet with the help of Circe and Arsa. Flynn stood over top of him with Acadian pulling him away by the shoulders. Frank¡¯s tattoos began to glow a bright red but Circe stood in front of him.

    ¡°Think about someone other than yourself and just kneel!¡± Flynn was shouting.

    Like Circe, Acadian turned to stand in front of the boy, ¡°Yer outta line, Flynn. We work together, here.¡±

    Flynn looked around Acadian and gestured harshly at Frank, ¡°Tell him that! He¡¯s the one being stubborn.¡± If it weren¡¯t for Circe, Frank would have already seared a scar on him. Arsa had a hand on Frank¡¯s tattooed shoulder, which was becoming very hot.

    ¡°Acadian is right,¡± he said. ¡°Agaas was a lead, not a requirement. We can find it another way.¡± At this point, the ghost had materialized behind them all, snickering (or whining) like she had been. They turned to face her, all angry with the trouble she had caused.

    ¡°Has this one changed his mind?¡± she playfully asked, eyelessly eyeing Frank.

    Arsa joined Circe in standing in front of Frank, ¡°Get back in your grave, witch. We won¡¯t play your games.¡± Flynn began to stomp out of the tower in frustration. Acadian groaned and followed after him. Just before they reached the shattered door, a loud thud and the creak of wood turned their heads.

    Frank had knelt.

    His eyes were burning with a fury they had yet to see from the usually mild-mannered sorcerer. His fists were still clasped, squeezing against the metal around his wrists. With a disgusting glee, Agaas floated directly through Arsa and Circe to come face to face with Frank. He fought the urge to stand up and cast a radiant spell at her.

    ¡°Very, very good,¡± she giggled or laughed. In an instant, she was floating above all of them. ¡°The spellbook of Besior is sealed away in halls of stone, nestled in mountains where dragons may roam. North of Ailaydan, south of Hirondale. Careful travelers, it hides where Kienivaris dwells.¡±

 Journeys

    Acadian led the group about an hour further into the forest, heading north. Agaas¡¯s riddle led him to believe the book, and therefore the dragon, were nested somewhere in the Danheim Mountains - between the Cities of Ailaydan and Hirondale. The ride was quiet, Flynn and Frank refusing to look at one another. Both of their arms were crossed, and Frank¡¯s lips were tightly pursed as he faced in the direction they were leaving. Arsa appreciated the quiet but would have much rather have had Flynn¡¯s insistent chatter over the thick tension that seemed to weigh down the already small cart. Gostor was looking at the amulet he still had around his neck. He watched the moonlight glint off the topaz as it shone through the trees overhead.

    At one point, Circe gently kicked Frank¡¯s leg, bringing his eyes shifting across the cart to her.

    You shouldn¡¯t have bowed, he heard in his head. His brows narrowed and his head seemed to twitch, as if asking how she was speaking to him. And they shouldn¡¯t have encouraged you to, either.

    I hated it, he thought, hoping she would hear it.

    She lowered her eyelids and glanced at Flynn, He doesn¡¯t seem to mind relinquishing integrity should a tyrant demand it. Not the quality of a knight I¡¯d follow.

    Frank smiled, happy to have Circe¡¯s affirmation. He nodded to thank her, to which her lips tightened and she looked away.

    They eventually set out their camping supplies at a small clearing in the forest, a short way before the abandoned village of Konne. It was believed a plague there drove all its citizens away and scared any new settlers from selecting the location as their new home. Acadian placed some stones in a circle toward the center of the clearing and said softly, ¡°Crenem.¡±

    At once, a burst of small flames gathered at the firewood and quickly began to crawl into a suitable heat source. All but Circe and Gostor had their own camping equipment, leaving the two without accommodations. Circe simply waved her hand and spoke the Planirey spell, calling upon the nearby foliage to weave into a soft bed at her command. She offered to do the same for Gostor but he declined, finding a rather large, yet very pointy, rock to lay across.

    The group was still silent, unsure of what to say after the altercation between Flynn and Frank. Even Gostor seemed to be bothered by the quiet. He then remembered what he kept beneath his armor and shoved his hand inside his chestpiece to retrieve it. The others watched as he presented a letter and handed it to Arsa, who was the nearest to his rock. He took it with confusion and hesitation spread across his face.

    With one finger, he untethered the purple seal from the envelope. Each of them felt a rush of energy leave the parchment, pushing back the branches of the surrounding trees. The tongues of the fire stretched away, moving their elongated shadows in a ghostly way. Acadian furrowed a concerned brow at Arsa.

    ¡°What was that?¡± he grunted.

    Cicre held fierce a scowl that could only be described as unamused, ¡°A curse, no doubt.  Does that make your second interaction with that which should not be interacted with today?¡±

    Frank smelled the air, ¡°That wasn¡¯t a curse. It was certainly magic, but not a curse.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Flynn¡¯s eyes were golden like they were while tracking the witch. He seemed a bit pained to agree with the sorcerer. ¡°No curse.¡±

    When all had settled, Arsa pulled out the tucked-away paper and unfolded it. On it was a neatly written letter in black ink. He read it aloud:

    ¡°Agaas,

    I hope this letter finds you well, and that my ravens have not disturbed your land. I am writing to you with the greatest of news. Our Dark Matron intends to act soon. The last of the brood have made their way to us, and we anxiously await Mother¡¯s commands. My sisters and I grow restless as we hunger for the blood of Hydraan, but I am faithful that Mother¡¯s plans are greater than our mortal wars. She knows what must be done. The Archmagus shan¡¯t stand against our Coven, lest they fall before her coming kingdom. I write this to you in hopes of assuring you of your place in Mother¡¯s plans. You will not be forgotten when we arrive on your shores. Trust that Mother¡¯s magic can return you to us.

    May the Coven of Glass never shatter,

    E¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    One by one, every head turned from Arsa to Gostor. He stared back at them before checking behind him to ensure nothing was creeping up in the dark. He took a reassuring breath when he realized there was nothing there.

    ¡°Where did you get this?¡± Arsa asked.

    ¡°Tower,¡± he grunted. ¡°On table. In top.¡±

    ¡°A coven in Hydraan?¡± Flynn inquired, mostly to himself. ¡°There hasn¡¯t been a recorded coven since before the war.¡± He was standing now.

    Circe looked up at him, ¡°Not yet, there isn¡¯t. It says they¡¯ve not arrived, and I¡¯d venture that¡¯s still the case as the letter was unopened. They are either on their way or they are about to be.¡±

    Acadian cut in, ¡°Either way it isn¡¯t our problem. I say we hand over that letter when we collect our reward for the book. Let Sister Rosalynd take it with her to Ailaydan.¡±

    Gostor grunted with apparent offense in his eyes, ¡°My letter.¡± He got to his feet and tried to wrestle it out of Arsa¡¯s hands. Knowing a tug of war with the dwarf would tear it, Arsa released his grip.

    They agreed to allow Gostor to hold onto the letter, at least until they could devise a plan to get it from him. With nothing left to say on the matter, and a plethora of questions plaguing their minds, they began to sleep in shifts.

    In the morning, they continued their journey toward the Dalneau Mountains. Just as soon as they exited the treeline of the Danheim, they found themselves in a long, hilly expanse that stretched between two mountain ranges. To the west was their destination. To the east was the Bretnia Hills. A beaten path split several miles back near Konne to guide travelers along either range. The mountains were similar in scale and shape but were made of vastly different terrain.

    The eastern hills were grey and rocky, a brown dusty forming a thick morning fog around the sharpened peaks. The Dalneau, however, was lush and green with trees that prickled the entire expanse. The foliage along the face was so thick, it appeared a dark navy at certain points of shadow. Jagged peaks and valleys rose and fell for miles, creating an almost wave-like appearance from down below.

    Making good use of the daylight available to them, they quickly traveled across the plains to reach the western road. The weather was breezy and temperate, the hot sun mingling with the cool wind to create a more pleasant experience than the humidity of their more southern travels. Fluffy white clouds drifted across the bright blue sky like a family of ducks swimming across a pond.

    Flynn was back to his singing, garnering a mix of reactions from those who despised the quiet of yesterday but held the shrill tones of their companion with equal contempt. Arsa kept one hand in his bag at all times, gently holding the Amethyst egg still so it would not rattle so much during the ride.

    As they made their way along the base of the mountain, Acadian spoke up, ¡°Now, this dragon is a Concealer. They¡¯re awful good at hidin¡¯. This is usually ¡®cause of their magic. There are the Schemers, o¡¯course, but they¡¯re hard to find on account of their physical camouflage. A Concealer is gonna be near impossible to spot without magic. Any of y¡¯all got any tricks you wanna try out, now¡¯s the time.¡±

    A couple of eyes moved to Flynn, but he raised his hands in protest, ¡°I can only find dark spirits. Dragons are out of my depth.¡± Arsa had no ideas, and neither did Frank. Gostor was sitting cross-legged playing with the amethyst gems he stole like they were children¡¯s toys, apparently roleplaying an intense argument - perhaps the one from the day prior.

    When they had sat in silence for a moment, Circe sighed and stood from her seat. She cracked her neck to either side, her head dipping to an angle the others were shocked to witness, a small gasp even escaping Frank. Her eyes started to glow a bright green and whispers enshrouded her voice, ¡°Begura¡­ Avi.¡±

    At once, her body began to snap, her limbs twisting and mangling into impossible shapes. Her spine twisted round and her forearms broke at an angle. Her green eyes rolled back in her head and her jaw hung open, swinging loosely. From her open mouth, a high-pitched whistling of wind flew out. Acadian had harshly pulled the cart to a halt and the others rose to their feet. Gostor even dropped his gemstones and pulled out his handaxes.

    Frank approached to try and help her but refrained from touching her for fear of making things worse. Before long, the cracking of bones and the mangling of Circe¡¯s form ceased. Where the woman once stood, a raven - as black as her hair - looked up at its fellow travelers, all with faces twisted with horror. The bird squawked, making them all jump with fright. It then flapped its wings and took to the sky.

    Circe was not a fan of changing her shape. It did not feel quite as painful as it looked, but it was still uncomfortable. Some druidic mages had a more natural transition into beasts, but this was not a talent she had always had and was only recently being explored. Each time she changed, she longed for a time she could have studied the art at school.

    She flew up into the trees that adorned the mountain. She flitted from tree to tree, spotting rivers and valleys, but nothing that might have been marked by a dragon. At one point, she came across a clan of griffons traveling through the woods, their golden feathers gleaming and reflecting the sunlight like crystals. With no luck, she emerged from the leafy tops of the trees to fly higher.

    Even as a raven, the cold air irked her the higher she flew, and the wind grew harsher with every new elevation. Her eyes, still green despite her avian form, darted from hill to valley, searching frantically for anything of note. She saw nothing but trees. Wherever the dragon was, surely it had the sense to not nest where any old shape changer could see it.

    And then she saw it.

    Peering out of the slightest dip in elevation from a gathering of trees was the tip of a sandy-colored spire. She fluttered toward it, diving into the leaves as she approached. Perching on a branch, she gazed at the marvel before her.

    Sat deep within a deliberately created cylindrical hold in the earth was a massive spire carved from an ivory-colored stone. The towering facade sparkled under each beam of light that forced its way through the canopy overhead. Intricate carvings of unicorns, centaurs, griffons, phoenixes, and dragons danced across the exterior. Giant columns flanked the front entrance, supporting a domed roof that ended in the point that emerged from the trees.

    A bit pretentious, she twittered before flapping her wings to gather her allies.

 Books

    No one had yet lost their surprise when Circe returned and transformed, equally as violently, back into her usual self. Before anyone could ask her any questions, she issued the success of her scouting to the others, pointing out a place just between two particularly pointed mountaintops. She then immediately sat down and commanded Acadian to get a move on.

    Within a couple of hours, they managed to steer their cart through the trees and up the steep hillsides in the direction Circe had indicated. Things felt darker here - colder. There was a vast expanse of land between Ailaydan and Hirondale with no towns or villages, except for Konne, but no one was still there. The mountains and Konne Valley were all there was. So far from everything, the sounds of unbothered nature surrounded them.

    Birds flittered about, singing high-pitched songs to the travelers. Soft mosses and damp earth made for quiet traversal, amplifying the dusting of wind through the trees and the trickle of water from the streams that spilled down the mountain. Occasionally, a deer or a squirrel of abnormal size would flee from them, but they were otherwise nestled in the solitude of the forest.

    Some of the group had begun asking Circe if she was certain of her way. She was getting quite annoyed with them when Gostor began shouting, ¡°Rock, rock!¡±

    Between the trees, they could see the tower reaching through the hole in the ground. It seemed more narrow than what could reasonably house a dragon, but what right had they to say how big the ancient Kienivaris ought to be?

    Acadian tied the horse to a nearby tree and gave it a sturdy pat before joining the others at the edge of the crater. They all gazed down into the sloped border that led to the front steps at the bottom. Gostor was the first to slide down, followed quickly by Flynn. Frank¡¯s tattoos glowed white as he stepped off the side and began to slowly fall, like a leaf descending from a tree branch. Circe and Arsa came down as well, leaving Acadian by himself. He grabbed his crossbow and notched an arrow in it.

    ¡°Invenonis,¡± he whispered. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle and his trigger finger quivered. The dragon was close. This was the place. He slid down the slope to join the others before the massive pillars guarding the door.

    ¡°Ready yerselves, and do as I say,¡± Acadian said, eyes fixed on the large doors. ¡°If I say run, you run. If I say leave me, you leave. Y¡¯all aren¡¯t dyin¡¯ for this.¡± They all looked at him with trepidation. Something in Acadian had become severe in the past days. Arsa, who had been traveling with him the longest, saw his self-sacrificing nature before, but never like this.

    Flynn and Frank flanked either door and placed their hands steadily upon them. Acadian counted down with his fingers, prompting them to push open the heavy doors with a slow and determined force. The other four rushed inside, weapons at the ready.

    At once, it was clear that the space was larger on the inside. Much, much larger. It was an enchantment that many mages could pull off, but one that took quite a while to master without mishap. The area was dark, the daylight from the outside pouring in as a column from the space between the doors. Acadian, Arsa, and Circe¡¯s eyes all adjusted quickly - being elves and all. The chamber, revealed to them in a monochromatic film, was filled with rows upon rows of bookshelves that scaled from ceiling to floor. The floor was an intricately designed weave of marble and stone that traced into ornate patterns. Along the shelves were various rolling ladders for reaching books on the highest shelves. Down the chamber were walkways reachable by red carpeted marble staircases with hallways intervening every so often.

    The library extended farther than their eyes could see, at least in the dark. A pitch-black void of shadow obscured what lay just out of their sight. The group slowly stepped further into the hall, careful not to make any noise. When Frank and Flynn ran in to join them, the silence was immediately broken by the echoing clanging of the resident knight¡¯s heavy metal armor. The doors behind them began to swing shut with a heavy crash, leaving them in complete darkness.

    As soon as the reverberations of the doors had ceased, chandeliers that hung from the curved ceiling began to light with a pure white flame, illuminating the space. The light allowed them to see more clearly the magnitude of the space, and the thousands and thousands of books that filled it. Even now, they could not fully make out the end of the chamber as it was so far away.

    Before they could fully take in the lit area, the echo of footsteps down one of the halls drew their eyes. They aimed their weapons and readied their magic as a long shadow began to hurry its way out of the corridor. The shadow grew smaller as a small boy stepped out with a flushed face of fear.

    The boy was young, no more than his early twenties at the oldest. He had a mess of mousy brown hair atop his head and thin round spectacles over his freckled nose. The blue and golden robes tied around his torso looked more elegant than the human boy who wore them. When he saw the arrows and spells pointed toward him, he raised his hands in surrender.

    ¡°P-please,¡± he squeaked. He looked as though he were about to cry. ¡°Don¡¯t s-s-shoot me.¡±

    Acadian kept his crossbow aimed neatly at the man¡¯s throat, ¡°Where¡¯s your master, Drudge.¡± That was a term Dragons often used for their mortal servants, whom they would keep as pets to do their more monotonous tasks.

    Stolen story; please report.

    The boy looked around, ¡°D-drudge? No, I think t-there¡¯s been a misunderstanding.¡± He took a step forward, but the re-aiming of their weapons convinced him to stay where he was. ¡°I¡¯m not a Drudge. I live here in the Halls with¡­¡±

    Arsa released an arrow before he could finish his sentence. It flew exactly where he aimed - just by the boy¡¯s cheek and into the bookshelf behind him. The stranger¡¯s breathing quickened and his legs began to shake. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but fear clogged his throat. Circe was the first to lower her magically charged hands.

    ¡°This man is innocent,¡± she said. ¡°There is no need to torment him.¡±

    Acadian held fast, ¡°There is a dragon here. Where is she?¡± He was shouting. His voice echoed down the hall, reverberating back to them. The repeated sound of his shouts was accompanied by something else that was far heavier than an echo. The ground began to shake with a rhythmic thumping that sounded like waves of thunder. Without falling, the boy held onto the nearest wall and looked down the corridor.

    From the maze of bookshelves came a long, outstretched neck that held aloft the snouted head of an alabaster-colored dragon. Long horns curved out of the back of its head and rounded beside its eyes. The tan, stony color of its scales speckled down its wrinkled arms. Its body was mostly obscured by blue and golden robes, similar to that of the boy. The tail of the beast was long and flicked upward, avoiding the bookshelves as it stormed closer and closer to the group. Acadian readied his crossbow, aiming straight for the softer underbelly of the monster when he noticed the milky white eyes and small rounded glasses before them.

    The rest of the group, save for Acadian and Arsa, gazed up at the creature with fearful awe. They both cocked their heads in the same direction, puzzled at the human qualities worn by the beast in front of them. Frank was shuffling back to the doors while Flynn and Gostor both dropped their weapons in amazement (none of them had ever seen a dragon before). Circe slinked off to the side of the library, not wanting to be caught underfoot should the beast come any closer.

    The dragon paused and lowered its head near to the ground. It swiveled from side to side, the white eyes glinting with the white fire overhead. A blue tongue forked through its lips as it slowly began to open its mouth. Acadian grabbed Arsa and shoved the both of them off to the side. He began shouting for Gostor and Flynn to run from the breath attack, but they stood their ground.

    ¡°Seamus,¡± a creaky voice called. ¡°Seamus, dearie, where are you?¡± The dragon¡¯s high-pitched calls took them all by surprise.

    Seamus, as he had come to be called, stumbled away from the wall and stood before the dragon. ¡°Just here, Miss Keena,¡± he responded, glancing carefully at the others around him.

    Kienivaris turned her head in his direction, still not looking directly at him. ¡°Oh good, good,¡± she said, her snout turning upward into a smile. ¡°I thought I had heard something and worried you had fallen off of the ladders again.¡±

    He blushed, ¡°N-no, Miss Keena. It¡¯s just that¡­¡±

    ¡°What was that, dearie?¡± she interrupted.

    ¡°It¡¯s just that we have some visitors,¡± he continued, but much louder. Her head swung quickly now, her vacant eyes seeming to light up.

    ¡°Visitors?¡± she said excitedly. ¡°My, my. It has been so long since I¡¯ve had visitors. Not since you were a babe, dear Seamus. Come closer, friends, I can¡¯t find where you are.¡±

    They were all stunned. Of all the terrible tales of dragons that flooded the realms, all the horror stories of their destructive nature - they had never fathomed one being so grandmotherly. They hesitated, seeming to wait on Acadian for some sort of command. His chest rose and fell sharply with staggered, confused breaths.

    ¡°We¡¯re here for Besior¡¯s Spellbook, beast,¡± he shouted. ¡°Take us to yer hoard or¡­¡±

    ¡°Or help us to find it,¡± Arsa cut him off before he could make a threat. Acadian looked at him with a look of offense and fear. The dragon lowered her head in the pair¡¯s direction and smiled again, more gently this time.

    ¡°Please, call me Keena,¡± she said. ¡°All my friends do.¡±

    Flynn had snapped out of his shock, ¡°You have friends?¡±

    ¡°Indeed!¡± she squeaked. ¡°You¡¯re here now, aren¡¯t you?¡± They all looked at one another as Keena turned and began walking down the corridor. Arsa gave a fast motion to follow as he started after her.

    Her padded hands thudded loudly as she stomped around bookshelves, following a path in the maze that she seemed to know very well. They passed by what must have been centuries worth of literature and journals stocked on the shelves. Eventually, Keena stopped in a cubical within the shelves where a large stone podium sat in the center. Atop the podium was a thick book, sized perfectly for the giant paws of a dragon.

    Keena waved a finger through the air and the book opened. The pages flipped quickly, magic words and shapes floating off the pages before evaporating in the air. Without warning, Keena snapped her finger onto a page.

    ¡°Ah,¡± she sighed. ¡°Besior¡¯s Spellbook, entrusted to me by Besior himself. Haven¡¯t seen him in ages. I hope he¡¯s doing well. Anyway, of course, you may check out the book.¡±

    More silence followed. It couldn¡¯t be this easy, could it?

    ¡°Where can we find it?¡± Frank asked. ¡°This place is huge.¡±

    She lowered her face in Frank¡¯s direction and smiled again, revealing her maw of softened teeth. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, dearie. It will find you.¡±

    Keena then trodded out of the cubical and into the library. Before the group could follow her out, the bookshelves began to quake. They moved across the floor, some lowering into the ground. Following the latticework of the marble, the shelves rearranged themselves around the group, blocking them into a tight space around the podium.

    No, it could not be that easy.

 Riddles

    Acadian rammed the bookshelf with his shoulder, sending several books toppling to the ground with papery thuds. He was grunting and swearing out after Keena, receiving no response. The bookshelves were rising higher until they made full contact with the tall ceiling. Gostor had run up to one and tried to climb it. As his small form scampered from shelf to shelf, some of the books flew out, flapping their pages like birds, sending him to the hard floor before falling themselves.

    The other four had moved to stand back-to-back, glancing nervously around the room as more books began to rush from their places. Soon, a swarm of twenty or so books floated midair and opened their covers threateningly. They then began to slam together, sending waves of thunderous sound rushing toward them. The group held onto one another to keep from falling over, using whatever free hand they had available to cover their aching eardrums. Acadian was yelling something over the noise, but nothing was heard over the loud bangs. Arsa noticed he was attempting to point to something.

    Following his finger, he saw dainty golden words floating above the assaultive books:

    My skin has been stretched, my body beaten, time and time again, to keep the time.

    Arsa jerked the others around to see the words. Each of them were screaming different things to one another, but it was of no use. Gostor had seen the words, too, and was pushing his way through the thunder waves to reach one of the rolling ladders in the chamber of shelves. Using his axes, he chopped two of the legs off and held one in either hand. Then he sat down, sliding slowly across the ground, and began whacking the sticks on the floor.

    Frank was watching with concerned confusion when it struck him. He strained his voice through the thunder, ¡°Drum!¡±

    At once, the books slammed closed and fell, the thunder ceasing. They stood amazed, catching their breath. Circe¡¯s hair had become more wild and untamed than it already was from the blasts that caught it in the air. Flynn rushed over to Acadian and helped him to his feet. Gostor played a final beat on the floor before tossing the sticks and joining the others.

    ¡°Gostor, how did you know that was the answer?¡± Frank asked, looking down at the unphased dwarf.

    He looked up with a blank stare, ¡°Didn¡¯t.¡±

    Acadian kicked a couple of books and punched the wall once more. The words had faded from the air like sparks falling from a crackling torch. The far shelf began to swiftly descend into the floor, creating a pathway into another cubical chamber of books.

    ¡°She¡¯s toyin¡¯ with us,¡± Acadian said. ¡°She¡¯s playin¡¯ with her food. We gotta find a way outta here.¡± He looked up, scanning for any sign of weakness in the cases.

    Arsa grabbed his shoulder, ¡°Maybe so. But this is her lair. If we want out, we play by the rules. Clearly, it''s beatable. There is a win condition here and we won¡¯t meet it by scaling shelves or throwing books.¡±

    Acadian glared at him, knowing he was right. A part of him was embarrassed, but he knew far too well that pride had no place in a hunt. He nodded and began toward the next chamber.

    The group trepidatiously stepped into the next chamber, startling when the shelf shot back up behind them to lock them in. As they approached the center, twelve books flung forward and opened in the air, launching thick vines toward them from between the old parchment. The vines wrapped around their limbs and torsos, pulling them in uncomfortable directions. More gold lettering apparated in the air:

    I¡¯m always moving just a bit, until I am sky high. I never lie down even once, that is, until I die.

    ¡°Gostor, what is it?¡± Frank shouted, pulling hard against the vines. His tattoos began to glow, but the plants began to burn his skin. He yelped out in pain as he ceased his magic attempt at escape.

    ¡°Dunno,¡± Gostor grunted. He was trying to bite at the vines.

    Flynn was reaching for his sword to swipe at the restraints, but he couldn¡¯t reach far enough. Arsa was being stretched so far, his back was beginning to pop in painful jolts.

    ¡°A snake?¡± he screamed, hoping for anything to release him from the hold. As the words left his lips, the vines grasping him hurtled toward their books, bringing him with them. In an instant, Arsa¡¯s body had disappeared into the pages.

    ¡°Arsa!¡± they all screamed after him. The cost of failure was seemingly very high. Acadian was pale, feeling sick. Where did he go? Was he dead? That dragon will die.

    Their groans of pain continued as they thought, all too nervous to submit an incorrect answer. Suddenly Circe, who was being held by her wrist and her neck, choked out a hoarse, ¡°Tree.¡±

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    The vines released them and they fell to the ground with gasps and aching cries. The next chamber opened up before them. Angry and determined, Acadian charged forward before the others even got to their feet. Frank offered a hand to Circe, helping her to her feet. Flynn was pulling Gostor away from one of the books - he was not done trying to get a bite out of the vines.

    The silence of the next chamber made Acadian nervous. He stepped quietly, hand poised to snatch the dagger strapped to his thigh at any moment. His right ear twitched as he rolled forward, barely dodging something whirring by his ear. He looked up to see a book closing and returning to its shelf. The others made their way in, sealing off the previous room. Acadian held his hand out, signaling to them to stop.

    Books from various places in the square chamber slid out from their spaces, hovering in the air. The words appeared in the space above them:

    My feathers give the gift of flight; and yet I never nest. My landings turn men ghostly white, and swiftly end their quests.

    Flynn cocked his head, ¡°Oh, it¡¯s a¡­¡± Before he could finish, the books opened. From the pages, darts launched themselves at the group, sending them dodging and rolling out of the way.

    Circe spun like a dancer around a couple of arrows that nearly nicked her left shoulder. Frank backed up to stand against the back wall, avoiding as much fire as he could. Acadian nimbly ducked and rolled over each of the darts¡¯ paths, watching to make sure everyone else was avoiding them as well. Gostor began rushing toward one of the books with axes in either hand, shouting at them in dwarvish curses. Flynn shouted at him and grabbed him by the scruff, using his shield to deflect a dart from hitting the dwarf. Suddenly, with the shield off his back, a dart stuck itself deep into the half-elf¡¯s neck, causing him to disappear before he even registered the pain.

    Frank gripped at the back wall, his heartbeat visible through his bare chest. He watched as Circe dove to the floor to avoid being struck as well. Darts? he thought. No, that¡¯s too easy. It won¡¯t give us the answers. But what else?

    Then, his eyes grew wide. ¡°Arrows! It''s an arrow!¡± he shouted. The darts disappeared and their books returned to their places. When the whistle of flying projectiles had ceased, Circe stood and looked down at the kneeling Acadian.

    ¡°Alright, Dragon Hunter,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯re down two and nary a dragon to be slain. Do something, yeah?¡±

    He got up and sneered at her, ¡°I kill dragons. I don¡¯t solve riddles.¡±

    ¡°Thus far, I¡¯ve not seen you do either.¡±

    Frank stepped between them, ¡°Both of you, quit. We did it.¡± He pointed into the next room, where an old and important-looking journal sat on a floating sunset-colored cloud. They all poked their heads into the chamber, searching carefully for any indication of cursed literature. With no threats to be seen, they made their way inside. Ten feet before they reached the spellbook, the way backward closed, and the marble tiles they stood on lit directly beneath their feet in a beaming yellow magic.

    The lettering appeared once more:

    FInd me down below, empty. Though to some, full of possibilities.

    No strangling vines or flying darts, just lit square tiles beneath them. Gostor looked around, bored, before stepping off his square. A large book came from the shelf and flew at him. It opened its pages to reveal sharp teeth cut from it paper. Gostor growled as it unhinged its spine and clamped down around him, sending him disappearing in its pages before falling lifelessly to the floor.

    ¡°No moving, I suppose,¡± Circe said with a raised brow. They read the riddle several times over before Frank spoke up.

    ¡°I think I know it. It¡¯s a mine,¡± he called out with emphasis. The chamber was silent a moment before the floor beneath him disappeared, leaving Frank to fall into a vast darkness below. Circe and Acadian looked to one another, both breathing harder than before.

    Acadian swallowed hard before, ¡°I have a guess. How ¡®bout you?¡±

    She looked back to the riddle, ¡°Yes. Though, I¡¯m not confident.¡± They were both silent again, waiting for the other to go first. Eventually, Circe closed her eyes and sharply exhaled. ¡°A well.¡±

    The floor fell out from under her as well.

    Sweat dripped down the side of Acadian¡¯s head and into his beard. He was pale and his hands were shaking. Not again, Acadian, he thought. Not again.

    His mind searched for other possible answers, but he continued to fall on the same idea. With no other ideas, he closed his eyes and whispered, ¡°A hole.¡±

    When he opened his eyes again, the light at his feet was gone and the shelves were slowly descending around him. The spellbook floated over to him on the cloud. Still shaking, he picked up the journal and looked it over.

    Now, to kill the¡­

    ¡°Well done!¡± Keena¡¯s voice called out. The bookshelves behind him rose into layered archways that led all the way back to the front door. The floor beneath him began to rush him forward so quickly that it nearly knocked him over. He was clutching the book hard when he was brought face to face with the dragon again, who was smiling a wide grin. The boy, Seamus, was standing nearby, hiding behind Keena¡¯s tail. ¡°Oh, I just knew you lot could do it.¡±

    Acadian stammered, his mind demanding his pull out his crossbow and end her right there. But he couldn¡¯t. Something about her seemed far less fearsome than he expected.

    She spoke again, ¡°Apologies for the theatrics. I rather enjoy an unorthodox checking-out process. It makes it more fun to play with friends.¡±

    Friends.

    ¡°Where are they?¡± Acadian forced out.

    ¡°Hm? Oh, right, right,¡± she snapped her fingers and screams echoed overhead. One by one, Arsa, Flynn, Gostor, Frank, and Circe fell with hard thuds onto the floor from portals in the ceiling. They groaned, not even bothering to look up at Acadian. He couldn¡¯t stop himself from smiling, taking a long, deep breath.

    Not again, Acadian.

 Dragons

    The group reclined against the ornate walls of the lobby, waiting in place as the dragon had requested before trodding off somewhere in the Halls. Seamus stood in the middle of them, grimacing awkwardly at the silence. Acadian sat with the book in his lap, eyes shut softly in his reclined head.

    Flynn was massaging a place on his neck where the dart had struck him earlier. No mark was found, but the pain still radiated in the area. He got up and sat beside Acadian, pulling the book from his lap.

    ¡°What do you think yer doin¡¯?¡± he asked, opening an eye.

    Flynn was opening the journal, ¡°This thing could have some powerful stuff inside. Don¡¯t you want to know what it is?¡±

    Acadian snatched the book out of his hands, ¡°No. Our job is to get it back to the church. Not take its magic for ourselves.¡± Flynn looked annoyed but said nothing to protest. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips, tapping his metal-tipped boots together.

    After several minutes, Keena reemerged from one of the hallways, followed by something small and fast. It looked like a white feather dancing swiftly around the dragon. When it got closer, it resembled a mouse with a long snout and large ears. The tail of the creature was as long as a cat¡¯s and it feathered out like the wing of an owl.

    ¡°New friends,¡± said Keena, ¡°I would like to introduce my companion, Pippy.¡± The creature squeaked and stood on its hind legs. Its tail twitched from side to side and it rubbed its wet nose. The beady black eyes squinted as though it were smiling.

    Frank pushed his hair behind his ear, ¡°That¡¯s a Duster. They¡¯re fey servants. I thought all faeries were banished.¡± Pippy scurried over to Frank and climbed up his knee. He scratched her chin and she cooed like a dove.

    Keena swung her head much too close to Frank, ¡°They were. But anyone who¡¯s met the fey know they left on their own accord. The Archmagus has never had the power to keep them away. Anyway, Pippy is here to help me be a good host.¡± At that, Pippy sat on the floor and closed her eyes. She began squeaking a pleasant song, singing notes that the others had never heard on any mortal instrument. A warm bubbly feeling rose within them and they felt their pains and injuries melt away with the song. As the melody continued, sparks like fireflies gently manifested in front of each of them, gathering to form platters of fruits and cheeses. Meats and strange sauces decorated the edges like wreaths on a winter doorframe and each plate was accompanied by a goblet of fresh, cold water.

    Seeing the provisions reminded each of them how hungry they were and how long they had been in the company of the dragon and the boy. Even still, they hesitated, anxious to partake in another indulgence within these walls.

    Keena giggled a raspy laugh, ¡°Eat, my friends. Please.¡± The pleasant tone of her voice was enough to convince Gostor to dig in. He began violently plowing through the meal, stuffing his beard with salamis and hams, grapes and olives, only pausing briefly to guzzle down the water. Seeing that he could eat without consequence, the others allowed themselves to partake in the meal.

    During the meal, Arsa - who was sitting the closest to Keena - gazed up at her. He coughed to get her attention, but the dragon didn¡¯t seem to notice. He did so again, but she still didn¡¯t even glance at him. Seamus looked across at the elf and waved. When their eyes met, he made a tapping motion with his finger and pointed to Keena¡¯s large paw.

    He hesitated, but then gave her scaled claw a gentle tap. Immediately, the dragon swiveled her neck, almost touching Arsa¡¯s nose with her snout.

    ¡°Yes dear?¡± she smiled. Arsa scooted away and began speaking softly to her. She quickly cut him off and asked him to speak up.

    He cleared his throat, ¡°You spoke earlier of the Archmagus as though you were there when the faeries were banished. Like you had met them. But that would imply you were around when the council first formed.¡±

    She cocked her head, ¡°Council? Oh, yes, yes. Well, I¡¯m flattered you believe I¡¯m not as old as I am. I¡¯ve been here a very, very long time, my dear. I¡¯ve seen many people come and go. Nations rise and fall. The pendulum of power swing from side to side. The Fey Courts, I¡¯m happy to tell you, are among some of my closest friends. Though I¡¯ve not seen them in quite some time.¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯ll forgive my assumptions,¡± he replied, ¡°I¡¯ve seen dragons pass on without seeing half the number of generations you have.¡± All except Gostor ceased their eating to look at Arsa. Acadian¡¯s mouth hung slightly agape.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Flynn spoke before Keena could reply, ¡°You¡¯ve seen dragons?¡±

    Arsa looked to Acadian and then at the ground, ¡°Yes, I have. My upbringing was a bit unique, see. Actually, I¡¯ve been meaning to tell you all that I found¡­¡±

    ¡°Arsa, these things are killers,¡± Acadian called out with a threatening grumble in his voice. He waved away at the dragon across from him, ¡°No offense.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t have a fence,¡± Keena replied. Frank snickered, prompting Circe to backhand his arm.

    Arsa stood to his feet, a look like betrayal quickly contorting his face, ¡°Not all dragons are killers and I don¡¯t like what you imply. You made a career out of hunting dragons, what does that make you?¡±

    ¡°It made me a protector,¡± Acadian stood and approached the younger elf, scowling down at him beneath his furrowed brow.

    ¡°Not for the people of Elkstaaid.¡±

    The room got suddenly quiet. Even Keena, who couldn¡¯t quite hear all that was said, pulled her head away. They all stared at the two who were so close they could feel one another¡¯s breath. Acadian squeezed his fist as his face grew red. Arsa broke their eye contact first and took half a step away. Frank, Circe, and Flynn all stood up, preparing for whatever was to come next.

    Suddenly, Acadian turned away, not looking at any of them. Eyes fixed on the door, he walked heavily to the entrance and shoved his way outside. The doors closed, trapping the tension in the silence that remained suffocatingly inside.

    ~

    Keena offered them all rooms within the Alabastrum Halls, as she informed them it was called. She explained that the library acted as her nest and conformed to the desires of her mind. As they walked down the dim hallway, the bookshelves continued to spiral into archways that led to well-furnished bedrooms with four-poster beds and fireplaces with chimneys that led nowhere.

    Each of them had a space to themselves, leaving them to ponder the events of the evening in quiet seclusion. Arsa laid on the bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He stared at the fire crackling in the marble fireplace. It reminded him of home.

    The heat. The glow. The way it seemed to paint the walls with light. He pulled the egg free from his bag and set it in his lap. The gemstone scales of the shell were soft and fragile, meaning the child inside was pushing tighter against the barrier. As he stroked the face of the egg, a small vibration, like a purr, radiated into his hand.

    Are you hers? he wondered. You can¡¯t be. She¡¯s dead.

    He thought of Acadian. He felt the heat return to his face as he fell back into the plush pillows on the bed. Frustration and regret caught in his chest. A knock at the door startled him upright as he pulled the egg behind him and covered it with pillows.

    ¡°Come in,¡± he said. Flynn opened the door and stepped inside.

    ¡°You okay?¡± he asked. His armor was off, with just a forest green knit undershirt and slacks. He looked far smaller without the bulky armor, but he still carried significantly more muscle than Arsa. He was smiling at the elf but in a more sympathetic way than usual.

    Arsa drew in a deep breath, ¡°Yeah. I crossed a line. He just made me angry.¡± Flynn crossed the room and sat on the bed. Arsa adjusted his position to ensure the egg remained out of sight.

    ¡°I get it. A lot happened today,¡± he paused. ¡°We learned a lot, too.¡±

    In the heat of the moment, Arsa had forgotten all that he had revealed before bringing up the incident at Elstaaid. He grimaced and looked at the fire again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t come from a city like you or Acadian. I never even saw anyone that looked like me until two years ago. My family abandoned me as a baby, or maybe they lost me. I don¡¯t know. But a dragon found me. She took care of me, she raised me.¡±

    Flynn reclined on one hand, ¡°You¡¯re pretty civilized for someone who has been raised by dragons.¡±

    ¡°One dragon. And she never let me believe I was a dragon. She made sure I knew I wasn¡¯t like her. It was always her plan to let me go once I could take care of myself.¡± Arsa¡¯s attention shifted to the egg under the pillow behind him.

    ¡°How did that farewell go?¡± Flynn asked.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t. She died.¡±

    Flynn bit down on his tongue, ¡°Oh. I¡¯m sorry.¡± He leaned back and laid completely on the bed, resting one arm under his head. Arsa moved awkwardly to continue obscuring the egg. ¡°Are you going to tell Acadian?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s probably left by now, hasn¡¯t he?¡±

    Flynn shook his head, ¡°Circe talked to him. He¡¯s camping outside, waiting for us tomorrow.¡±

    Arsa nodded slowly, ¡°I don¡¯t know. After tonight, I don¡¯t think it will make too much of a difference.¡± Flynn hopped off the bed and started for the door. He turned the handle and cracked it open.

    ¡°I think it would make all the difference,¡± he stepped out. ¡°Goodnight.¡±

    When he had closed the door behind him, Arsa let out a sigh of relief. He removed the pillows from the egg and transitioned it to his lap again. Laying back, he held it over his chest and continued to pet down the scales.

    ¡°Give it time,¡± he whispered. ¡°It¡¯s hard to forget how to hate.¡±

    The egg was still purring under his touch. That joyful clicking of a dragon¡¯s vocal cords was like a lullaby, singing Arsa to sleep. The sound reminded him of the way he would crawl in between two particularly rounded spines on his adoptive mother¡¯s tail and be gently rocked under the starry night sky outside their den. He remembered the warmth of the scales beneath him and the safety that low rumble indicated to a lonely, frightened child. He squeezed the egg a little tighter and smiled.

    ¡°It¡¯s so easy to remember how to love.¡±

 Enchantments

    The first day of travel back south toward Krandaelyn was mostly silent. Acadian hadn¡¯t even glanced at the rest of his companions when they emerged from the Halls to load into the readied cart. Gostor toyed with his gems and Flynn hummed his songs, but the others didn¡¯t share so much as a Good Morning.

    Keena (more so Pippy) had supplied them with food and refilled their waterskins before they left. The dragon told them they were welcome back anytime several times that morning; so many that they wondered if she had forgotten that she already mentioned it.

    They took the same route down the edge of the Dalneau Mountains toward Konne, careful to skew westwardly away from the tower where Agaas had tormented them a couple of nights prior.

    The group had made good progress during the day, being able to stick to the main road and not having to wander the forest looking for an old witch. They passed a few trade caravans on the way and one especially strange gnomish man who was riding an impossibly large rhinoceros he claimed to have bought from the continent of Pegres. Acadian and Flynn set up camp several paces away from the path.

    When they had all settled down, Arsa tried to catch Acadian¡¯s eye, but it was clear the older elf was avoiding his engagement. The evening sounds were beginning to fill the space, a symphony of cicadas and owls supplying a constant white noise to drown out the sighs and tired groans of the party.

    ¡°Can I see the book?¡± Flynn asked, eyeing Acadian¡¯s bag.

    ¡°No,¡± he responded gruffly.

    Frank was lying belly-down on his bedroll watching the interaction before rolling over leisurely to his side, ¡°May I see the book?¡±

    ¡°Sure,¡± Acadian pulled the book free and handed it over. Flynn watched the transaction, giving an offended scoff. He sat cross-legged beside Frank as he cracked open the pages.

    The tome was thick with brittle parchment that was jagged and discolored at the edges. It was first and foremost a journal, with several pages of notes and ramblings scrawled in various colors of ink. The penmanship was difficult to discern but retained just enough legibility to comprehend.

    After each section of research and note-taking was a fully-formed spell laid out with perfectly measured runes and wordcraft. As Frank thumbed through the pages, each incantation seemed to be a different version of a unique and powerful healing spell, the likes of which he had never seen before.

    ¡°The Priestess was right,¡± Frank said while still flipping the pages. ¡°This magic could fix a lot of the damage caused by the war.¡±

    Flynn was leaning in closer, sitting up on his knees. He began to reach for a page, but Frank pushed his hand away.

    ¡°Why should their church keep this magic to themselves? We should hold onto this.¡±

    Acadian snatched the book from them both and stuffed it deep in his bag.

    ¡°No,¡± he said as a command. ¡°Our job is to return it, so we¡¯ll do just that.¡± Flynn got up and pursued the bag.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t we just take out a page or two? We could take it back to my home, to my church and¡­¡±

    Acadian looked down at the boy, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. His age and his tall, elven stature towered over him. Without a word, Flynn understood his answer. He backed away and sat with arms crossed near the fire.

    As the night went on, Frank occasionally found himself staring at Circe. He was thinking at her, hoping she could somehow hear him. Eventually, he caught her eye.

    If you¡¯re trying to commune with me, it doesn¡¯t work like that, her voice sounded like an echo in his mind.

    He smirked, I would love to know how it works, then.

    She shot him a knowing look, I don¡¯t think I want you poking around in my head the way I poke around in yours. His smile quickly faded and his look turned skeptical. Those bracers you keep around your wrists aren¡¯t just dreadful fashion choices, are they?

    His face turned red and he looked away from her. He didn¡¯t hear from her again the rest of the night.

    ~

    Flynn stared up at the night sky, watching the moon slowly rise over the horizon and hang amongst the spattering of stars. His eyelids grew heavy, but his mind was racing. The thoughts in his mind had been burning with anger ever since Acadian denied him.

    Who does he think he is?

    Why won¡¯t they listen to me?

    Why isn¡¯t Bane helping me?

    Why?

    Why?

    Show them.

    He shot up. The words rang in his mind over and over again. Peace and passivity were getting him nowhere. If he was to disciple those close to him, he would have to start acting on his faith.

    The moon had crested over the top of the night and began to descend. Flynn looked around to ensure none of the others was awake. All seemed to be asleep, with Circe looking particularly unmoving. He had half a mind to check to see if she was still breathing, but couldn¡¯t risk waking her.

    Standing over Acadian, he knelt down to where the elf¡¯s pack was leaning against a small stone. He carefully unlatched it and quietly rifled through his belongings.

    The book was upright against the back, pressed against some letters and old military ribbons. He pulled it free and opened it. Unsheathing a dagger from his hip, he held it at the book¡¯s spine to excise one of the spells. As he drew the knife down the seam, the ink on the pages began to glow red.

    The words seemed to lift off the page and the already worn edges began to sizzle as though they had been dipped into a fire. Burnt tips of parchment began to fall, filling the air with a smell of sulfur. Acadian sniffed and began to stir. At once, Flynn drew back the dagger. The glow of the ink faded and the pages ceased to burn, but the damage had already been done.

    All color drained from his face and an embarrassed heat wrapped around his throat. He could already hear Acadian¡¯s disapproving shouts when he found out. The man rolled over in his bedroll but remained asleep.

    Flynn shakily pushed the book back into the bag and latched it before rushing back to his place. He stayed up a little longer to make sure the book didn¡¯t combust inside the bag. When nothing else happened, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

    Show them, he thought. Just not like that.

 Drinks

    By the time the sky had been painted with the reds and golds of sunset on the next day, they arrived back in Krandaelyn. Many of the shops in the mercantile had closed their booths for the day and the nightlife of the Inn and the Tavern had begun. The streetlamps had been lit and groups of people weaved their way from sidewalk to sidewalk.

    After hitching the horse and cart to the rail by the gate, they stretched their legs and made haste toward the church. The dim glow of firelight emitted a warmth from within, Sister Rosalynd¡¯s circular window cast silhouetted shadows against the paned glass.

    Inside, the practitioners of the faith had seemed to have all gone home for the day, save for a few nuns who were sweeping and dusting. One of the nuns was the young woman Circe had spoken to on the hill. They both took notice of each other, the girl unnerved by the pale woman¡¯s eerie presence. Circe detached from the group, opting to stand completely still and watch the young nun unblinkingly until she let out a soft Eep! and scampered out of the fellowship hall.

    Acadian knocked on the door to Rosalynd¡¯s office, prompting it to swing open on its own. They all filtered inside, greeting a tired-looking Rosalynd behind her desk.

    ¡°Friends,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you all have returned. I do hope you found success.¡± She was seated in her chair, looking up at them all. Even still, her presence made them feel as though she were the one looking down on them.

    Acadian reached inside his bag and pulled out the book. He set it down gently on the table. The Priestess flicked her wrists to free them from her robe and gently pulled the spellbook closer. She caressed its edge with her pointer finger and grinned.

    Frank cleared his throat, ¡°So, do we get paid now?¡± Circe nudged him with her elbow and Arsa shot him a silencing look.

    Rosalynd looked up without raising her head and chuckled, ¡°Not yet. I will need to do some examinations to ensure this find is not¡­ counterfeit. Come to me tomorrow. If this is indeed the item I requested, then you shall receive your reward.¡±

    Acadian crossed his arms, ¡°Do y¡¯all want a report for yer records? I dunno how churches log their treasure.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow. We will discuss everything tomorrow.¡±

    They bid their goodnights to the Priestess and made their way into town. Acadian, tired from the ride dismissed himself and went on to one of the rooms at the Inn, going on to pay for the others¡¯ lodging as well. The rest of the group followed Gostor directly to the tavern where the dwarf shoved a drunk patron off of a barstool and tapped ferociously on the counter.

    Grista smiled wide when she saw him and went ahead to pour him three tankards of ale. The bar was quite full, with the bar lined with customers and nearly every table occupied by groups, dates, and townsfolk looking for a simple drink. Voices overlapped shouts and songs, providing a constant hum of revelry.

    The remaining four slid into an available booth and ordered their drinks. Arsa stared down into his mug of beer and watched the drink ripple with every stomp and shout of the bar. He kept replaying his argument with Acadian over in his head, regret increasing by the hour.

    ¡°Apologize,¡± Circe said at one point. Arsa looked up at her. ¡°It¡¯s eating at you, I can tell. And the tension is annoying me. Go talk to him before another day passes.¡±

    Sudden fear wrapped around his chest, but he knew she was right. He gulped down his drink and nodded before excusing himself and leaving them.

    Flynn had only had one mug of beer but was slowly sliding down the back of the cushioned booth and giggling to himself. He tapped Circe¡¯s wine glass, ¡°You¡¯re really good at getting people to do what you want.¡±

    She pulled her goblet away from him, ¡°Yes. Yes, I am.¡±

    ¡°Oy, fellas!¡± a gravelly shout came across the bar. ¡°Your Royal Highness ¡®as graced us with his presence!¡±

    Frank closed his eyes and shifted out of his seat. He cast an annoyed look at the group of Red Baron thugs stomping their way over. He leaned against the table and tied his hair back, summoning a magic band around his black locks with a shimmer of his tattoos.

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    ¡°We meet again, brute,¡± he said coldly.

    The creature laughed, ¡°Right, right. We never ¡®ad proper introductionals, did we? Name¡¯s Mowgnor. This ¡®ere is Yarno, Edelay, McCloud, and Lizluth.¡± Frank noted that Lizluth was the woman who had stared strangely at him the last time he met the lot.

    ¡°With all disrespect,¡± Frank sighed, ¡°I¡¯m not terribly interested in your names. What do you want?¡±

    The man with the tattoos, Yarno, scoffed, ¡°We just wanted to come by and pay our respects to our king, your Majesty.¡±

    Circe stood behind Frank and stared across his shoulders, ¡°He is not your King,¡± she said. ¡°That does not make him any less royal-blooded. A drop of his blood is worth more than any one of your lives.¡± Frank couldn¡¯t help but smile at her affirmation.

    ¡°Is dat so?¡± Mowgnor said.

    Circe¡¯s eyes flashed a bright green, ¡°Would you care to find out?¡± The large mass of a man straightened his back and shifted his eyes to his posse, who also seemed taken aback. Circe pushed past Frank, grabbed his arm above his metal bracer, and guided them out of the bar, leaving the Red Barons behind them.

    And Flynn.

    ¡°I like your patches,¡± he slurred, pointing lazily at the symbol on their uniforms. The group looked at him inquisitively. Lizluth sat herself across from him.

    ¡°Thanks, kid,¡± she smiled a sinister grin. ¡°Boys, get another round. I¡¯ll be right over.¡± The men left them. Flynn began to offer them seats at the table, but they were gone before he could remember how to get the words out. Lizluth smacked the table to get his attention back on her.

    ¡°I see you¡¯re traveling with Mr. High-and-Mighty, huh?¡± she led.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± he hiccuped. ¡°Me, him, Acadian, and Arsa have been taking jobs together for half a year or so. I like your patches.¡± He started to reach out to touch the symbol but she smacked his hand away.

    ¡°Where¡¯s he from?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s ever said. Only mentioned it''s far away. He doesn¡¯t like to talk about it a lot. He gets quiet whenever it¡¯s brought up.¡±

    She leaned back, ¡°I¡¯m sure he does.¡± Flynn cocked his head, but Lizluth brushed it off. ¡°Hey, kid, why don¡¯t you ditch those guys and hang with us instead? You seem the type that would do well as a Baron.¡±

    Flynn narrowed his eyebrows and began shaking his head hard, ¡°No, no. They¡¯re my friends.¡±

    ¡°Your friends left you drunk at a bar with a group of strangers. They don¡¯t seem like they care all that much for you.¡±

    He frowned, ¡°They¡­ they care about me. I¡¯m not alone, either. I¡¯ve got a friend over there.¡± He pointed at Gostor, who had created an impressive pyramid of empty tankards that Grsita admired as she cleaned other glasses.

    Lizluth sighed, ¡°Well, if they ever give you a hard time, come find us. We¡¯ll take care of them.¡± She got up and rejoined her group before Flynn could say anything else.

    Gostor unleashed a burp so loud that the countertop rumbled. Grista put her hands on her hips and smiled.

    ¡°I gotta say, I have not seen somebody hold their alcohol like this in all my years.¡±

    ¡°Another,¡± Gostor grunted after finishing another schooner.

    ¡°As much as I¡¯d like to, darlin¡¯,¡± she slid a couple of shots to some patrons down the bar, ¡°You¡¯re out of coin, see?¡±

    Gostor reached into his pocket and pulled out the two gemstones and smacked them onto the bar. Grista¡¯s eyes widened before her lips curled into a grin. She grabbed the gems and then walked through a small swinging door behind the bar. A few moments later, she emerged carrying a large barrel.

    ¡°I¡¯ll do you one better,¡± she said, carrying the barrel around the bar and setting it down on the floor in front of Gostor. It was slightly shorter than he was and just as wide. He opened the lid, disappointed at finding it empty. She laughed before grabbing one of the tankards from the pile and holding it above the barrel. She tilted it, allowing a single drop of the ale at the bottom of the cup to drip into the container.

    At once, the barrel filled to the brim with the same ale. Gostor¡¯s eyes grew wide and he began to lap up the drink like a dog out in the sun. Grista pushed his face away and slapped the lid back on.

    ¡°Now there¡¯s a keg that never goes dry. Pour any kind of liquid in it and have yourself an endless supply.¡±

    Gostor looked at her, his pupils as large as the color of his eye. He began to lean across the top of the barrel with his arms out to his sides. She pushed a stray hair back behind her ear as she began to blush, glancing around to see who was watching. With the other nearby patrons too drunk to look down at the pair, she began to lean into him as well.

    Suddenly, the barrel lifted off the ground and hit her in the chin. Gostor was trotting off into the night with the barrel lifted high over his head. Grista just chuckled and wiped her hands on her apron. She shook her head after the dwarf and resumed her duties behind the bar.

 Lies

    Early the next morning, before the others had woken up, Arsa followed Acadian down to the lobby. He had gone to the Inn last night to speak with his senior, but he was already snoring by the time he arrived.

    The downstairs of the Inn was empty except for the two elves and a woman behind the front desk (likely the Innkeeper¡¯s wife). Acadian picked up a cup from a rickety cart holding tea and coffee and poured himself a morning drink. He sat in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, which still contained the smoldering embers of last night¡¯s fire. He knew Arsa was behind him, but he said nothing to acknowledge him.

    Arsa sat in the chair opposite Acadian and stared for a while, his knee bouncing up and down quickly. He crossed his fingers and laid his chin on them. Acadian brought the cup to his lips and let forth a long, loud sip of his coffee.

    Mid-gulp, Arsa blurted out, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    Acadian raised an eyebrow but still didn¡¯t look at the boy. Arsa gripped his knees and leaned forward, waiting for any kind of response. ¡°Please say something,¡± he said.

    ¡°You crossed a line,¡± the elf coughed, looking at Arsa for the first time in a day.

    ¡°I know, and I feel terrible. I was angry.¡±

    Acadian leaned back, ¡°I¡¯ve been plenty angry, havin¡¯ seen what I¡¯ve seen. Ya know? But anger gets folks killed. Keep it on the inside.¡±

    Arsa nodded shyly. They both sat in the quiet for a while before Arsa mustered a bit more courage.

    ¡°Do you think you¡¯d ever be able to see things differently?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No,¡± Acadian replied quickly. ¡°We got lucky that one was old and senile. The only good dragon is a dead one.¡±

    Arsa turned and leaned forward across the arm of the chair, ¡°What if there are good dragons? Dragons that just want to be left alone, or ones that are kind - or would be if they were treated kindly.¡±

    ¡°Why do you care so much about this? I¡¯m tryin¡¯ to protect you,¡± Acadian shook his head.

    Arsa¡¯s eyes went glassy and he swallowed hard, ¡°Because they are living beings. Nothing that lives is made in the likeness of evil. They are shaped to be so. Not so uncommonly by people like us who refuse to let them be good.¡±

    Acadian said nothing else, but his scowl had faded. He stared into the embers, stern but not sore. His lips pursed slightly. Arsa relaxed and fell back into his chair, taking a deep breath. He whispered a soft sorry, and Acadian shook his head, brushing it off.

    A voice called from the cushioned window seat behind them, ¡°Glad to see you two speaking again.¡± It was Circe.

    They both turned in surprise.

    ¡°How long have you been here?¡± Acadian asked. She just smiled, raising a cup of tea to her lips before walking up the stairs.

    ~

    When everyone had woken up, they all convened outside the Inn. Frank had to help Flynn get into his armor and down the stairs, as he had spent the night feeling sick and groaning in emotional confessions. Outside, he was covering his face with his hands to block out the sunlight that was assaulting his weak eyes.

    When Gostor saw this, he ran up from behind and gave Flynn a swift kick in the shins. After the initial shock, he found his headache to have faded slightly (though, that could have been because there was now a twinge of pain elsewhere).

    They made their way across the damp and dewy courtyards of Krandaelyn and into the freshly opened Church of Hiarus. Several of the resident holy people were sitting in the pews with their heads bowed, reciting their morning affirmations and prayers. The party had begun to be recognized by the regulars in the building, and so didn¡¯t call much attention as they walked in.

    Heading straight to the back offices, Acadian knocked on Rosalynd¡¯s door. It opened quickly, the Priestess sitting straight-backed with severe eyes, as though she had been waiting there for some time.

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    ¡°Blessed morning, friends,¡± she said with an intense smile. Flynn stood in the back, heart racing and leaning onto Frank.

    Acadian nodded respectfully, ¡°Are we gettin¡¯ paid now?¡± Rosalynd opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out the book, setting it squarely before her.

    ¡°You are very hasty to receive payment here in the house of Hiarus,¡± she said. ¡°Let us speak for a moment, please.¡± She waved her hand and the door closed behind them.

    She smiled and tilted her head, ¡°The book is most certainly authentic. You have done very well in retrieving what I asked of you. However, I have a few questions as to where exactly it was hidden - and the dragon that was hiding it.¡±

    Arsa¡¯s mouth became dry and he glanced quickly at Acadian before looking at the ground. Acadian cleared his throat, ¡°Dalneau Mountains. Hidden tomb inside a cave. No dragon.¡±

    Arsa looked up at him, amazed and thankful.

    ¡°Oh?¡± Rosalynd stood, picked up the book, and circled the desk to stand face-to-face with Acadian. ¡°Well, that doesn¡¯t bode well at all, then. See, these Spellbooks are extremely valuable. Their spells are worth quite a lot, especially in the hands of mages who can use them. Most of them are protected by a variety of enchantments. Like this one was.¡±

    ¡°Was?¡± Acadian cocked his head.

    ¡°Oh, yes. The protective enchantment is gone. I had figured perhaps the dragon that was guarding it may have damaged it in what I thought would have been quite the squabble to obtain this prize. The spells inside are almost entirely erased. One page is quite loose, almost as though it had been ripped. A simple divination ritual revealed the enchantment was enacted within the last day of the book being placed in my possession. Which would, of course, indicate that either you attempted to steal this magic for yourselves or you are lying to me about the presence of a dragon in the Dalneau Mountains.¡±

    She was speaking so fast and pointedly that Acadian stumbled back a step. He glanced over his shoulder at Flynn, his jaw clenched hard and his eyes unnervingly steady. He began to stutter, his mind racing for a response.

    ¡°It was the dragon,¡± Flynn burst out.

    Immediately, Frank shoved him in the ribs, ¡°He¡¯s hungover.¡±

    Rosalynd¡¯s feigned smile faded and her eyes grew darker and more sinister. She pushed through the crowded room until she was looking dead in Flynn¡¯s bloodshot eyes.

    ¡°There is no recording of a dragon¡¯s nest in the Dalneau. Where is it? What else did it have?¡±

    Flynn glanced around nervously at the others, who were staring at him in a spectrum of disapproving looks. He was stumbling over his words as she moved closer and closer. It was then that a loud thud hit the window.

    They all turned to see a black raven falling weakly from the glass and into the bushes below. Rosalynd moved around behind her desk once more to look outside.

    Thud.

    Another bird.

    Thud. Thud.

    More.

    Suddenly, a barrage of ravens slammed their bodies against the window. The shock forced Rosalynd back against the chair as the glass was quickly covered in dark feathers. Acadian turned and began forcefully rushing everyone out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

    ¡°What the hell, Flynn?¡± Frank said as they ran out of the church.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I just wanted one of the spells to take back home. They shouldn¡¯t have it all to themselves.¡±

    Their conversation was cut short when they emerged from the church and out into the town square. A crowd had gathered to witness what appeared to be a small cyclone of black-feathered birds swarming the area. The loud cacophony of squawks and caws echoed as their bodies slammed against the surrounding buildings.

    The group had to duck to avoid getting hit by the flock, Flynn raising his shield over the others the best he could to protect them. After a while, the birds dispersed from their funnel and sat quietly on the rims of houses and the overhangs of merchant stalls. In the place where the cyclone had been was a woman.

    She was rather short and appeared human. A small crop of brown hair held tightly to her skull. Down her back was a long cape of large black feathers. When she turned around, her skin was sickly pale, as though she hadn¡¯t seen the sun in years. Black gloves hid her hands and a non-descript maiden¡¯s dress rested beneath her cloak.

    Her eyes were a bright yellow, almost golden color. Her dilated round pupils darted around like a bird of prey hunting for a meal. She curled her lips into a tight, thin grin.

    ¡°There you are,¡± she said, her voice high and breathy. She was looking at Gostor. ¡°I believe you have something that doesn¡¯t belong to you.¡±

    Out of his shirt, the letter began to tug outwards like it was attached to a string. He gripped it tightly and turned his body, scowling at her. He spit on the ground, ¡°Mine.¡±

    She giggled, ¡°Is that so? Oh, please. Don¡¯t let this get messy.¡±

    Whispers from the sidewalks were rumbling, the townsfolk watching on in fear and amazement. Acadian, Arsa, and Flynn reached for their weapons. The woman clicked her tongue and quickly snapped her head around like an owl.

    Out of the crowd, the tattooed Red Baron sauntered toward her. He was grinning widely, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth.

    ¡°C¡¯mon, little lady. There¡¯s no need to get all magical. Let¡¯s resolve this nicely, yeah?¡± He began to move his arm as though he were going to grab her shoulder.

    Faster than they could all realize, her arm shot out of her cloak and grabbed the man by the forearm. She stared deeply into his eyes, craning her neck forward. He began to yelp as her grip grew tighter. With a sickening cracking sound, his arm snapped to one side. A dark sigil manifested in the air around her hand and a shadowy energy was thrust forward, sending him back into one of the market stands. The crowd began to scream and flee from the square as she turned to face the group once more.

    ¡°Messy,¡± she said, ¡°it shall get.¡±

 Feathers

    With a wave of her hand, the witch commanded the crows to descend upon the group. Their dark wings created a thunder of flapping feathers, their talons outstretched. Flynn pushed forward and raised his shield, deflecting the onslaught of fowls. Their thick bodies were a torrent against the metal shield, thudding off and falling to the ground before flying away to try again. The half-elf dug his feet into the ground to steady himself, pushing his entire body weight into holding the barrier up.

    Gostor roared and pulled free his axes, swinging recklessly into the swarm. The dying caws of the birds split the shrieks as he hacked through their oily forms. His front quickly became coated with their viscous dark blood, but he continued forward.

    Acadian grabbed Arsa by the arm and led them to an empty cart a small ways back from the main square. They mounted the platform and readied their arrows. Together, they unleashed shot after shot into the storm of black feathers, picking off what enemies they could.

    Flynn raised his shield upward, redirecting the flow of the never-ending tide. He charged forward, pulling his sword from its sheath as he ran. Moving his shield to protect his head, he stormed ahead with his sword in the air. He brought the blade down toward the witch but clashed against an invisible barrier. The force of the impact reverberated through the square, the vibration of which pushed up the dust of the courtyard.

    The woman laughed with a deep, bellowing echo. She leaned forward in the bubble to face the boy, ¡°Fool.¡±

    She gathered a dark energy around her hands before thrusting them forward. A black beam emanated forward and buried itself in Flynn¡¯s chest. He fell back and tumbled along the cobblestone, his armor clanging with every turn.

    Frank¡¯s tattoos began to glow a bright, pale blue as his fingertips became covered in frost. He held out his right hand, grabbing his bicep with his left. As he grit his teeth, the frost began to fly forward like a volley of needles off his fingers, striking against the barrier before quickly melting away.

    Stepping around to the other side of Frank, Circe¡¯s eyes began to glow a bright orange. Her black hair began flowing behind her, flying against an unfeelable wind.

    ¡°Ignimi,¡± she called out. Sparks began falling from the palms of her hands as flames the size of large apples manifested between her fingers. She tossed them ahead, lobbing them toward the witch. They burst into small explosions as they made contact, still not breaching the barrier. The witch smiled as the flames burned against her amber eyes.

    The birds continued to attack, swarming Gostor and Flynn in the frontlines. Frank and Circe retreated toward Acadian and Arsa, who were beginning to run out of arrows.

    Frank¡¯s tattoos glowed golden as a thin barrier formed around the unmoving Flynn.

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    ¡°That won¡¯t hold for long,¡± he said. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    Arsa unleashed another arrow, ¡°We give her the letter, that¡¯s what.¡±

    Acadian lowered his crossbow, ¡°No. If someone like her is this desperate to get it, she shouldn¡¯t have it. Flynn may have been on to somethin¡¯ with that.¡±

    Circe turned to the others, eyes severe. She pointed to Gostor, ¡°Arsa¡¯s right. Let¡¯s give her what she wants. She wants the letter? Make her chase it.¡±

    Before they could disagree, she whispered, ¡°Ras.¡± The letter flew out of Gostor¡¯s shirt and toward Circe, narrowly avoiding being nabbed by several of the crows. Gostor immediately turned to chase after it, followed closely by the attacking birds.

    The witch pointed at the letter, sending her crows diving toward Circe. With a spin, she turned and began to run, holding her tattered dress above her feet. Realizing what she was doing, the others scrambled around the square, running in random directions.

    As they passed one another, Circe handed the letter off to Frank. He took it and jumped onto some crates by one of the storefronts. The birds began to follow him, flying close enough that they managed to nip at the back of his head.

    The witch hissed, summoning a wave of dark energy. She unleashed it in two hurtling slashes at Frank, who barely dodged them. He slid under one of the waves, passing the letter off to Acadian. The elf rolled with a heavy grace, evading the crows and passing the paper to Arsa.

    Arsa notched an arrow quickly, the letter rolled tightly around its shaft. He fired it high into the air, the witch¡¯s eyes widening in fury as it soared out of reach. The birds immediately followed it, diving quickly as it crested its arc.

    ¡°Gostor, catch!¡± he shouted.

    Like a boulder, the dwarf barreled forward, competing with the crows to reach the landing position first. Arms outstretched, he tackled the arrow on its descent before any of the birds could catch it in their beaks. The witch screamed in a crackling annoyance.

    ¡°Enough!¡± she screeched, her voice echoing with power. She pushed her hands forward, tendrils of shadow snaking out ahead, reaching for the dwarf. Gostor continued charging away, but the magic slithered too quickly. The tendrils wrapped around his ankles and pulled him to the ground.

    He twisted himself around, keeping the letter close to his chest as he writhed against the shadowy chains.

    The witch spoke with a quiet and barely contained anger, ¡°No more games.¡±

    She suddenly shrieked as the sound of a thunderous crack broke through the barrier surrounding her. Flynn stood, his sword glowing a bright, divine gold, behind her with sweat gliding down his temples. He was breathing heavily as the witch turned, releasing her hold on Gostor.

    ¡°Now!¡± the knight shouted.

    At once, Acadian and Arsa shot arrows through the cyclone of crows, which had returned to the witch¡¯s side to protect her (although they were far fewer in number now). Gostor shoved the letter back in his shirt and hurried forward to swing his axes blindly into the birds again.

    Frank and Circe held out opposite arms, firing two beams of pure energy that intertwined and struck into the middle of the storm. The witch screamed, the shriek piercing through the caws of the crows around her.

    ¡°No!¡± she cried. ¡°This cannot be!¡± The crows dissipated from her wounded form, leaving her alone in the midst of a sea of dead birds. She looked around like a frightened animal at the attackers and what few townsfolk stayed behind to watch. Her nose twisted with fury and she clutched her heart.

    ¡°This is not over,¡± she spat. With a wave of her cape, her humanoid form vanished into a flurry of smaller ravens that flew away from the rising sun. Arsa fired one more arrow after them but it fell into one of the rooftops.

    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°It most certainly is not.¡±

 Diplomacies

    When the feathers had finally settled and the group had caught their breath, a small round of applause began from the nearby onlookers. Those who had stayed to watch were amazed but still frightened. Frank found himself smiling wide and giving polite bows to his audience.

    Circe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and strode over to Flynn, whose face was bleeding from the many scratches that he endured. She examined them and then crossed her forefinger along his brow.

    ¡°Vuldium,¡± she said. A sickly green light emitted from the scratches before the wounds drank back in the dripping blood and the skin pulled itself together, leaving no marks at their seams. Flynn felt around his face.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said. ¡°It feels better.¡± Circe let out a quiet hum before facing away from him.

    ¡°Perhaps your god is listening to you after all,¡± she said. ¡°Or maybe you are simply a faithful mage with powers you don¡¯t understand. One is more likely than the other.¡± She began to walk away.

    Flynn called after her, ¡°Is it so hard to believe my faith gives me strength?¡±

    ¡°Of that, I¡¯m sure,¡± she quickly turned her head and glared at him through her hair. ¡°I just don¡¯t believe your god listens to you.¡±

    At this time, the heavy footfalls of Red Barons hurried down the street. A segment of them broke off to help their wounded comrade, who was groaning over his snapped arm in the rubble of the stand he smashed through. They picked him up and carried him off somewhere further into the village.

    The Barons that remained parted to reveal a tall, round man decorated in clean red robes and an inordinate amount of silver jewelry. His bald head reflected the sunlight so brightly it would hurt your eyes if it caught you at the wrong angle. Long grey sideburns trailed down his chin to form a beard, parting in the middle to give his chin space to breathe. Right over his chest was the insignia of the Red Barons.

    He examined the street with an expression that indicated boredom. Picking up a feather, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it. He coughed and dropped it to the ground before tapping his fingers on his stiff belly. His eyes danced around the party, lips pulled tight.

    ¡°Suppose you lot had something to do with this? Seeing as how you¡¯re the only folks with¡­ weaponry drawn.¡± He eyed the men to his sides, who looked away disgracefully.

    Acadian stood from the crates he was reclining on with Arsa. ¡°Mighta been,¡± he crossed his arms. ¡°Who¡¯s wantin¡¯ to know?¡±

    The man giggled and waved his hand in front of his face, ¡°No need to be so aggressive, sir. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Harold Wendigoth. Most around here simply call me the Townmaster.¡± He spoke with a slight lisp that sprayed saliva when he pronounced his ¡®S¡¯ sounds. They all looked to him with piqued interest.

    The townsfolk were carefully stepping back into the square, glancing over their shoulders at each birdcall from the forest. Harold returned to his posse of guards and tapped on his belly some more.

    ¡°Splendidly done,¡± he said. ¡°I suppose I ought to reward you for your efforts, seeing as how little my own men did to aid you. Come see me in my manor on the hill and I shall bestow upon you a financial boon.¡± The Barons surrounded him once more and walked with strict choreography away from the square.

    Flynn moved around to help some of the shopkeepers restore their tarnished signs and storefronts. A friendly older human woman gifted him a bracelet from her stall made with pebbles and snail shells. After another moment of rest, the others had pitched in to clear the area of feathers and help the people resume their days, assuring them all was taken care of.

    From the entrance of the church, Rosalynd stood with crossed arms, watching them. When they noticed her, she beckoned them with her finger before returning inside. Acadian demanded the others remain outside, but Flynn insisted on joining him. The rest of the group did as they were told, choosing to head to the Inn for some tea.

    The two men stood shoulder to shoulder in Rosalynd¡¯s office. The book was nowhere to be seen and the Priestess held her face intentionally expressionless.

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    ¡°Good show,¡± she said.

    ¡°We don¡¯t know what happened to your spellbook,¡± Acadian grumbled through his beard. Rosalynd let out a breathy laugh.

    ¡°That old thing? Accidents happen. Water under the bridge.¡±

    Flynn looked at Acadian, eyes wide and brow narrowed. He pulled his eyes to the floor, trying hard not to look at the woman across from him.

    ¡°Mr. Wendigoth seemed interested in you, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Said he wants to reward us for takin¡¯ care of¡­ whatever that was. I take it he don¡¯t like leavin¡¯ debts unpaid,¡± Acadian looked out the window where the interaction had been.

    Rosalynd laughed again, ¡°He most certainly does not. Listen, I am a graceful and forgiving woman. I will overlook the damages done to the spellbook if you do one more job for me.¡±

    Flynn looked at her for the first time, ¡°What do you want?¡± He was eager, leaning forward so far that Acadian had to pull him back.

    She pushed her fingers into the wood of the table and lowered her eyes, ¡°What I am about to ask of you must not be repeated. The Red Barons have been antagonistic to the church from the day their regime began. They tax us beyond the established rates, they harass our congregation - they are thorns that suffocate the practice of our faith.¡±

    ¡°Yer wantin¡¯ us to kill Wendigoth,¡± Acadian whispered. Rosalynd looked at him but said nothing. She relaxed her posture and sat in her chair.

    ¡°I would ask nothing of the sort. You¡¯ve been given an opportunity to speak with the man, which is more than most of us have been able to hope for. All I want is for you to ensure they leave us alone. By whatever means your capable group sees as necessary.¡±

    Acadian sighed and opened his mouth to speak, but Flynn stepped in front of him and lowered himself in front of Rosalynd¡¯s desk.

    ¡°If the Red Barons are treating you harshly then you¡¯ve surely done something to deserve it.¡±

    Rosalynd was taken aback. She moved her head from side to side and scoffed. Acadian pulled Flynn back to his feet and signaled for him to quiet himself. Rosalynd stood as well.

    ¡°You listen to me,¡± her voice was sharp. ¡°Those thugs are nothing but trouble and have been a scourge to our establishment for years. We¡¯ve done nothing to them and still remain their target. Now, are you going to be a good little boy and do what is asked of you or won¡¯t you?¡±

    Flynn was reaching for his sword, which Acadian noticed was beginning to flow golden again. He stepped between the two of them, drawing Rosalynd¡¯s gaze away from the boy.

    ¡°Unfortunately, ma¡¯am,¡± he said calmly, ¡°We will not be gettin¡¯ into yer political affairs. That¡¯s yer business. We apologize for the harm done, but that is where our workin¡¯ relationship ought to end.¡±

    The red heat evaporated from her face as she took a deep breath. She waved her hand and the door behind them opened.

    ¡°I will not be paying you as recompense for the damages. You may go.¡±

    Flynn grunted as he turned to leave, leaving Acadian to nod one last time at the Priestess before closing the door behind him.

    The group perked up from their teacups as the doors to the Inn slammed open, with Flynn stomping towards them. He sat down in a huff, sending the plush chair creaking under the weight of his armor. Acadian came in quickly behind and leaned on the windowsill. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

    Circe crossed her legs, ¡°Only good things come from you two speaking with holy people it seems.¡±

    Flynn¡¯s leg was bouncing up and down at a rapid speed. ¡°She¡¯s outrageous. She¡¯s clearly power hungry and wants¡­¡±

    Acadian stopped him, ¡°It don¡¯t matter, Flynn. We¡¯ll get the money from the Townmaster and that¡¯ll be the last there¡¯ll be of it.¡±

    Flynn¡¯s face was still red and his frustration was only growing. Frank sat his teacup with the other dirty cups on the cart by the fireplace. He leaned against the back of Arsa¡¯s chair.

    ¡°Did you get the money for the spellbook?¡± he asked.

    Flynn got up and stormed upstairs to the room. Acadian took a deep breath and began for the steps himself.

    ¡°No money for the book. We¡¯re no longer on good terms with them.¡±

    Arsa scoffed under his breath, ¡°Were we ever?¡± Acadian went up the stairs after Flynn, telling the group they would meet back in the lobby in an hour to visit the Townmaster.

    Frank and Circe decided to go for a walk and look around at the shops in a different village district. Arsa headed to his room to spend time alone, instructing Gostor to keep anyone from coming inside without knocking.

    Gostor half-acknowledged the request as he pulled a handful of feathers out of his shirt. He waved them beneath his nose and took a long inhale of their oily fragrance. His eyes narrowed and a grin grew across his face. With a click of his tongue, his eyes began to glow a bright orange.

 Coins

    The Townmaster¡¯s manor was as unremarkable as the rest of the town from the outside. A boxy three-story house with a slightly peaked roof sat atop the easternmost hill of the village. Banners with the imagery of the Red Barons were nailed beneath the third-story windows, their bottoms frayed and unkempt.

    A couple of Barons sat on empty crates beside the double doors at the front. Dull swords with tarnished metal blades were stuck through loops in their oversized belts. Wendigoth must have warned the guards of the visitors, as the men slowly opened the doors when the group approached.

    The grand foyer immediately juxtaposed the bland exterior of the home. The floor was made of black marble, inlaid with silver veins that snaked across the tiles. A massive chandelier with twisted golden arms hung from three thick chains attached to the ceiling, casting warm glows that bounced off the extravagant portraits that sat neatly on the walls.

    Red Barons were littered throughout the space, occupying themselves with a variety of activities. Some were engaging in casual conversation with one another while others were sleeping on the plush, velvet furniture along the walls. In one space, a pair were intensely arm wrestling while a small gathering cheered them on.

    The group walked trepidatiously through the hall, watching the wild and untamed group of local soldiers. Gostor broke away from the others and ran toward the group of arm wrestlers. With a hearty shove, he knocked the smaller one out of his chair and grappled the remaining guard¡¯s hand. In a moment of shock, the Baron watched wide-eyed as the dwarf pushed his full weight into his forearm, sending him tumbling out of his stool and over onto the floor. The gathered crowd swiftly began their encouraging chants for the dwarf.

    ¡°Quiet!¡± a loud, booming voice echoed from the top of the staircase at the back of the foyer. Flynn was excited to see Alek standing tall, silhouetted by the light gleaming in from the back window.

    The room went quiet, save for the sound of Gostor¡¯s footsteps as he scurried back to his friends. The Red Barons rose from their places and stood at attention as Alek made his way down the stairs. His intense commanding air melted away the closer he got to the group. The scowl on his brow faded into a smile as he approached Flynn to shake his hand.

    ¡°Good to see you again, my boy,¡± the man said with a strong grip. Flynn returned the sentiment, ignoring Arsa¡¯s sneer.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t know you worked with the Townmaster,¡± he beamed.

    ¡°Second in command,¡± Alek released his grip and took a step back. ¡°I¡¯m here to escort you to Mr. Wendigoth¡¯s office. If you¡¯ll follow me.¡±

    Alek guided them up the stairs to the second floor, which seemed to be the working level of the manor. They passed offices and storerooms with open doors, revealing Red Barons in less combative attire tending to menial tasks like paperwork and ledgers. A door in the middle of the hall was the only one that was closed as far as they could tell. Alek stepped up to it and knocked a rhythmic tap tap¡­ tap¡­ tap tap.

    The scoot of a chair and some footsteps preluded the swift opening of the door. The Townmaster stood before them with a wide smile and nearly-closed eyes. He invited them in, Alek following behind.

    Wendigoth¡¯s office was large and rectangular with ornately carved wooden beams cascading over the ceiling. Dark paneled wood walls provided symmetry to the room that flanked the three windows along the back wall. The office held more furniture and decorative items than it did bookshelves or cabinets.

    A large red couch sat across from a wide mirror that bounced around the light from the windows. Maroon curtains with silver embroidering were tied out of the way of the glass, revealing the view of the merchants of Krandaelyn. The floor was covered with a thick bear-skin rug, the maw of the poor beast permanently opened toward the seat of the Townmaster. At one end of the room was a heavy desk scattered with coinage and messy stacks of paperwork. At the other end was a glass table set with a decanter of an expensive bottle of whiskey and several glasses.

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    The Townmaster sat in his high-backed chair behind the desk. The chair was almost throne-like, with carved lion heads on the armrests. Behind the desk hung a massive painting of Wendigoth surrounded by coins, jewels, and chests that burst open with treasure.

    ¡°Again,¡± he started, ¡°I can¡¯t understate my sincerest apologies for the eventful morning you¡¯ve caught yourselves in. I can assure you, my Barons are not typically this¡­ passive. I promise you my friend Alek here will have them acting right in no time.¡±

    Frank crossed his arms over his chest, ¡°What happened to the guy who got his arm broken?¡±

    ¡°Hm? Oh, right, I heard about that. Rest assured he¡¯s in good hands. He¡¯ll be taken care of.¡±

    Frank¡¯s sigh sounded almost disappointed. Gostor caught sight of the whiskey sitting on the table and started to run to it. With a small stumble, Arsa moved to grab him, redirecting him to the conversation.

    ¡°Anyways,¡± Wendigoth continued, ¡°I¡¯ve distributed your coin here. One hundred and eighty gold pieces for the lot of you. I¡¯ve also sent word to the stables to provide your troupe with means for travel.¡± He slid the eighteen stacks of gold coins across the table.

    Acadian looked between him and the coin before, ¡°You¡¯re payin¡¯ us to leave, is that it?¡±

    The Townmaster repainted the wide smile on his face. He exhaled a nervous laugh and made a thinking gesture with his hand.

    ¡°Listen, we don¡¯t encounter too many magical types around here. We prefer the old nose-to-the-grindstone approach. If you all, as well-meaning as you may be, are attracting such dangerous audiences, it might be best for you to find somewhere else to stay. We¡¯re a tight-knit community - we look out for our own.¡±

    Acadian looked at the coin and nodded. He began distributing the stacks among each of them. Flynn received his cut but looked woefully at Alek and the Townmaster.

    If only that woman hadn¡¯t had them get that book.

    The others received their share in small leather bags. Alek opened the door behind them as Wendigoth bid them an overtly cheery goodbye.

    These Red Barons are good people. She wants them gone.

    ¡°Your town isn¡¯t as tight-knit as you think,¡± Flynn said, halting his allies from leaving the room.

    The Townmaster¡¯s eyes shifted between all of them. Alek closed the door and moved to stand behind Wendigoth.

    ¡°What do you mean, kid?¡± Alek asked.

    ¡°There are people in Krandaelyn that want you gone.¡±

    Acadian rushed forward and grabbed Flynn¡¯s arm. He spoke through clenched teeth, ¡°This is not our business, Flynn.¡±

    ¡°No, no,¡± Wendigoth said, standing from his chair. ¡°But it is mine. Who would want such a thing? We¡¯ve only ever been kind to our people.¡±

    Flynn pulled free of Acadian¡¯s grasp. He approached the desk and swallowed hard, ¡°Priestess Rosalynd. Over at the Church of Hiarus. She calls you thugs and wanted to hire us to get rid of you. We declined.¡±

    The others watched as Wendigoth¡¯s facade fell. A sudden darkness covered his eyes as he declined back into the chair. He looked around the desk as though he were searching for something. Flynn stood tall, looking as knightly as he ever had.

    Suddenly, the smile returned, ¡°Well, I must go speak with her. There has clearly been a misunderstanding and I am keen on righting my wrongs. Flynn, was it? I appreciate you telling me the truth. How can we expect to remain in our people¡¯s good graces if we don¡¯t communicate?¡±

    Flynn¡¯s heart fluttered. A warmth of pride welled within him. Alek¡¯s brow was arched, nodding at him with approval. With another goodbye, the second in command escorted them back out of the manor. Flynn was so giddy that he didn¡¯t notice the horrified expressions plastered across his friends.

    Alek expressed a swift goodbye before hurriedly returning to the manor. The group walked down the hill in silence before Circe cleared her throat and grabbed Acadian¡¯s arm.

    ¡°They¡¯re going to kill her,¡± she said. He nodded. She looked at him as though asking him to do something. His silence signaled he wouldn''t.

    Flynn laughed, ¡°What? The Townmaster said he was going to talk to her. This will solve everything.¡±

    Frank leaned against one of the lampposts, ¡°Talking to is Diplomat for murder. Or assassinate. Or torture. Sometimes a combination of one or more.¡±

    Flynn looked confused. He tried to catch Acadian¡¯s attention for approval, but all he found was a disappointed glaze over his eyes.  He glanced back up at the manor behind them.

    No. They wouldn¡¯t. They aren¡¯t like that.

    A squeak and a pop drew his eyes to the ground. Gostor tossed the cork in the grass and quickly swallowed down the whiskey.

 Confessions

    The stables of Krandaelyn had set aside a simple wooden cart plated in metal for the group. There were no horses or beasts of burden to carry the boxy vehicle, but four runes carved onto the hub of the wheels allowed the wagon to move on its own when commanded. Runes such as these were known to be very valuable in magic-adjacent communities.

    Wendigoth must have really wanted them out.

    ¡°I hope you plan on accompanying us,¡± Frank said, offering a hand to help Circe into the cart. ¡°It has been a nice change of pace to have another spell caster in our ranks.¡±

    She took his hand and sat opposite him, ¡°It has been more entertaining than watching travelers from the tree line, I suppose.¡±

    Flynn and Arsa were watching the church. They could see through the windows where people were praying and going about their daily tasks. Flynn¡¯s constant bouncing up and down was irritating, but Arsa said nothing about it.

    ¡°You don¡¯t actually think the Barons will do anything to them, do you?¡± the half-elf asked.

    Arsa looked at the ground but said nothing. He hoisted himself up to the cart without looking at Flynn.

    Acadian was sharpening his dagger at the front when he noticed Gostor was gone. He glanced around quickly, looking for the dwarf, but found nothing. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were glowing a dark red. The rest of his vision had lost all color, save for dirty footprints in the cobblestone that led out of the city gate, lit with the same color as Acadian¡¯s eyes.

    After ensuring the others were safely sat in the cart, he commanded the wheels to turn. Instantly, the carriage lurched forward and tumbled out of Krandaelyn.

    Acadian used his hand to guide the vehicle in the direction of Gostor¡¯s footprints, leading them northward.

    It was not long before the moderately paced cart caught up with Gostor, who was running on all fours along the trade route.

    ¡°Coulda at least said bye,¡± Acadian scolded from the cart.

    Gostor snorted and shook his head like a horse, ¡°Must find witch.¡± Acadian noticed the dwarf¡¯s eyes glowing orange and understood the magic he was using.

    ¡°Well, git on up here. We¡¯ll find her faster on wheels than¡­ whatever the hell you¡¯re doin¡¯ down there.¡±

    With Gostor leading the way up at the front, they spent the day traveling along the main road. They passed the Danheim Forest and traveled beyond the abandoned town of Konne. By sunset, the helpful speed of the enchanted cart brought them to the woods nestled just before the Dalneau Mountains.

    The forest, known locally as Woodrand¡¯s Growth, was thick with dark-leafed trees and thorned thickets. The soil blackened underfoot as the shadows from the canopy enveloped the group. Quickly, the golden colors of sunset disappeared as they were left to the nightly visage of the Growth.

    The darkness was broken only by the occasional stream of fleeting sunlight or the flicker of a firefly. As they traveled deeper into the woods, Acadian was forced to slow their speed to avoid maneuvering off the flattened earth. Frank crawled closer to the front as his tattoos began to light a bright white. A small globe of pure light formed in his hand and held itself aloft, freely floating before the cart.

    He returned to his seat across from Circe and reclined across the backrest.

    ¡°Looks like we¡¯re a real party of adventurers now, huh?¡± he said.

    Acadian turned in his seat to face everyone, ¡°Seems to be the case, I reckon. Listen here, if we¡¯re gonna be workin¡¯ together - all of us - we need to set some ground rules.¡±

    They all sat up straight to listen. Even Gostor seemed to be paying attention.

    ¡°Rule number one,¡± he started. ¡°We ain¡¯t leavin¡¯ anyone behind. We go into things together, we come out together. Number two. We gotta be on the same page. Our stories gotta be straight - can¡¯t have another screw-up like what happened back in Krandaelyn.

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    Number three. We share what we get. Everythin¡¯ is split evenly, nobody¡¯s comin¡¯ away with more than the other. Number four, last one. We tell one another the truth. No hidin¡¯ stuff or keepin¡¯ secrets. Ya hear me? Any objections?¡±

    They all nodded in agreement. Flynn¡¯s head hung low, knowing he had already broken most of the rules. An apology pushed at the back of his throat, but Arsa¡¯s dry mouth opened before he could say anything.

    ¡°I have a confession,¡± he said. ¡°But I need everyone to keep an open mind.¡± They all watched him, the glowing orb casting dramatic shadows across the far side of his face.

    He pulled his bag around and sat it on his lap. With shaky hands, he unlatched the satchel and reached inside. He lifted out the egg, its amethyst texture shimmering against the globe.

    Flynn and Frank looked confused, while Circe¡¯s mouth hung slightly agape. Acadian had gone completely still.

    ¡°Where¡­¡± he whispered, his eyes twitching.

    Arsa pulled the egg closer to his chest.

    ¡°In the Danheim. At the statue when Gostor ran off. I couldn¡¯t leave it there.¡±

    The cart stopped.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Acadian stood. ¡°You could have left it there. Or killed it. Or told us about it so I could kill it.¡± He pulled out his dagger from its sheath.

    Arsa stood and moved away from him as Circe rose and grabbed Acadian¡¯s arm, raised and ready to ruin the beast. Frank stood in front of Arsa, defending him from the rage that was quickly overtaking the elder elf.

    Flynn was shaking his head, still surprised and confused.

    ¡°What is it?¡± he asked.

    Acadian was pushing Circe off him, but her grip was relentless, ¡°It¡¯s an amethyst dragon. A monster that¡¯ll kill us all when it hatches.¡±

    Arsa had gotten off the cart, ¡°No. Remember what I told you. Please, Acadian. Dragons are not predestined to hurt people. Give them no reason to kill and they won¡¯t. How else should they respond when this is what we meet them with?¡±

    Acadian stilled. The fear and pleading in Arsa¡¯s eyes gave him pause. He recognized the terrified expression. It was the same look of terror that contorted many of the faces in the town of Elkstaaid. The burnt and scarred faces of those whose final moments were set before the maw of a dragon.

    He dropped his dagger into the bed of the wagon. He looked between the rest of his party, all staring at him, breathless. Slowly, he sat back down, facing away from them all. There was a long pause before Arsa approached the cart again.

    ¡°When it hurts you - when it hurts any of us - I will kill it.¡±

    ~

    The moonlight barely cut through the leaves of the trees, the darkness of the forest growing more suffocating by the hour. This deep into the woods, even the fireflies seemed to scatter to the wind. The only sounds were that of distant owls or the ghostly whistle of wind between bone-like branches.

    Gostor was becoming tired from the day-long use of energy to track the fleeting traces of the witch. What had once been the bright amber trail of magic was fleeting into a faint string that lingered by the damp earthen forest floor.

    Circe felt as calm as she always did in the forest. Each leaf that flittered to the ground, each rock that buried itself in the mud, every inch of moss that clung to the bark of a tree - she knew them all. She hadn¡¯t always felt this connection, but when she had awoken, so too did the voices of nature. It was this voice that caught her pointed ear as a twig snapped several feet behind them.

    Gazing out into the darkness, her eyes could only cut through so much of the shadows. Even still, the quiet snip snip of what sounded like scissors reached her from behind a tree.

    ¡°Stop the cart,¡± she commanded. Acadian hesitated but stopped when she demanded it again.

    Snip snip.

    Arsa heard it this time. He readied an arrow and stood behind Circe.

    ¡°Show yourself,¡± Circe shouted.

    The sound of metal scraping continued, like the sharp hiss of a blade against stone. From behind the tree, a humanoid figure stepped slowly through the shadows. As it came close to the radiating light of Frank¡¯s magic, its twisted form became clearer. The thing was draped in a grotesque coat of damp leather, stitched together with some sort of thick cord. Where its hands should have been, long blades extended in a curved arc, dark, clotted blood staining the steel.

    Upon its head was a hat stitched from the same leather, the brim of which covered its face. From under the hat, matted black hair fell untamely on its shoulders. As it tilted its head up to meet the party, a mouthless jaw of dead, pale skin greeted them.

    Arsa aimed an arrow at the creature as he shouted, ¡°Stay back. Don¡¯t come any closer¡­¡± His voice trailed off as his words were disregarded.

    The creature stepped further into the light, revealing itself in more macabre detail. With Frank¡¯s light glistening off the blood seams of the coat, it became clear the creature was not wearing a jacket of leather.

    It was a suit of skin.

 Blades

    ¡°Can¡¯t you make this thing go any faster?¡± Frank cried out. His tattoos were glowing red, two orbs of fire burning in either hand. He leaned over the side of the cart, trying to keep his eyes on the shadowy form of the creature in pursuit of them.

    Circe gripped the wooden paneling of the seat, driving her heels into the floor to keep herself steady. Her gaze was locked on the endless maze of trees behind them.

    ¡°I can conjure a wind spell, but I can¡¯t promise it won¡¯t blow us off the path,¡± she said.

    Gostor stood on top of his seat, handaxes at the ready. He growled and darted forward like he was about to leap off the cart and attack the monster. Flynn grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him back, holding him in place.

    Even over the wild rattling of the cart¡¯s wheels on the uneven and ragged terrain, the metallic slash of the creature¡¯s hands echoed through the forest. It emerged from the darkness, weaving through the trees with frightening speed. Its grotesque form seemed to glide across the forest floor as if it were a sea creature bobbing across the ocean floor. The coat of skin flapped in the wind, and the long curved blades of its fingers glinted in the strands of moonlight.

    Arsa let an arrow fly, his shot whirring between Frank and Circe¡¯s heads. It struck the thing in its chest, but it barely slowed.

    ¡°It¡¯s relentless,¡± he said, readying another arrow.

    Frank yelled as he thrust his hands forward. The fire launched forward, roaring toward the pursuer. The flames lit up the forest, casting long shadows as they engulfed the creature.

    With a hiss, the flames quickly extinguished, seeming to soak into the form of the thing. In the remaining light, they saw it unscathed, its fingers twitching wildly.

    ¡°Acadian!¡± Frank shouted. ¡°Get us out of here!¡±

    ¡°Workin¡¯ on it!¡± he yelled back, his eyes scanning tirelessly the path ahead. Coming quickly, he saw a fork in the road. The path to the left traveled steeply downward - a narrow ravine, but possibly their only escape. He jerked his hand to the left, sending the cart hurtling down the hill. ¡°Hold on!¡±

    The wagon swayed dangerously as it veered onto the trail, its wheels bouncing and sending the loose earth tumbling down before them. Behind them, the creature was undeterred, leaping from tree to tree with a twisted agility. It lunged after them, a bladed hand striking out toward the cart. Dropping Gostor, Flynn swung his shield around to intercept the blow with a loud metallic clang. The force knocked him back, his heavy armor pinning the scrambling dwarf to the floor.

    Looking up, Flynn caught a glimpse of the face hidden behind the hat. A patchwork mask of skin, unevenly stitched together with the same dark thread covered a bone-white creature beneath. The eyes were empty voids, seeming to accept no light from showing what lay beyond them.

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    Flynn¡¯s eyes went wide, fear overwhelming him. Suddenly, Circe raised her hands, her eyes glowing brightly green.

    ¡°Umbanu,¡± she shouted.

    Dark tendrils of ichor dripped from her fingertips, lashing themselves at the creature and wrapping around its limbs. Like snakes, they twisted and tightened, but the thing was resisting their control.

    ¡°This won¡¯t hold it for long,¡± she said. ¡°We have to get out, now.¡±

    ¡°Tryin¡¯!¡± Acadian snapped. The cart surged forward, pushing through the ravine faster than what felt safe. The path began to level out, the sound of rushing water calling through the trees. Acadian guided the vehicle off the path and toward the river.

    As the cart burst through into a clearing, the river appeared before them. Gostor wiggled himself free of Flynn¡¯s armor, leaving his axes on the ground. He shouted an inhuman grunt as his body became covered in thick fur, a muscular tail shooting out from beneath his leathers. With a swift turn, he kicked at the restrained beast, sending it hurtling toward the water.

    It tumbled and rolled across the grass, landing with a splash into the river. Acadian halted the cart as they all watched the water. They focused their eyes on the river, but it was too dark to see through.

    Frank stepped off the cart, summoning the light globe to his hand. He slowly approached the bank, holding the light close to his head. He knelt by the water, searching for any sign of the monster. A moment passed with no sign, his racing heartbeat still pounding in his ears. He sighed with relief and turned to rejoin the others.

    The loud eruption of water was accompanied by the stinging pain in his calf and the warm trickle of blood that followed. The beast crawled onto the grass, water dripping off its leathery suit. Frank fell to the ground and pulled himself away.

    The others dismounted the cart and ran after him, but they were quickly cut off by three opalescent flares of magic flying past them. They exploded in a bright and colorful burst of light, which seemed to frighten the creature. It fell backward and swatted at the sparks with its claws. More flares flew from the trees, sending it running in the direction of the water, away from the gathered party.

    Circe and Flynn helped Frank to his feet while Acadian tackled Gostor to keep him from running after the thing. Arsa pulled the bowstring back and aimed toward the way they had come, expecting another monster to present itself.

    In the dark were two reflective dots, like cat eyes, watching them in the shadows. When the others had seen them, Frank sent the light to reveal what was lurking. To their surprise, it was no monster, but an elven woman.

    She flinched at the light, her silver hair falling straight to her midback. She was dressed in a purple patchwork common dress with an old apron tied around her waist. The woman watched them quietly, squinting against the light. She bent down, picking up a wicker basket full of roses. Placing one of the flowers down before her, she turned and walked away.

    Speechless, the group watched as Arsa stepped through the tall grass and picked up the rose. It was not the flower that startled him, but the dark purple tint to the woman¡¯s skin.

    ¡°You saw it, right?¡± he said.

    A dark elf.

 Witches

    Arsa followed the woman, rose in hand. He caught glimpses of the long silver hair glinting between the trees, but she was far faster than she appeared. Circe and Gostor were behind him, ensuring the others didn¡¯t get lost trying to keep up. Flynn and Acadian were helping Frank back onto the cart, blood coating his leg.

    As Arsa chased after her, hoarsely whispering for her to wait, he was startled when he rounded a tree to find her facing him.

    ¡°Why are you following me?¡± she asked. Her voice was gentle, but mature with age. By elven age, she would have been a couple of hundred years old - so, barely middle-aged.

    He staggered back, almost bumping into Circe and tumbling over Gostor.

    ¡°I¡­ Uhm,¡± he stammered. ¡°What was that? Who are you? Why are you out here?¡±

    She gripped the handle of her basket and turned her face away avoidantly, ¡°Why should it matter? I helped you, and now you can be on your way. This place is not safe at night.¡±

    Circe stepped forward, ¡°Then why are you here, alone? I scarcely believe roses are worth the dangers in these woods.¡±

    ¡°I live here,¡± the woman said. ¡°And roses happen to keep the creatures here away. It¡¯s why I left one for you. So you would find no trouble on your way out.¡±

    The cart rolled into view, Frank groaning and hissing over his wound. Flynn looked to Circe with worried eyes.

    ¡°The bleeding won¡¯t stop. My power isn¡¯t closing the gash,¡± he said.

    ¡°Of course not,¡± the drow interjected. She exhaled, as though she had convinced herself of something unpleasant. ¡°Come with me. I can fix him up.¡±

    She began to walk off, but the others remained hesitant.

    Acadian called after her, ¡°How do we know this ain¡¯t a trick?¡±

    She hadn¡¯t answered before Frank groaned out in pain, demanding they follow her.

    They followed her cautiously deeper into the woods, slowly starting to hear the sounds of cicadas and nightbirds again. The path eventually became more well-trod, thorned rose bushes spiraling throughout the scrub.

    The dark of the forest parted in the midst of a circular clearing, in the middle of which was a small cottage. The small, rounded house was built up from weathered stone and aged wood. Thick glass windows expelled a warm glow from the inside, lighting the clearing with a warmth that was not present in the rest of the forest. Around the perimeter were more rose bushes that scaled the exterior with their vines.

    A delicate stone pathway led to the arched wooden door, where the woman was inserting a key into a brass doorknob. She opened the door and stood to the side, gesturing for the group to come inside.

    Acadian parked the wagon close to the roses and helped Flynn carry Frank inside, who was still tensing in pain. They stepped into a wooden interior, with smooth planks of timber that creaked pleasantly underfoot. A warm fireplace crackled against the side wall. Crooked shelves with jars of herbs, bottles with strange liquids inside, and a plethora of books decorated the opposite side like wallpaper. Thick, old furnishings were dotted around the space, each covered with large knitted blankets. A wooden ladder at the back led up through a square hole to a secondary level.

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    Once everyone was inside, the woman flicked her wrist in the air, and the door shut behind them. At once, the furniture moved and rearranged into a comfortable platform. She pointed to it and instructed the men to lay Frank on it.

    They did so as she rushed to the bookshelves, quickly pulling some of the herbs as well as a potion bottle and a mortar and pestle. She began grinding the herbs with the potion, forming a viscous paste.

    ¡°Hold him down,¡± she said, scooping a dark navy pulp onto her fingers. Each of the tallfolk held onto one of Frank¡¯s limbs (Gostor was busying himself by searching the cabinets for drinks).

    She smeared the substance onto the slash in Frank¡¯s calf, the man yelling out at the touch. A loud hissing came from the wound as the flesh began to bubble beneath the blue. For a moment, the skin of his leg almost looked like scales. Within a few moments, though, the sizzling had ceased and the screams faded away. The wound was pale and dry, but it was no longer bleeding.

    Frank¡¯s chest rose and fell deeply as his breathing calmed. He was sweating and gripping the cloth of the furnishings tightly.

    ¡°It can heal now,¡± the woman said. ¡°The Tailor¡¯s claws are nasty. They curse the flesh they touch to be unrepairable.¡±

    Flynn was patting Frank on the shoulder, ¡°The Tailor? That thing has a title?¡±

    The dark elf scoffed, ¡°It¡¯s just what I call him. Speaking of, I am Morgana. Morgana Underrun. You are?¡±

    They all went around giving introductions. The others had to introduce Gostor, who was sat in the corner on a pillow, drinking out of his cask as he was unable to find anything else in any of the cabinets.

    Morgana offered them tea, commanding the room to rearrange itself into a more casual layout. She served them their refreshments and joined them by the fire.

    ¡°I must ask,¡± she took a small sip from her cup. ¡°What is a group of adventurers such as yourselves doing in a place like this? There is nothing to be found out here.¡±

    Acadian leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, ¡°Politely, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true.¡±

    He motioned around to the cottage. Morgana nodded and grimaced.

    Gostor took a breath from drinking to shout, ¡°Witches!¡±

    Morgana went still a moment before taking another sip. She cleared her throat and made a log levitate from the pile into the fire.

    ¡°Witches, you say? Quite the loaded word. Pray tell, what inspired such a hunt?¡±

    Arsa turned on the couch to face her, ¡°We have reason to believe there is a coven planning something. Something big. And I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ve gotten ourselves caught up in it.¡±

    Morgana set down her cup and clasped her violet hands together. Her eyes were severe, striking them all with their reflective sheen. Circe held her tea on her lap, never taking a sip of it. She caught Morgana¡¯s gaze and held it.

    She moved the cup and saucer to the side table in the middle of the furniture, ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything about it, would you?¡±

    Everyone looked at Circe, but no one said anything. Morgana maintained eye contact with her, not blinking once. Circe broke first, but only barely.

    ¡°I have been called a witch many times, and I very well may be one. But I am not the dark artist I believe you are looking for. Nothing granted me power, nor did I craft it from scratch. My talent for unspoken arcana is my own inherited gift. I may be a witch, but it was my power that saved you from these woods. It is my house in which you find sanctuary now.¡±

    Circe was quick to respond, ¡°A sanctuary is not such simply because you call it so.¡±

    ¡°Would you prefer the shadows beyond my door instead?¡±

    Acadian stood up, ¡°We meant no offense, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± Circe said.

    Arsa grabbed her arm, ¡°Shut-the-hell-up.¡±

    Morgana raised her hand, silencing everyone. She calmly rose to her feet, collected her cup, and walked to the wash basin by the window. She set the dish inside before turning to face them all again.

    ¡°Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I mean you no harm. To prove such, you are welcome to stay here for the night, where it is safe. I will prepare a space for you upstairs.¡±

    Circe twisted her head around farther than it should have reasonably turned to stare at Morgana once more, ¡°Does it not concern you to keep six strangers in your home?¡±

    The dark elf smiled at her as she crossed the floor, ¡°If you planned to harm me, you would have done so already.¡±

    She grabbed one of the ladder rungs before stopping and flashing another grin Circe¡¯s way, ¡°And the other way around.¡±

 Histories

    The loft above the main room seemed to be a space dedicated to quilting and sewing - a hobby Morgana must have spent a lot of time with. What were known to be wood-paneled walls were completely obscured by fabrics and tapestries of impressive scale.

    Morgana had collected several of these blankets and weavings to provide her guests with room to settle their arrangements. They made their way out of their armor and into more comfortable clothing and secured their weapons in their bags. Reconvening in the main room, they left their packs upstairs, save for Arsa who held his close.

    Frank had been sat in the cushioned armchair in front of the fire. His fever was dropping and the wound on his leg continued to heal. Morgana stayed near him, refreshing the damp cloth with cold water to soothe him.

    Circe watched her with intent, enmity radiating between the two of them. Acadian and Arsa sat beside one another on one of the couches. The younger elf held his bag close, angling slightly away from his elder.

    Gostor was still sipping on his keg as Flynn meandered around the room, looking at different wall hangings and things on shelves. He stopped briefly by one of the windows, picking up a small portrait made from shards of stained glass.

    The portrait was of Morgana in a much finer gown than the smock she had on. It was of black material with inlaid purple things speckled throughout (it was hard to tell through the glass). Sat beside her was a young drow girl. The girl had the same silvery white hair and lilac skin and was dressed in a dusty pink ruffled dress. Both of them were smiling joyfully in the photo.

    ¡°You¡¯re all by yourself out here?¡± he called out. Morgana noticed what he was holding and approached him. She gently took the frame from his hand and placed it back in the window. Caressing the side of it, she smiled.

    ¡°I am,¡± she said. ¡°That photo was from another lifetime. One I no longer lead.¡±

    Her face became sad as she returned to Frank¡¯s side. Flynn followed and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, looking up at her.

    ¡°Who was she?¡± he asked.

    Morgana smiled, ¡°My daughter. My Laelynn.¡±

    For a moment, the no-nonsense exterior of the drow melted away. A tender heart beat beyond the magic and the power.

    Arsa tilted his head onto his shoulder, squeezing the egg inside the pack a little tighter, ¡°Why isn¡¯t she here with you?¡±

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    Morgana stilled, the water dripping off of the rag and into the basin. She resumed her motion.

    ¡°Life has been unkind to me. I will never see my little girl again,¡± she said in a voice that wavered with a quiet rage. She nearly threw the rag into the water and emptied it into the sink. Gripping the edge of the counter, she let her hair fall over her face. She was trembling.

    Arsa glanced at the others before daring to say something, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± she raised a hand and faced him. ¡°You didn¡¯t mean anything by it. You knew not of what I¡¯ve faced. How could you? Your beloved council made sure my people would be forgotten.¡±

    The Archmagus. The council of the most powerful mages across the whole of Namora. Spellcasters from the continents of Ayeron, Eihimea, Upora, Pegres, and Veloquor. They governed the world as a united guild, stepping in to correct major world atrocities. Atrocities like the War of Gods.

    Smaller squabbles such as the war between the Cities of Hydraan and the Empires, either side of the continent of Ayeron, were of no interest to the Archmagus. They left civil disputes to the populations they impacted. The council was far more concerned with matters of magic and power, such as the protection of the Fracture.

    Acadian cleared his throat, ¡°Yer people? The dark elf tribe?¡±

    Morgana laughed, ¡°Tribe? We are nothing so primitive. We are a kingdom. A nation. One that rivaled the power of that dreadful thing that makes your laws and shapes your histories.

    We are not a dark elf tribe. We are Zeaguraat. The forefathers of magic. The artisans of spellcraft. The original mages.¡±

    Crack.

    At the climax of her story (one that was hardly believed by the present company), a splitting sound from Arsa¡¯s bag drew their attention. A panic filled each of them as a small grunt came from the leather.

    Arsa tried to excuse himself and rush upstairs, but he tripped over the corner of the rug, dropping the bag. Fragments of amethyst shell spilled out along with a slimy purple substance. Another high-pitched grunt shrieked out from the pack as a small violet lizard rolled out.

    The creature had frail, translucent wings that clung to its back with delicate veins running through the membrane. Its large eyes looked around, blinking away the fluid that coated its form. The snout was short and rounded, almost dog-like in appearance. From its forehead, two crystalline horns poked out like gemstones erupting from a smooth cavern wall.

    Morgana raised her eyebrow and narrowed her eyes, ¡°Is¡­ is that an amethyst dragon?¡±

    Arsa knelt down to pick up the slippery thing. He held it in his arms, gazing down at its curious face. He felt tears forming behind his eyelids and sniffed them away. Suddenly, he became very aware of the number of eyes on him and the baby.

    He stammered, ¡°No... it''s a baby amethyst dragon.¡±

 Hatchlings

    Everyone gathered around to watch the dragon nestle and squeal into Arsa¡¯s shoulder. It wriggled around, pressing its face hard into every surface it happened past. The elf smiled in wonder as the creature playfully took in the world for the first time.

    Acadian had gotten up and stood by the window in the kitchen, arms crossed and lips pursed. Every once in a while, when the dragon would make a particularly jerky movement with its head, his hand would dart to his hip. To his surprise, Morgana seemed completely unbothered.

    ¡°Where did you come across such a thing?¡± she asked, leaning forward on the couch across from Arsa.

    Arsa was letting the dragon climb up his arm and around his shoulders, ¡°It was in a stone box, buried beneath a statue of Bumera.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± she asked, rising to her feet and moving toward the bookshelves. She traced her finger along the titles before pulling free a thin book with a faded felt cover. Thumbing through the pages, she stopped about a quarter way through and brought it to the group.

    On the right page was a picture of a hefty-looking stone chest with a peculiar rocky knob at the front of it. She turned the book to face Arsa.

    He tilted his head, ¡°It was almost exactly that, but the knob on it was different. Only slightly, though. What is it?¡±

    ¡°A Regeum Box. Not many exist.¡±

    Circe raised her eyebrows and looked innocently at the image in the book, ¡°Each box has a twin. Both share a sub-realm, where any number of items might be stored. Powerful mages used them in the First War to send supplies quickly across the five lands of Namora without wasting their magic. It was a real tide-turner for the mortal armies when the Betrayer gods overtook Veloquor.¡±

    Everyone stared at her in silence, Morgana¡¯s heavy eyelids and tight lips bringing a smile to Circe¡¯s face.

    She grinned widely at the drow, ¡°Or something like that.¡±

    Flynn reached out to stroke the dragon¡¯s nose, but it snapped at his fingers and hissed. He reared back and frowned.

    Frank leaned his head back, ¡°Does that mean you stole a dragon from a wizard?¡±

    Arsa took the child in his hands and held it up under its arms. Its newborn head flopped around aimlessly, its soft belly poking outward. A high-pitched yawn slipped from its maw as it blinked up at him.

    ¡°His name is Zaun,¡± Arsa said through a smile.

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    Frank looked around as if to ask if anyone else shared his concerns. Morgana shook her head.

    ¡°Time moves differently in sub-realms like the ones in Regeum Boxes,¡± she assured. ¡°There¡¯s no telling how long the poor beast could have been left in there.¡±

    Zaun sniffed the air before waddling across the armrest of the couch and leaping onto Frank¡¯s belly. He grunted, the air pushing out from his lungs. The dragon crawled curiously up his abdomen and onto his chest, staring at him while pressing his snout into Frank¡¯s nose.

    Frank didn¡¯t move, only shifting his eyes to Arsa and whispering, ¡°Help.¡±

    Suddenly, Zaun¡¯s forked blue tongue slithered from its mouth and licked Frank¡¯s face. Immediately, the beast¡¯s pupils dilated as it began to furiously lap at his jaw. Frank giggled and tried to push Zaun away, but the dragon would not be deterred. Arsa laughed and pulled the dragon away, its stubby arms reaching for its prey.

    Morgana smiled at the scene, allowing herself a quiet chuckle. She glanced at the kitchen and made her way next to Acadian.

    ¡°Not a friend of dragons, I take it?¡± she asked.

    He took a deep breath, ¡°You can¡¯t imagine the hell those things can bring upon folks.¡±

    Her face fell and she began scrubbing at the cups that were placed in the wash basin. She wiped her hands on a small dish towel and stared blankly at a picture on the wall.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know me like that.¡±

    He glanced over his shoulder at her. He dropped his arms and pressed on the bridge of his nose.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he began. ¡°I understand yer people have been through a lot.¡±

    She leaned against the counter beside him, watching the group as they played with Zaun and fed him their rations.

    ¡°What¡¯s your take on the missing dragons?¡± she asked without looking at him.

    He glanced at her suspiciously, ¡°What?¡±

    She left the counter and moved to face him, ¡°Surely you¡¯ve heard. Why, I¡¯m a recluse and the whispers even reach my woods. No? Dragons all across Ayeron are going missing. The Cities, the Empires, everywhere. Nests are empty. Hoards are left unattended. And nary a beastly body to be found.¡±

    Acadian¡¯s breath caught in his chest as he thought, ¡°It couldn¡¯t be a migration. And dragon bodies are hard to hide. Even if they were being harvested on a massive scale, the markets would be a sign of that.¡±

    ¡°Then do you suggest they just vanished?¡± she said calmly.

    He shook his head and laid his chin in his fingers. His mind was racing, years of hunting dragons trying rapidly to explain how so many could disappear - if what Morgana was saying was even true to begin with. Acadian certainly hadn¡¯t heard tell of this.

    He looked at her with a skeptical look, ¡°Dragons aren¡¯t animals. They¡¯re smart. Really smart. If they wanted to hide from us, they could - easily. But why would they do that? Why would so many of them do that all at the same time?¡±

    Morgana pressed her ear forward, awaiting the reveal of his answer.

    ¡°Either they know something¡¯s comin¡¯, or somethin¡¯ has already come.¡±

 Invasions

    The interior of the hut had become entirely pitch black with darkness, with no moonlight able to pierce through the various layers of the forest and into the windows. Frank had tossed around in the many layers of quilts he was lying under, the skin on his calf still searing together.

    After a couple of sleepless hours, he thrust his leg out of the covers and into the air. He sat upright, breathing deep and gently feeling the smooth, hairless skin of his shin.

    He hated having legs.

    A creaking floorboard near the ladder drew his attention. He squinted through the shadows, trying to catch any glint of light that his scotopic vision could see. A slight sheen across dull metal was waddling near the ground.

    ¡°Gostor,¡± he whispered hoarsely. A barely-voiced grunt called back before the thick pads of the dwarf¡¯s hands carried him down the ladder.

    Frank stood, grimacing as his aching leg trembled beneath his weight. He hobbled over to the ladder, feeling around with his hands so as not to fall through the opening. Finding the rungs, he lowered himself to the main floor of the hut.

    He couldn¡¯t see anything. There was no light for him to catch and Gostor was being particularly quiet. Morgana was somewhere down here, but there was no telling where. He whispered for Gostor to come back, his voice so soft that only the consonants of his words made any sound. When no one answered, he frustratedly summoned a small spark of light in his hands.

    His tattoos shimmered as a tiny jellyfish made of pure light bobbed up and down in his palm. It wasn¡¯t even as bright as a candle, but it provided enough of a glow to navigate the downstairs.

    The furniture had been moved back to its original position and all the dishes had been placed in the sink. The curtains were all closed and the fire had been completely put out. By the window near the bookshelves was a large plush chair facing the shut window, Morgana¡¯s white hair resting at the top. Frank sighed with relief - she hadn¡¯t woken up.

    In the same corner, Gostor was pulling books off the shelves. His head craned back as his eyes narrowed towards a specific tome on the top shelf. Frank sucked his teeth and limped over to him.

    He batted his hands away from the shelves and whispered, ¡°Stop it.¡±

    Gostor shook his head and tried to climb the shelves, using the empty spaces as footholds. Frank glanced back at Morgana, who was still motionless in the chair. The back of her head was sunk deep into the cushion of the seat.

    Frank grabbed the book before Gostor could snatch it, if not just to get him away from the shelf. Holding it up away from the scavenger, he saw it was nondescript but extremely well-read. Tabs and notes stuck out from the edges and the parchment was very worn. It almost seemed to vibrate in his grasp. Gostor must have sensed it, too.

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    He knelt down so the both of them could see it. He cracked it open and gave Gostor a sharp look as if to demand that they share. The dwarf snorted but agreed, standing uncomfortably close to Frank.

    They flipped through the pages, finding long journal entries and drawings of otherworldly buildings and items. The words were in a language neither of them could understand, the characters flowing together with lines and dots that resembled no alphabet they had ever seen.

    One page seemed to be a letter of sorts, accompanied by an elegant drawing of a pyramidic palace. Another featured only a smiling girl with long, braided hair that was adorned with ornate metal pieces. The page had many dark spots across the paper, as though someone had spilled water onto it.

    Covering two pages in the middle of the book was a drawing of a dragon. Its scales were dark, with grey fur rolling out from its long neck like storm clouds across the night sky. Four horns reached out of its forehead, forming a star-like crown behind its spiked ears. The throat of the beast crackled with jagged lines depicting a golden lightning. Its wings were thick and muscular, serrated barbs piercing through the shoulders.

    Most terrible of all were its eyes. The horrid dark eyes were set deep into the dragon¡¯s brow. Dripping from the sockets was a gold liquid that spilled onto its wicked teeth. Below the drawing were the only words they had seen that either of them could read.

    ¡°I will kill you.¡±

    A voice spoke clearly behind them, ¡°Doing some reading, are we?¡±

    Morgana stood over them, looking down at the book with her cat-like eyes. Frank slammed it shut and stood, wincing as he did.

    ¡°I-I¡­¡± he stammered. Gostor was trying to grab back the book. Morgana grabbed it out of Frank¡¯s hands, pushing him back as she did.

    He stumbled backward into the shelves, his calf burning. As he steadied himself, Morgana¡¯s hand grabbed his jaw. Her eyes began to glow a deep purple and her hands grew very cold. The light he had summoned disappeared and the room was plunged into total darkness once more.

    Ice climbed over his mouth, stinging his skin with the frigid blast. Gostor growled and began to charge at her leg, but a wave of force knocked him backward.

    ¡°I let you into my home. I bind your wounds. I shelter you. And you invade my privacy?¡±

    With every word, the ice grew colder and spread across more of his face. His eyes were wide. He grabbed at her arm, trying desperately to conjure a spell to melt the ice, but his magic wouldn¡¯t work and his tattoos remained dark.

    She brought her face close to his, ¡°Get upstairs. Now.¡±

    As she pushed him away, the ice shattered and his jaw was freed. The skin around his mouth quickly grew red and his lips darkened. He slid past her, grabbing Gostor on his way. She followed them to the ladder, watching them scramble up. When they made it to the top, she pulled the ladder from the hole.

    Gostor stomped grumpily to a pile of blankets and threw himself down. Breathing heavily, Frank held his hands to his face, warming back up. He sat against the wall, heart still racing. When he had calmed down, he laid his head back.

    We gotta start leaving books alone, he thought.

 Stitches

    By morning, Morgana had put the ladder back to the wall. The group woke up one by one, only Frank and Gostor aware of what happened the night before. Flynn and Acadian helped Frank down into the main room and onto a chair. His leg was much better when he woke up, only a light soreness remained.

    He expected Morgana to be standing at the door, ready to kick them out. To his surprise, she was gliding around with a smile on her face as though she hadn¡¯t a care in the world.

    ¡°Breakfast?¡± she offered them in a singsong voice.

    They accepted her meal of eggs and hearty meats while she brewed tea over the fire. The scarce sunlight managed to twinkle in through the glass of the windows like silk strands dangling off of a spider¡¯s web.

    Flynn scarfed down his food before asking, ¡°Where do you get proteins like this? We didn¡¯t see any foul or pigs in those woods.¡±

    ¡°Well, I do occasionally venture beyond the treeline to Ailaydan for supplies. I only make that trip once a year - twice if I catch a particularly nasty winter.¡±

    Acadian wiped his mouth, ¡°That¡¯s an awful trek for you to take by yerself.¡±

    She shook her head and weaved some magic essence between her fingers, ¡°What have we magic for if not for convenience?¡±

    Frank clenched his jaw. He could still remember the stinging cold on his lips. He noticed she wasn¡¯t looking at him, even as he dared to stare into her eyes.

    Arsa was letting Zaun nibble on the scraps left on his plate, enamored by the creature. Circe hadn¡¯t eaten anything but wandered aimlessly around the house. Occasionally, she would tilt a framed picture slightly off-center or pull a book only a hair out of place.

    Acadian sat up straight, ¡°You have been awful hospitable, ma¡¯am. Can we pay you back for anythin¡¯? Don¡¯t wanna put you out.¡±

    She laughed quietly but then clicked her tongue in thought.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± she said, ¡°there is something you could do for me. You¡¯ve met my neighbor, of course. I certainly wouldn¡¯t mind being free of his claws.¡±

    Flynn cocked his head, ¡°You want us to kill the¡­ the Trimmer?¡±

    Arsa cast a tired glance, ¡°The Tailor, Flynn. The Tailor.¡±

    Morgana stood and spun toward the window by the sink, ¡°Oh, you¡¯re right. It is much too dangerous a task. It was selfish of me to ask it.¡±

    Circe glared at her, a look of suspicion on her face that only Frank took notice of. Before either of them could interject, Acadian was standing.

    ¡°We will do what we can, Miss Morgana,¡± he said with a slight bow.

    She faced him and smiled, clasping her hands over her heart. She stepped over to the door, picking up the basket of roses she carried the other night. With an elaborate gesture, she handed over a handful of five roses to the elf.

    ¡°Take these,¡± she said. ¡°The roses won¡¯t kill the thing, but it does seem to be frightened of them. He hides in an old cabin across the river you left him in. You¡¯ll find it easily. Follow the smell.¡±

    They spent some time putting on their gear and piling their bags into the cart outside. Morgana watched them from the porch, looking more delicate than she had acted last night - even before Frank and Gostor read the book.

    When they had all joined in the wagon, Morgana called out, ¡°Bring me his hands, if you please. As proof that he is dead.¡±

    ~

    The cart rattled its way through the woods, following the marks left in the path from the previous journey. It wasn¡¯t long before they crossed over the river and into the other half of the forest.

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    You seem quiet today, Frank heard in his head. Circe was staring at him with a face that was impossible to read.

    I don¡¯t have much to say, he responded.

    She didn¡¯t blink, The blackened skin beneath your jaw might suggest otherwise.

    He felt around his throat. Indeed there were five tender spots around his neck where Morgana¡¯s hand had been. He swallowed hard and looked away from Circe.

    She¡¯s lying to us, she said in his mind. She was pretending back there. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if this was a trap.

    Why are you telling me? He asked. Why not make Acadian take us on out of the woods instead?

    She smirked for the first time, Just because it¡¯s a trap doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s going to work. Did you believe her tale last night? About the drow.

    I don¡¯t know, he shook his head, letting his hair dangle over his face. The cart bounced off a particularly large root, the rattle sending some dark birds rushing from the tangle of branches overhead.

    Flynn began to cough. The smell hit them all suddenly, the stinging scent of decay overwhelming their sinuses. Arsa was trying hard not to gag as the smell only grew more intense.

    Gostor arched his back and began to growl at something in the distance. The cabin soon came into full view. The crooked silhouette of the dwelling huddled amongst a clearing of gnarled trees. An exterior of mismatched timber planks jutted out and splintered in various directions. Moss and fungi climbed the walls, like veins over a rotted exposed muscle.

    The windows were placed unevenly along the front, the glass long shattered from the panes. A thick door sat propped against the front opening, the rusted hinges nowhere to be found. All along the front porch were a series of deeply carved slashes, adorning the facade with stripes like that of a beastly predator.

    Acadian stopped the cart and quietly slid into the overgrown grass. He pulled out his crossbow and loaded it with an arrow. The others followed suit, readying their weapons or magic. They moved in formation, even Gostor showing trepidation.

    The two elves stood with their arrows pointing straight at the entrance as Frank and Flynn moved the heavy door out of the way. There was no target behind it, only a dark entryway and a swarm of gnats and maggots that sprawled out of the opening.

    The smell was even worse now. Those that had the means to pulled up the cloth of their gear to cover their mouth and nose, and those without suppressed their vomit. Acadian handed everyone one of the roses Morgana had given him, leaving himself without a flower.

    Flynn stepped ahead of the group, his eyes alighting with an amber color as he spoke, ¡°Gladucis.¡±

    His sword began to glow brightly a divine light. Immediately, the group saw the grizzly sight of humanoid bodies piled on top of one another.

    Skinless.

    Many were missing limbs, some were missing eyes and jaws, teeth and digits. All of them had been flayed in grotesquely specific fashions. Worms and maggots coated the mountain of gore, the long dried blood of the victims coating the entrance like paint.

    They stood, stunned, in the doorway for some time. Even Circe and Gostor had to turn away from the sight. Flynn pointed his sword down a hallway to the right and held up his shield, creating a covering for the bodies. The others filed in behind him and followed the glow of his sword.

    The house was a claustrophobic maze of halls and low ceilings. There were remnants of what may have been a livable home such as broken picture frames and the rare scrap of a carpet. All of it had been abused and neglected. There was no telling what any given room had been intended for, as everything had been ransacked and defiled. Except for the many mannequins that decorated every open space in the cabin.

    Hung on wooden spikes that had been pushed through the crooked floorboards were crude effigies made from straw and cloth, some with bones woven into the bodies. They were draped with the blood-stained garments of, presumably, the unfortunate bodies that lay piled in the foyer.

    In one of the rooms, perhaps a dining room or a study, Frank grabbed a long navy coat from a mannequin and slung it over his shoulders. He pulled the collar around to cover his face. The blood stains were unpleasant, but it at least partially blocked the horrid scent in the air.

    Eventually, they came across a dark circular room outfitted with furniture that was still intact. A wooden table at the back had a mess of metal shards and blades lying atop it. Wooden chairs were placed upside down in a seemingly random pattern. Around the perimeter were small candles, lit with flickering black flames.

    Snip snip.

    Flynn pointed his sword toward the familiar shriek of metal. Facing the wall, the Tailor sat in a squat, his silver fingers twitching. His coat pooled on the ground in a messy fold of fleshy stitches. Slowly, the creature stood to its full height, turning only its eyeless face to the intruders. They all readied their attacks.

    Acadian aimed his crossbow at the back of its neck, ¡°This is the last stitch you¡¯ll ever pull.¡±

 Seams

    The moment Acadian¡¯s voice faded, the Tailor¡¯s neck cracked unnaturally to one side. It folded over onto all fours and began to gallop like an animal towards the group. Its bladed hands scraped against the floor, a screeching echo filling the cabin.

    ¡°Scatter!¡± Acadian shouted, firing a bolt from his crossbow. The Tailor lurched to its side, now crawling upside down toward them. With its head extended back towards the floor, its soulless eyesockets seemed to scream at them.

    Arsa ducked into a corner, drawing his bow and narrowing his eyes as he waited for an opening to fire. Zaun curled up tightly around Arsa¡¯s neck, whimpering from the high-pitched shriek of the Tailor¡¯s claws.

    ¡°Stay with me, Zaun,¡± he whispered, loosing an arrow and striking the Tailor¡¯s shoulder. The creature barely flinched, the arrowshaft sticking out of it like a pin in a doll.

    Gostor had already begun shouting, his form becoming beastly and hairy. He let out a guttural roar as he charged headfirst toward the Tailor, swinging his handaxes wildly. His powerful blows connected with clangs of steel on steel, but the Tailor blocked against the onslaught. The dwarf snarled, relentlessly hacking at the serrated talons.

    Frank stood at the edge of the room, his tattoos glowing a bright blue.

    ¡°I¡¯ll slow it down,¡± he said through his concentration. He waved his hand, sending a gust of icy wind toward the Tailor. The creature staggered as its legs were suddenly encased in an eruption of ice. Gostor managed to lodge one of his axes in the thing¡¯s thigh, but a swing of it¡¯s arm backhanded him away. Black blood leaked from the gash in its leg, spilling onto the ice at its feet. Its torso rounded backward as though it wanted to scream. With a violent shake, it shattered the ice around its shins. Its hollow eyes turned to Frank.

    Flynn ran between the creature and Frank, raising his shield to meet the coming attack. He planted his feet squarely on the floor, sword at the ready.

    ¡°Behind me!¡± he shouted, bracing himself as the Tailor¡¯s hand came down, scraping sickeningly against the metal. The force of the blow reverberated through Flynn¡¯s shield, but he held firm, teeth gritted hard enough to hurt.

    ¡°Is that all you got?¡± Flynn taunted.

    The Tailor¡¯s other claw came swinging around the shield faster than the boy could react. It raked across his side, slicing cleanly through the armor. Blood sprayed the floor as Flynn gasped and stumbled back into Frank. He swung his sword instinctively, the blade biting into the Tailor¡¯s arm. The black ichor oozed from the slash, but it refused to slow.

    Circe, standing in the shadows, whispered, ¡°Planirey vey.¡± She raised her arm above her head, summoning tendrils of thorny vines from beneath the floorboards. They coiled like serpents around the Tailor¡¯s legs, dragging it to the floor and away from the wounded knight. The creature contorted, stabbing one of its hands into the ground and using the other to tear through the vines.

    ¡°It¡¯s too strong,¡± she spat. ¡°We need something more.¡±

    Acadian stared at Flynn¡¯s bleeding shoulder, anger growing in his chest. As the paladin knelt down, Frank struggling to keep him upright, Acadian saw the rose hanging limply from Flynn¡¯s belt.

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    ¡°Get yer roses!¡± he shouted. ¡°Keep ''em close.¡±

    Circe conjured her rose from beneath the strap of her dress and walked forward with a sneer. As the Tailor reached its feet, she pushed the flower towards its face. The creature recoiled, hissing through its nostrils. It lashed out again, but not at Circe - at the rose.

    She maneuvered it like a fencing rapier, backing the Tailor towards Gostor. The dwarf held out his own rose, albeit upside down, and began bashing it at the monster like a hammer. It writhed, falling to the floor to avoid their floral daggers. As it turned on its belly, the voids in its head focused on Arsa as he scrambled to pull a flower out of his pack.

    Once again on all fours, it ran with unnerving speed toward Arsa and Zaun. It leaped into the air, claws ready to strike. The elf stared helplessly wide-eyed at the attacker, raising his arm to shield Zaun from the blow.

    Just then, Acadian darted between Arsa and the Tailor, firing a bolt into its chest. It jolted and convulsed, but its blades came down on him, slicing across his shoulder. Acadian staggered back, his breath caught in his throat as the pain began to radiate through his veins.

    ¡°Acadian, no!¡± Arsa said, rising to his feet.

    He finally freed his rose and thrust it desperately forward. With the arrow sticking out of its chest, it took a deep, stuttering breath in. With much effort, an inhuman scream erupted from its throat. Its jaw began to widen as the skin where its mouth should be tore apart, releasing its wicked roar. It reared its second hand back, ready to strike beyond the rose at Arsa¡¯s shoulder and the dragon sat upon it.

    In a final burst of energy, Acadian threw himself in front of the claw, taking the full force of the blow. The blade sliced into Acadian¡¯s back, and he crumpled to the ground.

    It was as though time had frozen. Arsa fell to his knees over Acadian¡¯s twitching and gasping body, blood seeping out through his wounds.

    ¡°No, no, no¡­¡± he stammered.

    Gostor roared and charged at the Tailor with reckless abandon, his axes swinging wildly. Flynn followed, dropping his shield from the pain in his arm - still, he ran forward with his sword. Frank¡¯s eyes and tattoos glowed a bright inferno of red, unleashing a torrent of fire at the creature and blasting it away from the unconscious elf.

    Gostor and Flynn¡¯s blades fell upon the burning Tailor, the black blood gushing onto the floor. It hissed and heaved through its new mouth, the bladed hands flailing but finding no purchase. Its movements slowed, becoming light twitches and more pained movements. Circe stepped forward as Flynn and Gostor backed away. She looked down at the dying thing and sneered. She dropped her rose on its face as it fell still.

    The room had gone silent, save for the ragged breathing of the party. Flynn walked to the wall and sat down, pulling off his belt to make an ugly tourniquet around his bicep.

    Arsa was holding his hands over Acadian¡¯s wounds. The old hunter¡¯s face was pale, his breathing shallow. But he was alive.

    ¡°Hold on,¡± Arsa whispered, his voice cracking. ¡°Hold on, we¡¯re not done yet. We promised each other, remember? Remember that? Please.¡±

    Zaun coiled tighter around Arsa¡¯s neck, letting out a soft, mournful cry. Flynn called out after pulling the strap of his belt.

    ¡°He¡¯ll live,¡± he said. ¡°We all will. Destiny won¡¯t let us go yet. I have faith.¡±

    Frank knelt down beside them, waving his palm over Acadian¡¯s wounds. His tattoos changed to gold and the bleeding stopped, but the slashes remained open.

    ¡°He saved you,¡± Frank whispered. ¡°And the dragon.¡±

    Arsa swallowed hard, brushing the sweat-soaked hair out of Acadian¡¯s face. ¡°He hates dragons¡­¡±

    Circe pulled Gostor off the Tailor¡¯s corpse, the dwarf halfway through severing its head. She let out a sigh and joined the others.

    She pursed her lips and raised her brow, ¡°Perhaps he doesn¡¯t hate dragons as much as he cares for you.¡±

 Wounds

    Arsa and Circe carried Acadian back to the cart, trying hard to avoid looking at the pile of bodies by the front door. Flynn followed, gripping his wound tightly and wincing. He was beginning to sweat, his mind becoming cloudy.

    Frank stayed back with Gostor to remove the hands of the Tailor like Morgana had asked of them. Without Circe nearby to stop him, Gostor removed the head and carried it proudly out of the house. As they loaded into the cart, Circe held out her hand and commanded the wagon forward.

    They raced through the forest at as fast a speed as Circe could will it, the others holding onto the sides and their sick passengers. The cart bounced over roots and under branches, splashing over the river and sending cold water into the bed of the vehicle. Acadian was growing more pale and Flynn had finally faded from consciousness as well.

    Finally, Circe scraped the wheels against the cobbled path in front of Morgana¡¯s house. The door was already open and the woman stood, stern-faced, beckoning them inside. The healthy carried the poisoned into the house where Morgana had already prepared makeshift sickbeds for them.

    Frank stared at the tables in the living area that had been set up with blankets and plush headrests.

    ¡°How did you know we would need¡­¡±

    ¡°Lucky guess,¡± Morgana interrupted.

    The group laid Acadian and Flynn on the tables as the witch grabbed a jar of the same paste she had used on Frank from the kitchen. She commanded them to remove the men¡¯s armor to expose the wounds. Acadian¡¯s leathers were simple to remove, but Flynn¡¯s metal suit was taking more effort. With a grunt, Morgana waved her hand. The metal around his torso splintered out like a blossoming flower, revealing his blood-soaked undershirt.

    Circe grabbed a knife to cut off Flynn¡¯s sleeve while Arsa quickly untied the straps of Acadian¡¯s tunic. Frank¡¯s magic had stopped the bleeding, but the poison radiated through the veins beneath the skin, a dark discoloration spreading from their gashes.

    Morgana took a wooden spoon and smeared a generous amount onto Flynn¡¯s arm. Immediately, the paste began to sizzle and the knight lurched awake from the pain. He shouted from his chest, but Frank and Gostor held him down on the table while Morgana wrapped the wound in a cloth bandage.

    The witch moved quickly to Acadian, surveying the deep cuts across his clavicle. The dark veins beneath his skin pulsed with a decaying heartbeat. Arsa stood beside him, holding his shoulders.

    ¡°It got him in the back too,¡± he said, eyes pleading with Morgana to save him.

    She nodded and took the jar. With a single smear, she applied the substance to his shoulder. Acadian¡¯s muscles twitched at the contact, but he did not wake. Morgana looked at both Circe and Arsa.

    ¡°Sit him up,¡± she commanded them. They followed her orders, lifting Acadian upright.

    At the sight of his back, Morgana¡¯s eyes widened momentarily before returning to their previous severity. Acadian¡¯s head slumped forward onto Arsa¡¯s shoulder as Morgana painted the deep cuts that ran along his spine. His body convulsed while they wrapped bandages around his chest and shoulder.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    When both men had been tended to, they all laid them down and let them rest. Morgana, Circe, and Frank sat on the couches in the living room while Arsa decided to stay near Acadian. Gostor had climbed the ladder to go upstairs.

    Arsa laid a damp cloth on Acadian¡¯s head and moved his hair out of his face. He examined his chest, watching his breathing steady. A wave of relief washed over him - even Zaun began to relax.

    Frank reached into the pocket of the navy coat he was still wearing and pulled out the stiffened hands of the Tailor. He leaned forward and handed them to Morgana.

    ¡°Well done,¡± she smiled. She turned them over in her lap, letting the light glint off the bladed fingers.

    Circe crossed her arms, ¡°What do you want them for? And why did you need us to get them?¡±

    ¡°Assurance,¡± she said quickly. ¡°And, surely, you can see I would have been no match for that thing all by myself.¡±

    ¡°I think you would have been,¡± she cast a knowing glance at Frank¡¯s neck, then back to her. ¡°I don¡¯t make a habit of entertaining liars.¡±

    Morgana¡¯s courteous smile faded, ¡°I have saved your friends three times now. If I harbored ill intent, would I not have already exercised it? I thought I made that perfectly clear last night. To both of you.¡±

    Frank clasped his hands and leaned forward, ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°Currently,¡± she responded through low eyelids and arched brows, ¡°an ally.¡±

    The house was silent for a long while. The pained breaths from Flynn and Acadian had ceased and they were resting. Circe had gone upstairs, uninterested in speaking with the drow any longer. There she found Gostor, kicking the Tailor¡¯s head around like a toy ball.

    Frank was reclining on the couch under the watchful eye of Morgana. He traced the fine trim of the coat with his fingers. Covering up in thick clothing was not a favored sensation for Frank, but the soft inner lining and well-tailored fabrics were rather comfortable.

    He played with the pockets a moment before feeling something inside one of the buttoned patches. It was something small and hard wrapped in a wad of paper. He pulled it free and opened the package.

    It was a bright stainless silver ring wrapped in what appeared to be a letter. He kept the ring in the palm of his hand as he straightened out the parchment.

    Doran,

    Please, darling, return home. There have been reports of orc attacks on the southern trade routes. I am certain you can handle yourself, but I feel helpless not accompanying you this time around. The museum will be fine without another Urixian acquisition. I understand your appreciation for the exotic, but the world is a far more dangerous place than it was when we were young. We are safe here in Hirondale. Please come home as soon as you can. I regret not preparing a Homeguard Scroll for you to take. Perhaps consider taking the path through Woodrand¡¯s Growth rather than the Danheim. It might be safer. I love you.

    Always,

    Zander.

    Frank examined the ring, its gleaming glancing off a light that wasn¡¯t there. He took a deep breath.

    ¡°Well, this day just gets cheerier all the time.¡±

    Morgana smirked, ¡°You took a coat from the house of a monster wearing a jacket of skin and expected it to be accompanied by an uplifting tale?¡±

    He gave her an exhausted look. He folded the letter neatly and placed it back in the buttoned pocket before slipping the ring onto his finger.

    ¡°A bit tasteless, don¡¯t you think?¡± Morgana teased.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to lose it before I can return it.¡±

    ¡°Return it? You plan on heading to Hirondale to give back this person¡¯s dead love¡¯s things?¡±

    Frank stood up and took the jacket off, folding it neatly before placing it in his bag beside the couch.

    ¡°Whoever Zander is, they deserve to know what happened,¡± he said. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you want someone to tell you?¡±

    Morgana pursed her lips and crossed her legs. Her eyes went blank like she was looking at something that wasn¡¯t there.

    ¡°No,¡± she whispered.

 Reconciliations

    Arsa had decided to stay downstairs with his wounded allies and a resting Morgana. She explained to him that she didn¡¯t sleep, but rather meditated during the night hours to rest herself. The witch resigned herself to her chair by the stained glass and appeared to retreat into her own mind.

    The dwindling fireplace cast long, warm shadows across the room. Zaun was curled up on Arsa¡¯s lap, asleep. The baby was snoring faintly like a purring cat. Arsa ran his hand gently across the tiny spines that poked from the creature¡¯s back.

    ¡°How can something so small cause such a stir?¡± he whispered. ¡°I suppose you can¡¯t quite help it, can you?¡±

    A soft groan broke the quiet, bringing Arsa¡¯s attention swiftly to the cot in front of him. Acadian began stirring, the lines in his forehead creasing as he woke. Arsa quickly placed the back side of his hand against the man¡¯s forehead, ushering him back down to the pillow.

    ¡°Don¡¯t move too much,¡± he said softly. ¡°You¡¯re still hurt.¡±

    Acadian blinked, his eyes darting around the room before landing lazily on Arsa¡¯s face. He shifted beneath the quilt overtop of him and winced. ¡°Not dead yet,¡± he said, his voice rough and dry.

    Arsa smiled weakly, ¡°Not for lack of trying. You didn¡¯t have to¡­ do what you did.¡±

    Acadian scoffed, the air followed by a wheeze, then a cough. ¡°You¡¯d be dead if I didn¡¯t. You and-¡± his voice trailed off. His eyes flicked around, then downward to Zaun. There was a flash of something in his expression. Something old and familiar.

    Arsa¡¯s hand paused right at Zaun¡¯s ribcage. He searched Acadian¡¯s eyes, finding a sadness behind them.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to save him,¡± Arsa said with a suggestion of sadness.

    He didn¡¯t have to, but the boy was very glad that he did.

    Acadian¡¯s jaw clenched and the muscles beneath his eyes tensed. He heaved himself up, ignoring Arsa¡¯s attempt to steady him. His legs swung round and dangled off the cot.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t tryin¡¯ to save it,¡± he said through gritted teeth. ¡°I was tryin¡¯ to save you.¡±

    Arsa¡¯s brow flicked together briefly. He took in a quick, determined breath.

    ¡°You could have pushed me aside or tackled the thing. You chose to shield us both. Why?¡±

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Acadian looked away from him, staring into the fire as if it would give him an answer. There was a long silence.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted at last. He glanced back at Arsa, something unguarded in his eyes. ¡°Maybe I¡¯m losin¡¯ my edge. Maybe I¡¯m just tired of watchin¡¯ people die.¡±

    Arsa held his breath. In all the time he had been working beside him, he had never heard Acadian so vulnerable. There had always been a rigidity, a wall.

    ¡°You¡¯ve always seemed so sure that dragons are nothing but monsters. But Zaun isn¡¯t like that. He¡¯s a baby. He¡¯s innocent.¡±

    Acadian¡¯s lips twisted beneath his beard. He scoffed again, making himself cough.

    ¡°It¡¯s their nature. They grow into it. It¡¯ll snuggle up to you today, but give it a year or two. It¡¯ll burn a city down.¡±

    Arsa saw the look again. That old, familiar sadness. He knew the city Acadian was talking about. Elkstaaid. He stiffened, remembering the way he used the ghost of the tragedy to hurt Acadian only days ago. Arsa sighed, breathing out his ego.

    ¡°You can¡¯t blame Zaun for that dragon¡¯s crimes. He isn¡¯t her. He can grow up and make choices. Just like we do.¡±

    Acadian¡¯s gaze snapped back to him, sharper this time. ¡°That thing is not like us. What happens when it grows up? When it learns what it is and decides it is tired of being your pet? Would you be able to stop it then? Would you kill it if it turned?¡±

    Arsa opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He looked down at Zaun, still sleeping in his lap. He felt an ache deep in his chest. It pained him to think of the creature¡¯s beautiful violet eyes turning against him. To imagine Zaun as the beast Acadian feared. His eyes began to burn.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± he admitted, his voice hardly above a whisper. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I would do. But if we killed him, he would never have the chance to choose a better path.¡±

    Acadian softened by only a fraction. He studied Arsa¡¯s eyes, watching them gloss over. He looked down at Zaun, watching the way Arsa cradled him like a father holding his child.

    ¡°You really believe that,¡± he said, his voice rough with something that sounded like regret. ¡°You think he can be different.¡±

    ¡°I do,¡± Arsa answered, his eyes emotional but unwavering.

    The older elf closed his eyes and let out a slow, shuddered breath. ¡°Then I can try to believe it too. For your sake.¡±

    Arsa¡¯s eyes brightened, hope spreading across his face. He pushed, but could not suppress his smile. ¡°You don¡¯t have to like him, Acadian. But if you could just¡­ try.¡±

    Acadian chuckled and rubbed the bridge of his nose, ¡°You ask too much, boy.¡± There was no bite to his words, and when he opened his eyes again, there was a fatherly softness in his face.

    Arsa smiled tentatively, ¡°You haven¡¯t done away with me yet.¡±

    Acadian huffed and stared down at the dragon. His smile melted into a look of focus. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before letting his calloused hand fall onto Zaun¡¯s back. His movement was stiff and uncertain, but not unkind. The creature stirred, lifting his tired head to blink sleepily up at him. Acadian turned his head slightly away as if warning the dragon not to try anything. Zaun gave a small chirp and began nuzzling against the old elf¡¯s hand. Arsa¡¯s smile grew wider, looking up at Acadian with immense gratitude.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he whispered.

    Acadian grunted, pulling his hand back and lowering himself back down into the blanket. ¡°Get some rest, kid. You¡¯re no good to anyone dead on your feet.¡±

    Arsa nodded, carrying Zaun in the crook of his arm to an open armchair near the cots. He scratched the baby dragon back to sleep, allowing the warm relief to bloom in his chest.

 Circles

    The morning came with the caws of birds and cold dew dripping off the grass and underbrush that surrounded the cottage. The spears of sunlight struck through the thicket overhead to create a rain of clarity in the early morning dawn. Circe was the first to wake, slipping out of the loft and into the main room. She passed the space where the wounded were resting accompanied by a sleeping Arsa and Zaun. The white of Morgana¡¯s hair rounded the top of the chair she meditated in.

    Quietly, Circe stepped outside, her bare feet tangling in the damp grass. A brisk wind pushed beyond her face, entering her lungs and lingering there. She closed her eyes and felt it all. The grass. The dirt. The wind. All of it twisted together into a hand that held hers, holding her steady. A foreign hand - one that had only made itself known recently.

    Only since it had saved her.

    She shook herself free of the trance the earth had bound her in and began collecting stones from around Morgana¡¯s yard. One by one, she carefully laid them down in a wide circle. The only stones she permitted herself to use were the smoothest, roundest ones in the clearing. Once she deemed the circle wide enough, she took another rock (this one more pointed than the others) and carved symbols into each and every one.

    She wasn¡¯t entirely sure what any of them meant, but the hand did. The one that came by her when the wind blew and the water ran over her. It held her arm and guided her across the surfaces of the stones. The runes may have been numbers, or perhaps letters. But they were specific and intentional, nonetheless.

    Hirondale? she thought.

    Hirondale.

    When she looked up and away from her project, Morgana was standing in the doorway, watching.

    The dark elf crossed her arms across her chest, ¡°Your friends are looking for a witch. Do they know they¡¯re traveling with one?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not a witch,¡± Circe spat back.

    ¡°And I¡¯m not a dark elf. I¡¯m just a woman with skin kissed by shadows and ears that point to the moon. You can label it whatever you like, sister, but you are what you are.¡±

    Circe glowered at her, the green in her eyes sparking like a distant thunder, ¡°I don¡¯t know what I am, and you sure as hell don¡¯t, either.¡±

    Morgana left the porch and walked gently around the stone circle. She arched her brow, occasionally kneeling to get a better look at the symbols written on their smooth surfaces. She was careful not to touch them. ¡°Earth magic. Heading north, by the looks of it. Hirondale, maybe? Perhaps the Empires - no these runes wouldn¡¯t get you beyond the sea. Not with the powers that lie beneath it, anyway.¡±

    ¡°Where we go next is none of your business. I figured you would want us out of your way, anyhow,¡± Circe answered without meeting Morgana¡¯s eyes.

    The witch stood and scoffed, a wicked smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She walked past Circe, allowing herself so close that their shoulders nudged. Once she reached the door frame, she turned back and sucked her teeth. With a sudden movement, Morgana lifted her leg and stomped her foot, an unnaturally loud wave of sound echoing throughout the clearing. The others in the house woke up at once.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so sorry,¡± she feigned to the three in the main room. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to startle you.¡±

    Everyone gathered their gear and strapped on their armor. Frank steered the cart into the stone circle, inspecting it carefully to ensure no part of it stuck over the perimeter. Arsa helped Acadian and Flynn into the wagon as Circe meditated at the head of the enclosure. At the tree line just behind them all, Gostor was chasing a fox who was, coincidently, also chasing a squirrel.

    Flynn was rotating his arm in circles, trying to work out the soreness left behind by the wound. Acadian reclined on the bench of the cart, lengthening his chest and torso to relieve the tension. He sat next to Arsa, who was still practically bouncing from the relief of last night¡¯s conversation. Zaun poked his muzzle out of Arsa¡¯s bag and sniffed at Acadian¡¯s hand. Instinctually, the elf pulled away and scowled. After a beat, he took a breath, lowered his hand to the baby, and gently scratched beneath his chin.

    Morgana swished her finger in the air, causing an invisible force to grab Gostor by the ankles and fling him onto the cart.

    ¡°All packed up,¡± she said, approaching the meditating Circe.

    She opened her eyes and glanced contemptibly up to Morgana. Without a word, she mounted the head of the cart next to Frank and began to mumble. Her eyes flashed a luminescent green as the wind swirled faster around them. The trees swayed with the power, a torrent of force filling the space. The runes on the stones lit like beacons, shooting magical power through the wind and the trees. Morgana stepped back out of the area, her expression studying the act of magic around the group. As her body became obscured by the dust, Arsa could still see her eyes through the barrier. They caught the light and reflected back at him, like a cat watching him in a dark alley.

    At the pinnacle of the hurricane, Circe gasped out, ¡°Itintrionem Hirondale.¡±

    The ground beneath them began to shake and the wind seemed to close in around them. Their bodies disappeared, becoming almost like the very dust that encircled their heads in the midst of the storm Circe created. Everything went completely dark except for the two piercing green dots that remained ahead of them all. They were moving at a volant speed, but they couldn¡¯t see where. The wind screamed and howled, as though they were in a lightless tunnel.

    The speed ceased and the wind quieted as their bodies regained their physical forms. Each of them glanced around nervously, ensuring that no one got left behind in the teleport circle. It was strange - not even a hair had moved out of place since they disappeared. It was as though they hadn¡¯t moved an inch.

    When they had all regained their bearings, they looked around to orient themselves in a colder, more northern land of Hydraan. They had landed on a grassy hill that overlooked a strait that spilled into the Tolwin Ocean. Beyond the salt beaches of the Nacial Shores was a misty body of water, across which lay the Sheirkan Empire - the land of necromancers.

    A few miles off from the hill they sat on, though, was the tail end of a road they had traveled on before. The primary trade route that cut through the center of the Cities of Hydraan. In the light of the sunrise, they saw caravans rolling down the path like ants crawling to their nest, bringing food and sustenance to their queen.

    The queen they were traveling to was an opulent kingdom of marble, surrounded by a thick wall of dark, reflective obsidian. Out of the barrier peeked the shimmering emerald roofs of every house, business, and landmark that clustered in the city, reaching out like hands in worship. At the back of the city, closest to the western shore, was a marble palace, its water-colored stained glass windows catching every newborn ray of sunlight that greeted them. Their conic rooftops were emerald as well, though somehow more ethereal looking as they rose above all other architecture in the city.

    The group gazed on, fighting to remember to take another breath.

    Circe swallowed hard, ¡°Welcome to Hirondale.¡±

 Elves

    A cool sea breeze rushed to greet the party as the wagon rolled lazily along the road, following near the ongoing line of trade caravans. The wall of polished obsidian towered above them, as black as raven feathers and glistening in the morning light. It almost seemed to drink in the sun, creating a night of its own within the shadow of the city behind it.

    It came time for the group¡¯s cart to meet the gates and the elven guardians who buttressed them. Two male elves, one with long chestnut hair and the other with a multitude of black braids falling stiffly beneath his helmet, approached the vehicle with their elaborately crafted swords drawn. They were wearing impeccably shiny silver plates of armor, the edges embroidered with the same gleaming emerald as the rooftops in the city. Their ears peered out far beyond the ends of their helmets with metal guards lining the cartilage. Down their backs were shimmering green capes that featured a design of a seven-pointed star that looked to be sewn in pure silver thread.

    ¡°Good morning, travelers,¡± the one with the braids said. ¡°What business have you coming into the city today?¡±

    Frank leaned beyond Circe in the front to meet the man¡¯s gaze, ¡°Just visiting a friend. Nothing too official.¡±

    The elf smiled professionally, nodding. He straightened his posture and spoke kindly, ¡°Suppose you won¡¯t mind if we inspect your cart before you enter?¡±

    Frank gave permission and the pair quickly began encircling the group. The one with straight hair stepped onto the bed of the thing and surveyed its passengers. A coldness washed over his face as he gazed down at Gostor, who was puffing his chest out at the seven-foot-tall knight that stood before him. The guard¡¯s expression transitioned to disgust as he noticed Flynn¡¯s only slightly pointed ears. The boy smiled and waved, before remembering how sore his arm was and wincing.

    The two guards met back at the front of the cart, whispering to one another. With a slow, open-mouthed inhale, the braided elf¡¯s smile dropped briefly, but he regained composure.

    ¡°All clear,¡± he called out, swiveling on his heel and marching out of the way. The other joined him in sync and the gates began to rise. One by one, three sets of metal bars elevated out of the way for the travelers to pass through, each guarded by another pair of emerald elven soldiers.

    As the wheels of the cart rolled onto a tapestry of cobblestones interspersed with shimmering aquamarine tiles, the city of Hirondale revealed itself in full splendor. The stones of the path beneath them caught the rising sunlight, casting ripples of blue light. It was as if the ground itself were made of liquid sapphire.

    Marble buildings lined the streets, the facades pristine and unblemished. Now in the city, the group could see each roof was not simply made of emerald tile, but intentionally inlaid jewels that created images of elvenkind when light refracted off of them at certain angles. Each building held a striking uniformity without a pebble out of place.

    Above all the architecture loomed a massive castle, its white spires piercing the sky like the maw of an ancient, primordial beast. No matter where the roads led them, the castle seemed to be always watching them with an imperial gaze. Green banners with the same silver star symbol, as was on the guards, hung from every window and were flown from every flagpole.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    As their cart rolled bumpily along the pathway leading into the center of the city, they passed by droves of elven citizens tending to their morning business. They all moved with an otherworldly grace, their silhouettes like visions of opulence. Each of them was draped in similar silks and mooncloths, with high collars framing their sharp, elven features. The women wore exotic hats and eye-catching jewels that segmented each portion of their garments. The men wore well-embroidered suits with rib-like corsets that elongated their already impressive stature. It seemed as though the wealthier one was, the more elaborate their costume became.

    The group caught the hesitant eyes of the people on the streets. Some would sneer, others would laugh, but it was quite clear that their presence was not going unnoticed. Each elf had the customary pointed ears and dour faces but beneath the exquisite presentation, a menagerie of sub-bloods gathered throughout the city.

    The most common type of elf was the Regium. They were the tallest of the lot, with eternally fair complexions and hair like spider silk. Second to those were the Lucus, who had much deeper toned skin and darker hair, too. Though not as tall, they tended to have more natural muscle, which made them excellent laborers.

    Not nearly as common, but still present enough to be noticed, were the Impes. These elves had fire in their blood, and as such found many physical and biological similarities with demons. They had unique sets of horns that grew out of the tops of their heads and their skin could be any kind of color. A warm-toned Impe was most usual among their bloodlines, but a cool-toned elf was not unheard of.

    Before long, the group found themselves in the city square, a massively open area that expanded like a marble blossom. It was a wide, circular plaza that was impossibly symmetrical. A great fountain rested in the very center, crystal blue water cascading over carved statues of elves holding ornate, emerald bowls and into the basin. The road continued on in four directions out of the plaza, golden signs with elvish language indicating the various districts throughout the city.

    To the west was the castle, north led to the historic district, eastward was the military ward, and south was the mercantile. Acadian passed Arsa some gold pieces to pay for cart-docking as they each dismounted the vehicle.

    Flynn was wide-eyed and amazed, trying his hardest to look at everything all at once. ¡°Where do we start? This place is amazing!¡± he beamed.

    Frank gripped the hems of the navy coat he was wearing and sighed, ¡°I need to find this Zander character. You all can do whatever you like.¡±

    At once, Gostor ran skipping off down the western road leading toward the castle. Flynn excitedly skipped after him, narrowly avoiding bumping into groggy passersby in the process. Circe wordlessly began walking south, her arms crossed and expression severe.

    Acadian grumbled, ¡°Where you off to?¡±

    ¡°I need to take care of something,¡± she said, barely turning her head. ¡°I¡¯ll meet you back here this evening.¡±

    Frank stepped forward, ¡°Do you need us to come with you? What if something-¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t need an escort,¡± she snapped, her fists clenched by her sides. As Frank drew back, she continued on, ignoring the horrified stares of the elves around her.

    Frank watched her, stunned. He hadn¡¯t meant to offend her, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel embarrassed at apparently doing so. He was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Arsa was behind him, offering a gentle reassurance.

    ¡°We¡¯ll come with you,¡± he said.

    Frank nodded without any apparent emotion and began for the northern road. Finding one elf in a city full of them would be tricky, so they had better get started.

 Clerks

    The air inside the castle felt just as cold, if not colder than the wind outside. The white marble walls of the palace seemed like frost-sealed fields, with high-vaulted ceilings rounding out like a winter sky overhead. Polished columns of white stone were veined with pure silver, the surfaces so smooth that they caught the reflections of every elf that passed them by. And two non-elves.

    Flynn and Gostor shuffled over the smooth floors, which were sprawling mosaics of marble and blue tiles that traced beautifully traditional elven designs. The armored half-elf adjusted himself within the armor, straightening his posture. He compared the scuffed soles of his boots with the pristine floor.

    ¡°You know,¡± he whispered down to Gostor, ¡°I don¡¯t think we match the local dress code.¡±

    Gostor grunted, his thick eyebrows narrowing as he surveyed the elven guards stationed along the hall. Each one was clad in the same armor as the knights at the gate with exact copies of the emerald capes draping across their shoulders. Every face in the grand hall was stoic, eyes coldly sweeping the room. Disdainful glances flicked toward the pair as they walked past.

    Flynn attempted a cheerful wave at one of the knights but was met with a silent stare. Gostor simply snorted and trudged forward, his heavy, muddy boots thudding and squeaking overtop the marble. With every thwuck of his steps, more disapproving elven eyes clung to his position.

    The grand hall was expansive, designed more like a town hall than a single room in the palace. Another fountain like the one in the Square dominated the space, only the water flowed upward from its spouts. The streams cascaded and tangled across one another, swirling into the seven-pointed star of Hirondale before spilling into the pool below. Around the edges of the room were desks and podiums, each manned by a different elven clerk in identical silver robes. Finely dressed citizens stood in neat lines, waiting to speak with them.

    At the far end of the hall, a raised platform rested beneath an enormous mural of a starry night sky. Faint lines were painted between them, depicting four constellations. Flynn recognized each constellation as representing different gods.

    Asyn, the Lady of the Water.

    Erius, the Hand of Stone.

    Braphion, the Eye of Beauty.

    Ohena, the Mother of the Forest.

    Beneath the mural, behind a carved marble desk, was a Regium elf with a particularly long and pointed nose. His hair was so blonde that it almost looked white. His robes were the same as those worn by the other cloaks, save for emerald embroideries around the hems and golden braided cords tied around his shoulders. A silver circlet rested on his brow, pushing his eyes down into an eternal scowl.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Gostor stomped forward. Several guards shifted uneasily, their hands moving slowly to their swords. The clerk at the desk raised a pale hand and they stood down. He glowered down at the dwarf as he approached. His expression reminded Flynn of the time his father had stepped in something unpleasant during a visit to their stables.

    Gostor came to a halt in front of the podium, crossing his arms across his broad chest. ¡°Witches,¡± he said.

    The clerk arched a sculpted eyebrow, the skin wrinkling beneath the circlet, ¡°I beg your pardon.¡±

    ¡°Witches,¡± Gostor repeated. He jabbed a thick finger toward the entrance of the hall. ¡°Where?¡±

    Flynn jogged up behind him, laughing nervously. ¡°Apologies, Your Majesty. My friend here is quite direct. To make a long story short, we¡¯ve had some run-ins with practitioners of witchcraft and were wondering if you¡¯ve heard any word of that sort of¡­ stuff. Your Majesty.¡±

    The clerk¡¯s eyes darted to Flynn, narrowing.

    ¡°A half-blood and a dwarf,¡± he said the words as though they were insults. ¡°You wish to sully the integrity of this hall with inquiries of such heinous matters? And I am not the King, you imbecile.¡±

    Gostor growled threateningly, but Flynn stepped in quickly. ¡°Sorry, Your M-¡± he paused, ¡°Clerkliness. We were just following one north and seemed to have lost the trail. We thought that maybe she wound up nearby.¡±

    The clerk leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers. He sneered at both of them, restraining nasty thoughts that ran across his mind.

    ¡°Witches, and all Covens moreover, are legally forbidden from residing within the provinces of the Cities of Hydraan, according to the Prohibition of Witchcraft as implemented by the Council of Hydraan at the start of the Civil War of Ayeron. There are no witches still living in Hydraan at this time as all were collected by the Consolidated Federation of Hydraan soldiers and sent away to Malimagus Prison. Now, if you are very well and good finished with wasting my time, you may leave this hall.¡±

    He said every word as though he had rehearsed them ten times every morning without taking a breath. Gostor bristled, his hands twitching toward his handaxes. Flynn placed a reassuring hand on the leathers that sat upon the dwarf¡¯s shoulder.

    ¡°I assure you, sir, that we encountered a witch. We read a letter that said her coven was on its way to Hydraan,¡± he pleaded. ¡°Gostor, show him the letter.¡±

    Gostor reached into his shirt and pulled out a terribly crumpled piece of parchment. He unfolded the ball of paper, straightened it out over his knee, and held it outstretched to the clerk. The elf glared down his nose at the paper.

    ¡°Well,¡± he scoffed, ¡°That¡¯s all the proof in the world, isn¡¯t it?¡± A slight grin tugged at his nefariously thin lips as he shooed them both away. Guards flanked either side of them and began pushing them towards the door. ¡°Perhaps, check in with the Gallysis Museum,¡± he called out. ¡°They enjoy all sorts of idiocracies and tall tales over there.¡±

    As soon as their feet crossed the threshold of the palace gate, the guards relinquished their shoving and returned to their stations. Gostor projected a large glob of spit at the floor and stomped ever-onward back to the Town Square.

    Flynn¡¯s perpetual cheer faltered slightly, his smile slipping as he whispered, ¡°I don¡¯t think he liked us.¡±

    Gostor grunted, his fists swinging by his sides. ¡°Elves,¡± he mumbled, his tone filled with contempt.

    Flynn bit his lip. He didn¡¯t disagree.

 Houses

    The house stood at the end of a narrow street, surrounded by a quiet that wasn¡¯t present anywhere else in the city - except, perhaps, the cemetery. Its marble walls, once spotless and pristine, now sat dull and cracked. Vines crept up like cold, lifeless veins on pale skin. Several emerald tiles were missing from the roof, the gaps exposing the bones of the house underneath. The windows faced outward, shuttered by thick wooden boards that barricaded the interior as though they kept something horrible from getting out.

    Circe stood motionless on the street. The black tangle of hair clung still to her back, not daring to move out of place. No other house remained in the culdesac, the remnants of their foundations sitting plain and uncared for. The abandoned building before her would have surely been dismantled as well, had the property not been eternally secured by a long bloodline of elven aristocracy. The city couldn¡¯t touch it, no matter how much decay it wrought in the midst of the housing district.

    She approached the porch, a jolt of something horrid shooting through her spine as her bare feet touched the overgrown walkway. As she stepped up to the door, her fingers moved habitually beneath one of the dead potted plants to her right. The spare key was still there, tarnished and cold. She turned it over in her bony hand before sliding it into the lock. The door groaned open, the rust of the hinges growling like a hungry animal. The house itself almost seemed to exhale, as though it knew who had returned.

    Inside, the air was stale and heavy. Dust coated the floors like a rug, and cobwebs obscured the once marvelous portraits that hung on the walls. The furniture, covered in white sheets, stood silently like ghosts that were frozen mid-step. A faint smell of decay hung in the air - not that of death, but of neglect.

    Circe moved through the front hall, the creak of wood beneath her feet echoing slightly. Her eyes flicked to a portrait-style mirror near the door, the golden frame tarnished and speckled. She hesitated before stepping in front to greet her reflection. The face that gazed back at her was one the mirror had never seen before, and was yet familiar all the same.

    She entered the sitting room, pulling off the sheet from the couch. Slowly, she lowered herself onto the faded blue upholstery, sinking into the old cushion. On the low table in front of her sat an old book and a glass figurine of an owl. She cracked open the pages of the book, tracing over the annotations of it with her finger. The handwriting swirled and looped with an effortless precision - one that had spent so many hours attempting to emulate herself. She never could get her ¡®Z¡¯s to look exactly right.

    The piano in the corner stood silent, its keys dust-covered and yellowed. Circe stood and allowed herself to run her hands across their surfaces. She remembered the way his hands created music that would mask the sounds of storms and soothe her when she was frightened. She pulled her hands away before she was tempted to press the keys. The silence was too fragile to break.

    She left the room and climbed the staircase, trailing her fingers along the banister. The wood was rough and splintered, not smooth and well-kept like it should have been. The upstairs hallway stretched on for an eternity, lined with closed doors.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    The first door she entered was the study. A heavy oak desk was cluttered with papers that never got signed. Orders for logging camps and the emerald mines. Some docking waivers. An order for graduation robes. A casket. The inkwell had been turned over, the black ink staining the wood like spilled blood. The chair was tipped onto its side, one leg splintered.

    On the wall behind the desk was a portrait that took up most of the area. A handsome elven man with brown hair, greying at the temples, wore a tan suit that was elaborately embroidered with family sigils and runes. Beside him was an elven woman with gently curled blonde hair, the color of melted gold. She wore the most beautiful blue dress and a silver circlet around her forehead. A gemstone locket rested along her collarbone. In between the two of them was a young elf girl, maybe twelve. Her hair was blonde like the woman¡¯s, but her eyes were green like the man¡¯s had once been. She wore a simple white dress that was tied with a silk ribbon around her waist. Her smile was bright. Her face was kind. The glass overtop the painting was cracked, splintering the three of them right down the middle - right across the girl.

    Circe left the room, keeping the knob turned as she closed the door so as to not disturb the memory inside. She walked to the end of the hallway and stood in front of the final door of many she couldn¡¯t bring herself to open. She placed a trembling hand on the curved door handle and left it there a moment, as though she were still deciding whether or not to go in. She knew she would; it was why she came here.

    The door opened with a whimper. The bed was made, a pale green quilt folded neatly at the foot of it. Shelves buttressed the closet door, lined with books that had been well-loved. Circe approached the bedside table, pulling open the drawer. She took out a quaint journal and flipped it open. Adhered to each page was a different pressed flower accompanied by doodles of an elven girl and a menagerie of wondrous creatures. She placed the book back in the drawer and shut it, permitting herself to sit on the bed.

    The sheets shifted and the pillows turned, sending a stuffed owl falling to its side. Circe picked up the toy, brushing the plush feathers with her hands and staring down at the dark glass beads in its eyes. A hot tear splashed down onto its face.

    Circe collapsed to her knees on the floor, pulling the owl close to her chest. Her fingers dug into it as her breaths became ragged gasps, breaking free after years of demanded silence. It all came to her, the grief channeling through yells that no one could hear. She sobbed.

    She mourned.

    A gust of wind surged through the room, swirling the dust into choking clouds around her. She screamed, a sound so raw and guttural that the magic around her fled. The house became electric with immense power. Every glass artifact, chandelier, and frame in the house shattered, their crystals falling like rain in a storm. The marble of the foundation cracked, sending splinters striking like trails of lightning across the floors and up the walls. The table in the dining room shattered, the chairs in the living room tore apart, and the long-decayed wood of the fireplace simply dissolved into ash.

    When the screams subsided, the storm ceased. Circe was trembling, the stuffed owl molded to her iron grip. The wind was gone and the magic had turned away, leaving only the silence that had been there to begin with.

    She let herself cry. Not in the rage or vengeance that she expected her tears would bring, but in grief.

    For her father and his music. For her mother and her stories. For the girl who once lived in this house, who had a family, a future, and a name.

    For Elizabeth. For herself.

 Good Deeds

    Frank, Acadian, and Arsa had been stumbling around the historic district for the whole morning, asking around for a Zander character. Eventually, they met with a school teacher who pointed them to a librarian, who led them to a theater operator, who guided them to a museum¡ªthe Gallysis Museum of Magical Artifacts. The great doorway was outlined in polished emerald, grounding the massive six-story marble mansion before the trio. Frank squeezed the navy coat around his forearm, half-hoping the man he had been looking for was not inside.

    Arsa fidgeted with the straps of his bag, which emitted a faint, hungry huff. He shifted his weight and muttered to the creature inside, ¡°Zaun, please. Not now.¡±

    Frank reached out his hand to grip the door handle, stalling for a moment. Acadian stepped closer to his side, placing a hand over his shoulder.

    ¡°You seem awfully invested in this. You don¡¯t have to be. This ain¡¯t yer burden.¡±

    Frank clenched his jaw, ¡°But it is theirs. And they don¡¯t even know it.¡±

    The inside of the Gallysis was vast and quiet, like a cathedral of curiosities. Warm shafts of light filtered in through large arched windows, casting strange patterns on the latticed wood floors. Artifacts, relics, and dusty tomes filled glass cases and shelves that stretched onward and upward beyond what anyone could possibly visit in a single day.

    At the center of the lobby sat a desk, cluttered with paperwork and a large cup of coffee long gone cold. A woman lounged behind it in a leather chair with five wheels at the bottom, her black laced-up boots propped up on the corner. She had lilac-colored skin and dark purple hair that twisted into a lazy braid. From her forehead protruded two beautifully curled horns whose tips were capped in silver adornments. An Impe.

    On the breast of her blouse was a golden nameplate that read:

    Felina Faith

    She was tossing a ball into the air with one hand and catching it in the other, her blinks slow and tired. When the group¡¯s entrance broke the stillness, she lazed her gaze up at them and flashed a polite grin. With a thrust of effort, she swung her feet off the desk and assumed a more professional posture.

    ¡°Here for a tour, or are you just looking for a restroom?¡± she asked, flicking a lock of hair out of her face. Her eyes lingered on Acadian, resonating with his similarly exhausted expression. She quickly shifted her stare to Frank, who was stepping trepidatiously closer to the desk.

    He held up the coat, ¡°We¡¯re looking for someone. Zander. Is he here?¡±

    The name. The coat. The bloodstains. Felina¡¯s violet complexion paled as she knocked an inkwell off of the desk. Her gaze was locked on the coat and her fingers gripped tightly at the edge of the table.

    ¡°Where did you get that?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°The Woodrand¡¯s Growth,¡± Acadian replied in a matter-of-fact tone. ¡°Somethin¡¯ down there had it. Somethin¡¯¡­¡± he paused, ¡°somethin¡¯ wicked.¡±

    Frank reached into the pocket of the coat to retrieve the letter. He held it out to the girl, unfolding it with his thumb. She rose from her chair, clutching at her chest. The chair rolled back, colliding with the shelving behind it with an echoey thud.

    ¡°No. That isn¡¯t¡­ It can¡¯t be.¡± She moved around the desk, reaching for the jacket. She stopped herself from grabbing it, as though touching the cloth might make it real. Her eyes darted between them. ¡°You¡¯re mistaken. There are lots of coats like that. And the letter is¡­ the letter¡­¡±

    Arsa shifted uncomfortably. He tried to offer Felina a look of concerned remorse, but she wouldn¡¯t accept it. He tightened his grip on the strap of his bag, ¡°You know whose coat this is, don¡¯t you?¡±

    A door at the back hall creaked open.

    ¡°Felina, is everything all right?¡±

    A tall figure emerged, blonde and sharp-featured. He wore long cream-colored robes that were tied with shimmering emerald cords. He had a thick tome in one hand, still open from whatever work was being done with it. He adjusted a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The golden nameplate on his robe read ¡°Zander Render-Timult.¡±

    ¡°What happened? I heard-¡± Zander stopped abruptly when he saw the gathering. His eyes stayed adhered to the coat and the patchwork stains of blood. The leatherbound book slipped from his hands, landing with a heavy slam. ¡°Where did you get that?¡±

    Felina rushed to him, her eyes pleading, ¡°Zander, it might not be-¡±

    He grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her out of the way, stepping closer to the coat. ¡°Where?¡± he demanded, his voice sharp and suddenly hoarse.

    Frank turned squarely to face him, taking in a deep breath.

    ¡°South. In the Growth beneath the Dalneau Mountains. Where this letter¡­ where you told Doran to go.¡± Frank reached into the other pocket and pulled out the silver ring. ¡°He kept this safe from¡­ He kept it safe.¡±

    Zander¡¯s lip quivered and his hands trembled. He took the coat from Frank, his fingers tracing the stitching as if searching for a sign that it belonged to someone else. Anyone else. He took the ring and held it close to his eyes, tilting it in the light. His eyes became glassy.

    ¡°No,¡± he whispered, shaking his head. ¡°This isn¡¯t real. This isn¡¯t¡­ none of this is-¡± He bumped into the desk as he moved aimlessly backward.

    Felina covered her face with her hands, ¡°Zander, I¡¯m so sorry.¡±

    The elf backed away from all of them, like a cornered animal looking to escape a predator. His breathing became ragged, panicked. ¡°No!¡± he shouted. The whole museum seemed to shudder at the force of his voice. ¡°Doran is alive. He has to be alive. You don¡¯t know him. He wouldn¡¯t just fall to some forest beast.¡±

    Acadian took a single step forward, ¡°It was a dark entity, Zander. We almost fell to it, ourselves. He wouldn¡¯t have stood a chance alone.¡±

    Zander¡¯s eyes became filled with rage. He sneered at Acadian, ¡°Doran is worth ten of you. Ten of each of you. Twenty. He could have taken on an army of whatever-¡±

    Felina grabbed his arm with tears streaming down her face, ¡°Zander, they were just-¡±

    He snatched his arm away, ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± He pointed his finger at her, choking on whatever else he was about to say. His throat strained, as though he was suppressing nausea. Without another word, he turned toward the back of the hall through which he had entered. ¡°I¡¯ll prove you wrong. I¡¯ll find him. I¡¯ll bring him back.¡±

    Before anyone could stop him, Zander stormed through the rear doors, his footsteps echoing like thunder in an open field.

    Silence filled the hall in his absence. Felina dropped to her knees, gathering the book Zander had dropped on the floor. Arsa rushed beside her and placed a cautious hand on her back.

    ¡°What¡¯s he going to do?¡± he asked.

    Felina looked tearfully to where Zander had left before wiping her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. She sniffed, ¡°Break the law.¡±

 Bonds

    ¡°Necromancy is illegal,¡± Acadian said quietly, his voice barely a whisper, so no one in the tavern might overhear.

    Felina had invited them all to join her at the Patient Way Inn & Tavern to thank them for bringing the news of Doran¡¯s death, however difficult it had been to hear. The tavern exuded a refined elegance despite its rigid marble exterior. Inside, the warm light of tiny sprites of flame danced atop wickless candles, casting a golden glow over the wooden-paneled floors and smooth, well-worked tables. The blue evening light filtered through delicate curtains, and the faint gleam of streetlamps outside painted faint patterns on the cobbled streets. The atmosphere was a strange juxtaposition. Relaxed, comforting. But there was an undercurrent of formality that mirrored the tension of the circumstances that brought them there.

    The tavern expanded upwards to a second floor, where more private alcoves provided reprieve for higher-priority patrons. Felina had managed to save one of these nooks, prompting a ripple of whispers and curious glances when six unknown patrons were allowed into such a coveted space.

    Circe set down her glass of wine with a sharp clink and crossed her arms across her chest, ¡°This man is going to get himself sent to Malimagus. People die. There is no need to throw away his life as well.¡± Her tone was biting, her unsympathetic sneer daring anyone to contradict her. She hadn¡¯t disclosed where she had been during the day when they had asked, and they gathered by her tone that they should not ask again.

    Felina¡¯s face bore a perpetual worry. Her eyes were swollen and red, evidence that she had been crying ever since they left the Gallysis. ¡°He loves him. We all do. And Doran loves¡­¡± she paused, swallowing hard. ¡°Loved. Doran loved Zander, too.¡±

    Flynn¡¯s expression was more serious than they had all known him to carry. He held on quite carefully to Felina¡¯s words. ¡°The law forbids it. Raising the dead is a crime, and for good reason. Derogaan raised an undead army and it nearly lost the Loyal Gods the war. To try and manipulate the dead is to call on the god of death himself.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying I condone it,¡± Felina said, impatient. ¡°I just mean that I understand. If I lost someone that important to me, I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do. Knowing Zander, he probably blames himself, too.¡±

    Frank wrestled a goblet out of Gostor¡¯s fists, muttering as he set it back on the table, ¡°Circe is right. People die every day. People we care about, people we don¡¯t. He can¡¯t carry this burden himself.¡±

    The tiefling girl let out a soft, sad scoff, ¡°He can and he will. They saved each other more times than I can count. Treasure hunting will do that. Zander will wrestle with this for the rest of his life if he can¡¯t get Doran back. He¡¯ll drive himself mad.¡±

    The table fell quiet for a while. There was much less to say after that. They sipped their drinks and picked at their meals, eyeing one another. The quiet clinking and clanging of silverware and goblets was broken by a sharp sigh from Felina.

    ¡°Apologies,¡± she said, forcing a smile. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to bring you down with grief. You¡¯ve done an honorable thing for us. I am very thankful, and I know Zander is as well, even if he can¡¯t express that right now. But tell me your story. I¡¯m sure you have plenty of adventures to share.¡±

    Acadian leaned back in the booth, ¡°Just a rag-tag team of adventurers, I s¡¯pose. Pickin¡¯ up jobs here and there. Got caught up in a bit of a tiff with a witch, but we¡¯ve been curse-free thus far. Truth be told, we¡¯ve only known each other a short while, most of us.¡±

    ¡°Is that right?¡± she answered. ¡°Zander, Doran, and I, we¡¯ve encountered a couple of witches. Made friends with one, too. She helped us out a good deal.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Arsa looked up from discreetly scraping food into his bag, ¡°You made friends with a witch? Surely not an Empire witch.¡±

    Felina¡¯s smile brightened for the first time that evening. ¡°She was, actually. In fact, she was what mages call a -¡±

    Her sentence was interrupted by the polite clearing of a throat. Their server bowed before the table, placing a wooden chair at the end of the booth. From behind stepped Zander.

    His golden hair was freshly tied back, framing a void expression. The skin beneath his eyes was bright red, made even more dramatic against his fair complexion. He wore a formal jacket, not dissimilar to the one they had returned to him. Frank noticed he was wearing two rings on his left hand. One of which shimmered with a familiar silver sheen.

    Felina sat upright, gasping softly. ¡°Zander, I¡­¡± she stammered.

    He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his angular nose. His arched lips parted barely before any sound came out.

    ¡°I came, first and foremost, to thank you. You could have left my husband¡¯s belongings where they were. You could have stolen them or sold them for coin. But you sought me out to deliver me the news with nothing more than a letter and a ring. I cannot express to you how much that means to me. Thank you.¡±

    The group looked to Frank, who bit his lip. He nodded to the elf and grimaced before looking down at the wood of the table.

    Flynn waited for a beat before speaking, ¡°If no one else is going to say it, then I will. If you¡¯re thinking of raising him from the dead, I have to remind you, as a champion of Bane, the god of fate and destiny, that you are forbidden by the law of the Archmagus from tampering with necromancy in any form. Furthermore -¡±

    ¡°I make no plan to break Archmagical law,¡± Zander interrupted, raising a finger. His gaze remained fixed on a single point, his eyes distant. ¡°You are right that necromancy is illegal. But not in every form.¡±

    Acadian leaned forward, his tone skeptical. ¡°In what form is it considered legal, then?¡± he asked.

    ¡°The Archmagus keeps five scrolls of Resurrection, distributed among citizens they deem worthy of possessing such a privilege.¡±

    Flynn shook his head, ¡°Those scrolls can only be used by the people who were ordained to receive them.¡±

    Zander¡¯s retort was quick, ¡°I happen to know exactly who possesses the scroll in Ayeron. And he owes me a favor.¡±

    ¡°Even then,¡± the knight pressed, ¡°the ritual must be overseen by an official of the state belonging to the country where the scroll was distributed.¡±

    A faint sneer tugged at Zander¡¯s lips. ¡°I work for an official of the state,¡± he said.

    Felina¡¯s voice was gentle but firm, ¡°Layson hates magic. He would never agree to it.

    ¡°I¡¯ll make him agree to it,¡± Zander said, his words sharp, demanding compliance. Felina reached across the table and placed her hand gently over his. His eyes wavered, hesitantly meeting hers.

    Her voice trembled, ¡°I miss him, too. But you cannot put all your faith in these people doing you favors. It will only break you more if they don¡¯t deliver.¡±

    His lip quivered. ¡°I have to get him back,¡± he whispered.

    The table bowed their heads, giving Zander as much privacy as they could in such close quarters. All but Circe. Her gaze pierced through him.

    ¡°Does he want to come back?¡± she asked, coldly.

    Zander and Felina looked back at her. Arsa¡¯s eyes widened as he looked away. He knew she had nerve, but this was a new line.

    Zander¡¯s expression faltered, ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Does he want to come back?¡± she repeated, her voice slower, cutting. ¡°When you attempt a resurrection, the deceased get a say in the matter. You¡¯re everything on your lover wanting to return. I don¡¯t know what existence lies beyond this one, but I can¡¯t imagine it is any worse than the hell that this life constantly proves to be. Would he want to come back?¡±

    Zander¡¯s hand trembled as he rubbed his thumb against his forefinger until it became as red as his tear-worn eyes. The company watched him, waiting.

    He took a long, shaky breath.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± his voice was raw. ¡°I don¡¯t know if Doran wants to come back. I don¡¯t know if what lies beyond is kinder than this world or if I have the right to pull him from it. But I do know that I could never live with myself if I didn¡¯t try. If he refuses me, then I will let him go and handle the repercussions myself. But until I hear it from his lips, until I know for certain that he is at peace¡­ I have to believe he would want one more chance. A chance to be here, with me.¡±

    A tear fell from his eye and clung to the hollow of his cheek. He closed his eyes and let it roll down. When he opened them again, Circe¡¯s hand gently pushed the tear away before returning to her lap.

    ¡°How can we help you?¡±