《The Glimmerstone Enigma [Epic Fantasy] [Book 1 of The Unexpected Vanguard]》


 Welcome to Venn - Maps and Character introduction

    The outcome of many epic wars often hinges on the efforts of unexpected heroes whose details are lost to time and never appear in historical accounts. This is one of those tales.


    This particular tale begins on the eastern continent in the foothills of the Glimmerstone mountains where the western edge of the Kingdom of Shan borders the Siremirian League.


    We travel to a monastery called the Luminarium nestled high in the Glimmerstones. The abbey is home to a group of warrior monks. Together with other orders throughout the mountain range, they monitor the mountain passes as a form of early warning system for the kingdoms to the south and east against threats that may arise from the wildlands to the west.


    When hook-headed demons attack without warning, slaughtering the abbey''s brothers and sisters, early clues suggest the use of magic well beyond the capabilities of Venn¡¯s contemporary masters. The two surviving monks join forces with some old friends and new allies to determine the perpetrator and their end game and discover a potentially apocalyptic future.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Meet the party and join them as they attempt to chew what they''ve inadvertently bitten off and attempt to save Venn in the process:


    Singing Bird - A feline rogue<u>,</u> running from his past indiscretions with quick blades and quicker wit.


    Whydah (WHYD-uh) - Bird''s halfling bard apprentice trying to find her musical place in the world.


    Iskvold (EESK-veld) - A scholarly drow monk coming to terms with an uncontrollable but addictively delicious rage problem.


    Tsuta (SOO-ta) - An obsessive-compulsive elven monk and cleric who gave up adventuring for the simple monastery life.


    Lunish (LOO-nish) - A druidic gnome and part-time spy suffering from imposter syndrome and clueless about her magical potential.


    Glynfir (GLIN-feer) - Lunish''s half-elven colleague, a talented wizard and a degenerate gambler more concerned with his image than his impact.


    Segwyn (SEG-win) - An elven ranger desperate to escape the shadow of his larger-than-life father and succeed on his own merits.


    Not heroes, not champions, just a slightly dysfunctional band of adventurers who inherit a very big problem.


    Welcome to Venn!

 Prologue

    She felt the cold sweat of doubt tickle her brow and the furrow between her breasts. Is it too late to turn back now? What if it doesn¡¯t work? What if the only reward for all her unimaginable atrocities was the cold permanence of death - her legacy nothing more than a footnote of inexplicable savagery on the history of Venn¡¯s eastern continent? No. She pushed down the fleeting moment of self-doubt. I¡¯ve come too far and given up too much. Slowly sliding her naked form under the surface of the tepid bath, she locked eyes with the dead gaze of her mother and then her brother, their distended corpses hanging by their ankles barely a foot above the tub. As the last drops of blood fell from their yawning throats, the warrior-witch closed her eyes and fully submerged herself in the ichor. Her skin tingled as every inch felt the touch of Orcus¡¯ recipe - the lifeblood of one unicorn, three holy enemies, and her immediate family. It was nearly complete.


    The insatiable hunger for ambition quickly overwhelmed her lapse in confidence. She felt her lungs burn, begging for new oxygen but resisted breaking the surface too soon. Finally, as fireworks began to explode behind her eyelids, she clawed the sides of the wooden tub and exploded violently upright. Waves of blood crashed over the sides of the vessel gathering in small pools at its base. Her open eyes were two white discs of contrast against the solid red of her dripping torso as she gulped for air. Her ritualistic blood baths were common practice.  Many battles turned on the shocking visage of her red-stained form surging into the fray announced by the screech of her death whistle. She fed on that energy. The enemy¡¯s intimidation and her own army¡¯s swelling confidence fueled the potency of her casting and rage to great success¡­but not today.


    Today, she would make no appearance. Today they would meet disastrous defeat. Outnumbered and outflanked, she knew they wouldn¡¯t reach the Glimmerstones and the prize she coveted so fiercely. As the blood dripped from her body to the surrounding pool, her loyal barbarians were being whittled down by the gnoll hordes of Siremiria. Their only hope of avoiding slaughter was the timely arrival of their leader on the battlefield, but she would not join them. This was the final act of sacrifice the pact demanded. What she could not acquire with mortal might today, would be achieved with the unbridled magic force of the next life. What did fifty years of servitude matter to those who embraced immortality?


    Her bare feet left clear bloody prints across the hides surrounding the ritual tub as the muscular warrior padded towards the circle of glowing glyphs carved into the nearby earth. Ignoring the muted din of battle raging in the distance, she perched cross-legged in the center of the inscriptions. Three carefully positioned objects lay within reach: a wooden scepter, a clay skull on a chain, and a flask of swirling liquid. The dripping blood from her skin formed the outline of what would be her final mortal resting place. Only two acts stood between here and eternal power. Fifty years of indenture to Orcus, then the artifact¡¯s recovery from the icy Glimmerstone peaks and the conquest of Venn, perhaps more, would be within her grasp.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    She picked up her scepter and smiled. By all appearances, it was ghoulishly ceremonial. A carved and tapered hickory shaft wrapped with the fraying intestines of long-dead enemies topped by an egg-size inky black stone.  No one knew its secret, not even Orcus.


    She gazed at the full moon peeking through a narrow gap in the hides that made up the tent walls. Now or never. The death whistle was a small clay skull with a tube protruding from the top of the head, attached to a gold chain threaded through a loop on the whistle¡¯s posterior.  Though primitive and crude in its exterior design, the hollow interior was intricately crafted into two chambers. Air blown into the tube created a resonance of pure fear, a haunting and distorted scream of agony and despair simultaneously human and otherworldly. Without magic, its shrill wail manifested a foreboding sense of doom in every ear it reached. Enhanced with a spell of fear, it was utterly devastating. This specific whistle¡¯s interior had also been painstakingly imbued with magical glyphs and inscriptions to serve a second critical purpose. It would become the vessel for her soul, vital to her journey into immortality.  She retched at the memory of consuming her own mother¡¯s heart, minutes before, as part of the preparation ritual. At least our souls will always be together. The weak rationalization and the return of her burning desire for power propelled her forward.


    Placing the chain around her neck, the whistle came to rest between her breasts. The cool clay against her wet skin cascaded a sense of emanating calm from her chest. Her breathing deepened as the whistle''s eye sockets flashed with an unnatural green glow.


    She raised the flask, framing the full moon behind it, and considered its contents. A precise recipe of powerful poisons combined with the venom and ichor of several dangerous creatures ¨C the penultimate witch¡¯s brew. She would have less than two minutes after consuming it before her life would end. This is it, success or death. No second chances. She mentally ran through the necessary words and hand gestures one final time before tipping back her head and raising the flask to her lips.


    The taste was even more foul than expected as she choked and gagged before emptying the small bottle and tossing it aside. Quickly connecting to the essence of her casting, she began to weave intricate gestures in the air, her voice rising in a cadence of phrases from a long-dead language. Streaks of fleeting green hung in the air, trailing the movements of her fingers. The same glow began to pulse on the scepter¡¯s stone and finally, the eyes of the whistle. The cycle was complete.


    Her voice dropped to a whisper as her hand stilled and the magical glow receded first from her fingers, then the scepter stone, and finally the eyes of the clay skull around her neck. She felt herself slipping away as her body slumped backward onto the tent floor. She clung to her hunger for power. I will return stronger. I will fulfill my destiny.


    And with that final thought, the Red Queen left the mortal realm.

 1. The Monks - A Cabin with a View

    ¡°Dung? Really?¡± Tsuta examined the red sphere, turning it over in his hands.


    ¡°That¡¯s what the book said¡± came the reply


    The source of the second voice was his watch partner - Iskvold, but he never called her that. Tsuta always gave his colleagues nicknames based on some obvious dimension of their physical appearance or skills. Iskvold had the characteristic pink eyes of the Drow and given how rare her kind were in this part of the world (he had never known another), it seemed only appropriate to give her the nickname ¡°Pinky¡±.


    The two were in the final stretch of their three-day tour guarding the northern outpost. The monks of The Luminarium were responsible for constantly manning three beacon outposts overlooking the mountain passes that offered the only means of access to the eastern kingdoms of elves and men. It had proved to be a profitable symbiotic relationship for all sides. The abbey received a steady stream of complimentary food and supplies from their benefactors. In exchange, the monks provided an early warning system against any aggression from the tribes of Orcs and Gnolls to the west or any other nasties that might take nearby communities by surprise.


    The main abbey - The Luminarium - was centrally located less than two miles from each outpost, nestled solidly into the foothills of the Glimmerstone mountains.


    Each location consisted of a modest cabin shelter and an eight-foot-high stone fireplace called The Beacon perched on a small, cleared plot atop a plateau carved out of the forest. Each outpost was only accessible from the east side to prevent it from being overrun by enemies.


    The Beacons themselves had a unique functional design with a rounded cone base close to three feet wide at the bottom, its bulbous sides tapering to a much smaller aperture at the top. Tsuta recalled thinking, the first time he saw one up close, that they resembled an upside-down beehive or a head of garlic. Each beacon was mounted on a low three-sided stone base with a sliding metal grate underneath to remove the ash.


    Their job was simple enough. Monitor the pass and send a signal if anything hinky comes east. It was the method of communication however that fueled the current conversation.


    Each outpost was equipped with 3 colored spheres, one white, one blue, and one red. Their instructions were to throw one of the spheres into the constantly burning fire should they observe significant civilian migration (white), orc or gnoll military operations (red), or other threatening creatures (blue) moving through the pass. Once added, the sphere produced a heavy column of smoke in its respective color. Each sphere would burn for about an hour and its trail was visible for miles thanks to the beacon¡¯s design and the magical nature of the colored orbs.


    ¡°What kind of dung?¡± he asked, still focused on the red sphere.


    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Iskvold shouted back, her voice somewhat muffled as she spoke from the overlook on the far side of the cabin. One of them always had to have eyes on the pass.


    ¡°I was wondering how they get the different colors. Is it different dung or other ingredients, or related to the process and magic associated with creating them?¡±


    Iskvold appeared to the side of the cabin after repositioning herself to see Tsuta next to the Beacon and keep an eye on the overlook simultaneously. Her shoulder-length white hair was tucked behind her right ear while hanging loosely over her left side. Her head was slightly cocked as her pink eyes sized him up.


    ¡°Are you messing with me right now?¡±


    ¡°I swear to Gond I¡¯m not¡± His face cracked a smile ¡°I¡¯m actually curious and assumed you would know given how much time you spend with your nose buried in The Vault¡±


    The Vault was the abbey¡¯s library, so named because it was discreetly and securely positioned underneath the main building. Their Sifu ¨C Master Haft - took the protection of the abbey¡¯s knowledge very seriously. Historically, the monks at the Luminarium provided the service of transcription and translation for any who could afford it without asking questions. It was also their practice to make a second copy of each document for themselves (often unbeknownst to their customer) and add it to the Vault. Over the years, they had accumulated quite a collection, rivalled only by the royal libraries in the national capitals. In addition, because of their ¡°don¡¯t ask, don¡¯t tell¡± policy, the Luminarium¡¯s inventory had become very eclectic over the years, ranging from the benign to the downright dangerous.


    Outside her three mandatory days a month at the Beacon, Iskvold¡¯s primary duties lay within the Vault. As its appointed curator, she knew what was there and where to find it. That suited her just fine as she had a love of knowledge and often felt more at home among the stacks than with other people.


    Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated dignifying Tsuta with a response, deciding finally to speak after a significant pause.


    ¡°The white ones are made with wolf dung, the red is Centaur, and the blue comes from Bulettes. The other ingredients ¨C Sulphur and saltpeter ¨C are the same, and so is the incantation¡±


    Tsuta started to giggle ¡°I can¡¯t believe you KNOW that Pinky...that you actually took the time to learn about how to construct Beacon flares out of dung!¡±


    ¡°Laugh all you want my bald friend, you¡¯re the one playing with Centaur shit!¡± She smirked and disappeared back around the edge of the cabin to resume her observation.


    Tsuta¡¯s smile was immediately replaced with a scowl as he looked down again at the red sphere, promptly returning it to its rightful place beside the beacon and wiping his hands thoroughly on his robes. With his staff propped up against the wood pile, he remembered what he¡¯d come out there to do and grabbed two more logs to feed the ever-burning fire within the Beacon. As he did so, he got the impression of movement at the edge of his peripheral vision. It looked like a flash of magic. As one of the few monks at the Luminarium who was also skilled in casting, Tsuta was very familiar with magic and instinctively dropped the logs. Grabbing his staff in one motion, and rotating towards the flash, his magical essence began to crackle in his right hand. But there was nothing unusual. The morning sun flickered among the leaves moving lazily in the western breeze. The birds and insects continued their constant twitter and drone. Hmm. Maybe it wasn¡¯t magic. Maybe it was just the light playing among the shadows of the forest? Satisfied that he had overreacted, the wood elf let go of the connection to his magic, swapped his staff for the logs, stoked the Beacon, and headed back towards the cabin.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    It was his turn to rest. The pair had spent the last three days swapping six-hour shifts watching the pass. Outpost duty was mentally draining. Maybe it was the monotony or the heavy diet of solo training and meditation, but he always felt exhausted returning to the abbey after completing his monthly tour. Regardless, their relief would be arriving in a few hours and Tsuta could return to his normal duties reviewing and improving the abbey¡¯s defenses. It had been nearly a year since he decided to join Sifu Haft at The Luminarium and take a break from adventuring. Though he didn¡¯t regret the choice, he certainly missed the excitement of the road, most often it seemed, while he was stuck on outpost duty.


    He pushed open the cabin¡¯s back door causing a shaft of sunlight to rush in, temporarily illuminating the modest accommodation. A table with an oil lamp, a small fireplace, and a well-worn meditation mat adorned one side of the room. A hand pump and basin perched atop a basic wooden counter, with supplies stored underneath, covered the other. Closing the door behind him restored deep shadows to the interior. Lighting a stick of incense against the glowing embers, the wood elf settled cross-legged on the mat. Placing the smoldering incense in its holder, he unconsciously slid his hand over the surface of his bald head front to back, and then back to front before beginning his meditation routine and drifting quickly into the focused, semi-conscious state that substituted for sleep among his kind.


    Iskvold heard the cabin door close at her back but didn¡¯t break from her structured routine observation. Scan the skies, scan the pass, scan the mountainsides, repeat. Gondammit, I hate this final shift. Envy gnawed as she thought of her partner, oblivious to the passage of time due to his meditative state. She was, however, acutely aware of the glacier-like movement of every grinding second. So close to being relieved, but every moment stretched as far as possible before giving way to the next. Even her usual distractions ¨C the nest of baby wrens just below the outpost overlook, or the mountain lion that regularly patrolled the hillside below, weren¡¯t doing it for her. Work the routine and stop thinking about it, you¡¯re making it worse. She turned north to scan the peaks of the Glimmerstone mountains from the horizon to the Sshanderiusha Gap directly below her and then further south to where the Glimmerstones meet the Aether Peaks. Nothing. Back to the gap. More nothing. Named after the Sshanderiusha River, whose headwaters began just east of the outpost, Iskvold had a clear view of the road stretching miles into the foothills of the Siremirian League to the west. Dead empty. Only rarely in her decade of outpost duty had she witnessed any activity on the other side of the gap. She smirked at the naivety of her younger self imagining the vast wildlands sprinkled with tribes of orcs providing an ongoing entertainment of fantastic creatures plotting and scheming just on the other side of civilization, constantly testing the boundaries. First-hand experience, however, had completely dispelled that myth. Twice she had seen a tribe of orcs migrating across her field of view, and one other time she had seen a pair of wyverns, an adult and a juvenile, riding the air currents among the lower foothills. That was it. The drow began to calculate the futility in her mind to pass the time. Ten years, one three-day watch a month. One hundred and twenty tours. Over four thousand hours of outpost time for two tribes of orcs and a couple of wyverns. If only Sifu allowed her to bring books with her. How many could she have read? How much knowledge could she have acquired? Of course, he had immediately refused the request. Understandable. It completely defeats the purpose of being on watch duty if one is focused on reading rather than watching. Sifu was also very strict about confining all written materials to the Vault itself ¨C no removals. For ¡°protection¡± he had said. I don¡¯t get that one.  While some manuscripts should certainly never see the light of day outside the Vault, countless other documents would benefit the reader from being considered in the field with context ¨C some of the catalogs of flora and fauna for example.


    She continued her scan to the mountainsides. From her perch, Iskvold could see the eastern and southern slopes of six different peaks that framed the gap, and she dutifully scrutinized each one from base to summit. Still nothing.


    Repeating the process somewhat robotically for several hours, she began knocking out a beat with the butt of her staff on the outlook¡¯s stone patio to frame her actions and combat boredom. Tap-tap, scan the sky. Tap-tap back to the gap. Tap-tap, peak to the east. Tap-tap, peak to the west. Despite being rhythmically challenged, she even attempted accompanying shoulder and hip movements, amusing herself with a stilted and awkward dance routine. I really hope Tsuta isn¡¯t watching, or I¡¯ll never hear the end of it.  Only after the sun moved from overhead to begin pressing its beams annoyingly into her eyes, did Iskvold realize something wasn¡¯t right. They should have been here by now. Normally, the beacon watch arrived by mid-afternoon with a couple of the acolytes in tow bringing food and firewood up to replenish what had been consumed by the outgoing monks on duty. It¡¯s well past mid-afternoon. Where are they? She gave it another thirty minutes before rousing Tsuta from his meditation.


    At first, he resisted her alarm.


    ¡°How late is it?¡± he asked without opening his eyes


    ¡°The shadows of the foothills are already into the Gap¡±


    That was enough to support the credibility of her concern, his eyes snapped open.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, that¡¯s pretty late.¡± He exhaled audibly as he stood and stretched. ¡°Do you want to head down to the abbey and see what¡¯s what while I keep an eye on the gap?¡±


    ¡°That works. I could do with the change of scenery. I¡¯m sure it¡¯s nothing, but you never know¡±


    Tsuta nodded and reached for his staff ¨C not that it served much purpose on watch duty, but he felt comfort in always having it to hand.


    ¡°I might as well take my stuff, save another trip,¡± Iskvold said almost to herself as she slipped past him into the cabin. Tsuta yawned and stepped out onto the overlook.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t see smoke from any of the outposts to the south, did you?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Now don¡¯t you think I would have led with that if I had?¡± she chided over her shoulder.


    Tsuta chucked ¡°Fair enough. Sifu probably ran long in one of his lessons again. Wouldn¡¯t be the first time.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that the truth!¡± he heard her reply along with the sounds of rummaging inside the cabin.


    Iskvold grabbed her cloak and shouldered her pack. Returning to the overlook, she placed a hand on Tsuta¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you back at the abbey¡±. He turned his head, and they shared a nod before Iskvold strode to the northern end of the overlook and disappeared down the stairs carved straight into the rock face of the plateau.


    ¡°Tell them to get their butts moving will you please?¡± Tsuta shouted in her direction.


    ¡°Will do¡± came the distant response.


    Iskvold took the stairs down two at a time. Her muscle memory took over and she shuddered in recollection. How many times have I run this flight? Five Hundred? No, more. These stairs were not only the sole access point for the beacon, but a core component of training at the abbey. Her right hand instinctively dragged against the plateau¡¯s sheer stone face as she shifted her weight to the inside, staff held in her left hand, parallel to the ground for balance. Gond was that painful in the early days!


    Rounding the eastern side of the plateau and gaining a line of sight to the abbey she stopped dead. What the¡­? Though there were no visible flames, the stone structure was heavily smoldering. She was still too far away to make out any detail, but she¡¯d seen enough. Flying down the few remaining stairs, Iskvold broke into a dead run through the high grass field towards what remained of the Luminarium.

 2. The Monks - Aftermath of the Ambush

    A million thoughts tore through her mind as Iskvold raced towards the only home she had ever known. Had there been an accident? Were they attacked? How could attackers have gotten past the beacons unseen? What if the attack came from the east? Was everyone ok? Why had no one been dispatched to warn her and Tsuta? We could have helped. The Vault. Had it burned as well? All those books, all that knowledge.


    After five minutes at full sprint, she had to pause. Lungs and thighs burning she doubled over gasping for oxygen before interlocking her fingers behind her head and returning to a walk until she caught her breath.  With the pause, It took her almost twelve minutes to reach the abbey¡¯s outer courtyard from the beacon stairs. Why are the gates open? That¡¯s not normal. They were always open during the day unless the alarm had been raised. From the level of smoke and occasional flame, she could now make out in the abbey¡¯s upper windows, this must have happened in the last few hours, while she had been idly monitoring the gap. Guilt stabbed at her heart, but it was quickly replaced by shock. As she reached the iron gates and had a full view of the courtyard, Iskvold stopped in her tracks for the second time in less than twenty minutes. This was no accident.


    The courtyard was a battlefield. Drying blood stained the ground in overlapping patterns and four monks, four of her friends, lay unmoving on the ground. Not a single enemy corpse in sight.  Rushing to the nearest victim and rolling him over to check for a pulse, she looked into the dead eyes of Brother Jellen - an elf she had known since childhood. They grew up together here at the abbey. There had even been a brief secret relationship back in their teenage years. Tears rolled down her cheeks. No pulse. Gone. Multiple parallel gashes crisscrossed his torso and face, and she could see the gaping wounds underneath his blood-soaked robes. His hands too were cut with his palms showing similar parallel slashes. His palms. Iskvold¡®s head snapped up as she looked around quickly surveying the scene. No weapons. Not a single staff in sight. Whatever had done this had given no warning, slaughtering the unarmed monks before a call to arms could be raised. She moved quickly among the others on the ground. Sister Karela, Brother Ren, and Brother Avil, all dead. The monks of the Luminarium were accomplished martial artists, more dangerous with their bare hands than most warriors with a sword. What could have cut them down so easily? Her heart constricted with loss as she knelt next to Brother Avil¡¯s body. What if whatever did this was still here? At that moment, a white-hot rage started to boil deep in her guts. All rational thought was pushed to the side. Justice...Retribution¡­no. Vengeance! With her friends dead and her home razed, a burning hunger for vengeance consumed her. Jumping to her feet with her staff in both hands she let out an animalistic roar and charged into the main structure of the Luminarium.


    What unfolded over the next few seconds felt surreal, as if she was nothing more than an observer inside her own body, aware of everything going on but completely powerless to change it.


    Entering the cloakroom, she saw another body on the ground halfway propping open the swinging door to the mess hall. Another friend¡­can¡¯t stop. She stepped over her fallen ally, and shouldered the door in mid-stride, rocketing it back against its hinges and the wall. The mess hall was heavily charred, benches and tables black from the fire, smoke still curling towards the ceiling. Three more charred bodies. Keep moving. Kitchen or main hall? Kitchen. She heard herself scream:


    ¡°YOU WANT BATTLE? COME AND GET IT! I WILL RIP YOUR LIMBS OFF AND FEED THEM TO YOU!¡±


    What was that? Where did that come from? She sprinted across the mess, and through the kitchen door. Its wood weakened from the fire, her shoulder knocked the door entirely off its hinges as she burst through, sending it crashing into the high shelves to the right used to store the abbey¡¯s cookware. The collision dislodged a large soup pot from the top shelf launching it into her field of view. Her staff struck it in mid-air, sending it forcefully to the ground where the metal clanged off the stone floor. Before it bounced, she hit it again leaving a large dent. Just a pot¡­keep going! Two more friends down. The tatters of Luminarium robes were barely distinguishable on the fringes of their charred remains. She heard herself scream again:


    ¡°WHERE ARE YOU COWARDS!?¡±


    She grabbed a smoldering freestanding shelf that had fallen and blocked the door to the main hall. The pain seared through her immediately but the rational passenger in her head observed that it didn¡¯t hurt as much as it should have. Not only that, but the pain seemed to reinforce the rage that had her in its grip like a kite lifted higher by a passing gust of wind. She let out another unintelligible roar and pushed into the main hall.


    Close to thirty feet long and more than twenty feet across, the main hall was the central social hub of the abbey. With four rows of benches to either side of a center walkway facing a raised platform, this was where the monks of the Luminarium gathered when Sifu would deliver communications or lead them in worship. The benches had been reduced to smoldering rubble and black stains marked the grey stone walls where flames had licked their way higher. Four more badly burned humanoid forms lay in the open space between Iskvold and what remained of the benches all of them curled into a fetal position, perhaps from the fire, but there was also something else. Among the corpses of her colleagues was another creature. The rational passenger inside her head estimated it to be about seven feet tall, with gaunt musculature, its charcoal skin seemingly stretched over its bones. It had a long tail punctuated with several vertebrae sticking up at least three inches from the trunk and came to a sharp point at the tip. It had nasty-looking claws on both its five-digit hands and four-digit feet that were covered in dried blood along with four-inch fangs protruding from its maw. Most uniquely, there was a large bone hook protruding from the top of its head that came to a point about ten inches above its eyes. It was as motionless as the monks on the floor, but that didn¡¯t matter to the fury that was currently in control of her actions.


    She heard herself cry out ¡°FINALLY!¡± as she charged the creature. Her staff came down repeatedly. Ribs. Back. Shoulder. She felt her body draw on her Ki, the magical energy that all monks can tap into when needed, her hands glowed white in response and she rained down an additional flurry of blows. Head. Head. Head. The body of the creature absorbed each one, never moving, never flinching. Her last strike produced a sickening crack as the skull caved in. And then the rage left her. Regaining control of her actions, Iskvold looked down at the corpse of the creature, breathing heavily from her anger-filled rampage. What in Gond¡¯s name was that?Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    After taking a moment to reorient and catch her breath, she flitted quickly among the fallen, checking for any signs of life. Nothing. She could tell there were two male and two female victims, but the bodies were too charred to identify. At least this group was armed, each one still clutching a blackened staff. That made at least fourteen of the Luminarium brethren that had fallen. Doing some quick math in her head, she calculated the abbey¡¯s full complement. There were thirty of them in total, twenty-four full-fledged brothers and sisters, plus Sifu Haft and six acolytes currently in training. They would have been in the Vault doing their studies. The Vault. Iskvold pressed on through the main hall and out the side door to the left of the dais into the dojo. Racks of weapons lined two of the walls framing a central heavy woven grass mat with a large painted circle in the middle that served as the abbey¡¯s main sparring ring. In the circle lay a second of the hook-headed creatures surrounded by three more fallen monks. Oddly, none of these bodies were charred. Both weapons racks along with their contents had burned, leaving their telltale black soot marks on the walls, but the mat itself along with everyone on it showed no signs of fire. Iskvold was numb as she looked down into the faces of Kai, Lin, and Finnegan. Seventeen. Once again finding nothing but death, she moved across the dojo towards one of the two doors to the transcription room, which had access to the Vault. One of the two doors was ajar and belching smoke into the larger sparring facility. The transcription room was still burning. Under normal circumstances, this was the space where the abbey did their commissioned literary work. At any given time, there would be at least four or five monks researching, writing, and transcribing at the long tables with piles of texts or from the Vault below spread out in front of them. Tapestries and paintings adorned the walls along with shelves of supplies ¨C paper, binding, ink, and quills. As Iskvold poked her head in, the room was unrecognizable. All the tables had collapsed with two of them still actively on fire, the artwork was reduced to ash, with soot outlines on the stone walls testifying to its prior positioning. Shelving racks on two walls were also burning, though their contents had already succumbed to the flames. She couldn¡¯t get to the trap door that led to the Vault, as rubble of the room¡¯s contents, still flickering and smoldering defiantly, covered the access point.


    Thinking quickly, Iskvold moved to the window on the other side of the room and smashed open what remained of the folding shutters. Need water. Looking out she could see the millpond about ten feet from her position. She reached into her mind and once again summoned her Ki, her hands glowing white as she magically reached for the water. Closing her fist and pulling it back into the room, a cylinder of water two feet wide and thirty feet long sprang through the window and crashed into the transcription room, creating a loud hiss as smoke and steam filled the air. Now dripping wet, Iskvold coughed and pushed her hair out of her eyes to survey the space, feeling quite satisfied with herself. Only a few stubborn tendrils of smoke wisped into the air and even they were rapidly surrendering. Pushing the charred furniture out of the way, she ran her foot over the now sloppy charcoal mush covering the floor seeking the small stone that served as the release for the Vault door. Under normal circumstances, the door was usually ajar, especially if any of the abbey¡¯s residents were working down below. There were two different security protocols that Sifu drilled into everyone at the Luminarium to safeguard their knowledge repository. At any sign of outsiders, the door was to be closed making it all but invisible to anyone who didn¡¯t know of its location. At times of significant threat, the lock stone she was searching for now was pressed flush with the floor making the Vault all but impenetrable from either side until the stone was pressed again, and the lock released. Locked. Good. Maybe someone survived.  Finding the stone initially unresponsive, Iskvold got down on her hands and knees and traced her short fingernails around the outside of its edges to clear away any debris that might be preventing its release. Prying out a piece of grit, she tried again, and the stone reluctantly popped up into its typical raised position. She hurried over to an otherwise unremarkable section of the wall a few feet to her right and gave it a push. Relieved to feel the familiar click, the stone receded to expose a simple staircase cut from the earth itself, descending about ten feet before turning to the right. As if on cue, the space at the bottom of the stairs was immediately filled with the figure of Sifu Haft, his staff ready to strike, eyes blazing. Not particularly tall among the humans, Sifu had piercing blue eyes, close-cropped hair, and a substantial mustache that stuck out from his lip at least an inch.


    ¡°Iskvold! Praise be to Kord! I thought we may never get out of here!¡± Haft turned over his shoulder and called back into the Vault ¡°It¡¯s all right, it¡¯s Iskvold!¡±.


    For a man of his advanced age, she was always impressed by Sifu¡¯s fitness. As he bounded up the stairs two at a time, she took a couple of steps back to make room for him to enter the chaos previously known as the transcription room.


    At his back, the six acolytes scurried up from the Vault as if afraid to allow too much distance to separate them from their teacher.


    ¡°I was giving the initiates a lesson when we heard what sounded like Tiamat crashing a tea party, and they closed and locked us in immediately.¡±


    His voice trailed off and his jaw dropped as he crested the stairs and surveyed the remains of the abbey¡¯s workspace.


    Regaining his composure Haft¡¯s posture went ramrod straight as he turned to Iskvold.


    ¡°Status¡± was all he said.


    She found his return to discipline somewhat settling, and the muscle memory of her training at the abbey took over. The drow delivered an emotionless and thorough accounting of what she¡¯d seen and experienced since arriving at the front gates (leaving out only her bizarre rage bender) while Sifu and the acolytes listened intently, the former furrowing his brow at several points during the debrief but never interrupting her. When she finished, he clasped his hands behind his back, raised himself to his full height, and turned to face the group.


    ¡°Right. I know this is a difficult moment for all of us, but we need to focus on protecting the Luminarium and our remaining brotherhood first and foremost. Later there will be time to mourn and time to try to understand what has just happened here, but only if we now act with purpose and clarity. He turned to face each of them directly as he fired off instructions. ¡°Iskvold - take Esmi and Jin, sweep the rest of the abbey. Make sure the fire is completely out and bring any injured to the gathering hall. Nori - you and How begin moving the dead to the outer courtyard. Usha - go and retrieve Tsuta and the rest still at the beacon outposts. We will need to pull back from our watch duties until we get things back in order here. Graver - I want you to ride immediately to the Abbey of the Crystal Dawn¡­¡± He paused as he walked to the window and stuck his head out, craning to his left. ¡°Scratch that. The stables have been burned to the ground. First, see if you can find any of the horses wandering about, maybe we¡¯ll get lucky. If you do, ride. If you don¡¯t, you¡¯ll need to head for Crystal Dawn on foot. When you get there, tell Sifu Aganon what has happened here and that we need to call on the Pact of the Brotherhood for assistance. See if he will also help spread the word to the other orders given our depleted state.¡±


    ¡°Yes Sifu!¡± came the chorus in response and they all moved quickly to their assigned duties.


    The old monk closed the door to the vault and pressed the lock stone back into position level with the floor.


    ¡°The Vault stays locked until we have things better under control¡±

 3. The Monks - Nothing but Questions

    Tsuta was mesmerized by a hummingbird flitting among the blossoms of a large trumpet vine growing below the overlook when Usha burst around the corner, out of breath.


    ¡°Raven! What are you doing here? What¡¯s the matter?¡±


    Raven was the nickname Tsuta had given Usha due to her black glossy hair ¨C unusual for a dwarf.


    ¡°Abbey attacked...fire¡­many dead¡± she managed to spit out between deep gulps of air, her hands braced against her knees as she doubled over from exertion. In only her fourth week, Usha and the other initiates hadn¡¯t yet completed the rigorous physical training that was a cornerstone of Sifu¡¯s curriculum.


    Tsuta handed her his waterskin and she drank greedily while catching him up between gulps on the attack, the situation at the abbey, and her instructions to retrieve those on watch at the beacons.


    She was panicked. Not surprising as it was likely the first time she had witnessed the violent death of those close to her, particularly at the scale she just described.


    He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. Breathe. We¡¯ll be all right. Sounds like the immediate danger has passed. You have to stay calm in these situations if you¡¯re going to master your Ki. Don¡¯t worry, we¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    His calm tone and reminder of their core teaching helped Usha regain some of her composure as she drew a deep breath, her cheeks ballooning in long audible exhale. Tsuta slung his pack over his shoulder and grabbed his staff but stopped short just before turning the corner to the descending stairs.


    Realizing he had stopped, Usha turned to see him drop his things and move across the yard area to the beacon. Reaching down, he picked up two logs and a blue sphere and tossed them into the fire. Holding her gaze he said:


    ¡°We can¡¯t forget our duty to those who rely on us for early warning. Dangerous creatures have breached the pass, and they need to know.¡±


    Her eyes followed as he gazed skyward. Almost immediately, a thick ribbon of blue smoke began to ascend from the chimney. Though she knew how the beacons operated; this was the first time Usha had seen one of the flares in action. The column of dark blue rose rapidly, straight as an arrow, somehow unaffected by the wind. It was wrapped in a faint glow, giving off more luminescence than she expected against the overcast of the late afternoon. They watched in silence for a few seconds before Tsuta¡¯s voice brought her back to the moment.


    ¡°I always wondered how the flares could be seen at night. There must be a light spell included in the incantation ¨C see how the smoke glows?¡± He retrieved his pack and staff. ¡°Let¡¯s go get the others¡±.


    Quickly navigating the descent from the beacon¡¯s plateau, the pair of monks pushed southeast toward their first destination ¨C the central outpost. Tsuta knew the terrain well and took the lead, threading them three miles through the foothills of the Glimmerstones. Constantly visible in the distance on their left, the stone structure of the Luminarium sighed a constant thin trail of black smoke. Tsuta probed the initiate for more information as they walked.


    ¡°Tell me about the creatures that attacked us. How many? Did anyone recognize what they were?¡±


    ¡°No one could name them.¡± Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes fixed on his heels. ¡°There were two, and they must have been close to seven feet tall or more, slim build, almost like they were starving - skin stretched over bone, it didn¡¯t look natural¡­ and they had a big hook sticking out of the tops of their heads.¡± Her voice broke ¡°With wicked looking claws on their hands and feet, and a long tail that ended in a sharp spike.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re doing great¡± Tsuta reassured her ¡°I know reliving the moment is the last thing you want to do, but it¡¯s important. Did they use weapons or magic?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see any weapons, so I guess magic since they also set the whole abbey on fire.¡±


    Tsuta nodded almost imperceptibly in agreement before adding:Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°There had to be more than two if no one was left alive to tell us about it. That means there are others still out there somewhere. So, the question is ¨C what were they after and where did they go?¡±


    By the time they reached the base of the stairs at the central outpost, the late afternoon sun had broken through the cloud cover and Tsuta paused to wipe the light sweat off his bald head. Usha, however, was not in the same physical shape as the elf. Between her initial run from the abbey and the brisk pace of the second leg of their travels, she was spent. Plopping herself unceremoniously on the bottom stair, she lowered her head between her knees and sucked in several long breaths.


    ¡°Tell you what Raven,¡± he said. ¡°We don¡¯t both need to go up there. You stay here and catch your breath; I¡¯ll be back in a few minutes.¡±


    The dwarf raised her head momentarily to meet his gaze with a look of unspoken gratitude. Wordlessly nodding and closing her eyes, she propped herself against the plateau¡¯s cool stone face as he moved past her and headed up the stairs to the outpost.


    More questions swirled around his brain as he ascended. Questions he decided against speaking out loud given the fragile state of his traveling companion. How had these creatures reached the abbey without warning? Were their sponsor nations to the east already under attack? Was this some kind of vanguard force pushing west and north? Why had no one warned the abbey? Or had they come from Siremiria through one of the passes? If so, why had no beacon flares been set off? Someone must have seen them coming.


    Although the outposts were identical in their construction, Tsuta noticed a stark contrast between the one he had just left and this one immediately upon rounding the corner onto the plateau. Wood smoke hung heavily in the air as the elf was confronted with the charred remains of the outpost shelter. To his left, the beacon too had been reduced to a pile of smoldering bricks and rubble. A familiar tingle of apprehension raced up his spine. He called out to the monks supposedly on duty. No reply. Stepping carefully around the front of the shelter¡¯s remains to the overlook, staff at the ready, he peeked into what had been the building¡¯s interior, fully expecting to find corpses. His focus moved quickly through the discernable shapes of expected objects ¨C a blackened oil lamp, the remains of the meditation mat. Empty. Where are they? Looping around the blackened hull he cautiously inspected the beacon yard. Using the butt of his staff to pick through the rubble of bricks, mortar, and smoldering coals he found no sign of the occupants. The wood pile had been toppled; logs splayed across the ground. What¡¯s this? The rear of the clearing behind the beacon was teeming with ladybugs. Hundreds of them, writhing and climbing over each other in reckless abandon, blanketed across the ground and the lower limbs of the trees framing the yard. The consistency with Usha¡¯s account of the attack at the abbey made it obvious the hook-headed creatures had been here as well, but where were his brothers?


    Returning to the overlook, Tsuta automatically fell into the watch routine ¨C scan the pass, the mountainside, the peaks ¨C looking for any clue to help him understand how the outpost had been breached. Oh no. His stomach dropped. Directly below the overlook, two bodies in the white robes of the Luminarium lay twisted into unnatural positions, blood splattered across the rocky precipice that became their final resting place. It was what he didn¡¯t see that the elf found most curious. Quickly returning to the shelter¡¯s footprint, he carefully picked through the rubble until he found them - the charred remains of two staves he knew to be the standard oaken issue of the Luminarium. How were they set upon so quickly that they didn¡¯t even have time to grab their weapons? Returning to the overlook, Tsuta closely examined its stone construction looking for any evidence of the encounter. The stone was very forgiving, so unsurprisingly, he found nothing. Not a fresh gouge or even a scratch to suggest a struggle. Whatever had happened here had taken the monks entirely by surprise and something had thrown them from the overlook, or they had chosen to jump. No chance they jumped. Either way, he and Usha needed to get to the southern outpost immediately, before darkness fell. Bundling the two blackened staves of his fallen companions with his own, Tsuta flew down the stairs back towards the resting dwarf below.


    Usha felt the vibrations of his return as she caught her breath, her dwarven senses finely attuned to stone and all its characteristics. Only one person and moving quickly - that can¡¯t be good. She rose and turned to face the stairs just as Tsuta came around the descending curve into view.


    ¡°We gotta go Raven!¡± he shouted as he closed the distance between them.


    ¡°Why? Where are the others?¡± She asked somewhat confused.


    ¡°Dead. We¡¯ve got to get to the southern beacon before we lose daylight. We¡¯ll need to run.¡± By this point, he had come to a halt beside her.


    Usha began to protest ¡°But I don¡¯t think I can¡­¡±


    Before she could finish the sentence, Tsuta muttered some words she didn¡¯t understand, and his left hand began to glow and crackle. He had anticipated her exhaustion. Placing his hand on her shoulder the dwarf drew in a sharp breath as the healing magic coursed through her. To Usha, it felt like she had just awoken from a full night¡¯s sleep. Instantly, the ache in her legs vanished along with the burning in her lungs. Incredible! She had never been the recipient of magic before.


    ¡°Better?¡± He asked, holding her gaze.


    ¡°Wow. Yeah, I¡¯m good!¡± she nodded.


    With that, the two rushed off towards the southern outpost at a dead run disappearing into the lengthening shadows.

 4. The Monks - The Thing about Ladybugs

    It was one of those rare sunsets that take your breath away. A bright orange blush framed the jagged foreground of treetops and mountain peaks, drifting into a purply blue glow. A fleeting moment of unbridled beauty on the worst day of her young life so far. Despite the circumstances, Iskvold took a moment to appreciate it and collect herself. She stood alone in the courtyard, her thoughts returning to the carefully arranged remains of her friends at her feet and the tears returned. We didn¡¯t even have enough linens to cover them all. At the edge of her vision, two points of light bobbed towards her from the southwest. Watching their approach she quickly made out the forms of Tsuta and Usha holding staves over their heads to light the path home. Only the two of them. This isn''t good.


    ¡°Hail Tsuta, where are the others?¡± She called out once they were within earshot, as she moved towards the locked gate.


    ¡°Hey Pinky¡± came the reply. Deflated. Resigned. Though she had used the formal greeting that the current circumstances warranted, his response told her something else was on his mind. The clang and whine of aged iron pierced the evening silence as she opened the lock and swung the gate back to let them inside.


    ¡°Dead, and both other beacons destroyed. How bad is it here?¡± Tsuta asked her, and she could do no more than numbly tilt her head back over her right shoulder in response. Raising his staff to increase the range of the magical light that burned from its tip, two rows of bodies in perfect lines stretched into view. Only half were covered with linen clothes, but all had been positioned on their backs, arms crossed over the chest, seventeen in total. Tsuta exhaled audibly as his shoulders slumped and Iskvold unconsciously leaned into the new arrivals. The three embraced silently for several moments before Usha began to weep quietly, her sobs muffled in Iskvold¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°What about the attackers?¡± Tsuta asked as he pulled back. Iskvold extended a left thumb pointing behind her as she held the acolyte to her chest.


    Tsuta raised his staff again as he stepped past her and a pile of charcoal grey limbs and torsos appeared out of the retreating darkness. With none of the care and consideration that was evident in the arrangement of their fallen comrades, it was difficult to tell where one of the creatures ended and the other began. Tsuta studied them intently as he circled the remains.


    ¡°Anyone know what they are?¡± he asked after lifting one of the tails to get a better look at the second creature''s facial features.


    ¡°No idea,¡± she said. ¡°We¡¯ve been calling them hook heads for lack of a better name¡±. Usha straightened up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, trying to regain control of her breathing. Iskvold squeezed the dwarf¡¯s arm reassuringly and reached past her to close and relock the gate.


    ¡°We should debrief with Sifu. He will want to hear about the other beacons¡±. She instinctively put her arm around Usha¡¯s shoulder and guided the younger woman back towards the abbey entrance. Tsuta dropped the tail, wiped his hands on the side of his leg, and followed them inside.


    ¡°Almost everything was ruined by the fire, but we managed to tidy up the mess hall. We¡¯re using that as our base of activities for the moment¡± Iskvold gave the cloakroom door a shove and it groaned reluctantly on its hinges before granting them passage. Only two of the long tables still stood. The remains of the others were a charred pile of wood in the corner. With the door announcing their arrival, the occupants all turned to the newcomers. Sifu Haft was seated at the table facing them with Nori to his left. Esmi, How and Jin sat across from them. Though they all rose, only Sifu crossed the room towards them.


    ¡°Tsuta, very glad to see you! Where are the others?¡± Tsuta pursed his lips and shook his head. The older man retreated to the table as the others parted, allowing room for Tsuta, Usha, and Iskvold to sit.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    ¡°Tell me everything.¡±


    Tsuta drew a deep breath and stared at the table¡¯s pockmarked surface as he spoke. He recounted his evening¡¯s activities at the other outposts in nearly identical detail - beacons destroyed, shelters burned. He described his discovery of both pairs of duty monks hundreds of feet below the overlook, broken and almost unrecognizable.


    As he finished speaking silence fell over the group for several moments until Tsuta raised his head and looked around at the long faces of his brothers and sisters.


    ¡°Where¡¯s Graver?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I sent him to the Crystal Dawn and asked him to activate the Pact, though we may be on our own for a while ¨C he had to go on foot.¡±


    Sifu continued ¡°What I don¡¯t understand is how the hook heads got to the beacons and into the abbey without anyone noticing. They had to pass right by here to get to the outposts, or you would have seen them coming through one of the passes.¡±


    ¡°I may be able to answer that,¡± Tsuta said. ¡°There was one other thing I noticed¡­¡±


    Sifu Haft held the monk¡¯s gaze and raised his eyebrows expectantly.


    ¡°Well, out with it man! This is no time for dramatics!¡±


    ¡°When I was at the central outpost, I saw a large swarm of ladybugs at the back of the plateau, next to the beacon. And at the southern outpost ¨C same thing.¡±


    He looked around at the faces of his friends, all showing expressions of confusion.


    ¡°So? ¡­I¡¯m not following¡± Iskvold blurted impatiently.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve learned that when spells are cast, they attract ladybugs. I noticed it myself once, after casting, and I just started to pay attention. It must be something in the residue of casting magic that¡¯s appealing to them.¡±


    ¡°So, you believe that because you found ladybugs, magic was used to bring the hook heads to the outposts? That seems a little far-fetched. I mean they live in these forests naturally¡± Sifu was unconvinced.


    ¡°That¡¯s just it¡± Tsuta continued ¡°One or two sure, but the first time I noticed it, I had cast a light spell onto a staff tip ¨C like I did tonight ¨C so someone else could see to collect firewood. They left with the staff, and within about ten minutes, I noticed almost twenty ladybugs had gathered directly on the spot where I had cast the spell. Have you ever seen twenty in one place like that before?¡±


    The murmurs of denial around the table conveyed the group¡¯s agreement, so Tsuta continued.


    ¡°And here¡¯s the thing. As I paid attention to it, I noticed that the stronger the magic, the more ladybugs it would attract. One of my strongest spells would bring over fifty to the spot where the spell materialized within minutes, and they would stay for hours, writhing around with each other in some kind of frenzy. I did a rough count at each outpost, and there were more than four hundred in the same spot at each beacon. That¡¯s eight times more than my most powerful spell.¡±


    He left his conclusion hanging in the air, unspoken for several moments before Sifu Haft said it out loud.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying that not only was some kind of spell used to drop the hook heads on top of us, but it was very powerful magic at that?¡±


    ¡°Exactly. Far more powerful than I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Sifu furrowed his brow in thought for a moment before speaking.


    ¡°I want to think on this.¡± Turning his head to address what remained of the abbey¡¯s order, he raised his chin. ¡°I want you all to know that I am extremely proud of how everyone responded today in the face of disaster. We lost everything except who we are. As I look around the table I see resilience, courage, and the determination to make tomorrow a little better than today. I also sense the resolve necessary to get to the bottom of what happened here and get justice for our brothers and sisters. As my own Sifu once said ¨C If you come for the Luminarium, you best not miss! Today¡­someone missed. I intend to make them regret that.¡± A chorus of hands thumping the table¡¯s wooden surface echoed around the empty mess hall. As the reverberations died away, he continued. ¡°I¡¯m afraid tomorrow will be another very long and difficult day. We must send off seventeen of our brothers and sisters, and we¡¯ll also have to figure out how to retrieve four more from below the outposts. Lean on each other. Let our shared sorrow be our strength. Now, I know it¡¯s not the most comfortable¡­¡± he gestured to his right ¡°¡­but I had Esmi and Jin drag the battle mat in from the dojo. I think it best if we all stay together in here tonight. Not to mention, it¡¯s the only mat that survived the fire.¡± Sifu nodded at Tsuta and Usha. ¡°Why don¡¯t you two get something to eat? We¡¯ve managed to cobble together some bread and soup in the kitchen, and I suggest we all try to get some rest.¡±

 5. The Spies - Caught in a Rundown

    Grym burst through the door closing it behind him and pressing against the slab as if holding back an enemy force. The dwarf¡¯s eyes were wide as he hissed.


    ¡°They¡¯re at the base of the stairs ¨C hurry!¡±


    His two companions glanced up from the desk they were ransacking. The female gnome ¨C Lunish ¨C was working the lower drawers while Glynfir, a half-elven wizard, hurriedly flipped through paperwork on the surface.


    ¡°I think this is it!¡± the wizard whispered excitedly as Lunish craned her neck to see past his larger form, finally hip checking him to the side to get a look. Grym started across the room towards them but before he could reach the desk there was a loud click, and a section of the bookcase across the room flew open, spilling five soldiers into the space.


    They were in the commander¡¯s office at the top of a three-story tower in the heart of the garrison town of Chagrothlond. As a cell of an intelligence-gathering network called the Radiant Guardians, they were tasked with confirming a change to the beneficiary within Commander Duval¡¯s will and, oddly, the name of the barrister that had signed it. Breaking into military offices, however, was not their wheelhouse. Most assignments involved gathering information more organically from less formidable adversaries.


    ¡°Take them!¡± barked the first soldier that entered ¨C clearly in charge. He stepped aside, allowing the others to move towards the startled occupants.


    ¡°Shit! Shit! Shit!¡± was all Lunish could muster taking a step back, putting Glynfir between her and the guards.


    ¡°Of course, there¡¯s a secret door!¡± She heard Grym mutter seeing his hand instinctively move towards the axe on his belt. The dwarf rolled his eyes and shook his head, disappointed in himself.


    ¡°What kind of military leader wouldn¡¯t have another way out of his own office? Especially when it¡¯s at the top of a Gonddam tower! Should have known!¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s worry about it later ¨C we¡¯ve got to go!¡± Glynfir snipped ¡°You both know the plan - rally at the south gate!¡± He spoke this last part louder, ensuring the guards could hear him.


    The wizard¡¯s left hand began to draw patterns in the air as he reached into his satchel with the other and extracted a small block of resin encasing an eyelash. Lunish immediately regained her senses and summoned her magical essence. With a flash, she shifted form into a mouse and scrambled up the back of Glynfir¡¯s robe and into his satchel.


    The wizard shunted his reluctant dwarven companion towards their only available exit ¨C the door he had just come through - as he muttered the words of his incantation. Pulling the door closed behind him, disrupting the line of sight of their pursuers, he placed a hand on Grym¡¯s shoulder and released the spell. The two of them disappeared in a purple flash.


    Hearing the din of the ascending troops, and certain of what lay behind them, Grym hustled down the half flight of stairs towards the oncoming guards, consciously controlling his upper body movement to minimize the noise of his chain mail and axe. As he reached the landing six uniforms appeared from below, rounding the corner. They moved with military precision, single file, hugging the interior railing. The office door above them burst open and their pursuers started to descend. Trapped. Simultaneously, alarm bells began to echo around the open stairwell. His adrenaline started to flow and Grym anxiously reached again for the axe. Better make the first shot count, while I¡¯m still invisible.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Glynfir knew combat was a losing proposition. He also knew his dwarven friend would see it as the only option. Grym impulsively defaulted to violence before considering other possibilities. In this case, that choice would be disastrous. It was two against ten and they were outflanked. Their only advantage was their invisibility.


    The tower¡¯s split staircase landings were wide, designed to accommodate the flow of larger numbers. Maybe they¡¯re wide enough? The wizard stretched one arm around his friend¡¯s shoulders, covering his mouth with the other hand. Getting right behind Grym¡¯s ear, he exhaled a whispered shushing sound and pulled the dwarf back towards him. The two retreated as far into the corner of the landing as the space would allow. He could feel Lunish moving around in his satchel as they pressed themselves against the landing¡¯s exterior wall and collectively held their breath.


    Nothing if not predictable, the rising guards maintained their formation up the inside of the stairwell across the landing and halfway up the top set of stairs, oblivious to the proximity of the huddled trio, before the emerging group from above began to shout.


    ¡°Did you see them? It¡¯s that halfie caster who took our silver playing dice last night.¡±


    ¡°No one came past us. You mean that prick with the mustache?¡±


    ¡°Yeah! He was a with a dwarf and a grubby little boy.¡±


    While the confused soldiers traded questions and accusations regarding the whereabouts of the intruders, the pair seized their opportunity. Releasing Grym¡¯s shoulders, Glynfir gave him a nudge towards the now vacant descending staircase. The two tiptoed several feet across the landing then bolted down the stairs towards the open courtyard two and a half floors below. Abandoning any further attempt at stealth, the dwarf¡¯s rattling chain shirt announced their position with every footfall. The race was on. The pair flew down the stone stairs with ten shouting pursuers in tow. A bolt from a hand crossbow zipped past Grym¡¯s ear as the guards began firing at sounds. Though unable to see his dwarven companion, the wizard was confident he had tumbled down the last few stairs. Sounds like someone dropped an entire crate of cutlery! He also picked up a muted groan amidst the clatter.


    ¡°You okay?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡± Grym¡¯s hesitant tone suggested he was more embarrassed than injured


    ¡°We need to split up. You know where to meet. Be careful!¡±


    With that, Glynfir rounded the corner and ran headlong into unexpected chaos.


    The normally sedate courtyard was in complete disarray. Bells rang, and groups of soldiers rushed in multiple directions. All the shops and stalls on the south side of the quad were either shuttered or in the process of hurriedly packing up. He pressed his back to the tower wall and drew a deep breath, silently observing as several pursuers poured into the courtyard behind him, hunting for any hint of their whereabouts. Several raced towards the town¡¯s fortified main entrance ¨C the south gate. Foot soldiers started forming a phalanx in front of the closed metal and wooden barrier and a group of six wizards were casting various spells on the ground between his current position and the exit. So, they all know we¡¯re invisible. Word travels fast! Despite what he had said upstairs, the south gate was not part of their escape plan. It had been a deliberate piece of disinformation. Though inexperienced in this level of espionage, only a fool didn¡¯t have another way out just in case the original plan went sideways. Recalling his druid friend in mouse form, the wizard checked in.


    ¡°Can you hear me, Lulu? Give me a wiggle.¡± He whispered


    He felt movement against his hip from within the bag. After pausing to allow another group of guards to vacate his proximity, he continued in the same hushed tone.


    ¡°Troops everywhere, but it looks like we¡¯re still good. They are all gathering by the south gate. Stay in form a while longer. I¡¯ll pull you out when we¡¯re clear.¡±


    Feeling another confirming wiggle, Glynfir shifted his gaze. On the north side of the courtyard, a series of catapults stood ready to defend the mountain pass known as Stonebreach. That was their way out.

 6. The Spies - Exit, Stage Left.

    Representing the line of demarcation between the Glimmerstone mountains continuing north, and the Aether mountains to the south, Stonebreach was the only point of egress that was easily accessible to both the Kingdom of Shan and the Simerarian League territories to the west. As a result, while most of the passes were watched by various orders of monks higher up in the mountains, the Stonebreach was very directly and actively defended. He had the idea when they first saw all the catapults set for launch on the north wall. Grym told him these units, properly called mangonels, could easily launch heavy stones over five hundred feet. Combined with the altitude difference of Chagrothlond¡¯s mountainside perch and the forest floor below, that should be more than enough carry to get them clear.


    The wizard picked his way north and east towards the catapults through the heavy foot traffic as quietly as he could. About halfway across, a guard turned unexpectedly to berate several lagging colleagues. The shaft of his spear caught the wizard squarely in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Gasping to catch his breath, Glynfir scrambled to his hands and knees. He and the soldier locked eyes in complete surprise for a long moment. Shit! He can see me. The wizard reacted first. Realizing the unexpected impact had broken his casting concentration, he hurriedly rose to his feet and ran in the opposite direction - towards the heavily armed south gate. He rapidly repeated the incantation gesturing with his left hand while fishing around in his satchel for another resin block. The guard raised the alarm and hurled his spear. As the wizard completed the spell, purple energy swallowed him and he snapped invisible again, cutting hard left. The spear clattered harmlessly onto the courtyard cobblestones.


    Breathing heavily, he returned to his original course and reached the siege machines without incident. Crouching down behind the cairn of large stones between the third and fourth mangonel Glynfir admired the ripple he had just inserted into the fort¡¯s chaos, caught his breath, and waited for Grym.


    His apparition had caused quite the commotion. Commanding officers barked orders, and an ever-growing population of guards were frantically waving their spears at waist height between his last known location and the fortified gate. Even the casters had joined in, using every magical means available to expose his position. The sorcerer couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. You¡¯re not gonna get lucky a second time!


    Surveying the north side of the walled central square, he spotted a lone figure, suspiciously wrapped in a tarpaulin, shuffling its way toward their position. That has to be him.


    ¡°Took you long enough!¡± the half-elf chuckled as Grym shed his wrap and joined them behind the ammunition pile.


    ¡°Aye. Well, I found myself suddenly and rudely exposed¡­¡± He dramatically raised his eyebrows in the direction of his friend¡¯s voice. ¡°¡­and had to steal a burlap cover from one of the market stalls. Whatever you did, it certainly got their attention. Good thing too because I don¡¯t think my disguise would have fooled anyone.¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Glynfir chuckled again.


    ¡°You sure this is going to work?¡± the dwarf asked in a more serious tone.


    ¡°I¡¯d bet on it.¡±


    ¡°Knowing you like I do, that doesn¡¯t exactly give me a wagonload of confidence.¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out!¡± The half-elf smiled ¡°You take the one to your right, I¡¯ll take the one to my left. Since I can see you, I¡¯ll let fly on your mark.¡±


    Glynfir moved to the mangonel beside him and quietly climbed into the launch basin. Seeing Grym uncomfortably perched in the next catapult, he channeled his magic to summon a mage hand. One of the first spells he was taught. What it lacks in power, it makes up for in utility. A spectral translucent hand appeared, and he quickly moved it to grip the release handle for the catapult. As he watched Grym pull a dagger from his waistband, the dwarf turned in his direction and signaled a countdown with his fingers. Three, two, one. Glynfir reached into his satchel, wrapped his hand gently around Lunish¡¯s trembling form and whispered, ¡°Hang on tight Lulu, here we go!¡±


    As he watched Grym slash the rope that held the tension on his apparatus, he silently instructed the mage hand to pull his own release lever.


    In nearly identical timing both mangonels coughed out a loud thwack. The pair were hurled up into the air and over the tower wall. Watching the fort descend below him, his shoulder-length hair whipped across his face causing his eyes to tear up. The wind giggled in his ears as they went higher and higher. What a rush! With only a few feet between them, he could hear Grym laughing infectiously as they rose nearly three hundred feet. Reaching the apex of their trajectory, the wizard retrieved Lunish from his satchel with one hand, pulling a small feather from his pocket with the other. Quickly speaking the incantation as they began to drop, Lunish flashed back to her normal form with Glynfir awkwardly holding her ankle.


    Gravity began to accelerate their drop. As he uttered the final words of the spell, a pink burst of energy surrounded the three of them. Its effect was instantaneous. Their rate of descent slowed immediately, and they fluttered toward the rising forest below as gently as a feather in the wind.


    Grym, still cackling, kept his eyes on the activity at the recently departed fort. Triggering the mangonels had only increased the cacophony of shouting and running as the military crowd converged on their last position. Several desperate attempts to hurl spears towards them over the wall fell harmlessly short, snapping branches as they disappeared into the wooded hillside below. One small group, however, began turning and loading stones into the remaining catapults.


    ¡°They¡¯re firing on us!¡± he shouted across to the others


    ¡°Not us¡­¡± Glynfir shouted back ¡°¡­just you!¡± reminding his friend that he and Lunish were still invisible.


    The dwarf shot an annoyed look in their direction while repositioning his helmet.


    As their descent carried them below the sight line of the garrison wall, Lunish spoke for the first time since regaining her normal form.


    She shouted defiantly at the top of her lungs ¡°I am NOT a grubby little boy!!!¡± adding matter-of-factly in an even tone ¡°I threw up in your satchel.¡±

 7. The Spies - Snuggles and Sweetheart

    ¡°You two Otyughs didn¡¯t even come to my defense! Grubby little boy¡­ How rude!¡±


    The gnome was setting a blistering pace through the wooded foothills just north of the Stonebreach as the trio put some distance between themselves and any potential pursuers from Chagrothlond. Comfortable with the terrain and fueled by her indignation, the druid effortlessly picked her way through the heavy brush skirting the eastern edge of Shardhelm ¨C the southernmost peak of the Glimmerstones. Grym was doing his best to keep up as he pleaded their case.


    ¡°Come on Lulu. What did you expect us to do¡­give away our position outnumbered ten to two so we could correct them on your true anatomy? We would all have ended up in irons or worse.¡± Grym shook his head.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡± The way her intonation rose on the last syllable made it clear he was not going to win this argument.


    Glynfir, lagging his more vocal companions, had known the druid a long time and knew better than to pursue the discussion given her current state. Besides, he had several unresolved gripes of his own. The sorcerer was not fond of ¡°outside¡±. Every tree branch deliberately slapped his face as they picked their way north. One of his nice shoes was already soaked through and he had mud on his robes from three tumbles just in the last hour, not to mention the bugs! How could anyone prefer the wilderness to the civility of a nice cobblestone street or a warm hearth?


    The group pressed on through the fading daylight of the late summer evening for another two hours before Lunish spied a small cave cut into the hillside that would suit their purposes for the night. Glynfir was less than impressed but did his part to make it more habitable, tapping most of his remaining reservoir of magic to clear the stone interior of the debris, scat, and small animal bones left by its previous occupants. He also raised an earthen barrier across the cave mouth to hide the visibility of their campfire. I will not be cold AND uncomfortable tonight!


    Lunish put Grym to work gathering firewood and armloads of high grasses from a nearby field while she strode off into the falling darkness in search of a meal still muttering under her breath.


    Their group was flexible with leadership, allowing whoever was best acquainted with the circumstances to call the shots. In the cities and among larger groups of people, the sorcerer took the lead, and in all underground situations, they deferred to Grym¡¯s dwarven heritage. But out here, in the wilds, no question who was boss. Lunish had given each of them instructions before departing and scrutinized their performance upon her return with a young turkey hen and replenished waterskins filled from a nearby spring.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve seen worse¡± she stated matter-of-factly after surveying their temporary accommodations. Considering this to be reasonably high praise, the dwarf and half-elf exchanged beaming smiles like two small children who had successfully pleased a parent despite lingering disappointment in their prior behavior. With a couple of minor adjustments to their original work, Lunish called upon her magic to ignite the fire, producing a small flame in the palm of her hand before flicking it into the constructed tinder pile. Soon the smell of roasting turkey filled the cave. The snapping fire and occasional hiss of drippings on the hot coals intermittently disrupted the soothing drone of the surrounding forest evening.


    Glynfir broke the silence.


    ¡°We should check in before we eat. Tell them what we found.¡± Reaching into his satchel he pulled out a smooth stone that had the profile of an open-mouthed face carved intricately into its surface. This was a sending stone and their only means of communication with the Radiant Guardians. The magical artifacts, enchanted in pairs, enabled the exchange of mental messages between the two parties that possessed them. Regardless of distance or planes of existence, the stones were effective with a single limitation. Each stone could deliver one message per day limited to twenty-five words or fewer, making linguistic efficiency critical.


    ¡°Do you know what you¡¯re gonna say, laddie?... I don¡¯t even know what we found!¡± Grym replied. They hadn¡¯t discussed the mission¡¯s outcome since escaping Chagrothlond. The conversation during the walk had been dominated by the slight on Lunish¡¯s femininity and various forms of apologetic groveling.


    ¡°Well, we were asked to locate Duvall¡¯s current will and confirm if the beneficiary had been changed to someone other than his son. If it had, they wanted to know the new beneficiary, the solicitor that drafted it, and any strange symbols notated on the document¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m aware of the mission¡± Grym interrupted. ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°It named his new wife ¨C Denora ¨C to inherit all his land, wealth, and chattels¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unusual among humans, though not unheard of in recent times¡± Lunish noted in a curious tone.


    ¡°What about the rest?¡± prompted Grym.


    ¡°It was drafted by someone named Garret Ferrier¡±


    ¡°Also curious given we checked beforehand, and there are only two solicitors in Chagrothlond, and he wasn¡¯t one of them¡± Lunish added.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Glynfir pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows, and nodded in silent confirmation.


    ¡°But there¡¯s more¡­¡± he continued. Picking up a nearby stick he drew a line on the ground and placed a small circle underneath it. ¡°Both of their names had this underneath the first letter.¡±


    Grym rose, circling behind the others to peer over their shoulders at what Glynfir had scrawled into the dirt floor. He furrowed his brow.


    ¡°What does that mean?¡± he asked.


    ¡°I have no idea¡± Glynfir shook his head. Lunish reached down, running her fingers over the symbol, hoping physical connection might spark her memory.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never seen that before either. Was there a date on the document?¡±


    ¡°The eleventh of last month¡± Glynfir nodded.


    The wizard began constructing the message he would deliver, playing with the words in his mind to ensure clarity and conformity to the Sending Stone¡¯s limitation.


    ¡°I hate that we never get the whole picture for the work we do¡± Lunish idly remarked.


    ¡°Aye. That¡¯s the job though, isn¡¯t it?¡± Grym said dismissively. ¡°We are the blunt instrument that gathers and relays, kept in the dark and then pointed at the next need. But you must admit the pay is damn good ¨C one gold each per task. It makes me wonder how much The Hub charges for it on the other side.¡±


    ¡°I would bet a lot, and they probably sell it multiple times. These days, information is power!¡± Lunish speculated, releasing the pile of long red hair from under her hat, straightening and gathering it into two large bunches. ¡°Do you think I should wear my hair in a couple of braids?¡± The guard¡¯s earlier mistaken gender identification still tormented her.


    The wizard, lost in his thoughts, rejoined the conversation.


    ¡°Okay, I think I have the message. What do you think of this; ¡°Document confirmed. New wife now sole heir. Beneficiary and Garrett Ferrier¡¯s signatures both had a line with a circle below the first letter¡±


    Grym repeated the message to himself, counting out word totals on his fingers.


    ¡°Twenty-three¡± he concluded.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to add the code word¡­¡± Lunish reminded ¡°¡­but otherwise I think it¡¯s fine.¡±


    The Radiant Guardians was an anonymous enterprise.  None of the three had met, or directly spoken to anyone at The Hub. Originally recruited by another harvester like themselves, their names were enough to collect their wages from a specified business or individual within whatever town or city they found themselves.  Because the stones delivered messages back and forth as direct thoughts, they too lacked recognizable vocal cues. As a result, the group had no idea who was on the other end of their reports, and their counterparty had no idea who was delivering the message. Such a system needed some security protocol. To this end, the Radiant Guardians insisted on an assigned code word at the beginning of each message. Though crude in form, it conveyed the necessary trust and reliability. Their code word was ¡°snuggles¡±. Likewise, every message from The Hub would begin with ¡°sweetheart¡±. During their brief training, it was repeatedly emphasized that to omit the code word, even once, would mean an immediate end to all communications from The Hub and direct termination of their employment. Similarly, any incoming message that didn¡¯t begin as expected was a signal to jettison their stone and abandon the arrangement.


    ¡°Aye, don¡¯t forget snuggles!¡± Grym giggled


    Glynfir sighed and shook his head ¡°Yes, that was assumed, making it twenty-four total. I wish we could change our code word to something a little less cringy, though, it does feel good to have someone calling me sweetheart.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I ever want to know who is on the other stone. Probably a huge letdown compared to the image I''ve created for Snuggles in my mind!¡± Grym chortled and the others joined in.


    ¡°I do that too! Go on - who¡¯s yours then?¡± Lunish giggled. Not waiting for the dwarf to reply she added ¡°For me, she¡¯s tall and elvish¡­definitely fit.  She¡¯s smart and confident, has a great sense of humor. She thinks all my quirks and issues are sexy, and her eyes¡­her eyes just swallow me up!¡±


    ¡°Okay, okay¡­For me she¡¯s a stout dwarven lass - stubborn, but practical. She¡¯s a great cook and takes no shit. In our relationship she¡¯s clearly the boss. Oh - and she has a cute wispy little beard. What about you wizard?¡±


    ¡°You two have obviously put far more thought into this than I have.¡± Glynfir said sheepishly.


    ¡°Come on! You started it¡­and we told you ours! Who is snuggles for you?¡± Lunish chided


    ¡°Fine. For me, she¡¯s always reclining on a bed, bare legs crossed, wearing something sheer and silk. And big boobs.¡± He made a cupping gesture with his hands in front of his chest.


    ¡°What about her face or her hair?¡± Grym pressed his friend.


    The wizard shrugged.


    ¡°Dunno. I never get that far.¡±


    Lunish scrunched her face into a clear look of distaste.


    ¡°Ewww!¡± She drew the word out exaggeratedly ¡°Typical man! You¡¯re such a shallow dog! Sometimes I wonder how we¡¯re friends!¡±


    The wizard¡¯s mustache shook as he chuckled.


    ¡°Admit it. You love the excitement. Without me, your life would be so boring!¡±


    She punched his shoulder playfully as all three shared a laugh.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s true. You do keep me entertained!¡±


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m sending it.¡± Glynfir squeezed the sending stone between his thumb and forefinger. Closing his eyes, the others went silent momentarily allowing him to focus.


    ¡°Done.¡± He held the stone out to Lunish. ¡°I expect the reply will be directions on where to go next, and given where we are, it¡¯s probably best for you to receive it.¡± She took it from him and slid it into her pocket.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re admitting you can¡¯t find east on a sunny morning?¡± she smiled back at him.


    ¡°Perhaps not as bad as that, but you are the druid.¡± He said flatly.


    There was no way to know how long it would take for a response, though most arrived within two to three hours. The trio had learned that sending their updates before retiring was the most efficient approach. They almost always had a reply before beginning the next day¡¯s activities. The official business concluded, they settled in around the flickering glow of firelight dancing off the cave walls, enjoyed a meal of wild turkey, and idly speculated about the next destination. By the time evening had run its course, Grym had doffed his chainmail shirt, and Lunish had finished putting her hair into two slim braids that began on the top of her head and fell almost to her waist. Even Glynfir¡¯s previously sodden boot was now only damp, thanks to the warmth of the dwindling fire.


    As he stretched out on a deep layer of the high grass they had gathered, the wizard twirled his mustache and admitted that perhaps this outside life wasn¡¯t as bad as he had feared. Perhaps it was the fresh meadow scent of their bedding mixed with wood smoke, the white noise of summer insects and hissing coals in the background, or simply the day¡¯s busy activities. Regardless, he was comfortably asleep in minutes.

 8. The Spies - With a Dragon??

    Sunlight streamed into the rapidly warming cave shortly after daybreak, and Grym was already sweating as he rose and stretched. Massaging his right shoulder, he rolled the joint several times to alleviate the stiffness brought on by several hours on a stone surface ¨C grass notwithstanding.  As he gazed out the cave mouth across the treetops, he heard Glynfir groan to his right.


    ¡°Ugh. My hip¡­and my ass!¡± The wizard sat up and raised his hand to block the light from his squinting eyes as he turned to the dwarf. ¡°You know, when we crashed last night, I was thinking this wasn¡¯t so bad ¨C sleeping rough - but I take it all back. I feel like I¡¯ve been kicked by a centaur!¡±


    Grym laughed, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard ¡°Aye, it does take some getting used to.¡±


    The wizard rose and began some stretching of his own.


    ¡°I seriously can¡¯t feel my ass right now.¡± Rubbing his right butt cheek, he directed a nod to the space between them. ¡°Where¡¯s Lunish?¡±


    ¡°Dunno.¡± Grym shrugged as he retrieved his chain shirt and began the cumbersome process of getting it on over his tunic. ¡°She was already gone when I got up. Can you give me a hand here?¡±


    After assisting his friend with the armor, Glynfir picked up what had been dubbed the official ¡®fire poking stick¡¯ the night before and proceeded to fruitlessly stir the fire¡¯s remains in search of any salvageable embers. Realizing he was accomplishing nothing other than covering them both in a fine layer of ash, he tossed the stick into the circle of stones and turned his attention to the remains of the turkey. Grym quickly recognized the genius of this idea and within moments the two of them were huddled around the carcass and picking away at the leftovers like a couple of crows, the grease on their fingers and faces reflecting in the morning sunlight, and that is exactly how Lunish found them.


    ¡°Thought you two might sleep all day!¡± She bubbled, stepping into the cave around the earthen barrier Glynfir had constructed the evening before.


    ¡°Where have you been?¡± Grym asked her between bites.


    ¡°Foraging.¡± She opened the top of her shoulder satchel to reveal three apples and enough raspberries to share. ¡°These should go well with whatever you¡¯re calling this.¡± She made a circle in the air with her hand around the two of them and the turkey carcass, a slightly disgusted look on her face.


    ¡°Don¡¯t knock it until you try it! Grym boasted ¡°Here ¨C pull up some grass.¡±


    He shifted over making some room and Lunish sat down, emptying the contents of her satchel onto the previous night¡¯s bedding next to the turkey carcass and they all dug in.


    ¡°So¡­did we get a reply?¡± Glynfir asked as he popped several raspberries into his mouth.


    ¡°We did.¡± She confirmed ¡°They want us to go to a monastery called The Luminarium. Apparently, it signaled a perimeter breach yesterday and they want to know the details.¡±The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Works for me¡± Grym nodded, his lower lip protruding in a sign of acceptance. Glynfir¡¯s eyes narrowed as he looked at her suspiciously.


    ¡°How far Lulu?¡±


    ¡°About a day and a half I figure, if we take the road. We might be a bit quicker if we go overland, but it¡¯s pretty rough terrain and you never know what we might run into.¡±


    The men looked at each other and simultaneously exclaimed


    ¡°Road!¡±


    ¡°But that means another night of sleeping rough¡± Glynfir deflated


    ¡°You¡¯re such a whiner!¡± She chided him. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anyone with elven blood so averse to nature!¡±


    ¡°You grew up with this. It¡¯s who you are. I grew up with humans¡­in a town¡­with buildings¡­and beds!¡± he reminded her.


    Grym shook his head. ¡°I¡¯d swear you two were an old married couple if I didn¡¯t know better.¡±


    The banter between half-elf and gnome continued as they stowed their belongings in preparation for a long day of walking. Glynfir¡¯s spirits were buoyed somewhat by having a fully dry pair of shoes to begin the trek.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to head overland to the east for a couple of miles until we pick up the road from Chagrothlond. We can follow that north until we reach the Shand, then take that road west to the Luminarium.¡± The gnome itemized their itinerary as the group filled their waterskins from a nearby stream.


    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve got an old friend that lives up that way.¡± Grym mused as they pressed single file through the dense woodland. ¡°Draconic wizard named Glamos. Haven¡¯t seen him in more than ten years. We adventured together before I took up this more, ahem, honest work. We should stop by and say hello. He might even have some knowledge of what happened.¡±


    ¡°Draconic? Are you saying you have a dragon for a friend? How have we never heard this before?¡± inquired Glynfir suspiciously, once again bringing up the rear.


    ¡°Not a dragon¡­draconic.¡± Lunish corrected him ¡°They are a rare offspring of dragon and human¡±


    ¡°Wait¡­What? How is that even possible? Stop, don¡¯t tell me, I¡¯m already forming mental pictures I¡¯ll never be able to unsee.¡± Glynfir grimaced, closed his eyes, and shook his head as if to expel the undesired images.


    ¡°I would have thought you of all people, being of mixed species background yourself would be more accepting.¡± Lunish hid her smile from him as she teased her friend.


    ¡°That¡¯s unfair! In my case, the two species were anatomically similar ¨C two arms, two legs, no tail or wings. Ugh! More bad mind pictures! So, is he a dragon with human features, or a human with dragon features? Does he breathe fire? Was he hatched from an egg?¡±


    Grym sighed ¡°I¡¯m glad we¡¯re getting all of this out of the way before you meet him. Saves me the embarrassment. He¡¯s human in stature with dragon features, and yes, he was hatched from an egg. No, he doesn¡¯t breathe fire because his heritage is a white dragon, not red. So, he can breathe frost.¡± The dwarf patiently itemized answers he had given many times in the past. ¡°Come to think of it, the climate is probably why he chose to retire up in the mountains. It also helps him avoid dealing with curios kobolds like you, and all these ignorant questions!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m just interested!¡± Glynfir tried to defend his position while maintaining a grin. ¡°A white dragon. That means that somehow¡­at some point¡­a human male mated with a female ice dragon¡­¡± He let the implication hang silently in the air momentarily. ¡°I would love to buy that man a drink. Talk about dedication!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why it¡¯s so rare¡± Lunish chuckled ¡°I¡¯d be surprised if he survived the coupling¡­ I¡¯m sorry Grym!¡± She apologized for egging the wizard on.


    The dwarf shook his head ¡°You two are terrible!¡±


    ¡°Okay, I¡¯m done.¡± the wizard snorted ¡°I won¡¯t mention any of it when we meet him, I promise!¡±


    The conversational conclusion coincided with the surrounding forest abruptly serving up a dirt trail perpendicular to their current path. Though barely wide enough for a wagon, Lunish was confident this was the ¡°road¡± they sought, and the group turned north towards their destination in high spirits.

 9. The Thieves - A Horn and Bottle Joint

    As far as doors went, it was pretty standard - wooden slats with an open cutout at eye level - but he knew what lay beyond was often unpredictable. They were four days¡¯ ride out of Buhlent, but it could be four hundred. Left behind were the chaos of the city streets and their fluid kaleidoscope of every race and culture the Eastern continent had to offer. This far from the cosmopolitan coast, ¡°civilization¡± consisted of a series of homogenous small towns of mostly humans, each with varying tolerance and perspective.


    They were wedged between the foothills of the Glimmerstone mountains and the Sshanderiusha River (locally referred to as the Shand). What is this town called again? Doesn¡¯t matter. He knew the pub was still the best place to source information and funds. A familiar apprehension tickled the pit of his stomach. This far inland the local reaction to his kind ran the spectrum from friendly curiosity to small-minded fear and hostility. He thought about his companion, a female halfling named Whydah, mildly resenting that she always fared better. Her people were more numerous on the continent and closer in appearance, if not in stature, to humans. I¡¯m sure that has something to do with me. He concluded that when the company you keep is a nearly seven-foot-tall black house cat that walks on two legs and speaks, you¡¯re easily dismissed as the lesser peculiarity.


    As his hand paused at the door he looked at her, eyebrows raised, with a nod of questioning confirmation. She returned the nod, and he pressed inside ducking below the door frame to avoid repeating a lesson he¡¯d learned the hard way several times since he¡¯d landed on the continent.


    Not a bad crowd for mid-week before sundown. His yellow eyes darted quickly, reading the room for some indication of the type of evening to expect. A low purr of pleasant surprise droned in his throat seeing a blend of farmers and travelers of both sexes with a couple dwarves and elves mixed in for good measure. The ubiquitous pause that accompanied his entry to any tavern was shorter than usual with most everyone returning to their briefly interrupted conversation unconcerned. This was a good start.


    He took in their surroundings formulating rapid conclusions that would shape the rest of the evening. The place itself prioritized function over form, with little in the way of decoration. Plain wooden tables and benches dotted the interior while a basic bar counter occupied one end. The walls and ceiling were adorned with bundles of plants in various stages of desiccation, likely drying for cooking or medicinal purposes, or perhaps to blunt the general stank of pub that greeted his nostrils regardless.


    Glancing towards the other end of the room, he found what he was looking for ¨C a small musician¡¯s area, currently filled with extra tables and supplies. A young woman in her mid-teens flitted among the crowd bringing drinks and food to the patrons and judging from the family resemblance, her father was behind the bar.


    As he approached, the man broke into a smile.


    ¡°Welcome to Barrel¡¯s Wash, I¡¯m the proprietor, Egon Barrel - what¡¯ll it be?¡±


    A glance behind the bar reminded him again of the limitations of their current geography. In Buhlent, he would have chosen a shot of Neverclear ¨C particularly if the establishment had the catnip-infused variety, or perhaps one of the chic ¡®cantails¡¯ ¨C cocktails imbued with minor magical cantrips - that were currently all the rage. There would be none of that here. He could see immediately that The Barrel was only a horn and bottle sort of place, offering ale by the horn or local whiskey by the bottle. He observed nothing more complicated among the crowd.


    He looked to Whydah with raised eyebrows ¨C ¡°Ale?¡±


    She confirmed with another nod, and he held up two fingers to the bartender.


    Egon reached under the counter to retrieve two clean horns.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Coming right up, I didn¡¯t catch your name¡­¡±


    ¡°This is Whydah, and I am Singing Bird, but you can just call me Bird¡±


    The rolled ¡®r¡¯ in his name announced an accent different from that of the proprietor and not local.


    ¡°Bird¡­but you¡¯re a cat¡­¡± Egon said, his voice trailing off with a quizzical smile.


    ¡°A Tabby, yes, and believe me, I am painfully aware of the irony!¡±


    Egon chuckled. Unable to resist the opportunity for a dad joke, he shifted his gaze to Whydah and said ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re old enough for ale young lady?¡±


    Bird winced. Knowing his companion to be the no-nonsense halfling woman she was, he was certain Egon would be unhappy with the response to his attempt at humor. Whydah¡¯s slightly declined head, single raised eyebrow, and icy side-eye didn¡¯t disappoint.


    After awkwardly chuckling at his joke, Egon muttered something about being right back as he moved to the other end of the bar where a tapped keg lay on its side on a rear shelf.


    He returned momentarily carrying both horn handles in one of his hands, grabbing a small towel from a stack beside the keg and dropping it in front of them before serving their drinks. Its purpose became immediately apparent as the ale sloshed out of the over-filled horns with a flourish as part of the presentation.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be 4 coppers please¡±


    Bird fished the coin purse out of his leathers and produced the coins. Running low. He tucked it back under his jerkin. We¡¯ll fix that soon enough.


    Egon nodded in appreciation as Bird passed him the coins and asked


    ¡°Will yous be wantin¡¯ supper?¡± Interesting. He masks his local speech with outsiders to build rapport, but he slipped.


    ¡°Not just now, perhaps in a bit¡± came the reply, to which Egon nodded


    ¡°Last orders for food at eight, Maeve has a lovely roast lamb tonight if you¡¯re interested¡±


    Anticipating the gap in conversation, Whydah spoke for the first time


    ¡°Is that a stage down at the other end?¡± She turned her head and pointed over her left shoulder.


    ¡°What? Oh, yes, indeed it is, though we don¡¯t get many musicians here at The Barrel, as you can tell by the state of it. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve had any performers since last harvest when Elmer¡¯s lad and a couple of his friends got up and did their best on feast night. Why do you ask? Are you musicians?¡±


    ¡°Well, I am¡± Whydah replied, ¡°He¡¯s the voice¡±. Only a hint of judgment that time, she was getting better.


    ¡°Ahh, well there you go Mr. Bird, you get back a few points against the irony of your name as a singer!¡±


    ¡®Not exactly¡± Bird sighed ¡°It¡¯s more of a spoken word storytelling act, set to her music¡±


    Egon chuckled again ¡°So your name is Singing Bird but you¡¯re a cat, who performs but doesn¡¯t sing. You are an ironic riddle indeed sir!¡±


    ¡°I thank my parents every day Mr. Barrel¡± Bird smiled sarcastically.


    ¡°Were you two looking to perform tonight?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯ll allow us ¨C just busking for coins of course.¡± Whydah forced an influencing and hopeful smile onto her lips, which Bird knew to be purely for show. She¡¯s getting better at that too!


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not!¡± the barkeep chirped enthusiastically ¡°It¡¯s been a while, and I¡¯ll bet the crowd would love it¡­something different!¡± Egon lifted his chin and spoke loudly past them ¡°Gella ¨C can you make room on the stage when you get a minute, please? We¡¯re going to have live music tonight!¡±


    The girl turned immediately, attuned to her father¡¯s voice through the din of the pub, and nodded before distributing steaming plates of lamb, potatoes, and gravy to a table of four.


    ¡°Maybe we will have some lamb before going on if that¡¯s ok?¡±


    Now it was Whydah¡¯s turn to raise her eyebrows to him in an unspoken question. Giving her the slightest nod of reassurance, Bird retrieved one of the two remaining coins he had been rubbing together under his leathers and placed it on the bar. He felt optimistic about the evening¡¯s prospects in more ways than one.


    ¡°Of course, Mr. Bird!¡± Again Egon lifted his head shouting to his daughter across the pub ¡°Gella, two specials down here!¡±, his outstretched hand gesturing above their heads.


    Bird continued to watch him as the proprietor deftly turned his attention to two new customers approaching the bar, welcoming them in his universally optimistic tone. Entirely genuine. Over his shoulder, he heard Whydah.


    ¡°How about there?¡± turning back to see her pointing to a small table against the wall, halfway down the bar.


    ¡°Perfect¡±


    He got Egon¡¯s attention and wordlessly signaled their new seating destination in the universal pointing language of pubgoers everywhere. Answered with a confirming nod from the proprietor, the pair picked up their packs and horns, threading their way through the modest crowd to the vacant seats.


    They were indeed perfect. With their backs against the wall a few feet from the door, and seated across from each other, their perch allowed for subtle observation of everyone in The Barrel.


    Far enough from the next table that quiet conversation wouldn¡¯t be overheard, and should they need to make a hasty exit, that wasn¡¯t far either. As an added benefit, Whydah¡¯s legs didn¡¯t dangle as obviously from the small benches. This will do nicely.

 10. The Thieves - The Give

    Their formula was well practiced. From rehearsing their act while traveling between destinations, to the rudimentary Thieves¡¯ Cant that Bird had taught his companion for subtly sharing information about nearby marks, even the practical logistics of staying at a close but different establishment to ensure a margin of safety. It was all planned to the finest detail. Even the sequence of activities had a prescribed order; perform first, accept what they give then take what they don¡¯t, while probing for information somewhere in between. A twinge of guilt hit him as he thought about Whydah. She didn¡¯t love everything about this lifestyle. Given her choice, she¡¯d rather be more permanently settled somewhere, likely in one of the cities, attending Bard College instead of relying on pickpocketing fans. She loved the music and loved making it. He could tell she was most at peace when they were performing. But circumstances pushed them in this direction, for now at least.


    Brought back to the moment by her voice, Bird refocused on the room.


    ¡°A fair bit of darby among the pigeons here tonight. Green hat has the bourg front left, red beard on the right, six pm¡±


    Her vocabulary is really coming along nicely. She¡¯d just told him she was already seeing several worthy targets. In particular, the man with the green hat had his coin purse in his front left jacket pocket while his red-bearded companion carried his on the right. They were both seated at the table directly behind him.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make a rum bob out of you yet my friend! Remember, no rust tonight, keep your eyes open for tin or yellow¡±


    She flashed him her trademark ¡°Do I look like an idiot?¡± glance in response.


    ¡°I¡®m well aware¡­I thought you might have to try and pay for the lamb with buttons, I was ready.¡± She smirked, referencing her ability to cast an appropriate illusion.


    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be the first time!¡± he quipped.


    The two of them continued to debrief on the various marks and targets around the bar for the next few minutes before Bird got up and left the pub under the guise of relieving himself. His real purpose, however, was to take a look around the backside of the building. Always secure another way out¡­just in case. Closely facing the pub¡¯s rear wall, and fully playing the part, he clocked the kitchen door already propped open to mitigate the heat. Short run from there to the woods. That¡¯ll do.


    He gave Whydah a barely perceptible nod as he returned to the table, communicating more with the deliberate blinking of his eyes than head movement. They were in good shape.


    Almost as if waiting for him to return, Gella landed chaotically at their table with two plates of food in tow, having deftly and quickly maneuvered her way from the kitchen, through the crowd, with practiced competence.


    ¡°Two specials?¡± she said breathlessly settling next to their table.


    Whydah smiled and adjusted her posture to lean back in her chair, making room for the plate in front of her.


    ¡°That¡¯s us¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the musicians ¨C right?¡±


    ¡°Well, I am, he tells stories¡±. Totally judgment-free.


    Gella¡¯s head came up as she considered the response.


    ¡°Separately, or at the same time?¡±


    ¡°Same time.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s different. So, the music and the story go together.¡± She turned to Bird.


    ¡°But you¡¯re not singing?¡±


    ¡°Nope¡±


    ¡°Sounds interesting, I haven¡¯t seen that before!¡± Gella smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve got a bit of a break in the rush, so I¡¯m going to get you guys all set up now, should be done by the time you¡¯ve finished your meal¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Whydah said as Gella nodded and navigated her return journey to the kitchen as deftly as she had come.


    Silence fell between the two travelers as they tucked into their meal, hungrier than they recognized and pleasantly surprised by the savory nature of the lamb. True to her word, Gella began shuffling extra chairs, empty barrels, and small sacks of dry goods to re-expose the stage floor at The Barrel¡¯s east end. Her activities drew a few curious looks from those who hadn¡¯t heard her father announce the entertainment, their heads swiveling around to identify the source of her activity.


    Whydah lifted her head from gobbling the last of her potatoes to see Bird already reclining his posture and smoothing his whiskers, plate empty in front of him.


    ¡°Looks like we¡¯re almost up,¡± She said, nodding over Bird¡¯ left shoulder.


    He sighed ¡°As much as I would rather keep my ass right here on this bench, I suppose it¡¯s part of why we¡¯re here. Open with the origin story as usual?¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡°Works for me. I¡¯m thinking lute tonight, they look like a lute sort of crowd.¡± Thank Gond she didn¡¯t choose the pipes!


    Whydah was a master of multiple instruments, always carrying a lute, a harp, and a strange wind-powered device called the bagpipes. Unfamiliar to him, he found their sound to be harsh and their melody a bit stilted. Thankfully they didn¡¯t come out of her pack very often. The lute was the perfect choice tonight. Her picking skills and ability to instantly adjust its volume (unlike those pipes!) always worked well with the build of his tales and the rise and fall of his acoustics.


    The audience had grown somewhat since their arrival. Bird estimated nearly thirty-five people at the tables or milling by the bar. His heart began to beat faster, as it did before every performance. This was his true calling. He was often a thief, sometimes an assassin but he was always a showman. There was nothing quite like the feeling of the crowd''s adoration, the applause, the laughter.


    With the smiling nod from Egon, as he moved past them from the bar, they took their cue to follow. Downing the dregs of their ale and grabbing their packs, the pair fell in line behind him towards the now spacious stage area. Showtime!


    Whydah carefully freed her lute from its strap on the outside of her backpack and Bird did a couple of vocal warm-up exercises as Egon took center stage and got the crowd¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Ladies and Gentlemen!¡± he repeated a couple of times in increasing volume to bring all eyes to him. ¡°We have a very special treat for you tonight ¨C troubadours ¨C and professional ones at that!¡± A mild murmur and sporadic applause rose from the now attentive crowd.


    ¡°Please give them a big Barrel welcome¡± and Egon himself started the applause that was mimicked by several patrons. An easy room. Wonderful.


    Egon stepped aside as Bird took center stage his feline grin in full form, energy up, motions exaggerated.


    ¡°Let¡¯s give it up for our gracious host ¨C Mr. Barrel and the finest server this side of the Glimmerstones ¨C Gella!¡± Bird returned the favor of starting the applause and the crowd responded directly. Get them to applaud their friends first. It makes the transition easier.


    ¡°My name is Bird and my diminutive soloist is called Whydah¡± He made a flourishing gesture to his partner who had now taken up a seated position to his left, lute in hand.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let her size fool you though, she can shred that lute like an ogre on a pony!¡± A few chuckles, not bad.


    ¡°I see the confusion on some of your faces, yes I am a Tabby¡± Bird exaggeratedly stroked his whiskers. ¡°And yes, you heard me correctly, my name is Bird. Singing Bird in fact. In my culture, we use only the second name in a familiar greeting, so please, call me Bird. Only my mother calls me Singing Bird¡­usually when she¡¯s unhappy with me.¡± A few chuckles.


    ¡°Despite the foreshadowing of my name, I am not going to sing for you tonight. Hold the pause for suspense. What we do would be better described as storytelling done to music. Hopefully, you will find it both amusing and entertaining, and if you do, we would greatly appreciate any generosity you feel appropriate.¡± He expertly spun an old felt hat he had been holding into the air, landing it three feet in front of him on the edge of the stage area.


    On cue, Whydah began to lazily pick a five-note melody on the lute in repetition, tapping the instrument¡¯s body in between to establish a slow beat in accompaniment to the music.


    Oh yeah! There¡¯s the juice!


    Bird immediately felt the familiar rush of the magic that accompanied her music when she so chose. His confidence, already high, swelled euphorically, his head cleared, and his focus sharpened. It was something he had experienced many times, in a fight, a delicate negotiation, or, like today, when delivering a performance. It always took him to another level.


    ¡°Now with the introductions out of the way, let me tell you a bit about how a dashing, young Tabby like myself came to be performing for pub coins in the Kingdom of Shan. Believe it or not, performing arts were not my first calling...¡±


    He paused dramatically letting the melody repeat and then resumed.


    ¡°.. I used to be a bit of a burglar and a pretty good one at that, until one job where I was asked to steal a horn that was rumored to have magical properties¡­ of a phallic nature¡­ if you know what I mean!¡±


    Matching his tempo to Whydah¡¯s wandering lute, Bird made an exaggerated gesture just below his waist and received a few salacious interjections from the crowd. They¡¯re taking the bait.


    ¡°This particular horn happened to be owned by a truly reprehensible human being we¡¯ll call... Lord Snobble Pompington.¡±


    Several more chuckles. Nothing galvanizes a working-class audience faster than an entitled, rich antagonist. I¡¯ve almost got them.


    ¡°Wealthy? Absolutely. Powerful¡­unquestionably. You see Pompington senior, his father, just happened to be one of the political elder statesmen of my fair city. A real servant of the people. Junior, however, contributed absolutely nothing to society and spent evenings drinking and carousing, courting any creature with a pulse and the appropriate¡­equipment.¡± The tabby raised his cupped hands to his chest, simulating the presence of breasts. More laughter. They¡¯re mine now.


    ¡°He used his stature as a tool of coercion and a means of avoiding the consequences of his words and actions. Needless to say, he left a wake of bitter and resentful, if sexually satisfied, females littered across the city¡¯s noble community¡±


    I¡¯m really cooking tonight! His verbal articulation was flawless. His timing with the melody; impeccable. With her spell enhancing his delivery the local rabble didn¡¯t stand a chance.


    ¡°And that¡¯s where I come in¡­.¡±


    For the next twenty minutes, the feline troubadour expertly spun his yarn as Whydah deftly adjusted her melody in volume, composition, and cadence. Perfect balance. As he built the suspense leading up to the burglary, her picking danced in a soft speedy compliment. The crowd hung on the edge of their seats. As he reached the climax of being unable to resist blowing the magical horn and being stunned by the awkward ¡®growing¡¯ outcome its magic produced, she slid a hammer note up the neck that mimicked the described effect. They¡¯re eating it up!


    By the time he got to describing the opposite effect simultaneously befalling poor Snobble (mid-tryst no less!), they were falling off their chairs with laughter. They¡¯re ours now.


    The tale finished where it began; with the same lazy melody. Time to bring it home with the sympathy play.


    ¡°¡­and that is why I fled my home for these fair shores and began life anew as a humble performer.¡±


    His head bowed in resignation as he let the last few words tumble from his lips, Whydah striking her final note in perfect timing.


    The crowd roared in appreciation. Without lifting his head from the dramatic finish, Bird felt a strong sense of accomplishment and involuntarily his lips spread into a cat-like grin. He could see and hear coins being added to the hat on the floor. Tonight¡¯s ¡°Give¡± would be strong. It remained to be seen how bountiful the ¡®Take¡± portion of their formula would be.

 11. The Thieves - The Take

    The pair regaled their audience through two more performances. One humorous, centered on an annual festival competition in Gola-Didrith involving some recalcitrant dire goats. The second was more suspenseful and involved stealing a painting from the highly secure tower of a local wizard.


    Funny thing about stage performance. It always makes them trust me far more than they should.


    Maybe it had something to do with showing his vulnerability, laid bare through the stories. Or maybe it was the shared laughs, but when he was done the audience felt like they knew him. Even better, they trusted him and treated him like a friend whereas before the show, he was just a feline face in the crowd. Whydah experienced the same even though she wasn¡¯t as front and center during the delivery. They had discussed it, back in the earliest days of their travels.


    Time to exploit it.


    As Bird wrapped up their third tale, he cast out their usual request for information.


    ¡°Thank you! Thank you!¡± He bowed his head in appreciation.


    ¡°A big part of our material starts with tales of local curiosity, rumors, myth, and legends, that we learn from folks like yourselves, on evenings like this. We look into them and sometimes, there is a story for the world to hear. So, this is your chance to become part of the show. Whydah and I will be sticking around for a drink or two and would love to hear about anything peculiar or interesting going on in the area ¨C even if you don¡¯t have all the details - we¡¯d love to hear about it! And once again, thank you for your generosity!¡±


    With that, he gave a final flourish and retreated. The audience cheered enthusiastically, some rising to their feet. Bird joined Whydah, raising their arms together in a final curtain call and they began to pack up. Buffered by a few feet of separation, the applause, and animated post-performance discussion, they had time to make a quick plan.


    What the crowd didn¡¯t notice, and never did, was the deliberate reconnaissance that was taking place on the part of the performers while they were entertaining.


    Time to pluck the chickens!


    Outside the spotlight on the stage, Whydah had all the time in the world to observe every patron. She noticed where they kept their coin purses, how full or empty they were, who drank heavily, who was careful of their surroundings, who was less concerned. This is how they set up ¡°The Take¡±. Between the intelligence gathering before and during the performance, the pair would identify five or six specific marks who checked enough of the right boxes and go to work.


    They never targeted too many or took too much to preserve some doubt in the mind of the victim or the establishment whether they had been robbed. That kept them below the attention threshold of local law enforcement.


    He smiled at her. ¡°Fantastic show tonight as always! Did you put a little something extra in your spell? I felt it, more than usual¡±


    ¡°I think I¡¯m getting better at the casting¡±. She returned the smile.


    ¡°So, what did you see?¡±


    ¡°Green hat and red beard are both still definite candidates. Fat purses, fairly accessible and moderate drinkers. Both have swords though, so we¡¯ll need to be a bit careful.¡±


    Bird nodded. ¡°I saw that. Well, we can¡¯t hit both, too obvious. Which one do you like better?¡±


    ¡°Red beard, I think. And I¡¯d like to grab it. He¡¯s quite tall, and I think I can get it with the right jostle.¡±


    So proud of her.


    He nodded again and grinned.¡± Look at you ¨C going for your first pull! Okay. I¡¯ll engage the two of them in another story over a drink. Look for my cue and I¡¯ll give you the jostle you need.¡±


    ¡°Who else? How about overalls or blond braids?¡±


    Whydah shook her head. ¡°Braids has a pouch that is part of her dress in the middle at her waist. It¡¯s tough to get to and she isn¡¯t carrying much. I haven¡¯t seen overalls pay for a single drink all night. Now the elf though...¡± She trailed off.


    ¡°I was wondering if you noticed him. Definitely not local ¨C too well dressed. Belt purse left side.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I saw him digging around in there looking for the right color to pay Gella, always a good sign¡±. Was that a twinkle in her eye?


    ¡°And did you catch the blacksmith? Keeps his scratch in the side pocket of his apron. How many coins left you think?¡±


    ¡°I saw at least two, one tin, one yellow. He pulled them all out when paying for his last drink. Guessing he didn¡¯t want to give her the yellow accidentally.¡±


    That was all they had time for, but it was enough. With the packing complete, the two travelers left the stage area, making their way to the bar while several audience members converged to intercept them.


    This is exactly what we want. Chaotic. Bodies pressed into tighter spaces than normal, nonsuspicious contact, and shifting of positions. The Tabby purred quietly to himself.


    Blacksmith was first. After shaking his hand and showing appreciation for his remarks, Bird deftly slid his fingers into the apron pocket as he moved past the man to greet the next well-wisher. Sure enough, Whydah was right ¨C two coins. Well-practiced in differentiating denominations by touching the surfaces, Bird made his choice and removed his prize in one smooth motion. Child¡¯s play.


    Meanwhile, Whydah gathered up the hat from the floor and emptied it. A glance revealed at least twenty coppers and four silvers. Not bad at all for a crowd this size. Turning her back to the room, she shoved the hat into her pack and put the coins into the purse she carried around her neck. Not the most accessible, but secure.


    As she turned to follow Bird towards the bar, she was cut off by a dwarven man who had been watching her intently all night. Suitor or fellow musician? It was usually one or the other.


    ¡°Sharp work up there!¡± Speaking in a heavy dwarven accent, he offered his hand.


    ¡°Thank you.¡± She smiled and accepted the handshake. Careful, just because he¡¯s a musician doesn¡¯t mean he isn¡¯t a creep.


    The calloused fingertips of his right hand pressed into hers as they shook. Interesting. A lefty. Rare among lutists.


    ¡°I love the sound you got working the neck. What were you using on your index finger?¡±


    Reaching around behind her into the pocket of her pack Whydah pulled out the neck of a whiskey bottle she had broken off and sanded down to avoid injury.


    ¡°Oh, you mean this ¨C my slide?¡±


    ¡°From a whiskey bottle. That¡¯s brilliant! How does it work?¡±


    Always appreciative of positive feedback for her play, Whydah illustrated how she used the slide and transposed the frets she needed to play above it with her remaining fingers. Instinctively, she noticed the dwarf¡¯s reasonably plump coin purse on his left hip. As he still looked a little puzzled, she seized the opportunity.


    ¡°Here, let me show you.¡± She quickly dropped her pack and freed the lute, handing him the slide. The dwarf squeezed his fatter left index finger into the glass tube and accepted the instrument.


    ¡°Now, this is strung backward for a lefty, but you get the idea.¡± Moving around behind his left side, Whydah used her left hand to show the dwarf how to place his hand to bridge all the strings with the slide and use his other fingers in front of it. He didn¡¯t notice her using her right hand to delicately fish into his coin purse and relieve him of three silvers. Gotcha!


    ¡°I get it now. Brill. Thanks for that. I¡¯ve got to make me one of those¡±


    She took back the lute and turned away, reattached it to her pack while simultaneously sliding her silver spoils safely into the side pocket.


    With some effort, the dwarf managed to get the slide off his sausage finger and offered it back to her.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°You know what¡­keep it. That one¡¯s a little too big for me. Consider it a gift¡±


    The dwarf beamed in appreciation, thanked her, and shook her hand again before making his exit. Most expensive piece of broken glass he¡¯ll ever buy.


    Feeling rather proud of herself for making her first pull (as Bird called it) all on her own, Whydah picked up her pack and proceeded towards Tabby¡¯s fuzzy black head sticking out above the crowd by the bar.


    For his part, the cat had already plucked his second pigeon of the evening, having secured the entire coin purse from the previously identified elf. He reflected on how he¡¯d slid one claw between purse and belt and severed the silk, liberating the currency and its vessel into his gentle grasp before tucking it safely under his jerkin. Retractable claws do make things so much easier. He now stood at the bar with the main targets he and Whydah had identified ¨C Green Hat and Red Beard ¨C whose names he recently learned were Aarol and Vern (or was it the other way around?). Regardless, he was regaling them with a detailed account of the time they had been plucked out of thin air by a gnomish inventor mage to deal with an ice dragon terrorizing the local community. He shivered involuntarily, recalling the bodies of other local champions entombed beneath the ice inside the dragon¡¯s lair. His audience, however, including a few passive onlookers content to observe from the periphery, ate it up. They hung on every word, which was exactly the objective, as he set the stage for his halfling protege to make her bump and grab. Where was she? His annoyance bubbled up. How long could it take to finish packing her lute and cross the floor? The timing for this was critical, so he drew out the detail to stall.


    As it happened, the cause of Whydah¡¯s delay was at least worthwhile. Making her way towards Bird¡¯s position, she was cut off by a sheepish young human visibly concerned about interrupting her. Nonetheless, he stood directly between the halfling and her desired destination, hands clasped, gaze on the floor.


    ¡°Miss Whydah?¡±


    ¡°Yes, hi!¡±


    ¡°Your friend, the cat. He said you were interested in hearing about anything out of the ordinary¡­¡± his voice trailed off. Threat or opportunity? Neither.


    His pronunciation of the word ¡®ordinary¡¯ told Whydah he was uneducated, and his clothes were the shabby garb of a lifelong farmer.


    ¡°Oh yes! We are very interested in anything like that, especially if it involves magic or strange creatures¡­mister¡­?¡± His eyes rose to meet hers and his gaze softened into a slight smile as she validated the reason for his intrusion.


    ¡°Garn. Ned Garn. Now this is somewhat second-hand mind, but one of my waggoners was telling me just this morning about the Luminarium abbey¡±


    Her brain tingled in unexpected recognition. An old adventuring partner had opted to settle down at the Luminarium a year or so back.


    ¡°What about it, what happened?¡± Her tone shifted to genuine concern.


    ¡°Now he didn¡¯t know what happened, mind, but he said the abbey was razed to the ground, still burning. He could see it from Shand Road on his way back from Godobeth. He planned to stop there but thought better of it after seeing the smoke. Camped rough by the riverside instead.¡±


    Oh Shit! Tsuta!


    Over the next few minutes, Whydah learned they were about two days'' ride from the Abbey and that the detail was one day old. Can¡¯t think about this right now. Stay on task. She thanked the farmer and resumed her journey towards the outbursts of laughter and amazement over by the bar that would undoubtedly have Bird at their center.


    The tabby felt a sense of relief as he spied her pushing her way through the crowd towards him. Finally! He was nearing the trigger point of the story and couldn¡¯t stretch it out much longer. Catching her eye, he raised his right brow telling her to get ready. She¡¯s as white as a ghost. Can¡¯t worry about that right now, the wheels are in motion.


    He was at the point of the story where they subdued the dragon with a magic ball of iron bands. It¡¯s now or never. Come on girl, get yourself together. Whydah knew the tale well, and quietly took up position behind Red Beard on his right side, her pack at her feet. Okay, she¡¯s good.


    As Bird described throwing the magic ball at the dragon, its iron bands exploding in a burst of light and lashing him in place, he leaned forward and grabbed Red Beard by the shoulders for emphasis. Shifting his weight to lean slightly on his target, the move surprised the human, and he took a half-step back to steady himself, running right into Whydah. This was ¡°the bump¡±. With the contact, she made her move. Feigning a backward fall, she grabbed the man¡¯s coat in her left hand and slid her right into the pocket holding his coin purse. Once secured, she withdrew it and allowed her left hand to slide down his back as she ¡°fell¡± to the floor, taking care to roll onto her stomach, shielding his line of sight while tucking the purse into the open pocket on her pack.


    Startled to encounter someone behind him, Red Beard turned and realized he had knocked the halfling over and began to apologize, helping her up. He appeared to be oblivious to the departure of the purse.


    ¡°It¡¯s OK,¡± she said. ¡°For someone my size, it happens more often than you think. No harm done. Clearly, I arrived at the wrong moment!¡±


    Bird jumped in effortlessly.


    ¡°No, no, that¡¯s entirely my fault. It was my dramatic flair that started the sequence. I¡¯m sorry Whydah, let me get you a horn to make it up to you.¡±. Bird nodded towards the nearly empty cups of his two new friends.


    ¡°It looks like you gentlemen could use one as well¡±


    This too, was by design. He didn¡¯t want Red Beard to reach for his now absent coins before the two thieves were long gone from The Barrel. Bird signaled to Egon for four more horns of ale and fished the silver he¡¯d just lifted from the blacksmith out of his jerkin pocket as payment.


    Deliberately outpacing the two humans, the troubadours made small talk until they finished their drinks, and said their goodbyes, calling out a first-light departure.


    ¡°We won¡¯t be far behind you; we¡¯ve got a long ride ahead of us on the morrow as well¡± offered Green Hat (Aarol?).


    Even better. They may not notice until morning. Thanking Egon and Gella again, the performers bid goodbye to the crowd, and made their way out into the night, down the road to the White Horse Inn.


    ¡°Well done!¡± bird beamed at Whydah ¡°That was perfect!¡±


    ¡°Not quite. I have to work on the landing a bit¡± Whydah grimaced ¡°I landed right on my hip bone. Hurts like the shadow realm with every step¡±.


    Bird chuckled.


    ¡°Not funny¡± she snapped back as the two thieves limped into the White Horse and up the stairs to their rooms. ¡°Let me drop my gear. I¡¯ll be over in a minute to review our haul¡±


    This was a practical ritual following every performance. The pair pooled all the funds both given and taken, dividing the proceeds equally.


    Closing her door behind her, Whydah dropped her pack on the bed and winced before plopping herself down beside it, rubbing her right hip. That will be a nasty bruise tomorrow.


    The accommodation was simple; a bed and a small chest of drawers topped by a wash basin with a fresh urn of water. An uncomfortable chair rounded out the furnishings.


    Fishing through the multitude of pockets on her pack, the halfling gathered all her contributions to the evening¡¯s proceeds, including the 3 slivers that came courtesy of the dwarf, and the ¡®given¡¯ funds from the performance hat. And finally, Red Beard¡¯s purse. This is unusual. She didn¡¯t notice it originally, but it held something else along with the traditional monetary contents. Tracing a couple of points and sharp edges through the velvet cloth. What have we here? She undid the cinch and pulled out a necklace with a pendant.


    She held it up by the simple silver chain to get a closer look. Hello, my beauty! It was about the length of her ring finger, slightly thicker in girth, and had six sides, ending in a blunt point. Forged from a bluish crystal, the pendant wasn¡¯t completely translucent. Its milky depth boasted a reflective property returning flashes of deeper blue, yellow, and green as she turned it in the light. I¡¯ve never seen anything like you before. The top of the pendant was also silver, though slightly tarnished with time. A simple, woven circular design that joined the crystal via an inverted crown. There was no forged clasp. Instead, the chain threaded through one of the open holes in the pendant¡¯s top.


    This would make a perfect keepsake. Call it a memento to commemorate her first success as a rum bob. I¡¯m entitled to it. We don¡¯t need to sell it. The haul was good enough for us to live well for days. Without further internal justification, she slipped the chain around her neck and tucked the pendant under her tunic. Gathering up the rest of the evening¡¯s holdings, she pushed herself up off the bed, was reminded immediately of the twinge in her hip, and limped across the hall to Bird¡¯s room.


    Two quick knocks, followed by a muffled confirmation from within led her to open the door. She took in a room identical to her own with her Tabby friend hunched over his portion of the evening¡¯s proceeds on the bed, a wide feline grin on his face.


    ¡°Not a bad take at all! I got one gold off the blacksmith, and that elf had two more along with four silvers and three coppers in his purse! How did you do?¡±


    Whydah dropped onto the bed and added her acquisitions to the collection.


    ¡°Three silvers from a dwarf that cornered me as I was leaving the stage ¨C wanted to talk about lute playing¡­It was an expensive conversation for him.¡± Bird nodded slowly in acknowledged recognition. As she poured the Given coins into the pile, he quickly added them up.


    ¡°Four silver and twenty-two coppers, not bad at all. And how about Red Beard? Are you saving the best for last?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t even looked yet¡±. She tossed the purse which he deftly caught and dumped into the pile. Four gold coins, one silver, and a single copper spilled out to join the collection.


    ¡°Four gold ¨C wow! That¡¯s a lot to carry in a small town like this.¡± The cat¡¯s fingers were busy shifting the coins into two equal amounts.


    ¡°OK, that gives us six silvers, thirteen coppers, and two gold each, with one extra gold. What should we do about that?¡±


    ¡°You hold onto it,¡± Whydah said, as shame and guilt from the undeclared necklace and pendant blossomed inside her. ¡°I trust you. I¡¯ll take the next one that comes out uneven.¡±


    Bird met her gaze, and after a moment¡¯s pause, agreed with a nod.


    ¡°You really took your time getting to us at the bar. I felt like I was spinning that yarn forever waiting for you to get into position!¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right I almost forgot!¡± Whydah blurted ¡°I had another pigeon stop me on my way over to share some information¡±


    ¡°Anything good?¡± Bird said idly as he focused on gathering his share of the coins and dividing them among his coin purse and multiple pockets within his pack. Never keep all your money in one place.


    ¡°He told me about an abbey razed to the ground, less than two days from here. It was called the Luminarium.¡±


    Bird¡¯s head snapped up at the mention of the name. His coin sorting stopped abruptly, his focus now entirely on Whydah.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t that where Tsuta went after we parted ways down south?¡±


    ¡°I thought that was the name he mentioned, yes¡±


    ¡°How long ago did this happen?¡±


    ¡°Yesterday, so he said.¡±


    ¡°OK, and two days ride. We will be a bit late to the party, but we have to go. He¡¯s a solid elf who was always there for us in tight spots. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I agree¡± she nodded ¡°If we can help, we should.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s settled. We ride at first light. Do you know how to get there?¡±


    ¡°Straight up the Sshanderiusha road that follows the river.¡±


    Bird dropped his gaze and nodded. She knew him well enough to recognize that he was internally processing concern for their friend. She gathered up her share of the coins as he slowly returned to dividing his own into various locations. They said goodnight and Whydah returned to her room and, hopefully, some decent rest.

 12. The Ranger - Eyes Wide Open

    The eastern foothills of the Glimmerstone mountains, particularly those south of the Luminarium, offer some of the most unique agricultural conditions in all of Venn. The warm prevailing winds from the east and imposing mountain backdrops combine to create a microclimate of warm summers and mild and wet winters. Settled by the elves hundreds of years ago, they found grapes had a natural affinity to the area¡¯s loamy soil. Over time, the region became the continental hub for one of Elvenkind¡¯s most universally admired products ¨C wine. Terraced vineyards dominate over thirty miles of the landscape between Chagrothlond and the Luminarium, providing the only visual hint of civilization between the rugged peaks and the dense forests below. Renowned across the continent and beyond by those who can afford it, the wines of Eredmire, as the area is known both within the wider Elvish community and enological circles, are regarded as somewhat of a national treasure.


    Respect for the region and its elvish heritage was so great that during the establishment of national boundaries between the Kingdom of Shan and the Elvish Commonwealth of Glahaneth, Eredmire was granted the rare recognition of extra-territoriality. Though surrounded by the human kingdom of Shan, it was acknowledged as a province of Glahaneth. In hindsight, this created several challenges to governance and security despite the longstanding positive relations between elves and men. Eredmire paid tallage to Gola-Didreth rather than Buhlent, but over three hundred miles and significant diplomatic wrangling separated it from the full force of the Elvish military. The council of Eredmire, as a result, had always enjoyed a high degree of autonomy in economic and military matters. Shan wouldn¡¯t help them, and Glahaneth couldn¡¯t ¨C at least not quickly.


    Arguably the most famous among the vineyards of Eredmire was House Eldracum. As the region¡¯s largest producer, its patriarch - Fenir Eldracum - was a council elder and well-respected in the community. A non-compromising, stubborn wood elf, Fenir¡¯s business acumen was undeniable. During his considerable tenure at the helm, House Eldracum rose from one of many within the Eredmire wine cooperative to the pinnacle of quality and brand recognition across the continent. The barrel mark of ¡®EE¡¯ ¨C Eldracum of Eredmire - became a symbol of exclusivity and prestige at the finest tables and events, and the family¡¯s influence and fortunes rose accordingly. Fenir had always hoped to pass the empire down as his legacy, but as they often do, his children had other plans. His daughter Gilieth found her passion in politics and abandoned the family business for a promising diplomatic career in Gola-Didreth. His son, Segwyn, showed great promise and natural ability for vinification and commercialization but walked away from the industry two years ago, choosing instead to put on the hood of the ranger within the provincial militia ¨C The Verdant Blades. As good as any Elvish military with sword and bow, the Blades favored field-level decision-making over the strict command and control culture of Glahaneth. This philosophy provided squad leaders like Segwyn, with considerable latitude in protecting the interests, land, and citizens of Eredmire.


    He and the eight under his command were patrolling the eastern foothills of the Glimmerstones when the Luminarium¡¯s blue beacon flare belched skyward, rising in the afternoon sun.


    He signaled the team to regroup.


    ¡°What do you think? Do we head North?¡±


    ¡°Not yet.¡± Segwyn paused. ¡°Our duty is to the lands of Eredmire, which don¡¯t go all the way to the Luminarium. Let¡¯s head to the top of the ridge where we can get eyes on the range in both directions and see if this is something bigger.¡±


    As quietly as smoke drifted through the forest, the squadron of Blades changed course to the highest nearby ridge. The elves wordlessly spread themselves along the crest, watched, and waited. An hour passed and the shadows of the Glimmerstones overtook their position driving the remaining daylight farther west. No additional flares broke the skyline from Chagrothlond to as far north as they could see.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Segwyn focused his mind on his surroundings and released his magic, probing for any presence of inherent evil in the area. The familiarity of the terrain offered him a several-mile radius of detection. Nothing.


    ¡°Anyone got a visual? Magic isn¡¯t picking up anything.¡± He spoke to no one in particular.


    A chorus of negative replies echoed along the ridgeline as he weighed the options.


    While there were some creatures he couldn¡¯t sense, the magic covered most major threats: dragons, demons, undead, elementals, fey, devils, celestials, and aberrations. The monks at the beacons had no such limitations. Only one flare, it could have been anything. Maybe it went north, or they took care of it themselves.


    ¡°Only one ribbon doesn¡¯t mean it isn¡¯t something nasty. I would put us about fifteen miles from the border closest to the monastery. Let¡¯s camp here and press north at first light. If we get within a couple miles of the Shand, I should be able to detect anything coming from that direction beyond our borders.¡±


    More than comfortable in their wooded surroundings, the squad shared watch duties overnight, switching up every couple of hours. Segwyn took the first shift, allowing him to cast the spell once more before he settled down to meditate and recharge. Still nothing.


    As his focus returned to the camp, Segwyn noticed his watch partner, a young elf named Neril, had joined him by the fire.


    ¡°All quiet?¡± He asked


    ¡°Yep, nothing moving out there. What do you think it was¡­that made them trigger the beacon?¡±


    Segwyn shrugged, raising his eyebrows.


    ¡°Hard to say. It could have been anything.¡± Reading the apprehension in Neril¡¯s body language, he probed. ¡°You nervous?¡±


    ¡°A bit,¡± Neril admitted staring into the embers. ¡°This would be my first combat since joining the Blades.¡± The ranger sized up the younger man for several seconds, letting his words hang in the quiet night air.


    ¡°Why are you here Neril?¡±


    The recruit looked up, stammering slightly.


    ¡°To...to protect Eredmire¡± he replied, lifting his gaze to meet the eyes of his squad leader.


    ¡°No, that¡¯s different.¡± Segwyn shook his head. ¡°That¡¯s our job¡­our duty. What I mean is, why did you decide to join the Blades?¡±


    The young elf paused, pursing his lips.


    ¡°I dunno. Never really thought about it.¡± He raised his eyes to the right, reflecting for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ve always been good with the bow, and it seemed like decent pay for pretty easy work, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°The pay is good because the work is easy¡­until it isn¡¯t. I suspect that¡¯s what has you a little twitchy right now.¡± Neril opened his mouth as if to object, but Segwyn raised his hand, slightly lowering his head to forestall the coming objection. ¡°When things get hairy out here, the rest of the squad is all that stands between any one of us and an unplanned journey to Avandor. Your life is in their hands, and vice versa. Deep down, we all know it. In those moments when the stakes are the highest, we have to trust in each other completely. What I¡¯ll bet you¡¯re asking yourself right now is - can I really trust these elves with my life? Or was it a big mistake joining the Blades?¡±


    The ranger paused as the recruit shifted his gaze back to the fire¡¯s glowing embers and gave an almost imperceptible nod.


    ¡°Now,¡± he continued ¡°I can¡¯t answer that for you, but¡­I would argue that at this moment - right here, right now - you have no choice unless you intend to desert your duty, your family, and your community. When we get through whatever this is or isn¡¯t, let me know what you decide and if being a member of the Verdant Blades isn¡¯t for you, I¡¯ll sign off on the transfer. But until this is settled¡­¡± He gestured towards the squad tents across the fire. ¡°¡­ they need you¡­ I need you¡­ Eredmire needs you.¡±


    Neril raised his gaze to lock eyes with his squad leader and confidently stuck out his arm. Segwyn returned the gesture, grabbing the other elf¡¯s forearm in the customary greeting of the Blades.


    ¡°Thanks. That helps a lot.¡±


    Segwyn gave him a down nod as the recruit furrowed his brow. ¡°Can I ask you something?¡± The ranger nodded again in response. ¡°Why are you here? You¡¯re the heir to the most successful estate in Eredmire. Why choose this life when that¡¯s on offer?¡±


    He grunted in response, and it was the squad leader¡¯s turn to gaze into the embers.


    ¡°Out here¡­¡± He paused, choosing his words carefully ¡°Your successes and failures are inescapably your own ¨C good or bad. In that world, I was never sure if my success was down to the size of my own shadow, or simply the extension of my father¡¯s.¡± He returned his gaze to meet Neril¡¯s ¡°I want to author my legacy rather than be a footnote to his.¡±


    To their right, the crack of a large branch punctured the stillness. Both elves leaped to their feet, and the ring of drawn swords responded.

 13. The Ranger - Unexpected Adversaries

    ¡°Whoa! Whoa! Take it easy! I¡¯m just coming to relieve you!¡±


    ¡°Gonddammit Halisk!¡± Segwyn shook his head, returning his sword to its scabbard. ¡°You surprised us.¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t expect I could sneak up on two wood elves, especially on guard duty!¡± She giggled, her grinning smile betraying a sense of self-satisfaction. ¡°Must have been a deep conversation! Why don¡¯t you two get some rest, Darmor and I will take over. Magic still coming up empty?¡±


    The ranger rubbed his fingers across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.


    ¡°Thanks. I didn¡¯t realize it was this late. I¡¯m still not sensing anything around us, so hopefully you¡¯ll have a quiet stretch.¡± He patted her on the shoulder as he stepped over the low fire. Neril gave her a small grin and a nod of appreciation as they ambled towards the modest tents that did little more than staunch the wind and precipitation.


    ¡°That¡¯s how I like it!¡± Halisk called after them before stoking the fire and settling in for her tour of duty.


    The surrounding woods had just begun to surrender monochrome shapes from the retreating shroud of night, threatening the coming dawn as the Blades began wordlessly packing up camp. Segwyn cast his spell once more, seeking any nearby evil, and once more sensed nothing. Looking to the expectant team, he shook his head.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go in a wide skirmish line with bows. Stay within line of sight. I¡¯ll take middle. We¡¯ll head due north for two hours, and I¡¯ll try it again. Standard signal if you spot anything hinky and we all quietly converge before engaging. Understood?¡±


    They all nodded in confirmation and quickly spread out, moving north towards the border of Eredmire and the Sshanderiusha River.


    Two hours and six miles later, Segwyn called a halt before releasing his magic into the new surroundings to the same result. He pressed the team onward until the midday sun forced the forest shadows to their shortest position. Raising his hand, palm open, the Blades held position once again. They had reached the northern edge of Eredmire territory, less than a mile from the headwaters of the Shand and five miles from the Luminarium itself. Drawing a deep breath, the ranger closed his eyes and pushed the spell out from his center in all directions. And there it was. His chest tightened. There was no mistaking the incantation¡¯s result.


    His eyes snapped open, head swiveling to scan the surroundings. Nothing visible. He flipped his shoulder-length brown hair out of his face and let out a series of chirps and whistles that mimicked the call of the house wren. This was the signal to converge. Not native to the foothills and mountains, the wren was the perfect choice. There was no danger of miscommunication from local fauna, yet it sounded perfectly natural to anyone or anything that didn¡¯t know better.


    Within moments the Blades assembled at his position, bows at the ready. He made a gathering motion with his arms, calling them in close and crouching down, his leathers creaking in objection. As the elves arrived and joined the huddle, he locked eyes with each one as he spoke to reinforce the gravity of the difficult message and assess their reaction.


    ¡°I just cast the detection spell again and I got a hit¡­Demon.¡± Several members of the team involuntarily recoiled slightly before catching themselves.


    ¡°As in ¡®from the lower planes of Hell¡¯ Demon?¡± Halisk quipped in a hostile whisper. Her sparkling blue eyes were wide in surprise. ¡°Here? In the Eredmire woods? How is that even possible?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. You all know how the spell works. I can¡¯t tell what type, how many, or where exactly it, or they, happen to be, but there is unquestionably at least one demon within a few miles of our current position.¡± The ranger continued to shift his gaze from one member to the next. ¡°Here¡¯s what I do know; the presence of demons is more than enough justification for us to pursue outside the boundary if necessary. We will track it down and send it back to the lower planes if we can, and then we¡¯ll figure out how it got here.¡± Several murmurs of quiet assent rose from the group as his attention turned to Neril. Panic haunted the recruit¡¯s features as his eyes rapidly flitted across the landscape seeking threat or escape.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°What if it¡¯s too strong for us, or if there are too many of them? What do we do then? It will take a month for the Commonwealth armies to get here!¡± he blurted. Segwyn extended his hand palm facing down and lowered it slowly signaling his newest team member to calm down and lower his volume before gripping the younger elf¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°First, we find it, assess the scope of the threat, and take it from there ¨C Okay? No one engages alone ¨C Do you hear me?¡± He raised his eyebrows and looked around the huddle, not moving on until he got a nod of affirmation from each one. ¡°If it looks like more than we can handle, we¡¯ll get word back to Eredmire for additional support and follow discretely until help arrives. Understood?¡± More nods.


    ¡°Are we stringing blues or blacks?¡± Darmor spoke for the first time.


    ¡°Three of us on Blues, you, Halisk, and I, but wait for my mark. The rest - whites on the string until we see what we¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    Blues and blacks referred to the magical arrows the Blades had within their quivers. Created by the wizards of Eredmire, each squad member was issued one arrow with blue fletching, and one with black. These contrasted with their standard issue, white feathered arrows. The blue delivered an additional punch of arcane force damage, while the black conjured a volley of forty magical projectiles that rained down on the target. Both were only to be used in extreme circumstances as the cost and time of the enchantments limited supply.


    ¡°I doubt it¡¯s to the west of us.¡± He continued ¡°The terrain is pretty difficult in the mountains. If it came through one of the passes up by the Luminarium, I bet it¡¯s headed for civilization in the lowlands, likely following the river or the road. Let¡¯s run our line north-south perpendicular to the Shand.¡± He made a crude drawing on the ground among them to illustrate. ¡°And we¡¯ll follow it for a couple hours before I try the magic again. Darmor, take the northern end of the line and keep the river in sight. Neril - south end. I¡¯ll take middle again.¡± He paused momentarily, sensing the heightened tension among the group, then added ¡°Let¡¯s not forget why we¡¯re here. I realize no one signed up expecting to battle demons, but there are an awful lot of elves counting on us to keep them safe. I have complete confidence in this group¡¯s ability to mitigate the threat. Rely on your training. Rely on each other.¡± He paused once more. ¡°Once we engage, I want full communication. Most demons don¡¯t speak Common, so we won¡¯t be giving anything away. Until then, only hand signals and wren calls. Any questions?¡± Heads shook around the huddle. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s move out!¡±


    The team rose and quickly spread themselves into a line perpendicular to the river and road on their left. Segwyn raised his open hand in the air, let out a deep breath hoping to calm his nerves, and then closed his fist. As one, they began to pick their way silently southwards.


    Fenir Eldracum had been adamant about the importance of education for all his children. ¡®Success in life is built on understanding¡¯ delivered in his father¡¯s flat, dismissive tone still echoed in his mind years later. He even caught himself repeating the phrase to young recruits, internally wincing as it surfaced feelings of childhood resentment each time the words left his lips. The injustice of spending warm sunny days sequestered inside the family estate, learning agriculture or inventory management, while his friends were recreating historic Elven victories with wooden swords or swimming at the lake still left a bitter taste. I guess in a way, it did ultimately lead me here. Moving systematically south, step by step, his mind wandered back to those subjects he had truly enjoyed, the fundamentals of magic, the history of successful warfare and battle tactics, and the characteristics and behaviors of wonderous creatures. A fleeting smile crossed his pursed lips. Along with the repetitive instruction in both sword and bow, it had opened his eyes to an alternative path not dominated by enology and distribution contracts. His education had exposed the opportunity to embrace the world and all its mystique. To explore, to discover. Maybe, in this case, the old man¡¯s method wasn¡¯t so bad after all.


    Of course, he had learned about demons - academically speaking. They were categorically ruthless creatures of seemingly infinite variety that respected nothing, always hungering for more death and chaos, extremely unpredictable and hard to kill. Normally confined to the Abyss, only powerful magic or rare celestial circumstances enabled their travel to the prime material plane. His shoulders tightened in anxiety and a cold sweat tickled the back of his neck as his confidence wavered. Maybe it was better not to know. He shook his head as more of his father¡¯s words immediately sprung to mind. Those who don¡¯t understand the motivations of their adversary don¡¯t even realize they¡¯ve already lost. Although the original context was one of contract negotiation, the point was valid, nonetheless. They had a greater chance of success knowing what they were up against.


    The ranger drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders to relieve the stress that grew with each step closer to such formidable danger when he felt his forearms tingle. Glancing down, he saw every hair on his arms and hands sticking straight up. Instinctively, Segwyn buckled his knees to drop for cover. In the same moment, a kaleidoscope of blues, reds, and purples saturated his vision as a wave of heat and static rippled across the forest and over his body. The echoing crack of multiple trees separating from their roots pulsed in his ears as he hit the ground.

 14. The Spies - Dancing with Demons

    ¡°¡­At least we¡¯ve had decent traveling weather,¡± Lunish announced, the afternoon sun, and the river on her right as they moved north towards their destination.


    ¡°Aye, it certainly could have been worse!¡± Grym agreed.


    Their last day and a half had passed without incident ¨C Glynfir¡¯s perpetually sodden footwear notwithstanding - and the mood was light. The only meaningful encounter occurred just an hour before. Still wary of pursuit from Chagrothlond, they scrambled into the dense roadside overgrowth at the sound of hoof beats. Watching silently as a single military rider on horseback overtook their position from behind, the trio returned to the path and resumed their course. Fortunately, it occurred next to a tranquil section of the Shand, or they may not have heard the approaching rider above the river¡¯s rushing waters until he was on top of them.


    Carved from the dense mixed forest of black pine and birch, the steadily rising road occupied the narrow strip of Shan territory between Eredmire and the Shand. The river¡¯s meandering course dictated the shape of the overland route to the Luminarium. Just two parallel dirt tracks separated by a strip of low grass and foliage, the trail was comfortably wide enough for only two abreast. Rather than continue to duck and weave around every protruding branch, Glynfir chose to lag a couple of steps behind the others.


    ¡°What¡¯s our story when we get to the Luminarium? Do we tell them who we work for and why we¡¯re there?¡± The wizard threw out the question to no one in particular.


    Grym was the first to offer an opinion.


    ¡°I don¡¯t see why not. It¡¯s not like we¡¯re hunting for secret information this time, and what other plausible reason would the three of us have for hiking up into these Gondforsaken mountains?¡±


    ¡°Maybe we are interested in becoming monks ¨C a career change¡­¡± Glynfir offered.


    The druid snorted shaking her head, her two long braids bouncing in exaggeration. She had decided to stick with the new look and relegated her well-worn hat to the depths of her pack.


    ¡°Ha! You can¡¯t go one night sleeping rough without complaining. You wouldn¡¯t last a week on the straw mats of a monastery!¡± she teased him.


    ¡°I reckon I could become a monk. Trade my axe for a staff¡­¡± The dwarf made chopping motions in the air ¡°¡­turn these hands into deadly weapons!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d certainly stand a better chance than Glynnie!¡± Lunish agreed.


    ¡°I¡¯m not that bad¡± The wizard objected ¡°My spells are far more complicated than yours. They se material components and take a lot of discipline and practice!¡±


    ¡°Fair point. Okay, I take it back¡± Lunish relented ¡°Though I still think it looks pretty suss for us to roll up to a monastery in the middle of nowhere ¨C that¡¯s just been attacked no less¨C and claim we¡¯re there to join the initiate program¡­¡±


    ¡°Well, when you put it like that¡­the truth it is!¡± Glynfir agreed ¡°The Guardians are concerned with the attack and whoever is behind it and want to help - sound right?¡±


    Just up ahead, where the road bent hard to the left accommodating the corresponding eddy in the river, two gaunt charcoal figures hunched over fresh corpses. The tip of each hooked horn pecking into the fallen horse and rider, they greedily tore strips of flesh and organs from the increasingly skeletal frames. Alerted by the distant sound of Gnomish laughter, two heads snapped up and the figures froze, their glowing red eyes fixed on each other. Blood dripping from their chins and cheeks, they exchanged a short series of low growls and clicks, grabbed their spears, and scrambled toward the approaching voices. Neither fully upright nor on all fours, the demons¡¯ loping gait quickly covered the distance between their recent kill and the sharp turn shielding them from view. With one final shared glance and a gruff grunt, they soundlessly sank into the overgrowth on either side of the trail to wait.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Long sinewy muscles tensed in anticipation as two pairs of red glowing hatred tracked their prey ambling cluelessly closer to their position. At thirty feet, they made their move. The first began to weave magic in a hushed guttural whisper, red strands of energy pulsing in a matrix among the tips of its blood-stained claws. Covered by the river¡¯s perpetual babble, it spoke the final words, flicking the energy towards the chain mail-clad dwarf. Immediately, Grym screamed and dropped to the ground, every cell of his torso exploding in pain as his chain shirt took on an orange glow and ignited his tunic. The acrid smell of burning flesh and smoldering fabric curled into the air.


    The demons exploded from cover onto the road, the first hurling its crude spear at the wizard as he gazed dumbfoundedly down at his writhing companion. The jagged blade caught the half-elf just below the ribs, opening a gash in his side and sending the contents of his satchel sprawling into a debris field at his feet. Grunting from the impact, he dropped to one knee.


    The second demon let out a hissing roar, its canine fangs stretched tendrils of bloody saliva across its toothy maw, as it scuttled to engage. With both hands on the spear, it drove the blackened tip directly into Grym¡¯s chest as the dwarf screamed and struggled to remove the chain mail. The sickening thud of metal on bone shocked Lunish back into the moment and she immediately dropped to her knees at her friend¡¯s side, feeling the rush of air that accompanied the demon¡¯s second swing of the spear as it whistled through the space occupied by her head a moment before. Magical energy coursed through her as she thrust her hands, palsm down onto Grym¡¯s chest without thinking. Recoiling instinctively as her exposed flesh met the searing chain mail, she shifted quickly to his cheeks, pouring the healing energy of her spell into his body. It¡¯s not enough! She could feel his life force declining faster than she could replenish it.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stop it!¡± She shouted.


    His eyes hurriedly scanned the items from his satchel scattered across the ground. The wizard settled on a short amber rod tipped with fur just out of reach. Rolling to his left, he grabbed the rod. Removing his other hand from the wound in his side he frantically wove his fingers, flicking droplets of his blood into the air, and spit out the words of the incantation. Adjusting his line to target both demons but avoid Lunish and Grym, the half-elf brought his two hands together on the rod and released the spell. A five-foot wide flash of lightning arced from the rod, ripping through both creatures, leaving behind a dully glowing wound on the black skin of their chests. Both demons wavered slightly from the impact before righting themselves and resuming their attack. That should have at least knocked them down! A series of cracks and pops echoed in the distance as the charge of electricity ran the full length of its course, cascading into the tree cover north of the road. Seeing the glowing matrix sputter and return to the digits of the creature¡¯s clawed hand, the wizard shouted to his gnomish companion.


    ¡°It¡¯s using a spell to heat his armor, Lulu. We have to break its concentration!¡±


    ¡°How do we do that?!?¡±


    ¡°Attack him!¡±


    The smell of burning flesh and hair hung heavily in the afternoon air and began to mix with the wood smoke emanating from the nearby foliage that bore the brunt of Glynfir¡¯s blast. As the intensity of Grym¡¯s wailing began to dwindle, Lunish fumbled around in her pack. Attack him with what? I¡¯m not a fighter like Grym, or a Ranger. How in Gond¡¯s name am I supposed to attack it? Her hand closed around a wooden shaft and wrenched a small carpenter¡¯s hammer from the bag. Raising herself to her full height, hammer held high, she stood her ground between a seven-foot hissing ball of evil straight from the lower planes of Hades and her incapacitated friend. The contrast was stark as her level gaze fell just above the creature¡¯s knees. The cold sweat of true life or death fear beaded on her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. Her mind screamed to run, but her feet didn¡¯t move. Maybe today is the day we all die.