《The Madcap Mage's Guide to Doomsday》


 "Welcome to My World"

    Chapter One: ¡°Welcome to My World¡±


    Listen up because this is important and I¡¯m telling it to you now so you don¡¯t get the wrong idea about me. I¡¯m going to need you to keep this in mind.


    I¡¯m not a hero.


    It¡¯s very important that you understand that. The last thing I want is you thinking I¡¯m something I¡¯m not.


    But I¡¯ll tell you that it¡¯s not because I haven¡¯t tried. I tried. I tried really hard. Did the whole war for all that is good and great thing. It was fun and all except for one thing.


    One very big thing.


    I lost.


    Well, we lost. Me and my weary band of white knights. And we lost badly.


    However bad you may think it was, or heard it was, double it. It made Zimur¡¯s Last Stand look like a walk in the Elder Gardens.


    But then, you might not have heard of Zimur or his fabled last stand. I guess it depends on where you are. It matters little in the grand scheme of things, because you¡¯re here and you¡¯re reading.That¡¯s enough, for now.


    You picked up this book because¡­well, I won¡¯t venture to guess your motivations. Nor do I necessarily care. I¡¯ll just try not to waste your precious time, while you''ve still got it. It goes faster than you think.


    So, back to the good part.


    For all the bad the war did, it did one good thing for me.


    It made me realize a couple of things about myself. Things you¡¯d learn if you kept reading, but I¡¯ll tell you now, since you¡¯re early to the party and let you skip the rather long-winded verbosity, I¡¯m known to produce from time to time. Here it goes:


    I¡¯m not the white knight, like my compatriots had been, nor am I the do-gooder with a heart of gold. I won¡¯t jump in front of the princess and take an arrow. I won¡¯t go into the dragon¡¯s cave or challenge any dark lords to duels to save a kingdom.


    It¡¯s not in my nature. Maybe it never was. But you know how those things go when you¡¯re young. You get caught up in the fervor of it all. The pretty words and rosy notions. In having friends. In the adventure.


    And maybe, if you¡¯re really unlucky, you¡¯ll get caught up with a girl who¡¯d you level mountains for and raze villages.


    Unfortunately, this is not a love story either though.


    I¡¯ll tell you this, ignore what those ever-benevolentwinners always tell you. You will almost certainly learn more about yourself when you lose than you ever would when you win. Winning just makes you more of who you already were. Losing strips you of all that and bares your bones to the sun and moon.


    It''s what happened to me.


    It¡¯s not what happened to my friends. They were all ushered into an early grave.


    Though I do bear many of the qualities of a hero, which is why I¡¯ll forgive your misconceptions. It''s probably the dashing good looks, quick wit, and sparkling intellect that led you astray. You¡¯d know this is true if you¡¯d seen my wanted poster. Though they didn¡¯t get everything right. Then again, if you''ve seen that, then you know who I am. If that¡¯s the case, keep it to yourself.


    Maybe I should put the poster on the book, it might sell better.


    Anyways, I hope you didn¡¯t think this was some run of the mill fantastical tale of triumph. Allow me to dissuade you now while it''s still early enough for you to back out. I¡¯m not who you may think. And if you don¡¯t believe it, then you¡¯ll just have to keep reading.


    I¡¯m a mage.


    Most of the time.


    I¡¯m also a merchant of¡­certain highly regarded items, an intrepid player of dice-mogul (though I promise I¡¯m not a gambling man, except when absolutely necessary), and a veritable menace with a harp, though I¡¯m afraid I haven¡¯t played in years and it is a perishable skill.


    Oh, I¡¯m also a thief.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Sometimes. Well, mostly, if I¡¯m being honest. A man has to make a living.


    No, I am not a thief with a heart of gold either, as much fun as that might be.


    But I do parties on occasion, as a magician, of course, not a thief. Or, I guess, I did, past tense.The land has darkened, if you haven¡¯t been paying attention, and people don¡¯t really have many parties anymore.


    Okay, fine. I did the parties to get close to valuables. I needed it more than they did. You¡¯ll just have to trust me.


    So, yes, I¡¯ve played the fumbling fool and it''s quite a good cover, actually. No one expects to see the failed hero at their dinner party. Here is where I¡¯ll share some invaluable knowledge: never do those jobs in the same kingdom you lost in. I learned that the hard way.


    See, I¡¯m already teaching you things. Obvious as they may seem to you, but I tell you, when all hope is lost, sometimes obvious isn¡¯t obvious, if you know what I mean.


    Life isn''t easy when you¡¯re on the losing side. It seems that might not have needed to be said, but I wanted to make sure you understood it. Most of the people I fought with died. That is the usual consequences for fighting a war and losing.


    For me however, it was torture and eventual humiliation. How did I survive? Hmm. Story for a different time, I suppose.I don¡¯t like dredging that up so often.


    Fine, I¡¯ll give you the short of it. The man who won, or the one that ended up with the crown anyway, his name, though I curse it, is Humphrey. Yes, I know, not very menacing, but then again, he wasn¡¯t a very menacing person. Simply evil, and damned clever.


    He didn¡¯t like me very much either, especially after I played a nasty trick on him, which I¡¯ll not tell you about because I still want you to like me, for now.


    When Humphrey realized, to his glee, that I¡¯d survived his machinations, he played with my fate by sticking me in an arena with his bloodthirsty brutes. A game to have me torn limb from limb, such was his promise.


    And, well, it didn¡¯t go so well for them. I had my own tricks up my sleeve and nearly cratered the whole damn place. Nearly.


    Anyways, it was kind of dark and dreary for a while after that. I had a bounty on my head (still do) and it became a whole thing. I ran, he chased, I¡¯m still alive, he¡¯s still in his high castle.


    And the world isn¡¯treally ending, as the title might suggest, it''s just¡­ I mean, blah, blah, blah. It just isn¡¯t going very splendidly, so what?


    Sure, the wrong guy is on the throne. So, what if he¡¯s what you might deem as evil. It''s just the cycle of things. The good, the bad, the good again. You get the idea. If it was all the same, it would be boring.


    I¡¯m not saying it''s a good thing, but the reality is, the good guys don¡¯t always win.


    Quite often they actually end up losing their heads. Or their hearts. And in the worst of times, their minds.


    But I¡¯m getting ahead of myself. I was going to talk about the title, which I¡¯m sure you noticed. Of course, I had to name it something catchy or you wouldn¡¯t have read it. You¡¯d probably have read that Sir Felipe book about saving the kingdom and getting the girl. I mean, do you really want to hear about that? Besides, he didn¡¯t do half the things he claimed he did. I promise you that I was there for most of them. Fine, I wasn¡¯t there. But I¡¯d heard rumors. He¡¯s a prick.


    Listen, you want the truth about doomsday?


    It''s about surviving. It''s always about surviving. Not everyone does well when the good guys take over either, you know. A lot of people die then, too. But you don¡¯t really hear about them.


    Here''s the bulk of my wisdom for you: avoid the big battles with dragons and giants and catapults. Don¡¯t ever curse a witch. Or tell a warlock your full name. Also, don¡¯t cry in front of fairies.


    I really should have sprinkled that wisdom throughout the story, but I¡¯m not known for my patience. It''s almost Spring and you need to know about those pesky fairies. They¡¯ll be out in droves.


    Oh, and never, ever cross a Waystone bridge during a full moon if you hear a frog croaking.


    My missing left toe can tell you why, if I ever find it.


    My name? Yes, I suppose you would be interested in that. Bottom line: I can¡¯t tell you. Not that I don¡¯t want to, though I don¡¯t really, but if I told you my name then some of you faltering moral characters might make a run at me.


    So, for all intents and purposes, my name is Madcap. No, I didn¡¯t give that name to myself. But I decided to keep it. It reminds me of a different time. Who had given me that name and whyis a story for another time. I¡¯m actually excited to tell you that one, but alas, it would reveal too much.


    And you probably wouldn¡¯t believe me anyways.


    That being said, I can¡¯t promise you a happy ending. Mostly because I¡¯m not sure there really are happy endings, just stories that haven¡¯t finished yet. I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯d read that in a witch¡¯s hut once.


    It always irked me how that happens in stories. But I can¡¯t blame them, or you, the reader, because most of us do want that happy ending.


    It just isn¡¯t in the cards for all of us.


    Now, I¡¯m still young and things could turn around, but it would be a gargantuan lift for the fates to turn on me now. I¡¯m only just settling into the whole doomed for life situation I''ve found myself in.


    So, listen, I make no promises. Not a single one. That is mostly because I don¡¯t actually know how this ends. But I¡¯m guessing it¡¯ll end darkly, painfully, and probably with a fair amount of death.


    (And that¡¯s only if I¡¯m lucky, otherwise torture is on the table too.)


    But if it doesn¡¯t, then what a damn good story it¡¯ll be. Besides, if you are afraid of doomsday, which you should be (not just because it¡¯ll sell more books), then I''ve still got a few good tidbits for you to chew on.


    They might even save your life.


    This may have been boring for you, but it had to be said, and I hope you were paying attention because it was important. But I guess sometimes what¡¯s important to the storyteller isn¡¯t always to the reader. I¡¯ll just hope you can keep up.


    Now that it''s out of the way, we can get down to business.


    So, sit back and let me tell you how I¡¯m not going to save the world. Hold onto your¡ª


    Wait, wait. I¡¯ve thought of another one: don¡¯t speak the name of your first love in the presence of a werewolf.


    You¡¯ll have to trust me on that one too.

 "The Plan"

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    I¡¯ve been hunted all my life.


    I¡¯m being dramatic, of course. I¡¯m allowed too, this is my story. Screw off.


    Before I¡¯d tried to play the hero, they¡¯d wanted me for my magic. Those cultish pricks in their caves wished to carve out my heart to feed their hellish obsessions. Literally. They would have drained my blood and eaten it right in front of me.


    If you¡¯re living under a rock, you might not have heard about this practice. If you happen to be in another kingdom, you also might not have heard of it. But in BLANK (I can¡¯t tell you that either, obviously), where I grew up, it was rather common. I still have nightmares about it.


    It was long after the Great Worm had been killed, too. Half a century after and they were still playing their sick games. To what ends, only them and their gods knew.


    So, as soon as any of my rather mild magical abilities had shown themselves, my parents had shipped me off to the Mil¡­an academy, which was in an unspecified forest by an equally unspecified lake.


    They¡¯d shipped me off and promptly forgotten about me. I can¡¯t really blame them, times were tough then and when someone left the village, they didn¡¯t often come back. That had been fourteen years ago and no, even after the battle, I hadn¡¯t returned.


    But that was because me and my big heart didn¡¯t want to get them into any trouble. A target on my back would mean a target on their backs.


    Plus, they probably thought I was dead. It was better that way.


    Enough about the boring part. Let me tell you about the academy.


    That was really where my fledgling powers bloomed. Not to the status of Carlsbad the Bold One, whom I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard of. But I had a couple fun tricks up my sleeve. But, alas, a mage never reveals his secrets.


    So, when the time came to fight, the Academy made one hell of a stand. A last stand, that is. All that was left was a bloody crater that had apparently turned into a lake since the big day. So I¡¯d heard. I¡¯d already gone off on my own quest of absolution at that point.


    Hold up. I¡¯ve completely skipped the Worm. That bloody damn Worm. Most of you will know the story of the Worm but I know education lacks in certain parts of the land so here it is. Technically, its full name is, or was, Wormslung. A great beast from the Netherworld that a couple hundred cultists summoned for their own mad schemes.


    Now listen, I¡¯m partial to a mad scheme myself. I¡¯ve perpetrated a few in my day. But I¡¯ve never summoned an Earth Eater. That is a whole other level. Half of them did die, so I¡¯m told. But they¡¯d signed up for that.


    Besides, when ¡®ol Wormy did show up, the fools proceeded to kill it. They killed it.


    Tried to steal its power. As far as I could tell, it didn¡¯t work.


    That left us all to pick up the pieces while the guts of this otherworldly beast spread their power through the world.


    I¡¯m making this sound a lot simpler than it was. Entire schools of thought have since been dedicated to Wormslung. Whole departments of study at the larger colleges interrogate the effects of such a beast casting its corpse on the land.


    Nasty stuff.


    Back to the real stuff. I was hunted before my heroic antics and I¡¯m hunted now too. Each year the bounty on my head doubles. It''s about five thousand coppers last I checked. And no, the wanted poster did not do me justice.


    They forgot the heroic jawline and intelligent, yet thoughtful eyes.


    I tried not to let it bother me.


    It is also why I can¡¯t tell you my real name, though a discerning reader will put one and two together. I¡¯m not saying I¡¯m famous, it''s just that people who hunt other people professionally know me. I¡¯m a bit of a big ticket item in their world.


    And some of you who happened to live in BLANK ten years ago too. Those of you who survived, anyways.


    Now, you¡¯re probably wondering about my plan. Yes, of course you¡¯ll want to know about the plan. It''s a rather good one. Simple. Incredibly simple, mind you. Like all the best plans often are.


    Though it does include some connivery, on my part. And before you judge me, allow me to remind you, I am no hero.


    That is the first time I¡¯ve reminded you.


    I¡¯ll endeavor not to annoy you but it will be necessary for me to keep that point of fact near the top of your mind. Otherwise you¡¯ll begin to resent me. Which, despite my lone-wolf disposition, would trouble me.


    So, I need to remind you why I¡¯m doing this.


    I told you that I wish to disappear. Not in a parlor trick style, but more like one of those pirates turned Barons whose fortune is known to be by illicit means but no one dares question it type of ways. You know what I mean. Though rare they are, the kind of scarred, quiet men who did dirty work and made quite good money doing it. Now with enough means to buy a small estate near the mountains and not have to see another person.


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    I¡¯d met a few like that in my lifetime. I¡¯d worked for a couple too. I even know what I¡¯ll name my estate. But I can¡¯t tell you that either, of course.


    Alright, back to the plan. I keep getting distracted.


    Allow me to let you in on a little secret. It¡¯s about a thing called the Black Market. It''s unscrupulous and only for those daring folk with nary an idea about morals or ideals. Those who don¡¯t mind much about ripping off others. Who doesn''t mind if their victims fall on hard times.


    I belonged in that barrel of dishonest scoundrels.


    By choice, you may ask? Well, mostly. Hard times were hard times and hard times made for desperate times. Though I will admit, my targets in the past had mostly been the better off folks. Like Dukes, Barons, merchants, and the occasional retired general.


    On a particularly tough month I might find my way to rob a Hreken shopkeeper or even if I was just feeling down about myself. They had the best rum.


    It was what I sipped by the side of the small pond while I waited for my bird and wrote you these wonderful words.


    A bird?


    Yes, a bird.


    What kind of bird? A raven.


    Either that or a very large crow.


    His name was Rory and he loved long flights at sunset and rats the size of small children. Besides that, I¡¯d no idea why he put up with me. I didn¡¯t want him around and I¡¯d tell him whenever he got annoying.


    Well, in the beginning I would. But he¡¯d pestered me enough that his black little beak had cracked my heart right open. Of course I¡¯d never tell him as much.


    So don¡¯t get the wrong idea. I¡¯d ditch him if I could. Problem was he had wings and I didn¡¯t. So I was stuck with the little guy.


    He did make for good company.


    If not a little annoying at times.


    On occasion he¡¯d even deliver messages for me. Or pick them up. But he¡¯d always give me crap about how much he did for me and how little I did for him.


    Rory was always talking noise like that.


    And no, I did not name him.


    From what I could discern he¡¯d been the pet of a rather keen wizard somewhere in the eastern reach. But he didn¡¯t like to talk about his past much. We were two birds from the same nest in that regard.


    Nah. He hadn¡¯t liked that joke either.


    My cleverness went over his head.


    It wasn¡¯t till the sun was sitting atop the nearest unnamed mountain peak that I heard Rory¡¯s croak as it echoed dully down the windy valley.


    I wafted some smoke up from my small fire as a signal but he didn¡¯t need it. His eyes were better than mine and his ears were too, actually. He wouldn¡¯t let me forget it. He¡¯d tell me constantly how much I was missing. It was rather nebulous, really, but he got a kick out of it.


    He arced high into the air when he reached me spinning in a great spiral. Show off.


    His little show ended when he landed on a high branch, a little bit of parchment clasped in his claw.


    ¡°I do not smell any fish,¡± he said.


    I rolled my eyes. Yes, at a raven. It happens quite often.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t had time. But I was just about to.¡±


    ¡°Good. I¡¯ll wait.¡± He shook off his feathers and stretched his wings. I wafted some smoke towards him. ¡°That is very rude.¡±


    Rory spoke like a lord of some big manor house. I wasn¡¯t sure if he was just born that way or if his last master had put him through classes. I¡¯d called them big bird classes. He hadn¡¯t liked that either. He had the humor of a lord too.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have the¡­¡± I struggled to make something up. ¡°Energy.¡±


    It came out as weakly as it sounds.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wait till you find the energy.¡±


    And no, speaking with animals was not normal. I was¡­well, odd in that regard. Also no, it didn¡¯t work with all animals. Or insects. But Rory had his own kind of magic and I think that was the reason. But then again, I wasn¡¯t an expert.


    I growled up at him but any scare tactics I could have used held no power over him. He was immune to my threats.


    You may be thinking, But Madcap, you handsome bastard, why don¡¯t you just put a spell on him? Or hex him? Or just use your damn magic for once?


    That is a good question. One that is long and boring and won¡¯t make me look very heroic at all. So the short answer is no, I can¡¯t.


    It was mostly parlor tricks and party games at the moment.


    But if I¡¯d had a rope I might be able to¡­I snapped my fingers and a thin rope dropped from my inventory. I caught it before it hit the ground but Rory was already flying. Maybe I¡¯d already tried this trick before.


    ¡°It was for the fish!¡± I called after him.


    He just cawed.


    So, I trudged over to the water, conjured a little metal hook from my inventory and threaded it through the end of the rope. Then I tossed it as far as I could into the lake.


    ¡°There is a big one out here!¡± Rory reported, flying circles overhead.


    I lost my patience immediately and knelt, snapping my fingers slightly over the water. It took only seconds before a gaggle of little water bugs gathered. I shooed them towards the end of my rope.


    I got a fish in under ten minutes.


    A personal best for me. I was getting better with the subtle magics.


    Right. I told you I wouldn¡¯t tell you but if I don¡¯t you¡¯ll get annoyed. And I¡¯ll get annoyed that you¡¯re annoyed. So here it is.


    You¡¯re probably wondering why after fourteen years I¡¯m not some savant with gold coins pouring out of my ears and silver bars from my¡­well, you get the idea.


    Allow me to explain magic in one simple sentence.


    Hmmm, actually two sentences.


    First sentence: Magic is a game of pulling threads.


    Second sentence: Threads are not all the same.


    That being said, small spells or instances as we sometimes call them, can be done without directly tapping into a thread. There is enough ambient magic in the air to do the little things. Big ones, however, often need you to tap into a thread.


    Take my attempted humiliation by Humphrey, the day I almost blew everyone up. I pulled a big thread.


    Some might have even called it the mother of all threads.


    It had deprived me of my eyebrows. And my clothes.


    If you put two and two together that means I was running around the countryside with no eyebrows and no clothing.


    Not my best day.


    Not my best decade either.


    Magic-wise, I was no better than your run of the mill charlatan. It left me scarred. Don¡¯t ask me to tell you how or why. It was a mystery to me. It took me two years to be able to summon objects and another two before I could conjure so much as sparks from my fingertips.


    As I tell you this story, my magic is only just coming back to me in any meaningful way.


    Which is why you should be impressed by any stories I tell. On principle.


    Now, back to the fish.


    As I baited my little hook, Rory unceremoniously swooped in and snatched my little victory away from me. He then proceeded to fly to the other side of the small lake and begin to pick at the still flopping animal.


    ¡°At least have the decency to put him out of his misery,¡± I shouted.


    ¡°I cannot. I am too hungry.¡±


    He was a heartless fiend when he wanted to be.


    ¡°My letter.¡±


    ¡°Your boot,¡± he crowed, cackling unceremoniously.


    My hand fumbled hurriedly. He¡¯s stuck it in my left boot somehow. He really was magic. And in the year we¡¯d been¡­partners, he¡¯d played a number of these tricks on me.


    I¡¯d already forgotten his betrayal as my hands yanked open the familiar gray wax seal and pulled out the parchment.


    A rather wicked smile was already stretching across my face, even before I¡¯d read the words. I couldn''t help it.


    It was all coming together.

 The Plan Pt. 2

    Chapter Three


    "The Plan Pt. 2"


    You¡¯ll have to forgive me. I got excited.


    It tends to happen when things seem to be going right for once.


    I¡¯ll get back on track, don¡¯t worry.


    We were talking about the plan.


    Yes¡­my wonderfully conniving, and brilliant plan. It starts with¡­well, it actually started three years ago. But to save you the long of it, let''s just say I¡¯ve played my cards to perfection.


    That Black Market I was telling you about, the one I partake in every once in a while, well, there is a¡­benefactor, we¡¯ll call him, that I¡¯ve done a few jobs for. He calls himself Baron Gray. He knows the locations of highly valuable, highly guarded artifacts. The kind that can get a man an estate in the middle of nowhere, unbothered by chumps like¡­


    Anyways, I¡¯d made him a lot of money. He¡¯d paid me some of that money. And now I have his trust.


    I¡¯d been waiting weeks in this backwater valley for his letter. One last job. I¡¯d met Baron Gray in a tavern two years ago. He¡¯d told me he knew the locations of some choice items that some of his benefactors were interested in.


    Most were chump change.


    But there was one. A crown that once adorned the head of a very vile, very evil man that had called himself The Forever King.


    He died at the age of thirty-two.


    If you can trust the history books, his own sister killed him. Doesn¡¯t really matter to me who did the deed, only who got the crown.


    It¡¯s valuable for two reasons.


    First, it is solid gold inlaid with diamonds the size of your thumb. These have inherent value. I don¡¯t need to explain that.


    It''s the second thing that makes it damn near priceless.


    The crown is said to contain all the memories of those who wore it. Not only did the Forever King wear it, but so did his heir. And his heir was a man called Mogrub. Devious as his name sounds, he was a good king, by all accounts. And he lived in the time before Wormslung. Even before the Hero of Ages came, when the gods still ruled.


    And he was beheaded and subsequently eaten by none other than the Hell Gal herself. Helga the Hvorathian. Goddess of Crippling Blows. Which essentially meant she could hit hard and keep hitting hard until either she got bored, or you died. And she rarely, if ever, got bored.


    The gods really were wretched creatures.


    I hate to do another history lesson, but it seems we can¡¯t get around it. Try and keep up.


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    Way before the Worm came to Calastros, gods ruled the land. And the lands beyond the waters. All the lands, as far as I know. They were cruel and wicked and exactly what you could expect from beings of infinite power who answered to none. It was not a good time to be alive.


    Just as there are twelve kingdoms now, there were twelve gods back then. Technically there still are. Along with any number of minor gods. I won¡¯t list them all because I know I¡¯d really lose you then.


    When the burden of living under these beings who toyed with the lives of mortals became too much for them, a man rose up to defend his mortal comrades.


    We call him the Hero of Ages.


    But how does one kill immortal beings who pull the very threads of power in the known world?


    He knew he could not kill them. So instead, he cast a spell on them. A spell so brilliant it give me chills to this day. It gives everyone chills.


    The Hero of Ages blinded the gods.


    The Hero made it so the all-powerful, the all-cruel gods were forced to rely on us mortals to live their lives. You can imagine how that went.


    It took but one century before they couldn¡¯t take it any longer. They opted for eternal slumber. Laid into tombs of such darkness no light would ever find them, they were tricked by their mortal caretakers and locked away.


    If I had to guess, they were nothing more than emaciated corpses. Anyone with a brain would hope they were.


    Helga, my wicked wench god, was known for her lust for treasure. She demolished many a baron in search of it. Turned many a castle to rubble. And many a man to mere sacks of flesh and bone.


    Alright, enough of that.


    In short, I will retrieve the crown, search its memories for this trove of treasures, and pray to those old, conceited bastard gods that it''s still there.


    Hmm, I quite like that. The bastard gods.


    If any of you are scholars at the College of Mercy in Forsynthe then I want you to mark this moment I came up with that.


    The Bastard Gods.


    You may use it free of charge.


    The only hiccup to my brilliant plan was the letter I now held in my hand. It held two words written in black ink. Two words that could ruin everything.


    Mordred Barrows.


    I hiccupped at the thought and my stomach growled. The letter went back into my boot, and I cursed Baron Gray.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t this just be easy,¡± I said to myself, rubbing the bridge of my nose. ¡°Why can it never be¨C¡±


    ¡°If I may,¡± Rory interrupted from the branch over my head, making me jump. ¡°Perhaps you should inquire about gainful employment and then it will be easy.¡±


    This had been his ongoing response to each of my outbursts.


    ¡°Gainful employment for a man on a wanted poster.¡± This was my weak reply. ¡°Where exactly would I do that?¡±


    ¡°Leave [BLANK] and try for work in Halfgard or even Bobo.¡±


    ¡°You know I hate the jungle,¡± I snapped. ¡°I could never.¡±


    Rory fluttered down near the fire, flapping his wings. It made the flames flash. Did I mention he loves fire? Couldn¡¯t imagine what he¡¯d get up to if he was a phoenix instead. Might be more useful.


    He croaked, as if reading my thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re right. You don¡¯t have it in you.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be annoyed too if you¡¯d ever heard of the Mordred Barrows.¡±


    ¡°What makes you think I haven¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re still here.¡±


    ¡°Oh, please, dear boy. I¡¯ve been to far worse places that a simple barrow in the ground.¡±


    I sighed. What did I expect from a bird that rarely, if ever, went below ground.


    ¡°The Mordred Barrows is where the Doomraiders stuffed all their loot after pillaging most of Miraval some two hundred years ago. The place is beyond cursed.¡±


    ¡°Dirt tunnels?¡±


    ¡°Dead things that aren¡¯t actually dead but want to make you very dead,¡± I clarified.


    ¡°Necromancers?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said, summoning a loaf of bread from my inventory. ¡°Are you even listening?¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes. Sleeping barrows and mischievous dead things,¡± he said dismissively, further fanning his wings.


    I¡¯d lost him to the fire. He¡¯d be like this for anywhere from an hour to three.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know crows had white feathers,¡± I teased.


    He just flicked his head and left me to brood over my doom. And to wonder, if I was plotting my own death, or if I really thought I¡¯d walk away from it with my life.