Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden finds herself in the company of a man she never thought she'd see again. Can the enemy of an enemy be an ally? Oleander has to make a hard choice while she runs back to the inn. Stann wonders about his role in the group. Mirena enjoys the company of a new friend.

Flashback: A look into Rhyce's past reveals the origin of the message he carries next to his heart.

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Chapter 16: Into Light

RHYCE

The last season had brought a poor harvest, and the lack of rain had dried up the fields. The farm was too far inlands to enjoy the frequent showers visited that the coastal areas. Things would change for the better, they always did, but until then they needed food on the table that they couldn’t grow themselves. That’s why Rhyce had volunteered to the border patrol militia, and sent every coin back to his family.

It was very dangerous, but as long as he was careful he knew he would return to them. In battle, he was far from the fray with his bow and arrows the army had provided. He had a much better chance than his fellow soldiers. Starvation was certain, though. He would take the odds of fighting, if it kept his wife and son safe.

His fingers went to the letter he had received some weeks back. Milene had written about how their neighbours had been kind enough to take care of them ever since she had caught ill. She called Davon a fool for thinking it was the white fever. Everyone knew that only struck villages who had abandoned the old faith. At the end of the letter, Tivan had left a message of his own. Rhyce was proud that his son was so good with his letters already. He had great hopes for their child. There would be something more waiting for Tivan than the endless toiling in the fields, or the dangers of a soldier’s life. Still, reading that last line broke Rhyce’s heart. He wanted to come home and be with them, but he couldn’t until his contract with the army was up. Coming home would be bittersweet indeed if he was outlawed for deserting.

Rhyce poked the fire again, bringing the embers to life. He was always assigned the early watch due to his unusually good night vision. He didn’t know why he could see so much better than his fellows, but he suspected that the wildlands had something to do with it. People who lived here on the border often met and befriended the people of the deep forest. It wasn’t unheard of that some families had a drop of elf or fey somewhere in their lineage. Maybe a great-grandmother had taken fancy to an elven prince, and that had given him these keen eyes?

Noise from the road behind the troop’s camp brought his head around. His eyes sought the spots in the bushes and trees where the road was visible, and eventually a man leading a horse came into view. The horse was limping badly on a back leg.

“Ho, the camp!” A voice called out as the man got closer.

“Rikel?” Rhyce lowered his bow, recognising the messenger as he got closer to the light from the fire. “We thought you had been held up at the fort.”

“No, Gil here just stepped into a sinkhole along the thicker path. Had to lead him the last ten miles.” Rikel, the border guard’s messenger sat down by the fire with a grateful sigh, pulling off his boots.

“Let me see to him. I had to look after our cattle back at the farm all the time,” Rhyce put his bow back over his shoulder, and went up to the injured horse.

“Can you grab the letter bag while you’re there?” The messenger motioned to the saddlebags, and then drank greedily from one of the water bottles Rhyce had left by his seat.

“Of course. Anything for me?” The archer asked hopefully. Milene had promised to write every week, but he hadn’t received her last letter yet. He missed hearing her voice inside when he read the words.

“Actually, yes. It’s right there toward the top of the pile. It came in right before I was about to leave. Lucky for you!”

Rhyce pulled the strap back and dug through the parchments. He eventually found one, but didn’t recognise the handwriting of the person who had written his name on the envelope. With a knot in his heart, he tore it open, and read the first lines of the letter.

Good neighbour, it is with a heavy heart it befalls me to bring these tidings.

Farcrest, the royal city of Alband, was built on two hills overlooking the bay that formed the natural harbour. The northern hill was more heavily fortified following generations of almost constant attacks from the neighbouring Northern clans; the smaller southern hill became the crown district, and part of the artisans’ terrace. Because of these dominant features, it often felt like you were walking uphill no matter where you were.

Mirena felt it was a sweet gesture. Very unnecessary, but still sweet. Once she had concluded her shopping — more looking at and trying on, than actually purchasing, to be honest — Arim, the young noble she had met yesterday during the dance at the silver grove plaza, insisted that he would escort her back to the inn. Mirena didn’t have the heart to tell him that she was more than capable of fending for herself, and in a way, it was nice to be treated as a lady for once, rather than a knight. She also appreciated his company for the small anecdotes he kept telling about places they passed along the street. He wasn’t as verbose as Kellen, or as crude as Stann. He was actually quite pleasant to listen to, and she learned quite a bit about the next generation of Alband’s court during their stroll. Mirena had no idea that the duke’s youngest son spent as much time with the local theatre scene, for instance. It was quite possible he had acted in the Hand of the Emperor play yesterday.

“Of course, the lad wanted a lead role, such as the emperor himself — but master Lorton would have nothing of it. ‘Act your age’ was something he liked to say, telling the duke’s son that he would get the kind of role he deserved, and no special consideration for his status.” Arim laughed at the memory. “That’s how Rodar ended up playing a messenger. At least it was a speaking role!”

“Some let their imaginary crowns swell their heads,” Mirena said with the smile of experience. She had met too many nobles who thought too much of themselves, often when introduced by her father as potential marriage material. She could laugh about it now, though, if only barely.

“It’s a shame that you got here during the festival, milady. That you would have to end up in the craftsmen’s district of all places! The inns closer to the crown hill are much better suited to provide for a person of your standing.” He shook his head sadly at this apparent travesty of justice.

“Now who’s taking the benefits of status for granted?” Mirena teased with a grin.

“The hazards of my upbringing, I’m afraid. Every so often I need to be reminded that I am but one man among many,” Arim sighed with feigned drama.

“Maybe you need to see this master Lorton as well?” She suggested, seeing the sign of her inn up a few doors along the street.

“Kuros shelter me, I think not!” He crossed his hands in a warding gesture. “Ah, I believe this is your stop? The Old Hog, eh? Sounds… very solid. Dependable.”

“The keeper is a dear, and the rooms are clean. I don’t find myself wanting much more.” Temple training had driven any expectations of luxury away long ago. These days anything above the basic needs was just a welcome surprise.

“Mirena, I greatly enjoyed our dance last night, and meeting you like this today was an unexpected pleasure.” Arim stopped by the door to the inn, stealing a glance inside when a patron still wearing work clothes trundled past out into the streets, smelling of sweat and dwarven ale. The nobleman raised an eyebrow a little, but remained tactfully quiet. “I would be delighted to see you again. Maybe I can offer you dinner tomorrow? I live here in the city. It’s, ah, comfortable but a little small by some standards. The curse of not being the firstborn, you see?”

“Oh! That sounds lovely, Arim. Unless my friends have something planned, I’d love to continue this. Where is this?” Mirena felt a small flutter in her belly. Maybe coming to Farcrest wasn’t such a loss after all?

“I truly wish I had my own carriage to pick you up, milady, but if you ask one of your gentleman friends to show you the way, it’s not too far. It’s the grey house just across the street from the billboard in the aristocrat district. I will let my people know to expect you.” He stepped back from the door, bringing Mirena along with him, as another group of workers left the inn.

“Would you mind if I bring a friend or two along?” She asked, knowing that Arim probably wanted a private dinner.

“While it’s your company I’m most looking forward to, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Within reason,” Arim added with a lopsided smile. He had a hopeful look in his eyes, but seemed honestly prepared to entertain her friends too if she brought them.

“Within reason,” Mirena confirmed and smiled again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it!” Arim bowed a little and gave the Old Hog one last amused look before heading away to the finer parts of the city.

Mirena shook her head in amusement at the man as she lost sight of him in the crowds. He was a little spoiled, but that was to be expected of a noble. Still, he had a good sense of humour, was respectful, and most importantly, he tried to be more than his upbringing. That was a good start.

The sound of dripping water reached the two figures quickly heading down a long, bricked tunnel. Their boots left an echoing sound in their wake as they tried to outdistance the thing that no doubt was following them. Several smaller access shafts broke off from the main tunnel, connecting with other passages out of sight. It was a labyrinth down here. A wet, cold, and dark labyrinth.

Jaden looked ahead. Her nearly golden eyes had no trouble piercing the shadows, making the subterranean darkness as clear as a cloudy day. She wondered how her companion, the tall and greying Olman man she now recognised as a murderer and a dark magician, could move with the same ease. Perhaps the nethermancer had some tricks of his own? Either way, it felt like they were going in circles.

“Do you know your way around here?” Jaden asked in a hushed voice. Sound no doubt carried far down here, bouncing along the stone walls for all eternity. Maybe if you listened closely enough, you would hear remnants of whatever secrets had passed ahead of them?

“Of course not,” he answered with that rasping, dry voice of his. It almost sounded like he was dying of thirst. “But these tunnels are too large for simple waste management. If they were meant for men, they go from one place to another.”

“We need to hurry, in any case. We do not want that man catching up with us,” Jaden said as she looked over her shoulder. Nerak Taseno, bound to the Drowning Dark, was on their trail. She hadn’t seen the results of what his manifested form could do first-hand, but the rumours were enough to make her sweat.

“Do you know something about that beast?” The nethermancer barely hid the suspicion in his voice. It was clear he wasn’t used to choosing his words with much care.

“… maybe. Assume he’s surrounded by a dissolution barrier, and you’re getting close to the truth. Our best hope is to lose him down here.”

“Curious. A spellguard who knows of sorcery tricks and mystic beasts?” The man seemed about to push the issue, but after meeting Jaden’s eyes in the near pitch black tunnel, he did a dislocated kind of shrug and left it alone. “Hmpf. Very well. This way, then.”

They had barely started down through one of the lower side shafts when he paused and looked back the way they had come.

“What’s wrong?” Jaden turned a little too, in case she could see whatever had caused the nethermancer to stop.

“Don’t you hear that?” He whispered like sand falling out of a broken hourglass.

“Hear what?”

“Dogs. They’ve brought dogs to track us.”

As if his words allowed Jaden to pull sounds out of the very stone around them, she caught the faint and far noise of barking and heavy footsteps. That was all the prompting they needed to start moving again, as quickly as they dared to.

When a drop of water struck Jaden in the face, she was reminded of the first drops from the rainclouds the other day. It was strange, though. The dark tunnels and the water should be freezing, even with summer touching the ground far above their heads. Despite this, Jaden didn’t feel cold at all.

After taking another left having passed through several larger and smaller tunnels, Jaden was about to question the man’s sense of direction again. She had barely opened her mouth when a bright light cut through the darkness, momentarily blinding her.

“There they are!” A strong-looking man with a cudgel held up his lantern in their direction. It cast a strange web of light as it gleamed on the water seeping along the furrows in the brickwork tunnel. A number of his friends joined him through one of the bigger tunnels that joined into this one.

These were not bloodthirsty cultists, or mindless demon-creatures. Jaden couldn’t bring herself to burn them with her fire, but she did have other means at her disposal. She quickly made an imaginary line through the small group of thugs, and levelled her finger at them.

“Noctophyx!” The weakening magic of the breathstealer wasn’t as good against groups as a lone assailant, but it made the men falter in their advance, their arms falling to their sides as they suddenly felt fatigued.

Next to her, the nethermancer pulled wailing shards of spectral matter from the air, the soundless screaming cutting into Jaden’s ears. With a disdainful sneer, he flung the pale magic at the closest men. As the light connected, the touched flesh ruptured, sending spatters of blood on their friends and the floor. Two men immediately fell to the ground, twitching in agony. A third slumped back against a wall and stared at the mangled lump that had been his arm.

It wasn’t a fair fight. It never was when you pitted magic against the mundane. A warrior would only win with greatly superior numbers, or surprise at their side; a magician would be victorious in almost every other situation. Of course, it varied from tradition to tradition, but in the end only magic could fight magic.

The men, backing away with terror in their eyes, did not stop Jaden and the nethermancer as they left in the opposite direction. The sound of the fight, brief though it was, would no doubt bring more dangerous predators to their location.

“I’m… surprised that you didn’t kill them,” Jaden said, then cursing herself for opening her mouth. The elven spellguard had no idea who this man was, after all.

“You should only kill when it serves a purpose. Leaving them with wounded will slow them down more. People seem unwilling to abandon living friends, but would leave a dead body to seek vengeance.” The nethermancer sounded irritated, and looked tired. It might be Jaden’s imagination, or the poor light, but it also looked as if he had more grey in his hair than before.

They could still hear the screams of the wounded, and the ever closer barking of the dogs when they reached the wall at the end of the tunnel.

“A dead end?” Jaden said. Her leg, hurt from falling down through the roof earlier, was really aching. She limped more than walked at this point.

“No. Look up.” The man pointed up the wall to a large pipe emerging closer to the ceiling. It looked more than big enough to walk through, if you hunched down a little. It was also close to seven feet above them.

The dripping water and the clammy air had made their clothes heavy and wet. Jaden’s oversized shirt and vest clung to her body, and she began to regret not replacing her underclothes. The white cotton was a little translucent, and showed things she’d rather not think about. Jaden pulled the vest tighter around herself.

“What do we do? I don’t think I can reach that high, and it might be too difficult a climb for you?” Jaden glanced at her companion, and then back at the high pipe. He wasn’t exactly the picture of athleticism.

“I’m not that old,” he sneered, and began pulling himself up with surprising wiry strength. It was as if his will alone forced the flesh to act according to his design, where a weaker mind would fail.

While he climbed, Jaden kept a lookout down the tunnel. She heard the sound of the dogs picking up their scent again. They couldn’t be that far behind. A rustle from above told her that the nethermancer had managed to get into the access pipe. When she looked up, she saw how the older man was watching her with calculating eyes. For a long moment, it seemed like he was going to leave her there, but to Jaden’s surprise he reached down and offered his bony hand. With his help, the mystic quickly got to the top as well.

“Why didn’t you leave me there?” Jaden wondered aloud, when they had begun making their way through the pipe to wherever it would lead them.

“I considered it. It would certainly give our pursuers something to deal with. They might even be satisfied with capturing a young elf maiden,” the nethermancer let the suggestion sink in.

“But..?”

“I don’t know what lies ahead, and you might be useful if we run into that beast again.” The explanation was as practical as it was heartless.

“If we run into him, we will most likely die. His mani- his battle-form is formidable. Not inherently strong in defence, but remaining close to him just means death.” Jaden wracked her brain for anything she might recall about the void elemental that lived inside her countryman.

“You seem to know a lot about the mystics.” It wasn’t a question. He was just adding up facts.

“My employer dealt with them in the past, so I had to be instructed in what to expect.” Lies flowed freely and easily across her lips, as if someone was speaking the words in her ear.

“Ah, of course.”

“What do I call you, by the way?” Jaden had to walk hunched over in the pipe, but the man was almost forced to go on all fours.

“Why does it matter? Once we get out of here, our paths will diverge.” He stopped, and peered out of the pipe, that had mercifully opened up into yet another dark tunnel. The brickwork looked older here, though.

Jaden just gave him a long look, certain he could see her expression in the darkness.

“If it matters, you may call me Jeddhar,” the nethermancer offered a name to go with his furrowed face.

“Okay.” Jaden didn’t know why, but that simple thing made the man less of a bogeyman, and more human somehow.

“Return the courtesy,” Jeddhar’s dry voice held the edge of a warning.

“I’m…” Jaden? Ashomi? Something else?

The sound of barking dogs echoes up behind them.

“They’ve reached the other end of the pipe. Come, elf!”

Jaden bit back the almost automatic reply, and followed closely.

Tarad had been many things to Oleander. There had been cruelty, but also surprising kindness; there had been loneliness and camaraderie, hunger and plenty. She had grown up knowing that tomorrow might bring both the good and the bad of all the town had to offer. But above all things, there was one constant: Tarad was flat.

“Stupid hills,” Oleander mumbled to herself as she slowed down to catch her breath. She was in very good shape, but you could only run uphill so far before everything started to protest.

An open wagon blocked half of the back street she was jogging up along, heavy with sacks of grains or flour. It was propped up with wooden wedges to keep it from rolling away. Oleander had seen similar things around in the city. There would have been no need for that back in Tarad, of course.

A pair of voices rose up above the general murmur of people going about their business, and as Oleander stepped out into the street she came upon the scene of the shouting.

“You wretched little maggot,” a portly man with rolled-up sleeves held the child by her tunic. She was a small thing with a dark blonde braid down either side of her face. She was also crying. “I’ll teach you to steal from me!”

Oleander remembered when it had been her in the child’s place. The streets had been no place for a child, and a poor substitute for a loving family. She had done what she needed to survive, and sometimes she had been punished for it. There had been no one to rescue her those times. Some nights, she wondered how her life had turned out if things had been different. If there had been a home, with a mother and a father.

She backed up to the side street again, and walked to the wagon. The man had looked like a baker, with flour handprints on his apron. Oleander gave the wedges a hard kick, sending them clattering away from the wagon. She blew dramatically at the wheel, and slowly, but with increasing speed, the wagon began to roll away. It would probably not stop until it went over the edge of harbour.

“I know you’ve got that hidden somewhere,” the baker said with a gruff voice as he roughly patted the girl down.

“Excuse me, good sir? Is that your wagon speeding away back there?” Oleander put on her most innocent expression. She had fooled Mirena with it in the past.

“What?” The man stood up, easily towering head and shoulders above the redhead. He dropped the girl like she was a rotten apple, and ran to the alley entrance. “Oh no! My wagon!”

While the heavy man chased the fleeing cart, Oleander looked at the girl on the cobblestones, who was rubbing away the tears from her eyes. She knew that she needed to hurry on back to the others, since Jaden was waiting for her down by the storage buildings. He trusted her to get help, but Oleander couldn’t bring herself to abandon the sad little girl. If only someone had done something like this for her…

The mousy girl looked up through the tangled hair with big blue eyes. She probably had some Northern blood in her veins, maybe a grandchild of the border disputes some generations ago. Oleander helped the girl to her feet, dirty and bare, and gave her a comforting hug.

“Come on, kid, we should get out of here,” Oleander nodded towards the inner city, away from the market streets.

They walked for a while, holding hands, when the girl produced a slightly flattened sweetcake that she had hidden away somewhere underneath her scruffy clothes. She smiled widely, showing gaps in her front teeth that were growing back in.

“Why, you clever rat! You really did nick something!” Oleander gave her praise. It took a lot of courage to keep your mouth shut when you were about to get beaten. But a full stomach trumped a black eye any day.

“Uh-huh! Do you want a piece?” The girl pulled off a bit of the cake and offered it with the generosity of a child.

“No, go ahead you. You’ve earned it.” The redhead playfully tugged at the girl’s braids. “Though, next time, get someone to knock something over by ‘mistake’, and when the owner comes to clean it up, you sneak in behind and grab what you wanted.”

“Oh!” The girl nodded, chewing at her cake. “I’m Crissa.”

“Nice to meet you, Crissa. I’m Oleander, but you can call me aunt Lea,” Oleander smiled. She loved kids. If she ever settled down when she got tired of adventures, she imagined having a house full of children.

“Thanks for saving me, aunty Lea,” the girl put a hand slightly sticky from honey back into Oleander’s.

“You’re very welcome. Now, do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I live in the house together with all the other girls and boys, where they put children who don’t have moms or dads,” Crissa looked a little sad.

“An orphanage? Do you know where it is?” Oleander expected that a city the size of Farcrest might have more than one.

“Sure! It’s just this way, almost by the big fort hill!” Crissa hurried up, pulling her redheaded hero along.

Oleander knew she was in a hurry, but she had to get this girl back home safely. Being brought home had been one of her dreams as a child.

Stann shook his head and went back to emptying his tankard. It was a sunny day, and few things were better than a nice beer served by a nice girl. If the barmaid only had some pointy ears, it would’ve been perfect, but the Northern warrior happily settled for less. Besides, there was enough entertainment to go around. Whatever this convocation thing that his cousin had talked about was, it had certainly brought colourful sights to the city. Stann had seen a man with wings, wings of all things, lead a bunch of those robed people into a tavern just up the street.

“Wizards,” he snorted, earning grunts of agreement from the other down-to-earth men drinking the day away.

Even with him having known Kellen for all his life, and seen magic in some form almost every day, it still was a divide he couldn’t cross. He would never be able to truly understand that world. Sometimes, it felt like he couldn’t be a real equal to his friends, who all seemed to have strange powers and talents. All Stann had was his sword, and if he could say so himself, an above average attractiveness. Sometimes when he talked to his friends, he felt like he knew what a blind man would feel like.

Self-pity was not for him, though. Stann slammed the empty tankard down, left a few coins, and stood up. He ran his hands through the unevenly braided, wheat-blonde hair. It had been a nice day, and who knew — maybe he would run into that pale blonde elf again? There was something there, he could feel it.

The dark tunnel opened up into a very large underground chamber. The vaulted ceiling reached high above their heads, easily allowing someone to fit a house and leaving room to spare. The chamber was large enough to fit at least two such houses as well.

"What do you think this is? It doesn't look like a part of any sewer system." Jaden looked around. It looked very much out of place with the strange tunnels they had passed through. She had never expected such a maze below the streets.

"Who knows? Many cities were built on the ruins of previous ones. Perhaps it is a forgotten remnant of a lost civilisation? Either way, it might be our exit." The nethermancer, Jeddhar, pointed. Worn stairs along the side of the huge chamber led to a second floor overlooking the rest of the area. From there they could make out a passage slanting upward at a steep angle, and some natural light trickling down from beyond.

They had barely made a dozen steps into the chamber when someone called out.

"Stop right there!" A female voice echoed in the big chamber, and the owner walked out of another tunnel that connected with the chamber. She had strong features, and dark hair streaked with blue. Some beginnings of scale formations around her eyes told Jaden everything she needed to know: it was another mystic. What was going on here? Who could these merchants be, that allowed them to bring two or more mystics to a business meeting? Lacunai mystics were not for hire.

The woman looked at Jaden with a strange expression.

"Lilya?" Then the doubt disappeared. "No, you're just some filthy elf bitch. Say your prayers to those deaf gods you worship."

The mystic shook herself and fell down on all fours. Her clothes broke apart with tears and snaps as her body expanded and grew darker. A powerful tail burst out and thick scales locked into place like the shield wall of a well-trained army. Within heartbeats, the woman had been replaced by a huge, many-legged blue lizard. The smell of ozone began to fill the chamber.

"I know a way of dealing with those beasts. Keep it occupied for me while I gather my resources." Jeddhar backed away into the tunnel again, out of sight, leaving only a foreboding sensation in his place.

"Me? But-" Jaden looked back at the azure monster that reared up with a threateningly roar.

Memories from the books rushed back. It was as if someone was reading them to her, with a soft voice. Behir. Very strong. Very tough. Lightning breath. Known to take on dragons where their territories collide. Scales thick enough to provide functional invulnerability from weapons smaller than siege engines. Leathery underbelly that wasn’t much better.

Jaden bit back a sudden burst of jealousy, and willed herself into action, running to the side as the monster charged. The wall shook with the tremendous impact, and gravel and dust fell from the vaulted ceiling. Her leg hurt, but she would hold out as long as she could. Speed was just about the only advantage she had, and if she could, she would make the difference even larger.

She drew an imaginary line through the behir, its size giving a lot of leeway for error. Pointing a finger, she invoked her breathstealer's magic.

"Noctophyx!" Against single opponents, it is usually very effective. A man would be paralysed for several minutes.

The monster faltered in its positioning to set up for another charge, its front legs buckling with sudden weakness. With a grunt it fell to the ground, stirring up a cloud of dust. The intelligent eyes half hidden by the horn brow glared angrily at Jaden. She took a step forward, trying to think about how to use her momentary advantage.

"Aquielle!" The behir growled with a half-human voice. Its large body became swathed in an ethereal glimmer, and the ozone smell was briefly replaced by the refreshing feeling of a forest spring. The effect seemed to invigorate the monster, and it pushed itself back up again.

Synergy. Master Viskeri always told them to select contracts that would add to their repertoire - make up for any weaknesses their main spirit might have. This mystic not only had a powerful manifestation, but also had the foresight to bind a restorative Naiad into a pact.

“That’s not fair,” Jaden whined to herself, then tried to bring her head back into the fight. This was not a time for regrets or self-pity.

Well, that was one pact down. Whoever this mystic was, she pretty much had a hard counter to Noctophyx, and possibly able to heal any injuries Jaden might be able to inflict. The woman had also looked older than Jaden, so she had to fight under the assumption that the other mystic had access to at least one, maybe two other contracts. The biggest issue was, of course, that one was fighting in manifested form, while the other remained as a human.

The behir reared up and opened its mouth. Suddenly, the hairs on Jaden's head and neck felt like they were standing up. Playtime was over. A loud crackling noise was the final warning that allowed Jaden to barely leap out of the way as the stonework shattered by the lightning strike.

Pale afterimages danced before Jaden's eyes. She was dazzled by the bright flash, and stumbled as quickly as she could while her vision cleared. The rumbling sound of the charging behir made her turn around in time to see it lower its head to gore Jaden with the thick nose horn.

"Valignat!" She drew as much as she could from her salamander, and a big fan of fire splashed across the behir's eyes. It turned its head reflexively, and instead of tearing Jaden apart with the horn, rammed her with the side of its brow.

The first impact jarred Jaden to the bone. The second shock told the part of her mind that was still working that she had landed on the floor after being knocked airborne. She brought her head up enough to see she was quite a far bit from the monster. The force of the charge had flung her almost straight across the room. Everything hurt.

"Those were names you were calling," the behir growled. "You're a mystic, but I don't recognise you. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"

Jaden coughed. No blood, which was good, but her ribs hurt in a bad way. Not for the first time she regretted not having the presence of mind to bind a defensive pact. That Naiad would be nice about now.

The behir lumbered towards where Jaden was still lying.

"Nothing to say? Then you're pulp. Too bad. You look like a former friend." The behir raised a front claw to stomp Jaden, but paused when a movement to the side grabbed its attention.

“Thank you so much for bringing Crissa back,” the governess held Oleander’s hands between her own. “It was you who gave that incredible donation yesterday, as well. You’re truly a blessing for this place, mistress.”

“I just wanted to give the kids a chance. Can I talk to Crissa before I leave?” Oleander looked into the house where the pigtailed girl was talking to a boy, making wide gestures with her arms.

“Oh, certainly. Crissa, say goodbye to the nice lady! Thank you again for everything. We can finally get the older ones some new clothes.”

The redhead knelt down next to the girl once she came back out to the porch.

“I am in a real hurry, but I wanted to make sure you got back home safely.” She wiped away a spot of dirt on the girl’s cheek with her thumb. “Also, take this.”

“That’s… that’s a silver mark!” The girl stared at the coin Oleander had snuck into her tiny hands.

“It’s all yours, for your bravery. If you ask me, I’d buy a pair of shoes. It’s much easier to run away with good shoes.”

“Thank you, aunty Lea!” Crissa wrapped her arms around her hero in a tight hug.

With that, Oleander said her goodbyes and started back toward the craftsmen’s district. Her steps quickened into a jog once she started to feel bad about leaving Jaden by himself for so long, but it couldn’t be helped. Hopefully the boy would have the good sense to keep out of trouble until the rest of them arrived.

Whether it was out of worry for her black-haired friend, or because of something else, Oleander started to feel a cold pit growing inside. Her jog turned into a run, dashing through the streets and avoiding people with the practiced ease of someone who spent their childhood escaping. Once she reached Potter’s Square, the chill inside had grown stronger. She could actually feel her teeth chattering when she breathlessly staggered into the Old Hog.

Rhyce looked up from where he was sitting. The dog was curled up by his feet, hiding from the innkeeper’s glare.

“Red? What’s wrong?” The archer asked, and got to his feet. His fingers twitched slightly, as if gripping an arrow.

“Get the others,” Oleander gasped. She shouldn’t be this tired. The cold in her heart was almost painful. A hand went to her chest. She wasn’t imagining things. It really felt cold.

“Rena! Stann!” Rhyce was so soft-spoken that it was always a surprise when he raised his voice. The dog whined, and backed away into the corner.

“I’m here, Rhyce,” the knight hurried down the stairs, closely followed by the warrior. Stann had some shaving foam on his neck, and held his knife as if it was a sword.

“Quickly, it’s Jaden. He’s… he’s down by…” Strength fled her legs as the cold spread. Oleander clutched her chest with a panicked expression as her friends rushed to her side.

The elf girl limped out to provide the distraction he needed. It had been a long couple of weeks since the destruction of his shrine in Tier, and Jeddhar had almost exhausted his reservoir of magic.

At times, he envied other magicians who generated their own energy, but he also knew that unlike them, he had no limit on how much power he could accumulate with time and patience. Even if he had a limited supply right now, he was not without resources. He had, after all, some hidden caches. Granted, some of them were dead now, which lowered the available energy he could access. But, one of them was close. It was just what he needed.

Jeddhar pushed his left sleeve up, showing a scarred arm where hair no longer grew in many spots. With practiced ease, he drew his hidden knife from the other sleeve, and carved the blood-seal in his flesh with the obsidian blade. He could feel the spirit-world descend around him.

It was a pity he had lost his ritual focus. He had used it for many years, had come to rely upon it for many things. It would take some time to find a good replacement. But the fact that it was no longer in his possession didn't matter. All the links it had created were still there.

He let the knife draw a circle on the ground. It left only the faintest scratch marks on the stones that lined the floors, walls and ceilings of this underground complex. The physical impact didn't matter; it was all about the spiritual component. He reached through the seal linking him to all his scattered repositories, and selected the closest one. The bleeding symbol on his arm began to smoulder with a purple fire as he activated the soul-link. He could feel the energy rush into him as he drained whatever chalice of power was within his reach. For what he was planning to do, he would need quite a bit. Not all of it, though. A wise collector never wasted a replenishable source of energy unless he had to.

It was an interesting thing, the balance between life and death. Dead souls offered a great amount of energy, since energy was all they were. But once consumed, they would not recover and would eventually dissipate. A living soul, however, constantly regenerated its supply of energy, but most of it was bound into maintaining the life and consciousness of its body. Some of Jeddhar's colleagues preferred one or the other, but he saw the benefits of either. He was reminded of a saying from the Olman village where he grew up several lifetimes ago, about eggs and baskets.

The power of the living soul burned brightly inside him, enough with just a little to spare for the spell he began to shape as he walked back to the big underground chamber.

Amazingly, the elven girl was still alive, if just barely. She had indeed shown her usefulness, and it would be a shame to let a potential asset be destroyed. 'Waste not, want not' was Jeddhar's guiding principle, after all.

The beast must've seen him entering the chamber in its peripheral vision, and its head swung around to fix him with one of those electric blue eyes.

Jeddhar raised his arms wide, splaying his fingers wide as if running them through water. Wisps of spectral fragments began to gather like cobwebs, and he could hear their faint screams from beyond the shroud. It always brought a sense of purpose in his heart.

"It's time for you to know your place, abomination!" He called out, raising his head high. A whirlpool of ghostly splinters began to appear above the monster. The elf saw them, and her eyes went wide. "Greater Curse - SPIRITBREAKER!"

As if tearing down the heavens themselves, Jeddhar brought his hands forcefully back down and the energy vortex in the air shattered into an angular spear of hatred. It thrust down into the blue dragonlike creature, flickering in and out of the spiritual world as it tore through both realities. The monster opened its maw in what would have been a roar of agony, but no sound escaped. Instead it twisted and warped, shrinking down to that of a naked woman on the ground. Trails of purple smoke rose from her back where the spell had left a scar in both her body and soul.

The chill exploded in her chest, clawing at her very essence. It left a terrible emptiness inside.

“Red? What’s happening to her?” A voice called out by her side, but she didn’t understand the words.

“Some sort of convulsions.” Hands held her against the floor, to keep her from hurting herself as she thrashed.

Without a way to tell her friends what she was feeling, Oleander did the only thing she could. She screamed. She kept on screaming until she felt even her voice would leave her to the emptiness.

Slowly, the pain and the cold subsided, leaving only a sense of hollow weakness behind. Sounds started to make sense again, and she could focus her eyes on the faced in front of her.

“…coming back. Let’s get…”

“…on the chair. Someone…”

“… hear me? Oleander, can you hear me?” Mirena was holding the sides of her head, a glowing light emanating from the golden sword pendant around her neck.

“Yes. I hear you, Rena.” She slurred the first words, but took back control toward the end.

“Thank Telum,” the knight sighed with relief, then called over her shoulder. “I believe she’s back with us. Let’s take her to our room. This feels familiar to me.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Kellen rumbled, and hefted the small redhead like a sack of potatoes despite her protests. Together they went up the stairs with Stann following closely behind.

The dwarven innkeeper scratched the head of his pet, trying to calm the animal. The screams had upset the old dog, almost sending it into howling. Turgar saw the man with the leather hood and bow hurry out the door rather than following his friends upstairs, but that was hardly his business.

Stann followed the others to the women's door when they went to let the redhead get some rest. This was a repeat of what had happened in Tier all over again. Something magical happens, and suddenly everyone is busy... except for him. Once again, Stann is left to the side, because he's too stupid to do magic. Well, he didn't intend to just sit quietly in the next room this time.

"What about me? What can I do?" Stann asked his cousin, when the taller man tried to close the door.

"Mirena and I just need some time to find out what's going on here."

"Kel. What can I do?" Stann caught the door as Kellen was about to close it again.

Kellen looked into his eyes for a moment, and seemed to see the need Stann felt. The rune seeker glanced inside the room quickly, to see that everything was alright, before returning to his cousin.

"I need you to help me make a charm to protect our little fox against things like this, if it’s what I'm suspecting."

"Right. So, what do you need?" The warrior had helped the magician before. This was familiar grounds.

"An arm's length of good leather strips, doesn't matter what sort but I like goat. A two-pound slab of quality granite. The really solid kind, like what they waste on gravestones around here?" Kellen nodded slowly. Hard rock was the best for good runecrafting.

"Strips and stone. They should have it right here in the craftsmen's district." Stann felt a small relief at being useful, even if it was just getting something.

"Hurry up now, Bear."

"Kel?" The tattooed warrior had one more thing to say before heading out.

"Aye?"

"Thanks, ugly cousin."

Mystics' sight reveals many things about the magical world, the qualities of the threads that make up the supernal, the intensity of the background radiance. Jaden was grateful the she couldn't see any of that when the shaft of broken light cut through the behir.

The other mystic, now flat on her stomach, returned to her normal shape in painful spasms. Jaden met her gaze for a moment, and the stark loss and confusion in the other woman's eyes was almost unbearable. Something terrible had happened.

Jaden looked up at the tall Olman man as he walked over to where they had fought. The naked woman seemed to slip out of consciousness when he nudged her side with his foot. The nethermancer dismissed the fallen mystic with a faint sneer, and then turned to Jaden.

"Can you stand?" Jeddhar didn't offer his hand this time.

"I... I think so," Jaden slowly pushed her way up, using the wall as a support. Breathing hurt, but there was no blood. That was a good sign, she supposed. Her first step told her that walking would not be pleasant, but at least possible. At least for a while. "We should go. If she found us here, the others can't be that far behind."

"Agreed. No need to fight more of these beasts than we have to." The nethermancer gave the barely living mystic one last disdainful glance before heading back to the old, open stairs that would take them to the balcony floor.

Jaden followed as quickly as she could, every step sending a shooting pain through her leg and stomach. Her right arm didn't feel good either, so she held it close to her body, trying to keep it as still as possible.

The stairs were old and worn, pitted by unknown years of leaking water and neglect. Leaves and dirt had collected at the top steps, and even more along the upper balcony that overlooked the large chamber. A fresh breeze found its way down through the half-hidden passage, together with a promise of sunlight. It was all they needed to press on, though still careful if the light at the end of this tunnel would reveal another threat instead of salvation.

The passage ended with iron bars, a large grate more recently installed to keep exploring people from getting lost in the old tunnels, no doubt. The bars were spaced wide enough apart to reach through, and the sound of the city made its way to their ears even if the sun was just out of reach.

"Spellguard?" Jeddhar stepped to the side and gestured at the bars. He had seen her burn through the floor earlier, after all.

"Okay. Stand back a bit." Jaden had more than enough of her salamander's fire, having kept her pacts richly fed during these last days of relaxation. It was more her own strength that was rapidly running out. A concentrated fire should be able to burn through the metal quickly enough, though. "Valignat!"

As the iron grew white, and finally bent out of shape, the nethermancer gave Jaden a look that was as close to curiosity as that face could twist itself into. When the fire sputtered and died, leaving three bars cut clean and a hole large enough for any man to squeeze through, he pulled his lips back in an unsmile.

"I was mistaken first. That was not Sorunese. You're speaking in Draconic. Now, what possible reason could an elven spellguard out of Ral Sona have to do that?"

"Do you really want to argue that now, or do you want to leave these rotten sewers?" Jaden snapped back, the pain in her arm and leg, not to mention the growing ache inside her, was making her temper slip.

"Of course," Jeddhar let his parody of a smile return to its grave, and led the way outside.

While they probably had only been underground for half an hour or so, it felt like an eternity since Jaden had felt the sun on her face. She felt very naked without her veil, though. Ill-fitting clothes, wet from their trek through the dripping tunnels, torn in places from the fight. She fingered her neck, where the red scarf was tied in a loose knot. The one Oleander had bought her. Jaden wondered where her friends were now.

By the look of the houses that surrounded the exit from the underground tunnels, they were a good bit away from the harbour district, almost half the way up the hills to the inner city area. The alley they had stepped out into connected with one of the long streets that went almost the entire distance between the central market and the harbour, a busy route for merchants and travellers who had better things to do than to pay attention to the ragged elf and the tall, old Olman who wordlessly slipped into the pulse of the city.

Jaden couldn't help but sneak looks at the nethermancer as they made their way up the street. Less than a month ago, she had tried to burn him alive in his own house, and he had retaliated with cursing her friend, kidnapping and murdering people she had barely known. The conflict had resulted in two ruined houses, and many lost lives. Now, they were walking together as if nothing had happened. Of course, he didn't recognise her like this. How things had changed in just a couple of weeks. The nethermancer looked so normal now, like a strict teacher, or a grandfather whose children behaved when he was around. Jaden knew it was just a mask, however. Underneath that face of a man, was a monster who ate souls.

Are you that different? You bind spirits to yourself, and you lie and pretend to be one of any of these people. But you're not, are you? It was an unpleasant thought, and not one Jaden was entirely sure was her own.

Even without the illusion, I wear the mask of another man's face, Jaden realised.

The nethermancer stopped when they reached an intersection. People seemed to unconsciously step around him as if he had unseen guards keeping them at bay.

"This is where we take different roads... spellguard," the pause was small, but noticeable. "You were useful."

Jaden just nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The edges of her vision was starting to blur a bit, and a part of her realised that she was going into shock. Instead she oriented herself as best as she could, and began limping back toward Potter's Square. The crowd soon swallowed the tall Olman.

Every step hurt just a little bit more, and the world was starting to waver. Was she at least in the craftsmen's district yet? Something struck her side, and sent her staggering into a nearby wall. The man barely offered an apology for bumping into her, and continued on without looking. Jaden fought back the nausea from the pain with big gulps of air. It was odd, the things you noticed when your vision grew so narrow. From where she leaned on the wall, it was as if the black bird circling above the street kept coming back towards her.

Jaden's legs finally gave out and she slid down against the wall. The last thing she saw was a pair of hands reaching down.

"It’s my turn now. This time I wasn’t too late."

Turgar looked up from the barrel he was manhandling into the common room. The doors had flown open, and that dog-thieving borderlander rushed back inside carrying an elf. An elf in his house!

“Hey, look here..!” Turgar began, slapping a wiping-cloth down on a table.

“Seb, guard!” Rhyce called out, and the dog hopped up and positioned itself between the archer and the innkeeper, giving the dwarf a low warning growl.

Rhyce took the stairs two at a time, seemingly not feeling the weight of the woman in his arms. When he got to the corridor with the doors to their rooms, he saw Stann who was pacing outside.

“Get Mirena,” the archer said to the warrior, who stopped mid step at the sight.

“Stormfather’s beard, is that..?” Stann stared at the black-hair and the pointed ears.

“Quickly!”

"She and Kellen are still in her room with Red. They think she's having a relapse or something, with the curse that is." Stann opened up the door to the room Rhyce used, allowing the man to carry his burden inside.

"Kellen can handle that. He did before."

Rhyce set the unconscious woman down on his bed as gently as he could. He couldn't see any obvious injuries, but she was dirty and feverishly warm, and her clothes were torn in some places. Rhyce pulled a blanket over her, both to cover her up and to dry her off.

Mirena entered a few moments later together with Stann, alarm clearly written on her face.

"What happened?" Her eyes never left the figure that was both familiar yet different.

"Not sure." Rhyce nodded at the person on the bed. "Some injuries at least, but I don't know how severe."

Mirena took Rhyce's place by the bed, and let her hands pass over Jaden's body. At least, she thought it was Jaden. The hair, the ears, the face was very similar, but much more feminine.

"Telum keep you, and protect you," she chanted, as she channelled the blessings of her god to heal battle wounds. There were injuries in that flesh, of that she was sure, but there was some strange... resistance. As if the body was unwilling to accept her healing. She had never felt anything like it. The resistance wasn't strong, however, and despite it the internal injuries knitted themselves together, as the cracked bones mended. Mirena didn’t fear for the woman’s life, but that wasn’t the end of her worries.

For a long time, they just looked at the sleeping woman on the bed. Her colour was returning, and despite the dirt she was really very pretty, even exotically beautiful. Jaden had always been a handsome man, in that slim and elegant way, but this woman seemed fuller and more luxurious, even in this state.

"Is this Jaden?" Mirena finally asked Rhyce. She depended on his instincts at times like these.

"It's our friend," he replied.

"That's not what I asked," she pointed out

"It's what I know."

Mirena nodded slowly, and then looked up as there was a knock on the door. Rhyce got up, and paused for a moment to stretch his legs. He had been sitting silently while Mirena was working on her patient, and had foolishly allowed himself to grow stiff. That was not something he would have done before.

When he opened the door, Kellen supported a weak, but awake Oleander. Their eyes immediately went to the person on the bed.

"Wait, Lilya?" Oleander stared with confusion in her eyes. "That's Jay's sister, isn't it?"

"It certainly looks like her," Kellen said hesitantly. He didn’t sound entirely sure, either.

Oleander looked down at the sleeping woman. Mirena had pulled the blanket back to get a closer look at any wounds, and they all saw her dirty and torn clothes. A shirt, a dark vest. Those gloves. Oleander finally stopped when her eyes found the red scarf around the woman's neck.

"It's Jay. I bought him that scarf yesterday," Oleander leaned into Kellen, and shook her head a bit. "What's happening?"

"We don't know, Oleander. Rhyce found... her like this on the street, not too far away from here. If this really is Jaden, then something must have happened to him."

"We were down in the harbour, and we saw some merchants smuggling tiny dragons or something. Jay asked me to go get you guys, so we could save the critters. But then... then... Oh mercy, it's all my fault! I got sidetracked, and now..." Oleander started crying, clinging to Kellen's thick arm.

"Kellen, please take her back to our room. I've done what I can for... Jaden, but I want to see if I can do more for Oleander."

"I'll stay here," Rhyce said, sitting down on the opposite bed again. A crow had landed on the windowsill outside, taking an interest into whatever was happening in the room.

The archer looked at the woman in the bed for a long time. Whatever happened from here on, he took solace in that he hadn’t been too late.