Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Set on their goal to uncover the smuggling operation out of the Sorun wildlands, the group make final preparations to leave the city of Farcrest on a long journey. Stann and Oleander take their time around the marketplace, and make an interesting discovery. Jaden brings an unlikely friend along to find out more about the elven forest and its secrets, but ends up finding more than she bargained for.

Flashback: Mirena was so proud to have been accepted into training as a squire to the temple of Telum. She remembers one of the most important lectures of her early days there.

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Chapter 20: Fractured Notes

MIRENA

“What is a demon?”

There was a shuffling in the lines of the attending trainees as one of them stepped forward.

“Squire Kaladon?”

“Sir. A demon is a being from another world that visits ours with ill intent.”

“Just that. They come here with the intention of causing suffering. Not all visitors are demons, but all demons are malign visitors. Remember this!” The paladin in charge of the group turned his stern look across the assembly room and briefly met those of a recalcitrant fellow knight with almost-blonde hair and in the white surcoat of a temple adjunct. Their opinions differed, but since his was in line with temple doctrine, hers was the punishment of watching this class every year. “Thank you, squire.”

Mirena returned to her spot in the line, allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction with having been recognised. She ducked her head to hide this prideful gesture. It would not be befitting of a young recruit of the Five Temples’ military order to show such lack of humility. Telum’s word is that of bravery and truth, and all who serve the sword of heaven should strive to embody those qualities.

“Demons. Of all the evil you will see in the world, it is not surprising that the worst is not of our world,” the paladin continued, still letting his gaze roam across the squires standing in ordered lines. “The greatest danger lies not with the ones that you hear about, the ones that rampage through remote hamlets or attack travellers. No, the true threat comes from the ones that hide among people. The insidious demons who will wait and plan, manipulate and scheme.”

The paladin took a breath, and then turned his head to the other side of the room where a greying man had been waiting patiently since the beginning of the class. At the paladin’s nod, he made his way around the squires without hurrying unduly. Every step made the silverbound book hanging from a chain off his belt clink slightly. It was a very distinctive sound.

“That is why we, of the temple of Telum, are grateful to have Anchorite Macharian here today to talk more about the malevolence of the Netherworld. As an inquisitor, the anchorite has had all too much experience in the matter. You will all do well to pay attention to what he has to say.” By the time the paladin had finished, the clinking of the book stopped next to him along with the man. They exchanged a respectful nod, as the paladin yielded the floor to the older priest.

The Five Temples was the most dominant religion in every part of the world touched by either the old or the new empire. It was a pantheon of the five gods of heaven. Where most people of the civilised world honoured all of the five gods, priests were those special men and women who dedicated their lives in the service of a particular god. Mirena and all those who lived and worked at this particular temple were sworn to Telum, the god of justice and protection. The man who stood before them now was a priest of Astar, the Keeper of Wisdom, the god of knowledge and secrets. It wasn’t strange that it was the temple of Astar that first created the inquisition — a division focused on rooting out the corruption that was born out of the unseen influence of the demons.

Granted, neither of the empires had fallen as a result of demonic corruption. Today, the incursions were far between enough that most people only heard about them in stories. The inquisition was there to keep it that way.

Mirena thought about the different orders within the Five Temples. Would her father have objected less, had she chosen to go to Etrana and train with the temple of Melat, the Resolute Judge? With her as a rector of the temple, she would have been able to twist laws in the family’s favour, allowed them to expand even further. Had it been mere spite that made her seek the temple here in Tier, so close to the eyes of her family? To mock them by joining a militant order where she would be no worth, whether economically or in status? Her eyes narrowed as her jaw set. The self-congratulatory feeling inside her from earlier was gone. No, she had a purpose here. She could make the world a better place.

“Thank you, paladin, for the introduction,” the anchorite inquisitor said with a pleasant voice that belied his role. “Yes, let us talk about demons, and why we must be ever vigilant against their dark influence.”

The anchorite paused for breath, or drama. When he next spoke, his voice had changed subtly from pleasant, to penetrating. His words would stay with the young men and women before him here today. This was a story told to every recruit who would have cause to deal with demons during their duty.

“Have you ever heard about Chander Crossing?”

The sun chased away any shadows on the rooftops of the crown of Alband. It was one of those days where clouds seemed to play catch across the sky, sometimes casting the city in dimness, sometimes letting the light shine brightly.

Next to one of the many street vendors peddling sausages or skewers sat two men, relaxing during the early hours before the noontime rush would bring most of their customers that day. They were a bit worn, with their best years already behind, but with eyes still twinkling with life and hope. Between them was a small game board with wooden pieces arranged according to how the game had ended last evening, when they had packed up their respective wagons to head back home. Their game had been going for the better part of two weeks now, and while not their longest to date, it was certainly going to be one of the more memorable battles.

“Such a nice day,” mused the older of the two, scratching a grey-streaked beard. Albander men who tried to follow the current trends seldom wore much facial hair, and when they did, it was kept closely trimmed. The older man in his worn brown vest, showed his farmer’s background for everyone to see.

“A nice day?” His friend of the pie cart squinted at the clouds, and wrinkled his nose. “Those fat sausages of yours have finally ruined your mind, Enos. It’ll be a chilly morning for sure.”

“Hrm,” Enos reflected with a mellow grumble, not yet releasing his gaming piece to allow his friend to make his move. “It’ll be a nice day.”

“Hey! Hey now!” The pie peddler had jumped to his feet, and swung his apron at the black bird that had plucked a sausage from his friend’s wagon. The crow hopped back with the glistening price in its beak, and took wing before he could take a second shot at it.

“It’s alright, Jerod, it’s alright.” The sausage-maker just waved calmingly at the younger of the two, who was still shaking a fist at the retreating speck in the sky.

“If you let every man and beast just steal your goods, you’re going to die a pauper, old friend,” Jerod frowned, then did a double-take at the sausage wagon. “Did you leave a silver hairpin there?”

“What would I use a hairpin for?” Enos laughed, running a hand over his balding head.

When they were both back in their seats, the sun remained the single spectator while their game resumed. It would be hours yet before the lunch crowd appeared. Maybe by then they’d be finished.

"Well, this is a bit longer than just riding from Tier to Farcrest." Stann eyed the distances on the parchment. He didn’t put a whole lot of trust in maps. After all, they’re only as reliable as the people who drew them. It was far better to go by landmarks.

"There are riverboats that travel up the Odar, from where it flows out into the Tier bay. We could board one going from Tier and go all the way up to Carrick Field. From there, it's not that far to Beldenth Span which will take us across the river into Olmar. Or we can just use the Carrick bridge if we don’t mind moving more openly?" Mirena touched two places along the scrawled line on the map.

"Best way to go into Sorun is through Tarad," Oleander got a faraway look in her eyes. The border town had been her childhood home. She had left a lot of memories there.

"I agree. From Carrick Field to Tarad, and by way of Tarad along the Sonaleum road to Ral Sona." Mirena smoothened out the map once more. It had a habit of curling up whenever one of the Northmen took a gulp from the tankards that were weighting the corners down.

"Actually, that's a little redundant, Mirena. Leum is elven for 'road'. It's just en Sonaleum, or the Sona road," Kellen pointed out as he replaced the makeshift corner weight.

"I've been saying it wrong my entire life?" Mirena fought back hurt pride for a moment, but it was soon replaced by something a little more childish, one of her carefully hidden sides. If only she could see her father's face when someone finally corrected him the same way. "Thank you for clearing that up, Kellen."

"Stop embarrassing her, ugly cousin," Stann admonished the rune seeker, while reaching for his own tankard. A sharp look from Mirena, who had finally gotten the map under control again, made him sit back and look longingly at the foaming beer.

"I wasn't... oh, uh, I apologise, Mirena. Sometimes I speak without thinking. It runs in the family," Kellen shot a look back at Stann. The warrior raised his hands in defeat.

"Don't worry, my dear friend. I'm only a mortal, and capable of error. The only thing that matters is how we learn from our mistakes." The knight bowed her head a little, causing her long chestnut hair to spill forward a bit.

"Wise as always, Rena!" Stann approved.

"I learned from several good teachers," she glanced sideways at where Rhyce sat to the far end of the table. For once, he didn't seem to notice, but was instead touching the necklace she knew he kept underneath his shirt. His eyes were on the table, but his mind was in another place.

"So, our first order of business is to make it back to Tier? Is that even safe for us to do? We've only been away for two weeks. The cult, not to mention the city gate guards, might still remember us?" Stann leaned in and put his hand down on his corner, holding it as he drank from his tankard. They had left quite an impression on the golden city when they left.

"Actually, I heard about this little operation up the river..." Oleander spoke using her innocent voice. Whatever she was talking about clearly had some incredibly criminal connotations.

"Yes?" Mirena looked up from the map.

"So, imagine that I know of a place where you can get some things surreptitious...ly... uh..." Oleander trailed off, eyes going wide momentarily.

"Like a smuggling group?" The knight arched an eyebrow. Since they were investigating some smugglers at the moment, this seemed like important information.

"Yeah, something like that. Maybe we should pay them a visit?" The redhead laughed a little, and then smacked her forehead. Everything that had happened to them lately had thrown her off her pace. She should’ve remembered how other smugglers often kept track of their competitors.

"That might be a good idea, Red," Stann said with a grin, waving to the dwarven keeper for a refill on his beer, but getting a rude gesture in return. The Old Hog was more of a self-serve place, most of the time.

"Though, they're probably entirely different rings," Oleander pointed out. "Tier is a funny place - no offense, helmet hair - and the folks there tend to prefer local services above foreign ones.”

Mirena nodded. Her fellow Tierin could be a little insular at times.

"To put it mildly," Stann added. "I heard a story about a nobleman who had fallen off a pier, but refused the help of an Olman sailor trying to save him."

"What happened to him?" Oleander always enjoyed stories.

"Different stories say different things. There's a version where he drowns out of stubbornness, another where the Olman man just punches the oaf and drags him out anyway." Stann made a hitting gesture in the air.

"It's not that bad," Mirena disagreed.

"This new smuggling group?" Kellen tried to bring the discussion back on track.

"Oh! Yeah, they've got a roadhouse up the river, where boats can dock and deliver things before they reach the city customs."

"This is Whitewater business, isn't it?" Stann was a little more streetwise than his more sheltered friends. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Maaaybe? But we can use them, this time!"

"You mean, 'again'. Didn't you incite that gang war just before we left Tier? From what I heard, it was just short of a riot down by the foreign quarters." The Northern warrior tried to keep approval out of his voice. A riot was just like a large-scale tavern brawl, after all.

"Hehe. Heh. Eh... Yeah." Oleander didn't know whether to be proud or ashamed. One look at Jaden's grin gave her all the reassurance she needed. She blushed a little, but sat up straighter. "But that's what we can use. I'm sure they gained all sort of territory out of cleaning that up. You could say that they owe us, really."

"Will they see it that way, also?" Kellen wondered, looking at the more sensible members of the group. Jaden made a gesture of uncertainty with her hand. Rhyce had finally begun to pay attention to the discussion, and just imperceptibly shook his head, but whether in disagreement, or judgement, Kellen couldn’t tell.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing!" Oleander claimed, spreading her hands while trying to look reliable.

"Scarier words were never spoken," Jaden quipped, feeling a little like old times again.

Oleander stuck her tongue out at the black-haired mystic.

"Then we pack to return to Tier," Mirena said with a small smile, some of the energy was coming back to them. "And from there, hopefully a boat up the Odar until we reach Carrick Field, and whichever bridge we decide on.”

"That's the plan." Stann slapped a hand down on the table hard enough to make the map roll back up halfway.

"If you have any other business to take care of before then, I suggest you see to it. If weather allows, let's set out tomorrow morning." The knight nodded at Kellen, who had already begun to stand up. If they were leaving so soon, he had some goodbyes to make among his fellows rune seekers.

"No sense in giving whoever they are more time to do what they're doing," Stann nodded.

After Kellen left to see to his own errands, Mirena turned to the remaining Winterheart. They had already agreed that Stann and Oleander would head off to the market to pick up the supplies they would need for the trip back to Tier. The group knew from experience it was best to send those two, since they always seemed to get the best deals. Mirena was far too honest to think about haggling for simple goods, and her upbringing had given her a somewhat skewed notion about the value of coin for the common man. Kellen just didn’t do all that well with the everyday crowd, and he would absentmindedly forget necessary things. Like fodder for the horses, or tindersticks. They would never let him forget about the week in the wilds when Jaden had to invoke his salamander for every single fire they needed to start.

“Stann? Please tell me about this elven woman you spoke with yesterday?” Mirena had heard about the events briefly last night when the Northmen had returned, but she believed in reading her reports twice to make sure she hadn’t missed anything.

“Well, what can I say?” Stann leaned back in his chair with a growing grin on his face. “Slender in that elven way with a dress to show it off, hair like spun whitegold and eyes of the clearest emerald you ever saw. And her legs-”

“Not like that!” Oleander interrupted, shaking her hands at the warrior in frustration. Mirena and Jaden had remarkably similar expressions of resigned tolerance, which would’ve been amusing on another day. “Wait, you said she was wearing a dress. How did you see her legs?”

“It’s a man thing, Red. You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, she —Alisan — said that she was sent by her people back in the elven city. She agreed to work together with us, since we were looking into the same thing. More or less.”

“Exactly who did she say she worked for?” Mirena wanted some more details to work with.

“She didn’t. Only that she wasn’t a spy-“

“Which is what a spy would say!” Oleander jumped in.

“-and gave the impression that her friends weren’t working for their king. At least, not directly.” Stann finished.

“Sorry if this becomes a Kellen moment,” Jaden started, offering a little bit of insight into the culture of the elves. “But Sorun doesn’t have a king. They have a Videre, an elected member of the Ruling Caste that represents the country and makes final decisions on matters.”

“King or vid-ever. Only matters for the elves,” Stann shrugged.

“Which I’m not one,” Jaden mumbled to nobody in particular.

“Anyway, she said she would meet up with us here during the day to compare notes. You’ll get your chance to talk with her then.” Stann concluded.

“That’s nice. I’ll be back from the meeting with my… contact in the Farcrest nobility before sundown.” Mirena smiled slightly when she spoke about Arim, which was not lost on Jaden.

“It just occurred to me that since a lot of magicians gathered in Farcrest for the convocation, there’s a good chance there are some local experts on arcane fauna still around.” Jaden pursed her lips while she thought. “It might not be a bad idea to see if we can talk to one of them about where dryads and dracones would live inside the Sorun wildlands. It might help us narrow down our search if we need to go into the field?”

“That’s an excellent idea, Jaden. Why don’t you do that while Stann and Oleander are out shopping?”

“Provisioning, Rena. Men don’t ‘shop’.” Stann voiced his opinion.

“I’ll go with you,” said Rhyce. They didn’t have the archer do any provisioning either, but for other reasons than why they kept the rune seeker away from that duty. Where Kellen usually just confused the merchants, the borderlander’s silent intensity tended to intimidate them.

Stann moved to sit down next to Jaden with a sigh while he waited for Oleander to get her shopping list from upstairs. Mirena had followed her upstairs, no doubt to go through her dresses for that fancy lunch meeting she had been talking about. He scratched his beard a little.

“Well, you don’t look all that different, really,” the warrior tried with all the diplomacy of a boot to the head.

“I guess? People always said I looked a lot like my sister before, so maybe it’s only more like that now. You look a little different, too, now that I think about it,” Jaden tilted her head a bit as she studied the Northman.

“Well, I just shaved my throat a bit to get the winterbeard off. Gets too hot during the summer.” Stann ran a hand over the smooth neck. It felt a little unusual. After a moment, he asked what he had been thinking ever since waking up in the middle of the night to see her sleeping in the bed next to him. "So, uh, you're a girl now?"

"No! It's... it's complicated. Can we talk about something else?" Jaden squirmed a little in her set.

"Sure, absolutely. Tell me about your sister? Seems everyone met her except me."

"Lilya? What can I say? We've been growing apart ever since we were kids. Da- I mean, my father, he tried to teach us the values of our family. Lil took to it easier than I did, I guess. She's really strong." A part of her was really proud of her sister, another was envious.

"Huh. Do you really look that much alike?" Stann had no trouble imagining a second black-haired elven maiden looking just like Jaden.

"I suppose. She's a year and a half older, so it's not as if we're twins. Lately I've been mistaken for her once or twice."

"Is she married?" The warrior waggled his eyebrows with a grin.

"Stann! Let's not go there. She's my sister!" Also, Lilya would probably have turned Stann to stone for even suggesting it. Jaden wondered if she was serious about her statue collection, or if she was just deadpanning her brother.

"Alright, alright." Stann held up his hands in a peace gesture. "What about you, then? Do you like men now?"

"Garda's fires, Stann!" Jaden punched the Northman on his arm.

"Hah! There's some fire back in your eyes, little brother... uh... sister?"

Jaden looked at Stann with her big, golden eyes, and shook her head slightly. She couldn’t answer that either. The motion made a ringlet of her wavy, black hair slip from behind a pointed ear into her face.

"I, uh, I should go see if Rhyce needs a hand with that thing." Stann got up quickly, and all but ran away.

Jaden remained where she was, staring into the fire. Would this be how people treated her from here on? Like an afterimage of her former self? Would they be uncomfortable around her, not knowing what to say, and eventually all leave her?

"Strength in all things," Jaden mumbled to herself. Could she be strong, even if she was all alone? She took a deep breath and slapped her palms to her cheeks. It stung a little. "You're a man, Jay. Act like it!"

There are many kinds of strength. Accepting what cannot be changed, or, in this case, what had been changed. After all, she was alive, she had her magic.

And me.

As Jaden and Rhyce walked toward the Aristocrat district, the third time for the mystic in the last few days, they passed a wagon loaded with all manner of garbage that had littered the streets in the aftermath of the Founding festival. Many such wagons would leave the city throughout the days to come, no doubt. The mystic couldn’t help but wonder where they were headed, and what would be done with the refuse and trash. Kellen would probably know, but to be honest Jaden wasn’t all that curious. It was just nice to have it off the streets. Back in Talraman they would have just sent it down the great chutes into the bowels of the mountain. Those led into the same molten depths that brought heat into their homes during the winter. The fact that most houses were still cold was a testament to just how deep those shafts went. Miles, Jaden imagined.

“Listen, Rhyce? Thanks for coming along with me. I didn’t really want to go by myself, and Kellen had already gone off on his own.” Jaden smiled gratefully at the archer walking next to her.

Rhyce didn’t reply as much as he made a noncommittal sound while he kept looking through the other people they walked past.

“It’s a good thing you are a magician, even if you’re only an ashan.” Jaden smiled to show that she didn’t mean anything bad by it. Ashan, the old Estal word for untrained magicians. Wilders. Those who had the gift, but never shaped it with the help of any of the established traditions. “Otherwise, it would’ve been hard to get you into the convocation. I doubt I could pass you off as my apprentice, after all!”

The archer stepped up in the front to push their way through some people crowding the stairs leading up the hill from the craftmen’s district.

“I’m no wilder,” the borderlander said, leaving his mystic friend with more questions than before.

“But then what-“

“Is that the place up there?” Rhyce pointed up the street to the large building where the convocation had been held the other day. A small group of a minor cabal left the house at that moment, the insignia of their tradition emblazoned on their cloaks.

Jaden reflected briefly upon what she knew of the Alliance of the Bronze Sun. They were just large enough to be considered a separate tradition, although their mixed sorcerer and spellsinger parentage often argued against this. As far as she remembered, they had a similar interest as the rune seekers in the preservation of knowledge, but rather than seeking out lost lore, they strove to safeguard the wisdom of the first empire. Jaden was almost surprised to see any of them at a convocation so far from their home in Etria.

“Can those magicians help us instead?” Rhyce followed the mystic’s gaze, as the imperators walked past them.

“No, I just… it was just an idea. I don’t think their interests lie that way.” Jaden gave the bronzecloaks one last look, before she continued towards their destination. The Bronze Sun would most likely not care about the dwellers in an elven forest. However, it was good to see that the convocation attracted such diverse attendance. Jaden recalled from what Kellen had talked about before, how during its first couple of years, the convocation had basically been a shouting match between the Arcane Order and the Society of Rune Seekers.

When they stepped through the doorway into the large building, one of the functionaries stepped in front of them with a book and a raised eyebrow.

“Name and tradition, would you kindly?” The middle-aged Albander woman looked like she would rather be somewhere else, but would stiff-upper-lip her way through this ordeal all the same.

“Jaden Tarasov, Lacunai Mystic,” Jaden repeated, although not as hushed as she had the first day when she had been here with Kellen and Oleander.

“Yes, ma’am,” the functionary made a note in her book, and then turned to Rhyce. “Sir, we can’t let you inside with that bow.”

The archer leaned in close to the unimpressed woman, and whispered something in her ear. Her eyebrow went up again, and her mouth went even thinner. She flipped a few pages in her book to check a section filled with text of another person’s handwriting, all while scowling.

“I see. Welcome, then, both of you.” She made another note in her book, and left the two of them while shaking her head.

“What did you say to her?” Jaden asked, as they were allowed inside. In a fit of curiosity, she had tried to see what the functionary had written, but the penmanship and it being upside-down had made it illegible.

“The truth,” Rhyce offered in his usual laconic fashion. Jaden gave up trying to dig for more than that. If the last month had told her anything, it was that truth would come if you give it time and trust.

With that, they walked through the large entry hall, and began looking through the adjacent rooms. While there were nowhere near as many people this day, as the first time Jaden visited, there were still a good number of magicians from several traditions. Jaden did most of the talking, of course, asking about those with an interest in the fey or other magical creatures.

The most promising lead was with an elven sorcerer who worked for the woodshaper’s circle back in Ral Sona. The elf had his ash blonde hair cut to a moderate length, and swept backwards out of his face, proudly showing the golden headband set with jewels that matched his cloudy grey eyes. Jaden recognised a spell focus when she saw it, and she felt a sudden bout of jealousy. Not that she could use that particular one, of course. Foci were tradition specific, but all served to enhance the effect of a magician’s magic. Sorcerers with foci were especially dangerous, since it intensified their already impressive array of fire and lightning spells.

“En helon sama, lien paral. Serathe Lamansiria, su monel tama,” the elf said in the musical language of his kind, directing the greeting at Jaden with a large smile and then inclining his head at Rhyce almost dismissively.

“It is a pleasure to meet you too, Sorcerer Serathe. Please, would you be offended if we conversed in Trade? My companion is still learning Serecean,” Jaden returned the smile in what she hoped was a pleasant fashion while cursing on the inside. Even elves mistook her? Or was this Serathe just being arrogant? If so, he had wrapped that inside plenty of flattery. Lien paral, indeed! Jaden didn’t feel like stars threw themselves from the night sky to be with her, but she recognised it for the sweet talk it was.

“Of course,” the elf nodded graciously. Did he wink at her, just then? Serathe spoke with only a bit of an accent. His Midland Trade was probably better than Jaden’s Sorunese. “How may I address you?”

“This is Rhyce,” Jaden indicated her friend, while thinking frantically. She couldn’t say that she’s a mystic, because that would mean letting Serathe know he was mistaken in assuming she was an elf. Elves didn’t become mystics, after all. It was only for the Lacunai of Talraman. It was best to continue the lie she had used before. Now, what was the elven word for horizon? “I’m Jaideen, uh.. Somelisan, Ral Sona Spellguard.”

“A spellguard? I haven’t seen many of your sisters at occasions such as these, I must confess.” The elf looked surprised, and didn’t give any indications of doubting the story or catching the brief pause in Jaden’s introduction.

“There is often little of substance being discussed. Who really wants to hear the desperate cries for attention by another Ruby Lotus tart?” Jaden easily slipped into the role of a less than impressed elven warrior-mage. Her stance shifted subtly as she made a contemptuous wave with a hand.

Serathe’s smile split into a full laugh, and he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Indeed, indeed. The spellsingers crave the love of any audience, do they not? Even an unwilling one. After days of this nonsense, it’s a rare pleasure to listen to a more… pragmatic voice, Dame Jaideen. Somelisan, was it? Hmm… I’ve not heard of the Twin Horizons family before.” The elf gave her an appreciating look again, lingering at the tight lacing of her velvet vest.

“That’s probably because they are from Bul Isra. Dame Jaden here was transferred only some summers ago,” Rhyce spoke up in her defence. The second of the larger elven cities lay beyond the western mountains and the Sorun wildlands, nearly at the far coast. It was isolated, even by elven standards. Though, why did the archer know so much about elven culture, Jaden wondered?

“Really? I’ve never been there,” the sorcerer confessed, losing interest in the subject, even as his eyes still explored Jaden’s neckline.

“I was hoping I would be able to borrow your wisdom for a moment, Sorcerer Serathe,” she said, glad when he finally decided to look back up at her eyes. “Do you ever spend much time in the wildlands, as part of your contract with the Woodshaper’s Circle?”

“I accompany them into the wilds when they need bring home more material for their craft, yes. Some of the creatures out there can be quite fierce, my dear. Quite fierce!” Serathe reached up to tap his focus headband with smug self-assurance. “But for their generous payment, they get the very best to keep them safe. Let me tell you about the time when I incinerated a raging trakkesh-”

Jaden reached out and touched the elf’s arm, as he had raised them dramatically to show the size of the monster he allegedly had blasted with lightning until it became scattered stew for the smaller beasts of the wild. Something warm inside her simmered for a moment, almost as if it wanted to come to the surface. Rhyce turned his head slightly, and seemed to smell the air.

“Please, can you tell us about the dracones?” Jaden asked, not quite fluttering her eyelids.

“Dracones? Cute little critters, aren’t they? The faerie dragons keep mostly to the deep heart of the wildlands. Far from where the humans cut in the east, or where the Shaper Caste work near Ral Sona.” Serathe fixed her with his eyes as if he was unable to look away. “They’re terribly shy, as I understand it. If you run into them, you know you have passed beyond the boundary we’ve set, and are encroaching upon the fey domain.”

“Thank you, Sorcerer Serathe. It was a pleasure sharing your knowledge.” Jaden smiled and touched her heart.

“Dame Jaden? We have that other appointment,” Rhyce said, with a meaningful glance towards the main hall.

“Yes, of course. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll head there immediately.” She gratefully used her friend’s excuse before the sorcerer would launch into another self-congratulatory story. Both men watched her leave, one fixing his eyes a little bit lower than the other.

“A very special woman, that Jaideen, isn’t she? Quite the beauty.” Serathe smiled a little, as the subject of their conversation turned around a corner. Then he looked back at Rhyce, and let his eyes wander to the black longbow tucked into the quiver across the archer’s back. “Ah, yes, I see. Not many of those outside Serecea, borderlander. That explains how you are here, at least. What is its name?”

“Val Keresh,” Rhyce said, as he turned to follow the mystic before she got too far away.

Serathe remained behind, his smile fading. There was nothing amusing in the stories he had heard about the wielders of the blackthorn bows. Magic fuelled by grief and loss and pain. How one of those sad instruments of vengeance had ended up in the hands of a human, he didn’t know. Maybe one day he would hear the song of Val Keresh, the bloodhunter?

The marketplace near the craftsmen’s district was slowly filling up people as it approached midday. A slight drizzle that barely covered the sun didn’t seem to faze the locals all that much. Rain was, after all, a fact of life in Alband more so than in other parts of the coastlands. The weather was much more seasonally predictable in Olmar and Etria, and further up into the Northern Lands it was more of a question about whether it was hail or snow.

“Miserable,” Stann grunted, as he wiped the rain from his eyes. The blonde man gave the light grey clouds a glare, and pulled the collar of his tunic tighter.

“Oh, it’s just the morning shower, dear.” The rosy cheeked woman behind the stand offering dried meats gave him a friendly smile. They had already filled half a basket’s worth of goods from her stock, making smalltalk while sampling some of her selections.

“Don’t mind him. He’s a grouse because he ended up with the shopping duties today,” Oleander playfully jabbed an elbow into the Northern warrior’s ribs.

“Provisioning. But, no, I like deciding what we’re going to eat. That way we won’t end up having that tearfully bland vegetable stew for a week straight.” Stann shuddered manly at the memory. He loved Mirena like a sister, but Tierin cuisine left a lot to be desired compared to the hearty meals the Winterheart boys were raised on.

“Don’t let Rena hear you say that. She might not look it, but she holds a grudge.” Oleander inspected a length of sausage, waving it around a little while talking.

“Sounds like one of those old sayings. ‘Men forget, but never forgive. Women forgive, but never forget’? Put that down. It’s that bastardised fish-sausage these people insist on making.” The Northman wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Demmel is a national delicacy, I’ll have you know!” The vendor put her fists on her hips as she defended her country’s honour.

“We’ll take two!” The redhead gleefully pushed some of her ill-gotten coin into the woman’s hands.

“What? No! My ugly cousin was rather particular when he set down the ground rules about what crimes against nature we were allowed to pretend was dinner.” Stann reached out to take the coins back from the Albander woman, who snatcher her hand away. “The second Northern-Albander war started because of demmel, you know?”

“I heard that too,” agreed the vendor, as she slipped the coin into her belt. No refunds!

“Well, I happen to like them. Deal with it!” Oleander pushed the woven basket into her friend’s hands, and bravely led the charge towards the nearby booths.

On a nearby roof, a black bird was feasting on the rests of a sausage of its own. Between two jabs of its beak, there was a fluttering and a second crow landed nearby. It looked tired, as crows go. The first bird hopped back a bit, and pecked the tiles of the roof, then cawed. Apparently, it was done eating, and wouldn’t mind if the new arrival finished the remaining half of the meaty meal.

The young Olman woman walked next to the Northlander standing a good head above the crowd. Some of the festival banners were up, putting splashes of colour among the otherwise dark wooden buildings. Farcrest was a mixed city in that fashion. Stone was expensive to bring down from the mountains at the other end of the country, so only the rich built their houses out of it, and by the time bricks began to catch on, most of the old city was already established. Though, if you listened to some of the stories, it was because the Albander thought brickwork houses were too much like Olman architecture. There was a certain honest, hardworking pride in owning a traditional wooden house.

"You know, this is going to complicate things a bit. Just getting rooms at inns will be harder." Oleander said as suddenly as a local cloudburst.

"What do you mean?" Stann tried to look nonchalant, carrying a large wicker basket on one arm, and keeping his sword under control with the other hand on the pommel.

"Well, before, we usually got three rooms, right? One of Rena and I, and two for you boys." She held up both hands with to show the numbers with her fingers.

"Oh, right. Not many inns have rooms with three beds. Though, I guess they could put in cot or something."

"Perhaps. But maybe he doesn't want to sleep with, uh, I mean sleep in the same room as me and lady plate mail." Oleander felt a slight flush creep up her neck.

"And getting another separate room will cost more and might not even be possible. We had to look for a long time before we even found the rooms we have at the Old Hog. Most other inns only had a single room available." Stann let go of his sword to push a man to the side, so they could inspect the wares of a produce stand. The young man, a carpenter’s apprentice by the cut of his vest, was about to make a fuss of it before he saw the size of his assailant. Stann merely returned a nod. Good lad, run along.

"Though, this was during the festival," the redhead said as she started to fill a burlap sack with potatoes. You could never go wrong with potatoes.

"Well, maybe we're overthinking things. Maybe Jaden won't mind being as the same room as us? I mean, she was up until now, wasn't she?" Stann remembered waking up to a noise last night, when their mystic friend came sneaking back into the room she shared with him. He had pretended to be asleep, but turned his back to offer her some privacy anyway. It had just felt like the right thing to do.

"It's different now. He's different. It wouldn't be proper." Oleander didn’t like the idea of Jay being in the same room as the men. It hadn’t been an issue before, of course, but now…

"You know what we could do?" The Northman paid for their groceries, and pushed the sack into Oleander’s arms. What one pays for, the other carry. It was an unwritten rule in their provisioning game.

"What?" The redhead hefted the large bundle of potatoes awkwardly. The sack was slightly too big, and kept slipping out of her hands like a particularly reluctant cat.

"We could just ask her."

Oleander rolled her eyes a bit in reply.

"Don't worry, little fox. It'll all work out in the end, you'll see." Having Stann reassure you were a bit of a double-edged sword. Things were okay even when they were on fire, in his opinion. Sometimes especially because of this.

"I sure hope so, Stann. I really do."

Each with a large bundle, they continued their stroll through the stands. A food vendor tried to interest them in his pies, but for traveling it was always better to get basic ingredients instead of already cooked things; the summer heat would just make things perish that much faster.

"Let's go to that stall over there. I saw them selling that special oats Mirena likes to give her horse. That warhorse eats more than two normal animals do." The warrior nodded his head towards the end of the market.

"It's huge, Stann. Of course it eats like that. We had a ranch a few days south of Tarad that raised these really big horses for the Olman cavalry. We used to joke that all the wagons headed south with produce was really just going to feed those chargers." Oleander had always liked horses, even if she never had the opportunity to ride one until she started traveling the world together with Jay and the rest.

"Kel and I don't give our mounts any special treatment. They seem to be doing alright."

"That's because they're Northern horses, Bear. I bet you feed them your fallen enemies!"

"Well, there's that, I suppose," Stann conceded the point. Not because it was true, of course. Northern horses were like any other, albeit perhaps a little more hairy, and a little surlier. "Speaking of horses, though. Do you think we should get an elf-style saddle for our pointy-eared friend?"

“What does that even mean?” The redhead looked with askance at the tall Northman.

“I remember hearing how those people have special saddles. Maybe she’ll like that?”

“How would we even know what to look for? It’s not like we’ve ever seen one before, and if we go asking for one, we’ll look like gullible village folks and they’ll try to push a regular saddle at double the cost.” Oleander knew how merchants took advantage of you if you let them. It had happened all the time back in Tarad. Genuinely handcrafted elven relics? Yeah, more like random twigs glued together with some string and beads.

“Didn’t you manage to get a look at that other elf’s horse?” The warrior asked, stopping by a cart to heft a bag of grains in a hand. He frowned a little, and exchanged it for another. The old man sitting on top of the cart shrugged, and relit his pipe. Some customers liked to pretend they knew what good oats felt like, apparently.

“What other elf?” She wondered. There had been a few elves around in Farcrest, surely, but none that she could remember having seen ride, and especially not on an exotic saddle.

“The one you saw back in Rosehaven?” Stann reminded his friend.

“Oh yeah, her. No, I just, uh… I didn’t see any horses at that moment, no.” Oleander pushed back her hair a little to hide the sudden blush. She had a strange feeling in her stomach all of a sudden. She hugged the sack of potatoes closer, and walked closer to the stall offering riding gear.

“Eh. It was just an idea. Let’s get Jaden a regular saddle instead.” Stann paid for their purchases with one hand while switching the basket of dried meat to his other arm. He flashed her a grin as he was clearly winning the provisioning game, motioning for her to come pick up the large bag.

Oleander paused. Something about the memory of that bathing elf felt a bit off. When she had peeked inside, she had first thought it was... Oleander looked up from the stirrup she had been testing with her hands. Her eyes were a bit wide. There had not been that much water in the small tub, and even from behind she had got a pretty good look at the elf.

“Well, butter my butt… I’ve seen Jaden naked.” Her face felt warm when the blush returned.

“Yes? Go on?” Stann forgot himself, and grabbed the oats as he hurried closer to hear any details.

"Thanks for helping me escape from that sorcerer," Jaden suppressed a shudder. That elf's eyes had been all over her.

Rhyce nodded, keeping a watch over the various mages they passed, gathered into small groups and talking about their own fields of interest. They saw a tanned Marsander woman wearing several gold rings in her ears poke an Etrian rune seeker in the chest, emphasising whatever argument she was making. The smaller man seemed to shrink back into his oversized robes, like a turtle pulling its head into the shell. From what little Jaden heard, they seemed to be talking about fish. Kellen would've loved this.

"It was a pity, though. Serathe was probably one of our better chances at getting some answers to our questions," she sighed, sweeping a stray ebony lock out of her face. Mirena had suggested wearing her hair loose to try out different styles to go with her new clothes, but it kept getting in the way. Jaden missed just pulling it back into a ponytail and be done with it.

"That well was drying up. He was more interested in burning things than paying attention to the wildlands," Rhyce commented disapprovingly with a sidelong glance back towards where they had spoken with the elven sorcerer.

"He was entirely too pleased with himself and how he exploded that, uh, random beast," Jaden tried to recall what creature Serathe had been talking about, but frankly, she hadn't been all that interested.

"'When all you have is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail,'" the archer quoted the old saying dryly. Rhyce was always more interesting to talk with when you got him alone for a while. He didn't speak his mind as often in a group.

"The hammer being sorcerer battle magic, in this case," the mystic snorted.

Their problem still remained, however. They were in what was most likely the largest gathering of powerful magicians, most of whom was also an expert of some kind of field outside of their tradition of magic. Jaden just had no idea where to go next, who to talk to. They needed to find out some more about the wildlands, get something to go on, or else they would spend the rest of their lives aimlessly wandering the fey reaches. She had heard plenty of stories, growing up, about woodsmen daring the deep wilds and being caught by the sylvan beings. In the stories where the man had been allowed to leave, hundreds of years had passed in the outside world, often leading the man to return back into the dark forest since they had nothing left in the human lands.

"Young Tarasov," came a familiar voice from a chamber to the side of the corridor connecting the main hall to a large ballroom made into a temporary lecture hall. There were many such nooks and crannies set aside for private discussions. Jaden had no idea what they were used for when the owner of this mansion didn’t host eclectic gatherings such as these. "May I ask you to join me for a moment?"

Jaden spun around and stared at the man seated by a table that seemed small compared to the other furniture they've seen so far in the mansion, even though it would easily allow six people to sit around it without bumping into each other too much. Alam Hetagon, the Lord Protector of Talraman, sat sideways on his chair to allow his wings freedom, but also sent a strangely casual message as he leaned on the backrest with one arm. Jaden had a thousand thoughts fighting each other in her mind, but one that kept returning was how she had never seen him sit before. He had always been standing or walking when he had addressed people. Master Hetagon was always a man in motion.

"Of course, yes!" Jaden cleared her throat, trying to swallow her surprise. Of course Master Hetagon would be here. That was the whole reason why Lilya and the Lord Protector was in Farcrest, wasn't it? Running into them would just have been a matter of time, with Jaden and Rhyce sifting through the attendants in the way they had been doing. He hadn't seemed surprised by Jadens different appearance compared with the other day, however. "I mean, certainly, Master Hetagon."

The winged mystic indicated a chair on the opposite side of the table, and then looked at the archer standing near the doorway.

"Normally, I would ask you to join us as well, as I understand you are a... friend to young Tarasov, here. However, this concerns Talraman. I won't keep him long." Mystic business. The concerns of the mountain. No outsiders invited, or even tolerated.

"I won't be far. Call for me if you have need," Rhyce's fingers twitched slightly as he gave Jaden a meaningful look. She knew he was offering to do what was necessary, if the talk with Master Hetagon was going in the wrong direction and they needed to fight their way out of here.

Jaden looked back and forth between her friend and her childhood hero a few times, and then nodded at the archer. She couldn't feel any hostile undertones from the winged mystic, but she had learned not to trust her instincts. They kept leading her into bad situations.

"I'll find you afterwards, Rhyce. I'll be fine."

As soon as they were alone, Alam Hetagon turned to the black-haired mystic. His eyes had that piercing quality of a bird of prey, but the wrinkles around them and the small smile took the sharp edge off his mystic's drift. Jaden knew what it was like not being able to help how you looked. She sat down in the offered chair, and didn't have to wonder for long what the leader of the citadel's military forces wanted from her.

"Protector Tarasov, your sister, spoke with me this morning. She mentioned some alarming rumours about spirit-killing magics. She was initially unwilling to name her sources, and I understood why once she relented. I would like to learn about this in greater detail, however." Alam's voice was even, reasonable, but Jaden had no illusions about that she was given a command here, not a mild inquiry.

"I'll do my best to answer your questions, Master Hetagon." Jaden felt a warm pride in her stomach. Her sister had protected her against a superior. Lilya really cared, even if she didn't show it.

"The mountain asks nothing more than our best," the Lord Protector quoted an oft-used maxim. "Now, let's speak about nethermancy."

Cities, crowds, and magic. Rhyce wasn't fond of either of these things, but put together and it became a place he couldn't wait to be gone from. The archer leaned against a wall with his arms crossed. He could see Jaden and that older mystic from this position, as well as three potential points of exit. Two of them quick with limited risks, the last with a definite potential for causing a mess.

He kept scanning the gathered mages partially out of habit, but also due to an uneasy feeling that had grown inside of him ever since they entered the building. Unlike most of his friends, Rhyce was very much in tune with his instincts, but he couldn't find the source of the sensation.

He wasn't sure what to look for, so he looked for everything. Some faces he recognised having passed in the streets during the last few days. The convocation must be drawing to an end, since many of the magicians here seemed to be in a hurry to get as much done, talk to as many people as possible, before it closed until next year. One pale, young man with a bad haircut looked particularly harried. Rhyce tried to place the face when someone stopped right next to him. Most magicians seemed to have the good sense of leaving him alone, the single armed person in the entire building.

"How did you get that thing past the servants? They had me relinquish my weapon, brooking no argument."

Rhyce looked away from the somewhat familiar man and met a pair of amber eyes that had been inspecting his bow. He managed to keep any sign surprise from his face when he saw who it was.

"The convocation make exceptions for special cases," he replied, comparing the woman in light armour with his mystic friend.

"Explain," she demanded, brushing black hair back over a pointed ear with a subconscious gesture. If she ever smiled, she would be very pretty, maybe even beautiful. But there was a hardness to her that went beyond the superficial.

"No," Rhyce refused bluntly. "Shouldn't you be busying yourself like everyone else?"

"You mean, 'don't I have anywhere better to be'? Of course I do, but I'm waiting for someone." She didn't seem affected by his rejection, but instead went back to studying his bow. "Haven't seen anything like that before. It's a Cealon weapon, isn't it?"

"You seem to know something about elven tribal weapons." That was the second person today that had spotted his thornbow for what it was. Another reason to stay away from magicians. They knew too much. It was only odd luck that Kellen had some gaps in his encyclopaedic knowledge about the history of the land.

"You say that as if it was strange." She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her mid while resting her weight on one foot. Rhyce had seen Mirena in a similar pose before, when she didn’t like what she was hearing.

"You're not an elf." It felt strangely satisfying to say that out loud where Jaden couldn't hear it. Childish thought, really.

"More than you are. Two fifths, by my count."

"Close enough, then," Rhyce relented while looking back to check on how Jaden was doing.

Jaden looked around partially out of habit. It was one of those automatic things one developed after living a life with adventure and danger. Even if she wasn't looking for something in particular, she let her eyes roam across the room. Not that there weren't things to see - this was the convocation of magi. There were dozens of vividly garbed men and women representing their various traditions involved in discussions or displays of their respective trades. An olive-skinned lady clad in rich red silks with gold trim held the attention of a group of men old enough to know better, even with the ruby brooch betraying her magician's tradition proudly on display to draw attention to her bosom.

Jaden held back a snort. She didn't believe that the Lacunai were a superior form of magicians, but they seldom fell to the depths decadence or shallow superficial pride that seemed to be so common among the Arcane Order or the Ruby Lotus. The mystics knew their role, and their purpose. At least, Jaden caught herself, she used to. While training with her peers, she knew her goal. But then everything had changed, she had changed. Running away from her duty had only marked her as a rogue magician. Master Hetagon had said as much while they had talked, but also that unless Jaden committed any serious crimes it was unlikely that the Citadel would have to take steps to reacquire her. Especially since he had been informed that Jaden would return by winter anyway.

"Sweet mercy, Lil. You never make it any easier for me, do you?" Jaden murmured, as she made her way around the Kasman spellsinger's rapt audience. She just had to hope it would be enough time. At least she had two leads to her predicament. There were the rumours about elven shapeshifting magic hidden deep in Sorun, and then there was the... other solution. Jaden held back a shiver. Spiritbreaker.

She saw Rhyce standing by himself where a corridor continued to the other wing of the large townhouse. It seemed like a spot where he could observe several passages at once, as well as the stairs. A vantage. He was following someone with his eyes, but whomever it was got lost in the crowds before Jaden got close enough.

"Have you seen Kellen around, Rhyce?" She asked, as soon as they were reunited. "I was sure he'd head here himself to tie up his own affairs since we're headed out tomorrow?"

"Not here. Went directly to a large workshop in the craftsmen's district." The archer seemed to keep tabs on his friends, even when they were out of sight. It was a little creepy at times.

"How do you kn-" Oh. Right. Rhyce. Jaden held up her hands, with a half-smile.

"We done here?" Rhyce pushed away from the wall, standing ready to head out.

"I'm not sure. There might be other experts we could talk to. That greasy sorcerer can't be the only elf here. Maybe we can luck into a rune seeker who's fixated on the fey, or something?" Many of the Society of Rune Seekers tended to have a passion for a certain subject or two. For instance, Kellen was maybe a little too invested in fish, but tempered that with an interest in historical events. Jaden wouldn't know what to do if they ever ran into a historical fish.

"Seen a few. Want to find them?" The archer turned his head towards where he had been looking earlier.

"We might, since we're here already?" It seemed like a reasonable idea to Jaden.

"Done with the other talk?"

"With Mas- with Lord Protector Hetagon? Yeah, he just wanted to clarify some things." Jaden treated herself to a small sigh. Her childhood hero had pulled more answers out of her than she thought she possessed.

Master Hetagon wasn't a tricky diplomat or manipulating person. He didn't have to trip you into revealing things. It was enough to sit in his presence, feeling that intense attention focused all on you. Jaden had begun talking before she even knew what to say. She might even have said too much. Toward the end, Hetagon had cleared his throat when he asked her to finish her train of thought, and then listen to what he had to say. The instructions had been strange, almost unheard of. But also exciting. There was no way she could refuse a request coming directly from Hetagon of the Razor Wind, after all.

While a part of her realised that there might not be much that made this different from what her father had in mind, it sounded a lot more appealing coming from her hero. Master Hetagon had simply asked her to keep her eyes and ears open, just like she had when uncovering the nethermancer's magic, or the smuggling operation, and report it back directly to him. The signet ring she kept in a chain around her neck would ensure that any letters sealed by it would arrive unopened to the Lord Protector's office in Talraman.
The second part of his request felt a little stranger. Alam had asked of her to quietly check up on a young woman here in Farcrest from time to time, when her adventuring paths brought her into the area.
Jaden hadn't questioned this to Master Hetagon's face, of course, but she couldn't help but wonder what significance this seemingly ordinary girl held to the gryphon mystic?

While Jaden was deep in thought, Rhyce had led them down the stairs to where the archer had seen a couple of Sorunese magicians of unknown tradition head before his mystic friend had caught up with him.

A lot of magicians had gathered by the main welcoming hall, as the sorcerer delegation from Radent were making their farewells, and exchanging pleasantries. The crowd near the door to an adjoining part of the mansion parted when a man with uneven, short, black hair pushed his way through with a strange expression on his face.

"You! I recognise you!" He pointed at Jaden with a finger quivering with accusation.

"Garda's fires!" Jaden swore, and grabbed Rhyce by the arm. She stared at her friend with desperate urgency. "We need to get away from here, from people, right now!"

"Follow me," Rhyce didn't ask any questions, but pushed open the front doors and ushered her outside. There were some raised voices from inside as the man knocked people down in an attempt to catch up. The tenuous rules of the convocation prevented things from turning into a lightning bolt brawl, but only just.

Jaden thanked the stars that she had kept her Rosehaven boots, instead of using those stupid slippers Mirena seemed to prefer when in cities. She had little trouble keeping up with the archer as he set off down the street towards the less active parts of the aristocrat's rise. While running, she started to imagine some catastrophe scenarios and the collateral damage that would ensure from an all-out mystic-on-mystic battle. Human cities weren’t meant to endure those.

As they caught their breath around a corner, after having sprinted for several blocks, Rhyce took a quick look around to see whether they had lost their pursuer. He ducked right back around and looked at Jaden.

"He is still coming. What do I need to know?"

"Nerak... he can turn living things into ash. You mustn't get anywhere near him when he... you'll know it when you see it." Jaden didn’t want this. This was the worst possible fight for her right now. Against a normal opponent she could at least bring her fire, but this was different.

"Like what Stann and Kellen saw down by the harbour?" Rhyce immediately made the connection.

"... yeah. Just like that." They looked at each other briefly, then ran down the alleyway between two houses.

Colour seemed to leech out of the world. Not like when Jaden used her mystics’ sight, but like something stole them away. Something was approaching. A man rounded the corner, his shadow seemingly too large. It was Nerak Taseno, and he looked livid.

“What did you do? What did you and your lich master do to Vera?!” The rapidly blackening shadow mystic punched the air with a hand. “Ixotek!”

The cobblestones in front of Jaden exploded into shrapnel. She barely had time to cover her face with an arm before she felt the sting of the shards bite into her flesh.

“I… I’m not sure. But we can talk about this! Please?” Jaden pleaded with Nerak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a stonefaced Rhyce slip two arrows onto his bow. This was rapidly spiralling out of control. She had a sudden vision about the aristocrat’s rise being reduced to rubble and flames. Pain and fire seemed to follow her footsteps.

"Then you are useless to me. Before I consign you to the void, tell me where your master is hiding. He will pay for what he did!" The other mystic seemed to have stepped out of the sun and into a night of his own making.

"I don't know where he is," Jaden said with fear in her voice. Even if she knew, would she have told the other mystic? As terrible as the spiritbreaker curse seemed, it might be the only way for her to break free from her fate.

"You lie! I will tear the truth from your flesh one strip at a time." Nerak's form wavered and roiled, like the midnight sea, inky black and with no safety in sight.

Salamander's fire would not help. It would just be swallowed up by the emptiness of Nerak's void elemental. Breathstealer magic brought weakness upon a being, but Jaden doubted it would work against something like the Drowning Dark. That left two choices, another kind of fire, or...

Jaden held out her hands toward the advancing darkness, reached out toward the strings of magic that made up all of the supernatural. Lilya had been right. The Tarasovs were among the best siphons Talraman had seen in ages. Dig deep until you reach the nexus of power. Grab the essence of the magic, and pull. She felt the connection, so similar to the one she shared with her bonded allies, but rather than the rush of power as she drained magic from her target... she felt herself growing weaker. The shadow that was Nerak swelled, and fixed Jaden with the faint pools of otherworldly light that was his eyes.

"What are you..? Are you truly that foolish?" The voice was incredulous.

There was nothing to take from the void. The emptiness hungered for everything it touched. Jaden gasped, as she felt herself rapidly losing her own strength. If she had been a regular magician, like Kellen or that elven sorcerer at the convocation, she would have been helpless now. Take away their magic, and what is a magician really? Just a man. But the mystics had little use of their own magic. It was a currency for their pacts. They stole their power from other beings, and despite the short-circuited siphoning attempt, those resources were still intact. But it still left her in the same situation as before. Maybe even worse than that. Ashes had appeared by her feet.

Rhyce knew how this would end. He had seen that rage before. He had been that rage. There would be blood, and no words would change that. But you didn’t bring a sling to an archery contest, and you sent knights to fight other armoured foes. He glanced at his friend. Jaden was no knight.

The borderlander looked toward the sky and sent out a silent call. The target was close. Seek and show.

His fingers clenched tight around the bow in his hands, letting the bond awaken. The pain when the thorns grew into his palm didn’t distract him anymore. It was penance for the life he was about to take. Blood for blood. That was the rule. That was why the bow wouldn’t allow his arrows to miss.

Rhyce didn’t have words at times like these. His arrows would speak instead.

Fight me. I’m here.

Two, no three blurs zipped past Jaden’s head. Against all reason, the arrows tore into the shadows, staggering Nerak for a moment. He swirled around and all but roared at the archer, whipping an ever extending cable of darkness into the borderlander’s direction.

"Stop it, Nerak! Don't do this!" Jaden shouted. If one of those even touched Rhyce, he would be gone in a heartbeat. Ashes on the wind.

"Shut up, you elf bitch! Your lich master destroyed Vera. Hollowed her out like a-" The other mystic staggered a step as another arrow ripped through his shadowy form. As impossible as it was, it actually seemed to hurt him.

"The next will hit your heart." Rhyce had another arrow drawn, a trickle of blood dripping down from the hand gripping the bow.

"With Vera broken, my heart belongs to the Drowning Dark. Savour the void!" Nerak seemed to grow, and the darkness around him lashed out toward the archer anew. The grass in its path crumbled into lifelessness.

Rhyce leaped backward in time to dodge the deadly tendrils, but the assault continued and forced him backwards. Arrows flew straight and true, despite the distortion that surrounded Nerak, but there was no way of telling if they drew blood. If Nerak even had blood.

Jaden could not stand by and watch her friend get obliterated by the other mystic. She had learnt her lesson from fighting the behir - to battle a monster, you had to become a monster. She was struck by a sudden realisation, however. There was really not much else the change could cost her at this point. Her original reasons for avoiding manifesting her inner spirit was how she lost ground with each time, but now... Also, her friends all knew about it this time around. There was a certain liberating feeling in being open with her friends. A strange freedom in the honesty.

"Alright. You win," Jaden whispered with resignation to the spirit that she shared her world with. Just like always, it was so easy. Almost effortless. She shed her human form like breathing out. The change happened between two heartbeats, with only the tearing of fabric to herald its arrival. Her crimson wings spread out wide, prepared to launch her into the sky should she need to. Running away was what she did best, after all.

"A demon? I know... A demon mystic? I recognise you now. Tarasov! Traitor! You would go against your own kind? Do you realise what you did to Veranna?" The pools of strange light that was Nerak’s eyes boggled, the archer forgotten for the moment.

"I didn't know what he was doing until it was too late! I tried to avoid fighting you two, but you wouldn't let it go!" Jaden’s voice was almost the same as before. Maybe a little huskier, a bit stronger. She felt stronger. All about this felt so right.

"So that is your true form, Tarasov? No wonder you hid it! How ashamed your father must be, with a Lectii whore for an heir!" The shadow mystic barked a laugh.

I'm not one of Lectius' brood!

"Shut up! At least I don't torture and murder innocents, like you!" She growled back, feeling a sudden swell of anger of her own. It was almost enough to drown out the fear.

"You don't know what you're talking about. Not that it matters. Now that I know who you are, I can't let you walk away from here." Nerak seemed to gather himself for another furious attack.

"You were going to... to dissolve me anyway!"

"... True." Several tendrils turned struck the stones she had been standing on a moment earlier. A thrust of her powerful wings had sent her straight up, above the escalating battle. She saw how Rhyce had retreated back a ways, but also kept his back free. An arrow was knocked and drawn, but suddenly the tip dropped a little as if the archer was seeing something.

There was a faint metal noise coming from the other end of the yard. Jaden saw a figure walk towards them while stripping off her armour. Behind her was a trail of gauntlets, a yellow surcoat, and now a metal-plated leather jerkin. Her shape twisted and grew, shredding her remaining garments. Within seconds stood a large, powerfully built lizardlike creature covered in sandy scales. Its eyes were the most startling feature, though. They seemed to smoulder with barely constrained wrath.

Nerak Taseno of the Drowning Dark followed Jaden's surprised stare, his tendrils of darkness mere feet away from engulfing the airborne demon.

"Stand down, or be destroyed." Lilya's voice was barely recognisable through the mouth of the basilisk, but the authority in her voice as a protector was unmistakable.

"Traitors, all of you! Feed the nothingness!" Nerak drew into himself, and then exploded out into a vortex of darkness, stripping life away from everything his shadow touched. "Disappear... into... the..."

Nerak's voice grew darker and slower, and then finally trailed off. The whirlpool of shadows had frozen into a grey, nightmarish tree of tendrils. Suddenly, everything was perfectly still. The silence was broken by the crunching noise when the basilisk moved up to the petrified void mystic.

"Nobody kills my brother, except me," the basilisk growled with an almost-human voice, and then swung its powerful tail into the statue. It shattered into bits and pieces, spreading out over the yard. One of the larger pieces tumbled to a stop against the basilisk's front claws. Almost casually it stepped on the stone, grinding it to pebbles.

"Lilya!" Jaden felt her heart beat quickly, still in the aftershocks of the fear from fighting Nerak. "I've never been happier to see you!"

The basilisk turned its head to glare at Jaden.

"Once again I clean up your mess, Jay," Lilya raised a claw to inspect the fragments on the ground.

“But-“ Jaden settled down on the ground again, folding her wings behind her.

“I’m not having this talk like this. Having no lips makes it a pain,” the basilisk bared its teeth demonstratively, and began to twist and turn again, growing smaller.

Realising her own situation, Jaden covered up as best as she could. The entire back of her blouse and vest were torn apart. She held the tatters of the front to her chest to preserve some modesty. Nerak must’ve gotten quite a show before he died.

“Here.” Rhyce slipped off his jacket, and offered it to his friend. While her brother gratefully accepted this, Lilya had knelt down by her clothes and restored a measure of dignity. Once her armour and surcoat was in place, she turned back to her brother and the archer. She had tied the surcoat wearing the Tarasov crest around her hips like a skirt. By Albander standards, it would be almost indecently short, not quite covering her knees, but it was unlikely anyone would question a foreigner. Especially an armed one, at that. She had retrieved her large spear, holding it casually as she returned to the other two.

Rhyce had respectfully averted his eyes in the pretence of checking the alleyways for any witnesses to their battle while the women dressed.

“Okay. Now can I ask what you are even doing here, Lil?”

“Aside from pulling your ears out of the fire yet again? A little bird told me where to go.” Lilya glanced at the archer.

“I don’t understand, what does that even-? How did you know where to look for us?”

“I saw something that I’ve seen recently before, and decided to follow it to its source. Now stop questioning me, and pay attention, brother. This is how it’s going to be.”

Lilya explained in no uncertain terms how she was going to make sure the guard didn’t look too deeply into the matter of three monsters tearing up a backyard in the noble district of the city. Apparently, her office came with some clout even this far from the mountain. Or maybe it was the name of the Lord Protector that would ensure their discretion. All she needed her brother to do was to keep quiet about the affair. Protectors took care of things where mystics were involved, after all. That was the deal the other countries had made with Talraman — police yourselves, and we will overlook some disturbances.

After the initial tirade had ended, the siblings just looked at each other for a short while.

"Not sure why the others keep saying you look similar. You two are not much like each other," Rhyce commented during the awkward pause.

"I know, right?" Jaden agreed. It was clear they were related, of course, but how people kept mistaking them for the other was ridiculous.

"Humans never look further than the ears," Lilya snorted, then got a gleam in her eyes. "Besides, if I looked like you, brother, my armour would no doubt pinch my chest."

"Lil! I'm not... that is..." Jaden sputtered, pulling the jacket closer about herself. She wasn’t that big. Not really. Mirena had said they were about the same size, hadn’t she?

"Is that an elven swordlance?" Rhyce asked, as Lilya leaned on her spear.

"I'm almost impressed. It's a qalitar, yes." Jaden's sister turned her amber eyes to the archer with renewed interest.

“Seren weapon. Not the only one who knows elven tribal weapons.” Rhyce didn’t gloat. He never gloated. He stated facts, and he was often right.

"I have a growing lack of disgust for this one, Jay. Much better than that vapid Olman you were with the other day," Lilya did a small half-smile. She glanced at Rhyce again, appreciatively. "You'll do well to keep him around."

"Hey, don't speak badly of Ollie. She... she's just not used to being around magicians." Jaden defended her redheaded friend.

"That's funny. I thought you spent a lot of time with her?"

"You know what I mean. Robes-and-hats. The convocation was filled with them." Jaden gestured vaguely in the direction of the large townhouse that had served as the meeting place for the grand event.

"Ivory tower scholars. Useless," Lilya snorted. Jaden couldn't tell whether she was agreeing with her or not. There was another crunching noise as she stepped on a pebble by mistake. One of the shards that had been a man.

"Too bad we had to kill him. It would've helped us a lot if we could've asked him some questions about what they were doing here," Jaden said, as she looked at the scattered stone fragments.

"Taseno was much too dangerous. I couldn't risk it," Lilya disagreed with a brief frown on her face.

"What do you mean?" Jaden wondered. There were a lot of things going on here in Farcrest; things that didn't add up.

"What do you think? Him disintegrating you, of course. Father would never let me hear the end of it," the basilisk mystic sneered, but a faint tug at the corner of her lips took the edge off it. "That aside, I don't have so many siblings I can just throw some away, even if I am angry with them."

"Thanks, Lil," Jaden returned the smile. At her sister's suspicious glare, Jaden did a small half-shrug. "I mean it. Without you, Nerak probably would've killed both me and Rhyce."

"Oh, he would have." Humble Lilya was not.

"Then I'm lucky to have such a strong sister," Jaden dared a bigger smile.

"And don't you forget it," Lilya poked her brother in the forehead with a stiff finger. "Now, I have to get back to Master Hetagon and report this as well. Bad news follows you around, brother."

Elsewhere

It was strange seeing it like this, but it had all happened so fast. She saw the fighting push closer to the platform. The invaders were strong, and had surprise on their side. It wasn’t a rout yet, but unless the sentinels of the skyhold could muster a powerful defence, they would have to abandon this hub.

She met the eyes of a girl that was being pulled away from the ever closer battle by the large demon in charge of children like her. Their golden eyes met, one pair determined, the other afraid.

Ashomi pointed to the sky, and the long azure threads that flowed across the clouds like a river of light. The girl followed the gesture with her eyes, and confusion battled fear. She had barely time to look back before the demon caretaker reached the shallowing and broke through into another world, safe from this battle at least.

Ashomi had found another shallowing, one she had sought out specifically. It lead to another place entirely, one of gossamer and phantasms. When she began to reach through, she gripped the nether prism in her hand. Energy enough for the final jump, where she needed to go.

"Not as grief, but as gifts, with the love of the sky," she sang to herself as she siphoned off the last of the prism's energy.