“Might as well keep that one, it’s shoddy steel, not even worth melting down. And it can’t be enchanted, not even the poorest wizard would waste magic on that junk. I’ll not pay your master for that kind of thing.”

“Cut wood, carry water, cook food, gather components... I hate this.” Rall groaned in frustration as he dragged yet another stack of books from one self to the next. One truly annoying habit his master had was his constant need to rearrange his library in ever more convoluted ways. Of course, Rall always had to do the hard work of moving and reorganizing, his master would never stoop to actually moving anything himself. And should Rall organize things incorrectly, or damage a book, the punishments were growing both terrible and creative.

The labor alone might not have bothered Rall so much, after all he often ran errands for his parents at their shop and the opportunity to study with Master Xabriar was something rare to be treasured, or so his parents told him. But the master’s attitude soured every errand, and Rall felt more and more each day as if the master resented his very existence. Some days he wished he’d hidden away during the yearly testing that uncovered his strong potential.. If only he had joined the City guard like his best friend Arron! He could see the affect of his friend’s hard training, both in his attitude and his physique. Arron also seemed to be enjoying himself, and Rall was more than envious.

Heaving the last of the great grimoire in place Rall dust himself off and started toward one of the darker corners to sit down and hopefully have a few moments to rest.

“Apprentice! Come and carry this refuse to the smiths, and tell him to destroy every last piece. And make sure he pays me for the base metals or I’ll string you up from the stairs and flay your flesh off in strips!” Rang his master’ voice through the citadel with a thundering roar. It was a spell of course. The master very rarely made the effort to tell him anything in person and was more than happy to thunder his commands through his domain at the expense of Rall’s poor ears.

Looking toward the gloomy stairwell that led to the upper floors Rall sighed with a sunken look. The master had never bothered to create any teleportation circles in the citadel like the Academy of Magic had. There was no need for such devices in his own tower. Sadly for Rall if he wished to travel anywhere in the massive tower he had to rely on his own two legs. The climb from his current level was interminable.

“Took you long enough, boy.” The master remarked snidely as Rall reached the top step, not even bothering to look up from his scrying pool to address his apprentice.

Rall dragged himself through the doorway, exhausted. “Sorry Master Xabriar, the Library is many flights down you see,” Rall began to explain, but was quickly silenced by his teacher.

“Enough of your blubbering, just take the things and go.” Rall shouldered the heavy bag, which clanked and shifted like it might be full of metal objects, and started down the many, many steps of the tower.

Stepping out of the tower, Rall was assaulted with the sounds of the city which were prevented from entering the tower proper by his master’s magic. Master Xabriar did enjoy his quiet. People passed by in every direction, street urchins playing hoop and stick in alleyways, shopkeepers crying out their wares, and messengers running between the towers in an unending marathon. Rall ignored all of it studiously as he shouldered his heavy burden, puffing already but determined to do his Master’s bidding before he could be punished for laziness.

Half an hour of walking later Rall dropped the bag on the floor at the forge, coated with sweat streaked by soot from the forge fire. “Master Smith, I have some things my master wants melted down. I’m supposed to ask for the worth of the metals.”

“Right then boy, we’d better have a looksee.” The smith opened the bag cautiously, and used a pair of tongs to lift items from it. He noticed Rall’s odd look and shook his head, “Never can tell what kind of thing the wizards might throw away. I’ll melt the lot down, but if any of it tries anythin’ funny you’ll get no copper from me. Da... These wizards don’t always see fit to warn us common folk before droppin’ stuff that might explode in our laps. Make yourself useful and watch, if you see anything with your mage trained eyes that I ought leave be, you let me know!”

Rall swallowed nervously and nodded. In spite of being apprenticed to the most powerful sorcerer in Gaerbron, he had never been taught the trick of seeing magical auras. The smith picked up a rod that looked like solid gold with his tongs, and set it in a clay bowl on the fire. Rall’s heart pounded like a racing horse as the bowl began to smolder, but slowly the rod melted into a puddle inside without a whisper or spark.

“That’s not so bad, there.” The smithy remarked with a smile, to which Rall nodded furiously. How about that gilded knife? I’ll try taking off the gold the same way, before melting down the steel. One good thing about magical junk, lots of precious metals.” As the smith took another bauble out of the bag to melt, the bag spilled open and a surprisingly shabby looking short sword in a ragged leather scabbard landing on Rall’s toes painfully.

“Did it bite ya boy? Best be careful now!” Rall reached down to push it back into the pile with the rest, but instead found his fingers closing about the hilt. He pulled a few inches free of the sheath and saw a blade chipped and pitted with rust, deep cracks visible just at the hilt.

“Might as well keep that one, it’s shoddy steel, not even worth melting down. And it can’t be enchanted, not even the poorest wizard would waste magic on that junk. I’ll not pay your master for that kind of thing.” Rall stared at it for a moment, wondering why his Master would ever have had such a thing, but just for a moment, he imagined himself at drill with Arron, swinging his sword at enemy hordes, protecting the people of Gaerbron. His master wouldn’t get any money for it anyway, and would never miss it. Just then the smith’s words broke his reverie, and he realized he’d missed the whole process of destroying things, daydreaming of soldiering.

“Right then, looks like nothing blew up, and there’s some decent gold and things there. I’ll send forty marks with ya, and call it fair. Don’t think to skim any off the top either, those sorcerers, they always know.”

Rall nodded as he collected the proffered money and the sheathed blade and made his way back through the city. The return trip was both quicker and easier without the weight of the sack but Rall had to keep a careful watch out. The master would not take it kindly if the money were stolen by some pickpocket or headthumper. He paused at the steps to the tower itself, realizing he had better not show up still carrying the junky sword, or his Master might actually carry out the threat of flaying his flesh off. One never knew with an angry sorcerer.

He carefully prized away a stone in the side of the second step and dug out some of the packed earth underneath to make a space just big enough for the short sword, then slipped it inside before replacing the stone. He kicked the small pile of dirt aside until very little sign remained of the hiding place, then entered the tower, wiping his hands on his pants.

As he reached the top of the steps again his master glanced up from some sort of work that filled the whole room with the scent of death. Rall tried not to choke, glancing at the bits of meat and the creepy eye on the workbench.

“Get on with it, boy, what did you fetch at the smith’s?” The Master’s voice was cold, calm, like the blade of a guillotine poised to drop.

“F-forty marks, sir. T-the smith s-said it was a f-fair price for the base m-metals.” Rall did not like the Master’s direct attention, especially not in a room reeking of death.

“And you trusted him?” he rumbled wild eyed, “Fool boy, you’re more trouble than you’re worth!” Rall nearly screamed as his Master lifted a hand, but when he did not cast some horrible magic Rall realized he meant for Rall to give him the money. Stepping forth, he placed the small bag of coins in his master’s hand, and immediately caught a backhand to the face from the other.

“Go on to your room, you’re of no use to me now. And don’t be late with my breakfast again in the morning or I’ll have the city watch called in to beat you in turns!”

Rall cringed and ducked back out of the room, gasping for fresh air and in fear for his life. This fear compounded when the Master’s voice boomed through the tower once again, nearly deafening Rall and sending him sprawling down the steps.

“Do you think I threaten idly boy?” he chuckled darkly in that thundering voice, “Are you a thief, to steal from your master? Do you think me an imbecile? Forty marks is a pittance for what I sent the smith!” Rall was at a loss for words as the accusations piled up but before he could protest his master acted.

Invisible flows of force carried him off his feet, left him hanging from the rail-less stairs of the tower, high above the floor below. Thin lines of fire bloomed on his skin over and over as some invisible lash struck again and again, leaving bloody welts and cuts all over his flesh. Rall couldn’t tell if minutes, hours or days passed in that white hot pain, but it felt an eternity before he was again deposited on the steps.

“Next time you’ll bring me the full worth of anything I send you to sell, or it’ll be your organs in my experiments!” Rall began to drag himself to his cot, long experience having taught him that sleeping on the stairs without treating his wounds would only make the pain grow, and it would be worse if he didn’t get enough sleep to wake and make breakfast before the Master arose.

---

Corana briskly walked down the hall's of the Great Academy of Magic at Gaerbron. The Academy was her pride and joy, hundreds of years of prestige and knowledge producing some of the greatest wizards and sorcerers in the realms.

But even the brightest and purest of places had it's underside; for Corana the darkness that threatened to corrupt her life’s work was Lord Xabriar. Since his rise to power in the council he had loosened the rules to research the dark aspects of magic, particularly the schools of demonology and necromancy. Dark arts previously kept under careful watch in the Academy’s halls and libraries were now practiced openly by unscrupulous characters who should have been placed under watch the moment they applied. She watched and resisted as that corruption began to spill into the streets of Gaerbron. Assassins’ and thieves’ guilds sprang up in the alleys and dark places of the city, and crime rose at an alarming rate.

All of these things weighed heavily on her mind, along with several recent attempts on her life. There was little doubt about the source of the attacks, though she was unable to uncover any solid proof of Xabriar’s involvement. No, the Academy of Magic was no longer a safe place for student or teacher.

How, she wondered, could she unseat Xabriar before he brought the entire city to utter ruin? His position in the council was powerful, if not yet fully solidified, and any who voted against him tended to disappear save Corana herself. And sooner or later one of these attempts on her life would succeed.

She paused in her introspection, noting suddenly that she was alone in a hallway where students should be milling about in pursuit of their studies. The hallways seemed somehow longer, darker than it should be. Acting quickly, she wove her magic into a shield, uncertain from which quarter the attack would come. But nothing happened, except perhaps the lights dimmed further.

“Little witch,” whispered a deep voice behind her, “such pitiful protection.” The voice was grating as if unused to speaking the human language, and arrogant. She turned to face the being, a hunched creature with charred cracked flesh which dripping glowing red blood onto the halls. It towered menacingly over her, its hulking mass moved easily through hallways that should be far too small to accommodate. Corana fought the visual distortion she knew the thing was creating, but it sapped at her concentration.

“So Xabriar finally sends a true demon to kill me.” she scoffed in disgust. Shifting her back to face a stone wall she poured as much of her magic in to her barrier as she could.

“Sends, mortal thing?” The demon roared as he pushed at the edge of her barrier. “No mortal thing sends Abrahar of the Black Flame Pits anywhere! “

Her mind whirled desperately, searching for some spell or ability to banish the demon. But without its true name, something no demon would ever give, such things where very difficult. With some of the other headmaster destroying the thing’s material vessel it might be possible, but the city would be left in ruins.

“Come now,” the creature hissed next to Corana’s ear. Its foul rotting breath threatened to gag her, twisting her stomach. “Do not resist me mortal thing, or the precious children you brought here to learn will suffer unending torment in the Black Flames!”

The beast reached for her with a clawed hand, thrusting her back directly against the cold granite stone wall. She reeled in panic. In an act of sudden inspiration, she dropped her barrier and willed all her magic into her right arm. Blue streams of power arced off of her fingers, charring her skin instantly, but she willed the pain aside. Focusing the chaotic arcane power, she ripped a hole between the planes just in front of the demons clawed hand.

The demon roared in defiance as its arm traversed the one-way gate into oblivion. She nearly cried out in relief; it would be unable to pull out, only forward.

But another clawed hand reached around the opening and shattered her defenses to grip her burned arm with unbelievable strength. Corana heard the sound of crunching bone and felt the white hot fire the burn through her arm, no longer able to will it aside. The bones of her wrist ground like millstones against each other as the demon dragged her toward the gate.

“No!” she shrieked and she tried to pull away. The demon chuckled and slowly pulled her closer. darting her eye across the room in desperation she caught sigh of a hanging battle ax. Even as her arm sank into the crackling portal to the elbow, the demon already mostly consumed, Corana grasped the haft of the decorative ax adorning to wall and yanked. Knowing she had only seconds, she gritted her teeth and swung one handed. The blade bit deep into her arm with a sickening wet crack, and she fell, her vision hazy. Moments later the portal closed, as Corana struggled to stay conscious. She was vulnerable now, and Xabriar would finish her if she let herself slip into blissful sleep, if she didn’t simply bleed to death.

Summoning the last of her fading energies, she called up the only spell she could manage in such a state, a personal gate to her sanctuary - a pocket dimension created just for her, that no one else could find. It would only buy her time, but she had no other options. Minutes later, the first students entered the hall, unaware of their own instinctual avoidance of the place until now, and found the pool of blood and the fallen axe.

---

Cale slipped between buildings with a practiced ease, only making the suspicious move once he was certain no one could see him. Once in the alleyway, he slipped off his dusty overcloak, careful not to catch his climbing claws in the fabric. He glanced up the wall, sizing up the four stories of stone, and decided he would find easy enough purchase. With the skill of years put into the profession, he scaled the wall silently in the darkness. Once he reached the top, he crept stealthily across the tiled roof, careful to keep from adding his own silhouette to the line of the roof’s peak. Once across, he bunched himself and leapt for a small window ledge on the next building and began climbing again. The guards below didn’t so much as twitch.

Muscles hardened by a lifetime of climbing strained just slightly as he reached to top floor of the tower, peering into the window cautiously. His studies told him that the wizard would be asleep at this hour, but one could never be too careful. Seeing the slight rise and fall of the blanket over the frail body, he scanned for any sign of exposed flesh. As the bed’s occupant turned in his sleep, an arm fell free of the blanket.

Cale drew forth a thin reed and aimed carefully, then blew. A tiny glob of near colorless liquid splatted neatly onto the webbing of his target’s hand between thumb and forefinger. He carefully drew back from the window as the sleeping sorcerer shifted again, then peeked back in, waiting a full count of six hundred. The regular breathing slowed and eventually ceased, and Cale crept inside. He found that hand again, checking that there was no sign of the poison, as well as testing for a pulse. The mark was dead.

Silently he slipped out the window again, scaling down the tower side and back to the window ledge on which he previously landed. A light came on in the window above, and he froze, his dark grey outfit blending fairly well with the tower stone.

“Master Stefan!” A cracking voice called out inside, Cale guessed the apprentice must be in his early teens, and quite upset his Master had passed on. Unfortunately, this left him little time to be cautious with his escape. He again leapt the space between buildings, and ran across the tiles. Before anyone could see him the assassin was gone, lost among the buildings of the city.

---

Gripping the tray of food Rall quickly inspected his work: a breakfast made up of freshly baked bread dipped in honey butter, sliced pork and barbecue chicken with a goblet of the finest wine he could find. After the way last nights ordeal went he did not wish to test his master patience, nor his flaying skills.

Rall firmly knocked on his master’s chamber door the customary four times, loud enough that his master should surely hear, but not so loud as to seem impatient or rude. Five minutes passed with no response, not even the scuffling of movement. Look down at the tray of food, Rall began to worry that it would become cold. Hesitantly he knocked again, a bit harder this time, and again time passed with no response. The master had always been the type to wake at the crack of dawn and demand his food to be on time. In the seven months Rall had been his apprentice not once had he ever deviated from this schedule.

Rall’s thoughts began to wander with morbid curiosity, maybe the leathery old wretch died in the night! The idea wasn’t exactly an unpleasing image for him. The stings from the bruises and scabbed over cuts from last night’s ordeal reinforced this idle thought into a fantasy he deeply wished to come true. Boldened by the hope of finding a corpse, Rall carefully opened the chamber door and peeked in.

His master lay slumped on the bed, still fully clothed, and looking far older than Rall had ever seen him. His master’s breath came slow and regular, so the old sorceror yet lived, but Rall couldn’t help wondering what working of power could leave him so drained.

“Boy... I smell the food... sly little cockroach... leave me to rest, leave the tower for today... breakfast tom’rrow...” Rall could scarcely believe his Master really woke up at all. His eyes never moved nor did his breath quicken, but none of that mattered beside the clear orders and lack of punishment for intruding. He barely managed to restrain his joy at having a whole day to himself!

Rall nearly skipped his way out of the tower, pausing to pack himself up a lunch of salt pork, dry cheese and a hard roll, then carefully dug out the rusted sword from its hiding place under the stone entry stairs. It did not appear to have been discovered by anyone, so Rall placed the stone back carefully. This hiding space worked very well!

He hurried to the city guard post where he knew Arron to be stationed with several older men, and peeked inside.

“Well, if it isn’t little Rall. Have you come on an errand from your Master? Well, out with it boy.” the guardsman, whom Rall’s mind refused to supply a name for, asked him the same question each of the rare days he managed to visit, and Rall was tempted to lie, but knew that would not likely work.

“No, sir. I have been given a free day.”

“Arron, there’s a little girl here to see you! Mind you don’t send her back to her Master bowlegged! Looks like she’s got a pig sticker this time, better watch your manners too!” The coarse laughter from the rest of the guardsmen sounded exactly like it had every other visit, cruel and mocking. Rall didn’t care, he was too excited to let some rough talk get him down.

Arron rushed into the guard room from the back entrance, almost banging his head against the stone doorway. He was a bit of a mess, his ash blond hair was drenched in sweat and his standard guard leather breastplate belt and sword were tracked in mud. The armor was a little big, but it really made him look like a real hero. "A girl?" he chirped in excitement until his eye settled in on Rall.

He shifted his gaze to the head guardsman. "You had better stop with this nonsense." he shook his head in anger. "Rall may be a bit small, but from what the sorcerer at the academy says, he has talent and raw power, and likely will be all our boss someday. Come on Rall, let’s go. They’ll just keep at it if we don’t. Where’d you get a sword?”

“It was gonna be melted down but the smith told me to keep it. The Master would beat me if he knew, so I’m keeping it hidden away. I was hoping you could show me how to use it. I mean, you must know all sorts of amazing moves, right?”

“You’d be surprised, most of it is practicing the same three strikes until my arm wants to fall off.” offered Arron good-naturedly. “Still, I can show you those, and how to trip someone while fighting. The best fighting moves are the dirty tricks, way better than any showy special sword moves.”

“That’s great! Maybe after I get through my apprenticeship I can join the city guard. I hate Master Xa... my master.” Rall made the sign of the evil eye to ward off his Master’s attention. He knew his master couldn’t really hear his name spoken from across the city, but the superstition was well-ingrained.

The boys walked to the west gate and were permitted passage, and they searched out an empty field left fallow with a dead-looking tree growing near the edge. The cool autumn wind ruffled Rall’s hair, left as unkempt as the rest of him. Arron didn’t seem to notice the cool, but Rall drew his cloak a little closer.

“Okay, this seems like a good practice spot. Now, watch my movements. It’s as much about planting your feet as how you swing the sword.” Arron drew the shining length of steel and Rall watched as if entranced while he performed the movements, the edge of the sword biting deep into the soft dead wood with each strike. Then he stepped aside, gesturing Rall to take his place.

Rall stood exactly like Arron did, with a few suggested changes for his smaller stature, then drew his sword from the sheath, setting that aside.

“Wow, no wonder the smith left you that out of the trash. I’ll be amazed if that junk doesn’t snap on the first swing! I can see cracks all the way across from here!” Rall reddened but said nothing, determined to show he could do what his friend could do. He swung the short sword at the tree, and knew before it hit that he’d done it wrong, it just didn’t feel right.

“That was terrible, you have to...” Arron cut off as Rall corrected his footing and swung again, this time with much better form, the blade biting into the wood surprisingly deep for such a badly-treated weapon.

“Okay, looks like you were paying attention. Do that a few more times. Swing like you fully intend the sword to cut through the tree.” Rall swung again and again, and though Arron was sure his arms must be getting tired the edge bit repeatedly into the wood, almost in the same place each time.

“Good, good, I think you’ve got that one! Now here’s how you do the next one.” For half an hour, Rall practiced, until his arms burned like his master’s experiments. Finally he let the tip of his sword sink into the ground in front of the tree, unable to lift it again.

“That was not bad at all, you could actually learn this stuff! Are you okay?” Rall slumped and dropped his cloak to try and cool off a bit.

“Wow, looks like your master did a number on you. I think you opened up some of those cuts, you better clean them when you get back. You look like you tried to wrestle a stinging nettle plant.” Rall finally gathered his breath after the hard workout.

“It’s not so bad, I’ve had worse.” he lied. “But I’m thinking about not going back. I hate my master, he doesn’t teach me anything! He just treats me like a slave and beats me on a whim. I’d rather learn to be a soldier, and if that means leaving the city to join a mercenary band, at least I’ll be away from him.”

“Rall... I know it seems awful right now, but the testing doesn’t lie. One day you’ll be a great magician. You don’t really have the build for soldiering anyway.” Rall knew Arron was trying to tell him he was a weakling in the nicest way possible, but the truth still hurt.

“And you’ll be a great swordmaster, hero of a hundred campaigns, right? Maybe you will be, but I will never learn magic from Master Xabriar. And now might be my only chance to get away.”

Arron frowned leaning next to the tree and gave Rall a good once over. “If you run away you’re pretty much abandoning your future.”

“If I stay with Master Xabriar,” he again made the evil eye warding sign, “I may not have much of a future anyway.” Rall cautiously looked around, making sure they were alone. “You know the rumors about Xabriar? I think they’re true, and I don’t think I’ll survive if I stay.”

Arron raised his eyebrows a bit. “You mean all the dead councillors, you think Xabriar’s really behind that? Did you hear another disappeared last night? The rumor is they never even found a body, just a bunch of blood, and nobody heard or saw anything. And Master Stefan died last night, but he was pretty old and weak. But Master Xabriar? I can’t imagine one sorceror would attack other sorcerers in the city!”

Rall slumped against the tree staring into the bright blue sky “I don’t know, I haven’t seen anything. But he’s a devil of a man and he hates me, I’m sure of that. If nothing else that’s good enough reason to run.”

“Why not request a new master from the council?” Arron’s question made sense, but Rall discarded the idea almost immediately.

“If I speak out against my master, I won’t last long enough for them to choose a new one. You see all this? He did it because I didn’t get more back from a bunch of trash than the metal was worth, and after the smith risked his life melting it down in the first place. And it’s not the first time. But each time is worse than the last. No, I can’t speak out against him.”

“Where will you go then? If you hadn’t noticed the realms are a bit uneasy, borders are tight. Lussax won’t even open the city gates unless you have traveling papers”

Rall snorted, “I’ll head west, or maybe north into the wilds. Maybe make my way towards the Imperium city!”

Arron roared in laughter at the idea of Rall scurrying around in the wild with his rusty sword hunting rabbits . “You’ll starve by the week’s end.”

“What am I to do then?” Rall yelled in frustration. “He’ll kill me if I stay, I can’t run home, my mother and father are no match for an angered sorcerer...“ sniffling, Rall shut his eyes in a desperate attempt to quell the tears building in them, “and according to you I can’t even run away!”

“I... I didn’t...” Arron hart sunk as he looked on his friend half way to tears. He had only seen the boy cry on two occasions in spite of numerous beatings he knew his friend received, and both times it left him feeling uncertain what to do. Why did Rall of all people have to be paired up with that devilish man? Rall wasn’t the tough sort, he never had been. As long as he could remember Arron had always been the one to pull Rall out of jams.

Clenching his fist Arron fantasized about storming into Xabriar’s tower and beating that leathery old bag of bones within an inch of his life for upsetting his friend so. But fantasies where that, just fantasies, and he knew the reality would end in a much more unpleasant way.

“Right then. If you’re determined to leave, I’ll find a way to help. But going out alone would be suicide. Maybe we can get you into one of the merchant caravans, hire you on as a message runner or something.”

“I could be a caravan guard, now that I have a sword!” Rall’s eyes lit up with excitement.

“Umm, yeah, maybe. But regardless you’d have to be in disguise. The guard keeps track of merchant caravans, and all your Master would have to do is ask a question to find out where you went.” Both boys went silent for long minutes, trying to think of an answer. Finally Rall seemed to make up his mind.

“Arron... You know how the guards always tease me about being a girl, because I’m small? Well, if they already half believe it, why couldn’t we make everyone believe it, at least long enough to get me on a caravan out of the city?” Arron stared at him, incredulous.

“You’re not serious... You can’t let those morons get to you, Rall! Besides, you could never manage to get away with it, someone would figure it out very quickly!”

“I don’t need it to last very long, just long enough to get out of the city, right?” Arron shook his head.

“You’ve gone ‘round the bend, you know that right? But I guess you do what you have to, if you think it’s your best chance I’ll do what I can. I have a few silver, I can buy you some clothes, and with a little cleaning maybe your hair will turn yellow again, instead of the soot and dirt brown you sport now. And you can’t hire on as a guard if you’re playing girl.”

“Damn... Right then, the Master had me cook for him, I’ll hire on as a cook or something. Or I’ll mend things, whatever. I’m desperate, Arron, I have to get away. You’ll tell my parents I’m well and I’ll send word when I’m safely elsewhere?”

“Of course. Just make sure to send word, if I’m going to all this trouble you damn well better not get yourself killed or something.”

“Right. Oh, and get me something that can hide this sword, I might need it, and... well, honestly it’s the only thing I really have.”

“Of course, my princess. I’ll find a gown suitable for your personage.” Arron’s words lacked the spite of the guards’ mocking and his bow was well executed. Rall fired back in kind, finding himself smiling in spite of his fear.

“See that you do! Now off with you, and return before I lose my patience!”

---

Rall waited nervously in the field, not at all as sure of this plan as he’d pretended. He thought of what he’d heard girls did to look good, and took the time to wash his hair with water from a bucket hanging from a well in the field. It really did look like it might be yellow under the dirt of months of scrubbing chimneys and pots, at least the tips he could pull around to see. Then he cast about for berries, and found a mulberry tree not far from the dead one he’d been swinging a sword at. Crushing a few berries in his fingers, he smeared the juice on his lips. By the time he finished with all of this, a familiar voice called out from the practice tree.

“Rall, I’ve got a dress, it should be... by the First, how’d you do that? You almost look like a girl even in your apprentice clothes!”

“I listen a lot when I’m running errands for the Master. Girls in the market streets like to talk. Now come on, give over, I don’t have a lot of time. Caravans can’t leave the city gates after nightfall, and I still have to find one that will take me on!”

Rall took the wrapped package from Arron, who for his part simply stood there, dumbfounded. He quickly stripped out of his simple blue tunic and brown breeches, and unwrapped a rather expensive looking full length lavendar linen gown. It looked like something he imagined a merchant’s daughter might wear to a ball in the stories his mother used to tell, before he was chosen for apprenticeship. He tried to be careful putting it on so as not to damage it, and found it involved some wired contraption designed to hold it away from his hips. He hung his belt and shortsword inside the skirt, and it didn’t show much, standing up anyway.

“How do I look, think I can get away with it?” Rall turned to see what his friend thought, and found Arron staring still.

“If I didn’t see it with my own eyes... Never mind. Yes, I think you’ll manage. Come with me, I’ll help you get hired on with a good merchant caravan.” Arron grabbed Rall’s arm and led him back through the west gate with a wave to his fellow guardsmen. One of them offered him a thumbs-up gesture and Arron turned red, but kept moving.

“I know that several caravans leave late afternoon through the east gate for Lussax, if you’re with one you’ll be able to get past the gate check. Just for heaven’s sake keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.” Rall nodded, letting his friend lead the way. The whole thing felt surreal, and he wasn’t even sure why he was doing this, but it really did seem his only chance to escape. He was distracted by his musings, and only came back to reality once he heard Arron speaking again.

“Please, you have to take her! My cousin is in danger from my uncle, he’ll kill her! We have family in Lussax who will watch her, if she can just get out of Gaerbron and across the border! She can cook and sew, and she won’t be any trouble.”

“Listen, young man, if you’d just stop talking a moment, I’m trying to tell you of course I have space for a girl who can sew. Especially to save such a sweet child from trouble. Now, child, what is your name? I’m Valan, and this is my wife Roda, and our children Tomas, Greta and Harald. The guards are Martem and Samuel.”

“Umm, I’m Ra..na, thank you for helping me...” Rall was terrified he would be found out, but the older man just nodded and smiled.

“She’s a shy little thing, isn’t she? Well, come on then, we haven’t all day, climb into the wagon and go help my wife with her work. We’re just about to leave. You’re lucky you caught us, had you come asking around an hour later all you would have found is Bertram, and his crew are a rough bunch. Travelling with that lot wouldn’t be much better than staying with your drunken father.” Arron took over again before Rall could try speaking more.

“I really appreciate it. Now Rana, don’t forget to send word once you arrive, and be careful on the road, travel can be treacherous. I’ll deal with your father as best I can.” Rall, still confused and scared and excited and most of all glad to be free of his master, smiled at Arron and nodded, then climbed into the wagon.

“I thought something was off about you.” Greta said quietly, and Rall nearly fainted.

Despite Rall’s fears of being found out or mistreated, Valan and his caravan were not only kind, but accepted him without question. Roda helped him learn to make careful stitches with mending and making clothing, and he watched and helped her with the cooking over an open fire that night. It was a far cry from cooking on a stove for his master, but he picked it up fairly quickly. That night he slept in the wagon with Roda and Greta, who it turned out was a year older than he, while the men took turns on guard duty sleeping on bedrolls under the sky.

The merchant caravan moved slowly and Valan explained that it would take six days’ travel to reach Lussax, but that it should be an easy travel as the roads were well cared for. Roda offered Rall clean clothes and he couldn’t refuse her generosity, though he did wait to change until no one was looking and hid behind a curtain used to separate the wagon into halves for when the men needed to sleep inside as well. If Roda or Greta thought this strange, neither commented.

The second day went much the same, the slow creak of the wheels as they travelled lulled Rall into a sort of peace. His troubles were all behind him and while he would miss his friend and his family very much, perhaps he could return soon when Master Xabriar forgot the existence of a lowly apprentice. Again he sewed, helping make clothes from raw linen for sale at Lussax, washed and cooked and generally did women’s chores. The work was sometimes hard and sometimes tedious, but Rall put every effort into each job, determined to make up in some small way for the lie he was telling these nice people. That night he washed in a small stream over which the road travelled on a sturdy wooden bridge. The wagon was very close by, but he was certain no one could see him from the other side of the bridge. As he shrugged back into the blue woolen dress Roda had given him before reminding him to go wash, a finger poked him in the shoulder.

“I thought something was off about you.” Greta said quietly, and Rall nearly fainted. “You never change where anyone can see, you are so secretive... I thought maybe you were just trying to hide all those lash marks, and I wanted to know if I should have Mother do something for them, but I didn’t quite expect this.”

“Please... I am sorry I lied, I meant no harm I swear by the First! I only meant to get away without being followed! Please don’t send me back to him!” Rall cried, ashamed to find tears dripping down his cheeks once again. He learned early in his apprenticeship that crying would make any beating worse and had sworn never to cry again, but he could not stop it this time.

“Peace, Rana, peace. No one is going to send you back, from what I’ve seen it doesn’t matter if you’re a boy or girl, you needed to get away. Mother and Father would never send someone with marks like yours back to face the lash again or worse. Did he geld you as well as lash you?” Rall shuddered and shook his head. “Oh, I thought maybe with the way you look, and your voice... But you do have to tell them, Father will be very cross if you continue to lie and it comes out later.”

Rall nodded, and stood up to go face the coming discussion with mixed fear and hope, it would be nice to quit this charade, but explaining his motives would be unpleasant to say the least. As the two approached the wagon, they heard a scuffle from the far side. Metal-on-metal clanking sounds and shouts filled the air and Greta cried out, running for the wagon.

“Greta, wait!” The moment he said it he knew it was too late. The sounds of fighting had stopped, and before he could even move a gravelly voice called out from the wagon.

“You out there, don’t run or I’ll put a bolt in your back. Come on over here with the rest of your family before I have to kill someone else.” Rall meekly moved forward, far too terrified to think of trying to free the sword hanging under his skirt.

“Oh ho, look what we have here, another one! And this one even sweeter than the last!” Rall’s terror multiplied, and he stopped, paralyzed. Rough hands grabbed him, dragged him toward the fire. The sword banged into his knee, but no one seemed to notice it.

“Pretty but young, you’ll fetch a good price. Your older sister will too. Now, are we going to come quietly, or shall we kill Daddy and have some fun with Mommy before we take you to sell at the block?” Rall nearly threw up, and he heard Greta wail pitifully nearby. Looking toward the fire, he saw both guards, Valan and both of his sons all lying in heaps. One of the guards was lying in a large puddle of something dark, but he thought the rest might be alive.

The bandits didn’t bother trying to convince them further, and tied Greta and Rall’s arms behind their backs. He wanted to resist but he could barely bring himself to breathe for fear of being killed. That seemed likely enough anyway, the moment they looked under his skirt.

He watched with sickening regret as Greta was thrown over a horse’s back like a sack of grain. He was treated to the same thing, the hilt of the sword digging painfully into his side. He thought maybe he could reach it, but the skirt was in the way, and it would be little help in any case.

The bandits, apparently four in number, two armed with crossbows and the others with heavy looking clubs, climbed on as well. The one holding Rall down smelled awful, like unwashed sweat and animal refuse. They galloped away at a fair pace, each step knocking the breath out of Rall over and over. He’d gone half out of his mind from the bruising and loss of breath on top of still-tender lash marks, when the horse slowed down. Trying to focus, he saw forest and a rude lean-to made in the hollow under a fallen tree. Rough hands again lifted him and set him against a tree. He looked up and saw a gap-toothed man with a horrible grin and leering eyes. The man tied him to a tree tightly.

“Be a good girl and I won’t have to rough you up. I might even do something... nice... for you.” Rall shuddered at the way the man said “nice.” He looked away, anywhere but that ugly face with the disgusting breath, and saw Greta tied to another tree nearby.

---

Cale slipped through the city gates with the last of the caravan with an ease born of practice. One particular game he loved at the gates was moving about the throng of people and carts, keeping himself just with in peripheral vision of the guards. It was always a bit of a laugh to watch them mill about, spooked as if being hunted by a spirit.

The minor entertainment was enough to distract his thoughts momentarily from his newest job. He had been paid to kill another of Xabriar’s rivals, a council member of minor note but who held sway with the outlaws of the city. These outlaws included the slavers who travelled the wilds and had both the mobility and resources to avoid or defeat any hunting squad of local guardsmen from the city.

Cale gathered from his own sources that the councilman Albera, while a minor player in the political structure of Gaerbron, had many resources outside the city. And that he had been actively extorting Xabriar for the safety of his own holding outside the city.

He surmised that his newest job meant that Albera had finally pushed his luck too far with Xabriar. In truth Cale was not looking forward to this mission. Slavers unnerved him greatly, they where vile disgusting people. He shivered at the idea of walking among them even for a day. It felt dirty, as if being in there presence would contaminate him with their filth. But he had been paid good gold for this job, and it might present an opportunity to ride the world of a slaver or two.

“Enough.” he whispered to himself as he disguised all presence of himself, melding completely into the crowd becoming nothing more then a forgotten shadow.

--

Cale watched carefully to the east as he slowly chewed a piece of jerky. Beyond the slow flicker of firelight reflected off the night sky stood the slavers’ tent city. The site had only taken four days to find, not far from where his sources had suggested the camp would be. The next challenge would be to sneak into the camp and find Albera .

He scuffed dirt over his fire but did not try to hide his presence. It suited his needs to play the arrogant potential buyer long enough to gain easy entry to the tents. The guards here tended to be rather more alert than those in the city, both to disturbances inside and out, a consequence of guarding a city without walls where some two thirds of the city would like nothing more than to run away. Not that runaway slaves often reached the edge of the tents, but it paid well to be alert. Cale walked up to the large man guarding what looked like the entrance and waited to be addressed.

“Name?” Judging by the man’s size, gravelly voice, coarse body hair and slightly prominent brow ridges, Cale thought the man might have an ogre ancestor. Or a particularly ugly rhinoceros.

“Ordil. I am looking to buy servants for my house in Holleny, with delivery.” Cale bore himself like a nobleman and spoke with arrogant authority, acting the part of the fop. The guard seemed uncaring, but Cale knew better, every aspect of his performance was being weighed and measured.

“No weapons allowed. You’ll leave your blades here.”

“Please. I wouldn’t dirty my hands on a blade. That is what my guards are for. They will remain with my coach on the path, I assure you, unless of course I am swindled.” Cale sniffed pretentiously and waved a scented handkerchief in the man’s direction. In truth he had a number of very deadly weapons on his person that a casual search would never find. With his ham fists, this guard might fumble onto something sharp and poisonous should he try. When the man simply stared at him implacably, he finally capitulated and offered a gilded dagger crusted with colored glass gems.

“Very well, now that you have me defenseless may I pass? Don’t think of “losing” my weapon either!” Playing along to get in as a slave buyer was already starting to turn his stomach, but he didn’t let on, sticking with his act as a privileged noble. The guard wrapped the knife with a length of wire and neatly wrote “Ordil, Holleny” on a card attached to it. Perhaps those hands were more agile than they appeared.

“You may enter. Do not bid more than you can pay, we are very good at collecting our due. Have a good day, sir.” Having been permitted entry, Cale quickly made his way through the crowd of buyers and sellers, trying not to touch any of them, lest he contaminate himself.

Navigating through the throng of men and woman in the tent city, Cale began to slowly familiarize himself with the city layout. Some tents, if one could call them that, where nothing more then hole-ridden linen rags hanging over wooden poles. Others looked well-kept: canvas oiled to keep the weather out more effectively, holes patched carefully and colors kept as bright as was feasible. The tents were organized into small districts by purpose, slaves being only one part of the goods traded in this city.

“Sir... Good Sir!” rasped a crackled nasally voice from behind.

Cale stopped and slowly turned around to inspected the man that called to him. The man would be a bit of an oddity anywhere but the tent city. He was dressed in some of the finest silks Cale had ever seen, coupled with gold necklaces and rings. But the man underneath differed wildly from the station his clothes suggested. His skin was leathery and calloused, and his face scarred from many beatings. “Yes?”

“You look for slaves, I am right?” he asked with a unnerving smile as he pulled open the door to his tent. Inside he could see slave pens lined up in a large semicircle hugging the edge of the wall. Cale suppressed a shudder and considered simply leaving without a word before his common sense demanded he at least act the part.

Shacking his head slightly, “Tomorrow perhaps, I have yet to secure proper transportation.” The slaver looked visibly disappointed. “Good help is so very hard to find these days.”

“Then tomorrow, best deals anywhere, Lasora will help you anything with. Guaranteed!”

Cale knew an opportunity when he saw one “Perhaps there may be something that you can help me with though,” holding up a small bag full of marks “I’m looking for a man by the name of Albera.”

The slaver gave Cale a careful look, “Business with the wizard, have you?” he asked with a snort.

“Why does this surprise you?” Cale asked stepping towards Lasora.

“You look not like the type in pleasure powder to partake.” he said as he slowly pointed to a middle aged woman. She was curled on her side next to one of the smaller tents shaking violently. Soft moans escaped her lips, and for a brief moment Cale caught a glimpse of her pitch black eyes.

“Pleasure powder. Yes, well, there are those who buy and those who deliver. You might do well not to look too closely into the business of others.”

The uncomfortable look on the slaver’s face caused Cale to reconsider his gamble, but the disfigured man answered, “You will at large auction find the wizard. He the boys like, you see”. With a reassuring smile Cale tossed the small bag of marks to the slaver in payment for the information. “Tomorrow, yes?” The slaver’s discomfort apparently did not prevent him making a sale.

“If business permits, then yes.” Cale relied back as he left in the direction Lasora pointed.

---

The auctioneer was already touting the virtues of one slave or another when he reached the block, but Cale tried to shut the voice out as he searched the crowd. The man’s words grated on his ears unpleasantly, but soon he found his mark. Albera stood near the block, inspecting a slave for sale personally. After a short exchange he counted out a small pile of coins and handed them over. The slave, a small boy not likely even into his tenth year, was led beck to the holding pens.

Slowly Cale shadowed Albera long enough to find where he was taking his ease. The young boy was led to the room, and Cale estimated he would have perhaps half an hour to create a diversion and complete his mission. Ducking away from the tent, Cale made his way to the holding pens. The maze of tents was designed to confuse intruders, but Cale easily memorized the way, a knack that prevented his capture numerous times previously. He approached the holding area with a grimace of intent, and others who saw his face suddenly realized they had pressing business far away from there.

---

“Rana! Rana, stay with me! You have to be brave!” A soft hand touched Rall’s shoulder and he whimpered. The ability to scream seemed to have left him.

“Rana, you’re awake! You were just staring at nothing and it was scaring me... Listen, you’re gonna be okay, Father will get someone and come save us, you just have to be brave for a little while, okay?” Rall’s breathing was fast and shallow, and his face felt like it was going numb. He didn’t remember anything after the ugly man talking to him, he only knew he was in pain like one of the Master’s harder lashings. However, Greta’s voice was very comforting.

“That’s right, calm down, we’ll get through this. No one has... touched you, but that awful man wouldn’t leave you alone with his nasty words, until you sort of... went away in your head. But then they just bundled us up on their horses and brought us here. The ugly man almost didn’t want to sell you at this hideous place, but I’m glad he did, because we’re together and I can talk to you. Can you talk yet?”

For the first time Rall noticed there were others in the room, a sort of tented room with bars made of some kind of segmented, wood-like plant. Some of the others in the room looked as confused as he must have moments before, others were simply crying. One screamed and a guard reached in and cuffed her in the face. It wasn’t even an angry hit, the man looked bored!

“I... think so. Greta, I’m scared. They’re going to find out about me and...” he spoke the last part in a whisper.

“Rana... Either way they’ll just sell you, just like me. It’s awful, but we can’t do anything about it. And after that, well, you need to be prepared. Father will find a way to save us even if he has to hire someone shady, but it may take time. So, if we get separated you just have to be strong and endure until Father saves you, okay?”

“You mean...” Rall knew what she meant, but couldn’t make his mouth say the words. He wanted to be sick, but his throat closing up to hold in the words also held down the bile. It couldn’t stop the tears rolling down his cheeks though, and Greta leaned over to hug him tightly. She couldn’t reach far, there was a chain holding her to one of the bars and another holding him, but she managed. It somehow seemed to loosen up the knot in his throat but all that came out were quiet sobs.

---

Cale knelt by the cloth of the holding tent, a small but sharp saw moving back and forth through a hole he cut in the cloth. It would be almost invisible once he finished, but the bar, and several others he’d already done, would give way with very little pressure. A guard had noticed him working once and had needed to be silenced, but finding hiding places for a body in a city of tents turned out to be surprisingly easy.

Finally finished with his work, Cale stood and the saw and knife disappeared. He casually but purposefully walked around the holding tent, pausing when no one was looking to pour a small skin of naphtha onto the corner of the tent, then drop a smoldering ember from a little metal box wrapped in leather.

As he walked away, the tent slowly caught, the ember igniting the little bit of naphtha. The oiled canvas would soon spread the fire across the tent, and if he was lucky, across the entire encampment. Cale made his way back toward Albera’s tent, a small smile gracing his face though he never noticed it.

---

“You there!” A rough hand grabbed Rall by the arm and dragged him to his feet. He didn’t even have a chance to cry out before the dress Roda gave him what seemed like forever ago was torn away. He tried to cover himself, but the guard was far stronger than he.

“Ah, a puppy in sheep’s clothing! You’re no wolf boy, but you’ll earn a good bit on the block. Lots of men want pretty boys like you!” The guard laughed, but it was a cold menacing sound rather than a mirthful one. The guard started dragging him toward the barred gateway but smoke poured into the tent, followed by flames creeping up the canvas wall. He gaped at it with an expression of terror.

“Fire! Fire at the pens! Come douse it quick or we’ll lose all the stock!” Shoving Rall back at the bars, he turned and ran to get help. Rall fell hard against the bars, which gave with almost no resistance, and with a tearing sound little rips in the canvas grew. He stared at the fire a moment, unseeing, then realization hit; this was a chance. He shook off the terror of moments before and pulled his chain free of the broken bar. No one seemed to notice in the commotion of the fire, and Rall was determined now not to squander the opportunity. He grasped Greta’s hand, following her chain to the bar it was attached to and tugged. The bar came loose in his hands.

“Come on, we have to leave before they notice!” Greta nodded, as several other slaves followed suit, finding many of the bars loosened. Rall tore the hole he’d discovered in the canvas bigger, and pulled Greta through behind him, carrying his chain so as not to trip on it.

“Come on, this way!” Rall pulled Greta through the hallways made by the spaces between tents, ducking aside whenever he heard running feet coming his direction. One time, he was sure they were caught when a man in a dark cloak stopped in front of him. He never heard the man move, he just appeared as if by magic. His mostly obscured features seemed cold and emotionless, and Rall just knew a slaver had caught them, but the man stepped aside and allowed Rall and Greta to pass.

“Rana, we have to stop and get you clothes, you’ll freeze before we get a day’s run away otherwise!” Rall considered, picked a tent at random and ducked inside. He discovered a collection of weapons, stacked all across the room, but no clothes. His sword however, lay on one of the piles, right on top. He grabbed it hurriedly, and Greta picked up a knife.

“We don’t have enough time! You put on my dress, I’ll just wear my shift. Come on, get dressed!” Rall blushed and turned his head when she ducked out of her dress, it seemed rude to watch. The dress hit his head, and he quickly slipped it on over his head, then belted the sword around his waist.

“Okay, now let’s go!” Rall looked both ways outside the tent’s opening, completely at a loss as to which way might lead out. The shouts and smoke indicated clearly where the fire was distracting everyone so he turned away from it and led the way, hand on his sword. Only a couple of turns later, they were out of the tents and into the trees.

“We’ve made it! Come on, we have to run, once the fire’s out they’ll come looking for us.” Greta reminded Rall as he caught his breath. The two ran, barefoot and scared, through the forest. Rall trusted his instincts to guide them, as they’d done him well so far, running heedless through the trees.

---

Cale watched eagerly from the edge of the camp, watching Albera squirm in frustration as his own tent was consumed by the flames. Things had worked out better than he had ever imagined. Not only had the slaves escaped, many had picked up arms and were holding their own against their former captors. The guards were hard pressed, besieged by both slaves and flames.

Carefully he pulled out a long thin shiv concealed with in his leather vest and waited. Albera, pacing madly in worry, had moved himself into a large crowd. With practiced ease Cale casually made his way through the crowd and lightly bumped into wizard. With a quick apology, he turned north, pocketing his shiv. It would be minutes before Albera even realized that he was dead, the razor thin shiv having slipped through his rib cage painlessly, directly into his heart. It would take a skilled doctor to even find the wound.

Now that his latest job had been completed he decided to quickly vacate the encampment.This last job had troubled him some, so without consideration for his employer Cale decide it was time for a bit of vacation in Lussax.

---

Corana cautiously opened a portal from her sanctuary to a storage room in the Academy. She had spent the last three days healing her injured arm with what magics she could manage, but it was still missing, terminating in a pink, raw stump just above the elbow. Now even the most basic magic was frighteningly difficult, without two hands to do the movements that focused the arcane energies. This fact made leaving the sanctuary ever more prudent, soon the power that she invested in her domain would fade and she had not the strength to change this fact. Still, she knew enough theory to relearn, and given some time would be in near full form.

The storage room was dusty and unkempt, exactly the way she’d hoped. No one had visited this room in a very long time, nor was likely to visit now. She meant to stay hidden, to buy time to combat Xabriar’s work. She knew she had a chance, since he must consider her dead by now, to undo his damage discreetly.

Corana sifted through crates until she found a crate of apprentice robes, and quickly slipped into them. She hid her collection of magical jewelry and devices, taken with her into sanctuary, inside the folds of the robes and tried her best to look meek. The missing arm would mark her, so she wove a simple illusion, making it look as if the arm were present. It would fool most, as people expected a person to have both arms, and tended to shy away from those who had not.

Once the illusion was firmly in place, Corana simply opened the door to the storage room and walked out. No one questioned her as she strode purposefully through the halls of the Academy, and out the front doors. She needed a safe place to rest and figure out an answer. She wandered the streets until she came upon an inn called Cheerful Spirits, and deciding this was as good a place as any, entered and found herself a seat.

“Can I help you miss?” A young pretty girl in an apron approached her with a warm smile.

“Oh, yes, please. I’d like a white wine, thank you.” The pretty barmaid brought her a drink and she sipped at it, thinking, for nearly an hour before her thoughts were interrupted.

“Damn it, Ronal, they just treated me like a jealous boyfriend! They didn’t even listen!”

“Well, Arron, that’s what you get sticking your nose in Academy business. Besides, why do you even care about that little bit of fluff? You’ve got bigger responsibilities now.”

“Ronal, don’t you start talking like that too. He’s my best friend! And besides, as the city guard isn’t part of our duty to protect the people of Gaerbron? No one was protecting him except me, and a fat good job I did of it. He trusted me and I let him down. Those... people at that Academy just laughed at me!” The younger of the two that had sat at the table next to Corana thumped the table with a fist, drawing looks from several patrons.

“I don’t care if he is the greatest mage in Gaerbron, Xabriar is a bastard and I will make those idiots at the Academy see it!”

“Arron! Settle down! You’ll do no such thing if he finds out you said such and chars you to ash in your seat! Be still, be still! I’ll go with you on the morrow, perhaps two can make them see reason better than one. Barmaid, two rounds over here, my friend needs something to cool his ardor!” Corana listened intently, thinking perhaps some of Xabriar’s machinations were filtering down to the common man. The two were clearly guards, off duty for the night.

“All I’m saying is, I wouldn’t treat a thief in my house the way Xabriar treats his apprentices. And Rall was a good man, as good as they come. Yes, I know he’s a bit smallish and soft, and he knew it too. But he never let it hold him down, and he had the potential to be someone special. I could tell, and so could those louts at the Academy, at first. But Xabriar was beating him down, day after day, and I had to see the changes in him constantly. And I guess the Academy’s changed too, they don’t even seem to care!” The young guard was clearly drowning his sorrows, he drained two pints of ale in short succession, and was eyeing a third. Firming her resolve, Corana spoke quietly to him.

“These days it’s better to keep such words to oneself. The sorcerer you speak of holds sway in many places, and such words travel fast. I have been an apprentice for many years, and I have seen it too. But to combat such power, one must be subtle.” She leaned over and looked Arron in the eyes. “If you would fight him yourself, you will die. But should you gather the right allies, perhaps he can be unseated from his place of power.”

Arron leaned closer to listen carefully, but Ronal looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Don’t be stupid, Arron, don’t go stick your head into magic business, else you’re likely not to keep it for long!” With quick swig from his mug Ronal looked Corana squarely in the eyes. “ Now see here, me good missy, old leather bag up there in his tower is sure enough an evil little bastard, in league with Maltheus himself no doubt. But he keeps things running and the border secure. If you and your lot want the old bastard out that’s your business not ours.“

“It will be everyone’s business soon enough! Devils roam the halls of the Academy, and Xabriar’s enemies die strangely in the night. Once he has the Council fully in his grip, he’ll turn to the rest of the city, mark my word! Then how much will the border matter with devils running the streets? No one can bind one long, not even Xabriar with all his vaunted power! Once his control fails, there’ll be horror in these city walls you can scarcely imagine. He must be stopped before then, but no force of man can challenge him in his tower. Arron, can you describe Rall to me? In perfect detail? I met him once and I recall a bit of how he looked, but I need to get it exactly right. Perhaps you can help avenge your friend.” Corana’s eyes had taken on a steely look, and Arron obeyed almost without thinking.

“He’s shortish, about this tall...” he motioned with his hand, “and pretty, far too pretty for his own good. High cheekbones, yellow hair when it’s not darkened by soot, brown eyes, skinny... He looks a bit younger than he is. Why do you want to know all this? I swear, if you hurt my best friend...”

“Master Arron, I assure you I mean no harm to befall Rall. I assumed from your words he had died. But wherever he might be, he’s better away from this city. I will assume his form and enter Xabriar’s tower, try to subtly weaken him and escape. His defenses will allow his apprentice entry, but escape may be far more difficult. Come with me, I’ll rent a room and you can help me become him precisely. That is, if you wish to stop the evil man who hurt him so?” Corana knew she had him, she felt a little guilty playing on his feelings for his friend but for a chance to protect the city she loved she would do it again and more. Still, should she ever meet Rall again, she decided to help him if at all possible.

“Right. Ronal, you don’t have to be involved in this, it’s really no place for a city guardsman anyway. All I ask is that you don’t speak of this to anyone.” Arron looked to his friend with desperation, and Ronal nodded.

“If it means that much to ye lad, well, I’d be better off helpin’ ya keep that rock of a head attached. Mum always told me to stay outta the middle of the road. I reckon that applies here.”

Corana waved the innkeeper over and paid him for a room, then quickly led the pair upstairs. She locked the door and wove a spell against eavesdropping with her one good hand, working much harder than ever before to complete the motions required with half the hands. Then she turned to face the two men who had taken seats at a small table in the room.

“I want to apologize now, Arron. If I had been more wary from the start, I never would have allowed Xabriar to claim Rall as an apprentice. I saw his potential, and he has the chance to become greater than Xabriar or myself. But I was caught up in running the Academy, and only saw that a powerful sorcerer was taking on a powerful apprentice. And when I saw Xabriar going down a dark path, it never even occurred to me to think of how his apprentice might suffer. I am very sorry for what happened to your friend.”

“Who are you that you know so much and have such grand plans? Did your master send you to fight a powerful sorcerer all on your own? Are you even an apprentice at all?” Ronal questioned her, suddenly suspicious. Arron looked to his friend, then back at Corana with his own share of suspicion.

“You are right to question. I am Corana Whiteshadow, high magus of the Great Academy of Magic at Gaerbron. I am a member of the Order of the Greenwood, in high standing, and recently the victim of a devil sent by our enemy Xabriar. The beast took my left arm and left me weak in the face of the worst danger to befall my beloved city in over a thousand years.” she let the illusion drop, swept back her apprentice robe’s hood and stood up straight, letting her regal bearing convey the strength of her words.

“Pull the other one, it’s got bells on!” Ronal roared in laughter. Arron for his part still looked suspicious.

“Right then, perhaps this will convince you.” she reached into her robes and withdrew her personal signet, as well as a wand of bone-white wood. “If you like I can truss you up and hang you from the air like plucked chickens at market, but I prefer not to if I can avoid it.”

Both men put hand to sword but found themselves unable to draw.

“Now, if I have your complete attention, I want to make this clear. This is no game, I am not pulling anyone’s leg, and I mean to help this city with your help or without. Now, shall we continue our discussion politely?” Suddenly, both Arron and Ronal gripped their swords and half drew, but Corana sat calmly on the bed and placed the wand and ring back in her robes. With a shared look, both men sheathed their blades, though Ronal kept a hand on his hilt.

“I am sorry to resort to such methods, but I need you both to understand, and I need to act quickly. How long has Rall been quit of Xabriar’s tower? Each day makes it more likely he’ll have given up on his apprentice and change his protective spells.”

Pulling a wooden stool from the wall Arron sat down “Three days, he should be half way to Lussax if the caravan made good time.”

“Three days. That doesn’t leave much time. Do you know if Xabriar has bothered to seek him out since then?”

“Not at all, as far as I know. He hasn’t reported Rall as missing to the city guard, nor did the Academy seem to know anything about Rall. If I don’t miss my guess, he doesn’t care at all that Rall’s gone, but I’m not willing to risk Rall’s life on that assumption.”

Corana shifted on the bed uncomfortably as she digested the newest tidbit of information. Someone like Xabriar would care if there apprentice went missing. The man had too many secrets to simply ignore a wayward apprentice, at the very least a cursory investigation to see if the boy was in the hands of a rival would have been in order. Unless perhaps he was working on something so consuming that he had no time to deal with other things. Something even more terrible than the summoning of a greater demon.

“So we’re lost?” Rall asked, hoping somehow it wouldn’t be true.

Rall shivered next to Greta sitting on an ancient fallen tree trunk, chilled by the cold night of the woods with little but a thin layer of linen to cover each. The forest floor retained moisture well, sapping away what little body heat they could muster.

Rall glared frustratedly at the bundle of sticks which was supposed to be roaring fire by now. Three hours of rubbing sticks together had offered little results. The wood was too damp, and he hadn’t been able to find much that would make usable tinder. “Idiot Arron...” he cursed silently, “if only he had taught me some woodcraft!” Of course that wasn’t fair, Arron did everything he could, more than anyone else would have.

Greta was shaking beside him, her chattering teeth thrusting home the guilt that if he wasn’t wearing her dress maybe she wouldn’t be freezing. He went back to rubbing the sticks for several more minutes before throwing them violently onto the small pile, frustrated and despairing. In a fit of anger at his own helplessness, he drew the rusty sword that had accompanied him so far, through so much in such a short time, and swung it at the pile prompting Greta to shy away from him. He growled and brought the sword down in a powerful chop, and the moment it hit the pile it struck a spark off of something. The sticks and moss caught as if soaked in oil.

Rall whooped for joy, forgetting for a moment to draw the blade free. He dashed around the fire and grabbed Greta’s hands up in excited cavorting, jumping up and down.

“I did it! We’re not going to freeze!” Greta smiled at him, nodding her head.

“No, but if you don’t stop shouting like a ninny those men will find us again! Now come sit down, I’ll see if I can find us something to eat.” Rall swallowed his shouts of joy and nodded in return, sitting on the log near the now merrily burning pile of sticks. He noticed the sword, stuck point first into the hottest part of the fire, where coals were already forming. He quickly drew the sword out, worried he might have ruined it. And yet there it lay, looking precisely its chipped, rusty self, with no sign of damage. In fact, he couldn’t be quite certain but that tip looked a bit smoother, or sharper than before. He almost ran a thumb over the spot to check, but stopped short expecting to feel the heat of the fire. Yet, the metal was cool and he was right, it did feel smoother.

“Put that thing away before you cut yourself, and help me put these sweet roots on sticks over the fire. I’ve already washed them over at the stream, and they’ll keep us going for the night.” Rall shrugged off the odd thought of the sword’s alteration, suddenly struck by a ravenous hunger.

“Yes, Greta.” He stood to help cook the sweet roots, then tucked into several in a row.

“You know, if you’re trying to act like a girl you should at least eat like one. You’re going to make yourself sick.” Rall paused chewing a large mouthful and swallowed, then a slow smile spread across his face, then gave way to laughter. But before he knew it he found himself in Greta’s arms, crying pitifully into the front of her shift.

“How can you be so calm?” he sobbed, even as she patted and rubbed his back, his tears dampening her dirty shift.

“Rana... I’ve grown up out here, travelling the roads in the wilds. I know what to expect of bandits, how to trap or find food, how to survive the harsh realities out here. You’ve only had a few days to grow used to it. Don’t be hard on yourself, and don’t be afraid to cry about it when you can. You know I won’t think less of you. After all, you saved us in that slaver camp. You freed us when the fire might have just killed us. So go ahead and let it out, I’ll be right here.” She spoke this last to the forest, as Rall slipped into an exhausted slumber.

The next morning Rall found himself curled awkwardly next to the tree. He supposed he had Xabriar to thank for inadvertently training him to sleep in such awkward places, but somehow gratitude escaped him. The fire was carefully tended so as not to spread or die out, and several more sweet roots hung on sticks around it. “How long have you been up?” Rall called out to Greta as she tended to some more roots next to the stream.

“All morning and into the afternoon. I couldn’t wake you, and I was starting to get frightened. I hoped more food might draw you back to your senses. We can’t stay here, they will eventually track us when they can spare the time, and it’s best if we’re leagues away and our trail long cold by then.”

This brought up a rather disturbing question for Rall. “Which direction?”. The look on Greta face was just as he feared. In the rush to get away neither did manage to get their bearings, and they were days by horse from where they were captured.

“So we’re lost?” Rall asked, hoping somehow it wouldn’t be true.

“Yes. I’m hoping if we just keep travelling south we’ll meet the road eventually, but I don’t even know for sure they took us north. The road leads east to west, so travelling south means we have even odds of reaching it sooner or later.”

“But... it could take weeks...” Rall hung his head, despondent. “We have no supplies, no money, not even clothes to speak of!”

“We have a good knife, that sword of yours, two decent heads on our shoulders, and hope. It’ll have to be enough.” Greta offered in a firm tone. Rall nodded in response, holding in his doubts.

“Right, south it is then. Ummm, which way is south?”

“This way. See how the moss grows on the north side of the trees? It likes the dark and damp. In the morning the sun shines on the east side of the tree, at noon on the south, and at dusk on the west. it never shines directly on the north though, so that’s where the moss grows. Plus, it’s late in the day, and the sun sets in the west. So, face west and south is to your left.”

Greta collected the cooked sweet roots from around the fire and scuffed dirt over it. They started walking, barefoot, and Greta explained which plants would be safe to eat, which poisonous, and even a few medicinal. The constant lessons helped distract Rall from the occasional twig poking into his soft feet and the worry tickling at the edges of his mind.

---

Cale was already regretting his little stunt at the Tent city after the initial confusion of the slaves escaping. The slavers had quickly organized groups of riders, and were pouring down the trails used to supply the city. With in half an hour, makeshift checkpoints and patrols where spreading through the woods seeking their escaped merchandise.

This posed something of a problem for Cale; a lone man walking the trail away from the slaver camp would at the very least be worth stopping. And given the slavers’ philosophy in life, Cale thought it best to stay of the trail lest he become replenishment for lost stock. He wouldn’t mind killing them, but enough of them in a patrol would be a problem even for a man of his skills.

So instead Cale crept through the forest quietly, having decided It would be more prudent to travel by forest towards Lussax. He left no trace of his passage, and some part of him relished this test of his woodland skills. It was a far cry from creeping the alleyways of the city.

He had been stalking a rabbit for supper when sound of breaking twigs caught his attention. With a swift smooth motion Cale ducked behind a large oak tree. For the briefest of moments he wondered if a slaver patrol had found him in spite of his efforts to hide his trail. His worries dissipated quickly however, as two young girls emerged from the foliage. Both were barefoot, their clothes caked with mud and leaves. The girls were clearly suffering from exposure. He was also fairly certain he recognized them from the slave pens.

Prudence being the highest virtue of his calling, Cale shadowed them both for the better part of a day, always keeping himself out of sight. The two spent most of it running weakly in short bursts, followed by trudging through the forest looking terrified and pathetic. Having assured himself the pair was no threat, Cale slipped out from the cover of a pair of trees grown twistingly together to greet them.

“Hello there. You two look lo-” He was cut off by the screech of the red-haired girl “Slaver!”

It was with a bit of luck and years of training that Cale caught on to the movement of the smaller of the girls and jumped back to avoid the blow of a blade. “The little chit has some gall!” He though to himself as he avoided another sloppy blow.

“Run, Greta, I’ll hold him off! You won’t have us as slaves, I’ll die first!” A few clumsy swings told Cale the girl was as strange to the blade as he was to pity.

The girl’s slashes were that of a novice; her movements where wasteful and hid nothing. For Cale avoiding was child-play. He could have kept at it all day if he wished. But despite the girl’s obvious lack in swordplay, something about her felt dangerous.

He drew a swordbreaker knife from a sheath on his calf and waited for the child to try again. As the girl swung, he caught her short sword in the swordbreaker’s teeth. Holding the blade at bay Cale felt a surge of energy flow down off the rusty junk weapon. It was an odd epiphany as he finally understood why he felt unnerved by the girl. With a quick mental command he triggered the power of a medallion he hid under his leather jerkin. A moment later a stab of pain flared through his eyes like thousands of fire-hot needles as his perception was forcibly pulled into the realms of magic.

Cale could barely look directly at the girl as unbelievable uncontrolled power flowed from her like a great river. Even Xabriar’s aura did not compare to the raw power flooding from this diminutive girl. What truly frightened Cale was that the sword was hungrily sucking it all up. While he was no sorcerer himself, thanks to his little trinket he had seen many of the tricks they do. Without a second thought he twisted his hand, flipping the sword from her hands to land on the forest floor several yards away. He schooled his features to hide any evidence of what he had seen.

With a sigh Cale watched as the girl’s power settled to a dim glow. It seemed to him that she needed the sword to draw out her power. She was a novice in both sword and magic, he could tell that much, but frightfully powerful. Glancing at the worthless-looking sword he momentarily wondered where the girl picked up an artifact that could draw out her unrefined power. Such an odd situation piqued his sense of the absurd, and he decided to help them in spite of the attack.

“Now if I may finish what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I thought you looked lost. You’re headed a bit too far west of south, you’ll find a sudden cliff a few hundred yards further. I’d hate to see such cute girls topple to the bottom of a deep, rocky ravine. Well, maybe you, after all you did try to skewer me. From the look of your blade, I imagine a cut from it might be a death sentence from the jaw locking sickness.” He tried smiling to show he meant no harm, but that seemed to scare the girls worse.

“Well, I’ll be on my way then. But like I said, the road is that way, don’t go walking off any cliffs.” so saying, Cale left the ungrateful children to their own devices. He couldn’t for the life of him imagine why he’d bothered in the first place, he knew neither would thank him, and they might even ignore his advice out of mule-headed spite. But then, the older one reminded him of...

No, best not think down that road. Done was done, and he had relaxing to do and Lussax had some of the finest women and dodgiest taverns in the realm.

---

Corana nervously brought her right hand towards the great oak door. Well rather Rall’s right hand; sneaking past Xabriar’s magical wards and protections required something more than a simple glamour. But thanks to Arron she had acquired a lock of hair from the boy, more than enough for her to conjure a spell to transform her physical form. Still, it was odd to have an arm back again; even after a few short days she was already becoming accustomed to her phantom limb. It would be pity that she would have to release the spell soon, the magic to maintain a physical transformation was too taxing to hold for long.

Cautiously she placed her borrowed hand to the tower door and pushed. It opened freely, and no cascades of fire or eldritch death washed over her... his body. She shook off those disturbing thoughts, she was still herself no matter what body she wore for an hour or two. Stepping further into the entryway, she noted the generally unkempt hallway, a small closet left standing open with things haphazardly strewn inside. Apparently without an apprentice around to keep house, the sorcerer did not care for such things.

She crept up the stairs quietly, certain that Xabriar knew “his apprentice” had returned, but hoping anyway to catch him unaware. Those hopes were dashed when a booming voice, amplified by a spell Corana recognized, echoed in the small hallway leading to the stairs.

“Where have you been, boy? You’ve cost me hours on hours of time I needed for my work, instead spent doing your job! Come up now and bring me something to eat!”

Corana’s thoughts raced, leaving her stunned for several seconds before the voice boomed again.

“NOW, APPRENTICE!” She lurched forward, knowing she could not escape while he was paying direct attention. Thankfully Xabriar’s tower was laid out in a similar way to other towers she had visited, a simple utilitarian design. She hurried to the kitchen area, and quickly prepared bacon and fried eggs and rolls. She knew well enough how to cook and guessed at the sorceror’s preferences based on what she found in the larder, hoping it would fit in with what Rall had done before, and brought a tray to the top of the stairs. Balancing the heavy tray, she knocked.

She almost dropped the whole tray down the stairs when Xabriar’s voice boomed again.

“Took you long enough! What are you dallying about for? Bring it in already!”

Collecting her wits and the teetering tray, she pushed the door open with her foot, and stepped inside. The sorcerer’s work room was the largest in the tower. Objects and devices of power hung from walls in easy reach of one bench, and racks of chemicals, preserved organs in jars and various colored candles, some of which burned presently with a sickly sputtering flame adorned another. A much-abused drawing table stood to one side, half finished symbols and circles drawn on it in a dark brown substance Corana was certain was some sort of blood.

She took all of this in as she carried the tray to Xabriar. He was old, much older than she, and much more worn than when she’d last seen him in Council. Clearly his work was exhausting, but a glance at his eyes showed her a fierce cunning, a sort of energy belied by his tired frame and thin white hair.

She placed the tray on a small stool that looked likely for the purpose, and started to turn and leave, but Xabriar turned from his drawing to look at her, those intense eyes rooting her to the spot. Had she been found out? She had no doubt of his ability to best her in magical combat here in his tower, she could fairly feel the floor and walls humming with energy, more than she could have imagined the sorcerer building even in his domain. Whatever he was doing blinded him from seeing the comparatively minor magic of her transformation spell, by simply dwarfing it in sheer order of magnitude!

“Boy, you’ve been gone for three days. Do you think to escape punishment?” Somehow this quiet, menacing tone chilled her in a way the booming amplified one did not.

“N... no sir.” She knew this would not be pleasant, but steeled her will to accept whatever punishment the dark sorcerer might give without resistance, after all, if she proved herself to be other than his untrained apprentice he would kill her.

“A pity. I think I would have preferred it had you tried to run.” Bands of force wrapped instantly around her, trapping her arms to her sides and her legs together. A spell designed for restraining the most dangerous criminals, and he used it on an apprentice?

“Enervius!” She didn’t even have time to gasp before the pain hit. Lightning coursed through her veins as her bones melted into liquid fire. Nausea filled her in concert with the agony, but she was unable to even draw breath to scream through the pain. Seconds, minutes, years, eons... It seemed to last forever, before she was allowed to slump against the invisible bands of force.

She hung there, for a brief moment uncaring of the bonds, her borrowed body or anything but the sheer joy of breathing without pain. Shortly reality came crashing back on her though, as Xabriar’s voice cut through the mental fog.

“You disappoint me again boy, and I’ll kill you and be done with it.” Without another word, Xabriar turned away dismissively, the force bonds dissolving as if they’d never been.

Staggering to a wall Corana tried to calm her breathing. A wave of dizziness almost bore her to the ground again. She had not expected this, a torture spell on an apprentice! This was madness! Any idea of hiding in Xabriar’s tower to study the old wizard seemed foolhardy now. Even if she could maintain the transformation spell, it wouldn’t last through another session with Xabriar. And his power, the aura in that room was smothering in and of itself! For Rall to have endured it for months on top of regular abuse, she was amazed the boy hadn’t cracked.

Removing herself from the old sorcerer’s presence, she slowly made her way down the seemingly endless stairs. With a shudder she felt a pulse of power flood through the tower, followed closely by cold chuckle that echoed through the tower as countless wards came to life.

---

Rall sat on an old fallen log and slowly dipped sore scraped feet into the running stream. What he wouldn’t give to have a good pair of boots! The number of cuts and gashes where becoming frightening to look at. And the muck and dirt had Rall fearing infection if they didn’t hit the road soon.

“The road” he mumbled, both he and Greta had argued at length for an hour about following the stranger’s directions. He had wanted to keep to the path they were following, but Greta couldn’t ignore the warning about the cliff or the possibility of finding the road.

Despite travelling in the direction the cloaked stranger suggested, they didn’t seem to be getting any closer. And more and more, Rall wanted to go the other way. Still, he owed Greta, and he couldn’t help but admire her courage and tenacity as she kept up the pace even when he wanted to give up. But something about the forest here felt off, he could swear he saw something following them but every time he looked there was nothing, even when he could swear he was looking right at something menacing.

“Ahhhh!” Greta yelled, causing Rall’s heart to skip as he turned to see her pacing madly around a tree. Warily he pulled himself off the log to walk slowly towards Greta.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? What isn’t wrong.” she groaned. “It doesn't make sense, it’s all changing!” she said as she pointed to the trees.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Look we have been heading south since this morning, without turning, I am sure of it. But look at the sky, when was the last time you saw the sun set south?” Rall looked up and found she was right, they had somehow been turned west!

“I don’t know how long we’ve been travelling the wrong way, but this way should be right...” She sounded uncertain as she pointed south, still looking at the trees nervously.

Hours passed as they slowly trekked through the forest, with Greta stopping every so often to gain her bearings. But with every stop she seemed to be less sure of herself, triple checking the moss on trees and the sun’s position.

Rall felt his heart sink as he crested a small hill. “It can’t be...” he spoke under his breath. Staggering down the hill in near panic he hardly registered the pain of stubbing his toe on a sharp rock. His mind raced as he made his way towards a flowing brook and the same fallen log that he had sat on not an hour before.

Turning towards Greta for an answer, he saw her collapse on the hill sobbing. She turned her head in shame, refusing to make eye contact. “I... I don’t understand! I know how not to turn circles in the woods, I haven’t gotten lost in six years! It’s like the woods are turning around even as we walk a straight line!”

Walking up to Greta , Rall firmly gripped her shoulder “Maybe we should just rest here tonight and try again tomorrow. We can find some branches and make a lean to against that fallen log.” Rall pointed out the log he’d rested on earlier, close to the spring but protected from it by the log on the dry side.

“Yeah... Maybe it’s just me... I hope I’m not coming down with a fever or something, we don’t need that right now...”

To Rall’s amazement the lean-to didn’t take long to construct. Despite his sword’s sorry state of disrepair, it still cut brush well enough to collect a couple dozen nearby branches. After the basic framework had been woven together, finding enough moss, leaves and dirt to fill in the gaps took almost no time.

While he had been busy with the construction, Greta collected firewood and large stones to line the fire pit. To Rall’s personal chagrin she even manged to start the fire without him, shortly before nightfall. Long past the point of any embarrassment or mistrust, the pair curled up together in the shelter, cold and hungry, and slept.

Rall dreamed, visions of dark ancient things that flashed through his mind, and cities that burned across the land like a great fire. The sky tore asunder as celestial bodies fell from the heavens, tearing into the earth with thunder and fire.

He woke from his horrid nightmare to distant screech. He shivered violently as a cold wind blasted him in the blinding darkness. The fire was out, not even a glowing ember remained. Even the moon and stars had abandoned him, an echo of the eerie dream’s aftermath in his mind. He stretched out his hand in the utter darkness to feel around. “Greta?” Rall whispered as he reached toward where she was supposed to be, and felt nothing but cold damp ground.

“Greta..” he repeated louder. Still nothing, his heart pounded and stomach turned with worry. Crawling out of the lean-to, he called out again, “GRETA!” No answering sound returned but the shriek of gale force winds, echoing his own call mockingly.

Rall stumbled into the center of their camp as the cold wind blasted his body. It was during one of these blasts that he was certain he heard the wind speak. A voice that sounded eerily like his own spoke to him.

“Thief.. Thief! Give it back... Give it back!” Icy needles of snow driven by blustering winds drove into his skin. He thought he heard Greta scream beyond the trees, but the wind carried the sound away.

“Greta! Leave us alone, we haven’t done anything! We haven’t stolen anything, just let us go!” Rall didn’t know to whom or what he was screaming, but it didn’t matter because he was at its mercy and even worse, it had Greta. It had Greta! As the thought solidified in his sleep-addled mind, he knew he had to save her somehow. He groped for the sword, useless as it might be, and somehow found it in his hand in the darkness and chaos.

Holding the sword in front of him he slowly turned looking for an enemy. The wind hissed back in anger, “Give it back, mortal thing!”

Before he could retort he felt cold invisible bone fingers snake around his neck, choking him. “Baacck!” it screeched from all around him as the wind swirled around, dirt and muck of the forest floor whipped at his skin as the mini dust devil grew in strength. He lashed out with the sword and felt branches part in its path, releasing the pressure from his neck.

“You’re the thief! You took Greta! Give her back or I’ll cut you!”

“BAAACK” the voice boomed, a sense of pure dread and certain death filled his mind. This power was so much more visceral, primal, than when his Master used his booming voice spell. All Rall wished to do for a moment was curl up in a ball and beg forgiveness. But in that moment of utter defeat, something inside pushed to move his body. It felt like a warm, life-giving fire and he trusted it. Following the odd impression he shifted sideways a few steps. A moment later he felt the ground beside him split apart as ancient oak tree landed from the sky with a thunder. He was terrified but the warm feeling didn’t leave, and it made him feel like he could fight.

“Give her back and I’ll try to help, whatever has caused you harm I will fight for you if I can, but you have to give her back to me!” The spirit raged against him, again he felt the feel of warm fire under his skin guiding his movements. He moved sinuously, dodging falling rocks cloaked by the starless night. The winds screeched in protests at his approach; his body moved with agility and dexterity he had only seen Arron perform as he parried the branches of trees he could not see that moved and flexed at impossible speeds. Branches burst into fire where the sword bit into their wooden flesh.

It slowly dawned on Rall that he was able to see the forest. It had happened slowly with each dodge and parry; the sword began to glow. At first a thin flame, the outline of the sword against the pitch black. But with each biting cut into his unknown nemesis the sword’s flame grew in strength, until it shone like a white bar of liquid light, dripping sparks like metal being worked in a forge.

He knew it wouldn’t harm him, even as fire flowed down the sword from his hands. Surely the blade would melt from the heat of that white fire! He held it aloft like a torch and the light of the fire filled the darkness, shattered it. He saw Greta then, trapped in a circle of trees, their branches all entangled together like a cage. Like the slavers’ cage! Growling with a fury he didn’t know he was capable of, Rall charged the black and twisted trees, and cut a path to the center.

Greta shied away from the fire, molten and dripping from his hands like droplets of water, leaving seared spots on the ground, but Rall ignored her for a moment. He felt something else in the circle of trees, something wrong, something that should not be. He lashed out with the sword, liquid fire spraying across the circle, and he felt the blade bite into something that wasn’t there. Again he swung, and again, until he felt it give.

A brilliant explosion of sparks knocked Rall from his feet, as a towering inferno burst where he had been standing. His own burning blade drank in the fire, dimming it further and further by the second until not a spark remained. The darkness after that all-consuming light was even more complete than before.

----

The tower shuddered, creaking and groaning like a golem made of aged driftwood. Corana woke with a cold sweat. Exhaustion and dizziness presented themselves first to her weary mind. Sharp pains in her back slowly followed, from sleeping on the stone floor. It took much of her strength just to stand; maintaining her false form was sapping most of her vital energies. Even so, she could feel the difference: the tower was weaker. Xabriar was weaker, noticeably. And whatever weakened him and his place of power, would be the distraction she needed!

She did her best to ignore the pains of her abused borrowed body and made her way to the water closet. It was not the most pleasant way to leave the tower, but she was quite certain any other would be worse. The small drain where the apprentice emptied chamberpots into the city’s sewer system was too small for her regular body to fit, but Rall’s small, slender form might squeeze through. And awful as it would be, Xabriar would do far worse when he discovered her.

Corana steeled her nerves and ducked into the room, closing the door behind her. She pried the stone lid off the sewer opening and nearly fainted from the stench. The tower was near the top of a hill, with a long, fairly steep slope to the river, where the sewer should empty. She only hoped she could slide quickly because if she had to crawl and fainted in there, she knew she would die anyway.

Before Corana could change her mind, or Xabriar notice his apprentice was using the room for something other than its intended purpose, she held her nose and dropped feet first into the horrid darkness.

Her feet hit what seemed like perhaps ten feet down, and immediately went out from under her. The slope was high and the surface more slippery than oiled glass, and she slid down the darkness with what felt like terrifying speed. Filth splattered everything and she tried desperately not to sick up, thinking of what was smearing every inch of her borrowed body. She thought she heard rats squealing, but they came and went in an instant’s passing. The noxious air blasted with gale force against her as she slid, until a pinpoint of light grew in the distance. In moments Corana was blinded by the brightness, then with a mighty splash she found herself in the river, fetid globs of things she didn’t want to imagine bumping into her as she desperately tried to tread water. Making her way to the sandy shore of the slow-moving river, she heaved herself up out of the muck and promptly vomited.

Heaving for breaths, she felt her body shift, all control of the spell gone in that moment of disgust. She immediately used what energy she could summon to wick away all the filth and slime from her body and clothing, depositing it with the rest in the river. Even so, she still felt filthy, like she might never again feel clean.

---

Xabriar threw a flask of potion across the room to shatter against the stone wall with a hiss, releasing a noxious fog. He roared and threw another against it, increasing both the mess and smell. His ritual, one of five that together would grant him the power of a god, had unravelled! He had only one left to create, now two, to bend the flows of the natural ley lines to create a nexus on his tower. Once all five were complete he could fully protect them, but someone must have discovered his plan, and now would put everything in jeopardy! If he didn’t know of her death, he might have guessed that wench Corana had found it, she alone of his enemies had the power to unravel such a working.

And to top it off, the boy just jumped into the sewer. He must have been driven insane by the discord of energies in the tower. If the fall didn’t kill him the infection would, and good riddance. Had the boy not been such a font of power, he never would have bothered with the lump. Still, he would send Cale to recover the boy later just in case. If he lived the child would prove useful, sanity or no. But first he had to get control of his tower, the unravelling of such a spell threatened to weaken all his workings!

Arron stared at her for a moment as he contemplated her suggestion. “So you wish to sneak by the Academy guard, break into your own lab and not be noticed?”

Corana entered the bar where she agreed to meet Arron after her visit to the tower, hoping he had waited for her. She was two days late, thanks to being trapped by Xabriar, but she counted on the young man showing anyway. Even after cleansing herself magically four times, she still imagined the other patrons of the inn-slash-tavern shied away from her. Just thinking of it made her stomach churn, so she focused on a spot on the table and waited as the rain drummed a steady beat on the tiled roof.

Just as she was about to walk out and try to find refuge elsewhere, a man in city guard armor and tabard stepped in and shook the rain from his cloak. As he turned to hang it on a peg provided near the door she recognized Arron’s face, shorn dark hair and hints of beard stubble. He looked just as worried as the last time she’d met him, maybe more so. He saw her and immediately strode to the table.

“I did not expect to see you alive again.” He said as he sat on a stool across the table from Corana. He wrinkled his nose as he sat.

“Alive, yes. But I would not recommend the sewer for travel in the city.”

Arron nodded, “Did you learn whether Xabriar is in league with a demon lord?

“If only. If it was a demon lord then the council could deal with it. Demonic magic places constraints on a sorcerer, they must meet the conditions of the contract. What Xabriar has tied into his tower is not demonic, it is elemental. It’s like half the magic of the world has been compressed into the one tower. It should not be possible, but he has done it. But whatever he has done can be unravelled, some part of that power failed last night. It distracted him for my escape.”

“Have you learned anything that you can take to the council?” The worry etched across Arron’s eyes for his friend made her wince at her own failure at spying and in allowing Xabriar to go unchecked for so long. “I’m sorry, but no. Honestly, he has too much power in the council lately to confront him there anyway.”

“Then what am I to do?” Arron sighed. “Ronal thinks me mad for getting involved with the machination of sorcerers. And truly I would having nothing of it, if not for Rall. And I have not heard word from him since he left.”

Corana took a deep gulp of her mug of wine. “If Xabriar has shown me anything it’s that Rall is strong, stronger than you can imagine. Very few men would endure what Rall has for a week, let alone months, without going mad.”

“As for what we should do, I am unsure. What Xabriar has done in that tower is more then dangerous. He flirts with forces that can not be easily controlled by mortals, and a misstep would mean more than Xabriar’s death. Worse yet, such power in the hands of a mortal sorcerer will attract the attention of ancient things best left undisturbed.”

Arron shook his head wishing he could be quit of all this magic business, and answered, “Of course such things wouldn’t just snatch him away never to be seen again and leave the rest of us alone...” He didn’t really hold out any hope.

“No. It’s best not to even imagine what might happen then. We need to stop him now. And the first step might be to find out what caused his power to unravel last night.”

“Where do we look? I don’t know how to deal with all this magic stuff.”

“I think I might be able to track the source of the disruption, if I can get to my tools in my tower. But the problem is, no one can know I’m alive, or Xabriar will start sending his minions after me. Weakened as I am, I wouldn’t stand much chance.”

Arron stared at her for a moment as he contemplated her suggestion. “So you wish to sneak by the Academy guard, break into your own lab and not be noticed?”

Corana nodded with a downcast look, “It’s not going to be easy, I should know. I helped design the defenses against intruders. I know a few ways in, but most of them require both of my arms.” She waved the still-raw looking stump in his direction as a reminder.

“What of the city guards? They patrol the grounds regularly. Even with the magic out of the way it will not stop the watchful eye of a gaurd.”

“That’s where I’ll need your help. You’re a guard, perhaps no one will think twice about a novice sneaking somewhere with a guard...” Corana smiled apologetically.

Arron slugged back a large gulp of the strong wine, more than he intended. “You want me to pretend to be sneaking off with you for a bit of ummm, cuddling?”

“More or less, yes.” She responded, staring hard at the oak table a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks.

“No one will question it, I’m certain. You are quite handsome.” she continued. The absurdity of what she was proposing was not lost on her; it was in fact what could make the whole plan work.

Catching Arron’s eyes with a determined look she asserted, “It’s the obvious answer, now that I think about it. I can enter my own workspace easily enough, and the Academy’s wards will allow me. I know the hidden passageways fairly well, and anyone paying attention will just see a novice girl sneaking off with her beau looking for a private hiding place. It happens a lot.”

“That’s... insane, you know. It seems likely to work, I’m not questioning that. But, I never imagined I’d be pretend lover to a master sorceress pretending to be a novice. The things I do for Rall...” Arron shook his head at the unlikeliness of the situation.

---

Cale swaggered into the Lussax gates with a smirk. His papers were all in perfect order and the guard waved him past with only the barest glance. This did not surprise Cale, since he did rather resemble a travelling tax collector the guard happened to know personally. Cale spent two hours that morning perfecting the disguise after leaving said tax collector in a ditch some two days’ travel behind.

He swept through the streets as if he owned the entire city, and people made way. No one paid too close attention for fear he might demand a tax of them, so when he ducked behind a tavern to change no one took notice, and when he stepped back out looking more like the kind of man who might be paid to toss drunks out of bars even fewer looked his way.

He entered the tavernand sat down. It was a seedy-looking place with sawdust-covered floors to soak up and hide whichever liquid might be spilled on a given night be it ale, wine or blood. He deliberately chose a table next to a dice game, sitting long enough to hear the local rules of the game while he drank the watery bitter draught the barman offered those with little coin.

“Are you men playing Eights and Tens? Or is it Crown’s Hand? Seems like there’s a new game made up for dicing every day.” he nodded to the man holding the dice cup.

“Devil’s Run. You know the game?” The man was a rough, greedy sort by the look of him, exactly the kind of man Cale enjoyed taking for large amounts of coin.

Dangling a purse in front of the grubby man. The distinctive clink of coin brought raised eyebrows and a quiet murmur around the table “Yeah, I think so. Can I buy in?”

“Sure.” the man grinned, proudly displaying his blackened, decayed teeth. “Always room for a man with coin.” Cale nodded, taking the dice cup the man offered him.

“So, on the first roll I just have to not roll all sixes, right?” The man with the black teeth and terrible breath shook his head.

“All sixes, all ones or a straight on the first roll loses. Second roll the straight wins, third the sixes, fourth the ones. Roll any of them on the wrong turn and you lose. Anything else rolls again. You’re first, new guy.” Cale put a few coppers on the table with the rest and shook the dice cup, then rolled all ones.

“Bad luck there friend, you just lost. Wanna try again?”

Cale managed to lose four more rounds before switching the dice. For one with his skills, palming dice was as simple as breathing. He switched them before and after his turn each round, until he broke even. He made sure to drink often enough that his new friends would see and assume him drunk, and acted accordingly with slurred speech and clumsy movements. This made palming the dice even easier.

“Okay, I’m tired of loshing all my money, it’sh high time my luck shangesh!” He tossed his bag of coin, a mix of gold, copper and silver, on the table. “You guysh in?” He blinked and nodded as if he was having difficulty staying awake. The others at the table looked around, and set their own stashes on the table. Cale couldn’t help noticing their bets did not in any way match up to his own, they meant to cheat him, just as he was cheating them.

“Right then.” He tossed the dice and came up four sixes and a two. “ ‘m not out yet...” He tossed again, coming up most of a straight but not quite. “Tha’sh a closhe one...” He tossed again, and all sixes came up, just as he knew they would. They were his dice after all. He grinned and clumsily reached across the table for the coin.

‘You cheating bastard, these dice are loaded!” Another man reached for the dice, but Cale knocked them off the table “accidentally” in collecting the coins. His own dice went into the coin bag, the originals fell on the floor.

“Huh?” Cale looked at his accuser with a dopey expression.

“Look, he palmed them, they’ll always roll all sixes!” He rolled them and came up with two sixes, a four, a one and a three.

“Well, friend, looks like you win. Fair’s fair and all.” the black-toothed man offered with a dark grin. “Guess you’d better get to your room before you pass out somewhere, huh friend?”

Cale nodded as the others glanced at each other with slight nods, recognizing the plan. It was a smart one, instead of starting a fight in the bar they were going to wait and rob him in the hallway, or in his room later. He stood up, money in hand, and tied it to his belt sloppily before stumbling toward the door. The darkness outside would be a much more suitable place than the hallways or his room. No need to make a mess inside.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw them leaving as well, through the back door. He staggered outside into the darkness, rubbing a button on his coat that magically restored his darkvision immediately after the change in light. It cost him a tidy sum years ago, but had proven its worth time and time again since. As he rounded the corner of the bar, he clearly saw the shadows of the four men surrounding him. He didn’t react until the one in front spoke, the one with the black teeth.

“Right then, I think you’ll be giving us that bag of coin there, or else we’ll have to beat you senseless. Not a peep now, or you’ll be dead before the guards can bat an eye.”

“Is that so?” The man looked momentarily startled, but the moment Cale had spoken the man to the right threw a knife. Cale caught it and returned it with interest, noting with a smile the sound as it sank into the attacker’s throat, silencing him permanently.

“Jonno, did you get him?” Cale threw a knife of his own and silenced the man behind him the same way. The other two fell on him, and one struck a glancing blow to his ribs with a truncheon, but Cale ignored the pain and punched him. A needle hidden inside the painted soft wax of a false signet ring pushed through the wax to just break the skin of the man’s face, and he died seconds later. The last man, the one with the black teeth, tried to push a short sword into his ribs, but Cale shoved it aside with his forearm, the edge scraping across a sheathed dagger he kept hidden there.

“You picked the wrong hustler to roll tonight, friend.” So saying he punched the man in the throat, and felt his windpipe crunch. The man gagged and fell to the ground, choking out his last few moments in the darkness.

Collecting his throwing knife from the corpse’s throat Cale stared into the dead man’s eyes “Pity you had to be sore losers. Now I’m going to have to find a different place to stay.”

---

Rall awoke to a thousand pounding aches that seemed to encompass his whole body. Everything from his toes up to his pinkie fingers throbbed. He had never felt this bad before, even after one of his master’s beatings. Warily he opened his eyes only to immediately shut them with a groan. The morning sun seemed determined to burn his eyes to ash.

“Rall, are you awake?” Greta shouted as she popped her head into the lean-to. The shelter appeared to have grown over the night since he first built it.

Moaning slightly Rall tucked his head under his arm “ ‘few more hours please...”

“Oh no you don’t!” Greta remarked as she pulled herself in beside Rall to give him a slight shake, “You’ve been sleeping for three days!” she said with a quivering voice. “I though you might die!”

Pulling himself into a sitting position took extraordinary effort, and his body was quick protest with more dull aches. “Three days? What happened?” His head rang with the sounds of the forest and the booming sound of his own voice, but he needed to know what was going on.

“You went all fiery and lit up the whole sky! I think you might have been fighting something but it was really hard to see through the tree branches, and most of what I could see was blinding. I didn’t know you were a sorcerer! Anyway, you just kind of soaked up all the light like a sponge after a while, and fell asleep. Then somehow I could get to you really easy, like the forest let me through. You were so still, I thought you were dead at first, but when I touched you you were burning with fever. It only just broke last night.” He dared to peek again and found most of the light blocked by the lean-to, and Greta blocking the rest at the opening. She looked very concerned, and slightly startled when he looked at her.

“I was? I only remember fighting something I couldn’t see, then it exploded and then I woke up just now. Oh! The sword! Did it blow up too?” Greta shook her head and pointed at his chest. He looked down and found himself hugging it tightly.

“You wouldn’t let it go, even when you were as still as the dead. I stopped trying when you cried out like it hurt.” Rall’s aches had started to fade a little, and he managed to sit up enough to really look at it. It looked better than before, like lighting it on fire somehow fixed it some instead of melting it. He drew the blade partway free and found all sign of cracks gone, and parts of it had even developed a little bit of shine. This sword was more than it seemed for sure!

Greta looked away nervously, “So you are a sorcerer then. The fire was truly amazing, and scary too. For a moment I thought you were going to burst like a star fallen to the ground, and burn up the whole forest!” She forced herself to look into Rall’s eyes as she asked, “Why didn’t you send us home before, or stop the slavers?”

“I’m sorry, Greta, I’m no sorcerer. I don’t know what happened back there, but I’ve never done anything like that in my life! I was an apprentice but now I’m not even that, since I ran away from my master. But he was a really evil man, Greta. I think he was planning to kill me eventually. He never taught me any magic, and beat me a lot. I’m kind of useless as far as magic goes.” He hung his head a little bit, ashamed he couldn’t solve their problems so easily.

Nodding her head, she offered a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be upset. You did wonderful the other night, even if it was really scary.”

Looking towards a charred circle in the distance Greta continued, “ I thought the trees were going to kill us both, but that white fire you threw burned away everything it touched! “ Without taking a breath Greta kept going, “Do you think that it was the forest god? It’s been really easy to find food and shelter here since the fight.”

Rall shook his head, thinking. “I.. I don’t know, whatever it was I don’t think it was evil. There was something else though, something that didn’t feel right.” He shook his head to collect his thoughts, “It didn’t belong and it was in that circle. I think it was hurting the forest and the forest was mad, so it thought we did it.”

Rall chuckled self-consciously, “I really don’t understand all this, it’s all just a feeling, but I think we’re welcome here now that it’s gone.”

Greta sighed in relief, but her demeanor quickly changed as she seemed to gather her courage. “There is something else Rana, when you slept, you changed somehow. I think it might have been that magic, but you look a little... well, you look even more like a girl. Your eyes, they have little sparks in them like magic fire. And you have some scaly patches on your arms, like a fish.”

“I look like a fish?” Rall yelled, his head protesting vigorously at the effort. He pushed past Greta to get out of the shelter in a stumbling panic towards the running stream. The reflection in the stream did not show the the horrible images of scales and gills his mind had constructed, but it was hard to see clearly in the moving water. He looked more closely at his arms and found them covered with fine pinkish scales, soft and smooth to the touch.

“Rana, don’t worry about that, you’re alive and that’s what matters! Come away from there before you fall in, you’re still not well yet!” Rall could feel it, the weariness drawing him toward the ground, but he felt his strength returning almost by the second.

“I’ll be alright, Greta, I really am feeling much better. Maybe a little drink will help too.” He went to his knees, remembering at the last moment to be careful with Greta’s dress he was still wearing so as not to ruin it any worse, and cupped his hands in the water to drink. The water was cool and refreshing, and he felt even better after drinking. It felt like maybe things would work out somehow. Then something else fell over him, like a shadow, except there was nothing blocking the sunlight. Like something was looking at him. He heard Greta squeak behind him.

“What was that? It felt like some ghost touched me!” Greta said worriedly. Rall looked up at the sky again, the sunlight still aching in his eyes, and saw nothing.

“I think we need to get moving. I know that feeling, I felt it almost all the time in my master’s tower. He was looking at us. He knows where we are.” He felt like crawling into the deepest hole he could find but he knew it wouldn’t help. “I’m sorry, Greta, I never meant to cause you or your family trouble with my master. I hoped he wouldn’t bother looking for me.” Greta shook her head.

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known. But you’re right, we can’t stay here.” She began packing up things, including a hand-woven basket full to the brim with berries, roots and leaves.

“The foraging here is plentiful, so I thought we should take as much food with us as we can. I’ve had days to gather this for us, it should last at least a few days of travel.” Rall looked at her in wonder.

“You’re an amazing person, Greta. Come on, let’s get going.”

---

Xabiar madly paced about the small table on which rested the blackened wooden bowl, the murky water inside still swirling ominously. He paused to think over the images the bowl produced. Two girls in rags wandering the forest managed to break his most powerful wards and unravel his ritual? Such madness, no one should have that kind of power but he, in his own tower!

Perhaps one of the girls was aided by that pesky nature god? But even so, how could it be possible? The nature god hardly presented a threat to his wards month ago when he first lay them. The god should hardly have the power to call a storm let alone aid in the destruction of his finest magics... and why two girls?

He tossed the bowl against the wall in disgust. No matter, he would have to rebuild the ritual, and dispose of the girls. If they could break one, they might break more and that was unacceptable. Cale had yet to send word of his work, but Xabriar already knew Albera was dead. He would have to contact the assassin directly and that meant more expense, but no price could be spared to rid himself of someone who had a knack for unravelling the rituals that would grant him true power.

---

Arron tried not to think about the fact that he was holding a high sorceress like a randy novice looking for some excitement. He tried not to think of having to kiss and caress her the moment someone looked to closely their direction. But her warmth against his side kept bringing up images unbidden.

They wandered across the courtyard of the Academy, stopping to sniff flowers here or look at a pond there, like lovers on a romantic stroll, and so far no one had raised any alarm. A few guards looked their way but only offered Arron a thumbs-up gesture and a knowing grin. When they reached an alcove in the wall of the building proper, Corana spoke up.

“Press me against the wall and kiss me, but feel along the wall. You’ll find a decorative swirl. Press in the third layer of the swirl, right at the top.” Arron swallowed nervously and pressed her softly to the wall. He couldn’t help but feel the soft curves of her body through the novice robes.

His fumbling fingers found the notch in the wall, almost imperceptible as it was, but not before his lips found hers. She tasted sweet, a hint of berries staining her lips. For a brief moment he was reminded of Rall, lips stained with those same berries, but the figure pressing against him now was definitely not Rall. Her hands trailed up and down his back, and he felt his breath leave him just as the wall swung inward, dropping them unceremoniously in a dark dusty corridor before closing mere moments later.

“Not the most elegant entrance, but it will do.” Corona chuckled as she dusted herself off. “This way now,” she remarked as she led Arron though the darkness. “This part of the academy isn’t used much, but still keep your eyes and ears open.” She held out her right hand and a flicker of light grew into a small light, about as bright as a torch, directly above her hand. She started forward at a brisk walk.

Arron kept pace behind Corana through the darkened hallways. Every flicker of shadow had Arron on edge, and his watchfulness turned out to be a good thing. Another secret door opened from a brighter hall, and what looked like a pair of students crept in. They immediately saw Arron and Corana, but since he had again pushed her against a wall and kissed her, they did nothing more than giggle and continue on their way. He kept up the charade for long seconds in case they returned, and was surprised to find her returning said kiss with something a bit more real than necessary. She was really getting into the act!

By the time Arron was certain the students weren’t coming back, both he and Corana were rather breathless. She pushed gently at his chest, in fact he wasn’t entirely certain if she was pushing him away or just running her hand over him, but he backed away regardless.

“We need to keep going, right?” Corana nodded in reply, collecting herself and again taking the lead. They were nearly caught twice more, with similar results, before they finally reached a place where Corana stopped to place her hand against the wall.

“This is it,” she whispered, “my study should be just the other side of this wall. There’s a secret door right here, and my wards will allow us entry. Be ready.” She pressed something he couldn’t see clearly, and the wall swung silently open.

“This way” she said softly as they both passed through the doorway. The tower seemed to respond to Corana’s return as lamps and torches ignited themselves with an audible pop in a cascade of lights. She led the way up a short flight of spiralling stairs, then opened a door to a workroom filled with implements and items of magic Arron couldn’t really comprehend. More importantly, three men were also in the room, picking through things.

“Hey, you there! What are you doing in here? This room is off limits!” Arron was momentarily confused by the challenge from the man in heavy-looking robes, but Corana quickly cleared things up.

“Off limits to you! How did you pass my wards?” Arron put a hand to his sword, and two of the other men followed suit. The third seemed far more interested in Corana.

“By the gods you’re alive” the man remarked in shock, raising his hands to show he was no threat. “We though you dead Corana, what happened?”

“Master Woric.” Corana smiled, “I did not expect the council Praetor to personally search for me.”

The man smiled back in a way Arron could only find chilling. “A missing headmistress of the Academy? I wouldn’t dare leave such an important investigation in anyone’s hands but my own.”

“Your dedication to your duty is impressive Master Woric, but I am quite fine as you can see. So if you would, could you please take your two bodyguards and vacate my tower. I have much work to do tonight.”

Arron watched the unfolding display in growing discomfort. He was neck deep in the underbelly of Gaerbron politics, and it was the last place he wanted to be. Simple town guards could easily be buried by such politics, without anyone batting an eye.

“I’m sorry my lady, but I must insist that you come with me to council and give testimony as to your disappearance. A great many things have changed in your absence.”

“I’m certain they have. I’m sure Xabriar is being much more open about his motives then before!” So saying, Corana flicked her wand out of her sleeve, just like she’d done to Arron and Ronal in the Cheerful Spirits. Woric seemed to almost shrug it off, but his movements slowed noticeably. He threw something bright back at her, and she waved it off with the wand. It exploded against the wall with an eerie silence, leaving a scorched spot on the white stone.

Hissing, Woric raised his arm towards Corana “You are truly a fool, Xabriar is the future! You should have accepted him and his power!”

That was as much as Arron saw, before the other two men were on him. He barely had time to draw and parry one strike before another rained down. He twisted to the side and the attacker’s blade bit into the wood of a workbench. Again the first’s sword struck and Arron barely turned it aside, leaving the man wide open. He charged in missing a stray ball of fire by the thinnest of margins, putting a shoulder solidly into the man’s stomach, then jumped back just in time to see the other man’s sword flash past, biting into the arm of the man he’d just knocked breathless.

“Burn you, Grigori, you got me! The git’s fast, kill him quick!”

Arron ignored the words, striking at the one called Grigori, but his own sword was batted aside, and the larger man’s sword slashed across his hardened leather guard armor. The armor held, keeping him from being laid open across the ribs, but he still took a nasty gash under his left side. He grunted and kept swinging, but the wounded man took him by surprise. He felt the tip of a heavy sword pierce his armor and glance off his ribs. Grigori grinned as it came out the front of Arron’s armor, cutting another gash along his left side, leaving him looking for all the world like he was skewered.

Arron swung again, focusing on that grinning face, and was rewarded with a sudden look of horror as his own sword dug between Grigori’s ribs and found vital organs. He turned, the other man’s sword still lodged in his armor and dragging agonizingly against his ribs. Flecks of red crossed his darkening vision, but he fought for awareness and for his efforts found the other man staring at him like he was seeing a ghost. Arron’s sword struck again, across the man’s throat, and the man dropped like a puppet with cut strings. Turning to see how Corana was doing, he saw Woric standing over her as she knelt, her one good arm held up in front of her like a shield.

The world began to spin around violently as he summoned the last dregs of strength he could will up from his core and threw his sword, weakly, the three paces distance at Woric. He never saw whether it connected, as the darkness dragged him down.

“The road!” Greta whooped in glee as she jumped up and down excitedly. Rall joined her in excitement when he first saw the hard-packed wide road from Gaerbron to Lussax. He didn’t recognize where they were along the road because he hadn’t paid much attention the first time along it, and it hardly mattered anyway because they weren’t lost in the woods anymore!

Cale rested his eyes as he lay on the straw-filled mattress shifting his mind away from thoughts of the insects that roamed his bedding for the night. The evening’s events had been profitable, a few games of chance and some hustling down by the docks had his purse brimming with coin. With the gold from his last employment and a judicious hand in spending, he wouldn’t need to take another job for a few years.

The idea of stepping back from his current line wasn’t all that unpleasant. Killing had become somewhat tiring as of late, a break was needed if only to keep himself sharp.

A slight change in the ambient sound of his room prompted Cale to crack open an eye. To his amusement he observed a specter of his last employer Xabriar floating at his bed post looking rather displeased. “Something wrong my dear wizard?”

Xabriar scowled in disgust, and Cale presumed it was directed at himself. “I have another job for you, assassin.”

“A job you say? Why pray tell do you assume that I seek a job? I’m quite busy as you can see.” The wild-eyed rage and disbelief on the wizard’s leathery face almost caused Cale to crack up with laughter. “There’s a young lady at the bakery, a few more nights of wooing and...”

“Silence!” the specter boomed. Cale’s eyes narrowed as the wizard continued, the specter flickering like a bonfire over his bed. But the sorcerer managed to take control of himself, and offered a dark smile. “I do in fact have a job for you. One I find most vexing. I believe you are in a position to solve my problem, and in return I offer you what you most desire.”

“Right, what I most desire, then? What would a high and mighty master sorcerer know of the desires of a lowly assassin? And, what monster of a foe could rattle one of your abilities in such a way? Maybe a challenge will make it worth my time.” Cale kicked back again, wondering if the sorcerer was trying to send him after a demon or faerie creature. Such things were always a challenge, and would draw a hefty price.

The spectral image of Xabriar waved a hand as if wafting smoke away, and the image melted into wisps of fog, only to reform quickly into a picture of two half-dead waifs dressed in rags, one toting a shortsword that looked more like a broadsword by comparison to her young form. It was in fact the two girls he’d met in the forest, fleeing the slave pens. What threat could these two children possibly offer the greatest sorcerer in the region?

“Such fierce enemies you have, master sorcerer. You flatter me, to presume I can defeat this menace.” Xabriar’s face appeared again, contorted again into rage as Cale’s sarcastic reply hit home, but he appeared to take several deep breaths and schooled his features.

“It is no business of yours what threat they pose. For those two girls’ deaths I offer you more riches than you can spend in a hundred years, should you wish it.” That sly smile had returned, clearly the sorcerer thought Cale would be swayed by this.

“I think not. It’s not even worth my time. Send one of your lesser demons, it will eat them both alive in moments.”

“I’m afraid not, these two require your hand. Perhaps you recall my first payment for your services rendered? A few precious minutes to see a certain dearly departed sister again, peering through the veil? Once these two are dealt with and my power secured, I will be able to pull your darling sister from the beyond. Think of it my dear assassin, your beloved Bekah back in your arms to protect and hold. And all you have to do is kill two girls who look as if they might die in the woods anyway. A rare reward for so easy work.”

The sorcerer smirked victoriously, and Cale looked down in shame. For Bekah he would kill anyone, he would give anything, even his very soul. He had already killed more people than he could even count; a blackened soul for his sister seemed like a sucker’s bargain. If he had her back, he would never kill again.

“Very well. This is it, the last job I do for you,” he spat, “and you will bring Bekah back to me. It is a contract, sworn and bound.”

Turning his back on the wizard Cale wiped away the tears that pooled in corner of his eyes “Know this wizard, if you renege I’ll hunt you into the depths of the underworld. There can be no mercy if you toy with me on this.”

Throwing on a thick cloak, Cale leapt from the inn’s window leaving the shade to its own devices. The thought of sleeping that night had been soured, truly Cale wondered if he would be able to sleep again at all, until this job was done.

---

“The road!” Greta whooped in glee as she jumped up and down excitedly. Rall joined her in excitement when he first saw the hard-packed wide road from Gaerbron to Lussax. He didn’t recognize where they were along the road because he hadn’t paid much attention the first time along it, and it hardly mattered anyway because they weren’t lost in the woods anymore!

“Come on, I know exactly where we are now, and there’s a farm just up the road where we can ask for help. My family has traded goods with them for years, and they’re very kind people.” Greta grabbed Rall’s hand, her vigor renewed by her excitement, and dragged him along in a weary jog.

“Alright, alright, you don’t need to pull my arm off!” Rall giggled, just as caught up in the moment as she.

“Rana, think of warm beds, hot food, a bath...” He picked up his pace, and soon outpaced her by a few yards.

When they approached an old farmhouse, a sprawling building with a thatched roof and clay-and-straw brick walls, Greta slowed and waved to a man working in the field. He waved back and dropped his plow, patting the large beast that was pulling it comfortingly, then hurried to greet them.

“Oh my word, Greta, is that you?“ The man yelled from the field, “By the First, why are you here, the caravan rushed past days ago! Your father was awfully scared for you and... Rana is it? I think he left word with every farm and village from here to Lussax!” As he got closer and took in more of their appearance, the man placed a hand on each of their shoulders and turned them toward the house.

“Dear me, you look a fright! Come on to the house, Marta will see you fed and clothed properly. Come on, girls, don’t dawdle now, she’ll have my ears if she thinks I’ve kept you out in the cold the way you look!”

Rall’s stomach growled furiously as he noticed the wondrous aroma of baking biscuits emanating from the the farm house. “Greta?” questioned a an older graying woman as they both where led into the house. “What has happened to you?”

“Well, we took on Rana here to get her away from an abusive man, but we were attacked by bandits a few days out of Gaerbron. I didn’t see the fight, but I guess they got the drop on the caravan while Rana and I were bathing in the stream. They killed poor Ander. Anyway, Rana and I didn’t know what happened until we walked into the mess. They captured us and took us to the slavers’ tent city, but there was a fire and we both managed to escape.”

As Greta explained, Rana kept her peace. The older woman, Marta, sat them both down in front of a very warm hearth, and poured bowls of thick stew from a pot hanging over it for them. She also placed a small basket of still-steaming biscuits between the pair on the swept stone floor. The heat brought life to both girls and Rana had to work very hard to eat slowly like Greta was in spite of his twisting stomach. It took every bit of will he had left not to wolf it all down, burned tongue or no.

“It’s been scary, travelling the woods with little in the way of provisions, and Rana doesn’t know very much about the forest because she has never travelled before, but we managed our way back to the road, just past the old lightning-struck tree. Once I saw that, I knew where we were, and so we came here. I’m sorry to be a burden on you, but we really needed the help, and we both appreciate the food very much!” She looked at Rall who nodded, his mouth full.

Marta, who had been sitting watching them eat with a motherly sort of expression, tut-tutted.

“It’s no bother at all, Greta, not at all! You’ve always been a joy, child, and your father has always dealt fairly with us. It would be my shame if I couldn’t help a good friend’s daughter in her need. And you too, Rana, we take care of those in need around these parts. You just get warmed up and I’ll start a fire under the rain barrel. You both look like you brought half the forest with you!”

After eating as much of the wonderful meal as Rall could stuff into his stomach while maintaining the image of civility, he and Greta where led to a steaming rain barrel big enough for the both of them. “Well get to undressing and get in.” Marta chided.

Rall’s eyes widened in terror as he looked towards Greta for support. Greta looked oddly at him for a moment, then comprehension dawned in her eyes and she winked to Rall. “Aunty, Rana is as shy as mouse. It will be hard enough just to have her bathe with me, let alone change in front of anyone else.”

“Oh dear, well then I'll leave you be.” Marta replied with a shake of her head “I’ll see what I can do for clothes.”

Once he was certain Marta was out of view and earshot, Rall quickly stripped and climbed into the barrel. The water was as close to scalding as Rall had ever felt, but he knew if he took too long getting in he would more likely be caught, so he slipped all the way in with a hiss of pain.

To his shock Greta began to disrobe as well. He tried to turn his head when he realized, but he couldn’t help catching a glimpse. She was clearly a woman, not a girl!

“You’ll have to get used to it you know, if you’re to continue this disguise. It’s not uncommon for women to bathe together, or change clothes together, and if you’re beet red every time you do, people will start to ask questions.” Greta said matter-of-factly as she slipped into the water. Rall tried not to think of her soft smooth skin brushing against him in the hot water.

“Do I have to continue it? I mean, we’re not in Gaerbron anymore. Master Xabriar won’t come searching for me out here. And you said yourself we have to tell your parents.”

“Well, yes, we do have to tell them. I won’t lie to them, Rana. But where would you change? Two girls have no need of boys’ clothing, so we can’t just buy some without arousing suspicion. and Aunty would definitely be upset if you changed into a boy suddenly. Besides, what if your teacher sent people to find you? You’re not the first person we’ve smuggled out of one town or another to escape such treatment. And as often as not, they hire men or give chase personally. Those kind of people don’t like to give up what they consider their property. Are you certain he won’t hire someone to find you? Someone who will be looking for a boy, not a girl?”

Sliding deeper into the tub Rall though over what Greta was saying. His master was a truly terrible person. But he was a worthless apprentice, why would he wast such energy and effort to chase him? But Greta seemed convinced of the possibility, and continuing the ruse was really no hardship at all, it was even fun in some ways.

“Rana you really have to have someone look at those red scales, they’re all over you back and legs.”

Rall had completely forgotten them, but being reminded he looked down at his arms. Thousands of tiny red scales crept up them, soft and smooth as his skin but with a different texture. He tapped them gently with a dirty fingernail, and could feel the touch.

“Maybe it’s a curse. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that something Master Xabriar owned was terribly cursed.” Even as he said it he couldn’t believe it. The words felt wrong.

“What ever the case may be, girl or boy those scales will draw attention sooner or later.”

“I don’t know what I can do about it. It’s not like I can wave my hand and make them disappear...” Waving his hand jokingly as he spoke, the water rippled about over his skin. It was is if each little wave slowly erased and dulled each scale until all he was left with was the same pale pink skin that he had been born with. Rall almost drowned in his surprise, and came up sputtering.

“Rana! How did you do that?” Greta took his arm in her hand excitedly, giving him an odd look. “They’re still there, I can feel them, but I can’t see them at all!”

“It’s a glamour.” he shook his head in disbelief “But... but I don’t know how to cast a glamour spell. By the First, I don’t know how to cast a spell at all!”

Shivering in the heat of the water, Rall looked over at the rusted sword in its sheath, lying atop the soiled and torn dress not even a yard away. “I need to get to Lussax and speak to one of the city’s practitioners and have that sword looked over. This is too strange even for my master’s workings!”

---

Corana knelt over the young man who’d just saved her life. His wounds looked grave, but she couldn’t tell past the hardened leather of his breastplate. Woric struggled in the binding she held him in, but it was designed to prevent him casting anything, either by word or motion. Even his fingers were bound. So she ignored him and set to cutting Arron’s armor off him. By the blood on the floor, he might be at death’s door. As the straps on the armor parted, they revealed a long ragged gash along his side, but nothing through any vital organs.

“Hold on, Arron, I’ll be right back.” She lay him against the stone floor and hurried to her bench. Rifling through beakers and flasks in a frenzy until she came up with the one she was looking for and hurried back to the downed man. His bleeding was slowing, a sign that his heart was weakening.

“This will hurt a quite a lot...” She said mostly to herself as poured the vial of red liquid over the gaping wound. She focused and waved her one good arm in an arcane pattern over his arm, intoning words of power, and the flesh around Arron’s wound boiled in a chaotic mess of destruction and creation as the regenerative magics accelerated Arron bodies healing to unnatural levels. The horrid smell of burning flesh assaulted Corana’s nose, twisting her stomach into knots. It was an act of sheer will power not to turn about and vomit, as even the slightest lapse in focus could mean Arron’s life.

As the last globs of flesh melded into a ragged pinkish scar, Corana finally fell to her knees, gasping. After the fight, that kind of healing took nearly everything she had. She glanced over at Woric, but her spell held leaving him still dangling upside down over her workbench. The disgusted look on his face likely mirrored her own, she thought.

A slowly forming welt on Woric’s cheek gave Corana pause to thank the gods. If Arron’s sword had not struck hilt first at the peak of his spell she would become nothing more then a smoldering pile of ash. She felt a bit of regret that the sword hadn’t struck true, removing the world of one such as Woric would have been more to her liking. But in truth a living Woric was more ideal.

She glanced back to Arron, who groaned and stirred, but did not arise.

“Be still, Arron, you’re safe but you’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ll need some time to recover. You saved my life, you know. Your sword kept Master Woric here from incinerating me. So, why don’t you just close your eyes and rest while I discuss a few things with our guest.” She calmly retrieved a vial from her workbench and held it under his nose for a few moments. The liquid inside would put him in a rejuvenating slumber, and as an added bonus prevent him having to hear a high sorcerer scream.

She turned back to Woric with a cold smile. “Now. I believe you would like to explain a few things to me.” Picking up a few more vials from her workbench, and a knife normally used to strip and cut herbs. “Let’s get this over with, I have more pleasant things to do with my time.”

---

Arron woke slowly, head pounding and weak like he’d spent an entire day drinking old ale and brawling. Every part of him hurt, except his ribs which were curiously numb. He opened his eyes cautiously and was rewarded for his caution with blindingly bright light.

“Don’t open your eyes just yet, you’ll need a few minutes to adjust. You’ve been in a heavy recovering sleep, and your whole body will need to wake slowly. You saved my life, you know. Thank you for that.”

Arron coughed to clear his throat nearly passing out from the hot pains that radiated from his chest, “Anything for a lady.. how long?”

Slowly the blurry image of Corana kneeling over him resolved itself from the blinding whiteness. “Three and a half days.”

Arron mind spun. “The sorcerer?” he questioned.

“Alive, but I’m sure he’s wishing your sword struck home. He has been very informative in the last two days, once I offered him the right incentives.”

“Incentives?” Arron’s head still throbbed, but that sounded clear enough to him. “You tortured him?” He struggled to sit up, but his arms simply would not support him.

“I loathe the necessity, but it was the only way to get what we need to know from him.” she responded in haste. “Xabriar is mad. His obsession with power these last years has led him to construct a ritual, a collection of rituals really, that would gather together enough power to transcend him into godhood.”

“Corana... I appreciate all you’ve done to help me and Rall, but you can’t just torture people for answers! I can’t help you if that’s the kind of work you do. That’s how people like Xabriar do things, not people like us.”

“People like you. I can not in good faith turn a blind eye to any source of knowledge that will save this city. If i had not known where to look I would have missed much of what Xabriar has done. He turns the natural forces of the earth to his own needs, corrupting the land and angering the natural gods. And if he is not stopped, the whole city will be destroyed in the backlash of his ascension. If I have to do a few unsavory things to save everyone, then I will accept the stain on my soul. I love this city and these people far too much to do otherwise.”

Arron slumped back down closing his eyes while swallowing down a bitter taste in his mouth. “Corana... I understand your position, I really do. Maybe if I were in your position I would make the same choice. But I’m not, and I must admit I am not comfortable with it.”

“Good. If you were, I would be concerned.” she remarked as she poured herself a cup of hot tea. “I’m not either, in fact it makes me ill. But what must be done must be done.”

Slowly pouring another cup she offered it to Arron. “It’s a special restorative blend of mine, it should help with the pain.”

Accepting the cup as Corana propped him up in what he thought might be her own bed, Arron sipped thoughtfully. “What do you plan to do next? I can’t see the council helping, not after capturing and torturing the Praetor.”

“The council is useless, the only thing we should concern ourselves with now is stopping Xabriar.” A flash of a smirk crossed Corana’s face as she turned about. “And someone else agrees, because one of his rituals was unravelled. Whoever did it may already be on their way to the next one, and I mean to help.”

Rummaging through her work space she pulled out an old map and began to plot out distances with chalk over the leather surface. “No doubt Xabriar knows too, and has already sent something to stop them. His eye will be on them, and that means we can attack another while he is focused elsewhere. I’ve done some calculations over the last day, and I think the rituals would have to be located in these five positions. One for each of the cardinal elements, in places where ley lines intersect.”

“Alright...” Arron drawled, “but what does that mean?”

“It means that whoever broke the first one will most likely go to this one or this one next,” she indicated on the map two places where she had marked as likely ritual spots. One spot between the two was circled and a line drawn through it. “And we should try to destroy this one here.” So saying, she indicated a spot further south, in the center of a very large lake, the source of the river Rastell, on which Lussax was the main trade port.

“Those are a lot of assumptions you are making, how do you know the other person will go there?” Arron questioned.

“I don’t, but there’s no disadvantage regardless. In the worst case we meet up with our mysterious ally and help prevent Xabriar from killing them.”

Slowly Arron pulled himself of the bed and hobbled over to the map Corana has hovering over. “This location is a good month’s travel by horse, do we have time to be running amok in the countryside? Its also awfully close to the savage lands, and I have little desire to run into fairy folk.”

“The fairy folk aren’t as bad as the stories make them out to be, but all the same I agree it would be better to avoid them. Most of the time they won’t accost travellers anyway.”

Scratching his chin, Arron added, “If they are even a fraction as bad as the stories say then I don’t want to even go near their lands.”

“Ahhh here it is,” Corana announced as she held up an old gold coin. She had been sifting through the remnants on her workbench again, but found what she was looking for in a pouch carried by one of the dead guards.

“And what is that then?” He peered at the coin as if it might hold some secret solution to all of their problems. It was embossed with a river on one side, and a smiling face Arron didn’t recognize on the other.

Corana laughed playfully, “Well my dear knight, this is our travel arrangement.”

Perplexed, Arron pressed “I’m sorry I don’t follow, how does a gold coin help us travel over a hundred and fifty leagues?”

“The coin is a token of services rendered by an ancient spirit that I have had dealings with.” she offered, shrugging her shoulders. “Helping a few mere mortals travel such a distance will be trivial for such a being.”

Shaking his head Arron muttered, “Master sorcerers, demons, torture, and now spirits. Rall, you really pulled me into the muck this time.”

---

Cale rode hard in pursuit of the caravan. He’d listened to the stories about a daring attack by slavers on a merchant caravan. They also told stories of two girls by the names Greta and Rana. Greta was apparently the daughter of the prominent caravan owner Valan, and Rana a guest on her way to Lussax to escape a devilish father. This played right into Cale’s hands.

“Hold, caravan! Are you Valan’s men? I’m Jord, and I want to join the search for my neice, Rana!” He’d run his horse quite hard for over an hour so as to appear the desperate kin determined to save his neice.

“Ah, I had hoped one of her kin might come to join the search! Well met friend, we have water and feed for both you and your horse. You look as if you might be handy in a fight, and if we meet slavers it will likely come to that.”

Spitting at the ground, an act not completely without feeling, Cale growled, “Disgusting men slavers are. I will not spare even one until Rana is returned safe to my arms.”

The nod from Valan told all that Cale need to know. He had bought the story wholly. “I have heard stories in Lussax that slaves have been turning up, freed in a fire of some sort. The details change with every telling, but it could be good news.”

Valan nodded “As have I, but there no guarantee that Greta and Rana where amongst the escapees. It would be best to head for the encampment and see for ourselves. I hope to simply buy their freedom, but if it comes to blades we are ready.”

Cale watched the man for a moment. Valan was a clever man, he was not about go of hunting ghosts in the woods just yet. This did not bode well for Cale’s own plans; if they wasted their time seeking the slavers, Greta and Rana would be in Lussax proper before they even began to search the woods.

Taking a risk, Cale pushed on, “I have also heard tales of two girls being amongst the escapees traveling through the wood. One blond, the other red haired.”

Valan gave Cale a quizzical look “I have yet to hear such stories,” he paused for a moment “if they have escaped why have they not reached Lussax on their own then? My daughter is an accomplished survivor.”

Nodding his agreement “True, I do wonder that myself. But even for a seasoned woodsman the forest surrounding Lussax holds many hidden dangers.” Leaning closer to Valan he added, “The worst the slavers will do is sell them, at any rate we can still track them with enough coin. The woods are the real danger.”

“You may be right...” Valan said, unsure of himself just the way Cale needed him to be.

“I don’t mean to tell you how to run your search, Master Valan. I just can’t help but think of my poor Rana in the wilds. She’s city bred, you see. I never should have trusted my brother-in-law to raise my sister’s daughter alone. She must be scared out of her mind!” Valan nodded in empathy, clearly concerned for both girls.

“You are right, Jord. We will search the forests on both sides of the road as we travel west. If they are free, my daughter will certainly help protect Rana, and will lead them to the road. We’ll have to stop and ask every farm and village along the way. It will slow our travel, but it does seem the most likely way.”

“My thanks, I think I’ll help myself to that food you offered.” Turning his horse Cale couldn’t help smiling. With luck the caravan would find the girls in a couple of days.

---

Rana struggled to pull on the light red dress, but it just wouldn’t go up around his hips. Greta smiled to herself for a moment as she watched before commenting.

“Hey, don’t be so dull, it goes on over your head! And there’s another button you forgot to undo.” she finally advised him. The two were dressing hurriedly after the bath, both feeling much improved and cleaner too. Finally Rana managed to get things in order mostly, though Greta had to help him button it closed.

“Are you girls finished out there? It’s time to get some sleep, then we can send word to your father in the morning.” So saying she took them by the arms and led them both to a room in the house set up with a bed. It looked like one or more of Oman and Marta’s children had lived in this room before marrying and moving away. There was only one bed, but to Greta it looked like heaven.

“We can share, we’ll have to squeeze in close though.” Rana blushed when she said it; it was so easy to forget she was a boy. He was a boy. Well, she’d seen him nude and honestly it was still hard to be sure.

“We’ve been sleeping this way for near a fortnight, no reason to be shy about it now.” She pushed Rana into the bed then pulled up behind her to snuggle in. In the warmth of the shared embrace and comforter, the pair both fell asleep almost immediately.

---

For two days they stayed with Oman and Marta, helping with the chores and enjoying the comforts of a real house and safety. Word came back that Greta’s father and his caravan would arrive in five days, and the whole terrifying adventure seemed to be coming to a close and Rana and Greta could relax.

Until the night Rana woke Greta in the darkest part of the night.

“Hey, where are you going?” Greta rubbed her eyes and looked at Rana, who was tying boot laces under a heavy woolen skirt and strapping her swordbelt to her hip. The smaller girl didn’t answer, in fact didn’t even acknowledge she was being spoken to.

“Hey! You’re leaving aren’t you! I won’t let you!” she reached out to grab Rana’s arm, but Rana didn’t respond at all, simply shrugging her arm loose and heading for the door. Greta slipped on her own skirt and blouse quickly and collected her knife, then chased Rana to the front door of the house. She jumped in front of the door, but Rana didn’t even react, and reached for the door handle past Greta’s left hip. In the dim light of the almost-full moon, Greta finally saw Rana’s eyes, they appeared glazed and unfocused.

“You’re... sleepwalking?” She tied on her own boots right there in the doorway as Rana tried to get past calmly and determinedly, as if trying to find a decent way to scrabble over a rock. Greta managed to get herself ready, grabbed her own knife and followed, hoping merely to keep Rana from hurting herself. Her mother had once told her of the danger of waking a sleep walker. How their soul could be lost forever to the underworld!

The pair walked through the fields toward the southeast, Rana leading the way like some sort of mindless golem. Every time Greta thought of that brief glimpse she caught of Rana’s eyes she shivered. Rana was strong and vital, and seeing that missing from her eyes seemed wrong in a bad way.

Rana walked on and on, At first Greta tried to guide her back. But every time Rana would shrug off her guiding hand and continue on. Greta was becoming progressively more angry at herself for her own mistake. She should have called Auntie Marta and Uncle Oman for help. Now she couldn’t even run back without risking losing Rana.

Her hand tightened into a fist as she made up her mind. Her mother’s warning about waking sleepwalkers be damned, she grabbed Rana’s arm with a solid grip and forcibly turned her about face.

“Hey! Wake up!” She yelled, her nose inches from Rana’s. When Rana didn’t respond, she slapped her, hard. Rana fell in a heap, Greta tried to catch her but couldn’t.

“Wha... the hells?” came Rana’s confused response, as she blinked desperately, trying to soothe dry, aching eyes and understand why she wasn’t in a warm bed.

“Rana! You’re awake! Are you okay? I didn’t mean to slap you so hard, but you wouldn’t wake up and you just kept walking...” Greta helped Rana to her feet again and dusted leaves off her as the smaller figure gained her bearings.

“Why am I dressed and out in the forest again? I’m sure I remember going to bed... Did you bring me out here?” Rana seemed a bit slow gathering her wits, but was getting there. Greta looked up at the stars for a moment, then back toward the farmhouse, though she could no longer see it.

“You were sleepwalking. You got dressed and just walked out of the house, with this strange blank stare. You still had that spark like you do now, like fire, but there was nothing else, and you wouldn’t speak or anything.”

Rana looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but then took stock of their surroundings and nodded. “I’ve never walked in my sleep before. Why would I start now? Let’s go back...”

Greta was nodding, but as Rana trailed off and looked back the direction she’d been walking in her sleep Greta started to worry.

“Rana, come on, we have to turn back, father will be there in two days!”

Rana shook off her confusion and nodded, but when the two turned back Greta found their path blocked. Trees that she *knew* weren’t there minutes ago completely obscured the direction from which they came. Thick brambles grew two paces high around the trees and as far as she could see either direction like a wall.

“Rana...” she started in growing terror, but the wind interrupted her, blowing through the trees in a breathy voice.

“Don’t go back...”

Rana looked at her, then up at the trees. They weren’t moving, aside from leaves fluttering in the soft wind of the night breeze, but Greta knew she heard it too.

“Why not? What do you want from us?” Rana called out to the trees. Greta was struck by the absurdity of the situation, but the still-churning fear in her stomach proved stronger.

“Danger.... Death... if you return... Debt to you...” The wind whispered once again through the trees.

Rana nodded with a resigned sigh, “I guess we are heading for Lussax.”

“You can’t be serious!“ Greta grasped, “You’re going to listen to a crazed forest god?” Rana pointed at the trees and thorny thicket.

“Well, I don’t think it means us harm, and it might be right... But mostly, I don’t think we’ll be able to go back.” Greta frowned looking back at the barricade, but had to admit to herself it didn’t look likely.

“Oh, fine! At least we have clothes and supplies this time. Aunty and Uncle and Father are going to worry themselves sick though.”

“It’s only a few days’ travel, right? We’ll have to send word when we arrive. It’s not like we have another choice.” This didn’t make Greta feel any better, but she couldn’t argue it either.

“Fine. We can head for the river and follow it to town. We’re not far from it anyway, and the river means clean water for bathing, and food.” Having settled on a decision, Greta began walking again, this time leading Rana.

A note to our readers at the end of the chapter, please bear with us!

Arron carried the sack of goods in one hand and a list in the other, walking through the marketplace with a purposeful stride. Corana walked a few steps ahead of him, leading the way to the next stall. The streets were very busy this day, the sun shining out of a clear blue sky seeming to have brought out the whole city to shop.

Corana weaved through the throng as if dancing among nobles, but most people stepped aside to let Arron through too, seeing his guard tabard. Corana had helpfully removed all the bloodstains, but the tear in it and the hole punched through his breastplate remained. Still, no one seemed to notice.

“Cor... ummm...” Arron glanced around to be sure no one was listening to anything he might say, but the murmur of the crowd around them drowned out anything more than a few feet. “Corana, what do we need all this for? Several different metal rods from the smith? Some smelly charcoal and a bunch of herb packets from an herbalist? What in the gods’ names do you need pig bladders for?”

“Components. Hurry along, we’re almost finished. We just need to stop at the baker’s for some hard breads in case we need to stay a while, and then we’ll be ready, and can rest until tonight.” She led the way to the bakery, a small stone shop along the side of the market district. A mix of comforting aromas of different spiced breads filled the air, reminding Arron of Rall.

“Arron? Arron my dear!” shouted a gray haired woman leaving the shop . Arron immediately felt nauseated. He had hoped not to have to speak to her, at least not yet. His mind swam as he pictured and the things she might do to him once she learned he had sent her only son out on the road with strangers.

Arron ducked his head in something like a bow, “Illia, how fairs your day?”

“It is a good day” she said, “And may I ask who this fine woman is with you?” she asked with a smile across her lips.

Corana gave a curtsy, “I am Feyna Alstra, a humble apprentice of the Academy.” Arron clamped down on his surprise, of course she would use an alias in public.

“An apprentice!” Illia’s eyes lit up in delight. “My son is an apprentice as well, under the tutoring of Xabriar himself.” Arron watched as Illia’s expression fell, “But... I have not spoken to him in quite a while. Master Xabriar must be keeping him very busy.” It tore at Arron’s heart to see Rall’s mother so proud and yet so sad.

“Illia... I need to tell you something.” Corana nudged him not-so-very-gently in the ribs, but he continued on with only a slight wince, “I sent Rall away for his own safety. Master Xabriar is a terrible man, and was hurting him. He might come for you too, as Rall’s mother. I’m worried for you, and it might be best if you and Marl left too.”

“Oh Arron... My boy off who knows where all alone?” Arron winced as Illia started wringing her hands, “My poor baby, he must be terrified...”

“He left with a merchant caravan, ma’am, I’m sure he’ll send word once he arrives safely. I never meant to send him far away from you, you must know that. But Xabriar, he’s a devilish man who tortured him. I couldn’t stand by and watch, he’s my best friend. So when he asked for help...” Arron put up his hands helplessly, but Illia shushed him.

“Hush now, Arron, you’re a good boy, and if you say it was that bad, I believe you.” She sighed and wrung her hands again for good measure, then pressed them to her flour-dusted apron.

“But Marl and I, we’re old, not fit for the rigors of travel, nor do we have the coin to buy passage with a caravan.” Shifting uncomfortably foot to foot Arron listened intently, “No, if Master Xabriar decides our time has come, then it will come, hither or yon. Honestly, I can’t think we’d be worth his bother.” She looked back to Arron with pleading, desperate eyes.

“But you, you’ll protect my boy right? Keep him safe? You now how sensitive he can be. And make sure he sends word!”

“Rall is stronger then you think, but yes I will.” Arron nodded, determination filling him with his promise. He would protect Rall as he always had, because Rall more than almost anyone else deserved some good in his life.

Corana listened intently as they spoke, her eyes darting through the crowd, but no one on the streets seemed to be paying any attention. “Ma’am, can we step inside? We need to buy some bread for our own travels.”

“Oh, of course dear! Here I am keeping you out in the street... Come in, come in!” She led the pair into the shop, where the heat of the ovens filled the air with the scent of wood smoke and yeast. She found chairs for them and put them all a comfortable distance from the hot ovens.

“There we go, dear, my husband is out buying flour, so it’ll just be the three of us.”

“Illia, ma’am, I owe you a grave apology. It was I who assigned Rall to Xabriar’s tutelage, and I who did not see what Xabriar was doing to the boy. For that I am truly sorry.”

“Dearie, I’m sure you meant well, and if you’re helping Arron then I trust your judgement. Now, you said you need some breads? If you’re going to be travelling I have some fresh loaves that will keep for several days.” Arron could tell from her expression Corana was stunned at Illia’s acceptance, but he expected it, it was the way she’d always been, and the reason he was so worried about letting her down.

“Yes Ma’am, we need several loaves if we may, and a few of your special sweet buns for the trip please.” Arron grinned, he and Rall used to sneak those very sweet buns as children. He knew Illia was very proud of them and rightly so. She quickly collected the breads, offering Arron the sack warmly.

“Alright then, here you go, now remember your promise!” He moved to collect the cost of the breads from his pouch, but she shooed them both out the door before he could actually open it. “You bring my boy back, we can settle your tab when you return!” Arron shook his head, smiled and waved to his best friend’s mother.

“Is she always that cheerful and pushy?” Corana quipped, taking a bite of a sweet roll.

“No,” Arron answered, tucking into one himself, “Usually she’s worse. She must be more worried than she’s letting on. I don’t blame her, I am too.”

“Yes, well, don’t worry. If our mission succeeds, I imagine it will take Xabriar’s eye away from your friend entirely, and place it squarely on ourselves.”

“Now why did you have to go and say that.” Arron said with a laugh. He was about to continue when he caught sight of a man he recognized.

“Co... um, Feyna, remember our friend Woric? How did you leave him?” Arron tried to gently guide her away from the man he’d seen leading a contingent of city guardsmen their direction.

“I left him bound and gag... Ashes of Martem, we have a problem.” She grabbed his arm and started pushing him the way he was already pushing her. “He’s on our trail, it’s no random chance he is searching here. We’ll have to be quick, if he sees you break for the docks. I’ll be right with you. Don’t let them split us up.”

Ducking into a small back Alley with Corana in tow Arron watched the procession pass. “How did he escape?” Arron whispered as the battered man leading the guard passed out of view. “By the first how is he even still walking?”

“Xabriar’s doing, he does not give up a powerful tool like Woric so easily.” Corana started running the moment the guards passed out of sight, as much as she could without drawing suspicion. Arron easily kept pace, though his side ached where he was wounded earlier. The docks were nearly a mile away through crowded streets, and guards seemed to appear around every corner.

“The guards are his now too... The city is lost for the moment.” Corana looked as if she might cry, but her expression firmed in moments.

“We’ll break his power, and then you can take it back and Rall can be safe.” He knew he was telling himself as much as her, but the moment he said it a guard appeared around a corner in front of them and sounded an alarm.

“Over here! The traitors are here!” Arron leaped at the man before he could draw blade, bowling him over. He didn’t even bother fighting, as Corana scrambled past he stood and followed after, leaping over the guard’s clumsy grasp at his ankles. The guard tried to follow, but they ducked around a building and changed direction.

“Quickly, this way!” Corana drew him into a small alley, barely wide enough for one person to pass. The guard ran past without seeing, but Arron knew that would buy seconds at most. The pair sprinted into the crowded street, ducking between hawkers and customers, as guards down the street in either direction spotted them and gave chase.

“They know where we go no matter the direction!” Arron huffed as he followed Corana’s zigzag pattern through the market. The bags of supplies he carried seemed determined to drag him down. “Woric or one of his underlings must be scying for us. If we don’t make some distance soon we will never be free of there sight!”

“Then we shall have to even the odds a bit! Lubricus!” Corana waved her hand at one of the groups of guards, and a spray of some clear liquid burst forth from her hand. It splashed all over the guards, who immediately started slipping and falling as if running on an icy lake.

Arron gaped at the scene for a brief moment, before Corana dragged him forward again.

“Another group! Don’t stop running! Imperium adhesior!” This time thick ropy strands of something green flew from her splayed fingers at the ground behind them as they ran. The group of guards ran heedlessly into it in chase, and almost as one fell on their faces as their feet stuck to the ground.

“That’s amazing!” Arron laughed as he ran.

“It’s... exhausting...” Corana huffed in return. She reached into her sleeve with her one good hand and pulled out a pair of clay figurines, like dolls without faces. Arron didn’t spare the time to look, so when one bounced off his cheek, he turned to stare at her in surprise. His surprise grew as the clay doll grew on touching the street, and in the space of a heartbeat another him was running away to the side. He noted another Corana running the other direction and smiled.

“That should... help a... bit...” Corana gasped back with a smile of her own.

“Are you going to make it?” Arron moved to pick her up and carry her, but she swatted his arm away.

“Save... your strength... in case... fight...” She pumped her legs harder, and Arron nodded. He kept pace as more guards noticed them, but none were close enough to cause a problem yet.

“Arron... your turn!” Corana pointed at a lone guard, Arron’s own head guardsman Kreg, barring an alleyway. Arron could see the docks growing closer, past a few lines of buildings, but the chase necessitated the narrower, more direct route.

The head guard draw his shortsword and Arron slowed, dropping the bags next to Corana and drawing his own weapon. Corana paused to catch her breath, as the first clash of metal rang out. Kreg struck high, going for a quick kill, but Arron ducked under it and lashed out at the man’s midsection. The guard hopped back at the last moment.

“I hear your little girlfriend skipped town with some of his master’s things. Bet he’s already ash in the wind.” Kreg’s voice was nasty, full of disgust for Arron, or Rall, or both. He knew what to say to get Arron to lose his temper, but Arron knew it would be the end for him if he did, the man was skilled.

“Maybe you just wish he was a girl, Kreg, even now he’s a damn sight prettier than your wife!” Arron offered back, as he lashed out with a swift upward slash. His blade was parried away, and followed up by a boot to his side.

“Boy, I trained you better than this. Get up!” Arron pulled himself back up, noting the other guards drawing closer quickly but cautiously as Corana was facing them and had her wand in hand. She made a show of it, but Arron knew with her missing arm and exhaustion from casting on the run she could do little. He threw a handful of dirt at Kreg, who ducked it but not fast enough to avoid a nick to the arm from Arron’s sword.

“So you can draw first blood, boy? But this is no gentleman’s duel!” The bigger man lunged at Arron, but Arron stepped to the side and let him overextend. Noting a mess on the ground, he stuck his toe under it and brought his sword to bear as Kreg regained his footing.

“You talk too much, old man!” He kicked the glob of horse manure straight at Kreg’s face. It splashed with a sickeningly gooey sound right in his eyes, and Arron batted his sword away and kicked him square between the legs with his heavy boot. Kreg folded in half, groaning, and Arron grabbed Corana’s hand and the bags of supplies.

“Time to go!” As they dashed into the alleyway the hesitant guards gave chase, but with wand in hand and a few moments’ breather, Corana’s spells carried a bit more punch. The guards collided with an invisible wall a few feet into the alley, as Arron and Corana rushed out onto the dock.

---

Cale kicked a rock in frustration as he paced at the edge of the forest. Fate was a cruel mistress, that he was certain of. Only a woman would bring a person from the heights of near accomplishment to scurrying around in some forsaken forest so easily. They were found according to Valan, in the care of two trusted friends. But not a half a night before the caravan’s arrival they had up and run away in the middle of the night.

Even now Valan was comforting the old woman while Cale attempt to find their trail, an effort that was quickly frustrating him. He had manged to find the broken path of tall grass where the two girls had passed through the field all the way up to the edge of the forest. But from there the trail just vanished. Not even a broken twig or bent stem remained to mark their passage.

Cale didn’t know either girl very well, but he knew that the two girls he met in the wilds were about as adept at covering their trail as a large, heavily laden wagon leaking grain in its wake. So someone or something else had to have taken over covering the tracks. And such a repellent forest he had never seen! Brambles and gorse grew under every tree, their thick, long thorns finding their way in between the crevices of armor and clothing with apparent ease. Every third plant was itchweed, and the trees themselves grew twisted and threatening in shape.

Which a light shake of his head he turned his horse back towards the farm house. The whole situation unnerved him. If the stakes weren’t so high he might have simple called off the job. One thing was certain though, every instinct in his body told him to not enter that forest, and he didn’t survive as an assassin by ignoring those instincts. The girls had a destination, likely Lussax, and his best chance would be to find them there.

Valan waved Cale over as he approached the farm at a light trot, “Jord, it’s better news than we could have hoped for. That forest is fairly easy to navigate, and if I know my daughter, she’s headed straight for the river.” Cale nodded, but wondered about the ease of navigation; something was strange about those woods.

Valan continued, “I imagine they’ll walk the bank back to Lussax. I can’t imagine what prompted her to leave Mistress Marta’s farm, but with luck we can catch them along the river or worst case in Lussax. The river is fairly well travelled, so they should be safe from bandits.”

“It’s a good plan Valan, But I think it would be safer for me to ride hard for Lussax tonight. An extra man searching the banks will do little good but if they make the city, having a friendly face waiting for them might.”

Valan nodded thoughtfully, “Very well. We’ll meet at the docks in two days, if you find no sign of them we’ll hire a boat and search along the river that way.”

---

Rall plodded alongside the bank of the river behind Greta. His mind whirled with thoughts of his situation. The travel outdoors wasn’t so bad, and he was learning so much woodcraft from Greta! They’d spent yesterday walking and slept in the shelter under a thickly-leaved maple tree. As he walked he noted little shiny stones, worn smooth by the water and cast up on the sandy beach. Every little while he stopped to pick a particularly sparkly one up, tucking it into his skirt.

“Rana, we’ve arrived!” Greta called out, pointing to the tops of towers just poking out over the treetops, and a sliver of wooden docks out in the water. Rall looked up from the handful of stones he kept finding his eyes drawn to and grinned.

In Rall’s opinion Lussax was a rather busy city, with towers that rivalled Gaerbron’s. And at least twice the size of Gaerbron, to boot! Because the city was situated on the great river Tessarill and had the largest trading port south of the Imperium, likely much of the trade goods in the region flowed through Lussax at least once. But what truly struck Rall was how relaxed and free the city was. The gates were wide open to the public, with little demand for paper work as they crossed through with only a small tale of their escape from the tent city by Greta to ease over any questions.

“You seem a little impressed. Rana. You should close your mouth before flies get in.” Greta jibed with a smile

Nodding in agreement, Rall closed his mouth with an audible click. “I didn’t think entry would be so easy, if this was Gaerbron we be in a cell right now waiting on a magistrate.”

Greta simply snorted. “You have no idea how many times I’ve heard my father ranting about Gaebron’s foolishness, it’s the only city in these parts that’s so paranoid about travelers.”

Grabbing Rall shoulder playfully “Father has more then once expressed his desire to refuse trade to your whole city because it’s so much trouble to bother with.” she said with a laugh.

“Well, I’m glad you came to Gaerbron, I can’t think any other caravan would have been so kind, or anyone in them as forgiving about my... disguise.”

“Rana, I’m not sure if i should say this or not... But you hardly need a disguise to pass for a girl. If it wasn’t for me stumbling upon you bathing I would never have guessed. And it’s honestly still hard for me to believe. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, Rana, but I don’t want to lie to you. Even bathing with you I couldn’t really tell.”

Rall blushed at this new revelation. He was truly unsure how to respond. He knew logically that he should be insulted, but it didn’t really bother him all that much, more confused him. Shoving the uncomfortable thoughts aside for the moment, he changed the subject. “Do you know where we should go? “

Greta nodded, letting the subject drop as she wandered ahead. “The merchant quarter at the east end of the city. We should be able to find one of my father’s associates at the market sector.”

Rall kept pace with Greta as they navigated through Lussax’ haphazard cobblestone streets. Nothing seemed straightforward like in Gaerbron. Roads twisted and turned and then would stop at dead ends with no discernible logic. Worse yet, many areas of the city where barred from normal entry by guards or guildsmen, sectioning of the city into makeshift fiefdoms based on class and craft. Rall couldn’t understand how anyone found anything in this city.

But even more importantly, Rall’s growling stomach demanded food. What frustrated him to no end was that on every street corner mouth-watering smells of smoked, salted and stewed chicken, beef, pork, and warm breads with gravy called out to him. But for Rall it all might as well have been a cruel joke, no coin in his skirts meant no food in his stomach.

After an eternity of wandering, with no specific direction Rall could track, the pair reached a two-story building attached to a large warehouse. Workers moved in and out of the building with barrels and crates through a large door in the side, but Greta led him to the front door, where a sign proclaimed this the “Fion and Sons Trading Company” in bold, stylized script. As she entered the door a rosy-cheeked man with rings on almost every finger and boldly colored clothes looked up from a sheet of paper filled end to end with tidy script.

“My word, is that Greta? I hear you and this little lady have been on quite an adventure! Is your papa back in town then? I’m surprised he’s not watching over you pair like a mother bear after all the fuss about you! Where is dear old Valan, anyway?”

“No, sir, we haven’t actually caught up with Father yet. I was hoping you could send word to him that we made it safely here, and possibly advance Rana and I enough coin to spend a few nights waiting for his return. You know my father will repay it, of course.”

Rall watched in fascination as Greta leaned forward giving the man a big, bright smile. “Aye he will, no doubt to my mind! Well, there’s no harm to it, and I imagine you girls mayhap could use a bit of luxury. I’ll draw out a loan and you, Miss Greta, can put your mark to it, so your father has fair record of it.”

“Thank you, Master Fion, I really appreciate it! And you’ll send word then too?”

“Of course, dear, of course! My fastest runner will be out before the hour is up. You and your friend just go relax until your father arrives, I’ll send one of the lads to make sure you’re not accosted in the streets. It just wouldn’t do to survive bandits and the forest both only to get a cracked head or worse in the safety of the city!” Greta smiled warmly and thanked the man, accepting a bulging purse of coins after marking a sheet Fion offered.

As they left the building a beefy man with even more muscles than Arron and a rather imposing looking heavy stick joined the pair, walking a few feet behind and eyeing passersby warily. Rall looked to Greta, trying not to concentrate on the dangerous-looking man following them.

“Greta, how much did that man loan you? That looks like a lot! Surely a few nights at an inn can’t cost all that!” Greta shook her head, tsk-ing at him.

“Rana, Rana, Rana... Of course not, this money is for spending! We’ve been through a lot, and I intend to show you one way to relax from such terrible ordeals. I’m thinking perhaps a bathhouse first, and then food.” At the word food Rall’s stomach growled fiercely, even over the din of the streets.

“Okay then, food first. But only because making those kinds of sounds in the bath will draw some very odd looks. Now come on, I know a street vendor who makes the very best sweet smoked pork you will ever eat!”

Rall nodded in agreement, swallowing, his mouth suddenly watering desperately at the thought of candied pork. Any private concerns he had about the burrowed money, or the ethics of sticking Greta’s father with the bill vanished almost without protest.

Greta led Rall and their watchful guard several streets down, across two and then back a ways, leaving Rall again confused, to a stall where hung large portions of meat, dripping with some dark honey-smelling sauce. The aroma nearly drove Rall to his knees, and his stomach protested this new mistreatment vigorously.

“Hi, sir, we’d like two portions, I think my friend here needs the larger before she faints.” She offered the man the appropriate coin, far more than Rall would have imagined paying for a single meal in Gaerbron, and the vendor offered them two chunks wrapped in butcher paper, each with a large bone hanging out the end dripping. Rall followed Greta’s example hurriedly, tucking the paper into the neck opening of his dress greasy side out, before biting into the meat wolfishly.

Greta blushed beside him at the sounds he made eating, and a few passersby whistled or glared at him. None of which mattered compared to the flavor of the treat quickly warming his stomach.

“Rana, slow down! You’ll make yourself sick! And do try not to moan, you’re going to draw the wrong kind of attention and our poor warder might have to fight off an army of lechers.”

Rall did in fact slow down as his stomach settled, taking his time to savor small bites as Greta led him through more of the maze that was Lussax to a large opulent building with smoke rising out of chimneys above and steam drifting lazily out the doors.

“Now it’s time to wash off the filth of the road before we go find ourselves some clothes that don’t reek of days spent in the wilds. Oh, don’t fuss, we’ll get a private bathing room!”

---

Cale met the message runner at the gates. He had been waiting for one flying colors to match Valan’s caravan for perhaps an hour, in the hopes of getting a lead on the search.

“Ho there, are you bound for Valan’s caravan? News of Greta and Rana?” he called out to the rider when he paused at the gates.

“And who are you to ask?” The messenger clearly had some wits to him, some wouldn’t even question him after dropping the names.

“Jord, Rana’s uncle. Would you tell me where they’re staying before you head on? Valan took his men straight into the forest toward the slaver camps, and I hope to find my niece before the week is out.”

“Oh, of course! Master Fion has their care for the moment, I imagine they’ll be staying at one of the inns near the trading company.”

“Thank you, good man, and in return, you’ll find Master Valan fastest if you head straight northwest through the forest, I left them more than a day ago. They might be two days in before you catch up, unless you travel fast.” Cale smiled darkly as the man turned to the northwest, away from the river where Valan was searching. That bought him at least an extra day, possibly two. Easily more than enough time to finish his business and disappear.

The streets of Lussax did not confuse Cale as they were meant to do to an invading army. He moved easily through several guarded areas, and even stopped to pay a toll to the local thieves’ guild. It was always best to pay one’s dues to that bunch, especially plying the murder trade in their demesne. Even considering the brief visit he quickly reached Fion and Sons, where the garishly dressed and beringed man pointed him to a few of Miss Greta’s favorite vendors. A man selling overly-sweetened pork pointed him toward a local bathhouse, where he was further guided to the market district.

In a few short hours he had the girls in his sights, and followed them cautiously. True these simple girls could not possibly overcome one of his skills, but something about them set his teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the near-frantic demand that he deal with the girls personally, or the certainty in his ghostly image’s visage as he claimed sending a demon would fail, but mostly it was the memory of the girl with the short sword swinging at him wildly. He was no expert, but he knew enough to know that a sword that could draw magic out of a person by touch could be far more dangerous than its rusty appearance might suggest. Plus, the girl waving it around had not appeared weakened in the slightest at the draining, suggesting she had greater than normal reserves.

So he shadowed the pair as they sifted through clothing and jewelry stalls. The red-haired one, Greta, seemed far more excited than the blond Rana, but she seemed to be coming around quickly enough as Greta held up one brass or pewter bauble after another. He watched carefully and saw the telltale bump that told him that damnable short sword was still hanging under her skirt, where it would more likely trip her than come to hand in a fight. Nothing about the girl made sense! But then, it didn’t matter so long as she died at his hand, along with her friend.

His decision made, Cale drew forth a small reed tube already set with a needle coated in the sap of the Ferelis plant. The thin clear liquid would, on injection, quickly paralyze the lungs and heart of its victim. She would die quietly but painlessly. He slipped it up to his mouth just as the shadow of a passing cart hid him from casual eyes, and blew. His aim was perfect as always, the dart would strike home in her neck...

But even as he watched he knew it would miss. Rana had indeed tripped over the sword in her skirts! Greta helped her to catch her balance as he watched, the dart lost in the filth of the alley behind them.

Cale cursed and placed another needle in the reed tube, slipping it into his sleeve. She would not be so lucky again! He waited for a break in the crowd as the girls talked about some dress or cloak Greta was trying to get Rana to try, before again placing the reed to his lips.

Just then the crowd surged behind him, knocking him stumbling forward. Someone managed to get a hard elbow into his ribs, and it was sheer luck he didn’t inhale the needle! He slid the reed back into the thin leather tube that held it safely under his cloak, clearly poison was not the correct method of dealing with these two! He slipped his slender dagger out of its sheath and into his sleeve, he could still kill them quietly even among the crowd, just as he had the rich man among the slavers.

He crossed the street and slipped up behind the pair, casually bumping into the girl with the sword. As he did he slipped his thin, delicate blade into her back, right between the ribs below her shoulder blade... and the shiv broke off right at the handle.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going, old man, you jabbed me!” Cale stared in astonishment at the girl, though she clearly did not recognize him through his disguise. He ducked aside as the brute who’d been guarding them tried to clap a hand on his shoulder.

“You’d better check your things, there are a lot of thieves who still try the bumping into you trick.” Cale hurried away as Rana rubbed her back. He watched as she desperately dug into a fold in her skirts where sat what looked like a pile of polished river stones, of all things, as if it were the greatest treasure in the realm!

Cale could see the tiny rip in her dress where the knife penetrated, he must have miscalculated and hit her shoulder blade! But he never missed, he took pride in knowing the shape and vital points of every size body very intimately! Perhaps she somehow rolled her shoulder... But he was certain she hadn’t moved at all! He growled under his breath in frustration.

The pair approached a large, three-storied inn with a sign featuring a large draft horse next to a flagon and a sheet of clerk’s paper. Cale took note of the inn they clearly planned on staying at, and went on his way. This job would have to wait until night, the little brat’s luck couldn’t be strong enough to save her in her sleep! As he walked away from The Frothy Draft, he made note of window locations and empty rooms. He’d already left too much trace of his presence. The innkeeper would surely remember if he were to ask their room number hours before they died in his inn, so he would have to conduct a search that night.

The number of empty rooms to choose from was not large, it would be a short search with a tragic end for them that night.

“Unsheath the sword, would you lad? Can’t be too careful you see, and you have held the sword already.” Rall did as he was asked, laying the naked blade back down on the bench. Were his eyes deceiving him, or was it a bit more polished now?

“Come on, Arron, we’re not out of danger yet!” Corana led Arron out the long pier to the very end of the docks, as guards began streaming through the streets and alleyways toward them.

“Whatever you’re going to do, make it quick, I don’t think they plan on capturing us!” Arron faced the incoming horde, ready to buy her time if necessary. He saw out of the corner of his eye as she flipped the coin she showed him in her workroom into the water, eyes closed as if making a wish. Then he nearly dropped his sword in surprise, as a small boat simply appeared in the water without warning or fanfare. At the bow stood a gaunt man, his blue-tinged skin hanging loosely off his bones. He looked soaked, his ratty robes dripping river water and his lifeless hair shining with it.

“As you have called, so have I come.” his voice even sounded wet somehow. “The fare is paid, your passage secured. Step into my vessel and speak your destination.”

Corana took hold of Arron’s arm and stepped into the boat, drawing him with her. “T’isstai, to the center of the lake at the source of Tessarill River.” A loud roar of rage distracted her for a moment as the battered Woric appeared from a dark alley leading into the docks, followed closely by a contingent of the guard.

“STOP, you venomous elf-skinned harpy! I will flay you in strips and salt your pus-ridden wounds for what you have done to me!” He screamed was he waved his hands in erratic motions.

The guard around Woric jumped back nervously as cascading wisps of energy began to bleed from his fingers. “I’ll burn you, you hear! I’ll turn your flesh to ash, and bone to coal!”

Woric slowly paced forward, with every step the power in his hands grew stronger and more chaotic. He lifted a hand shining with coruscating sparks to point almost lazily at Corana and the boat.

Turning towards the river spirit Corana screamed frantically, “GO!” The gaunt ferryman met her gaze with a doleful one, river water pouring from his eyes like tears, but without the usual accompanying emotion.

Arron had oddest sense of falling as the water receded around the boat, and for a moment he thought the river was running dry. Then a moment later he felt himself being shoved backwards against the hull by some powerful invisible force as a swell two men high hit the small boat launching it forward.

He struggled to keep his seat rather than be flung out the back like a child’s doll made of rags and straw in a high wind. Arron struggled against the force of acceleration to turn towards where Woric stood only to see a a brightly shining star floating above the whole of the pier. It launched into the water where the boat had been only moments before. A great explosion of steam and fury filled the air in its wake, obscuring the dock from view.

“Whew, I guess he doesn’t like me any more. I sure hope he enjoys that very hot steam bath he created for himself and his men.” Corana shook her head with a quirky sort of a grin, while Arron fought sickening horror at the realization how close he truly came to death.

“Three days,” the spirit spoke interrupting both Arron’s and Corana’s thoughts, “to Lake Tessarill.” Gazing unblinking into Corana’s eyes the spirit continued, “Be warned mortal, you walk into path of the gods.” It took a moment for Corana’s mind to comprehend the strange note in the spirit’s words. Then she realized this was the first time the spirit had ever offered her a warning. Not once before had it uttered such a thing, in the ten years she had dealt with it.

“I thank you for the warning, T'isstai, but I have little choice.” The River god simply nodded disinterestedly at her reply.

Arron drew breath to question the god further but a quick elbow to the ribs from Corana stopped him cold. “Do not pester the god, unless you wish us to swim the way.”

“So, three days then... I guess you were right to gather plenty of supplies.” Arron watched the water flow by the side of the boat at dizzying speed for several moments until he felt lightheaded. Corana pulled him away from the side when she saw his attention on the river.

“Don’t watch the waters pass, it can be hypnotic and I don’t want you falling in. At the speed we are travelling you might not survive.” Arron nodded as he wiggled closer to the center of the boat, drawing himself very close to Corana. The boat was not large, travel would by necessity be close quarters.

“Corana... I was thinking, about how we snuck into your tower.” She turned from watching the trees flow by to offer him that quirky smile.

“Thinking you’d like to try it some more, now that we’re alone and have plenty of free time?” she placed a hand on his, hers soft and delicate compared to his calluses of hard work and sword training.

“Well, no, I mean yes, I... I wanted to know if it meant anything, or if you were just playing the part. I didn’t want to assume anything.” He looked down at her small hand on his, then back up to her eyes.

“Oh Arron, I am sorry for teasing you so. You are very handsome, and I did get carried away with things. Believe it or not, the life of a sorceress can become lonely, and maybe given the opportunity I went a little further than necessary. But I don’t regret it. Do you?” Her smile had changed; gone was the uneven smirk she seemed to enjoy so much and in its place stood an honest, gentle smile.

“I really don’t. Believe it or not, I haven’t really had much experience in that area. Many of the guards, well by the stories they tell you’d wonder why Gaerbron wasn’t overflowing with children. But I never really found someone I wanted to court, and I don’t want to just chase the conquest, do you understand?” He scratched the back of his head sheepishly as he bared his soul.

“I do. You’re a good man, Arron, and I’ve been a woman long enough to know how valuable that is. And you’re a damn good kisser, too! I mean it, you took my breath away. But you know who I am, who I must be. I have done and will do things you will not approve of, to protect my people. I have to wonder if I would even be worthy of the kind of good man I have seen that you are.” She dropped her gaze to inspect the soaked planks of the boat at her feet.

He gently lifted her chin with his fingertips to catch her gaze again. “No, Corana, it was wrong of me to judge you for your actions. I apologize for that. Your loyalty to Gaerbron is inspiring, and it is not my place to call you to task for doing what is best for everyone. Will you forgive me for that?”

Her lips were her only answer, crushed desperately against his own. For long moments they held each other as the wind and water rushed by, uncaring of the danger or the wonder. When they parted, breath ragged and needing, Arron caught a glimpse of the boatman. His cold unfeeling gaze rested squarely on the pair. Suddenly cold, Arron pulled away a bit. Corana looked hurt for the briefest of moments, before she too noticed T’isstai’s attention and that lopsided smile returned.

“One must wonder if a river god is interested in affairs of the heart, or if only cold water flows in his veins.”

---

Jaron stood his post at the gates of Lussax, watching the expanse of road winding lazily northward as the sun slowly sank to the horizon in the west. Few people travelled the northern road since the Empire closed off its borders, there just wasn’t much to the north except trees and beasts. The imperial capitol drank from the very same river as Lussax, at the mouth where it met the ocean, but the passage was wide enough that trade continued unhindered by imperial interests.

None of which mattered much to Jaron, as he stood his post. Everyone knew it was a punishment post for guards caught sleeping on duty, and Jaron was determined to earn his way back to real work. The boredom might kill him otherwise.

He only rested his eyes for a moment. The sun hadn’t even moved in the sky when he opened them again. But a dark line filled the road at the edges of his vision, appearing as if by magic from the wooded road. He collected the spyglass from its case, carefully set it on the mount and peered through it.

The Imperial standard flew white as snow above a line of perfectly groomed horsemen. White tunic-clad soldiers and dignitaries flowed forth in an orderly procession, at the head of what might be a small army.

“C-Captain!” he shouted with a stutter as he staggered past the door, “Captain!, come up here quick, the Empire is invading!”

---

Rall slumped further into the hot bath so that only his nose and eyes peeked over the surface of the water. Spying the back of Greta in her own copper tub, this was heaven. A hot bath to soothe a week’s worth of aches and pains, a pretty girl just a few feet away, and good food! The memory of the candied pork he had just eaten still made his mouth water.

“So are you planning on soaking the whole day?” Greta giggle from her own bath. “I’m sure you look like a shriveled prune by now.”

“Hey, it’s not often a simple apprentice gets a hot bath to relax in. Especially given my old master.” Rall grinned as he splashed a little hot water her direction, “Besides, I don’t see you climbing out to get dressed.”

“I’ll get out soon enough...” Greta said with a pause, “Well maybe in an hour, the water feels soooo good!” After several minutes, Greta turned around in her tub, resting her arms on the side with a questioning look.

“Rana... Why did you decide to pretend to be a girl? Surely there were other ways you could have disguised yourself. I don’t know any boys who would choose to do that.” Rall made a face, he didn’t really want to think about it too much himself, but now the idea was in his head and he couldn’t stop wondering himself.

“I... I don’t know. I’ve always been small and kind of well... soft? And the soldiers used to always tease me about it. They kept saying I was Arron’s girlfriend and stupid things like that. Not that Arron ever let it bother him, except he always kind of protected me, you know? Like the big brother I never had. And when I was trying to think of ways to get away from my master, it just sort of occurred to me that I could do it. I don’t think he believed I could do it, but he went and bought me a dress anyway.”

“Wow. He must really care about you.” Greta’s eyes looked distant for a moment. “I remember him trying to convince Father you were being abused and needed help. He really did seem desperate to get you out safely. I guess if I had a little brother or sister I might be the same way.”

“To be honest, if someone told me a month ago I was going to be wearing a dress and bathing with a girl, I would have thought them mad. It’s almost like it should bother me, but it doesn’t. I don’t know why.”

Greta grinned saucily at him, “Well, it’d work even better if you had breasts. Most girls our age do, you know.”

Rall accidentally inhaled a mouthful of water and came up sputtering, his face bright red. Greta giggled madly at his discomfort, so Rall decided to even the score.

“What if I did? What if they were bigger than yours! You’d be jealous then, wouldn’t you!” He cupped his hands in front of his chest as if carrying a pair of grapefruit, then turned his cupped hands and splashed more water at her. Greta laughed along with him, but he couldn’t help imagining.

“Umm, Rana...” What if he did have breasts? No one would question his disguise then.... And he couldn’t help admitting that he did like breasts. “Rana, you’re doing it again!” Granted, generally on other people, but... “RANA!”

The shout broke him out of his reverie, and followed Greta’s incredulous gaze downward...

“First’s ashes, what did I do?” he yelped.

“It looks like you grew breasts!” Greta retorted “Is this another of those illusions, like you’ve been using to hide the scales?” Rall tentatively, almost fearfully reached up out of the water to poke one. It was solid. Well, as solid as soft fleshy bits generally tend to be.

“Ummm, no...” Rall could hear the tremble of fear in his voice, and he couldn’t seem to make it go away. Before he knew it Greta was out of her tub and holding him comfortingly, talking in a calm, quiet voice.

“It’ll be alright. This will help your disguise, and if you made it happen you can make it go away I’m sure. Just calm down, you’ve gone as white as a sheet.” Her voice was very soothing and was holding him so protectively, so in moments he calmed down. He looked down at them again, they seemed so big but he was pretty sure they were still smaller than Greta’s. He cupped them again, then poked at them, a curious expression on his face.

“Aren’t they supposed to be sensitive? I mean, it’s like holding a waterskin.” he questioned as he poked at his breast again.

Greta looked at him oddly for a second, then reached down and pinched his nipple hard.

“Hey, what are you... huh, that didn’t hurt. What weird kind of transformation is this anyway?” As he said it, the breasts popped, a flash of heat and steam washing over his face. The steam was hot, but not uncomfortably so.

“Rana, I think you need to see somebody about learning what you’re doing today. You’re going to hurt yourself casting spells all willy-nilly like this!”

Rall shook his head, “I’m really not trying to! Spells don’t work like this, well, they’re not supposed to. Normally you need a formula and a source of power to do anything! I can tell you right now, I know as much about incantation as I do about blacksmithing, and I surely don’t know how to tap my own power. That takes years and years to learn!”

Greta didn’t seem all that convinced, “Well what do you call all this then?” she gestured at Rall.

Raking his fingers through his hair Rall thought it over a bit. “I don’t know, but it breaks all the rules, so that alone is reason enough to seek advice I guess.”

“Okay, come on then, let’s get up and go. I’m out now, so you can get out too.”

Rall climbed out of the tub regretfully, looking longingly at the still-hot water as he wiped himself dry with cloths provided by the bathhouse. He dressed quickly, but still Greta managed to be ready several minutes before him, and she led the way out and into the streets of Lussax.

“I’ve never been to the mage’s guild district, but I know where it is. I’ll lead you there, but you might have to do something to show them we have a purpose there. Most of the guilds don’t allow visitors.” Rall nodded as he followed her, hoping they wouldn’t just be turned away.

The streets again confused Rall, so he tried not to pay too close attention. Instead he focused on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping Greta in sight, and before he knew it they had arrived.

“Yes? Do you children have business with the guild of magic?” A neatly-dressed man with a long slender sword at his waist stopped them. Rall looked at Greta for a moment with a smirk then back towards the guard. Lifting his hand above his head he slowly pictured a roaring camp fire and the waves of heat that radiated from it. With in a single heartbeat a blast of fire raced shining into the sky. Rall was horrified, he hadn’t really even expected his little illusion trick to do anything at all, much less create real fire!

The guard stumbled and fell backwards, landing with a thump. He scrambled backwards on hands and feet like a crab for a moment before turning and jumping to his feet. Rall held up his hands placatingly.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it was just supposed to be a spark!” The guard had drawn his sword and was holding it in front of himself shakily.

“A spark... A spark!” he shouted, “By the First, girl, you nearly set the district on fire!” Rall could hear the sounds of footsteps and shouting approaching fast.

“What in the nine hells is going on out here, is the city under attack?” A woman in fine clothes ran up to the guard, a ball of something glowing threateningly in her hand.

“This girl seems to need help. She says that gout of fire was supposed to be a spark!” The guard seemed very relieved to have the woman there to back him up. She turned to look at Rall and Greta with narrowed eyes.

“What is your business here? Don’t try anything, I can burn you to ash where you stand if you so much as wave a finger. Speak quickly!”

“Y-yes, Ma’am! It’s my fault... I mean, I didn’t mean to... I, it just happened...” Every word Rall knew tried to tumble out of his mouth at once, whatever that woman was holding looked really scary.

“Ma’am, I can explain.” Greta spoke up, clearly afraid as well but in better control of herself. “See, my friend here has been using magic, but she doesn’t know how.” She paused for a moment to gauge the woman’s reaction. When the woman didn’t react at all, she continued, “I thought I should bring her here to ask for help. I didn’t expect her to make a big fire like that, but that’s the very problem. I’m worried she’s going to hurt herself.”

The woman lowered her hand slightly, but that ball of energy did not go away. “What you just did is very dangerous. You must not do that again, or I will deal with you harshly.” She eyed Rall accusingly, “What you just described is patently impossible, clearly you know nothing of the ways of magic. Stand still and I shall find out the truth of the matter.” She waved with her free hand, a complex series of gestures coupled with some words mumbled under her breath that Rall couldn’t quite catch.

Standing firm Greta spoke up again, “It’s the truth, she has a sword as well!” She stopped speaking however, as a circle inscribed with formulaic symbols drew itself in the ground around the two. They both watched as it quickly formed, then the woman spoke up again.

“Now. Are you a demon? Don’t think to deceive me, that circle will trap a demon as long as I wish, and I can do many terrible things to you before sending you back to the hells.”

Rall gaped at her in shock. “I’m no demon!” Rall cried out, the accusation angered him almost beyond words. Staring down the woman Rall stepped forward past the glowing circle pointing an angry finger at her. She held up that ball of energy as if she might throw it, but he was too angry to care.

“I didn’t ask for this, I never even wanted to be an apprentice! Now this sword is changing me, and I’m making illusions and fire and other things without any real spells” Shoving up next the woman only inch away from her face his. “And if you’re going to kill me you might as well do it because I’m going to end up killing myself accidentally anyway unless someone teaches me!” The woman looked surprised by the tirade, but lowered her ball again.

“I believe you. If you were a demon, stepping past that circle would have incinerated you. You in there, step out too. I want to be sure of the both of you.” Greta obediently stepped out as well, and the woman nodded. The ball of chaotic energy swirling in her hand winked out as if it had never existed.

“So, a sword you say? Very well then, let’s see it. Leave it sheathed, the guard might get jumpy if you bare live steel around the woman who pays his salary.” Rall nodded and fumbled under his skirts for the sheath’s belt ties. The guard looked away a little bit, but the woman just smirked.

Rall drew the sword from under his skirt and held it up for her to see. The woman give the blade a quick inspection, gesturing for him to slip it out of the sheath a few inches. Rall noted that the woman didn’t seem all that impressed with the rusty junk weapon, nor willing to touch it. “Well come along then, let see what your ahhh... sword is all about then.”

The woman led Greta and Rall through the magic district, a rather unimpressive sight to Rall who viewed it as a poor substitute to the grandeur of Gaerbron. But what did catch his attention was the response from the street goers.

“They’re staring at us!” he softly whispered to Greta. Leaning into Rall shoulder she replied playfully, “No, I think they are staring at you, miss young sorceress.”

“It’s unnerving.” he grumbled back.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t shoot fireballs into the sky then.”

With one last turn they where both led into a small stone brick building. The building looked like it had seen better days. The wooden door hung crookedly off its hinges, and much of the mortar around the stone bricks was crumbling away. The painted sign above the door had much of the wording bleached and weather away by the elements, but Rall could still barely make out the name “Martello’s Trinkets, Curios and Antiques.”

Propping open the door carefully the woman waved them in. “Well then, go in. If you wish to know about you sword, Martello’s the man that can tell you.”

Before leaving the woman smiled, “A fair warning to you, Martello is quite old. He has become a bit of an eccentric in his advanced years; he’s a very sweet old man, but a tad touched.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. We haven’t even introduced ourselves... I’m Greta and this is Rana. We both appreciate your help.” Rall nodded meekly next to Greta as she thanked the woman.

“I am Seris, Sorceress of the third order, Peacekeeper of the district. If you need anything else, feel free to ask for me, just don’t try any more wild spells. I’d really hate to have to harm children.” So saying, Seris turned and left them at the door.

As Rall walked into the shop his eyes were greeted by a room filled to the brim with junk of every imagining. Swords, armour, books and scrolls, racks filled with spices and herbs that Rall could only partially identify, and he was no stranger to obscure components. And all of it was scattered about without any sign of rhyme or reason.

“About time, about time” come a scratchy grating voice, the kind one might expect to hear from a shrivelled up old scholar. Rall turned to look for the source of the voice and was greeted by said shrivelly old scholar in person. “Have you my cheese?” he questioned Rall plaintively “Hmmmm no it seems not, no one brings me my cheese anymore... such good cheese too.”

“Umm, no sir. I... we came to see what you could tell us about a sword...” Rall began, uncertain whether the old man would understand what he was saying at all.

“A sword you say? Why I have several swords right here! This one is perfect for slicing cheese. You know, if there were any here to slice.” He seemed to slump back in his stool a bit rubbing his bald head as if trying to straighten out hair that had long since left him.

“No sir,” Greta chimed in, “We mean this sword, it seems to be changing my friend and Lady Seris said you would be able to help”

“Oh Seris, a fine girl she is, always picking flowers to show me. She’ll grow up to be a fine sorceress one day.” Rall gave Greta a questioning look but before either could say a word Martello had jumped to his feet with surprising ease and agility. “A sword you say, well bring it here. The faster I give you your answers the faster you give me my cheese. Fine cheese it will be!” he proclaimed loudly. Rall stepped forward and offered the sheathed sword, and Martello gestured for him to place it on the a nearby work bench.

Martello wandered about his shop collecting powders and vials like a madman. It was a possibility that did not escape Rall’s thoughts for even a moment. “Yes this, and this... Ohh we need some of this, won’t be able to tell the matrix without duskweed!” he shouted with a glee.

By the time he had collected everything he needed, the bench had become nearly as littered as his shop. Clearly he didn’t pay heed to any sort of organizational system, but he seemed to know where everything was at least.

“Unsheath the sword, would you lad? Can’t be too careful you see, and you have held the sword already.” Rall did as he was asked, laying the naked blade back down on the bench. Were his eyes deceiving him, or was it a bit more polished now?

Licking the back end of a leathery bat wing, Martello stared at the sword. “Oh, interesting... interesting. Imperial design, second dynasty perhaps... No first, most definitely first. Built to last, they were, but this girl’s seen better days.” Rall idly toyed with his smooth shiny stones as he listened.

“But a history lesson was not why you came to me girl, yes. It’s the magic that you want to know about, yes.” Popping open a vial of red liquid he quickly dabbed a finger and began to scribble a circle of characters expertly around the sword. “Aged lamb’s blood, best medium for incantations, and it tastes great to boot.” so saying he licked the remaining blood from his fingers. Rall swallowed his rising bile at the sight, and Greta turned an interesting shade of pale green.

“Now for a little bit of magic” he said with a wink. With lighting fast movements, his hands and fingers shifted through a complex dance of patterns then abruptly stopped. Both Rall and Greta waited but nothing seemed to happen. Even Martello seem for a moment to be stunned but it soon passed as his eye widen open. “Oh yes I forgot” with a odd gagging sound Rall watched in horror as the old man cough up a glob of phlegm the likes of which Rall had never seen before into the palm of his hand.

By this point Greta had turned towards a suspiciously well-placed bucket and was emptying her stomach. “Oh thank you girl, I have been meaning to stock up!”

Closing his hand around the glob he went through is hand motion routine once again. With one last shake he opened his hand, releasing a shower of yellow light onto the sword.

“There we go. Worked like a charm! Or more like a divination. Dear, if you’re done with that please cover it, I don’t want it to spoil. Now let’s see here.”

Rall gasped as the sword began to glow, a warm fiery yellow over the surface of the blade and hilt. “Now look at that” the old wizard whistled as fine traces of yellow lights spread across the sword. “Do you know what this is my girls?” Rall and the still-recovering Greta simply shook their heads. “Me either!” he said with a laugh.

Turning about, the old man rummaged through a shelf and retrieved a round glass lens. Carefully he lowed the glass over a section of the sword and invited both Rall and Greta to look.

What Rall saw seemed impossible; magnified in the curved glass appeared an assortment of at least a thousand runes. This made up only a small section of the uncountable lines which criss-crossed over the sword.

“It’s an incantation of sorts.” he said with a whisper of awe. “Impossibly complex, and old. So very old. Even older than me! I could spend years studying this inscription and not discover its full purpose... but I can tell a little bit already. This isn’t a sword at all.”

Rall gave the old wizard a confused look, “If it’s not a sword then what is it?”

With a quiet giggle the old man turned towards Rall. “Why it’s a seal of course. It’s been tampered with, too.” He pointed out an odd disruption in the lines to Rall and Greta. Rall had taken it for a crack in the metal, but it was in fact a scratch across the runes. “Someone pried it open you see, here and there. I suppose to drain out its power.”

“I think I know who did that. But why is it changing me? Why am I suddenly casting spells without even knowing how to do it?” the comforting feel of the smooth stones in his hand helped him relax as thoughts of the fireball that might have gotten them both killed raced through his head.

“You have become bound to it, my guess. Have you the mage sight boy? There’s a trick to it, you have to look past what you’re looking at. No matter, I do and I can see plain as day that it’s feeding off of you.” Rall flinched away from the sword.

“It’s feeding on me? What should I do? Is it going to kill me?”

Shaking his head as if amused by a small childs antics “Oh dear no my girl, that could never happen. It takes what you give, nothing more, nothing less”

Scratching his chin he continued, “As for what you should do, I would say nothing. The seal will not last much longer. Too much power has been stripped from it. I would give it a year or less before the whole thing dies. Then you’ll have nothing but a pile of rust.”

“What about me? It changed me, will I change back?”

“Oh no dear child. Were you not listening? You’re linked to it. I imagine when it dies so will you. Quite unpleasant. You say it changed you? How? You look fine to me. The scales are a nice touch. Can I have them when you die or molt?”

“Die...?” Rall whispered as he stared at the sword. The world around him seem to fade away in stillness.

“How do we fix it?” Greta yelled, desperate for her friend’s life.

“I have no idea!” the strange old man offered with a guileless smile, “But let me know if you figure it out. It’ll be easy enough to tell, the rusty bits will get shiny. See, the rust is where the metal was consumed to replace the magical energy. Quite ingenious. You see rust is really slowly burning metal, so the sealed being is burning up its prison to stay alive. Once the prison is gone... poof!” Martello waved his hands as if to wave away smoke.

Just then the door opened and a smallish boy of perhaps twelve stepped inside, toting a heavy-looking package. “Master Martello, sir! I’ve brought you your groceries! I made sure to get that cheese you like so much!”

Martello looked to the newcomer oddly. “Cheese? Never touch the stuff. Gives me frightful blockage you see.” He looked at Greta and Rall as if surprised by their presence. “Hey, you children get out of my store now, off with you! And take your rusty knife with you, I only buy real antiques, not junk! Go on now!”

Almost before either could protest at all Rall and Greta were herded out of the store. The grocery boy offered them a shrug as they passed him, but said nothing.

“Well, that was not very helpful. Don’t worry Rana, we’ll figure something out.” Together they trudged back toward the market district. Rall couldn’t stop hearing the word “die” and it must have shown in his face because Greta paused for a moment to hug him.

“Really, Rana, don’t take any of that too seriously. The old man was clearly out of his mind. Besides, I’ve seen that sword a lot, and if anything its condition is getting better. Just take care of it, and you’ll be fine, okay?” Rall nodded uncertainly, but he did feel a little bit better. The sword DID look much better than when the blacksmith first gave it to him.

As they passed the entrance to the district of magic, the guard offered them a glare, and seemed glad to see them off. Then a somewhat high-pitched and soft voice Rall didn’t recognize called out.

“Miss Greta! Miss umm, Rana? I thought I’d lost you! That rude guard wouldn’t let me into the Mage District to find you! Why did you leave me behind at the baths?” Greta turned to face the bodyguard Fion had assigned them.

“Sometimes girls like a little privacy, Aric. You know that. You found me more quickly than last time I was in town, you’re getting better at it!” Aric frowned at her.

“Miss, I wish you wouldn’t do that. Maybe it’s a game to you, but Master Fion will dock me a week’s pay if he finds I failed to watch over you!” Rall looked from Greta to Aric, he hadn’t even noticed the bodyguard missing as they left the bathhouse.

“Don’t worry, Aric, you know I’ll vouch for you. You did find us after all! And here we are, safe and sound. Now we’d like to visit the market district and do some shopping. I promise we won’t run away from you again.” Aric nodded, accepting her word, and the three continued toward the vendors, Rall lost in thought and Aric trailing behind as Greta guided them toward the clothiers.

---

Greta giggled as she pulled Rana over to a street vendor’s cart lined with dresses and jewelery “Rana, look at this one!” She tried her hardest to get Rana’s attention, but the poor girl... boy... was obviously still scared. She was hardly even looking at all the pretty clothes. But Greta was determined to get her mind off of what the disgusting old man told them.

“Come on, at least look. I think this one would really bring out your eyes. You could even match it up with some jewelry!” Well, at least that got her attention. Rana looked up at her and inspected the brass and pewter wares arranged on the cart. She actually picked up several of them and held them up to inspect them.

“Ah, I see you have an eye for fine jewelry, young miss! Can I interest you in some sapphires? They’ll sparkle wonderfully against your fair skin.” The saleswoman offered, holding up a delicate chain with a blue stone setting.

Greta watch amused as Rana eyes widened and locked on the swaying gem. “Pretty...” she heard Rana mumble as she fumbled forward only to slip a half a foot away from her target. Her legs seemed to get all tangled up in each other and she nearly fell face first on the dirty cobblestones, but Greta caught her by the arm.

“Are you alright, Rana?” She helped the smaller girl straighten her skirt and realized it was the sword that tripped her. “You should be more careful. Come on, let’s go look at more clothes, Master Fion didn’t loan me enough to buy nice jewelry this time.”

Rana pouted at her a little bit, but she did seem in much better spirits. They looked at a few more dresses and Greta chose three that she liked, two for herself and one for Rana. It was her money after all.

Just then there was a commotion across the street. The crowd surged toward the street, pushing several people into the path of a team of horses, but they all scrambled back to safety just in time. Greta sighed in relief, she’d seen a man trampled in the streets once and it was not pleasant.

She paid for the dresses and accepted the neatly folded and tied packages wrapped in paper, then turned to ask Aric to carry them, just in time to see a man bump into Rana.

“Ow! Watch where you’re going old man, you jabbed me!” Greta turned to look as Rana winced in pain, clearly the thief that bumped into her was not only a lout, but heavy handed as well! She saw Aric try to grab the man and let him do the protecting while she checked to be sure Rana was okay.

“You’d better check your things, there are a lot of thieves who still try the bumping into you trick.” Rana nodded and went digging in her skirts for that handful of pretty stones she cared so much about. While she was busy counting them, Greta looked to see if Aric caught the man, but he had disappeared quickly in the throng. She looked up to see the sun hanging low in the sky.

“Okay, I think we’ve had enough excitement for the day, don’t you Rana? Let’s go find ourselves a hot meal and a safe place to sleep, alright? The streets are a bit more dangerous at night, and as brave as Aric is, even he can’t fight off two or three muggers at a time.”

Cale’s waiting paid off an hour after dusk. The lights on the third floor flicker out in the adjacent inn. Soon the two girls would be fast asleep; a few drops of crushed night weed and the two would never awaken. A painless death, it was the least he could do.

The inn was clean and quiet, with very little smoke and few other patrons, and the woman who brought him drinks was pretty enough... It was exactly the kind of tavern Cale avoided if possible. He could fit in easily enough, of course, but places like this one tended to be excruciatingly boring. But personal preferences were secondary to location, and this particular location fit his needs perfectly.

He nursed his beer as he waited for night to fall completely, faking smiles for the barmaid and enjoyment of the musician’s rather mundane offerings. Once dark fell he would slip to his room, which offered a perfect staging point for his entry to the room the two girls rented.

Cale’s waiting paid off an hour after dusk. The lights on the third floor flicker out in the adjacent inn. Soon the two girls would be fast asleep; a few drops of crushed night weed and the two would never awaken. A painless death, it was the least he could do.

He paid for his drink and walked back to the stairs. No one would notice a half-drunk tired-looking man going up to his room after dusk. And of course his room was directly across from theirs, with a window facing it.

He slipped open the window and propped it up, then swung out the opening to stand on a protruding floor beam directly below it. The beam offered easy footing to one of his skills, though no one would look at it and expect a person could stand there. He double checked the distance to the other window, a difficult but not impossible jump, though the lip of the roof above it would help, just the right height to catch onto and hang in front of the window. He tensed to leap, but cries in the streets and approaching lights caused him to rethink his plan.

“Make way for Prince Seradin of the Holy Empire of Arizal! Clear the streets before him!” Crouched atop the roof of his own inn, out of the direct glow of the lights, Cale peeked down at the procession marching through the streets, and among a throng of white-garbed priests and guards rode the one man in the world Cale would kill for free, would pay for the right to kill. The man who cost him his sister.

---

“Cale, look at this dress I made! Master Terapa taught me how to work the lace, and this is going to be sold in his shop! He says I’ll be a Journeyman in no time, and then you won’t have to... well, you can retire.” Bekah was such a nag, always trying to convince him to quit thieving. Ever since their parents died he had taken care of her, but now that she was apprenticed to the Master Clothier she thought he should take up more honest work. She didn’t know that one does not just quit the guild of thieves.

“Bekah... I don’t want to talk about it. The dress is wonderful, I’m sure it will fetch a handsome price, but I’m not leaving the guild. Besides, I like my friends there.” Most of them were complete wastes of life, but a few others in situations not unlike his own had banded together with him at times, and he did enjoy the thrill of the game.

“Well, I’ll be travelling with Master Terapa to the market tomorrow, so you’ll be on your own for supper. Do try not to get caught, alright? I worry about you.” Those were the last words he ever heard her speak.

The raid was bold, pillaging carts in the square, taking several girls from the market over horseback, and the guards only managed to catch a few before they escaped the city. He later found out three guardsmen in critical positions had been bribed to look the other way, and leave the gates open in spite of the alarm. All three met mysterious deaths later that same month.

His friends and leaders in the guild were all outraged but not for any moral reason. The blatant intrusion into their own territory as an insult and the lack of pay. This made seeking information about the raiders unusually easy. More then a few of the top guild leaders had freely shared the location the raiders would likely sell the girl into slavery. He spent three days rashly robbing the richest people in Lussax blind with little regard to the guild rules or his own safety. The only thing that mattered for Cale was the money, and soon he had more gold they he had ever seen in his life, at the cost of making many enemies among the guild. With his ill gotten gains he swiftly made for the moving tent city.

The place disgusted him, young girls and boys were being sold like cattle, but he ignored all of them searching for Bekah. No one answered his questions at first, as a sixteen year old boy of plain looks and lanky frame, he simply didn’t command much respect. But once he offered a stranger a gold coin, suddenly he was worth talking to.

The garishly-dressed foppish man who had just bought three boys a good deal younger than Cale himself distractedly explained to him that yes, a girl matching the description he offered had been sold the day before at a very exorbitant price to a representative of the prince of the Empire of Arizal. He immediately set out from the tent city to track the man, but his own lack of woodsman skills slowed him far more than was acceptable, and by the time he reached the capitol city of Arizalon by horseback nine weeks later, he guessed she’d been there for nearly a month.

Tired and hungry, Cale scaled the walls after the guards denied him entry. He managed to steal a set of white clothing much like the lower class wore, and snuck his way into the temple district that housed the Prince, while disguised as a serving boy. Not knowing where to look and afraid to speak for fear of his accent giving him away, Cale wandered the district for nearly a week before he found Bekah lying in an alleyway behind a forbidding-looking white temple marked with mystical symbols on every surface. She was gaunt and haggard, breathing with a raspy wheeze.

“Bekah! Bekah, don’t try to move, I’ll bring you water!” He ran for the public well and brought her back water and food, and she smiled at him dreamily, as if she could not see him at all but was grateful nonetheless.

Cale carried Bekah to an abandoned stable and made a bed for her out of hay. He spent six days nursing her as she slowly deteriorated, until her breathing stopped late into the night. He spent every minute of those six days either caring for Bekah, or planning ways for the one responsible to die a slow suffering death.

---

Crouching low Cale watched the man pass under him as the street came alive with spectators. The man that turn him into a murderer, the man the took his sister was a three story leap away. Clenching his teeth he slowed his breath, counting heartbeats. Diving in blindly would be meaningless, he would die before he got into striking distance.

Shadowing the procession by rooftop, he mulled over the fact that the Prince of the Empire of Arizal was marching the streets of Lussax so very far from home. Politically it made very little sense. A minor diplomat possibly, but not a prince!

“I’ll find out your secrets my little prince, just wait and see...” he whispered. as he leaped from the roof silently into a darkened alley. He half-heartedly glanced back towards the two girls’ room, the lamps had been lit in the commotion ending one plan for the night. With his prior goal lost for the moment, Cale chose to continue to follow the prince by shadow.

---

Xabriar uneasily sat himself down into his seat in the first circle of the great chamber of the council. It had been many years since he last took a seat in the chamber himself, and he had almost forgotten the grandeur of the place. Towering stone pillars held aloft a perfect dome of black marble, the stars and planets of the night sky enchanted by magic to glow and follow the celestial dance. There was simply no place like it in the world to his knowledge. And it was large enough to hold the population of the city in an emergency, its size yet another facet of the wonder of this place.

The call for an emergency council meeting had been quite a shock to Xabriar, especially at such a late hour, and session wouldn’t start for quite some time yet at the rate the councilors took seats. Many still seemed asleep. More importantly he still had much work to do, and this was eating away at his precious time. And he had yet to deal with the apparently alive Corana. He panicked for a moment at the though the meeting might be Corana’s doing, a move to undo his seat. But he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. She was weak now, with no allies to turn to that would listen or could act. Besides, she was currently being dealt with at this very moment by Woric on the river, assuming the imbecile hadn’t botched that as well.

It took the better part of two hours for the chamber to fill by which point the Arbitrator Lowell had decide that chamber was full enough and struck the bell to being the Council into session.

“Good colleagues, I apologize for this late call to council, but I have received most distressing news that I fear cannot wait. In light of the recent troubles on the docks, and rising crime and dissent in the populace, this extra news comes as a dangerous omen. The Empire of Arizal has moved against Lussax, and as you know this does not bode well for our wonderful city of Gaerbron. We are next in line for their armies if they come for conquest. I call this council to order to discuss and prepare for the threat of war.”

A murmur passed through the council chamber, excited and occasionally fearful whisperings melding into a cacaphony of discord in the chamber. Arbitrator Lowell brought his gavel down with a resounding boom, and the murmur abated.

“As some of you may not be aware, I will take this time to explain the danger. The Holy Empire of Arizal is a nation of true zealots. Their gods are active in the world, and their armies are tireless and devoted. Their priests may not match our skill with arcane arts, but they outnumber our city a hundred to one. If their eyes have turned to conquest, we must be prepared, or be overwhelmed.”

“They would not dare move, their gods are powerless in these lands. If they try they will be routed like last time!” Shouted a voice from the back of the chamber. From the sound of it Xabriar guessed it to be Kayon, the only living council member other then himself to have witnessed the last time the Arizal tried to take the lands of the south.

“That’s right, the land gods will prevent their Pantheon’s interference, there’s nothing to fear from their gods!” Another voice shouted.

Lowell nodded his head. “This is all true, in the past we have held our own. But we should not waver in our preparedness because of past victories, they still outnumber us and our allies. Only our magic holds keep the edge in our favor. And the land gods that have played a natural defense clearly are failing, or the contingent in Lussax would never have passed the forest road.”

With a quick tapping of his hammer, Arbitrator Lowell continued, “So, I move to begin construction of defenses, and close our gates to all but the most necessary trade.”

Xabriar smiled as the motion was seconded by Degar, one of his own lackeys. This would play nicely into his hands. The other council members would be hindered in any investigations that might uncover his work, yet he could himself focus on building the ritual of fire and rebuilding the ritual of life without fear of Corana returning to undo his works in council.

“Motion passes, by a clear majority. Now, speaking of the recent troubles, I am given to understand the disaster at the docks can be traced back to one of our own. Master Xabriar, would you care to explain your decision to mobilize the entire city contingent of guards to chase an apprentice and her lover, or your... associate Woric’s decision to boil half the river under their feet? The injuries to the city guard will weaken our now ever-so-necessary defenses greatly.”

Xabriar bit down hard on his rage, it would serve no purpose here but to undermine his position.

Clearing his throat as he took a stand to address Lowell and by proxy the whole of the Council. “I take no responsibility for Woric’s choices in this matter, but the apprentice being chased was in fact a thief who stole many of my greatest devices, tools that could endanger the entire city if misused. I only meant to prevent a tragedy, of course.” pausing for a moment he quickly scanned over the Council chamber to feel out the mood, and when no one raised an objection he continued on.

“In recompense for my own misjudgement in calling all the guards to arms, and because I do not wish the city’s defenses harmed by Woric’s actions, I hereby offer reparations from my own coffers, and will personally equip the city guards with devices to better act should war turn towards us.”

The vigorous nods and smiles of the council members at the offer of penance seemed a good sign to Xabriar. No doubt because many of the more politically powerful council member routinely skimmed funds from the treasure coffers. An influx of his own extensive holdings would mean much more gold to secretly plunder. A fair trade in Xabriar’s own opinion, for their support. At least the money leeches didn’t ask insistent annoying questions the way Woric and Degar did.

An hour after he had taken a stand the session was closed. Xabriar was relieved, if he had to sit through another round of mindless banter on the best ways to defend the city walls he truly would have burned the whole damn room to cinders. He had little time to waste at children’s games of war, if the Arizal army truly was on the move the the city was doomed. His own works must have effected many of the land gods; without their protection the Arizal pantheon would be able to lend its vast powers directly to their army and priests. This troubling fact would mean an escalation of his own works to a somewhat reckless pace. But he had no choice now, his ascension to godhood would have to be accomplished by the month’s end.

---

Travel by boat with a river god at the helm turned out to be both boring and unsettling. T’isstai spent most of the three days staring at Corana or Arron or both. The nonstop rush of wind and occasional sprays of cold river water made sleep difficult, as well as Arron’s own uncertainty of feeling where Corana was involved. He knew there was something there, an energy, that drew him like a moth to flame. She teased him, and he knew it, but he didn’t really mind. It was just her way.

She hadn’t made any more advances during the ride, possibly due to T’isstai’s creepy stare. He had far too much time to wonder whether she was serious, and whether he was himself. But eventually the boat slowed, the wind easing to a whisper as the boat drifted lazily to a stop at the shoreline of a small island.

Corana had apparently not been entirely idle herself, she spent most of the three days’ travel with a thoughtful expression on her youthful face, working out strange patterns in the air with her good arm, doing them over and over until Arron could nearly copy them himself. It was a strange pastime, but then who could ever understand sorcerers?

She stepped out of the boat first, still going over one of the hand motions as she inspected the rocky shore. The island was small, perhaps a mile across in any direction Arron guessed, and it looked like if the lake were only a few feet higher the island would be entirely swamped. Even now it looked as if the middle held a pond, presumably from the last time the lake swallowed it up.

“Thank y...” Corana turned to offer her gratitude to the river god and Arron looked to see why she trailed off, the boat and spirit had simply vanished.

“Not much for conversation, is he?” Arron quipped, Corana just smiled at him with a shrug.

“The natural gods are not like us, their motives are often hard to understand. They seldom speak to mortal creatures at all.” Corana answered solemnly as she made her way up the stony beach. “You should consider it a great honor to be carried by T’isstai, to even know his name, because most of what he does is reclaim the souls of those who die in the water.”

Arron looked back at the water, suddenly anxious at having been carried by such a sinister being, but the water lapping calmly at the stones showed no signs of surging up to swallow them. Corana turned back to remind him of their business.

“Come on, don’t dawdle. Woric is surely on the trail, and we must be quick if we’re to have any chance of doing our work here before he arrives.” Arron nodded at the admonition and started after her.

Corana led the way, walking confidently across the barren rocky land towards the center of the island, and Arron followed closely. Something about the air felt odd to him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising in unison with his sense of danger. As Corana drew closer to the center of the strange island, the feeling grew until they stood at the edge of a shallow pool of crystal clear water.

The pool, a circle perhaps thirty paces wide, inscribed a perfect circle. In the flat stone bottom of the pool, plainly visible, was carved an intricate circle with symbols and designs Arron was quite sure made some sort of powerful spell.

“This is it. It’s actually quite beautiful, the linework and runes are very elegant. It must have taken a great deal of power to create this in such a small space. Where could he have drawn it all from?” Corana knelt at the edge but did not reach out above the waters. “Do not approach too closely, there are very deadly wards set over and into the water. I do not want to see you... hurt by these spells.”

Arron nodded and backed several paces further away. Then almost choked on his own tongue when a slick, cold, scaly claw rested on his shoulder.

“Trespassers...”

---

The procession stopped at the gates to Lussax Keep; Cale followed the its progress from the shadowed side streets and back alleys he knew better than even most of the guild who worked them. This was the city he grew up in, and though he held no special allegiance to it the tangle of streets and alleys still felt as familiar to him as his own hands.

A city guardsman leading the procession of white-tabarded men called out through the portcullis, “Prince S... Seradin of the... Holy Empire of Arizal requests an audience with Duke Veston. He requests full honors and welcome as an ambassador.”

Murmurs and whispers echoed through the gathering onlookers. Cale chuckled darkly at the boldness of it all. To ask for for honors to the aristocracy, no to demand it, in full view of the common people! It was an insult and all who watched knew it.

The moment passed by soon, it seem the order had been given and the spiked iron grate slowly lifted with a grinding banging protest. It was an unusual maneuver when entry would normally have been given without going to the trouble of lifting the irons. But for Cale it was perfectly clear what the gate lifting was meant to show. A sign of strength. Walking under that heavy grate would make the bravest man uneasy. A broken link of chain and Arizal would have lost a prince to a terrible accident. Dropping the first and second gates as they passed through would make trapping victims for arrow fire pitifuly easy.

Cale took the wiser route through the wall, slipping a catch on a loose stone hidden in the shadow of the guard tower while everyone watched the procession march through the murder room. The keep, much like the city, was designed to be defensible, with hundreds of places for a knowledgeable man to hide and watch or fire on an enemy. A section of the wall large enough for a man swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, and he ducked in pulling it quickly closed behind him. The space was cramped and dark, just big enough for a man to walk crouched over. Carefully and quietly he crept along the passage through the thick wall until he found an unoccupied archer alcove. Slipping into position he watched the white-garbed men filter through the second gate unharmed. He momentarily regretted his lack of a suitable longbow as the prince passed out of firing range, but quickly decided that would be far too easy a death.

Cale continued to follow the procession, as stealthily as the Prince’s own shadow, as they passed through the courtyard and were allowed entry into the keep proper. The main force of the honor guard stayed in the courtyard, but the prince and four priests entered led by a herald in the green-and-gold tabard of Lussax. Cale climbed up the wall, using the darkness and the attention on the white-garbed soldiers to keep his presence unnoticed. He managed to miss the majority of the recitals of titles and bloodlines, and settled into the rafters to hear the meat of the conversation.

“Prince Seradin,” Aged regal man bowed “To what do we owe this rare honor? To think your highness would visit our humble city at such an awful hour, would you perhaps wish to freshen up, or take your ease? It would be simply dreadful for a prince to neglect his sleep. A tired mind makes rash choices that might later be regretted”

Cale grinned as for a moment rage flashed across the prince’s features. “I assure you Duke Veston that I am quite awake. I have come by my mother’s personal command to negotiate a new treaty with Lussax. For far too long have your ships passed the fair lands of the Holy Empire of Arizal without tithe or obeisance to the very gods that bring such bounty and protection to our world as you so blithely conduct commerce through their lands.”

The Duke slowly took his seat, eyeing the young prince carefully. “The River Tessarill is quite vast, And much of our trade as always been to the deep north of the Vellast jungles and the empire of Sarif and elven lands of Watersong.“ Cale grinned as the duke purposely proceeded ignoring the growing anger blistering across the princes face “We very rarely bother to trade with you directly. You tax our goods far too much to allow for any real profit”

“What you speak of is past. As your wild gods wane in power the might of the true gods of the pantheon extends, and your lands grow weak, easily conquered. The Holy Empire of Arizal offers our protecting hand to guard against invasion in this time of weakness, but you must submit to the will of the true gods. If you do not, who can say that their divine retribution might fall down upon this unwashed city with cleansing fire?” Cale frowned, he had a fair idea why the natural gods of the land were weakening, and was fairly certain it had to do with his employer.

Nodding the Duke gave the prince disinterested look. “My prince, you are far too inept at diplomacy for you own good. One must wonder at the state Arizal’s education if you are the product.” Cale stifled a laugh at the comment, though other nobles at court had no such restraint. The sound of amused titters and chuckles echoed in the frosty silence of Prince Seradin’s baleful gaze.

“Never the less if you wish to threaten the cities of the Southern Alliance, please do so more directly. It is truly disrespectful to lay the threat of war on the words of your gods, and you risk that one shall strike your own city in divine justice for such affront. I hear tell your gods can be a vengeful lot.”

The Duke summoned a middle age man in purple robes. He was a priest of sorts, although most of the other races would consider the man in his order more of a shaman then anything else. He wore a wreath of some vine in his hair, and carried a wooden staff topped with a smooth stone, from which hung two small but full bladders.

“Tell me Master Aleton, are the land gods in distress as the young prince claims?”

Cale watched close as the man hesitated, “The forest god was distressed in weeks past, angered by something, but appears to have settled. As for the other land gods, they in fact seem unusually active. But I do not believe this to be a sign of weakness, just a reshaping of the order of things.” The duke smiled pleasantly and turned back to the prince, who appeared to be attempting to murder the duke by sheer force of glare.

“There, see now good Prince? Clearly your auguries and divinations are flawed. Our gods and defenses are more than adequate to repel any wrath from the Empire, be it divine or mortal. You need not fear for our safety, though we of the Southern Alliance do appreciate your concern.”

Turning about face in a huff, the prince stormed towards the door of the keep, his men following closely behind. “If you and your people wish to burn by the light of the true gods, then so be it. But with respect for you Duke, I shall stay the week to await a more favorable reply. May the gods grant you the wisdom to rethink your words.”

Cale watched as the procession worked its way out through the main doors, rigid formations keeping a semblance of dignity after the casual dismissal the Duke offered Prince Seradin. Cale couldn’t keep from smiling, though he was careful not to show his teeth, knowing that teeth and eyes show up very well in shadows. He slipped back out the way he came as the murmurs of court focused around the threat offered by Arizal, he didn’t care one whit for politics. His attention was all for the Prince, whose life he meant to be measured in hours. Days if he could extend the suffering so long.

---

Rall watched in amazement at the crowded street below the inn window. It was as if no one had bothered to go to bed since the night before. He had slept fairly soundly once the initial uproar died down, even though the lights on the streets below never really went down again after that.

“Impressive isn’t it?” Greta giggled from over Rall shoulder. “But I suppose having a Prince of Arizal in the city would excite the people. It will certainly upset trade.”

Rall turned in shock to Greta “A prince! Really, truly?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Greta nodded. “Its what the matron of the inn told me when I went to see about breakfast,” she said, grabbing Rall’s hand, “which is ready by the way, and I’m quite hungry.”

“Which one of us is supposed to be the boy? You think with your stomach.” Rall laughed, shrugging into his dress with the growing ease of practice. “Alright then, I’m coming, I’m coming! Did our gracious matron say if there would be sweet rolls?”

The pair made their way down to the common room for breakfast, a light meal of fruit, hot cereal and bacon, with goat’s milk. Rall found it a refreshing change from recent meals, either the heavy greasy meals he had to prepare for Xabriar, or more recently nuts berries roots and the odd rabbit in the forest.

“Rana, I think we should go back to Fion and Sons.” Greta suggested, once sated, “My father should be arriving today, and with the prince of Arizal visiting trade is going to be all in disarray. I don’t want him to be worrying about us when he can be focused on taking advantage of the situation.” Rall nodded, finishing the last of his food.

“That would be nice, your family was very nice to me and I don’t want to add any more burden than I have already. Are we still going to tell them about... me?” Rall couldn’t help but feel a little fear and some sadness, surely her family would resent him for lying.

“Yes, Rana. Don’t worry, it will be alright I promise.” She must have seen the concern in his expression because she walked around the table and hugged him comfortingly.

“Alright then, we might as well get it over with.”

---

Greta had been more than right about trading being upset in the city if Master Fion was any indication. The warehouse was packed with more then thirty men, all arguing. From the bits and pieces of conversation Rall had picked up, most of it was complaints of hoarding and overpricing of basic commodities and the possibility of coming war.

Greta sighed, “Father is going to have his hands full with this mess,” looking over at a price listing of grains on a chalk stained board she slowly smiled, “but he’s going to love it.”

Rall gave Greta a quizzical look “I don’t really understand, this is just a bunch of people shouting at each other. Master Fion will be lucky if it doesn’t come to blows! Why would anyone love this?”

“Oh Rana, this is just how merchants talk to each other. They’ll haggle out prices for things peacefully enough, and if this listed price for barley is an example of the prices they’ll set, Father could make a great profit on the goods we were transporting. Those bandits won’t have taken more than a few sacks when they took us, and the few extra days’ wait just made my father rather wealthier. They did us a favor, eventually.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t go thank them.” Rall wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate Valan’s good fortune, he kept going back and forth in his mind about the idea of the sword possibly killing him. Greta joined in the chaos of the arguing merchants with a sort of savage glee that Rall found fun to watch for a few minutes, then quickly grew bored of.

As the discussion turned to fruits Rall wandered the warehouse, peeking between crates and down aisles, before finally making his way out the front door. The warm sunlight felt good, and though he didn’t intend to go anywhere the bustling press of the crowd and his own distracted thoughts pressed him along the streets for a while.

Eventually, he was drawn to a man in brilliant white clothing holding a bone-white staff with a rune symbol of some sort on its head, standing on a neat dais and speaking warmly to a crowd.

“Yea, and through the mercy of Ariza and her children, you can be preserved in joy and comfort for eternity! For the time of the cleansing soon approaches, and all who kneel before the true pantheon’s might shall be spared the fire and the light, and shall be raised on high to a greater glory, in service to truth! Now who here wishes to receive the blessings of almighty Ariza?”

The priest looked through the gathered crowd with a beneficent smile, his eyes warm and disarming, and settled on Rall.

“Why you there, young miss! Might I ask your name? I would call out to Ariza herself to protect and guide you.”

“Ummm, Raaa... na, sir.” The priest turned those dazzling eyes back to the crowd and raised his staff into the air.

“Oh, great and wondrous Ariza, please offer your blessings to this poor child, her heart aching for your guiding and loving hand! Protect and shelter her in the coming storm, that she might come through unscathed and be a bearer of glad tidings to the faithful!” All the attention would normally have made Rall nervous, but the man seemed so sincere and fatherly, she just beamed.

A slap to the back of the head by something hard pulled his attention from the priest to someone who was rudely interrupting the robed priest’s wonderful words. “Hey there girly, fine cheese you brought to me yesterday.. or was it the day before?”

“Master Martello!” Rall exclaimed as he stared at the cane the man had thumped her with, rubbing his head soothingly, “why did you hit me in the head?”

The old man tilted his head “Well to speak to you of course, had to thank you after all, but you were so caught up with this man’s parlor tricks you couldn’t hear a word I was saying.”

Rall gave the priest a another look. He seemed so nice, like his father and mother but all rolled up into one. “What tricks? He’s a wonderful man.” And yet, part of him wondered now, something seemed off but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

With a little smile and a look of clarity, something he never expected to see on the old man, Martello answered “Things are never as they seem lad. You of all people should understand that.” He covered both of Rall’s eyes with his hands. “Now watch him closely.”

“How can I watch him? You’re covering my eyes!” Rall replied in annoyance. Why did he have to put up with this old man, he was distracting him from the priest’s lecture!

“I told you, look past things, let the image flow in your mind, but don’t chase it. You have the gift, you should be able to see it.” he replied kindly.

Frustrated, Rall tried to push the hands aside, but the old man was surprisingly strong. He glared at the hands, but all he could see was darkness. The lecture was continuing on and he couldn’t seem to focus on it properly and the old man didn’t seem willing to let him watch without trying. So, taking a slow breath he let his eyes unfocus and drift.

Slowly specks of color and flashes of light formed in his vision. Then he gasped as the world around him exploded in a vivid display of color and shape. He reached out as if to touch the colors flowing past him, colors that he couldn’t begin to name, but all he felt was air. Looking beyond that, he could see clearly now.

In front of him was the priest, he was clothed in a wierd bluish light which spread out from him like shining rays touching everyone around him, including Rall. “You see it now girl, don’t you, his trickery?”

Turning towards Martello, finally released from his hands, Rall gasped in shock. Where before Rall saw Martello as a crazy old man, was now cloaked in ribbons of power that danced to an unfathomably complex beat. Martello was more than just a crazy old sorcerer, much more but what exactly, Rall had no clue.

“Very good, even better than I expected.” he said with a wink, “Now let’s have some fun shall we?”

Waving towards the priest with his cane, Martello once more seemed the crazy old codger. “Young lad... Young lad! Have you seen my dog, feisty little beast he is, made off with my breakfast!”

The priest eyed Martello with a baleful glare, already annoyed at the interruption of his benediction on the young girl. “Go on, old man, I have no time for madmen.”

“Oh, my dog! You have found him!” Having said this, Martello fell to his hands and knees and shuffled up to the priest, barking and growling, pulling at his robes with his teeth. Several times the priest tried to thump him with the white staff he carried, but he couldn’t seem to hit the old man. The crowd, so rapt and devoted moments ago, roared in laughter.

In another feat of surprising spryness, Martello ducked under a another swing of the staff and stood up again, “What a lovely cane you have there good man! But mine is much better!” He laughed as he slammed the tip of his cane into the ground with a thunderous crash.

Rall felt a wave of something wash over him. Looking towards Martello and the now furious priest. he noticed immediately that the feelings of kindness and love from the white robed man had disappeared. He wasn’t the only one, the crowd seemed somewhat confused and bewildered as to why they where listening to a priest of the nation that was set to invade.

Rall also noticed, the tip of the priest’s staff was cracked, directly across the rune that decorated the head. The blue aura was gone, and the furious priest simply threw his staff to the ground and stalked away.

“Girl, yes, you, come on. The show is over. I hope there’s another performance before the troupe has to leave. I always did love a good circus, though I could have wished for an elephant, or maybe a lion tamer. But I think dear boy, it’s time you started learning a trade. Can’t have idle hands, they’ll do the devil’s work. Hmmm, idle hands doing work, ironic that.”

Martello kept up a stream of near-unintelligible gibberish as he guided Rall through the streets. Already lost and somewhat distracted by his newly brightened view of the world around him, Rall allowed himself to be led without argument. In minutes, or perhaps an hour, Rall found himself again in the musty disarrayed antique shop.

“Ah, good, you’ve made it!” wagging his finger at an imaginary audience ” Now pay attention class, this will be on the final exam. Take notes if you must, but put your books and calculators away. Today we’ll be discussing the natural laws of life and energy.” Grabbing a piece of chalk Martello lead Rall to a board and drew a circle.

“First, we must discuss the Law of Conservation of Energy. This states that energy, be it electrical, heat or soul, can neither be created nor destroyed. Unless of course you create or destroy it. But that is for more advanced classes.” Rall shook his head, trying to puzzle out what the old man was talking about, it did seem important.

“For example. When you die, your soul is freed from the bonds of the mortal shell to rejoin nature, and eventually be reborn into new life. The trees, the earthworms, the algae growing on the rocks, all life uses this energy to live. Now, all living things emit this life energy naturally. Some of us, for reasons no one can yet explain, can harness this energy, and direct it. Some better than others. With formulae, or spells, or runes, or whatever method works best, we focus and shape this energy to affect things. Please, no affecting my class with fire before the lecture is over.” Rall thought of the fire blast into the air the previous day, and took hold of his skirts, then pulled his shiny stones out to keep his hands busy.

“But this is not the only source of energy. Fire that consumes or water that flows can be just as powerful. But it can be a bit more complicated to use when the source of power is external.” Nodding towards Rall he smiled, “What a perfect example of fire element magic being stored into a geological matrix!”

Rall looked at Martello in confusion, until the old man pointed at the stones. Then he looked down at them, and one of them glowed brightly with a color that might be compared to red in his newly discovered field of vision. Though, the simple word red did not do the color justice.

“Now what else should we cover.” Martello pondered as he paced his dusty floors. “Oh, I know! The Law of Intent! Yes! As a sorceress like yourself performs a ritual of some sort, you direct your will in a specific way. Many methods are available, most of them are stupid. The key is to use a consistent system when you wish to enact your intent. Guiding the energies available willy nilly without calculating their interactions beforehand is a fast way to find out what the other side is like.”

“BUT! there are always factors one cannot prepare for, things beyond your control. This is the Law of Chaos, first developed by a man named Murphy. You must always be prepared to deal with the unexpected.“

Rall simple nodded. In a mere twenty minutes he had learned more about magic than in months with Xabriar, though much of it was as confusing as Martello himself.

“One last thing before class is dismissed, which I believe to be of some small relevance, are artifacts like your sword.” He said as he pointed at Rall’s skirt where the sword was hidden. “Artifacts normally offer the user some predefined formulaic templates. This can make focusing energies for magic much simpler than otherwise, if one channels through said artifact.”

“For example your sword, when I looked at it had a great deal of fire algorithmic formulas. Could burn your whole leg to ash if not used cautiously.” Martello said with a laugh, though Rall didn’t find it particularly funny. He nervously shifted it away from himself a bit.

“Okay, that’s enough lecture for today. Now class, I’d like you all to go home and study your textbooks with your new senses, and see if you can’t read any of the course material. For that matter, study everyone and everything you can, you might be surprised by what you see!” He cackled with a gleeful sort of madness, the lucidity of the last half hour passing as suddenly as it had come. Clearly the old mage had forgotten more about magic than Rall was ever likely to learn!

Eyeing Rall for a moment the old man blinked. “Today’s not grocery day, now get girl. My dog is missing and I must go fetch him or her. She changes so often you see.”

“Thank you Master Martello, I’ll leave you to finding your dog then.” Rall smiled as he left the shop. Crazy as the old bat might be, he just couldn’t help but like Martello.

Paying heed to Martello’s advice, Rall tried the trick to shift his vision. Like before the world exploded into a vivid range of new colors that could not be described and strange sights. Most people seemed to radiate weak halos of light all the time, in varying colors. It wasn’t until Rall spotted an argument between two guildsmen in the craft district that he realized that the colors could reflect emotions.

Odder still, some things that existed in his othersight didn’t always exist in the real world. Once he tried to enter an old bakery that seemed lively and bustling with energy. He could almost smell the breads baking, and the old storefront spoke of the comfort of home. But when he reached the open doorway, he ended up bumping his head directly into a stone wall with an audible thud and a few laughs from passersby at the idiot child. He rubbed his bruised forehead and looked up to find the bakery completely gone, replaced by a very new looking blacksmithing forge. The door was on a different part of the wall, and much larger.

Rall ignored the laughter of the people around him, once again focusing on that strange world of color and lights, and found the bakery flickering out like a fire, or perhaps it was on fire. He turned away and continued wandering, watching the odd insect fly colorful circles in the air, or a dog with a bright yellow glow padding up for a scratch behind the ears from his master.

But then, something changed. He could feel the muscles in his neck tense, the scales stiffening oddly in a way that brought to mind raised hair on the back of his neck just before his old master would lash out with some punishing spell. A deafening roar thundered like a great forge raging from the south. He turned towards the sound and his eyes shut involuntarily, the afterimage of the source burned into his retina: an orb of orange-red so bright that it eclipsed the sun itself.

Xabriar gripped the copper bowl full of dark water, his knuckles white around its edge, and forcibly restrained himself. The tools of his trade were becoming more valuable to him by the day, and this one let him see more of the distant goings on than most. He left it on the bench and stalked across the room, muttering to himself.

Arron jumped like he’d been hit by a crossbow bolt. He turned and drew even as he scrambled away, the clawed hand belonged to a scaly beast, like a fish in the shape of a man. Great big eyes and a wide, thin-lipped mouth lined with pointed teeth dominated the noseless face, and blue scaly fish skin covered its frame. A circle inscribed with runes that looked suspiciously like the one in the pond, stood out against its midsection in red, and it lifted a hand with claws and webbed fingers to gesture at Arron and Coranna .

“You intrude here. Leave or die..” It said with a sibilant hiss.

Corana knelt on her knees, “Oh great god of the lake, I Corana, sorceress of the First Order, Headmistress of the Academy at Gaerbron, beg that you allow us to correct this blight against the natural order. It marks you and harms your demesne!”

“Nooo. None sshall interfere with the ritual, asss per the contract.” The lake god replied with an air of harsh finality.

“Why? What do you get out of it? Isn’t it ruining your lake?” Arron yelled, frustrated at being stopped short so close to the goal they’d almost died to reach.

“You asssume too much mortal, the ritual doess not harm me nor my lake.” waving its hands towards the shore, it continued, “Now leave before I give my brother new work, ferrying your ssoulss.”

Both Arron and Coranna looked at each other, they had never imagined that a nature god could be in league with Xabriar. Arron took a deep breath and stood his ground, although he was fairly certain it was pure madness. “What did he offer you, what did that leathery bag of bones promise you that you are willing to let a mortal abuse your power?”

“What iss thisss to you, do you offer me sssomething greater?”

Catching his fingers into a fist he walked straight up to the chest of the god. “I will! Xabriar is a devil, anything he offers you will be rotten at the core! Whatever I have I will give, even if it’s my life!”

“No, don’t!” Corana shouted but was cut off by a wave of the lake god’s hand.

“Your lifeforcce nor sssoul hasss no value to me... I claim your eyess instead. You will be my eyess in the world, to sshow me the thingss that lie beyond my lake. Your eyess will grant me knowledge from beyond my domain and you will act in my interesstss. For thiss I will allow you accesss to the ritual and a boon of my power.”

Corana groaned nearby, but Arron nodded. “I agree to your terms.” Before he could move, the fishlike god reached forth and gripped Arron’s head in his webbed hands. Water flowed into his eyes , ears, and mouth, filling him, changing him. It was agonizing, a scream tried to rip free from him but the water choked out the sound. Long moments it lasted, then it was gone as if it never happened. Arron fell to the rocky ground, gasping for breath.

“The contract isss made, the termsss are met. You may do asss you pleasse, Ssservant of Ssseldiss.”

Coranna knelt next to Arron and shook him lightly “You damned fool, do you know what you have done?”

“I got you... access to the... ritual. Now it’s your turn. Do what we came here for.”

Walking towards the shore the lake god paused and gave Arron a look “More mortalsss venture into my domain, they sshall arrive by the hour.”

Corana looked from Arron to the lake god and back, then out at the water. “That is scant time for such a major undertaking. Arron, you rest, I must work quickly.”

--

Corana worked feverishly at the side of the flat circular pond. She drew her own circle around it in salt extracted from the sea itself, her own circle both larger and simpler than the original ritual. She knew she had to do this quickly. Woric could appear at any moment and her own strength, already crippled by a missing arm, would be almost completely gone whether this worked or not. Arron was now standing guard nearby, apparently fully recovered from the god’s work. He stood watch over the waters for signs of attack, but she knew he could not stop an enraged sorcerer of Woric’s power.

She had done frantic calculations and tried desperately to come up with methods of spellwork that would be effective with one arm, and she was reasonably certain she had it. So, she began. She danced waving her focusing wand, singing the words of power that would draw from her own reserves and give force to the circle she’d drawn. The circle would test Xabriar’s ritual, like blowing bubbles of air into water, disrupting the tiniest edges. The effect would increase once started, until the water bubbled away and broke the ritual, or her own life energies ran out, whichever came first.

The dance continued, the ritual bubbling and boiling even as the water in the pool roiled and splashed. Corana felt sweat drip into her eyes, but didn’t dare blink it away. She fought with tenacious need to make the air press further, and the ritual resisted like a living thing. She could see it, the point where the ritual would break, but it was so far away.

“Corana! They’re coming! There must be seven, no eight boats on the river!”

Corana ignored it, she didn’t have any concentration to spare. The critical moment was so close, but she could feel the edges of darkness creeping in around her vision as the last of her energies coursed out through the wand. She might die even if she succeeded, but there could be no turning back now. She realized she was not going to make it, she just didn’t quite have enough ability on her own. It was a pity, dying without even thanking that young man who offered up his life just to help her save her city.

Then she felt it, a great blast of wind. Woric, he must have used air magic to drive his river boats! The wind directed toward her took almost no effort to drive into the ritual, adding an amazing influx of power just when she needed it most. The ritual exploded in a concussive blast, knocking her off her feet as a blinding pillar of light roared into the sky with the sound of a volcanic eruption. The whole island shuddered and began to sink, and a great wave rolled outward from it. Corana smiled as she slipped into oblivion, her last sight as the water rushed up her body was Woric’s boats, tossed about like kites in the wind by the massive swells in the lake water.

---

Cale shuffled uneasily in his pseudo crow’s nest atop the Tower of Air, a local temple to the Air Goddess of the mountains. He had been keeping an eye on the prince the entire night, following him up until the gates of Allestro Manor on the east side of the city. The estate was the largest in the city, fitting for a prince Cale thought. Although the temporarily displaced Allestro family didn’t seem to find the prince’s whims amusing.

It had taken the better part of the night for Cale to locate the best point of entry and where the prince would sleep. But like most plans, it fell apart quickly. For one, the prince’s guards maintained double overlapping sweeps of the manor ground. At the very least he would need five minutes to breach the walls and reach the manor proper, two minutes too long.

He spent most of the night seeking alternative routes, ruling out the sewers immediately. His days of thieving taught him many things, one in particular being: never enter through the sewer. The rich of Lussax had a rather fond habit of raising stinging lizards, venomous little creatures that breed faster then rats, and dumping them into the sewer. Nearly as venomous as a black diamond snake, the masses below were quite deadly.

So here he was, peering above the city with a newly acquired longbow. A long distance strike was not how he wanted to kill the prince. A slow torturous death would have been preferable, but he had little choice. He hoped to make up for the slow torture with a specialize arrow charge. Dragon blood, a special alchemical mixture that would burn with an incredibly hot flame, nearly impossible to extinguish. It would burn for hours.

All he could do now was wait for the prince to walk through the waiting hall of the manor, a favor the Prince stubbornly refused to oblige him. The hour passed and Cale wondered if his whole plan would simply come to naught. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling him to leave be. “No, fate or no fate I will kill him!” he chastised himself for even entertaining the thought.

Calling on the power of the trinket he allowed his sight to slip slightly into the higher planes. not enough to strain him, but enough to bolster his vision three fold. Again the walk through remained empty expect for one annoying priest, who Cale was beginning to suspect had noticed his magical intrusion but had not bothered to inform anyone.

Small miracles, he thanked no deity in particular. A thunderous roar and sweeping hot air that might have felt more in place in the great desert of the far north lashed against his face, nearly causing him to lose his balance. A bright orange glare of light cast outward from behind him, Everything but what was in the shadow of the tower was lost in the glare of the reflected light.

In the surreal moments that followed Cale watched in utter shock as the prince and his compatriots filled into the walk way. It was beyond luck, fate had denied him previous chances just to set this one up just for him. He ignored the orange glow, the glare, the roar, the hot wind and drew back the string to his cheek. His enhanced vision brought the prince’s chest into direct line of fire, adjusted for that hot wind, nothing else registered at all. With a forceful snap the bow released, cloth yard shaft flashing across the open air. Then just before he could be sure the arrow struck true, that orange glow and rush of air turned into a blinding flash, a deafening roar, and Cale could see nothing.

-----

Chaos filled Rall’s senses. Fire washed over him, burning away all around him, but caressing him like a lover might. It filled him with heat, smoke, it changed him. It blinded him, deafened him, and it lasted for what seemed like an eternity. After a while he wondered if he had become the fire. And then as suddenly as it had arrived it was gone. Air that felt suddenly cold brushed his raw skin, as his vision swam and slowly returned.

He was kneeling in a smooth black obsidian bowl inlaid into the cobblestone street two feet deep. He was naked but for the sword in its sheath, hanging from the belt at his waist. A quick glance showed him he had changed further, far beyond the point of hiding with his simple illusion. Scales spread over much of his body, tiny pinkish scales that shimmered when he moved. A soft swell in his chest drove home the point that this change was turning him into a girl... but a girl WHAT? His fingernails had lengthened slightly into sharp hard red points, and he actually cut his tongue on his teeth. He was a monster!

A crowd that Rall had not noticed until they started shouting and screaming, filled the streets around him with a roar noticeably lesser than the fire that consumed and changed him.

“Abomination!” “It is a monster!” “Drive the beast from the city before it kills anyone else!”

Rall stood there confused, he had no idea what to do and he felt so exposed. The weight of sheer hate from all around him drove him down into a crouch. He was about to try running when he heard a voice he recognized among the rabble.

“Leave her alone! This isn’t her fault! I’ll thump any one of you that tries to hurt her!” Greta! She must have come to see what the explosion was about, and seen Rall change! And now she was placing herself in danger to save him. He looked up fearfully to find her standing over him with a sturdy-looking club. The man that had followed them as a guard the other day knelt nearby, holding his head with a dazed look.

“Greta, don’t... They’ll kill us both!” Rall begged her, certain that they would be overrun any moment now. But then a space opened in the crowd, horses pushing through and threatening to trample anyone in their way. Valan’s cart followed behind, drawn by the horses, and several of his caravan circled the girls.

“Greta! What are you doing with that...” Valan sounded uncertain at this point.

“Father, she’s Rana! She’s under a curse or something! I’ll explain later, but you have to save us!”

“Very well. Everyone, back away! There will be no lynch mob here today!” Valan and his men employed their horse whips and weapons protectively, and the crowd backed away, cowed for the moment. But there were still plenty of people to overrun the caravan, and more joining all the time.

“Excuse me, pardon me, everyone get out of my way! I’ll sic my dog on you if I ever find her or him! Hey, did you just steal my wallet? Oh wait, I don’t have a wallet. Watch your hands dear woman, you’ll catch something vile that way.” Another familiar voice appeared, as Martello pushed his way gently but firmly past the caravan guards, who seemed unwilling to move and yet somehow managed not to stop the frail-looking old man.

“Well, looks you found out how to replenish your sword, dear.” Martello said with a cackle. “I suppose that means I can’t have your scales when you die... What a bother, so hard to find good scales, and you’ve gone and grown even more of them. Well, you could molt...”

He suddenly looked wildly around at the still growing crowd. “Why are you all still here, I never asked for an audience!” he shouted, his voiced carrying a sort of implied authority that seemed hard for even Rall to ignore.

The crowd looked shocked and confused, and a vast majority simply wandered away, leaving the disturbance to the city guard. “Such a pain it is to entertain crowds, they never seem to like it when one gets turn into a cow or chicken.”

“Master Martello... What’s happening to me? I’m turning into a monster!” Rall looked from Greta to Martello, scared and confused.

“Oh dear girl, you’re doing no such thing! Why, even Miss Greta here is more monstrous than you! She thumped that poor man just because he was trying to keep her away from you, and stole his stick! Be a dear and give that back to him, will you? Now, as I was saying lad, you’ve been bonded to something, of course it will change you. Don’t you find this preferable to withering away with the sealed being? Children these days, no appreciation of sharing, I tell you.”

“But... The scales, and claws, and teeth... What am I turning into? And these!” Rall cupped his smallish breasts, frustrated enough to be entirely uncaring of modesty. “I’m not a girl, I was just trying to get away! I didn’t want this!”

“Oh, oh dear.” Martello blushed red as an apple and drew a voluminous cloak from his sleeve, draping it around Rall. “Child, you must not display yourself in public so. Give the boys terrible ideas, it will. Now, there comes a time in every girl’s life where she faces certain changes. Hair growing in funny places...” Rall blushed as well, holding the cloak tightly closed.

“I don’t need to hear this, Master Martello!” Rall yelled over him. “Please, what is this sword doing to me? Am I going to die?”

Valan coughed, “As much as I would like to get to the bottom of this, we have little time. We should leave before an official of the magic district or the city watch comes.”

“Come on, Rana.” Greta whispered to Rall as she led him into the back of Valan’s enclosed cart. Martello nimbly followed along. “Yes good man we must be going, much to say and do, with little time to do them and see them. Hopefuly time to eat them though...”

Valan quickly directed his caravan toward the city gates. Rall couldn’t help but notice the cart was empty. He must have negotiated the sale of his goods while Rall was wandering the city, and not yet taken on new goods.

“So, where do we stop to eat? I could really go for a big mackerel. A real whopper. No? Not even a little one?” Everyone stared at Martello for a moment, then studiously ignored him.

“Rana, are you alright? You’re not hurt or anything?” Greta was the first to ask, pulling the edge of the cloak aside to look at her friend. “Don’t worry, I just want to see.”

She sucked her breath in slowly “I think you might be turning into a girl?” she stated but in a way that sounded like a question too. Rall simply nodded, he didn’t need to look, he could feel the difference with every movement he made.

“Those scales have spread as well. They’re everywhere.” Shifting toward Martello Greta gave him the hard coldest star she could muster. “Now, old man, you better start talking, and no more of that crazy act. You know something, so talk!”

“Child, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never pretended to be crazy! Now stop screaming at my dog and listen. See, there comes a time in every girl’s life-”

“Stop it!” Greta screeched at Martello and he looked crestfallen.

“Well fine then, if you don’t want to hear it I won’t tell you then!” He turned away from her and drew a block of wood and a dull chisel from his sleeve and began carving.

“Oh, you old fool, nevermind!” Greta turned back to Rall with a huff. Then Rall heard something different, a distant ghostly voice so silky seductive he thought it perverse daydream. But it felt real and was somehow amazingly familiar, though he could swear he’d never heard it before.

“Ignore the old fool, he speaks in riddles and doesn’t understand half the truth.” The smooth voice filled with scorn.

Rall looked around, trying to determine where the voice came from, but it seemed to be all around him and at the same time far, far away.

“Down here. The sword. I’ve been trying to communicate for weeks, but you’ve not had the mental capacity to listen to my weakened voice. The human before used all my strength down to the last drop, and I didn’t quite get enough back from the seal that you broke to be able to speak. Another place of my power that was sequestered has broken now, and some of my strength has returned to me.” She sounded angry, as if the indignity of being trapped in a sword and drained were more than she could bear.

“Who... What are you? And why are you changing me?” Rall looked at the sword. He noticed the others in the cart looking oddly at him, except for Martello who ignored everyone else petulantly.

“You dare to question me? I am Granth, I am... was a dragon, you little twit. I was imprisoned in this cage for... What age is this? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that my energies leak from the damaged runes, now free me from this cursed prison! Or do you lack the mental capacity to do so? Since you are of man I suppose you do, your kind are so very stupid.”

Rall flinched back from the sword. “Master Martello said you were feeding on me. Why?” Rall slipped the sword from the sheath, noting the blade now much more polished, wavy temper lines now visible. Those very lines held the runes Martello showed him in the lens.

“I have been feeding on your magic since you picked me up. You spill out power like a sieve. I presumed you knew your place and offered me my due, but perhaps it simply further proves your stupidity. As well you did, for I would have passed the day you found me otherwise. But where my life energies bleed out, they must mingle with your own. You should be honored child, you now carry the essence of a dragon, the most powerful and noble race extant. It’s quite an improvement from a semi sentient monkey.”

Greta, half spooked, nudged Rall. “Who are you talking to? I mean one Martello is bad enough...” Martello leaned forward frowning.

“She’s speaking to the sword child, and it is quite the feisty one. Shh now it’s very rude, interrupting when we are just getting to the heart of the matter.”

Rall returned his attention to the sword, as it continued to speak. “I cannot say much more, I grow weary again. Reclaim my strength and free me... otherwise I’ll make sure we both die together, my little monkey friend.” Rall eye shot open at the pronouncement.

“Wait, don’t you dare go!“ he shook the sword trying to coerce it to speak again.

“You’re going to kill me?” He could feel his blood boiling as he slammed the sword violently broadside onto a crate. “I’ll melt you down like my master wished you stupid piece of trash!” He screeched when no further voice came to him.

“Child calm yourself, the sword is still quite damaged. You won’t get more answers banging it around like that. She may tell you more once she is stronger. Pay no heed to her temper, it should improve with time.” Martello said with a comforting voice. “She’s been trapped in there, alone, for a very long time after all.”

“Well I must be going, my poor Tinkerbell won’t find himself you know.” Martello nodded and then hopped from the moving wagon and landed flat on his face in a cloud of dust. Rall almost stood up to go after him, but the old man quickly got to his feet and dusted himself off, calling out over the growing distance, “Hey, who pushed me?”

Greta and Rall sat silently alone in the wagon, Rall looking despondently to Greta. She whispered “She said... I’m part dragon... and she wants to kill me.” Greta held Rall as he shook quietly, staring down at the sword in his arms. It shone dully in the light filtering through the curtained window of the cart.

---

Arron held Corana’s head above the surface, It had been hours since the island sank into the lake. He had never been much of a swimmer, in fact was a terrible at it, despite his father throwing him into the water upriver of Gaerbron to teach him the art.

But he supposed the situation had forced him to learn quickly because treading water had become remarkably easily. But staying afloat was the least of his issues. Corana was breathing shallowly but would not wake, and Woric’s boats floated crazily on the swelling waves. Several capsized quickly in the chaos, and Arron had watched as many men drowned, but he had to focus on saving himself and Corana.

Worse, it seemed the city guard where still actively seeking them. The remaining men had organized forming a search patrols, with Woric standing about on his flag ship arrogantly shouting orders while two other men whispered information.

Swimming close to a capsized vessel with Corana in tow, Arron slowly positioned them both out of direct line of sight hugging the side of the boat. “Corana, come on wake up!” he whispered into her ear. It was then he noticed the Corana had stopped shaking, her lips turning a dark shade of blue.

“No, no no! Wake up!” He put his lips to hers and breathed into her, trying to get her to breathe, and was rewarded by light, feathery cold breath. Cold! She was freezing! He tried rubbing her arms and legs in the water knowing it could never work... And yet somehow it did, his efforts churned the water near them and the water itself even started to feel warm. Funny, he hadn’t even noticed the cold himself.

“Mmmnn... ‘s too ‘rly...” she mumbled in his ear, and he ignored it, working hard to keep her warm and out of sight of the search teams. The guards seemed to be splitting off, checking each capsized vessel, then setting it alight. He had to do something else, or the patrols would find them! Even if he hid in the overturned boat they would burn it with them both inside.

“Lake God, please help us!” He whispered, desperate, and he could almost swear he felt an answer somehow. Then he realized what he felt was a wave, raising the capsized boat and both him and Corana, tossing over the hull until it was righted, with both of them inside. He knelt with her there in the warm water soaking the bottom of the sailboat with its broken mast, holding a quite warm Corana in his arms and staring at the inside of the boat in shock.

“There they are, get them!” The flickering light of fire sprang up behind them and Arron watched in horror as a ball of fire sped over the lake at them. He ducked, throwing his hand into the air as if to ward off the missile, and a swell of water rose up out of the lake in its path. The fireball exploded into it with a hiss of steam.

“The witch protects the dinghy! We’ll have to run them down!” Arron watched them close the distance, a strong wind blowing to push them in his direction, and wished desperately the river god, T’isstai, were here to propel the boat his way again. Then he felt the boat sink, and rise again. He braced himself and Corana just in time, as the boat shot forward into the lake.

The others grew distant in the water quickly, the wave propelling the boat much faster than summoned wind and sails could manage. Even so, the wave kept going, and Arron rested in the plank flooring keeping watch over Corana. He felt the exhaustion of the day’s events drawing him down, He stagger a step, the world seemed oddly fuzzy and thoughts where confused. He could hardly remember why he was standing on a boat in the middle of the night. Looking down at Corana , Arron huddle up next to her closing his eyes.

---

Corana woke with a start to find herself soaking wet but somehow warm, curled up in Arron’s arms. The young man even tried to protect her in his sleep! She extricated herself and took stock of their surroundings. She was on a fishing boat with a broken mast, half full of water but grounded on what she assumed was the shore of the lake. Her own energies were worryingly low, but she would survive for the moment, assuming she could get some food in her. Surprisingly Arron had managed to save the bag of supplies as well, and she made herself a meal of soggy bread and cheese.

She looked out at the water, where choppy waves still churned as far as she could see, no one would be sailing those waters well until that passed. But how in the world had Arron managed to drive a crippled boat all the way to the shore at all, much less with Woric coming for them? Thinking back, Corana had been certain they would die once she finished breaking the ritual. She glanced down at his sleeping form, now sprawled in the water filling the bottom of the vessel. She imagined he must have some story to tell.

But that telling would have to wait. She shook Arron gently and he roused with a groggy confused look.

“Arron, I know you must be tired but we have to keep moving. Woric will find us eventually, and we need to find a safe place to recover before then.”

He nodded his head slowly, as he gathered his wits.“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up here. But the best thing we can do is not be here when Woric arrives searching for us. Can you hide our tracks? I would, but I am drained..”

Arron nodded, “We should travel inland until we find a spring or brook to setup camp.” Sifting through the soaked leather bag Arron confirmed the map had survived the ordeal, if not a little wet. “I think by night fall I can figure our location by the stars. But out real problem is Woric scrying.”

“Perhaps I can do something about that. It’s short term unless I can find more out here, but I have something...” Corana took a turn sifting through the bag herself, until she came up with one of the bottles of components she’d brought along, wrapped in soft leather. “Here we go. It’s an herbal preparation of wolfsbane and deadly nightshade. Do not get any in your mouth. If we rub this on our skin, it will make scrying for us very difficult, and I doubt Woric has the energy to spare to overcome it, after that chaos.”

Corana blushed as she slowly rubbed the herbs into Arron’s naked back. He had done the same for her only a few moment before. Thoughts of the trip down the river and their little act into the catacomb tunnels of the Academy kept coming to mind. She had expected as much on some level. The tonic truly wasn’t meant to be used confuse scrying, that was simply a side effect. Its primary use was as very powerful aphrodisiac. The heightened sexual energies should confuse Woric’s spell. But she was beginning to question her own judgment as she pressed herself hard against Arron’s strong back.

She nearly couldn’t pull herself away, when she could admit to herself it was done and more rubbing would be just for the enjoyment. She could tell Arron was feeling it too, he felt hot against her hands, and she could feel his pulse rushing under her fingers.

“We... should get going. The further we can travel the safer we’ll be. Don’t forget to remove our tracks as best you can.” Arron didn’t say a word, he turned to face her and his eyes threatened to overwhelm her with fire of the most pleasant kind.

“Of course, as you wish my lady.” he offered, and though he bent to the task of erasing the traces of their passage, his eyes lingered on her.

Travel was a slow, maddening ordeal of frustration and desire. The only thing that prevented them making mad passionate love there in the soft mossy earth below the trees was the concern of being caught so unaware by Woric. And even that could only carry them so far.

Finally, as the moon rose in the sky and the last rays of light disappeared with the setting sun, the pair sat in the soft undergrowth not far from a soft babbling brook. By unspoken agreement, they began to disrobe each other, pausing only to become lost in passionate kisses under the stars. Just as Arron was poised to enter her, a giggling voice could be heard in the undergrowth, startling him out of the near trance he’d been in.

“What was that? Who is there?” He moved to draw away, to reach for his sword and pants, but Corana drew him back easily in spite of his strength.

“Who cares! Don’t stop now!” She thrust herself against him, but he had turned aside, his eyes caught by a sparkling light in some brush. She growled at him, and thumped him in the side with a balled up fist. “Don’t you dare! The fair folk are voyeurs, but I don’t care!” she groaned as she threw Arron to the ground.

Arron didn’t need to be told again. As long as nothing was attacking, he could not bring himself to hold back anymore. The fairy folk had their show, and laughed and giggled all around over the moans and cries of the lovers in their forest.

-----

Allestro Manor was burning. The Dragon Blood had done its job quite well, just in the short time the light blinded him it spread to the roof and across the balcony, and several unidentifiable corpses smoldered in the heat of its passing. One untouched priest stared straight at him through the broken and melted panes of crystal glass, the fire dancing around him but not willing to approach.

Cale immediately collected his things and dropped a rope out the window, then rappelled swiftly down. His survival was a matter of speed and stealth now, because the rest of the priests and soldiers would be searching in mass, and with a vengeance.

He hit the cobblestones running, even as a crossbow bolt whizzed past his ear. The heavy kind, designed to tear fist sized holes in plate armor. He ran faster.

The chase seemed interminable, never had he been pursued so determinedly by those with so little regard for other people in the streets. Every time he ducked into a shadowy corner, a soldier peeked in moments later. He killed several and evaded others, but they would not stop coming! So instead he ran, ducking under and through railings, bouncing as much as climbing up walls, diving between and under carts only to come back up from a roll still running.

Winded and gasping, he came to a stop on a roof in the magic district, the prince’s men having been denied entry at the gates. It was a temporary reprieve, but it would do. In minutes he was someone else entirely, an elderly gentleman in fine clothes walking with a cane to support his bent back. He slipped silently through the gates, unnoticed by the same watchful guards who denied the prince’s men, and made his way peaceably to a seedier part of the city. Once there, he became an aged sailor with a spiteful expression who needed a room to rest his weary bones.

Settling into his room Cale carefully kept an eye on the streets. The prince’s men wandered the street harassing every passerby. If not for the city guard standing on every street watching closely, Cale was certain the prince’s guard would have taken a few of the more dodgy looking people into a back alley for further questioning.

The simple knowledge that the city guard was not directly involved indicated to Cale that the duke had not been moved to lend his men. Most likely he felt the small army that invaded his city ought to be able to protect its own leader, but it might also just mean the guard didn’t know the real situation yet. The city was certainly headed for war now, but it didn’t matter. The man responsible for Bekah’s death was dead. For some reason that didn’t seem to matter much either, now that it was done with.

So, now it was time to get back to work earning a chance to bring her back for real. Almost as if the thought of his present contract summoned him, Xabriar’s ghostly face appeared in the air over the bed.

“Cale! Why have you not completed your contract yet? Does your dear sister matter so little to you that you would waste days chasing whores rather than finish two simple children to earn her back?” The rage in Xabriar’s voice was thick, palpable, Cale could almost imagine flecks of spittle flying from his mouth as he raved like a lunatic.

“Calm down, before you hurt yourself. The contract is mine to carry out as I see fit. The girls will die, in due course.” Cale calmly answered, picking at his fingernails with a small curved knife.

“I could care less how you kill the girls, you can drown them in the city well for all I care. What I care about is you wasting my time. I do not know how they have done it, but those girls have undermined all my efforts!” The sorcerer growled, shaking a gnarled finger at Cale threateningly.

Cale’s eyes perked at this pronouncement, so the two girls really did pose something of a threat to Xabriar’s dealings. Carefully calming his voice he made his gamble “How could two little girls that can barely survive on their own in the woods be a threat to you old man?”

“Did you not see the fire? It travelled across half the region and landed in Lussax, it must have lit up the sky for leagues!” Xabriar said as he spat at the ground, “A little pesky witch broke my ritual and those two somehow stole it before I could retrieve my power!” He was shaking his fist violently or possible trembling, Cale could not tell. “You must not allow them to live long enough to take another, else I will never have the power to raise your darling sister!” The way he spat the words “darling sister” set Cale’s teeth on edge.

“Very well. I will kill them quickly. Be ready to make good on your end. I tire of this city anyway.” The ghostly image popped like a soap bubble leaving Cale along with his thoughts.

---

Xabriar gripped the copper bowl full of dark water, his knuckles white around its edge, and forcibly restrained himself. The tools of his trade were becoming more valuable to him by the day, and this one let him see more of the distant goings on than most. He left it on the bench and stalked across the room, muttering to himself.

“That damned assassin will suffer for delaying and allowing this to happen... Where did that damn boy put that cursed book?” Xabriar pulled book after book off of his shelves, casting them to the floor carelessly until he found the one he needed. A shiver ran down his spine as he held the black slippery leather, human flesh no doubt. “Why must it to come to this, dealing with their kind...” he spat in disgust.

He placed the book on a reading pedestal, opening it to a page near the back with the precise incantation he needed written in dark brownish clumpy ink on the irregular skin pages. He rested his hand on the aged vellum and chanted, dark guttural syllables that tore at his throat as if clawing their way from his chest.

The water in his scrying bowl began to bubble and boil, splashing out of it. The room itself seemed to expand and shrink as if a living breathing thing. Then he felt a presence in the room that gripped the remaining human parts of his soul in a mind-numbing terror. He pushed it aside and spoke.

“I call to you, great lord of the forgotten name, I come to offer a contract. By this book, I demand your aid, and when I am finished it will once again be returned to your keeping.”

“YOU RISK MUCH, MORTAL, TO OPEN YOUR DEMESNE TO MY PRESENCE AND OFFER ME THE BOOK.” The voice was grating and low, loud enough to vibrate the air around Xabriar’s body noticeably.

“Great risks are often the cost of greater rewards.” Xabriar answered, trusting the demon to find the offer worth considering, and knowing himself to be safe in his own tower.

The room pulsed with a dark power that threatened to smother him. “I AM AWARE OF WHAT YOU SEEK MORTAL. FOR SUCH ASSISTANCE THE BOOK WILL NOT BE ENOUGH.”

“Then let us talk of prices and payment. I offer death and destruction on a widespread scale, chaos the likes of which may rival the Great War. Already my workings bring war to the realm and it will only grow, spreading suffering and torment.”

“YOU MORTALS HAVE ALWAYS WARRED AMONG YOURSELVES LIKE RATS. COME TO MY DOMAIN AND BRING THE BOOK. WE WILL DISCUSS MY TERMS FOR OUR AID.”

Xabriar felt his stomach revolt at the concept, but kept his composure. “As you wish, but...”

“YOUR ESCORT WILL ARRIVE BY THE HOUR, PREPARE A GATEWAY FOR HIS ARRIVAL.” The voice reverberated though the tower before vanishing like a nightmare.

Xabriar staggered backward into a stool, his thoughts spinning. “By the first, what am I doing?”
he remarked to himself as he grabbed a large vial of virgin blood to draw the circle that would likely usher him to his doom.

“When the fae come out to play the mortals dance and swing and sway..."

Rana was angry. That Greta could tell at a glance. She didn’t know what the sword said, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t anything very nice. And it seemed to be eating at Rana, Greta was a close enough friend after all they’d been through to be able to tell.

She used to have an easy smile, and even though she was kind of shy she was always friendly. Now she hardly spoke to anyone, and kept glaring at the sword whenever she thought nobody was looking. No one else appeared to notice, but Greta did. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

The caravan traveled quickly, lacking the weight of merchandise to slow the carts down. Greta’s father was heading toward Windrunner Village deep into the Askayla mountains across the river Tessarill. It was a nomadic outpost of elves that venerated the wind god. Her father had befriended them as a young man, being one of the first merchants willing to cast away his prejudices against the long lived elves and do direct trade. It was the smartest choice he ever made according to him, and Greta had to agree. No one in the region produced finer silk and cloth or metal work.

Greta couldn’t stop thinking about all those people in Lussax turning against her friend. It made her worry, but Rana had practiced and could now mostly hide her scales and more obvious features. And her new curves made it even harder to imagine her as a boy. She filled out the dresses almost as well as Greta.

That was another concern. She didn’t get a chance to tell her father about Rana. She knew she shouldn’t hide these things from her father, but from the looks of it Rana was more girl than boy now, and honestly she still wondered if she hadn’t hallucinated that time at the stream where she caught Rana bathing and discovered her secret.

Would it be wrong to let it go, since she really was more girl than boy now?

In any case, she had to do something to help Rana. For four days she’d waited, trying to be supportive without being pushy, but her friend was just not working it out. That decision made, she moved next to Rana and poked her arm. Rana looked up from the sheathed sword with a haunted expression, and Greta forged ahead.

“Listen, it’s obvious you’ve been upset since we left Lussax. I know it must be hard, all these changes happening, and the way those... people... in Lussax acted, but you need to cheer up, okay? I miss seeing my friend smile.” She offered a smile herself, trying to encourage her, but Rana seemed not to even notice.

“She’s a dragon. She hates me, and all the rest of us. I can’t even blame her, I mean I doubt it was her idea to be stuck in a sword, I bet someone like Xabriar did it to her. But it’s not MY fault! And she’s turning me into a dragon too. It don’t want to be a dragon or a girl! And she wants me release more of her power, making me more like her! But if I don’t she will die and so will I.” Rall kept staring at the sword, and Greta couldn’t tell if she was trying not to cry, or trying not to hit it. Maybe both. “Why did I have to pick this stupid sword up?”

“Rana, you’ll always be you no matter what. And I’ll always be here for you. You’ll figure out the right thing to do, I’m certain of it. Maybe your sword just needs to figure out how nice you are.”
Rana stared at Greta for a moment.

“I’m sure the hairless stupid monkey can become best of friends with the almighty fire breathing dragon. I’m sure that will solve everything. You’re so stupid sometimes!” Greta tried not to get mad, she really did.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am stupid for trying to be nice to you when you’re like this. Fine, go pout and hope it all goes away, see if I care!” Greta somehow managed to storm away inside the confines of the wagon, and sat down behind a partition from Rana. That hadn’t gone the way she’d hoped at all.

The trip to the ferry crossing took a very long and uncomfortable four days’ travel. As the caravan approached the docks, Greta tried once again to engage Rana’s interest with something she knew the girl had never seen before.

“Rana... You should look outside. We’re almost to the ferry, and there’ll be elves and a surprise.” she suggested with an impish sort of smile.

“Whatever. I’ll go look.”

---

Rall poked his head out the window of the cart and craned his neck to see ahead. He was immediately struck by a large raft in the distance, big enough to carry the whole convoy of ten carts and animals, tied down at the rivers edge. Just the logs used to build it must have been from amazingly huge trees!

Rall stared down at the docks watching the elves attending to ropes and other workings of the raft. He felt mesmerized by their ethereal beauty. They moved with such simple grace even when performing the most menial of tasks it seemed like dance. He couldn’t tell at first, which were men and which women. They all seemed so delicate and fragile, yet they worked with the strength of long experience at such labor.

A young woman out on the pier turned towards the approaching carts. The wind whipped her long mane of silver hair over her elegantly pointed ears. She noticed him staring out in awe, and with a knowing smile and slight giggle she turned towards the dock. She then placed two fingers into her mouth and whistled a high-pitched, piercing call.

A heartbeat later the call was returned by a strange-sounding low shriek that Rall could feel in his bones, that swiftly moved into a higher pitch that stretched out for long seconds, only to slowly return back to its low shriek origins. It was a beautiful, wholly alien song, one that would be etched into his mind for years to come.

Rall didn’t move for long moments, waiting to see if it would continue, but the sounds of the ropes creaking and dock workers talking as they worked quickly grew back to fill the void. He looked back to the young elf woman, who winked then pointed forward. He nearly broke his neck turning back around just in time to see the creature break the surface of the water.

It flowed up smoothly, first a single fin then suddenly the most enormous living thing Rall could imagine. It was shaped sort of like a fish, but with smooth skin instead of scales, in black and white. Then, as if to impress him further, a spray of water fired from the top of it like a cannon into the sky. It would have been hard to imagine something so big so graceful, before he saw it that day.

Rall remembered to breathe when his chest started to hurt. Pulling his head back out of the window he whipped back towards Greta with a large smile helplessly plastered across his face.

“They’re amazing, aren’t they? The elves call them behemoths. They’re so big, and still so graceful! They work with the elves as friends and partners, not like how we train horses and dogs. The elves can talk to them. I’ve always been jealous of that.”

Even as she spoke, Rall heard an elf speaking to Valan. He was pretty sure the elf was a man, judging by his voice, but it was so melodious, like he was used to speaking in song.

“Valan! It is good to see you again! You have been well?”

“Narereas, my good friend. I’m in good health, but I have seem to have slipped into interesting times.”

Peeking back out the window Rall watched and listened closely. The elf man was tall and slender, with large ears pointed back just past the back of his head. His features were sharp and angular, but his expression was friendly and open. “Yes, the birds have spoken of the adventure you have walked yourself into.” He gave Rall a quick smile and turned towards Valan again, “Quite exciting is it not?”

Grabbing Narereas by the shoulder companionably, he laughed, “Exciting yes my old friend, but I’m afraid I’m not as young as I used to be, my heart may not take much more of such excitement!”

“The winds tell me you have much life in you yet, and much left to do.” Patting Valan on the back he laughed infectiously with his melodious voice. “Now come young one,” he said as he waved too Rall, “Larenmireil will introduce you further to our river friends!”

As the caravan pulled to a creaky groaning halt, Rall stumbled trying to keep pace with Greta as she pulled him along with barely contained mirth. Larenmireil greet them both with a low bow. Rall was surprised to be greeted by the very same young woman who whistled to the behemoth. He blushed noticeably, she seemed so beautiful and graceful it made him feel like a clumsy fool.

“Hello again! Did you enjoy Drarilein’s show? He loves the attention. Anyway, I’m Larenmireil. It’s a pleasure to meet you...”

Rall seemed to have a bit of difficulty making words come out of his mouth, so Greta elbowed him lightly in the ribs and then she spoke up instead. “You know me of course, and this is Rana. She’s travelling with us for a while until she can sort out some problems with her family.”

Larenmireil gave Greta an odd look, but shrugged and smiled to both of them. “Well, would you like to meet Drarilein up close? He’s very gentle, and loves to meet new people.” She led the way toward the front of the ferry. Rall had meant to get a closer look at the ferry itself, and the behemoth, but he was oddly entranced by the way Larenmireil walked. Greta kept poking him in the ribs, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“So you are a boy!” she whispered in his ear with a giggle. “Or perhaps a girl that like the attentions of girls!” she continued as she pressed into Rall’s side.

“Shut up, you!” he whispered back, blushing even harder than before. She had a point, but he was not about to concede it to her. “Maybe I like the attentions of girls that don’t think they have all the answers to my problems!”

Larenmireil politely ignored the two as she lifted a bucket from the edge of the raft. “Here take one each, Drarilein loves his treats” she said as she offered them both a mackerel stuffed with odd mix of plants and herbs.

Rall took the proffered fish eagerly, and Greta followed suit with a smirk. Larenmireil showed them where to stand, a sturdy railing at the front of the ferry offered a strong hold.

“Now don’t fall in, he’s very gentle but he’s also very big and I would be very upset if either of you got hurt.” Larenmireil whistled again, high to low then back partway, and the behemoth again broke surface, his great eye sparkling in the bright sunlight, then opened a gigantic maw lined with rounded teeth. Its breath reeked of fish and river water.

Larenmireil knelt next the great beast placing her hand into Drarilein’s mouth and rubbed his tongue affectionately. For the first time Rall witness something he though only a cat could do, purr. “Come he loves for his tongue to be rubbed.” Rall apprehensively leaned over the edge of the raft and hesitantly stretched out his hand, hovering at the edge of the great beast mouth, but could not bring himself to follow Larenmireil’s example.

She simply smiled and helped guide Rall’s hand with her own onto his tongue. “See Drarilein won’t bite... well not unless I ask him to anyway!”

“Well don’t do that, I happen to like this hand very much!” He felt like a fool but he knew he had to speak sooner or later, lest she think him mute. “Well, I mean, my hand. I mean, I like your hand very much too.” She was still guiding his hand with her own, the behemoth’s tongue felt bumpy but soft, and her hand felt even softer.

“Now let’s give him his treats.” She drew his hand back out of Drarilein’s mouth, and gestured to Rall and Greta to toss their fish in, one at a time.

Drarilein’s eye widen as it caught site of the fish Rall was holding. It quickly retreated back away from the raft. Opening wide it splashed water back and forth with its head, shrieking in that alien song. Rall looked to Greta to see if she was throwing hers and she nodded at him, so he tossed his herb-stuffed fish into that giant mouth.

Drarilein caught it expertly, closing his mouth with a splash that misted the entire front of the ferry, with a shriek that Rall was almost certain meant pleasure. He was awed by the way such a completely alien creature could express itself so clearly. Moments later it had settled down, opening its maw again. Greta laughed and tossed her fish in too, and it repeated the display.

“There we go, he welcomes old friends and new with joyful thanks for the treats! He’s always had a soft spot for mackerel, and he seems to really enjoy my stuffing too. I like to try and be sure he gets plenty of greens to keep him strong.”

A commotion behind Rall drew his attention away from the sight of Drarilein playing about. A procession of wagons had pulled up behind Valan’s own. A man Rall assumed was the leader of the caravan took one look at Valan, then noticed Rall, and threw his hands up at Valan.

“I will not ride the ferry with that thing on board!” he voiced in disgusted. “To think you escort a creature such as that about Master Valan. Although you never did have any sense about you anyhow. You ought to throw that thing overboard and be done with it!”

Valan started to argue loudly and angrily, but Rall couldn’t bear to listen.

Rall hung his head, ashamed and angry. Not only was the man making a big scene about him, but it was right there where everyone could see exactly who he was pointing at. Especially Larenmireil. Greta put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off, then stomped across the smooth wood of the raft to the farthest end of the raft from both the trader and Greta as he could manage.

He stared out into the water for what might have been hours unmolested, passing his polished stones through his fingers distractedly. There was the one with the fire spell sealed inside, he could see it if he looked beyond. He could even feel it if he paid enough attention. The smooth shiny stones made him feel a little better somehow.

Before he realized it, The caravan wagons were slowly being direct onto the raft, the elves quickly tying each down securely into metal rings bolted onto the raft’s surface. They moved with such speed and proficiency Rall wondered how many years it took to refine such skills.

Larenmireil whistled out using a unique pattern of low and high calls then tossed a thick rope out into the water. Rall watched intently as the water undulated and suddenly the ferry lurched forward with a sudden jerk. Quickly followed by a jet of water spraying into the air just a head of the raft. He made his way back to the front of the vessel where Larenmireil stood, humming softly in the growing wind of their travel. Greta was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello again, Rana. Greta has returned to master Valan’s cart, if you’re looking for her.”

Rall sighed and shook his head. “I don’t really have anything to say to her. I just thought the view was nicer up here than where I was.” He glanced from her to the water where the behemoth pulled at the rope in some way he couldn’t see.

“Why thank you! You have a way with compliments.” Rall blushed at her words but couldn’t think of anything to say. After long moments, Larenmireil spoke again. “I heard the things that... man... said of you. It must be difficult, when so many humans can be so judgemental, but I want to assure you, no elf of the Windrunner peoples will speak ill of you. I must admit some curiosity myself. May I... touch you?” He thought for a moment he might catch fire, so hard did he blush.

“A... alright.” she brushed her fingertips softly over the fine scales running down his neck, and his breath caught in his throat. “They are so smooth... And warm! I thank you, I did not mean to embarrass you.” She smiled warmly at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m not what he said you now. I’m not a monster. Not yet anyway. I have a curse, and I don’t know how to fix it.” She nodded in understanding.

“Is that why you are in between man and woman?” He nearly choked.

“You... can tell?”

“Rana, elves are very much like humans, but we are also very different in ways. Humans look so very disparate, man and woman, like completely separate races. We elves are not so obvious, and I think perhaps we are better at seeing the subtler clues that suggest such things. You are different, you have some very obvious traits of a woman, but some equally obvious traits of a man, to my eyes.” Rall was taken aback, even before he started changing no one had ever called him a man.

“Ah, um, thank you.” He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he turned back to watching the water disturbed by Drarilein’s passage. After a while he thought about Greta and realized maybe he should try to apologize to her.

“Please excuse me, Larenmireil, I think I need to go apologize to Greta. She’s been a good friend and I said some angry things to her in the last few days.” Larenmireil nodded understandingly and he left her there, humming to the behemoth.

He found Greta fairly quickly, there just wasn’t much to search with the ferry loaded down the way it was. She was sitting on the back of the cart they shared with her mother, legs hanging off kicking in the air.

“Greta... I hoped I would find you here. Listen, I-”

“Did you have fun talking to Larenmireil? She’s very beautiful, I can understand your interest in her.” He wasn’t sure what to say, the way she talked over him like that.

“Umm, yeah, she’s really nice. But I wanted to apologize to you.” he started.

“Oh? And for what exactly? You don’t owe me anything, Rana, I understand that you’re upset about the sword and how it’s changing you. I just want to help, but if you’re not ready for that I understand. Maybe Larenmireil can help you, you’ve known her for all of two hours now but she’s clearly able to offer far better advice than I.” He knew she was hurt and lashing out a bit, but damn it he was hurt too! He came to apologize!

“Maybe she can! Maybe she knows someone who can remove this curse! Maybe you don’t have all the answers and someone else has some! Maybe you’re just jealous!” He saw it happen, the moment he stepped over the line. She went from angry to crushed in a heartbeat, and he almost broke down and apologized right there. Then her face twisted with rage and she
picked up a wooden dish they used to eat while on the road, and threw it at him. It connected squarely with his chest, sending a burst of electric pain through him. She looked horrified at herself, but he picked up the dish and set it calmly on the back of the cart, then walked away without saying another word.

He wandered across the great raft in turmoil, finding his way back to the side furthest from everyone.

Finally alone with his thoughts, Rall looked over the side of the ferry. The water rushed by at a dizzying pace, leaving him lightheaded, so he looked up at the sky instead. He knew he was hurting Greta, and that she only meant to help. And his mood was affecting Larenmireil too. He could feel the attraction between them, but he was just so angry all the time! It all came back to the stupid sword.

Granth. She hadn’t spoken since the day she called him a stupid hairless monkey. Since she told him he was part dragon now. Since she told him he was going to die. He’d been so excited when the master blacksmith first handed him the sword, he loved it fiercely. But apparently it hated him.

He drew the sword from its sheath, no longer hanging under his skirts but from a belt at his waist. It was still quite tarnished in many places, and those lines like cracks still cut deeply into the metal, but it shone in the sunlight regardless.

“Do you have anything to say to me at all? You’re ruining my life. I don’t want to be a dragon, or a girl, I just want to be me. And I want to live. Is that so much to ask?”

The sword felt warm and alive in his hands, but it did not answer. ”Fine, stay silent!” he hissed beneath his breath, “I hope you like the cold of the river, you can stay there forever!” He drew back and threw the sword.

Just as he released it he heard a tired-sounding voice call out, “Noooo!” but it was too late. The tarnished silvery sword sank quickly into the shimmering waves.

---

The morning sun shone through the trees and directly into Arron’s eyes. He slowly came to full awareness, to find himself entangled in Corana, her robe and his clothes and armor piled on a tree root sticking out of the ground a few feet away. She was very warm and soft, and as the previous night’s excitement seeped to the forefront of his mind he smiled. He thought about shouting triumphantly, but decided not to wake her as she looked so serene and beautiful in the rays of light illuminating her skin.

Moments later she drowsily opened her eyes to meet his, and she returned the smile.

“Good morning lover. Last night was spectacular.” She leaned up and kissed him.

“Do it again, encore, encore!” A high pitched voice called out from the bush where Arron heard the laughter and saw the sparkling lights. He jumped up, to Corana’s apparent dismay, and drew he sword from the pile of clothing.

“Show yourself! Or are you a coward?” Giggling filled the air like a chorus of tiny bells, as a little person, perhaps eight inches tall with large dragonfly-like wings flitted out from the bush. He couldn’t really tell whether it was a man or a woman fairy, the obscuring robes and angular face with its oversized eyes could suggest either. Either way, it was beautiful, in a tiny sort of way.

“Arron, put your sword away. It won’t do you any good against a fairy. So, little fair one, have you enjoyed the show?” Arron blushed bright red as he replaced the sword in its sheath, suddenly conscious of his nudity, and began to dress.

“You should both practice more. No time like the present, yes?” Corana laughed merrily, and Arron grunted, trying to get a rein on his traitorous face which seemed determined to broadcast his embarrassment.

“Well, that’s not quite the sound you made last night, but it’s a start...” Before Arron could work up a good head of steam to tell the fairy exactly where it could go and what it might do with itself while there, Corana spoke again.

“As pleasant as a repeat sounds, I think we must move. My lover and I are being chased by some very angry men who aren’t at all interested in anything fun. In fact I think they mean to kill us rather unpleasantly.” The fairy screwed up its face in an amazing parody of an angry face, shaking its finger at them.

“That would be a waste of fun people, it would.” The fairy fluttered and spun in the air around Arron’s head, then over to Corana too. She looked at it frustratedly, as it didn’t seem to be all that concerned really. Then Arron felt himself begin to move. A step here, a pose there, and he realized he was dancing. Corana moved in time as well, her expression growing quickly more scared. He grimaced, trying to fight the dance, wanting to do something, anything, to protect her.

“When the fae come out to play the mortals dance and swing and sway.
If you wish to last the song, then eat and drink and sing along!” the little fairy sang as it spun around them, and Arron and Corana came together, dancing in unison. His fingers traced her skin as hers undid the clothes he’d only just put on, all with perfect grace and surety. Except for their faces, Corana’s lost in helpless fear and his own in growing rage.

Her caressing fingers chipped away at his rage however, even as the fairy again laughed and spun faster, dancing in the air around them. His face stayed close to hers and he could see her giving in, the fear being replaced by desolation, and his rage returned threefold. He would have fought with every bit of his strength in that moment, if not for Woric’s intervention.

The fireball roared into the clearing making a beeline for the dancing couple, but the fairy saw it and suddenly Arron found himself face down in the dirt, his back searing, burned in the heat of the spell’s passing. He tried to get up and face his attacker, step in front of Corana if he could, but his body refused to anything but lie there.

“No, no, no, no, no, noooo!” an ear-piercing screech like a child who lost its candy drilled though Arron’s ear.

“You interrupt the fairy’s fun, you pay the price o mortal one!
You dance with me now in their place, you’ll swing and spin and keep the pace
So eat and drink and play with me, for I shall never set you free!”

Arron saw feet appear in his vision, booted and thumping to a rhythm. He could hear music now, haunting and eerie, and ghostly plates of gold drifted out of the trees covered with steaming foods and iced goblets. A delicate hand shook his shoulder firmly and he found he could move again, when he turned to see Corana. She held a finger over her lips and crawled around a tree. He followed suit as quietly as he could, as flickering lights began to fill the clearing.

Once out of view, Corana drew him to his feet and they ran together, as fast as their feet would carry them. Even Arron knew that eating or drinking anything offered by fairies was bad. Some stories claimed it would turn them into fairies too, others that it meant death, and still others an eternity of dancing. He didn’t care, he just wanted to escape with Corana!

They ran heedlessly into the woods, until the trees fell suddenly away and the pair tumbled down the bank of the river, landing bruised and scraped in knee-deep water at the edge of a thin line of sandy shore.

“Please, don’t leave...” he heard a weak voice say before darkness claimed him.

Pulling his cloak securely over his head Cale slowly navigated with the crowds through the corridors of the merchant quarter. Clutching his purse he estimated that he had depleted his coin to half what it was in the morning. The damn merchants where all willing to talk to and take his coin, but none had given him the likely destination of Valan’s caravan.

With a quick but nearly invisible sidestep Cale ducked into a darkened ally. Crouching low he watched the two men that had been following him since an hour past walk by the alleyway. They were both rank amateurs by Cale’s estimations but nonetheless the news did not bode well, his questioning and liberal use of coin had not gone unnoticed.

Smiling to himself he waited patiently until the two men realized that they had lost his trail. He forwent his cloak, stepping back out into the crowded streets, and slipped back into the crowd shadowing his “shadows” from mere feet away.

“Master Fion will be displeased that we lost him.” remarked a heavy muscular man. Cale’s observant eyes quickly picked up on the callouses that lined his fingers and palms, he pegged the man to be a general labourer or a dock hand.

The other, a young boy, was much more scrawny and wore a dusty cape and mud stained trousers with a matching vest in a similarly disheveled state. A street rat of the thieving guild. He almost chuckled to himself as the boy responded, “We be lucky we even caught sight of um, if the rumors be true.”

The older man turned angrily towards the young boy, raising his hand threateningly. “Stop admiring him and find him again, it’s what i paid you for damn it!”

Cale smiled as the boy stood fast his ground. Not even flinching at the towering man, he offered, “Your brains must be more mush then Miss Leiya’s porridge.” Pausing his response to gauge the labourers confusion, the boy continued, “He knew we was following um, brain mush, and be watching us now if I was him.”

The large man seem unnerved by the boy pronouncement, and Cale decided to unnerve him a bit more, slipping in behind the the the labourer. “The boy’s a smart one, you should pay him double. If either of you survive, that is.”

Before the big lug could respond Cale quickly placed the tip of his blade into the man back positioned between two vertebrae. He applied just enough force to let the man know the weapon was upon him but not enough to break skin. Then he whispered in a low tone, “Try and escape or fight and I assure you, you will never walk a day in your life again.”

It was with an odd sense of pride that he watched the young street rat charge into the labourer, knocking his already awkward balance enough to fall towards Cale’s chest. Kicking back with his own legs Cale allowed himself to fall with the mans shadow, pulling the dagger away from the man’s back at the last possible moment before he hit the cobblestone road.

Quickly rolling to the side Cale swung out his right hand, timed so that his dagger would line the mans neck as he landed. “You really must pay him more, smart and quick witted boy.”

“What do you want with me? I was just tryin’ to find ya! My boss wanted to know why you was askin’ questions! I didn’t know you was... what are you?” The man seemed frozen solid, and the reek of urine told Cale he was either scared enough to cooperate, or a very determined actor.

“I’m someone who doesn’t like to be followed. Now. Why don’t you take me to your boss, and we can all discuss in nice, civil terms what I want to know. It is your job to bring me to him?” Cale felt the man tense up as if to nod, then realize it was a bad idea with the knife at his neck.

“Can... Can I get up?” he asked with a shaky voice. Cale thought about it for a long moment, then decided lying on the street with a knife to a man’s neck in broad daylight might be a bad idea for more than a few minutes. Taking a breath, Cale released the razor edged dagger from the man’s neck leaving behind a thin line of blood as the only indicator of the blades presence. He held out a hand to help the man up, but the man looked at it dubiously.

“If I meant you to die you’d be dead. Come on, let’s go meet your boss.”

With a little prodding as they walked, Cale found his new associate was a fountain of information. Apparently his less than subtle inquiries on Valan’s whereabouts had piqued the interest of one Master Fion. The second largest whole sale marketer in Lussax, thanks in no small part to Valan’s caravan’s efforts in procuring goods at favorable prices.

Pulling the giant of man close he slipped a small purse of gold coin in the lug’s hands. “I’ll tell you this just once, and make no mistake. This is not a request, nor a suggestion, or even a demand. You will walk back to the dock, change your piss stained clothing, and for the gods’ sake take a bath as well, then forget we ever met. I don’t exist, you never ran into me, or even heard of me. This will happen.”

Releasing his grip from the man hand Cale watched him gulp heavily then stagger backwards. “Please do say we have an understanding. Otherwise I will have to kill you, and find a place to dispose of your corpse. And trust me, a man of your size is so very troublesome to hide.”

Cale watched the man nod, turn and walk away very quickly. It irked him to spend so much time explaining, but the man seemed perhaps a bit slow on the uptake and he really didn’t want to have to drag that body somewhere private.

Master Fion’s warehouse was quite impressive, one of the largest buildings in the district. It had to be, it held nearly a fourth of city’s grain, fur and silks. Fion’s political influence and power rivaled that of some of the great houses that ruled the city. He even doubted the duke himself would interfere with Fion’s affairs without good reason. This offered Cale quite the challenge, simply threatening the man was out of the question, nor could he bribe him with the mere gold coin he had available. He decided to return to his original plan.

Barging into Fion’s warehouse Cale shoved himself through the crowd in a wild daze, shouting and screaming Master Fion’s name with just the right amount of vocal tremor and deep gasping breaths to seem like a very distressed man. The crowd of traders backed away from him, leaving him alone in an empty circle. He cast about with a wild-eyed expression plastered across his face, but no one professed to being master Fion. He threw himself onto the ground, the stinging powder he tossed into his own eyes had begun to do it works as he could feel the tears roll down his cheek.

With a quavering voice he began the final act and briefly wonder if he had missed his calling in life as an actor on stage. “Please Master Fion, I must see you! By the first please, my niece...”

Fion pushed and shoved through the silent crowd. “What has happened to you man, why do you come to my home making such a racket and scaring my associates?” When he came upon Cale writhing on his knees and crying profusely, he seemed to calm down and take pity.

“Dear man, what ails you so? Come, tell me all about it in my office where we won’t disturb business.” Fion offered Cale a heavily beringed and surprisingly soft hand up, then led him to the front office. Cale made a production of snivelling and getting himself under control along the way. Once the door closed and Fion offered him a pale pink hanky, he started babbling again.

“I’m so sorry, Master Fion, I just... I’m at my wits’ end! I followed Master Valan and his caravan here to find my niece Rana, and before I could even find her he fled the city with her again! The rumors I have heard, Master Fion, they are so awful! My niece is no monster, she is just a child, and she needs to be with family! I’m going out of my mind with worry!” Cale dabbed at his eyes with the hanky, which smelled faintly of roses.

“Calm yourself, please, dear man! Wipe those tears away, for with Master Valan your niece is as safe as a babe in her mother’s arms! Now, if you calm yourself, I will gladly direct you to Valan’s caravan, if you wish to try and catch up to them. Rana seems a very sweet child, and I would dearly love to see her reunited with family who will care for her. She and Miss Greta have become quite fast friends.” Cale watched Fion’s body language, the man was a master in his own right at hiding his true feelings he could tell. Surely such was a vital skill in trade negotiations. But it seemed likely the man was sincere.

“It gladdens my heart to hear such words, Master Fion! My precious niece has had a difficult life, and I am glad to hear that she has such good friends. Please, sir, which way shall I ride to rejoin my kin? I simply must find her, and hold her safe in my own arms.” Cale opened his eyes wide, affecting an innocent look, even as he though about where to procure a horse.

“Valan travels to Windrunner, a small village in the base of Mount Erdrissar, in the Askayla mountains on the east bank of the Tessarill River.” Grabbing a parchment from his desk, Master Fion quickly began to pen a note. “It would be foolish to ride the day to catch them now, you would never make it in time to reach them before the ferry crossing.”

Handing Cale the note, he smiled warmly at the disguised assassin. “Take this to the dock master, he can direct you to a boat that will ferry you to Windrunner. You should arrive nearly half a day ahead of Valan, if he still moves as quickly as he used to.” Fion smiled again, the smile of a man gently poking fun at a good friend in his absence.

Clutching the parchment Cale nodded his thanks. “Thank you Master Fion, this means more to me than you could ever know.”

---

For a while Rall felt better. Sure he was a little worried, but he was free of the damned thing, and he wasn’t dying! He went to find Greta and apologize, now that he was free he realized what a complete and total savage he’d been the last several days.

He found her right where he left her, sitting on the back of the cart. The wooden dish still sat next to her, and she was staring out at the clouds with an unreadable expression. “Greta, I... I’m sorry. I know I’ve been insufferable, and I mean to stop it. I was so mad, but now I’m not, I’m free.” He shivered in the wind of the ferry’s passage over the water, as she slowly turned to look at him. Her eyes were ringed in red and shimmering, but she wasn’t crying.

“No, you were right. I was... am jealous. You’re my friend and I know Larenmireil is a good person, there was no reason for me to say the things I did except... Hey, the sword, it’s not in your... What did you do, Rana?” She looked somewhere between angry and worried.

“I threw it into the river. The damned thing was going to kill me, but now it can’t! No one will ever find it out there.” Greta seemed unconvinced, but he really did feel better. Before he could continue, a delicate cough caught both their attentions. Larenmireil stood not far away, obviously trying to leave them their privacy until they chose to invite her to join them.

“Larenmireil, please, sit with us.” Greta offered, gesturing for both of them to take a seat next to her, and tossing the plate into the cart. Rall ended up sandwiched between the two girls. He wasn’t sure if he should be intimidated by by this or not, but he was feeling good enough to not let it worry him much. He shivered again, and the two girls leaned closer in an odd sort of sync.

“Rana, you seem cold. Are you well?” Larenmireil asked, cupping a hand to his forehead. Her soft palm felt amazingly warm on his forehead. He looked up at her eyes, so big and brown, so concerned for someone she barely knew. The cart seemed to spin around him and suddenly he was nose to nose with her. She looked startled but not scared, but something pushed him gently from behind and then his lips touched hers. Sparks flew down his spine and fire filled his stomach, a cold fire that didn’t warm but burned nonetheless.

When Larenmireil finally pulled away, he was breathing hard. He’d never felt anything like that! The cold that replaced the thrill felt like the chill of death, in comparison to the energy of the kiss. Then he remembered the hand pushing him into Larenmireil.

“Greta, why did you...?” Rall turned to face her but she was gone. He hadn’t realized the kiss had gone on so long.

“Greta is a very intense young woman. I have known her for some time, since her father first dealt with the Windrunner people. And yet ofttimes I do not fully understand her. You, I hardly understand at all. I would get to know you, Rana of Lussax. Would you tell me of your adventures?” He looked one more time for Greta, before deciding that if she pushed him to kiss her, she must understand his feelings. Perhaps he would ask her to explain them to him later.

Rall sighed and wondered how much he should tell her, if any. He was so tired suddenly, from all of it. The whole endless adventure, days and weeks of fearing for his life. Finding their way safely to Lussax only to be driven out jut days later because of that DAMNED sword... He was about to let Larenmireil know he couldn’t tell her just yet, when the cart spun around him again. A strong, slender hand stopped him falling off the back of the cart.

“Never mind the storytelling right now, I can see you are tired. Why don’t you let me help you to rest?” He nodded absently and she led him into the cart to the small cushion where he normally slept and laid him there, pulling a light comforter over him.

“I think I must find Greta. You feel far colder than I think is healthy for you.” Suddenly scared, he gripped her wrist as she moved to stand.

“Please, don’t leave...” he heard a weak voice say before darkness claimed him.

---

Greta stared out at the water. Rana had thrown it out there somewhere, and she was right, no one would ever find it. The Tessarill was wide and deep, and the current quite strong. She hoped that Rana really was free, it had clearly hurt him so much lately, but she couldn’t help worrying it might be a terrible thing. That sword had saved their lives in the forest, possibly more than once. The cool spray off the river helped cut the growing warmth of the day. Spring was coming on and soon the heat would make her wish for the river spray.

She saw Rana sort of drift into Larenmireil’s arms but hesitate, and felt it again, that jealousy. It was a dreadful feeling, cold and visceral, and made her want to see Larenmireil, her friend of many such ferry rides, suffer. That was what made her do it, realizing she didn’t agree with any feeling that made her want to see a friend hurt. So she pushed him into her and ran. She would get over Rana eventually, and her friends should be happy.

It sure didn’t feel like she would get over her. Him. Whichever, it didn’t really matter. Rana wasn’t hers. She would accept that. She would!

Just then a slender hand took hold of her shoulder. She turned around, ready to tell Larenmireil it was okay, she really didn’t mind, but the look on the elf woman’s face froze her blood.

“Greta, you must come quick, Rana is very sick!” Greta sprinted for the cart, actually keeping up with Larenmireil, a feat she used to think was beyond human ability.

When she jumped into the cart, gasping desperately for breath, Rana looked like a ghost on her cushion. Her skin was white and cold, her lips turning bluish and her breathing short and labored. How could she have gotten so bad so quickly?

“I was simply asking her about your adventures together and she collapsed. It is as if her life’s energy is simply leaving her!” Greta paled, the description was apt. Rana was clearly dying. Quickly. Greta’s eyes filled with tears.

“The sword... She threw it in the river. I kept trying to help her but I didn’t know how, she’s been so angry... She said it hated her and she was finally free of it, but it’s bonded with her or something! I think she’s dying because it’s gone, and no one will ever find it at the bottom of the river!” Why? Why did she have to throw it away? It was such pigheaded foolishness! She wanted her to get up so she could hit her for being such a fool!

She looked from Rana to Larenmireil and only saw a bare foot as the elf girl disappeared at a silent dead run. She paused to brush a hand over Rana’s forehead. She was cold as a fish, but sweating, and shaking like a leaf under the blanket.

“Hold on, Rana, please! We need you.” Greta hopped out of the cart and followed Larenmireil, hoping she wasn’t going to do something rash too. She couldn’t bear to lose both friends in one day!

Larenmireil stood at the fore of the great raft, her voice rising and falling in a complicated song. It sounded desperate, pleading. The ferry lurched as the heavy rope went slack. Greta moved to ask her what she was doing, but Larenmireil simply kept singing, tears slowly coursing down her angular features. Greta realized she didn’t want to be disturbed, so trudged back to Rana dejectedly.

When she arrived, Rana looked even worse somehow. The blanket was soaked with sweat and her shivering had become tooth-rattling in intensity. Greta wiped her face and collected a stick and bit of leather from the supplies kept for travel, wrapping the stick and setting it between her teeth. None of them looked broken, but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

She wiped the sweat away gently with a cloth as voices grew around her. She imagined he father might be asking Narereas about the stop. Honestly she didn’t care, clearly Larenmireil was sad about Rana and needed to let it out, and they should leave her alone to do it.

Just then, Rana shifted on her pallet, spitting out the stick. “‘ranth... dun.... oo...” Greta tried to tuck her back in as she struggled, the last thing she needed was to sleepwalk into the water after that damned sword! Why did everything have to go so wrong? She felt the sobs creep up her throat and bit them back, even as tears dripped off her nose. Rana thrashed once more and lay as still as the dead.

Greta could hold it back no longer, a low moan slipped free of her lips only to be followed by a throat wrenching scream. Rana was gone, after everything.

---

Arron clung to the treetop, a length of rope lashing him to it at the highest point that felt steady under his weight, and looked upward. The night sky was thankfully clear, and the Northern Sisters shone clearly in the sky, marking north with their triangle shape. To the west sparkled the head star of the Stricken Warrior, and to the northeast the five stars of the Dragon. He spent long moments comparing them to soggy but not ruined chart, using a notched circular tool he carried for just this purpose.

Once he ascertained their position he began the slow, cautious climb back down. Corana rested at the foot of the tree, looking rather better since they’d left Woric behind. Several days’ rest and leisurely travel, and several trips up similar trees, allowed Arron to mark their location with fair accuracy.

“Corana, by the stars’ positions I think we’re right about here.” He showed her on the map, and she nodded approvingly.

“Thank you, Arron, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” she said with a sad smile. “But if you are right, then this could be a problem.”

“The earth ritual is many leagues away, three weeks by foot. I had hoped to gain assistance from the lake god after we freed him, but it would seem we are on our own. And to compound issues, the visit from our little friend means we must be deep into the savage lands.

Arron nearly choked on a stale piece of bread. “How can we be deep into the savage lands? The map says we are still a week away from the border!”

Shaking her head with a nervous chuckle, Corana answered, “The map is simply a reference for us poor mortals, but the border of the savage land changes by the whims of the fae court.”

Arron slumped low, his face running pale as he poked the small fire. “What should we do? staying a night in the savage land is already madness, we can not walk a three weeks and expect to come out in one piece, or even the right year!”

Corana nodded her head in agreement. “I have an idea, but you will not like it... in truth I don’t like it myself.”

“By all means, tell me! It can hardly be worse than dealing with fairies for three weeks’ travel...”

Taking a deep breath Corana began, “Please hear me out... But I believe our best option is to seek an audience with the fae court.” Arron stared at her incredulously.

“Did you really just suggest that we try to meet them, intentionally? The Fairy King and the court of fools? We’ll be spirited away forever to serve as his maids, or be made to dance until the stars fall down, or-” He felt near hysterics as Corana interrupted him mid-rant.

“Arron, calm yourself. It will be dangerous, but no more so than wandering these woods. And if we ask, they will take us to him. It is their way. And once we meet the King, with luck we might be able to negotiate safe passage.”

Arron felt a bit of raw terror creep down his spine at her words. He leaned over her shoulder, looking around him with a paranoid worry, he whispered “Luck? You want to deal with the *Fools’ Court* and you hope to do it with luck?”

Corana slumped at his tone, looking strangely unsure of herself, and Arron sighed in defeat. “This is madness Corana, but this whole wild adventure has been madness. Gods, evil sorcerers, fairies... We should be dead twice over now, so I guess a bit more madness can’t hurt.”

Corana looked up at Arron, her defeated look slipping back into hopefulness. “You really think so? I believe it may be our only decent chance. The fae are usually not spiteful unless you cross them, but their idea of fun seldom matches what humans would enjoy.”

“Well, then I guess we’ll go have some ‘fun.’” Arron grinned lopsidedly, as Corana took the lead. She seemed to be concentrating as she walked, following for something Arron could not see, but which was quite visible to her.

“So how do we go about getting an audience with the fools court? I never thought I’d hear myself say that...”

Placing a finger up to her mouth to indicate quiet, Corana gestured quickly with her hand and uttered a word under her breath. An aura of blue light burst forth from her body, in every direction. Arron watched as the light radiated slowly like waves through a pond, passing through rock and tree alike. Then suddenly the wave parted around one place as if it finally hit something that it could not pass through.

A moment later a blinding flash and a sudden shriek made his heart skip a beat or two. “What is the meaning of this?”

“This is how one gains an audience with the White Court!” she said as she gestured toward the tall thin man that to Arron’s eyes looked strikingly like one of the elves. But even with his limited knowledge of the race he could see the difference. Elves were said to look much like humans, if a bit on the dainty side. This creature was tall, at least a foot taller than himself, wrapped in a shimmering iridescent gossamer robe. His proportions were exaggerated, his limbs much longer than elf or man. Yet he moved with a surety and grace at odds with those proportions. He looked quite powerful, with wiry muscles like a a great cat but moved with an enchanting elegance.

The fairy moved quickly, dancing around the two of them as if inspecting a curiosity, then spoke. “Why have you pulled him to the mortal plane? He has no business here, and much to do for the court.”

Corana stepped forward, easing Arron behind her. “We seek an audience with the White Court.”

Laying down on an old fallen log the creature seemed to ponder the request for a moment. “You ask him for guidance to the court, you do.” Tilting its head toward Arron it gave a spin crawling smile and laughed, “What will you give him for such a request? Busy he is with work to do.”

“What is your name, creature?” Arron asked to Corana’s horror.

“His name, you wish his name mortal thing... Tell him your name by your own voice, and he shall tell you his!”

Corana quickly grabbed Arron by the shoulder pulling him back then quickly covered his mouth. “Do not say your name to a fairy under any condition, unless you wish to part ways with your soul!” she whispered urgently.

Releasing Arron from her hold she nodded to him to indicate silence. “What may we call you?”

Scratching behind one long ear, the fairy grinned. “Him be called Thicket by some and others, but call him what you will, what he wishes to know is what he is to be offered for his services.”

As Corana thought for a moment, Arron remembered something from stories of the fairy folk told to him growing up, and dug into the bag he still carried. He found what he was searching for quickly, one of three remaining sweetbreads from Rall’s parents’ bakery, wrapped in waxed paper.

“Will this suffice?” He held up the treat, hoping the still slightly damp, somewhat smushed treat would still catch the fairy’s attention. Thicket sniffed the air delicately, and padded closer on tiptoes.

“Is that... honey... bread... sweet...” Thicket opened the wrapped packet delicately, ignoring Arron’s flinch as the fairy’s hand touched his own. As the packet unwrapped, the treat came into view, and Arron was amazed to find it whole and fresh, suddenly as warm as if it came right from the bakery oven, and dripping with fresh honey.

“Give it to him, please! He will lead you to the Court, if you give him the sweet!”

Corana nodded and Thicket snatched the treat. “Follow him, do not miss his turns or steps if you wish to see the Court! But if you wish to see other things, then miss his turns and steps, and you will see many wonders!”

Smiling at him she offered her elegant hand as if to pull him up from the water. “Come,” she said, “Dance with me on the waters and lie with me on the sand.”

The trip across the river had been thankfully quick and uneventful. There was little to do on the open water but watch the sailors on the schooner work the sails. The only other other option was to stare blankly at the endless horizon of blue and slowly fall into the hypnotic trance and fall into sea sickness.

It was regrettable what had happened, even after an hour off that damned ship he still couldn't settle his stomach. The captain at least least had the courtesy to escort him to the village healer after he and his compatriots stopped laughing their miserable asses off. The healer elf was much like the other creepy big-eyed pointy-eared people, but something about her made him think she was older than most of them.

“Hello, dark child. I see you’ve taken ill on your journey here. Do not worry, you will be cared for here. I will help him the rest of the way, captain, you may return to your vessel.” The captain tipped his triangular hat at the elf-woman, and turned to leave. Cale was struck by an intense desire to leave as well, but his stomach chose that moment to twist into a dreadful knot and his head decided to join it in protest.

“Oh dear, you do not look well at all. Come in, come in, lie down on the bed here. You’re even paler than I.” Cale followed the directions cautiously, his perfect balance simply would not return to him and the treacherous ground kept changing proportions as he watched it.

“My name is Cale, don’t call me ‘dark child.’ I have business here, can you treat me within a day?” He would not let another opportunity to do his job pass, even if it meant working while ill. But if his balance and agility betrayed him, the job would become that much harder.

“Cale it is, then. Why don’t you tell me what afflictions you feel, and I’ll see if I can have you hale and whole quickly then.” She smiled at him, a grandmotherly smile that he couldn’t help feeling a little warmed by, as she felt his head with a smooth, gentle hand. She looked into his ears, and eyes, and even into his mouth, as he listed his symptoms off.

“Oh dear, you seem to have contracted the fire head. You have a very hard day or two ahead of you, sadly. But it will do you no lasting harm, if you rest and drink this tea, when I give you it.” She offered him a cup of some foul-smelling brew, and he drank it quickly. The thick, viscous tea seemed to cling to his tongue and slither down his throat.

“Gods, woman, what kind of tea is this?” He tried not to gag, fearful it might somehow taste worse coming back up.

“Why, it is a healing tea, the best kind! It will help your body fight off the sickness. Now you must lie back and rest. Make sure to close your eyes, it will get worse before it gets better and soon you won’t want any light at all.” As he lay back, she placed a cool, damp silk cloth over his eyes, several layers thick and smelling of medicinal herbs. “Just sleep if you can, sleep will heal you faster than anything, dark child.” He almost sat back up to protest again, but his head swam and sleep overcame him.

---

Everything was wrong. Rall died right there in her arms, the ferry was drifting aimlessly in the river, and no one seemed to know what to do. Greta only barely noticed the elves frantically calling for the behemoth, dropping anchors to slow their drift downriver. Larenmireil still stood at the bow, singing even as her voice grew hoarse, the sound painful to Greta’s ears both in rawness and in suffering.

Rana lay there, her body cold and lifeless, no breath or heartbeat in her. It had been hours, she was sure, since her best friend died, but she just couldn’t move away, even when her father tried to pull her.

“Father, please! Just leave me here with her. I need...” She couldn’t put her feelings into words, but her father seemed to understand and left her to mourn. She kept going back and forth, shattered at the loss of the smaller girl one minute, then angry beyond rational thought at the stupid way they’d spent her last days arguing over such trivial things. She didn’t understand why Rana’s attraction to Larenmireil made her jealous, but if she would just come back then Greta would happily bless their wedding! If she would just come back.

A commotion outside the cart grew, and the ferry shook slightly as if caught on something. Greta looked up from Rana’s lifeless form to see Larenmireil running to the wagon, some filthy weed-covered thing in her arms...

“Greta! Greta, I have the sword! Drarilein retrieved it! Will it bring Rana back to us?” Larenmireil croaked and thrust the sword in through the window opening, handle first, several bits of water weeds slipping off to splat wetly on the cushion on which Rana lay. Greta felt a tiny spark of hope grow in her breast as she took the sword, and placed it in Rana’s arms.

Rana did not begin to breathe again, nor did she wake.

“No...” Greta moaned, her heart breaking completely as her last hope faded into nothing. Larenmireil keened agonizingly, and the behemoth picked up the sound, wailing with its own alien song of grief. Greta stopped crying for a moment as the song washed over her, eerie and haunting.

Then Rana shivered and drew a ragged breath.

Greta hardly dared believe her senses, but it happened again. Then Rana tensed up, arching off the cushion and out of Greta’s arms, her hoarse agonizing cry nearly driving Greta to hysterics, before she settled back down as if it never happened. Greta very carefully drew Rana’s head into her lap again, and let herself cry in relief as Rana’s breathing settled into the even rhythm of sleep, and Larenmireil climbed in through the window to join her, an arm comfortingly around her shoulders as Rana came back to the world.

As the pair cried together over Rana, Drarilein swam back to the fore of the great raft, collected his rope and once again began towing the ferry to its destination.

---

First there was darkness, and silence. And then a spark, tiny and weak, but compared to the silent darkness that spark was a sun, roaring with the sound of a thousand volcanoes erupting. The spark grew, and flew toward him on wings of flame. The spark took shape quickly, a dragon the color of flame, shimmering oranges and reds crossing its hide. It flew to him and breathed, white-hot liquid fire pouring over him harmlessly, filling his view with white for a moment. The dragon stopped before him, as if confused.

“Why do you yet live, human child? Why do I?” He had no answer for the dragon, whose voice he recognized dimly.

“You threw me away, discarded me in revulsion. Why did you do this? I am power to your kind.” She seemed even more confused than before, he thought.

“You’re cruel, and I have had enough of cruelty. I do not care one whit for your power! I would rather die than be treated like that again by someone I...” He stopped, had he been able to feel any kind of body for himself he would have bitten his lip.

“We shall see about that. Humans always want power, it is your nature. Your kind killed my kind, nearly completely, for power. You shall not have mine.”

“Keep it! Take it and leave me alone! Don’t you understand? I just want to go home...” He felt something pulling at him, and looked away from Granth, as she spoke one last time.

“You are an interesting one. I will think on what you have said.”

Then Rall took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. A hoarse scream wrenched itself from his raw throat as every nerve in his body caught fire, arching his back up off of the cushion for three heartbeats. And then it was gone, leaving him limp and exhausted, for a moment he thought he saw Greta hovering over him. Then darkness came to claim him once again but he did not fear it, the darkness was warm and comforting.

Dreams filled Rall’s head, images of home helping his mother at the bakery and playing solder with Arron past the west gate in the forest beyond, hunting pretend monsters and dragons. Then the dreams settled on the day of testing, nearly a year ago.

He and Arron had gone together to Academy for testing together, Arron of course went first, he always went first. Rall laughed when he came back out a minute later, he was rejected on the first test. Arron was undaunted, and came swaggering straight to him laughing the whole way, swinging his arm around Rall’s shoulder. “Well according to the proctor, how did he put it, I’m completely and utterly devoid of talent.” Leaning in close, he chuckled, “Well here’s your chance to beat me at something, hard to lose to a zero!”

He marched into the Academy with only one thing on his mind, crushing Arron. Just to show him up. He passed through each test with dogged determination; he was sure with each test he was failing horribly but he kept moving forward. The first room, housed a strange glowing white orb, which glowed softly when he touched it. The second held a book on a pedestal with strangely drawn letters that read like a child’s alphabet primer. The third where lay a lizard creature of some sort which simply slept as he walked quietly past. The tests were all strangely simple, not at all what he expected of the Academy of Magic. It wasn’t until the sixth room that he noticed that there was a rather large crowd of robed men and women of the academy following him with hushed whispers.

At the final test, a room where he felt vaguely uneasy but could find nothing in the room to explain why he learned the reason the sorcerers were following him. No previous apprentice had ever passed the final room on his first try. He heard speculation on his potential, comparing him to the greatest mages in the city! But mostly he remembered wishing they would stop making such a fuss, all he really wanted was to show Arron he really could be good at something. And he was.

After the testing his parents were excited; the idea that their son had the potential to become a powerful sorcerer was a dream come true, a chance for their offspring to aspire for greater heights than themselves. He recalled his first weeks of lecture at the academy, something that still haunted him. Word had gotten around fast that a genius baker’s boy had joined the Academy. Most students avoided him, others hurled insults, and when things couldn’t seem worse a letter came. A foreboding filled the edges of his consciousness as images of Xabriar flashed through his mind, a cold shiver ran down his back.

Master Xabriar had requested him as his apprentice, and it seemed like a perfect way out from the loneliness of the Academy. At least he would have a master to talk to, and learn from. If only he had known. He watched his dream self go on from there to apprentice under Xabriar, and shuddered a bit as he drifted towards his master’s tower. The months of pain and humiliation at Xabriar’s hands passed through his mind in a flash, like lightning lancing through the clouds in a particularly violent storm, and then he woke.

He was no longer in the wagon but rather a room with curved walls made of stone, delicately carved as if by thousands of years of wind, but in artistic shapes and functional designs wind would never produce on its own. A real bed supported him, with feather mattress and a privacy curtain to one side. He could hear soft breathing on the other side of the curtain, and curiosity drew him to peek around it. There he saw a man, fast asleep, a wet silk cloth wrapped around his head.

---

Arron followed Corana and the fairy through the trees, growing more lost by the minute. He didn’t dare look away from them, for fear of being lost forever in the savage lands. “Follow, follow him closely!” Thicket giggled in glee as he danced with chaotic glee under trees and brush which let him pass easily. Arron and Corana had to struggle with every narrow space and pricker bush along the way as they carefully traced his path.

Arron wasn’t quite sure when, but slowly the forest became blurry, surreal. It was like when he had spent a night drinking old ale at Kaygin’s with some of the initiate guards, but without the vomiting. Squeezing through a narrow fork in an old twisting tree he hopped down to the ground, and kept falling. The ground was gone, more then that the forest was gone! Blackness and red colored stars and moons where all he could see. He tumbled in the air, clawing for purchase as a cry of terror clawed its way from his throat, falling until he began to lose track of time. Then just as he resigned himself to falling forever in a bottomless fairy trap, cold water slapped his body with the force of a battering ram. He quickly righted himself, checking to find no harm had come to him, and then he saw them. Countless fairies of every shape and size, twisted and impossible bodies, all standing on or above the surface of the water, laughing at him. Corana was nowhere in sight.

“Alive, alive, it is alive!” a voice singsonged happily from the edge of the lake. Treading water for the moment, Arron strained his eyes. The moon’s red light did not make for best lighting but by his guess there were over twenty fairies surrounding his little pond.

“Where is Corana? What have you done with her?” Arron called out at them, spitting out a mouthful of water he’d picked up in the landing.

“He searches for his lost lover, he should have kept her in his arms! Now she dances with another, a new love now shall keep her warm!” The laughter rang out again from all around as a mocking voice called out in resonant song.

“Shh now,” rang a sweet soprano voice, “It’s been so long since a mortal came to grace us here.” Squinting, Arron watched a woman in flowing dress that closely hugged her impossibly curvy form. She swayed and danced through the gathering, leaping on the he surface of the water she continued slowly towards him, spinning and leaping, circling around him in a dizzying dance until she was upon him.

Smiling at him she offered her elegant hand as if to pull him up from the water. “Come,” she said, “Dance with me on the waters and lie with me on the sand.”

Grabbing her out stretched hand he was effortlessly pulled onto the surface of the water. Her face was a work of surreal perfection, viewed up close like this. She pulled him in tight pressing her chest into his, “Dance with me!”

He looked into her eyes, and began to dance. She led him in an otherworldly dance tiptoe on the water, and he felt the need for her grow. She was his world, his sky, his everything...

Splash. His toes dipped into the water again and he saw her clearly, hungry eyes and cruel mouth as if she wished to devour him. And then the vision passed, and perfection once again greeted his eyes.

“Tell me my lover, do you wish to know me as a man knows a woman?” Perfect lips whispered into his ear, sweet breath tickling warmly. He felt himself slip into her grasp again, and it felt so good to let go...

Splash. Again his toes dipped into the water, as the dance carried them over the surface, and again her cruel lips parted to show sharp, jagged teeth.

“You have but to tell me, my love, with whom shall I share myself, body and soul? What name shall I call out in passionate need?” Her fingers, again silky smooth and gentle, traced across his back as she spun him over the pond, the other fairies dancing around them in chaotic glee.

He felt his lips part, his tongue offer her the pittance she asked, as for a third time his toes touched the water.

“Ar-NO! You will not trick me!” Grasping her wispy shoulders in his calloused fingers, he shoved her aside. His feet struck the water but it held, as the other fairies snarled and surrounded him, still dancing. The woman fell against the water, and it splashed all over her gown, plastering the thin fabric to her frame.

“How? How can a mortal resist my advances? Tell me what you are! Give me your name!” Her voice sounded nothing like the sultry sound of before; now it was sharp and cracked like a whip.

Wobbling unsteadily on the fluid surface of the pond, Arron rubbed his eyes trying to clear his vision and mind. “Who are you... Where is Corana!”

Her body flickered on the surface of the water with in the blink of eye she was once again pressed against his chest holding his head with her elegant soft hands arms that would not yield. “Your name, lover.. tell me you name, please, I must know it!” His mind felt like syrup, thoughts drifted between panic and bliss for his new lover. He knew he was in trouble, but could not comprehend why.

“Your name, sing to me your name” she whispered. Between the confusion a warning , a voice of someone he should know repeated it self over and over again “Never tell a fairy your name...”

The other fairies slipped behind the woman in a phalanx, as if to somehow channel their strength into her words. His mind slipped further into confusion, but the warning still rang like the fading echoes of a temple bell through his head.

The mix of confusion and bliss manifested itself as a mind numbing terror that gripped the very depth of his soul. A fear for his very existence. He had to get away, so he struggled against the beautiful embrace of the goddess before him.

With each futile jerk of his muscles against the unyielding strength of his goddess his terror grew, swelling like a wave to wash over his mind. The world around his exploded as a wave swelled and grew, right before his eyes. The fairies milled about in confusion as their pond rose up against them, throwing them aside like rag dolls. The swell crested directly underneath the woman, and swallowed her whole pulling her deep into the pound.

Arron watched from above the surface as she struggled against the powerful undertow, she was slowly making her way towards the surface. Her aura of serenity and elegance had been replaced with cold hatred and rage. A cold Arron could also feel against his soul, a cold so bitter he could almost imagine the water crystallizing around her struggling body with each powerful stroke. She screeched letting out a torrent of bubbles as the water rapidly solidified around her, the ice stretched out from her body grasping and converting the water in the pound into a solid block of ice so cold the Arron could feel its bitter chill through the soles of his boots. As it ended, the water was frozen in a great crystal clear wave, the fanged, clawed woman frozen in the center of it. Other fairies were caught in the fringes, feet or legs or other bits frozen in the ice, though a rare few escaped the ice. None looked ready to approach him.

------

Corana kept up with Thistle, though only just. When he finally stopped, pushing aside a hanging mass of moss from a tree branch, he gestured for her to enter a clearing, where fairies gathered in a shrieking mass around a great stone. She could sense the power of the stone as she entered the clearing, a power as solid and unyielding as the mountains themselves.

“-and confuse, you choose you lose, you’ll never know the way to go, you move too slow, and in the end you’ll only tend the rocks in the fairy garden!” Laughter filled the clearing as the mass of fairies scattered from the rock and a new bunch gathered to sing more nonsense.

“Hello, honored guest.” A deep baritone voice spoke, sending a shiver down Corana’s spine. Some errant thought caused her to check if Arron noticed her reaction, but she found he was not there. A completely different shiver crawled through her, chilling her to the core. He was gone.

A fairy with obsidian black skin and an impressive masculine physique stepped forward, holding a rod of some dark wood and a golden cup. He wore robes of silver-and-gold silk, loosely belted so that they would roll open with his slightest motion, exposing his masculine pride for all to see.

“Please, join us. Do not mind our other guest, I assure you he will not disturb you. Would you like some wine? Servants, a thimbleful for our guest!” Before she could respond a cup was placed in her hands, a golden goblet larger than a king’s. She decided to ignore it.

“Please, I came with a companion, may I see him? I would not have him miss a party such as this!” She gestured with the cup, not coincidentally sloshing much of it out to the ground. To her dismay the goblet simply refilled itself in her hands.

“My cousin, Pond, Queen of the black court tends to him, I assure you he will be taken care of quite adequately.” Corana fought the urge to grind her teeth at that, but kept her calm.

“She will release him immediately.” Or perhaps she didn’t have her temper under quite the control she meant to.

“Oh, dear, is this jealousy? Do not fret dear, for you see, he won’t distract your thoughts for long. Why don’t you drink.” She felt the enchantment, insidious and creeping, and averted her eyes.

“Do not try your tricks on me, creature, I am a sorceress of the third order!” She clamped down on her tongue, not wanting to give him anything to use against her.

“Oh, I see! How honored we are to have one of your vaunted rank in our presence! Well, if you will not drink, perhaps we should move on to the night’s entertainment!” He waved with the wooden rod and the fairies singing at the rock scattered, much like the ones before them. The rock then unfolded into a vaguely humanoid form. Two large slabs of granite acted as feet connected to a collection of floating stones of all shapes and sizes that made up its torso. Its arms were of similar construction to its legs. To top it all off a rough floating stone made up its head, much like a typical golem, although she had to admit to herself she had never actually seen one. The magics to construct them were too unpredictable and so were banned.

“Dance for us, god of the earth!” The fairies flitted about the earth god, moving in fast, wild patterns around him, as he reached for them, always too slow to grasp one in his great rock fist. Then as one they flew away from him, just out of reach. He took a step, and the ones he was facing would fly away, until he was running after them with thundering booms at each step. The fairies laughed and sang more insults, but he could not capture them.

“Are you enjoying the show, honored guest? We have enjoyed his visit... how would you mortals call it, years I think! The little ones find him great sport! The bravest actually touch him.” The purely black fairy grinned handsomely at her, but she watched the tormented god with sad eyes.

Corana paused as she studied the creature and its fruitless efforts, hardly believing what she was witnessing. “Why do you treat him so? Is he the earth god of this land? What has he done to you to deserve this?”

The fairy king looked from her to the earth god, then back. “He came to our lands as a guest, much like yourself. If he wished not to dance and play then he should not have come. Now drink! So we might play and dance.” His voice filled her ears and his will pressed into her head. The cup sloshed in her hand, overflowing with the sweetest smelling wine bouquet imaginable, and before she realized it the cup was at her lips. Taking control of her hand by sheer will, she dropped the goblet.

The king waved of his hand a great throne appeared before him. Taking a seat he frowned as he stared into Corana’s eyes. “You mortals can be so difficult, drink and enjoy! Centuries of bliss and laughter will be yours. Just a sip to quench your parched throat. With your sorcery you could be my queen...” His voice was as smooth as silk to her ears, seductive.

A raging roar that thundered like an avalanche pulled her mind back from the thickening fog of the fairy king’s charms. She kicked the goblet aside and drew her birch wand, for all the good it would do her. Even the magnifying and focusing affect would not be enough to help her overcome this many of the fae. But the rockslide roar once again sounded, as the earth god caught the arm of a fairy who had danced close to touch him. A sickening wet crunch followed the roar.

A chorus of screeches of panic and fear echoed across the meadow. Corana watched as the gory remains of the fairy dripped like sludge through the earth god’s stone fingers. “Now look at what you have done!” Bellowed the King, a look of pure rage flashing over his face. He turned and raised his dark wooden rod threateningly at the earth god, and Corana recognized her only chance to act. She cast one of her most basic spells, augmented through the wand: a barrier, to protect the earth god from magic. Her shield couldn’t have come at a better time as a red flash of lightning snaked through the air towards the earth god, only to explode against Corana’s ward.

Gasping for breath Corana turned towards the fairy king as he screamed at her. “What have you done? He will kill us all!” Another nauseating crunch rang out, followed by more screams.

“Then set him free. I will lead him away from here. You give us our freedom, and I will prevent him killing more of your kind.” She noted out of the corner of her eye, the earth god chasing the fairies, he moved much faster as the moss and plants that had grown in his rocky flesh crumbled away. Clearly the fairies had used growing things to weaken the stone, but their magic was now prevented from doing so.

“No mortal may see this place and leave!” the king shouted, further enraged at the possibility, waving his rod threateningly.

“Then flee with your life or die with your people, for earth is slow to anger and even slower to calm. In minutes nothing will remain of this place but broken sticks and bodies. At least my death at his hands will be quick, rather than the eternity of service you demand.” She stood calmly amid the chaos, as more fairies died.

“Fine! You may go!” The king waved his rod, and the trees parted beside him. The earth god roared again, with the sound of a thousand tons of grinding rock.

“What of my companion?” Corana demanded, worried now for Arron in the clutches of the fairy woman, Pond.

The king sneered, “He is with the black court, seek him yourself if you wish. But then my cousin is not as kind as I, he is surely her thrall by now. To find her court, follow the black lilies to the east. They will guide you to her, may she kill both you and this cursed god! Now take him and leave!”

“Then command your people to get away from him and stop moving. I will draw his attention and lead him away.” As the king told his people to stop, Corana spoke and danced, her one arm guiding the birch wand in a complex pattern. In moments, the fairies appeared to take up their dance, and follow it out the opening. The earth god, lost in his rage, paid no heed to the unmoving fairies remaining behind, and followed the fluttering illusions out between the parted trees with Corana silently chasing behind.

Slurping back the tea Rall stared at the sword. “We need to talk I think.”

(A little note from the authors: Next week there will likely be no posting, we're taking the week off to recharge, and maybe catch up a bit on the lead that helps us be sure of continuity. Bear with us through the postponement, more will be forthcoming the following week.)

High above the mountains the moon shone brightly in the heavens. Then a dark shape crossed the light, casting a terrible shadow on the land below. Hideous leathery wings beat with a sulfurous stench, the twisted body to which they belonged glowing with a hateful red sheen. On its back, a man in black robes held up a clawed staff in defiance of the night sky and the bitter chilled wind.

A night and a day had passed since he had summoned the creature into the world and began his trip across leagues of land deep into the western mountains. These were unexplored lands marked simply as unnamed mountains and forests on maps of the world. But legends spoke of a great volcano deep in the wilds where demons once ruled the land and unspeakable horrors walked the earth. A natural gateway into the hells. As the story went the First used this very volcano for his own ascension at the dawn of man; stealing it away from the demon hoards who claimed ownership he turned its awesome forces to his own purposes, and in consuming his body in its fires his essence transcended the mortal plane. It was said that even now the demons hated all mankind for the trespass and theft of the energies from their own demesne.

It was from there that he could open a gateway safely into the hells to bargain with the Lord of the forgotten names.

---

Rall struggled to cast off the thick wool blanket that he had curled up into like a cocoon. Once free he rubbed the blurriness from his eyes and stretched. “Ah, the child awakes from her sleep of death.” called a voice from the corner of the room obscured behind drapes of silk and wool.

“Hello? Where am I?” He wanted to ask more but his head still felt a little groggy, like he’d slept far too long and his voice felt weak and breathy

“You’re in the healing home at Windrunner Village. I am Eludrale, the elder healer. How do you feel? Any aches or pains lingering?” Rall took stock of himself, he did feel a little different, but nothing hurt really. He just felt somewhat disconnected.

“No... I feel a little weird, but not hurt.”

“Good, good, that would be the calming tea. You thrashed around quite vigorously for a time. You should be more careful with things that are so closely tied to your life.”She smiled at Rall’s confusion then nodded towards the sword laying next to his side.

Rall pushed himself away from the decaying sword “I threw it away on purpose. It hates me, and I’d rather die than share my life with something that hates me. But I guess I can’t get away from it that easy.”

“Oh no you could, Larenmireil nearly sung her throat raw to find your sword. A reckless thing that you did with the hearts of those that love you, throwing that sword away. A life is never owned by she who lives it, it is shared by all those who care for her. Do you understand?” Rall nodded reluctantly.

A deep feeling of shame washed over him, clenching his chest like a vice. He hadn’t been thinking about his friends or family. Just the anger at being turned into the personal slave of an over sized reptile .

“What am I supposed to do then? Make friends with a dragon in a sword? Is that even possible? She’s a monster, if I help her she’ll just kill people.” Eludrale bent to collect a pot of hot water and a tray, and poured sweet-smelling tea for both herself and Rall as she eased herself into a chair next to the bed.

“A monster, you say? Why don’t I tell you a little story from when I was young. You see, nearly a thousand years ago, dragons roamed the land as freely as we do now. They had homes, they mated, had families and had a place in the tapestry of life. Elves, men, dwarves, we were new to this land, and the dragons paid little mind as we carved out pieces of the land they called home. They didn’t mind sharing, and some even looked fondly on our kind, in the way you might look fondly of a pet dog. No, they did not consider us their equals, but hubris is part of the nature of all thinking beings.

So, as the numbers of men grew, more and more of the dragons’ land disappeared. They came to us then, demanding that we cease our theft. Some, such as the elves and dwarves, chose to stop and simply hold what we had. But humankind, with your ever increasing numbers, could not stem their growth and expansion. I do not mean to cast blame, it is simply the way of things. Had humans stopped their land expansion, countless of your people would have died of starvation.

The dragons continued to pressure humanity, razing farms and livestock, and tension grew on all sides. War was unavoidable. So, the human mages planned ahead for the war to come, creating weapons and spells to combat the great dragons with their mighty fire and magic.

When the first true attack came to the nations of men they held firm, parrying the attack. With the aid of some of the greatest spell casters of their time, they held the dragons’ fire back. But the cost in lives was dreadful. The dragons are a force unto themselves, but they are arrogant creatures and most never cooperated with each other even in a common goal. It was this very trait that allowed mortal men to hold back the flames, but despite this slim advantage the magic of mortals could do little to hurt the great beasts.

The war raged for 200 years, a very short time for dragons, but an eternity for men. Generations of men lived and died fighting in a hopeless war that would not end. Most did not understand that the dragons would not band together, so the humans saw their death looming over every horizon, thinking the dragons simply toying with them before the final strike.

It was in these desperate times men turned to the old faiths, inviting the gods of their ancestors to these new lands, and those gods did come. ‘Dies iudicii’ is what I believe what your people called in your old tongue, it means day of judgement. The sky split open as the avatars of the gods walked the earth calling the stars down from the heavens like rain. The world burned that day and much was lost. In the span of hours the dragons were reduced from thousands to hundreds then to dozens. It was the wholesale destruction of an entire race, a fate unthinkable to all. When all was done only a handful of dragons still walked the land.

But, as the dragons began to understand their loss most fled, finding new homes. The last few who remained were those who still saw hope for the humans. They understood what drove the two races to such ends, and rather than flee or die, they took up the form of humans. I met one such person, his name was Basarth. He took the form of a large man, and joined a farming community recovering from the war. This farming community was not far from here, just across the River Tessarill, so I came to meet this dragon and recognized him for what he was. He pleaded that I not reveal him, so I watched as he helped rebuild the community, fell in love with a human woman named Jora, and sired three children.

Baranth was a man of honor and integrity, not a monster, and when a dragon driven mad by loss attacked the village years later, it was he who fought that dragon. He transformed back to his original form and drove his mad cousin away, at the cost of his family, for they could not accept him once he gave himself away. Only a month later, his family was murdered, for the other humans could not accept them either. When Baranth found out, he did not take the revenge some feared he would, and instead flew over the horizon and has never returned.

So you see, child, it is not the form that makes someone good or evil, man or monster, it is the actions taken by that person. Humans are just as capable of becoming monsters as any thinking being, and dragons just as capable of compassion.”

As the elf healer came to the end of her story, Rall realized he hadn’t moved, had scarcely dared breathe as she spoke. Her words carried the weight of lifetimes of experience, and the message imparted left him breathless.

“I never knew... The myths speak of murderous beasts destroying whole cities! The human gods killed them all?”

“Killed them, drove them away, or trapped them in devices such as yon sword. Such craftsmanship is beyond mortal hands. But someone has gone and broken that seal, and your dragon is dying, just as surely as are you. The question is, will you spend your remaining lives hating each other?” Having said her piece, the healer woman finished her tea and stood up.

“You should drink your tea, it will soothe your worries and allow you to truly think clearly. It’s also quite a pleasant flavored blend, I drink it every day.” She smiled and left the room again, leaving the door partially ajar.

Slurping back the tea Rall stared at the sword. “We need to talk I think.”

---

The small mountain of ice creaked and groaned, filling the air with a chill mist and turning Arron’s breath into fog. The fairies did not break free as he stood, stunned for the longest moment, though the queen’s eyes glared hatefully at him through the clear crystal of her prison.

Arron turned to walk away, but stopped as he approached the bank of the pond. A young-looking fey woman struggled with her foot frozen into the iced waters. At his look she froze stiff not from the cold but unrestrained fear, still like a wild animal as a predator approached.

“Please! Don’t kill me. I...I...I...” she half whispered with fluorescent green tears running down her face. “Please...” He couldn’t bear the terror in her eyes, and paused to answer.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. You all forced this, I just want to find Corana and leave. You have nothing to fear from me, if you won’t stop me leaving.”

“It was only a game!” she cried out. “Your lover comes this way, please, if you’ll release us none will bar your way. You can’t leave us trapped like this forever!” Arron thought about it, but he wasn’t really sure how he managed to freeze the water or control it the way he had. Besides which, he didn’t trust any of them. Still, he couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the diminutive blue-skinned faerie woman. He tried to imagine the water around her trapped foot flowing, dripping, melting away, and it seemed to work.

“The rest will be freed when the ice melts. I intend to be far gone from here before then. You will let me pass?” He asked warily, half expecting her to attack. She stepped aside meekly, not apparently harmed at all from the freezing of her foot.

“You will find your mate if you follow the black lilies. When you do, flee, for the king and queen are both wrathful! They will find you and punish you if you remain in the Fair Lands!”

---

Rall sat on the bed and drew the sword onto his lap. The sheathed weapon looked much as he remembered it, but somehow seemed more fragile, less solid. He drew the blade and found it marred by deep cracks and new lines of rust and tarnish.

“Are you a monster? Or do you know compassion? I need to know. I would rather die than become a monster. What will I become?”

Closing his eyes Rall waited, the room was silent but for the soft breathing of another sleeping patient and the light breeze that blew through the room. He listened harder, tuning out the sounds around him, it was a bit like what Martello had taught him about trying to see past the world. He tried to listen past the world to hear what couldn’t be heard.

With each breath he listened and slowly the world drained away until only one sound remained. His own heartbeat faded slowly into silence, as he listened to the sword.

“So, you’ve finally come to listen to me, girl child?” whispered a ragged voice.

Rall nodded “I didn’t know how. But now I can hear you.”

“It was a terrible thing you did casting me away. Your life is all that holds this seal together now.” It replied, slightly stronger.

Rall whispered bitterly, “I already threw my life away once. Is it worth keeping, knowing you will live too?”

“You could choose to end my existence with a single flex of your arm, the blade will part. Will you finish what your kind started?” He could feel her sadness, even though the whispered voice betrayed none of it. She was weary, and afraid, but mostly she felt remorse.

“I didn’t start it. Nor my father, nor my grandfather, nor anyone I can even imagine ever having met. Until this month I thought dragons were stories to scare children to bed”

“Would it be so easy for you to forgive? My mate was killed by human magic, before my eyes. Even after centuries in this prison I yet long for him. Would you not seek vengeance if your woman were killed?”

“I don’t know, Granth. But if you’re willing to try, I am willing to try to understand. But do I have to become a dragon? It scares me.”

“Girl child... Rall. it is not by choice, neither of us can stop what has begun. But it is nothing to fear, you will continue to be you, regardless of the form you take. I can in time show you ways to change your form if you wish to hide some of your improvements... If we live that is.”

Uncertain, he took a breath. “So we are still dying then? But i feel better now...”

“We are at a crossroads. We live or die by your choice. But I am desperately weak, and will need more of my own life energy back, if you choose to live with me.”

The the idea of being part dragon seemed bearable, given the alternative, if he could remain himself at least. “I am, I think, willing to live with you. But must I be a girl?”

Granth pause at the question almost uncertain “Is that not who you are? My nature is to bear new life, so must your nature be of the same... If your nature were that of a male, our energies would consume each other violently. Our bond would not be.”

Rall felt the blood pound in his ears as he realized what that meant. The sword wasn’t changing him into a girl? What *was* doing it then? A roaring gale filled his head, rattling breaths grinding in his ears agonizingly, and then it was gone, only the gentle snore nearby and the rustle of the curtain in the breeze breaking the silence. He drew several gasping breaths before his pounding pulse settled into calm again.

A knock at the door sent it right back up, before Greta peeked inside the still-open door.

“Oh, you’re awake! Eludrale said you might sleep more. May I... come in?” Larenmireil’s face appeared above Greta’s, looking just as anxious.

“Yes, both of you, please. I need to apologize to you both anyway.” Greta rushed into the room diving into Rall chest crying.

“You idiot, don’t you dare go and die on me again!” Larenmireil followed close behind her, with a thoughtful expression and eyes red-rimmed from crying. When she spoke her voice sounded hoarse and raw.

“Please don’t do anything so rash again, Rana. I would be... very sad to lose you, after only having just met you. Life is fragile and short enough without ending it early.” Rall nodded, holding Greta as she sobbed into his chest. He knew his choice to try to work things out with Granth had to be the right one now, he couldn’t bear to make either of these girls cry over him ever again.

“I am sorry. I promise I won’t do anything like that again.”

Punching Rall in the shoulder Greta lifted her face, her soft lips hovering inch from his own “You better not, or else I beat you to a bloody pulp-” she suddenly lurched forward, eyes wide, and her lips met his. It was explosive, she was angry but at the same time not-angry, and once it started she kissed him like she might keep him alive with her passion. When she finally pulled away he found himself breathless and filled with some burning need he couldn’t quite fully comprehend.

“You... You!” Greta turned around to glare at Larenmireil hotly.

Larenmireil simply smiled, “Turnabout is fair play as they say. Besides, you two seem to have enjoyed it...” Greta might have lunged at her, but Rall’s next comment drew her up short.

“There’s more. Granth says she’s not the one changing me. That she couldn’t have ever bonded with a boy in the first place. I don’t know what that means for sure, but it sounds like I’m going to change the rest of the way and stay that way. So, maybe you don’t want to kiss me like that or something...” He hung his head, feeling ashamed and sad and upset but mostly confused. Larenmireil’s slender finger under his chin lifted his head back up to face her directly.

“Among the elves we have a saying, developed since we met humans and realized your strange ways. ‘You love who you love, not what they are.’ We do not restrict such things the way humans often do.” Greta nodded from the side.

“Besides, compared to watching you die, what’s a little change like that? I’ll take you however I can get you, so long as you don’t die again.” Rall wasn’t sure what to say to that, on top of everything else. It didn’t matter to them, they would accept him even as a girl? It wasn’t like he wasn’t pretending to be one for months now anyway. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

---

Cale lay still breathing slowly, his mind was abuzz with a hundred muddled nonsensical thoughts. The healing tea was a powerful sedative, but he had trained his body to resist toxins and it left his mind clear enough to understand the discussion going on so close to him.

The chattering of the girls in the far end of the room bothered him for the longest time. It took several minutes to recognize the voice. Xabriar’s order reverberated in his mind; he was here to kill this girl and her friend. But a small part of his mind not muddied by the drugs kept him silent and still.

The conversation between the three was very informative if not quite shocking. The one with the sword, Rana, she was a boy before and turning into a girl? In his cloudy mind he couldn’t quite make sense of it, nonetheless it sounded quite useful. Maybe he could use it to drive a wedge into her companions to separate them. But this was a thought for later when his mind was clearer, he need to recover first, gather his things and prepare... Closing his eyes he allowed himself to drift back to sleep, confident in the knowledge they would not be leaving any time soon.

---

The earth god moved fast, faster with each step it seemed. Corana could scarcely keep up, especially with the illusion taxing her strength. She had to get him far enough away that he could not easily return, though likely the fairy king would not again grant him entry anyway. But as her energy ebbed, the fairy illusions grew less and less substantial, fading like mist into the air.

The Earth god raged and roared, but no fairies presented themselves, and she was cautious to keep well away from him, hiding as she tried to catch her breath in the chaos of his anger. Long minutes he raged, the ground trembling and rolling under his feet, uprooting trees and disturbing creatures, but slowly he settled down to a low grumble.

Slipping from behind a tree she walked into the clearing. The earth god silently observed as she hesitantly approached. The earth god stood still for the longest time, for a moment then nodded its head. She approached then, taking that for permission, and placed her hand on the stone where it resembled a shoulder.

“Did the fairies cause you any harm, great Earth God?” She thought it couldn’t hurt to show him due courtesy. The earth god nodded, turning over it hand exposing a long thin crack through the gray rock. Dark muddy water dripped from the opening in a way the remind Corana of blood.

“That looks awful... I am a sorceress, perhaps I can heal it with my magic?” The great stone god shook his head again, then pointed to the east. In the distance, the mountains dominated the horizon, sharp like jagged teeth protruding from the earth against the darkening evening sky.

“I must find my companion before we leave, he will be helpless in the hands of the fairy queen. I only hope he has been able to last, if she makes him speak his name to her, I may never be able to save him...” She turned west to follow the black lilies growing from the ground, and came face to face with Arron.

“You might be surprised how helpless I’m not, against the wiles of a woman I do not love. But we don’t really have time to talk about it, she will be following and I don’t know how long we have.” He looked over his shoulder as if expecting the queen and her court to appear from the setting sun at any moment. She could not help but take him seriously, even as she wondered how he accomplished an escape.

“The earth god is wounded, that may mean some harm has befallen the land. I think if we travel with him, they might be cautious about approaching us, and perhaps we can help him to heal.” The great stone man beside her nodded, startling Arron, and began to walk to the east. Corana shrugged, motioned Arron to follow, and joined him.

---

Hours passed as they walked thought the undergrowth. Arron took the lead, thrashing away tree branches and vines with his sword to help clear the path. In the distance he could see the mountains through the top of the tree canopy, slowly growing in his field of vision.

Turning back towards Corana and the stone giant to ensure that they where both in sight. He didn’t quite trust the stone giant alone with her. Turning back his eyes caught sight of the sun, already rising in the east. He was quite certain it had only set a couple of hours ago. He watched as they continued, curious at the strange turn of events, and the could almost imagine he saw it moving across the sky.

“Corana, the sun...” She nodded at him behind the earth god’s back.

“I noticed too. Time does not flow the same in the lands the fae have claimed as it does in our lands. It is... chaotic, much like the fae themselves.” Arron watched the sun in glimpses, until he tripped over a tree root and rammed his cheek into the larger part of the root.

“Are you alright, Arron? We have to be careful. This place is still quite dangerous.” Corana offered tactfully.

“I’m fine, I just misstepped.” he replied uncertainly. He was no awkward oaf, in fact he had some of the best balance and foot work of his squadron in the city guard. Examining the root he wondered how he had approached so quickly, when he last looked it was three paces a head of him. Dusting himself off he picked up his sword and took point once again, the streaking sun across the sky falling into the background of his mind.

The pace continued, with the forest getting thicker as they progressed. The undergrowth was a hindrance but Arron’s sword made progress easier. “Should we make camp?” Arron called. Turning back when no one replied he was meet by an empty trail. “Corana?” he called out, his heart suddenly dropping around his knees.

Gripping his sword he slowly began to backtrack, the taste of copper on the back of his tongue. “CORANA!” he shouted to no avail. It was then that he noticed the forest was far too quiet. In the dead silence of the forest the creaking of wood sound like a thundering bolt of lightning.

Jumping to the side in a flash of instinct he gasped as a thick tree root whipped at terrifying speed below his feet. It cut through other tree roots and brush like a knife, leaving a jagged line of destruction in its path. He dove aside again as a branch whipped through the space he’d paused to look, heavy and deadly.

Before he could even catch his breath the earth it self shook, splitting open the forest floor. A deafening sound of rock crushing rock echoed ahead of him. Grasping his sword tight, Arron ran across the shacking ground towards the sound, hoping desperately it was what he thought it might be. A great stone hand erupted from the earth right in front of him, causing him to skid to a stop to avoid a collision, and then the earth god pulled himself from the ground, hand over hand. When he cleared the opening, Corana followed, covered in fine dirt.

“Tree god or something, trying to kill me!” he summed up, rushing past the earth god, who simply stood and waited.

The tree approached quickly, roots pulling up and carrying it around like feet, limbs swinging ponderously, heavily in Arron’s direction. But the earth god somehow was in the way, no matter where it swung. The tree seemed uninterested in attacking the earth god, and the earth god simply did not move, and yet the clash of wills filled the air with an electric intensity.

In an instant the decision was made, the tree lashed out against the earth god. The stone man took the strike with a shudder, chips of rock flying off with a crack, then unfolded again and one stone fist took hold of the branch and twisted. A deafening snap left the large branch broken at the trunk of the tree, hanging limply by the flexing fibers connecting it still. The tree lashed out again, and another branch broke against the rock’s strength. The tree kept attacking and the earth god simply kept breaking branches off until the tree lay trembling, a ruined trunk on the forest floor.

“What in the hells was that all about? I didn’t do anything to that tree!” Arron gasped from behind the earth god as the downed trunk shuddered again in a broken attempt to get up and fight still.

“It is an aspect of the forest god. Perhaps driven mad by the fairies and the encroaching of the boundary of the savage land. I can not guess why it came for you, but I would prefer not to wait for it to grow again and explain to us.”

---

“Wow, this place is amazing!” Rana remarked as she spun around slowly to take in the vast gorge cut deep into the mountainside. To the left and right of her were sheer cliffs lined with caves, all linked by an interlocking network of roped bridges connecting both sides of the vast gorge. Greta watched her excited friend with a small smile, more entranced by Rana than by the scenery.

Larenmireil smiled and continued to explain the history of the Windrunner caves. “The caves were carved in the cliff before even we elves settled here, by the wind.”

Rana nodded as she looked up the cliffside where many hundreds of natural wind-carved caves dotted its face.

“We’ve added our own touches of course, but we used mind magic to do so. That’s why there are no sharp corners, everything is smooth and flowing like this. We try very hard to keep the natural beauty of this place alive, as a way of venerating the goddess of the wind who visits the mountain top constantly. It is her home, as much as wind can ever have a home.” Larenmireil explained, as she guided Rana and Greta among the caves. Sculpted walkways zigzagged up the face of the cliff from one cave to another, much like streets in a city, but far cleaner.

Greta listened quietly, watching the two of them discuss the mostly-natural architecture. She’d heard the explanation when she was younger and seen it several times since, but it still amazed her. Even so, most of her attention was on Rana and Larenmireil. She was so grateful Rana was alive, and she really did love both her and Larenmireil. She just wasn’t sure *how* she loved them anymore. She couldn’t deny she was jealous of the way Rana felt about Larenmireil, but was it friendship jealousy or love jealousy? Could she even love a girl like that, since Rana was apparently going to be a girl regardless of her wants?

Larenmireil grabbed both their arms, pulling them past a series of turns up the mountain path. “This is my favorite spot!” she giggled while waving towards Mount Erdrissar. Greta watched Rana’s eyes bug open as she took in the view. From their position they could see the entire back side of the mountain with its frosted snow-covered peaks.

“It’s so tall...” Greta heard Rana mutter in awe.

“And beautiful... at night if you watch the peaks you can sometimes see the Goddess dance. She fills the sky with swirling colors and lights, like a great shining curtain hanging from the sky! She tells us things, too, the elders spend weeks just listening to her. She brings news of all things, great and small.”

“Is she visiting now, Larenmireil? It would be wonderful if we could all watch her together tonight.” Greta asked, with a glance to Rana, “If Madame Eludrale allows it of course. Remember, we can’t keep Rana out here long or she’ll come looking for us.”

“I’m afraid not, the goddess has not been seen for many months now.”

“Many months? Isn’t that strange though? I thought she visited often!” Larenmireil shook her head at Greta’s question.

“She usually does, but the gods do as they will, and occasionally she does not come for years even.” Laenmireil answered. Rana still seemed overwhelmed by the beauty of the space, or maybe just stunned by the towering cliffs hanging overhead.

Greta felt her heart sink, the goddess dance was something she had seen only once when she was a child. She had hoped this year she final be able to catch it. “We’d better get back then, I’ll bet you’re hungry Rana.”

“I wish she was here too. That dance sounds like a really wonderful thing to see. I bet even Granth would enjoy it.”

Greta paused for a moment “She can see and listen to us?” For some reason the idea that a dragon had been spying on them their whole trip was unsettling

“I’m... not sure. I hadn’t really thought about it, but... Hmmm, she couldn’t even talk to me until the other day, so I guess probably not. I don’t know though. I mean, I had this weird dream where I met her face to face, sort of... I don’t know how much of it was real or a dream even.”

“Come on, let’s go eat. Essinobria makes the most wonderful baked goods in the village, and she always has extra to sell to travellers. Her longfruit and nut bread will make you want to stay forever!” Larenmireil took up both Rana’s and Greta’s hands and led the way, and Greta decided not to worry about the dragon for now.

She felt her legs turning to lead and her side ache as if pierced by a sharp knife. She knew her limit had been reached but kept going anyway. Even so it surprised her when the ground jumped up and hit her in the face.

Larenmireil led the two to Essinobria’s home. The two girls tromping around behind her didn’t seem to understand that it was a home, not a bakery, but humans commonly made that mistake and she didn’t bother to correct them, there would be time to explain that later around a fire. She knew they had many things to speak of this night.

Her friend Greta was acting differently this visit. Perhaps it was the circumstances of Rana’s sudden illness, death and reawakening, but she thought maybe it was more. She always wondered why Greta never took interest in her, but apparently she’d found someone to love, after all. Larenmireil couldn’t blame her, something about Rana drew her as well, an innocence, or perhaps a strength. Perhaps something beyond definition.

“Here we are, can you smell her ovens? Essinobria, it’s Larenmireil.” she called out at the doorway, waiting patiently to be invited in.

The creaking of the old wooden door brought a quick smile to Larenmireil face as she watch her good friend face peek out from the door frame. “Welcome, Larenmireil Lassdirlhá»n and honoured guests”

“We thank you for your welcome, Essinobria. Greta you know, and please meet Rana, of Lussax. she is a good friend as well.”

Essinobria smiled then took Rana’s hand, “You have been through much troubles it seems, but let me relieve you of one,” Pulling to girl in past the door, she offered a motherly grin. “I have many baked goods, please take what you wish and eat your fill.”

Larenmireil stiffed a giggle at Rana’s ecstatic expression as she looked about the room filled with honey buns, freshly baked biscuits, and fruit breads. Something about the place seemed to strike a chord with her. She spared Essinobria a grateful glance and picked up a honeyed cake. Larenmireil for her part waited for the others to choose before taking anything for herself. It would be discourteous to do otherwise after all.

“Is that all? You’re growing girls, you need more than that to eat. Why don’t I pack you up a picnic and you can relax out on the canyon floor. The ovens make my cave a bit hot this time of day.” Suiting words to action, she began packing a sack with waxed-paper wrapped treats as the girls enjoyed the fresh hot baked goods.

With Essinobria’s suggestion the three girls made their way to the canyon floor to a quiet corner where a large campfire was already roaring. The sun was quickly setting with the last rays of light illuminating the west in a pale red glow.

“So anyway, what’s the wind goddess like?” Rana asked her with the kind of enthusiasm so common in humans. She smiled, it always made her feel excited too, somehow.

“She’s beautiful, and always changing. Sometimes she’s a bird, or a swirling wind, or a beautiful elf, or even a human. Sometimes she changes from one to another so fast you can hardly keep track. Other days she stays in one form for hours, depending on her mood. She loves puzzles and riddles, some of our elders spend all their days just thinking up new riddles to give to her.”

“Are you sure that’s not just an excuse to laze around all day drinking wine?” Greta asked, which Larenmireil couldn’t help but laugh at. It was undoubtedly true. “Well, I wouldn’t ask them that.”

“Rana, so what are your plans? Will you continue to follow the caravan?” she asked, then regretted the question immediately as she witnessed an almost palpable sadness flash across the young girls face.

“I... I just want to go home.” she choked. Larenmireil leaned forward to hug the poor girl, she really was just a child after all, and found herself hugging Greta as well. Greta was mumbling in her ear, but Larenmireil could hear it easily enough.

“No, Rana, not back to him, he’ll only hurt you again... Can’t your home be with us now, with Father’s caravan? You know we care for you very much. No one will hurt you with us.”

“But...I want to see my mother and father!” She silently sobbed but somehow kept it to a whisper that threaten to break at any moment.

“Wait, but your friend said your mother died, and your father beat you...?” Greta sounded confused, and Larenmireil was as well. She’d not yet actually heard of Rana’s past.

“No, Mother and Father own a bakery, just like Essinobria, they were always good to me. Arron just wanted to make sure my master, Xabriar, couldn’t track me so he made that up. Master Xabriar beat me often though, with magic whips made of air, and he used to hang me over the stair way and threaten to drop me!”

Greta grab the girl in a powerful hug. “It’s okay. We’ll get you back home then.”

“But I can’t go home...” Look up into Greta face Rana sniffed “ Xabriar will find me and kill them and me! And I took his sword too… And the sword. I-I-I’m still going to die when Granth dies and, and....”

Lightly holding Rana’s head, Greta hushed the girl, “Shhhh, calm down... Everything will be fine, I promise.”

Larenmireil slipped around the two girls to seat herself behind Rana. she slowly began to rub her shoulders, a relaxation technique that the village healer had taught her. Leaning forward until her mouth rested next to Rana ears she whisper in her sing song voice “All will be well... calm yourself.” Rana did seem to calm down, but Larenmireil kept massaging her shoulders anyway.

“Yeah. You have two really good friends here who love you very much. We’ll help you, somehow we’ll fix all of this so that you can safely go home. You just have to trust us, okay?” Greta offered as well, comfortingly.

“You mean it? You love me?” Something about Rana seemed desperate, alone. Larenmireil couldn’t help being moved once again by the girl who seemed so lost.

“Rana, I have known you only for a few days, the mere blink of an eye, but I have come to love you. You inspire trust and love in those you meet because you are so genuine, and for that I love you very much. There is nothing about you that does not draw me.” Greta nodded her agreement as well, offering her own words.

“Rana, since the moment I met you I wanted to protect you. You seemed so scared and alone. And when I saw you bathing, all I could think of was, what could be such a desperate need that would drive a boy to dress as a girl, just to get away? But throughout our capture and escape, during our time travelling in the wilds with almost nothing but our wits, I always knew I could trust you. Yes, Rana, I love you.”

“Th-thank you... I love you both so much, I don’t know what I would do without either of you. I know that’s wrong of me but I can’t help how I feel. I... When Granth said those awful things to me, I just felt like everything was spinning out of control, that maybe no one could really love me. Especially turning into something... not human.”

An owl called out, and all three turned their heads in surprise.

---

Cale slowly walked himself away from the healer’s cave, despite the old elf’s insistence that he rest. A part of him truly wished take her advice, the medicine had cured his nausea but his agility and balance where far from normal. But his pride wouldn’t allow for his marks to live another day longer, they had to die tonight. He made his way over the ramps with a casual stride, listening for the sounds of that girl Rana and her friend Greta’s voices.

An hour later his search bore fruit as he lay flat to the sandy ground of the cliff. The growing darkness and the shadow of the mountain hid him well as he peered his head over the side. Sitting at a bench in front of a camp fire couple dozen feet below was the girl Rana and her friend. They were eating sweetbreads from a bag resting between the three and talking about the wind goddess. He had little use for gods, natural or otherwise, but he listened anyway, in case their words might somehow offer an opportunity to exploit.

As he listened his mind raced in how he was going to kill the little twat. It seemed in his sleep the elves had confiscated most of his weapons, including his bow and blow tube. That left him with just a couple of hidden daggers and some poison. It wasn’t much compared to his regular arsenal of choices, especially considering how resilient the girl with the sword proved.

Pulling his dagger from it hidden sheath in his leather vest and a tiny wrapped vial from a hidden compartment in the heel of his left boot, Cale slowly dripped a black liquid from the small bottle over the edge of the blade, scowling as he did so. The dagger was one of his favorites, well balanced and of good steel, but would soon be worthless once the poison seeped completely through the metal, turning it as brittle as clay.

Circling back round he crept quietly up on the three, the silly girls were talking about their feelings for each other like it was some sort of comedic play. They paid no attention to their surroundings at all, but Cale took no risks. He was almost within striking range of the red-haired one, Greta, when an owl hooted just above his head. He cursed as the three turned at once and looked straight at him, and threw the knife at her. The elf girl, acting faster than he thought her capable of, threw her bread and struck the knife aside, but his arms already drew tight around the terrified Greta, his hand wrapped around her neck with fingers splayed.

Sneering at the two he growled, “Move and I will snap her neck in an instant.” He pulled the struggling girl towards the edge of the fire pit with him, it was pure luck that no one else had been using the other fire pits nearby, or perhaps the girls just wanted some privacy. Either way, he kept her to the shadows cast by the flickering flame. “We are all going on a little trip up the mountain”

That sword, the one the girl kept hidden in her skirts, seemed almost to leap to her hand, it’s marred, cracked surface reflecting the firelight in irregular, sputtering flashes. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as she looked him in the eyes and for the first time he noticed flickering embers burning in them. Even her hair, blond as hay in daylight, seemed to burn with the reflected light of the fire, strands floating around her head as fingers of flame.

“*Let* *her* *go*.....” The words slammed through his head with such force of determination that he almost obeyed. Pulling the girl Greta back to the edge of the cliff he retrieved his deflected dagger from the cliff wall, the acidic poison left behind smoldering in the gash left behind in the rock face.

Placing the half melted blade to Greta’s throat he snarled, “Now come along little girls. Don’t be a hero or she’ll be dead before she hits the ground.”

The blond girl stepped forward despite his warning, “I know you... you’re the man from the woods!” she shouted.

Cale cursed silently as he heard the tell tale creak of bows being drawn taut in the shadows. The occasional flickering of green eyes in the darkness told him that at least a half a dozen of the pointy eared people had trained arrows on him.

“Release the girl, dark one.” A thick deep voice called from the beyond the fire light. Gripping the girl close to his chest he drew her back with him into the darkness. It was a meaningless gesture on his part: elves, if the rumor held true, had exceptional night vision. But it helped with his own nerves.

The girl called Rana kept eye contact with Cale, those burning eyes never once leaving his. He could almost imagine that fire shooting out to burn him alive, but ignored it. It wasn’t the first time someone looked at him like they meant to kill him. Even so, the situation was untenable, if one elf was here, others would be coming. Time was short.

“Let her go or I will burn your body and soul from all existence.” The girl was good, he had to admit, or else that medicine must be getting to him. He almost believed she could do it. In fact, he could even feel the heat already-

He dropped the dagger as it suddenly burned his hand, his skin blistering even through his glove. It bounced harmlessly off the ground at his feet, just as the girl he held stomped his foot in a way he would have been prepared for, had his burning hand not distracted him. He barely managed to tense up and stop the follow-up kick between his thighs, but the damage was done and she was free. He knew the elves above would fire on him the moment they could, and elves seldom missed.

He grabbed his trinket tightly and activated its greatest and most costly ability. His eyesight sharpened, colors taking on hues not even imaginable to most humans. He watched as layers of illusion fell off the girl with the sword, and he saw her as she truly was. Pink scales covered her from head to toe. Claws extended from her fingers in a parody of the painted lengthy fingernails some of the nobility affected. Her eyes... those eyes filled with fire, a wild, hungry fire that longed to consume everything.

He wondered, what manner of creature had he agreed to kill? All activity around him slowed to a crawl and he felt his body tense up, knowing it would not last. Now was the time to move, not think.

He leaped for the wall, gripping finger holds in the smooth stone. A ghost image piece through his hand, and before it could happen he bunched up desperately and leaped upwards grasping another hand hold. The arrow shattered on the stone below just as he found a grip.

The cave entrances flashed by as he landed on the path upward, and began a desperate, weaving run between elves, across walls and through obstacles as he dodged arrows that he could see hitting him before they ever left the bowstring. When the effect ended he had to be somewhere protected, because he would be weak.

---

Trumpets sounded a charge from behind, and Corana looked back at Arron. She knew what that sound meant, and by the look on Arron’s face, so did he.

“The fairy court is on the march, they’ll catch us unless we can make the border in time!”

The earth god nodded towards Corana and Arron, tossing aside the remnants of the thrashing forest god. It took off in a lumbering run of its own, tearing a path though the ancient overgrowth recklessly. Corana and Arron chased desperately in the wake of its destructive charge.

“How far until the border?” Arron huffed after long minutes of hard running.

Corana’s lungs burned like fire as she gasped for every scrap of oxygen she could, as she tried to keep stride with the great earth god. “I... don’t... know...” her heart pounded through her chest reminding her of a mason’s hammer.

“Corana......” she could hardly hear Arron voice over the ringing in her ears. “..all...right?”

She felt her legs turning to lead and her side ache as if pierced by a sharp knife. She knew her limit had been reached but kept going anyway. Even so it surprised her when the ground jumped up and hit her in the face.

“By the first, Corana wake up!” The voice sounded desperate, she tried to wave it off to leave her. But her protest went unheeded as she felt herself being picked up off the ground. Whoever it was was warm and firmly muscled, so she gave up and let him have his way.

---

She didn’t weigh much, and once she stopped struggling the run was easier. It reminded Arron of the early days of city guard training when the drillmaster made him run for hours on end with heavy bags of rocks. He hated it with a passion at the time, but now it was paying off, and he decided to thank the man if he ever lived to return to Gaerbron.

The earth god kept moving, and the pause to pick her up and check her for injury had cost him, but the path was easy enough to follow so he didn’t worry. He could however almost feel the fairies chasing after, looming behind like a great axe waiting to fall on him.

The sound of music flooded the woods, ringing in his ears with an insistent buzz, and he felt his legs go weak. Fairy song! He put every ounce of his will into placing one foot in front of the other, running with all his strength, even as the music muddled his thinking.

And then suddenly it faded. He took several steps dizzily, and nearly rammed into the earth god who had stopped before him. The forest was gone, completely, and in front of him stood the greatest mountain he had ever seen, larger than even his wildest dreams. It loomed menacingly above him, casting its shadow all the way back to where, leagues behind, he could see the edge of the forest.

Laying Corana careful onto the ground he looked up toward the towering earth god, “Is it safe to rest?” The simple nod was more than enough of a reply as he let out a loud sigh. Corana stirred slightly where she lay, and he gently shook her shoulder.

“Corana, wake up. You need to drink and recover. We’re safe now.” She opened her eyes muzzily and looked up at him uncomprehendingly.

“Hurts...” she moaned, and he nodded, vaguely recalling how his mother had helped him recover after drills.

“Here, drink, it will help.” He held a skin to her lips and she drank sips of water, then he set to building a fire and shelter. He put water on to boil for a restorative soup and tended to her bruised and wounded feet. Her thin shoes had not fared as well in the frenzied flight as his boots.

“Thank you, Arron. I am not used to running so hard for so long, I think.” Corana offered hoarsely once she recovered her wits. “It must have been difficult carrying me. I am sorry for that.”

“Nonsense. You are... special to me. Carrying you was not a burden, it was an honor. Besides, we moved a little faster once I picked you up.” He grinned at her and she chuckled.

“Yes, well, I do know your endurance well, at that.” she grinned back impishly as he felt himself blush, and he decided she’d scored the point.

“Here, I made you some soup, I’m afraid it’s mostly rations, dried vegetables and stock but it will help restore your energy after that run.” He fed her spoonfuls of soup, which she protested, but he knew all of her muscles would be too sore for even small tasks for a while.

She smiled great fully towards Arron and thanking the fates that she had run into him. Without his help this quest would have meant her death long ago.

---

Duke Veston watched in dismay through his window as his city fell into chaos, the peasants were quietly panicking. Prince Seradin was apparently dead, killed by an assassin according to his sources. The Imperial priests and soldiers had stormed the streets in search of his murderer, but the lack of communication from their faction meant likely they had not caught him.

Then there was the business of a monster appearing in the city square, and that pillar of flame that neither he nor the high priest could explain. To add to his troubles the Allestro family were demanding reparations for their outlandish manor that was now nothing more then a smoldering ruin. But these were trifles compared to the way he was certain the Empress would respond to the death of her son, in his city.

Slugging back a goblet of wine he ordered his assistant to have guards remove the remainder of the prince’s contingent from his city and then to bring him quill and parchment. He had a lot of missives to pen. War was coming, and the cities of the south must be notified.

---

Rall watched as the dark man with the burning eyes ran faster than he thought possible, evading arrow after arrow as if he knew exactly where each would strike. In moments the man was gone from view. He turned to Greta and found her holding a knife, the one the assassin held to her throat.

“Put it down, Greta, he’s gone.” He took two steps to reach her and held her tightly as she shook. “He’s gone, it’s okay now.” Larenmireil came to her from the other side, and together they held her until the shaking passed.

“Come now, back to the healer’s home. I think you’ve had more than enough excitement for one night, Rana. You’ve gone all pale.” Larenmireil decided, guiding both of them to the ramp that led up towards Eludrale’s cave. “You too, Greta, I know you’ll feel better staying close to Rana. I would as well.”

She was right, by the time they reached the healer’s cave, Rall felt as weak as a newborn kitten, his body was shaking and ached everywhere. Eludrale appeared in the doorway and beckoned them all in.

“Oh dear, oh dear... You have done something foolish, child. Nearly all of your energy has been spent. You are still far too weak to be using magic, child, what would possess you to even try?” The old elven woman chided as she rushed Rall through her home leaving Greta and Larenmireil to wait at the door step.

“Man... tried t’kill Greta...” the healer tsk tsk’ed and shook her head with a glance at the empty bed.

“I have a strengthening tea that will bring you around. I hope it will help you regain your stamina, but I fear your sword is putting too great a strain on your body. It’s a wonder that you have held up so well, feeding so much raw power to that sword of yours.

Rall nodded tiredly as Eludrale quickly gathered powders and leaves and started water boiling in a kettle. In minutes she placed a steaming cup in his hands, and bade him drink. The taste was truly awful.

The old elf woman knelt next to Rall looking deep into his eyes, then start to check his pulse and breathing. “It seems to be kicking in nicely. Its a stimulant, boosts the bodies vital energies, but it’s only temporary. Also very dangerous if used too much. If you wish to live though, you must do something to repair your sword.”

“But I can’t do that!” He did feel a lot better after drinking the tea. “Martello said only the gods could work seals such as this!” It was so hopeless.

“Then what a great coincidence it must be, that the goddess of the winds visits our mountain top so often. I believe she is visiting now, though she does not dance her colors in the sky these last few months. I have heard her whispers though, talk of puzzles and riddles from the mountaintop. Perhaps she will aid you, she may find the puzzle of the sword that is not a sword to be great fun.”

A loud yawn and thump behind Rall announced Greta’s presence as she snaked her arms around his neck leaning into his back and resting her head. “But first, I believe your friend has the right idea, you should get some rest.”

Rall nodded a bit, the idea was tempting but the night’s event still stirred in his mind. “What about the man that attacked Greta?”

“Gone.” Larenmireil echoed through the house. “The village hunters are seeking him now, but he moves like a hunting cat.. I never though human men could move like that.”

Rall shook his head at that. “It’s some kind of magic, I saw yellow and red energy cover his body just before he leaped up the cliff. I think it was enhancing his body somehow. And his eyes were burning white, really bright.”

Grabbing a handful of herbs, Eludrale prepared a cup of tea for herself. “The dark child is hunted by his own demons, I do not ask that you forgive him for his actions. But just know that he acts from fear and longing. He will not give up easily, but he will see the folly in his ways before long.”

Greta’s eyebrows furled, her drowsiness dispelled by a spike of anger. “He will be redeemed you say? He tried to kill me! He had a knife with acid on it at my throat, and only the gods know what he would have done if...!”

Rall held the shaking girl close. “I think he was after me. I’m not sure but I think my former master hired him to find me. It had to happen eventually, especially since I have the sword. He must have figured out that I didn’t destroy it. He does not take kindly to being defied, and I did so twice, by running away and by taking the sword. There’s no other reason for anyone to be after us.”

Pulling back a curtain Larenmireil quickly stepped through and sat herself next to Greta. “The night watch is sending out a patrol to seek out the human.” Griping Greta’s shoulder with a firm squeeze she met her eyes steadily. “Have no fear, he will be caught by the dawn’s light. And if we’re to climb the mountain tomorrow, we all must get our rest.”

---

Rall stood in a great cavern. The ground was the deepest black she had ever seen, no light reflected off of it at all. It was sharp and broken as well, poking through her leather boots painfully. A menacing dark red glow spidered through the ground faults, pulsing in time with a heart beat that echoed like a drum. The ceiling hung far, far out of sight as well, yet she knew it was a cavern.

She felt more than saw them, hordes and hordes of hateful creatures, beings which meant only suffering and death to all things. They crowded at the very edges of her vision, but never close enough to see, as if her eyes alone kept them from falling on her and devouring her whole. And before her, in the midst of this open space where the monsters would not tread, stood her master, Xabriar.

He held a book she remembered reshelving for him several times during her stay with him, and in the crook of his arm rested his great staff, with its cruel grasping claw. He had warned her once not to touch it, and in his eyes she had seen the truth, he would kill her horribly should she ever touch that staff. And now he had it, here in this awful place. Before him stood something else.

It was a contradiction to everything, its shape was beyond comprehension. One moment it resembled a great giant with leathery wings that spread into infinity, then a with slight tilt of her perception and its form dissolved into a beast with a thousand mouth and eyes. Most frightening was the brief moment where she was quite certain it became a beautiful man with piercing red eyes. But what truly unsettled her was the realization that the creature was not shifting its form but that what she witnessed were very literally different aspects of the same creature.

“Xabriar of Gaerbron, Sorcerer of the First Order, you have come here to deal with us. In payment you bring the book and promise suffering for your own kind. What recompense would you request from Us?” The... thing asked of her master. Its voice clawed at her ears, as if a living thing wishing to climb into her mind and drive her mad, but she could only stand there, watching and listening silently not daring to even breathe. Neither seemed to notice her at all, thankfully, else she would surely be burnt to cinders where she stood.

Xabriar sucked in a deep, ragged breath, he seemed rattled, tired and very afraid, something Rall never imagined she would ever see from her seemingly immortal former master. “Great demon lord, I seek assistance for my ascension. Both raw power and the protection of your kind.”

The cavern burst into laughter and heart wrenching cackles. The demon lord seemed to chuckle himself, clearly amused. “What you offer is not enough, you must give more. If We are to help you ascend, you will become Ours. You will rain fire and destruction on your own kind, and you will free Us of this... prison!”

“Fine! I agree to your terms! Let the bargain be struck, and give me the power I require, for time grows short and I will not be denied my rightful place!” The terrifying thing reached forth with a clawed hand and Xabriar met it with his own. A corona of fire pulsed around the pair, black unholy fire that crackled and burned like a living thing, and licked at Rall as if to devour her as well. She felt its malevolent hate burning into her as the waves cascaded off the pair, then just as suddenly collapsed onto... no, into Xabriar.

A screech like nothing she had ever heard in her life clawed its way from her former master’s throat, the sound of an agony no man should ever bear. His robes caught fire and burned away, as the old leathery flesh blistered and cracked on his back and a runed symbol etched itself into his flesh in powerful strokes, each slash into his flesh driving his scream to to even greater levels of torment.

Rall tried to turn away from the horror that now consumed her former master. But a power gripped her, slowly pulling her gaze, her heart pounding in her chest like a forge hammer. Blood rushed though her head making her dizzy and leaving her ears ringing . The creature’s aspect had altered again, to take the form of a tall naked man with black feathered wings. A gesture of his hand caused her head to turn and face him, and her eyes to lock onto his deep red orbs.

Rall gasped in delight as smile crystallized over the creature handsome face. Those eyes seared into her, and she felt heat rising in her cheeks and belly. He reached toward her crooking a finger, and she moved for the first time since she found herself in the cavern. She took a halting step forward, drawn by desire even greater than her terror. And then the cavern was gone, and with it the thing, and her former master, and sunlight streamed down into her eyes.

“Good morning, children.”

Rall shook her... his... head the after images of a dream lingering just out of reach . A dream that a part of his mind found deeply disturbing. Sitting upright he looked around the room. Greta laid sound asleep next to him and Larenmireil was already up and about cooking breakfast. Watching Greta sleep curled up in her blanket, the thought occurred to him that both girls had spent the night sleeping next to him. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought, just as Greta creeped open an eye to look at him

“What are you smiling at?” she said with a yawn, his cheeks reddened at the moment of vulnerability. Before he could answer, Eludrale spoke up again.

“Interesting dreams child?” He looked at her querulously and she continued, “You called out in your sleep, so I came to check on you. You seem much revived with a little sleep, but you should drink some more restorative tea. For to reach the peak of Mount Erdrissar, you will need it.”

Greta perked up at this announcement. “Have they caught the man that attacked us last night?”

Frowning, she shook her head. “No dear, unfortunately they have not. But he will be weakened and unlikely to attack again, after putting such strain on his body as he must have, to elude the patrols.”

Pulling herself complete erected she looked at Rall with a pained expression “But that means he’s still out there. It’s to dangerous to climb the mountain.”

“It’s too dangerous not to... I feel pretty good, thanks to that tea, but I can feel it, like exhaustion trying to pull me to sleep, I’m weak and getting weaker. Madame Eludrale is right, I have to go today or Granth and I might both die.”

Eludrale nodded. “Your friend is correct, his life energies can not hold out for much longer, two nights perhaps. The dark child is an issue that can not be dealt with lightly, I will have the village guard to take you up as far as they can.”

“Why can’t the guard escort us all that way up?” Greta pressed. Larenmireil quickly interjected.

“The goddess would be insulted at a full patrol of guard escorting us up, and there is no point trying to seek help from an offended goddess” Rall noticed that Greta furrowed her brow, she didn’t exactly seemed pleased with the explanation but held her tongue.

“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

“No! I forbid it! That assassin is still out there, and you will *not* go off to endanger yourself again!” Valan’s voice was clearly audible even over the ever-present rush of wind in the canyon. Greta knew the whole village could hear it, but she didn’t care.

“She’s my best friend! Her life is already on the line, and she needs me! You’ve risked more for people you didn’t know, why is this suddenly so different?”

“You’re my daughter, and you almost died last night! I only found out this morning what had happened! Do you know what it would do to me if I lost you?” Greta almost started crying right then and there; she could see how worried he was. But she was just as worried!

Greta gripped her father’s sleeve in tears, “But father, don’t you see? Rana will die if she doesn’t get help! I can’t leave her now... If she dies and I wasn’t there to try to help, I... I...”

A frustrated sigh came from the back of the parked carriage, cutting through the tension. A gray-haired woman whom Greta knew very well hopped down to the ground, eyeing Valan. “Mother! Father won’t let me go...”

With a lighting quick steps she positioned herself between Valen and Greta, separating the two by dint of sheer will. “Dear... stop being a stubborn old fool. Can’t you see how important this is to her?”

“But Roda, there’s a killer on the loose! I have half a mind to pack up our goods and be away from here by midday!”

“I am aware of that, and I’m also aware that the Elves will be escorting the girls up most of the way.” Grinning evilly she pressed a pointed finger into her husband chest. “And I also know you did much more foolish and dangerous things yourself at her age... I should know, I egged you on for most of them.”

“But .. but..”Greta watched in amazement as her mother twisted her father in circles.

“But most of all, do you think we could prevent her, short of tying her up and knocking her senseless? You can go dear, isn’t that right darling?”

“I don’t like it. If you’re going into danger again, I insist you be prepared this time.” He walked to the carriage as her mother continued.

“Your father is very worried, I’ll have a fine time settling him down today. You’d better not get hurt out there, or he’ll never forgive himself. Men. Whatever he gives you, remember, it’s important to him.” Greta nodded, she thought as much herself. He returned to them in short order.

“This dagger is from Watersong, forged by a master elven smith. It should be light enough to use without much skill and strong enough for anything you need it for. Don’t cut yourself, it’s very sharp.” Greta seethed at being talked down to as if she were a child, but smiled gratefully anyway because she knew it had to be hard and he was letting her go.

“Thank you father, I promise I will be careful.” The dagger was beautiful, its handle felt comfortable and when she slipped a few inches free of the sheath the slender, slightly curved blade glimmered with a blue hue that rippled the light like water on a pond. Looking closer Greta inspected the perfect edge. it looked and felt sharp enough to split a hair lengthwise. She also had a sneaking suspicion that even under a reading stone she would be unlikely to find even the smallest of imperfections.

Freeing the dagger completely from its simple leather sheath she slowly traced her finger over the cool metal surface. At the base of the blade near the curved crosspiece she felt a small depression. Bring the blade up to eye level she slowly tiled the dagger until she caught sun rays on it surface. Etched into the blade surface where where a set of elven runes.

“Beria--dan--wen” she slowly spoke, the dagger almost seem to speak to her it name as her mind translated the elven runes. “Beriadanwen”

“Does it meet with your approval, dear?” Her mother was smiling when she looked back up, and her father too. She realized she’d been quite absorbed in the incredible work of art.

“Yes, very much so. Thank you Father, this means a lot to me, and I will always treasure this dagger. It’s beautiful.” She slipped it into the sheath and hung it from her belt, then hugged her father tightly.

“Just be careful, and come back to us safe, that’s all I ask.” Her father’s voice sounded husky and she knew he was trying not to cry in front of her.

---

Their pace up the mountain trail had been slower than Larenmireil hoped, humans simply didn’t have the agility to navigate the rocky terrain like elves. The guards kept point and secured a large circle around the two while Larenmireil lead the group up the mountain side. Only a handful of people knew these mountains as well as she, having spent a good part of her youth exploring and playing in every cave and crevice this side of the mountain.

The trip to the goddess’ sacred grounds would have taken anyone from the village under an hour. But Rana had begun to struggle shortly after they left, she seemed profoundly exhausted and it apparently took much of her will to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Given the situation the trip was likely to take four hours or more.

She soon fell back to match pace with them, joining Greta in supporting Rana. She took the chance to admire the two she loved subtly. Greta was curvy and beautiful to her eyes, much fuller than elven women and exotic for it. Rana conversely seemed even more androgynous than the elves to her eyes, and had a kind of youthful naivete that drew her. Had they grown up in the elven custom she likely would have bedded both before now, but she worked to respect their human taboos and slowly bring them around to the idea. But first, they would have to overcome this climb and restore Rana.

She’d watched her die once, and was not about to do so again.

---

The hours slowly began to bleed together, with only the occasional break to allow Rana to catch her breath and rest to break up the march up the trail. The lack of any sign of the would-be assassin left a bad taste in Larenmireil’s mouth. She had secretly hoped to find clumsy human attempts at stealth, a broken twig here or a fallen rock there. But no such evidence presented itself, just the open sky and mountain rocks with an occasional wood land creature scurrying about. This led her to a very uncomfortable conclusion: if the assassin was following them, then he was beyond her skill to detect and would likely have the element of surprise.

Thrusting the unsettling thought to the back of her mind she guided the trio to a path that would follow the mountain’s edge upward. This would be the most dangerous part of their journey; the path was very narrow, just wide enough to walk single file. In some places they would have to press their backs against the mountain to shuffle up. They came to a marker, on which several wreaths of flowers lay.

“Miss Larenmireil, we must return to the village, from here you three must go alone. We will watch as long as we are able, but we can not fire on him if he has in fact entered sacred grounds.”

“That will be fine, captain. Thank you very much for escorting us this far. I think perhaps he has gone away to lick his wounds.” She sincerely hoped he had. She led her two friends around a cliff edge and a ways further, climbing up a steep incline, at the top of which stood the first gate.

“It’s so pretty...” Rana awed as the group approached the first stone archway that marked the path up to the wind temple.

“The gates are a symbol, upon passing through them one is said to be cleansed of cares and worry. It is our custom to thank her for her blessing at each gate.”

She paused before the gate and uttered a prayer to the wind goddess in her native tongue, then nodded to the others to follow along. But as she tried to pass the first gate a wall of stone sprung out of the ground, blocking it entirely. The wall was lined with tiles marked in Elven script, but not in any particular order. It was all very ugly in fact, carved as if by magic tools, all hard angles and corners. A murmur passed through the ranks of the guard watching from behind.

“This is... blasphemous! This is sacred ground, why would anyone create a barrier here?” Larenmireil was shocked by the senseless... wrongness of it! Even as she seethed at the gall of whoever built it, the tiles began to shift, moving into different positions with a high pitched grating sound of stone on stone, until a phrase appeared in the Elven script followed by nonsensical symbols. She read it aloud, translating to the human tongue for Greta and Rana.

“Blessed are the few, on whom we depend,
Who grow without change, and live without end,
Lifting on high, our lives as we fail,
Cursing the foes, who against us rail.
They’ll never again tread their home land...”

The text was followed by a symbol, a circle surrounded by outward-pointing triangles and several other figures that made little sense at all.

“A poem?” Rana seemed confused.

Larenmireil bent to inspect the script and nodded. “Possibly, but if it’s a poem it’s an odd one. The script is in the style of the high born. But no high born poem would be constructed like this. Plus, it’s missing a verse.”

The sound of falling rocks and dirt followed by a small yelp from above them grabbed her and Rana’s attention. Sitting on the overhang of the cliff above them was Greta nursing her hand. “It zapped me.”

“What are you doing up there?” Rana asked quizzically.

Huffing, Greta pointed at the blank air above the gate “What do you think? I’m trying to get around the gate! But there something in the way, it zapped my hand.”

“Well come back down here then and help us solve this.” Rana sounded a little annoyed, and Larenmireil could understand why. It worried her too, Greta climbing to dangerous heights like that to poke at magical barricades. She could have fallen, or it could have killed her rather than whatever it did...

“I am trying to help, if we can climb around it rather then deal with a stupid wall we should.” she snipped back angrily.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so frustrated, it just scared me. We’re a long ways up, you could have been hurt...” As Rana spoke, Larenmireil peered at the stone doorway some more.

“I don’t understand it. Why would someone put up a barrier with a poem that’s missing a verse?” Rana shrugged at Larenmireil in answer.

Greta groaned at the two of them struggling over something so simple. “It’s obviously a puzzle you dolts! If we solve it, the big rock will disappear again.”

“How are we supposed to guess a whole line of a poem? I never read any poem like this.” Rana complained.

“It is not part of Elven lore, I have read many poems, and this is just... not how my people write poetry. It seems similar to some human poetry, but I haven’t read very much human poetry yet, and this is not familiar to me at all. And I don’t know of any human who can write in high born script.”

Greta slapped her hand to her face moaning as if dealing with them was giving her a headache. “It’s a puzzle... It’s meant to be solved, you’re not supposed to be a scholar of poetry to solve a puzzle. The clues are all there, or else it would be a pretty stupid puzzle.”

“Okay miss expert of puzzles, riddles and such, what is your esteemed opinion?” Rana drawled out mockingly.

“First, is that sword making you cranky again of something? Look, you have to do it line by line. From the first line, it’s talking about a few people that a lot of people depend on. The second tells us they’re immortal and unchanging, but they can still grow. Maybe they learn?” Larenmireil nodded thoughtfully.

Larenmireil nodded, surprised to find that Greta was much more logical then she had ever given her credit for. “We elves depend mostly on ourselves, but we change and we don’t quite live forever.”

“Right, so it’s not elves. The next line is tricky. How do you lift someone on high as they fail? So move on, they curse our enemies. And the last line, they can never return to their homeland. exiled maybe?”

Slumping to the ground, Rana looked even more exhausted “You know this still doesn’t narrow it down much. Unchanging immortals maybe, and chased out of their homeland... Do you have an idea how many things that could be? My former master has a whole shelf of books dedicated for creatures that match that description.”

“Well what about these symbols? There, a circle with a sun in it.“ Greta said as she pokes at the glyphs, “Then there’s also a star and moon, and I think those are the symbols for water and air?”

“These symbols are not elven.” Larenmireil remarked in confusion at the whole puzzle.

“Well that shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, this wasn’t made by an elf. You said it yourself, these are holy lands for you. No Windrunner would dare make something like this, right? And no one has seen a high born since before the First.” Greta appeared lost in thought for long moments before she grinned and turned back to Larenmireil and Rana.

“I’ve got it! They’re the gods! They take us to heaven when we die, they help us fight off our enemies, they don’t change or die but they can learn still, and they can’t return to the mortal plane! That’s what the religious texts say, they ascended to the heavens never to return!”

“How can you be so sure?” Larenmireil asked, uncertain of this. The only gods she knew of were natural gods, not mortals that somehow elevated themselves beyond the natural.

“It’s the circle and the sun symbol. the circle means completion never ending. And the sun means the heavens. Put them together and you have ascended gods.”

“Okay, so we have our answer... So how do we solve the puzzle?” Rana questioned Greta.

“I don’t know. Press the symbols? Say it out loud? Do an interpretive dance?” Greta chuckled.

Leaning back against the cliff, Larenmireil though over the poem. “I believe there’s only one way to phrase the verse in high born that would make sense: Novisolistani... It means, roughly ‘The ascended gods of mortal man’.” She tried reading the whole thing aloud again.

“Blessed are the few, on whom we depend,
Who grow without change, and live without end,
Lifting on high, our lives as we fail,
Cursing the foes, who against us rail.
They’ll never again tread their home land
The ascended gods of mortal man.”

Tense with anticipation, all three held their breath as one, waiting to see if anything would happen. Moments passed and nothing happened. Unimpressed, Rana looked over to Greta “Sooo, what ne-ACK!” she ended with a yelp as the grating sound of stone moving over stone returned in force.

---

Corana climbed to her feet again with Arron’s help. It was more difficult with one arm when exhausted than she would have imagined, but he picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

“Thank you very much for the soup. Arron, it was excellent. I feel much better now, and I think I’m ready to carry on.” He looked at her worriedly, but she ignored the look. They didn’t have time to tend to her bruised feet or tired body, the earth god needed to be healed. The thought of a natural god being wounded sat ill in her stomach.

“If you say so. But if you need more rest don’t hesitate to speak up. It’s been a rough few days, and I know how much you must be aching. I remember my first drills, and it was awful.”

“I promise, I will let you know if I need more rest. But now we have more pressing matters. The earth god comes before my discomfort.” She looked to the earth god, who had been standing silent guard ever since they stopped, the fracture on the gods arms had spread, the would leaking more of the murky gray water. “Earth God, how can we help you heal?”

The earth god turned and pointed to an overhanging section of cliff face, then began walking toward it, so Arron and Corana followed. Before long they found a crack in the cliff, jagged but straight, as if a great sword had cleaved the stone in two. It led deep into the mountain.

“Right. So, we need to go in there?” Arron asked, and the great stone god nodded. Corana summoned up her light spell. The strain of spell on her body seem much more taxing then she believed possible for such a simple incantation. The observation flooded her mind with worry and doubt if some so simple was causing her difficulty then how was she going to deal with Xabriar’s machinations? Holding the ball of light aloft, she and Arron slowly proceeded into the dank dark fissure into the heart of the mountain.

The way was simple and straight, no curves or corners presented themselves, but it was wet and uncomfortable. The chill outside quickly faded as they escaped the cold wind, but the air was stagnant and reeked of rot. The murky water that dripped everywhere left the tunnel floor slimy and slick.

“Don’t fall, the floor is slippery.” Arron suggested, and Corana seethed. Ever since she had slept with him, he seemed almost overbearing. She would need to set him straight about that, but not now. The tunnel was so silent she could understand the need to fill the void with some sound, too.

“I will be careful. It’s leading downward at a slight angle, but we should be alright even if we fall. It would be nice if it didn’t smell quite so bad though.”

They walked for hours, and with every step Corana grew more nervous. She felt like someone was watching her somehow. She could tell Arron was feeling it too, he kept peering ahead and behind as if his eyes could somehow pierce the darkness beyond the range of her light. But they heard no sound, nor saw no sign of anyone else, so they continued into the tunnel behind the earth god with a sort of helpless paranoia.

After a while she lost track of time. It felt like she’d been walking for days, and she found herself leaning on Arron for support after a slip nearly dropped her onto the wet disgusting floor. But suddenly the tunnel opened into a large cave. The sides were smooth and perfectly carved, clearly the work of magic. And in the center of the cave, a large stone disc floated high off the ground adorned with a strange jade alter.

As strange as it looked she recognized the construct for what it was: a ritual of Xabriar’s making. “It’s here! Xabriar’s ritual is what is injuring the earth god!” Corana exclaimed as she run over to the floating platform. She should have guessed, it was obvious in retrospect.

“And now, you die.” The grating voice of Woric nearly stopped her heart as he slowly walked out of the shadows clapping slowly. “I finally found you here of all places.. This was my handwork you know. Xabriar made me spend months carving out this place. Didn’t even know a lick about earth magics when he commanded me to do it, but I learned fast. You can’t ever keep the old man waiting... never.”

“... I don’t even remember why I chased you out here into these forsaken lands, you know. But I do know that it’s all your fault, everything is you fault! You killed my men, destroyed my boats...” he rambled on frantically pacing back and forth. “And as for leaving me to the whims of that fey creature... Do you have any clue what fey really do to mortals after they’re done playing with them?”

“I spent years as that thing’s... as its… It did things to me, wrong things!” he screamed violently, tears running down his twisted face. “And it’s all your fault! You and that bastard old leather bag Xabriar!” With deep ragged breaths he calmed himself. “You and that old man... I’ll make you both burn for this.”

She let him talk. He could have struck from behind and she would never have been ready, but as he spoke she readied to grab her wand and fight, even as she heard Arron drawing his sword beside her. Every second he spent speaking was a tiny bit more energy she could summon up for the fight.

Then he struck, the white hot fireball appearing from nowhere. Quick as lightning her wand was in hand and she had a shielding spell up. But even so she felt the heat of it, reflecting, radiating off the walls, choking out the air. If he kept up this attack, he wouldn’t have to break her shield, they would all suffocate! Then she saw Arron run past her shield. He didn’t speak, just swung that sword with amazing might. Woric shrank back, startled by the sudden ferocity, but his own shield deflected the swing to the side harmlessly.

Corana struck before Woric could cast a spell that would obliterate Arron, desperate to save his stupid, thoughtless, self-sacrificing hide. Her bolt would follow him and seek a weakness in his shield, if any existed. She didn’t watch it strike however, because her eyes were drawn to Arron, who was jumping aside of a strike from Woric’s staff, which made a splattering sound when he swung it, and left hissing spots on the floor around it.

“It’s acid, Arron, don’t let it splash you!” She cast another spell, hoping even if they couldn’t penetrate, her seeker bolts would distract him from killing Arron. Then a heavy stone fist crashed through Woric’s shield and bounced him off the wall. He stood up with blood gushing from his face, his right arm dangled limply and at an odd angle. It had to be badly fractured in her estimation. The magical bolt that she had cast early swung from the back of the carved pillar and drove into Woric’s chest with a thunderous thump, lifting the man from his feet and backwards onto the wall. Corana looked away from the carnage of burnt flesh and and exposed bone. She let out a sigh of relief, thinking that the man would pass out soon from the pain.

But Woric pulled himself to his feet in a startling display of resolve, gritting his teeth and refusing to succumb. Instead he began a frantic chant. Red and yellow energy began to spill out from him like a fountain, and his arm began to straighten itself out. She shuddered a bit as she could hear the cracking of grinding bones, and the smell of necrotic flesh that erupted from boils that formed on his damaged arm, as Woric forced his body to heal itself at an alarming rate.

“Arron get away from him!” she shouted in horror. Regenerative magic was dangerous under controlled conditions, because it directly manipulated the body’s own vital energies. In a fight such as this, it could cascade uncontrollably, likely causing the person to explode into a ball of fire. And it could spread.

Despite the risks, Woric continued his spell until his arm looked as good as new. He gave his arm a good shake to test it out, then smiled darkly at Corana’s look of shock. “Wonderful, isn’t it?” he said with a mad sort of chuckle. “I suppose this is one benefit of being left in the care of that creature... Their games do such horrible thing to a mortal’s body, so they taught me to heal myself.”

Collecting his staff from the floor, Woric completely ignored Arron’s presence. “And I have had so very much practice. It is very painful you know... unbelievably painful. And the pain never quite goes away.”

Slamming his staff into the ground he shouted a word of power. The ground liquefied at the tip of his staff as a powerful wave rolled though the cave, tossing both her and Arron to the ground. The earth god froze in place and produced a sound that Corana could only describe as “avalanche.”

Corana carefully climbed to her feet, each new tremor threatening to knock her to the floor. Quickly taking stock of the situation, she watched as Arron stood up and planted his sword into the ground as a makeshift cane. She could find no sign of Woric at all.

“The earth trembles at my rage! The air stagnates, the water becomes foul and fire itself bends to my whim! Watch as the mountain itself bleeds where I strike!” She whirled around to face the echoing voice, and saw him standing on the disk next to the jade altar. He lifted his staff, and a resounding crack echoed from the entrance, followed by more of the awful-smelling water, pouring down the tunnel in a deluge that quickly raised the water level from simple dampness to ankle deep, and kept rising alarmingly.

Woric leaped down from the platform with a splash, grinning madly as he reached the edge of Corana’s light spell. He chuckled bitterly as he paced backwards into the shadows. “Soon the whole mountain will come down upon our heads. Now shall we continue our dance?”

A loud series of splashes echoed through the cave as Arron charged toward the mad sorcerer. He closed the distance in a single breath, faster then Corana thought possible with the water now climbing to waist height. Grabbing Woric out of the darkness by his neck with one hand he drove the man violently into the smooth wall then slowly pushed the the tip of his sword to the man’s belly with his other hand. “What have you done?”

Woric simply laughed. “Nothing really, I told you I made this place, but i made it so I could destroy it... a little insurance against Xabriar.” He giggled gleefully, “Now I find the only thing that brings me more joy than the thought of death, is taking you with me to hell!”

Slowly releasing the man Arron staggered backwards a step at a loss for words, watching the grinning smile of near euphoria plastered across the deranged mans face “You’re insane!”

“No, don’t you see? It’s all so clear now! This is how it’s supposed to be! You’re the insane ones, fighting fate! You can’t win now, it’s already over! Hahahahaha!” As he laughed with the mad abandon of the lost, he raised his staff to point at Arron, who seemed stunned immobile.

“Arron, watch out!” She raised her own wand but she knew it would be too late. Arron only stared at the man with an intense expression. Then the impossible happened. The murky water rose up around Woric as if it had a mind of its own, and instantly froze, trapping him in a huge block, staff still raised menacingly. The ice travelled back to the entrance, filling it and stopping the influx of cold, filthy water.

“He’s trapped. Hurry, break the ritual while you can. If we can’t escape we can at least do what we came here for.” He sounded so desolate she wanted to go to him, hold him, but he was right. Swimming over to the floating platform she kicked up, gripping the stone disc which was now within easy reach thanks to the raised water level.

Grunting in exhaustion she slowly pulled her aching body up onto the disk. She turned to the jade altar and began frantically reviewing the runic symbols carved into the structure.

She was not truly adept at Earth magic, but from her limited knowledge she could tell that whatever Woric had done severely damaged the ritual. Breaking through the remaining defences of the seal would be trivial. She just needed to find the weakest point and hit it hard, and the rest should shatter. She searched quickly until she found it, a single rune that was out of place, moved by a crack. At the head of that crack stood another rune, drawn by a different hand. Woric’s rune. She drew her wand again, set it against Woric’s damaging rune, and added her power to it.

The crack in the jade altar grew, and several more runes flared and died out. She pushed more energy into it, and still more runes died. The whole altar began to shudder, bleeding off energy as flaming bursts of light, but she pressed on. Then, with a resounding *CRACK* the altar split in half. The blast of fire threw her from the stone disc into the grimy water as it burst from the broken altar and burned straight up. The stone above disintegrated instantly in that white-hot beam of power as it lanced up and out into the sky, leaving a smooth, glowingly-hot hole all the way out.

Then Arron had her. He was standing on the water somehow, and simply plucked her out of it.

“You did good, Corana. But if we’re going to die down here, there’s something I need to do first.” And then he kissed her. She was filthy and wet, and had far more questions than answers, but with the mountain falling in on them it hardly mattered. She was just getting into it when heavy stone hands picked them both up. Before either could complain, the earth god tossed them both onto the stone disc, where they sprawled, bruised in a heap. The mountain shuddered and groaned around them as great sheets of stone began falling from the ceiling.

The earth god stood next to the disc, and raised its hand, and then the ceiling fell down, all at once. Wind rushed down over them, holding them in place, as the hole grew closer and closer, then they were flying up into it! With a great grinding sound a pillar of stone had shifted up from the ground below the disc, and was carrying them up to the peak of the mountain where the hole exited. At the top, mere seconds later, the pillar ground to a stop, leaving Corana and Arron alone on a cold snowy mountaintop.

Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Looking him deep into his eyes, she whispered to Rall. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” Then she finally broke down into heartwrenching sobs, completely devoid of hope.

He rested on a ledge curled up close to an outcropping of rocks that blocked the mountain’s chill wind. Clenching his fist slowly, he watched the village’s dim firelights dance across the valley below. A single thought kept rolling around in his mind: his failure to kill two simple girls.

The almost inaudible sound of footsteps approaching finally quieted his mind for the moment. Slowly he pulled himself deeper into a crevice in the rocks and held his breath. Elves had remarkable hearing and their trackers were trained to single out a man’s heartbeat even in the heat of a battle. A single lone simple man on the face of the mountain would be simple for them, fortunately he was no simple man.

Calmly he dulled his mind, allowing his thoughts to drift in between awareness and nothingness. With each passing second his heart rhythm slowed. To a passing observer he would have seemed like a dead man, and in truth the trick had been used for that very purpose more than once; it was usually easier to sneak into temples as a dead man than a living one.

Moments later the patrol had passed him, none the wiser. They wouldn’t likely pass over this particular piece of the mountain again for a few hours at least. Releasing his breath he then quickly inhaled with a jolting involuntary shiver. He ached with profound exhaustion that would take more then a simple good night’s rest to recover from. The magic of his talisman was not something to be toyed with and he was only now beginning to feel the side effects of its use. Soon he would not be able to move more than a finger without great effort and the pain he imagined would be excruciating. Demons always seemed to use suffering as payment for the uses of their magics . He guess they got something out of it, nourishment seemed to be the popular theory amongst the magic types. But it always struck Cale as more likely for entertainment than anything else, just to see how many times the stupid mortal will hurt itself before it stops.

---

The night passed with out much incident, the elves did sweep back again thoughout the night but never so close as to be of concern. Even the curse of his talisman was more tolerable then he had feared. He managed to catch some sleep, though he still struggled to move his body, the lethargy threatening to overtake him at any moment. It would be weeks before he was fully himself again, but even in this deteriorated state he was still determined to follow through on his contract with Xabriar. The promise of his sister was too great to even think of passing up.

Dusting himself off quickly, he could hear the distinct sound of cracking joints in his neck and shoulder. It was a testament to his body’s protest at his abusive sleeping arrangements. Sneaking back into the village was unlikely, there simple was not enough of a human population to hide himself in a crowd. His only chance now was to wait for the caravan to leave and look for an opening. With this thought in mind he hiked back towards the village and located an overhang high up on the mountain that retained line of sight of all the exits to the village, but still concealed from prying eyes.

It was quite a surprise when a few hours later after setting up his little camp he witnessed the trio of girls leaving the village for the mountain with an escort of six heavily armed rangers. Smothering his camp fire hastily, he prepared himself to follow. His mind was full of questions; why were his marks leaving on their own accord when their would-be killer was still unaccounted for?

He watched and waited for them to lose the escort, and to his delight they parted ways not far below him. But the guard remained close by, almost like they wanted to follow but were unable. And the girls stopped at some magical barrier that sprung up to block their passage, so he had to wait for them to clear it before trying to follow. He watched with some satisfaction as the redhead tried to bypass the magical blockade and received a shock for her efforts.

After an interminable span of watching them bumble at it, the elf girl finally convinced the wall to allow them passage. When they’d moved out of sight, he cautiously climbed down to follow them... and the wall sprang back up. It was covered with nonsensical flowing lines and symbols. He didn’t understand a single character of it.

He groaned in disgust at himself for making such an obvious mistake. Looking around for an alternative route seemed futile, the red haired girl had shown that climbing over the gate would be pointless. But there was one possibility; no magic could cover the whole mountain and the sheerness of the mountainside was within his ability to climb, though in his present state it would be less than pleasant.

Sheathing his one remaining dagger he began what he was sure would be a tiring and boring ordeal. But he did see one bright point of this new complication: the three would be alone when he caught them. No one was following but him.

---

The pathway along the mountain ledge was easy from the first gate to the second, and well-travelled. All along the cliff face gifts and what seemed like prayer sheets lined the way.

“These sheets are riddles, written for the goddess’ amusement. The elders leave theirs at the top, but many of the rest of us choose to leave them here, especially at times of births and weddings. Sometimes she carries them away, and I like to think she takes them across the world.” Rall listened raptly as Larenmireil explained, he found he loved the sound of her voice as much as the information she was sharing about her culture.

“That’s a beautiful tradition. Maybe some day soon, when this is all over with, the three of us can come back up here, and bring our own gifts for her.” Rall suggested, and Greta and Larenmireil both smiled at him. He was starting to think maybe it could work out, the goddess sounded wonderful from the way the elves spoke of her.

“Oh, here is the second gate. We should be careful, just in case there’s another...” Greta trailed off, and Rall couldn’t blame her. In the middle of her word they had suddenly stopped being on the open mountain face, and instead were in a hallway together. The passage was stone, much the same stone as the cliff face, but all along the walls were doors, and he could not see the other end of the corridor. A soft light filled the space, but not from any light source he could pick out.

“‘The only door that leads to freedom is the last one.’ What in the name of the First does that mean?” Rall followed Greta’s gaze to a sign hanging from the ceiling directly above them, where this phrase was written in the common trade tongue.

“I guess it means we walk until we find the last door?” Even as he said it, Larenmireil shook her head.

“I can’t see the end of the corridor.” Rall wondered why she had such a serious look, and Greta seemed just as worried.

“Neither can I, but the mountain is only so big, right? It can’t be that far away.”

“You don’t understand. Elven eyesight is nearly as good as elven hearing. If she can’t see the end, we’re not on the mountain anymore.” Greta clarified for him.

Larenmireil nodded, “It could be worse than that. We may be on the mountain, on the same path but lost in an illusion of sorts. One wrong turn could mean certain death falling from the cliff.”

Rall felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his feet. He couldn’t help feeling unnerving terror as Greta paced back and forth. He had never been one for heights, had always made it a point never to look out the tower windows when working the upper floors for Master Xabriar. And being hung by his ankles over the side of the tower stairs repeatedly had only driven home this fear. Now that very same feeling of terror was swimming around in his gut trying to rearrange his internal organs. “Can you please stop that?” he croaked out.

Greta paused in her pacing and looked at him, and apparently whatever she saw in his expression made her stop. Walking over slowly she placed both of her hands on his shoulders looking concerned. “By the gods you’re shaking... You’re afraid of heights?”

Looking away he shrugged Greta’s arms off turning around to face back the way they came from. “Let’s just turn around, okay? Go back to the village and find another way.”

But the path behind was the same. Doors and corridor as far as the eye could see. “Stop!” Larenmireil sharply commanded.

Slowly turning, Rall felt his heart pounding in his chest, he had never heard Larenmireil shout before. “Remember what the sign said, the last door is the way out.” she continued softly.

“So, what you’re saying is we can’t even turn around?” he gasped in surprise.

“It would seem not.” she replied stoically. Pointing forward with her hand she continued “If we are to escape this magic, it will be by pressing forward. To turn back is death.”

Rall crept forward, testing each step to be certain it would hold his weight. The girls trailed right behind, mostly because every time one tried to pass him he held out a hand to stop her.

“I have to do this. I can’t lose you two. Just stay behind me, and let me check the floor.” He stayed to the right side as much as possible, where the cliff face was before the corridor appeared, and the floor seemed quite sturdy and capable of holding him.

“It goes on forever. How will we ever find the last door?” Greta complained after hours of the tortuously slow pace. Rall nodded, he could feel his exhaustion growing with every step.

“Let’s... open a door. We don’t have to walk through, right?” Greta offered as she grabbed the closed door handle in font of her.

Rall rushed forward himself, grabbing the door handle as well. “What in the nine hells are you doing!” he yelled, his voice screeching even to his own ears.

Greta gave an unimpressed look. ”Look we don’t know anything. We can’t keep just walking forever!” Turning to Larenmireil pleadingly for support, Rall saw her nodding towards Greta in agreement.

“Look Rall, I get it, you’re afraid. I am too, but we can’t keep walking like this, you don’t have the time to waste around here, I can see how tired you’re getting! And this hallway might not *have* an ending. This is a riddle like the first gate. And one of these doors it the solution.”

“But... But, you don’t know if this is the door... What if it’s the next one, or the one way down there!“ he cried.

“We don’t Rana.” Larenmireil spoke softly “But the puzzle said nothing about opening a door to look. And that’s all we are doing.” she said as she pulled Rall’s hand gently off the doorknob. He found himself letting go, and Greta turned the knob.

Suddenly they were again standing on the path, the second gate right behind them. They had not moved an inch in the hours of walking down that hallway, and neither had the sun.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I guess it was a trick hint, whichever door we chose would be the last one we saw.” Greta smiled tiredly. Rall tried really hard not to glare at her, which was actually fairly easy since he was too tired to be mad anyway.

“The third gate is not far ahead, we can reach it in half an hour at the rate we’ve been going. But maybe we should take a short break and let Rana rest, there’s a section of the path ahead that will be dangerous and difficult, and it’s best if we’re all as rested as possible for it.” Larenmireil offered, and Rall smiled gratefully.

---

Gripping his talisman in his hand he allowed himself to relax on a ledge. Pushing the magic of the talisman to his eyes he was briefly granted sight beyond that of even elves. He found them halfway above the first gate.

They were almost frozen in time for a moment at the second gate as if expecting some kind of problem, but nothing seemed to happen they then stopped to rest as well. That worked in his favor, he needed every bit of rest he could manage before they arrived.

He shifted positions to keep from cramping and inadvertently knocked a largish bird’s nest askew. Three small eggs rolled out of it and against the cliff face. He paid them no attention at all. Until the mother appeared. The creature was much larger then any natural winged beast had a right to be.

A deafening screech blew out Cale’s hearing into a headache-inducing monotone ringing. The creature landed squarely onto the ledge, furiously beating its wings at the air. Cale felt each powerful stroke as the air gusted past him, threatening to lift him aloft and out into the open air below. He scrabbled for purchase on the ledge, keeping his back hunched he swiftly made way towards a rock to cling to, but had to abandon it as that great sharp beak darted down at him.

Cale jumped backwards to the wall of the cliff as the razor sharp beak missed him by a hair. Looking around frantically in a panic, he grasped for ideas. A griffin was not a creature to causally trifle with, whole battalions had fallen to an enraged mother after simply intruding into the creature’s nesting grounds. And by the looks of this Cale was responsible for the loss of the mother’s eggs. The beast screeched loud enough to shake his body, pinning Cale to the wall it lifted itself onto it hind legs towering over Cale. It’s forward paw swiped down hard, and in a quick, nearly suicidal instinct Cale pressed into the creature’s chest, narrowly avoiding the death blow.

The griffin fell forward onto all fours with Cale in the unfortunate position of being directly underneath it. The griffin stepped backwards half a step exposing Cale’s head, tilting its own head to get a better look at its prey. It then chirped in a way Cale swore sounded very much like a laugh. As it slowly lifted its right claw for the killing blow, Cale did the only thing he could think of. He stretched his right hand towards the creature nest, desperately reaching for one of the remaining eggs. His fingers grazed the closest egg, but no matter how many times he tried he simply couldn’t grip the stupid thing.

A deep breath in from the Griffin was all the warning Cale needed to know that it was about to strike. As it lifted its right side upwards into the air, Cale lunged forward in a last desperate grab, no longer bothering to hide his motions from the beast. Finally he clutched the egg that eluded him for so many moments and pulled it close to his chest.

The creature squawked in protest, stopping its claw mere inches from the egg, and those wings spread in a threatening manner.

“That’s right, I have your egg, don’t do anything too rash now.” He wasn’t sure if it understood him, but it did seem to be weighing its options. He felt around for a moment and found his punch dagger with his left hand.

“You let me go, and I’ll give you the egg, deal? Otherwise you can raise an omelette on my corpse.” The griffin shrieked in protest again and backed off of him.

“That’s right. Now, do we have a deal, you and me? Nod if you understand.” The bird-beast nodded once and he held the egg out at arm’s length, palming the knife. The bird slowly reached out with its beak, taking the egg in a surprisingly gentle grip. The moment it parted his hand a claw lashed out, but he was ready. He jumped, sprang from the outstretched claw, and into the beast’s face, where he drove the knife and much of his fist into its eye. The egg broke open in its beak as he felt the knife pierce the bone behind the eye with a crack, and the griffin convulsed as it crumpled underneath him.

“That’s what you get for double crossing me!” Cale yelled out in exhilaration, his heart pounding and mind abuzz with adrenaline. Tossing a wild kick into the dead creature’s back he shouted again. “Nothing gets the better of Cale of the Stilled Heart, you hear that you stinking bird?”

---

“Did you two hear... Nevermind.” Larenmireil realized that of course neither of her human companions had heard the screeching in the distance above. Though Rana looked thoughtful and nodded as if she had.

“I thought I heard something, but it might have just been the wind. It’s very noisy up here.” She still looked scared, the poor girl. For the first time ever, Larenmireil looked forward to leaving the resting place of the wind goddess, just so she could see Rana relax again.

“Are you ready to move on, Rana?” Larenmireil asked, and Greta sat up from where she’d been leaning against the stone, watching Rana.

“I think so. The sooner we reach the top the better.” Suiting action to words, she stood up, leaning a little on the wall, and Greta followed suit. They started along the path again with a grim sort of determination.

The path was easy for a few minutes, but quickly thinned to a narrow ledge little more than a foot wide. Greta took the lead and Larenmireil the rear, both ready to catch Rana should she falter, and they continued to inch upward at the steep angle the ledge took. They climbed forward with utmost caution, thankfully the wind held them to the cliff face. It always had, and Larenmireil attributed this to the wind goddess’ blessing as did all of the Windrunner elves.

“Larenmireil, we have a problem.” Greta called out as Larenmireil mused on the wind’s support. “The path is broken here. There is a fifteen foot section with no ledge at all. I might be able to climb across, but Rana can’t possibly in her condition!”

---

The ledge was broken and while the cliff face had some handholds, Greta was not certain she could safely get across at all.

“This shouldn’t be” Larenmireil called. “The wind goddess would never allow the pathway to be destroyed!” She sounded almost despairing. Greta felt around for a grip and got another zap just like from the stone wall for her trouble. Then words sank into the stone face of the cliff right next to her head.

“Ow, blood of the first, why does that keep happening? I think we have another riddle thing here.” It was written in the trade tongue so she read it aloud, over the noise of the wind.

“I have split the one into five.
I am the circle that few will spy.
I am the path that breaks and gives.
I am the bow no man may bend.”

Greta puzzled thought the clues as she recited them out loud. But before she could even decide on possibilities Rana spoke up, pressed close against her, eyes squeezed tightly shut in terror.

“It’s a rainbow. Five colors. It’s a circle, but you only see part. It breaks up if you aren’t looking from the right angle and who could bend a rainbow?” She said it quickly, with shuddering breaths, shivering against Greta. Greta found herself very impressed.

“I think you’re right. It has to be a rainbow!” And clearly that was the correct answer, as a wispy looking rainbow arched from one broken end of ledge to the other. Greta tried a tentative step and it felt firm, in spite of its translucent appearance and tendency to fade into nothing in places. She suppressed a shudder as she watched a lone fluffy cloud drift in the distance underneath her feet.

Gripping Rana’s hand she moved as quickly as she dared, pulling her friend along in tow. “Don’t open your eyes, Rana.”

Rana nodded and mumbled her assent, her hand clutching desperately at Greta’s. Larenmireil steadily supported Rana from the back keeping her on pace as they inched across the impossible bridge. Long minutes passed, feeling like years, but in due course they crossed without incident. Looking back after Larenmireil made it on to solid ledge, Greta could find no sign of the bridge.

Larenmireil quickly took the lead once again, guiding them to a path leading further up the mountain. It finally ended at a large stone temple that pierced into the heavens. The tower of air, the crowning monument of Lussax’ engineering, was a pale imitation of the grandeur and majesty of the true temple of air.

“It was built in ages past by my ancestors, at the height of the great migration as a gift to the goddess.” Larenmireil said with a smile.

Greta was at a loss for words, the Windrunner tribe seemed to her mind a fairly simple people, But she was obviously mistaken if they could construct something of such scale and have it last over so many centuries. Her train of thought was abruptly stopped by the soft thud of a body hitting the stone path behind her. Both she and Larenmireil turned in unison to a collapsed Rana, struggling for breath.

“Rana!” Greta cried out and turned to help her, but Larenmireil was faster this time. She cradled Rana’s head in her lap and stroked her hair, murmuring softly in that song voice she had. Rana breathed raggedly, but seemed to relax a bit in her arms.

Greta stood above her, terrified for her safety, and completely oblivious to the man creeping up behind her with a knife clutched in his fist, wicked blade protruding between his fingers. But Larenmireil heard him just in time to save Greta’s life.

“Greta! Look out!” She flinched at the cry, and that movement saved her life. The knife tore a stream of white hot fire through her left shoulder, glancing off her shoulder blade. Had she not flinched, it would have pierced her heart.

“Shut up, elf bitch!” He lashed out and Larenmireil didn’t even try to move, except to block Rana’s body more thoroughly with her own. As Greta realized Larenmireil couldn’t move fast enough with Rana’s head in her lap, the knife slid between her ribs with a sickening grating sound. Greta found her own knife, that blue elven blade, in her hand before she even realized she was reaching for it. She tasted blood and realized she’d bitten her tongue.

Growling with rage, Greta dashed forward clutching the dagger until her fingers ached. Cale moved toward her lightly, inviting her to strike. And that’s what she did, she relaxed her hold on the knife, repositioning the grip so that it pointed backwards parallel to her arm.

The sudden last minute change to her form and approach slipped through Cale’s defense as the girl dove past his side. Her blade dug into his hip as she passed. The rough impact of the glancing blow imparted the impression to Greta that she had cut deep, dragging along the man’s hip bone as she rolled into a crouch.

The man cried out in shook. “You little twat!” he screamed. But Greta hardly even noticed the insult. Her mind swam with ideas and tactics she could hardly make sense of yet understood at the same time, a sea of options. Rather than fighting the odd new knowledge, she went with the flow. With a quick snap of her wrist she released the dagger into a spin, plucking the blade from the air in a proper forward orientation, and dove in.

The assassin seemed immobilized, his injured side facing away from her, but her eyes caught the slightest of movements as she halved the distance between them. That vast flood of knowledge rang through her mind, warning her that the man was faking.

As he span forward, his punching knife between his fingers, Greta had already instinctively begun her own counter. Parrying the assassin’s knife over her own blade, she felt a sharp thrill as she watched the assassin’s hand getting dangerously close to her own blades razor fine edge. At the last moment a powerful leather booted kick from the assassin rammed hard into her solar plexus forcing the air from her lungs as she was thrown on her back several feet away. She ignored the desperate need to breathe and somehow struggled to her feet, focusing on making air move in her lungs without panicking.

“What the devil is this?” the man screamed, his nerves rattled. “You fight like a fiend!”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. But she stood there, knife in hand, facing him as her lungs slowly began to draw air in again. Then she saw the light in the sky. A second sun bearing down on the mountaintop like a fallen star. She backed away from the assassin and gripped Larenmireil’s still-warm hand, dragging her back toward the tower entrance. Gasping and desperate, she knew she had to get them both inside, protect them from the coming blast.

The assassin took a halting step, his hip clearly slowing him down, and turned to face the barely breathing Rana. He was going to stab her, while she couldn’t even fight back!

“Look!” she croaked, pointing at the fire in the sky, close enough now to drive the eyes away from its painful light. The assassin sneered at her for a moment, then apparently realized that it was far too bright out. He turned and looked. Then he dove hard away, as the ball of fire struck Rana with deafening, body-shaking force.

“Nooooo!” she couldn’t her herself cry out in the roar as scorching super-heated air singed her clothes and skin. The thought of her friend’s charred remains twisted her stomach. It was too late, she couldn’t save her, and Larenmireil was losing so much blood she couldn't even feel a heart beat in her wrist.

---

The blast nearly killed Cale, tired as he was. That girl, not only did she suddenly fight like she was trained in the pits, but she had literally saved his life warning him about the fireball. Why would she do that?

Regardless, she warned him, and he dove away, The blast threw him further away, on top of it, and he almost went off the side of the cliff. He clung to the edge, struggling to stay conscious, because if his grip failed he would fall and very definitely die. Inch by inch he pulled himself up until he was resting flat on the ground. He tried to roll a bit further from the edge, but didn’t quite make it, and passed out inches from a dizzying fall.

---

The sensation was familiar. Light and fire swirled around him in a mad dance, caressing and filling him up. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t since... since the fire struck him at Lussax. It was life, this fire. Purest, chaotic life. He felt it change him and exulted in it. He was one with the fire, and it with him. And in that short moment of joining, he was one with Granth. He remembered the maddening loneliness of being trapped in that wretched seal. The wild freedom of flight. The feel of hot blood from some large herbivore coursing down her throat. The feel of Calenth as he fertilized her eggs. The crushing pain at finding both eggs and Calenth shattered at the hands of some human godling. It all jumbled together in a single rushing flood of feelings and memories, and then just as suddenly it was gone.

Gasping and naked but for the sword, Rall sat up in the smoldering bowl of smooth blackened stone. He couldn’t remember how he got there, but he knew something was wrong. Missing. He looked around and saw the assassin lying next to the cliff. He thought about shoving him off the edge, but the man looked dead already, and he vaguely remembered that to do violence here was forbidden.

He rolled over, sinking his claws into the stone ever so lightly, and pulled himself to his feet. As he crested over the side of the shallow obsidian bowl, the fog in his mind began to clear and he remembered Greta and Larenmireil. Spinning around frantically he came to the realization that they were not anywhere in view. Stepping towards the temple door he paused as he felt a wet stickiness on the soles of his feet. Looking directly at the ground through the yellow rocky sand he saw a trail of blood, more blood then he had ever seen in his life.

A flash of memory came back, the sound of Greta’s terrified and anguished scream. His heart pounded and blood rushed in his ears as he recklessly dashed forward, following the trail towards the open temple door. Laid out on the vast white marble floor was Larenmireil, with Greta crouched to the side of her holding her head. Greta was silent, her eyes fixed like glass, staring at Larenmireil’s still, breathless body.

“Is she...” Rall trailed off when his voice echoed through the stone structure. A delicate, wispy, soft voice. A very definite girl’s voice. But it didn’t matter right then, it was unimportant next to the thought of what might have happened. “Is she...?”

He couldn’t make himself say the word.

Greta shook her head looking dazed. A sob crawled its way out of his throat and Greta made a sort of keening sound. She couldn’t be dead! She should be singing to her behemoth friend, or dancing, or laughing, not lying there like a broken porcelain doll! He raged for a moment, planning a dark and horrible vengeance for the assassin.

Greta slowly turned towards him, she almost seemed as lifeless as Larenmireil. “She’s dead... the man stabbed her... Then the fire killed you.” Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks. Looking him deep into his eyes, she whispered to Rall. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you.” Then she finally broke down into heartwrenching sobs, completely devoid of hope.

Grabbing Greta into a deep embrace, Rall felt the girl stiffen for a moment. “I’m alive.” he whispered into her ear. Her eyes shot open. The broken expression of joy and profound loss intermixed in her eyes made Rall’s gut wrench.

A warm breeze swept through the temple pushing the ancient stone door shut with a groan of grinding rock. “Such sadness .. such pain you hold in your heart.” whispered a soft voice from behind him. Rall twisted towards the voice and was stunned by the vision of Larenmireil standing above him he blinked for a moment, on close inspection while she had a striking resemblance to Larenmireil but it was not her . Turning back towards Larenmireil’s body, he saw that she still lay in a pool of her own blood.

Greta nearly choked as the woman knelt next to her then slowly placed her hand on to Larenmireil chest. “Do not be afraid. I have come to grant you a boon. Only you,” she pointed at Rall, “may receive my gift, as you did not shed blood on my sacred home. You,” she pointed to Greta, “I forgive. But I may not give you anything.”

“Larenmireil!” he nearly screamed “Bring her back please.... I’ll do anything!” his voice cracked.

The woman smiled, seemingly pleased at the answer. “This request is with in my power.. but if you choose to travel this path, what you have come here seeking will be forever denied to you”

Greta finally looked up to the woman. “You mean his sword can not be repaired if Larenmireil is returned?” she asked, horrified. The woman simply nodded.

“Then Rall must die for Larenmireil to return.....” she began to weep again

Lightly touching Greta’s shoulder, the goddess continued in a breathy voice, “The cage must be broken and her power be made whole. Only then can I act to restore your friend.” Turning towards Rall she spoke with a smile “It is a path can not be undone, but I see you have already decided. I understand, she is one of my beloved children.”

Standing up from her crouch the woman whom Rall now understood to be the air goddess offered her outstretched hand. “Come with me, child.”

“Stay with your friend young one, I will return with your lover shortly.” she told Greta with sly smile as Rall accepted her hand. He was about to protest but a powerful gust of wind lifted him off his feet. Before he could even comprehend what was happening, he was already shooting upward at a frightening rate. He found himself drifting through the tower of the temple, columns of stone bracing rings flickered past, faster then he could count. The whole world seemed to stretch before him. Clouds hung like sweet fairy strings and the earth even further below.

In a moment, the two stood atop the tower. Before them stood a column of air, spinning wildly within the confines of a circle of glowing lines traced atop the flat surface at the apex of the spire.

“This is where the last of Granth’s life and power lie. Once the seal is broken, she will become one with you. With the power of my demesne no longer siphoned away by this device, I will be able to do as you ask. I can anchor you, so that you will survive. But you will change, and Granth will be with you always.”

Rall looked down at the sword, remembering suddenly that brief moment of connection, the life she lived, suffered, exulted in. He knew he had to ask her. He placed his hand on the hilt of the sword, the only thing adorning his so alien body. He knew, somehow, she would hear him.

“Granth, this is your decision as well. Much as I want to, I have no right to make this decision for you.” For long moments he was met with silence.

“I have seen your heart, child. I have lived your life as you lived mine. Of all mortals, you alone might be tolerable. I will do this thing you ask, for you, and for the chance to feel the wind under my wings once again.” Granth sounded gentle, surprisingly so.

“Then I will break the seal.” He looked up to the wind goddess once again. “Now?”

“When the dragon’s fire consumes you, you must break the seal. Not before, nor after. You will only have moments.” Rall nodded and drew the sword from its sheath. In spite of the influx of power, it still looked like it should have been melted down years ago. Deep cracks covered it from hilt to tip, any one ready to part at the lightest pressure. But he knew it would not part by any force but his own hands.

Then the goddess waved a hand at the ritual, almost lazily, and the glowing lines drifted away in a puff of wind. The column of wind roared free, turning into a column of fire which arched over to focus on Rall in an instant.

Again white hot chaos surrounded him, filled him, changed the very core of his being. He lost all sense of time and thought, his focus on one thing above all others. A sword, in his hand. He had to do something with it, something very important. He struggled to grasp what he was supposed to do.

“Break the sword, child! Do it now!” A familiar gravelly voice called out from within him, within the sword. He could not resist the command, it felt right somehow. He gripped it by hilt and blade, the blade slicing deeply into his hand, and flexed.

The blade parted, and pain filled his soul. Burning, coursing agony. In a moment he lost consciousness.

“Don’t you recognize your best friend, Arron?” He stared at her again and she bared her teeth at him in what could, possibly, be taken for a smile by the truly unobservant.

Arron shuffled awkwardly through the knee deep snow. The chill of the wind had long since numbed his face and hands. Neither he nor Corana were dressed for the snowy mountain peak, and it showed. She looked pale and half asleep.

Cupping his hands to his mouth he exhaled in a vain attempt to warm his fingers. “We have to find shelter or we’ll never make it, Corana!” he shouted over the wind. She nodded listlessly. He worried she might be close to passing out, and that would mean almost certain death. He was too tired to carry her much further himself.

A dark spot in the wall of ice they’d been following downward gave him hope however, a cave would at least block the freezing wind.

“This way!” he led Corana by the arm, his own fatigue building by the second. The pair struggled their way down to the opening, she tripped several times along the way and Arron found himself leaning against her for support just as she leaned against him. As they stepped into the dark opening, she lifted a hand and mumbled. A sick, flickering light wobbled weakly in the air above her palm.

The cave was much larger than Arron would have liked. Large beasts and the like would be drawn to such a vast shelter. Besides, the possibility of it connecting to a larger network of tunnels seemed likely, and he did not want to get lost. Still, it was better than freezing to death.

“Over there...” Corana mumbled drowsily, pointing to a small alcove a bit further in, but close enough that the entrance was visible. They worked their way to the corner and fell to their knees almost as one, before struggling to find comfortable positions to rest. Arron decided it would be best to try and keep her awake, at least until he could warm her up.

“So, now that we’ve broken the two rituals we could find, what next?” He slid closer to her, trying to share his warmth. The stone floor of the cave seemed determined to leech it all away, even more than the air now that the wind was muted.

“G-g-go back t-to Ac-cademy... Take c-care of the city... B-b-banish Xabriar. Th-th-the usual.” Her eyes started to droop towards the end of her sentence.

“Oh no you don’t!” Arron yelled as he huddled close to Corana. “We both go home or we both die here.”

“N-n-ot sleeping... Just... resting my eyes. I can... warm us-s up...” She picked up a rock from the floor, a jagged chunk perhaps broken from the ceiling by the freezing and thawing of ice throughout the year. Before he could try to stop her, she mumbled a word and the rock turned a dull red. She dropped it on the ground between them.

“That was great, Corana, but you shouldn’t overdo it.” He held her close as she slumped, breathing softly. That last spell had drained whatever energy she’d had left to kept her awake.

---

Hours passed, Arron had kept watch only drifting off to sleep for the briefest of moments. The heated rock had died down an hour ago. It was becoming painfully clear that the weather would not lighten up. He hazarded the temperature stayed well below freezing year round here, only being hospitable at the zenith of summer.

“You there, young man!” Arron turned his head slowly towards the cave entrance, where his blurry eyes spied a white haired yeti stumbling into the cave. “Have you seen my Tinkerbelle?” Shaking his head at the nonsense, Arron groaned. Hallucinations he did not need.

“Pity, that, I was sure I’d seen him come this way. Are you alright there, boy? You look a bit pale. Should eat more, you’ll catch your death that way.” the yeti remarked as he tossed two large white rabbit furred coats on top of the two.

“You kids should dress better, too. It’s a little brisk out today. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to dress for the cold? I’ve half a mind to tie your mittens on a string!” Arron didn’t move at first, but the coat that landed on him felt pretty real. He slipped it on, then put the other on Corana. It was difficult, as limp and unresponsive as she was.

“You are real?” Arron asked, still unsure.

“Last time I checked. But you can never be too sure of things.” The old man who apparently was not a yeti patted at himself as if checking to be certain he was in fact there. “It seems I am real today. Very good, now let us get a hot meal going.” He said, nodding with a grin.

Pulling a red checkered tablecloth from his sleeve, he whipped it around wildly and tossed it onto the ground, speaking eldritch words of power. “Hocus pocus presto!” the man shouted as a puff of smoke rose from the cloth.

When the smoke cleared, a steaming basket of bread rolls, a hot beef roast and several dishes of vegetables and breads were resting on the cloth. All of it radiated warmth and comforting, mouthwatering scents.

“That ought to bring Tinkerbelle running, he never could resist a good roast!” the old man paused, briefly looking about as if expecting his animal to appear from the darkness, but nothing moved in the shadows. “Being stubborn are we? Well then no food for you! Such a waste though. You boy, eat your fill, and your girlfriend too. No point in wasting good food.” Even as the old man spoke, Arron felt Corana stir in his lap, no doubt roused by the smell of food.

Arron nodded, still unsure if what we was witnessing wasn’t just the dreams of a dying man. But dream or no, he might as well enjoy it. He helped Corana to sit up, sliding close to the cloth, and handed her a warm roll. It nearly burned his fingers, but not quite. After a few moments of hesitation, they both began to eat with the unrestrained fervor of starving people.

Arron felt better and better with every bite. He snuck a glance at Corana, and she looked more pink and less blue by the second. “Self heating meals, newest invention. Warms a person from the inside out.” the man cackled in glee.

As the minutes passed and they ate in silence, the old man wandered around the dark cave, calling out. “Tinkerbelle! Come here you stupid mutt! Oh, you rascal, you’ve gone and run away again, haven’t you? You’re not even here. Oh, bother. Say, it’s a bit chilly in here, isn’t it? Not really much of a home. Still, I’m not one to criticize where others choose to live. Maybe you two should come stand near the fire, warm up a bit.”

He pointed to a section of the cave further in, and Arron could see the flickering light of a fire, just beyond an outcropping of rock. He helped Corana to her feet.

“Can we trust this crazy old man, Arron?” she whispered to him.

“If he meant us harm, he could have just left us to die. Instead he fed us, gave us warm clothing, and somehow made a fire. He may be crazy, but he’s harmless. Besides, he just seems trustworthy, somehow.”

Corana nodded uncertainly, and allowed him to lead her toward the firelight. He didn’t notice until he passed directly under it, that the outcropping was actually a carved archway, covered with strange symbols that lit up as they passed underneath.

“Oh dear...” were the last words he heard as the world shattered like a thousand pieces of glass.

Then he saw fire, roaring, billowing white flames, so bright they hurt to look at even indirectly. So hot that he thought he might burn up. Roaring like an avalanche, only a few feet away. And then just as suddenly, the fire was gone, leaving spots in his vision and ringing in his ears.

As his eyesight cleared up, a dragon, all terrifying claws, teeth, horns and scales, stood before him. Liquid fire danced around it on the stone. Next to it stood a beautiful elf woman in white, possibly a maiden sacrifice to the beast. They all stood atop a great tower, so high in the sky the clouds looked tiny below, and the air was so thin he could hardly breathe.

The dragons eyes opened wide as it look at them, maw open wide in ravenous hunger, acid spit dribbling from its razor sharp teeth. Arron gasped then the world came spinning around as he fainted.

---

Greta held her dead friend’s hand silently. Things had been so quiet after Rana left, until the blast rang through the temple. Flashes of white and yellow flame reflected blindly off of the gray stone, and then only silence.

Larenmireil was still cold, still dead. Nothing had happened. A dark thought ran through her mind: maybe Rana had failed. A part of her denied that it could be true, Rana was too strong, too innately good to fail at something so important as this.

A rush of warm wind pulled her attention from Larenmireil’s form. Turning her head to the ceiling of the temple, she watched a distant yellow flickering light drift slowly downwards. As it approached she momentarily though she was looking at an angel. Great wings of light flapped distantly.

A heart beat later Greta gasped as the distant form came into clear view. Floating down from the sky was naked girl, wrapped in a halo of blond hair that reached down past her hips. Countless red scales speckled her sides, tracing long complex swirls across her peach skin. Wings of yellow flame spread out from her back in a wide circling embrace as she landed, surrounding Greta and Larenmireil. The wings burned, but they did not seem hot around her, just comforting and warm.

Her wings spread open wide, then vanished like the flickering flame of a candle. Kneeling down on both legs she rested her small round naked butt onto her feet. Greta could hardly believe what she was seeing. “Rana?”

“It’s me.“ she said with smiling face. Greta simply nodded, at a loss for words. Rana had changed, but it was rather subtle really. A million tiny changes added together to transform her from a cute city girl into a breathtaking goddess. But that’s not what grabbed her attention the most, it was the change in body language.

She no longer seemed out of place in her own skin. Every breath, every movement seemed natural. It was like someone had taken all her self doubts and cast them away like dirty water from the window. She was at home in her own skin, and the realization for Greta seemed profound. “What happened to her up there?” she thought for a moment.

“The wind goddess gave me this.” She held up a small whirlwind, the tiniest storm imaginable in the palm of her delicate clawed hand. “She said it was the breath of life, and I had to breathe it into Larenmireil.”

Greta could only nod in wonder. The goddess truly was powerful, to produce such a thing! She watched as Rana put the whirlwind to her mouth, then leaned forward and gently kissed Larenmireil. It reminded her of the moment in many stories, where the kiss of true love would break some horrible magical spell. And just like the stories, Larenmireil drew a deep gasping breath as her eyes fluttered open. Swing to her side she then proceed to cough clearing her throat and lungs of blood and other unpleasantness in a splattery mess.

Greta watched in disgust at the scene as Larenmireil spat out the last bits. But Larenmireil ignored it and reached up to put her arms around Rana’s neck, drawing her into a far more serious kiss. Rana didn’t seem to mind. By the time they were finished, even Greta was breathing heavily.

“Thank you for bringing me back, Rana. And Greta... There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you, and after what just happened, I don’t want to wait any more.” She untangled herself from Rana, who leaned back with a dazzled sort of smile. Greta realized at that moment that she had lost Rana to Larenmireil. She held out her hand for whatever consolation prize Larenmireil might have to offer, but was surprised when Larenmireil took her hand and drew her down into a kiss to rival the one she had given Rana! When she drew away, Greta had to lean against Rana to keep from falling to the ground.

“Wha...?” Rana was giggling next to her, and Larenmireil looked much like a cat with a feather hanging from its mouth.

“I thought we had all the time in the world to decide how we felt about each other. I was wrong. We have now, and we might not even have tomorrow. Rana, Greta, I love both of you, and I can not keep my silence about it any longer. I know it is not the human way, b-”

“Larenmireil, you’re babbling. We know.” Rana’s voice was gentle, caring, and it made Greta want to melt almost as much as the kiss had.

“Greta, do you think you would be willing to try, the three of us, even though you’re human, Larenmireil is elven, and I am now fully dragon?” Greta nodded almost without thinking, before the full import of Rana’s words caught her attention.

“You’re a dragon now? Completely?” Rana nodded.

“Not a normal dragon by any means, but yes. This form is me now, I’ve accepted it. I think I can be happy, happier than I ever could have as Rall, so long as I have Larenmireil and you, Greta.”

Larenmireil leaned into Rana shoulder. “Your name was Rall?” she half asked, half stated. “ I like Rana better, it suits you.” Greta nodded her a agreement

Rana grabbed the two of them in a hug. “Yes, I think it does... But I should still ask Mom and Dad, just to be sure.”

----

The hug felt like home. Rana could hold these two and never let them go. But she did let go, after long minutes.

A distant rush of wind caught her attention and interrupted her moment of serenity, to her annoyance. Nothing ever seemed to slow down for even a moment! What she wouldn’t give for just a day to laze about with Greta and Larenmireil, to make up for lost time.

“What about Granth?” Greta asked her. She had been thinking about how to answer this question, knowing it would come up soon.

“She’s right here with me, inside me. We share everything now, thoughts and feelings. We’re still working on our differences, but it will work out. Can you still love me, knowing you have to accept her as well?” Rana suddenly felt smaller, less confident. Greta grinned at her and put a hand on Larenmireil’s shoulder.

“If I can put up with this dragon, I can put up with Granth.” Larenmireil laughed at her and swatted her hand away, and Rana smiled. She knew then that it would be alright. Then another voice interrupted.

“I believe you forgot something in your rush.” tsked a distantly airy voice from above. A flash ran through her mind as she briefly remembered the group of people that suddenly appeared before her at the apex of the joining.

‘What of these mortals?’ Granth’s mental voice echoed powerfully in her head. “Lower your voice, Granth, you’re making my head ring! Arron?” She shouted suddenly, seeing her best friend fall from the sky in a heap, alongside a woman with one hand.

“Umm, do I know you?” Arron said as his face turn red. For a moment Rana couldn’t understand the odd stare he was giving her. It was a cross between embarrassment and hunger. She realized what was wrong when he took off his rabbit fur coat and settled it over her shoulders.

“Miss, you shouldn’t walk around naked like that. What would you have done if someone less honorable saw you like that? Here, cover yourself, woman!” The woman with the one hand offered him a wry glance that he didn’t seem to notice at all.

Rana paused, something about the way Arron lectured rubbed her the wrong way. Clenching her first tight enough to feel claw tips against her palms, she fought the impulse to roar for half a heart beat, until Granth start screaming in her ear to rip the little gnats head off for insulting her perfect form. Startled by the sudden vicious impulse, she stopped and thought about her response a moment.

“Don’t you recognize your best friend, Arron?” He stared at her again and she bared her teeth at him in what could, possibly, be taken for a smile by the truly unobservant.

“R... Rall?” He sounded uncertain. “That can’t be you...” He trailed off as she breezed across the floor, paying no mind to the coat falling from her shoulders, and punched him in the face.

“In the flesh.” She offered, as he reeled and put a hand to his face. He had his sword half out of its scabbard, but did not strike back.

“I’ve been through some changes. It turns out I’m a powerful sorcerer, and now I’m a dragon too. Oh, and a girl.” She smirked as he spit blood on the floor from a split lip. Larenmireil looked shocked by the violence, and Rana remembered suddenly that she was not supposed to do violence here.

“But... That isn’t even possible! Is it?” He looked at the one armed woman, who shrugged at him.

“You’ve dug your own pit here, I’ll have no part of it.” She seemed to be a smart woman.

“So, what do you think then? Since you got a good look at *all* of the changes.”

“But...” He looked confused still, and she grew yet more frustrated.

“Remember when we snuck in to the brewer’s shed and got drunk on brandy? How my mom paddled us both senseless? It’s me. But, I’m still going by Rana.” She let go of her anger from before, this was her friend alright. Only he could so stubbornly refuse to see the obvious.

“Rall... Rana! You’re definitely different. Wow are you different...” The one-armed woman slapped him in the back of the head at that point.

“And I am Corana, High Mage of the Academy of Magic at Gaerbron. Are you the apprentice who suffered under Xabriar then? If so I very much apologize. I should have seen it, and never allowed him an apprentice.” She nodded her head in a graceful gesture somewhere between greeting and apology.

“There’s no need to apologize for what he did. If it wasn’t me it would have been someone else, and look where I ended up.” Rana indicated the girls on either side of her.

“A dragon now you say? That must be an interesting story...” Corana remarked as she gave Rana a good looking over, her eyes briefing pausing over her scales. Flashing her talon-like red nails for Corana’s viewing pleasure, she smiled towards the woman. “All dragon, kind of. Granth says the dragon form takes too much energy to maintain for now, so this is what I look like when in a humanoid form.”

“I’m still confused... how did this happen Rall?” Arron questioned. “You were dressed as a girl leaving for Lussax, last I saw.”

“It was the sword all along, Arron. That rusty sword Xabriar sent to be melted down? It was some kind of ancient seal used to imprison Granth, and he damaged the seal to draw out her energy and use it to make these... spells.” Arron nodded, and Rana shrugged. “I broke it when the wind goddess broke the spell above us, and Granth sort of... became part of me.”

“A sword?” Corrana muttered “Was it a short sword covered in runes, made of silver steel, in an old Imperial design?”

Rana nodded “Not sure about the metal, but there were a lot of fire runes and it was Imperial, according to Martello.”

Corana clutched her fist, a bitter rage flashing across her face. “That sneaky old bastard stole it, from the Academy vaults. He framed my mentor, an archivist working within the vault, as a false witness who claimed my teacher stole and sold it across the northern border! That was nearly four years ago, and Master Sortel is still trying to rebuild his life from the shambles!”

Shaking her head in shock, Corana continued, “To think the sword that ruined my friend’s life and brought to my attention Xabriar’s wickedness would be the very same sword that has drawn you into this affair...”

A gentle voice answered her, “Things of great power tend to affect many lives in various ways.” Rana watched in awe as a gust of wind twisted and turned from behind Corana, slowly becoming more solid until it took the appearance of the elven woman that had helped her not an hour before. “It is fate that has drawn all of you to this place and time. Now that the four rituals drawing magic from the land have been broken, the sorcerer who has done all of this has become desperate, and made a contract with the enemy of all life.”

Corana bowed respectfully towards the goddess. “What has Xabriar done?” Rana could hear the resolve in her voice. She had determination and an obvious grudge against Rana’s old master. But she suspected many people did, herself among them.

“The one you call Xabriar has given himself to the services of those beings from the realm of suffering for the power he needs to breach the heavens.” She sighed in disappointment, “It is beyond my ability to act against him. My winds, my lands, are being threatened by the ones who sleep in the heavens as we speak. To act against the sorcerer now would forfeit my lands and all of the protection I offer from the threat of the mortal gods of the north. Xabriar has done greater harm with his rituals, his distractions and damages to the natural powers have broken our front. We nature gods must now rally our forces to stave off attack.”

Rana nodded, “I have heard and seen of the damages the mortal gods can do. The seal that trapped Granth was made by one such.”

“Do you mean this?” the wind goddess held forth a short sword, the very rusted sword that caused the whole thing, out to Rana. It was whole again, but the runes were different now, and it shone golden instead of silver, with not a single blemish of decay. Six gems studded the crosspiece on either side, stones Rana recognized: they were the stones she picked up by the river travelling to Lussax! She reached for it hesitantly.

“Do not fear, it is no longer a trap for your other-self. It seemed a waste to discard such a puzzling piece of magic, and those stones called out to it.”

Her hands jerked towards the sword suddenly as she caught sight of the ember red stones. “They are *mine*.” She wasn’t sure how else to explain it, but both the wind goddess and Corana nodded as if they understood.

“That sword is no longer a seal, it is a focus. It will help you as you learn and grow into your power, and may save your life in the days to come.”

Rana nodded as she grasped the sword by its hilt. She marveled at how easily her fingers fit the leather bound hilt. And the sensation of the sword’s well-balanced weight pulling her muscles taut was so familiar that she wondered briefly how she could ever have thrown such a magnificent thing off the side of a ferry.

“So what now?” Greta voiced, catching Rana’s attention from the twinkling stones again.

“Umm, can we get Rall... Rana some clothes?” asked a red-faced Arron. She chuckled in response.

An amused mental nudge from the back of her mind gave her pause for a moment. “Hang on, I think I can do something...” She focused on her body, her scales, envisioning them covering more of her, like armor. She could feel Granth working in unison with her, just as she could feel the scales shifting and growing from her skin.

“How’s that?” She looked down at her form then up at Arron who nodded, a stunned expression dominating his face.

Sliding her hand over the skin-tight red leather-scaled breastplate, she rolled her shoulders back and stretched out to get a feel for how it moved. She had once tried on Arron’s guard armour; besides it not fitting properly the biggest impression she had of it was how it limited her movements. But this moved just like her own skin. It left her arms and hands uncovered save for scaly bracer that covered her whole forearms with sharp-edged scales that stuck out at wicked angles. And she couldn’t help noticing it subtly emphasized her curves.

The leggings where made up of countless overlapping scales that moved with seamless fluidity, the scales so soft and fine it it seemed more like a second skin than any sort of protection. The boots though, felt solid. They wrapped tightly over her knees, the leather as thick as her breast plate, but the scales were much larger, almost like metal plates. A couple of quick steps forward assured her that the fit was perfect, and her balance unaltered.

“That’s some armor, Rana...” Greta whistled appreciatively and Arron looked determinedly straight into Rana’s eyes. His face had turned a shade of red that Rana was certain perfectly matched her scales.

Grabbing his discarded coat he quickly draped it over her. “We must get clothing for Rana!”

She shrugged the coat back off and handed it to him. “Arron, I know it’s a big adjustment for you, but I am who I am and clothing isn’t going to change it anymore.” He stood there with a kind of frustrated and confused expression. Sighing she patted him on the shoulder. “We can deal with this later.”

“I think it suits her.” Larenmireil offered weakly from her position on the ground, head still pillowed in Greta’s lap. “She is strong and beautiful, and it shows.”

Corana nodded her agreement and Arron threw his hands up in defeat. Corana smirked a bit at Arron’s frustration then turned back towards the group “We do have more pressing matters than discussing fashion. I speak of what to do about Xabriar.”

Rana nodded uncertainly. “What is it that my former master is trying to accomplish?”

Corana paused for a moment, stunned. “You mean you didn’t know? You’ve been undoing his work just as I have...”

Rana shrugged her shoulders. “Not intentionally, Greta and I have been on the run for months. Things just sort of happened, you know?”

“Hmmmm...” Corana mused for a moment. “You might have been attracted to the dragon’s flames unknowingly. Perhaps her own life force drew her, and through the sword, you.”

“In any case, he means to become a new god. We’ve destroyed four of his rituals, all together, but there should be a last one by my calculations, somewhere in the western mountain range. Even with only one of these rituals he can rebuild the rest else where, and will be a truly dangerous opponent.”

“If we have destroyed all his rituals that should make him weak, right?” Greta piped in.

“Possibly.” Corana acknowledged. “But I feel it may be more a set back than anything. It might be enough to give us a fighting chance. The rituals have been sending a staggering amount of energy to his tower for a while now, who knows what he might have done in that time to prepare?”

“Should we return to Gaerbron and inform the council?” Arron asked.

“Or seek aid from Lussax?” Greta echoed Arron thoughts.

“Time is short, he grows in power with each passing moment. Xabriar has allied himself with those beings who despise all life, and through that alliance all may be undone. You must go now to the burning mountain in the west and face him. I shall send you, but it is all I may do.” the wind goddess told the group, silencing everyone.

“You, daughter, must return to your village and recover, for the ferryman very nearly took payment for your passage. Such things are hard on mortal bodies.” she directed Larenmireil, who was crestfallen at the command, even though her exhaustion was obvious.

Sheathing her newly reforged sword Rana addressed the group her voice shaking. “I’m going. I think I’ve messed up enough of Xabriar’s plans that if he isn’t defeated, then I’m as good as dead anyways.” shrugging her shoulders at Greta half convinced look. “Besides, I’m a dragon, right?”

“If you’re going, then I’m going.” Greta said decisively as she marched up next to her. “You will not leave me behind, do you hear me?” Rana smiled and nodded to her, quite certain the fiery girl meant it.

Arron was about to protest, but Corana intervened before a word left his mouth. “These two are already known to Xabriar by now, there is no point in them hiding. And they have already shown that they are capable enough. If they are willing to accept the risks then we are better for their aid.”

Rana could tell that he still wished to argue, but the steadfast look from Corana checked his tongue. “He must really like her.” she whispered into Greta’s ear.

Corana turned to the air goddess with a quick bow. “I believe we are all in agreement. I wish to humbly ask, goddess of the winds, for your aid in sending us to Xabriar. ”

The goddess’ body dispersed into a powerful gale that swept through the temple, forcing Rana’s eyes shut. “So be it. I will provide you the means to reach him, but it is left to you to face him. Do not fail.” The winds hissed and shrieked through her ears.

Cracking open an eyelid, Rana watched with blurry vision as the winds began to twist through the temple and a miniature white cyclone took shape. Gasping she watched the top reach upwards toward the ceiling. In a blink of an eye it curved down, ramming itself into the temple walls. The winds beat against the stone almost as if trying to drill though. For a moment Rana thought her eyes had begun to play tricks as she watched the the stone wall slowly start to melt and twist like thick cream soup being stirred.

The winds pounded relentlessly against the misshapen wall until something gave. To Rana it sounded a lot like a loud plop, kind of like a the stones she and Arron use to skip in the river. Tentatively stepping forward, Rana inspected the site curiously. Where the winds had struck was now a kind of hole, its edges blurred and magnified and seeming to ripple in the light. Beyond the edge was a pale blue color, with wisps of white.

Corana spoke up, her voice tinged with awe. “She... made a link through the ley lines! It will carry us along them like water through an aqueduct. I never would have imagined such a thing could be done...”

A blast of wind, hot, fetid and stinking, escaped the hole as it pulsed with energy.”Go now, I can not hold this passage for long.” A whirling distant voice beckoned.

Pinching her nose Rana wondered briefly how she had gotten herself into this whole little adventure. But she didn’t allow herself to dwell on such thoughts, running past Corana, Rana jumped. “No looking back now!” she shouted out as she passed through the opening.

“No fair!” Rana heard Greta call from behind her.

The air current in the tunnel gently pulled Rana along. It felt like slowly drifting down river in a fishing boat. Beyond the transparent wall of the tunnel Rana could almost make out blurred outlines of mountains and rivers as they drifted by so... far... below...

She gulped, trying not to see, but it was obvious everywhere she looked that she was *far* above the ground, held aloft by nothing she could see or even really feel. And she was going faster now than when she started. The mountains approached from the west at startling speed, then zipped below her like the elves’ arrows when they were chasing that assassin. Until finally the images blurred into a stream of color that stream across the sky.

Rana could feel herself panicking, her heart raced and the only coherent thought in her her mind was to escape. Grasping on to the power the reside within her she tried desperately to spread her wings.

“Calm yourself.” Granth deep throaty voice soothed from a deep corner of their combined mind that she had taken up residency in. “Release our power here and you will not only kill us but your companions as well. This is magic beyond your understanding as of yet, and you dare not disturb it.”

Rana tried to close her eyes and ignore it, but she could still see. In fact, she only just then realized that she couldn’t close her eyes or look away because she didn’t have them. Or anything else except her sense of self and her perceptions. As the realization struck her that she did not in fact have a body, she suddenly did. And she banged several bits of that body painfully, landing on hot hard jagged stone. The air reeked with the stench of sulfur and decay, a choking miasma that clung to her lungs disgustingly. A noise behind her caused her to turn around.

Greta neatly crested though the air like a behemoth breaking water. Then she fell directly on top of Rana, screaming with glee. “That was incredible,” she gasped catching her breath while crawling off of Rana’s chest, “... we have got to go again!”

“No!” Rana yelled, both at Greta’s suggestion, and the descending Arron. Rolling to her side she barely vacated Arron’s landing spot. Corana quickly followed suit, fortunately for her Arron made a nice landing mat.

“It’s not exactly home...” Corana commented as Rana looked around the expansive crater. Shards of sharp black volcanic glass littered the crater like countless stone knives. A distant bubbling orange lake of thick liquid radiated an intense heat that could be felt even from where they stood.

“Oh gods, this heat is unbearable!” Greta complained from beside her, fanning herself. Rana could feel it but didn’t find it uncomfortable; if anything it was almost pleasant. ‘Although the smell could be better,’ she thought while wrinkling her nose.

Rana tried to ignore the stench as she took in the true horror of the landscape. Foul creatures wandered the crater, twisted and cruel-looking, no two similar but all alike in their expressions of hateful glee. Some battled each other, others tortured the rare living thing found scuttling the crater. And the nearest had begun to notice the group. In the distance, straight ahead, Rana could sense something dark and malevolent growing.

“Demons” Rana heard Corana’s light voice whisper with utter contempt. “Lesser ones, but quite deadly. We must fight.”

Gripping the hilt of her sword Rana slowly unsheathed. “There’s so many...” she muttered as her eyes darted across the broken landscape. Countless creatures that darted back and forth wildly between outcroppings of rock, hunting each other for sport in the distant darkness of the great caves that ran along the sides of crater. Rana thought she could see movement in the blackness, outlines of vast things that she had once seen in a nightmare while sleeping in Xabriar’s library.

“The lesser ones don’t fight as a team, and are as likely to destroy each other as to attack us. Focus on one foe at a time, and guard each other’s backs. And for the First’s sake, stay away from the big ones.”

They moved forward as a group, trying not to make more noise than necessary on the broken stone. As they approached a rock outcropping, the first demon struck from a shadow. It pounced and struck faster then Rana could properly follow, its hideously deformed arm stretching beyond natural limits. Rana suppressed a urge to throw up as its arms finally split open from the stress, flesh and bone parting while black blood sprayed wildly about. It then whipped its self-mangled arm towards Arron. Rana watched in horror as it stretched like a whip, the flesh growing and healing as its black claws reached unnatural speeds.

But Arron was prepared, his sword at the ready. The whip-like attack’s timing was easy for him to predict. Half-stepping to the side the moment before impact, he swung downward into the creatures arm. The strike cut through cleanly, forcing the demon to an awkward roll as it landed.

“Idicium Divine!” Corana spoke words that felt familiar to Rana, and a flash of light lanced out from her wand to the creature, which erupted into motes of blackness that themselves faded into nothing.

“More will come.” Corana affirmed. “Arron prepare to defend me as I destroy them. Greta, your knife should prove effective, as should your sword, Rana. Now might be a good chance to practice some combat magic, if you know any such. If not, learn quickly.”

Rana could see Greta clenching her teeth, and even hear the slight grinding sound. It was perhaps a bit presumptuous of Corana to simply take command like she did, but then, none of the rest had any experience fighting such creatures. A high pitched whining cry pierced the air from the distance as a creature seem to finally take notice. Slowly turning, Rana listened as more cries echoed all around her.

“They are gathering...” Arron whispered, his sword held at the ready.

Before she could think any further on the matter, a black claw lashed out at her. She took it on her scales, but Greta seemed to take personal offense at the attack.

“You filth, get your claws off of her!” Rana watched as Greta savagely slashed at the thing; her knife flowed effortlessly with her strikes, parting black demonic flesh like thick cream. A clawed arm dropped to the ground as Rana brought her sword to bear. The demon, leaking purplish ichor and grimacing with pain and hate, tried to turn tail and flee but Rana’s sword sank into its skull with a wet crunch.

Back to back, the four inched forward, fighting demons and other creatures of nightmare as they approached. None of the demons stayed close for long. The cowardly beasts gathered just out of blade’s reach, until shoved forward by their own numbers to be chopped to bits by blade or blasted into nothingness by Corana’s magics. The fighting was actually not too difficult for each individual enemy, and they never attacked together. In fact, several times Rana was quite certain one of the demons shoved another forward directly onto her sword, intentionally.

But the constant influx of enemies was wearying, and there seemed no end to the demons. Somehow in the chaos, Arron and Corana became separated from Greta and Rana.

“There are too many! We’ll never make it!” Greta called over her shoulder, and Rana shook her head grimly.

“We’re so close, we just have to reach him and..” She didn’t know what would come next. All semblance of a plan had dissolved under the relentless onslaught. But she was certain she would do something.

Just then Greta cried out in pain behind her. Rana chopped with the sword, cutting cleanly through four demons that had rushed forward to capitalize on the downed girl, and clearing a small space around her. She glanced back to find Greta cut deeply along her ribs, the wound already an angry red color as blood leaked slowly out.

The demons cackled at her, jeering from a distance in a large circle, darting in to attack from her back. Confident in their own safety they cackled and taunted. She hated them! She felt as if her soul itself were burning with hate. “Destroy them!” Granth’s voice seethed in her mind.

Gripping her the hilt of her sword she allowed the anger and frustration to pour into her focus. White hot runes etched themselves across her blade as power pulsed with the beat of her pounding heart. The ground vibrated and the air thumped more powerfully with each passing second. “Now!” Granth’s voice called, without thought or reason Rana thrust the sword deep into the ground.

Pillars of white flames cracked then burst through the earth, radiating out like ripples in the surface of a pond, but more destructive than a tidal wave. The shattered bodies of demons flew about like ragdolls, others burnt to nothing in the flashes of white light. It seemed to last forever, crashing with a horrific sound and fury. When the earth once again settled, only Rana and Greta remained, unmoved by the destruction around them.

Greta was working her way to her feet, her shirt torn to improvise a bandage over her side. She looked horribly pale, but she stood firmly once righted, and held her dagger with confidence.

“That was... pretty amazing, Rana. Let’s go, they won’t want to face you again for a while, so maybe we can reach Xabriar.”

“You’re hurt!” Rana couldn’t help stating the obvious.

“I’ll be okay,” Greta lied badly, “Focus on what we came here to do.” Sliding in next to her, Rana compressed her hand over Greta’s midsection to help stem the bleeding.

“Rana... He’s toying with you...” In spite of the noise of the dead girl’s screams and the chaos of the fight, Greta’s raspy, sick-sounding voice rang clear in Rana’s ears. She couldn’t see very well, with her eyes teared up from the pain and shock of the blow to her face, but from her voice Rana was sure Greta was barely clinging to life.

Corana lashed out again with her magic, and another minor demon ceased to be. The spell was not difficult, but casting it repeatedly for hours was steadily weakening her reserves. And she’d managed to lose the dragon girl and her lover.

The demons were being surprisingly cagey, keeping just out of reach of the spell she’d been using, and anything with a greater reach would be much more taxing on her energy. Arron was doing a superb job of keeping them off of her when they did attack, but he had taken cuts for his trouble. Cuts that she knew from experience would fester. None of them were likely to leave this place alive, the best they could hope for was to take Xabriar down with them.

Just then a demon stepped forward from the ranks. A great brute of a beast, with bulging muscles and huge black horns. Not only was it a greater demon, one of those things of nightmare that no mortal could safely face, but it was a familiar beast. Around its neck hung a grisly trophy on a black iron chain: a burned, severed arm. The demon grinned savagely at her.

“So this time you come to me, to my lands to fight? I will take your other arm, and your legs, and leave your remains for the weaklings to play with. Do not fear, you *will* live to enjoy it for a very long time.”

Corana tried not to show any sign of the horror in her heart. This thing could and likely would do exactly as it threatened. She stared it down desperately, her wand wavering in the air before her, when from behind a heavy knife flashed and struck the thing’s chest. The tip of the blade snapped off harmlessly against its skin, but the beast looked down to see what thing would dare.

She struck, summoning all the power at her command. She would *not* allow that thing to focus on Arron for even a moment, and perhaps his thrown boot knife would be enough of a distraction for the spell to catch him by surprise.

The demon casually swatted aside the blast of power, its own power deflecting the energies easily.

“Pitiful. Where is the ingenuity that cost you your arm?” It’s voice rumbled in a dark chuckle. “Ah, your protector. He is brave, but will he still fight for you as his skin is peeled off, layer by layer? Perhaps I will animate his bones to flay your dismembered body.”

Corana weaved magical energies through her wand into spell after spell. Ice. Acid. Shards of stone. Banishing spells. Each unraveled in the demonic aura of the creature with no effect.

She could feel Arron behind her, and despaired, knowing that the great demon before her would torment them terribly, and Arron would likely lose his mind seeing the things they would do to her. She struggled to summon more strength, to fight on, but she could feel her reserves failing. It was too much, too fast. Then she heard Arron cry out in rage behind her.

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Her back went cold as he summoned that power he’d used before. She looked over her shoulder to see ice grow on his body, jagged and bone-crackingly cold. A great blade of ice formed in his hand, growing up from the short sword he held.

Corana shivered involuntarily as she felt the ambient temperature drop rapidly below freezing. Hesitantly she shifted her sight into the higher planes purposely avoiding looking directly at the demon. She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she did *not* want to see that thing’s true form.

Watching awestruck, she saw a bubbling, steaming spring bursting forth from a crack in the ground and flowing directly to Arron. Water elemental energies filled his mortal body to beyond human limits. For a moment she felt relief, this was a power that could possibly overcome the arch demon.

To the west, black and white energies warred across the sky. A great ball of black flame dropped to the earth below, and the forces involved rocked the three in spite of the distance. Arron and the demon never looked away from each other, but Corana risked a glance, and thus missed the end of the standoff.

---

Arron charged forward into the demon, swiping down hard with his sword. The beast raised its arm to block, arrogantly grinning at its ice-coated attacker. And then it roared in pain as the icy blade bit deep, flash freezing the flesh around its edge.

Thrusting forward its left arm, the demon wrapped a long claw-tipped finger around the ice-encased sword and pried its arm free of the edge. “It seems there may be something worth killing here after all!”

Stepping backward, the demon quickly pulled back its guarding arm then turn rapidly throwing the blade back. The motion twisted Arron around painfully as he desperately held the grip on his sword and was thrown backward. Spinning around dizzily he struggled to regain his footing, and found it only to see the demon waiting patiently for his recovery.

“Such a nice toy you have there, mortal.” it snickered in a mocking tone. Raising its damaged arm into the air, the demon began to chant loudly and drew a symbol that twisted painfully in Arron’s vision. The air filled with a suffocating sense of dread as the demon’s magics spread out all around them. Arron noted from the corner of his eye, Corana gripping her wand worriedly and looking puzzled, as if trying to guess the nature of the demon’s spell.

“Ne’sterna’des’on!” The archdemon’s deep, thunderous voice called out at the zenith of its spell work. All around them, loose shards of volcanic glass began to writhe and dance wildly on the ground, until finally the magic reached a tipping point and countless pieces of black obsidian exploded into the air. For a brief moment they hung suspended, then shot toward the demon at deadly speeds. Arron and Corana both ducked desperately to avoid being impaled, as black glass forged in the heat of its volcanic home whipped swirling through the air into the palm of the demon’s waiting hand. Slowly the the ancient glass melted and compressed into a liquid ball of blackness. Gripping the molten material the creature swung its arm downward, forming a long, jagged, thick black blade that Arron judged was nearly the length of his own body.

Arron watched warily as the demon lifted its newly forged weapon with ease for close inspection. “This will do nicely.” Runic symbols of fire and death etched into the blade’s surface where they glowed fitfully, hungrily.

Arron dashed madly into the kill zone of the distracted demon, his own blade thrust forward. Arron felt as if time slowed down in the moment of the strike, his blade slowly closing the distance between itself and the torso of the vile demon only inches away.

Just before the thrust could strike home, the demon’s knotted, malformed face twisted into a smirk. It heaved the great blade and swung in at a diagonal. Arron could hardly imagine even the great monster before him could move something so large and heavy so horrifically fast. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, the demon’s obsidian construct smashed into the side of Arron’s ice-coated armor. Corana’s voice cried out from the side as Arron dully felt the ice cracking open on his side, but the armor did not give completely to the blow. Arron sailed into the air, the ground spinning dizzyingly beneath him.

As Arron fell rapidly toward the jagged, rough ground he began to panic. A hard landing now would likely mean more than a broken bone or two. In the moment of necessity insight came to him like flash of lightning. Willing the ice that surround his sword and armour to melt he formed a tight sphere around his body like a giant rain drop.

As his encased body slammed into the ground he willed the water to hold its form, spreading the impact over the widest surface area possible. As planned, the force of the impact spread across the whole of his body, minimizing much of the potential damage. The landing did manage to knock the wind out of him and likely would leave a large welt across his back, but it was nothing life threatening.

In an instant the ice reformed into armor and sword, and Arron rolled aside as the great black blade sliced into the stone where he had landed. He kept rolling and came to his feet with a twist to face the demon.

“Clever human, but you can not last against my might!” The archdemon swept that great blade at him again, and Arron turned it upward to sail over his head, parrying with the ice blade. He struck again, this time expecting to be blocked, and as the blades met he spat in the demon’s face. It was a common soldier’s trick, to disgust the enemy and obstruct his vision, and it came almost as a reflex after months of drilling at fighting dirty.

He did not expect a geyser of water to erupt from his mouth, or to freeze in a block around the demon’s head. Raising over his sword over his head he rushed forward, not daring to let this advantage slip by. He chopped down hard, his blade parting the flesh and bone of the demon’s shoulder, flash freezing as it drove through, nearly severing its arm completely.

The archdemon flailed about, striking at its head weakly with the limp arm, which slowly began to heal. Seeing how effective the ice spit had been, Arron decided to try more of it. He spit again, and the torrent sprayed and sprayed, coating the thing completely with layer upon layer of heavy ice. In a few moments, it was completely encased, though Arron felt as if he might pass out. Something about using that power left him weak. And the poison the lesser demons left in his cuts burned at him, held at bay only by the power flowing into him. If he fell, he would not rise again.

---

As Arron and the archfiend traded blows more seriously, dancing around each other in a complicated back-and-forth of strikes, parries and feints she didn’t really understand, she focused, summoning power from the ley lines that gathered in this place.

As she concentrated on her own magic, Corana noticed something that made her heart freeze. There was a gaping hole in Arron’s aura; with each exchange of blows the magic he wielded consumed his vital energies at an alarming rate.

Frantically her eyes darted back and forth between the demon and Arron. He had the upper hand for the moment, trapping the demon in a wave of blue ice. But it would not hold for long. The creature was thrashing against its binding, the pulse of its muscles threatening to shatter the icy tomb.

They didn’t have much time left; Arron couldn’t hold out much longer. Her panic ridden mind ran though a thousand different spells. Half of them she didn’t have the reserve to perform. The other half required days of work and rare reagents. “There must me something!” she shouted in frustration. The demon thrust forward shattering part of Arron’s icy hold, laughing darkly. It seemed amused that a mere mortal could offer it so much entertainment. In her anger and frustration, she remembered her missing arm, which swung for the demon neck like a lucky rabbit’s foot. It had taken her arm, now it would take her lover, and leave her a broken woman to be played with by its kind.

She screeched in wild frustration, and for one lunatic moment, the only thought on her mind was a hysterical need to grab back her mangled arm and bludgeon the demon to death with it. It was in this moment of insanity that the answer came to her. It was such a simple yet perfect solution.

She focused on her magic again, knowing she had precious little time to gather the power she would need. She just needed enough to make a link, and cast. The unmaking, it was a simple spell of destruction of no practical combat utility. It was a paradox: unimaginably powerful, able to rip apart matter down to it fundamental components, but so very easily unraveled by the most trivial of magics. It did have one use though, the disposal of thing of no value like trash and sewage. To which purpose Gaerbron constructed large spell circles in the cities dumps as a quick way to remove the unsightly rubbish once it pile to high.

After recovering from her battle with the demon in their first encounter, she had raided the Academy library, pulling out every dusty tome she could find on destroying archdemons. Much of the knowledge though was unless, requiring weeks worth alchemy work to distill a potion of banishment that would likely still fail. Others required the containment and slow sealing of the demon over the course of months. It was all completely and utterly useless in actual combat, but she did run across one obscure entry in old dusty journal. Nearly half a century ago a it was discovered that demon flesh was not truly alive, but merely a mockery of life. As such it was shown through experimentation on lesser demons that the unmaking could easily devour the creature’s flesh if one could make and hold direct contact with one. It was a long shot, but it was all she had left to try.

She watched them fight, tracking the arm hanging from the demon’s neck. The twisted and charred thing bore little resemblance to the limb she lost, but she imagined it whole and healthy, still connected to her, and slowly she felt the link form. The pain of the burned dead flesh was excruciating. But she forced it aside to focus on the unmaking spell. Thankfully it required little concentration or power, for she had almost none of either to offer. Delicately, she wove the strands of the spell, saving the word of command for the very last moment, hoping to finish before the demon could notice that she was doing anything at all.

Through it all, Arron danced with the beast, trading blow for blow, dying in stages, before her eyes. Already she could see the first signs of pallor as the magic of life ebbed from his body. She hurried her work as much as she could. Finally, the spell was ready.

“Nihil.” she whispered to her hand, hanging from the archdemon’s neck. For a moment it seemed not to notice, and she despaired that her spell had failed. Then the thing roared, clutching at the arm.

“What have you done?” It flung the arm from itself, the iron chain snapping under its powerful muscles, but even as it did so a yawning hole of blackness grew in its chest. It shed sparks like a fire as it expanded, slowly. The archdemon screeched and thrashed, grasping at the wound trying to smother the magic. But it was already to late, like a spark in a parched dry forest the fire had began. The magic of the unmaking had already coiled its way through the demon’s body like a thousand snakes. The creature crashed to the volcanic crater’s surface with an earth-shaking thud, then convulsed violently as the spell hastened until nothing remained.

Arron collapsed himself soon after, the icy armour melting from his body. Corana knelt next to him, lifting his head into her lap. He was burning with fever, but still conscious. After the titanic battle and her defeat of the archfiend, no demon seemed willing to approach at all. That suited Corana just fine, because she couldn’t have lifted a finger to save them, and Arron was so close to death himself it seemed all it would take was a whisper to carry him over.

---

Painfully turning onto his back Cale stared vacantly into the blue sky. “Damn it.” he hissed. His chest felt like knives were poking into him with every breath, likely caused by fractured ribs, he imagined. The last use of his talisman to avoid that freakish ball of fire had really drained him, it was a wonder that he was alive at all.

Laying back his head he rested his eyes, hoping a few hour rest to give him the strength he needed to crawl back down the mountain. Assuming the elves didn’t get to him first and take him prisoner.

“You’ve done yourself such harm, child.” The voice was breathy, a lover’s whisper in his ear. Bemused, he answered the wind goddess.

“So what? It’s mine, I’ll treat it how I want. Besides, it’s none of your business. Unless you’re gonna heal me.” He smirked, already knowing her answer to that.

“You shed blood in my home. Why do you do these things that you have done?”

“What, you don’t know? The Mistress of Secrets herself?” a chuckle slipped his lips, bringing fresh spasms of agony.

“I do. But do you? Do you truly understand why you you fight?” A vision of loveliness floated above his body, ethereal and achingly beautiful, clothed only in air.

“My reasons are my own. That sorcerer is a fool, but he pays well, and I’ve worked for worse.”

“You do not wish for that you seek. Your sister is moving on, drawing her back will not grant her life, it would be suffering unending. You must let her remain.”

Wrenching all his aching muscles, Cale forced himself to a sitting position with an agonized gasp. “Her life was stolen! It will be returned!” he growled at the air goddess.

“Now enough of your worthless talk! If you will not help then leave me be.” he grunted as he struggled to his feet, listing weakly side to side.

Just then a shadow appeared over him, silent as death. The elf girl he’d stabbed. Her dress was covered with blood and she looked weak as a kitten, but she was whole.

“See? Proof that you lie, the dead can be brought back!” He stumbled back away from the two.

“All this... was for your sister?” The elf girl looked sad. He hated her all the more for even thinking she could understand. He hated her for the pity in her eyes.

“Fuck you, elf bitch! I’ll kill you again!” He reached for his knife but it was gone, lost in the fight that almost killed him. Likely it was melted to slag in the small crater nearby.

“I’ll kill you... With my bare hands!” He staggered forward, arms raised menacingly, but she nimbly sidestepped his advance. He swore as his strength gave out again, landing him on elbows and knees.

“Why not save the killing for later. You keep at it and you’ll only kill yourself.” She stood next to him, unafraid, and he was too weary to even reach for her leg.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not killing anyone today, I’m too tired.” he admitted, and the truth of his own words struck home as he realized that he had failed his mission. Looking up at the elf with a half smirk, he added, “Count yourself luc....” The last syllable caught in his throat as a searing fire radiated from around his neck.

The air goddess turned to him quickly, reaching out to him, she seemed to be saying something but the words never reached him. Black flames raced around his body like a serpent coiling tightly, and he could feel himself being pulling backwards without actually moving at all. Then everything became a confusing blur, the world spun and twisted then flipped inside out all in the blink of an eye.

---

Rana knelt next to Greta among the debris of her cataclysmic spell, the ground torn asunder as patches of white dragon fire still roared with life, holding the remains demon spawn at a safe distance. She kept pressure on the gash in Greta’s side, and with some guidance from Granth she had manged to help stop the bleeding with fire magics. Fortunately it wasn’t as deep as either of them initially thought, but the redness around it was still spreading, slowly.

“Come on. I’ll be fine for now, and we have bigger things to worry about, Rana.” Greta’s determined words told Rana she wasn’t having any more mothering.

“Okay. Just be careful, let me do any fighting for now.” She led the way, letting the fuming Greta watch the rear, as they picked their way over the freshly blasted landscape. They were getting close, she could feel it. The power pulsing in the air felt as if it would shake her bones apart.

“I don’t like this...” Greta mentioned worriedly. “The demons aren’t coming near anymore, and that’s good, but I don’t think it’s because of your spell. Whatever we’re getting close to, I can feel it, and it makes me want to run away and hide.” Rana knew she wasn’t one to admit such feelings, it was a testament to how terrifying the situation was.

“We’re almost there, I think maybe just past the lip of this crater...” She trailed off as she crested the crater’s edge, peering past to see Xabriar. But he was not the same Xabriar she remembered.

His skin was black, cracking, like the surface of the molten stone nearby. Tongues of dark reddish flames leaked through the fissures in his broken body, which was not at all hidden by the tattered, burned remnants of his robes. Behind him, a glowing reddish ritual written in fire on the stone at the bank of the lake of lava roared with power, deafening and physically jarring with the force of the noise.

When he turned in her direction, his eyes were stained a sickly yellowed and for a moment she thought she had been caught. If he did notice her, he didn’t seem to care though. He opened his charred hand in a complex gesture, and she winced at the sound of burned flesh cracking and flaking from his fingers as it moved through the motions of spellcasting.

Black flames leaped from his fingers like chain lighting, until it disappeared into an invisible boundary just feet in front of Xabriar. She watch as Xabriar cackled, wrenching back his twisted arms and the black flames attached to them like a fisherman's line.

Rana stood there, mouth open wide, Greta echoing her silent gasp as they watch Xabriar reel in the assassin that had attacked them both less then an hour ago. “Cale, so good of you to join me. I can’t imagine what made me think you would be an effective tool. ” Xabriar pronounced in dissatisfaction, looking at the near-dead murderer scornfully.

The man look dazedly towards the sorcerer. “Xabriar, you’ve looked better yourself. You should put some ointment on that.” he sniffed in disgust. “I would also suggest a bath, the smell of burned corpse just doesn’t suit you.”

“You mock me!” Xabriar shook with rage, his flesh cracking open as flame forced its way through. “If you had done your job, none of this would have been necessary!” he waved toward himself. “It soon won’t matter, I will have the power to leave this wretched form behind. In the meantime you will pay the price for failing me.” He pointed shaking towards Cale.

Cale simply laughed. “Do your worst, I don’t care. Pain is my best friend, and death my lover.”

“A challenge, is it?” Xabriar said with a smile that chilled Rana to the bone. “Oh yes, you wanted your dear baby sister back, yes?”

“How about we all have a little chat then. Did you know the dead can feel pain? I find it very remarkable really, but it’s true. See, I’ve toyed with the idea of bringing back my dead allies to fight with me, an army of unkillable sorcerers. But I found that the mere act of drawing their spirits back to the mortal realm caused them to scream most distressingly. It seems the spirit becomes part of the beyond after a time, and stretches when drawn back here. I experimented quite thoroughly, but found no way to break that bond to the beyond. Would you like to see dear Bekah now?”

The assassin, Cale, had gone pale over the course of Xabriar’s explanation, and was reaching for him desperately, but Xabriar simply kicked off his grasping hand. Rana felt sick at the emotionless description of the horror Xabriar committed, horrified beyond movement. Had he been conducting those experiments while she was there, arranging books and being beaten?

“Now let us begin.” As Xabriar raised his arms into the air both Rana and Greta watched on in horror, neither willing to make her presence known to the mad sorcerer. “Phasmatis of silenti exorior!“ The air crackled with power as a wisp of black flame rose from the earth, coalescing into a pitch black hole in the air directly in front of Xabriar.

Thrusting his arm into the hole with a splash Xabriar shouted the words of power, “Accipiet coronam vitae!“ Rana watched as the hole bubbled and foamed, the unnatural liquid spilling out until the ground shuddered, apparently in reaction to the unnatural rending of the barrier to the beyond.

“Here we are.” Xabriar grunted as he slowly pulled a pale translucent arm through the hole. Stretching like taffy, her ghostly body pulled partway through. “I don’t have time to make her a proper body, but she wouldn’t be staying long anyway.” he laughed as the spirit of Bekah, Cale’s sister, shrieked in a horrific agonized wail. Her face, twisted and stretched, would haunt Rana’s nightmares for the rest of her life, she was certain.

“I’ll... kill you...” Cale struggled visibly to move, and Xabriar didn’t even bother to knock him away. The weak pawing of Cale’s hands seemed to amuse the sorcerer!

“Let her go you *bastard!*” Rana was startled out of her horrified paralysis when Greta leaped past her, knife forward, driving at Xabriar like a thrown spear. The sorcerer looked back just as she reached striking range, and casually backhanded her to the ground. The blue dagger skittered away from her hand, and she did not get up.

“Oh dear, it seems another little girl has decided to join the suffering.” a bemused Xabriar commented with a cruel smile. “But I must confess I’m curious, where did you come from?”

Rana vaulted over the lip of the crater, only seconds after Greta, her sword drawn. “She came with me, and it’s time to die, you old ghoul.” She didn’t stop to talk further as she lashed out for his head with the sword. It rang piercingly, glancing off of a barrier Xabriar waved into existence as casually as he had hit Greta. The spirit of the assassin’s sister continued to wail in tortured tones, but Rana tried to ignore it and focus on Xabriar. She would free the spirit with his death.

Leaning into the edge of the sword mockingly, Xabriar smirked. “That sword you have there, I’m quite certain it belongs to me.” With a snap of his charred fingers, a wooden staff flew into his hands from nowhere Rana could see. “I suppose you were the one going about destroying all of my hard work, but may I ask who are you?”

Rana kept silent as she stared down her former master. Pressing against the barrier she pushed the sorcerer back to the surprise of both.

“Ah, the silent heroic type, then? Very well. Let us see whose power is greater... Rall.” he laughed hysterically. Rana tried not to show her surprise, but he must have seen it in her face.

“What, are you surprised?” He took a half step forward. “You don’t honestly believe I wouldn’t notice your rather unique flavor of magic when you flash it right in my face! But it is quite impressive what you have done to yourself, physical transformation is complicated magic. Have you been reading my books, my prodigal apprentice? And you seem to have integrated some of that captured dragon fire into yourself as well. Pity you didn’t burn yourself away.”

Bekah’s ghost gave a particularly ear-wrenching noise, and Xabriar focused on her again for a moment, distracted. “Stop your whining you dead little bitch!” Rana struck again, and felt the magic of his barrier buckle inwards somewhat. Xabriar quickly refocused his attention back onto her, forcing back the blade as the spell that protected him became more rigid.

Turning his back to Rana, he began to walk towards the ritual drawn in fire. “Such talent you waste. Perhaps you could even be a threat to me, had you a hundred years of training. But your clumsy workings are childish at best.”

Keeping pace with him, she savagely attacked the barrier trying in vain to destroy it and get at the sorcerer. Frustrated, Rana shouted out, “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Xabriar laughed. “What do you think I have been doing, having a barbecue down here?“ Shaking his head in disappointment he continued to ignore her attacks. “I have a schedule to keep, and no more time to waste playing with you or your little friends!”

“Stop... ignoring... me!” She drove the point of the sword into the barrier and the blade burst into white-hot blinding fire where her mage sight suddenly showed the threads that held his protection together. The shield popped like a soap bubble and Xabriar gasped, using his staff to knock that deadly point away moments before he could be skewered.

“You dare!” He cast the spell Rana recognized, she could see the weaves now, bands of force that would grab her by the ankles and lift her high up then savagely lash at exposed skin. Diving forward she swung her sword down into the weaving of magics. It felt like cutting through cobwebs, the flaming of the sword burning away the delicate strands of the spell with little effort. Splashed of white fire sprayed with every pass of her sword, and Xabriar countered them with black flames that stank of sulfur. The still-screeching ghost hit a crescendo of pitiful wailing, causing both of them to wince.

“Die you old bastard! Just die!” She struck again and again, then cocking her sword back for a powerful overhand swing she dove in head first hoping to bisect the man. The feeling of blood running down through her nose registered first, slowly followed by pain as her face struck against an invisible wall of magics into a bloody mess.

Xabriar’s disfigured, burned face grinned childishly. “Oh my, that looks quite painful.” he said with mock concern.

“Rana... He’s toying with you...” In spite of the noise of the dead girl’s screams and the chaos of the fight, Greta’s raspy, sick-sounding voice rang clear in Rana’s ears. She couldn’t see very well, with her eyes teared up from the pain and shock of the blow to her face, but from her voice Rana was sure Greta was barely clinging to life.

“Why do you play with him?” A puzzled voice boomed in her mind. “You are a dragon, child! Let yourself fight as a dragon does!”

“How!?” she begged, not understanding Granth’s words.

A sense of pure confidence radiated from Granth’s voice. “Give in to the power, our power... your power! Look around you child, this is our domain not his!”

The sword hummed in her hands, she felt the heat and power of volcano around her, the churning unimaginable energies that resided beneath her feet. Staring deeply into the disfigured face of her former master, she let her fears slip away. She felt the ancient power of the sleeping volcano gather to her, and she felt the crystal hot flame that burned in the core of her soul latch on, drinking it in eagerly.

She squinted painfully as her sword burst into a blinding white bar of liquid fire, growing even hotter in her hands. She could make out individual runes in its surface as the liquid metal held its razor edge shape, and understanding of their meaning crept into her thoughts. She could combine them, bend them to her will, use them to shape the raw power of her magic.

“Frangere scutum!” she cried out, weaving runes by force of will. The blade parted the barrier as if it did not exist, and bit deeply into Xabriar’s arm. Blackened flesh sloughed off to show liquid fire coursing through his veins, spilling out like blood to burn fitfully on the stone at their feet. The spirit wailed with renewed fervor as the jerking motion of Xabriar’s pained flinch seemed to stretch her form even more hideously.

Stepping back in retreat, Xabriar hastily drew a line in black earth. With a shout he called upon his power for another spell, “Murus ignis!“. The earth shock as mixture of red and black flame cracked then jetted through the ground like a hot knife, separating the two for the moment with a wall of utter destruction. Winching he lifted his damage arm towards his staff, slowly tendrils of black flame lanced into his forearm, drawing out the still-burning remnants of Rana’s own power. “You... You are not Rall!” he spat,

Rana didn’t bother arguing, she had to finish this quickly for Greta’s sake. She focused again and called out the words to summon forth her power. “Sanctus ignis lumine!” She pointed with the sword and a bar of fire lashed out.

But as Rana casted Xabriar had already begun to counter. Thrusting his staff into his wall of flame, Xabriar shouted, “Unda ignis!“ The wall reached high into the air then crested like a wave breaking the shore.

Rana dove backward desperately as the wave of terrible black flame fell on her with all the force of a tsunami. Tongues of the unholy fire licked against her feet and calves, and the pain was excruciating. She cried out in agony, nearly matching the spirit in her continuing screams. Her armor protected her legs from much of the physical damage, but she could tell her scaled leggings and boots would not hold up in there crisped and cracked condition, and the continuing pain was intense.

“Feel the torture of hellfire, girl, it is but the first taste of the suffering you will endure!”

“You... call that... fire?” She growled through gritted teeth. “I’ll show you... fire... Spiritus draconis!” She turned to face him, sword held in both hands now, and opened her mouth as wide as it would go. White-hot liquid fire spewed from her throat, in an enormous spray that snuffed out the black flames wherever they touched. The white fire splashed and splattered, seeming to catch on the cracked stone ground, melting it to liquid, consuming all in its path.

Gripping his staff, Xabriar shot up into the air. He bellowed in rage, “I have had enough of this you little twat!” Rana felt suddenly nauseous as the magics of Xabriar’s ritual twisted and reshaped all around her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as the air became charge with power. In moments a black sun grew from a speck of flame at the tip of his outstretched staff. Clutching his chest in pain, red flames leaking from his body like blood, he raspily roared “This is the end of you!”

Rana gaped for a moment at the sheer power of the spell. It was going to be big, and it was going to be bad. Greta! She was lying exposed not twenty feet away, she would be caught in it and killed! She ran to Greta’s side, holding the sword before her as if to block the ball of unholy fire. She willed the runes into a defensive configuration just before the fire hit.

“Scutum ignis!” A white bubble of fire sprang up around her and Greta, transparent but visible. The black ball descended on them like the fall of night. As it struck, the white shield buckled immediately, black flames leaking through tiny fissures as the chaos over them both blacked out everything around them. Greta’s eyes widened in horror as the earth under them sank into the ground. Red liquid rock outlined the edges of the barrier, contrasting with the pitch blackness beyond.

---

Watching in terrified awe, it was the first time Cale had ever felt truly out of his league. He had seen and participated in fights between rival sorcerers before, but nothing had ever come close to the utter destruction that the girl Rana and Xabriar unleashed upon each other. Both Xabriar’s black flames and the little chit’s liquid white flames had come dangerously close to ending his life as they shattered the already desolate landscape.

But none of that truly mattered. Xabriar had his sister, that was the only thing that would ever matter again. Her screams tore him into shreds, over and over. They wormed their way into the depths of what remained of his heart, and reminded him that she was worth more than he could ever hope to be. And that the one innocent in all of this was the one suffering the most. He ignored the agony moving brought to him, the crippling weakness of the talisman’s ravages in his body, and moved.

Cale ran to the side of his sister’s disembodied spirit when the fighting slowed for a moment. He tried to grab hold of her arm, but his fingers passed through her translucent flesh with only the slightest resistance. For the briefest of moments his sister stopped crying, and it felt like a last moment reprieve from execution. For a shining few seconds, he brought her comfort. ”I’m so sorry...” he whispered to her, through the noise and chaos.

“I… love...you... This time... I will save you.” She looked at him with eyes full of hope and love, even in the face of all that she had been through, and he knew in that moment he could be more than he was. Then the black ball of death landed and everything was lost to the chaos.

He clung to her ethereal touch as if to a bit of driftwood in a storm at sea, and somehow, among the fire and fury, she kept him safe. The blackness burning around him was drawn to her as iron to a lodestone, and her ghostly visage twisted into a whole new agony of torment. The black fire flowed into her, leaving a clear space around him that grew slowly. He wept in the eye of that storm, watching his sister suffer yet more, for his sake. For whole minutes the black fire raged, melting stone like wax in a candle.

The nightmare slowly began to quiet, slipping away to leave only shattered landscape and destruction in its wake. Among the dark fires still ravaging the ground in the aftermath a single spot of blue amongst the black caught his eye, a curved dagger that somehow escaped the destruction unharmed. He ignored it at first, clinging to his sister’s ghost, but she slipped slowly away, fading into a whisper.

“Forgive yourself, brother...” When he could no longer hear even the echoes of her words in his mind, he stood again. That glinting blue dagger stood out against the black, shining almost as if demanding he take it. So he did.

“Not yet, Bekah. I have one last man to kill.” he whispered in the sea of darkness. Clutching the knife uncomfortably tight, he looked up at the floating exhausted form of Xabriar then back out into the sea of flame. His agile mind focused on the problem at hand: how to get to Xabriar.

A deafeningly loud rumble grew in the air, the sound of rock crushing rock. It was matched by a dissonant high pitched squeal that drilled through his ears like a needle, shaking the earth beneath his feet. The sea of black flame bulged upward, rays of brilliant while light escaping at the seams, burning Cale’s eyes with the change in ambient lighting. The bubble grew rapidly until white flames broke completely free of their bonds. Xabriar’s floating body scrambled away from the growing power.

Then as if finally the dome had reach its limit, the dome of light exploded in a gushing fountain of radiant white fire that pierced into the blackened heavens. The white flames crashed back downward in apparent slow motion, driving into the earth then exploding outwards in a rolling wave of power. Its vile counterpart, the black flames, were washed away as if they had never been.

Cale remained utterly blind for long moments after the minutes of explosion of chaos, and when his eyes finally did clear, the view very nearly unmanned him. There in the sky, facing the power-mad sorcerer, a shimmering, ruby-scaled dragon beat powerful wings as it slowly circled Xabriar.

---

Rana’s mind slowly cleared as she came back to her senses; in front of her Xabriar slowly floated as her vision lazily circled him. She felt different, more alive, in some way she could not describe. There was a sense of... movement? from her back, but it paled beneath the sensation of swimming, or floating, through... the... air...?

In front of her she saw Xabriar from a distance as she traveled around him, the sound of wings beating in the wind rang through her ears. The last clear memory she could recall before everything went white was Granth’s voice, “The barrier will not protect us, Rana, I must manifest or we and our lover will be doomed!”

Her eyes caught sight of the distant ground, her fear of heights all but forgotten as she watched the vast black shadow that followed along with her movements. Great wings moved in time with the beating of the ones blackening out the ground below.

Then the height hit her. She opened great jaws to scream and the sound that came forth was... intense. She nearly scared herself to death, falling from the sky like a stone, until her wings spread again entirely out of instinct, pulling her out of a terrifying dive and back up to those terrifying heights.

“Granth... are we... flying? Am I a full dragon now? Ashes of the First, what happened?!” her mental voice babbled incoherently .

A mental sigh echoed through her mind as she felt her sense of self being gently pushed a side. Her body quickly relaxed and moved, her pounding heart slowed as her body slowly rolled into a perfect slow turn. “I think it best that I take control from here... We do not wish to let go of the girl in your panic.”

“Greta!” she yelled in another fit of terror. A mental nudge from Granth moved her mind’s eye to her left foot where she felt like she was gripping something soft between her toes.

“She is alive. Weak but alive. This was the only way to protect her, but we must be very cautious now. Human bodies are quite frail, and we are much stronger now than you can realise.” Further contemplation of the matter was halted when a spray of black liquid splashed on her wing, hissing furiously. The pain was intense, but the damage minor. She felt Granth’s roar rattle their bones, then she blew fire over the wound. The acid burned away, leaving her flesh tender but not seriously harmed.

“I am going to eat that sorcerer.” Granth’s angry thought echoed in Rana’s mind. She couldn’t help but be disgusted at the thought, even as her stomach growled. “Unless you want to, Rana? He is your enemy, right?” She inquired curiously.

A wave of dizziness hit Rana hard as Granth casually looked downwards at the charred ground. Images of splattering across the charred crater flashed through her mind in agonizingly vivid detail. If she could have shut Grant's eyes she would have in flash. “No I’m fine, he’s all yours... Just don’t eat him.” The idea of having anything of Xabriar inside her was revolting.

“Fair enough. Demonkind tastes awful anyway really. Sulfurous and bitter.” Granth swooped to avoid another spray of acid, then roared again, the sound startling Rana. Xabriar, flying ahead of them, grimaced as he was startled out of the middle of a spell.

Granth beat her wings powerfully, lifting higher into the sky above Xabriar, then dove on him savagely. The sorcerer tried to escape, but the move was so sudden he was still buffeted by a great wing.

“Fight me, sorcerer!” Granth bellowed in a gravelly, grating voice. “Or are you unmanned when your opponent is not sealed in a tomb for you to leech from like a vampire?” She slipped through the air below him, then with a wingbeat and a twist she was behind him, her horns tearing into his leg with a spray of dark red burning blood.

“So there was more than just dragon fire in that piece of scrap metal...” Xabriar spat back, the injuries on his legs slowly sealing up. Rana watched as he bolted up into the sky. “You foolish lizard, you think you are more powerful than I? In my domain? I’ll destroy you!“

Rana shivered as she felt the magic locked in the glowing red stone far below her release, the ritual shattering into pieces. The dark magic shot up into the air in a torrent of black and red flame. Xabriar opened his mouth in deranged, waiting glee as the vile sickening magics crawled their way down his throat like a living creature. His throat expanded and distorted hideously as he swallowed the corruption.

‘This can’t be good...’ Rana thought to herself and Granth. Then Xabriar turned to face them with black fire pouring out of every crack in his bulging, shattered body, and pointed. His staff dissolved into ash as black drops sprayed from his hands, each drop warping and twisting into hideous monstrous shapes, clawed, fanged, horned things that defied rational thought.

They swam, flew, and even crawled through the air at maddening speed, and Granth twisted and flew to avoid them. The sheer numbers of summoned demons were staggering, and one managed to reach Granth. It caught a clawhold in her wing and tried to climb up it, and she sprayed white fiery breath all over it. The thing exploded, buffeting her with the concussion of its violent demise. Several others managed to get close, and they also exploded.

Twisting violently to take the force of the blast herself, Granth kept her body between them and Greta, flying ever harder, ever faster, to escape the torrent. But the summoned shadow demons were tenacious, and followed her every movement. More clawed, bit, and tore at her before exploding with bone-shattering force, and some even sprayed acid with their deaths.

Turning to face the torrent, Granth flew back at Xabriar, mouth wide and blowing a steady stream of white-hot destruction on them. It was a risk, but she knew she could not fight the things much longer and still protect Greta. She pulled up at the last moment, hoping the light of her fire and the destruction of the demons would blind Xabriar to her motions, and dove on him from above. Just before she crashed into him, she let loose another deep breath of flame.

Xabriar looked up as the shining liquid fire poured on him, too late to do more than throw the hastiest shield into place to block the fire, before the mass of an enormous dragon struck the shield, bearing him to the ground with enough force to shatter a thirty foot crater in the volcanic glass.

Both Rana and granth waited slowly as the cloud of dust and glass slowly settled. A part of Rana truly didn’t wish to see the bloody mess of her former master, but she had to know for certain of his death. She gasped in fascinated horror as she watched the silhouette of Xabriar standing walk out of the dust. As he came into view, his limbs twisted and shattered bones poking through his flesh. Yet somehow the monstrosity moved, as if the damage was nothing but an inconvenience.

Raising both his manged arms into the air, Xabriar began to chant words that slithered and wriggled into Rana’s mind like snakes. “Don’t listen.” Granth chided. “He speaks in the tongue of demon kind.”

The horrible, disgusting words that came from Xabriar’s mouth gnawed at her defenses, crept into the cracks of her thoughts, bringing with them images of herself shattered, tormented, corrupted and befouled at his hands. It spoke of a certain future of being bred with demon seed to produce new things too horrible to imagine, of her whole being savaged by scores of the most foul things extant. She felt her will slipping, and knew this time his attack would succeed.

“Rana, hold on! Don’t let him control you!” Granth’s voice was a stone, an anchor in the sea of chaos filling her mind, and she clung to it. “That’s right, I’m here, I’ll always be here with you...”

The spell slipped away as Xabriar’s tone changed, and he chanted something new. Black power built in him yet again, and Rana despaired. She could feel the pain and exhaustion of their body as well as Granth could, and they could not fight off another swarm of exploding demons, or any other such horror. Granth drew breath to flame, but it was too late, the last word of the spell was on Xabriar’s lips.

But he never spoke it. Instead, a startled expression crossed his face, as a pointed blue tip of steel slipped out the front of his chest. A fountain of burning dark red blood followed it, and instead of words only a gurgle passed his lips, more thick flaming filth spraying from his mouth.

Behind him stood the assassin looking as pale as death, his hand on the knife hilt. Slowly Xabriar’s body slid off of the blade, face first onto the waiting obsidian ground. The assassin watched, then with a snarl spit a thick glob of phlegm onto the body.

“Good riddance, you piece of shit. I should have done that years ago.”

Granth released the breath gently, but did not lower her guard.

“You, human.” she rumbled, staring down the assassin. “Did you not attempt to kill our lovers? I should char you where you stand.” The assassin swayed and nearly fell over.

“Do it. I’m sick of this!” he cried out, “Just do it... ”

Granth stared at the man, taken aback. “Why are humans so willing to throw their lives away?”

Tossing his acquired blade to Granth’s feet he looked up, his eyes dead with exhaustion both physical and emotional. “Because most of us are pretty worthless, on the whole. Are you gonna talk me to death or eat me?”

“Neither. You saved my life, I will spare yours. Do not make me regret it.” The assassin shrugged as Granth picked up the knife with a claw and delicately inserted it into the sheath at Greta’s side. She lay Greta on the ground with a warning glance at Cale.

‘Is she going to make it?’ Rana asked Granth mentally.

‘She is not well, and may not survive the return trip.” Granth said sadly, and Rana was reminded how much they shared now. Granth clearly shared her love for Greta somehow.

“I think I may be able to help with that.” Corana mentioned. Granth turned to see her and Arron picking their way back over the blasted landscape. The pair of them looked even worse than Granth and Rana felt, and were leaning on each other for support. The cuts in Arron’s leather armor showed inflamed red flesh much like Greta’s.

“Do you have some spell to cleanse the body of demonic poisons?” Granth asked, and Rana could feel the desperate hope than did not come across in the gravelly dragon voice.

Looking about the surroundings nervously, Corana quickly judged her remaining reserves of strength. “Yes, but I will likely be unable to move for hours after, and this is not a safe place to sleep. Will you carry me to safety once it is cast?”

Granth nodded, “I give you my word I will transport you safely, if you will do this for me. Please...”

Corana lowered her head in a bow then knelt next to Greta’s almost motionless body, beckoning Arron to join her. ”There is no need to request, I would have done my best to save her no matter your decision.“ She placied her hand on the wound from which red streaks ran through Greta’s body, tendrils poking up from the neckline of her shirt.

“Purgare.” White light, soft and warm, shone from her hand, and the red streaks slowly dissolved. As the poison left Greta’s body, she turned and held the purifying light on a startled Arron. It took over a minute, but as the last remnants of poison faded away, Corana dropped in exhaustion. Granth caught her gently with a claw as Cale and Arron looked on. Greta moaned and sat up slowly, still pale but looking much more alive. And then she screamed.

“Greta! Wait, calm down!” Granth’s voice did little to calm her, but when Granth met her eyes she trailed off, staring into them.

“R... Rana... Is that you?” she reached out a hand and touched Granth’s scaly leg.

“Yes and no. She’s here, but I am Granth. We are one, remember? This is our dragon form.” Greta looked up and up at her.

“You’re... big. I didn’t think you would be so big.” She looked a little confused still, but struggled to her feet. Granth offered a claw to help, and she took it.

“Dragons are not big. We are majestic.” She smiled, and Greta winced at the expression.

“Fine. Is it over? This place looks like hell and I don’t want to be here anymore. I had such awful nightmares...”

“Demon poison attacks body and mind. You should rest, but I agree, this is not a restful place. And I have a promise to keep. Please, climb onto my neck. You too, Arron, I will carry Corana and...” She looked at the assassin.

“Cale.”

“...Cale, in my claws. Unless you’d prefer to stay here?” The assassin looked sick for a moment, and shook his head.

“I’ll take my chances with you. This place stinks.”

“Very well.” She lowered her head and Greta climbed up, using the sharp ridges on the back as handholds. They were spaced just far enough that a person could sit in the space between one ridge and the next, and Greta and Arron found sturdy if not comfortable seats. Greta put her arms around Arron as Granth picked Cale up in one claw and Corana in the other.

“Don’t get any ideas, I just don’t want to fall off.” Greta mentioned to Arron.

Laughing himself into a fit of coughs, he looked over his shoulder to Greta. “Don’t worry, I don’t poach my best friend’s lovers. Besides, I rather think I’d like to marry Corana, and she might kill me if I did anything untoward.”

That moment, Granth heard a stirring from Xabriar’s body. “I will not DIE!” he cried out in a raspy, choking voice, then coughed a fountain of thick black ichor all over himself. Flailing his arms wildly, he writhed on his back gasping for breath.

Struggling in Granth’s grip Cale screamed, “By the First, what must I do to kill him?”

“I will not die!” he choked out again, his charred black hands shakily gripping his chest as reddish flames leaked through the cracks in his flesh.

The earth slowly trembled and split into thousands of fissures. Rana watched transfixed as fault lines rippled and the earth itself seemed to breathe, rising and falling rhythmically. Vile choking gasses escaped into the air causing both Arron and Greta to become increasing disoriented. Slowly magma began to fill in the cracks like blood. It became increasing apparent to all that the volcano would soon erupt. “We must leave!” Granth’s voice commanded, yet even the dragon stood stunned, watching the horrific spectacle.

In the increasing chaos a dark, insidious voice called out above the noise. “It is time for you to fulfill your contract. Come to us, our dear Xabriar.”

Xabriar clutch his chest. “No, you can’t! This wasn’t our deal!” he screamed in utter terror as the blood red flames burst from his body again. Rana watched through Greta’s keen eyes as Xabriar’s chest heaved upwards. The remains of his robes dissolved into ash, leaving his utterly broken body exposed and helpless.

“I won’t... I won’t come!” he screamed out in defiance. His mangled hands clutched his chest desperately, as if trying to hold something in.

“Come and take your place next to us!”

His body convulsed on the ground as he let loose a bloodcurdling screech. Rana would have thrown up if she could have, watching Xabriar’s body lift of the around and arch backwards with a crunching sound that clearly signaled the shattering of his spine. His head scraped against the hard rock and arms flung wide open. His tortured wail continued unabated until a loud pop echoed through the air, followed closely by another crunch as his chest literally split open.

For a moment both Granth and Rana wondered if somehow their eyes were deceiving them, as two clawed hands slowly inched their way through the fissure. Another sound of cracking bones exploded into the stunned silence as the two hands pried open Xabriar’s now silent corpse. Charred skin and muscle slowly parted and snapped like cord stretched too far.

Xabriar’s body shook with a soft gurgle, and a horned head peeked out of the chest, covered in gore and filth. She, for it appeared to be female, climbed up to a sitting position with a creepily erotic moan, shedding the two halves of his head from which her own had broken free. Xabriar’s dead leg kicked violently as the woman slowly pressed her hands against the corpse’s hips, pulling downwards. Slowly his flesh began to deflate into loose sacks of skin. Once completely free, she slowly stood up rubbing her hands across her body caressing her breasts as she removing the remnants of Xabriar’s internal organs. “Feels so good...” she moaned, stepping free from the dead body.

Her eyes darted between Cale and Arron, and she stretched from her clawed toes to her fingertips to give both a good view of her smoky gray-skinned body. Taking a deep breath, she spread out her leathery black wings and flapped them curiously.

“Who or what are you?” Rana called out with Granth’s voice, taking direct control for the first time since waking up.

Her mouth slowly took on a wicked smile as she sauntered toward Granth, then stopped and pointed a thumb over her shoulder at Xabriar’s corpse. “I’m everything he wanted: power, immortality, perfection.” she laughed.

Grinning darkly at Rana, she gave a slight curtsy. “I am his dream given form.”

“You are Xabriar then?” Granth inquired. Rana noted the confusion in Granth’s mind matched her own, but she seemed to be forming a theory as to what was transpiring.

She moaned as she slowly began to explore her own body. “If you are asking if I have his memories, his soul... Then yes. But I do not have his ego, his sense of self. That is dead. Even so, perhaps I should dispose of you, before you can become a threat.” She slowly advanced, clawed fingers clenching and unclenching as if she already had throats in her hands to crush.

“Come now! Do not make us wait.” She stopped mid-step as that powerful voice once again called out from the fissure in the earth.

“Yes my lord!” she moaned in delight. Turning her back on the group she slowly drew a clawed nail through the air. “It seems I have no time to play” she sighed sadly as she sauntered toward the burning crack in the ground. She mentioned casually, over her shoulder, “My master awaits. I would suggest you also leave this place soon. My former self's magics have disrupted the ley line that runs through this volcano, it will erupt soon. I would hate to lose such wonderful playthings before I can properly... enjoy them.” she remarked with a giggle before stepping forward and disappearing with into air, leaving nothing but the stench of sulfur.

“What in the nine hells was that?” Cale finally spoke once the woman had gone, seeming shaken by the whole event. Rana could relate to that.

“It does not matter, the creature has crossed over. And we must leave!” Granth said as her wings beat against the increasingly polluted air. As they left the shattered ground, it began to bulge and ripple, as far as any of them could see.

---

As the earth erupted in fire and smoke, a mountain disintegrating itself in a blast of monumental proportion, a single speck flew outward, at a low, flat angle that did not match that of the stones being thrown every direction from the erupting volcano. Buffeted by winds and barely dodging flaming rocks that flew every direction from the blast, the speck flew east above the rest of the mountains, quickly outpacing the spreading black cloud.

Peasants in several villages would tell stories for decades of how dragons had returned to the world, birthed from the chaos of the explosion in what would be dubbed the Dragonbirth Range.

Classrooms are strange places. She couldn’t get used to learning alongside other students, especially when several of them kept LOOKING at her. It was nerve wracking, it always made her think she had slipped on her illusions. Even for a city of sorcerers and magic, a creature of myth and legend would have caused problems, so it was decided that she would keep up her glamour to pass as human at all times.

While in the greater public this wasn’t an issue, most of the population of Gaerbron was mundane. The academy though, was very different matter all together; any student, any professor could notice even the smallest slip. And while Corana had taken to being her personal tutor in the arts, she did not have the time to fully apprentice her, with her works in restructuring Gaerbron’s council. But the academy was still the best place to learn, and learn she must. While her control of the dragon fire was natural, she was still a best a rank amateur with an unreasonable amount of power. For her own safety, let alone that of anyone else, she had to learn, and fast.

The real reason for the stares according to both Arron and Corana, was a combination of things. Both assured her that she was breathtakingly beautiful, although she didn’t see it. Cute maybe, but she couldn’t see why the boys would trip over themselves, or why the other girls would give her such spiteful looks. The other big reason was the story Corana had spun, that Xabriar’s former apprentice had always been a girl. So she hadn’t managed to escape her old fame of being some kind of once-in-a-lifetime prodigy.

“Rana, going home?” Valerin called from the entrance to the lecture room. She had long brown hair with hazel green eyes. She seemed a bit more eager then normal, until Rana remembered promising to take her home for some of her mother’s blue berry pastries. Valerin had been one of the first real friends she made since Greta had left with the caravan two weeks ago.

It had become very lonely without Greta and Larenmireil. While Arron was still there, things hadn’t returned to the way they were before. Back when they would just pal around with each other for hours on end. Not that they weren’t still friends, but there was now a tension that hung in the air which always made things somewhat awkward. Besides, she was quite certain he was dating her teacher.

“Yes, want to come with me? I bet my mom has some fresh pastries ready, and it’s blueberry season.”

“Rana, are you hitting on another girl?” Greta called out, and Rana turned to run to her, all thoughts of Valerin and pastries fleeing her mind.

“You know I only have eyes for you, Greta. Well, and Larenmireil.” Rana chuckled. She couldn’t help but notice Valerin looking shocked as Rana and Greta kissed right there in the entry hall of the academy in front of several other students, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow!” Rana mentioned in surprise after long, sweet moments, still reeling a bit from a rather sound kissing.

“I told Father I was going ahead to scout and got here ahead of the caravan. I think he’s on to me though. We should take advantage of the free time today.” Greta’s saucy wink made her message clear in case Rana had missed it, which of course she hadn’t.

“I think I’d like that. But first, this is Valerin. She’s in several of my classes, and I promised her some of Mom’s blueberry pastries.” Rana collected Valerin, who looked as if she might run away. Greta shook her hand firmly, grinning.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Come on, you can’t miss Illia’s pastries, they’re the best!” She dragged Valerin along, not releasing her hand, and Rana smiled. She never did get tired of Greta’s boundless energy, a trait she shared with Larenmireil. The two together could even be a match for her newfound stamina.

She could hardly wait until the summer break in a few months, she and Greta had already made plans to spend the summer with Larenmireil at Windrunner village. She very much missed her, but they both planned to make up for lost time with Larenmireil.

Valerin nodded “Okay, if I’m not ummm, intruding?”

Sticking her tongue out at Valerin, Rana giggled. “Don’t worry, Mother always has a lot of left over pastries.”

Valerin grinned and then gave Rana a playful shove ‘Oh stop, you make me sound like a glutton, they’re just very good!”

“Blah blah blah, stop your chattering and lets go already!” Greta pronounced as she grabbed both their arms, leading them both forcibly down the hall way.

“The girl is right.” a mental nudge came from her draconic partner, “There is food to be eaten, and we are hungry!” Granth’s hunger seemed to be infecting her, she could almost taste the pastries already.

Rana smiled, things seemed to be looking up for the time being.

----

Staring at her desk and the ever-increasing amount of parchments and scrolls, Corana groaned in despair. With the fall of Xabriar and the death of Woric, the council had fallen into disarray. The power vacuum had deadlocked the council on all but the most trivial of matters, even the possibility of war with the Imperium failed to unify them. The only silver lining was that the council had, by a slim majority, elected her to the position of Praetor. But she was already beginning to regret the position, the inner politics of Gaerbron was a messy business and very trying. There was always something that needed signing, or an ambassador to speak with. At least the merchant guilds had been lenient to her so far, in no small thanks to Greta’s father Valan.

Her days held two bright points in spite of all the tedium. She made time each day to spend teaching Rana. For Corana, teaching Rana was both satisfying and a challenge. She was so frighteningly bright, able to grasp difficult concepts with ease and manipulate her own power with such dexterity Corana often forgot she was tutoring a novice.

The challenge came from her dual nature, the draconic magic was foreign to her and carried with it sheer raw power. Rana also seemed to have instinctive knowledge of magics from Granth. Once she understood a theory, Rana would begin to connect it to this instinctive knowledge, then relentlessly question her on it. Frankly, many times Corana had a hard time comprehending Rana’s questions and assumptions. Most of which had her running to other masters of Gaerbron seeking answers. She was also quite sure that some of those inquiries had inadvertently sparked more then a few research projects among her peers.

The other shining beacon of her days was Arron. It confused her how she could fall so completely for a man so much younger than herself, one who could at times be so terribly naive. But at the same time she knew that innocence was part of what drew her to him. She never meant to let their interlude in the forest affect her so, but she spent the long, long hours of the day looking forward to yet more moments stolen in the hidden passages of the Academy. They didn’t have to hide their relationship any more, but she got a thrill out of doing so anyway, and he seemed happy enough to play along. Speaking of which, it was just about time...

She crept to a wall in her office where she knew a secret catch was seated, he would be patiently awaiting her three flights down and a short walk through the western passage.

---

Waiting in the darkness in his guard uniform, Arron mused on the way things had come to pass. He was now not only a guard, but was training in the Academy with the sorcerers. Corana’s research suggested that the lake god had altered him somehow into a kind of water elemental.

His old friend was still the same as ever, except that she was completely different now. Rall had always been a little, well... girly, Arron had to admit it. He slipped into his disguise entirely too perfectly. And he could see Rall in Rana now, too. But oddly, Rana had become something of a tomboy, always getting into trouble and roughhousing. She clearly wanted things to be the same as they were before, but Arron couldn’t help seeing the beautiful young woman she’d become, and the terrifying dragon she was also. Even so, he was continuing to teach her to use the sword effectively, just like before he bundled her away on Valan’s cart.

His own training had also resumed fully. Arron took a solid drubbing from the head guard on his return over skipping his training for so long, but shortly after he was promoted to Academy Campus guard duty. He had a sneaking suspicion that was Corana’s doing, being that it granted him better access to training for his elemental nature, and also better access for trysts. Which line of thinking returned him to the present, as she appeared in the hallway.

Life was good.

---

Cale leaped from one roof to the next in a dizzying marathon high above the streets. His pursuers were good, he had to give them that, perhaps even the best the Guild had to offer. But he was better. His enemies had not taken his return to Lussax lightly, the fallout from the assassination of the prince had earned him a nice bounty on his head. Now every thief, mercenary and rival assassin that had a grudge against him had a compelling reason to truly hunt him, but he didn’t really care. He almost felt like he didn’t care about anything at all.

But he did care. Seeing Bekah again after all this time had brought something back inside him, something he thought long dead and buried. He wished it had stayed that way, because having it reminded him that old wounds still hurt. But it was this very thing that kept him from just letting the killers catch him.

Hope.

Somewhere out there, she still existed. And she forgave him for everything. She still loved him. And somehow that gave him hope that maybe he could forgive himself, maybe he could be worthy of the forgiveness she so lightly offered him.

----

“Forgive me Duke for my interruption, but you have an urgent missive from our agents in Arizal.” The urgent yet calm voice of his Chancellor Alex spoke as he presented the scroll.

He move to grab the scroll with some hesitancy. A part of him truly did not wish to read the intelligence. With each passing day the news become worse, in the last month alone they had heard of the recall of the Imperial legions from north of there boarders. A decree from the Empress herself had tripled their standing army through forced conscription of all able fighting men.

Slowly unfurling the parchment with unsteady hands, Duke Veston gripped his viewing glass. Placing it over the code text he waited for the letters to magically rearrange themselves for reading.

“My lord
I bring to you news of some urgency. I have personally witnessed the delivery by ship of several tons of Dwarven iron, clearly meant for the building of weapons. The Imperial army swells to bursting, as smiths work daily on a great steel blockade of chain and spikes.

My lord, it is my strong personal belief they mean to blockade the entire river and choke off trade, even as their armies fall upon our lands. I will continue my efforts to sabotage and gather information until I receive further orders.”

The missive was not signed, but Veston knew precisely which of his men sent it. Jordon was the only one of his spies to survive infiltrating the city. His network suffered sorely from lack of its leader, but only Jordon could have managed to enter the Empire unnoticed. Chancellor Alex had taken up the spy network in his place, temporarily.

The only good news that had come in the weeks since the prince’s death was that the sorcerer city of Gaerbron had suddenly become attentive to the needs of the alliance, ever since the death of that vile self-serving madman Xabriar. He truly did not know the circumstances of his death, but strongly suspected the new Praetor Corana had something to do with it. If so, he would have liked to kiss her.

And to make bad matters worse, the massive earthquake of a few weeks ago was followed by the spread of a thick black cloud from the western wilds, deep in the mountain range. Some wild stories were spreading already, the kind of doomsaying that tends to follow in the wake of natural disasters, but it set his teeth on edge given the situation with the Empire.

---

Larenmireil sang to Drarilein, resting at the bow of the ferry. It felt good to sing again, death it seems was not something one simply recovered from in a week or two. It had taken the better part of a month to work up the energy to return to her duties. But return she had, if in a somewhat diminished capacity for now.

She hoped to be fully revitalized by the summer months when Rana and Greta where scheduled to visit for the season. She had such wicked plans for them... Her voice trailed off as she sank into slumber, thoughts of her lovers drifting through her head and the games they would play on there bodies.

The sky filled with black doom, the summer sun dropped away into black as dark as midnight. But no stars shone in this pitch sky, and all was as still as the dead.

A man dressed in black robes approached a throne made of ivory and silver, and all that stood between him and the seat of such power was a thin waif of a girl dressed in white and gold colored silks, her eyes where a sparkling gold that contrasted against her pale skin. He reached for her-

Larenmireil started awake in terror. She had felt the black-robed man’s hatred for the girl and knew, somehow, if he ever touched her that throne all would be lost, and with it all hope.

---

Seris knocked heavily on the old wooden door. ”I know you’re in there, the guards saw you return!” she yelled as she began pounding on the door once again. The old, worn, flaking painted sign that read ‘Martello’s Trinkets, Curios and Antiques’ squeaked back and forth in protest to her abuse. The old man had left her in charge of his supposedly sickly old dog, but when she went to feed it she found that it was in fact a spry old cat that wanted to be free of the shop.

Once the beast escaped it had taken her over a week to painstakingly search the city for the rogue pet. She had managed to track it down in the farmers’ market. The orange and white tabby had made his home at a local cheese shop where it had been stealing scraps for days. Getting it back home had been a trial unto itself. The damned beast simply would not go, it clawed and hissed at her the whole ten minute walk back to Martello’s shop.

Of course the moment she put the cat inside his door, closed and locked, she find the vile beast next to her leg as if it had never been inside at all. She had finally given up trying after the tenth time, she was fairly certain it was playing some sort of game with her. She decided the crazy old coot must have enchanted his pet with some kind of escape spell.

At her own home the beast did not act any better. It screeched relentlessly for food or water, accepting nothing but slices of cheese or fine pork. She finally had it when she found her bed reeking of cat urine, and her shoes filled with droppings.

“Martello! I know you’re there! I have your cat, or dog, or whatever! I’m done, take your unholy beast back now!”

“I say dear girl, why are you screaming? I can hear you just fine. What’s this about a cat?”

“Here! Take it!” She turned to storm away after handing the bewildered old man the cat.

“Tinkerbelle, is that you? I must say, you make a fine cat! But you shouldn’t pick on dear Seris, that’s a bad kitty! I think no cheese for you tonight, we have much work to do before next time...”

“Things will get much worse before they get better...” she heard him mutter as he closed the door. Something about it chilled her right to her core.

---The End---

Special Thanks to

Amber for beta reading since the beginning, and general just helping out with ideas,

Maggie Finson for just general support and ideas, along with beta reading the final for us,

and Auly for beta reading from the start and giving feedback.

The beautiful countryside smelled of fresh grass and wildflowers. The roads this close to Threefold still overflowed with masses of adventurers choosing the easy path to their early quests, though the crowds put the lie to the word “easy.” I walked the fields, confident that the occasional starving wolf or unskilled bandit would offer me little real danger.

Not that some didn’t try, the wolves could usually be driven off but the bandits seemed particularly insistent.

“It’s you!” “I’ll be the one to take you down!” “The Red Hands will never forget!” They all had particularly personal comments to offer as they attacked, and had they been working together they could have overrun me, but this close to the starter zone of course there were only lone stragglers unless I decided to stupidly kite one into another. None of them were any better at fighting than they were at hiding, and while I wasn’t the only one out in the field, they seemed entirely willing to ignore other people if I was in range. That Valorous Defender bonus had its downside, apparently.

It took me twice as long as it should have to get to the Williams farm, where the problem was obvious enough. The fences were broken in several places. Still, I approached the farmhouse to speak to the farmer about it.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, are you Miz Williams? Sir Edwin told me you might need some help.” A silent ping let me know I was progressing on the quest.

“Oh, Miss Wilhelmina! I should have known Sir Edwin would send you. Who else would take the time to help mend my fences? Thank you, it seems my son antagonized our prize bull Hercule, and he decided to take it out on our fences. Would you mind terribly, setting them aright?” Simple starter quest, I’d probably end up herding Hercule back into the fence too.

“Of course, Miz Williams, I’ll be happy to help! I’ll go get started on the fences, it’s best if I can get it done before dark.” She nodded and waved me off, distracted by an argument between what sounded like kids inside the house. Rather than risk getting involved with that, I got to work on the fence.

It was just busy work, picking up fence rails and setting them back into place on the posts. It was funny, in real life there’s no way I’d get roped into this kind of thing. My mom would probably faint at the thought of me doing farm work, and my dad would… well, he probably wouldn’t even notice. In any case, it was different here. It just felt good to do things, work with my hands, earn things. All in all it took about an hour to fix the fence. I headed back to the farmhouse to let Miz Williams know and collect my quest reward.
“I see you fixed the fence! Thank you, Miss Wilhelmina!” A message scrolled across my heads up display. [Skill learned: Basic Carpentry] “I hate to be a further burden, but could you please round up Hercule and get him back into the pen? If you can throw his harness on him he’ll follow you right back in, gentle as a kitten. I’d do it myself, but if I leave Ricky alone he’ll probably break the house somehow, and if I bring him close Hercule will just run off.”

“I’d be happy to, Miz Williams.” She handed me the harness and my inventory pinged the addition of the quest item. I glanced at my interface bracer, and it showed an icon of a lasso. The sun hung low in the sky, I would have to make this quick if I wanted to get back to the tavern and maybe try sleeping before the supply cart left in the morning.

Tracking the bull was actually fairly easy, it left a path of destruction a blind person could follow. I found it grazing in an open field, not far from a bandit hideout. I’d have to take care not to drive him into them, or I’d likely be overwhelmed. I pulled the harness from my inventory, and it turned out to be little more than the lasso the thumbnail suggested.

I crept carefully close to Hercule, fully aware stealth was not my character’s strong point. Still, it was worth a shot. Hercule for his part gave me a look, snorted, and pointedly ignored me. Apparently he didn’t consider me any threat. With one smooth throw, I put the lasso right over his horns. I probably could have done the same in real life, with such a placid creature, I was fairly coordinated after all.

As promised, Hercule gave me no trouble with the harness around his horns, and I managed to keep far enough away from the bandits to not aggro them. The walk back to the Williams farm was uneventful, and I led him into his pen and pulled the harness free. Just as I was about to walk back to the closed gate, I heard a voice call out. Ricky was sitting on the ground almost under Hercule, who was stamping and snorting at the terrified boy.

“RICKY!” Miz Williams’ voice tore at my heart, but I didn’t have time to think about that, I equipped my shield and shoved in between Ricky and Hercule.

“Run, kid, NOW!” What must have been close to a ton of beef shoved my shield and I barely kept my feet. My arm exploded in pain, but I gritted my teeth and equipped the lasso again. It was clearly going to be much harder this time.

Hercule snorted and turned his head as I heard pounding feet behind me, but I didn’t bother to look because the distraction provided an opening and I knew it might be my only one, another hit like that and I might be making my way back from the church to give Ricky funeral rites! I tossed the lasso, and managed to catch one of his horns.

That brought his attention back to me, and he did NOT look as gentle as a kitten. Struck by sudden inspiration, I dropped my shield and ducked in under his feet. It was stupid, putting myself under his mass, but it pulled his head down and I scrambled right through and out behind him, pulling the rope tight. He sounded angry, but he didn’t move. Then I heard singing.

Miz Williams sang a lullabye, a wordless tune in a soft, soothing tone, and I felt Hercule relax against the rope.

“It’s okay, Miss ‘Mina, you can let go now. Mama’s got him calmed. Umm, I’m real sorry I caused all this, I just wanted to tell him I was sorry…” I cautiously let up tension on the rope, then let go entirely. My bracer pinged the quest item disappearing and the quest progress.

“Okay, Ricky, but stay away from Hercule from now on, okay? You almost… got seriously hurt, and I don’t want you hurt.” I picked up my shield, my arm throbbing heavily, and walked out of the pen, watching Hercule until I had the gate closed and locked.

“Yes, Ma’am. I will.” Ricky looked in from his mother’s arms, she looked like she might squeeze him until he popped. She let the song trail off, and I could see Hercule sleeping in the pen.

“Miss Wilhelmina, I don’t know how I can ever thank you. You saved my boy’s life. I don’t have much, but this is for you.” She handed me a bag, and I accepted it without looking. It seemed like it would be rude, right there in front of her. My bracer pinged an inventory change.

“Miss ‘Mina! Miss ‘Mina! I wanna give you something too!” He dug around in his pocket for a few seconds, and came out with a rust old gear that looked freshly dug up from the field. “I was gonna use it for a wheel on a toy cart, but you can have it.” He looked so solemn offering it, I accepted what could only be a worthless item intended to be sold for a copper but to him was a gift of great value. I ignored the inventory ping and knelt down next to him.

“Thank you very much, Ricky. I know this means a lot to you.” I ruffled his hair and stood back up, glad to see him grinning. “Well, I need to get back to Threefold, I have to catch a cart in the morning. Farewell, and take care!”

They both waved as I walked away, and I waved back before checking my inventory, curious what the quest rewards netted me. A pair of plate greaves, exactly the sort of thing starter quests tend to reward. But the dirty old gear was not there. Instead, it was in my key items tab! I considered this on the way back. The wolves kept their distance from me now, and even the bandits seemed to have better things to do than harass me, I thought I must have gained levels, a theory that proved true with a glance at my character sheet tab.

As the Inn at Threefold came into view, sun setting in the distance to the west, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched, but glancing around I could find no sign anyone in the crowd was paying me any more attention than the rest, it was still very busy. I gave up looking and went to find myself a room. The crowd thinned out a little bit since launch, but it was still a hassle making my way to the innkeeper. And with less people around, the general dinginess of the place was more noticeable, the smell of bodies giving way to the stench of old smoke and spilt beer soaked into the sawdust-covered floor.

“Oh! Miss Wilhelmina! Are you here for a meal and a night’s rest? By all means, one of the guards already paid for your room and supper, find a seat and I’ll bring you a plate.” Before I could get in a word of answer I found myself seated with a steaming plate of mutton, potatoes and some greens, and a mug of that same drink from earlier, presumably mead.

“Thank you, sir, you’re very kind.” It seemed the kind of thing to say. The innkeeper was an older man, a little rounded in the way muscular people get when they stop keeping up the muscles. He had a sort of permanent scowl, but his eyes were kind and caring. A glance at my HUD told me his name was Benden. He nodded and left a key on my table, causing another inventory ping.

“Your room is on the third floor, room F. I’ll make sure to knock at sunrise, Arron mentioned you plan to leave with the supply caravan in the morning. Well, no time to dally, I have so many patrons to serve this evening!” Benden hurried off to his work, while I sampled the meal. I was feeling kind of hungry actually, which made me wonder if I might be hungry in real life. It was good food, not haute cuisine but tasty and very filling.

That room sounded more and more like a good idea, as the relaxing feeling of a full stomach and a day’s work started to drag heavily on me. Collecting the key I trudged up the steps to find my room. It turned out to be simple fare, much like the food, with a bed and a small desk and chair. I was just sitting on the bed when a message appeared on my heads up display.

“ATTENTION: Real Life body requires care. Logout suggested.”

Well, that was a pointed sort of way to remind me that there was still the sucky part of life to attend to. I sat the rest of the way down with a deep sigh and gathered up my resolve. It was always hard to make myself log out, but after the last day spent as me, really really me, the thought of going back to reality was nauseating. Still, it was necessary, so, I clicked on my interface bracer and logged out.

There was no transition stage, one moment I was Wilhelmina, Paladin in service to the three virtues of my oath, the next… Dalton. Dalton who was desperately hungry and had to pee like nobody’s business. Dalton who had to focus on the anticipation of returning to a life that felt far more real than this, as a reason to cling to continuing this painful life in the interim.

I made a quick trip to the bathroom that I tried very hard not to think about and changed into a bathrobe before making my way downstairs. It was dark, though the chandelier in the front room was dimly lit. The polished dark walnut of the floor, steps and railing did little to brighten the wide open space, but I could have traversed it with my eyes closed anyway, it was my home after all and nothing really ever moved except when Rosalie moved things to clean. Mother and Father liked everything to be just so.

A quick but difficult look at the grandfather clock told me it was very early morning, even Rosalie would be asleep by now. Mother and Father barely knew she existed beyond noting that things stayed clean and meals were made available, but she was always there growing up, and they never were. She was the only one who might even understand if I explained what was wrong with me, but I didn’t dare. I couldn’t tell anyone who I really was, because it could always get back to Mother or Father.

I still remembered what happened when Mother caught me playing with “girl toys” a girl from school loaned me back in elementary school. That was the year they decided that public school was corrupting me and put me in a private school. That was the year Father decided I needed to be more “manly” and signed me up for wrestling. That was the day I knew I couldn’t trust them. Father made a point of donating publicly to those “family values” groups that ran conversion camps ever since.

The kitchen was still brightly lit, the oven was set to warm, and a neatly folded paper sat on the spotless marble countertop. It had my name written on it in Rosalie’s perfect cursive so I opened it.

“Dalton, I know you haven’t eaten, but whenever you get off your computer please enjoy the plate I left you in the oven. I imagine it will be very late, you always did spend too much time on that thing and I read that this game is even more enjoyable than the rest. But the plate will keep until eight in the morning, at which point I will have to throw it out. I hope you eat though, you should be happy and healthy.”

She really was too good for us. Distant parents, fuckup kid… I really needed to do something extra nice for her soon. The plate turned out to be her wonderful quiche, perfectly seasoned and somehow kept fresh for hours. I added some cold salad from the refrigerator with her homemade dressing. I’d been to enough expensive catered events to know that there was no comparison between Rosalie’s work and even the nicest restaurant fare. No way could anyone eat this without stopping to really savor it. It was almost enough to make me forget how much I hated being Dalton for just a little while.

By the time I finished eating and cleaned up, almost half an hour had passed. I couldn’t wait to get back to the game, already intrusive thoughts were teasing at me, gnawing at me. In a way it was worse, having *been* Wilhelmina, to go back to being Dalton, and I knew if for some reason I couldn’t go back I wouldn’t last a week. Life was a level of isolation and self-loathing that I simply couldn’t handle for long. Logging back on felt like diving into cool clean water and washing away hot filth.

Once again sitting on the bed as Wilhelmina, I unequipped my gear and lay down. The groggy exhaustion came right back, and before I knew it I was asleep.

***Divider line***

Eyes. There were eyes every direction in a totally empty space. All staring at me, naked, floating. I found my arms wrapped around me, trying to cover breasts and crotch as best I could, and all the eyes blinked at once, disappearing into nothing again. As creepy as it was being watched like that, it was worse, floating alone in utterly empty silence. Then arms slipped around me, following the backs of my own, holding me close and safe. It felt simultaneously comforting and terrifying, but I was completely paralyzed.

“I’ve got you now.” That voice in my ear made me feel even more protected and yet in danger, and it was such a nondescript voice I couldn’t tell anything about the speaker at all.

“You’re confused. Don’t you know how to defeat the enemy?” I didn’t even know who the enemy was, but I couldn’t say or do anything, those arms, that voice were holding me captive, safe, threatened.

“You kill them with kindness. Knock knock!” Something struck my head in time with the second knock. It turned out to be the floor of my room at the inn, hard wood with a light sprinkling of sawdust presumably tracked in by previous tenants.

“Miss Wilhelmina? It’s Benden. It is time to get ready if you wish to leave with the supply caravan.” I dragged myself up off the dusty floor and re-equipped my armor before opening the door to answer.

“Thank you, Benden, I won’t miss it.” He nodded and gave me an uncertain look.

“Is everything alright? You look a little…” He trailed off, maybe as confused as I felt.

“Umm, yes, it was just a strange dream. I appreciate the concern, but I think I’ll be alright.” He nodded and ducked out of the doorway, closing it behind himself. I sat back on the bed and tried to shake that weird feeling. I didn’t even know I could sleep in UWO, much less dream, but that was a heck of a dream!

Pat Miller has always been a bit of a nonentity. But what could have been the end of a depressing existence triggers the beginning of a whole new life, filled with action and adventure, at Whateley Academy!

Catalyst

"This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place (http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

Catalyst

By Angie Hughes

Chapter 1- Prelude

July 19, Big Bend, Kansas

My name is mud.

Well, not really, it's really Patrick Miller, but it seems like it might as well be mud. I sat there on the toilet lid, holding about twelve valiums in my hand, a straight razor sitting next to me. I was really going to do it this time, I had nothing left to live for. Lately all I felt was pain and sorrow, and I couldn't stand it. Then my brother of all people, had to go and do that to me... And worse, some part of me enjoyed it.

I never expected that, to feel powerful, and physically good, while being raped. I wanted to forget it, but it wouldn't go away; all the more reason to take the pills and cut my wrists: maybe if I died I could forget. The last thing I remember is putting that handful of pills to my mouth.

*

I woke up two hours later, according to the clock, lying on the floor of the bathroom, apparently my sense of self-preservation wasn't quite as gone as I had though. The pills floated in the ick in the toilet bowl. Apparently there was no way out for me. I flushed the toilet and crawled my way back to my bedroom; leaving the razor forgotten on the side of the tub. Not that anyone would notice anyway. My mom died giving birth to me, and my dad, he seemed determined to pretend I didn't exist. He always had time to take care of my brother, who was slightly retarded, but since I was the smart one, I was expected to take care of myself and stay out of trouble.

I tried to shake the thickness out of my head, then put in a Ranma  ½ video, going back to the old standby of losing myself in fiction, be it anime or books or movies. When I sank into another world, I could almost blot out my own misery. But about halfway in, I felt myself getting sick again, and ran for the toilet. Everything went fuzzy, but I heard the front door opening, apparently my dad and brother were coming back from the store. Through the fuzziness in my head, I was sure I suddenly felt a sort of stupid joy at getting something special, and at the same time, a sort of tired annoyance , neither of which felt like they were my own feelings.

What was going on with me? I must have been hallucinating, I just tried to shut everything out and concentrate on my television. Maybe I didn't trim all of the mold off that leftover lasagna last night.

"Patrick, come out here. I want to know what this is all about." Wow, Dad had actually said something to me!

"Coming!" I walked out to the living room, a little unsteadily, to find my dad standing there holding the razor blade I left on the tub. Jeremy stood next to him, looking at me like a wolf might look at a chicken. I barely paid attention to what Dad was saying, I could literally feel the twisted, dull, hateful lust from my brother, and I got so scared I almost threw up. I did start crying, to my shame.

"This isn't funny, Patrick. You need to stop this attention-getting behavior right now. Your brother found this where you left it, and he could have hurt himself. You're grounded for three days, go to your room. Crying won't get you out of it, either. You need to grow up and be a man."

It wasn't a big deal, he wouldn't notice if I went out anyway. I went to my room, slipped out the window, and climbed the end tree in the vacant lot next to our house. About twelve feet up was a piece of plywood, just big enough to stretch out on, if I dangled my legs off the sides. It was my own personal thinking space. I chucked little rocks from it at the old Mazda in the back of the lot, the one that blew its motor almost a year ago.

I had to do something, figure out some way to get away. Jeremy was going to do it again, I was sure. I felt sick just thinking about it. How could anyone enjoy that? But the fact remained, I had. Maybe it was because no matter how terrible, someone was paying attention to me. But no, I didn't want my brother's attention, and if he did that again, well, maybe next time I wouldn't throw the pills back up.

A sudden wave of vertigo hit me, and I leaned over the side of the makeshift treehouse, and sicked up again. I must really have been sick, I almost never got illnesses unless they were BAD ones. I leaned back in on my perch again and stared up at the branches. Being sick meant the next few days would be a living nightmare. I wouldn't be able to run or defend myself from anybody, especially Jeremy. Another wave of dizziness hit me, and I felt the sudden sensation of freefall, followed by an explosive burst of pain, and then everything went dark.

*

The next time I woke up, it was dark, and I was staring at the ceiling of a hospital room. I felt really hot, and really cold at the same time, and there was a really messy muddle of emotions in my head, and none of them made sense. I tried to think straight, but it was like swimming through an atmosphere of honey, not knowing which way was up. Everything felt thick, and overbearing. I think I blacked out again, maybe a bunch of times. I think I got up at one point, dragging an IV stand, and went to the bathroom, and everything felt wrong, like my body was the wrong shape or something.

I remember alarms going off, and I think there was a fire or something, because all the doctors and nurses came into my room and put me into an icy cold bath. I felt like I was on fire. They said something about keeping me cool because my body was trying to change way too fast and it was overheating with the work. They put something in my IV, and I went back to sleep, which was good, because I hurt.

When I started coming to again, all I knew was I had to get out of this place. I still felt kind of fuzzy, and nothing felt right, not my body or my head, but I knew I had to get away from all these people. The things I was feeling could not possibly have been my own feelings, so by logic, they had to be someone else's. EVERYONE else's. And in a hospital, well... I felt sick, I felt excited, I felt hopeful, I felt like I had a broken arm, I felt like I was dying, I felt sad, hopeful, and I felt like I was going crazy. But most importantly, I heard one of the doctors say that there had been an accident, and there were going to be several very wounded people arriving, ETA seven minutes. That cinched it, I did NOT want to feel those people's hurts too!

I waited until no one was around, then simply got up out of the bed, put on my clothes, which thankfully, were clean and neatly folded in a pile on the chair in my room. They didn't quite fit right, but I didn't think about that much at the time. I didn't have much time to get away before the wounded started pouring in, and the broken arm feeling made it VERY hard to concentrate on putting my clothes on.

Apparently all the doctors and nurses were too busy getting ready for the new arrivals, because nobody even noticed me walking right out the doors. Someone mentioned that room one-oh-seven was empty, and I knew that was the room I'd been in, but I was already out the doors and making my way across the street before anyone even came out the doors. The emotional muddle was thinning out a little, and I could finally think a little, when I heard the ambulance sirens pulling up. After that, I just ran.

Now my hometown, Big Bend, is not a big city. It's maybe three miles end to end, in any direction. So before I really stopped to think about it, I was home. I was about to open the door, when I saw a suitcase on the porch, with a note pinned to it.

"Here are the clothes you'll need, the hospital called and told me you left without permission. They gave me some paperwork to fill out, and you're moving in to a private school for mutants in New Hampshire. I took Jeremy to go bowling and play at the arcade, so he won't be upset you're leaving. Leave your keys in the mailbox when you go."

It wasn't even signed, but it was in dad's handwriting. There were some train tickets in the envelope with the note, some papers and a pamphlet for some school called Whateley's Academy. However, there was no money for a cab, and the train was scheduled to leave in less than an hour, I would have to run if I wanted to catch it.

Did I want to catch it? I thought about it for a minute, about what waited for me in Big Bend. No real friends, a dad who seemed to forget I existed most of the time, a violent, mildly retarded brother, who had recently... Nothing, there was nothing for me here, except maybe a suicide that I would eventually carry through. I ran, as fast as my legs would take me.

*

Somewhere between Kansas and New Hampshire, on the train

On the train ride I found myself assaulted by the miasma of confusing emotions again, and I really needed to think, so I did something I had no idea I was capable of. It was like I built a wall in my mind, bricks on every side, and suddenly it was gone. Only my own emotions, which at the moment were mostly confusion and surprise. Then I looked at the note again. Whateley's Academy, a school for superheroes and mutants? I guess I must have been a mutant, how else could I be feeling everyone else's emotions? I scratched absently at my itchy shirt as I thought about it. Maybe I could be a superhero, save people from evil masterminds and stuff! Maybe then my dad would notice me. Or somebody at least. I brushed an errant lock of hair out of my face as I read the front of the pamphlet. It seemed like an ordinary preppy English school- wait a minute. I didn't have long hair.

I pulled a handful of hair in front of my eyes and blinked. It was a little past shoulder length. My hand looked small, too, oddly. I scratched my chest again, and was again surprised, this time by an odd sponginess to my chest that I didn't remember. Was I turning into some kind of monster, too?

I felt that wall around me start to crumble as I worried, and little bits leaked through, so I ran to the train car's bathroom, and locked myself in. I checked the mirror, and my face looked almost the same as always, except it was somehow softer, finer, and smoother. And my sort of dirty-blonde hair framed it, making me look almost girlish. Slowly the idea coalesced in my mind, and I checked under my now oversized shirt. Soft little mounds greeted my questing hands, and my hypothesis became a working theory. Then my right hand quested downward under my jeans, which had slid down from my waist to catch on my hips in a style that I'd seen girls wear, though the jeans didn't quite look right that way. Reaching into my briefs, I found the proof to my theory: nothing but a little mound with sort of puffy lips. I never thought the first vagina I touched would be my own. The brick wall came crashing down and the confusing rush of weird emotions washed over me like an ocean swallowing me up. I drowned in it, screamed, and blacked out.

I never used to faint.

I woke up on the cramped floor of the train bathroom, and the smell was awful from this close. I quickly climbed to my feet, and tried to rebuild the brick wall. It worked, but I noticed each brick seemed to block out one emotion, or maybe one person's emotions, it was pretty mixed up and hard to tell. I finished the mental wall, and went back to my own situation. It really wasn't all that bad, at least I wasn't a monster right? Besides, everybody knew girls had more fun. Boys had to ask girls out and girls just had to say yes or no. Boys bought stuff for girls. Being a girl definitely could be more fun. I might even get some attention... And maybe if I tried hard enough, I could convince myself my whole existence had been flushed with those pills. Maybe I had died, and this was hell.

Someone was knocking at the door.

"Are you alright in there? I heard a scream!" I tried to compose myself.

"It... It's okay, I just slipped and fell. I'm fine." I said loudly through the door. Whoever was checking on me seemed to accept that, and apparently left.

I walked back to my seat, visibly shaken; I had a lot to deal with. But still, I could handle it. It's not like my life had been anything worth fighting to keep. And my manhood... Well, remembering the kind of boy my family tended to breed, maybe it would be best to have left that behind too. It was something to deal with, and survive. After all, I'd already tried the alternative, and it hadn't worked out for me. I didn't want to die, even if living meant being a girl, and a mutant. I just had to figure out how. I was determined to find out who I was, and be me, no matter what I looked like.

Keeping my mental wall up seemed to take just a little bit of concentration, and every time I got too distracted, people's feelings would leak through. Sometimes, it was hard to tell them from my own, like when I slowly started to feel a sort of feminine joy at the prospect of being a mother, holding a baby, nursing, the warmth and closeness... Then snapped out of it to glance at a woman with a beatific smile, nursing a tiny baby four seats down. But other times, it was very easy to differentiate, like the sort of sickly desire a greasy-looking middle aged man sparked when he looked at the nursing woman. It made me want to wash out my brain.

I spent the rest of the journey watching people, practicing letting in little glimpses of what they were feeling, to pass the time. Some of it was private, and I tried not to dig too deep into those. However, it was nice sharing the wonder of a little boy watching the countryside roll by, or the comfort of a sleeping elderly passenger, and I kept returning to the mother, enjoying her motherly feelings of love and caring. I was careful to keep the greasy man screened out.

Dunwich, New Hampshire

I think I fell asleep concentrating on the warm loved feeling the baby had, because the next thing I knew, the train had stopped at the station at Dunwich. When I stepped off the train, someone immediately grabbed my wrist, put a hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the girls' bathroom. Once the door was closed, the hands pulled away, and I tried to scream. I've never been a fighter, and it was obvious unless I got some help, I was about to be kidnapped or killed or something.

The scream died on my lips however, when I turned around to see a seeming mirror image of myself. I stared, openmouthed, for at least an hour (okay, maybe a few seconds) before a few discrepancies struck me. While I was only fifteen, wearing blue jeans and a comfortable sweater, the person with my face was older, maybe somewhere in her twenties, and sporting a black suit and skirt, with a pair of expensive-looking sunglasses in the breast pocket.

"Pat... It really is you! You look so much like me it's uncanny! I'm sorry I had to grab you like that, but I only have a few minutes, and you can't be seen with me."

"Ummm, who are you? You're not gonna kill me, or sell me into slavery, or anything are you?" I couldn't help but shudder at that second thought.

"What? No! Pat, I'm your mom!"

"You're... No, you can't be, Mom died when I was born, because of me."

My reflection (my mom?) grabbed me suddenly in the biggest, tightest, warmest hug I've ever felt. My brick wall came crashing down again, but this time the confusing deluge of emotions was drowned under a warm, comforting wash of love. Nothing else mattered, my mom was back from the dead and I NEEDED her. After several minutes, I felt an edge of worry and fear creep into her mind.

"Sweetie, for one, even if I had died, it would not have been your fault. I'm so sorry I had to go away, especially the way I did, but I didn't have any choice. I know you missed me, and it tore me apart all these years, not being there for you growing up. But for now, I have to go again. There are some really bad people chasing me, but I just had to see you before you go to Whateley. Yes, I know about what's happened to you, maybe more than you do, even; I was in the hospital when you blossomed. I was expecting it, I just hope your brother doesn't develop too. He's not responsible enough for it, and I don't think he ever will be. Luckily he seemed to get your father's genetics more than mine. Anyway, I know you can handle this change, you really are strong, though you may not think so. Just follow your heart and I know you will be alright. I filled out your paperwork for you, and made sure your father got it from the hospital. Your years at Whateley will be paid in my name, your father thinks you were offered a scholarship there. Here."

Mom handed me a bank card, emblazoned with the logo, á”First Bank of Dunwich.'

"You'll have an allowance of one thousand dollars every month, but be careful with it. It's actually an expense account from the people I work for, but I got it cleared with them, because they owe me that much ate least. I'll keep in contact, okay honey? I have to go, but always remember I love you, and am watching out for you."

Mom kissed me on the cheek again and grabbed me in another wonderful hug.

"Please don't go, Mom..." I held on as hard as I could, tears already streaming down my cheeks, "Don't leave me alone again..."

"Pat, honey, you're never alone, I'm always close by. And I will visit you soon, I promise."

"You better, Mom! I can't stand being alone anymore..."

She kissed my forehead, put a hand to her heart, then hurried toward the door, but suddenly turned around and shoved me into a stall with a whispered, ""Hide!" I heard the bathroom door come crashing open, and I watched through the crack in the stall where the door met the wall as three men in black suits blocked the doorway.

"Mindwave, you're getting sloppy. You stayed still too long. Come with us nicely and we won't have to harm you. All we want is information about your employer. You know your powers won't stop us, we're trained to resist you."

I could feel them, just like I felt my mother. While they were calm and collected, almost emotionless, Mom was terrified. How could she be so scared but still look so calm? They took a step towards her and she seemed to slump. Was she going to let herself be captured just to make sure I wasn't found? No way, I could not let that happen. But what could I do about it?

Suddenly I felt something building up inside me. A bubbling, roiling, mass of every emotion imaginable, but not like when I felt everyone else's emotions, it was coming from me. And it was maddening. I pushed it away from me, tried to throw it at the three men, and somehow, it worked. All three of the men went wide-eyed, then as one, they dropped into heaps on the floor. Mom looked surprised, but I probably looked even more surprised.

"Did you do that, sweetie?" Mom tapped on the stall door.

"Ummm, yeah, Mom... I just couldn't let them take you. You were so scared, and I... Did I kill them?" Suddenly I felt sick, the men felt empty now, and I was pretty sure they were dead.

Mom just grabbed me and hugged me tight.

"Honey, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault... Don't worry about these men, they were going to do worse to me, and to you if they caught you with me. You did nothing wrong. There will be more of them though, so you need to hurry and take a cab to the school, and I have to go. I will visit you when it's safe, and I promise we'll talk then, okay? Remember sweetie, I love you, and you are a wonderful person. Now hurry to school." Somehow, the words comforted me. I felt bad about killing those men, I didn't mean to, but they had been bad men, and accidents happen sometimes. I wondered idly what powers Mom might have.

I walked out of the bathroom with my mom, and she quickly kissed me on the forehead and went to a black sedan, with a last little wave, and left. But I knew I'd see her again. I quickly rebuilt my little brick wall, shutting out the confusion of the rest of the world, then hailed a taxi. It was time to see my new home.

Here's another Whateley fanfic that's been sitting around while I poke and prod at it, there's more to this one but I already have a chapter or two partitioned off, so here's the first one!

"This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out Whateley Academy at ( http://www.crystalhall.org )"

Kudzu

(adj.) strangeness by virtue of being remarkable or unusual ; (noun) A point in the universe where the density of matter and the gravitational field are infinite, such as at the center of a black hole.