Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

In the city of Tier, a place of intrigue and mystery, a group of adventurers takes the first steps into a dangerous place.

Prologue

Think about magic.

Magic is a force of change. It can change the colour of a flower. It can change the fate of a nation. It can change a life.

There are many kinds of magic, and they each change lives in their own ways. The shamanism of the northern clans can change the very ground, and bring either fair winds or harsh storms.
The sorcerers of the Arcane Order bring fire and lightning in the service of their kings, changing the outcome of wars.
The devotees of the gods are granted the power to bring the changes their creed calls for.
For each temple or academy proudly displaying their magic to the world, there are a dozen hidden factions, secret cults, or half-forgotten cabals working their own arts behind the scenes.
Change will happen, whether we see it or not. That is the nature of magic.

Changes come naturally to the secretive Lacunai Mystics in their mountain stronghold. They embrace the change, and draw their power from it. Every mystic, once they finish their initiate training, goes on a vision quest to find the monster that will forever after be their spiritual form. While they are able to pull power from other creatures they encounter throughout their lives, the one they meet during their vision will always be with them.
It will always wait beneath the surface, to be called when needed.

As the mystic grow stronger, their bond with their inner spirit grows as well. With time, this shows as physical signs on the mystic. The sentinel of the stronghold, Alam Hetagon, blessed by his gryphon spirit, soars above the walls on strong wings and tears through steel with his claws.
Most mystics take great pride in the changes their spirits bring them. They are treated as badges of honour.

It is only rarely when a mystic would be ashamed enough of their signs to hide them, or even refuse to call upon their spirit’s power unless they had no other choice. Such mystics often leave the Lacunai’s mountain home and find their lives where they can hide the truth inside them as long as possible.
Some become bitter recluses. Others, though, strive to become great heroes.

Let’s follow one of them for a while.

---

Chapter One: Opening Steps

A wind started to blow. It rushed across the skies, bringing with it the faintest promise of the summer to come. It whispered of changes.

The clouds moved back enough for the moonlight to pass over the rooftops of the city. The tall skyspire reaching up above the other buildings, the domed great temple, the arc of the clarion bridge — shapes that let there be no doubt about where in the world you were. A city where the plains of Olmar met the hills and forests Alband, where the ocean met the land, where stories began and legends were told. The moon painted a silvery picture across the rooftops of Tier.

While the taverns still shed light into the dark streets, most of the city was asleep. Only a few people walked those streets, going home after a long day, or a short stay at one of those taverns. Some guards dutifully did their patrols. Fortunately, the guards seldom raised their eyes toward the rooftops.

Barely visible, almost hidden, behind a decorative outcropping on top of a proud old townhouse was a figure leaning over the edge. Whoever it was couldn’t fully appreciate the large house, fit for a lesser noble or wealthy merchant, since they were struggling to hold onto something.

From hands covered by supple leather gloves, the kind worn for fashion rather than warmth or protection, dangled another person. Her short, red hair was just barely visible in the darkness of the alley between the two houses. She worked deftly on an upstairs window, prying at and teasing the firm clasp.

A small tremble made her look up sharply at her companion, a look that was heartily returned.

“Why am I up here?” He asked, adjusting his grip around her legs a little. Moonlight wasn’t enough to make out all his features, but the tips of his slightly pointed ears showed through black hair tied back with a string.

“You’re the only other one who doesn’t have metal underwear,” came the hushed reply from the woman below.

“That’s not true. Rhyce and Kel dress sensibly,” he protested. As sensible as their lifestyle permitted, he supposed. Rhyce favoured his heavy leathers, and Kellen tried to avoid the thick robes most of his sort wore.

“You know how Kel is about heights. Don’t be mean to him.” The redhead paused to brush some grime out of the window’s frame. The owners clearly didn’t clean the outside as much as they ought to.

“Well, what about Rhyce, then?”

“He didn’t want to.”

The rest of their friends waited down in the cover of the dark alley, too far away to hear the hushed conversation above. From time to time, the moonlight managed to make its way far enough to reflect on the metal some of them wore. They were clearly ready for any danger that might lurk inside that house.

The one named Rhyce, athletic rather than strong, solid rather than tall, was closest to the street side of the alley. They trusted his keen eyes and sharp hearing to warn them if any guards would break off from their tired routine and explore their alley. You could never be too careful. His bow was still tucked away in a special quiver made to carry both arrows and weapon, but it would be in his hands in the blink of an eye should the need arise.

Up by the rooftop, the black-haired man struggled on.

“How are you this heavy? I can’t feel my hands anymore!”

“I’m not heavy! Shut up!” She complained.

“Seriously, you’re a foot shorter than I am, and of the girly persuasion. I should be able to dangle you like a cat’s toy.” His hands were really starting to hurt. Either that window was locked tighter than a dwarven vault, or his friend was starting to get rusty.

Oleander glared up at him, her face red from either embarrassment or from hanging upside down for too long.

“And what does that tell you?” She hissed.

“That you’re impossibly heavy?” He could just barely see her face. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to tease her?

“No! That you’re really, really weak!”

Jaden scowled back down at her. He wasn’t weak. He was… average. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t a musclebound Northman like Kel or Stann. He shifted his grip again, causing Oleander to sway a smidgen. Hopefully some blood would start flowing back into his hands.

“Say, do you know who’s stronger than me?” He asked.

“Everyone?”

Jaden was quiet for a while. He grimaced.

“This is true. However! You could’ve made a bit more of an effort to badger Rhyce into being your living foothold. He’s got strong hands from pulling that bow of his all day long.” There was no real doubt about it. Rhyce could probably break Jaden’s wrist by just squeezing hard enough. Now, Jaden was by no means frail; Rhyce just had a grip like that.

“I told you already. He didn’t want to.”

“Neither did I!”

“Well, it’s that special connection we two share. Also, I don’t have blackmail material on him.” Her tone had gone from irritated to sounding amused. He could always make her smile.

“I’ve been telling you that the bathhouse incident was not my fault. Not entirely. Completely blown out of proportion,” he explained. Someday he’d live that one down. Clearly not tonight, though.

“’Blown’ being the operative word, eh?” She was definitely smiling.

“I’ll drop you, Ollie.”

“No you won’t. You know you love me too much.”

“You’re right, of course. I love you like I love that special cousin, who lives under the stairs. And eat socks.”

Oleander couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image, causing one of her tools to slip and drop down into the alleyway.

“Shoot! Look what you made me do? I dropped one of my picks!” She almost had it, too. The bracing pick had the clasp nudged almost out of the way.

“I can’t see anything since my view is blocked by your impossibly large-"

With a careful push, she flicked the clasp up, and it fell away. The window tugged open reluctantly.

“Ssh! I got it open. Call the others.” There was no lock she couldn’t pick. Especially with friends to lean on.

It was a while later when they were all gathered by the rooftop. It had taken Jaden two tries to send a magic message down to his friends in the alley. The spell required precise gestures, even if they were quick and small, and his stiff, abused hands didn’t want to cooperate.

Even this late at night, they didn’t dare risk raising their voices high enough to be heard in the alley. While he was flexing his fingers, Oleander had been busying herself with putting her precious tools back into her pack.

Shortly after the magic whisper snuck down into the alley to deliver the invitation, the two of them could hear the approaching noise of people in armour trying to be sneaky. They exchanged a smirk. Of all of her friends, only Rhyce and Jaden could walk across a room without waking the neighbours. Stann and Mirena used their heavy armour as an excuse; Kellen had only his bull-like grace to blame.

The wall blocking off the alley from the street behind it shuddered slightly, and simple stone steps pushed their way out and formed a crude stairway.

The first one up was the strong, tall Northman in his noisy chain mail armour. Long, blonde hair, clear blue eyes and the short beard made him the very image of a winterland warrior. Stann stepped to the side, and offered a hand to the even more heavily armoured knight who followed close behind. Mirena smiled politely and accepted the help, her brown hair made up into a sensible braid. Unlike many of her fellow knights of her order, she wasn’t too proud to take the offered hand. The noise of their metal died down as they gave the last two of the group room to come join them.

Next up was another tall and blonde man, the resemblance between the two clear enough to speak of their close family bond. Kellen, though, wore simple wool trousers and a light leather jerkin. The softly glowing symbols on both arms spoke of why he needed no armour. A thick belt carried several pouches where he kept his runes. One hand clutched an inscribed stone tightly, a focus of his earth magic. It was one of many like it. Kellen walked close to the wall and hurried the last few steps. He didn’t turn to look out over the city like the others did, but instead focused on the roof under his feet.

Rhyce brought up the rear, as always. Slightly curly light brown hair moved in the wind. His brown eyes never left the street below them. He must have heard a noise, since his hand was raised, close to his quiver and the bow.

“Another patrol comes. Lose the steps, Kellen.” Rhyce didn’t command. He just said what was needed to be done. Pragmatic only began to describe him.

The taller of the two Northmen let his hand relax around the stone, and the stair created by magic fell apart into dust. The cloud would settle over the alley and cover any tracks they left behind.
They waited until the city guards had strolled past the house before moving on to the next step of their plan. Put a knight, a rune seeker and a cat-burglar around any map, and there would be plans. This was one of the strengths of the group. Unlike some of their colleagues in the adventuring business, they were well prepared before entering into potential danger. They had all heard the stories about groups who weren’t as willing as they to spend the extra time. Most of those stories were tragedies.

“Here we are. Good work, Oleander, Jaden,” said Mirena. The knight wasn’t the leader of the group. They didn’t really have a leader, but when a situation called for expertise in a subject, they respected the direction of the one best suited for it. She always had a kind word ready, though. “Kellen? Please give us steps to the window.”

The stone had never left his hand, and Kellen called on the power of the rune once more. As he shaped the stairs from the roof down to the open window, his kinsman held a comforting hand on his shoulder. Kellen never liked being too close to the edge.

“Same order. Red and Jay, Rena and I, Kel and Rhyce.” Stann wasn’t a tactician like Mirena, but he was very familiar with close quarter brawls. Keep the ranged people in the back, with Mirena and him in front. Oleander and Jaden had their own mission, and the rest of the group would provide the diversion for them to work.

Rhyce stepped back from his watch to give Jaden a wry look.

“Was she teasing you again? I could hear you bickering, like mice fighting over cheese.” The archer had a slight accent, betraying his background as a borderlander. Jaden glanced over at the redhead and shrugged.

“If you go with her next time, you’ll find out,” Jaden offered. Rhyce gave a slight, lopsided smile and shook his head, declining the experience.

The quiet grinding of stone stopped as the stair was completed. The red and black hair was caught in a sudden night breeze as the sneakier two of the group headed into that proud old townhouse. The quiet wouldn’t last long. The plan depended on a ruckus loud enough to draw everyone in the building, but not loud enough to concern the city guards. Stann smiled at the moon, feeling the blood start rushing deep inside.

He and his cousin were very good at just the right amount of commotion.

The night before

Three people leaned over the map.

“As far as we know, the Sons of Husk keeps the obsidian skull inside this old building. Rumour has, the previous owners disappeared mysteriously shortly before the house passed to a previously unknown nephew.” Oleander pointed at a section of the rough sketch of the house. “We should be able to get in through this window, bypassing the guards we spotted on the first floor.”

“How reliable is this map?” Mirena brushed some hair back over an ear. When not preparing to enter into a fight, she preferred to dress according to her station and let her long brown hair fall freely down over her shoulders. The soft blue velvet gown contrasted greatly with her usual plate mail.

“I paid the previous manservant enough to jog his memory. Working fifteen years for the old couple, I trust he got the rooms and hallways right.” The redhead looked pleased with herself. She was almost as good with picking knowledge out of people as she was picking locks, or pockets. “By the way, I’m taking that back out of the reward, just so you know.”
Mirena sighed and turned back to the map. At her other side, the much taller Kellen just grinned.

“Let the girl focus on her gold coins, while we turn out attention to the plan.” His voice was resonant. He could’ve been a great storyteller back home, but home had other plans for him. Mirena nodded resolutely.

“See here, the only obvious way to the third floor is the stairs here. We could easily hold most of the cult there long enough for Oleander and Jaden to secure the skull.” For all her skill in battle, it was her tactical knowledge that had brought her the most recognition amongst her peers back in the order.

“And anyone lurking up there with us?” Rhyce asked, mostly for the groups’ benefit. He already knew what to do. As the oldest, he had a lot of previous experience planning ambushes and traps. More than he ought to, in fact.

“You and Kellen will focus on suppressing them while Stann and I guard the stairs. Once the top floor is cleared, return and help us.”

“And while you’re doing that, I’ll sneak down the secret passage the old man told me about — uh, with Jay — and grab the skull before anyone’s the wiser!” Oleander stabbed a finger down at a marked section on the map. The previous owners apparently enjoyed classics like a hidden door behind a bookshelf, leading to the basement. Whether it was intended as an escape route or just a novelty hadn’t been made clear, but for now it would serve the group’s purpose wonderfully.

“Just remember to let Jaden inspect the skull first, Oleander. We don’t want you to get stricken by any curses the cult may have placed upon it as protection.” Mirena looked up from the map to make sure the other woman had heard her.

“Yes, okay, mommy. I’ll let big brother Jay poke it until he’s sure none of us will turn into frogs.”

Jaden looked up from where he and Stann were sitting with their playing cards. There were two tankards, both on the Northman’s side of the table. Most of the copper coins they were playing for were, too.

“Actually, knowing a little about the Sons of Husk, any curses are more likely to rot your insides or turn your blood into bees, than make you small and green.” He waggled his fingers ominously at Oleander, who looked like she was getting a little nauseous.

“Here’s an idea: Jay takes the skull!” She pushed back from the table, and pointed at the young mystic. Her friends were smiling.

“Very well. Then we have a plan.”

Things never go according to plan.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden, a reluctant Lacunai Mystic, is a part of a group of adventurers tasked with retrieving a dangerous item from a dangerous place. That's the kind of life he leads these days. After carefully discussing how to get to the obsidian idol of the dark cult, now is the time to follow through.

They have a plan, a couple of Northern warriors, and a keen nose for trouble. What could possibly go wrong?

Flashback: Jaden considers his place in the Lacunai stronghold

---

Chapter 2: Hidden Things

JADEN

He turned his back against the wind. It had been blowing down from the north all day, bringing with it the chilly air of an early winter. He pulled his cloak closer and hugged himself for warmth. Sounds from the courtyard below reached him where he stood at ramparts of the only place he had ever called home. The mountain citadel. The Lacunai stronghold. It had held many names over the centuries, but to him it had always been Talraman.

Down below him was a small gathering of people. He recognised Master Viskeri’s large stature, but the rest must be new arrivals. He remembered when he had first stood there. Despite having grown up in the citadel, having to stand there with the other initiates made the whole place seem different somehow. Those people had a lot of hard work ahead of them before they would be allowed to enter into the ranks of the mystics. He wondered about them, what had brought them here. Maybe some of them had, like him, been born here. From this distance it was hard to make out any familiar faces.

A movement in the corner of his eye made him turn into the wind a bit. He blinked to clear his eyes, and saw that someone else had joined him up at the high walls. She was tall, and had her long black hair pinned back. His own was flying free in the wind. Her ears bore a slight point, and her eyes were of a deep amber. She was his sister.

“Lilya,” he greeted her, and turned back to watch the Master of Initiates hold his speech. He couldn’t hear the words from here, but he recognised the feelings they evoked.

“Jaden,” she returned. Ever since their spirit quests, they had drifted apart a bit. Never the closest of siblings, the divide felt ever greater these days. He had himself to blame. At least some of it. He hadn’t borne his trial well. Her hard, light brown eyes sought his.

“Father is asking if you have made your decision about the offer, yet?” She spoke with crisp, clipped words. Ever since her quest, she had grown harder to read. Harder to feel. Just plain harder.

“Why doesn’t he ask me himself?” It was hard to keep bitterness out of his voice. Was he being petty?

“You’ve not been home lately. I’ve seen you in the library.”

“I’ve been… busy. Tell father I’ll give him my answer tomorrow.” Buy a little more time. He hadn’t made up his mind yet. How could he? Throw away everything he’s ever known, or throw away everything he’s ever been? Life had been easier before. Change was hard.

The night before

“So, what do we know about the Sons of Husk?” Stann had finished off his second tankard.

Some playing cards were lying face up on the table between him and Jaden, and they were overwhelmingly in his favour. Jaden had long since said his farewells to the copper coins they were playing for.

“They have managed to keep the ‘secret’ part of being a secret cult relatively well during the last decades,” Kellen began, using his deep voice to draw the attention of everyone in the group. He was still studying the map with the two women, but seemed to focus more on the outside of the building than the interior. “The stories that float around make them out as a strong, organised group of death worshippers.”

“Any organised opponent is dangerous, but it also makes them slightly more predictable.” The lady knight nodded slowly. She was already drawing up contingencies and strategies, being an organised opponent herself.

“That remains to be seen,” Kellen continued. “I’m concerned about the amount of magic defences we might have to deal with aside from the skull itself.” One of the group’s advantages was their unusually high number of magic users. In most of their previous battles they had been able to simply overpower their foes if they had the opportunity to prepare themselves.

“Do you believe they hide undead in their midst?” Mirena fiercely hated the unliving, one of the reasons she had argued for accepting this assignment. A death cult could harbour many horrors within its halls.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, but we can’t know for sure. There just isn’t very much knowledge about the Sons to go around to begin with. Either they have had very few defectors…” He left the last bit hanging meaningfully.

“Or the ones who got out aren’t talking. Can’t talk,” she finished.

“Precisely. However, Jaden? Don’t the Mystics host a grand library documenting many of the magic phenomenons of our world? Do you keep track of the different societies as well?”

Jaden put his hands together in thought, the thin gloves brushing against one another. Talraman did have a large collection of books about many kinds of magic. The very nature of the Lacunai depended on knowing as much as possible about every other source of magic, whether by man or monster.

“While the citadel archive is a match for the great library of the Solaris academy here in Tier, it takes a while for new knowledge to reach us, naturally. Anything I may have on them is at least a generation old,” he explained.

“Better than nothing,” Rhyce offered laconically. He sat by the table next to Stann and Jaden, one hand petting the inn’s cat. The fat tabby had taken an immediate liking to the archer when they arrived some days ago, and was by his side whenever they were here.

“You look like a storybook villain when you do that, you know?” Oleander laughed. She had tried to lure the cat away with treats, but to no avail. Rhyce had a good enough hand with animals it bordered on the supernatural. But she was also right. If he took better care of his unruly light brown to dark blonde hair, and dressed in something else than traveling leathers, he would make an iconic bad guy. Especially with a cat on his lap.

“Anyways,” Jaden stretched the word out to turn the attention back to him. “What little I do know about them paints a rather grim picture. After the first mentioning of them in various correspondences, it seems like they established a strong presence in northern Olmar. Obviously they’ve extended into Tier by now, and maybe even further north into Alband.”

He paused to gather his thoughts. He’d only read those letters once, when he was researching other magic using groups; and to be honest with himself, he spent more time reading about the spellsingers of the Ruby Lotus and their performances.

“As far as I can recall, they delved heavily into dark magic, nethermancy, and various soulbinding rituals. The name comes from how the ritual leaders essentially tie dead spirits to their bodies, drawing power from the semi-possessed state without surrendering control.”

“They eat ghosts?” Oleander succinctly summed up the explanation. She took a bite out of a wedge of cheese to demonstrate.

“Sure. Though the fact that they produce the ghosts first takes it beyond simply disturbing.” Jaden looked solemn. The practices of the Sons of Husk in the past were nothing short of abominable. There would be no telling how they’ve changed since the Lacunai first encountered them more than twenty years ago.

“To bind a soul, they reave a soul.” Mirena looked like she was trying to control her temper.

“Yes.” The looks on their faces showed that they all began to take the cult much more seriously.

The house looked like it had seen its best days. While still beautiful, and very spacious, most of the decorations and little things that made it into a home were missing. Even in the half-light they saw empty rectangles on the walls where paintings once had been displayed. Ten years ago, this home must’ve been awe-inspiring for visitors. Now it just felt empty.

They ran down the hallway as quickly as they dared to. At any moment, one of those doors could open up to reveal an armed cultist and without any of the real warriors of the group with them, Oleander and Jaden could end up in trouble before their job even began.

The splitting up had all been part of the plan. The others would cause a ruckus and draw any cultists in the building into a trap by the stairs, while the two of them snuck into the cult’s inner chamber through a secret passage. The plan was elegant in its simplicity.

By the sound coming from behind them, the plan was working magnificently. Kellen’s deep roar reached them at the same time as the building shook slightly. With his rune magic granting him mastery of stone and sea, the very walls here would become his weapons.
With no surprises heading their way Jaden pushed open the door to the library at the far end of the upper floor. He held up a hand, causing Oleander to stop close behind him. He went in first, sword drawn. Jaden might not be as skilled with the blade as Stann or Mirena, but he could definitely hold his own against most opponents.

“Alright, it looks clear.” He stepped in and let Oleander start looking for the opening mechanism of the hidden door. He didn’t close the door behind them. If anyone got in that way would have to get past their friends. They might also have to flee quickly once they had what they came for.

“What are we looking for?” He felt a little useless in situations like these. He wanted to help, but would more than likely just get in the way.

“We’re looking for a seeecret dooor,” she teased him.

“Well, clearly! But what does it look like?”

“Like something that wouldn’t look out of place in a library.” She was pulling at books expectantly, then twisted a heavy brass paperweight around a few times. She tapped her lips as she looked around on the other shelves.

“What, like a book? Or a bookend? One of the candleholders?” Jaden hadn’t picked up on her sarcasm the second time. The stress of borrowing time from their friends made him miss even obvious things, until they caught up with him. “Wait, you’re still joking, aren’t you?”

“Ask a stupid question,” she sang, scooting over to the next shelf. “Be of some use and show me what those keen elven senses of yours can do.”

“I’m not an elf, Ollie.”

Oleander just snickered and went on with her search.

“Fine, be that way. The door must be behind one of the shelves, right? Can’t we just tear them down?” Jaden had begun hearing the sound of fighting on their floor. Each minute they wasted would increase the risk of their friends getting hurt while buying them that time.

“And draw attention to ourselves? What if they heard a loud thump when one of those bookshelves hit the floor? That would jeopardise the entire plan!” He didn’t like it when she made more sense than he did. It made him question himself.

“Why can’t you ever just agree with me, Ollie?”

“If I agreed with you, we’d both be wrong!” With that she went to the last shelf, closest to the outer wall. Jaden threw his hands in the air.

The redhead let her fingers skim across the books, before reaching in behind them with a triumphant squeak. Her hand found the handle that allowed her to swing the bookshelf door open, revealing a narrow and steep stairs going down into the darkness.

Stann slammed his shield into a tall and heavily built cultist. The man was knocked back down the stairs into the thick mist Kellen had called upon earlier. He heard the satisfying thud when the cultist’s tumble came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. His mirth was short lived as several more shapes stepped out of that mist.

Mirenas plan to hold the stairs was working. They could only come at them two at a time, and both of their shields provided a metal barrier that the cultists couldn’t easily overcome. While they stood their ground, groans and creaks from the house itself told them that Kellen was working his magic to create a painful experience for anyone willing to climb those stairs. Those who got up to fight the knight and the warrior all wore scrapes and cuts. Their eyes didn’t show any of the pain they must be feeling, however. Cold and hard. They had tombstone eyes.

Something buzzed past Stann’s ear, and another cultist fell back into the mists. A liquid howl told him that Rhyce’s aim was true. The archer didn’t seem to care about the poor visibility, and kept shooting down the stairs as soon as he saw the slightest swirl.

“Come, you walking atrocities! Face the sword of Telum!” Mirena yelled at their foes. She carried her god’s blessing of war, radiant and terrible. They would give the other two all the time they needed.

Soft boots padded down the steep, dark stairs. Oleander was reluctantly walking in the front if the Sons had known about the secret passage and left them any traps. Her attention to detail was excellent, and she often saw the tell-tales of pressure plates or hidden needles before anyone else. Jaden was a couple of steps behind her, two candle sized flames dancing above an open palm, his sword in the other hand.

They reached the bottom of the hidden stairs without any surprises. That was a good sign that the cult either didn’t know about the passage, or didn’t bother with it. There was a simple wooden door leading into what awaited them. From what Oleander’s sources had told them, behind that door was an old wine cellar. The cult had turned it from a collection of fine vintages, into a theatre of horrors. They looked at each other for a moment, and then she held up a hand with three fingers raised. She lowered the first, then the other, and finally the last. They burst out through the door with swords and knives drawn in case the cult left anyone behind to guard their treasures.

The cult had left an entire roomful of people.

They were clearly in the middle of a ritual, several standing in a circle around a dark altar dedicated to their dread lord. Next to the altar stood a man almost an entire head taller than Jaden, towering above the rest. His cowl was thrown back and showed a face heavily lined by years of watching the suffering of others, short hair more grey than brown. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, before they went to the centrepiece of the room. On the altar was a life sized skull carved out of a single block of obsidian, every surface covered with dark glyphs. The moment passed.

“Get them!” The tall man roared, pointing with his claw-like hands at the two intruders.

“Eat knives!” Oleander ducked down, almost throwing herself to the ground. Her knives made a ripping noise as they slashed the back of the closest person’s thighs and knees. She was rewarded by a surprised scream of pain as her foe dropped down next to her.

Jaden brought his sword up. They were incredibly outnumbered. At least nine to two. Well, eight now. They wouldn’t survive this without cheating. He swung his sword to drive back the nearby cultists who suddenly had heavy daggers ready to cut him down where he stood. He could see no mercy in their eyes and realised that he could not afford to offer any in return.

“Ollie! Cooking time!” Three to the left, one to the right. Another three right behind the first four, and the tall man. The leader. A magician for sure, but would he be able to counter Jaden’s spell?

When Oleander heard what her friend said, she immediately backpedalled behind him. They had done similar things in the past, and long since worked out a way to pass along combat tactics without alerting their enemies of what they were up to. Jaden held out his free hand like a fist. She could swear his amber eyes gleamed with a golden fire.

“Valignat!” The cultists screamed in surprise as flames fanned out from his hand.

It lifted its head from the shimmering caldera and gazed far toward the west. It could feel the pact draw upon its power. The scales of the salamander glowed bright as its Mystic borrowed some of its strength. It wasn’t a mighty salamander, but that explained why a novice Mystic had managed to bind it into a contract to begin with. It settled down against the scalding rocks again, content that whatever struggle its Mystic was involved in would not disturb a very important afternoon basking.

The tapestries depicting awful scenes or vividly celebrating some horrors were burning. The fire had spread quickly and almost reached the ceiling. As the initial flare died down, they could see how the ritual leader was surrounded by a dark purple bubble that held off the effects of the fireburst. The closest of the cultists were singed or burnt, and backing away from Jaden. The ones in the back seemed reluctant to get any nearer.

“Sorcerer!” One of the cultists backed up even further, pointing in alarm at Jaden. “They’ve sent mercenary mages against us!”

The protective bubble seemed to flicker, betraying how it was almost spent. That meant that the ritual leader was about the same strength as Jaden. He took this as a good sign, since that meant that together with his friends they could overpower the nethermancer if need be.

“Fall back. Get the others!” The tall man commanded, as they began to retreat out of the chamber.

Jaden sent another threatening gout of fire out of the door to make sure they stayed well clear. As soon as he stood clear, Oleander slammed the door shut and together they lifted a heavy bar to hold it shut. The cult clearly had intended to be on this side of the door if their enemies came to visit.

“Okay. Jay? We scared them off for now, but they’ll be back any minute with reinforcements.” She still held her knives ready, expecting hidden assassins to leap from any shadow.

“I know! We didn’t expect them to be holding a… a ceremony tonight. We saw most of them leave the house during the day!”

“Well, clearly some of them stayed behind! Nevermind that now. The skull, is it safe? Can we nick it?”

“Give me a few seconds,” Jaden sighed, stepping closer to the dreadful artefact. He tried to clear his mind. The Lacunai weren’t like other magic users around the world. It was a secret they liked to keep. Empty your mind. He could hear Oleander’s voice fading away as he opened himself to the world.

The strands of magic were all tangled up in here. The Sons of Husk had been practicing in this chamber for many years, and the resonance of their rites hung heavily in the air. It tainted the walls and floor. Trying to perceive a single aura in here was like grasping for a feather underwater. Push too quickly, and it would just float out of the way. He could hear heavy thumping, almost pulling him out of his trance.

“They brought axes!” The underwater analogy was fitting. Oleander’s voice sounded like it came from above the surface. Which it did, in a way.

He couldn’t get a clear read. Everything was flowing into each other.

“Is it safe? Can we grab it already?”

“I… I don’t know!” He returned to his normal senses, and saw the splintering of the door. They would be through in moments.

“Then guess! You’re the one who knows all this!” Oleander approached the altar, looking at him. They didn’t have any more time.

“But I…” he stared at the skull. It felt as if it was staring back at him, laughing at him. “Yes. They wouldn’t be using it in a ritual unless it was safe to handle.” Right?

“Good enough for me!” She didn’t even hesitate, but reached out and closed her hands around the obsidian death idol.

She immediately fell to the ground. She wasn’t moving.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

While carrying out their cunning plan to "let's split up", the group of adventurers find themselves in a bit of a situation. When dealing with disreputable death cults, things have a way of going sideways.

Flashback: Stann reflects on his life in his clan homestead

Since there are many characters introduced in the first chapters, please visit the “who’s who” page to read about the main faces:
Who's who in Horizons of the Heart

---

Chapter 3: Smoke and the Mirror

STANN

It would be a glorious day. The sky had barely any clouds, and despite the thick snow covering the roofs and streets of the town, it was cosy and warm indoors. The fireplaces burned cheerfully and made the bed almost too warm with the thick pelt cover.

He sat by the bed, still not dressed. He ran a hand over the pelt. He had felled that bear with his own hands when he was barely old enough to join the hunting party. His arms were strong, and the spear was sharp. That was the day he earned the nickname ‘Bear’ with his friends. It was years later when he let the shaman tattoo the animal on his right arm, a powerful totem to protect him in the battles to come.

He wasn’t alone in the bed. Yesterday had been full of revelry when their betrothal was announced. The Winterheart clan never needed much cause to throw a celebration, but if the cause was just they went the extra mile. That was almost a proverb to them.

Her flaxen hair spilled over creamy shoulders. She would make a fine wife come spring, and even if he was as far removed from the crown as a clansman could be, any marriage between the Winterhearts and the Ravenwings would serve both clans well.

She stirred a little as he rose to his feet, rolling over to feel the warmth still left behind by his body. Would he be teaching their sons to hunt bears?

He lifted the thick curtain and looked out across the commons. People were already going about their daily chores. He sighed happily. He had until midday to relax before meeting the rest of the warriors. His uncle would be talking about the plans for the summer campaign.

A tall and strong man passed by his window, carrying a fishing pole. Upon seeing Stann he waved and let out a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Good morning to you too, cousin! Now put on some trousers!”

It was a glorious day. Stann grinned widely as he batted the blade out of a cultist’s hand and kicked him down the stairs. At his side stood Mirena in all her glory, her sword was making brilliant arcs as she swung at any foe brave enough to approach. Then he saw it, some of shapes in the mists were retreating down, away from them.

“They’re falling back? Cowards!” He slammed his sword against his shield and laughed. Mirena didn’t look as amused.

“I’m troubled by what that means.” She raised her shield and blocked her remaining attacker’s heavy swing. The large butcher’s knife made another furrow in the metal.

“Rhyce?” Stann called out.

“I’m on it.” The archer let loose a final arrow before leaving the stairs to the others.

Kellen reached out with both hands, each clutching a runestone of power. The roof above trembled and dropped fist sized chunks of stone down into the mists. The rocks made satisfying thuds hitting the stairs, and anyone remaining there. The visibility was getting slightly better however. Without him constantly reinforcing the magic, the mist was dissipating into the air.

She was just lying there. Jaden felt his heart beat harder.

“No, no no no.” The sound of splintering wood got louder. He could see the first axes make their way through the heavy oak door. He had been so wrong. It wasn’t safe at all.

Oleander sprawled on the ground, her hands still holding the obsidian skull. Jaden backed up to her, sending a burst of fire toward the door. The door would be gone in seconds anyway. Having it burn might buy him more time at the rate things were happening.

The flames died away almost immediately, leaving a purple smoke in their wake. He could sense, more than hear, a faint otherworldly wailing in the air. The nethermancer had returned, and was clearly prepared to deal with his magic.

Jaden’s face fell. They were able to deal with one of his sources of magic, that is. He still had another couple of tricks up his sleeve. A first one that might possibly work, and the other that most definitely would. He looked down at Oleander again. If it had been just him, he would’ve chanced the less reliable way. It wasn’t in him to gamble with the life of a friend, though.

The door shattered, showing a pair of brutish cultists with axes. Maybe it was just the stress and fear playing tricks on him, but they seemed larger than before. The purple smoke seeped between them and into the chamber, extinguishing the lingering fires of his first attack. There were many cultists out there, much too many.

“I guess it’s just you and me now,” he mumbled. The Lacunai drew their power from other creatures, but when they complete their first spirit quest they create a primal bond with something that will always be by their sides. A guide, a companion, an avatar of their magic. Most Mystics relish the bond.

“Come out and play.” He surrendered himself. Since his quest, he could count on one hand the number of times he had called on his inner spirit’s power. He actively avoided doing so unless it was absolutely necessary. Jaden knew what it would do to him in the long run, and he had decided to fight it every single step of the way.

But to save Oleander, it was necessary to give another piece of himself.

It had been the main reason why he chose to make a pact with a salamander in the first place. It gave him another source of fire magic. As long as he could call upon the fire, other Mystics would not know whether it came from a contracted creature or from his inner spirit. After all, what sort of Mystic was afraid to use his main spirit? His strongest ally?

As he felt himself being taken over from within, he enjoyed the irony for a moment. They were fighting against the Sons of Husk because the cultists forced dead spirits to possess their members, and then used the ghost’s essence for their own ends. Here he was doing almost the very same thing. His vest and shirt tore off from his back and barely covered his chest, the trousers stretched tight over his hips. He could feel himself grow warmer.

“What the…” a Cultist began, confusion turning into fear.

The nethermancer pushed his way to the front, tools of his trade glowing with that sickly purple light. He too lost his stride as he saw the transformation happen before their eyes.

“That is no Sorcerer! That’s a-“

“Hellfire!” Jaden’s voice didn’t sound anything like it used to. Whatever protections the nethermancer had woven to fend off the previous flames weren’t prepared to handle the kind that engulfed them now. It came from a place too far below for a mortal mind to fathom.

One of the Sons managed to scramble forward in an attempt to avoid the same fate as his allies. Jaden slapped him back into the howling inferno with a wing, and bent down to scoop up Oleander. She still clung to the skull.

The room was completely aflame, any cultist that had chosen not to flee were either dead or dying. Jaden couldn’t see the nethermancer, but there was no more time. The heat or the smoke would soon kill Oleander if she wasn’t already dead, struck down by whatever curse they had put on that skull.

The sound of footsteps running down hidden passage stairs caught Jaden’s attention. Over the dull roar of the fire someone shouted their names.

“Red? Jay? Are you down there?” Rhyce’s voice. He sounded uncharacteristically upset, bless him. But he couldn’t see them like this. They didn’t know, none of them did, and Jaden planned to keep it that way as long as he possibly could.

Folding the wings close around the unmoving redhead, Jaden crashed through the remains of the door out into the rest of the cellar and didn’t stop running. They went up the stairs to the first floor and straight through the closest window. The shards sparkled in the moonlit night.

The street was mercifully deserted at this late hour, but any guards patrolling past the house next time could not avoid seeing the broken window, or hear the faint yells coming from inside. A couple of powerful beats of the wings brought them to the roof across the street. One hand free allowed Jaden to make the same magical gestures he had such trouble with earlier that night. He hated how good this felt.

“Yeah, I can’t see anyone down there.” Stann noisily backed up again to the top of the stairs. The magic mist had cleared enough to see several bodies lying in the rubble in various places, most with arrows telling the story of their final moments.

“Something must have happened.” Mirena scowled through her visor. “Let’s see if we can-“

“Rena?” The Northman turned to look at the knight, who had gone quiet. A glance toward his cousin showed a similar preoccupied expression.

“I heard it too, Mirena. Let’s find Rhyce and get out of here.” Kellen already stood well clear of the top of the stairs. The runes on his arms had faded to the faintest glow as stray bolts and thrown knives had depleted his magical protection.

“Jaden just sent us a far whisper — they have the item, but Oleander is hurt. They are already on their way back to our place.” She avoided mentioning what they came for, or where they were going. There was no telling who could hear them, after all.

Faint noise to their left made them ready their weapons and magic, but soon Rhyce came into view. He had a grim expression.

“The cellar is completely ablaze. Everything down there is ashes,” the archer reported.

“That was probably Jaden’s doing. They’re already out of here,” Kellen explained, as he motioned for everyone to make it back to the window where they got into the building. It would also be their exit, hopefully.

Stann and Mirena brought up the rear this time, to fend off any surprise attacks that might come now that they had abandoned their choke point in the stairs. Faintly, the smell of smoke started to make its way up to the top floor. The secret passage must be working like a chimney for the fire in the cellar.

Rhyce was the first to the window, and leaned out quickly to scan the alley below. He couldn’t hear any neighbours raising a call for the fire yet, so at least the guard wouldn’t be surrounding them yet. However, that was only a matter of time. The fire he had seen down in the cellar had been unlike anything else. It had burned the very stone walls. Just looking at it had felt like touching a hot plate, only inside his soul. What was left of it.

“We’re clear, but we need to go right now,” he whispered back to his friends.

“Kellen?” In the darkness of the unlit room, Mirena’s voice called for action with a single word.

Strong hands grasped the inscribed stones once more, and the walls began to groan anew. Sacrificing some convenience for brevity, there were fewer steps down this time. One by one they climbed out the window and hopped down from one stone platform to the next. The armoured pair made a loud noise as they crashed down the improvised stairs, but stealth was no longer an issue. Now it was all about speed, quickly putting distance between themselves and this place. Kellen released the magic, and more dust rained down to join the rest of it already coating the dead end alley.

“Let’s go.” Stann waved them on, and soon they were well on their way away from the proud old townhouse. In their hurried escape, they failed to notice how the front doors were wide open.

There wasn’t a wound on her. No scratch or burn. Aside from the smell of smoke on her clothes, she looked just to be sleeping. Her hands gripped the black crystal skull hard enough that her knuckles had turned white. Jaden didn’t dare to try and pry them off, however. He could just as easily fall victim to the curse, or it might hurt her even further. A quick glimpse at the magical threads surrounding the dark artefact told him that much, at least. Vicious, purple strings bored into her heart.

Jaden had put Oleander in her bed as soon as they made it back to the Green Raven. It was way past midnight, and neither the innkeeper nor any other person working there had been awake. Jaden doubted they would’ve been able to help anyway, but at least they also wouldn’t have raised the alarm or tried to attack once they saw him. Jaden looked at his hands, and clenched them into fists. They were the wrong colour. They were also slimmer than his own, but not by much. Not since the changes had begun shortly after his first two transpossessions.

Returning to normal, or what passed for it these days, wasn’t any harder than calling upon the other form to begin with. It was all deceptively easy. Many of the other magic societies had some form of shape changing. Some Shamans could turn themselves into animals, and at least some Sorcerers could assume elemental forms. There were other isolated cases, but in every situation the cost to the magician was very high, in some cases almost crippling. For a Mystic, it was — almost literally — second nature. It also became ever easier with each switch, but there was a cost attached for them too. Some gladly paid that price, but not Jaden.

His hands, and the rest of him, changed as he pulled the spirit back inside. He quietly snuck back to the room he shared with Kellen to find some new clothes. There would be time to inspect the damage later. For now, he replaced his ruined shirt and vest, leaving the shreds of the previous garments in a wadded up ball inside his pack. Perhaps they could be salvaged as polishing cloths, or patches for repairs. Rummaging around he also found his second pair of gloves. He hated leaving Oleander alone at a time like this, even for a minute, but there was nothing he could do but wait for their friends to arrive.

The door slamming shut in the common room below brought him back to the present. Sword in hand, just in case, he went to meet the group coming up the stairs to where the guest rooms were.

“Stormfather’s beard, Jay, what happened down there?” The larger of the two Northmen pushed his way past the rest. “Rhyce said he saw nothing but fire!”

“Ah, yes, things got a little out of hand…” Jaden tried to explain, without explaining too much. “That fire won’t spread, though. It will just consume the-“

“We can talk all about that later. Where is Oleander? You told us she had been hurt,” Mirena interrupted the men.

“She’s in your room, here. I… left her like she was. I didn’t know what to do. She’s still holding the… item.” He pulled the door open, and pointed at the short redhead in her bed, lying motionless. “I believe it’s some sort of spiritual attack. As far as I can tell, it is still active, so please take every precaution.”

“Kellen, we need to get to work right away. The rest of you, please stay out of the room unless we need you.” Mirena walked into the room she shared with Oleander, and fell to a knee next to the other woman. She pulled the gauntlets off her hands, and set the helmet next to them on her bed.

The rune seeker just pushed the door shut with a serious expression. The two of them would do all they could to fight whatever had hurt their friend.

The rest of them were left in the hallway. They would just be in the way, and there was little else to do but get some rest. Jaden felt powerless and upset, but there really was nothing he could do right now. Stann looked like he felt, and he was sure Rhyce shared their feelings too, even if he seldom showed anything.

“We should… we should get some sleep. They will probably be at it all night. Let’s make sure we’re in a state to take care of them tomorrow,” Stann reluctantly conceded, patting Jaden with a heavy hand on the shoulder. “You did well there, little brother.”

“I’ll keep watch,” Rhyce said, not leaving any room for discussion. He had already replaced his lost arrows from the pack in the room he shared with Stann, and was apparently ready to stand vigil.

They exchanged some nods, and Jaden retreated back into his room. Kellen would be busy with the unravelling of the Sons of Husk’s curse. That gave him a chance to do something he would rather not. Jaden dug through his pack and came up with his shaving mirror. It was buried deep down with the other odd knickknacks, since he didn’t use it anymore. He hadn’t shaved in months.

It wasn’t a big mirror, but with the light from the moon through the window his sensitive eyes could see almost as well as during the day. Jaden sighed heavily as he took in what was now his body. The changes were subtle, to be fair. The arms and shoulders were just a little softer than before. The softness had also spread down, into a pair of tiny swells. He made himself look at his face. Something with the jaw made him seem even younger. When he tilted the mirror, he could tell that his waist was becoming more slender than his hips. Nothing a thick shirt wouldn’t hide, but summer was coming and with it the warm weather.

He allowed himself another sigh in frustration, and pushed the mirror back down in the pack. Every time he lost just a little more of himself, but this time he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. None of his friends would hesitate to take an injury for him. This was just like that, right?

It wasn’t like that at all. Sometimes he felt like crying.

A figure bent down and brushed some dust away from the cobblestones. A small metal prong gleamed in the early dawn light. The old man pulled his lips back in a way that showed how he had forgotten how to smile. As he turned it around in his bony hands, a small purple smoke trail poured from the lockpick and started to worm its way down the street.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

While the rest of the group remain behind at the Green Raven inn hoping to help Oleander, Stann and Jaden head out into the city on errands. Jaden feels he has to do something about his increasingly untenable situation, and does the first thing that comes to mind: he lies.

Flashback: Rhyce wasn't always an adventurer

---

Chapter 4: Other Faces

RHYCE

Unlike people, arrows didn’t lie. They were meant to fly, and they were meant to strike. The cold air made his breath steam and face tingle, but his hands didn’t waver. His arrows didn’t lie.

The rest of the band broke cover and approached the wagon. One of the horses tried to pull away, but the reins were trapped around the yoke. The other horse was still. It had been one of the victims of the first volley.

Rhyce stepped around the fallen tree that blocked the road. Three men sprawled next to it, their sleeves pushed up. He recovered his arrows. Their message had already been delivered.

“This is a big haul, boys! This family was comin’ back from the festival by the looks of it. Sold all them furs or potatoes, or whatever these here people do.” Their leader pushed a body down from the wagon’s bench with his foot. The fine gown twisted around the dead woman as she fell to the ground. The men cheered. The spoils would see them with beer and wenches through the winter for sure. There were fewer travellers during the snows anyway. Little reason for the band to hide and wait unless they knew someone wealthy was going to pass through.

Rhyce knelt by one of the children. None had been spared. That was the way of Enold’s band. He closed the boy’s eyes. They were brown, too. Just like his own, and just like the ones he had buried some summers ago.

“Did ya find anythin’ innerestin’, Deadeye?” Enold asked, from atop the wagon. When he smiled, the scar on his cheek pulled sideways.

“Yes. Kid had a new knife.” Rhyce noticed it sheathed by the boy’s belt.

“Prob’ly a gift from his pa. Add it to the haul.”

They called him Deadeye. Only partly because of his skill with the bow. He had buried all human feelings when he dug those two graves. Now he was just aiming and releasing, waiting for the inevitable.

Unlike people, arrows didn’t change.

The lights suddenly went out. She couldn't see anything. Until her night vision returned she was an easy target. Instinctively, she dropped into a crouch, and backed up to where the wall had been.

"Ollie, quickly. We need to go!" Jay called out.

"I can't see anything!"

"Serves you right to tease me about my elven eyes. Come on, I'll get us out of here." She felt a hand close around hers. His hand, with those thin gloves. Jay pulled at her, and she followed through the darkness. Suddenly, noise returned from the distance, coming closer toward them at a fast pace.

"Damn, the cultists are catching up to us. Let's go up the stairs. You first. It's just straight up, remember? I'll cover you." Jay pushed at her, and she started quickly up the stairs. She still couldn't see anything, but they had been down this way just a few minutes ago, and she had a very good memory for navigating the city landscape.

She heard him unsheathe his sword, and she quickened her pace.

"They can only come at us one at a time in these narrow stairs. I'll hold them off, just get back to the others!"

Oleander scrambled up the last bit. Why was it still so dark? Hadn't there been windows in the library?

Behind her, she heard Jay cry out in pain.

"Jay! Jay? Are you alright?" There was no one to answer her. She held a hand to her mouth. Jay. She needed to get the others. They needed to come get Jay.

The darkness wasn't as black anymore. Were her eyes slowly adjusting? She ran as quickly as she dared. The hallways seemed longer than before, a trick played by the darkness no doubt. Finally she got back to the place where the rest of the group were going to set up their distraction ambush on the cultists; she couldn't see anyone waiting for her. Where had they gone? Didn't they know she needed them? That Jay needed them?

Her foot stopped against something on the floor. It was metal. Armour. A long braid, matted with blood fell from a pale face.

"No... No, Mirena!"

"Don't just stand there, Red! Run!" By that window she had picked open stood Rhyce, his bow in his hand. He had hardly any arrows left. "The others have already gone ahead. We need to leave now!"

Oleander ran up to him, and grabbed the rope that dangled down to the street. Stann and Kellen stood at the bottom of the alley and urged her on.

"Move, Red!" Rhyce pushed her back against the wall, as crossbow bolts struck the windowframe. One ripped across his hand.

Down the hallway came several of the cloaked men, weapons raised. They didn't make any sound, but the malevolence coming out of them screamed louder than any voice.

"You need to go now! Climb down!"

She looked out of the window. The cousins were fighting other cultists, and they looked to be losing. Kellen was already down on one knee, bleeding from a wound on his head. Stann was swinging his sword in a wide arc to try to keep them back.

"It's no good. They're down there too."

Rhyce fired his last few arrows into the approaching Sons in the hallway. They fell silently to the ground, only to be stepped upon by their fellows.

"Then we go up. Climb back up to the roof." They were both skilled climbers. Oleander could scale any house facade.

She jumped up on the window frame, and crabbed one of the many handholds on the outside. Expertly, she was up to the top in seconds, right where she had been just a little while ago when Jay had held her. Jay.

She leaned out to help Rhyce up. He had already stepped off the window frame and was reaching up to the first handholds. She stretched her arm down to grab his hand. They were going to get away. They were going to come back with as many people as they could cajole, bribe or threaten into joining them. They would save their friends. Rhyce's fingers touched hers, and their eyes met. His suddenly looked surprised, and before she could even open her mouth to cry out he was dragged back into the window, and was gone.

They were all gone. She was alone. So she ran.

The sound of the door creaking open woke Jaden from his fitful sleep. The sky outside had already turned a light rose. Dawn had caught up with them.

“Didn’t mean to wake you, my elven friend.” Kellen sounded absolutely exhausted.

“I’m not an elf, Kel.”

“Just need an hour or two, a little rest, before we continue.” The Northman sat down heavily, not really hearing Jaden’s usual denial, and unlaced his boots. Even rune seekers ran out of strength eventually.

“Is she going to be alright?” Jaden rolled over to face the big, blonde man. Kellen’s normally neat goatee beard was disappearing in the stubble.

“We’ve done what we could for now. We’ll try again in a little-“ The rest was muffled as Kellen fell into his pillow. Rune seekers didn’t expend nearly as much of their own power when casting spells as the rest of the magical societies, being much more dependent on their material foci, but they were still mortal beings at the end of the day. Everyone had their limit.

Jaden watched the Northman for a little while, being lost in his own thoughts about what happened yesterday. Untangling himself from his own bed he got up and pulled the rumpled blanket up over the already heavily asleep man. Jaden tucked his friend in, without realising he had a slight smile on his face

He didn’t feel like trying to go back to sleep himself, so he dressed quickly to see if the others had heard anything more. One pair of socks wasn’t enough, though. His boots kept almost slipping off his feet, and he was sure that if there would be any running, he would trip himself up. A thick pair of winter socks made them fit a little better, but would probably get uncomfortably warm.

Jaden resigned himself to sweaty feet, and stepped out in the hallway. Rhyce was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The fat cat that lived in the inn had curled up next to his feet, having the good sense to catch a few more hours of rest.

“Heard anything?” Jaden didn’t bother to elaborate.

“Mirena’s keeping an eye on Red for now.”

“She must be as tired as Kel was. He fell asleep mid-sentence.” Jaden glanced at his door. He could hear the snoring from here.

“Whatever they’re doing seems to be working, though. She looked less worried than before.”
They remained silent for a while. Faint noises from a city waking up reached them. Jaden paced a little. His boots were a little too warm already.

“I feel responsible for what happened, Rhyce. I actually had only one job yesterday. To tell her if it was safe. This was all my fault.” He had forgotten to put on his gloves again. He must still be tired to miss something that important. Jaden kept his hands in his vest pockets instead, for the time being.

“Good,” Rhyce replied.

“Good? You think I messed up, too?” Jaden tried not to whine. He really did.

“A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.”

“Thanks Rhyce. I feel much better now.”

The archer just grunted a little, and shifted his position.

“I’m heading down to see if they started on breakfast yet. I’ll bring you something, if you want?” Jaden began to leave the corridor by their rooms.

“Yeah. Thanks. And bring something for the cat, too.” Rhyce was more considerate with animals than he was with people.

“That cat does not need anything more. The beast must’ve already devoured half the larder,” Jaden muttered, as he snuck downstairs.

Later that morning Mirena made her way down the stairs, keeping a hand against the wall. Despite whatever holy vigour coursed through her body, it couldn’t stave off all of the fatigue from praying the entire night. Her green eyes looked a little dimmer than usual when she eased herself down in a chair next to Rhyce and Jaden in the common room. They had moved down from the second floor hall when another guest had finally complained about them lurking up there to the innkeeper.

“Any changes?” Jaden leaned forward to keep his voice down.

An attentive maid was already bringing some late breakfast refreshments over to their table, and Mirena gratefully accepted both the bowl of porridge and a fresh cup of tea. She took a long sip before replying.

“We’ve managed to keep the effects of the curse from damaging her too much, I believe. She’s still… trapped inside, but we’ve created beacons of strength in there with her. I’m afraid it’s more or less up to her. One of us will stay by her side, if anything happens. Also, we need to maintain the blessings to make sure the curse won’t regain any ground.”

“Can I help? Any magic I have is yours, if it’ll make any difference?” Jaden balled up his hands to keep from wringing them instead. He would have to deal with the guilt either way, but if he could at least lend a hand it would feel better.

“How much do you know about spiritual wards or sanctuary blessings?” She smiled gently at him, trying to let him down without hurting his pride.

“Not… that much,” he admitted.

“It might be a better use of your talents to make sure we won’t get any surprises from the rest of the world.” Mirena started on her porridge. She realised that she hadn’t eaten anything since last evening, and then only a light meal. She quickly finished her bowl, and asked for another serving. Even tired, and almost shovelling down the food, she made it seem like she was attending a nobility soiree.

While she ate, Rhyce filled her in on what had happened during the time she had been cooped up in her room with Kellen and Oleander.

“We weren’t followed here, or the Sons would’ve paid a visit the inn during the night. I didn’t get the impression they were subtle about how they exact their revenge.” Rhyce pushed the cat off the table. It landed with a heavy thud, and waddled away.

“They’re really not,” Jaden agreed.

“But with their soul magic, who knows what they are capable of? I’m going to act under the expectation of them attacking sooner or later. The Green Raven is barely defendable. We may want to relocate as soon as it’s possible to move Red.”

“How long that will be, I don’t know. I’ll let you know if her condition start to change for the better, and we feel we can risk it.” The knight had finished her second bowl, and hid a yawn behind her hand.

Stann came down the stairs clad in his more casual clothes, a sleeveless shirt and vest, and the heavy wool trousers favoured by the Northmen. The tattoo on his upper arm showed, the one that gave him his nickname. He still wore his sword, though, not willing to abandon that much of his cultural pride to blend in. Stann had been down earlier after he woke up, and had already eaten.

“Morning to you, Rena! Good to see you managed to endure being cooped up with my ugly cousin for that long a time.”

“Are you headed out?” She asked, frowning at the idea.

“Aye, we need to confer with our respectable contact now that we have the… object, after all.” Stann caught himself in time. “We’ll need to know where to drop it off. I’m not keeping that thing around any longer than necessary.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to go alone? The previous owners will no doubt be out there looking for us, and it.” Mirena didn’t like the idea of people going off on their own. Maybe it was because how knights never rode alone.

“Wisdom seldom speaks when my heart make decisions, milady,” Stann declared with pride.

“We know,” Rhyce added his opinion.

“Speaking of going out… I may need to leave for a while, as well.” Jaden tugged on his gloves a little bit, they still fit well enough. “I need to buy something.”

Mirena visibly perked up somewhat. She had very few vices, but filling her travel pack with even more clothes was one of them.

“You’re going shopping?”

“Ah… I need to replace some, uh, magical ingredients. During the fight with the S- with the other people, I ran out of some of my supplies.” Jaden used a little white lie. Lying had become strangely easy lately, something he did not like one bit.

Mirena made a slight face, and wished him a pleasant trip. With Stann going, it was no point in arguing to keep Jaden here as well. Maybe they’d have the good sense of going together. Looking at some of the cities selection of summer gowns would have been lovely, but if the morning would involve poking dried bat wings, she would rather stay at the inn. She had to be available to take over when Kellen needed a break, too, but it was nice to entertain the idea for a bit.

Rhyce got to his feet as well, unnoticed by the others, but went out the back door into a small enclosed area behind the inn. There was a small backyard here and a well the Green Raven shared with the other nearby houses. If he was going to keep watch of the inn by himself when the others were running errands, he had to make some preparations.

Tier was a huge city, arguably the largest one on the continent. While Etrana or some of the other capitals approached it in size, the mix of travellers and different cultures meeting in the arcades made it seem almost endless. You could walk the streets of the golden city for days and never have to retrace your steps. There was a local saying, ‘anything you desire, you can find in Tier’. Jaden hoped this would be true.

Stann and Jaden headed toward the large Inland Street that would take them all the way through the city toward the west gate. The locals called it the Tradegate for a reason. The city taxed permanent structures more than temporary ones, and that had naturally caused a large number of tents and market stands to spring up just outside the western gate. Over the years, it had sprawled ever larger, and was now bigger than most small villages. If you were a canny bargain hunter, you could find some really good deals out there from all over the world.
When they had first met with their contact, a representative of the Temple of Kuros, they had used one of the more discreet drinking tents outside the Tradegate to avoid being overheard by any agents of the Sons of Husk.

Almost noon, the streets were bustling with people heading out for lunch or enjoying a mid-day stroll. When the sun stood high above Tier, it really brought out the rich colour of the stone used in many of the buildings and the inner walls, giving it the name ‘golden city’.

As they passed a familiar tavern, the Moon and Keg, Stann stopped and looked a bit wistfully at the door.

“Stann, you had breakfast just an hour or so ago. You can’t be hungry already.” Jaden made as if to continue down the street. “And we’re not making a beer-stop either.”

“Do you think she is still working there?” The Northman asked as he caught up. He was subconsciously tidying his short beard a bit.

“Who? Oh, no, not another one of your elven barmaids. Stann, honestly?”

“Her name was Belane, hair as dark as midnight,” Stann sighed with one last look at the alehouse before they rounded the corner. “You know, since you’re both-“

“I’m not an elf, Stann. Leave it alone.”

As they passed the bored-looking guards who had sought shade under the arcs of the outer wall, they stepped outside the city proper. There were still as many, if not more, people around, but stone and wood buildings gave way to large tents and wagons.

“Well, little brother, I’m off to see our associate. I probably won’t be long, though. Shall we meet up for a lunch about town afterward?” Stann patted Jaden heavily on the shoulder.
‘Little brother’ was his favourite nickname for the Mystic. Jaden guessed it was endearing.

“Did you have a specific place in mind?”

“Perhaps. I might.” Stann glanced back at the gate, not a single guilty bone in his body.

“We should probably return to the Green Raven right away. It’s not fair to leave everything to Rhyce.” Jaden did not want to end up as the ‘elven wingman’.

“You’re right, of course,” Stann admitted grudgingly.

They parted ways, with Stann heading off in a different direction from the general market area. Jaden felt that this would be a good time to look for something he had been considering for some time now. His clothes were starting to hang quite loosely, but that could be refitted or exchanged. What couldn’t be altered was his height. Jaden estimated that he had lost a good inch or more since last autumn, and even if it wasn’t immediately obvious he couldn’t be certain it would stop any time soon. His friends were no halfwits, either. They would pick up on the changes soon, especially if he kept wearing heavy clothes into the summer. Magic was the problem, so magic would be his solution.

Jaden took a deep breath, and headed into the sea of stands and tents.

It didn’t take Stann too long to find his way to the matronly woman selling bouquets of spring flowers. She wore a small brooch with the symbol of Kuros, the Sheltering Hand, as a clasp for her light cloak.

“Imelia, good to see you!” He inspected the wreaths with feigned interest as they spoke, pretending to be a customer.

“Well met, Northlander. You look to be in good health. Did you find anything interesting on your last excursion?”

“Aye, we came across some interesting glassware from our farming friends, but one of us cut herself during our visit.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The Sheltering Hand will provide for her, I’m certain. Oh, our mutual friend asked me to pass along that you’re ‘welcome to visit the flower sanctuary’. Here, take a nice bouquet of red mariganas for your injured friend.” She handed Stann a bundle of flowers of a warm red hue, almost orange, with long petals.

“Thank you, I will.” He looked a little confused. He wasn’t entirely sure what the message meant, but would relay it to wiser people than him as soon as they returned to the Green Raven.

They exchanged farewells, and Stann left with his flowers.

“Welcome, dear customer, to Zajid’s Tent of Marvels and Delights! I am, yes, Zajid, and also honoured to provide any assistance you may need to find that special something!” The voice belonged to a swarthy man in a richly adorned robe of an earthy burnt umber. His oiled hair curled down well below his shoulders, and he kept his beard almost as long.

The tent where Jaden had ended up was indeed filled with a splendid amount of trinkets, clothes and various bottled things. He had let his Mystic’s sight guide him along the winding paths of the market to where the largest concentration of magic threads coincided.

“Akam sal narot, jiet,” Jaden returned the greeting. “You are a long way from Etria, to bring your wonders to our door.”

The merchant broke out in an endearing belly laughter.

“You speak Estal, miss- ssir?” Zajid corrected himself in time, but still looked a bit uncertain. “What a pleasant surprise! Most customers only know midland Trade. Sit, let me provide you with a cup of finest Etrian tea this warm day, and you can tell me what brings your person to my humble tent?”

They sat down by a small, round table where a kettle was already waiting for them. Maybe the merchant treated all his guests this way?

“Ah, hmm, I am looking for something quite specific,” Jaden began, stopping the other man from adding yet another spoon of honey to his tea.

“Yes? Let me guess.” Zajid inspected the slender, clearly elven… young man? “A gift for a friend? A nice garnet bracelet? Beautiful craftsmanship by the finest goldsmiths in Etrana.”

“While that does sound lovely, jiet, I must ask for something else. Do you sell any mirage veils?” Jaden sipped his tea. It was probably the best cup he had tasted since leaving home. His mother loved Etrian tea.

“Indeed?” The Etrian merchant leaned a bit closer. If the customer asked for enchanted items, it opened up a whole new realm for profit today. “As it happens, I may just have something for you, dear customer!”

Zajid rose to his feet and tapped his lips in thought. Jaden took another sip, and debated whether this was such a good idea after all.

“Something discreet, if it is available? That will allow me to change my looks?”

"Ah, I know what you want, dear customer!" The owner browsed through a display of large cloths before selecting one of them, a rich saffron and cream kerchief with waterfall patterns. "This one was made by Kasmani nymphs. Very rare, very beautiful."

"I realise that merchants embellish on their wares to push the prices up, but really now, nymphs?" Jaden sounded sceptical. He put the empty teacup down on its saucer.

"I swear, no falsehoods, under the eyes of the Judge! Here, smell it! Tell me you can't feel their touch?" The larger man held the cloth close to Jaden's face, and he reluctantly leaned in closer to take a whiff.

It was subtle, that's for sure. It had probably been washed repeatedly by a previous owner, but memories of summer, laughter and love tickled Jaden's mind.

"I... stand corrected, jiet. My apologies for doubting you."

The merchant beamed with pleasure. He obviously took great pride in his wares.

"It is the finest glamourweave you are likely to find this side of the mountains. You will be the envy of your friends, on my honour." Zajid puffed himself up yet a bit further.

"Well, that's a sales pitch if I ever heard one. Alright. What do you want for it?" This was more or less exactly what Jaden needed. Too bad it was a pretty feminine headcloth, but once his magic ran through the glamourweave threads it wouldn't matter.

"Oh, a mere... two thousand crowns?" The merchant pursed his lips, and looked expectantly at Jaden.

"Wha- that's-" Jaden sputtered. He didn't have that kind of money. They hadn't been paid for their recent assignment yet, and they wouldn't until they delivered the skull. He doubted the entire group had that amount put together, in ready coin.

"Nymphs made it," the merchant reminded Jaden.

"I... Yes, they did. But that is still a rather steep price. Especially for a second-hand item?"

"Then what do you offer, dear customer?" Haggling was the lifeblood of any trader.

Jaden had expected a high price, but not more than a couple of hundred crowns. Despite having been away from the isolated life in the citadel for more than one and a half years now, the world still managed to surprise him every so often.

"Will you take a trade-in?" He considered what he had at his disposal: some mementos from Talraman, some minor jewellery that had caught his eye over the years. The merchant was appraising Jaden's outfit as well.

"Hmm, while I don't normally trade with them, I would definitely take that sword off your hands. I would even offer a little something to balance the scales."

"My sword?" Jaden cringed. That sword was given to him by his father. It was enchanted, yes, but not impressively so. He suspected it was one of the older blades from the time when Talraman had been at war with, well, everyone else. It was one of a hundred just like it.

"I'll offer you two hundred crowns aside from the veil, and your pick of any of these rare and precious perfumes." Zajid gestured at a number of small bottles in various colours.

"Were those made by nymphs, too?" Jaden said sarcastically as he unhooked his sword. He really needed that kerchief. He could always get another weapon at the market.

"Alas, no, but by the hands of the blind elves of the Ral Sona monastery," the merchant went on to describe a fantastic tale of how the bottles travelled through the deep Sorun wilderness on the backs of panthers, wrapped in velvet and rose petals.

Jaden tuned it out, having already handed his sword over. What sort of perfume did he want? Why would he even want it? When he left the tent he looked down on a tinted bottle labelled 'violet'.

“Maybe I can give it to Mirena as a souvenir?”

After all, why would he want to keep it for himself?

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

As the intrepid adventurers struggle to make sense of their contact's cryptic message, the death cult close in on them. They might not be as safe as they thought they were.
Kellen has a plan on how to make finding them more difficult.

Flashback: Mirena was born and raised in the golden city, and struggles with certain expectations.

---

Chapter 5: Lying Flowers

MIRENA

The music changed its pace once more, and the dancers took their positions. Two rows of finely clad members of the social elite filled the open floor in the middle of the great hall, and on the starting note they approached one another with measured steps. The men took the hands of the women, and led them in a circular dance in harmony with the tune. From the sides, the older nobles and people otherwise occupied watched the dance progress through each carefully planned phase.

As the musicians put their instruments away, applause filled the ballroom. The men escorted their partners back to the waiting families and exchanged some pleasantries, before returning to their own.

She curtsied as her dance partner walked away, her fine silk gown brushing the polished marble tiles of the floor. It was newly made of course; nothing else would do for a gathering such as this one. They had visited their favourite tailor only yesterday for the final fitting. He had done a marvellous job, as usual. The gown flattered her form, a little too well in places, and the deep verdant green brought out her eyes. She didn’t have the heart to tell the tailor that she really preferred blue, though.

“Well, daughter, that one seemed a perfect match, don’t you agree?” The older man, her father, was also dressed in his best. Because of generations of success, their merchant house could afford the finest the city had to offer. He stood tall and strong for his age, though grey streaked the sides of his chestnut brown hair.

“Father, I don’t see the point in this. You know I’ll be ordained to the temple knights come winter.” Mirena kept from wrinkling her gown. Her argument was with her father, not the poor cloth.

“Nonsense, sweetheart. We’ve indulged this… chapter of your life long enough. That man is the son of the Baron of Risan. Firstborn, no less! You would do very well indeed with him.” Her father looked very pleased with himself. “I have already spoken with the Baron, and he is quite willing to join our houses together. That would give us a second port city to expand to!”

“Father! I am sworn to the temple. I will not betray that oath, and I will most certainly not give up an opportunity to become a knight of Telum because you want to marry me off to some… some Olman fishing town!”

“That’s enough, Mirena! You will do your duty to your family, and that’s all there is to it.” Her father grabbed her arm, hard, and turned her toward a group of people across the dance floor.

An olive skinned noble in the scarlet colours of Olmar raised his glass toward her father and nodded. Next to him stood her dance partner, excitedly talking with a woman Mirena presumed to be his mother or aunt.

Her father leaned down closer to her ear and whispered harshly.

“Now, you will dance with young Garrad, and you will be on your very best behaviour.”

Mirena felt trapped. Her chest hurt from bottling up all her feelings. She had found a place where she felt she truly belonged, in the temple of Telum. She had worked twice as hard as any other squire to prove that she was more than just a rich child whose parents bought her way into the Order. She had earned her place among the ones selected for knighthood. She also loved her family, despite their shortcomings. Regardless of their values, she knew that they had the potential to be a force for good. Could she give up her own dreams and settle for the life of a nobleman’s wife, hoping to affect these changes from within? Could she make that sacrifice?

Despite her best efforts, her hands crumpled the delicate fabric of the gown as she fought against herself.

Just a trickle was enough. As the magic flowed through the cloth, it shimmered softly and the colours began to waver. The name “mirage veil” felt very appropriate, even if different veils in fact did very different things. They could cloak the wearer and hide them from sight entirely, or blend into the surroundings. Most items weren’t even proper veils at all, but they all had to cover part of the user to function.

The shimmer enveloped Jaden as he tried to visualise himself. Not that… person who stared back at him though the mirror, but his real self. The one he still saw in his dreams. Aside from the tingling as the magical veil settled around him, he couldn’t feel any changes. After all, it was only an illusion; but under the circumstances it was the best he could hope for.

Jaden left the relative privacy of the market latrine, and stepped back outside in the fresh and spicy air. None of the people passing by gave him a second glance. He adjusted the nymph kerchief around his head slightly. To a casual observer, it would look like a nice, but normal, hat. As an added bonus, it covered his ears.

After making sure everything was in order, Jaden began to push his way through the busy dirt streets lined with tents, stands, and loud voices. In his belt was the replacement sword he had picked up just a few stands down from Zajid’s tent. It was a very nondescript blade, and in that way it was ironically a lot like his old one. He had kept his scabbard, and the sword fitted more or less. Just like him and his clothes, he supposed.

He made a note of being more careful about touching people in the future. The illusion showed him as his normal self, who was slightly bulkier than the truth. If someone paid any attention when they hugged him, they would notice the discrepancy.

“Ah, there you are, little brother!” A booming voice announced the return of Stann. He was carrying a bundle of flowers, for some reason.

“Ready to head back, Bear?” Jaden wasn’t the only one with a nickname. Stann had tattooed his to his arm, shown proudly in his early summer outfit. The Northman had arms as thick as Jaden’s legs.

“Aye, all done here — unless, that is, you changed your mind about an ale at the Moon and Keg?” Stann tried to sound casual, but couldn’t help grinning towards the end.

“I’m not helping you with picking up any more elven girls. My shin still hurt sometimes,” Jaden recalled a particularly ill-fated encounter.

They strolled back toward the Tradegate and the long Inland Street. They would be back in time for lunch, and let Rhyce get some rest. The man had probably been up all night. Jaden sometimes wondered what drove the archer so hard.

“You looked a bit frail this morning, Jay, but a walk in the sun did you good. Say, is that a new hat?”

The men didn’t look out of place in this part of the city. Simple craftsmen heading toward someone’s home to help with repairs, perhaps, or on their way to a guild meeting. An older man walked in their midst, his fingers touching a small metal wire, or a thick needle. Every so often, they stopped at an intersection and appeared to be having a conversation about the weather. After a while, the older man had picked out a new direction, and they continued to walk.

On a nearby rooftop a single crow tilted its head, following them with a black eye. As they disappeared down the street, it took to the air and circled the neighbourhood before heading off.

A second crow joined it in flight, and together they floated on the warm updraft from the chimneys for a while, before swooping down toward an enclosed area behind several large buildings. They landed on the branches of a lonely tree that was just now starting to bloom. One of them cawed, flapping its wings.

Rhyce stepped out from under the roof of the porch and watched the birds.

“They’re getting closer,” he murmured to himself. Fatigue was starting to become an issue, but he knew from experience he would still be reliable for almost another day. They would be here before then, and he would be waiting.

“When did you see them?” Mirena tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes. After breakfast, she had borrowed Kellen’s bed to grab an hour’s rest or so. Next to her on the table they shared was a beautiful bouquet of red mariganas. One of the maids had found a small vase to put them in.

“I became aware of them just a short while before Stann and Jaden returned,” Rhyce nodded toward the other two. “I’m sure they are able to follow us somehow.”

“That’s bad,” Stann grumbled. “It looks like we have no choice but to move. We can’t fight them in here. Darim and the girls would get slaughtered.”

The innkeeper looked up from the shelves at the mention of his name. The group smiled and waved at him, which he returned with a curious expression. They were too far away to overhear unless they spoke loudly, in their private corner of the common room.

“Agreed. Making our stand here is not an option.” Mirena set her jaw. “We might have to risk moving Oleander sooner than I’d like. Speaking of which, Stann?”

“Yes?” The warrior looked up from his tankard. He was very used to indoor brawling, and knew how easy it was for innocents to get caught in the fray.

“Did you meet up with our contact?”

“Oh, I did. Not sure what to make of it, though.” He eyed the mariganas. “She said we were welcome to the flower… castle?”

“Flower castle?” Jaden sounded confused. “What does that even mean”?

“Your guess is as good as mine, little brother.” Stann did not enjoy riddles. He was a straightforward, honest man. He would fight by your side, match you drink for drink, but if you asked him to solve a puzzle he was more than likely to break it trying.

Mirena and Rhyce shared a thoughtful look across the table.

“The closest castles are in Radent to the south or Farcrest to the north. We’re too far from the northern Alband border to warrant any fortifications — no insult intended, Stann.” In previous generations, the Northern clans had been very aggressive in their expansions down into Alband. The kingdom had raised several keeps along their northern border to fend off the attackers during that period.

“None taken, milady. My ancestors were quite honoured by that, in fact.” The Northmen appreciated a good fight.

Something with the name tickled a memory in Jaden. He frowned as he tried to catch that fleeting thought. Suddenly both he and Mirena looked at each other.

“Rosehaven!” They exclaimed at the same time.

“Doesn’t Rosehaven have a temple dedicated to Kuros, as well?” Jaden asked, almost certain of it. He remembered reading about the expansions of the temples during the imperial era.

“Yes! It was founded by King Ambermane’s great, great grandfather, the duke of Farcrest during the imperial rule, as a sign of good faith toward the emperor.” Mirena knew her military history and the noble houses.

“That’s not far off,” Rhyce added. “A few days by horse, just up the coast.”

“But will Red be well enough to ride?” Stann wondered.

Was it raining? Her face felt wet, and it was almost too dark to see. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"Okay, Ollie. Let me take the watch." A gloved hand patted her shoulder. She looked up and saw those pointy ears barely hidden by long black hair.

"I... I think I dozed off. I had a dream."

"Go get some beauty sleep - you need it." Jay teased her, and pointed towards her bedroll.

"Shut up, Elfboy." She shoved him playfully, and got up.

He just grinned, and took her spot by the fire.

As she was lying down to go back to sleep, she felt that something was wrong. She looked up at her friend, who hadn't noticed the same thing.

“Hey, Jay? Where's Rhyce?" Maybe the archer was answering the call of nature?

"Who?" He turned around and looked at her strangely.

Oleander blinked, and felt something clench her heart.

"Rhyce. You know, mister grimdark arrowshooter?"

"Not sure what you're on about, Ollie, but you clearly need that sleep more than I thought you did."

She looked around the camp. The two huge blonde men were impossible to miss, one of them snoring. Next to them, between Jay's and her beds, was Mirena. The pieces of her armour were covered by another blanket to keep dewdrops away. No archer. No Rhyce.

"Wake up. Wake up! They found us!" A firm hand shook her. Had she fallen asleep again?

She looked around, and saw that the others were already on their feet. Mirena in her nightgown and unbound hair had a sword ready. Jay stood by the edge of the firelight, pointing into the darkness. Knives of ice were already hovering around him defensively.

Before she could say anything, Stann hoisted her to her feet, and pushed the bag into her hands.

"If we need to run, it's better if you take this."

"Is this the thing?"

"Yes. You'll know what to do." He sounded more sure than she felt.

"They're coming!" Jay backed away from the darkness, and brought up a hand to throw frozen magic into the night. Before he had a chance to attack whatever he had seen, several black bolts escaped from the darkness. The icy knives blocked a couple, but two struck him in his chest and pierced his heart. He fell to the ground before she even had a chance to scream.

"Villains! You will not win this day!" Mirena brought her sword up, ready to attack as soon as their enemies emerged from the shadows.

Oleander couldn't tear her eyes from where Jay had fallen. It felt horrible and familiar at the same time.

"Rus og bol!" Glory and blood. The cousins roared and charged toward where Jay had pointed. Sword drawn and runes shining.

She clutched the bag closer to her chest, and moved up next to Mirena. The knight had tried to stop the Northmen, but to no avail. Now she had a grim expression.

"Oleander? I want you to run. The path behind us is safe."

"The path? It's so dark, Rena. I can't see anything."

"It's there. Just trust me. The path will lead you to safety." When had she donned her armour? Mirena turned back to guard against the darkness, her braid swinging slightly.

"I... alright. You know I trust you." Oleander hugged the bag and tried to see the path.

"You need to go, now!" Mirena raised her shield, as the darkness roiled and seemed to try to swallow them both. The light from the fire made just a tiny circle, barely big enough for both of them.

Oleander trusted her heart, and ran. She kept running, even as she heard Mirenas scream suddenly being cut off. Her face felt wet again.

Jaden looked around the backyard a second time, before waving the others on. The two large Northmen trundled out, carrying their small, redheaded burden between them. Mirena had stopped the innkeeper in the corridor, and was telling him that everything was in order and that there was no cause for alarm.

They gently laid Oleander down on the grass and stepped back. Mirena joined them, carrying a tankard that Kellen gratefully accepted. He would make do with beer, when there was no rest to be had.

“So, how will this work, cousin?” Stann gestured at the comatose woman. On top of her lied a small bag that contained the source of their troubles.

“It pretty much follows the principle of ‘walking a mile in someone’s boots’. I will create a rune that will cause our hunters some confusion.” Kellen handed the empty tankard to Jaden, who looked a bit annoyed with acting as a maid.

“What do we need to do?” Stann wanted to help, but surrounded by the groups magicians he felt a little left out.

“Well, just shove her bare foot into the soil, nice and deep.” Kellen had begun to sort through his many pouches, selecting a number of inscribed stones.

They helped to manoeuvre their unconscious friend to the edge of the porch. One of her legs slipped over the side, causing her sleeping tunic to scoot up to her thigh. Mirena took the foot and pushed it down into the grass and earth as firmly as she dared.

“That’s good. Now, stand back.” Kellen held a runestone in each hand. There was a slight tremor, and the soil beneath the footprint released two clumps of clay.

The rune seeker walked around the floating bits of dirt, shaping them into vague cubes. With the rune in his other hand, marks began to take form on each side of the cubes. Finally, they visibly hardened and took on a burnt finish.

“I’ve not had a reason to make drawstones for, well, for a long time. I can’t say how long they will remain potent, but for the next few days there will be three Oleanders as far as the Sons are concerned.”

“Thank the Stormfather that’s not true,” chuckled Stann. One Oleander was quite enough for the world to handle.

“So the idea is to split up, again. Kellen, I assume you will be taking care of Oleander?” Mirena began to lay out the plan. With the knight, there would always be plans.

“Aye, I’ll need to maintain the safeguards on her, as well as the drawstone enchantment.”

“Won’t they be able to just, I don’t know, track the skull instead?” Jaden raised an important point.

“Unlikely. The curse has muddled their auras together, and the drawstones should mirror both of them.” Kellen gestures vaguely above the girl and the bag.

“Will the… the drawstones require magic from the carrier?” Mirena leaned in a little to inspect the crude clay dice.

“Not as such, no, but a presence of magic or a blood familiarity will make it easier for me to project the enchantment from a distance,” Kellen coughed a little, and looked around for more beer. Jaden shrugged at the empty tankard, earning a slight scowl in return.

“But you might want to, ah, not handle it, Mirena,” Jaden stopped her from touching it.

“What? Why is that?”

“From what I can tell by the spells on them, this is technically Deception magic. You being a priest of Telum…” Jaden trailed off, letting the knight fill in the blanks.

“Any magic of mine would likely destroy Kellens enchantment. Telum abhors falsehoods.” She sighed. “Well, it’s good that both you and Stann should be able to carry them safely.”

“It might be a good idea to separate you two, as well,” Jaden pointed at Stann and Mirena. “You were right up there, hacking Sons to bits side by side. You’d be very recognisable together.”

“Good point. That leaves me with Rhyce, and Mirena with you, little brother.”

“Not to mention that I probably know the streets of Tier better than any of you, with Rhyce as a close second. Having us in separate groups only make sense.” Mirena was born and raised in the golden city.

Rhyce walked around the corner of the Green Raven inn with his pack on a shoulder. A pair of black birds flew past him up into the sky.

“We’re out of time. I just saw them a couple of streets away from here.”

Stann swore and ran inside. They could hear him crash up the stairs, and the alarmed voices of the innkeeper and the maids.

“It should be safe enough to just tie her to a saddle,” Kellen speculated, as their eyes were drawn to the girl at their feet.

“Catch!” Stann’s voice from above them was shortly followed by him throwing down their packs.

“Stann! Don’t you dare toss my dresses that way-“ Mirena trailed off in a sad wail as an armful of colourful gowns sailed down. She did her best to catch them before they fell to the dirty ground. Whenever they settled at an inn long enough, she enjoyed unpacking her clothes to let them air, and to ease the wrinkles out.

“I’ll get the horses,” mumbled Rhyce, already heading toward the stables.

Together they managed to get Oleander into her saddle, and secured her with a length of rope. Kellen prodded her experimentally, before nodding in satisfaction. She’d stay put for now.

“Stann, Rhyce? You’ll take the southern gate, and catch up with us as soon as you can,” Mirena finished stuffing her clothes back into her pack as she explained the plan. “Kellen and Oleander will head toward the Tradegate. It’s the easiest way out of Tier, though not the shortest. Jaden and I will head north.”

They sat up in their saddles, the two carrying the drawstones making sure they had them close at hand.

“Our destination is Rosehaven. If we won’t meet on the road, we’ll regroup there.” She turned her horse around. “Now, Telum be with you!”

The first lesson any veteran explorer will tell you about the adventuring life: never split the group.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Knowing that the cult is on their trail, the group decides to try a time-tested tactic in evading the pursuit. Splitting up, they hope to evade the Sons of Husk long enough to escape the city.

Flashback: Back in the Northern Lands, Kellen tries to balance his own dreams against tradition

---

Chapter 6: Drawn Apart

KELLEN

The book looked small in his hands, but despite the size it spoke of great things. The air had that briskness that told anyone with a good head on their shoulders that the winter had only begun to blanket the northern lands. His breath created a puff of mist that soared up towards the nearly cloudless sky, the infinite blue.

“Uncle? Uncle! I caught one!” The eager voice of the young boy brought him back down to earth.

“Truly? Now, the trick is to let it tire itself out,” Kellen joined his nephew by the river. Ice had crept in along the sides, but the middle still ran free. You could still fish. “Careful. Hold it. Don’t pull, just hold it.”

Together they watched how the line jerked several times, and eventually went slack.

“Now, pull it in. That’s it, nice and even.”

“Look uncle! It’s a big one, isn’t it?” The boy held up the twitching salmon with a huge grin on his face.

“Quite the catch, Ravon. Now, remember to clean it the way I showed you, or your mother will scold me,” Kellen smiled, and tussled the boy’s hair.

“Yes, uncle! Wait until they see this!” The boy was already running with his catch, fishing pole forgotten by the river.

As Kellen bent down to retrieve the pole, he caught a glimpse of some of the elders entering the clan longhouse. He had a good idea what they could be conferring about: him. His hands held the book as if it was a fragile bird.

He remembered what they had said when he first broached the subject. That he was abandoning the ways of his people. That he was insulting their traditions. That he was disloyal to the clan.

The spiritual leader of the clan had revealed that Kellen could become one of the greatest shamans of his generation. That with him showing the way, the North would again experience an age of glory and honour. A new era of war.

It was true. Kellen had a knack for hearing the ancestors’ spirits, but he felt his calling showed him something else. The book in his hands was written long ago by other Northmen. The knowledge had since then spread over the world, become part of it. The elders said that this meant it had lost its meaning to the clans, but Kellen disagreed. To him, it meant that the ways had transcended their own culture, and become greater than the creators had originally intended.

Truth lay in words, the book told him. There was power in words. Words formed into symbols allowed a seeker of such knowledge to harness that power, the power of the runes. With the runes, it was possible to understand the entire world.

Knowledge and understanding, he mused. Could there be anything more beautiful?

He brought the fishing pole and the book and headed back to his sister’s house. The rest of the village would be waking up, and salmon sounded like a delicious breakfast.

Jaden’s stomach made another noise. He hadn’t had a chance to eat anything since a very early breakfast, and the smells coming from the taverns along the northbound Archen Way kept reminding him of that.

“Why are we walking our horses, Rena? Wouldn’t it make more sense just to make a run for it?” He asked as they made their way up the street.

“I’m sure Oleander would agree with me when I say that there are times for flight, and there are times for stealth. We’re blending in, Jaden. If they looked up this street, they wouldn’t immediately pick us out.” Mirena glanced from side to side. She felt vulnerable without her armour, but there had been no time to don it. Everything was packed down in the bulging saddlebags.

It was their hope that the Sons of Husk, now trying to follow three tracks instead of one, would split their forces and not succeed in catching any of them. Rhyce had also pointed out that they seemed to rely on the guidance of a single magician to follow the group as well.

“Yeah, I suppose…but it still feels as if I’m standing in a cold spot for some reason.” Jaden squinted up at the bright summer sun. “I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is about to happen.”

“Hopefully, that is just your common sense speaking,” Mirena gently teased. She glanced around just the same.

Jaden walked a little faster to get ahead of his horse, and then fell back on the other side so he was next to Mirena. He held out a gloved hand towards her.

“Lead the way for a little bit, Rena. I’m going to take a peek.”

As soon as he felt her hand close around his own, he released a breath and opened himself up to the magic around him. Colours shifted, and the physical world faded into the backdrop. He could still make out rough structures, but they were indistinct and almost didn’t feel real at all. Mystic sight only showed places magic had touched, after all.

The domed great temple blazed to the inland side, the concentrated faith of hundreds of priests bathing the holy site with magic. The skyspire lit up like a lightning rod, where the airships used to dock during the first empire. These days, there weren’t as many of those old ships around. The age of the old empire had passed.

A bird flew past overhead, briefly illuminated by magic for some reason, before fading back into the grey of the real world.

Threads leapt over the translucent rooftops, signs of the magic web the Arcane Order created long ago to provide the city with protection against dangerous weather. Some of the nicer areas of the city even had sorcerers maintaining street lights after nightfall. It was probably exorbitantly expensive, but provided an amount of safety you wouldn’t find elsewhere.

He turned his head around, and the unease inside him crystallised. Thick, purple strands were attached to his back, like parasitic worms feeding off an open wound. How had he not noticed this until now? Jaden had grown too used to ignoring the strange sensations within. Now even his instincts suffered.

“Rena,” he hissed, sweat beading on his face despite feeling chilled to the bone. “They know where we are. They’re following us, not the others. Us.”

Mirena squeezed his hand, and began to walk faster.

“That’s… that’s good. That means Kellen has a free path.” She tried to sound confident.

Jaden allowed his senses to return to normal. Now that he knew what to look for, he could feel the clammy touch of nethermancy clinging to his aura. He could try to unravel the connection, but that would alert their pursuers. It might also cause them to pick another ‘Oleander’ to follow. They had to keep up the façade as long as possible.

The crowd began to ease up a bit as they moved toward a road leading away from the temple district. Many travellers took the opportunity to see the great dome dedicated to the five gods when they visited the golden city. Even during a normal weekday such as this, there would be sermons in several of the halls inside the temple grounds. Mirena probably received her training there, Jaden mused as he let his mind wander for a moment.

As they led their horses around the corner where Archen Way met with the north gate road, they saw several ordinary looking men block their way. A quick glance over his shoulder showed Jaden how another group had closed in behind. He recognised one of the men, the ritual leader from yesterday.

“Curious. You are not who we expected, Mystic, unless there is another layer of surprises waiting for us.” The man’s voice was strangely inflectionless, as if he was reading from a page rather than talking to someone.

“You will dearly regret it, if you try to stop us,” Mirena spoke softly, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword hanging from the saddle.

“Ah, yes, the woman who fights. But consider this: if you attack us here, in the busy midday street, we will be forced to defend ourselves. Collaterally. I’m afraid the consequences for the unknowing bystanders will be tragic, and grisly.” His lips pulled into a poor semblance of a smile. One of his hands began to boil with a sickly purple light, as he slowly raised it in the direction of the people walking by.

Mirena trembled with anger. She wanted nothing more than to lash out and strike down this… this man who threatened innocents. It was her duty as a knight. But her oath as a knight also forbade her from endangering those whom she sought to protect.

Jaden saw her hand drop from the sword, and realised that they had been defeated without a fight. He took one last look around, desperately seeking anything that might give him some hope. The only thing he saw was happy people moving past the gathering, not two strides away. It felt like an entire world away.

“Excellent. Walk with us,” the man commanded, as the other cultists took the reins out of their hands and surrounded them.

They turned around and walked back into the heart of Tier, the north gate disappearing out of sight.

The Inland Street was always busy during the day, and it was no different now. Kellen carefully made his way forward as quickly as he could. It was important to put as much distance as possible between them and the inn, where the cult was likely already searching for them. He tried to think if he had left anything behind that would tip the Sons off about their little scheme.

“Aside from how there are now three trails to follow, instead of just the one,” he muttered.

At least Oleander was still securely tied to her horse. Had he seen her move a little just then, though? She was still fighting the effects of the curse. There was a lot of fight inside that small woman.

Still, a Northman riding down the street with a bound and unconscious Olman girl drew its share of worried glances from people. Kellen did the only thing he could think of: he scowled.

"Are you asleep?" Someone asked her in the darkness.

"I'm not sure. I felt like I was dreaming."

"Funny girl. If we've got your attention now, could you please handle this window?"

How long had she sat in front of this window? Oleander shook her head, trying to clear it. Everything felt strange, as if something was missing. Missing from her, maybe, or from the rest of the world. Maybe both?

They were next to an old building, a house fit for a wealthy merchant or a minor noble. It felt familiar, somehow.

"As soon as you get it open, Jay will hide us with his spirit veil as we make our way to the basement, just like we planned."

Did they plan it like that? Wait, since when could Jay hide people? Wasn't his thing fire magic?

"I thought we agreed you and the rest would distract their guards while Jay and I snuck in and grabbed it?" Oleander was sure that was the plan. Wasn't it?

The knight and the mystic looked at each other. Jay shrugged, and smiled that little smile of his. Had it always looked like he was hiding some sort of sadness?

"What others?" Mirena asked, looking genuinely confused.

"Maybe she feels your might in battle makes you a one knight army?" Jay looked a little happier, almost like himself.

Oleander looked around. Aside from her two friends, they were alone. Where were the others? Where were... Weren't there more? Strong men. She remembered strong men, didn't she?

Her friends kept looking at her, one with amusement, the other with worry. She felt like she had to say something, anything really.

"Yeah, that's it. Just me making a joke. What others are there, right?" It sounded just as empty as she felt.

"Well, alright. The window won't open by itself, though. Please hurry."

Mirena turned away to watch the entrance of the alley. Wasn't that someone else's job? Oleander let her eyes wander around a bit, taking in the dark alley. At the top of the building sat an owl, one of those white and speckled northern owls. It must be very far away from home, she thought. How had it ended up here, in Tier?

"Ollie? Window?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course." She leaned in close to focus on her task.

"What's gotten into you today, Red? You're all over the place."

"Bad dreams, Jay. Really bad dreams."

Jay didn't push any further, but instead gave her room to work. She got the clasp open in seconds, as if she'd done it before. They crept in through the open window, into a featureless room. It looked abandoned, forgotten. Perhaps as if the owners hadn't even discovered it yet.

Jay crossed his arms, and whispered magic words that made no sense to her. Suddenly, a mist settled around them, flowing through them as if they were a part of it. When she looked down on her hands, she could see through her own fingers. Suddenly, she felt a fear grown inside. Would she fade away as easily as the mist, too?

All her instincts were screaming at her, as they quietly moved through the old house. The magic even silenced the usual noise from Mirena's armour, making her steps as soft as the gentle brush of the wind.

A group of guards, hidden in their great cloaks, stalked down the hallway towards them. The cultists seemed too large, too tall. Their arms reached low, almost to their knees, and were thick with muscles that did not look natural. Oleander wanted to back up, hide, run away, anything except continue towards them. The magic that hid Oleander and her friends truly made them as mist, as the guards just passed right through. As if she wasn't real at all.

Suddenly, one of the guards stopped, and raised his head. She couldn't see his face underneath the hood of the cloak, but it seemed as if he was sniffing the air.

With a growl, the guard turned around towards them. Somehow it had sensed their presence.

"Go, now! You know what to do!" Mirena stepped forward out of Jay's mist, becoming solid and ready to fight. She raised her shield, fully intending to hold all the feral cultists back long enough for her friends to get what they came for.

"Come on!" Jay took her hand and ran towards the stairs leading down. It was so dark. How could it be so dark?

"What if there are more inside the basement room?" She asked in a hushed voice. She felt there might be, must be. She almost remembered it.

"Then we'll deal with it any way we can. But we have to get that thing out of here!"

They burst into the room where the cult performed their rituals in secret, where they kept their treasured items. It was empty, and that felt wrong. As wrong as if someone had told her she would forget her best friends one day.

"Look, do you see them?" Jay pointed towards two pedestals in the centre of the room. "Remember, the magic wards only allow you take one. You'll need to leave the other behind."

Oleander walked closer and the darkness parted enough that she could see the two statuettes, one on each pedestal. One a lady knight, the other an elven magician.

"I can only take one?" Her hand hovered between them.

"Yes. The other will be left behind here, with the cult."

"Which one do I choose?"

"I can't answer that for you, only that you'll need to decide soon."

"But the one I don't pick... what will happen to it?"

"It will remain here. Forever." Jay didn't look at her. He kept watch up the stairs. Maybe he saw something she couldn't see. It was so dark.

Oleander looked from the knight to the elf, and back again. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and reached out. Her fingers closed around a statuette, cold and hard in her hands. When she dared to look, the elven features of the mystic looked back at her.

"You chose to leave the knight behind?" Jay sounded as if he was disappointed.

"No- I- I didn't mean to-"

"You made your choice. We must go. There's a secret door to the top floor behind this panel, here." Jay pushed against the wall, and a section of it moved to the side. A narrow set of stairs led up into the darkness.

"After you, Ollie. Just hurry up."

She clutched the statuette close to her chest and climbed as fast as she dared to.

"Only a little bit further." He said, right behind her.

They moved silently yet quickly through the library. It seemed more vivid than the rooms on the bottom floor. Maybe the owners spent more time here? At the end of a hallway was a window that would let them easily get to the roof. She was sure of that, but didn't remember how she knew about this.

"This way," she whispered. "We can get out here." We can get away.

The window opened easy enough. It was even darker outside, but she knew she could find the handholds to climb to the roof. Her hands knew where to go even if her eyes did not.

"Don't look back, Ollie. Just climb."

"I can't climb while holding the statuette, Jay. Can you hold it while I go up?" She was leaning out of the window, letting her free hand feel around for the handholds.

"No, only you can carry it."

"But I can't climb with it! Can't I put it down for a little while?" She asked the darkness over her shoulder.

"You can let it go."

"I'll just put it here for a moment, then." She carefully lowered the statuette down next to the window. Maybe she could ask Jay to put a string around it once she got to the top?

Across the dark alley, on the top of the opposite building sat a white owl. It almost glowed in the night.

Go. Climb.

Her hands easily found what they needed, and almost without any effort she was at the rooftop.

"Okay. Jay? I'm up." She grabbed a roll of string in her beltpouch and let it down in front of the window. "Tie this around the statuette, and we can get out of here."

It was so dark, she almost couldn't see the window.

"Jay?" He didn't answer her. "Jay!"

She had left him behind again. She had abandoned all her friends. She was all alone, just like before.

The owl hooted, and flew up into the sky. She followed it with her eyes as it passed the moon. For a moment, the darkness seemed to retreat before the light of the moon. It was almost as it was a tear in the cloth of the night, and she could glimpse the day through it.

Did it shine for her?

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

With Jaden and Mirena in the hands of the cult, their friends desperately scour the city trying to find them. The captured Mystic and knight face a terrible decision.

Flashback: Before joining her friends in adventure, Oleander took care of another group of people

---

Chapter 7: Treading Places

OLEANDER

Even though it seldom snowed during the winters here in Tarad, it could get cold, and most certainly bleak. The sky became overcast and grey, and there would be entire days spent without ever seeing the sun. Everything was washed out in a subdued half-light that made people unwilling to leave their homes. It was a very bad time for the homeless.

“Stop, you thieves!” An older man stopped to lean forward and rest, out of shape and out of breath. The two children just continued running, clutching their ill-gotten goods close to themselves.

As the young boy and girl scampered through the alleyway they saw a familiar shape up ahead. She waved them through the hidden gap in the fence, and then replaced the loose plank before the pursuing baker could catch up with them.

“Looks like you found some good stuff, Talem!” She praised her young protégées.

“Uh-huh! We even got some sweetcakes, Lea!” The girl held up a deliciously smelling bundle.

“Well, let’s head back to our place, then, and share the goods.” Oleander took the lead.

Growing up in the streets of a town at the very edge of the Olmar kingdom had been hard. You had to be smart and quick, and learn who you could trust, and who you should stay away from. Stealing had been necessary to survive.

She looked on the two children trailing at either side and smiled. How much easier wouldn’t her life been, if someone had taken care of her when she was their age? At least with these she would be able to make a difference; them and the other forgotten kids.

It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. An abandoned house where the town bordered the forest. She didn’t know what it had been used for before they claimed it, but for now it was their castle.

“Alright, you dirty urchins, wash your paws before you eat!” She clapped her hands and pointed at the barrel of rainwater. “We don’t want to catch the rot, do we?”

“No aunty Lea!”

It was a bad time to be homeless, but home was anywhere you felt loved.

Rough hands pushed them into a cellar room that had served as a holding place for any previous unwilling guests. Stone floor and outer walls, but the ceiling and wall around the door were all wooden.

After they had been forced down the stairs they had also passed another room on their way through the corridor, that could only be described an abattoir. Skinned animals hung from thick chains, and a chopping bench was stained after many years of use. Jaden couldn’t help but wonder if that room was used for more than just slaughtering beasts.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the tall, wrinkled man said as he gestured across the barren room. “We will talk again, soon.”

The Sons had relieved them of their weapons, of course, and other apparent items of power. As a couple of the men had roughly gone over them, it hadn’t taken them long to discover Kellen’s drawnstone in Jaden’s vest pocket. The ritual leader had been intrigued by it, and kept turning it over in his bony hands as he watched the process.

As the door slammed shut, they could hear other voices coming from up the corridor. The thick wooden door muted the words very effectively, though. They couldn’t tell what was being said; only that someone was giving out orders.

“Are you alright, Jaden?” She looked dishevelled and tired, but Mirena’s first concern was always for other people.

“I’m fine, Rena. Don’t worry about me,” he mumbled, thoughts preoccupied with something that could be important.

When the Sons relieved them of their weapons and gear, they hadn’t taken Jaden’s mirage veil. Of course, it was disguised as a simple hat, but it meant that the nethermancer couldn’t tell enchanted items from mundane. He had just dismissed it as the hat it was.

To be fair, only experienced craftsmen could tell items like that apart, and only some magicians possessed the skill to distinguish spells from different traditions. Most magicians only bothered with understanding their own brand of magic. At least, that was true for the rest of the world. As a Lacunai Mystic, perceiving the strands of magic was a basic sense like sight or hearing. It was vital for their way of using magic at all, so it was easy for Jaden to forget that most of the world didn’t share that sense. To them, it was just an ordinary hat.

Did it matter, though? A greater veil would be able to hide him from sight completely and offer an opportunity to escape, but his kerchief was merely a cosmetic effect, no matter how many nymphs made it.

The door unbolted and swung open again, admitting two heavily muscled cultists and the nethermancer himself. A barely visible purple bubble surrounded the man. Apparently they learned from previous experiences. The air suddenly felt thicker, as if something unseen pushed against it. Jaden could see how Mirena’s eyes narrowed. She felt it as well.

“Now with preparations out of the way, let us talk about what is going to happen,” the man explained, briefly touching the side of his head where his hair had grown almost white. Had it been that colour before?

“What do you want, heretic?” Mirena was straight to the point.

“Our property, of course. You stole something very… important to us, and we want it back.”

“Forget it. I’m willing to die to keep monsters like you from infecting my city any further.”

Jaden noticed that she was also apparently willing to add him to that fate, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if she was bluffing or not. At the moment, it wasn’t as they had a lot else they could do but stall. Stall and hope.

“Of course, of course. A knight of Telum such as yourself, a true paladin of the temple, would gladly sacrifice herself for — what do you say? ‘The greater good’?” The nethermancer pulled his lips back in that unsmile of his. “That’s why we won’t threaten you, if you won’t comply with our demands.”

“You wish to hold a civil discussion?” She didn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Oh, no no. We will threaten someone else. Not your friend, since you seemed all too willing to throw him to the wolves, so to speak.” Mirena looked guiltily at her friend. “No, there needs to be something more poignant. Something like… a barely familiar innkeeper?”

“What? No! Leave them out of this. Your quarrel is with us, fiend!” She took a step toward the older man, but the meaty hand of one of the cultists shoved her back heavily enough to make her stumble against the wall.

“That decision has already been made, I’m afraid.” The man shook his head in a mockery of sadness. “What was his name… Hakim? Dakim? He will be brought here, and he will be killed.”

Jaden and Mirena stared at their captors, who calmly described the murder of a man.

“You can’t do that!” Mirena yelled.

“The decision has been made,” the nethermancer repeated. “It is up to you, now, to decide whether it is worth your while to save the three girls who worked there with him. Take until the evening to mull it over, we can wait.”

He turned to leave the cell, but stopped as if he remembered something.

“Yes. We will probably flay them.”

Then that heavy door swung shut and a heavy bolt slid into place, leaving them with their thoughts.

Riding had been slow ever since entering the busy Inland Street. Too many people were pushing past each other, too many wagons trying to negotiate their way through the crowds. Kellen fought back another tired yawn, and checked that his redheaded bundle was still on top of her horse. She looked like she was sleeping. In a way, he envied her.

Both of his hands were occupied, holding the reins of both horses as well as his runes. It was a difficult balancing act in more than one way. He needed to keep maintaining the enchantment that mirrored Oleanders aura on the persons carrying the drawstones.

It was a most unusual enchantment. Most rune seekers dealt primarily with elemental powers, like earth and sea. Thanks to his Northern heritage, he had studied some of the preserved books containing the old rune magic, from the time when it had a more spiritual component. He knew just enough to add an interesting twist to the much more common enchantment that switched footprints. With his improvised rune, he had been able to switch soulprints.

“Too bad the others couldn’t appreciate the finesse involved,” he mumbled to himself.

He checked the enchantment once more. It gave him a very rough idea in which direction the recipient was, and how far away. His cousin must have left through the south gate already. Jaden’s rune was still in the city, though. Perhaps they took a sneakier approach than a full on gallop like Stann must have done? Though, to be fair, the north side of the city held the temple quarter. There would likely be more people there. Almost as many as Kellen had to wade through near the Tradegate.

Suddenly, the connection with Jaden’s rune flickered and went cold.

“That’s not good.” Kellen chewed on his moustache in indecision for a while, and then turned his horse around.

“I think we can slow down now,” Rhyce shouted over the loud thudding of their horses galloping.

“Did you see their faces? It was glorious!” Stann laughed and let his horse slow down enough for him to sheath his blade.

As they had approached the Olmar gate, the south exit out of the city, the archer had spotted some suspicious people who kept watch over anyone passing through. When they got closer, they had both recognised one of the cultists they had fought in the stairs back at the Sons’ hideout. The heavy build and broken nose from Stann’s shield-slam gave him away.

Rhyce had wanted to do something clever, perhaps leading them into an ambush, but any such plans had gone out the proverbial window when Stann had simply charged through them. This had upset the guards as well, but without horses of their own to give chase they had resorted to simple name-calling. In their defence, some of the curses had been particularly inventive.

“We might want to avoid using that gate again for a few weeks,” the Northman said with a smile.

“No doubt.” Rhyce stood in his stirrups and shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked back toward the city. A couple of birds circled high above the two men.

“Well, now we just circle around and meet up with the rest on the north road.” Stann nudged his horse into a trot.

“Wait. Plan’s changed.” The archer looked grimmer than usual.

They looked at the sturdy, barred cell door. It would take a tremendously strong person to break it open, and probably tools as well. Their combined glaring at it for the last hour or so hadn’t seemed to do any good either. They felt as if they were running out of time.

"My faith grants me strength…" Mirena began. But I'm not that strong, went unsaid.

"And my magic will only put us into more peril." Jaden frowned, imagining being trapped inside the cell with a fire raging. He would probably be fine. The fire wasn’t going to hurt him. Not with his… condition. But the roof collapsing or choking on the smoke might.

He glanced at Mirena, and was suddenly reminded of yesterday. This could easily become a very similar situation. He had to avoid that, any way possible. He just couldn’t lose any more of himself like this. He had made a promise.

"What about... Jaden, I know you don't like talking about your-" Mirena cleared her throat. She wasn't usually at a loss for words, but the ways of the Mystics were strange to her. "Your tradition is known for their fierce battle-shapes. Maybe..?"

Jaden looked apprehensive, and slowly shook his head.

"It's... not suitable for breaking us out that way, Rena."

Mirena looked at him carefully, weighing their situation against pushing further. But the situation being what it was, though, she couldn’t afford to reject any possible resource without examining it. The military commander inside her refused to do so.

"Implying there might be other ways that it could?" She asked.

They looked at each other, as her friend shifted his weigh from one foot to another. The young mystic looked increasingly uncomfortable. Mirena didn’t know the reason behind what had brought Jaden into their adventuring group almost a year ago, but they had all their own reasons for leaving home.

"Under some specific circumstances, it might help us. It's pretty unlikely we'll find ourselves in an appropriate setting for that, however." Jaden looked sideways, and blushed a bit. This was clearly embarrassing him.

Mirena smiled a little, and decided to back off for now.

"Did you know that Oleander believes your battle-shape to be a sea serpent? That's why we don't see you use it, she says."

Jaden grimaced, the subject of his spiritual form something he'd rather avoid talking about. Or even thinking about.

"Look, I'm not a... she's wrong, okay?" He said, gently. "And, we don't call it 'battle-shape', though I imagine some of my friends back at the mountain would like that phrase."

"May I ask what you do call it?" Mirena softly pried, trying to understand her friend.

"Have you noticed how Stann is letting his sideburns grow, lately?" Jaden deftly tried to steer the conversation into another direction.

"Would you like to talk about something else?" Mirena had an eyebrow raised.

"Was I that obvious?"

"Of course not, my friend. The very picture of subtlety." Mirena reached out and patted his hand.

They sat in silence for a while longer before they heard some people come down into the cellar. There were sounds of conversation barely audible coming from up the corridor, from the slaughter-room. This time, the noise ended with a muted shriek that went on for much too long.

Mirena looked shaken, and held herself. She couldn’t do anything to stop this, and it was killing her inside. Something terrible had happened in the other room. After a moment, they heard footsteps stop on the other side of their cell door. They could feel the wrongness of the presence outside, stronger than before.

“His name was Darim,” said a dry voice.

The table broke apart when the second man landed on top of it.

“I don’t think this is working.” Rhyce considered the terrified man he had pinned to the wall with an arrow through the wrist. He had a very good aim, but not good enough to hit a sleeve and not the arm in it. It was close, though.

“Why would you say that? They’re cooperating — aren’t you, lads?” Stann shouted the last part at the mostly unconscious men sprawled around his feet. He got some groans as a reply.

“We’re still not any closer to finding out where they took Jay and Rena. We’re just wasting our time with these lowlifes.”

“You know, I wonder what Oleander would do?” Stann always appreciated how the small redhead could ferret out useful morsels. Most of the time without resorting to larceny, too.

“Let’s never ask ourselves that question again.” The archer left his pincushion and helped unbury the still moaning person under a couple of his resting friends.

They leaned over the poor man, and grabbed him in one arm each.

“Stop! Don’t… I don’t know what you want?” The man protested through a split lip. One of his eyes was swelling over.

“The Sons of Husk. Olmani cultists. Probably deal with dark magic goods,” Stann told their new acquaintance and rattled off the same message they had used at the last three places they visited.

“They might also supply meat. I saw many of them using butcher’s knives last time,” Rhyce added. That was not a weapon you used just to make a statement.

“Wait, are you talking about the Umnir slaughterhouse? They’re that new group that began selling Olman beef and mutton here in Tier,” the man sputtered. “I heard some strange rumours about them.”

Stann and Rhyce looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to him.

“Where can we find this… Umnir place?”

Kellen turned the bag around in his hands. He was careful not to touch the actual idol, and used the bag as a makeshift mitten. His drawstone rune allowed him to mirror an aura, and feel its distance and direction, in a very rough sense. Could he, somehow, use the skull to find the cult’s new location?

When he had decided to try and find Mirena and Jaden, he needed a place to work. The busy streets — or horseback for that matter — would not do at all. In the end, he had simply asked a fellow clansman merchant if they could use his wagon house. There were a few of them here in Tier, and clan loyalties ran strong. Someone had even found him a tankard of beer.

The groaning by his side made him look at his responsibility. She had been stirring more recently. Whatever hold the artefact had over her had clearly faded away, though whether it was by his doing, her fighting it, or something else, he didn’t know.

“Whu-“ her eyes fluttered. “Don’ leave…”

Her voice was weak, and somewhat sad. That she was speaking at all was a surprise, however. Kellen smoothed back her pixie-short red hair.

“Don’t worry, little fox, you’re safe.” His voice, meant for leading men into battle, was calm and reassuring.

It took her a few more tries to fully regain consciousness. During her relapses into sleep, he kept examining the skull. It was covered in glyphs and marks. Symbols. Language. He could work with that.

After a while he noticed that she had rolled over on her resting place on an unused cart. Her grey eyes were focused on him.

“Where are we?” Her voice was a little raspy.

“In a shed, not far from the clarion bridge. You can see it if you cross the road,” he offered her a sip from his beer.

She took a gulp, then frowned as she held her head.

“Are the… there are others, right? Others than just us? Jay?” She suddenly looked uncertain.

“Yes, of course. We split up to avoid the Sons. Only, it turned out that didn’t work as well as we had hoped. Mirena and Jay are missing.” Kellen filled her in on what had happened during her absence.

“We have to find them!” She struggled into a sitting position which brought on a coughing fit. The large Northman just pushed her back down with a single hand. “Kellen! We need to help them!”

“We will, Red. And I am.” He gestured at the skull, safely tucked into the bag.

She shuddered and tore her eyes away from it. She didn’t want to look at it any more.

“I’m certain I can find them using this. I just need a little more time.” He spread his hands.

Oleander looked at him for a while, as he worked on the puzzle. Eventually, she looked resigned and moved to a more comfortable position.

“Can you at least give me some water? I’m thirsty.” She coughed a couple more times.

Kellen stood up, and made sure the skull was safely wrapped.

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.”

He knocked on the back of the leatherwork store his clansman owned, and was met by his wife. Darya was a good, solid northwoman as tall as any Tier man, and able to beat him senseless with her apron if he looked at her the wrong way. For Kellen, though, she only offered a smile and the hospitality of her house.

As he returned to the shed with a pitcher and two cups, he stopped cold in the doorway. The skull was still in its bag, untouched. Oleander, though, and her pack were missing.

He hurried back out around the shop and into the street, looking either way to see if he could see a tiny red spot in the crowds. He cursed his carelessness, and chewed on his moustache in frustration. Slowly, he walked back to the shed. His best bet was to find the Sons before she did. Worst come to worst, he could always collapse whatever building those cultists had holed up inside and flood the rubble. If he could only find it, that is.

Kellen stared into the mocking sockets of the obsidian skull.

“They’re going to kill those girls,” Mirena repeated herself, slamming her palms against the heavy wooden door. She felt so powerless.

“What can we do? Far whisper is limited to a couple of hundred yards, and if I don’t know where any of them are, the message won’t reach them anyway. I mean, how can we even surrender if we can’t tell our friends to bring that thing back?” Jaden paced the small cell. His feet felt really sweaty in those thick socks.

“Maybe they know something we don’t,” the knight mused to herself.

“They might also be crazy. Have we considered that? They could be actually, porridge-knife crazy.” What a frightening thought. Captured by madmen and expected to comply with impossibilities.

“No… They’re too organised, too rational. Everything that man did to capture us, it felt like being a piece on the board. I suspect they might have herded us into that ambush without us even knowing about it.” Mirena sounded thoughtful, her hands still against the door as if she could just will it to break.

“The drawstones! They probably think they’re communication enchantments!” Jaden burst out. It made sense, in a way. “The nethermancer can’t tell magic apart. He must believe we could talk at a distance.”

“But we can’t use them like that. When they make their demands, we can’t keep up our end of it, and then those girls will die.” She forced herself to relax her jaw. Knights didn’t grit their teeth. Ladies didn’t grit their teeth either. She did her best to be both.

“We can’t warn the others, we can’t do what our captors want,” Jaden ticked things off on his gloved fingers. “We can’t even escape. It’s not as if I can just burn that door down.”

Mirena looked up, with a strange expression.

“Why not? Why can’t you do just that?”

“Mirena? We’ll die,” Jaden gestured around the cell. “We’d choke, cook, or burn before that door gave out.”

“But you can protect yourself from the fires, can’t you? I remember you almost immolating yourself to escape that Kynian Horror back in Carrick Field.” She recalled one of their previous adventures.

“Not one of my best ideas,” Jaden grimaced, vividly remembering the snapping mandibles. “But even if I can survive it, you can’t expect me to… to martyr you on the off-chance I can escape from here on my own?”

“They may have taken my sword, but my faith remains strong. Telum will keep me whole even as the fires burn me.” The look in her eyes showed just a hint of the zealot she could’ve been if her life had gone down a different road.

“Mirena…”

“We have no choice. We can’t expect the others to find us. Not in time.” Not in time to avoid innocent blood spilt, or worse. Much, much worse.

She backed away from the door as Jaden approached it. He gave her one last reluctant look before he raised his hand against the hard wood and made a fist. It always seemed to return to fire. His condition. His solution.

“Valignat!”

The man straightened his cap for the second time, and dabbed a folded cloth across his brow. Across from him sat that… that girl. She had walked in just a short while ago, and was making an absolute pest of herself.

“Don’t bother denying it, Pered. You know I know what you do, on the side. I know all about your Whitewater connections.” She coughed again. She looked really pale.

“So what if you do? It’s not like you have any proof.” He looked at the cloth. It was a bit dirty. Just like him, he supposed.

“Maybe I do? Maybe I came across a certain satchel a week ago? Maybe it contained some Etrian black zalach, and a sizeable letter of credit written to your establishment?” She smiled wanly.

“That was you?! You… you thief!” Pered was getting red in the face. This short, meddling Olman girl…

“No more than you, buttercup. I know you deal in more than just zalach. You sell all kiiinds of weird herbs, to the right buyers.”

“Even if that was the case, I would never betray a business contract.” He looked down his nose at the woman.

“They call themselves the Sons of Husk. They recently took over that old townhouse, previously owned by the old Lorian couple, next to Lantern Street — why do they even call it that? The street was dead dark.” Oleander digressed a bit.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re a foreigner.”

“The Huskies are Olmani too,” she said with a singsong drawl.

The merchant of many strange goods, sweating in the afternoon sun, glared at the cheeky girl for a moment.

“Never let it be said I would stand by and watch my city be tarnished by some cultist filth,” Pered changed his tune quickly enough.

Oleander always knew how to find the right leverage.

“Now, tell me where they run their business?”

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Having decided to try and break free from their captors, Jaden and Mirena are faced with the struggle for their lives. The rest of the group use their various means and talents to find them before it is too late.

Flashback: Jaden seeks to complete the last trial of his Mystic's training.

---

Chapter 8: Taking Breath

JADEN

When the worst heat of the summer had left the mountains, it made travel almost enjoyable. Even with the sun high in the sky, the air was still fresh and invigorating. Clouds chased across that big sky. From up here, you could almost see from one horizon to the other. If you let it, it could be a breath-taking view, the world.

It had been a long day of walking, but he wouldn’t admit to any weakness. The family motto was ‘strength in all things, strength above all things,’ and he would live up to that just like every member of his blood was expected to. He would make his father proud, and find a strong spirit. Something dangerous and powerful, so he could stand by his father’s side as an equal.

“You didn’t tell me how far you were going to go?” His companion asked. The hood shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked across the valley stretching out below the mountain path.

He had caught up with her an hour or so ago. Perhaps he had been walking faster than he should have, he was still not used to traveling on his own; but he wanted to get this quest of his underway as soon as possible. It was the most important part of his training, after all.

She had been just another traveller like him, dressed sensibly for the season with a light dustcloak to keep the dry mountain dirt from clinging to her clothes. He guessed she was a relative of another initiate in Talraman, having paid a visit, or perhaps a messenger. The Lacunai employed a number of them to keep informed about the events of the world.

When he saw her on the road she had been just a silhouette, but as he kept walking he began catching up with her. Clearly she wasn’t in any hurry.

“Honestly? I’m not sure,” he said. He looked down the road as far as he could see.

Every quest had to be personal, Master Viskeri had said to the gathered initiates. It was up to them to try to find a place that felt right, however long that could take. Only then would they be able to commune with the flow of magic, and attract the spirit that would be their ally for the rest of their lives. The offering and the truename would then seal the pact.

“That’s not a very good place to start a journey,” she laughed. “Unless you’re running away from something, rather than towards it?”

“I’m not running away!” Jaden frowned at the woman. “I’m just taking things one step at a time. I’ll start in Tarad.”

“Good enough place, I guess. It’s the closet town, right?” She smiled again, and reached up to keep her hood in place as a wind played with their hair. She had the kind of black hair that was common around the southern kingdoms. She didn’t look Etrian or Olman, though.

“That’s right. It’s just at the edge of Olmar, bordering the Sorun wildlands to the west.” Jaden remembered the map he had studied several times back home. “Talraman gets most of the supplies we need from there.”

As the road was winding down the mountainside, they reached a small campsite. A welcome stream gushed out of the rocks nearby, brought up from some underground lake, Jaden imagined.

It felt good to sit down for a bit. A couple of large logs made for makeshift benches. A number of trees tried to eke out an existence along the mountain, but not all of them made it through the dryer months.

Jaden poked around in his backpack. He had enough food to last him several days, more than enough to reach Tarad and resupply there. Though where he was headed after that, he wasn’t sure. Follow your instincts, Master Viskeri kept telling them. Jaden had never put a whole lot of trust in his instincts. They always tended to land him in trouble. No, he preferred to know.

The woman had picked a spot on a nearby log and stretched her arms and neck. Jaden snuck a glance at her while he was unpacking his food. She was really quite pretty, from what he could tell underneath her cloak, even beautiful.

“Do you want anything? I have more than I can eat.” Jaden unwrapped some fruit and bread from a square cloth. He could at least be polite.

“Oh, that’s so kind of you,” she said, smiling widely. She went over and sat next to him as he divided up their food. She smelled really nice up close. Some sort of subtle scent he couldn’t quite place. Was it violets?

Taking a bite out of the fresh bread, Jaden took a long look around the campsite. Beyond the ridge, the west Olmar valley was visible. It wasn’t too hot, and the burbling spring made the air less dry. He could see why people had made camp here before. It was a nice place.

“You know, I don’t know what to call you,” he asked casually. She seemed like a nice person, a good companion for the road. Maybe they would continue together after they got to Tarad?

She finished chewing her fruit, and gave him another one of those big smiles. His heart almost skipped a beat when she leaned in close to his face with downcast eyes. Their noses were almost touching.

“Do you want me to tell you?” That scent was stronger, compelling.

“Y- Yes.” Jaden felt his face flush red. Something with all of this felt so right.

Wait.

Felt right?

“No! You’re it?” He stared in disbelief at the face in front of him. Not a dragon, not a basilisk, not even a sea serpent. “No, that’s…”

She gazed at him. Those eyes, hidden by the hood of the cloak before, were bright golden. Demon eyes.

“I accepted your offering, Jaden.” She held the half-eaten fruit in her hand. “I’m yours, now. Spirit and all.”

She leaned in and whispered her name in his ear.

Jaden opened his eyes, and released a pent-up breath. He was covered in sweat.

The mediation chamber was silent, except for the sound of the two burning braziers. The air was thick with the ceremonial incense, and the scent he couldn’t get out of his mind. He had completed his spirit quest.

Jaden said the only thing he could think of.

“Oh shit!”

They coughed as smoke started to fill the room. This had been a bad idea. Just yet another one in a whole string of bad decisions lately. Maybe even the last he’d make.

Jaden drew upon the bond to his salamander. The fire lost some of its heat, but he knew that would only be for him. Mirena kept moving her lips in a prayer, sweat beading on her face. It was getting much too hot in here for her.

The dull roar of the burning wood drowned out most of the other sounds, but they were sure they heard commotion outside the cell door. Their captors had to react to this. A part of the cellar was on fire, after all. The question was, would Mirena and he make it out of here before they were put in another hostage situation?

Some water leaked in underneath the door, and began to steam as it fought the fire.

“They’re trying to put it out with water?” Mirena held her sleeve across her mouth, trying to avoid inhaling too much smoke.

“That means the nethermancer isn’t here, or involved in something so important that being on fire comes second,” Jaden replied. More water sloshed in.

“Either way, this is our best chance. The door should be weakened from fire and water both.” She seemed to brace herself for a moment. Jaden had a pretty good idea what was coming next, and backed away from the steaming door.

“Telum, grant me strength!” Mirena kicked the door with all her holy might, sending splinters flying and cracking the frame. The door still held, but only just barely. When she put her shoulder to it, ignoring the fire that engulfed it, the door finally gave way.

On the other side, two cultist guards had been thrown to the ground by their violent escape. Pieces of the burning door littered the cellar corridor. Mirena didn’t miss a beat, and slammed into the first man trying to get back to his feet. He didn’t try a second time.

Without a weapon, and unwilling to risk more fire at the moment, Jaden felt like he couldn’t contribute as much to the fight. But he could still pick a page from Oleander’s book of negotiation.

“Stay down if you know what’s good for you,” he commanded the other man who had regained his feet. A ball of fire hovered over Jaden’s hand, ready to explode.

“You wouldn’t! We’d all burn if-“ The cultist staggered and fell over. Mirena wasn’t done fighting just because he felt like talking. A straight punch to the throat sent the Son gasping to the ground.

“You’re all heart, Rena,” Jaden quipped.

“Later, Jaden. Let’s get their weapons.”

Mirena grabbed the simple sword one of them had been unable to draw in time. The other guard carried only a knife and a cudgel. More of a glorified stick, actually.

“I guess I have to settle for the knife?” He held it up. It looked a lot shorter than Mirena’s sword. It didn’t do much for his dwindling masculinity.

“Don’t complain. You have your magic to protect yourself with.” She put out a small fire that had caught on her skirt with her other hand.

“For now,” he mumbled, as they made their way toward the stairs.

They passed several other cells that thankfully were empty. Whatever the Sons were doing here, they had enough space to keep several people locked up down here. These were clearly cells. After all, why would you put bars on the outside of storage rooms?

The door to the abattoir near the foot of the stairs was open. On a slab was the body of the innkeeper who had taken good care of them for the several days they had stayed at the Green Raven. He looked frozen in his final moments, twisted in a torment that belied the simple knife-wound in his chest. Darim had deserved better than this.

Mirena put her hand on the dead man’s shoulder. They could do nothing for this man now. They could only make sure no other blood was spilled because of them.

“Jaden, look out!” Mirena suddenly tackled him to the side as a couple of crossbow bolts zipped into the room. One stuck to a skinned sheep, suspended in a chain from the ceiling. Mirena cried out as the second bit into her side.

He could see the cultists, perhaps three of them, standing by the foot of the stairs. They were reloading their weapons without a care in the world. After all, they had their prey pinned in a room without other exits.

“Telum keep us, and protect us,” Mirena chanted in a low voice. She had already pulled the bolt out and held the bleeding wound. A soft glow emanated from her hands. She would be fine.

“Valignat!” Jaden drew upon his pact once more. He could feel the strength waning. Too much fire, without much magic in return. He would have to repay his debt when this was over. But he had two or three good bursts left before he had to look elsewhere.

The fire had the intended effect. The least lucky one was rolling and screaming on the ground, the other two made no effort to save their comrade, but instead dropped the ruined crossbows and advanced with heavy butchering knives.

“Here they come, Rena!” Jaden called over his shoulder.

“I’m ready,” she replied, already back on her feet with the borrowed sword held high.

The much larger and heavier cultist men crashed into the two, sending Jaden stumbling back into a hanging carcass. Mirena was trained in receiving charges, and pushed her blade through her opponent’s thigh. She immediately stepped closer and grabbed the pommel with both hands and pushed it downwards. Some of the spray touched her face.

Jaden ducked back under the swinging sheep. The one who tackled him battered them aside with his arm, only to be struck in the face by a thrown chair. He glared balefully at the Mystic, and approached with murderous intent.

Jaden looked around for something else to use as a weapon. He did not fancy getting into a knife-fight with someone who slaughtered things for a living. Well, he didn’t actually have to. He gave the angry cultist a speculative look, then raised his hand and pointed.

The Sons fought without regard for their own lives. They were terrifying opponents who would accept any injury if it meant hurting them. Even while bleeding to death from his ruined leg, Mirena’s opponent grabbed her throat in an effort to strangle her.

“No more shadows can linger, when the flesh has forgotten!” The dying man rasped as he clawed at her neck. She pushed him off, dismissing his cryptic rambling, and tugged at the sword buried in his leg. She caught Jaden shouting a strange word, and then heard some clattering noise from where he and his opponent were hidden behind the hooked meat.

“Rena! Help?” Jaden didn’t sound very frightened.

When she ducked past the carcasses, she saw Jaden trapped under the body of the second cultist. He tried to push the man off, but wasn’t strong enough to move the huge bulk. That cultist was almost the size of Kellen. Together they managed to drag the man off, and as soon as he rolled over Mirena saw to her surprise that he was still conscious. He was even moving slightly, but couldn’t seem to muster the strength to do so. His lips were moving too, and he managed to wheeze something at Jaden as the Mystic got to his feet.

“I wonder what that meant,” Jaden straightened his hat as they looked at the weakly struggling cultist.

“What did he say?”

“’The last to serve the eyeless, the first to blind the world’. I’ve never heard anything like that before,” Jaden admitted. “Then again, I think we’ve already discussed how crazy these people are.”

“What did you do to him?” She asked, as they left the slaughter room.

“Another time, Rena. He’ll be back up in a couple of minutes, so let’s not be here by then.” Jaden adjusted his new nondescript hat again, and they headed for the stairs.

Like called like. Some might argue that opposites attract, but in the world of magic it was always ‘birds of a feather’. Kellen held the carefully wrapped bundle as he walked through the streets of Tier. It helped when he didn’t actually look where he was going. He just followed the pull of the skull.

The Sons of Husk had held this icon in countless ceremonies. They had shed blood before it. They had enslaved ghosts with it. It was tainted by their rites, as they were tainted by it. It was a filthy feeling, like wading through a latrine of liquid hatred for all life, but it was what he needed right now.

Hopefully his way would be faster than Oleander’s. He didn’t know where she was, but he did know she was extremely weak from her experience with the very item he carried. No wonder. He could feel it eating away at him even now. He also knew that he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if she got hurt when her safety had been his responsibility.

Kellen cursed his fate silently. This was one of the reasons he had left home. Responsibility. Everywhere he went, people seemed to look to him for advice, for help, for reasons. He didn’t want to carry that burden. Losing someone under his care would break him, he was sure. No, he left leadership to other more capable souls. Like Mirena. She was a true leader. Reliable and honest, brave and strong. Even his cousin, with all his faults, was a better commander.

The pull drew him through an alleyway. It was probably an unwise idea to walk alone and unarmed in this part of the city, especially in alleys, but Kellen’s sheer size made any would-be robbers think twice, and back away. They would be running if they knew he was carrying a skull.

He was close now. He could feel it. Without the shaman training to fully understand the world of spirits, he couldn’t tell for sure. It was as if there were silent screams coming from somewhere nearby.

Rhyce almost did a double-take when he saw who walked by just on the other side of the street. He tapped Stann on the shoulder to get his attention from whoever he was harassing at the moment.

“I just saw Red over there,” the archer said as he pointed toward the slowly walking redhead.

“What? That’s imposs- well, okay, there she is.” Stann gave him an acknowledging nod, and they left a seedy-looking man alone to catch up with their wayward friend.

“Hey, Red!” Stann tried to shout over the general racket of the street. Rhyce shook his head, and tried another method.

“Stop! Thief! Get her!”

That made most people stop what they were doing and look around. Oleander instinctively hunched down a little, looking a bit guilty. When she looked their way, both of the men waved. Stann was smiling widely.

Several people had formed a circle around hoping to witness a spectacle of some kind. A concerned person came up next to them.

“What did she steal?”

“My friend’s heart, of course!” Stann laughed, and sent the elderly man on his way. There were sighs of disappointment from the gawkers, though at least one of them said how romantic this was.

As the gathering cleared up a bit, Stann and Rhyce took Oleander to the side of the street, which was just as well. She didn’t look like she should be out of bed. She was quite pale and stopped to cough a few times. A couple of black birds squawked from their perch at a nearby roof.

“Good to see you awake,” Rhyce said, as close as a welcoming hug you were likely to get from him.

“But where is that ugly cousin of mine? He was supposed to take care of you,” Stann grumbled. He trusted Kellen more than anyone else in the world. It didn’t make sense for the rune seeker to leave Oleander behind.

“He was too caught up with that stupid… thing,” she made a face. There was no need to specify what. “He just wanted to sit there and stare at it until harvest time, so it was up to me — as usual! — to get the job done. I know where the Sons’ other hideout is!”

“The Umnir slaughterhouse off harbour road, near the Olman quarters?” Rhyce deadpanned.

The look on Oleander’s face was worth waking up to her irritating whistling every time she had breakfast duty.

“What… how?!” She stomped the ground weakly.

“Oh, you know: ask enough people and eventually someone has answers,” Stann brushed some imaginary dust off his chain mail.

“It’s not far,” Rhyce had already begun walking again. The birds had flown off.

The fires had spread a bit, despite the cultists’ earlier efforts to put them out. Fighting their way up the stairs provided some fresher air, despite the cuts and scrapes inflicted in the battle. Mirena’s wounds seemed to fade even as they fought on. Those sworn to the temples could draw upon the collective strength of their entire order if their cause was just, only the individual priest set the limit. By the look of her right now, Jaden couldn’t see her limits.

The area they burst out into, pushing the implacable Sons before them on a tide of sword and fire, was big enough to hold a sizeable gathering. Several open doors led to adjoining rooms. It was probably intended as a main storage area. When they were brought here, they had been marched directly down to the cellar. This room had been pretty much empty then, but now the Sons of Husk had mustered whoever was available to put an end to their escape. There were quite a lot of them, and probably more coming.

Over the shoulders of the closest cultists they saw the ritual leader, the nethermancer himself. Jaden hadn’t stopped to consider how the dark magician had survived the hellfire attack yesterday, but now he had to assume the man was protected from even his most powerful magic. The strong, darkly purple bubble that surrounded the man promised that much. They had to know he could repeat the performance from last night. They might even be counting on him switching to that form. He just didn’t know enough about spirit magic to tell whether he could be walking into a trap.

“Well, well,” said the nethermancer with that dry voice. “Do we have to do this all over? I thought that putting you in that room together would quell any more… fires.”

Mirena tossed her hair angrily, the soot on her face looking more like war-paint. She had been burnt many times during their breaking out of that cell. Jaden took stock on the situation, and didn’t like what he saw.

“You must enjoy having innocent blood on your conscience, lady knight!” The older man seemed to vibrate slightly. The air grew heavy, oppressive. It was getting progressively harder to see straight. Jaden could hear a ringing noise in his ears.

“Your little operation here is already gone,” Jaden chanced. “The fire will claim it all, and you won’t be able to sacrifice those girls to your dark lord!”

“You fools! I can choke your pitiful fire like it was a baby in the crib!” The nethermancer spat. “And did you truly believe we would bring them here? We are more numerous than you think, and I will relish pulling the souls from their cold, dead bodies and adding them to my collection!”

Mirena straightened up and looked hard. So the hostages weren’t even here? Then they wouldn’t have to worry about hurting them by mistake.

“This ends now, fiend!” She pointed with the borrowed weapon. It had started to shine with an inner light. To her, it wasn’t the sword itself. It was merely an extension of her faith.

“Just words, little paladin! Just words! Do you have any final ones to share with us before their fate becomes your own?” The purple sphere around the nethermancer crackled with stolen power.

“I am a Sword of Heaven, and this place is lost. Jaden? Burn it all.”

With that, she threw herself against the cultist guards, her unbound hair flying behind her like a battle standard. The gleaming arc of her sword pushed them back several steps before they could recover. She seemed unstoppable.

Jaden couldn’t attack the group, not with her in the middle of everything. That purple sphere would no doubt unravel his fire anyway, just like the ritual leader said. But that left the rest of the house…

He felt his connection dry up, along with a burst of annoyance along the bond, as he let a sustained fiery fan brush across the floor and the ceiling. A salamander’s fire burned hotter than most normal flames, and this place would be completely ablaze within minutes.

The Sons were surrounding Mirena. Without her armour and shield, even her boundless faith wouldn’t save her from being overwhelmed. Jaden had to even the odds. He took a few steps to the side, as if lining up a trick throw of the horseshoe. He drew an imaginary through the group of fighters that didn’t touch his friend. It didn’t even take a single heartbeat. He pointed at the division line.

“Noctophyx!”

The leaves of the forest parted way silently as the shadow sinuously glided toward the lit windows of the cabin. It felt the rhythm of life within the small home. Soon, one of the smaller ones was left alone in a room. It pressed up against the window, pale fingers feeling around for a means to open a way inside.

Suddenly, a pulling sensation deep inside warned it how The Other demanded its strength. The shadow drew back into the darkness and waited, patiently, for the feeling to pass.

The breathing inside the cabin continued for now.

Several of the Sons staggered and fell to their knees. The effect was diminished when many were affected at once, but right here and right now, it might just be enough. Mirena took the opening and broke free of the surround, injuring many of the weakened cultists.

“I will have no more of your meddling, you pathetic beast!” The nethermancer pulled wispy strands from the heavy air and thrust his bony hands toward Jaden. They seemed to crystallise into slivers of spectral agony as they tore through his body.

The world flickered in front of Jaden. Fragments from his past mixed with images of endless fire. It was all he could do not to scream.

Mirena dared to take a look at her friend. He had withstood the assault as if it had been nothing. His clothes weren’t even touched, despite how the slivers punched into a nearby table as if they were made of iron.

“What? How can this be?” The nethermancer grumbled in frustration, he held out his hands and began gathering a mass of screaming fragments.

Jaden’s world was pain. He couldn’t move. He felt the blood run down his body. The aim had been a little off, and that was likely the only thing that saved his life. The illusion that hid him was cast according to his old size, after all. His waist was several inches thinner these days. He was really hurt nonetheless, but none of it showed. The illusion hid any outward signs of injury. The nethermancer raised his hands to unleash a ghost storm to extinguish Jaden once and for all.

“No!” Mirena shouted, trying to bash her way through the almost mindless thugs.

The house began to shake. Large fractures spread throughout the walls. The wooden support pillars started to break.

“Curse of the netherwo-“ the ritual leader began, but as the roof above them collapsed they were flung in different directions.

There were a couple of minor quakes before the house settled. Mirena had managed to get to where Jaden had fallen down, and from their side of the room they saw that most of the central part of the building had become rubble and crushed wood. Limbs of cultists who had been too weak to get out of the way stuck out from underneath the chunks of stone. A faint purple smoke seeped down through the cracks in the floor.

As they sat there, panting, Jaden slowly began to regain his functions. He hurt immensely, but he saw that Mirena bore equally painful wounds from her solitary fight against the entire cult. But they were alive.

“Anyone still breathing in there?” A deep bass voice reached them through the cracks in the wall. They couldn’t help but smile. Kellen.

When they got closer, knowing what house the Sons of Husk must’ve been inside was hard to miss. The street was home to many import businesses and storages, and only one of those large buildings had collapsed in on itself, and was on fire.

People from all around had formed lines to haul buckets of water from nearby wells, and even the harbour itself. It looked like they had the fire under control. At least it wouldn’t spread. Some of the water appeared to behave oddly, rolling like snakes through the broken parts of the house. Apparently one of the volunteers had magic at her command.

“Do you think… this place must be it, right? It would be too much of a coincidence otherwise.” Oleander fought back her fatigue with worry. “What if they’re still inside?”

A couple of Olman harbour-workers ran past with another few buckets of water. Standing on an upended wagon, they saw a tall figure moving his hands in a rhythmic pattern, as if he was painting in the air. The water flowed freely according to his brushstrokes, drowning any fire it found.

“Hey, ugly cousin!” Stann shouted over the noise of the fire fighting effort. He pointed at Oleander when he got Kellen’s attention. “You dropped something!”

“Have you seen Rena and Jay?” Oleander yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Kellen nodded and spared a hand to point toward the other side of the road. There, several people sat with their backs to a baker’s shop, being tended to by some of the local women. Even with torn clothes and a dirty face, they recognised Mirena immediately. Jaden looked strangely unblemished by the experience, but sat like he was in a lot of pain. Oleander almost cried as she ran up to them.

“I’m… I was… You’re okay. You’re here, and you’re okay,” she repeated, as she hugged Jaden close. He breathed in sharply, and stiffened. She felt something wet on her hand. “You’re hurt!”

“No, not that bad. That’s not my blood,” Jaden lied. It wasn’t as if he could unmake his illusion and show his wounds. That would show too many other things as well. “I just got a few ribs cracked when the house dropped on us.”

“The important part is that we’re all alive,” Mirena breathed. “And that the Sons of Husk finally are wiped off the face of the world.”

When the fires had died down, they helped each other back to the Northlander leatherwork store. Clan loyalties, after all, were strong. They would not have to stay at a strange inn with their injuries. The good clansman had plenty of space where seasonal workers were lodged as they came down from the north with pelts and skins during the spring, but by now they had already returned back home as the summer had arrived. It wasn’t luxury, but at the time even a simple straw mattress felt like the finest down.

For now, they could take a breath and rest.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Barely recovered from the events last night, the group sets out to deliver the obsidian idol to the temple of Kuros in a nearby town. Jaden and Kellen work together to ensure their safety.

Flashback: The cousins Winterheart are faced with an important decision

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Chapter 9: The Lighter Way

STANN AND KELLEN

During the coldest nights of the winter months, it was important to keep the fires burning. The chill would enter a home like a whisper and rob every room of their warmth. It was that cold that brought families together. Winter showed the true meaning of the heart.

The longhouse in the middle of Strom was not a home, however. It was a place where the high chieftain met with his trusted advisors, or made decisions when traditions or laws didn’t provide any answers. This evening was one of those times. Tradition and laws were being challenged, and a decision would be made.

Olev was the leader of the Winterheart clan, and the high chieftain of the Northern Lands. His final word was the law, and sometimes that weighed heavily upon his shoulders. He sat on his throne, made by woodcarvers long since passed into the hall of the ancestors, with his head in his hand. These were the times when he felt the burden of his crown.

In front of him stood two of his clansmen, ready for his decision. He knew them both well, having seen them grow from boys into the men they were today. Their grandfather and Olev’s father had been cousins, he remembered. Not close family, to be sure, but as with any true member of the clan they shared blood.

“From as early as your tenth summer, our shaman could tell us what your path would be, Kellen,” Olev spoke, and the gathering of clansmen listened. “You should be honoured to have been given the privilege of entering into the shamans’ lodge.”

“Yes, chieftain, I am.”

“Even though you still persist with pursuing this southlander magic of yours, instead of focusing on the teachings of our elders?” Olev frowned.

“Yes, chieftain… I am.”

“It will not be allowed!” The high chieftain of the North rose to his feet, easily looking the unusually tall clansman straight in the eye. “The omens have been shown to me by the shaman. It is clear that you will be a powerful spirit-talker to guide the next generation. If you will not abide by the traditions of our clan, then you are not of the clan!”

Kellen looked shaken. He had come before the chieftain expecting a strongly worded suggestion to accept the place as the shaman’s apprentice; he had not foreseen being threatened with banishment.

“Now, listen here, chieftain!” Stann took a step forward. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Kellen and he had grown up together, and being the only two sons of their fathers they were close as brothers.

“Do you question your chieftain, warrior? Then you will share your kinsman’s fate, by his own mouth.” Olev would not be spoken to like that. He was the law of his people. “Speak, Kellen. Will you stand by the clan?”

Kellen stared at his chieftain, then looked at his cousin. He knew Stann had everything here: a place among the warriors, and a newly betrothed. He clenched his hands. The old ways had been forgotten. The traditions the shaman and chieftain spoke of were not from the songs of the ancestors. Seeking the runes that had been lost from the North, maybe he could help recreate the old ways and light the fires of wisdom in these frozen hearts?

Stann watched his cousin struggle with this decision. Even without the high chieftain’s command, he would probably follow Kellen anyway. Women and warriors came and went, but family was forever. He would not blame his cousin. Stann nodded at Kellen, who turned toward the law of their people.

“I have made my decision, chieftain, and I stand by it.”

The building had originally been for workers back in the day when the flying ships from the empire still anchored by the skyspire, but as time passed and the ship grew fewer it fell into disuse. Rothald had been able to get it rather cheaply when he and his family had already purchased the rights to the store for their northern leather goods. While it mostly saw use as extra storage, it also served some of its original intention when clansmen came down from the northern lands with their wagons loaded with furs and skins. Fine tools and thread was much cheaper in Tier than in the north, that his kin stayed here to make their actual products. Rothald then put them up for sale in his store. Spring was always a very busy time in his household, when they were overrun by more than a dozen of his extended family. It helped to hold the homesickness at bay.

Now the old bunkhouse turned storage saw guests again. Darya and the girls were a little annoyed with him, of course. It had only been a few weeks since they had cleaned all the extra linens and put them away for the next spring, but it wouldn’t do to turn away two of his clansmen in need of a place to stay for the night.

Rothald puffed at his pipe as he considered the strange group that had turned up at his door this evening. Two he recognised from earlier that day, of course. Kellen and that little Olman redhead, deep asleep at the time, had asked him for a quiet corner for an hour or so. He had given them the use of his wagon shed with some concern for the girl, but he knew that if anything more was needed, they would surely ask for it.

No, the people that had shown up just earlier were another thing entirely. One was a Tierborn lady, by the sound of her, then another clansman he vaguely recognised from the hall of warriors in Strom. Finally, two more men he couldn’t rightly place since they weren’t talking. The black-haired one looked vaguely Olman, too, and the man with the bow could very well be Albander. A strange collection of faces, to be sure.

Rothald tapped the pipe against his boot before heading back inside. He could hear the bear-marked warrior give a stirring rendition of one of his adventures, keeping the youngest of Rothald’s children in awe.

Jaden lay down as carefully as he could manage. He didn’t even bother removing his clothes, since that might just open up his wounds again. To anyone else, he looked just fine. His mirage veil, a cloth of enchanted silk that hid his true appearance, saw to that. His friends would only see what his magic allowed them to see, and an unfortunate side-effect of him being smaller than the illusion meant that his wounds would also remain unseen.

Not for the first time Jaden wished that he had managed to bind something useful into a pact, like a Tsagoth, or maybe a Lernean — something that would let him heal quickly. That would be nice, he felt. Ignoring the pain, he began to release his remaining magic back through the pact bond. He had been very greedy with his contracted creatures these past few days, and he had to start repaying them. Jaden kept a little for himself, though. The veil still required some to maintain his mask.

He hadn’t bothered lighting any of the oil lamps in the large lodging room, one of four just like it in the building. He could see well enough with only the rays from the setting sun. Jaden shut his eyes and tried to rest, despite the throbbing pain in his side. He had a number of scrapes and cuts all over, but the nethermancer had almost eviscerated him with that spectral blast. Only his illusion had saved him at the time, making the spell partially miss him.

A knock at the open door made him force his eyes back open. Mirena’s silhouette greeted him, as she waited for him to acknowledge her before entering the room set aside for the men.

“You said you might have some broken ribs, earlier,” she mused as she sat down next to him on the bed. “I can help alleviate the hurt, if you will let me.”

Jaden thought for a moment. He couldn’t just keep pretending that he wasn’t hurt. He wouldn’t be able to ride with the wound he had suffered during that fight, and his own bandaging only just kept him from bleeding.

“I need to remove your shirt so I can see the bruising.” She reached out to unbutton his clothes.

Knowing that her fingers would simply pass through the illusion, and cause a very embarrassing situation, Jaden quickly withdrew the tiny flow of magic from his glamourweave kerchief. It was dark enough that she wouldn’t immediately see his features changing, he hoped. He stopped her when she had unbuttoned enough to see where he had dressed his wound. Jaden didn’t want her to see anything else he was hiding underneath his shirt.

Mirena didn’t make any comment, but focused on her task and gently probed the bandage with her hands. When she saw the patches of dried blood, she shook her head sadly.

“Jaden, you should have told me you had been injured,” she admonished him as she carefully removed the strips of cloth.

“It wasn’t that bad, Rena. Just scratches,” he lied. The torn skin on his side told another story.

She moved her mouth in a silent prayer to her god, and a soft glow around her symbol of faith seemed to chase all the pain away. After a little while the only sign of the previous wound was dry smears of blood on his stomach.

“I’m worried about you, Jaden. You look so thin.” Her hand rested on his waist. She couldn’t see his face clearly in the unlit room, but Jaden’s amber eyes could make out every crease of concern on his friend’s.

“I’m okay, Rena. I promise,” he spoke softly. “Thank you for patching me up.”

She left it at that, and left him alone in the darkness.

When he was by himself again, he tore the kerchief off his head and stared at it angrily. He couldn’t decide whether it had been worth it or not. After a while, his irritation subsided and gave way to resignation. He felt the soft silk slip through hands and fall down on his healed stomach. He would have to wear it for the rest of his life, until he found a way to reverse what was happening to him. A way to cheat fate.

He tied the cloth around his head again, and let the remaining trickle of magic return to it. He had no mirror nearby, but his hands filled out as he willed his image back into what it should have been. He couldn’t help himself, though, and let his hands travel up his chest until they bumped into the small swells there. There had to be a way. There just had to.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, such a mundane and reliable thing, but the simple act of sunrise touched him especially deeply that morning. Yesterday had been filled with worry and pain, with fear and death, and here the world just continued along as if it hadn’t meant anything. Sometimes Jaden envied people like Mirena, people who held to faith that strongly. He didn’t know what it felt like, to put your trust in something greater than yourself like that. Every child growing up in Talraman was taught from the moment they could walk that you could trust only in three things in life: your family, your spirit, and the mountain.

Mystics were either born into the tradition in the mountain citadel, or they came from outside, seeking to train under the masters of Talraman. Those who grew up there knew the close bond of their family, echoing the sentiments of togetherness from the time of the wars when the only thing they had were each other. While the living generations hadn’t seen those days, the stories were a part of their blood. You should trust in your family.

As the Mystic initiate grew up and completed her spirit quest, she became a true member of the tradition. The bond between Mystic and spirit was as close to sacred as the Lacunai understood the word. Of all the possible spirits in the dreaming world this one matched your inner nature most, and that allowed your soul to merge with it, becoming something stronger than either of the parts. You should trust in your spirit.

Talraman, the stronghold, the citadel, the heart of the Mystic tradition. It was the one permanent fixture in a life dedicated to change. Above all else, you must trust in the mountain. Jaden tore his eyes from the rising sun and wiped away a tear, whether from the bright light or from a painful memory.

“Everyone ready?” Stann checked the straps on his saddle once more out of habit. “After the hornet’s nest we’ve stirred up, it’ll be good for us to stay clear of Tier for a while.”

“Especially the south gate,” Rhyce added with a sidelong glance at the Northern warrior.

“I agree,” Mirena nodded. “When we confronted the nethermancer, he bragged about how many they were. I doubt they’ll be able to maintain their hold here without him, but enough of their ilk remains that we’d have to look over our shoulders.”

“Also, I understand that the kidnapped maids of the Green Raven ended up in safe hands?” Stann glanced at Oleander, who smirked back. “Something about thugs from the Whitewater cartel making a complete mess out of an alehouse controlled by the Sons in the harbour districts?”

“Maybe so, maybe no. Who knows? Let’s just say that someone told someone else an interesting fact or two about the Sons.” The redhead shrugged innocently. Oleander felt it had been worth giving up a very generous letter of credit and a parcel of quality black zalach. She liked those girls, and didn’t want anything bad happening to them. They had even tried helping her bribe the inn’s cat once.

Jaden looked at the wagon they had borrowed from the cousins’ clansman. Oleander wasn’t quite ready to ride on her own yet, seemingly channelling all her energy into her mouth she sat slumped against the side rails. Kellen had just dragged himself out of bed, put his pack in the wagon, and gone straight back to sleep in it. He had been going for two days on little rest or food, and would need some time to return to his normal self.

“Jaden? Would you like to ride in the wagon as well?” Mirena gave him a pointed look. She had seen his injuries last night before she asked her god to heal him. The wounds had closed, and only some minor bruising showed how he had nearly been severed in two by the nethermancer’s spells.

“Thank you, Rena, but I’m fine. I really am,” he assured her. She looked a little sceptical, but let it slide for now.

Mirena went back to securing her sword next to her saddle. One of the workers going through the ruin of the Sons’ hideout had found her temple-made blade amongst the rubble. It was very dear to her, and she had thanked the blushing man profusely. It was the one thing in the world she had earned by virtue of her own hard work.

Stann took the reins to the wagon and hopped up on the bench. He had helped driving similar wagons back home, and was as close to an expert the group had on such things. As long as he could keep it on the road there would be no complaints from anyone.

With a wave of farewell, they left Rothald and his family. Despite their initial refusals, claiming that they gladly helped another member of the clan, Stann had given them some coin as thanks. It was the least they could do for the hospitality and the extra laundry.

Both Mirena and Jaden remained tense as they rode the same path as they had done the other day. She caught him looking at her, and smiled in return. This time there would be no cultists waiting for them at the corner.

They had started early, to avoid the crowded streets that always happened in the late morning. The ride to their destination up the coast, Rosehaven, would also take two or more days. Most of them didn’t particularly enjoy spending the nights outdoors, though as summer was coming it was much more pleasant. Jaden recalled how they had been stuck in a ruin deep in a forest for the better part of a week during a particularly heavy period of snow last winter. It had been one of the coldest things he had ever experienced in his life. Never before had his fire magic been that popular.

As they reached the north gate that would take them to the road into Alband, Mirena slowed down and looked back at her home. She was Tierborn, and it always pained her a little to leave her golden city.

“Come on, milady, we have many miles to go before you can claim homesickness!” Stann laughed from the wagon, and took the lead with a snap of the reins.

“Stand tall and shine, towers of Tier,” Mirena whispered as she urged her horse to catch up with her friends.

The changes in the scenery were gradual, but they hadn’t travelled far before they saw the unmistakable rolling hills of Alband. Further north the trees would begin, stretching out into the famously deep forests. Even further north the evergreens would take up a larger proportion, eventually replacing the deciduous trees. They wouldn’t need to go that far, though. Rosehaven was one of the closest villages — small town, really — to Tier. Even with the slower moving wagon, they should be there by tomorrow evening if the weather held up. Alband was notorious for sudden rains.

Rhyce had long since gone on ahead, ever acting the scout. The rest of the group rode on in relative silence, except for Jaden and Mirena sometimes exchanging some words.

“I didn’t think of you when I said that,” Mirena suddenly confessed. She looked uncomfortable.

“Said what?” Jaden was confused. They had been talking about the Rosehaven temple a while earlier, so her change of subject came as a surprise.

“When we were held by the Sons of Husk, I was prepared to give my life if it meant stopping their plans, and saving innocent lives.” She looked at her riding gloves. “I didn’t mean to include you in that. I didn’t even think of it at the time.”

“Mirena, that’s alright. After rolling it around a little in my head… In a way, I’m even a bit honoured.” Jaden gave her a reassuring smile he even felt. It was good to be honest for once.

“What do you mean?” Now it was her turn to look confused.

“It means that you, at some level, treated me like you would any other knight of your order. I didn’t feel you were sacrificing me. I felt like I was your peer.”

“That’s… Jaden, that’s a very kind thing to say, but I-“ she began. He interrupted her by shaking his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Lady Kaladon,” he joked, using an outrageous Tier nobleman accent.

“As you say, Sir Tarasov,” she laughed as he did a poor imitation of a knightly salute. They rode on in silence, but with light hearts.

As lunch came, even the skyspire of Tier had disappeared behind the hills of Alband. They stopped by the side of the road, and brought out the food Darya had thoughtfully provided them with. It was simple and hearty, just like the people of the North liked it. The midday sun and the fresh winds coming in from the sea made it easy to forget that they were still on a very important mission.

Kellen had woken up a couple of hours ago, probably from his cousin’s poor wagon-driving. After they had stopped for lunch, the two had been rather excited about something they had found tucked away in the wagon next to the feeding bags for their horses. Apparently, their clansman back in Tier had left them a parting gift.

Among the various bags and packs in the wagon, was the otherwise inconspicuous sack containing their dreadful cargo. Jaden and Kellen found themselves side by side and staring at it when they were rearranging the load.

“We should probably do something about this. It doesn’t feel safe to leave it in the sack like that. One touch was all it took to almost kill Oleander,” Jaden craned his head back to look at the head and shoulders taller rune seeker.

“Hmm. Now that we won’t have to consider its influence on our little fox over there, I could probably use a more powerful rune of warding. Like in the legend ‘the Hall of the Mountain King’, where Tyron Wolfstone hid the giant king’s sadness inside his shield.” Kellen always had a special timbre in his voice when he spoke of the Northmen’s stories.

“I think I’ve heard that one, actually,” Jaden realised. “You want to hide something terrible inside a normal object. Well, if your runes can do that, what’s stopping us?”

“Power, mostly. Don’t get me wrong, Jaden; I’m as strong as they come, but sealing away evil is often left to a circle of shamans back home.”

“Is it because the spell requires the extra magic?” Jaden didn’t have a whole lot of that to offer until his debts to the salamander had been repaid.

“It’s more to overcome the power of the artefact, in this case. Mirena and I together were just barely enough to give Oleander a fair fight.”

“Well, we’re not trying to break it, just create a container that will make it safe enough to handle. What if the artefact wasn’t as strong anymore?”

“How do you mean?” Kellen crossed his arms, interested in what the young Mystic had to say.

“The artefact is a ritual focus, right?” Jaden watched the Northman nod. “That means it has its own repository of death magic.”

Kellen nodded again and waved him on. The debate was merely academic so far.

“If I can… weaken its magic,” Jaden reflexively glanced to the sides. He knew nobody nearby would be able to connect the dots, but years of having secrecy drilled into him was hard to ignore. “If I can lower its strength, you should be able to complete your seal, right?”

“Certainly. But it begs the question… if you could do this, why didn’t you from the start?” Kellen had a bushy eyebrow raised, not in accusation but in honest interest.

“I didn’t really know what we were getting into at the time,” Jaden shifted his weight around a bit, and then added with a mumble. “And various other reasons…”

“I see. Well, let me dig up my old sealing runes and we shall see what we can do.”

As Kellen busied himself with going through his many belt pouches for the tools of his trade, Jaden began a series of mental exercises. It was almost like how he opened himself to the pulse of magic that flowed through the world, how he could distinguish the threads of different styles. It was similar to that, but instead of opening his inner eyes, he reached out with his inner hands.

The very core of the Lacunai tradition was in understanding the flow and form of magic. Making a bond to allow that magic to run both ways between themselves and the target of their pact was just one expression of this; a historically recent addition, in fact. In older days, there had been no pact, no mutual benefit. The Lacunai had simply taken what they wanted. That had led to strained relationships with greater entities, and most of the other magical societies of the world. Accords had been made and enforced to make sure those days didn’t repeat themselves. This didn’t mean the technique wasn’t still taught, though, just that it must remain a last resort.

“I have what I need. Do you want to attempt this before we sit back up? The others are still cleaning up after our lunch.” Kellen had returned, and cast a broad shouldered shadow over the back of the wagon.

Instead of answering, Jaden set his Mystics’ sight on the carefully wrapped obsidian skull. He could almost see it through the burlap cloth. The strands of darkness were coiled tightly inside the bag. Hatred of life just out of sight.

“Siphon.” Jaden held out his hands with his fingers splayed toward the bag, almost as if he was catching something thrown at him. In a way, he was. The dark strands began to vibrate and jerk. One by one they slipped free of the icon and trickled toward his outstretched hands.

Kellen couldn’t see anything, but he saw the look of concentration on his friend’s face. He heard a faint, ghostly moaning in the air. Something was happening, that was sure.

“Do it now, Kellen. I’m contesting it for its magic,” Jaden spoke through clenched teeth. He had handled nethermancy before, but he could never get used to the oily feeling. That was probably a good thing. The dark threads coiled in a thick web around his hands.

The rune seeker didn’t drag his feet, but placed his inscribed stones in a circle around the bag. With the remaining two runes in either hand, Kellen called upon the power of the land to imprison this blight upon the world. The ground underneath them yielded a clump of clay that engulfed the skull, bag and all. Kellen completed the seal with a warding rune drawn on the hardening surface of the melon-sized sphere.

“It’s done. This should hold more than long enough for us to deliver it to the temple. Likely, it will hold for hundreds of years. Well done, Jaden.” Kellen reached out to give the shorter man a friendly pat on the shoulder. Jaden quickly backed away from him, and shook his head in warning. “Jaden?”

“I’m holding quite a lot of really dark magic, Kel. I need to get rid of it before I’m safe to be around.” Jaden kept holding his hands out, as if he was handling a poisonous snake. They looked around the campsite. There was the road they came on, and further inland pastures and farms would appear. Toward the sea, a small cliff led down to a rocky beach.

“As good as any place, I suppose?” Kellen nodded toward the craggy shore.

Jaden walked up to the edge of the cliff, as Kellen remained behind. He didn’t enjoy heights at all, even small ones. With a shake of his hands he released the black strands he had caught, and they ran like thick tar down on the sand and pebbles of the beach. Jaden could see how some grass and tiny seaside flowers wilted as the taint left him. Nature would recover, given time.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” he said as they returned to the wagon and their friends.

“But our work is done. We won’t have to worry about accidentally triggering that evil thing now,” Kellen raised his hand toward his friend hesitantly.

“It’s alright, Kel. You can touch me now.” Jaden said before he realised how it might sound.

Oleander peeked up from on top of the wagon and gave them an innocent look.

“Have you boys been touching each other?”

“Shut up, Ollie.”

It had been a slow day, which they had welcomed. They had met a couple of other travellers along the northbound road as they rode deeper into Alband, but most had been farmers on errands, though a couple had been pilgrims on their way back from the Rosehaven temple. A true follower of the five gods made a point to visit all of the established temples during their lifetime, a pilgrimage that could take quite a while to complete which is why most did it in portions.

As evening caught up with them they once more took to the side of the road to set up their camp for the night. It was a nice enough place with a small group of trees nearby where they found a small stack of firewood. A considerate previous occupant must’ve left some for them, and as the Northmen began to start a fire Rhyce spent most of the evening replacing what they had taken with freshly cut pieces that he would leave out to dry for the next visitors.

Oleander sat on the back of the wagon and watched the men make everything ready. She was still feeling a little off, but that was just to be expected, she guessed. From her perch, she could see the archer tirelessly chopping new wood for the fire.

“Hey, Jay?” She called out, and saw the black-haired Mystic stepping into the light of the fire. Where had he been going? “Do you think Rhyce is looking a little bit happier than usual?”

“I’m not sure I see any difference,” Jaden admitted after they had watched Rhyce working for a while.

“Well, clearly I’m a better judge of human behaviour than you are, pointy-ears,” Oleander decided, swinging her legs a bit as she sat on the edge of the wagon.

“I’m not an elf, Ollie.”

“Yeah, sure,” she waved her hands dismissively at her friend. “Do you know what I think?”

“It’s one of my greatest fears,” Jaden teased back.

“I think he missed the outdoors. You know how at home in the wilds he is. All this being cooped up in cities made him grumpy. Grumpier.” Oleander’s analysis was flawless.

“Actually, the reason he’s so happy is because of how quiet everything was when you was unconscious. He got to rest his ears for most of two days!” Jaden explained how it really was.

The redhead stuck her tongue out at her friend. They noticed how the sound of chopping had stopped, and looked over at Rhyce. He was watching them across the campsite, and slowly raised his hand in a thumbs-up gesture. He had heard every word. Oleander couldn’t help but blush a little. It was easy to forget just how keen that man’s hearing was.

While Jaden and Oleander was arguing as usual, the cousins had taken it upon themselves to handle the supper. They had caught some fat and sleepy Albander hares earlier that day, and busied themselves by the fire. While they were preparing the meal, an old song from the North came to their lips. It was something their grandmother had used to sing when she was cooking, and it brought back memories of home. Kellen brought out the cooking pots to begin this family recipe.

Mirena had just finished taking care of her armour when she saw them huddled together. Having the Northmen do the cooking was almost as bad as leaving it to Oleander. Last time they promised a truly Northern experience, they had simply stuck a few knives into a roasted boar and claimed that dinner was served. To this day they still claim that was a much beloved, traditional fare in their homelands. How the entire culture hadn’t succumbed to malnutrition by now was beyond her.

They must’ve sensed her watching them, and eagerly beckoned her closer.

“Fear not, milady! We’re not above accommodating the needs of our delicate southern neighbours. We brought some greens this time!”

Mirena inspected the selection. The row of bottles wearing Northern markings did not make her happy.

“This is kulsu, Stann. That’s beer. Not vegetables.”

“Though partially made from vegetables, yes?” Stann looked much too cheerful. She gave him a hard look.

“You have got to be joking. Kellen, please talk some sense into your cousin.”

Both men looked at each other with childlike innocence, and shrugged.

“Clearly she doesn’t appreciate the essence of true Northern cooking, Stann.” Kellen shook his head sadly.

“Now, look here-“ Mirena began. Kellen leaned back and nodded toward the second pot with carrot and potato stew already prepared to be put over the fire.

She stared at it for a little bit, her expression softening.

“You two are really hilarious when you have too much time on your hands. Never change, you brutes.” She kissed their heads and returned to making sure her sword and shield were still in good shape. The cousins chuckled, and continued skinning and cleaning the hares.

Oleander watched all this from the wagon, and smiled. It was good to be with her friends again.

Jaden sat back and closed his eyes. After supper, Kellen had taken to reciting the legend of the Tyron Wolfstone, inspired by their earlier talk. The story he was painting with words came alive in Jaden’s imagination. The Northman had a wonderful voice, both deep and clear. It was as if the words that left his mouth didn't bother to go through your ears, but directly into your heart. He could listen to Kellen talk for hours.

It was a story of the North, a brave hero, a perilous quest, an evil foe - and the love interest, of course. Though, as was the tradition, she was hardly mentioned after she left the hero's sight. She didn’t really matter in the story. Jaden grimaced a bit, then wondered about why he felt the way he did. After a while, he pushed the whispers of confusion deeper back out of his mind, and tried to listen to the tale instead. Even if he didn't like the story, he enjoyed the telling of it.

To the other side of the fire sat the knight. She was barely listening to Kellen’s story, being a bit lost in her own thoughts.

"Hey girl. How are you holding up after all that business in Tier?" Oleander eased herself down next to Mirena with a sigh. She still wasn't back to full strength. Whatever that curse had done to her, it had really left a lasting impression. They had told her that it was probably a killing curse, and that she only had her freckled luck to thank that they had been able to pull her back from the threshold.

Mirena smiled at the redhead. She was happy she wasn't the only woman in the group.

"There is no need to worry about me, Oleander. Telum grants me strength, and my injuries have long since faded." Mirena had loosened her braid, and was brushing her hair out for the evening.

"I wasn't talking about those kinds of hurts, panzer-panties." Oleander leaned over and held her hand over Mirena's heart. "Those gnollspit sods held you for hours. I don't want to think about what they did to you two."

The knight let her hand fall down to her lap, and turned the brush around a few times.

"It was bad. I knew they wouldn't let us go, even if you gave them the skull. I accepted that we might not leave that place alive... but I was still afraid."

Oleander brought them together with a one-armed hug across the shoulder.

"It's okay. You're still human. It's alright to feel. No matter how much steel you carry around to prove your point, you're still a person on the inside."

"Thank you, I guess. You're still not very good at these kinds of talks, though." Mirena smiled. Oleander rolled her eyes. "You're looking brighter, however. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. Still feel a little faint, so no upside down action for me for another few days, I think."

"You know, I definitely recall asking you to let Jaden inspect the skull before you grabbed it." Mirena scolded gently. She was a kind person at heart, but she also had a need to rub things in from time to time.

"He did! He totally did, and said it was alright to take. I guess he could've said 'a blighted mistake', but why would he talk like that?"

The women turned and looked at Jaden, sitting with Stann and Rhyce while Kellen was standing before the fire to deliver the legend.

"What did you do, Jay?" Stann wondered.

"Eh? What?"

"The girls are glaring at you."

Was she dreaming again?

She almost bumped into someone when she turned around.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. The crowd pressed against her as she made her way back to the table. There were many chairs, but only a single person was waiting for her.

"Did you have any trouble?" A hand went up to brush the black hair down over the pointed ears.

Oleander set down the tankards she carried in either hand. Her fingers had itched as she moved through that crowd. If she hadn't had her hands full, she would have been sorely tempted to lighten someone's purse.

"I asked around, but the barkeep didn't know of any other adventuring sorts that were between jobs." She sighed and sat down. Jay reached over and slid one of the tankards closer.

"Well, that's alright. We've been doing fine on our own so far. We can continue doing our thing, Red."

"You and me against the world, Jay?" She smiled a little. She didn't mind that idea too much.

"That was a little unintentionally sappy, wasn't it?" He laughed, and took a long drink. It hurt her a bit, but she was used to not letting it show.

"Heh, yeah. I meant that we'll be fine. A few fighting types wouldn't be bad to have, but at least we can outwit anything we go up against, right?"

"Definitely, and if it comes to it, there's nothing my spirit sorcery can't defeat. Just believe in me, Ollie, and I'll keep us safe." He gave her a full smile this time. She leaned over and brushed some ale foam from his mouth.

"I do," she said, softly. "I do believe."

"There's nothing to be afraid of." His voice sounded a little strange. Not bad, but more melodic than she remembered it. There was something about Jay. Almost...

"Are these seats taken?" A Northern accent woke her up, and she looked up at a rugged man holding out one of the chairs for a woman with long, brown hair. Two other men stood behind them, with several tankards of their own.

"No, they're free. Please join us."

The room suddenly felt so bright.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden and his friends arrive at the town of Rosehaven in the kingdom of Alband, and they can finally relinquish the obsidian idol to the temple of Kuros.
With some distance between themselves and their troubles back in Tier, they take a much deserved rest.

Flashback: Rhyce is given the opportunity to turn his life around

---

Chapter 10: Unbroken Rose

RHYCE

It had been a bad idea from the start. Greed and contempt made for bad allies, especially when you added laziness as well. They should have known better.

Rhyce kept his profile low as the fighting continued. For some reason, his arm didn’t feel as steady as before. Whenever he raised his bow, those brown eyes looked back at him; unblinking, but with pity rather than accusation. He slammed his head backward into the tree he was hiding behind, and took a deep breath.

The band had walked into a trap. While spending their stolen silver in one of the many roadside taverns in these parts of the country, rumour had reached their ears of a gold transport coming down one of their usual roads. During the winter, no less. They should have known better. After a couple of years of picking off travellers and merchants, someone had eventually decided to put an end to Enold and his band.

He had been positioned on the rise at the bend of the road as usual, where his arrows could deliver their message with deadly precision. This time it had been different. The caravan had guards like usually lately, but when he took aim at the lead rider he saw a glimmer in the winter light. A golden sword on a chain around her neck.

She had blocked his first arrows with her shield, but the band hadn’t waited to see the effect. They always charged after their Deadeye had let his bowstring speak. It was their signal to attack. But instead of dead guards, Enold’s band had found themselves fighting prepared knights.

He had quickly moved to a different position where he had a free line of fire through the caravan of wagons. She was fighting some of his comrades by herself at the front, still. He followed them with the tip of his arrow, trying to find a clean shot. The fighting was chaotic, and everything moved very fast. The snow around the wagons had begun to turn red.

He could see everything so clearly, even through the gently falling snow. Her sword made a bright arc as it separated one of the bandits from his life. That was his window. He knew could take this shot. That’s when she looked at him. He could see the green eyes find him despite his cover of underbrush. Were her lips moving? The remaining member of the band fighting her tried to take advantage, and swung his hatchet low to get in under her shield. The archer let his arrow fly. Arrows couldn’t lie.

The knight took a step to the side as the bandit fell to the ground, the arrow in his heart a farewell from a former ally.

Rhyce ducked back around his cover and sat with his back to the tree. The fighting continued a while longer, but he already knew what the outcome would be. He was ready, after all. He had been ready ever since digging those two graves next to the large chestnut tree behind his house.

Heavy footsteps snapped twigs, and the sound of metal plates was loud in the winter forest. She had come for him at last. He didn’t bother getting up.

“Did you miss, earlier?” She had an accent he hadn’t heard before. It sounded like marble halls and exotic spices.

“My arrows cannot miss,” he said without pride or humility. It was a fact.

“Why did you kill your friend?”

“He was never my friend. He was just someone who sat next to me.” Rhyce rubbed his closed eyes with a cold hand. He didn’t wear gloves when he fought, despite the cold. He needed to feel the bow in his hand. It made a connection.

She was silent for a while. He could tell she was watching him intently, looking for something only she could see.

“I sense no ill intent in you. I’m going to tell my commander that you were a hunter who happened upon this place and decided to help out.” She turned to tread back down the incline to the road.

“You should tell them the truth. I should hang together with the rest of them for my crimes.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” she said. He could tell she believed that, too.

“No matter how fresh the water if the glass is not clean,” Rhyce answered, but got up nonetheless. He would put his fate in her hands for now.

Summer nights in Alband were pleasant, but could get slightly cool. The country was at the northern edge of the old empire, after all. Beyond Alband was only the area known as the Northern Lands, where ice eventually overtook ground and locked the world in perpetual winter.

Mirena sat by the fire. Her thoughts were on the letter in her hand, rather than her duty to watch the camp while the others slept. Rhyce had woken her up an hour earlier, around midnight, when it had been her time to take the watch. The letter had found its way to the Green Raven inn only two days after they had returned to Tier following their previous journey. Even after more than a year, they still kept track of her. The message had been the same, as had the arrogance. She was more than a negotiation tactic. Why wouldn't they see that?

"Copper for your thoughts, helmet-hair."

Mirena jumped a little, and a hand went automatically to her head. She had, of course, already brushed her hair before going to bed. Old habits were hard to break. Oleander snickered and wrapped a sleeping blanket around herself as she sat down next to the knight. Mirena noticed how the other woman had a strangely happy expression for this time of the night. Maybe she had good dreams for a change?

"What are you reading there?" The redhead asked, not being very subtle about trying to peek.

"Repeated old words, Oleander. A conversation I had nearly two years ago." Mirena sighed, and imagined how easy it would be to just toss the letter into the fire.

"Well, if it's not important, don't worry about it. You'll get wrinkles, and then you'll never be able to seduce Stann."

"What? I'm not-" Mirena blushed slightly. She hadn't even considered the idea. Not before now, that is.

"I'm just teasing you, iron-skirt. You know Stann only has eyes for the elven ladies." Oleander suddenly giggled, and held up two fingers above the sides of her head to make pointy ears. "He's more likely to fall for Jaden than us."

"Good night, you brat," Mirena joked good-heartedly, and went to her waiting bedroll. The letter was still in her hands.

Jaden awoke when someone nudged him roughly. He forced an eye open and saw Rhyce walking away from where Jaden had been sleeping. Judging by the faint light and sounds of others stirring, they had decided on getting an early start to reach Rosehaven by the evening.

He yawned and stretched a little, before sitting up. There had been some dreams, but he couldn’t quite remember what. He just had a lasting impression of something warm, and soft. Jaden blushed slightly and checked his kerchief. It was still secured around his head, in the appearance of a hat. None of the others had commented on him going to sleep still wearing it; but then again, nights around here could get a little chilly. At least now his feet wouldn’t get quite as sweaty with the thick winter socks he had to wear to get his boots to stay on. At least until the sun started bearing down on them again.

The last one to keep watch usually started the breakfast, and this time it was Stann. Their watch schedule often kept Jaden and Rhyce both before midnight. Until the moon rose high enough to shed some light, they were the only ones with any night-vision to speak of. Jaden’s of course being the better of the two, as far as he knew anyway, due to his heritage.

The smell of porridge chased the last bits of sleep from Jaden, and he went out behind the nearby copse of trees to take care of his morning needs. Despite the illusion hiding his form, his hands could still feel the truth underneath. It was a daily reminder that he was running out of time.

When he returned to the rest of group to have his breakfast, he saw Kellen talk with Mirena as they finished up their own meal.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Kellen, but when you decided to… lend your support during our final confrontation with the Sons of Husk, you almost buried Jaden and me alive.” The knight gave the rune seeker a pointed look.

“Now, milady, if you can’t trust a Northman to know how to properly tear down a house, what can you trust?” Kellen smiled slightly, not looking the least bit embarrassed.

“While I have a lot of faith, a worryingly amount as it turns out, in you or Stann’s ability to demolish my home city…” Mirena began, recalling a previous incident.

“Then again, I may have seen fire spreading from a certain part of the building and deduced that a fight involving at least Jaden was happening around that point. I anchored my quake spell on the other side of the house to give you enough time to get away.” As big and strong as Kellen was, it was very easy to forget that he was most likely the smartest person in the group. “Mirena, you don’t give me enough credit, here. I would never recklessly endanger any of you.”

“It’s good to know you’d only carefully endanger us,” Mirena countered with a smile of her own, and got up to see to her gear.

Oleander snickered at the two as she sat down next to Jaden with her own bowl. Oleander always took the time to check her things before she had her breakfast, a habit she picked up from her childhood. She watched Jaden eat for a while, until he looked back at her with mild annoyance.

”So, why do you keep telling people you’re not an elf?” Oleander asked when she had his full attention.

With a sigh, Jaden rubbed a temple a bit before putting down his half-finished breakfast.

”Oh, I don’t know. Because I’m NOT an elf, maybe?” He replied, making an emphatic expression.

She looked at his ears again. She’d seen a couple of half-elves before, and those ears looked pointy enough. Almost enough for most full-blooded elves, as well, come to think of it.

”Well, you’re clearly not orcish, that’s for sure,” she pondered.

Instead of answering directly, Jaden leaned in a little closer.

”Do you want to know the funny thing about this?” He asked, as he tugged his hat down a bit to cover his ears again.

”I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Oleander quipped, biting back a wittier retort.

”Nobody asks. They just assume I’m elven, or half, or… something. They just make their assumptions, and that’s enough for them. They never just, you know, ask me.” She could tell he was a frustrated about this, but also a little bit wryly amused.

”Okay, alright. I’ll bite. So, if you’re not a treehugging, dandelion eater… what are you?”

Jaden fought the urge to stick his tongue out at his friend.

”I’m a mutt. We’ve got all sorts of things in my family tree,” he began. It wasn’t unusual among the Lacunai. Their close connection with some of the other intelligent, magical races created very peculiar lineages. Add the Mystic drift, the way they eventually assumed traits of their primal spirit, and it was anyone’s guess how the next generation would turn out.

”Anything elven?” Oleander couldn’t resist.

”Shut up. Do you want me to tell you or not?” He shoved her a bit, but not hard enough to make her spill her breakfast.

”Fine. No elves.”

”Well, there might’ve been elves,” Jaden admitted reluctantly. He vaguely remembered his father mentioning an ancestor’s liaisons with a certain Sorunese sorcerer.

”I knew it! You go around, shouting from the rooftops that you’re not an elf — and what am I hearing, now?” Oleander smirked, in her mind victorious.

”I didn’t- I never-!” He protested, waving his hands around. Oleander leaned back with a spoonful of food in her mouth, but held up a finger in the air. ”Well, okay. Maybe that one time. But Stann wouldn’t stop asking me about elven courting rituals, even as we were about to burst into the assassins’ headquarters!”

”Good times,” Oleander reminisced, stirring her spoon dreamily. ”But in his defence, that elven barmaid was really cute.”

”The redhead?” Jaden picked up his own food. It was getting a little cold.

”No, the one with the raven tresses, back by the tradegate,” she explained. ”Though, he flirts with all the elven girls, doesn’t he? Lucky for you, you’re a guy!”

Oleander had tilted her head back to get the last out of her cup of traveling ale, and didn’t catch Jaden’s twitch. However, she did note that his usual reply came a little slower.

”I’m not an elf!”

The weather held out just barely as they continued along the northbound coast road toward Rosehaven. Clouds had come in from the sea, and it was very likely it’d rain during the evening or night. The more weather-wise of the group agreed that it should remain dry until they reached the town, however.

Jaden didn’t really know from just looking at the clouds. The climate back in the mountains had been different than here at the seaside border. The Mystics used magic in so many of their mundane activities, he often felt a little handicapped when in rural areas. Even things as simple as heating water, or taking care of waste, became a lot more complicated than simply using spells to manage everything.

He rode in the back behind the wagon so he could keep Oleander company when she needed a break from talking with Stann at the driver’s bench. Fortunately, they seemed to be deep in a conversation about what Rhyce and the merry Northman had been up to while the redhead was sleeping. That suited Jaden just fine, since he didn’t really feel like talking too much at the moment.

He had felt off ever since having to resort to his inner spirit a couple of days ago. Out of balance with himself, both physically and emotionally. He tried to clear his thoughts by going through the mental exercises that had been taught to all the initiates back in Talraman. The spirit was an ally, and a guide on your path to power. It couldn’t control you, but you had to be aware of how the drift could subtly change the way you viewed the world. Jaden swallowed the horror he felt when he considered what that would mean for him.

At the front of the group was Rhyce, riding ahead as usual. He was silent too, but for other reasons. Unlike Jaden, he paid very close attention to his instincts. Every mile along this road brought his thoughts back to his past, however.

Rhyce looked a bit distracted when Mirena urged her horse into pace next to him. She had left the cousins back by the wagon to entertain Oleander, so she felt she should see what was up with the group’s scout.

"What weights on you, my friend?" Mirena asked, as she nudged her horse closer to Rhyce's.
The archer let his gaze linger on the road for a little while.

"I'm reminded of home whenever we visit these kinds of villages."

Mirena considered the tone of his voice, a little hushed, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"What was it like?" Her question caused another pause.

"Much like Rosehaven will be, I imagine. A close community, but not closed. Welcoming travellers and the stories they bring. Honest neighbours. Good people."

"It sounds like a lovely place to grow up"

"It was a place that was hard to leave. But sometimes things... changes happen. Now it's only a home in my memories."

Mirena gave Rhyce a gentle smile. She knew what that felt like. She also felt she knew what to say at a time like this.

"I know this man. He is always full of wise counsel and old sayings. I wonder what he'd say?"

Rhyce lowered his head, and his lips twitched in a hidden smile of his own.

"I imagine he'd say something akin to 'You cannot heal a bleeding wound by cutting a new one'."

"That sounds like him. Would you take that advice?"

"I just might, Mirena." Rhyce nodded, and sat a little straighter. The wind swept back the light brown hair out of his face.

Before Mirena let her horse fall back to the rest of the group, she saw that his eyes once more looked towards the horizon, but now focused rather than wistful.

The hills that marked the southern parts of Alband continued inlands as they moved on along the coastal road. Farmlands spread out as far as they could see, here where the country was at its flattest. Most of the grain and produce in Alband came from this area along the border to Olmar and Tier, as the forests grew thicker the further north you got.

While they rode on, Kellen talked a bit about the latest military campaign the North had waged against Alband some generations ago, and how the south country had been generally spared from the effects. But closer to the northern border feelings still remained as people remembered the stories their grandparents had told them about the fighting. Alband had treaties with the North now, though, allowing merchants to cross the border freely. It wasn’t strange, though, that most of them continued through the country to sell their wares in Tier. Sometimes they weren’t made to feel welcomed in the upper country. A few generations weren’t quite enough to make the countries forget.

Had they been born in earlier times, Stann and Kellen would have been expected to join in the fighting, instead of peacefully traveling through the countryside. Fortunately for them, these days the clans’ attention were more focused on keeping back any advancement made by the orc tribes from the mountain area of the North.

The coastal road was well made, being one of the main routes connecting the northern continent to the south through Tier. It went straight, and was in good repair. Jaden felt this was impressive, since he recalled that the main source of stone in Abland was from the mountain range that defined the natural north-western border of the kingdom. They must bring material all the way across the country, which explained most structures in Alband were wooden and not stone. Jaden was so caught up with his thoughts that he didn’t first notice as they crested a gentle hill and the town of Rosehaven spread out before them.

Rosehaven, named in part after the rebel group that eventually brought about the independence of Alband from imperial rule over a hundred years ago, was just large enough to be called a town in its own right. As the local stories told it, the Circle of the Rose was formed by a couple of displaced nobles, some guildsmen, and a pair of magicians. They hid their operations right here in Rosehaven, even as the empire built one of their temples in the town to mark the expansion of the realm.

These days, the temple of Kuros was a welcome part of the town, but the priests had to struggle many years before they finally became accepted. Today, the Five Temples faith had spread throughout all of Alband, even as the empire had collapsed all those years ago.

The temple was by far the most recognisable part of Rosehaven. The stonework alone was enough to set it apart, but the style was, as with all the temples, decidedly Etrian. It had been built further inlands than the town, but over the years the former village had grown and began to close the distance.

The rest of Rosehaven was as could be expected of an Albander town: mostly two-storied wooden houses with slightly slanted and tiled roofs. Most houses were painted white or blue, the colours of their flag, but there were some exceptions. It was a welcome contrast from the tall stone buildings of Tier.

“Let’s see about our lodgings,” Stann spoke up as they led their horses and wagon through the streets. The townspeople they passed gave them friendly nods or looks. They were clearly used to strangers passing through here, being along the major trade road. “There’s got to be an inn somewhere around here.”

“Looks like there’s a marketplace up ahead,” Oleander peered from her seat in the wagon. “I bet there’s one right there. Always is.”

“While you see about that, I will continue on toward the temple. Let’s not keep this thing around any longer than we have to. Warded or not, it’s an evil thing we should be rid of.” Mirena pointed toward a street heading west, leading up to the temple at the fringes of the town.

“I never had the chance to visit it when we came down from the North,” Kellen said, gingerly picking up the clay sphere from the wagon. “We took a different road. I’d like to accompany you this time, though.”

“You’re welcome to do so, Kellen. I would probably need your knowledge as we explain our experience with the idol, anyway.” Mirena nodded, and handed her reins to Rhyce. “We’ll be back as soon as we have handled this matter.”

“Don’t get into any fights without us, Rena!” Stann chuckled. The Five Temples were of one faith, true, but the followers of the gods sometimes didn’t see eye to eye with members from a different temple. Kuros, the sheltering hand, was quite far from Telum, the sword of heaven.

“Guess that leaves us to do all the unpacking,” Oleander groaned from where she had slacked the entire day.

“And by ‘us’, you mean ‘not you’?” Jaden commented as they brought their horses around the marketplace toward the larger building the redhead had spotted earlier.

“Well, clearly. I’m still sick, see?” She coughed a few times. “I shouldn’t be part of any strenuous activities, after all!”

“You’re going to be absolutely unbearable about all this, aren’t you?”

Oleander just smiled, and held a hand to her forehead in a dramatic gesture of weakness. Jaden shook his head, but couldn’t help but laugh a little too. She could be so over the top when she wanted something. Or, didn’t want to do something, as the case often was.

“’Connor’s Well’? That sounds promising.” Stann stopped outside the inn, and waved a stable boy closer. “Can you show us were to put our horses and wagon, lad?”

The boy, with the common dark blonde hair in an unruly mop, took them around the inn to a large stable made to hold several wagons at a time. The inn was clearly prepared to deal with merchant travellers. There was already another wagon and several horses stabled, showing that they wouldn’t be the only guests at the Well tonight.

The inn was a big place, they noted as they stepped through the door. The common room with several round tables was made larger by the high ceiling that reached the second floor. A couple of separate rooms faced the indoor balcony, allowing groups to have some privacy if they wanted to. It was easy to imagine over fifty patrons at once without anyone having to stand unless they wanted to.

“Welcome to the Well, travellers. I’m Emik, the keeper,” the easy-going man offered his hand to Stann, who had walked in first. “What can I offer you this evening?”

“We need room for six people, and food for twelve!” Stann obviously liked what he saw when he looked around the room. The smells coming from the kitchen reminded them all that it had been a long time since their lunch, as well.

“We’ve got some other guests tonight. Are you alright with doubling up in your rooms?” Emik led them toward the long table that served both as a place for the locals to drink, as well as his office.

“That’s what we usually do,” the Northman answered truthfully. Over a year of fighting together, travelling together, and sleeping in the same camp made them used to it. It also offered some extra safety, in case something happened. It wasn’t as if they had anything to hide from one another.

“Good! Then I won’t have to feel like a poor host for having you do that.” The innkeeper laughed easily, and looked at the rest of his new guests. “By how your little lady there keeps staring at the kitchen, I’m going to get the cook started on those twelve suppers. Just hold on here for a minute, and I’ll take you to your rooms afterwards.”

“I wasn’t staring. I was inspecting,” Oleander told Jaden as the innkeeper left them alone. “Because I’m keen and pay attention.”

“Your stomach just growled at me, Ollie.” Jaden was holding both their packs, so he was allowed to tease her.

The other men had double loads as well. Stann had carried his cousins as well as his own, and Rhyce had grabbed Mirena’s without a comment. After a short while, Emik returned from the kitchen with a smile.

“Food is being prepared, my hungry travellers! But let’s get you sorted first, shall we?” He gestured toward the stairs. “Room are all on the second floor, just down the hallway next to the private rooms.”

Emik took the lead and showed them where a number of doors led to the guestrooms. One of theirs was next to the private area, but luckily there were no parties going on this evening. It was easy to imagine sound carrying through those inner walls.

Stann slapped Jaden on the back, and pointed at one of the rooms.

“I’ll share rooms with the lad,” he said. “I don’t have any plans on listening to my cousin snore all night!”

“Thanks,” Rhyce murmured drily, since that meant he would end up with the rune seeker.

“And this’ll be the ladies room,” Oleander picked the one furthest down the hall, away from any noise coming from the common room. She grabbed Mirena’s pack from the archer and stepped inside to look around.

“I thought you said you shouldn’t carry anything, Ollie?” Jaden still had her bags.

“I’m carrying hers. That’s completely different,” she shouted from inside the room.

“That armour must be heavy, though?” He wondered.

“Incredibly!” There was a thump from inside the room as she dropped the bag with the plate mail on the floor.

It had a strange duality, the temple. It looked both out of place and as if it belonged. It wasn’t anything they could put their fingers on right away, but somehow it had become a part of the town despite the foreign design. It sat on a low hill, giving it a slight view of the town and the harbour.

Mirena recognised the style of the Five Temples, the pillars and arches so common to imperial buildings. Her own temple in Tier was a lot like this one, only bigger and with a large courtyard for arms training. There would be no squires with swords here, though. While the Sheltering Hand priests weren’t exactly pacifists, it wasn’t in their calling to bring more violence into the world.

When they passed the great doors into the temple proper, doors that were never closed, they saw two different groups of pilgrims as well as a couple of local families.

“The temple of Kuros sees to the health and wellbeing of all,” she spoke softly. “These people are probably here for healing or perhaps a burial.”

“Digging your fallen into the ground is just a bad practice, Mirena. The brave dead should get a proper farewell,” Kellen replied, comparing the imperial culture the temples brought here with his own.

“We don’t burn our people, Kellen. We return them to the land.”

Before they could get into a debate on burial customs, an acolyte approached them. She was young enough to be Kellen’s daughter, but wore the robes of a priest in training. A cloth cap with long sides hid her hair, but her eyes were of that light-brown common to south Alband.

“What brings you into the safety of the Hand, good people?” She asked.

“We are here to see Prelate Matrick. He should be expecting us. Please tell him we brought what he requested,” Mirena answered. She wore the symbol of her god openly: her presence did the rest.

“Of course, Paladin. I’ll tell him right away.” The girl hurried away toward one of the doors leading further into the temple.

While they waited, Kellen studied the frescoes on the walls. They told stories with pictures about the five gods of the temple, but focused mainly on the merciful healer Kuros. He couldn’t help but notice that the required painting of Telum was to the side where most visitors wouldn’t see it until they left.

“Paladin Kaladon! I’m happy you made it here safely,” an older man with thinning hair came up to them, and offered his greetings. He looked kind and fatherly, and wore the ceremonials of priest of the order.

“We had some setbacks, Prelate, but we prevailed.” Mirena turned to Kellen. “You remember Kellen Winterheart, our rune seeker?”

“Yes, of course. Hard man to forget, aren’t you?” The Albander priest had to crane his head to look the Northman in the eyes. He then looked down at the runemarked clay sphere in Kellen’s hands. “Is… that it?”

“Ah, yes. We took some precautions after an early mishap that almost cost us one of our own,” Kellen explained. “It should be perfectly safe to handle, but you are most welcome to do, uh, whatever you wish to secure it further.”

The priest took a final look at the object and shivered a little inside. Such a small thing had caused so much suffering. It was an honour to be part in keeping that thing away from the rest of the world.

“Let’s take it to the temple reliquary right away,” said the Prelate, and ushered them into the corridor he had arrived from.

Away from the main hall, the decorations gave way to more utilitarian forms. They passed several doors and rooms belonging to the clergy, before turning a corner and seeing a large door at the foot of a short stairs down into the basement of the temple. The doors were guarded by two temple guardians, who were armed and armoured to keep anyone out without the Prelate’s say-so.

Mirena had trained with guardians such as these back in Tier. They were the nonmagical branch of the Temple structure, unlike the priests, but they fought with every bit of the same skill in the protection of their charges. If brought together, she estimated that the Five Temples had a standing armed body the size of a country’s army. Sometimes she wondered if people knew that.

The guardians gave her an acknowledging nod as they were allowed to pass down into the reliquary. They understood that even in a sanctuary for healing, there would be need of a strong arm and a sharp sword.

The basement was slightly cold, and the acolytes on duty soon appeared to take the clay ball from Kellen. Matrick explained the situation to them, and after the exchange they carried it into the depths of the most secure parts of the temple to put it away where all the other treasures, and things never meant for daylight, were kept safe.

“Well,” said Matrick to the two adventurers. “How about we return to my office and we can handle the remaining part of our arrangement?”

“Gladly, Prelate. It will be a weight off my heart to know that this is dealt with.” Mirena agreed, and they returned the way they came. The guardians shut the door to the reliquary with a thump of finality.

The Prelate’s office was a busy place. Stacks of papers and notes were all over his writing desk. Correspondences, announcements, and records lay in scattered heaps. If there was a system to it, it was beyond Mirena’s scope. Kellen shrugged slightly when she looked at him.

“Ah, here we are.” Matrick brought a bulging and clinking sack from a strongbox. “Your reward for a job very well done! You have the gratitude of the Temples, my friends.”

Mirena reached out to touch the bag, but stopped halfway.

“I feel a little bad about accepting payment for a deed my faith drives me to do anyway,” she confessed. Kellen turned around with a slightly worried expression. She had passed up rewards in the past, though not such a lucrative one.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Paladin,” Matrick smiled warmly. “Our temple receives its funds through donations as well as a generous budget from the main temple in Etrana. We would not be able to offer help and hospitality to every visitor without this, after all. All organisations that provide a service needs to finance it somehow, and heroes can’t accomplish their great deeds if they can’t afford to eat.”

“You are correct, Prelate,” Mirena admitted reluctantly.

“My people would be proud of how we take riches away from a southern temple,” Kellen said with a grin. The Northern clans habitually raided places like these during the wartimes.

Mirena looked a little taken aback by his comment, but the priest of Kuros just laughed at the joke in the spirit it was given. Mirena began to smile a little herself when she realised her counterpart hadn’t taken any offense. Kellen shook the bag of coins once again with a wicked expression, and managed to turn that hesitant smile into a laugh. It was times like these she could really tell Stann and Kellen were close kin.

They spent a little longer talking about what had happened in Tier during their struggle against the cult. Mirena explained how the Sons of Husk had a strong presence in the golden city, and she feared how they may have expanded even into Alband. Matrick agreed it would be wise to keep a vigilant eye on any suspicious activity happening along the border communities in the future. When she mentioned that due to their various actions in producing the skull, it might be a good idea for them to avoid Tier for a while, the priest of Kuros had a new offer.

“If you are going to be in the area for the next few weeks, maybe you could look into another matter for me?” Matrick asked, as an acolyte set down a tray of cups and a kettle of freshly made tea.

“Oh? I hope it’s nothing quite as dangerous as this was, Prelate,” Mirena replied, feeling a little more comfortable now that she was getting to know the other priest.

“I honestly don’t know. But please, call me Matrick. This is not official Temple business.” Matrick filled their cups and took a careful sip before continuing. “While I grew up here in the town, before taking my vows to the Temple, I have — like many around these parts — family in nearby villages. My younger brother married a wonderful woman from Redwall, a small logging village in the forest north of here. Lately, the mood in his letters has changed. He isn’t saying anything clearly, but I get the impression that something is not quite right with him and his family.”

Matrick took another sip of the tea to wet his throat.

“When I had the opportunity to do so, I paid them a visit. I was headed there to conduct a wedding ceremony, in any case. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was a tangiable feeling of… foreboding around the village. The people there mostly didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t want to notice as it were, but it felt like a shadow had passed over me when I entered the village proper. It is enough to worry me, and I feel Kuros’ wisdom compels me to seek answers. I will reimburse you for your time out of my own pocket.”

Mirena held her hand up, causing Kellen to groan inside.

“That won’t be necessary, Prela- Matrick. The reward we already have is more than enough to at least look into the situation. Maybe it’s nothing? At the very least, this will perhaps warm up the relations between our orders.”

“I am very grateful to you, lady Kaladon.” The older priest shook their hands before escorting them out of the temple.

When they began to walk back to the town, it sun was already starting to set over the mountains far to the west.

“Don’t tell our little fox that you gave away a potential reward, Mirena. It would hurt her greedy little heart.”

Rosehaven had several small stores and shops, showing that it was a town in its own right, rather than a village with only a single place to get supplies. After having spent a couple of days on the road, there were things they needed to get; especially since their departure from Tier had been a bit hurried, leaving them with little time to prepare. That’s how Jaden found himself together with Oleander and Stann in one of the houses selling traveling gear and other dry goods.

“Oh, this is a true prize! Such beauty.” Stann ran his fingers along the outside of the thing that had caught his eye.

“I’m not sure, Bear,” Jaden gave it a critical look. “I mean, how will you even bring it with you? I can’t see you strapping it to your saddle.”

“We will find a way, little brother. This was meant for us. We can’t just leave it here with these people,” Stann glanced up at the proprietor, who was looking amused. “No offense, good man.”

“Stann… it’s a barrel of beer,” Jaden remarked, and then went back to looking at the boots displayed on a shelf. “We can get that at the inn, surely.”

“This is kulsu, Jay. Northern beer. We can’t pass this opportunity up.”

“It could be a barrel of gold,” Oleander chipped in. She didn’t see anything she needed in here, but it was getting a little late to visit the other shops. “You’re still not going to be able to bring it on your horse.”

“You two lack vision! My cousin will no doubt be able to magic up something to let us carry this wonder with us.” Stann patted the barrel affectionately.

“You know, that’s not a particularly large barrel,” Jaden said as he turned one of the boots around in his hands. “Between the two of you, and any others you drag into the revelry, you should be able to polish it off tonight. We’re going to sleep in tomorrow anyway, right?”

Stann stopped what he was doing, and grabbed Jaden’s shoulders. In the dim light of the shop, nobody saw how the Northman’s fingers sunk through the illusion.

“You… are a genius, little brother! Good man, I will take this barrel!” Stann slapped his coin-pouch down on the counter.

“Very good, sir,” said the man, happy to do business. He raised an eyebrow a little when so many coins fell into his hand. “That’s… quite generous!”

Stann grabbed the barrel of beer in an affectionate hug, and carried it out of the shop. Exchanging a look, the black-haired mystic and the redheaded troublemaker followed.

“What was with you and those shoes in there, by the way, Jay?” Oleander wondered as they crossed the marketplace back to Connor’s Well.

“Oh, the ones I have are just getting a little worn down,” he lied without thinking twice. It was definitely becoming easier.

She glanced down at his boots as he walked through the door first. They looked fine to her, but she didn’t argue the point. She was just happy to have him back.

It was nice to be able to sit back and relax. They treated themselves to a more extravagant meal than usual when they all gathered back at the inn. Most of them had expressed a desire to get a bath as well, but it would take some time to heat the water so Emik suggested that they should just eat first anyway. Mirena grumbled a bit, but eventually they all sat down after just having washed their hands and faces. Most of the men were still in their dusty traveling clothes, although Jaden looked immaculate as always lately.

After they had eaten most of their meal, Oleander couldn’t help herself any longer.

“Okay. Enough is enough. Show me the gold, sister!” She demanded.

“Our reward is in this bag, Oleander. Split six ways, it should still be more than enough, even for you,” the knight patiently explained.

“Don’t forget, I get extra since I had to bribe that old servant, and I lost one of my tools. I want that taken out of Jay’s cut, by the way.”

Jaden rolled his eyes.

“I blame you for that, just so you know,” she pointed out to him.

"Aw, come on! That wasn't my fault!"

"I didn't say it was your fault. I said I was blaming you." She stuck her tongue out at him.

In the end, she ended up with more than her fair share. Oleander often did.

While the two of them were arguing like usual, Kellen had noticed that Stann looked unusually smug for some reason ever since Kellen and Mirena had returned from the temple.

“Alright, cousin of mine, what should I be worried about?”

Stann didn’t say anything, but instead removed his traveling cloak from the previously covered barrel by their feet. He reached down and patted the seal of Strom, their hometown. For a moment, Kellen was loss for words. He even felt some tears well up in his eyes. The cousins shared a very manly moment. Then the women had to ruin it by sighing dramatically.

“Well, that tells me it’s time for us to get our bath, Oleander. This place won’t be safe after the first few tankards,” Mirena dismissed the Northern culture with a wave of her hand. “I’ve got a bath salt and some soaps I’ve been saving for a nice moment, as well.”

“Fine. Abandon us to our merriment, Rena,” Stann complained, then turned to his neighbour by the table. “But you, Rhyce, you appreciate a stout Northern beer, yes?”

“Bit of an acquired taste,” the archer nodded guardedly. “But one I can enjoy.”

Jaden stood up as casually as he could. He didn’t really want to be part of this. Also, too much drink could do interfere with your control of magic, and if the trickle into his veil was interrupted, he would have to answer some uncomfortable questions. Before he could step away from the table, Stann had him by the sleeve however.

“Oh, no you don’t! We’re brothers in battle, my mystic friend. We drink together tonight!” Stann seemed entirely too excited about the prospect.

“It’s tradition, after all. True Northmen always drink after a war,” Kellen explained how things would be, all while nodding sagely. He then turned around and asked a barmaid to bring them four clean tankards. It wouldn’t do to have their treasure diluted by even a droplet of the southern swill.

“I’m not a Northman, Kel. Also, burning down a house is hardly equivalent to war,” Jaden protested, sitting down again more due to Stann’s hand on his shoulder than anything else.

“Mere details! We celebrate!”

Such was the battlecry of thirsty Northmen.

"Mirena?" Oleander rested her chin on her folded arms over the rim of the bathtub in the cellar room of the inn. There were a number of generous wood tubs, and some separation screens for any self-conscious guests.

One of the tubs was of a lighter wood, and as the hot water filled it a soothing note seemed to emanate from within the very fibres. Mirena had recognised the quality immediately, and commented on how rare it was to see songwood outside the upper class.

"Hmm? Oh, yes?" Her friend had put her long hair up in a twist to keep it dry while she was enjoying her long soak. The gentle humming of the songwood was very relaxing.

"That skull... what did it do to me?" She began, hesitantly. "I had a lot of dreams, nightmares really."

Mirena had expected some more light-hearted gossip, but at Oleander's serious tone she set her sponge down on the edge of the tub and gave the redhead her full attention.

"You were stricken by a curse, Oleander. The Sons of Husk had woven a terrible enchantment on their prize, and we're not sure what the full effect was intended to be. We were able to start counteracting the curse quickly, under the circumstances, and your inherent... strength of will served you well, too."

"You were going to say 'contrariness' or something, weren’t you?"

"Maybe. Kellen and I worked for most of the day to undermine the curse any way we could think of. In the end, I believe it may have been mostly up to you."

"I remember seeing you in my... when I was out. You showed me the way out of the nightmare once or twice." Oleander sunk down a little, the soapy water reaching her chin.

"Well, however you made it back to us, we're happy to have you, and your contrariness." Mirena smiled cheekily. Oleander sat up at threw her sponge at the other woman.

After they had settled down again the water was starting to get a little lukewarm. Neither was ready to get up yet, though.

"You've been a little subdued ever since then, Oleander." Mirena looked over, finally reaching for her towels. "I won't ask what you saw in those dreams if you don't want to tell me..."

Both of them got up, and started drying themselves off, Mirena with the ease of someone who's accustomed to bathing for pleasure, Oleander still with all the grace of the grown-up urchin she was.

"Stop rubbing that towel so harshly, dear. You'll give yourselves wrinkles or rashes." Mirena pointed out, and received a tongue stuck out at her in response. "Very mature."

Oleander sighed and wrapped herself in the towels, sitting down on the edge of the tub again.

"It was... horrible, Rena. I kept seeing my worst fears over and over. You got hurt, or died."

"All that's behind you now. You're safe, and you're with us." Mirena walked over and hugged her close.

Oleander hugged back, remembering another embrace from her dreams. A different one, for another kind of comfort.

"Are you blushing?"

"No! I just got too hot from the bath."

Mirena didn't mention how the water had long since gone cold.

It was a loud experience. Jaden had been involved in some drunken parties with his friends in the past, but for some reason this seemed unusually annoying to him now. Had they changed, or had he?

Between them and other patrons they pulled into the celebration, they had guzzled down most of the barrel of Northern beer. The locals were very tolerant with their behaviour, or maybe they were just used to seeing things like this. Jaden found that hard to believe, as right now Kellen stood on top of a table, leading the entire common room in a clan victory song. What they didn’t have in talent, they brought with enthusiasm.

Rhyce was slightly more careful with his drinking, but even he admitted to enjoying the beer, and appeared to lower his guard a little for once. He didn’t sing, though. One of the songs about a band of bandits falling before the swords of Northmen warriors even made him seem a little sad.

Jaden grabbed a tankard early on and made a show of drinking from it. The minute Stann looked away from his own tankard, though, Jaden quickly swapped the two.

“It is fortunate that we share our room, Rhyce,” said Kellen, almost tripping over the words as he was every bit as drunk as his cousin. “Stann snores loud enough to break the walls when he has had beer!”

“Thanks for leaving him to me, Kel. You’re all heart,” Jaden complained, glancing at Stann, who was roaring with laughter at a joke told by one of the local craftsmen. Stann always got louder with merriment as the evening went on, and with each passing tankard.

“It will toughen you up, little mystic!” Kellen stood up once more, and burst into a drunken recital of one of the many Northern epic legends that inevitably ended with a bare-chested fight against a dragon over a prize or a maiden, or both. While Jaden enjoyed Kellen’s stories, he could do without the Northman stripping off his own shirt to lend the telling more authenticity.

It was later, when most of the villagers had returned to their homes with an evening's worth of Northern tales. Kellen had already staggered off to answer his own call of nature. Rhyce was conspicuously missing, probably having slipped off when things started winding down.

"And Ollie calls me the sneaky one?" Jaden put his hands on his hips and looked at the snoring warrior who spilled out of his chair over the table. The innkeeper was sweeping away some of the mess on the floor, but left them alone.

"Alright, Bear. Up you go." He slung Stann's thick arm over his neck, and hoisted the big man to his feet. "Garda’s fires! I'll never complain how heavy she is again. What do they feed you northpeople? Iron ingots? " Jaden buckled under the weight. "Come... on! Wake up already! I need some... cooperation here, you big... beer bear."

Stann mumbled something, but seemed to take some of the weight back on his own feet. They slowly made their way toward their rooms in the back. Seemingly coming back to some lucidity, Stann gave him a hearty hug when they were next to their open door.

"You're a true friend, little wizard!" Stann leaned down a bit to get to face level with Jaden. His breath was like drinking beer yourself. "But we need to put some more meat on you. You're as frail and soft as a girl!"

Jaden twitched a little bit, and gave Stann a hard shove into the room. The Northman stumbled in and fell into his bed more out of drunkenness, and less from the force of the push. Jaden remained outside for a minute, looking at his hands. He was getting a little bit weaker, he was sure of it. Not much, but the lack of bulk was starting to become noticeable. He sighed with frustration, and followed his already sleeping friend into their room.

With some reluctance, he began tugging the boots off Stann.

"I'm not going to touch the rest of your clothes, Bear," he told the sleeper.

Making sure Stann was fully asleep, he started to remove his own clothes and folded them away. No need to be messier than you had to be. His hands finally touched the nondescript hat his veil appeared as, and that pulled another sigh out of Jaden as he yanked it off his head.

"I guess I won't be able to show myself without you anymore, huh?" He accused the garment. It allowed him to look like himself among his friends, but a simple touch would tell them something was wrong. Hopefully Stann wouldn't remember how he got into bed tonight.

The faint light from the window provided him with more than enough to see clearly. His mixed-blood eyes had always been good at night, but he could tell they were becoming even more sensitive. He felt he could almost pick out colours he couldn’t see before.

From the window he could see out across the backyard of the inn. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear he could see even farther during the night. The details were so clear. In the moonlit shadow of the stables, breaking up through the flagstones, was a single yellow rose. It shouldn’t be able to grow there, but something made it struggle on and thrive regardless. Could he do that as well? Could he be that unbroken rose reaching for the light?

He couldn’t help looking at himself again. His hands that had trained so hard with the sword back at the mountain looked slimmer. He had begun wearing gloves a while back when they started to change. The calluses from many days of martial training had faded away, leaving only the soft palms of a... of someone else. Were the lines different, as well? Jaden had never put much stock into palm reading, but now he wondered.

The hands were not the only thing that had begun to soften. Jaden had never been truly muscle-bound, but he had been clearly defined. The traditions of the mystics of the mountain were harsh and brought out the best of his kind. He couldn't feel any of those definitions anymore, just the soft, small swells. With a small, irritated noise, he dropped into his bed. He'd find a way to reverse this. That's why he left home, after all.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

After accepting a fellow priest's request to look into a matter in a nearby village, the group finish their preparations before saying goodbye to Rosehaven. Oleander sees something while poking around the inn, and Mirena tries to understand the Mystic tradition of magic.

Flashback: Mirena has received her first assignment as a knight, and brings along a new friend

---

Chapter 11: Roads for Thought

MIRENA & RHYCE

The door swung shut as she left the Lord Captain’s meeting room. Her hands were clenched into fists, and it was all she could do not to scream out her frustration. Again, they meddled. Again, they tried to control her. Well, she had turned the tables on them now, at least. It had hurt her almost as much as it had them, but at least now her family would not be able to tie her down in a ‘safe’ temple assignment.

Mirena stalked down the wide hallway where the officers had their chambers. Her ceremonial armour chimed and clanked with every heavy footstep. ‘Tactical field patrol’ was just a polite way of telling her to stay away from temple business, now that she had stirred the hornet’s nest. She wasn’t even sure she would get any support from her order. It was amazing, and infuriating, how far her family’s influence went. How great the reach of wealth was, even into the halls of faith and justice.

When she emerged from the hall of justicars, the cold fresh air of a Tier winter night hit her face like a rude awakening. She was all but alone, now.

“How did it go?” The faint borderlander accent wasn’t that out of place in the golden city. All kinds of people found their way here. Leaning on the wall next to the guardhouse was the man she had brought back with her.

“Worse than I expected, and better than I hoped,” Mirena told her new friend. Her only friend, right now. “I’m ordered to keep my eyes open and seek out injustice, basically.”

“Wasn’t that what you wanted?” Rhyce asked, as he shoved off the wall and join the knight as they walked through the temple grounds.

“What I wanted was to ride with my fellow paladins. Now it’s just me,” she sighed, and looked at the scruffy man. “Me and you, I suppose?”

“A proud heart and a beggar’s purse agree not, milady Kaladon,” he replied. She had come to learn that Rhyce favoured cryptic expressions.

“Please, I’ve asked you to call me Mirena. I don’t want to hear the name ‘Kaladon’ for a long while. I’ve had quite enough of them.” She had no use of that name now. She wore the symbol of Telum on her shield now, not the crest of her house.

Rhyce simply grunted noncommittally and held the gate open for her as they left the temple and stepped into the active streets of Tier after dark. Who knew what awaited them here? It would be interesting to find out.

Morning came all too early, with all the noises of the village waking up also bringing Jaden out of his dreams. They had been pleasant. There had been some sort of music, and someone had been running their fingers through his hair. It had been calming, and calm was something he desperately wanted these days.

Stann was already up, and seemed unaffected by his excesses last evening. He was even humming a merry tune as he dug a fresh tunic out of his pack.

"How are you not hungover, you monster?" Jaden groaned, and rolled to keep his back against the sunlight from the window. The feeling of his chest shifting slightly reminded him that he had removed his mirage veil the night before, and it would not be a good idea to stand up right now.

"Healthy living, my friend!" Stann boasted proudly.

"There is nothing healthy about what you and Kel do to yourselves!"

"Now, now. Get up and face the day, firebug!" Stann shook Jaden by the shoulder, friendly but rough, and headed for the door. "Don't make us wait for you, or I will eat your breakfast as well!"

As soon as the Northman had left, Jaden rolled over on his back again, blinking at the warm sunlight through the window. He tried to remember the dream for a little while. It had been so very relaxing, he remembered, but little else. With nothing else to do, he finally got up and started dressing. He should probably go for a bath too, before they left Rosehaven. The washbasin in the room wasn’t enough to get that truly clean feeling. His feet felt too hot as well, with the extra thick socks to keep the boots on. Without thinking about it, he had begun humming on a tune he couldn’t remember.

Before leaving the room to join his friends downstairs, Jaden made sure that his nymph-made kerchief was getting all the magic it needed to maintain the illusion he had to present. Most of his debt to his salamander was repaid, so he had more than enough available power to go around for a change. It wouldn’t hurt to keep a positive balance with his pacts for once. He could almost feel the approval trickle back from the link he shared with the two creatures, as he increased the feed.

Oleander scooted to the side when he walked into the common room moments later. She patted the seat next to her with a smile that looked unusually honest. Maybe a good night’s sleep was the best cure after all?

“You look well, Jaden,” Mirena observed as he sat down with the others. His illusion would of course hide anything that would say otherwise. “I was afraid for you when we left you with the brutes and their beer.”

“Give him some credit, Rena! He’s a man, and can drink like one. He matched me tankard for tankard the entire night!” Stann raised his cup in a salute.

“Really?” The knight gave Jaden a worried look, as if she expected him to fall over in convulsions at any moment.

“So your battle-shape is a beer elemental, Jay? That explains so much!” Oleander laughed, and then got up. “I need to visit the washroom. Be right back!”

“It’s… we don’t call it that!” Jaden turned on his seat and shouted after the fleeing redhead. The others looked amused. “We don’t. It’s ‘manifestation’, alright?”

“Battle-shape sounds much better,” Stann decided, earning nods of approval from Kellen.

One of the serving maids came to take Jaden’s order for breakfast. Unlike many of the inns they had stayed at before, the Well actually had a selection, which was nice. The girl had beautiful long, blonde hair done up in a loose tail. A small bowtie tied it off at the end. When she listened to what Jaden would like to eat, she kept eyeing his own hair with a slight frown.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you really should take better care of your hair,” she had her hands on her hips, which was never a good sign. “It could be so pretty, if you just treated it right.”

“I wash it,” Jaden tried to defend himself. His hair was almost as long as hers, well below his shoulders but tied back in a much more manly fashion. As many as he could manage, anyway. Before he could react, she had her fingers through the ends of it. The illusion and the reality were much closer to one another there, so no discrepancies were immediately visible.

“Even so, it looks worn and dry,” she rubbed her fingers against it, and looked a little confused. She murmured quietly. “Though it feels amazing…”

Jaden realised that he probably projected his own expectations of his hair, how it had looked when he grew up. But these days, despite the little care he gave it, it had grown thick and almost annoyingly glossy.

“So, what should I do about it, then? Do you do anything special with your hair?” He tried to steer the conversation back to the maid. It seemed to work as she let his hair drop, and touched her own.

“Well, I use some of the soaps and oils we make here in Rosehaven. We’ve got a large plantation here where we grow a lot of different flowers, as well as an offshoot of the Royal Arboretum!” She claimed with some pride.

“That sounds interesting,” Kellen joined the conversation. “Is it close to the temple? I think I saw an orchard close by when we went there yesterday.”

Happy to let the two continue chatting, as long as he would get his food, Jaden leaned back and drank some of the breakfast tea. He saw that Oleander had returned without him noticing it, and she had a strange expression on her face. Was she playing with her hair?

“Well, we’re in no hurry today, so let’s relax and do some shopping,” Mirena said. She was obviously interested in the latter, as there were a couple of local seamstresses she would love to look into. “We’ve all earned this.”

One by one, the group got up from the table to look around town, leaving Jaden more or less by himself. As he finished his breakfast, a remarkably spicy omelette, he caught the long-haired maid’s attention again.

“Would it be possible to get a bath? I was too… preoccupied last night,” Jaden nodded at the stains on the floor where the revelry had taken place.

“Oh, of course. Uhm. Actually, we’re scrubbing the big tubs right now. Do you mind using one of ours instead? They’re a bit smaller, but that only means we can get the hot water done quicker?” She shrugged a little in apology.

“That’s fine. I just want to get clean. Thank you,” Jaden said as he let her take his plate away. He toyed with the idea of offering to heat the water himself, but then had an unhappy vision of the inn burning to the ground and a lot of blame going around. Maybe it was best to let things take its time?

The two Northmen didn’t exactly fit in as they walked around the marketplace, but the good people of Rosehaven were happy to have them regardless. Having seen that barrel of good beer from Strom yesterday had made them more than a little homesick, so they sought the sun and the breeze from the ocean to chase such thoughts away.

As they walked toward the sea they had to step out of the way from a group of playing children running past. Stann followed them with his eyes until they were out of sight. Just another reminder of home.

They soon found themselves standing down by the harbour and watching the fishing boats throw out their nets. A few birds sat on the supports on the pier. Mostly seagulls, but also a pair of crows for some reason.

“Do you miss it as well, Kel?” Stann didn’t have to say what.

“Seldom a single day pass without me asking myself whether I made the right call back then,” his cousin had his eyes fixed on the boats.

“You know I never blamed you, right? Our clan… it couldn’t understand you, or any strong individual with new ideas honestly. Us staying would only have split Winterheart in two.”

“I know. I know. That doesn’t stop me from dreaming about our return, one day, welcomed with open arms by our family and friends.” Kellen sighed morosely.

“How did that song go, now? ‘Where every hand that you shake’?” Stann tried to bring a smile to his cousin’s face.

“’… feels like a warm embrace’,” Kellen finished.

The fishermen looked up from their boats as the Northmen’s voices carried out over the water.

“Could only be one sweet place!” Home and the heartland.

Oleander had just left the breakfast table for a short while to go freshen up. When she had tried to go there this morning, a lot of the maids had been busy cleaning up the washrooms so she decided to go straight to the common room and eat first, instead. When she came back she saw Jay talking to one of the blonde serving girls, and she heard him talking about the maid’s hair. The woman had even had her hands on him while they talked!

It had made Oleander think about her own appearance. It wasn’t something she spent a whole lot of time considering, normally. As long as she was clean, she figured she had done what was expected of her. Her priorities lied elsewhere, really. But having spent more than a year with Mirena, she had started to get a good look into the world of how ladies took care of themselves. She couldn’t help but wonder if it would make a difference for her as well?

That pretty blonde girl had talked about the sort of oils and fancy herbal soaps they used to look beautiful, so Oleander figured they would have some around the inn for them to use when they got ready for their day. Sneaking into the back rooms where the staff had their rooms was the only reasonable course of action.

As she tiptoed down the short corridor, she heard some splashing from inside a room to her left. With utmost care, she eased the door open and took a peek inside. It was the bathroom the staff used, clearly. It didn’t have the large tubs the guests bath had, nor the bell pull that alerted the maids if you needed something. Then she looked at the occupant who was facing away from the door in the small tub.

Wet, black hair clung in ringlets to slim shoulders, showing the tapered ears of an elf. Wait, was this Jay? What was he doing here? She looked further down. Below the shoulders, as the person raised their arms to wash their hair, was a modest, but unmistakable bust? Nope, definitely not him. That was a girl, no doubt about that.

Oleander eased the door shut, and snuck away. She would have to come back for those oils another time. She couldn’t help but smile, though.

“Wait until Stann gets to hear they have an elven maid at the inn,” she chuckled to herself.

Jaden pulled on a fresh set of clothes. It felt really good to be clean again. Everything smelled nice for once. He shook out his hair before returning it to his customary tied-off style, then gave his oversized boots a hard glare. Now if it wasn’t for those…

He almost bumped into Rhyce as he headed down again. The archer was coming up the stairs carrying a small bag that made metallic noises. Probably new arrowheads, knowing him. Rhyce preferred to make his own arrows, but he wasn’t any blacksmith.

When Jaden stepped to the side to allow the other man to pass, Rhyce slowed down and gave him an odd look.

“Are you wearing perfume?”

“No, of course not,” Jaden said. Was he? He did smell nice.

“You smell like violets, Jay,” Rhyce pointed out, still not moving from where he had stopped.

“That’s cra-“ Jaden trailed off. Now that he knew what it was, he could smell it too. Time to lie. “Uh, there was a lot of salt residue in my tub. No wonder the maids had to scrub them out today. Guess the girls went a little overboard last night, huh, if it made me smell too?”

Rhyce made a noncommittal sound, but started walking again, and soon disappeared into the room he shared with Kellen.

Danger averted, Jaden continued down to the common room where he met up with Mirena and Oleander. They were resting their feet by a table near the entrance. The knight held a carefully folded bundle in her hands, spoils from her trip around the shops in the town, no doubt.

It was promising to be a warm day, so Emik had placed a pitcher of water and some bowls of fruit on his table to tide the guests over until it was time for lunch. When Jaden sat down, one of the maids he recognised from yesterday came over to ask if they wanted any of the offered refreshments. Mirena smiled and thanked her for the kindness.

They were brought a glass of somewhat cold water each, and then offered some of the fruit from the bowl. When the maid came to Jaden’s side he reached out to see if there were any that he liked. As his fingers closed around one of them, he suddenly remembered another time. It had been sunny weather too, and she had held a very similar half-eaten fruit in her hand when she had ruined his life. Jaden yanked his hand away from the fruit as if it had burnt him.

“I… I changed my mind. Please take it back,” he stammered. The maid looked surprised, but brought it away. His friends were looking at him as well. He hurriedly finished his water and stood up.

“Are you heading out?” Oleander asked, about to get up as well.

“Yeah. I need some more ritual components,” Jaden said, forgetting he had already used that excuse a couple of days ago.

“Again so soon?” Mirena raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you restock your… supplies back in Tier?”

“Well, as you recall things didn’t go as planned, and I burned through a lot of my components when we were leaving the Sons of Husk hideout.” The lies flowed easily out from his mouth, mixed with just enough truth to be palatable. He had more than enough to last him through many such fights. Mystics didn’t really consume material focus like, say, Sorcerers did, but none of his friends were very familiar with the Mystic craft. At least he hoped they weren’t.

“Literally burning through them, huh?” Oleander quipped, waving her fingers around in a show of imaginary fires. Mirena groaned at the pun.

“Yes, quite,” Jaden agreed. “I’ll be back later. I think I know where to look for the things I need.”

“Get me some raisins for the road, Jay!” The redhead shouted after him as he left the inn. He waved over his shoulder and headed off toward the village merchants.

Oleander chewed her fruit for a bit, and then smiled. She leaned in close to Mirena and nudged her in the ribs.

“Never knew Jay was so picky about his snacks. I’m going to hide some of those inside his bed next time he tries something,” she said.

Mirena cast her eyes skyward, asking her god for strength.

"Those look to be a little small for you, good sir. Maybe something closer to the size you are, ahem, already wearing?"

The shopkeeper was only trying to be helpful, of course, but Jaden felt his composure wearing thin. A calming breath masked by standing up straighter helped him shake off the childish desire to set fire to the man's hat.

"They're... not for me." He turned the boots in his hands. They looked like they would be too tight a fit on his apparent form, but not for the shape that was hidden underneath the magic veil.

"Oh? Maybe a present for that red haired lass who came in with you yesterday?" The shopkeeper smiled broadly, clearly approving of the young couple his mind made them out to be.

"What? Uh... yes, that's it," Jaden stammered a little. "Do you think that she will like them? They're a bit, ah, practical, don't you think?"

"I'm certain she will. She has the look of a practical young woman." The older man had no idea just how practical Oleander could be. "And she'll love you even more for the gift!"

Jaden almost dropped the boots. Ollie didn't really have those kinds of feelings for him, right?

"Well, you've sold me, goodman. I'll take them, and one of those bags of raisins."

He took his purchases and started to leave before he caught himself.

"Ah... would you happen to know any seamstress in the village, who could make... uhm... underclothes for her?" Jaden felt himself going red in the face, but this was his best chance to buy something before they headed out, and he did not enjoy the chafing that had been going on lately one bit.

The shopkeeper had a wide grin on his face. He even waggled his eyebrows.

Rosehaven was a community that straddled the line between large village and small town, and as such they could accommodate a number of more stores and shops aside from the ubiquitous general store, and a small market by the central square.

The shopkeeper of the traveller’s goods and general outfitting had pointed Jaden in the right direction, a house that no doubt doubled as the home for the seamstress, and allowed her to keep her business on the bottom floor.

There were thankfully no bells chiming when he pushed the door open. He was nervous enough without needing the extra startle, and embarrassed by the idea that he was just around the corner from the inn. The last thing he needed would be for Oleander or Mirena to walk in on him right now. Sweet mercy, if Oleander saw him in here, she would never let him live it down.

"Good day, sir! How can I help you today?" A cute brunette was putting away a measuring string when he entered, and was now looking at him expectantly. She couldn't be more than a couple of years older than him. Maybe one the seamstress' daughters?

"Ah, yes. Good day to you too." He could feel his cheeks flushing slightly, and send a heartfelt thanks to his mirage veil. As long as he wore it, it would only show what he wanted to show.

On shelves along the walls were bolts of fine cloths, some too thin for everyday wear. Clearly they made a variety of garments, but leaned more toward things for special occasions. He wondered for a moment if there really was enough business for a business like this in a smaller town, but a vague memory about the differences in some taxes between Alband and Tier might cause people from surrounding villages to go to Rosehaven rather than the metropolis for purchases. Also, the temple of Kuros was large enough to attract its own share of travellers, who might bring back a souvenir or two from the local shops.

"Sir?" The woman had walked out from behind her busy workbench. She had an eyebrow raised, and a small smile. Maybe they weren't strangers to bumbling menfolk in their shop after all?

"Apologies, I was... I'm sorry. I'm looking for, ah, something to..." Definitely blushing. Red as a salamander's tail. "You see, I have this friend?"

"Yes? Go on." She didn't even bother hiding her smile now, and had leaned back against the workbench with her hands folded patiently.

"A female friend?" He explained.

"Of course."

"And I wanted to get her a... something to keep..." Jaden made embarrassed gestures around his chest. Maybe this would've been easier if he had just magically veiled himself as a woman? But what would he have done if the seamstress wanted to take measurements?

"A corset? A bodice?" She was laughing when she spoke, but not cruelly. He was thankful for that, at least.

"Oh, no! She's not that, ah, big. Just one of those underclothes? Something very soft please, if you have?"

"Aha! You want a chemise? Well, then you are in luck. They don't have to be as individually tailored as a good corset, so we have a few available in different sizes. We even have some in silk! Is she about my size? Taller? Shorter?"

Jaden reluctantly imagined what he saw in the mirror, and held out a hand slightly below his illusory height.

"Almost as tall as me, and with a somewhat slighter build."

"Oh, that beautiful knight who you arrived with? She came by just a while ago, to browse our selection. She seemed very refined and we will find just the right thing for her!"

"Ah, yes. That's it." Wonderful. One shopkeeper thought he was with Oleander, and now the seamstress believed he was courting Mirena.

"I'm Keyla, by the way," the young seamstress introduced herself while she went through the carefully folded underclothes.

"Nice to meet you." He had begun to regain his composure, hoping now that there wouldn't be too much gossip in the small town once they left.

"Does she have a favourite colour? She had a nice skyblossom blue dress today, I remember." Keyla chatted amicably as she critically held up one embroidered chemise to the light.

"I- She does enjoy blue, but I feel... I mean, I think she might enjoy some variety. Do you have anything yellow?"

"Yellow? With her brown hair and green eyes? Hmm... I think this deep sea green would look wonderful for special moments, don't you?" Kelya held up something with scooping neckline and flowery decorations.

"Ah, no. I really think it should be something more along the yellow or gold."

"Something to remind her of your rare eyes?" She grinned and glanced at him sideways while carefully rummaging through another box. "You're an elf, right? I can tell by your ears."

"I'm not an elf," Jaden said automatically. "I mean, yes, the eyes. Sure. Do you have anything like that? Very soft, though?"

"All these are made of finest cotton or silk, and quite soft indeed I assure you." She continued to dig through the shallow box while singing to herself, and finally produced a something creamy and off-white, with sparse gold-thread embroidery. "This might be a nice compromise. A little pricier, I'm afraid, because of the gold detail..."

"That shouldn't be an issue." At least since they just got paid for their last assignment against the Sons of Husk. If there was ever a time to spoil himself a little, this was it. Wait, spoil himself? By buying clothes? Jaden shook his head.

"Don't you like it?" Keyla looked concerned, taking his internal dialogue the wrong way.

"No! It's fine. Please, I'll take it." Jaden hurriedly explained, putting a handful of coin down on the workbench.

"Sir, this is a little too-"

"It's fine!" He repeated. "Thank you. Goodbye!"

Keyla blinked a couple of time as the strange customer grabbed the silk chemise and hurried out. "Ah... alright. Have a nice day?"

Coming down from the upstairs living quarters, her mother glanced toward the door as it slammed shut.

"Who was that, dear?"

"Oh, just a customer. Nervous suitor type."

"Ah, youth," her mother reminisced with a smile.

Jaden started to walk down toward the inn, but turned around almost immediately and hurried the other way. He kept his hat pulled down to hide his face as he rounded a corner. Kellen had been not twenty paces away at a vegetable merchant's wagon. He was probably restocking their supplies for the next journey, or regaling the hapless merchant with stories from his frozen home.

It was only luck that the Northman had his back to Jaden when the Mystic had walked out of the... the women's shop. He hid the silken bundle under his cloak and made his way around the block back toward the inn. Walking this quickly only made the chafing worse.

Most of the others were by their table once he returned. He glimpsed a map rolled out and secured with tankards and plates. They were obviously in the planning stages, which was normal for the group. 'Think first, plan second, act last', Mirena had once told them.

"Hey, Jay! Found what you needed?" Oleander called from the table where she had her head close together with the knight.

"Quite!" Jaden didn't even slow down, but took to the stairs immediately. The women exchanged a look, and the redhead shrugged.

"I suppose Jaden is in a hurry to get started with his rituals?" Mirena offered, and then went back to tracing a finger along their map of the region. It was woefully inadequate, showing only the major cities and borders. They might need to get another one.

"I guess?" Oleander wondered aloud.

He hurried up the stairs and down the hall to the room he shared with Stann, and yanked the door open. Stann stopped pulling on his rust-stained undershirt for a moment. He was halfway through putting on his travelling clothes, and Jaden got a good look at his hairy chest.

"Oh, for the love of-" Jaden whirled around to face away from the half-naked man. Again his nondescript hat saved him from showing any blushing.

"Welcome back, little brother! Don't concern yourself for my modesty." Stann laughed heartily.

"You don't HAVE any, Bear!"

"Precisely! Gaze upon me as much as you will. I'm proud of who I am, as should anyone be. Except my cousin, who is clearly hideous." Stann laughed again.

"You two could be brothers." Jaden disagreed, still keeping his back turned. Those two really looked a lot alike, except where Kellen was taller and broader, and Stann had even fairer hair.

"You are lucky I am in such a good mood after yesterday's celebrations."

"Are you finished yet?" Jaden had crossed his arms, and regretted it. It pushed... things up. The noise of chainmail settling told him it was safe to turn back around.

Stann just kept on chuckling as he made his way past Jaden, slapping him on a shoulder as he did. The fingers passed through the illusion unnoticed once again.

"I'll see you downstairs once you're done, little brother."

Jaden just nodded, carefully keeping his silky secret hidden. 'Little Brother' was a title of honour. Northmen warriors called each other 'brothers', brothers in battle. He had fought alongside Stann many times, despite how he would make a fairly unimpressive Northman if you went by stature and strength alone. There was no insult intended with the 'little' bit. Stann was the oldest of his siblings, so everyone was little to him, even if his cousin was a couple of years ahead of him. Jaden held out the chemise and studied the embroideries. They were some sort of vines clinging around the hems. Maybe 'brother' was as bad a fit as his old boots.

Making sure the door was shut tight, he stripped off his outer clothes and finally, grudgingly, allowed his mirage veil to show his true form. First order of business was to replace the boots. The thick winter socks went back into his pack with a sigh of relief. He wiggled his toes a bit and glared at the slim feet.

The new boots fit much better, and it would take care of one of the things chafing him. He looked down his chest at the other cause of discomfort.

"Well, I've got something for that too, now."

The chemise fit well enough. A little tight around the waist, but that was alright with him. The main concern was how the silk felt so much better against his... sensitive areas. He put his tunic back in a hurry, making sure it covered everything completely. It had a straight neck and full sleeves, fortunately.

He replaced the gloves, vest and cloak almost as quickly, and then finally the kerchief that obediently resumed its appearance of a hat. He felt the veil settle around him once more, and only then realised he had been holding his breath almost the entire time.

Jaden bounced in place experimentally, and felt that the previous chafing had been replaced by a slick caress instead. It was still a little distracting, but much better. There was ... jiggling, however. Maybe he should've asked the woman, Keyla, about a bodice too? He shook his head. No. No more of this nonsense. It was time to focus on a solution to the underlying problem. He was sure there must be a way to deal with this. There had to have been Mystics in the past who were unhappy with the spirits they had ended up with. He just had to retrace their steps. There was always a way when magic was involved.

When lunch came around, they had gathered in one of the private rooms. There would be a bit of professional discussion, and there was no need to scare the locals.

"We didn't ride blindly into Rosehaven since we already had some contact with the temple of Kuros, but what do we have on this so-called ‘troubled’ village, Redwall?" Mirena asked the group, now all gathered around their table.

"They've both got something red in their names?" Stann joked.

"There's nothing wrong with being red." Oleander shot him a look.

"Not all roses are red," mumbled Rhyce. He sat leaned back far enough to not really see the rough map of the upper continent. Jaden wasn't sure what to make of that comment, since the archer often added deeper meanings to the things he said. It seemed like most of the others weren’t sure either.

"Aside from that, please?" The group's mother always tried to keep their attention at the task at hand.

"It's not too remote from Tier, but lies away from the main trade routes through Alband. Further inlands, too, in the forest. They might be somewhat isolated, and anything occurring there may take time to reach the rest of the kingdom?" Kellen followed a sound line of reasoning.

"But there's clearly some exchange between Rosehaven and Redwall. If anything really noticeable had happened, don't you think the word would've gotten here by now?" Oleander countered.

"What did the priest say, exactly?" Jaden spoke for the first time. He had been squirming a little in his seat.

"He didn't give us any specifics, only that he had been getting a bad feeling when he visited his extended family there a while back. I trust in his intuition." Mirena would stand by another member of the Temples, especially one who asked her help.

"Something that raised a priest's hackles? We're walking into something horrible again, aren't we?" Jaden shifted in his seat again.
Oleander leaned down against the table and put her chin on her arms. "'Not it' on getting cursed this time!"

"We have no way of knowing what could be waiting for us, Red." Stann patted the small woman on the head.

Rhyce mumbled something else, but only Jaden sitting close enough heard anything.

"Demons."

Their world was not alone in all of reality. Surrounding it were countless different shards and realms just out of sight, separated by a metaphysical wall. But like the waves of the tide, sometimes one came crashing upon the shore of the world of men and something from that distant plane spilled over. Strangers from beyond the wall, called ‘visitors’ by scholars, sometimes showed up where the wall grew weak. Some were benevolent, and became the angels of myth. Others were not, and the witnesses of what transpired gave rise to the legend of demons.

The citadel archives were filled with recounts and stories of people meeting these visitors. Some were first-hand experiences of Lacunai Mystics who had the opportunity to speak with one of them. It was from a particularly amicable visitor, who in fact spent a considerable time with one of Jaden’s ancestors, that the Lacunai learned about a place called the Myriad Nether, and its terrible denizens.

Jaden had read all those books, most of them quite recently while trying to come to terms with the lot fate had cast him. He couldn't help but feel a peculiar kinship with the demons of the Nether realms. After all, was he not one of them, in a way?

While Kellen and Mirena had left to see the temple again, and to try and find a map of the local area that included smaller villages like Redwall, Jaden found himself in a discussion with Rhyce.

“What makes you believe demons are involved?” Jaden tried to sound casual.

“There have been signs,” the archer replied laconically.

“Like for instance?”

“I haven’t seen many predators. When I looked around outside the town earlier, there were no tracks of foxes or badgers. I haven’t seen any hawks or owls either.” Rhyce listed off some of the smaller hunting animals that usually lived in this part of Alband.

“Explain that to me, would you?” Jaden started paying attention.

“Predators like that are mostly nomadic. They run away from danger, and keep running, rather than staying to defend their territory like a bear would.”

“We’ve passed a lot of farms, though. I saw the cattle they kept. They didn’t seem too alarmed?” Jaden countered.

“Generations of breeding and control by humans has eroded their natural instincts. They don’t hear the warning bells in their souls anymore, telling them to run.” Rhyce tapped his head. “People are like that, too. They’re too busy listening to their own thoughts, to hear that inner voice.”

“So, we have no way of anticipating this kind of danger anymore, because we got too civilised?” Jaden didn’t want to accept that. It seemed too bleak. It also struck a bit close to home. He knew he usually ignored his own instincts, often to his regret.

“There are still some who can. Certain sensitive people, children, or the insane, can still hear the warning,” the archer shrugged a little.

“Since you’re not a child, do you fall under the ‘sensitive’ or the ‘insane’?” Jaden half-joked.

“You tell me,” Rhyce replied and turned his head away. That conversation was over.

Kellen decided that he liked Rosehaven. It was a good place, with nice people. It was close enough to Tier that some culture splashed this way, but far enough to avoid the stressful bustle of the big city. Also, the fish here seemed to bite close to the shore. Fishing opportunities was a large tip in this town’s favour, if Kellen had anything to say about it. He looked back over his shoulder toward the temple on the hill. The blessed hall of Kuros overlooked the town like a kindly shepherd watched his woolly charges. It would have been nice to stay a little longer and speak with the priests more, but there would always be another time when they eventually came back down south to Tier. He couldn’t imagine them staying away from the golden city for too long. It was, after all, the place where stories began and legends were told, if the bards were right.

The bell above to door to the scribes’ house pealed as Mirena stepped out into the noon sun with a rolled up parchment in her hands. Sometimes Kellen wondered if her obsession with maps and ahead planning didn’t bordered on the compulsive, but it didn’t slow their progress down too much, and it made her happy. He couldn’t complain, honestly. It was even fun to be part of the process from time to time.

“They were most accommodating, Kellen. I have a rather detailed map of the landmarks and road to most of the middle and north Alband villages. It’s a smaller version of the one their tax collectors use, so it should serve us well.” Mirena straightened her pale blue dress with a smile, and handed the map to her friend.

“Excellent. Did they say how far it was?” Kellen asked as he accepted the roll. “Stann and I got some basic supplies this morning, but if it’s a long trip we might want to get some of that dried stuff. You know Rhyce enjoys his jerky.”

“That he does,” she agreed. It must be an Albander thing. “It’s not far at all, really. Rosehaven lies more or less in the middle between Tier and Redwall. We should only need to camp out the single time on our way there.”

“Curious. If it’s just two days each way, you’d think there would have been more word locally, if something had happened over there,” said Kellen with a raised eyebrow.

“We made a promise, my friend,” Mirena reminded him.

“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting trying to weasel out of it, just that it might not be a lot for us to do once we get there. Anyway, I will see if there’s anything else we need after all.”

Together, they walked back along the sunlit streets, enjoying a moment of peaceful thought. Some townspeople even waved at them as they passed by. Yes, Kellen thought, he could definitely see himself coming back here one day and maybe staying for a while. Maybe some of the others would like to return too? At least Mirena would, given how she seemed to have enjoyed the visit to the temple. Their little fox would probably be bored out of her mind, though. Oleander had a hard time handling too much tranquillity, having grown too used to the city.

A pair of crows landed on the Well’s rooftop when they finally made their way back. Their beady black eyes trying to look everywhere at once.

“If you’re going in, go in. If not, step out of the way!” Stann startled them a little when he came hurrying back. He had a half-forgotten sack of fresh fruit in a hand, and Oleander in tow.

“Hello to you too, cousin,” Kellen said as he gracelessly gave way for the busy warrior. Some patrons of the inn looked in with surprise at the exchange, but the shrugged and went back to their lunch. That they were Northmen gave them a lot of leeway with etiquette in the other lands.

“Yeah, yeah. Now, where did you see her?” Stann asked the grinning redhead, who just pointed at the backrooms.

“Oh dear,” Mirena sighed and shook her head. “Please don’t let them do anything that will make us unwelcome here, Kellen?”

“Of course not, milady. Here’s your map, if you want to get started with that while I rein in my witless cousin.” Handing the rolled up parchment back, he once again went to temper a situation the other Winterheart might have gotten himself into.

“Thank you,” she called after him. The innkeeper had already intercepted Stann, and they were talking animatedly. It seemed good-natured, though, so she was hopeful they wouldn’t get thrown out. When she made her way back up the stairs to the balcony, and the private room they had all but claimed to themselves, she saw only Jaden there. He was still wearing that new hat of his. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that it actually looked pretty bad on him. With that shirt and vest, he should keep his hair clipped back, or even free.

“Hi Rena. More excitement down there, I hear?” The black-haired Mystic observed as ruefully as she felt.

“Never a dull moment, is there?” She agreed. “By the way, have you seen Rhyce?”

“He was a little, uh, antsy. Though, he did mention taking the horses to get reshod. We haven’t really done that since forever, honestly.” Jaden shrugged.

“That was very thoughtful of him. I haven’t been paying as much attention to my poor horse as I should, ever since completing my training. I always assumed I would have a squire of my own to handle that.” Mirena rolled out the map, using candlesticks to hold down the corners. As she did, she tilted her head a bit. Was there perfume in the air?

“Why didn’t you get a squire?” Jaden seemed actually interested. “I don’t know a lot about the practices of temple knights, but if you were a squire yourself at some point, it seems reasonable that one would be appointed to you once you’re an, uh, ordained member?”

“Politics, I’m afraid. After my first assignment into the field, breaking up a group of bandits in west Alband, I was stationed in the temple rather as the knight-errant I dreamed to be. Apparently, there was some… pressure, to keep me in the city.” Mirena frowned, and some bitterness flashed across her eyes. “I took certain measures to get reassigned into the field, but was denied a squire as punishment. I believe they thought I’d cave in and return to the temple after a while, without the help a squire would provide.”

“Well, the jokes on them. You didn’t get one squire, you found five!” Jaden smiled widely. He was really quite pretty when his face was lit up like that. It was such a shame he was so brooding lately.

“True enough, my friend. True enough,” she laughed. “Now, if we were to begin here, in Rosehaven, we should be able to make it to the treeline by nightfall…”

“Final checks, everyone,” Stann called out as he sat on his heavy Olman horse. The chestnut stallion tapped its hooves against the flagstone experimentally, and then snorted with equine satisfaction.

“We’re all set, Bear,” Jaden spoke for the group. “You seem to be in a hurry to leave, though?”

“Eh. We’ve got a mission and… things, right?” The Northman warrior leaned forward in the saddle a bit. “Also, turns out she had already left, so there’s no reason to linger.”

“Who? Nevermind, I probably don’t want to know.”

With some small coin for the bother, the local shoemaker had agreed to send his nephew back to Tier with their wagon. The Winterheart’s clansman had borrowed it to them when they had to leave, and he probably expected it back before soon. With all other needs and necessities taken care of, the group once more set out along the north coastal road that would continue all the way up to Farcrest, and from there eventually into the Northern Lands. They would, of course, only follow it part-way. Alband was generally good with signposts and milestones, so they didn’t expect any trouble finding the branching road that would take them to Redwall.

Oleander nudged her horse up closer to Jaden’s once they got out on the road proper.

“Hey? Want to know why Stann was so keen on hitting the road?” Her eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Not really. It’s probably something embarrassing.” Jaden didn’t want to imagine what could have happened, only that they probably would need to cross off Rosehaven as a place to return to in the nearest future. “If I give you your raisins, would it make you keep it to yourself?”

“Turns out, there was another elf visiting the inn while we were there. Of course, Stann wanted to meet her. Surprise, surprise, right?” She was laughing now, holding onto her saddle.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Jaden thought back. It wasn’t as if elves were that rare, but they usually lived deeper inlands, not far from Sorun. “Also, I’m not an elf.”

“Yeah, she didn’t stay for long. I only saw her when I almost walked in on her bathing,” Oleander looked ahead where Stann rode, and shook in another bout of giggles. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little stiff.”

Jaden clutched his reins hard enough to make his horse fidget. The redhead didn’t seem to notice, though. She never really seemed to notice when she did something that might have hurt another’s feelings. Jaden’s thoughts began to wander of their own accord, however. Thinking about feelings always seemed to trigger something within him, distracting him. That might be one of the reasons he tried to ignore his inner voices so much. Listening to them always seemed to bring unhappiness into his life.

“Do you mind if I ride with you for a while?” Mirena spoke, suddenly by his side. He hadn’t noticed her slowing down enough for them to catch up.

“Oh, of course not, Rena. No need to ask,” Jaden replied. Had the knight some reason for being so formal? They were friends, after all.

For a short while, they simply rode on with Jaden in the middle, and the women on either side. Mirena chatted lightly with Oleander, about how she had seen some ballroom slippers at the seamstress’ store, and had heard that some Tier culture seemed to have made its way up into the communities close to the border. There was hope for Alband yet, according to her. Jaden didn’t really follow the conversation, that sometimes literally went over his head. He had started to drift off again when he was addressed.

"Jaden? May I ask you some questions?" Mirena nudged her horse into step next to where Jaden was riding.

"As long as I can claim Oleander is to blame for anything you may have hard?" He didn't like to answer questions, especially personal ones. While his trust for his friends was strong, there were some things he would rather not tell them.

Mirena smiled, and shook her head at the antics of the two. Oleander was trailing behind a bit behind, distracted by two crows that flew from tree to tree next to the road.

"I was going to ask you about magic, but if you'd rather talk about the things you two have been up to-"

"No! No. Magic is fine. Good subject. Much to talk about." Jaden hurriedly explained.

"As you wish," Mirena smiled. "I was interested about Mystic magic, specifically. I know some about Northern shamanism, and to some degree, runic magic. And, of course, I'm familiar with both temple magic as well as the sorcery of the Arcane Order."

Having grown up in a wealthy family, she had no doubt encountered the sorcerers for hire at some time, Jaden imagined. The other two traditions surprised him a bit. The shamans were every bit as miserly about their secrets as the Lacunai, and while rune seekers were more open about their craft, they were often too busy with their latest endeavours to stay to talk for long.

"Ah. Mysticism." Jaden said slowly. He had to be careful not to divulge any of his kind's secrets. Much of their position in the world depended on how the other magic societies didn't know the source of the Mystics' power.

"You've spoken about your pacts, before." She urged him along.

"That's a good place to start. Mystics make special bonds with magical creatures." Or individuals, but that practice was more or less discontinued these days. "This allow us to draw upon their power, in essence using their natural abilities as other magicians use their spells."

"So, your fire magic comes from your connection to the creature you're bonded with?"

"Precisely. In my case, a salamander. Though, other fire-using Mystics may have other sources. Elementals, dragons, anything can be a part of the contract." Or anyone, he added silently.

"Why do you call it a contract?" She wondered.

"Partially to show that we don't simply steal the magic." Anymore. "We enter into an agreement with mutual benefits."

"What do the... the other party gain from this connection?"

"The magic flows both ways. Most creatures can't shape raw magic the way a magician can, however. To them, it simply means greater health, usually larger size or extended lifespan. For a shorter lived creature, like a stormfalcon, it could mean a dramatically longer life. As long as the Mystic is alive, the surplus magic that flows back to the creature will essentially keep it from aging."

"I see. How many contracts can a Mystic hold at any one time? I assume that if a creature was to meet an unexpected demise, the Mystic would lose that connection?"

"That's right. That’s one reason why some Mystics keep their bonded creatures close, to make sure they are safe. In my case, my salamander ally lives on a southern island. It seems to be doing alright, as salamanders go, but it has been a bit annoyed with me."

"Annoyed?" Mirena sounded surprised.

"We've been fighting a lot lately, and when I use too much of its power, it becomes weakened. I'll have to let that bond rest for a few days to rebuild its strength." Jaden cleared his throat. "As for how many? Each Mystic is different. There seems to be an innate limit on how thin you can spread yourself, bond-wise. Most can easily handle four or five contracts, though."

"And you?"

"I have... two." Jaden caught himself in time. "My salamander, and a breathstealer."

"Undead?!" Mirena turned toward him sharp enough to make her horse nervous. She really didn't like the undead. She also forgot all about how she had meant to ask which of those he turned into.

"A common misconception, Rena," Jaden tried to defuse the situation. "Breathstealers are fey, not undead. They're often mistaken, though, since they're shadowy and... well, steal peoples' breath."

Mirena blushed a little, angry with herself for losing her temper. They rode in silence for a little while. Oleander had passed them a while back, looking at them with curiosity, and joined with the men in the front. Talk about magic didn’t really interest the redhead, but she kept glancing back at the two anyway.

"I apologise for my outburst, Jaden."

"No need, Rena. I'd be alarmed too if I thought one of my friends had her soul bonded to an undead monster."

"Just so," she laughed, relaxing. "Just so."

Since they had all slept in a little back at Connor’s Well in Rosehaven, none of them had been particularly hungry when they set out around lunchtime. Their late breakfast had carried them through so far, but several miles away from the town they decided it was about time to let the horses rest, and for them to eat something.

Jaden stretched a little. The hidden silk chemise had done wonders for the irritation and redness his regular shirt had caused. After a while, he had even managed to forget about the constant jiggling, as well. Adapt and survive, Jaden told himself. That’s all there was to it, really.

"Did you get a new sword?" Stann had wandered up to help him unsaddle the horses while they ate. There was no sense in having their mounts sweat more than they had to. “Yours had a flat pommel, I recall, but this one’s round.”

"Well, I got a sword," Jaden smoothly lied without blinking. "I lost my old one when I had to drag Ollie out of that burning place back in Tier."

"A sad day indeed, having to choose between your blade and your friend. You made the right decision, though," Stann approved. He would probably have slapped Jaden on the shoulder again, had there not been a horse in between them.

From the campfire, Oleander's tuneless whistling told them that she had cooking duty. They grimaced at a particularly jarring note.

"Are you sure about that?" Jaden asked the Northman.

"Eh... ask me after lunch," Stann eyed the pots with some trepidation. Oleander didn’t have a very good record with her culinary pursuits. She tended to experiment and improvise in the face of convention and common sense.

“We will definitely need to spend a night before reaching this village,” Kellen announced, as they sat down to eat. Oleander had provided them each with a bowl of some very fragrant soup.

“Good,” Rhyce nodded. He seemed more alert recently, if that was even possible. His eyes constantly tracked movement along the hillside. Whenever they had met other travellers on the road, his hand had twitched ever so slightly as if it wanted to reach for his bow.

“That’s easy for you to say. There are bears and wolves and, uh… squirrels in that forest,” Oleander jabbed a finger accusatorily at the treeline that had just began to appear. They would likely spend most of the next evening and the next day traversing that sea of leaves.

“No there aren’t,” the archer disagreed. He couldn’t imagine any animals voluntarily staying in those woods. There was something ill on the wind. He could almost smell it. Rhyce turned his head sideways. He could also still smell the violets.

“Well, if you say so,” Oleander sounded sceptical.

"So, still think not leaving her behind was a good idea?" Jaden looked up from his bowl at Stann, who sat next to him.

"I'm not sure what I just ate, but no sword was worth that!" The warrior smacked his tongue with a puzzled expression. He had managed to get some bits of it in his beard, prompting Jaden to lean over to clean it up with a napkin.

"Friendship should overlook some shortcomings," Mirena said diplomatically, and scraped the bottom of her soup with a spoon.

"I make the kind of soup that ENDS friendships!" Oleander proclaimed with pride, thrusting a small fist into the air.

“Can I take the next time Ollie’s supposed to cook?” Jaden asked his friends. Of all his mediocre talents, he had picked up a number of highly appreciated recipes during their brief stay in Etrana last summer.

“Yes!” Four voices replied immediately.

“Hey!”

Offering to do the cooking got Jaden off the hook from cleaning up after this mess, though, which left him to his thoughts again. They came unbidden, and quickly. It had happened more often recently, these moments of introspection. It was as if his refusal to listen made something inside just raise its voice instead. Eventually it made itself heard over his conscious thoughts.

This time, though, it touched upon something he had wondered about many times before. The Mystic drift, the way they assumed qualities of their spirit, was a slow process. His father, proudly merged with the powerful dragon Ironscales, hadn’t shown his first traits until well over a year after his rite of the spirit. Even today, hundreds of manifestations later, he had only developed some obvious signs. So, how come Jaden, who had assumed his spirit’s form less than ten times, had drifted so far? The eyes, the… shape. His size. It was too much, too quickly.

Jaden tried to remember what his Masters had told him about the bond between the Mystic and the spirit, and more importantly about the drift. It had been something about harmony. The closer the two were, the more profound the drift would be. But that made no sense. He and his golden-eyed demon was a world apart. They had nothing in common, after all, right? Maybe… was it because he was struggling so hard against it? Was the drift like quicksand in that regard? The more you fought, the quicker you became submerged?

Or, even more frightening, was there something wrong with the spirit? He remembered her voice, when she whispered her name in his ear.

“Ashomi Kian…” His lips moved by themselves.

“Huh? What was that, Jaden?” Kellen looked at the smaller man. That hat hid Jaden’s eyes, but Kellen could tell something was bothering his friend. “That wasn’t Elvish, was it? Hmm… oh! That’s Nethertongue! I had no idea you knew that, too. Does that mean you believe Rhyce’s theory about demons in Redwall?”

“Huh? Ah, maybe. I’m not sure.” Jaden blinked, and looked up at the rune seeker. “Being prepared for the worst never hurt, right?”

“True words, I suppose,” Kellen tightened the strap of his saddle, since they were about to set out again. “What you said right now, that means ‘two skies’, or something like that?”

“Something like that,” Jaden mumbled, and sat up as well. They still had miles to go.

Notes: With apologies to Bill Whelan (for the Winterheart song)

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden and his friends make their way through the Ealbourne forest, and Redwall village that lies within. The Kuros Prelate Matrick in Rosehaven had told them of his bad premonitions while visiting his brother there, and they begin investigating what might be going on. Rhyce makes a surprising admission, and Jaden begins to feel something strange.

Flashback: Oleander roams the streets of Tarad after a happy turn of events that makes her sad

---

Chapter 12: Truth in the Mirror

OLEANDER

It was for the best, she guessed, but something inside her still felt sad. It had been sometime after the Midwinter festival when the lord of Tarad had announced that a generous donation had been made to keep an orphanage for the many abandoned children of the border town. There, each would get a warm bed and warm food, until they grew old enough to care for themselves, or a caring family decided to take them in. Oleander was too old for an orphanage.

Some of the children hadn’t wanted to leave their aunt Lea, but she swallowed her own pain and made them go. It would be better for them, much better, than anything she could provide. Cold and hunger was always just a bad day away at the best of times.

She would survive, though. She always survived. Oleander had to grow up on the streets on her own, and she would be just fine alone. She would miss them terribly, though. At first, she had offered to help out at the orphanage, but the governess had refused her at the door. Apparently a thief and an urchin like Oleander was bad influence on the children. She wiped away the tears that spilled over her cold cheeks. Winter could be hard for the homeless.

She hadn’t even paid attention to where she was going. A mistake she would never had done before. Oleander had grown up in Tarad. She knew every street, what to avoid and what to trust. Without thinking, she had wandered into the wrong part of town for a girl on her own.

When she looked around, and started to find the quickest and safest way back to her usual haunts, she heard the sound of fighting down an alley. Had this been before, she would’ve hid and waited, hoping to sneak in afterwards to see if anything had been left behind. She wasn’t too proud for picking things off a body in the streets. You did what you had to do, to survive.

Peeking around the corner, she saw a gang of thugs, Krogan’s crew by the looks of it, harassing a lone man. She almost tripped and fell when the man shouted a strange word, and fire struck the closest assailant. That was more than the thugs were prepared to deal with, and they were running away with their screaming, charred friend held between them.

The light from the opposite street allowed her to make out some of the features of the strange magician. His long black hair had fallen over his face, but the tips of the ears told her everything she needed to know. It was like an elven prince out of the stories.

Oleander sat with her chin on the heels of both her hands, elbows rested on her knees. She looked utterly bored. To her left, Stann just smiled and continued cleaning his boots. She sighed, and blew some hair out of her face.

”You should be thankful, Red. Not every group manages to land this many magicians, you know. We’re pretty lucky.” Stann gestured, still holding a boot in his hand.

”Lucky? We get to sit here and… and just sit, while they do their magicky preparations for the day. Everyday it’s the same,” she complained.

”You know you could find a productive way to spend the time, if you just looked hard enough.” Stann put the boot down, and started tugging it on his foot.

”Out here? There are no dwarven merchants to pickpocket.” Oleander smiled a little. She was still spending the gold she got from a particularly fat ring that ended up in her hands after browsing a jeweller’s displays.

”I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, you raccoon. Me, I’m happy they’re with us. I can’t count the number of times Rena’s blessings has pulled me back together, or Kel saving the day by knocking a monster flat with a well-aimed chunk of stone.”

”Okay, I’ll give. But sometimes I wish half the bloody group weren’t nose-deep in their magic books or meditations the entire morning.” Oleander worked her neck and shoulders a bit. Rhyce looked up from waxing his spare bowstrings.

”Half?” He asked.

”Yeah, you know — three of them, three of us?” She gestured at the other three, still concentrating on their respective rituals.

”Speak for yourself. I’ve got magic, too,” Rhyce shrugged and went back to work on the strings.

Oleander and Stann looked at each other, and then turned back to Rhyce.

”Wait, what? We’ve been together for more than a year. You’d think we’d notice if you spent your days reading dusty old tomes,” she pointed out while also pointing at him. Oleander was always very animated when she spoke.

”Yeah, I don’t do that. Doesn’t mean I can’t, though. I just don’t like it.” With that, Rhyce returned his finished strings to a pouch in his belt, the conversation apparently over for him.

Stann and Oleander exchanged another long look, and huddled down together.

”I think he can use enthralling spellsongs. He’s too embarrassed to do so, though.” Stann glanced over at their friend.

”Oh, good one! I was going to guess wind magics, to make his cloak billow dramatically whenever he feels the urge to pose,” Oleander grinned.

They continued their speculations, trying to top the other in absurdities, as they waited for their friends to finish their rituals. Meanwhile, Rhyce just listened with a hidden half-smile. He turned his head slightly towards the crow sitting on the lowest branch by the nearest tree.

”Let them keep guessing,” he murmured. ”They’re having too much fun.” The crow turned its head slightly, and flapped its wings.

Eventually, the more magically inclined finished their devotions to their respective sources. Kellen carefully returned his collection of runestones to his many belt-pouches. He spread them in a pattern around himself as part of his morning ritual of invoking his magic power. Every day he placed them differently. After all, even if the letters are constant the words change meaning over time, and his ritual reflected that. Mirena had spent her time in prayer, as a priest of Telum, asking the god of war and justice to bless them this day. Jaden reconnected with his pact-bound creatures, feeding them with his magic across that intangible divide in return for their services. They were prepared to face the day, and whatever it might hold.

“Catch.”

Jaden barely brought his hands up in time. He looked at a ration of dried meat and fruits, and remembered that it was Rhyce’s time to prepare breakfast. He couldn’t wait until it became Stann’s or Mirena’s turn again. You knew you’d get to eat something warm and hearty with either of them tending the fire.

“Really, Rhyce, again?” Oleander complained as she gnawed on her own breakfast. “This is twice in a row. Make an effort, already!”

“You’re not really in a position to speak, Red,” Stann laughed. He didn’t mind trail food as much as the rest.

“I like jerky,” the archer explained in his laconic fashion. “You cook, you decide. Today was my turn.”

“I will! You’d better prepare your stomach, because I am going to amaze you next time!” Oleander declared.

”Actually, that would be me,” Jaden spoke up, waving a finger in the air. “I stole your next time, remember?”

“Ancestors be praised,” Kellen chuckled over a mouthful of the dried food.

“Don’t you have regular cooking today, too?” Stann asked as he swallowed the last scraps of his breakfast.

“I don’t mind. I enjoy it. If we had some fish, I would make that Etrian dish you lot like, but I’ll think of something appropriate by lunchtime,” Jaden smiled as he spoke. He actually did enjoy cooking. It was one of those things that his changes hadn’t made harder, instead almost the opposite. He could taste things so much clearly, lately. A single bite told him almost the entire recipe of anything he ate, which was why eating Oleander’s food was so terrifying.

“Alas, this deep into the forest any chances of that are gone. Too bad we didn’t think of that while we rode along the coast.” Stann looked sad. He really liked that lemon-basted grilled carp Jaden had made for them while they stayed in Etrana, the Etrian capital.

“I’m sure we’ll find something, don’t worry,” Jaden patted the mourning warrior on the arm, and then turned to roll his bedding up. If they kept a good pace, they would reach the village by late afternoon.

The trees formed a corridor of whispering leaves as they travelled through the Ealbourne Woods that separated the village of Redwall from the rest of the country. It was mostly beech and birch, making a green canopy where they could see far into the forest. A few evergreens showed up here and there, and would become much more common if they went up further north. If you crossed the border into the Northern Lands, the pines and firs would be uncontested.

They passed a couple of timber wagons pulled by several workhorses on their way deeper into Ealbourne. The wood was the primary livelihood of the village, so there were several transports each week leaving Redwall for the coastal road to either the capital in the north, or Tier to the south. The drivers tipped their hats in a friendly fashion, when the group nudged their horses to the side of the road to let the wagons pass more easily. One of the workers rode on top of the stacked pile of logs, playing a flute as the heavy wheels rumbled along the forest road. The tune was slightly familiar to Jaden, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Rhyce had been right about one thing, though. They had travelled most of the day, and they had yet to see many animals. It was somewhat eerie, riding through the forest without many of those sounds you took for granted. Something was missing from the song of the world. Even so, there was still something there. Every mile closer to Redwall brought a feeling upon Jaden. It was faint, so subtle he didn’t notice it at first, but he felt… welcomed.

When the sun had climbed to the peak of the sky, the light streamed down in an almost mesmerising fashion through the green ceiling of the forest. It also told them it was time to settle down for lunch and a rest. Luckily, being a well trafficked road, there were plenty of campsites along the way.

“So, what are you making for us, little brother?” Stann peeked over Jaden’s shoulder as the black-haired Mystic knelt down and began to unpack the pots and pans the group shared.

“Well, without fish or fresh meat, I thought we’d have pancakes. With the fresh fruits we picked up at the Rosehaven market, it should be a nice summer meal,” Jaden said while chasing away a fly from sitting on his pointed ear.

“Breakfast for lunch? What manner of foul sorcery is this?” Kellen called out from his seat. He was joking, of course, but someone who didn’t know him would probably expect an axe to their throat by the tone the rune seeker used.

“The most delicious kind, of course!” Oleander bumped the huge Northman’s arm with a fist. She would probably have to tiptoe to reach his head.

“Though, speaking of fish,” Kellen continued, ignoring the small redhead. “Did I ever tell you about the time when I hooked this enormous silver pike at Breakstone Lake near Agerhon?”

A storyteller at heart, with as many fishing tales as there were hairs to his beard, he began to spin the great adventure of his trials against this crafty old pike. Jaden tried to tune it out as best as he could while mixing the ingredients together. Working with his hands left him with his thoughts, though, but he didn’t mind it as much this time. Cooking was strangely calming for him. His magic was all destructive in different ways, fire or weakening, or even more fire. This was his way of creating something for a change. It made his friends happy, and that in turn made him feel good.

While the men stood by the fire, Oleander plopped down next to the brunette knight. Mirena had her hair unbound, as she often did when not wearing her steel. The braid was as much a part of her armour as the shield or breastplate.

"Say, Rena? Do you think I would look nice with long hair?" The redhead ran a couple of fingers through her pixie cut hair, kept short because of her lifestyle. Her eyes didn’t leave the young man by the cooking fire.

"Don't you always say it'd get into your eyes when you jump around? I mean, you’re usually more… mobile than me, when there is trouble." Mirena stopped combing her hair for a moment, looking at her friend.

"Well, I could just braid it like you do, right?" Oleander imagined a long red tail flying behind her when she vaulted a faceless opponent. It could look good, she guessed.

"Of course. What brought this idea on, though? I've never heard you talking about growing your hair out before?" Mirena resumed her combing, since they were talking about hair anyway.

Oleander looked a little pensive, and glanced to the side where the others were busying themselves around the fire. Kellen was talking loudly about some fish, and had captured the men's attention.

"No reason. Just entertaining the idea about a change, that's all."

Mirena followed Oleander's sidelong glance, and kept her face smooth when she saw the boys holding their hands out at ever bigger distances. Jaden appeared to be rolling his eyes and tried to shoo them away from crowding him as he worked on their food. There was a small stack of pancakes grew as the Mystic flipped another one from the skillet with a wooden spatula. He looked quite natural doing it.

"Change can be good, as long as it is for the right reason." She looked back at Oleander meaningfully.

"What do you mean by that?" The other woman looked a little guarded, letting her hand drop from her hair.

Mirena opened her mouth to calm her friend's worries, when Kellen raised his voice.

"That can't be true. A leviathan like that would snap an ordinary fishing line, or rip a net!" The rune seeker sounded incredulous, and a little accusatory. He took his fishing a little more seriously than he should.

"I fish with the spear." Rhyce calmly explained, and pointed at the bracelet at his wrist. "I made this from its teeth."

"Those are some pretty big teeth for coming from a fish" Stann sounded impressed.

Kellen inspected the bracelet with an increasingly dark expression, then turned to the pot of batter and stirred with more strength than was necessary. Jaden tried to ask him to stop, but the Northman would have none of it.

"We'd better join the others. Our lunch appears to be ready soon." Mirena rose to her feet, and smoothened out the folds of her travelling clothes.

They had seen the shapes of houses between the trees for the last mile or so, as they got ever closer to the village. Many of the trees looked older, though, which was a little strange. Wouldn’t the woodsmen cut the largest and closest trees first? The sun had begun to dip down from its seat at the throne of the sky for a while now, but it would be hours yet before the horizon claimed it, and they would have long since arrived at Redwall.

“Why do they call it that, Kellen? You’re the historian here,” Jaden looked over at the fellow magician.

“As with many things Albander, us Northmen are to blame for it,” Kellen started to explain. “During the third war, before imperial occupation, our warriors had fought their way down to about this area. This was before the north border keeps were built, of course. The village here, named Ealbourne at the time, became an important strategic outpost for the Alband army. They used the forest paths to quickly move their forces around the North’s warriors. It was quite clever, until Brinal Nighthammer, the Shaman advisor to our war chieftain, divined the location of the village.”

Kellen gestured with his large hands across the forest.

“We’re riding across a battlefield. The warriors of the North clashed with the army of Alband right here. Neither had expected such a large force from the other side, Alband moving one of their main bodies at the same time our war chieftain sent a large portion of our invasion group here. The fighting went on for days, but the Albander had the advantage of knowing the land, and with our Shamans too far from our home soil we lost. It’s called Redwall, because the walls ran red.”

Oleander looked around and shuddered, imagining the fighting and screaming to still echo between the trees. This forest was a great graveyard as well.

“It’s an honorific. Alband was proud of its victory here. This village turned the tide of the war, becoming a symbol for the wall it had become against the red warriors from the North,” Mirena was a military historian too, but she had of course heard another version of the event. “The myth about blood-stained walls was probably just an exaggeration to turn a prolonged skirmish into a legendary battle.”

“Still, the village changed its name?” Jaden asked, as they approached the last stretch of the road as it led up to their destination.

“Probably just because ‘Ealbourne’ sounds a lot like ‘Alband’, and the king didn’t want the confusion when the country regained its sovereignty after the empire retreated back south,” Mirena didn’t quite share as romantic a view of history as the cousins. “It’s a relatively recent change.”

“I don’t know… I think I like Kellen’s version more,” Oleander decided, and popped another raisin into her mouth.

“You can’t just pick your history, Ollie. There’s what really happened, and there’s myth,” Jaden pointed out.

“Yeah? Then, please, tell me what really happened?” The redhead fluttered her eyelashes at the Mystic.

“Uh… I don’t… Dragons did it, okay?” He really didn’t know. While he had been taught some of the history of the countries, as was any child receiving tutelage these days, he was more interested in the current state of affairs than anything that was long since gone or half-forgotten.

“That sounds even better!” Oleander agreed.

The village of Redwall, no matter how it came by its name, appeared fully out of the forest as the trees gave way into a clear area. Many of the solidly built wooden houses stood only a single floor tall, and several roofs were thatched, but they could see signs of more than one house replacing its old roof with new tiles. As they rode along the main street, Jaden noticed a couple of men in the process of building a new section to one of the houses. One of them stopped to wipe his brow, and waved as the newcomers passed his home. The village seemed to be doing rather well, by the looks of it.

But there was something in the very air. Jaden couldn’t quite place it; an aroma, maybe, or a fleeting sensation. It made him remember places he had never been to before, somewhere there was a river in the sky and the stars sang. It called to him, and he could feel something inside respond.

“Let’s find the Prelate’s brother first, shall we?” Mirena dismounted with practiced ease, and led her horse up to a man pushing a wheelbarrow’s worth of tiles toward the house they had passed earlier. While she exchanged words with the locals, the rest of the group sat down from their own horses one by one. Jaden was especially happy to be out of the saddle. It wasn’t as comfortable on his behind lately, and he didn’t want to think of why.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Rhyce gave Jaden a sideways look.

“I’m not sure what I feel, honestly,” the Mystic replied truthfully. He made an effort to silence the strange call, and it drew back into a muted whisper. Jaden hoped that he was sensitive, and not insane. Some days it was hard to tell. “There’s something though.”

“What are you two muttering about? “ Oleander wondered, stretching her back from having slouched in the saddle for most of the day. She had the posture of a lazy cat, sometimes.

“Beards, Ollie. We’re talking about beards and other manly things,” Jaden passed back, for no other reason that his wry amusement. It had been a while since they had bickered about something, after all. In fact, the redhead had been remarkably nice to him for the last day or so, and that worried him.

“What? Fine, okay. Don’t tell me,” she turned around and stared at the village instead.

When Jaden turned back, he noticed the how the archer was looking at his face a little too intently. A pair of crows sitting on a nearby roof fluttered their wings.

"Do I have something on my face?" Jaden reached for a handkerchief to brush off whatever smudge must've found its way there. Riding during the summer was always a dusty proposition, but in rainy Alband dust turned to mud.

"When was the last time you shaved?" Rhyce asked, his eyes inspecting the smooth face of his friend.

"Yesterday?" The Mystic lied. "Why, did I miss a spot?"

"No, you look very clean. Maybe I’ll ask you to be my barber sometime.” With that, the archer joined the other men closer to the village square.

“What was that all about?” Jaden mused, as he followed along.

Mirena had returned by then, with directions on how to find the relatives of the Kuros priest. Apparently, they lived just off the main street in a small, but comfortable house. The brother of the Prelate had not shared Matrick’s strong faith and worked in the village as a tutor to the children. There were even plans to devote a separate building as a school, instead of just having them stay in whatever home was available during the day.

They found the house easy enough, Redwall not being a particularly large village, and Stann strode up to knock on the door. They could hear the sound of several young voices talking inside, and before the Northman’s fist reached the door it opened to let out a number of children of every age between five and ten. They bunched up in the doorway and stared at the warrior towering above them, who was clad in his chain mail ever since setting foot in the forest.

“Uh… hi?” Stann said, and glanced at his friends for help. The youngest girl looked like she was about to start crying.

“Hey, who want sweets and a story?” Oleander clapped her hands together, stealing the attention away from him. The response was predictably loud.

“So, my brother sent you here?” Samul asked, as he poured the tea for his guests. It was about the only thing his wife trusted him to prepare in the kitchen, but since she wasn’t due back home from her work as the tavern’s cook until sundown, he had to make do.

“Yes. We have worked with him previously, and when he asked us to look into matters here, we could hardly refuse him,” Mirena said, and mouthed a thank you as she took her cup.

“Or accept any compensation,” Kellen mumbled into his own tea, unheard by most, and then raised his voice. “I must say, there seems to be quite a lot of activity going on in the village?”

“Oh yes. Ever since the new baron took this land some five years ago, they’ve been spending very generously to improve life around here. That went a long way to garner the goodwill of the people of Redwall, let me tell you,” Samul nodded a few times.

“I heard talk about a proper school, too. Was that the baron’s initiative as well?” Mirena asked, making smalltalk.

“Ah, well… that’s a yes and no case. I had brought up the idea to the old baron, but that old codger was more interested in spending his time anywhere else than here. After Baron Tassard took over some of the people here began to ask for things, like repairing the road to make the wagons run safer, or helping out with equipment to dig new wells.” Samul sat down after handing out the final cup to Jaden. “And, well, the baron agreed to all of it. Said that to make Redwall into a prosperous community, he would have to spend a little out of his own coffers. He wasn’t wrong.”

“All the things we saw around here are out of the baron’s own purse?” Mirena sounded surprised. That was not how she was used to nobles acting.

“Oh, no. The baron focused mainly on making sure the logging business got what it needed. It all sort of sprung from there. More timber and quicker deliveries meant more money to the village, and to each working family. People could suddenly afford things.” The teacher finally sat down. “But the baron has been part of several other local projects as well. Which is how word about the school eventually reached him, and he claimed it was a marvellous idea to ensure the future success of Redwall.”

“That sounds… like a very generous man,” Mirena still couldn’t keep all the doubt out of her voice. “But, please tell me of what your brother said when he visited you a while back.”

“Mat was always the more, ah, spiritual of the two of us. Unsurprising, since he eventually went and became a priest of the Five Temples. I suppose the village has changed a bit. Things have gone, uhm, almost a little too well. But a few months ago, some people started to complain about headaches, bad dreams, things like that. It has mostly passed now, of course, but it was a strange thing when it happened.”

“Mostly passed?” Kellen observed, looking a little strange sitting in a chair made for a smaller person. The living room had a number of mismatched chairs, where the children sat during class earlier.

“There were one or two who persisted. Old Nias simply ran into the woods one night, trying to… I don’t know, get away from his own dreams. We never saw him again. He was always a little, let’s say, troubled — but we will miss him, still,” Samul hurriedly added.

“And the other?” Mirena listened intently.

“Lyrissa? She’s a magician. Well, almost. We don’t talk about it, but she failed her apprenticeship to a Sorcerer in Farcrest. That was before I moved here nine or so years ago, but to this day she’s still rather… she doesn’t go out much,” Samul made a helpless gesture with a hand.

“Can we speak with her? It might be important,” Kellen asked, and looked at the rest of his friends. Magicians, failed or not, were more sensitive to the world than other people.

“That’s for her to decide. I can take you to her cottage once Romi gets home; I don’t want to leave the girls by themselves.” He looked out through the window, where Oleander sat on the lawn with his entire class, including his own children. She held them spellbound with some sort of adventure, waving her arms around as she talked. Was that explosions she was pantomiming?

“Thank you. Kellen and I will accompany you. No need to scare the poor woman with our entire entourage,” Mirena decided. “The rest of you? Group up and see what you can find out before nightfall.”

“What do you say, little brother? Shall we unearth the secrets of Redwall together?” Stann leaned forward to slap Jaden on his back, but the Mystic scooted out of the way. Stann remained stretched out for an awkward moment, before turning it into standing up. He looked a little hurt, though.

“Sure. We can swing by the inn, or tavern… uh, Cup-something?” Jaden tried to remember. He had been a little distracted at the time. He still was, to be honest. “We might as well sort out our sleeping arrangements while we’re snooping around anyway.”

The door opened, allowing an older teenager inside. He had the tanned skin of someone who worked outside during the day, and his brown hair had grown paler by the sun.

“Da? I saw a stranger outside,” the youth checked into the living room and stopped when he saw a whole group of other people.

“Oh, good timing Emmet! Let me introduce you to some people,” Samul gestured at the others. “This is my son, Emmet. He can help show some of you around if you want. Emmet, this is Mirena, a knight of the Temple, Stann and Kellen from the North, Rhyce of… uh… the hunter, and Jaden the elf.”

“I’m not a-“

“Pleased to meet you, Emmet. I’m sure your help will prove invaluable. Would you please show Stann and Jaden here around?” Mirena stepped forward to take the blushing teenager’s hand.

“Well, that’s decided, then.” Stann grabbed Samul’s son by the shoulder with his arm, and steered them out the door. “Tell me, have you ever had any elven maids at your inn, here?”

“I’ll… keep him on track, Rena. You go see what you can get out of that hermit woman.” Jaden hurried after the warrior and his new captive audience. Hopefully they’d get something done before nightfall.

Rhyce didn’t look out of the window. Children just reminded him of what he had lost. By now, Oleander’s story had reached its end, and the parents who had come here wondering why their sons and daughters were still not home from their daily class could finally pry the small ones away from the Olman redhead.

When the teacher left, leading Mirena and Kellen to see the reclusive, failed magician, Rhyce stepped out as well. The sun was noticeably lower now, but they still had plenty of time before the evening would catch up with them.

“You and me, eh?” Oleander looked up from her spot on the lawn where she had been waiting for him. “Team sneaky skulks again!”

“I thought you and Jay was the sneaky team?” Rhyce asked, looking around the outskirts of the village. The crows were circling the currents of the wind high above, but dark clouds had grouped at the edge of the forest

“He complains too much. I bet that if it had been you down in that cult cellar with me, you would’ve told me not to grab the skull,” she joked. A flash of the dreams came back suddenly, but faded with a shake of her head.

“I would’ve told you to use a bag.” Rhyce offered her a hand up, and together they left to see what they could find out.

The oldest son of the village’s teacher led Stann and Jaden on a stroll through the few streets. He told them that all in all, there were probably just around five hundred people living here, with most attached to the timber trade in some way.

“It was much worse before the new baron got here. Redwall was pretty poor. Sure, they sold their timber to the surrounding towns, but Baron Tassard has business contacts in the capital and even in other countries. I hear some of the wood we cut here end up as far as Marsantias, or even Gion. That’s made a huge change for everyone here.” Emmet ducked under a low branch on a fruit tree growing near a house. Many of the homes here had their own little gardens, since there was no plot of land cleared for farming here in the deep forest.

“This baron of yours sure made a lot of changes. It’s only been - what did your dad say, five years?” Stann waited for Jaden to follow first, but stopped to rub his eyes. He thought he had seen that branch pass right through Jaden’s hat. He must be tired from their long ride.

“Yeah, he’s been busy. Dad and I had only been here for a couple of years when the Tassards picked up the barony, and it’s mostly been good things ever since,” Emmet waited for the guests to catch up as they took a shortcut behind some houses. He was leading them back to the tavern now. Showing them the village hadn’t taken very long, since it wasn’t very big.

“What about that thing with the nightmares a while back?” Jaden tried to gauge the young man’s reaction when he asked that.

“That was pretty scary. It had been… I don’t know, building? Like a storm brewing out to the sea? Then suddenly one night, a lot of people had these horrible dreams. My little sisters cried all night. It went on like that for almost a week, before people began to feel better.” Emmet’s eyes still remembered that night. It would stay with him forever.

“But not all, right?” Jaden pushed.

“Nah, there were still a couple who just didn’t come out right after that. Old Jitters… I mean, old man Nias, he just upped and left one night.”

“Did anyone see him leave?” Stann asked, now walking side by side with the other two as they got out on the street next to the tavern.

“Eh? Surely someone did, right? But I always heard it from someone else, who knew a person who had seen him run off into the woods.” Emmet shrugged. There was no other explanation than that, to him. He held open the door to the Woodsman’s Cup, a squat building that served many purposes in the small village.

“You’re probably right. Now, let’s see if your proprietor here can house the lot of us tonight,” Jaden said and waved at the woman in apron lecturing a greying villager about not grabbing her serving maids.

“Beryl? You’ve got guests!” Emmet shouted to the middle-aged woman, who looked up from berating her patron. It was a bit noisy in the tavern this time of the day when all the workers were back from the logging camp. The talk died down as Stann and Jaden entered, though, causing Emmet’s voice to be louder than intended. The youth looked a little red in the face, but to his credit made the introductions with more grace than most would have.

“We’ll see about getting all of you a bed, don’t you worry boys,” the keeper, Beryl, said with grandmotherly affection, and sent one of her girls to get fresh linens. While they didn’t get many visitors to Redwall, their tavern still kept a couple of rooms for guests.

“Tell me more about the baron, Emmet,” Jaden said as they sat down at the only empty table left, closest to the door.

“Don’t know what else there is to say. He brought his wife and two children here with him. Younger boy, about ten I guess. I don’t see him very often. He’s pretty shy and keeps to their manor. Then there’s Callandra…” Emmet grew a bit dreamy-eyed.

“Let me guess: she’s around your age?” Stann asked with a grin.

The boy was about to answer, when the door opened again. Turning around and expecting to see some of their friends, Stann and Jaden instead met a well-dressed man in house colours. He looked cleaner than any of the men in the tavern, and carried a carefully folded letter in a gloved hand.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen. Are you associated with the recently arrived party?” He spoke with the clipped accent of someone who grew up in the court of nobles. He spoke like he didn’t have any feelings either way about the matter.

“Who’s asking?” Stann demanded brusquely.

“Stann, please, this is clearly an envoy of the baron’s,” Jaden tried to smooth things over. “Yes, we’re they. Can I take your message?”

“Certainly, sir. I will await your response.” With that, the servant handed the letter to the Mystic, and then stepped back a discreet distance to let them read it in peace.

“What does it say?” Stann asked after a little while.

“The baron asks us to join him for supper. Looks like we’ve been extended an official invitation,” Jaden waved the letter a little. Mirena was probably dying for an excuse to dress up. He turned to the servant, who immediately stepped forward. For a moment, something passed across the boundary of his awareness. “Please tell the baron that we graciously accept, and will be there as soon as we’re presentable.”

“Very good, sir,” the servant bowed correctly, and then left as suddenly as he had arrived. Jaden couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about that man. But what he couldn’t avoid, he could ignore. Nothing good ever came from listening to his instincts.

The door closed in Kellen’s face as soon as they had left the cottage slightly outside the rest of the village. The talk with the failed apprentice Lyrissa had been short, but strained. When the reclusive woman learned that both her visitors aside from Samul were magicians she withdrew even further, as if their presence had reopened old wounds. She only answered their questions with terse, bitter comments, making even the compassionate and patient Mirena eager to leave. They were clearly neither wanted, nor welcome.

“I apologise for her behaviour. I know she’s had a rough life, but she was downright rude with you two,” the teacher said as they took the short path back into the village proper.

“That’s quite alright. She wasn’t angry with us in particular, rather with all magicians, whatever tradition they may follow.” Kellen had heard of masters sending their pupils away before their training was complete, for various reasons. He could only imagine what that would do to a person. The broken woman had his deepest sympathies.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Samul? Your son Emmet is much older than your two girls who were in your class earlier,” Mirena couldn’t help but ask.

“Ah, yes. Emmet’s my son from my previous marriage. We lost his mother to the white fever when he was young. I eventually met Romi at a market day in Rosehaven, and, well, one thing led to another. She has been nothing but accepting of Em, and considers him as much her child as the girls. I thought he’d take moving to a remote village like Redwall hard, but he’s been doing well, I think.”

“You have my condolences on your loss, Samul,” Mirena looked sad. The fever had claimed many people ten years ago, even one or two of her own relatives.

“Emmet is old enough to apprentice to someone, isn’t he?” Kellen wondered aloud. The boy had to be fifteen or sixteen.

“Time sure runs quickly,” Samul laughed. “Yes. During the great harvest market in Rosehaven, there will be plenty of opportunity for him to meet with different craftsmen and see where he belongs. He’s even been thinking about joining the Temple with his uncle.”

“Is he a potential magician?” The rune seeker hadn’t even considered that.

“No. Well, at least we don’t think so. But the temple can always use people who are willing to work hard,” Samul glanced at Mirena as if seeking confirmation.

“The Five Temples don’t turn faithful away. If his future lies with gods, they will accept him with open arms,” the knight reassured the worried father. “Changing the subject, is the baron of the Farcrest Tassards, or the Oakborough Tassards?”

“I have to admit I don’t know, milady. All I’ve heard is that they garnered the favour of King Ambermane somehow, and was awarded this barony. Does it matter?” Samul wondered. While a teacher, there were many things he didn’t know. Politics was one of those things.

“Perhaps. I met with the Oakborough Tassards at an event in Tier many years ago. They were quite full of themselves, and avoided talking with my father since he was just a ‘lowly merchant’.” Mirena grimaced a little. She had mixed experiences with nobles.

“That doesn’t sound like Baron Tassard at all. He has always been very close to the people, not to mention his many contacts in the logging businesses around the world.”

They talked more as they made their way to the Woodsman’s Cup, hoping that the tavern would be able to provide them with food and room for the night. The weather had taken a turn for the worse, which was not out of the ordinary in Alband during the summer. Dark clouds had blown in from the ocean, promising an evening of wind and rain.

Mirena lingered at the threshold to the tavern for a moment, letting her eyes rise above the rooftops. It had there ever since they stepped into the village. She couldn’t put a good word to it: a gap, or a divide. When she looked up, she could see no heaven in that sky.

Oleander had emptied her pack on the bed, and stood looking at the mess. Clothes, knives, and useful things were in a disorganised heap. This was her kind of order.

“Oh, is that my old lucky marble? I thought I had lost it when we had to abandon our camp back at the Khuul barrows.” The redhead remembered their frantic scrambling to get away when the tomb children had awoken.

“Oh dear. Oleander, really, you need to lay out your clothes to avoid all these wrinkles,” Mirena chided the other woman. It was bad enough that Oleander barely had anything appropriate for an upper class supper like the one they would attend shortly, but many of her garments were just rolled up and shoved into her bags. “Maybe we can ask the keeper if we can borrow an iron for a little while.”

“Can’t you just make your sword glow like usual, and we can use it instead?” The shorter woman held up a nice tunic, and brushed some lint off it. She liked this one. She had worn it a few times during slow days between their expeditions. Also, Jay had mentioned once how it looked good on her.

“We do not use the symbol of Telum, the Sword of Heaven, to iron our clothes, Oleander,” Mirena explained patiently, and held up one of her spare skirts. She only used these while travelling, since gowns was a little too restrictive on the road, but it was leagues better than the leggings and tights Oleander had. That women didn’t seem to own a single feminine garb. “If we roll up the waist on this, it should work wonderfully. Put that tunic away, and see if we can do something about the jasmine blouse at the bottom there.”

“Mi-re-naaa,” Oleander groaned. “I don’t like skirts. And, what are you talking about? I don’t have any flower-blouses.”

“The yellow shirt, dear. The one right below that shoe. Is that the only shoe? I don’t see the second,” Mirena stepped over to the other bed and carefully poked the pile with a finger.

“Hmm. I think I used the other shoe to knock out a lantern back in Carrick Field,” she held up the suggested shirt, or blouse apparently. It looked clean enough.

“Then why won’t you get rid of this one? There’s no sense in carrying around a single shoe, Oleander?” The knight started to look a little exasperated, and shook the skirt at her friend, prompting her to put it on.

“Maybe we need to knock out another lantern with a well-aimed shoe-toss?” It seemed reasonable in the redheads mind.

The knock on the door prevented Mirena from replying with words she would probably regret a little bit. The men were probably already finished with their preparations, and were waiting for them.

“Are you about done in there?” Stann’s voice carried through the thin door. “There’s a carriage waiting for us outside, and the driver’s starting to look a little thin-lipped.”

“We’ll be done in a moment, Stann. We’re just about done.” Mirena looked down at herself, still only dressed in shift and petticoat. Her favourite nightbloom blue gown was laid out on her bed.

Oleander reluctantly stepped into the borrowed skirt and did up her blouse. She supposed a middleclass woman would wear a corset with this, but she had never been endowed enough to miss not having one. Also, corsets made it too hard to bend over enough to backflip properly.

“I look ridiculous,” the redhead concluded, looking at the almost-dressed knight with her sad, grey eyes.

“Wow, Ollie! You look great!” Jaden definitely looked surprised when the two women finally showed up. Mirena looked every bit the daughter of a wealthy merchant house as usual, fit for any nobility, but since meeting Oleander over a year ago, he had only seen her in skirts a handful of times. Jaden, of course, had simply changed the mirage surrounding him into finer apparel.

“Really?” The Olman woman looked a bit less tense, even a little happy, and a hand went up to touch her pixie-like hair.

“Enough of that, now,” Kellen interjected, straightening his own finery. He had grumbled a bit, but unearthed the ceremonial robe of a rune seeker. He liked those as much as Oleander liked skirts, but he was more willing to comply with formality when it was required. “Where is Rhyce, by the way?”

When the archer and the redhead had returned from their own spying, they had confirmed what the others had learned. Also, none of those they had talked with had actually seen old Nias run away. Some had heard his scream, though. He had just disappeared one night a month ago.

“Oh, you know him. He doesn’t like these sorts of things. He said he would snoop around a little more while we were wined and dined at the local lord’s,” Stann said, shrugging a little. He was wearing his usual clothes, but had replaced his sword with a heavy dagger instead. That was as much dressing up as he was prepared to do.

“Wait, I didn’t know this fancy event was optional?” Oleander exclaimed, forgetting how pleased Jay’s reaction made her.

“It’s not. Rhyce just didn’t want to. You know how it is.” Jaden couldn’t help but turn her own words back at her, even after all this time. She looked adorable sticking her tongue out while dressed like a girl for once.

“Well, let’s not keep our host waiting, shall we?” Kellen led the way out of the tavern.

The driver had patiently waited for them, and now held the door to the carriage while they entered it in order. It was a coach with a full roof, and large enough to seat six people comfortably. Stann and Kellen took one bench, with very little room to spare. Jaden and the women sat opposite, with the Mystic trying to squeeze up against the side as much as he could to avoid any contact. He was only an unfortunate bump away from discovery, after all. Holding his arms together like that made his chest bulge more than he expected, though, but the illusion would cover him.

Jaden mentally reviewed his resources at the moment. After half a week of quiet time, both of his pacts were more than paid back and were even growing fat on the excess magic. His own magic strength had grown slightly over the last couple of years, as was common with any magician. It was like a warrior building muscle through training with their swords, or a dancer growing ever limber through their practice. He imagined he would be able to sustain another contract, maybe two, if he had the opportunity to find an appropriate creature. Thinking back on the painful night after their fight against the Sons of Husk nethermancer, he was really interested in something that would grant him a defensive power. Jaden began to understand his father’s words better now. Attacking alone wasn’t enough, if you couldn’t defend yourself. A sword was weak without its shield.

Garda’s fires, he thought. At this point he’d take a shellcat if that was all he could get.

“Jaden? Are you coming?” Mirena asked from outside the carriage. They had arrived while he was lost in his thoughts.

“Of course! Sorry, Rena. I was a little preoccupied.” He looked up as he exited the carriage, letting his eyes roam across the huge manor. He could see where all the coin had gone, during the previous baron’s rule. While mostly wood, there entire first floor had stone walls, and the sprawling building has two excessive wings in a horseshoe shape from the main section. It looked incredibly gaudy and out of place near a rustic village such as Redwall. The sky looked darker than before, and the wind had picked up. There would be rain soon, he could tell.

“Now this is a house!” Oleander put her hands on her hips and nodded. They must be really rich, living in a place like this. Lots of unattended shinies, she thought.

“If it pleases the party to follow me,” the manservant who waited for them by the large double doors gestured inside the manor. Once everyone had exited the carriage, it drove around to the two wagon-houses behind one of the wings.

“It pleases me indeed!” She whispered to Kellen, who was closest.

“Shush, little fox. Try not to cause any trouble tonight,” the large Northman replied in a soft, rumbling voice.

Jaden walked behind the rest. He wasn’t taken aback by the comparatively opulent manor, nothing would challenge the splendour of Talraman in his heart after all, but that strange sensation had returned. The beckoning.

The manservant ushered them through the welcoming hall, and to the right. They passed several rooms that seemed dedicated to music or different arts, showing that the Tassards had more rooms than they knew what to do with. Decorations were at times sparse, but befitting of a nobleman’s manor.

“Here we are, sirs and madams,” their escort gestured at a long dinner table set in the middle of a large hall intended to impress visitors. Paintings lined the walls, as well as rich tapestries and other works of art. “Baron Ariken Tassard, lord of Redwall and the Ealbourne Forest.”

The baron wore a large, easy smile that put small wrinkles near his eyes. He was closer to Jaden’s former height, and kept his brown hair short enough to draw attention away from a reclining hairline. He wore a rather understated green velvet jacket with his outfit, perhaps as to make his wife seem more beautiful by contrast.

“Welcome, welcome!” The baron extended his arms in greeting. “Once I heard that we had visitors in our part of the woods, I knew I had to offer the finest hospitality of Redwall. Please, let me introduce my wife, Juliss, and our daughter Callandra, and my son Kalen.”

The baroness must’ve been an absolutely stunning woman in her youth, and that had only grown into a mature beauty that her daughter had clearly inherited. Both Juliss and Callandra had lighter hair, almost blonde, done up in an elaborate fashion that would’ve been the envy of the royal court. Kalen sat in his chair and stared at his empty plate, without acknowledging the guests. He had more of his father’s looks, from what they could tell.

Mirena gave a knightly bow to each member, prompting the Northmen to nod a little in recognition. Oleander had no experience with courtly etiquette, but did a good job at a curtsy after catching Mirena’s eye. Jaden didn’t know what to do, since Lacunai culture assumed a hierarchy based on spiritual and magical power and he was sure he outranked the Tassards in that respect. He settled for a slight bow, too, arms crossed over his chest. He regretted that almost immediately as he felt the softness shift against the hidden silk.

“I am Mirena Kaladon, paladin of Telum,” she introduced herself, causing the baron to exchange a look with his wife.

“Kaladon, you say? I believe we may have had business with a Marius Kaladon of Tier in the past. Are you related?” The baron asked with obvious curiosity.

“My father, my lord,” Mirena hid her displeasure at being associated with the man.

“Interesting. Go on, please,” Baron Tassard gestured at the rest of his guests.

“Stann Winterheart of Strom, this is my cousin Kellen,” the younger cousin spoke for both of them this time.

“Winterheart? As in Olev Winterheart’s clan? My, the company is starting to become rather distinguished, Ariken!” Juliss told her husband, clearly aware of the affairs of other states.

“Indeed it is, my heart.” They looked more pleased, knowing they had proper guests instead of random travellers. “And, who is this young woman?”

“Oleander Lockless of the Radent Lockless, and this is my elven spellguard Jaden,” she said with slight boredom and pointed a finger at her friend, who was starting to turn towards her with annoyance.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said the baron while exchanging a blank look with his wife. She imperceptibly shook her head. “Also, impressed to meet one of the famed sorcerer bodyguards of Ral Sona. I had the pleasure of meeting some of your blade sisters while visiting the city last summer, on business.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” Jaden said through gritted teeth. Ollie would pay for this.

“Though, I’m sure I heard that the spellguards were all women?” The baron had a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s a recent development,” Jaden lied smoothly, despite wanting to scream a little. Though, if things were going the way they were, it wouldn’t stay a lie for very long.

“Very well, then. With introductions out of the way, let us show you our home while the supper is being prepared. We didn’t know how many to expect, so there will be a slight delay.”

“That’s quite alright, my lord,” Mirena assured the baron, and walked by his side as they were led away from the dining hall to see the various sights of the manor.

As they were shown the library and the receiving room, Baron Tassard talked about how it had been a wonderful opportunity for his family when the king had offered them this land. It had boiled down to politics, of course. The royal court had been divided on a trade agreement with Sorun, with the King desiring to reopen a caravan route to the neighbouring elven country. Many of the military families opposed the proposition on account of how Sorun had declined to help Alband during the last war with the North, but Tassard had managed to gather enough loyalists to swing the issue in favour of the King. It had, of course, caused some tension back in Farcrest, which was just another incentive to accept the grant of land here.

“At least now I’m on even foot with my older brother Robel, being a landowner at last,” the baron laughed.

“These are some beautiful paintings, Baron,” Kellen commented, looking at the family portraits.

“Yes, we had them made by a renowned artist back in Farcrest. As you can see, little Kalen was only a young child there, not yet five years old,” Baroness Juliss said with a smile.

“He looks very energetic there, as if the painter captured him between two jumps. I noticed that your son seemed a little, ah, subdued now?” Kellen continued. The baron’s son had not followed them on their tour, but instead had remained behind in the dining hall with a servant.

“Oh, he’s just a little ill. A cold, I’m sure. It’s not something we’re worried about.” The baron dismissed the issue. “He’ll be back to his normal self soon enough, certainly.”

Jaden looked at the painting of the girl from six years ago. She looked terribly shy, not even holding her head straight up to the painter, but instead fixing her gaze at something on the floor. It was a jarring contrast from the vibrant young woman who had silently accompanied them on their guided tour of the baron’s home. Callandra hadn’t said a word yet, but continued to smile with an intensity that bordered on devotion. Jaden could see why the teacher’s son would be infatuated with the girl. She was beautiful, and blossoming into a woman that would break many hearts.

When they started to return back to the dining hall, a servant approached them and announced in those clipped words that an appetizer had been served.

The long table had been set with wonderful, painted Marsander porcelain plates, and precious tinted Etrian glassware. They had each been provided with a skilfully displayed set of greens and fish, with just a thin circle of a salad sauce tying the dish together.

“In the spirit of Marsantias cuisine, I felt we should use their traditional eating sticks. They’re imported, of course,” the baron said with pride as they sat down, and servants filled their glasses with water or white wine. The table also held porcelain spoons for those who couldn’t master the trick of eating with the foreign tools.

Aside from Mirena, who had eaten the Marsander way before, the guests eventually resorted to the offered spoons one by one. While they were struggling, the baron’s daughter all but fed her brother using the eating sticks with a practiced hand. Surprisingly, Stann managed to eat half his plate with the sticks before giving up. Bullheadedness would only take you so far, after all.

"You are impressed, yes?" Stann turned to the redhead next to him cheerfully.

"Positively Stanned." The rest of the group groaned, though Callandra giggled amicably.

"It's always too early for puns like that, Ollie!" Jaden told her in no uncertain terms.

When the servants stepped forward to remove their plates, Mirena took the opportunity to ask the baron’s leave to go freshen up. Jaden had inadvertently splashed a drop of sauce on her dress when his fingers slipped, and she wanted to dab it off before it stained her favourite gown.

A manservant, possibly the same who had escorted them through the manor the first time, showed up to lead her to the washroom. Ever since entering the manor, she’d had a nagging feeling that something was strange, but she filed it away for later so she could focus on keeping her friends in line. They were brutes, but they were her brutes.

While saving her gown, she looked around the washroom. She missed not having a mirror to see herself better. In fact, when she thought about it, she had not seen a single mirror since coming here, not once during their tour of the manor. That was strange. The tavern keeper, Beryl, said she had received a grand mirror as a gift on her birthday a month ago from the baron. She finished up, and returned to the supper feeling that something was a little off.

The archer’s boots made no sound as he circled the lit windows. He was certain he had found the source of the dissonance in the wind, the wrongness he had felt ever since stepping into the Ealbourne. The breeze was picking up, and the first drops had begun to break free from the dark clouds that covered the setting sun. Another person might have had trouble seeing in the poor light, but Rhyce was not hindered by darkness. The rustling of wings told him his other friends had arrived.

“It’s in here. I’m sure of it,” he spoke to the black eyes peering down from the tree.

He would need to get closer, though. The trees provided cover, but the distance to the house was too far, and too open. He chose to circle the building instead, to approach it from another direction. There were fewer windows facing the deep forest to the north.

He had his bow ready when he carefully made his way along the trees; senses open to every motion and every noise. The world told him that his instincts had been right. A dry twig snapped behind him.

Powerful arms grabbed him, too strong to be normal, and wordlessly trapped his own arms close to his body. He couldn’t even reach his knife. An impassive face, frozen like a doll-like mask stepped in front of him, and the last thing he saw was the back of an axe thud into the side of his head before everything exploded into darkness.

Rhyce didn’t feel a thing as the two figures dragged his body into a shed behind the building. He didn’t feel it when they chained him to the wall, and he didn’t feel it when they snapped the manacles shut.

Several black birds landed on the roof of the shed, and as one they let out a squawking call.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Events in Redwall comes to a close when the source of the strange sensations come to light. Jaden tells himself something he needs to hear.

Flashback: Jaden understands that his future among the Lacunai won't be what he wants.

---

Chapter 13: Embracing Change

JADEN

It was warm inside, a stark contrast to the chill surrounding the fortress. The winters held the mountains in the grip of a jealous lover, but the Lacunai wouldn’t want it any other way. It only served to harden them against the threats from the outside world. The fireplace burned brightly and outlined the silhouette of the man standing before it. This was his study, but the heavy desk stood almost bare; anything important would be said to the face, not in a letter.

He stood slightly above the average height of men, and carried himself with an air of a person who was supremely confident in their own abilities; confidence brought on by many hard-won victories, and lessons learned through defeat. The dark burgundy coat was of the finest velvet, made for him specifically by a Kasman tailor many years ago. It fit him perfectly to this day, as he would allow nothing less. Long, black hair fell freely to his shoulders, parted where a pair of curved horns rose from his brow. Along the hairline were also a number of dull, almost black scales where his draconic signs showed most clearly. Garen of the Iron Scales was one of the strongest Mystics of his generation, a trait he had dreamed of passing down to both his children. Recently, he had received word that this would not be so. He would have to put all his faith in his oldest child, since she at least had managed to remember her family’s iron-clad axiom.

Garen looked up at the banner above the fireplace. The seal of the Tarasov family, three black claws on a golden field, and the words spoken by their patriarch and immortalised here: Strength in all things. Strength above all things. He would be strong. For his family, for the mountain, he would be strong.

“Father, you called for me?” The chill from outside the chamber, more so than the voice, announced the arrival of his youngest.

“Jaden. Good. Attend to me,” the dragon-marked Mystic turned from the banner and beheld his son. Though similar in height, the older man was built much more powerfully, signs of both his inner spirit, and a lifetime of fighting. They shared the black hair, but aside from that both his children took after their mother’s features.

The younger Tarasov joined his father by the fireplace, and remained silent. They would have to address what had happened a week ago. It was not a talk either of them was looking forward to, but it had to be done.

“What do you see, when you look upon our banner, son?” Garen asked aloud, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Strength and honour,” Jaden immediately replied. It was the only answer, after all. All of his family knew this simple truth.

“Yes. Strength. Honour. The two pillars that have carried the Tarasovs through centuries when others have fallen.” His father took a breath to centre himself. He could feel the red heat roil inside him.

“Father, I-“

“So, why did you decide to throw away both at once?!” Garen roared, knocking over the nearby desk with an angry swing of an arm. It was a heavy oaken writing table, but that mattered little. The dragon’s power flowed through him even in human form.

“I-“

“You had prepared for that moment your entire life. You were to seek out strength,” Garen pointed at the banner with a finger where the dark nail was almost a claw. “Be a Tarasov! But what do you bring back with you?”

It wasn’t a question. Jaden looked at the floor in shame, and swallowed. He had brought disgrace upon his family. Once bonded with a spirit, the Mystic’s path in life was set in stone, just as Talraman was set in the mountain.

“A whore of the Myriad Nether? Unbelievable!” His father took several calming breaths, reining in his briefly lost temper, the fury of a dragon. “I would have had no objection to any other demon. There are many strong dwellers in that abyss. But you… you picked the weakest of them all.”

“Father, no! She picked me! I didn’t even know what was happening until-“ Jaden tried to explain. He hadn’t even seen it coming. Even after all the preparation, he had been blind.

“Enough! Just… enough. There is no place for you among the protectors of the mountain. Not like this. I had such great hopes for you, Jaden. You truly applied yourself in the art of combat. Your weapons trainer was pleased with your skill with the blade. Master Viskeri spoke highly of your progress in the magic craft, as well.”

“I can still fight, Father. She… My spirit, it has powerful fire magic,” Jaden said. The fire might even be as strong as his father’s, he thought. He had dreamt of fire every night since that fateful day; rivers of burning voices.

“Think, Jaden. I taught you better than that. So if you bring fire upon our enemies, what will happen then? You will make yourself a target. How will you survive the retaliatory strike? Will your scales deflect the arrows? Will your body shrug off the lightning?” Garen crossed his arms. No, his son was no dragon, no basilisk. That weakness would be his undoing in any battlefield.

“I can still… There must be something I could do?” Jaden could fight smarter. He was quick in the other form, light and fast on the wind with his wings.

“There is.” His father stared into the fire. This was the part he hated. This was where he had to sacrifice his son for the good of the mountain, and the honour of the family. Garen’s strong hands clenched. “When I got word of… your results, I spoke with a couple of friends in the council. I even called in a favour or two. After long deliberations we reached the conclusion that you could still be of use for Talraman.”

Jaden didn’t like how that sounded, but he waited for his father to finish. His instincts were often wrong anyway, even if they were screaming at him right now.

“Your… new talents might be worthwhile for our information network. If you cultivate your bond, I have no doubt you could become a… capable spy. Distracting certain officials if we need to turn attention away from what we’re doing, and similar things.” Garen no longer looked at his son. It would only make this harder. Every Mystic could serve the good of all Lacunai, but perhaps not in a way they had imagined.

“You want me to… The council expect me to…” Jaden couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t be right. He had grown up with stories of his family’s great deeds. He had dreamt that one day he would have a legend of his own. Not so anymore.

“Even in this disgrace, find honour through serving the mountain… son. Let me know what to tell the council, but don’t take too long deciding. This is the best you can hope for.” Garen of the Iron Scales waved his lost child away. It was time to consider the future. “Send in your sister when you leave. I need to speak with Lilya about a position among the protectors.”

Jaden fled the chamber. He didn’t feel like he would ever be able to stop running.

Their glasses had received a refill of water or wine, and the baron’s family was listening to Kellen do a much embellished telling of their adventure into the dark rift below Carrick Field. Jaden didn’t remember quite that many Kynian horrors while they had frantically tried to escape through the maze-like tunnels; the few there were had been bad enough. The noise of the mandibles snapping at his eyes was something he would rather forget.

“So there we were, backed up against the narrow chute where only one of us could crawl at a time,” Kellen directed his story mostly at the baron’s children. The daughter was leaning forward in fascination, that wide smile never leaving her lips; the son had barely moved, aside from pushing his napkin around a little.

One of the doors opened, letting Mirena back into the dining hall. Jaden caught her giving the room a quick look, as if she was searching for something. Apparently not finding it, she smiled at their hosts and rejoined the table.

“Now that we’re all back,” said the baron, interrupting Kellen’s tale without batting an eye, “I believe it’s time for us to try the main course, shall we?”

A servant immediately opened another pair of doors, allowing another one to push a cart into the hall. It carried several covered serving plates, but rather than steel or bronze lids these were woven like baskets. Jaden didn’t know Marsantian customs very well, but he imagined that this would be more common over there where metal was much rarer.

“Tonight, our cooks prepared a nice coriander pork dish, keeping to the Marsander style of course, with ajante noodles and steamed vegetables. Quite exotic, for us mainland people,” Baron Tassard pointed at each tray as they were placed on the table. The servants immediately rolled the empty cart out to bring the second round of food.

“This looks delicious,” Stann leaned forward to smell the freshly cooked meat still steaming in its juices.

“We’ll let our staff know of your kind words,” lady Juliss said with an eager smile. “Now, don’t be shy, take as much as you want. We’ve got plenty more coming.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Stann said, and reached over to take the carving knives from the meat tray.

“Just leave some for the rest of us, Bear,” Kellen reminded his cousin, then turned to a servant for another refill of his wine.

A brief flicker from the polished steel while Stann was sawing the pork apart caused Jaden to pause. There had been something strange in that reflection. Something that shouldn’t have been there. Looking around, his friends seemed busy talking with the baron or his wife. The daughter was intently watching Stann work, and the son was as listless as before. Nobody was keeping an eye on Jaden.

Letting his mind relax, he opened himself to the flow of magic through the world. The table and chairs, the walls of the manor, all fall into a grey backdrop. Only things touched by magic were truly visible through Mystics’ sight. Jaden casually looked around the room, and saw strands of magic wrapped around the baron, his family, even the servants. All of them. On the table, he saw the same around the food that had been brought in. He recognised the feel of the strands. It was deception magic, a mirage, just like the illusion that cloaked him.

Unlike transformation magic, deception was ephemeral. It wasn’t physical, but it could fool every sense but touch. Also unlike transformation, the strands were partially transparent. If you knew what you were looking at, you could see past the mirage and find the truth. Jaden fixed his eyes on the length of pork before him and pushed aside the tangle of lies with his own magic. Stann was happily carving out platefuls from a leg. A human leg.

Controlling his urge to scream, Jaden swept his unravelling eyes across the room. The ajante writhed in its true maggot form. The servants, quietly standing ready by the doors, looked more like human-sized dolls then men. Their faces were frozen in an expressionless mask, and there were no eyes in those dark sockets, only horror. They were surrounded by an infected miasma.

Finally, Jaden turned to look at the baron himself. Black marks appeared around Lord Tassards eyes, and coils of purple nether energy wrapped around both him and his wife, protecting rather than controlling them.

“My lord, my deepest apologies, but all this water must have passed straight through me. Could I be excused briefly?” Jaden fought to keep his voice level and polite. He had to do something without alerting the hosts. He couldn’t dispel the illusion, nor did he know what they were capable of. Also, none of his friends had brought their weapons here. He had to try and keep this from escalating into a fight, but he also had to get his friends out of here.

“Of course, spellguard Jaideen,” the baron’s smile looked strained. He did not enjoy these interruptions, it seemed like. He gestured at a servant by the door Mirena had passed through earlier. “Kudan will show you the way.”

“Mistress Lockless,” Jaden turned to Oleander and gave her a meaningful look. “You wanted to freshen up as well.”

“I- Of course, excellent suggestion,” she stood up and joined him, drawing some curious looks from the rest of their friends.

Mirena narrowed her eyes with suspicion. Those two didn’t go to the washroom together normally, so something must be going on. She looked around the room at the baron’s family and her friends, but nothing seemed out of place. Mirena’s eyes briefly met Kellen’s, who looked a little strained. Maybe he was feeling something too?

The manservant brought Jaden and Oleander down the corridor to one door among many, and then stood quietly waiting for them to finish their business. The man didn’t react when Jaden took the redhead’s hand and brought her into the washroom with him.

“Jay? Uh, what are you doing?” Oleander wondered when the Mystic pulled the door shut behind them, leaving them alone in the small room. Her mind started to buzz with several unexpected thoughts, leaving her with a slight blush.

“This is going to sound a little… strange, Ollie, but I need you to trust me on this. Can you do that?” His eyes, those light amber, almost golden eyes, bore into her with a desperate sense of urgency.

“I do, completely,” the words slipped out of her mouth before she even had the chance to reflect on them. He didn’t seem to notice, though. Something must really be bothering him.

“I want… I need you to cause something that will force the baron to put the supper on hold and allow us to leave, without drawing too much attention to us.” Jaden was playing several scenarios out in his head. If they were going to avoid fighting, they would have to play this very subtle. Not even their friends could know until they were safely away from here. He couldn’t imagine Mirena or Stann to calmly walk away.

Oleander met his eyes with her own for a long time. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but he had put his trust in her right now. Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t have any ideas on how to break up a fancy dinner party. A big grin lit up her face.

Upon seeing that large smile of hers, Jaden began to worry if he had made a very bad decision here, but it was too late now. He just nodded at the woman, and opened the door again. The servant stood precisely where they had left him, almost motionless. As soon as they were out of the washroom, they were bid to follow with a gesture and a clipped word, and made their way back to the dining hall where the others were no doubt waiting.

“Ah, nice to see you return, lady Lockless,” Baron Tassard smiled warmly. They stood by one of the paintings of a large Albander city seen from the sea, likely Farcrest of yesteryear. Their host had been talking about how his family had come into their position, a story that was filled with more self-aggrandizing than fact. “Are we ready to sit back down? We wouldn’t want the food to grow cold, now, would we?”

Oleander shot Jaden a look he recognised. She needed to be unseen, so now it was his turn to draw attention away from her.

“Baron, being from… Sorun, I am unfamiliar with some parts of your country’s history. Is it true that the Northern Horde made its way all the way to the walls of Farcrest during the third war?” Jaden gritted his teeth, and did his best to feign a Sorunese accent.

“Aha, a fellow scholar of the past! Yes, you see, it all began after War Chieftain Sogard Skyrune ascended the high seat after the second war,” the baron lapsed into a familiar rendition of a story they had heard from Kellen before. The shamans of the North desired to expand the borders of their domain, and pressured the new chieftain into declaring a new campaign against Alband mere years after the last war had ended. Neither nation was prepared for another conflict, but found themselves locked in a drawn-out battle anyway. The war-tired neighbouring countries of Sorun and the underkingdom of Atun wanted nothing to do with it, leaving either side without allies as well. The third war was a loss for everyone.

While the baron spoke, keeping the attention of the room, Oleander casually moved around the room. The baron son Kalen managed to raise his head long enough to look at her with a blank expression, but didn’t say anything.

“Well, enough history I say, we really should sit down and enjoy this wonderful feast,” lady Juliss interrupted her husband before he could launch into a debate with Kellen about the finer points of the third North-Alband war.

“About time,” Stann murmured. Letting all that pork grow cold seemed like such a waste. He reached for the knives on the tray to lift a good serving of the meat onto his plate.

A loud thud came from the kitchen doors, followed by another one. Everyone paused in what they were doing and looked at noise. The baroness waved at a manservant, who immediately tried to open the doors, but to no avail.

“We seem to be having some trouble here, “ Baron Tassard said with a slightly annoyed laugh. “Get that door open, Kudan. Let’s not keep our guests waiting!”

The servants tried both pulling, and turning the key in the lock. One of them looked up at the baron and gave an expressionless shake of his head.

“Well, this is certainly-“ The baron couldn’t finish the sentence before the windows blew open. The drapes whipped wildly in the wind. The stormy weather that had been brewing all afternoon had arrived, blowing rain and leaves into the dining hall. Yelps and shouts filled the room as those sitting closest to the windows were dripping with cold water.

“Get those windows shut! What is happening here?” The baroness demanded in a shrill voice.

“Is the house haunted?” Stann wondered aloud, shuddering not from the cold but from sensible superstition. The room was much darker as the wind had snuffed out the candles, leaving only two covered oil lamps in a corner. The servants, now soaked, managed to finally secure the windows and shut the storm outside. The damage, though, was done. The food was drenched in rainwater, the table was a complete mess, and half the guests were shivering.

“This is ridiculous,” the baron exclaimed, looking both angry and embarrassed. “I… apologise profusely for this very unfortunate turn of events. I will have to ask you to return tomorrow for a proper breakfast instead. I don’t know how to explain what happened here.”

“That’s quite alright, my lord. It’s a shame about the pork on ajante, but it can’t be helped.” Mirena had sat opposite of the windows, and got away with only a few drops in her hair.

“Kudan will take you back to the tavern, lady Kaladon. It seems there are still some quirks to this old manor, eh?” Baron Tassard tried to laugh, but it seemed flat and strained.

“Good evening, your lordships, and thank you again for the supper, even if it didn’t turn out as expected,” the knight said, and gathered her friends to leave. Kellen looked like a drenched ox with his robe clinging to him, but Jaden seemed to have escaped without being splashed even though he sat almost directly in front of a window.

“Well, that was certainly strange,” the rune seeker offered his opinion as he dug through his belt-pouches. His fingers closed around the desired stone with a triumphant rumble, and soon the water dripping from him pulled into a large hovering ball that left him as dry as he had been minutes earlier.

“Haunted, I say. That place gave me the shivers for some reason. Only ghosts would stoop low enough to ruin such a fine meal,” Stann sulked. That pork had looked really good. Ghosts didn’t know what they were missing.

Jaden glanced at the redhead that walked next to him. It looked like she was fighting to keep a straight face. He reached out with a clammy hand and squeezed hers. When she looked up in surprise he mouthed a silent thank you, making her look away quickly. Was she laughing at him?

They hurried back into the covered carriage that would take them back to the Woodsman’s Cup and sat in much the same way as before, except this time the redhead claimed the spot next to the black-haired mystic.

“Was that enough?” She whispered at him as the carriage began to roll away from the baron’s home.

“Very inspired. I’m afraid to ask how you did it,” Jaden gave her a wan smile. He was too disturbed by what he had seen back there, and what it meant. It was still a jumble in his head, and that beckoning in the back of his mind didn’t help either.

“If that hadn’t done the trick, I could’ve set fire to the tablecloth with the pinches of flashpowder I had spread out while reaching for things. “ Oleander looked very pleased with her flair for improvised destruction.

“Now who’s setting things on fire, Ollie?” Maybe this could be his come-back when she brought up the bathhouse incident again?

“I’m just learning from you, oh prince of the flame!” She nudged his side, and jumped a bit at the wetness. Some rain must’ve hit them when they entered the carriage.

A silhouette watched them drive away from a window on the second floor.

The cold chains keeping him upright against the wall were the first thing Rhyce saw when his eyes reluctantly allowed themselves to open. The blood on the side of his forehead was beginning to dry, and his head was throbbing painfully. He remembered…

“Ah, our lovely guest is coming back to us,” a dulcet voice reached out from the shadows. “Is he alert?”

A figure stepped in front of him. Rhyce couldn’t call it a man, not really. It walked like one, but the face was empty of any humanity, as if it was a porcelain mask rather than flesh. The figure roughly pulled his head up by his hair. The sudden pain forced a grimace on his face, but he wouldn’t give them the pleasure of hearing him cry out.

“The guest is alert, Mistress,” spoke the man-creature with those harsh, clipped words. It sounded like as if several people tried to form a sentence by saying just one word each.

“Wonderful! Human, who is my sister?” That sweet voice spoke again, but the words made no sense.

Rhyce just stared at the shadow, letting his eyes grow used to the darkness. Contours began to appear where there had only been a void previously. If he could see it, he could hit it. His arrows couldn’t miss. His hands twitched in the manacles, almost feeling the grip of his missing bow. His target was right in front of him, but he had no way to shoot.

“Answer me, human!” The voice turned from honeyed song to burning threat in an instant. He saw a gesture toward one of the inhuman guards.

His breath was driven out of him when the man-like creature drove its fist into his stomach. The bitter taste of bile shot up into his mouth and mixed with the blood. Rhyce wanted to gasp for breath, but he knew his body wouldn’t let him breathe. He forcibly relaxed his tense muscles until the shock passed, and only then allowed himself to reclaim his air. This was not his first beating.

“Oh, we have a hero on our hands, do we? Tell me what I want to know, and I might be merciful. If you beg, I could even let you go. Will you beg for me, human?” The sweetness was back again.

“You cannot fill a dry well with tears,” Rhyce managed to say a rasping voice.

“A poet you are, a true wordsmith!” Cruel amusement dripped with every word. “I am an artist as well.”

The half-visible shape opened the door to the shed and was about to step out when she turned back and beheld the defiant man shackled and chained.

“Paint him in a tragedy of violence, my sweets," she commanded, with a sweep of her arm.

He felt the fists of the man-creatures several times more, before one of them showed him the knife that would be the brush on his canvas of agony. Now the pain would truly begin.

The rain was still drumming to the background music of a summer storm when the carriage had left them outside the inn. In the wakes of sundown the weather cast the skies in an even darker shade of black, making the warmth and light of the Woodsman’s Cup very welcoming.

“Alband weather, right?” Stann shook water out of his shoulder-long hair, and glared at the other two men. Kellen had simply kept his water-shaping rune handy, and made the rain curve away before it touched him. Mirena and Oleander had huddled close to the older cousin as they hurried into the inn after getting out of the carriage, sharing in the protective bubble. Jaden, as was the case recently, was oddly unaffected by the weather. He looked as dry as when they had dressed in their rooms earlier, yet a pool was forming by his feet on the empty common room’s floor. Stann frowned at the strangeness of this, but that was the nature of magic, he supposed.

“Nice enough shindig, until the ghosts put an end to it,” Kellen pursed his lips in thought. While he might not believe there were actual ghosts in the manor, he had felt a strange chill when they got there. Sometimes he regretted not being a shaman, and being more aware of the spirit world.

“Did you guys see their kids? What was wrong with them?” Oleander sat down on one of the many chairs around the tables. Almost immediately, she squirmed and tugged at her skirt that had bunched up underneath her.

“Forget about the children; Rhyce was right!” Jaden blurted now that they were safely away from the baron’s men. “There are demons in Redwall!”

“What?” Mirena looked surprised, but not shocked. She had felt too many things since coming here, but she couldn’t quite recognise what. It was as if there was a veil over the village, suppressing her senses, and her connection with Telum.

They had talked about this while riding up, but Redwall had seemed so normal, even happy. It had been so easy to dismiss the archer’s demonic prediction. It had been so natural to just accept the contentment that seemed to permeate most of the villagers. As they looked at each other and began to understand this, it began to come to them that there might have been an outside influence insinuating this acceptance into their hearts.

“I used my Mystics’ sight while we were there. Everything was cloaked with illusions,” Jaden couldn’t tell them what they had almost eaten. There was no need to nauseate his friends like that; just another lie of omission to add to the pile. “The baron and his wife were heavily affected by demonic magic. They wore its dark blessing.”

“Are you absolutely sure, Jaden? We can’t just go and put a nobleman and family to the sword on a hunch.” Mirena looked at him intently, seeking any sign of uncertainty.

“I… Rena, please just believe me this time. These are things I know,” Jaden shivered in his soaked clothes, unseen by all. “I know demons. We were taught about all sorts of magical creatures, as well as the visitors from other worlds.”

“C’mon green-eyes, don’t go all inquisitor on Jay! If he says they’re demons, that’s good enough for me!” Oleander had got up from her seat and took a supportive step closer to her Mystic friend.

“I apologise. I guess I was just afraid to admit it to myself, too,” Mirena made a face, but still managed to look ladylike while doing it. “I’ve had some quite suspicious feelings since coming here. I should have heeded the warning signs, but for some reason I didn’t.”

“Right. Demons. We can handle that, surely,” Stann punched his palm with a smile. “You go ahead making those plans you like, and I’ll put on some dry clothes.”

“I should switch out of my nice clothes, too, if we’re going to turn this village upside down,” Jaden excused himself. Of course he didn’t need to change clothes. He was already wearing his most comfortable summer shirt and trousers, but no matter how many times he switched the illusion covering him, they would still remain soaked to his bones.

While the two went to their separate rooms, Mirena gestured for the rest to sit down. Oleander managed to do a better job of smoothing her skirt out this time. She was not used to wearing anything except trousers or tight leggings, but she was a quick learner — especially with a disapproving teacher like Mirena watching her.

“How do we find the demons? It is obvious that they’re not keeping the people here captive by force, or ruling openly. Are they instead hidden predators? And what is their connection to the Tassards?” Mirena laid out the immediate questions for everyone to hear.

“Are they shapeshifters, perhaps? That would allow them to hide in plain sight?” Kellen grimaced. This was turning into something too much like the skinwalker in Etrana. He could almost feel the paranoia rushing back.

“That would explain a lot,” Mirena seemed also recalling the events in the southern capital. She held her necklace in a hand, feeling the dull prick of the small golden sword. “If we find a suspect, I can always purge their cloak of lies with the power of Telum.”

“But first, who do we even suspect?” Oleander thought back on what she and Rhyce had learned during the afternoon. “A lot of people acted pretty strangely a month or so back.”

“The nightmares,” Kellen nodded. “That was probably when the demons appeared. Even common folks can feel the twisting when a dark visitor breaks into our world. That also means, worse for us, that the demons’ rift is here as well.”

“If it had been open for a month, the entire village and most of Ealbourne Woods would’ve been corrupted,” the knight disagreed. “More likely they just slipped through before the crack sealed itself.”

“But back to suspicious people?” The redhead tried to keep them on track. “There was this guy, Old Nias, who just ran away? Maybe he saw something?”

“Even if he did, he’s been gone for weeks. We have as good chances finding him, as finding the demons directly,” Kellen spread his hands in frustration. This was what he had hated about the Etrana incident: the mistrust and fear.

“What about that woman, Lyrissa? She’s a failed magician. Maybe she tried to prove something, and summoned a demon or two by mistake?” Oleander pointed out. “You told us she had been mighty suspicious about the two of you. Maybe she didn’t want you to see through her trickery?”

“That’s definitely a possibility. Some of us should look in on her again, but maybe someone else than Kellen and I will make her likelier to talk,” Mirena nodded. The woman had definitely been on edge, but from what they wouldn’t know until she was more forthcoming with them.

“But what if she IS the demon?” Oleander asked the obvious.

“Then we cut the monster’s head off!” Stann announced his return, wearing his dry spare clothes and chain mail armour, and affectionately patting his sword. He had brought his shield as well, just in case. “Did you and Rhyce find out anything else while you were looking around, Red?”

“Actually, where IS Rhyce?” Kellen looked at the windows, and out into the raining dark.

“I hope he gets back soon; this will only get worse the longer we leave it. If he’s not back by the morning we’ll have to go look for him,” Mirena looked a little worried. The archer being missing, the oppressive feeling, and the presence of demons made her mind consider all sorts of dreadful scenarios.

Jaden picked that moment to return. The change of clothes felt very nice, but his chemise was still wet. Hopefully it would dry by itself if he could stay out of the rain, but right now it just caused a distractingly slick sensation against his chest. He looked around the common room, and blinked.

“More importantly: where is the innkeeper and the maids? Where is everyone else?” Jaden asked his friends, causing them all to turn around and look, realising that they were all alone in an inn that should be full at this hour.

Blood hitting the floor wanted to sound like the rain outside the shed, but instead of bringing life to the world, every drop spoke of life leaving Rhyce. He hung limply in his chains, almost not feeling the shallow cuts that crisscrossed his chest and arms.

One of the servants of the demon had lit a lantern a while ago. Rhyce had first thought they wanted him to better see what they were doing to his body, but the sizzling noise told him that was not the case. The man, who looked older and blonde when Rhyce no longer could summon the strength to pierce the veil that hid their doll-like flesh, held the knife into the flame. The tip was glowing in dull red.

He closed his eyes. The farmhouse sprang to life behind his eyelids. Their voices brought a sense of home to the place. He had failed them, and only blood would wash the sin from his hands.

Milene, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you. Tivan, your father is coming home.

Another black crow landed on the shed as the knife finally pulled a scream from him.

Stann let the curtain fall back as he stepped away from the window.

“It’s pretty dark out there, but I think the rain is starting to let up.” The situation was miserable enough as it was, without adding a downpour to it. “I think I saw some movement out there, though.”

Mirena and Jaden still sat at the table, with Kellen standing with a runestone in each hand and a frown on his face. Oleander was pacing. She was starting to feel trapped, despite being in a large, empty room. Unseen walls were closing in on her, and she felt a strange chill inside her heart.

“They had no mirrors in the mansion,” Mirena spoke, trying to add as many facts as they could gather to their evidence. “Why was that?”

“Demonic deception is mostly in your mind, unlike a Sorcerer’s mirage that actually changes the properties of light. The mirrors would have shown the demon’s true form,” Jaden explained. The idea of demon shapeshifters struck a little too close to home. This was getting very dangerous. Fortunately, he wouldn’t have to worry about mirrors. “Notice how they didn’t have any metal plates or cutlery until they served the meat? I guess there was no getting around having a knife by then. I saw a flash of the real world when Stann was cutting the le- uh, the pork.”

“There’s something strange going on out there,” Stann called, peeking outside again. “I think people are gathering.”

“This just went from bad to worse,” Mirena stood up. “We have three objectives: we need to find Rhyce; we have to find the demon; and we must avoid hurting any villagers in the process.”

“Why would we want to hurt the people here?” Oleander looked at the brunette with confusion.

“Obviously we don’t, but the demons may have enthralled them, and might pit them against us,” Kellen saw where the knight was coming from. This was definitely becoming Etrana all over again, through that had been with lies and mistrust, rather than mindcontrol.

“Jaden, go with Stann and Oleander to see if you can find out anything more from Lyrissa,” Mirena laid out the plan, pointing through the wall to where the failed magician’s cottage laid outside the village. “Kellen and I will head for the Tassard’s manor. If they’re nethermancers capable of summoning demons, we’ll be the ones best suited to fight them. Catch up with us as soon as you can. Whatever is going on, we’ll likely find some answers there.”

“Splitting up again, Rena?” Stann shook his head a little. “By now, we should acknowledge that we’ve not had a whole lot of luck with that.”

“I know! But I also can’t stop feeling that we’re running out of time. Just hurry, alright?” Mirena headed to the room she shared with Oleander to don her armour. This time she would be well prepared.

“You go ahead,” Kellen told the others. “I’ll stay here and make sure there are no surprises.”

“Rus og bol, Winterheart,” Stann thrust a fist toward his cousin, then went to the door with the Mystic and the redhead in tow.

“Glory and blood, clansman,” the older Northman replied as the three left the tavern.

“Where did you and Rhyce go earlier today?” Jaden asked, as they cautiously walked through the slow drizzle. Some people were standing outside their houses, watching them. Inside the lit windows, they could the worried faces of the unaffected. Most of them were children.

“All over the place, really. I’m not sure if anything stuck out enough for him to want a second look-see,” she shrugged, keeping a hand on one of her knives. She did not feel comfortable with being watched like this.

“Didn’t he say anything? Anything at all?”

“It’s Rhyce we’re talking about here. He just took off and I followed as best I could. That man can walk very quickly when he wants to, let me tell you,” Oleander kept looking around. Some of the people had begun following them from a distance. “It’s a small village, though. There’s basically just two ways to go — up or down the main street.”

“You cannot tell which way the deer ran by looking at the trail,” Jaden tried to think of something Rhyce would say, as he was attempting to get into the mindset of the archer.

“Yes, you can! It’s called tracking!” The redhead exclaimed, waving her hands around.

“… well, alright. It wasn’t a perfect metaphor,” Jaden admitted.

“Will you two shut up? We’re being followed.” Stann nodded to the group of people who had been following them for the last minute. “Also, I think that’s the witch’s house up there.”

Ahead along the smaller road that led from the village a way into the forest was a small cottage with rough log walls and thatched roof. When they tried the door, they found it soundly barred. Stann was about to kick it open when Oleander reminded them why they kept her around. Before a merchant would have the time to realise his gold necklace was missing, she had the door open.

The inside of the small house was one large room, with a bed in a corner, an area to cook, and a small table with mismatched chairs. A haggard woman with stringy brown hair and desperate eyes was backed up to the fireplace, brandishing a cast iron poker at them.

“Away! Away from my home, you monsters!” She sounded shrill, just short of panicked.

“Hey! We’re not the monsters here, miss demon!” Oleander returned the accusation, already having drawn a knife just in case.

“Please, ma’am,” Jaden put a gloved hand on the redhead’s, gently pushing the knife down. “We’re not the enemies here, but we need to know more if we’re to fight them.”

“You’re… you’re not?” Lyrissa seemed to falter a little, her poker dropping down as well. “I thought I was all alone.”

“No, there are plenty of others. But if we’re going to save the village, we need you to tell us everything you know. Please, Lyrissa, all these lives are at stake.” Jaden felt his words begin to take effect, but decided to push it a little further. “Everyone here needs you.”

Stann pushed the bolt back on the door, and kept watch out the window. There were still people out there, but something had happened back in the village. Some of them were beginning to return back there.

“They… do?” The broken woman stood up a little straighter, and suddenly eyed Jaden with suspicion. “How do I know you’re not filthy magicians coming here to finish the job?”

“We’re not. None of us are magicians,” Jaden lied easily, telling the stranger that the sky was green. The woman visibly relaxed. “What can you tell us of what’s happening here?”

“It’s the baron and his wife. They’re demon-worshippers! Their wealth and power? It’s all due to their pacts with the Nether. I see them in my dreams every time I sleep, binding Redwall ever tighter.”

“The nightmares?” Oleander asked, returning her knife to the belt.

“It was when she broke through the wall,” Lyrissa began to shake. “It lives inside their daughter now, a creature from below. She sings to the village when we sleep, and eat our hopes and dreams.”

“It’s the daughter? She did look a lot different from her old portrait,” Oleander and Jaden exchange a look. Jaden had sat just a seat away from Callandra during the dinner. He hadn’t sensed a thing. Or had he, and just not listened?

“Stann, we’re going for the mansion!” Jaden nodded at Lyrissa as they left, hoping she would be alright.

The people were gradually surrounding them outside the teacher’s house. It was on the way to the manor, and when they had passed it they saw the frightened looks of Samul and his family inside. Something was happening in Redwall, that was certain. One of their neighbours had been trying to break through the door, but Kellen had just grabbed the man from behind and thrown him into the street. That had brought all attention on the two of them.

“We’re going to have to make some adjustments to one part of your plan, Rena,” Kellen said, already exchanging his previous runes for something more offensive.

“We’re not hurting any innocents, Kellen. That’s final!” Still, Mirena drew her sword. All around them, people began to press closer. Their faces looked slack, as if they were asleep.

“Lady Kaladon, I know they’re my neighbours, but please don’t let them take my family,” Samul shouted from the window, holding his twins close.

Mirena looked at the crowd once more, and among the sleepwalking villagers she spotted some of the baron’s manservants. They looked stranger now that she knew she had been deceived. Their faces were frozen like masks, and their movements reminded her of the puppets she had seen as a child. This was an enemy she could fight. Mirena raised her sword, the blade beginning to glow with an inner light.

"I stand before the tide. With my last breath, I will protect you. With my least heartbeat, I will save you. I am a knight, and as long as I stand, you will never fall." It was the oath of a paladin, the words she had spoken when accepting the blessing of Telum.

“I see them too, Rena. Time to turn this battle around.” The rune seeker clenched his hand tightly around the inscribed stone. The protective symbols on his arms began to glow brightly as he poured his magic into them. “Invocation of the Four Mountains: Stoneguard!”

Rubble pulled up from the street, knocking the closest villagers over, and formed a moving shield that covered Kellen’s flank. That seemed to break the standoff, and the demonwrought servants threw themselves at the two magicians.

“The Mistress wants you to speak,” the first man-creature told Rhyce as it pushed his head back against the wall. There was too much blood in his eyes to see clearly.

“Speak,” the other said.

“Tell. Where is the Mistress’ sister? Who’s hiding her?”

“I…” Rhyce forced his raw throat to make sounds. “I don’t think I’ve bled enough yet.”

The servants obliged him.

When they came back to the village, the fighting was tearing the street apart. Blocks of stone had pushed up through the ground to keep the enthralled villagers from surrounding their friends. The light from Mirena’s sword had drawn them like a beacon from afar.

“Ymir’s breath,” Stann swore, looking at the scene. He pushed his helmed down, showing his eyes through the holes. The chin-guards didn’t cover his entire beard. Oleander had once told him that his helmet lacked the horns of a proper Northman helm, but he knew from experience those only got stuck on things.

“What are we going to do?” Oleander stared at the chaos. She didn’t think she could help out here at all.

“This is just a diversion, Ollie. We need to get to the demons and put an end to them,” Jaden pointed toward the manor in the distance. If they could get to the root of the evil, he hoped, the rest would wither away by itself.

“Alright, little brother. My ugly cousin and I will keep the locals busy. I’ll send Mirena to back you up. You’ll want her with you when you fight the demon. We’ll catch up once we’ve knocked the entire village senseless,” Stann slammed his sword against his round shield. Apparently there was no getting around fighting these people. It would be a Battle of Redwall all over, the North against Alband.

The moon was only starting to rise, making the village that much darker. Jaden’s eyes could pick out every detail in the night as if it was early morning instead. He led the way as they ran across the backyards toward the manor. The fighting was taking place on the main street, and engaging in that would only serve the plans of the demon, whatever they might be.

The sprawling manor of the Tassards was a bit outside the village, and lacking a carriage of their own it took the two several minutes to run there. They kept the pace sensible, though, to not exhaust themselves getting there. All the time spent in cities lately had made them a little spoiled, and Jaden could feel his heart racing once they passed the outer gate that separated the manor grounds from the Ealbourne. Though, whether it was from the running or the ever stronger beckoning, he couldn’t be sure.

“Jay, what are those things?” Oleander crouched down next to him, and pointed toward the main entrance. He recognised the unhidden form of the servants. They didn’t even bother to move naturally now, but instead jerked across the courtyard in a spindly fashion.

“The villagers were just thralls. Once the demons’ influence is gone, they’ll return to normal.” More or less. “The creatures over there are fleshforms. Think of them as undead, and you’re close to the truth. They’re what happen when a too weak demon tries to possess a human. The result is less than either part, but they’re absolutely loyal to their master.”

“Wonderful. So what do we do now? Maybe we can sneak inside through one of the side windows?” The redhead pointed along the treeline that followed the manor wings.

“Not a bad idea. They seem to be guarding the main doors, mostly.” The two began to carefully edge their way along the trees, mindful not to step on any of the branches that had blown down during the stiff winds earlier.

When they had circled about half way around, they saw a familiar sight through some of the lit windows.

“That’s the dining hall. If we go in through here, we’ll at least know where we are. Doesn’t look like anyone’s in there either, Jay.” Oleander peered inside.

“As good a place as any. From what I can tell, there are just wagon-houses and a shed around the back,” Jaden looked back at his friend. He really could see far during night-time.

“Sometimes I’m so envious of your elven eyes. Are those crows on top of the shed? That’s creepy.”

“I’m not an elf, Ollie.”

A loud crashing sound brought them around to look toward the front portion of the manor again. They made their way back as quickly as they could without breaking cover. When they peered around the corner of the dining hall wing, they saw Mirena slam one of the demon servants with her shield powerfully enough to lift it off the ground.

“Uh-oh. Looks like helmet-hair didn’t know about our sneaky plan, Jay.” The redhead looked over her shoulder. She was alone. Nights of bad dreams came crashing back to her. “Jay? JAY?!”

She wanted to go look for him. It was happening all over again. Her friends disappearing one by one, but Mirena was right there, fighting for her life. Oleander drew her knives, swearing Jay would have some explaining to do once this was over.

“Hold on, girl, I’m coming!”

More lies. Jaden could hear Oleander call for him as he slipped through the window. She had broken the locks earlier, allowing them to blow open by the wind, so getting through now was as easy as opening a door. He hated doing that to her, but he had to make sure of something. The beckoning that had called out to him ever since he had entered the forest had to mean something. If there was a demon behind all this, Jaden would have to see it for himself first.

He snuck through the corridors of the manor, passing the paintings of Tassard’s ancestors watching him intrude upon their domain. He was allowing himself to listen now, and the call came from upstairs. His new boots made a soft patter as he hurried toward the source of that summons. He didn’t stop until he was outside the double doors of a room that must surely overlook the village. He could feel her inside. There was no doubt about it.

Was it even his decision? Knowing what awaited him beyond those doors, he allowed the change to overcome him. The shirt tore as his wings unfurled, and his trousers stretched tightly across his wider hips. The veil couldn’t cover the size of his wings, so he drew back the magic that allowed it to change his appearance. With a push, both doors swung open to admit him inside.

It was obvious where most of the decorations had gone. The sparseness in the rest of the manor had been explained by how the baron had moved here from a townhouse in Farcrest, and they had much more space now. But that had been many years ago. No, the wealth of the baron had been channelled into making this room as opulent, as decadent as possible.

Red silks fell in graceful waves from the walls, brass fireplaces made it almost uncomfortably hot. The air was heavy with strangely familiar incense. As Jaden stood by the threshold, he realised he had been here before, yet this was the first time.

Sitting on a couch to the side were the baron and baroness, holding hands. They looked incredibly pleased with themselves. Jaden could see the nether energies worm its way around inside them.

By the windows stood a woman of Callandra’s size, but instead of Albander brown hair, hers was glossy and black, contrasting against her red skin. Her leathery wings were folded against her back, with the tips touching the base of the tail that was moving back and forth of its own accord. Small horns rose from that black hair, and her large breasts hung free in unabashed nakedness. Despite the differences; to Jaden, it was like looking at a mirror.

She turned around and looked at him.

“Oh, hello. I’m so pleased you finally came. What do I call you, sister?” The demon’s voice was like honey and molten butter.

"I'm Jaden," he said, feeling his tail swish back and forth.

"No you're not." She stretched her wings languidly. "I can smell the Drigorii in you. I was wondering who you were hiding inside. Are you a handmaiden of the Watching One?"

"I'm..." Jaden trailed off. He had never met another demon like her before. The sudden burst of kinship was almost overwhelming. He shook his head to clear it; his friends were fighting in the streets, and they needed him now. This was up to him. "Ashomi. I'm Ashomi."

"What a darling name, oh sister Horizon. I'm Amucia, of the Lectii," she offered a playful curtsy with her wings spread out. “Tassard? Leave us.”

The nethermancer couple just bowed at their mistress, and silently left the room. This was a business between visitors, unfit for humans.

“What are you doing to this village, Amucia?” Jaden demanded as soon as they were alone, taking a step closer to the demon.

“Are you jealous?” Amucia covered her mouth as she laughed, a gesture Callandra had used earlier. “Aren’t they just precious, my pretties? They dance as I will them to, and the energy I take from them is delicious.”

“This stops right now. Release them and end the fighting, or I will destroy you!” Jaden fixed Amucia with as angry a look as he could manage. He could afford to show the fear inside.

“Oh my! Sister, I had no idea this was your hunting ground. You should have said something.” The demon pouted, touching her lips with a finger. “You should have come visited too. My servants have been here for years, after all.”

“It’s not! I want you gone because you’re hurting people!” Jaden began to see that there would be no rational discussion here, but he couldn’t help himself. The mind of the demon was too different from that of men.

“What are you talking about, sister?” Amucia put her hands on her hips and looked a bit annoyed. Her tail was swishing as much as Jaden’s was.

“Stop calling me that! Hellfire!” Jaden brought down his hands, and the far end of the grand room exploded in clinging flames. The silks took fire immediately, spreading across the room.

He heard laughter from the firestorm, and a hand reached out in his direction.

“You want to play? Alright — Hellfire!”

The world around Jaden turned into a blaze, and he felt his clothes smolder. The fires didn’t hurt, however. The warmth just felt… nostalgic. He had other cards up his burning sleeves, though. He made a mental line go through the fire that enveloped Amucia, and then pointed.

“Noctophyx!” A burst of shadowy magic swept across the demon, but he didn’t pause to see the effect before he thrust out with a fist. Maybe she was just resistant to their own fire? “Valignat!”

“Oh! It tickles so!” He could see the demon saunter out through the inferno. The salamander’s fire was consumed by the nether flames almost immediately, but it was worth a try. “Were you trying to weaken me, sister? I have an entire village that feeds me!”

Magic was no good, but what about swords? Jaden drew the blade he had bought at the Tradegate market. He wished for a moment that he had kept his Talraman sword. The enchanted weapon would’ve been useful now. He leapt through the air, almost grazing the ceiling, and slammed the sword as hard as he could into the demon who was just watching him with her head tilted to the side.

“Oof!” Amucia staggered back a few steps, with a gash across her breasts. She ran a finger across the black blood and licked it off her finger. The wound closed before Jaden’s eyes. “This is beginning to bore me, Ashomi. Why don’t we go and play with a toy I caught? It’s being most amusing!”

Much closer to the windows now, Jaden could see the courtyard below. Mirena and Oleander was fighting against the possessed servants of the demon, and most of them were already lying motionless on the ground with knives sticking out of them, or finishing wounds by the knight’s sword. Mirena was fighting strangely, though. She held her symbol in a hand, and used its light to hold the remaining servants at bay. Jaden caught the glow of the sword on the ground a dozen feet away, beyond the servants. The sword was still glowing, despite being out of Mirena’s hands…

“Where are you going?” Amucia called, as Jaden threw himself out of the window, destroyed by the first exchange of fire. His wings brought him over the fighting, and set him down next to the sword. He felt bad about this, but no more so than anything else he had done tonight.

“Mirena! The demon!” Oleander called out, pointing toward Jaden, then slashed the wrists and armpit of a twisted, former man trying to grab her.

“I see it. Wait, what? It took my sword!” Mirena couldn’t believe her eyes. The demon had swept down from its lair and stolen her blessed blade.

Jaden thrust himself back up to the ruined window, his wings effortlessly defying gravity. The sword seared painfully into his palm, but that made him hopeful.

“What are you up to, Horizon? You’re acting very strangely!” Amucia had crossed her arms, and looked with annoyance at him. Well, playtime was over.

Jaden gritted his teeth against the pain in his hand, and swung against the demon again. She flinched back a bit as the glowing blade narrowly missed her, but the reverse swing cut into her arm.

“Ow! What… that really hurts!” Amucia held her bleeding arm, and looked with betrayal at Jaden. “That’s not playing fair. Stop it, sister!”

“I said I’d destroy you, and I will.” As long as he could hold onto the sword, that is. It hurt so much.

“You’re being unreasonable. I have more than enough energy to heal scrapes like these over and over until your hand falls off!” Amucia showed her arm. The wound was mostly gone, though it had taken longer than with his mundane blade.

Amucia was right. She was too strong. Weeks or even months of draining the village had saturated the demon with power, and in turn allowed her to reach even further. It was a dark cycle of ever expanding gluttony.

With her mesmerising hold on the villagers, there was nothing Jaden could do to free them aside from destroying the demon; but destroying her was impossible as long as she kept drawing from her people. However, her magic is not so unlike my own, Jaden realised. We both steal our power from someone else. Perhaps...

Jaden held out his hands with the palms skyward, and reached for the demon. He had let the sword fall to the ground to allow himself to concentrate.

"What, are you finally giving up, sister?" She laughed gaily, covering her mouth with a hand. Too well fed by the energies of her captive village, she didn't notice how the strands of magic began to detach themselves and reach for Jaden instead.

"Siphon!" He grasped the source of her power and pulled as hard as he could. The rush was incredible!

"W- what are you doing? Wait, sister, don't... We can share. I'm not greedy," the demon pleaded with him.

I know how you do what you do. I know how to do what you do. Better than you.

Redwall wasn't his yet, but it wasn't hers either. He would contest her hold on the village as long as he could. Cut off from her source, she was vulnerable at last.

Jaden felt the nether energies soak through his body. The demon had been feasting on the village for weeks, and she was completely flooded with power. The twice stolen vitality caused something inside him to open its eyes from dormancy, synergising with his own nature, but he couldn't think of that right now. He would pay the price later. It was just one more thing to be afraid of.

“Enough, Ashomi! You want to protect humans so badly? How about you protect the one who wouldn’t accept my hospitality?”

“Rhyce? Where is he, you bitch?” Jaden kept drawing as much of her strength as he could.

“I just told my servants to kill him. He’s in the shed behind the mansion. If you hurry, you can save him,” Amucia glared at the Mystic.

Mirena was trained to move in her armour, but running up those stairs was more of an exertion than she wanted to admit. She had seen the demon land in a chamber above the entrance. Oleander had passed her easily, and waited at the top of the stairs with knives ready if something jumped out at them. Their backs were clear, though. The two women had left none of the servants moving. Mirena felt the unclean presence in the house clearly now.

The twin doors to the chamber stood open, and fires burned along the walls. That was usually a sign that Jaden had been here, and they hurried forward to help their friend. Why he had decided to fight the demon alone was not important right now. As they looked inside, what they saw was unexpected.

“There are two of them?” Oleander groaned. They had assumed there was more than one demon from the start, but as they kept running into servants and thralls, she had begun hoping this was the work of a single mastermind. “And why is one of them wearing a scarf?”

“Not now, Oleander. Look, what are they doing?” Mirena pointed at the two demons, who seemed to be locked in some sort of stand-off. They were talking to each other, but she couldn’t make out what was being said.

Suddenly, one of them pointed toward the doors she and Oleander stood by, and the other looked their way with a fearful expression.

Jaden looked toward where Amucia had indicated. He remembered the shed around the back, next to the wagon houses. He could make it there in time. He had to. Wait, was that Rena and Ollie by the doors? Maybe they had a chance yet.

He reached down and grabbed the glowing sword again, the pain reigniting in his burnt hand. Before Amucia could say anything, he leapt through the room and landed next to his friends. Oleander started to move up to attack him, with Mirena readying her shield, when he flipped the sword in his hands and offered her the hilt.

“Get her,” he all but commanded, then pushed past into the mansion. He could get to the back faster by going through, rather than around. Jaden crashed through two doors before going out a window. Mountain, Telum, stars and ancestors, let him be in time.

Mirena held her sword mutely for a heartbeat, and both she and the redhead stared at the trail of destruction the scarfed demon had caused as she fled. When Mirena and that demon had been face to face, she had felt a strangely familiar sensation. As if she knew this being. Then she looked back into the burning room and saw the remaining one. That demon sneered at them.

“Humans. You were interrupting a family affair, and you broke all my toys. I will have to replace them, with you!”

“Fall before the might of Telum!” Mirena charged in, drawing the demon’s attention.

“Wonderful. The paladin. Still looking for heaven in all the wrong places, little girl?” The demon leapt back from the arc of the glowing blade, and unleashed a jet of fire against her attackers. Mirena held up her shield and prayed.

The knives Oleander threw seemed like they just made the demon angrier, and she had to dodge out of the way as even more fire came her way. She was running out of knives. If they lived through this, she would try to get her hands on one of those knives that came back after you threw it. Her foot bumped into a fireplace that had been hidden by one of those long silk drapes. Why would they put braziers in the room if they had a fireplace already? Her eyes paused on a sharp-looking fire-poker.

The knight and the demon fought back and forth. Mirena couldn’t get close enough to strike, and the demon’s fire couldn’t get past her shield. The heat was beginning to be unbearable, though. Mirena knew that if this turned into a battle of attrition, she would lose.

“Are you praying, paladin? No miracle will come. You will make a precious slave once I hollow your soul out for my servants to fill,” the demon taunted, as she flew back from yet another swing.

“Back home, I knew an old man who collected butterflies,” a voice came out of the haze that filled the room. The demon suddenly shrieked, as an iron poker ripped through one of her wings and nailed her to the floor.

“You unwashed, ugly beast! I will laugh when your owner claims your marked soul!” She cursed at the redhead.

With no way of fleeing now, the demon just screamed at the advancing knight. After exhausting her breath, the demon smiled sweetly.

“I surrender! I am now your prisoner, and expect fair treatment as befits my status. That’s what your people do, right? Take care of your prisoners? What do you say to that?”

“I am the Sword of Heaven,” Mirena replied, and swung her sword with all the might of Telum.

Something had changed. The man-creatures stopped pressing the heated tip of the knife against his body for a while, staring at the door. Then they turned back, with their heads at an odd angle.

“The Mistress says to kill you,” spoke the first.

“Death,” explained the other.

“The end.”

Rhyce had made his peace. He had counted each blow, every cut. It might be enough.

The door burst open, sending broken pieces of wood flying. The creatures barely had time to turn around before the winged vengeance was upon them.

“Not the Mistre-“ The clipped voice was cut short as the red-skinned woman smashed its head into the wall, making the shed shake. The other one quieted as quickly when her wing slammed it up against the roof.

Rhyce heard the crows call out. He could barely cling to consciousness and hung limply in his manacles and chains. His left eye was swollen shut, and the other bloodied, but he could still make out the woman in front of him.

"Princess of fire, have you come to claim me for my sins?" Rhyce managed to rasp out, sounding relieved even through his pain. She stopped halfway through the shed, next to the unmoving former men.

"No, I've come to free you."

"Have I finally paid my dues? Are the scales balanced?" He needed to hear something. Anything.

"Yes. Your sins are washed clean by your blood." Jaden didn't know if his words made any difference, but one look at his friend told him enough.

"At last. Maybe the faces will stop staring at me in my dreams..." Rhyce slumped in his chains, allowing himself to rest.

Jaden grabbed at the chains where they were nailed to the wall. They slowly began to glow with heat as his inner fire rushed to the surface; the wood smouldered, and metal softened enough for him to pull them apart. He caught the unconscious man when the last chain broke, and helped him from the place where he fought demons both within and without.

He gently held the archer as they left the torture-shed. It was strange how easy it was to carry the grown man, but Jaden could feel the siphoned power dissipate rapidly. That meant that the source had been killed, just as if one of his pact-bound creatures had died.

Jaden laid his friend down on the grass next to the shed, and stared up at the windows of the house for a long while. He could see no other fighting going on, and the feeling of darkness had begun to recede. A movement to his left showed two people riding away along a forest path. A man and a woman. He wanted to chase them, but he couldn’t leave Rhyce in this state.

"Demon! Step away from that man!" Mirena had a half-healed gash on her face, and held her glowing sword raised against Jaden. Oleander was circling around, trying to remain unnoticed. Was she carrying a fireplace poker?

He raised his hands palms outward, a gesture of peace. He had to do something before the situation escalated out of control.

"Rh- This man was being kept in the shed over there. I freed him." He moved a bit to be able to see both of the women at once.

"I said step AWAY from him. You will get no second chance!" Mirena was close enough to rush him, from Jaden's experience.

"I'm not with that... other demon. I tried to stop her. Didn't you see us fight when you arrived?" His palm still bore the black char where Mirena's sword had burnt him.

"... Yes. I did. Why did you fight her, and free our friend?"

"Mirena! Let's just get her, like we got her girlfriend up there!" Oleander had managed to slip out of sight again.

"I'm NOT her friend. I would've killed her myself, if she hadn't ordered her lackeys to finish off Rhyce!"

Mirena stopped in her tracks, looking surprised. Jaden cursed himself silently.

"How do you know his name?" She accused. "Have you been spying on us?"

"Oh, for the love of..." Jaden was about to lower his hands when a threatening motion of Mirena's sword brought them up again. "No! I'm not a spy! I was fighting her because she was hurting people."

"Why do you care? You demons are all monsters!" Oleander spat from her position behind Jaden.

Mirena took a long look at Jaden, and slowly lowered her sword. Oleander gasped.

"What... are you?" The knight asked, looking honestly perturbed.

"I'm... sorry. If you'll let me, I'll go. After all, there's a lot more of the demon's creatures to clean up before the village is safe." Jaden let his hands fall to his sides.

Both the other women risked a short look toward the village. The noise of fighting reached them.

"You are right, whoever you are. We must save as many people as we can. I sense no evil intent in you, visitor. You are free to go."

"Thank you, Knight." Jaden turned to go.

"Will we see you again?" Mirena called after him.

Every day, Jaden thought, as he threw himself into the air.

Jaden landed in a small forest clearing not too far away. He had to return to his formal form to be able to join up with his friends again, since his mirage veil couldn’t cover extra limbs such as his wings or tail. Most of his clothes were simply ruined, but he noticed with a wry sense of humour that his boots still fit wonderfully. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what the cost of this change would be as he drew the spirit back inside his body. The summer night was warm enough that he didn’t mind being essentially naked, but the loss of his chemise was a pity. The veil was brought to life once again with a trickle of magic, hiding him in a familiar illusion.

Jaden hoped he wouldn’t be too late to help his friends, though how he would do that would have to wait. With a frustrated grunt, he realised he had lost his sword again, up in the burning pleasure-room of the demon. He didn’t much enjoy the idea of going back up in the mansion, so he set off back toward Redwall, happy that his boots had survived.

The sight that awaited him was spectacular. Kellen had raised walls of stone to keep the enthralled villagers at bay while they fought the much more dangerous soulless servants. After the demon had fallen, most of the people had simply collapsed down in a stupor, and between Kellen’s magic and Stann’s sword they held their own with only a few cuts and scrapes to show for it. Mirena and Oleander hadn’t returned yet, but Jaden expected them to stay with and take care of Rhyce.

“Little brother!” Stann called out when he saw Jaden jog up from between two houses. “Where have you been?”

“I, uh, was held up,” the Mystic offered lamely.

“The entire battle? I’m disappointed in you. We could have used that weakening magic of yours to avoid hurting the villagers,” Stann looked saddened, and gave the younger man a once-over. Jaden looked, as always, untouched by the battle. It could only mean one thing — his little brother had avoided the fight altogether. It hurt the Northman that Jaden might be turning into a coward.

“I’m… sorry, Bear. How are things here?” Jaden looked around and tried to change the subject.

“There may be a couple more of those doll-faced demonthings, but as a whole I believe the village is secure,” Kellen pointed at the unaffected helping their senseless neighbours back into their homes. “I think we should be thankful that we all survived.”

“The demon is destroyed, as well. That’s the only explanation for the villagers returning to normal. That’s good,” Jaden nodded at a comatose woman lying in a heap next to the centre well.

“There’s that,” Stann grumbled, and began to look around after more demon-servants.

A while later, a black carriage weaved its way unsteadily along the main street. By now, most people had been helped into houses, so there was no reason for the driver to steer like that. When it came closer, Jaden couldn’t help but smile. Oleander sat at the bench and wrestled with the reins like they were live snakes. The carriage managed to slow down to a stop nearby the tavern, more due to the routine of the horses than the skill of the driver.

“Everyone alright?” Kellen called as he jogged up to take the reins from the redhead. There was no need for her to keep pulling at them now, after all.

“Rena and I are fine, but we… uh, we found Rhyce, and he’s in pretty bad shape.” Oleander hopped down and opened the carriage door.

Mirena had stayed by his side during the trip, continuing to bring the blessings of her god to the archer. The worst injuries, those that might have proven fatal if left alone, had healed. She brushed his hair back, and saw all the burn marks around his scalp. These would need healing as well, or he would scar badly. At her touch, Rhyce shifted a bit, regaining some consciousness. Despite the pain he must be feeling, a faint smile came to his lips when he opened his eyes.

In the carriage was also the son of the baron. They had found Kalen sitting in his room, staring into space, despite the fire a few doors away. Not the ones to leave a child by itself in a burning building, they brought him along. Hopefully, now that the demon was gone, he might regain his former self along with the rest of the village.

The village of Redwall couldn’t be more thankful. By next morning, most of those who had fallen under the thrall of the demon had returned to normalcy. To them, it had been a strange, hazy dream that seemed to unreal, but one they would have to live with for the rest of their lives.

Kalen remained locked inside himself, but he had been exposed much longer, and much more than everyone else. Samul, who had also privately tutored the boy since the baron settled here, took it upon himself to help take care of Kalen. With the boy’s parents missing and his sister dead, he had no one else. When the news of the Tassard’s nethermancy and demon-summoning reached the capital, they would no doubt lose their lands and titles, but there was hope that Kalen’s uncle, the baron of Oakborough, would adopt the boy.

As for Redwall itself, the king of Alband would have to appoint a temporary governor until a new noble could fill the void. But that was for the future days to tell.

The next morning the group sat together to discuss what had happened. As the only guests at the Woodsman’s Cup, and everyone else spending their time resting at home, it was very quiet. Even the keeper, Beryl, sensed their needs and left them alone.

It was not an easy morning for Jaden. His abandoning of Oleander, and general disappearance during the fighting, caused a lot of concerned looks in his direction. Finally, he realised that he couldn’t just assume everything would be alright. He had to say something. He just wished it could’ve been the truth, but truth would not help anyone right now.

"I have something to say, and I'll ask you to let me finish speaking. Please." Jaden looked as uncomfortable as he felt. There would be enough lying to his friends today.

Stann opened his mouth, but managed to hold back whatever was on his mind. For now. Mirena motioned for him to go on, and kept her face a study of neutrality. She wouldn’t judge until she had listened. Oleander looked both worried, and a fleeting glimpse of something else. Rhyce simply rested against the wall, his eyes open in small slits. Kellen looked almost as disappointed as his cousin.

"I... I'm sorry for my actions yesterday." Jaden began. "We have been fighting so much lately... My magic has been almost completely depleted. I had no salamander's fire left, and without my magic sword..." That he had traded for vanity.

Stann started to understand and spoke, forgetting about his promise to wait for Jaden to finish.

"Why didn't you tell us you weren’t in any condition to fight?" The warrior demanded, slamming a hand into the table.

"I didn't want you to feel I would be a... a liability to the group. I wanted to help. I want to help, as best as I can, but without most of my magic I'm not strong enough to fight demons. I'm sorry for not telling you about this." Saying it hurt him. They were his friends, and they deserved the truth. But lies came easier than truth right now.

"You're right about that. You SHOULD have told us," Mirena said firmly. "We're a group, Jaden. We support one another. If one is weakened, the others step forward to give aid. That's what friends do. Don't stay quiet about things like this. That goes for all of you!"

Jaden felt ashamed for things he hadn't done, and the lies he had told his friends. There was only one thing left to do. One more string to pluck.

"I was too proud to admit it, and that was wrong. Can you forgive me?" He had a hard time meeting their eyes. Deceiving his friends was wrong, but what could he do?

Stann was already on his feet and grabbed Jaden in a firm bearhug.

"There's nothing to forgive, little brother! You are still young, and will do many other stupid things."

"Like Stann!" Said his cousin.

"Yes! Like me!" Northmen forgave as easily as they swore vengeance.

Stann put Jaden back on the floor, and stepped back to stare at him critically. Had the Northman felt something when he grabbed Jaden by surprise? He was different now, after all.

"But we must do something about you. You're so thin, I was afraid I'd snap you in half. You'll never recover your strength if you don't eat properly."

"It doesn't work like that, St-" Jaden got cut off as the bear warrior dragged him to Beryl, demanding that they'll be served three breakfasts. Stann intended to watch his little brother eat every single one of them.

Oleander sat down on the other side next to Jaden, and berated him for leaving her alone. Between Stann all but shoving the spoon into his mouth, and the redhead pulling out embarrassing old stories to punish him with, it was as normal a breakfast as he could expect.

Back in their rooms, Rhyce was lying on his stomach with Mirena sitting at the edge of the bed.

"What do you think about Jaden's confession?" Mirena wondered idly, as she ran her hands over the last wounds on Rhyce's back.

"He wasn't entirely forthcoming with us, but that can easily have been him translating his brand of magic to us. I don't think any of us truly understand what Jaden does."

"Maybe. I too got the feeling that something was off. He's proven himself time and again before, though." Mirena would not forget how he stood by her when they fought the Sons of Husk. It would take more than an odd apology or strange absence to change that. "I tried speaking with him about what it meant to be a Mystic before, but even then I got the feeling he was holding something back."

Rhyce let out a breath as the light from Mirena's blessed symbol mended his flesh. He didn't say anything else. He valued the secrets of others. There was no need to say anything at the moment.

The crows on top of the shed had seen a winged demon land in a small clearing next to the village, but another being had left it. A princess of fire in disguise.

EPILOGUE

Change is a fact of life. It happens whether we want it to or not. Change can come suddenly, or it can happen so slowly you didn’t even realise how much have happened until you look back across your life. If we let it, though, it can change our lives for the better.

The aftermath of the second battle of Redwall left an impression on the village, both in the hearts and in the streets. Kellen’s earth magic had avoided damaging most buildings too much, but it still looked as if there had been an earthquake. The rune seeker was very busy during the next couple of days, restoring the village to its former look and making sure the fires of the mansion didn’t spread to the forest.

Mirena organised the repairs efforts, and making sure that a house that unfortunately had been too badly damaged was demolished properly.

Oleander and Stann felt a little left out, not having any useful magical talents to help out with the efforts, but they found themselves running an improvised daycare for the village children while most adults were busy with putting their homes back together. For a moment, it felt just like old times for the redhead, surrounded by children.

During the first evening they returned to the Tassard mansion and poked around. It was strange, the fires hadn’t spread from the one room, but in there everything had turned to ash. Even metal. The rest had been left in good shape, aside from the damaged adjoining inner walls, and while poking around in the baron’s study they came across some pretty damning evidence that showed how he and his wife had been avid occultists, but without talent of their own, they borrowed their magic power through demonic pacts. Pacts, that eventually led them to giving up one of their own children to host their dread matron. Pacts, that also, unfortunately, had assured them wealth and success. How this would affect Redwall, only time would tell, but the village’s dream of greatness might have been only a brief glimpse, soon lost.

Rhyce refused to stay in bed, despite Mirena’s orders. They reached an agreement that he could be up, as long as he wasn’t moving around too much. The village abuzz with repairs and recovery wasn’t for him, though, and he spent most of the time in the tavern’s backyard, feeding a couple of crows that kept him company however often Beryl chased them away with her broom.

Something had changed within the archer, though. Whatever had happened to him in that shed had made him a bit different. He was happy, as Rhyce went, to talk when someone sat down with him. He might not talk for a long time, or say much, but it was a change. He seemed more relaxed, somehow, instead of his previous vigilance. He also kept glancing at Jaden whenever they were in the same room, but none of them touched the subject.

And Jaden? Like Oleander and Stann, his talents were not suitable for rebuilding, so instead he spent most of the time helping Samul’s wife Romi cook for the working people of the village. The weather was kept nice enough that meals were had together outside, where most villagers attended. It brought the community together in a comfortable way, allowing those unaffected by the demon’s influence to come to accept that their friends and family had been returned to them.

It had been difficult, though. During the first night, once the fighting had stopped and people returned to their homes, Jaden and the rest were back at the Woodsman’s Cup. Rhyce had been given a room of his own to rest, which left Jaden alone too. Once his friends had gone to their rooms, Jaden was still awake. Draining the demon of her power had invigorated him enough to chase away the need for sleep. Instead, he found himself in the washroom. The tavern’s keeper had received a large mirror from the baron as a gift, and Beryl had put it inside the washroom so everyone could use it. It was full length, which was rare this far away from large cities.

It was a hard thing, losing yourself bit by bit like this. The face that looked back at him in the mirror was more like his sister's than his own. There were definite differences, of course. You could see the family resemblance, but while Lilya's was hard and strong, his was softer and... sad. Taking Amucia’s power had accelerated the already unnatural drift by magnitudes.

"This is who I am now," Jaden told himself. "Even if I never call on her again after tonight, nobody will mistake me as anything but a girl."

It was one of the things he hadn't been able to figure out before leaving Talraman. Why had his changes come so quickly? The drift was a slow and gradual process. His father had worn his dragon's form several times before the marks even started to appear. Jaden had changed six times, counting today. Six. How was this fair? How was this even possible?

The masters back home had spoken about the drift, how the speed and extent varied from Mystic to Mystic depending on how closely the spirit resonated with the magician. There was no such thing as complete harmony, of course, but over time the differences between the two would fade. But in his case, this couldn't be true. Nobody was further from their spirit than he. So how was this happening?

Jaden reached up to touch his face. He didn't flinch as his arm brushed against his larger chest this time.

The spirit and the Mystic were supposed to be as one after the spiritquest was completed. But he had never felt that close bond. No, for him it was as if they stood at either side of the world, a different horizon at their backs. How could he come to terms with that enormous duality? How could he fully accept this life?

He stood in front of the tall mirror, and quietly removed his clothes. Even with it right before his eyes, he could still not bridge that divide. Could he ever think of himself like that? As a woman? The person in the mirror certainly looked like she could. Would he be happier if he tried to see the world through her eyes, even if only for a little while?

Change was the very heart of the Lacunai. Their life was dedicated change. They embraced it, despite not knowing where it would take them. No matter what Jaden had done since leaving the mountain, he had never stopped thinking of himself as a Mystic. He had fought the change, but change had touched him anyway.

Here he was, with people he had grown to love. They were strange, driven, and sometimes frustrating to be around, but he loved them anyway. Couldn't he learn to love the person in the mirror as well?

"Hello," Jaden told the mirror. He could do this. He could be this. Just this once. "My name is Jaden. I'm a Lacunai Mystic, and I'm a... a girl."

Acceptance was always the first step. Saying it aloud didn't hurt as much as expected. In fact, it didn't hurt at all. Where the pain should have been, there was just a sense of relief welling up inside instead. Like a pain you had grown used to suddenly letting up. With that realisation, other feelings rushed up as well. Fear, of what the future might bring; regret, of the things that had led up to this point; but mostly, a wave of warm support from within. Finally, the harmony.

Those feelings went beyond the twin horizons of her heart.

END OF BOOK ONE

* * *

Well, this has been an experience! I never thought I’d write something of this length, but here we are!

I hope you enjoyed reading Horizons of the Heart as much as I loved writing it. I’ve learned so much in the process, lessons I’ll remember when I begin with the next book (there will be one!).

Thanks for all the support, the help, and the encouraging comments. That warms all the heartplaces inside this newbie author :D

Since I have several main characters in my novel "Horizons of the Heart", it might be a good idea to present them to you outside their work-environment.

Without further ado, here's who they are!

Jaden Tarasov
Nicknames: Jay, little brother (by Stann)

Jaden is a young man of medium height and average build, with glossy black hair hanging down well past his shoulders. He usually ties it back to keep out of his face, and his light brown eyes. Naturally pale from growing up in a cloudy mountain region, he has only recently begun to get some colour. A distinguishing mark is his pointy ears and slender features that makes people assume he is an elf, or at least of elven blood.
He enjoys taking long walks down mountains, arguing with Oleander, and being himself.

Oleander
Nicknames: Red, Ollie (by Jaden), little fox (by Kellen), Lea (by children), Oleander Lockless (by some), Stop Her! (by many)

Oleander is a woman in her early twenties slightly below average height, with short red hair barely reaching her cheeks. She has raincloud grey eyes, and a ready smile. She is slim and athletic, and much prefers to outwit rather than fight her way through the world. She was born in a small town in the kingdom of Olmar, a country covered mostly with large plains and gentle hills.
She enjoys finding things, debating morality, and letting other people touch cursed artefacts first.

Mirena Kaladon
Nicknames: Rena (by her friends), Lady Kaladon (by her peers)

Mirena is a tall woman with long, chestnut brown hair she takes very good care of, and amazingly green eyes. She is in her late twenties, and hides surprising strength of both arms and character underneath a gentle exterior. Mirena is an anointed knight of the temple, in the service of Telum, the Sword of Heaven. She grew up in the free city of Tier, born into a very wealthy merchant family.
Mirena enjoys smiting evil, making up complex strategies, and wearing fine gowns when not smiting evil.

Stann Winterheart
Nickname: Bear

Stann is a classic blonde and blue-eyed, tall and strong Northman of roughly thirty years of age. He keeps his beard nice and trimmed, his hair long, and his sword sharp. There are a couple of visible scars that shows how many fights he’s been in. He usually dress in sleeveless tunics, heavy wool trousers or chain mail armour, as the occasion requires. Helmet and shield are optional, depending on the impression he wants to make. There’s a tattoo of a bear on his upper right arm.
Stann enjoys a good joke, a large family, and elven barmaids.

Kellen Winterheart
Nickname: Kel

Kellen keeps his blonde hair short, a neat goatee with a slightly larger moustache. The older cousin of Stann is even taller and more muscled, despite not even carrying a sword. He eschews the traditional robes of a magician in favour of the everyday clothes of a Northman, simple wool trousers and tunic. He keeps a large selection of magical runes that gives him the power to control stone and water.
Kellen enjoys fishing in peace by a gentle brook, crushing responsibility, and suffering from vertigo.

Rhyce
Nickname: Rhyce (by friends), Deadeye (other people)

Rhyce looks, from a distance, like a normal borderlander man with unruly dark blonde (or maybe light brown) hair, and deep brown eyes. He’s seldom seen without his unique longbow made from some strangely dark wood, and a hooded leather outfit with metal studs. He is in his mid-thirties, and takes better care of animals than he does with the feelings of people.
Rhyce enjoys giving cryptic advice, knowing things he really shouldn’t be able to, and staring grimly into the night.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

A new place brings a new opportunity, as Farcrest, the capital city of Alband hosts the yearly Convocation of Magi. The six friends all spend a national holiday doing what they love. What could possibly top a day like that?

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Prologue

Let’s follow a raindrop.

It rose up from the world and joined the endless blue in a dance across the heavens. There were many like it, but this drop was special. Unlike the others, formed from morning mist fading under the sun, or the breath of the great forest, this drop had left the world below the clouds as a tear. Born out of sadness, it would follow the winds of fate and bring new life where it landed. The raindrop would shed the reasons it had been formed, and become a part of the eternal song of the world.

All cultures, all beings, no matter where or when, has a song of their own. The song is an expression of the bonds shared by family, friends, and land. All life is brought into the world with a song — the cry of a new-born, the chant of a community, the anthem of a nation, and the hymn of a faith.

The knights of Telum, the Sword of Heaven, sing the praise to their god when they ride into battle. The warriors of the Northern Lands strike fear into their foes as they lend their voices to the battle-skalds. Even the mysterious Lacunai are part of the melody when they strike strange notes on the strings of magic.

Song was our connection with the land before there were words, and the song will outlive the words as our final breath leaves us.

This is the story about a song and the raindrop it had brought into being.

Sing it with me.

Chapter 14: Foundations of Trust

A crow followed the wind as it swept in from the sea. From up above the large city, it could see far across the land, where the forests began and the roads stretching out toward the horizon. Another crow joined it as they soared across the harbour and into the city itself. The two birds had seen many things, more than most would expect. Their black eyes found the familiar shape far below in the middle of countless others like it. As they began their dive, the grey clouds finally let go of the raindrops they had cradled up until now.

Summer in Alband was always an unreliable thing. Weather shifted quickly, and even the brightest morning could hide a midday rain. The people of Alband took this in stride, however. To them, there was no such thing as bad weather, if you just dressed sensibly. This meant that you could always tell a foreigner. They were the ones running for dry cover once the rain inevitably fell.

One raindrop fell quicker than the others, as if it had an important message to deliver.

“Augh!” The black-haired man wiped his face with a gloved hand. The sky had suddenly turned darker, and when he looked up the first drop had hit him straight in a golden-brown eye. The increasing drip-drop of the rain reached his decidedly pointy ears.

“I told you,” said the short redhead by his side. She wore a hooded cloak and an insufferable smirk, and looked up at her companion with eyes that matched the rainclouds’ colour. “No way would we make it back to the inn before the heavens opened up on us, but you just had to check that last shop, Jay.”

“It was worth it, Ollie,” Jaden gave his eye another gentle rub. His eye was tearing up a bit, for some reason. “You normally can’t find quality mountain herbs this far away from home. It’s a wonder they had nearly fresh sorenica there.”

“Sorenica? I’ve never heard of that one before,” Oleander said, making sure her hood stayed up to keep the rain away. She had spent much too long with her hair this morning to have it get ruined by stupid weather.

“It’s, uh, got another name around here.” Jaden grimaced a little, blaming himself for not seeing this coming.

“Yeah, what’s that?” She sounded interested. She could smell secrets a mile away, and her friend was full of them.

“It’s not important. You use it in stews. It really brings out the flavour in the meat, you’ll see.” He kept his eyes fixed down the street, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“C’mon, what’s it called?” The redhead bumped into him with her shoulder, using all her tricks of persuasion.

Jaden mumbled something under his breath, and walked a little faster.

“What was that, Jay? I couldn’t hear you.” Oleander had no trouble keeping up. She was much quicker than him, any day of the week.

“Elfclover, okay?” He shot back. That had done it.

“Oh, a traditional herb your people use?” Oleander teased with large innocent eyes, and kept on teasing all the way back to their inn.

A week earlier

After the events in Redwall, Jaden and his friends had stayed for a few days to make sure none of the demon’s servants had sought cover in the Ealbourne Forest seeking to return at a later time. They had also sent word to Rosehaven and the prelate of the temple, that his brother’s family was safe and explaining the circumstances around the bad feelings the priest had picked up on during his visit. By and large, the village had survived intact, and the repair work would be handled quickly. The scars in the hearts of the people, however, would take longer to heal. They had been betrayed and used by someone they had trusted and welcomed, and it might be a while before they would be able to open their community to another outsider.

One question kept coming back, however: where had the Tassards gone? The baron and his wife had left their young son behind when they fled their burning mansion. Through the clues they had found within the baron’s journals, it was clear that Ariken and Juliss had come into contact with the world of dark magic through some associates in Farcrest, the capital of Alband. That began to show the beginnings of a frightening development. The Sons of Husk had been an isolated cult in northern Olmar, but recently expanded across the border, and also into the free city of Tier that lie nestled between the countries. If the Tassards had come into contact with nethermancy in Farcrest, either the Sons of Husk had reached further than they had imagined, or there was a separate organisation in Alband with similar interests. Either way, it deserved investigating.

“We could always return to Tier,” Mirena suggested as they discussed their next move. “At least there, we know what to look for, and we have people we can talk to.”

“True, but we’ve also made ourselves somewhat unwelcome for the nearest future. We put two buildings to the torch,” Stann glanced at Jaden, who just shrugged weakly. “Not to mention some exploratory brawling on Rhyce’s and my part. There was also the instigation of a gang war, I recall?”

“Good times,” Oleander said with a smile. The Whitewater Cartel had only needed the slightest provocation to move in on the Sons of Husk territories. She had provided them with more than enough.

“The cult is probably scattered and disorganised now. That will make it very hard for us to track them down, and will make us targets for vengeance of opportunity if they spot us in the streets. We’re memorable like that.” Kellen was at least a head taller than anyone in the room, or any room for that matter. People tended to remember hulking Northmen, especially those who reduced warehouses to rubble with runic magic.

“Very well, you’ve convinced me,” Mirena laughed a little. “A pity, though. The Founding is coming up, and this will be the first time in years I’ve not spent it in my home city.”

“They celebrate the Founding in Farcrest too,” Jaden pointed out. All countries that had been part of the empire still honoured that day, although for different reasons today.

“I know, Jaden. I will just miss the parades and dances. Alband is not nearly as, ah, developed a cultural scene as Tier.” There were times when Mirena’s elitist background shone through her gentle demeanour.

“As an added incentive, I do believe the convocation of magi will take place in Farcrest this year. Traditionally it’s held the day after the Founding, when everyone’s good and stuffed from over-eating. We missed it last year when we were in Etrana, I recall,” Kellen mused, and stroked his moustache with a large hand. “It would be very rewarding to speak with some fellow scholars. I have been eager to share my discovery of the spirit drawstone rune I crafted.”

“Well, you go do that wizard thing, Kel. Me, I just want to get back into a real city!” Oleander was getting itchy. They had been a week out of a walled city, and she missed the comfort and opportunities of the crowds. Also, she would need to get into contact with a reliable fence to unload some of the shinier trinkets she had found around the Tassard mansion.

Rhyce grunted a little. To him, it was the other way around. But he wouldn’t complain. He’d survive, the way he always did. The archer touched the spot on his chest where his rescuer had touched him. It still felt warm sometimes. Rhyce glanced sideways at Jaden, who was talking with Kellen about that gathering of magicians. He couldn’t see it right now, but he could hear it. The voice was different.

“Hey, Jay? Will there be other mystics like you at that convection thing?” The redhead looked up from the bowl of dried fruit snacks at her friend, who she was sitting right next to.

“Talraman always send a couple of representatives, by custom. I have no idea who it will be this year, but I remember my father going one year when I was little.” Jaden’s mind was whirling with possibilities. If he could attend the meeting, he would have the chance to speak with some of the best and brightest magicians of this age. This would be an amazing opportunity to find some way to reverse what was being done to him.

The thought had barely formed in his head when a strange sadness began to well up from deep inside. Ever since that night after the fighting had stopped, when he had tried to allow himself to see what the mirror saw, he had felt so calm. He had slept better that night than he had in months, almost as if someone had been stroking his hair while he dreamt, just like his mother had done while he was a child.

Did this influence come from the spirit inside him? The mystic was supposed to be the driving force in this union, and the spirit but a source of strength. At least, that was what Jaden had grown up hearing. After the joining, the spirit became submerged in the mystic’s mind, losing any individuality. Had the joining gone wrong, somehow? Or was he just too weak to establish dominance?

These thoughts followed him for a long time.

When they prepared to leave Redwall, the first wagons had begun to appear. People from Rosehaven had collected supplies and other assistance to help their sister community in a time of need, and there was no surprise when they saw a familiar face climbing down from one of the first ones to arrive. The Prelate Matrick immediately embraced his brother tightly, then his nephew and nieces. Jaden had a feeling the village would be just fine.

Now

The singing reached the windows of the Old Hog Inn in the craftsmen’s district of Farcrest. The Founding was in memory of the imperial rule, originally to celebrate the august ruler. Over a hundred years ago, it instead became a celebration of independence, as the countries broke free one by one. Today the Founding was observed mostly out of tradition, and how people wanted a reason to sing, drink and be merry. Every country had its own take on it these days. Tier was famous for its grand parades, and Olmar had great games of horsemanship and archery. Alband seemed content with dancing and feasting, though there were many tents offering storytelling, games of chance or skill, and even some jugglers and acrobats. From their window, they could see down to the Potter’s Square, where a stage had been erected. Right now, a choir clad in white and green sang in honour of a forgotten part of their history.

The Old Hog was a favoured spot for the after-work crowd among the skilled workers, much thanks to its hearty ale, thick stew, and the owner’s steadfast refusal to allow musicians to play there. It’s fer drinkin’, not a soddin’ glee-house, Turgar would tell anyone who asked. The dwarven innkeeper stood by his beliefs, even this far from the stone halls of Atun.

“This is nice,” Mirena offered, while drinking her tea. She and Stann had already been back before the rain started, and sat by their table when the rest began to return together with the lunch crowd. Still, the wistful look in her eyes spoke of how she missed her home city.

“Hah. Back in Strom, we would’ve had pig-wrestling competitions by now. Song and dance is all good, but it’s not the same without your arms around a fierce boar.” As always, there were some cultural differences between the North and the other countries. Stann waved down a barmaid for a refill of his beer.

“I didn’t know you celebrated the Founding?” Mirena looked surprised. The North had been the only truly unconquered part during the high imperial age. It was strange that they’d have any part in something that belonged to that period.

“We don’t,” Kellen explained, never far from giving impromptu lectures about the history of his people. “We revere Midsummer, a time when even our frozen home is green and blossoming. It’s a time of great joy, and a lot of marriages take place around then.”

“I love the summer back home. My favourite day of the year,” Stann joked, and knocked his tankard against his cousin’s. The two men laughed heartily at a joke they’ve told and heard a hundred times before.

“What about you, Jay? Do you have the Founding in Talraman?” Oleander shook her head at the merry Northmen, and pulled her own tankard a bit further away to avoid it getting knocked over.

“Eh, not really. I mean, we have some, uh, cultural observances — but we weren’t part of the empire either. Not in the traditional sense. Most of our festivals are in memory of other things,” Jaden said evasively. The secretive nature of the Lacunai was hard to grow out of, even after more than a year away from home. Every child of the mountain was taught to keep the practices of the Lacunai to herself if she ever left home.

“Sounds boring,” the redhead decided, and turned back to Kellen to ask something else.

Jaden rubbed his hand through the glove, where the scar on his palm still hurt a little. Grabbing the blessed sword of a temple knight while in his manifested form hadn’t been the best idea. In the end, it hadn’t even worked. It worried him how the brand had stayed with him once he shed his spirit’s shape, though. Any injuries should have gone away together with the transformation, after all. It was an integral part of the mystic’s dualism, the separate forms. Otherwise, something that had managed to hurt a mystic manifesting a powerful spirit, like his father, would probably kill the magician once they turned back to their normal forms. No, this was different. This was something new.

“Are you getting sick, little brother?” Stann suddenly asked, putting down the second empty tankard. “You sound like you have a hoarse throat or something.”

“I, uh-“ Jaden’s hand touched his neck. There had been some definite changes after his last manifestation. He had made it even worse by siphoning all that energy off the demon of Redwall, Amucia. It had broken some sort of dam inside of him as it overflowed his body with magic. He had received a taste of true power back then, feeling like he could do anything. How easily he had dispatched the two demonic servants with just a flick of a wing.

“Jaden should know better than to run around in the rain,” Rhyce interrupted to everyone’s surprise. The archer gave Jaden a brief glance before continuing. “In my village, we borrowed customs from many countries. We even made a Sorunese flower-wheel on the commons.”

Hearing Rhyce voluntarily offering up some of his past was more than enough to draw attention away from Jaden. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the secretive archer returned an acknowledging nod at Jaden’s grateful look. What did that mean?

The changes were getting harder to hide, though. When Jaden had first met his friends, they had been really subtle, and since they had nothing else to compare to they were none the wiser. After Tier, the softness and swells had grown more pronounced, but still something his mirage veil could hide, the silk kerchief able to create a cosmetic illusion at the caress of his magic. But since his last change in Redwall, it was not so easy anymore. It was now necessary for him to avoid being touched too closely. There would be no hiding things if someone hugged him, for instance; the waist was much too slender, and the… chest now significantly larger. The veil would only create an illusion that extended a couple of inches outside his body, and things were grazing that upper limit at this point.

Jaden also really missed his chemise. It had been torn apart when he manifested his spirit-form back in Redwall. Clothes weren’t made for wings, after all. The ride up the coast to Farcrest had been a study in discomfort, he learned after only a day in the saddle. Things had rubbed raw and red, and his saddle no longer felt like the one he had spent a year breaking in.

What’s worse, it had affected his balance. Jaden prided himself on being able to keep up with Oleander or Rhyce if they had to speed across rooftops, chasing the skinwalker of Etrana for instance. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Things felt like they were moving differently, and his steps were slightly too short. Just enough for him to stub his toes absolutely everywhere. Not to mention how any vigorous motion made everything sway and jiggle. Maybe he had to get one of those bodices to keep everything in place?

“Here you go, Jay.” The smell of gentle spices hit him in the face. Oleander put a cup of warm milk in front of him. Cinnamon and honey.

“What?” Jaden was ever so eloquent.

“For your throat, stupid. I don’t know much about magic, but you want to keep your voice, right? Otherwise, you’ll be even more useless to us.” She hid her concern with the playful mocking.

He had lied to his friends a week ago, telling them how he hadn’t been able to help out during the fighting in Redwall. The truth was that he had been very active indeed, and came close to defeating the demon all on his own, but he couldn’t tell them that. Thinking about it just made his palm hurt again.

“So, do you have any plans on how you want to spend the Founding?” Mirena sounded like she wanted to say something more, but waited for her friends to reply.

“Well, aside from eating until I’m cross-eyed, I thought I’d see if I could catch a play. It’s been a while since we had the opportunity to see a real theatre.” While there certainly had been plenty of theatres in Tier, neither Kellen nor any of the others would have had the time.

“This is my first time in Farcrest. We didn’t really get to look around much yesterday since the weather was just awful, but I bet there are all kinds of places to explore,” the redhead smiled. All the best places were squirreled away from the tourist streets; especially in her line of business. She could almost hear the musical clinking of gold coins in her hand after she found somewhere to sell her ill-gotten gains.

“Oh, I think I’ll visit the artisans’ terrace too, but after moonrise,” Stann said casually, looking a bit sideways at the door.

“That late? What happens then?” Mirena wondered. She knew the celebrations would often continue well into the night, and at some places even through the night, but she hadn’t heard about any special events.

“My cousin here overheard that the Sorun delegation would hold a midsummer night’s carol there,” Kellen explained, with a patient shake of his head. Sometimes he wondered about Stann.

“Ah,” Mirena saw the attraction for her warrior friend. Sorun was, after all, the realm of the elves.

“What about you, Rena? Any plans of your own?” Oleander swivelled back to face the knight, bumping into Jaden’s legs as she did so. He pulled back quickly, which caused an odd knot inside of the redhead.

“As it happened, I heard about a formal ball this evening at the silver grove plaza, not far from the court district we passed on our way here.” Mirena got a dreamy smile on her lips, and then looked around the table. “I was hoping some of you would like to come with me?”

“I’m not much of a dancer, Mirena,” Kellen gently declined with a small shake of his head.

“Rhyce? Would you like to come?” She turned to the archer, who had sat silent since his earlier moment of sharing.

“I’m sorry, Rena. I made a promise to be somewhere else,” he replied with a neutral expression.

“I see. Well, I hope all of you will have a wonderful time on this Founding’s festival.” Mirena was a little hurt that none of her friends seemed willing to accompany her, but she knew them well enough to see that they just had different interests.

They all wished each other a happy Founding, or midsummer in two cases, and went their separate ways.

“Why did I have to go with you, again?” Jaden complained as his redheaded friend pulled him through the festival crowds. He didn’t enjoy how they had to squeeze past some people, and he definitely didn’t enjoy a surprised look he received when his touch did not match his looks.

People were everywhere, loud and probably a little drunk by now. Whatever way she was leading them, it took them straight through the busiest streets of the city. On the positive side, they got to see glimpses of some Marsander acrobats doing impossible things on a stage.

“Because otherwise you’d just be stuck in your room moping around until tomorrow, and you know it. You’ve been all kinds of strange ever since Redwall, Jay,” Oleander shot him a suspicious look under her carrot red bangs. Something was definitely up with Jay.

“You’re probably right. I guess I just haven’t got into the feeling of this Founding of yours, and the idea of people from home being here in Farcrest makes me a bit…” Made him what? Afraid? Ashamed? Angry? He had so many feelings lately he could hardly put names to.

“Well, you’ll get to meet them tomorrow, right? At that big magic meet-and-greet?” Oleander checked a street sign, and veered up along a slightly less crowded side alley. “Hey, maybe I should come along too? I always wanted to see those mystics you never talk about.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ollie. Also, only magicians are allowed inside, remember?” Trying to talk Oleander out of bad ideas was like trying to nail porridge to a tree.

“We’ll figure something out,” she just waved his concerns away with a hand, and then pointed at a low-hanging sign next to a basement shop. “Oh, here it is. Let’s find shinies!”

By shiny things, Oleander was talking about the strange contraptions she often used during her less honest pursuits. While she was busy talking shop with the bald and wiry proprietor of the store, Jaden looked around on the cluttered shelves and saw nothing resembling order. He was also pretty sure most of the things in here were stolen. It wouldn’t be the first time she dragged him along to her thieving contacts. If someone questioned the elfish-looking man hanging around in the background, she just introduced him as her ‘associate’, and that seemed enough for most places. He hadn’t thought of it before, but he realised now that maybe Oleander was trying to include him in some of the parts of her life she kept from their other friends? He wasn’t sure of what that meant, though.

“Alright! I finally got my three-tooth medium rigid pick again.” She slipped it into her sleeve with a smile. She had really missed that one. It was one of her favourite ones for simple locks and latches. She also bounced a leather pouch heavy with coin in her hand. She had money, a warm bed waiting, and a… friend. This would be the best Founding festival in forever.

“I’m happy for you, butterfingers. Can we go now? Your accomplice over there looks like he wants to close up,” Jaden nodded over to the man who was pointing at the door with a frown.

“I still blame you for that, but yeah, let’s go spend some of this gold!”

They visited several other stores that stayed open hoping to catch the extra business from the evening crowd, and one of the back-street curiosity shops even had some rather interesting books for sale. Jaden was leafing through them long enough for Oleander to get bored and look at the people passing by outside. She missed them the first time as they ran past in a group, but the second time she recognised the look in their eyes. A glance over her shoulder told her that Jay would be spending a bit longer in here, enough for her to see if she could do something she wished she had done back home.

Oleander slipped out of the shop and looked around. Now that she knew what to look for, she quickly found the woman by the street crossing, trying to keep the many children together. It wasn’t that different from where she had been three years ago.

“Uh, hi? Happy Founding’s Day to you,” Oleander smiled at the young governess, who looked up from her charges for a moment to smile.

“The same to you, milady,” the woman looked a little harried by trying to keep track of all the children. It was strange for Oleander to be addressed like that, but she guessed her clothes were in better style than the lower classes. How quickly life had changed.

“Do you run the orphanage?” The redhead asked, as she waved at some of the young ones who had stopped running around to gawk at the stranger talking to their governess.

“There’s some more of us, but I do my best — Lotan? Stop pulling Crissas’ hair!” She looked back at Oleander with an apologetic smile. “They’re very excited for this day. We’re going to see the free plays down by the terrace.”

Oleander looked back over the shop she had left, and saw Jaden coming out. He was looking for her. She turned back to the woman, and pushed the leather pouch in her hands. The governess’ eyes went wide when she felt its contents.

“What… how… how much is this?” She stammered.

“Sixty gold crowns or so, give or take. Make this a memorable night for the children,” Oleander waved and left the stunned woman to cradle the unexpected generocity, as she quickly walked back to meet up with Jaden.

“May the five gods bless you!” The woman called out as they went their separate way.

“What was that all about?” Jaden looked a little confused. He was used to people shouting after Oleander, but they rarely had happy things to say.

“Just the sound of you being the one to buy our dinner, Jay. C’mon, we’ve got plenty more to see. The market next, I think!”

“How come I went along with you, cousin?” Stann squinted up at the stage, trying to follow the story as delivered by the actors. He neither had the temperament, nor the book wisdom, to appreciate plays like these.

“Relax, Bear. You’ll be in time for the elves’ performance. Just enjoy the piece. You can learn something here,” Kellen whispered back, earning some glares from the neighbouring seats.

In the spirit of the day, the theatre held the classical play of Emperor Sartekh and the unification of the seven kingdoms. The actor portraying the emperor really managed to convey the great man’s burning desire to bring order to a chaotic world and bring all people together under one banner.

The scene now was the legendary meeting between the emperor himself and the king of Gion, the emperor’s fiercest opponent throughout the wars. This was when they met under a flag of truce, knowing that tomorrow would bring a battle that would end one of the sides. They set aside their conflict for just one evening, to meet as men, and not rulers. The king of Gion would ask the emperor how far he intended to take this war, and how many lives that would be lost for this ambition?

“’Peace can only be won once we all follow a single truth, and a single throne. If not mine, then someone else’s. I will gladly lay down my life if it meant our future would be as a unified people’,” Kellen mouthed the words as the actor spoke them. The king had been so moved by the emperor’s words that he had thrown down his sword there and then, and became the staunchest friend of the man who would unite the kingdoms.

It was a story about friendship. It was a song about yearning for peace at any price.

The park was named by the old silver pines that grew in a rough circle large enough to host hundreds of people at once. It was after nightfall, and the plaza was lit by a great number of silver lanterns that seemed like fallen stars across a sea of marble tiles. Next to the many passages that winded into the park stood carriages that had brought the younger lords and ladies of the city to this evening of dancing. The coachmen stood gathered to the side and patiently awaited the time several hours away, when they’d be driving their young masters or mistresses back home. For now, though, they partook in a quiet Founding party of their own, passing a bottle of brandy around and smoking their pipes.

Mirena remembered how she had arrived at events such as these in her youth, escorted by servants, often with her father or mother. They saw these functions as business opportunities, instead of the simple celebrations of happiness they were. The knight felt many things, but mostly sadness for her parents at times like these. They missed out on so much life had to offer, when they focused at profit alone to the exclusion of everything else.

“I wish some of the others could have come with me,” she said softly, as she walked around the circumference of the dance floor, mindful not to let her starflower blue dress drag through the grass outside the tiles.

“Were you stood up by your friends as well?” The voice came from her side, belonging to a man not much older than herself. He had that light brown hair common to the Albander nobility, and hazel eyes a little crinkled with amusement. Mirena felt he was handsome by anyone’s standards, fit without looking like a labourer, cut and shaven as one who takes care of themselves — or can afford someone to do it for them. From style of his jacket, Mirena was also sure that this man kept abreast of at least the yearly trends, if not the latest fashion. Sensible and aware, but not too eager to please.

“Not so, my lord,” she replied with a smile. This was a formal dance, yes, but without anyone to introduce them she felt that etiquette didn’t require her to curtsy. “They were merely promised elsewhere.”

“A pity for them. The Silver Ball is one of the more anticipated events in Farcrest during the summer,” the young noble looked out across the dance floor where couples had already began to step according to the music. Mirena smiled wider. She knew this particular dance.

“Did you say you were here by yourself as well?” Mirena looked around. There were several others nearby, but none that seemed to act familiar with this man.

“Unfortunately, yes. I was waiting for my brother and his family to show up, but it looks like they may have been delayed. He said he would make it here by today, but here we are,” he spread his hands in a casual shrug. “I’m Arim, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you, my lord. I’m Mirena.” If this Arim wanted to keep things informal, she wouldn’t mind. All this time away from the courts and on the road with Northmen and urchins had taught her to appreciate a more relaxed stance on refined manners. Not that it didn’t have its use, however.

“Well, Mirena, since we both seem to be here all by ourselves, would you care to join me for a dance or three? It seems a shame to just stand here and let others have all the fun.” Arim held out his hand. She immediately noted that it was unmarked by callouses or inkstains.

“Certainly, my lord,” she curtsied. Now was the time for manners, since she had been formally asked to dance. A small voice in the back of her head was eager to show these people how a true Tierborn danced, however.

She held on to Arim’s hand as they stepped out on the marble tiles, and followed into the pace of the music. His other hand held her by the waist as their smiles met in the middle of the dancing sea. She loved this.

It was probably not all that different from a normal market day, except the tents and booths kept open well into the evening. Some lanterns had begun to show up at intersections and corners, shedding a cosy light through the marketplace. All merchants also seemed to have a ‘Founding special’, be it special sweets, decorations, or small baubles.

Oleander found herself staying by a tent that sold well-made accessories for all sorts of situations. She normally didn’t bother with anything that could get in the way, but lately she had begun noticing how other women dressed. Some of these bangles were very cute.

"…and if I may suggest, my dear, this neckerchief would suit your boyfriend marvellously," the older woman confided, holding up a length of dark red cloth showing subtle gold embroidery.

"My who?" Oleander looked up from the bracelets. She even forgot to pocket one of them when she got the opportunity.

"The gentleman with the black hair you came with?"

"Oh!" Oleander smiled widely. "Oh. Yes, it would!"

Jaden saw the two women haggling over some jewellery, and let out a long suffering sigh. At least there were pleasant aromas coming down from the street vendors. Maybe he could nip off and get a grilled skewer before Ollie realised he was gone?

"Oh, boooyyyfriiieeend?" Her saccharine call made sure he would have no such luck.

Fortunately, Oleander was getting as hungry as Jaden felt, so they decided upon one of the nearby taverns. They had been walking and standing around for the better part of two hours now, and it would be nice to sit down and eat something. The streets around here offered many alehouses and stands with a wide selection, by Alband standards, of food. That’s how they ended up in the rather nice Cracked Kettle tavern, with a funny sign showing a tea-kettle stuffed full of mutton and potatoes to the point of breaking.

The Kettle was less than half full, despite being quite close to the main streets of the city. Most people would have already eaten by now, or were out enjoying the sights during the festival. This suited the two of them just fine, though, and they sat down at a booth. A perky-looking blonde old enough to be their mother, but with still young eyes showed up to take their orders. The barmaid, or maybe barmom in this case, gave off that grandmotherly love-by-food feeling. She even commented on how the young friends were far too thin, and told them how she’d make sure the cook put an extra couple of sausages on their plates.

“I’m sure she meant well,” Jaden said with a smile as the woman finally left them alone.

“I know, but that was so pushy. I’m not ‘rail-thin’! I’m very fit and trim, thank you very much,” Oleander glared after the barmom, but not with any real anger, just a little annoyance.

“Just be happy you’re not as voluptuous as her. That’s just a pain,” Jaden said without thinking.

“First off, what do you mean by that?” She gave him a strange look. “Second, you have no idea what that feels like anyway.”

“Uh, yeah. You’re right,” Jaden hastily added, uncomfortably aware of himself. “I just meant that having… being large like that would make it hard to balance and tumble like you do?”

“I guess,” the redhead sighed a little. Sometimes she felt it would be nice to be a little less small, though. “You’re still not allowed to talk about it like that, though. It’s creepy.”

“Heard and obeyed, milady Lockless,” Jaden feigned his Sorunese accent again, a somewhat less badly than the previous time.

While they ate their greasy food, the voices from the booth next to them got a little louder. They weren’t yelling at each other, but it had gone from a mumble to something the two of them could listen in on. Never one to turn down a chance at eavesdropping, Oleander pointed to the thin separating wall, and wiped some sausage fat off her chin with a hand.

“…don’t care what your shiphands say, you’ll set sail as soon as everything’s on board,” a local voice said in a way that brooked no negotiation.

“It’s getting too dangerous, I tell you,” the other voice had a foreign lilt to it, not quite Etrian though. “I can’t find sleep with the cargo on board either.”

“You just remember who you owe, captain. You’ll take the shipment, and you’ll be happy to do so. Otherwise the harbourmaster may find out about your little, shall we say, ‘side projects’?” The first voice barely bothered to veil the threat.

“That would be very unfortunate. In the best case scenario, the crown would just take your ship away. The worst outcome, though…” A third voice, also Albander, sounded friendly at first but turned into ironclad coercion at the end.

“I… fine, just let me know where to send the boys,” the captain sounded defeated.

“Same place as always. Don’t be late.” The owner of the first voice stood up, and the other two followed suit.

When Jaden and Oleander nonchalantly peeked at the others when they left, they saw two men dressed in a manner suitable for prosperous, although not wealthy, merchants. The third, with a downcast expression, had a wide-brimmed hat and colourful jacket. The accent finally found a place in Jaden’s memory — the man was from the island nation of Marsantias.

“No matter what city we come to,” Oleander said, and paused to slurp up the ale from the bottom of her cup. “No matter where, there are always these constants: pricy inns, cheap delights, and crime. Everything a girl can want!”

“You realise that the cheap delights are often prostitutes, right, Ollie?” Jaden replied, trying to make her blush. It looked like the red crept down from her hair to paint her face.

“I’m sure there are other things as well,” the redhead answered, kicking him under the table.

That put an end to their evening together, and as they stood up to leave Jaden bumped into the table and almost tripped himself. It wasn’t for the first time today either. Oleander looked at him with a pitying expression.

"Seriously, Jay, what's up with you?" She gestured vaguely at him. "You're as graceful as a hamstrung goat."

"I'm not feeling like myself, lately. Must be something I picked up somewhere," he skirted the truth.

"Well, get over it already. I can't have you staggering around like that!" They hadn’t had that much to drink anyway. What was going on with Jay lately?

"I'm not staggering. I'm just a bit... It's just something I need to deal with."

Oleander looked at him with suspicion, but then shrugged and took the lead again. He even sounded strange. Maybe he really was sick? But if he was going to act like that…

"Fine. You don't have to tell me."

"There's nothing to tell!" There's nothing he could tell. Jaden sighed miserably. Luckily the walk back was filled with many distractions, and by the time they had found Potter’s Square again, they had bought more, and eaten more, than they should have.

When they finally had made their way back to the Old Hog, they saw Mirena resting her feet down in the common room. She was wearing one of her favourite gowns, and looked like she had just stepped out of a fairy-tale moment with a prince at the castle. Though, any prince was missing at the moment. She looked a little out of place, bringing a kind of class to the Hog it hadn’t seen since first opening its doors. It wasn’t as rowdy as they’d expect on a night like this, though, but they didn’t complain. The streets had been loud enough to last them for a good long while.

"Come on, boyfriend! Let's stash our swag!" Oleander skipped up the stairs, carrying a sack filled with things she wouldn’t have considered buying normally, but they had picked up from the various stores and markets they had to pass through on their way back.

"Boyfriend?" Mirena raised an eyebrow at Jaden and smiled.

"Just... don't ask. Ollie's been particularly insufferable all night."

"If you say so, Jaden. That's a lovely scarf by the way." The knight just continued to smile, soaking in the pleasure of her evening, and left him alone.

The room was dark except for the light coming in from the street and the night sky. Rhyce had been sitting on the bed with his own thoughts ever since the others had left. He had relived his torture in the shed as vividly as he could make himself, recalling every cut and every punch. In his mind, it didn’t feel the same way anymore. He no longer felt as if he deserved that kind of suffering. It had taken him a long time to reach that conclusion. Maybe too long.

He unrolled the small parcel he had bought earlier that day, and placed the two candles next to his window. With the steady hand of an archer, he struck fire to a piece of tinder and held it over the wicks until they burned bright. Rhyce looked at the small flames for a long while with an unreadable expression, before he heavily sat back on the bed again.

A hand reached in underneath his shirt and pulled out his necklace. It was a simple chain, from a simple life. Upon it were a modest ring, and a small leather tube. His fingers knew every part of the two things he carried next to his heart. Slowly, he made his fingers unstop the tube and pull out a small, much worn piece of parchment.

In the faint light from the candles the words on the note became visible, written in the unsteady hand of a child.

Please come home.

The next day promised to be just as full of activities. It was the day of the convocation of magi, and the subject of most of the discussion around the breakfast table. Of course, Mirena had spoken at length about how nice her evening had been, as had Stann. He had been surprised by how into the play he had been, and had followed Kellen back to the inn before remembering about the elven midnight carol.

“So, will you go along to the confluence thing, Rena?” Oleander asked as soon as she had swallowed her spoonful of breakfast porridge, made by a dwarf, for dwarves. It was something meant to be hammered at a forge.

“No, I doubt I’d be welcome there,” Mirena said with a small smile. There was a separation in the world of magic, larger than those caused by conflicting traditions. It was a question of loyalty.

“Priests, while magicians, are a remnant of the imperial order. In a way, the Five Temples are the last bastion of the old authority in our present day,” Kellen began, getting into his lecturing tone of voice. “The convocation was first gathered for all non-aligned traditions. The idea was to avoid giving a potential military body even more weapons. There are many such strange remainders. Take for instance Gion and Marsantias? According to imperial law, despite that many countries seceded from the empire during the decline, those two countries are still technically under imperial rule. The laws stipulate that they will continue to be so as long as the current dynasty of Sartekh remains on Etria’s throne. That’s why the rulers of those two countries are lords, rather than kings. Though, that distinction is merely a formality these days.”

“How did we go from priests at the consumption, to dynasties of the desert?” Oleander asked, leaning her face on the heels of her hands that pushed her cheeks up like a chipmunk.

“It’s ‘convocation’. It means ‘gathering’,” Mirena explained, smiling into her tea. “I find the history interesting, Kellen. Please go on.”

“Actually, I was just done digressing,” the rune seeker admitted.

“But, aren’t sorcerers employed by states, as well?” Jaden thought out loud. Many rulers and minor nobles had the mercenary magicians at hand for various tasks.

“Yes, but as their tradition — the Arcane Order — hasn’t sworn fealty to a specific country, and just provide services while not being on actual retainer, they dodged that rule. It’s actually come up a few times in past convocations.” Kellen sometimes surprised his friends with the depth, and breadth, of his knowledge.

“That just sounds tricky,” the redhead concluded.

“There are many who agree, little fox.”

“Well, I think I want to come along, if Rena’s not going. You’ll need someone keeping an eye on the two of you!” Oleander poked Kellen’s large arm a couple of times to make her point.

“Ollie, that place is only open to magicians. You can’t come,” Jaden said with an apologetic shrug.

“If you can come, do I have your word you’ll stay out of trouble?” Kellen frowned down at the much smaller Olman woman.

“Sure? I mean, of course.” Oleander held a hand to her heart, and smiled innocently.

“… right. You’re now my apprentice, Red.” Kellen patted her on the head.

“Just like that? I should’ve become a magician ages ago.” She was joking, of course. She knew that only some people had the ability, and she wasn’t one of them.

The Northman dug around in his belt-pouches for a bit, before finding an old and worn stone.

“For authenticity, here’s the first rune of your collection. It’s molgin, a water rune.”

“Is it safe for me to have this?” She took the thumb-sized stone hesitantly, bringing laughter from her friend.

“Yes, don’t worry. It allows a rune seeker to call into being a small cloud that will follow him around. Southlanders call it the ‘cloud companion’ rune,” Kellen smiled. It had been one of the first runes he had discovered during his seeking. It was like a childhood toy; much beloved, but seldom seen.

After dressing the part, Kellen in his traditional robes that were in very good condition — mostly because how he never wore them on a daily basis — and Jaden picking a fitting illusion with a hint of Talramani style, they left the Old Hog. From what Kellen had picked up by talking with a talisman merchant yesterday, one of the city nobles had offered his townhouse for the convocation. It would probably be a point of prestige to be able to claim to have played host to the best and brightest of the magical societies, and might make good future business connections. Especially among the Arcane Order.

The streets were almost eerily empty this early. Noon wouldn’t be upon them for many hours, and most of the city was probably still fighting the aftereffects of the expected overindulgence. With no crowds to fight for passage, the three made very good time to the aristocrat district. The flying carpet passing overhead told them they were headed the right way, as did the several other obvious magicians going in the same direction. Jaden recognised at least four other traditions on this street alone.

The townhouse itself was an expansive building that reminded Jaden a bit of the baron’s manor in Redwall, except with the necessary adaptions to fit into a city. He had no doubt hundreds of magicians would be comfortable within the walls. There was even a short queue outside, but thankfully the servants were only making sure that no obvious summoned guardians or suspended attack spells were present. When it was their time, they were given a quick once-over and then ushered into the great house.

As they walked into the large gathering hall, they were met with a functionary carrying a book and an important bearing.

“Names and traditions, please. We wouldn’t want to place rivalling factions next to one another, after all.” He sounded like he had said this dozens of times already, and he probably had.

“Kellen Winterheart, of the Society of Rune Seekers.” The Northman announced in a strong, but measured voice. It drew the attention of some nearby colleagues wearing a similar robe as him, exchanging polite nods. The functionary jotted the details down in his book, and looked down at Oleander with an arched eyebrow.

“Hi, I’m-“

“This is my apprentice. She’ll just be observing today,” Kellen interrupted the redhead, which was probably just as well.

“See? I’ve got a rune!” Oleander held up her borrowed runestone, with a wide grin.

“That’s… nice. Next?” The thin man turned to the mystic as Kellen pushed his ‘apprentice’s’ hand down, shaking his head.

“Jaden Tarasov, Lacunai Mystic,” he said with a voice low enough that only the scribe would hear.

“Really? We don’t get many of your tradition here, sir. If you would like, the rest of the Talraman envoy is over by the right section.” The thin man pointed with his stylus, then went to the next group in line.

“Wait, who did they send this year?” Jaden caught the functionary by the sleeve, who gave him an annoyed look before tugging free.

“Alam Hetagon, and party,” was the curt reply.

Jaden felt his heart pound in his chest, and swallowed dryly. Alam Hetagon, the sentinel of Talraman. Why would they have sent him? There were many mystics who would be better suited for a diplomatic gathering such as this. It had to mean something.

“Do you know that man, Jaden?” Kellen looked down at his perturbed young friend.

“He’s one of the most famous mystics alive. Alam Hetagon of the Razor Wind, sentinel of the citadel. Lord Protector of the mountain. If we had a king, he would be the general of our army.” Jaden felt like he was babbling. Hetagon had been the example everyone had looked up at when he was a child. He was a hero.

“That’s a lot of titles,” Oleander pointed out, her impression of the man she’d never met dropping a little. To her, titles were a strange idea. People who wanted titles, didn’t deserve them; people who deserved titles, seldom wanted them.

“Sounds like an impressive man. I would like to meet him, if you could introduce us? While I expect him to be quite busy for the duration of the convocation, there are many questions about your tradition I’d like to ask him.” Ever the scholar, Kellen saw an opportunity to expand his horizons.

“I… yes, of course. It would be rude of me not to let him know I was here, too.” Jaden looked around, and immediately saw the Talraman group. After all, there was no other person here with a pair of brown-speckled wings on proud display.

“How do I ask one of them to show their battle-shape?” That was one of the reasons Oleander had wanted to come along. Jaden was so secretive about his, but maybe other mystics would be more obliging?

“Please don’t,” her mystic friend groaned.

They made their way through the hall, seeing cabals of sorcerers talk amongst themselves, a group of shamans that followed Kellen with a dark look, even some spellsingers of the Ruby Lotus that were attracting a large crowd as usual. Jaden felt a little overwhelmed by the ambient magic of this place, but also exhilarated. This would be one of the few places in the world where he would not be considered a freak or be feared. Here, everyone was a little strange.

They stopped next to the tan, powerful man with gryphon wings who wore his years well. His clothes were tailored to allow for his unusual form, of a rich but strong fabric that clung to his body. They were the kind of clothes in which you were meant to fly. His hair plumed backwards in a light brown cascade, and continued down his cheeks in a thick sideburn. Alam Hetagon smelled of the sky and the sun.

Jaden waited until the hero of his childhood had finished speaking to a Tierborn sorcerer, and was about to raise his voice when the winged man turned around.

“Respectful as always, son of Iron Scales,” Alam spoke. His voice was not as deep as Kellens, nor was he as tall, but his presence commanded attention in a way few men could. There was something almost tangible to the way he fixed you with those hunter’s eyes.

“My apologies for the intrusion, Lord Protector. I was in Farcrest by happenstance, and felt I would be amiss not to speak with you while we were here. Let me introduce my good friends Kellen Winterheart, a rune seeker, and his… apprentice, Oleander.” Jaden felt very small next to the two men.

“An honour, rune seeker. It’s rare to see a warrior of the North take up the runic craft, but change is necessary to grow stronger,” Alam nodded at Kellen, measuring the power of the other magician.

“The pleasure is all mine, mystic. I have many questions about the Lacunai, most of which my friend here has been unable to answer over the past year. Maybe I can bend your ear for a spell?” Kellen was positively rubbing his hands together at the opportunity to learn more about the world of magic.

“Young Tarasov hasn’t been very helpful?” The Sentinel of Talraman glanced down at Jaden, and nodded imperceptibly. Secrets were meant to be kept. “I will offer what I can, but before we do that, let me bring my companion protector into the discussion.”

Alam turned and waved into the crowd, causing a person to break away from a conversation and walk back toward them. She had long, black hair that went over her pointy ears, and bright amber eyes. The light leather armour was reinforced with metal plates, and a surcoat showed the symbol of three black claws on a golden field across her chest. She immediately locked in on Jaden once she saw the new people next to her superior.

“This is Lilya Tarasov of the Breaking Hope, a protector of Talraman,” Alam gestured at the woman who was almost a mirror of Jaden. Oleander looked back and forth between the two, her mouth a bit open.

“Hello brother,” the woman said, with the hardest eyes they had ever seen.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden learns some interesting things at the Convocation of Magi. Mirena and Rhyce enjoys a rare day without rain. Stann goes exploring, but digs himself too deep. Oleander and Jaden makes a disturbing discovery.

Flashback: A young Jaden waves his mother off as she goes on an important assignment.

---

Chapter 15: Sunless Sonata

JADEN

Their feet made a soft padding noise as they raced down the hallway. The long carpet that kept the floor warm went almost the entire length from the dining room to the great balcony overlooking the steep mountainside. The doors to the balcony were always closed, to keep the chill of the mountain outside, no matter the season. Talraman was seldom a warm place.

“Dragon breath! You’re dead!” The black-haired girl made a roaring noise while holding out her arms stiffly as if they were wings and she was soaring.

“Nu-uh! I’m a golem, just like Master Whiskers!” The boy with the same hair and ears as his sister crossed his arms in front of his body as a shield.

“You’re stupid! Dragonfire melts golems!” The girl’s voice rose another octave, refusing to be beaten by such cheap tricks.

“No it doesn’t! Papa told me so!”

“Liar!”

“Cheater!” The boy tried not to let his sister get the last word in this time too.

The door next to the balcony opened up and a white-haired woman stepped out into the hallway with an expression of mixed amusement and annoyance. The children hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on trying to shout louder than the other sibling. She crossed her arms and donned a stern mask.

“Lilya, Jaden! Garda’s fires, what are you doing?” Their mother put her hands on her hips and leaned forward when she had grabbed their full attention. “You know I was talking with councilman Ilduste today. It’s very important, and we can’t hear each other with all this yelling.”

“Well, I won,” Lilya declared proudly. She always strived to be the strongest, after all.

“No, you didn-“ her brother began, but was interrupted by their mother before it started another shouting match.

“Either play in your rooms, or go to one of your friends. Now, shoo, you hellions!” She kept her strict expression. Garen wanted rules in this household, and she would do her best to make sure their children understood that.

“Yes, mommy!” The girl, a year older than the boy, turned around and headed back to her room. Though she sometimes forgot herself, Lilya never had a problem with following the rules.

Her son remained in the hallway and looked at her with those big, brown eyes. He could probably use a bath.

“Did you want something, Jay?” She knelt down as the young boy ran into her arms.

“Lilya called me stupid, mommy!” Jaden burrowed his face into her grey and silver robe.

“Well, that’s because you are, Jay.” His mother said, remorselessly.

“What?!”

When Jaden looked up at his mother’s face, her serious expression slipped and showed her real self. Her special face she only showed her children sometimes, to Jaden more than his sister. His mother’s smile was all the warmth he ever needed.

“Got you there, my little raindrop.” She ran a hand through that black hair both her children had from their father. She couldn’t help but wonder about what people they would grow up into, but she had no doubt in that they would bring a breath of fresh air into the rigid society of the Lacunai. They may have their father’s colours, but they had her heart.

Before Jaden could reply, the man she had been talking with left the Tarasov’s receiving room with a soft whisper of his midnight robes and cleared his throat.

“Irissa? It’s time for us to leave now. We need the Dancing Tempest to handle the negotiations with the ambassador of Skyreach Eternal,” the aging man said, gesturing at the balcony doors. That was the way the children’s parents often arrived at their home.

“Oh, of course councilman. I’ll be just a moment,” Irissa nodded at the grey-haired mystic, and then turned back to the child in her arms. “Jaden? I want you to tell your father that I left for my big meeting as soon as he comes home.”

“Okay. When is he coming home?” Jaden tried to hold on a bit longer, but he had to let go when his mother stood back up.

“Who knows? Those dragons sure take their time talking sometimes, don’t they?” She snuck him another smile when the councilman wasn’t looking, and winked. She had already discussed her own trip with Garen, but giving their son an ‘important mission’ would make the boy feel better. “Be nice to your sister and aunt Sabel while I’m gone.”

“I wish you wouldn’t go, mommy.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, raindrop,” Irissa waved at her youngest child and joined the older man by the balcony doors. The chill of the mountain air rushed in with a wind as soon as the doors opened.

Irissa turned and waved at Jaden one more time, before she reached within and embraced her inner spirit. Her features became translucent and windblown as her feet left the ground, regretting how their duties so often kept them away from their children. Irissa of the Dancing Tempest floated away into the blue sky

The din of many conversations was loud enough that it was hard to make yourself heard in the main gathering hall. Some groups had already begun to make use of the several more private rooms set aside for such business. Eventually, a functionary that looked vaguely similar to the one who had taken Jaden’s name earlier struck a bell and announced that the first debate of the day was about to being in the auditorium, followed by the presentation on the latest expedition to the other continent by the esteemed Rune Seeker Sarzall.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting in on the debate, Mystic Hetagon,” Kellen confessed with an almost eager expression. “I understand it is Spellsinger Inadra, who apprenticed under Mirria herself, debating the ethics of mercenary magic with a spokesperson of the Arcane Order.”

“Yes, it will no doubt prove a very interesting discussion. They sent Torem Khemar to handle her. You know they’re expecting trouble when putting up a dwarf defence speaker. Let us go see what the conclusion will be.” Alam stroked his chin in thought, keeping a neutral face. His wings shifted a little as he changed his stance. “Lilya? No doubt you want to catch up with your brother. We will meet up here after the debate is over.”

“As you wish, Lord Protector,” the hard-eyed woman bowed her head. She glanced up after a while when Oleander hadn’t made a move to leave their side.

“Hi, I’m-“

“Apprentice! Come along now. Leave those two alone,” Kellen bellowed over the noise of dozens of magicians comparing their crafts.

“But-“

“Attend your master, girl!” Lilya hissed. She appeared offended by the disrespect Oleander was showing her ‘master’.

The redhead frowned a little, then looked up at Jaden and smiled. For a second, he thought she was going to say something else, but she just gave him a little wave before hurrying after the two men. The crowd willingly parted when Alam and Kellen walked forward. Jaden gave his friends one last longing look, before turning back to face the music.

“Lilya,” he began.

“Don’t you ‘Lilya’ me, you… you waste of skin!” She managed to restrain herself, just barely. His sister always had more of their father’s temper than he had. “Do you have any idea how ashamed we were when you just disappeared overnight?”

“I wrote a letter…”

“Burn the letter! You owe us more than that. What broke inside your head, and made you abandon all pretence at honour and just slink away from your duty?”

“You know what, Lil. You must’ve heard what… happened,” Jaden felt the embarrassment flush his face; if not for the veil, that is. He couldn’t get over how much the same they looked now, were it not for his disguise. They stood eye to eye, same hair, same ears. The eyes told a different tale now, though. His had only grown more golden, while Lilya’s sought the essence of stone.

“The mountain gives no more than what we’re expected to carry, Jay. But you dropped it at our feet, and now we had to carry it for you!” Lilya clenched her fists over and over, as if she was fighting a desire to pick her brother up and shake some sense into him. No violence would be tolerated at the convocation, however. That would get her expelled, and banned from future gatherings. “Show some bloody spine for once. Tarasovs don’t run, we stand and do what need doing.”

“You sound like dad, Lil.” Jaden searched his sister’s face for the girl she had been before.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I expect you to return with us once we’re done here.” Lilya crossed her arms over her surcoat, pushing up the family crest that was draped across her chest.

“I… I can’t. I’ve got my friends here, and we’re doing… things.” He lied awkwardly. Several other lines had appeared in his head, unbidden, but it was bad enough lying to Lilya as it was, without starting to make up things completely.

“Dragon dung, Jay! I can see right through you. I always could.” Her finger was barely an inch from his chest, where the illusion just barely covered reality. The pupils of her hard amber eyes seemed narrower than normal, almost lizard-like. She had begun to drift, too. “There are only so many chances you’ll get, even with family. You need to stop burning bridges right now, or things will end up very badly for you.”

That hit him right in the heart. He was pushing everyone away. Mom, dad, Lil, his friends. Before he even knew what was happening, it all came rushing up. He covered his face with his hands as his shoulders shook.

The gathering hall was mostly empty, as magicians had left for private chambers, or the larger rooms where scheduled events took place. The ones who remained for various reasons, gave the siblings the privacy they needed. Nobody enjoyed seeing people weep in public.

Lilya watched her brother cry for a while, and then felt her shoulders slump down. She hesitated for a moment before hugged him close, feeling the illusion pass through her arms. It didn’t surprise her one bit. Nothing could stand up against her gaze, after all. It revealed the threads of magic with the same ease it showed the essence of stone inside every living thing, just waiting to be awakened.

“Jay, you’re a dummy.” She said, sighing at the scene he was causing.

“I know.”

“Happy birthday too, I guess,” Lilya said offhandedly.

“You remembered?” Jaden pulled back a bit so he could see her face. She still looked angry.

“Of course. It’s because I’m not stupid, like you.” She looked him over critically. “By the mountain, Jay, what are you wearing?”

"Something is wrong with me, Lil. I'm drifting too fast." How could she think about clothes right now?

"All the more reason for you to come back with us," Lilya squeezed his shoulders where she still held onto him.

"I can't. Didn't you hear what dad wants me to do?" Jaden didn’t want to think about that. Forget honour, there was no dignity in that.

"I wouldn't worry about father if I were you. Mother's furious with you for just leaving like that."

"Oh." Their mother was mostly calm like a cloudless sky, but once her ire had been awakened, it was thunder and lightning. Literally.

"We had bad weather for a week."

"I don't want this, Lil. I really, really don't want this." Jaden awkwardly touched a hand to his chest above his heart.

"Tough. This is who you are. What are you going to do about it?" His sister was all about tough love, which was made worse by how she often forgot the ‘love’ part of it.

"I thought that... Maybe here at the convocation, I could find some way of reversing this."

"Rejecting your spirit? That's unheard of, Jay." Lilya looked at him with something close to disdain. The bond between the mystic and the spirit was, well, sacred. Jaden was approaching blasphemy by Lacunai standards.

"I have to try something. I'm... losing myself." He had to try to make her see, somehow. There was something deeply wrong with his bond. Or right. Maybe it was too right?

Lilya let her hands fall to her side and regarded him silently with those stony eyes. She pursed her mouth in thought, which was a good sign. That meant she was considering it, at least.

"Please, Lil."

"Fine. Never say I didn't do anything for you. I'll run interference back home, but unless you're back by midwinter I'll hunt you down and drag you back myself. I've got your new scent now." She leaned forward and glared a bit to make her point. Jaden hugged his sister again, causing her to roll her eyes. "That just feels weird now, with you squishing up against me like that."

"Yeah, I know," Jaden laughed a little.

"You're lucky you have that minor veil. You're all blotchy right now."

"Garda's fires," Jaden cursed softly and wiped at his eyes. No one would see his face. No one except Lilya, that is.

"You sound like mother when you say that," Lilya commented coolly. Or was she amused? It was getting harder to tell.

"Well, she-"

"No, I mean, you literally sound like her. A cheap veil like that can't handle voices." She sniffed at the embroidered nymph kerchief tied around his head, in the guise of that nondescript hat.

"It wasn't cheap; I had to trade in my Talraman blade-"

"You did what?" Lilya's eyes flashed dangerously. "Why, I ought to petrify you where you stand! Father had promised that sword to me, since you were unfit for a protector’s duty. But you ran away with it! Where is it now?"

"I sold it in a curiosity tent outside Tier. Some Etrian trader with a lot of enchanted items, uh, and perfumes." Did he still have that bottle? He remembered enjoying that scent.

"Blight and bloody boggarts." Lilya rubbed her face to keep from strangling her brother. She finally settled on shooting him another angry glare. "That's just one more thing you owe me now, Jay. If I can't get it back, I'll find myself a statue to hang my clothes on. Hint. Hint."

Jaden sincerely hoped his sister would be able to find it. It wasn’t a very special sword. It was one of a hundred just like it, made to arm the Talraman protectors during the time when the mountain citadel was at war with the entire world. But it had been with the family ever since those long gone days, and trading it away hadn't been his proudest moment.

Their shouting hadn’t gone unnoticed however. A peacekeeping functionary eventually approached them, with a concerned expression. Once he recognised one of them as a member of the Mystics’ delegation, he kept a respectful — or fearful — distance.

"Is everything alright here, sir? Some of the guests feared an altercation might be imminent."

"No, everything's fine. Thank you. My sister is just telling me about her, uh-" Jaden glanced at his sister, their sibling bond waking up after having been asleep for a long time.

"Statue collection." Lilya said resolutely, in the same way a rector of Melat pronounced judgment upon the guilty.

"Right. Her statues?" Jaden winced a little.

"I... see. Very well. Try to keep it civil, would you kindly? We wouldn't want to have to ask you to leave."

"Of course. My apologies." Jaden tried to smooth things over.

"Walk away, human." Lilya frowned at the functionary. There would apparently be no smoothening.

The man did, with the studied patience of someone who had worked as a servant to nobles and other entitled people for most of his life.

"'Human'? Lil, we're human too, you know?" Jaden reminded his sister.

"Only about two fifth, by my count," Lilya shrugged a little. She always needed to be right.

"At least we're not elves." He pointed out.

"Actually..." Always needed to be right.

The sun was breaking through the clouds, and reached down with rays of warmth to the people in Farcrest’s streets. From her seat by the window, Mirena could see a woman passing by who unconsciously turned her head a bit upward to catch more of the light. Everyone sought the light in their own way.

“It seems a shame to spend the morning cooped up in the Old Hog,” Mirena told Stann, who was lazily pulling strips of meat from a piece of chicken and waving them in front of the innkeeper’s dog.

The spotty mutt tilted its head to the side, causing its long ears to swing a bit, but then lay back down by Rhyce’s feet. The archer hid a faint, lopsided smirk as he reached down and scratched its head.

“Thar is no better place t’ be, I’ll have yu know,” the dwarf wiped a hand on his leather apron and grabbed another mug from the tray to dry off. “Exceptin’ the emerald halls of the kingdom below.”

“No offense intended, keeper Turgar,” Mirena smiled at the stocky owner of the Old Hog Inn.

“Hmpf. And yu,” Turgar pointed a thick finger at Rhyce. “Give me back me fleabag! ‘e is supposed to be gerdin’, no rollin’ on the floor.”

The dog whined a little, and looked up at Rhyce.

“It is a nice day, for as long as it’ll last,” Stann commented, leaning forward a bit to be able to see out the window. “Maybe I should go see the sights of the city?”

“I feel like visiting the market again. There should still be a lot of activities on the day after the celebration,” Mirena mused, and brushed some stray hair back over an ear.

“I’ll come along,” said Rhyce. “I’ve been inside for too long anyway.”

The warrior bid the archer and the knight a pleasant trip, and headed off to explore. He had only looked at the nearby areas since they arrived, and felt like truly taking the measure of the capital of Alband in a way only a Northman could.

It really was a beautiful day. Many of the revellers from last night had begun to regain their senses, and had started to head outside as well. It wasn’t anywhere near as busy as last night, but Mirena and Rhyce found themselves having to wait their turns at some places. One street was even blocked off by two wagons heading opposite ways, with their drivers shouting at each other and generally causing a ruckus.

“That would never happen in Tier. The wagon streets were designed wide enough for two to pass side by side without having to resort to… to such profanities,” Mirena gestured back at the street they had just passed.

“Not every place has that luxury,” the archer said, as he held open the door to a jeweller’s shop. Mirena smiled and walked inside. “After all, while some aspire to gold, others will settle for coppers.”

“Witty, Rhyce,” Mirena approved with a small laugh. Tier was best known for its rich, almost golden stonework, and its high towers. Farcrest, on the other hand, started growing around a copper trade route.

While browsing the displays, Mirena thought again about last night. Before she left to serve the temple, she had resented her parents for making her go to such events, but now she found herself missing the music and the dancing. Maybe she would have to settle for copper, as well. To her surprise Rhyce had asked the storeowner to let him look closer at a slim silver chain of some sort. The archer held it in his hands for a moment, and then nodded to himself.

“That’s a very ladylike necklace, Rhyce. Who are you buying it for?” Mirena asked, as he was paying for his purchase.

“My wife,” Rhyce replied laconically, and glanced at the window to the street.

“Your-“ She followed his gaze, and lost her train of thought when a new customer stepped into the store. He was quite familiar, even though she only met him once before. She felt a smile claim her face. “Arim!”

“Eh? Oh, milady Mirena! What a surprise!” Her dancing partner from yesterday blinked a few times, and returned her smile in full. “It seemed like a nice day for a stroll, and here we are.”

“What are you doing here? Looking for a gift?” Mirena stepped closer, and failed to notice how her friend slipped past behind her, leaving the store.

“Yes. I mentioned how I had been left hanging as well, yesterday? Well, I thought I’d find a nice present for my niece once they show up.” Arim scratched the back of his neck, no doubt a little self-conscious to be caught in a shop catering to ladies’ jewellery by someone he had danced closely with just the other night.

“That’s very sweet of you. I’m sure she’ll love it. I can give you some suggestions, if you’d like?”

“Please! I’m not sure what girls like these days. Likely, I’d just buy something too expensive to make up for my lack of fine taste. My coins and I will be in your debt, for sure.” Arim laughed with some relief as tension ran out of his shoulders.

Outside the sun was drying up all the last drops of yesterday’s rain. Rhyce stood for a while, just looking at the blue sky. Then, he raised his hand with the silver chain. Some people passing by gave him a second look as he stood there, but soon a black bird swept down from the rooftops and carefully plucked the item from his fingers. It gathered itself and flew off again, heading west and inlands. Rhyce followed it with his eyes until he could no longer see it, and then he turned and walked the street alone.

Farcrest was a curious city. It wasn’t as sprawling as Etrana, what seemed to go on forever, or as resplendent as Tier, who sought to awe her visitors. Farcrest held onto good old Albander sense, but had simply scaled it up to fit a larger community. It was hard to be surprised by Farcrest. Streets led where they were supposed to go, and the different districts must have been planned ahead by some visionary architect of the ages. Or maybe the Albander had simply made a collective decision not to mess it up. Of all the capitals of the countries along the coast, Farcrest was no doubt the youngest, but after Alband breaking off from the empire, it had grown rapidly into the large city it was today. Stann could definitely appreciate a place like this.

Stann had spent most of the morning making his way around the other edges of the city, but aside from some fortifications there wasn’t a whole lot to see. It wasn’t until he decided to take the northern road back towards the inner city that he happened upon a large merchant’s wagon standing by the side of the street. He immediately recognised the style of a Northman wagon, and by the colours of their clothes, he’d bet his favourite throwing axe those were of the Ravenwing clan.

“Ho, blackfeathers!” Stann called out as he joined the small group of people inspecting the fine steel of the North.

“Well met, bloodsnow!” One of the older men replied, his dark blonde and grey hair braided back from his face. He probably had more hair on his chin than on his head.

“Showing the southerners how it’s done?” The winterheart warrior shouldered his way up to the front and grasped a heavy battle-axe in a hand. It was good, solid craftsmanship. He could almost feel the cold of his homeland inside that steel.

“Aye. The iron down here is so soft; we could use it to wipe our behinds!” The Ravenwing men laughed heartily.

Stann grinned as well, and looked across the rest of the people looking at the Northmen’s wares. He did a double-take when he saw the tapered ears rising out of silky blonde, almost white, hair. It framed a face that was cute for an elf, but beautiful to a human. She was inspecting some of the lighter blades, even holding one of them in her slender hands. He put on his best grin, and leaned casually against the side of the wagon.

“A lady after my own heart. Do you see anything you like?” Stann delivered his line with a wink.

The elven woman had the good grace to smile, even at such a crude pick-up line. She kept turning the slim blade over in her hands, though.

“Perhaps. I was too busy yesterday to visit these markets.” She had a wonderful, melodious voice too, and a very noticeable accent. “Preparations for our performance took priority, of course.”

“Ah, you’re part of the Sorun group?” Stann deduced as his eyes roamed a little. Not too much, though. He was a gentleman, after all.

“I’m with the Sona Sonorous, yes.” She admitted, one eyebrow pulling down a little as if she had touched something she rather she hadn’t.

“A heavy name for such a slender lady.” He was smoother than a greased boar. Some of the Ravenwing men groaned a little, but what did they know?

“It’s a translation. Some nuances might be lost.” The elven woman seemed undecided whether to put down the short sword, or use it.

“What do you call it in elf-speak?”

“Serecea Sonasirium” She said, reluctantly.

“Say something else in that tongue of yours?” Stann loved hearing the elves speak their own language. It felt like warm honey being poured into his ears.

“Perot.” With that, she firmly put the blade back on the pile.

“That was something dirty, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” and with that, the elven woman left with a relieved smile.

Stann sighed as she walked away. That was one fine-looking woman. He was brought out of his budding fantasy when his countrymen gave him a slow applause.

“Well done, bloodsnow. That was inspiring.”

“Eh, shut your gaps,” Stann joked, and waved them off as he left as well. What did they know?

As the first, but greatly anticipated debate was done for the day, the audience began to filter out through the doors to the auditorium, forming into small groups to discuss what they had taken from the argument between Spellsinger Inadra and Sorcerer Torem. While they were walking back to where the Tarasovs had been talking, Alam Hetagon and Kellen was talking about their own views about the separation between the magical traditions and the states.

“The division is artificial and unnatural. Magicians are members of their people and culture, so why should they be forced to be set apart from their homes?” Alam spoke not with anger, but with the intense surety of a believer.

“Magic is the most powerful force we know of. No individual state should command something like that. Rulers are but people too, and can make mistakes,” Kellen argued according to the position that had brought the convocation into being in the first place.

“We shall just have to agree, to disagree then, rune seeker,” the winged protector of the mountain nodded with an amused twitch on his lips. Talraman represented, to a degree, a lot of what the debate had been about. A place where magicians ruled. Magocracy was a scary concept to many.

Oleander had the look of someone pushed to their personal limits of sanity out of boredom, and welcomed the chance to hurry back to Jaden’s side. Lilya gave her a frown as the redhead joined them.

"Lilya, this is my friend Oleander," Jaden introduced the two women, not having had the chance to properly do so before.

"Right. The rune seeker's apprentice." Lilya crossed her arms again, standing with her weight evenly divided, as if facing down an opponent.

"Hi! We didn't get a chance to talk before, but I can't get over how much the two of you look alike." The redhead couldn’t help glancing between the two of them. The kinship was very obvious.

"You have no idea." The stony-eyed woman looked at her brother, her gaze piercing through the illusion.

"Uh, I guess not?" Oleander shrugged a little.

"I need to get back to my duties now," Lilya glanced over at the Lord Protector of Talraman, who was about to head off to their next appointment. He was motioning at her to come.

"Hey, wait! Can I see your battle-shape?"

"My what?" She stopped and turned back around.

"She means manifestation," Jaden translated, covering his face with a palm. Lilya stared at the cheeky, short redhead for a moment.

"You're Olman, right? Have you heard the expression 'don't draw your bow unless you intend to shoot'?" Lilya's voice took on a growling undertone towards the end.

"Sure, it's a- oh. Right."

Lilya Tarasov gave the short woman another pointed stare, then turned on her heel and stalked off to join her superior. She said something to Alam, but they couldn’t hear it over the noise of dozens of people talking around the gathering hall.

"Your sister, she's kind of intense, Jay." Oleander admitted.

"Yeah, she always was." But lately, it had just grown more so. Whatever had happened in her spirit quest, it had honed the hard part of her to a keen edge.

"I can't help but think I've seen her before, though, somewhere." Oleander tapped her lip with a finger in thought.

"That's probably unlikely." Jaden couldn’t imagine a situation where the two would run into one another, aside from places like these. His sister had never been the adventurous sort, and felt that travelling was a bother.

"You know, you two sound a lot alike too. How's that throat of yours?" The redhead gave Jaden a look of concern.

"It's, uh, getting better," Jaden forced his voice into a lower registry. Just one more thing to worry about. He took note of Alam’s clothes, though. A design that allowed for wings might come in handy in the future. He was getting very tired of ending up topless whenever he’s forced to do something he desperately wanted to avoid. It just seemed like an extra pinch of salt on a raw wound.

While Kellen happily went from room to room during the following hours, sometimes bringing Oleander along for an “educating experience” much to her protests, Jaden spent it talking with other magicians of many other traditions. Since his questions might raise some strange questions, especially coming from a mystic, he fell back on what felt natural — Jaden lied. Pretending to be an elven sorcerer interested in transformation magic was easier than he imagined, but he tried to avoid speaking with other sorcerers anyway, just in case there were some subtle tells he would miss.

Some of the men and women he managed to speak with, when he managed to catch them between events, would refer him to the Mystics’ envoy. Quite ironic, he had to admit, but they were considered to be the best “shapeshifters”.

One particular rune seeker mentioned seeing some very fascinating frescoes while conducting an exploratory dig outside Bul Isra, an elven city on the far side of the Sorun wildlands. According to those ancient texts there were a caste of elven magicians called the Arat Duar, who walked a path somewhere between the priests of the Five Temples, and the shamans of the North. Or, maybe the other way around, since the elven geomancers came well before either of the others. The inscriptions spoke of these elves who could use magic to alter both living things, and the inanimate.

“Though, I don’t know if any remnant of that ancient tradition even remains to this day,” the middle-aged orc-blooded woman concluded with a small academic sigh. “I’ve certainly not met any in my travels, or even heard about them from anywhere else than old ruins and forgotten tomes.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, seeker Morkgha.” Jaden bowed, and left with a mixed feeling of frustration in his stomach.

When he saw Kellen and the increasingly distressed Oleander again, it was in the early afternoon. The redhead ran to his side again, clutching his arm.

“Don’t let him take me to any more of those lectures, please! I take back anything bad I ever said about you stupid book-reading wizards. I don’t want to be an apprentice anymore, even a fake one!” She bared her teeth at Kellen. It wasn’t a smile, not really.

“Well, wasn’t all that interesting, little fox?” Kellen said magnanimously. “You’ve learned so much today, haven’t you?”

“Leave me alone, you monster!” She shot back. Oleander wasn’t much for the temptations of the ivory tower.

“Your loss. My colleagues here have invited me along for a little ‘shop talk’ after the last event now. Why don’t you, my dear apprentice, go sort your runes according to epoch?” The Northman’s comment earned a knowing nod and chuckle from the other rune seekers. It must be a common theme for many seekers in training.

Oleander stuck her tongue out once Kellen had turned his back and began to leave with his newfound friends. Jaden imagined it must be nice for the huge Northman to talk with people on his own level for a change. Jaden loved his friends, but he was smart enough to realise that none of them offered the kind of intellectual challenge Kellen no doubt sought.

“Are you hungry?” Jaden asked his remaining friend, who still had a hand around his wrist. When he looked down, she hurriedly let him go.

“Yeah, a bit. The snacks here were good, but I didn’t want to just camp out at a table and gobble them all up. People were starting to look at me like I was the weird one after my third trip to the tables.” Her breath smelled slightly of eggs and lemon.

“You are weird, Ollie.”

“Bite me, elfboy.”

“Ugh,” Jaden wanted to reach up and make sure his hat properly covered his ears again. He had let them out while pretending to be an elf earlier. “Hey, do you remember what we used to do in Etrana?”

“Want to head down to the harbour and watch the ships?” Oleander brightened like a star. Both she and Jaden had grown up far from the ocean, with ships only in stories. They had enjoyed several moments just watching the wind push those big boats out into the endless waves.

“We could get something to eat while we’re there.” They smiled at each other. Just like old times.

Those waves came crashing in from the same ocean they had seen so many, many miles to the south. It was humbling to realise how small they were in comparison to the deep blue. Several ships were docked, bearing flags from all over the world. Oleander pointed out an Olman vessel, probably hailing from Risan.

They had gotten a “worker’s lunch” from one of the taverns near the harbour. A piece of bread a little larger than a hand, stuffed with meat and greens. Oleander had even picked up a bottle of wine for them to share as they sat with their legs out over the pier, dangling above the water.

“Hey, do you want some fruit to go with that?” Oleander rummaged around in her satchel.

“Sure, I guess? What do you have?” Jaden took another bite out of his stuffed bread.

“This!” She shoved something up into his face. He recognised the shape of something he would rather forget all about. It made him remember a very bad day in his life.

“Get that out of my face, Ollie!” He tried to push her away.

“No, never!” She sounded triumphant now that she had found his weakness.

Jaden pushed her harder, and they fell over to the side, with her almost on top of him. Oleander met his eyes, and for a couple of heartbeats they were both silent, not knowing what to do. The rude whistling of a harbour worker caused the moment to pass, and Oleander slid away from him with a slight blush on her face. The workers grinned at the two young foreigners as they strolled past to their next job.

When Jaden sat back up, Oleander had taken a large bite out of her lunch and seemingly focused on that. He wasn’t sure what to feel about this. It felt strange. Did she like him, as in like-like him? Or was he just reading too much into an embarrassing situation? Also, when had he even bothered with thinking about these things?

"Isn't that the captain we saw yesterday?" Oleander pointed toward one of the large storage houses huddled together along the waterfront like weary old soldiers before their last battle.

"I think so, yeah," Jaden looked up from his half-finished piece of bread, and spotted the brightly clad Marsander seafarer urging his men to work quickly as they carried covered crates of widely different sizes to the waiting wagon. Strange that they hadn't anchored their ship closer to the storage, so they could bring the wares directly on board without having to use wagons.

"Aren't you curious what they're smuggling? Maybe it's Northern iron, since they're headed to
Marsantias?" The redhead speculated. The island nation didn't have large iron reserves of its own, and traded for many metals.

"What about drugs? Those merchants looked pretty shady back there," Jaden suggested, and threw a few pieces of bread to a crow that had hopped up on a nearby mooring pillar. It looked a little lonely, so he felt like feeding it for some reason.

"Eh, I don't know. That lot didn't look like Whitewater material to me. The Cartel takes umbrage with anyone trying to edge in on their business. Tier is not that far off, after all.”

"Either way, we should probably stay out of their way, Ollie." Jaden looked out over the waves crashing against the harbour side. The sea was a mystery to him, but he felt it was oddly calming as well. "The ocean breeze feels nice. We should do this more often."

"Yeah," Oleander peered up at him almost shyly and smiled. "We really should."

On a whim, Jaden opened his senses to the magical world, and looked out across the sea. The ocean wasn't magic in of itself, but it was as if he could see streams of light threading its way through the currents underneath the surface. Like rivers in the ocean. It was a subtle, but humbling display of the hidden pulse of the world.

A place where there is a river in the sky, came to his mind, but it hadn’t been his thought.

"Is that a cage they're carrying?" Oleander's voice sounded as if Jaden was underwater, a bit distorted and distant. The mundane world always took on a slightly unreal quality when he witnessed its magical reflection.

Jaden looked the way she was pointing again, back at the storage house. With his mystics' sight, he couldn't make out the details very well - it was all a grey blur. But the light of magic shone clearly within the cage, like a candle in the dark. Almost all the boxes the workers had stacked on the wagon held some sort of magic.

The magic inside the crates was moving. It was alive. The captain was transporting magical creatures.

"Ollie? Are you still curious about what's in those crates?" The Lacunai made pacts with willing creatures. He wasn’t sure what was going on here, however.

"Sure? Did you see something?" She peered at the place where the workers toiled away.

"Yeah. Let's sneak inside and take a closer look." Jaden tried not to listen to his instincts. They always caused him to end up in trouble.

"Alright! Now you're singing my song!"

The workers were too busy to pay much attention to other folks just walking past the storage buildings. The captain kept their eyes on the cargo, making them fail to notice how two of those people, out on an afternoon stroll, ducked back around a corner. They were too into stacking the boxes to see the same two use the cover of a couple of large waiting crates to sneak inside their building.

It was somewhat poorly lit inside. A single oil lamp hung from a nail on a support post provided some illumination, and the wide open doors allowed some daylight to reach inside. Further inside, however, and the large front portion of the storage became clad in shadows. Oleander picked her way through the passages lined with whatever crates and boxes the merchants kept here, her eyes on an opening into a rear section. When a small group of workers returned inside for their next load, Jaden touched her arm and they crouched down until the sound of the men struggling back toward the door told them it was safe to continue.

Stepping around the inner wall, they relaxed a little. It looked like the men were focusing on the cargo closest to the doors for now, which should give them some time to poke around. Jaden’s eyes adapted to the darkness almost immediately, and now it was his time to lead as Oleander was still mostly feeling her way around. There were more boxes here, but also covered cages of different sizes.

“Hang on, Ollie. I’m going to take a peek,” he said, trusting she would know what he meant.

With the fading mundane colours, the presences inside the cages became vivid beacons. Magic was present in a lot of these boxes, as well. Jaden turned around to take in all of the back area. He stopped when he saw the large tree. It had been roughly prepared for transport with its branches and roots hacked off. He couldn’t look away from the woman lying on top of the tree, her green skin shimmering to his mystics’ sight, her hands caressing the bark. She was whispering something over and over. The dryad looked sickly, with sunken eyes and cheeks, and paid them no notice.

“What was that?” Oleander looked at the covered cage next to them. There was another rustling from behind the burlap. When she squatted down and lifted the cloth, she barely kept from swearing out loud when a lizard-like head peered back at her.

It was a reddish-brown creature with a long snout, small horns and bright yellow eyes. Its wings had been slashed to prevent flight, should it ever leave the cage.

“That’s a kosh-dars, a dracone.” Jaden explained, kneeling down as well. He couldn’t help the wave of sympathy for this small creature, distantly related to the dragons his father walked among.

On hearing him saying the name in the dragons’ language, the dracone raised its head with something close to a hopeful gleam in its eyes. It hissed a few times, but managed with difficultly to form draconic words. Jaden began to translate for Oleander’s benefit.

“Speak Great Ones’ tongue?”

“I do, friend. A bit.” Jaden concentrated on remembering the inflections and syntax of the ancient language.

“Come free us?”

Jaden looked at Oleander as he translated the dracone’s words. The redhead started to look sad.

“We didn’t even know they were here…” She mumbled.

“We were unaware of your plight, friend.”

The small dragon lowered its head down on its front claws again. It looked tired.

“Help us?”

“We will try. How did you come here?”

“They came to Serecea. Traps. Brought us on long water, and rolling wood. Been here for days. Don’t know. No sun.” The dracone closed its eyes, trying to save its strength.

“Serecea?” Oleander blinked.

“It’s the elven word for Sorun,” Jaden explained.

“This isn’t right, Jay. This is slavery.” She bit her lip.

“It’s murder, Ollie. That dryad over there is dying. They cut her roots, and sawed off her branches.” He glanced again at the green woman. She hugged the mutilated trunk of the tree as if she could keep it alive with her love alone.

“We need to do something!”

"I know, but without the others here, I'm not sure what we can do." Jaden looked around the room. His almost-gold eyes could pick up the details all too clearly in the darkness.

"Let's bust open the cages," Oleander pulled out her favoured three-tooth medium pick from her sleeve.

"Most of these guys don't look like they can run, let alone walk. We need a plan to get them out. We need Mirena and Rhyce, at least. All of us, really."

Before Oleander could reply, the dryad craned her head back a bit and stared sightlessly toward the roof.

“I can smell violets… Are we back at the grove again? Are we home?” Her voice was frail, but even in this state it reminded Jaden of sunlit, green fields and dewdrops falling off leaves.

The sound of footsteps coming toward the rear section put an end to their whispering. There were no other way out than through the front door, so they hid behind the dracone’s cage, with Jaden apologising as they let the cover fall back over the bars.

"Alright. Bring the wood, too. They pay good for that." The foreman directed the men to the dryad’s tree.

As the workers started to push the tree toward the separation wall, the dryad began to sing in a low voice, a soothing lullaby to her oak. Jaden and Oleander took the opportunity of their distraction to sneak out into the front part of the storage building. As they were about to step outside into the fresh air of the harbour, someone shouted from within.

"Hey, you! You are not allowed in here!" The foreman pointed at them, and began to walk their way with quick steps.

Oleander didn’t bother to wait for another reason, and broke into a run, grabbing Jaden by the hand and dragged him along. The man shouted at other workers to follow as he began to chase them. She ducked in between the buildings, dashing through the alleys that just about allowed a grown person. Oleander, having grown up on the streets, knew how to run and hide. Two quick turns on the back passages that made out the narrow spaces between the storage houses, and she found an unlocked door. Without checking first, they ducked through and hid as best as they could. The shelves and dirty shovels told them it was some sort of backdoor tool-locker.

"You realise we probably could've taken those workers, right? We've fought Kynians, for goodness sake!" Oleander slapped him on the arm, as if she hadn’t been the one to make a run for it to begin with.

"And a demon," Jaden reminded her.

"That too!"

"I doubt the city guard would be happy with us if we murdered a bunch of dockhands, though." The black-haired mystic pondered out loud.

"I didn't mean we should kill them, just knock them out!"

"There were like six of them, Ollie."

"So?" She didn’t seem to see the problem.

"That's not knock-out odds!" Jaden held up a few fingers to show the difference, but found himself one short. Fortunately, it was probably too dark for her to see it anyway.

"Well, what about your magic?" Oleander made some sounds she imagined represented magic in all its forms, and wiggled her fingers.

"All this is made out of wood. Burning down the entire harbour wouldn't make the guards any happier than the aforementioned bloody rampage."

"You've got that other thing, though, right?" She said, listening at the door.

"What... other thing?" Jaden stiffened in the poorly lit room. She couldn’t possibly know about… his condition, right?

"You know, that not-a-fish spell?"

"... what? Not a fi- oh, Noctophyx?" Jaden paused for a second. "It's really good against single opponents, but the effect is spread out if there's more than one. Against six, it would make it an even fight, but hardly guarantee us walking away."

"I hate even fights!" Dirty was the only way Oleander knew to do combat.

They heard people walking past the other side of the door, and then how one of them stopped and tried the handle.

Jaden didn't have time to think it through. He immediately changed the flow of magic through his veil. The illusion swelled as much as possible, growing a coarse beard and rolled-up sleeves. In the blink of an eye, he was the image of a harbour worker. As the door swung open and daylight rushed into the small side room, Jaden leaned forward and planted a big kiss on Oleander's lips. The double surprise reflected in her huge eyes.

"I found some- uh.." The heavyset man holding the door blinked a little.

"Hey, can't you see I'm busy?" Jaden shot back with the gruffest voice he could manage.

"Uh. Sorry." The man made as if to close the door on the couple, who were clearly having a private moment, when he turned back. "Did you see some young ones hustle through here?"

"I saw two elves hightailing it like dogs were on their scent," Jaden tried his best Albander accent. "Went upcoast. Now get out!"

"Sorry!" The man shut the door gingerly, and then shouted at his friends. "They went that way!"

Jaden and Oleander held their breaths and waited a couple of frantic heartbeats before talking at once.

"Ollie, I'm so sor-"

"Rotting ravens, Jay, wha-" Oleander began. They both trailed off at the same time. "You first."

"I didn't mean to do that, but it was the only thing I could think of," Jaden tried to explain.

"That's okay. I didn't mind." Her chest hurt a little. He hadn't wanted to kiss her. With an effort she swallowed her roiling thoughts for later, and waved at his different form. "But what's with this?"

"Oh. It's an illusion," The mystic explained.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Oleander hadn’t seen Jaden do anything like that before.

"Uh..." Time to lie! "Since picking up a magic scarf from the demon in Redwall. She used it to hide her true appearance."

"Oh. That makes sense. Why didn't you tell us about it?" She frowned a little. It was bad manners to keep loot to yourself. Well, unless it was her doing it, but that was different.

"I didn't know if it still worked. You girls did a number on her!"

"Heh. Yeah, we did," Oleander opened the door a crack and peered outside. "I think it's safe now."

"Okay. You head back and get the others," Jaden said. "I'll use my disguise to see if I can do something for those poor creatures in there."

"No, Jay! Not a chance! You're not ditching me again!" She stabbed him in the chest with a finger. It sunk into the yielding softness. "Woah, that thing is realistic."

"Uh. Yeah." Jaden's illusion of an overweight worker hid the true shape underneath, but the redhead's poke was painful to his sensitive chest. He fought the urge to rub it. "But you can't stay here. One of them was bound to have seen your carrot hair. There's not that many Olman girls up here."

"But..." She knew he was right. They had just been lucky when that man had pulled the door open. The next person who saw them might recognise her from earlier. She gave Jaden a harsh glare anyway. “Fine. I’ll go, but you had better stay out of trouble, you hear me?”

“I’ll try, Ollie.” No promises. That way he wouldn’t have to lie more than he already did.

“You’re not getting a good-luck kiss looking like that, though,” She suddenly flashed him a grin.

“What?” Jaden blinked.

Before he could say anything else, she slipped out of the door with a quick look to see if the coast was still clear. With that, she set off at a dead run back toward the craftsmen’s district.

With Oleander safely away, Jaden started back toward the storage house. At least, he thought he was going the right way. He hadn't paid as much attention as he should have when they were running, but instead focused on not tripping over things while following the redhead. He had to get used to how his body moved now, or he'd probably fall over in the worst situation possible.

A couple of other workers, not seeming like they were actively looking for someone, walked past him with barely a second glance. They carried some covered buckets, and Jaden decided he wasn't curious enough to think about what they were up to. His illusion allowed him to blend in like a chameleon, and that was enough for now.

Certain that he had been turned around at some point, Jaden took a moment to peek into the magical world once more. As the world became grey and faded, he immediately spotted threads converging on a building not too far off. It looked more or less ambient, like how a place tended to be stained by magic if exposed repeatedly over a long time. He wouldn't be sure until he got a closer look, so he approached as casually as he could, reminding himself to copy the trundling gait of the workers. It caused Jaden to stumble a little before he caught himself against a nearby wall. He had to stop for a moment and fight the sudden anger that surged up from within. Nothing was working the way it used to. He was clumsy, and everything was wrong. It was all that spirit’s fault!

A minute passed as he got his breathing under control again. The rage had passed quickly, as suddenly as it had appeared. It left a strange feeling in its wake, partially cleansed but also an echo of acceptance from the other side of his heart. As if something told him it was okay to feel. It was enough to allow him to return to his search.

As Jaden walked around the building looking for the entrance, he realised that this was different storage house than the one they had been inside earlier. Still, with the magic he had seen, there must be something going on in there.

A peek around the corner showed the large double doors, wide enough to allow a wagon inside. The doors were shut, though, and a figure was standing outside, clearly guarding it. The man guarding the door wore a hooded cloak, even during the summer day. Jaden squinted a little against the sun, and barely managed to hold back a surprised gasp. He saw the discolorations on the man's face and hands; the man showed signs of a mystic’s drift.

What was a Lacunai doing here? Was he a part of the delegation from Talraman? Or, was he a rogue mystic like Jaden? He couldn’t think of a good answer to those questions, but one fact remained: that mystic was guarding this building, and that meant that whatever was inside, was very important. Jaden looked around a little more, and saw a ladder propped against the other house just a little bit back the way he had come. His eyes went up toward the roof of the suspicious building, and a plan formed in his mind. Not a good plan, but a plan nevertheless.

Carefully, as quiet as he could, Jaden moved the ladder over and climbed up as far as it allowed. It wasn’t a tall ladder, but he could easily reach the roof from the top rung. He would have to pull himself up the last bit, though. It was a little tougher than he remembered, and there was an unexpected pain when his chest squished against the hard rooftop.

“Stupid breasts,” Jaden hissed as he rolled over on his back after finally managing to clamber the last bit. It had actually hurt.

The roof was not in the best of conditions, with cracks that allowed him to look inside. It was as poorly lit as the other buildings, but that was no problem for Jaden’s eyes. He could make out at least three people standing in an open space amid packaged goods. While not sure, two of them looked like the merchants Oleander and he had heard threatening the Marsander captain. The third man was clearly a little older with grey hair, but unusually tall. About Stann’s height, Jaden guessed, but only half his weight. Without hearing the conversation, he could only imagine what was going on down there. Not for the first time, Jaden wished he had Rhyce’s keen hearing.

Jaden tried crawling a little further up the roof to be able to get a better look at the third man, when a splintering noise underneath him caused a cold pit in his stomach. With a crack and a snap, the roof below his body broke apart and sent him plummeting into the dark storage building.

Jaden barely had time to scream before the impact on a crate drove the air from his lungs. He had managed to twist around during the fall, and landed on his back. The crash broke the wood apart, and sent out a cloud of spices in the room. Not able to draw breath at the moment, Jaden could instead hear the coughing of the men who got caught in the dust.

“What manner of treachery is this?” An angry Albander voice called out.

“I knew we couldn’t trust him, the Olman scum! Look, he brought elven assassins to our meeting!” A second voice. Jaden vaguely recognised the merchants from yesterday.

Wait, elf? Jaden’s eyes caught on a shred of creamy silk swaying in the ocean breeze as it found the hole in the roof. It had ripped on a sharp piece of broken wood. Her hand went to her head. Her veil!

“Now, look here,” a third voice called out. It sounded dry from coughing.

“No, you look! You might have your spellguard bitch, but we have something better!” The first merchant let out a shrill whistle. “Taseno! Leave no bodies!”

Jaden pushed herself to her feet. It was a little easier to move when she could see her arms and legs. The illusion always made things slightly too far away, or too close. Taseno, a mystic? She knew the family name. Not as old as the Tarasovs, but they had their share of powerful magicians over the years.

The doors tore open and the cloaked man walked inside. His form began to waver and expand, at the same time as liquid darkness poured forth from inside the cloak.

“You said this would be a private meeting, and you had a mystic beast lurk at your beck and call? You will regret double-crossing me, Hamos!” The Olman man cursed at the two merchants with his dry voice.

Jaden suddenly realised who the approaching mystic was. Nerak Taseno, bound to the Drowning Dark. If she revealed herself to be a mystic as well, Nerak would likely try to kill her anyway, to hide the fact that he was working outside the mountain. With Nerak’s spirit being what it was, Jaden realised that this was not a fight she could win. Both she and the Olman man would die, and disappear into the void. Only choice left was to run.

The grey-haired man seemed to have reached the same conclusions as Jaden, and backed away from the now ten foot tall monster of twisting gloom. They began to run in the same direction, away from the approaching darkness and the merchants’ cruel jeers. Their footsteps made a hollow noise as they ran across the floorboards.

“There’s a floor below!” The man called out.

“Won’t that trap us?” Jaden gasped back.

“Smuggler’s place. Old tunnels honeycomb the foundations of this city.”

“Got it!” Jaden checked to see if Nerak was following them. He was. “Back up a bit. Valignat!”

A concentrated blue-hot flame shot out from Jaden’s fist and seared a hole in the floor. Salamander fire burned hotter than most, and made quick work of the wood.

The man gave her a re-evaluating glance, but jumped down into the smouldering hole without missing a beat. The Drowning Dark was almost upon them, and there was no time to second guess their desperate plan.

Jaden landed heavily on the stone floor. Her legs hurt from the fall earlier, and even more so now, but she pushed it aside. It was time to man up. True to the Olman’s words, though, there was a sewer-like tunnel leading off into the dark, connected to this hidden cellar. They immediately pushed on. If it was such a maze down here, it was their best chance to lose their pursuers.

They ran for what felt like forever, but in reality probably only a few minutes. Jaden had to stop, since her left leg hurt too much to go on at this speed. There was a good chance she had sprained something. The man, not old, but definitely middle-aged, was breathing heavily as well. He apparently didn’t do a lot of running in his line of work. As their breaths settled, they listened intently down the tunnel they had come, but heard only drip-drops of water, and the faint whistling of a breeze.

“An interesting day,” the man concluded, once he felt like he could talk again. “I should have known better than to deal with Albander foxes.”

“I’m so sorry for, uh, dropping in on you like that,” Jaden knew the man was likely a criminal as well, but right now they had only each other to get out of this mess.

“If they already had a beast like that, they no doubt planned to use it. You just sped up their betrayal.” He straightened up, almost reaching the top of the tunnel with his sweat-matted hair. “Are you truly a spellguard? That might become useful.”

“Ral Sona company,” she easily lied. “Those two made threatening accusations against my employer.”

“Being more careful in choosing our partners is clearly the lesson of the day,” he said with that dry voice of his. It sounded familiar, now that she thought about it.

Jaden swallowed dryly. Now that she had the chance to look at him closely, she realised who the grey-haired man was. She hadn’t recognised him without his ceremonial robes, and the purple bubble.

“Shall we continue?” He asked, and motioned toward one of the tunnels splitting off from the main one.

The sky above the farm was overcast, but some sunlight trickled through in places. The black speck grew larger as it came closer, and circled the farm once before settling on one of the lower branches on the chestnut tree behind the farmhouse. In the shade under the leaves of the tree were two gravestones, a little worn by the weather, but with the names as clear as the day they were chiselled.

The crow jumped down from the branch onto one of the stones, and a ray of light sent a glimmer off the small silver necklace it carried in its beak. With a flap of its wings, it landed in front of the stone and put the necklace down on the ground. It dug through the fallen leaves from last year, showing a few other glittering pieces hidden by the seasons. Satisfied with the placement of the latest gift, it fluttered its wings once more, and let out a mournful call.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

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

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

---

Chapter 16: Into Light

RHYCE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hear what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But..?”

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

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

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

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

“Ah, of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sound of barking dogs echoes up behind them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The woman looked at Jaden with a strange expression.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The behir lumbered towards where Jaden was still lying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…coming back. Let’s get…”

“…on the chair. Someone…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hurry up now, Bear."

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

"Aye?"

"Thanks, ugly cousin."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quickly!”

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

"Kellen can handle that. He did before."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's our friend," he replied.

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

"It's what I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

When Jaden wakes up, many questions demand answers. The group, still uncertain what to make of the situation, decides to do something about what Jaden and Oleander found in the harbour.

Flashback: A small group of Northern warriors conducts a clandestine meeting in a snowy wilderness. Stann sees something he has long since forgotten.

---

Chapter 17: Violet Tears

STANN

It was often said that the men from the North didn’t feel cold, but that was wrong. They felt its bite as keenly as any other living being. The difference was that they didn’t fear the ice and the snow; it was an old friend.

Stann saw his breath steam into the frigid air. His helmet was cold against his head, despite the fur lining inside. He kept a watchful eye toward the fields to the east. Out here in the open, the snow was deep and formed white hills that were all but impassable until spring pulled them into the ground. Wind would blow the drifting snow around, but the high trees kept the old northern gale away.

It was risky, being so far into the borderlands. Four kingdoms pushed against this valley, though technically they were on the Albander side right now. That caused a lot of tenseness among his fellow warriors. The chances of them being seen by an Alband patrol was slimmer than his cousin’s fishing lines, far as they were from the nearest homestead, but it wouldn’t do to slack off. Between that, the cold, and the company, it was a credit to their courage that they stood fast. The strong arms of the North.

His eyes left the men, and went to his battle chief and the shaman, where they stood together with the leaders of other group. The rest of the pale-dressed strangers stood in a half circle formation, their hoods and armour covering up their faces. Stann didn’t mind being excluded from that talk. He knew he was a warrior, not a herald, and his place was among his battle brothers here. Maybe it was fate, however, that brought snippets of the words spoken on that cold breeze.

"I've brought you the next piece. It was buried under the glacier, right where you said it would be." The battle chief spoke of things Stann didn’t know about.

"Excellent. Your hard work is much appreciated. As requested, we will continue to decline their requests for assistance during your next campaign." The stranger had an accent Stann couldn’t place, but a subtle force behind the words, even carried on the wind, made him want to fall to his knees.

"Good, good." His chief nodded at the shaman, who handed one of the strangers the thing they had carried all the way down from the North. Stann hadn’t asked what they were bringing with them, as it was not his place. Maybe when his beard was longer, he would have earned a place next to the battle chief, but that was not tonight.

It was big, large as a shield, but thicker. The shaman was a strong man, but even he grunted a little with relief as the strangers accepted the bundle. That fateful wind howled once more, sending a piece of the blanket that wrapped it fluttering. Stann only caught a glimpse of the silver and stone in the moonlight, before the strangers turned around to leave.

The meeting was over.

It was times like these that Kellen appreciated the patience a healer would have to possess in dealing with some patients. When his cousin had returned with the bits of leather straps and a heavy slab of stone, the rune seeker had the raw material that he needed to fashion a talisman that would function as a focal point for the warding enchantment. Unattended spells would fade away, given time, unravelling without the flow of magic to keep them strong. The talisman would provide the spell a place to live, he had tried to explain to his redheaded patient, but he would still need to apply the enchantment properly.

“Is this really necessary?” Oleander complained again, sitting on her bed with the Northman towering above her even more than usually. “Mirena already looked at me, and she said that there wasn’t anything to heal.”

“That’s because you’re not hurt, little fox. But that curse that struck you in Tier is still there, somewhere, and until we know what we’re dealing with we want to make sure what happened to you downstairs won’t repeat itself,” Kellen explained in the deliberate tones of someone talking to a stubborn fool. This wasn’t entirely unwarranted, in his opinion.

“I feel fine,” she mumbled. Oleander didn’t want to experience that again, either, but she hated having people fuss over her. There had been quite enough of that the last weeks. “But go ahead, if it’ll make you happy.”

“Thank you,” Kellen snorted in a friendly way, and then focused on the task at hand.

The rune seeker recognised the signs. They were very similar to what had happened in Tier those weeks ago, when the short redhead had been struck down by the death idol of the Sons of Husk. Had he missed something that time? Had a part of the curse remained behind, hidden, when Mirena and he had fought it off? Then again, they hadn't fought it off, had they? They had just provided Oleander with the help she needed to do it herself.

The Olman girl had gotten better, very quickly, he remembered. He had been surprised at how fast she had regained her senses after a killing curse. Sure, she had been weak and drained for a few days afterwards, but there were no signs of anything lingering. No signs that he had been able to see, that is. That should have been the first warning, but Kellen hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t wanted to consider that Oleander might still be withering away on the inside.

Kellen placed his runestones in a protective pattern around where his little fox, his fake apprentice, sat with a bored expression. Some of the stones were much newer, the inscriptions still sharp and unworn. Spirit stones, his own creation, and recently shared with members of his tradition he had met during the convocation. Most would not be able to make much use of these new runes, but for anyone with some drops of Northern blood in their veins these would allow a new dimension of magic. He felt as if their tradition was on the threshold of something amazing.

His magic pulsed strongly through the stones, and converging on the simple necklace he had made for her. He could almost feel the flow of energy, but the only telltale sign was how the symbols on the flat stone medallions briefly lit up. The ward was as strong as he dared to make it. Too strong a ward would become offensive, rather than defensive, and could burn the one it intended to protect. Magic was often a two-edged sword like that. It was almost a living thing.

Kellen pushed away all distractions, letting the three glyphs around Oleander’s neck become his entire world. Water and earth magic, to bring quickening to fluids and form. Not healing, not exactly, but everyone was a child of the land. According to Northern myth, men were born out of the shores where the ocean met the earth, and when they died, their burnt ashes were brought on the winds to the realm of their ancestors. The cycle of elements. Storm and fire was the magic of death, earth and sea was that of life.

Kellen held old stones worn smooth in each hand, and bid strength back into Oleander.

It was warm and comforting, this place. There wasn’t much to see, mostly the vaguest colours in the corner of the mind, but there was everything to feel. A soft current that swirled past, loving arms that held close and smoothened hair. The gentle humming of a forgotten song. It was peaceful, and safe.

You need to swim back now. They’re waiting for you. But remember the place where there is a river in the sky.

The hands let go, and a floating sensation was followed by the return of light. The shapes were diffuse and formless, but Jaden’s eyes finally focused on the black bird sitting on the windowsill. It peered at her in that sidelong way of birds, and then pecked a few times at the glass separating them.

Jaden rolled her head away from the bright window, and saw the room. It was one of the rooms at the Old Hog, of that she was certain. The sparse furniture and heavy doors were obvious, but this wasn’t her room. None of her things were here. Her things.

A hand flew to her head, searching for a piece of silk that everything depended on. It was gone! When had she… Memories began to return. Falling, running, fighting. Pain and fear. All these feelings flashed across her mind in an instant. That brought her around enough to notice that she wasn’t alone.

"Welcome back," said the man with the bow, sitting on a stool in the corner.

Jaden simply stared for a long while, not knowing what to do. Rhyce was looking at her. He was seeing her without the veil. There was no way she could explain this.

"What do you want me to tell the others? That you're Lilya? That you ran away when I dozed off?" Rhyce leaned forward a bit, resting his elbows on his knees.

"What do you mean?" She blinked, still trying to process her situation.

"You have a reason for not showing yourself, and I respect that. So, what do you want to do?"

"I... I don't know." Jaden. "Wait, you knew about this?"

"Yes." Rhyce never wasted words unless he had to.

"How long?"

"Suspected something since that time you went missing in Etrana. First thought you were the skinwalker, since something was off, but you knew the countersign we had set up." It had been a terrible time, last year. The mistrust and fear had almost driven the group apart. It had also been the first time Jaden had been forced to manifest his spirit’s form, after meeting his friends. Last summer seemed an eternity ago. "The hunch grew stronger after Tier. I saw something in that fire, but didn't know what at the time. Confirmed my suspicions in Redwall."

Jaden covered her face with her hands. Shame and fear washed over her in great waves, threatening to drag her out into a dark ocean of despair.

"Do... do the others know?" She finally asked.

"They've seen you, yes." Rhyce answered, he had turned his head to look at the wall, allowing her that much dignity at least.

"Garda's fires," Jaden groaned, rolling over to the side. Black tresses fell down across her face, in a memory of her veil. "I can't see them like this."

"Are you any different from yesterday?"

"No, not really? But everything has changed now." Could it ever be the same again? She wasn’t sure what to feel about any of this. It had worked as long as she had managed to stay hidden, as long as they didn’t know. But now they did.

"You need to speak with them. Let them know you're still you." Rhyce didn’t seem to see how hard that was. Was anything ever hard for him? Jaden had never seen Rhyce struggle with any decision for the year or so she had known him. His path seemed as straight and clear as the arrows that left his bow.

"I'm not even sure of that myself," she mumbled, curling up a bit in the bed.

They stayed silent for a short while, before Rhyce got up and made to open the door.

"I'll send in Mirena on the pretence of checking to see if there's anything else she needs to heal," he said over his shoulder.

"What am I going to tell her?"

"As much as you can, as little as you want." A page from Rhyce’s book. “People will surprise you.”

The knight and the rune seeker found themselves with a moment to sit down for a cup of tea. The afternoon had been hectic to say the least, with them trying to tend to two patients with very different needs. A battle injury was easy enough to handle. Telum, a god of righteous defenders and honourable fighting, approved of helping a soldier back up on her feet. It was the spiritual part that was a bit out of their reach. They improvised as well as they could, though.

"What are your thoughts on Oleander?" Mirena asked, putting down her cup. They didn't serve tea at the Old Hog, so they had to go to the small corner tavern up the street. A change of scenery was nice, as well, and they were close enough if they were needed.

"I am convinced that this is the same spell that struck her in Tier. I can almost feel the taint of it, hiding underneath the surface." Kellen scowled, once more blaming himself for not paying more attention. Their work had been interrupted and left half-finished when the Sons of Husk had tracked them down in the golden city. Since the redhead had recovered so quickly, they had all but forgotten about it. He hoped that their mistake would not cost them.

"How sure are you about the talisman you created?" She asked, breaking off a piece of hard cheese to go with a slice of fruit.

"Reasonably so. At least as sure as we can be. It takes what we learned last time, and builds upon it. It's a little experimental, but should provide a good shield against a spiritual attack like the one you saw their ritualist leader use. It's the best we can do for now."

"I wish we had talked more with the Prelate of Rosehaven. The priesthood of Kuros know more about curses than I do," Mirena sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Your turn, then. How is your patient doing?" Kellen leaned forward, his hand almost completely enfolding his teacup.

"I'm inclined to say 'who is my patient', instead. The clothes are certainly Jaden's. Oleander seems convinced of the red neckerchief, but we can't say for sure until she wakes up and we can talk to her."

"'Her'," Kellen mused. "I met his sister earlier today, at the convocation."

"Yes, I heard you and Oleander say something. What was her name, again?"

"Lilya. She's apparently part of the military equivalent of the mystics' fortress. The similarities were striking, and even more so now. If I could explain how she could have ended up with a different set of clothes, and in our hands, I would be inclined to believe that the woman in our rooms is in fact Jaden's sister." The rune seeker made a rumbling, thoughtful noise, turning the cup in his hands.

"But that is just as unlikely as Jaden suddenly changing into a girl. I wonder what happened to him down in the harbour after Oleander went to get us?"

"Another good question we hopefully will get to ask once our elven friend wakes up." Kellen got up, and paid the barmaid for their tea and snacks.

"Whoever she is," Mirena nodded, following him out the door.

Stann followed the redhead’s pacing from his seat in the common room. She had been walking the length of the place ever since being thrown out of Rhyce’s room. The dog had taken to trotting alongside her, looking up expectantly every so often. He supposed it was a good enough mutt, in that back-alley pedigree way.

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t be the one to watch him!” Oleander complained. She had wanted to sit by Jaden’s side, but Mirena had told her to get some rest instead. Not much chance of that happening.

“Same reason you don’t put any injured man to guard the sicktent. If he passes out, there’s nobody to call for help should the other men needs it,” Stann drew from his warrior’s experience. He wasn’t a veteran of many campaigns like his father and uncle, but he had stood strong against the orcs of the western mountain enough times to have seen a little of what war had to offer. It was a lot different from the battles he and his friends found themselves in the middle of all the time.

“I keep telling you that I feel fine!” She stopped, arms wide open as if to show the world how healthy she was.

“And you’ll probably keep feeling fine until your heart bursts, or, uh, what did he say? You fill up with bees?” Or something awful like that, Stann was certain.

“Ugh. Don’t say that,” Oleander shivered at the mere mention. She didn’t like insects one bit. Carrick Field had been especially hard for her, he remembered. The Kynians represented a lot of her fears rolled into one chitinous whole.

“Why don’t you tell me about what went on down by the ships? I got left out too, you know,” Stann changed the subject with all the grace of a turning longboat. She was too worked up to notice, though.

“It was just a coincidence, really. We went down to the waterfront to get lunch,” she said, reminding the warrior of how the two youngest members of the group had been so excited about the sea the first time they had seen it. “Jay did some of his mystic stuff and said that the people there were moving cages of magic things. Why would they use cages, rather than boxes, right?”

“Unless they were transporting something that was alive?” Stann nodded, connecting the dots.

“Right. So, we snuck inside to check it out. I don’t know a lot about the legal side of things-“

“Just the ILlegal?”

“Shut up. But, I’m pretty sure there’s no magical creatures that you’re allowed to just ship around. I mean, aren’t they all sort of smart? At least smarter than animals?”

“Some can be pretty cunning. I remember when I brought two friends along to hunt a thundertusk we’ve seen north of Strom, by the great Rhuir mountain. That hateful boar eluded us for almost a week, almost leading us into an avalanche one time.” The part he always left out was how they never did catch that white boar. One day, Stann had sworn, he would return and finish the hunt.

“I know, Stann. You’ve told that one already. My point is, what they’re doing is closer to slavery right? So, when we got inside we started poking around.” Oleander left it hanging, both hands posed mid-air pantomiming lifting a lid.

“And?”

“And they were! There was at least a dozen cages back there. They even had a dragonling!”

They both looked up when they heard the stair creak. Rhyce had probably done it on purpose to call attention to himself.

"Is he awake? Is it him?" Oleander all but grabbed Rhyce when the archer had set foot on the floor. "Can I see him?"

"Mirena should take another look first." Rhyce looked around for the knight.

"Why? Is he still hurt?" She hugged herself.

"I'll go see if they're coming back yet. They needed some fresh air," Stann offered, and headed out to get his cousin and friend.

"Come on, Rhyce," Oleander demanded. "Tell me what's going on here. Is it him or not?"

"That's not for me to say." The archer looked at the dog that sat by their feet, its large ears swinging as it tried to follow the conversation.

"What does that mean?" She wouldn’t let it go.

"That you'll have to be patient for a while longer," he turned away, leading the dog back to the waiting, scowling innkeeper.

Oleander just sat down on the chair that Stann had left pulled out, and looked at the stairs.

Jaden almost flinched when there was a knock on the door. She closed her eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut to keep the reality of the situation away for just a little longer. They had seen her. There was no getting away from that. Her heart began to race, despite her taking several calming breaths. Out of the corner of her eye, the black bird pecked once more on the window. It had come to the point of letting someone in, now. Jaden sat up with her back against the headboard. Like Lilya said, this was her life now. What was she going to do about it?

“It’s open, I think?” It was strange how different her voice sounded now. The veil had never changed the way she talked, but without its protection it would be that much more obvious why the pitch was higher than before. There had been little time to think about it down in the sewers, but now that she was back with her friends, it just made her position so much worse.

The door opened, showing both the knight and the redhead. Mirena had her hand on Oleander’s shoulder, whispering something that obviously didn’t make the younger woman happy. Oleander reluctantly let her friend enter alone, feeling shut out in more ways than one.

When Mirena had closed the door, she stood for a moment and just looked at Jaden. Her face was nearly unreadable, but having known the knight for more than a year, Jaden could pick up the traces of anxiety and hesitation.

“How do you feel,” Mirena finally asked, pulling up the stool next to the bed. Normally she would’ve sat on the bed instead. The subtle separation wasn’t lost on Jaden.

“Better, I guess? I’m still a little sore in my stomach and upper back, but that’s to be expected,” Jaden remembered being flung around like a rag doll by the behir manifestation. How she hadn’t died was either pure luck, or her opponent holding back. Luck was more likely.

“That’s good. Would you like to tell me about what happened?” Mirena maintained a polite façade, intently looking at Jaden as if searching for some signs only she could see.

“I… Yes, of course. When Ollie went to let you know what we had found, I decided to look around a little more. I managed to stumble upon a meeting between some suspicious merchants we had seen the other day, and…” Jaden paused. Did she really want to involve that nethermancer again? He was clearly powerful, but what could he do without his cult? Also, that man had been able to destroy a spirit. She couldn’t risk her friends going after Jeddhar, since the dark magician might be her only way back to being normal.

“Who did they meet?” Mirena asked, breaking Jaden out of her thoughts.

“Oh, it was some criminal. Smuggler, maybe? Anyway, when we… uh, I tried to run, I ended up having to fight some mercenary magicians. I managed to lose one of them in some of the old tunnels underneath the city, but defeating the other almost killed me.”

“They had sorcerer enforcers?” Mirena raised an eyebrow. It was not unheard of — the Arcane Order allowed its members to take almost any assignment, but their services didn’t come cheap.

“Maybe, or local cultists. I wasn’t given much opportunity to talk with them, you see?” Jaden felt a sour taste in her mouth, even as the half-truths came so easy now. She missed her veil. It would hide the blush that was creeping up her cheeks.

Mirena nodded slightly, as if seeing something she had been looking for. The knight switched from the stool, and sat down next to Jaden on the bed, taking the mystic’s hand in her own.

"But that still does not explain why this has happened to you," Mirena wondered, seeking Jaden’s eyes.

"I... I know why I look the way I do." Jaden squeezed the hand. Her heart was beating so hard that all of Farcrest must have been able to hear it. But through all this, something warm kept reaching up from within, urging her on.

Mirena just waited. The struggle was clear on her friend’s face, so the knight would do what she did best: offer safety.

"It's... You have heard how mystics start to resemble their manifested form, eventually?" At Mirena's nod Jaden continued, every word bringing both pain and release. "That is why."

"You're doing this to yourself?" The knight couldn’t keep all of her surprise out of her voice, and immediately regretted her lack of composure.

"No! I didn't want this! I definitely didn't want this. But sometimes we don't get to make that choice, apparently. Sometimes we just… I…" Jaden felt a first tremor inside. She didn’t know how long she would be able to hold on.

Mirena gave the stranger friend a sympathetic smile. She knew more than she cared to about having choices made for her. Up until she joined the temple, her entire life had been a carefully conducted by her parents.

"So you hid it?"

"Yeah... I tried to ignore it, run from it, but it happened anyway. I tried so hard to just be... be normal, Rena. I just wanted to be myself. Was that too much to ask?" Jaden rubbed a hand against her eyes. Why did it feel a little wet?

"Did this happen suddenly?" Mirena pushed softly, trying to understand what had happened.

"Not really. It's been happening in leaps, but until recently it was pretty small changes that added up."

"I know we have been busy and distracted lately, but I can't imagine that all of us would fail to notice how this was happening to you."

"I hid the changes at first. Winter clothes, gloves." Jaden waved her covered fingers at Mirena. "Toward the end I had to resort to magic disguises."

"Were you that desperate to hide yourself from us?" Mirena felt a stab of sadness in her heart, how her friend didn’t feel as if he could trust them with his worries.

"... yes. I was... I'm so ashamed. Of everything. But I didn't know how to stop. One lie just led to another, and it was so easy to just continue hiding. From everyone. From myself." Another tremor. It was as if she was a tightly wound string that was beginning to fray.

"We're more than our reflections, Jaden. I'm not sure I understand everything you've been going through, but if you need help, or want to talk, I will be here." She put her other hand on his, holding it between her own.

"I... thank you, Rena."

"To consider, though, is something I heard Rhyce say once. ‘Trust is in need of the whole truth'."

Jaden looked at her for a while. She could feel the last grain of sand fall out of her glass.

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?" Mirena asked directly, sitting by the bed and holding her hand. Her green eyes didn’t judge or demand, but offered to accept.

Jaden opened her mouth to say 'no', but the word got stuck on something. An abandoned sense of guilt, perhaps. There had been so many lies and half-truths, that she almost didn't know where to begin, or even how to get out of the tangle.

With just three words: This is me.

"N... Mirena? It's my spirit form. You've seen it before, once. In Redwall." Jaden pulled off the glove on her right hand, and showed the knight the burn scar across her palm.

Mirena’s eyes went a little wide for a moment, while she took this in. Her fingers trailed the seared symbol of Telum that went along the hilt of her sword.

"You were the second demon. The one who took my sword." She frowned at Jaden, dropping her hands away, but then looked a little conflicted. "The one who saved Rhyce from that shed behind the mansion. We found two dead... men in there. It looked like he had been tortured while we dined with the baron not a hundred feet away."

Jaden nodded, tears finding a path across her dirty cheeks. Cracks in the dam.

"I'm so sorry, Rena. I never wanted to lie to you, to any of you, but I didn't have any other choice."

"Of course you had a choice, Jaden. Truth is always an option, as is trust." She took Jaden's hand in hers again. "You have a lot of work ahead of you to rebuild that trust with the others. We already had this talk the day after the battle of Redwall. Please trust us, to trust in you."

Jaden didn't know what to feel, so she felt everything. Keeping her mask for so long had held back these tears that now trickled freely. The string around her heart snapped as the first groan escaped her lips. She felt a pair of arms reach around and pull her into a tight hug. Mirena held her for a long time, before the sadness had run its course.

"Don't you... don't you think I'm an evil monster? Rena, a part of me is a demon." Jaden didn’t want to let go. It had been so long since she had allowed herself to feel like this.

"That is something I will have to think about, but right now I can't feel any ill intentions inside you, Jaden." Mirena spoke into Jaden's ear. "Evil isn't what you are, it's what you do. Being part demon doesn't make you bad, not any more than being part elf would."

"I'm not an elf," Jaden mumbled automatically.

"I know." Mirenas voice was reassuring.

They held each other in silence for a little while longer. Mirena was the first to squirm out of the embrace. She had her nose wrinkled, but managed to do even that in a ladylike fashion.

"You smell really bad, Jaden, and you're filthy."

"I'm sorry. I may have gotten you dirty as well." Jaden winced as she saw the two large stains she had left on the knight’s gown. It was probably not her favourite, but it was a shame to ruin it like that.

"That's alright. Friends share the burdens of life, after all. But really, if you feel up to it, we should get you into a bath. Your wounds are mostly healed, so it should be fine." Mirena had done as much as she could, but at some point she would have to trust that the person would heal on their own.

While Jaden got out of the bed, which would require new linens, Mirena opened the door. The archer was outside as expected. They exchanged a quick look, and Rhyce returned a slow nod.

“Please tell them everything,” she asked. “I need to find Jaden somewhere to take a bath.”

“’The whole truth’, indeed.” Rhyce wondered, but went down to join the others.

The Old Hog had in fact a bathing room, which was a surprise in of itself. The tavern-and-reluctant-inn didn't seem to have too many people using it however, and there was only one tub available in the small room hidden away in a back room behind the stairs.

While the keeper was heating the water, Mirena helped her friend out of the ruined rags that used to be Jaden’s clothes. Right now, it was all they could do to preserved modesty. There was probably not worth the effort to try to clean and mend them, however, since they no longer fit her anyway

"Rena, I can undress without your help. You don't need to be here when I wash myself." Jaden stepped away from Mirena’s hands, pulling her tattered shirt back up.

"I healed you as well as I could, Jaden, but you must still be quite sore." The knight could see how the mystic was slightly hunched over.

"I've had worse when I was training back home." The mountain didn’t give more than you could carry, but it certainly expected a lot out of its children. Bruises were medals, pain was praise.

"I certainly hope not, but I'll humour you: raise your arms above your head, and I'll leave you alone."

Jaden tried to do so, and felt like someone was pulling her in half. She couldn't hold back a painful grunt even before her elbows had reached above her shoulders.

"Ow," she moaned, and gingerly touched her sides.

"You had internal bleeding and torn muscles. Even with the blessing of healing, it's going to hurt for a few days." It would have been less, if not for that strange resistance. Mirena stepped forward and finished unbuttoning the ripped vest and shirt despite Jaden's weak protests. The rags went into a pile on the floor.

The knight looked around a bit, and wasn't surprised by the lack of soap. The inn provided a tub and water, and that was clearly enough for most guests. More than enough, given the state of one of their neighbours.

There was a rough thudding on the door, and the dwarven innkeeper told them to cover up, because he was coming in. Jaden had barely time to grab her shirt from the floor and tug it back into a modicum of modesty before the stocky man dragged two large pails of steaming water to the tub.

"'ere ye go, missy. Eh'll be back with t' rest in a jiffy," he craned his back a bit with a popping noise, and left to pour more steaming water.

"While he's doing that, I'll head back up to get some of my bathing oils. Make yourself comfortable meanwhile." Mirena squeezed Jaden's shoulder a bit, and left her alone.

Turgar managed another trip while the knight was away, and gave Jaden a suspicious look while emptying the last pail into the bathtub. The water spread a steamy heat throughout the small room.

"Jes don' do anythin' weird to me tub, aye?"

"What do you mean?" Jaden had only planned on washing, as far as she knew. She could barely even imagine what would constitute weird, bathing-wise. Now she was starting to regret trying to visualise this. Hopefully, the steam hid her red cheeks.

"Yu know, elvish things?"

"I'm not an elf," she replied automatically.

"So yu say," said the keeper with his eyes narrow under a bushy brow. He pointed at his eyes, then at her as he left the bathing room, dragging a couple of the empty pails along.

"That was strange," Jaden said as she dropped the shirt and sank into the steaming water. It felt good, loosening up stiff muscles. All the tension from earlier began to wash away. There was still everyone else to deal with, but for now it was just her and the warmth. She tried not to think about how the water pushed against her unfamiliar curves.

Mirena came back shortly thereafter with a cedar box filled with carefully wrapped flasks. With their lives the way they were, she had to assume that her belongings might end up being thrown out of a window at a moment's notice.

"Here we are. These should make this a much more pleas- Telum's teeth! What are you doing?" Mirena nearly dropped the box as she hurried up to the bathtub and tried to pull Jaden out of it.

"Ow! Rena, what's wrong?"

"The water is scalding!" The knight had a strong grip around Jaden’s upper arms, and had almost hauled her bodily out of the bathtub.

"Is it?" Jaden looked down. The water was indeed steaming a lot — rather a lot indeed, come to think about it — but it wasn't that hot, was it? It was warm. Very warm, in fact, but quite tolerable.

"Doesn't it hurt?" Mirena still held her halfway up, trying to see if Jaden was turning red from being burnt.

"No, it's fine," the mystic said with all honesty.

Mirena finally let go of Jaden's arms, allowing her to slide back into the tub. The knight dipped a finger into the water, and quickly pulled it back. It was painfully hot, and would likely hurt her if she was the one up to her belly in it.

"My salamander protects me from fire. Maybe this is something like that?" Jaden suggested.

"Perhaps. Let me add some unheated water to take it down a bit anyway. I won't be able to help you if I'm boiling my hands doing so." Mirena hefted one of the large pails that had been left for the guests to mix into their preferred temperature, the weight making her huff a little as she tilted it over the rim of the tub.

Jaden felt the heat fade away from the water. It was still warm, but some part of her recognised that it was now warm enough for a normal person, rather than hot enough to turn someone into soup.

Mirena took a washcloth and one of her scented soaps, and made an impressive ball of lather.

"Let's get you clean, dear."

Jaden leaned forward enough so that Mirena could gently scrub away all the dirt from her back, and wash the filth out of her hair. It was a remarkably soothing experience, having someone’s hands massage her scalp. It reminded her of when she had been a little boy, and when her mother had done the same.

When Mirena went to get a bottle of floral oils from her collection, she made a point to really look at Jaden. Before there had been other distractions, but now her eyes went a little wider.

"Oh my! I didn’t realise that you were so... Please tell me you have better sense than Oleander and are wearing a corset or bodice," Mirena looked at her friend's chest meaningfully.

"What? Of course not!” Jaden sunk down enough so that the water covered the subject of their discussion. “… why? Is that really necessary?"

"You're at least as big as me, Jaden. It must hurt you to run like that." Mirena winced at the thought of bouncing around unsupported. Her armour did a wonderful work of keeping everything squished into place. But then, when she wore her steel she wasn't likely to move too quickly.

"It's not very comfortable, no," Jaden admitted reluctantly, remembering the running, climbing and falling she had done lately. Simply wearing a chemise wouldn't be enough anymore.

“By the way, did you already find some oils in here? I swear I can smell violets.” Mirena shrugged and dabbed her fingers with the tip of the flask, running them through the mystic’s hair.

The bath was over all too soon, and they would have to leave the safe and warm little room to face the cold air outside.

“Go see which of your clothes still fit your reasonably, so we know what we need to get you. You really can’t go around wearing a shirt with sleeves that long. Even if you don’t care about how ridiculous you look, you’re bound to snag on something or trip yourself up.” Mirena said as she dried Jaden’s long, black hair. It was even more wavy than usual after being wet.

“I’m telling you right now, you’re absolutely not getting me into a gown, Rena!” Jaden crossed her arms, and immediately dropped them down. It pushed things up. Just one more thing she couldn’t do anymore. Maybe she could take up stomping, like Ollie did?

“I wouldn’t dream of it, dear. Now head on up. I’ll go see how the others' talk went.”

Jaden put all her remaining clothes on her bed. Stann’s bed behind her was still a pile of blankets. She idly wondered where she would sleep now. All the inns in the city were packed full because of the Founding festival. They had to double up as usual to squeeze into the Old Hog. She held up her one remaining shirt. She hadn’t thought of replacing them, and since Tier it had seemed like she lost another one every week. It looked too big to be anything but a nightshirt. If she shortened the sleeves, it could probably be a dress. A very plain and ill-fitting dress.

The door closing behind her made her drop the shirt with a squeak.

Oleander stood there, holding something in her hand and staring at Jaden who only had the towel wrapped around herself. Fortunately Mirena had showed her how to do it high enough to stay modest. The redhead had a hard set to her jaw, however, even if the rest of her face was a study in casualness.

“Then it’s really you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s me,” Jaden sighed, wanting to sit down, but not trusting the towel to stay up if she let it go.

"So, confession time: how did you change like that back at the harbour? That must've had something to do with how you hid the way you... look, now. Rhyce said that it, all this, wasn’t anything that had happened today."

"I told you, Ollie, it was a magic veil. A silk scarf,” Jaden added uncomfortably.

"Where is it now, then?" The redhead shifted her weight from one foot to the other, as if she was taking a step closer without moving.

"I... lost it." Jaden saw it flash before her eyes, the torn silk fluttering in the wind like the banner of a broken army.

"Uh-huh." Oleander took a bite out of the fruit she was holding. It was the same kind that brought out such bad memories in Jaden. "Did you even find it at that demon's place? You must've had it for longer than that, surely."

"I bought it back in Tier, after... after I messed everything up in the cellar, with the... idol." More memories. Oleander’s body on the floor. Fire. The demon unleashed.

"Don't remind me." Oleander shuddered.

"I'm so sorry about everything." Jaden felt like everything she did was making excuses and apologising. She had so much to apologise for. She sank down on the bed, leaning a little against the bedside table.

"So, you're going to be a girl now?" Oleander said, with a slightly accusatory undertone.

"Not if I can help it!" That hadn’t changed. She still clung to her promise. She had allowed herself to feel it once, only once, back in Redwall. It was scary how easy it was to fall into acceptance, if she just let go of herself. If she released control. Just like letting the spirit within come to the surface.

"Can you get another one of those magic things? So you can be yourself again, I mean?"

"Not unless I find two thousand crowns lying around. Nymph-made things are apparently extra expensive." Jaden looked away, rubbing her neck. She had just enough half of that, now, after their payment from the temple of Kuros.

Oleander whistled, impressed despite her small frown.

"Where did you find that kind of shiny in the first place?"

"I... uh... I traded in my sword." There was no reason not to let the truth out now. Maybe Oleander could see what it had meant to her?

"Your magic sword?" The redhead asked, both eyebrows shooting up.

"... yeah."

"Hang on. You gave up your sword, a magical sword nonetheless, for a pretty silk scarf made by nymphs, to appear more masculine?" Oleander looked at her like she was growing a second head.

"When you put it like that..." Jaden made a face.

"You sold a rather, let's say, phallic symbol for something you call a 'veil', to be a real man?"

"Ollie, stop it..."

"You threw away your weapon for an accessory?" She just wouldn't stop taunting him.

"Ollie! Enough!" Jaden slammed her palm down on the small table and glared at her friend. "It's not funny. Nothing about this is funny. Please understand that!"

"Yeah, well neither is being lied to by your best friend, Jay!" Oleander snapped back, her voice climbing.

"I didn-"

"You straight up lied to me for over a YEAR!" Oleander yelled, throwing the remains of her fruit in the bed. "Didn't you know... I lo... Rotting ravens, Jay!"

The redhead slammed the door as she stormed out. Jaden sat for a moment as the emotions struck her in waves. In the end, she just pulled up in a ball and cried.

All faces turned to look at Oleander when she stomped down the stairs. She was fuming. She had to be angry. That was the only way to stay functioning right now. She had to do something. Why were they still sitting around? There were things to get done out there! The other patrons of the Old Hog turned back to their drinking and mumbling, while Stann hesitantly pulled out a chair by their table.

“We were talking about what both of you have told us about that storage house,” he offered, along with a tankard of beer. Oleander angrily downed half of it in a series of frustrated gulps.

"Assuming that the two merchants you saw talking with the Marsander captain are involved in the local trading scene, we need to find out as much as we can about their operation," Kellen was ever the voice of reason and restraint, whenever possible.

"Can't we just go down there and wreck the entire building?" The redhead suggested an alternative plan. It sounded amazing to her.

"As awful as it sounds, it's possible that they are acting within their legal limits. I just don't know enough about trading agreements between Sorun and Alband to say for sure," Mirena said with some regret. She was the only one around the table without a tankard. Stann had two.

"But they're trading with intelligent creatures! That can't be right!" Oleander barely kept herself from shouting loud enough for everyone in the common room to hear.

"Slavery still exists in the former heart of the empire, Red. Etria and Marsantias still practice a form of indentured servitude to this day. While it is mainly to process the-" Kellen began to launch into his lecturing voice.

"But this is different! They're hurting and killing these poor things!"

"I know, and I agree. But the kingdom of Alband might not recognise their sentience. We need to find out more, and I think I know someone who might help us," Mirena broke in between the two before it would turn into an argument.

"Oh?" Stann wondered, putting down his second beer, wiping the foam from his upper lip.

"I’ve met a nobleman a few times, and he mentioned that his family has dabbled in the trading business over the years. He might know more about the laws regarding this. If we're going to make a difference, we need to act within the purviews of the law." Alband was as much a part of the Five Temples as Tier, after all, and it was Mirena’s duty as a knight to respect the laws of any country that allowed the five gods into their hearts.

"Kellen and I'll take Oleander and see if we can find that warehouse they saw," Stann caught on the train of thought. He was good with people, especially with the men who earned their keep by the sweat of their brows.

"I'm not sure if it's wise to make her move around too much yet," Kellen objected. He had been keeping an eye on his enchantment ever since Oleander sat down. It held firm for now, but if they ran into those mercenary magicians, things could change in a hurry. They might see it as a general protection ward, and try to pierce it in the initial exchange.

"Hey, I'm right here!" The redhead waved a hand in front of the rune seeker's eyes. "I feel fine. I just got a bit tired from that... thing, but I'm good now. I want to rescue that baby dragon."

"Dracone, little fox. There's a difference. You see-"

"Details!" She interrupted.

Stann was starting to grin a little at the sight of the small Olman woman repeatedly shutting up the large Northerner.

"That storage place should be easy to find," Rhyce offered his opinion. "Marsantias can't hold too many places here. Red should show me where they saw those suspect merchants in the city instead."

"So you can find the suppliers, rather than the transporters? I agree, that is a good plan," Mirena nodded. If they split up, they could cover more ground.

"Don't I have any say in this?" Oleander raised her voice a little.

"Of course you do," Mirena reassured the other woman. "Stann and Kellen can most likely find the storage building without you; Rhyce will have a much harder time finding those merchants on his own though, since he won't know what they look like."

"When you put it like that..." The redhead trailed off, anger being replaced by a little embarrassment. She was furious at Jaden for acting childish, and now she was falling into the same pit herself. Oleander mentally chastised herself. Save that anger for those who deserved it. She touched the new talisman around her neck to remind herself.

"Will it be safe to leave... Jaden here by her-, uh, by himself?" Kellen took the chance to speak now that Oleander wasn’t focused on him for the moment.

"I'll talk with Jaden, and see if I can figure something out," Mirena promised.

Sadness has a song of its own. It falls like raindrops from the black skies in our hearts, striking the unquiet sea of our soul with a sound of regret. In the room where she had been left, Jaden could hear that song so loudly. She didn’t even know why it hurt so much. Oleander and she had fought before. They fought all the time. But it was different now; there had a look of such betrayal in Oleander’s face before she ran off. How could that be all because of her keeping her changes secret? Why did it matter so much? Couldn’t Ollie see that it was Jaden who was the victim here?

There was a tap on the window again, making the song miss a note. In her tear-blurred, golden eyes, Jaden saw that the black bird had returned. There was something in its beak this time. Jaden didn’t know whether to laugh or cry again. How had that bird even found it?

“I’m sorry, little friend, but that thing is torn. It won’t work anymore.” Jaden let her head fall back on the bed. “Thank you for trying, though.”

The bird tapped the glass again, with the length of silk fluttering in the wind.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Was her life like that piece of silk? Once a beautiful lie, but now returned as the harbinger of truth? Would that weakness free her from the place her strength had held her captive? Maybe she was reading too much into what a bird did. There was a small smile on her lips. The song had gone silent for now.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

The plan is as simple as it is foolproof. If they split up, they can cover more ground quickly! The cousins begin to look into the situation down by the harbour, Rhyce and Oleander tries to track down the merchants behind the smuggling operation, and Mirena tries to coax Jaden into coming along to see her new friend Arim.

Flashback: Kellen goes on one of his first expeditions into a forgotten ruin.

---

Chapter 18: Mirror Hearts

KELLEN

The air that rushed out of the sealed chamber smelled dank and stale. The men stepped back cautiously, since there had been other surprised throughout their hour-long trek through the underground passages below the old ruin. The light from the torches didn't reach the entire way into what they suspected was the innermost section, and what they couldn’t see was a cause for hesitation.

There had been several dead ends and concealed doorways already, but Mozet claimed that they were nearing the outer edge of how far the complex could stretch before breaking through to the other side of the mountain. They trusted the dwarf's sense of direction, since it hadn't led them astray yet. Without the stocky magician from the underkingdom of Atun, they would most likely not have made it past the first couple of secret doors.

The largest among them, towering above the rest by a full head or more, raised his torch toward the fresco surrounding the heavy stone door standing ajar. They had studied the inscriptions before opening the sealed passage, of course, but there was something in the wording that nagged him.

"'Kaz mohok shu-ratak ekan'. Where wisdom of the eternal kingdom sleeps," Kellen mumbled to himself.

"Aye, it's an old dialect of the last orc kingdom, during the height of their civilisation. The continent was divided between the two great kingdoms, with the mountain ranges creating the natural border. By the time when humans and their Seren allies migrated here, the orc nation had devolved into warring tribes, forgetting much of their previous ways." Mozet raised his waterskin in a sombre toast to the memory of the fallen kingdom.

"It's a sad thing to bear witness to, the destruction of a culture," the Northman nodded. The Society of Rune Seekers was as much a custodian of history, as it was a magic tradition.

"Many of these words no longer exist in the modern orc tongue, having been replaced by Trade equivalents." Morkgha the half-orc focused on the evolution of language, both the written and the spoken. Even more so than any chance of discovering lost runes of magic, she sought to unearth the secrets of forgotten words. She followed as many expeditions as possible in her attempt to prove her theory of a primordial language that along the ages gave birth to every tongue spoken today. By comparing all different languages, she hoped to find the common roots and reconstruct what she imagined to be 'the language of the creators'.

"Since Strom lies so close to the tribal lands, we often have some exchange with the Grimstone orcs. Most in my village speak some modern tribal orcish," Kellen pointed to a section of the fresco. "Mohok, wisdom. But in spoken tribal, hok means 'light'."

"Root in 'enlightenment', no doubt," the half-orc scholar agreed, pleased to discuss her favourite subject.

While the two young rune seekers pondered the meaning of the inscription, their mentor sent the expedition’s workers inside to secure the chamber. Unlike the previous false rooms, this seemed to be the actual resting place of the high priest of the lost realm, as well as a repository of much of the orc culture's abandoned knowledge

Mozet Kuldban fingered his stoneshaper rune as the men pushed against the heavy lid covering the sarcophagus. After making sure there were no other obvious passages leading from the room, they had looked around for more traps. Only after making sure it was safe, did they begin attempting to open the magnificent stone tomb. Magic would easily make the slab flow away, but making the stone move like that would warp the decorative symbols beyond legibility. The dwarf always taught others to seek discoveries, but never at the cost of destroying anything left behind by the previous era.

One of the workers looked up, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Hey, Master Kuldban? Can't we get the Northman to help? He's big enough to move this by himself, I reckon."

Kellen looked away from the fresco and met the eyes of the struggling men.

"I may be strong, yes, but I am sure I can think of another way to do it." Kellen pointed at the inscription again. "Kaz mohok shu-ratak ekan."

The workers returned a tired, blank stare. They were not brought here for their skill in dead languages.

"Do you think it holds a key to this chamber, Winterheart?" Mozet put his thumbs in his belt. It was time to see what his students would make out of this puzzle.

"'Ekan' means sleep, yes, but it also means 'to reside' or even 'die'. Where something stops. Where LIGHT of the eternal kingdom STOPS." Kellen spoke was he walked into the burial chamber. The workers watched him with mixed curiosity.

"What do you think that means?" Morkgha asked, studying the sarcophagus for any other clues. It was riddled with symbolic depictions, an artwork that belied its descendants’ violent nature.

"That we're looking in the wrong place." Kellen raised his eyes toward the ceiling, which was as richly engraved with decorative lines and imagery as the walls.

"Do you think this is another false chamber?" Mozet asked casually, folding his arms.

Kellen didn't answer right away, but instead brushed his hand along a circular pattern in the ceiling. The Northman smiled, and waved to his mentor.

"We need your flame companion rune, Master." The stone inside the circle was slightly darker than the surrounding material.

Mozet smiled and held up a ball of fire to the pattern above his head. At first there was nothing, causing a small chuckle to spread around the men, but before soon the darker stone seemed to wither away into dust, leaving a circular hole a few inches wide. Dust continued to pour down, as whatever reaction they had started went on. Some of the workers shied away, fearing another trap. But as the magicians remained where they were, the rest eventually settled down to watch the stream of black sand.

"Very good, Winterheart. Very good indeed." The dwarven rune seeker gave praise where praise had been earned.

"Of course!" Morkgha exclaimed. "The light of the eternal kingdom. They weren't talking about their own kingdom. This was about their otherworldly allies from times of legend. They were talking about Skyreach! The light that resides there is the sun!"

The last dust escaped the hole and a faint ray of light shone down upon the centre of the sarcophagus.

"And the light stops here," Kellen said, putting his hand on the old stone. This chamber had waited a thousand years for someone to invite the sky back into the dark burial chamber.

A glow spread from the centre stone, outlining the inscriptions on the walls with skyblossom blue. The final gift of the high priest was written there clear as day.

The stairs creaked a little as Mirena went up to their rooms once more. She didn’t take it personally. Those stairs groaned equally at any weight, from the heavy Northmen to the light patter of the Old Hog’s dog. When she passed by the door to the room she and Oleander shared, she once again thought of her stained gown that she had changed out of when getting the her cedar box of oils and soaps earlier. She didn’t blame Jaden for getting muck on it when they had hugged earlier, but since the Old Hog didn’t offer any cleaning services — or much of any services at all, for that matter — it would stay dirty until she found time to take care of it herself. Mirena liked that gown, and it would pain her to see it ruined. The knight finally stopped outside the room that Jaden and Stann theoretically slept in. They might have to do some rearranging tonight, in the light of what had happened. Filing that thought away for later, she knocked.

When there was no answer, Mirena felt the handle and finding it unlocked she pushed it open partway.

“Jaden?” She called, her mind already imagining any number of scenarios where her friend wouldn’t, or couldn’t, answer. “I’m coming in.”

Mirena’s eyes immediately went to the shape lying in the bed on her side, rolled up in the blanket. The black hair spilled out at the top, and the woman’s eyes stared out through the window into the empty sky.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mirena said soothingly as she sat down next to Jaden. She brushed some strands away from that elfin face, touching the still wet streak where tears had run not long ago. “It’s alright.”

Those golden eyes immediately focused at the knight, and scowled in sudden anger.

“Don’t, Rena! Stop treating me as a… a girl!” Jaden just short of snarled.

“But- Yes, you’re right. I apologise. It’s just so easy to…” Mirena trailed off, giving her friend a thoughtful look.

“Do what? Forget? You’ve known me for over a year, and I’ve always been a man! How could a single day of this change all that?” The black-haired mystic pushed her into a sitting position. Her voice wavered with anger and hurt.

“No, I was going to say ‘it’s so easy to believe’.” Mirena took note of how Jaden was sitting, but decided not to say anything that might upset the mystic even more.

“I’m still me, Rena. Despite all this, it’s me inside. Please remember that,” Jaden said as she clutched the blanket between her hands, as if she was trying to choke the life out of whatever was hurting her.

“I promise,” the knight assured, briefly wanting to touch the other woman’s arm. “The rest of us are getting ready to look into what you and Oleander saw in the harbour.”

“Alright. Who am I going with?” Jaden said eagerly. Action would make the thoughts and feelings go away. At least for a little while.

“With me, but not naked,” Mirena pointed at the towel wrapped around her friend, who immediately blushed. “Did you find anything of yours that still fit?”

“I… I was distracted,” the mystic glanced away at a half-eaten fruit lying on Stann’s bed among the rumpled blankets.

“Well, why don’t you go ahead and do that now, and I’ll see if I can find anything in my room.” The knight got up, straightening her dress and left Jaden to go through her mostly unsuitable clothes.

Everything was too big. It wasn’t as if Jaden was much shorter than before. Two inches or so, she imagined. But the lack of overall bulk meant that her old clothes could fall off if she tried to wear them. The last good shirt even slipped over a shoulder when she tried it on. The sleeves looked ridiculously long as well.

She barely had time to try much else before the door opened to allow a pile of folded clothes inside. Mirena carefully put the big bundle down on the bed, and picked up the top item to show.

"No, Rena. I'm not wearing a skirt!"

"I was just trying to be practical. I'm not sure that Oleander's leggings will fit you."

"Why not? I'm not that much taller than her." Jaden looked at Mirena. The knight had been about Jaden’s old height, and was probably a little taller than her now.

"It's not that, Jaden. You're a little fuller than her, with wider hips. Skirts are more forgiving in that way."

"Oh." Jaden felt even more self-conscious. Had her friend just called her fat? She didn't feel fat. Jaden mentally shook herself. She had too many worries already to bother with that! "Well, I'm still not doing that. I've got another pair of trousers still. I can tighten my belt enough to keep them up, I think."

"Very well," Mirena said patiently. "Here's one of my undershirts and a blouse. I'll wait for you downstairs with the others."

As Mirena walked back to the door, she stopped and left a brush on the table, meaningfully.

Jaden glared at the pile of clothes. There were several skirts in there, she was sure of it. What was this obsession with skirts and gowns in the coastlands? Back in Talraman, the clothes both men and women wore looked much the same. Armour, normal wear, robes. Tailored to fit, of course, but nothing like these garments.

“Ridiculous. No. Not doing it!” Jaden stopped her hand as she was about to childishly push the pile on the floor. Those were her friends’ clothes. They didn’t deserve that. The temper that had boiled hotly, escaped through her lips in a long, suffering sigh.

Jaden pulled on one of her last pair of trousers. They had fitted her more or less up until now, after all. If she pushed the extra length on the legs into her boots, that is. They were also very loose around the waist and stretched taut across her hips and behind. The illusion had hid it before, but now it was obvious that they weren't meant to be worn by someone looking like her.

The grey undershirt Mirena had left her was of a fine but hard-wearing cotton. Not as nice as the silk chemise Jaden had lost in Redwall, but she suspected that it was something the knight wore underneath her armour or when they were out trekking through the wilderness. Jaden felt a flush reach her cheeks when she realised that this garment felt a little tight as well. Not uncomfortably so, but another reminder of things Jaden didn't want to think about right now.
Admittedly, the undershirt and blouse fit much better than her old shirt, which had sleeves that went well beyond her hands and tented embarrassingly down from her chest. With that imagine in mind she laced a creamy blouse as tightly as she could.

More to make Mirena happy than anything else, Jaden pulled the brush through her hair a couple of times. She had always had long hair - most men in Talraman did - and she was no stranger to taking care of it, but this had been the first time Mirena, or any of her friends for that matter, had encouraged her to brush it. Things had definitely changed.

When Jaden had finally prepared herself to the best of her ability given the circumstances, she reluctantly went down to the common room join Mirena. All the others had managed to find some reason to linger as well, and all eyes were upon Jaden as she walked down the stairs. There was curiosity, evaluation, hurt, and even attraction in those eyes. She kept her own eyes on the floor, to avoid those looks. She didn't trust herself in keeping her composure otherwise. Right now, she felt half compelled to just run back up to her room. But beneath that fear and shame was a memory of floating in that warmth, and the voice that kept telling her everything was going to be alright. Would it? Would it really?

It's not so far, if you reach out.

“Here we go, then. Red and Rhyce, you’re off to find out about those merchants, Rena and Jay are going to see if you can tap that nobleman of yours. Kel and I are heading down to the harbour to shake things up a bit.” Stann pointed with his entire hand at the people he was talking to.

“Figuratively, of course,” Kellen felt the need to add, just in case.

“Of course,” his cousin replied with a big grin. Some boats might get rocked.

They all agreed to meet back up by sundown, and see what their respective investigations had led to. It had been a long day for some of them, but there was still a lot to do. In situations like this, time was of the essence. The longer they waited, the less likely it would be for them to find anything worthwhile. As it was, it was several hours since Oleander had been afflicted by the lingering effects of the curse. Hopefully, they still had time.

When they were about to head out, Rhyce turned to Jaden and brought her to the side. Oleander had already gone on ahead with a long, hurt look at the black-haired mystic, and waited outside.

"She doesn't hate you. She's just angry and hurt." The archer assured Jaden.

"Everyone's hurt because of me," she mumbled. Sometimes it felt like everything she did hurt someone.

"Some are alive because of you."

"... can I save my friendship with her?" Jaden had to look up a little bit to meet the archer’s eyes.

"Do you want to?" Rhyce asked.

"Of course!" Oleander was the first real friend Jaden had made after leaving her home. The redhead meant the world to the mystic.

"Then talk with her."

"I tried. She just yelled at me and ran off." Words hurt. Lies hurt. Truth hurt as well.

"That was you talking to yourself, only loud enough for her to hear. You said what you wanted to say, but not what she needed to hear. Try again, and speak with your heart open."

"How did you get to be this wise, Rhyce?" Jaden honestly wondered. When they had first met, she had initially assumed that many of his sayings were simply repeated from things he had heard. Now, a year later, she knew better.

"I was married," he answered laconically. Something passed across those brown eyes, but Jaden could feel a reverberation inside her heart.

"Oh. What happened?" The words escaped her lips before she could think about it.

"I was too late."

Mirena joined them at the same time Rhyce bowed his head and left. The knight gave Jaden another appraising look, and apparently decided that the mystic’s outfit was good enough to risk showing in public.

“The perfume was a nice touch,” Mirena approved, as they stepped out into the late afternoon sun in the streets of Farcrest.

“What perfume?” Jaden looked confused.

“Oh? That’s not you? I swear I can smell violets.” The knight made a humming shrug, and led the way toward the market district.

Rhyce walked a little faster to catch up. When Oleander had seen Jaden and Mirena exit the inn and head in the same direction as they, she had immediately gone on ahead at an angry speed. She clearly didn’t feel ready to talk with the mystic yet. The moment the archer caught up with the redhead, she turned to him and let Rhyce know without any doubt what was on her mind.

"I can't believe he kept this from us for all this time." Oleander fumed, practically stalking up the street. People who got close enough to see her expression exchanged confused glances, and got out of the way.

"Tried to tell us, in his own way." Rhyce had his eyes on something up by the roofs.

"That's rot, Rhyce," she snapped.

"Then why did he always change the subject when we asked about mystics or their forms?"

"That's NOT talking about something!" Oleander felt her anger rush up. She hated feeling like this. Even with everything that had happened before today, all the fighting and all the frightening places they’ve seen, it had always been fun. There had always been… him.

"Silence speaks louder than words, if you listen." The archer offered one of his cryptic wisdoms.

"You can take your-"

"What do friends do, Red?" Rhyce interrupted, as they turned a corner and headed up toward the street where people normally went for food, drink and merry times. They were looking for neither of those.

"What?" The question caught Oleander by surprise. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Friends stand by each other." Rhyce said, as he looked toward the sky again. Some sort of black bird swept across the rooftops.

"They also don't lie to one another!" She hissed, her eyes narrowing when her mind replayed what she had seen today. It had started so good. The magic-meeting had been boring, but afterwards Jay and she had gone to the harbour together, like old times. In that storage room, they had even…

"Sure they do. You lie to us all the time, Red, but that doesn't make you any less of my friend." The archer gave her a straight on stare. "Question is, still want to be Jaden's friend?"

"... I don't know."

"Find out." He said, as if it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Curse it, Rhyce! I... I really liked him," Oleander stomped the ground a little, resolute not to cry any more. Not over that stupid jerk, and his stupid lies, and his stupid lips.

"Then be a friend." Again with that simplicity.

"How? How can I trust him again?" How could she just turn off the way she felt?

"Because he never stopped trusting you, and he needs you right now." The archer looked ahead, showing that he had said everything he was going to on this subject.

Oleander was about to say something when both of them saw a familiar face next to a tavern door in the early evening streets.

"Eerie," said Rhyce. He was right. The similarities were striking.

"That's her. That's his sister, Lilya. But what is she doing here?" The redhead stepped back around the corner, so they could observe the Talramani woman in secret.

They watched the tavern for a while, seeing the black-haired elven woman turn away people who wanted to enter. Some looked like they were going to take issue with her stopping them from going inside, but one look at the steel lance she carried took the wind out of their sails. It looked as if she was guarding the place.

Rhyce looked up at the sky intently, but for what Oleander didn’t know, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Lilya. Jaden and his sister looked so much alike. Suddenly, the black-haired woman changed stance, and stared at something across the street. A crow had landed on a tavern sign on the other side. Oleander had seen a lot of those lately, come to think of it. Suddenly, Rhyce grabbed her and pulled her completely around the corner. The last thing she saw before her view was blocked by the building was Lilya looking down the street toward their position. How had she noticed them?

Rhyce said something under his breath, and shook his head as if to clear it. Oleander had no idea what was going on, but when the archer was distracted, she risked another peek around the corner.

A group of people had left the tavern. She didn’t know much about magicians, but even Oleander recognised the robes of the Arcane Order. She had seen plenty of the sorcerers at the convocation this morning. Lilya was getting their attention, and pointed down the road in Oleander’s direction while talking to them, but before the sorcerers could reply that winged man exited too. The general of the mystics shook hand with a particularly well-dressed sorcerer, and allowed Lilya to escort everyone away from Oleander’s corner. Jaden’s sister shot one last look toward the redhead, as if she could see through the wall.

"What was Jay's sister doing here? Doesn't she have to be at that big gathering with her boss?" Oleander thought out loud.

"There must be a reason why they were here instead," Rhyce replied.

"Why do you think that winged wizard is here? He is some sort of really important person from Jay's hometown. The representative of the mystics, or something like that. But Jay said he was pretty much the leader of their military, rather than a diplomat." What was the word Jay had used? Defender? Protector?

"Which begs the question why they're conducting business away from the other magicians," the archer mused.

"Anyway, the tavern Jay and I visited yesterday is this place nearby. The Potted Ogre?" Oleander reckoned it was time for them to get back on track. They had wasted enough time spying on Jay’s sister.

"Ochra's Pot."

"That's the one!"

A nice breeze reached the two tall Northmen, bringing the smell of salt from the sea. They had spoken a little while walking down to the harbour, idly discussing how fishing from the piers would be, or whether they should go meet up with the Ravenwing men for beer and stories when they were done today. It was a half-hearted conversation at best, as both their minds were on different things.

"So, what do you think?" Stann asked his cousin.

"About Jaden?" Kellen saw Stann nod. What else would they talk about? "Well, I'm reasonably sure it is in fact him. You can switch clothes and looks easy enough, but that girl has the memories of our friend. Those are not as easy to change."

"If this turns out to be another skinwalker, I'm going to be pretty upset, Kel." The warrior warned.

"That's unlikely. We're much too far away from Etria and the jungles in the far south, and even if one had managed to make its way up here, it still wouldn't account for her being a magician." The rune seeker laid out the facts.

"How can we be sure of that?" Stann wondered. Their experience with the Skinwalker of Etria had been a gruelling, fearful experience he would give much to avoid repeating.

"Well, if we're assuming the switch would have occurred back in Rosehaven, since we've observed Jaden using his magic both back in Teir, and on the road afterwards, it still wouldn't account for how him being able to enter the Convocation. A gathering like that uses some pretty rigorous defence screenings. If they could detect a hidden magmaquake spell, they would pick out the magic that binds the stolen skin to the monster."

"Red said she saw him change shape back at the harbour, though,” the warrior pointed out. Any shapeshifting was suspicious behaviour in his eyes. People should stay who they are, if you asked him.

"She said he instantly shifted. Remember, skinwalkers has to actually take on the skin of another being. It's much more likely he used some sort of illusion." Kellen was the group’s authority on magic for a reason.

"Oh, yeah. So, it's really our little brother back there?" The hopefulness in Stann’s voice couldn’t be hidden, even by the gruff clearing of his throat.

"Good question. I'd say, 'more or less'. After all, we don't know what happens to a mystic once their other form starts leaking into their normal selves." The rune seeker would have given much to have been able to sit down with one of those envoys from Talraman for a serious discussion about the magic of the mystics. There was so much he didn’t know, and Jaden hadn’t been very forthcoming on the subject.

"Huh. There's a headache. Anyway, let's see what we can find out about these creatures they saw around here." Stann took the lead, and approached a group of harbour workers sitting on a couple of crates.

The oldest of the workers, with bushy eyebrows and smoking a blackened old pipe, looked up when the Northmen stopped next to them. The others stopped talking among themselves and the cousins shortly had the attention of them all.

“Help you, Northerner?” The old man squinted a little in the low sun. He was probably old enough to have had relatives that remembered the fighting between Alband and the North.

“You bet. We’re wanting to find where the Marsander ships pick up their cargo,” Stann spoke with the voice of someone perfectly at ease in the situation. His eyes went to the dice the workers had left on the ground.

“Now, why would you want to go and do that?” The older man tapped his pipe against the crate to shake the ashes out of it.

“Captain Fancypants looked to get some extra protection after the ruckus,” the warrior grinned, patting his broadsword.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Fancypants, eh? Fits Captain Darrtai well enough.” The man barked a laugh. “Between the two of you lads, I imagine he’ll have all the protection he needs.”

“Best his silver can buy,” Stann bragged without a shred of modesty. The other workers joined in on the laugh, and the tension ran out of them. Two even squatted back down and picked up their dice.

“Well, you boys just head over to the big red building by the north pier,” the old man turned and pointed with the stem of his pipe up along the harbour to the part furthest away. A good place to conduct business, if one wanted to go unnoticed.

“My thanks, saltbeard,” the Northman waved, and left the workers to their gambling.

While the cousins crossed the boardwalk toward the other end of the harbour, Kellen shrugged a little uncomfortably. He had looked a bit distant during their talk with the locals.

“It always amazes me how you can just find the right words with total strangers like that, Bear.”

“What do you mean? It’s nothing special, Kel. They were hardworking, regular folks. You just have to know how to approach them, that’s all.”

“That’s just what I mean. Maybe I’m spending too much time with magicians,” the rune seeker grimaced. “Sometimes I forget how those regular people see the world, I guess. In simpler terms, I suppose.”

“There’s honesty in simple, cousin. No need to complicate life more than it already is.” That was Stann’s philosophy in life, wrapped nice and tidy.

“You’re probably right,” Kellen agreed.

They didn’t have too much of a problem finding the storage house they were looking for. It was a sizeable building in the shadow of even larger ones. Despite the dull red paint, it almost seemed to blend in. There was nobody around, though. But at this hour, most workers would have headed home. Looking around, trying to appear as they were casually walking by, Stann spotted subtle movement in a narrow, dark alley that squeezed between the hulking buildings.

“Did you see that?” He murmured to Kellen.

“Aye. There’s someone there. I believe he was watching our warehouse here,” the rune seeker risked another glance to the side as they kept walking.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, ugly cousin?”

“Worald boar-trap!” The two started grinning.

The village of Worald lies in a canyon between two mountains, and the rugged terrain is filled with narrow passages and cracks where most of the bushes and small vegetation ekes out a half-frozen existence. Warmth from underground seeping up through those cracks makes them more habitable for the wildlife than the open, snowy steppes above. The passages are often so narrow, that when hunters approach from both directions at once, the boars that live down there can’t escape.

Stann set off to circle around the buildings as soon as they passed out of sight. Kellen kept a silent count, taking his cousins speed and the size of the warehouses into account. When the time drew close, he stepped back out and charged toward the narrow alley. He was meant to be seen, after all.

The hooded figure immediately spotted the lumbering Northman heading its way, and turned to run. The trap closed. It ran straight into Stann’s waiting arms, who easily forced the smaller person against a wall. When Kellen arrived, Stann reached up and yanked the hood back.

“Let’s see who you are!” The hood fell away, showing a full head of pale blonde hair and pointed ears. The elven woman stared back indignantly. Stann blinked a few times, then grinned widely. “Well, hel-lo!”

“Let me go!” The elf struggled against his grip, but then finally tilted her head to the side. “Oh, it’s you.”

"You two know each other?" Kellen raised an eyebrow, but not entirely surprised that his cousin knew all the elven maidens in the town already.

"We shared a precious moment this morning," Stann smiled, letting his grip ease up just enough for her to angrily pull free and back up half a step.

"This... perot kept bothering me, so I had to leave. I'd like to leave now too, if you'd just get out of my way," the anger caused her Sorunese accent to get thicker, but with the alley being as narrow as it was, she wouldn't be going anywhere until the Northmen let her.

"Why were you watching that warehouse?" Kellen's question made her put her back toward the wall again so she could see them both at the same time. He had stepped back a bit to give her room, but was still blocking the way out of the alley.

"Curiosity about human shipping policies?" The lilt in her voice could’ve been sarcasm, or her accent. Probably sarcasm, though.

"Then you weren't here about any smuggling operations, involving fey creatures from the Sorun wildlands?" Kellen asked straight on. He wasn’t as good with twisting words like Oleander or Jaden.

The elf paused, her eyes narrowing. One of her hands had disappeared inside her sleeves.

"And if I was?" There was a dangerous edge in her voice.

"It just so happens that my friend here and I are looking into the matter as well. We know that they kept a dryad and a dracone in there, among other beings,” the rune seeker explained.

"Those ilarai monsters," she hissed, looking to the sky for patience. "I knew it, but I had no proof."

"You still don't, just our word." Stann pointed out, prompting her to look back at him. He had wiped the smarmy grin from his face. "May I ask who you are?"

"Can we go somewhere else to talk?" The elven woman crossed her arms, trying to look as if she wasn’t being verbally mugged by two giants.

"I know a tavern close by," the warrior offered, and stepped aside to show that they wouldn't keep her if she wanted to go. "It's a reasonably nice place, for a tankard and to play with our cards open."

One of the good things about looking for something specific in a big enough city, was that there was often someone who had already made it, rather than having to place an order. This was especially true with clothes, and doubly so during festival times. The seamstresses’ store Mirena had brought Jaden to was loaded with both completed and half-finished garments of all manner of sizes and styles. It made the place in Rosehaven seem like a small thing in comparison.

It didn’t take long for their first argument, however. Immediately after stepping inside, Mirena had been drawn to the racks of gowns, but it wasn’t until she held one out in front of her and quizzically looked at Jaden, when the mystic began to raise her voice.

"Rena, please. I don't want a dress!" Jaden’s voice went up an octave at the sight of the offending outfit.

"It's quite comfortable, I assure you," the knight brought the gown back closer to herself, fearing that her friend might do something to it. Jaden looked quite stressed, and did have all that fire magic.

"No means no. I'll take something like what Ollie's wearing, thank you very much." The mystic crossed her arms resolutely, but immediately let her arms fall back to her side with a dismayed expression.

Mirena sighed, missing having a feminine companion to appreciate the finer things in life with. Oleander didn’t really fit that bill. But she had promised to treat her black-haired friend like the man she… he was.

"Very well, let's find you a better fitting pair of leggings and a bodice instead of that vest of yours. It appears rather tight around your top, and loose in the middle. You look a bit silly, actually,” Mirena smiled to take the edge off, but in all honesty Jaden looked like a crazy person who had rolled through a washing line.

"I know that. Fine, okay. But no frilly things. I just want to be able to... nothing too much, okay?" The mystic looked around, appearing every part of a sad puppy who didn’t want to be here.

"How about this one?" The knight presented a nice summer blouse of an attractive dark pink, almost red.

"No! It shows way too much... skin." Jaden gestured at the blouse’s neckline, which admittedly, would show a hint of the bust.

"Very well, how about this?" The next suggestion was a creamy silk, and felt nice in Mirena’s hands.

"It looks too girly." She pointed at the decorative embroidery, and the touch of lace along the hems.

"I see. Maybe there's something else further down here." Mirena had given her word, and would be patient.

"Can't we just get something for a... an older boy or something?" The black-haired mystic tried to negotiate.

"Jaden, none of that will fit. There's a reason clothes are made for women the way they are. Don't think of them as 'female' clothes. Just think of them as 'clothes' period. Just clothes."

"... I'll try. What was that yellow shirt again?"

"It's jasmin, and it's a blouse. You don't want that one, though." Mirena folded the item in question and put it back with the other.

"Why not? I liked that one the most."

"Oleander has one very similar," the brown-haired Tierwoman said, clearly explaining everything. Jaden didn’t seem to get it.

It took much longer than either of them expected to find enough to warrant a trip into the fitting room in the back. Jaden had fought her on every suggestion, every step of the way. Even the patient Mirena with all her temple training, began to feel a dull throbbing in her head. The two seamstresses had allowed them to continue this dance routine of suggestion and rejection, all while smiling into their current needlework.

"Rena, I can't wear this. It makes me look..."

Jaden watched herself in the mirror. She couldn’t look away. She had donned a snug bodice over a new silk chemise, and was now seeing what it did to her shape. This is what she had enjoyed seeing on girls when she grew up, but to be that person herself was terrifying. Would other men now look at her like she had done?

"Like what?" The knight stood on the other side of a dressing screen, silently repeating the tenets of the Five Temples.

"See for yourself! It pushes everything up!" Jaden allowed Mirena behind the screen.

"Well, you're certainly a big girl. I see that what I suspected in the bath is quite true." She suspected that, aside from the effect of the bodice, her newly female friend might even be a little larger than her.

"I don't want this. Can't I just bind these... things down?" Jaden stared at the mirror in horror.

"The padding under my armour, together with the weight of the steel, makes me almost flat. But I will tell you that it's not very comfortable for any extended period." Field training had been a painful experience for every squire in the temple, but it had been even worse for the female ones. Several days in a camp, constantly prepared for battle.

"Well, I'm not wearing this. I can’t see my feet." The mystic gestured at herself, causing an involuntary jiggle.

"That's your choice. Just be sure to get something to help support yourself, though. Otherwise, you'll end up with a sore back, and shoulders, not to mention..."

"I get it already. Thank you, Rena.” Jaden leaned forward a bit and tugged it up as far as it would go. It only made the situation worse. “Do I have to keep wearing something like this?"

"It's a bodice, Jaden. Women of our size need something to support ourselves with. Corsets or bodices are common up here, or there are the wraps of Etria or Marsantias if you're partial to them?" Mirena calmly explained.

"Lil used to complain about these all the time," Jaden mumbled, as she hesitantly poked the offending garment.

Mirena was a tactician at heart, and knew when to change her angle of attack.

"Did you use to wear a belt before?" She asked.

"Yes, of course. Otherwise my trousers would fall down." Jaden felt a little unprepared for the strange question.

"Because your waist and hips were roughly the same size, right? So, you used a supportive aid back then, too. This is similar to that, only suited to the female physique." The knight gestured at herself as an example, touching her gown where her own bodice was hidden underneath the layer of cotton.

"You're telling me that this is a kind of... boob-belt?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite as crassly as that, but essentially." Mirena winced a little. "Also, good support and well-fitting clothes will help keep everything in place."

Jaden liked the idea of that. Going down stairs had become an unpleasant experience lately.

Ochra’s Pot was like Oleander remembered it from yesterday. A nice place to eat or, as it turned out, conduct blackmail. She immediately recognised the smiling woman who had brought them their food, who was attending to a group of people who were clearly there for the beer and what they saw down her blouse when she put the tankards on their table. When the barmom seemed to have a moment to herself, the redhead walked up with a worried expression on her face.

“Can I help you, sweetheart?” The older woman asked the short Olman girl, who was dragging a rough-looking man nearly twice her age with her.

“Please, could you?” Oleander let her voice tremble a little. “I’ve been trying to find my father. I know he comes to this place with his friend sometimes. They work together, see? My father is a businessman.”

“Okay?” The barmom leaned back at a doorpost, not sure where this was going, but willing to listen to the girl’s story.

“He never talks about his work with me, and ever since Reese and I got together he’s been avoiding me. But we need to find him, to give my father the happy news!” The redhead touched her stomach carefully.

“Oh, honey,” the other woman sighed and shook her head a bit. She could definitely empathise with the girl, having had her first child while still very young. The man who clearly was the father to the redhead’s growing child seemed oddly stone-faced however. “Alright. Who was it again?”

“I heard that my father was going to meet with a Marsander ship captain here yesterday, but we must’ve missed them. Can you tell me where I can find them?”

“Oh, I remember your dad. Delev and Orist comes here often enough, I guess. They’ve got a trading house not that far from here, I remember. Just down the street, and turn toward the seaside.”

“Thank you so much! I can’t wait to tell him! Now maybe we can get his blessing.” Oleander smiled sweetly, and led the silent archer outside.

The barmom just shook her head again, sending her best wishes with the unlikely couple. Seasons will come and go, but girls would keep making stupid mistakes.

“Don’t do that again, Red.” Rhyce kept his face carefully neutral as they headed toward the next step in their investigation.

“What? Make up a story like that? Eh. We’ll never see her again, most likely. It got the job done, didn’t it?” Oleander made a dismissive wave with her hand.

“It did. Let’s go.” She didn’t see the flash of pain in the archer’s eyes.

It wasn’t hard finding the right place. The large building proudly wore the sign saying ‘Delev & Orist Trading Company’ above their front door, and even with the sun heading down there was still people coming and going.

They went around the house to get a good look at it, when they heard voices coming out of a window left slightly open. Not having to be told twice to eavesdrop, Oleander snuck up next to the window and peeked inside. Rhyce was right behind her.

Inside was a sitting room with plush couches and nice paintings. It was the kind of room where you made agreements and deals with people you wanted to impress, but not browbeat, with your success. None of the people in the room made use of those couches however. She recognised the two merchants, one with thinning brown hair and a distinct nose, the other with the thick moustache and sideburns that was popular among the Albander.

The other two were much more interesting. Both of them wore cloaks with the hoods down, and were much younger than the merchants, only a couple of years older than Oleander, by her estimation. The man had inky black hair chopped short and uneven, as if he had cut it himself, and swirling tattoos around his face and hands. The woman had dark hair also, but it was streaked with bright blue. She looked exhausted, with dark eyes and even a little sweat around her brow. Oleander could almost see the woman shake a little as she forced herself to remain standing.

There was obviously a heated discussion happening in there.

"This was a little more than you told us about, Orist. You wanted us to lean on some locals and make sure your shipments got through quietly." The shadowmarked man pointed accusatorily at one of the merchants. "Look at what they did to Veranna! You never said anything about fighting a lich and its bodyguards!"

"We paid you handsomely to provide solutions to sensitive negotiations, Taseno. The treachery came as a surprise to us as well, but the important thing is that we managed to send off a good portion of our shipment." The man with the sideburns put his thumbs in the pockets of his vest, and rocked on his heels a bit.

"I took care of the rest. No evidence, like you asked," Taseno, the tattooed man, growled.

"Good. Good." The first merchant finally looked at the blue-streaked woman. "Is your friend able to do her job?"

"Of course! What kind of weaklings do you take us for?" Taseno half stepped forward, reaching out across the woman, Veranna, with a protective arm.

"Just making sure, Taseno. Take tomorrow off, rest up or whatever it is your kind do, and then we'll see you back here in a couple of days," Delev graciously offered.

"Pleasure as always, Taseno, Ilduste." The other merchant nodded at the strange pair.

As soon as the merchants left the office, their heads close in mumbled discussion that Oleander barely could make out. Rhyce was listening intently, probably able to hear every word as clearly as if he stood next to them.

"Nerak..." Veranna began, falling into rather than sitting down in the couch. Maintaining even a poor facade of strength had exhausted her.

"You just need some rest, Vera. You'll be back to your usual self before you know it." The man with the black marks squeezed her shoulder.

"I don't... I can't feel him anymore. There's nothing there!" The woman reached out with a pleading expression to her companion.

"I swear to you, I'll kill every last one of those monsters. They're ashes on the wind; they just don't know it yet."

The blue-streaked woman didn't seem to listen, however. She just kept staring emptily, repeating that she couldn't feel. Rhyce pulled Oleander away from the window. They had risked enough remaining there as long as they had. When they had made it back to the street, they stopped and exchanged a look.

"What did we just see?" Oleander wondered aloud.

"Were those two Albander men the ones you saw at Ochra's Pot?" The archer asked.

"I think so, yeah. One of them had a moustache like that, and I definitely remember that gold necklace. That ruby alone must be worth two hundred crowns!"

"Are you sure?" Rhyce demanded.

"Definitely. Maybe even three hundred, to the right buyer." She knew the right byers alright. Her mind was already filled with the things she would buy with that kind of shinies.

"Red..."

"Oh, the merchants? Yeah. Sure enough. Who do you think those other two were? They looked a little strange, especially the girl." Oleander felt that they had seemed a little familiar. Not the look, but the way they talked. Almost as if…

"She had scales around her hairline. Those two are probably mystics." Rhyce confirmed her hunch.

"Wait, mystics? Like Jay?" She had travelled with Jay for over a year and not seen another mystic, and now they appeared to be everywhere.

"Mystics, yes. Like Jaden? No." The archer said, cryptically.

"What does that mean?"

"It means that these smugglers have more resources than we suspected." Rhyce was right. It took some coin to get a wizard on retainer. It wasn’t something any trader with a wagon and a vivid imagination could afford.

"That's not what I was-" Oleander frowned a little when Rhyce once again evaded her questions.

"I know. Let's find out more about their business." He led them up to the main doors to the trading company. The best way to find out was to ask, after all.

It was easy to get someone to speak with, with it being an open trading house. The woman they got to see was very interested when Rhyce and Oleander began a tag-team web of deceit where they sought a transporter for their timber out of Oakborough and down the coast to Tier. The redhead went into an inspired lie about their burgeoning hardwood enterprise, drawing upon what she had heard while listening to the woodsmen speak growing up in a town like Tarad. Rhyce added just enough realism to the tale to make their increasingly excited target swallow it.

Delev & Orist Trading Company would, of course, be delighted to provide wagons to haul their quality hardwood all the way across the country, she assured them. The company had a lot of experience in the timber industry and long distance transport, as well as being able to make use of its business contacts around the world if Oleander desired to expand her trading further.

While the woman went on explaining some policies and finer contract points, Rhyce noticed how two hooded figures left the back rooms and crossed through the main business area on their way out of the house. One of them leaned heavily on the other.

Jaden resisted the urge to reach up and adjust herself. It was bad enough that she had to wear these unnecessarily thin and frilly clothes - even though Mirena assured her they were as plain as she could expect them to come - but they also were snug in ways she had never had clothes be before.

"How are you feeling?" The knight asked her fidgeting friend as they walked up the slight incline that separated the market district from the aristocrats' rise.

"I feel strangely naked, and this bodice thing pinches under my arms," Jaden said, looking miserable.

"You're wearing more than Oleander at the moment," Mirena smiled a little. The mystic had tried to recreate her normal wardrobe as faithfully as possible, given her circumstances. The leggings were tighter than her previous trousers, and the vest was cut differently to account for her bust and hips. Mirena felt that she looked a little like a south sea pirate, especially with her long black hair and that light tan.

"I'm getting a new mirage veil as soon as I can afford one," Jaden promised herself. "I look ridiculous now."

"Stop that," Mirena chided, gently slapping the other woman's hands away from picking at her clothes again. "You look very pretty, if a little exotic."

It was true. Whenever a man passed them on the street, his eyes went down to appreciate Jaden's legs. That was more than enough to send a flush of embarrassment to the mystic's cheeks.

"Well, I don't want pretty. I don't want any of this." Jaden felt like she was repeating herself, but how could she do anything else? She wasn't a woman. She didn't want to dress this way, and she surely wasn't going to act the part.

"We will help you in any way we can, Jaden. Wherever we find ourselves in the future, trust in that your friends will be there for you when you need us." Mirena reached out and squeezed Jaden's hand tight enough to make her point. One thing that had changed was that Jaden didn’t wear gloves anymore. "But right now, you have to put your own wants aside. We're pursuing a greater evil at the moment, and I need your help to do so."

"I... You're right, Rena. I'm sorry. I've not been myself lately," Jaden made a self-deprecating joke. That earned her another comforting squeeze.

The billboard was a large wood construction where notices and declarations were nailed up for the public to see. There was one in every district, and often told a little about what was going on in the area. It was also a favoured place for gossip and rumours to find fertile ground and flourish.

Mirena looked around, and immediately spotted a house shoulder to shoulder between two others of similar size. It was a little bigger than most of the normal homes in towns like Rosehaven, but going by noble standards it was most likely considered quite modest.

The knight took the lead and pulled the doorbell. Jaden noticed that Mirena was unconsciously adjusting her dress a little, smoothening some folds while they waited. She had to admit that the Tierwoman looked very nice. A subtle change in the knight’s bearing had changed her from supportive friend, to an elegant lady.

"Can I help you?" The servant answering the door was a local woman of about the same age as Mirena, with her Albander brown hair done up in a loose bun. Since this Arim wasn't a titled noble, his servants didn't wear any house colours.

"Hopefully. Arim extended an invitation to us. My name is Mirena, and this is my friend Jaden."

"Oh, milady! We weren't expecting you until tomorrow!" The servant looked both surprised and a little apologetic. "I shall see if my lord can see you."

"Thank you. Please let him know that something have come up, and we need to talk with him." Mirena smiled kindly.

"Of course, milady. Please wait in the sitting room," the slightly flushed servant showed them inside. The house was richly furnished, though sparsely decorated. Most of the paintings and artwork looked very old and inherited, giving the distinct impression that no woman has had much of an influence in the household. Mirena immediately had some ideas on what she would do differently, but sat down in the offered couch.

"Can I bring you any refreshments while you wait?"

"Thank you, no. We're fine." Mirena smiled, and then checked on Jaden who had been quiet the entire time. The elf-like mystic was sitting with her hands in her lap, but with her legs slightly apart. Mirena nudged her friend's ankle with the tip of her shoe.

"Hmm?" Jaden looked up with those uncannily golden eyes of hers, seemingly coming out of thoughts.

"Keep your knees together, or cross your legs," Mirena instructed.

Jaden glanced down, and sighed. Instead of sitting properly, she decided to stand up and paced the room a little while they waited. Her boots made a soft padding noise across the dark green carpet that almost looked like grass.

It didn't take Arim long to arrive, followed by the servant woman from before. He looked a little harried, and was shrugging into a jacket with her help. His face lit up when he saw Mirena sitting in her nice, everyday gown, and then gave Jaden a once over. To his credit, Arim didn’t let his eyes linger, but instead looked right back at Mirena.

"Milady. This is quite a surprise! While I'm elated in seeing you again so soon, Kari here said you had something to talk about?" His rich voice was only slightly out of breath.

"Yes, we were hoping you would be able to help us with a situation that's come up." Mirena returned his smile widely, and resisted the urge to get up and adjust his jacket. The servant woman, Kari, followed the knight’s glance and did it for her, however.

"Whatever I can do, I will. Who is your lovely friend?" Arim turned to the black-haired elf who was standing to the side with an expression of discomfort.

"This is my dear friend Jaden. H- she is the one who brought some of this to my attention. Is this room private?" Mirena shot her friend an apologetic glance. She had promised to treat Jaden as the man he was, but in mixed company that would be problematic. The knight hoped that he would forgive her this once.

"Aside for myself and my three servants, there's no one else here and I'm not expecting any other visitors today. Anything you'd like to say will stay within these walls. Kari?" Arim nodded at the woman, who bobbed a quick curtsy and closed the doors after she left.

Mirena met Jaden's eyes for a moment, and then launched into the speech she had prepared on their way here. They had agreed on avoiding specifics as long as possible, since they didn't want to drag Arim into a potential mess.

"You told me earlier today how your family had been in the trading business?" At Arim's nod she continued. "What can you tell us about the exotic goods trade between Sorun and Alband?"

"Well, let's see. I know that there is a healthy import of elven luxuries, like perfumes and artwork. Some of it continues on to Tier or Etria through our shipping routes, and from there to Radent and Charndion, respectively." He mentioned the larger capitals of the neighbouring countries and the island nation, all while glancing at Jaden. He probably tried to make the connection between them asking about Sorunese goods, and why there was an elf in his home.

"Standard practice," Mirena nodded, having grown up in a merchant house. "But what about the less, shall we say, official business?"

"A sad fact of tariffs and taxes is that it will drive the ingenuity of some traders to new heights. I'm not naive enough to believe that there's not a flourishing smugglers' market in the city, but I can't say I've ever had much opportunity - or desire - to get to know it better."

"But what about transportation?" Jaden spoke for the first time. "Despite how cleverly they avoid inspections or accounts, a travelling merchant will still have to move their goods, be it by wagon or by ship."

"True, lady Jade, was it? If you were to bring something from Ral Sona to Farcrest, you'd have to use the roads and probably pass through," Arim paused and looked upwards a little as he imagined the map of the continent. "Tarad for starters, then possibly Carrick Field, Tier, and Rosehaven before coming here. There are no doubt smaller forest trails some use, but if we're talking normal wagons they'd pretty much have to follow one of the established routes."

"I thought as much," Mirena agreed, taking a breath as she considered how to continue.

"If I knew more about what you're talking about, maybe I can be of more help? I fully admit that I'm not a merchant, and but a casual dilettante in the world of trading, but I can likely find someone wiser to ask - if only I have the right questions?" The Nobleman spread his hands in a partial shrug.

“You are right, Arim. We’ve not been as forthcoming as we should have been, and for that I am sorry. Let’s start this anew, shall we?” The knight exchanged a quick look with the mystic. They would have to put a little trust in this man, offer a little more. Another lesson from Mirena’s childhood — ‘the profits depend on the investment’.

“Of course. Now, since this will no doubt be a long conversation — and one I will greatly enjoy the company of — I will really need something to drink. Have you been offered anything? Wine? Tea?” Arim got up from where he had been sitting opposite of Mirena.

“Thank you. Tea would be nice, now that you say it. Jaden?” The knight looked over at her friend, who was still pensively leaning against the wall.

“That might be a good idea,” the mystic finally agreed, then remembered her manners. “Thank you, lord..?”

“Oh, please, call me Arim. We’re all friends here,” the nobleman smiled at the elf-like woman, and headed to the door.

“Kari? Please bring us tea for three, and any snacks we might have. Those almond things, unless I already ate them all?” Arim shrugged a little. When he was reading, he always liked to have something sweet.

“I believe there are some left that Tanild managed to hide from you, my lord,” Kari tilted her head in thought.

“Good! Oh, and ask Stroton to bring my maps and our old business ledgers to the sitting room. Probably some parchment and the writing set as well, come to think of it.” He added as an afterthought.

“As you wish, lord Tassard.” Kari curtsied and left to take care of her duties, but stopped when her employer called her again.

“Has there been any news about when my brother and his family will arrive, by the way?”

“None yet, my lord. I’m sure they’re just held up somewhere,” she offered a small smile. Her lord didn’t want to show it, but he was worried now that his older brother Baron Ariken was several days late.

Arim Tassard nodded his thanks, and turned back to the sitting room doors. He had guests to entertain, after all.

---

Random addition: In one chapter's comment in the last book, I made a vague reference to a map of the world of Aden (where this story takes place). It now strikes me that maybe there's some interest for readers to actually have a link to go see it. THUS! Link for maps! Shiny! Though, you'll have to scroll down a bit. And it's a general map. No details. I'm keeping the real one hidden for a while longer. So there!

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Pursuing their different lines of investigation into the discovery down by the harbour, the Winterheart cousins make a new acquaintance. Jaden takes the opportunity to go see Lilya, while they're still in the city. Oleander helps Jaden realise something.

Flashback: Oleander recalls how growing up is seldom easy. It's even harder for a child all on her own.

---

Chapter 19: Stone and Ashes

OLEANDER

Where the sunkissed plains of Olmar met the dark woods of Sorun was a town that prided itself as being either the first welcome into the human lands, or the last bastion before the wild. Tarad was a town of two sides.

It was the kind of town that thought itself bigger than it really was, grown prideful of its importance, and forgetting it was just a small part of a much larger world. Yet underneath this veneer of arrogance was the heart of a frightened child, staring into the darkest parts of the wilderness. Tarad was a town of two minds.

There was the Tarad that a visitor saw when they passed through, a place where travellers could resupply and a hub where several cultures were brought together - the elves of the forest in the west, the Olmani of the steppes in the east, and the mysterious Lacunai of the mountains in the south. In its own way, Tarad experienced a measure of the multitude enjoyed by great metropolises like Tier or Etrana.

Then there was the Tarad that a girl saw if she had grown up in those streets. It was a place of great opportunities, and great inequalities. Sometimes a trader would need her to deliver a message, or a traveller wanted to be shown to a nice inn. Sometimes they forgot to be careful around their coin, and the girl would eat and sleep somewhere warm. Then there were the other days. Tarad was a town of two faces.

Oleander felt it in her gut even before she approached the table; this was a bad idea. The men seated in the corner were drinking and laughing. She saw too many tankards, the laughs were a little too loud, but the smell of the food made the hunger pains in her stomach even worse. She saw the swords resting against the wall, and the colours of the tabards they were wiping their greasy hands on. They were mercenaries, warriors for hire, one of the several groups roaming the roads of Olmar. The only thing that made them different from the bandits was the letters of right they carried.

She waited until the tired-looking barmaid brought another tray of beer and meat to their table, and slipped up when the men were distracted and making awful suggestions to the woman, who kept a stiff smile on her lips. Oleander knew Delphine, and felt bad for her. The barmaid was kind to the girl when she could, sneaking her some leftovers sometimes, when the innkeeper was busy elsewhere. It made her feel a little better about what she was about to do. Stealing from nice people always made her feel sad, even though she had to.

Oleander plucked a purse that was left momentarily unattended from the table, quickly slipping it inside her tunic. As soon as Delphine stood back up, Oleander scooted in underneath the arm of a staggering woodsman, using his large belly as cover while she made her way back to the door. She didn't much enjoy going back out into the cold, but she knew it was too risky to stick around when the owner of the purse found himself coins short.

The cool air make her cheeks prickle after leaving the warm inn. At times like these, they kept the fires going as much as possible. Her feet left small prints in the powdery snow as she ran around the corner of the building, hiding behind a rainwater barrel that had thin fingers of frost across the surface. It rarely snowed in Olmar, but those winters were the worst. Those were the winters that killed girls who didn’t have a home.

She fished the purse out of her dirty tunic, and upended the contents into her cupped hand. A smile spread across her face. The mercenaries must’ve been paid recently. There were more silver marks than copper pennies in the small pile. She began to count them, biting her lip at the thought of how much food this would get her. Maybe she could even pay someone to let her sleep inside for a week or two?

A strong hand grabbed her long, red hair, and slammed her against the wall. The coins fell from her hands into the dirt by their feet.

"What did I say, Trask? I said to you, there was a waif traipsing around with sticky paws." One of the men with stubble on his chin spat on the ground. To him, children like Oleander rated lower than wild dogs.

"No! These are mine. Someone gave them to me!" She scratched at the hand that pulled her hair. If only she had shorter hair, she might have been able to escape.

"Yeah, who'd give good silver to a rotten rat like you?" The man that held her leaned in close. The scars on his arms and face told the story of a life of bad decisions. He was ready to hit her, his fist so much larger than hers.

"It was an elven prince! He said he was going to come for me, and take me back to his castle!" Oleander yelled, and kicked the man called Trask in the shin. He swore, and returned a slap hard enough to make stars appear well before sundown.

A couple of the mercenaries burst out into laughter, which only served to anger the man holding her even further.

"You filthy little thief. I'm going to make sure you remember this day," the man pushed the scrawny, redheaded girl into the arms of his friend. "Hold her!"

The man started to pull off his belt.

"Hey, isn't she a little too young for that?" Said one of the others, but the look in his eyes told another story.

"Yeah, but she's old enough to be taught a lesson," he growled, and brought the belt down on Oleander's back with a crack. It would take more than one welt on that childlike back to quell his anger.

She tried to shut her eyes and heart against the pain, but a part of her still hoped that someone would save her.

Please? Is there anyone out there who can take me away from all this?

The noise in the tavern was not quite loud enough to drown out their words, but certainly enough to provide the certain kind of privacy only found at a public place. The Port in the Storm was the kind of place sailors went to make sure they would be able to last their next voyage without hard drinks. Most patrons drank like they were on a mission, and they sang like they had no shame.

To the Northmen, this felt right at home. Put some blonde beards on the locals, and this could just as easily have been the warrior’s longhouse in Strom. The pale blonde elf that shared their table, however, stared at the scene with something akin to mystification, or horror.

“What is that man doing?” She asked, one hand covering her mouth, and the other pointing into the mess. Her hood was back up, covering her ears and distinctive features. As far as they could tell, aside from wenches bringing the beer and rum, she was the only woman here. Definitely the only female customer.

“He’s dancing,” Stann watched the show with a wide grin. He could see this going wrong in any number of ways.

“That’s not dancing. That’s convulsing.” The elf shook her head a little, and pulled the hood down further.

"Introductions, then. I'm Kellen Winterheart. You've already met my dear cousin Stann." The rune seeker spoke with a low rumble, despite the fact that none would be able to hear them even a few paces from their table.

"I'm spoken to as Alisan," the elf inclined her head, speaking slowly to keep her accent manageable. While she clearly knew the Trade language of the human lands, she seemed out of practice.

"Now, please tell us about what you were doing?" Kellen leaned in a little closer. They had run into her outside a warehouse where their friends had seen some upsetting signs of sentient trafficking. During their brief exchange, it had become apparent that they were investigating the same thing, and it would only make sense to compare notes.

"The group I work with had suspicions about a trade operation out of Ral Sona, and after we found out that there had been Albander merchants involved we made sure that I would be part of the siria group headed here to perform during your festival." Alisan kept her hands folded on the table while she spoke, maybe as a sign of trust.

"Why the secrecy?" Stann asked, waving down a serving wench, holding up three fingers and pointing at their table. At the elf’s rapid shaking of her head, he held up four fingers instead.

"Something like this — this operation — couldn't have been going on if they weren't careful. Careful people are often watchful as well. No need to give them any advance warnings. A single elf travelling to a human city could only mean a few things, after all."

"An outcast, an adventurer," Kellen gave the elf a calculating look. "Or a spy."

"I don't report to the Ruling Caste," Alisan dismissed the speculation. "The people I work with have gradually become aware of the troubled situation inside Serecea - Sorun - and have tried to gather as much knowledge as possible. We were hoping I could find out more by approaching the matter from this end."

"We know of at least three people involved in the Alband side of the smuggling operation. Two local merchants we're currently tracking down, and the captain of a Marsander ship. They were loading his vessel around noon today." Stann tapped the table with a finger as if counting the people he was talking about.

"If we're in luck, the ship is still moored and we can ask the captain some questions," Kellen nodded. Most of what they had was merely speculations, but from what Oleander and… Jaden had said, the captain seemed to be at least partially under duress and might reveal something if pressed.

"Fortune has forgotten us. There was some commotion a distance from the storage house I've been watching, and suddenly the labourers were pulled out. I saw a single hooded man enter once everyone was away. He left a while later. I was about to see if I could get inside to look around, but I was overcome by a strong... uh, halean? I was afraid for my future." The elf tried to find the right word, but instead finished her explanation a little clumsily.

"What does that have to do with the captain?" Stann asked, but he was already starting to see where it was leading.

"Whatever had happened inside that place, frightened the captain and his crew as much as it had me. They raised anchor and left on the sunfall tides." Alisan turned her hands palms up on the table, as if offering something the two men needed to hear, but not necessarily had wanted.

"We can still ask around about the captain and his ship. There are many things we can find out. Also, we should be able to poke around inside that storage house now, especially with everyone gone," Stann looked at his cousin. It was one of the things they had intended to do anyway.

"I wonder about that man you saw entering the building, Alisan. We might want to start there. The harbourmaster's office will still be here tomorrow, but anything - and anyone - in that warehouse might not." Kellen concluded ominously, then sat up straighter and looked around. “But, where is our beer?”

Both cousins turned around in their chairs and pantomimed their lack of beer at the barkeep, who just glared at his serving wenches, and motioned at Kellen to come pick up their tankards himself.

While the large rune seeker was pushing his way through a half-hearted brawl between two shiphands, Stann ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair and favoured their new elven friend with a wide grin. She returned a guarded frown, leaning back a bit.

"What were you doing browsing Northern steel when you were supposed to be snooping around here?" The warrior asked suavely.

"While I don't really have to explain myself to you, out of respect for this... budding alliance, I will.” Alisan looked a little uncomfortable with the way Stann was giving her his attention, but continued speaking in a more confident voice. “I didn't know where to look when I first got here. I spent most of my time speaking with various travelling merchants, hoping that one of them would have noticed a large shipment coming out of Ser- Sorun."

"That makes sense."

"Also, spending too much time down here would mean risking being accosted by strange, burly men." The elf raised an eyebrow at him.

"Point taken. Sorry if we scared you." Stann rubbed the back of his neck.

"I wasn't scared. I can take care of myself," the elven features looked even more attractive when annoyed. "I was just taken aback by your smell."

"My manly aroma overwhelmed you? It's been known to happen." Stann looked pleased with himself.

"I'm telling you to take a bath, perot," Alisan said with eyes narrowing.

"Will you join me in the tub?" The Northern warrior replied, teasing more than actually asking.

"She's going to cut you, cousin. Either with words, or with that knife she's keeping up her sleeve," Kellen informed as he returned to the table with their beer.

The sun was setting as Jaden and Mirena walked back to the craftsmen’s district with the sun at their backs. Jaden kept looking at her shadow, its shape and movements so unfamiliar to what she was used to.

It had been a long discussion with this nobleman, Arim, who to his credit had known quite a bit about the trading business but admitted that there were many things that were simply beyond his ken; especially the more mundane goods. His family had mainly dealt in luxury goods, the more glamorous side of the merchant’s life. While he said they had recently focused more on the timber industry, most of what he had learned while growing up was of their grandfather’s exploits in moving around expensive things like Kasman silk, Etrian tea, Sorunese songwood, and Marsander porcelain. During that time, he said, the family had been busy putting their fingers in all kinds of pies, which eventually led to enough losses that they withdrew from that scene. The recent development had mostly been his brother’s initiative.

Mirena had shown some insight in the luxury trade as well, and commenting that during the periods of war the trade with Marsantias ceased due to them technically being part of the empire, which created a shortage of fine porcelain. That caused the rich to turn their eyes on the exquisitely carved wood from Sorun. For a brief moment during and after the war, the elven country gained special recognition in high society. Mirena spoke of how her mother still kept a set of elven wooden dinnerware she had brought along as a part of her dowry. During that time after the war, the world experienced a stint of obsession with many things elven, and several enterprising merchants began to import all kinds of “exotic elven goods” from Sorun. Though, it would be more than a hundred years later before something similar happened again, when the highly sought after songwood began to appear on the market.

It had grown late, however, and Arim had some morning appointments. He had bid them both goodbye after walking them to the door himself, and reminded Mirena that unless she had changed her mind, she was still welcome tomorrow like they had originally planned. The knight had seemed happy to accept the invitation all over again, though, and there was a brief moment when they had just looked at each other for a while. Jaden had felt like she was intruding on something.

“So, what did you think?” Mirena asked, as they passed a small plaza where some lingering festivities still went on. The Founding festival carried on for two or three days, depending on where you were. Etria and the other old imperial countries made more of a thing out of it, of course. The Albander mostly took the celebration as an excuse to drink inappropriately and forget some of their national obsession with good manners for a night or two.

“About what? Arim?” Jaden blinked a few times, looking up from the flagstones.

“Of course. I felt he was a very gracious host, especially under the circumstances of our surprise visit this late,” Mirena glanced back over her shoulder a little. They were far away from the aristocrats’ district, but maybe her eyes saw something Jaden’s didn’t.

“I guess. I mean, he was nice and polite.” Jaden had also been grateful of how the nobleman hadn’t stared at her. After their introduction he only looked at her when they were talking, and then he kept eye contact. Well, maybe he had snuck a few glances, but he had been subtle about it, unlike Jaden’s friends. “It was good to find someone who knew a little about the merchant trade. Locally, that is.”

“He was very good with his servants, too. That’s a giveaway. ‘Know a person by how they treat their employees’.” Mirena might not have a good relationship with her father, but he had taught her several valuable lessons. The knight got a rare mischievous glimpse in her eyes. “It doesn’t hurt that he is quite handsome, as well.”

“Uh… Rena? Are you having a girl-talk with me?” The mystic looked awkward, tugging at her sleeves. Mirena hadn’t spoken with her like this before. They had shared things with each other, of course, but not in this way. “You promised you would treat me like who I am, not what I look like, remember?”

“I… I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, Jaden. I haven’t forgotten who you are, nor will I.” Mirena smiled apologetically, trying to see the man inside the woman walking next to her. It was very hard.

By the time they had returned to the Old Hog, the sky was mostly dark. The common room was filled halfway with regulars, mostly Albander and dwarven workers from the guilds. Luckily, the inn was built by a dwarf with visions of eternity in mind, so the walls and ceiling were sturdy enough that little noise from the drinking made its way into the rooms where guests would sleep.

“Good night, Jaden. I’m going to see if Arim can tell us anything more when I meet him again tomorrow.” Mirena had asked some questions regarding cross-border trade and routes that the nobleman hadn’t been able to answer, but promised to make some inquiries during his meetings next morning. “Also, he said that his scribe was busy looking through the family’s old books for anything they might have on imports out of Sorun.”

“Okay. Good night, Rena,” Jaden said as she opened her door. The two beds in there made her pause a little. There had been no more room at the Old Hog, nor anywhere else. She would be sharing with Stann tonight, like she had many times before. But tonight would be different. “Oh, and I feel he was a good person.”

“I did, too. You’re more than welcome to come with me again tomorrow. Arim did say I could bring friends if I wanted to,” Mirena said with a big, beautiful smile.

“I’ll think about it,” the mystic mumbled evasively, and went inside.

Her bed was strewn with clothes, both her old ones, and some of the new Mirena had offered her. With a sigh, Jaden began to straighten and fold the borrowed blouses and skirts, things she would never wear, and set them aside on a chair. The repetitive task made her mind wander. Representatives from Talraman coming to Farcrest at the same time as another group of mystics was involved in the smuggling of magical creatures — creatures that could normally be subject of the mystic pact. Was this a coincidence, or were there connections beyond what she could see? Beyond what she wanted to see?

The Lacunai were not mercenaries. They were much too proud in their strength and traditions to stoop to that. But there were always black sheep in any flock. Throughout the years, some mystics had been disruptive to the point where they had been banished from the mountain. Others had simply left, gone rogue. However, the behir-mystic had been very strong. More than strong enough to qualify as a protector. Even someone as removed from the politics of Talraman as Jaden would’ve heard about it, if someone of the blue-streaked woman’s power had been forcefully sent away.

If there was a connection between the two groups of mystics in Farcrest, it meant that something had taken a truly bad turn for the worse back home. Even more troubling was the possibility that her sister might be involved in it.

Jaden put down a blue skirt, brushing the soft fabric with her hands. Lilya would never be part of something like that. Her sister was many things: hard, competitive, unforgiving, and even petty at times. But she was never cruel. Despite what Lilya’s drift may have changed inside of her, Jaden could not imagine that her sister would willingly torture or maim sentient creatures. The small doubt was nauseating however. She had to find out the truth.

The black-haired mystic stood up with a resolute expression, and grabbed her old cloak.

When Stann put down his second tankard, it was dusky enough outside that they could sneak around without being spotted immediately by anyone happening upon them by the large storage houses. Despite his urgings, the elf Alisan had declined partaking in the cheap beer. That only meant more for him and Kellen, however.

“I’d say it’s about time now,” the warrior said out loud after taking a look at the sky through the window. It would be a while yet before the stars came out, but the light that trickled over the horizon would still be enough for them to see by.

Kellen brought up the rear, equal part of allowing the lady to go first, and to stop and giving the rest of the room a glare to dissuade anyone trying to follow them with less than honourable intentions in mind. Neither the rune seeker, nor his cousin, was going down this road for the first time. They knew what sort of things could happen in a harbour after sunset. Neither of them feared the fight that could happen. The parting intimidation was for the others’ benefit. Anyone picking a fight with the Winterhearts would have to be prepared to spend the rest of the night looking for their teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, Kellen saw two rough-looking men sit back down, one of them shaking his head slightly.

The waterside district wasn’t as much deserted during the evening, as it was ignoring everyone. What happened in the harbour after dark, was apparently going to stay in the harbour after dark. They saw some other people going about some business, but no one challenged them as they approached warehouse where they had first spotted Alisan hiding nearby.

The wagon-sized doors were chained shut with a padlock. Stann gave the chain a firm tug, causing a jingling that felt too loud.

“I can probably cut the chain, but it’ll take a while and it will wake up the entire city,” he muttered. The padlock looked dwarfmade. It would likely be easier to break down the wooden walls.

“It was open when I was here earlier. I had intended to slip in during the day,” Alisan shrugged, when they turned to her.

“I take it you don’t have any… specialised skills, in situations like these?” The rune seeker gave the elf a speculative look.

“I’m neither a magician, nor a spy of the Videre.” She crossed her arms. “I offer my apologies should that disappoint you.”

“Now I wish we had brought Red along. She would have had the lock off with just a tap of her finger. Then she probably would’ve stolen the lock. It looks expensive.” Stann turned the padlock in his hands.

“Loud is out of the question, subtle is not an option. Let’s go with option number three, then.” Kellen dipped into one of his belt-pouches.

“What is he talking about?” Alisan asked the warrior, as they stepped aside to let the rune seeker take a closer look at the door.

“Option three is always the same. Power,” Stann nodded as his cousin after taking one final look around.

Kellen grasped the rune stone in his hand firmly, and touched the hinges of one of the big door by one side. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but eventually the wood began to discolour and expand, warping. Water trickled down the wall. He switched hands, and suddenly there was a soft crack coming from inside the wood. The water had frozen solid, splitting the soaked planks. With a tug, the hinges pulled clear of the wall, allowing the entire section to swing open enough for them to get inside. It was not subtle. Anyone would notice the damage the next day. But it wasn’t loud either. It was option three.

The front area of the warehouse was more or less what they expected. It was a large, mostly empty area with signs of recently having housed several crates, large pots and boxes. But their friends had spoken about an inner section, so they headed further inside. No light from the outside reached especially far inside, making the warehouse almost pitch black beyond the first dozen paces or so.

“I can’t see my own hand in front of me,” Stann whispered, then bit back a curse as he bumped his foot into something.

“I can only make out some parts, but further inside is almost complete darkness for me as well,” Alisan replied. Her elven eyes were much keener in poor lighting, but in utter darkness she was as blind as any human. “Please remain where you are.”

There were some soft rustling noises coming from her direction, followed by a muted humming. Suddenly, a soft light emanated from a small glass globe in her hand. It was barely enough to read by, not even as strong as a single lit candle, but where was once only darkness, the outlines of the warehouse interior appeared. By the light of Alisan’s moonstone, they explored further inside. It felt a little surreal, with no sound other than their footsteps echoing, and their own breathing.

The inner section was maybe half as big as the front part of the warehouse, but it was full of covered cages of various sizes. Stann approached the closest one, and lifted the burlap to look inside.

“Bring the light a bit closer,” he whispered to the elf.

When they gathered by the cage, they saw that a fine, grey-white ash formed an irregular pile on the floor. Going from cage to cage, they saw the same in every one they checked.

“Something terrible happened here,” Alisan said with a tremble in her voice.

Jaden left the big townhouse with mixed feelings. She was both relieved that the convocation was still going on, although most had already left. She had managed to find a functionary who was willing to tell her where the Talraman envoys were staying, in exchange for nothing but a smile. Jaden wasn’t sure how she felt about… influencing someone like that, but she suspected that the convocation staff was not allowed to release this kind of information to just anyone who asked. It was a small price to pay, all things considered. If kindness could get her what force most certainly would not, was it such a bad thing? The young man working the late shift and seeing to the needs of the gathered magicians followed Jaden to the door, and watched her leave. A quick glance back confirmed Jaden’s suspicion that the leggings might have been a bad idea.

The Talraman group was housed at an inn not that far away, as it turned out. It was also a much, much nicer place than the Old Hog. While walking up to it along the street, Jaden glimpsed a figure wearing a hooded cloak — a fashion item that seemed to be common these nights — leave the inn and head down a smaller side street. Maybe it was a breeze or the shadows, but Jaden thought that it looked like something bulky was underneath that cloak.

Upon entering, she was not met by a rowdy common room, but instead a lobby. An older man looked up from a book, and smiled.

“Welcome back, mistress Tarasov. I apologise for not noticing you leave. This discourse in Kasmantur’s twin cities history is quite gripping.” He put the book down after carefully adding a bookmark.

“I’m afraid I’m not Lilya, keeper. I’m her br- sister, Jaden,” the black-haired mystic didn’t know what room her sister had been given, and roaming around trying doors at random in a place like this, was a good way to get arrested. The old man looked surprised, but then studied her closer.

“So I see. I could’ve sworn that you were her.” The keeper laughed a little. It was a kind laugh. “I suppose all elves look the same, eh?”

“I’m not an-“

“Anyway, you’ll find your sister in room 2C. If you need anything, just let me know,” the old man smiled again, and adjusted his spectacles as he opened the book once more.

“Thank you,” Jaden mumbled, as she took to the stairs. This was getting ridiculous. They didn’t look that much alike! Lilya had a bit shorter hair, and was elegant and strong, after all.

When she knocked on the door down the hall, it took a while before someone answered. Lilya opened wearing only a simple tunic that showed a lot of her legs, and held a sword in its scabbard, with the attached belt dangling. From this distance Jaden knew that her sister would be able to draw the sword and behead someone in one smooth motion. She had been trained in the same technique herself. Upon seeing who it was outside her room at this hour, Lilya lowered the weapon a bit and glared.

"Oh, it's you. What do you want?" Lilya demanded, shifting her weight from defending against someone trying to push inside, to being able to take the fight into the corridor if need be.

"I want to talk, Lil. Can I come in?" Jaden almost pleaded, looking nervously at the sword. It was a protector’s blade. Simple and unenchanted.

"This morning you dressed like a ragpicker, now you look like a Marsander pirate. If you're having a breakdown, do it in private." Her tone as acerbic as she looked annoyed.

"Please, Lil."

"Fine. Get in before anyone sees you." Lilya stepped to the side and waved her brother inside.

The room was significantly larger than the one Jaden shared at the Old Hog. It was probably as large as all her friends’ rooms put together. There was even a small sitting area and a writing desk, aside from a large and comfortable-looking bed. Jaden folded her cloak over a chair, and sat down in the small couch. For a moment they just looked at each other, Lilya tapping her fingers against her arms.

"You look like mother, if she had dark hair," she finally said, sitting down opposite of Jaden on the second chair. Her legs were slightly apart. A fighter’s position that would allow her to spring to her feet quickly.

"Well, I guess that's natural..." Jaden touched her hair. Ever since Redwall, it had been incredibly glossy, as if she had put oil in it.

"Mostly I meant the spirit influence. Both her and yours are strangers, whereas father’s and mine are from Aden. You've got that almost unreal sense about you." Lilya’s hard, slightly reptilian eyes, stared intently at Jaden.

"Why are you using Mystics' sight right now, Lil?"

"I can't..." Lilya stopped for a moment. Something flashed across her face. "You haven't heard? No, of course not. You've been away for over a year."

"Heard what?" Jaden asked, suddenly reminded about how the world kept moving ever since she had left home. How many things had happened during this time? How many things had she missed?

"I can't see the normal world very well anymore. When the drift reached my eyes, they partially... calcified or something." Lilya clenched her jaw a bit, but didn’t look away. She didn’t even blink. Jaden realised that she hadn’t seen Lilya blink for a long time.

"... you're blind?!" She gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"Of course not! I can still see the magical world, and my basilisk has excellent hearing and sense of touch. I function just fine," Lilya almost growled. Whatever her words, it was understandably a sore subject for her.

"Oh, Lil. I didn't know," Jaden leaned in to hug her sister. She hadn’t felt this close with Lilya for many years. The realisation that she wasn’t the only one who had to struggle with the changes the Lacunai spirit-bond caused made her feel less alone. There were other people who had to reassess who they were, and how their lives would go on.

"There you go with that again. By the mountain, you're a weakling. If I can overcome this and grow stronger from it, at least try to do the same. You're not that different." Lilya didn’t return the hug, but she also made no effort to push her brother away.

"Do I look the same?" Jaden leaned back, gesturing at herself.

"You do to me."

They talked for a bit longer, neither truly knowing what to say. Lilya didn’t do smalltalk, and Jaden struggled with her embarrassment. Finally, Jaden spoke about her situation, and the unnatural speed of her drift. They had only briefly touched upon it when they had spoken at the convocation.

"Alright. I'll play. What do you know about your spirit?" Lilya leaned forward, ready to listen to whatever her younger brother would say.

"Not that much. She's a demon, from the Myriad Nether." Jaden shrugged a little, forgetting how it made her jiggle.

"Do you in fact know that, or is this just something you assume?"

"I..." Jaden paused. It was what everyone had said, after all. Also, the demon of Redwall had most definitely been a denizen of the Nether realms, and she was almost identical to her manifested form. "I'm pretty sure."

"What else?"

"She's got wings, empathic fortification, powerful fire summoning." Jaden couldn’t help but being a little proud. Despite everything, she couldn’t complain about the abilities her spirit brought along.

"Mobility, ranged attacks, and conditional empowerment? I've heard worse. But what else about the spirit, not your manifested abilities." Lilya continued relentlessly. She had always been like this. Digging, prying. She went after everything with a single-minded intensity. Now, she was hunting truth.

"I met someone else very much like her, a demon in a village. She spoke of two demon races, I think? The..." Jaden tried to recall.

Drigorii

"The Drigorii, and the Lectii?" She finished, a little lamely. Lilya seemed like she hadn’t noticed the pause.

"I've heard about those. There are houses and societies in the Nethers, just like everywhere else. From what I remember of the otherworld lectures, the House of Lectus are corrupters and hedonists. Bringing out the absolute worst in the people they influence. The House of Drigorius is a more secretive group. Little is known, and less is spoken. Something about how they keep watch over time or fate, or something like that. Which one was your spirit?" Lilya rubbed a finger along her brow, near the hairline. There was a faint golden-green discoloration of the skin.

"Drigorii, according to the other demon." Jaden felt like sighing with relief. At least that meant she was one step further away from the role their father had intended for her.

"I don't know anything else about them. If you had asked me about the Sabakii, however..." Lilya snorted. Even Jaden had heard stories about the bloodragers, the berserkers of Sabakus. Those were the first group of demonic visitors that were mentioned in the citadel’s records. They always left a single survivor, as if the terror was as delicious as the blood they spilled.

"Why did the council send the Lord Protector to the convocation?" Jaden tried to change the subject. Lilya apparently didn’t know anything else about the Drigorii, and talking more about the denizens of the Myriad Nether would just give Jaden nightmares.

"Jay, I can't tell you that. Even if it's not been made official - mostly due to father's influence - you've technically gone rogue.” Lilya snorted again, as close as she got to a laugh right now. “Don't expect to see a strike group of mageslayers any time soon, though. You don't rate that high a priority. I'd say you're slightly above repainting the citadel."

"Thanks,” Jaden rolled her eyes.

"But below adding new gravel to the old mountain path," Lilya continued.

"I get it. Why did Master Hetagon pick you to accompany him, though?" That was the curious part. While Lilya was no doubt a strong magician, she couldn’t have been a protector for more than one and a half years. There had to have been better candidates for this assignment.

"Aside from the fact that I'm a powerful basilisk and have three complimentary pacts?" Lilya smirked a bit. On top of all her shining merits, you would not find humility.

"You have three already?" Jaden had been so proud when she had evened the score before leaving Talraman. Maybe some of that competitiveness ran in the family?

"You're falling behind. Aside from that? Like you, I was the best in my class at siphoning techniques. Put either of us in a large group of magicians and we can cause all kinds of havoc if we need to."

It was true. Aside from their maxim of strength, the Tarasov line had produced some exceptionally skilled thread manipulators during the last couple of generations. Their aunt Sabel even held the classes these days.

"They sent the Lord Protector, and one of our best siphons, into a convocation? You were expecting trouble. The council was ready to throw their weight around." Jaden stated the facts as she saw them.

"I can't comment on that, Jay." Lilya leaned back, and crossed her arms.

"What's happening back home, Lil?"

"Come back with us and find out." She made the same offer again, as she had made when they met at the convocation. Come back home.

"I... I can't. Not like this. I have to find a way to undo all this." Jaden gestured at what she had become.

"Fool errand. Remember, you've only got until midwinter. Then I'm getting you. And you don't want to get got like that, believe you me." Lilya raised an eyebrow pointedly.

"Did the council send anyone else than you and the Lord Protector?" Time to change the subject again.

Lilya was silent for a while, looking at Jaden with narrowed eyes. Did those eyes see something she couldn’t? After all, you couldn’t use your mystics’ sight on yourself.

"No, why?" Came the answer after a heartbeat too long.

Jaden hesitated a moment. But this was her sister. She had to put her trust in her sister, just like she had to trust her friends. The alternative was only tears.

"I met two of them down by the harbour. They were working for some Albander smugglers."

"That's preposterous. We Lacunai don't sell ourselves like mere sorcerers." Lilya sneered.

"I had to fight a void elemental and a behir. Sound familiar to you?" Jaden watched her sister carefully.

"... yes. Was the behir a blue-streaked woman an inch taller than us?"

"That's her. Do we know her?" The face appeared before her inner eye again, the shock and sense of utter loss. The memory almost made her nauseous, but what if that was the only way?

"I was in the same class as her. Veranna..." Lilya trailed off, looking to the side. She was tapping her lips, a habit of hers when she was considering something.

"The name sounds familiar."

"Leave that to me, Jay. I'll look into it when I get back. You just do what you need to do, and hurry up about it. You've got less than half a year," she reminded her brother.

"Oh, and Lil? There's a nethermancer in Farcrest. A horribly strong one. He can destroy spirits, I think." Whether or not it was the solution to Jaden’s problems, she had to make sure the knowledge reached Talraman.

"... Destroy them?" Lilya’s eyes went a little wider. Mystics died. That was a fact of life. That just meant that the spirits were released and returned to wherever they came from. But something that could kill spirits? That was something new. That was something terrifying.

"He had something called the spiritbreaker curse. Someone out there has devised a weapon specifically against us." That had to mean something, but what? Jaden bit her lip.

"I'll bring this to Master Hetagon first thing in the morning. Now, get out. I need my sleep." Lilya stood back up, and made shooing gestures at her brother.

"Okay. It... it was nice seeing you again, Lil. Despite everything." Jaden said as she was ushered to the door.

"Get me my sword back, and maybe I'll return the sentiment. Out of my room, Jay." She put a hand on Jaden’s back and pushed her out into the corridor. A second later came the cloak thrown into Jaden’s arms.

"Good night, Lil." She said, clutching the cloak in her hands.

The door slammed shut.

Morning felt like it came a little too early. When Jaden had got back to the Old Hog last night, Stann was already fast asleep in his bed. By his snoring, she guessed the warrior had been drinking a bit. Nevertheless, she felt incredibly exposed when changing out of her clothes. Her heart had almost stopped when the big man had rolled over on his side in his sleep, but him facing away from her — even while sleeping — had made her feel a little better.

When the early sun brushed Jaden’s face, she felt like she hadn’t slept more than a few moments, but she quietly got up anyway. She wasn’t going to go through the awkwardness of dressing together with Stann. Not that she suspected he would try anything. The only thing that would be tried was their nature of their friendship, something that was already uncertain at this point. No, Jaden did what she did best — ran away from her problems, if only for a little while. Gathering up her clothes, she snuck out and headed to the washing room.

There was only a single pail of unheated water available, but it didn’t feel that bad when she used it to clean herself. This made Jaden sit back on her haunches and think for a moment. Since this was summer, it hadn’t been an issue, but she couldn’t remember having felt especially warm or cold since Redwall. Boiling water, or cool, didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Those thoughts took up the rest of her time before she headed back to her room. When she passed the common room on the way, she saw that both the rest of the men had gotten up, and sat stirring their breakfast porridge with sleepy expressions.

Safe back inside her room, she was just about to look over her options for the day when the door opened behind her. Oleander stood there with a scowl on her face.

"Where were you tonight? I knocked on your door but you didn't answer, and you weren't there when I went inside," the redhead demanded. Luckily it seemed like Stann hadn’t made it back by that time either, or Oleander’s reaction would probably have been louder.

"I went to see my sister. There were things I wanted to talk to her about." Jaden sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to sit on any clothes by mistake.

"Oh. Actually, now that you mention it, we saw your sister in the merchant district, standing outside some sort of tavern like she was guarding it or something. A bunch of robed people exited a bit later." Oleander lost some of her steam as she described what she had seen.

"Robed? What did they look like?" The mystic wondered.

"I don't know. Etrian, maybe?"

"Were they sorcerers?" Jaden tried to be more specific.

"How would I know?" Oleander spread her hands and shrugged.

"Uh, did they look especially smug?"

"I guess? Doesn't that describe all wizards?" The redhead pointed out.

"Fair enough"

Jaden sat and looked at her friend for a bit, who seemed every bit as uncomfortable as Jaden felt. She couldn’t help but think that this wouldn’t have been as awkward if she hadn’t kissed Oleander back in the waterfront district. Even if it had just been a trick to fool their pursuers, it had changed something in their relationship.

"Why did you want to see me, Ollie?" Jaden asked, softly. Their friendship meant so much to her, and everything she had done had put great cracks in it. Hopefully there would be a way to mend this before it broke down completely.

"What?" Oleander shook her head a little. She had been staring.

"You said you went to my room?" Jaden prompted.

"I... uhm... I wanted to say that I'm still angry with you."

"Oh. Do you... still want to talk?" The mystic asked, offering rather.

"About what?" Oleander blinked, shifting her weight from one foot to another. After fidgeting for a bit, she finally sat down next to Jaden. Not right next to her, though. There was enough space for someone else to squeeze in between them.

"About anything you want. It's not like I have anything to hide anymore." It was Jaden’s turn to shrug a little. If she did it carefully enough, she wouldn’t cause things to wobble.

"I don't know, Jay. It's... it's like you're not the same person anymore."

"But I am! I'm still that guy you ran into in Tarad," Jaden insisted. It was important that Oleander understood this.

"No you're not. You've changed, Jay, but you can't see it."

"I see it every time I look in the mirror, Ollie!"

"Not like that. You act different, you move different. You even smell... are you wearing perfume?" The redhead tilted her head a bit, and leaned closer.

"What? No!" Jaden had just washed up. It had been regular soap, and nothing else.

"It's like... one day you were my somewhat strange and mysterious friend, and the next you're replaced by this... this girl who claims she's him. But you're not." Oleander rocked back a bit, staring at the ceiling. She released a long sigh.

"I'm still me, Ollie. I promise. I want to return to the person I was, but I don't know how." Jaden felt something stinging in her eyes. She swallowed and tried to keep the tears back. Sometimes the sheer frustration of this whole situation became too much for her. Sometimes she just wanted to scream and punch something, but there never was anything to punch. It was always just her.

"So this is really about your mystic thing?" Oleander gave her a long look with those raincloud grey eyes.

"Yeah. We each have a... a spirit inside us. Everyone's got a different one. We're taught from childhood that this spirit represents who you are, but that's either a big lie, or something went wrong in my case."

"What do you mean, wrong?" Sudden concern made the redhead’s voice tremble.

"With time, we take on aspects of our spirit. Like, if you're bound to a dragon, you can get scales or horns,” Jaden explained, pointing at her head and arms while she talked.

"Or wings? Like that guy we saw at the consortium?"

"Convocation.” Jaden corrected her. “But, yeah, like Alam Hetagon."

"So, your spirit is... a girl?" Oleander sounded incredulous. She knew now that she had seen Jaden’s alternate form at least once before, but she had only seen it as a demon. Something to fear.

"No. Well, technically, yes. But it doesn't make any sense. If it followed the normal progression, I should be ... I don't know, getting red skin, or a tail." Jaden really hoped she wouldn’t drift into a tail. Permanent physical additions was common enough, but didn’t happen to every mystic. A tail would make normal clothing even harder to fit. She recalled the special design of Master Hetagon’s shirt. Maybe she should...?

"Your eyes have changed. They used to be brown." Oleander was looking into her eyes, having leaned in a bit closer. The gap between them didn’t seem as big anymore.

"There's that, yes. But 'girl' or 'boy' is not something we consider when choosing our spirits. Granted, many spirits are kind of hard to put a gender to, like my aunt's sea serpent spirit, but there has to have been cases in the past with a mystic getting a spirit with the opposite gender," the mystic mused aloud.

"But you've never heard about any mystics spontaneously changing into girls? Or boys, I suppose?" The redhead asked.

"Not that I've heard of, no. But that might've been kept secret. Gender is not an aspect of the drift." At least, not until now. Was Jaden’s situation something new, or was it something that had happened before? Something that the Lacunai already knew how to deal with, but then Jaden had run away and ruined that chance? The idea turned her stomach.

"Drift?"

"That's what we call our slow change." Jaden didn’t know when or where the word had originated. It was the only word she knew for what every Lacunai accepted as a fact of life.

"So why you? Why now?" Oleander asked the same question Jaden had asked herself so many times.

"It's been going on ever since I completed my spirit-quest. At first, I was upset because I thought I had picked the wrong spirit, a weak one. My family... we have a history of choosing strong spirits. But after my first few manifestations-"

"Your battle-form?"

"...eh, sure. After the first few times I changed into the spirit's form, I noticed that I had already begun to show signs of it. That's simply unheard of. Most mystics go years before showing signs. Lilya's almost two years older than I, and completed her quest at a younger age than most mystics - younger than I was when I did it. She's still only showing the earliest signs of the drift." Jaden felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her sister. She hadn’t known about Lilya’s eyes.

"What's usually the first things to change?"

"Eyes, hair and skin colour, things like that." It was almost always the eyes. The more spiritually minded mystics liked to believe it was because the eyes were the windows to the soul, and the spirit now shared that place.

"Like, getting golden eyes, and growing a tan?" Oleander tapped Jaden’s arm.

"You think that I've been showing my drift at the normal level, and that this," Jaden gestured at her strange body. "This is something else?"

"Do I look like a wizard to you? I don't know. But couldn't it mean something?" The redhead shrugged.

"I'm not sure, but you might be onto something." Jaden had known about the eyes turning a golden colour, but she had just assumed that the tan had been a natural part of being out in the sun more. Then again, she had two bonds that provided her with resistance to heat and fire. Maybe the sun wouldn’t burn her?

"This talk didn't turn out the way I thought it would," Oleander sighed.

"Eh?" Jaden was taken by surprise at the sudden change in the conversation.

"I imagined myself screaming more. Calling you names. Maybe pulling your hair," Oleander ticked things off on her fingers.

"Please don't."

"I'm still angry with you," the redhead made sure her friend understood this.

"I know," Jaden nodded.

"You're going to be paying for this for a long time."

"I know," Jaden repeated.

Oleander gave the mystic a long once-over, her gaze lingering at the most embarrassing places.

"What? What's up with that look?" The mystic squirmed a little.

"Have you changed ALL over?" Oleander couldn’t keep a straight face.

"Ollie! I'm not answering that!"

"Fine." The redhead sighed, and got up.

"Get out of my room. I need to get dressed." Jaden was still wearing parts of the same outfit as yesterday. While that was alright for traveling, she would rather have the chance to air the clothes a little.

"Alright already. Wait, is that my shirt?" Oleander paused, looking down at the blouses on the bed, rather than the folded clothes on the chair.

"What shirt?" Jaden tried to see what her friend was looking at, but saw only her own things.

"The yellow one! That's totally my shirt!" The redhead’s voice went up a little.

"What? No, I bought it yesterday with Mirena."

"You got one just like mine?"

"I liked how it looked on you," Jaden confessed, feeling more than a little silly for thinking so.

"Oh," Oleander blushed. "Well. Okay."

The entire group eventually found themselves around the breakfast table. Some had already finished their food, but that only allowed them to share with the others what their respective investigations had turned up. When putting the pieces together, the outline of a bigger picture began to take shape, and it seemed to point in the same direction.

“Then we are decided? We’ll travel to Sorun, meet up with this Alisan’s friends and see whether we can get to the bottom of whoever is providing the smugglers with their captive creatures.” Mirena looked around the table, noting some nods.

“Unlike normal, though, this is something we’ve decided to do for ourselves. Nobody asked us to come,” Stann pointed out. In most cases, they answered the call of someone seeking their aid.

“No, we were asked,” Jaden disagreed, recalling the sad voice of the hopeless dracone.

“This means there won’t be any reward waiting for us, though?” Oleander sighed a little, more dramatically, than emphatically.

“That remains to be seen. That spicy elven woman seems to belong to some sort of influential organisation over there. What we’re intending will probably go in line with their own agenda, so they might decide to show us some… gratitude,” Stann couldn’t keep a grin off his face at the end. Oleander rolled her eyes.

“Virtue is its own reward,” Mirena reminded her friends.

“Yeah, yeah… but coins are shinier,” the redhead sulked a little.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

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

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

---

Chapter 20: Fractured Notes

MIRENA

“What is a demon?”

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

“Squire Kaladon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever heard about Chander Crossing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wise as always, Rena!" Stann approved.

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

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

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

"Yes?" Mirena looked up from the map.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But then what-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We could just ask her."

Oleander rolled her eyes a bit in reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Done with the other talk?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fight me. I’m here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm not one of Lectius' brood!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The basilisk turned its head to glare at Jaden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Elsewhere

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

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

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

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

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

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright © 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Due to leave for the golden city of Tier the coming day, the group take the time to wrap up their own affairs. Kellen spends some time with his magician friends, and Mirena get treated to lunch by a certain Albander nobleman.

Flashback: Many children of the mountain spend time learning the ways of other cultures. Jaden's aunt Sabel tries to show her nephew some things he'll need to know before he's leaving for a visit to the elven capital.

---

Chapter 21: Before the Storm

JADEN

The room was a mess. Clothes were thrown over the bed and parts of the floor, not to mention the various knickknacks that could come in handy on a trip like this. Books, a training sword and the last tin of Kasman sweets their mother had brought back from her trip to Telasero. The large satchel that sat in the eye of the abandoned hurricane of belongings was already half full.

It’s was a boy’s room, during that awkward age where the innocent curiosity of childhood stepped back to allow the increasing responsibility of adolescence more space. Gone were most of the toys, leaving only a few mementos behind. The small, carved dragon statues had been stored away for another generation, and in their spot were now more books. Titles such as Revelyn’s Basic Arcana, Alatea’s Voyages of the South Sea, Lowland Horticulture, and a well-worn older copy of Esiranca’s Definite Field Guide to Mystical Bonds. This was the room of someone who spent more time reading about other people, than meeting them. The room was empty of its owner, however, but sounds echoing down the corridor outside the half-closed door offered an explanation.

To the side of the kitchen sat the patient-looking cook. He took another sip of his morning tea as he flipped the page of a book of his own. Less highbrowed than its kin from the previous room, it was a humble romance story of a farmer’s son growing up to become a hero of his country and returning to his old village years later to whisk away his childhood love. The cook used to have dreams like that in his youth, but had long since accepted that his place in the world was to provide the heroes of the coming era with a hot meal and the occasional honeycake when the children’s parents weren’t looking. The cup barely made a noise as he replaced it on the table.

“Ow! Garda’s fires!” The young man shook his hand in the air. Grabbing a tray from the oven would burn an unprotected hand.

“What did you think would happen, Jaden?” Next to the youngest Tarasov stood a tall woman in the grey robes of the citadel’s instructors. She had removed her silver amulet, as she was not here in her official capacity, but her voice was still that of a tutor at the moment. She shared the dark hair of the youth, kept to almost half the way down her back, but her ears were rounded.

“You could’ve helped me here, aunt Sabel!” Her nephew sucked on a burnt finger for a little while.

“I’m a teacher, not a protector. Learn by your mistakes, kiddo. Toughen up, or the elves will eat you alive.” Sabel waggled a finger at her brother Garen’s son. She had taken it upon herself to help prepare him for an upcoming trip.

“Why do I have to do this, and not Lil?” Jaden hunched down and peered critically into the oven. Was it too hot?

“I showed her last summer. Surely you haven’t forgotten she’s older than you? Also, she’s smarter.” His aunt took no little pleasure teasing them.

“Hey!” He looked back up with a hurt expression.

“Just telling it how I see it. Now try again, and prove me wrong.” Sabel pointed at the mess of ingredients, the mortar and pestle, and raised an eyebrow.

“This is stupid. Why would the elves of Ral Sona care if I can make these cookies or not?”

“First, they’re not cookies. They’re ser monelleum. They’re for the horses, not for you. If you eat them, you’ll get sick and throw up until you pass out. Then you’ll throw up some more. But the Seren destriers love the stuff. Like fenvir for shellcats. Slip one of them some monell and they’ll never fling you off.”

Jaden eyed the toxic cookies with some apprehension, and wiped his hands on the apron. He made a mental note of not licking his fingers until he could wash them thoroughly.

“Second, those horses have been known to protest when a non-elven rider try to start things with them. I’m not sure if you smell the part enough to avoid a hoof to the face.” Sabel knew her brother’s children looked a little elfish, but looking the part and acting it was two different things.

As with many Lacunai families, their bloodline was a stew with a little bit of everything thrown into the mix. Their mother Irissa alone was almost half elfblooded, due to her family’s frequent dealings with the world outside the mountain. Sabel wasn’t all that interested in genealogy, but had heard that family also traced some of their ancestors to Olmar of all places. The Tarasovs, though, were almost pure Lacunai. She didn’t fault her brother for marrying Irissa - she loved her sister-in-law — but sometimes she wondered whether it was wise to dilute their blood like that?

“Yeah, I rather keep my face where it is.” Jaden flinched a little at the thought of a horse stomping his head into the ground.

“Good. Then start from the top again. Don’t burn them this time. Or yourself,” Sabel added as an afterthought. It was a bit of a new tradition, really. She remembered that her father had been among the first generation of mystics who were sent to study at the academy in Ral Sona. Garen and she had also gone there when they were thirteen years old, just like little Jaden would do now. The least she could do for her nephew was to give him some tricks to make it easier.

“Hey, ears!” It was her interchangeable nickname for both Jaden and Lilya.

“What?” The youth stopped measuring up some finely ground herbs to frown at her. He didn’t like that name any more than his sister, which is why Sabel kept using it.

“Tell me about the fall of the second empire.” Her smirk turned into a grin. “In Sorunese.”

That pulled a long-suffering sigh from her nephew, but to his credit he began to haltingly describe the events that led up to the independence of the upper coastlands.

The chef exchanged a small smile with Instructor Tarasov, and flipped to another page in his book. The farmer’s son had challenged the evil king, and soon they would duel in front of their armies.

There was a merry tinkling noise as the glasses clinked together. Around the room was a mixed group of people, brought together by their shared interest in the world and its secrets. It had been so long since most of them had a time to sit down together like this. They were much more likely to be knee-deep in the muck of some forgotten crypt, than comfortably reclined in the parlour of a well-to-do scholar nobleman.

“Thank you for having us in your home, old friend,” Kellen said to the darkly redhaired Albander man sitting down in the big armchair next to him. Jevin was tall enough by anyone’s standards, but still came a head short compared with the large Northerner. Not that they paid much attention to that. Most of the time they had spent in each other’s company, had either been while exploring cramped ruins, or perusing old texts in equally cramped libraries.

“The pleasure is all mine, Kellen. All of you are always welcome to stop by, if you catch me at home.” Jevin’s comment drew genuine smiles and short laughs from his friends.

“If we do, we’ll be sure to remind you that you should be out there working, instead of lazying about the house!” The woman in the low-cut green dress leaned forward to put her glass down on the low Marsander styled table. Her curly hair was either a dark blonde or light brown depending on the light. She called it caramel coloured, to go with her sweet nature. Anevka’s thick accent betrayed her Kasman origin, as did her shamelessly painted lips. Looking at her today, it was hard to see the hardy explorer she would become when the call to adventure pulled her away from her class in Telasero.

Everyone in this room owed the others their lives from one time or another. Delving greedily into the depths of lost civilisations tended to bring people closer together. During the last ten or so years, Kellen had lost count on how often the sudden inspiration of Jevin or the keen eyes of Morkgha had prevented a trap or natural hazard from doing them all in. The Society of Rune Seekers were braver than any of the other traditions, not simply for their adventurous spirit, but for heading back out after every disaster. The world wouldn’t reveal itself, after all.

The half-orc sat to Kellen’s other side, sharing a couch with the last member of their group to arrive. Morkgha looked a little tired, and rubbed a temple. She was Northern enough to have spent the Founding festival in Farcrest in drunken celebration with the locals — not because of any feelings for the empire, but rather for the excuse to drink too much and sing too loud. Northern blood mixed with the Grimstone tribe made for a special relationship with liquor. How she had managed to find the strength to appear for her linguist’s workshop at the convocation every day was a testament to her unwavering passion for her work. Still, even with her dusky complexion, she looked a little pale from several days of burning the candle at both ends.

“I was afraid I’d miss you, Samaki. I had planned on leaving tomorrow,” Kellen said to the final member of their little group.

“You almost did. So many things just went wrong. Our ship to Tier was delayed. Unusual activity in the reefs again,” the thin Gionese woman blamed the weather. Her dark hair, almost black if not for the lighter, nearly blonde tips. Her hawklike nose gave her face a lot of character, making her impressive despite her slim size. “It’s a pity Samech couldn’t come this year. His wife decided this was a good time to present him with their third child.”

“Congratulations are in order! At least one of us ended up as an honest family person,” the Northman laughed. In their line of work it was a rare thing indeed. Settling down was something he hoped was in his future as well, but not for many years yet. There was still so much to see, so much to know.

“Here, here!” Jevin raised his glass in another toast. “I’ll have to bring out the good cask if good news like these keeps coming!”

“Well, you’d better send your manservant to the cellar, because I can top that!” Anevka looked especially pleased with herself. “Guess who substantiated her theory about the seasonal shallowings from Living Arcadia with solid proof? I’ve found at least two spots where the barrier all but falls every summer, possibly a third!”

Jevin stood up with a feigned serious expression, and gestured at his man to fetch better drinks. While not everyone shared the Kasman rune seeker’s interest in the fey realms, they all knew what it felt like to validate a pet project. This could mean a lot of good things for Anevka in the future.

“This calls for celebration!” Jevin exclaimed. The secret to a happy life was to simply embrace the good times and accept the bad, according to him.

“No, not more celebrations,” groaned the half-orc with a half-hearted miserable look at their host. Her last three days had been spent holding a tankard of some sort of another.

“Don’t begrudge Annie her moment, Morks,” Samaki quietly chided her colleague.

“Does that mean they’ll offer you the seat in the Telasero academy now?” Morkgha perked up a little as she turned the conversation back at the Kasman rune seeker. Anevka had been passed over for the position as lecturer in planar alignment two times now, in favour of some Talram exchange tutor. Those mountain-people, what did they know about other worlds?

“They’ll have to! Otherwise, I’ll take that mystic bitch out myself!” Anevka did a poor job of punching the air. “If they pick an outsider like her over me again, I’ll give up and become a priestess of Semat instead.”

This was not the first time the Kasman woman had threatened to give her life to the temple, despite how it doesn’t work like that. The Five Temples were open to all who sought their teachings, but only young and untrained people were accepted as initiates into the priesthood. Magicians were gently reminded that they had chosen another path in life, which was at odds with devotion required to serve the temple.

“You may want to be careful with that, though. It can be dangerous to underestimate mystics,” Kellen mentioned. Despite his first-hand experience with a particular mystic, he kept hearing stories about how powerful they could be once they decided to show their real forms. While he had never seen Jaden’s manifested form in person, Kellen had collected circumstantial evidence for over a year now. Fire magic, knowledge of Nethertongue, surprising resilience. He was reasonably sure what his friend had been hiding, especially in the light of recent revelations.

“Pshaw. The only thing I estimated with that one is her name. ‘Essime Hetagon of the Dreaming Star.’ How pretentious is that?” Anevka laughed out loud at the idea. The Kasmani weren’t that modest to begin with, but even they had their limits on what counted as in good taste.

“Hetagon? I know that name,” the blonde Northerner mused, then snapped his fingers. “The Talraman envoy! His name was Hetagon too. According to a friend of mine, that Hetagon was the general of the Lacunai army.”

“Huh. Well, that’s unfortunate,” said the caramel Kasman with a sour face. She hated when people had better political connections than her.

“Not as unfortunate as that orchestra the illume of Imesh had brought to last year’s convocation,” Jevin tactfully changed the subject to something more amusing, as his manservant brought them a couple of bottles of the good stuff. “He had them travel all the way across the steppes with their instruments, too cheap to spring for a skyship. No wonder nothing worked!”

“Oh, that was just dreadful,” the present half of the Gionese twins groaned. The birth of Samaki and Samech was a rare thing indeed. While twins were more common in their country for some reason, twins were almost never born with the spark of magic. Some theorised that the talent was split between each child, so that neither would grow up to become a magician. If that was true, then the world was probably better off with them like this. It was daunting to imagine if one of them had instead been twice as powerful.

“You should have been there, Kellen. It was one of those things you would have absolutely hated!” Anevka eagerly grabbed a fresh glass of the fine vintage offered.

“I’m sorry, my friends. I was completely tied up in Etrana last summer; otherwise I would have joined you in Telasero. I try not to miss any chance to attend a convocation.” Kellen regretted missing the opportunity, but the situation with the skinwalker had been much too important to leave for a trip across the eastern continent. “Kasmantur is very beautiful during that season, but the first city even more so.”

“She is at her best during bloom, a flower resplendent and lush; a maid a-dance with her groom, surrendering and a-blush.” Anevka burst out in a poetic depiction of her city, whether out of genuine love or one glass of wine too far.

“Delightful. Were you talking about Telasero, or yourself?” Morkgha teased her friend dryly.

“I’m no maid, and I’ve never been married!” She responded with a laugh. Anevka was proud of herself, and wore her choices without shame. “But if Kellen asked me, who knows what I’d say?”

“Oh, no. I’m not going there.” The large northerner waved his hands in front of himself. “My dear mother would freeze solid if I brought home a painted Kasman girl to knit our quilts together.”

Nothing was said with any real seriousness in mind, of course. They were just old friends, joking and having fun together. The conversation continued with what else had transpired at last year’s convocation in the first city of Kasmantur, Telasero. Just as with Olmar and Alband, Kasmantur had been a part of the second empire, but like them had also seceded after the war of independence during the decline. Though, while the two countries further up the coast had maintained a strained relationship with Etria, the seat of the empire, Kasmantur had instead adopted an attitude of gentle provocation. This always become more apparent during grand events, when the Kasman cities tried to outshine Etrana. Since the convocation and the Founding festival tended to coincide every year, there had been some spectacular fireworks and parades last year. One of the great houses of Telasero had spent a small fortune bringing in a group of sorcerers to create a breath-taking and inimitable lightshow that would forever — or, at least until next year — cement Telasero’s lead over Etrana in audaciousness. The ironic thing was, Kasmantur didn’t even really take the Founding festival that seriously. They were a separated nation, after all. They only did these things out of a national obsession with one-upping their neighbouring state and old sovereign.

Eventually, the wine and the liquor had run low. It was time for farewells, and exchanging promises that they would get together again next year in Radent. The convocation was never held in the same capital two years in a row, since that would show undue favour from a supposedly politically neutral society.

Kellen gave the women and Jevin one last hug or handshake, and then made his way back to Potter’s Square and the Old Hog inn.

Since walking around with their arms full of food the entire day would both be heavy as well as undermining their efforts to appear professional, Stann and Oleander had briefly gone back to the Old Hog to drop off their purchases. While out and looking for good deals on dried fare the redheaded Olman had also picked up on some interesting rumours surrounding Devel and Orist’s trading company, a business they knew was somehow connected with the smuggling operation out of Sorun. It appeared as if the two merchants had somehow appeared on the scene a good number of years ago, but never really carved out their own niche until recently. While nobody was sure whether Delven and Orist had some backers in higher places, it seemed unlikely that they would have been able to afford the expanded business they ran today out of their previous doubtful success. It begged a number of questions.

One storeowner on woodworker’s way, a road that ran the border between the market and the craftsmen’s district, was quite eager to offer them her selection of beautiful songwood workmanship. A frame that would look absolutely wonderful around a mirror, or a paining perhaps, together with the soft, soft music coming from within the wood? A cradle that would gently lullaby the sleeping baby? Maybe a comb that hummed as you ran it through your hair?

When Stann asked who was supplying the enchanted wood for her products, the owner only happily shared that she was able to provide the affordable prices she currently was due to the latest shipments coming to one of the local trading companies. Why, it wasn’t even that far from the market district, in fact. Oleander exchanged a long look with the Northman, and added it to their list. Songwood was very expensive, to the point where it was often cheaper to buy something in silver or the finest steel. Handling it in any large amount would require significant wealth.

Like any large city, Farcrest was a place where many layers of society collided. Rich and poor, law abiding and… otherwise. While it was not as clearly segregated as one would find in the great metropolises like Tier, or Etrana, even the ever-sensible Albander had a divide between the classes. Though most of the working men and women of the city managed to get by reasonably well, there were always those at the very bottom who had to eke out their living any way they could.

Word had gotten around about what Oleander had done for the orphanage. A good deed sometimes travelled swifter than a ray of light. The lowlifes of the city might be lawless, but they weren’t heartless. She had won some favour among those of the street by giving the children a happy festival and stopping the beating of one of the girls. When she came asking about what some of them knew about any outsiders moving strange goods in their neighbourhood, she received unexpected help. While taking a shortcut in chasing down another lead, a ruffled-looking fellow had waved at them, claiming to have seen some curious transports the other week.

“Aye, I saw it meself, I did.” The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after finishing his bottle of lunch. The suspenders hung unevenly, and his hair looked dirty and wild enough to pass as a bird’s nest.

“The cages?” Oleander attempted to clarify. She had dealt with daydrinkers like this man her entire life, and sometimes they needed to be prodded a bit.

“S’was a wagonload of the stuff, making chirping and squeaking noises like someone trying to wear a live embergrouse as a hat.” The man hiccupped a bit, and sat down heavily on a cracked and abandoned barrel.

“Did you get a good look at anyone receiving the cargo?” Stann had more than his share of experience with pulling stories out of merry clansmen, as well. Though, usually he was on their level while doing so.

“He had a truly vigorous moustache, and them sideburns almost down to his jowls. Beady eyes, that one, but dressed fine enough to show up an arti… arresto… a noble. That kind of man doesn’t shine his own boots, no sir.”

Stann looked at the redhead who nodded. That fitted what she remembered from seeing Orist. As unreliable as this man seemed to be, at least they had a witness of the two merchants actually dealing with the creatures directly. Everything else had been circumstantial, up to and including the merchants meeting with the strange pair in their back room at the trading company. Rhyce had claimed those two were mystics, which only made the whole thing more of a mess than it already was.

“Explain again why we’re not doing the same thing with this trading company as we did with the Huskers back in Tier? Sneak inside and toss the place? Fire optional,” Oleander asked her big Northern friend as they had left the drunkard with a few coins to be unwisely spent.

“Rena laid it out pretty clearly this morning, Red. We cut off this arm, and the head back in the elven forest will just find another one to use. We can either run around stamping out fires, or we can go after the source directly,” Stann said with certainty. It was often easy to mistake him for the simple brawler, especially next to his cousin, but the blonde man had just as much of a head on his shoulders as the rest of them.

“Are you channelling Kel right now, Bear?” The redhead teased her friend, bumping into him as they walked.

“Of course! We must overcome the obstacle by using our minds, and small rocks with tiny script on them,” Stann puffed himself up and made a twirling gesture at his too-short moustache, reminiscent of his cousin’s habit while pondering matters.

“Actually, I think I still have one of those. Kel lent me one for summoning rainclouds,” Oleander patted the many hidden pockets sewn into her clothes. A girl could never have too many places to squirrel away her shinies, after all.

“Is that why we’ve been rained on all day? Why would you do that to us?” The Northern warrior glared at the small woman by his side.

The unlikely pair disappeared into the midday crowds, but the sound of their argument turned many heads as they passed.

Arim had lived in Alband his entire life. While he had on occasion visited Tier as a young boy, he wanted to go there again for no other reason than seeing it. Both times before had only offered a brief sight of the golden towers before the doors to whatever social function his family was attending closed out the rest of the world. While eating the lunch his cook had prepared, Arim entertained his lovely guest with his dreams of seeing Etrana, or even Charndion. He was toying with the idea of going there by skyship as a gift to himself at his thirtieth birthday, in a few years’ time.

“I would love to show you some of the wonderful things Tier has to offer, but my duties are keeping me much too busy at the moment,” Mirena said as they stood up from the table to move into the parlour.

“A familiar concept. Being of our station comes with all manner of responsibilities. I would hate to have been the heir to the family, or of a higher house. So much work.” There was a kindred spirit inside the kind-eyed Albander nobleman. Both of them had known a life where the obligations toward the family kept you from pursuing your own happiness. As a nobleman mostly in name only, Arim was fully expected to either play the part of the good courtier, or marry into wealth for the sake of his house. Something Mirena sympathised with only too well.

“The lunch was lovely, thank you, Arim,” she said, as they sat down in the same room where they had begun talking the other day.

A lot of documents, charts and maps laid spread out across the low table. Old things that showed the layout of the great Albar woods to the west, or business arrangements giving ideas on what was involved in moving something from Olmar to Alband. As expected many of them mentioned Carrick Field as where cargo was moved across the border.

“I can only apologise for not being able to offer anything more sophisticated at such short notice. I rarely treat guests of such standing as you at my home.” Arim took two glasses from his manservant’s tray, who then discreetly excused himself to give them privacy. With a small flourish, Arim offered one of the glasses to his guest.

“You flatter me. Remember, I’m no noble, just a merchant’s daughter. Also, compared to traveling fare, field rations, festival fried food, or what our good keeper serves us back at the Old Hog, this was a feast fit for any king.” Mirena sipped the wine, pausing at the surprising sweetness. Years of being brought along to parties to be shown to potential suitors allowed her to recognise a nice Etrian vintage. Not the best she’s had, but a welcome change from the more bitter types the northern coastlands seemed to favour.

“Ah yes, the Hog,” Arim suppressed a shudder out of respect for his guest. “Again, you deserve much better than that. I’m sure I could arrange something for you. I have some friends in the business, after all, and there’s a very reputable hotel merely a few streets from here!”

“That’s a very generous offer, and one I would have been sorely tempted to accept,” Mirena sighed a little. While the temple had worked most traces of the spoiled child out of her, some parts of her still longed for the feather mattresses of the Kaladon manor back home in Tier.

“However..?” The young nobleman paid enough attention to catch the words unspoken.

“My friends and I are due to depart come the morning. I’m afraid this will be my last day in Farcrest for the foreseeable future.” She smiled in apology.

“You know, we’ve been discussing old caravan routes, looking at even older maps, and the gods know what else… but I still don’t really know what it is you and your friends do?” Arim shrugged a little, swirling the remaining sweet dessert wine around in his glass. “I only met one of them so far. The elven girl, Jade, was it?”

“I suppose you could say that they’re technically working for me,” Mirena mused. Their relationship was a little complicated. To be able to go around doing what they did without incurring the wrath of the local constabulary, she had been forced to call upon some of the more obscure protocols of the Five Temples. “They’re registered custos in support of my mission as a paladin-errant.”

Arim almost choked on the wine. His eyes had gone wide as he pressed a ready handkerchief to his mouth. When he regained his composure, he placed the half-full glass on the table next to where Mirena had put her own.

“Does this surprise you?” The knight couldn’t help asking the obvious question, with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Well! I… yes. Yes it does, my lady. From what I've heard, priestesses are all austere and grim, ignoring the world outside their temples." Arim dabbed the corners of his mouth again. He looked adorable with that blush on his cheeks.

"Really? That may be true for some, but most of us are just people." Mirena was used to the preconceptions many had of her order. After all, what kind of people spent their entire lives in service of an absolute concept without it rubbing off on them?

"Never have I been so happy to be proven wrong." He leaned back in the couch, chuckling at his own reaction.

"Is that so?" Mirena had spent a good part of the morning arranging her hair artfully for this meeting. The chestnut waves framed her face very attractively.

"Very much so, my lady. You turn all my expectations on their heads." Arim had turned a little so that he faced her more directly.

"Why, one could assume certain things from words like that."

"Maybe? Would you like me to stop?"

"I..." The Tierin woman looked wistfully at the two glasses on the table, standing so close together that were they to reach for them at the same time, their hands would inevitably touch. The knight had a duty toward her friends, and their current mission. "I think we should focus on the task at hand."

"As you wish. I'm sorry if I was too forward." Arim straightened in his seat, mentally donning the Albander sense of propriety again.

"No, that's alright, Arim. Under other circumstances..."

"Then I hope we can meet under those circumstances some time. Maybe that tour of Tier?" The nobleman spoke with hopefulness.

"I'd like that." Mirena pushed away the ideas of where she would take this man, when the opportunity came around.

"Then, let us get on with this business to hasten that day, shall we?"

"What are we going to tell the others?" Jaden asked, as they passed through Potter's Square on their way to the Old Hog. While most of the actual sale of pottery had moved to the market district, there were still one or two people putting their wares on display. Maybe it was due to a sense of tradition, or because the street passing through this part of the craftsmen's district led directly towards the more commercial parts of the city.

"Same as before," Rhyce seemed more interested in the rooftops than the people they passed as they walked onwards.

"'Little as we can, much as we want'? I'm not even sure how to begin to explain it." She mumbled to herself.

After walking in silence for a while, Jaden noticed that Rhyce kept glancing at her. While the borderlander kept a watchful eye on almost everything at once, his eyes always seemed to return to her. She couldn’t be sure whether it was him checking up on her, or if she just had something on her face. He would tell her if she had, wouldn’t he?

"What? Rhyce, please don't get weirded out by my manifesting. I thought I had to grab you and fly away." Jaden tried to keep the whining out of her voice. Almost all of her friends had given her that hesitant look this morning. Only the archer had treated her normally so far. Well, normal for Rhyce.

"Not that. Something he said, before he fell apart." Was that a pun? From Rhyce?

"Uh..." Jaden tried to think back. Nerak had been absolutely livid and shouting all kinds of things. A part of her was already scrambling to contain any potentially compromising Lacunai secrets that may have been spilled.

"He mentioned a lich."

"Oh."

Rhyce merely walked in silence, waiting for Jaden to take her time. Time to give him an answer, or to sell him a lie.

"Rhyce... it's not like that. It was just a misunderstanding. I don't work for anyone." That wasn't necessarily the truth, since she now reported to Master Hetagon. The ring on a ribbon nestled between her breasts was a symbol of her new promise. "I just dropped in on some kind of deal between the smugglers and the... a magician. There was some confusion and fighting."

"Lot of that lately," the archer observed.

"Tell me about it." Sometimes it felt like all she ever did was fight. If it wasn’t fighting other people, it was fighting herself. She was so tired of fighting herself.

When they returned to the Old Hog, they were the first ones back to stay. The keeper had grudgingly let them know that some of their friends had been by earlier, briefly, before heading out again. The dwarf set down some fresh mugs on the table with a clatter and scowled at Jaden.

"That, an' one of yuir elven friends came here, esking fer ye lot," the stocky fellow grumbled. Turgar had made no secret of how he felt about elves in general. "Oi don' need more o' yuir kind here, mind."

"Do you think it was that woman the cousins ran into the other evening?" The black-haired mystic looked at her friend for his opinion.

"Likely." Rhyce turned to the keeper, who was looking at them with suspicion clear on his face. "Was it a blonde and pale woman?"

"Aye. Like a ghost bearing sad tidings." Turgar made a face as if he had bitten into something particularly sour.

"Why? Did she mention anything that had happened, something bad?" Jaden asked with worry in her voice. She didn’t need any more troubles right now.

"Tha' she was t' come back. Bad enough in me book with one of ye around. Don't want ye elfing up me business."

"I told you, I'm not-"

"Alright. Thank you, keeper." Rhyce nodded at the dwarf, and brought Jaden to the side. "Might have some time before the others return. How much do you want to share?"

"I..." Jaden paused, momentarily moved by the faith the archer had in her. He seemed willing to trust her judgement, even when she didn't truly trust in herself. "No more lies, Rhyce. Let's not hide things from our friends, please."

"Right." Rhyce didn't show whether he approved of her decision to be honest with the others or not. He just accepted the situation, and moved on. The borderlander began to head toward their rooms.

"Wait, Rhyce. I... I just wanted to say thank you. For everything today. For when you found me in the streets the other day." Jaden sought the eyes of her friend, who had stopped when she began talking. They were safely out of sight from the main room where some of the usual patrons were drinking the day away.

"Would've done it for any of you," he replied, but something in his voice sounded off, an almost noticeable urgency.

"There's something else, isn't there? I know anyone of us would stand up to protect one another, but... I don't know. The way you offered to challenge Master Hetagon, stepped in front of Nerak's void elemental..." She moved closer to the borderlander as if to hear his feelings better. Redwall had changed them both. Rhyce met her approach with an even stare, but she could see the subtle differences from his normal stony facade.

"You took something from me when you saved me from that shed," he said softly. They both remembered what had happened back at the Tassard's mansion, what had been done to the archer. The knives, the brands, the blood.

"What?" Jaden whispered. Her heart turned into a knot. She hadn't considered how her actions might have hurt her friend, somehow. Jaden had only done what she felt she had to, to save Rhyce after Amucia had commanded her servants to take his life.

"You took my pain." Rhyce turned away and put a hand on the wall. "Sometimes I miss it."

"I... I'm sorry." She didn't know what to say. What could you say to something like that?

"Don't be. Your fire burned many things that night. I was just one of those. But fire doesn't always hurt. Sometimes it warms."

Jaden felt tears start down her face. She had no idea. She pulled the leather jacket closer around herself, reminded that she had torn apart her clothes again.

"I should go change." She all but ran around the archer, into the room she shared with Stann.

It was odd, the things you noticed when you were upset. For some reason, the large basket of sausages on the Northman's bed seemed so out of place it was almost funny. Maybe it was the decorative bowtie around some of them that pushed her over the edge. Several emotions struggled inside of her, all trying to break free at once. She sank down on her own bed, shaking with conflict. Why was she feeling so much?

Rhyce watched the door for a while. From the rooftop across the street, he had a bird's eye vantage that told him how the black-haired mystic was doing. He wasn't one to doubt himself much. He had left judgement to others he trusted with that sort of thing, but sometimes he allowed himself to wonder. What had been done, had been done. The present was heavy enough for any person without looking for more burdens in the past.

No, he had a role here. A duty, even. As one Rhyce had died at the hands of the demonspawn in that shed, another Rhyce had been delivered into the light by the mercy of a princess of fire. The emptiness left behind by the pain was slowly being replaced by forgiveness.

Rhyce looked down on his left hand, the palm scarred by the thorns each time he gripped his bow to take a life. When the last of his pain was gone, would he still be able to kill? Would forgiving himself also mean forgiving his enemies?

Rhyce didn't doubt himself, but sometimes he wondered.

He rested his back against the wall, and closed his eyes for just a moment. It was time to remind himself once more why he was fighting. Remember the names. Remember the faces.

A Room in Farcrest

She didn't know how much time had passed. Memories and feelings were all out of sequence. Nothing made sense. Ever since the...

Veranna rolled over on her side, causing the blue streaked hair to fall down into her face. There was a dull pounding. Was it inside her, or was it real? She pushed herself up a little, and immediately regretted the decision. It made the room tilt sharply to the side. There was nothing inside of her to hold her world steady, anymore.

She slowly opened her eyes again. Was she alone? Nerak had been coming and going a lot, saying things like 'it was going to be alright' or that he was 'going to fix things'. He never stayed to talk. There was nobody in the room. Not even her, really. She was more than alone. Hollow.

The pounding was louder. The door swung open, allowing two people inside, and another one who remained in the outer hall. Veranna managed to fix her eyes on the closest. One of them, one of them..!

"What a sad state you're in, Ilduste," said the black-haired woman with the yellow tabard, as she crossed the room. Her face showed annoyance, or disgust.

"Take her. Let the philosophers back on the mountain see what they can pull from her." The man who waited outside spoke of her fate, hardly deigning to look her way. Like so many back home, Veranna had idolised that man.

"Yes, my lord," the woman with pointed ears nodded, and then turned to the third member of the group. "You. Grab her legs."

Veranna tried to fight them off, but she was too weak. She had nothing left except emptiness. They dragged her out of the home she had made for Nerak and herself. It had been theirs. The last of it she saw was the vase of wildflowers that got knocked over, dripping water down on the floor. It would leave a stain.

"And there was no sign of the other one?" The winged mystic asked the two protectors who had followed him when he had left the mountain.

"I heard about a commotion at the convocation, shortly after you left, my lord," said one of them.

"Tarasov. You were there as well. What did you see?"

"No sign of Taseno. If he was there, he managed to sneak past us somehow. The altercation was the usual posturing between two sorcerer houses." The stony-eyed woman made a gesture with a hand, letting the other two know how she felt about sorcerers.

"Very well." Alam Hetagon turned back to the first mystic. "Continue keeping an eye on events here in Alband, reporting back as usual. Get in touch with us immediately if Nerak Taseno resurfaces."

Lilya watched her commanding officer and colleague walk ahead while they went over operational details. She squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a mild headache coming on. The things she did for her brother.

Somewhere outside Carrick Field

The sun had set over the small cottage at the outer edges of the town. It sat at that awkward distance where nobody was quite sure whether it was actually a part of the community, or a forgotten homestead from a time before the town had expanded its way.

It was a humble place. Old and solid rather than the decorative and open design that had become popular during the later generations. Thatched roof and whole timber walls kept the drizzle of rain out. The rain had blown in from the coast, traveling across the country since dawn to reach this place.

A woman peered out through the single window, hugging a wool shawl around herself. It was a constant reminder to her of the things she had been forced to leave behind, the things they had to sell or get rid of to hide here. Surely it was better than death at the hands of the unwashed masses, but she deeply resented having to live this way.

“Close the shutters, Juliss! You’re letting in the wind.” The man in equally unassuming farmer’s clothes complained. It was warm enough during the summer, but the stiff breeze flipped through the pages of his book, one of the few prized possessions he managed to keep.

“I think I see someone coming,” she turned to her husband only for a moment, but when she looked back the figure she had spotted on the meadow was gone. It was too dark to see clearly anyway.

“It’s probably just a farmhand leaving town for the evening. Drink and work. That’s all they do.” Ariken waved dismissively as he tried to find the passage he had been reading.

The baron had barely finished talking as there came as heavy knocking on their door. It almost felt like it shook the entire cottage. Ariken and Juliss Tassard felt it in their very bones.

“Who is it?” Ariken hissed. He had instinctively hunched down in the chair.

“I can’t see. What do we do?” The baroness whispered back, trying to peek out of the small window.
The wind grew stronger, making Juliss cover her face. At the same moment, the door suddenly blew open sending in leaves and turning over the rickety hatstand. The tall figure at the threshold simply watched them crouching on the floor, simple disdain clear in his eyes.

“Grand Harvester!” Ariken scrambled to his feet at the same time as his wife pushed herself up as well.

Their uninvited guest pushed the door shut with a bony hand, and the room suddenly became as still as a sepulchre. It even felt colder. Despite the strong winds, the tall, old man looked almost unaffected. His grey hair was smooth, and his robes unwrinkled. It was as if he wasn’t truly here at all, but only an apparition. As he took a step into the centre of the room, the moment passed. The reality of the situation bore down on the Tassards.

“It is… good, yes, good to see you! We heard such rumours out of Tier. Fighting. Battle. Is it true?” Juliss straightened herself as best as she could, making herself presentable in her simple clothes.

“The Tier faction has fallen, yes,” Jeddhar spoke with that too-dry voice of his. It was like he was dying of thirst. The tall Olman man looked around the single room of the cottage. “Matters were strained in Farcrest as well.”

“We had… ill fortune at home. We had to abandon Redwall,” Baron Tassard clenched his hands. Those… people. He invited them into his house. He fed them. Then they killed all his servants. Killed his daughter!

"If you are here alone, then where did Amucia go?" The nethermancer asked the obvious question. The Tassards would not willingly part with their patron.

"The Mistress, she... They killed her, Grand Harvester." Juliss wringed her hands and looked at the floor.

"They killed Amucia?" Jeddhar almost sounded surprised, as much as his painfully dry voice could deliver. The demon must have had weeks or months to feed on that village, if not more. She would have been absolutely bloated with power. "Who did this?"

"It was a Drigorii handmaiden, and strangely enough a paladin with an errant's sword." Ariken would never forget what he had seen, when the unlikely women had stormed into his Mistress’ chamber that night.

"Don't forget the Northmen,” the baroness added. There had been others, but they weren’t important, she felt. Who cared about some untamed borderlander, or a simple Olman girl?

Jeddhar’s face grew even harder, if that was possible. His eyes were on the fire burning in the small hearth. He seemed to see something in those flames that the other two couldn’t. The nethermancer didn't believe in coincidences, especially not at this scale. It could only mean one thing.

"I see. If I hadn't met that particular group already, I would have flayed you alive for telling such an outrageous lie."

"It's true, Grand Harvester! On my honour!" Ariken stood up to his full height. He had done many things in his life. Many… questionable things. But he always kept his word, and he always held himself to the standards to which he believed a nobleman should strive.

"That changes things. I had hoped to use the two of you to perform a rite of gathering." Without his phylactery Jeddhar was too dependent on his living receptacles. But nethermancy was a hungry tradition, always demanding sacrifice. He believed in not wasting your resources unless you had to, and with his stolen magic running low he needed to regain his strength somehow.

"Without the Mistress, neither of us can be your ritus attendant," the baron's wife lamented. When Amucia fell, their source of power had dried up. It was only through the demon they could work magic.

"I know." The nethermancer considered the alternatives. He could drain these two. They had worked with him before. They had touched the phylactery, and by doing so unwittingly became bonded to it. But that would be wasteful. They were skilled ritualists, in their own way.

"But you could help us call for a new patron, yes? We could receive the dark blessing anew?" There was a pleading in the baroness’ voice. The power was addictive. Losing it created a craving that could not be sated.

“I could do that for you, yes.” Jeddhar could see the possibilities in this. The Tassards were desperate enough to do whatever he asked of them. “But first you need to bring me two things. A blood sacrifice, just like before. Also, an idol locked away in the temple of Kuros, in Rosehaven.”

“Of course. Anything you require, Grand Harvester.” Ariken considered a number of different plans for a moment. Reaching a conclusion, he strode over to the fallen hatstand and grabbed his overcoat. “I know just how to go about it was well.”

"Just in case," Jeddhar stopped the baron with his voice alone. "Here is an insurance policy."

Ariken accepted a small bundle gingerly, putting it into his coat pocket. He had seen markings like those before in the books. Hopefully it would not come to that, but it was better to be prepared. Always have a back-up plan.

Baron Ariken Tassard grabbed the horses they had fled on that night two weeks ago. It had felt like an eternity, but now he would take the first steps in regaining all they had lost.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Intent on getting to the source of whomever is behind the trafficking of magical creatures, Jaden and her friends set out from the city of Farcrest with a far destination in mind - the capital of the elven nation, Ral Sona, deep inside the wildlands. Along the road they pick up another travelling companion that will make their journey more interesting.

Flashback: Rhyce returns home despite the consequences, and makes a discovery that put his life on a new path

---

Chapter 22: Hope and Rain

RHYCE

He immediately felt cold when he stepped into the familiar house, despite having ridden hard for days. There was something missing in the air. No laughter. No smells of flowers or food. It was funny, the details he noticed at a time like this. Nobody had dusted the shelves. The sound of him pushing the door open brought a man out of one of the bedchamber to meet him before he had made it half way through their main room.

“Rhyce! What are you doing here?” The big-shouldered, honest man had shock and surprise on his freckled face.

“I got your letter, Davon. I had to come.”

“But then you know there’s nothing to do. It’s the white fever. You’re… too late.”

“Let me see my son!” Rhyce began to head for the bedchambers.

“Rhyce!” His neighbour stepped up and grabbed the archer by the shoulder. “Rhyce. It’s too late. Milene is still holding on, but she doesn’t have long. She didn’t want to let go until she could hear you again.”

Rhyce pushed past the other man, and saw the two doors in the back. One was slightly ajar, the other was closed. He rested his hand on the closed door for a moment, and then looked through the open one. Next to the bed knelt Kindra, her honey blonde hair braided back from her face as she dabbed Milene’s face with a damp cloth. Milene was so pale, like a sheet, breath coming in shallow gasps.

His neighbour’s wife looked up with sad eyes, but made room for him to take her place. Rhyce held the clammy, fragile hand of Milene between his own, gently stroking the back of her hand with a thumb.

“Milene? Love, I’m home. I’m home now.”

“Rhyce? My heart, is it really you?” Her eyes were blank and cloudy. The fever stole sight first, before it took warmth and finally life.

“I’m here.”

“They wouldn’t tell me how our Tivan is doing. He is well, isn’t he?” Her voice was so frail, barely a whisper past those pale lips.

“Tivan is…” Rhyce bit back a sob, looking at the closed door across the hall. He had to be strong. “Our son is fine, love. He’s just resting.”

“I was so worried,” Milene breathed. “Too young to be taken from us.”

The archer didn’t trust himself to speak, but instead just held her hand to his cheek as he fought the tears.

“Will you take care of my birds, my heart?”

There weren’t many magicians in the borderlands. Most with the gift went to the cities to train and study with the academies or masters of the arcane arts, but Milene was a borderlander born and raised. Her heart belonged to the hills and valleys at the edges of the lands of man, free from the rule of kings or grands. As an untrained magician, an ashar, she was content with the lesser talent she had developed spontaneously. It was a little thing, talking to the birds and animals, but it made her a skilled and beloved herbalist healer for the farms in the valley. She had formed an especially close bond with a pair of Shelmot crows that followed her everywhere.

“I will,” Rhyce vowed, holding onto her as if he could keep her from slipping away.

Suddenly, Milene tensed as a warmth flowed through her into her husband. Even though death would take her today, she willed a part of herself to stay behind. With a final effort she surrendered her gift to the love of her life.

“Milene?” Rhyce felt the change, as his wife let go. Her final breath a whisper of love from beyond the grave. “… Milene?”

Footsteps stopped behind him, and a hand against his shoulder interrupted his grieving.

“Rhyce. Riders are coming. They are wearing the colours of the guard.” Davon sounded worried. “How did you get here? Your next leave isn’t for many months yet.”

“I did what I had to do, Davon. They wouldn’t listen when I requested permission to go home for personal reasons.” The archer remembered how his commanding officer had dismissed him out of hand. He remembered breaking the man’s nose immediately afterwards. Leaving the camp had required crippling two of his former comrades in arms. Of course they were coming for him.

“You deserted? Rhyce, they’ll hang you for that. You need to go. Now!”

“I can’t leave just leave them.” The archer refused to abandon his family again.

“They wouldn’t want you to die! I’ll… take care of everything. You’ll see. Come back when things settle down a little. Just give it a few years,” Davon glanced towards the window again. “You have to go.”

“There’s nowhere for me to go, not anymore,” Rhyce’s mind was moving too slow. It was like trying to find the way home in a thick fog.

“The forest, then. Nobody would dare follow you into the wildlands. You’re good enough a huntsman to survive there.” His neighbour pulled him to his feet, and shoved him towards the back door. As the light of the sun struck his eyes, he saw the old chestnut tree that grew behind the house. Milene had sat there so many times with Tivan, when their son had been but a baby, singing to him and the animals that would gather around.

Rhyce looked back once more towards the house he had built with his own hands.

“I will come home, Tivan. I just need to find the way first,” he promised as he sat up on Davon’s horse.

As he galloped away from the homestead with the chestnut tree, a pair of black birds swept down to follow him, their wings beating a funeral march for the ones he left behind.

Sounds drifted up from the common room of the Old Hog, but they were faint enough that only someone with keen hearing could pick out anything but an impression of merriment. Rhyce didn’t pay the background noise that much attention; his mind was in another place, another time. The faint creak from the stairs brought him back to the present, and his hand was halfway to his quiver before he saw who it was. Many things had happened these last days that made him feel as if his foundation was slowly crumbling under his feet. He had spent the years since his time with the army, and later with Enold’s gang, rebuilding his world. But it was a place made out of hate and loss. There had been too much light for a place like that to thrive. Now, the previously dead ground was cracking as leaves of all but forgotten green was growing back in. Hope felt strange after all this time.

“Did something happen?” The knight who had offered him a second chance those years ago reached the top of the stairs, her brown hair free from the braid she usually kept it in when they were on the road.

“Ran into trouble. Sorted it.” Rhyce met Mirena’s eyes, delivering his report with more than mere words. “Jaden switched forms during. Is in his room now.”

“Is s- he alright?” Mirena had never seen Jaden change before her eyes. In over a year of traveling with the mystic, he had always found some excuse not to use the best known ability of his tradition. If Jaden had felt it necessary to break that personal rule today, things must have been dire indeed.

“We had help. His sister is… strong.” The archer vividly remembered their opponent turning to stone before their eyes, and then how the basilisk mystic had coldheartedly destroyed any trace by shattering the statue. He could respect that sort of determination.

“Alright. Let me know if there’s anything else,” the brown-haired woman straightened as she stood by the door, and absentmindedly brushed her hair back before she knocked on the door. She rested a hand on the door handle. "Jaden? It’s Mirena. May I enter?"

Instead of answering, the door was opened for her. The mystic looked miserable, with her black hair slightly dishevelled and wearing the borderlander’s studded leather jerkin with the hood down. It looked too big on her, with the sleeves hanging empty as she was holding it close with her hands from inside. Jaden stepped aside to allow Mirena inside, and in the better lighting of the room the knight could see that her friend’s face was a little streaked and blotchy.

"Have you been crying?" Mirena reached out to brush some black strands away from the mystic’s face.

"Not as much today, but yeah. I... I don't know why. It just keeps happening lately." With a heavy sigh, Jaden plopped down on one of the beds. Both beds were equally messy, and at a glance it was hard to tell which belonged to the Northern warrior or the mystic.

"That's alright. It's okay to feel, Jaden." The knight sat down next to Jaden.

"It's just that these last few days have made my insides feel as if I've tumbled down a steep hill. Why is this happening?"

"Is that so? Hmm." Mirena gave her friend a speculative look. "I can think of some reasons for that. Did your clothes break again?"

Jaden shifted a little, and allowed the jacket to show some of her shoulders. Only a thin portion of fabric remained around her neck, with the back a mess of shreds. It would probably not remain covering her front without the bodice keeping the cloth together.

"It's my wings. They rip apart anything I wear on my upper body when I manifest them." Jaden realised that she had been forced to assume her spirit’s form more often this last month, than she had in the last couple of years. Again, the unnatural speed of the drift shocked her. Before Tier, the changes had been possible to hide with clothing. Now, though…

"Well, Rhyce will want his jacket back, so we're going to have to find some way of managing." Mirena plucked at the leather jerkin a bit. It was clearly armour, not casualwear. The studs, the reinforced areas, even the smell spoke of combat.

"Ugh. As long as we won't have to go back to that dressmaker again..." Jaden slumped down a little, remembering the embarrassment of being fitted for her bodice. It was but luck that her wings had spared it, emerging from just below her shoulder blades.

"We'll see. Have you eaten?" The knight changed the subject smoothly. One challenge at a time.

"No, I - I mean, Rhyce and I, we were... interrupted."

"Yes, he told me about that. We'll have to talk more about that as well, but not right now."
Mirena sat down next to Jaden and began wiping her friend's face with a peach coloured lace kerchief she kept on hand. "First thing is to get some food into you. It's almost three o'clock, and you've not had anything since breakfast."

"You're being a mother hen again, Rena." Jaden complained good-naturedly, but still allowed herself to be cleaned up.

"Well, if you're not going to take care of yourself, I clearly have to." Mirena chided with a smile while finishing up her handiwork. She couldn’t resist running her hands a few times through that glossy black hair; shape it into something that belonged on a lady instead of a scarecrow.

"Sorry." The mystic looked down on her lap.

"That's alright. Now, take off those shreds and try out that jasmine blouse you got yesterday. It'll have to do until we get you sorted out." Mirena stood back up, and turned to the side. She wasn’t completely turned away from her friend, but also wasn’t looking directly at her while Jaden was changing.

"I guess I'm lucky that my manifested form is humanoid, at least. More or less. Lilya must end up naked every time when she shifts back," Jaden smiled wryly, as she slipped out of the leather jacket and peeled off the ruined clothes. Now they were just more expensive cleaning rags, added to a growing collection.

"The small blessings are rays of light on a cloudy day." The knight reminded the mystic with a small smile on her lips. She usually left this duty to Rhyce, but since it was just them in here, she would bear the burden of wise sayings.

"That's such a priestly thing to say, Rena."

"Indeed. Now, don't make me button up your blouse for you, too."

"I can manage, thank you." Jaden swiftly did up the buttons, not thinking twice about how they sat opposite from what she was used to. Her fingers moved by themselves.

The book looked small in the Northman’s hands, fragile sheets bound to supple leather worn smooth with age and use. Kellen didn’t mind the loud common room, with people drinking and talking, coming and going. Growing up with a love of books in Strom, you learned early to shut out the clatter of mugs, bawdy songs and ruckus of the settling of some disagreement that made up the background noise in the longhouses. A big finger carefully flipped a page, and traced the scrawled script that spoke of the time of the first empire, back on the old continent. A time before the war that broke up the greatest civilisation the world had seen, sundered the kingdoms of men, and forced the great diaspora that eventually led the last people of the empire to the coastlands. The book told the story of how the children of the first empire became the founders of the second one, with the rise of the previous dynasty in Etria. Now, of course, it was the Sartekhs that held the grand throne in Etrana. When they too eventually would lose their grip of the great city, the last vestiges of the empire would also pass into memory. Kellen couldn’t help but wonder what such a change would do to the world he knew. Etria, for all its faults, served as a stabilising factor among the coastlands. While the Northern Lands would welcome the collapse of the lingering imperial rule, and take the opportunity to expand again, the rune seeker wasn’t sure that would be for the greater good of all. No, tradition and structure was important. Then again, Kellen didn’t share a lot of the values held in high regard among his clansmen.

A chair scraped against the floorboards as someone plopped down at his table. No matter how full the Old Hog got, he had been allowed to sit by himself thus far, which meant it was one of his friends. Since he knew for a fact that three of them were upstairs, that left only his cousin, and the little fox. Stann would have sat down next to him, which left only one option.

“Hello, Oleander,” he said, not taking his eyes off the pages.

“How did you know it was me?” The Olman girl wondered, speaking loud enough to make herself heard over the din of the common room.

“Magic, of course,” Kellen joked.

Before the redhead could reply, the door to the inn got pushed open by the boot of Stann. The warrior struggled with a burden of several heavy sacks and baskets.

“Hey, Red! Come on, now!” Stann’s voice was muffled by a large bag of potatoes wedged partially underneath his chin.

“Shut your gob, Bear! You said you’d carry everything if I told you about what I had seen!” Oleander shot back, leaning lazily into her chair.

“At least hold the door open, will you?”

“No, never!” The redhead immediately refused.

The dwarven innkeeper swatted his way with his apron through the patrons and pushed the door shut after the Northman had struggled into the inn. Thick eyebrows pulled together in a deeper frown than usual. Turgar didn’t like keeping his door open. It let the ambience out, he said.

Stann had only made it a couple of steps up the stairs, before he backed down to allow Mirena and Jaden to get past him and his bundles. Instead of her vaguely Marsander outfit of this morning, the mystic had changed into a pale yellow shirt. Kellen still couldn’t believe how much different their elfish friend looked with her hair left down around her shoulders, and the change of attire. Focusing on her face, the changes really were quite subtle, but the whole gave an unmistakably feminine impression. There was really no doubt about it at all.

“Hey Jay! Hi Rena,” Oleander greeted their friends. “Come sit. I saved us a table.”

Kellen didn’t comment, but instead just turned another page.

“I’ll go order some food for you, Jaden,” Mirena said, as the mystic sat down with the redhead.

“You don’t have to do that, Rena,” Jaden protested.

“It’s no bother.”

“No, seriously. I don’t want to eat the food here. Those bread… pork… things Keeper Baradum makes? They’re horrible.” The black-haired mystic waved her hands in an emphatic rejection. “I promise, as soon as things calm down a little, I’ll go to that tavern up the street a way. They serve really good soup.”

While Stann was upstairs, sorting out the goods from their provisioning trip with help from Rhyce, the rest remained down in the common room. Eventually the conversation turned to clothes, which caused the rune seeker to return to the refuge of his book.

"Okay, that's it! It's getting ridiculous destroying my clothes all the time! I need to get a shirt of the same design as Master Hetagon's." Jaden complained with groan as she told her friends about what had happened during the fight earlier that day.

"What's that?" Oleander tried to remember if she had seen anything when she was introduced to the winged man at the wizard’s hobnobbing a few days ago.

"It has, like slits in the back,” the black-haired mystic ran a finger along the Olman girl’s back below her shoulders. It felt strange touching other people freely again. She had avoided contact for so long; afraid someone would see the secret she kept hidden.

"Would that help with wings suddenly appearing? I can see how it would work if you dressed yourself around the wings, but not if they just show up." Mirena attempted to imagine her friend suddenly growing a pair of wings. She had gotten a glance at the strange things when they had bumped into each other back in Redwall, after the demon had been dealt with. The wings were surprisingly large, with the tips almost touching the ground when they were folded.

"Ugh. I'm just getting tired of being half naked in public." Jaden hid her face with her hands, as if everyone in the common room had gotten the same show as Rhyce and Lilya.

"Can I see them now?" Oleander leaned closer and peered at the mystic’s back, as if she could see what wasn’t there. The noise around them was loud enough that they didn’t fear being overheard when talking about such things.

"No." Jaden shook her head.

"Cheapskate."

"What about a backless top, like some of the Kasmani gowns I've seen in Tier?" Mirena tried to steer the conversation back to clothes, and a solution. While she wouldn’t want to wear such a revealing garment herself, it was a reasonable way to go about their problem.

"Won't that be very cold?" Jaden had grown up in the mountains, and was no stranger to cold. But as a saying went, you should dress for the weather. Summer wouldn’t last forever, after all.

"Will it? You bathed in boiling water before, remember?" The knight pointed out the scare they had yesterday. If Jaden could handle extremes of heat, a little chill shouldn’t be much more of an issue, she imagined.

"Oh. Right. But still... bare back? Isn't that showing a little too much skin?" The mystic had gone without a shirt before. But that was… before. A part of her was surprised at how quickly she had adopted a woman’s modesty; the rest of her didn’t want to spend too much time considering why that was.

"As opposed to showing it all after a fight?" Oleander made a sweeping gesture out from her chest, as if making a grand display. Granted, the redhead was a lot slimmer than the other two. Of the three of them, she was the only one who could get away with not wearing a bodice unless she felt like it.

"I admit you have a point, there," Jaden gave in with a roll of her eyes.

"You can always wear a cloak to cover yourself, or a jacket?" Mirena had seen several flattering short capes when they visited the seamstresses last day. Or, she guessed, there were those short jackets favoured by the Marsander women.

"That... could work, I guess?" It would be easy enough to shrug out of a jacket if Jaden would be forced into manifesting her spirit’s form again.

"Hey! But, what about your tail?" The redhead tilted her head a bit.

"I don't have a tail, Ollie."

"Are you sure? I'm certain the other de- I mean, THE demon back in Redwall had one, right?" Oleander caught herself. Jay wasn’t a demon. He was… Jay. Right?

"No, I'm pretty sure she didn't." Jaden shook her head slightly, not looking at Mirena who was covering her mouth.

"Wait, no. I definitely remember a tail when Rena and I saw you outside that shed! You're messing with me, Jay!" The redhead got up from her chair, pointing a finger into Jaden’s face.

"I am," Jaden confessed, not being able to hide a smile. It was as if a knot inside her unravelled. It had been a while since she had smiled like that, and it felt wonderful.

"And the horns. You have to consider them, at least." Mirena made a vague gesture at her friend’s head.

"Yes, I... they're not all that big, and since I don't wear hats it shouldn't be an issue." Jaden felt a little sting as she remembered her mirage veil. Everything had been so much easier when she had been able to just go on as normal.

Kellen closed his book with a thump. His brows had drawn increasingly together during the girls’ talk, and he had finally reached his personal limit.

"Could you girls please take this conversation somewhere else?" The Northern rune seeker wore his suffering like fresh battle wounds.

Oleander met Mirena’s frown with one of her own. What was his problem, anyway?

"If you don't want to listen, you're free to move." The redhead made a shooing gesture with a hand.

"I sat here first!" Kellen objected.

"Don't argue with them, Kel," Jaden gave her large friend a sympathetic smile.

The Northman grabbed his book and left with a grumble that sounded very much like 'women'. There was a pause while they looked at the retreating form of the Winterheart magician, before they went back to their discussion.

"So, I'm thinking lavender," Mirena nodded as she imagined a particular shade of it against Jaden's complexion.

"I don't know," the black-haired mystic sighed.

Rhyce looked at the large pile of bags and sacks stacked at an awkward tilt on top of one of their beds. It’s seemed like an excessive amount of food for a trip that would take them through several villages along the way. The archer mentally shrugged; it was better to have too much and drop some of it later, than have too little and be wanting for more.

“Lost the game?” Rhyce asked of the Northern warrior, who was wiping his brow with a sleeve.

“What? No, no. I was winning by far, but then the sneaky girl pulled a fast one on me. You know how tricky she can be,” Stann shrugged a little. Truth be told, he liked to think he had come out on top in the end anyway. Oleander sure could describe something, when she put her mind to it.

The archer just made a noncommittal grunt, and checked some of the bags. Finally, he gave a nod of approval. This would comfortably see them the way back to Tier, with only a quick stop for fresh goods in Rosehaven. If they could keep their pace up, it should be a quick trip indeed.

“Hey, Rhyce? Double-check the window latches before we go, okay? I don’t like the look of those birds hanging around outside. If they get in here, they’ll eat all the good stuff.”

Since they would have to divide the food among themselves to carry later anyway, the two returned back to the common room to spend the time until it evening. Neither of them had much to do as it was, and there was an empty table anyway.

Eventually the rest of the group returned. Kellen showed up with a new journal, fresh from the bookbinders up towards the westgate district. He had picked up the habit of chronicling their travels, to pass on any wisdom to the next generation. When one book was filled, he left it with any local associates for copying, or sent it by messengers to Radent, the capital of Olmar, and also a place where the Society of Rune Seekers had a collegiate establishment.

The women, and Jaden, was gone almost until sundown. Once they returned, Oleander looked relieved to be away from wherever they had been, and the black-haired mystic had a slight lingering blush.

In the end, they all found themselves around the table that was more or less officially theirs by this time. It was too late to pursue any new lines of investigation, and most businesses had closed for the evening. With the festival now at an end, sundown brought a quiet even onto a city the size of Farcrest.

Every preparation they cared to make for leaving the city was out of the way. As soon as the dawn let her rosy fingers grace the sky it would be time to return to the road, southbound for Rosehaven and then Tier, but for now they had the remainder of the evening to talk and plan. It would take them the better part of three days to make the journey, and then it was anyone's guess how easily they would be able to find a suitable riverboat to carry them up the Odar to Carrick Field.

"What worries me is how everything we've discovered so far points at how that trading company having some powerful backers," Oleander was balancing some of the pub's traditional dwarven dry biscuits on top of each other. Biscuit was probably a misnomer, since they contained nearly equal parts pork, but the name had stuck nonetheless. The keeper's mixed-breed dog sat nearby, following her hands with the keen interest of someone who waits for a treat to fall to the floor, its ears flopping gently with the motion of its head.

"Well, we already knew there was some sort of organisation in Sorun that were behind this, one way or another. There's no way a large-scale creature smuggling operation can take place without significant insider help. Especially in such a closed society as the elves." Mirena had seen some of the logging agreements from the time when the Sorun wildlands reached further north across the Odar and the Shelmot Plains into Alband, almost connecting with the Albar forest. The elves had very strict rules about what was allowed to be cut, and enforced them as hard as they needed to, to make their neighbours see where the line was drawn.

"Sure, Rena. But this was the first time we heard about how much local clout they have. There's more to this than some bad elves - no offence, Jay - chucking money at a couple of Farcrest merchants." Stann made an apologetic gesture at Jaden, who frowned but kept her mouth shut. "There's politics here, I can smell it."

"Could a local nobleman or something be involved? The commerce through Farcrest is busy enough that it'll take more time than the king could spare to personally oversee every approval. There's probably staff involved in the matter. Most likely lesser nobles with no better prospects? The lure of foreign gold could win a lot of favours in the court of second sons." Oleander might have grown up in the streets, but some things were common knowledge. The oldest child inherited the land; the rest either went into the priesthood or took up a business to make themselves useful.

"You are probably right," Mirena agreed. From what Arim had told her, the royal court in Farcrest was almost as much of a bureaucratic mess as it was in Tier. "However, with the ruckus in the harbour, as well as the fighting today, they're probably scared into hiding. Speaking of which, Jaden? I believe you told me how mystics never were mercenaries?"

"We're not! We sometimes fight for a cause, but we don't sell ourselves like sorcerers." The black-haired mystic felt some of her Lacunai pride rush up to her cheeks. "Still, we have our deserters, just like everyone else..."

"So, you think those two were, uh, rogue mystics?" Kellen asked.

"They must've been. There's no way the citadel would authorise this kind of operation in a foreign nation." Jaden remembered her mother saying how she had sat in on a diplomatic meeting or two when the peace treaties between the nations needed to be renewed. Sending powerful mystic combatants to rampage through the capital would probably be a breach of several articles in that agreement.

"Well, you're the expert. Still, it can't be cheap to retain a couple of mystics. It's pricey enough to put a battle sorcerer on your payroll - especially with those noncompetition fixed rates."

"I don't know. Jay? How much would it take to rent your battle-form for a day?" Oleander leaned exaggeratedly towards the mystic, fluttering her eyelashes and grinning.

"I'm not for sale, Ollie." Jaden made a face. "Also, it's 'manifestation'. Mystics manifest their spirit form."

“Ten crowns?"

"No."

"A hundred crowns?" The redhead offered, as she fed another biscuit to the dog. It wasn't as if she would eat them anyway, but the mutt seemed to love the greasy knots.

"Ollie..." Jaden’s voice took on a warning note.

"A magic sword and silky veil?" Oleander looked up from the dog with a cheeky grin.

"Not funny."

"If you two are done?" Mirena spoke with patience of someone who had to herd cats. "Good. So, we can assume a local partner in the operation? Do we still go ahead with our journey in the light of this new information?"

"We might as well. Harassing the smugglers who are using the back roads will probably give us something on the source of all this. Also, we've got Alisan's group working with us in Ral Sona. That ought to help out." Stann smiled as he thought of the coming days. Whether it was the pleasure of spending more time among the pale elf, or the idea of putting the fear of the North into lesser criminals, was anyone’s guess.

"Speaking of her - didn't she say she would meet us here today?" The knight looked around the table for confirmation.

"It's possible that my witless cousin may have frightened her off," Kellen said.

"Actually, the keeper said she had been by earlier, but since none of us were around she had left a message that she'd be back later." Jaden glanced at the surly dwarf. Them monopolising his dog didn't seem to soothe his temper any.

"I just thought of something," Stann looked up.

"Hmm?" Kellen gave his cousin his attention.

"Do they even speak Trade there? The elves, I mean?" The warrior wondered, while turning his mug of beer in his hands.

"The official language of the elves is Sorunese, or as they call it Serecean, but I imagine many of them will be versed in the midland tongue. How come?"

"It would be nice if they understood me, is all."

"Don't worry, Bear. I doubt they'll misunderstand your intentions!" Oleander quipped with a sly grin. She knew all too well her friends’ particulars. Not that Stann ever really made a point of keeping his hidden.

"It's as good a time as any to find out, however, since it's not really been brought up before: how many of us can even speak Sorunese, if we have to?" Kellen said

"Just a few phrases, I'm afraid," Mirena admitted. She knew just enough to exchange pleasantries at a social function, or make introductions without offending anyone.

"Me too. Some elf-words worked their way into Tarad everyday speech, since we lived right by the border," Oleander nodded along. “I think I was like ten years old before I heard another word for ‘ship’ than vanya.”

"Not much more," Rhyce spoke shortly, as always. Borderlanders often picked up snippets of many tongues out at the fringes of civilisation.

"I'm pretty much fluent," Jaden said after everyone else had chimed in.

"Well, naturally. But, hang on… let me count. You speak Trade, dragon-talk, Estal AND Elf?" Oleander boggled a little as she ticked each off on her fingers.

"Not to mention Nethertongue," Kellen added, despite Jaden's glare.

"Nethertongue?" Stann asked, not having heard that one before.

"Demonic," the larger man clarified.

"Ah. That makes sense." The warrior nodded sagely, taking another gulp from his mug.

"Why do you know so many languages?" Oleander wondered, resting her chin on a hand. To her, if was more important how you said something, than what you said.

"Well, it is just one of those things that happened over time. We mystics need to be able to communicate with our contracted creatures, after all. Fey speak elven, salamanders understand draconic. Demonic for, uh, obvious reasons. Estal was the only language I actually intentionally picked up, which was fortunate since we had to spend the whole summer down in Etrana last year." Jaden considered it a bit. Learning languages had always been something that had come thankfully naturally for her. The idea struck her, that maybe in making bonds with other beings, she shared more than their magic? Perhaps something else of that essence passed to her, allowing her to see the world through their point of view. And what was language, but the expression of thought?

And how would that affect her unusual spirit-bond?

Two voices as one, where the twin horizons can meet

Turgar looked up from restocking the bottles behind his counter, and his neutral expression immediately turned sour. He didn’t especially dislike most of his patrons, but the dwarf had a strained relationship with the elves. This one was especially bad, since she had initially hid the fact with some hat when they first arrived the days before the festival. She had also managed to hide her womanly attributes somehow as well, but elves did strange things.

“What d’ ye want nao?” He muttered, bending down to retrieve another couple of double distilled applejacks from the crate. He kept his stash of bottles away from the common room because of the fire hazard. These ones had a bite to them.

“Well, you see, I noticed that a couple of the other guest left today,” Jaden began cautiously.

“What of it? The Dellor’s were only here fer the fest’val.” Turgar stopped with what he was doing, giving the mystic a suspicious glare.

“Yeah. Could I take their room? I’ll pay, of course.” Jaden tried smiling. It didn’t work.

“Did ye break somet’ing? It’ll cost ye if ye did!”

“No-no! Everything’s fine!”

“What’s wrong wit’ the old one, then? Did ye elf it up, some way?” Turgar lifted a bushy eyebrow, taking the toothpick from his mouth as if intending to stab Jaden with it.

“I… what does that even mean? I just want a room for myself,” Jaden explained, trying to make sense out of the dwarf’s heavy accent.

“Hrm. Well, fine. But oi’ll be keepin’ yuir coin fer the first one.” There would be no budging on that point, by the look of the innkeeper.

“That’s fine, master Turgar. I just want to… uh… not share rooms anymore.”

“Suit yuirself. It’s yuir silver.” With that, the conversation was over and the dwarf turned his back on the regrettably elvish woman.

Jaden gratefully slid a few coins across the counter in return for the key to the last room in the guests’ hallway. Despite all the unexpected expenses on clothes and… other items that Mirena had strongly suggested picking up, the mystic’s purse was still heavy with gold. The payment from the temple in Rosehaven for their handling of the cultist situation in Tier, together with the coin she had been offered to balance the scales when she traded her sword for the mirage veil, allowed her to treat herself to small comforts for a good while yet. Jaden didn’t know what the others did with their reward, but she could make a few guesses. Mirena would probably tithe some to local temples they visited, while Kellen would no doubt spend it freely on books or dusty old scrolls. Stann had been talking about getting his hands on an enchanted sword of his own, and as far as Jaden knew, the winter warrior had been saving most of his coin to this end. While not extremely rare, magic weapons were still too expensive for anyone to just casually buy, barring the wealthy elite or larger organisations. The Arcane Order, for instance, funded a good part of its own endeavours through the sale of both lesser enchantments as well as custom ordered designs.

As she bounced the small steel key in a hand, she wondered what Ollie did with her shares of any treasures or rewards that fell into their laps. The redhead didn’t have any expensive habits or obsessions. Come to think of it, Jaden had no clue what Rhyce did with his share, either. He couldn’t spend it all on arrows, could he?

“Hey, listen,” Stann held up his hands to stop Jaden. “I thought about our, uh, arrangements. And, well, we got it sorted. Kel has a friend here in the city, magician colleague or something, and he’s going to stay over by him for the night. So, I’ve moved my things over to the other room, so you can have our old one by yourself.”

“That’s really considerate of you, Bear. Thank you.” Jaden closed her hand to hide the key. Her friends had gone through some trouble out of concern for her feelings, and she didn’t want to take that away from them. “I’m sorry to put you through all this trouble, though.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it, little… uh, I mean, Jaden,” the warrior finished haltingly. “There’s no need to make things awkward, right?”

“Even more awkward, you mean?” The mystic smiled sideways. “I don’t know why I’m even thinking about this so much. It’s not as if anything really changed compared to the last week or so.”

“Sure it has. A couple of days ago, you were our quirky little wizard brother who fought by my side with sword and fire.” Stann had a mixed expression of pride and confusion, where his feelings of friendship and loyalty fought against these new circumstances. He gestured at Jaden vaguely. “Now, well… We’re all getting used to things.”

“I’m still me, Stann. I’m still going to be right here, fire and sword and everything. Not sure about the quirky part, though. You think I’m quirky? Quirky how?”

“Well, you’re really in denial about some things,” Stann waggled his eyebrows, and grabbed the smaller, elfin woman by the shoulders and led her back to their table.

“No, I’m not!”

“See?”

The grey cover had blown in from across the ocean under the night, and the day didn't as much dawn as it turned another shade of cloudy. The air was heavy with moisture, and it didn't take a fisherman to realise that there would be rain before noon. Even for Alband, where rain was a guest expected to pay visits on any day, the skies looked especially heavy.

"This is clearly an omen that we should go back to our comfortable beds and stay there until we can see the sun again," Oleander grumbled as she huddled next to the others. It was still a little brisk from the lingering cool air of the night, and with no sun to chase the chill away it was indeed a miserable way to start a journey. She was sitting on top of their piled-up belongings next to the inn. The innkeeper’s dog was sitting next to the door, whining every now and then. It had tried to go with Rhyce, but the archer had commanded it to stay.

"The sooner we get going, the quicker we will be arriving in Rosehaven. Going early means we can avoid the third stop along the road," Mirena reminded the smaller woman, who didn't look entirely convinced. Some of Oleander's reluctance may have sprung from the last night's cups of wine. The redhead wasn't usually a heavy drinker, but she had murmured something about working up her courage for something. In the end, she had remained at the table, trying to match a surprised but amused Stann in his almost ritualistic preparatory drinking. The warrior claimed that he needed to stock up on his personal beer reserves for the road, and how his cousin was no doubt doing the same over by his friend's house.

Rhyce and Jaden had gone to fetch their horses earlier. The Old Hog didn't have its own stables, being little more than a drinking hole with sleeping arrangements almost as an afterthought, so after getting their rooms there they had spent a good portion of their first day finding a courier's stationhouse that had the room to spare for a half-dozen extra horses. Mirena had finally suggested asking one of the local temples for permission to use their stables, but by then the Winterhearts had already secured a place for their animals. A knight could normally request consideration for herself and her squire, but Mirena was always reluctant to use her position - earned or otherwise - for any special benefits.

The mystic and the archer finally appeared, leading the small herd of horses through the empty morning streets. They had been walking in silence, except for the occasional necessary word. Ever since Rhyce's surprising admission the other day, Jaden hadn't been sure what to say to him. Rhyce seemed fine with the silence, and went about his duties with simple efficiency, but for Jaden is was an uncomfortable experience. She wanted to say something, talk about what had been said, but she didn't know where to begin. Instead, she had followed along to prepare their horses hoping that there would be some opening if they were working together. Even not knowing what to expect, she felt a little disappointed when the borderlander had just kept silent while tightening saddles and adjusting bridles.

"Let's start dividing up the bags while we wait for Kellen to catch up. I'm sure he's on his way right now," Stann said with a glance down the street as they gathered around their horses.

They worked with the practised ease of a group that had done similar things many times before, making sure that each animal didn't carry too much, taking into consideration its rider and the personal gear. Mirena seldom burdened her horse too much, since it was already carrying both her and the carefully packed plate armour. On the other hand, Oleander's pinto usually had to accept a larger share of the sacks of food, something that often drove it to distraction when they brought carrots or apples along.

The first drops of rain had started to fall when they saw a large figure hurrying down towards them. By then, more activity had started as stores were being opened and workers leaving for their daily duties. When the large Northman arrived, none were surprised to see that somehow he had avoided getting struck by any of the raindrops. His left hand was squeezed tight around something, and Jaden didn't have to resort to mystic's sight to feel the faint tickles of magic in the air. The rain seemed to bend around the rune seeker and instead pooled in a circle by his feet, not quite touching his boots.

"Sorry, sorry. I got held up by some extended farewells. You know how formal we magicians can be," Kellen cleared his throat as he tugged at his sleeveless wool tunic.

"There's something red on your cheek there, Kel," Oleander pointed out, pointing with a finger. "Is that a lip print?"

"Ah, possibly," the large magician quickly rubbed a thumb across his cheek, smearing the shape into a faint pink streak. He muttered something that sounded like 'Kasman wench'.

"If you need, hum, more time for your... formalities, you can always catch up with us later, ugly cousin," Stann winked outrageously at his clansman, and was even ready to do some elbow nudging.

"That's quite alright, Bear," Kellen immediately objected, then added in a lower tone, "besides, mother would never let me hear the end of it."

As they finished their final preparations, Oleander leaned against the side of her brown and white horse and gave Jaden a speculative look. The mystic eventually noticed, and automatically raised a hand to her face.

"Do I have something on my face, too?" Jaden's hair was tied back in a tail much like the style she used to wear it in, but somehow it looked more artful than before. The curls that had slipped free and ringled down either side of her face looked almost arranged. It made her pointed ears stand out more, but if it kept raining she would pull up her hood.

"Just thinking." Oleander gave herself a small shake. "Shame that elf-girl they found never showed up, huh?"

"I suppose. It would have been good to have her to guide us through Ral Sona. It's been many years since I was there last time." Jaden paused adding her bags to the saddle as the memory of the ancient city, deep in the Sorun wildlands, rushed back to her.

"You've been there?" The redhead’s eyebrows went up. She had always thought that Jay had been as new to traveling as she was, when they had met in the back alleys of Tarad almost two years ago.

"A couple of times, sure. Once as a part of my training, the other time I went along with my mom when she had to go there for, uh, reasons." The mystic felt the pang of habitual secrecy again. It was hard to forget the lessons the mountain drilled into all its children.

"Just reasons, huh?" Oleander asked with a wry tone.

"My parents have a lot of responsibilities that keeps them away from Talraman at times. Mom, Irissa, she is an envoy like da- like father."

"What do envoys do, then?"

"They're our diplomats, I guess. It's a position that's assigned for a certain goal, rather than a permanent role. Like, Lord Protector Hetagon also served as an envoy when he visited the convocation now. But, since some jobs can be open-ended, the assignment can continue pretty much forever."

"What are your parents supposed to do?"

"Mom is a little of a special case. Her spirit gives her some pretty unique abilities that are useful in several situations, but mainly she's one of our envoys tasked with keeping good relations with Sorun and, uh, another place,” Jaden trailed off awkwardly. It was one thing talking about his parents; it was another thing entirely to reveal some of the more critical Lacunai secrets.

"Huh. And daddy dearest?" Oleander kept asking, since she had finally gotten Jaden talking about personal things. The mystic had been all but clammed up about anything regarding his home for the first year. It was only after the skinwalker debacle in Etria that she even heard him admit to being a mystic in the first place.

"Garen, my father, has heavier burden. He's responsible for keeping us from a war with the dragons." Jaden stuffed the sheathed sword into a loop from the saddle, easily within reach when she sat up. The way she said it seemed so casual, it made the enormity of the words even more jarring.

"Is... that a real concern?" The redhead boggled at the notion. Dragons were legendary monsters. A single one of those beasts could turn the tide of any war. Being at war with all dragons was… just ridiculous.

"The mountain has a troubled past, Ollie. We made some enemies over the years."

"I'd say!" Oleander just shook her head. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Jaden was trying to pull a fast one on her. But what reason did the black-haired mystic have to lie to her?

By then, the rain had begun a soft drumming against the roofs around them. Jaden pulled her hood up, and joined her friends as they started leading their horses toward the southern gate. The craftsmen's district was not that far from it, and before the rain had made the streets too muddy they were leaving Farcrest behind. As soon as the gate guards waved them past they sat up, ready to make the most of the daylight, such as it was.

Rhyce paused for a moment with a glance to the dark skies, before bringing up the rear of their small company. He usually kept to the edges of the group, either scouting ahead, or guarding their backs. The formation wasn't all that different from how they moved while exploring a dangerous area. Over the year, it had become almost second nature, with Stann and Mirena protecting the flanks, keeping Kellen and Jaden safe in the middle to work their magic if necessary. Oleander usually roamed freely as well, trusted to be where she was needed. Right now she was riding between Jaden and Mirena, talking with either or both of them at once.

A pair of black birds swooped from the clouds towards the city they left behind, perhaps seeking a dry place to wait out the rain.

It was still a little bit before noon when the rain finally eased up. A crack in the clouds revealed blue skies and even a few rays of sun found their way down to the rainy world below. Jaden gratefully pulled her hood back down and shook out her hair before returning it to the tied-back tail. The moisture always made her naturally wavy hair curl up even more.

They had kept a good pace going, despite the weather, and while she was by no means a good judge of distances Jaden imagined that they were likely on right on schedule and would make it to the farmlands surrounding Rosehaven by afternoon the day after tomorrow. The itching of the adventure spurred them on, and unless something major would upset their plans, they had tentatively decided to push through the upcoming town to use the last hours of the day to close as much of the distance toward Tier as possible. They would just have to see where they were along the road when the time came. They would likely pass the road leading off to Redwall from the main coast way by tomorrow evening.

Rhyce rode up from where he had been trailing behind them, and stood up once more in his stirrups to gaze back along the road. The rest quieted down and turned their attention to the archer.

“Someone is approaching quickly,” Rhyce called, glancing first at Jaden, but then turned towards Mirena and Stann.

“Not just a traveller? Maybe a courier?” The warrior peered against the half-hidden sun, holding up a hand to keep the light away from his eyes.

“If they are pushing their horses, I believe we will find out before long,” the knight nodded at her friends. It was a safe road this close to the capital, after all. There was no reason to suspect malice behind everything that happened.

True to Mirena’s prediction, the rider gained on them steadily over the next half hour. Eventually Rhyce, who had been keeping an eye on the shape, called out again.

“Elf woman. White-blonde hair. Maybe the one who didn’t show yesterday,” the archer delivered his impression with his usual short-clipped sentences.

“That sure sounds like her,” Stann agreed with a nod. “Let’s slow down a little. No need to make her kill her horse to catch up with us.”

Soon the rest of them could also see a mane of nearly white hair streaming behind the rider, who was lying low against her horse. A little while later when she was close enough that everyone could make out her elven features, she sat back up and slowed down to a trot. Her horse was breathing heavily as she moved next to them to the side of the road.

"Good fortune that you caught up with us!" Stann smiled as the elven woman brought her steed to a halt next to the group. "We thought we'd lost you to the city!"

"That flower almost bloomed, Winterheart. It was but happenstance, as you said, that I noted an unusual bird for this area, and in doing so saw you leave through the gates. I had to make haste to get my horse and bags before the road swallowed you completely." The elf’s cheeks were flushed with the exertion of riding hard since morning, but she looked otherwise in good condition. Jaden couldn’t help but notice how the ears had a similar point as her own.

"Well, good, then! Everyone, this is Alisan Summersomething. The elf." Stann turned to the rest of the group in making the introductions.

"Summercross," Kellen supplied.

"Right. Alisan, this is Mirena - a priestess of Telum. My cousin you remember, of course."

"Unlikely to wilt from memory, a man of that size," the blond elf inclined her head to the two. Now that she had caught her breath, her voice was surprisingly rich. "Paladin, it's an honour."

"The man with the bow is Rhyce, the girl with the smirk is Oleander, and the... uh... that's Jaden, there." Stann pointed at each of them in turn, but did a little uncertain waving once he came to the mystic.

"Greetings, friends of the Winterhearts," she said to the archer and the redhead, and then smiled as she turned to Jaden. "En helon."

"Oh, for the love of..." Jaden barely resisted the urge to throw her hands in the air.

Alisan paused, a bit surprised at the reaction from the black-haired woman.

"Did I offend?"

"Jaden, be nice now. Don't worry, Alisan. You just caught Jaden on a... bad day." Mirena apologised for her friend.

"I see. Greetings regardless?" The pale elf tiled her head a little to the side, searching Jaden’s face with those clear, green eyes. They looked nothing like Mirena’s dependable moss green eyes. These looked like fine emeralds.

Oleander bumped into Jaden's side with a grin.

"Go on!" She urged.

"... En helon sama. Sorry for snapping at you." Jaden forced a smile as Oleander rewarded her friend with a pat on the shoulder.

“Did something happen?” Kellen asked when the chatter had died down. “I was under the impression that you wanted to meet us before we left the city?”

“I offer apologies, rune seeker. I had to share with the first songshaper of our troupe that I would not be continuing with them to their next performance. He was less than enthralled with losing his finest contralto and was inclined to offer an alternative in the spirit of duress.” Alisan snorted a little with a shake of her head that made her platinum blonde hair dance. “In the end, he saw the point of my argument.”

“You pulled your knife on him, didn’t you?” The large Northman deduced with a pleased smile. Even for a gentle giant like Kellen the idea of beating sense into people was attractive. It was a Northern thing.

“Only let it be known that I had edged my bets,” Alisan said with a laughing lilt in her voice.

“Okay, first, you never said she would be throwing puns around, Bear,” Oleander poked the blonde warrior with an accusatory finger. Then she whirled around in her saddle and pointed with her other hand at the elf. “Second, it’s ‘hedging’ your bets, Creampuff!”

“We have a long road ahead of us, all. Let’s get back to it,” Mirena diplomatically staved off any further arguments and then led by example as she nudged her warhorses into a trot.

Jaden squired a little in her saddle. She was wearing one of her new tops that tied back over her neck but left her back bare all the way down to the small of her back. Against her better judgement, she had picked up three of them, and was currently wearing her lavender one. It felt strange with the cloth of her jacket rubbing directly on her bare back like that. It was a small comfort, however, that jackets cut for women were of softer fabrics than her old ones. This would be fine for the summer, she supposed, but when autumn and winter came, she would have to come up with a different solution. Even if she didn’t feel the heat or cold as intensely as before, weather was more than just temperature.

Alternatively, she thought as she clenched her hands on the reins more firmly, she would just have to find a way to resolve the situation. All these adjustments were unnecessary, after all. She had no plans to spend the rest of her life like this. She would find a way back, one way or another.

It didn't help that her emotions had been all over the place lately anyway. Granted, there had been a lot going on. Between bumping into the nethermaner from Tier again, and fighting the two mystics who had been working for the smugglers, it was a small wonder she was this collected. That was also not mentioning having to rebuild her relationship with her friends. Everyone had been affected one way or another. Stann kept stealing glances at her, and Mirena seemed to have to constantly remind herself not to treat Jaden as a girl. Kellen was all but to tiptoeing around her. Even the ever-stoic Rhyce had surprisingly began talking about his feelings when they were alone. That had been a shock! She knew the borderlander had been acting somewhat strange ever since Redwall, but up until now she had thought it was just because the horrors he had been through at the hands of the demon's servants.

Then there was Ollie. Jaden turned in her saddle to look at the redhead. Was she wearing her hair longer, these days? It seemed as if things were back to normal, on the surface, but Jaden could pick up on the subtle tension in Oleander’s body language, the strained look to her eyes. Oleander smiled and joked like usual, but Jaden could tell something was clearly bothering her. The signs were well hidden, though. Jaden was sure that she would've overlooked them normally, but something helped her reach underneath the mask. Had she become better at reading people, lately?

Jaden turned her golden eyes toward the rest of her friends, as if to test this newfound depth of empathy. The cousins, boisterous and strong, hid a surprising anxiety. Stann, always loud and certain, but now there was a hue of something else there. Kellen, careful and knowledgeable, a brilliant and strong man. He could've been their leader if he wanted to. They would probably have been better off with him making the decisions. How come he always deferred to his cousin, or Mirena?

Responsibility weighs heavily on the heart. Could you live with yourself if your decisions caused the death of one of your friends? Doubt cuts deep and cold.

"How are you feeling?" The knight fell into pace next to Jaden's horse. She had pinned her hair up for the ride. It was almost the same style that allowed her to wear her helmet, but none of them were wearing their armour for the road except for Stann. The coastal road southbound from Farcrest was safe and with plenty of other travellers heading home after the festival, but the Northern warrior wore his chainmail hauberk as a nobleman wore his doublet. It just seemed to fit.

"I'm fine, Rena. You don't have to keep checking up on me. How about you, though? Was I mistaken earlier, or was there something between you and that fellow?" Jaden grinned a little as her friend blinked with surprise.

"Arim is a... very nice man, Jaden. I regret that there wasn't more time to meet with him again. Our duties will always take precedence. Still..." Mirena brushed a hand across the side of her head, as if to push back her hair even though it was neatly put up. "How are you and Oleander making up?"

"What? I, uh," the black-haired mystic sputtered a little. Another glance behind them showed how the redhead was joking with Kellen and Stann. Next to them rode Alisan. The elven woman looked annoyed. "We're good, I think. It's better. Frankly I was more worried about how Stann would react. But now we've got Alisan here to take his mind off things."

"He would never do anything without your permission," Mirena reassured her friend.

"I know. It's just, he's been going on about 'elven maidens'-this and 'elven maidens'-that for as long as I've known him..." Jaden rolled her eyes dramatically.

"And now you fit that part?"

"Rena, I'm not-"

"Jaden, listen to me. Stann is sometimes a spontaneous and clumsy man, but he would never wittingly hurt you or anyone of us,” the knight said with complete conviction.

"I know. I really do. It's just... They all look at me differently now. Even you do." Jaden sighed a little, her shoulders slumping down.

"How would you like us look at you?" Mirena asked, watching the road ahead rather than facing her friend.

"Like before. When I was me. More me than now." The mystic tried to remember how it had felt to be herself. It had only been a few weeks.

"You're still you." Mirena said with confidence. "However, if you don't mind my asking... What did it feel like, when this happened to you?"

"It all happened over a pretty long time. It was slow, almost insidious at times. In a way, I guess I'm still changing. That's the life of a mystic, after all. We keep changing." Jaden gathered her thoughts for a moment. For some reason the unbidden thoughts of the Northern warrior dressing himself without a trace of modesty came to her, and with that picture inspiration struck her. "Imagine waking up one day, and you're covered with hair as a man would be. For some reason you can't shave it off, either."

"My faith doesn't encourage vanity," the knight began hesitantly. She wasn't so sure of herself, though. "I doubt I would enjoy myself, however, and I'm ashamed to admit I would probably attempt to hide it somehow as well."

"It's not fair the kind of hold the mirror has over us, is it?" Jaden tried to keep bitterness out of her voice, succeeding only just.

"Indeed it is not," Mirena said, giving her mystic friend a mysterious smile, then decided it was time to change the subject. “It was on this road where we talked about your magic last time, Jaden. Would you mind if I ask some things I’ve been thinking about since then?”

“Of course not, Rena. Go ahead,” Jaden gratefully took the proverbial olive branch.

"So, the creatures you have on contract gets magic in return for their services, am I right?" The knight spoke slowly, as she was recalling their previous conversation.

"What? Uh. Yes. Basically." It was a simplification of the mystic contract, but it was essentially true.

"But, what does your prime spirit stand to gain? What deal do you strike with it?" Mirena glanced at Jaden as she asked this, knowing that her friend grew skittish when the subject of spirits was mentioned.

Jaden wrestled for a moment with the deeply ingrained need to protect the secrets of the Lacunai. Eventually, the need to share something won out. The knowledge wouldn't make any difference anyway, she reasoned.

"That's a different thing entirely. My salamander, for instance, lives a full, rich life - as salamanders go - and only notice me when I draw upon its power. My spirit, however, she doesn't exist in the same way a salamander does. Spirits are... spirits. They don't have a body. We meet them during a dream quest, and share our own bodies with them for... for the rest of our lives." Jaden clenched her jaw a little. She was going to find a way to change that last part. She had promised herself that much. One way or another, she would be free of this fate.

"So, they get a body? That sounds an awful lot like possession, Jaden." Mirena tensed up a little. Possession was the domain of demons and ghosts. She vividly recalled the lessons drilled into her by the inquisitor during her temple training.

"More or less. Through us, the spirit can experience the physical world. For as long as we live, they will share our experiences." The mystic bond was at heart a truly symbiotic relationship. Each gave and took equally. Magician and spirit, life and magic, the physical world and the dreaming.

"What happens when a mystic dies?"

"The spirit departs back to where it came from." Wherever that was. The Lacunai didn't truly understand the dreaming where the spirit quest took place. Wiser men and women than her had pondered the question ever since the first stone of the citadel was set down upon the mountain.

"Does that mean someone could inherit the spirit of a mystic from a previous generation?" The knight wondered out loud as the idea came to her.

"I... suppose so," Jaden hadn't considered that before. "It's possible, I guess, but I've never heard about it happening."

"Maybe that's why you're going through the changes faster than you ought to?"

"What do you mean?" The mystic didn’t know where her friend was going with this line of thought.

"Because your spirit already knows what it is doing," Mirena said with an unreadable expression on her face.

Jaden felt the chill of fear creep up inside her heart, but just as sudden another feeling bloomed up to swallow it up. Doubt was answered by a whisper of hope.

Don't worry. I will keep them all safe this time. Trust me.

Toward the evening the rain had returned and was still going by the time they made camp. It was a wet, miserable experience and they finally had to resort to magic to get their fire going. Stann and Rhyce were unfolding a large cloth they kept wrapped up in one of the saddlebags. It was actually very large and provided a shelter when they made a rough tent by affixing it to some hastily cut young trees driven down into the dirt. They kept it at a slant to make the rain roll down the side into some pans and bowls. It wasn’t easy to find fresh water this close to the coast, with all the smaller lakes and rivers further inland. With this, they wouldn’t have to stop by any of the farms to ask for the use of their wells.

Alisan had been initially doubtful about the improvised tarp, claiming that the rain would soak through it much too quickly, but once Kellen got to work she quickly changed her mind. The rune seeker transferred the same waterwarding enchantment that kept him dry in the rain onto the cloth, and suddenly the fabric was as dry as he was. The enchantment would fade in time, of course, without him to maintain it, but it would hold for the night at the very least.

As night fell, they were all huddled up underneath the shelter, with the salamander-wrought fire merrily hissing away in defiance of the rain. Even with the size being what it was, they still had to sit close to one another and when the time came to sleep there would be little room for privacy. Their horses had sought safety by some of the trees growing not too far away, and they could hear them whinnying in complaint when some of the rain found its way down the leaves.

Rhyce, as always, offered to take the first watch. The roads may be safe, but that was no reason to be foolish. Under their shelter, sleeping arrangements were handled. Jaden ended up between Stann and Alisan. She couldn’t help but noticing how she seemed to have ended up in the middle of the group, with the women on one side, and the men on the other. While the others were readying themselves for the night, Jaden found herself chatting with Alisan in the elves’ own language. When darkness had fully fallen, and the sound of Kellen’s snoring began to fill their improvised tent, the pale elf spoke with a low voice again.

"(Tell me a story, Jaideen. I feel alone among all these Renen.)" Alisan spoke much more confidently in Sorunese, but right now she sounded small and uneasy.

Jaden bit back her usual retort when she saw Alisans expression. The black-haired mystic suddenly realised that the pale elf probably hadn't spent much time outside the lands of her people. The world outside the Sorun wildlands must seem strange and frightening.

"(Okay. But you'll owe me one in return.)"

"Belan," Alisan thanked the other woman.

"(This is a story about fire.)" The golden eyes of the mystic seemed to glow with an inner fire as she began to talk, soft enough that only two other people could hear. She spoke of a time before the kingdoms of man had claimed the coastlands, when the embers of war burned hot, and the mountain had drawn the ire of the dragons.

When the towers collapsed, you whispered my name.

Rhyce stirred some life into the campfire, as he sat watching the darkness. While his Sorunese wasn't good enough to understand everything his friend was saying, he knew enough. He had heard a version of this story before, an older telling that didn't end quite as well. In the borderlands, the old legends remained alive.

Fire.

It always began with fire. The flames of his spirits. The spark that set him on his current course. The smouldering embers of his relationship with his family. The ashes that was left of his old life. Every step along his road had been followed by fire.

The fire had consumed him. Burnt away the familiar surface, and exposing something he could have never imagined within.

The fire sang to him. It sang of power. It sang of change. But mostly, and most loudly, it sang of truth. The song of the inner fire grew so loud that no other sound could match its intensity; no voice could measure up to its power, and no feeling its equal in passion. The music of the flame accepted no other tune. It was so loud it eclipsed all notes that wouldn't harmonise.

He had been an odd note, but each pulsating beat of the irresistible drum, each flare of that raging inferno, stripped away the jagged edges he didn't even realise were there, shaped and moulded until what was left was the truth. Harmony.

This is who you are.

The thought wasn't his own. It almost sounded like him. Like he sounded now, that is. Different, though. Much more certain. It spoke like the fire did.

Jaden dreamt of fire.

When morning came the rain had turned to a light drizzle, like the world was filled with dewdrops. Jaden awoke to find that something had changed from when she had returned to her blankets after finishing her watch after Rhyce woke her up. An arm was holding her around her stomach, one covered with light hair and a few scars. Stann had spooned up to her while they had been sleeping. For a moment, Jaden didn’t know what to do, but finally began to unwrap the warrior’s embrace. The motion must have woken him up, as he began to stir. Jaden’s squirming also made her very aware of something else touching her.

"Uh, good morning, Stann," she called over her shoulder.

"Mm? Morning, little brother." The Northman blinked a bit owlishly, and then yawned like his namesake. “You know, you’re really warm. Really warm.”

"And you're... quite awake back there, Bear." Jaden tried not to think of what was pressing against her behind.

"Huh? Oh. Sorry."

"That's alright. It happens." The mystic felt a pang of loss as she remembered waking up in a similar state so often herself. Still she couldn’t blame her friend for a natural reaction. There was a long pause as she heard her friends getting up as well. "Regardless, I'd appreciate it if you let me go."

Once everyone was on their feet, they helped rolling the tarp back up while the enchantment still kept it dry. Mirena had started preparing breakfast, setting the schedule for the remainder of the trip. Since they didn’t want to scare Alisan away, Oleander had agreed to sticking to just handing out breads, fruits and dried meats. Jaden had agreed to help by keeping the pots and pans away from the redhead.

As the pot was bubbling, spreading the smell of porridge around their camp, Alisan sought out Jaden again. She had managed to find somewhere private to change into another grey dress more suited for traveling, than the white outfit she had arrived in yesterday.

"Jaideen? Let us not share the cup of stories at the banks of sleep again. You gave me the most vivid dreams." Alisan looked a little tired, as she gently rubbed her cheeks.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

"It seems as if I did not, but it was not very restful." The elf looked a little haunted, but weariness turned to annoyance as someone came up next to them.

"I don't know about that," Stann invited himself into their conversation. "I found you two mumbling in elf-speak to one another very soothing indeed!"

"Ew. Stann. No." Jaden looked disapprovingly.

"I'm just saying I had some wonderful dreams, that's all!" The warrior grinned, raising his arms a little to show how appreciative he was.

"Walking away now," the black-haired mystic held her hands to her ears as she hurried off, closely followed by the pale elf.

The day continued with long periods of riding, pausing only to eat or rest their horses when necessary. If they wanted to pass through Rosehaven rather than spend the night there, they would have to push themselves a little. Halfway through the day, some of them were saddle-sore enough to begin questioning why they were even keeping up this pace. Jaden only had to remember the sorrowful song of the dryad, or the hopelessness of the dracone to realise that every day they lost was another day that whoever was behind all this had to hurt even more innocent beings.

Riding along the coastal road, Jaden found herself spending more time talking with Alisan in the elven tongue. The elf seemed a little homesick, and sought comfort in the presence of another of her kind, even if she was mistaken. Jaden didn’t have the heart to correct her however, mostly because Alisan just seemed to assume, but didn’t make a big deal about it. After all, to her it was normal to be elvish.

During one of their short breaks for food during the second day, the conversation ended up on the topic of the elven lands. The Sorun wildlands was mostly the vast forest that reached from Tarad in Olmar, almost to the western coast. It filled the entire valley between the Erbor mountain range to the north, and the tall Isanduar peaks to the south. According to Alisan, the forest had been even larger in the old days before the kingdoms of man claimed this land.

"So, why do we call it 'Sorun', when the elves call it 'Serecea'?" Oleander wondered idly as she chewed on her simple bread and fruit lunch. One of her bad habits was talking with food in her mouth. She could almost see the shift inside Kellen, when the fighting Northman stepped back to allow the Scholar to take the stage.

"Well, it's all rooted from when the people of man first came to this side of the world several hundred years ago. Along they brought the Seren elves from the old kingdoms of the first empire. But, as it turned out, there was already an elven civilisation here, in the larger forest of the time, called the Cealen. Serecea is actually just that, 'Ser e Cea'. The people of Ser and Cea, together." Kellen held up his hands to either side, and then put them together to show the union of the two elven people.

"Oh. Though, you know, what with Alisan here, I thought I'd ask her," Oleander pointed at the elven woman, who looked as if she was torn between being offended or amused by how the rune seeker claimed superior knowledge of her culture.

"Oh, uh... Right. Of course." Kellen had the good grace to almost blush.

"No, ta hela su, please - go on." Alisan finally settled on one emotion, and rested her chin on a palm, with a raised eyebrow.

"I... certainly. So, after the settlers began to find land, still staggered from losing Etrion to the rebel uprising and the perilous journey into exile away from the core realm, it was not long before they noticed how they weren’t alone,” the large Northlander’s voice shifted anew, from the lecturer to the storyteller. Oleander stopped chewing for a bit as she listened to the legend of the imperial family trying to rebuild what had been lost in a strange and foreign place.

When the time came to clean up and prepare to get back into their saddles, the redhead still had a lot of questions so she sought out the pale elf as they were bringing their horses around.

"Hey, tell me about Ral Sona, Ali?" Oleander led her tan pinto horse up next to the elven steed. Horses from the wildlands were about the same size as the Midland breeds, but lighter on their hooves, allowing them to run even in the thick of the forest. They would be more popular among other people if it wasn’t for their poor tolerance for heat and bright sunlight. Their adaptation to the shadowy forest made them ill-suited for the open steppes of Olmar, where the many ranches provided the majority of the horses used around the coastlands.

"Ali?" Alisan blinked.

"What? You don't like it when people shorten your name? There's nothing wrong with being short, you know!" The redhead puffed herself up a little.

"Oh, it's just that the word appears as 'hope' to my people," Alisan said with a happy smile. "Though, you prolong the 'a' somewhat. Ali."

"Aahli does? That's kinda neat!" Oleander was more than a little pleased with herself. "And since I've nicknamed you, that means we're officially friends. You're Ollie's ally Ali, alright?"

"With pleasure... Mela?" The elf smiled hesitantly.

"Eh?" It was Oleander’s turn to blink in surprise.

"Ceasina Solonmela. The oleander bush appears in some valleys of south Serecea," Alisan explained awkwardly.

"So, what does that mean?"

"It, uhm, means 'oleander'." The elf's eyes darted to the sides, as if she wasn't sure how to respond.

"No, that's the Trade word for it, right?" The Olman girl gave the saddle straps a final tug, patting the pinto mare’s side.

"Oh, you seek the literal translation? That appears to be... ah, 'feyspring lifebane'? Mela would be, uhm... bane." Alisan trailed off as she realised where her translation was going. Her expression turned a little panicked.

"... your nickname of me is 'bane'?"

"Ta viela, friend Oleander, I sought not to hurt! It can also appear as 'one who finishes things'. Translating between the two tongues is sometimes-"

"That. Is. Awesome! Hey, Jay! Guess what my name means in Sorunese?" The redhead pulled her horse in the direction of the black-haired mystic to share the good news, leaving Alisan even more puzzled.

The second night came much in the way as the first, with rain and huddling together under the tarp. This time around, though, Jaden positioned herself between Oleander and Alisan. The redhead had a strange look in her eyes while they were settling down to sleep. Her face was the last thing Jaden saw as dreams finally took her away from the waking world.

That night, Jaden dreamt of fire again, but this time it was another kind of fire. Fiery hair, eyes burning with passion and red lips. The heat was just as intense as the last dream, and left her wanting for more.

Morning came all too quickly, but at least the rain had let up sometime during the night after Jaden had fallen asleep. The ground was still soggy wet in places however, and yet again they had to resort to special tricks to light their campfire again. It had died down shortly after dawn during Kellen’s watch, when the Northman had been too engrossed in one of his new books to pay attention to the fire. His candle companion rune gave him all the light he needed anyway.

Once he finally got the fire going again, Kellen busied himself with setting up the pot for the breakfast porridge. It was always a little painful to watch the large man do anything that required coordination or finesse. The rune seeker had amazing strength and wisdom, but for all his power, he was as clumsy as a lame moose when it came to practical things.

While the camp was tidied up and the group sitting down to have their food, Jaden once again found the elf by her side. While she wasn’t especially opposed to Alisan’s presence, she was beginning to feel as if the elf might be becoming a little too dependent on her company, seeing a kindred elf among a world of strangers. Jaden stirred her porridge with her spoon thoughtfully while she tried to come up with an idea to get the pale elf to spend more time with the others. Jaden couldn’t just push her into Stann’s arms and hope for the best.

"You speak Trade very fluidly, Jaideen," Alisan said between spoonfuls.

"Uh, yeah, how about that..." The mystic was still engrossed in her thoughts.

"But your Serecean seems to have a strange colour to it. Did you grow up away from the homeland? Or..." Alisan peered at Jaden with curiosity. "Could it be that you're not fullblooded? You are very... plump for a Cealen elf."

"I beg your pardon?" Jaden looked up sharply, losing her train of thought.

"Your hair, it seems to be too dark for a Seren such as myself.” Alisan touched her chest briefly. “I assume your heritage lies with the other tribe. If this was by your renen heritage, then apologies are being offered."

"This isn't about my hair! Did you just call me-"

"Jay, Ali? Do you want another bowl of porridge? There's some left, since Kellen made too much again," Oleander asked the two elfin women.

"Yes, please. Convey my appreciations to the nice Northman." Alisan held up her bowl to the redhead with a smile of gratitude.

"Jay? You too?" Oleander reached a hand out to take Jaden’s bowl as well.

"No. I'm full, thanks." Jaden shot Alisan an angry look. Plump! Now she really was entertaining setting the elf up with Stann!

When Alisan turned back to continue the chat with the mystic, she found the seat empty and the woman already halfway across the camp to wash up after eating. Jaden stopped by Stann on the way, though, and nodded back to where she had been sitting. The warrior didn’t need a second prompting, but easily walked over to the pale elf while running a hand along his short beard. In the other he was carrying the saddlebags he had been packing his belongings into.

"So, ah, I heard you talking about names yesterday, Alisan?" Stann busied himself with his bags as an excuse to linger by the elf's side.

"Yes?" The elf was a bit hesitant around the tall, blonde man, but this time he was acting politely.

"What does your name mean, in elf-speak?"

"It is known to us as Serecean, or Sorunese if you must, not 'elf-speak'. I don't present your... language as 'nordic grunts', do I? Even though I by all rights should," Alisan mumbled the last bit.

"Okay, okay. Serr-EH-shun." Stann raised his hands in defeat or defence.

"It appears as 'sun'. Al is 'eye' in Trade, and isan is 'heaven'." Alisan pointed at the hidden sun and the cloudy sky as she explained.

"But your family name is Summercross. Why do you say that in Trade?" The winter warrior left his bags alone and crossed his arms.

"It's a tradition among the descendants of the Seren elves to use the Trade shape of their family names, to honour the bond we made with the kingdoms of man on the old continent." The elf always got something in her voice when she spoke of her people. Pride or joy, it was hard to tell apart.

"But not your first names?"

"I was not the one to shape the rules, I merely abide by them." Alisan shrugged a little.

Kellen looked up from his book, just now realising there was a discussion of elven culture and language going on.

"Alisan is also your word for the citrus fruit, isn't it?" The rune seeker asked, as he marked his spot in the book with a big finger.

"Ye-es. Shemalisan, sunfruit, but-"

"Wait, your name means LEMON?" Stann interrupted with a big grin on his face.

"No it doesn't!" Alisan frowned, clutching a handful of her riding skirt into a bunch with her fists.

"That explains why you're so sour," the younger of the Northmen laughed.

Alisan growled a little, and kicked Stann in the shins. Her soft shoes made little noise or impact against his hardened leather boots.

"It's an interesting thing, though, the meaning of names," Kellen continued as if he didn't notice his cousin and the elf fighting. "My own name is old Northern for 'source of water' or 'wellspring'. My unfortunate cousin is named after the cliffs of the jagged coast outside Ildym, the Odelstann."

The rune seeker looked around the camp, and pointed to each in turn.

"Let's see. Mirena, that's old imperial Estal for 'Beauty', I believe."

The knight nodded her head with a slight smile. She certainly fit her name.

"I'm a flower," Oleander supplied helpfully.

"Well, technically, you're a bu-"

"I'm a delicate blossom." The redhead scowled at the large Northman.

"Right. Jaden means, of course "of jade". A bit funny. Unless there's another meaning to it from where you grew up, isn't it an Olman tradition to name sons after metals or stones?"

"I wouldn't know, Kel." Jaden shrugged. She had never been that interested in Olmar, except for when Ollie spun interesting stories about her homeland. Though, if you went by them, Olmar was filled with nothing but famous burglars, orphans and greedy merchants.

"I offer apologies, but Jaideen appears as 'she of rain'. Seren origin, despite your dark complexion." Alisan tilted her head little as she studied Jaden's profile, pausing for the moment in trying to stop Stann from calling her a lemon again.

"Funny coincidence, since Jaden's Talram, not Sorunese," Oleander said with a grin.

"What." The pale elf looked nonplussed.

"I've been meaning to tell you, but it never really came up," Jaden rubbed her neck while laughing nervously.

"But that must mean..." Alisan leaned forward with an incredulous expression.

"As I keep telling everyone, I'm not an elf," the black-haired mystic glared at her friends.

"Does 'Rhyce' have any special meaning?" Stann looked to his left at the archer, holding Alisan at bay with a hand to her head.

The borderlander took his time swallowing the last of his food before answering.

"It means 'enthusiasm'," he said with an expressionless face.

"... really?" Stann didn't look as if he bought that explanation.

As one of the towns situated along the southern end of the country, Rosehaven saw a lot of commerce due to its close proximity to the metropolis free city of Tier. It straddled that comfortable distance where it was able to offer some of the luxuries of the golden city to the people of Alband, without actually having to leave their country. There were a number of merchants who made a tidy living by moving goods the relatively short distance across the border. This allowed Rosehaven to keep a standard of goods unusual for a town of its size, and gave it a reputation of a nice place to settle down for your retirement. Having a temple dedicated to Kuros, the Sheltering Hand, made it only a more attractive area, being a place visited by pilgrims or people seeking aid for their afflictions.

Bannor scratched his neatly kept sideburns as he leaned against the doorway. He had already arranged the shelves and dusted the counter. He considered sweeping the floor, but decided against it in favour of digging his favourite pipe out of his belt pouch. A glance at the skies showed a familiar partially overcast Albander sky. Maybe it would rain, maybe it wouldn't.

The storeowner began stuffing his pipe with a nice, locally grown product from the temple gardens. The smoke was supposed to help with the indigestion that had bothered him these last couple of years. He was getting on in years, he supposed, and the festival feast a couple of days ago hadn't helped matters either. Bannor had a hard time turning down those greasy sausages and the candied apples.

As he was considering lunch, a group of travellers passed by his storefront on their way to the south Tierbound road. He was about to head inside to light a wick for his pipe when the flowing black hair of an elven rider caught his eye. He only got a brief look from behind, but it wasn't as if there were all that many elves coming through this way. There was those huge Northmen, too, which must mean that...

"Good day to you, young miss!" Bannor hailed the short redheaded Olman girl riding next to the ladylike brunette in the Tierin riding skirts. He had seen her together with the elf when they had visited his store not a fortnight ago.

"Oh, hello," she slowed down so he could walk next to her horse, looking at him curiously.

"So, did you get that... gift from your friend?" Bannor gave the girl a lecherous wink.

"What? The raisins? Sure, they were good, I guess?" Curiosity was replaced by mild confusion, but then she just waved and urged on her horse to catch up to her friends.

The storeowner was left at the corner of his house, turning his pipe around in his hands. Bannor guessed that the young romance hadn't gone the way that elven boy had wanted, after all. Such a shame, he thought as he returned back inside, they looked cute together, in an awkward way.

A somewhat matronly woman with her greying honey-brown hair in a loose bun was arranging some bouquets by her stand at the side of the town square, her light summer shawl pinned at her shoulder by a copper brooch engraved with a cupped hand. As the travellers drew closer to the marketplace, she put her hands on her hips and gave them a quizzical look.

"I see you found your way back to the haven," she called out to one of the tall, blonde Northmen.

"Imelia! I thought you were stationed in Tier?" Stann nodded at his friends, motioning for them to continue on while he talked with their acquaintance from before. To avoid giving her a strained neck, the warrior slipped off his horse when he stopped next to her table of garlands and fresh flowers.

"I serve the temple wherever I'm needed, you know that." The Albander woman shook an admonishing finger at Stann. "The poor prelate was in such a state when I arrived last week. The package had kept him awake enough as it was, but the news coming back from the village in the Ealbourne gave him even more grey hairs!"

"How is Prelate Matrick doing these days, then?" Stann asked, both out of politeness and respect for the work the prelate was doing.

"He's still sorting out the village right now, although we expect him back within the next day or so. The first acolyte has had to pull the temple's burdens while we're sorting out the mess you left behind over there. The woman’s done a good job of it, but the paperwork is starting to pile up." Imelia was obviously avoiding mentioning Redwall by name, but they knew what she was talking about. Even with the demon dead and gone, as well as its servants scattered or destroyed, the village would take a while to recover from its dread influence.

"Well, at least he'll get the chance to see his brother Samul and the family. Family's important,” Stann said with a wistful note in his throat. He had chosen one member of his family above the others, a choice he never regretted doing, but one he regretted having to do. He missed seeing all of their faces together.

"That it is, and don't you forget it!" Imelia needlessly reminded him with a firm nod that made the bun of her hair bob.

"No, ma'am. You have a nice day now, you old hen, and give our regards to the prelate when he returns," the winter warrior said as he moved to sit up on his horse.

"Buy a flower to support our rebuilding efforts, and you have yourself a deal, Northerner." The older woman nodded pointedly at the stand.

"Done! What are those yellow things, there?" Stann pointed at a vase holding some long-stemmed flowers with soft petals folded into a whirl.

"The Seraali? A rose-like blossom we received as a gift from a Sorunese scholar who visited the temple a while back. She brought a sapling that we managed to nurture in the gardens. A pleasant scent, wouldn't you say?" Irelia fondly brushed a finger along the stem of one of the flowers as she recalled the time.

"A golden, elven rose, eh?"

"You could say that, I suppose."

"I'll take one of those, then!" Stann leaned down from his horse and gave the woman a silver mark, urging her to keep the change as he accepted a single flower. With that, he said his farewells and hurried to catch up with his friends.

By the time he had caught up with them, they had already left the town proper and were heading down the southern road. It was still only early afternoon, and while the idea of staying for food or warm beds in the pleasant town was tempting they had made the decision to not waste any time getting to Tier. From there, with any luck, it would be a more relaxing journey up the Odar.

Stann turned the yellow blossom around in his hands as he brought his hairy northern stallion closer to where Jaden was riding at the rear of the group. Alisan and Mirena was talking about some sort of dance, by what he could understand, and far ahead he could spot Rhyce taking the lead to scout or be left alone. Once he got close enough to the mystic, he sat up a little straighter and offered the sweet-smelling gift with a small flourish.

"Stann... why are you bringing me a flower?" Jaden looked at him in askance.

"I, uh, remembered that you like yellow?" The warrior scratched his neck a little, still holding the flower stretched out between them.

"I do, but... Don't you feel this is, uh, a little strange?" The black-haired mystic eyed the blossom, not knowing what to make of it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. It was a stupid idea. Here, I'll just throw it away." Stann was about to toss the flower to the roadside when Jaden quickly reached out to put her hand on his wrist.

"No! No. I'll take it. For what it's worth, thank you, Bear. I like it."

"That smile is thanks enough, little... brother." A smile of his own lit up the Northman’s face. It was so easy to forget that Stann really was quite handsome, in that rugged, blonde northern fashion. If the warrior just made more of an effort to act more mature, Jaden could definitely see why many women kept looking his way.

Jaden's smile lost its forced edges, as she brought the blossom closer to her face. She remembered the unbroken rose of midnight, and the promise she had made.

It was later in the evening, when the stores and shops had closed up. Emik had thrown a washcloth over his shoulder as he brought out a fresh plate of flatcakes from the kitchen. It was an appreciated snack for his neighbours coming in to rest their feet after a day working their businesses. At the table closest to the counter sat the seamstress's daughter together with the owner of the dry goods store. Keyla and Bannor were unlikely friends, despite the difference in age and appearance, who shared a joy of idle gossip. Once Emik was sure that his inn would manage itself for a little bit, he joined them and grabbed a cake for himself before they were all gone.

"Now with the festival done with, I guess we'll see more of the regular travelling crowd. Some pilgrims, perhaps?" Bannor puffed away at his pipe as he speculated.

"Maybe we'll get more adventurers? I heard how the Orc tribes in the north are starting to posture again, or how the dwarves of the underkingdom have sent out scouting parties into the hidden paths?"

"You listen to too many strange stories, girl," the older man dismissed the notion with the pipestem in his mouth.

"What of those adventurers that were here some weeks ago? Group like that pretty much had to have been, right?" Keyla pointed out with a clever expression.

"Speaking of which, I saw them pass through again just today,” Bannor countered.

"Really? Say, was that cute elven boy still courting his lovely lady?" The young woman remembered how awkward that boy had been, coming into her shop looking for something cute and lacy as a gift.

"Sadly, the redheaded girl seemed to have rejected him." The storeowner shook his head sadly.

"Redhead? No, he was trying to woo that elegant Tierin woman." Keyla blinked, positive that the lady had been the brunette one.

"What elven boy are you two talking about? The only elf with that group was a girl. I almost walked in on her while she was bathing. She had left the door a little ajar, so I thought she was done." Emik sat down with the two gossips to share what he knew. As an innkeeper, he felt he had to show the two of them how it was done. You heard all kinds of things tending the common room in the evenings.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

After a arriving to the golden city of Tier, Jaden and her friends make a point of looking up the man who is most likely able to tell them a thing or two about the various smuggling operations working the midland area. Meanwhile, dark forces move according to their hidden design.

Flashback: Being the smallest and most agile of the group, Oleander is sometimes sent into unknown situations. This time she brought a friend along.

---

Chapter 23: The Unquiet Ones

OLEANDER

Their bare feet made a dry patter as they ran down the winding corridor with their breath caught in their throats. The dust whirled up in their wake as they ran quickly, more away from, rather than towards.

"I blame you for this, Jay! I blame you so much!" The redhead skidded a little on the layer of sand covering the stone passage as they rounded a corner.

"Shut up, Ollie! Why did you have to grab that jewel out of the statue?" Jaden didn’t make the turn as smoothly, and bumped up against the wall before he got moving again. He was breathing heavily from their running.

"It's the size of my palm! Why did you make us take off our boots?"

"The script above the entrance clearly said 'connect yourself to where you are'!" Jaden was fairly sure he had translated it correctly. The symbols were old and draconic, but the architecture of the barrows was clearly intended for a humanoid culture. The rune seeker had claimed that in the old days, the orc tribes worshipped the dragons as gods.

"You've been talking too much with Kel!" Oleander managed to yell while ducking under an old stone portcullis that was stuck half raised.

"Just... shut up and run!"

They made good speed for several twists until they faced a split in the passages. Unsure where to go, Oleander looked up at Jaden, her short red hair matted by sweat slick against her face.

Go left

"Right! Let's go right!" Jaden glanced down the left tunnel just once, but shook his head to himself. Following his gut only put him in bad situations.

"The right way is the right way?" Oleander punned as she ran on ahead.

Please listen

The passages beneath the ruins spread out like a mad spider's web, overlapping and crossing through the others in a labyrinthine tangle. Oleander took the lead, scampering up a slightly sloped hallway, her bare feet slipping a little on the loose sand. In the darkness behind them, beyond where the light of their torches could reach, the noises of the things they had inadvertently set free followed them still. The tomb children of the Khuul Barrows walked again.

The last turn led them to a broken stone bridge that once reached across a yawning gorge that plunged deeper into the underground. The noises from behind was getting ever closer.

Oleander leaned forward and peered sceptically into the darkness below, waving her torch a little as if it would make the light would go further. With a grimace she stood up again, and shook her head to her companion. Going down wasn't an option. Meanwhile, Jaden had measured the distance across the gap to the far section of the bridge. Oleander might be able to make the leap, in ideal circumstances, but he surely wouldn't.

"Well, we're not going either of those ways," Oleander nervously looked back the way they had come from. Their pursuers would be there soon. Very soon.

"The wall is pretty ornately carved, you know..." Jaden ran his gloved hand over the surface in thought.

"This isn't the time to admire the craftsmanship of a dead people! Let's worry about not joining them!"

"No, I mean, we could probably climb this." The mystic patted the stone, and pointed up into the darkness beyond where the light from their torches could reach. Further up, there were visible ledges and cracks.

"Huh? Yeah, easily." The redhead peered up into the upper parts of the otherwise natural caves the old barrow ruins had been once been carved out of. With a confident look, she handed her torch over to Jaden and began scaling the wall quickly. Before long she found a natural outcropping that formed a shelf big enough for the two of them. She leaned down and motioned with her free hand.

"Catch!" Jaden juggled one torch after another up to Oleander's waiting hand. She safely caught them, just like she catches the knives she had trained with before, deftly putting both torches in a horizontal crack before hauling herself to the top. Jaden followed her up the wall, going a little slower and taking his time to find a solid grip before continuing. As he reached the top as well, they could hear the first of the tomb children make it around the last bend before the corridor opened up into the cave.

"Quickly, the torches!" Oleander grabbed the burning branches, and hurled them down into the gorge.

"Why did-" Jaden had barely opened his mouth when the redhead held her hands over it. Their perch turned a deep shade of black when the only illumination tumbled down into the ravine. The noise of many feet scratched across the sandy floor, which turned into a faint whistling as the short beings blindly fell off in pursuit of the light.

Suddenly, the cave with the broken bridge was not only pitch black, but also completely silent. Jaden felt Oleander's hands leave his face, and they sat curled up against one another on the ledge for a while, waiting to see if anything changed. They barely dared to breathe.

"I think," Jaden finally whispered, "I think they're gone. I think we lost them."

"Merciful mothers, I hope so." Oleander released the breath she had been holding. "What do we do now? Those were our only torches..."

"Well, uh, I guess we could wrap some clothes around my sword, and light that on fire?" There was a faint metal on metal sound as Jaden drew his Talram blade.

"Light it with what? My bag is still outside the fissure we crawled down through." They had been forced to leave most of their things behind to fit through the narrow squeeze. None of the others would even get that far. As the slimmest of the group, it fell to the two of them to make the descent.

"Magic, Ollie. Magic," Jaden reminded the redhead.

"Oh, right." The Olman girl snapped her fingers. "Wait, could you see if there's a way out by continuing upwards?"

"... we still need to make that torch, remember?"

"What, do you mean you can't see in the darkness? Some elf you are!" Oleander stuck her tongue out in the general direction of her friend. Even if he couldn’t see it, it had to be done.

"I'm not an elf, Ollie." Jaden sounded a little resigned.

"Well, I'll donate my shirt I guess,” she said as she started to pull it off.

Working carefully to avoid nicking themselves on the sword, they tied their shirts around the blade going by feeling alone. When they were satisfied the cloth wouldn't immediately fall off, Jaden held the sword out and called upon his salamander pact.

"Valignat!" Jaden immediately squinted in the sudden light, then glanced at the redhead next to him. "... wait, you had an undershirt as well?"

"Of course! Did you think I'd strip down completely for you, Jay?"

"No, but wasn't it hotter than a dragon's belly wearing layers in the Etrian desert?" He had been sweating buckets even in his light shirt. The desert sun was merciless.

"Shut up and climb, elf-boy!" Oleander commanded, indicating the uneven cave wall. It had plenty of handholds by the look of it.

"How many times do I need to tell you-"

The stirring in the air made them both go quiet. It came from above, a fresh breeze that made its way down into the darkness. They looked at each other, and then tried to see how far up the cave reached.

"We might be able to get out this way?" Oleander said with a hopeful tone.

"Here, hold the sword while I send a Far Whisper to Kellen and the rest. They might be able to throw down a rope or something." Jaden flexed his fingers, and wove the complex form that allowed him to send a message on the wind. It would follow the path the air was taking, and hopefully reach the outside.

"At least we got the treasure," Oleander smirked, holding up the large ruby triumphantly. The jewel sparkled in the light of the fire, promising wealth and fame, and all the things a girl could wish for. She glanced at the half-naked elven boy next to her. His bare upper body was shiny with the sweat from running and climbing. Yeah, everything a girl could wish for.

Redwall

The Ealbourne forest held many secrets from the warring days against the North. Many hidden paths and trails that the Albander forces used to quickly reposition themselves to outmanoeuvre the invading army. Today, most of those passages were forgotten except by those who made their living among the trees, or those who had access to the old maps. The Tassard family had been interested in old trading routes, especially when they were to be granted the lands after the old baron's line died with him.

Ariken drove his horses hard, switching every so often to let the other one rest a little as he kept the pace up. It was a sight to see, what some motivation could drive both man and beasts to do. He had left the miserable cottage they called a home in Carrick Field after sundown, and ridden the entire night. He would have to replace these horses too, just like he had the original ones he and his wife had used to flee their home on that fateful night. It gave him a sour taste in his mouth, having to resort to simple thievery, but it had to be done. The pace he had been keeping would have killed the animals, no matter stopping every so often to switch over.

Ariken set his jaw against the cool wind. He had given his word, and he would not disappoint their only way out of this dank pit of poverty. There was nothing he wouldn't give to claw his way back up to their rightful place in the world. He needed this. They needed this. With the harvester's help they would get it. All he had to do was to twist a few arms and grab an old thing from a small temple in a sleepy village. Nothing easier.

The sun had climbed the vault of the sky and was beginning to fall once more when he emerged from the cover of leaves and saw a familiar, disappointing sight. The small village had so much potential, if he had only been allowed to work his design upon it. He would have another chance, he promised himself, as he tied his exhausted horses in a hidden clearing within walking distance. Ariken steadied himself against a tree as he gathered himself. He was beyond tired as well, but the burning need inside him drove him ever forward. He wouldn't rest until he'd seen this through. He couldn't rest. With a shaking hand, he dug through the saddlebags for the one remaining bottle of milky liquid. He had already had the other one, now only an empty flask rattling around at the bottom of the bags. It would keep him awake and alert for another day or so. After that… he would have to resort to less pleasant methods.

The first order of business would be to sift through the remains of his mansion to find out whether the unwashed masses had looted everything, or if some of his hidden valuables. Some would help turn their existence into something less pathetic. Gold always helped with that. Some of the other items would help him with his plan. First, he needed rope.

Baron Ariken Tassard stepped into his home. It was shocking the changes not even two weeks of neglect had wrought on the proud mansion. It seemed empty in a way that belied the decorations and furniture that had been left behind. The spirit of the place was missing, in more ways than one. He stopped by the stairs and looked at the grand paining of his family, made back in Farcrest before they had been bequeathed these lands. The children looked so different back then, he recalled. The painting, however, had been slashed by what looked like several types of sharp objects. His own face was just a gaping hole. It was a good reminder of how the lowborn were just simple beasts without his direction. When he returned, his rule would be good for them. His strict rule would guide them. A second glance at the painting made him wince. It looked like someone had stabbed his portrait repeatedly in the chest as well. Very strict.

"Positively draconic," Ariken mumbled to himself as he descended into the cellar. Rope, and a barrel.

Ral Sona

When the sun had continued past the zenith of the sky the shadows of the large spires began to reach across the city. The heartwood city, the home of the two people, wore the canopy of the old trees like a comforting cloak. It made up a natural ceiling, high above, with enough windows in the green to let the daystar caress anyone who walked the sunlit paths between the shaded areas.

Housing and buildings were shaped together with nature, rather than out of it, giving each place a unique and living appearance. During the summertime, when everything was blooming and lush, Ral Sona wore her splendour of colours like a bride on her wedding day.

Tinris didn’t pay the exultation of life much mind. He had been born here many years ago, and the city that changed with the seasons didn’t cause the same amazement in his soul as it did those who visited. It showed that one could grow used to anything, no matter how wonderful or strange. The elf didn’t even pay much attention to his surroundings at all. His soft shoes moved quickly across the lit path, his robes brushing the grass that hid just at the edge of the light. He walked hurriedly, like a man who was late for an appointment, and had too much on his mind.

Everything was falling apart. Only days after they had sent out people to look into the matter at strategic points along the logical routes, the accidents had begun to happen. Once was a surprise, twice was a coincidence. But the one that had almost killed Lienide couldn’t be explained any other way – someone, or something, was hunting them. His hand clenched around the scroll he had recovered from the mess that had been his workspace before the water ducts had broken, damaging most if not all of many years of hard work. It was a tragedy he would have to mourn another time. In his hand, he held the translation. It had shocked him to his core when he realised the message in those hidden places. It was so obvious, now. How could they have been so blind? He had to bring this to Ranath, or anyone really. Everyone. The ruling caste couldn’t ignore this. Not this time. Now it wasn’t just the ramblings of an overworked wordshaper. After all this time, proof.

His destination was a modest, but sizeable, building that curled around an oak that had been old even before he had been born. It wasn’t his home, but instead a place where they met, he and his colleagues. A place where they wouldn’t have to be afraid of the truth, and the words they spoke in sharing it.

Tinris didn’t even notice how the door wasn’t locked when he pushed it open and went inside. He looked out through the window, finally wondering if he had been followed. The world looked normal, out there. Light and shadow, living and vibrant. He paced the main room for a while, trying to calm down. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, so he finally headed towards the small kitchen area to make himself a cup of tea while he waited for the rest to arrive.

Handling the heatstones, pulling them out of the clay jar and placing them in the oven to heat the kettle, was relaxing in its ordinariness. He reached up to the shelf where they kept the tealeaves, standing on tiptoe to reach. Ranath always put them on the upper shelf, despite everyone telling him not to.

The garrotte whipped past his face before he could react and the jar of dried leaves fell from his hands, breaking on the floor when he grabbed at the thin wire. It cut into his throat, cutting off both blood and breath. Tinris flailed behind him, trying to desperately do something to get free, but found himself being dragged backwards instead. His feet slipped on the broken pieces of the jar, scattering tea all over the floor. His eyes were welling up, not only with the pain and fear, but also with his failure. Warm wetness flowed from where he kept digging with his fingers at his throat, but there was no escaping the shadows that crept in along the sides of his vision.

When his body finally relaxed and lay still, the hands that held the garrotte kept on the pressure for another minute before letting go. It was a little hard to unwind the wire where it had cut into the windpipe. Finally, a gloved hand rifled through the pockets and pouches of the dead elf. The hand paused for a moment, then reached over and wiped away a tear that had slid down Tinris’s face. The scroll, crumpled but intact, changed owners and before the kettle had come to a boil the door closed softly once more.

Tinris’s blank eyes remained open.

Redwall

The children played around the edge of the forest. They had to catch the girl with the braids, since she had been the one to touch the well first. Only by touching her would you win, but if she made it to the old sign next to the road, she would be safe and win instead. The children darted around the adults who were still working. Some of the houses were still a little broken from the scary night when everyone went crazy. Even the witch Lyrissa was helping out. They had always been warned to stay away from her, but now their parents said she was a good person. All they knew was that she made pretty wreaths of wildflowers and sometimes toys or dolls out of wood.

Milas hopped out of the way of two men carrying a load of wooden planks, and saw how Jemime was cutting through the Forrestal's garden to reach the sign quicker. It was brave, since there was a dog guarding it. Milas knew that he could head her off if he took a shortcut as well, and ran as quickly as he could. He ran so fast, that he couldn't stop in time when another man came walking through the same narrow passage between the houses. He bumped into the adult, and would have fallen to the ground if he hadn't been caught in time.

"Thanks mister! Momma would've had my hide if I dirtied another pair of trousers," Milas brushed some dust off his legs. They didn't look too dirty. His mother would probably not notice.

"My pleasure. Just be a little more careful next time." The man was about to let him go, when he tiled his head. "You're Samul's son, aren't you? What luck I'd bump into you here!"

"Huh?" The child blinked.

"I'm your uncle Arik. I'm terribly sorry I missed your birthday, so I came all the way here to give you a present!" The man smiled widely. He looked a little familiar too.

"Oh! I love presents!" Milas was a little confused. He didn't recall having another uncle than Mat. But Mat was often busy in his temple as a priest, so it was possible he had other uncles who had just been busy as well.

"You'll love this one. It was so big, I couldn't fit it in anything smaller than a barrel!" The man held out his hands wide as if to show how large it must be.

"Really? What is it?" Milas couldn’t believe his luck! His birthday had been months ago, but this was like having another one all over again.

"And spoil the surprise? Would you like to come see it?" Uncle Arik nodded towards where he had come from.

"Yeah!"

Milas followed his new uncle into the forest. He could still hear the sounds of the village when they reached a small clearing. Next to a couple of horses was a large barrel. Whatever the present was, it must be wonderful.

"Go on, little boy. Look inside,” the man said, still smiling.

The child ran up and pried the lid off the barrel, peeking inside.

"I don't understand, uncle Arik. It's empty?"

"Not anymore, it isn't."

It was on the second day past Rosehaven, though the first camp they had to make barely counted since it was already afternoon when they had passed through the town. Only one more day on the road and they would finally be in Tier. Granted, it wasn’t an excessively long trip from Farcrest to the golden city, but after a while the miles of coast and farmlands became a dull ache in the backside.

Two interesting things occurred that day, though. The first was during breakfast, when Kellen had finally seen the fish-sausages at the bottom of the bag where they carried some of their food. He was going through them to check for ingredients for lunch, since his turn was coming up again. As soon as his fingers touched them, he jerked back like he had handled a hot coal.

"Wait, you love fish, but you hate demmel? How does that add up?" Oleander asked, looking across the field next to their camp to see if she could spot where the bag had landed. The Northman was very strong, and could throw very far.

"Ugh. Don't speak of those things. Alband has many things to answer for, but those wretched things are among the worst. Sausages should be meat from the land. Pork, bear or reindeer. Fish should be grilled or stewed. There's a certain order to the world." Kellen had lapsed into a lecturing tone of voice as he went on explaining things. At least he wasn’t hurling more of their supplies into the wild.

"You feel really strongly about this,” the redhead squinted up at him against the sun. Tomorrow they would be in Tier. They would survive without meat until then, having plenty of other things to eat. There were always potatoes.

"It's only common sense." The rune seeker took many things serious, but books and fish topped that list.

The other thing happened around noontime, when they had met a banner of knights headed north. When the two groups stopped, Mirena had recognised the leader as another paladin from Tier. Unlike Mirena, he rode fully armoured during the hot summer day, with a squire to carry his green and gold pennant on a spear. The two priests exchanged stories, and even though Jaden didn’t know what might have happened between then in the past, the other knight – Paladin Elmard, another proud Tierin highborn by the sound of his introduction – seemed to have mixed feelings of caution and respect for Mirena. Jaden knew that her friend was regarded as something of a rebel amongst her peers, having basically forced her superiors to send her alone into the field as a punishment for not accepting a safer duty as a temple priestess. No doubt this caused a varied reception when they bumped into her fellow paladins.

The reasons for the knights heading north made for happier news, however. Apparently, the prelate of Rosehaven had requested aid from the temple in Tier in handling the situation in Redwall. Since the demon had been dealt with, there was no reason to involve the inquisition directly – a fact that seemed to relieve Mirena greatly – but there was still the lingering threat of any of the demon’s servants who might be hiding in the Ealbourne forest. Also, there was the matter of tracking down and bringing the culprit Ariken Tassard to justice. Demon worship and nethermancy were crimes that on their own would sentence a man to a life inside the stockades. Both together, however, called for a harsher penalty.

Elmard’s troop wasn’t even the first one sent to Redwall, the previous one arriving a week ago. He was sent there to take over the protection of the village while the first troop followed up on their leads in finding the baron. Apparently there had been witnesses during the night of the battle of Redwall seeing the baron and his wife fleeing on horses, headed west along some of the old soldiers’ paths.

Rosehaven

It was evening again when he stepped through the ever-open doors to the temple of the sheltering hand. Those doors would never close, not even in times of war. No enemy soldier would dare to bring violence into the house of the heavenly healer. It was sacrosanct. Baron Tassard had a sour taste in his mouth as he stepped across the threshold. He didn't enjoy setting some precedence. The fresh dirt on his shoes left a faint track on the carpet, a dark stain against the simple and clean weave.

"Welcome to the temple of the sheltering hand, traveller. How can the priesthood aid you this evening?" A young man in an initiate's grey and white robes stood ready to greet newcomers. His face bore some freckles to go with the reddish-brown hair cut short.

"I come seeking succour. My own kin wishes me harm." Ariken presented an anxious mask, and wringed his hands as if afraid for his life. A furtive glance over his shoulder completed the performance.

"I... see. Uh. Well, only the prelate can offer the succour of the temple. I'll take you right to him, good man." The youth seemed surprised by the request, and stammered his way through the words. He waved at another initiate to see to the entrance while he was guiding the dirty, strange man into the temple.

They walked through the corridors that would take them to the prelate's office, exchanging only a couple of words. The nervous fidgeting of the man finally made the initiate offer some words of comfort.

"You have nothing to fear while you're here. Kuros' hand protects us," the young man tried to reassure Ariken. It was almost amusing.

"All the same, priest. All the same." Ariken stuck a hand into a pocket, and whatever he found there seemed to calm him.

When they reached the unassuming door that led to the office of the prelate of the temple, the initiate knocked a few times, calling through the door.

"Prelate Matrick? We have received a wanderer formally requesting succour," the young priest called, then leaned closer to the door to hear the reply.

The door muffled the response somewhat, but the young priest seemed to be satisfied with what he heard, as he opened it for the baron. The room was as utilitarian as the inner area of the temple, with no special favours for being the leader of this place of worship. Rather, it looked more like a tax collector's office, with many stacks of papers and notes spread out across the desk. There was even some stacked on a second chair within reach. The prelate sat in his ceremonial robes, more ornate than the ones worn by the initiates and acolytes, but humble when compared to the garments favoured by the other priesthoods. The clergy of Kuros proved themselves with their actions, rather than try to impress with lavish outfits.

"The Hand keep you and protect you who would seek the succour of the temple," the prelate said with some formality, his thinning hair forming a laurel around his head.

"Thank you, prelate," Baron Ariken mumbled as he entered the room with bowed head. He had met the priest several times before, and would no doubt be immediately recognised. Instead, he shut the door, leaving the two of them with the privacy he needed.

"Tell me about what troubles you," Prelate Matrick said, removing the spectacles he had resorted to using a few years ago when the letters began to blur.

"Well, you see, I was attacked in my home by strangers. They killed my daughter." Ariken's voice shook. He didn't have to reach too far to bring his real feelings to the surface.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, good man. Would you give me your name? When we know more of what happened, we can see if there is anything we can help you with." Matrick passed a weary hand over his face. No matter how long he lived, he would never understand man's need for violence. "However, is there a reason you did not seek the city guard first?"

"Because I'm a wanted man, prelate," the baron said as he raised his head, looking straight at the priest.

"Baron Tassard!" Prelate Matrick stood up quick enough to disturb some of the papers. They fluttered to the ground like wounded birds. "You would dare walk into the sanctuary of the Hand after what you did? Demon worshipper!"

"Keep your voice down, old man. I've come to make a deal with you." Ariken glanced at the door. It had kept some noise out, but if it turned into a screaming contest he had no doubt temple guards would come looking into the matter.

"There will be no deals with your kind, baron. Surrender yourself, and the gods might show you the mercy you denied your victims in Redwall." The prelate held a hand to his divine symbol, ready to unleash his magic if it the baron gave him any reason to.

"I believe you'll be interested to hear what I have to say. Did you think I'd walk into a temple full of priests without some insurance? What would stop you from seizing me with your magic?" Ariken talked calmly, trying to maintain control of the situation.

"What are you saying? What insurance?" Matrick frowned, leaning forward a bit as if to see the baron better.

"I visited my demesne on my way here. It seems as if the repairs are coming along just fine. Why, children are allowed to run around freely." Ariken reached into his other pocket and pulled out a wadded up square of cloth. "I saw your brother's family. Little Milas has grown quite a bit this last year, has he not?"

"Baron..." Prelate Matrick's voice held the edge of a warning, as he began to walk around his table.

"The child is very trusting. It wasn't hard to steal him away without anyone noticing," Baron Tassard said as he backed up away from the advancing, angry priest.

"You will deliver my nephew to me without delay, or things will be even worse for you. baron, I am... appalled by what you have become," Prelate Matrick said with a sick expression. "Using children as leverage!"

"I do what I must, prelate. Now, if you apprehend me, you will never see the boy again," Ariken took a step forward, regaining some momentum to his plan. "But, if you're willing to listen to me, he will soon be back with his family again. All this just a bad memory, soon forgotten."

"How do I know this is not just a bluff?" Matrick asked the obvious.

"I figured you would eventually say something like that." Ariken offered the crumpled fabric, walking closer to the priest.

The older man hesitantly accepted it, and unwrapped the contents. There was a tuft of brown hair and a small piece of blood and flesh. The priest's eyes went wide in horror.

"Just a piece of his earlobe. Enough blood for a priest of Kuros to be able to ascertain the bond of a blood-relative, right?" The baron had studied magic for a good portion of his life. How the gift had been denied him from birth had galled him no end. He was better than the mundanes. He deserved better.

The prelate didn't answer immediately, but moved his lips in a silent prayer as he touched the half-dry blood. After a moment, his face became a mix of both concern and relief.

"The boy lives, at least." Matrick signed, and then looked with narrow eyes at the other man in the room. "What... do you want?"

"Good, good. Now that we've on the same page, let's talk." Baron Ariken walked up to the chair opposite of the table. The dangerous part was over. If he had been mistaken about the priest's sensibility, this could have all ended right here. Without the dark gift of Amucia, his patron, he stood no hope against a magician. With a tired sigh, he sank down into the chair. Just a little more.

"You said you wanted to make a deal?" The prelate urged.

"Yes. A small something for something. An item you don't want, for a child you do want. A fair trade, in my book." Ariken was all about fairness, as long as it benefitted him.

"Don't be coy, baron, it doesn't become you. What are you looking for, here?"

"Recently, you received an object - an idol - for safekeeping. From Tier. Delivered by a Telum knight and some Northmen? I want it. I want it right now." Baron Tassard emphasised the last words by rapping his knuckles into the armrest of the chair twice.

"The... you must be joking! That dread thing should be locked away, buried for all time! There will be no deal. With the blood you brought me, my priests and I can perform a ceremony to find a lost lamb. We will find where you're keeping my nephew." Matrick was fuming, walking up to the table and slamming a hand into it in front of Ariken. "And you, baron, you will hang."

"You won't make it in time." Ariken interrupted the tirade.

"What do you mean? What did you do?" Matrick paused, eyeing the baron cautiously.

"I buried him alive. In a barrel. You'll probably find him, eventually. But not in time." The baron didn’t smile. This was not a time for gloating. It would only provoke the priest and possibly send him over the edge. This was negotiation.

"You... you monster!"

"You're wasting his time, prelate. Do we have a deal or not?" Ariken pushed on his moral leverage, knowing the priest would have to budge.

The priest stood for a moment, just staring at the baron. Then, he seemed to come to a decision. With a nod, he walked over to the door.

"If we're going to do this, then we will do it immediately. You're right. I'm not going to waste the air Milas has left." Matrick grabbed the door handle and pulled it open with the force he couldn’t bring to bear onto the baron.

"I'm glad you saw reason, prelate."

"I don't care about if you're glad or not. Let's get this over with." The old priest stormed out, leaving the baron to follow.

The two men left the office and walked in silence through the inner corridors of the temple, away from the relative splendour that served to inspire the awe of the Five Temples in the hearts of pilgrims. Soon, they found themselves before a short stairs that led down below the temple. The heavy doors, made to withstand a significant battering, were closed unlike the open entrance. The sheltering hand could also keep you away from harm by preventing you from going into danger.

The two temple guardians, in heavy armour and keeping their flanged maces at hand, stood at either side of those doors. Their large shields bore the symbol of the god, a hand engraved in copper. They looked ready to hold off an entire Northern clan by themselves if they had to. As Prelate Matrick came before them, they stood even more to attention, if that was possible. The priest motioned to them to stand down.

"As the oracle of Etrion stood before the gates of the first temple, remember your duty to heaven," the prelate told the guardians almost ceremoniously. The two heavily armed men shifted a little in their stance, almost as if they exchanged a glance with one another, but made no moves to halt the priest and the baron as they pushed open the doors and entered the reliquary.

Baron Tassard glanced over his shoulder, and saw one of the guardians pull the door shut again. What a life, he thought; having to protect a door in a place where nobody would ever dare to cause any trouble. Until he arrived, that is. He turned back to follow the prelate, as they navigated the cramped passages blow the temple.

"Do you always preach to your subordinates?" Ariken asked.

"I'm a priest, it's what I do. Also, it's a password," Matrick replied curtly, as they stopped before a second door that bore several symbols of protection and warning. The priest procured a keychain from inside his robes, and flipped through them until he found the right one.

"Ah." The baron waited impatiently as the older man pushed open the doors to the inner sanctum. He was so close now. He could almost feel the tides of power leaking out from this vault.

The temple reliquary was a place where the priesthood kept their most valuable items, but also where they hid away things too dangerous for the world to see. Every temple of Kuros had a place like this. It was almost laughable how easy it had been to access. Baron Tassard looked around. If he had more time, he might have wanted to spend days down here, perusing the forbidden books or exploring the properties of the heretical artefacts. But for now, he had a single goal. The priest led him along old shelves lined with various implements of the faith, until they reached a section of the room, cordoned off with an iron fence that reached from floor almost to ceiling. It looked like a cage, where they held the most precious things prisoners.

"It's in there," the prelate said, as he turned the key in the lock to the gate.

"Well, go get it then. The sooner we're done here..." Ariken began, not having to finish the sentence. He was also not about to willingly walk into a cage, if the priest decided that his oaths to the temple weighted heavier than his bond to his family.

Without a word, the older man entered the forbidden parts of the reliquary and quickly found a large ceramic sphere covered with runes. It didn't look like how Ariken remembered it, when he and Juliss had partaken of the rite of binding the first time. The night when they had surrendered their own daughter to the desires of their patron in exchange for power.

The prelate seemed to sense his hesitation, and tapped the sphere as he explained.

"A rune seeker sealed the... object inside. It is not my place to break that ward, even if I knew how to."

"That does not matter, priest. Give it to me, and we can be done with our business."

The greying prelate visibly gathered himself as he brought the sealed idol out of the cage. He faltered briefly before extending it to the waiting baron. His face was a mixture of many emotions, loathing one of the loudest.

The baron took hold of the sphere, feeling an equal weight fall from his shoulders. He wasted little time as he began to walk out from the reliquary. Ariken had only made it to the crypt corridors before the priest had caught up with him again.

"Please, you have that cursed thing. Just tell me where you have my nephew!" Prelate Matrick demanded of the baron.

Ariken looked up from the ceramic sphere. He could feel the sinister emanations coming from within.

"Yes, we had a deal, after all. The lad is buried beneath the fallen watchtower to the old west road. The earth is freshly turned, so you can't miss it." The baron had every intention of honouring his deals. He was a highborn noble after all. He held himself to a stricter standard than most men.

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" The priest demanded, not looking away from Ariken’s face.

"I'm a man of my word! On my honour, that is where you'll find the child." Baron Tassard balked at the very idea of being called a liar. If he had more time, as well as his old power, he would have been forced to show the priest that clergy stood beneath nobility.

"Thank you." The priest looked relieved, but that changed into determination. "However, I'm not. I can't let you leave with that. It has caused too much suffering."

Ariken weighted the sealed idol in a hand. It was almost too heavy. His free hand went into a pocket. Insurance. His fingers touched the smooth, hard surface.

"I was afraid you'd do something like that," Ariken said. Maybe he would show them their place, after all?

The sound of armoured boots approached the reliquary, as the temple guards the priest had warned earlier moved into position to cut him off from every avenue of escape. They had him cornered like a rat. Just like a rat.

"Just hand it over, and I'll make sure you get a fair hearing. Kuros’ is a merciful Hand." The prelate extended his own hand, as if the baron would just surrender himself and the idol.

"There's too much riding on the completion of this task, priest. For what it is worth, I'm sorry it came to this." Ariken showed what he had retrieved from his pocket, a complete finger bone covered in small symbols, and wrapped with a black ribbon. With a sharp twist, he snapped the fragile thing, releasing the purple haze within it.

"What did you do?" The priest took a step back from the slowly expanding cloud.

"Netherstorm. I just tore apart the veil to the realm of the dead. Soon, every dead thing in the area will come back to life." The baron’s voice echoed strangely against the sepulchral walls.

"... but these are the temple crypts!" The priest looked around in horror, as the bones of long dead members of his order began to shudder.

"Exactly." Ariken stepped backwards into the shadows.

A rift in the air suddenly opened, and with an otherworldly cry countless spectres began to rush into the crypts. One by one, the skeletal remains of the holy dead twitched and jerked, their empty eye sockets filling with a baleful, purple light.

The temple guards didn’t wait for the prelate to call for their help, but charged to his defence even as the first of the unquiet ones rose up to shed the blood of the living. The armoured men formed a wall around their priest barely in time to take swings at the first attackers, but the crypts were large and the interred many. For every one they cut down, more seemed to take their place with their bony hands clawing and tearing.

Ariken slipped out during the panic and confusion. Screams followed him as he made his way back to the temple proper. As an afterthought, he pushed the big doors shut once more, barring it with a candlestick across the handles. It was a rush to handle such powerful magic. Imagine what he would be able to do when this was at his beck and call. Once he delivered this idol to the nethermancer, he too would wield the magic of life and death. Ariken grinned widely.

The walls of the temple were thick and sturdy, as was apparently the floors. None of the acolytes suspected a thing as the baron simply walked out. One of the girls even bid Kuros’ blessing on him as he stepped outside. It almost made him laugh right there and then. Instead of staying to gloat, he hurried toward the gardens where he had tied his newly acquired horses. It was almost comical how trusting these simple townspeople were, not bothering to lock up their stables at night. Of course, he could just have bought them with some of the valuables he had recovered from his mansion, but it would have been too great a risk if someone would have recognised him.

Baron Tassard sat up on to ride once more. The effort made his vision swim a little, the side effects of the potions catching up with him. He would just have to endure until he could make it back to the river. He had arranged for transport up the Odar previously, with promises of riches. His saddlebags contained enough hastily gathered valuables from his mansion to satisfy the boatmen. Then he could finally sleep, as he was carried back to his destiny. He carefully screwed off the lid of a small jar, dipping a needle into the reddish liquid within. The needle was pushed into his arm, next to the other ones. The poison wouldn't hurt him too much in such small doses, but the burning in his veins kept him awake enough to ride one more time.

The first watch was always the darkest. The stars were still coming out, and the moon had yet to rise. Rhyce sat down an armful of fallen twigs and branches to feed their fire. Even during the summer, the nights could get a little chilly. The fire would also keep any wildlife away, even though the most they could expect this far to the coast and the Olman border was some boars or perhaps a couple of wild dogs that had made it across the Odar river. The dogs ran free on the steppes of Olmar, where if you got too far north into Alband you would encounter wolves instead.

As Rhyce tended the fire, he heard a rider pressing on through the night. Whoever it was pushed their horses too hard. He could hear the heavy breathing from where he was sitting. It made the archer shake his head. Some people just did not respect the animals that served them. It was a lesson he too had to learn, at a cost.

A black bird landed on a low branch on the nearby tree, tilting its head to look at him with a beady, dark eye.

"Thought will see beyond the visible, memory will never leave you blind," the borderlander muttered, as the second bird landed next to the first. Memory could bring regrets, and thought could be a burden. Some would say it was a curse, but he carried both willingly. Anything else would be even more unforgivable.

After the moon had begun to rise above the horizon, Rhyce realised it was time to change watch. Even while pacing the outer edges of the firelight with his eyes on the night, his mind had been elsewhere. It had found a new place to go at quiet times, an unfamiliar place he had not visited for many years. He was not entirely comfortable with it. The archer unslung his quiver from his back, and set it down next to his bedroll. The weather had thankfully been clearing up a bit the last miles, with the moon finding gaps in the clouds, and no need to erect their shelter. He pulled a single arrow from the quiver, and held it in the same hand as his bow. Until the watch was properly changed, he would not be caught unarmed.

Rhyce knelt down next to the bedroll closest to his. The light of the moon made the difference between the dark hair and the lightly tan skin starker, but those eyes were closed and the full lips were slightly parted with the regular breathing of sleep. In the stillness of the night, with no other distractions, he could smell it. Brimstone, ashes, but most of all he could smell the flower.

“Arise, princess.” The borderlander reached out and gently shook the sleeping woman’s shoulder. “Jaden.”

The mystic’s eyes opened up, briefly lit by an inner fire before wakefulness made them focus on Rhyce’s face. As the fog of sleep left her, so too did the traces of something otherworldly.

“Is it my turn already?” Jaden pushed herself up, rubbing an eye. She was looking forward to their arrival in Tier the following day. They had all agreed on sleeping in proper beds tomorrow night. “Okay. I’m up. Thanks, Rhyce. You go sleep now.”

The archer only nodded in reply, already settling down to unstring his bow. When Jaden was finally on her feet and heading over to tend to the fire, she heard how Rhyce rolled over on his side, facing the darkness rather than the light.

Tier was a study in opposites. A city divided with a history reaching all the way back to the time when the kingdoms of man had first appeared on this side of the continent. It was the second city, founded only after Etrana herself. The villages and towns that grew up afterwards eventually became the nations of today, but at the beginning there was only Etrana and Tier.

Etrana, the jewel of the new lands, became the home of those who still dreamed of the days of the eternal empire. Etrana, the flower of the desert, was where the royal family in exile and the loyalists that had left the old continent behind settled down.

Tier, on the other hand, was the city of golden opportunities, where the other displaced people could forge their own future outside the reach of the old preconceptions. It became a place for the free, unbound by the rule of a single despot. Instead, they celebrated the rise of a new governing body composed of wise and influential people from every guild represented within its walls. Tier, the second city, the golden city, where the people could stand as tall as the towers.

The world marched on, and countries rose from where had only been trading posts or fishing villages, but Etrana and Tier remained, growing ever larger. When the new dynasty of Etria desired to reclaim the old glory of the empire, Tier naturally became a symbol of what had to be conquered to realise that dream. Thus began the period of war for the second empire.

Today, many generations after the fall of the second empire, relations were still strained between the two metropolises, but like two quarrelling parents they did their best to maintain a civil façade, if only out of concern for the children. As long as the Sartekh dynasty occupied the imperial throne, the vassal nations of Gion and Marsantias would look to Etria for guidance. Alband and Olmar were the two youngest countries, who had struggled for independence, with varying degrees of success. Olmar was always caught in the middle, and with Etria right at its doorstep, it had to tread carefully to avoid provoking the dreaming giant. Alband, further away, was afforded more independence, but had its own share of troubles due to the frequent skirmishes with the Northern Lands. The inheritors of the empire hadn't even been aware of any existing human tribes on the east continent when they arrived, and when the Northmen appear from out of the frozen reaches to defend their territories, the settles along the upper coastlands were caught by surprise.

The history of the young kingdoms was a study of misconceptions and bad decisions, built on a foundation of sand and dreams. With the clarity of hindsight, it wasn't so strange that it had been such an unquiet journey to reach the present.

Mirena sat up straighter than usual in her saddle when they passed through the north Alband gate. Even if it was just for a little while, she was home. The towers of Tier welcomed its daughter.

“Stand tall as the towers,” the knight mumbled the motto of the golden city.

“What was that, Rena?” Jaden looked at her brunette friend, who seemed to be taking a large breath as if cleansing her lungs from the Alband air.

“Just a quirk of mine, Jaden. What can I do for you?” Mirena brought herself down to the ground from the lofty heights in her mind.

“Yeah, could you take my horse to wherever we’re setting up for this visit? I need to head on over to the Tradegate market for a little bit,” Jaden nodded her head towards the west, past the temple quarters and the great domed temple of Telum that brought thousands of pilgrims each year.

“Certainly. Just be careful. We don’t know if the Sons of Husk have any stragglers left,” Mirena said as she meaningfully looked across the other people going through the gate.

“I’ll bring Ollie to keep me safe,” the mystic said with a lopsided smile.

“I said to be careful, and here you immediately try to go the opposite road. Very well. The rest of us will see if there are rooms at the Chimera and Hound first. If they can’t put us all up, we’ll leave a message with the keeper there where we’re headed next.” The knight pointed further along the north gate road as it continued into Tier proper. Jaden vaguely remembered that place being not too far from the Green Raven, both along the Archen Way known for its many taverns and inns, where they had stayed during their last visit in the golden city.

“I think I’ll have the easier job. You’ll be stuck with Alisan and Stann,” Jaden said, and both of them turned a little in their saddles to watch how the pale elf was making strangling gestures in the air at the northern warrior.

“Don’t remind me. He keeps calling her a lemon for some reason.” The knight sighed a little, like a mother watching her children squabble.

Hanging back a bit, Rhyce looked to the skies and sent out a quiet call to the eyes that followed the winds. Scout. Seek. Find.

The city was still in the heights of summer, and the bright sun made the towers of Tier into pillars of gold reaching for the heavens. It was slightly after midday when they had passed through the north gate, and instead of circling around the outside of the city, Jaden and Oleander took the shortcut through the temple quarters. Most of it was open for visitors, with only the training areas and private residences shut off from the public.

They passed a group of young disciples, priests-in-training, that carried themselves with as much dignity as they were able to. They looked like young teens, barely fourteen years old, hailing from all over the coastlands and at least one of them a Marsander by the looks of his straight black hair and deep tan. In a few years, these might become the next generations of paladins that would hear about the deeds of knight-errants like Mirena. The world apparently continued moving even when Jaden wasn’t watching it.

"How are you holding up, Jay?" Oleander must have thought Jaden was silent for another reason, her face betraying concern and something else.

"Well, I can't say I like how tight it is, but this bodice thing keeps things in place, mostly. Riding didn't hurt as much as it did going to Farcrest," Jaden winced at the memory of the trip from Redwall to the capital. The changes had accelerated greatly after she siphoned some of the demon's powers to contest Amucia's hold over the village.

"While most women wouldn't complain about having your particular problem there," Oleander glanced at her friend's chest with a little envy in her eyes, "I was actually talking about how you're feeling after everything that's happened these last couple of days."

"Oh, Rena healed the worst of my injuries. I'm okay." When Jaden bit back the immediate response that she wasn’t one those ‘women’, or any woman at all, she was reminded by the strange itching she had felt when the priest had asked her god to mend Jaden's wounds. The feeling had been stronger than the time when Mirena had healed her injuries from fighting their way through the Sons of Husk in Tier. Was it getting worse?

"That's it?" Oleander seemed to expect something more.

"Yeah, basically. I mean, my shoulder is still a little sore. At least I didn't get hurt while fighting Nerak the other day." If the rogue void mystic had landed a direct blow, they wouldn’t be having this conversation now.

"Fine. We don't have to talk about it." The redhead pushed on through the street crowd, leaving Jaden confused.

"What?" The mystic wondered out loud.

When they had finally made their way along the inland street to the west gate, also more commonly known by its informal name, the Tradegate. Outside the large arched opening in the walls of Tier was the sprawling collection of tents and temporary business arrangements that made up the perpetually changing Tradegate market. Smells of spices, cheap beer and buyer’s remorse wafted against them as soon as they stepped outside the protection of the golden city.

“So, are you looking for anything in particular?” Oleander seemed a little more guarded, and didn’t look at Jaden directly. It was probably because she was watching for danger. They had few friends and many enemies in Tier, and the winding ways around the tents of the market made for excellent ambush spots.

“Actually, I was going to see if I could get my sword back.” Jaden didn’t sound too hopeful. She could likely find her way back to the place, if that merchant was still here, but once she got there she had no idea what to do.

“Good luck with that. Stann sent me on a mission to find a new sword for him as well, but he was pretty specific about who to look up. Apparently, he put in a down-payment with a Northern weaponsmith for a special order before we ran off last time.” The redhead weighted a heavy purse in her hand while keeping her eyes on the crowds. “Maybe I’ll find something for myself as well. My stabbies are starting to look worn.”

“Will you be alright on your own, Ollie?”

“I’ll have to be, won’t I?” Oleander finally looked his way, and for a moment Jaden could peer beneath the casual veneer and see that the hurt from the betrayal of trust had not as much healed, as scabbed.

"Welcome, be most welcome, to Zajid's tent of marvels and delights! I am most certainly Zajid, and-" the tanned man with curly, oiled dark hair paused in his speech as he took in his customer. He motioned vigorously with his hands. "I see a welcome face, indeed! Yes, come, come in! I remember you! Akam sal narot!"

"Uhm, hello," Jaden offered as she passed the tent's flaps that hung low to keep out some of the dust from outside. Simple dirt roads passed for streets, snaking between the temporary establishments that made up the Tradegate market. During the summer they were dry and dusty, spring and autumn brought rains and turned them into rivers of mud. Winter was really no better.

The owner of the tent paused a little. The customer certainly did look like the one from before, but there had been some rather marked changes. His eyes flicked down to chest level, briefly, before returning to those rare, golden eyes. Zajid hid his confusion well, but he would've sworn upon the scales of Melat that the elf had been a boy last time. Then again, he had sold the customer a mirage veil...

"What can Zajid do for you today, dear customer? Maybe a nice necklace, set with a beautiful topaz, to flatter your eyes, as well as bring attention to your most splendid-" Zajid was about to gesture to the woman's other memorable traits.

"Excuse me, jiet, but I'm looking for the sword I offered you in trade last time," Jaden interrupted the Etrian merchant.

"Ah? Yes! Yes, of course! Very hard to forget, a blade like that!" The merchant nodded sagely. Enchanted weapons were not all that common, especially not ones that could be traced back to the imperial days.

"So, can I see it?" Jaden took a step closer, her eyes darting around the various displays.

"Of course! Of course. Come, sit down. Let us have tea, and talk about everything and anything."

Zajid put his arms around Jaden's shoulders and led her to the small, round table, and the pleasantly padded stools. They were a welcome change from the saddle, after several days of riding. While the swarthy proprietor busied himself with the teapot, sending pleasant wafts of aromatic Etrian tea throughout the tent, Jaden looked around at the various knickknacks and pretty things that were for sale. Oleander would probably go nuts in here, with so many easily-pocketable shinies.

As their teacups rested on the lacquered saucers, with trails of steam making ribbons in the air, Zajid chatted amicably of various things. His time making a fortune as a winemaker in Imesh until an ill-fated liaison with the illume's youngest son forced him to abandon a life of opulent debauchery and travel the world as an adventuring merchant, armed with only his stories and a smile.

"And that, jieta, is why Risan sink a small boat in their harbour every Founding festival," Zajid concluded another outrageous telling of his legendary escapades. It was hard to tell what of it that was an outrageous embellishment, and what might have a foundation of truth.

"Uh, could we please talk about my sword, now?" The mystic turned the teacup in her hands, so unlike the ones her mother used back in Talraman, but the aroma was reminiscent.

"Of course, of course! That must been a splendid story, how a charming elven maiden ended up with a Talram blade! No, don't tell me. Truly, it is probably for the best that I do not know." Zajid held up a hand to his eyes, as if looking at his customer would unveil the background of the sword. His fingers parted to allow an almond eye a peek anyway. "It was an heirloom, yes?"

"I, yes, in fact it was. It belonged to my father. I kind of need it back." Jaden brought up her coin-purse. "I don't have enough to buy it back right now, but I can give you a hundred crowns if you promise to hold onto it until I have enough?"

"Zajid would never dream to disappoint an honourable customer such as yourself - although he would remind you that it is customary to present a tenth of the value, of which you are regrettably a little short. By about two hundred crowns."

"I might be able to get the rest of it, but..." Jaden took another glance at the Etrian man, and got a sudden impression that he for once wasn't telling the entire story. "Wait, you don't have the sword anymore, do you?"

"Why, such an accusation! It wounds Zajid to see the dear customer disappointed like so! Letting such precious craftsmanship slip through these fingers was the last thing he wanted to do," Zajid held up his hands, as if looking at imaginary sand sifting through his fingers. "But, alas, he was made an offer he couldn't refuse."

"What? Who bought it?"

"It was a most respectable customer, who claimed to be a collector of Talram artefacts and memorabilia. Also, a customer who paid in coin after but the requisite amount of haggling." Zajid nodded to himself. It was as it should be.

"Argh! Okay, I can't be angry with you. I traded it to you knowing that this might happen." Jaden raked her scalp with both hands in frustration. "Can you tell me anything about the buyer?"

"Of course! During the haggling, we briefly fought for the last crown, before I was allowed my meagre profit margin. Very generous." The merchant held up a coin plucked from the folds of his sleeves, it gleamed in the light of the lamps before vanishing just as quickly between his fingers with a flourish.

"I didn't mean that! Name, age, nationality, distinctive features... gender? Anything at all?" Jaden made vague gestures with her hands as if trying to paint a picture in the air. She must’ve been spending too much time around Oleander, picking up her wavy habits.

"Ah, of course! Certainly. Anything else would not be very helpful, yes? Ah. No. Zajid is bursting with remorse, but he cannot acquiesce." Zajid made a big, heartfelt sigh at the situation.

"Why? Did they pay you to keep quiet about it? Threaten you? If so, why did you even tell me you had sold it to begin with?"

"While this humble merchant of irreplaceable wonders was paid most handsomely, it is not that. Zajid just... can't. His lips are sealed, puzzlingly and involuntarily." The merchant actually looked uncomfortable, and a little confused. It was as if he actually couldn’t say anything specific about whoever had bought the Talram blade.

Jaden sat, wracking her brain for any ideas. In the end, she came up with nothing of value. It could be anyone, or any organisation. The mountain had made a lot of enemies over the years, and any one of them could have an interest in picking up Lacunai objects for study or bragging. She had made a mistake selling in the first place. Jaden felt something sour rise up in her throat when she realised that it had been in vain, too. The veil had been torn apart only weeks afterwards, in a random accident. With an empty feeling she stood up and began to make her way toward the entrance. Hopefully she would find some other way to make this up to her sister.

Before Jaden could pull the tent curtains aside, Zajid called out from behind her. He actually looked apologetic, with his friendly brown eyes saddened by how things had turned out.

"Please, wait. I cannot bear to see a customer leave with such a heavy heart. Allow me to offer you a gift! Yes, how about a bottle of this fine perfume? Did you know it was made by blind monks, deep in the mysterious Sorun!" Zajid caught the customer's unimpressed expression. "Zajid may have already spoken of these before?"

"Brought here on the backs of panthers, was it?" Jaden put her hands on her hips, and raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Yes! Very mysterious! Also quite puzzling. But, I present you here a selection of truly delightful scents. Pick one, I insist!" Zajid put his arm around Jaden’s shoulder once more, leading her to a table laden with many coloured vials of different shapes and sizes.

Jaden paused. Had she even opened the one she got from him last time? Come to think of it, she couldn't recall even seeing that bottle in her pack when they left their camp this morning. Maybe she had lost it somewhere? It was likely, given how much they ran around.

"Okay, fine. Do you have any with violets?" Jaden picked a scent at random. It was the one Mirena used sometimes, right?

"For you, my dear, most certainly!" Zajid smiled widely, his white teeth sparkling like pearls.

Talraman

The room was circular, and even-coloured. Aside from the door and the darkened window placed opposite of it, there was nothing to rest one's eyes on. It enforced the feeling of being trapped. There were only two places: the room, and the rest of the world. A single chair, large and solid-looking, was fixed to the floor facing the door. Strong shackles for wrists and ankles, covered in otherworldly glyphs, held the occupant firmly in place.

Behind the chair stood two men wearing blue-grey leather uniforms and silvery masks that hid their entire faces, polished to a mirror sheen. Their distinctive gloves were studded and embroidered with a symbol all children of the mountain had grown up to fear, a square inside a circle. Mageslayers. Those who hunt magicians. If the protectors was Talraman's military forces, the mageslayers were their secret police, and sometimes assassins.

"Tell us again what happened." The woman in the philosopher’s robes didn't address the person bound to the chair by name. Those that sat in that chair no longer had names.

"I... I already told you. So many times." Veranna's head rolled to the side, her face streaked with dried tears. They hadn't hurt her. They didn't have to. The pain inside was all they needed.

"You will tell us as many times as we require." The philosopher walked to the other side of the chair, while tapping her steepled fingers against each other. She didn’t even truly look at Veranna.

Veranna tried to breathe for a while. Just breathe. Then she started from the beginning. The meeting. The Olman man. The elf that he had brought with him. The chase through the tunnels. The fight. The end.

"Call your spirit," the woman demanded, facing the observation window that was located behind the chair.

"I can't! He's gone! There's nothing left!" Veranna found the strength to shout. It hurt to shout. It hurt just to try.

"I don't believe you."

"It's just a big, gaping... abyss. That goes on forever and ever." She was surprised that there still were tears inside of her. She thought they would all be gone by now, lost down into the same chasm that had swallowed half of her being.

"Very well. If you can't do that, then you can do something else." The philosopher sounded so reasonable, never raising her voice. She only asked her questions.

"... what?" Veranna squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what would happen. It felt as if she could see the future.

"Tell us again what happened." Still the same voice, almost gentle. But not quite.

"I want to see my father."

"Tell us again what happened."

"Let me see my father!" Her blue-streaked hair fell over her face as she jerked against the steel bonds she could never break.

"You have no father. You are no longer Lacunai. You are just a problem." The philosopher gestured to the room. "And we are the solution."

Veranna's head hung limply as she was wracked with sobs. The woman in the strict black robes with the silver trimming stopped in front of her, and folded her hands while she patiently waited for Veranna to go quiet again.

"Tell us again what happened."

The Chimera and Hound sat squat in the middle of the serpentine Archen Way, a part of Tier where you couldn't look in any direction without seeing some sort of establishment touting their food, drinks, or beds. It actually wasn't that far from the Green Raven, and going by the gossip of the Chimera's serving girls, the other inn was now managed by a relative to the previous keeper.

Above even the tall towers of Tier, the skyspire made an effort to bridge heaven and earth. Around the spire several skyships were docked, but it was too far above to see whether the boarding bridges had been extended or not.

During the imperial war a lot of skyships were destroyed by either magic or monsters. Having an opponent with the ability to transport soldiers or necessities quickly, or just the eagle's eye perspective, quickly became a huge advantage that neither side deemed acceptable. The skyships became targets of opportunity whenever possible, and even today, many generations afterwards, there wasn't as many of them around. Some say that the art of crafting the flying ships had been lost, and seeing as how most current skyships were in fact retrofitted military vessels, there might be some truth to that rumour. Alisan seemed particularly impressed with the skyships, claiming how she had never seen them in person before, which wasn't all that strange since Ral Sona did not have a skyspire of its own.

While Kellen was talking about the history of the spires, and how the empire had constructed them in all major cities that had bowed to its rule to bring the countries closer together, Stann saw a number of travelling wagons make their way along the road in the direction of the skyspire. He vaguely recalled seeing them standing outside one of the inns in Rosehaven when they had passed through some days ago. He easily spotted how the wagons were full of people wearing magician's robes, the Arcane Order if he wasn't mistaken. Most likely, they were headed to the spire to catch a skyship home after their visit to Farcrest and the convocation. Seemed like an awful lot of sorcerers, though, but what did he know about such matters?

Before Stann could give it any more thought, a noise across the street drew his attention. There was a group of city guards pointing their way. No, they were pointing at him specifically. Did they look a little familiar?

"Hey! Hey you!" The taller of the guards tried to push through the people walking in the middle of the street. "Northman! You're the one who almost ran me over with your horse couple of weeks ago!"

Stann put on his best, innocent face and made a shrug at the guards. Why, did he do that? No-no. Surely you must be mistaken. The winter warrior nudged the sides of his heavy Northland horse, picking up the pace a little while the frustrated guard hurled invectives his way.

It was later at the inn, where there had thankfully been spare rooms for all of them once the keeper had seen the amount of coin they were willing to part with, when Jaden and Oleander finally caught up with the rest of them. By that time, Stann had already sent out some feelers through the complicated web of contacts worked by his clansman in the leather business. Leatherworking required hides and skins, but sometimes the discerning city folk required more exotic hides. Rothald promised to look into who was running most of the illicit trade-routes in the golden city, but most of the signs pointed already toward the Whitewater cartel.

When the redhead and the mystic returned, even the Northman could feel that something had changed there. The two avoided looking at each other more than necessary, but it seemed more sad and awkward rather than angry. As soon as Oleander laid eyes on the Northern warrior, her eyes lit up and she almost bounced in her steps as she came up to him.

"Hey Bear! Look what I got!" She held up a pair of daggers of a darker metal than the usual coastland steel. The design looked a little different as well, where the blade actually was wider and thicker towards the end than at the hilt. "Dwarven anvilknives! Weighted toward the end with a mercurial core. When thrown, these stabbies flies as straight as an arrow!"

Rhyce looked unconvinced, but didn't argue the point. Instead, he and Stann both looked at the wrapped bundle the redhead carried slung over her shoulder. It was large enough to hang down to her knees.

"Is that what I'm hoping it is, Red?" Stann pointed at the bundle.

"Oh yeah. The smith you sent me to told me he had been working together with a dwarven master ironpriest for the last week. He seemed pretty pleased by what they came up with!" Oleander unclasped the wrapped object, and let it fall down on the table with a heavy thud. The mugs of beer almost fell over at the surprisingly solid impact.

Stann didn't wait for an invitation, and flipped back the rough wool covering, exposing the scabbard and finally the hilt. It was a big sword, larger than his previous broadsword, but something that could still be wielded with a single hand if it was strong enough. The scabbard was wooden, polished smooth and stained a rich brown, reinforced by brass details and a metal loop for the belt. But the sword itself was magnificent. The lamps inside the inn reflected into his face from the clear steel of the blade. Stann felt a big hand on his shoulder.

"There's a beauty, cousin. A blade for a real warrior. Is it dwarfcraft?"

"By one of the finest smiths out of the emerald halls," Stann said with fatherly pride as he ran a thumb along the edge. Even Alisan, who seemed to have an eye for swords as well, appeared impressed by the craftsmanship despite the traditional grudge between her people and the dwarves of the underkingdom.

To the side Jaden watched the exchange with a cold knot of envy in her stomach. She knew she couldn't begrudge her friend this happiness, but that didn't change how she felt. The fact that it was all her own fault just made it worse. In fact, she felt a little sick. Days of eating travelling fare or perhaps something else. Or maybe it was just riding for so long? The bodice hadn't done as good a job of things as she first had thought. She really felt sore in ways she couldn't explain.

Eventually Mirena called them to order, and they sat down around a square table in as private a part of the common room as they could manage. Thankfully it wasn't too busy with only a few other guests more interested in their own affairs than the group's. The two serving girls seemed content to hang by the kitchen door and snicker behind their hands when they looked at Kellen and Stann.

"From what we can tell, our best bet is to go directly to the cartel with our questions," the knight started their meeting.

"Definitely. Also, like I said, they kind of owe us," Oleander immediately volunteered. "I bet I can work some deal for us."

"Let's hope so, little fox," Kellen said, sitting down next to Stann and reaching for one of the mugs of beer that had remained upright. "Without their insight in the smuggling operations in the midland area we're working somewhat blind."

"Oh, c'mon Kel! Give me a little credit here. What's the worst that could happen?" The redhead leaned back and blew some hair out of her face.

"Go away! We're closed!"

Oleander looked at Stann, back at the door, and then up at him again. It hadn’t taken them too long tracking down one of the places Pered Ghaveri operated out of. Anyone who made a living moving goods in or out of Tier knew of the Whitewater cartel, and most of them reluctantly.

"Well, I guess we should just leave. They're closed and all," the redhead said, her voice brimming with innocent sarcasm.

The winter warrior didn't bother to reply, but instead leaned back and set a heavy boot to the door with all his weight. The frame cracked and the door shuddered. From within came some surprised shouts, and scraping of wood against wood as someone tried to flip down the bar to hold the door. The second kick broke the hinges and sent the door flying inside, pushing the two men struggling behind it to the ground.

"Knock-knock!" Stann shouted as he stepped on top of the broken door and the squirming men underneath it.

"Templars calling! Have you found your faith in the glory of Telum yet?" Oleander called, flipping a dagger in one hand while walking in after her friend.

"Oleander, please don't bring my god into your little rampage," Mirena chided from outside. She, just like the rest of them, came prepared for trouble just in case. She hadn’t drawn her sword yet, and instead carried her helmet in her hand.

The group of thugs and lowlifes inside had sprung to their feet, grabbing cudgels and knives. It was a good dozen of them lounging around the room, now ready to defend their turf. One of them saw the gleam of the knight's armour, and yelled to his compatriots.

"Hopping prophets! It's the paladins!" The place erupted into chaos.

Jaden watched as Kellen and Rhyce waded into the fray as well. The archer kicking out legs and bruising wrists with painful raps from his unstrung bow; the rune seeker igniting the protective symbols on his arms, and then overpowering any man within his reach as their weapons bounced harmlessly off his magic armour.

"Guys... Can't we just try to parley with them, or something? We don't need to-" Jaden ducked as a stray chair flew over her head, and clattered to a stop at the other side of the street.

"Is this... usual for you? It seems as if more violence than required is being offered," the white-blonde elf shied from a particularly vicious jab that slipped past Oleander's guard. The redhead spun in a half circle and drove her heel into her assailant's crotch to return the favour. The man collapsed with bulging eyes and some foam in his mouth, his hands clutching the foot-shaped indention.

"I wouldn't say this is how we usually go about things, Alisan," Mirena spoke diplomatically, choosing her words carefully. "However, after a fortnight of quiet, they apparently feel it's time to exert themselves a bit."

"By beating criminals using a table?" Alisan pointed at what Stann was doing. The playing cards were fluttering down around him like square petals caught in a whirlwind of violence.

"'Better bruise than bloody'. It is not serious until they draw their weapons."

"Oleander seems to have a dagger!"

"She's beating them with it, not stabbing. See?" The knight indicated where a man fell to his knees after the Olman girl slammed the hilt of her dagger into his left temple. Mirena sighed a little when the redhead immediately followed it up with an unnecessary kick to the ribs.

Jaden took a step inside the commotion, and raised her voice in an effort to be heard.

"C'mon guys, this isn't really necessary!" A quick look around the room showed that nobody was paying attention to her. Being ignored was something that annoyed her more than she realised, and she began to entertain an idea about doing something about it. "Can't we just talk for a minute?"

"Go back to your forest, you filthy elves!" A wild-eyed man broke free from the melee and rushed at Jaden, brandishing a large bottle, half full with some cheap brandy.

"Oh well," the mystic surrendered, and raised a finger towards the crowd. The imaginary line went right through Kellen, square in the middle of the chaos. It didn't matter, for what she had in mind. The effect was lessened by the number of targets anyway. "Noctophyx!"

A rush of darkness threaded through the combatants, sapping their vitality. Those closest to Jaden staggered backwards, overcome with sudden weakness. Rhyce, who had been working his way back towards the entrance, slipped and almost fell, catching himself on the wall at the last moment. Only Kellen remained unaffected, but his protective runes were flickering as they were rapidly draining. For a moment, Jaden felt a strange feedback across the bond to the breathstealer, as if it was reluctant to share any more of its strength with her at the moment. She had a brief impression of anger and pain, but it faded away just as quickly. With a shake of her head, she returned to the present to take control of the current situation.

"Do I have your attention now?" Jaden stepped inside, her voice sharp and brooking no argument. "I see any more of this nonsense, and I won't be as kind. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-yes, mistress," stammered a man, sitting up from the floor with one eye starting to swell shut. He kept fidgeting, as if he expected another reprimand.

"Good! We've got business with your employer, Pered Ghaveri. Take us to him right this minute." The mystic pointed towards the back rooms with an imperious finger. A number of the thugs shifted a little, almost shuffling, before a couple of them all but ran off to warn their boss.

Stann stood with his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath after a run. As the rest of them filtered into the thoroughly wrecked outer room he looked up at the black-haired mystic with a mixed expression.

"Did you have to zap us as well?" The winter warrior looked like Jaden had hurt his feelings with her magic.

"Clearly you had some excess energy to work off. I just did what I could to help." The mystic couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow and smirk a little. She didn’t notice how she had shifted her weigh toward the other hip, almost mimicking a stance her sister often used while gloating.

"Har-har," muttered Oleander while picking up the dagger that had fallen from her weakened fingers. It had landed point-first in the floorboards heavily enough to stand on its own.

When it was apparent that the ruffians weren’t going to put up any more fight at the moment, Kellen eventually released the protective enchantment and the runes on his arms lost their flickering, sea green glow. Around his feet were a number of glass shards and wooden splinters, where the improvised weapons had shattered against his magical wards.

"Well done, Jaden," Mirena approved with a smile, as she approached the mystic. She too kept a watchful eye on the men, but her hand stayed away from her undrawn sword. "You handled that very nicely. Remind me to make more use of you if we need to defuse situations like these in the future."

"Thanks, I guess?"

One of the thugs returned, limping a little from where Rhyce had kicked the side of his knee. He cleared his throat, looking towards Mirena and Jaden.

"Ghaveri will see you now," he said, nodding back towards where he had come from.

“Alright! I thought I would have to invite myself all over again,” Oleander snorted, stepping over one of the men who had been hit by the breathstealer’s vitality sapping magic the hardest. In the background, Stann exchange a quick look with his cousin, and then followed the redhead. The warrior and the thief were more streetsavvy than the others, so having them deal with the criminal boss would probably be for the best.

"Go on ahead and keep our hotheads from ruining our chances with Ghaveri's riverboats. I'll stay here with the rest and make sure the lackeys don't do anything regrettable." The knight made a rare self-deprecating smile. "Besides, I doubt I would be much good dealing with a criminal like that. My oath would insist on dragging him to justice, but we have to consider the greater good at the moment."

"I'll keep things from falling apart, Rena," the black-haired mystic returned the smile, and turned to go with the blonde Northman and the redhead into the back.

"Sorry about the elf-thing, mistress," mumbled the man that had been about to attack her earlier. He had his head bowed a little, like a scolded boy in front of his mother.

"That's alright. A lot of people make the same mistake," Jaden graciously accepted the apology as she followed Stann and Oleander.

"... what?" The man looked confused, but then shrugged a little and went to look for his shoes.

"It seems to be strange, yes?" Alisan was lingering by the entrance, with her head tilted to the side.

Rhyce finished stringing his bow, and looked up at the elf with the question in his eyes.

"Such a dirty place, yet I can smell flowers." The pale elf crossed her arms as she leaned on the doorframe once she was sure it wouldn't stain her dress.

The archer could smell the violets too.

Through a series of corridors, they eventually found themselves in a secure inner office. They had passed by several storage rooms on the way. Oleander seemed to be paying some attention to where they were going, and even got a tricky look to her eyes when they finally stopped in front of the last door. Inside, they were greeted by the sight of a mildly overweight man with clean-shaven jowls and a rich green cap covering matted dark brown hair. He was leaning back in his chair, his silk shirt only slightly wrinkled, and one hand tapping an impatient rhythm on the table. On either side of him were papers of various orders and contracts, as well as bottles of finer liquor than the outer rooms would see in a year.

In addition to the thugs that had led or followed them to Pered Ghaveri's office, there was a pair of dangerous-looking knifemen leaning against the wall to the side. They had that look of practiced casual calm about them, but ready to spring into action if needed. Oleander often looked much the same way, Jaden realised. Wariness hidden beneath a veneer of indifference.

Almost cowering by Pered’s side was a miserable looking man clutching a threadbare cap in his hands. With his wild hair, visible scars and recently healed nose he gave the impression of a man leading a life of many poor choices.

Pered ran a hand across his brow, and eyed each of them in turn. Stann got a long look of annoyance, but the middle manager of the cartel saved his true glare for the redheaded Olman. Jaden was spared only a brief glance of mixed curiosity, which suited her just fine.

"Pered, old friend, what's with the warm welcome?" Oleander opened her arms wide and grinned.

"Miss Lockless. I wasn't expecting you here today. Or ever again." Pered continued tapping a finger against the table, a gesture of irritation more than nervousness. The Tierin criminal clearly didn’t feel threatened by the intrusion.

"'es the one what did it! Fortnight ago, bashed into me pub, 'e did, dealing out wolf tickets and broken teeth like it was 'is birthday." The scarred man jabbed an accusatory finger at the Northern warrior.

"You going to make this into something?" Stann glared at the man, who backed down a few steps.

"N-no, don't need no troubles."

"That's right, you don't." The Northman assured the unlucky man.

"Are you quite finished terrorising my associates?" Pered looked like he wanted to dig his fingers into his temples, the way he was rubbing them.

"Not yet," Stann turned back to the man who had pointed him out, and made a slitting gesture over his throat, causing the fellow to scramble back far enough to bump into the wall. With that, the Northman once more gave the Tierin criminal his full attention. "Alright. Now I'm done."

"Marvellous."

While the rest of them began to talk, Jaden tuned out the specifics of the discussion. If voices started to rise or if knives appeared, she would step in to keep things from escalating, but right now Stann and Oleander were much better suited to handle the discussion. Instead, the mystic inspected the décor of Pered’s study, eventually stopping by an unexpectedly well-arranged bookshelf. She even recognised some of the books, focusing on traveling journals by famous explorers and several well-known plays. Surprisingly, Pered even had a copy of the Hand of the Emperor, given Tier’s almost hereditary bad blood with Etrana. She flipped a few pages, looking at the beautiful woodcuts of the more memorable scenes of the play. Soon, Oleander’s drawling voice brought her out of her reverie. Although she had missed the beginnings of the conversation, she recognised cajoling when she heard it.

“So, you see how this should be right up your alley, Pered? Couldn’t be simpler, huh?”

"That's easy for you to say, Miss Lockless. You're Olman." Pered said contemptuously.

"Oh, come on! The Olmar occupation of Tier was over two hundred years ago! None of our grandparents had even been born yet!" Oleander groaned. "Except maybe Jay's, what with elven immortality and all."

"Still not an elf, Ollie," Jaden called from the playbook she was browsing.

The man in the alley drew back as soon as the shouting began. He kept close enough to see a little of what was happening. Even if he hadn’t, the furniture flying out of the door and almost hitting the elves painted a picture even a broken mind would understand. He barely recognised the knight. When he had last seen her, she had worn a dress as she cut through his friends.

When the dark elf stepped forward and used her magic, any doubt in his mind disappeared, instead replaced by anger. She had used the same trick on him, leaving him paralysed for hours. Unable to move, buried alive under the rubbles of a burning house. He touched the flame-scarred skin on his face gingerly as hatred boiled inside him.

It was hard, but he had to let go of his rage. There would be no sense in attacking them now. No, a good harvester waited for the right time to reap his crops. While he wasn’t a harvester yet, he would live according to the teachings of his master. Patience provided the greatest rewards.

The man pulled back into the comforts of the dark alley and bided his time.

"Smuggling things into Alband? That's hardly a challenge. The south border is easier to get through than a Kasman maiden's underskirt." Pered waved almost dismissively, and took a drink from a glass on his table. He hadn’t offered his guests any.

"We didn't ask you if you could do it, but HOW you would do it." Oleander pointed out.

"Depends on the cargo. Small things? Just hide them in the saddlebags of any day travellers heading up from Olmar. The guards only stop larger wagon trains that come through unexpectedly."

"And what if you wanted to move such a large cargo?" Stann countered.

"Hmm. Again, it depends. If I had really precious goods, but plenty of time to deliver it? Sneak along the mountain range. Ford the Odar at the Shelmot Plains, and use the old soldier trails through the deep Albar, cross the Arentine Highlands - avoiding Chander Crossing, of course - and then nipping in through the less watched inland gate into Farcrest." Perel leaned back with a pleased expression, resting his hands on his stomach. He enjoyed watching the two foreigners try to follow his mental roadmap.

"Right, okay. But what if it was more urgent. Say, you carried perishables?" The redhead carefully chose her words.

"Smuggling produce? Or are we talking... exotic perishables, here? Interesting." The Tierin smuggler rubbed a finger across his upper lip thoughtfully. "Probably forget about the borderlands passage, then. Too poor roads. I'd follow the Odar, cross at the old bridge and use the main coast roads until I get close to the city. I would probably set up a station in some nearby village, so I could send in smaller deliveries from there, a wagon at a time, mixed with other common goods. Like timber. There are always timber transports along the roads in Alband."

"What, like Rosehaven?" Oleander had a hard time imagining someone operating a criminal conspiracy out of that sleepy coastal village.

"Probably not. Too many nosy priests what with the temple there. They're much harder to bribe than simple guardsmen, or lesser nobles. I would go for Redwall, or Norgrove." Pered looked at his handkerchief. It had a fine floral pattern that matched the subtle scent coming from it. It was one of his favourites.

"Redwall," Stann muttered, exchanging a meaningful look with Oleander.

"Now, I think I have been very accommodating with all your questions," Pered said, with hands steepled together. "Any... gratitude the cartel might have had for the events that gave us a surprising amount of elbow-room in the foreign quarters, consider it repaid in full."

"Sure, Perry. No problem!" Oleander sat on the edge of the table, casually pushing an expensive bottle along with a finger. "Throw in a discreet boatride up the Odar, and I'll forget to inform my paladin friend about all the black zalach I've been smelling from these crates here. She's liable to, oh I don't know, report things back to her temple here in Tier. It’s practically next door! You know how nosy those priests are, right?"

"Why, you little pest..!"

"You were going to send a boat upriver anyway. Now you just have some armed passengers for added protection. It's a win-win, just like breaking the Husks was!" Oleander left the bottle at the very edge of the table.

"I... You..." Pered was red-faced, and was about to rip his handkerchief apart. "Fine. I'll remember this, Olman."

"Think of me while I'm gone, Perry. Oh, and you might want to change up your business a bit. I mean... zalach? Still? Didn't you learn from last time?" The redhead stood up and backed away from the table, like a performer taking a bow to her audience.

"Get out!" Pered stood up and pointed angrily at the door. Bumping into the table sent the bottle teetering off, breaking and splashing its amber contents on the floor.

Talraman

"This is unlike annulling a normal contracted bond," explained the greying philosopher as calmly as she could to the three men standing with her. "Ever since the Lacunai enacted the presently accepted method of the bond, we have had ways to sever the connection voluntarily or... otherwise, as the situation required."

"How is this different?" Alam Hetagon folded his arms while he listened, dividing his attention between this philosopher, and her younger colleague inside the questioning chamber.

"The spirit bond is much deeper, much more thorough. Approaching synthesis, you could say, especially when the drift sets in. It goes beyond being a magical conduit. Mystics become physically dependent upon the spirit after a point." What the older woman spoke of was common knowledge among the more academically inclined mystics, but she often found herself advising the military and political parts of their government at times.

"Consequences of this connection being broken?" The winged mystic asked the obvious question.

"The natural state has always been for the mystic to die, releasing the spirit back into the Dreaming. If the spirit was destroyed, however... This is new ground for all of us." The philosopher curbed her enthusiasm. New knowledge excited her, since there really was far too little of it when you reached her age.

"Then speculate."

"Progressive impairment, both physical and cognitive. The metaphysical wound of this unnatural separation creates a bleed of both vitality and magic. During this period of gradual weakening, the mystic would be unable to access any magic for their contracts. Essentially, they're rendered mundane." It was really quite ingenious. There were many ways to drain a magician of their power reserves, or render them useless by removing their foci. The Lacunai had always held an upper hand due to how their magical potency was distributed across several bonds. There was really no way of siphoning off a contract’s power directly, without the creature present. But this… wound, it devoured all magic, the mystic’s own or any belonging to her bonds.

"And then they die."

"Most likely, yes. It's possible that the afflicted will eventually stabilise, but any magic ability would be gone forever. Spiritual sterilisation." Another word had appeared among her colleagues who had been looking into the situation. Sundered. The old philosopher preferred the more clinical term, however.

For a long while, they remained silent as the philosopher continued to probe the subject in the other room. Eventually, the subject ceased to deliver any coherent information.

"Can it be healed? Reversed?" Councillor Ilduste spoke for the first time, taking care to keep his face a blank mask. His long, grey hair fell unbound past his shoulders like frozen rain.

"We have some theories to that effect, but most of them are... unconventional. The mystic is weakened past the point of a symbiotic bond. Forcing a new connection would be more akin to possession." The philosopher spread her hands in apology, even though she was quite willing to attempt the experiment.

"An unpleasant idea, to say the least. But something to keep in mind,” Hetagon said, putting the matter to the side for the time being. With a nod, he excused the older woman on behalf of the entire gathering, and then gestured to the interrogator, signalling that it was time to leave things for the time being.

The door to the chamber opened, where the younger philosopher stepped out into the softer light of the observation room. She bowed respectfully to the gathered senior Lacunai, and after a whispered conversation with her superior, left the room along with the older woman. The two mageslayers with their mirror masks made sure the door to the chamber was sealed before leaving the three men alone, following the philosophers as they walked away.

"I am sorry you had to see this, Councillor Ilduste," the Lord Protector said to the older man next to him. The councillor had been informed when they had brought his daughter home in the state they had found her. It did the older man credit that he had neither asked for, nor expected any special treatment for his child. The mountain only expected your best.

"Do not concern yourself for my sake, Lord Hetagon." The lines around the councillor's eyes betrayed his struggle. Hidden in the long sleeves of his robe, the hands were clenched. "The important thing now is to get to the truth of this matter."

At the Lord Protector's other side stood another man, half a hand taller than him, with horns curling back out from his dark hair. Small, black scales adorned his hairline and cheeks. Garen of the Iron Scales was no longer a protector these days, although Alam and he had served together in their youth.
Now, the patriarch of the Tarasovs acted as an ambassador to the Nimbus of Wyrms. The dragons had kept a watchful eye on the Lacunai ever since the great war, before the time of the second empire. Garen, and other dragonmarked mystics before him, had served an invaluable role in keeping the tentative peace between the two societies.

"Envoy Tarasov? Do you have any thoughts?" Alam’s voice brought his old friend out of whatever thoughts had preoccupied the dragon mystic.

"Until we find the other one, Taseno, we have no way to confirm whether we're actually dealing with a lich or not. Her- the subject's account of the event is unreliable at best." Garen looked at the lord protector and the councilman sideways, his horns gleaming as they caught some of the soft light. He was taller than both of them by more than a hand, but size could be deceiving among the Lacunai.

"That said, we hardly have time to devote any more resources to this matter. Not now, when the preparations for the great return are so close to being finished," Councillor Ilduste said, looking away from the sole remaining woman in the chamber beyond the observation window. "Lord Hetagon, how did your business in that city go?"

"As expected. They are a difficult tradition to deal with at the best of times, but they will take any side as long as their fee is met. Which was outrageous, by the way, but for what we are asking we could expect nothing less." Alam made a face. He disliked having to negotiate. He had suffered being the diplomatic envoy under protest.

"Not when we're entrusting everything to them, no," the councillor agreed.

The gathered Lacunai looked into the room where the sweating woman sat shackled. If they were prone to superstition, it would have been all too easy to take this as a bad omen.

"I have seen enough," said Councillor Ilduste, turning to leave. To anyone who didn't know him, he appeared composed.

"I agree. I don't believe the philosophers can get much else out of this." Lord Hetagon began to turn to the door that would take them to the stairs up from the lower levels of the citadel’s depths. "Let us return to the planning room."

"If you don't mind, I would like a moment with..." Garen glanced at the councillor, his voice measured and casual. "With the subject."

"Of course. But keep it brief," the winged mystic said as he followed the older man.

Along the Odar river

The warm summer made the air rise, allowing the birds to circle effortlessly above the riverside building. Every so often some of the seagulls swept down to catch the bits and pieces floating down the river from where the barges emptied the spoiled parts of their cargo. Among those white and speckled wings hid a black bird that never left the updraft. Instead, it kept a watchful eye on the struggling man dragging something out into the bushes behind the house. When the man returned to get the shovel, a pair of boots was still visible sticking out from beneath the undergrowth. The man kicked at the exposed part, before getting to work digging a shallow hole.

After finishing his work, the man stood up and wiped sweat from his face. His red muttonchops were wet from the exertion. With a sense of finality, the man walked back to the house and left the shovel thrust into the loose dirt.

Far above on the winds, the crow let out a squawking cry and tiled a wing. It broke off from the cover of seagulls and headed along the river towards the coast and the golden city that waited there.

Talraman

The door opened once again, after the philosopher had left accompanied by the two wearing their faceless silver masks. Veranna was only barely aware of her surroundings. The questions, the endless questions had left her exhausted. Drained. She hadn't thought there had been anything left to take from her, but the mountain would always demand everything from you. When the questions didn't immediately start, she found enough strength to raise her head a bit. She saw the boots of a man. Not a philosopher, not a mageslayer.

"The elf."

Veranna stared at the boots for a while. She didn't really understand the question. Not that it was a question. It was a statement, but there was an expectation of compliance hidden within.

"... what?" Her lips were parched, as if all the water inside her had left with her tears.

"Describe the elf."

"She was... was kin cealon. Dark hair, lightly tanned skin. She was hurt. Limped." She spoke in broken sentences, panting, with her thoughts moving without direction. It was so hard to concentrate. Past and present began to blur together. "She looked like someone I used to know..."

"Who?"

"Lilya Tarasov." Veranna remembered Lilya. Their classes together. Sparring. They had been so evenly matched. Earth spirits. Desert creatures. Storm versus stone.

"You didn't mention this before."

"I didn't- I can't... Nobody asked..." She lost her thoughts again. They fled from her mind like pebbles falling down the mountainside, never to stop.

"Did she fight well?"

"She was... brave. Didn't give up. Even when she knew... couldn't defeat me." Veranna remembered the elf’s eyes. Golden. Sad.

The boots tuned as if to leave, but instead closed the door. Veranna managed to look up and saw the man as he stepped closer to the chair that held her. The dragon. Iron Scales.

"I spoke with the others. There is no cure for you." Garen Tarasov explained to the girl in the chair.

Veranna felt the strength leave her again, she sagged even further into her metal bonds.

"You can never again have what you lost,” the dragon mystic continued, walking over to slide shut the cover over the observation window.

She felt herself begin to shake again.

"Do you want me to release you from this?" Garen returned to the chair, his voice just loud enough for her. He wasn't talking about the chair.

"Y-yes. I can't be like this." Veranna could barely feel herself anymore. Everything was just falling into the gaping chasm inside.

"As you wish."

The room seemed to darken and the sound of her heart grew fainter. It was as if the world drew back even further from the room, forgot about it entirely.

"Halean." Barely more than a whisper across the dragon mystic's lips. He called on one of his pacts, and in the corner of Veranna's eyes she could see an approaching ghostly figure. It looked like an elf, but paler than moonlight. The eyes were shadows and the silvery tresses floated freely in the air.

She knew she should be afraid, but even fear had abandoned her.

The banshee caressed Veranna's cheek with a hand as cold as the grave, and then began a low, keening dirge. The song reached into the broken mystic, and unravelled the last few strings that still kept her heart going.

Garen watched as his contracted ghost put the young woman to rest. He hadn't done this out of mercy or compassion. It had been necessary. He didn't want to return to this room one day to find one of his own children strapped to the chair. Above all things, he would be strong for his family. That was the Tarasov way.