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.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Travelling from the golden city of Tier to the town of Carrick Field in western Alband would take nearly five days on horseback, but using their connections with the Whitewater Cartel, Jaden and her friends secure passage on a riverboat to get them there more quickly.

Flashback: Jaden and Oleander hadn't imagined what it would be like to go on a real adventure, but only weeks after their first meeting in Tarad the opportunity sat down at their table during a particularly busy night at the Count of Cups tavern in Carrick Field.

---

Chapter 24: Bridge of Memories, part 1

CARRICK FIELD

He was the largest man Jaden had ever seen. Of course, Jaden had also seen all manner of manifested monster-forms, including Master Viskeri’s very impressive golem spirit, but aside from all that the man sitting on the opposite side of the table might as well have been a giant. The Northman had a simple leather jerkin that left his tattooed arms bare, arms with muscles upon muscles that left the young mystic feeling more than a little envious. The fact that the light blonde hulk of a man sat as tall as Jaden stood only served to drive the difference home even further. He used his thick fingers to stroke the bushy moustache that almost hid his mouth while he waited for the smiling barmaid to finish refilling their mugs. The brunette slip of a girl winked at the second Northman sitting by the table, who returned the smile and eagerly reached for his mug. He was almost as big as the first one, but instead of simply large, he had the toned and conditioned strength of a warrior. Kellen and Stann were the first Northmen Jaden had seen in his life, and they sure made an impression.

“Now, where was I?” The larger Northman rumbled thoughtfully as he put a hand on one of the mugs to keep his cousin from claiming it as well.

“You were telling the kids about the Horrors,” Stann grinned, emphasising the last word as if to see if it provoked any reaction from the two sitting opposite of the Northmen. Jaden looked to his side, and the small redhead there seemed suitably impressed by the story so far. He had known her longer than the others, having met them only the other night.

"Actually, it was a misunderstanding that's stuck to this day. The original elven tribes of the Sorun forest had a name for the creatures, calling them the Kinien Harir, which loosely translates to-" Kellen began to explain, lecture rather, with his deep voice. Listening to it reminded Jaden of the books he had left behind back home.

"'The old tribe below'?" Jaden offered helpfully.

"Yes, basically. Now, Marshall Gerriod didn't fully understand the dialect of this new elven people, so naturally-"

"He went like, 'Horrors, eh? Yep, that sounds about right'." Oleander wrote history her own way most of the time, Jaden had come to realise, and liked to ham it up with an outrageous old accent. She snapped her fingers at the end, flashing a cheeky grin. Cheeky described several of her qualities, from the way she walked, talked and how she wore her simple, boyish clothes, to how she kept her short, red hair.

"If you two would stop interrupting me!" Kellen almost yelled, then visibly gathered himself and continued.

While the winter scholar launched into the engrossing details about the strange creatures, Jaden let his mind wander. Only a couple of weeks ago he had met Oleander, who turned out to have been as alone as he was. She had become his first friend outside the mountain. The first real person he had got to know outside the walls of Talraman. She was so real, so unburdened by the magical world. She could never understand the trouble magic would bring upon its users, the curse that had befallen Jaden. But she didn’t need to. When Jaden had explained that he was on a personal quest, she had readily agreed to help. She became his guide in the world outside the mountain, a place he had mostly only read about in books.

"Why do you call it a seed, then? The Horrors are insect monsters, right?" Oleander’s voice broke through Jaden’s reverie. He had been thinking again. That mostly led to bad places.

"Not entirely. Well, they're not insects at all, but something altogether different, but they're not completely fauna, in the same way most creatures are. They share qualities of plant life, according to some people wiser than I. For instance, the queen does not need anyone else to be able to lay seeds that will hatch into workers."

"Oh, come on now! Seeds hatch? Why don't they sprout?" The redhead had grown up in small town in Olmar, right between the forest and the farmlands. She knew at least a little about what was supposed to hatch, and what shouldn’t.

"There's an interesting story behind this, dating back to when the scholars Bennett and Palivar first studied the creatures, when the kingdoms of man began to settle into the area we now know as the midlands. You see, after careful examination, Bennett - the Marshall's First Herbalist - announced his findings being in accordance to previous knowledge about-"

"Are you hungry, Jay?" Oleander turned to him, her cheek propped up on a hand.

"I could eat." They had mostly been eating tavern snacks since breakfast.

"Want to grab something while the giant is talking to himself?"

"You're being rude, Ollie. The giant's just trying to help." Jaden couldn’t help but play along.

"Help put me to sleep, you mean?" Oleander rocked back on her chair, arms over the backrest and rolling her eyes with dramatic suffering. She reached over and swatted his tied back hair like a cat paws a toy on a string.

"Bear, I'm not sure I like these two," Kellen scowled at his cousin, who just patiently patted the rune seeker's shoulder.

"What's on the bottom of the barrel is still better than the gutterwater that was the rest of these Albander townsfolk." Stann hadn't been too impressed by the local talent. For a reasonably large town, Carrick Field didn't have much in the way of a restless youth interested in adventure. "That aside, it might be good to have someone like the black-haired kid along."

"Ah, yes, that could end up as a boon. It would be nice to have someone naturally gifted with Sorunese along with us. Stormfather knows I'm struggling with the elven tonguetwisters sometimes." Kellen had to agree, despite everything. The rune seeker just hoped that the youth knew how to use that sword he carried around with him. "Also, he seems to know a thing or two about portals."

Jaden looked up from where he had been keeping Oleander’s hands off his hair. She was like a little sister sometimes. It almost made him miss being around Lilya.

"What do you mean, 'naturally? It's not as if I'm a-" The mystic was interrupted by the redhead tugging his him close by his hair.

"What was that about portals?" Oleander asked, whispering exaggeratedly into his pointed ear, while looking at the Northmen.

"We suspect that the Kynian Horrors may actually be visitors from another place-" Kellen began explaining, hoping that the two youths might actually listen to him if he answered their questions.

"Plane." Jaden corrected the rune seeker, freeing himself by keeping Oleander at arm’s length so that she couldn’t reach him.

"Plane. Thank you. Jaden, was it? That instead of coming from the deep underground, they might have ways of entering out world from realms beyond. One of my colleagues believes that explains why the dwarves of Atun seldom have any problems with running into Kynians when they excavate new tunnels under the Erbor Mountain." Kellen lapsed into a more comfortable lecturing tone when he realised he was keeping their attention.

"Pretend I'm stupid, like Jay, and walk me through what portals are, now?" The redheaded Olman girl asked, feigning relaxation. The mystic just rolled his eyes and answered the question instead, before the huge Northman had gathered his thoughts.

"I'll try to use small words, Ollie." That earned the black-eared mystic another swat at his pony-tail. "As far as I understand it, portals are magical constructs that make use of naturally occurring shallowings - places where two planes touch or even briefly overlap - to allow objects or creatures to transfer between worlds. Like between our world and the Myriad Nether, for instance. They're often in the shape of actual doorways, but could in theory be anything."

"That was the simple version?" Oleander tried to make sense of the explanation. She understood doors and locks, but windows into other worlds went over her head.

"You should hear my aunt explain it."

There was a metal noise heralding the return of the Tierin knight. She was fully armed when she stepped into the tavern, closely followed by the grim archer who had barely spoken two words since they had met last evening.

"We have the count's permission to delve into the hive and do whatever necessary to put an end to the infestation." Mirena stood almost as tall as Jaden, but carried herself with a powerful dignity and strength. Even before he had seen her wearing her plate mail, Jaden had still been able to feel how she was armoured by her faith, sending prickles across his skin. She had already done her hair up in a braided bun to keep out of the way once she donned her helmet.

"Well, that's our signal," Stann stood up and stretched as if he couldn’t wait to get back into the action again. With a single gulp he finished his beer and returned the mug to the table with great vigour. He was the kind of man who felt that too much sitting and talking was bad for you. "Get your weapons and make ready; we ride out in a quarter of an hour. We're on a mission!"

Oleander grinned with excitement at Jaden as they hurried up the stairs to get their light packs. This was their first real adventure.

The temple guards stepped to the side to allow the cloaked man and his assistant through in the narrow hallways. The heavy doors that led down into the crypts weren’t guarded at this time, but enough people were moving up and down the short stairs for it not to be an issue. The cloaked man nodded at the captain of the guards, wearing the copper badge of office over his white surcoat, and who waited at the bottom of the stairs. Together they walked to the scene of the battle.

The man pushed the hood of his cloak back, showing short reddish-brown hair and a brow already wrinkled in thought. His eyes darted across the chaos left behind by the fighting some nights ago. The reports that had reached the city were enough to prompt his superiors to send him with the Temples’ quick coastrunner ship as soon as the morning tide allowed.

“What do you make of it?” The captain tucked his thumbs into his sword-belt and grimaced. No matter how many times he saw the place, he could not get used to it. By now the bloodstains had turned brown, but little else had been done to alter anything except taking the survivors to another room in the temple to be tended to. It had been a place of serenity, where the dead had rested in peace. But the acts of a single man had turned it into an abattoir. “It’s good that the temple guards were prepared for battle when they came down here, or this would have been entirely one-sided.”

“The prelate?” The man asked the captain.

“Got away with minor injuries. The clergy of Kuros are no paladins, but rile them up enough and they fight back nonetheless. The prelate is away on personal business at the moment, though. Any questions will have to go through his first acolyte.” The captain returned his thumbs into his belt again and puffed out his cheeks. He had seen much in his days, part of what had made him take the commission of keeping the peace in a sleepy town like Rosehaven. This, however, was outside his range in every sense of the word.

The redheaded man merely hummed to himself and carefully made his way to the epicentre of the disaster, where death had stepped into the world once more. His assistant hesitated by the captain for only a moment before following, pausing in front of a spot of particularly disturbing gore before carefully stepping around it.

"Have you ever seen anything like this before, sir?" The assistant tried to make out whatever his boss was seeing in the mess.

"Only once before, when I was an acolyte like you. It was during the aftermath of the great purge in Otchedar when I was young, when some heretics stirred up trouble trying to fight the Temples."

The investigator bent down and looked at a finger bone, broken in two on the cold stones of the temple crypts. It looked like most of the other fragments of the long dead priests interred in the crypts, except for a small dark band of cloth that had snagged or knotted around it. He nodded to himself and stood up again. Nethermancy. He left the rest to the paladins to sort out while he returned outside with his assistant. They passed several of the local acolytes carrying fresh bandages and ceremonial incenses to help those who were still hurt from the battle.

The younger man looked expectantly at his superior as they stepped out into the sun, leaving the Temple of the Sheltering Hand.

"So, what did you make of that mess down there?"

"It looks like the baron had a... bone to pick with the prelate" Temple Investigator Kane flipped the hood of his dark robes down over his brow to shade his eyes from the sun.

"Yeah," acolyte Delek agreed.

A pair of dragonflies stirred the air as their translucent wings beat a faint buzzing note against the gurgling of the river. They landed briefly on top of some reeds sticking out of the water at the bank of the Odar, the great river that formed the natural border between Alband to the north, and Olmar to the south. Ripples in the water made the reeds sway, startling the dragonflies into flight.

The river was quick enough that the water couldn’t reflect the overcast skies above, but despite the grey clouds the late summer air wouldn’t stay chilly. Instead it was a sort of warm humidity that made clothes cling to their wearers, and caused one to tire easily. It was the kind of day where the only agreeable thing to do was to lie comfortably somewhere in the shade with a drink close at hand.

“Refill!” A hand belonging to the voice thrust out of the light and silky curtains surrounding the palanquin, waving an exquisite crystal glass around as if his demands didn’t get the attention quickly enough. The small tassels that framed the roof bounced with every step the porters took.

Wordlessly, one of the servants walking alongside the somewhat ostentatious sedan chair stepped up with a pitcher of kelshadelic punch, kept perpetually cool due to the enchanted ice crystals tumbling along the bottom of the jug. While the Arcane Order made a tidy profit from selling combat solutions or security measures, the greater share of their revenue came from much more mundane services like keeping streetlights lit, or selling lesser charms to keep drinks cold. During a time some generations ago when the sorcerers’ tradition moved towards its more mercantile attitude, one of its archmages coined the phrase ‘small streams make great rivers’.

Oleander watched the display of magnificent sloth from the back of her tan pinto with amusement hiding a quick fit of envy. She couldn’t help but smile a little, even if it made the bruise around her cheek sting.

“You know, for a man so concerned about Tierin values, riding in an Etrian sedan chair and sipping Kasmani drinks comes across as quite cosmopolitan, Pered,” she said with a big smirk.

“Quiet you. Let me cling to what solace there is in this awful excursion,” the Whitewater smuggler slurped his punch, not having the strength to put any effort into the banter. “The gods know there’s little to be found as is.”

“You know, we’d already be there if you’d just hopped on a horse like the rest of us, or at least gone with a wagon.” Oleander glanced at the sweating porters. They were strong men, mostly Olman like her, but sweating freely in the clammy air.

“Please, Ms Lockless, who do you take me for? Some common brute?” Pered took another noisy gulp of his drink, smacking his lips decadently. “Men of my station have some standards, after all!”

When they had concluded their business arrangement last evening – that is, Pered agreeing to help them get to Carrick Field quicker than the road would allow in exchange for keeping his drug trade secret and most likely sabotaging his competitors – the smuggler had insisted on coming along to the cartel’s docks. It was far enough upriver to keep it outside Tier’s jurisdiction, and Alband didn’t much care about what happened along that stretch of the Odar river. Since the docks were on the Albander side of the river, Olmar couldn’t do anything about it either. It was the perfect spot for the cartel to move goods along the midlands to the coastlands and avoiding most tariffs along the way.

Why Pered had wanted to come along, neither the redhead nor her friends could say. Maybe the smuggler was concerned about what a paladin like Mirena would do if she saw things she shouldn’t have at the cartel dock? But if that was the case, what could the man do about it? Kellen had proposed, during last night’s discussion, that Pered might just want to come along to make sure his men didn’t do anything stupid to provoke a knight of Telum and her group.

Either way, when the morning came and the sun turned the golden city into a shining beacon of the east, Oleander and her friends found themselves riding alongside Pered’s palanquin through the inland road, through the Tradegate and the sprawling market. Even if the smuggler’s choice of transportation was slower than simply riding would have been, the promise of a quick riverboat carrying them up the water would turn a week’s journey into a few day’s trip.

Jaden had watched the brightly coloured merchant tents of the Tradegate market pass by, and barely kept herself from sighing. Who had bought her protector’s sword? Why wasn’t that Etrian trader, Zajid, able to tell her anything about who it had been? There were so many questions. Turning back to keep her eyes on the road, she had caught Mirena looking longingly at the tall towers of Tier, once more to leave her home city to go where her duty demanded. The knight and the mystic had seen each other, and shared a small, bashful smile. Nostalgia or regret would have to wait.

Now, though, they were several miles inland and had passed the official border separating the kingdom of Alband from the sovereignty of Tier. This close to Olmar, just across the wide Odar river, Alband seemed to have forgotten its forests and hills and instead showed lowlands that would become open steppes and grasslands further south.

The river itself was quite wide. The mighty Odar, tumbling down along its path from the Erbor Mountain to the Inner Sea, was too wide at most of its run for a single arrow to fly across. It was often a joke that the reason why Alband and Olmar seldom had been at war with one another was how it was such a bother for them to do so. They couldn’t even stand at the bank of the river and shoot at the other side. It was only at the edge of the ocean when the river split up into several narrow streams, forming a small delta estuary upon which Tier had grown; the golden city would brook no quarrel that close to its walls.

The road followed the river at a very slight upwards incline, and a welcome breeze passed through the traveling group. As the palanquin tilted a little, Pered pushed back the silk curtains and peered out critically. His first glance, however, was a furtive look at the sky and the open fields on the far end across the river. With a slightly sick expression, he waved with his empty glass once more.

“Are we there yet?” Oleander chirped, feeling that warm feeling inside that only came from the misery of people she didn’t like.

“Just about. Now go bother someone else, you Olman pest!” Pered retreated back into the safety of his palanquin, caring little that he insulted the men carrying him at the same time.

The redhead simply exchanged a meaningful look with the porters, some of whom was frowning by that point. Still, the coin in their pockets would soothe the sting of any harsh words, and they kept on carrying the sedan chair silently except for their breathing.

The others had moved on ahead along the riverside road, their horses keeping a quicker pace than the porters’ march. Oleander could see them talking amongst each other, but they were too far away for her to make out what was being said. She was used to the feeling. From back where she was, it looked as if Kellen was pointing at the river and making wide gestures. Was he talking about the fish, or was he explaining how he could turn the waters into his ally with his magic, making it perform impossible tricks? Jaden looked like he understood. The rune seeker and the mystic spoke the same language, after all. Oleander felt the distance sometimes.

She looked back at the elf-like mystic, with that long, black hair tied up in a tail that sat a little too high on the back of the head to be entirely masculine. It bobbed with every motion, and revealed the pointed ears. Oleander felt a small twinge inside her chest. Ever since they had seen Jaden as he truly was, unconscious after his ordeals in the Farcrest harbour and whatever had happened in the tunnels below, Oleander had told herself how it was Jaden who had changed. How everything had occurred on his end. But maybe Oleander had changed as well? She couldn’t make heads or tails of her feelings. There was anger and sadness about how Jaden hadn’t trusted her, trusted their friends. There was relief and joy that he hadn’t been hurt worse and how he seemed the same person as before. Then there was also all this… confusion. Oleander held her hand to her throat, as if she could feel her heart ready to burst out. Instead, she just felt the rough stones of the necklace she had been wearing from the same day Jaden’s lies had been uncovered.

Had it been her fault? Had she forced Jaden into lying to them, in an attempt to keep her from being hurt? Or, had he even known how she felt? Sometimes it was so hard to tell what Jaden was thinking, since he never really spoke his mind. However friendly they had been these last two years, there had always been that invisible distance, those last few doors tightly shut between them. Oleander’s hand went up from her rune necklace to her cheek, where his hand had touched her without those gloves. She winced as she felt the bruise again.

“Does it hurt?” Mirena had been watching Oleander for a while, seeing her friend’s face play through a wide repertoire of emotions. “I offer again to heal it. Telum grants aid to any who are injured in battle.”

“Eh? Oh, that tussle yesterday at Pered’s? That was no real battle, helmet-hair. You shouldn’t waste your blessings on this,” Oleander said, waving her hand at the discolouration around her left cheekbone.

"Are you sure you don’t want Rena to take a look at it?" Jaden leaned forward in her saddle to look past Mirena riding between her and the redhead. While Oleander had been lost in her own thoughts, she had caught up with her friends. Or, maybe the mystic had slowed down for her?

"Eh. I'm used to this sort of pain." The Olman girl shrugged.

Once again, Jaden was reminded of how the redhead had grown up on the streets all on her own. Casual violence must have been something the smaller woman had grown used to. While Jaden's childhood hadn't been any easier in its own ways, at least she had always had her family to rely on. Even Lilya had been there for her when things had been tough. Jaden's big sister had been so different back then, not nearly as hard. Jaden remembered smiles. She missed those smiles.

The boathouse was in a bend in the river, using a natural indentation in the waterway as a place where riverboats could anchor down. The building had both a roofed dock, but it wasn’t large enough for anything but regular rowboats. This partially enclosed area led to the house proper, a place large enough to hold some wares, but not of a size to attract undue attention. To most eyes, it simply looked like a riverside homestead or maybe an inn. Outside, a pier extended far enough into the wide river to allow a larger boat to be tied down to the strong posts. Moored there was a long and shallow riverboat with a small stern castle. It had single mast with a folded sail, and a set of metal hoops to the starboard side, next to which were several ropes coiled in neat piles.

Jaden saw how workers were busy unloading the boat, rolling barrels, pushing crates and sacks with wheelbarrows down the ramp. A dark grey tabby cat presided over the affairs from its perch on top of a wooden fence along the short pier, yawning lazily as the men passed by. This far away from the coast, the cover of clouds had finally cleared up enough for the sun to find its way through and men and cats alike took a moment to look at the sky.

Hardly pausing to let the dockworkers move out of the way, Pered's palanquin trundled on up to the boathouse, leaving Jaden and her friends to follow. Two men had to scramble to get a heavy barrel under control when the palanquin pushed through the line of workers, or it would have rolled into the porters and likely knocked someone off their feet. There was some irritated muttering in the wake of the sedan chair.

Stann had already put both feet on the ground as soon as they had entered the yard next to the boathouse. He didn't hesitate as he helped the pushers get their large barrel upright and out of the way. The workers nodded gratefully, and one of them even shook hands with the Northman before they headed back to the boat to continue unloading it. At the very edge of the southern Alband border there was considerably less bad blood with the Northern Lands, and anyone willing to pitch in was welcomed with open arms.

"Strong arms, Northerner!" One of the workers called out, taking a short break from moving sacks of grain from a rough pile onto a cart.

"They have to be, to carry off your Albander women! What do you feed them to make them so stout?" Stann shouted back, flexing an arm.

"Iron and oak, Northerner. Iron and oak!" The men laughed back in good spirits. It was the traditional wealth of Alband, oak from the great Albar Woods in the heart of the kingdom, and iron from the Erbor Mountains in the west. It had also been the heraldic motto of the current king’s father, Bannor Ambermane, 'Hard as iron, strong as oak'. The banter made the workers shrug off their tiredness and redouble their efforts to get the cargo off the riverboat.

As the rest of them sat off from their horses, the tabby immediately hopped off the fence and trotted up alongside them. It sniffed with curiosity at Alisan, and then began rubbing itself against Rhyce's legs. The archer pushed the cat to the side with a foot without looking at it twice.

Pered's sedan chair was set down close to the door and before the rest of them had caught up, the smuggler quickly pushed his way past the porters and into the building. The air inside the boathouse was noticeably hot and stuffy, with little fresh wind finding its way indoors. When Jaden got inside, Kellen and Oleander had already sat down by the small table offering meagre refreshments to the workers once they were finished with the cargo. Pered walked around and inspected some crates that were stored inside the warehouse section, having some pried open so that he could take a closer look at the contents. Some he even picked up, rubbing various leaves between his fingers and smelling them critically.

While their tenuous ally busied himself with this, Rhyce and Mirena entered the boathouse as well, having seen to their horses. They had agreed on leaving the saddles on in case something took an unfortunate turn here. Granted, between Kellen's magic and Mirena and Stann's skill of arms they had little to fear from the thugs Pered kept in his employ, but the unexpected could always happen. Arrogance was something everyone had to deal with in their own way, or it would be their downfall. For Jaden and her friends, they tried to remind themselves that even with all the magic power they had at hand, an arrow or knife would still bring their story to an end.

There weren’t enough chairs for everyone to sit around the table at the same time, so Rhyce simply held Mirena's seat like a gentleman, which she graciously accepted. Kellen got up from his own chair, but froze like a sheep surrounded by two wolves as his eyes flickered between Alisan and Jaden.

"Oh for the love of... Give it to Alisan, Kel!" Jaden snapped irritably and instead leaned on the warm wooden wall. It felt strange, with only the thin cloth of her jacket separating the rough wood planks from the smooth, bare skin of her shoulders and back. The backless blouse they had found for Jaden always made her feel like the thin ribbon that went across the back of her neck would break off and expose her for the world to see. The warmth felt nice, soothing some of the discomfort she had been feeling lately.

Kellen exchanged a look with Alisan and Mirena. The elf shrugged imperceptibly and took the offered chair, while the knight just nodded slightly.

"Is Stann coming?" Mirena craned her neck to see the archer standing behind her.

"He's working the workers," Rhyce replied softly, and pushed the cat away once more. The main point of their cooperation with the cartel was using their boats to reach Carrick Field faster, but it would be a shame to pass up any opportunities to learn more about the smuggling operations using similar routes as their quarry.

There were other men in the boathouse as well, a couple who followed Pered along on his inspections. These people looked more like the kind to read books rather than haul barrels of Olman brandy off boats. More than one of them actually carried books in which they made notes as they checked the newly arrived goods. Most, however, remained to the side and continued with whatever they had been doing. One of them glanced once again at the strange newcomers who had sat down around the table near the door. He took note of the elves in the group and then kept his head down as if engrossed in the worn ledger in his hands.

Rhyce kept a watch on the other people in the boathouse, never staying too long on a single person. On his second pass, there was something that stood out with one of them. He recalled seeing that one before, from a lofty perspective. The archer put a hand on the back of Mirena’s chair and leaned a little forward, enough that his voice would carry to her alone.

"Keep your eyes on that one," Rhyce murmured, indicating one of the accountants with his eyes. Mirena turned her head slightly and saw a thirty-something man with centre-parted red hair and fashionable sideburns that reached down across his cheeks.

"Anything in particular?" The knight asked with a low voice that wouldn't be easily overheard. She trusted her friend's keen ears would make it out, and she wasn't mistaken.

"He killed someone to be here."

"Do you know why he did that?" Mirena casually looked across the crates in the middle of the large room, reaching out with the senses her temple training had given her. None of the people inside were entirely innocent, her friends included, but the man with the sideburns pulsed with recent acts of evil.

The archer merely shook his head slightly, his fingers twitching slightly as if stroking the feathers of an unseen arrow.

"But we can make educated guesses. Competitors would make most sense. An undercover city guard wouldn't have murdered someone. Unlikely to be someone following us, either. If we wanted to get to Tarad by road, we would be using the old imperial road from Tier to Radent." As the second empire had swallowed Olmar, they had paved quality roads to connect Etrana to their conquered cities. While Tier would never admit to having been conquered by the empire, the war had completely surrounded the golden city once the imperial forces pressed north of the Odar River into Alband.

"Competitors, then," Rhyce agreed.

"Most likely, yes. Which means we should probably ask this man some questions. We could also expose him to garner some favour from Pered Ghaveri." Mirena’s eyes took on an appraising look, like a merchant who eyes the balancing of a scale.

"Whitewater aren't good people." Rhyce knew more than enough of the cartel’s business practices.

"No, they're most definitely not," Mirena nodded, but glanced over at their host, "but we have to pick out battles, my friend. There are more nuances than white and black in our world."

"Once you put some black into your white, no matter how much white you later add, all you'll ever have is grey," the archer warned the knight from experience.

"I'm alright with that," Mirena said. "Absolutes are for nobles, and contrasts are for artists."

She cleared her voice to attract the attention of Whitewater’s regional controller, buying his allegiance with something more precious than gold; knowledge. Steel was grey, and Mirena's god was a sword.

The deck of the boat had been cleared, and the only noise came from a couple of men rummaging through the shallow hold for the rest of the cargo, as well as the tired-looking man sweeping the deck with a broom. A dozen people tracking dirt and mud all over the deck as they unloaded the boat made for a mess. The rest had begun packing the bags, crates and barrels away that wouldn't fit on the carts into sheds next to the boathouse. Stann noted how some boxes, all of which were marked with a small dab of white paint, were instead carried into the boathouse proper.

From the smalltalk between loads, he had been able to piece together a fair impression of the cartel's operation out of this small dock. Boats carrying goods that wouldn't easily pass through the city's inspections, waiting by the river as it passed through Tier towards the sea, would instead stop at these small docks outside the city's reach and then use smaller carts that were more likely to pass unnoticed. Not that there was a whole lot of truly illegal things coming out of the borderlands at the far west, but there were rumours about small plantations in hidden parts of the Erbor mountains where they grew the ash-leaf tarrathin. Some claimed it was even more potent than the infamous Etrian desert zalach that had dominated the market for a long time. Was the cartel perhaps planning on expanding their reach from the coastlands and into the midland region as well?

"A lot of work today," Stann said casually, while leaning on the fence at the pier. The boat was floating higher than when they had arrived, a sign of how much the men had unloaded in a short amount of time.

"The late summer is always a busy time. Harvests going from the outer villages and farms to the large warehouses in the city," the brown-haired worker said, wiping his brow with a cloth he then returned to his belt. The man's short-sleeved tunic was stained with sweat from the heavy lifting. He glanced around a little before adding, "among other things."

"I can imagine. You carry any livestock down this way?" Stann couldn’t see any permanent arrangements for keeping animals stabled nearby, but perhaps the smugglers moved any critters they received as soon as they got off the boat.

"Naw. Makes a mess, and is too loud. Makes people look too much into things we rather they didn't, if you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I reckon I do." The Northman nodded, figuring that the whole ‘hidden in plain sight’ trick would only work as long as no attention was directed their way.

"Still, sometimes the odd thing comes by. Last night there was a fellow coming to this tavern we usually go to after the work is done. Carrus, the scarred lad over there, said how the man was dead on his legs, driven like demons were whipping him on, but offered a gold box - the kind where the lady folks keep their trinkets, see? - to anyone who would ferry him up the river." By now the worker had stopped scraping away dirt from the deck with his broom, instead leaning on the shaft with a dreamy expression. "I'll be kicking myself for years to come that I decided to call it an early evening and went home."

"Do you have a boat of your own?" Stann asked with more than professional interest. The Winterheart boys had spent more than a few summers at the wharfs in Agerhon, following the longships as they left to brave the inner sea.

"Yeah. Just a small skiff, sure, but for a prize like that? I would've rowed all the way to the Shelmot Plains and kissed a borderlander lass before heading back." The younger man held out the broom as if it was a maiden, swooning in his arms.

Stann laughed, and clapped the man's shoulder with sympathy.

"Your time will come, good man." The winter warrior gave a final squeeze before leaving the man to his dreams of wealth and flaxen-haired women.

Pered Ghaveri drew himself up to his full height. It was easy to think of him as someone slightly shorter than average, but that was just how he was often hunched over, yet even then managed to look down his nose at you. With his back straight and his eyes glittering dangerously, it was now just as easy to imagine the hard-hearted man he must be, to be trusted with the cartel's affairs in Tier. When he turned his gaze towards the redhaired man standing at his side, echoes of the person who had climbed his way to the top of dead or humiliated competitors slipped through his civil facade.

"Master Ghaveri, no! I have no idea what they're talking about!" The man dabbed a cloth to his forehead, sweat making his face and sideburns glisten.

"We will be reasonable, of course. I suppose you can substantiate this claim, milady Kaladon?"

"You may want to check the shrubs behind the outhouse. The previous place you had your latrine, making it easy enough to dig in and not suspicious that it was disturbed. You'll find a body there." Mirena pointed towards the door leading out the back. Rhyce stood at her side, having told her about what he had been made aware of some days ago.

Pered nodded to some of the workers watching the spectacle, who readily got up from the crates they were sitting on and headed out to go on a gruesome treasure hunt. Oleander slipped off along with them. She felt the tension in the room, and didn't want to add to it. Some people had great chemistry, and knew from the moment they met that they would stick together no matter what; Oleander and the smuggler had no such thing going for them. That aside, this wouldn't be the first time she dug up a grave.

"We wondered what happened to Jordon. He just never came back to work one day," one of the other accountants murmured, looking deeply unsettled. They had moved away from the redhaired man in question, leaving him standing by himself. "That's why the boss hired on this new fellow here. Said they had been drinking together at the tavern lately."

"That was just a coincidence! I just got talking with Hammond, and he asked what I did for a living. I said I was looking for a new job, and since I'm good with numbers he offered me this position." The accused man looked from his former co-workers to Pered, wringing his hands pitifully.

"I don't like coincidences, and I can smell a half-lie a league away. Lads, wrap him up like a precious gift in the storage section. I want to have words with our friend here." Pered snapped his fingers, indicating the suspected man, who began to look like he wanted to run away. "Being a beet-head isn't doing you any favours either right now."

A couple of strong-looking men who had been watching the exchange from the side walked up to the redhaired man and grabbed each of his arms, dragging him toward the far end of the room. With a length of rope usually saved for securing barrels on the river boat, the man soon found himself tied to one of the posts supporting the ceiling. While Pered’s thugs checked the knots a final time, there a change came over his face. The nervousness seemed to melt away into a resigned expression, like a man settling into the fact that he was going to spend the foreseeable future in pain, the psychological equivalent of preparing for a siege.

“Anything you would like to say before they find whatever there is to find out there?” Pered pursed his lips in thought, already considering how to pry the truth from the bound man, should it come to it. Suddenly, he turned to one of the other bookkeepers. “What is his name, anyway?”

“Savus, master Ghaveri. Savus of Veren.”

“Another Olman? I swear I’m surrounded by them,” the smuggler exclaimed, although with Oleander having left, the building was mainly Albander and Tierin aside from Jaden and her friends. “Well then, Savus of Veren, tell me something I’d like to hear.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the man called Savus replied, looking past Pered at something closer to the door.

“I see. Well, I don’t plan to spend the entire morning with you. I have people to do that for me.” Pered snapped his fingers, and pointed at the tied-up man. “Find out what sort of person he is, and what he knows.”

“Shouldn’t we wait to see if they discover anything out there?” One of the people who had up until this point worked alongside the man called Savus spoke up, clutching a number of rolled up parchments to his chest. His brow was sweaty from more than just the humidity. Pered merely turned ever so slowly and stared at the man until the actuary’s voice trailed off in a low mumbling of excuses.

“Right then.” One of the heavies started towards their prisoner before thinking of something that made him turn to his boss once more. “What if he’s being difficult like?”

“If so, beat him out of recognisable shape. Maybe that will straighten him out.” Pered waved his hand dismissively, as if he couldn’t care less about the fate of the man he just so casually ordered his henchmen to work over.

Mirena and Rhyce exchanged a look, while Jaden shrunk back towards the door where the pale elf and the rune seeker had remained next to the table. The promise of… physical interrogation made the mystic think of the stories she had heard growing up. Whispered stories of what went on in the depths of the citadel, the things the mageslayers did with the ones who had betrayed the mountain. Jaden squeezed her eyes shut for a quick moment, forcing the images from her mind. She kept seeing the shed behind the mansion in Redwall, with the archer chained to the wall, his body a litany of suffering.

Oleander tagged along with the pair of men who had followed their boss’ nod towards the back of the boathouse area. An outhouse sat next to the edge of the clearing, with some high shrubs and weeds. It looked relatively newly made, with a slanted roof to keep the rain out while the occupant did their business. She also noted that there were handles sticking out of the sides, so that the entire thing could just be uprooted and moved to a new location when necessary.

One of the men had grabbed a shovel from the stack of tools leaning against the back wall of the boathouse, and began to pace around the area nearby the outhouse with it over his shoulder. All their eyes were on the ground, for any signs of disturbances.

“This is where we had the latrine last time,” the man with the shovel said, pointing with his free hand at a spot of freshly turned soil.

“How long since you moved it?” The redhead asked. The dirt couldn’t have been sitting for long. No fresh grass or anything had begun to cover the mound of earth.

“Less than a fortnight, I’d say,” the other man said and spat on the ground, also noticing how something seemed to be wrong with the scene.

Without another word, the one with the shovel got to work while the other went to grab a spit to loosen up the ground. They were strong men, and within minutes they had uncovered a large and deep enough area that they found something. The workers backed away once they saw what poked up from the loose dirt. A few other men had gathered around to see what was happening.

"What sort of man buries another face-down in old shit?" A stocky-looking man with scarred hands and a vague borderlander look reached down to help the other worker by pulling at the legs. Once they rolled the dead man over, both of them held an open hand over their hearts, the sign of Kuros.

"The really rotten kind," Oleander mumbled as she watched them drag the body out of the hole. Once she saw how the unburied man had been killed, she got up from her squat and headed back to the boathouse. She had seen that style before.

The knight knew how this would probably play out. She weighed the fear and greed emanating from the smuggler and his men, against the darkness in the heart of the bound man. Neither would, or could, back down and it would only lead to another burned bridge or lost lead. She kept her face serene as the first couple of fists connected with the prisoner, and then she took a breath and carefully chose her words.

“In war as well as business, the winner is the one who dictates the terms of engagement,” Mirena spoke easily in her most cultured Tierin voice. “And your opponent’s fears are your best leverage.”

Pered looked at her with a confused smile on his face for a moment, and then quickly glanced back at his prisoner. Confusion hid when the dawn of realisation hit him. The smuggler snapped his fingers, causing the thugs to stand back from pummelling the bound man.

“I have to agree, milady Kaladon! Let our friend here stew for a bit. I’m sure he can imagine all the terrible things we will do to him.” The last bit was for the prisoner’s benefit, spoken nonchalantly in his direction.

“While he is doing so, did I tell you about the current deals my uncle is enjoying with the baron of Risan?” Mirena put a hand on Pered’s arm, steering his attention as well as his body away from the interrogation. “It turns out that Olmar has a much more relaxed import tariff on Etrian fabrics than Tier.”

“Is that so? With autumn barely more than a month away, there will be call for silk and velvet for the new season.” You could almost see the merchant scales balancing the profits against the expenses in Pered’s eyes. The cartel moved many things, and weren’t afraid to venture into new markets when the opportunities presented themselves. “May I impose on you to tell me more?”

“Naturally. Should we continue this somewhere else? The heat is stifling in here.” Mirena touched her brow briefly, with a delicateness she didn’t feel. The knight was used to field exercises in full armour during any season.

“Right this way. The boathouse docks have both a roof over our heads, but open to the river to give us a fresh breeze.” Pered patted her hand on his arm, and allowed himself to be led away.

Mirena looked once more to make sure she had been right. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw how the bound man once again stole a glance in the elves’ direction. Whenever he did, his inner darkness seemed to call out. As the knight and the smuggler passed Jaden and Alisan, Mirena smiled sweetly to them.

“Why don’t the two of you see if there’s anything you can do for our… guest?” She asked innocently.

“Bah. What use is there to treat a man who is only due for worse later?” Pered sniffed dismissively, more so at the elves than at the suggestion. He didn’t refuse it, however, his mind much too focused on future gold.

“I… sure, but-” Jaden was about to argue that Oleander or Stann would be much better suited to talk with the man called Savus. Both of them had their own ways to win people over on their side. Even Rhyce would be a better idea, with his silently intimidating anyone he turned his eyes on. But before she could voice her misgivings, she felt a strange pulling inside her. Like a few times before, she became keenly aware of Mirena’s hidden meaning, and the equally hidden feelings of relief wafting from the bound man. This Savus wanted Alisan and her to stay with him for some reason.

“It appears as if I can bind some of his welts,” Alisan said carefully, not understanding what was happening, but placing her trust in her new friends. To her credit, her face betrayed little of the confusion Jaden felt leaking forth from within.

“As you wish, milady Kaladon,” Jaden changed her tone easily. They were lying right now. Jaden knew all about lies. She drew upon a little of that presence she felt lurking under her own surface. She could feel the fire on her tongue. “Don’t crowd us. I will ask everyone else to leave us.”

Within moments, most of the other workers and bookkeepers had either joined Mirena and Pered on their stroll, or found something else to do that left the mystic, the pale elf and the man called Savus alone. Two pairs of eyes turned to the prisoner; Alisan’s emerald green, and Jaden’s burning gold.

“Alone at last. I thought I’d have to tough it out until nightfall,” Savus licked at a split lip and winced.

“Was there anything you wanted to say to us?” Jaden kept some of that fire going inside her, bringing a persuasive heat to her words.

The man with the red sideburns nodded, taking a breath as if gathering himself.

“The seraali blooms early.” Savus pronounced each word with clarity, despite his earlier Olman accent.

Yet the forest is still

“Yet… I,” Jaden blinked to clear her head. It was like an itch. She glanced at Alisan for help. The pale elf was about to say something, but suddenly turned to Savus with a wide-eyed expression.

“But the woods are silent!” Alisan almost clapped her hands, first looking at Jaden, then at the man, and finally back at the mystic once more. She had a wide smile on her face. The elf had a really pretty smile, and it was a shame she was so serious most of the time.

“Finally! Okay, that was a bit of a risk, but I didn’t know when to expect you guys.” Savus made a half-laugh that broke off from the pain he was feeling after the beating he took. “Also, I wasn’t really sure it was you at all. No offense, but you elves tends to look the same to me.”

Jaden bit back her immediate response, even managing to keep from rolling her eyes. Just once she’s like someone to see her for who she was. Pointy ears did not an elf make!

“Since you had hidden yourself so expertly, we weren’t sure which one was you either. That’s why we had to do what we did.” More lies. They ran so easily off her tongue.

“Huh. I guess. Wish you hadn’t needed to blow my cover. I had only completed half of what I needed to do here.” The redheaded man struggled a little against the ropes. “Anyway, get me out of here and I can set up somewhere else.”

“You realise why we can’t do that. It would compromise our own position too much.” Jaden shook her head slightly. “We’ll send someone to extract you once we’re gone, though. What you’re doing here is important.”

“Yeah. Without me to tip the guard off and turning their attention toward the Whitewater cartel, we would have a much harder time moving our transports across the border. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up for a while then, huh?”

Alisan just watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression.

“Have you received your new orders from your superior, yet?” Jaden continued to spin her web of lies, pulling at strings to see what truths appeared. “Or have your position here made it harder for you to communicate with them?”

“No, not really. I’ve kept Toben up to date with messages every week using the couriers, but it’s a long road to Tarad. What new orders?” Savus seemed to have forgotten his bruises, looking intently at the black-haired mystic.

“The next season is blooming. It’s a tangled, elven thing, clearly not for your ears.” Alisan spoke for the first time, distracting the redhaired man.

“I don’t understand…” Savus looked back and forth between the two elven women.

“When you need to find out, you will find out.” Jaden said mysteriously, and then pointed imperiously at the bound man. “Just wait here and all shall be revealed in time.”

“Yes, mistress,” he nodded.

As soon as Jaden and Alisan was out of his hearing, they began to whisper to one another. They kept walking while holding their hushed conversation, wanting to catch up with the others as soon as possible.

“May I ask of you to share with me what transpired?” The pale elf demanded of the mystic. She looked like she was bursting with questions.

“Mirena must’ve known something. Either way, we just got lucky! We’ve got more signs pointing toward Tarad.” Jaden felt excited, almost exhilarated. There was something about deceiving others that gave her a buzzing feeling inside. It was almost enough to make her forget about the cramps. However, it didn’t explain one thing. “Hey, Ali? How did you know the counter-sign to that phrase?”

"’While the wind blows outside, the hearth is still warm. The sun chases the moon across the sky. The seraali blooms early, but the woods are silent’. It seems to be a poem by a songshaper who was mostly remembered for his isolationist ideas. Kirellien offered many beautiful songs for the two tribes, but according to him, they were for the Serecean people alone."

"Well, that explains how you knew about it, but how come an Albander actuary knows so much about obscure elven poetry?"

“Perhaps he was merely taught those verses by another? I barely remembered it myself, and I spent my budding summers with the songshapers. Despite my youth I was considered quite gifted with the art of voice and melody.” Alisan held up a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as they stepped out into the yard, then paused and glanced at Jaden with some confusion. “I am uncertain why I felt compelled to share that with you at this point. That said, it appears as curious to me why someone would seek to learn obscure things of a culture not their own. During my brief travels, I have noted that many humans, especially adolescents, seem to have an unwholesome fascination with our people.”

“Oh yeah. Elphiles. I’ve met a number of those.” Jaden shook her head, feeling the fire recede back into the hidden parts of her soul. Almost together both she and Alisan turned to look towards where Stann was talking to some of the workers.

Jaden turned away from the boathouse and what had happened inside, and followed her friends along the short pier to the waiting riverboat. She didn't know much about boats, but the boat looked like it was sitting noticeably higher than when they arrived. It showed more of its shallow curved hull, made for running the riverways. Jaden wondered how it would fare on the open seas, when it seemed to dance the surface rather than course through the depths.

With one foot on the railing and leaning on the knee, a man who could be none other than the captain of the boat stood waiting for his new passengers.

"Welcome aboard Samissa's Sweet, or just The Sweet, as she's known between friends. I'd boast that she's the fastest river-runner between Telasero and Saitelli, but The Sweet, she's a proper lady full of grace. She will get you where you're going quick enough, however, never fear." The captain pulled off his tricorn hat, marking him as a former Albander marine officer, and bowed with a lopsided smile. "I am Ebel Foxglove, your host for this voyage along the mighty Odar."

"Thank you, captain," Stann spoke for the group and stepped up to grab the captain's hand, giving it a solid shake. "I hope the lady won't mind carrying our horses? I understand that's not her usual tune."

"Normally I'd turn down any request of moving animals. Makes too much of a mess, you see?" Ebel tucked his thumbs below his wide leather belt, and looked towards where the smuggler was seeing his new allies off. Pered had not left the comforts of the boathouse, but was at least waving a little. "But since Ghaveri there asked me so nicely, I'll graciously make an exception. It's not as if I'm carrying anything back up-rivers anyway."

"We'll be sure to make it worth your while, captain," Mirena said, knowing how people in the mercantile world worked.

"No need, my fair lady; your fee has been sorted. The only worry is how speedy the trip back up the Odar will be with more than half a dozen horses weighing The Sweet down. Tacking up the stream is bad enough on a strong river like the Odar, without the extra load." Ebel pointed up along the river with his entire hand, making a few brushing gestures as if to show how powerful the river could be.

Jaden felt a hand on her shoulder pushing her gently to the side. Looking up she had to keep craning her head back to see the taller of the Northmen make his way to the front. His other hand was already inside one of his many beltpouches, seeking a stone by touch alone.

"If I may, Captain Foxglove." Kellen inclined his head in a greeting. "I am Kellen Winterheart, a member of the society of rune seekers. I believe I can assist in our journey."

"Is that so? Do you have a wind blessing? I once sailed with a stormcaller sorcerer from Marsantias. She kept our sails full for the entire voyage. Never made such good time from port to port before."

"Not exactly, but you'll find the end result as satisfactory." The giant Northman finally plucked a smooth runestone from his pouch, rubbing the inscribed surface with a thumb before moving his closed hand towards the river. There was a bubbling, almost rumbling noise as something began to move underneath the surface. It seemed to follow the motions of Kellen's hand, like a puppet on the strings. With a small smile, Kellen brought his hands up further, and a gout of water erupted from the river, flowing into the air in a serpentine pattern. He had used the very same rune to control water from nearby wells, when putting out the burning rubbles of the Umnir slaughterhouse in Tier.

"That's very impressive, Rune Seeker! Can your water snake help guide The Sweet against the current?" The captain leaned on the railing, watching the display of magic with fascination.

"Better than that, captain! My wave companion rune can push the entire vessel." Kellen allowed the water to return to the river by opening his hand. He briefly inspected the runestone before putting it back into the pouch. "You'll just let us know how fast you want to go."

"I can see this will be a very interesting trip. Please, step aboard and we'll see what we can do about your steeds." Ebel moved to the side, and waved them aboard with a flourish.

Rhyce and Stann began leading their horses along the loading ramp, while Jaden and her friends found places out of the way around the deck. The riverboat didn't have much in way of passenger space. Aside from the shallow hold below deck and the aft castle, the rest of the boat was simply the wide and open deck around the single mast. Jaden guessed that, since The Sweet mainly ran the Odar, there was little need for on-board amenities. Going with the stream, the boat could probably make the trip from the borderlands to the golden city in little more than a day. In fact, she suspected that a boat leaving from the Shelmot Plains at dawn would arrive by the cartel's secret dock by moonrise.

With that thought in mind, Jaden sought out the captain. Overseeing the preparations, the man was striding the lengths of the deck, shouting out orders to the handful of crew who would be returning up the river with the rest of them. Most of the yelling was done in good nature, though. There seemed to be a general good feeling among the people riding The Sweet. Criminals, or those who associated with them, were persons too. Jaden realised that these men were just... people, who probably didn't spend all their waking hours planning on how to bring zalach or tarrathin into the jittering hands of their customers.

"Captain? Do you have a moment?" Jaden had to quicken her step to keep up with the man with the tricorn hat, who seemed to be everywhere at once, telling his shipmates to tighten knots or angle the sail.

"For you, I have at least two," the captain said with a grin that he managed to turn into a compliment rather than a leer. Jaden could understand how this man might charm women, with his rural Albander good looks. Dark brown hair with just the slightest of wave to it, stormcloud grey eyes hugged by some wrinkles caused by a life filled with laughter. There was something along the jaw or perhaps the shoulders that looked appealing. Yes, Jaden could certainly appreciate the man's handsome profile. "Please, call me Ebel."

"Ah, alright. Ebel, how much time does it usually take to make the voyage up the river?" Jaden brushed some of her black hair back over an ear with a subconscious gesture. Some ringlets had slipped from where she had tied it back into a tail.

"Well, usually, it takes three days. Two, with good, strong winds to help us with the first leg. After we get into the midlands, there won't be enough of a breeze to let us tack against the current." The captain made zig-zag gestures with a finger against the other hand's palm to show the path of the boat. "After that we just drag the lady the final distance using horses or oxen."

"Drag? But..." The black-haired mystic looked at the river. If it was a tenth as deep, maybe, but any animal would just drown if made to ford the Odar.

"No-no, you see those eyes there?" Ebel laughed and pointed at the iron hoops fixed along the starboard bow. "We tie the ropes from the yokes to those, and the oxen can just amble along next to the banks. It's not fast, but it'll get us there. Though, with a magician pushing The Sweet, I can only imagine how fast the trip'll be. Between you and me, my black beauty, can he really do it?"

"Kellen?" Jaden didn't pay any attention to the captain's flirtations. Her mind was on her rune seeker friend, who had begun walking around the boat, rubbing his hand along the wooden planks and rails. Aside from some of the masters back home in Talraman, she had never met anyone as strong as Kellen. "Yes. Yes he most certainly can."

She almost believed that Kellen could carry the world if he needed to.

Kellen had a very good memory. It was a good quality in a rune seeker, being able to recall the particulars regarding a certain sigil or the legend behind some half-forgotten inscription. It was necessary to have good memory to keep track of all the individual runes a seeker collected over their lives. The same good memory allowed Kellen to remember how so many of his colleagues kept asking him why he chose to limit himself so. Why, they asked him, did he almost exclusively work with water and earth runes?

Of course, like any rune seeker worth his name, Kellen meticulously collected every single magic symbol he came across, but he only ever made use of the ones that provided influence over the sea or the land.

'As a battle magician', they said, 'won't firestorms and windblasts serve you better? The earthquakes and floods limit your allies as much as they do your foes!'

Kellen couldn't argue that point, but he had his reasons. In Northern mythology, the earth and the sea were the traditional sources of life. People were born from it, as was every animal and tree. The flame and the sky, however, was the domain of death. The people of the North burned their dead, and let the winds bring the smoke and ashes into the heavens, and the reward that awaited a warrior after a life of glory and blood. Kellen had made a choice when he left his home, when his chieftain had banished him from Strom and the North. Kellen had vowed to use his magic to promote life, not death. The lives he took while helping his friends were exclusively those that made the world a worse place. He was willing to endure a little fire for the greater good.

The rune seeker looked at the two stones in his hands. Wave Companion. Such a useful rune. All the companion runes were, allowing the magician to shape and draw an element away from its source. In his other hand was a stone marked with several barely waving lines close to one edge. He had never had much use for the Ebbing rune, except maybe for pranking his cousin while the warrior was taking a bath. But today, he had another idea for when lowering water could make all the difference.

Kellen walked to the middle of the stern castle. He was tall enough to see the river both at the fore and the aft of the boat. His left hand reached forward, while his right beckoned behind The Sweet. There was a mighty burbling noise as the river further down from the boat began to swell and roll in a wave that gently began to break across the aft. Despite the flow of the river, the waves kept rolling in, pushing and shoving. Next, The Sweet began to tilt a little forward. The water at the bow seemed to flow away, and before long the entire boat started to surge up the river against the stream, gaining speed with every wave that came from behind.

From his vantage at the stern castle, he could see when Rhyce finally bent down and untangled the cat from his legs, putting it down on the pier as the boat began to pull away against the current. The tabby took a few steps before sitting back down, watching The Sweet sail off until it passed out of sight. Once the last bit of the mast had disappeared, it began to lick a paw while keeping an eye on the boathouse.

The Northman checked the form of his enchantments briefly, already knowing they would hold strong. Unless he willed otherwise, the boat would continue in this speed and direction for several hours before the magic was worn away. Enchantments on stationary, mundane things could last almost indefinitely, but in this case where the water was ever changing, and the wood of the boat was constantly assailed by forces from within and without, he would have to renew his casting every so often. This was yet another reason why Kellen argued that the Society of Rune Seekers were the custodians of the strongest tradition of magic.

Not only could a single practitioner learn, given time and fortune, an unlimited variety of magic, he could also sustain his enchantments for much longer than any other tradition, as well as keep casting even costly spells where a sorcerer or spellsinger long ago would have succumbed to exhaustion. Kellen didn't often allow himself such immature feelings as smugness, but right then, when nobody could see it anyway, the giant Northman smirked a little and gave the stones in his hands another squeeze.

"Sorcerers. Heh." Let them keep their lightning and fire. They couldn't take the land and sea from him.

Captain Foxglove left the rudder to his first mate, more because his boat seemed to steer itself than anything else. It was an uncanny experience as a seasoned sailor, having a vessel with a will of its own. That was usually a bad sign in most other situations, if the tales were to be trusted. But he had to hand it to the giant leading his lady for this dance; it was a smooth ride despite how fast they were going. Ebel figured they would reach Carrick Field a good hour before sundown, maybe even sooner. That was just as fast as going downriver would be. He patted the railing at the aft castle affectionately before heading down to the deck. He had to trust that his lady was in good hands. Speaking of ladies, however...

Ebel walked over to where that redheaded Olman girl sat perched at the fore of the ship, a spot usually reserved for a shiphand who could give ahead warning if any shallows or sunken debris were coming up. Riverboats rarely had crow's nests, and had their eyes fixed much closer to the boat. But Ebel and his men were more at home along the Odar than in either of the countries it separated. In a way, the river was their country. Strong and fast, beholden to none but themselves. The captain watched the girl for a moment, before sitting down on a tight coil of rope reserved for mooring The Sweet when it was time to rest between runs.

"Have you and your friends sailed many times? The Northmen seems like they've got their sea legs, but the elves look a little awkward." Ebel pointed back at the creamy, pale-blonde elven woman holding her hands out a little from her sides, as if she's constantly trying to find her balance. The swarthy one with the raven tresses was sensibly sitting down with her back to some barrels. She didn't seem to realise that when she sat like that, everyone who walked past her could peek down her blouse. Ebel noticed that many of his men found a reason to check on something or other, which required them to pass her.

"Uhm, yeah, Kel and Bear most likely grew up with a longship in their cribs. I'm sure Rena's been on her share of trips as well. Not sure about Rhyce. He's never spoken about any voyages, but he held up fine when we went from Etrana to Tier last autumn." Oleander pointed at each of her friends in turn as she spoke of them. "I'm pretty sure Jay's never spent any time aboard ships, no more than I have, anyway. We're both midlanders."

"Really? I thought 'Jay' would be a little more familiar with the seas than that? I hear that there are more of those dark elves in the other city, the one near the far coast by the Misty Sea? So, she's from Ral Sona, then?"

"Yeah, sure, that works," the redhead said mysteriously.

"Huh. Okay." Ebel didn't know what to make of that statement. "Say, do you know if she's... does she have a special someone?"

"Jay? I... I honestly don't know," Oleander wondered. Why couldn't Jaden just hear what she was saying?

"Indeed? Well, then," Ebel tugged at his lapels, and began smiling wider. He darted a quick look in the direction of where the black-haired mystic had sought refuge from the motions of The Sweet and her crew.

"Actually, you don't want to do that!" Oleander said hurriedly. There was a strange feeling in her stomach at the thought of Jaden in someone else's arms.

The captain looked back at her with a confused frown. Had she jumped conclusions again? No. She knew that look in the eyes of men. She had seen the worse of it more times than she cared to remember, and she doubted that the captain would be the kind of man who would force his attentions, and more, on someone. But, still...

"He, she, Jay, she's riding more than one river at the moment, if you know what I mean?" The redhead thought desperately for something that would keep any man away. There was always the good old standby. It was a little white lie, made in the best of intentions. Or, in this case, a red lie.

"What are you saying?" Ebel looked in the mystic's direction once more. Was the elven woman sulking, or was it some other malady? Suddenly he connected the pieces of the puzzle, and recoiled a little. "Ah. Oh. I see."

Oleander tittered to herself as the captain excused himself and strode off to see to the unnecessary details of working the magically propelled boat. Jaden would have such a laugh if he knew what Oleander had told the captain. It was fun to pull off the more outrageous cons, when the bait was willing to believe what you said.

"Weather's finally clearing up a little, huh?" Stann said.

"Gratefully, it seems to be so. I would rather watch this country under the splendour of the sun, than the cover of clouds." Alisan turned to face the countryside passing by next to the river.

"Yeah, it's pretty enough I suppose. But it doesn't hold a candle to the old brothers east of Strom, my home village."

"Brothers?" The pale elf tilted her head to the side.

"It's what we call the mountain peaks. Rhuir, Burut and Drunn. Great warriors who fought off the frost drakes during the times of myth. But Drunn, the youngest, left their home to follow the evening star in the south. That's why Kaland, where the Drunn peak is, broke off from the North and is now an island off the eastern coast."

"That's not how islands are made, Winterheart."

"We know that now, sure, but back then legends and stories were all people had. I imagine a boy pointing towards the horizon and asking his father what those towering peaks in the distance were. His father would lift him to his shoulders and tell the boy the story of the old brothers."

Alisan watched Stann's face while the warrior spoke, her eyes losing the hardness they often had around him.

"Belan tama. I offer gratitudes, Winterheart, for showing me a glimpse of the soul of your people." Alisan smiled a little at the larger man.

"What? Oh, uh, sure." Stann grinned widely, coming back to the present. He had to admit that the pale elf was a real beauty when she wasn't scowling all the time. A little on the thin side for his preferences, but give her a few years of honest, Northern food and it'd sort her out.

"The two peoples of Serecea believe that words are not enough to truly know another. Instead, we learn by motion." Alisan began to walk around Stann with measured steps, sometimes turning to one side or the other. It was as if she was showing different sides of herself.

"U-huh. I'm not sure I understand how that works."

"Who would you say you know the most? The people you have fought beside, or the ones you fought for? The woman with whom you danced, or her friend you left at the table? The beast you hunted, or the one you never met?"

"You're talking about experiencing things with someone, right? That it brings you closer together?"

"Correct. It is a Serecean tradition to learn about another through action as well as words." Alisan finally came to a rest again, back where she had started. "That is why our soldiers duel one another; not only to hone their skill, but also to understand their companions. That is why we dance, stroll or ride with our visitors."

"Actions speak louder than words?"

"Sometimes more clearly, as well. You understand. That brings summer to my heart, Northerner." Alisan touched her chest as she smiled, tilting her head a little back to look Stann directly in the eyes.

"Wait. Hang on. Will we be expected to dance with your people when we get to Ral Sona?" Stann held up his hands, in surrender or protest. By his expression, it could have been either.

"One cannot count the stars until the night falls. That will depend on who we would see once we walk the petal paths of my city. I would prepare myself for the possibility." The elf folded her hands as she spoke.

"I don't know any elf-dances, Ali. I doubt polka or jenka would go over well in an elf city.” Stann had a vivid image of himself being asked to leave a ballroom at spearpoint, surrounded by shocked and outraged elven maidens.

"One might be surprised, Northerner. Long seasons allow for many experiences. However, I would offer to share some steps with you as time permits?" Alisan spoke casually, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes.

"You want to teach me to dance?" The winter warrior looked incredulous. Most of the time, it looked like the pale elf wanted to grab him to strangle, not to dance.

"It appears to be so."

"Well, alright. I won't turn that down. However! Ali, would it kill you to call me 'Stann'?"

"Each dance begins with a single step," Alisan said as she walked away, holding up an index finger over her shoulder.

Jaden couldn't help but overhear the pale elf and the winter warrior talking about dancing. Despite her awkwardness with the Midland Trade language, Alisan really seemed like a good teacher. Jaden felt like she understood how doing things together would bring people closer, in more ways than the obvious. In a way, it wasn't all that different from the Lacunai idea of synthesis; how a spirit and a mystic were more powerful when they were as one being. A whole that was far greater than the sum of the individual parts.

Did she even want that? The closer she got with her spirit, with Ashomi, the harder it would be to break the two of them apart later. Being more powerful would let Jaden help her friends, but at what cost to herself? She could still remember her real face, but how long before even the memory of her true self began to fade?

Let me help you

"I need help," Jaden muttered, and pulled her legs up to her chest, feeling miserable. Everything was sore and she felt swollen. For now the most endurable thing was to just sit behind these lashed barrels and try not to think of how much the boat was rocking as Kellen's water magic pushed against the flow of the river.

Enough of the sun found its way through the gaps in the clouds that Jaden felt when the shadow passed over her. Soon, a head full of short, red hair popped down in her field of vision, eclipsing the sun.

"So that's where you've been hiding." Oleander leaned on one of the barrels, easily shifting her balance to match the motion of the boat. Despite having grown up pretty much in the centre of the continent, more than a hundred miles from the nearest ocean, she had taken to the decks like an old hand.

"I wasn't hiding, Ollie. I was, uh, just thinking." Thinking about anything else than the constant rocking. Jaden felt her stomach protest again.

"Well, you should probably stop doing that. You look terrible." The Olman girl remarked. Leaning over the barrels to look at Jaden made a necklace of leather and stones slip from her tunic top and dangle a bit in the breeze.

“Is that a new necklace? It looks a little… rough for you” Jaden noted. Oleander was usually into shinier things, the magpie that she was. However, she seldom wore the same pieces for very long.

“Since when did you start paying attention to jewellery?” She teased. “Anyway, it’s something Kel made to protect me from things.”

“What kinds of things?” The mystic wondered. While the Lacunai rarely worked with enchantments of their own, much preferring to trust in the abilities of their spirits or pacts, sometimes they made use of protective charms for the defence of the citadel and the mountain. The protectors’ swords were one of those exceptions.

“Heatstroke, harsh language… spiritual attacks…” Oleander said offhandedly, fingering the rune stones on the leather string.

“What?” Jaden blinked.

“You know, the usual.”

“Uh…” Jaden had a feeling she was missing something important.

Oleander turned to look away, and together they just watched the Alband and Olmar countryside flow past on either side of the boat. It was funny, really. From here, the countries didn't look all that much different.

"Hey, Jay?" She finally said, by now leaning with both arms folded over the barrel top.

"Yeah?" Jaden craned her head a little to look up at the redhead.

"Remember how we talked about your spirit thing?"

"Seems like one of those things we keep getting back to," the mystic mumbled, resting her chin back on her knees pulled up against her body. Sitting like that felt nice.

"It's just, well, you've never really been very talkative about it before. This is me catching up!" Oleander waved with a hand a little.

"Fine. What did you want to know?" Jaden didn’t feel like fighting at the moment, so she relented.

"Well, there was talk about how it might have some sort of plan, or, at least knew what it was doing?" Oleander blew at her hair. While still short, it was starting to get into her eyes if she didn’t keep it combed back.

"Yep. Remind me to thank Mirena for those nightmares, by the way." Jaden hadn't been sleeping very well, lately. She kept dreaming of the fire.

"How does it all happen, anyway? I mean, you're not born with this, right?" The Olman girl walked around the barrel so they could talk face to face without someone straining their necks.

"No. As a mystic reaches a certain point in her- his training, he's taken below the citadel where the master of ceremonies has prepared a special room. There, you put yourself in a trace-state - entering the dreaming, it's called - where you find yourself in the realm of the spirits. What happens then, well, you're not supposed to talk about that with others." Jaden remembered trying to pry some of the details out of Lilya. It had been like squeezing secrets out of a stone. "It's a very personal experience. Actually, I should probably not talk with you about this, come to think of it. I'm likely breaking all sorts of rules just mentioning this."

"Too late now!"

"I guess... It's not as if I'm on the best of terms with the council as it is..." But Lilya had at least said that Jaden didn't rate high enough of an embarrassment to warrant sending in the mageslayers. At least her nightmares hadn’t been full of those mirror masks.

"So, you just dream up a spirit? You think about your fondest desires and it just shows up? If that's the case, isn't it strange that not more boys end up as..." Oleander waved her hands at Jaden's upper chest area. "Buxom tarts?"

"... thanks, Ollie." The mystic looked a bit shocked at the redhead’s frank language.

"Don't blame me for the fantasies of excited teenage boys." Oleander let her eyes linger on her friend’s exposed cleavage. With the humid heat of late summer, she didn’t blame Jaden for not covering up more. Also, if she had what Jaden had, she wouldn’t hide it either.

"That aside," Jaden turned the attention away from her chest, "it's not a real dream. I mean, it's more real than one. It's like another place entirely. We just... allow ourselves to be sent there, somehow." Jaden shot the redhead a quick glare, feeling her temper rise up a little again. "And we don't get to choose our spirit! At least, I never did."

"That sounds creepy. Is it dangerous?" Oleander took a bite out of an apple she had found somewhere, and then offering some of it to Jaden, who didn't feel like trusting her stomach at the moment and shied back. Oleander merely shrugged. "It sounds dangerous at least."

"Not so much that the practice is discontinued. But, every so often we have someone who doesn’t wake up again." Jaden recalled the stories her aunt had told them when Jaden had been a young boy.

"Now THAT is creepy!"

Jaden just nodded, wondering what happened with those who didn't make it back. The spirit-quests were not to be undertaken lightly. While most mystics completed them and brought back a powerful ally, there were documented cases of mystics who never woke up from their meditations. It was often explained as lack of discipline or magical power on the mystic's behalf, but even young men and women from strong families had been afflicted by the endless seeking. Some rumours said that the mystics were lost because no spirit wanted them, and they were doomed to roam the dreaming forever. It was rare, though. Some generations went past without a single occurrence.

Despite having been studied as much as the incidences allowed, it was still poorly understood and therefor shrouded in mystery. It was not as much of a source of shame as other shortcomings could be, but it had still been a reason why Jaden's grandfather had been opposed to Garen marrying Irissa. Irissa's sister had been one of the unfortunate ones, and because of that, her name had never been spoken around the children. Lilya and Jaden had only heard about this aunt when their mother had hugged Jaden's sister especially close before Lilya was about to undertake her spirit-quest. Even after all that time, their mother still feared that she would lose another loved one to the hidden dream.

As the Sweet continued its enchanted dance against the stream, putting miles behind Jaden and the towers of Tier, her eyes began to wander the countryside once more. Rolling hills covered with fresh, green grass still dewy from the rainy weather that had blown in from the coast the last couple of days. Only one thing broke the waves of the lush meadows, a broken old stone monument further up the river. Jaden felt how some of her friends joined her by the side of the boat in watching the ancient thing draw closer.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice that thing when we travelled coastwards after Carrick Field last time,” Stann mentioned, pointing towards the ruined monument.

“You were looking in the other direction that time,” his larger cousin explained with that patient, rumbling voice of his.

“I suppose so. But, what is it?” Stann scratched his beard with his other hand. It had grown out some since he last shaved a week ago, but a boat in motion was no place to shave unless you wanted to invite pain into your life.

“That’s a remnant from the times when the Sorun wildlands reached halfway across the continent. We think it is vast today, but it is merely half of what it once was, if that.” Kellen thumbed his moustache in thought. He always did that when he started reading from the books that only existed inside his mind. “Scholars wiser than I have argued that the cause of this was due to how the world was growing colder. Or perhaps it was because of our own presence here? When the kingdoms of man arrived here, there were many changes to accommodate the people settling down. Lots of timber was used for housing, construction, tools, or just to cook and keep warm during the winters. Some say that the wildlands covered most of both Alband and Olmar, reaching almost down to the Etrian border. Not that there was an Etria back then.”

“That’s… a big forest.” The Winterheart warrior concluded. The image of endless wilderness was a little intimidating, even for a son of the North. Their home village, Strom, sat between two of the larger forests far enough into the frozen lands that the snow seldom left the spruce trees.

“Indeed. I had a chance to study a similar monument at the northern edge of the borderlands. It was adorned with primitive elven symbols that spoke of the land, life, gathering and safety. All signs of an early shamanistic totem of some sort, made to protect the land and promote fertility.”

“I don’t think I’d ever heard the word ‘primitive’ and ‘elven’ in the same sentence before,” Mirena added, having joined the others to see what they were discussing. She had the greatest respect for other cultures, unlike many proud Tierin who felt that the golden city was the pinnacle of civilisation.

“Oh, the elves we know today are much different from those who lived here when the kingdoms of man arrived. The Seren elves who came here with the exiles of the first empire shared their culture with their more, ah, primal cousins.” The rune seeker explained, looking around to see if the actual elf in their party overheard what he was saying.

“The Cealon?” Mirena asked. Her knowledge of the elves ended at what to serve at a business meeting to get the best price for their woodcraft, but she tried to better herself and look beyond the needs her family remained focused on.

“That’s the name they took, yes. Before that, they simply called themselves the People, the Cea, or the people of the hills.”

“The Shee, huh? They’re all just elves to me. You know, there’s a big stone thing looking a lot like that old pile, not that far east of Tarad. It got broken hundreds of years ago, though, when the Empire needed more stone for the siege of Radent.” Oleander got that special look in her face whenever she spoke of myths or old folktales. Dreaming, but awake. Maybe she was imagining what it must have been like for the people who lived the story? “The way legends have it, lightning struck down when the imperial army tried to split the monument into smaller parts.”

“Don’t mess with old relics, huh?” Stann said with a wry grin, looking pointedly at the redhead, who slapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t remind me, Bear!” Oleander made a disgusted noise, and then blew hair out of her face again. “But, yeah. Ever since then people believe that spirits of the forest protects Tarad. Seeing as how we lived right at the doorstep of the elven lands, not that many spoke out against it. Lots of people give gifts to the shrine of the guardian spirits, some even more so than to the temple.”

“The Five Temples are aware of the west-Olman unfortunate penchant for… nature-worship,” Mirena frowned a little, but her calling was not that of converting the faithless. The light of the Five Temples reached far across the lands, even though there were areas were paganism still held strong.

While most of them watched the old monument pass them by, Rhyce sat not far from the mast keeping their horses company. At first, he had thought that he would need to exert more influence over the animals, but that was quickly proven unnecessary. The Northmen’s horses easily lay down on the deck, having travelled by ship before. The other horses took to imitating this, resting side by side along the middle of the boat. Alisan’s elven horse looked especially out of place away from solid ground, forcing the archer to spend most of his time nearby to calm the mare with gentle words and soft touches.

Eventually, Alisan drifted over to see how they were doing. From a white leather pouch she produced a couple of pungent lumps that looked like Oleander’s last attempt at making cookies. Rhyce recognised the elven ser monelleum, having seen them before during a time of his life when vengeance had been both his sun and moon. The archer’s left hand ached at the memory of thorns.

Kellen’s enchantments kept The Sweet on a straight and quick course, sparing the crew from most of the heavy work. Instead, the men sat around on the deck playing dice inside a wooden frame to keep the pieces from rolling off the boat. By midday the air had grown noticeably stiller, a sign that they had passed far enough inlands that the winds from the sea could no longer reach them.

Not long after this, a group of farmers came into view, leading their sheep to graze the green meadows along the southern edges of Alband. The captain surprised his guests by grabbing a rope and leaning off the side of the boat, exchanging greetings with the older shepherd wearing a wide brimmed hat and a tan vest.

“Ho there, Lorne!” The captain yelled with a smile.

“Lovely day, isn’t it, Ebel?” The shepherd called back. “Do you need me to send one of the boys to bring the oxen over?”

“Not today, my friend. I have myself a magician to lead our lady on a merry dance along the river.” Ebel nodded toward where Kellen was throwing a fishing line along the port side. “I will see you next week!”

By that time, The Sweet had pulled too far away for them to speak, and the old friends just waved goodbye. The boat continued onward against the current, carried on enchanted waves.

Maybe it was boredom, or any other reason, but as afternoon came around one of the crew started to become a little too friendly with Jaden. Kalor was a handsome enough man, with enough curls in his dark blonde hair to hint at some borderlander blood, and a toned body from working under the sun days on end. He had a scar along his left ear which he told the black-haired mystic was from an arrow narrowly missing his head, and how the river trade could be very dangerous at times. Jaden didn’t mind the conversation that much until Kalor began to suggest that she looked too warm, and maybe she’d feel better if she loosened the laces on her blouse a little more. Oleander chasing him away likely saved him from a more heated reply. Jaden was growing better at aiming her salamander’s fire.

Men!

“I know, right?” Jaden agreed, shaking her head. She had never been like that, had she? Maybe she had stolen glances at pretty women, but to come right out and say something like that?

“What?” Oleander blinked.

“Wait, didn’t you say that?”

“Say what?” The redhead looked around, to see if anyone else had been close enough.

“… nevermind. I must be tired or something.” Jaden rubbed her face. Between the rocking of the boat and the sore feeling inside her, she was starting to feel worn out even after doing nothing but sitting. She didn’t mind the heat. It felt safe, somehow. But she could use something else right now. Maybe a hug?

“You could also be going crazy? I hear that happens with you wizards all the time. Snap,” the Olman girl snapped her fingers demonstratively. “And suddenly, shrill cackling and fireballs for everyone.”

“Thanks, Ollie. Just the sort of reassurance I needed right now.” Jaden pulled her legs up against herself again, hugging them close to her body.

“I’m nothing if not considerate.” Oleander drummed a quick beat on the top of the barrel, and then pushed away to find a better breeze.

It was growing warmer with the afternoon sun bearing down on the mostly open boat. While the heat itself didn’t bother Jaden that much, the stuffiness in her little retreat began to become uncomfortable. Eventually she eased herself to her feet, carefully not to upset her stomach, and rested herself against the railing instead. It was somewhat better, with a bit of wind in her face. If she closed her eyes, tuned out the chatter of the men around her, she could almost imagine herself being back at the walls of Talraman. Of course, it was much too warm, and the boat rocked. It really was nothing like home. Such an odd time for homesickness.

The brief solitude, such as it was, would not last. Jaden had barely enjoyed the wind for few minutes before someone else sought her out.

"Jai- no, Jaden, I would offer my words to you for a moment," Alisan approached the mystic leaning against the railing. She held a hand to her nearly white hair, to keep it from her face when a sudden gust played across the deck. It sent her skirts fluttering up enough to show some of her calves.

"Oh? What can I do for you, Ali?" Jaden might not feel any kinship with the elf, despite what people thought, but there was some welcome earnestness in the way Alisan spoke. Despite only having known her for a week, Jaden felt no reason to doubt her words. The mystic could almost feel the confusion wafting from the pale elf.

"I offer apologies for shaping assumptions of your bloodline earlier." Alisan put a single hand on the railing to keep her balance.

"You and everyone else." The mystic pushed some of her own hair back over an ear. The ringlets were ever escaping the string she used to tie it back, as if it had a life of its own and wanted to fly free.

"It seems strange to me how you can appear so much as one of the kin cealon, yet you are clearly not?"

"It's from my mother's side of the family. There's been a number of, uh, cultural exchanges with Sorun over the years, and her ancestors can trace their lineage back to Ral Sona on more than one occasion. You should talk to my sister about this instead. She spent a boring winter actually calculating how much of each thing was in our veins." Jaden vividly recalled the state her sister’s room had been in, with books and scrolls spread out all over the floor and a large parchment with a crudely drawn family tree fixed to one of the walls. When Lilya did something, she dived into it with a wholehearted focus bordering on the obsessive.

"Then, you are not even half-elven, yet present so strongly?" Alisan tilted her head to the side.

"Just about. According to Lilya, we're two fifths or something like that."

"At most twice removed, then? Yes, that should be enough.” The pale elf smiled with sincere geniality, perhaps trying to find a connection with the mystic. “Do you know who your elven ancestors are? It is likely they are still alive. We could visit them if we have time."

"I... hadn't thought about that, honestly. Wouldn't it be weird to look someone up who’s basically a stranger and go 'hi grandpa'?" Jaden made a face. She had never heard about who any of the elven influences in her mother’s side of the family might have been. Come to think of it, her mother hadn’t spoken all that much about her family at all. Then again, it was hard to be anything else than a Tarasov. Strength above all things came unbidden to her mind.

"Family is family. I value the time I am able to spend with my living ancestors. It allows me to better understand my role, when I see the path that has been walked before." Alisan explained, taking a few steps as if to show that journey.

"Maybe, if we have the time." Jaden looked at the water rushing past the boat. "The days are only going to be stranger from here on, aren't they?"

"I do not know what that means, Ja-den, but I will give my hopes that you will find your own answer to that question."

"Thanks." Jaden sank back down to the deck, waiting for the rocking to stop.

Alisan crossed the boat and joined the Northmen on the other side. Kellen was doing something to his fishing lures to make them even more irresistible to the copper trout making the Odar River their home.

"Well?" Stann asked impatiently.

"The answer is 'yes'. According to the heritage standards as determined by Lawshaper Ethilmir during the union of the tribes, your friend qualifies as a member of the elven people. By Serecean law, she's an elf."

"I knew it!" Stann punched the air a bit, feeling vindicated.

"Just don't let our little brother hear that, or this will be a very loud journey indeed. Let's not frighten the fish," Kellen advised his cousin.

"Yeah, right." The winter warrior walked away, laughing merrily to himself.

"I have a growing impression that I may have done a disservice," Alisan put a hand to her hip as she watched the swaggering Northman join the dice-playing deckhands.

"Storms will blow over eventually. Now that we're alone, do tell me more about the time where the two tribes decided to join together. It's a part of history that my books mostly gloss over.” The rune seeker reeled his fishing line back in, briefly tapping the hook with a runestone before letting it back down into the river. “The traditions and laws of the North, the aldlere, is something I studied closely for several reasons. I find the ways of other cultures just as fascinating."

"Gladly. It is a proud moment of my people's history," the pale elf said as she began to share her words.

A cottage somewhere outside Carrick Field

Three people had gathered inside the small house, and the worn curtains had been drawn shut. While one of the mismatching chairs had been offered to the guest, he would not use it. The man and the woman who lived here were unable to sit, their hearts beating quicker than they had in a long time. The anticipation was unbearable.

"I did as you asked, Grand Harvester. I present you with the idol, as requested." The man with the short brown hair, his hands trembling as he unwrapped the burlap covering a large clay sphere carved with runes.

"You have done well, Tassard." The dry voice of the thin, tall man with the grey hair sounded like dust falling down a chimney. His bony hands accepted the sphere from the other man, causing the sleeves of the dark robes to slip back a little and exposing similarly gaunt arms. The nethermancer ran his fingers across the uneven surface of the sphere, seeking that which was locked within. The magic that protected it was strong, very strong in fact, but improvised. The enchantment was inspired, yes, but without proper form there were weaknesses that could be exploited.

"And now, your part of our deal. Restore our magic!" Baron Tassard and his wife drew closer with desire painted shamelessly on their faces. They lusted for the power. They'd do anything to feel that again. Juliss held her husband’s arm as if she was faint with the craving.

"I believe I made myself clear, before.” Jeddhar looked up from his prize to give the two a cold stare. “You delivered the phylactery, yes, but there is also the need of a sacrifice."

"Oh, we can just grab someone from the town. That will be easy." Ariken looked toward the small window, and the direction of Carrick Field. While some of the common people were useful, even insightful at times, most were simply not good for anything except mindless labour, or surrendering their flesh for a greater purpose. No purpose or need was greater than theirs, right now.

"No." The nethermancer remained still, like a statue forged from shattered dreams.

"What do you mean, 'no'? We had a-" The former baron fought back the anger that rose out of confusion. He had worked too hard, gone too many sleepless nights and endured too much pain to be denied now. But this was the grand harvester, and he had to be humble and not provoke the tall nethermancer. To do otherwise would bring on unthinkable suffering.

"A simple sacrifice is enough for a simple ritual, yes, but for true power, you need to do what you did before. You need to give up a loved one." The dry voice reminded them of the sound when they had dragged their daughter from her room. She hadn’t understood how important this was, but she had been made to see.

"There's... there's our son. He's still in Redwall. I could ride tonight, bring him here?" Ariken felt nauseous at the thought of making that journey again so soon, but the idea of losing the last chance at the power that was rightfully theirs was even worse.

"I didn't agree to stay for you to run your own errands. I agreed to help you on certain conditions. Either I perform the Rite of Binding here and now, or consider our business concluded." The nethermancer’s unblinking stare bore into their souls, or what was left of them.

"But... there's only the two of us here. We don't have anyone else to sacrifice." Ariken didn’t understand. Why was the grand harvester toying with them like this?

"Exactly." The nethermancer echoed a previous, final statement. Jeddhar twisted his face into a small unsmile after speaking that single word with that dry voice of his.

A sudden pain bloomed from Ariken’s back. Something warm and wet trickled down toward his leg. He turned in surprise and shock to see his wife hold the blood-smeared knife with both hands. His heart, painted in red.

"I'm sorry, my love, but I need this," Juliss whispered, as her husband fell to the ground with his life pouring out of him.

"That will do, baroness. That will do." Jeddhar leaned over the man who was weakly crawling in the spreading pool of his own blood. It was important to begin the reaping right away, before too much slipped away.

The nethermancer pressed his fingers into the ceramic container, and as pieces of the clay fell away, the grin of the obsidian death idol was the last thing Baron Ariken Tassard saw.

Later, once promises were fulfilled and the deed was concluded, the door opened and shut, leaving the woman alone in the ramshackle house that had never been a home. The knife, used and forgotten, was on the floor next to the slowly drying pool. Red marks showed a trail that led to where they had moved the body for the ritual, but by now the black candles had almost burned down. The dark wax dripped.

Baroness Juliss Tassard ran her hand across her husband's hair. He was lying still on the ground, arranged as if sleeping. Juliss’ hands were stained with dried blood, and crying had left her streaked and blotchy. Despite this, a broken smile remained fixed on her face.

"It'll be alright, love. Don't you see? We'll return home, and it will be just like before. I can do it now. I can bring our Callandra back. We'll have little Kalen back from those horrible peasants, too. We'll be a family again. Everything will be perfect." Juliss felt the power burn inside of her. It filled that cold hole that had been ever since the night they had been forced to flee from the fire and the sword.

The eyelids of the body that had been Ariken opened up to reveal inky depths.

"Everything will be just perfect," Juliss kept repeating, as she rested her head on her husband's chest.

((Note: Working on this chapter, it just kept growing and growing like a particularly well-kneaded pile of dough. I finally accepted that it might be a good idea to divide it into two chapters so that I could publish something, at least, and then follow up with the rest as soon as it is done. Sorry for the long wait! :) ))

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2014 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden and her friends revisit the town of their first adventure, Carrick Field, and then continue the chase across the Olman countryside. Upon arriving in Tarad, the border town where Oleander grew up, they hatch a cunning plan to make a suspect man talk.

Flashback: Before braving the Outside world, Alisan spent her youth training her voice to become one of the best singers in Ral Sona.

---

Chapter 25: Bridge of Memories, part 2

ALISAN

The songs trickled through the winding chambers of the Songshapers' Hall like spring rivers down a mountainside. Sparkling voices giving form to legends of beauty and love. The acoustic qualities of the building returned the effort put into each word tenfold, turning even a bated whisper of an autumn tryst into a crescendo of forbidden kisses.

Inside one of the singing chambers stood a young elf with white-gold hair and emerald eyes, almost purebred of the western tribe with skin mostly unbronzed by the sun contrasted with the simple grey of a shaper's apprentice. At her side was her teacher, another Seren elf clad in the skyblossom blue of the songshapers, patterned with darker blue and white details to give an impression of a cresting wave moving across her gown as she walked.

«Start anew. Explore the room this time. Paint with your words. Paint a picture in the minds of your audience. Let your song reach out.» The teacher punctuated each sentence with a twirl of finger in the air, like a conductor would lead an orchestra with her baton.

«I will attempt to do so, Maestrix. » Alisan cleared her throat and took a deep breath to focus herself.

«Attempting suffices for warriors or wisdoms humming along from off the stage. You, my dear, will be ON that stage. You will be a shaper. Shapers do not attempt. Shapers excel! » That hand stopped waving around in the air and touched the young elf's cheek with some fondness. «So excel, Alisan Summercross.»

«Yes, Maestrix,» she said.

Alisan took another breath to fill herself with the air countless songshapers before her had used to bring life to the legends, and poured as much emotion and power as she was able into each syllable. She brought each peak in the cadence higher and higher, as if to take the listeners above the clouds, and dived into every valley like a falcon striking a fleeing prey. She felt hoarse and drained after she finished the last chorus.

Catching her breath, Alisan looked up at the impassive teacher who had just looked at her silently throughout the performance.

«It was better, yes, but still room for improvement. Remember, Alisan: your voice is your brush, the minds of your audience the canvas, and each word off your lips is a stroke. Be sure to paint richly and fearlessly.» The maestrix nodded more to herself than at her pupil, and then turned with a swish of her gown, leaving the young elf to herself in the room and the echoes.

Alisan slumped down once she was alone. She had given it her all, her best, and it had only been passable? She knew she was fortunate to get the personal tutelage of the maestrix, but sometimes she just wanted to let her song be heard without the long ages of tradition and form weighing down on her. Her hands plucked at the unadorned, wide sleeves of her gown. How could something so loose still feel like shackles?

The echoes of song began to abate slightly as more and more of the other apprentices finished with their daily lessons, and musical voices were replaced by smattering of conversation. Classes were over for the day. With a huff Alisan pushed herself to her feet from where she had been sitting against a wall, feeling the vibrations from the great building through her body.

When she entered the wide, arched corridor that connected the many singing chambers to the grand performance hall she quickly ran into the other young elves also headed out. Most of them were walking in groups, smiling and laughing, talking about anything and everything.

«Stop dreaming, Lemon, or stand clear. You bar the path of your betters.» The voice came from one of the raven-haired Cealon, the dark tribe. He stood taller than Alisan by more than a hand, and had those firm and clearly defined features that made her heart skip a beat.

There was enough room to walk around Alisan, but that wasn't what this was about. Tricherion had been nothing but rude to her ever since it had been known that the maestrix would be tutoring Alisan rather than his sister. Nobody knew what made the maestrix of the Songshapers pick one apprentice over another, but every ten years she selected a single young woman and helped her bring out the best in her voice. Without fail, everyone who had been guided by the maestrix reached great heights within the Ral Sona society, hand-picked virtuosos mentored by the first among the songshapers.

Even though Alisan was happy that she had been granted this honour, she felt like it had set her on a path apart from the rest of the apprentices. Sometimes she wished that there had been a maestro during her lifetime, rather than a maestrix, and that the honour had gone to someone else.

«Pay him no more mind than a whirling leaf, Summercross,» came a voice from her side, soon followed by a friendly hand ruffling her hair. The hand belonged to an amber-blonde young man closer to her height.

Her sullen look turned annoyed as she began brushing her hair down with her fingers, but she couldn't help but smile anyway.

«So, they finally allowed you to roam unchecked once more, Tinris?» She turned to see the mischievous grin of her childhood friend.

«They had nothing to hold me on this time. I just had to sit through Exarch Sunstorm giving me The Talk again. 'Respect the sanctity of the hall of ancients. Do not release any more frogs into the wisdoms' bath. Avoid voicing radical political opinions during the high noon sermon.' Nothing I have not heard many times before.» Her childhood friend rolled his eyes.

«How did fate ever favour you for wisdom caste, Tin? You are not acting very wisely.» Alisan shook her head with incredulity, but couldn't help but laugh a little.

«Wisdom is more than seeing the road already taken, Summercross. It is also seeing when it is time to find a new, better way. Ral Sona desperately needs change. You know this. I know this. Everyone knows this. We are stagnant like a marsh pond. Just look to the Outside. The human nations swallow each other up, exchange ideas, flourish. Just compare any two of them. Olmar and Etria? Such differences!» He shook his head with a smile, as if imagining what it might be like should the elves take after the humans.

Tinris had hooked his arm with Alisan's as he drew them out of the Songshapers Hall, and into the brisk air of the nightbloom court. The slender, darkly blue flowers had their crowns closed under the sunlight, turning the petal paths surrounding the great Hall more green than blue this time of day. Once night had fallen those flowers would open up and embrace the moonlight.

«You should be careful of what you speak, Tin. That sounds quite revolutionary to me. That aside, there is nothing wrong with harmony,» Alisan said, as much to herself as to her friend. That sort of talk would get Tinris forced out of the wisdom caste, and end up with him carrying old books for the Wordshapers.

«Harmony is a goal, not a place to be. If you exist in harmony, then per definition nothing can change for the better. When nothing changes, you have decadence and stagnation.» Tinris spoke with the passion of an idealist.

«So you wish for winter to replace summer?» A change for the worse. Alisan turned on her friend, hands on her hips. She had heard him say many strange things as they grew up, but these last couple of years he had become even more outspoken.

«I want things to change so that they can reach a new point of harmony. The human lands are... dynamic! We could learn a little from their example!» Tinris had that special gleam in his eyes that she recognised from many times before. He was a believer and a seeker, always looking for answers in a society that had already reached a verdict on the world many generations ago.

«Like war? And... religious persecution? Hate and envy?» Alisan dug for the worst qualities she had heard about the Outside.

«In exchange for arrogance and isolationism? Maybe we would be better off with some of that.» He tilted his head a little to the side. «Also, let us not delude ourselves: hate and envy exist everywhere. Harmony, if you would call it that, does little to hide those qualities in the People. You merely have to look at your friend Tricherion back there.»

«I am so happy you were not chosen for Ruling Caste, Tin. You would have made a horrible senator.» She could not imagine someone like Tinris leading the Two People into the days ahead.

«'Truth never hurts',» her friend said, citing an old song.

Alisan snorted, but felt strangely uplifted. She could feel the winds of change beginning to stir the leaves in the Eternal City.

As soon as the town came into view, so too did the large stone bridge that waited further up the stream. It looked all the more impressive with the setting sun lighting it from behind. Beldenth span, or the old bridge as the locals just tended to call it, was a massive thing that managed to reach across the entire Odar.

Why the town hadn't sprung up around the bridge proper, using it to trade more easily across the river, was anyone's guess. There were as many theories as there were people asked. The original nobleman of the area was superstitious of something that predated man's presence in the midlands. A landowner refused to allow other people to settle next to him. There lay a curse upon any who tried to live in the shadow of the old bridge. One even claimed that it was the sound of the stones singing in the wind that drove people to move away from the bridge and settle where those voices couldn’t reach.

Maybe that was part of the beauty of the old bridge. It spanned not only two countries, but also an infinite amount of fantasies. Since there were a thousand dreams about it, none were truer than the other. Of course, some scholars claimed that the bridge was in fact created by Orcs during the height of their civilisation, but most people that actually lived outside the ivory tower of academia knew that 'civilisation' and 'orcs' were mutually exclusive. Orcs may have a rich culture, but in the end they were barbaric and tribal, and the only thing they had managed to build that could last aeons was their reputation.

Carrick Field was a village grown into a town when none had expected it to, and it showed. You could almost see where the original streets had been and where some of the immediately surrounding farms had been absorbed into the community. Some of the storehouses looked very much like old barns and a few of the houses sat askew against the winding streets, slightly too large for a regular town building. It gave the entire area a rustic feel to it, despite hosting as many people as it did. Where some cities had surrounding walls, or clearly marked edges, Carrick Field was like a man who had knocked over his tools at a table, spilling them across the room. It was a town that didn't as much clearly begin or end, as it you could follow its trail to the centre.

More than anything, however, Carrick Field was regarded by many as the breadbasket of Alband. The country was mostly hills and forests, great for timber and mining, but poor for farming. Only towards the south edge, bordering on Olmar, did the countryside eventually open up enough for growing anything. That was also the reason why Carrick Field had never became a larger city, according to some. With its close proximity to a bridge as well as being right by a river, it could have been exporting its goods everywhere. But to whom? Olmar certainly didn't need it, consisting almost completely of the same fertile meadows or large steppes. Tier already got most of what it needed from the town of Risan down the coast in Olmar, or from the nearby, small farming villages on that side of the border. No, Carrick Field sent it goods almost exclusively up the roads to other parts of Alband, its docks sitting mostly empty, except for barges crossing the river and the occasional river-runner from the borderlands or a leisureboat from Tier. Ironically, this arrangement may have been what eventually allowed Alband to hold out against the North during their several wars. There was just no way for the Northmen to cut off the supplies that came in from the south, feeding the Albander army.

Jaden didn’t care that much about the history of this community however, but couldn't help but feel a certain nostalgia as they stepped off the boat onto the docks on the Alband side of the river. In many ways, this had been the beginning of her story. For the longest time she had felt it had started with a single step outside the walls of Talraman, when she had begun her long road on a desperate quest. This past year and a half had changed that thought, however. Her story had truly started here, when an especially crowded evening had forced a young mystic and an Olman street-rat to share their table with a group of adventurers.

She absentmindedly patted her horse's neck as their steeds were led from The Sweet to solid ground. No, there was something welcoming about Carrick Field. The sprawling town opened up its arms to her, welcoming a lost daughter home.

Rhyce looked thoughtful when he set his boots down on the well-worn road by the docks. His instincts told him that something was awry, but he couldn’t pinpoint what. It was a vague sense of wrongness just out of his mind's eye.

Black feathers fluttered as a pair of crows left the embrace of the sky and landed on a low branch of a nearby apple tree. One of them turned its head sideways, a small black eye watching the people going about their business in the street. The other turned its beak into the wind, letting out a squawk.

"Feel it too?" Rhyce asked, his face tilted slightly into the breeze, as if catching a faint smell. He had noticed the sensation, but it was too subtle for him to be sure. Either it was too far off, which was good, or it had not yet sunk deeply enough into the town for it to matter. There was little he could do about it at the moment, however. The archer merely added this place to the many others he kept a watch over. He was stretching himself thin.

He took a moment to feel the wind again. Maybe he had just imagined that oily scent, hidden among a thousand other presences? No, the archer didn't make mistakes of that kind. Not anymore. The only question was whether it was something old, or something new?

"Carrick Field. I can't believe I actually missed this place a little," Jaden mused as they passed through the street leading away from the docks. People were headed home as evening had begun to settle over the town, and she saw more than a few people exchanging greetings as they met in the streets. It felt much more relaxed now, compared to then. She smiled as she remembered the stumbling beginners they had been back then, two years ago. Carrick Field had been a crucible for all of them.

"I really can't believe it. I hate this place," Oleander shuddered. It had been her first true adventure, as well. She just had to go through a worse experience than the rest of them, due to her being the one of slimmest build.

"There probably is no cause to worry, little fox," Kellen tried to reassure the small woman. "We put an end to the Kynian hive. With no queen, they had to retreat."

"Easy for you to say. You weren't in there, wading in the... the slime of the birthing chamber!" The redhead looked at the large Northman with fierce accusation. It had been Kellen’s idea, after all, to send her into the heart of the hive to find out more about what their insectoid foes had in store for the town.

"You were the only one small enough to fit into the access shaft, Red. That aside, it was a long time ago." Stann sometimes had the memory of a duck or a drunkard – water didn’t need to bother. Still, there was something comforting about the idea of being able to leave bad experiences behind like he did.

"I'll never be able to forget it..." Oleander grumbled, crossing her arms as she kicked a small stone on the street. "Do we have any real reason to stick around here?”

"It might be worth to inquire into the local trading circuits, to see if anyone has seen or heard of the people behind the operation we uncovered in Farcrest," Mirena explained with her normal, unruffled patience. “We’re doing more here than just crossing a bridge of memories, Oleander.”

"Ugh. Fine ," the small redhead groaned.

"Our first great adventure together,” Jaden tried to force some cheerfulness into her voice, as she explained to the somewhat perplexed Alisan what the rest were talking about.

"If you call chitinous chittering in the dark 'an adventure'," Oleander disagreed.

"The mandibles..." The mystic had been down the tunnels, as well, with Oleander and Rhyce. Jaden remembered the claustrophobic feeling when they had tried to run, and the sound of the Kynians’ call when they began to hunt the intruders.

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't say the 'm'-word again!" The Olman girl reminded her pointy-eared friend of the unspoken promise they had made once the Northmen had pulled them up out of the narrow chimney-like passage, covered in yellow slime and stark horror.

"Hard to think it's been over a year since last time, hasn't it?" Stann said to nobody in particular. Having left the docks, they were now gathered at one of the trade squares of Carrick Field. From here, a number of streets shot off at angles defying any city planning.

"Indeed. It almost feels like yesterday when we first met you two here," Mirena looked around for something familiar to orient herself by. If they were going to get anything out of their visit here before everything closed for the night, they would have to be quick about it.

"Wasn't it that tavern over there?" Jaden pointed to a building showing a weathered sign of a chalice wearing a crown. The Count of Cups.

"It was just the two of us back then," Oleander smiled a little. The bruise on her cheek had turned into a mostly yellow blotch. "It was just luck that the place was so filled up that Mirena and the boys asked to sit down by our table."

"You know, we're coming up on Tarad next, probably..." The black-haired mystic mentioned, looking at the redhead for any reaction. While Carrick Field had been the beginning of Jaden’s story, Tarad had been the start of Oleander’s.

"Yeah." Oleander looked away briefly, her raincloud grey eyes betraying her feelings more than her carefully neutral face did.

"How do you feel about that?" Jaden couldn’t help but wonder.

"I don't know. Can you ever really go home again?" The redhead had a faraway look to her for a moment, but then shot Jaden a wry smile. "What would you feel if you ever returned back to that wizard mountain of yours?"

"Fear, mostly," the mystic immediately blurted out. "But I think I know what you mean. You don't bring the same set of eyes back."

While the mystic and the Olman streetrat were reminiscing, their friends kept their eyes on the matter at hand. The sky was already turning into its evening palette, and soon most people would head home.

"Let us sort out where we will stay before we take advantage of what little daylight remains to pursue any leads that might be available to us here." Mirena looked at the sign of the Count of Cups, knowing that it offered rooms for travellers.

"If you're in a hurry to get out there, I can talk with the keeper of our old tavern here, Mirena," Kellen offered, hefting his bags from where they had been tied to his saddle. The shaggy Northern horse snorted and shook its head, glad to be relieved of the extra weight.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Kellen," the knight said with a small smile.

"Speaking of which: What kind of... arrangement are we using now?" The rune seeker tactfully avoided pointing out what had thrown off their usual rooming dynamics.

"Oleander, would you mind sharing a room with Alisan this evening?"

The redhead touched her cheek briefly, making no indication of feeling any pain from the half-healed bruise. Oleander’s eyes darted toward Jaden, where they stayed for but a moment before she looked back at the knight.

"Yeah, okay," she mumbled.

"Good. I leave the rest to you, Kellen," Mirena turned back to the large Northman with a nod.

"Aye, milady," Kellen replied with an amused half-grin and ducked into the tavern. Not many doors were made tall enough to allow him inside without bowing. Kellen argued that it kept him humble, and that it made people assume he was being polite; not that the rune seeker was anything but, most of the time.

"Jaden, why don't you come with me?" The knight suggested, rather than commanded, but the results were often the same. "You seem to have a hidden talent for helping people talk, and we might need that trick if the sort of people I imagine we will run into feels, let us say, less than willing to share what they know."

"Alright," Jaden didn't argue. Even after leaving the boat for solid ground, the vague sense of nausea hadn't left the mystic. Rather, she instead felt a slowly growing sense of urgency.

"If we are picking teammates, then I shall select our little fox!" Kellen proclaimed, slapping a large hand down on the Olman girl's shoulder. He had stopped just inside the Count of Cups, and had reached out to grab the redhead before she wandered off.

"Huh? Me? Don't you usually go with Bear?" Oleander looked up at the much taller man.

"Indeed, but today I will need your keen nose for finding rare things. I have an idea or five for tracking our quarry," Kellen rumbled conspiratorially.

"Fiiine. Just as long as it doesn't include me climbing down some sort of access shaft." The redhead shook a fist at the magician.

"I promise nothing, Oleander." The rune seeker laughed merrily, effortlessly dragging the small woman into the tavern.

Stann chuckled as the redhead was pulled along on his cousin's latest project. The winter warrior had been involved in countless of similar undertakings in the past, ever the bemused assistant to Kellen's various experiments into the realms of magic. Since he was apparently getting the evening free, he turned to the remaining members of their group to see what they had in mind.

"Well, I guess it's just us then, Rhyce, Alisan," Stann turned around but couldn't see the archer. Beneath the tavern sign dangling in the breeze, there were just the pale elf and he.

"The man with the bow left earlier," Alisan explained, pointing down a smaller side road, little more than an alley. "I believe he brought our steeds to where they would spend the night."

"Really? Then it's just you and me, is it?" The Northman grinned widely and waggled his eyebrows. "Didn't you say you wanted to show me how to dance?"

"I seem to have made such an offer, yes," the elf admitted hesitantly. "I would first make use of the establishment's bathing arrangements. There were little in the ways of conveniences aboard the boat."

"Aw, that's alright, Sunny. I was mostly making fun," Stann laughed, not expecting a fine lady like the elf to spend her free time with a brute like him.

"On the contrary. I fully intend to deliver upon my promise. Meet me outside the stables after nightfall." The elf gave a resolute nod.

"Really? Huh." Stann blinked, his imagination running ahead of him. By the time the fantasy had reached its inevitable conclusion, he found himself alone in the streets of Carrick Field, painted in dusk. "Well then, old Bear. Let's see if we can be useful still."

With that, he turned towards the town and shrugged. He didn't have any of that fancy magic, or a knight's way with words. What could he do, that the others couldn't do better? He just had his sword, his courage, and a heart full of good intentions. Sometimes that was enough. Stann adjusted the sword hanging from his belt, and headed off down the streets of Carrick Field.

"So, how do you feel, Jaden?" Mirena finally asked, after having glanced at her mystic friend several times during the last couple of minutes.

"Rena, I love you like a sister, but if you all keep asking me that question I'm going to scream," the mystic warned the knight.

"I'm sorry. We're... I am just concerned about you. You have been through some... significant changes. It is not surprising if the full impact-" Mirena began to say.

"Seriously, I'm alright. I've dealt with the idea of this for more than a year. It's only this last week or so that you guys have been aware of it." Jaden envied her friends, in a way. They probably remembered her better than she did, herself, at this point.

"You're right, of course." The knight gave the mystic another sidelong glance. "I've been noticing a change in how some of the others relate to you, however."

"Everyone's been treating me differently. Even Rhyce, who barely spoke two words to me before. He actually started to... no, that's not for me to speak about," Jaden remembered how the archer had bared parts of his soul to her in Farcrest. It was hard to see the turmoil that raged beneath that stoic facade.

"Changing the subject, then," the knight said with an understanding smile that turned into a speculative look. "How long has it been since you fought anyone with your sword?"

Jaden let her hand touch the pommel of her longsword she kept at her hip out of habit. She had spent a lot of time as a young boy in Talraman training with the rest of the older children, learning how to use weapons for when magic didn't do the job. Anyone who sought to be a protector of the mountain could never allow themselves to be caught without the means to do their duty.

"It was only last week, really, when I fought the... some other magicians in Farcrest," Jaden remembered facing down the blue-streaked behir mystic in the tunnels under the city, and later when she and Rhyce had to run from Nerak Taseno and his Drowning Dark. But both times, she had relied on her magic rather than skill of arms. Looking at her bare hands, she almost missed having her gloves when her eyes came upon the red brand across her right palm. "I guess it's not been since Redwall, when I, uh, borrowed your blade to fight the demon there."

"I remember that, yes," Mirena got a little thin-lipped at the reminder of when a winged demonic being had swept down and stolen her paladin's sword.

"But that wasn't a real fight either, to be honest. Amu- the demon, she didn't really fight back. I guess it was when we escaped from the cult in Tier?" Jaden looked sideways, trying to remember all the fights they had been in these last couple of months.

"I believe you were unarmed at that time, as well? If you have not had practice with your sword for over a month, especially with the changes you have been through, you could end being hurt - or worse - if you tried to fight as you did before." Mirena eyed her friend from the top of her hair, to the tip of her toes. "For one, you are somewhat shorter now, aren't you? Perhaps only a few inches, but even that would be enough to alter your fighting form."

"Okay. I see what you're saying, Rena. Maybe I have been relying on magic too much lately, and the mountain knows these things are throwing off my stance," Jaden tugged at her bodice, which sent an unwelcome jiggle across her top. Before Tier, when the drift had still been manageable, she had accounted herself as a competent swordsman, able to stand next to Mirena or Stann and not feel like she would be a liability. Jaden had probably been better than Rhyce in a brawl, if only just. Now, however, if she tried to rely on her old training she would most likely make an embarrassment out of herself.

"Just something to keep in mind, my friend." The knight touched the mystic's arm with sympathy. With the other, she gestured towards the waiting town. "However, if we want to see if there have been any further signs of the ones we seek here, we should begin before everything close up for the night."

Things didn’t have to be all that complicated. That's a philosophy that had suited Stann just fine most of his life. He left the complicated things to people better suited for it, like his cousin or the clan chieftain, or his mother for that matter. Stann didn't like dressing things up. The world was strange enough without adding another layer of trouble to it. That's why Stann sometimes wondered why his friends were making things harder for themselves by all that second-guessing themselves and planning so far ahead. There was no way of truly knowing what tomorrow would bring, after all. It was much better to just go with it.

Take, for instance, Carrick Field. A perfect example in Stann's mind. His friends wanted to see if there were any signs of those smugglers - no, slavers - they were after. And what did they do? They started talking about seeing the count, of all people, or maybe checking if the merchants knew anything. Kellen even spoke of conducting some sort of magical ritual to find the trail of some substance the rune seeker claimed was exuded by a certain kind of creature that had been moved by the slavers. That, right there? That was overcomplicating things.

Why not just go to the ones who would be involved in it, on the local scene? Merchants? Maybe, but they wouldn't talk. The count? He was too far above it all, and wouldn't know anything. The farmers around the town? They would be far too busy with their fields right now to get involved in anything that took them away from their homes. No, the people who would know about this would be the ones who didn't have anything else to go to, the ones who would take your silver and ask no questions. The winter warrior turned his feet toward the cheapest tavern he could find, and then headed across the street from it to the hovels and shacks where those who couldn't even find the coin to drown their sorrows would be.

Following his gut, he stopped where a man in worn clothes and even more worn eyes sat watching the world pass him by. Not quite a beggar, but less than the person he might have been twenty years earlier, the man looked up from his makeshift seat of an old crate with the question plain on his face. What do you want, stranger?

"Might I could trouble you, friend?" Stann said easily, nodding in that way men do to each other, showing recognition for one another.

"What kind of trouble?" Most other people would have said how they weren't looking for trouble, but the man on the crate must have felt how even trouble might be better than where he was right now.

"Heard about anyone moving things they didn't want the constabulary to know about? Out of the elf forest?" The Northman nodded towards the west, where the wildlands waited far away.

"Always stories about dreamweed or feypoppies coming along the trade roads,” the downtrodden man replied cautiously.

"What about anything in chains or cages?" Stann asked.

The man scratched his beard and gave Stann a sidelong look. He had the kind of eyes that had seen things. Stann recognised that look. He had seen it from old veterans in the warriors’ longhouse back in Strom.

"Might have seen, might have not." He leaned forward on his crate, elbow resting on a knee. "This is where you make me an offer, Northman."

"Would five marks help you find your words, friend?" Stann counted out the silver coins in his hand.

"That they might. Be an old girl, goes by Jina. Far as I know, she worked the old soldier's trails through the Albar. Sometimes helped people move quiet-like from one end to the other."

"Is Jina still around? Where could I speak with her?"

"These days, I've seen her at the Singing Bear more often than not." The man motioned with a thumb down the street.

"Here are your coins, friend. Be safe." The winter warrior put the coins in the man’s palm, rather than simply dropping them there like a wealthy nobleman might do for a beggar.

"As ever."

The interior of the store smelled like leather and oil, and the lingering afternoon heat made it almost oppressively stuffy. Jaden idly browsed the shelves and tables with the displayed wares, but generally just hanging back to let Mirena ply her ways with the owner, a middle-aged mixed Albander-borderlander woman who looked like she'd rather close up and head home than talking with these last-minute patrons.

"Who? 'Toben'?" The owner ran a thumb along her thick, dark honey-brown braid that went over her left shoulder. "Do you mean old Tobbin? He's a shepherd who comes in from time to time to get his boots mended, or get sell skins and pelts."

"I'm quite sure it is Toben, out of Olmar? Since you're here right at the border, you might have run into him for one reason or another?" Mirena pried more subtly than her mystic friend would have had the patience to.

Maybe it was the strong smells and the bad air in the store, but it made Jaden's already hurting stomach feel worse. Her thoughts wouldn't stay in any one place for long. She was restless, tired and irritated all at once. Despite the heat, a part of her longed for a hot bath. Just to immerse herself in liquid fire and let herself be carried away on the scalding waves.

"Olman, eh? Come to think of it, wasn't there a Toben involved in that cheese business down there, somewhere? Veren or Tarad, I don't recall where."

"Veren cheese? They make some of my favourites," the knight shared with an easy smile.

"I guess I'm supposed to support the local sheep's milk cheeses, but I do love a slice of Veren Sharp every now and then," the older woman agreed.

Perhaps it was the talk about food, or maybe just the queasiness of the long boat ride catching up with her, but it suddenly became too much for Jaden. She felt something cramp up inside and hurried out of the store with a mumbled apology to her friend.

Fortunately, Jaden didn’t have to look long. One good thing with the Albander was their fondness for cleanliness, and public lavatories were available in most towns or villages, not like in Tier where you had to find an inn or bathhouse – paying for their full services, of course. She quickly shut herself into one of the small privies. She fought with the belt and her trousers briefly before sitting down. Only then did she allow herself to start shivering, letting all those feelings catch up, everything she had kept to herself. It hurt, but she had been hurt worse before. She gritted her teeth and decided she could live with this.

These matters were never easy to figure out, even among the Lacunai themselves. Most of them had a drop or two of another race, or something else, in their blood which made many biological matters more of a guesswork than not. The people of the mountain learned not to take anything for granted, and to expect anything. Maybe it wasn't so strange then, that she and Lilya didn't entirely follow the human cycle? Their mother's side of the family had always had a great deal of elven influence, who were seasonal rather than monthly.

Jaden washed her hands thoroughly with the water provided by a bucket to the side, hoping this would be the last of it for a while. Though, if her sister was any guideline there might be another day or two of this awfulness. How could she have ever teased her sister about these things? As an afterthought she channelled a whisper of her salamander’s magic, turning the stained cloth she left behind into ashes.

When Jaden left the lavatory, she almost ran into Mirena who was waiting outside. The look on the knight’s face was one of concern when their eyes met.

"Are you-"

"Rena, don't you dare ask me how I'm feeling again. Not now. Especially not now." Jaden shut the wooden door with deliberate firmness, her fingertips leaving smoking trails as her fiery touch lingered for just one more heartbeat.

"...Very well." Mirena inclined her head and tactfully let the matter drop. "I was unable to make much more headway with mistress Tenfield, nor her daughter-in-law who had spent some time across the border a couple of years ago. Whoever this Toben character is, he's not one of high profile."

"He probably likes it that way." The black-haired mystic folded her arms, more to do something with her hands than anything else.

"True. I'm afraid evening snuck up on us however. The stores are closing and we will most likely not find many more to talk with right now. Let's head back to the tavern and see if the others had better luck." Mirena turned half-way to the side and gestured in the direction where the Count of Cups awaited them at the far end of the street.

Jaden gave the lavatory another look, and then nodded at her friend. No doubt she would feel better tomorrow. A good night's sleep would sort her out.

The faint music reached Stann's ears even before he pushed the door completely open. Smells of stale beer, sweat and broken promises wafted at him as he made his way around the many round tables. The place was all but packed to the rafters with people from all those walks of life that hadn't been leading to fame, fortune or even dignity. Still, there was a certain kind of camaraderie among the patrons of the Singing Bear tavern.

Next to the bar sat an ash-blonde woman and strumming a lute in a melody the Northman vaguely recognised as an Albander military marching beat. She wore a wool shawl that covered most of her face, but failed to completely hide the scar that went across her throat. Stann dropped a couple of copper bits among the few other coin in the bowl next to her, earning a wordless smile for his generosity.

"Get you something, Northman?" The keeper flipped over a mug from the counter and jerked a thumb at the shelves behind him, showing a display of mixed hard drinks. Stann looked like he could afford the good stuff more than the other clientele.

"Got any of that Olman applejack?" Stann eyed the varied selection.

"Yeah. Have a friend of a friend working at a place just south of the river." The keeper poured some of the jack into the mug, and accepted the coin in return. He turned the silver mark over in his hand with a raised eyebrow. "Planning on doing a lot of drinking tonight?"

"With a friend. Wonder if you've seen her here lately? Jina. Trailhunter," the Northman asked.

"Yeah, that's her over there," the keeper pocketed the coin and indicated a table towards the other wall. His hand went back to the bottle of applejack. "Want to bring the entire thing?"

"Good idea. This is enough to cover it?" Stann dropped a couple of more coins that never hit the countertop before disappearing into the keeper’s pocket.

The keeper didn't say anything, but just tipped his cap and went back to busying himself. Whatever business the stranger had with Jina was none of his.

The winter warrior grabbed the bottle and two cups, and pushed past the crowd to the table the keeper had shown him. There were three people there, deep in drinks of their own. Two of them were women, but one looked too young to be woodwise, and wore the clothes of one who worked the street corners rather than the forest trails. The third was a bearded man, apparently asleep with his hands still clutching a jug of cheap rotgut.

"Hey, girl. Why don't you help greybeard here home. I bet he won't wake up until noon as it is." Stann suggested as he set down the bottle and the mugs on the table.

"But I have to-" the younger woman objected, glancing at another table, where a tattooed man was playing cards and smoking a pipe.

"No you don't. Not tonight." The tall Northman just shook his head.

"Yeah, okay." She fidgeted for a bit before giving the sleeping man a small shake.

While the girl, barely a woman, helped the old and mostly senseless drunkard to his feet, Stann settled down on one of the spare stools and began to pour the drinks. Throughout the whole exchange, the woman called Jina had been watching them with the kind of muted curiosity of a bystander who had forgotten how to care.

"Lot of trouble to go through, speaking to old Jina," she said, as Stann handed her one of the mugs.

"Don't sell yourself short, missy." The Northman flirted back. She wasn't really his type, and also a good ten years older but wore them like they were twenty. "But tonight I want you for your brain."

"Should've said that before you started ruining what little is left with this stuff," Jina grimaced at the strong drink, but held out her cup for a refill.

"I hear you sometimes help people through the woods?" Stann asked, putting the bottle down again after giving each mug a good spot of the apple brandy.

"Not as much these days, but a while back my friends and me did a lot of just that." Jina leaned against her chair and let her head roll back with a nostalgic look in her eyes.

"What happened?" Stann couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the woman.

"Got too greedy." Jina’s expression sharpened like she had tasted something sour.

Stann just pushed the entire bottle over towards Jina, who took it. Instead of immediately pouring another drink, she began to turn it around in her hands, looking at her own distorted reflection on the glass.

"We were good guides, you know. Never asking for too much. Used the quick trails, too. None of those loopy things to shake more coin out of the rubes." The woman tapped the table with a finger as she tried to make her point heard over the din in the tavern.

Stann made an encouraging sound.

"When something is too good to be true, usually turns out it is." Jina looked at the cork on the bottle like it was a fond enemy. "Month or so back, a man with gold in his pockets wanted us to help his wagon train through the Albar. Had the look of a nobleman to him. Spoke with Farcrest crispness, you know? City nobles."

"Go on," he said, urging Jina on.

"He wasn't alone. No-no. He had a number of people to guard the wagons, led by an Olman rough-hand who kept using some elfwords, all of them armed with those odd sickle-knives. The Olman did most of the talking while the nobleman just looked smug. That ain't unusual, of course. There was this hooded figure lurking by the wagons, though. Everyone seemed to look back at that one whenever there were any decision-making to be done, but I never saw hoody doing nothing but polishing that fancy brooch of theirs. Silver, like an oak leaf, see? Wouldn't mind having one of those myself." Jina cleared her throat, touching the simple bronze clasp that kept her dustcloak fastened. Her eyes lost their dreamy look, and instead turned angry. "But they also had Borderlander pathfinders! Bloody bluescarfed menaces. You don't bring scouts and trackers on a secret trail. Then it's not your trail anymore. But my friends, they only heard the sound of gold. They wanted the big pay, not thinking about tomorrow."

Stann took the bottle from her hands, and poured them another round.

"Then what happened?" He asked.

"I had bad feelings about the entire thing. Like a voice you couldn’t quite hear, singing to you. I tried to warn them, but they wouldn't listen. Ever since that Enold's gang got rooted out by a paladin contingent a couple of years back we've been pretty reckless. No, they ditched me here and took the job anyway. Never saw them since. Way I figure, the caravan killed them all and buried them somewhere in the great forest. Good riddance, I say. Good fucking riddance, you greedy idiots."

Jina trailed off, shaking a little as tears made their way down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the heel of her hand.

"What about that caravan? Was there anything odd about their cargo?" Stann steered her back to the present.

"The entire thing was all kinds of odd. I learned long ago to trust my gut instinct, and at that time it was yelling at me to fear those wagons like the plague. Get away from those wagons and that awful singing." The woman spat on the ground. "Gave me a bad feeling, right? Like rotten fruit. Looked normal enough, but you could tell that if you got too close, all you'd end up with was a mouthful of regret."

"Did they cross using the bridge or the river barges?" He nodded at the docks just down the street, where they had stepped off The Sweet only an hour earlier.

"Don't know. I wasn't there when they came across. But they hid at a known travellers' camp outside the village to the west, so I figure it was by ways of the span." Jina shrugged a little. The drink was getting to her, and her voice was slurring somewhat.

"Could they've been coming from further up the river?" Stann asked. The Odar snaked its way all the way to the coast in the east to the mountains in the west, making a natural, meandering line between the northern parts of the continent and the southern.

"I guess. But there would be no telling where they cast off or dropped anchor. The old river has a dozen hidden nooks and crannies along its run, and that's just in the midland and coastland regions. It gets even harder to tell in the borderlands." Jina had slumped down a little by now, drink and memories both wearing on an already tired heart.

"Good talk, Jina. For what's it's worth, those caravan people will have bad things coming to them." Stann promised. If he had any say about it, there would be some old-fashioned Northern justice done if he ever laid hands on those men.

"Won't bring my friends back, but maybe they'll rest easier. Kuros knows I won't." She shook her head. “I still hear that damn singing…”

When Stann left, the last he saw of the old trailhunter was her reaching for the bottle with a defeated expression.

As refreshments were brought to their table, Kellen cleared his throat to get the attention of his friends. Next to him stood the keeper, a kind-looking Albander man with a trimmed moustache and polish rag slung over a shoulder. He was scratching at his head a little at the sight of such a diverse group.

"You're welcome to stay here, of course, but your group are how many? We're about half full, you see." The keeper nodded at the rest of the room. Many of the tables were full. During the late summer and the harvest period, a lot of people were drawn to the larger towns to take part of the commerce that naturally sprung up around that time.

"We're seven," Stann held up a hand showing all fingers, and then only a moment later added two more from his other hand. He had to set down his mug of beer first, which was a hard thing to do on a warm summer evening.

"Well, we've got three singles and three doubles left. You can divide those among yourselves however you want. I'll check in with the kitchen while you talk it over."

"Hey, Rhyce? Two of us have to share rooms. Do you want to stay in my room so you won't have to listen to my ugly cousin snoring?" The warrior turned to the archer with his offer.

"You both snore,” Rhyce replied with his usual directness.

"Maybe, but he snores worse!" Stann looked triumphant.

"You both snore worse,” the archer insisted.

"How is that- That doesn't even-" Stann looked puzzled, while the archer snatched the keys from the keeper's hands when the man returned to take their orders.

"Can I have one of the single rooms?" Jaden asked her friends. "You know, for... obvious reasons?"

“That should be fine,” Kellen agreed. “In fact, why don’t each of us magicians take a room for ourselves, so that we can do our rituals in private tomorrow? I would welcome the privacy and… silence.”

“Unless there are any objections, I find that to be a good idea,” Mirena joined the discussion. She had been exchanging some words with one of the maids, who was now issuing some orders into the kitchen and then began hauling buckets of water towards the back of the inn. "Well, I am going to take the opportunity to enjoy a bath. It'll be three warm days riding along the dusty plains of Olmar before we will reach Tarad."

"Women and their bathing. More than once a week is a waste of good water. Am I righ, Kel?" Stann grinned and leaned back to bump his cousin on the arm with a fist.

"This conversation has all the makings of a trap," the older of the Winterheart men hunched down and used the cover of his current book as a shield against bad decisions.

Mirena was the spirit of generosity, however. Instead of falling for the temptation of the obvious come-back at the warrior's comment, she turned to Oleander, Alisan and Jaden.

"Would any of you like to accompany me?" She said, looking at the other women.

"It seems as a good suggestion," the pale elf stood up. Her wide-sleeved, off-white dress showed some definite wear from their days on the road. It was clearly not made for travelling in this fashion.

"Uh, Rena, I... We shouldn't..." The mystic got flushed with both embarrassment and anger. Mirena had included her just like she had Oleander and Alisan. Like a girl.

"The bathing room has several tubs, Jaden," the knight said with an amused expression. "We don't have to share."

"I'll, uh, wait until you're done. I've got things to... do." Jaden looked around a little, patting her pockets and clearing her throat.

Alisan blinked nonplussed, tilting her head a little to the side.

"Picture of a silver-tongued demon, you," Oleander snorted but got up to join Mirena and Alisan. This way she didn't have to nick the good soaps from the knight like she usually did anyway.

Jaden gave the redhead a good look at her tongue before the other women left for the baths.

More drinks and light snacks were brought to their table while they waited for the food to be prepared. They’d told the kitchen to take their time since the women would no doubt linger in their baths. Stann had wandered over to a local card game, and was quickly offered a chair for the next hand. By the sounds coming from that table now, the warrior was already half-way into a re-telling of their first adventure here in Carrick Field. It was a story Jaden had heard too many times before, especially since she had been there when it happened.

The rune seeker had dived into his books. Kellen wasn’t a fast reader. He was the sort of man who would read a sentence over and over, twist it and turn it in his head to try to divine every ounce of wisdom from each word. He treated books like fine liquor or a good play, giving it his undivided attention. Rhyce had stayed only for a short while, before mumbling something on his way out of the door.

"Hey, Kel?" Jaden turned to the only person left at their table. A strange feeling had gnawed on her ever since the Northern magician had mentioned rituals earlier.

"Hmm?" Kellen looked up.

"Can we talk hypothetically for a moment?" The black-haired mystic pushed some loose strand back over her ear, and then immediately combed it down with her fingers to cover the points on both sides.

"My favourite way of discussion." The rune seeker carefully placed a slip of leather between the pages to mark his spot in the book, before turning his attention to the black-haired mystic. "What subject are we almost talking about?"

"Magic, of course." A mystic and a rune seeker had little else in common, after all.

"Of course." There was a subtle change in the large man's expression as his mental gears changed in preparation for what was ahead.

"All magicians perform meditative rituals," Jaden stated.

"False. All recognised traditions affiliated with the Convocation of Magi do, in one way or another, and many that are not part of the compact are bound by this habit. But not all. The dwarven eldritch smiths of the Brass Clan make no such regular preparations, for instance, although it could be argued that the process when they perform their craft is a meditation in of itself. Also, the untrained magicians – the Ashan - who never became inducted into any tradition also have no unified method of regulating their magical energies.” Kellen used the old Estal word for the undisciplined. Even though he didn’t speak old imperial himself, many of the words appeared in a wizard’s vocabulary. “One of the reasons why many fear the untrained, since it can lead to... unfortunate meltdowns."

"Uh." Jaden blinked, her line of thought entirely derailed by the Northman's sudden lecture.

"But for the sake of this discussion, let's assume these are just the exceptions, and that magicians - as a rule - all perform ritualistic maintenance." The rune seeker leaned back to nonverbally hand over the ball.

"Yes. Please. Lets." Jaden felt a little out of her depths when the conversation turned to this level. The Lacunai kept a close watch on the other traditions, but didn’t spend much time teaching the ways of the other groups to their initiates. The young first had to learn to listen to the will of the mountain.

"Then go on." Kellen made an encouraging motion with a hand.

"Right. So, rituals. Do you know about any circumstances that would alter the... result of the preparation ritual?" The mystic didn’t truly know how to put what she was thinking into words.

"Hypothetically?" Kellen rumbled while stroking his moustache.

"Yeah, sure," she lied.

"Hmm. One analogy that has been used, sometimes, to explain the rituals to our more mundane brethren is that it's like a soldier keeping his weapons and armour in good condition. That is, of course, a gross simplification. More accurately, it would be a gardener watering and seeding and weeding his patch of land. By doing so, he can be sure that what he desires will grow, and that it will be good and strong. Without it, something would still grow, but it might not be what he intended. Neglect the garden for too long, and nature reclaims it, as well as the house and the gardener himself. Magic is a powerful force, not to be disregarded as a simple tool."

"I heard a similar explanation from one of my masters.” Viskeri had favoured the sculptor and clay analogy. “But, what if that gardener went on a trip for a while. And what if, when he got back, he saw that the garden was still in order. Everything was fine?"

"Are we still talking hypothetically?" Kellen gave the young woman whom he called his little brother a steady look.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Jaden put up her best blank-faced look. It wasn’t lying. Not really.

"Why indeed. Well, the first thing that springs to mind would be that either the magician had an exceptionally ordered mind where arcane erosion would take longer than usually to set in. Or, he would be so magically weak that the erosion isn't strong enough to damage the psyche to begin with. In any situation where the willpower is greater than the magic-power, there would be resistance to erosion."

"That makes sense." Jaden wondered which of the two she was. Was she that strong willed? Her magic strength wasn't particularly weak or strong. When compared to the other initiates she had studied alongside back home in Talraman, she had been in the middle of the span. While she had been very good at siphoning techniques, and been allowed to perform her spirit quest slightly earlier than most, she didn't have the raw power that others had. She still only had two pacts to her name, after all. When had Lilya managed to get her third? How far was Jaden behind her sister?

"Did that answer your question?" Kellen saw that Jaden’s attention was wandering. Those golden eyes looked sideways, out of a window.

"Yeah, kind of. Thanks, Kel." Jaden roused herself with a small shake.

"Anytime, little brother." The rune seeker opened his book once more and was just about to move the bookmark away from the page when he looked up from underneath bushy eyebrows and gave the mystic a pointed look. "You know you can talk to me about anything that might be on your mind, right?"

"I do. I know. Thank you, big guy," Jaden smiled genuinely and touched the large Northerner's hand briefly before getting up.

The warm water made the room slightly steamy. The bathing room had no windows for privacy reasons, instead only a chimney-like vent to let all the warm and moist air out between uses. It was a large enough room, with five wooden tubs set a few paces apart. There were a number of separation curtains that could be pulled along rods jutting out of the walls, to provide even more personal space for the individual bather.

Oleander sat at a stool next to her tub, drying her hair with a towel. It usually dried by itself, but ever since she decided to grow it out more it had started to stay wet for long enough to annoy her. She paused in her rubbing motions to glare out from under the rumpled cloth at the elf and the knight, both who wore their hair long yet didn't seem to share her problem. Instead Mirena just continued combing her long, brown hair with a relaxed expression. Alisan's hair appeared to more or less take care of itself. Elven wizardry, no doubt. Pointy-eared cheaters, all of them. Oleander blew a few red strands out of her face. At least the elf woman was closer to her in other ways. Both of them were slim, almost entirely flat, much unlike the Tierin knight who filled out the towel wrapped around her. Oleander sighed and wondered if it'd be nice to be less small. Sure, it might make her usual athletic lifestyle harder, but maybe some people would notice her more if she had a little extra to show?

"Jaden seems to be a very self-conscious person." Alisan mused out loud, rousing the redhead from her introspection.

"I guess?" Oleander replied.

"She did not join us for a bath, and now she asks for a single room. Is it because of her half-blood nature? I am not a judgemental person, in those matters. I would have welcomed sharing a room with her."

"Well, it's like this, Creampuff," the redhead leaned forward to explain. "Jaden is really a guy."

"I see," Alisan nodded slowly.

"Do you?" Oleander asked.

"No. Not at all." The elf looked confused, with her nearly white eyebrows drawn down in consternation. "Why is Mirena laughing at us?"

Despite the heat of the summer evening, Rhyce kept his hood up as he walked along the back streets of Carrick Field. The sound of wings announced the arrival of the two pairs of eyes that kept a vigilant watch from high above. One landed on a nearby roof while the other caught an updraft and soared away.

Arriving at an intersection, where an alley split off into two coming from one of the larger squares of the east side of the town, the archer saw a group pass by just a few yards away. A man and a woman, holding the hands of their children. Probably heading back home now that evening were getting closer. The mother was carrying a basket, with a blanket and an empty bottle showing. The son was telling his father a story. Rhyce pressed himself flat against the wall and shut his eyes, but even if he couldn’t see, he still heard. He could still hear them.

In his mind, he was holding the hand of another boy. Eyes just like his looking up, happy. Had it been that long ago? Why did it still feel like yesterday?

A noise came from around the corner. Something falling over with a crash. Rhyce leaned out from his hiding place and saw the boy on his knees, a barrel fallen on its side with rainwater spilling out. The boy was holding his leg. Had he fallen, trying to balance on the barrel? Showing his father what he could do?

A scrawny-looking man hurried into the alley from the other side, shouting, making more noises. What had they done? Why did they break his things? The man grabbed the boy’s arm, thrusting a finger at the father. Harsh words. The girl hid behind the mother. The happiness and safety was gone from their eyes.

Rhyce didn’t even remember stepping out of the shadows. One moment, he was just standing there with his hands on the scrawny man, holding him with an arm locked behind his back pressed up against a window. The man’s face made a squeaky sound as it pushed against the glass.

“Go. Leave,” the archer said to the parents. “Take good care of them. You don’t know how precious what you have is.”

They didn’t question him, only mumbled their thanks and hurried away. Rhyce pushed the man to the ground and stared at him for a while. With a kick he sent him on his way, too. In another direction, into the darkness of the alleyway where they belonged. Rhyce tugged the hood further down, and followed.

Soon the smell of blood and death caught his attention, and he followed the trail to a storefront. Through the window, he could see a dour-faced woman work at the sheep carcasses with her butchering knife, the broad blade dripping with each heavy-handed chop. Along the open window were a number of dried flowers, possibly to bring a more pleasant smell to the room. Or maybe it was for the passer-by’s benefit? The borderlander narrowed his eyes when, among the innocuous flowers, he noticed a twig of hemlock in each bundle. An untrained eye might have thought of it as parsley or fennel. He had seen it before, back in Tier. Was it a coincidence?

A motion in the corner of Rhyce's consciousness made him step back into the shadows of an alleyway, blending with the surrounding urban landscape. It was just a group of children playing, chasing a ball that bounced along the dirty street. His second pair of eyes took to the air, searching for a new sign of that sensation that had brushed across his inner world when they had entered the town, and after watching the young boys disappear around a corner, Rhyce turned and headed away as well.

How do you track that which is invisible? By the sound of its passing. How do you follow that which makes no noise? By the impressions it makes in the world. How do you find that which is not of this world? By not being fully part of it either. Rhyce's hand ached.

He looked to the darkening skies, his eyes peeling away the cover of the evening to show the two black birds that circled high above.

"Widening pattern. Indirect signs of taint. Dead cattle, plants, trees. Go. Seek." He turned east and reached even further, the faintest whispers from allies he had left to watch and wait. "Seb. Compare scent with grey house, on hill that stinks of perfume. River King. Watch prisoner. Pepperbell. Oceanside slaughterhouse. Hemlock?"

Rhyce felt his heart clench tight, and could taste blood in his mouth. When he coughed again, he felt some of the wetness stick to his hand. His head was pounding. It wasn't wise to stretch so thin, to try to reach too far. He didn't have the training or the power. He had the will, but it would only take him so far before something gave out. It was too late to change that now, however. Ashan. Untrained. But not undisciplined. He clenched his hand tightly, ignoring the pain in his palm and in his body.

"Go and do," he said to the wind as much as to himself. Don't stop. Just do.

The Boathouse

River King padded along the planks of the pier, past the two-legs and into his castle. There was an offering of fish waiting for him by his bed, which was as it should be, but at the moment he had something that needed doing.

He slipped into the place with the many tall places for him to sit, where by one of the royal scratching posts was his target. A two-leg sat by the post, its front paws still tied. It smelled like a predator, wounded but dangerous. It wasn't doing much at the moment, but if it did, River King would be there to see it. He jumped up on one of the boxes and settled down to stare at his prisoner. As an afterthought he flexed his claws, just to make sure they both knew who was in charge here.

Farcrest

"Get back here, ye foul mongrel!" The nice man who gave Seb food said with his outdoor's voice when Seb ran out of the house so many strangers kept visiting.

Seb didn't like leaving the house alone. He liked the nice man, but he liked his master more. When the master said Seb needed to go smell something, then Seb would go and smell it.

It was a long run to get to the hill where it smelled like flowers and bubbles instead of woodsmoke and dizzy-water, but when Seb got there it wasn't hard to find the grey house the master wanted to him to smell.

Seb ran his nose around the ground outside the house for a very long time. Eventually, a nice person opened a door and almost ran into him.

"Why, aren't you a cute one? Yes you are!" The nice woman spoke softly, and scratched Seb behind an ear. "But you don't live here, do you? You run along now."

Seb caught a whiff of scents from inside the house, enough for the master to be happy. Seb barked a farewell and turned to run back home.

Tier

There were too many feet stomping far below. It was much better up here, on the ledges, on the rooftops and the walls. Pepperbell jumped gracefully from the windowsill to a wall that ran alongside one of the streets. She twitched her whiskers, and then strutted along with her tail held high. She knew all the secret paths. She was a mistress of the rooftops. At least as long as those two black ones weren't here. Pepperbell hissed angrily. They had escaped her for now, but there would always be another time. Oh yes.

She poked her head over the tiles and peered down at the houses by the water. One of the buildings was broken. This was where The Speaking One had wanted her to go. She snuck down to the ground, careful to not put her paws into anything she didn't want to lick clean later. With a skip and a hop she climbed around on the rubble, digging up the old scents. Yes, this was just like the Speaker said. Poison-green.

It was a little strange. When they were on the road, it felt fine to sleep next to one another around the fire. Nobody questioned this. But once they came to a town, and could rest at a tavern or inn, it suddenly felt wrong to sleep in the same room as other people. If Jaden shared a room with any of the men, she would feel self-conscious when she undressed for bed. In the same vein, sharing with a girl would seem just as strange. Just like being in the baths with them. She wasn't one or another, one foot in either world, yet part of neither.

Jaden sat down on the bed in the single bed room, feeling a sudden stab of loneliness. Her hand ran across the fabric of her backpack, her fingers plucking at the clasps. It wasn't the same pack she had brought with her from Talraman. That one she had lost while running for her life through the Khuul Barrows in the Etrian desert. She missed it, and the Talram clothes she had kept inside it. It seemed like she lost clothes all the time, like the world slowly stripped thin layers of her identity away. What would be left underneath?

She began to unpack her new clothes, silks and fine cottons from the seamstresses of Farcrest. Her hand touched against something rougher at the bottom of the bag. A pair of wool trousers she hadn't had the heart to throw away. Her man trousers. Her last pair. She rubbed her fingers on the solid cloth, missing that sturdy feel of it. Nothing like the flimsy leggings she wore these days.

With a sigh, she stuffed the trousers back into her pack, and instead looked at her small collection of blouses, vests and jackets, as well as the number of backless tops she had been cajoled into buying. Admittedly, the knowledge that these wouldn't leave her bare to the world if she needed to manifest her spirit-form was reassuring. She had to unlace her bodice before she was able to peel off her slightly sweaty yellow, apron-like top. She set both items aside, to be washed by the maids working at the inn.

The feeling of air against her bare chest made her skin prickle, sending just another reminded about how different her shape was these days. With a disgusted grunt she grabbed one of the blouses from the stack of clothes and shrugged into it. Her hands began to automatically lace it up.

Jaden paused as the laces were drawn tight. Had she always been unable to lace it all the way to the top? Why would she have bought a blouse that would leave this much skin bare, this much... exposure? If she added the bodice to this, it would push everything up into a very generous display, almost swelling out of the half-cups worked into the supporting garment. She couldn't have grown bigger, could she?

The mystic almost caught herself looking around, even though she was in the room by herself. It was silly, but somehow it still felt wrong to touch her own body too intimately. So she squeezed her eyes shut and pretended that she wasn't blushing as she set her palms on the soft mounds of her breasts. Were they larger than before? Was it just her imagination? Ever since she had turned her ability to siphon magic against the demon of Redwall, Amucia the Lectii temptress, it had caused her changes to accelerate in leaps and bounds. Almost as if it had fed the spirit within. After she had been forced to manifest her spirit-form in Tier, while fighting the Sons of Husk, there had only been small swells. Easily hidden by baggy clothing. But after Jaden had briefly stolen the power of the demon, there had been much more waiting for her in that department after she had shed her spirit's form. Now, they just felt swollen and sore. But that would pass, she imagined. At least for now.

Suddenly, the door pushed open, causing a brief gust of wind to rush through the open window.

"Hey, Jaden? The girls are done in the bath now. The coast is clear if you want to- WOAH!" Stann managed to duck back so that the thrown boot didn't hit him. Instead it bounced against the opposite door with a loud thump.

"BEAR! Shut the door!" Jaden all but shrieked.

"Oh!" Stann eased the door almost closed, allowing a small sliver open so they could talk. Even with the door between them, he still turned around to keep his back towards the mystic. The glimpse he had gotten, though… "Uh, sorry about that. Didn't know you were already getting ready for your bath."

"I wasn't... I mean, sure. Yeah. Just... just don't barge in unannounced again, okay? I could've been wearing even less." Jaden pulled at her straining blouse to get it further down to cover her bottom, but that only threatened to have her spill out of the top.

"Promise?" The warrior's voice had a wide grin to it.

"Bear!" She complained loudly while looking around for her trousers.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your ears in a twist. Want me to tell the maids to heat up more water for you?"

"No, it's alright. Just have them pour the tub. I'll handle it myself." At the moment, her face felt warm enough to boil water by itself.

"If you say so, firebug." Stann gave the door a few thumps with his palm in affirmation, and then pushed it shut completely.

Inside her room, Jaden sunk down to the floor with her back to the bed, clutching the trousers in her hands. Her heart was pounding and her eyes stung. It didn't make any sense. She shouldn't have to hide anymore, but she still did. Why would she care if anyone saw, now? Stann wasn’t afraid of anyone seeing him the way he was born, so why should Jaden be? If she was a man, she should act like one. All this... shame didn't do her, or anyone else, any good.

Jaden remained on the floor for a while, her fingers idly picking at the trousers. Finally, she dried her face on the hem of her blouse and got up. She was going to have a bath, and a very manly one at that. Whatever that meant. She grabbed her towel and headed out the door.

After a second, she came back inside the room and got her sword as well. If you were going to man-bathe, there were no half measures about it.

It was a little later, while Oleander and the other women were still up in their rooms getting into a fresh change of clothes. Rhyce had returned as quietly as he had left, with as little of an explanation. It was almost as if he didn’t expect anyone to notice he had been gone, but instead settled down into the chair he had left earlier. None took notice the fresh, dark droplets on the sleeve of his leather jerkin.

"Did you see Jay when he got out of the bathing room?" Kellen looked at the men around the table, stroking his moustache in thought.

“Yeah, she wasn’t in there very long.” Stann grinned back, shaking his head a little. "Also, she doesn't know how to wrap herself in those towels as well as the girls do, does she?"

"Well, there's that. But he was also holding his sword. Had a bit of an expression, too. Should we be worried about another Bathhouse Incident? I don't want this to turn into Etrana all over again." Bits of masonry and torn metal had rained over the surrounding blocks back then.

"Maybe she was just making sure none of the local yokels got any ideas into their heads? I know I sometimes bring a dirk into the bath, in case of cult assassins or Skinwalkers." Stann turned his beer cup around in his hands. "We live strange lives, cousin."

"Sensible," the archer agreed with a nod. He approved of being ready for eventualities. Having your weapon outside your reach could mean the difference between life and death.

"While I agree in theory, the moment I hear an explosion I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'." The rune seeker rapped his cup on the table.

"Noted," Stann accepted the terms, and waved over one of the maids to give the table a needed refill.

It was near closing time, with most of the honest-working patrons already on their way to the door, when Jaden and her friends all found themselves seated around one of the tables in the mostly empty common room.

"Well, it was worth a try. Sadly, we didn’t manage to find out anything new about the people moving these poor creatures from their homes in the wildlands to whatever end they're being sold into," Mirena spoke with carefully managed disappointment. She put a great deal of trust in her ability to negotiate her way through the mercantile scene, and when etiquette fell short, she could always rely on people's respect for her authority as a knight of the Five Temples. But today she had been unable to either cajole or command what they needed.

"As soon as I can perform my reversed drawstone ritual on a few more places, I should be able to triangulate a number of points to show what path the slavers used while transporting their cargo. We know for a fact that they carried a dryad at one point, and those fey leave a trail for us to follow if we look for the changes their presence made in the vegetation or soil." Kellen never used few words when many would do just as well. He also seldom spoke hastily, but instead rumbled on in an endless exposition of his thoughts or intentions. The rune seeker spoke like a historian writing a book. Given Kellen's excellent memory, maybe he was.

"Well, at least the day wasn't a complete loss. Stann, did you discover anything while you were off on your own?" Mirena turned to the warrior.

"Oh, I don't know. I got into contact with a woman who met with the slavers at one point. Her friends and she works as forest guides. That is, they help people use the old paths the Alband military used during the times we last invaded them. She turned their offer down, feeling that they were no people she wanted any business with, but her friends felt otherwise. They went without her, leading the slavers through the hidden backways, and that was the last she saw of either of them." Stann was speaking casually the entire time, like it was no big deal.

Oleander shut her mouth with an audible click of teeth. Her surprised expression, mirrored by most of the others, quickly changed to a triumphant grin. She thrust one of her small fists into the air.

"Street smarts: one, wizards and rich people: nought. Take that, book-readers!" She turned slightly to show how she was on Stann’s side, while pointing with both hands at the rest of the table.

"Don't say 'book-readers' like it's an insult, Ollie," Jaden complained to the redhead sitting next to her. "Also, you didn't do any of that."

"I didn't have any time to! Kel needed me to ferret out a local potter who could sell us some of that special clay our giant wizard friend likes to use." Oleander shot a look at Kellen, whose hands still bore stains from working with the clay. "He's such a dirt-snob. 'Just use normal clay', I said, but no~. He had to use the special kind."

"It has a much better capacity to host the enchantments, little fox," the rune seeker explained.

"But, Ollie, if you helped Kellen the entire time... doesn't that mean you were on Team Wizard, instead of Team Street-smarts this time?" Jaden put a hand to her mouth like she was shocked at the realisation.

"What? No! I can do both. Everyone benefits from my wise counsel." Oleander stuck her tongue out at Jaden. "Also, what did you do? All I saw was you standing around and looking constipated. Were you magicking?"

"No..." The mystic really hadn't contributed all that much. She had followed Mirena along since that seemed to mostly involve sitting. Though sitting or standing didn't seem to do that much of a difference for the discomfort that had been her most unwelcome companion for the last couple of days. Her clothes felt too tight, and there was a headache lurking just out of sight. At least she now knew she didn't have food poisoning, like she had thought, but she didn't really have any appetite either. If she had her way, she would just crawl back down into the tub of really hot water, or curl up in a bed somewhere. That’s what Lilya used to do, anyway.

"Please, let Stann continue," Mirena asked of the bickering two, turning the conversation back on track.

"Truth be told, there wasn't all that much to it. Jina said she barely had a chance to actually see their wagons, since she met with them at the edge of town." The winter warrior spread his hands in defeat. "However, she could tell me a few things about the people she was talking to. Their spokesman had a west-Olman accent; you know the kind where they use some elf-words in their talk."

"You said 'spokesperson', not leader. Was that intentional?" Mirena followed up.

"Yeah. She got the impression one of the others was actually the one pulling the strings, but they wore a hood. She also saw a couple of borderlanders wearing pathfinder neckerchiefs. They hung back from the rest, trying to look inconspicuous."

"That Sorun-touched cant is almost exclusive to Tarad and the surrounding area. You don't hear anyone using it further away from the edge of the wildlands." Oleander had lost some of her own Tarad brogue over the year and a half since she and Jaden had left seeking adventure elsewhere. It only came up when she was talking very fast, or was upset. Jaden felt that it sounded cute.

"And that hooded figure could've been anyone," Kellen concluded. "Did this woman notice anything else about these people?"

"Well, she told me two more things that stuck to me. One: aside from the Tarad man and the posh-sounding Alband wagonleader, there was that hooded figure, the borderlanders, and a couple of Olman knifemen. She said that their blades were curved, almost like sickles."

"The Iron Ring! That makes sense, in a scary sort of way. That guy at the cartel's boathouse, Savus? He was one of them. I knew I recognised that style," Oleander exclaimed loud enough that people across the common room shot looks their way. She didn’t care, though. Her mind was abuzz with the things she had heard about the secret guild of thieves and assassins, growing up in Tarad. The things she had seen crept up from half-forgotten memories, too. There had been a time when she didn’t think twice about checking the pockets of a recently dead body dropped off in an alley.

“That could be important, Oleander. We will get back to that in a moment. Stann, was there something else?” Mirena tried to keep the discussion going in an ordered fashion.

"Yeah. Second: that hooded one had a silver brooch shaped like a leaf. Not sure if it’s important, but Jina clearly felt it was worth mentioning."

The rest were silent, standing and thinking about if they had seen anything like that before, and in what situation. Alisan was the first to raise her head. She had a distinctly uncomfortable expression on her face.

"Did that brooch appear as an oak leaf?" The pale elf spoke with her lilting accent, but the trepidation was clear in her voice.

"Yeah, I think that's what she said. Was that important?" Stann looked around to see if anyone were connecting dots when he wasn’t.

"If it was, then the mysterious hooded person was a member of the wordshapers of Ral Sona." There was something close to sadness touching Alisan’s features. She had found a clue she had been looking for, but didn’t like what it meant.

"I'm sorry, Alisan. We knew that there had to be some connections back to Ral Sona for an organisation like this to be able to do what they do. At least now we know where to begin." Mirena put her hand on the elf's arm, giving the other woman a reassuring squeeze. Alisan didn’t look especially comforted.

"What is a 'wordshaper'? Some kind of wizard?" Oleander asked nobody in particular.

"They're like librarians, I guess. With a little bit of teacher and artist added to the weave," Jaden explained, having visited the libraries of the grand elven city when she had been a younger boy. The wordshapers had been the custodians of the vast knowledge of the ageless elves.

There was a period of silence, only interrupted by someone taking a drink or moving in their chair. Oleander slowly pulled the crust off a piece of bread in one long strip.

"I believe it is time for us to put our heads together," Mirena announced once silence had returned to the table.

"Where do we stand, what do we know?" Stann clarified. It was something both of them had experience of from their respective martial backgrounds, to gather everyone up and make sure they were on the same page. "Who wants to start us off?"

"Well, I was there at the beginning... with Jay," Oleander spoke first. She kept tapping her fingertips against the table while she talked, a nervous habit she couldn't seem to get rid of. "We saw these cages being brought into a warehouse in the Farcrest harbours, and Jay said there was magic in them."

"We were curious, so we decided to look a bit closer," Jaden continued, speaking softly. It was a painful day for her, reliving the moments when she lost her face. "When we got into the storage house, we found a great number of captive creatures, ranging from tasslewyrms and dracones to bluewings. They even had a dryad still holding on to the remains of her tree."

"That poor girl," the redhead mumbled, recalling the dying forest spirit.

"That's when we began looking into the operation," Mirena took over, reaching out to put her hand on Oleander's. "The people who handled the warehouse and shipping out of Farcrest were Delev and Orist of the trading company of the same name. There were a number of discrepancies that showed up when we began investigating them, however."

"Like how they managed to keep mystic enforcers on their payroll," Kellen weighed in. Sorcerers were one thing. Several businesses made use of the Arcane Order's services at one point or another, but the Lacunai Mystics were, as Jaden often pointed out, not for hire.

"Also, how they managed to transport captive, intelligent beings through Alband without raising any alarms. Unlike Etria or Gion, Alband don't condone or tolerate slavery. While you could argue whether tasslewyrms are truly aware, there's no doubt about dryads," the knight concluded.

Alisan nodded vigorously, and splayed her fingers on the tabletop, feeling the grooves in the wooden planks.

"My friends and I have become aware of similar strange events happening in Ral Sona. Despite the wildland concord, it seems as if someone is making incursions into the fey reaches for exploitative reasons. That is why I elected to follow the trail that led me to Farcrest, and the same warehouse." The elf summarised her journey briefly. "Up until now, however, we had only our suspicions about how deep the corruption went."

"While it is not absolute proof, Stann's witness - this Jina woman - described what could be the pin of a Ral Sona 'wordshaper'. Alisan? Would a wordshaper have the influence to authorise and conceal any operations inside the feylands?"

"No. The wordshapers are a part of the same caste as I, but keep and care for all knowledge for the good of the two people. They have no practical power, such as those of the ruling caste. It is possible that a member could apply political influence, however, in some way." The pale elf spoke hesitantly, still a little unnerved by the turn of events.

"Well, it's a start. We can go to the library there and see if anything looks out of place," Stann nodded. He wouldn’t know what to look for, but that’s why he kept his ugly cousin around, after all.

"That should not prove too much of an obstacle. The wordshapers are reluctant to leave their halls of knowledge, and asking for a one who has recently departed the city should narrow our search," Alisan readily agreed.

"We also know that whoever is running this make use of small-time smugglers along the Odar route. We ran into one of them by the cartel's boathouse who claimed that he was there to shift the blame toward the cartel. He also mentioned working for a man named Toben of Tarad." Kellen picked up where they had left off, moving them along to the present day.

"While it is not much, some of the merchants here confirmed knowing of a Toben in Tarad, a cheesemaker by profession. Anyone you know of, Oleander?" Mirena turned to the redhead, who had been a little quiet ever since hearing about the involvement of the Iron Ring.

"Not really my old scene, but I doubt it'll take long to find someone like that once we get there," Oleander replied. She was already starting to think about ways to go about it. Some of them might even work.

"We have parts of the 'how' and the 'where', even some of the 'who'. Following up on these, we can only hope to find the 'why' and 'when'." The rune seeker ticked each item off on his sausage-like fingers, looking at his friends while he did so.

"Next stop: Tarad."

The tall, thin man walked along the side streets of the town as the sun began to settle behind the mountains, allowing the night to rule once more. His hand was never far from the satchel at his side, touching the treasure that was his once more. It had been painful to be separated from it for so long. It had made many things very inconvenient. His caress awakened the energy stored within the idol, many years of careful harvesting for the lean days that would inevitably follow the bountiful ones.

As their magic intermingled, it made him aware of the living caches he kept around the world. It was a surprise to notice how there were two receptacles within immediate reach, when he had expected only one. Still, once a particular soul was chained to his phylactery, its body was free to continue with whatever it had previously been doing. It was entirely possible that one had decided to move to this town.

With measured steps he made his way back to the place where he had been residing during his extended stay in the town. Shortly after his bony knuckled knocked upon the door, it swung open to reveal a face stained with both sweat and suspicion. Once the matronly woman saw who was waiting at her door, she stepped back to allow him entry through the back-door into the place where she performed her art. Long slabs were laden with sheep carcasses, and from the rafters there were countless unplucked fowls dangling in a slow dance macabre.

The smell of salt and blood was heavy in the butcher's workshop, and the only light came from a couple of thick tallow candles in the iron chandelier. The candlelight made the suspended flesh cast strange shadows along the walls.

"Harvester. You return," said the woman, wiping her hands on the dirty leather apron that protected her simple, dark grey wool dress from the worst of her trade.

"My original business here is concluded, Ageada. I wonder if this would be a good community in which to begin my work anew?" The tall man considered the town and its people. It might be enough.

"I am your servant, as were my grandparents before me, Harvester," the woman performed a rough curtsey, as the stiff apron would allow. "There arrived a message while you were out, however."

"Then show me," Jeddhar commanded with his painfully dry voice.

The woman, Ageada, walked over to a slab left empty except for a foot high object covered with a canvas. Upon removing the cloth, the pigeon in the cage woke up and began cooing. Deftly, she opened the hinged side and took a hold of the bird with a careful but firm hand. She stroked the pigeon to calm it down as she joined the nethermancer by another table.

"It bears the markings of your own cabal, Harvester," Ageada said. The bird still had the small green and gold ribbon around a foot.

"Then some of my men survived the... purge. That is good to know. Let us interpret the message." With that, Jeddhar took the bird from the woman's hands, and put it down on the table. The pigeon had stopped cooing, and moving. Instead it lay completely paralysed, and didn't make a noise as the nethermancer turned it over on its back, exposing its belly to his fingers.

Jeddhar performed the haruspicy with an almost bored expression, the practice long since routine to one such as he. Once he had exposed the entrails of the bird, he ran his bony fingers along the various passages in the flesh. Yes, this was indeed sent by one of his. It was a warning. The ones who had put fire to his home in the golden city were headed in his direction even now.

With a disgusted grunt, Jeddhar flung the ruined pigeon from the table with a swipe of his arm. It took time and effort to set up a cabal, to get into the practice of the rites and sacrifices, to build a power-base. He would be far too vulnerable if a paladin showed up so soon. Carrick Field was not for him. Not today.

"Bad news, Harvester?" Ageada asked, having been a faithful enough a servant to dare do so. She knew that the Harvester before her was unlike the others. He would not waste the useful if there was another way, and she had been very useful for the Sons of Husk.

"Inconveniences seem to haunt me this season." The nethermancer straightened up, his head nearly reaching the chandelier. "I shall have to leave immediately. You know what you need to do, Ageada, just like your grandparents did when I recruited them."

"I serve the inheritors, always," the heavy-sat woman grabbed the cleaver from the slab, and gave the nethermancer a bow as the tall man left her abode. Those who were sworn to the Husk like her would serve in life or in death.

The morning arrived with a warm southern wind coming from across the wide river. It was almost as if the skies themselves were beckoning, a quiet call on the breeze.

When Jaden’s opened her eyes, she thought for a moment that she had left the oil lamp burning throughout the night, the room was so bright even with the shutters and curtains both closed. Then, between one blink of the eyes and the next, that strange illumination faded to the hidden dawn light she had grown up expecting from a morning. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, the oddity soon forgotten when years of habit reasserted itself.

Jaden had kept the conversation she had yesterday in mind when she had prepared for bed, and left a small bag lying on the bedside table near the lamp. She picked at the knot holding the strings drawn shut and finally spilled the contents into her lap while sitting with her legs tucked to the side on the bed. There was the red candle, a focus for the fire of her salamander. There was the small, empty jar with the lid screwed tight, a symbol of the missing air of her breathstealer. Finally, there was the brass chain. She felt each link as she ran it through her fingers. It was a representation of her bond with her spirit. She hated that chain.

Carefully, she placed the candle and the jar on each side. If she ever added more contracts, they would form an increasingly obvious circle around her, but for now there were just two. Maybe it was time for her to consider another pact? The chain she kept in her hands. The spirit would not be placed with the contracts, after all. Those bonds were much too different.

Jaden closed her eyes and looked for the source of her magic within. She had always imagined it like standing on a peak of the mountains, surrounded by a raging storm. Little by little, she pulled clouds from those roiling skies and sent them toward the burning beacon that was the candle, or the greedy maw that was the jar, until the sky was calm and clear. At least, that was how she had done it for many years, ever since forming her first contract with Valignat the Salamander. Today, when Jaden looked inside, she found only empty skies with hardly a cloud. The chain felt warm in her hands.

When she opened her eyes, the wick of the candle had lit, and the air inside the jar had turned a smoky grey.

Breakfast had been a quick and simple affair. The keeper and serving maids had rolled a big pot around on a clever wheeled table, scooping up porridge for any of the guests who felt like eating. To their credit, it was actually quite good, with pieces of apple and berries found inside. Jaden even felt like having a second portion, her stomach being much more cooperative today, but one look at Alisan made her put her bowl down.

The mystic didn’t know if anyone else noticed since there was a lot of talking around the table, but as they ate she saw Rhyce drop his spoon twice, before finally using his other hand. After that, he kept his left hand underneath the table.

Once they were finished, it fell on Stann and his cousin to see to their horses. The knight and the pale elf had retreated upstairs to fold their freshly laundered clothes, leaving Jaden, Oleander and Rhyce to find something else to do until it was time to leave.

While Carrick Field was no Farcrest, and certainly no Tier, it still had some stands and shops offering sweets or useful knickknack for the traveling person. Oleander had stopped by one of the salesmen by the street, exchanging some copper bits for a parcel of raisins. All in all, the town hadn’t changed all that much since they were here almost two years ago.

"Remember back when Kellen told us about how the Horrors just spill out from strange rifts into our world? After what we saw down there in the tunnels, I couldn't sleep right for weeks." Oleander ate a handful of the sweet, dried fruit, pointing in the general direction of where they had descended into the underground last time.

"They're called portals, but yeah, it was just like he said. I wonder what the Kynian's home plane could be like?" Jaden had read a great deal growing up. She knew about some of the other worlds, like Living Arcadia or the Myriad Nethers.

"All the riding we’ve been doing makes me wish we could use one of those portal things like the Horrors do, and just plop out where we need to go." The redhead made a big wavy gesture with both arms, like she was parting the veil of worlds to allow her passage.

"Portals don't work like that, Ollie. They only bridge different worlds together. You can't travel across the same land using them, sadly enough. Otherwise Talraman wouldn't need a skyspire, or even a single horse." Not for lack of trying. True point to point transport using magic was one of the most sought after dreams of many a magician, right next to everlasting life or turning lead to gold.

"Why's that?" The redhead asked more for the sake of asking, not because she was planning on learning anything.

"Oh, we've got portals to all kinds of places in the citadel." Part of Jaden screamed at her for revealing Lacunai secrets, but by now she was so tired of listening to that voice. It felt too good to finally share things with her friends. "It is how we're able to keep in touch with the other planes where beings like our spirits come from. Sometimes we get visitors from those realms, too."

"What's the strangest thing you ever saw?" Oleander was chewing and talking with her mouth full of raisins.

"They didn't let children near any visitors most of the time, but I remember seeing one of them on the main courtyard when Lilya and I were playing on the walls. It was a large, blue man with six arms and four faces." Jaden held up a hand to show how tall that visitor had been. She even went tiptoe a little. Maybe it was her memories making it bigger than it had been, but she felt that it had dwarfed even someone the size of Kellen.

"He had four heads?" Oleander had stopped chewing and just stared at the mystic.

"No, four faces. One on each side of his head." Jaden pointed at her own ears and neck, showing where the faces had been.

"Okay. That's strange alright."

"To be fair, I had grown up seeing people manifest into all kinds of magical creatures. I wasn't all that worried about yet another blue person walking around, when our babysitter could turn into a fifty-foot long sea serpent." The black-haired mystic couldn’t help but smile a little. Aunt Sabel had always said that she wouldn’t let any strangers hurt them, but if they hurt themselves, she would just laugh at them.

Eventually, they had made their way back to the Count of Cups, where the rest of the group were already waiting and talking. Kellen was tightening the straps on their packs so that nothing would fall off. Once Jaden and Oleander got close enough they noticed Rhyce slipping out of an alleyway and falling in behind them. He must’ve walked off at some point during their little stroll.

"We should go see how that farmer is doing today," Oleander said suddenly as she was checking her horse. "Hammot? Hannok? Something like that. You remember him?"

"Eh," Stann hesitated, grimacing a little. "I'm not sure that's a good plan, Red."

"What? Why? We saved him and the town from the horrors!" Oleander ducked down to look at the Northman from underneath her horse’s neck.

"We also turned his largest field into a sinkhole, as well," the warrior reminded her.

"That was Kellen's fault. Besides, how else could we destroy the hive? It was honeycombed under his entire farm!" The redhead made wiggly gestures with her fingers, like she was digging passages through the air.

The rune seeker just looked around, trying on his best innocent expression. Finally, he just cleared his throat and went back to putting bottles of Northern beer into his saddlebags. He had found a kindred spirit with the keeper of the Count of Cups last night, and been delighted to discover a small cache of kulsu behind the counter.

"Try telling that to the man who lost an entire harvest." Stann shook his head.

"Not all of it. He still had those cucumbers, right?" Oleander argued.

"You really want to go pay our respects to a man who had nothing to eat but cucumbers for two years?" Jaden had the most unfortunate mental image as those words left her mouth.

"Ew. Okay. Maybe we'll give it a pass." The redhead made a gagging face, and let the matter drop.

Alisan had watched the exchanged with an amused expression, slowly becoming used to the group’s particular brand of humour. She stroked her horse’s mane, which was just as pale as she was.

“On that note, I guess we don’t have any real reason to linger here?” Stann changed the subject.

“Not unless we want to keep digging into whatever those people might have done while passing through. I suspect that would quickly turn into an exercise in futility to search for month-old clues in the entire county, though,” Mirena said as she tugged on her riding gloves. “No, the best we can do is to follow up on that name we got from the man in the cartel's boathouse. Let's hope that this Toben of Tarad can tell us more."

"If we can find him. All we have is a name," Jaden muttered. It felt like such a longshot.

"Sometimes a name is enough," Oleander countered with a cheeky grin.

"'Don't worry about wet feet, until you've reached the river'." Rhyce spoke like he was quoting someone old and wise. Or maybe it was just him being Rhyce. He had his hood up like he was expecting rain, even on a clear late summer morning like this.

"We can just use the bridge, Rhyce," Oleander said, pointing to the southwest where the great old stone bridge was just visible from the town.

"He wasn't talking about this river, Oleander."

It was an ancient thing, the Beldenth Span. A bridge older than the countries it brought together. Older, even, than the empire that predated those countries. It had been there when the kingdoms of man first came to the eastern side of the continent. The style of its architecture was much different than the modern bridges closer to the coast. Unlike those, there was no drawbridge that could be raised to allow boats with masts to pass underneath. Instead, this stonework bridge arched proudly and high, like an old man refusing to let age bend his back. At its highest point it would stand high above any building in Farcrest, and even most in Tier. The bridge sank two enormous support pillars into the wide Odar river, creating the vague imagine of a giant holding the separated pieces of land together with each arm while standing in the middle of the river.

As they began their ascent, they sat off from their horses to spare the poor animals the extra exertion on a warm summer day. The incline was steep enough that it would take a skilled driver to get wagons down in one piece. Climbing to the top of the bridge took a good while, and they all wordlessly agreed on a short rest once they had reached the apex. Their quick pace turned into a slow stroll where they could enjoy the breeze on their faces.

"Beldenth Span. Does that mean anything in elvish, Jay?" Oleander brushed some of her red strands out of her face.

"I'm not sure, actually. Alisan?" Something tickled the mystic’s mind. It was more of a feeling than a memory, walking across this bridge.

They were made out of glass, in that other place, where the river ran in the sky.

"According to the stories it was the name of the earth elemental. The elves of the old realm asked her to guard this river in return for them driving the demons out of the southern mountains. Belane duan Beldenth. Beldenth, the thankful land, her arms wide." Alisan spread her arms while talking, pantomiming how the stone spirit reached across the river.

"That was almost a Kellen moment there, Ali," Oleander joked with a grin. "He tends to quote the history books as well."

"Kellen is a very wise man, and you are fortunate to share his words," the Alisan replied with a raised index finger.

"What demons?" Jaden asked. The southern mountains Alisan talked about must be the Isanduar peaks, where Talraman silently watched the lower lands from its place closer to the clouds.

"That is a story I do not know, Jaden," the pale elf confessed. "If curiosity still blooms when we arrive in Ral Sona, there may be those who will tell you what I cannot."

The bridge was simply massive, however. It was hard to imagine how something of this size could have been created by any means other than magic. The blocks of stone were impossibly large, each able to eclipse any of the houses in Carrick Field, shaped into the arc of the bridge with barely any seam or gap. It was an effort to create something grander than the hands that had brought the rocks, a long-lasting testament even if the message itself may have been lost to time.

They tried to recreate what their gods had shown them. Bring a little piece of that place here. Empyreal memories.

As they approached the crest, Jaden looked to the west at a spectacular view. On a clear day one could see as far as the wildlands, maybe even the Shelmot Plains further to the northwest, and far beyond that the Erbor Mountains rising up from the land like great hands that had once reached for the sky but were now worn dull by the turn of ages.

Jaden let her hands rest on the low stonework wall that protected travellers from some of the breeze. It was worn smooth by countless years of rain and wind, but many details still remained. It had an ancient feel to it, built too strong for elven design, and too lofty for dwarven architecture. The mystic could almost feel the echoes of the proud people that had left this silent reminder of their greatness to the world. It was among the last of its kind.

It wasn't appreciated. They were cast aside and forgotten, but even now they seek the mountains to live as their gods did.

"The air here is so fresh," Jaden thought out loud. It was almost like standing at the walls of Talraman, looking at the world so far below. Her fingers ran across the carved stone. The low walls of the bridge had decorative shrine-like statues at even intervals, showing weathered figurines carved into the stone. Whoever or whatever they had once shown, had been worn away by the rain and the wind. Something in the shape of the remaining details reminded her of the mountain home of the mystics. It almost looked like some of the stonework inside the citadel. But Talraman didn't have bridges. There was no use for them.

Their gods won't listen. Their gods have forgotten almost everything. Almost.

The Odar ran strong below the bridge. Perhaps not as swift as closer to its source where the river fell down the mountainside, but it flowed with a relentless strength. If anyone fell from the bridge, they would not be able to escape the embrace of the water. No, they would be carried half the way to Tier before the river lost enough momentum for a man to be able to fight the currents. Jaden wondered how many had decided to end their lives with a leap from where she stood right now. It would be so easy to just lean too far over the edge, look deep into those rushing waters so far below, and let go. She didn't know what to make of that feeling.

Do you feel like a god?

"Don't you feel cold standing in the breeze like this?" Stann stood next to Jaden, but she hadn't seen him coming.

"Eh?" Jaden woke up from her reverie. How long had she gazed out across the landscape?

"That jacket of yours hardly looks warm enough." The Northern warrior reached out and put his arm around her shoulder in a way he had done many times before, but the brotherly camaraderie felt slightly off.

"Thanks, you big bear. I hadn't noticed, really." Jaden didn't push him away. She had pushed too many of her friends away. Ever since Tier she had been afraid of letting anyone come too close, or they would see what she had become. A touch would break through the illusion. To touch was to know. But now, everyone knew. There was a certain liberty in truth. She could appreciate the value of it.

"No kidding. You're really warm! If we were still in Etrana, I'd offer you a glass of iced punch. Are you using your magic to ward off the chill of the wind?" Stann didn't appear bothered by the weather. What passed as winter in the Midlands was considered a mild spring day in the North. He probably just felt that it was bracing.

"No magic. I guess it's just who I am."

"C'mon, little brother. Let's not linger up here. We've got many miles to go before Tarad. It'll be slow enough going using the smaller roads waiting at the foot of this behemoth."

Jaden was happy to let Stann lead her away from the edge. Whenever she stopped for too long, strange thoughts began to appear in her mind. It was better to keep busy, keep running. As long as she did something familiar, she could remember her real face.

"By the way, Stann? Do you have any idea why Alisan's taken to speaking with me in Sorunese again? She stopped doing that once she realised I wasn't an elf."

"Heh. Funny thing, that, eh?" Stann scratched his beard a little, clearing his throat. "You know how those elves are. Strange people."

"Stann..." Jaden’s voice took on a warning tone.

"Have you heard Kel tell that story about when he met some of those old elf magicians?" The warrior changed the subject. "It was when he and I spent some time in Radent. This was a couple of years before meeting the rest of you, of course."

"Bear, what did you say to her?" The mystic made a fist and shook it close to the warrior’s face.

"Nothing! Honest!"

Looking back, something about the situation made Jaden remember the words that had set them on this journey. The dracone had spoken about how it had experienced passage over both land and water. If the slavers had brought it out of the wildlands on a wagon and crossed the Odar using the old bridge, when would it have experienced riding the river? Maybe the slavers brought the creatures out through the north side of the wildlands, into the borderlands, and made use of the Odar to ferry them down the stream to some other hidden dock near Carrick Field?

But, no, that couldn't be right. Jaden hadn't spent that much time in Ral Sona before, but one thing she had picked up on quickly - the north wildlands belonged to the fey. The elves of Sorun fiercely protected the deep forest from any outsiders. There were children’s stories in both Olmar and Alband about a woodsman who wandered too deeply into the faerie forest to cut down a tree. When the man left the forest, he was immediately apprehended by elves, taken before a tribunal to answer for his crimes against their ancient laws. It was meant as a warning to keep children from wandering too deeply into the woods without their parents, but looking at how closely the elves policed their borders, one couldn't help but wonder if there were more than a few grains of truth in those legends.

The past holds many answers. Just like it did for you. Just like it did for me.

From where the Beldenth Span set them down in Olmar, to the western edge of the open land, it was a journey that would take several days. Olmar didn't have much in the way of forests; nothing one couldn't walk through in an hour at most, anyway. No, Olmar was gentle hills and those endless plains. Much of the regions along the river and the roads were farmland and tiny settlements too small to be called villages, but further south and to the east were where the vast Tagen Run began.

The Run was a vast steppe that the wild horses of Olmar called their home, and mankind was only grudgingly tolerated. It was also in the deep steppes where the mesas showed up, rising up from the otherwise flat landscape. The Tagen pegasi who lived at the top of those highland plateaus were considered by some as the representation of the spirit of the Olman people. The pegasus banner had been the rally-point when the country had risen up against the Second Empire.

When night arrived, Jaden and her friends had made good distance into Olmar. Rather than seeking the open plains of the horses, their destination was in the other direction: toward the Sorun wildlands, and the town that waited at the border of the elven forest.

They had all but unpacked for the night when Oleander poked her head out of the slightly thicker shirt she changed into once the sun had set.

“Hey, is it my turn to cook tonight? It feels like forever since it was my turn last,” she asked.

“Ah, no! No. It’s… it’s Jaden’s turn tonight, isn’t it?” Stann looked at the mystic pointedly.

“Oh, right! Yeah. I think so, yes.” Jaden agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “You just go back to what you were doing, Ollie. I’ll handle this.”

Alisan looked bemused by the exchange, but didn’t inquire further. Humans were strange, after all.

Later on, once the rest had gone to bed, Stann sat and poked the fire with a branch during his watch. There was a different set of wildlife to be concerned about down here. Back home in the North, he would have been alert for signs of bears, boars or wolves. Here, in Olmar, there were wild dogs or leopards. Also, where there would be the threat of orc raiders in the Northern Lands, or maybe a roaming troll, there was a chance that some tribes of gnolls had migrated further into the land from the south. Stann doubted that there would be any of those hyena-men this far up in the civilised portions of Olmar, but one could never be certain. That's why they had set up their regular watch, with Jaden going first to take advantage of that elven nightvision, followed by Rhyce. When the archer had kicked the Northman awake hours later, Jaden had risen at the same time to answer the call of nature and headed out into the night to take care of things.

Stann gave the fire another thoughtful poke when he felt the wind change direction slightly. There was an odd smell coming from the night, almost like blood. Maybe there were leopards close by, having a midnight snack on some unfortunate calf?

After a while, there was a rustling that announced the return of the mystic into the circle of light cast by the small campfire. Jaden was wiping her hands very thoroughly on a piece of rough cloth, little more than a rag, really. When their eyes met, her face flushed for some reason, and she looked away.

"Oh, hi," Jaden mumbled, and made her way to where she had been sleeping.

"It's nothing to be ashamed off, little brother. It's something we all do," Stann chuckled at the awkwardness of the black-haired mystic.

"I very much doubt you've had to deal with this," was the muffled reply as she crawled back into the comfort of her blankets.

The warrior merely continued laughing to himself and shaking his head. Jaden had always been a little bit of a bellyacher, complaining about discomforts when they were out in the wilds. Maybe it was because of how the mystic had grown up in a city where magic was as commonplace as steel, and warm water or a hot meal was just a snap of the fingers away. Stann could hardly imagine what Talraman must be like. He hoped he would get a chance to see it at least once. Even if their little brother was not the image of the feared Lacunai shapeshifters of legend, he had to admit that he was impressed by the idea of a martial nation like that.

He sat for a while, just looking at the fire. For some reason there was something nostalgic about this particular night. Stann let his eyes sweep across the camp. The sleeping figures made him smile. Maybe the night felt like this since he could spend it with his family. That was what they were to each other, now. Everyone had a reason to be here, and none of them could return home. In this great, vast world, he felt fortunate that he had found these people, these wonderful, infuriating and crazy people. Stann sent a heartfelt, thankful thought to the Stormfather who had seen fit to bring them all together.

It was barely midday when a small settlement showed up on the great fields of Olmar. The signs of an upcoming community had been there ever since they packed up their camps that morning, with increasingly organised farmlands and neat rows of apple trees in large orchards. Eventually the country road took them into the heart of this rural hamlet, Rillend's Green.

It was a small place, hardly enough to call a village to be truthful. It was more of an overgrown farm where additional buildings had just been added until it no longer was just a single family's home. Still, there was something between a tavern and a communal dining hall wall to wall with a large building that smelled strongly of apples. A colourful sign of a winged horse adorned the place, and the sound of people eating and talking reached out into the one-wagon-wide dirt road.

After making sure that travellers were welcome to stop and rest for a bit, Jaden and her friends sat down next to the locals by the long tables that took up most of the floorspace inside the humble Winghoof tavern.

Ambar, the keeper of the Winghoof and a cousin to the heir of the plantation, was all too happy to share the story of the place with strangers. The large-bellied man fit the stereotype of a jovial innkeeper down to wiping his hands on his smock and gesturing with a wooden ladle while he talked. Jaden didn't really listen to what was no doubt a thrilling tale of heroic farmers and their struggle against the land to bring the best apples to the mouths of children everywhere. Instead she stared out of the window at the gently waving fields of golden wheat.

Lately, her ability to concentrate had come and gone unpredictably. Right now she doubted she would have been able to perform her focusing rituals to prepare or distribute her magical energy among her pacts. The realisation made her think, however. How long had she performed them so irregularly? Of course, she hadn't been using her pacts that much lately, so there had been no imbalances to satisfy, but the rituals were a fixture in any magician's life. It should be a daily preparation to handle energies beyond the mortal shell. Priests used prayer to connect with the shared power of their faith, rune seekers reacquaint themselves with each piece in their collection, sorcerers meditated on the core focus of their arcane power. The Lacunai mystics took the time to strengthen the bonds to their contracts, as well as touch the spirit within. It was something every magician had to regularly do, but what Jaden had been neglecting more often than not lately. There was a risk in going too long without observing your rituals, of course. For a mystic, ignoring your pacts for extended periods would weaken the bonds, or even annul them completely. And there was always the risk of erosion.

“What’s this cider? It’s really good!” Oleander’s voice cut through Jaden’s thoughts. The redhead was waving a goblet at the keeper.

“Locally produced, missy. If you develop a taste for it, I can see about getting you a few bottles before you leave. Spread the word, eh?" Ambar winked at the young woman, and trundled off to make sure he would be good on his word.

"I just might!" Oleander called after the keeper.

Jaden pushed the noise of the eating and drinking people out of her head as she tried to focus on the connections she had nurtured with her salamander and breathstealer allies. Of course, they were still there, as strong as ever. In fact, the bonds showed no signs of degeneration, however little. It was as if something was maintaining them in her absence. A chill went down Jaden's spine when she realised that something or someone else was influencing her magic.

Don't worry about that now. The next crossroads is almost upon us. We can still save them all.

“Thank you, and good night now,” said the keeper of the Count of Cups as he pushed the last of his regulars out through the door. There was always one or two who had nothing better to do that to spend their evenings deep in their cups. Those were always the ones who took the most convincing to get off their chairs and go home when it was closing time.

He cleaned his hands on the threadbare towel he kept in his belt, and was just about to lock up when a figure showed up outside the door.

“Look, neighbour, it’s late and I’m closing. Come back tomorrow, will you?” He called through the closed door.

“Just asking a question, one countryman to another,” came the hoarse reply.

Since the figure outside made no effort to force his way inside, the keeper sighed and opened the door enough to hold a conversation. Hopefully it wasn’t a beggar again. He had every sympathy for the poor, but he had a hard enough time making ends meet as it was.

“Fine. What can I do for you?” The keeper asked.

“You had some people staying with you earlier this week. Motley group. Northmen, a short Olman girl, a knight and an elf?” The stranger described an unusual group, speaking with an accent that wasn’t entirely Albander. There was a touch of Olman in it, the keeper could tell.

“Yeah, what about them?” The keeper leaned on the doorpost. He definitely remembered that bunch. Especially after one of the elven girls had tried to keep a towel around herself while also wielding a sword. Heh. Elves.

“Did you happen to overhear where they’d be going next?” The stranger held up a hand and with a twist of his fingers brought a coin into the light. The glint of a gold crown caught the keeper’s eye.

“Yessir I did,” the keeper said without hesitation. When someone came asking with that amount of money you did what they asked of you, because they had either enough power or enough motivation to make your life difficult if you didn’t. “They mostly sat by themselves, but I kept hearing them talking about Tarad and the elflands. Sounded like they were heading into the big forest.”

“How long ago was this?” The stranger handed the keeper the fat, golden coin.

“Oh, I’d say about three days now?” The keeper thought back. Yeah, that’s when one of those Northmen had told all those stories, too.

“Three days?” The man turned away and muttered to himself. “By Antodus, how did they get here that fast?”

“Mind if I close up now, neighbour?” The keeper tapped the door pointedly.

There was no reply, as the stranger had left as suddenly as he had appeared. The keeper took another look at the coin in his hand, just to make sure he hadn’t just imagined everything. The coin felt heavy in his hand. Good, solid gold.

At the edge of the forest, as a self-proclaimed last outpost of humanity before the untamed wildlands swallowed everything in sight, sat Tarad like a fat toad on a rock. It had grown into a sizeable town from the trade out of both Sorun and Talraman, since it was in the enviable position of being the closest settlement to both the elves and the mystics.

It was a very neat arrangement: the elves wanted little in the way of human goods, but didn't mind selling various handcraft to the Midlands. The mystics, on the other hand, didn't have many finished products for sale, but instead traded ores and gems for basic goods like grains or fabrics. That way, Tarad had a great import-export scheme going on where everyone won, although Tarad perhaps won a little more than the rest.

Strangely, however, was despite the wealth that flowed through the town, it still couldn't quite manage to lift itself from its dirty roots as a frontier outpost. Little of the gold that ran through the community actually stayed there, but instead went to fund the merchant houses' enterprises in the larger cities elsewhere. Tarad was but a channel, not the source, and as such the residents was left to fight over what trickled down.

“Home, sweet home,” Oleander mumbled to herself as they rode into the town at the fringe of the wildlands.

There were three major roads leading into Tarad. The first was the imperial road from Olmar's capital of Radent, the solid stone road worked to allow the empire's troops quick travel across their lands. Even after the fall of the second empire, Olman engineers kept the road in good shape since it helped the Olman grain wagons across the big steppes that dominated the nation. The second road was the old mountain path that snaked its way up the side of the Isanduar Mountains until it reached the hidden fortress of the Lacunai. Finally, there was the Sonaleum, the road that reached out of the forest to connect the elven lands to the rest of the world. There was some debate whether the mountain road or the elven path was the older of the two. Today, only the elves would know for sure.

Aside from those large three veins of commerce, there were many smaller country roads that ran through Tarad, mostly used by farmers and herders moving their produce or animals in from the smaller villages to sell on the markets or deliver to the trading companies.

To Jaden, there was always something subtly wrong about Tarad. She had grown up on a mountain, and one look out through the windows or over the walls surrounding Talraman showed how far up from the rest of the world the fortress was. Tier had its soaring towers. Even Farcrest or Etrana had hills or elevated areas. Tarad, on the other hand, was flat. There were no tall buildings, there were no heights or lows. To Jaden and, she suspected, many travellers, it made orienting yourself in the town very difficult. It was easy to get turned around or lost if you tried to take shortcuts between districts. At least, that was how she had ended up running into trouble the first time she had been here. Some of that trouble had even followed her when she left. Jaden glanced at the redhead who was looking as lost in reminiscence as the mystic was.

"First time advise for visiting Tarad, Ali? Keep a hand on your beltpouch and an eye at the alleyways," Stann told the pale elf. "I'm not saying that you're going to get robbed the minute you turn around, but there's a lot of people here who prey on those who look a little lost or vulnerable."

"It seems as if I passed through this place before, when the Sona Sonorous troupe set out for Farcrest," Alisan reminded them of how she had ended up in the same city as they, but then shot a glare at the winter warrior. "Do I appear as to be vulnerable to you?"

"Hey now, I know that you keep knives squirreled away in that dress, somehow, but the muggers don't." Stann raised his palms in a sign of surrender.

"That will be their regret to savour, not mine." Alisan reached into her wide, long sleeves and touched the handle of the slim dagger she kept hidden there for protection. When she had first met the Northern cousins, she had been close to attempting to stab her way out of that situation. Though, admittedly, there were times she still felt like pulling her dagger on the rude one with the long hair.

While the two of them were bickering, Mirena had sat off her warhorse and was considering the town. Unlike most of the others, she had never been there before. That meant going in unprepared, and that more than anything was something the knight didn't enjoy. That also meant that she would have to rely on the experience and judgement of her friends to guide her. That in of itself wasn't anything new: the group usually deferred to whomever had previous understanding or relevant background regarding any particular situation. When they delved into dark and forgotten tombs, Kellen and Oleander lead the way, and Rhyce called the shots whenever they had to go cross-country. Kellen and Jaden were, of course, their resident experts in matters magical, even though the mystic had a little more niched knowledge. Mirena's own temple training had not gone too much into the theory of magic, since priests channel intent more than they weave spells.

In this particular setting, however, she suspected that Oleander and Stann would take the lead. The redhead for obvious reasons: this was her home turf, after all. Arguing against Oleander in Tarad, would be like someone trying to tell Mirena how things are done in Tier. It would either be amusing or insulting, depending on the delivery. As for Stann, the boorish Northman had a special knack for empathising with the common folk. He had that uncomplicated charm that made some people open up.

"Do you have any contacts you can tap about this Toben fellow, Red?" The winter warrior kept an eye on the people on the street while talking. He was heeding his own advice about not letting your guard down in Tarad.

"It's been almost two years since I upped and left with nary a word, Bear. Still, I remember a couple of faces who used to be savvy to the back alley whispers." The redhead wore an expression that was hard to read. Somewhere between caution and comfort.

"Will you be better off without us, or do you need back-up?" Stann offered, patting the pommel of his dwarven-made sword.

"Let's just say I'm going places where paladins shouldn't be," Oleander looked at Mirena while smirking. "No offense, helmet-hair, but some of those horse-thieves would make you smite-happy."

"Now I'm starting to become concerned," the knight said, but kept her face calm. "Just promise us that you will be careful."

"I'll offer something better than that: I'll take Rhyce along!" Oleander pointed at the archer, who just looked away from the sky and nodded at her, silently.

"Very well," Mirena trusted in the borderlander's ability to keep the redhead out of too much trouble, or at least help her get away with it if need be. "Is there anything you would like for us to do meanwhile?"

"I have a couple of tricks rattling around my bone-box, actually, but it all hinges on if I can get my mitts on the dark of things around here."

"You're slipping into local tongue, Red." Stann noted. It was like a switch had turned in Oleander’s head, and the almost two years of polishing away that brogue had vanished.

"Being back does that to me. Better I get into the spirit of it, else I'll stand out too much." Oleander had subtly changed her stance. Suddenly, the redhead wasn't the cheerful girl they knew so well, but someone who would make them check if their beltpouches were still there.

"While you do... that, the rest of us will find a place for us to stay while we're here. Any recommendations?" Mirena tried not to think too much about what her friends got up to while they were out of her sight. She trusted that they tried to make the world a better place, in their own way, but sometimes their methods didn’t agree with her.

"For an idea I'm starting to take a shine on, I want you to set yourself up posh as can be. See if the Silver Staff have any rooms,” Oleander motioned with her thumb over a shoulder, pointing somewhere in the town.

"I think I remember that place," Stann said, scratching his head. "Didn't we pass that up for looking too pricy, Kel?"

"We were on a... budget at the time," the larger Northman harrumphed and looked away.

"Because you spent our gold on old maps! We had to eat porridge for a week," the warrior grumbled.

"That was many years ago, cousin. Let bygones be bygones."

"The Silver Staff is one of the finer establishments in Tarad?" Mirena asked Oleander while the two Northmen settled their differences with frowns and knucklecrackings.

"THE finest. They wouldn't even let a ragpicker like me through the door back when." The redhead made a face. "Anyway, they cater almost exclusively to the rich merchants who come here to check on their businesses. That's what I need you to appear as, okay?"

"Wealthy businessowners? I believe I could act the part," Mirena said with a smile. It was almost ironic, the amount of use she got out of the upbringing she had fought so hard to leave behind. Her father would be either indignant or proud if he saw her now.

"Oh, and just in case: go in as two different parties. Maybe it won't be necessary, but it's good to lay down the groundwork early," Oleander added as an afterthought.

"What are you plotting, little fox?" Kellen rumbled with suspicion deep in his voice.

"I bet you'll figure it out in good time," she said with a sly wink.

"Hmm... This is starting to sound like Etrana all over again,” the rune seeker deduced.

"Maaaybe."

"Telum preserve us." Mirena looked to the skies for strength.

"Garda's fires!" Jaden moaned. She did not want to be reminded of what had happened in the Etrian capital last summer.

Rhyce reached up into his hood to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Stormfather's beard!" Stann actually sounded a little happy about it, though.

"It appears as if I am without context yet again?" Alisan wondered out loud, but looking increasingly resigned about this fact.

“In that case, I will go on ahead to make the arrangements at this Silver Staff place. You can meet up with me there once you’re done with your investigations,” Mirena offered, stroking the neck of her grey charger.

“Alrighty. It’s up the main road here, then head left by the central square with the shrine along the guildhouse street until you see this big place with sunflowers at the front. At least, I always remembered them growing sunflowers during the summer,” the small Olman woman said, providing the direction.

“Thank you, Oleander. Why don’t you come along with me, Alisan? Between the two of us, we should be able to make an adequate impression on the proprietors,” the knight smiled and waved at the elf.

“I will make every attempt to assist,” Alisan said, but then her honest face turned into a frown. She had been looking across the street at the stands selling elven artwork ever since the group came to a stop where they were. “It might be for the best, as well. I am restraining myself from berating these… these traders who claim to be selling genuine elven artefacts.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to buy anything from them,” Oleander agreed. “Random twigs with feathers and beads glued on. They’re just shaking the big-city rubes for their silver.”

Rhyce tapped Oleander on her arm, nodding towards the town. Throughout the previous exchange he had been more focused on the movement of the people walking around them, especially the many children who seemed to run around unattended by their parents.

“We should go,” the archer said with that low voice of his.

“Yeah, you’re right. Meet you later at the Staff!” The redhead made a quirky half-salute before turning to lead Rhyce away into the streets of Tarad.

“I’ll look around a little, too,” Jaden said and handed over her pack and reins to Stann. She didn’t want any company for what she was planning.

Once the mystic too had disappeared across the street, glancing over her shoulder every so often to see if her friends were still watching, Stann turned back to Mirena and the rest.

"What do you think Red is planning?" He asked, frowning a little as his imagination began to paint unhappy pictures in his mind.

"Well, do you remember that thing we did in Etrana last summer? With the visiting Illume of Mon Sirdek?" Kellen replied, stroking his moustache in thought.

"Wait, are you talking about the bathhouse con? Jaden ended up blowing half the building apart." Mirena looked alarmed. She had to do a lot of explaining with the local temple after that debacle.

"Well, I’m sure we can work around him this time, don’t you?" Kellen made it seem reasonable with that calm, deep voice of his.

"Do you think it could work? With the necessary changes, of course?" Stann looked at his cousin with a similarly thoughtful expression. When they narrowed their eyes like that, the fact that they were blood kin showed very apparently.

"I am hesitant to ask what is being plotted?" Alisan wondered with a worried voice.

"Don't worry, Lemon. Just play along," Stann’s concentrated face broke into a half smile.

"Keep calling me that, and I will offer you many causes for worry, perot," the pale elf shot back without missing a beat.

"So, how do you suggest we do this?" Mirena turned to Kellen with her question.

"Bear, you and Alisan will be the Ashgelds this time. Mirena and I will take the role as the Essengars. Will you be able to handle that, Mirena?" The rune seeker said, thinking back on the ill-fated attempt to do something similar back in Etrana. It was a good plan. It had just… fallen apart due to circumstances out of their control.

"I believe so. There's nothing in the paladin code that prohibits me from acting like a spoiled wretch, and a certain amount of snootiness is even approved of in some situations,” the knight replied wryly.

"Look more down your nose at us when you say that, Rena, and you'll be spot on." Stann grinned.

Heather switched hands on the pestle. She had been grinding dried herbs for the better part of an hour now, and there was a red mark in her palm where she pushed the pestle into the mortar. The dried foxglove petals weren’t quite the fine powder she wanted them to be, yet, so she went back to work with a sigh. It was important that the powder was even, so that each dose could be weighed reliably. Making medicine for chest-pains was a tricky thing. Too little, and the customer would come back and complain. Too much, and the customer… wouldn’t come back at all.

The jingle of the doorbell gave her a much needed respite. She pulled down the scarf she had over her nose and mouth, and headed towards the bead curtain that separated the workshop from the storefront.

“Hello, honey,” she said once she saw who her customer was. It wasn’t all that rare to see one of her kind show up in Tarad, or in Heather’s store. “Anything I can help you with?”

“Uhm. Yes,” the black-haired elf woman was blushing furiously. “You see, I have this friend. No, wait. I mean…”

“Take your time, sweetie,” Heather said as calming as she could. At least the elf was speaking Trade. She hoped this wasn’t another girl looking for a love potion. “Is it an illness?”

“Ah, no, not exactly,” the customer gestured towards her stomach. Lower stomach. Heather didn’t think the girl could go any redder. “It’s a… womanly issue?”

“Are you pregnant, girl?” Heather leaned forward on her counter, giving the other woman a frank look.

“What? No! No, no-no.” The elf made frantic, protesting gestures. “It’s the other thing. Before. With the blood?”

Heather rolled her eyes and shook her head with a smile. Elves. It was hard to tell how old they were. If this one had been human, Heather would have thought her more than old enough to have become used to the monthly business. She waved the girl over, and went to a shelf where she kept her treatments for common ailments. This one was always in demand.

Something quiet came over Oleander while she and Rhyce walked the streets of Tarad, stopping at some stores to see who was managing it these days, or looking into the side streets, the hidden backbeat of Tarad. Despite how she had just disappeared one night nearly two years ago, there were a number of people who remembered her with varying degrees of fondness. Some had thought she had been killed by some gangmember she finally pushed too far, others believed it had been the law that finally had caught up with her.

With all those negative expectations of her, Oleander’s smile turned more and more forced as the day went on. Whether it was out of stubbornness, or a need to show Rhyce that she was still the queen of her city, she pushed on to the next old contact. Whenever she even hinted at how she might be interested in the Iron Ring, the group of assassins they suspected being in league with Toben and the other slavers, everyone turned her away. Nobody was going to make enemies of the assassins. Clearly Toben’s name was associated with the group at some levels, since mentioning his name made some people shifty-eyed as well.

Their break came once Oleander took a chance to visit an old friend. Delphine had eventually taken on managing a tavern of her own, a nice and quiet place called the Cat’s Moon sitting close to where the old mountain road met with the outer edges of the town.

After exchanging a fond embrace, Delphine, now with a few grey strands in her strawberry reddish-blonde hair, filled Oleander in on how she didn’t as much own the tavern as she oversaw it. Every week a couple of men came by to pick up their share, as well as a protection fee. Delphine looked clearly upset and angry as she spoke about this, clearly caught up in a web with no way out. It was from her that Oleander confirmed how Toben ran his operation from behind the front of a cheese producer here in the town, a place on the east side with the innocuous name ‘Golden Wheels’. Oleander promised that she’d look into Delphine’s situation and definitely come back and see her again while she was in Tarad.

One of the national pastimes in Olmar was horseracing. If this Toben was involved with not only the assassins, smuggling and racketeering, he would no doubt have his fingers in the gambling and betting scene as well. Following that hunch Rhyce accompanied Oleander to one of the racing stables that they had spotted on their way to the Cat’s Moon. If Toben’s enforces were taking protection money from businesses around this part, maybe the people at the stable could tell them anything that Delphine might have left out.

This turned out to be another dead end. Either the stablehands truly knew nothing, or they weren’t talking, but Oleander wasn’t going to start a fight to find out. At least, not now.

One of them did mention how he felt that the redhead looked a lot like one of his favourite riders in the Radent scene of horseracing, enough to be his little sister or something.

“What's his name? Les-whatsname, Lys-something. Anyways, fella rides like the wind. Never seen the like on horseback. Can outride the sun, that lad could," one of the tanned horsetrainers said, pushing his wide-brimmed hat back.

On their way back, the redhead saw another familiar face from across the street. She was about to hurry on when she was recognised.

"Aunty Lea!" the boy no more than eight years old called out. The child's parents looked a bit startled at the sudden outburst, and then regarded the Oleander and Rhyce with some interest, clearly wondering how their son knew these strangers.

Oleander smiled a little sadly at the boy, and shook her head a little. She and the boy exchanged a long look, before the he slowly nodded and turned back to his parents, who led him away.

"Did you know that boy, Red?" Rhyce asked with uncharacteristic curiosity.

"I was his big sister for a couple of years. I'm happy he found a home. So many of us didn't." Oleander got something haunted in her eyes for a moment, before chasing it away with a fake smile.

"Friends can offer a sense of home if you let them," the archer said as they watched the family disappear down the street.

On their way back they took a shortcut through one of the alleys. Oleander felt a tingle down her spine as all the twists and turns of the hidden routes in the Tarad hidden from the upper class. There, a window ledge she had grabbed to pull herself up to the roof. And there, the loose plank in the fence that a child or a starving girl could squeeze through. It was all starting to come back to her. In a way, Tarad had never left her, even if she had been away for a while. The old toad still sat in the back of her mind.

Halfway through the alley she looked up and saw a silhouette against the setting sun. It was familiar, but at the same time it was not. That long, black hair was caught by a breeze, just like the time before.

“Well, this takes me back,” Jaden said, looking up and around as well.

“Yeah. You know, Jay, this could actually be where it happened,” Oleander agreed, walking closer and feeling her heart beat a little faster.

“Did you know, Rhyce? This was where I first met Ollie.” Jaden brushed some hair out of her face, maybe to hide a small blush Oleander saw all too well. Her elven prince.

The difference in expectations was apparent right from the start. There was even a young man right by the entrance who opened the door when Mirena and Alisan swept into the establishment. The knight carried her head high, and seemed to project the infamous Tierin better-than-thou attitude, and managed to make each step sound like the shake of a coin-heavy purse. Alisan held a paper fan to cover her face and refused to touch any surfaces, as if it would pull her down in rank. It didn't matter that they were wearing their riding clothes; it was all in the bearing.

Neither of them gave the doorman the slightest appreciation, or even notice, but instead bore down on the clerk manning the front desk. The gangly man brushed back his thinning hair and put on a genial smile, recognising well-paying customers when he saw them.

"My ladies, welcome to the Silver Staff, the finest resort in Tarad!"

"Which isn't saying much," Mirena sniffed as she waved a finger around as if trying to point everywhere at once. "What happened to this burg? Did a giant step on it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, milady?" The clerk raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Of course you don't. Anyway, my husband and I require your best room. Something with a nice view of the water, on your top floor of course."

"Madam, this is... this is Tarad. There are no large bodies of water within days from here." The clerk looked a little confused. "And, ah, this is a single floor building. But we will prepare our finest chambers for you, of course."

"What? That is outrageous. I demand to see the owner!" Mirena made her voice climb a little towards the end.

"...I'm not sure what he will be able to do, madam," the clerk shrank back a bit.

"Fine! I shouldn't have expected anything else from such a backwater place. Also, find some manner of... lodging for our servants, a remarkably surly porter and our little maid. She can fit in a breadbox." The knight held up her hands a foot or so apart.

"Yes, of course, madam. How long will you be staying?" The man shook himself a little, but touched the quill to the inkwell and prepared to take note in the ledgers.

"That's none of your business."

"It kind of is," the clerk mumbled, but sent a couple of girls ahead to open up the finer rooms for the wealthy and unreasonable guest. "Our north suite is available at your pleasure. If you would want to refresh yourself in your chamber, we can send up water? Perhaps we can offer some chilled punch and cake afterwards?"

"Hmpf. We shall see about that!" Mirena turned sharply on her heel to follow the maids.

The clerk shook his head again, muttering something else under his breath before turning his attention to the other woman by the desk.

"Ahem. Apologies for the wait, milady. I wrongly assumed that you were in the same company as the other... lady. Welcome to the Silver Staff. How may we serve you?"

"Ta don nelima ken," Alisan spoke from behind her fan, never blinking.

"Milady? Do you speak Trade?" The clerk enunciated with a slow, clear voice.

"Lai," the elf said dismissively, showing the back of her free hand.

The clerk looked heavenwards for strength, invoking a short prayer to Melat, the god of judgement, before motioning for the elf to wait while he went off to find someone in their employ who spoke Sorunese.

When Alisan knocked on Mirena's door many minutes later, she barely made it inside before both of them dissolved into giggles.

“I felt so bad for that poor man,” Mirena confessed, dabbing a napkin to her eyes. “The worst part is, I’ve actually met people like this. I based my performance on the wife of one of my father’s Etrian trading partners.”

“It seems as if we owe the speaker for this sanctuary a measure of extra coin as an expression of our apology,” Alisan managed to say after she caught her breath from laughing.

When it was time for lunch, they took their meal in the small adjoining dining section of each suite. If they were going to masquerade according to Oleander’s plan, they would have to take care not to be seen too much together. In Tarad, certain secrets travelled far and fast.

Rhyce and Oleander had been put with Kellen and Mirena’s party, partly because of how the rune seeker and the knight had more luggage than Stann or Alisan, but also because of the sad truth that many Tierin tended to hire cheap help from Olman villages.

While they were eating, the redhead stopped cutting through her omelette to ask what was on her mind.

"Rena? What did you say to those people? When one of the maids here showed me to the room I share with Rhyce, she wouldn't stop giving me these pitying looks." Oleander didn't know whether to feel proud or ashamed of her friend. "She even gave me a quick hug, mumbling what a poor girl I was, and to stay strong."

"Why, I only - how did you put it? - 'laid down the groundwork'? There won't be any doubt in their minds that I'm a spoiled noblewoman with a princess complex." Mirena did a little toasting gesture with her glass.

"How is that any different from normal?" Oleander teased.

"Did you discover anything while you were out earlier?" The knight kept from rolling her eyes, and instead moved on to the more pressing subject.

"We dowsed the location of Toben's place, and the chant had how he's most likely the same cutter our friend at the boathouse mentioned." The redhead popped another slice of the omelette into her mouth, and continued talking while chewing. "I'll have to give it a solid skulking, make my mind up about the place."

“During the night. Fewer eyes, fewer ears,” Rhyce said with a nod.

"We also need to sit down, everyone together, and plan our next step.” Mirena tapped the table with a finger.

"We should probably make use of another locale for that," Kellen suggested with his deep, rumbling voice. "At least if we want to keep up the pretence of being separate parties.”

"Alisan?" Jaden asked, putting down her knife and fork from cutting a sausage into bite-sized chunks. Like the other part of the group they enjoyed their dinner in the dining nook of their large chamber.

Jaden, with her regrettably elvish features, looked the part of a handmaiden from the elven lands. Stann had also not voiced any objections to playing a part that required him to have two elven women as his personal entourage.

"Yes?" The elf looked up from meticulously slicing an apple into evenly sized portions.

"I've been asked to tell you by the staff how they're very sorry, but they couldn't find any 'genuine, Bul Isran, first-season tapped starblossom oil'. They're happy to provide any of the house's soaps at your convenience, however."

"Alas, a pity," the pale elf jokingly lamented.

“Don’t let the role go to your head,” Jaden reminded the other woman with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, but that season has already arrived. Jaarat enan tarmolan tama,” Alisan tittered in haughty Sorunese, striking a bit of a pose as far as sitting down by the table allowed her.

“What did she say?” Stann leaned in closer to Jaden, his plate still half full with the good, Olman beefsausages and a yellowish, spicy sauce.

“Direct translations are a bit unreliable, but basically she’s going on about how she’s the queen of the castle,” the mystic gave Alisan a laughing snort, happy that the elf was at least enjoying herself in this strange turn of events.

The next morning allowed Jaden and her friends to do some light rumour-gathering among the townspeople, many of who were all too happy to gossip if given the right incentive or sympathetic ear. While Mirena and Alisan had gone their separate ways to get props for their respective roles, Stann managed to get into a conversation with a grandmother sitting by one of the wells, and had to be rescued by his cousin before the old dear could go into details about what all her other grandchildren were up to these days. While they were trying to stay separated as much as possible, they had arranged to bump into one another around midday to make sure any new developments were passed around.

"Did you notice? A lot of women around here are named after flowers," Stann turned to walk backwards so he could follow a group of young women with his eyes. They were carrying baskets of leatherworking tools, with their hair held back with scarves.

"That's pretty traditional," Oleander said. "Olmar is mostly fields and meadows. Lots of farmland, right? It's not strange that girls end up with names of pretty flowers in places like these. Just like my name!"

"The oleander is poisonous," Rhyce added.

"What a coincidence," Stann said with exaggerated surprise.

"Shut up!" She shot back.

"I like your name, Ollie," Jaden said in support of the redhead. She couldn’t imagine the short Olman girl as anyone but Oleander.

"See? Jay's on my side!" Oleander pulled Jaden closer by the crook of her arm.

"That's because she's trying to get back in your good graces, Red." Stann laughed, shaking his head at the girl’s antics.

"He just has better taste than you, grizzly-face!" She countered, holding her chin up more than was usually necessary to look the tall Northman in the eyes.

"Actually, did we decide on a pronoun for Jaden yet?" Kellen derailed the argument with a question that had been on his mind for a while. Categorising things was very important to rune seekers.

"I'm right here, guys..." Jaden complained.

"Okay - do we call you he or she?" Stann turned to the mystic for an answer.

"He. Definitely he. I'm a man, remember?" She said. Inside, she tried to remember what her face looked like. It was becoming so very hard to do.

Stann let his eyes drop down at the obvious counter-arguments on Jaden's chest. The mystic blushed a bit at the unabashed leering, and pulled her vest tighter. It didn’t actually make things any better, especially since the bodice already kept the relevant things quite pushed upwards.

"Stop that!" Jaden demanded, stomping with a foot.

"I'm just reminding myself. Don't mind me," Stann said grin, earning him a light punch on the arm.

"On the other hand, a lot of Olman men are named after metals or stones. Two lads who helped me with my first private expedition was a pair of Olman brothers named Ferran and Kapar, and they kept talking about their uncle Dimond." Kellen continued as if the scene in front of him wasn’t taking place. His eyes were a bit unfocused, his mind looking backwards rather than at the present.

"Speaking of names, your sister’s called Lilya, right?" Oleander wondered out loud.

"Yeah?" Jaden stopped ineffectually punching Stann for the time being. The loss of bulk and strength was really annoying at times. If she manifested her spirit form, she could really teach him a lesson…

"Meaning 'lily'? And you're 'of jade'. Another Olman-style name. That's a funny coincidence," the redhead commented, waggling a finger at Stann.

"I guess. I hadn't really thought about it." The mystic crossed her arms, not really interested in etymology at the moment.

"Hey, what are we going to call you now? Jade? Maybe Jadyn, with a 'y'?" Now it was Oleander’s time to show a big grin. Were they teasing her as a tag-team act, now?

"Ugh! You’re as bad as Stann!” Jaden threw her hands in the air. “How about Jaden? It's my name. It's the only thing I was allowed to keep."

"You kept your friends," Kellen reassured, putting a huge hand on Jaden’s shoulder.

Stann’s expression turned from amused to sombre and he nodded. Like his cousin, he knew all too well what losing one’s place in the world felt like.

“Speaking of which, everyone remember to come to that little tavern we saw near the southern edge of the town. Red vouched for the keeper there, so we should be able to talk freely.” The warrior nodded down the road.

Before they split up again, taking separate routes back to the Silver Staff or heading off to continue investigating some angle to their current undertaking, Oleander stepped in front of Jaden. The mystic glanced to the sides, wondering if the redhead had one last joke she wanted to make at her expense. Instead of that, they just looked at each other for an increasingly awkward period of time.

"Hey, Jay? Do you like boys or girls now, by the way?" Oleander suddenly asked.

"What kind of question is that?" Jaden was caught off-guard, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

"A rude, straightforward one, I imagine?" The redhead seldom let those things stop her.

"Well, I can't argue with that." Jaden crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, and then grabbed her hands behind her back. She didn’t know what to do with them. She settled for fidgeting with the hems of her blouse.

"So?" Oleander leaned forward a bit, clearly not letting the matter drop.

"I... don't know. I've been a little preoccupied with myself to think too much about other people like that, more or less."

"But... you liked girls before, right?" There was a strange determination in the redhead’s raincloud grey eyes.

Talraman encouraged its youths to couple up, since those who experienced the mystic drift might eventually develop fertility problems. While it was not actively prevented, there was a clearly marked disapproval of those who stepped outside the conventional sexualities. The mountain needed its children, after all.

Towards the evening Jaden and her friends reconvened at the Cat’s Moon, the little tavern run by someone who knew Oleander from before. Delphine tactfully avoided their table unless they called for anything. When they had entered the tavern, Oleander had a brief word with the older woman, who returned a determined but grateful look.

Everyone had been busy that day. They had early on discarded the idea of a frontal assault like they had with the cult in Tier. In the golden city, Mirena had been a paladin hunting apostate magicians practically on the temple’s doorstep. Here, very far away from Telum’s main temple, her authority was significantly reduced. Even if that would not be a consideration, there was still the fact that if they turned this into official temple business, with a paladin leading an armed charge, it would scare the real perpetrators into hiding. They wanted whoever was behind this to feel safe, to stay in the open, and that meant going about things a little differently.

Their group had in essence been split into three parts: the two public sides with Mirena and Kellen in one, and Stann and Alisan in the other. Oleander would be leading Jaden and Rhyce to handle the real objective of their visit here in Tarad. While the others had been establishing their covers during the day, Jaden and her group had been surreptitiously checking out the cheesery. Oleander had even spent some time last night on the rooftops around that place to get a better feel for what they were up against. Jaden had inspected the surrounding area with her mystic’s sight, but there were no concentrations of threads of magic, or any other trace of enchantments at work. She didn’t know what Rhyce had done to keep busy during the day, but assumed it had been something involving staring grimly at some unfortunate person until they started talking.

"Let me introduce ourselves. I am Keldor Essengar, and this is my lovely, terrible life companion Renata. We're too rich to behave like reasonable people," Kellen said with an affected, overly cultured voice. Anyone could see without a doubt that he was a Northman, so the Kasman accent he was feigning sounded very much out of place.

"In a Tierin fashion, we investigated our target thoroughly. Kellen here, or I should say Keldor, has a lofty goal of cornering the elusive cheese market in Tier. He believes how introducing an unknown into the scene will give him the opportunity he needs," Mirena explained, giving some background to their roles.

"I'm a visionary," Kellen admitted, taking a gulp from his beer.

"So, we asked the chef here, as well as some other taverns, who were supplying them with cheese. Many claimed that they only bought theirs from Veren, but the truth was that the majority were instead buying the local cheese cheaply and passing it off as real Veren Sharp." The knight sniffed disdainfully. That kind of shoddy business practice would never stand in Tier. The exposure would be immediate, and the scandal would be devastating.

"Which gave us the blackmail material we needed to get an introduction with the cheesemaker this evening, as it turns out," Kellen concluded.

"I feel like such a hero right now," Oleander laughed. "Preventing a monster uprising in Carrick Field, stopping the Skinwalker of Etrana, demolishing the deathcult in Tier, and now... cheesemailing the assassins' guild in Tarad?"

"Moving along,” Stann picked up the introductions of roles. “We are the wonderful Ashgelds, wealthy investors out of Etrana. I'm Ristan, and this is my dear wife Alina."

Alisan coughed into her water, holding a napkin to her mouth while Oleander slapped her back.

"Huh. She did the precise same thing when I introduced her to someone earlier." Stann wondered out loud, but then shrugged and went back to explaining what they had been up to. "What we did wasn't that complicated, really. Alisan and I sat ourselves down by the table in the middle of the feasthall-"

"Dining lounge," Jaden corrected the winter warrior, answering the brief frown with a small shake of her head.

"-and just started talking loudly about how well our investments in the wineries in Imesh are paying off, and how it was a pity there were no similar things to spend our gold on here in Tarad."

"You were talking loudly about Coastland business practices, Alisan?" Mirena looked with curiosity at the elf.

"It was mostly Winterheart sharing his words," Alisan confessed.

"Anyway, it didn't take long for a fellow businessman to join our discussion-"

"You're not really a businessman, Bear," the mystic reminded the warrior.

"He could be in the business of bears?" Oleander suggested.

"-telling us about how Tarad in fact did have good investment opportunities." Stann pushed Jaden enough to make her bump into the redhead. "He asked what we were interested in, so I replied that I enjoyed enterprises that produced things, like wines or cheeses. According to him, we were in luck since Tarad had both a cheesery and a brewery making a name for themselves."

"That man enjoyed his voice almost as much as Winterheart does," the pale elf commented.

"Either way, he claimed he could get us a tour of the cheesery if we wanted. We took him up on his offer, of course." Stann lifted his mug of beer to show how he was done talking, feeling pretty good about himself.

"Well, that means that both of our covers have a reason to be at the cheesery this evening. We will attempt to keep the attention of as many as possible to give you three the time to get some privacy with Toben." Mirena spoke with a calm voice, even as her friends where teasing each other around her. She was a peaceful island in a stormy sea.

"You should probably rehearse your acts before going, but don't be afraid to let the dice roll. We won't know how gabby this Toben is," Oleander said with a shrug.

"How do you plan on getting in there?" The knight asked.

"Leave that to me, helmet-hair. It's not my first time sneaking into places, you know." The redhead stretched her arms above her head, and then cracked her knuckles with a satisfied sigh.

"Jaden, send us a far whisper the moment things get too far out of hand. We'll be just a few rooms away," Kellen reminded the mystic.

"Let's hope we don't have to blow the entire place up," Jaden said with a self-deprecating smile. At her friends' studied, innocent looks she added, "c'mon, I know what everyone's been thinking this entire time. This won't turn into another Etrana, I promise!"

"How did fortune forget you in Etrana?" Alisan asked Oleander, who was hiding her grin behind a hand.

"That's a story for another time, Creampuff, but it's a funny one!"

When it became time to plan their respective parts of tonight’s adventure, Oleander’s group were left with the table as the others went to use a storeroom in case they needed to act out some parts. Northmen acting things out tended to draw the wrong kind of attention even this far from upper Alband where tensions were still high.

"Alright. We're Team Sneaky,” Oleander explained, sitting at the edge of the table. “The other guys are Team Distraction. They're going to-"

"Distract everyone?"

"Shush, Jay! I'm explaining the plan here." The redhead threw a piece of bread at the mystic.

"Sorry. Go on." Jaden brushed some crumbs off her shoulder, hoping that none had fallen down into her front. She kept finding things there while undressing for bed.

"Like I was saying, their job is to keep everyone's eyes on them while we sneak into the back and shake Toben until sweets comes out." Oleander made a jostling gesture in the air.

"What, we go in there and beat everyone up?" Jaden felt confused. If that was their plan all along, why not just bring all of their friends for safety?

"There's a finesse to this, Jay. We almost beat them p. Actually beating them up would make them resent us. Almost beating them up will intimidate them! So, we go in teeth bared and shock them into spilling the shinies,” Oleander said, grinning too widely in that way that showed teeth, rather than mirth.

"So, we want to be as threatening as possible. Is magic alright?" The mystic imagined that using her Breathstealer to incapacitate the toughest-looking thug in the room would send the right kind of message.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't use it. Actually, use your battleshape and offer to torch the place! That'll make them listen," Oleander made some whooshing noises, striking out with her hands.

"It's called mani-"

"And you, Rhyce? Don't actually put any eyes out with those arrows of yours, okay?" The redhead turned her head and pointed at the archer.

Rhyce simply nodded. He would play along. He had already a good idea what to expect.

Oleander hopped off the table and began to arrange cups, cutlery and other things on the table into a rough floorplan of the cheesery. The entire building as made up of several sections connected with corridors. The main areas were the production room and the storage room, but there were also several smaller rooms that might or might not play a role in the various mysterious steps of turning milk into cheese.

"So, Team Distraction will be active on the working floor here," she pointed at an apple next to a handkerchief. Then her hand moved over to a pair of forks. "This is the passage that'll take us to the storage and any secret rooms hidden in the back. We don't have to actually pass through the front section at all, since I saw a roof shutter we can use to drop directly into the back area. Guess they have to let out the smell of fermenting milk somehow, eh?"

Jaden had an unpleasant memory of crawling around on roofs and dropping into places. She shook the feeling off and tried to pay attention. Say what you would about the presentation, Oleander actually knew what she was doing about orchestrating break-ins.

"What's this leaf here represent?" The mystic pointed at the dry leaf next to the forks.

"That's just a leaf, Jay. I don't think anyone's watered this flower in a week."

“This seems very embarrassing to me,” Alisan said from behind the hands she held to her face.

“We saw it several times when we recently visited Etrana. It’s quite popular among the wealthier echelons to have an elven concubine. Why, Gildlady Sulasha Dran had two young Seren men attending her at all time to show her wealth,” Kellen rumbled on.

“Though not wealthy enough to afford the lads some shirts,” Stann snorted.

“It’s a sad state of affairs when young elves leave Sorun to see the world, but end up in indentured servitude due to debts,” Kellen reminded his friends about Etria’s positive stance on slavery. “Of course, they’ll outlive their bond-owners and can eventually return to their homeland.”

“Be strong, Alisan. It will only be for one night,” Mirena put a comforting hand on the pale elf’s shoulder.

“And light will follow darkness,” Alisan grudgingly agreed.

“Wonderful. Now, come here again,” Stann said, waving her over. “This time, drape yourself more… expressively on my arm.”

“Fortune has truly forgotten me,” the elf lamented, but did her best impression of a vacant-eyed girl, twirling her hair around a finger.

Mirena and Kellen did their best to keep from laughing as the warrior and the elf sauntered back and forth like they owned everything they laid their eyes on. Stann even added a little cheeky swagger as if he was just about to break into a jig. It was so over the top, but that was the point.

“Do you remember your part, ‘Renata’?” The rune seeker asked the knight.

“Oh yes. I will be complaining. A lot.” Mirena had to dig pretty deep to find that spoiled little child her temple training had done such a good job of scouring from her. A part of her almost looked forward to their performance tonight.

As the night finally draped its velvet shadows over the low city at the fringe of the wildlands, the wind started to pick up a bit. The summer season in Olmar was usually warm and calm, but with autumn waiting impatiently by the gates the halcyon days turned to leaf-tumbling gusts chasing across the open steppes.

Jaden sat crouched as comfortably as she was able to on the rooftop next to her two friends, tying back her hair with a yellow ribbon. The usual leather string had been stuffed together with the rest of her remaining older clothes after one too many had commented on how strange such a rough accessory looked next to her Kasman-styled silk blouse and short fine wool jacket. In fact, added to her Marsander sailor’s trousers her outfit looked all over the place. That suited Jaden just fine, since that was what she felt like at the moment.

“Why are we on this rooftop, rather than, you know, where we need to be?” The mystic asked the leader of their small, sneaky group with a hushed tone.

Oleander had made them climb up on a building across from the Golden Wheels cheesery, where they had perched for the past several minutes in relative silence, aside from some smalltalk.

“Obviously, it’s to add some vantage. Also,” the redhead clamped a hand down on Jaden’s head and turned it towards the street below them, pointing with her free hand. “There’s that guy. He’s been walking around here for a while now, every so often.”

“Patrolling. Guard,” Rhyce said with a low voice. Maybe it was the moonlight casting his features in silver, but he didn’t look so good.

Before Jaden could ask the archer about how he was feeling, noises approached from the street leading towards the centre of the town. They crouched down lower, but could still see the two carriages clattering down the paved street. One had the look of the finest a local wagon service could offer, the other was clearly a private carriage sporting a guild mark on the doors. As the wagons came to a stop outside the cheesery, the drivers hopped off, almost racing to see who would be able to let their passengers out first.

Out of the private carriage climbed a longhaired Northman wearing white coat reaching below his knees and flat-top Etrian hat. He reached up to the carriage and helped a pale-haired elf in a gossamer dress down. She teetered a bit in her impractical shoes before wrapped her arms around his offered arm. Last out was a portly man with Tierin looks, his dark brown hair carefully slicked back and his moustache waxed to a point.

“She really does look like a creampuff,” Oleander mumbled.

Out of the other carriage stumbled a giant barely restrained by his puffy, vermillion Kasman shirt. It had small gold-thread knot decorations that, from a distance, made him look like a huge strawberry. Him leaving the carriage made it sway as if on a ship at sea. Once it had come to a rest again, a woman with long brown hair done up in an elaborate weave held with both pins and ribbons gracefully exited. She wore a strict, high-necked dress that could only be in style with strict orphanage governesses.

The doors to the cheesery opened, letting out a rectangle of light into the darkened cul-de-sac framed by large buildings. A foreman-looking person stepped out to greet both parties. By his body language alone, it was apparent that he was more than a little surprised at getting not one, but two, visits. The Tierin man who had arrived with the private wagon walked up with his arms open wide, and started a friendly conversation. Soon, both parties were allowed into the cheesery proper.

“Where did they get those outfits on such short notice?” Jaden wondered in a whisper. “Also, why did they take carriages here? It’s not even a fifteen minute walk from the Silver Staff?”

“Oh, how little you know of the world, Jay. Rich people don’t walk,” Oleander said with a smirk.

When they looked back down again, they saw motion towards the corner of the building. A pair of feet belonging to an unconscious body was dragged into the shadows of the alley. Shortly afterwards, Rhyce looked out from around that corner, and then up at the roof across the street.

“Wait, how did he even get over there?” Jaden looked to their side where the archer had been just moments before. At least, she thought he had been. It wasn’t as if Rhyce had contributed much to the conversation.

“I don’t know. He’s sneaky when it suits him,” Oleander murmured, sounding almost a little jealous. She exchanged a look with the mystic. “Well, I guess that’s our queue, though. Let’s get over there.”

They both carefully made their way to the side of the slanted rooftop where they had left the ladder. Quickly, they slid down the rungs and darted across the street into the darkened alleyway to join the archer. When they got there, they saw how Rhyce had pushed some crates up against the wall to form a rough set of stairs for them to climb. As they had discussed earlier, their plan was to sneak in through a shutter on the roof. Oleander had spied a side entrance when she had scouted the place last night, but peeking through the keyhole had shown armed guards. While there was no doubt they could likely overpower a couple of guards after breaking through the door, doing so would draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity, distraction or no distraction. This called for a measure of finesse; a touch of Oleander.

Climbing some stacked crates and barrels was an easy task. Doing it quietly, though, was another thing entirely. It took them more time than any of them would admit to make it up to the roof of the cheesery without causing a ruckus. The redhead and the archer gave the mystic a mildly reproachful glare once she finally pulled herself over the ledge.

“You’re as graceful as a drunk pig, Jay,” Oleander commented.

“I’m plenty graceful. I’m agile. But you try climbing with these stupid things on your chest,” Jaden hissed.

“I actually do have those things on my chest too, you know.”

“What I mean is, they’re… yours are…” The mystic’s face went red as she gestured at their respective bosoms.

“Yes? What about mine?” Oleander crossed her arms and went a little thin-lipped.

“Compare later. Focus on the job,” Rhyce interrupted before their voices rose too high. The archer indicated the shutters a bit further along the rooftop. Next to it sat a crow by itself, peering at them with its head turned to the side. It must have seen an insect, because it tapped its beak against the shutter planks.

Once they were gathered around their way inside, Oleander knelt down to inspect the lock. It would take some precision work to get to it, since it locks from the inside, but it was nothing the redhead hadn’t dealt with a number of times before in one way or another. She unrolled her leather bundle where she kept her favourite tools, and ran a finger across the various needle-like prongs and hooks before selecting two.

"Okay, once I get this open I want you to go down first, Rhyce. Make sure the immediate area is secure," she instructed while she wiggled her slim steel tools through the cracks in the planks.

The archer nodded, and adjusted his quiver. It was covered with a lid and kept close with a string loop around a small hook, keeping the arrows from falling out when he was climbing or running.

The redhead soon had the latch open, and the borderlander dropped down into the dark corridor below with a soft thud, rolling and drawing his bow in one smooth motion. They waited a few heartbeats. Finally, Rhyce raised an open palm into the faint light trickling down through the open shutter.

"Alright, Jay. Now you." Oleander held out her hands to help her friend down.

Jaden thankfully took her hands, and eased down through the roof access. For a moment she dangled ten feet above the floor, only kept up by Oleander's firm grip on her hands.

"How are you this heavy, Jay?" Oleander whispered.

"I'm not- Shut up!" The mystic shot back, and wriggled free.

Jaden dropped down the last distance and crouched into the landing. She noticed with some pride that she had been almost as quiet as Rhyce. Maybe she wasn't as hopelessly clumsy anymore now that she had some more experience with her new form? Perhaps it was possible to get used to all the swaying and jiggling? Or at least desensitised.

While the mystic was getting her bearings, a light thump announced that the redhead had joined them. The three of them crept down the corridor that would be going parallel to the larger halls. It was most likely used as a passage to keep out of the way of the main bustle during busy hours, and by the looks of it, an improvised storage area. The corridor was littered with stray boxes and barrels, rolls of waxed canvas and other useful things in the everyday cheesemaking process.

They carefully made their way past a couple of doors that stood slightly ajar, allowing them to quickly glance inside and make sure Toben wasn't in another room for whatever reason. So far, every door after the first had led to either storage areas for aging, or a room with a big, open oven and many shelves. Whatever this whole operation was, it seemed to genuinely produce cheese. Had they been given a false lead?

The final door led into an adjoining antechamber with the barred door Oleander had scouted earlier that day. Breaking through the door would definitely have been possible, but would have alerted everyone inside. As it was right now, only two men stood with their backs toward the corridor, playing dice on a table. There was a small keg of beer on the table, next to a number of cups. The barrel had a broken arrow embedded into the wood near one of the iron hoops. One of the men seemed frustrated by his luck, or the lack of it, and bashed the table with a fist.

Oleander exchanged a look with Rhyce and Jaden, and then tapped the archer on the arm, nodding at the two unwitting men, holding a finger to her lips. With a nod, Rhyce drew one of his knives, weighing it in his hand carefully and judging the distance between him and the men. With a satisfied nod, he drew his arm back and then whipped it forward in an overhead throw. The knife handle struck the taller of the two men in the back of his head with a dull thud, bouncing down on the ground and soon followed by the man collapsing.

Before his friend had fully registered what had happened, turning to look at why the fellow was falling over, Oleander had dashed forward like a small, red blur. She kicked the man in the back of his knee, and as soon as his balance went out, she jumped up and slammed the side of his head down into the table with a crunch that made the cups fall over and roll around in half circles.

Jaden listened intently for any sign that the brief, one-sided struggle had alerted anyone to their presence, but there were no shouts, no sounds of weapons being drawn. She gave her friends a thumbs up, and then moved towards the third door in the chamber. Opposite of the barred entrance, was a smaller door, similar to the one they had entered from the side corridor. She listened briefly, and could hear murmur on the other side, but couldn’t quite make out what was being said.

The mystic glanced at the others, and saw how Rhyce had a look of concentrating on his face. He seemed to look at the wall near the ceiling, and after a while there was a faint squeaking sound coming from the rafters. Jaden looked up, and noticed how one of the roundest rats she had ever seen was precariously perched on a beam. The rat, fearlessly obese, chittered at them for a few moments before waddling back into the shadows most likely in search for more cheese to gorge itself on.

Oleander and Jaden exchanged a shrug. It was a weird, random thing, but compared to their lives in general it didn't measure up to most things they've seen. Rhyce, however, first indicated the area beyond the door and held up both hands, showing three fingers on his right, two on his left. He nodded towards the door. Oleander readied one of her dwarven-made daggers, holding it with its heavy point down. Jaden slipped out of her jacket and tied the sleeves around her waist, leaving her back showing mostly bare skin. She adjusted the jacket to make sure she could still draw her sword without it catching on anything, and then nodded that she was ready.

”So, you can see how I am somewhat… surprised by this visit, yes, Ambrose?” The foreman nodded at a nearby worker, who came over to push the doors shut. “I knew to expect the, ah, lovely Essengars here, of course. But you and your… friends? Not so much.”

It was a very large area, the main working floor of the Golden Wheels cheesery, and even at this time of the evening it was surprisingly noisy. Wheelbarrows squeaked, barrels thumped and tools clanged.

“Certainly, but what is life but a series of events and opportunities to be had or lost? You, my friend, have an opportunity here. These fine, fine people came all the way from Etrana! Why, they’re ever so interested in your product here, and might look to invest in the business if properly impressed!” Ambrose sidled up next to the foreman and put his arm around the other man. “Listen. We’ve been friends a long time, Ruben. Just give them the show-and-tell, alright?”

“Don’t make me regret this, Ambrose,” Ruben growled under his breath just loud enough for the other to hear, but then put on a mask of polite demeanour as he turned to the guests.

While the two had been conferring, both groups of guests were looking at the operation proceeding around them. There were at least ten people doing something or other at any given time. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a genuine workspace.

“Ahem. Yes.” Ruben, the foreman, cleared his throat. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Golden Wheels cheesery – the finest producer of cheese in west Olman.”

“Happy to be here,” Stann swaggered up and shook the foreman’s hand eagerly.

“Yes, well. It’s an honour to have people from so far away. We’re delighted at the opportunity to extend our services to… Etrana, was it?” Ruben turned to look at Kellen, standing rigid in his vividly red shirt. Ruben suddenly didn’t look as sure of himself. “And, uh, Tier? Telasero? … Strom?”

“Indeed,” the rune seeker replied, unhelpfully.

“Can we just get on with it? You know I don’t like being around the plebeians, dear,” Mirena whined, holding her dress up from touching the floor.

The foreman went on explaining some of the cheesery’s background, how it was built by two men with a dream and a lot of hard work, and how it now exported a lot of its production to Radent and the surrounding villages in the east. Ruben puffed himself up, and continued by claiming that they were also the main suppliers of cheese to Talraman.

The foreman brought them along on a small tour of the place, pointing at the large casks and explaining something to his guests. Going by his body language, whatever it was must be much more exciting than anything that should be going on inside a cheesery.

While that was going on, Kellen took the opportunity to wander off and talk to a man wrapping the finished, dried and aged cheeses in wax cloth for transport. The man saw the huge rune seeker approach, and straightened up with a surprised expression. He wiped his forehead, and then his hands, on a towel he kept slung over a shoulder.

“Evening, good man. Do you think I could ask some questions about your operation here?” Kellen rumbled as he towered over the other man by more than a foot.

"Sure. I mean, there’s not much to tell.” The man scratched his head, and then gestured to the main floor. “What we make is almost as good as the better known Veren cheeses."

"Almost as good?" The Northern magician raised a bushy eyebrow.

"I'm not going to toot our own horn here. That Veren stuff is delicious. The ones we make here is alright, mind you, but it's no Veren Sharp." The man shrugged.

"May I try some?" Kellen nodded at the tray of round cheeses waiting to be wrapped.

"Sure, help yourself."

The rune seeker pulled the knife from his belt, and cut a thin wedge out of one of the smaller wheels. He popped the slide in his mouth and chewed deep in thought for a while. Kellen made a contemplative grunt once he swallowed.

"How did you like it?" The dark-haired worker put the cut cheese aside, so he wouldn’t wrap it by mistake.

"It was good, I guess. It was alright." Kellen nodded slowly. He had tasted better, but also worse.

"What did I tell you? Decent enough cheeses." The man dropped another finished wrapped wheel into a large sack.

"But no Veren Sharp," Kellen concluded.

"No sirree, it's not," the man shook his head.

Meanwhile Ambrose stood with Stann and Alisan, as well as Mirena, when the various steps of cheesemaking were explained to them in great detail. Stann appeared honestly interested in the process, even to the point of asking some follow-up questions. When Kellen made it back to them, he was greeted by Mirena complaining about how time-consuming every step was.

“Is this part really necessary? Couldn’t they skip right to the next stage? They could make more cheese that way, and our profit would increase.” The knight waved her hand in the general direction of the large wooden casks sitting to the side of the room.

“No-no, you see, it’s important to let it mature properly. You know all about maturity, don’t you, dear?” Kellen replied, patting her arm patronisingly.

"Ta saron lai en renen bina molan en nirido ken," Alisan singsang while looking with ill-concealed horror at the large vats around the work floor.

"My little snowflake says she is very impressed by your operation here," Stann translated with a big grin. He had no idea what she had said, but he was betting none of the others did either.

“Is this just a single area? I saw a couple of doors when we first entered,” Kellen asked the foreman, pretending that he didn’t hear the seams on one of his sleeves starting to tear drawn tight as it was over his thick arms.

"Ah. Well. Beyond that door are some rooms where we can treat the cheeses with heat or smoke to give it certain characteristics, and another room where we can age the cheese for extra flavour." Ruben pointed towards the far end of the open work floor. There was a slight tightening around his eyes, however.

"Did you hear, dear? They lock their cheeses away until they're of the proper age. Why didn't your father think of that?" The rune seeker said to the knight with a wide smile.

Mirena took a calming breath, and forced her hands to unclench. She knew that they were just playing roles, and that Kellen had not meant anything by that comment. Still, it had hit a little too close to home. Literally. She kept the fake smile on her lips, but there was no hiding the dangerous glint in her eyes. A worker who was carrying a small crate of wrapped cheeses did a double-take and backed away a few steps.

Ruben led them closer to the casks, waving away one of the workers who was attending them.

"Oh my! The smell! Don't you clean those big barrel-things?" Mirena waved a hand in front of her face, and then plucked a lace handkerchief from her sleeve to hold to her nose.

"Why, of course not! That's one of the secret ingredients in the whole process, ma'am!" The foreman protested.

"...horrible, disease-inducing moulds?" The knight let the kerchief drop enough to give the foreman a questioning look.

"Well. No. Wonderful cheese-generating moulds. You see, they're an integral in how the cheese becomes, well, cheese,” Ruben tapped the side of one of the large wooden barrels.

"Fascinating. Can we have a look at the something that's in the process of... cheesifying?" Kellen stroked his moustache as he leaned closer.

"Curdling, but yes. Come over here. We're just about to tap the whey out of this tub." Ruben waved the worker back, who approached with thin smile. At the foreman’s gesturing, the man pried a lid open with his knife.

Despite themselves, the group moved closer to peer into the opened barrel.

"This doesn't look like cheese,” Mirena sounded doubtful.

"No, that's cheese curd. You need to press it to remove as much water as possible. Then we take the lumps, shape them into blocks and take them to the hot room,” Ruben said, pointing over the one of the doors.

"Interesting. But how do you know if is ready for the next step?" Stann wondered out loud.

"Ah, well, you see, we use these scoops to take up a sample to inspect the quality before we drain the barrel." The man took a small ladle and dipped it into the thick, milky substance.

"May I?" Kellen shouldered past his cousin with a small noise of tearing fabric.

"Of course, sir." Ruben handed the rune seeker the ladle.

"Hmm. Indeed. And this one is almost ready?" The large Northman asked after inspecting the curd.

"Yes, yes. I would give it another couple of days to sit, though." The foreman held out his hand for the ladle, but was left standing there. He looked to either side, and then sighed a little.

"Honey, are you quite done playing with the cheese? I'm exhausted, and this place smells,” Mirena complained in a voice that went a little shrill towards the end. A part of her was surprised how much like her mother she sounded.

"We will leave when we are finished with the tour. I find this very interesting. Which is more than I can say about you." The rune seeker gave the knight a quick wink that their guide couldn't see, and then handed the ladle to Ruben.

"What? I never!" Mirena puffed herself up indignantly. "If you like the cheese so much, then you can HAVE it!"

The knight grabbed the ladle from the stunned man and threw the scoopful mess at the tall Northman. It hit him square in the chest, dribbling down in soft chunks.

"Why, you loud and ungainly woman! Is this the gratitude I get for dragging your family out of poverty?" Kellen shoved his hand into the opened tub of unfinished cheese, parts of his straining shirt ripping in the process, and tossed the handful straight at Mirena. The expression of horror on the knight's face was probably genuine, as the mess splattered across her fine gown.

Mirena gasped loudly and looked around for something else to throw. The men around them had stopped working, and just stared at the spectacle with mixed concern and amusement.

"Sirs! Madams! Please, stop what you are doing!" The foreman held his hands to his hair with a distraught expression, looking at the chaos exploding around him, calling in vain for his guests to control themselves.

"And this is for calling me a LEMON!" The elf hit the younger of the two Northmen straight in the face with a fistful of soft cheese curd.

"Live by the cheese, DIE BY THE CHEESE!" Stann yelled and grabbed a ladle of his own, hanging from one of the other nearby casks.

Rhyce had the black bow in his hands and took position next to the door. At his sign, Jaden began to pull the door open, using it as cover if someone was waiting for them. Oleander crouched down, readied to spring at anyone if the chance presented itself.

When the door opened enough, they saw five men with their weapons drawn, all running towards them. Suddenly, they veered off, heading down into an adjoining passage that had to connect with the main area of the cheesery. Jaden quickly pushed the door shut, and turned to her friends.

“What was that?” She asked.

“Not sure. Maybe the distraction is working better than we thought?” Oleander offered hesitantly.

“An opening. Move,” Rhyce relaxed his grip on the bowstring and nodded at the door.

When they opened it again, the corridor was empty. A quick glance to the side when they hurried across showed a slightly ajar door at the end of the other passage, letting in the sound of some kind of struggle.

“Should we go help them?” Jaden wondered, pointing towards where their friends were likely fighting against a dozen armed men by now.

“Got our mission. Let’s finish it.” Rhyce shook his head, but kept his attention towards the side passage in case the thugs would return that way.

At the end of this corridor was a door much like the one they had come through from the guardroom. The archer got an intense look once more, and then held up a hand with four fingers raised. Jaden took another bracing breath, and they repeated their earlier positioning.

As the door swung open, they saw a spacious room that must have been used as a workshop before the Iron Ring moved in. The walls still had racks with woodworking tools, and the floor was strewn with sawdust. But instead of workbenches were tables with papers, maps and loose coin spread out. There were four men in various stages of readiness around the room, as well. The one sitting on a simple chair at the other side of the room looked older, but somehow harder than the rest. He was wearing a leather jerkin and a rider’s trousers, his greying hair hanging down enough to give him the look of a shaggy dog. The other men had knives and larger blades hanging from their belts. Something about their stance made Jaden think of soldiers or mercenaries. Men who had seen blood and death.

Rhyce’s hands became a blur, drawing and firing quicker than the untrained eye could follow. The first arrow nicked the hand of the closest man, making him drop his strange sword even as he was drawing it. The blade had several notches along its back, made to catch and break the opponent’s weapon. The next two arrows went through the man’s wide trousers, pinning his clothes to the ground, but not without drawing some blood in the process by the look on the man’s face.

Jaden began to draw an imaginary line through another of the men, who had sickle-like knives readied. Before she could call upon her breathstealer’s pact, however, another arrow whizzed past her shoulder, clipping the man in the arm and made him spin around. A second shot struck the outside of the wrist, and his knives clattered to the floor.

Oleander kicked sawdust in the taller one's eyes, grabbing on to his neckerchief and swung herself up on his shoulders just like mounting a horse. When he reached up with an arm to fling her off, she twisted it with the elbow against her thigh until it threatened to break. Locking that arm against her body, she held the edge of one of her many knives against his neck.

"Shave and a throat-cut, guv?" Oleander grinned and pressed the knife a little against the skin to make her point.

The man squirmed for a few seconds more until he slumped a little and shook his head very carefully. There was a clanging noise as his own swordbreaker hit the floor, next to his friends’ blades.

While the one Oleander was sitting on was under control, the other two bodyguards began to reach for more knives even as they kicked over the tables as cover against the archer. The one Rhyce had pinned simply tore through his trousers, leaving large shreds still stuck to the floor.

For a moment, everything seemed to slow down for Jaden. It was as if she could see how this fight would end. Bodies on the ground, decorated with arrows. As long as these men thought they could win, they would fight to the death. There needed to be a show of uncompromising strength. Strength in all things, strength above all things. At this point, what more could the spirit do to her? There was little else to lose.

“Alright. You win,” the mystic whispered, and allowed the force inside her to be free.

We don’t have to fight

Jaden let her human form disappear within the fiery embrace of her spirit. Where had been a blackhaired elfin woman, the next heartbeat was a redskinned demon with her wings spread wide and the ebony tresses parted by curved horns. Only the golden eyes remained the same. The fire inside of her could not be contained, and motes of the nether flames danced around her like fireflies. The mystic in her fully manifested form turned those golden eyes toward the leader of the Iron Ring, and pointed at his heart with a crimson finger.

"Stand down, or be destroyed." It was the only warning issued by the protectors of the mountain before they engaged with the enemy. If ignored, they would not hesitate to kill. Jaden was no protector. In another life she might have been, but lies had never come as easy to her as now.

She could see the fire reflected in their eyes. There was fear there, as well. Jaden hoped she would never get used to seeing that look. The middle-aged man brushed his matted, grey hair back from his face, backed up against the wall.

"Woah! Hold your horses!" He waved toward the three who had dismantled his personal guard. "I'm not calling for any trouble with you mystics. Nothing is worth all that grief, not again."

"You have been dealing with someone you shouldn't have, Toben of Tarad," Jaden said as she walked closer to the man, her palms each balancing a small ball of flame. The tail moved sinuously behind her, like that of a prowling tiger. "But the enemy of our enemy could be a friend. Do you wish to be our friend, Toben?"

"This quickly turned into a very literal 'demon you know, demon you don't' situation. Or maybe rock and a hard place." The older man seemed to weigh his options for a little while. "I'm pretty certain those people will see me buried if I talk."

"Do you expect anything less from the mountain?" The mystic held out the flame on her palm, like offering a gift.

"No, ma'am. I'm just thinking about which way would be the worst to go." Toben couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the fire.

"I can have protectors here before word of your actions reaches the ears of our enemy. Or you could seek refuge at the doors of the citadel itself," Jaden felt some of the fire creep into her voice. The fire made everything sound so reasonable. The fire made everyone listen.

"Rotting ravens. Well, alright. They will probably hear about you having been here anyway, so no matter what I do, my fields are scorched." Toben wiped his face with a kerchief from his sleeve. It came away a little greasy, but left him looking somewhat cleaner. "Alright. Alright, already. My chips are with you guys."

"You have chosen wisely, Toben." The mystic stopped in front of the man, who held his calm remarkably well under the circumstances. She could hear the clatter of the tables as Toben’s guards ducked to the sides. Jaden let the flames die down and assumed a nonthreatening stance with her wings folded back. "Tell us about your previous masters."

"I wouldn't have called them that. Business partners. Controlling, senior business partners. Kuros' hand, were they ever controlling." He edged away from where he had been pressing himself against the wall, pulled the chair upright and practically fell down into it. Jaden merely followed him with her eyes. "Never saw too many of them in person. They always used messengers except the first few times, to 'nurture the relationship', as they called it."

"Tell us about the middleman," Jaden demanded.

"Elf. Real elf, not like you - no offence," Toben added.

"No, thank you. Go on." The mystic felt vindicated.

"He had dark hair, a little bit like you, but kept it very long. All the way down his back. Pale as a moonlight lily, though. Spoke slowly. He was picking his words like a harvest feast judge selecting the best apple pie." Toben had that unfocused look in his eyes, when a person thinks back at something in the past.

"Did he give you a name?" Jaden followed up.

"Sure. He went by Valshon. Didn't know if you wanted it, since names are easier to change than your coat. He kept rubbing his left hand, though, like there was something wrong with it." Toben mimicked the gesture, running his hand over the other.

"Anything else?" The mystic resisted the urge to extend her wings. It felt very good to let them stretch out completely, but the room was just barely wide enough to allow that.

"Only that they are very keen on increasing the songwood market in the coastlands, and even to Marsantias. Really, really keen." Toben rubbed his grizzled cheek with an uncertain look in his eyes. "As in, 'willing to lower their prices' keen."

"Their goal isn't to make money, but to unload their stock on as wide a market as possible?" Jaden looked at her friends for any thoughts.

"That sounds... sinister," Oleander said, and stopped flipping her knife end over end.

"Who sends the deliveries to you?" The mystic turned back to the leader of the gang.

"It's a logging group who works out of the wildlands. They're Olman, but they've spoken about the elves pulling the strings. You'll find their camp at the edge of the forbidden area. They must have some sort of deal with the wildwardens." Toben shrugged a little, indicating that he neither knew, nor cared, about that part of the arrangement.

"Your assistance have been noted, Toben of Tarad," she said, starting to turn away to leave the room.

"So, you'll send some of your heavies to make sure those pointy-eared freaks don't do anything to me? Right?" Toben called after her.

"Of course," Jaden lied.

The door opened enough for the four of them to be shoved outside. The man was breathing heavily, with a lapel of his shirt torn and his hair in disarray. Despite this, he tried to remain dignified as he spoke to them.

"We will find our sponsors somewhere else. Thank you. Do NOT return to us, please," Ruben flashed a still smile that was just showing his teeth. With that, he slammed the door shut. They could even hear the bar thumping down on the other side, as an afterthought.

Stann wiped some of the cheese curd out of his ear as he looked at his cousin and the two women.

"So... you think we bought them enough time?"

"I know not of what you speak, Winterheart," Alisan dabbed her décolletage with a handkerchief, trying to get the bigger chunks out of the top of her dress.

"You know, Rhyce's team? The real reason we came here this evening?" Stann reminded the elf.

"I... seem to have forgotten that in the midst of our battle," she admitted.

"You mean, our dairying-do?" The warrior paused and looked expectantly at the others, smiling widely.

Kellen covered his face with a hand at the pun, his chest barely covered in the torn remains of the proud, red shirt. It had been woefully small for a man of his remarkable size, but the only one they had been able to find on short notice.

"Kellen? Can you tell if they are still inside?" Mirena managed to look like she wasn't dripping whey and bits of cheese.

The rune seeker fished up one of the smooth stones from his many belt-pouches and grasped it in a huge hand. His face hardened in concentration for a moment, before he began slowly turning clockwise. Eventually, he came to a stop facing away from the cheesery.

"They're northeast of us, close enough to still be within sight the town, but more than a half mile away, moving south at a slow pace. Most likely they're taking a scenic route back to the Staff in case they are followed," Kellen theorised as he put the runestone away.

"Good. Now, it is summer and we're in Olmar, covered in cheese. We will soon be utterly foul-smelling if we don't go get cleaned up." Mirena set off at a brisk pace, the others quickly joining her.

Minutes later, the door opened once more, and Ambrose the merchant was pushed out into the street. He looked as if he had been the recipient of many harsh words. The foreman Ruben stood in the lit doorway and glared at him.

“Ambrose. We are no longer friends. Goodnight!”

Later, all of them sat or stood around the sitting room table in Stann and Alisan’s suite, clearly intended for fewer than seven people. Jaden looked with curiosity at those who had been on the distraction team. They were all newly bathed, and in fresh clothes, and seemed to avoid looking at each other.

“I sent you a far whisper as soon as we left the place. Didn’t it reach you?” Jaden asked the rune seeker.

“It probably did, but some of the… uh… distraction strategies were louder than others. I’m sorry Jaden, but I must’ve missed it,” Kellen confessed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You must have kept them very distracted. We had no problem getting into the back and shaking down Toben. Most of his assassins weren’t even there. Good plan switching back to your old clothes. It might make you less recognisable," Oleander said, poking Stann’s shoulder.

"Actually, we had to change. Our other outfits were... impaired.” Mirena looked uncomfortable, brushing back some still-wet strands of hair.

"This is where I'm going to ask what you actually did to distract them." The redhead leaned forward across the table on her elbows, resting her chin on her hands.

"We staged a food-fight," the knight admitted.

"..." Jaden had no words.

"We're so heroic," Oleander deadpanned without blinking.

"So." Stann wiggled a finger inside his ear. He could still feel something stuck in there. "Was this whole song and dance worth it?"

"Definitely. Toben was clearly involved with providing transport as well as getting rid of anyone too curious about the whole affair." Jaden remembered the body buried behind the Cartel’s boathouse. Toben’s people were efficient and ruthless.

"What, like us?" Stann let his hand fall down to his belt. It was a subconscious gesture, checking the sword.

"He would likely try, sure, if he wasn't convinced we're agents of the mountain. I may have led him to believe that we're a group of Lacunai enforcers,” Jaden allowed herself a small smirk. It felt strangely rewarding to manipulate people like that.

"Jay was very impressive," Oleander added, and then made her voice sound all gruff. "'I will destroy you!'"

"I didn't say-" Jaden protested.

"We also got a description and a name of Toben's main contact. A male dark elf named Valshon, but that might have been a cover. Toben said that the elf's left hand was strange, somehow." Ollie held up the hand in question and wiggled it around.

"Val shon? That appears as ‘blood gold’. Bloodmoney. I offer that this name is a false one," Alisan furrowed her brow as she spoke, clearly not liking the connotations of the name.

"Well, it's something, at least. If this is the same elf that the woman in Carrick Field saw, we shouldn't have too much trouble finding a dark elf librarian with an iffy hand who makes a habit of traveling," Stann said, leaning back in his chair.

"Does this sound like someone you know, Alisan?" Mirena turned to the elf with her question.

"No, it seems as if this one is a stranger to me as well. But as you say, not many blossoms share these petals. His face would not be one lost among countless stars." Alisan nodded slowly. There couldn’t be many that fitted that description.

"Either way, Toben and his gang won't likely be doing any more business with this Valshon person and whoever works for him. Toben's convinced that the elves are coming after him now that he ratted them out,” Oleander said and tapped the table with a finger to emphasise her words.

"Well, that's one less string attached to this mess. The next logical step is to follow the leads back to Ral Sona. Once we have our hands on Valshon, we should be able to get some real answers." Kellen was leaning against the wall to allow other people to sit instead.

"The hand that moves the pieces still bows to the head." Rhyce waited to speak until the rune seeker was finished talking. Even with his quiet voice, everyone could hear him just fine.

"You think Valshon is just another pawn?" Mirena asked the archer.

"There are larger forces at work," Rhyce said ominously.

"O-kaay," Stann said after they had sat in silence for a little while. "From our side of things, we didn't learn much new. Aside from how to make really average cheese."

"I seem to have seen deeper roots than that. I learned many things during our dance, Winterheart. You never spoke of your sisters before." Alisan glanced sideways at the winter warrior.

"How did you know I have sisters?" Stann blinked in surprise. He was pretty sure he hadn’t mentioned any of his kin to the elf.

"You fight a woman like you do," Alison said, as if that explained everything.

"That doesn't make any sense at all." The younger of the Northmen scrunched his face up in confusion.

Jaden remembered the conversation she had overhead during their voyage up the Odar. The elven method of understanding someone by watching them move was fascinating. There was nothing like it among the Lacunai.
Understanding was not necessary; there was only obedience. Wisdom was knowing what the will of the mountain was, not why it demanded what it did. Instead of encouraging movement, the Lacunai practiced meditation. Become as the mountain, still and clear. Rise above the clouds of doubt and empty questions.

Had the Lacunai way worked for Jaden? She had tried meditation. She had tried to reach that focus the teachers had spoken about, but it hadn't been her way. Jaden realised that she felt most at harmony when she acted. That was when she could leave her doubts behind. There had been clarity during the fight with the demon of Redwall. There had been purpose when she faced off against the cultists in Tier. Could this way of understanding be the key, where the teachings of the mountain had only offered another wall?

"We could sneak away during the night?" Stann suggested. Jaden must have missed a portion of the conversation, because she didn't know what they were talking about.

"Wouldn't it look suspicious if both parties checked out at the same time?" Kellen countered.

"Not if we wander off one by one without our traveling gear. I can stay behind, gather up our belongings and meet you by the stables," Stann offered.

"Stann Winterheart, you are NOT throwing any bags out of the windows," Mirena said with a firm voice.

"It'd still look strange come morning. We might as well enjoy these nice beds and head out early. Stann's group can head out at first light along the Radent road, and then swing around up over town and meet us closer to the border?" Kellen had a faraway look, as if he was imagining a map of Olmar.

"Of course you volunteer us for the early group, ugly cousin," Stann grumbled.

"It's because the Ashgeld cover is based in Etrana. It would be logical for you to take an eastbound road. Doing so, you'll need the extra time to be able to catch up with the rest of us," Kellen explained, crossing his arms.

"Since when did logic dictate our actions?" Oleander chimed in.

"Then my and Kellen's group will saddle up about an hour after sunrise and ride slowly until we're together once again," Mirena latched on to the half-formed plan before her less organised friends could demolish it.

"Is all this actually necessary, or are we just being overly paranoid?" Jaden wondered. She was pretty sure she had Toben and those Iron Ring knifemen cowed. There was something nice about that.

"A little caution is a good thing," Mirena reminded everyone, not just the mystic.

"Also, just because you can't see them, doesn't mean they're not watching you!" Oleander added.

Before Mirena left Stann and Alisan’s suite, she stopped by the elf and put a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

“I apologise for spilling a pail of whey over your dress, Alisan,” the knight said with a small laugh and a shake of her head. This evening would not be soon forgotten. “I meant to wash the smile off Kellen’s face. I suspect he was using some rune to deflect a number of my attacks.”

“Your words are embraced and returned in spirit. It was a truly strange series of circumstances.” Alisan still had a bit of a lingering shocked look.

"At least we got the two of them to bathe. That's an upside." Mirena allowed herself a small wistful sigh, and added, "but I'm not sure those stains will ever wash clean. That gown seems destined for dirt. Mud, blood, cheese."

"It did present you most favourably," the elf said, nodding slowly.

"I feel that I should also apologise for dragging you into our strange adventure, Alisan."

"It seems as if I chose this path. Had one asked me this morning if I envisioned myself being slathered with cheese, I would most likely have called them mad, but the artist in me can appreciate your talent for... improvisation." She looked sideways at the men standing a bit further away. "Also, parts of it were cathartic."

"May I ask you a question?" Mirena wondered.

"The path is open."

"You say 'seems' a lot. You have a noticeable accent, so I'm wondering if it's you being unaccustomed to Midland Trade, or if it is for some other reason?" The knight only had rudimentary experience with the elven language, so she could appreciate how hard it must be for someone of that culture to learn Trade.

"Oh! I had not noticed. The use of absolutes is considered somewhat harsh as shaped through Serecean. We often speak of opinions or possibilities instead." The pale elf smiled slightly impishly. "It seems as if I have many things to learn, yet."

"We're glad to have you with us, Alisan."

Do you remember running?

The walls of the corridor loomed above her as she ran, her footsteps echoing too loudly. The carvings along either side seemed to snarl and twist in the corner of her eyes; living, accusing things. She didn't know why she was running, but she knew that if she stopped they would find her. So she kept running, with the white cloth of her scant dress whipping behind her.

The door at the end of the hallway opened up into a wide balcony overlooking a grey sea of clouds. It was so familiar, somehow, but at the same time seemed so wrong. She could hear her heartbeat thunder in her ears, and her breath joined the rest of the steaming clouds. Was it cold?

She looked down at her hand. It was clutching three green gemstones, cut into prisms. They seemed to glow with an inner fire, but surely that was a trick of the strange light. She knew they were important. She knew she had to keep running.

A feeling more than anything she could hear warned her that her time was running out. She had to keep moving. She had to leave. Leaning over the balcony, she saw only a short drop ending with the roiling clouds, breaking against the outer walls like misty waves. Was there anything waiting below? Was there ground, or just endless clouds?

Her hands moved by a will other than her own. Slim fingers held up one of the prisms in the air. Upon releasing it, it still hung suspended by thin, green energy filaments connecting it back to her hand.
That inner light began to pulse brightly, like a tiny twinkling star. Or a heartbeat. Cast in that flickerlight her hands moved once more, weaving those energy strands into an otherworldly, floating arch. A portal.

The light of the first prism dimmed, almost died away entirely, as the portal drank its power. A window had opened; a door into another world, with different clouds. It was way out. She stepped through, and spread her wings.

Remember

Jaden awoke with her heart beating quickly. The bed sheets were soaked with sweat, and she was tangled up in the blanket. She pushed the matted mess of her black hair out of her face and took several calming breaths. Why was she so upset? Had it been a bad dream again? She tried to remember, but could only think of clouds for some reason. At least it hadn't been those dreams about fire again. She had dreamt about that all too often lately.

With a groan, the mystic pushed herself up enough that she could peer out through the small window. For a moment, she panicked, thinking that she had overslept. It looked like daytime outside, but strangely devoid of people. Then, between the blink of her eyes, the sky was dark again with predawn half-light beginning to touch the horizon. She blinked several more times, and rubbed her eyes. The world remained in the expected dark hues.

Unwinding the blanket from around her waist and legs, she climbed to her feet and pulled the tunic over her head. Mirena had pointed out several flattering nightdresses during their visit at the seamstresses in Farcrest, but Jaden had put her foot down firmly. Instead, she had demoted her old training tunic to a new role. Large as it was, comparatively speaking, it still fit very strangely. the neck tended to slip over a shoulder and it was tight around the chest and hips while very roomy at the waist. Even if it was long enough to reach down mid-thighs, it always seemed to hitch up as she tossed and turned while sleeping. Still, it was her tunic. It still smelled like her old self. His old self. She held up the tunic to her face and remembered all the hours spent on the courtyard in the cold mountain air, practicing forms, striking the target. A lifetime ago.

With reluctance she threw it aside and slipped on the strange apron blouse, tying it behind her back and then reaching for the shoulderless bodice. It was strange the things one could get used to, she thought, as she fitted the supporting garment around her waist and pulled it up until it cradled her bosom.

Once Jaden was fully dressed, adding her short and light summer jacket as well as the loose-fitting leggings, she left her small servant's room and headed to where Stann and Alisan were uneasily sharing a suite. Apparently, the Northman had taken to sleeping on the carpet by the sitting area while the elf had pulled the thin curtains on the large canopy bed. It was an arrangement that apparently worked for them, if only just. The mystic knocked on the door and then slipped inside, not wanting any early-rising maid to notice her and ask questions.

Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness and she easily spotted the large man snoozing next to a small couch. Kellen could probably use it as an armchair, while Mirena and Oleander would be able to share it as long as they didn't mind rubbing shoulders.

For once, Stann wasn't snoring. He was sleeping on his stomach with his head turned to the side, his wheat-blonde hair spread out in an unruly fashion. Jaden couldn't help but sneak closer, and knelt down next to the sleeping warrior. There was something oddly... gentle about his dreaming face. Stann did everything wholeheartedly, and often very loudly. This wasn't the first time Jaden had seen him asleep. They had shared rooms many times before, or slept closely together by a campfire, but she had never really looked at him like this.

Jaden had a sudden impulse, and reached out to brush some of that hair out of the Northman's face. It was a good face. A strong, honest face. A few nicks and scars, souvenirs of adventures and signs of his seemingly endless bravery.

"Stann?" She whispered, running a thumb along his cheek.

Stann turned his head a little and made a low noise, slowly waking up. Once he opened those sleepy, blue eyes, they remained unfocused for a moment before they saw Jaden. He blinked and rolled over on his side.

"Huh. I could get used to waking up like this," he said in a hushed voice, and then yawned like a big bear. "What time is it?"

"Just before dawn. We should get ready." Jaden stood back up.

"Yeah, okay. Give me a moment." Stann sat up, his blanket falling off to show that he wasn't planning on changing his sleeping habits just because there was a woman in the room.

"Garda's fires, Stann! Really? Put some trousers on!" Jaden hissed, covering her eyes with a hand.

"I'll make you a deal. I'll do that, if you go wake Ali," the warrior jerked a thumb over at the big bed.

"Deal!" Jaden stood up and all but ran over to where the elf was sleeping.

When she got closer, she could clearly see movement behind the curtains.

"Ali? Are you awake?" The mystic called out to the figure on the other side.

«I prepared myself to rouse early,» Alisan replied in soft Serecean

«Then why are you still in bed?» Jaden wondered. It even looked like the elven woman was dressed already. She had apparently brought her pack into the side of the bed she wasn’t using.

«It seems as if someone prefer to rest clad only their own confidence. I decided to seek shelter until someone presents themselves more appropriately.»

«Good call. He's becoming presentable as we speak.» Jaden dared a quick look over her shoulder, enough to see that Stann was tightening the belt around his trousers.

«While I doubt that, I can hear him dressing, at least.» Alisan snorted a little.

It was well on its way to noon before Jaden, Stann and Alisan had caught up with Mirena and the rest some distance west of the town. Their stomachs were making complaining noises, and as soon as they were all together once more, Stann brought out the large iron pot so they could get some porridge cooking.

There was little smalltalk during the meal, and it wasn’t until after they started to pack their camping gear away that Oleander turned to where Jaden had been sitting. There was something she needed to say. Coming back to Tarad had only made it so much clearer to her.

"Where did Jay go?" The redhead looked around, but couldn't see the black-haired mystic anywhere.

"He headed towards the hills to the east, saying something about how you should be able to see the southern mountain range on a clear day from there." Kellen pointed straight over her head without having to raise his arm much.

Oleander looked towards the southwest, but the forest stretched out and hid anything else from view.

Harmony. What was that, anyway? When thought and form were as one. When feelings and reality coincided. When mystic and spirit moved in unison.

Jaden held out a hand and looked at it, backlit against the sunlit sky. It was slimmer than before, the hand that she remembered while growing up. Years of training with the sword had earned the beginnings of callouses, but where had once been those rough parts was now only smooth skin. She moved her arm across the heavens, as if to push the clouds away. Harmony in motion, harmony in emotion.

Don't fight me

Jaden closed her eyes and tried to feel… something. It was said that the greatest and most powerful mystics were those who had attained a synthesis with their spirits. An apotheosis of magic and flesh. These legendary magicians were regarded with awe among the Lacunai. Every child of the mountain was taught their names. It was an ideal to aspire to. The mountain only demanded your best.

Jaden let herself stop and just reach out with her senses across the swaying fields and hills, rich with grass and painted with flowers. The wind made it seem like a gentle dance. What was dance, if not an expression of emotion? A soundless song. She opened her eyes and watched the song of the world in all its silent majesty.

A journey and a dance both begin with a single step.

Jaden breathed in, and let her body sing.

It was the strangest feeling, this heightened awareness of the world around her, and her own movements. The air parted around her like water in the stream, like a river in the sky, as each step brought her closer to where she needed to be. It felt so close, like the divide was barely a world apart. It was like chasing an afterimage, just out of touch, but always within reach.

"Are you dancing?" A voice reached Jaden’s ears, making her open her eyes once again to see Oleander watching her from a short distance. The redhead had a strange expression, as if she didn’t know whether to be amused or amazed.

Yes

"No," Jaden replied, lowering her arms to her sides.

"Then... what are you doing?" The redhead hugged herself a bit. It wasn’t cold, with the summer sun kissing the fields around them.

"I'm trying to find something." Jaden wasn’t sure what. There were so many things she didn’t feel like she could put in words.

But we're not there yet

"What are you looking for?" Oleander stepped a little closer.

"Harmony."

Harmony

They stood on the small hill for a while, surrounded only by the endless green steppes and the light of the sun. The breeze pushed around them, almost as if it was urging them on.

"Jay? I'm sorry for how I've been treating you." Oleander bit her lip a little, first looking down, then back up to meet Jaden’s eyes.

"That's okay. You've been dealing with a lot, too," Jaden suddenly felt a little self-conscious, and rubbed an arm.

"It's just... I've..." The redhead struggled with the words.

"I understand, Ollie. It's okay, really. I was a bit upset back in Tier, but, I don't know... coming back to Carrick Field, and Tarad - especially Tarad - it felt like-" The mystic trailed off.

"-like coming back full circle?" Oleander completed the sentence.

"Yeah."

"I guess we needed that. I guess... all this running around, fighting monsters and adventuring, it was easy to forget how it had all begun? When it had all just been for fun." Oleander clasped her hands behind her back, swinging a little from side to side.

"It was never just about fun for me, Ollie,” Jaden reminded her about why she had left the mountain in the first place.

"I suppose." Oleander sighed, but the small smile never left her lips.

Jaden sat down on the grass, first folding her legs to the side, then pausing and pointedly sitting cross-legged instead. She patted the fresh green next to her, looking up at the redhead.

"Come here, Ollie. Let's just be for a little while, okay?"

Oleander's slight smile turned into a full grin as she plopped down next to the mystic, bumping shoulders with her friend a bit.

"You goofball. Did you really come all the way out here to dance and look at the clouds?" The redhead leaned in on Jaden, looking up at whatever she was seeing in the sky.

"I like clouds. Back home, there was so much sky all around. It seemed like... on a clear day, everything was just blue." Jaden let herself fall backwards into the grass, her hair splashing out around her like an inkblot on a green page. "Like this. Just the sky and the sun. But clouds made it seem like the sky was close enough to touch."

Oleander lay down next to her mystic friend, their fingers almost brushing. Jaden was silent for a while, just watching the sky. Oleander wanted to ask so many things, but she knew she had to be patient, for Jay's sake.

"After Redwall, after all of that mess," the golden-eyed mystic began. "I tried to imagine if I could be a... a girl. A woman. To live as one, I mean."

"That week was such a blur for me. Between the demon and the curse, I was only half sure what was real or not." Oleander didn’t want to remember the dreams she had during that time. They made her sick, just thinking about them.

"That's a familiar feeling," Jaden sighed. "The thing is, for a while there, I could. If only for a little bit, I could see my whole life stretch out before me like a... an immense painting. It was as if I had a glimpse of how my life would be different now. Now that I'm like this."

"I don't know much about this wizarding business, Jay. Did you really see the future?" Oleander pushed herself up with an elbow, turning to face Jaden.

Jaden shook her head.

"There's no way to see the future, Ollie. Master Vis-, uh, one of my old teachers once told me how there wasn't even any such thing as time. It's just something we talk about to give us a point of reference. In more ways than one, the future simply does not exist." Jaden made an abstract gesture with a hand, that really didn’t make things any clearer.

"So, it was all a dream, then?" The red-haired woman tilted her head a bit.

"I guess so."

"You know, Jay?" Oleander looked out the meadow.

"What?" Jaden turned a little so she could see the redhead easier.

"I believe in the future." There was something rebellious in the way Oleander was staring at the world.

Jaden didn’t know what to make of that, if anything. Instead, they went back to lying in the grass and watching the sky. At some point, they had to get up and get back to the others, but something made them stay for a little while longer.

"I guess it's nice to take a look at the sky, sometimes." Oleander said after a while, breaking the silence. With her other hand, the one that wasn't almost touching Jay's, she pointed up at the heavens.
"Those clouds really do look like they're just out of reach."

"I know what you mean. Up here on the hill, with no houses in the way, it's like I could reach from one horizon to the other," Jaden stretched out an arm in a sweeping gesture across the heavens. Just as her hand reached the apex it bumped into Oleander's. For a moment, their hands were entwined. Just two hands in that endless blue. Then the moment passed, and each withdrew their hands quickly.

"Jay..."

"I'm sorry, Ollie."

"No, it's just... I need to tell you something." Oleander rolled over on her side so she could watch Jaden. "Ever since... actually, I don't remember when I first realised it. I always thought you were good looking, and-"

"Ollie, you don't have to-" Jaden started to protest.

"Let me say this, Jay. I need to say this. When we sat together in the harbour, and I fell into your arms, I really wanted to tell you. I wanted to say it for a long time, but there just wasn't a good time for it." The struggle inside Oleander was all too apparent on her face.

"And then all this happened," Jaden motioned at her body.

"I guess it had already happened; only I didn't know it yet, huh?"

"Yeah, it was all pretty much done by then." The changes had begun the moment the mystic had joined with the spirit, but each manifestation had only sped the process up that much more.

"I don't know what I feel now, Jay. I don't know if I can feel the same way as before." Oleander looked so sad.

"Because I'm a... because I look like a girl now?" Jaden said. It wasn’t really a question. It was just a statement on how it was at this point.

"Yeah. I like you, Jay. I really, really do. But it's not the same." The redhead clenched her hands.

"I'm not a boy anymore." It felt like Jaden’s mouth was betraying her, by allowing those to be said.

"I hate this," Oleander teared up, grabbing Jaden's hand again. "I hate looking at you and remembering how good it felt to be in your arms."

"I'm so sorry, Ollie."

"It's not your fault. I don't hate you." She squeezed her eyes shut and moved a little closer, enough to rest her head on Jaden's shoulder. The black-haired mystic was really warm. "Maybe in time I can... I'll feel differently."

"It's okay. I don't blame you." Jaden put an arm around the redhead's shoulders, feeling her tense up just a little before relaxing again. "I have no idea what my heart wants either, right now."

"Do you still... like me?" Oleander mumbled, sounding so vulnerable.

"I always liked you, Ollie. Even when you were annoying or stubborn, or just stupidly heavy." Jaden felt how Oleander was shaking a little with quiet laughter. "I have no idea if I'm drawn to men, women or both. I've seen some who I liked looking at, some I thought were beautiful, but it didn't feel the same as when I was ogling someone as a boy."

"Well, you won't have any trouble finding someone when you make up your mind," Oleander said as she looked down across her friend's body. "I mean, I can't actually see your feet from here."

“Shut up,” Jaden said with a smile.

“Can YOU see your feet?” Oleander countered.

"They're not that big! Rena said we're about the same size."

Oleander looked up again with her chin resting on Jaden's shoulder, their eyes only a few inches apart.

"Well, first, helmet-hair is pretty 'blessed' as well. You know how she looks in her laced-up dresses! Second, either she was lying to you, or you've grown since she made that statement. If you tried wearing one of her dresses now, you'd be hauled off by the guard for exposing yourself." Oleander moved her fingers through the air in a walking gesture.

"Not everyone's into big chests, Ollie." Jaden said, very aware of the redhead so close against her. Oleander was a slim girl. Together with her size, she was often mistaken for a younger woman than she really was. Since her lifestyle kept her amazingly fit, she didn't have a lot of the plump curves a woman might grow into either, but what she lacked on her chest she made up for with naturally wide hips and a well-toned behind. Something her tight leggings showed off more often than not.

With a suddenly determined expression, Oleander drew herself up to face Jaden directly.

"Let's kiss, Jay,” she said.

"Uh..."

"I need to find out if-" Oleander began.

"Okay." Jaden quickly agreed.

The redhead moved closer to Jaden's lips, close enough that they could feel each other's breath. She felt their bodies press against one another, the softness and the warmth of the woman underneath her. The push of the bosom, the silky fabric of the blouse, the heat from underneath the skin.

Oleander's grey eyes met the rich, golden eyes half closed. Jaden's lips parted slightly, and slowly the two women met. Tastes and sensations passed between them as their breaths joined. The redhead frowned a little, and threw herself into the kiss more. The body underneath her felt so warm, like she had been standing in the centre of the sun. One of her hands went up along Jaden's stomach, with her fingers finding their way underneath the blouse that partially covered the breasts. Jaden could feel her heart beginning to beat faster, her breath coming more quickly. Then, suddenly, her lips went cold as they were abandoned.

"Ollie?" Jaden opened her eyes.

Oleander sat straddling Jaden, her arms hanging along her sides. She had a strange expression on her face, and while she was breathing quickly as well, there were some tears in her eyes. Jaden could see her visibly starting to quiver.

"I don't know, Jay. I just don't..." The tears began to tumble down her cheeks.

"It's okay." Jaden reached up to try to stop the rainfall from those cloudy grey eyes.

"No, it's not! I dreamt of this moment for months. You and me, together like this. But now, it's just..." A look of utter frustration passed across Oleander's face. "I want you so badly, but this doesn't feel right."

Jaden sat up as well, and pulled the redhead close in an embrace, this time not as a lover, but as a friend. The heat inside her began to abate, trickling out of her and into the ground. The smell of violets grew stronger.

"It's alright. Ssh. Let it out." Jaden stroked Oleander’s hair over and over, just holding her as the smaller woman shook with tears.

The redhead hung onto Jaden as if she was a raft on a vast, dark sea. They stayed together for a long while, even after the tears had dried to the summer sun. Eventually, Oleander's grip eased up and she sat back, taking a number of large breaths.

"What are we going to do, Jay?"

"Let's head back to the others. They must be wondering about us by now." Jaden looked past Oleander, toward where they had set up camp earlier. They had been gone for quite a while.

"No, I meant about... us." Oleander touched her chest.

"I don't know, Ollie. I felt something when we, uh, just now." Jaden felt a slight blush coming on at the memory. She could still taste the other woman on her lips. The fierceness, the loyalty, the incredible drive to make the world give her what she wanted. The taste of Oleander.

Oleander just looked at Jaden, and then glanced down. At first it was bashful, but then the corners of her mouth started to turn into a grin.

"I can see that you were. You're showing." She was smirking a little despite her red eyes.

"What?" Jaden saw two points through her blouse. "Oh!"

Jaden bent down and picked up the vest she had folded under her head, and shook it out before slipping it back on. It was probably too many layers for a warm late summer day, but it was nothing compared to the heat inside her.

"Let's take it one step at a time. There's no telling what tomorrow might bring,” she said and held out her hand to the redhead.

"Okay, Jay. Lead the way."

Far from now. In days unseen, in a place lost between:

At the shores where the waves of the ethereal sea break,
as the faint lights of the suns wane when the night awake,
the shadows loom over Arakash.

Silently the dark bid the blind stars to rise,
and silent moons pass the eyeless skies,
yet more silent still is grim Arakash.

Whispers that the Myriad set free,
by the gaze of the Watching One be,
hidden by dark Arakash.

Song of the nether, the voices left unsaid,
where those unsung by fate bled;
shall fade away in dread Arakash.

The vast cathedral of dark stone sprawled like a twisted, living thing, half swallowed by the roiling mists where the ethereal clashed against the nether. Arakash. Spires jutted at angles like arrows from the still warm flesh a slain beast and domes rose like swollen boils. Arakash, where the denizens of the watching one dwell. A large stone bridge reached out into the mists, carried by nothing except the will of the master of this place. At its far end, it expanded into a large circular platform surrounded by four jagged pillars where chains jangled voicelessly in the spectral winds. In the midst of this were two figures. One was dark and tall, clad in robes seemingly fashioned out of scraps of pale leather and large metal plates covered by writing. The other, kneeling with her head lowered, wore but a few lengths of cloth no larger than a shawl that wrapped around her red skin. Her wings were folded close to her back.

"Arise," the tall, dark one commanded, gesturing with a hand that ended with claws. In its other hand, it held a large book etched with forbidden symbols. The book opened as if by itself, pages turning until it found a certain passage. The words glowed when the demon passed its claw over them. "Is this the name you have chosen for yourself, handmaiden?"

"Yes, farseer." Unlike the other handmaidens, she had already been given another name long ago. A secret name she hadn't told anyone.

"It is indeed a suitable one for a scryer. May your gaze extend past either horizon, in the service of our master." The farseer shut the book of names with a fateful thud. It was done.

"May it be so." Ashomi Kian curtsied with her red wings spread low to the ground. She would embrace this new name. It would be her guiding light. Taking the name was the first step on the journey she had planned. The song in her heart would keep her from forgetting.

(With apologies to Robert W Chambers)

---

Chapter 26: Calm Eye Tea

THE VILLAGE

Loriven, long ago

Forgotten by the living, lamented by the dead. The vanished village. The erased footnote of history. This is the way it was.

The tall man stood back up from the freshly tilled earth and wiped his brow. The sun was bearing down on him, making his sweat evaporate almost as quickly as it stained the simple wool tunic. He scratched at his jet-black hair, and then shielded his eyes from that bright sun with his other hand. It was far, but he could make out people beginning to gather at the centre of the village. He looked down at the basket of seeds. It wouldn't hurt the harvest to wait until the next day. Despite the brightness, the day was not long this early in the year, and evening would soon be upon them.

He used the rag in his pocket to clean his hands while he walked towards where people were standing, trying to see what was going on. Someone was standing on a cart, addressing the crowd. Once he got close enough, he recognised the woman.

"...and yet, today, we are still not free from the mountain's shadow! How long must this go on? How long must we stand by and accept the misrule of those self-aggrandising relics of a bygone era?" She stood tall, and spoke with conviction. Her sandy hair was braided back so all could see the fervour in her amber eyes. Her clothes were clearly meant for a court, rather than a field.

One of the men hanging furthest back turned around when he got close enough, arms folded with a patient expression. The ash-blonde hair was shorn closely, showing some of the scars that went along the back of his head down his neck. Claw marks.

"Ho there, Jed. Come to bear witness to the sky's own truth?" Rannoch greeted the black-haired man with one hand clasped on the other's shoulder, giving a friendly squeeze. His voice was thick with humour, even a touch of sarcasm.

"Is Ykela at it again? You'd think that it would be enough to be away from the Tal, or whatever they call themselves now." Jed didn’t know what made the woman keep at it. The time had come to look ahead, rather than remain in the past.

"She was the heir to a House. Methinks she has her eyes set higher than a publicus of a simple village," the other man said with a gesture at the buildings around them.

"We should be grateful for what we have. We're alive. We can practice our own ways here." Jed looked at the woman up on the cart, still calling for action, to pick up weapons in a war long since lost. "I mean, I agree with her in essence. Our people should still be following the old ways. An empty chalice should be allowed to become full."

"The dragons and the Tal say otherwise. Conform, or accept exile. So we left, and here we are." Rannoch said, as they began to walk away from the crowd.

"Here we are," Jed agreed.

"How's the planting coming along?" Rannoch changed the subject to something they could more easily deal with.

"It's going well. The soil here is fertile, and once we reap the fields we should have plenty enough to see us through winter. It is mild this far down anyway. I doubt we will see snow this year either." The black-haired man pointed out towards his homestead. "I'm thinking about breaking in a new field next season. Maybe some pumpkins or watermelons?"

"Just check with Opolo before you get too greedy, my friend. We have heard that more might come down to join us, and we'll be looking to add more houses before soon." It had all begun with a few buildings, hastily assembled to keep people warm during the first year. After that, they had added a house there, or a structure there. Before they knew it, their little enclave had become a proper community.

"Maybe it won't be a simple village for much longer, then?" It would never be the place they had to leave behind, but maybe it could be home? Jed looked towards the west. Maybe one day.

"Only the sky knows, Jed." Rannoch held up three fingers to the heavens in a sign of the morning, midday and evening rays. "Speaking of knowing, have you heard from your sister yet?"

Something dark came over Jed's face, as if a cloud had passed over the sun in his heart. It was a sore subject for him. A family should stick together.

"No, not since her last letter," he said, rubbing his forehead. "I can't imagine what went through her head, returning back to that place. Just to be with him."

"Take comfort in that Jacie gave her heart to an honourable man, at least. Maybe we don't see eye to eye with him, but-"

"That's putting it lightly!" Jed shot back.

"-BUT you know he'll treat her right." Rannoch raised his voice a little to make his point. He didn't look angry, just tired. He had been fighting harder than most.

Their disagreement with that man went beyond a simple difference in opinion. There had been sides. Jed and everyone who had ended up in the village had been on the other side. There was a line drawn that his sister just couldn't seem to see. Love truly made people blind.

This was the way it had to be

If the Odar River was the natural border between Alband and Olmar, the edge of the wildlands formed the line between the kingdoms of man and the realm of the elves. The unmistakable point where the two worlds met was where the forest opened up in a wide, natural tunnel with the trees reaching up to form the roof with their leaf-rich boughs. If the wildlands was a castle, this was the gate.

En Sonaleum is distinct from both imperial roads and the country roads. Where man drew their lines in slabs of stone, or settled for trampled dirt, the elven path was seemingly wrought from interlocking roots, smooth and flat like handcrafted floor shingles. Despite this, it was neither hard like dry wood, nor showed any real sign of wear or damage. Perhaps it was dutifully maintained by elven shapers or maybe the road grew itself out like a living thing. The noise of their horses' hooves turned to a soft clopping as they crossed the boundary where the imperial stones ended and handed the journey over to the Sona road.

There was a subtle change in the air when they rode through the forest along en Sonaleum. It was something that changed out of sight of the conscious mind. A feeling, more than anything else, that they had left a part of the ordinary world behind. The colours seemed slightly more vibrant; a scent of wilderness on the wind.

Jaden looked around at her friends. Each of them had reacted in their own ways to the changes. Alisan rode straighter, like she could breathe easier. Like some part of her was finally able to relax. Jaden had seen the same thing happen when Mirena returned to Tier. It was the face of a woman who was coming home. Jaden wondered if she would look like that when she finally climbed the last bit of the old mountain road leading to the gates of Talraman?

Contrary to the elf, the Northmen looked more tense. Stann had a hand on the pommel of his sword and twisted around in his saddle, as if he was anticipating some beast charging out of the thicket the moment he let his guard down. Kellen was rubbing the warding tattoos on his arms, and mumbling a Northern prayer of some sort.

Oleander didn't look like she could make her mind up. She was a child of the streets of Tarad, having grown up with fantastic stories about the elven lands, but this was the first time she had actually been here in person. She was torn between excitement and nervousness. Rhyce, who rode on Jaden's other side, was stonefaced. If the mystic didn't know better, she would say he almost looked a little sad. She didn't know what memories these forests evoked in the archer, but what little she knew about him led her to no happy places.

"Jaden? Aside from Alisan, you're the only one of us who have spent any significant time in Ral Sona," Mirena called from the front of the line of horses. No doubt she had visited the elven capital before, given the wealth and influence of her family, but it was likely she had seen very little of the city itself instead of the interior of some oligarch's manse. "Is there anything you can tell us about what we can expect, as outsiders?"

The mystic nodded, and then gathered her thoughts. She had been to Ral Sona a few times before. Each visit had been for a couple of weeks at a time. She had a reasonable amount of familiarity with the city. However, her most recent visit had been in capacity as a mystic initiate receiving instruction from elven teachers in various subjects. Jaden was sure that the Talramani youths had been treated with special care by the Ral Sona representatives to avoid an incident with their allied nation, so she couldn't say for sure if the elves were truly as patient and polite as she recalled.

Jaden thought back further. The first time she had seen the city deep in the wildlands had been as a child, accompanying her mother there on some sort of official business as the diplomatic envoy. She remembered spending a lot of time in gardens waiting for meetings to be concluded. Lilya had instead gone with their father when Garen had been called upon to broker an agreement between the dragons of the northern mountains and a borderland settlement. Something about sheep in return for protection against orc raiders, if she recalled correctly.

"Hey, Jay? Are you still with us in there?" Oleander leaned from her saddle to swat at the mystic's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just considering something, and my thoughts ran away with me." Jaden smiled apologetically, and tried to focus on what was ahead of them.

"Yeah, we kind of noticed you staring emptily at a horse butt," the redhead snorted.

"I couldn't help but think that it was still smaller than yours." Jaden and Oleander exchanged some stuck-out tongues before getting back on track. "Anyway, the best advice I can give you is to remember that elves are not humans."

"Gee, thanks, Jay!"

"No, what I mean is: Etrians, Gionese, even Kasmani can seem strange to us, right? But they're still human. Even with all the cultural differences, there is still that common ground.” Jaden took a breath, and tried to form her experiences into words. “Elves live for hundreds and hundreds of years. That means they relate to things differently. How wouldn't your perspective change if you had to consider generations rather than years? Everything you make is made with the intention of lasting for... for a thousand years. Consequences spanning ages are considered before making any big decisions."

"A reason, perhaps, why Sorun has remained neutral in the last number of conflicts between the allied North and Alband? Historically, the elves tended to side with the Albander people, since we are friendly with some of the orc tribes. Strom and Grimstone have remained close allies for a long time, even since before the time of the second empire. But we should really talk with Morkgha, a fellow scholar of the past, if we want to know more about that." Kellen began to explain, going on an academic tangent as he sometimes did.

"We were actually talking about elves at the moment, Kellen, not orcs," Mirena gently reminded the huge man.

"Ah, yes. Humm." Kellen stroked his moustache.

"I mean, try to keep an open mind. Elves will likely react differently than how you expect to certain things," Jaden finished awkwardly. Her face felt hot, like she was blushing. But what had she to be embarrassed about? Now she felt embarrassed about being embarrassed.

"Alisan? What were the biggest hurdles for you when you first visited another nation outside the wildlands?" The knight turned the question to the real expert on elves.

"All the touching," the pale elf immediately responded. "Everywhere my steps took me, humans are touching all the time. Squeezing past each other in your crowded, narrow streets. Shaking hands. Grabbing-"

"Punching!" Stann added with a smile.

"Eh. Yes. Always touching. This seems strange to me. Why is that?" Alisan had pulled her hands closer to her chest, as if envisioning all the pushing humans she had come across.

"It helps us make connection with other people. It can be a gesture of intimacy, or used to emphasise something. Don't you touch one another?" Mirena asked, wondering what a society would be like if they kept everyone at arm’s length.

"Not nearly as much, no. It seems enough to simply see each other, yes?" The elf tilted her head to the side.

"Is that part of the whole 'learn by moving' thing you talked about earlier?" Stann asked.

"Yes! It is pleasing to me that you kept this memory." Alisan looked happy.

"Sometimes people don't take the time to truly see one another," Mirena said, mostly to herself. "Anything else you can think of?"

"There was no dawn within me for a long time to shed light upon how your societies could function. I now know more about your noble people and common people, as well as the roles of your divine servants and traders. From a perspective of the castes, it seemed very chaotic to me how a person could move from one strata to another, yet a certain group is gifted their roles from their parents." Alisan was frowning, clearly struggling to unite the two concepts.

"Heredity is a big part of our society. I suppose it is our way of living on through our descendants? Compared to the elves, we live such short lives, so we seek to extend our existence through dynasties both large and small." The knight was only too familiar with the importance some families put on following in the footsteps of your parents.

"Very strange," Alisan merely shook her head.

"How does it work for your people?" Kellen took the opportunity to learn more about elven culture. He always enjoyed researching a subject thoroughly before attempting any practical applications. In a way, he was researching the elves now.

"When a child is old enough, she is tested to see what her aptitudes are.” The pale elf spoke with a clear voice, despite her accent. “They are then groomed towards that role, until the day of their casting. From that day and forward, they are a part of their given caste for the rest of their lives - barring certain exceptions, of course."

"I see. And you are..?" The tall Northman asked, taking notes inside his head.

"I belong to the Shaper Caste, next to Guardian, Wisdom and Ruler.” Alisan touched her chest with a graceful hand, proud of her place in the world. “A Shaper excels within a given field of study, like truth, song or words. We also have practical shapers, like our warshapers? You call them black smiths?"

"Wait... you have TRUTHshapers?" Oleander sat up straighter in her saddle. She didn’t like the sound of that one bit.

"Yes? They, and lawshapers, are a part of the judicial system alongside certain members of the Wisdom Caste."

"Uh-huh. Okay." Oleander blew some hair out of her face. It had been too good to be true, hoping that the stories about how the elven lands were free of constabularies and judges were more than just dreams spun by wistful thieves.

"That is another thing!" Alisan held up a finger in the air with an indignant expression. "Your laws are interpreted by a single person? One of your noble people decides whether leniency or punishment is called for. How can you accept the perspective on just one in these matters? That is just one pair of eyes short of being blind!"

"Justice is blind," Mirena replied with a confused expression. "Ideally, all are equal before it."

"No, justice should watch from many points of view. How else can fair judgement be rendered unless every angle is accounted for?" The elf immediately argued.

Their voices echoed between the trees as the Sona road brought them ever deeper into the wildlands.

Stann rode at the back of the group now that Rhyce was scouting ahead. Since the warrior was the one of the few wearing armour, it was a sensible precaution in case anyone had the bright idea of trying to ambush them. It had happened a few times before, during previous adventures, and since then Mirena and he had worked out a rough marching order to provide the best and most flexible defence should it come to it. The group wasn't large enough that they could hold off any greater number of opponents, but with their many magicians they rarely needed more than a few moments to get their bearing before fireballs and earthquakes sorted everything out.

He looked at the people riding in front of him. Mirena was wearing one of her marine blue divided skirts common among Tierin riders. When she sat up in the saddle, the outer skirt parted to either side of the horse, keeping her legs covered the whole time. Stann figured she could probably hide her armour's leg plates under those skirts without anyone noticing, but today she seemed content with wearing just her light travelling chainmail hauberk and a simple temple surcoat to cover it.

Kellen, clearly explaining something to their fox-like little redhead, pointing at what clouds could be seen through the cover of the trees. It hadn't been raining since they passed Rosehaven. Stann was thankful of how it had eased up the further inland they got. Traveling while it rained was miserable. The town they had recently left behind, Tarad, was about at the same latitude as Tier, but ever since entering the wildlands they had been moving in a north-western direction. Still, they were yet far enough inlands that the rains that often beset the coastal regions wouldn’t reach here, even less with all those trees.

The warrior watched his cousin gesturing with his arms again. The rune seeker's tunic had no sleeves and showed the tattoos where his protective runes were ready to break the swords of any who dared fight him. Stann noticed that his cousin's moustache was starting to droop over his lips, a sure sight that they had been riding for a while. Kellen was a genius with magic, clever with books and strong as an ox, but he was as clumsy as said ox as well. Growing up, Stann had seen his older cousin visit the herbalist in Strom several times for a poultice for the cuts he gave himself trying to shave.

Then there were the elven girls. One with her midnight black hair tied back in a tail, the other with a wealth of cream tumbling down her shoulders. Ebony and ivory. Alisan had that natural grace to every movement, and an ageless beauty to her face. Stann turned his eyes to the dark mystic. Jaden, on the other hand, seemed so awkward but was shapely in ways that would put any Northern maiden to shame. When a summer breeze found its way around the trees, it made the mystic's jacket flutter up a little, revealing the smooth skin of her bare back. Stann squirmed in his saddle, trying to find a more comfortable position. This wouldn't be an easy journey, he decided.

"Think of something else, old bear," he muttered to himself. "Ships. Right. Wind from the port side. Turn the sails. Make sure the knots are tight."

Stann distracted himself with thoughts of sailing, so focused that he didn't notice the wind changing suddenly. In the North it was regarded as a bad omen, a warning of danger or death. His father always said that when the winds turned on you, misfortune would visit before the night was done.

The previous times Jaden had visited Ral Sona, they had arrived by air. The wildlands had just been a blanket stretching out for as long as the eye could see. An ocean of treetops and glimpses of clearings. Riding through the deep woodlands, now, was a very different experience.

Jaden had her fair share of traveling through forests. The dry thicket before entering the desert on their way to the Khuul Barrows or when they had to hunt an elder Ghaunt in the great Albar Woods, and of course most recently, the journey through the Ealbourne Forest to Redwall. This felt like something else entirely. The Sorun forest wasn’t like the Ealbourne, all open and relatively level. There was a reason they call it the wildlands. The woods of Alband were tame and civil. The sylvan reaches of Sorun was a force of nature.

This became even more apparent when the day was starting to come to an end and the question of where they would set up camp was raised. The forest gave no impression of welcoming anyone. Alisan looked genuinely surprised that there would even be any question about this, which led to her explaining about the several molan enan leum, wayhome trees, positioned along the Sona road. Sleeping out in the wild was nothing short of asking to get eaten, whereas the natural tents created by the thick, low-hanging boughs of certain marked trees was safe ground. Parting the curtain-like leaves, there was even a firepit dug down among the roots, logs worn smooth where travellers could sit down, and space for several people to roll out their blankets if they wanted to sleep. Jaden could imagine a dozen people sharing a single wayhome tree without having to lie closely at all, and once she knew what to look for, she realised they must have passed a few of them every mile.

Alisan went on explaining how Outsiders would find it hard to traverse the wilderness of Sorun. The smell of man and cities would draw the ire of the things that dwelled in the dark forest. Perhaps Jaden would be spared, the pale elf reasoned, due to her lineage, and maybe Oleander and Rhyce since they had grown up so close to the wildlands. But Mirena, a child of the golden city and a paragon of humanity, would likely be mauled if she strayed from the path. Alisan couldn’t say how Northmen would fare in general, but was pretty sure Stann would get eaten by the most dire and awful creature in the whole wilds. She told him so repeatedly throughout the evening.

As it grew later and darker, they had a small fire going in the deep pit. Despite being mostly covered, it cast a warm light that reflected off the shiny leaves and illuminating the living tent to a surprising degree.

Despite Alisan’s insistence that guards weren’t really necessary, they had set up their usual arrangement, and Jaden was just waiting for the others to go to bed before it was her usual job to take the first turn. At least, she hoped that a certain redhead would head off to bed soon, instead of pestering her with increasingly uncomfortable questions.

"Nirido... eluron..." Alisand stalked past where Oleander and Jaden were sitting. Those were not the kind of words anyone would expect out of such a beautiful face. The mystic shied back a bit at the vicious tirade, bumping into Oleander.

Stann came hurrying after the elven woman, awkwardly as he was only wearing one of his boots.

"Hey, what did I say?" The winter warrior turned to look at Jaden. "Wait, what did SHE say?"

“Uhm.” The black-haired mystic glanced down at the warrior’s feet. “Where is your other boot?”

“She makes me take them off, after the first time,” Stann said, as though that explained everything.

Jaden considered how to reply to that, but thankfully the Northman didn’t stop to listen but instead gave up on waiting for a translation and chased after the elf.

Oleander barely gave those two a second thought, sitting straddled over the log they were using as a seat. The redhead was looking intently at the mystic.

“So, what you said just then…” She continued with their previous conversation.

“I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.” Jaden was regretting her decision to share things.

"Does that… You're really on... You can do that? I mean..." Her raincloud grey eyes went even wider than before.

"I know what you mean, Ollie. And, apparently yes. Can we not talk about this?" Jaden had her shoulders drawn up, feeling very uncomfortable with the entire situation.

"Sure! I mean, wow, that means you've really-" Oleander glanced down at Jaden’s lap.

"Can we not talk about it? Please?" The mystic whined.

"Sorry." Oleander squeezed her lips close for a little while, looking to the side. "So, do you need anything? I've got some things I nicked from Mirena..."

"Ollie!"

"Okay, okay! Dropping the subject!" A twinkle came to the Olman girl's eyes. "We can talk about something else when you feel red-y. We can just go with the flow."

Jaden groaned with exasperation, dragging her fingers down her cheeks. Garda’s Fires! Sometimes, she swore, this girl could drive her nuts.

"Wad about that bloody mess back in-" Oleander enunciated each pun excessively.

"You're dead!" Jaden sprang up to grab the redhead, who just barely managed to duck back, running giggling out of reach with the mystic in pursuit.

Mirena just shook her head slightly at their antics, taking another sip of her tea, reminding herself to buy enough for three, the next time they had the chance to get the monthly necessities.

"Those two look to be in good spirits again," Kellen rumbled in what passed for a murmur. "I was just about having quite enough of them moping around."

"The heart will find a way, my friend. It always does," the knight said with a gentle smile.

"Strange though it may be," the Northman agreed.

"We live in strange days, Kellen. Who can say what is normal anymore?"

"Not us, that's for sure," he laughed and sat down to pour a cup for himself as well. “Also, one has noticed two other people finding each other.”

“Are you talking about Stann and Alisan? I’m not so sure about those two,” Mirena eyed the elf and the warrior standing to the side. They were gesturing vigorously at each other, the elf shaking what looked like one of Stann’s boots in front of his face.

The evening was quickly turning into night, and it was only due to the few lanterns hanging from posts around the streets that it was possible to see further than a couple of yards. The moon had taken to hiding behind thick clouds that had blown in from the east over the course of the day, and was sharing none of its light with the world below.

The stocky man hoisting the rest of the wares into his cart bit back a curse as he bumped his foot into a wheel for the second time. It was his own fault, really. He had enjoyed a pint with some of his friends over at the Cat’s Moon, discussing how a recent accident over at a local cheese producer had increased demands coming from the various taverns around town on bringing back more cheese than usual with any trips coming in from Veren. It was good to coordinate a bit with the other traveling merchants, to avoid stepping on each other’s toes too much. That’s how he ended up with the elven route. He didn’t much mind going to the elven city in the wildlands. It was a pretty enough place, with nice enough people, as far as elves go. What he never got used to was that feeling of being smothered when he entered the wilds. It was almost oppressive the way the forest closed in around him.

“Word is you’re going to Ral Sona?”

The voice behind him made the merchant almost drop the heavy sack of barley he was wrestling aboard the cart. He hadn’t heard anyone approach. Maybe he had just been too preoccupied to notice? Turning around and leaning on the cart, he saw a man in a hooded cloak that looked just a little too warm for the late summer.

“That I am, stranger. What’s it to you?”

“I was wondering if I could ride along? Might be safer with a second pair of eyes on that road,” the other man spoke with a hoarse voice, but his accent was clearly Olman enough for the merchant to relax a little.

“Appreciating the offer, neighbour, but that road isn’t all that dangerous to be honest. I’m more likely to end up in trouble around here than out there.” The merchant wasn’t exaggerating. Tarad was a good place to go if you wanted to get robbed or cheated. It was an awful town, but it was home.

“Might I could change your mind?” The stranger made a flourish with a hand, and held up a coin that gleamed with a golden shine in the lantern light. This marked the man as a newcomer more than anything else. You didn’t flaunt your gold in Tarad.

“Well, if you’re offering that, I’m not going to say-“ The merchant couldn’t help but smile. A gold crown just to give someone a lift? Sure, it was a five day ride, but a gold coin and some company might make it go quicker. It was then he noticed something on the stranger’s wrist. Holding up that coin made the sleeve fall back far enough to show a tattoo on the lower arm. It looked like a sheaf. A bead of cold sweat trickled down his back. He knew what that meant. You didn’t travel the roads of Olmar as long as he had without hearing about the Sons.

The stranger noticed him trailing off, and followed his gaze to the exposed wrist. There was a pause when everything was suddenly very quiet. All the noises of the town seemed to fade away. Then, the merchant drew a deep breath to shout. He didn’t get that far before those strong hands closed in around his throat. The grip was vice-like; thumbs crushing his windpipe like a reed. His struggling grew weaker as the night crept in around his vision. The last thing he saw were those intense eyes staring into his.

The stranger counted slowly to twenty before letting the body fall to the ground with a dull thud. He looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed what had been done, but the street was dark and empty. Anyone with good intentions were either at home or at work, and those who were otherwise would not interfere.

He leaned down and dragged the body of the merchant into an alley and hid it behind some crates. It would be found in the morning, no doubt, but by then he would be far away. The stranger grabbed the hat that had fallen off the merchant’s head during the brief scuffle. He pushed his hood back and donned the hat. It was a good hat. It would be a shame to waste it.

With practiced ease, the stranger wheeled the cart around and hitched it to a horse he had found in a nearby stable. Yes, by morning he would be far gone. He had to move quickly if he wanted to catch up.

As the cart rolled away up the street, an unusually fat rat shuffled back from its perch by the roof. Its beady black eyes followed the cart until it moved out of sight.

Dawn came all too soon, leaving only ghosts of strange dreams behind. Oleander didn’t make too much of a fuss about how she apparently wasn’t due for breakfast duty for another couple of days yet – in fact, there would probably not be time for her to cook anything before they reached the city. Since the meal was quick and uneventful, they soon began to ready themselves for another day of traveling. It was almost as far from Tarad to Ral Sona, as it was from Farcrest to Rosehaven, so they expected another two days on the road yet.

"So, uh, Jaden?" Stann buckled on his swordbelt, and bent to pick up the scabbard from where it had been sitting next to his pack, waiting to be hooked into place. The warrior made a habit of checking his tools of fighting every day, whether he needed to or not. As magicians had certain rituals, warriors had theirs.

The mystic looked up from where she was rummaging through her own bags. She hastily pushed some silky looking things back to the bottom. She felt a blush creep to her cheeks before she realised how she was wearing some of those very things right now. Not that the Northman could see it, at the moment, but she became all too aware of how the fabric clung to her.

"Yeah, Bear?" She cleared her throat, hoping her friend hadn’t caught the nervous note.

"I've been meaning to ask, since you naturally know elf-speak-" Stann gestured toward Jaden's ears, as if they explained everything.

"I'm not an elf, Stann." Jaden slumped down a little. At least the embarrassment was gone; annoyance was its natural predator.

"-so I figured you'd be the one to go to?" The warrior continued, regardless of the mystic's protest.

"Fine. What did you want to know?" The mystic rolled her eyes with resignation.

"I've been talking to Alisan a lot, and she keeps saying a word to me." Stann rubbed the back of his neck, ruffling his long, blonde hair in the process. A part of Jaden wanted to sit the warrior down and take a brush to that tangle. She wished the Northman would take as good care of it as he did with his beard.

"Okay. What was it?" Jaden felt reasonably confident in her Sorunese, having had plenty of training and experience with it growing up - although not for the reasons people kept assuming.

"It's 'parrot'. Not the bird, though. That wouldn't make any sense." At least Stann assumed it wasn't that. However, with elves, who could tell? Live as long as they do, and maybe words take on new meanings just like they do with crazy people?

"Wait, 'perot'? Are you sure?" Jaden stopped tying her pack together, looking up to make sure she had heard right.

"Yeah. She says it to me, like, all the time. I've heard it plenty."

"Well, Elvish is very different from Midland Trade, and some of the cultural significance might be lost..." The mystic trailed off, trying to think of a diplomatic way to deliver the meaning. She rose to her feet and slung the pack over her shoulder.

"Just tell me already," Stann groaned, not wanting to hear another lecture the same day. "It's something bad, isn't it?"

Jaden glanced at where the others were, and then leaned in closer to Stann and whispered it into his ear. The large Northman stood up straight with his ice-blue eyes as wide as they would go.

"That filthy-mouthed wench!"

On the second day underneath the canopy of the wildlands they began to get used to the softer illumination. There was no glare from the sun. Just a presence of day that found its way through the forest, a whisper of light that caressed rather than stung.

Jaden was starting to feel a little claustrophobic, having grown up in the mountains with nothing but sky as far as the eyes could see. The trees here blocked sight, and it was rare to see more than a few dozen yards ahead at a time. Even the road wound around like a river rather than the straight, imperial highways they were used to.

Despite the almost oppressive feeling of the wildlands pushing in against the sides of the road, there was also something calming about moving along with the pulse of the forest. When she closed her eyes, Jaden could almost imagine feeling the earth breathe with each breeze that ran through her hair.

"I'm bored! Nothing but trees all day!" Oleander scratched her head with both hands. "Kel? Kel! Tell us a story."

"What would you like to hear?" The rune seeker paused in his polishing of one of his inscribed stones.

"Something with adventure! Treasure! Horses." The redhead leaned forward in her saddle and hugged the neck of her pinto. The horse snorted a little, and tossed its head. The people of Olmar loved their horses. The animals returned the sentiment on a horse by horse basis.

"What about the time before the Empire?" Jaden suggested, riding up on the other side of the large Northman.

"And horses," Oleander demanded, making a little finger-wave at the mystic from where she rode.

"Sure. And horses." Jaden returned the wave with a small smile.

Kellen took a deep breath, and furrowed his brow in thought. When he released his air, it became the first syllable in a rich tapestry of history being woven with each word that left his lips.

"Before the kingdoms of man set foot on this continent, during the time when the first empire still ruled the six islands in the far west, there was not one, but four great civilisations close to where we tread today. There were the proud and strong Tuaz Dhe orcs to the north and east, sharing their lands with the small clans of my ancestors. To the west and reaching across the area we now call the Midlands, were the great forest and the Cea elves, guardians of the land and its wisdom. To the south, beyond the Isanduar mountains, was the land of the Kirn, small of stature but big of heart. And below the surface stretched the vast dwarven underkingdom of the Atmer, digging into the earth and crafting things of legend.

"In the ancient time, the Tuaz Dhe was the largest nation, an empire in its own right, being the just and fair rulers of half this continent under their law of earth and sky; the rule of balance and evenhandedness. During that time, their cities stood tall and majestic, with grand temples reaching up to the heavens. It was this faith in the elements and the spirits of the land that they passed on to us, the sons and daughters of the North, and we kept it safe when the Tuaz Dhe empire collapsed into savagery. To this day, historians are uncertain what triggered their descent into ruin, but something turned them from their enlightened society into the tribes we know today.

"During the civilised times, the Tuaz Dhe and the Cea lived in peace with one another. One sought to serve the sky, and the other was content to care for the land. The Tuaz's primary foe were the dragons that lived in the Erbor mountains that divided their empire. Many great battles were fought against the wyrms, with many champions rising to challenge the deadly creatures.

"It was during those times when the great shaman Mag Naruz, at behest of the high ruler of the Tuaz Dhe, led the rest of the most renowned magicians of the empire in performing the great spirit call. According to legend they were successful in bringing some of their gods to our world, to Aden, to help them defeat the dragons.

"Some say that this marked one of the points where the Tuaz Dhe began to decline. Whether it was through their constant warring with the dragons, some manner of corruption from within, or the very presence of their gods in their midst, within a few generations the empire had broken apart into city-states that fought more with each other, than their ancient enemies.

"Did their gods abandon them when that happened? Today, nobody knows. We can only study the once-great ruins, and listen to the songs the Orcs remember, to try to unravel one of the great mysteries that history left for us: What truly happened to the Tuaz Dhe orcs?"

Jaden sat silent, digesting the story. Something about it felt strangely familiar, somehow, but she couldn't put her finger on what, precisely. A memory, itching just below consciousness. Jaden touched the side of her head. It felt warm.

"Hey, Kel? There were no horses in that story!" Oleander said suddenly.

"Oh? Well. Hrmm. Dragons are known to eat horses. Will that do it?" The rune seeker blinked, and shifted a little in his saddle, much to the protest of his shaggy Northern horse.

Oleander's eyes went wide, looking the image of a child whose sweetroll had been stolen away.

"Say, Kellen, do you know anything about the ruins of Kaunath?" Jaden said, heading off any potentially loud voices before it came to that. The ruins were half a continent away, but it was what had sprung to mind.

"Oh, that is another fascinating tale. The Eldritch Walkers of Kaunath. It all began when the wildlands covered most of the Midlands, somewhere inside the region we call the Albar woods today. You see, during the time of the Tuaz Dhe city-king Harad the Heavy-hearted, signs of a new star had appeared on the night sky..."

The Northman's voice reached far and deep into the wildlands, each step along their journey also a step into history.

The chamber was large not because its master needed to prove something. It was large because it had to be. It was a work of art in of itself. Filigree of silver interlaced with wooden lattices that formed patterns forgotten by the outside world. Only here, in this sanctum, could he still hear the song of the true people.

Water flowed into the chamber through hidden pipes, drawing directly from the pools of the ancients nearby. Through the waters could the vast reservoirs of power be focused into what was needed.

A robe lay precisely folded the same way it always had for countless seasons while the elf waded into the waist-high water. As he reached the centre of the chamber, he raised his hands wide and looked up at the nexus stone in the ceiling. Drawing upon the source was more than second nature by now. It was instinct. The power seeped through the patterns, making them alight with magic, before emptying out into the water. An imperfection, a small leftover flaw from a bygone age, allowed an almost unnoticeable disharmony in the vast network of energy. Nearby, a freshly planted flower withered and dried up.

Revitalised, the elf left the waters and dried almost immediately as the moisture evaporated from his skin. He donned his robe while walking the smooth stone path towards the round door. Sometimes it took a concentrated effort of will to make himself leave the chamber. He knew he couldn’t linger. There was work to be done. There was always more work to be done.

Outside, the air felt weaker, less satisfying. Even in the presence of the pools and the beautiful architecture surrounding them, it was but a pale echo of the world that had been. As always, one of his attendants awaited his arrival. The face was familiar, but the name eluded him. There had been so many names throughout the seasons.

«Report,» he commanded, as always. His voice was perfectly resounded by the ivy-covered walls, as always.

«Continuing from yesterday, Exarch Sunstorm moves to address the lawshapers regarding the recent delays in the budgetary referendum, » the attendant began. The list of current events went on for several minutes, pausing only when the older elf asked for a clarification.

«And that is all of the reports, most ancient, » the attendant lowered her head respectfully.

«Good. Is the meeting hall prepared? » He asked unnecessarily. It always was.

«It is, most ancient. The Videre’s advisors await your arrival. »

They always were.

It was like Jaden remembered it, yet it was not.

"Be welcome to the everlasting Ral Sona," Alisan said with a proud smile on her face as she turned to her new friends and gestured grandly towards the living city. It was indeed a place where nature and civilisation peacefully coexisted. The trees stood five or more stories high, forming a green dome canopy with their branches and thick leaves. The houses rose around, rather than through, using the great oaks, ash and willows as support for their winding structures. The city was made out of curves and waves, rather than straight angles and lines. It gave visitors the impression that it was just resting between its movements, like a wave breaking on the beach before it pulls back into the sea.

Kellen looked around with fascination, nodding to himself as he followed some building's organic dance with its tree. Rhyce, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. He was quiet, even for being Rhyce, and kept his head low as they got further into the city.

It wasn't right calling them roads or streets. They were made out of stone as in any city, but rather than cobblestones or bricks, it seemed like the bedrock itself had risen to provide a solid surface for wagons to be moved. From these rocky veins spread paths as would any side streets or alleyways in a human town, with colourful flowers marking the sides. It often took newly arrived people some time to realise that each path had its own unique flowers. Where the tigerlily path may lead to the stoneshaper's workhalls, the snowdrops would guide someone to a series of private residences. Many wondered how the residents could find their way during winter, when the flowers were not in bloom, but forgot how the elves of Ral Sona have had many years to learn the petal paths intimately.

Where the larger streets were of stone, there was also small rivulets of water running freely throughout the city. No bridges spanned these small brooks. Instead, there were flat stones wide enough for two people to walk side by side, with enough of a distance between them to let the water flow freely but close enough that a child's stride could safely cross the lilypad stones.

"I didn't expect this," Oleander said with open amazement.

"What were you expecting?" Jaden asked out of curiosity.

"I have no idea, but not this. I always heard that Ral Sona had these big towers or something, but all I'm seeing are trees." The redhead squinted up at the verdant dome overhead.

"The sentinel spires form a rough circumference of the inner city. If you so desire, I shall choose a path that will lead us past one of them?" Alisan offered, indicating a particular vein of flowers.

"Sure, okay." The redhead leaned in toward Stann, who was closest at the moment. "I'd hate to be the gardener here. Imagine raking up all these leaves come autumn?"

To Jaden, it looked the same. Everlasting meant neverchanging in some ways. Like the times she had been here before, as a younger man, she opened her eyes to the mystic's sight like her mother had suggested. It was a completely different experience from in human settlements. There was no fading to grey backdrop where only some magic threads became visible against the stark difference. No, in Ral Sona magic and life were as one, with the large trees equally vibrant. Strong, pulsing ribbons of magic ran under the ground like arcane arteries, following the small rivers like a glowing undercurrent. Looking up, the canopy of leaves had transformed into a starry sky where each light was a nurturing or protective spell. Not even Talraman had this beautiful harmony of magic, growing seamlessly into the mundane world. She could literally see what made this city so special.

Arriving to the great elven city had almost come as a surprise. At the top of a short rise, the trees had all but pulled to the side like the curtains of a verdant theatre. Suddenly, there were buildings and people where there had only been the wildlands earlier. It was impressive how something so big could be hidden like that, even in the middle of a vast forest. The elves truly didn’t force nature to conform to their design. Here, nature and people stood side by side.

Alisan led them along one of the main, smooth slab stone roads where they passed a small group of elves garbed in light steel and leather armour. They were astride light grey elven horses, keeping silvery sword-lances resting against a stirrup. Their eyes followed the newcomers, but they made no movement to stop the humans.

“Guardian caste. Halaya. It seems to be similar to your soldiers. Knights, but not of your temples?” Alisan explained as the riders left along the same road Jaden and her friends had arrived on.

“I’ve seen that kind of spear before,” Oleander mused. “Oh! I think I saw your sister with one of those, in Farcrest. She was hanging around outside an inn, or something.”

“She picked up a qalitar of her own after she had been here, training with the exarchs as an initiate. It’s her favourite weapon.” Jaden remembered how excited Lilya had been when she had returned home after her training trip to Ral Sona when they had been younger. Lilya had always embraced their elven heritage much more than Jaden had. It was almost as if her sister was ashamed of their human side.

Jaden looked around from her saddle, trying to see any landmarks she recognised to orient herself a little. It was no good, though. She had been much younger last time, and hadn’t really paid any attention to where they were going.

"Taking the risk to sound like the dull voice of reason – that is, like my ugly cousin - where are we going to stay while we're here?" The winter warrior asked the rest of the group in general, even if he was looking in Alisan’s direction.

"Ral Sona has taverns and inns, just like any other big city, Stann," Mirena said with a gesture at the many buildings that surrounded the trees of the eternal city.

"Oh, I just thought... It all looks so, uh, you know..." Stann trailed off, trying to find a good word for what he wanted to say.

"They also use actual money here, I’m told, rather than flowers or bunnies for currency," Oleander teased the blonde Northman with a grin.

"Hey, I didn't think that!" He objected.

Jaden couldn't help but giggle, but immediately cleared her throat with a frown, silently berating herself. She did not like when that happened. Men didn’t giggle. They laughed. Or guffawed. Or.. or… well, they didn’t giggle, that’s for sure!

"If you seek something closer to what you may be accustomed to, there is a special accommodation in the Outsider's grove, not far from the embassies," Alisan suggested. She had found that many of the renen who spent time in her city were as unnerved about it as she had been when she first saw the human settlements.

"Uh. We should take one of the elven inns, don't you think? This is a chance to really experience Ral Sona for many of us, so why hide in the human quarters?" Jaden had a selfish reason for avoiding the embassies, but wrapped it up in the guise of generosity.

"A sound suggestion, Jaden! I too would like to learn more about the city and its people." Kellen welcomed the opportunity.

"As you desire," Alisan nodded. "I can provide some recommendations. The Dananlien and the Kalanesiria both seem to be very pleasant. My friends and I visit either at times."

The scroll and song will set you on your path

"The Kalan e Siria sounds nice. I feel like I've heard about it before. Maybe someone mentioned it when I was here six or so years ago?" The mystic looked into the distance, trying to remember what the circumstances had been.

"We'll trust your judgement in this, Alisan. We're in your hands now." Mirena smiled.

The pale elf looked at the black-haired mystic, whose slightly unfocused eyes were turned towards the northeast, in the direction of the Kalanesiria. She mentally shrugged, and gestured in that direction. Soon, they were leading their horses along a winding road hedged by small bushes with orange flowers.

The ground-level of the inn was dominated by a large, circular hall with a slightly domed ceiling. From the centre spiralled two gently sloping ramps up to an upper balcony overlooking the floor below. From underneath the ramps there were a number of triangular paper lanterns in different colours, providing most of the illumination and leaving the circumference in a cosy dimness.

It was also along the edges of the hall where most of the tables were, leaving the middle of the floor open for patrons and attendants to move freely. These tables also came in different heights, where people either stood, and sat either on chairs or directly on the floor. There was no symmetry in the room, but instead a wave-form harmony.

"We bid you to enter freely into the shade of Kalanesiria, that which appears as the Scroll and the Song in your tongue," said a friendly, but somewhat sleepy-looking elven man with grey hair. It wasn't the sign of age, instead it was as if someone had spun stone into fine strands. A rich grey, strange as the notion was. He was wearing a light green smock with brown decorations that reminded Jaden of acorns. His presence was also reminiscent of a strong pillar, carrying the roof of a house.

"I offer greetings, Hearthwarden. Would you provide shelter for these Outsiders?" Alisan stepped forward.

"It is my calling and pleasure to do so, Shaper Summercross," the grey-haired elf touched the tips of his fingers together and bowed. With that, he backed away and called a few attendants closer to give them their instructions.

"Nice place. Woodsy, but nice," Stann commented, following a young attendant with his eyes as she brought out a large wooden pitcher of wine from an inner room. "Yeah, very nice."

"Do you know that Keeper from before?" Oleander asked the pale elf.

"My friends and I have spent many evenings under his roof, but more likely I am known by reputation," Alisan said vaguely. Perhaps it was just the way she spoke.

"Oooh. Are you famous, Creampuff?" The redhead leaned in and grinned at her.

"Ta viela, not as such. My mentor seems to carry a measure of recognition amongst my kind." Alisan’s face was marred by a brief frown, but she quickly smoothened her features into stillness.

Jaden looked around at the decorations inside the tavern. She was pretty sure she hadn't been here before, but something seemed... right about being here, now. Moving to the side to see more of the ramps, she noted how they weren't entirely smooth. They were also covered with Serecean letters. Jaden realised that from above, they must look like two unrolled scrolls tumbling down from the balcony level to the hall.

The mystic had unwittingly backed closer to one of the tables, and snippets of the conversation caught her ear. She didn't mean to listen in, but there was something in the body language of the two people sitting to the side, cast in a slight purple light by a lantern, that peaked her curiosity. They looked a little too formal, a little too stiff, sitting opposite of one another with their hands on the table, spread apart with their palms against the surface. Their eyes had that infuriatingly, elvishly calm look.

«The fields are empty of stems and kernels,» said the woman, her black hair falling down either side of her face like a midnight waterfall. Her eyes looked straight at the man at the other side of the table.

«The harvest will see us through the winter,» he replied. They both nodded and pulled their hands away from the table.

Jaden shrugged and went back to admiring the beautiful details in the carvings that adorned the walls and ceiling high above. She could almost make out each individual leaf and petal. The very building was a work of art in of itself, one that must have taken a hundred years to complete. It was easy to get lost in the whirls and loops that made the entire ceiling almost come to life when the soft light from the lanterns played across the dome. She didn’t know how long she had been staring up at it, but a hand touching her elbow brought her back to the here and now.

“Jaden? We are about to be shown our quarters,” Mirena said, gesturing with her other hand to where the rest of them were standing by one of those ramps leading to the balcony and further up to where the guest rooms would be. Nobody had seemed to notice the mystic’s entrancement. Perhaps she hadn’t been dreaming that long?

The rooms rose along the main tree like interconnected treehouses, each unlike the previous one. It was as if someone had brought together several small shacks made by craftsmen who had never shared a word with one another. The very floor plan was an artwork in of itself, and an expression of the heart of the elven people - harmony in individualism.

"I can't find my bed," Oleander said, peeking out from behind her door into the corridor. "All I’ve got in here is a pile of deer pelts."

"That's probably where you’re supposed to sleep, then. Last time I was here, I slept in a large trough with a thin mattress. Kind of like half of a big, hollowed-out log. It wasn't that bad, really. It felt a little like a cradle, I guess." Jaden couldn't imagine one of the Northmen in a bed like that, though. Their arms and legs would spill over the sides.

"Huh. What do you have in your room now?" The redhead wondered, eyeing the sleeping arrangements in her own room with suspicion.

"Oh, I've got a bed." The mystic had been both pleased and disappointed.

"A normal bed?"

"Yeah." Jaden nodded. The pillows were a little thin, though. But that was alright. It made it easier for her to sleep on her stomach. Well, weren’t it for the other things that got squished while doing that.

"Wanna trade?" Oleander said hopefully, even batting her eyelashes a little.

No

"You know, I kind of like the idea of you sprawled out across the floor on a heap of furs. No trade." Jaden leaned back and rubbed her chin with an appraising look.

"Dirty mind." Oleander stuck her tongue out and snuck back into her room.

"Well, it certainly is now," the mystic mumbled to herself as she returned to her own quarters to unpack, trying to get rid of the mental image of a disrobed redhead spread out across a bear pelt with a come-hither look on her face. Maybe even with a beckoning finger. It sent all the right tingles to the wrong places. Her cheeks were definitely warm.

The windows in her room showed both the street passing around the tavern, as well as letting her partly see into a room further down the corridor. He glimpsed movement beyond that window, and leaned to the side to get a better view of who it was. She was greeted by an eyeful of a muscled back of Stann, presently changing out of his heavy Northern chainmail for some lighter city clothing. Jaden was about to pull back, ashamed of spying on her friend, but something made her stay and watch him continuing undressing. It was his own fault, really, for not pulling his curtains shut. Those tingling sensations returned again. What was wrong with her?

Jaden forced herself to turn around. Repeating some of the calming mantras every initiate of the mountain were taught as part of mastering their meditative techniques helped clear her mind, one image at a time. The mountain stands strong against the coldest wind. Fire. The mountain stands fast against every wave and tremor. Burning. The mountain stands proud when all else falls. Hot. Eventually, her inner sky was clear once more, the last thoughts expelled along with her hot breath.

She untied the flap that covered her pack, and began to pull out the rolled-up bundles of clothes. Mirena had been very clear about the importance of hanging her clothes as soon as she could, to avoid wrinkles. There was also her sword, secured to the side of her pack instead of at her hip while riding. It was a good enough weapon, but not a Talram protector's blade. She should really get back into practicing with it, she promised herself. Maybe tomorrow.

Jaden rolled on to her back on the bed, staring up at the knotholes in the ceiling. There were so many of them. Like stars on a night sky, they formed small constellations.

"So, are everyone settled in?" Mirena looked at the group of people she had brought together over the last couple of years. Friends. Strange friends, but friends nonetheless.

"I don't have any bed-" Oleander began, pointing in the rough direction of where her room was.

"Have you seen the wine cellar here?" Stann interrupted, his face beaming with excitement. "I asked the Keeper-"

"Hearthwarden," Jaden corrected the Northman.

"-about what they had to drink around here, and we got talking. Turns out, they've got this... this VAULT of bottles from all over the world. They've even got kulsu. Real kulsu, from before the time my grandfather was born!" Stann finished, hardly noticing the interruption this time.

"Won't that beer have gone bad by now?" The redhead cocked her head to the side, looking askance.

"No-no, little fox. You see, true Northern ale only gather more character with each passing season. A brew this old must be powerful indeed!" There was no doubt that Kellen shared his cousin's spirit of alcoholic adventure. He even put a big arm around the small Olman girl’s shoulders, and gestured into the air like he was showing her a grand display.

"The stuff of legends," Stann readily agreed, nodding with the kind of seriousness only the best drink could bring about. "We've asked him to bring a few friends for the uncorking. We'll give them a taste of what true Northman drink is like!"

"That's very nice, you two, but let's make the most of the time we have before you drag half of the city into a drunken stupor." The knight had a bit of resigned amusement in her voice, like a mother being told all about the frogs her children had brought home after a day playing in the forest.

"This is where I have words to share," Alisan said with a raised hand.

"Anything you can offer, Alisan, will be appreciated," Mirena nodded and stepped back a little to give everyone a clear view of the pale elf.

"I have spoken of how my friends and I have spent effort to uncover what we could about the increased signs of feyland exploitation." Alisan paused to take a breath, taking a look around to make sure they were relatively private. When she continued, she did so with a slightly lower voice. "The one directing our efforts seems to be Ranath Dawnrider, and we should pay visit to his home so that I can introduce you. We will be working with him to coordinate our efforts, most likely, and hopefully learn what else has been brought into light in my absence."

"Can you tell us anything else about this Ranath fellow?" Stann asked, propped against the table on an elbow.

"He is a... friend. I have known him for more than half of a hundred summers. He is in a position to enact some changes, should we provide him with... ah, what is a word? Quel Tivanon?" Alisan turned to Jaden with her question.

"Proof?" The mystic replied, after finding a matching concept in Midland Trade.

"Yes. If we can give proof enough for him to do so," Alisan finished explaining.

"Hang on, what? Half a... fifty years? How old are you, anyway?" The warrior looked shaken.

"Stann!" Oleander smacked the Northman on the arm, glaring at him.

"I will need see twenty more springs come and go before I have followed the seasons two hundred times," Alisan said without blinking.

"You're... you..." Stann looked like he had choked on something.

"You were alive during the wars of the second empire?" Kellen looked like he was having an unexpected birthday. "I have so many questions!"

"Boys? Later." Mirena put an end to the tangent, dragging her herd of cats back on track. "Did you have anything else to add, Alisan?"

"Nothing that is of importance. We should speak with Ranath as soon as possible, and decide on a new path once all words have been shared," the elf said.

"No time like the present. Can we meet him right now, do you think?" The knight asked her.

"Ris," she said with a nod after considering briefly. "He is likely present at this time of day."

According to Alisan her group of friends often met at another location, a house belonging to one of the member’s relative who was no longer living in the city, but having moved to the second largest elven settlement, Bul Isra, to be closer to the misty sea in the west. This made that house their unofficial clubhouse, so to speak, even if some of their get-togethers happened at various venues across the city. Lately, however, Ranath had begun to voice concerns about their security as they had begun to amass incidental evidence of foul play, and the implications they contained. Alisan didn’t know much more than that, since this was about the time she chose to follow up on the lead that took her across the land to Farcrest in the east.

When they were about to leave, the redhead found herself next to the pale elf as they stepped outside.

"Between you and me, creampuff? You don't look a day over hundred-fifty," Oleander said with a grin, nudging Alisan with an elbow.

"I will accept this in the spirit it was offered," the elf replied with a lopsided smile.

"Aw, you're no fun when you're catching on. I may just have to go back to teasing Jay full-time, then. At least he's still gullible." The redhead shrugged.

"Ah, I see that you are still playing that game with me, yes?"

"What game?" Oleander blinked.

"When you attempted to give me the thought that Jaden was a man?" Alisan reminded the Olman girl.

"No, he really is. You see-"

Alisan just smiled and walked on ahead, shaking her head at renen humour. It would take her many summers yet before she understood it.

Some stray light of the sun still found its way through the canopy as they stepped on to the petal path leading away from The Scroll and the Song, as the hearthwarden had translated the name of his inn to the outsider guests. The flower-hedged road brought them in a roundabout way back to the main, almost hub-like centre near the Sonaleum entrance to the city, before their pale guide selected a new winding way to follow.

There were other people heading in either direction, but there was no sense of being cramped together in a street as in many human cities or villages. Everything was very open and spacy. In fact, most elves seemed to take steps to avoid bumping into one another. Even those standing together while talking did so at slightly further distance than expected. Just slightly out of reach of one another. Elves intentionally moved to opposite sides of the path when they met.

"Red, yellow, blue, blue," Stann muttered to himself as they walked.

"What are you grumbling about, my witless cousin?" Kellen asked.

"Just trying to remember the roads we took from that elf-inn to here. They've got no signs, and every house just looks like someone stirred a thick dough up around a wooden spoon. Red, yellow, blue, blue." The younger of the Northmen gave a particularly offending blossom a glare as they passed by.

"Good idea, but remember to reverse the order when we're going back," the rune seeker said with an encouraging nod.

Jaden looked back over her shoulder at the two Northmen, debating whether she should say anything.

"Men!" Oleander made the decision for her. "There are several flowers that are yellow. Can you tell the difference between a sundrop and a calarome? And don't get me started on the blues! Nightbloom, skyblossom, starflower, forget-me-not. The list just goes on and on!"

"Yeah, so?" Stann shrugged at the redhead. "Red, yellow, blue, blue. Uh. Pink?"

"Fuchsia," Kellen said after considering the flower on the new path.

"The hell?" Stann stared at his cousin.

"Why are you surprised? I know things." The rune seeker was never embarrassed of knowledge. But, sometimes, he would be careful with who he shared it.

"What I'm trying to tell you two jugheads, there are many different flowers, not just colours!" Oleander threw her hands in the air.

"Don't throw me off, Red. Red, yellow, blue, blue, uh..." Stann glanced down at the side of the path.

"Fuchsia."

"Damnit, Kel!" The winter warrior growled at his cousin.

"Can't we just ask someone for directions, if we get lost?" Jaden suggested. "I bet most who've lived here for a hundred years or so know the way to Kalan e Siria."

The Northmen just stared at the mystic like she had claimed that the moon was green, then exchanged a slow look.

“I could always put a breadcrumb enchantment on some stones along our route,” Kellen suggested, digging into one of his many beltpouches.

“Good thinking. Nice to know that some of us are still being reasonable.” Stann turned back to his cousin, dismissing the strange notion the young Lacunai was bringing into their world.

Jaden let her shoulders drop down in defeat, resisting the urge to yell at them. How could the Northmen be such successful sailors and travellers with that kind of mindset?

"Hey, Ali? Do you have any oleander paths here?" Oleander asked, her thoughts still on the many kinds of flowers they had seen since coming to the city.

"Of course. They lead from the temple of the ancestors to one of our burial grounds." Alisan turned around a little as if to orient herself, and then indicated a direction roughly towards the northeast.

"Awesome!" The redhead grinned. Ever since learning what her name meant in Serecean, she had taken on a new interest in elven matters.

"Humans are strange," the elf confided to the mystic.

"Does that mean I'm only two fifths strange?" Jaden replied with a wry smile.

"I thought you said you were two fifths elf?" Oleander tilted her head to the side, narrowing her eyes a little and pointing a little at Jaden’s ears.

"According to Lilya's calculations, we are, yeah,” the black-haired mystic replied.

"… blue, blue… Wait, if you're two fifths elf, and two fifths human... what's the last fifth?" Stann looked up from where he was helping Kellen put a runic beacon on one of the decorative stones lining the path.

"It should be obvious, looking at him. Clearly it's 'breasts'." Oleander made a grand gesture with both hands at Jaden’s upper chest area.

"Ollie, for the love of..." Jaden groaned, feeling another blush rushing up her cheeks.

“I… I think I lost my count on the flowers.” Stann rubbed his neck, looking away from the hinted cleavage.

With the certainty of one who had a lifetime of familiarity with a city, Alisan lead them along one path after another until they reached a three storied building bridging the space between two trees small by Sorun standards. That meant either not reaching up far enough to become part of the vast canopy, merely standing a six or seven yards high.

She didn’t pause to knock on the door, but simply let herself in and announced her presence by striking a glass bell on a silver frame standing on a small table near the entrance. It sent a crystalline peal throughout the hall, quickly summoning a blonde elf with his hair falling down to his shoulders. It was kept in place by a golden headband with a stylised swan decorating his forehead. The clothes were unlike Alisan’s, robes of bold red colours and with snugly fitting sleeves of one who wielded an instrument of writing rather than one for music.

"Alisan Shonmirellis! En helon!." The elven man fondly embraced Alisan with a closeness the rest had not seen among elves during their brief visit. "Lien paral suma!"

"Flowers and sweet song will not join two paths as one, Ranath," Alisan chided him in Midland Trade for her new friends' benefit.

"I shall make attempts to curb my elation at your return. Will you share these people's names with me?" He asked, indicating the strangers in his home.

"It seems as if I have found some allies during my journey." Alisan turned to the rest and began to introduce them. "This is my old friend Ranath Dawnrider. He serves as an assistant to one of the Wisdoms attending our Videre. Ranath, these are our new friends."

Ranath bowed at Oleander and Mirena as each was introduced, and awkwardly shook hands with the Winterhearts. He seemed both pleased and puzzled by the action. Rhyce merely exchanged a look with the elven man, whose eyes darted towards the black bow on the archer's back. Ranath quickly looked away, and continued to pretend that Rhyce didn't exist for the rest of the evening. Once Alisan brought him in front of Jaden, his smile grew wider.

"En helon, laman alparal sa-" Ranath was about to make a smooth bow when Jaden's finger shot up in his face quick enough to make him bend backwards instead. His expression went from surprised to confused, his eyes darting to either side for any sign of help.

"No! None of that! Let's make one thing clear straight from the start: I'm not-" The black-haired mystic began in no nonsense terms, starting to feel the fire on her tongue once again, but was pulled to the side by Oleander.

"Whaaat my dear friend here is trying to say, is that we're positively enchanted by your marvellous home! Is that a sculpture by someone famous?" The redhead swung Jaden around and pointed toward a random decoration, and then gave her a push in that direction.

"I... yes, well," Ranath looked pleadingly at Alisan, who held a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

«Her name is Jaden Tarasov, Ranath. She is a half-blood, despite how she presents, » Alisan informed her friend while the redheaded thief led the black-haired mystic away on a house tour.

«Tarasov? As in Irissa Tarasov, the ambassador from Talraman? » Ranath did a double-take at the person in question. Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the resemblance. The dark hair had thrown him off, since Irissa's tresses were like moonlight rather than shadows.

«It is not known to me. Mayhap they are related? Who can truly know with those of the mountain?» Alisan could only shake her head. Despite having visited the Outside, she could barely understand the renen, and the children of the Isanduar Mountain even less.

Ranath glanced again at the black-haired mystic. Yes. The features were there. Working closely with the ruling caste, he frequently handled official documents and agreements, and was present in meetings with representatives of other nations. Ranath had been involved in more than one introductory speech when their southern neighbours sent a new group of their youths to study at the side of Sona Exarchs or peruse the knowledge of their grand library. He had been there – perhaps seven or eight years ago – when the daughter of the Talraman envoy had been among those exchange students. But hadn’t she been introduced by another name, back then?

Ranath shook his head. It was not important. What was, though, was how this presented an interesting opportunity. However, that would have to wait. While talking, they had moved to one of the house’s sitting rooms. It was an open place, more akin to a covered porch where the large windows let in enough of the faint light for the mirrored panels spaced along the walls to fully illuminate the place. It was clearly meant for large gatherings, so it was no problem for everyone to find somewhere to sit down. Rather the opposite, even with all of them seated, there was still room for at least as many again. As soon as one of Ranath’s attendants left the room after pouring tea for everyone, their blonde host pulled his eyebrows together in a worried frown when he once more turned to Alisan.

"On a more sombre note, summer warms my heart to see that you are safe, Alisan," Ranath said, looking serious but switching back to faintly accented Trade so as not to be rude to the guests. "I sent word to you, but I fear you may have already left Alband by the time it arrived. We have had several... setbacks since you left the city."

"Setbacks? What manner of setbacks?" She looked surprised, clearly wondering what could have happened.

"It is the reason why so few of the others are here today. We did not wish to risk more attention at the moment.” Ranath glanced to the side, pressing his lips together. “Alisan, Tinris was found murdered at our… other meeting hall."

"What? No!" Alisan’s hands flew up to her mouth.

"I can but offer my hands and my thoughts. He will be missed by all who knew him." Ranath lightly touched his forehead, lips and chest with a hand.

"Have others of your group been targeted?" Mirena asked, looking to the side as Rhyce stood up from his chair.

The archer moved to the side of one of the windows, keeping a watch as if he expected assassins to emerge out of the forest at any point. The only thing that moved was a pair of black birds settling down on some branches nearby.

"Not like this. At first, we suspected nothing. There had been accidents, yes, but those things could have happened to anyone. With Tinris' death, we were forced to open our eyes." Ranath clenched his jaw, but managed to keep his hands from balling up with some effort. Elves of his station often put a great deal of pride in their calm composure. It wouldn’t do to show such lack of control in front of guests.

"Do you suspect anyone?" The knight had lapsed into full investigative mindset, already making mental lists.

"Anyone and no one. There are powerful wills in the city who seek to hide the crimes being perpetrated in the Feylands." The blonde elf spread his hands.

"When was your friend killed, and who was the first to find him?" Mirena followed up. She spared a quick glance at Rhyce, who just made a barely noticeable shake of his head.

"A week has passed since the light left his eyes. It was I who saw his body before anyone else. He had asked both Lienide and I to meet him that day, mentioning that he had come across something interesting but he needed to confirm matters before sharing his knowledge."

"Was there anything strange when you got there? Anything out of place." She asked.

Kellen had not said anything to this point, instead listening intently and committing the details to his vast memory. From a room upstairs, there was the faint murmur of Oleander and Jaden bickering. The only words that reached down to the sitting hall was something about a lockpick. Ranath furrowed his brow in thought, staring at the floor like he was peeling back the layer of days into the past.

"I cannot say. He had been strangled with a wire. It looked like he was about to make tea. I wonder if he was making it for himself, or for a guest?" Ranath’s eyes were unfocused, as if he was reliving the scene.

Alisan merely made a choking noise, hugging herself. She had known Tinris for most of her life, and suddenly losing him felt like losing a part of her own body.

"Do you think he knew his attacker?" Stann said, looking a little uncomfortable in the delicate chairs. The woodwork was beautifully carved, but the Northmen’s bulk looked out of place upon those artful creations.

"It is possible," Ranath looked equally uncomfortable, but for different reasons.

"We should probably speak with your other friend, as well. What was their name? Lienide?" Mirena added it to her mental list.

"Yes. I will ask for her to come here as soon as she can. She is wisdom caste, as was Tinris, but assigned to surveying the… ah, ‘wildlands’, yes? I believe she will be back within the next few days." Ranath barely paused when searching for the appropriate Trade words. He clearly had more practice than Alisan in speaking with humans.

"Finally, do you mind if we use your home here as a base of operations, so to speak? It might be a good idea to keep this close to our chest if you have enemies willing to kill to keep their secrets." Mirena stood up as she made her request, making a small grimace at the large windows. While aesthetically pleasing, they made the house harder to keep secure. However, at this point their best defence was subtlety.

During the conversation, Rhyce had moved from one side of the room to the other, constantly keeping a watch at the outside. He made a slight nod, and soon afterwards the black birds flew off.

"I welcome you to share my roof, my wine, and my path for as long as you have need of either." Their host gestured at his home with a hand.

"Some of that wine would sure be nice about now," Stann twisted around in his seat, as if expecting assassins to materialise from the shadows.

"Indeed," Ranath agreed, looking suddenly tired.

"Who should we turn to, if we wanted to know more about the deep wildlands where they fey creatures live?"

"If you are interested in the seasons before us, the Hall of the Wordshapers will provide some knowledge. For more recent affairs, it might be prudent to seek one of the ruling caste who maintains the edicts regarding the feylands."

"We were planning a trip to your library anyway, so there's that." Mirena had a considering look in her eyes. "However, if we did want to get in touch with the... minister in question?"

"Fortune sees you, paladin. Normally it would be... complicated for Outsiders to see one of the ruling caste. There are some things that tips the balance in your favour. One of which is how there is a dance being held tomorrow evening in memory of one of our… ah, folk heroes, Imagonen Atar, where many important personages will attend. Both Liriel Willowstone and Tsirnys Solaman of the ruling caste, who have influence over the Wildwardens and make decisions regarding export policies, are known to frequent such events."

"How will we go about getting an invitation?"

"That is where Fortune turns a mere look into a smile. You seem to have a child of an ambassador in your company. I could let the wind carry my words of how Irissa's daughter is visiting the Eternal City. No doubt reside in my heart that you will be welcomed at the dance!"

It was a while later, once Jaden and Oleander had finally finished their exploration of Ranath’s home, when everyone but Rhyce were gathered in the sitting room. One of Ranath’s attendants brought in a few trays with fruit, snacks very reminiscent of tiny pies and a refill for their tea. She was a cute woman with light blonde hair that curled almost to her shoulders and a bust that was unusually large for an elf betraying that there was more than a few drops of human blood in her ancestry. Stann’s eyes lingered on the attendant as she made her way around the table with the tray of refreshments. The chair Rhyce had used earlier was still vacant. The archer had left earlier, mumbling about how this house wasn’t secure enough and that he would be keeping watch.

"Why do we have to go to a fancy party?" Oleander pouted, with a slice of cake in each hand. She had a lot of prejudice about the life that the ‘rich folk’ lead. It had been hard to go cold and hungry and see those happy silhouettes against the lit windows, hear the music and laughter, smell the food.

"Because we don't know many people in Ral Sona, but we do know these people." Mirena nodded to where their host was entertaining the Northmen with a tale of the time in his youth when he was overseeing some boatbuilding in the Bul Isran wharves. The men used their arms to pantomime measuring the girth and length of various nautical construction material. Alisan was sitting nearby, happy for the distraction from her mourning of her lost childhood friend. “And they seem to believe that this is a good way to proceed. Have faith, Oleander.”

"Can't we just send out Stann and let him do his thing? He's proven to be quite the sleuth." The redhead looked at the warrior, who was standing up straight and reaching as high as he could with a hand, as if to show the size of something.

"You really want to give Stann free reign to do his... thing? In Ral Sona? With all the elven girls around?" The knight raised an eyebrow. She loved her friends, both despite and because of their shortcomings.

"..." Oleander paused.

"Really?" Mirena raised her other eyebrow, going as far as to put her hands on her hips.

"Perhaps we should explore other options." The Olman redhead said with uncharacteristic diplomacy.

"Maybe we should." Mirena agreed.

“I don’t really have a dress, though. If it’s such a fine shindig we’re expected to wear dresses, right? Jay? What’s elf custom for these kinda things?” Oleander looked over at the mystic, who was twirling her black hair around a finger while looking at the men and their bragging.

“Huh? Dancing?” Jaden mentally relived the last minute of conversation that had happened next to her. “Ah. Yeah. The styles are, well, different from the coastlands, but men still wear jackets and women still wear dresses. Mostly.”

Jaden hadn’t attended such an event herself, on any of her previous visits, but she had heard about the parties her mother had been expected to go to in her capacity as envoy. Mirena, on the other hand, proved to be more knowledgeable.

“Indeed. When I was allowed to accompany my parents here, oh, some ten years ago now, the embassies held a dance as well. I suppose it was less… ethnic, on account of the many human guests, but I didn’t find it all that different from what I was used to in Tier or Olmar,” she said, recalling one of the more exciting trips of her youth. It had only been a year later when she had disappointed her parents by joining the temple of Telum.

“So, where will we find clothes?” Oleander wondered again.

“’We’?” Jaden caught the hidden implication.

“Unless you’ve squirreled away something special in your bags?” The redhead teased with a grin.

“No, of course not,” Jaden lied without blinking.

“Perhaps we can ask our host for suggestions? The dance is tomorrow night, so it might be difficult for us to find a seamstress that can provide what we need,” Mirena said, ever the voice of reason.

It turned out that he could do them one better. His other attendant, who was responsible for keeping the house in a presentable state, led them to a room Jaden and Oleander had only briefly inspected during their tour. Miri, as their host had introduced her as, was a tall woman with dark blonde hair falling down her back in three braids, and with large, pointed ears sticking out to either side of a sharp but elfishly attractive face.

The room was revealed to have been the dressing room of Ranath’s mother and sister, while they still lived in this house, explaining the many mirrors and closets. Now, it was mainly an extra room for storing the odds and ends of a household, but still more than large enough to accommodate the four women.

"Remind me again. This time, make it good: why do we need to go to this dance?" Jaden asked as she looked around for the second time. She didn’t particularly like mirrors. They never showed her what she wanted to see.

"Several reasons: We will be invited, and turning it down would be rude. Also, we suspect some of the higher echelons of the Sorun society to be involved, which means that this is a good opportunity to find out who. And finally-" Mirena leaned in a little closer to one mirror, and touched the side of an eye with a frown. Was that a wrinkle?

"We want to see you in a pretty dress!" Oleander interrupted the knight, before she could continue.

"Do what now?" The mystic stared at the redhead like she had pulled a knife.

"That's not it, Jaden. I was going to say, 'a way to find allies if we're going up against powerful members of the elven hierarchy'," Mirena corrected the thief with a disapproving look.

"Oh."

"Will you be in need of formal wear?" Miri said, after clearing her throat politely. The elven attendant looked on the women, a look of appraisal in her eyes. She was clearly measuring them up for sizes.

"If it is acceptable, I will be using a Tierin ballgown," Mirena’s slight frown turned into a fond expression as she thought about her unpacked clothes hanging in her room back at the inn.

"Wait, you've been lugging a ballgown around all this time, on the off-chance we'd be invited to a dance?" Oleander looked askance.

"I picked it up from my family's tailor when we stayed in Tier last time, but, yes." The knight did not allow herself many luxuries in life, but if she had one fault it would be her being a little bit of a clothes-horse.

"... you have a private tailor?" Oleander crossed her arms.

"Not exclusively, but, yes master Tilver is a marvel to behold when he performs his needlework," the knight explained.

The attendant cleared her throat again, casually. It got their attention, turning it back to the matter at hand.

"Do you even have anything that would fit me?" The redhead looked at herself with a self-deprecating smirk.

"That will not present a barrier. From what I can tell, you conform to the common measurements of a young Serecean woman,” Miri said, but then pointed at Jaden with an upturned finger. “I am more concerned about your friend there."

"But Jay's one of you!" Oleander protested.

"Ollie, I'm not-"

"We will see what can be done. I recall there being the unfortunate case of a daughter of House Qarelya who had an ill-fated passion for Olman sweetrolls. We could take in the... expansive waist of one of those gowns. The stars know that it has not seen the light of day since she left the city." Miri shook her head slightly at the memory, but then bowed slightly and began to walk to the door.

"What happened to her?" Oleander wondered. She always liked stories.

"Lady Isilien? I believe she moved to Asova and is pursuing a career as a singer in one of their theatres. Her mother is both pleased and concerned."

Once the attendant had left the chamber, ostensibly to check on the dresses for Jaden and Oleander, the mystic suddenly looked up from where she had been slumping down on a ornate stool.

"Wait, did that woman suggest I am fat?" Jaden asked her friends.

"Well, you do have a pretty generous behind,” Oleander said with a smirk. All that magic and reading could make a person lazy and plump.

"I refuse to be upset about that,” Jaden replied. She still found herself looking at her reflection, and wondered if she shouldn’t start doing her sword exercises again, anyway.

"I've noted how a number of men we've met share that sentiment." The redhead winked.

"I'm considering being upset about this, however,” the mystic mumbled, resting her chin on her hands. Trust Oleander to find a way to make you feel self-conscious.

"You're welcome." She grinned, just before seeing Mirena massage the bridge of her nose.

“Telum, grant me strength,” the knight prayed.

They had returned to the inn just before nightfall, having spent most of the evening in conversation with Ranath and being briefed about the tangled political situation in Ral Sona. It had taken longer time than necessary, since their host pretty much had to start at the beginning and explain some of the societal structures of the elves, and how it differed from the human nations. Positions of authority were neither inherited nor elected, they were earned and granted by other members of that caste. To Jaden, it wasn’t all that different from the system used in Talraman, but to those from the feudal Olmar or the clan-oriented Northern Lands, it seemed like madness.

Looking out through her window, Jaden saw how the faint light was fading away from the Eternal City, being pushed away by the arrival of night. She idly ran her fingers through the still damp hair. The quick freshening up they had done before visiting Alisan's friend had been nice, and necessary considering the several days they had spent riding here from Tarad. But, it had been no replacement for a real bath, or so Mirena had claimed when she had asked the hearthwarden of the inn to make sure there was enough hot water for everyone, before the Northmen reduced the patrons to a state of drunken delirium in their effort to prove that Northern ale was better than anything the elven nation could produce.

Jaden tilted her head to the side. She didn't have Rhyce's keen hearing, but even she could hear the sound of carousing coming from somewhere below her room. She felt a momentary pang of pity for the archer, who had been dragged into the merriment. A part of Jaden was upset that Stann hadn't made more of an effort to include her as well, as he had done in Rosehaven. But now he knew what Jaden had tried to hide, and now everything was different. Angrily throwing the towel against the wall didn't really give her any outlet for what she was feeling. The girls had only made it worse with their incessant talk about that dance. They wanted to dress her up in a fancy gown! She wasn’t a doll for them to play with! The thought made her seethe.

And then there was the ring. Jaden reached down into her nightdress - one of her old shirts, really - and pulled out the simple band she kept on a leather strap, hidden beneath her clothes and nestled between her breasts. She felt the anger flare again. It was a symbol of her life, how she had constantly been manipulated by people around her. Her father, Master Hetagon, even her friends. Anger turned to a brief burst of rage, and the strap caught fire. The flame quickly consumed the leather and sent the ring, no longer bound to her, clinking to the floor. Jaden followed the ring with her eyes as it rolled a distance and then stopped, still on its end. The light from the candle in her room, reflected against the glass of the window, made the ring cast twin shadows. Just like her horizons. The anger faded away as quickly as it had come upon her, leaving her with just a familiar tired resignation.

With a sight, Jaden finally got up from where she sat at the edge of her bed, and knelt down to pick it up. As she was standing up again with the ring in her palm, she saw a motion in the corner of her eye. Someone walking below her window, along the petal path that would bring the traveller further into the city. Out of idle curiosity she kept watching. Whoever they were, they looked too tall to be an elf, and wore a hood even during the summer warmth. The figure suddenly stopped and looked around, even though there were no other people in sight. On a strange impulse, Jaden ducked down below the window. A chill ran down her spine, but she quickly dismissed it as being silly. If Oleander had seen her, the redhead would never have let Jaden hear the end of it.

She stretched out in her bed again, staring at the ceiling for a while before she felt sleep began to overcome her. Just as her mind drifted away, she heard a gentle singing just soft enough that she couldn’t understand the words. The song made her feel safe and warm. Raindrops on a window. Arms around her, holding her close. It reminded her of home, somehow. The home she missed, rather than the home she feared.

All are one and the same

When dawn once more found a way to caress the grass and stones that made up the open areas of the eternal city, Jaden rolled over to the side and blinked against the light coming through the nearly diaphanous curtains. She could almost feel the lingering heat on her skin, from her dreams. Maybe it was her imagination, but they were growing more vivid with each night. She kept dreaming of the fire.

As she got up and prepared herself for the day, her eyes fell on the ring resting next to her other valuables. With its old strap destroyed, she looked around to find a suitable replacement. In the end, she only had two things that would serve: the leather strap she usually tied back her hair with, and the brass chain that served as the focus for her meditation. Jaden’s golden eyes narrowed at the thought of keeping that chain next to her heart an entire day, and tied the remaining strap in a loop around the ring. She would just have to let her hair hang free today, or maybe ask if Mirena would lend her one of those silk ribbons. The mystic made a face at the idea, both at how feminine it would look, and the fact that Mirena usually only kept blues and greens. Jaden much preferred reds and blacks. Or yellows. Yellow was nice.

Breakfast was served down in the common room of the inn, that barely showed any signs of the state it had been in after the debauchery of last night. Only some dark rings under the eyes of the innkeeper and a forgotten tankard underneath a chair spoke of what had happened when the Winterhearts had offered to teach the elves all about Northern culture – most of which Jaden knew involved drinking to the point of blindness, and singing songs that would make any modest person blush. Of course, both cousins sat bright-eyed and in high spirits, enjoying their cold cuts and slices of bread thick with nuts and fruits. It was unfair in so many ways. Jaden brushed some of her dark hair over an ear and reached for the pitcher of water.

“-and that, as the legends has it, is why elves live for such a long time,” Kellen finished the story he had been spinning for the last quarter of an hour. Jaden had barely paid any attention to it. She liked the Lacunai version better, anyway.

"The secret to a long life is being able to laugh at it from time to time," Stann said with certainty, giving the table a small bump with his fist to emphasise his stance. It was a philosophy he lived by most of the time, and had served him through the ups and downs so far. He had seen too many fellow warriors grow bitter and hard over the years, and did not want to end up like the greybeards at the longhouse back home in Strom, who only kept company with anger and regret.

"Laughing at the wrong person is a good way to cut it short, though," Oleander offered her opinion, and then took a bite of her apple and grinned at the warrior while chewing with her mouth open.

“Table-manners, Oleander,” Mirena chided the redhead. “We are supposed to attend a high-class party tonight. I expect all of us to be on our best behaviour.”

“Yes mom,” Oleander managed to say through her mouthful of food.

“I still think it would be dull to live for aeons. I say, life is too good to water down like cheap ale. It should be rich and intense, filled with adventure and glory!” Stann said, turning to his cousin.

“Like kulsu!” Kellen agreed, tapping his mug against Stann’s.

Jaden looked at Rhyce, who had stayed up with the Northmen. There was only the barest sign of tightness around the archer’s eyes, and he seemed to take his time eating. First, Jaden thought that Rhyce looked away when their eyes met, but she followed his gaze and realised that he was paying attention to a small group of elves sitting two tables over. The mystic didn’t doubt that the archer’s keen ears allowed him to pick up on what was being said.

Words are only one part of what is being said. Feelings and gestures speak as loudly as a voice, and sometimes more clearly. Listen with your heart.

A memory came unbidden to her mind, when Alisan had spoken about the elven way of reading body language. Jaden focused on the other group, tuning out the conversation happening around her. Suddenly, it was as if the essence of the other discussion was brought into clarity.

«Did you hear the High Warden's report before the wisdoms last evening?» The dark-haired Cealon elf stroked his chin, and tapped the table with a finger.

«Disturbing. The wildlands becomes smaller with each season.» Another elven man, his nearly white hair cut shorter and wilder than the first, clenched a fist.

«Soon, it will be too small to sustain the population. What will the rulers do then?» The first elf tilted his head slightly backwards, and turned one palm open on the table.

«There will be conflict with the Outside. It will be inevitable, if they continue to encroach on our domain.» The third elf, a blonde Seren, leaned forward in his chair, his eyebrows drawing together.

«Is war the only way?» The wild-haired, pale Seren returned the frown.

«It is either that, or do as our forebears and bow to the humans once again.» The blonde one put both his hands on the table, fingers splayed wide.

«The Two People would never accept that. The Seren have regained the pride they lost during the great diaspora, and the Cealon are not capable of recognising a higher authority.» The dark elf smirked a little.

«Then there will be war.» The wild-haired one lowered his head a fraction.

«Pity. My brother has half-blood kin in Radent.» The blonde turned his head slightly to the east.

«My thoughts will be with them.» The first Seren closed his eyes.

Jaden was brought out of her trance when Rhyce touched her elbow. Suddenly, the noise of the common room came rushing back to her. Noise became words, and words once more held meaning. She could feel that the archer knew that she had heard what he had heard, and they exchanged almost expressionless concern. War.

When Mirena called for volunteers to see to their mounts, in case they would be needed during the day, nobody was surprised when Rhyce raised his hand as a volunteer. The knight’s eyebrows twitched a little when the archer used his other to grab and raise Jaden’s as well. That was how the mystic found herself in the stables next to the inn a short time later, where their horses were kept in separate stalls, next to a couple of dappled grey elven horses.

Not knowing why she had been brought here Jaden began to putter about the stall, and the borderlander being who he was, not exactly speaking his mind either. Or speaking at all. Rhyce went about the routine of caring for their horses with more care than he treated his friends. Jaden found herself basically talking to herself, wondering out loud what they would find should they decide to venture out into the wildlands proper. She had only ever seen the city itself, not all that was Sorun.

Rhyce eventually let the brush fall down from combing the mane of Mirena’s warhorse, looking over his shoulder at Jaden.

"Why make new mistakes when you can keep repeating old ones?" He said, enigmatically.

"What do you mean by that?" Jaden wondered. She forced herself to stop tugging at the reins she was untangling, where they hung looped by the bits and bridles.

"That we all have our reasons for being here, Jaden. Do you know yours?" Rhyce began to brush the horse again.

"I... We came here to see if we could put an end to the-" She began.

"No. That's our excuse.” The archer interrupted. He turned around, but didn’t look directly at Jaden. “Mirena is here to prove something. Kellen is here to find what he lost. Stann wants to belong somewhere. Oleander is afraid of losing what she has."

"And you?" She asked, softly.

"I'm here because I don't want to forget." Now he was looking her in the eyes. She almost wished he hadn’t.

Jaden stood silent for what felt like minutes, searching herself for her own reason. Why did anyone do anything? Did she want to prove something to her father? Was she looking for something?

Don't you remember?

"I... I want to remember something," Jaden finally confessed. She hadn’t realised it until the words left her lips. But what was it? Her face? Her real face? Or was it something else?

Rhyce just nodded and put the brush away.

"Good. Now we can go on."

The Wordshapers' Hall, like most buildings in Ral Sona, did not use straight lines. It was a winding, turning and twisting place with hemispherical chambers and chimney-like places with spiral stairs leading up along ever-turning bookshelves. There was an order to the place, that much was clear, but it was a rhythm hidden from logic, a labyrinth of words.

Kellen was delighted, of course. The look on his face that of a child who was told by the baker to pick any pasty they wanted. Oleander was his mirror opposite, hands clutching at her hair in budding despair.

"How will we ever find anything in here?" She whimpered, looking this way and that, trying to figure the place out.

"It will be a seeking worthy of any scholar," the big Northman reached out and gave the small redhead a one-armed hug.

"I'm not a scholar! Jay, save me?"

"How about we go look this way, and you take the other side, Kel?" Jaden tried diplomacy.

"Yeah, sounds good," Kellen didn't seem to entirely hear them, and strode off with a finger running along the spines of the countless tomes. If they left him here, he would no doubt try to read every book he could get his hands on. Jaden just hoped the rune seeker would stay on task.

The mystic and the street-rat remained by the entrance long enough, looking lost enough, to make one of the nearby librarians approach with her hands steepled and a face like a serene forest lake.

"Be welcomed, Outsiders. What path leads you to the Wordshapers' Hall?" She asked in the lilting Sorunese accent of one who had never left the elven lands.

"Uh..." Jaden looked around a little. "So, where do we find books about the wildlands?"

"A single flower hides well in a meadow," the wordshaper replied with a softly reprimanding tone.

"What." Oleander stared blankly. "Critters, not flowers. We want your books on beasts and monsters!"

"I think she asked us to be more specific, Ollie." Jaden turned back to the wordshaper. "Let's try that again: Where can we learn more about the beings in the... what was the name she used? Feylands?"

"Yes. As decided by the third addendum to the concord of the two people, the Feyland shall be recognised as its own domain within the Serecean wilds." She turned and beckoned for them to follow, all while talking in that halting Midland Trade. "Many of the works on that region are kept in the... how do you say? Moon hollow? A chamber not far."

Oleander made a face behind the librarian's back as they followed along a curving passage. Through arcs and doorways they saw several other elves studying old scriptures or with their heads together in hushed conversations. It was a place of education and philosophy, two concepts that the Olman girl had grown up resenting. She valued what she called 'street-smarts' more than the wisdom found in books.

The signs they passed made little sense to Jaden or, she suspected, anybody else except for the custodians of this place. The wordshapers probably made it like that intentionally.

The chamber called the moon hollow was a basin-like, rounded room with a large window set in the ceiling. It gave a strange impression of being on the bottom of a very large well, looking up along the high walls toward the sky. Like everywhere else, the circumference of the room was either lined with bookshelves or had shelves simply carved into those seamless wooden walls.

"One would do well to begin one's search in this section here," their librarian guide said, and indicated a number of ledges that ran in decorative arcs around a knothole holding an illuminating glass globe. Books and scrolls were carefully arranged along those ledges, more according to an artistic eye than any alphabetical organisation.

"Thank you, Wordshaper. Can we call upon you again, should we require more aid?" Jaden asked with a respectful bow.

"Or to just, you know, find our way back out?" Oleander added.

"I will tend to the vestibules by this root today," the elf nodded. "If there is need, I will share my knowledge."

With that, the woman turned with a swish of those robes and drifted off to a side corridor, leaving the two youths alone in a cavern of learning.

"But how will we find you!?" Oleander called down the passageway, receiving no response. She turned back to Jaden, who just shrugged.

"Guess we'd better get to work," the mystic said, eyeing the many shelves with apprehension. She decided to trust in the librarian's suggestion, and began looking over the books on the curved ledges first. The titles were almost exclusively in Sorunese, and none she had seen before.

"Hey, these are all in elven. I can't make out any of these squiggles," the redhead eventually said, having pawed through a number of random books as well.

"Yeah, I guess we should've seen that coming, this being an elven library. I'm sorry," Jaden said, giving her friend a sympathetic smile.

"Well, more work for you. I'm going to build a fortress out of books, or something." Oleander put her hands on her hips and sized up the available material.

"I'm not sure the wordshapers will like you messing up their system."

"Look around and tell me there's a system to this place. You can't, can you? That's because there isn't one. They just assume that since they're immortal and all, they can spend a couple of hundred years looking for that book on... ear-painting or whatever,” the redhead made a vague gestures towards her ears.

"Would that be painting your ears, or painting WITH your ears?" Jaden looked up from one of the many books that had begun to pile up around her.

"Dunno. Pick one. Could be both for all I know. Elves are weird." Oleander was balancing a book on her head.

Jaden hid her smile as best as she could and dived back into the tomes. The handwriting was good enough that she could skim most of the books. Many were focused on particular subjects, like the social life of nereids, or how the climate changes over the last hundreds of years had affected the migratory pattern of stormfalcons along the Sea of Mists. There was a dissertation about dryads that caught the mystic's eye, pointing out the symbiotic bond that the tree-spirits shared with the land. One of the old references made in the book attributed them as some sort of sentinels of the wildlands, their connection to the land serving to protect it from both natural and unnatural disasters.

It was quite fascinating reading, however, and Jaden found herself quite startled when someone called her name.

"One offers apologies. Mystic Tarasov?" A blonde librarian in the same sweeping, blue robes of the other wordshapers approached their reading table. His braided hair went past his waist, swinging with each measured step.

"Uh..." Jaden looked around, surprised that she'd been recognised. The elf looked vaguely familiar. There was the possibility that they had ran into each other when Jaden had come here many years ago. "Sure?"

"We seem to have had this written word resting for you since last year's greendawn. Will you accept it?" The voice, somewhat inflectionless, was certainly familiar. Jaden had spent more time in the library and the adjoining lecture halls than in the city proper, so maybe it wasn’t that strange. It was possible they had met before.

"You've held onto it for over a year?" Jaden looked surprised.

"We care for all written words, no matter what their age or size. It is the wordshaper's task to see that they are heard," replied the elf politely, but a little vacantly.

"Well, thank you, I guess?" She accepted the offered letter.

Once the librarian had left, Jaden turned the folded paper around in her hand. It bore a simple wax seal, marked with three diagonal slashes. It was addressed simply, 'To Jaden Tarasov, Lacunai Mystic'. Her stomach reminded her she was in no shape for surprises.

"Open it! Aren't you curious?" Oleander demanded, hanging over her friend's shoulder.

"Not really..." Terrified. Anxious. Alarmed, perhaps? Curious? No.

"If you won't, I will!" The Olman woman made a grab for the letter.

"Okay, already. Give me some room." Jaden shrugged the redhead off, and peeled back the seal. The message was as simple and direct as the person who had signed it. She could almost hear the disapproving tone of the words.

"Well, what did it say?" Oleander tried to read over the mystic's shoulder.

"It's an old letter from my aunt. She probably sent a couple of these to various places she suspected I would visit after I ran away from home." Jaden looked at the sharp handwriting. It was probably penned in anger. "She is telling me to return back to Talraman."

"Are you going to?"

"Eventually, maybe. Probably. One day. But not now," Jaden haltingly said, and looked to her friend for reassurance. “I mean, we’re busy, right?”

"When you do, would you like... would you want me to come with you?" Oleander sat down on the edge of the table, looking at Jaden with those storm-grey eyes of hers.

"It could be dangerous, Ollie."

"I don't mind, Jay."

"Okay." Their hands touched, fingers entwining. Jaden felt her heart beat a little faster.

It was Oleander who pulled away first, standing up and pointing at the bookshelves.

“Well, then we’d better get to it. Start working, elf-boy. These books aren’t going to read themselves!” She had her back turned against Jaden, so the mystic couldn’t see her face.

Jaden had no idea how long she had been reading, but when she finally came up for air, she was alone. Oleander had likely grown tired of just sitting around and gone off to explore, leaving only behind a neat pile of books vaguely shaped like a throne.

It is time to go to the old section

More out of impulse than anything else, Jaden put the book in her hands away and decided to go have a look-around of her own. She didn't really think about why she took one turn over another. Eventually, she rounded a corner and found herself in a dead-end. The books here looked ancient even by elven standards, and there was something about the air that made her feel like few people found any reason to come here. Still, there was something nagging at her and she began to read the titles tucked away from the outside world. Old treatises, maps showing the islands of the first empire, and all manner of forgotten journals from the time when mankind had barely begun to settle in this part of the world.

While she was mindfully picking through the titles, she saw something tucked behind some other books. She reached in and managed to pull out a dusty, rolled-up parchment held together with a black and orange ribbon. She felt her heart skip. Those were Talraman's colours.

Witness the past; truth both bitter and sweet

Jaden studied the old scroll carefully. Her fingers kept the preserved parchment from rolling back up as her eyes struggled through the text. It was written in code. The worrisome part was that Jaden knew this code. It was a Talramani cipher, one used when communicating with allies during times of war. In modern days, it was most often used in diplomatic correspondences, like the ones her mother exchanged with her counterparts here in Ral Sona. Irissa had shown her the basics of it when she had been a young boy, the rest she had figured out on her own.

The scroll described a joint effort between the citadel council and the Cea House Solaman in extinguishing a circle of soul-thieves working out of a small village in Olmar. The Sona Exarchs loyal to the house acted as initial shocktroops while the Lacunai mage-slayers broke the heretics' counter-attack. They surrounded the village and burned the houses, leaving nothing standing. One of the mystic even called upon a nether pact to curse the very ground to produce nothing but ashes for generations to come.

Loriven, long ago

Do you remember the fires?

The blackened remains of the houses rose from the destruction like fingers reaching for the skies that had forsaken them. Men, women and children. None had been spared the wrath that had descended upon them. Too many bodies lined the street. Some had fallen when they had tried to stand and fight, some had been killed trying to flee. Only a handful shapes still moved around amidst the wreckage of what had been a second chance.

The tall man fell to his knees next to his murdered kin, still wreathed in some of the faint ribbons of purple mist that had protected him from the same fate. He bowed down in grief, his hands on the still body of a friend who would never clasp his shoulder again.

"Cast from the sky, I swear. By Drigorius, by Lectus, by Sabakus, by Antodus, I swear. By the myriad nether I swear, grant me the strength and I shall see the ruin of them who brought death to Loriven!" Jed shouted into the night, pledging himself to anyone and anything that would listen. Anything that would give him vengeance.

It was like a roar of a silent storm. All the death that surrounded him began to speak, call to him. He reached out and embraced all who had fallen. They joined their strength with his. Nothing would go to waste.

The fires still burned, and the ashes swept across his face, into his eyes and throat. It stung and hurt, but it was nothing compared to the fury inside his heart. Backlit by the embers of his home, he turned to stare at the mountains in the distance.

"There will be a reckoning!" His voice had gone dry from the ashes, painfully dry, surrounded by the charred husks of his harvest.

Do you remember?

Jaden put the scroll down for a moment, digesting what she had read. An ancient correspondence between the legendary mystic Raman Ilduste and an elf called Valeren Solaman. The details were gruesome, but also tickled something in the back of her mind. Soul-thieves in Olmar. Her eyes went wide when she realised what she held in her hands. It was a testimony to the destruction of the Sons of Husk. Only they did not all die. According to this, the cult must be over three hundred years old. Her hands shook as she folded the scroll flat and tucked it into her bodice. The parchment felt like it burned against her breast. It was yet another secret carried close to her heart.

Jaden looked around as she snuck out of the Wordshaper's library. Oleander was nowhere to be found, likely having wandered off after growing bored of watching Kellen and Jaden with their noses deep in the books. On her way out, Jaden heard rather than saw the rune seeker giving an impromptu lecture about the historical significance of Northern shamanism in the development of his home country. There was a bit of back and forth with an older scholar about how the shamanistic bond to the land was reminiscent of an old form of elven magic that called upon the power of the wilderness. She saw several bookish-looking elves heading in that direction, interested in observing the debate..

Leaving Kellen in his element of choice, the mystic instead made sure the folded up old scroll was safely hidden away out of sight and headed to the main doors.

At the same time, a large group of young elves began to file into the hall. They were talking in hushed tones amongst themselves despite the disapproving looks sent by the teachers who were leading them. The crowd stopped halfway through the doors, as an elf in a wordshaper's blue robes came up to ask what the visit was all about.

Jaden didn't feel like waiting for the doors to become unblocked, and instead headed off to one of the other entrances. It had been many years since she had been here last, but she was sure she had seen a couple of exits off to the sides. Roaming around the less used parts of the hall, she eventually rounded a freestanding length of bookshelves and almost bumped into an elf with short, dark hair staring at an old scroll. He was moving his lips slightly as he read.

Jaden's eyes automatically went down to the length of parchment out of curiosity. She did a double-take when she saw that it was covered with dark symbols written in jagged Nethertongue.

Antodus, King of Worms, I beseech thee; bring your rotting blessing upon my foes, lay your black hand upon their hearts, kill the light in their eyes.

"Uh..." Jaden said, the words leaping from the page into her mind.

The elf looked at the mystic, back at the scroll, and then up again. There was a moment of hesitation when Jaden thought he was about give her some manner of explanation, but then his expression just went cold and before the mystic could react she found herself pushed up against the wall with a thin knife pointed at her eye. She could see the metal twisting with spectral energy.

«Wrong place, wrong time, halfkin. I will give you a silent grave.» His arm tensed as he was ready to push the needle-like weapon through Jaden's skull. «Embrace regret.»

«Wait! W-wait!» Jaden desperately tried to think. What had that man said? It wasn't that long ago. «Shadows! Ah... 'No more shadows can linger, when the flesh has forgotten'!»

The elf lowered the knife, the broken slivers of netherlight fading slightly. He even straightened the rumpled cloth where he had grabbed Jaden's blouse.

«’The last to serve the eyeless, the first to blind the world'. Tier cabal. What are you doing here? I heard that your group was wiped out.» The elf still had some wariness in his eyes, but at least he wasn't threatening to cut her head open.

«Some of us escaped. The paladins were sloppy that time, and was satisfied with killing our leader.» Jaden hoped that none of the cultists had managed to survive, but things had been very chaotic at the time. She knew that ritual leader had somehow made it out, given how she had ran into him in Farcrest a week later, but she had to play her role at the moment.

«Jeddhar the Grand Harvester is not dead, bloodsister.» The cultist explained what Jaden already knew all too well.

«Our, uh, slaughterhouse fell on his head. How could he have survived?» She chose her words carefully.

«Don't underestimate a harvester of his age and strength. He has been reaping before we were born, and I would bet my soul that he will outlive even elves like us.» The Cealon elf almost looked amused, was it not for how it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

«I'm no-»

«Quiet! » The elf put a finger to Jaden's lips, and poked his head around the bookshelf at the end of the corridor.

The sound of soft footsteps approached and soon an absentminded Wordshaper's assistant came into view, carrying a number of books on a floating silver tray. He didn't even look up as he walked past their nook, lost in his thoughts. Once he had passed out of hearing once more, the elf cultist turned back to Jaden.

«Why are you here?» He asked.

«I’m…» Jaden tried to think of something that would sound believable. She was drawing blanks, but she had to say something. Anything. The mystic locked her golden eyes on the elf’s and felt some of the heat rise up into her mouth. She spoke like the fire did. «Vengeance. I’m hunting the ones who did this, and I know one of them to be a Wordshaper whose left hand is giving him trouble. I believe they have a camp in the wildlands, but I don’t know where.»

«I see.» The cultist’s eyes became a little unfocused as Jaden’s presence washed over him. «That is admirable. I may know of the one you seek, but I need to make some inquiries first.»

«That said… Where would the, uh, grand harvester be going, if his cabal would fall? I wish to be reunited with him for obvious reasons,» Jaden said smoothly. This might be an opportunity she couldn't pass up.

«Normally a Harvester would attempt to reconstitute his ritual circle, often by seeking out old members that has advanced to groups of their own. Depending on what become of his phylactery, of course,» he said.

«Of course, » Jaden lied without blinking. Phylactery? «Do you know any of those who served him in the past?»

«As it happens, yes. Fortune would have it that the ritual master of the Sona cabal was once an apprentice to the Grand Harvester.» The elf looked proud of the fact.

«So, Jeddhar- I mean, the Harvester... he could come to Ral Sona?» A cold shiver went down Jaden's spine.

The elf offered another of those thin smiles that never reached his eyes.

«He has already arrived.»

The books didn't hold Oleander's attention for very long. She didn't mind books in theory, they were valuable enough to the right buyer, but she didn't put much stock in actual reading. The Olman streetrat left that to the more scholarly types. Having wandered off to explore a bit, she eventually found herself in a display room filled with interesting - and most likely priceless - elven fancy... things. She didn't know what most of them were, but it was a little disappointing. Most of them were made from wood or dull metals. Hardly any gold or silver in sight. She turned a strange instrument in her hands. It looked like someone had grabbed a dozen flutes of different lengths and glued them together.

"Please do not touch the displayed relics." A young-looking antiquarian had entered from a side door, carrying an basket filled with what seemed to be round bottles. He had a bit of a nervous tick in his left eye, and clearly didn't know what to do in this situation.

"I wasn't! Just looking," Oleander claimed. She deftly returned the flute-thing to its satin-covered rest, behind her back.

"You are wearing one on your head." The elf freed a hand to point at the garland-like item that sat on top of her red mop of hair.

"It was like that when I got here," Oleander said without blinking.

"... on your head?" The antiquarian hesitated a little.

"Sure. I mean. Uh. Is that a distraction over there?" Oleander pointed behind the elf.

When the young elf naively turned to see what the human was talking about, Oleander did what she had spent her youth doing, and ran.

"Please do not run in this hall! There are many fragile artefacts!" The antiquarian shouted, chasing her as fast as his flowing, blue robes allowed.

"Really?" She shot back.

"Yes!" Came the reply from the flustered elf.

"Then... CATCH!" Oleander threw the headpiece at the dismayed elf. A part of her was surprised at how aerodynamic the thing was. It sailed almost completely across the room, and the elf barely managed to catch it.

A bottle fell from the elf's carrying basket, shattering on the floor. By then, Oleander was already through the window she had spotted earlier, and disappearing into the city.

A stern-faced older elf, in the robes of a fully ordained wordshaper and whose carefully arranged dark hair just barely grazed her shoulders, entered the display room to see what the racket was all about. The only thing she saw was her assistant standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by shards of glass and holding the Videre's Ivy Circlet of Joining in his hands. Old eyes met younger ones, and a small growl escaped the wordshaper's lips. Her assistant just pointed at the open window as if that would explain everything.

The blonde wordshaper drifted smoothly through the winding corridors in the third-age section of the repository of his peoples' wisdom. He paused at times to adjust a book, or touch a scroll. There was a harmony, a design, behind the flow of knowledge here. He had walked these halls for many summers and each and every written word was as dear to him as his own children.

Upon entering the moon hollow reading room, he stopped as suddenly as if he had run into a wall. Someone had stacked the irreplaceable books into a crude seat. He looked around for whoever had done this, and clicked his tongue in exasperation. This would clearly be one of those days.

Lunch was served at the Scroll and Song Inn, to the mixed delight and confusion of the outlanders guesting the elven kingdom. The two Northmen very nearly sent their plates back to the kitchen when they couldn’t find any meat, much to Mirena’s embarrassment and Alisan’s amusement. Jaden knew about elven cuisine from the times she had been here before, of course, but it had slipped her mind entirely. The people of the forest ate meats, yes, but nowhere near the same quantities as dwarves or humans, whether from the south or the north. As they ate the very refreshing spiced tomato soup with a shared platter of several kinds of cut fruit, Alisan described some of the more popular meals they would no doubt have during their stay. Kellen, previously stirring his soup with a morose expression, perked up noticeably at the mention of the roasted trout.

“Do they serve it with peas,” the giant Northman asked, hopefully.

“Traditionally with sautéed apples, but accommodations might be made,” Alisan reassured Kellen.

Jaden had always enjoyed elven food. It was very different from the very hearty food that she had grown up with in the mountain. The Lacunai of Talraman needed to be strong to endure both their rigorous lifestyle, as well as the cold climate. Compared to the thick porridges, rich stews and some all-meat dishes, what the elves ate was like a gust of fresh air. Almost insubstantial, but sensational. So why was it that she felt so unfulfilled now?

The mystic couldn’t help but feel that something was missing. The soup was fine, it was good. However, she would have liked something… more. Maybe she had just grown too used with coastland food. Meat, bread, potatoes and gravy in the north; pies and spicy stews in the south. The thought of a thick cut of Olman beef, dripping juices, made her mouth water.

“So, cousin, how did you spend your morning?” Kellen turned to the other Northman, who had settled for eating some of the slices of pear arranged decoratively on the fruit platter.

“Well, I had a beautiful lady on either arm as I explored the city,” Stann boasted merrily, earning a rueful smile from Mirena, and an annoyed scowl from the pale elf.

“There was no arm-holding involved, Winterheart-“ Alisan began to explain.

“This time,” he grinned.

“-Instead, I led them to see sights suitable for warriors such as they. They seemed to appreciate the Guardian grove,” Alisan finished, her hands bunching her dress up a little in two tight fists.

“It was very impressive,” the knight said, remembering the training routine she had seen earlier. It had been less like her own temple drills, and more like dancing. “Those lances, what were they called again, Alisan?”

“Qalitar.”

“Ah, yes. They looked like very formidable weapons. Quicker than the halberds used by Tierin city guards, but more powerful than an Albander broadsword.” Mirena had sparred against soldiers using either during her time with the Temple. She imagined fighting an opponent wielding a swordlance would be a very different experience. The speed and strength would no doubt force her into a more defensive stance, unless she drew upon her god’s power.

Jaden’s sister, Lilya, had also taken a liking for the elven swordlances. During her stay here, eight or so years back, before an unfortunate incident that had cut her visit short, she had earned one of those weapons for herself. The guardian caste had created a small tournament pitting guardian trainees against the students from Talraman. Lilya had beaten some of the most talented of the elven contestants, because of course she had. She always had to have the last word.

“How about you and the young ones, then? Did you find anything?” Stann asked his cousin, chewing experimentally on a piece of fruit. His face betrayed what he felt about it.

“I will have to spend considerably more time perusing the wealth of knowledge in that place. It felt almost like going against the creed of my tradition to leave it so soon…” Kellen sighed heavily, and slumped a little in his seat. He looked like a big, sad dog.

“Did you forget why we’re here, ugly cousin?” The younger of the two Northmen reminded the other.

“Ah, no. No, of course not. I was just indulging. No, I had a chance to speak with one of the librarians-“

“Wordshapers,” Jaden corrected, while twirling a lock of her black hair around a finger. Her eyes showed that she wasn’t entirely following the conversation, instead lost in thought.

“-thank you, Jaden. Wordshaper. Who worked there. Hrm.” Kellen lost his train of thought for a moment. “Ah, yes. I spoke with him about someone matching the description we have of this ‘Valshon’ fellow. Apparently, that fits one of his co-workers, named Kyrial. However, Kyrial is Seren, not Cealon. Although, he could have dyed his hair when meeting with Toben?”

“Possibly. So, we’ve got the guy who pulled the strings on both Toben and the caravan that the woman in Carrick Field saw carrying the critters out of the wildlands?” Stann summed up what they knew.

“Not quite. As it turns out, Kyrial spends a lot of time travelling,” the rune seeker began.

“Imagine that,” Oleander contributed.

“Just so. Ostensibly to collect books for the libr- the Wordshaper’s Hall,” Kellen glared at the mystic, who didn’t seem to be paying attention. “But that could be, and most likely is, a cover. ”

“But a cover for what?” Mirena asked herself, pondering the facts they had so far.

“Exactly. The only thing we know is that they seem intent on moving large quantities of songwood and magical creatures out of the deep wildlands. It’s almost as if they’re emptying it out entirely.” Kellen’s deep voice only made the statement seem that much more ominous.

“Or harvesting it,” Rhyce muttered, his eyes narrowing.

After the last tray of leftovers had been removed from their table, the group started to break off in ones and twos. Eventually, it was just the Winterheart cousins remaining behind over a pitcher of elven ale. It didn’t have nearly the potency of real Northern brew. Three cups in, and neither of them were feeling anything. Then again, both of them were much larger than the average elf so maybe they had to drink a little more?

"Hey, Bear!” Kellen gestured a bit with his cup. Some of the foam sloshed over the rim and ran down one of his thick fingers. “Isn't this a dream come true for you, a whole country full of elven girls?"

Stann looked around with a somewhat disappointed expression.

"I don't know. I didn't expect them to be so... ordinary," the warrior said, vaguely. It hadn’t been what he had expected at all.

"Despite their race, they're all just people, Stann. Just like you or me. There will be all kinds."

"I guess I knew that in some way, but compared to the elves I've met and been with in the coastlands, these ones seem so... thin." The younger cousin motioned towards the upper chest area.

"Well, that is a racial trait. Elves are generally slimmer than humans. They have the pointed ears and the somewhat slanted eyes. That's especially true for the dark elves, the Cea, who lived in Sorun before the kingdoms of Man arrived with their Seren allies. Seren elves generally have a little bit of human blood in them, especially the houses that decided to follow the imperial family into exile." Kellen had lapsed into his lecture voice again, and was using his cup and the pitcher to represent the two tribes of elves, lifting either when talking about them.

"Huh. I didn't know that."

"I guess you didn't know how most elves you've run into outside Sorun are probably second or third generation half-elves, either?" The rune seeker began to take a mouthful out of the pitcher, and realised what he was doing halfway to his mouth and switched hands to drink from his cup instead.

"Really? What about Alisan?" Stann took the pitcher out of his cousin’s hand before the clumsy magician spilled it all.

"As a Seren elf, she's probably got her drops of human blood somewhere in her lineage, but from the looks of her I'd guess she's as pure-blooded as they come," Kellen explained, and drained the last of his ale.

"Well, this was an eye-opener. Guess I prefer the mixed blends rather than the straight thing."

While Stann walked away to consider this new insight, Kellen remained behind with his own thoughts. Half-elves were a curious breed, just like the half-orcs. The mixed races showed a lot of the positive qualities of either parent race, without most of the inherent weaknesses. The half-orcs of the North, some of them a regrettable consequence of the fighting that occurred between the clans and the tribes, possessed great strength and recuperative abilities, but their eyes were adapted to both daylight and darkness. They also lived for the same length as their human side, rather than the slightly shorter lifespan of an orc. Kellen assumed it was some sort of hybrid vigour that you often found when crossing purebred dogs or horses.

Now, what would this do with a truly mixed people, like the Lacunai? At this point, could they even be considered human, or were they a species entirely unto themselves?

Kellen was brought out of his wandering thoughts by someone touching him.

"Kellen, could I ask a favour?" Mirena rested a hand on the thick arm of the rune seeker.

"Of course. What can I do for you?" The tall man brushed some crumbs from his snack out of his moustache.

"I'm concerned that Rhyce might spend all the time cooped up in here. I don't know what his... history here is, but could you take him for a walk or something? Alisan gave Stann and me a wonderful tour of the city. There are some spectacular sights that even Rhyce might enjoy, like the Speaker's Rise or the water terrace. There's also an aerie for their owls, if he's feeling like it."

"Are we talking about the same Rhyce, Rena? He doesn't really volunteer his feelings on any matter. Very model of a dour borderlander, our friend is." The rune seeker nodded to himself.

"Just do it, Kellen."

"If you insist. It might be good to stretch these legs anyway. I'll see if I can lure him out of the tavern, at least." Kellen stood up from the table with a grunt, rising nearly two heads above the knight.

"Thank you. I worry about him, sometimes," Mirena confessed. Of all her friends, Rhyce and she had travelled together the longest, ever since that day in the woods where they had met for the first time.

"About Rhyce? In the wildlands? My silver's on him, should anything happen." Kellen laughed, a rich rumble that carried far.

"You know what I mean," she replied, almost crossing her arms.

"Hrm. I suppose I do. Very well, consider it done." The rune seeker patted the knight on the shoulder as he headed up to his room to drop off some of his books. If he had to take a walk today, he didn't want to carry any valuable tomes around in case of accidents. It was his experience that adventure sought out his friends more often than not.

"Ali? Random question?" Oleander padded up next to the elf as they made their way back to the common room of the Scroll and Song inn. It was a fun change to walk down those ramps rather than the stairs used in human buildings. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen many stairs at all since coming here.

"Will this make me an accomplice in any of your schemes?" Alisan’s eyes narrowed a little, but the slight smile on her lips showed that she was mostly teasing. Mostly. She had travelled with these humans long enough to have heard stories.

"... who have you been talking to? No, nevermind. Why do they call it 'Sorun' if the original elves there were the Cealon? Wouldn't it make more sense to just call it... Cealon, I guess? Cealand, maybe."

"Just as the light of reason would support calling the coast that is shared by Alband and Olmar by its original name, Bal Vanesh, but you renen have a habit of rejecting existing ideas and substituting your own,” the pale elf said with a slightly scolding voice.

"Uh..."

"Since the kingdoms of man were used to us, the Seren, it seemed reasonable to them to call the place we settled down into 'Seren' as well. Likely in honour of our old home in the west. They were aware of how another tribe of elves already lived there, yes, but to your human ancestors all elves were 'Seren'." Alisan made a slight face. Telling the two tribes apart should not be that hard. There were more to elves than ears, after all.

"But we spell it differently, right?" Oleander had shrunk back a bit, looking to either side of her for an escape route. The redhead was starting to realise that if the pale elf ever got truly angry, she would be a fearsome sight.

"That I cannot answer, Mela. Maybe Kellen can tell us more?" They had stopped next to the table they had used earlier. Unsurprisingly, the rune seeker had ended up at the table again, having returned to sample some more of the ale.

"Hmmm? Oh, the Seren/Sorun conundrum? Well, it's basically a matter of the evolution of language - a concept fairly important to the Society of Rune Seekers, for obvious reasons. The simple truth of it is, the original tongue of the first empire, Estal, doesn't have letters for 'e' and 'u' in the same way Trade has. Instead, Estal has five symbols depicting sounds that are close to either. Like you said, Alisan, it was originally the same word, but with time and translation it changed to its current form." Kellen smiled at Alisan, as the elf had been paying attention the whole time, but frowned when he saw the redhead building a pyramid out of toothpicks. "Did that answer your question, little fox?"

"Huh, what? Yeah, I wasn't really that interested anyway." Oleander got up from where she had been slouching.

“What made you walk that path if you weren’t?” Alisan blinked in surprise.

“I just wanted to talk, okay? I didn’t want it to turn into a lecture!” The Olman thief sighed and threw up her hands. Some toothpicks rained down around her and bounced to the floor.

“Well, in that case, I believe that is my prompt to leave.” Kellen got up and stuffed the books into his small satchel. “I promised Mirena I’d take Rhyce out for a walk.”

“He needs you for that? Are we talking about the same Rhyce? The one who goes on long, brooding skulks all the time?” Oleander tilted her head to the side and scrunched up her nose.

“Haven’t you noticed, Red? Ever since we arrived, he’s been even more shut-in than before. He hasn’t left the inn since we got here, except for when we visited your friend yesterday, Alisan.” Kellen shrugged a little, and left the women by themselves.

Oleander and Alisan exchanged a look. The redhead just shrugged a little. Who could know when it came to the archer? Either way, they had to go find Jaden so they could head on over to Ranath’s house for a fitting of their gowns. Oleander was more excited about the event than she thought she would be. A part of her wondered what it would be like to dance with Jaden, though the Jaden in her mind didn’t wear a fine dress, but instead a nobleman’s doublet. Her elven prince.

Horizons of the Heart

By Melange
Copyright© 2013-2015 Melange
All Rights Reserved.

Synopsis

Jaden and her friends spend an evening among the high society of the elven city of Ral Sona. Some are more prepared than others for what it entails, and some surprises occur along the way.

Flashback: The Winterheart cousins head out with the warriors of Strom on one of their first real voyages

---

Chapter 27: Dance of Memories

WINTERHEARTS

The waves splashed against the side of the longship as the men struggled with the oars. With the weather having taken a turn for the worse, it was all they could do to stay on course. Another wave crested at starboard side, pushing ever more of the ocean into their vessel, caught almost like driftwood in a powerful undertow.

“Blasted sea!” An oarsman wiped some of the spray out of his face, his beard hanging limp and wet. “Shaman! Can you do nothing about this before we all drown like rats?”

A huge man turned to the side as he was hunched over between the benches. Each of his hands clutched a small stone that glowed with magical power. Despite his size, he could have been no more than twenty years old. Man enough for a beard, but still untested in battle. The shamans of the clan were kept apprenticed for a long time, whereas a warrior would be allowed alongside his brethren as soon as he could swing his blade and carry his shield.

“I can only do so much, Orek. Do you wish for me to cease draining the bilgewater, or release my homing spirit and have us navigate by the stars?” The young magician shouted to be heard over the crashing of the sea.

“Are you daft, man? There are no stars during the day!” As much as a darkly overcast morning like this could be called day.

“Stop whining, and keep rowing!” The chief roared at the men. He stood by the prow, holding himself upright with an arm around the carved dragonhead rising up in the front.

There was no denying the misfortune of going against the elder shaman’s advice. Before heading out that day, the chief had asked his old friend to read the bones and tell him about their future. The older man had told him to stay the voyage for a full moon, else he would set in motion what would lose the clan their greatest treasure. The chief had thought long about what to make of the warning. His daughters were all married off, and the shield of his grandfather was kept safe next to the throne. Delaying a whole month would only make them seem scared and weak in the eyes of the other clans. No, the Winterhearts had always been the first out of the harbours as soon as spring melted the ice.

“Chief! Flotsam at port side! I can… yes, I see a mast!” Younger than the shaman by a handful of years at least, the boy pointed into the drizzling rain at whatever he had seen.

“Aye, chief! Wreckage by the reef.” Torulf, a seasoned warrior, confirmed what the boy had seen. The scars on his face had done nothing to cloud the keenness of his eyes.

Their leader chewed his lip for a brief moment. The possibilities of loot weighed against the risk of attempting to secure it. In the end, bravery won out against caution.

“Men! Reverse oars!” He called out against the wind. “Shaman! Sound out the depth! Find us a safe passage as close to the shipwreck as possible!”

The young shaman took a deep breath. Since they wouldn’t be traveling further for a while yet, navigation wasn’t necessary. He tried to shut out the noise of the men and the sea, and focused on the whispering of the spirits around him. The ghost ravens that circled around the boat dissipated into the ether. Magic had never come easy to him. He had always been strong. In a contest of arcane might, none of the other apprentices could hold out against him. But their shaman tradition required finesse, something he lacked. Whenever he beckoned the spirits of the land, it felt as if he was walking on eggshells. It felt like he couldn’t use his strength. It made him feel weak and useless.

His call into the spirit world finally brought something back from the deep. A wet and dark sensation whispered what he needed to know.

“Let me take the tiller, chief. I can take us there,” he rumbled loud enough for the leader to hear.

“Take your cousin with you, Kellen,” the chief replied. “He can hold it when you need to do your… magic things.”

It was a slow and careful process taking the longship through whatever underwater hazard had destroyed the other ship. The warriors strained against their oars, arms and backs soaked more by sweat than from the rain. The two young men at the back kept the ship on a true course, and after what felt like forever they finally anchored themselves closely by the wreckage.

By this time, the rain had almost completely stopped, and though the sky remained dark they could see the strange design of the other ship.

“This is no Albander galleon. Look at the base of those masts! And how shape of the hull!” The men murmured amongst themselves. It was a ship unlike what most of them had seen before.

“It’s an elf trireme,” Torulf growled with suspicion.

“But how? The pointy ears have no ports on this side of the…” Orek trailed off as the truth hit him. “They went… around? They went over the far north?”

“That’s madness. There’s nothing but ice and sea serpents beyond the frozen fields,” one of the other men said, staring at the wreckage as if it was something his mind was making up.

“Talking about it will not do us any good. Eigar, take the shaman over there and see if it is intact enough for us to search. Elven ships must carry riches, especially if they went this far.” The chief leaned on a leg propped against the side of the ship as he addressed the men, singling out one of the craftier ones in the bunch by name. This could prove a most profitable day indeed. Maybe the elder shaman was losing his touch with the spirit? If they had waited longer, this wreckage would have been taken by the sea entirely.

“Chief! Can I go along?” The young man next to the shaman spoke. “I promised my aunt I would keep him safe. A Winterheart doesn’t go back on a promise.”

“True enough. Alright, Stann. Try to keep your cousin from drowning himself.” The chief smiled against the wind. While remarkable of strength and size, Kellen was also remarkably clumsy and managed to trip over himself even on the best of days.

“Thanks chief!” The young warrior smiled, and slapped the larger man next to him on the shoulder. “Come along, ugly! Let’s find some elf treasures!”

The Northmen uneasily stepped over the railing and onto a section of the stone reef that had torn out the bottom of the trireme; their minds full of what wonders might wait for them among the wreckage.

Drops of water splashed against the pebbled path as the large rune seeker wrung the water out of his sleeveless shirt. To his credit, the archer hadn’t said anything when Kellen had managed to stumble on a lily pad shaped stepping stone and fallen into the small streams that crisscrossed the city. Rhyce had also not offered to help the Northman up, either. He had just stood by and watched it all happen, no expression on his face.

The rune seeker hadn’t really planned where they were going. He had just asked the archer to help him with a task, and then headed out in a random direction along a path of yellow flowers. By the time Rhyce had realised it had all been a ruse they were far from the inn.

A part of Kellen was curious about how the elves must see the two of them as they passed through the winding ways of the sylvan city. Did they simply see a blundering Northman with a grim borderlander at his side, or did they look beyond the surface to see the magician and hunter instead? Either way, the elves did react to them as the strange pair passed them by. Conversations quieted down, eyes followed them. Those calm, elven eyes. Some even stepped to the side, as if afraid the big rune seeker would simply go through them rather than around. Still, he didn’t feel as self-conscious as he had while visiting the finer parts of Etrana last year. There were no fragile glasswork to break, or tapestries to tear; here there was just nature, living alongside people.

A patrolling group of elven guardians, holding their swordlances in a relaxed stance, kept looking their way as the two of them crossed a small plaza. Kellen noted absently how heavy their armour looked. Somehow he had always had the idea that elves would fight swiftly and light. At least, that was what the history books said about the many wars between the North and Alband, where the southern country sometimes called upon their elven allies to defend themselves against Kellen’s ancestors.

Two of the guardians, veterans by the look of their armour and sashes, watched them intently. No, watched Rhyce intently. The rune seeker’s ears were nowhere near as sharp as the archer’s, but he managed to make out a few words. Lamtar. Lamtar calon.

By his side, Rhyce was looking increasingly stiff, clenching his jaw and keeping his eyes focused on wherever they were going. He didn’t seem to acknowledge the whispering, but his body language spoke loud enough. He had heard. Then again, this was Rhyce. Rhyce always heard.

"So," Kellen began, awkwardly. He scratched the back of his neck. "This is my first time in Ral Sona. Have you been here before, my friend?"

"Yes," Rhyce muttered out between gritted teeth.

"That's nice. Ah. Did you come across anything interesting while you were here?" The rune seeker wasn’t much for smalltalk either, but one of them clearly had to pull this weight.

"No. Passed through. Just long enough to keep a promise." The archer’s left hand twitched slightly, and he closed it into a fist.

"Hmm. Now, my elvish isn't as good as I want it to be, but lam tar means 'dark point', or perhaps... 'black thorn', doesn't it?" Kellen eyed the dark bow slung across the archer's back.

"Don't go there, Kellen," Rhyce warned his friend.

"Do we need to know something about your previous visit?" The large Northman began to feel a little concerned. A quick look over his shoulder showed that the guardians were still by the plaza they had left behind on their stroll.

"No." The reply was as curt as the man who spoke it.

"Because if it'll end up becoming an issue later on, we need to be prepared for-" Kellen began.

"Won't be." Rhyce interrupted the magician.

"That's good. Still, if some of those guardians come knocking on our door and start asking questions-"

"They can't. There are... old rules," Rhyce said, and then quickened his pace a little to let his friend know that the conversation was over.

At some point, though, Kellen was sure that Rhyce had taken to leading them somewhere. The rune seeker wasn’t sure if the archer was even consciously doing so, but the other man didn’t hesitate as he walked. Eventually they slowed down in front of a large building that initially seemed to stand free from any of the surrounding trees. The house was tiered in a way that reminded Kellen of homes in Etria, where families used the roofs as a place to grow plants or dry their washings. Only on closer inspection did he see how branches actually seemed to grow out of various parts of the building; the tree must be inside.

Kellen looked around to see where Rhyce had gone off to while the rune seeker had been considering the house’s strange design, but found that the archer remained next to him. Rhyce stood silently, looking up at one of the upper windows of the building.

Rhyce fought against a wave of memories. Why had he come here? He had enough wounds as it was. There was no need to start tearing open old ones. But here he was, as if he ever had any choice. He remembered when he had come here last time. He had been a messenger that time.

He held no regret for the path he had taken. Purpose could be a terrible thing. One day you could realise that you were as much of a tool as the one you wielded.

Was he still a messenger? Could he still be one?

Rhyce turned his head almost unnoticeably to the side, shifting his weight more evenly to both feet so that he could move in any direction at a moment's notice. The smell of the flowers from the path made scent meaningless, but he had caught the motion in the edge of his peripheral vision enough times for it not to be coincidence.

"We're followed," he murmured loud enough for the tall Northman to pick up over the noise of leaves quivering on their branches high above as a breeze touched them. He immediately reached out and stopped the giant from turning around with a touch on Kellen's arm.

"Ah, hrm," was Kellen's way of apology. "Are you certain?"

Rhyce merely gave the rune seeker a reproachful glance.

"Yes, of course you are. My mistake. Can you tell who it is?" Kellen studiously made a point of not looking around, but instead appeared to find something utterly fascinating in the small brook that trickled next to the blossom-hedged road.

"Unknown."

"Do you know how long they've been trailing us?" Kellen's eyes followed the small whirl in the water created by a decorative stone set in the stream.

"Ten minutes at most." Rhyce's sense of time wasn't anywhere near as keen as his hearing or sight, but he deemed it was close enough.

"Well, this place is too open for a Worald Boartrap," the rune seeker mused, stroking his moustache as he thought back on the times his cousin had helped him using the old hunter’s trick. "Maybe we could repeat the trick we pulled on the Skinwalker in Etrana?"

"No bricklayer's yard, no camels, and no Jaden. Good idea, though." The archer stood straight, reaching out with his second pair of eyes.

A flutter of wings passed overhead and found a perch further back the way they had come. The black eyes fixed on a figure hiding behind the tree, observing the two men by the brook. The dark bird turned its head sideways to get a better look, and then squawked twice. The second bird dove down, swept around the trunk and flapped wildly near the face of the person trying to stay unseen. He yelped in surprise, stumbling out from behind his cover. The elf was about to duck back in when he saw that he had been spotted.

Kellen had turned around at the sound of the birds and the shout, and made a small wave at the elven man, who seemed barely more than a boy. Blonde hair barely reaching below his chin, and big, frightened eyes. There was an awkward pause when they looked at the elf, and the elf pretended that he didn't know what was going on. Then, the young man's shoulders slumped down a little, and he approached quickly and jittering, as if he expected something or someone else to jump out at him. He looked very pale, as if scared for his life.

"You're following us." Rhyce stated, giving the elf a dead-eyed stare.

"Good day," Kellen tried, in a friendly, rumbling tone.

"En helon," the boy replied, biting his lip little.

“Hrm. Yes. Elvish.” The rune seeker looked at his friend, and motioned at the elven youth in a vague manner. “It’s easier to read than to speak, I find. How is your Sorunese?”

“Sufficient.” Rhyce took a step closer to the boy and clenched his hands into fists. The next words out of his mouth came in a low growl. “Su rovi ken?”

“Viela! Viela! Ta josensina enan sa!” The youth all but sputtered, holding his hands up in front of his face.

“I didn’t quite catch what he said after ‘sorry’,” Kellen told the archer. There was something strange about the elf’s accent. Or maybe it was just Kellen only having heard Outsider elves speaking before?

“Says he’s curious,” Rhyce translated.

“About us?” The rune seeker wasn’t surprised. Rhyce and he were probably the oddest things some of these elves had seen in years. “Ask him who he is.”

«Identify yourself! What do you seek?» The archer had never let his eyes leave the elf. He looked poised to spring into action. Kellen couldn’t understand why his friend was so tense. It was only a single boy, after all. Wasn’t it?

The young elf pointed at the black bow on Rhyce’s back. The archer’s face grew even harder.

«I am spoken to as Tirath. I was tasked to seek the hunter. The blackthorn hunter. Lamtar Keresh. To share the words,» the elven boy spoke haltingly, nervously looking up into the tree in case there would come more birds to attack him.

Kellen furrowed his brow as he struggled to keep up with the frightened babbling. After a few moments he realised that Rhyce wasn’t going to prompt the elf to continue, but instead just stared at the youth with dark eyes.

“Ask him… hrm. Ask what his message is?” Kellen suggested.

«Explain,» the archer demanded of the boy.

«I am afraid to do so, here. There are eyes and ears. Please, come to the Three Star Glade tomorrow. Do not be followed.» The boy kept fidgeting, like he really wanted to run away.

«Why?» Rhyce didn’t seem to care how the boy felt, only for the answers he could give.

«I know of the one you ask about. Come see me, and I will share my thoughts.» With pleading eyes looking at Kellen he added, in clumsy Midland Trade. “Tomorrow. Come.”

With that, the young elf backed away from the two, nervously looking up at the tree where the two black birds perched malevolently. Before the rune seeker could think of anything else to ask, the boy was running away along a path that soon led him behind other buildings. He was gone.

“Didn’t want to talk here. Told us to come to a glade north of the city tomorrow. Know the place,” Rhyce told the tall Northman.

"I think I heard him say that he knew who we were looking for. Shame that such a young person ended up involved in all of this," Kellen mused, stroking his moustache. It was always a sad thing when children lost their innocence.

"He was older than Alisan," the borderlander replied, exchanging a look with the black birds. With a flutter, the two took to the air, leaving only a single dark feather spiralling to the ground.

"What? No, surely not. Right?" Kellen looked confused. While he had as hard a time as anyone judging the age of an elf, that boy had clearly been in his teenage summers.

"He spoke the old dialect. Dyed his hair, too."

"Really? Well, that's... strange, I guess." The rune seeker had felt something was off about how the elf had spoken. Old Sorunese. Original dark elven. The tongue heard in the wildlands before the kingdoms of man had arrived.

"Cea do not pretend to be Seren. Not done. Traditions." The archer paced a little back and forth. Too many things didn’t add up. He let out a quiet snarl that betrayed his stony expression.

"Hrm. I didn't know that. Why do you think he did that, then?" Kellen didn’t know enough of elven culture to satisfy his curiosity. If only he had more time to visit the Wordshaper’s Hall. Speak with the scholars. There was never enough time to learn.

"Don't know. Will find out."

Rhyce stood up straighter, his left hand cradled against his body as it began to ache. He cast his senses out wide, touching upon the small lives that scurried, fluttered and hid. He could feel the pain start making itself known even as he reached out further. The archer could feel the sun on the top of the trees high above just as the first taste of blood got in his mouth. Rhyce forced his body to obey by will alone, and dozens of small eyes turned to the west.

"Seek," he demanded with a whisper that sent the leaves and branches into a rustle as tiny feet and claws heeded his call.

Jaden immediately noticed the difference when they had Alisan to guide them through the city. Yesterday, it had taken them much longer to get to the Wordshaper’s Hall, which now disappeared out of sight on their way to Alisan’s old friend Ranath. She supposed the city recognised one of its own and allowed quick passage for one of its daughters. A part of her felt a little silly for anthropomorphising the elven city like that, but with all the ambient magic flush throughout the streets for ages upon ages, would it be that strange if something had awakened?

Genius loci urbanis. Spirit of the city. But it is sleeping. For now.

A faint shudder went through Jaden. Had she become so used to the warm, sunny plains of Olmar that these shadowcast streets felt cold to her? Maybe she was just tired. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. She kept having the same dream. A dream of fire.

The sound of hooves upon the smooth, root-covered street brought her attention back to the present. An elf in guardian armour astride a dusky horse, with his lance resting in a stirrup approached them from the side. There was something odd on the way the horse behaved. It seemed to go against the motions of its rider. Oleander perked up even more, if it was possible. She was already excited about what awaited them at their destination.

«May the daystar smile upon you, ladies.» The man tugged at the reins a little, looking somewhat confused.

«And you, as well. Is there something we can help you with?» Alisan spoke for the three of them.

«I am unsure. It seems as if my steed felt inclined to pay you his respects.» The guardian once again tried to win back control of his horse with a small concerned frown marring his face.

While they were talking, the horse had lowered its head and was nibbling at Jaden's hands. She couldn't help but think that there was something familiar about the grey and white elven destrier.

«I assure you, this is most unusual.» The elven man pulled at the reins again, with no more results than before.

"I have no idea what you guys are saying right now," Oleander added to the conversation. She was rubbing the neck of the horse, though. She might not understand Sorunese, but like any child of Olmar she spoke horse just fine.

«What's the name of this horse?» Jaden asked the man. Something tickled a memory.

«It is Cloudstepper. He belongs to the Guardians' stables.»

«Oh! I think I rode him when I was here five or six years ago. I can't believe he remembers me,» Jaden stroked the forehead of the inquisitive horse. «I'm sorry, Steps. I don't have any monell for you this time.»

The horse snorted and gave the mystic a final push with its head before turning away. No biscuit, no petting. Oleander let out a small, disappointed noise when the horse withdrew.

“Serecean hala are both loyal and have long memories, Jaden. Show one kindness once, and it will remember you for life.” Alisan explained in Trade, for the redhead’s benefit.

«Well, it was an honour making your acquaintance. Now that I seem to have regained some authority over my steed here, I shall resume my patrols.» The young guardian made a seated bow, and finally managed to urge his horse along.

Jaden wiped her hand on her trousers to get the horse-slobber off her palm.

"I've heard that elven horses live longer than ours do, too? What's the oldest one you've heard about?" Oleander was an Olman girl at heart, and every Olman loved horses.

"I am not certain, Mela. My current one is forty summers this year, and I deem she will carry me for many seasons yet before she should return to her pastures," Alisan said, with a fond smile.

"Wow. Most of ours never even get to be that old, let alone carry riders at that age." Oleander’s surprised expression slowly turned into a speculative one, as if she filed away an important detail for another day.

The path that Alisan had chosen led them alongside one of the long stretches of leafy bushes that Stann had affectionately named ‘walls of cabbage’. Like many plants native to the wildlands, they had adapted to the sparse sunshine and had wide, thick leaves to pick up even the faintest stray light.

“Did you know any Midland Trade when you left the forest for the first time, Creampuff?” Oleander casually ran a finger along the leaves, making them sway a little in her wake.

“Ris. I was taught some of the Outside tongues while I was still in training as a songshaper. I still felt unprepared the first time I spoke with one of you renen, however. Learning and knowing are far apart.” A bit of colour crept up those pale cheeks. “It seems as if I am still learning, yes.”

“Is Sorunese hard to learn? It feels so isolating not knowing what everyone is saying here,” Oleander sighed a little. It was hard to eavesdrop, too. “Hey, Jay? Teach me how to elf!”

“I’m not an elf, Ollie,” the black-haired mystic replied immediately. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to make sure you had some of the basics. The grammar is a bit odd, though.”

“What’s a grummer?”

“You know what? Let’s just make it up as we go along. Yes and no? Ris e lai. Got that?” Jaden reminded herself to think very basic indeed. The Olman girl had no school background at all, and learned things better if they were done in a practical setting.

“Riss!” Oleander chirped happily.

Jaden kept tossing out words and short phrases as they went along the petal path, with Alisan offering her thoughts once or twice. By the time they had arrived at Ranath’s house, the redhead looked a little dazed. Feeling merciful, Jaden decided that maybe it would be a good idea to take a page from Kellen’s book of lecturing and end on a short anecdote.

"You know how my name apparently sounds like the phrase 'she of rain' in Sorunese?" The mystic asked, with a self-deprecating smile. She could laugh at it now, but five years ago it had been a little slice of hell.

"It does? Oh, right, Ali said that the one time, right?" Oleander looked up to the side as if trying to recall the conversation.

"Yeah. That was one of the reasons why the elves kept teasing me about my name when I was here a few years back as part of our training."

"Sounds rough." The redhead was no stranger to name-calling and bullying. It was just a part of life; the strong would pick on the weak. She had promised herself she wouldn’t be one of the weak ones.

"I didn't let it bother me that much. I kept to myself mostly. My sister had it worse, though." Jaden couldn’t hold back an honest smile at the memory. Lilya was nothing if not predictable.

"What? I can't see her being bullied. She's way too scary for that!" Oleander had only seen Jaden’s sister one time, but that had been enough to burn the image of a hard-faced, lance-swinging battle-magician into her mind.

"She was... less so before her spirit quest. But, it turns out that Lilya pretty much means 'sled'."

"... what, like the thing they use to drag things across snow?" Oleander blinked. Sorunese made no sense.

"Right. Apparently, some of the more brave, and mean-spirited, elven girls made a point of teasing her about it. They had to send Lilya back early because she cut off one of the girl's hair and almost forced her to eat it." Jaden shook her head, making her black tresses bounce up and down. She managed to bite back the giggle, though. She had been prepared this time.

"Woah! Lilya doesn't kid around!" The redhead whistled, impressed.

There was a strangled noise from Alisan, whose hands had almost automatically gone to her long, almost white hair. The pale elf cleared her throat, and then pushed the door open to the house. Elves didn’t knock, they just entered and waited.

"That’s my sister. She hates losing to anyone." Jaden shrugged, and together they followed Alisan inside.

“Do you have it in a size bigger?”

Stann turned to the side and felt the fabric stretch tight across his shoulders. It was a splendid jacket. Fit for a chieftain, if one would have the lack of self-respect to puff themself up like an Albander baron or princeling. Would women find him handsome wearing it? It would be hard to do anything too vigorous wearing it, though. Fighting was right out.

“Larger?” The shopkeep, a frizzy-haired elf short by anyone’s standards, let out a dramatic sigh and climbed back up the ladder to check the shelves. “Whatever they feed you Northmen during your budding season, they need to show more restraint.”

“Heh, yeah,” the warrior chuckled. It had been a wild bet trying to find fancy clothes mere hours before the party, in an elf-town no less, but long shots had a way of working out if you just rolled with it.

The elf rummaged around in the part of the storage that seldom saw any use. Old knick-knacks from the Outside, the odd garb made for those of unusual statures, those sort of things.

“In fact, while you’re up there? Do you have anything for a fellow of this height?” Stann held out a hand almost another head above his own.

“What? Surely you are making with the comedy, Northlander! I would have heard about any ogres walking the city streets.” The shopkeeper made an irritated noise, and turned back to the shelf.

“Ogres, eh? I suppose he can be one at times. Sure he won’t feel bad about you not having anything for him. If I know my cousin, and I do, he’ll be looking for any reason to avoid this shindig.”

Having grown up with Kellen just a few houses down the street, Stann knew that the big rune seeker wasn’t uncomfortable among other people. Kellen attended large gatherings nearly as often as he did. The difference was that the magician sought his own kind, book-people, spellcrafters, and storytellers. Counting all his virtues and strengths, grace was not one of them. A formal dance was his anathema.

Mirena leaned down over his shoulder to place her face next to Rhyce’s as they both looked into the mirror. Her expression was one of warm amusement. His was nearly unreadable; were it not for the years they’ve travelled together, the knight wouldn’t had picked up on the slight apprehension. There had been a stiffness to his stance when the archer and the rune seeker had returned to the inn from their walk.

“I had begun considering sending out the others to look for you,” Mirena said to her friend in her mild teasing way. Compassionate, yet playful.

The archer merely made one of those half-hearted grunts and remained in the chair.

“Let’s see if we can’t find a proper gentleman somewhere inside that bristle, shall we?” The knight squeezed Rhyce’s shoulder a bit, and then reached over to pick up the shave brush. She dabbed his cheeks with the warm, wet towel a few times before applying a good layer of foamy soap.

Mirena held the razor as steady as her sword while slowly and precisely shaving the man in the chair. She had done the same for several of her fellow knights-to-be during their temple training. As a squire she had done so for her mentor. Mirena doubted that her father had ever held a razor in his entire life, unless it was to inspect merchandise. It was these little things that made her feel the distance the most.

“What did you and Kellen do today?” She asked, while tidying up the sides near the borderlander’s high cheekbones. They had already talked about the chance meeting with the young elf and the message they had received. Mirena was wondering about how Rhyce was feeling, not what he had uncovered.

“Made sure we wouldn’t forget,” Rhyce replied cryptically.

“Forget what?”

“Why we’re here,” he muttered, loud enough for Mirena to hear.

“Did you?” She finished up, dabbing away the last bits of foam by the ears.

The archer didn’t say anything. He just cradled his left hand and clenched his jaw. Their eyes met in the mirror. His telling her a wordless story she had heard before.

“I’ll go see if your clothes have been delivered yet.” She paused by the door, looking back at the man still sitting in the chair. “Isn’t it strange how they had a Shelmot styled outfit in your size?”

After Mirena had left, Rhyce remained in the chair. His mind was caught up in a dance of memories. The early days in the army. The farm and the old chestnut tree at the edge of the Shelmot Plains. The smiles on their faces.

He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. You couldn’t heal an old wound by cutting a new one. But he couldn’t stop. His memories kept all of them here.

The dressing room had nice mirrors and a table for two to sit down. No doubt had Ranath’s mother and sister used this place for much the same reasons as Jaden and Oleander. The mystic squired around in her seat. It wasn’t as if the chair was uncomfortable, although the backrest barely reached high enough to be called one. It wouldn’t stop her from tipping over if she leaned back. Jaden was ill at ease for different reasons; the thin and low-cut silk slip felt like it barely provided any modesty. The fact that the attendant had done something to take in the previously baggy waist only made her bust all the more pronounced. She could swear that they looked larger than she remembered.

Oleander sat next to her on an identical chair. The short redhead looked as if her undergarments had been made for her. For all Jaden’s ears and heritage, the Olman thief was much closer to elven body types than she. The glossy fabric clung to Oleander’s athletic form in ways that made Jaden’s breath quicken a little. The mystic forced herself to look away and concentrate on what her friend was saying.

"A nice red shade should match the dress well." Oleander held up a small glass vial between her fingers. It had been inside a lacquered box by the mirror, along with several others in all the different hues found in nature.

"Why do I have to do this, again? My nails are fine as they are,” Jaden all but whined. Fineries, paints and styles. It was all very far removed from the starkness of the mountain. Ceremonies had been conducted ascetically. Her people valued the power in weapons and magic, not dance and song.

"It just looks good, alright? Humour us with this." The redhead leaned in a little and bumped the mystic with a shoulder.

"It's all I've been doing today," Jaden said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Stop this bellyaching, Jay," Oleander said, and grabbed one of the mystic's hands. She immediately paused, and looked closer. "Sweet honeybadgers! Your nails are hard! Like, really, really hard!"

"Well, my manifested form has claws, so it's not that strange I guess." By now Jaden had resigned herself to the changes her drift brought along. It was not as if she could lose anything else at this point. At the very least, her pride disappeared out of sight the moment she had seen the dress.

"Claws, right. They're almost like claws. That's so cool," Oleander mumbled as she kept running her fingertips across Jaden's nails.

"My dad has claws in his normal shape, though I doubt he paints them." Jaden tilted her head to the side as she imagined what that would be like. She quickly shook the thought away.

"His loss. Let's get these girls all dressed up," the redhead said with an excited voice as she rolled the bottle between her hands.

After making sure she had everything she needed, Oleander scooted closer to the mystic and reached over to inspect Jaden’s hands more closely. Her breath caught a little when she felt something.

"What's this rash here? It almost looks like a..." Oleander turned Jaden’s hand over in her own, looking at the palm.

"It's a brand. I burned my hand back in that village in the woods." The mystic keenly remembered that night, for many reasons. It had been when she had tried to fight the demon, first with fire, then with swords. Finally, she had been forced to drain its power using the Lacunai siphoning techniques. Her family, the Tarasovs, had always been particularly skilled at that. It had also been what pushed her drift into overdrive. Decades worth of changes had twisted her over the course of a week.

"This is from Redwall? When you nicked Rena's sword?"

"Yeah. I guess her god of justice doesn't much like what I turn into,” Jaden gave the mirror a quick half-smirk. That, at least, did Telum and she have in common.

"Why haven't you healed it? I've seen her heal burns before." Both of them had seen the knight after the showdown with the cultists in Tier. The burning building had collapsed around them. Mirena looked like she had been slow-roasted, but her wounds had faded within minutes.

"She did. Or at least, she tried. I don't know. It kind of hurts when she heals me, these days." It made her flesh crawl and cramp up whenever they tried.

"That's creepy, Jay."

"You're telling me? This is my life now. At least for now.” Jaden lowered her voice, even though they were alone. She could share at least a little bit. “Don't tell the others, but I'm working on something."

"Really?" Oleander's eyes shined with a desperate kind of hope.

"I think there's a way of getting rid of all this." She gestured down at herself. Getting rid of her, she added silently to herself.

You don't need to do that. Please. Not yet.

Jaden shook her head suddenly. An uneasy feeling washed over her.

We can still save them. Everyone.

“You should probably get started if we’re going to make it on time.” She offered her hand to Oleander.
It was a strangely relaxing experience sitting there with her fingers splayed wide, watching Oleander carefully brush each nail with an even coating of paint. Jaden glanced up from their hands and almost snickered at the look of concentration her friend's face, even biting her lip.

"Do you want to paint mine once I'm done with yours?" The redhead said, as she reached up to brush away strands from her face once again. Her hair was getting long enough to style into something else than her previous mop.

"No, not really. It feels a little too girly," Jaden made a face.

"'…says the one sitting in a slinky barely-nothing waiting to get laced into a ball gown.' Really, Jay?"

"Shut up, Ollie."

"Make me, elfboy."

The smug expression on Oleander's face just demanded some sort of response. Maybe it was the desire to see it wiped off, or maybe it was just plain desire, but something made Jaden duck in and plant a swift kiss on those smirking lips. It forced a small noise out of the other woman. Smugness was replaced by surprise and mixed pleasure. It was over as quickly as it had begun, with both of them pulling back.

"Jay, I... I'm not sure..." Oleander touched her lips, and looked down.

"I know." The mystic felt her heart squeeze tightly inside her chest. A warm flush spread up from her belly all the way to her cheeks.

"We have to figure this out, Jay." The redhead was blushing too.

"I promise. Once we're done with this." Jaden didn’t know if she meant their current adventure or something grander, but it had felt like the right thing to say.

"Now, keep your hands still for a few minutes, or the paint will run."

Jaden turned around in front of the full-length mirrors. Her image moved as she did, but she couldn't connect what she saw with herself. Her hair had been carefully styled by one of the attendants, spilling down like an onyx waterfall past one shoulder, exposing her right ear. They had even painted her face, using gold colours to accentuate her eyes and lips. A black outline around her eyes made them seem even bigger.

They had managed to find a soft autumn-coloured dress that was made up by saffron and carmine silks. The fabrics of the skirt section folded over itself in an elaborate pattern. It looked like fire when she moved.

It fitted snugly over her upper body, hugging her middle and pushing her chest up where the neckline allowed a generous amount to be on display. The seamstress had worried at the dress for a long while, muttering that it was easier to take away than to add. Jaden was afraid to lean too far forward, despite the assurances that everything would stay in place.

This is you

The mirror must be lying to her. She didn't recognise herself. In a way, it made it a little easier. If it wasn't really her going out in this gown, maybe she would be safe in here while this other Jaden did the dancing?

Oleander had already gone on ahead to another room for her fitting. She had complained about wanting to see Jaden dressed up, but had relented once she had seen Alisan coming upstairs with her own gown. The elf and the Olman had gone into another room together, Oleander whispering something into Alisan’s ear. That had been over an hour ago, but time had passed quickly while the attendant, Miri, had finished up adjusting Jaden’s gown. For a while, though, the mystic had been alone in the dressing room. Alone with a roomful of mirrors and thoughts.

There was a knocking on the door, and Mirena's voice reached Jaden through the cotton that seemed to fill her head.

"Are you ready?"

"Y-yes! Coming." Jaden stood up from the chair and swished over to the door to let them in. If she didn’t think too much about it, it would be alright.

Outside her room waited the knight in her beautiful blue and cream gown, as well as Rhyce who was clean-shaven and dressed in a stylish tan coat. The design seemed vaguely Albander to Jaden’s untrained eye, but she had never seen him wear it before. She didn’t even know he owned anything like that, yet it looked tailored for him. Rhyce looked out of place without his bow at hand, and with his normally unruly dark blonde hair brushed out of his eyes he looked very different. Jaden couldn't make up her mind whether he seemed younger or older.

"Since Kellen excused himself from this event, we had to share our remaining gentlemen. Rhyce will escort you and me, and Stann has offered to lead Oleander and Alisan." Mirena smiled sideways at the archer, who remained quiet.

"And she agreed to it?" Jaden sounded a bit incredulous. Stann and Alisan were like oil and water. Or maybe beer and water. Either way, it ended unfortunately.

"Actually, I suspect it was Oleander's plan," Mirena said with a wink so small Jaden barely caught it.

Rhyce had been silent during the exchange, but was watching the black-haired mystic intently. Jaden felt exposed enough as it was without the additional scrutiny, and began to fidget a little.

"What?" She asked.

"You going like that?" The archer didn’t sound hurtful, just terse.

"D-do I look that bad?" Jaden couldn't help but glance over her barely covered shoulders toward the mirrors. She had a good view of her back from there. As low as it was in front, it went down equally so in the back. Not far enough to allow her access to her wings, should the occasion arise, but it definitely showed a lot of her skin. The dress had a lot of yellow, which was nice. She didn't mind the red parts either.

Rhyce didn't answer immediately, instead a ghost of concern flashed across his face.

"Don't upset he- him, Rhyce.” Mirena chided the archer with a small frown, but smoothened her expression when she turned back to the mystic. “You look very pretty, Jaden. Don't worry."

"Every man will be staring at you," Rhyce said.

"Garda's fires, Rhyce. You're like a worried father or something," Jaden mumbled with a blush, trying to cover her nervousness with a joke. It didn't have the intended effect on the archer, whose expression instead changed subtly with creases of pain in his eyes.

"Guess so. Be careful."

On their way down the stairs, Mirena handed Jaden a shawl to wear if the night would get chilly. It was of a lovely dark red, nearly brown, with faint tower-like patterns. Jaden suspected it was one of the knight’s own, from her home city. The mystic accepted it politely, mostly since it could cover her up a bit, and not because she would be feeling any cold. She couldn’t remember feeling cold lately. The fire within warmed her. Jaden wrapped the cloth around her shoulders and tried to arrange it to preserve the most amount of modesty.

When Mirena, Rhyce and Jaden stepped outside in their fineries, one of Ranath's people was waiting for them. It was a blonde man in green robes with two thin braids on either side of his face, with a narrow chin and small nose. Something about the way he kept himself made Jaden think about cats.

“I am spoken to as Danir. I seem to be your guide this evening.” The elf bowed slightly, his voice higher than expected and somewhat unused to the inflections of Midland Trade.

"Did our friends already leave?" Mirena asked, looking around the outside of Ranath’s house.

"It seems as if they have gone on ahead," Danir replied.

"Very well. Are you bringing the carriage around right now?" The knight couldn’t see any stables nearby.

"Carriage, Dame Kaladon?"

"... so that we can go to the event we are attending?" Mirena explained, somewhat surprised.

"I offer apologies. I had not been informed there were injured among you, who cannot walk. We will see what accommodations can be arranged." The elf turned to leave, face drawn in thought.

"Injured? No, we're all fine.” Mirena protested. “Wait. Do you mean that everyone usually just walk wherever they need to go?"

"Of course."

"I hope we'll get there in time for the dance." She hadn’t counted on that eventuality. Neither her, nor Jaden’s gowns were made for long strolls.

"The dance will continue all evening and some of the night, Dame Kaladon,” Danir spoke slowly, as if explaining the obvious.

Rhyce crossed his arms, and what looked like faint amusement flickered across his face.

"I mean, I hope we won't be late," the knight tried to clarify.

"Late for what, Dame?" The elf looked confused.

"The dance!" Mirena was starting to feel like the conversation was going in circles.

"Mirena, elven society isn't as obsessed with time as the Coastlands. The party doesn't 'start' at any specific time. It will naturally change as guests arrive and leave. Some are probably there already." Jaden stepped in to bridge the cultural misunderstanding.

Mirena turned back to the elf waiting for them. She took a short moment to compose herself.

"I'm sorry,” she apologised. “I should know better than to let my expectations dictate my reactions. Please, lead us to where we need to be."

"Of course." Danir bowed, turning to Jaden and repeating the gesture. «Thank you for elucidating to the Outsiders, daughter of the envoy.»

Jaden just gave the elf a thin smile, sighing on the inside. In the corner of her eye, she saw the archer give the knight a small pat on the shoulder. Mirena rolled her head back a little, in as close to a defeated slump as Jaden had seen her.

Their guide didn't hurry as he led them along the petal paths of the eternal city. Evening had reclaimed the world and cast it in a twilight shine, pale beams trickling down between the boughs overhead. The cover of the tall trees made the city far darker than a summer night would warrant, but their way was lit by floating orbs of light that formed a softly glowing string of pearls reaching into the distance.

"What are these wisps?" Mirena said in a low voice, as if she feared her words would scare them away.

"These seems to be the... what is a word?" Danir paused in thought. "Liellien. Snow stars."

"They're beautiful," the knight whispered.

Jaden opened her eyes to the mystic's sight, and saw how the orbs were elements of fire and air tethered to the ground by the same strands of magic that maintained them, drawing energy from the arcane arteries that spread throughout the city.

"I didn't see these during the day. I wonder if the sorcerers invoke them each evening, or if they are designed to tap into the energy web only once ambient light falls below a certain threshold?" Jaden talked just loud enough that everyone could hear her. The streetlights in the larger cities were maintained by the Arcane Order. The sorcerers only had to trigger one enchantment to cause the rest to light up due to some sort of sympathetic resonance. It was magic theory above Jaden's head.

"I know not this. These are the liellien. They have always been there."

"We're glad for their presence. Without them, I doubt we could make out the path in front of us."

"Liellien are not necessary for the People," the elf explained, and gestured towards the faint twinkling that showed through the thick leaves far overhead. "The stars above reveals the world."

"Ah, yes. Elven night vision. Does that mean you can see fine as well, Jaden?" Mirena looked away from the floating points of light to meet the mystic’s eyes.

"I'm not an elf, Rena. But, yeah, I can see." Jaden had always had good night vision, most likely due to her mother's side of the family. Lately, however, she had noticed that even when she knew that the light was too poor to see, when it was just too dark, she could still make out the world around her. In a way, it was more than seeing. It was akin to mystic’s sight, but instead of magic, it peeled away the cover of night.

Mirena turned towards Rhyce, who had stopped a few steps further behind. Knowing how keen the archer's eyes were, the knight fought down a flicker of irritation brought on by how she was the only one who couldn't see the way they were going. She took a breath, held it, and with its release she abandoned all those negative thoughts. When the feeling had passed, it left her with a smile. There was something ironic in how she, who professed to mete out justice and truth, now had the most trouble seeing clearly. She would seek guidance from her god and her friends whenever she needed it.

It was unlike mansions made by mankind. It reminded an outsider more of an open air theatre, where rooms were platforms extending out like branches from a tree, partitioned off by walls that looked more like paintings than structures. The roof was covered in ivy to the point where it was uncertain whether there was actual wood slates underneath, or if the trees had been bid to cover the house with their great, green hands.

When Jaden and her friends arrived, there was already plenty of other guests, over a hundred at a glance. While most of them had gravitated to the larger central chamber, from where music and voices reached as far as the entrance, other guests seemed content to find smaller gatherings in the branch rooms.

Mirena noticed that there was nothing that resembled servants or attendants. Instead, the guests took it upon themselves to sample the food and drink spread out in different parts of the ballroom. Some guests even brought things with them, placing bottles or baskets down on available tables for everyone to enjoy.
It was without order, but at the same time not chaotic. This was the life the elves were used to. It was their rhythm. It was fascinating.

"There is no wardrobe," Mirena whispered to Danir. "Where do we leave our shawls?"

"At a place where you will remember where you put it?" The elf replied, gesturing at the branches running alongside the walls, forming natural shelves and hooks but blending arboreally into the building itself like decorations with a practical purpose.

"Yes, but-" The knight began, but was interrupted by the mystic.

"When in Etrana, do as the Etrians," Jaden murmured into Mirena's ear.

"When I was here as a young girl, we visited the Tier embassy. It was much more like... what I'm used to seeing. It is good to challenge one's expectations from time to time, isn't it?" Mirena smiled at Jaden, clearly intending something more than just a casual observation. She pointedly reached down to smoothen out the sides of her gown.

"I... suppose so, Rena." Jaden returned the smile, although somewhat strained. She would have much preferred one of her ceremonial uniforms from home. Talram fashion was a marriage of utility and austerity. If it didn't serve a purpose, the mountain bid you to cast it off. Sometimes that purpose could be to impress others, but it would never be allowed to hamper you like these dresses did.

"If it pleases you to follow me.” Danir touched his chest and gestured towards the grand central room. There was a small group of regal-looking elves standing apart from the rest of the gathering. “Introductions should be made to the one who hosts this event. He seems to be over there, alongside... oh, Lawshaper Ethilmir! And Historian Melatar. I would suggest waiting for them to finish their exchange of words."

"I take it that his company is above our station?" Mirena nodded to herself, filing it away for later.

"Exceedingly. As fortune would have it, however, I see my colleague over there.” The elf indicated a familiar face standing amidst other members of the wisdom caste. Ranath looked to be in his element, and any previous weariness carefully hidden. “Allow me to bring you to him, that my assignment is complete."

As soon as Jaden and her friends came close enough to be noticed by Ranath, their guide shrank back into the crowd with a parting nod. Before disappearing completely, Jaden saw him repeatedly glancing back at the three influential elves from before, looking concerned.

Oleander had a wide grind on her face as she stepped across the threshold into the long and vaulted hall. Lights and shadows played across the walls in a counterpoint dance to the movements of the guests. The music was of various flutes and string instruments, lacking the beating rhythm marked by drums or lower-pitched instruments that most human cultures used. Instead, the pace of the music followed waves, as if imitating the ebb and flow of an ocean of sound.

The Olman woman squirmed a bit, trying to find a way to be comfortable in the borrowed dress. It felt too tight around her stomach and arms, and the skirt tumbled loose around her legs. It was a tripping hazard if she had to run or jump. Still, it was of a flattering greenish blue colour that reminded her of the first time she had seen the sea at the harbour in Etrana. The white lacy bits around the skirt’s hemline only brought the image that much closer to mind.

“Pretty big place,” Stann commented with an appreciating nod. His eyes kept roaming across the dancers, and he adjusted the collar of his dark orange, almost red doublet. It had some highlighted designs that looked like thorns. Oleander was amazed that the warrior had found something that would fit him.

“That’s all you have to say?” The redhead said with a slightly shocked expression.

“What do you want me to say? Fine woodwork? Good floorboards?” The Northman shrugged. “The food looks good, too.”

Oleander just sighed in frustration, throwing up her hands.

Alisan watched the exchange with growing alarm.

“Please. Try to contain your outbursts. There is a need to impress important people this evening.”

“Yeah, Red. Impress them with your silence,” Stann chuckled.

“I’ll show you silence!” The Olman thief hissed back with an entirely false smile plastered across her face.

Alisan looked over at the closest table that displayed a wide selection of delicacies. She briefly considered showing her new friends there in hope that eating would keep them from bickering, but she knew from experience that it would not.

With Ranath to show them around, it had been easy to get an introduction with some of the more influential members of the Ral Sona society. Mirena used Alisan’s friend as an icebreaker to begin asking questions about the city and any strange events that may have been going on – especially ones related to the wildlands or trade with the human nations. The knight weaved her way through the niceties and smalltalk with the same skill she fought in battle, decisively and with a plan in mind. Ranath was quick on the uptake and the two of them took control of any conversation they joined in, steering it away from mundane trivialities and towards what they had come to find out. It made Jaden feel like she wasn’t necessary.

The Lacunai had a reputation for many things, and even more rumours surrounding them, but their finesse in social gatherings was not one of them. In that respect, Jaden’s mother was one of the exceptions and perhaps the reason why she was one of the mountain’s emissaries. Unlike her, Jaden had never been good with words. She had trained hard to be a good protector. She had prided herself in her strength with her sword and her magic. Neither of those was needed here.

Eventually, Jaden had a hard time keeping up with the conversations. Her attention began to wander, and she found herself wandering off along with it. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Instead, she just followed wherever her feet were taking her, curious to see if anything interesting caught her eyes.

Quickly, Jaden lost sight of Mirena and Ranath. Around her were unfamiliar faces, all elven. Even as she tried to blend in, more eyes were drawn to her. They whispered as Jaden walked past them. Whispered with voices or gestures. The way some elves used motion to convey meaning was starting to become louder than the spoken words the more she had become aware of it. She was surrounded by layers of conversations from all directions. It was almost overwhelming.

«Which caste is she? Her dress is yellow, like a guardian, but also red.»

«It may not hold any meaning. Few here are in caste colours tonight.»

«True. She could not be guardian, either way. She is too… generous.»

«But she could be ruler.»

«We know of every member of the ruling caste.»

«I did not say she was, merely that she could be.»

«Yes. She does have that inner fire, don’t you think? The spark of dominion.»

Jaden kept walking, trying to shut out what people were saying about her. As she pulled her thoughts inward, she began to forget about the discomfort of her gown, and the awkwardness of the situation. Her movements became automatic when she stopped forcing herself.

Her bearing had changed as she moved along a colonnade making up the other end of the grand hall. The gown swirled around her legs, making the folds seem like flames flickering around her. Her head was held higher, her back straighter, her step surer. The image of a ruler. A princess of fire.

«Daughter of the envoy?» A dark blonde elf with his hair shorn short enough to fully show his ears, wearing a robe in a series of rich violet hues, held out his hands in greeting. Jaden couldn’t help but notice the faint lines of scars following the jawline on the left side of his face. Hadn’t she seen him earlier? «Your arrival in the city was unexpected, Lilya Tarasov, but not unwelcome. Will your mother be gracing us with her presence as well?»

For a second, Jaden drew a complete blank. She didn’t know what to do. She found herself just staring at the man, her mind spinning. Should she play along with the assumption that she was her sister? Should she correct him, introducing herself?

«You certainly haven’t changed, Tarasov. Stoic and silent like you were the last time we met.» He smiled slightly, which made the scars pull on his mouth, but his eyes looked happy. «Has it already been-?»

«I offer apologies, my lord, but you wished to be informed when the Historian was available again.” Interrupting the man was a woman in a guardian’s yellow surcoat over light plate armour. She was pointing towards one of the many passages that led to outside gardens surrounding the mansion.

«I did, didn’t I?» The violet-robed elf turned back to Jaden and sighed. «Another time, perhaps, if fortune remembers us?»

«This way, Lord Ethilmir,» the guardian ushered the older elf towards the passage, lingering behind a little to make sure they weren’t followed.

Jaden had done a double-take upon hearing the name, her mouth going dry. The Lawshaper. He who had been at the centre of the original union of the two elven people, when the Seren and the Cea first came together as one. The Ethilmir of the stories was one of the elves who had come to these lands with the human refugees from the old empire. Why had her sister been meeting with one of the oldest elves alive? Why did he even know Lilya’s name? With all of those questions whirling around in her head, it was almost funny how, for some reason, the only thing that kept coming to Jaden’s mind was that the man she had been talking to was personally to blame for her being considered an elf by local laws.

Turning around Jaden almost bumped into a slender and dark-haired woman wearing a figure-hugging pale dress decorated with a stylised vine pattern. When the mystic met the other woman’s eyes, something suddenly felt cold inside her stomach. The elf’s lips moved, and the words came unbidden to her mind.

«No more shadows can linger, when the flesh has forgotten.» Those dark blue, nearly purple eyes held hers almost hypnotically. It was the words Jaden had used earlier at the Wordshaper’s Hall. The sign and countersign of the death cult.

«The last to serve the eyeless, the first to blind the world,» Jaden whispered back. She felt a little dizzy. How had she ended up like this? The Sons of Husk were murderers and soul-thieves. She should tell Mirena about this. She should tell someone about this. Anyone. But then… but then she might lose her one chance.

The dark elf nodded slightly and stepped in to hold Jaden in a quick embrace, taking the opportunity to whisper into her ear.

«Our bloodbrother shared your need with us, sister. We will provide news for you by tomorrow. Await our messenger at the central glade at sunhigh. Wear this.» The slender woman pulled at the violet silk ribbon keeping her hair done up, and offered it to Jaden as the curls came tumbling down to her shoulders.

When Jaden accepted the ribbon, the elf leaned in for a quick brush of her lips against the mystic’s cheek. The chill where they touched lingered.

“Val enan Valarat, jadiran,” she whispered huskily, and then slipped back into the crowd.

As soon as he could, Rhyce had disengaged from the knight and the mystic on the pretence of covering more ground if they split up. The archer knew beyond any doubt that, since she had spent all that time dressing up, Mirena would no doubt want to partake in the dance a number of times. Rhyce was making sure he wouldn’t be drawn into any of that. He had enjoyed dancing, long ago. But to dance anew was to lose the memory of the last dance a little more.

Instead, he skulked at the fringes of groups talking, doing what he did better than most: watched and listened. Not counting Jaden, he was probably the one among his friends with the best grasp of Sorunese. Thinking of the mystic, he saw her walk along one side of the hall. Her manner was so different from the Jaden he knew. It was like seeing a different person wearing her face. He didn’t know if she was playing a role, or revealing something she usually kept hidden. Rhyce had only seen a small piece of it before, and at the time he had been gravely wounded.

“Don’t start a fire you can’t put out, princess,” he mumbled, wishing he had his bow should the flames go out of control. It was a strange feeling, the desire to protect beginning to eclipse the need for revenge.

Walking slowly he concentrated on filtering out the inane small-talk going on around him, focusing on anything that seemed to touch upon politics, trade, or humans in the wildlands. He caught snippets in the sea of sound surrounding him. Some worried about the increased presence of human settlements at the border of the wildlands. There were voices discussing the more strained relationship with Alband. Influx of foreign gold due to greater trade with Kasmantur and Olmar. Songwood demand increasing, but production is plateauing.

“Music calls. We will follow?” A young Seren woman with her pale-blond hair done up in a layered waterfall style spoke in broken Midland Trade, but her face beamed with earnest excitement. By her green dress she was most likely a novitiate wisdom. She must have snuck up close to him when he was focused on another conversation.

«No,» he replied curtly, while trying to step to the side to keep line of sight on the group he was listening in on.

«Oh! Fortune remembers! You speak the People’s tongue?» The smiling elf slid into his view again, that wide smile without a care.

«Go away.» Rhyce began walking, brushing past the eager elf.

«But... May I share a dance? Human men, like you, are so… strong and rugged!» The elf leaned in closer, trying to smile even wider.

Rhyce felt his eye twitch. Of all the people he could’ve run into at a place like this, he had to meet the one who was a reverse Stann. He quickened his steps and ducked between a dancing pair as he faded into the crowd.

Oleander had been wandering for a bit, sampling bits of the food and drinks. Maybe a little more of the drink than she should have, but it was helping her with her nerves. Hanging upside down and picking a lock while murderers were nearby? No problem. Exploring dark tunnels deep below the scorching sands where one wrong step would bring her face to face with a horde of immortal tomb children? She could do that in her sleep. But here? Surrounded by people talking in a language she couldn’t understand, wearing clothes she couldn’t run in, and everyone constantly looking at her like an oddity? She felt exposed and alone in a way she had tried very hard to get away from. Despite the summer warmth, fine dress and food in her mouth, there was a little girl dressed in rags, hungry and freezing that followed her inside her mind.

Her ears perked up when a few stray words of Trade reached her across the elven noise. As some dancers moved out of her line of sight, she caught a glimpse of a brown-haired woman wearing a blue Tierin-styled gown. Oleander sighed in relief and crowd-slipped her way towards the familiar lighthouse in the dark sea of strangers.

“That is very interesting, captain. I was not aware of how closely you monitored the situation,” Mirena said to the dark elf she was speaking with, a woman with sensibly short black hair and an almost scandalous, flowing saffron-yellow outfit that left most of the outer sides of her arms and legs showing, barely keeping her decent.

“It is the way it is, paladin. It is for us to keep it from becoming worse.” The elven woman spoke with a voice that seemed more fit for shouting commands than singing, despite being dressed closer to an entertainer than a soldier.

“I’d like to learn more about the wardens, but I believe my companion is trying to get my attention. Maybe later?” The knight smiled and indicated the approaching red-head with a small gesture.

“As fortune would have it. Enjoy the evening, paladin.” The warden-captain touched her fingers together and inclined her head.

Oleander watched as the strangely dressed elf went to talk with someone else. She tried to imagine herself wearing something like that. Perhaps if she was trying to impress someone special, but only if they were alone in a room. An unbidden image came to her mind of that someone sliding those clothes off her, so easily, leaving nothing but warm skin between them. A warm flush crept up her chest and neck, making her cheeks rosy. All that wine wasn’t helping, either.

“Are you well?” The knight’s worried tone brought her back to the present.

“Yeah. Sure. Of course!” Oleander cleared her throat, glancing around. “But, just out of curiosity? What do I do if I need to go to the, uhm, little girl's room?”

“You do it as usual. Elves got restrooms too, you know?” Mirena looked amused, that small smile returning as quickly as it had faded.

“No, I mean, with the dress and all. It's tricksy with all the... things,” the redhead said, making vague motions at her back. Elven clothes didn’t tie off the same way as any she had worn before.

“I have faith in your ability to find a way,” the knight all but laughed, her smile growing wider. “I've known you to slip out of an Etrian prison cell, while manacled. I doubt a dress could hold you for long.”

“True enough, that. At least there are no lacings like with your fancy Tier-clothes. See, no corset!” Oleander patted her stomach. Also, there were the knives she had strapped to her thighs in case of an emergency. Any emergency, in fact.

A couple of elves stared at the small redhead as they passed by, earning a rude gesture in return. The knight just sighed, choosing to pick her battles.

“While it certainly varies from woman to woman, many of the elves I've seen here are too slender to warrant the extra support.” Mirena looked out across the dancers and the crowds gathered around. Only a few of them, mostly blonde, would have the need to use any supportive garments. “Larger chests are much more common among our people.”

“But Jay's supposed to be wearing an elf-dress, too. What about him? He's not exactly 'slender' like they are.” Oleander made a hefting gesture under her chest, getting her another sigh from her friend.

“I'm certain Jaden will survive for an evening,” Mirena said with confidence. Standing a little taller than some, she looked out across the guests to see if she could spot her mystic friend.

“I guess. He's, ah, perkier than you'd think. By far.” The redhead had seen many kinds of women growing up, enough to make comparisons. The alleyways of the poor districts of Tarad was also where many men went to find women selling love, and she had borne witness to those meetings while trying to filch a coin from an unsuspecting pocket.

“Have you been peeking at he- him in the baths again?”

“What do you mean 'again'?” Oleander immediately became defensive. It wasn’t as if she made a habit out of it. It had just happened once or thrice.

“We’re a small group, Oleander. Word travels fast.” The knight raised an eyebrow to go with her smile.

“Damn it, Stann!” Oleander swore, promising herself not to share anything juicy with the warrior again.

The roll of fruit and cheese had stopped halfway to his mouth, forgotten as the Northman frowned in thought.

"At what are your eyes locked, Winterheart?" Alisan asked of the large man next to her.

"I don't know. That guy over there is kind of familiar, somehow,” Stann replied, nodding at a small group of distinguished elves conversing below a balcony. He had seen Rhyce head that direction earlier, but now something was tugging at his memory.

"This seems as likely as a midnight sun. That one is the Historian, as well as several other eminent members of the castes. Ah, yes, I also see the high guardian’s second in command." The pale elf knew of most of the gathering by reputation or rumour. Her mentor with the songshapers might have a place among them, but neither Alisan nor her newfound friends would.

"Yeah. There's just something... Eh, nevermind,” Stann trailed off, and then shrugged uncomfortably. He was reminded of snow for some reason, despite the warm late-summer air. Not the snow of his homeland, the bracing winter of Strom. No, it brought to mind snowclad hills far away from the lands of the North.

«Would you follow the music with me?»

“What?”

Mirena had left her side a little while earlier, to seek out other people to talk to. The knight was good at mingling and doing smalltalk. Oleander was more comfortable meeting people in cosy taverns or dimly lit warehouses.

Oleander turned around, unsure whether she was being addressed by the elven voice behind her. There stood a young dark elf with his black hair done up in a braid that came down over his left shoulder. He was handsome in that way that made her think of heroes in the stories or young army officers in their sharp uniforms; confident and strong.

“Ta viela, jarenen,” the elf said apologetically, gesturing first toward the dancing couples on the floor, and then at the two of them.

“You want to dance? With me?” The redhead made the same gestures.

The dark elf smiled widely, and pulled her on to the dance floor holding her hands in his.

She had no idea how to dance like elves do, but one of the rules of a pickpocket is to blend in. Move as the crowd do. She began to mimic the motions of those around her, faking her way along until she learned the steps. There were cycles and repetitions like in any style, with small variations that seemed to reflect the music. She felt herself beginning to enjoy this.

If she almost closed her eyes, and let her imagination paint in the missing pieces, she could almost let herself see another person holding her instead. Just for a little bit, she allowed herself to dream. A dance with her prince.

The calabash emptied the last of its wine into the cup. One of the younger novitiates had been sent to bring new ones, as more wordshapers kept arriving. Technically they weren’t allowed to drink within their great hall, out of fear of accidents harming any of their texts, but the increasingly crowded room was intended for lectures and held no bookcases.

“As it pleases you, continue when you are refreshed,” urged a pale-eyed Cealon wearing a wordshaper’s blue robes. He had a handful of paper sheets propped against a knee and a quill ready.

“Ah, that is good drink. Not beer, but it will do the job.” Kellen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked out across the room. There must’ve been at least two dozen elves present, with some having gone to bring their friends here as well. It felt good. Not the attention, but speaking to those who wished to listen, to learn. It was good to teach again.

“You were explaining the tenets of the Strom shamans, as declared by Brinal Nighthammer during the era of upheaval,” said another helpful elven scholar, pushing her unkempt black hair back over an ear with inkstained fingers.

“Quite so! The great shaman knew that the old ways wouldn’t survive in the new order forged by his friend and chieftain Sogard Skyrune. He challenged the ideology of his fellow shamans in much the same way Skyrune had challenged the other chieftains’ rule, knowing that only by force could he drag my people into the new era. The world was changing, and we had to change with it.”

The rune seeker always felt a small pang of loss whenever he spoke of his old tradition. Despite the reform brought by Nighthammer so long ago, the shamans of today had stagnated once again. New ideas slid off them like water off the back of a seal. There had been no room for discovery and exploration. Kellen had to cut himself off from his own people if he would have any chance to realise his dreams. His biggest regret was how his cousin had been dragged down with him.

The elves, though, didn’t judge him the way the elder shaman had. They listened and recorded, talked amongst themselves and speculated. It made him feel warm to be surrounded by knowledge tempered by wisdom once again.

The wordshapers were eager to share, as well. From them he learned many things. One of which was how a cealon wordshaper named Kyriel of house Sivanparal. He had suffered an accident during one of his many travels, but upon his return he had been a changed man. He had become more driven and forceful, quickly climbing his way to the top of his department. The other elves were sure that Kyriel must have had some friends in high places to help him out. Not only had the maimed wordshaper received promotions in quick succession, he had also shown up with a replacement hand one day, something he would never have been able to afford on his own. After that, he was seen less and less around the hall, and increasingly in the company of the quel hatar, the Spellguard, bodyguards for the most important members of the oligarchy.

«Found you!»

Rhyce bit back an oath as the bell-like voice chimed behind him. He had been observing some of the elders talking below his hidden position on a balcony. There had been something about the way they moved while talking, as if there was a subtext he could just barely perceive.

«If I had known I would have to chase you, I would have worn better shoes.» The blonde, young elf looked a little out of breath, as if she had been looking all over for him.

«Go away,» Rhyce growled in no uncertain terms.

«But these ones are fashionable, yes?» She lifted her gown a little to show her slippers, turning her foot this way and that to give the archer a really good look, and maybe a little of her leg as well. «Though I am confused about your garb. From all the paintings I’ve seen, human men enjoy wearing unlaced shirts that show off their chest and muscles. Is it because your passions burn so hot?»

Rhyce gripped the balcony rail firmer, trying to tune out the prattling woman. The elders had been discussing something about the high warden, the one of the guardian caste who led the wildwardens, the rangers that protected the wildlands from outside intrusions.

«If you’re not the dancing kind, I may know of a place where we can go and you can show me how easy that shirt is to remove?» The elf put her hands on his shoulders from behind, and leaned in with her head over his left side so that their cheeks almost touched.

Rhyce clenched his jaw and briefly considered the implications of flipping her over the balcony into the laps of the elders below. Instead, he reached out with his thoughts.

The elf squeaked in surprise as a black bird swooped down and plucked a golden hairpin from her head, making her carefully coiffed style go lopsided.

«Give that back, you thieving magpie!”» She swung at the air where the bird had been. It had landed just a little way down the rail, as if baiting her to follow. «I’ll get you, bag of feathers!»

The archer allowed himself a thin smile before turning his attention back to his task.

Jaden had resigned herself to watch the tides of the ball swell and part. One dance flowed into the next with nary a sign as to where one ended and the next began. Couples entered for a time and then left when they were sated, or switched to new partners. Unlike in most other countries, like Alband or Tier, she saw men dancing with other men, and women leading women. From what she could see, the unspoken rule was that the oldest of the couple picked the direction. It was hard to tell with elves, but if you looked closely there were always some signs. Especially in the eyes. Eyes that had seen hundreds of summers were different, somehow. It was hard to explain.

The mystic realised that she wasn’t alone after all. In a subtle way, one of the guests had changed from being a part of the backdrop to entering into Jaden’s awareness. They hadn’t made any sudden movements or even approached closer. It was like they had just decided it was time for them to be recognised.

"You seem to be a new flower. I am spoken to as Tsirnys." The tall elven woman wore a fine, but understated green gown touched with goldthread leafwork along the sleeves. Her black hair contrasted against the pale skin, and was elegantly but simply brushed back over her shoulders. She gave the impression of maturity, even though the elven agelessness graced her features. "Would you share your name?"

"Jaden," the mystic said, slightly distracted by what was going on at the ballroom floor.

"Ja ide en. She of rain. A pretty name, yes, for a young blossom. Are you perhaps of House Sivanparal? Yes, it seems as if a raindrop would suit a Dewcatcher's daughter." The woman who had introduced herself as Tsirnys pointed with a finger towards the side of the ballroom, indicating someone in the crowd.

"Raindrop? My mother used to call me that," Jaden turned to give the older elven woman her full attention. A part of her wondered why they were conversing in Midland Trade, rather than Sorunese. Aside from Jaden and her friends, almost everyone present were elves.

"Yes? But, no. With those silks like autumn leaves, and those remarkable golden eyes, you look more like a feren than an ideen." Born of fire, not rain. The woman brushed back the dark hair that marked her as one of the Cealon elves. "Is that who you should be, instead? A jaarat feren?"

There was no real word for hereditary ruler in the elven language. Their concept of birthright differed greatly from the younger races, and the elven culture didn't lend itself to the idea of a sovereign for life. After all, when a ruler could - and would - live for many centuries, it was a dreadful proposition if that ruler was ill-suited for the task. No, the closest word for king or queen in Sorunese was arat; ruler or leader. Jaarat simply meant 'woman leader'. Jaden didn't want to be either of those.

"She does look like a fire spirit wearing that gown, mother," a younger elf said as she joined the two, apparently deciding to rest her feet after having been swept along the floor for several dances. The resemblance between the two was clear, but with the energy of youth instead of the dignity of age. She also spoke Trade with more ease, hinting at that she must have spent some time outside the elven lands.

"Truth of the stars, daughter." Tsirnys gestured at her child as in introduction. "Jaideen, this is Susinia. It appears as if you are close enough of age."

"I have other friends here, mother dear, but it might be fun talking with someone else who's been outside the old treehouse." Susinia rolled her eyes a bit, and struck a slightly bored pose with a hand on her hips. Clearly, she didn't care much for the traditional ways of her people.

Satisfied that her daughter had some company for the evening, the older elf drifted off with a serene expression, leaving Jaden with the younger elf at her side. The girl looked like she was only just stepping into her womanhood, and would see many years yet before the elven blood slowed her aging down to a crawl. Susinia shared her mother's dark hair and green eyes, but a few rebellious highlights ran through that nearly black hair like shooting stars in a night sky.

"Here, I'll take you to some of my friends. They've not been Outside, like us, but they're fun enough. Your Trade is really good. Did you have a human to teach you?" Susinia dragged a protesting Jaden along the edge of the dance floor, bobbing and ducking around guests and attendants alike. "Where did you go when you travelled? I've seen Telasero AND Etrana!"

"Oh, uh, you know. Places. I was in Etrana last summer." Jaden desperately looked around for her friends. The elven girl seemed friendly enough, but there appeared to be no end to her questions.
Jaden thought she glimpsed Oleander's short, red hair over some shoulders, and tried waving in that direction for the Olman girl to notice her. Was Oleander dancing with someone? She felt a sudden tightness in her chest.

"Loved it! Wasn't it fun? And those slaves! Just imagine having someone who has to follow your every command!" There was a sparkle in the dark elf’s green eyes.

"Yeah, about that..." The mystic began, trying to think of a way to get out of the conversation.

Susinia stopped abruptly enough for Jaden to walk into her. A short distance away there were a handful of elven girls positively fawning over a young elven man with beautiful long, wheat-gold hair and a ready smile. He wore a fine snow-white jacket with gold details, and a single yellow seraali flower clipped to his chest above his heart. Against her will, even Jaden felt her heart do a little skip, followed by annoyance. She didn’t find him attractive in the least. It was just that she could… appreciate that some would consider him handsome. Her quickening heartbeat was only because she was angry. Certainly. She swallowed when Susinia pulled her closer.

The young man seemed to wrap up some story he had been telling his admirers, who all giggled and gushed at his every word. It must have been an impressive tale. Maybe about something he had done? Most likely, since those kinds of men loved talking about themselves. Jaden wished she could have heard what it had been about.

Before Jaden's guide could bring them up to the small crowd, the man took the hand one of the girls surrounding him and brought her to the dance floor as the music changed pace. Susinia, as well as several of the others, watched him go with great interest. Their eyes remained on him as everyone began talking again.

«I had to let mother know I had arrived. Did I miss my chance?» Susinia sighed dramatically, watching the focus of their attention enjoy himself. Then she gestured at Jaden. «Oh, I also found an interesting person!»

One of the girls, a willowy beauty with gorgeous blonde hair, took one look at Jaden before recoiling in horror. She looked like someone had slapped her, and was even clutching her hair protectively for some reason. None of the others seemed to notice, however, and instead continued with their gossiping.

The conversation was in a rapid-fire Sorunese Jaden had never heard before. It was far from the precise and eloquent style she had been taught in Talraman, or experienced while studying here in Ral Sona for a summer. It was all she could do just to keep up. From the bits and pieces she understood, it was mostly about the young man who had been there earlier. Finally, Jaden couldn't keep quiet any longer. She had to know.

«Why do women act that way around him?» Jaden asked in as casual Sorunese as she could manage.

«Consult your ovaries, sister. Delandir's a very promising, and handsome, man,» Susinia explained with a grin. Going by what had been said, this Delandir was an up and coming guardian who had already been given a position of responsibility by the ruling caste. Something to do with the palace watch.

«Mm, yes. You could bounce a silver mark off of those buttocks,» said a shorter Seren girl, her blonde hair in corkscrew ringlets to frame her pretty face. The leer on her face was just short of indecent.

«Alendra, such things you say!»

«You were thinking it as well, Susinia!» Alendra’s hair bounced as she giggled.

«Maybe, but to say it! » Susinia put a hand to her chin and looked speculatively at Delandir’s dancing form.

Jaden just wanted to fade away, her face growing redder by the moment.

"Any of you ladies care for a dance?" A familiar voice cut through the giggling, turning all heads towards the speaker. Most of the girls had to crane their heads back a bit to look the tall, bearded man in the face. Like the subject of their previous discussion, he too had long blonde hair. But it was not nearly as well kept, and instead of projecting grace and confidence like Delandir, this man showed brashness and strength.

"Me, pick me!" Jaden said, the words feeling strange in her mouth but right now anywhere was better than here with the blathering elves. She heard some of the girls gasp.

"Jaden?" Stann said, his eyes going wide with incredulity. His voice even went up a little at the end.

"Yeah, let's dance." The mystic took the warrior's hand and pulled them away from the shocked elven girls, who immediately began whispering as soon as they turned their backs. Some of them sounded suitably impressed by her courage in taking on a human man, and the rest wondered what it would have been like.

Once they were far enough away, Jaden stopped and looked up at the Northman.

"I don't know how you found me, but thanks for the save," she said, risking a quick look back at the girls. Susinia was doing an awkward thumbs-up.

"Save? Right. Right." Stann rubbed a hand along his neck. It was like the Northman didn’t know where to look. “That’s some dress, huh?”

At that moment, the orchestra began playing, and suddenly Jaden and Stann found themselves surrounded by dancing couples. The ballroom floor became a blur of colours and motion as the music began. Jaden's protest was lost in a twist and a turn, with Stann's hand steadily moving her to the pace of the dance. Alarm settled down and eventually became surprise. Pleasant surprise.

"You are... good at this, Stann," Jaden mumbled into the Northman's ear loud enough to be heard. They brushed against one another as he turned them to the music.

"I'm a man of many talents, Lady Jadey," Stann laughed, looking so out of place among a sea of elves but still holding his own. The self-confident smile turned a little sideways when he noticed her disbelieving look. "Lemon's been teaching me the steps."

"Alisan has? Why?" Jaden blinked.

"Who knows? Obligation? Pride?"

"Pity?" Jaden raised an eyebrow and smirked a little.

"Hey now," Stann pinched her side.

Elsewhere. The Crying Place.

The sound of the pen scratching across the paper filled the room. It was held in a steady hand as each word flowed across the page. Observations. Numbers. Logistics. Estimates and considerations. When the man stopped long enough to lean forward to dip the pen into the inkwell once more, there was a faint noise as the left hand he kept in his lap clacked against the writing table. It was a hard noise of ceramics hitting wood.

It was as if that single sound begat many others in the room. The creak of leather as his companion leaned back against the wall. The scrape of her lance as it settled in a new position against the flagstones. The faint shuffling from the cage as the beast shifted around. His pointed ears caught the sound of it sobbing again.

«By the grace of Atan!» He swore quietly, putting the pen down. Why was it so hard to get some peace and quiet? He had work to do. «Make it quiet, or I will do something that will require me to write another letter.»

The dark-haired woman in the short, yellow robes pushed away from the wall and walked up to the cage like a predator circled a wounded prey. She slung her lance up over a shoulder as she squatted down to get eye-level with the beast. Her expression spoke louder than any word ever could.

«Hear that, you little monster? Stop snivelling or I’ll cut your tail off.» She sneered, making a scissor-like gesture with a hand. Standing up again, she pulled the cover down over the cage. Maybe it would go to sleep if it was dark, like a hunting bird?

In the darkness of the cage, the beast shrank back from the beings outside as far as it could. It recoiled with a quiet whimper as it bumped into the iron bars. Squeezing its eyes shut, it tried to remember better times; the first time it had seen the sky.

Hello again!

This is an updated Who's Who that contains certain spoilers if you haven't read the first book yet. So, go read that instead of this, alright? :)

Who’s Who in Book 2: The Value of a Song

Jaden Tarasov of the Twin Horizons

Nicknames: Jay, Little brother (by Stann)

“I’m not an elf!”

Jaden is a young woman of medium height and average build, with glossy, naturally wavy black hair hanging down well past her shoulders. She usually ties it back to keep out of her face and her deep amber eyes. She has a slight tan despite having grown up in the cloudy mountains region where the Lacunai fortress Talraman stands. A distinguishing mark are her pointy ears and slender features that makes people assume she is an elf, or at least of elven blood. The truth is that Jaden’s family is a mix of many races, both from this world and others.

Jaden enjoys living in the shadow of her sister, bickering with Oleander, and pretending to be a boy.

Spirit: Ashomi Kian (Twin Horizons), a demon from the Myriad Nethers that gives Jaden flight, strength, and impressive fire magic.

Contracts: Valignat (Flametongue), a cynical salamander that lives on a southern island; Noctophyx (Nightchoker), a breathstealer fey that is often mistaken for an undead monster.

Oleander

Nicknames: Red, Ollie (by Jaden), little fox (by Kellen), Lea (by children), Oleander Lockless (by some), Stop Her! (by many)

“Want to hear something really embarrassing?”

Oleander is a woman in her early twenties slightly below average height, and is currently growing out her red hair that barely reaches past her cheeks. She has raincloud grey eyes, and a ready smile. She is slim and shockingly athletic, and prefers to avoid fighting in favour of using underhanded tactics. She grew up as an orphan in Tarad, a small town in the kingdom of Olmar, a country covered mostly with large plains and gentle hills.

Oleander enjoys finding out things, debating the vicissitudes of ownership, and being confused about her feelings regarding a certain person.

Mirena Kaladon

Nicknames: Rena (by her friends), Lady Kaladon (by her peers), Helmet-hair (by Oleander)

“I am a Sword of Heaven!”

Mirena is a tall woman with long, straight 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 with far-reaching influence, and entered into service to the Five Temples to avoid an arranged marriage. Mirena stands apart from other paladins of Telum due to her willingness to talk before smiting, and accepting help from others.

Mirena enjoys single-handedly fighting entire cults, making plans that always seem to involve splitting up, and wearing the finest gowns she can afford at an unreliable salary.

Stann Winterheart

Nicknames: Bear, Witless Cousin (by Kellen)

“Glory and blood!”

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 wears sleeveless tunics, heavy wool trousers or chain mail armour, as the occasion requires. Helmet and shield are optional, depending on if he wants to make people believe the Northmen are invading again. The tattoo of a bear on his upper right arm is a reminder of home and a happy childhood. Stann has a very big heart, and doesn't blame Kellen for causing both of them to be banished from their home, despite Stann having to leave his betrothed behind.

Stann enjoys repeating stories of his adventures, the idea of one day settling down, and those elven barmaids that never seems to fall for his charms.

Kellen Winterheart

Nicknames: Kel, Ugly Cousin (by Stann)

“The world just needs a reason”

Kellen keeps his blonde hair short, a neat goatee with a slightly larger moustache. The older cousin of Stann stands remarkably tall, even for a Northman, and is so heavily muscled that people often mistake him for a normal warrior. This is compounded by how he avoids traditional robes of a rune seeker, and instead wears the everyday clothes of a Northman. His runes give him immense power over earth and sea, and his latent shamanism sometimes allow him to peek into the spirit realms. He was banished from Strom, along with his cousin, for rejecting the shamanistic tradition of their clan in favour of "southern magic".

Kellen enjoys staying away from heights, being appreciated for the arguable genius he is, and one day catching a bigger fish than Rhyce.

Rhyce

Nicknames: Rhyce (by friends), Deadeye (members of the bandit band he belonged to)

“The only lies we tell ourselves is what we expect to hear”

Rhyce seems like a normal man from the borderlands with unruly dark blonde hair, and deep brown eyes. He’s seldom seen without his dark longbow that he claims won’t let him miss, 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. He is often accompanied by two crows that allow him to see many things beyond the reach of men. While secretive, he has admitted to being a magician too, but hasn’t said which tradition he was trained in, if any. Rhyce was a highway robber before Mirena gave him a second chance at a good life, something he had given up on ever since his wife and son died.

Rhyce enjoys giving out old wise sayings, being reminded of everything he has lost, and letting his arrows do the talking.