Dark Territory

Benjamin Ashwood Book 3

by

AC Cobble

Text Copyright © 2017 AC Cobble

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Animal Instinct

Walk in the Snow

Keeping in Touch

Snowbound

Underground

Back into the Light

How to throw a Fireball

Dark Territory

Behind Enemy Lines

Drinking Legs

Blood and Fire

Consummation

Pouring Rain

Irrefort

The Nemesis

To Sea

The End

Animal Instinct

It was quiet.

Ben exhaled slowly, silently.

His breath clouded in front of him then drifted away, vanishing into the cold air. His face stung, chapped from the wind and the cold. The muscles in his thighs were cramped from his half-squat. He’d been crouching too long.

The ache in his legs melded seamlessly with the pain in the rest of his body. From his head to his knees, he felt like he’d been laid out on a blacksmith’s anvil and relentlessly pounded by the hammer.

Below his knees, he couldn’t feel anything. His feet were sunk in calf-deep snow and moisture thoroughly soaked his leather boots. He knew he was risking frostbite. It was common enough back in Farview when loggers ventured too deep in the winter months or came back too late. The occasional missing finger, ear, or toe was part of the work. Moving around and ensuring proper blood flow would help, but he couldn’t move his feet, not yet.

The crunch from stepping on the dry snow would be like a firework in the silent forest. Crunching snow was what let him know his prey was near.

He glanced down at his makeshift spear. It would be sufficient, he hoped. The spear was made of a long, straight branch. It was as tall as he was. He’d cut the point with his mage-wrought longsword. Probably not the purpose the makers had in mind for such an elegant weapon, but it was necessary. He’d been unable to sharpen the thing with his belt knife. Considering how difficult it had been to make, he hoped the pointed tip of the winter cold branch would punch like steel.

His breath caught. He finally saw what he was waiting for.

Fifteen paces in front of him, a deer stepped from behind a snow-covered pine tree. Too young if he’d been stalking it through the woods around Farview. He and his friend Serrot would never consider harming such a young animal. Here and now though, any meat was fair game.

Ben and Amelie had been on the run for five days. They were getting desperate. They were terrified to stop anywhere people would see them, but the winter forest was reluctant to support them. They hadn’t eaten for three of those five days. This was Ben’s last gamble before they would have to risk going into a town.

Eldred might be waiting for them, but they had to eat. He could already feel the weakness seeping through his limbs. Another day or two and they would both be worthless, too weak to travel or fight.

Be still, he told himself, focus on the now. He breathed in deeply, practicing the meditation Towaal taught him months before. Slowly, he raised the spear.

The deer, ignorant to the threat, shuffled forward, nose close to the frozen ground. It was also looking for food. Shaking, Ben’s arm cocked the spear back to throw. Fifteen paces was not far. He could make this. He’d practiced by their campfire. He knew he could make it.

A bird called and the deer’s head snapped up.

Ben froze.

A bare branch rustled in the wind.

The deer bolted.

Ben cursed and launched the spear with all of his might, hoping he could catch it in the neck for a quick kill, or at least wound it. A bleeding wound would be easy to track in the snow.

Instead, his spear sailed a pace behind the deer and the animal flashed away, vanishing into the woods like his breath in the air.

Muttering to himself, Ben stomped on numb feet to retrieve the spear. The freshly sharpened wood was lying harmless on top of the snow.

***

When Ben returned, Amelie was sitting morosely, staring at their smoky campfire. Too smoky if they wanted to avoid detection, but without the heat, they may not survive the bitter cold nights. Amelie didn’t comment on the lack of game. They both knew what they had to do now.

“You want to warm up first?” she asked.

Ben nodded and staggered over to hold his hands in front of the welcome heat of the fire. He sat down and stripped off his boots, sticking the wet leather as close as he dared to the hot coals. Drying them off quickly was more important than avoiding a scorch mark.

“As soon as my boots are dry, let’s get moving again,” he said while rubbing his ice cold feet to get the blood circulating back through them. He scooted closer to the fire. His toes weren’t frostbitten, he was pretty sure. “Each town has been about a day’s walk apart. If that holds up, we should reach the next one in two or three bells.”

Amelie nodded and collected their meager supplies. They had no packs, no bedrolls, and no food. They only had the cloaks, belt pouches, and weapons they’d been wearing when they fled Northport.

“I counted,” she said. “We have one gold coin, six silver, and a handful of copper. That’s enough for some basic supplies and three weeks of provisions. Not a lot, but maybe it’s enough to get us out of immediate danger.”

Ben put another stick into the fire and watched the bark flare alight. Stopping in a town was a huge risk, but he didn’t see any other options. They had to eat.

“How far is it to Irrefort, do you think?” asked Amelie.

Ben shrugged. “It’s more than three weeks.”

Amelie pursed her lips. For the last five days, they had been second guessing their plan. Over and over, they exhausted every other option. Issen was under siege and too dangerous. They didn’t know if Eldred and her minions were still around Northport, but even if they weren’t, other mages would be in the area soon. News of what happened would draw anyone from the Sanctuary who was nearby.

On the surface, Whitehall was a reasonably safe choice, but they knew the Sanctuary would be looking for them there. They also knew that with the information they had, it was unlikely Argren would be convinced to send help to Issen. At one low point, Amelie realized Argren may be more likely to help her father if he didn’t know what they did. The Sanctuary’s betrayal and the decimation of a large part of Rhymer’s forces would make Whitehall’s ruler even more paranoid than usual.

In the quiet nights when they were resting, they spoke about Farview or even Free State. Those places would be safe, but they both knew it was a coward’s path. They decided they wouldn’t hide from the world and its problems. They were running from Eldred, that was true, but it wasn’t the mindless flight they’d taken from the Sanctuary. They were going somewhere with a purpose.

They had seen it closer than anyone. The demon threat was real. Thousands of the creatures had fled Northport. They were out there, somewhere. With the Rift destroyed, there would be consequences. Both Ben and Amelie felt responsible for whatever was going to happen, and they were committed to doing something about it. They didn’t know what yet, but they knew where to start. Irrefort.

They were among the few in Alcott who knew what happened in the Wilds. They didn’t know what would happen next. For that, they had to find the Purple. That mysterious organization of male mages may have the answers. Irrefort, the capitol of the Coalition, was the one place they knew of to look for the Purple. They second guessed themselves over and over, but at the end of each conversation, Irrefort was the only answer. They had to keep going. They had to go into dark territory.

Shaking his head, Ben pulled on his boots. They were hot from the fire and still damp. No sense drying them out completely he thought, glancing at the snow-covered ground around the campsite. At least they were warm and wet instead of cold and wet.

“Let’s go,” he said with a heavy sigh.

***

The town, if it could be called that, was a cluster of ten low-slung buildings that crouched on the edge of a muddy road. The buildings were like mirrors of the terrain around them, rough stones and thatch roofs. They huddled down in the landscape, unnoticed by the world. No one was outside, but smoke drifted up from chimneys. It felt deserted. Even after they walked into the place, Ben could see only a few tracks in the frozen mud. Apparently, not even northerners ventured outside in the heart of winter.

“Someone is home,” remarked Amelie, glancing at the smoke from the chimneys.

Ben grunted in assent. “Let’s hope they’re friendly.”

A decent-sized building stood in the center of the small town. It evidently served as the inn, general goods store, tavern, and city hall. It looked to be the only structure that wasn’t a private residence.

Ben and Amelie squeezed through the narrow door, knocking off slushy snow and thick mud from their boots. Glancing at the filthy floor, Ben thought they might be the only people to have ever done that.

Rough benches took up half the room, rickety shelves the other half. In the back, a portly man glanced up when they entered. He had bright red cheeks and wispy grey hair, which he’d questionably grown long and tied in a tail behind his head. He reminded Ben of Blevin Beerman back in Farview, except where Blevin was red-cheeked and jolly, this man looked red-cheeked and sad. Ben guessed he was his own best customer.

“Room and board for the night?” asked the innkeeper with a gravely cough.

“A meal for now and some provisions off your shelves later,” responded Ben.

“Rooms are a silver a night,” mentioned the man.

“No room. We’re just passing through.”

The man raised an eyebrow, obviously surprised anyone was choosing to sleep outside in the cold, but life had drained the curiosity from him. He didn’t inquire further.

“We’ve got mutton and potato pie, fresh ale, and I think some bread left over from two days ago. Not enough customers to bake every day,” the man apologized with a shrug.

They placed their order and sat down at an empty table. The innkeeper disappeared into the back. A trio of locals were the only other customers in the place. They glanced over curiously for a moment, lost interest, and went back to their quiet discussion.

Ben sipped his ale and made a face. Fresh ale wasn’t always good ale. Still, it was better than nothing. He took another sip. In minutes, the man returned with two steaming pies and two stale loaves of bread.

“Let me know if you need anything else from the kitchen or when you’re ready to purchase supplies. If you’re not staying the night, you’re welcome to enjoy the fire as long as you keep buying.”

Ben nodded his thanks.

“I said a silver a night earlier. I could knock a few copper off if you’ll reconsider,” cajoled the innkeeper. “The rooms are warm and the beds are comfortable enough. Stuffed ‘em with fresh straw just last summer.”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Better than sleeping outside with the demons,” muttered the man, turning to go.

“With the demons?” queried Ben.

The man glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “They’re crawling all over the place after that big dust up in Northport. Damn Lord Rhymer didn’t finish ‘em. Scattered ‘em all over the countryside, I’m told. Every day since we heard about the battle, I’ve had people come in telling about an encounter with a demon or telling about finding someone else who had an encounter, if you take my meaning. It’s safer to stay here under a roof with other people.”

“We’ll think about it,” replied Ben, sharing a look with Amelie.

The innkeeper waddled back behind his bar. Ben sighed. There wasn’t anything they could do about the demons except stay vigilant. At least people were coming in to tell tales. The alternative was worse. He thought it must be scattered individual demons in the area instead of swarms. Those would come later. Places like the tiny town probably wouldn’t survive that, no matter how many people the innkeeper had under his roof.

“The food isn’t any better than the ale,” muttered Amelie under her breath. She dolefully chewed a tough bite.

Ben agreed, but he hadn’t eaten in three days. They didn’t make a sauce better than that. He devoured his pie and smirked when he noticed Amelie mopping up the last of her gravy with the stale bread.

“Don’t say it,” she grumbled. “We have to eat.”

Smiling, Ben leaned back. It felt good to be full again.

Amelie’s gaze darted to something over his shoulder. Ben glanced back to see two newcomers enter the room. If anything, they were even more out of place than Ben and Amelie.

It was a man and a woman. The woman had blond, nearly white hair. It cascaded down just below her shoulders. She was dressed in black leather and chain armor. Ben couldn’t help noticing how tightly it hugged her fit body. She had two short swords strapped on her hips and throwing knives strung along her ribcage. A pair of knives stuck up from her boots.

The man was similarly attired. He had neatly trimmed raven black hair and a beard twisted into two short braids. His armor was also black with heavy-looking plates covering his shoulders and chest. A wicked battle axe was strapped to his back. The thing was never intended for cutting wood. It had sharply curved edges and a thick spike that could only be meant for cutting down people. Vambraces were strapped on his arms. Ben saw they were wickedly studded with sharp hooks that could be used to tear an opponent’s exposed skin to shreds.

“Hunters?” whispered Ben.

Amelie shrugged.

The newcomers sauntered over to the bar and chatted quietly with the innkeeper. He brought them two ales. The woman’s full lips twisted into a scowl when she tried hers.

“She has good taste in ale at least,” murmured Amelie.

Ben grinned at her then looked again at the pair. The woman brushed back her hair, exposing an elegant neck and delicate ears. She took another drink and made a comment to her companion. He laughed and placed a hand on her hip.

“She is beautiful,” allowed Amelie, “but that man looks like the violently jealous type. She’s likely to get people in trouble for staring.”

Ben coughed discretely and turned back to his friend.

“Really,” she complained, still eyeing the pair. “Is it necessary for her leathers to be that tight? You can almost see her… well, it’s just not decent. How does she even get the stuff on?”

Ben was thinking about how to respond to that.

Amelie’s eyes widened. “Damn, they’re coming over here.” She turned her ale mug up and pretended she hadn’t been watching them.

Ben heard the heavy footsteps of the man coming up behind him. He felt a nervous tension, but so far these people didn’t seem an overt threat. He didn’t want to do anything that looked suspicious.

“Ho, travelers,” called a strong, smooth voice.

Ben turned and nodded.

“Mind if we sit with you?” asked the armored man.

Ben hesitated.

The warrior continued, “We already bought you a round of this pitiful ale so I hope you say yes.”

Ben gestured to two open seats at the table and the strangers took them.

“Don’t see a lot of other travelers around here at this time of year,” drawled the man. “You folks coming from Northport?”

Ben nodded. He didn’t know enough of the geography around the place to come up with a convincing lie.

“Staying in this little flyspeck for the night? We are as well,” continued the warrior.

“No, uh, we’re going to move on,” stammered Ben. “We just stopped for a hot bite to eat and some supplies.”

The man made a show of glancing under the table, obviously seeing they had no gear with them. “Traveling light, I see.”

The woman leaned forward and placed a hand on the table near Ben’s. “It’s a bit cold for sleeping outside, isn’t it?”

Ben swallowed. The woman was gorgeous.

“We don’t mind the cold,” answered Amelie quickly.

The portly innkeeper bustled up with four mugs of ale and plonked them down at the table. The man and the woman ignored him and he scurried away. Ben looked at Amelie nervously.

“Don’t be so shy, hun,” pleaded the woman, stretching her hand to place it over Ben’s.

Ben snatched it back, trying to ignore the warm tingle from her soft skin.

“Truly,” agreed the man. “I can see you are nervous. Don’t be alarmed. We only wanted to say hello. As I said, it is not often we see two young, attractive travelers on the road this time of year. If you are short of coin, maybe there is another arrangement we could think about.”

Ben frowned, not following.

“My companion and I have a room for the night,” stated the woman, her pink tongue darting out to lick her lips. “It’s a big bed. I’m sure there would be room for four of us in it.”

Ben coughed.

Amelie interjected, “Thank you for the offer, but we really must be going. Now, I think. Right, Ben?”

“I, uh…” Ben stuttered.

The blond woman had not broken eye contact with him. The man reached behind her and gathered a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. She grunted sharply in pain but kept smiling at Ben.

“Such a shame.” The man sighed. “It’s so difficult to find pleasant companions on the road.”

Amelie stood, scooting her chair across the dirty floor. Ben was right behind her. They scrambled over to the innkeeper and collected provisions from his meagerly stocked shelves. The man and the woman’s gaze followed their every movement. Finally, they burst out of the tavern.

Amelie shuddered and glanced back at the place as they strode down the street. “That was creepy.”

Ben nodded in agreement.

***

Further from the small town, the mud disappeared under a blanket of ankle-deep snow. There wasn’t enough traffic on the lonely northern road to churn it to mud. Bare trees surrounded them as they walked. They could only see a couple of hundred paces ahead, but from what Ben could tell, there wasn’t much to see. The road they were following was called the highroad. It spanned most of the continent of Alcott, passing from Northport, above the mountains around Farview, past the hills north of Issen, and eventually into Coalition territories. Technically, the land along the highroad was controlled by Northport, Issen, or Irrefort. Ben suspected none of them put much thought into the sparsely populated region.

He hitched his pack, the one they had just purchased in the small town. It was heavy, but not heavy enough. They didn’t have enough food to make it all of the way and they’d just spent the last of their coin. Somewhere, somehow, they needed to secure more supplies.

“Worried?” asked Amelie.

He shrugged. “I suppose I am, but I don’t think there’s much we can do about it.”

“We can move forward.”

“That,” he agreed, “is true.”

Ahead of them, the trees thinned out and the road continued into an open field. Rocks, moss, and bracken filled the space. It was topped with a layer of snow. Not the deep stuff they’d dealt with in the Wilds, but enough to make travel uncomfortable. In the open, a steady wind blew flurries that danced in the air. In the distance, through the swirling cloud, Ben could see the forest resumed. A bell’s walk if they kept up a steady pace.

“Make it back to the trees where we can find firewood then stop for the night?” he suggested.

“Sure,” Amelie agreed. She hugged herself tightly. “This place is depressing.”

Ben grinned at her. “We’ve been through worse.”

“That is true,” she acknowledged. “Still, I’ll be glad when we get back into the forest. I don’t like being out in the open.”

Ben nodded. Within the forest, there was a sense of comfort. Hunters, mages, and anyone else would have a difficult time spotting them from afar. Out in the open, with snow on the ground, a child could track them.

Stark grey sky hung overhead, promising more snow. Although unpleasant, fresh snow would fill their footprints. Outside in the depth of winter and wishing for more snow, Ben shook his head and trudged onward.

A bell later, at the far end of the clearing, he spotted a rock formation several hundred paces before the forest resumed.

“Should we climb that and take a look around?”

Amelie glanced up at the bleak sky. Nightfall came early during winter in the north.

“You climb and I’ll go ahead to start making camp.” She held out a hand and he slung the pack off his back. “You think a fire is okay out here?”

“Why not?” he replied. “We haven’t seen anyone since we left the town. Everyone there already knows we headed east.”

Amelie started off toward the tree line and Ben scrambled up the rock pile. Compared to the butte they’d climbed in the Wilds, this was nothing. Only three man-heights tall, he made it up in heartbeats. In the clear area though, three man-heights were enough to give him a better picture of their surroundings.

Ahead, thick forest resumed and stretched as far as he could see. The highroad bored into it and then quickly vanished. The road was the only sign of civilization.

Above the forest, far in the distance, he could see the foothills of a mountain range south and east, the same mountains he grew up in. On the other side was Farview. It felt close, but he knew it was far. The mountains rose high and there were no accessible passes anywhere near Farview. It would take a month to circle the range and get home. Or what used to be home.

To the north, he could see the clearing continued out of sight. It was like some giant had reached down from the sky and scooped a hole in the forest. Likely, it was the results of a decades’ old forest fire. They happened sometimes in the summer when the dry wood was lying around waiting for a spark.

A cold wind blew through, reminding him it wasn’t anywhere near summer. He pulled his cloak tight and looked for Amelie. He saw a flicker of light at the edge of the trees. She’d gotten the fire started already. He was glad. It was going to be a cold night.

He started to climb back down and paused, frowning. On the road, he thought he’d seen movement. He peered hard, trying to see anything in the dim twilight.

Again, between two clumps of bracken, he saw movement at least half a bell behind them. As he pinpointed the source, he could tell there were dark figures hiking down the road. He kept looking, struggling to differentiate between the black landscape and the pair of black shapes.

Swallowing hard, he lurched forward and half-climbed, half-jumped to the ground. Two black shapes. The hunters in the small town had been wearing black armor. In the low light, he couldn’t be sure it was them, but who else would it be?

Unencumbered by a pack, he took off running down the snow-covered road. He had to get Amelie and they had to move fast. He burst into the firelight and kicked a wave of frozen dirt and snow onto the small campfire.

Amelie jumped up, cursing. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Someone’s coming,” he explained breathlessly. “They’re half a bell away. We have to move.” He kicked again at the fire.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Maybe it has nothing to do with us.”

“There are two of them. I can’t see any details that far away, but I think they’re wearing black.”

“Oh, damn,” muttered Amelie. She scrambled around the campfire, stuffing supplies into the pack.

Ben kept trying to put out the fire.

Amelie grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “It’s too late for that,” she said. “In the snow, it’s obvious we’ve been here.”

With a groan, he realized she was right.

Together, they fled into the forest. Branches whipped by as they ran. Without discussing it, they were both certain it was the two hunters on the road. They were coming for them. Sanctuary, Coalition, it didn’t matter. Plenty of people were willing to pay a bounty for their heads.

Under the leafless branches of the trees, night had already fallen. The snow-covered road was barely lit by moonlight. Ben glanced behind them and cursed. Their tracks in the snow were clearly visible, even in the dark.

Amelie saw his look and asked, “Do you think we can outrun them?”

Ben thought furiously while they ran.

“Maybe, maybe not,” he responded between breaths. “Once they get to the fire, they’ll see we kept moving. We have to assume they’ll realize we saw them. Then, it’s a race of stamina. They know we are somewhere ahead. We know they are back there. If we can keep moving, we have a chance.”

“We had our first real meal this afternoon after five days of barely eating,” challenged Amelie, already huffing and puffing from the run. “We’ve been sleeping outside every night since we left Northport. We’re weak and we’re tired. Ben, they’ll catch us.”

She was right, he realized. Already, they were slowing down. The hunters had looked well-rested and healthy. If they were staying out here in the middle of nowhere hoping to find Ben and Amelie, then they would never stop now that they’d found their quarry.

“Okay, let’s slow down,” he suggested. “Unless they start running when they get to the campsite, we have half a bell head start. They won’t catch up right away. We have a little time to think.”

Amelie gratefully slowed to a walk.

“Is there something you can do with magic?” he asked. “Hide our footprints?”

She shook her head and sighed. “I don’t think that will work. To cover the tracks, I’d have to blow snow back over them. I could do that in our immediate area, but I don’t think I could work it past twenty or thirty paces. That won’t help us.”

Ben looked around, searching for a solution. In the stories, they were always able to do something clever. In the stories, they would find a branch to drag behind them, but it was winter, and the branches had no leaves.

“We could hide,” suggested Amelie. “I can obscure the tracks near us. I could make it harder to find our exact location.”

Ben shook his head. “We’re thinking about this wrong. They are professional hunters. If we run, if we hide, they will find us. That’s what they do. We have to fight. Instead of using your magic to try and escape, we use it to attack. They’re coming for us and we know that. We can use that. We can find the right spot and set an ambush for them.”

“I don’t know,” replied Amelie nervously. “You said it. They are professionals. You saw their weapons. I’m certain they know how to use them. It’s too risky, Ben.”

“I don’t think we have a choice, Amelie. It’s just like that first swarm in the Wilds. We knew they were coming so we picked the location and fought them on our terms.”

“Grunt died,” she scoffed.

Ben winced. “That was against demons. A lot of demons. These are people. We can beat them. We have to. We can try tonight, or we can try later when we’re worn down from the run.”

Scowling, Amelie reluctantly agreed. “Where is our spot?”

“That depends,” answered Ben, “on what you can do. Can you make an explosion like you did back in Northport? We could throw something at them and blow them up.”

She shook her head. “That only worked because there was such a high level of energy. Those iron balls were heavy and flew hundreds of paces at exceptional speed before impacting abruptly. They had incredible force. Mass multiplied by acceleration. I had a lot to work with.”

“What does that mean?” queried Ben, his gaze restlessly flitting about the dark woods, looking for anywhere they could use to gain an advantage.

“It means we need something really heavy to go really fast. Throwing a pine cone at them isn’t going to do anything.”

“Can you shock them or do the icicle trick that Towaal did?”

Frustrated, Amelie responded, “No. I don’t know exactly how she did that and we don’t have time to figure it out. Even if I did have the knowledge, I don’t have the power. Towaal has been refining her will for decades, maybe centuries. She’s a lot stronger than I am.”

“I have an idea,” stated Ben. “Come on. Let’s hurry forward and find a clear area. Open space will be better.”

***

“Are you sure this will work?” muttered Amelie.

“Do you have a better idea?” challenged Ben.

They were crouched behind a thicket of trees and peering into a small clearing. It was lit by the moon. Behind the trees and in the dark, he and Amelie would be invisible.

Half a bell earlier, they’d walked through the clearing, leaving obvious tracks. They circled back around within the trees and hid, waiting. He hoped the hunters would follow the tracks, unsuspecting that he and Amelie were hiding behind them.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Silently, the black-clad pair appeared out of the woods and strode into the clearing. They moved at a steady, ground-eating pace, but they were alert. Both their heads were constantly turning, scanning the far tree line and looking for signs of an attack. Their hands hovered near their weapons.

Ben and Amelie froze. His breath caught when the man looked their way. The pair kept moving though, unable to see Ben and Amelie in the cover of the forest.

When the hunters were halfway across the clearing, Ben placed a hand on Amelie’s shoulder. He rose, longsword steady in his hands. He stepped into the open with Amelie right behind him. Just like before when they’d fought the demons in Northport, the sound of a powerful wind was growing in his head.

Quietly, he and Amelie moved into the clearing. He drew his hand back and swept it forward, releasing the wind. A blast of cold air crashed in front of them, kicking up snow and obscuring the pair of hunters. Just before the pair was hidden in the snow cloud, Ben saw them stagger forward like they’d been hit from behind.

On the opposite edge of the clearing, the sounds of running feet filled the air. Amelie, frowning in concentration, followed Ben after the hunters. She was maintaining the sounds, somehow displacing the noise of their own feet to the other side of the clearing.

Ben charged into the settling snow, looking on the ground where he hoped the hunters would be lying, tumbled and confused. Instead, he saw their backs. Both of them, standing tall, were peering toward the sounds Amelie was making with her magic. The man held his heavy battle axe and the woman had her two short swords. They were poised, waiting. Good enough, thought Ben. They were looking the wrong way, thinking the attack would come from there. He raised his sword to strike.

At the last second, the man turned, twirling his battle axe effortlessly. It caught Ben’s thrust, diverting it from a clean stab to the man’s spine into a glancing blow off his shoulder. The battle axe continued the spin and the man whipped the butt around, crashing it into Ben’s skull. His head snapped to the side. He stumbled away, blinking rapidly to clear the burst of colors in his vision.

Amelie’s attack went slightly better. She thrust her rapier into the back of the woman’s head, avoiding the armor which covered her neck. The rapier impacted cleanly with the woman’s skull and she fell forward. Amelie followed, hacking furiously at leather armor-clad legs as the huntress dropped and tried to scramble away.

Amelie’s blow had stunned the woman, but it glanced off the bone without penetrating. It didn’t kill her. The huntress flopped onto her side and kicked out with her legs, catching a surprised Amelie and sweeping her legs from under her. Amelie landed heavily next to the woman. The huntress rolled over and straddled Ben’s fallen friend. She punched down with the hilt of a short sword and caught Amelie in the face.

Ben didn’t have time to watch his friend’s fight. The man was quickly advancing, his huge battle axe still spinning in front of him. Ben staggered back, trying to give himself room and time. His head throbbed where the butt of the axe struck him. He felt a warm trickle down the side of his face where blood leaked from broken skin.

The wicked axe swept forward and Ben caught it with his longsword. The man tried to hook the axe around Ben’s weapon and yank it free, but Ben slid his blade clear. Ben’s arms rang from the force of the initial blow. The axe weighed three or four times as much as the swords he was used to meeting. He’d have to modify his style and not meet the blows directly.

“That was a nice try, boy,” snarled the hunter. “I’ll admit you surprised me. After we spoke to you in the tavern, I thought you’d be running scared. I didn’t except you to be so bold.”

Ben didn’t respond. He was eyeing the man, searching for weakness. He couldn’t ignore Amelie and the woman, though. The huntress was sitting on Amelie and raining blows down with the hilts of her short swords. Amelie was fighting back, trying to block the blows with her forearms and punch back when she could. It was obvious Amelie was getting the worst of it. She didn’t have the leverage to fight from that position. The swords were just long enough that it would be awkward to stab down, but if the woman were able to reverse her grip… Ben had to do something fast.

The battle axe swooped around again and he jumped back, not meeting it with his sword this time. He could see on the hunter’s shoulder where his initial strike had sliced off a chunk of the man’s armor. It didn’t appear to be slowing him at all.

Ben made a snap decision to change tactics and suddenly charged forward, swinging quickly at the man’s face. The hunter turned it easily with his axe. Ben was quicker to recover with his lighter weapon and struck again, this time aiming at the man’s exposed neck. Snarling, the hunter took a step back, narrowly avoiding Ben’s mage-wrought steel. The man shuffled away, bringing his axe up in a defensive position.

It was the break Ben needed. Instead of following with another attack, he turned and sprinted toward the girls.

“Kayla!” shouted the man in warning.

The huntress scrambled off Amelie, lurching away from Ben. He could see blood streaming freely down Amelie’s face, but she was moving. She was still alive.

The huntress took another staggering step and Ben was on her. He swung his longsword at her, not worrying about making a clean strike, just trying to make contact. He felt the blade sink deep, cutting through the tough leather armor the woman was wearing and into her sword arm. He heard her bone crack when his sword smashed into it.

She flopped forward, blood splashing onto the snow. She wasn’t dead, but she wouldn’t be getting up quickly.

Ben turned to see the man was coming fast. Amelie was lying in between them. She rolled onto her side and thrust up with her dagger, stabbing into the man’s thigh. She caught him right behind a plate in his armor and Ben saw the tip of her blade sink into his leg.

The hunter howled in pain then slammed the butt of his axe down on Ben’s friend. The thick haft of the axe connected with her shoulder. A thud and a sharp crack. She gasped and collapsed, gripping her shoulder.

The man stepped over her and limped toward Ben, ignoring Amelie.

“Kayla, you all right?” called the man, keeping his eyes on Ben.

“I don’t think so,” choked the woman, obvious pain lacing her voice. “I’m bleeding a lot. Finish him quick,” she pleaded. “We need to get back to town.”

“She’s going to be hard to replace,” snarled the man, limping after Ben. “You kill my woman, then I’m gonna to do a lot worse to yours. She’s going to suffer, mate.”

“You’ve got to get through me first,” responded Ben coolly.

The hunter leapt forward, chopping at Ben with a ferocious strike. Ben ducked to the side and felt the wind on his face as the axe breezed by a finger-length away. He counter-attacked, lashing out at the man’s side and landing a strike on his rib cage.

The man’s sturdy armor absorbed most of the blow, but Ben saw him wince as the tip of the blade got through.

“Mage-wrought steel,” gasped the hunter. “They didn’t warn me about that.”

“Your armor not holding up like it should?” jeered Ben.

“I’ve never fought a man who had a mage-wrought blade.”

“You’ll be the first man I kill with it,” snapped Ben.

The hunter stepped forward, attacking again. Ben parried and saw the man was hesitant to put weight on his injured leg. It didn’t stop him from attacking, though. He swung powerful blow after blow at Ben. Ben was barely avoiding the heavy axe, parrying with his sword and falling back. The hunter was aggressive, but with his injury, he was slow.

Another furious set of swings and Ben realized that if he kept fighting defensively, it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake or stumbled. Then he’d be finished. One blow from the heavy weapon was all it would take. That thing could cleave him in two.

Ben had landed several light strikes on the hunter, but few of them were strong enough to dent his armor, much less cut through and seriously injure the man. Thinking quickly, Ben waited until the hunter swung again, stepping forward onto his good leg.

Ben met the blow with this sword, tangling their weapons. Then he darted inside the man’s guard and stuck his leg behind the hunter’s. Using his leg to hold the man close, and his body to prevent the man from drawing his axe back, Ben placed the edge of his longsword on the hunter’s neck and sliced. The blade cut through flesh and a fountain of blood poured down the front of the black plate armor.

Ben collapsed onto his rear and the man crashed down next to him. Ben’s head throbbed where the butt of the battle axe had smashed against his skull. He touched his fingers to the wound and they came away bloody, but not so bloody as to kill him. He grunted. There was a time when the primary evaluation of an injury wasn’t whether or not it was fatal.

Ben struggled to his feet and shuffled over to where Amelie was lying on her back. She was covered with cuts and abrasions. Blood striped her face like the feral jungle cats he’d seen in the Stranger’s Market in Fabrizo. He could immediately tell it wasn’t her facial injuries that were bothering her. She was griping her left shoulder and her eyes were closed tight. Her breaths were coming through gritted teeth, slow and deep.

She mumbled, “You kill him? I think he broke my collarbone.”

“I did,” replied Ben. “Do you think you can move? I don’t want to stick around here longer than we have to in case there are more of them.”

“If I get to my feet, I think I can walk. I won’t be able to get far.”

“I know,” Ben responded. “We have to get away from here though.”

Ben carefully helped her to her feet, grimacing every time he saw it was causing more pain. But she had to get up. She couldn’t lie in the snow forever.

He slid her weapons into their sheaths then left her side to collect their pack. When he returned, he saw Amelie was staring at the woman hunter. The woman was attempting to drag herself back into the forest toward the small town they’d left earlier that day. She could only use one arm and her head was titled at an odd angle.

“I don’t think we should let her leave,” remarked Amelie, still clasping her broken bone.

Ben frowned. “She’s pretty badly injured. I think she’ll die on her own.”

The blond huntresses overheard them and looked back, scowling. The left half of her pretty face was covered in a mask of blood. She didn’t say anything.

“She may die on her own,” allowed Amelie, “but she may not. We can’t risk it, Ben. If she survives, she’ll tell others where to find us.”

Ben drew his longsword and stalked over to the woman. Amelie came behind him. The woman hid her pain well, but he saw the fear lurking behind her steely glare. Her leathers, wet from blood, reflected the moonlight. Ben’s longsword wavered in his grip.

“Amelie, I’ve never killed a woman,” he admitted. “I’m not sure if I can.”

“She would have killed you,” reminded Amelie, “and me. When you attacked her, you saved my life. Ben, she was heartbeats away from bashing my head in.”

Ben stood over the woman, motionless.

Finally, Amelie suggested, “Ben, give me your longsword.”

He looked back at her and saw she was holding out her hand. He sighed. “Your rapier is lighter. It will be easier for you to use with your shoulder.”

“Help me draw it.”

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

She nodded tersely.

Ben sheathed his sword and drew hers. He handed it to her and she took it in her good hand. Ben stepped back and closed his eyes, sick at what they were going to do.

“You can run, Lady Amelie,” snarled the woman, “but there will be more like us. The Veil has become personally interested in you. It’s just a matter of time. You are a dead woman.”

“Not as dead as you.”

With his eyes closed, Ben heard Amelie grunt and then the sound of a blade puncturing meat. The woman gasped once, and her breath let out in a wheeze.

Amelie nudged him and said, “It’s done. Let’s go.”

Walk in the Snow

They travelled through the forest, slipping and stumbling along the snow-covered road. Amelie was wincing and gasping in pain at every step. Ben knew they would have to stop soon. She had to rest. He was amazed she’d been able to continue as long as she had.

Two bells after they left the scene of the fight, he saw a tall rock jutting out of the forest floor. It leaned over slightly, and underneath the overhang, the ground looked relatively clear. He steered Amelie to it. She followed, uncomplaining. After sitting her down, he scrambled about, pulling out a water skin for her and looking for dry wood.

“I don’t think I can do the heat transfer,” she said with a groan.

“I know. I know. I’ll get it figured out.”

He found some dry sticks at the base of the rock and arranged them into a neat pile. He stacked damp wood around them, hoping it would cook out the moisture before he needed to stick them into the fire. Luckily, they’d bought flint and steel back in the town and he was able to get a small fire going in short order. He put water on to boil and pulled out hard biscuits and salted pork.

“I’m guessing you don’t want to wait for me to cook a proper meal?” he asked.

She nodded curtly.

When the water got warm, he dunked a cloth into it and dabbed at the blood on Amelie’s face. The hilt of the woman’s swords had battered her, but the injuries appeared superficial.

“Am I still going to be pretty?” Amelie attempted some humor but winced as he pressed the cloth against one of the cuts.

“You’ll always be pretty,” he said with a smile.

He earned a doubtful snort in return.

“Seriously, I think you will heal,” he offered. “You’re going to be black and blue for a week or two, but I don’t think you need stitches. Under the blood, it doesn’t look that bad.”

“It feels bad,” she moaned.

“I’m more worried about your shoulder,” Ben replied. “We need to find a place you can rest for a few days. Your collarbone is cracked. If you try to hike like that, it won’t heal properly.”

“I agree,” she acknowledged through gritted teeth. “Meredith had a similar injury from falling off her horse when we were girls. She had the best physic in Issen treating her and still didn’t leave her room for a week. We’re out in the middle of nowhere though, and we can’t go back to that town.”

Ben kept wiping blood off his friend’s face. He knew they had to stop, but she was right, where?

***

The next morning came early. The bitter cold of the northern winter seeped under their heavy cloaks and the fire had died down to the point it did nothing to fight back the chill. Amelie’s shoulder had swollen during their few bells of fitful rest and she could barely lift her arm. Ben sliced up a spare shirt and tied it into a sloppy, makeshift sling.

“It’s not perfect,” he muttered, “but we have to keep your arm and shoulder stable.”

She sat with unshed tears glistening in the corner of her eyes. Amelie was tough, but hiking through the snow with a broken bone wasn’t going to work.

“We’ll stop at the next town,” declared Ben.

She nodded silently. Ben made a hasty porridge for them and cleaned up the dishes after they ate. He helped Amelie to her feet, trying to avoid putting any strain on her shoulder.

She had split lips, a swollen eye, and cuts on her cheekbone and forehead. Underneath the injuries, a hard determination shone through. She’d been battered and knocked down, her face was nearly bashed in, but the huntress hadn’t damaged the thing that made her strong. Amelie had the will to carry on until they reached the end of their journey.

He met her eyes and smiled.

“What?” she mumbled through puffy, swollen lips.

“I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you with me on this.”

“You think you’re lucky to have me?” she asked skeptically. “Since we met in Farview, you’ve always been the one helping me. Fighting Rishram, bringing me out of the Sanctuary, knocking that bitch off me yesterday before she cracked my skull. Ben, you saved my life again.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agreed impishly. “Now that you mention it, I think you owe me. If I remember correctly, after that fight with Rishram, I got a kiss.”

Amelie chortled then groaned, raising her hand to her shoulder. “We’ll see about that. For now, you’re still on the job. Find us somewhere warm and dry.”

***

They shuffled along the road at a snail’s pace. Amelie slid one foot in front of the other, trying to walk smoothly and avoid jolts to her shoulder. She was holding it tightly now. Ben could tell she wouldn’t last much longer. At this rate, if the spacing between towns held up, they’d be traveling three days before they found the next one.

He started looking for another rock or stand of trees that would provide shelter when he heard a familiar sound. A steady thumping echoed through the woods.

Amelie looked up when she heard it too. “Chopping?”

He nodded. “The question is, is it friends or foe?”

“Maybe a better question,” she replied dryly, “does it matter?”

He shrugged. She was right. They were desperate.

As they drew closer, the chopping paused. Ben waited, picturing the next bit in his head. Heartbeats later, a crash sounded and birds scattered, flapping furiously to circle their nests before coming back, assured there was no threat.

“What was that?” asked Amelie.

“A tree falling,” responded Ben. “It sounds like a solitary woodsman.”

They trudged toward the sound of the fallen tree, ears perked for any hint of danger.

“Here,” said Ben, gesturing to a narrow track that led off the main road. It was covered in deep, unbroken snow. Along the path though, he could see stubbed branches of trees where someone kept it clear. He walked ahead, stomping the snow down to blaze a trail for Amelie. She shuffled along behind him.

The narrow track led a quarter league deeper into the woods before they finally entered a clearing. In the center sat a small cottage. Its walls were rough timber and a tendril of smoke drifted out of a chimney. Behind the cottage, Ben could see the edges of a chicken coop, a small shed, and what was likely a patch for a vegetable garden when it wasn’t covered in snow.

“Seems homey,” remarked Amelie.

“It is,” called out a voice from behind them. “It is my home.”

They turned and saw a man bundled in a thick motley of furs. A bristly red beard nearly covered his face. He carried a tall wood axe which he was gripping tightly.

“We mean no harm,” said Ben. He gestured to Amelie. “My friend is injured and we need a place to rest.”

The woodsman frowned. “Mintota is a day’s walk west. Start now and you can be there by mid-day tomorrow.”

Ben shook his head. “She has a broken bone. That is too far.”

Shifting his weight, the man adjusted his grip on the axe. “This is my home, I said. It is not an inn.”

“We understand that,” acknowledged Ben, “but we desperately need help. We don’t have much coin, but we are willing to barter. Please, you seem like a good man. My friend needs your help.”

Peering at Amelie, the woodman took a step forward. “You do that to her?” he growled, gesturing to her battered face.

“Bandits,” answered Amelie. “We were set upon by bandits. We got away but not before they did this to me. They broke my shoulder too.”

“There are no bandits around here lass,” rumbled the woodsman. He took another step forward and raised his axe with both hands. “I have a daughter whose husband liked to rough her up. I couldn’t stand by and watch that kind of thing. Wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. Made sure that insolent pup couldn’t live with it either.”

Ben shifted, clearing the hilt of his longsword.

“Oh, come on now!” exclaimed Amelie, wincing in regret as she tried and failed to raise her arm. “Sir, if you’re willing to fight my friend because you think I was abused, then surely you’re willing to share your cottage for a few days to help me heal. I promise you, Ben did not do this to me. It was a woman, actually. Please, we need your help.”

“A woman?” asked the man, curiously.

“It’s a long story,” replied Amelie tartly. “One I’d be happy to tell you, unless of course, I need to seek shelter elsewhere in this lonely and deserted wood.”

“Aye, lass, I get your point.” The man stomped toward his cottage and waved for them to follow. “I’ll feed you and let you stay tonight, but this time of year the larder isn’t very full. We’ll talk tomorrow about barter.”

***

The fire in the hearth was low, just glowing embers, but the sturdy cottage retained a comfortable heat. The woodsman stuck a pair of logs onto the fire and stripped off his outer layer of furs. Ben helped Amelie sit down in the lone chair in the room and started adjusting her sling. He gently probed around the break, checking to see if the swelling had gone down.

“Broken collarbone, you said?” growled the man.

Ben nodded.

“She’ll need to rest,” suggested the gruff woodsman. “Two or three weeks, minimum.”

Ben looked at the man.

“Right.” The woodsman coughed, rubbing at his bristly beard. “Like I said, we’ll work out something tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll cook us up a chicken and some potatoes. I’ll be out back plucking the bird for half a bell. I gotta walk away from the henhouse so I don’t disturb the others. Take your time freshening up. I keep the chickens mostly for the eggs, but it’s a special occasion, so I don’t mind having a chicken for supper. Afterward, you two can rest. I’ll let you share the bed and I’ll sleep by the fire. I do that sometimes when it’s cold. The bed’s a bit drafty, to be honest, but it’ll be better for your friend.”

Ben stuck out his hand, “Thanks for your help.”

The man took it and gripped firmly. His hand was covered in rough callouses from the wood axe.

Ben had an idea.

“The name is Benjamin Ashwood, but you can call me Ben.”

“Ashwood?” asked the woodsman, still gripping Ben’s hand.

“My father was a woodsman. He taught me a bit of the trade.”

“That’s good to hear, Ben,” replied the man, his brows knitting. “My name is Creegan. I do a bit of logging myself.”

“Maybe I can help you?” suggested Ben.

“Maybe. For now, I recommend you tend to your friend.” Creegan nodded at Amelie, who seemed to have fallen asleep in the chair. “I’ll be back with that chicken.”

By the time Creegan returned with the freshly plucked fowl, Ben had moved Amelie to the bed and arranged her as comfortably as he could. He’d stuffed some of their spare clothing around her so she wouldn’t move on her shoulder in her sleep. She was snoring softly. He’d looked over the cuts and scrapes on her face, but there was nothing he could do for that. The woman hunter had pounded her hard with the hilts of her swords. Some of the cuts might scar, but they would be small ones.

The gruff woodsman observed what he’d done then nodded appreciatively toward Ben.

“I told you about my daughter,” the man said. “I can’t stand to see a woman treated like that. Nothing in this world upsets me more. If I thought you’d done that…”

Ben started to speak but Creegan interrupted him.

“I know you didn’t do it, boy. I can see how gently you’re treating her, and I don’t see any guilt. My son-in-law was gentle too, but the guilt was always there, hovering like a ghost. It just made it worse, I think. He felt guilty, he’d blame it on my girl, that’d make him mad again, and the cycle would continue.”

Creegan shuffled over to his hearth and stuck a spit through the chicken. He dropped a few potatoes at the edge of the fire and swung the plucked bird over the heat. Before long, the smell of roasting chicken filled the small space.

“I’m not much of a cook,” admitted the woodsman. “I hope you aren’t picky.”

Ben shook his head. “We’ve been travelling hard the last week and haven’t had much to eat. I wasn’t far from eating my boot. Your chicken can’t be any worse than my boot. ”

Creegan shrugged. “Maybe not.”

The man sat down in his chair and Ben perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Amelie. He’d wake her it when it was time to eat.

“Tell me, Master Ashwood,” inquired Creegan, “what do you know about logging?”

Ben smiled. Every boy who grew up in Farview knew a bit about logging. From his father and from Alistair, Ben knew just about all there was to know.

“I grew up on the south side of these mountains,” he started. He proceeded to tell Creegan about his childhood and the days he spent cutting down trees and hauling them down to the mill. By the time he got to how he lived in the mill and spoke to the mill workers daily, the woodsman was nodding. A friendly smile was peeking through his overgrown beard.

***

The next morning, Ben stared up at a towering tree, intimidated by its majestic presence. It wasn’t that the tree was taller than others in the forest, or wider, or any other measurement he could think of to describe an impressive tree. It was just magnificent, like it was the tree, and all of the others were pretending to be it. This was the original specimen. What a tree should be.

“What is it?” asked Ben, gazing up at the tree in awe.

The grizzled woodsman looked at him and remarked, “It’s a tree.”

Ben glanced at the man. “It’s not like any tree I’ve seen before. It has the same braches and leaves, but it’s different.”

The man shrugged, his thick furs rising and falling with the movement. He didn’t answer. Breaking eye contact, Creegan shuffled forward in the calf-deep snow and slung a long rope off his shoulder.

Mumbling, the man explained, “The trunk is too thick for any of my saws so we’ll have to cut it down with the axe. To do this right, I need someone to climb up and tie the rope so I can direct the fall.” The woodsman waved around the area. “There are too many other trees and rocks nearby for us to get a clean fall otherwise.”

Ben surveyed the area and saw what the man was talking about. He’d cleared a narrow space of smaller trees and brush. If they tied ropes to the tree and directed the fall, it would land neatly in the open area without striking any obstacles. It was an abundance of caution, though. Typically, for a logger, a tree falling against another was of little concern.

Creegan tossed the rope to Ben. “Ready to start climbing?”

Ben grunted. For a week of food and shelter, the woodsman had asked Ben to help bring down the tree. Creegan claimed he had a bad leg and needed Ben to do the climbing. Ben would be expected to contribute his fair share of the chopping as well.

“Why this one?” asked Ben, peering at it. “Surely there are other trees in the forest that don’t need to be brought down so carefully. Maybe a tree that is closer to your cottage, for example.”

“This one is special,” grumbled Creegan, obviously reluctant to tell Ben more. “I have a buyer.”

Ben shrugged. The tree was beautiful, and unique. Maybe it was for some specialty wood worker. From his time in the City, Ben knew rare usually equaled expensive. The tree was certainly rare. In all of his travels, Ben had never seen its like.

Wrapping the rope around the base of the tree, he figured he may as well get it over with. He didn’t enjoy heights so he’d rarely been the climber back in Farview, but he’d seen it done and was familiar with the process.

He glanced down at the spiked boots the woodsman provided and hoped they would work. They were several sizes too large so he’d stuffed them full of rags. If they shifted while he was high in the tree, he could lose his footing and go plummeting to the hard ground.

He gripped tightly on the rope and set one foot against the base of the tree. Leaning back, he used the tension on the rope to support himself then moved another step up. The spikes dug into the hard bark. Resting his weight on the shoe spikes, he leaned in and quickly looped the rope higher on the trunk. He leaned back, letting the tension in the rope support his weight. He took another cautious step higher.

At this height, a fall would be embarrassing instead of dangerous, but once he got higher, and fatigue started to set in, a mistake could be fatal. Two man-heights up, he glanced at the back of Creegan. The fur-clad man was staring into the quiet forest, not even watching Ben’s slow progress.

Glaring at the man then shaking his head, Ben resumed climbing, another loop of the rope higher and another set of cautious steps. His arms were already aching from the strain of tightly gripping the rope. He looked up. Twenty paces to go. He would stop at a thick branch, about two-thirds of the way up. That would give them enough leverage to steer the tree when it fell.

His arms trembled from the tension of holding himself up with the rope. Ben slung one more loop and hoisted himself to the thick branch. He paused to catch his breath, closing his eyes tightly as a cold wind shook the top of the tree. So far up, the wind cut through his leathers and sent a shiver racing through his body. He wished he’d worn his cloak, but the bulky garment would have hampered his climb.

Gripping the branch tightly, Ben risked looking down. His world swirled and he felt like the tree was tilting alarmingly. Vertigo, as Farview’s resident baker and doctor called it. Logically, he knew he didn’t have to worry. This tree was as solid as they came.

He called down to Creegan, “I made it up!”

The woodsman glanced up and gave a quick thumbs up. The man went back to observing the forest around them. Ben grunted. The woodsman was giving them help they desperately needed, but his social skills could use a bit of work.

Shifting on the branch, Ben pulled up more rope and tied a sturdy knot around the trunk of the tree. It was easy since the rope was already looped around it. He now had two long ends dangling down the trunk. They would tie those to something secure on the ground. When the tree fell, it would drop right where they wanted.

After checking his knot, Ben slid it down until it was resting on the branch. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he edged off his seat and started rappelling down. Back in Farview, when Ben watched the woodsman do this, they would drop down ten paces at a time. He took it slow and walked his way down. He made it to the bottom. Shaking out his arms and flexing his hands to restore feeling, Ben nodded to Creegan. The woodsman stomped into the forest and started securing the loose ends of the rope.

When Creegan returned to the tree, he hefted his wood axe. “Now the real work begins.”

Thunk!

The first blow against the dark bark of the tree landed. To Ben’s eye, it barely left a mark. Over and over, the gruff woodsman struck the trunk. After a quarter bell, he stepped back to catch his breath.

Ben was impressed at the man’s stamina. A quarter bell of steady chopping was a strenuous feat. Also, a quarter bell of steady chopping usually led to a tree toppling. Ben looked closer and blinked in surprise. Creegan’s efforts resulted in just half a hand’s worth of wood chips hacked out of the trunk. He bent down and poked a finger experimentally into the small gap. Creegan hadn’t managed to get through the hard bark and into the wood underneath.

“Your turn,” declared the woodsman.

“Are you serious!” exclaimed Ben. “What is this? At this rate, it will take us a week to chop the thing down.”

Creegan nodded. “It would take me two or three weeks to do it alone.”

Ben frowned at the man. “What kind of tree is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s special, like I said.”

“Special how?” pressed Ben.

The woodsman grumbled under his breath and finally offered, “I have a buyer, someone who pays enough to make it worthwhile. You’ve been complaining about finding a place to rest for your friend. Well, you help me with this, and you can stay until she’s healthy enough to travel. That’s not a bad deal.”

Ben shrugged. The man was right. It wasn’t a bad deal. In these desolate woods, they weren’t likely to get a better one.

“Give me the axe,” surrendered Ben.

He let the questions around the tree drop and went to work on it with the axe.

***

Later that evening, Ben groaned as he stripped his shirt off to change into a fresh one.

Amelie, sitting on the bed, eyed him askance. “Really?” she muttered.

“I was chopping that damn tree for bells. I’m sore from swinging the axe!” complained Ben.

“A large man hit me with an axe so hard it broke my collarbone. Right before that, his friend was pounding on my face with the hilts of her short swords. If I recall, I was a lot less dramatic about it than you are right now,” retorted Amelie. “I see why you went into brewing and not soldiering.”

Ben sighed quietly and resolved to express his discomfort a little more discretely next time.

Across the small room, Creegan was preparing a simple meal of salted pork, potatoes, and hard biscuits. They would eat the pork and biscuits cold, but he was warming up the potatoes. He was fiddling with them by the fire, trying to get them close to the coals but not so close as to burn them.

“So, who is this buyer that will pay so much for the wood?” Ben asked Creegan. “I’m surprised anyone travels out here. There’s forest for days in every direction. It seems like it’d be easier for them to get lumber closer to a market.”

Creegan looked back at Ben, obviously trying to decide how much to share. “It’s an old man named Jasper. You are right. Not many people come this way, but he comes by a couple of times a year. I was suspicious at first, but it’s worked out well, and I’ve learned to trust him. He first found me about a decade ago. I was barely scratching out a living then. Trapping animals for fur, collecting whatever medicines I could during the spring and selling them, that kind of thing. Every time there was a hard winter, I worried I wouldn’t make it. He showed me how to find these special trees and told me he’d pay good coin for them. Apparently they grow around here more often than anywhere else he’s found in the world.”

Creegan, satisfied the potatoes were properly positioned, sat down.

“Since he’s been coming by, I’ve been doing better. I don’t have a lot of extra, but I’m not starving either. The coin he gives me for the wood is plenty to supplement what I can forage for.”

“What does he do with the wood?” asked Amelie curiously. “I’ve, ah, I’ve seen some high end pieces of art, but I don’t recall seeing any woodcarving that was worth much.”

“Depending on how long it takes your shoulder to heal, you might find out,” responded the woodsman. “It’s a terrible time of year to travel, but that’s how Jasper likes it. He never shows up on a sunny spring day. It’s always during the bleak winter, a terrible summer storm, or some such. He’s an odd bird, Jasper.”

Ben studied the woodsman. The man wasn’t telling them everything, but the little bit he shared that evening was more than he was saying the day before. He might be warming up to them. If that was the case, then sitting back and letting him get comfortable would be the best way to learn more information.

Amelie met Ben’s eyes and he nodded. She understood as well and didn’t ask any more questions about the strange tree.

The next day was much the same. Early in the morning, Ben and Creegan trudged out of the cottage and hiked half a bell to the tree. They spent all morning taking turns hacking it. Their progress was slow and depressing. They’d managed to chop out another hand’s worth of bark, but they still hadn’t made it to the wood in the center of the tree. Ben marveled that any tree had so much bark. It was unlike anything he’d seen before.

Near midday, Ben finished his turn and stepped back, exhausted. He leaned against the axe and struggled to catch his breath. In the bitter cold of the forest, he was tiring quickly.

“Take a rest and eat something?” suggested Creegan.

Ben nodded without speaking. He handed the axe to the woodsman and pulled out the small sack they’d packed for lunch. Creegan dug a whetstone out of his furs and squatted down, running the stone over the axe blade with a steady, practiced hand.

“If we keep this up we’re going to wear that axe head to a nub,” opined Ben.

“I know,” replied Creegan with a grin. “I buy ‘em half a dozen at a time. Storage shed’s got a stack of ‘em. We’ll probably go through three or four before this tree comes down.”

Ben grunted. It occurred to him that Creegan might be crazy.

Darkness fell early during winter in the north. Ben and Creegan packed up and hiked back to the cottage before the sun completely set. When they entered it, they found Amelie sitting in the chair and huddled over the strange wooden oval they’d found in the Wilds. She quickly swept the artifact out of sight, though Creegan didn’t seem to be paying it any attention.

“There’s not much to do around here while you two are out on your adventure,” she explained.

Ben rolled his eyes.

Creegan mumbled something about getting food from the shed and walked out.

“Figure it out?” asked Ben.

Amelie shrugged her good shoulder. “Maybe. Back in the Wilds, I thought the two devices were linked somehow. I think they transmit sound.”

Ben’s eyes widened. “You think we might be able to talk to the other one, to Corinne?”

“It’s possible. I’ve been trying to send with it, to see if they could hear me. I haven’t heard anything back. I’ll try again tomorrow. The other thing I intended to study, that book Towaal slipped us before we fled Northport, is written in some sort of code or ancient writing. I can’t make sense of it. I’m not sure what she intended me to do with it.”

“Maybe she was worried Eldred would defeat her and take it,” suggested Ben.

“If she was thinking about it moments before battling the woman, then surely it is important. Right?” worried Amelie.

Ben shrugged.

***

Two more days of monotonous chopping and sitting around the cottage and Ben and Amelie were starting to get stir crazy. There wasn’t much they could do for Amelie. Despite her desire to get out, she realized that staying inside and resting was the best for her. She gritted her teeth and told Ben she’d tough it out. She kept fiddling with the wooden oval to see if she could learn more. She also worked on exerting her will. With Creegan gone all day, she had the cottage to herself. She could practice creating tiny disturbances around the room. It was about all she could do in the little cabin without straining her shoulder. They kept her arm in a sling and Ben tended to it every evening.

Creegan must have picked up on the strain. Evidently, even he had enough social acumen to understand that two young people were getting bored. He had a proposal the next morning.

“We’re doing well, much faster than I can do alone,” remarked the woodsman. “My arms could use a break and I think we could all use some fresh meat. Let’s go hunting today. We can get the axe back out tomorrow.”

Ben nodded in relief. His arms, shoulders, and back were constantly knotted in pain from the continuous swinging of the heavy axe. A day hiking through the woods and getting fresh game sounded much better than going back to that.

After breakfast, Ben followed Creegan to the storage shed where the woodsman kept his supplies. Peeking in, Ben saw a row of hams hanging from the ceiling and several unlabeled containers which could be oats, grains, salt, or other items that wouldn’t suffer in the cold. The woodsman pulled out a sturdy-looking bow and a broad-bladed spear.

“Choose your weapon,” he offered.

Ben took the spear. He was next to worthless with a bow, and while he wasn’t practiced with the spear, he’d become fairly adept with a staff back in Farview. Adding a point to it couldn’t be much more difficult.

Creegan strung his bow and they started off into the woods.

“There’s a stream about a half bell from here,” explained the woodsman. “It comes from a natural spring and moves pretty fast. Even in this cold, it won’t be completely frozen. It’s one of the few options of water for the animals. It’s our best bet this time of year.”

Ben shrugged. He knew nothing about this forest so he’d trust the woodsman’s judgment.

“If we spot something,” continued Creegan, “I’ll take down any deer or elk with the bow. You take any boar with the spear. You know how to do that, right?”

Ben grimaced. He did know. Boar hunting with a spear was usually done with the help of dogs. The dogs would harry the pig until it was worn down. Then the hunters could step in with the spears. A hog could be twice the size of a man, incredibly strong, and had sharp tusks which could gore the hunter if it got too close. It was best to wait until the animal was too tired to raise its head.

They didn’t have dogs, though.

Creegan, seeing Ben’s look, advised, “Avoid the chest. The chest bone can foul the spear, and remember, they have thick skin around the neck and heart. If it starts running up your spear, twist it so the thing can’t get to you.”

“Climbing trees, spearing boars, I thought we were supposed to be resting,” grumbled Ben.

“Your friend is resting.” Creegan grinned through his bushy beard. “You are working to earn your keep.”

Ben sighed and followed the woodsman. They hiked through the forest, shuffling along between the trees until they reached a half-frozen stream. Ice lined the creek bank, but the center was free flowing water.

Creegan glanced around, getting his bearings. “The source is about one hundred paces upstream. It gets a little rocky that way and it’s more difficult for the critters to reach. We’ll head downstream and see what we can find.”

Ben shifted his grip on the spear and gestured for Creegan to lead on. It wasn’t quite as cold as the Wilds, but up there, he had proper attire. At least when they’d been chopping the tree, he was active, and that kept him warm.

For a bell, they stalked along the creek bank, looking for signs of game. In a few places, they spotted tracks where something had come to drink, but none of them looked fresh. When they saw it, Creegan would kneel down and check for scat. If it wasn’t warm, then whatever left it was bells away.

Ben’s breath came out in a mist and he constantly swung his arms back and forth to keep warm and stay loose. He had the boar spear and his sword, but Creegan had only the bow and a hunting knife. Ben wanted to be ready for anything they saw.

Then Creegan held up a fist, signaling for Ben to stop and stay quiet. The woodsman nocked an arrow and drew it back to his ear. Ben stared ahead, unable to see what the man was aiming at.

Creegan’s bowstring sung and his arrow shot through the woods. Ben heard a solid thunk as it impacted a tree. A heartbeat later, a doe burst through the undergrowth. In a few quick bounds, it disappeared into the forest.

“Damn,” muttered the woodsman. He stomped ahead to retrieve his arrow.

Ben followed, glad he wasn’t the one who so badly missed the shot. As he was walking, he heard a crack in the distance, like a breaking tree branch.

“Creegan!” he hissed, trying to get the attention of the woodsman. Ben gestured behind them where he thought he heard the noise.

The woodsman nocked another arrow and pointed for Ben to investigate.

Ben stalked through the snow, raising and lowering each booted foot carefully to minimize the noise he’d make. Twenty paces further, he saw a path trampled in the snow, broken branches, turned-up snow, and dirt. It was a hog’s trail. The animal would brush along the ground with its snout, digging for nuts. It looked fresh.

Creegan came silently behind him. They shared a look and Ben set off again, following the trail in the direction of the sound.

The pig was moving away from the creek. For a quarter bell, they stalked the hog. Ben was getting nervous. The furrows dug into the hard winter dirt were wide. From what he recalled about the hogs he’d seen, the tusks of a large animal would be a hand apart. These were a hand and a half.

Ahead of them, the trees opened into a clearing. Creegan’s hand caught Ben’s arm. The woodsman pointed across the open space and Ben saw it. The hog stood about navel high. He guessed it must weigh twenty stone or more, twice his own weight.

“I’m not sure we should…” he started.

Creegan’s bow twanged. Ben groaned when he saw the arrow flash across the clearing and sink into the hog’s flank. The animal spun around in shock, looking for the source of its sudden pain. Creegan nocked another arrow. Before he could get it off, the hog saw them, pawed the ground, and charged.

Creegan let it fly again. This time, the arrow soared two paces behind the approaching animal. The woodsman wasn’t a very good shot.

There were two ways to spear hunt hog if you didn’t have dogs. The easy way was to sneak up on it and stab it in the heart before it realized you were there.

They were going to have to do it the hard way.

Ben stepped forward and set his feet, holding the wide blade of the spear in front of him. The hog was charging fast. Creegan nocked another arrow and fired again, missing by an even greater distance.

Ben took a deep, steadying breath. Then the hog was on him. He jumped forward while the huge pig was still two strides away. He thrust with the spear, aiming for the bottom of its neck, hoping to drive the steel tip deep enough to pierce the heart.

The hog slammed into the spear. The point buried into its flesh, but the momentum knocked the shaft out of Ben’s hands. He jumped to the side. The big animal smacked hard into his legs. It spun him into the air like a top and he landed hard on the frozen ground.

Continuing the charge, the hog veered toward Creegan. The woodsman tried to jump out of the way. He wasn’t fast enough. The huge pig plowed over him, knocking him down and tumbling him underneath its hooves.

The big animal passed and tried to turn its charge. The butt of the spear jammed into the ground. With a loud crack, the wrist-thick shaft snapped off.

Ben leapt to his feet and swept his longsword from the scabbard. He could see the blade of the spear missed his intended mark by half a hand to the right. It was buried in the thick muscle of the pig’s shoulder.

The hog saw Ben on his feet and charged him. It came slower this time, but still waving its tusks with enough force to tear Ben’s bowels out from his stomach.

He was ready, and he had his sword. When the hog got close, Ben stepped to the side like he’d seen Saala do so many times before. He whipped his longsword up, cutting across the hog’s neck.

The blade bit deep and he felt the razor-sharp steel smoothly part flesh. With a muffled squeal, the hog crashed down into the snow. Its legs kicked furiously for a moment then finally stopped.

Ben looked to see if Creegan was okay, but the woodsman was already propped on one elbow, watching the end of the fight.

“Not bad,” Creegan grunted through his thick beard. “Now, help me up. That damn pig nearly broke my leg.”

Ben reached down a hand and nearly flopped into the snow when the heavy woodsman yanked on his arm. Eventually, the big man got back on his feet.

Using the rope, they fashioned a rough harness to haul the pig.

Ben dug his feet in, pulling on the rope, and they started back to the cottage. They trudged through the snow, each holding tightly to an end of rope wrapped around their shoulders. The huge animal slid across the snow behind them.

Ben’s skin burned where the rope pressed into him. He groaned. Just a quarter bell more and they should be back to the cottage. He had attempted to bunch his cloak under the rope so it didn’t dig into him so painfully, but it was useless. The animal was heavy and awkward. He resigned himself to tough through it until they got to the cabin. They would clean and dress the carcass when they got there. It was enough meat for the three of them to eat for weeks. He was glad. Fresh meat would be a good addition to the stores Creegan had in his shed. The thought barely made the effort worth it.

“That was pretty fine sword work,” complimented the woodsman, stepping over a fallen tree.

“I got lucky,” replied Ben.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” added the woodsman, “you’ve got a mage-wrought blade. I’m guessing you didn’t need to get lucky.”

Ben grunted without answering.

“I gotta ask,” continued Creegan, “why didn’t you just use the sword in the first place? It’s pretty obvious you know what you’re doing with it. Certainly, you’re better with the sword than you are the spear.”

Ben smirked. “You’re right. I’ve never spent much time with the spear, but I hadn’t spent any time with a sword until the last year. I guess I’m still not used to it.”

“Knowing when to use your sword is just as important as knowing how to use it,” responded Creegan seriously.

“A friend told me something just like that,” commented Ben, “but he was referring to knowing when to keep it in the sheath.”

“You have to take it out sometimes,” advised Creegan. “That pig ain’t gonna to listen to reason. He’s going to charge you as soon as he sees you. It’s all he knows, to attack. Some men are like that, too. No sense trying to talk to them, no sense trying to make friends. They charge. You gotta defend yourself.”

Ben walked on for a bit then replied, “I’m not really sure we should blame the pig for charging. We did stalk him for almost half a bell. Then you shot him with an arrow.”

“I’m not talking about the damn pig!” exclaimed Creegan. “I’m talking about men. Bad men.”

“Well, you said the pig wasn’t going to listen to—”

“It’s a metaphor, you little pup,” interjected Creegan with a snort. “Ask your lady about that when we get back. Trying to teach you something and you get literal on me.”

The woodsman trailed off and Ben let him. He thought the woodsman was finally starting to warm up to him. Five days with the man. About time.

An angry shriek split the air, startling Ben.

“What was…” began Creegan.

“Demon!” shouted Ben. He shrugged the rope off of his shoulders and drew his sword.

“There’s never been a demon around here!” argued Creegan.

Another harsh scream and they looked to see a black shape bounding through the snow. Two more were behind it.

“Run!” yelled Creegan. He struggled to untangle himself from the rope, forgetting his weapons.

Ben ignored the panicked woodsman and faced the creatures. He knew running was futile. The demons had sensed them. With their powerful legs, they could outrun any man over a short distance.

Behind him, Ben heard the woodsman trip over himself and crash to the ground. The demons drew closer. Three of them. Ben had faced worse.

The sound of a strong wind was building in his head, but he refrained from using the magic of his sword. When he had used it against the hunters, the snow blew up in a blinding cloud. The demons could sense his life-blood and would be able to find him without sight. He needed the visibility.

Violent screams shattered the peace of the forest. The creatures arrived in a wave of fury.

Knowing they would have no thought of tactics and only of hunger, Ben ran forward then darted behind a thick-trunked tree. The demons changed course and charged, howling after him.

The first one came sliding around the obstacle and earned the sharp point of Ben’s longsword in its eye for being in front. A second demon plowed into the back of its peer and scrambled over the falling body. Ben ducked under a sweeping clawed hand and slashed up with his blade, cutting deep into the neck.

He retreated as the third demon circled the tree. This one was moving slowly, cautiously. It was also half again the size of the other two. At only shoulder height, it was not a true alpha, but those muscular arms would have no problem ripping him to shreds.

He heard a strangled cry behind him and risked a glance over his shoulder to see Creegan, twenty paces away, stumbling backward. In one hand, the woodsman held his hunting knife. The other was dripping with bright red blood. A fourth demon was quickly pursuing him.

When Ben turned back, his demon was halfway to him, claws spread, and mouth opened wide. Ben slashed his sword in a blazingly fast pattern, cutting lacerations on the demon’s outstretched arms and coming a hand’s length away from its face. The creature, more mature and tactically minded than its brethren, fell back.

Snarls and screams jolted Ben. He realized Creegan would last only moments with just the hunting knife for defense. Ben shouted a wordless battle cry and surged forward. The demon leapt to meet him, its wiser instincts overtaken by the base urge to feed.

Sensing the creature had lost control of itself, Ben took a gamble and used the extended reach of his longsword to launch a powerful swing, cutting the demon open from neck to groin.

If it had tried to defend itself and he hadn’t gotten a killing blow, the thing would have been on him. He would be defenseless against its strong arms and teeth. Instead, its heavy corpse crashed into him and sent him sprawling on the snow. Not taking time to let himself feel the force of the blow, he rolled to his knees and yanked out his hunting knife. He hurled it at the demon on top of Creegan then snatched up his sword.

A lucky throw and the blade stuck into the back of the creature. It looked up and snarled at the new attacker, giving Ben time to close the distance. He swung wildly, catching it under the neck and neatly severing its head. The mage-wrought steel passed cleanly through meat and bone. Ben staggered a few steps and fell over, off-balance from the force of his swing.

The woods were silent. Only his heavy breathing broke the quiet. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees to Creegan. The man’s thick furs obscured his injuries, but he was covered in blood.

Ben knelt by him, leaning close to feel for breath or a heartbeat. They were there but faint. Quickly scanning and prodding the body, Ben saw a brutal bite on Creegan’s shoulder was the worst of the injuries. He also had several other lacerations that were likely from the demon’s claws. Those appeared superficial.

Ben grimaced and stripped off his outer layer of clothing and the tunic underneath. Immediately, the bitter cold stung his bare skin. He yanked his knife from the body of the demon and cleaned it the best he could with a handful of snow and the sleeve of the tunic. He cut the rest of the shirt into strips and pushed Creegan’s thick fur coats out of the way.

The demon’s fangs left deep punctures. The flesh was torn where it had tried to rip a bite out of the woodsman. A demon’s bite was designed to inflict maximum damage and cause as much bleeding as possible. The demon would slurp down that blood as it pumped from the victim. The bite had been effective.

Wincing, Ben stuffed a wad of shirt around the bite wound then tightly bound it with the strips of shirt he’d cut. He glanced at the other injuries and decided they would have to wait. They were bleeding freely, but if he didn’t get the shoulder taken care of soon, Creegan wasn’t going to make it. The woodsman was pale, the color leaking out of him with each beat of his heart. Ben had to get the man back to the warmth of the cottage where he could clean and tend to him properly.

He untied the rope around the big hog and looped it under Creegan’s arms. The difficulty he had shifting the big man’s body to get the rope under him wasn’t a good sign for how easy it would be to drag him half a league to the cottage.

Ben cleaned and sheathed his sword, gave one last look around the clearing, then settled the rope over his shoulder. He leaned forward. With one difficult step, he started dragging the big woodsman through the snow. He staggered and nearly fell to his knees but rose up and churned forward, digging his feet into the hard dirt.

Ben glanced back at the man. The binding around his shoulder was holding. The rest of his body lay limp, unconscious from either the pain or loss of blood. As Ben walked, the snow slid under his feet. The frozen ground offered little purchase. Step after step, Ben struggled with Creegan’s dead weight. The woodsman didn’t react to the bumpy ride, even when Ben hauled him over fallen logs or against hidden rocks. Ben hoped it was just dead weight, and the man himself wasn’t dead. After he got moving, Ben didn’t stop to check.

Keeping in Touch

With blood pounding in his head and gasping breaths rattling his chest, Ben stumbled into the clearing around the cottage. His legs were on fire from the effort to haul Creegan through the snow. The pressure from the rope had rubbed deep creases into his shoulders, which was made worse because he’d given up his tunic to bind Creegan’s wounds. He was exhausted, near the point of collapse. He knew he wasn’t done yet.

Hoarsely, he called out to Amelie. She couldn’t help him move the woodsman, but she could open the door and clear space for them to tend to the man.

Amelie poked her head out and let out a startled yelp when she saw Ben and Creegan lying behind him.

“What happened?” she demanded.

Ben, lurching forward, gasped, “Demon attack.”

Amelie nodded curtly and disappeared back inside, the door hanging open. She unhooked the stew pot from where it hung on the wall. She moved cautiously. She could handle an empty stew pot, but with her broken collarbone, she couldn’t lift much more than that.

“Get him settled then fill this with fresh snow,” she instructed. She scurried about, rifling through Creegan’s clothing, probably looking for material she could use as bandages and bindings.

Ben got the big man inside and placed him atop his sleeping pallet by the fire. He didn’t want to risk jostling the woodsman more than necessary. Getting him into the actual bed or on the table could hurt him worse than it helped. Besides, Creegan was already starting to feel cold and clammy. By the fire was the best place for him. Once satisfied the woodsman was as comfortable as he could make him, Ben rushed outside, filled the pot with snow, and carried it back in.

“Hang it over the fire. We need hot water,” said Amelie. “Then get more firewood. I’d like to build this fire up. He’s freezing, Ben.” She was kneeling by the Creegan, trying to strip off his thick fur jacket with her one good hand.

“Let me strip him down first,” suggested Ben.

With her arm still in the sling, it would take Amelie half the afternoon to uncover all of the man’s wounds.

Ben started peeling off the man’s clothing. Creegan’s torso was covered in a thick mat of red fur. It mirrored his bushy beard. Shirtless, he looked more bear than man.

“How any claws cut through that mess,” muttered Amelie, probing at the exposed wounds. She gave a cursory glance at the injuries on his arms, and one Ben hadn’t seen on the man’s back. They would require cleaning and stitching but weren’t deep enough to threaten his life.

The bite on his shoulder was another case. As soon as she removed the wadded shirt that Ben had tied around it, blood started leaking freely from the open wound. She poked near it with one finger and grimaced at as the blood flow increased. Ben built up the fire and checked on the water while Amelie located needle and thread.

“This stuff is coming in more handy than I expected,” she muttered. “My sewing tutors in Issen would be proud.”

Ben nodded tersely. She’d stitched him and Corinne, and now had a new patient.

The water began to boil and Ben removed it from the flame. They spent a few minutes ripping Creegan’s clothing into strips then began to work. Under Amelie’s instruction, Ben poured hot water from a ladle over Creegan’s injuries. She said they needed to rinse any foreign materials out of the wound before sealing it.

She heated the needle to sterilize it then handed it to Ben. Gesturing to her collar, she remarked, “You’ll have to do the sutures this time.”

“I thought you would…” he trailed off. She was right. She couldn’t stitch one-handed.

Ben swallowed a lump in his throat and set to work. He wasn’t much of a seamstress, but he’d done minor repairs on his clothing back home. He kept telling himself that knitting flesh wasn’t so different. Amelie eyed him closely, offering suggestions and encouragement when he hesitated.

For a bell, Ben sewed an ugly patchwork of patterns across Creegan’s body. He stitched the man’s shoulder first, then his back, and finally his arms, about seventy stitches in all. Luckily, the man remained unconscious for all of it.

Ben sat back on his heels and met Amelie’s eyes. “What do we do now?”

“I try to heal him.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Ben asked. She needed her energy to recover from her own injuries. “Should you heal yourself first?”

“If I don’t heal him, I don’t think he’ll make it,” she replied flatly, “and I cannot heal myself. That energy is already at work. Amplifying it would be, unpredictable. The body is complicated and frankly even the most skilled healers in the Sanctuary do not understand it well. Manipulating one’s own energy is just as likely to make the situation worse.”

Ben looked at Creegan. The man was pale and his chest was barely moving with each labored breath.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Ben asked.

“Not right now.”

“Don’t overextend yourself,” he warned.

Amelie nodded then knelt by the woodsman, placing one hand on him. She closed her eyes. For half a bell, she sat there silently. By the end, Ben thought Creegan’s breathing had improved, but the man remained unnaturally pale. His skin was still clammy to the touch.

Amelie’s eyes flicked open and she mumbled, “Help me to the bed. I need to rest.”

Ben helped her up by her good arm. She shuffled to the bed and lay down, fully clothed.

“Will he be okay?” asked Ben.

“I don’t know,” she answered sleepily. “He’s lost a lot of blood. If he wakes, he may have a chance. He’ll need food, water, vegetables, and fresh meat if you can find it.”

She yawned and her eyes sagged shut. In heartbeats, her breathing became steady and deep. Ben glanced between Creegan and Amelie. Both were sound asleep, and neither seemed to be in danger of waking anytime soon.

The small cottage was silent except for low breathing and the crackle of the fire. Ben bustled about, straightening up as best he could. He tried cleaning the dirt floor where Creegan had bled, but the blood was already soaked in. Ben emptied the water from the pot into a bucket Creegan kept for drinking and then sat down.

He looked around, wondering what he should do. He supposed he should find them all something to eat. Amelie mentioned Creegan would need it if he woke.

Ben bundled himself back up and walked outside to Creegan’s storage shed. It was filled with foodstuffs and items the woodsman would need outdoors. As he had claimed, there were half a dozen axes hanging on one wall. On the other were an equal number of hams. Ben sorted through the food supplies and found a small variety of root vegetables, dried beans, salted meats, and not much else. The lack of diversity was a little disappointing.

Jars of herbs and dried flowers covered the back wall, but Ben saw nothing substantial that would make a meal. He gathered up a few things and walked back to the cottage. Inside, he sat his findings on the table and saw the rope he’d used to drag Creegan to the cottage. They needed fresh meat. The hog was still out there.

He was worried about the risk of demons but more for his friends than himself. Fast asleep, they’d be defenseless if the cottage was attacked. He woke Amelie and forced her out of bed to bar the door behind him. Then he left.

He hoped he could bang on it hard enough to wake her back up when he returned.

Outside, he turned and surveyed the cottage. The door was designed for cold winters in the north and it was stout. It was possible it would hold against a small demon, for a little while. It was a risk worth taking. Fresh meat could go a long way toward helping Creegan recover and the only other option was the man’s chickens. They couldn’t eat too many of those without sacrificing the supply of eggs.

The quarter bell hike to where the demons attacked passed quickly. On the way there, he was only encumbered by his sword and the coil of rope slung over his shoulder. It’d taken six times as long when he was dragging Creegan. It was easy to find as well. The woodsman’s body left a clear trail in the snow.

Everything was like Ben left it that morning. Four dead demons and one dead pig. He’d thought about it on the walk over, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to drag the entire pig by himself. He and Creegan were barely able to move the huge animal together. Ben dropped the coil of rope and unsheathed his longsword. Probably not a purpose Rhys would suggest for the elegant blade, but he knew the mage-wrought steel could butcher the pig a lot more efficiently than his hunting knife or a wood axe.

With a sickening crunch, Ben’s blade hacked into the neck of the hog. A normal blade would be fouled by the animal’s spine, but the mage-wrought steel cut through it. One more easy slash and he separated the head. He then proceeded to chop the beast into three more pieces; shoulders, sides, and legs. The shoulders contained fatty meat suitable for stews. The sides held the ribs and loin as well as the belly where he could make bacon. The legs would become hams.

Ben didn’t have the strength to drag it all back to the cottage so he selected the sides. They didn’t need any more ham from the legs, and there was more useable meat in the sides than in the shoulders. He dragged the unused portions away from the dead demons and placed them where they’d be easy to find. In the cold, it would take weeks for the meat to spoil. If he had time, he would come back for it.

Tying quick knots around the mid-section of the animal, he started the arduous walk back to the cottage. The portion of pig wasn’t quite as heavy as Creegan, but it wasn’t light either. By the time he finally reached the cottage, darkness was falling.

Ben realized he’d spent the entire day hunting the hog then dragging bloody cuts of meat, man and pig, back to the cottage. He was exhausted. Leaving the butchered pig and rope, he hammered on the door and waited patiently until a bleary-eyed Amelie opened the door.

When he entered, she headed straight back to the bed. The injured woodsman stirred on the floor. Ben knelt beside the man and tilted the ladle for him to drink. Eyes closed and lying on his back, Creegan slurped down water until deep breaths told Ben he’d fallen back asleep. Hesitant to wake either of them more than necessary, Ben made himself a quick dinner then lay down on the floor beside the bed. Within moments, he was sleeping too.

***

He woke early. The dirt floor was uncomfortably hard. His entire body was sore and stiff from the previous day’s activity and the sleeping conditions. Amelie and Creegan were still snoring.

Ben rose to his feet and quietly began the first Ohms sequence. While traveling in the snow, he hadn’t had much chance to go through the motions, but by now, they were familiar enough that he naturally fell into the rhythm of the poses. By the third Ohm, his muscles were stretched and feeling better, but the ache in his shoulders from pulling the rope remained. Only time would heal those bruises.

After checking again on his companions and seeing no change, Ben stepped outside and set to butchering the hog. He wasn’t a skilled butcher by any means, but growing up in a small town like Farview meant he was familiar with the process. He knew the different cuts.

He cut out the ribs, loin, and bacon. He wasn’t efficient, and he knew he was wasting good meat, but with just the three of them, he still had plenty for several days. After setting aside the ribs and loin, he sliced the bacon into thick strips then collected half a dozen eggs from the henhouse. The birds squawked at him and one tried to peck his finger. He took two of her eggs.

In the storage shed, he collected a small sack of salt he’d seen the day before. Creegan never used the stuff in his own bland cooking. Presumably he kept it for preserving meat. Since the big man was unconscious, Ben decided to make a decent meal. All that was missing was a steaming mug of kaf and a honey-slathered piece of toast.

When the bacon began to sizzle in the pan, Ben heard Amelie stir in the bed behind him. He gave her time, not wanting to disturb her if she needed more rest. Soon though, she joined him by the hearth.

She whispered, “Now this is the proper way to wake up.”

Ben smiled at her. He’d been worried the day before at how worn out she seemed after the healing. This morning, she was almost back to her usual self. While he finished cooking breakfast, she checked on the woodsman.

“How has he been?” she asked quietly, trying not to disturb the man.

“I gave him water once yesterday,” responded Ben. “Other than that, he hasn’t stirred.”

“Let’s try more water,” she suggested.

They propped the unconscious man’s head up and slowly poured a stream of water into his mouth. Involuntarily, he swallowed it. They gave him some more until he started coughing.

“If he doesn’t wake by afternoon, we should consider trying to get him up,” suggested Amelie. “He needs to eat to regain his strength.”

Ben agreed. They tore into breakfast. He was shocked at how famished he was. Afterward, he tidied up and Amelie pulled out the wooden oval they’d found in the Wilds.

“You have any luck with that thing?” he inquired.

She looked up. “Every now and then, I think I feel something. Like a pull through the link, but so far, that is it. I know there is something there.”

She trailed off and bent over the artifact. Ben would have been worried she was wasting her time on it and stressing herself unnecessarily, but until she healed, she had nothing else to do.

After the cottage was in reasonable order and he’d changed Creegan’s bandages, Ben cycled through the rest of the Ohms. He only knew twenty-five of the thirty, but it was enough to keep him busy for two bells. While he did it, Amelie stayed focused on the oval.

Ben finished the Ohms and moved to the water bucket to get a drink. In the warm cottage, he’d worked up a sweat during the challenging final positions. He was about to ask Amelie if she wanted water when she sat bolt upright in the chair.

“Ben, get over here!” she demanded.

In three quick strides he was beside her.

“Place a hand on the oval,” she instructed.

He nudged her hand aside and placed two fingers on the wood.

Inside his head, he heard her voice. “He’s here.”

“Good,” answered Lady Towaal.

Ben stumbled back, stunned. “What was that!” he exclaimed.

“Come on, Ben, hurry! We don’t have time for you to be amazed,” chided Amelie.

He stepped back to the table and touched the device again.

“He’s back,” he heard.

“We have to be careful about what we say and we must not speak long,” Towaal instructed. “Eldred may be able to intercept this communication. The way she spoke in our heads feels similar to how this device works.”

“It’s good to hear you are alive,” sounded Amelie. “We were worried.”

“I am alive, though it was a close thing,” replied Towaal. “I’m with our friends the rogue and the huntress. They are both okay. I’ve been unable to travel but I am recovering now. Eldred is still in Northport looking for us. She could leave at any moment. If you see her, you must run or hide. Do not face her. There is something going on with her, something wrong. She’s unnaturally powerful, stronger than anyone I have faced in combat or practice. I worry what the Veil has done to her.”

Ben and Amelie looked at each other.

“If she is in Northport, we are safe. We fled,” responded Amelie. Her familiar voice echoed like it was down a long hallway inside Ben’s mind.

“You are not safe,” snapped Towaal. Even through the device, Ben heard the warning in her tone. “Lady Anne and likely others will be looking for you. After Kirksbane and Northport, the Veil will spare no resource finding us. Never assume you are safe.”

“What should we do?” asked Amelie.

“I will not command you,” Towaal answered, “but I suggest you go somewhere they will not think to look. Somewhere that is dangerous but is also a place you can find answers. Whatever risks you face there will be safer than falling within the grasp of the Sanctuary. We will come find you when we are able.”

“I think I know where you mean,” replied Amelie.

“We must go now. We’re changing locations,” called Towaal. “Use this device only to reach us in an emergency. As I said, I believe Eldred may be able to intercept our communication and use it to locate us if she is close. We cannot be found by that thing.”

A subtle buzzing Ben hadn’t noticed ended abruptly. The room was silent. Without asking Amelie to confirm, he was certain Towaal was gone.

“They’re alive,” Amelie breathed with a sigh of relief.

Ben nodded grimly. “So is Eldred.”

The rest of the day, Ben paced back and forth in the small room.

“Ben,” complained Amelie, “you have to stop. Please, sit down and rest. If you can’t rest, at least stop moving around.”

Ben grumbled and sat, but within minutes, he was back up again. Their friends were alive. Eldred was alive. All of the discussion about whether going to Irrefort was the right thing was settled. He was impatient and ready to move.

“Ben!” exclaimed Amelie. “I need to rest. I know you want to get moving, but until my collarbone heals, the smart thing is to stay put. Besides, I think we owe it to Creegan.”

Ben glanced down at the motionless woodsman. She was right. She needed another week to recuperate and Creegan was in no condition to care for himself.

“Why don’t you find something to do?” she suggested. “You could go back out and finish cutting down the tree. We’re eating enough of the man’s food. We should do something for him.”

Ben sighed. “You’re right. It’s getting late, but tomorrow, I’ll go back and finish.”

***

The next morning, Ben and Amelie made porridge and spooned a couple of bites into Creegan’s mouth. The man swallowed and his eyes fluttered, but he remained unconscious.

“What do we do if he doesn’t wake up?” asked Ben.

“We keep feeding him until he does,” answered Amelie.

Ben headed outside. He took Creegan’s wood axe and hiked to where the tree was still tied and standing tall. They’d chopped almost half the trunk away but had not reached any wood underneath the dark bark. He checked the rope they’d tied to guide the tree down. Satisfied it was all arranged as safely as it could be, he began to work.

Bell after bell, he hacked at the tree. Small dark woodchips rained around him as he cut through the tough surface. Despite the bitter cold of winter, the physical activity kept him warm. His muscles strained with the effort of swinging the axe. Even with thick gloves, he could feel small blisters forming. He kept at it, determined to finish the work. Creegan had saved them when they needed it, and now it was time to return the favor.

Also, he didn’t have anything else to do.

That evening, sore and exhausted, Ben returned to the cottage. Amelie was preparing a stew. She was limited by her still-healing collarbone, but she could stick a log on the fire and stir a pot. When Ben entered, stomping his feet to clear them of snow, she looked up with a worried expression.

“What wrong?” asked Ben.

“Creegan,” she said, gesturing to the woodsman.

Ben knelt by the man and saw he hadn’t moved since Ben left that morning. His breath was coming light and shallow. The sickly pallor of his skin hadn’t improved.

“Can you trying healing him again?” suggested Ben.

“I did,” she responded, “almost all day. I’ve done as much as I can without putting myself to sleep again. Healing, like all magic, requires will and knowledge to manipulate energy. Creegan’s energy is fading. Everything I’ve been able to do is from my own reserves. He’s not getting any better, Ben. Look at his shoulder.”

Ben frowned and pushed back the blankets around the man. Without having to check under the bandage, he could see the translucent skin around where the demon bit him. Purple veins were visible like fish swimming in a murky pond.

“Some type of infection from the bite?” guessed Ben.

“It must be,” agreed Amelie. “What can we do about it?”

Ben sat back on his haunches, thinking. “There are herbs in the storage shed. Didn’t Creegan say he collected those and sold them as medicine? The first night we were here, I think he mentioned that.”

Amelie shrugged. “I was in so much pain I don’t recall. If they are medicinal, it might help. If we don’t know what we’re doing though, it could make it worse.”

Ben lit a lantern Creegan kept by the door and went to investigate the shed. It was still early in the evening, but already darkness was falling on the northern forest. He took his longsword as well. After the demon attack, he kept it constantly by his side.

Against the back wall of the shed, long strands of herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling rafters to dry. Rough shelves were stacked with jars and boxes. None of them were labeled. Ben looked at the hanging herbs first. He quickly identified a few that could be used for cooking and noted several he wasn’t familiar with. He wasn’t aware that any of them had infection-fighting properties.

He brushed past the hanging strands of flora and started with the jars on the top shelves. Most contained dried flower buds or leaves. Some were the same as the hanging strands, but some were different. He didn’t recognize most of them. Like Amelie said, they might make it worse by applying the wrong medicine, so he passed on anything he didn’t know.

Thirty jars into it, and approaching the bottom shelf, Ben found something different. He picked up a dirty glass jar and nearly dropped it. The thing was as heavy as his longsword. Frowning, Ben unplugged the top and shined the light of the lantern inside. A yellow glow reflected back at him. He shifted the jar and heard the unmistakable clink of metal.

Stepping back from the shelf, Ben upended the jar on the floor. Spread out around his feet was a huge pile of gold coins. He knelt and sorted through them with a finger, counting almost fifty of the thick discs. Pensively, Ben scooped the coins up and dumped them back into the jar. He placed it on the shelf and was surprised to find the next two jars were full of silver coins. A fourth one held copper.

In all, he estimated it added up to over one hundred gold coins in value. Multiples more than he had saved in his lifetime. More than he’d ever seen in one place, actually. It was enough to purchase half a dozen farms in Farview or a stretch or two of prime timberland. Apparently, being a crazy hermit in the northern woods paid better than he would have guessed.

He left the jars full of coins otherwise undisturbed and searched the rest of the shelf. At the bottom, he found a sealed container. It was heavy but didn’t have the metallic clink of coins. Nervously, he broke the seal and peeked inside. A smooth, sweet smell filled the shed. Honey.

The smell sparked a memory. Years before, Ben recalled one of the workers in Farview’s timber mill getting a brutal gash from a saw. The blade cut the man nearly to the bone. Sawdust and other particles clogged the wound. Everyone had clustered around the man, trying to staunch the bleeding and waiting to see if he died.

Instead, Farview’s baker and part-time doctor, Edward Crust, arrived and managed to save the man. After the initial life-saving aid, Crust cleaned the wound then poured fresh honey over it. Ben and the mill workers had listened doubtfully while Crust explained that the honey would reduce the chances of infection. Ben didn’t know if it would help an existing infection, but it was the only thing he recognized that might. He brought the jar of honey back to the cottage.

Amelie’s brows knitted when he mentioned it to her. Finally, she admitted, “We may as well try it. I don’t think honey can hurt the man so the worst case is we make a sticky mess, and I don’t have any other ideas.”

Ben nodded. Together, they unwrapped the bandages and cleaned the wound. Ben grimaced when he touched the cold, clammy flesh. He poured a good dollop of honey onto Creegan’s shoulder and spread it around to make sure a thick coating covered each of the punctures from the bite. Afterward, he and Amelie sat down and ate dinner, hoping they would see a positive change by morning.

***

For the next three days, things continued like that. Ben hiked out in the morning to work on cutting down the stubborn tree. Amelie remained in the cottage with Creegan, trying to feed him bits of food, reapplying the honey to his injury, and performing light healing on him. The near constant attention arrested his decline, but the woodsman was not improving.

Amelie was getting anxious and frustrated. She was well enough that she could move about the grounds near the cottage but not healthy enough for serious travel. They thought she would be fit in a few more days, but they didn’t know what to do with Creegan. They could load him onto a stretcher and move him to a nearby town, but they weren’t sure if he was stable enough to survive the short journey. And once there, without Amelie’s healing, he may not be in any better shape. They wouldn’t be able to stay in a town for long. The man and woman hunter had proven the Sanctuary had agents in the area. Even worse, Towaal implied Eldred could be on the move soon. Facing her was certain to be fatal.

In a dark moment, Ben realized that if the woodsman died, it would make things easier for them. They wouldn’t have to expend energy caring for the man. He had a huge cache of supplies they could loot, including the jars of gold and silver. If he were gone, there would be no witness that they had stayed in the cottage.

It was a fleeting thought brought on by frustration at their situation. Ben knew that despite what seemed expedient, they would do whatever they could for the woodsman. They couldn’t do otherwise.

On the fourth day, Ben finally brought down the tree. He was lost in thought, steadily chipping away at the stubborn trunk, axe blade flashing over and over. A cold wind whipped through the forest and an alarming creak sounded from the majestic tree. Ben scrambled back to avoid the trunk if it kicked out. He ran to the lines they’d tied to the top of the tree and cinched them tight, hauling with his entire body weight to try and pull the tree down.

Ideally, several people would be on the lines, providing enough weight to counterbalance that of the tree. Ben didn’t have that now. It was just him. Leaning against the taut rope, he hoped the tree would fall in the clear.

The wind blasted through the bare woods again. Ben smelled the damp scent of snow. He looked up through the waving branches of the tree and saw dark clouds forming in the distance. There would be a storm that night, and it would bring heavy snow when it came. He hoped the tree was down before then. He didn’t want to hike back out while it was snowing.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The hard, steady wind kept pushing at the tree. Within minutes, another sharp crack echoed above the sound of the gale. Slowly, the beautiful tree swayed then tilted. Ben pulled hard on the rope, trying to compensate for the vagaries of the wind. Stupidly, he would realize heartbeats later, he wrapped the rope around his wrists and dug his heels into the snow.

In slow motion, the tree began to topple. He was yanked off his feet. It felt like his arm was nearly torn out of the socket. He landed face first in the snow. Briefly, he was stunned. Then he looked up. He saw the thick trunk of the tree slowly coming down on top of him.

He whipped the rope off his arm and leapt to his feet. Running, he jumped over a rock and streaked across the open space. He had three paces of clearance when the sharp branches of the tree crashed down behind him.

With a boom, the full length of the tree slammed into the ground. Snow was shaken off nearby branches. A flight of birds flew up in the distance, startled by the unexpected noise. The ground shook with the impact and Ben was thrown into the snow again.

He lay there, panting, and then glanced back at the tree. Even on the ground, surrounded by broken limbs, it looked majestic, like a king laid out for a funeral procession. Ben stood and walked back. He placed a hand on the fallen tree. It had taken over a week to chop it down. A part of him regretted it. To fell something so impressive, so timeless, he hoped it was worth it.

Snowbound

By the time he reached the cottage, Ben was stumbling through a blizzard. The wind had picked up and was howling like a banshee. He gripped his cloak, pulling it tight around his body, trying to shield himself from the cutting gusts of cold air. Thick flakes of snow swirled in front of him, obscuring anything more than ten paces away. The sturdy door of the cottage was barred. They’d been locking it after the demon attack.

Ben pounded on the door.

Nothing.

Grimacing in frustration, he pounded on it again, this time using the butt of his hunting knife.

The door opened. Amelie jumped back with a yelp, stumbled over her feet, and fell into a sitting position on the floor.

“What’s wrong!” she exclaimed.

“What?” he asked, staggering into the warm room then leaning against the door to force it shut.

“You have your knife out. Are there more demons?” she demanded.

Embarrassed, he tucked the blade away. “I was just knocking with it,” he said sheepishly, a blush crawling across his face.

Muttering under her breath, Amelie clambered to her feet, trying to avoid putting weight on her bad arm.

Ben winced. He turned and barred the door.

The wind smashed against the outside of the cottage, but Creegan had built the place for long winter storms, and it was sturdy. The heat radiating from the fire was a welcome change to the screaming wind and cold outside. Ben stripped off his outer layers and informed Amelie he’d finally felled the tree.

“Good for you,” grumbled Amelie, evidently still upset about getting surprised by the knife. “What will you do with it now?”

Ben shrugged. “Nothing. Creegan said he had a buyer. Apparently, the man comes by a couple of times a year.”

“What does he do with it?” inquired Amelie. “I haven’t seen it, but I’m picturing a rather large tree since it took you over a week to chop down. Did you cut it into pieces?”

Ben shook his head. “I’m hoping Creegan wakes up and tells us what to do with it. It’s just lying there. I’m not sure how the buyer will take it. On the positive side, no one else is going to be dragging it away.”

They ate a hearty dinner and settled in to listen to the raging storm outside. Despite the violence of it, Ben found listening to the storm quite peaceful. A flickering fire, a secluded snow-covered cottage, and an evening spent with Amelie. There were worse things he could be doing. He fell asleep to the wind wailing around the cottage and the creak of tree trunks as they were battered by the force.

The storm continued unabated throughout the night and the next morning. Several times, Ben woke to hear blistering winds howling around the walls of the cottage or a snap as a branch broke off a tree. Each time, his heart raced, worrying it was a demon, but when he realized it was just the storm, he fell comfortably back to sleep.

He ventured out early in the morning to collect eggs from the chicken coop and came back covered head-to-toe in powdery snow. The stuff was dry and sticky, clinging to his leathers like glue. The snow came to mid-thigh and drifted as high as his head against the buildings. The wind blew it into blinding, frozen clouds. There was no going out that day.

He cooked breakfast, cycled through the Ohms, and tried to kill time. They were waiting, waiting for Amelie to heal, Creegan to heal, or Creegan to get worse. There was nothing Ben could do but wait.

Until that afternoon when the door shook with the pounding of a heavy fist.

Ben and Amelie exchanged startled glances. Since they’d met Creegan, they hadn’t encountered another human in these woods. The woodsman claimed no one else lived outside of the small towns along the road. The big man lay still despite the heavy knocking. His breathing had slowed and the cold of the infection had spread through most of his torso and neck. Ben figured in a day or two, the woodsman’s situation would be settled.

The door pounded again and then shook as someone tried to open it.

“A demon wouldn’t knock,” remarked Amelie.

Ben nodded. He drew his longsword and moved to open the door. Amelie pulled her rapier and stood to the side. If anyone rushed in and attacked Ben, she would have a clear opening.

A fist hammered on the door a third time and Ben yanked it open. A frigid blast of air and ice burst into the small room. Ben stumbled back, blinking to clear his eyes of snow.

“Who are you?” wondered a deep, sonorous voice.

A tall man covered entirely in snow stepped into the room. Muttering under his breath, he forced the door shut, sliding the latch down into place. They didn’t stop him. While Ben was unsure of whether he wanted the stranger inside, he was certain he wanted the door shut.

Ben and Amelie stayed focused on the man, alert for any sign of threat. For a brief moment, Ben flashed back to stories he’d heard of snow yetis, terrible creatures that stalked winter landscapes, feeding on warm flesh. In the stories, they didn’t talk, though. Certainly they didn’t ask questions.

The snow-covered figure turned and immediately glanced down at the injured and sleeping Creegan.

“This is my friend,” rumbled the voice. “This is his cottage. What happened here and who are you?”

Ben replied tersely. “We’re guesting with him. He and I went on a hunt. While we were out, we encountered a small swarm of demons. One of them bit him.”

“How long ago?” queried the man.

“Six days,” responded Ben.

The man strode forward and knelt by Creegan, his back turned to Ben and Amelie. Ben felt slightly silly, holding his longsword to the man’s back, but he wasn’t going to put it down either. The man could be tricking them.

The stranger stripped off his gloves and pulled down the blankets they’d wrapped around the injured woodsman. Ben watched the back of the newcomer’s head. It titled as he looked at the injuries on Creegan’s arm. The stranger appeared to quickly dismiss those. Gingerly, he unwrapped the bandage around Creegan’s shoulder. A low whistle escaped his lips when the bite mark was revealed.

Despite Ben’s best efforts at stitching and covered with a thick layer of honey, the ugly punctures were still obvious. The flesh around them was sickeningly translucent, like watered-down milk.

The man stood, pushed back the snow-covered hood of his cloak, and pulled down a scarf from the lower half of his face. Short-cropped white hair topped his head, and his clean-shaven face was etched with the deep lines of age. His skin had the same texture as Ben’s boot. His eyes sparkled blue. Despite his apparent age, he moved with crisp vitality. Without seeing him move, Ben would have pegged the man at three-quarters a century old, but his mannerism spoke of a man a third that age.

“You said six days?” queried the stranger.

Ben nodded, still holding his longsword steadily pointed at the man.

The man ignored it. Frowning, the stranger stripped off his cloak and revealed he was dressed in light leather armor. He had a small travel pack on his back and a thin sword strapped to his side. He pulled a dagger and knelt back beside Creegan.

Probing at the bite marks with his dagger, he winced when clear pus seeped from the wound. Sickeningly, the tip of the dagger seemed to sink into the flesh, like it had the consistency of day-old custard. The stranger looked at Amelie.

“Sanctuary trained?” he asked.

She blinked and nearly dropped her sword.

“W-Why do you think…” she stammered.

“Don’t worry, girl. I mean you no harm,” scoffed the man. “I owe you a debt. You saved my friend’s life. Demons are filthy creatures, their bite is virulent, and infection is almost inevitable. Two days to survive is typical, though I’ve seen strong, healthy men like Creegan make it three. It’s only with your help that he’s made it longer.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. She laid her rapier down on the table. “We tried honey, hoping it would fight the infection. I’m not sure it did much good. There are other herbs in the shed, but we weren’t familiar with them and didn’t want to make things worse. We’ve given him as much water as he can drink and food when he can swallow it. He hasn’t been able to swallow in days, though.”

The man snorted. “You didn’t save his life with honey, girl.”

Amelie blushed. They had been on the run and hiding for so long she obviously didn’t know how to respond to the man’s insinuation that she used magic on the woodsman.

The stranger didn’t press it. He stood and pulled his cloak back on.

“Show me these herbs,” he requested. “You’ve kept him alive, but he is fading. Another day or two and he’ll pass. I may be able to help.”

Ben slid his longsword back into the sheath and tugged on his cloak as well. He shared a last look with Amelie then led the man outside into the storm. Having the armed man behind him made Ben nervous. If the man wanted to attack, there was no way Ben would hear it coming over the fury of the wind. So far though, the man had only shown kind intentions.

Inside the shed, the man brushed by Ben and peered at the supply of herbs and flowers. He bent by the jars on the shelves. He paused with his gaze on the lower shelves where Ben had found the stockpile of coins.

Without turning, he asked Ben, “You opened all of these?”

Ben replied, “We did. It’s where we found the honey.”

Brusquely, the man collected three jars off the shelves then pulled down a string of dried flower buds from the ceiling rafter. “Let’s go cook up a poultice.”

Back inside, the man worked quickly and efficiently. He began boiling water then crumbled up the flower buds into a small bowl. He added a bit of the water and leaves from the jars. Finally, when the rest of the water was at a roiling boil, he poured some over the mixture and mashed it into a paste.

“Anything we can do to help you?” inquired Amelie.

The man nodded. “You can wash his shoulder. It needs to be completely cleaned of the honey before I apply this.”

Amelie blushed. “We thought the honey may help.”

“It may have,” offered the man. “Honey is a natural antibiotic and it also works to speed wound healing. It’s thick enough that it can prevent infection when applied early. No chance for that this time. The infection came directly with the bite. The honey wasn’t a bad idea, but just like it prevents infection, it will prevent this medicine from entering the wound unless we clean it.”

Relieved they hadn’t made Creegan worse, Ben and Amelie bent to their task. They took the water off the heat. When it cooled sufficiently, they washed Creegan’s shoulder.

Ben grimaced when he touched the man’s skin. It was cold and had a spongy feel like damp peat. The skin was dissolving near the punctures and the sutures had fallen out, leaving gaping holes two-finger widths wide. Ben swallowed the bile in his throat.

When they were finished, the stranger used his fingers to rub the poultice into the wounds. He packed the mixture into the injuries and smeared a coating across the nearby skin. He worked diligently, taking his time ensuring that the entire area was covered. He then rinsed off his hands and turned to Amelie.

“Would you like me to look at your shoulder? A broken collarbone, yes?”

She looked to Ben. He shrugged. The man could have attacked them already if he wanted to.

Amelie pulled her tunic to the side and showed the man her collarbone. Most of the swelling and bruising had faded, but it was still tender. They knew if she stressed it, the bone wouldn’t fuse properly. The man gently placed his hands on her skin and pushed lightly, finding the exact location where the bone had broken.

“It was just a bad crack, and is already healing nicely,” he muttered under his breath.

Ben watched curiously. The man was squatting, perfectly balanced on his haunches. His eyes were clear. The fingers on his weathered hands looked strong and confident. For several minutes, the man probed and tested Amelie’s collar. Then he moved back and asked, “Is that better?”

She stayed still, frowning at the man.

He sighed. “Try moving it and tell me if it is better.”

She shifted her shoulder hesitantly at first and then in a broader circle. A look of wonder crawled across her face.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“I said I owed you for saving my friend. I’m trying to return the favor,” responded the man. “You should rest when you can. You will have several weeks until you’re back to normal, but I think you’ll find it’s not as tender as it was.”

“It tingles a little and feels warm. It feels better. There’s hardly any pain,” she remarked, astonished.

“You used magic on her!” accused Ben. He knew that warm, tingling sensation. That’s what he felt when Amelie healed him.

The stranger smirked. “Men can’t use magic, boy. Don’t you know that?”

“You did use magic.” Amelie gasped. She shot a look to her rapier on the table.

“No need for that,” chided the stranger. “If I wanted to hurt you, I would have. You helped my friend. I am simply doing the same for you.”

Amelie’s hands clenched into fists.

“You were training as an initiate in the Sanctuary, yes?” asked the man rhetorically. “I can only assume you had some sort of falling out, which explains why you are here without accompaniment. I know the Sanctuary’s views on men who practice the art. You must try to see past that if we are to remain friendly. The Veil and her predecessor are strong-willed women, but they are prone to exaggerations and overly drastic actions. I can tell you from experience, not all men with power are bad men.”

Amelie stared at the man, speechless.

“Let us try to be civil toward each other, at least for the night,” he suggested. “I believe my friend Creegan will wake in the morning. When he does, he and I hopefully will have a little business to conduct, and then I will be on my way. I have no reason to harm you, and you have no reason to harm me.”

Amelie nodded slowly.

Ben knew her natural instinct and training from the Sanctuary would be to distrust any man who practiced magic, but the stranger was right. They had no reason to harm each other. So far, the man had done nothing but help them.

The man stuck his hand out and Ben took it.

“Jasper,” said the man.

“Ben. This is my friend Amelie.”

Jasper shook Amelie’s hand as well, though hers hung limp in his grasp. He then offered to do the cooking, explaining that when he visited Creegan, he always did it. After experiencing Creegan’s meals, Ben understood why. Ben and Amelie sat on the bed while the man bustled about. He ventured out to the shed again and returned with the pork loin Ben butchered and a handful of herbs.

“You’re here to buy the tree, aren’t you?” asked Ben.

Jasper smiled back at him, his face creasing into a tapestry of ridges and valleys. “That I am,” he agreed.

“I was helping Creegan cut it down,” explained Ben. “After he was injured, I finished, but I’m not sure how you’re going to take it. Creegan didn’t mention anything about cutting it up. It’s the entire tree, just lying there.”

“I’ll worry about that,” responded Jasper. “My arrangement with Creegan is for him to locate the trees and chop them down. That’s it.”

***

Ben woke the next morning to a pained groan. He sat up and saw Jasper was already awake, squatting by the hearth. Creegan was awake too, gripping his shoulder.

“Bloody demon bit the hell out of me!” muttered the woodsman. “I’m starving. Ugh, what happened?”

“Don’t worry, friend,” Jasper assured him. “I am here, and you’ve been well taken care of. You need to eat. It will be weeks before you have your full strength, but you will be okay.”

Creegan shifted around. Jasper helped him, slowly working the man to a sitting position and then to his feet. Eventually, holding his arm, Jasper helped Creegan shuffle to the table where the woodsman sat and glared around the room. Jasper served them a hearty breakfast, which Creegan devoured, hungry after a week of being spoon fed mush. The woodsman kept quiet, obviously anxious with so many people crowded into his small cottage.

“Your guest told me you found another tree,” Jasper mentioned to Creegan. “While you were unconscious, he finished cutting it down.”

Creegan grunted. “It’s about a bell’s walk from here. Not a lot of landmarks.”

Jasper frowned.

“I can show you,” offered Ben.

“That would be very kind of you,” responded Jasper.

Creegan shoveled another bite of breakfast without commenting.

After breakfast, they trudged out into the knee-deep snow. It had piled up after the storm the previous day, but the morning was bright and sunny. Ben led the way, followed by Jasper, and then Amelie. She insisted on coming. She’d already removed the sling from her arm. Ben could tell her shoulder was much better so he didn’t object. If it were him, he would do anything to get out of that cottage after being locked inside for so long.

Amelie called up to Ben and Jasper, “We seem to be passing a lot of trees and not stopping.”

“That’s true,” responded Jasper. “The one we are going to is special.”

“How so?” challenged Amelie.

“This one has been growing for a long, long time.”

Amelie snorted dubiously.

“It certainly took a long, long time to chop it down,” complained Ben.

Jasper chuckled. “Aye, it would have. That’s why I pay Creegan so handsomely.”

“What are you going to do with it?” asked Ben. “As I said, it’s a rather large tree. The three of us aren’t going to be enough to drag it out of there. It took over a week to chop through the trunk so I’m not sure how easy it will be to cut it into manageable pieces.”

“When you cut through the trunk, you didn’t find any wood, did you?” asked Jasper.

Ben frowned. “I’m not sure. The entire trunk was consistent with the bark, but I thought that was just a unique property of the tree.”

“Not quite. What I want from it is the heartwood. The heartwood of that tree is different from any other substance in this world.”

“What is different about it?” queried Amelie. “You keep saying that, different, just like Creegan did. How so?”

Jasper stopped walking and looked back at Amelie. “I thought you would have guessed by now. The tree is an anima-tree, and the heartwood of the tree is anima-wood.”

She stared back at him blankly.

“The Sanctuary doesn’t teach anything these days,” grumbled Jasper.

“I, ah, left before my training was completed,” confided Amelie.

“I can see that. Anima-wood is unique. It is highly absorbent. It collects energy easily and in higher volumes than any other substance I’ve come across. These trees have been alive for a long time. Because of that, they’re stronger, truer. That true nature is why they are so useful in making.”

“Making?” asked Amelie, confused.

Jasper shook his head then started walking again. Amelie stomped through the snow to catch up to him.

“What is making? Is that the creation of magical devices?” she asked. “We studied the use of devices but not their creation.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” murmured Jasper to himself. “Just another step in consolidating her power.”

Ben walked on silently, raising his legs high and stomping down on the snow to blaze a trail. It was strenuous work, but he was completely captivated by the discussion going on behind him.

“I know you have no reason to trust me or even like me,” stated Amelie, “but I ask you to explain what you’re talking about. Please do it in the spirit that there is no reason we should be opposing each other. Believe me when I say I am not a vassal of the Veil. The Sanctuary has sent soldiers, hunters, and mages after me. They’ve tried to kill me half a dozen times already. It’s obvious you have no love of the Sanctuary, but I have even less. You are worried a Sanctuary mage would try to capture you if they found you. They’ll do worse to me.”

“They won’t just try to capture me, girl,” responded Jasper dryly. “I’m a man and I’m well versed in the art. I’ve known the Veil and some of her secrets for a long time, longer than you can imagine. While half a dozen seems like a large number to you, I can assure you from personal experience, that is just the beginning. The Veil doesn’t forget. If she sets mages on your trail, she will never stop, never give up. As long as you live, they will be trying to kill you.”

“It sounds like we’ve got a lot in common,” chirped Ben.

Jasper sighed. “Maybe we do.”

When they arrived at the tree, Ben held back. Jasper and Amelie moved forward to examine it. Even lying on its side, it was an awesome sight.

“I feel a little bad about cutting that down,” admitted Ben.

Jasper climbed up on the fallen trunk with surprising agility and started pacing back and forth on it, kicking snow out of the way and looking down at the dark bark.

“Don’t feel bad,” Jasper urged without looking up. “The land supports us. That is what it is there for. Trees grow and trees die. That is the cycle of life, even for anima-trees.”

The mage drew his dagger and paused a third of the way from the bottom of the trunk. Kneeling down, he placed the point of his dagger against the bark and closed his eyes.

Amelie looked to Ben and he shrugged. He didn’t know what the man was doing. They stood silently for several long minutes. The only movement was a light wind blowing through the trees. Ben pulled his cloak tight and wondered how long winter lasted in the north. They had to be halfway through it, he hoped.

Suddenly, Jasper pushed down with his dagger. The blade sunk into the hard bark of the tree. A crack filled the air and the entire trunk split. Jasper jumped off and they all watched as the heavy bark fell away.

Ben, curious, stepped forward and saw a single, skinny log sitting in a shell of the thick bark. It was rounded at the ends and appeared perfectly smooth, like a master craftsman had sanded and polished it for days.

“Anima-wood,” explained Jasper unnecessarily.

He climbed back up and tapped around the edges of the log with his dagger. With considerable effort, he pried it out of the trunk and hoisted it onto his shoulder.

It was about a pace long and as thick as Ben’s leg.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Amelie curiously.

“I’m going to make things,” responded the mage. “Ready to go back?”

Amelie grunted.

***

When they got to the cottage, they found Creegan up and moving about. He was slow and had none of the vigor they witnessed when they first met the man, but Ben was heartened to see him on the mend.

“I’m as worthless as a newborn fawn,” complained the woodsman.

“Keep eating and drinking plenty of water,” advised Jasper. “You almost died. You can’t expect to be back to normal in less than a day.”

“I did make it as far as the shed,” the woodsman admitted. “Got some things to make a proper meal, but I figured you’d prefer to cook it yourself.”

Jasper nodded, evidently choosing to be polite and not comment on Creegan’s culinary skill.

“I also saw some of my supplies had been disturbed,” continued the woodsman, looking at Ben and Amelie.

“I went through your things when you were ill. I tried to find some medicine for you,” explained Ben. He suspected Creegan was talking about the jars of coin.

“You could have helped yourself to what was in there and left me to die,” rumbled Creegan. “A lot of folks would have done that. No one would have known different.”

“I would have known,” responded Ben.

“You’re a good man, Benjamin, and I owe you.”

Ben smiled. “We helped because we could. You helped us too, so nothing is owed.”

Creegan shook his head. “The last thing I remember is that demon’s jaw closing on my shoulder. You risked your life to fight it off me, dragged me back here, tended to me for a week, and you didn’t rob me when you easily could have. I made a deal to help you. You helped me and got nothing in return. Ain’t fair. You saved my life. I want to give you something. What about half my gold and half my silver?”

Ben blinked. That was a fortune.

Amelie spoke up for them, “That is too generous. We can’t—”

“I know you’re running from something,” argued Creegan. “You need the coin.”

“That’s your coin,” complained Amelie. “Your life savings. We can’t take that.”

“I would have died!” exclaimed the woodsman. “If you won’t take the coin, then I will follow you. I’ll stay with you until I can make it right. I owe you, and I’ll be in your service. A life for a life. I won’t be able to rest until I clear that debt.”

“Now that Amelie is better, we need to leave,” argued Ben. “You said it yourself. You’re not strong enough for travel. Really, we helped because we could, not because we expected something in return.”

The woodsman shook his head, his bristly beard waving dramatically. “I insist. I’m an honorable man, and I won’t let you leave without something as a token of my thanks.”

Amelie glanced at Ben helplessly. The woodsman didn’t know the risks they were facing. He didn’t know what he was agreeing to.

“Maybe there’s another option,” offered Jasper quietly.

They all paused.

The mage continued, “Creegan owes you and I owe him. Maybe I can help you in exchange for him helping me. We can all clear our debts in a sensible fashion. First though, I want to understand what is happening, I want to hear your story. As you’ve said, you have no love for the Sanctuary, and neither do I. Let us find some common ground.”

Amelie gripped Ben’s hand. He understood. Telling their tale was a risk, but with hunters and mages searching for them, they would have to take risks to make it to Irrefort. He decided they could tell some things but not all. The mage would be sympathetic to someone fleeing from the Sanctuary, and news of the battle in Northport had certainly spread by now. Jasper should know what happened in the Wilds to cause it. Ben would describe their involvement with minimal detail. Towaal and Rhys would also go unmentioned. Jasper may not trust former agents of the Sanctuary.

If they wanted the mage’s help, they’d have to tell him they were going to Irrefort, but Ben decided he’d frame it as a quest to meet up with scattered companions rather than a mission to enlist the help of the Purple. Until they knew the man better, Ben didn’t want to share that kind of information.

“We’d better sit down for this,” started Ben.

Underground

“I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” griped Amelie.

She was bundled up in the heavy cloak she’d worn since Northport and thick furs that Creegan provided. More clothing than they’d worn into the Wilds, but Ben had to agree with her, it was still cold.

“Just two more days and you will be warmer,” assured Jasper.

They’d been following the man all morning, heading away from Creegan’s cottage and south into the mountains. Counter-intuitively, as they moved further south, the colder it got. It had to do with the change of elevation, Ben understood, but he couldn’t explain it any further than that.

“Two more days and then what?” inquired Ben. “We packed enough food for two weeks.”

“That we did,” agreed Jasper. “In two days, we’ll enter the mountain. We’ll travel underground for a week. When we reemerge, we’ll be a short day’s travel from my home. It will be warmer there.”

“Underground?” wondered Ben.

“Aye, it’s a safer route. Quicker too.”

Ben looked around. “Safer?”

“You said the Sanctuary is looking for you, right?”

Ben nodded uncertainly.

“Anytime you’re on the surface and in the open, they can find you,” explained Jasper. “Albeit, the odds are slim, but if they ever did spot me, it wouldn’t take much to narrow the search and find my home.”

“You’re talking about far-seeing?” asked Amelie.

Jasper winked at her. “So they did teach you a little.”

“You think the Sanctuary is looking for you with far-seeing in this remote, random area?” asked Amelie skeptically.

“You never know,” responded Jasper. “I’ve made it as long as I have by being overly cautious. I stay under the trees. I travel during storms or at night. In the rare case I can travel underground, I do. I don’t travel on busy roads, and I avoid population centers. After what you said last night, you should consider doing the same as best you’re able. I know you’re dead set on getting to Irrefort, but even there, the mages will find you. Maybe you should reconsider.”

“We have to go,” replied Ben.

“Then my best advice to you is keep moving. Always keep moving. If a mage somehow catches your scent or spots you, they could still be days away. You keep moving, changing direction, and you’ve got a chance to get away.”

“You know a lot about this. What did you do to incur the wrath of the mages?” queried Amelie.

Jasper smiled at her. “I’m a mage, girl. The Veil has very specific instructions on how to handle practitioners of my sex.”

Amelie looked at him suspiciously. “Is that all?”

“You are mighty perceptive for an initiate,” jested Jasper

Amelie’s look turned into a glare.

The man coughed discretely then continued, “The Veil and I don’t see eye to eye on many things, not the least is that she wants me dead. Because of that, I tweak her when I can. Helping you two, for example. If it puts a burr under her skirt, I’m happy to do it. I’ve been doing that for a long time now. She’s grown tired of it.”

“How long?” asked Ben.

Jasper didn’t answer, confirming Ben’s suspicions. Since they left the City, he’d learned that a long time was sometimes a very, very long time. Ben let it drop. Jasper enjoyed mystery. That was clear. In time, Ben knew they’d find out more.

Ben lifted one sodden, snow-covered leg and stomped down, pressing the snow firmly to clear a path for Jasper and Amelie behind him. After two more days of this, he knew he’d be so exhausted he’d barely be able to move his legs, but the mage was carrying the log of anima-wood across his shoulders and Amelie was still weak from her broken collarbone. Hence, Ben’s job was to blaze the trail.

He scrambled over an icy rock and stared up the slope ahead of them. They were climbing steadily into the foothills of the mountains. It would be a rigorous climb in any circumstance, but in the knee-deep snow, it was a struggle to keep going. They left off talking, everyone focused on one foot in front of the other, trying to not slip on the icy patches and tumble back down the slope. A bell later, the sun was falling behind the trees. Ben started looking for a suitable campsite, something out of the wind, anything out of the wind.

“Hold,” cried Jasper.

Ben looked back at the man then glanced around them. Nothing nearby looked like a comfortable resting spot to him.

“What is it?” Ben asked.

“Do you know how to use that mage-wrought blade?” asked the mage.

“How did you know it was mage-wrought?” queried Ben.

A bestial shriek cut through the white noise of the wind in the trees. Ben swept out his longsword and turned to face the direction of the sound. Between the trees, still two-hundred paces away, he saw a squat black shape barreling through the snow. Amelie drew her rapier and dagger and took Ben’s side. Jasper laid the anima-wood down but didn’t draw the thin sword on his hip.

Ben raised an eyebrow, but the man simply gestured to the demon and said, “I want to see what you can do.”

The creature was fifty paces away and coming fast. Ben grunted and stepped forward, settling his footing in the deep powder. The beast headed straight for Ben, no thought of strategy, no thought of defense, no thought of how Ben might react.

He waited patiently until it was almost on him. Then he thrust with his longsword. He caught the creature in the chest and pierced it neat and deep. His blade found the demon’s heart. He twisted and let its momentum carry past him. His sword slid cleanly out of the demon as it crashed into the ground, motionless.

Jasper nodded appreciatively then knelt to pick up the log of anima-wood. “Well done.”

Ben cleaned his blade and dropped it back in his sheath.

Amelie sheathed her weapons as well and gave Ben a slight nod.

Ben resumed breaking a path for his companions, who followed closely behind.

***

They camped in the forest that night and the next.

Jasper proved to be even more capable at woodcraft than Ben. He was able to find them relatively comfortable campsites that were sheltered from the wind.

Ben watched the man closely as they settled in for the first night. The mage bent and searched under a large boulder they would camp next to and under fallen logs near the campsite. He uncovered some reasonably dry fuel which he quickly lit with flint and steel. Next, he unpacked a frying pan, a slab of bacon from Ben’s hog, a handful of potatoes, and a cabbage he’d brought with him.

Amelie frowned at the mix.

“A dish from back home,” explained Jasper. “It used to be popular long ago. Bubble and squeak. Trust me. You’ll like it.”

“Bubble and squeak?” she asked skeptically.

“Listen while it cooks,” replied Jasper with a grin.

Amelie didn’t appear convinced, but she didn’t comment. She was huddled close to the growing fire, trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

Jasper efficiently cooked the simple meal. Ben was impressed. The man exuded a sense of competency in his every movement. Despite his close-cropped white hair and weather-beaten skin, the mage moved with the vitality of a younger man. A woodsman, a mage, and possibly a warrior, given how comfortably he wore his sword.

“You said on the way to Coalition territory we are stopping by your home?” inquired Ben.

Jasper nodded in assent, not looking up from the boiled potatoes he was mashing in the pan. He rapidly chopped the head of cabbage and cut off bites of the bacon as well, dropping it all in.

“What do you do there aside from sleep and hide from the Sanctuary?” pressed Ben.

Jasper sighed. “You two are certainly persistent.”

“We are,” agreed Ben.

“Very well,” replied Jasper with a dramatic sigh. “My line of business, so to speak, is making. I collect materials like the anima-wood and create artifacts that I sell. I do that to keep food on the table. I also run a bit of a hostel for those in the community who need a place to rest out of sight.”

“The community?” asked Amelie.

“Mages, both male and female, who don’t march to the Veil’s tune,” explained the man. “There are a number of us residing in Alcott and a number more who pass through from the southern continent from time to time. I say community, but there’s no organization to speak of, just a handful of like-minded individuals who find it is occasionally best to work together. My home is a meeting place for these folks. They pass through, do a little business with myself or the others, and then go off in their own way. If they’re able, they leave me something to pay for their stay.”

Jasper flipped the bubble and squeak. It popped and whistled as it cooked.

He continued, “To be honest, I also do it because I’m a nosy bastard. I like to hear what everyone is up to. The community, they’re a strange bunch. Loners and weirdos, but those are the most interesting people, don’t you agree?”

Ben shrugged.

“These folk, they keep life interesting,” added Jasper. “Makes the risk worth it.”

“Risk. You mean the Sanctuary?” asked Amelie.

Jasper nodded. “Indeed. Providing a safe haven for the continent’s rogue mages is a dangerous enterprise. I’ve had to move several times. It just takes one of the community to be taken alive and the Veil will have my location. Luckily, I have friends in the City who keep abreast of these things. They take care of it for me, or if nothing else, give me warning.”

Jasper slid some bubble and squeak into bowls which he passed to Ben and Amelie. Ben tried it and raised an eyebrow. Not a combination he was used to, but not bad, either.

They finished eating and built up the fire to combat the cold night. Outdoors again, and after the demon attack earlier that day, they set at watch. Jasper took the first one and Ben the last. When Amelie placed a hand on his shoulder to wake him, he got up gratefully. His entire body felt frozen. Moving about to get warm was worth the missing sleep.

***

Two days later, they arrived at a frozen waterfall. Rising ten man-heights above them, the ice commanded their attention. Late afternoon sun sparkled like a rainbow as it reflected through the frozen tower.

“Beautiful,” breathed Amelie.

“Wait until we get inside,” responded Jasper with a grin. “There’s a real light show below. The world is a wonderful place, both above and below the surface.”

“Inside where?” wondered Ben, glancing around the area.

The waterfall cascaded down the side of a steep cliff and crashed into the forest floor. At its base, a pool of ice spread forty paces across. Ben frowned. The water was frozen so it didn’t need anywhere to go, but in the spring, when it thawed, there was no gully, ravine, or dry creek bed for it to run off in. Water had to go somewhere. Ben circled around the pool of ice, peering behind the waterfall.

“Good man,” called Jasper.

Behind the waterfall, Ben found a dark cave with a stream of ice leading into its mouth.

“An underground river,” muttered Ben, staring into the darkness.

“Exactly,” replied Jasper. “This waterfall, when it isn’t frozen, follows a tunnel deep into the ground. There, it empties into an underground lake. Across the lake is an ancient tunnel left by miners of a more industrious age. They found the lake but couldn’t take what they were looking for. That tunnel leads toward my home.”

“And you say we’ll be down there for a week?” asked Amelie with a raised eyebrow.

Jasper nodded.

“Tonight, we’ll camp at the mouth of the tunnel,” he declared. “Tomorrow, we go in.”

Ben slept restlessly. Beside the cliff, the wind was tame compared to the rest of the forest. They were able to find enough dry wood to build a substantial fire. The flickering of the flames reflected in the soaring ice was gorgeous and unworldly, but the yawning mouth of the tunnel haunted Ben. He didn’t enjoy heights. It was perfectly rational, he told himself. Any reasonable person should be aware of the danger a fall presented. Unfortunately, he also didn’t enjoy dark, cramped spaces.

Ben didn’t have some despicable older brother who’d locked him in a cupboard as a child or even a previous career in mining where he saw the dangers of the depths of the world. What he did have though, was a profound dislike of entering a space he couldn’t easily leave. In recent memory, the cell the Fabrizo thieves’ guild locked him in and the tiny confines of the ship crossing the Blood Bay were his only experiences with such spaces. He thought that was enough.

The next morning, he stalked impatiently back and forth in front of the yawning entry to the mountain. Jasper and Amelie sat, eating breakfast.

“You should enjoy the last few moments of sunlight,” suggested Amelie. “It will be a week before we see it again.”

Ben grumbled to himself.

“Afraid of the dark?” asked Jasper.

Ben snorted then finally walked over to eat. “The sooner we go in, the sooner we’ll get out. Not wanting to be confined underground is a rational thing to feel.”

Jasper smiled, “I agree. Listening to your body’s natural reactions is almost always wise for someone training to be a blademaster, but in this case, it’s safer underground than above.”

“Training to be a blademaster, what do you mean?” questioned Ben. “I’m no blademaster.”

“Are you not trying to become one?” replied Jasper.

Ben scratched his ear.

“He’s not wrong, Ben,” said Amelie. “You’re getting quite good with that sword. Even Rh… even our friend from the City said you were getting there.”

“Come on,” said Jasper, after finishing his breakfast and standing from his position near the fire. “You were right. The sooner we get started, the sooner we finish.”

The mage produced a palm-sized rock and handed it to Amelie. He then hefted his log of anima-wood and gestured to the cave.

“Since I’m carrying the wood, you can do the honors with the light.”

Amelie turned the rock over in her hands. It was smooth, Ben saw, like it had been at the bottom of a creek for the last decade.

Amelie’s brows knit and she looked to Jasper. “How do I activate it?”

Jasper, standing tall with the log resting comfortably on his shoulder, smiled. “I thought you’d be familiar with these devices. In years past, they were common in the Sanctuary. Let me explain. Light is simply a form of visible energy called a photon. This energy is released by the movement of tiny particles we can’t see with our naked eye. As the particles move, they emit…” Jasper trailed off when he saw Ben and Amelie’s blank expressions. “Run your fingers on the small runes carved along the edge. When you do, exert your will. You have to want it to produce light.”

Amelie followed his instructions and a warm, yellow glow emitted from the rock.

“Very good,” complemented the mage. “The more will you exert into it, the brighter the light. Now, I believe it will work best if you bring up the rear and shine the light where Ben and I are walking. I’ll go first since I’m familiar with the tunnel.”

Jasper entered the cave, and Ben, swallowing a lump in his throat, followed close behind. The steady yellow glow from the rock Amelie was holding lit the way. Ten paces in front of them though, the world faded to darkness.

The descent into the ground was both terrifying and boring. The tunnel had been cut over the centuries by rushing water from the waterfall. This time of year, it lay frozen in a narrow channel in the center of the floor and they were able to walk along the rock beside it.

“Don’t get overconfident,” warned Jasper from the front. “For the first day, you may find ice on the rock. It’s misty in here during the summer and that mist freezes when it gets cold. The deeper we go, the warmer the air. It shouldn’t be a problem for most of our journey.”

“Great,” responded Ben. “It’s not just dark and creepy. It’s also icy and dangerous.”

“It’s not that bad,” called Amelie from behind. “It could be worse. We haven’t seen a single bat, for example.”

Ben groaned. The sound echoed ahead of them, bouncing off the rock walls of the tunnel. Just seven days, thought Ben, just seven days.

At some point, they stopped for lunch. They didn’t know the time, but everyone was hungry so it seemed appropriate.

“With no sun, how will we know when it’s time for dinner or time to stop for the night?” Ben asked around a mouthful of cheese and ham.

Jasper responded, “When we get hungry, we stop to eat. When we’re tired, we stop to rest. Listen to your body. It will tell you what time it is. Think about a clock. How does the clock know when to strike a bell?”

Ben frowned. “A clock is mechanical. It knows when to strike because it has ticked through its gears.”

“In some ways, people are mechanical too,” replied Jasper. “Some folks only know what to do when the ticking of their gears tells them to do it, or worse, when someone else winds them up. I am glad you don’t want to be like that, mechanical and pre-determined, but it is okay to know when to stop to eat or sleep. Listen to your body.”

Ben looked at the man. It felt like they were being probed, tested.

“I wish we had some bread with this,” complained Amelie, staring down at the slices of ham and cheese in her hands. The yellow light from the rock lit her face from below, giving her a ghostly aspect.

After eating, they got up and kept hiking. As Jasper said, when they got tired, they stopped to sleep. The mage assured them there was nothing to fear in the tunnel, but Ben and Amelie had seen enough demons over the proceedings months to insist on setting a watch. A long, lonely watch.

The light-emitting stone of Jasper’s kept the area around them lit, but they had no wood so no fire. The only thing that broke the silence of the tunnel was their breathing. During his watch, Ben tried to ignore the pressing darkness around him. In the morning, or at least when everyone woke, they ate quickly and started hiking again. As long as they were rested and fed, there was no reason to pause longer than necessary.

Ben took a drink from his water skin and grimaced. It was already half empty. “Jasper, should we have gotten more water?”

The mage turned, the log of anima-wood bobbing ahead of Ben as the man progressed down the tunnel. “We can refill at the lake. It’s clean water.”

Ben nodded but didn’t comment. Jasper clearly knew what he was doing, but Ben didn’t understand how water underground could be considered clean.

That evening when they stopped again, Amelie remarked, “My shoulder is feeling a lot better. Thank you, Jasper.”

The man smiled at her. “Glad I could help. When you feel able, you should begin exercising it. The inactivity of the sling will have led to atrophy of the muscles. If you feel up to it after expending your will on the stone all day, you should move around some.”

“I feel fine,” mumbled Amelie. “There’s hardly anything to using the stone.”

Jasper nodded in the dim light. “You’re a natural, and strong.”

She blushed and didn’t respond.

“Sword practice?” suggested Ben.

“No,” replied Amelie. “It’s too dark for one, and I think I had better to work up to that level of activity.”

“The Ohms then?”

Amelie shrugged. “Let’s give it a try.”

The floor of the tunnel wasn’t flat, but the rushing water had worn it smooth. A small adjustment to compensate for the slope, and they were able to begin the motions of the Ohms. Jasper prepared dinner then sat back and watched. Dinner preparation didn’t take long since they had no fuel for a fire. Cold meat, hard cheese, and biscuits would have to do until they resurfaced.

Ben stretched and balanced fluidly, working through each series with confidence. Amelie followed his motions, shadowing a half a breath behind. The only source of light was Jasper’s stone. Their movements created wild shadow monsters on the side of the nearby tunnel.

When they got to the end of Amelie’s knowledge, Ben stopped and began teaching her the next series. She was naturally graceful, but in the dim light, it was difficult because she couldn’t see the intricacies of where he placed his hands or how he twisted his body. After half a bell, they paused to catch their breath.

“Work up an appetite yet?” asked Jasper.

Amelie nodded and plopped down next to where he’d laid out the food.

The mage continued, “Did Rhys teach you how to do that?”

Ben paused on the way to sit with the others. He was within a short leap to his longsword.

“How do you know Rhys?” asked Ben. They’d left the rogue’s name out of their story.

“Surely by now you know I mean you no harm,” complained the mage. “Come and sit.”

Cautiously, Ben shuffled over to crouch by Amelie.

“I spent some time in Qooten,” continued Jasper.

Ben frowned. That sounded familiar, but he had no idea where Qooten was.

“Qooten is a country in the southern continent, a bit further south than Ooswam. It’s where the Ohms originated,” explained Jasper, noting Ben’s expression. “I don’t know them myself, but I spent enough time in Qooten to recognize the sequences. Rhys is the only man I can think of who would have convinced the Dirhadji to teach him. They’re a difficult bunch. Also, I recall you spoke about a rogue assisting you in your flight from the Sanctuary and adventures in the Wilds. Who else could it be?”

“That doesn’t answer how you know him,” pressed Ben.

Jasper sighed. “You run around with that scoundrel and you’re suspicious of me? My feelings are hurt. I know Rhys from long ago, from before he went to work for the Sanctuary. You know what he is, right?”

Ben hesitated then responded, “We have an idea, but why don’t you tell us.”

“Rhys would tell you that he solves problems,” replied Jasper sourly. “Usually, those problems are people. If you have a person you need to remove, you contact him, and your problem is gone. Of course, a large sack of your gold is also gone, but that’s the price for political expediency, isn’t it?”

Ben frowned. Amelie gripped his hand. Ben had told the truth. They had an inkling of what Rhys did, but it was disturbing to hear it said so plainly by someone who was still a relative stranger.

“In polite society, amongst the flowered gardens and perfumed banquet halls of the lords and ladies,” continued Jasper, “people with these skills are referred to as hunters. A more accurate term, in my view, is assassin.”

“Rhys is a good man,” complained Amelie.

“If you say so,” allowed Jasper. “That is your experience with him. My experience tells me differently.”

“Rhys has been very honest with us,” challenged Ben. “He told us there are a lot of things in his past that he regrets. He’s changed now.”

“Maybe he has,” replied Jasper. “It’s been decades since I’ve seen him. Men like he and I, the world moves slowly for us. We forget that things can change quickly. Even people can change quickly. Maybe what you say is true. Maybe he is a good man now.”

“He’s not helping us because we’re paying him or anything like that,” argued Ben. “He helped us because he thought it was the right thing to do.”

Jasper drank from his water skin then responded, “Whether you call them hunters or assassins, that profession has existed for a long time. Some of its practitioners are desperate and are just trying to put food on the table through any means necessary. Others are merely unscrupulous people who have lost their moral compass. They’ll bash your neighbor’s head for you if you give them a fistful of silver. Another sort have more complicated motivations. A man like Rhys, with his skills, has no problem earning a decent wage. He could hire himself to any lord and get paid a fortune. If the wanderlust is too strong, there are plenty of places like the Wilds where a fighting man can collect an honest bounty. Rhys doesn’t do what he does because he wants to earn gold. No, I think he does it because of the challenge.”

“What do you mean?” queried Ben.

“Rhys was unique, well, almost unique, for a hunter,” responded Jasper. “Plenty of skilled assassins are willing to risk their life on a difficult target if the price is right. They play a dangerous game and they know it. Very few of them will target a mage, though. The reward is never worth that much risk. Rhys would accept a commission on any target, no matter how dangerous the quarry.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” interjected Amelie. “Rhys works for the Sanctuary. Why would they hire him if he was doing what you say and assassinating mages?”

“Not all mages are part of the Sanctuary,” reminded Jasper. He tapped his chest to drive the point home.

“Is that why you don’t like Rhys? He attacked you?” asked Ben.

“No,” answered Jasper, “but he has gone after people I know, my friends. A lot of good people have fallen to his blade. You say the man has changed, and I hope that is true, but I have to wonder. Why else would he work for the Sanctuary? What else do they need him to do except track down people like me?”

Ben cringed. “He quit the Sanctuary. He doesn’t answer to the Veil any longer.”

Jasper shrugged. “If you say so. If I see him again, I plan to discuss things with him. We have years of history to resolve, and there are things he needs to pay for.”

Ben didn’t respond. Instead, he lay down atop his bedroll. He slept fitfully. This time, it wasn’t the oppressive darkness or the tight confines of the tunnel that bothered him. It was Jasper’s comments about Rhys. Ben knew his friend wasn’t always a good person, but Jasper’s personal experience was disturbing. He didn’t doubt the mage’s tale. The man had no reason to lie, and it did fit with what Rhys said about himself.

Amelie, who was huddled close to Ben on the rock floor, whispered, “He’s talking about a person he knows. That doesn’t change who we know.”

Ben snaked a hand out from under his bedroll and gripped Amelie’s hand. She was right. The man they knew was a good person, despite whatever he’d done in the past. People change, and no one is past redemption, right?

Ben drifted to sleep, rolling the question over in his mind.

***

Three more days of hiking down the smooth rock tunnel and they finally found something different.

Ben was relieved. His discomfort with being underground had faded into boredom. There was nothing to see in the tunnel except smooth rock walls. The light from Jasper’s stone only extended ten paces in front of them so there wasn’t even much rock to see. It was like an unending dream, pace after pace of water-worn rock descending into a giant black hole of nothing. It lulled him into a daze. He was so lost in the daze that he didn’t notice the changes to the environment when they started happening.

“Something is different,” declared Amelie from behind. She was bringing up the rear, shining the light for Ben and Jasper to walk by.

“Moisture in the air,” commented the mage. “We’re approaching the lake.”

They hiked another half bell before they finally arrived. At first, it didn’t look much different from the tunnel they’d been walking through. The light of the stone only stretched so far. It revealed a slightly sloping rock bank, walls extending out of sight, and crystal clear water. The water was almost invisible, it was so clear and motionless. When they stopped walking, Ben noticed something else. High above them, a subtle blue-green glow stretched across the ceiling of what he assumed was a cave.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing above their heads.

“Lichen,” answered Jasper. “It’s bioluminescent.”

Ben blinked back at the mage.

“It glows naturally.”

“Ah,” remarked Ben. He continued looking up at the glow, trying to guess how far into the distance it extended. It was impossible to tell in the black of the cave.

“Is the water safe?” asked Amelie, staring at the edge and shining the light into the clear liquid.

“It’s the cleanest water you’ll ever drink,” responded Jasper jovially. “The water comes from a mountain spring above, pours down the tunnel we just walked, and then lies down here, motionless. The sediment falls to the bottom and the stuff up top is completely pure. Try it.”

The mage was walking into the darkness as he spoke, down the rock embankment.

Amelie bent and scooped up a handful of water. She splashed it in her mouth and grunted appreciatively. She then unhooked her water skin from her pack and plunged it into the lake.

A scrape across the rock drew Ben’s attention. He saw Jasper emerge back into the light. He was dragging a small dinghy behind him.

“We’re going to boat across the lake?” asked Ben.

“It’s the only way,” answered Jasper. “This embankment ends in about one hundred paces and there is no walkable path around. It’s a half-day ride in the boat to cross. You’d never make it swimming.”

They rested one more night on the rocky bank before embarking on the boat. It was a tight fit between the three of them and Jasper’s log of anima-wood. Amelie sat in front, holding the light ahead to scout where they were going. Ben sat in the middle and Jasper took the rear. The mage would begin rowing then Ben would take over when the older man got tired. Amelie offered to help, but with her still-healing collarbone, they refused.

When Jasper pushed them away from the bank and hopped in the boat, Ben gripped the gunwales. The side of the boat dipped perilously close to the water. If they got further out onto the lake and took on water or flipped, it could be fatal.

Jasper, back turned to Ben, dunked the oars into the clear water and pulled, propelling the boat across the glass smooth surface.

Periodically, as they skimmed across the lake, rock structures would rise out of the water or dip down from a low point in the roof of the cave. Dimly glowing mats of lichen occasionally brightened their journey, but frequently they were so high or so sporadic that the stone Amelie held was the only source of light.

“What if we take a wrong turn?” asked Ben during one stretch of uninterrupted blackness. “We could be circling out here for days.”

“There are some landmarks,” grunted Jasper, taking another pull on the oars and shooting them forward a couple of paces.

Ben and Amelie settled down. In the huge open space of the cavern, Ben’s discomfort with being underground lessened.

The only sounds were the slap of Jasper’s oars churning through the water and the waves the little boat made as it glided along. Ben stared at the shifting patterns of lichen and relaxed for the first time in three days. He inhaled deeply of the damp air and let it out slowly. Strange, he thought, how the obvious danger of a small boat on open water was so much more comfortable to him than the solid ground of the tunnel. Fear was a funny thing.

Amelie, leaning against the prow of the boat, suddenly perked up.

“What is that?” she asked.

Ben looked around her shoulder and saw the light of the stone was reflecting on something.

“Right on target,” declared Jasper. “That is the object I believe the miners of old were searching for when they tunneled down here.”

The closer they got, the more apparent it became that hanging down from the ceiling of the cavern, high above their boat, was a kingdom’s wealth of gemstones.

Jasper took a break from rowing and they drifted underneath the cluster.

“Ercidite,” he said.

Amelie looked back at him then up at the gems with open-mouthed wonder.

“For my eighteenth winter, my father gave me a necklace with an ercidite stone,” she said. “It was smaller than the nail on my pinky finger. It was the most valuable piece of jewelry he ever gave me. Even my mother was jealous. She didn’t speak to my father for a month. He tried to make it up to her, to buy her an even larger ercidite stone, but he couldn’t find one available at any price. I don’t think she ever forgave him for that. In her mind, he’d put his daughter above his wife.”

“That was awfully kind of your father,” murmured Jasper. “Not many fathers can afford ercidite jewelry for a daughter. Only a handful of very powerful lords, I’d imagine. You must have forgotten to tell me that part of your story. Anything else you didn’t mention?”

“We told the important pieces,” claimed Amelie.

Jasper snorted but didn’t reply.

High above them, the sparkling cluster could have filled a house.

Ben shifted in the boat, looking around.

“That’s one hundred paces above us,” mentioned Jasper. “The bottom of the lake is deep here, about five hundred paces. The ercidite is growing in a crack in the rock. I’ve delved it so I know. The crack extends a good two-hundred paces high then fans out. If the ercidite was somehow freed, I believe a couple thousand wagons worth of rock would come crashing down on top of it.”

Ben looked around them. Total darkness encapsulated them, the water, and unimaginable wealth.

“You can’t get it down,” surmised Amelie.

“No, I can’t,” said Jasper with a chuckle. “I’ve thought about it. I strongly suspect the miners who came down here made an effort. They must have been skilled and determined people, but there it is, still hanging above us.”

Ben started, “Couldn’t you—”

“Dig down through the mountain? There is a league and a half of hard granite above our heads.”

“How about—”

“Five hundred paces of water below us. You can’t sink pilings that deep. Besides, even if you did, you be flattened when the rock above the gemstones came down with them.”

“Couldn’t you break off a small piece using magic?” wondered Ben.

Jasper chuckled behind him. “Ercidite is hard, harder than diamond. Applying enough force to shatter the gem while that much rock is hanging above me isn’t something I’ve been bold enough to try. And if you’re not directly below to catch the falling pieces, then anything that breaks off will be lost in the depths of this lake.”

Ben frowned at the brightly sparkling ercidite. In the black of the cavern, it was as if every star on the clearest of nights had been swept into one tiny corner of sky. The rest of the night was barren, but that one corner blazed like a cold, silver sun.

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who comes through here,” continued Jasper. “I suspect it’s been centuries since anyone saw these stones without me. In a way, I think that makes those gems mine. I could make an argument that I’m the wealthiest man in Alcott. It’s not that different, is it, storing my wealth under a mountain instead of in a bank?”

Amelie laughed, the happy sounds dancing across the water around them then disappearing into the vastness of the cavern.

“Do you ever think about what your life would be like if you did get those gems down?” she asked.

“With that kind of wealth,” answered Jasper, “I could buy Whitehall from King Argren and he’d walk away whistling a happy tune. His heirs would send me gifts and toast me every new year. But then what? I’d have a big, white headache. The Coalition would be a thorn in my side and my allies would be constantly hounding me for favors. No, I think if I had all of that, I’d be doing the exact same thing I do now. Spend my time making devices, enjoying what the world has to offer, and tweaking the Veil. Nothing wrong with that kind of life.”

“You wouldn’t even pay a washwoman to sweep your hearth and do your laundry?” jested Ben.

“Maybe that,” conceded Jasper. “Now that you’ve got me thinking though, I’d pay for an endless supply of good ale too. There’s absolutely nothing better than sitting on my back porch, looking over the stream and mountains behind my house while sipping a cold mug of ale.”

“I understand that,” agreed Ben. “I’d give an awful lot to be back in my brewery, taste-testing a new batch right before I roll it off to the customer. For me, there’s nothing better than finishing a hard day’s work like that.”

“Your brewery?” queried Jasper.

Ben looked back at the man, only able to see him by the light reflecting from the ercidite. “Before I got caught up with bad company,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder at Amelie, “I was a brewer.”

“He was a good one too,” chimed in Amelie. “He was taking over the City before we had to leave. He had a warehouse and an entire team of people assisting brewing and delivering the ale.”

“I thought you were a logger?” questioned Jasper.

“I grew up in a logging town,” replied Ben. “I was the brewer there.”

“We need to stop this fuddling around,” groaned Jasper, dipping his oars back into the still water and pulling hard. “It’s been months since I’ve had a really good ale. When we reach my house, you’ve got work to do, master brewer.”

They shot through the water after that, the wake spreading behind as Jasper powered them ahead. Ben offered to take a shift, but the man declined. His back bent and straightened, smoothly rocking on the oars.

“When we get to my home, I am serious,” said Jasper. “I want you to teach me to brew a good ale. I’ve learned a lot in my life, but my ale still tastes like a pig’s leftovers. My friends tell me it’s not fit for consumption. Teach me to brew, and I’ll row you across a thousand lakes.”

“Ben, you really know the way to a man’s heart,” teased Amelie.

“You want me to give you a few pointers?” he retorted.

Amelie turned around in her seat and let the light flicker out. She leaned forward. Ben felt her soft lips against his ear. She whispered, “I think I know a thing or two about how to make a man happy, don’t you agree?”

Her hot breath on his ear sent a tingle down his spine. Her hair brushed across his neck and he swallowed. He thought he could sense her body, hovering a finger-width away from him.

“If you two want to get frisky in the boat, do it while I’m not in here,” complained Jasper. “We’re still a bell away from the far shore. That’s longer than I’d like to swim if you flip us over.”

Amelie sat back and the light flicked on.

“Sorry. Just reminding Master Ashwood of a few things,” demurred Amelie. “He talks about ale for a few minutes and it’s like all sense goes out of him.”

Back into the Light

Four days later, they emerged from a narrow mining tunnel. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. His nerves had frayed to the point he thought he’d go crazy. Clean mountain air filled his lungs as he took his first deep breath in the open. The scent of pine filled his nostrils. He surveyed their surroundings.

They stood on the slope of a long valley. Pine and aspen grew in swaths across the valley floor and up the sides. A lake sparkled in the distance. As far as he could see, there was no human habitation. The valley extended maybe a week’s walk. It was closed at the far end and he saw no low points in the surrounding mountain range. There was no obvious entry or exit.

“It’s warm,” remarked Amelie.

Jasper, hefting the log of anima-wood, responded, “A unique quirk of this geography. The valley is set high in the hills and has steep sides so it doesn’t draw a lot of weather from the surrounding area. It makes for milder winters, milder summers.”

“This is your home?” asked Ben. The terrain was beautiful, but he’d been looking forward to sleeping inside for a change.

“There’s a roof and four walls. Don’t worry,” replied Jasper. “We have another day of hiking before we get there. Come on. The sooner we start, the quicker we arrive.”

Ben stared around the sylvan valley as they passed below the tree line. Fallen pine needles whispered underfoot.

Jasper, taking long strides down the slope, looked back at Ben and Amelie. “Come on. Aside from that little stop at Creegan’s, I’ve been underground or on the road for the last four weeks. I can taste the mutton shank now. The ale is no good, but we should have some decent wine left.”

“Mutton. You have sheep?” asked Ben. “What do they do when you’re gone?”

“There are a few permanent residents of this valley in addition to myself,” replied Jasper.

“Mages?” asked Amelie.

“Sometimes they like to think so, but no. I’m the only one here who is a real practitioner. These are people who are just looking to get away. They are tired of the system of the lords and ladies. Some of them find their way here. I personally don’t see how it’s much different. They live in my valley, and they follow my rules, but that is their choice. They help by tending to my sheep and other domestic tasks so I don’t complain.”

“That sounds like Free State,” murmured Ben.

Jasper glanced at him sharply. “Free State?”

“People who are tired of living under the thumbs of the lords and ladies,” answered Ben. “We’ve encountered two of them now, little communities of people who are trying to make their own way apart from the world.”

“Two of them,” queried the mage, “where?”

“One in the wilderness northeast of the City and one that was at the edge of the Wilds,” answered Ben. “That one…”

He didn’t need to finish.

Jasper, shaking his head, muttered under his breath, “He’s really trying to do it, the fool.”

Ben glanced at Amelie and she shrugged. He thought about pressing Jasper for more, but the serenity of the valley washed over him. After a week underground, it was difficult to gather his thoughts with such lush beauty surrounding them. He decided he’d question the mage later.

They hiked toward the broad, flat tree-covered floor of the valley. They were headed in the direction of the lake, which made sense to Ben. Wherever Jasper built his house, it would be near fresh water.

Morning sun turned to midday sun and Ben started to get warm. The hiking wasn’t strenuous, but it was warmer than the winter on the other side of the tunnel. In the valley, snow hid in the shade behind trees and boulders. Where the sun could reach, the forest floor was clear of it. Ben noticed Jasper’s strides getting longer and the man’s pace quickening. Ready to get home, thought Ben.

Or maybe it was something else. A nagging sensation started to bother him, something about the silent, peaceful forest. It was silent, unnaturally so.

“Jasper,” called Ben. “I don’t hear any forest critters or bird calls. I thought I saw a few squirrels scampering away when we emerged from the mine, but nothing now. Is that normal?”

The mage stopped walking and looked around.

“No, that is not normal,” he answered with a grimace. “I thought something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. You are right. Normally, we’d be hearing bird calls and the chatter of small animals, maybe even see some deer or elk.”

“Demons?” asked Amelie. She was fingering the hilt of her rapier.

“I’m not sure,” admitted the mage. “It could be, but this valley is warded. Any demon entering would have tripped those wards and alerted my friends. They are not mages, but they do know how to defend themselves for the most part.”

The more they spoke about it, the more Ben realized that the silence in the trees was exactly like the Wilds. On the surface, all seemed peaceful, but the lack of noise, the lack of life, portended a deadly threat.

“If there are demons, we’ll be safest in my compound with the others,” said Jasper. “Let’s keep moving. Keep your weapons ready.”

They hurried, sliding and slipping across the pine needle-covered slope. By midafternoon, they made it to the floor of the valley and into a stand of bare-branched aspens. The white bark of the trees made Ben cringe. The Wilds were populated with birch trees, which had a similar white bark. Ben had seen enough demons passing around those trunks to be uncomfortable.

“Another bell,” declared Jasper. “Soon, we should start hearing sounds from the compound and smelling smoke.”

The closer they drew, the more obvious it became something wasn’t right. It was too quiet. Ben swallowed. He had nearly identical thoughts a bell north of Free State when they were returning from the Wilds.

Amelie shared a look with him. She tightened her travel pack and pushed her cloak clear of the hilts of her weapons.

The sun was setting behind the mountains when they finally arrived at Jasper’s compound. It sat underneath massive, century-old pine trees. The trees spread out high above, providing shade and, Ben suspected, coverage from far-seeing. There were seven or eight buildings he could see and a paddock off to one side for animals.

“Damn,” muttered Jasper.

No smoke escaped the chimneys and nothing was moving.

In one open doorway, Ben spied a booted foot. He drew his longsword and gestured for Amelie to draw her arms as well.

“Let’s stick together,” suggested Jasper, dropping his log of anima-wood. He still didn’t draw the sword at his side. “There are normally eight people living here in addition to myself. There could be more if we have guests. Chickens and pigs are kept close. Cows and sheep graze in a pasture about half a bell to the east.” The mage started pointing toward buildings, “The main house is there, two guest houses, a livestock barn, chicken coop, mundane crafts like brewing and carpentry there, my particular crafts over in that one on the far side.” He looked at Ben and Amelie, “Don’t go in there without me for your own safety. Finally, that’s the laboratory through the trees. Whatever you do, don’t start messing around in that building. I keep volatile chemicals there. They can be deadly.”

“We won’t go in,” agreed Ben, noting that Jasper had built the laboratory several hundred paces from where he slept.

They stayed together, and quickly searched the buildings and grounds. By now, Ben and Amelie knew what to expect. They’d done this before. It was still disturbing though, to see the twisted and torn corpses. All the livestock was slaughtered in their paddocks. They’d been drained of life-blood. People had clearly been caught unawares, though a few had made attempts to defend themselves.

“You said the valley is warded?” asked Amelie, stepping delicately around a shirtless man who’d fallen halfway between the main house and a guest house.

“Not well enough,” said Jasper with a scowl. “The ridge around here is ringed with devices, but they fail sometimes and have to be replaced. We check regularly. The odds are low that a demon would happen to enter where one of the wards failed.”

“That would be exceptionally lucky, or maybe a highly perceptive arch-demon could sense the gap?” suggested Ben.

Jasper grunted, but didn’t comment.

Ben nudged Amelie and she nodded understanding. Before the Wilds, Ben had never heard of an arch-demon. Even among the fanciful stories he grew up listening to, there was no allusion to the creatures. Jasper, however, was familiar enough with them to not question Ben’s assertion that an arch-demon might be able to detect a failed ward.

They followed the mage as he led the search through the rest of the compound. He progressed quickly, but a black look painted his face at each new body they found. These were his friends and companions. All of them were dead.

Twenty paces from Jasper’s magical workshop, they found a ninth body. The mage rushed forward and turned over a woman.

“Erran,” he mumbled under his breath. To Ben and Amelie, he explained, “She’s a mage. Was a mage, I mean.”

Ben glanced around then pointed behind the barn. On the ground were half a dozen dark shapes. They walked close enough to see they were demons.

“She didn’t go quietly,” murmured Ben.

“She must have been surprised like the others,” concluded Jasper. “She fought off a wave and tried to run to my workshop. There are devices in there she could have used.”

“Was she skilled?” asked Amelie.

“Erran had four years training in the Sanctuary and maybe a dozen years outside. I’d taught her a few things about combat. She was skilled enough to survive an attack by a few demons.”

Amelie clearly had more questions to ask about Erran, but for now, she held off. The pain was too evident in Jasper’s face to pester him.

Ben stepped next to Amelie and squeezed her arm. She leaned against him briefly. Then they followed behind Jasper to his laboratory. It was untouched.

“Nothing alive to feast on,” grumbled the mage, turning to the main compound.

“What can we do to help?” asked Ben.

A bestial roar tore through the quiet of the compound, startling and interrupting Ben. He spun and saw a dozen demons were streaking through the darkening forest. They were still one hundred paces away but coming fast. Towering behind the others stood the arch-demon. It let its minions race ahead, then, with booming footsteps, charged after them.

“Damn,” barked Jasper. “How did that thing sneak so close!”

Ben felt the whirling of a strong wind building inside his head. He stepped forward, prepared the meet the first wave.

Jasper finally drew his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben couldn’t tell anything special about it, until it burst into flame. Along the length of the blade, a scorching hot, blue flame flickered. The mage’s other hand suddenly ignited as well. The heat from Jasper’s flames kissed the side of Ben’s cheek. He shuffled away from the mage. Jasper didn’t seem affected by the flaming sword or the fire burning on his balled fist. He was focused ahead.

“When they get close,” shouted Ben, “I’ll knock them down with wind. It probably won’t stop the arch-demon, but it will buy us time with the others.”

Jasper grunted in response.

Twenty-five paces and closing. Ben pulled his hand back and waited, the sound of the wind rising to a deafening crescendo. Ten paces and he released the force of a mountain storm. The wind blasted ahead, picking up and tossing the demons like marbles thrown by a child. They tumbled and rolled back, guttural howls screaming in frustration.

The arch-demon squatted in the face of Ben’s wind and wrapped its wings tight. The wind battered the huge creature, but didn’t knock it down. When the wind died, the arch-demon rose to its full height. It was massive, twice the height of a man. It roared at them, a brutal aural assault. Ben wanted to drop his longsword and cover his ears.

From behind them, a scattering of sparks flew forward. Amelie’s magic, realized Ben. The arch-demon swept a hand through the air and the sparks swirled harmlessly away.

“Nice work, but let me handle this one,” suggested Jasper calmly.

The mage strode forward, not running, but not walking either. He seemed to float across the ground until he was standing in front of the arch-demon. Only half its height, he didn’t look intimidated. His sword and free hand blazed with blue fire. The arch-demon shrieked and brought a heavy clawed hand down on the mage, trying to crush him into the dirt.

Jasper raised his burning hand and the blue fire flared brilliantly. The demon’s fist smashed into the mage’s raised arm. The mage withstood the blow and the demon stumbled backward in confusion, clasping its smoking fist and howling in pain.

Leaping forward, Jasper thrust his burning sword into the demon’s abdomen. Where his blade pierced it, the blue fire ignited. The flames grew on the demon’s body, licking their way up to its chest and down toward its legs. It was scrambling away from the mage now, slapping at itself, trying to extinguish the fire, confused and angered by the pain it was in.

“Whoa,” mumbled Amelie, spellbound at what the mage was doing to the huge arch-demon.

Ben stood transfixed, unable to look away from the arch-demon.

The smaller demons finally recovered and charged forward, rushing to protect their leader. Jasper launched a fistful of the blue fire at the first one, catching it in the face. The fire engulfed its head and it went down shrieking.

“Go help him!” shouted Amelie.

Ben shook himself out of a stupor and ran to help Jasper, though, the man didn’t seem to need it. The arch-demon had fallen to its knees, tearing at its own skin, futilely trying to stop the horrific blue flames that were now covering its entire body. The rest of the demons were swarming around the mage, trying to reach him with outstretched claws. He spun amongst them like a top, veering from side to side, lashing out with his flaming sword as he dodged the demon’s attacks. When one got too close, he’d met it with his flaming hand and the creatures would fall back, wailing in agony.

Ben arrived in time to stab one of the creatures in the back. It was facing the mage and had no idea Ben was behind it. Another demon spun toward him. Ben neatly lopped its head off.

Jasper felled three of them in one blurred motion, spinning around and completing the circle before the first body dropped.

Ben thrust his sword into another distracted demon, lancing deep into its chest. It weakly lifted a clawed hand, but the blow was fatal, and it fell away before it could threaten him.

Jasper tossed a ball of blue fire which exploded around another. Then he turned to face the last remaining creature. Contrary to everything Ben knew about demons, the thing turned and fled.

Jasper sheathed his sword and gestured after it. “Chase that one down. We can’t leave it alive in this valley.”

Grunting, Ben followed orders without complaint. The mage killed an arch-demon with the same ease and confidence he shaved his chin every morning. You didn’t argue with a man like that.

Ben, holding his sword in front of him, ran after the fleeing demon. The thing was fast, faster than him. After summoning the wind in his head, struggling to raise sufficient force after unleashing it so recently, Ben sent it streaking ahead, willing it to race along the pine-needle covered ground. His wind caught the demon from behind and tumbled it head over heels.

In heartbeats, Ben caught up to it. The creature was done running. With a snarl, it scrambled off its back and surged at Ben. Caught by surprise, he jumped back, swinging his sword and cutting deep into a muscled arm.

The demon kept coming, enraged.

Ben scrambled to the side and finally got his footing. The next time the demon came at him, he was ready. He lunged forward to meet its charge, sticking the razor-sharp point of his blade into the beast’s eye, plunging deep into its skull. It fell to the ground, motionless.

Panting, Ben turned to look at his companions. They were both standing there calmly, watching him. Behind them, the flames died out on the bodies of the demons Jasper killed.

The sun sank behind the mountains around them. Under the trees, it was almost as black as the darkest night.

***

Thankfully, none of the human bodies they found were in the main house. The attack must have happened during the day when people were about the property doing chores. Inside the comfortable walls of Jasper’s home, it was easy to ignore what happened outside.

They had started a fire in a large hearth and were sitting around it in comfortable chairs. Jasper was staring morosely into the flames, waiting on a stewpot to boil. The man had whipped the meal together with none of his usual zest for cooking.

A small keg of wine sat between them. Jasper had breached it, not bothering to pound in a tap. Repeatedly, he’d dunked his mug to fill it with the dark red liquid. It was only middling quality, but Ben didn’t have the heart to tell the mage. Also, after finding the torn bodies of Jasper’s friends and battling the demons, any wine was good wine.

“There will be more incidents like this, you know,” remarked Jasper. “All over the north, except they won’t have me, and they won’t have you to defend them. Demons fleeing Northport or coming across fresh will cover the north. More attacks, more slaughter.”

Ben grimaced.

“Lord Rhymer is intending to send out hunting parties,” mentioned Amelie. “They won’t find all of them, but they should be able to thin it out. The individuals can be dealt with.”

Jasper shook his head. “The battle of Northport was just the beginning. The swarms you described, that is terrible, but now that they are dispersed, it will be worse. The swarm we fought today, that could overrun any town within fifty leagues of here. Think about it, they’ll roam unopposed across the northlands. By the time they turn south, they will have fed on the life-blood of thousands. That means larger swarms and more mature arch-demons. Without a concentrated effort to stop them, all of Alcott could be in danger.”

Ben nervously cradled his ale mug. “We know.” He shared a look with Amelie. “There are some details we left out of our story.”

Jasper raised an eyebrow, waiting for Ben to continue.

“We told you we were going to Irrefort to meet our companions, Rhys, who you already guessed, a hunter from Northport who travelled the Wilds with us, and a former mage of the Sanctuary, Lady Towaal. We didn’t tell you about her earlier because, well, she’s from the Sanctuary. We didn’t know how you’d react to that. After seeing Erran today, I think you’ll understand that Towaal has left the Sanctuary and is committed to helping us. I hope you understand at least.”

“I can appreciate why you were cautious,” assured Jasper. His eyes had widened at the mention of Towaal’s name. “Your tale is more, ah, complicated than I initially suspected. You’re right to not trust everyone you meet.”

“There’s something else,” mumbled Ben.

Amelie took up the narrative. “We are not just meeting our friends in Irrefort. We’re also looking for someone. We hope to find a representative of a group called the Purple.”

Jasper frowned and sipped at his wine before responding. “That is an old name.”

“We met someone in Northport who we believe was one of the Purple. The Librarian.” Amelie paused, waiting to see if Jasper would speak up. He didn’t. She continued, “Information we gathered there, well, information Lady Towaal gathered led us to believe that another member of the Purple could be found in Irrefort. We hope to find this person, tell them what happened with the Rift, and ask for their advice. Lady Towaal has something that may help. A key which could have been used to close the Rift, and it can be used to make more of them.”

“You are sure it can create a rift?” asked the mage, sitting forward in his chair.

Ben nodded grimly. They’d seen it. “We are sure.”

Jasper stood and began pacing back and forth in front of the brick hearth, his wine mug swinging as he walked.

“Do you know of the Purple?” Ben asked.

“I do,” responded Jasper. He paused and surveyed the young people. “You two certainly manage to find yourselves in all of the wrong spots.”

“I guess we’re just lucky.” Ben smirked wryly.

Jasper chuckled, breaking the solemnity of the discussion. He downed his wine and filled another.

“Luck, you could call it that,” remarked the mage.

“The Purple,” reminded Amelie.

Jasper sighed. “They’re an old group, and they act like it. Far too stuffy for my taste, but, you’re right. They should be told about the Rift. They’re the ones who created it in the first place, and they would know best how to deal with its closure.”

“Can you tell us what you know of the Purple?” queried Amelie.

Rubbing a hand over his short-cropped hair, Jasper began pacing again. “I wasn’t aware any of them still survived, or I would have attempted contact as soon as I learned about the Rift. If they’re in Irrefort, well, I don’t go there.” The mage sighed and stood at the hearth, looking into the flames. “A long time ago, before the Sanctuary existed in its present form, the world was a dangerous place. Demons roamed freely. People lived in fortified enclaves, city states. They only travelled outside in groups. Contact between the city states was rare and only for limited commerce. There was no coordination or organized resistance to what everyone knew was the real enemy, the demons. Year after year, it only seemed to get worse. More demons, more deaths. Some of the minor city states got overrun.”

He looked to see if Ben and Amelie were paying attention.

Then he continued, “Keep in mind these were places that defended themselves for generations, and they were failing. Mages, trained for battle and hired to protect merchant caravans, were the ones who saw it most clearly. Those mages started talking. They began organizing in fraternities and making a coordinated effort to push back the darkness.”

Ben refilled his wine and sat back, captivated. He’d never heard anything like this.

Jasper, lost in his story, kept talking. “The Purple, the Sanctuary, they both originated in this time. There were others. The Guild, The Society of the Burning Hand, and The Cold Sons. They’ve mostly faded away throughout the years. Only the Sanctuary retains some of the old glory.” The mage sipped on his wine then expanded, “The Purple were a group of thinkers, philosophers almost. The Sanctuary was originally focused on healing, both wounds of the body and the emotional wounds of the populace. Because of their skill at healing the body, the Sanctuary’s representatives were welcomed everywhere. They became the first true diplomats. While the Sanctuary began tying together the factitious cities, trying to achieve some semblance of coordinated resistance, the Purple began researching ways to permanently blunt the threat of the demons. I wasn’t involved in either group. Much of what I know is second hand at best.”

Ben shifted in his chair. “How long ago did you say this was?”

Jasper grinned. “Very long ago. That’s not the point of this story. The Purple had several options they were researching, weapons or barriers mostly. Surprisingly, what proved most effective was the opposite, the Rift. By directing the generation of demons in our world, they made exterminating new arrivals a manageable process. It became predictable. They established the system of hunters, and the leaders of the city states banded together to make it work. Over the course of a few short decades, the demon population was shrinking. No new arrivals meant that each time a demon was eliminated, that was one fewer in a particular region. The world became a safer place. The lines of communication that the Sanctuary and others opened were suddenly even more useful. Trade, which had previously been exceptionally dangerous, became common place. The economies of many cities expanded rapidly. The leaders of those cities were able to extend their reach outside of their high walls and regional governments started. That brought more wealth as well as new resources were tapped and less had to be spent on defense. It was a golden age, in a sense.”

Jasper bent to place another log on the fire. His figure was silhouetted by the flames in the hearth.

“Many people say that golden age eventually came to an end,” continued Jasper solemnly. “The wars, the squabbling we have now, it didn’t exist for a precious century. There was plenty for everyone. Still, today is better than it was in the dark times. People can travel freely. They raise their families without fear. When there is war, it is self-inflicted by the lords people allow to rule them.”

“But,” interjected Ben, “what about this new wave of demons that is loose in the north? You said it yourself. A swarm like the one we fought today could overrun any town within fifty leagues of here. Without the Rift, without the institutions and protections that people had back then, couldn’t it get worse if we don’t act?”

Frowning, Jasper sat back down in his chair. “It could. If something isn’t done, then maybe it is likely it will be worse,” allowed the mage, “but the nature of man is to only focus on what is in front of him. A vague threat to the north isn’t enough to spur southerners to action. Coordinating a resistance is unlikely. Many won’t act until they are forced to, when they have no other choice.”

“Someone has to do something, and it can’t just be a few people,” argued Ben. “The Alliance and the Coalition, the Sanctuary and the Purple, they could band together like they did back then. If they keep fighting like they are now, the demons could sweep over the entire continent. Someone has to unite them.”

Jasper stared down at his empty mug. “Who could do such a thing, boy? No one has the power to force all of the warring parties to come together. There is no leader all of them would accept.”

Amelie spoke up. “We don’t know all of the answers, but one thing we do know. It has to start somewhere. Someone has to begin opening everyone’s eyes to what is happening. That someone might as well be us. We’re just an initiate and a swordsman. We can’t stop the demons on our own. No one can. We will do what is in our power though. We have to. We can be the pebbles that start the avalanche.”

Ben nodded to his friend. “Well said,” he murmured.

Jasper abruptly turned away from the fire. “It’s getting late for such dark discussions and I’ve had too much wine. We should turn in for the night.”

Ben ground his teeth. Jasper might be the most powerful person he had ever encountered, someone who could really make a difference if they could convince the mage to help them.

Amelie rested a hand on Ben’s arm. He sighed. He knew what she wanted. She wanted to give Jasper time to think about what they’d said.

The mage stood and gestured for them to follow, “Come. I’ll show you your room.”

“Rooms, if that is possible,” suggested Amelie, a flush creeping into her cheeks.

Jasper blinked in surprise and shrugged. “Oh, I thought… very well, rooms it is. We have plenty of space now.”

Later that evening, Ben knocked on Amelie’s door. She answered quickly. Her hair was down and a single candle lit her from behind.

“Do you think we convinced him to help?” asked Ben.

She shrugged.

Ben paused then whispered, “Jasper thought we were together like a couple.”

“And?” replied Amelie in a low voice.

“Should we have shared a room?” questioned Ben.

“You wish, Master Ashwood. You wish.” Gently, she closed the door in his face.

She was right. He did wish.

***

The next day, with dawn still climbing over the eastern ridge of the valley, Ben pulled on sturdy work gloves and dabbed vinegar on a cloth which he tied around his face. He followed Jasper out into the morning.

The first thing they did was drag all of the fallen demons they could find into a pile surrounding the arch-demon. It was hard work and took them nearly a bell. There were two-dozen demons in total, each nearly twice Ben’s weight. Ben was glad the mage Erran had killed some before they faced the swarm.

Jasper ducked into his laboratory and returned with a jug of clear liquid.

“Too close to the laboratory for this,” he mumbled, “but we’ll have a damn hard time trying to move that arch-demon with just two of us.”

The mage poured the liquid over the bodies of the demons and instructed Ben to back up. From twenty paces away, the mage snapped his fingers. The pile erupted in a giant ball of fire. Ben stumbled back cursing. The heat was uncomfortably warm on his face.

“Now for the hard part,” said Jasper.

They gathered a pick and a pair of shovels. Jasper’s friends would get a proper burial. The mage remained silent about who the bodies were. Ben left him undisturbed, only speaking when they needed to coordinate their efforts. Ben supposed that in all of his years, the mage had buried plenty of friends. That didn’t make it any easier.

While the men were out taking care of the bodies, Amelie had been flitting between the houses, straightening out the interiors and taking inventory of Jasper’s supplies. When Jasper and Ben were done for the day, she told them she had consolidated all of the foodstuffs in the main house, figuring it may be a while before Jasper needed the other houses for guests. For non-food items, she made a note of what was useful and where it was stored.

Amelie had also taken the initiative to prepare a hearty meal. Smoked fish, carrots, potatoes, and celery simmered in a thick stew. She’d found some hard crusts of bread she hollowed out into bread bowls. With the stew ladled in, they softened up nicely. Jasper drug out his wine barrel again and filled three mugs.

Amelie brought out the black, purple embossed book Towaal had given them shortly before they fled.

“I should have shown you this earlier. Lady Towaal handed it to me before we fled Northport,” explained Amelie. “I can’t make any sense of it. The writing is some sort of code, I think.”

Jasper pushed aside his wine and accepted the book. He thumbed through the stiff pages, knitting his eyebrows as he skimmed the words.

“It’s not code. It’s just old. Old language, old versions of our letters,” he said, mumbling under his breath.

“What does it say?” asked Amelie curiously.

“It’s research, I believe,” answered the mage slowly. He was bent close over the book, frowning. “I would have to read closer to be sure, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen writing like this, but it appears to be describing an undeveloped theory of how the two worlds interact, our world and the demon world.”

Ben sipped his wine and let the mage read. It made sense, he supposed. The Purple was able to create a key to open new rifts. They would understand the relationships between the worlds better than anyone.

“According to this,” continued Jasper after several silent minutes, “there is incredible power in the nether between our worlds, power that may be able to be tapped. It could charge magical devices or flow through a practitioner with sufficient will. It could be used as an incredibly destructive force.” Jasper paused. “You are familiar with how magic works, yes? Knowledge and will are used to manipulate energy?”

Ben and Amelie nodded.

“In practice, there are consequences to expending energy. Forces trigger opposite reactions. If I make it hot here,” he said, poking a finger onto the table, “then it will get cold where I drew the heat from. That limits the power of even the strongest willed mage. There is only so much a person can do before the consequences of that action are worse than the intended result. In a simple example, if I send too much heat somewhere else, I will freeze to death. A responsible mage is always concerned about unintended consequences and collateral damage. Even when those consequences aren’t personal, there are things a mage could cause which would be calamitous elsewhere.”

Ben scratched the back of his head. He thought he was following Jasper’s train of thought, but the man was describing theories of magic that seemed a step beyond what he’d overheard Towaal teaching.

“Imagine this,” continued Jasper, “what if a mage could draw energy from a source outside of our world, a source where the mage didn’t care about the consequence of the reaction, a source where energy flowed freely, unseen and unused?”

Amelie speculated, “A clean source of energy could be used indiscriminately. That could massively amplify the powers of a mage.”

“A mage who had sufficient knowledge and will to use it,” clarified Jasper. “If the theory in this diary is correct about the level of energy flowing outside of our world, then there are few alive who would have to ability to handle it, possibly myself, the Veil, one or two more at the Sanctuary, and an old friend named Gunther, if he’s still alive.”

Amelie nodded. “Still, if the theory is true, that would be remarkable.”

Jasper scooped up his wine and sat back. “It’s only a theory.”

“The demons,” stated Ben. His companions looked at him curiously. “The demons in the rift valley survived for centuries. They survived long after they’d drained the nearby life-blood. They were feeding on something that could sustain them. Some sort of energy.”

Jasper titled up his cup and drained the rest of the wine.

“That makes sense,” remarked the mage. “If the rift was drawing on this source of energy to sustain itself, then maybe some of that power was bleeding off, and the demons were able to use it. It’s not well understood how they subsist on life-blood, or what other types of energy could sustain them. I believe you are on to something.”

“Can we, or you, use that power?” asked Amelie, wide-eyed.

Jasper shook his head, “It’s possible I have the will, but I do not have the knowledge. This book ends mid-sentence.” He pointed to the last page, “That drop of blood is ominous, isn’t it?”

Ben glanced at the page and saw a thumb-sized reddish brown stain.

Jasper continued, “In the book, the theory is there, but the particulars are not. Speculation that this incredible source of energy exists is well and good, but unless you know how to tap it, it is just that. Speculation.”

“Could you figure it out?” asked Amelie.

“Maybe with the information that is stated here, if I had time,” responded Jasper. “By time, I mean years. I’m a maker. I work with my hands. I don’t form theories, I conduct experiments. If something is as powerful as this diary describes, you want more than empirical testing. Normally, you would try to consult an expert, but obviously we can’t go to the Sanctuary. Gunther was always interested in these things, but I haven’t seen him in centuries. I wouldn’t know where to start looking for him. Besides, I’ve been down this path before, and it did not go well.”

Ben raised his eyebrow and waited patiently for the mage to continue.

The man grimaced. “I mentioned that long ago there were several fraternities of mages. I was in one called the Society of the Burning Hand. Much like the Purple, we were always pushing the boundary, looking for a way to increase our power. We developed weapons and delved new sources of energy. Some of our members breached a boundary that should have been left untouched.”

“What do you mean?” queried Amelie.

“Death,” replied Jasper somberly. “There is a great deal of energy expelled at the end of life. That energy can be captured and used. We developed tools to capture death energy and convert it into useable form, weapons primarily. We should have left it at that. In hindsight, we should have expected it to go wrong. We’d gone too far, gotten too dark. Some of our members got greedy, and they started causing deaths to increase their power. It was a painful time, and I do not want to speak of it more than necessary, but I assure you, when our Society split, I was on the side of life. I fought and killed my brothers, many of them. I feel like blood still stains my hands from that time, but it had to be done.”

Ben met Amelie’s look. Jasper seemed so friendly and kind, but apparently even he had a dark side.

“Thank you for telling us,” murmured Ben.

With nothing else to say, Ben took a quick a bite of stew and frowned. It had gotten cold. He ladled fresh stew into his bowl and the others followed suit. They ate silently, all lost in their own thoughts.

“I’ve been thinking,” remarked Jasper after several silent minutes. “I want to help you. Help more than I originally intended. I cannot go to Irrefort with you, but I can take you as far as the Coalition’s border. From there, you’ll be on your own, but I’ll have the comfort you are on your way.”

“That would be wonderful!” exclaimed Amelie. “You have so much to do here though. Are you sure you can be away?”

A grim smirk twisted Jasper’s face. “My friends are dead. My animals are dead. There’s nothing left to care for.” Seeing the stricken looks on Ben and Amelie’s faces, he held up a hand to stop their protests. “There is nothing to be done about it. Maybe I will come back and rebuild, but to do that, I need to buy fresh livestock and supplies. Everything that needs to be done here in the compound can wait.”

“We would appreciate your help greatly,” responded Ben.

“Also, that will give me time to teach you a few things,” said the mage, looking at Amelie. “The Sanctuary has been remiss in some of your education. I will fill those gaps as best I can. There are things you should know, and things I can teach you to do.”

Amelie looked startled.

“I told you last night that the original members of the Sanctuary focused on healing,” said Jasper. “At the time, it wasn’t intentionally segregated to be a female organization, but women were the ones who were naturally drawn to the mission. Male mages were drawn to combat. They were the ones who protected caravans travelling between city states and the ones who faced the demon swarms.”

Leaning forward on his elbows, the mage continued, “The first Veil used that. She claimed men were dangerous, violent creatures who wanted to dominate society. As I told you earlier, there were plenty of men around who were like that. The need to dominate is in the blood of some men, just as it turned out it is in the blood of some women. The lords and the ladies, exalting in their newfound economic bounty and regional governance, went right along. They knew the women of the Sanctuary. The Sanctuary had protected and healed the families of the rulers for ages. The men were strangers. They spent their time in the field, away from the throne, so to speak. Before long, the claims the Veil and her minions made were assumed to be true. Men were inherently unable to handle the responsibility that came with being a mage.”

“That’s when the purge began. She started within her own ranks,” continued Jasper. “The men of the Sanctuary were the first to disappear. After them came men on the fringes. They started to vanish one by one. Never a large group. It was always someone who could be picked off without a chance of escape or telling the tale. By the time those of us who could have fought realized what was happening, it was too late. Our brethren were already gone and we stood against the Veil like lone sentinels, spewing the truth to an unhearing world.”

“If the men were trained to fight, how were the Sanctuary’s mages able to overpower them?” wondered Amelie.

“Good question,” acknowledged Jasper. “The most powerful mage, a skilled blademaster, the best archer, they all have to sleep. No matter what skills you achieve, one person can never stop an army. The moment your eyes close, a blade in the night will find your heart. Rather than fighting an unwinnable fight, we went into hiding, the two-dozen or so skilled men who were left standing. Over the years, most of the original group have passed away or been killed. New mages have come along, either teaching themselves the art or learning as an apprentice. It’s never enough though. Including who I know and those I don’t, I’d estimate there aren’t more than a dozen capable male practitioners in Alcott today.”

“Trained as an apprentice?” asked Ben, wide-eyed.

Jasper snorted. “I know what you’re thinking, boy. Unfortunately, you don’t have time for that. I could teach you the basics after several months. That might be worthwhile. Maybe get you competent after a couple of years. True skill takes decades though. If you intend to do as you say, go to Irrefort and find the Purple, you don’t have months to spare.”

Ben frowned.

“I’m helping you, girl,” Jasper said to Amelie, “because you already have a rudimentary understanding of some concepts. In a few weeks while we’re travelling, maybe I can help refine that understanding into something worthwhile, something dangerous.”

Amelie blinked and swallowed. Obviously, the ease with which Jasper took down the arch-demon was stuck in her mind.

Jasper sighed and turned back to Ben. “There is one thing I can do to help you. Tomorrow, we’ll go to my workshop and I’ll fashion you a device, something even you can use.”

***

The next morning, Ben watched as Jasper sawed through the log of anima-wood.

“You’re unskilled,” remarked the mage as he set a tiny-toothed handsaw against the smooth wood.

Ben snorted, but Jasper ignored him.

Continuing, the mage added, “Despite that, I can fashion a simple device that even you can make use of. I thought about it last night, and you already have a weapon. I’ll make you something else. It will work similar to the way you use your sword. It is unintelligent force like when you called the wind. With skill, you could make full use of that blade, but for now, we’ll make do with what you’re capable of.”

Ben’s eyebrows shot higher. “What do you mean full use?”

Jasper glanced up from the log of anima-wood. “The sword serves as a channel for your will. Think of the frozen waterfall and the tunnel we followed underground. When it’s not frozen, the water falls. It is directionless. It flows down the path of least resistance. The tunnel channels it. When the water flows down the tunnel, it has direction. It has purpose. It fills the underground lake. Your will is like that water. Without focus, it is directionless. There is no telling where it will take you. With training, concentration, and practice, you can control that will and utilize it to enact change in the world.”

“And the sword does…” Ben trailed off. He wasn’t sure what Jasper was getting at.

“It helps focus your will into a tangible effect,” answered the mage, “wind, in your case.”

Jasper sighed and laid down the handsaw. He scratched at the back of his neck, obviously struggling to put his thoughts into layman’s terms.

“Wind is a near limitless source of energy,” explained the mage. “It’s around us all of the time, even when we do not feel it. It has no established direction though, just constant motion. It is a force looking for a place to go. Because of that, it is one of the easiest things to manipulate as you are not changing its physical properties, you are just redirecting. When you first used the sword, you must have had a powerful need and had the desire to do something about it.”

Ben nodded and laid a hand on his sword. “I was about to be overrun by demons. It’s fair to say I desired to not be eaten.”

Jasper grinned. “You exerted your will and created a tangible effect, and the sword helped you do it. You took energy that was powerful, directionless, and gave it a push.”

“That sounds like something a mage would do,” replied Ben.

“It is something a mage would do,” agreed Jasper, “but just like a child isn’t a warrior the first time they pick up a stick and swing at an imaginary enemy, you are not a mage.”

Ben frowned. “The demons didn’t think it was a little stick.”

Jasper retrieved his saw and went back to work on the anima-wood. “Of course. What I meant is that the child has a stick but not the warrior’s skill, and you do not have a mage’s skill. That doesn’t mean you can’t swing a stick every now and then. The sword helped you channel your will to do that. This disc will do the same.”

Ben leaned closer as the mage finished sawing off a circular slice of wood from the rest of the log. It was as wide as Ben’s hand and the width of one of his fingers.

“I’ll be able to make the wind blow with it?” he asked quizzically.

“You’ll be able to release a burst of healing energy,” replied the mage. “Living organisms have the ability to grow and heal. Like the wind, it is a natural force that is always there but unfocused. I will charge this device and store energy within it. I’ll carve runes on it that, when activated, can channel your will into directing the energy for healing. When charged sufficiently, it will be like two-week’s rest happens in the course of a minute.”

Ben’s jaw dropped open. “That sounds amazing.”

Jasper winked. “It is amazing. Storing this energy is only possible with a substance like the anima-wood. Only a very skilled mage, such as myself, has the knowledge to carve the runes. In fact, maybe only I am left alive with that knowledge. I could sell the device for at least one hundred gold coins if I could find the right buyer.”

“One hundred gold! That is too generous,” protested Ben. “I can’t take that from a friend!”

Shrugging, Jasper responded, “What would I do with the coins? My biggest purchases are domesticated animals and ale. I have more than enough coin, but I’m currently short on friends. I’d give up any amount of gold to have those friends back.”

Ben winced, remembering the bodies they’d buried the day before.

Jasper sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out so harshly.”

“I can’t imagine what it is like to return and find your home like that,” consoled Ben.

Jasper walked across his workshop and retrieved a slender chisel and a tiny hammer.

“Can I have a few moments alone?” asked the mage. His voice was thick, and the man’s body was taut with tension.

Ben nodded. “I’ll go see if Amelie needs help with dinner. Call for us if there is anything I can do to help.”

Jasper bent to his work and Ben quietly left the workshop.

How to Throw a Fireball

“Proximity.”

Amelie nodded, listening intently to the mage.

“The mages of the Sanctuary have forgotten that lesson. You can use that to your advantage,” explained Jasper.

Ben hiked half a dozen paces behind the two practitioners. He was listening as well. They were travelling across the smooth floor of Jasper’s valley, halfway between his home and the lake. They walked underneath soaring pine trees along a barely discernable path, hidden from far-seeing eyes.

Jasper’s sonorous voice continued, drifting to Ben’s ears with the ease of the wind blowing through the trees. “When you are proximate to your opponent, you can establish physical contact. With that contact, it is much easier to extend your will into another person and, of course, more difficult for them to harden their will and stop you.”

“It’s easier for them to touch you as well though, right?” challenged Amelie.

Jasper chuckled. “It is. When you know it will come to a fight, be aggressive and strike first. Against mages of the Sanctuary, that is your advantage. The way the Sanctuary teaches combat is risk averse. They want to stay back and loathe getting their hands dirty. They fling lightening and avoid real engagement. But combat is real. It’s physical. You are trying to damage someone and they are trying to damage you. If you’re worried about the risk, then you shouldn’t be in the fight in the first place. If you understand that difference, between how the Sanctuary wants to fight and how you are able to fight, then you can defeat them even if they are naturally stronger than you. If you face another mage, it is not a theoretical classroom exercise. It is life and death. Battles between mages rarely end any other way. You must take every advantage you can get.”

Jasper ducked under a low-hanging pine branch. “When you’re close to someone, you have options. You have choices other than just trying to overcome them with your will, which you may not be able to do against a fully trained mage. When you are close, you can punch them in the mouth, stab them with your dagger, or throw dirt in their eye. Your magic and your will are two of the most powerful tools you have, but they aren’t your only tools. Use everything you can.”

Ben grinned. Jasper may not like Rhys, but his discussion of combat strategy was nearly identical. When Rhys finally agreed to train Ben, he emphasized one point above all others. Fight dirty.

“Punch them in the mouth?” questioned Amelie.

Jasper chuckled. “Think about it this way. If you are unlucky enough to fight a mage, you are fighting them, not just fighting them with magic. If you can use your magic to defeat them, that is great. If you defeat them with your fists, that is just as great. Your goal, your only goal, is to survive.”

Ahead of them, Ben saw a stream break the continuity of the pine forest.

“Stop there for the night?” he asked, gesturing ahead.

“Looks good to me,” responded Jasper.

The air was cool, but in the protected valley, it wasn’t the bitter chill they’d faced elsewhere in the northern winter. With a decent fire and a thick bed roll, sleeping outside wouldn’t be unpleasant. They set to work, Amelie scuffing out a simple fire pit, Ben collecting wood, and Jasper laying out ingredients for dinner.

When they got the fire started, the mage suggested to Ben and Amelie, “Why don’t you two practice the sword while I cook?”

“For someone who is supposed to be teaching me magic, you talk an awfully lot about using fists and blades,” declared Amelie.

Jasper shrugged. “You should regularly practice both, magic and the blade. When you need it, you don’t want to be rusty at either one.”

“Come on,” called Ben, drawing his longsword. “Don’t get lazy on me just because you have magical powers.”

Ben and Amelie sparred at half-speed. They focused on refreshing the motions rather than the speed and violence needed in a real contest.

Amelie lunged at Ben, thrusting with her rapier. Ben easily parried and riposted, his longsword stabbing toward his friend. She caught it with her dagger but failed to turn the heavier blade. Ben arrested his attack and pulled back. Frustrated, Amelie swished her rapier back and forth before resetting.

“That was good,” encouraged Jasper.

Amelie raised an eyebrow at the mage. If Ben hadn’t stopped himself, he could have easily skewered his friend.

“You caught his blade with the dagger,” explained Jasper. “It was the right motion, but you didn’t use enough force. In magical terms, you had the knowledge to counter his attack but not the will to stop it. You held back. It’s always knowledge and will. When you want to turn that blade enough, you can gather the will and strength to do so.” The mage instructed, “Try it again.”

Ben and Amelie squared off, and again, he thrust at half speed.

Just like before, Amelie easily caught the longsword with her dagger, but the small blade wasn’t enough to turn Ben’s sword.

“Again,” demanded Jasper.

Amelie grunted and glared at him. They did the sequence again with the same results.

“Again.”

Amelie didn’t bother to look at the mage this time, just reset and waited for Ben’s attack.

“Again.”

Snarling, Amelie shuffled her feet, trying to get a position she’d have more leverage with the dagger.

“Again.”

Ben thrust and just like before, had to stop his blade before he hit his friend. He could feel Amelie straining against it, but he knew giving in and letting her brush it aside wouldn’t do her any good. That would just give her a false sense of confidence if she were in a real sword fight.

“Ben’s practiced for months longer than me and with a blademaster,” complained Amelie. “His sword is much larger than my dagger and he’s stronger. This is ridiculous.”

“He’s stronger than you,” observed Jasper, “but you are not trying to arm wrestle him or pick up a big rock. You are merely trying to edge his blade away from you. Again.”

Ben and Amelie squared off. Over and over, Ben attacked. Amelie’s face twisted with anger, but he knew it wasn’t directed at him. She was angry at Jasper and herself.

Jasper stood and watched them, no longer needing to request another try. Occasionally, out of the corner of her eye, Amelie glared at him. Ben could tell she was tiring, her parries growing weaker and weaker.

“You have to want it,” encouraged Jasper. “You are just going through the motions. Will that the blade turns!”

Tears of frustration were forming in the corners of Amelie’s eyes. Ben wanted to stop, but she set herself again, raising her rapier and dagger to meet his attack. Ben thrust with his longsword. Just like before, Amelie swept her dagger up to meet it.

The small blade met his sword and Ben felt an incredible pressure on the side of the weapon. He tensed his arms but couldn’t stop the lateral force. His sword was pushed away. Surprised, he stumbled off balance.

Amelie stood rooted, staring at Ben’s longsword as it scraped along the edge of her dagger, a hand’s width to her side. Without speaking, Jasper returned to the fire and turned the spit he’d erected over it. A fat rabbit sizzled as a new side was exposed to the fire.

“How did you do that?” wondered Ben. It felt like a good-sized warrior had just brushed his blade away.

“I, I don’t know,” stuttered Amelie, just as surprised as Ben at the strength she’d suddenly displayed.

“You willed it,” commented Jasper, “just like you willed Creegan to heal and the stone to come alight while we were in the tunnel. Anything is possible if you have the will to make it happen.”

***

Ben found the hike through Jasper’s valley to be pleasant. The last several weeks, they’d been battling snowstorms, bitter cold, and deep, dark tunnels. The crisp pine-scented air of the valley was a welcome change.

Jasper kept them busy though. For Amelie, he constantly challenged her knowledge of magic, taking what the Sanctuary taught her and adding new wrinkles to it. To Ben’s ear, he was making it more practical. At the Sanctuary, she’d learned in a classroom or a laboratory. With Jasper, she learned in the world. When he wanted to talk about the properties of light, he pointed to the sun. When he wanted to explain chemical changes, he picked up a handful of snow from behind a tree and let it melt. When he wanted to teach her combat, he squared off against her.

To spar, they found suitable pine branches as similar as possible to their own weapons. At the end of every day, the three of them took turns facing each other.

Initially, Ben found it frustrating. It felt like the mages were cheating. Jasper was adept at using his magic to increase the speed of his swings or give himself a sudden burst of strength. Amelie tried as well, but it only rarely worked. It made it unpredictable and, in a way, more difficult to counter. Eventually, Ben realized that it was just like sparring against Rhys or Saala. Both the rogue and blademaster were faster, stronger, and more knowledgeable than Ben. They were a constant challenge. That was how Ben improved his own skill so rapidly.

Working against Jasper was much the same. The man didn’t have the physical abilities of the blademaster, but his magic filled the gap. Ben found that the man’s magic only took him so far though. The mage could increase his speed or strength with the expense of his will, but he couldn’t use will to improve his forms or predict Ben’s actions. Ben had superior knowledge.

Ben began finding holes in the mage’s defense and learned to react before he could be caught flat-footed by an increase in speed. Using the proper forms of defense compensated for the man’s increases in strength. By the fourth day of their journey, Ben found himself holding his own against the mage. They danced back and forth under the pine trees, each man trying to find a weakness so he could slide his pine branch through and strike the other.

Then Jasper found a new way to gain an advantage.

Ben was pressing Jasper back, lashing out with his branch and eyeing the mage’s shoulders. Jasper tended to telegraph his movements with them so Ben was easily able to react before the mage counterattacked. Jasper was panting with exertion, unusual for him. Ben was pressing him hard.

Ben smacked his branch against Jasper’s and the mage stumbled back, barely holding onto his practice weapon. Grinning, Ben closed in. The mage was off balance and reeling.

Suddenly, a blast of pine needles swirled up from the forest floor. Ben was encapsulated in a tornado of wind and soft brown needles. He couldn’t see a thing. He stepped back, trying to get clear of the furious storm. It followed him.

Jasper’s branch cut through the cloud. With a stinging slap, it struck Ben’s ribcage. Ben yelped in pain. Immediately, the wind stopped, and the needles fell back to the ground. Panting, Ben stared wildly at the mage.

“That’s cheating,” he gasped.

Jasper grinned.

“Cheating is breaking the rules,” chided Jasper. “In a fight, there are no rules.”

“But you haven’t done that before,” complained Ben.

“You weren’t beating me before,” retorted the mage, wagging a finger in Ben’s direction. “You’re a better swordsman than me, and already you’ve adjusted to my little tricks. I don’t relish getting hit with these sticks so I had to improvise.”

“How am I supposed to fight against something like that?” protested Ben. “There’s no reason to spar if you’re just going to blind me then hit me.”

“On the contrary. If I am so easily able to beat you, then there’s a lot of reason for this,” answered Jasper. “If you face a mage with or without a sword, you should learn to counteract their magic.”

Ben frowned. “You said there wasn’t time to teach me magic.”

“There isn’t,” replied Jasper patiently. “We’re working on something you’ve already learned. If you harden your will and pay attention to what I’m doing, you can stop me. Or, at the least, stop someone less skilled than me. From now on, when we spar, you need to keep your senses extended and be prepared for magical tricks with the sword or with the environment. If you want to survive an encounter with a mage, you must learn to harden your will and defend yourself. If you can defend yourself, you can beat them. Any mage using these tricks will tire faster than a normal warrior. If they are not practiced at it like I am, they will wear out very quickly. Exerting your will to make your body move faster or harder than it normally would is exhausting.”

Ben sighed and reset his feet. Sparring with the mage was like sparring with Rhys or Towaal, frustrating and enlightening. It was difficult, but Ben knew it could save his life later. Just like at the farmhouse when Lady Towaal taught him to harden his will, Ben opened himself up to the surrounding world.

He heard the wind whistling through the pine trees and felt the chill of the air as it rustled by him. He heard Jasper and Amelie breathing evenly. Behind Amelie, a squirrel appeared and scampered up a tree. The valley was peaceful, serene.

“Very well,” agreed Ben. “Let’s try again.”

***

Smoke filled the air from the flaming bush. The dry kindling was burning fast and it would quickly expend itself.

“You should learn to do that in the fire pit,” suggested Ben.

He, Amelie, and Jasper stood watching the fire. Heartbeats before, Amelie had started it with a fist-sized fireball.

Jasper grunted. “Better, I guess. Sufficient heat but it scattered there at the end. You can burn dry twigs with that, but it won’t stop a demon or anyone with practice hardening their will. In a melee, you could have torched your allies just as easily as an opponent.”

Amelie nodded. Determination was plastered across her face. For two days, she’d been practicing gathering heat using a small prism the mage loaned her. She would hold it in her hand and expose it to the sunlight. The light reflected through the prism and beamed down onto her hand, concentrated. She would use her will to retain the heat and build it in her palm. When she had enough, she could use it for something like a fireball.

The tricky part wasn’t gathering heat, they quickly found. The difficult part was holding it without scorching her skin. She constantly had to feed the heat back from her skin into the pebble-sized ball of energy. If she broke her concentration even for a heartbeat, the heat would scorch her.

“I thought I had it that time,” responded Amelie with a sigh. “It felt right when I launched it, and I held it for a bit. After two or three paces, it scattered. I couldn’t keep it together.”

The elder mage nodded. “Proximity. The further away it gets from you, the more difficult it is to influence energy. Let’s continue hiking while you gather more heat. We can find a campsite, and as Ben suggested, you can start our campfire. If you can set fire to the wood in the fire pit and nothing else, I will consider today a success.”

Amelie opened her palm and tilted the prism so the sun shone directly on it. Ben watched as a spot of light appeared at the center of her hand. From experience, he knew that light would grow brighter and brighter until Amelie released it.

Jasper continued his instruction as they walked. “I don’t have time to teach you the control you need to be a really effective battle mage. That would take years we do not have.”

Amelie frowned.

“What I can do,” said the mage, pausing to climb over a high rock, “is teach you some of the tricks, the cheats. Things like the prism. Without it, at your skill level, it would take you half the day to gather enough heat out of the ambient air to throw a fireball. By using the prism on a sunny day, you can gather that heat within a quarter bell. You could draw your own heat, of course, but doing that isn’t sustainable. If you’re not careful or panicked because you’re in a mage battle for example, you could easily draw too much heat and kill yourself. Without the strength and control that comes with years of study, you’ll need to use shortcuts. To defeat one of your former brethren, you’ll have to fight smarter.”

“You act like I’m intending to go pick fights with the Sanctuary’s mages,” remarked Amelie.

“Aren’t you?” asked Jasper.

She didn’t respond.

Ben knew what she was thinking. They didn’t want to get into a fight with a mage, but sooner or later, it was inevitable. The Veil wouldn’t let them rest. There was only so far they could run, only so many places they could hide.

Jasper led them into a narrow, flat-bottomed fissure in the rock. It reminded Ben uncomfortably of the mining tunnel they’d passed through. He traced both hands along granite walls as they walked. Fortunately, the fissure was open above, which gave Ben a little comfort. After two-hundred paces, they came to the end. Stair-stepped broken rock led up and out of the fissure. The companions climbed the rock, scrambling over rough granite blocks and using the sides of the fissure as support when they needed it.

“You sure this is the only way out of the valley?” grumbled Ben, hauling himself over a waist-high step.

“Aside from the tunnel we came in, it’s the easiest way,” replied Jasper, reaching down to help Ben up. “We regularly patrol the rim of the valley to check the wards I’ve placed, and there’s no other way over the ridges. At least, we used to regularly patrol the rim.” Jasper’s lips twisted bitterly. He continued with a sigh, “Difficulty of discovery comes at the price of ease of access. If anyone could stumble across this valley, then the Sanctuary would have found my home decades ago.”

“How do any of the people you want to find it get here?” wondered Ben.

“By invitation only,” answered Jasper with a grin. “Come on. We’ll make the height of the pass by nightfall. Amelie can use that heat she’s building to start the fire.”

Amelie looked down at the prism in her hand, embarrassed. Ben noticed the glow from the heat wasn’t as bright as it had been earlier. She must have lost focus while climbing out of the fissure.

“Daylight is fading,” chided Jasper.

“Lead on. I’ll be ready,” she snapped. Jasper didn’t have to say it. If she’d had a lot of heat concentrated in her palm and lost focus like that, her hand would have been severely burned.

***

That evening, they sat close around a cheerful fire. Amelie sat with a smug look on her face, proud of the tightly controlled fireball she’d flicked into the pit to start it. Ben grinned, also proud of his friend, and pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders. The wind at the top of the pass was chill, but they’d camped behind a rock wall that blunted most of the force.

“On the other side,” said Jasper, nodding down a barely discernable path they’d follow in the morning, “it’s colder than the valley, but we’re nearly one hundred leagues south of Creegan’s now. It won’t be as bad as that. By the time you get to Irrefort, it may be early spring.”

Ben smiled. Spring. That would be nice. He was tired of the northern cold.

“What will you do when you leave us?” asked Amelie.

Jasper drew a thin stick from their pile of firewood and poked the embers at the edge of the campfire.

“Start over, I guess,” the mage finally responded. “Just outside the shadow of this mountain is a town called Cormender. It’s the edge of Coalition territory in the north. They have a decent market there. I’ll restock, maybe buy some livestock, and climb back over this pass.”

“You’re going to take animals over this pass?” asked Ben incredulously.

Jasper grinned. “How do you think they got in the valley the first time? It wasn’t easy, but it can be done.”

“You know there’s another choice, right?” mentioned Amelie. “We could use your help.”

Jasper tossed his stick in the fire. “I can’t go with you, girl. I can’t go anywhere near Irrefort.”

Curious, Ben sat forward. “Why not?”

“Lord Jason and his cabal of pet mages.”

“I don’t understand,” responded Ben.

Jasper sighed. “The place is layered with wards on top of wards, and I’ve been marked. They’ll sense me the instant I approach one. I wouldn’t be able to get close enough to deactivate them.”

“Marked?” asked Amelie. “If you know you’ve been marked, from what I understand, you should be able to defeat it, right?”

Jasper shook his head. “A simple marking I could defeat. This is different.”

The mage stood and raised his tunic mid-way up his chest. In the firelight, they saw a pale, finger-length scar on his ribcage.

He sat back down and explained, “That bastard Jason isn’t any more inclined than the Sanctuary to have mages roaming around freely. He caught up to me when I was making a trip down to Issen years ago and he stuck me. I got away, but the tip of his blade broke off in my rib. The taint of it remained in my body. I spent a long time trying to draw it out, but it’s a stain on my spirit. It will never go away. I could slip by a normal ward with little problem, but with this taint on me, I may as well walk up to the council and introduce myself.”

Ben blinked. Lord Jason was the same man who had slaughtered Reinhold and his troops, the same man who intended to kidnap Amelie before they fled.

“Lord Jason in Issen?” exclaimed Amelie.

“Back when that black knife was first making his name,” replied Jasper. “I never found out how he found me, but once he did, he was relentless. He came after me like a starving dog after a fresh cut of meat. I managed to escape, but it was a near thing. That’s why I can’t go to Irrefort. I’m not scared of his mages, but I won’t survive meeting that man again.”

Ben’s throat was dry. “I’ve seen Lord Jason fight,” he quaked.

Jasper raised an eyebrow.

“I was in hiding,” explained Ben. “He led a small army and attacked my business partner’s men. He flowed like water around them, leaving nothing but the dead in his wake.”

“Aye,” agreed Jasper, “that sounds like Jason.”

“But,” protested Amelie, “you have magic. I’ve met Lord Jason too and I had no idea he was a mage. He can’t be as powerful as you. The way you fought those demons, surely you could face him.”

“You’re right, girl. Jason isn’t a mage,” answered Jasper. “But like I am teaching your friend here, anyone can harden their will and resist the efforts of another. Jason is remarkably skilled at such defenses. He isn’t a mage, but a mage must have trained him. Nothing I tried touched the man, and his skill with a sword is unsurpassed. I was able to affect some things around us, which is how I escaped, but everything I tried only served to slow him down.”

All three companions sat silently. Ben and Amelie contemplated what they were getting themselves into. They knew Irrefort was dangerous, but a man who could defeat Jasper was something to consider.

Jasper grunted. “I know you’ve only told me part of your story, and I understand why, but this I must know. How is it possible you’ve both encountered Lord Jason but have never been to Irrefort?”

Ben and Amelie exchanged a glance.

“Come now,” probed Jasper. “Surely I’ve gained your trust. I’ve heard about the Sanctuary. I’ve heard about Northport and the Rift. I even heard you mention that scoundrel Rhys and you let slip Lady Towaal’s name. You are either the two luckiest individuals I have met, or the unluckiest.”

“Unlucky.” Ben grunted.

Jasper smiled.

“I told you that when we were in the City, I was a brewer,” reminded Ben.

Jasper nodded.

“Well, after a few months, I took on a business partner, a man named Lord Reinhold.”

Jasper waited patiently for the rest of the story. Ben studied his face, but the mage showed no sign of knowing Reinhold. That was a first, thought Ben.

“Lord Reinhold was a very wealthy man, a merchant banker,” continued Ben. “He got involved with me to thwart one of his rivals, a man named Lord Gulli. They were both trying to corner the arms trade out of Venmoor in anticipation of the coming conflict between the Alliance and the Coalition. I and some of my coworkers were attacked by Gulli’s men. Reinhold declared war and set off to find Gulli, but it was a trap. Lord Jason was waiting for him in the woods. He ambushed us. Everyone but myself and another were slaughtered like pigs. The only reason I made it out was that Reinhold requested I stay away from the conflict. It turned out it saved my life. That at least was lucky.”

Jasper rubbed a hand across his chin. “That is quite a story.”

Ben nodded.

“Why,” asked Jasper, “was Lord Jason interested in helping a man like this Gulli? As I hear it, Jason rules the Coalition’s Council in all but name. A man like him has no need or desire for coin. Surely there would be easier ways to acquire arms. What did that City merchant have to offer him?”

Amelie drew a deep breath then released it. “Me,” she admitted.

“Amelie,” warned Ben.

“No,” she said, “Jasper is right. He’s earned our trust.”

The mage smiled. “Finally.”

“I’m a runaway initiate from the Sanctuary,” stated Amelie, “but I’m also the daughter of Lord Gregor of Issen. Lord Jason was coming for me.”

A low whistle broke out between Jasper’s lips.

“Lord Jason is the reason I ran away from the Sanctuary, why this all started. He was coming to kidnap me with the Sanctuary’s blessing. They intended to use me as a bargaining chip with my father to force him to surrender.”

Jasper, for the first time since they met him, was speechless.

“That’s why we went to Northport,” Ben added. “We were trying to enlist help for Amelie’s father. We thought Lord Rhymer could come to Issen’s aid. Once we got there, we found Rhymer needed our help just as much as we needed his.”

“And in Irrefort, you hope to find help there from the Purple?” asked Jasper skeptically.

Amelie shook her head. “Not for my father. As much as I would like to do something, Issen is beyond my reach. My father needs an army, and I don’t have one. No, we’re going to Irrefort because we hope to help everyone. All of Alcott.”

Ben added, “After speaking with Lord Rhymer, seeing the Rift, and the battle in Northport, we had to do something. As you’ve said, the demons will kill countless people if we don’t stop them. We may not be the best people to do it. We’re inexperienced and not fully trained, but someone has to try. Every story begins somewhere, and this one might as well begin with us. If we didn’t try to help, what kind of people would we be? We aren’t as strong as you, but we aren’t weak either.”

Jasper didn’t respond. Instead, he stood and stalked to the end of the pass, twenty paces away. He stood staring down the mountain into the blackness of the valley below.

Amelie glanced at Ben and he swallowed.

“Jasper,” he called. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant,” interjected the mage.

***

Two days later, they reached a rough mining camp. During the summer months it would be a hub of activity. In winter, it was populated by a handful of custodians who maintained the buildings and kept watch over the equipment.

“It’s cheaper to pay them to winter here and watch the place than to cart everything back to Cormender,” explained Jasper. “They shouldn’t have much interest in us. A few of them may even recognize me. I pass through here a couple of times a year along with a handful of other loners who live up in the mountains. I’ve found the men who choose to stay here in the winter aren’t the curious type or the type to socialize any more than they have to.”

“What’s the name of the place?” asked Amelie.

Jasper shrugged. “Not sure it has one.”

“You’re right. It is quiet,” remarked Ben as they approached the handful of clapboard structures. Ben saw cottages for the caretakers, storage for equipment, and what must be dormitories in the busy months. Undisturbed snow piled in drifts against the side of the buildings. The place was a silent as a graveyard. No smoke drifted from any of the chimneys.

“Incredibly quiet. Inexplicably quiet,” added Amelie nervously.

“Should we investigate?” inquired Ben.

“I think we all know what happened here,” responded Jasper grimly. “Let’s move on.”

Dark Territory

It was early morning and the sun was rising behind the city of Cormender. Shadows spread out from the stacked stone walls, creating a lightless moat in front of the city. They watched the shadows shrink as day broke.

The companions stood in the center of a rutted dirt track that led down from the mountains. In better weather, heavily laden carts would rumble down the track, carrying chunks of granite and limestone from the quarries at the base of the mountains. Now, the wheel ruts were filled with shallow pools of ice and the track between the companions and Cormender’s gates was empty.

“You’re sure we won’t have a problem getting in?” queried Amelie.

“Why would we have a problem?” asked Jasper.

“This is the westernmost outpost of the Coalition in the north,” mentioned Amelie. “They’ve declared war on my home. They’ve put it under siege and have a bounty on my head.”

Jasper grinned. “You’re talking about Lady Amelie, lass. You are someone else now. You are someone inconspicuous, someone the Coalition has no interest in. You’re just another wanderer in the north, fleeing the recent troubles, passing through town on the way to your home.”

“I was recognized in Kirksbane,” protested Ben. “If they recognize us here, there will be no escape. I think we need disguises.”

Jasper started forward. “Come on. We’ve been over this. They were looking for you in Kirksbane. That won’t be the case when you enter Coalition territory. The greatest illusions are the ones we do to ourselves. The mind sees what it wants, and they will not see you as enemies if you don’t act like enemies. A disguise opens the door for suspicion. Trust me. I’ve been doing this a long time.”

Ben grunted and followed after the mage. Amelie fell in behind Ben. The gates of Cormender stood open. As they approached, a pair of Coalition grey-clad guards sauntered out from their warm guard shack.

Tugging a hood over his head, one of them called out, “State your business.”

The guard spoke casually, but his hand didn’t stray from his side where a broadsword hung. His partner stayed near the shack and a ham-sized brass bell. He clutched a crossbow. Depending on the disturbance they caused, the second man could put a bolt in them or ring the bell for reinforcements.

Jasper strode forward, waiting to respond until he was within a dozen paces of the pair.

“My business is getting out of here,” grumbled Jasper. He paused in front of the men. “It’s too dangerous in these mountains to stick around. We just passed through the mining camp two days up the road. You oughta let your captain know to send some men. Looks like no one’s there. First time I seen that in the years I’ve been prospecting these mountains. There’s demons up in those hills. I seen ‘em.”

“We know,” grumbled the first guard. “The camp got overrun three weeks back and it’s been shut since. Governor’s waiting until spring, then he’ll send men to clear out the hills.”

“Nice of someone to let us all know,” griped Jasper, staring bitterly at the guards. “Lots of good folk up there. People could get hurt.”

“Old man, we don’t have time to go chasing all of you lunatics around the woods and making sure you’re safe,” barked the guard. “You go out of these gates, you’re on your own.”

“I’m not a lunatic,” muttered the mage.

Ben and Amelie stood quietly behind him. The mage had been right. These guards weren’t giving them a second look.

“Sure you’re not,” responded the guard with a sigh. “Look, old man, all refugees are instructed to go check in at the assignment center. They’ll find you a hot meal and a bed. Through these gates, six blocks down and three blocks to the right.”

Jasper snorted. “I don’t need an assignment, pup. We’re not refugees. We’re just passing through. I got family in Boggytown. We’re going there.”

The guard shrugged. “If you say so, old man.”

The second guard had already turned and stalked back to the guard shack when they passed through the open gates.

“See,” chided Jasper. “I told you not to worry.”

“What’s the assignment center?” asked Ben, glancing at the guards behind them. The pair was paying them no more mind.

“That’s where you go to get a bite to eat and a place to sleep,” responded Jasper. “They’ll give you a job if you can’t find one yourself. The Coalition will provide everything you need.”

“I don’t understand,” replied Ben. “They give away food and shelter to anyone?”

Jasper nodded, peering at the street ahead of them. “To anyone who needs it.”

Ben frowned but let it drop. They were walking down the muddy streets of Cormender and he needed to focus. Despite the ease of entry, they were in Coalition territory. Every moment held potential danger. He eyed the people on the street, looking for anything that felt out of place. Amelie walked close beside him.

“All of these houses,” she said, “look the same.”

Ben turned his attention from the people to the buildings. Amelie was right. Along the entire length of the street were three-story houses, wall-to-wall and identical to each other. They appeared to continue for blocks. Dark wood beams framed dirty white stucco exteriors. Weather-beaten shutters braced the windows, and peeling, unpainted doors blocked the entries. Thin thatch sagged along the rooftops.

“Government housing,” explained Jasper. “We’re in one of the newer quarters of the city. This is where the unfortunates live, where they get assigned to. The Coalition provides the housing, but the residents are supposed to maintain it. Which is probably why they look like hell. No pride of ownership,” finished the mage, shaking his head.

“This looks rather depressing,” mumbled Amelie.

“Don’t worry,” assured Jasper. “There are nicer quarters toward the center of town. We’ll stay there.”

Frozen mud crunched under Ben’s boots as they continued down the street. Now that he noticed the buildings, the slumped shoulders and haggard looks of the crowd started painting a clear picture. It wasn’t that there were too many people in the streets. It was that they weren’t doing anything. Compared to the noisy bustle of commerce in Fabrizo, Whitehall, or the City, the quiet of Cormender was eerie.

As they got further into the city, they found shops open and selling goods like anywhere else, but here, the merchants were not calling out their wares. They sat patiently behind counters or before storefronts. When a customer shuffled up to observe their displays, the merchants eyed them listlessly.

They travelled through the streets, entering progressively more prosperous quarters until Jasper steered them to a stone-fronted inn. If the place had been set on a distant hill instead of in the middle of a busy street, Ben would have called it a castle. Hanging above the doors was a wooden sign, a blue-painted donkey.

They stepped inside and Ben was relieved to see the place was lively. A barmaid swished by them, thick skirts trailing in her wake.

“Pick a seat, lads. I’ll be right with you,” she called behind her. “The miners are down from the hills and the whole town is busting at the seams.”

The majority of people in the room were clustered around a handful of tables in the center. Between them, Ben saw stacks of silver and copper coins. A man threw a handful of small, wooden cubes. The crowd erupted in a cheer. One man, beaming ear-to-ear, scooped a pile of coins from in front of another. The second, the one who’d lost his coin, slunk away from the table and staggered to the bar.

“Gambling,” muttered Amelie.

Ben nodded. He was unfamiliar with the little cubes the man had thrown, but the elation of the victor and the sour grimace of the loser gave it away. The rules may differ, but the results of games of chance were always the same.

“It’s common for strangers to pass through these places,” said Jasper quietly, his voice barely rising above the buzz of conversation in the room. “Also, the food is good and the drinks are cheap.”

The barmaid swung by their table and they ordered a round of ales, a roast chicken, and loaf of bread.

Ben carefully eyed the room but nothing seemed amiss. These people would have fit right in Northport. The gambling was fast-paced and, judging by the roars of observers, involved significant sums changing hands. No one was paying any attention to their little party.

When the ales arrived, Jasper ducked down and drew two pouches from his travel pack. The first pouch clinked with the telltale sound of coins. Ben peeked inside. Silver and gold reflected back at him. He turned the pouch so Amelie could see.

“Keep that hidden, particularly in this place,” advised Jasper. “The bouncers keep it orderly, but you flash that much wealth, and girls and gamblers will swarm you.”

“Why are you giving us this?” asked Amelie.

“It’s time for me to leave,” answered Jasper. “As you get closer to Irrefort, my presence will only increase your danger. The coins mean nothing to me. I have plenty. I know from Creegan you don’t have any. You need it.”

Ben grimaced but didn’t respond. Having the mage with them gave him a sense of comfort. The man was competent at everything he set his hand to. He was right though. If Lord Jason knew him and had warded for him, then it was too great a risk.

Next, Jasper slid the second pouch to Amelie. She hesitated and looked inside then back up at the mage.

“A mage’s toolkit. Cheap stuff,” he explained with a smile. “It’s always worth keeping a few things around. You never know when you might need them.”

Ben glanced inside as well and saw the prism Amelie had been practicing with on the road, a tuft of what looked like sheep’s wool, a ball of dark metal, and a few other objects he couldn’t see. Random items, junk.

“I have something for you to look at,” said Amelie, blushing. She pulled the small wooden oval out, the one they’d used to communicate with Towaal. “I meant to show it earlier, but with the demons and the training, I forgot. Can you tell me what this is?”

“Thought meld,” answered Jasper quickly.

Amelie frowned at him. “We used it to communicate with Lady Towaal when we were at Creegan’s. She was in Northport, I believe.”

Jasper nodded. “It can be used for communication and more. Our thoughts, our ideas, are energy just like the light and heat around us. With sufficient will, they can be manipulated just like that energy. The thought meld facilitates that. The thoughts we form for language are the easiest to transmit, but images and ideas are also possible. I should warn you that it can be dangerous. If you do not have absolute trust with the person sending to you, I implore you not to use this device.”

“Why not?” asked Amelie.

“Ideas can be dangerous things,” responded Jasper.

“I trust Lady Towaal,” responded Amelie.

“You’re certain?” the mage asked after sipping his ale. “The Sanctuary is known for manipulation. They’ve been doing it for millennia.”

Amelie shook her head. “I can’t fathom what designs Lady Towaal might have on us. Our path has been wild and winding. Unless she is playing some deeper game than I can understand, she’s had ample opportunity to do whatever she wants with us. In Northport, we were practically begging her for direction, and she never gave it.”

“She swore fealty to us,” added Ben. “Sort of.”

Jasper blinked.

“Really?” asked the mage, setting his ale mug down. “If I may ask without being rude, why did she do that?”

“She said she’s done a lot of bad things. Rhys too,” explained Ben. “They say they want to atone for it, do some good. They said they’d tried before, but it never worked. So, instead of them deciding what to do next, they let us decide. They said they’d support us in what we wanted to do. They would follow where we led.”

Jasper ran a hand over his short white hair. “That is honorable of them, trying to do the right thing. People change, I guess.” He stretched and scooted back from the table. “Nature is calling. Order me another round if the barmaid comes by.”

Ben nodded and sipped his ale. It was an amber, strong and rich. It reminded him of the ales he brewed in Farview during the fall, full of flavor and stiff enough to warm you on a cold evening.

He reached a hand across the table and gripped Amelie’s. “When he leaves us today, it will be just us again. You ready?”

She smiled back at Ben. “Do I have a choice?”

A dull rattling sound drew Ben’s attention. He turned to find a man approaching them. The man was dressed in loose, flowing clothing, and his head was shaved bare. On his hip, he carried a broad-bladed scimitar. He walked with a confident strut.

“Care to gamble a little?” he asked, shaking a handful of wooden cubes.

The room had gone silent. Ben glanced around and saw some of the other gamblers had turned to watch the man.

“No, not today,” answered Ben.

The man gave an exaggerated frown. “Oh, come now. You’re sitting in the Blue Donkey, one of the finest gambling establishments outside of Ooswam. These dice games were strange to me at first, but I’ve found I have a knack for them. Surely you’d like to play. Maybe you’ll get lucky too?”

Ben looked around for Jasper. The mage was nowhere to be seen.

“No, really,” mumbled Ben, “I’m not a gambler.”

The man stepped closer and turned to Amelie.

“Lady, I’m sure you can appreciate a good gamble. It makes your heart race and your breath come quick. It’s almost as exciting as,” the man’s oily smile stretched across his face, “well, we can talk about that later. I’ll buy you a drink if you kiss my dice. The lips of a beautiful woman have always brought me good luck.”

Ben glared at the man. “Sir, we are not interested.”

“You’re not interested,” retorted the man, “but I believe your lady is.”

Amelie shook her head, red-faced. “No, I am not.”

The man’s hand shot forward and he gripped her arm.

“Lady, I insist you kiss my dice.”

Ben slapped the man’s hand away from his friend and stood. He was standing chest-to-chest with the gambler. That close, the man’s glassy, unfocused eyes had trouble settling on Ben. Ben could smell the stench of too many ales on the man’s breath. The shaven-headed man stepped back, eyeing Ben balefully. His body was tense.

Jasper’s voice sounded in Ben’s ear, a whisper coming on a gentle wind. Without turning his head, Ben knew it was coming from across the room.

“Don’t draw your sword,” advised Jasper. “If you draw, you’ll gain the attention of the watch.”

Ben lips twisted at the comment.

The man from Ooswam smiled and placed a hand on his scimitar. “Are you scared, boy?”

A hands-length of steel cleared the scabbard. The room was entirely silent now. Ben wanted to turn and find the bouncer, but he couldn’t break eye contact with the man. If he did, that scimitar could be out and lodged in his neck before he could react.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t defend yourself,” came Jasper’s whisper. “Do it without your sword, and don’t kill him.”

The man’s shoulder shifted and Ben launched forward. With one hand, he chopped down at his opponent’s sword hand. With the other, he smashed his fist into the man’s jaw. The gambler was stunned and crashed backward, falling onto his back. He scrambled across the floor, struggling to rise and draw his scimitar at the same time.

Now the bouncers arrived. They placed themselves between Ben and the man, who was still sprawled on the ground, though he’d managed to draw his sword.

“He assaulted me!” shouted the fallen man.

The largest bouncer’s heavily lidded eyes turned to Ben.

“He was about to draw steel,” protested Ben. “I struck him to prevent bloodshed. I didn’t want to have to kill him.”

“You couldn’t kill me, you pup,” snarled the man.

“No duels are to take place under this roof,” growled the bouncer. “You lose at the tables and you deal with it. We won’t have blood spilt in here.”

“I assure you,” said Ben, “I have no interest in dueling. I wasn’t even gambling. We’re just here to eat and enjoy your fine ale. The man was accosting me and my companion. He grabbed her when she turned him down.”

“I wasn’t… what did he say?” howled the man. He was struggling to his feet, his sword waving in the air as he scrambled up.

The bouncer looked to Amelie.

“That is true,” she said. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Wait,” complained the gambler.

He didn’t get to finish. The big bouncer spun in a flash and a metal rod slid out of his sleeve into his hand. Before the gambler could react, the rod smashed into the side of his head with a sickening crunch. His body collapsed back to the floor with a crash.

The other gamblers around the tables turned back to their games. The sound of dice and clink of coins filled the air again.

“I’m sorry about this,” remarked the bouncer to Amelie. “There’s no violence tolerated here, particularly against women. The owner doesn’t want the fairer sex feeling uncomfortable within these walls. Sometimes, the foreigners don’t understand and have to be taught.”

Amelie gave a short curtsy to the man. “I appreciate your help, sir.”

The bouncer nodded and gestured to his partner. They scooped up the unconscious man’s sword and sliced his coin purse off his belt. Each of the bouncers took an arm and without further comment, they dragged him through the room and out the back. No one objected or spoke up for him. If he had any friends in the room, he didn’t have them anymore.

Jasper reappeared at the table and winked at Ben. “Well done.”

Ben shrugged and sat back down.

Jasper sat across the table from him and leaned forward on his elbows. “The thought meld, can I see it?” asked the mage.

Amelie slid it across the table to him. He traced his fingers around the rim, the runes lighting up under his light touch.

“This is a simple device,” muttered the mage. “I was hoping it was more. It’s just a basic pairing.”

Amelie frowned.

The mage continued without looking up, “I believe I can fix this.”

Amelie blinked. “Fix it?”

The mage looked up and met Ben and Amelie’s gaze. “I have nothing left at my home that I need to return to. The demons saw to that. No family, no friends, no animals even.”

Ben was about to speak but Jasper held up his hand.

“I’m used to loss.” Jasper sighed. “I’ve certainly experienced enough of it through the years. You’ve made me realize something though. In all of my years, through all of these losses, I just keep moving on. I survive, I have my amusements at the expense of the Veil, and that’s it. It’s been centuries since I’ve really mattered. It’s time that changed.”

“What will you do?” asked Amelie.

The mage continued to fiddle with the thought meld. He finally responded, “If the demons in the north roam freely, they will slaughter everyone. Swarms of dozens will form and then swarms of hundreds. Even fortified cities like Cormender will eventually fall. You are right. Someone must do something. I will do what I can. I will find my brethren who are strong enough to stand. We will try to hold back the tide of darkness.”

Ben breathed out. A man like Jasper battling the demons with a team of male mages standing beside him, maybe they could defeat the creatures.

Jasper noticed Ben’s look and shook his head. “It won’t be enough. Even with every mage I know, we aren’t enough. It’s a month travel between here and Northport. I can’t cover that ground. I can’t be everywhere. We can stem the tide, but we cannot turn it. You two must continue. Find the Purple. Tell them what’s happened and learn what you can do to stop it. The Rift was just one of the weapons they were developing to deal with the demons. They were looking for a permanent solution, the power between the worlds maybe. The Purple is certainly weakened, a shadow of what they were when they built the Rift, but with their knowledge, there must be some way they can help.”

Jasper trailed off with a shrug. Ben understood, any port in a storm.

The mage drew his dagger. Before Amelie could object, he scratched a series of hasty runes into the wooden oval. The tip of his dragger left bright red marks behind. They quickly faded to black as Ben watched.

“Not as pretty as the original script,” mumbled the mage, “but it should work.” He pushed the device back to Amelie. “When you activate this device, press your thumb on the new script and you can reach me. Press it against here,” he said, show her some of the original markings, “and you will reach the paired device, which I assume Lady Towaal is carrying.”

Amelie nodded. “There’s a problem,” she said. “There’s another mage, Lady Eldred, who Towaal believes may be able to intercept the communications. There’s something unnatural about her. She spoke in our minds. Is it possible she could hear us?”

Jasper frowned. “I thought this knowledge was lost to the Sanctuary, but yes, it is possible. If the thoughts are sent undirected, then she could hear them as easily as the intended recipient. Assuming she is actively listening, of course.”

“Could she find us that way?” asked Amelie.

Shifting in his seat, Jasper paused before answering. “Many things are possible. With enough study, I believe I could locate someone through a thought meld. Does a mage of the Sanctuary have that talent? I wouldn’t think so, but it’s never wise to underestimate an opponent’s knowledge. It would be easier to locate the sender of a thought and very difficult to locate the receiver.”

“If you contact us, then you will be in danger,” surmised Amelie.

Jasper smiled and cracked his knuckles. “I will not be in danger from a single mage of the Sanctuary. I welcome them to challenge that. You would be in danger, though. Let us consider this another item in your toolkit. You should avoid using it, but if you have need of me, you can reach me. When you find the Purple, contact me. I will come help you. Until then, I will try to delay the advance of the demons.”

The mage stood and stuck his hand out. Ben rose as well and gripped the man’s forearm, clasping it tightly.

“Remember,” advised the mage, “keep your senses open at all times. You may not be skilled at extending your will, but you are strong enough to harden it. Anything is possible with sufficient will. Believe it, live it, and a mage will have difficultly defeating you.”

Ben smiled at the man.

Amelie circled the table to wrap her arms around him. “Thank you,” she whispered.

When she released him, Jasper smiled at her. “You’re a natural talent. It’s unfortunate we don’t have more time to train. Keep in mind if you face a mage, you have two advantages if you’re not afraid to use them. One, proximity can increase your power. If you are bold, you can use it before your opponent. Two, because you are not as strong, you are forced to be creative. Use tricks like the prism to gain an advantage. The Sanctuary’s mages are too literal. They will underestimate you. Surprise them, and you have a chance.”

The mage stepped back and offered a small bow.

“This world is growing to be a dark place,” he said. “Someone has to stand against that darkness. I regret that I wasn’t the first to stand, that I lacked the courage and the foresight to be in front, but I am happy to stand with you now. Know that you are not alone in this fight.”

Before they could comment, Jasper turned and strode out the door.

Amelie and Ben turned and looked at each other.

“What do we do now?” they asked at the same time.

Behind Enemy Lines

They spent one night in Cormender, stocked up supplies the next morning, and left. Aside from the drunken gambler, the town was friendly, but neither of them could shake the feeling that somehow, they were being watched. Since they left the City, the Coalition had been searching for them. Now, they were right on its doorstep. Any mistakes and they would be finished.

Supplies in hand, they headed for the eastern gate. The road there would lead them deeper into dark territory, and eventually all of the way to Irrefort.

“It’s just like the western side of town,” muttered Amelie.

Ben nodded. They were passing row after row of identical three-story apartments. They looked like the ones they’d passed when they entered the city. The same dispirited residents loitered on the streets. The same blank-faced merchants unenthusiastically hawked wares.

Ahead of them, Ben saw a squad of grey-clad soldiers. The sergeant was standing on a wooden crate with his men around him. He was addressing a small crowd of citizens and anyone else on the street who could hear. Ben gripped Amelie’s arm but they kept walking, hoping to not draw attention to themselves. As they drew closer, they heard the sergeant shouting out. His voiced carried clearly in the quiet street.

“Recruitment drive! Sign up today,” called the man. “Two silver signing bonus and five copper a day. Everything’s taken care of on the march.”

A few heads turned at the offer, but no one moved toward the military man.

“Come on, you lazy bastards,” growled the sergeant. “Sign up now or sign up when the assignment center forces you. It makes no difference to me. No bonus if you join through the assignment center.”

A gaunt-looking man raised a hand, his frayed sleeve falling back to show a pock-marked arm.

“Where ya going?” he asked the sergeant.

“This ain’t the diplomatic corps,” snorted the sergeant. “You don’t get to pick.”

The man’s hand dropped.

The sergeant, perhaps desperate to meet a quota, added, “Probably Issen if you hurry. The city’s about to fall, I’m told. Sign up today and you’ll get there in time for the looting. You won’t even have to bloody your sword. The place is dripping with gold and silver, I hear. Beautiful women too. Find yourself a girl, get her pregnant, and marry her. Or get her pregnant and cut her throat. Doesn’t make no difference.”

That elicited a snicker from the men crowded around the soldier.

Amelie was white as new fallen snow. Ben hooked an arm around hers and gently pulled her along. He didn’t want her trying any of her new tricks on these men. They wouldn’t make it out of town if she did.

“That’s what they said when they talked me into marching here,” complained the potential recruit.

“You didn’t find any women?” asked the sergeant.

“Not any beautiful ones.”

“Aye, they got you there,” replied the sergeant sympathetically. “No beautiful women in the north, but this is Issen we’re talking about. Get out of this shit hole, and I’ll promise you’ll find more women there than you can handle. I’ll tell you what. Since you’re a veteran, I’ll give a three silver signing bonus.”

Ben heard several more men claiming veteran status and clamoring for the bonus. He and Amelie moved out of earshot and didn’t speak.

***

The dirt road outside of Cormender was broad and well maintained. In the winter, it was frozen over and made for easy travel.

The forest that covered most of the north faded away east of Cormender. Long, rolling hills spread out as far as they could see. In the shadows of the hills, snow clung tenaciously to the ground, but on top of them and on the road, it had been blown clear or been trampled into the frozen mud. Tough grasses broke through anywhere the snow was less than ankle deep and waved in the unobstructed wind. Compared to the Wilds, it was mild, but just the same, Ben pulled his hood up and his cloak tight.

The wide-open space unnerved him. The closet thing he could compare it to was the passage across the Blood Bay or the journey through Sineook Valley. At least then, they’d had the mast of the ship to look up to or were surrounded by agriculture. East of Cormender, it was barren.

“Reminds me of home,” remarked Amelie.

“Really?” asked Ben. “Everyone always describes Issen a fertile. I pictured it lusher than this.”

“It is,” responded Amelie, “but only because it’s set on a river. The river floods every spring and brings sediment with it. The farmers say that helps the crops. People have been farming there for as long as we’ve kept records. Away from the river valley, it is unbroken plains and grassy hills just like this. I’d go riding in those hills for bells. I spent a lot of my childhood in places just like this.”

Ben looked around, trying to do so with newfound appreciation, but it was still desolate to him.

“Issen is only one-hundred, maybe one-hundred-fifty leagues southwest of here,” remarked Amelie.

Ben looked at her. They could walk that in less than two weeks. Amelie’s eyes stayed ahead. She didn’t comment further.

The road was empty aside from the occasional merchant and the hills were gentle. They made good time. When the sun began to set, they hiked fifty paces off the road and settled behind a hill that would block the worst of the wind.

Ben searched through his pack and frowned, glancing around them.

“What?” asked Amelie.

“We have no wood,” he grumbled. “Cold food and an even colder night.”

“Snuggle close and keep me warm,” suggested Amelie with a twinkle in her eye.

Ben’s heart leapt into his throat. It quickly fell when Amelie pulled an extra tunic and britches out of her pack. That was hardly romantic.

“Mind going around to see the other side of this hill?” she asked.

Ben sighed and walked into the twilight, giving the lady her privacy.

***

Ben slept fitfully. Pressed against Amelie, half of his body was able to retain some warmth, but the other side faced cold wind that blew around the hill they’d camped behind. With no wood, they had no fire to combat the chill. When dawn finally broke above the horizon, they both moved stiffly. They decided to eat a quick meal of bread and cheese while walking. There was no reason to stay at the camp.

Back on the road, they crested a hill and Ben grimaced. For leagues ahead of them, all he could see was the dirt road snaking its way around and over the rolling plains. No civilization, no trees.

“To think,” muttered Ben, “the Alliance and the Coalition are fighting a war over this.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” challenged Amelie.

Ben shrugged and they kept walking.

By midmorning, they stumbled across something different. Just off the road, they found the remains of a large campsite. The grass was trampled where people had slept. A latrine had been dug two dozen paces away.

“No wheel marks,” said Ben, eyeing the grass around the camp and the road.

“Soldiers, not merchants,” guessed Amelie.

Ben nodded. An awful stench, different from the latrine, drew his interest. He walked around the abandoned campsite. At the far side, hidden behind a high tuft of plains grass, he found the body of a man. He was dressed in a cheaply made steel grey tunic. There were no obvious injuries, but the condition of the corpse told Ben he hadn’t eaten well in weeks or longer. His hair and beard were roughly shorn close to his scalp. His boots were missing.

“What is it?” asked Amelie.

“New recruit for the Coalition,” answered Ben.

Later that day, they found the man’s companions. Ninety-nine men were marching in a loose column behind a chainmail-wearing figure who must be the captain. Beside him was a burly man who pounded a drum that hung from his shoulders. He was keeping time for a march, but none of the men shuffling along seemed to notice.

Ben and Amelie veered around the column and hiked through the tall grasses. It wasn’t difficult to pass the column. The men weren’t in a hurry. The captain’s clenched jaw spoke to his frustration at their pace. Two days into their journey and he was obviously ready to be off the road already.

The captain turned and his gaze followed them for a few paces. Ben pretended he hadn’t been watching the man. He reached up a hand to pull his hood forward but then realized that was about the most suspicious thing he could possibly do.

With a gesture from the captain, the drummer cut short his marching beat.

“Where are you headed?” called the captain.

“Boggytown,” answered Ben.

“That place was a hell hole twenty years ago when I last saw it. It probably still is,” barked the man. “What’s there for you?”

“Family, friends, a safe roof to sleep under,” replied Ben. Despite the cold wind on his face, droplets of sweat were forming and sliding down his back. He didn’t know the first thing about Boggytown. Jasper had mentioned the place. Aside from Irrefort, it was the only name of a city in the east that Ben knew.

The captain snorted. “Not good family if they live down there.”

Ben shrugged.

The captain’s gaze dropped to Ben’s sword. “Why don’t you join us, son? You wear that thing like you know how to use it. For a man like you, there are riches to be had.”

“Where are you marching?” inquired Amelie.

“Issen. Land of plenty, lass. We have an opening in the ranks.” The captain gestured behind him. “Join us on the march and I’ll see your man gets the full signing bonus. Maybe I’ll double it if he shows me he knows his way around that sword. Plenty of work if you want to come with us too. Cooking, washing, mending, there’s always something we can use a delicate set of hands for. With you watching, you can make sure your man spends his time looting and not raping. These others’ll go for the girls first. Do it right, and you’ll have gold in your pockets.”

“I, uh,” Amelie stammered, unsure how to respond.

“She’s in the family way,” said Ben. “Her folks are in Boggytown.”

“Ah,” responded the captain. He eyed Amelie appreciatively. “I don’t blame you, lad. If I had a girl like that, I wouldn’t want to march off to war either. You think about it though, when you get there. Boggytown’ll have recruiters too. Leave her with the family. You go off and make your fortune. She’ll be waiting for you with the little one when you get back.”

Ben sketched a quick bow to the captain. Then he and Amelie lengthened their strides. They weren’t running, but they weren’t far from it. Behind them, the steady beat of the drums picked back up.

***

For three more days, they hiked across the rolling plains east of Cormender. The undulating hills spread out in front of them, unbroken except for the occasional traveler. Most were headed east, away from the growing threat of the demons.

On the fourth day outside of town, they found a visceral reminder of what that threat entailed. Blood stained the road and extended fifty paces into the tough plains grass. A large family had been attacked, at least three generations with a score of children. Their wagon sat motionless in the middle of the road. The donkey that had been pulling it lay dead in the harness. The back of the wagon was empty, likely looted by passersby.

“A swarm?” speculated Amelie.

Ben shrugged. The family appeared lightly armed. Their weapons could have been looted as well, but just as likely, they weren’t warriors and didn’t have the skill to protect themselves.

“Back in Farview, a posse of sixty of us faced a lone demon,” answered Ben. “Two men died. The rest of us fled across a fast-moving creek to safety. We would have lost more, including me, if that creek wasn’t there. The demon thrived until Saala found it. Out here,” Ben said, gesturing to the open plains, “it would have been worse. Against untrained farmers and craftsmen, a lone demon could kill dozens before they stopped it, if they even could. Those children just ran and died.”

“This must be happening all over now,” stated Amelie.

Ben nodded. “We’re doing the right thing.”

Amelie stared straight ahead, ignoring the rest of the grisly scene as they passed through the carnage. Ben glanced at her then looked ahead as well. He ignored the glistening tear forming in the corner of her eye. Those people were Coalition. In some ways, they were supporting the war against Amelie’s father and her home. But the children hadn’t chosen that. They were innocent. Maybe the adults were too. None of them deserved to die, screaming under the claws and teeth of a demon.

“I didn’t see a body of the demon,” mumbled Amelie when they finally cleared the area.

“It’s out here somewhere,” agreed Ben.

A league further, they heard it. A bestial shriek carried to them on the wind. In a heartbeat, Ben swept his sword out. Amelie drew her blades a breath behind him. The wind whistled through the grass. Nothing moved nearby.

“I don’t see it,” muttered Amelie nervously.

“It sensed someone,” guessed Ben, “someone else.”

“No one was behind us for at least a quarter league,” remarked Amelie.

Ben kept scanning the hills around them, seeing nothing.

“It had to be ahead of us.”

“What should we do?” asked Amelie.

“It could be another family,” answered Ben.

Amelie nodded and they both started to trot down the road. The shrieks of the demon continued. Whatever had drawn its interest wasn’t dead yet. In the open plain, with the wind, it was difficult to tell how far the sound was coming from, but someone needed help.

A brisk jog brought Ben and Amelie over two hills before they found the source of the sound. They stood on the crest of the road and looked down. A huge man-height demon was smashing a clawed fist into the side of a carriage. Over and over, the creature unleashed its berserk rage against the vehicle. At each blow, the carriage rocked up on two wheels then crashed back down. Miraculously, the door was holding up to the onslaught.

Ben looked at Amelie and caught her fearful wince. This demon was big. Not quite an arch-demon, but it had been feasting. At Ben’s height, it would be three times his weight, all muscle and bone.

“Any useful tricks in that pouch Jasper gave you?” inquired Ben.

“If you want to wait half a bell, I can form a fireball,” replied Amelie mirthlessly.

“The old-fashioned way then.”

Ben gripped his longsword tightly and started down the hill. Shouting at the creature, he tried to distract it. Any one of those heavy blows could be the one that finally smashed in the carriage door. Once that was open, the demon would consume whoever was inside.

Hearing his voice, the demon turned its head. Its mouth opened, displaying rows of wicked, sharp teeth. It roared at Ben. Then the demon turned from the carriage and charged.

“That’s good, I guess,” Ben mumbled under his breath.

The monster took two bounding leaps and was halfway to Ben. His breath caught. The thing was faster than he’d expected.

The crash of a storm was building in his head, but it wasn’t yet the crescendo he’d heard when he was able to unleash a powerful burst of wind. Instinctually, he knew it was a wasted effort. The power he released took time to build, and he didn’t have time. Instead, he crouched low and prepared to meet the charge.

In heartbeats, the beast took one last leap and soared through the air toward him. He stepped to the side and whipped his blade around, aiming for the beast’s abdomen. If he could gut it, it would be effectively finished.

The demon’s arm swept down with startling speed, blocking Ben’s strike. He tried to push past the arm, but the creature’s momentum carried it forward. He ducked low to avoid the heavy thing smashing into him.

He felt his sharp steel slice into its arm and scrape along bone as the creature flew past. It missed his shoulder by a finger-length. Purple blood sprayed from the creature’s wound. Ben rolled on the ground and jumped to his feet, spinning to face the demon. It wasn’t coming at him, though. It landed from its leap at Ben and took another bounding jump right at Amelie.

His friend was standing, grim-faced, holding her rapier and dagger in front of her. The thin weapons would shatter under the weight of that monster.

A claw-tipped hand swept at her with enough force to tear her head off. Ben charged after the demon, helpless to get there in time and defend his friend. Amelie met the attack with her rapier.

Ben expected to see the demon smash through the slender blade and rip into his friend, but the claws didn’t reach her. Instead, when the demon’s hand impacted the rapier, it stopped, like it had smacked against a stone wall.

Amelie went flying, her body tossed like a rag doll, sailing ten paces through the air before landing hard and tumbling through the plains grass.

The demon stood looking at her, confused.

Ben reached it before it could react. He slammed his mage-wrought blade into its back. The steel punched into the flesh between the creature’s arms-length wings. The blade speared cleanly through and Ben felt the tip slide into open air.

Skewered, the demons slumped to its knees, dead. Ben placed a boot on its back and yanked his weapon free. Keeping the fallen creature in the periphery of his vision, he ran to his friend. She was face down in the grass, moaning. He knelt beside her and gently turned her over.

“Oh, hell,” she groaned. “That hurt.”

“What did you do!” exclaimed Ben. “I thought you were about to get torn in two.”

Amelie shifted her arm and shoulder, checking to see if anything was broken. “You’re saying I’m not,” she muttered.

Ben smiled down at her. Amelie struggled to sit up and Ben helped her. She winced when his fingers touched her arm.

Feeling gently, she probed at her side. “Just bruised, I think.”

“How’d you do that?” asked Ben.

She frowned. “I was trying to do something Jasper mentioned. Diffusion. In theory, if a force is spread out over enough surface area, it will be harmless.”

Ben sat back on his haunches, not understanding.

Amelie picked up her rapier and smirked. “I suppose it sort of worked.”

The blade was bent at an angle. It was totally useless now, but it hadn’t broken. Whatever she had done prevented the demon’s arm from smashing through it and into her.

“Instead of all of the force from the demon’s blow being concentrated on the narrow steel of this blade,” she continued, “it was spread across my entire body. Which now feels like is one giant bruise. That thing was stronger than I anticipated.”

“Well—” started Ben.

He was interrupted by a shout from the carriage.

“Well done!”

Ben looked and saw a man standing in the road. He was dressed like a courtier, with a royal blue doublet, tight black leggings, and a flat hat perched precariously atop his mussed blond hair. The man took a step forward then looked down at his black velvet shoes and the muddy road. He stopped walking and glanced at Ben and Amelie.

“Truly well fought,” continued the man. “I didn’t see the entire battle, but I saw the masterful blow at the end.”

Ben pulled Amelie to her feet. They strode toward the man and the carriage.

Behind the original man, another emerged, a sour-faced character also wearing royal blue. He was clutching a crossbow and had an iron cudgel hanging from his belt.

The foppish blond continued, “My name is Lord James. My footman, Ian, and I were unable to get out and face the creature. It damaged my carriage door and we were stuck inside.”

Ben looked to the open door on the other side of the carriage but didn’t comment.

When they drew close, he saw a wisp of a mustache on the courtier’s face, and he reevaluated his impression the man’s age. Initially, he though the man must be a decade older based on how he spoke. Up close, the courtier appeared new to manhood.

Bowing to Amelie, the Lord James continued, undeterred by the lack of response from Ben, “Lady, are you seriously injured?”

“Just my pride,” replied Amelie with a quick curtsy. “And a few bruises.”

Ben frowned. He wondered if he should have bowed. His experience with highborn was limited. The ones he encountered didn’t require a great deal of formality, but this man could be different.

Ignoring Ben, the courtier stepped forward and offered her his arm, apparently intending to help her walk. “I owe you and your man a debt. My carriage could have been damaged further if you hadn’t arrived.”

Ben grunted. Unless they were exceptionally skilled, the courtier’s rapier and his companion’s iron club wouldn’t have done much to stop that demon. The carriage would have been the least of their problems.

“It was merely luck that we happened by,” protested Amelie. “No favor is expected.”

“Looks like we’ll be walking, my lord,” called the footman. He was squatting near the front of the carriage. “Horse is dead and so is the driver.”

Lord James’ lips pursed petulantly. “I was going to offer you a ride, but it appears we’re also on foot.” James turned back to his footman. “Gather our things and our coin. Secure the carriage as best you’re able and we’ll continue to Cormender. We’ll buy supplies there and another carriage.”

“We don’t have a lot of coin,” answered the gruff footman.

James sighed. “We’ll requisition supplies from the governor. Come now, Ian. Daylight is wasting.”

The footman clambered back inside the damaged carriage.

“Find my boots!” yelled the lord after him.

Amelie looked at Ben, unsure how to react to the pompous lord. Ben shrugged. This was her area of expertise, not his.

Turning his gaze back to Ben and Amelie, the lord remarked, “It appears I have no way to compensate you for your assistance.”

“Really,” interjected Amelie. “No favor is expected.”

Shaking his head, the lord responded, “You assisted me, and even though it is not expected, chivalrous conduct dictates I offer you a favor. A day and a half ride further down this road, I’m not sure how long it will take to walk, lies the town of Amum. It’s more of a waypoint, really, not a proper town, but there is a captain over the barracks. A fellow by the name of,” James glanced back at the carriage, “Ian, what is that captain in Amum called?”

“Vander,” replied a muffled voice.

“Yes,” continued James, “Vander is his name. I will give you a signet ring of my house. Show it to Vander and inform him I’ve instructed he give you twenty gold coins as a reward for your assistance.”

Ben swallowed. Twenty gold was a lot of coin.

James stripped a glittering silver-and-ruby ring off his finger and offered it to Ben. Ben bowed, unsure if that was the proper reaction, and accepted the ring. He didn’t know what to say to get out of it.

Lord James brushed a finger along his wispy mustache and eyed Amelie. “You are certain you do not want to travel with us to Cormender? We will obtain horses and a cart there. Our return journey will be much quicker. A beautiful woman like you should not be on the road alone.”

“I, uh, I won’t be alone,” stuttered Amelie.

Lord James glanced at Ben then stalked back to his carriage. “Leave my ring with Vander,” he called over his shoulder. The foppish man disappeared into his carriage, presumably to put on his boots and boss Ian around.

Ben gestured down the empty road beyond the carriage. “After you, my lady.”

In very unladylike fashion, Amelie snorted and started hobbling along. Luckily, she’d avoided broken bones, but Ben was certain that for days she’d be suffering from the bruises the demon left her.

The rest of the day passed in silence, broken only when Ben spotted some large, shaggy creatures cresting a hill a quarter league from the road.

He stared at them hard until Amelie explained, “Bison. They’re kind of like wild cows. They roam the plains outside of Issen in large herds.”

“Are they dangerous?” asked Ben curiously. From a distance, they looked big.

“Not particularly, just don’t stand in front of the herd if it gets spooked,” answered Amelie. “One starts running and the rest panic. Before you know it, they’re all charging without any clue what they’re running from.”

Ben grunted. “Just like people.”

***

In four days, they finally found the town of Amum. From afar, they saw columns of dark smoke drifting up behind the rolling hills of the plain. Ben worried about the smoke, but as they drew closer, he heard the unmistakable clang of blacksmith’s hammers. Lots of them.

When they reached the crest of the last hill before town, they saw it wasn’t much of a town. At the north end, a cluster of buildings was pouring out smoke. The smithies, Ben realized. At the south end of the development stood a pair of long barracks with a muddy yard between them. Filling the space between the smithies and the barracks was a motley collective of low stone and sod houses. Dirty, narrow streets snaked between them. It was all slapdash and squalid. On the far side of the town, they saw wagons coming and going.

“There must be an iron mine to the north,” speculated Amelie.

Ben nodded. “When did the initial conflict with the Coalition start?” he asked.

Amelie shrugged.

“This place isn’t more than a few years old,” Ben guessed. “They must have built it in preparation for war. They mine the iron ore and take it here to forge into weaponry and armor. It would be cheaper to transport finished goods than the raw ingots.” He surveyed the town below them. “They didn’t put much into this town, but still, it would have taken years of planning and development. The Coalition was getting ready long before the Alliance was formed. Devious, but smart.”

“Now you’re thinking like a lord,” quipped Amelie.

Ben grunted.

“What do you think, should we go find this Captain Vander?” asked Amelie.

“Twenty gold is a lot,” responded Ben slowly.

“We don’t need it though,” replied Amelie. “Jasper gave us plenty.”

“Walking into a barracks is a risk,” added Ben. “Even if this Vander doesn’t recognize us, some of his men might. They might have even been part of Lord Jason’s squad that tried to capture you.”

“I could wear a disguise,” suggested Amelie. “We could go in quickly and leave as soon as we have the coins.”

Ben shook his head. “I think Jasper was right earlier. A disguise could raise attention. Let’s avoid attention and avoid the captain. We don’t need the gold. There’s no reason to walk into a lion’s den.”

“Works for me,” agreed Amelie. “If not the barracks, then where to?”

“An inn,” answered Ben. “Somewhere with a nice warm fire, decent food, and cold ale.”

“And a hot bath,” amended Amelie.

***

The streets of Amum must have started on a rigid grid, but in short order, seller’s stands, wagons, and toppled walls intruded into the open spaces. A block after the open gate, it was obvious people used every item at their disposal to cobble together new structures or expand existing ones. Ben saw more than one wagon that had been torn apart and repurposed as a wall, sometimes with the wheels still attached. Scrawny men and haggard-looking women trudged about performing their errands. It was as if the slums of Cormender had overgrown the entire town.

He spotted a thin-looking young man with greedy eyes that reminded him of Renfro. He touched the hilt of his longsword and gave the boy a hard stare. Glaring back at Ben, the potential thief scampered down a side street.

Ben and Amelie walked through the narrow passageways, looking for an inn that was suitable. Near the barracks, they found a lively looking place but turned away when they saw the steady stream of soldiers going in and out. The center of town had a fine inn, but it was situated across a muddy street from a large building ringed with bored-looking guards. The captain’s quarters or the seat of government for the place, maybe both, they decided. Trying to avoid Captain Vander while staying across the street from him was silly. They moved on.

Finally, near the smithies, they found an inn that wasn’t swarmed with Coalition men. The place was a rickety three-story building with a metal sign depicting a hammer and anvil hanging over the door. It was uncomfortably close to the racket of the smithies, but Ben hoped they would stop once dark fell. Otherwise, it was going to be a long, noisy night.

When they walked into the warm interior, they saw roaring hearths on both ends of the common room. An assortment of empty wooden tables and benches spread between the two fires.

“It looks like the décor was entirely stocked from the side of the road,” muttered Amelie.

Ben grinned. “You see any trees while we were walking in?”

“Good point,” acknowledged his friend.

“Ho there,” called a friendly voice from the back. A tall man with spectacles hanging off his nose bustled out from behind the bar. “Welcome to the Hammer and Anvil,” he boomed.

The man reached out a hand. When Ben gripped it, he felt his bones grind together. Ben winced and thought to warn Amelie, but for her, the innkeeper merely laid her hand atop his and bowed as if to kiss it.

“Food, drink, lodging?” asked the man.

Ben nodded. “All of it.”

A smile split the tall man’s face. “Wonderful. Take a seat. I’ll draw you some fresh ales and check on the kitchen. Most of our customers don’t come in until later when the smithy fires die down. The name is Jolly Jon. Shout behind the bar if you need me.”

Ben and Amelie sat at a rough table near the fire. The planks of the table were different sizes and loosely hammered together. Ben stripped off his pack and cloak and turned to the fire. Frowning, he realized there was no wood in it.

“Manure,” said Amelie.

He peered closer and realized she was right. Clumps of manure were burning cheerfully. The smell wasn’t as unpleasant as he thought. It smelled earthy and clean, unlike the fresh stuff.

Jolly Jon returned with three ales and laid down two of them. “We’ve got a bison stew on the fire left over from the midday crowd. Nice and hearty. Good for this weather.”

“Bison?” asked Ben.

Jolly Jon frowned at him.

“The animals we saw in the distance,” explained Amelie.

“You’re not from around here?” inquired Jon.

Ben shook his head, cursing silently for making it so obvious.

“What are you doing in Amum then?” pressed the man. “You don’t work for the mine, I can see that, and you ain’t a blacksmith.”

“We’re just passing through,” responded Amelie.

Jolly Jon scooted back a chair and joined them. Cradling the third mug of ale in his hands, he leaned forward on his elbows. “We’ve had a lot of people passing through recently,” remarked Jon in a low, conspiratorial voice. “Most stay at the Governor’s Inn. There’s a lot of activity over there. I’ve had a few here, though. I don’t just serve ale to the smiths, no matter what that ass Vander says.”

Ben cleared his throat. “Yes, it seemed busy there. We thought your inn looked more comfortable.”

Jolly Jon grinned. “Aye, it is.”

Jon took a long drink of his ale and wiped his lips with the back of his sleeve. Ben took a drink as well. It was the polite thing to do. Surprisingly, the ale was quite good. Ben complimented Jon. The innkeeper’s smile grew ear to ear.

“I’m glad you’re a man who can appreciate good ale,” responded Jon. “Most of my customers just care that it’s cold. Not a problem this time of year, but they give me hell during the summer months. Some days, I’m not sure it’s worth it. The governor’s trying to run all the honest business people out of here. If you’re not one of his friends, then it’s getting tougher and tougher every month. It makes you want to pack up and find some place far away from all these lords and wannabe lords.”

“The governor?” asked Amelie.

“Captain Vander,” replied Jon before pausing to spit on the floor. “Folks have taken to calling him the governor ‘cause of the way he acts. He don’t have the official papers from the Council in Irrefort, but you wouldn’t know it with the way he runs the place. They say he’s looking to make a name for himself. Not sure how he’s supposed to do it this far from anything, but I’ve heard he wants to get restationed, maybe to Issen. Let me tell you, that’ll be a lucrative spot if he gets it. Vander’s getting bold, taking advantage of people and sending more than the allotment back to the Council. Like those dried up old men even notice. With the soldiers behind him though, who is going to say anything?”

The innkeeper drank deeply of his ale again. Ben met Amelie’s eyes. They weren’t looking for company, but the man was friendly enough. Turning his ale all the way up, Jolly Jon finished it with a satisfied sigh.

“Since you’re staying the night, the next round is on me,” offered the innkeeper.

Ben glanced down at his three quarters full ale mug and mumbled, “Thank you.”

The innkeeper rose to his feet and advised, “I’ll be right back.”

While the man was at his taps, Ben whispered to Amelie, “Maybe we can get some information from him.”

“If he pauses long enough for us to ask a question,” grumbled Amelie.

Ben smiled as Jolly Jon reappeared with three full ale mugs and sat back down.

“You folks said you’re just passing through. Mind if I ask where you’re headed?”

“Irrefort,” answered Ben, hoping the man’s natural loquaciousness would take over and he wouldn’t probe further.

“Ah, for the coronation?” Jon asked with a sly wink. “I knew you two looked like highborn. Didn’t mean anything personal earlier about getting away from the lords and ladies. Just shop talk, you know.”

Amelie coughed and Ben blinked at the innkeeper.

“Coronation?” Ben asked, confused.

“The rumor is all over town,” replied Jon. “After Issen, I think it was obvious to everyone Lord Jason rules the Coalition. It just hadn’t been made official yet. The rest of them on the Council, aside from maybe Rettor, are half-dead old men or hedge mages. None have the guts to stand against Jason. Word is that when he returned to Irrefort, he stormed into the Council chamber, slung the head down in the middle of the table, and demanded they make him king. None of ‘em said a word, so here we are. The Coalition will have a king.”

“The head?” queried Ben.

At the same time, Amelie asked, “What happened at Issen?”

Jon looked between the two of them. “Really, you haven’t heard? I could have sworn you were some highborn from up Cormender way.” The innkeeper sat back in his chair. “Maybe the news just hasn’t spread west yet.”

Amelie gripped her mug, white-knuckled.

“We’ve been away on an expedition,” explained Ben, letting the innkeeper infer what he wanted. “Tell us. What happened at Issen?”

“Two weeks ago, Lord Jason took the city and lost less than a dozen men,” answered Jon, “and everyone says those men fell in the drunken looting after. They were probably stabbed in the back by their brother soldiers, I think.”

“Issen fell bloodlessly?” choked Amelie in a tight voice.

“Well, not completely,” replied Jolly Jon. “Lord Gregor’s head was cut off, of course. They say Lady Selene offered it to Lord Jason on the same silver platter she and Gregor shared at their wedding feast. She did it right on the front steps of the palace. At least, that’s what people are saying.”

Amelie’s empty ale mug thumped down on the uneven planks of the table. She scooped up the second mug and turned it up.

“Lord Gregor was betrayed,” asked Ben, “by his wife?”

Jolly Jon shrugged. “I suppose you could put it like that. What else was she going to do though? Issen was surrounded. No help was coming from their stronger allies, Whitehall and Northport. Lord Gregor stubbornly refused to surrender. Lady Selene saved tens of thousands of lives. Maybe more.”

“You’re certain?” quaked Amelie.

“Well, I didn’t see it myself,” complained the innkeeper. “It’s all over town. Lord James spoke of it when he passed through just a few days past. That’s when we all found out. They say Lady Selene is travelling to Irrefort and will be Lord Jason’s wife. They’ll be married shortly after the coronation. Queen of the Coalition, Queen of the World someday. That’s a big reward for the lady, but she deserves it if you ask me.”

Amelie stood slowly. “I need to use the water shed.”

Jolly Jon waved her toward a back door. “Behind the building and to the left.”

Ben reached over and gripped Amelie’s hand.

“Stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

Ben and Jon’s gazes followed her as she stumbled out of the common room.

“I’m not meaning to be rude,” said Jolly Jon, “but your girl cannot handle her drink.”

Ben looked back at the man and nodded, afraid to speak, lest his voice crack and the man suspect something.

“Let me get us another round while we wait for her,” suggested the innkeeper.

Ben nodded and sat back, stunned at Jon’s revelations.

Ben and Jolly Jon finished two more ales before the innkeeper finally had to leave and tend to his inn. A crowd of thick-armed, smoke-smelling workers trickled in from the smithies. They weren’t a rowdy crew. They kept to their small groups, perched on trembling chairs that barely supported their weight. They clustered around plates of bison stew and mugs of ale, lots of mugs of ale.

When Amelie finally shuffled back to the table, she was calmer than Ben expected. Red-rimmed eyes told Ben she’d been crying, but she wasn’t crying anymore. She looked resigned.

“Are you okay?” whispered Ben when she sat.

“I don’t want to talk yet.” She sighed. “And I need another ale.”

They drank silently and steadily throughout the evening. The crowd around them surged as workers from the smithies stomped in, quaffing a quick ale before going home to their families or sitting down with companions for a meal.

Ben and Amelie ate as well, more for something to do than out of hunger. They’d both lost their appetites. For Ben, the news about Issen didn’t change what they needed to do, but he knew Amelie needed time to process it. He suggested they go somewhere more private to talk.

She declined. “I’d rather be around people right now.”

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Ben offered. He knew the words rang hollow. Her father was dead, killed by her mother. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could say about that.

Amelie shook her head. “My mother has always been a political creature. She married my father for position and not love. She had me for the same reason, hoping to produce a male heir. When I came out a girl, and when she couldn’t get pregnant again, I know she was frustrated. She felt like a failure, but my father always cared for her. He had his mistresses, of course, but he was discrete. She always got the respect due the Lady of Issen. This though, I don’t know what could have happened. Why would she do it?”

Ben stared helplessly at Amelie. She kept her gaze down into her ale mug.

With a grimace, Ben mentioned, “Jolly Jon said she travelled to Irrefort with Lord Jason.”

A tear leaked down Amelie’s cheek.

“Would she betray my father, our people, to be queen?” asked Amelie plaintively.

Ben sat silently. He didn’t have an answer to that.

Amelie finished her ale, her fourth ale, and sat it down on the table. A boom shook the Hammer and Anvil. At first, Ben thought she’d unleashed her magic somehow, but the door swung open and a soaking wet man staggered in. A storm had rolled over the town.

For the next bell, they drank ale and listened to the weather. Wind battered the sides of the building and rain pounded the roof. Thunder reverberated through the town of Amum.

The smithy workers cleared out, eager to get home in the storm. Before long, Ben and Amelie were among the only patrons left. Jolly Jon scurried about, collecting empty ale mugs and sweeping leftover food onto the floor. A portly dog waddled out from behind the bar and set to cleaning the mess.

Another wave of thunder crashed over the building. Ben glanced nervously up at the ceiling. Jolly Jon has promised them a comfortable room upstairs. If the roof was built as shoddily as the tables though, it was going to be a wet night.

The door slammed open and Ben sat bolt upright. His mind had been drifting, lulled by the warm fires, cold ale, and sound of the rain. Amelie didn’t look up. She hadn’t spoken in half a bell except to suggest another ale. Ben let her be.

Leaning against to door, pushing it shut against the billowing wind and rain, the newcomer grumbled and peeled a floppy, soaking wet hat off his head. He was shorter than Ben and had a shock of thick black hair. He ran a hand through it, trying to brush out the water. He stripped off a prodigious overcoat, which covered him nearly to the ground, and flapped it about, spraying water all over the nearby tables. Ben thought the man was lucky the blacksmiths had gone home. They wouldn’t appreciate getting showered with dirty water by the little man.

“Samuel!” called Jolly Jon from the other side of the room. “You’re getting water all over the place.”

“There’s water everywhere already,” grumbled the man. “It’s like someone is dumping the entire south sea on the town of Amum.”

“It’s dry in here, or, at least it was until you arrived,” argued Jon.

“So it is,” allowed Samuel. “Sorry. I’m a little put out. I just got in from Cormender. The trip took two bells longer than it should have because that damn Lord James ran me off the road. I had to dig my cart out of the mud. In this rain, no one was out there to help me ‘cept my donkey.”

Ben tensed at the mention of Lord James. The lord had been walking west to Cormender when they left him. His return trip would have been quicker if he’d managed to secure a horse, but even then, he must have turned around almost immediately. They’d helped the lord. They had no reason to worry about him, but it was another awkward encounter Ben wanted to avoid.

Without asking, Jolly Jon filled an ale for Samuel and plunked it down on the bar. The little man hurried over and scooped it up gratefully. Ben turned his attention back to his own ale when he saw Samuel twist and survey the room.

Speaking quietly to Amelie, Ben suggested, “We should turn in soon. I think we’re safer out on the road than we are in town. The sooner we leave here, the sooner…”

He let the thought die and swallowed uncomfortably. Amelie’s mother was in Irrefort now, Issen was overthrown. Would Amelie even want to continue? Would she want to get to Irrefort now more than ever? He didn’t know.

“One more ale,” she answered. “Then we’ll go to the room.”

“Okay. I’ll go get a round.”

At the bar, the man Samuel was standing alone. Jolly Jon had disappeared into the back. When Ben arrived, Samuel glanced at him but remained silent. Ben rested his elbows on the rough wood of the bar before stepping back when it creaked alarmingly.

Samuel chuckled. “Carpentry isn’t Jon’s strong suit.”

Ben smiled at the man and nodded.

“This time of night,” continued the man, “he might be back there shoulder deep cleaning some stew pot. You want an ale? Step around and pull the tap. That’s what the regulars do. Let him know you got one, of course, and he’ll settle it in your bill when you leave. You’re staying the night, right?”

The steady rumble of thunder rolled through the inn again. Ben grinned. “We’ve been considering it.”

Samuel grunted and held out his hand, “Samuel.”

Ben thought quickly and then clasped the man’s arm. “Mathias.”

“Who is your friend over there?” asked Samuel.

“Meghan,” answered Ben.

“This is a clean place. Jon runs it proper, but I wouldn’t advise leaving a young lady like that unattended. There’re a lot of young men from the smithy that think they’re the kings of the world. Get a few drinks in ‘em and they can be aggressive.”

“Thanks for the advice,” responded Ben. “I’d better get back then.”

He weaved between the empty tables and sat back down with Amelie.

Heartbeats later, Samuel appeared at the table. “You forgot your ale!” the little man exclaimed.

Ben blushed, and Samuel sat down two frothy mugs, one for Ben and one for Amelie. He eyed the empty chair Jolly Jon had occupied earlier in the night.

Ben took a deep breath and offered, “Take a seat if you like.”

Without a pause, the man sat down. Amelie peered at him curiously. The ale was starting to affect her but not enough Ben was worried she might let something slip.

Ben quickly made introductions, “Meghan, this is Samuel. Samuel, Meghan.”

Amelie attempted a weak smile at the man.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Samuel with a slight bow of his head.

The thunder rumbled again and Ben winced.

“These plains storms roll through quickly,” remarked Samuel. “It’ll blow itself out tonight. The road’ll be pure mud tomorrow though. It should dry enough for travel the day after.”

“It won’t be suitable for travel tomorrow?” inquired Ben.

Shaking his head, the man replied, “No. I’ve been travelling the roads around here for years. After a rain like this, it will be calf-deep mud. You’re better off waiting for it to dry.” Noticing Ben’s pained look, the man continued, “If I may ask, where are you headed?”

“Irrefort,” answered Ben. They’d already told Jolly Jon. Why not add one more breadcrumb to their trail?

“So am I,” replied the man. “Maybe we can make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” asked Ben.

“I’m a merchant of a sort, a peddler of rare and unique items. My intention is to head to Irrefort for the coronation. My concern,” said the man, “is the demons.”

“You’ve seen them on the road?” asked Amelie.

The peddler shook his head. “Fortunately, I haven’t seen any, but I have seen the bodies. I am a merchant, a good one I like to think, but I am not a warrior. I could use some protection on the journey.”

“Why do you think we’d fare any better against a demon?” asked Ben with one eyebrow raised.

“Come now.” Samuel smiled. “I deal in rare and unique items, items like mage-wrought blades. I won’t take it personally that you don’t think I can recognize such a weapon immediately. In my experience, it is a safe assumption that anyone confident enough to carry a mage-wrought blade in public has at least some idea of how to use it.”

Ben self-consciously moved his hand to the hilt of his sword.

“If we went with you, what is in it for us?” interjected Amelie.

Grinning broadly, the peddler finished his ale and smacked it down on the table. “Now we’re negotiating!” He gestured to Jolly Jon, who had appeared behind the bar. He held up three fingers and waved the innkeeper over. “Gold coins are the obvious answer, but I am guessing you are not interested in those.”

“Everyone is interested in gold,” retorted Amelie. “It all depends on how many of those coins you are offering.”

“Certainly not as many as your friend could get for his sword.” The peddler sat back in his chair and made a show of thinking.

Ben and Amelie truly weren’t interested in the gold. Jasper had given them plenty. Ben didn’t want to tell the man that. As Amelie said, everyone was interested in gold.

“Maybe there is something more valuable than gold I can offer you?” wondered Samuel. From inside a coat pocket, he pulled a small dagger and placed it on the table in front of Ben.

Ben stared down at it. It was the length of his hand and etched in delicate whorls that started at the hilt and ran down the length of the blade. The cross piece was covered in silver filigree and the hilt was wrapped in delicate wire. A thumbnail-sized ruby capped the hilt.

Ben was about to object. A fancy knife wasn’t any more interesting than gold. Then he paused. The whorls on the blade shifted as he looked at them. The harder he stared, the more they appeared to be moving. Ben’s eyes darted toward Amelie. She was staring at the weapon also.

“What do you think?” asked the peddler.

“You want to give us this in exchange for travelling to Irrefort with you?” asked Ben. “I am certain you could hire adequate guards for far less than this is worth. The ruby alone should get you half a dozen of well-armed men.”

The peddler winked at Ben. “Surely, you know the value in this blade isn’t the gem.”

“That still begs the question,” interrupted Amelie, “why this? You can find companions on the road for much less.”

“It is a good deal for you, then,” argued the peddler.

“What else are you wanting in exchange for the dagger?” asked Ben. “If you are a good merchant, as you claim, you must want something of equal value in exchange.”

“Ah,” responded Samuel. “You caught me. Once we get to Irrefort, there is one more thing I could use help with. As I said, I deal in unique items, items that involve delicate negotiations and can’t just be sold out of some shoddy market stall. Sometimes, in Irrefort, I must work through intermediaries who are not always scrupulous business people. Having a tough-looking young man with a sharp, mage-wrought sword by my side can ease those transactions.”

“I won’t kill someone for you,” barked Ben.

Samuel held up his hands in protest. “Of course not! It’s merely precaution. Violence is the last thing I want to happen.”

Ben frowned. It sounded suspicious.

“You don’t know what this dagger does, do you?” guessed Amelie.

The peddler winced. “Why do you say that?”

“I knew it,” replied Amelie with a smirk.

Samuel tugged on his ear but didn’t respond.

“It’s difficult to sell a device without a description of what it can do,” continued Amelie. “This is almost worthless to you, isn’t it?”

The peddler sighed and stared wistfully at his empty ale mug. “It could be worth a lot to the right person.”

“Or it could be worth nothing,” retorted Ben with a snort.

“You two said it,” argued Samuel, “the ruby alone is worth the journey to Irrefort.”

“We’ll do it as far as Irrefort,” declared Amelie. She reached a hand across the table and slid the dagger toward her.

Samuel’s expression jumped from crestfallen disappointment to a tentative grin. Jolly Jon appeared out of nowhere and smacked a fresh round of ales onto the table. All three of them jumped.

“Find someone to help you smuggle your contraband to the guild?” asked Jon.

A pale Samuel stuttered, “I, ah…”

Amelie raised an eyebrow at the man.

Glassy-eyed, Jolly Jon pulled a chair up to the table and straddled it, an ale mug hanging carelessly in his hand. “That dagger must be worth more’n I woulda thought,” slurred the innkeeper. “Smuggling’s a hanging offense, and that’s if you get a trial! With the magical stuff, it’s just as likely Lord Jason’ll split you in two the minute he finds out. Assuming his former brethren don’t get to you first. That’s a dangerous crew.”

Samuel coughed discretely and didn’t meet Ben or Amelie’s stern gazes.

“We’ve only agreed to go as far as the walls of Irrefort,” remarked Amelie coolly.

“Ah, smart,” responded Jon. “No offense, Samuel, but there ain’t enough gold in the world for me to get mixed up in that stuff.” The innkeeper turned up his ale and quaffed the entire mug.

Ben met Amelie’s eyes. Then they turned up their mugs as well.

Grim-faced Samuel finished his and suggested, “Another round?”

Drinking Legs

Ben stumbled toward the stairs, the floor of the tavern rolling under his feet like the deck of a ship on choppy waters. Amelie’s arm was looped around his and her ship rolled in the opposite direction. Only crashing into a table stopped both of them from flopping to the floor.

Amelie giggled then accused him, “I think you’re drunk!”

“I think we’re both drunk,” Ben groaned.

“Uh uh,” slurred Amelie. “You’re the drunk one.”

She hauled herself up Ben’s arm and hugged him tightly. He felt her body press against his while he tried to shuffle them both toward the stairs and up to their room.

When they got to the stairs, he felt like he was back to climbing the butte in the Wilds, a vertical climb, it seemed, weighed down by Amelie. His stubborn feet were as awkward as snowshoes.

Staggering and slipping, he and Amelie ascended to the top. Halfway there, they dropped to hands and knees and crawled the rest of the way. Ben was certain the staircase wasn’t twisting and turning like this when they’d stored their gear in the room earlier.

To get Amelie up the final step, Ben placed his hand on her back and propelled her higher. She lurched forward and landed on her stomach. His hand was resting on her bottom. It was a beguiling combination of soft and firm.

Amelie glanced back at him and exclaimed, “Ben, your hand!”

He jerked his hand back like he’d been burned.

“I didn’t say you had to move it.” She giggled.

Ben blushed. Amelie clambered to her feet, lost her balance, and stumbled toward Ben. He caught her and barely saved them both from tumbling back down the stairs. She clung to him while he guided her to the plank door of their room.

Inside, Amelie fell down into the lone chair and struggled to take off her boots. Ben staggered to the bed and flopped down on his back. Above him, the rough timbers that held up the roof spun in a lazy circle. The pounding thunder outside had receded, but the constant drum of rain hammered on the wood shingles.

Amelie was giggling and snorting to herself. He’d be surprised if she was able to get her boots off without help, but at the moment, he was a little too dizzy to make the journey across the room to assist. His eyes were growing heavy. The room and the bed were warm, comfortable. He felt like he was sinking into the straw mattress.

Suddenly, Amelie landed on him.

His eyes sprung open. She was straddling his waist and beaming down at him. Before he could react, she reached down and pulled her tunic up and over her head. She flung it behind her. Ben didn’t see where it landed. His gaze was fixed on her breasts. They bounced happily with her motions. Firm and just the right size to fit in his hands.

Amelie followed his gaze and smiled. She cupped her breasts and asked him, “You like?”

He did. His body was responding to her. He felt himself stiffening. She felt it too. She ground her hips against him.

With an impish smile, she allowed, “I guess you do like it.”

She bent down and her soft lips met his. Her tongue darted out and danced with his. Her naked breasts pressed against his chest and she writhed on top of him.

Ben’s heart was pounding like a drum. He met her kiss, running his fingers through her hair and holding her tight. His other hand traced along the bare skin of her back. She was rocking back and forth. Her breaths were coming hot and fast. She broke their kiss to put her mouth on his neck, licking and sucking his skin.

A tingle swept through his body. He grabbed her shoulder with one hand and her hips with the other and rolled her over so he was now on top of her. His hand slid back into her hair and he tilted her head to the side. He attacked the smooth skin of her neck, torturing her the same way she did him.

His mouth trailed down her neck to her collarbone, gently kissing and nibbling. He brought his free hand up her side and found her breast. It was soft and hot in his hand. He felt her nipple harden against his palm. He pinched it. She gave a satisfying gasp of surprise.

Ben had to feel her naked skin against his. He sat up and stripped his tunic off. Or, at least, he tried to. It got caught around his head. For precious heartbeats, he struggled like a fool to get the thing off of him. Amelie laughed playfully. When he finally got the fabric off and tossed it away, he saw her smiling up at him.

“I knew you were drunk!” she accused.

“So are you!” he retorted.

Her smile lit her face. She lay beneath him, willing, waiting. He looked down at her, at her perfect, smooth skin. She was ready for him to do whatever he wanted, to take whatever he wanted from her. There were so many things he wanted to do.

He paused, looking down at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, giving him a mock pouty face.

The way her bottom lip stuck out almost drove him crazy, but he wasn’t crazy yet. And he wasn’t drunk enough to prevent the cold knife of conscious that sliced through his reverie. While he’d be more than willing to continue in the sober light of day, he wasn’t sure about her. She’d pushed him away before. And tonight, on the night where she drank more than he’d ever seen her drink, the night when she’d found out about her father and mother, she wasn’t thinking clearly.

Some of the joy and passion must have leeched out of his face.

“Ben, what’s wrong?” she asked again. She ran a hand up his bare chest, feeling his muscles. “Come on, Ben. You’ve been wanting this for months. I know you have.”

“I…”

“What?” she asked.

“We’re drunk, Amelie, too drunk.”

She frowned up at him. He lay down beside her.

“I don’t understand,” she mumbled. “Tonight, I want it too.”

“This isn’t the right time, Amelie,” he said with a sigh. “I want to. I—”

She interrupted him by suddenly bolting out of bed and stumbling over to the window. She slammed open the shutters and leaned out. For a moment, Ben thought it was a good thing Jolly Jon couldn’t afford glass window panes. The thought was broken when he heard Amelie getting violently sick. He rushed to her side and gathered up her hair while she heaved into the darkness below.

The rain poured down, whipped around by the tail of the storm. As the cold drops pelted against his bare skin, Ben wondered if that was worse than the yearning ache in his loins that wouldn’t be going away anytime soon.

***

Dull pain pulsed through his head. His mouth was dry as bone, and his stomach was rumbling with discontent. He lay still in the warm bed, unwilling to move and face the day. Beside him, he felt the expansion and contraction of Amelie’s breath. She was pressed against him, her arm draped over his chest, the soft skin of her cheek on his shoulder.

Both of them were naked from the waist up. He couldn’t recall what happened after she got sick, but he could feel his britches were on. He was certain that if he’d taken those off, he wouldn’t have thought to put them back on. He’d acted honorably.

He told himself he was waiting for the pain in his head to subside or the bile in his stomach to calm its roiling bubble. In truth, he didn’t want to lose the warmth of Amelie’s smooth skin against his. One of his arms was wrapped around her, resting against her back. The other hand was on his stomach. For half a bell, he was still.

Finally, Amelie stirred.

“Bloody hell,” she croaked, face buried in Ben’s neck. She shifted against him, her naked breasts rubbing against his side. “I feel awful. Like one of those damn blacksmiths is pounding my head on his anvil instead of a sword.”

Ben grimaced. He’d been so focused on Amelie he hadn’t noticed the constant clang of the smithies at work.

“No wonder this inn is so cheap,” he replied with a groan.

Finally, Amelie gathered the strength to lift her head up. “Did we…”

Ben met her eyes and mumbled, “We kissed. Some other things. I, we almost did. I stopped it before it got too far.”

Her head dropped down to rest on his shoulder. “Sometimes you are too nice for your own good.”

Ben stared up at the rafters, wondering what she meant by that.

“I need water,” she moaned a few minutes later.

Reluctantly, Ben disentangled himself from her. “There’s a pitcher and cup on the table.”

He padded across the wet floor and closed the shutters. They’d been hanging slightly ajar. The wind had blown rain across the table and the floor, but the water would still be good.

Ben lit the small lamp on the table and poured a cup of water. He walked it over to Amelie. She struggled to sit up and was making only minimal efforts to cover herself. He couldn’t stop looking down at her. Her skin was smooth and flawless except where his teeth and lips had left tiny love bites the night before. Her face was twisted into a pained grimace, but even then, her hair fell around it, framing her red lips, dark eyes, and high cheekbones. She had two pale scars from the encounter with the hunters on her forehead and jawline. They were barely visible in the weak light from the lamp.

Ben thought he was falling in love. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll go get us some kaf.”

Amelie nodded. “That would be nice.” One arm was draped carelessly across her chest, somewhat covering her breasts, the other held the water cup.

Ben slipped on his boots and pulled his tunic over his head. On the way out the door, he couldn’t stop thinking about when she said he was ‘too nice’.

Downstairs, Jolly Jon was bustling about, cleaning up after the breakfast rush. He carried a teetering stack of empty porridge bowls and called to Ben when he entered the common room, “How are you feeling?”

Ben grunted. He was pretty sure Jolly Jon knew exactly how he was feeling. “I could use some kaf, two big mugs.”

Jon winked and replied before disappearing into the kitchen, “I’ll be right back.”

Ben sat down heavily in one of the rickety chairs and surveyed the room. It was near empty. Only a handful of smithy workers were finishing a late breakfast. There was no sign of their new employer, Samuel. From what Ben recalled of the night before, Samuel likely wouldn’t be moving any faster than they were. In fact, Ben was pretty sure the man had fallen asleep at the table, head buried in his arms so that only his bristly black hair was visible. The peddler had said the roads would be impassable after the storm so Ben wasn’t worried he’d left. They had time to find him later.

When Jon returned with the kaf, he asked Ben, “You seen the peddler this morning?”

Ben shook his head. “I just got up. I figured he might still be sleeping it off.”

Jon scratched his head. “He’s got a warehouse in town. Sometimes he sleeps there to keep an eye on things. Last night, I figured he woulda woken up and stumbled upstairs to an empty room. I let him stay for free when he’s in town. In exchange, he, ah, brings me some things. Maybe he got up early and went to pack his cart. I thought he’d be too tipsy for that, but it wouldn’t be the first time the man passed out before everyone else then woke up early.”

Ben nodded, too hung over to care about whatever illicit arrangements Jolly Jon and Samuel had between them. It’d been apparent last night that Samuel’s business wasn’t entirely legal. Ben didn’t care if the man avoided the Coalition’s tariffs as long as he got them to Irrefort.

Ben murmured thanks for the kaf and promised to be down for breakfast later. He stomped up to the room and knocked politely. He was more than slightly disappointed to see Amelie had pulled her tunic back on.

They sat quietly in the room, sipping tentatively at the hot kaf. When they finally felt alive enough that they could move about, they dressed and went down to the common room to try and locate Samuel. The plans from the previous night were muddy and confused in Ben’s head. He recalled agreeing to accompany the man to Irrefort, and they’d received the inscribed dagger in exchange. For the life of him though, Ben couldn’t remember where they would meet, when they would leave, or any of the other logistical details that were important to actually departing Amum.

Downstairs, all of the smithy workers had cleared out. Only Jolly Jon remained.

“Have you seen Samuel yet?” queried Ben.

The innkeeper shook his head. “He must have gone over to the warehouse last night. Could be packing up this morning. Get your cloaks. I’ve got a break before the lunch crowd arrives. I’ll take you to him.”

They walked out into the chill morning air while Ben was still strapping his longsword on. In the warmth of the tavern, he’d forgotten it was winter. Bright blue sky and a golden sun provided some comfort though. Ben hoped it would get warmer as the sun rose. The streets were filled with cold mud. Samuel had been right. Trying to travel through that muck would have been futile.

The innkeeper weaved into the maze of Amum’s streets. They were crowded with people scurrying about on their morning errands. Wrapped tightly in cloaks, hoods, and furs, these people could have been residents of Farview for all Ben could tell, but the clutter and disarray of the town was completely different. The residents of Farview would never allow their small village to fall into such disrepair. Jolly Jon led them through the narrow streets, dodging dilapidated buildings and veering around toppled debris. Before long, they came up to a solid stone building. It had narrow windows and a thick, iron bound door.

“Samuel’s warehouse,” remarked Jon.

No smoke escaped the chimney and no lights lit the windows.

Amelie looked at the place skeptically. “Are you sure he’s in there?”

Jon shrugged. “If he’s not at my inn, he’s here. He might be in the back, packing the cart. I’ve got to run some errands and get back before the lunch crowd. If he doesn’t answer when you bang on the door, go a block down and come up the alley. He keeps his donkey back there and has a big door the cart can roll through.”

Jolly Jon waved goodbye and took off into the crowd. Ben’s gaze followed the man’s tall form until he turned down a side street.

“This place looks small for a warehouse,” grumbled Amelie.

“He said he sells rare and unique items,” responded Ben. “Expensive stuff, I guess. He must not need much room to store it.”

Without further comment, Ben strode up to the sturdy door and hammered on it with his fist. He waited and then banged again. No one answered.

“Around back?” suggested Amelie.

“Looks like it,” replied Ben.

They circled around the block and found a wide alley that ran behind the businesses on the main street. Some of the structures had small yards filled with vegetable gardens. Others had livestock, but most had outdoor workshops or loading areas. Refuse clogged the muddy walkway which was just wide enough for a wagon to pull through. The alley smelled.

“I can see why he stays at the Hammer and Anvil,” griped Amelie, stepping over a mysterious pile of brown sludge.

Ben paused outside of the back of one shop. A short fence surrounded it and a donkey was staked under a lean-to. Otherwise, the yard was open. Double barn doors covered half of the back of the building.

“I think this is the place,” he said.

The barn doors were shut as tight as the front door had been. Ben climbed over the fence, ignored the donkey, and pounded on the door. Again, there was no answer.

“There’s a window up there,” suggested Amelie, pointing above the lean-to. The window hung slightly ajar, creaking as the breeze gently pushed it.

“Last time we climbed into a warehouse window it didn’t go well,” replied Ben dryly. “I’m not sure Samuel would appreciate us breaking into his place.”

Amelie grinned. “It can’t be any worse than that time. Besides, if we’re going to travel all the way to Irrefort with the man and whatever illegal goods he traffics, it may not be a bad idea to get a peek at what he’s really up to.”

Without replying, Ben walked to the edge of the lean-to, climbed onto the fence, grabbed the top of the structure, and hauled himself up. Lying flat on the top, he glanced up and down the alley. He cursed himself for not doing so earlier, but luckily, no one was visible.

He crawled on all fours across the thin roof of the lean-to and peered in the open warehouse window. The only light was coming in from the window he was partially blocking with his body. Below him, the warehouse was shrouded in darkness. Ben glanced back at Amelie and saw her looking down the street. Suddenly, she turned to him and gestured frantically to get out of sight.

He heard the creak of a wagon as it turned down the alley. Without a second thought, he slid through the window and into the warehouse. He promptly fell five paces down to the floor below. Landing on his side, a whoosh of breath exploded out from the impact. A sharp lance of pain stabbed his shoulder. He lay still for several heartbeats. When he recovered, he rolled to his back and gently moved his shoulder. Thankfully, it wasn’t broken, but he’d have a nasty bruise.

He looked around in the dim light from the window. It revealed the back of a simple peddler’s cart, the feet of several shelves, and not much else.

Ben climbed to his feet with a groan and felt along the wall until he located the doors. By feel, he found two thick iron bars slid into brackets on the door. Simple, effective security. He slid the bars out and winced when they crashed to the floor. Probably not any louder than he was though, he thought ruefully. With the bars out, he pushed one of the doors open and saw Amelie patiently waiting for him. Ben bowed and swept a hand out, gesturing for her to lead the way.

“Have you ever entered a warehouse without falling down?” she asked.

Ben rolled his eyes.

With the large door open, the back half of the warehouse was visible. Ben saw a lantern hanging on the wall next to the door and struck it alight. Lantern in hand, Ben shut the door behind them, and they walked into the open space.

In the center of the room was a large cart. The center of the cart was enclosed. Ben guessed the peddler used it as a sleeping and living area when he was on the road. As they strolled around it, they found the back of the cart had a wide door that could be opened entirely or just on the top half. The sides had foldable tables that could be let down when he stopped to display the wares. Boxes and shelves lined the inside and outsides of the vehicle. The design was compact and efficient, perfect for a lone man to live in and travel.

“The cart is here. The donkey is here. Where is the peddler?” wondered Amelie.

Ben frowned and looked around the shelves surrounding the open space. A confusing variety of items was stacked on them. Some held obvious goods that any peddler might take to small villages, such as needles, cooking implements, and fabrics. Other shelves held more valuable items like wooden carvings, silver plates, and an array of gemstones. Ben peered closely at the gemstones.

“This has to be worth a fortune,” he breathed.

Amelie came beside him and poked at one of the gems with a finger. “I can’t believe he just leaves them lying out like this. If someone broke in like we did, they could easily find and steal this. This doesn’t make me confident in the peddler’s judgment.”

Ben looked closer. He was no expert on gems, but he did know a little bit about people. “Would he leave this much wealth just lying around?”

“That’s what I’m saying,” remarked Amelie. “He couldn’t have picked a less secure place.”

“They could be fake gems,” Ben surmised.

They kept looking around. The possibly fake gems were concerning, but it was better than it could have been. When Jolly Jon had mentioned contraband the night before, Ben had imagined the worst.

The rest of the goods were uninteresting, particularly now that Ben suspected they were fakes. Silver plates could be tin covered in a glaze. Wooden objects covered in mysterious runes suddenly appeared amateurish, even to Ben’s inexperienced eye. A thin layer of dust covered most of the items, implying they were rarely handled. The more they looked, the more convinced Ben came that all of the objects were part of some con game.

“Do you think it’s all fake?” asked Ben.

Amelie shrugged. “The dagger he gave us is real.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at her. Unless it had been lost in the fog of drink, he didn’t think they’d spoken about it the night before.

“I need time to study it, but I believe we’ll find it has some very strange properties,” claimed Amelie. “It is definitely mage-wrought.”

At the front of the warehouse they found a small office. The door was locked and didn’t budge when Ben tried to shake it. He bent down and looked at the latch closely.

“I think I could break this open,” he murmured.

“Keep in mind we’ll be travelling with this man for the next month,” advised Amelie. “I don’t think we should go breaking down his doors.”

Ben stood back up. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he declared.

“What do you mean?”

“The man claimed he sold rare and unique items,” stated Ben. “At the very least, we know he had access to one mage-wrought piece. Even if he didn’t understand the properties, that must be exceptionally valuable. He wouldn’t give that to us just to walk to Irrefort with him. He wanted something. What was it?”

Amelie didn’t have an answer.

“Jolly Jon mentioned something about smuggling contraband,” continued Ben, “but this stuff wouldn’t pass the test for any serious buyer. I don’t think this trash is what he really wanted us to help him transport.”

Ben raised the lantern and looked around. He was certain now. There was something they were missing.

Amelie grunted and sat down on the back of the cart. “I’m too hung over for this,” she complained. “Is this what you feel like every time you drink with Rhys?”

Ben snorted then paused.

Under Amelie’s feet, the dust that covered the rest of the warehouse floor was disturbed. Everywhere else, the thick wooden planks were coated in dust. Only the marks left by the wheels of the cart and a handful of footprints showed where there had been activity. The footprints were hopelessly muddled by Ben and Amelie’s inspection of the place now, but near her feet was something different.

“Do you think it’s strange the floor of this place is wood?” asked Ben.

Amelie shrugged. “My head hurts too much to think.”

“It seems strange to me,” continued Ben. “Everywhere else in this town they’re tearing apart wagons and cobbling walls together with leftover shipping crates. In here, Samuel has floored the entire warehouse. The wood floor is probably worth more than the garbage he keeps on the shelves.”

Ben crouched down and started shining the lantern along the wood planks. Near Amelie, he found a hole in the floor the size of his fist. The wood was scraped and scarred. A quick examination showed the floorboards in that spot were cut into a square, about two paces on each side. Ben looked around. Under the cart he saw a long pole. He sat down the lantern and grabbed the pole. Amelie watched curiously.

Inserting the end of the pole into the floor, Ben leaned against it and almost fell over when the floor lifted up. He recovered his balance, got his fingers under the square section of floor, and lifted it the rest of the way. The light from the lantern revealed the square was attached to a set of hinges. It covered a narrow staircase that descended below the floor of the warehouse. The pleasant scent of flowers drifted up to them.

“Well,” declared Ben, “this is interesting.”

Amelie climbed off the cart and joined him. Drawing his sword, Ben passed the lantern to Amelie. He descended the stairs, eyes straining to see in the dim light. It was a quick journey to the bottom. There was a small room with a simple table and more shelves. Ben barely registered those, though. He was focused on what was on the floor.

Samuel was lying there, eyes closed, the bone hilt of a dagger sticking straight up from the center of his chest. Amelie joined Ben at the foot of the stairs and they both looked down at the dead peddler.

“I did not expect to find this,” stated Ben.

Amelie knelt by the body and examined it without touching the man.

“His coat is still damp, probably from the rain,” she mentioned. “He must have come here last night after we went to bed.”

“I wish I wasn’t getting so used to his,” moaned Ben as he knelt beside her and started patting down the body, looking for a pouch, weapon, or any other items on the dead man.

“No signs of struggle,” she mused, glancing around the small room, “aside from the knife and pool of blood, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Ben.

Finding nothing on Samuel, he looked at rest of the room. Unlike above in the warehouse, here, the shelves had been disturbed. Ransacked might be a better term he decided.

Oddly spaced gaps made it appear some items had been taken. Others had been tossed carelessly around. A tipped-over cloak rack leaned against the wall. In one corner, he found where the floral scent came from. Several shattered jars of perfume lay on the dirt floor. On the table, he found a sack filled with coins. Gold and silver reflected up at him.

“If this was a robbery, it was a very strange one,” he remarked, picking up a few of the discs and toying with them. They didn’t feel fake. He slipped them into his belt pouch.

“Some of these items are mage-wrought,” said Amelie, fingering a tiny wooden figurine.

They spent several more tense minutes examining the room but found no clues on who killed Samuel or why.

“Why did they leave the knife in him?” asked Amelie.

Ben looked at the blade again. It had a pale bone handle and simple steel cross piece. The little he could see of the blade was narrow steel, but the bulk of it was buried in the unfortunate man’s chest. Blood covered his tunic and coat. Ben was about to stand back up when he noticed three parallel slashes on the butt of the knife. They looked deliberate, as if someone was marking the knife to identify it later. He showed Amelie but she just shrugged.

“I think we should go find Jolly Jon,” said Ben, finally.

“We could find him or just leave,” suggested Amelie. “I know it will be muddy on the road, but it can’t be a bigger mess than this.”

Ben ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right. We need to leave soon, but our travel packs are back at the inn.”

Amelie grimaced before agreeing, “It’s stupid to leave without those.”

They climbed back up the stairs. Ben blew out the lantern before hanging it where he’d found it. Peeking out the barn doors, they saw no one in the alley. They stepped into the bright sunlight. Not speaking, they scurried through the streets of Amum. There was no reason to think whatever happened to Samuel would happen to them, but still, they’d been with the man just before he was killed.

Shortly, they reached the Hammer and Anvil and ducked under the metal sign into the inn. In the common room, one of Jon’s employees was dispiritedly sweeping the filthy floor.

“Is Jolly Jon around?” Ben asked the man.

Cow-eyed, the man looked back at Ben. “He’s running errands. If you’re looking for a room or a bite to eat, I can help you.”

Ben shook his head. “We already have a room.”

He and Amelie went upstairs to talk. They had to decide. Stay and discuss Samuel’s murder with the innkeeper or leave.

“If we walk across the prairie grass instead of the muddy road, it may not slow us down too much,” suggested Amelie.

Ben nodded. “It’s almost noon now. The sun’s been out all morning. The road conditions may be improving already, or, like you say, we can go cross country over the grass. It could be a little spongy. As long as we’re not sinking past our ankles, we could make progress. We don’t need to get far, just out of sight of this town.”

Decided, they quickly stuffed their meager supplies into the packs and made for the stairs. On the way down, Ben heard shouting. He held up a hand and they paused, halfway to the common room. Amelie shot him a worried look, but she heard the commotion too.

Ben held a finger to his lips then tiptoed toward the bottom. He kept his steps near the wall where he hoped there was less chance of a creak giving him away. The people in the common room wouldn’t have been able to hear him over their own scuffling, though.

“You have no right!” shouted Jolly Jon.

“Tell me where they are and we don’t have to do this,” responded a cool, familiar voice.

Ben heard a thump and ferocious coughing. He risked a peek around the corner of the stairwell then snapped back.

Amelie had followed and was right behind him.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Lord James, his footman, and half a dozen soldiers.”

“I already told you,” protested Jolly Jon. “They left this morning. They’re not here!”

A smack and a grunt.

Amelie slid a palm-sized mirror out of her belt pouch, the one Jasper had given her. She gestured for Ben to look. She briefly closed her eyes in concentration. When she opened them, an image appeared in the mirror. It was the common room as seen a pace to Ben’s left. She was far-seeing but not very far.

Jolly Jon was slumped between two guards. Lord James was standing in front of him, rubbing his hand where he must have hit Jon.

“What else?” asked James.

“They left on foot, just the two of them. They’re going to Cormender.”

The lord hauled back and slapped Jon across the face again.

“Ian, the poker,” demanded James.

The footman pulled an iron rod out of the fire. Ben’s eyes widened. The tip of the poker was glowing red.

“Irrefort, I mean!” yelped Jon. “They’re going to Irrefort.”

“That’s better,” snapped James. “What do they intend to do there?”

Jon hung his head. “I don’t know.”

James gestured to his footman and the grim-faced man advanced, red hot poker held steady in his hands.

“Please!” begged Jon with a sob. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but they didn’t say why they were going there.”

James, stern-faced, didn’t answer. Ian stalked forward.

Words began to tumble out of the panicked innkeepers’ mouth. “The boy, he said his name was Mathias. The girl called herself Meghan. He had a sword, mage-wrought, I think. He must be some sort of warrior or a spy. The girl acted with highborn airs but then got drunk. I think they are lovers. She had a dagger…”

James backhanded the innkeeper. “I saw them fight. I already know what weapons they have, idiot.”

Tears and blood streaming down his face, Jon didn’t take his eyes off the fire poker. “I don’t know what you know. I’m trying to tell you everything I can. I swear!”

Ian remorselessly thrust the fire poker into Jon’s stomach. The innkeeper howled, thrashing wildly, trying to get away from the burning heat. He almost slipped out of the soldier’s arms, but a third man came behind and looped his arms around Jon’s neck while two others held his arms.

Ben tensed, poised to jump out of the staircase and confront the men. Amelie caught his sleeve and shook her head. Ben grimaced and settled back to watch the scene unfold in Amelie’s mirror. For a long breath, Ian held the poker, searing a hole in Jon’s flesh. When he removed it, the innkeeper sank, only supported by the soldiers. Smoke drifted away from the hole in his shirt where the poker had scorched his skin.

Between deep, gasping breaths, he pleaded with James, “Please tell me what you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.”

“Why were they going to Irrefort?” demanded James. His voice was calm and cold. “Why did they not turn my ring into Captain Vander? Who are these two that they do not care for good gold?”

Ben grimaced and glanced at Amelie. She shrugged helplessly. It was too late to rectify that mistake.

Ben glanced back at the mirror and saw Jon’s face twist in anguish. The innkeeper answered, “They’re spies, Alliance spies. They’re going to Irrefort for, for the coronation, I think. They were very interested in the coronation. They kept asking me questions about it, and about Lord Jason and what happened in Issen. They stayed here and didn’t collect the gold because they’re spies. Yes, I am sure of it.”

James looked at his footman.

Ian simply shrugged and admitted, “It fits.”

In a flash, James whipped out his rapier and spun toward Jon. With flawless precision, the lord thrust the sharp point of his blade into the innkeeper’s eye, shattering the man’s spectacles. A hand-length of steel skewered the innkeeper, sinking deep into his brain.

Ben felt Amelie grip his arm. None of the soldiers or the footman batted an eye at the sudden, unexpected brutality of the lord. Ben had seen enough. He gestured up the stairs. Amelie let the far-seeing mirror flicker out and she put it away. They ever so cautiously started creeping away.

“Sir!” called a new voice. “You should hear this.”

“Go on,” replied Lord James.

“I…” A small, quivering voice spoke up. “I think Jolly Jon, I think Jolly Jon was smuggling dingham powder through the inn. He has a cellar that only he goes into. I’ve smelled it on him when he comes out.”

“Why didn’t you report this to the authorities?” challenged James.

“I’m new. I just started working here two weeks ago. I didn’t know for sure.”

“Search the cellar!” barked the lord. “Search the entire inn, from the bottom to the top. If this man was involved in the dingham trade, I want to know. I want to know everything about him, his drugs, and his relation to the spies.”

“Shall we alert the garrison, lord?” asked Ian’s calm voice.

“When we find the dingham, we’ll alert Vander,” declared James. “This is my find. The council in Irrefort will hear that it was me who disrupted the drug-smuggling ring.”

“The spies, lord. They’re on the road, on foot. If Vander sends his men immediately, they could be captured by the end of the day. Sir, if we wait and they get away, it could reflect badly.”

“Yes, of course!” snarled James. “Send a man now. Tell him about the spies but not the dingham.”

Ben didn’t wait to hear more. He and Amelie, as fast as they dared, scampered up the stairs. They made it to the top of the staircase and darted down the hall. So far, no shouts of alarm went up from below. The soldiers must have started in the cellar where the dingham was claimed to be. It wouldn’t take long after that for them to come search the rooms.

Ben was panicked. He grabbed Amelie’s arm and started toward their room. If they could squeeze out of the window, it was only a three-story drop to the ground below. It was risky, and he knew they’d likely injure themselves jumping, but it was better than being caught by the soldiers.

A shirtless man poked his head out of one of the other doors. “What’s happening down there?” he demanded. “I was up all night. Between the damn smith’s hammers and the racket below, I can’t get any sleep!”

“Soldiers,” Ben told him honestly. “They’re searching the inn.”

The man didn’t ask what the soldiers were looking for. Instead, he ducked into his room and heartbeats later came barreling back out. He skidded on bare feet across the wooden floor and crashed into the opposite wall. It didn’t slow him. Clutching his boots and a loose burlap sack, the man sprinted down the hallway, heading away from the stairs.

“What do we do?” asked Amelie.

“Follow him!” exclaimed Ben.

Wherever the man was going, he obviously didn’t want any more interaction with the guards than Ben and Amelie did. The shirtless man ran down to the end of the hall and paused there, squatting to tug his boots on. He suddenly seemed to realize he was missing a shirt, looked back to his room, and cursed.

Ben and Amelie had almost caught up to him when he jumped in the air and caught ahold of what Ben thought was a ceiling rafter. To his surprise, the man landed back on the floor and a ladder crashed down on top of him. Glaring at Ben and Amelie, the man scrambled to his feet and snatched up his sack.

“You can follow me out but pull the bloody ladder up after you. Once we’re out of the inn, you’re on your own. If you stay on my tail,” he drew a finger across his throat in a slashing gesture.

“No problem,” snapped Ben. “We’re just trying to get out of the building.”

Without comment, the man climbed the ladder. Amelie followed and Ben brought up the rear. Adhering to the man’s instructions, he pulled the ladder up behind them. They were in the rafters, above the hallway but walled off from the rooms that made the upstairs of the Hammer and Anvil. The space above one room was open though. The shirtless man was crossing it on a wide beam. Ben saw the beam extended to where the roof met the wall.

Amelie glanced back at Ben, adjusted the pack on her back, and edged out onto the beam as well. He paused, looking down. Below him, the room held a large bed, wardrobe, table, chairs, and a writing desk. Rumpled clothes were tossed on the floor. Jolly Jon’s room, he guessed.

“Come on,” hissed Amelie.

Trying to ignore the drop to the wood floor below, Ben crawled after her on his hands and knees. The shirtless man reached the end then pulled back a board on the wall. He slipped into a hole between the wall and the roof, quickly wiggling out of sight.

Swallowing, Ben kept his eyes on the man’s disappearing feet and refused to look down. When he and Amelie made it to the end of the beam, she ducked into the same narrow space the shirtless man had gone. A crash sounded at the end of the hall and Ben heard shouting. The soldiers had made it upstairs. Without pause, he followed right on Amelie’s heels, afraid the guards would burst into Jon’s room and see him up on the beam.

He hauled himself and his pack through a narrow hole in the wall then almost lost his nerve. Outside the wall of the inn, Amelie was perched under the eaves of the roof, straddling two wooden beams. Below her, the shirtless man was clinging to barely visible studs on the exterior of the inn. The studs wouldn’t be noticed from below, and if the man wasn’t hanging off them, Ben wasn’t sure he’d see them from above either. Below the man were three stories of open space.

Suddenly, the man launched himself into open air.

Amelie gasped.

The shirtless man cleared the wide alley and landed heavily on a thatch roof on the other side. Ben watched in amazement as the man immediately burrowed into the thatch, digging a hole through the thick material and disappearing into it.

“Are we sure we should do this?” asked Amelie in a quaking voice.

Ben heard another crash behind him. The soldiers weren’t waiting for someone to answer the door when they knocked. They were kicking them in.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said with a groan, “but, yes. We don’t have a choice.”

Tight-lipped, Amelie hesitantly slid a foot off the beam and searched for a toehold on the wall. Ben nearly closed his eyes, his stomach lurching at the thought of watching her climb down the wall. Any fall at that height would certainly break a leg or two. He opened his eyes, following her movements. He needed any help he could get climbing down.

Amelie’s second foot followed the first. Ben moved to hover above her on the beams, ready to snake an arm down if it looked like she was wavering. That would likely send them both crashing to the ground, but he had to be ready to do something.

Beside his head, the top of a ladder slammed against the wall.

Amelie yelped and Ben grabbed her. She held on, barely. Looking down, Ben saw an angry woman standing at the bottom of the ladder.

“Hurry and get down here,” she barked. “I won’t have any more of you crawling through my roof and ruining my thatch. It’ll take me all day to fix that mess.”

Without questioning it, Amelie stepped over onto the ladder. Ben scrambled down after. Immediately after his boots hit the ground, the woman pulled away her ladder and started back toward her house.

“Now git!” she exclaimed over her shoulder. “I don’t want no part of whatever trouble you’ve found yourselves in.”

“There!” said Ben. He saw the shirtless man dart across the end of the alley. The man had steered them right so far. They may as well stay on his tail. Ben didn’t intend to follow the man far. He was sure the little man would attack them if he felt threatened, but they could follow him a few blocks to get away from the soldiers.

He and Amelie took two steps then stopped. The shirtless man was stumbling back across the mouth of the alley, clutching at a crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. A steady flow of blood painted his stomach.

“Call the sergeant,” shouted a hidden voice. “I got a runner!”

Ben grabbed Amelie’s arm and spun her around. “Let’s try the other way.”

Blood and Fire

Boots stomped on the floor above them. Ben and Amelie huddled silently in the dark. For the last half bell, they’d been sitting quietly, waiting. Either the search would finish and the sounds of the boots would recede, or the door would open, and they’d have nowhere to run.

They were crouched in a corner of the hidden cellar in Samuel’s warehouse. The smell of perfume from the broken bottles filled the close, motionless air. It nearly choked Ben, but it was better than the smell of Samuel’s dead body. The man still lay there, bone-hilted dagger protruding from his chest.

They didn’t know who killed him or why they’d ransacked his secret chamber, but between the two buildings they’d entered in the town of Amum—Jolly Jon’s inn and Samuel’s warehouse—Ben had judged the warehouse the safest. Hiding was their only choice. Fleeing in broad daylight shortly after the barracks was alerted they were spies was clearly a bad idea.

He’d thought that before the soldiers stared searching the warehouse, though.

They’d been sitting on the back of Samuel’s cart, trying to come up with a plan, when they heard a heavy banging on the door and a shout from outside. Ben opened the hidden trap door, and they scrambled into the cellar a dozen heartbeats before the front door of the warehouse was smashed in.

Since then, the soldiers stomped around above, searching for some sign of Ben and Amelie, they thought. That left the question though. If the soldiers and Lord James didn’t know about the hidden cellar, then who did?

Eventually, the sounds of the boots faded and silence filled the building above them.

Whispering in Ben’s ear, Amelie suggested, “Shall we go up and take a look around?”

Responding just as quietly, Ben recommended, “Let’s wait. They think we’re spies. They may have left someone behind to wait for us.”

Amelie squeezed his hand in acknowledgement.

Bell after bell, they sat in the dark cellar. The cloying scent of perfume filled Ben’s nostrils. He tried to breathe through his mouth, but then it felt like he could taste the alcohol, flowers, and cinnamon. He tried to ignore it, but the scent and taste were unavoidable in the tiny space. Finally, eyes watering, he had to get some fresh air. He gripped Amelie’s hand and she jerked.

“What?” she exclaimed in a yelp.

Damn. Ben realized she’d been dozing. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Bell after bell in the dark, recovering from a hangover, of course she was going to fall asleep. It was probably evening now, if he’d judged the time right.

Taking a deep breath then immediately regretting it, Ben whispered in her ear, “It’s been a while since the soldiers left. I think we should try going up now. If they’re there, they may have heard us when you cried out anyway.”

He grinned to take the sting out of his words, but she couldn’t see it. He squeezed her hand and pulled her to her feet. She tapped his back, letting him know she was following behind. He felt his way toward the stairs, wincing when he stepped down on something soft. Samuel’s hand, he suspected.

Moving as quietly as they could in the dark, he crawled up the stairs. At the top, he adjusted his belt to free his sword hilt and prepared to open the trapdoor. If someone was waiting for them, Ben wanted to surprise them. Whether the watcher chose to fight or flee, surprise worked in Ben’s favor.

When he felt Amelie step to the stair behind him, Ben drew his longsword, threw open the door, and burst out of the cellar.

The warehouse space was empty. He saw the front door hung off one hinge, the wood and iron battered from where it had been smashed in. The open door frame let in a little light from outside, but night had fallen, and the lanterns that lined streets in wealthier cities were absent in Amum.

Even in the dim light, Ben could see where the soldiers had conducted their search. Items were scattered haphazardly around the open floor. Shelves had been pushed aside, crates pried open. The wagon in the center of the room appeared untouched, but a simple glance inside would have shown two spies weren’t hiding there.

Amelie gestured to the office. That door was forced ajar as well. The flickering light of a lantern lit the space. Ben stalked closer, his sword held in front of him. When he reached the office door, he leapt inside and found it empty. A lantern had been carelessly left burning on a desk. The desk drawers were yanked open. Against one wall was a squat, steel safe. Its door hung open. Ben peeked inside and saw it was empty.

He risked speaking and whispered to Amelie, “Let’s close the front door and sit down to think.”

He set his shoulder against the door and shoved it shut, or at least as closed as it was going to get. It fit awkwardly against the door jam, but it was better than leaving the thing wide open. Even with no watchers set on the place, the neighbors would report suspicious activity.

“So,” started Amelie, “what do we do?”

Ben adjusted the wick of the lantern and sat on the cart. “I think that’s up to you.”

Amelie frowned at him.

Ben swallowed. It seemed like a long time ago, but only the day before, they’d learned the news about her father and mother.

“Issen is in Coalition hands,” reminded Ben. “There’s nothing we can do about that. If Jolly Jon is right, though, then your mother will be in Irrefort before we are. I, at least, wasn’t planning on stopping by the palace so we should be able to move about just as safely as we could without her there, but, do you want to try and confront her, do you still want to go at all?”

Amelie grimaced and sat beside Ben on the wagon. She didn’t speak. Ben gave her time to think.

“Yes,” Amelie finally answered. “It doesn’t matter what happened with Issen or what happened with my parents.” She choked down a sob. “I don’t mean it like that. I loved my parents, particularly my father. He was always good to me, always the man I looked up to more than anyone else in this world. If I could, I’d spend the next week thinking of ways to honor him, ways to grieve, ways to make him proud.”

“I think I understand,” offered Ben.

Amelie nodded. “Someday, I may have time to grieve, but as painful as it is, we don’t have time for that. The demons are out there and they won’t stop. Only Towaal, Rhys, Corinne, and we really know what happened at the Rift, and what happened in Northport. We have to find the Purple and tell them what we know. If we don’t, the consequences could be wholesale slaughter. My father’s death changes none of that.”

“From what you’ve told me,” responded Ben, “fighting the demons would make your father proud. He sounded like a man who loved the people of Issen, a man who was committed to peace in Alcott. It didn’t turn out the way he expected, but he died trying to do what is right. I think he’d be proud of you for doing what you think is right.”

A tear rolled down Amelie’s cheek.

They sat in an uncomfortable silence until Ben spoke up again. “Our goal is still the same, but it’s not any easier. Lord James will convince everyone we’re spies. They’ll be out on the roads looking for us, but we can’t hide in here forever.”

“We need to rest first,” declared Amelie. “In the morning, we’ll think of something.”

***

They slept on the wood floor of Samuel’s warehouse. It wasn’t comfortable, but they didn’t have anywhere else to go. Any building they entered or any person they met could spell danger. When Ben woke, he was lying on his side, staring at the peddler’s cart.

Leaving on foot and travelling rough across the plains around the town could be deadly. Unlike when they left the Sanctuary, there was no cover in the plains grass, no wood for fires, no game except the roving herds of buffalo they’d spotted. Only rarely had they seen water on the road, and when they did, it almost always had a clump of travelers clustered around it.

Lord James was looking for them, but he was looking for two people on foot he thought fled the day before. Ben rose quietly, trying not to wake Amelie. With the trauma and the hang over, she needed as much rest as she could get.

He circled the cart. It appeared sturdy, and it had room for both of them. Among the discarded items the soldiers had yanked off the shelf, he thought they could put together a semblance of merchandise.

By the time Amelie woke, Ben had started collecting piles of potential goods. One pile was foodstuffs, mostly dried items like beans and rice. A second pile contained valuables, which he suspected were fakes. Finally, he had odds and ends, needles, thread, ink, paper, and other items that would sell well in the small towns on the way to Irrefort.

Amelie, seeing what he was doing, mentioned, “We should search the hidden chamber as well. Some of that stuff appeared mage-wrought. It could be valuable.”

“We’re not trying to make money,” replied Ben.

“Not just valuable in terms of gold. If I can figure out what the stuff does, maybe we can use it.”

Ben nodded. He’d thought of that as well, but he was reluctant to venture into the cellar again. Samuel’s body would be getting ripe by now. Not even the spilled perfume would cover his stench.

They spent the morning gathering supplies, loading it into the wagon and making themselves a comfortable living space inside. It would be better than sleeping in the open in the winter. By midday, they’d packed up most of the items from the warehouse and were ready to brave the cellar below. Ben lit the lantern and led the way into the small space. Samuel’s body lay in the center of the room. The bone-handled dagger still stuck out from his chest. Ben examined the three slashes on the butt of the hilt, but they didn’t make any more sense to him now than they did before.

He watched as Amelie flitted around the room, touching objects, setting some aside, and discarding others. Most of the material was mundane, mirrors, perfume, embroidered purses, and finely wrought boxes. A few jewels studded some, but otherwise, they were not special.

Ben’s interest piqued when Amelie picked a basket-hilted rapier up off one shelf.

“Mage-wrought?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, it is mundane, but it seems to be in good condition. It’ll save us from having to buy a replacement in town.”

“Try not to ruin this one,” jested Ben.

Amelie grumbled and placed it in the pile of items she planned to take upstairs. Most of them were simple valuables, but a few appeared unique. Ben watched as she collected wooden carvings, palm-sized metal discs etched with runes, and finally, an arms-length scepter made of black glass and capped with two plain sliver orbs at both ends. It had been lying behind the lone table in the room, wedged between it and the wall where it must have fallen or hidden at some point. They hadn’t seen it until Ben tried to sit on the table, nearly knocking it over and dropping the scepter to the floor.

Ben peered at the scepter closely until Amelie hissed at him, “Don’t touch that!”

He looked at her curiously.

“I believe that is a weapon,” she continued. “A rather dangerous one, if what I sense is correct.”

“Should we leave it?” asked Ben.

Amelie shook her head. “We may need it.”

Finally, when Amelie was done with her inspection, they collected the items she’d set aside and carried them upstairs. Ben let her handle the glass scepter. Back in the main room of the warehouse, he shut the trap door, closing Samuel’s hidden chamber and his body inside. They stashed the new items inside the cart in a wall of boxes that seemed designed for small valuables.

“What now?” asked Amelie.

“We wait until morning and leave with the rest of the merchants,” suggested Ben. “The traffic will be heaviest at first light. Hopefully, we can fit right in with everyone else who is leaving at that hour.”

“The guards could be looking for us,” reminded Amelie. “Lord James directed the soldiers to search the road, but since they haven’t found us, they might be checking at the gates as well.”

Ben frowned. “You could ride inside and maybe hide under some blankets.”

“That’s a dead give-away if they check the wagon and find me,” argued Amelie.

“Maybe just ride inside then,” replied Ben. “We could play it off like you’re just staying out of the cold. I don’t think they’ll check though. One man alone with a peddler’s cart shouldn’t stand out.”

Amelie nodded. “We should hide your sword. Lord James has seen you use it. Surely that’s part of the description given to the soldiers.”

Ben grimaced. He’d feel naked without his longsword, but Amelie was right. Anything they could do to distance themselves from Lord James’ description would be worth trying.

They slept again on the dusty wooden floor. At first light, they left.

Ben sat on the smooth wooden bench at the front of the cart. The donkey plodded along ahead of him and the iron-bound wheels bounced over the muddy streets of Amum. Amelie was inside, crouched down and peering out small windows that dotted the walls of the cart.

Crisp morning sunlight illuminated the city. It had just begun to stir. They were joined in the streets by shopkeepers who were opening up for the day, baker’s boys who were darting by them delivering fresh loaves, and a handful of other wagons rolling along. Ben was glad to see they weren’t the only ones venturing out on the road.

Amelie whispered to him from a small opening behind his seat, “They must have waited a day after the storm, making sure the roads had time to dry before they left.”

Ben nodded then realized she couldn’t see it. He rapped on the seat in acknowledgement. It wouldn’t look right if he replied to her. To any observers, it would appear he was talking to himself.

Ben shook the harness, trying to encourage the donkey to pick up its pace. He steered their cart behind a wagon that had just joined the early morning throng. It was stacked with bales of the tough plains grass that was found all around the city of Amum. The grass had been dried, bound tightly, and loaded high in the wagon. A treated canvass tarp was laid across the top and cinched tight. Ben couldn’t fathom what someone would want with bundles of dried grass. The wagon was going the right way though, and that was all he cared about.

He followed close behind as they approached the eastern gate of the city. Wagons queued up, waiting to roll through the narrow gate. Travelers on foot passed them, ducking and weaving through the slower-moving commercial traffic. Horses were rare, and the only ones Ben saw were pulling heavy carts stacked with swords and other paraphernalia for war, products of the smithies that lined the north side of town. Donkeys or oxen pulled the other wagons.

At the gate, Ben held his breath and tensed. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and scrunched down, trying to hide his height and the shape of his body. The guards barely looked at him. They were clustered around a pitiful fire that gave off the earthy scent of burning buffalo dung.

A traveler trotted past Ben. A sword hung at his side and he jingled with the sound of chainmail underneath a thick cloak.

The guards glanced at the man as he hurried out of the gate, but none made a move to stop or question him. The traveler had scruffy blond hair and was a good hand shorter than Ben. Not a close enough match to interest soldiers that early in the morning.

None of them even gave a second look to the peddler’s cart.

They rolled smoothly into the fresh, open air outside of the city. Plains extended out in front of them. The scent of the fires drifted away and Ben kept the donkey at a steady pace, following the wagon full of dried grass.

A few empty wagons took the opportunity of the open space to roll by him on the grass, but most plodded along the road, keeping the pace of whoever was in front. Ben imagined them to be a steady stream of ants mindlessly crawling across the plain, rolling in the well-worn wheel ruts of the wagons that came before.

At midday, Ben heard a bang behind him and looked back to see Amelie’s head poke up over the top of the cart. She looked around then climbed the rest of the way out and up the ladder, stepping off onto the flat roof. From the roof, she looked up the road then back behind them before climbing down to the front and sitting next to Ben.

“There’s not much to see,” she remarked.

Ben nodded and flapped the donkey’s harness listlessly. He did it more to keep the animal awake than to coax any speed out of it.

“Do you think it’s safe for me to ride up here?” she asked.

“Not as safe as riding down below,” replied Ben.

“I’ll stay for a few minutes before going back.” Amelie looped her arm under Ben’s and laid her head down on his shoulder. “I need the fresh air.”

Ben kept one hand on the harness and laid the other on Amelie’s.

That night, Ben pulled off on the side of the road. A long string of wagons were each spaced several hundred paces apart. The line continued down the road and out of Ben’s sight. Ahead of them, he could see a merchant train had paused early. In the fading evening light, he saw half a dozen wagons and a score of men meandering about, preparing the camp.

When the cart pulled to a stop, Amelie slipped out of the back. She pulled a rough burlap bag off the side and gestured for Ben to take it. He wrinkled his nose but did as she asked. It was full of dried buffalo dung. They’d found it in Samuel’s warehouse. On the plains, there was no other fuel.

Ben cut a chunk of turf out of the ground and built a pyramid of the dung. He sparked it alight and moved aside as Amelie returned with a tripod, an iron pot, a salted ham, dried rice, and dark red beans.

“Get used to this,” she muttered. “Our good friend Samuel kept a variety of merchandise in that warehouse but hardly any food.”

Ben sat on the grass and grinned. “Amum is behind us and we’ve got plenty of open road ahead. It could be worse.”

Amelie poured half her water bottle in the pot then arranged the tripod to straddle the dung fire. She hung the pot over it and sat down next to Ben.

“It could be worse,” she agreed. She dug in her cloak and pulled something out. “I found a surprise for you.”

Ben accepted the object from her and saw it was a palm-sized, leather-wrapped flask. He shook it and was pleased to hear it was almost full. After unstoppering the flask, he sniffed at it. A warm, pleasant tingle filled his nostrils. He sipped tentatively at the liquid, a little worried about anything the unscrupulous Samuel carried. It filled his mouth with a warm burn, smoke, spices, and a hint of vanilla.

Ben sighed appreciatively. “This is good stuff.”

He offered the flask to Amelie but she declined. “I had enough two nights ago. Even after a day of resting in that cart, I still feel a little woozy.”

Ben grinned. “We’re going to have to work on that. A proper lady on the run, a mage-in-training, should be able to handle her drink.”

Amelie snorted and slapped Ben on the arm. “This is coming from the blademaster-in-training who was hung over after the first time I met him in Farview, at Whitehall, at Kirksbane, probably countless times in the City, Free State—”

“Okay, okay!” interrupted Ben. “I surrender.”

Amelie grinned back at him.

“I’d forgotten about some of that,” added Ben wistfully. “Do you remember that day in the City when you and Meghan got released early? You found me at Mathias’ tavern and we spent the entire day exploring. We went up in the towers, saw the sculpture park…”

“Do you think we’ll ever have another day like that?” asked Amelie.

Ben shrugged.

They sat silently until the water in the pot began to boil. Amelie poured two handfuls of rice and two handfuls of beans in. She took out a belt knife and started slicing the salted ham into chunks.

Later, after the sun sank below the rolling hills of the plains, a crisp, half-moon rose above the empty landscape. They crawled into the cramped wagon. Amelie had arranged the blankets and lone pillow as best she was able. Ben wedged himself next to her on the narrow bed. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly.

Amelie titled her head and planted a warm kiss on his lips. Not the hungry kiss she’d given him two nights before. This was simple, sweet.

Before Ben could say anything, she rolled over, facing away from him. She pulled his arms tight around her. Within several dozen breaths, she was sleeping.

***

Ben was jolted awake.

The sound of screams cut through the silence of the night. It was pitch black inside the cart, but he was able to find his longsword in heartbeats. They’d laid it across a cabinet above his head. He gripped the wire hilt and lurched to the wagon door.

Amelie was stirring in the bed behind him, still trying to figure out what was happening. Ben burst out the door, leaping to land barefoot in the tall plains grass. The cold sent a shock through his body, but he remained focused, channeling his energy into his senses, feeling the air around him, scanning the moonlit landscape, listening for anything nearby.

Nothing. There was nothing nearby, but several hundred paces up the road, at the merchant train, he saw the source of the screams. Torches were waving wildly as frantic men ran around the campsite. From the distance, Ben couldn’t see the details, but he didn’t need to. The cold blast of air to his face when he jumped from the wagon had woken him fully. He recognized those shrieks. Demon. He studied the activity and listened closely.

From the door of the cart, Amelie called to him, “What is it?”

“Demon,” answered Ben. “It was a demon.”

“Should we go help?”

“I don’t think they need it anymore,” replied Ben.

The tone of the outcries had changed. Instead of screams, he now heard shouts. The raw panic was gone. He couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but he could guess. They were shouting to their friends, checking to see who was alive and who was not.

“It must have been just one,” murmured Ben.

A shiver swept through his body and he noticed how cold his bare feet were. Gritting his teeth and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, he tried to retain some warmth as he went to check on the donkey. It stood where they’d tethered it, staring placidly at him. Ben blinked at the animal. He’d expected it to be jerking at the rope or fallen over from a terror-induced heart attack. Instead, it looked just as serene as it did tied behind Samuel’s warehouse or plodding along the road.

Ben shrugged and returned to the back of the wagon. “Let’s go inside,” he suggested, “and from now on, we bar the door when we sleep.”

***

The next morning, Ben gazed grimly at the carnage from the night before. The six wagons in the merchant train were clustered tightly together. A pile of corpses rested unburied a dozen paces off the road. The surviving men were rearranging the cargo in their wagons. They didn’t have the men or the animals anymore to pull all of it, Ben guessed.

“Need help?” he called.

An older man, tired and worn from decades on the road, answered, “Not anymore, son, not anymore.”

Ben nodded and they rolled past.

They rolled for days. Ben sat up front, watching the shift in the donkey’s haunches as it marched along. Amelie, secreted in the cabin of the wagon, studied the devices they’d taken from Samuel’s warehouse.

At night, they would lie close together. Amelie didn’t kiss him again, and Ben didn’t press it. He ached for the drunken moment they shared in Amum, but he didn’t want to push Amelie. She’d lost her father. She was in constant fear of the Sanctuary, the Coalition, hunters, mages, demons, and on and on. Her kiss and her body were nearly all he could think about during the cold windy days driving the cart. At night, pressed against her warmth, he found himself tightly closing his eyes and praying for sleep to release him from the sweet torture of lying so close to her.

After a week on the road, with nothing but passing travelers to break the monotony of the plains, he nearly shot up out of his seat when he saw a stand of trees. They were small and bent from the constant pressure of the wind, but they were trees, the first ones he’d seen since before Amum.

Small clumps of trees in the distance became common, not a forest, but at least it was some break in the undulating hills that made up the plains. Near the road, most of the trees had been cut down by travelers. Only stumps remained.

Little towns began to crop up as well. At first, they were not much more than a few farms linked together, but further east, they grew into proper villages that Ben estimated were half the size of Farview. When they approached, Ben kept the wagon rolling. Little children and the occasional hopeful housewife eyed them as they passed, but no one hailed them. These towns were built on a road and were used to strangers.

One evening by a real fire with wood instead of buffalo dung, Amelie suggested, “We’re going to have to stop at one of these places sooner or later.”

“If we stop, we increase the risk of discovery,” challenged Ben.

“If we don’t stop, we’ll eventually raise suspicions,” responded Amelie. “A lot of wagons pass through here, but many of them are carrying weapons from Amum’s forges or other bulk commodities. A little peddler’s cart like ours would stop in at least a few of these villages. Most of our goods are worthless in Irrefort. It’s out here, away from civilization, that a real peddler would make coin off needles and thread.”

Ben frowned. She was right, of course. A peddler who didn’t try to sell a few wares would be suspicious indeed.

“You won’t be able to hide in the cart,” advised Ben.

“We’re over a week away from Amum. Surely they don’t have the resources to track us this far. We’re talking about some minor lord, not the Veil. There is risk in anything we do. I think trying to appear normal is our safest option. Besides, there are some things I’d like to pick up while we’re in town, something to eat aside from salted ham, beans, and rice, for example.”

Ben sighed and dug out the leather-bound flask Amelie had found. He took a quick sip, turned it up, and finished it.

“Maybe we can restock that too,” offered Amelie.

***

The first town they stopped at was a rambling, friendly looking place. It was situated along the banks of a narrow river and crawled up a hill to where a grand, domed building presided. Ben stared at the building curiously. It wasn’t like anything he’d seen in a town this size. It reminded him of a palace, but there were no walls, no guards, so surely not a lord’s keep.

South of the town was row after row of agricultural fields. In the winter, not much was growing, but Ben guessed they produced enough to support most of the plains dwellers to the west. Silos and warehouses were scattered around the fields. It was another oddity Ben took note of. These people weren’t concerned about attacks, or they would have built everything close together. Being so spread out implied that bandits or aggressive neighbors weren’t problems.

At the gates, a pair of guards sat on a rough bench, watching the road and snacking on a loaf of bread and wedge of yellow cheese.

“Reason for entry into Morwith?” called one of the men as Ben brought the cart to a stop.

Ben gestured to the cart. “Passing through. I’ve got small luxury items and household goods. I’ll see if there’s any interest here.”

The guard stood and adjusted his leather jerkin. He didn’t move to the spear propped up against the wall beside him, but he could reach it long before Ben would be able to jump off, get in the back of the wagon, and retrieve his sword.

“Household goods?” asked the guard. “Plates, forks, that kind of thing?”

“Yes, of course,” replied Ben nervously.

“Good,” replied the guard. “Save a set of cutlery, will you? My wife Wanda has been pestering me for ages that she wants a proper set. A spoon is good enough for the slop she cooks, but I ain’t gonna tell her that. Remember, Wanda.”

Ben nodded to the guard and snapped the harness to get the donkey moving again. “I’ll remember, cutlery for Wanda.”

The town of Morwith had broad dirt streets suitable for an agrarian community that had a lot of produce wagons passing through. It was also relatively wealthy. Fresh stucco, thatch, and paint adorned the buildings along the street. It was a sharp contrast to the decrepit buildings in Amum.

As Ben steered the wagon through the streets, a woman poked her head out a window and called to him, “Peddler, you setting up on the green?”

Ben blinked. “Ah, yes, on the green. Give me a bell and I’ll be open for business.”

The woman disappeared back inside.

Ben kept the cart along the main street, hoping that it emptied out into the green. He was frantically trying to recall everything he could about how peddlers operated when they arrived back in Farview. He was also cursing himself for not paying attention when they were loading the cart. He remembered piling up an assortment of goods and stuffing it into various cabinets, drawers, and boxes, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what they put where. At the time, he was thinking only of escape from Amum. He didn’t consider he may need to pull the stuff back out and sell it.

Luckily, the town was small. He didn’t have to circle the place trying to find the green. It was located right in the center of town where the two main streets intersected. The one he was on passed east to west and appeared to carry through traffic. The other street led north to south. From the green, Ben could see it wind its way up the hill to the large domed building he’d seen from outside the walls. To the south, it disappeared out of sight between buildings. He guessed it would eventually lead to the fields he’d spied by the river.

When Ben pulled the cart onto the green, he saw a wagon was already there. A woman was sitting in front of it and banging was coming from behind. As Ben steered closer, he saw the woman was quickly stitching a rough pair of britches. Tinkers, Ben knew their like from Farview. They would travel from town to town and fix things people didn’t have the skill or were too lazy to repair. Harmless folk usually and they wouldn’t mind Ben parking his wagon next to them. Any customers interested in his wares may have items in need of repair also.

Ben drew closer.

The woman eyed him suspiciously.

“Looks like you’ve found a good spot,” called Ben.

“Same spot everyone uses,” responded the woman sharply.

Ben grunted then steered the donkey to a stop, two-dozen paces from the unfriendly woman and her tinker wagon. Amelie peeked her head out then emerged onto the brown, winter grass of the green.

“I know it’s only midday, but we have to stop and conduct some business,” Ben murmured under his breath.

“I heard you with the guard,” responded Amelie quietly.

“Do you remember where we put anything?” queried Ben.

Amelie shook her head. “We’d better figure it out soon.”

A long-limbed man was ambling across the green.

“Any medicines?” he called. “Tonics for pain, something for fever?”

Ben shared a look with Amelie and responded, “Sorry, good man. We’re sold out.”

The man frowned and turned on his heel.

“Let’s look and see what we do have,” muttered Amelie.

They hastily searched through the various containers in the wagon. By the time the next potential customer arrived, they were able to answer her inquiry. In a steady stream, men and women approached them, calling to see what was available. After the first time Amelie sold an ecstatic woman a set of new pots for a single silver, Ben handled the haggling. News of the woman’s fortune spread quickly. In one rush, they had half a dozen eager women begging for the same price.

“Six silver?” choked Amelie after Ben shooed the women away and assured them no one else would be getting such a good deal. “That seems like robbery. We don’t need the coin, and some of these people surely do. That one woman with the baby—”

Ben cut her off. “We’re supposed to be peddlers. If we make terrible bargains or start running a charity, we’ll be remembered. That’s the last thing we want.”

Amelie sighed in frustration and sat down on the back of the wagon to watch Ben work.

He wasn’t a natural salesman, but he’d been on the other side of the transaction enough to know how it worked. He’d start high, or the customer would start low. They’d go back and forth a few times then settle somewhere in the middle. He started to enjoy it a little and toughened his negotiating tactics. Copper, silver, and even two gold coins were all passed to Amelie who disappeared inside with them. Ben didn’t ask what she was doing with them. Since he met her, she always had gold, and he had coppers. He figured it was better to let her handle the actual coins as long as he could handle the negotiations.

The tinkers cheered up a bit as well. From where Ben was standing, he saw a handful of disappointed women leave his cart and go to the tinkers. When they couldn’t purchase new clothing or a new pot at the right price, they invested in repairing what they had. That was okay with Ben. They would spend the night next to the other wagon. Happy tinkers were better than angry tinkers.

Shortly before the sun set, a woman approached.

“My husband said you were holding cutlery for me?” she asked.

Ben smiled. “Wanda?”

The woman nodded.

Ben pulled out a simple wooden box and opened it to show her knives, forks, and spoons. It was a nice set.

“How much?” she asked.

“Five silver,” said Ben to start the haggling.

They went back and forth, and finally, when both were satisfied, Ben handed over the utensils and Wanda handed him the coins.

“You’ll enjoy them,” Ben assured the woman. “Your husband said you are a great cook and was glad you’d get proper—”

The woman snorted. “My husband didn’t say I was a great cook. Thank you all the same, but you’ve already made the sale.” She turned and departed.

Ben glanced over his shoulder to see where Amelie was starting a cook fire and laying out dinner.

“Want to let someone else cook tonight?” asked Ben.

“You mean a tavern?” replied Amelie. “Is that normal for traveling merchants?”

“If I drink some ale, it will be,” answered Ben with a grin.

“What about our wagon? Someone could break in and rob us.”

“Let’s ask the tinkers to watch it.”

When Ben approached her, the sour-faced woman was stirring a pot over her own cook fire. She’d left some unfinished sewing by a foldable camp chair. Her man was lounging on the ground and puffing on a sweet smelling pipe.

“Care to watch our wagon for us?” asked Ben. “We won’t be gone more than two bells.”

The woman glared at him.

“Come on, Mave,” chided the man. “Sure, boy, we’ll watch it for you, unless we get a better offer. Four coppers.”

“Price of two ales?” guessed Ben.

The man winked at him. “You can pay in coin now or bring ‘em back with you from the tavern.”

“I’ll bring them as soon as we’re done inside,” answered Ben.

The man exhaled a steady stream of pipe smoke. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Ben and Amelie hiked across the green to a noisy building on the other side. It had the hallmarks of a rough roadside tavern, but when they entered, Ben was surprised to see it half full of young people. It was also larger than he’d thought, at least four times the size of the Buckhorn back home. There were a scattering of wagon drivers, farm hands, and other earthy folk he expected to find the in the place, but there were also an odd number of clean-shaven, well-dressed, young men. They wore doublets and hose more appropriate to a lord’s reception hall than the simple tavern.

A tight cluster of young women was there as well. Their hair was stylishly pinned up and they had finely cut dresses. Ben and Amelie eyed the young people then found a seat near the door. The crowd appeared less dangerous than Ben expected, which was somehow even more unsettling.

A cheerful, rosy-cheeked barmaid appeared at their table. “University special?” she asked.

Ben blinked at her.

“Beef pie, side of buttered beans, and two ales each,” the girl responded.

“How much?” asked Amelie.

The girl frowned at them. “Are you not from the university?”

Ben replied, “We’re merchants. That’s our cart out on the green.”

“What’s the university?” asked Amelie.

The girl put her hands on her hips and furrowed her brows. “You’re not messing with me?”

Both Ben and Amelie shook their heads.

“It’s that big building up on the hill, the one with the dome. You can see the bloody thing a league outside of town.” The girl’s gaze darted between the two of them, still suspicious they were playing some prank on her. “The University of Morwith. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

Ben glanced at Amelie. He didn’t know anything about it. The only university he’d heard of was in the City.

“People come from all over to attend here, from hundreds of leagues away. Why, I met one boy who said he came all the way from Irrefort. Told me all about it. Said his da was an aide to a man on the Council. Though,” the barmaid adjusted her skirts, “he might have been lying about that.”

“Oh, of course!” exclaimed Amelie in an odd, slightly high-pitched voice. “The University of Morwith. We’ve been so busy selling today that it completely slipped my mind where we were. The dome. Yes, of course. I am so embarrassed now.”

The barmaid smiled down at Ben’s friend. “Don’t worry about it, honey. I get that way sometimes too.”

A moment of silence passed before Ben asked, “So, a meat pie, side of buttered beans, and two ales?”

The barmaid twisted her lips. “That’s the special for university students only. Six coppers each.”

“How much for merchants?”

The girl’s hands rose to rest on her hips again. “One silver.”

“We’ll take it,” interjected Amelie, beaming up at the barmaid. “One special for each of us.”

The girl spun and pranced back to the kitchen.

“What is a university?” asked Ben, “I saw the one in the City. Is it similar to a college of the sword?”

“Not exactly,” responded Amelie, eyeing the kitchen in case the girl returned. “It’s closer to the Sanctuary, actually, a place of academic learning. A wealthy merchant may send his son to learn about finance. A lord in the court may want his son to study history and politics. Girls study art, and, well, many of them are there to find a rich husband. They may have classes in language, physics, and other subjects too depending on the university. They are not common. We didn’t have one in Issen. Instead, my father hired tutors. I studied many of the same subjects. Whitehall has one and the City of course.”

Ben frowned. “So it’s like an apprenticeship for rich people?”

Amelie grinned. “All of the students will be rather wealthy.”

The barmaid sat down two ale mugs, startling Ben. Silently, he reminded himself he needed to pay more attention. This deep in Coalition territory, any lapse could be fatal.

“They ain’t all rich,” remarked the barmaid. “Some of ‘em is poor as us.”

“How do they afford to attend then?” inquired Amelie curiously.

“You really are from far off.” The barmaid snickered. “The Coalition Council pays for a third of the spots each year. Everyone knows that. It doesn’t matter if you’re a lord or a pig farmer. They pay for whoever shows the most, uh, aptitude. That’s the right word, isn’t it? Gives everyone a chance to be equal, they say. Let the poor folk have the same opportunity as the lords. People line up out the door of the university and down the hill during admission week. Best business we ever have. They come and drink when they get accepted or come and drink when they don’t.”

A shout came from across the room demanding more ale and the barmaid scampered off.

“The Coalition pays for schooling. Why do they do it?” Amelie wondered.

“Maybe it keeps the people happy?” Ben guessed. “If even the poorest know they’ve got a chance to learn the same things the lords do, I think they’d like that.”

“What’s a pig farmer going to do with knowledge of ancient languages or art?”

Ben shrugged. “Saala told me there were two ways a lord could stay in power.”

Amelie sipped at her ale and waited for him to continue.

Ben took a sip as well then sat it down, pleasantly surprised it wasn’t the watered-down hog piss he’d expect in a roadside tavern. He continued, “A lord can do good things for his people. He can build roads, supply irrigation, and protect them from robbers or invaders. If the people see the lord doing these things, they’ll peacefully pay their taxes and leave the lord alone in his big keep atop the hill. A shorter way to power, according to Saala, is fear. The lord can scare the people into thinking the only way to survive is to have his protection. That gives the lord the pretext to raise an army, increase taxes, and become so powerful, no one can oppose him.” Ben paused to drink more ale. “Maybe the Coalition is trying the first way. Giving people some hope.”

Amelie frowned. “I’ll admit I know embarrassingly little of the Coalition. Lord Jason stayed in Issen for months and never mentioned these things. If they were so altruistic, I’m sure he would have told my father. He focused on the second set of things you said. He spoke about the strength of their military and the threat Argren represented to Alcott.”

“The carrot and the stick,” mused Ben. “Maybe they’re trying to do both.”

Amelie sat back in thought.

Ben left her alone for a bit and surveyed the room. The young people clustered together in small groups that constantly shifted. They laughed heartily and drank heavily. The boys were obviously interested in the girls, but the girls paid them no mind. Occasionally, one of the boys grew bold enough or drunk enough to brave the approach. The boy would timidly shuffle up to the girls and try to insinuate himself into their circle. Sometimes, they would shift and seem to innocently block him with their backs turned, or sometimes the boy would make it in. Then it usually ended in tinkling laughter that sent the boy fleeing red-faced back to his companions.

Ben grinned. “These guys are having no luck at all. I wonder how long it will take them to realize the girls aren’t here to talk to them?”

Amelie leaned across the table. “If the girls don’t want to talk to the boys, why do you think they came to the tavern tonight?”

Ben frowned. “They’re not being very accommodating.”

“Fortune favors the bold,” answered Amelie with a wink. “If these little boys recognized the signals the girls were sending, then they’d charge in there and they’d get all of the attention they want. Sometimes a girl is just waiting for the boy to become a man and to act.”

Ben grunted.

The barmaid materialized with heavy dishes containing the meat pies and beans. “Let me know when you want your second ale,” she advised.

Ben nodded. The pies were hot, the crust was flaky, and the gravy inside rich with flavor. Ben was glad they’d elected to come to the tavern. The thought of rice, beans, and ham again was almost too much to take.

They scarfed down the pies. Ben was feeling full and content. For a brief moment, the worry about the Sanctuary, the Coalition, and how they were going to find the Purple in Irrefort faded into the background. He sat in silence with Amelie. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that comes from knowing that you can say anything you want to the other person, or you can say nothing at all.

They watched the young people and sipped their ale. Eventually, a tall, dark-haired young man strode up to the girls. Ben noticed immediately he wasn’t timid about it. The boy slipped into the girl’s circle before they had time to block him. When the girls laughed at him, he laughed as well. He told a joke, gesturing wildly, and the girls were laughing with him. Before long, a curly-haired blond girl placed a hand on his arm. It was like a spell broke. The girl’s circle opened. Two more boys flung themselves into the breach.

“Confidence,” remarked Amelie.

Ben raised an eyebrow at her.

“He was sure of himself and knew what he wanted. Girls can sense that, they respond to it. You should try it sometime.”

Ben blinked.

Amelie finished her ale. “I recommend we leave at first light tomorrow. We sold enough today to look respectable. No one would expect a peddler to stick around too long.”

“Agreed,” said Ben. He turned his ale up then gestured for the barmaid to bring two more. He’d take those to the tinkers outside.

When they crossed the green to the wagons, Ben saw the tinker’s fire was smoldering embers. Their wagon was closed tight.

“Do you think they went to sleep already?” he asked Amelie.

She shrugged. “Maybe they got a better offer.”

Ben left the ales on the back of the wagon but didn’t knock on the door. No lights were on inside. If they were asleep, he didn’t want to bother them. It wasn’t Ben’s fault the man hadn’t waited up to enjoy his ales.

At their wagon, Ben gestured for Amelie to go ahead of him. “Ladies first.”

She smirked at him. “I’m not sure I count as a lady anymore.”

Ben grinned at her. She ducked inside. He put a foot on the step to follow when he heard a jingle behind him. Ben turned and his heart sank. Standing in the dim light was a familiar figure flanked by three soldiers and a liveried man with an iron cudgel on his belt.

“You eluded me longer than I expected,” remarked the leader.

“Lord James,” Ben acknowledged.

“Indeed,” preened the lord. “I’m very curious to learn why you helped me back on the road, spy. Did you target me? What did you hope to gain?”

The moon and the lights from the buildings circling the green provided Ben enough visibility to see James and his men had not drawn their blades. That might be helpful if he had his sword. It was tucked inside the wagon. Real peddlers didn’t carry mage-wrought blades into taverns.

“Ben,” called Amelie from behind him.

Ben turned just in time to catch his longsword. Amelie jumped down from the wagon to stand beside him, the rapier she’d found in Samuel’s cellar in one hand and the dagger he’d given them in the other.

“Try to take them alive,” instructed James to his men.

The lord swept out his own rapier and the soldiers drew broadswords. Ian, the footman, slung his iron cudgel off his belt.

“Ben, you know—” started Amelie.

“I know,” he replied.

James thought they were spies. They’d be hung for that. If he learned the truth though, it would be even worse. Lord Jason had personally come for Amelie at the Sanctuary. With a bounty like that, Lord James would never let them out of his sight. He’d have an entire garrison guarding them. There would be no chance of escape. They’d be lucky if Jason just killed them instead of torturing them for days first.

“Can you do something?” suggested Ben.

A sharp pop and whoosh of flame erupted from the tinker’s fire.

The soldiers were startled at the unexpected noise behind them. Ben wasn’t. He surged forward, heading directly at Ian. The footman didn’t have a chance. Ben’s blade plunged into his chest.

“Not so easy when your men aren’t holding someone down,” muttered Ben. He felt a flash of satisfaction at avenging Jolly Jon’s torture.

The remaining soldiers were circling around him. A whirling sound of gale force wind was building in the back of Ben’s head, but he wouldn’t be able to use it effectively. The men were too scattered for him to catch them all and he worried it may draw more attention than they already had. They couldn’t fight the entire city watch.

Ben dodged the sharp tip of a broadsword that came uncomfortably close to his neck. He shuffled to the side and the three men followed, keeping him surrounded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Lord James launch a probing attack at Amelie. She parried it with her rapier.

“So you do know how to use that blade,” cackled the lord. “Good. That will make this more fun.”

Amelie lunged forward, thrusting her sword at James’ eye. He caught it on the side of his blade and then stepped forward, coming inside her guard. He reached out to grab her but she swiped at his hand with her dagger.

The lord yelped and staggered back, glancing at his hand, clearly shocked a girl was able to mark him. Shadows seemed to crawl up his arm from the wound, but in the dim light, Ben thought it was just his imagination.

Ben spun in a quick circle, keeping his opponents at a distance. The three soldiers around him were moving cautiously, obviously nervous after he so easily dispatched the footman. Three against one though, Ben knew eventually they’d strike. He couldn’t defend against all three if they coordinated their attack.

Ben faked a movement to his right, freezing the soldier on that side. As he’d expected, the soldier on his left lunged after him. Ben smoothly pivoted and parried the man’s broadsword. He used the man’s own momentum to skewer him on the tip of Ben’s longsword.

The third soldier didn’t waste the opportunity. He attacked. Ben, knowing the blow was coming, tried to twist out of reach, but the man’s low slash caught him on the hip. Searing pain exploded along his side. The steel cut half a finger deep into muscle and nicked the bone. Ben continued his motion, spinning in a circle. The surprised soldier caught Ben’s longsword with his neck.

Staggering to the side, Ben turned to face the one soldier left standing. The man made no rush to engage. Even with a limp, he evidently knew Ben was the better swordsman.

The soldier dropped his sword and ran. Ben started after him, cursing, but immediately pulled up when the pain in his hip shot through his body. He stared after the departing man, knowing the soldier was going to get help. Wounded, there was no way Ben could catch him.

A clash of steel brought his attention back around. If he couldn’t catch the fleeing soldier, at least he could move fast enough to help Amelie.

He quickly saw he didn’t need to.

Lord James was reeling, bright red spots blooming on his arms and legs. He was frantically waving his rapier in front of him, but Amelie was faster. Again and again, she whipped her sword past the lord’s defense and sliced another laceration into his flesh. Ben shuffled closer but he didn’t engage.

If Lord James had charged Amelie, he might be able to take a non-fatal strike and close within her guard. He was bigger than her, and even injured, he’d probably win the fight if he grappled her to the ground. He didn’t. That wasn’t the way a lord fought. Lord’s fought in duels. They followed the rules. Fear shone through his eyes and tainted his every movement. He was stumbling back. Amelie pursued relentlessly.

The lord’s parries became slower and less effective. Amelie sensed he was weakening and batted at his rapier with hers. All her strength was in it, and the lord’s weapon was knocked to the side. His gaze tracked the steel of his weapon, eyes wide in surprise at the strength she’d displayed. Mage-enhanced strength, Ben suspected.

The lord’s guard was open and Amelie took advantage. She stepped forward and buried her dagger in his neck.

Lord James’ body collapsed, falling to the ground near the wagon, out of the light of the moon. Panting, Amelie glanced to Ben.

“Good work,” he said. “Did he cut you?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replied between breaths. She eyed the three dead men near him. “It looks like you did okay too.”

“One marked me and one got away,” admitted Ben.

A bell started clanging.

“That took about a minute,” continued Ben. “Which means—”

“We have a minute to run,” interjected Amelie. She saw the blood staining Ben’s side. “Can you run?”

“I’d rather run than hang from a rope,” he responded dryly.

“Wait here,” instructed Amelie.

She bolted to the wagon, throwing the door open and disappearing inside. Ben didn’t wait. He started hobbling toward the line of buildings furthest from the direction the soldier ran. At his pace, Amelie would catch him quickly. He was only halfway across the green when she did.

“You need to move faster than this,” encouraged Amelie, both of their travel packs slung over her shoulders. “If they see us when they get to the green, we are wasting our energy running.”

Ben gritted his teeth and tried to increase his pace. He could feel the blood steadily leaking down his leg. Already, the sticky liquid filled his boot. Pain shot through his body with each step. He picked up speed. Then the pain grew overwhelming and he slowed again.

“You run,” said Ben grimly. “I can’t go any faster. I’ll hold them off. You can still reach Irrefort.”

“How will you hold them off?” objected Amelie. “If you can’t walk, you can’t fight.”

“I’ll use the wind,” retorted Ben.

“I have a better idea,” declared Amelie. She stopped walking and spun toward the sound of the bell. “Keep going. Don’t worry about me. I don’t intend to be caught.”

He kept going, looking over his shoulder to make sure she wasn’t giving herself up to try and save him. That would be simple foolishness. Instead, he saw she removed the black glass scepter they’d found in Samuel’s cellar. It was the length of her arm with two silver caps on each end. He knew she’d been studying it inside the cart while he drove.

He heard her mumbling, “If I can figure out which end…”

Before she finished, two-dozen soldiers burst out from a narrow street onto the green.

“Keep going!” shouted Amelie. “I can hold this many of them.”

The guards saw them and charged. It wasn’t a large space, and for an uninjured man, it could be crossed in two-dozen heartbeats. Amelie let them draw close then raised the scepter.

Balls of blue-green fire erupted from the device. They were the size of a closed fist at first, but as they streaked across the green, they grew to the size of an ox. Blast after blast emanated from the scepter. Ben’s trot slowed to a walk as he watched over his shoulder in shock.

The guards dodged to the side, threw themselves flat on the ground, or were engulfed in the flames. As a unit, the ones who remained scrambled away. Not a single man stood to face the onslaught of fire that poured out against them.

At the far side of the green, the fireballs smashed against the wooden buildings. A wall of flame shot into the air. Scorch marks marred the grass where the fireballs struck. Within heartbeats, the guards had vanished or died.

Ben reached the line of buildings on the other side. It wasn’t much, but the structures could provide a little cover as they fled.

Amelie kept flinging the fireballs after the guards until the scepter snapped in two. The flames began to sputter out as soon as the scepter broke. The damage was still there, but the unnatural fury of the fire wasn’t sustained. Amelie spun and raced after Ben. He took the lead, shuffling as quickly as his injured hip would let him.

“I’m glad you could put it out,” said Ben, huffing and puffing already with the strain on his leg.

“What do you mean? I didn’t put it out,” responded Amelie, easily keeping pace with him.

“There could be people in those buildings,” responded Ben. “I thought you put it out so they wouldn’t get, uh, consumed.”

Amelie blanched. “I didn’t think about that.”

They kept walking.

“I could have killed scores of people!” exclaimed Amelie.

“You didn’t though,” replied Ben.

“But…”

“Maybe we should talk about this later,” suggested Ben.

She nodded curtly.

Ahead of them, a gate on the south side of town stood open. Ben kept hobbling forward, on alert for guards, but none seemed to be manning the gate. They must have responded to the bell or ran when they saw the fire. There was a clear avenue to escape. The rest of the town was silent. This place wasn’t used to violence, and the townspeople were hunkering down instead of rushing out to see what the alarm was for.

“If we can make the fields,” said Ben, “then I think we have a chance.”

“No,” responded Amelie, grabbing his arm. She pointed to a dark, three-story building. “Here.”

Ben looked at it. An iron gate barred a polished wood door. “We can get away,” insisted Ben.

“And they’ll catch us,” retorted Amelie. “You can barely walk. We killed a lord and several guards. I torched half the village green. The entire garrison will be after us. They’ll blanket the countryside. They’ll bring hunters and dogs. They’ll catch us, Ben.”

Ben stood, staring at the open city gate. “You find a way in while I set a false trail,” he agreed finally. “If we hide here, we have to make them think we left.”

Amelie stepped to the iron gate and placed a hand on the lock. Ben scurried as fast as his leg would let him to the open city gate. Once he got there, he stripped off his blood-soaked tunic and tossed it in the middle of the road. Not subtle, but maybe it would give their hunters cause to think they escaped.

Agonizingly slow, he limped back to Amelie. He was growing faint. Too much blood loss, he knew, but he couldn’t stop yet. She was standing by the building. The iron gate and wooden door stood open.

“How did you do that?” grunted Ben.

Amelie wiggled her fingers then helped Ben up the three shallow steps. As he entered, he noticed the broken pieces of a lock lying on the floor.

The steps almost proved his undoing. With Amelie’s help though, he made it to the top and stumbled inside, collapsing on a plush rug. Amelie bent down and wiped his bloody footprints off the stone steps then shut the door.

The alarm bell kept ringing, but so far, they didn’t hear the stomp of soldiers in the street. Ben, half-delirious, figured they wouldn’t be in a hurry after seeing the damage the giant fireballs left. Lying on the floor, he glanced around the entryway. In addition to the thick rug he was bleeding on, the place was decorated with silver sconces, crystal candlesticks, and polished-wood paneling. It looked like a wealthy merchant or lord’s home.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” suggested Amelie. “We need to stop the bleeding and then get some food and water in you.”

Ben grunted and rolled to his stomach. Wincing in pain, he forced himself onto his hands and knees. Then, gripping a finely carved wooden table, he dragged himself up. He could feel a fresh torrent of blood leaking down his leg, but he ignored it. It was about to get worse.

“I could have helped you,” chided Amelie.

“Save it for the stairs,” mumbled Ben.

Consummation

Ben woke up in a soft, canopied bed. Late morning sun streamed in from a window, lighting the thick embroidery above him, heavy blue fabric with gold thread. He stared at an intricate rising sun pattern and wondered how long it took someone to sew it.

He glanced to his side and saw Amelie lying in the bed next to him. She was still wearing her clothes from the day before and was sleeping deeply, snoring softly. The collar of her tunic had fallen across her cheek. Ben lifted a hand and gently pushed it off of her face.

He blinked. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. His arm was bare. Cautiously, he reached under the sheet and traced a hand down his body. Definitely no clothes. He could feel raised flesh where the soldier’s broadsword had cut him. It was tender and painful to the touch, but he couldn’t feel stitches. Amelie must have healed him. She must have stripped him too.

Ben slid out of the bed, trying not to disturb her. He surveyed the room. The sheets of the bed were sticky with blood near where he lay. On a small table by the bed, bloody linens sat next to a washbasin that was filled with pink-tinged water.

He grunted. He was thirsty and famished. He felt a slight tremor in his hand and a wave of dizziness swept through him when he moved. Amelie healed him, but she couldn’t replace what his body needed after losing so much blood.

He found their packs and dug out a change of clothing. With fresh tunic and britches, Ben checked on Amelie again and found her still sleeping. Resting after expending too much energy with the fireballs and healing him, he guessed.

Downstairs, the larder was near empty, but Ben found an uncut wheel of cheese, pickled fish, and water. It was sustenance, if not much else.

He limped up the broad, carpet-covered, oak-railed staircases until he reached the third floor. Peeking out the windows he saw a few people moving about, but the streets were mostly empty. He tried different rooms until he got the angle he wanted. He looked down at the southern gate, a block away from the manor they were in. Unlike the night before, it was now shut tight. A dozen soldiers milled about. He and Amelie weren’t getting through that anytime soon.

He explored the rest of the house. There wasn’t much to find. It was clearly the residence of a wealthy family, but it had been closed for weeks or even months. Finely polished tables were coated with dust. Food rotted in the cellar, though there was some that was still edible. There were no clues as to whom the owners were or where they had gone, but, for Ben’s purposes, it didn’t really matter.

By evening, Amelie finally stirred. Ben helped her transfer to another room that wasn’t quite so blood covered. He fed her a broth he’d made using dried beef and lentils. Once fed, she fell back asleep. Ben let her rest.

He moved down to the lord’s game room, his solar, and lit a lamp. The room was on the first floor but in the center of the house so he wasn’t worried about anyone spying the light through the windows. The room had a table for cards, a target set in the wall for throwing knives, and a game he’d never seen before involving small balls and pegs. He studied it briefly, trying to guess the rules. He was just wasting time.

He went to examine the bar and found it was still stocked. Bottles of wine lined one shelf. A crystal decanter filled with brown liquor sat on a small table. He opened the stopper, smelled it, and poured himself a glass. It felt odd using glass instead of a wood or earthenware mug, but that was all he could find behind the bar.

Sitting in a comfortable, overstuffed chair, he rested his feet on the linen-covered ottoman. Amelie’s display of power had facilitated their rescue, but it would draw every soldier, hunter, or mage that was in the area.

Ben took a sip of the liquor. Heat filled his body. Not fire like cheap liquor, it was the kind of warmth you wanted on a cold night or when you had death hanging over your head and no options. He thought about the fireballs again and grimaced. Mages. He didn’t know how many existed in the Coalition, but he knew of at least one who would hear about the incident and come searching. Eldred.

If she were within one hundred leagues of Morwith, she would come find them. They suspected she had been able to track them using Amelie’s blood. Now, Ben’s blood was scattered all over the town. He briefly thought they should issue a distress call through the communications disc Amelie carried, but Eldred might be able to track that as well.

Without knowing why, Ben was certain the mage wouldn’t be fooled by his ruse with the tunic. Even if she couldn’t track them, she would know they hadn’t left town. It was too obvious, too simple for someone like her to be taken in by.

He finished his glass and was pouring another when he decided they had to move. There were too many eyes in the city, and it would be too easy to search. He’d estimated a little over two-hundred buildings when they rode in. The captain of the city watch could demand a search and get it done. The house they were in was covered in blood. Even if they hid somehow, it would be obvious they had been there. Ben thought they couldn’t count on more than a day or two before someone took control and started going door to door. Mages or soldiers, it didn’t really matter. When someone came to search, they had to be gone.

Ben finished the glass and grabbed the decanter. He walked out of the lord’s solar and stood in the center of the house. The broad staircase wrapped its way from the first floor to the third. On the third, it ended in a high cupola.

With nothing better to do, Ben climbed the stairs. He looked up through the glass panes of the cupola at the night stars above him. There was a narrow walkway circling it. Glancing around the landing, he saw a narrow door. Opening it, he found a ladder.

Ben took another drink, tucked the decanter under his arm, and climbed the ladder. At the top, he found a door that led outside. He went out, too nervous to stay inside because the walkway had no railing and there was a three-story drop below it. Outside, the cold wind sliced into him. It felt good though. It made him feel alive.

From the roof of the manor, he studied the city gate. It wasn’t much of a barrier, arm-thick logs bound together with iron straps. It would be almost as easy to scale as the shoulder-high stone wall that surrounded the town. If they wanted, they could get out, but where would they go? Ben grunted in frustration at the gate. Such a flimsy thing, not even an obstacle, really, but he knew they wouldn’t try to get out that way. It was pointless.

He took another swig of the liquor, feeling its heat slide down into his chest. He circled the cupola, looking out at the town of Morwith below. It was well lit, more so than he recalled the previous night. Likely a response to what they did.

Guards patrolled the streets, men in clusters of half a dozen carrying torches, pikes, and wearing armor. If they weren’t any more skilled than the soldiers the previous night, Ben thought he and Amelie could surprise a group and defeat them, but as he watched, he picked out more and more of the patrols. Six, seven, maybe eight of them. He lost count. The scepter Amelie used was spent. Without that kind of power, they couldn’t hope to fight that many soldiers.

Ben looked at the green. The two wagons were still sitting there, their cart and the tinker’s wagon. Only one of them had a light on. From a distance, he couldn’t tell, but it looked like a lantern hanging off the back.

Ben frowned. He tried to orient himself. The southern gate was to his right, so the wagon on his left must be to the north. He raised the decanter to his lips and dropped it without taking a sip. When he’d pulled onto the green, he’d turned the wagon to his left, to the north, to where the one with the light was sitting. He stared at the wagon for another half bell, expecting something to happen to resolve the mystery, but nothing did. Either someone had removed their wagon, and a new one parked in the exact same spot, or someone was occupying theirs.

Eventually, the liquor no longer warmed him enough to keep the cold wind at bay. With a last look at the cart, Ben climbed back in the cupola, down the ladder, and down the stairs. He peeked in at Amelie and saw she was resting just like he’d left her. He left her door open and went in to the room across the hall. He left that door open as well and promptly fell asleep.

***

Ben woke to find Amelie standing at the foot of his bed.

“Good morning,” she chirped.

“Good morning to you too,” he responded, balling a fist to rub sleep out of his eyes.

“I made us breakfast. Well, breakfast of a sort. There isn’t much in the kitchen to choose from.”

Ben rolled out of the bed, glanced at his blood-stained boots, and then followed her out of the room barefoot. In the kitchen, a cheerful fire burned in the hearth and a pot of oats sat beside it.

“I wasn’t sure about the fire,” apologized Amelie. “I hope no one is paying close attention to the chimneys. If they are, they’d probably find us anyway.”

Ben nodded. “They’ll be doing door-to-door searches soon. They’ll find us then. I looked around last night. There are blood stains over half of this house. There’s no way we can clean it enough to hide we were here.”

Amelie sat on a stool at a big wooden table in the center of the kitchen. She’d placed two bowls and two spoons there. Ben scooped a heap of oatmeal out into their bowls. She unstoppered a jar full of brown sugar.

“Back in Issen, on cold days, the cooks would make oatmeal with fresh milk, butter, and brown sugar. They’d sprinkle berries on top when they were in season or raisins when they weren’t.”

Ben stirred a small pile of sugar into his oats. “In Farview, we had oatmeal with milk and butter too, but we didn’t have sugar.” He took a bite. “If we don’t think about it too close, this can taste like home.”

Amelie grinned. “I saw where you must have been searching around in here yesterday,” she said. “Find anything interesting?”

Ben swallowed a mouthful of oats. “There is one thing I noticed.”

He told her about what he found in the house, which was nothing remarkable. He quickly moved on to the light on the back of the cart.

“What do you think it means?” asked Amelie.

Ben shrugged. “It could be some enterprising citizen of Morwith took the opportunity to secure themselves a peddler’s cart. It could be soldiers or hunters setting a trap for us.”

“Do you think we should go find out?” asked Amelie.

Ben shook his head. “It’s too big a risk. Whoever it is, they aren’t our friends, and there’s nothing in that wagon worth risking discovery for. We have our weapons and our packs. Everything else we were carrying is replaceable.”

“Not all of the mage-wrought items we took from Samuel’s are replaceable, but you’re right,” agreed Amelie. “It’s not worth the risk. Where does that leave us?”

“They aren’t going to find sign of us outside the city, which means that they are certain to start searching buildings sooner or later,” Ben stated. “I think we have one, maybe two days. Once they start a thorough search, we have to be gone.”

Amelie chewed her oatmeal and let him continue.

“That means we need to leave as soon as possible,” finished Ben.

“You think we should leave now?” she asked. “Climb the wall and run?”

“No,” responded Ben. “That’s suicide. We wait until dark and then leave. We’re gambling they don’t search this house today, but I think that is better odds than trying to escape in broad daylight.”

Amelie nodded. “What should we do the rest of the day then?”

“We can search the house again during daylight, see if there is anything I missed,” answered Ben. “We restock supplies and then rest. We’re going to have some long days ahead of us. We’ll need all of the rest we can get.”

They scoured the building from top to bottom for most of the morning. There was some usable food and a lot of fancy furniture. They found a change of clothes for Ben, an entire wardrobe of tunics to choose from but the britches were a little more snug than he was used to.

“The lord must have been your size,” muttered Amelie. She snatched a pair of britches from Ben’s hands and offered him another pair. “This will look better on you.”

“I’m not worried about looking good,” complained Ben.

Amelie raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine,” he surrendered. “I’ll go try them on.”

“Bathe first,” instructed Amelie. “I’ll bathe as well. There’s no sense wearing clean clothes if the bodies underneath are filthy and covered in dried blood.

Ben grinned and bowed. One of the advantages of a lord’s manor was that it had bathing chambers, one with dark-wood paneling that was for the men and one with flowery pink embroidery covering half the surfaces for the women. Amelie nearly choked when she saw the décor, but she didn’t hesitate to start warming a bath. There were some things that a lady was evidently not willing to give up, even in the midst of atrocious stylistic choices.

Ben, freshly scrubbed and wearing his new clothes, met her in the hall.

“Those look good on you,” complimented Amelie.

Ben pulled at the britches. “I’m a little worried they’re too tight to fight in.”

“Try moving around, see how it feels.”

He squatted down, stood back up, lunged forward, stood again, bent, and touched his toes.

“Well?” she asked.

“It’s okay,” he allowed.

“It looked good,” she said with an impish grin.

Ben pretended to scowl at her. He couldn’t hold it long. Her humor was infectious. It was welcome after so many dark days.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

They had their midday meal in the kitchen, sitting on simple wooden stools around a large table the cooks must have used for prepping meals when the house was full.

After eating, they climbed into the cupola and peered around the town. The southern gate was still shut tight and a dozen armed men were within half a block of it. They couldn’t see any other gates but Ben knew they’d be shut as well. Outside of the gate, a score of wagons and carts sat waiting. They’d pulled off the side of the road and made camp.

“They’re expecting to be out there long enough that they made camp but not so long that they turned around,” speculated Amelie.

“Those gates won’t open until they’ve searched the town,” agreed Ben. “Tomorrow they search?”

Amelie nodded. “We have to leave tonight.”

Ben showed her the cart, which was still sitting where he parked it. During daylight, there was no sign of life.

“Probably some townsman taking advantage of abandoned property,” guessed Amelie.

“Probably,” agreed Ben.

They climbed back inside, not wanting to spend too much time up top and risk being seen.

“What should we do now?” asked Amelie.

“Rest,” replied Ben.

“I have something else in mind,” she responded coyly. “Come with me.”

Ben followed Amelie down the stairs and to the rooms they’d slept in. She led him into her room and spun to face him.

“We have an afternoon and evening in this big, beautiful house. Try again. What should we do?”

Ben frowned in confusion. “It is a nice house but it’s been cleared out. We can’t give away our presence. There’s nothing to do but rest.”

“Nothing to do but rest,” pressed Amelie. “There’s nothing else you want to do?”

She strode forward and wrapped a hand around Ben’s head, twisting her fingers into his hair and pulling him to her. Her lips met his and parted, her tongue darting into his mouth. Ben involuntarily responded. He felt her melt against him.

Ben broke away. “Amelie…”

“You turned me down once,” she breathed. “I was drunk then. I’m not now.”

Ben grinned. He was polite, not stupid.

***

A quarter bell later, they lay in bed, naked and panting. Amelie was lying in the crook of his arm, head resting on his shoulder.

“That was amazing,” breathed Ben.

“It was nice,” said Amelie. “It’s not what I expected, though, not like in some, ah, books I’ve read.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ben, wide-eyed. “Was that your first time?”

Amelie blushed. “I’m not experienced like you are.”

Ben grinned at her. “I’m not what I would call experienced. I’ve never felt anything like that. Anything so intimate, so sweet.”

Amelie giggled. “Sweet?”

Ben smiled. “That’s what it felt like to me. What about you?”

Amelie kissed him on his ear. “It was sweet, really nice. I just expected it to, take longer, I guess.”

Ben felt a rush of blood to his face and he involuntarily elicited a groan.

“What’s wrong?” asked Amelie, the soul of innocence.

“It’s not over, yet,” Ben growled playfully.

They spent the remainder of the afternoon resting, gathering energy, and then expending it. It was sweet and nice at first. Later, it was passionate and hungry. They went from finding comfort in each other’s arms in a brief moment of safety to finding pleasure. It was a release of months of build-up and tension.

Later that evening, as the sun was setting on Morwith and casting a warm orange glow through the shuttered windows, they sat in the solar, drinking the lord’s wine. Amelie relaxed on a silk chaise, naked, a crystal wine glass dangling half-full in her grip. She was talking, but despite his best efforts, Ben couldn’t pay attention to what she was saying.

His gaze lingered, caressing her body. Her legs, toned from months of walking, led up to the curve of her hips. She was lying on her side so he couldn’t see between them. Her stomach was smooth and flat, her breasts small and pert. Her dark hair fell over them so he was only graced with tantalizing glimpses. Her lips were full and red, curved upward in a smile. Her eyes were looking right at him.

He coughed and blushed. “Sorry. What were you saying?” he asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” she responded with a grin. She drank the rest of the wine in her glass. “Are you just going to look, or are you going to do something?”

Ben crawled off his couch and pretended to stalk her on hands and knees. She giggled as he got to her and started to kiss her body. He started at her toes, her feet, then her ankles. He kissed her calves and her thighs. Amelie was twisting and writhing underneath him, no longer giggling. Her eyes were closed tight. Her lips were parted and she was breathing heavily.

He meant to kiss his way up to her lips, but he stopped, halfway. Her moans turned into cries, hungry, yearning cries. She tangled her hands in his hair and held him there. He kissed her, between her legs, lips and tongue lashing her skin. He didn’t know what he was doing so he took her reactions as his guide. Following his instincts and the clues her body gave him, he teased and pleased her. Her body tensed. Her back arched up off the chaise, and she gave a strangled cry, body twitching, thighs clamping down around his head. Her fingers gripped his hair tight, refusing to let him move. Several dozen heartbeats passed before she lay back, gasping for breath.

“Was that more in line with what you expected?” asked Ben.

“I didn’t… I don’t…” Her eyes were squeezed tight. Little shivers ran through her body. “What did you do to me?”

Ben wiped his mouth and grinned at her.

***

That night, groggy and sore, Ben and Amelie packed their belongings, the two travel packs that Amelie pulled from the cart before they fled, belt pouches, their weapons, and the broken glass scepter. It was the only item from Vander’s cache they’d managed to hold onto.

“Will you be able to do that again?” asked Ben, glancing at the scepter as Amelie tucked it away.

“Now?” asked Amelie incredulously. “We did it all afternoon. I’m going to be walking like I spent the last month on the back of a horse. We don’t have time for any more of that tonight, Ben. It was good, really good, but we have to leave.”

Ben coughed. “I meant with the scepter, the fireballs.”

“Oh,” replied Amelie, blushing furiously. “No, it’s spent. That power wasn’t mine. It was stored in the scepter for that specific purpose. I just activated it. I couldn’t even control it. Maybe there is some value left in it, though. Maybe it can be recharged. I don’t want to leave it somewhere a person like Eldred could find it.”

Ben nodded. “Of course.”

They peeked out the front door then exited into the crisp night air. It was winter in the north, but Ben could feel the season was beginning to turn. In a month, maybe two, green shoots would break up from the cold, brown ground. The farmers would be busy planting in the fields, and the housewives would open the windows to shake out the bedding. Fresh air, a fresh start. But for now, it was cold.

Ben pulled his cloak tight around him. The street in front of the manor was lit with lamps spaced two a block. Not enough light to identify them from afar, but plenty to tell they were there.

“The city must be under curfew,” he guessed. It was late, but not so late that no one would be out.

Amelie nodded.

Ben’s intention was to slip around the corner of the house and travel the back streets and alleys to the stone wall that circled Morwith. They could climb over it and disappear into the dark fields. It was a quarter moon. If they could keep from being silhouetted, he didn’t think anyone would spot them.

Before they could get to the side of the house though, he heard the creak of wagon wheels and the plodding feet of a donkey. Ben and Amelie darted back inside the manor house, leaving the door cracked open to see what was happening.

A cart rolled by. Ben frowned. It was their cart.

“Who?” started Amelie at the same time Ben asked, “What?”

Their eyes met and Ben suggested, “Let’s get closer.”

They crept back out the door. Staying close to the side of the building, they scurried from shadow to shadow, following the wagon as it rolled toward the southern gate. The guards had noticed the oddity as well. Two of them stirred from their comfortable fire to confront the wagon driver.

“Where do ya think you’re going?” barked a soldier.

Ben heard a muffled response. The voice sounded familiar. He touched Amelie on the shoulder to follow and he crept closer, edging along until he could see around the side of the cart. A dark figure was perched on the driver’s bench.

“There’s a curfew. The gate’s been locked for days!” growled the soldier. He was irate but not so much as to get the attention of his fellows. They were clustered close around a burning brazier by the gate, drinking and laughing, paying no attention to the cart.

Another muffled response came from the wagon. The figure was hunched over, leaning to speak with the guard.

“Look. This gate ain’t opening until the search is done. The garrison arrives from Willow on the morrow. It won’t be long after that. Wait until then like everyone else.”

“I get paid when I get to Amum,” answered the wagon driver, “if I’m on time.”

The voice tickled the back of Ben’s conscious.

“Not my problem,” declared the guard.

“You’re costing me two gold. Have a heart, man!”

“Sounds like you’re overpaid to me,” snarled the guard. “I don’t make two gold in a month of sitting out here in the cold. Turn this wagon around. I’m going back to the fire.”

“What if you were paid?” asked the driver. His hood was pulled up and his voice came out muffled.

Ben wracked his brain, trying to identify the voice. He glanced at Amelie. In the dim light, he could see her brows furrowed. It was familiar to her too. Whoever was driving that cart, they knew him.

“You said you got two gold?” answered the guard, suddenly interested.

“I could part with two silver of that,” offered the driver, “but only if I knew I could make it on time.”

“Seems like that should be worth four silver,” countered the guard.

“Three.”

“Nack,” barked the guard to his fellow. “Open the gate.” Turning to the driver, he added, “After I see the shine of those coins.”

Nack, obviously the junior guardsman, scrambled to the gate and lifted the heavy pin that locked it shut. Some of the guards by the fire voiced complaint.

The first one shouted them down. “Next time you drunks can leave the fire. This one is mine. It ain’t one of them spies so no harm making a little coin on the side.”

The wagon driver flipped three coins in the air. Ben saw them flash silver in the light from the fire. The driver clucked at the donkey and the cart started to roll. Right before the driver disappeared through the gate, he tilted back something in his hand and took a drink.

At the same time, Ben and Amelie both excitedly whispered, “Rhys!”

Nearly bursting with excitement, they snuck back to the corner of the manor and hurried through the alley. Ben’s half-healed wound needled him with pricks of pain at every stride, but they had to move fast. They needed to get to the wall, climb it, and race across open ground. They couldn’t let the guards see them, but they couldn’t let Rhys and the cart get away.

They didn’t speak. They were thinking the same thing. How and why didn’t matter. They knew their friend and possible salvation was rolling away from them.

At the wall, Ben reached up and dragged himself over. Amelie was more graceful, scampering up it then dropping smoothly to the other side. Ben landed with a thump. Rolling to his feet, he scanned the dark terrain, looking for the wagon.

“The road heads due south,” said Amelie. “We can go cross country for a quarter league and then cut over to meet it. We’ll probably be behind him.”

Ben nodded. They didn’t want to get on the road too close to the gate where someone might see them.

The ground was covered in the thick plains grass they’d been traveling through for weeks. Not ideal but not high enough to trip them up either. They jogged across the open ground, Ben proceeding at a half-trot, half-gallop. He knew his hip would be sore, but there was no question he’d push himself to catch the cart. He’d drop to the ground in exhaustion before he let Rhys get away.

They kept going until suddenly they stumbled onto a hard-packed dirt road. Amelie, clearly surprised at the change in footing, went sprawling forward. Ben helped her to her feet, not commenting.

“This road runs east-west, I think,” said Ben.

“That means there is a crossroads,” groaned Amelie. “They could go any direction.”

“They didn’t,” declared Ben. “They’ll go east to Irrefort. The only question is have they already passed here?”

Amelie didn’t argue but she didn’t have an answer. They stood for precious moments, torn with indecision.

“If we go the wrong way, we may never catch them,” fretted Amelie.

“We have to decide,” responded Ben.

But they didn’t. The cold wind brought the creak of wooden wheels. Ben and Amelie turned to stare down the road. In the black night, they couldn’t see the wagon until it was two-dozen paces from them, moving slowly and steadily.

Five paces away, the driver hauled back on the harness and the wagon rolled to a stop.

“You know any good taverns around here?” croaked the voice of the driver.

A door slammed open. A shrill cry, “Why are we stopping?”

“We found what we’re looking for,” answered Rhys.

Pouring Rain

On the black road, a quarter league from Morwith, Ben got a crushing bear hug from his friend. Amelie was clutched by Corinne. Ben heard tiny sniffles emanating from one of them. He would never ask which. Lady Towaal looked on dispassionately.

“This is lovely,” stated the mage, “but it’s not yet time to stop. This night is full of danger. We have to keep moving.”

Rhys snorted. “That’s a bit melodramatic, isn’t it? Nothing out here they aren’t already running from.”

Towaal grunted. “We need to get going.”

“As you wish,” responded Rhys, only a sliver of sarcasm edging his voice. “Ben, you want to ride up front? This tiny cart you procured is going to get tight with four of you in there.”

“Of course,” agreed Ben. He gripped the bench and hauled himself up.

“Run into some trouble?” asked Rhys.

Ben looked at him.

“Just kidding,” continued Rhys with a grin. “We heard.”

Ben settled on the hard wood while Rhys clambered up beside him. The rogue handed Ben the reins then dug out his flask. “You’re driving.”

Ben could only shake his head while he gathered up the harness. When he heard the door close at the back of the wagon, he snapped the lead, and they lurched into motion.

There were a lot of questions. Ben started with, “Why do you have my cart?”

Rhys took a sip of his flask. “Well, that’s a bit of a long story.”

“Do you have something better to be doing?” asked Ben.

Rhys sighed dramatically and took another sip. “This is going to take all night. Let me do it right and start at the beginning.” The rogue adjusted his perch on the bench, getting as comfortable as one can on rock hard wood. “Let’s see,” he started. “I’m sure you recall how Towaal and I battled the forces of darkness and you ran like a scared rabbit?”

Ben snorted. “Don’t you have hundreds of years to make up for? Battling one evil mage is surely just the beginning.”

Rhys grunted. “Fair enough. Seriously though, that woman is evil. Stay away from her. If you see her, run. Don’t leave anything you’ve touched that she can find, like this cart.”

Ben glanced at his friend. “Evil?”

“Towaal and I left the Sanctuary because we thought the Veil had taken a bad turn,” replied Rhys. “What they did with Eldred is not right.”

“I don’t understand,” responded Ben.

“We didn’t either at first,” said Rhys. “We thought she was a mage like any other. She’s always had a mean streak. And after what you two did to her, she had reason to want your heads. Eldred is talented, but what we faced in that square was unnatural. No living mage should have that kind of power. I hadn’t seen anything like it in a long, long time. She’s using death to gather energy to herself.”

“Society of the Burning Hand?” asked Ben.

Rhys coughed and nearly fell off the wagon seat. “Where did you hear that?” he demanded.

Ben grinned. “We didn’t just run like rabbits. We had a bit of an adventure too.”

“Where?” asked Rhys.

“You started your story,” said Ben. “I’ll tell mine when you finish.”

Rhys grumbled but sat back and began again. “Yes, a group that existed long ago. The Society had some techniques that could explain Eldred. They used dark, evil magic. Techniques I thought were forgotten, but there she is. She’s able to command great power. More than a human body should be able to withstand. There is a limit to how strong-willed one can be after all. It’s possible the Sanctuary was able to imbue her with that power. The Society did this, but it came at a cost to the recipient. Once that was understood, few chose to follow the path. For our purposes tonight though, it doesn’t matter. She’s powerful, too powerful, and we’ll leave it at that. Back in Northport, did you see Towaal open the rift?”

Ben nodded. Rhys offered Ben the flask, but Ben shook his head.

Rhys tucked it away. “Corinne and I heard the commotion from the keep so we started heading toward the wall to see what was happening. There were some rather large explosions and we ran faster. By the time we reached the wall, Towaal was fleeing. We saw her run into the library. Eldred was close behind, throwing alternating waves of fire and ice. Chaos reigned in the square. A dozen demons had slipped through the rift already and slaughtered the Sanctuary’s guards. They were spreading out, looking for life-blood.”

Rhys ran a hand through his hair, pulling back wispy strands that had fallen in his face. In the dark night, some of them shone silver to Ben’s eye.

The rogue added, “The library collapsed. The entire building just collapsed. I knew whatever was going on in there, I couldn’t help Towaal. Instead, Corinne and I rushed down, gathered a handful of Rhymer’s guards, and went to face the demons. It was a small rift so only small demons were getting through, but they were coming quick. When we got out of the gates, they turned toward us. A steady stream of them but nothing we couldn’t handle. Hunters started appearing in the square. It was easy money for them. They barely had to get out of bed. With their help, we circled the rift and pressed close. Demons kept coming, but they had nowhere to go.”

Ben grimaced. “Before you got there, did any get loose in the city?”

Rhys nodded. “Some did. A score of people were killed, but keep in mind, it was Northport. People bring a sword to buy bread. After a quarter bell of us fighting the demons, Towaal came running down a side street. She was covered in dust and blood. She closed the rift then collapsed in my arms. The fear was obvious in Towaal’s face. I knew Eldred must have survived too so we ran.”

“Where did you go?” asked Ben.

“There’s an abandoned mage’s tower at the back of one of Northport’s older estates,” answered Rhys. “It’s part of the garden now. I imagine the current owner has no idea about its history. It was once home to a bit of a recluse, a man who spent his days shut up in there, hiding from the Sanctuary. I’d explored it years ago out of curiosity and hoped it was still standing. Lucky for us, it was. The old man had warded the thing extensively. His glyphs are still carved in the walls. If he used those glyphs to hide from the Sanctuary, I thought maybe we could use them to hide from Eldred. The three of us huddled there for two days before Towaal woke up. When she did, she could barely move. She told us she’d triggered a trap for Eldred when they ran through the library, something the Purple had left. It was an inscription on the floor, the ceiling, and the walls. It would drain the will of anyone unfortunate enough to pass through after it was activated. Towaal assumed the library’s destruction was Eldred shattering the trap. It should have stopped any normal mage, but, as I said, Eldred is no longer normal. It delayed her enough though, giving Towaal time to get out the back and find us.”

“Wow,” breathed Ben.

“The excitement died off for a bit after that,” remarked Rhys. “We stayed in the tower. Corinne snuck out after a few days and found us supplies. She checked with some of her loyal friends and they told us Eldred survived. The mage was in the keep, in hiding, but it was clear she was directing a search of the city. Rhymer was going along with it, either sure we wouldn’t be found or too scared to defy Eldred. After a few days, I went out too. I thought if I could strike on my terms, maybe we could finish this quickly.”

Ben remembered Jasper’s warnings about Rhys and his past exploits.

“Everyone sleeps, right?” continued Rhys. “That’s what I thought, but apparently not Eldred. During the day, she was directing Rhymer’s men from behind closed doors. At night, flickering lights and strange noises all bubbled out from those chambers. I never got close enough to see what she was doing. Corinne and Towaal both forced me to promise I wouldn’t take a risk so I returned to the tower. I guess it was a few days later that Towaal was able to reach you through the device.”

Shifting on the seat, Rhys finished, “After that, we waited a little longer. Eventually, Corinne arranged safe passage out of the city. We didn’t want to be seen by anyone, friend or foe. We had word Eldred was gone, but signs of her hand were obvious outside of town. Roving patrols of guards, both Northport and Sanctuary, several hunters, and we even encountered a mage.”

“A mage!” exclaimed Ben. “What happened?”

Rhys brushed back his cloak and tapped his longsword. “The woman was entirely focused on Towaal. I haven’t had such an easy fight since you and I sparred together.”

Ben snorted.

“Now,” said Rhys, “tell me your story.”

“Hold on,” protested Ben. “That’s not all. How did you find us?”

Rhys complained, “My throat is getting sore from all of this talking.”

“I’m sure you’ll be okay,” replied Ben. “Finish and then I’ll tell you our tale.”

Sighing, Rhys continued, “Once we got a few days clear of Northport, the patrols slowed down, and we were able to move quickly. Corinne has familiarity with the area and directed us cross country. She knew a few good shortcuts and back trails. We made decent time.”

“It’s good Corinne decided to come,” remarked Ben.

“She didn’t have a choice,” responded Rhys. “It’s well known in Northport that she’s travelled with us. During the battle with Eldred, she was by my side. Northport is loyal to its own so the people wouldn’t intentionally sell her out to Eldred, but it would inevitably surface. If she stayed, Eldred would have her.”

“If you’ll let me finish now,” grumbled Rhys, “the rest isn’t very exciting. We travelled hard, knowing you had a few weeks head start on us. We were intending to make Irrefort and find you there. Then, about a day west of here, we hear a rumor on the road about fireballs and two young spies. A lord and his soldiers were dead. Buildings were burned. It sounded like chaos.”

Chuckling, Ben admitted, “Things got a little out of hand.”

“We knew that would be you two, of course, but when we got here, you’d already disappeared. We learned the cart was yours so we purchased it from the guard captain. No one else wanted to be associated with it, and the soldiers had already thoroughly searched it. I suspect he’ll keep the coins himself, but he said he’d put it toward rebuilding the green.”

Ben blushed. They hadn’t meant to cause so much destruction. “Why though?” asked Ben. “Why did you buy it?”

“You can’t leave anything behind for Eldred to find,” advised Rhys. “We don’t know her full capabilities, but we know that she was able to track you in Northport using blood. If you slept inside of this thing, there could be hairs, a sense of you, something she could use. We heard what happened and knew it was you. I’m sure she’ll think the same. Hopefully, she didn’t expect us to head to Coalition territory and we have a head start, but she could be arriving in Morwith any day now. We’ll get another day away and then find a quiet spot to burn this thing.”

“Or we could keep it,” suggested Ben. “The Coalition is going to be looking for two spies travelling on foot. Not five peddlers with a cart.”

Rhys scratched his chin. “Maybe. We’ll talk to Towaal about it when we stop. Now though, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Ben relayed their story, taking considerably longer than Rhys did. By the time he finished, Rhys was staring at him in appreciation and the sun was cresting the horizon ahead of them.

“Jasper,” mumbled Rhys. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard that name.”

“He doesn’t like you,” mentioned Ben hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how his friend would react to their involvement with the mage but he didn’t hold anything back. Rhys had been with them long enough to earn Ben’s trust.

“No,” agreed Rhys, “he wouldn’t like me. There’s been some, ah, unpleasantness throughout the years. From time to time, I’ve had encounters with his acquaintances. It didn’t always end well.”

“Did you assassinate them?” accused Ben.

Rhys’ gaze darted to the side. “Not all of them.”

Ben swallowed.

“I wasn’t always a good man. I told you that,” explained Rhys. “Some of those people were bad. Some of them were good. At the time, it didn’t matter to me. I don’t have any excuses for what I’ve done, but no one is past redemption, are they? It doesn’t mean I can’t change. I’m trying to do the right thing now.”

Ben shrugged. “We told Jasper that. I’m not sure he is convinced. I think he might fight you if given the chance.”

Rhys nodded solemnly. “I suspect he would.”

They rolled on silently. The morning sun broke through stands of trees and played hide and seek between the undulating hills.

After a bell of silence, Rhys spoke up. “You hungry?”

“It’s that time, isn’t it,” replied Ben.

Ben found a suitable spot and stopped the wagon. The women poured out of the back and Rhys hopped down to start a fire. Ben gave Corinne a quick hug and nodded to Towaal. The mage wasn’t the hugging type.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Towaal said, which for her, was quite an admission.

Ben grinned back at her. “Glad you’re safe too.”

They made breakfast and clustered around the campfire.

“After we eat, I suggest we keep moving,” advised Rhys.

Corinne had moved beside him and was rubbing his back while he ate. The rogue was moving slowly, like he was stiff from the long night spent on the driver’s bench. Ben noticed the wings of grey were still in his hair. He had to remember his friend had aged during the battle in Northport, aged more that night than he had in decades or even centuries.

Rhys continued, “Wherever she is, Eldred will come running to Morwith next. The story of the fireballs is a dead giveaway. She might be able to track us with magic or mundane skills.”

Amelie winced. Ben gripped her hand. In the heat of the moment, launching the fire seemed like the only way they could get away, and maybe it was, but it left an obvious trail for someone like Eldred.

“I agree,” responded Towaal. “If we take turns driving this cart and aren’t afraid to move at night, we can make Irrefort in two weeks. If we pause each night, it will be a month.”

“We have to stop and eat,” reminded Rhys.

“Three weeks then,” allowed Towaal.

“Do we still want to go to Irrefort?” asked Corinne. “Now that she’s aware Ben and Amelie are in Coalition territory, she’s likely to guess that’s where they’re headed.”

“Nothing’s changed about what we need to do,” declared Amelie. “We’ve seen the attacks on the road. Families and children are getting killed. Irrefort is the only place we know to search for the Purple. We have to go. Without the Purple, I’m afraid…” She left the rest unsaid.

“Where you go, we’ll follow,” acknowledged Rhys.

Corinne frowned but didn’t speak up. She was squatting on her haunches, hand axes on her belt, and bow over her shoulder. Even eating breakfast, she was prepared for battle.

They finished eating without speaking again. It had been a long night and would be a hard day. Some of them would rest inside while others drove. Hard travel, but the thought of meeting a mage Rhys and Towaal were scared to face was plenty of motivation for Ben.

Before they loaded up and left, Amelie pulled Ben aside. Whispering, she asked, “Did Rhys tell you he and Corinne are together?”

Ben shrugged. “He told me their story but didn’t say anything about Corinne.”

“Men!” snorted Amelie.

“Just look at them,” argued Ben, glancing to where Corinne was leaning against the rogue. “He doesn’t need to say anything.”

“You aren’t curious about the details? Their first kiss, the first time they made love?” asked Amelie.

Ben shook his head. “That’s none of our business.” He paused. “Wait. Did you tell Corinne about us?”

Amelie stared back at him, blinking slowly.

“While Towaal was in there!” exclaimed Ben incredulously.

Amelie leaned forward and kissed him firmly on the lips. “I’ll see you when we stop for the midday meal.”

She turned and pranced off to join the other women in the back of the cart.

Ben groaned. As if they didn’t have enough going on.

He climbed up on the front of the cart and was relieved to see Rhys take the reins. The placid donkey didn’t bother to look back when the rogue spurred him into motion. Ben sat back, head resting against the weathered wood behind the driver’s bench. Within half a dozen breaths, he was asleep.

***

The road they were following turned and they crawled up a low mountain range. Old mountains, said Rhys, worn down by centuries of wind and rain. They were covered in thick trees, bare in the winter but ready to bud with new leaves in the months ahead. It wasn’t the sharp rock peaks he was familiar with from Farview, but Ben was glad to get out of the empty plains. The trees gave him a sense of comfort, like they were hidden beneath a blanket that nothing could pierce.

In a week, the road wound through a low pass and they descended down the other side of the range. There was more moisture there. Rolling through shallow creeks or over short wooden bridges became common. It also began to rain.

During one particularly dreary morning, when the ladies had again disappeared inside where it was warm and dry, Rhys steered the cart through grim, grey sheets of rain. The water made quick running rivulets on the road. The wheels constantly splashed through shallow puddles.

Ben adjusted the hood of his cloak, trying in vain to find a position that kept the cold rain off his face. Ahead of them, a small stream had turned into a rushing torrent, swollen by the rainfall. The donkey slowed and Rhys let it.

“Think we can make it through there?” asked the rogue.

Ben shrugged. “Get up some speed. The bottom should be rock, which won’t be a problem, but with the creek so high, we might have mud on the banks.”

“We could ask the ladies to get out to lighten the load,” jested Rhys sourly.

Ben grunted. The rain poured down.

Rhys glanced at Ben. “Well?”

Ben sighed. “Let me go check the bottom of the creek. If it’s firm, I think we’ll be okay.”

He clambered off the cart and dropped to the muddy road. His boots splashed in a puddle that came up to his ankle. If he weren’t already soaked to the bone, he would have been upset about it. He strode forward a dozen paces and looked down into the rushing water. It was muddy and dark, churned up from the unusually brisk current.

Ben looked around and found a long stick on the side of the road. He poked it into the water, pressing against the unseen ground beneath the stream.

His stick met firm resistance. Ben tossed it aside into the forest. Tall, skeletal trees and bright green ferns lined the side of the road. Moss clung to the trunks of the trees and any exposed rock. Ben found it quite pleasant when it wasn’t raining. It had been three days of downpour though, and somehow, he and Rhys kept pulling the shifts driving. He was ready for a nice dry evening, a campfire, and a skin of rich red wine.

“How’s it look?” called Rhys from the cart.

“Good enough,” answered Ben. “Get some speed, and we won’t have any problems.”

“Come on then,” replied his friend.

Ben started back to the cart then stopped. Standing near the back corner were two people. One was a tall man, a good hand taller than Ben. He had a thick blond beard and his hair was piled up on top of his head in a topknot. He wore leather-covered scale-mail. Two swords were strapped to his back. Despite the rain, he was smiling broadly.

His companion was short and engulfed in a thick, dark wool cloak. Ben couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. The cowl of the cloak hung limply in the rain, obscuring the figure’s face.

“Need a push?” called the man cheerfully.

Ben responded, “I think we are okay. Thank you for the offer.”

The man ambled closer, the hilts of his swords bobbing as he walked.

“Wet day, isn’t it?” asked the man.

The hooded companion followed in the man’s wake.

Rhys, from his spot on the driver seat, could hear the conversation but couldn’t see the newcomers. Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Rhys shift to clear the hilts of his long-knives. The man walked to the front of the wagon, his eyes locked on Ben.

“Where is your friend, boy? Is she in the cart staying dry?”

Ben frowned. He pushed back his cloak and put a hand on his sword.

The man grinned. “What are you doing to do with that?”

When the cloaked figure reached the front of the wagon, its head snapped to the side, looking directly at Rhys.

“Harden your will!” shouted the rogue. He leapt toward the figure, a long knife in each hand.

A blast of air burst out from the cloaked figure, sweeping a heavy wall of water with it. Ben hardened his will an instant before the wall of water smashed into him. It slapped him like a giant’s hand. He was thrown to the ground and landed on his back, stunned.

Blinking, trying to clear the water from his eyes and scrambling to his feet, Ben saw Rhys standing in the muddy road, water pouring off of him. The cart wasn’t so lucky. When the water crashed against the side, it flipped it over. Their donkey went down next to it kicking, still tied to the harness. The top-knotted warrior had been knocked to his knees. He stood, drawing the two longswords off his back as he did.

Ben had been taught that swinging two longswords would be cumbersome and ineffective. This man didn’t seem to agree. The blades whirled in the falling rain and he stalked toward Ben.

The cowl fell back from the cloaked figure’s face revealing a mousy brown-haired woman. She stared in shock as Rhys charged toward her, blades held menacingly.

Ben didn’t see what happened with that fight. The top-knotted warrior was on him, slashing and stabbing. The man’s blades struck like lightning, flashing before Ben’s eyes then snapping back.

Ben defended frantically, stumbling backward. His foot slipped in the muddy water, and he stumbled to the side. It saved his life. A sword whistled over his head and would have cleaved into his skull if he hadn’t fallen. Falling wasn’t a good defense strategy, though, so he tried to switch to offense.

His first strike was met with one of the man’s blades. The other blade lashed out, slicing into the meat of Ben’s arm. Ben struck again, and the second attack was also met. This time, the counterattack stabbed into his thigh. Minor injuries, but they still stung with sharp pain.

Limping, Ben tried to escape. He dropped to the mud, rolling on his shoulder and scrambling to his feet as another tightly directed attack sailed over him. The second blade plunged into the mud where he’d just rolled away.

Ben spun and swung, more to slow his attacker than to do damage. The man parried the blow and continued relentlessly toward Ben. Backpedalling, Ben slipped in another puddle and flopped down on his ass. The wind whistled in his head, but it wasn’t the crashing force he needed. It was if it was confused, distracted by the other weather.

The top-knotted man towered above him, one sword poised for a killing stroke. Ben raised his longsword, but from a sitting position, he had no leverage to defend himself.

Rhys’ arm reached from behind, curled around the warrior’s neck, and yanked hard. Ben saw the rogue’s long knife carve a gaping hole in his assailant’s throat. Blood fountained out and the warrior pitched forward, falling onto Ben. Cursing, Ben pushed the man’s body away. Rhys stood in the rain looking down at Ben, grinning. Blood dripped off his long knife.

“Nice work,” remarked Rhys.

Ben grimaced. “I almost died, Rhys. I’m not really in the mood for sarcasm.”

Rhys shook his head and helped Ben to his feet. He pulled out a cloth to clean his long knife. “I wasn’t being sarcastic. I know that man. He works for the Sanctuary. He was exceptionally skilled, almost a blademaster. Surviving his attack even for a little was impressive.”

Ben glanced at the body of the woman, a mage, he supposed. She was lying on her back, staring sightlessly at the rain falling on her from above. A neat hole was punched through the front of her cloak.

“You made quick work of her,” admired Ben.

Rhys nodded. “When her magic failed, she didn’t know what to do. Mages never expect you to be able to defend yourself. Easier than killing a chicken.”

A cough sounded from near the cart.

“Are you two going to just stand there?” demanded Corrine.

She was helping Amelie and Towaal out of the flipped over cart.

“We were protecting you from a mage and a blademaster,” declared Rhys.

“They look dead, and you looked like you were just standing around chatting,” grumbled Corinne. She held a hand up, futility trying to block the rain. “It’s miserable out here.”

“I know,” responded Rhys. “We were the ones sitting up front driving!”

Corinne ignored him, turning to the cart. She waved a hand at it. “Can you flip it back up?” she asked Towaal and Amelie.

Towaal shook her head.

“Could we use the gravitational force?” asked Amelie. “Temporarily reverse it somehow.”

“No,” replied Towaal. “That force isn’t localized. It is generated by the entire landmass of the world. It would be too difficult to separate part of it. Trying to use it all, well, no one has the will to do that.”

Amelie frowned. “Maybe we could use wind?”

Again, Towaal shook her head. “How would you get the wind underneath the wagon? Just because a force exists doesn’t mean we can manipulate it to achieve our purposes. Sometimes it’s best to use mundane means.”

“What do we do then?” asked Amelie.

Towaal pointed at Rhys. “He’ll come up with a plan.”

Rhys grunted.

He first released the donkey from its harness. The poor beast was irate but unharmed. He then directed Ben into the forest to cut down two six-pace long, wrist-thick trees.

“Can I borrow your axes?” Ben asked Corinne.

She stared at him. Her gaze flicked down to his longsword. “Can I borrow that?”

Ben sighed.

“Better get three of those poles,” instructed Rhys. He was sitting on a thick log on the side of the road. At some time, it must have fallen across the road and been cut up by blocked travelers.

Muttering to himself, Ben hiked into the woods. He didn’t like being sent on errands like this, but he didn’t have any ideas of his own on how to get the heavy cart back upright.

He found a stand of young trees, several suitable to their purpose. His mage-wrought longsword sliced through the trunks in a few powerful blows. It wasn’t easy, but he had to admit it was probably better than using Corinne’s axes. Still, it felt wrong to use such an elegant weapon for such a menial task.

When Ben returned to the wagon, he found Rhys had rolled his log and several like it near the wagon. He was squatting by the body of the mage.

“Lady Snee,” he stated.

Towaal nodded. “I know her. She was raised by the Veil five years back. She was certainly no match for me, or you for that matter.”

“A desperation play, maybe? They could be trying for maximum coverage and sending out anyone with a pulse,” speculated Rhys. He rifled through her pockets, finding nothing interesting until he took out a wooden oval. “This looks familiar.”

Amelie gasped. “It’s just like ours. A thought meld!”

“That bitch. Always keeping secrets!” growled Towaal. She started pacing back and forth, ignoring the steady beat of the rain and the ankle-deep puddles she splashed through. “Why would she trust a girl like this with a thought meld, and who was the girl speaking to?”

“I…” stuttered Amelie.

“I was speaking to myself,” apologized Towaal. “The Veil wouldn’t spend time with a mage like Lady Snee. In the Sanctuary, she wouldn’t even be given knowledge about something like this without senior approval. Someone must have been talking to her though, giving her instructions. She could have been a scout, but when she found us, why would she engage?”

“There is another possibility,” suggested Ben.

Towaal turned toward him.

“What if,” he speculated, “instead of scouting, she was meant to engage us?”

“She couldn’t defeat me,” protested Towaal. “The Veil or Eldred would know that.”

“Exactly,” agreed Ben. “But if the Veil, Eldred, or someone else from the Sanctuary was communicating with her regularly, now they’ll know something happened to her.”

Towaal’s eyes widened.

“I don’t know how often mages in the field turn up missing,” continued Ben, “but I’m guessing it’s not common.”

“Bait,” said Rhys. “That’s brilliant.”

“It’s common practice in some villages around Northport,” added Corinne. “When a demon is nearby, they’ll tie up a sheep on each corner of the village. Whichever corner has a dead sheep in the morning is where you look for the demon. It narrows down the search considerably.”

“If that’s the case,” started Ben.

“Then we need to get the cart back up,” interrupted Amelie. “They probably aren’t close, but they have a point to start looking.”

“They have two points,” remarked Rhys grimly. “Morwith and here. Any fool could draw a line and see where we are going.”

Towaal nodded. “If we don’t see them before, they’ll come for us in Irrefort.”

In a somber mood, the ladies watched as Ben and Rhys got to work. Rhys instructed Ben to wedge his pole as far under the cart and into the mud as he could then lay it on the log. Rhys did the same.

“We’re going to need your help for this next bit,” he said to the women.

He directed them to the end of one of the poles. Then he and Ben got on the other.

“What do we do?” asked Amelie.

“Simple,” answered Rhys. “Lean on it.”

With all of them putting their weight on the poles, the cart budged. Hauling harder, it lifted off the ground barely. They struggled and slipped in the mud, pulling down on the poles, using the log as a lever, slowly lifting the cart. Corinne jumped up in the air and wrapped her arms and legs around the pole. The cart jerked upward. Mud and water cascaded down its side. When it was high enough, Rhys directed Towaal to roll one of the spare logs under it. They relaxed and the cart came down to rest on the log. They’d moved it and kept it a pace off the ground.

Rhys repositioned and they started again, barely moving it but constantly shoving the logs underneath, moving deeper and deeper. At one point, they turned their logs on end to raise the height and continued to pull on the sticks. When Rhys was happy with their progress, he moved to the other side of the cart and looped a rope around a handle on the top of the roof. He tied it to the donkey’s harness and clucked to move the stubborn beast forward. The animal looked at him out of the corner of its eye and then strained against the rope. Rhys grabbed ahold of it and added his weight.

With a crash, the cart tipped over and landed hard on its wheels.

In the cold rain, Ben could still feel sweat pouring down his back. He looked around. All four of his friends had wet hair plastered to their heads. Mud covered them from the waist down where they’d slipped and slid, and even Towaal was bent over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily. Two dead bodies lay a dozen paces away. Their wagon was dripping sloppy wet mud down one side. A mage, a long-lived, two highborn ladies, and himself, all a complete mess.

Ben started to laugh.

They looked at him strangely at first. Then Amelie was infected and joined him. Soon, all five of them were laughing, which just made it more absurd. Ben couldn’t stop. For minutes, they stood there in the rain, laughing.

“This is ridiculous,” muttered Corinne finally, a broad grin splitting her face. “I was comfortable in Northport before you all showed up.”

“I was pretty happy in Farview,” said Ben. “Walking in the woods, hunting small game with my friend Serrot, and brewing beer.”

“I was a lady in Issen.” Amelie chuckled. “I spent my days learning to ride and being taught by the finest tutors my father could find. The kitchen hand-delivered every one of my meals.”

“I worked for the Sanctuary. I hunted and killed people who defied the Veil,” chimed in Rhys.

They all looked at him blankly.

“I think you’re missing the point,” suggested Ben.

Rhys grinned back at him.

Towaal undid her sopping wet bun, shook her hair loose, and then started gathering it again to retie the bun.

“I’ve never seen your hair down,” remarked Ben.

“I never let it down,” murmured Towaal. “Let’s get moving again. I want to find a good campsite or an inn tonight, somewhere dry.”

***

Two bells later, they rolled toward a small village. Three-dozen moss-covered buildings straddled the main road. An ancient three-story inn stood in the center. It wasn’t much to look at, but since there wasn’t room in the small cart for all of them to lie down, it was better than sleeping in the rain. Rhys steered the cart toward the building and took them around back.

A young boy appeared at the entrance to an open stable. Rhys parked the wagon and the boy reluctantly came out to assist. Rhys tossed him a copper coin which vanished inside a dirty tunic. The boy unhitched the donkey and led it into the stable. Rhys, Ben, and the girls dashed across the flooded yard to the back entrance of the inn. Shaking cloaks and wringing water out of their hair, they clustered inside the door.

A short, pudgy innkeeper waddled over to them. “Welcome to the Dirty Goose!” he exclaimed.

Ben caught Amelie’s gaze. She raised an eyebrow at the name of the inn. Ben smiled back at her. He was happy to see the portly innkeeper. In his experience, skinny innkeepers were untrustworthy. If a man didn’t eat enough of the cooking to gain a belly, then Ben didn’t want to eat it either.

“Rooms and a hot bath,” said Towaal. “A very hot bath.”

The short man, almost ball-shaped, waved for a helper to show them rooms and take them to the baths. He promised a feast as soon as they were finished.

In the bathing chamber, Ben sank down into the hot water, feeling the heat soak into his bones.

“I don’t know the last time I’ve been warm,” he said to Rhys. “This feels good.”

The rogue was lying back, head resting on the rim of his tub with his eyes closed. He limply lifted a hand to acknowledge Ben.

“Is that ale?” asked Ben.

Rhys’ eyes flicked open, his gaze darting around the room. “That’s not right,” grumbled the rogue, disappointed when he realized Ben was joking.

“I actually did see some down in the common room,” offered Ben. “We could hurry the bath and go down there.”

Rhys’ eyes drooped shut again. “You know I’ve never been one to turn down ale, but damn, you are right. This feels good.”

Half a bell later, they finally dragged themselves down to the common room. The ladies had not arrived.

“I suspect we’ve got some time on our hands,” remarked Rhys. He waved to a passing serving man. “A round of your best ale.”

“We only got one kinda ale,” drawled the man, staring slack-jawed at the rogue.

Rhys sighed. “That should make it easy then, shouldn’t it?”

The man shuffled off and Rhys directed them to a table near the hearth.

“I like the road,” said Ben, holding his hands out to the fire, “but I’m ready to sit still for a bit and relax.”

“I’m not sure how relaxing Irrefort will be,” replied Rhys. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a large city with all of the amenities you’d expect, but finding the Purple and figuring out what to do about the demons is not going to be easy.”

Ben sighed.

“You’ve got Amelie to worry about too,” added Rhys.

Ben looked at him. “How do you mean?”

“Her mother,” reminded Rhys.

Ben frowned.

“When we retrieved her from Issen, it was obvious Amelie was close to her father,” said the rogue. “Much closer than she ever was with her mother. She’ll want to know what happened, to find out if her mother really did betray her father, and why. Did the woman do it in some twisted way to save her people from the siege? Did she do it to marry Lord Jason and become queen of the Coalition? You know Amelie. She’ll want to know. If she goes near her mother, everything we’ve done so far is at risk.”

Ben sat back in his chair.

Rhys continued, “Towaal and I will follow the two of you, but…”

Ben nodded. “I understand. I’ll talk to her.”

Irrefort

Irrefort was built into the side of a mountain. The city rose in tiers, buildings stacked on buildings. Roads snaked upward like vines climbing the trunk of a tree. From half a day away, it could be seen through breaks in the surrounding forest. Dark grey granite towered above the budding branches.

As they drew closer, Ben could see the city was split in two. Through the middle was a deep crevasse which appeared to mark a mighty river. Behind the city, a wall of green forest rose, capped with dark, jagged mountains. The place was massive, at least the size of Whitehall, maybe larger.

“How are we going to find the Purple in all of that?” asked Ben.

Rhys suggested, “We could open a rift in the middle of the city. See who comes running.”

Ben glanced at his friend. He wasn’t sure if he was serious.

They kept on in silence until they pulled under the massive, black iron gates of Irrefort. The gates rose the height of a five-story building and were stained with crimson rust that ran down them like blood.

“Grim place,” muttered Ben. “Have you ever been here?”

“Long ago,” answered the rogue. “Irrefort is old, but much of what you see is new. When the Coalition Council took power, oh, maybe two or three hundred years ago, they began to build. Before then, the city had been neglected. The previous rulers collected the gold for themselves and let Irrefort fall into ruin. When the Coalition took over, they poured money into public projects like reservoirs, sewer systems, and universities. Over time though, they ran out of necessary projects. Since then, they’ve repaved the roads every few years, built shelters for the impoverished, and built more universities. Irrefort is the most educated city in the world, they say. Not that it does them a bit of good.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ben. “I’ve always been told the Coalition is bad, that they control everything and are a blight on the people. The things you describe don’t sound so bad.”

“Who do you think pays for all of that?” asked Rhys. “Initially, taxes were high to improve the city. Now, they are high, and the Council spends their time dreaming up creative ways to spend it. The government controls almost every institution in Irrefort. The people pay for it, whether they want to or not. There are taxes on everything. More smugglers too, which is why I’ve been here before, but that is another story.”

They quieted down as the wagon pulled in front of a stern-looking guard. They were in a wide square just beyond the gate. All around them, wagons, carts, and individuals were pulled over and in deep discussion with guards. Their man wore a tunic with the drab grey of the Coalition. His expression was just as banal.

“Number of passengers?” asked the guard.

“Us,” said Rhys, jerking his head toward Ben, “and three women in the back.”

“Cargo?”

“Personal items, a few home goods we couldn’t unload in the small towns,” answered Rhys.

“Are the women professionals?” asked the guard.

Rhys shook his head. “No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask that.”

The guard stared blank-faced at Rhys. “Everyone gets asked. Nothing personal. If they are professionals, it’s a silver now or a gold later if they get caught on the streets without a stamp. If you can’t pay the gold, you spend four weeks in the labor camp to work it off.”

Rhys responded sharply, “They’re not professionals.”

The guard nodded. “Very well. I’ll need to inspect the back.”

Rhys hopped off the wagon and opened the door for the guard to peer inside. He didn’t just give a cursory glance like Ben was used to. The man asked the ladies to step out and inspected all of the items that had been part of Samuel’s stock. The guard paused when he opened a box full of sparkling jewels. Rhys shot Ben a quick, concerned glance.

“What is this?” demanded the guard.

“They’re fakes,” explained Ben.

“Fakes?” asked the guard.

“Costume jewelry,” added Rhys quickly. “For stage actors.”

The guard frowned then gestured to one of his fellows to come over.

“Let me show you,” offered Rhys. He snatched a sparkling red gem from the box and dropped it on the cobblestones. Drawing his long knife, he knelt and smashed the hilt down on the gem. It shattered in a hail of red glass.

The guard held up a hand to wave off his partner then tossed the box down on the back of the wagon.

“Total custom is four silvers and seven copper,” announced the guard.

Rhys grimaced, making a show of it. He dug into his belt pouch, finally pulling out the required coins and passing them to the guard. The man waved them away and stalked toward a new wagon that was just coming to a stop in the square.

“See what I mean,” muttered Rhys. “This city is a smuggler’s dream.”

“What did he mean about the ladies being professionals?” asked Ben.

Rhys winked at him. “I’ll show you later.”

Corinne coughed from behind the rogue.

Rhys, for the first time Ben had ever seen, flushed. The rogue quickly spun to face her. “Just joking with the boy,” he hastily explained before rushing off to climb back on the cart.

Corinne winked at Ben and clambered inside behind Towaal and Amelie. Ben climbed up as well. They started moving again, heading into Irrefort, the heart of the Coalition.

***

Near the base of the city, Rhys found a wagon yard where they parked the cart. They continued on foot, a crowd of young street urchins following them until Rhys shooed them off.

The sun sank behind them as they climbed the winding streets. The city faced west, so it was bathed in sunlight in the evening. In the morning, it would be shrouded in darkness, the sun blocked by the mountains behind it. Halfway up the slope of Irrefort, they came upon a large crowd of people blocking half the street. In front of the group was a curtained stage. Ben saw flashes of color pop up then sink back below the crowd.

“A puppet show,” guessed Corinne.

Amelie looped her arm through Ben’s. “I used to love these as a child. Gunver battling the wyvern was my favorite. Let’s get closer and see what they’re putting on.”

They joined the crowd, slipping between people to the front where they could see the show. Ben had never seen a puppet show. He was surprised to see they were intricately-stitched cloth figures. The puppets bobbed back and forth on slim wooden sticks, the masters were hiding below a black curtain in front of the stage.

High pitched voices emanated from below and the puppets danced about wildly. The crowd laughed as a grey-clad puppet thrust forward in a series of lewd motions toward two others that wore pale blue.

Ben glanced out of the corner of his eye at Amelie to see if she was picking up on the obscene nature of the puppet’s activity.

Her lips were pursed in a tight frown.

Ben looked back to the show.

One of the blue puppets seemed to smack the other on the back of the head knocking it down. The grey one danced in glee at the other side of the stage.

Ben’s eye was drawn to the blue pair when one of them ducked below stage then came back up holding a wooden sword.

In a flash, the puppet swung its little sword down onto its fallen companion. The head of the fallen puppet shot out toward the crowd, bright red streamers trailing behind it. The crowd roared in delight.

The blue puppet bounced over to the grey-clad one and knelt before it.

“My gates are always open for you, milord,” called a thin voice from behind the curtain.

Amelie, white faced, turned and whispered, “I think I’ve seen enough.”

***

The next day, Ben and Amelie pushed their way through busy streets. Irrefort was crowded with people in town for the coronation. It was to be celebrated with a fireworks show and a grand ball. Excitement was high. To Ben, it was simply annoying. The streets were clogged with revelers. Finding the Purple was going to be a difficult job, and so many people wasn’t making it any easier.

“I’m still not entirely sure what we’re supposed to be doing,” grumbled Amelie.

“We’re looking for,” Ben started and then lowered his voice. “You know what we’re looking for.”

“Are we supposed to just bump into them?” protested Amelie.

“Yes,” declared Ben emphatically. “If we’re in the right place, we can find them. Unless you have a better idea,” he challenged.

Amelie shook her head. Ben was slightly sympathetic, but it was the third time she’d brought it up that afternoon, and she didn’t have a better idea.

In Northport, the Purple had been located in a library. Ben figured that checking the library in Irrefort was the first logical step. Unfortunately, it turned out Irrefort had more than one library. In fact, Irrefort had a lot of libraries. There were a dozen universities they’d been able to identify so far, and each had a library. The largest had five of them.

When Ben described the plan the night before, it sounded reasonable. Now, trying to walk up and down the steep, winding streets of Irrefort to visit two score buildings to see if anyone appeared to be an ancient, secretive mage, he was having his doubts. He didn’t want to tell that to Amelie though, not yet. Admitting they didn’t have a plan sounded too close to giving up. They hadn’t hiked all the way from Northport to give up.

“Maybe Towaal found something,” Amelie offered.

Ben nodded. “Maybe.”

Lady Towaal, despite Rhys’ blunt suggestion, had not started opening rifts throughout the city to flush out the Purple. She also wasn’t setting subtle wards about the streets, which was her plan. Ben warned her that Jasper said the Council was full of mages so she had dropped that quickly. Instead, she had hung the rift key around her neck and was parading around town with it. She hoped the council mages wouldn’t recognize it for what it was, but the Purple surely would.

Ben thought that plan was too risky. The Librarian in Northport had only helped at the end to prevent the destruction of Northport, and they’d met him. The Purple in Irrefort may not be as friendly to strangers if they weren’t approached properly. And that was making the generous assumption that the council mages really wouldn’t recognize the key.

Ben and Amelie searched the rest of the day, poking their heads into libraries, wandering around, sometimes getting kicked out. Nowhere they looked appeared to be the lair of an ancient order of mages. Nowhere they looked appeared to be anything other than exactly what it was, a library. At some of them, they weren’t even allowed in.

One taciturn clerk stared at them blankly. “If you’re not students, you can’t go in.”

“We’re interested in attending here,” replied Amelie with a smile.

“When you do, I’ll let you in,” responded the clerk.

“Can we get just a peek?” begged Ben. “We won’t touch any of the books.”

“Why do you want to go into a library without reading the books?” grumbled the clerk.

“We…” Ben was at a loss.

One last look at the clerk and they turned and left.

“I don’t think the Purple was there,” declared Ben.

“Probably not,” agreed Amelie.

When night fell across the streets of the city, they turned back to the inn, exhausted and frustrated.

“We’ve got to come up with a better plan,” groaned Ben.

Amelie, walking beside him, didn’t comment.

When they made it to the inn, they found the others had already returned. By their faces, Ben didn’t have to ask if they’d found anything. Rhys was emptying a pitcher of ale, and Corinne was dispiritedly poking at a lump of what Ben hoped was meat floating in her stew. Towaal was thumbing through a black-bound book with a purple emblem embossed on the front, the one she’d given them just before they fled Northport. They had explained to her what Jasper said about it, but she couldn’t add anymore. She didn’t understand the language any better than Amelie did. The copper rift key still hung around her neck.

“Well, if any of them walk in here, they’ll definitely spot you,” Ben remarked as he scooted back a chair for Amelie then took his own.

Rhys shoved an empty mug his way and tipped the pitcher into it.

“Not much ambiance here, but the ale is decent,” declared the rogue.

Ben nodded. The inn wasn’t a pretty place. It was narrow and dark. Only two doors led from the common room. One opened to the street, and the other led to the kitchen and the rooms upstairs. A small fire poured smoke into the space and there wasn’t enough airflow to clear it out. Still, Rhys was right. The ale was decent. Ben had been in worse taverns.

“We think we need a better plan,” said Ben. “Just being here is a risk. We suspect Eldred will know we came and there could be people in town from Issen for the coronation. They, Lord Jason, or any of the men who were with him may recognize Amelie.”

Corinne gave up on her stew and sat back in her chair. “What do you suggest?” she asked.

Ben sighed. “I don’t know. I just know this isn’t going to work. We’re relying on random chance, but we don’t have the luxury of time.”

Rhys added, “You’re right, Ben. On the streets, we heard a little town was overrun by demons. It is two weeks north of here so no threat to Irrefort yet, but the demons are spreading. If they’re already covering the entire span of the north, it’s just a matter of time before they move south. If anyone can do something about it, it’s the Purple. We’ve got to find them. We have to tell them about the Rift and figure out what to do next.”

Amelie grabbed Ben’s ale mug and took a deep drink.

Ben turned to Towaal. “Is there a way you can magically sense another mage?”

Towaal shook her head. “No, I’m not aware of any way to sense another mage, which has worked out for us rather well so far.”

Ben blushed. Of course she couldn’t sense someone. If she could, then they would have been found and captured by the Sanctuary months ago.

“Could we…” Amelie started a thought then trailed off. She evidently realized whatever she was suggesting wouldn’t work.

Ben emptied the rest of the ale pitcher into his mug. It was only half full.

“I’ll go get another pitcher.”

Ben stood and started to the back of the room. Then he paused. When they walked in, several tables in the narrow common room were occupied. Now, they were empty. Aside from his companions, the entire place was empty. Even the sounds from the kitchen had died down. Noticing his concern, Ben’s companions all stood, glancing around worriedly.

Rhys drew his long knives and instructed Ben, “Step back. Clear room for your sword.”

Ben did, but he didn’t know what the threat was. The rest of them drew their weapons as well, waiting.

They didn’t have to wait long.

Simultaneously, men started to pour in from the street and the kitchen, rough men, the kind of men Ben wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. There were a score of them in total, and they were armed with short swords, axes, clubs, and daggers. Small weapons, but deadly in an urban environment. They could swing and stab without having to worry about fouling their companion’s blades. Ben, with his longsword, needed space to fight. They had Lady Towaal with them, but in tight quarters, outnumbered four to one, Ben didn’t like the odds if it came to a fight.

A man shoved through his companions near the kitchen door. He had a shaven head and a thick, dark cloak that hung to the floor of the inn. Unlike his fellows, he didn’t have a visible weapon.

Ben’s companions stayed quiet. These men weren’t soldiers of the Coalition, and they didn’t appear to be hunters from the Sanctuary. Whatever they wanted, they would say it soon.

“Who are you?” asked the bald man.

“It’s polite to introduce yourself first,” countered Rhys.

“I’m not very polite,” answered the man. He was calm, like a snake coiling, preparing to strike.

Rhys stared back at him, not speaking.

“There is a cart that was parked at the foot of the city. I’m told it is yours,” said the man. His cloak hung motionless around him. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but anything could have been hidden underneath that fabric.

Towaal was edging toward the fire. Ben wasn’t sure if it held sufficient heat to send toward the men, but he resolved to duck if she tried something. Rhys looked at her then back at the man.

The bald-headed man’s gaze followed Rhys’ look to Towaal. His eyes widened. “In the spirit of being polite, I will tell you I know that is not your cart, but I have it on good authority you drove it here. Why is that?”

“We found it,” offered Rhys. “I’m not sure what happened to the owner.”

“I don’t believe you,” responded the man flatly. His gaze cut to Towaal again and his posture grew stiff. He shifted his arms underneath his bulky cloak. He had a weapon under there, Ben realized. Possibly a compact crossbow or something else he could attack with quickly. And he was nervous about Towaal. He recognized her or something about her.

Ben smiled. The rift key, they’d found someone who recognized it.

“You know what she’s capable of, don’t you?” asked Ben.

The man’s head snapped around to Ben. His companions shifted nervously, grips tightening on their weapons. They didn’t know what she could do.

“There is no need for this conversation to be so tense,” answered the man. “Just tell me what I want to know. I cannot let you leave here until I’ve learned the fate of the owner of that cart.”

Ben gambled. “He was stabbed to death.”

The man frowned. “By you?”

Ben shook his head. “We intended to travel with him, with Samuel. We drank with him one evening and agreed to accompany him here. He wasn’t at the inn the next morning so we went to his warehouse. We found him dead. I’m not sure who did it, and that is the honest truth. He was in a secret cellar, a bone-handled knife sticking out of his chest.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. The knife meant something to the man.

“Three parallel slashes marked the butt of the weapon.” Ben added. “I don’t know who killed him. After that, we borrowed his cart and brought it here. He didn’t need it anymore.”

“Why?” asked the man.

His men were restlessly shuffling. Several of them glanced to the doors which stood open behind them. They were nervous, but no longer about Ben and his companions.

“We needed to get to Irrefort. It was easier than walking,” snapped Ben.

“This is not a time for jesting,” snarled the bald man.

Ben could feel the tension in Rhys beside him. The rogue was ready to spring. Ben guessed he already knew which neck or eye his knives would end up in.

Ben shrugged, the tip of his sword rising and falling with his movement. “You asked where we got the cart, and I told you. I think it’s time for you to tell us what you’re looking for.”

The man smiled. “By my count, you’re outnumbered, boy. You’re not in a position to make demands of me.”

Ben nodded to Towaal. “Are you sure about that?”

The man grimaced.

“Give the signal, boss,” snarled a wide, bushy-bearded man.

Instead, the bald man held up a hand. “I feel we’ve started on the wrong foot. I don’t care about what happened to the peddler. I am only interested in two particular items he meant to sell me. A black glass scepter with silver caps on either end, and a dark green cloak with gold embroidery around the edge. Have you seen these things?”

Ben glanced at Amelie and she shifted nervously. Towaal looked at them. Ben whispered, “The scepter, the fireballs.”

“You have seen them!” accused the bald man.

“What good do you think it would have done you?” interjected Towaal. “Devices like that require knowledge and will to activate. They would only be useful to someone trained as a mage.”

Now the man shifted uncomfortably.

“You have some training, don’t you,” mused Towaal. “How?”

“That is my business,” declared the man.

Towaal pressed him, ignoring the menacing stares of his men, “Who trained you? Was it someone here in Irrefort?”

“Boss,” urged the bushy-bearded man. He was tightly gripping a short sword. The men were done talking. Ben guessed they were used to sudden action.

Towaal held a hand in front of her, palm up. A ball of flame materialized, floating above her hand. She casually tossed it from hand to hand, the fire flickering with the motion, mesmerizing the room. “As you seem to have guessed, I have training as well.” Her eyes dipped to look at the flame. Then she met the bald man’s gaze again. “Can you do this?”

Towaal’s ball of flame flared higher. The thugs around the bald man stepped back. They may be violent men, but once Towaal revealed herself as a mage, they were less eager to attack.

The man’s face fell.

“Tell me,” demanded Towaal, “who trained you?”

No one answered.

Towaal’s expression grew dark. She stepped forward with obvious threat. The fire blazed higher in her hands. Suddenly, the doors to the room slammed shut, startling the thugs and Ben. Towaal’s eyes seemed to burn with the same fire she held in her hand. “If I need to, I can incinerate every one of you before you can react, but I won’t do that. I’ll start one by one until someone decides to talk.”

“A council member, a mage,” called one of the thugs from the back of the room. He was a big man, with thick, muscle-bound arms and scars crisscrossing his face. His boss turned to glare at him, but the thug continued, “The council member is mage training assassins.”

“Shut up!” shouted the bald man.

“You know the Thin Blades killed that peddler. What else did they take from him that they’ll use on us now? We’re in deep, Sander. Besides, she’s a mage, probably from the Sanctuary. I ain’t gonna take a fireball just so you can keep your secrets,” growled the thug. Turning to Towaal, he continued, “Lord Jason was the first to be trained. He couldn’t learn the art, but what he did learn was more than enough as the council found out. Sander came next, but he fled.” The thug cut his eyes to the leader, evidently Sander. “Now they’re training more.”

“What do they intend to do with these assassins?” asked Rhys.

“First, they’re going to kill us,” responded the thug. “After Sander fled and joined us, he started teaching things we could use, things the council doesn’t want us to know. They got angry and are planning to wipe us out. Sander had a plan though. If we could get the scepter and the cloak—”

“You’re the Quiet Men,” stated Rhys.

“What do you know about it?” snarled Sander, trying to reassert control.

“Quiet Men, members of Irrefort’s thieves guild, and you’re worried the Thin Blades, the assassin’s guild, will wipe you out. I know Lord Jason was a Thin Blade once, as you must have been, Sander.”

The room was silent, only the crackle of the fire audible.

Sander’s face fell. “I was, once,” he admitted. “How do you know about these things?”

“What were you going to do with the cloak and scepter?” asked Towaal. Her voice was hard as steel.

Sander wilted before her gaze. “I was going to finish it,” he croaked. “The cloak would make me impervious to the wards they’ve layered around themselves and the scepter is a powerful weapon. I was going to sneak in and blast Councilman Rettor right out of his tower. It’d serve the bastard right. Working for him was a one-way ticket to the grave so I quit and joined the thieves. I knew it wouldn’t be settled though. One day, one of us was going to end it. Without the cloak and without the weapon, he’ll be the one to end it.” He shrugged. It was obvious. Without the devices, he didn’t think he’d stand a chance against the mage and the Thin Blades. “If I coulda done it, there is stuff there, in Rettor’s chamber, items that woulda helped us finish off the rest of the assassins. Maybe even Lord Jason if he came after us.”

“What kinds of things?” demanded Towaal.

“Tell her,” called the scar-faced thug who’d spoken earlier. “If she’s from the Sanctuary, she ain’t on our side, but she ain’t on theirs either.”

Sander sighed, evidently giving up on keeping any of his secrets. “Two years back, Councilman Rettor found out about an old mage living in Irrefort, part of an ancient cabal called the Purple. He murdered the mage and took a trove of artifacts from him, powerful weapons and mage knowledge. He means to use it to solidify his power as Jason’s number two, maybe even supplant Jason some day for all I know. He thinks with the Thin Blades behind him, trained as mages, he could have the most powerful faction in Alcott. There’ll be nowhere for us to hide.”

“Where is this trove now?” pressed Towaal.

Sander glared at her then licked his lips nervously. “You help me get to it, and I’ll tell you where it is. Otherwise, I’ll die before I talk. Think about it. If he can defeat Jason and Argren with this stuff and his assassins, he can defeat you in the Sanctuary too.”

“I doubt it,” murmured Towaal, “but, maybe we can help each other. I need to talk with my companions. Take your men outside.”

“How do I know you won’t try to escape?” challenged the man.

“We either agree to help you, or we don’t,” responded Towaal. “Whether we escape or just say no, you are in the same position.”

“I’m not sure you can help me,” he complained.

“I’m not sure this trove of artifacts is really what you say it is,” replied Towaal flatly. “One thing that is certain. You’ll be found lying face down in some dark alley with a bone-handled knife in your back if you don’t get my help. Now, leave us.”

The man’s men made the decision for him. As a group, they turned and filed out into the street. They evidently decided that fighting a mage was going to get them killed sooner rather than later.

Grimacing, Sander said, “We’ll be waiting outside.” He scurried after his men.

“He’s a friendly sort,” muttered Rhys.

“Will we escape?” asked Corinne.

“That is up to Ben and Amelie,” responded Towaal. “Wherever this man will take us, it is bound to be dangerous. If what he said is true though, then this may be our only opportunity to learn more about the Purple.”

“It could be a trap,” muttered Corinne. “He wants us to help him, then he’ll slice our throats. Or he could be making the entire thing up. We don’t know this trove of the Purple’s artifacts even exists.”

“Does it matter if it’s a trap?” asked Ben. “We want to find the Purple, but we have no clue where to start. If the man’s story is true, then at least one member perished. We don’t know if there are others or what that man could have left behind. His artifacts could be useful to us. Even if the story is not true, I realized today that wandering around the city hoping to be found by the Purple is a foolish plan. I think we have to explore this. Besides, at the least, the man recognized something about the rift key. I’m convinced there is a kernel of truth to what he told us.”

Ben looked to Amelie and she nodded tersely.

“Like you say, does it matter if it’s a trap?”

“I hope you appreciate how dangerous this will be,” argued Rhys. “This man intends to rob a mage on the council, one who helped train Lord Jason. This could be as dangerous as breaking into the Sanctuary itself.”

Ben chuckled. “Well, I’ve already done that.”

Rhys coughed and sheathed his sword. “True enough. It sounds like you are decided.”

“What choice do we have?” said Ben. “We’re not going to quit and go home. Let’s tell the man and start to plan.”

***

The planning, it turned out, was rather quick.

“I believe the cache of weapons plus whatever books and scrolls he obtained is located in the keep, and we have to go tonight,” insisted Sander.

“The keep!” squeaked Amelie.

“Tonight!” exclaimed Corinne. “That’s crazy. We need time to prepare.”

Sander shook his head. “Surprise is the only advantage we have. If the Thin Blades find out Samuel’s cart is here, they will come for us immediately. Somehow, they found the man and assassinated him. I assume they watch the gates and like we do and it’s not a stretch to think they would recognize his cart. If we wait too long to play it, we may lose the only card we have.”

“Are you certain everything will be stored together in the keep?” challenged Ben.

Sander shrugged helplessly. “That’s where Rettor is. We will get what we can and hope it is enough.”

Just then, one of Sander’s men burst in. “Joshy is missing!”

Sander turned back to Ben and his companions.

Rhys took charge. “Very well. You were intending to sneak in there with the scepter and cloak. You must have had a plan. Tell us what you know about the keep, every detail.”

***

The Quiet Men fanned out across the city, collecting their fellows who were not at the inn and moving quickly through places they were known to inhabit. For two bells, Sander planned with Rhys, and for two bells, reports of missing Quiet Men filtered in. Everyone knew the Thin Blades were out there, and they must have realized something was going on. They were moving quickly to finish it.

It was a gang of assassins murdering a gang of thieves. They’d chosen the life, and Ben didn’t feel bad for them, but he couldn’t help noticing the grim faces and flashes of anguish every time a new name was mentioned. A dozen men were confirmed to be missing by the time they assembled behind the inn.

Ben’s gaze scanned the rooftops around them. If he was the leader of a vicious gang of assassins and was intent on murdering his rivals, he’d want to take advantage of them all being clustered together in a small courtyard that had few exits.

In the courtyard, there were three-dozen men along with Ben and his companions. Another score were scouting the streets on the way to the keep, ensuring the entire party didn’t get ambushed and wiped out before they even made it inside. Once inside, the Quiet Men hoped to be able to get to the cache and secure weapons to fight back against the Thin Blades. Ben and his friends hoped to find some intelligence leading them to the Purple.

After the initial showdown in the inn, the innkeeper and his staff had appeared briefly then vanished again. However this went, Ben was certain they wanted nothing to do with it.

“My men can get us in a side gate undetected,” started Sander. “Barring unfortunate luck, we shouldn’t have any problems up until that point. From there, we need to work our way up to the council’s chambers. I know the rough layout of the keep from years ago when I lived there. The council members reside in the north tower, twelve stories up. Once we get inside there, the inner sanctum, we’ll be on our own. I haven’t found anyone willing to tell me the layout for gold or threat. When I lived in the keep, I was never invited that deep inside.”

“What kind of resistance might we find in the inner sanctum?” asked Rhys. He was squatting comfortably, drawing rough notes about what Sander was telling them. This wasn’t Rhys’ first show. Ben intended to stick close to his friend and do whatever he did.

Amelie scooted next to Ben, looping an arm through his. He looked down at her and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

Sander shrugged. “There are guards in there, maybe two or three dozen, but that is not what we need to worry about. The council has seven men on it. Well, it did before Lord Jason elevated himself. Of those six remaining, at least three of them are mages. Rettor is our target though. If we can avoid the others, then that would be best. Within Rettor’s chambers, we should find what we’re looking for.”

Ben scratched the back of his neck. “This seems rather risky. I’m not sure it is such a good idea.”

“By now, the staff of this inn have seen you with us,” responded Sander coolly. “They’ve seen you deeply involved in our planning. If we fail, the first thing the Thin Blades will do is find out who our accomplices were. How long do you think you’ll last after that?”

“I think we’re in this, Ben,” rumbled Rhys, “for better or worse.”

Men made their final adjustments to weapons and armor. Everything that was known about the layout of the keep and its guard rotation had already been shared. There wasn’t anything more to do than begin.

Quiet Men streamed out into the street in front of the inn. A pair of them who had been watching scurried ahead, weaving between the lit lanterns and scanning the doors, windows, and rooftops. All of them moved comfortably through the dark streets. Thieves and assassins, Ben reminded himself. This was normal to them.

Rhys whispered, “Whatever happens tonight, we leave immediately after. An assault on the keep and a dead councilman will mean retribution. I’m sure the Quiet Men have a plan to go to ground. If they couldn’t avoid the city watch, then they wouldn’t have survived this long. We’re too obvious though. Strangers stand out, and we don’t have the connections they do to hide us. We have to be outside the city walls by daybreak.”

“What if we haven’t found anything about the Purple?” asked Ben.

Rhys shook his head. “We still move on.”

“We can’t give up,” insisted Amelie.

“We can’t fight Lord Jason,” declared Rhys. “Trust me. He will come after us if we’ve killed a council member. When he does, we must run.”

“Lord Jason, Eldred, we’re doing a lot of running,” complained Corinne, tucking a loose strand of red hair behind her ear. “I know individually we don’t have the skill to face them, but there are five of us.”

Towaal murmured, “Remember what we are here for. We’re here to find a way to fight the demons. Getting entangled with Jason or Eldred does us no good. I know it sounds cowardly, but our work it too important to risk in a fight we may not win.”

Ben grimaced. They were jogging in the middle of the Quiet Men, but none of the thieves was paying attention to them. They were scanning the rooftops and doorways, looking for threats.

It had been a struggle for Sander to admit it, but during the planning session, he’d instructed his men to protect Towaal at all costs. Without her senses or the magical cloak the Thin Blades must have taken from Samuel, they would stumble into all manner of wards and traps. Without her, this was a fool’s errand. Even with her, Ben worried they were going down a hole they wouldn’t be able to climb out of.

“Stay focused,” instructed Towaal.

Ben nodded. Amelie gripped his hand.

The streets of Irrefort were tangled and confusing. Ben was glad they had the Quiet Men to lead them toward the keep and away from prying eyes. They kept to sparsely populated back streets, but just a block or two over, Ben could hear the revelry and drunken voices he was used to in a city this size. With the looming coronation, there were a lot of people in town, and they were celebrating.

Suddenly, Corinne stopped and slung her bow off her shoulder. In one smooth motion, she nocked an arrow and pulled it back to her ear.

Ben heard a snap and a crossbow bolt smacked into one of the Quiet Men next to him. The man uttered a strangled cry and flailed backward, the bolt buried in his chest.

Corinne let loose an arrow. It flew through an open window, barely missing the shadowy figure that plunged out. For a brief moment, Ben thought the man just killed himself, but as he watched, he saw the figure drift down to the ground at half speed. The man landed lightly and swept out a sword.

“Stay back,” growled Rhys. He pushed through the tight cluster of Quiet Men. “He has a magical device.”

One of the Quiet Men, overly eager and ignoring Rhys, charged the newcomer. Instead of raising his blade to meet the attack, the shadowy figure raised his other arm. A brilliant orange fireball shot out from his wrist and caught the Quiet Man square in the chest. He burst into flame, screaming briefly before the fire consumed him.

The rest of the Quiet Men fell back and Rhys charged forward. The figure turned his wrist toward Rhys and another fireball shot out. Ben’s breath caught but the fire flashed around Rhys, not injuring him. Rhys’ longsword thrust straight ahead and caught the startled man in the neck. Their assailant clearly didn’t anticipate someone would harden their will and fight back against his fire.

Behind him, Ben heard a crackle. He spun to see a second attacker lying on his back. Smoke was drifting up from his chest. Lady Towaal was standing above him. The Quiet Men near her were shuffling back several paces and cursing. Knowing she was a mage and seeing what she was capable of were entirely different things.

Rhys bent, stripped a vambrace off the dead man’s wrist, and tucked it behind his belt. He growled to Sander, “You kill ‘em. You get to loot ‘em.”

Sander, pale-faced, didn’t complain. He turned from the corpse of the Thin Blade and waved everyone ahead.

“Remember that, thief,” called Towaal. “We will work with you, but we don’t have to.”

The leader of the Quiet Men kept moving and didn’t respond.

One of the men, trotting next to Rhys, asked, “Are you mage trained too? How did you do that?”

Rhys shook his head. “I’m not a mage, but that doesn’t mean I can’t defend against one, particularly one who is using a device he doesn’t seem to understand.”

“I feel a lot better having you with us,” remarked the thief.

Rhys replied, “Don’t start feeling good yet. Someone taught that man how to use the device. You were right. A mage is training these assassins.”

The Quiet Man grimaced.

Ben stopped paying attention to the conversation and went back to scanning the surroundings. The two assassins had been counting on surprise and didn’t think the party would be able to fight back against a magical attack. They may be more cautious the next time or have more men.

Ben spied movement in a few windows and doorways, but it was people peeking out and ducking back inside. One look at the armed party and people knew that whatever was going on, they didn’t want to be involved.

For half a bell, they jogged through the twisting backstreets of Irrefort. Lights and laughter poured down narrow streets and alleys, but the turns the Quiet Men took always led away from life and into the dark. Amelie stayed by Ben’s side, a hand on her rapier. Another was tucked into her belt pouch. Probably touching something from Jasper’s bag of tricks, guessed Ben.

Eventually, the tall walls of the keep appeared above the roofs of the buildings. Lights flickered atop the walls. Ben imagined regular patrols of guards paced along them. The walls were high, though, and their party would be like mice scurrying through the dark streets below. The men atop the walls were looking for overt threats against their might, not a few dozen men.

As they drew closer, Sander slowed the pace. Instead of a jog, they proceeded at a steady walk. The Quiet Men broke into smaller groups. Three or four men were in each group, all headed in the same direction, hopefully not appearing to be traveling together.

Finally, they reached the base of the keep. It was surrounded by an open cobblestone road that circled the entire structure. Fifty paces across and sparsely lit with lanterns, it was the straightest and widest street in the city. This late in the evening, few people were on it.

Scattered in loose clusters, the Quiet Men waited. A lone man left their group and sauntered into the open. Glancing furtively around the road, he meandered across the open space. A shadow detached from the wall and waved. Sander, witnessing the exchange, gestured to his men. Small clusters began to break away from the darkness of the houses and casually strolled to the keep.

Ben left with his companions and they followed the Quiet Men. When they got close, Ben saw an open doorway in the base of the wall. It reminded him of the slops gate they’d used to enter Rhymer’s keep. Low and narrow, it led into a black hallway. Another Quiet Man stood inside with a shuttered lantern. He frantically waved them deeper into the hall. They were keeping it dark, Ben realized, so anyone on the streets was less likely to see what was happening.

Ben and his friends plunged into the black hallway, feeling their way forward. Ahead of them, they heard a score of men doing the same. Scuffles of booted feet followed them for fifty paces. Then Ben heard a heavy clank. Someone had closed the door. A spark of light appeared ahead, revealing a steep staircase. No one spoke. From now until they left, noise had to be kept to a minimum. A passing guard, a maid, anyone who heard them could raise the alarm.

Another lantern was struck alight behind them and the Quiet Men began to file up the stairwell. Story after story, the stairs climbed upward. The line of men wound back and forth, thick stone surrounding them. Ben could touch both walls if he extended his arms. His legs began to ache. Amelie was huffing and puffing by the time they reached a landing. The stairs continued higher, but there was a door off the landing and they took it. Inside the keep, it wasn’t locked. It led down a hallway fifty paces to where they found another door.

From Sander’s briefing back at the inn, Ben knew on the other side was a drilling yard for the Coalition’s troops. They would skirt around it and enter the public spaces of the keep. From there, they would climb several more flights of stairs and pass through the reception halls, meeting rooms, and then into the private quarters. They would go up more stairs. At the top of the keep, they would find the residency of the council members, the inner sanctum. They’d have to trust instinct and luck once they entered there.

Ben saw Sander pausing at the door and glancing back to see his men assembling behind him. Taking a deep breath, the leader of the Quiet Men opened the door to the drilling yard. They filed out slowly. On one side of the yard lay the public spaces they wanted to enter, on the other the keep’s barracks. Thousands of soldiers would be in there. In front of the barracks was row after row of tents.

“Marshalling the army,” muttered Rhys.

“For what?” asked Ben.

Rhys could only shrug.

The tents hadn’t been part of the sketches Sander provided at the inn. Ben looked ahead to see the leader of the Quiet Men nervously eyeing them and then gesturing for his men to keep moving.

The entire party kept an eye on the barracks and tents as they tried to walk calmly across the open field. Calm, that was the trick. Running or appearing furtive would give them away. They hoped they would look like any other group of men crossing the practice field late at night.

The sounds of carousing drifted across in the cold air. Ben eyed the barracks. Light spilled out of small windows, but the windows and the doors were shut tight. The tents appeared sparsely occupied. It was late winter. The men spent enough time out in the cold while they were on patrols or drilling. When they were off, they’d stay inside where it was warm, or so Ben hoped.

Finally, they made it to the other side. Ben found Amelie’s hand and gripped it tightly. They were standing in front of another door. This one was taller and wider than the others.

Sander reached out a hand to open it, but before he touched the knob, it turned. The door swung open. A young man, barely more than a boy, stood there staring at them. He wore Coalition grey and had a sword hanging from his hip.

“What—”

His question was cut short when Sander whipped a short sword out of his cloak and plunged it into the young man’s neck. Ben glanced at Rhys and saw his friend nod in admiration. Sander acted nervous around Towaal, but the man knew what he was doing.

Suddenly, they heard running feet on the other side of the door. One of the Quiet Men leapt over the fallen body of the guard and rushed inside.

Ben heard the thump of a crossbow and a crash as an armored body fell to a stone floor. Hurriedly, they dragged the body of the first dead guard inside. A second guard was lying thirty paces away, face down, a crossbow bolt sticking out of his back. The Quiet Man was kneeling beside him and laying another bolt onto his crossbow.

Thick red carpet stretched down a wide hallway. Alongside it stood polished wooden doors. Brass sconces lined the walls.

“Check those doors,” whispered Sander. “Find somewhere private and stash the bodies.”

The thief toed the thick red carpet. He was obviously thinking the same thing Ben was, wondering if the deep red of the carpet was a close enough shade to fresh blood. The bodies of the guards were hauled off into side room and Sander waved the party ahead.

Amelie, pale faced, strode beside Ben.

“They were Coalition,” whispered Ben. “They would have done the same thing to us in a heartbeat.”

“He was just a kid,” muttered Amelie. “He had his whole life ahead of him.”

“We did too, back in the City,” responded Ben.

Sander glared at them over his shoulder and they quieted down. Towaal gave them a curt nod. Ben wasn’t sure if it was to assure them it was okay the Coalition guards were killed, or if it was appreciation that it concerned them. The mage was hard to read.

The long passageway led to a giant reception hall. Arches rose high above their heads, disappearing in the dim light of the few lit lamps. The red carpet continued, spreading out and covering the stone floor like a massive sea of blood. Huge, unlit braziers stood in the center of the floor. The walls were lined with banners and flags. Some of them appeared ancient. Some were torn and bloodstained. They hung evenly spaced on the walls of the huge room. This late in the evening, it was empty. Whatever receptions held there were earlier in the day.

They scurried along one side, ducking behind thick stone pillars that supported the roof. They neared the front of the room and Amelie gripped Ben’s arm. She came to a stop, staring at one banner near the front. Light blue, pristine. It was Issen’s banner.

Ben wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. Quiet Men streamed by, unwilling to wait for two hangers on. Towaal was the one they needed. Corinne passed them and laid a hand on Amelie’s shoulder. Amelie sniffled once and met Ben’s eyes. She nodded to let him know she was okay and they hurried after the backs of the thieves.

Corinne looked back at them and patted the haft of one of her hand axes. The meaning was clear. Amelie’s back stiffened and she touched her rapier. Ben knew she wouldn’t blink when the next Coalition soldier got a crossbow bolt in his back.

The party climbed another set of stairs and the hallways grew more ornate. The red carpet continued, but the sconces turned silver and held oil filled lamps instead of torches. Polished mahogany tables sat along the walls. They were cluttered with etched silver dishes, carved wooden figurines, and crystal vases. Tapestries graced the walls in between the lamps.

It was a display of wealth and power. Ben thought back to the derelict buildings and hungry faces that filled many of the Coalition towns they had passed through. The university and food kitchens didn’t seem such a charity when he saw how much wealth the council really controlled.

Several more times they found guards on patrol, but the Quiet Men were prepared. They had experience moving silently through the streets of Irrefort, and it turned out the keep wasn’t that much different. The thick carpets muffled the sound of their footsteps, and the jingle of chainmail gave away the guards long before they got close. The thieves would duck out of sight and wait for the men to pass, or, if there was nowhere to hide, they would slide a dagger across the throat of the surprised guard.

They found a few cleaning crews also, groups of women mopping the floors or dusting the tables while the lords slept. To Ben’s relief, they circled around these. A pair of guards was one thing, but a dozen women would have turned his stomach. He suspected the Quiet Men had different motives. A dozen targets would be nearly impossible to neutralize before one of them could shout out.

The reception halls and meeting rooms they cut through were arranged in order of importance of the audience. The first one must have been for the guards or soldiers. Then there were wide open chambers for receiving common folk. More ornate halls followed that could have been for formal gatherings of highborn. After that, they grew smaller, more intimate. This was where the council would meet in small groups with lords or wealthy merchants. Beyond those were the private residences of Irrefort’s elite.

Their pace slowed as the rooms shrank. At the end of one of the hallways, a guarded door would lie. Beyond it, they’d find the sanctum of the council.

Sander, who was in the lead, held up a fist. All of the Quiet Men stopped. The jingle of armor came from around a corner. It wasn’t a pair of guards this time. It was more. Many more.

Sander held up eight fingers and gestured to a closed door. Eight of the Quiet Men broke away and slipped behind it. Sander frantically directed the rest of his men into small groups to wait in ambush behind different doors. In heartbeats the hallway was clear.

Ben and his companions huddled in a small room. It held a table covered in a white cloth. Golden serving dishes sat atop it and above them hung a sparkling crystal chandelier. Painted pictures lined the walls. The table legs and backs of the chairs were inlaid with sparkling gems. Ben briefly speculated whether it was the single wealthiest room he’d ever been in. Then he shook his head a forced himself to concentrate.

The door to the room was left ajar. They hoped the guards would pass them, ignorant to the threat lurking out of sight. If they did somehow suspect something, an errant cough or smudge on the spotless marble floors, the Quiet Men would be ready to jump out and finish them quickly.

Ben held his breath as the sound of the guards grew close. Amelie huddled close to him. She’d stopped breathing too. They knew that with surprise on their side, they could probably defeat however many guards were passing, but it was certain to raise an alarm.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut and felt his hammering heartbeat. Then the sound faded. The guards were passing them. They weren’t slowing or stopping to investigate anything out of place.

When their footsteps passed out of earshot, Rhys moved to open the door. Then he paused. Ben didn’t hear it at first, but going on Rhys’ cue, he waited. There were more footsteps. Softer this time, one or two men. Someone else didn’t hear it. A door cracked open and they heard a startled grunt. Rhys threw open their door and rushed out.

Two men stood in the center of the hallway. They were wrapped in black from head to toe. Swords were on their hips and crossbows hung across their backs. Daggers were strapped everywhere else.

A hand flashed and a blur of steel streaked across the hallway. A Quiet Man flailed backward, slamming against the wall and slumping to the floor. Even in death, he stayed silent. He didn’t betray his fellows.

The hallway burst into violence. Knives fanned out from the figures in the center like dogs shaking off water. Half a dozen Quiet Men fell before anyone got close to their attackers. Neither of the black-clad figures yelled to raise the alarm. Maybe they didn’t think they needed to or maybe they also weren’t welcome in this part of the keep.

They moved impossibly fast, like shadows from a flickering fire. They swirled around the Quiet Men, spinning away from strikes then darting back in to give their own. Blood fogged the air as Quiet Men were butchered.

Rhys charged into the fray, meeting one of the figure’s blades with his own. Silver smoke poured off it, but the black-clad figure didn’t seem intimidated. It spun away, sword sweeping around with tremendous velocity. Stumbling back, Rhys issued a surprised curse. Ben didn’t think the blade caught his friend, but he’d never seen the rogue retreat like that.

Ben and Corinne charged to his defense. Ben lashed out with his mage-wrought blade. The figure ducked it, sliding away from his attack like grease on a hot griddle. Corrine came right behind Ben, chopping down with both of her axes.

The black-clad man surged forward off his knee and caught her with his shoulder. She went flying back and sprawled on the thick carpets. The attacker leapt at her, but Rhys appeared out of nowhere, taking the charge and skewering the man with his longsword. The speed and momentum of the assailant’s movement drove the longsword all the way through his body. He crashed into Rhys, knocking the rogue over as well.

Ben turned to the remaining attacker but Towaal was already on it. She flicked her wrist and tossed a thin dagger at the man. In a blur, the dagger shot forward. The black-clad figure swept its blade to block the throw, moving faster than Ben thought possible, but the dagger moved even faster. It traveled quicker than Ben could follow with his eyes and smacked into the figure. The assassin somersaulted backward with the impact before landing heavily on the carpet, not moving.

A dozen Quiet Men weren’t moving either. Groans elicited from a few others who’d only been wounded. Sander stood down the hallway, staring wild-eyed at his decimated men.

“What was that?” asked Corinne, stunned and forgetting they shouldn’t speak.

Ben figured it didn’t matter. The troop of passing guards had likely gotten far enough away they couldn’t hear the noise over their own clanking armor, but anyone else nearby would have already heard the clash of steel.

“Thin Blades,” mumbled Sander.

Towaal knelt beside one of the dead men and turned him over. She quickly rifled through his clothing then lifted a black-stained wooden amulet off his body.

“Dark magic,” she muttered.

“Did that speed them up?” asked Ben.

She nodded.

Sander’s eyes glistened. “Of course. It must be from the cache. Can we use it?”

Towaal met his eyes.

“Your party can have one and my men can have one,” offered the thief.

“This is dark magic. There are consequences to using it,” answered Towaal slowly. “Through magic, you can cause a candle to burn quicker than natural. The faster it burns, the faster it’s gone.”

“One for you and one for us,” repeated Sander.

“You can have both,” answered the mage.

She tossed the amulet to Sander. Another Quiet Man snatched up the second.

The surviving Quiet Men dragged the bodies into a room. Ben glanced around the hallway. The thick red carpets hid some of the blood, but it stained the walls and tables as well. If anyone walked the hall, there was no hiding a fight took place.

“They patrol these halls,” murmured Rhys. “It’s only a matter of time before the alarm sounds.”

Sander draped the amulet around his neck. “We’d better get moving then.”

Ben grimaced. They needed to find the Purple, but this was too much, too risky.

Rhys gestured for their party to come close.

“Alarm is inevitable,” he whispered. “Based on Sander’s estimate at the inn, we have a bell before the next patrol. After seeing what those amulets can do, Sander and his men will stop at nothing to take the rest of the mage’s cache. If they’re able to do that, they will be formidable. The battle with the Coalition’s guards could be dreadful. When it happens, we learn what we can then slip away. Let them be the distraction as they try to escape.”

Ben looked around their small group. Determination filled everyone’s eyes. They’d gotten this far. They would finish it.

Sander was waiting impatiently, seeming to bounce on his heels. “Come on,” he hissed.

They continued onward, deeper into the keep. At each new intersection, they paused, straining to hear if anything was around the corner.

Amelie pulled out her palm-sized mirror and strode up to Sander. He glared at her, but when she closed her eyes and concentrated, an image flickered to life. It was a view of the hallway ahead.

Sander stared at her in shock. He knew Towaal was a mage. He didn’t realize Amelie could harness her will as well. After that, she led the way. Four more hallways and they stopped at another corner. Gestures to be silent quickly passed through the group. They’d found the entrance to the inner sanctum.

For tense heartbeats, Ben could see Sander and Amelie huddled around the mirror. Then, Sander stood up straight. He looked at the other man who wore an amulet. The rest of the Quiet Men clustered near the corner. In a flash, Sander ran around the corner, his man half a step behind him.

“What—” started a surprised voice.

Thuds and crashes followed. Amelie, looking in the mirror, waved them ahead. The party advanced. Six guards were lying dead. Sander and his man were standing in the middle of them, breathing evenly. Ben eyed Towaal and saw her tight lips. He wondered just how quickly Sander’s candle was burning down.

Beyond the bodies, a silver gate barred the entrance to a shallow marble stairwell. Sander reached to the handle but Towaal slapped his hand away.

“I lead now,” she hissed.

He gave her a slight bow and stepped away. The man was arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid.

Towaal briefly examined the gate, hovering her hand over it and squinting at the metal. Nothing happened. She placed a hand on the knob and tried to twist. Again, nothing happened.

“Does anyone know how to pick a lock?” she asked.

Two-dozen men stepped forward.

“I could do it myself,” she explained, “but I worry using my power will trigger something further ahead. The lock is mundane. Pick it with no fear of wards.”

A slender man shuffled to the lock. In the space of two breaths, he turned the knob with a click.

“Sometimes a thief comes in handy, I suppose,” mumbled Rhys under his breath.

The marble steps continued to another floor and then opened to a broad landing. The marble, the silver, the crystal, the wealth they’d seen below all vanished. Stone floors, worn smooth from centuries of footsteps, spread out unadorned from wall to wall. There were no tables or chairs.

No guards either, which the Quiet Men took it to be a good sign until Towaal silenced them.

“If there are no guards, it’s because they don’t think they need them,” she hissed.

“Maybe all the wealth is below,” argued Sander. “Looks like the council is falling on hard times up here.”

Towaal shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. This isn’t a case where the lord stripped the walls to hawk his wealth and stay in power a few more months. This strikes me as men who are assured of their power, and they don’t need the trappings of wealth to show it.”

She was about to continue but a scream echoed down a hallway. It was a young woman, thought Ben. Sander blanched.

“This,” said Towaal, “is the residence of men who are no longer interested in the pursuit of wealth. They’ve found more interesting games.”

The scream echoed again.

Amelie whispered to Ben, “Should we…”

He nodded to where Towaal was cautiously walking toward the hallway the screams originated from. She was holding a hand out in front of her, peering carefully at the floor, walls, and ceiling.

“Maybe we will,” he responded.

“We came for Rettor. No one else!” barked Sander. “We can’t let ourselves get distracted.”

Rhys held a finger to his lips and glared at Sander.

The leader of the thieves glared back but quieted. He was twitching erratically, seeming like his bones wanted to jump from his skin. Ben was glad Towaal let the thieves keep those amulets. As impressive as the black-clad attackers were, he could see something was obviously not right with Sander.

The group paused. On the archway to a stone hallway, glowing blue runes flared to life. Towaal nodded then drew her dagger. She stepped forward and scratched a line through one of the runes.

Sander started for the hall but she held up a hand, “Let the power drain out first, and where there was one ward, there will be more.”

The hallway was made of large stone blocks and was lit by torches stuck in iron brackets. There was none of the elegance from below. The council lived in simple, austere quarters that served their purpose and nothing else.

They didn’t know where councilman Rettor’s rooms would be so they had to check every door. When they found one that was locked, one of the Quiet Men would scurry forward and pick the lock. Some of the rooms were empty. Others held dust-covered tables and chairs. A few looked lived in, but they didn’t hold anything of interest to the Quiet Men. They passed intersections and forks in the hallway. Always, they tried to steer deeper into the sanctum. The sound of the girl’s screams continued to echo down the hall.

It was difficult to tell in the maze of stone hallways where it might be coming from. The sound bounced confusingly through the dark spaces. Then ahead of them, they heard the creak of a doorknob. Everyone froze. The door opened with the sound of wood scraping across the stone floor.

“He told me he’d do that in the dungeons from now on,” cracked an old man’s voice. “She can scream all she wants down there.”

A younger man replied, “I know, sir. He says it’s too far to walk.”

“It’s keeping me up at night,” grumbled the older voice.

The young man stepped into the hallway then stumbled back, startled at the appearance of two-dozen armed men waiting for him. His back hit the frame of the door and he tried to utter a warning to the man inside.

“Hello,” whispered Sander.

In a blur, the thief surged forward, slamming his short sword into the young man’s chest. The young man didn’t have time to react. He was dead before he realized what was happening.

Inside the room, Ben heard the old man call again, “Who is that? What are you doing?”

Sander stepped inside the room, followed by two Quiet Men and Ben’s companions. The rest of the Quiet Men stood outside, guarding the empty hall.

They were in a sitting room, a large but sparsely furnished one. A fire crackled and snapped in the hearth. In front of it, an ancient man sat on a low couch. He was covered in thick blankets and a cup of steaming mulled wine stood on a table beside him.

“Got some of Rettor’s bag of tricks, did you?” cackled the old man. He seemed unconcerned that they’d just stabbed a man to death in his doorway.

“Where is Rettor?” asked Sander.

“What do you call yourselves, Thin Blades?” asked the old man, ignoring Sander’s question. “There’s certainly been enough of you coming and going, disturbing my rest. I don’t know why Jason still lets Rettor conduct this business here. It’s bad for our image.”

Ben peered around the room. There was a door that presumably led to the man’s bedchamber, a writing desk covered in slips of parchment, half a dozen quills, and jars of ink. On a clothing stand hung a heavy black robe with a steel grey disc displayed prominently. The sigil of the council, thought Ben.

Rhys edged around the room, peering through the open doorway and walking to the other side of the old man. The man’s head turned, his rheumy eyes focusing on Rhys’ sword. When they first walked in, the man looked like he was on death’s doorstep or maybe a pace or two beyond it. Now, his focus was sharp. Underneath his blankets, he sat up straighter.

Sander repeated, “Where is Rettor?”

“Boy,” the old man started, returning his gaze to Sander. He broke into a coughing fit. He paused to push aside his thick blankets and reached for his mulled wine.

Sander stared at him.

After drinking his wine, the old man continued, “You are not Thin Blades, are you? Stupid of me to think even Rettor would be bold enough to let his pets kill my Arnold and not expect retaliation.”

Sander shook his head. “No, but we are here for Rettor. Tell us where he is, old man, and we will leave you in peace.”

The old man snorted, obviously disbelieving Sander had any intention of letting him live in peace. “If you want to try and kill me, get on with it,” grumbled the old man. His gaze did not waver from Sander’s.

“You won’t help us, will you?” snarled the thief.

The old man took another sip of his mulled wine and didn’t respond.

Sander lifted a finger. Ben expected the leader of the Quiet Men to attack, but instead, the other amulet wearer shot forward like a bolt of lightning. He moved so fast it was difficult for Ben to follow.

He wasn’t quick enough.

A billow of black smoke and ash burst up from the floor and enveloped the thief. In a heartbeat, he was completely obscured. Ben gasped as his body was hurled across the room to slam against the stone wall with a sickening crunch.

“Anyone else?” asked the old man.

Sander stood there twitching, unsure what to do.

“I’ll try,” remarked Rhys dryly. He strode confidently forward.

The smoke swirled up but the rogue blew through it. His longsword plunged into the chest of the old man. He slid it deep. Big, startled eyes stared at Rhys. The old man coughed once. Then his eyes slid shut.

“What was that?” demanded one of the Quiet Men. He was looking at his dead companion, who was lying crushed at the bottom of the wall. A broad red streak showed where his crumpled body had slid down to rest.

“He placed protective wards around the couch,” explained Towaal. “As soon as they were breached, the smoke came up. He thought he was safe behind the wards.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be alerting us about wards?” complained Sander.

Towaal shrugged.

“How did you get through?” Corinne whispered to Rhys.

“The old man’s will had faded,” answered the rogue. “In the past, he might have been a powerful mage. He wasn’t any longer.”

Towaal nodded. “Something happened to the man to hamper his will. That defense was only so effective because he’d laid it in advance. He wasn’t strong anymore. He couldn’t maintain it.”

Ben shuddered. Strong or weak, he didn’t want to have to deal with a smoke attack like that.

Rhys had moved to the man’s writing table and was fingering through the documents there. “He was a council member,” he remarked. “There are directives here about troop movements. Plans for an offensive against the Alliance, I think. This could explain the men in tents outside.”

Towaal grimaced. “We don’t have time.”

“Wait,” objected Amelie.

“The dead men below,” reminded Towaal. “Any minute, we’ll hear the alarm bells ring.”

“Let’s go,” growled Sander.

Ben’s thoughts raced. There were seven members of the council, including Lord Jason, and they’d stumbled across only one so far. They didn’t have time to check every one of these doors.

“Let’s find the screaming girl,” he suggested.

“We’re not here to play hero,” snapped Sander.

“There’s a councilman with her,” responded Ben. “Who else would be defying that old mage we just killed? There may be hundreds of doorways in these halls. We can’t try them all. We have to find a way to do this quicker.”

Sander squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

A Quiet Man spoke up. “He’s right, boss. We gotta find Rettor or find someone who can tell us where he is. If we don’t find that cache before the bells ring, we’re done.”

Sander grunted. “Fine. Which way?”

They followed the cries of the girl. The sounds bounced eerily down the hallways. They’d seen no guards, and Ben realized they wouldn’t. These halls were guarded by magic. At nearly every intersection, Towaal would hold up a hand to stop them. Runes would appear on the walls. She would deface them or close her eyes in concentration before motioning the party ahead again. Amelie tried to sense the wards as well. Sometimes, she would. Most times, she didn’t.

Their pace was slow, but they were getting closer. They turned a corner and Ben knew they were in the right hall. In addition to the distressed woman, the deep cackle of a man’s voice bounced against the stones.

Abruptly, the woman stopped screaming.

They all looked at each other.

Rhys ran ahead, his feet falling silently on the stone. They followed behind until he paused at a door. Rough wood, iron studs. It looked just like all of the other doors in the council’s quarters, but this one had noises emanating from behind it.

Towaal glanced at it briefly. She looked to Rhys then down at his leg. She wiggled her fingers. He smiled, lifted his foot, and smashed it against the heavy door. The wood splintered and the door flew open. Quiet Men rushed in, Ben’s companions close on their heels.

They found a shirtless man coated in a light sheen of sweat. He was middle-aged and fit. Corded muscle rose and fell with his heavy breaths. A naked woman lay motionless on the floor. Streaks of blood marred her body. The man turned, a leather lash held tight in his grip. A deranged grin twisted into rage.

“Who are you?” barked the man. He cut his eyes to the side of the room. Ben saw a sword belt hanging off a rack, too far away for the man to reach unless he had magic like the other.

“Where is Rettor?” snarled Sander.

The shirtless man smirked and Ben saw some of the tension drain from his body.

“You interrupted my fun to find that fool?”

“Where is he?” cried Sander. His short sword rose. Ben hoped the thief wasn’t foolish enough to use it yet. If they killed this man, they would be no closer to finding Rettor and the cache.

“Go left from these rooms,” instructed the man. “Past two intersections, take a right at the third, and his door is the second on your right.”

Sander blinked uncertainly.

“If you confront him, make sure you kill him,” advised the shirtless man. “I have no love for Rettor, and I’m getting tired of his minions cluttering these hallways. He’ll be upset though, if you try to kill him and fail. If he finds out I assisted you, it will be a rather unpleasant scene. Make sure you kill him or get killed yourselves. Now, leave me. I’ve given you what you want.” The man looked back at the motionless girl. “Hurry. I have something I’m aching to finish, unless you want to try your luck in a fight with me as well.”

The man glared at them then tapped a small copper disc hanging from his neck. Some sort of magical device, Ben assumed.

Sander looked to his men. They shifted nervously. “No, we’re here for Rettor.” The thief turned to the door.

The shirtless man looked down at the woman’s body, a sickening smile spreading across his face. He dropped his leather lash and untwisted his rope belt. The girl was still breathing, barely.

A streak of motion flashed through Ben’s vision. He heard a thunk and saw a hand axe sink into the shirtless man’s chest. The man stumbled back, looking down at the wooden haft in shock. A second axe thumped into him, a hand away from the first. The man dropped to his knees.

Corinne stepped up to him and casually drew her dagger across his throat. He let out a strained gurgle and collapsed to his side, eyes rolling back in his head. Corinne collected her hand axes, wiped them off quickly, and hung them back on her belt.

“He could have…” spluttered Sander.

“I can’t stand a man like that,” Corinne murmured, ignoring the thief.

Amelie placed a hand on her arm and they walked into the hallway.

“Should we trust his directions?” asked Ben.

Rhys shrugged. “I think he honestly believed we would let him live.”

They trailed after Sander down the hall, following the shirtless man’s directions. After the first intersection though, a bell clanged. The alarm, Ben realized. Somewhere, one of the bodies they’d left in their wake had been discovered.

“Run!” barked Sander. He started off, quickly outpacing his men.

A door was thrown open and a guard stepped into the hall. A Quiet Man whipped a dagger into the man’s eye and kept running, not pausing to retrieve his blade or giving the dead guard a second look. Ben heard shouts all around them, but so far, the alarm was general. It must have started in the floors below. They made it to the door the shirtless man directed them to. They had to get out of the hallway where guards could easily find them.

“Wait,” called Towaal.

One of the Quiet Men didn’t wait. He gripped the doorknob then went flying back, a blue arc of electricity blasting after him. He slammed against the opposite wall and slumped down, his body twitching uncontrollably.

“Idiot,” grumbled Towaal. She scratched her belt knife on the door then waved to another man to try the knob.

He looked back at his convulsing companion and took a deep breath.

“Hurry!” demanded Sander.

Booted feet echoed down the hall. Ben didn’t think anyone knew where they were, but it wouldn’t take long for someone to spot them in the hallway. The Quiet Man turned the knob and threw open the door. He rushed in, followed by the remaining two-dozen of the thieves.

Ben started after them, but Towaal slapped a hand against his chest to stop him.

A concussive explosion rocked the walls of the keep and screams of the Quiet Men cut through the air. Steel clashed against steel. Ben realized they hadn’t all been killed in the blast. Another explosion split the air. Loose mortar showered down around them. Screams and fighting continued inside. Then a third thunderous boom sounded. Ben felt the blast through the floor.

“Now!” called Towaal. “Grab anything or anyone who might be part of the Purple.”

She rushed into the dust-filled room, Rhys right behind her. Ben shared a look with Amelie and Corinne. Then they charged in as well. It was complete chaos. Flickering fires burned throughout the room, obscured by roiling clouds of dust. Ben hoped the dust was from shattered stone and mortar. In the gloom, a dozen Quiet Men battled a dozen black-clad figures.

There were already numerous casualties on both sides. Bloody bodies lay scattered everywhere he looked. They were torn to shreds, so brutally damaged that Ben couldn’t identify which group they had been part of.

He didn’t have time to think about it. A black-clad man charged Rhys with a sword that flickered with eerie green fire. The rogue met the man’s strike and danced back as the fire leapt off the blade and swirled toward him.

“Harden your wills,” yelled Towaal.

A heartbeat later, the air crackled. Ben’s hair stood on end. A blaze of lightning arced across the room and a Quiet Man was thrown cartwheeling into the air.

Corinne dropped to a knee and slung her bow off her shoulder. Amelie charged forward into the fray, thrusting her rapier into the back of a black-clad man who’d just rammed a spear into the gut of a Quiet Man. Ben cursed and charged after her.

More lightning blasted through the dust and impacted Towaal. She staggered back, grunting in pain but keeping her feet. Ben felt the heat of it on his face and tasted it in his mouth. In three heartbeats, three more strikes of lightning landed on the mage. She was stumbling back, arms crossed in front of her, trying to offer defense. Her clothes smoked where the lightning struck her.

“Rhys!” she cried.

Ben parried the blade of a black-clad man who’d been trying to come up behind Amelie. He whipped his longsword around, cutting easily through the man’s loose clothing and into flesh. A spray of blood erupted and the man fell back, vanishing into the dust storm.

Ben looked around wildly until he found Rhys pressed against the wall by two of the Thin Blades. The one with the flaming green sword still stood. His companion was stabbing a two-pronged spear at Rhys. Runes were etched on the heavy steel head of the spear.

Ben took a step toward Rhys when Amelie called, “Your sword, Ben, the wind.”

He grunted. Stupid. He’d forgotten it in the chaos. The swirling thunder of wind was already filling his head, just like it always did during any conflict. He swept his arm out and released a gale.

He tried to direct it into the gloom, where he thought the lightning was coming from, but in the confined space, the wind crashed around like a tornado. Bodies of combatants were spun into the air, twisting wildly as Ben’s wind swept them around the room. They crashed against walls and into heavy pieces of furniture. Ben hoped any broken bones would be forgiven by the Quiet Men. Surely they would be. They hadn’t been doing very well before he acted.

Ben had one breath of clear air. Then a wall of dust, pushed around the room by the gale force of his wind, slammed back into him.

Stunned by the recoil of his attack, Ben was sent flying to the ground just like everyone else.

He looked up from the floor when the wind died and saw the room clearly for the first time. It was larger than he expected and filled with destruction. Thick wooden pillars leaned like drunken wagon drivers. Chunks of shattered furniture and decorations covered the floors. Bodies lay everywhere, some of them moving, struggling to comprehend what had just happened, most of them not moving at all. The ceiling creaked. Ben realized with alarm, the wooden pillars had been supporting it.

At the far side of the room, a man wiped a thick layer of dust off his face and coughed. He was wearing black robes with a thick cowl hanging around his neck. A steel grey sigil hung on his chest, the uniform of the council. A neatly trimmed brown beard framed his face and blood streamed down the side of his head, dripping steadily onto his robes. Rage colored his face purple.

In one hand, he clutched a polished steel orb. In the palm of the other, tiny flickers of lightning sparked. He scanned the room, looking for a target. He became one first.

An arrow flew across the room and caught him in the shoulder. Ben saw Corinne was on her feet, swaying unsteadily, trying to draw another arrow from her quiver.

The man, who must be Rettor, raised his hand. Before he could unleash his lightening again, a crack sounded. A timber from the ceiling fell down, landing heavily on him. He sprawled on the floor. Cursing but unhurt, he kicked himself out from under the thick beam.

Amelie was crawling toward him, the etched dagger they’d gotten from Samuel in one hand. She dropped a broken stick from the other. She must have somehow used it to knock down the timber. Rettor’s eyes found her.

Ben jumped to his feet and charged. His gut churned at the thought of Amelie taking the same blast of lightning the mage had sent at Towaal.

“Harden your will!” yelled Amelie.

Ben saw Rettor cut his gaze to him and notice the mage-wrought blade. Ben was charging fast, halfway to the mage. He hurdled a flipped-over couch.

A bolt of lightning shot at him as he was still mid-air.

Time seemed to freeze. Ben’s mind snapped into focus. He could feel the air he was holding in his lungs, the twinge in his ankle from where he’d stepped awkwardly before jumping, the line of pain along his ribs where he had taken a cut, the cold wire hilt of the sword in his hands, and the blood running through his veins. He held onto it, in stasis.

The lightning punched into his chest and Ben flew back.

He felt nothing until his back smacked into the stone wall and his head bounced off. Stars swarmed his vision. His chest felt like he’d been butted by a bull whose head was on fire. Ben rolled onto his side, groaning. His sword lay on the stone floor in front of him. Reaching a hand to grasp it seemed impossible.

“Who are you people?” demanded Rettor incredulously. “Why are you attacking me?”

“We’re looking for the Purple,” answered Rhys.

Ben turned his head and saw his friend standing tall, scorch marks covering one shoulder, longsword held in front of him. The two Thin Blades who had been attacking him lay dead at his feet.

“The Purple,” replied Rettor, wiping the blood that streaked his face. “They are gone. I killed the last one myself two years ago. Is that what you came for, to avenge them?”

Ben’s heart sank. Hesitant shouts drifted in from the hallways. Guards were getting close, and Ben was in no shape to run. If Rettor knew nothing else of the Purple, then they had wasted their time.

“Attack!” shouted another voice.

Sander and half a dozen Quiet Men swarmed forward. The mage lifted his hand. Lightning blazed forth. Quiet Men were incinerated, one by one.

Then the lightning flickered out. Sander and two other men were still standing, waiting to die.

Rettor’s eyes grew wide. He looked down at the metal sphere in his hand. From across the room, Ben could see it was cracked.

The mage swayed on his feet, blood dripping from his head and spreading from where Corinne’s arrow was lodged in his shoulder. Sander added another wound. He flashed forward in a blur of motion and plunged his blade into the man’s stomach. He laughed maniacally and then stabbed the mage again, over and over.

Coughing blood, Rettor collapsed. He weakly tried to raise his hand and do something to Sander, but he was finished. His will leaking from his body with his blood. His hand fell limply by his side and he slumped over.

Panting ferociously, Sander gazed around the room. Only he and two other Quiet Men remained. The Thin Blades were all down, though Ben saw a few of them still stirring. Ben’s companions had survived, each looked battered and dazed.

“The guards are coming,” warned Rhys. “Sander, I believe most of these Thin Blades will be wearing the weapons from the cache, at least the good stuff. As promised, it is yours. We won’t stop you, but you’ll have to hurry. The guards will be here in heartbeats.”

“Hurry.” The thief laughed, fingering the amulet around his neck. “That is something I can do.”

He darted in a blaze of speed between the bodies of the black-clad men, stabbing to death the ones that still lived, rifling through their clothing, snatching weapons and devices. Anything that had runes on it went into a sack he was carrying. His men looted the bodies near them, albeit at a slower pace.

“We should—” started Ben.

Rhys shushed him. The rogue had moved near the doorway and held up a finger.

Ben rolled onto his back. He looked at Amelie who was also lying down. A grin split her dusty, blood-smeared face. They weren’t in good shape, but they were alive.

Towaal walked over to the body of Rettor. She kicked away the metal sphere.

Sander saw what she did and demanded, “That’s mine as well!”

“It’s broken, thief. It won’t work for anyone, but you’re welcome to have it.”

Mollified, Sander finished searching the Thin Blades. He and his men stood, unsure what to do next.

“Pick a direction,” offered Rhys. “You go one way and we’ll go the other.”

Sander nodded curtly then started out the door and back the way they’d come in, his men following close behind. They were fingering new weapons and grinning wickedly. Ben saw one of them was holding the sword with the eerie green fire. At the very least, it was likely to frighten any soldiers they encountered.

Rhys waited until they were out of earshot to shake his head. “Idiots. Hopefully enough of them survived that they can provide us a proper distraction when they run into the guards.”

Ben sat up, groaning.

“Can you walk?” asked Rhys.

“Yeah, I think so. I just need a minute.”

Towaal had finished her search of Rettor and was standing, staring around the demolished room in frustration. With a sigh, she admitted, “If there was a clue to the Purple in here, I don’t know how we’ll ever find it.”

A table wedged against the wall flipped over to reveal a young man who’d been hidden behind it. “You said the Purple?”

“The Librarian’s assistant!” exclaimed Amelie, recognizing the boy from Northport.

He blinked owlishly.

“What are you doing here?” demanded Towaal.

“I came to find assistance for my master,” quaked the young man. “He had brothers here.”

“Is what Rettor said true, that he killed the last of the Purple?” demanded Towaal.

The young man shook his head. “I found out after I arrived, no more remain in Irrefort. Inzor, the last guardian here, left a cache of weapons, and I hoped, some writings. I tracked the weapons and followed them to Rettor. The mage kept pressing me for information on how to use the weapons. I showed his men how to use some of the weapons to gain their trust.”

“Did you find the writings?” asked Towaal.

The young man shook his head.

“But you studied with the Librarian?” pressed Towaal.

“I did,” squeaked the boy’s small voice.

“Let’s hope that’s enough,” said Rhys. “We have to go.”

“Before I go with you,” the young man said, “tell me, what happened to my master? The last I saw, demons were outside the walls of Northport. He told me to run, to find our brothers. Before I left, I saw you confront him.”

“He’s dead,” answered Towaal flatly.

The young man’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he turned and bolted. He darted deeper into Rettor’s chambers. Corrine, Towaal, and Rhys sprinted after him. Ben and Amelie struggled to rise off the floor where they’d been lying. The women got through the doorway first.

When Rhys got there, he turned and instructed, “He’s gone out the window. Try to follow. If you lose us, meet at the Hangman’s Noose, five leagues south of the city.”

Rhys dashed through the door and Ben stumbled to his feet. He lurched toward Amelie and helped her up as well.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just bruises and scrapes, I think. It doesn’t really matter though. We have to leave.”

The clash of arms sounded in the hallway, followed by a high-pitched scream.

“Sander’s providing our distraction,” said Ben. “Let’s go.”

They dashed into the next room and saw two open windows. Ben ran to one, Amelie the other. Ben dodged around tables and chairs, barely giving the room a second glance. He got to the window and looked out on five stories of open air. Far below, soldiers rushed through a courtyard. They were likely still trying to find the source of the alarm. From what Ben could tell, there was nowhere someone could climb out.

“This side,” called Amelie.

Ben turned and saw she was already clambering up onto the windowsill. He rushed to her side. Amelie grabbed his tunic and pulled him close. Their lips met.

“We’re going to survive this, right?” she asked.

“Yeah. So far, we’re right on plan,” he said, struggling to keep a straight face.

She grinned then dropped out the window.

Ben gasped and looked down. Three paces below him was a steeply sloped tile roof. Amelie was slipping and sliding down it. It continued for a dozen paces. Below that was a stone-capped peak of another roof that ran away from the tower. Four figures were racing along it in the distance. The librarian’s assistant was surprisingly spry for such a bookish fellow. Corinne, Towaal, and Rhys were struggling to keep up with the man.

“Ben!” shouted Amelie. “What are you doing?”

He placed a hand on the windowsill and hurdled out into the cold night air. Tiles shattered and slid out from under him. He started a barely controlled slide after his friends.

At the end of the tiles, Amelie delicately leapt off and landed lightly on the stone cap of the next roof. Ben crashed down behind her, tiles and debris raining down on top of him. He clambered up off his side and stood behind her.

“If I wasn’t already covered in bruises,” he moaned, “that would have left a bad one.”

“You’re lucky you landed there,” she said, grinning.

He glanced to the side and swallowed. Two more stories of tiled roof and then a three-story drop to the gardens below. That wouldn’t have felt good.

“Let’s go,” said Amelie.

She set off at a shambling run with Ben right behind her. Their friends had vanished already, but Ben hoped they could spot them when they got to the end of the roof. He kept his eyes straight ahead, no longer allowing himself to look to the side and the treacherous fall there.

The rings of alarm bells continued to sound throughout the keep. Ben risked a glance behind them and saw lights flooding half the windows in the council’s chambers. As long as Sander and his companions weren’t taken alive and questioned, and they caught the librarian’s assistant, no one living had seen Ben and his friends in the keep. If they could avoid any more guards, they might just get away with it. Of course, if they didn’t catch the librarian’s apprentice, the entire journey and assault on the keep was wasted effort. There was no way they’d be sneaking back in to try to find more clues about the Purple.

He and Amelie ran down the stone pathway. At the end of it, they found no sign of their friends. Below them to the right was a brightly lit veranda, to the left, a dark one.

“Which way?” gasped Amelie.

Ben glanced frantically back and forth. None of the doors were open on either one. There was no sign of entry or disturbance.

“Where would the apprentice have gone?” wondered Ben.

“To the dark one, if he didn’t want to run into anyone,” replied Amelie.

“Does he want to avoid discovery? He was in the council’s chambers,” responded Ben. “He could be looking for guards.”

Amelie shrugged.

“Let’s go to the right, the lit side,” decided Ben.

It was easier said than done. The stone cap sat atop more roof tiles. At the end of the roof, a seven-pace wide gap spanned the edge and the veranda below. They’d have to jump across.

“You sure you’re up for this?” asked Amelie.

“No,” replied Ben.

Refusing to think about it, he scrambled down the roof tiles. He meant to do a controlled slide and then stop himself when he reached the edge. There, he could set his feet and figure out the safest way to make the jump.

When the first roof tile slid out from under his foot, he realized he was at a run, trying to keep the slippery rectangles underfoot. In heartbeats, he was at the edge. Arms wind-milling, he was off balance and traveling at a high rate of speed. He didn’t have time to think about what to do next. He placed one foot, toes hanging over the edge of the roof, and pushed with all of his strength. His body launched into the air. The world slowed. He looked down between the roof and the veranda. He saw the tops of pine trees sticking up below him. From above, they looked like meat skewers.

Then in a flash, he passed the gap, went over the rail, and slammed down on the stone tiles of the veranda. Stunned, he lay face down on the tile, waiting for the pain of the impact to subside.

Then Amelie landed on him. The weight of her body smashed him again into the tile. She was lying sprawled on top of him, her face hovering above his.

“Ouch,” she gasped.

Ben coughed weakly. “You should try it from this end.”

“Sorry about that,” she said, grinning down at him.

“The hilt of your dagger is digging into my back,” he groaned.

She bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before scrambling up. “Payback for all of the poking you did to me in Morwith.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ben clambered to his feet. She hadn’t been complaining about that back in Morwith. He stretched to his full height, looked around, then immediately dropped back to one knee, pulling Amelie with him.

They’d chosen the wrong veranda to jump on to.

Behind wide, glass doors, a candlelit dining table was laid out with a sumptuous feast. Silver platters were heaped with steaming beef, honey-crusted hams, a colorful array of vegetables, and crusty bread. Butter, gravy, and sauces stood in between the mains. Crystal decanters of red, white, and sparkling wines stood sentinel on a side table. It was all ready and waiting for someone.

“This isn’t good,” muttered Amelie.

A liveried maid strolled in between two swinging doors and sat a plate of whole roasted fish down in the middle. She looked over the feast, satisfied everything was in place. Then she glanced outside. On the bare veranda, there was nowhere to hide. Ben and Amelie knelt in the center, caught like startled rabbits, perfectly illuminated by the light pouring out the wall of glass doors and windows.

The woman screamed and bolted back through the double doors.

In a panic, Ben’s gaze darted around the veranda. They were three floors above the gardens below and there were no other doors except through the dining room.

“Quick,” he shouted, “get inside before someone comes. We can find somewhere to hide in there.”

They flung open the doors, which thankfully were not locked, and bolted inside. Again, they were faced with two options. The double doors the maid ran through must lead to the kitchens. There were certain to be people there. The other door was their only chance. Ben grabbed Amelie’s hand and dragged her to it. They threw it open and ran inside, quickly realizing they choose poorly.

Eight people stared at them. They were finely dressed like for a ball and had crystal glasses of wine in hand. They must have been waiting for the food to be laid out.

A blond, pony-tailed man spoke up calmly. “Are you the ones who caused this alarm?”

A woman interjected before they could answer, exclaiming, “Amelie!”

Amelie, bitterness lacing her reply, simply responded, “Hello, Mother.”

Ben groaned.

The Nemesis

Everyone stared at each other.

Behind them was the veranda, three floors above the gardens. Ahead of them were eight well-dressed highborn. They’d have to go through them to reach another door, which hopefully led to the hallway. Ben’s hand dropped to his longsword.

The door burst open and guards streamed in. They were heavily armored with swords drawn. These men had been listening to the alarm for a quarter bell. Now that they’d finally found the guilty parties. They were ready to fight.

The blond man held up a hand and the guards froze.

“Leave us,” he commanded.

One guard, a talisman of rank hanging around his neck, spoke up. “Sir, the alarms…”

The blond man looked at him and the guard swallowed uncomfortably.

The guard gestured to his men then offered a quick bow to the blond man. “We’ll be outside if you need us.”

Ben watched uneasily as the guards disappeared back into the hallway.

Amelie’s mother, Lady Selene, spoke again. “Amelie, what are you doing here?”

She was beautiful, a mature version of Amelie. High cheekbones, dark hair, painted red lips, and a dress that was cinched tight around her slender waist. Jewels sparkled in her hair, around her neck, on her wrists, and on her fingers, more jewels than Ben had ever seen, more jewels than he thought it would be practical to eat dinner in.

Amelie curtsied. “I came to wish you congratulations on your betrothal,” she murmured. Ben could hear the tightness in her voice.

The woman made no move to approach Amelie, and Amelie made no move toward her.

The blond man raised his glass. “Wonderful,” he said with a smirk. “Shall we open another bottle of sparkling wine?”

Amelie flushed and offered another curtsy. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

The man grinned, showing his straight white teeth. “Come now, girl. I was joking. You aren’t that stupid, and this isn’t that easy.”

Ben didn’t wait to hear anymore. He swept his sword out and lunged at the man. The blond man casually stepped back out of the way of the strike. The crowd in the room gasped, several ladies raising hands to cover their mouths, but none made a move to alert the guards outside. None moved to help the blond man.

Ben attacked again, slashing at the man’s face. The man stepped out of reach a second time and seemed to appear at a weapons rack by the door. Hanging there was a longsword. It had a worn leather grip and rested in a simple scabbard. The man set his drink down and drew the sword, spinning gracefully to face Ben. The sword had an interlocking geometric pattern etched along the blade. To Ben’s eye, the etching glowed with a faint, sparkling yellow light. Mage-wrought, there was no doubt.

Now the people in the room were scrambling out of the way, bumping into low couches, nearly knocking over small tables. They moved to the fringes of the room, watching the man as he slowly walked toward Ben.

Ben swallowed. The man’s footsteps were unnaturally light and he had a disturbing grace. The way he held his blade, the way he’d avoided Ben’s swings, all spoke of unassailable confidence. Who acted like that when an attacker burst into their dinner party?

Amelie came to stand beside Ben, rapier and dagger held ready.

“Two against one?” jested the man. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Amelie,” shouted her mother. “What are you doing with a sword? Step away. You could hurt yourself.”

Amelie ignored her mother.

“Jason,” pleaded Lady Selene, “please do not hurt her. She doesn’t know the first thing about handling a sword. She’s my daughter. All she knows is sewing and history.”

A shiver ran down Ben’s spine. Jason, Lord Jason, a man even Jasper was afraid of.

Jason circled Ben and Amelie. They pivoted to follow him but didn’t attack again. Ben was in shock at how easily the man avoided his first strikes. He didn’t want to have to engage until he had to.

“She’s made it rather far for a seamstress,” remarked Jason coolly.

“She—” began Amelie’s mother.

Jason held up a hand to her. “I’ve heard enough.”

Lady Selene fell silent, her lips pressed tightly together. Ben didn’t spare her more than a momentary glance. His eyes were on Jason, Lord Jason, the Coalition’s blade in the night, the Coalition’s future king.

“What are you doing here, Amelie?” asked the lord curiously. “Surely, you weren’t so upset about that unpleasantness back in the City. I can’t believe that you came all the way to Irrefort to, what, assassinate me?”

“What happened in the City?” demanded Lady Selene.

“I said enough, woman,” growled Jason.

Amelie’s mother blanched and didn’t ask again.

“We are not here for you,” said Ben. “We’d be happy to leave right now. We can forget this happened.”

Jason grinned. “Not yet, I don’t think.”

Like a striking snake, his sword whipped toward Ben’s face. Ben barely got his own blade up in time to parry the strike. Jason’s sword bounced off Ben’s and the lord flicked a strike at Amelie. She scrambled back, but Ben could tell that one hadn’t been intended to inflict damage. Jason was playing with them.

Ben charged.

He tried an attack he’d seen Rhys use, aiming high for a fatal strike to Jason’s neck but at the last instant bringing his blade down and trying to catch the man’s extended leg. It was an effective attack because the defender almost always overcommitted to protecting against the fatal blow, leaving themselves vulnerable elsewhere.

Jason didn’t even bother to parry. He simply moved his leg and Ben’s sword swished harmlessly through open air.

“I am even more curious now,” said Jason, acting unperturbed that Ben attacked him. “If not me, then please tell, why are you here? Entering Irrefort was risky, not to mention the keep and my veranda.”

Ben whirled into another complicated sequence. He replicated an aggressive set of forms Saala taught him back in the City. This time, Jason was forced to defend with his blade. He let Ben get far enough into the series that Ben was committed. Then he launched a blazingly fast counterattack.

Ben parried twice then sprung away, ducking to roll across the floor, smashing into a small table as he did. He spun to slash behind him, protecting against a follow-up attack. There was none. Jason was standing back, watching him.

Ben winced. He hadn’t ducked fast enough. He could feel the burning sting of a cut on his back. He couldn’t tell how bad it was, but for now, he could still move, and that was good enough.

Amelie charged the lord next. He lazily batted away her rapier.

She attacked again, and this time, Jason blocked her sword and unleashed a vicious punch to her chest. She stumbled back and crashed hard onto her backside, grimacing in pain.

Seeing an opening, Ben surged forward and thrust a jab at Jason’s side. The lord twisted away. The blade didn’t come within three hands of him. Jason raised his own blade to counterattack but Ben had something else in mind. His weak thrust was just a cover to get close. He gestured with his off hand and released the crashing wind that built inside his head during a fight.

It didn’t have the intensity of the blast before. He’d hadn’t had time to rebuild the energy, but that close, he was able to direct it into a nearly solid burst of wind that hit Jason like a fist. The lord was surprised, rocked by the impact. He flew back, flailing into his companions who scattered like leaves in a fall storm.

Ben ran after the tumbled lord, trying to take advantage of the surprise. He wasn’t quick enough. Jason shot back up to his feet, grinning gleefully.

Ben swung a furious attack which Jason parried. The lord retreated, circling away from Ben. He was slower than he’d been earlier, maybe stunned by the wind or maybe injured. Ben kept pressing, knowing he couldn’t let the man recover.

Jason darted away, flowing like smoke away from Ben’s razor sharp steel. Ben pursued relentlessly, slashing high, low, and then thrusting directly at Jason’s chest. Ben’s steel came within fingers of catching flesh. Jason stepped back and bumped into a low couch. He stumbled off balance then lurched through the dining room door.

Hounding him, Ben came in close, realizing too late he’d been reckless. Jason was off balance and couldn’t get his sword around to parry, but the man himself was a weapon. He brushed aside Ben’s blade with his arm and stepped into Ben’s guard, wrapping around Ben’s body and crushing him close.

Ben stomped hard, trying to bring the heel of his boot onto Jason’s foot. The lord slid his foot out of the way then curled his leg around, catching Ben’s. He shifted his weight and Ben went flying, crashing through the wood and glass door to the veranda. The wood snapped and the glass shattered. Ben landed painfully in the debris of the broken door, shards of glass raining down on top of him.

He rolled across it, feeling the sharp pieces dig into his exposed flesh and cut through his tunic. Jason’s blade struck the stone tile where Ben had been lying. Sparks flew out from the impact.

Instead of rising to his feet, Ben gambled. He rolled back at Jason, catching the lord’s feet with his body and stabbing up with his sword. Ben’s spirits surged when he saw the shocked look on Jason’s face, but the lord reacted faster than Ben though possible. He dodged to the side and stepped back. He grinned down at Ben and gestured for him to rise.

“Well done,” murmured the lord, nodding appreciatively.

Amelie flew out of the dining room with her rapier raised, aiming to skewer the lord from behind. He heard her feet crunch on the glass and ducked. Her rapier stabbed over him and he reached up, catching her arm. He slammed into her midsection with his shoulder. He lifted her off the ground and tossed her into the air.

Ben winced as Amelie crashed down onto the stone tiles. He didn’t think she was badly hurt, but she was clearly stunned.

“You two are persistent,” complimented Jason.

Ben stalked forward, searching for any sign of weakness in Jason’s guard. Jason sighed and strode to Amelie before Ben could react. He kicked away her rapier and dagger. She glared up at him, still moving slowly from the hard landing.

Jason turned his gaze toward Ben and raised his longsword, hovering it a pace over Amelie’s head. “Tell me why you are here.”

Ben stared at the man in anguish. Jason was too fast. There was no way Ben could get there in time to prevent him from bringing that sword down.

“We’re here to find an organization called the Purple,” admitted Amelie.

Jason glanced down at her.

“You must have reports of increased demon sightings,” she continued. “Entire towns are getting overrun. It’s because of something that happened in Northport. An ancient artifact was destroyed, a mechanism that controlled the flow of demons into our world. With it gone, no one knows what will happen, no one except for, maybe, the Purple.”

“If you are here for this Purple,” asked the lord, “why are you fighting me? Are you responsible for the alarm upstairs?”

Ben realized Jason wasn’t aware of the exact nature of the chaos they and the Quiet Men had caused.

“That wasn’t us,” declared Ben. He hoped no one in the keep could prove him wrong. “And I think you know why we are fighting you.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Remind me.”

“You murdered my business partner Lord Reinhold’s troops outside of Arrath. You tried to kidnap Amelie from the Sanctuary,” accused Ben.

Lord Jason smiled and relaxed, his sword lowering slightly. “Ah, yes. That is true. I did those things. It seems ages ago, doesn’t it?”

“What is he talking about?” called Lady Selene from within the dining room.

“Silence,” barked Jason. “Stay inside.”

The woman retreated away from the broken doorway. They may be betrothed, but it clearly wasn’t a love match.

Amelie tried to take advantage of the distraction. She kicked at Jason then scrambled across the tiles to her weapons.

“Let’s stop this,” said Jason, easily batting her kick aside, “at least until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

Ben met Amelie’s gaze. Neither one of them lowered their swords.

“I understand your concern,” continued Jason. “It was rather shabby of me to try and take you from the Sanctuary, but I am no longer interested in you, girl. Lord Gregor is dead. Everyone thinks you are dead. I have your mother, and I already control Issen. What could I possibly want with you?”

Ben blinked, confused.

Amelie’s jaw dropped open.

“Maybe you think I could turn you over to the Sanctuary?” asked Jason rhetorically. “Well, I’m no longer associated with them.” Abruptly, he looked to Ben. “I recall someone witnessed what happened at Arrath. Was it you?”

Ben stared at him and didn’t respond.

Jason pursed his lips. “It was you, wasn’t it? That makes sense. You saw what happened and warned your friend. Well, those men who were with me, none of them made it to Issen. On our way there from the City, the Veil decided my men and I knew too much. She set an ambush, and only I survived. Three hundred of my men were murdered by that evil witch. The Sanctuary betrayed us both. I have no more love of the Veil than you do. It’s not clear to me that we should oppose each other.”

“I hope you don’t expect us to trust you,” snarled Ben.

“Boy, I have scores of guards waiting outside in the hallway,” reminded Jason. “Assuming you somehow managed to defeat me, which I don’t think either of us believe you can do, they’d cut you down in heartbeats. If I want you dead, it is easy to achieve. You are playing a losing hand. Look around you. There is no way you can fight your way out of here. I admit though, I am intrigued about the demons. If you are being honest, I want you to tell me more. Let us be civil about this.” Jason turned to Amelie’s mother and the people around her. “Go on to dinner. Eat while it is hot. I will be along shortly.”

Lady Selene eyed Amelie. “I must speak to my daughter.”

“Your daughter is dead, don’t you remember?” growled Jason. “A queen with such a short memory is certain to not last long in Irrefort. I hope this isn’t a sign of things to come. Now go. Eat.”

Amelie’s mother and the courtiers began to sit around the table, ignoring the shattered wood and glass. Amelie’s mother kept her eyes on her daughter, but Amelie didn’t return the look. The courtiers were focused on Selene. They looked predatory. Ben cringed. After everything that happened that night, that was what the highborn of the city were interested in, a potentially weakened rival.

“Care for a drink?” Jason asked Ben and Amelie.

They met each other’s gaze then shrugged. Jason was right. They were trapped in the middle of his keep. Even if they were able to defeat him, which seemed unlikely given their experience so far, there were scores of guards waiting outside in the hallway and an army stationed below. They couldn’t fight their way out.

Ben shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “What do you have?”

The lord grinned and gestured for them to follow him back into the room where they’d first encountered each other. Furniture was overturned, tables kicked into the wall. Spots of Ben’s blood stained the carpet. Jason didn’t let it bother him. He filled three crystal glasses with sparkling wine while Ben and Amelie took a seat on a thickly stuffed leather couch. Jason handed over their drinks, righted a flipped-over chair, and sat across from them. He propped his longsword to the side and took a sip of his wine.

“You alluded to an increase in demons earlier,” started the lord. “It is true. We have been getting reports about it, and as you say, some small towns have been lost. I am used to dealing with these things personally, but my circumstances have changed. Maybe you heard? I am to wed your mother, Amelie, and become king of the Coalition.”

“Congratulations,” grumbled Amelie.

Jason smiled at her. “Part of my new role requires me to be in Irrefort for various functions, like the wedding and subsequent coronation. I haven’t had time to travel and address this increase in attacks. I am not aware of this artifact you say has been destroyed. Tell me about it.”

Ben did as the lord asked. Their intention was to find a way to battle the demons, and telling the soon-to-be king of the Coalition about the problem couldn’t hurt. Jason listened patiently, sipping his sparkling wine and rarely asking questions. Ben couldn’t tell from his expression what he thought about the story.

At one point, a guard ducked his head in from the hall doorway.

“Sir, the alarms, there’s been an attack on the council’s chambers.” The guard eyed Ben and Amelie suspiciously. It was obvious from the room a fight had taken place, but with his lord sitting so calmly, the guard didn’t mention it. Ben wondered if these things were common around Lord Jason.

“Did you deal with it?” inquired Jason.

“There is a lot of damage, sir. Some of the council was killed,” admitted the guard. “The perpetrators were also killed, we think. It appears the Quiet Men and the Thin Blades battled it out. They had mage-wrought weapons. It’s pretty messy in the council’s chambers.”

Jason stared at the guard captain incredulously. “The Quiet Men and Thin Blades all killed each other within these walls and took several council members down with them?”

The captain nodded cautiously.

“How many of the council died?” asked Jason. He briefly glanced suspiciously at Ben and Amelie but appeared to dismiss the notion they were capable of assassinating members of his council.

“Three of them, sir, including Councilman Rettor.”

Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I want a full report in the morning. I want to know how they got in and what they intended. We cannot have these things happening so close to the coronation, captain. We must display strength to the city. Make sure news of this stays within the keep as best we’re able. I’ll think of a cover story on the dead councilmen tomorrow. Finally, captain, make sure the Quiet Men and Thin Blades really are dead. Count the bodies. Their leaders, Sander and Rettor, I want their heads brought to my chamber tonight.”

“Understood, sir.” The guard captain backed out and shut the door. Thankful he was alive after making a report like that, thought Ben.

“Well, that is rather embarrassing,” admitted Jason. “I have a soft spot for some of those in the council. I fear I may have made a mistake and let them indulge in their little games. The problem seems to have solved itself, but in the spirit of us remaining friends, you will keep this to yourselves?”

It wasn’t really a question, but Ben and Amelie nodded just the same.

“As I said, I am still becoming used to leadership. In the past, I would have tracked down any survivors and slaughtered them all myself. If the council had been unable to defend themselves, then I would take it as a sign they were no longer fit for duty. But now, I need the old fools. Someone has to administer this land, and I don’t intend it to be me.”

Jason stood and strode to a side table where he refilled his wine.

“I took power after I returned from Issen for two reasons. The first, to stand against Argren and his overreach with the Alliance. The second, to enact revenge against the Veil. I want to set fire to Whitehall and the City. I want to watch their leaders burn inside the tall towers. Once that is done, I will relinquish the crown.” Jason returned to his seat and sat down with a sigh. “But none of that is interesting to you, is it? You are interested in this Purple and the demons.”

“We believe they are a threat to all of Alcott,” stated Ben. His mind was swirling with the implications of everything Jason just said. He couldn’t process it quickly enough.

Jason knit his brows. His eyes darted between Ben and Amelie. “What do you expect the Purple to do? Help you fight hundreds of demons? Kill them all one by one?”

“We hope they can help us find a permanent solution,” stated Ben. “We could kill individual demons by the score, by the hundreds, but they will just keep coming. Ages ago, the Purple were working on a solution, a way to end the demon threat once and for all. If we find them, maybe we can find out what they know. At the least, we can gain their assistance and create another, safer rift. We have access to a tool that can do that. Maybe there is an answer other than constant war with the creatures.”

Jason stood abruptly and strode to the hallway door. He swept it open and called to a guard outside, “Send Briggens to my chambers. On my desk, there is a scroll tied with a purple ribbon. Have him bring it to me.”

Ben looked to Amelie and saw her eyes widen.

Turning back to them, Jason asked politely, “Care for more wine?”

Minutes later, a neatly dressed man, presumably Briggens, appeared at the door. “Sir,” he said, offering a tightly wrapped scroll. Purple cord hung from each end.

Jason took it and waved the man off. He slapped the scroll against his palm, looking at Ben and Amelie.

“I will give you this,” he finally said. “I saw it some years ago and thought nothing of it at the time. It was addressed to the council and there were other members who had an interest in this type of thing. They were eager to handle it so I let them. Due to the recent demon troubles, I retrieved it from the archives and read it again. I believe the sender made a grave error sending this to us. He should have been more circumspect, but alas, he wasn’t. It makes little sense to me even now, but after your hearing your story, maybe it will make sense to you. I will give it to you on the condition that I do not see you again. If you return to Irrefort, I will kill you. No questions asked. No mercy.”

“Why?” asked Ben. “Why are you giving it to us?”

“I believe you,” answered the lord. “I think you really do mean to combat the demons. If you are successful, I will take credit for helping. If you are unsuccessful, well, that is no loss. I also believe you have just as much reason as I do to hate Argren and the Sanctuary. If, in your travels, you find a way to harm them, I would appreciate it. And finally, I control Issen already. I will marry its ruling lady. I have no reason to hold you, Amelie. I cannot marry both you and your mother, and it would be frowned upon by your people if I were to set her aside now. Besides, they think you are dead. It will be awkward if they learn differently. As far as I’m concerned, your death will remain the story. If you abide by my simple requests, it can be just a story.”

Amelie frowned but didn’t respond. What was there to say to that?

“Why don’t you help us?” inquired Ben. “With your resources, you could make a difference.”

Jason held up a hand. “Releasing you does not harm my cause, and it may help it. Helping you though requires me to devote time and attention. I have the Alliance and the Sanctuary to worry about. I will not help you.”

“The demons are a threat to all of us!” exclaimed Ben.

“Maybe,” responded Jason with a shrug. “Maybe not.”

Amelie elbowed Ben. He nodded and stood, wincing as the cut on his back tugged.

Jason handed him the scroll and called for one of the guards.

“Escort these two to the city gates,” he instructed. “See that they leave.”

“Wait!” called Amelie’s mother from the door of the dining room, “I must speak with my daughter.”

Jason looked at the guard in the room and sighed. “Very well, Selene. Speak with your daughter. Understand though, Lady Amelie is dead. This Amelie can only live if everyone knows that. I will not allow a rallying point for rebellious factions in Issen.”

Lady Selene bowed to Lord Jason. “I understand.”

Jason instructed the guard, “Follow me. I have something special for you. Someone else can escort our guests outside when they are done with Lady Selene.”

The guard tensed and his eyes darted around the room. Ben felt for the man, suspecting that his time in Lord Jason’s service was coming to a violent end. Jason wasn’t the type of leave loose ends hanging unless he had good reason. A single soldier’s loyalty didn’t seem to be enough.

Jason smiled and the guard followed him slowly out of the room.

“Amelie,” began Lady Selene.

Amelie stared back at her mother, stone faced.

“What are you going? This is foolish,” stated her mother. “Stay with me in Irrefort. Jason is right, you cannot assume your true identity, but I will speak with him. We can find somewhere for you in the keep where you can be safe. Maybe you can pose as a foreign lady and still enjoy the privilege your birth earned you.”

“No mother, I cannot do that,” growled Amelie.

“I saw the fight, I overheard what you said. Opposing the Coalition is a mistake, Amelie. Do not think the Sanctuary or Argren will protect you when the war begins.”

Amelie shook her head.

“I had two choices,” continued Lady Selene. “Stay by your father’s side in the Alliance or take the difficult action to join the Coalition. I am not happy about what happened, but the city of Issen is safe now. I am sorry about your father, but it was the only way.”

“You don’t think Argren will assault Issen?” demanded Amelie. “It will be the first thing he does, and where will you be when that happens?”

Lady Selene stiffened. “I only had two choices, and neither one was perfect. The same two choices you have.”

Amelie shook her head. “You are wrong mother. You didn’t have to choose the Alliance or the Coalition, and neither do I. The Alliance and the Coalition are merely systems of channeling power into the hands of a few, and I won’t be a part of it. There is real evil in the world, mother. Ben and I will stand against it, even if those powerful lords you hang your fate on are too cowardly to do so.”

“You are not a hero in a story,” snapped Lady Selene. “It’s not too late to stop this foolishness. Let me take care of you.”

“Just like you cared for father?” snapped Amelie.

Lady Selene’s chin rose and she met her daughter’s glare.

Amelie turned to Ben. “I think it’s time we left.”

He strode to the door and called for an escort out of the city.

To Sea

The sun broke over the horizon as Ben and Amelie staggered to the door of the Hangman’s Noose. The adrenaline spike that kept them going through the night was crashing down now like a brick wall. Ben’s legs felt like he was uprooting tree stumps with each step.

The light of a low fire flickered through the dirty windows of the inn, and in the pre-dawn glow, they could see smoke puffing up from the chimneys. The door creaked in protest when Ben shoved it open. Inside the room, a cat scrambled out of the way and the lone occupant looked up.

“You’re just in time for breakfast,” remarked Lady Towaal.

“I’m not sure I can stay awake for it,” complained Ben.

Towaal pursed her lips. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have time to rest. Irrefort was kicked awake last night. They will come hunting for us, soldiers, hunters, maybe even Lord Jason. We cannot face him and survive. We must run.”

Ben and Amelie sat heavily in chairs across from Towaal.

“We don’t need to worry about Lord Jason,” replied Ben. He dug out the scroll the lord had given them and placed it on the table in front of Towaal. “He gave us this.”

Towaal raised an eyebrow and peered at the scroll. “Lord Jason spoke to you and gave you a scroll? What does it say?”

Ben shrugged. “He didn’t say, and we didn’t want to hang around any longer than we had to.”

Towaal frowned at Ben. “He just handed you a scroll?”

Ben sighed and shifted to get comfortable. Even sitting, his legs ached from the flight the night before. “We fought first, and then he gave it to us. He’s not such a bad guy once you get to know him.”

Towaal blinked in surprise. “You fought Lord Jason and you’re still alive? Maybe you should start from the beginning. What happened after we lost you chasing the librarian’s apprentice?”

Ben looked around the empty common room and stood. “It’s a long story. Let me get some kaf first.”

***

The pounding rhythm of a drum reverberated through the inn, bouncing down the halls of the quarters and punching through the doors of the room.

Ben’s eyes flicked open.

The beat was steady, martial. A flute joined the drum, a harp danced around the notes, and a woman’s sweet voice laid a melody on top of it. It was a marching tune, promising victory and glory, but one shadowed by a sense of loss and regret. Upstairs, in the warmth of his bed, Ben couldn’t hear the words the woman was singing, but he understood the tone. She was singing about what it was like when her man marched to war, what it was like to stay behind.

Beside him, Amelie stirred in the bed. She grinned at him. “We haven’t been in a bed together since Morwith.”

“There was no space for privacy in that little peddler’s cart. Next time, we’ll have to steal a bigger one.” Ben sighed dramatically. “The others will be expecting us at dinner soon.”

“Did that music just start?”

“It did,” responded Ben. A smile split his face.

“Then it may be a bell before they start serving. I think we have a little time,” suggested Amelie.

Ben bent down and his lips met hers. They stayed in bed for longer than a bell, much longer, but it was worth it. Elated and exhausted, he was a little unsteady on his feet by the time they made their way downstairs.

In the common room, they spotted Rhys and the others at a table in the far corner. When they got close, Rhys pushed out two chairs and gestured to two empty mugs. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Ben. “I guess we were worn out from last night.”

“Getting worn out is more like it,” muttered Rhys under his breath.

Corinne slapped him on the arm. “We’re not in a rush. Besides, sometimes it’s worth celebrating just being alive. We assaulted Irrefort’s keep last night. We lived through a battle of the city’s thieves and assassin’s guilds. We fought a couple of mages, and our friends here survived the most dangerous swordsman in Alcott. I think we can wait while they have a celebration.”

“We celebrated twice,” mumbled Amelie, hiding a grin behind her hand.

Rhys guffawed. “Twice, huh? That is something to celebrate.” The rogue filled up the empty mugs and stood, raising his. “I propose a toast,” he called loudly to the room.

Corinne’s elbow dug into his hip and the rogue sat back down grinning.

Amelie raised her mug, “How about this one? To good friends.”

Everyone raised their mug, even Lady Towaal.

“To good friends.”

***

Half a bell later, the librarian’s assistant sheepishly arrived at their table. He was a young man, approximately Ben’s age and about the same size. He walked with his shoulders hunched over though, and had a timid demeanor that made him seem smaller than he was. His hair was shaggy curls and unkempt, falling over his eyes and hiding much of his expression. He was dressed plainly in a simple tunic, pants, and cloak. His boots were dirty but looked new. Ben suspected he had never worn them before he fled Northport.

“Milo,” he mumbled, sticking out a hand to Ben. “Sorry about running away. When I heard my master had been killed, I panicked.”

“I understand,” responded Ben, gripping Milo’s outstretched hand. “You didn’t know who we were.”

Milo sat down at the table and curled his hands around a full ale mug Rhys had sloshed in front of him. He didn’t take a drink.

“Milo,” Lady Towaal started, “has told us part of his story but not all. If it is okay with him, I will summarize for you so we can move on.”

Milo nodded.

“Milo is the son of a soldier in Rhymer’s guard. He had half a dozen older brothers. They took up an assortment of apprenticeships around Northport. When it came Milo’s turn, his father didn’t have coin to pay a craftsman to take him on so the boy joined the guard like his father. The guard,” Towaal said, glancing apologetically at the young man, “was not kind to Milo. He fared poorly amongst his rougher peers. Just over two years ago, his captain came to him and directed him to the library. There, the Librarian offered him an apprenticeship. He would serve as an assistant, and in time, if he showed himself capable, he would be trained as a librarian.”

“Did you prove capable?” asked Corinne.

Milo shifted in his seat. “He didn’t tell me everything, but the Librarian taught me a little,” responded Milo.

“Like what?” asked Amelie.

Milo held out his hand. Ben sipped his ale and watched. He nearly choked on it when a soft glow formed in Milo’s palm. Milo quickly closed his hand and extinguished the light.

“I think what is more relevant to you, the Librarian was concerned,” said Milo. “He was gravely concerned about the buildup of demons in the Wilds. He knew better than anyone that eventually the buildup would overwhelm Rhymer and his men. Northport would be lost. All of Alcott could be lost. He considered closing the Rift himself, but he deemed it too dangerous. One of his colleagues was murdered, and after that, the Librarian was the last of the Purple alive in Alcott. It’s why he brought me on, I think, to transfer the knowledge that only he knew. His hand was forced early though, when you destroyed the Rift. He thought there would be more time, more time to train me, more time to share his knowledge.”

Ben sat back, stunned at the revelation. Everything they had spent the last months working for was vanishing into the air.

“You are certain there are no more Purple left, no hidden repositories of information?” asked Towaal.

Milo shrank under her piercing gaze. “The Librarian was sure there were no more left in alive in Alcott. They were old men, a dying breed.”

“What do you mean, left in Alcott?” asked Amelie softly.

Shrugging, Milo responded, “That is what the Librarian told me.”

“What were his exact words?” asked Towaal sharply.

Milo shrank into himself, cowering before their intense stares. “Those were his words,” he stated in a whisper.

Towaal drew the scroll and placed it on the table. Ben could see where the purple ties had been discarded. She’d studied the thing while they were sleeping.

“I was unsure of what to make of this at first, but with what you are telling us, I believe it makes sense when considered with what I learned in Northport’s library.” She unrolled the scroll. “There were two factions within the Purple. The first felt that the most effective way to combat the demons was to contain them and then systematically pick them off. They created the Rift, placed it in an area that was easily monitored, and then formed the system of hunters who were able to keep the population manageable. The second faction of the Purple felt a more permanent solution was necessary. They wanted to build a weapon that could, once and for all, eliminate the demon threat. The factions disagreed. The first said the weapon was too dangerous, too powerful if it fell in the wrong hands. The second wanted to proceed with their research.”

“The theory in the book about tapping the power between our world and the demon world, is that from the second faction?” guessed Ben.

Rhys gestured to a serving woman. “We’ll need more ale,” he said coarsely. “Bring pitchers. Keep them coming.”

Towaal waited for the woman to leave and then continued, “Yes, that could be the weapon. Their research was expensive and dangerous. They needed someone to fund them and ensure they’d have a safe place to work. The first faction, the Librarian’s faction, did not trust the second. They forced them to leave.”

Ben blinked. “The scroll says where they left to?”

Towaal touched a finger to the scroll. “This scroll is a message from the Librarian to the Coalition Council.”

Milo’s eyes flashed. He made as if to grab the document.

Towaal kept her hand on it. “It’s dated two and a half years ago, long before our adventure started. Even then, as Milo said, it appears the Librarian was worried about the increase in the demon population. Even then, he worried it would come to destroying the Rift. He said he was contacting the most powerful mages he could locate in Alcott, though, he only identifies himself as Rhymer’s librarian. He says he wrote to the Sanctuary, the Coalition Council, someone named Gunther, and the previous Veil, Lady Avril.”

Ben blinked and looked at Amelie. She was listening, mouth hanging open.

“Two and a half years ago, when he wrote this,” Towaal continued stoically, “I was only aware of the mages within the Sanctuary. I didn’t know of the men on the Coalition Council or this Gunther, and I was under the impression Lady Avril was killed centuries ago. The Librarian not only suspected these people existed, but he knew how to contact them. Unfortunately, this is an individual letter. We don’t know anything about these people other than their names and that the Librarian attempted to reach them.”

“Did the Veil know about this?” exclaimed Amelie. “Did she do anything after getting her letter?”

Towaal shrugged. “I wish I could ask. As far as I know, she did nothing. That, though, is very unlike her. I worry she is playing a deeper game than we’re able to understand.”

“What did the Librarian want from them?” asked Ben.

“He wanted weapons and mages to use them,” responded Towaal. “He refers specifically to the Purple’s cache in Irrefort, the Sanctuary’s wyvern fire, and Gunther’s hammer.”

Ben snapped his fingers. “That could be how Councilman Rettor knew about the Purple!”

Amelie nodded. “Jason told us he ignored this scroll and let the other council members deal with it. That part makes sense now. Instead of helping the Purple use those weapons, Rettor murdered their mage in Irrefort and stole the cache. Gunther was mentioned by Jasper, I got the impression he’s another rogue mage who keeps to himself. Jasper wasn’t even sure the man still lived. What is the Sanctuary’s wyvern fire?”

Towaal took a long sip of ale. “Again, I wish I could ask the Veil. There are mysteries in the Sanctuary, knowledge that has been buried for centuries. I realize now that the Veil knows more about what is going on in this world than I ever expected. For years, she knew about the Rift and Northport’s difficulties stemming the tide of new demons.”

“Why didn’t she do anything about it?” demanded Amelie.

“That’s what worries me,” answered Towaal. “Maybe she was doing something.”

“What?” demanded Ben. “She didn’t send help to Rhymer. Lady Anne was in Northport and left! Who knows how many other mages over the years weren’t doing anything to fight the demons.”

“I think that’s what Towaal is worried about,” suggested Rhys. “The Veil is not one to sit by and twiddle her thumbs. She was up to something, trying to use this information somehow. If she wasn’t trying to stop the demons, was she trying to use them? I don’t know, but I think we all agree we can’t trust whatever machinations she’s trying to pull from within the shadows.”

Ben swallowed uncomfortably.

Corinne spoke up, startling everyone since she’d been so quiet so far. “How does this relate to Milo’s comment, the one about ‘left in Alcott’? You didn’t mention anything about some other faction of the Purple.”

Towaal answered, “The letter closes with the message that if the mages of Alcott cannot band together and defeat the demons, then, and I quote, ‘Qooten will rise. They will come out of hiding and unveil their terrible power. They will stop the demons, but we will all burn’. I thought that was referring to something else, but the Librarian’s statement to Milo implies there could be other Purple alive outside of Alcott.”

“Then it has to be them in Qooten!” interjected Ben. “They have a weapon that may be able to destroy the demons once and for all.”

Towaal nodded. “It seems the Librarian thought that power would destroy us too.”

“What do we do?” asked Amelie.

Towaal glanced at her. “I was going to ask you that. We’ve sworn to you, remember?”

Amelie looked to Ben. “What do you think?”

“There’s no choice, is there?” answered Ben. “Nothing has changed about the demon threat. Maybe this weapon is the solution, or maybe the surviving Purple can tell us more about the rift key. Either way, the demons are still there, still coming in uncontested. Entire towns are already overrun. If we do nothing, then Alcott is at risk. Everyone we know could be fodder for those evil creatures. We can’t turn to the Coalition. Lord Jason made that clear. We can’t go to the Sanctuary. The Librarian is dead…”

As Ben trailed off, Amelie said what everyone was thinking, “We go to Qooten.”

***

The next morning, the party shuffled out of the Hangman’s Noose. They had a three-day walk ahead of them to the port city of Hamruhg. From there, they hoped to gain passage across the South Sea and to Ooswam, where Saala was from. They would travel south through Ooswam to the desert nation of Qooten.

Ben found it difficult to keep his spirits up.

“What’s wrong?” asked Amelie.

Ben snorted. “What’s not wrong? We’re setting off again, hoping for a long shot answer to pay off. We still don’t really know what we’re doing and whether it can even help. Since we left the Sanctuary, it’s jumping from one dangerous mission to the next. We haven’t made any progress!”

Amelie walked close to him, letting her arm rub against his as they walked. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way,” she suggested.

“How so?” asked Ben.

Amelie gestured to their companions, “We have a mage on our side, a long-lived assassin, a hunter, and, uh, a librarian’s apprentice. Saala I’m sure would support us if he knew where we were. We travelled with Jasper, an ancient battle mage, and he agreed to recruit his brethren and fight the demons. Lord Rhymer and even Lord Jason are aware of our cause. Don’t forget, they’ve both helped us in some way. We’re gaining allies, Ben, allies all over Alcott.”

“I’m not sure that is enough, Amelie,” argued Ben. “We’re too few. We’re not strong enough.”

“Remember what we told Jasper?” reminded Amelie. “It has to start somewhere, and it has to start with someone. It started with us, but it’s not just us now. There are others. Still few, but it’s spreading. Maybe when the time comes, we’ll find the support we need. Maybe it will be enough.”

Ben sighed. He knew she was right. He wasn’t a hero, but they’d found some. Towaal, Rhys, Corinne, Jasper, maybe even Lord Jason someday. It didn’t seem like a lot, but maybe it would be enough.

***

The city of Hamruhg was a sprawling mass of old red bricks. It predated the Coalition. The city sat on a broad river. Ten leagues south were the choppy waters of the South Sea. Rhys explained that in ancient times, Hamruhg survived because it was on the river and not the sea. It made defense easier. Towers were set up to alert the city of raiders. Anyone who did try to attack from the water had to deal with the catapults stationed in those towers.

When the Coalition came to power, Hamruhg was one of the first major cities to fall to Irrefort, though, reluctantly joined was probably a more apt description of what happened. Hamruhg, similar to Fabrizo, was ruled by merchants. Their might was economic and not political. As long as they could keep trading, they didn’t much care who was collecting the taxes. At least, they didn’t care until those taxes started to go up.

As the biggest port in the Coalition and the closest to Irrefort, the city was an easy source of wealth for the Coalition’s government. Between import duties, excise taxes, wharfage fees, and captains bonding drunken sailors out of the jail, the Coalition’s coffers were filled from Hamruhg’s success.

From a distance, Ben could spy bulky estates built from hulking stone instead of the red bricks that made up the rest of the city. The estates dominated the blocks they sat on like armored warriors crowding out the other drunks at the bar. The merchants may complain about the taxes, but it hadn’t put them out of business.

“After we find an inn,” said Rhys loudly so the entire party could hear, “I’ll find passage on a vessel and the rest of you can secure supplies. The sooner we leave, the better.”

Ben nodded. Lord Jason had let them go, but the man could always have second thoughts. Ben didn’t relish the thought of facing him again. They also had Eldred to worry about. No one had heard anything from the dark mage since Towaal left Northport, but she was out there, somewhere.

“Have you been to Hamruhg?” Corinne asked Milo.

She, like the rest of them, had spent the last three days trying to draw the shy librarian’s apprentice out of his shell. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and when he did, it was in a quiet voice that didn’t carry much further than the person he was directly addressing. He never spoke up in a group.

Milo shook his head.

Ben veered closer, straining to hear the conversation. He was curious about the boy. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure what the Librarian had seen in him.

“I’d never been out of the west until the trip to Irrefort,” answered the boy.

Corinne nodded, “Neither had I. Actually, unless you count the Wilds, I never left Northport until I fell in with this crowd.”

Milo ducked his head, nodding to the huntress.

“Milo, have you spent much time outside of Northport?” Ben asked.

“A little,” answered Milo.

Ben frowned. The conversation got him thinking. He didn’t know where Milo was actually from. Certainly not Northport, with his almost physical aversion to weapons and combat, but where? He was intending to probe deeper, but they reached the end of the muddy road they were following and found themselves standing in front of the gates of Hamruhg. The traffic was flowing in smoothly, but there was a long line of merchandise waiting to get out.

“Making sure they’ve got their customs chocks,” guessed Rhys.

Ben saw his friend was right. To exit the city, people were showing the guards marks on the sides of their wagons, or in the case of a large wagon train, pieces of parchment where the port officials must have collected the duties.

Amelie was watching closely, probably considering how the system affected the economics of the region, but Ben was only interested as far as they were able to enter easily with no fuss from the guards. After that, his concern was finding a tavern with cold ale, clean bedding, and, ideally, a secluded bed he and Amelie could share.

Hamruhg’s streets were cobblestoned, a welcome change after trudging through the muddy road outside. In short order, Rhys guided them down the boulevards and toward the port. The inns would be rougher there, but they’d also be good places for anonymous strangers.

The familiar sights and scents washed over Ben the closer they got to the port. He was stunned by how quickly he’d adjusted to the city when they first stepped within the gates. When they’d entered Fabrizo, his head had been swimming with the strangeness. Now, he’d lost that sense. Hamruhg was a bit different, but not that different from all of the others.

Hamruhg had red bricks, and Whitehall had pale limestone. Both of them held seedy taverns by the docks and merchant’s manses as far from the smell as they could get. Shops lined the first levels of the buildings and above them clustered apartments like in Fabrizo. People walked about, doing the same tasks and chores that they’d do in any city.

“You look deep in thought,” remarked Amelie.

Ben grinned at her. “Just thinking how strange it is that I’m so comfortable in a city now. A year ago, my jaw would be dragging on these cobblestones. I wouldn’t know what to look at next. Now, it seems so normal.”

“That’s what I find strange too,” responded Amelie. “It does feel normal, doesn’t it? This is one of the oldest cities in the Coalition, the same Coalition that’s been hunting us, that conquered my home. When we fled the City, I would have called them evil. This place should feel different, I guess. Different from Issen, different from Whitehall, different from Northport or the City. These are just normal people though, going about their day.”

Ben didn’t know what to say.

“You two need an ale,” grumbled Rhys. He pointed to a squat brick structure. “There.”

A steep flight of stairs led down to a narrow door. The place hunkered below the more reputable businesses housed above it. In Ben’s experience, below ground taverns were never savory places, but Towaal was already stomping down the stairs. If it was good enough for her, Ben wasn’t going to complain.

He spared a glance above at the late winter sky. If they were lucky, in a few days, they’d be rocking on a boat on the open sea, a choppy sea if what he heard was true. He groaned and joined his companions in the darkness below.

***

Two days later, passage was arranged and they were gathering the last of the supplies they’d need for the voyage to the south continent. Four weeks at sea and then six across Ooswam to get to the nation of Qooten. Compared to what they’d been through, it didn’t seem that long a journey, but Ben couldn’t help thinking less than a year ago, he didn’t know these places even existed. Hamruhg may not feel different to him anymore, but he was certain the southern lands would.

Ben, Amelie, and Corinne were making one last attempt to secure supplies. Then they would be off to the ship to meet their companions. Rhys, Towaal, and Milo had already boarded that morning. Corinne was looking for supplies to fashion a new set of arrows. Ben thought it’d be easier to just purchase them from a fletcher, but he suspected she was trying to find something to do on the long sea voyage. Amelie was looking for blasting powder, fuses, and nails. She’d been inspired by the steel balls she’d manipulated in Northport. Those had been effective because of the force when thrown from a catapult. With more preparation, she thought she could achieve the same effect without a giant catapult, which would be inconvenient to lug around.

Ben was a bit nervous, thinking about sailing across the South Sea on a ship filled with blasting powder and an initiate mage trying to charge it. It was Amelie though, so he wasn’t going to say anything.

They’d already collected Amelie’s supplies and safely stuffed them into their packs. They were on the way to the fletcher’s street. Corinne claimed they’d get the best prices there. Ben scratched his head and shrugged. Buying raw goods from the same place you could easily purchase finished goods seemed strange, but he didn’t know where to buy shafts, arrows, strings, and steel tips in a big city.

The uneven cobblestones and heaps of red brick that made up Hamruhg stretched out in front of them. It was difficult to tell which street was which, but after stopping to ask several times, they thought they were headed in the right direction. At least, Corinne thought so. Ben wasn’t so sure.

“It’s just one more block, a bridge, then another block,” claimed Corinne.

Hamruhg was riddled with narrow canals that stuck out from the harbor district like spokes on a wheel. Small boats used them to carry heavy goods into the city, which may have been easier than a wagon or maybe just the way they’d been doing it for centuries. Ben liked the canals because when they were passing over a bridge, it was one of the few times he could get a little visibility in the city. Everywhere else, all he could see was brick.

They found the bridge where it was supposed to be, but after they got over it and down to the next block, they found themselves looking at row after row of potatoes and onions.

Frowning, Amelie glanced at Corinne. “I don’t think they sell arrows on this street.”

Corinne peered behind them. “Maybe we should have turned before the bridge?”

Ben looked back as well. He frowned also, but for a different reason. “I think I recognize that man.”

“Who?” asked Corinne.

“That one there,” answered Ben, peering through the crowd. “At the top of the bridge, with the brown cloak.”

Corinne shrugged. “I don’t recognize him.”

Amelie was staring at the man also. He was craning his neck, looking the opposite direction, trying to see over the shifting crowds.

“He looks familiar to me too,” remarked Amelie. “Maybe he’s from Issen. In the past, I was always seeing people I recognized, but I couldn’t put a name to their face. Comes with being highborn, I suppose. More people know you than you know them.”

“I’ve never been to Issen,” reminded Ben. “Besides, I… the Sanctuary! That’s where I know him. He’s a guard at the Sanctuary.”

“Why would he be here?” asked Corinne.

Ben didn’t answer. He grabbed her wrist and Amelie’s and tugged them away. He tried to quickly dart behind an onion stall but one of the girls bumped it and sent a stack of the fragrant vegetables tumbling.

“Hey!” shouted the onion vendor, storming around the cart to protect his produce.

Ben didn’t glance back. He kept moving, dragging the girls along and hoping to get lost in the crowd.

Amelie must have glanced back though because she tersely whispered, “He’s seen us.”

Ben groaned.

“Why would a Sanctuary guard be here?” demanded Corinne. “You don’t think… oh.”

Now the girls were right on his heels, dodging amongst the vendor carts and hurrying down the street. For several blocks, they ran as fast as the crowds would allow them, twisting through the streets, crossing bridges, and dodging angry Hamruhgians. They made it to an open square and Ben paused, looking around wildly.

“Where are we?” gasped Corinne.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. It looked the same as every other street in the city, except this one held a stone fountain in the center. “I don’t think I’ve been here before.”

“We need to find a canal,” suggested Amelie. “We can follow it to the harbor.”

Ben nodded. “We passed one three blocks back, I think.”

Corinne shook her head. “We can’t go back. If that man is on our trail, we could walk right into him.”

Ben glanced at Amelie. She’d pulled out the prism Jasper had given her and the etched dagger they’d gotten from Samuel.

“What is—” he started to say.

“There!” Corinne hissed, pushing at the companions.

Ben didn’t waste time looking. He knew she must have spotted the guard. They fled. If the man was able to keep pace with them so far, they needed to either increase their speed or lose him. They ran down several more streets and then found a bridge.

Ben paused atop it, glancing down at the water. “Damn! I can’t tell which way it’s flowing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” called Corinne, who was still moving. “If we lose him, we can get our bearings and then find the harbor.”

Ben grunted and charged after her. Getting separated could be even worse than the man catching up to them. He was, after all, just one man. They passed two more streets. Ben and Amelie had nearly caught up to Corinne when she slammed into a cloaked figure and went crashing down to the cobblestones.

The cloaked man glared at her.

Amelie leaned down to check on Corinne. “Are you okay?”

Corinne was staring up at the man then down at her hand. Suddenly, she started scrambling back. “He’s wearing chainmail!”

The man tossed his cloak back to reveal heavy chainmail and a broadsword. His hand clasped the hilt and he started to draw. Ben was faster. He shot forward and pounded his fist into the man’s face.

The armored man’s head snapped back and he stumbled before collapsing onto his back. Shaking his hand and hoping he didn’t break any bones, Ben reached down and hauled Corinne to her feet.

“Thanks,” she breathed. “That was a big man and an impressive punch.”

“I’m better at this than I used to be,” murmured Ben.

They turned to go.

More men were filling the street in front of them. They were dressed in plain travelling clothes, but it was obvious when seen together, these men were a military unit. There were half a dozen of them. They all had broadswords strapped to their hips.

Ben spun to run in the other direction, but he found four men waiting there.

Corinne yanked her hand axes off her belt. Taking her lead, Ben drew his longsword. Amelie held the small prism and the etched dagger. Her rapier was on the ship with their friends.

The soldiers drew their swords.

The wind was building in Ben’s head. If he caught them by surprise, he could knock down the half dozen men. Then, for a brief moment, it’d only be three against four. Not good odds when the four were wearing armor and had companions who could recover and charge from behind, but a lot better than trying to battle all ten of them.

Whispering to his companions, Ben advised, “I’ll slow the six of them. Be ready to charge the four.”

Grim-faced, the girls nodded. Ben raised his off hand and was preparing to send a burst of gale force wind into the men, but a cold voice rasped in his head. It was like sharp steel sliding across rough rock.

“Where are the others?” it asked.

The soldiers parted and a cloaked woman approached. They gave her more space than was necessary, and even from a distance, Ben could see the tension in their stances. These men would have preferred to face him and his mage-wrought blade than stand next to the woman.

Ben’s stomach churned when he saw a bright white mask peeking out from under a dark hood. It was Eldred.

“It is no matter. I will find them. Besides,” sounded the voice, “I have personal business to settle with you, Amelie.”

The porcelain mask turned, surveying them. That mask had given Ben nightmares for weeks after they fled Northport. Red lips, blush, and perfectly painted eyebrows only served to highlight that this was not normal. This was not right.

Amelie didn’t wait to hear anything else Eldred had to say. She swung her hand forward and a fist-sized fireball flew into the air, streaking directly at Eldred’s masked face. The mage didn’t even move. The fireball crashed around her harmlessly, sputtering into a swirl of heat and smoke.

“Is that it?” rasped the voice. “If you have more, do it. I will wait, but not too long. I want you to feel helpless, utterly helpless.”

Amelie growled, her eyes flashing brightly, but she didn’t attack again. Ben thought she might have something else up her sleeve, but clearly brute force was going to be useless against Eldred’s experience.

“Very well,” rasped the mage’s voice.

Blistering pain crawled over Ben’s body. It felt like his skin was on fire. His muscles and bones were frozen. His sword clattered to the cobblestones and he dropped beside it. Twitching like a freshly caught fish, he saw the girls were down as well, both afflicted with whatever Eldred was doing.

“I’m drawing the heat out from your body and focusing it on the exterior of your skin,” explained the mage. “It has two benefits. First, it causes a great deal of pain and seizures. Second, it renders your muscles frozen and helpless. If you cannot block it, there is nothing to do but lie there and suffer. Eventually, the core of your body will freeze. You will be irreparably damaged.”

Ben squeezed his eyes shut, but he could still hear. He heard the mage step confidently forward. If he could move his limbs, he’d reach for his sword. But he couldn’t control himself. He just lay there, jerking and twitching.

“You don’t have the skill to block this, do you?” hissed the mage’s voice. “A pity. I’d hoped to take my time hurting you, Amelie. I wanted to punish you for what you did to me, but now that I am here, it seems so pointless. You are weak, pathetic. Would I torment a bee that stung me, or would I simply crush it?”

Ben’s flicked his eyes open and saw the mage squatting beside his friend. She was examining Amelie, who was just as powerless as Ben to stop the mage’s attack. Ben involuntarily flopped onto his side, losing sight of the women. His back was arching. At the same time, his abdominal muscles were clinching. It felt like his body was tearing itself apart, and he couldn’t stop it.

The cobblestones were digging into his side while he thrashed across them. The cobblestones and something else, something small and hard, something circular. He gasped. The healing disc Jasper had given him. He could use its power to heal and maybe stop what Eldred was doing. If he could alleviate the pain, maybe he could reach his sword. Or, he had a better idea.

He stopped trying to fight the incredible pain assailing him. He let his body succumb to the agony. He directed his will into the disc and wished like nothing else that he’d ever wanted for that energy to flow into Amelie. He poured his soul into it, pushing with every fiber of his being for that energy to go to her.

He couldn’t tell if it was working.

Then, through the haze of pain, he heard the clatter of steel on stone. The waves of pain coursing through his body intensified, blocking out everything else.

Then the physical pain stopped. Ben drew a deep breath and lost it a heartbeat later when an intense pulse of agony spiked into his head. A terrible shriek blasted inside his skull, an awful wail that made the demon’s cries sound like the soothing babble of a mother to her baby.

“Run!” shouted Amelie.

He was barely able to process what her words meant, the shriek cutting through everything else. Base, animal instinct took over. His hand slammed down on his sword and he forced his eyes open. Amelie was kneeling, struggling to her feet. Corinne was lying on her back, staring at the sky, little shudders running through her body.

Eldred was stumbling back, the hilt of Amelie’s dagger, the one they’d gotten from Samuel, sticking out from her stomach.

A note of triumph stood against the agonizing scream of Eldred in his head. Ben struggled to his feet, dragging his sword up with him. Amelie was on her feet as well, moving faster than him and crouching beside Corinne. Ben lurched toward the mage, raising his sword with trembling arms.

“You can’t kill her with a sword, Ben. Run!”

Eldred’s mask turned to face him. Behind it, he thought she was grinning. She was still crouched over, gripping the hilt of the dagger. Smoky tendrils of shadow crept from the weapon to wriggle over her gloved hand. She glanced down at the questing smoke and tried to straighten, but the shadows held her, hunched over.

Ben swept his arm around and released a burst of wind at the mage. It’d been building with intensity ever since they were first surrounded by the soldiers. When he let it go, it was as if one of the Blood Bay’s brutal summer storms was unleashed down the street. Dust, carts, goods, and people went flying. He didn’t wait to see what happened to Eldred. On shaky legs, he turned and stumbled after Amelie.

She’d managed to get Corinne to a sitting position, but the huntress was moving slow. Groggy, she didn’t seem to understand what was happening. Ben took one arm and Amelie the other. They dragged Corinne to her feet. Shuffling steps, with her hanging between them, they headed the opposite way of Ben’s windstorm.

The four soldiers who’d blocked their passage earlier were lying or kneeling in the streets. Like Corinne, they were struggling to recover from what Eldred had done. Ben realized she’d indiscriminately caught her own men as well as him and his companions.

They made it to a brick bridge and Ben spared a glance behind them. Several of the soldiers were on their feet now, but none were making efforts to pursue them, yet. Ben knew they had only moments before the men gathered their wits and began the chase. Further down the street, there was a mess of debris and dust clouding the air from his windstorm. There was no sign of Eldred.

They crossed the bridge and Ben took the next turn. He didn’t know if it was the right way, but it let them duck behind a wall of red brick buildings. They had to stay out of the soldier’s line of sight or it would be a short flight.

Corinne started to recover, helping put one foot in front of the other, but she was still weak. Ben’s heart rose until he realized that meant the men behind them would be growing in strength too. Three more turns and Ben saw a line of wagons loaded with goods and paused to catch his breath.

“We have to go, Ben,” gasped Amelie.

He nodded. “This way. Follow the wagons.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“They’re either going to the port or from it, and there’s only one way to find out.”

“You could stop and ask someone directions,” muttered Amelie.

Ben grinned at her and turned them down the worn cobblestone street, the opposite direction the wagons were moving. “Look,” he said, “spices. They’re coming from the port.”

Amelie grunted but didn’t complain about his logic.

Corinne mumbled groggily, “What happened? What did she do to us?”

“She manipulated the heat in our bodies, I think,” responded Amelie. “It hurt so much I couldn’t move, then all of a sudden, it was like I got a burst of energy. I grabbed my dagger and stabbed her. I tried to reach her heart, but I think I put it in her gut. I got it deep though, and the blood should activate it. At least that’s something.”

“Jasper’s healing disc,” explained Ben.

“You used it on me?” asked Amelie, startled.

“You were closer,” he replied. “I wasn’t sure I could get to her before she reacted.”

“Wait,” said Corinne, trying to follow the conversation. “She’s not dead?”

Amelie didn’t have to answer. From behind them, an explosion shook the city. Dust billowed from several blocks away, near where they’d faced Eldred. The bells of the watch started ringing as guard stations across the city reacted to the blast.

The companions didn’t hear the bells for long. Instead they heard Eldred’s voice, shouting inside their heads. “Where do you think you’re going!” demanded her steely rasp.

Ben blinked and tried to shut out the piercing sound. He grabbed Amelie and Corinne’s hands. Through clinched teeth, he instructed, “Harden your will. Shut her out.”

Amelie nodded. “Don’t respond to her. If we respond, she can track us.”

“I called her a bitch,” groaned Corinne.

“Run!” shouted Ben.

They joined a throng of people who were fleeing from the blast. The town people couldn’t have known what it was, but no one seemed eager to find out. In the opposite direction, a troop of two-dozen men passed them, armor jingling and scabbards slapping against their thighs.

“Should we warn them?” worried Corinne.

Ben shook his head. “They would either stop and question us, or they wouldn’t believe us and they’d continue on. Either way, they’ll end up dead. We can’t help them.”

Grimacing, the girls turned and followed Ben as he plunged onward, following the crowd through the streets of Hamruhg. Minutes later, a series of sharp explosions shook the city again, eliciting screams and worried shouts from the people around them.

“The soldiers found what they were looking for,” guessed Ben.

More blasts rocked the air and the sounds of men marching became constant. Shouts filled the streets as people tried to figure out what was happening, if they were under attack, and where it was safe to go.

Fortunately, it seemed many decided it was easier to escape on foot than the sea, and the tide of the crowd was turning. They passed a major intersection and people were splitting off the port road, headed to the gates of the city.

“I recognize this,” claimed Amelie. “We’re getting close.”

Ben nodded tersely. He’d worried they’d picked the wrong direction. It was a relief they hadn’t, but now that the crowds were thinning, it would be easier for Eldred or the Sanctuary’s men to see them. They had to get to the port and to their friends. A ship was waiting, and if they could get there, they’d be safe. Safer, Ben corrected himself.

Ahead of them, half a dozen men were spreading out to block the street. Just like the others, they wore plain steel chainmail and had no markings. Sanctuary men, he was certain.

Around them, people were scrambling out of the way, rushing down side streets or turning and fleeing the way they came. For Ben and his companions, there was no going back.

“Where’s your mage?” Ben called to the men.

“We don’t need a mage for you, boy,” snarled one of the soldiers.

Ben glanced at the girls. Corinne had drawn her hand axes. She must have lost her bow fighting Eldred. Amelie was clutching a tuft of wool she’d dug out of her pouch. Ben wasn’t sure what she could do with it. It didn’t appear very intimidating to him, but it didn’t matter. The path forward was obvious. They had to get through these men.

Ben swept his longsword from its scabbard and growled, “Flank me.”

Without waiting for a response, he charged the soldiers. Half a dozen men, Sanctuary men. If they were sent on this mission, they’d be well trained. That didn’t mean they’d be prepared for Ben. He’d trained with Saala, Rhys, and Jasper. He had nothing to lose.

Two soldiers stepped forward to meet his charge. They were confident, maybe in their skill, maybe in the chainmail that draped their bodies.

They hadn’t counted on mage-wrought steel.

Ben feinted at one man, freezing him in position then struck at the second. The man raised his sword to block his vulnerable face as Ben expected he would. The mage-wrought longsword sliced through the steel chain covering his chest like it was a leather tunic. Ben felt his blade punch deep.

He kept his momentum, running around the man, spinning the man’s body and then yanking out the longsword. The dead soldier flew toward a companion who roughly shoved the body aside. Ben was already in the midst of the others.

Before the next guard could react, Ben whipped his blade around and brought it across the man’s neck. A spray of bright red blood spurted out from the wound. The soldier flailed back.

A pop and crackle sounded and Ben heard a strangled cry behind him. He knew what Amelie’s wool was for now. He was familiar enough with it on a cold morning in the brewery, bundled up in his wool cloak and mittens. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get a shock when he grabbed the metal pots and kettles he used. He grinned. Three down.

The two guards facing him flinched at his grin, thinking it was for them.

Hoping the girls could keep the sixth man off his back, Ben darted forward. There was a big guard and a little one. Start with the big one first, he decided. He tried the same tactic he’d used on the first attack. He feinted at the little one then turned and thrust at the larger man.

These two were ready for it. The big soldier dropped into a defensive posture and parried Ben’s strike. The little one attacked with his heavy broadsword. Ben ducked and felt the wind from the blade whistle above his head.

The big man unleashed a powerful overhand strike and Ben barely scrambled out of the way. Steel scored the stone, leaving a trail of sparks behind it. Ben flicked his longsword at the little man to keep him back and whipped it around before the big man could recover from his swing.

Satisfyingly, Ben felt steel cut meat down to the bone. Blood poured down the man’s leg and he fell back, cursing. He dropped his broadsword and gripped his leg, trying to staunch the flow of blood. He was out of the fight for now.

Ben turned to face the smaller guard. The man squared his feet, a look of grim determination on his face. Then one of Corinne’s hand axes smashed into the top of his head. The soldier dropped to his knees.

Corinne was standing behind him, wobbling slightly on her feet. One hand was holding the side of her head. Ben could see blood leaking through her fingers. “Sorry. I got tired of waiting for you to finish him.”

“Apologies accepted,” responded Ben sarcastically. He looked at her wound. “You okay?”

“I’ll hold until we make the ship,” she responded.

Amelie walked up and pointed at the surviving guard. He’d collapsed to the cobblestones and was squeezing his leg, trying to close the wound Ben had cut into him. “We need to finish him. If Eldred finds him living, he’ll tell her which direction we went.”

Ben grimaced.

Amelie looked haggard, drained. He could tell she’d pushed herself to the limit. The wool was only a starting point. Expanding and manipulating the shock had taken too much of her will. Enough remained in her eyes though. He knew she was serious.

“We have to, Ben.”

He closed his eyes then reopened them. He strode toward the man, raising his longsword.

“I have a family,” the big soldier coarsely shouted between choking sobs. “Two little daughters.”

“I’m sorry,” murmured Ben. He thrust his sword into the man’s chest, slicing through the man’s chainmail and piercing his heart. The big man’s cries fell silent.

The companions started to trot down the street again and nearly stumbled at another blast. This one was only three or four blocks away.

“How does she know which way we went?” complained Corinne.

“Our blood,” groaned Ben. “Run.”

They tried, hobbling along quickly, but the girls were walking wounded.

Ben heard a man shouting ahead of them. “Hurry!”

His spirits soared. Rhys and Towaal were coming up the empty street. The rogue’s longsword was drawn and Towaal’s eyes blazed with focus.

The companions met and Corinne fell into Rhys’ arms. Towaal scanned the street behind them.

“Hurry,” urged the mage. “Milo is on the ship holding it for us. Get there and cut lines. The passage is paid. You must make it across the sea and find what is left of the Purple.”

“Take care of her, Ben,” choked Rhys. Emotion was thick in his voice.

Ben looked down at Corinne and then back up to his friend.

“What are you talking about, Rhys?” asked the huntress.

“There is no time for this,” barked Towaal. “We’ll slow her down. You must go to the ship. Now!”

Ben stepped forward and grabbed her arm. “No.”

The mage looked at his hand then met his gaze.

“You swore to follow us,” stated Ben. “I say we’re leaving here together.”

Towaal shook her head.

“We leave together, or we stand and fight together,” declared Ben, refusing to break eye contact.

Rhys slung Corinne over his shoulder, eliciting a pained grunt from her. “Good enough for me,” remarked the rogue. “Let’s go.”

Ben nodded and grabbed Amelie.

“I don’t need help,” she squawked.

He didn’t wait. He dropped her over his shoulder and began a steady jog toward the port. He heard Rhys and Towaal fall in behind him.

“You spent too much energy,” explained Ben. “You can’t run fast enough.”

“We’re going to talk about this,” grumbled Amelie. Her head was bouncing against his back.

Ben led the way at a near run. He could hear screams from behind them. Eldred couldn’t be more than a few blocks away. Their blood was scattered all over the city by now. She would find them.

They made it to the port before she did. Ben’s heart soared when he saw Milo sitting on the bridge of a narrow sloop. It was the only ship left tied to the dock. All the others had cut away and were making it slowly out of the harbor and into the deeper parts of the river. Ben guessed that from the water, it was obvious the explosions and disruption were coming closer.

“Cut lines!” yelled Ben.

The librarian’s assistant stood and held a hand above his eyes, looking in their direction.

“Tell the sailors to cut the damned lines, now!” hollered Rhys.

Finally, Milo seemed to understand and turned to call to the sailors on the deck. Painfully slow, men started scrambling up the mast and unwinding ropes from the hawsers.

They rushed up the gangplank, Towaal coming last. As soon as she got on deck, she spun and placed her hands on the gunwale, staring back at the city.

“Amelie, Milo!” she barked.

“I’m nearly spent,” admitted Amelie, moving to stand by Towaal.

The mage didn’t spare her a glance. “We’ll need everything you have. We must harden our wills and extend it to the rest of this ship. If we can’t get out of range before she sees us, I won’t be sufficient by myself. You have to do this. If we fail, this entire ship goes down, and we all die.”

Milo quietly moved into position beside the mage. Ben hoped the young man was capable of more than the tiny light he’d produced at the Hangman’s Noose.

Ben looked to Rhys and saw the rogue tending to Corinne’s head wound.

“It’s on them,” stated Rhys. “Help the sailors.”

Ben glanced around the deck and saw the men had finally gotten the ropes thrown off and oars pushed out. Barely perceptibly, they started to move. There was nothing for Ben to do but watch. He stood beside Amelie and gripped her hand. She squeezed back, but both of them kept their eyes on the docks. Another succession of explosions rattled the city and Ben heard screams. Smoke billowed and poured down the streets.

“She’s killing the guards when they try to stop her,” murmured Towaal. “Others as well.”

“Maybe she’ll wear herself out,” hoped Amelie.

“No,” responded Towaal grimly. “She’s doing something different, something dark. These deaths won’t tire her. They’ll only make her stronger.”

Ben swallowed. Black magic. Society of the Burning Hand.

They made it two-hundred paces from shore before the smoke parted and they saw the mage. Her bright white porcelain mask was like a lantern blazing through the gloom. Dozens of soldiers followed behind her, all wearing the plain steel Ben now knew marked them as Sanctuary men. He wasn’t worried about the soldiers, though. The mage strode to the edge of the dock, her black cloak blowing in the wind, flapping out over the water. She stood there, watching them. Slowly, ever so slowly, she raised a gloved hand. Then she paused, and her head tilted slightly to the side.

“Focus your will,” commanded Towaal. “Harden it against change. We have to maintain stasis when she attacks. Maybe the three of us will be enough.”

She didn’t sound confident. They were still too close. But Eldred didn’t attack. She just stood there, staring. She dropped her hand back within the folds of her cloak. Her voice sliced into Ben’s conscious. “Safe travels. We’ll meet again.”

Ben blinked. Why wasn’t she attacking?

“It’s a distraction,” declared Towaal. “Stay focused.”

Fifty more paces and the sloop started to pick up speed. Away from the buildings of the city, wind ruffled the sails above them.

Ben looked at his companions and saw them all staring at Eldred, waiting for her to make her move. Amelie was focused. He could see the muscles in her jaw clenched tight. He wanted to hold her, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t interrupt her and turn her attention from the black mage.

Towaal’s eyes burned with determination as well. He could tell that every part of her being was concentrated, sensing for what Eldred would try.

Standing on the other side of Towaal was Milo. He was leaning forward with his elbows on the gunwale. The librarian’s assistant was looking hard at Eldred too. His eyes sparkled with something. It wasn’t fear, like Ben would have thought, and his body didn’t carry the tension that the women did. He appeared resigned, as if he knew what was going to happen and there was nothing he could do to stop it. As Ben watched, the young man’s head bobbed toward the shore, like he was giving acknowledgement. He turned to Towaal.

“I don’t think she’s going to attack,” he said in his quiet voice.

“Don’t lose focus,” growled Towaal. “Until we are out of range, we aren’t safe. We don’t blink until she is out of sight.”

***

The next morning, Ben sat on the deck of the gently rocking ship. He watched the sun peek above the horizon, painting the clouds brilliant shades of yellow, pink, and orange. As they woke, one by one, his companions joined him. They sat quietly watching the light fill the sky.

Corinne, poking at the bandage wrapped around her head, was the first to break the silence. She asked the same thing they were all thinking, “Why didn’t she attack?”

No one had an answer.

“There’s too much we don’t know,” replied Towaal. “I believe her power stems from ancient practices, black magic, but I don’t understand it. I don’t think even the Veil was alive when these things were common. Obviously, she and her minions must have learned it somehow. We need to learn more about her powers.”

“We could ask Jasper,” suggested Ben.

“The thought meld!” exclaimed Amelie. “Ben’s right. We can contact Jasper. Eldred will be able to track us, but so what? She already knows where we are.”

Towaal nodded slowly. “Let’s do it.”

***

Almost three weeks later, the sea air was warm and thick. Huge white birds, wings spread wider than the height of a man, soared overhead.

Rhys gestured up at them. “Three more days then we should sight land. The birds don’t fly further out than that.”

Ben flapped the collar of his tunic, trying to force some airflow, and followed the bird’s flight with his eyes. “Is it any cooler on land?”

Rhys grinned. “Not in the slightest. It feels hot now because of the humidity. We’ll lose that as we get further from the coast.”

“That’s good at least,” grumbled Ben.

“We lose the humidity,” said Rhys, “but it gets hotter. Far into Qooten, the sun is hot enough to bake a man on a rock.”

“What?” exclaimed Ben, wondering if his friend was jesting.

Rhys nodded seriously. “Be careful where you sit.”

Ben frowned but didn’t respond. They stood in silence, watching the birds fly above the waves. The ladies and Milo joined them. Amelie looped her arm around Ben’s waist and hugged him tight. He enjoyed the closeness, even in the stifling heat.

Towaal noted the birds as well, Ben saw. Maybe she’d been to Ooswam and Qooten too.

“It would have been days before any ship worth sailing braved Hamruhg’s harbor,” remarked Towaal, “but we have to assume Eldred can track us. At best, we’ll have a week’s head start. At worst, maybe two days.”

Ben nodded. He’d surmised the same.

“The weapon the Purple was developing,” wondered Ben. “Could it defeat Eldred as well as the demons?”

Towaal smiled. “I’m betting everything on it. We must brave the deserts of Qooten, find the Purple, get the weapon from them, defeat Eldred with it, and then we come back to Alcott to face an army of demons in the north.”

“Sounds good.” Rhys chuckled. “I was worried this was going to get difficult.”

The End

Three books in, whew!

I’m an independent author, and it’s a tough world out there. If you enjoyed this book, please consider making it a little easier on me and go leave a review. Then go tell your friends. Now I have to thank some people.

At the end of Endless Flight, I thanked my wife. I have to thank her again. She didn’t marry a writer, but as I’ve gone further down this rabbit hole she has stuck right with me. I couldn’t do this if she didn’t allow me to hide out in my office, hammering away at the keyboard, while she handles the difficult parts of running our lives. We operate as a team. My part is to sit around in a comfortable chair exercising my imagination while she wages constant war against the destructive forces of our children. I also want to thank James Z for his beta reading. In Endless Flight, he saved you from implausible combat scenarios. In Dark Territory, he pointed out continuity errors and wasted story threads. I can’t imagine it is pleasant reading through an early, roughly edited version of my story.

A few people snuck into these pages as part of a prize for purchasing a paperback of Benjamin Ashwood. James Z, Jon S, and Sam S make appearances then are killed in suitably grim fashion. The book characters are only very loosely based on the real people. I’m fairly certain none of them are murderers or smugglers.

I’ve had the same professional team involved in all of my books. My cover and social media package were designed by Milos from Deranged Doctor Design (www.derangeddoctordesign.com). Milos did a great job of creating covers that match the feel of the books.  And inside the cover, Nicole Zoltack yet again did great work proof-reading (www.nicolezoltack.com). She’s proven that I know almost nothing about the English language. Tantor Media is my audiobook publisher. After reading this, I’m certain you’ll need an audiobook too. They can be found on all major online outlets. Finally, Eric Michael Summerer is the narrator for the audiobooks and he did truly amazing work.

For updates on the next volume or just to chat, please check my Facebook page www.facebook.com/accobble or my website https://accobble.com/. If you want updates and nothing else, I have a mailing list, which I only use for major news – no spam. In the future, I plan to use it for free content as well. You can unsubscribe at any time. You can sign up on my website.

Thank you for reading my book,

AC