Arthur Daigle's Blog - Posts Tagged "magic"

Homecoming

By Arthur Daigle

Soldiering was supposed to be filled with danger, excitement and riches, but Castmal was certain that walking belonged at the top of that list. Three years a soldier and he’d walked something over a thousand miles through mud, brush, rocks and whatever else the world could throw at him. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d ridden by wagon or boat, and it had never been for long. Travel might broaden the mind, but it certainly wore out the boots.

“When shall we reach our destination?” Balefire asked.

“Soon,” Castmal said. “I can see the lights from here.”

Normally he didn’t like talking to Balefire, but today he traveled alone. This road to Ironcliff went through farmland. The broad fields had been harvested long ago and farmhouses were few and far away. This late in the year there was little traffic so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion. It was also getting dark, so there would be even fewer people who might see Castmal talking to himself.

“It shall be good to find friends,” it said, “worthy allies to serve your rise to power.”

Castmal sighed. “I told you to cut it out. You’re going to get me killed talking like that.”

“Your concerns are warrantless,” Balefire told him. “Your future was set when we met. This journey will only add to your strength once we reach your friends and kinfolk. We can count on their support in the years to come.”

“I just hope they’re all right,” he said as he passed a farmhouse. “A lot can happen in three years. I’m proof of it.”

“If your kin are in danger we will protect them,” it said with its usual boundless confidence. “If they have left for greener pastures we will find them. If they have gone to the next world, we will mourn them and avenge their passing.”

Balefire no doubt meant that to be reassuring, but it didn’t know IronCliff. Castmal had grown up in the city and knew the heights and depths it could reach. A hundred thousand people in one place left a lot of room for thieves, assassins and other vermin to hide, like serpents in a wheat field. He hadn’t worried about what might happen to the people he loved when he’d joined the army, but now that he was coming home the thought was foremost in his mind.

Ironcliff hadn’t been dangerous for Castmal when he’d lived there. One look at him convinced most people to leave him alone, and that had been before he’d joined the army. Tall, strong, with dark hair and scars alone his jaw, he was an intimidating sight. Fighting had only added to that. The worn clothes he’d once had were replaced with chain leggings and shirt, a steel breastplate and a shoulder guard on his left arm. He’d kept his long sword and two daggers when he left the service. The weapons might arouse suspicion in other cities, but not in IronCliff. Castmal wore a cotton uniform and cloak over his armor, a backpack and a leather strap wrapped tight over his left arm from the elbow to his fingers. The strap never came off around people.

“Are those lights in the distance Ironcliff?” Balefire asked.

“That’s home,” Castmal answered.

“We will not reach it until well after nightfall,” Balefire cautioned.

“Yes, mother,” he said sarcastically. “I’m not going to travel at night. I’ll find a place to stay, and you need to keep quiet.”

“I was quiet for centuries. It is overrated.”

Castmal looked at the farmhouses along the road. There weren’t many to choose from, and most of those were already sealed tight. He knew better than to knock on closed doors at night. The countryside wasn’t as dangerous as Ironcliff, but there were dangers that crept out under the cover of darkness. Only fools let in strangers at this hour.

That put Castmal in a predicament. He could drive off enemies with a look, but that would close doors, too. He’d rather not spend another night under the stars. It didn’t help that he’d run out of food this morning.

There was a farmhouse not far ahead with an open door. A young man sat outside sharpening a hoe with a steel file. His clothes were a simple cotton tunic and trousers, and he looked bored. The next nearest house was miles down the road, making this his best bet.

“Greetings,” he called. The farmer looked up in surprise. Castmal stopped a healthy distance from the man and said, “Forgive the intrusion, but can you spare space on your floor for a man in need? I wouldn’t ask, but it’s getting dark and I don’t trust these roads at night.”

The farmer looked him up and down. “I can’t see anyone bothering you, night or day.”

Castmal shrugged. “I’ve learned not to tempt fate. I can pay for the help, provided you accept trade.”

A young woman appeared at the door. Castmal guessed she was the farmer’s wife, and judging by her belly they’d have a son or daughter before the month ended. She asked, “What kind of pay?”

Castmal dug into his backpack and pulled out a handful of furs. “Rabbit and squirrel. I caught them earlier this week.”

The farmer and his wife came over to look at the furs. The farmer studied Castmal’s armor while the woman ran her fingers over the furs. She smiled and said, “These are good. I can make mittens from these.”

“We can put you up for the night and feed you, but as you say, the only place to sleep is the floor,” the farmer told him.

“That’s generous.” Castmal kept his face neutral, but he was surprised how quickly they let him into their home. In his experience people ran inside and barred the doors when armed men appeared.

The couple let him inside and the wife quickly put the furs away. The farmhouse was a small, one room building. Farm tools and clothing took up one corner opposite a bed with a straw mattress. The kitchen was a brick oven against the back way. There were bags of dried food and clay pots filled with local spices and pickled fish.

“You’re back from the war?” the farmer asked. He offered Castmal a stool while he and his wife sat on the bed.

Castmal sat down, only too glad to stop moving. He slid off his backpack and set it on the floor. “I was mustered out two months ago.”

“Is it going well?” he asked.

“Wars never go well.” Castmal would have liked to end it at that, but the couple looked eager for more. They’d probably let him in so they could hear news of the outside world. If words could smooth his stay then he’d talk.

“The fighting is a mess,” he said. “We lose men and the Principalities lose men. I suppose someone’s keeping track and one day they’ll decide who won, but for those of us doing the fighting you win if you live to see the sun rise.”

“You must have seen interesting places, though,” he pressed.

“They’re not interesting after they’ve been fought over.” Castmal looked at the fire in the brick oven. It reminded him of the last town he’d been in before he left the army. “Soldiers take whatever they can find. They have to when supplies don’t come in. All the animals are killed for food, wild and domestic. Wrecked homes are broken up for firewood. If there’s anything of value it’s sold for food. The locals run away if they can and beg for help if they can’t.”

The farmer whistled. “You couldn’t pay me enough for that.”

“What did they pay you?” his wife asked. Her husband looked at her, and she held up one of the furs. “You said you’ve no coin. I’m happy with the furs, but I would think you’d barely be able to walk under the weight of your wages.”

“My wages.” Bitterness crept into Castmal’s voice. “I was promised ten silver pieces per month and three meals a day. I’m owed three hundred silver pieces back pay, and there are better odds of me flying than ever seeing it. As for the food, we did well if they fed us three meals a week. We foraged for the rest. Creator help me, there were days I wondered whose side our generals were on.”

The farmer’s wife handed Castmal a wood bowl filled with oatmeal and a small wood plate with two eggs. “Sounds beastly. I know it’s not as much as you’d like, or need, but it’s what we can spare.”

Castmal took the food and smiled at her. “This is good food for the little I gave you. Eggs. It’s been a long time since I had eggs.”

Castmal wolfed down the food, glad to have a full stomach. He was halfway done with the simple meal when the farmer said, “But you must have taken money from the enemy.”

“Let him eat!” his wife chastised him.

Castmal ate one of the eggs and said, “Principalities soldiers were paid as poorly as we were. They had few coins and no jewelry. We sold what little we found to merchants for food. We used the weapons we took from the enemy when our own swords broke.” He tapped his long sword’s handle and said, “This used to belong to an enemy officer.”

“Don’t suppose you found any treasure,” the farmer said.

It took a lot of effort not to look at his left arm. “Nothing I could sell.”

They’d found treasure in the early days of the war, looting enemy homes and castles for anything of value. Officers had a bad habit of taking the best pickings for themselves, so Castmal and his fellow soldiers had to be quick. ‘No sir, nothing here, sir’. Castmal’s captain, an aristocrat named Becack, had suspected them of holding back loot and ordered the men searched. That had ended badly.

Castmal didn’t tell the farmer that, or any number of horrible things that had happened. You can’t explain to a person what war was really like. The long weeks of boredom between battles, the intense fear waiting for an enemy, or how even a farm field can become a place of horror when a battle begins. Nothing in normal life could compare to the gut wrenching fear of a fellow soldier screaming, ‘Wizard!’ before fire and death rained down around you.

“Were there monsters?” the farmer asked.

“Husband!” his wife said sharply. “You’ll have to forgive him, he seems to have left his manners outside.”

“There were monsters,” Castmal said. He finished his food and handed back the plate and bowl. “There were wyverns and chimera. We fought a hydra once. The blasted thing wouldn’t die. Finally ended up burying it alive when we collapsed a stone tower on it. Not sure if it’s still breathing down there, but I wouldn’t risk digging it up. Monsters weren’t what we really worried about.”

“No?” the farmer asked. He leaned in closer.

“There were never many of them on the front,” Castmal explained. “Monsters eat too much. You could feed a platoon with what one monster ate, and nothing but meat would do. If they didn’t get fed they’d attack their own men. They never followed orders well regardless of what the beast tamers say. Monsters panicked if there was a big fire and they ran if a fight got too serious. Smart that way.”

Castmal chuckled. “Funny thing happened once with a mimic, though. The thing looked like a big wooden chest with a fancy metal lock. Real convincing. It wasn’t working for the Principalities, just saw the fighting and snuck in for a free meal of horsemeat after a failed cavalry charge. The fool thing stayed too long, though, and my captain spotted it. He though he’d found an enemy pay chest and stuck it rich.”

“What happened?” the wife asked.

“It kept pretending it was just a chest. The captain couldn’t get it open, so he ordered some men to get an ax and cut it open. The mimic heard that and ran off screaming. It knocked the captain over and ran right over him! We laughed so hard a company of crossbowmen came over and then some lancers. The captain kept ordering us to shut up and we just laughed harder.”

The couple laughed. It was funny, one of the few happy memories Castmal had from the war. Happy times were few and far between back then. Of course getting back to Ironcliff was no guarantee things would be better, but they’d have a hard time being worse.

Worried by what the answer might be, Castmal asked, “Has much happened in the city?”

The farmer shrugged. “Taxes went up a couple times to pay for the war. It’s all we can do to keep a roof over our heads and food on our plates. There are executions, sometimes three a week. A lot of thieves end their lives hanging from a tree.”

Three executions a week was normal for Ironcliff and no threat to Castmal’s friends and families. They stayed clear of that kind of trouble. But there were bigger threats that could sweep up the innocent with the guilty. He asked, “No plagues or riots? No fires?”

“No, Creator be praised,” the farmer’s wife said.

“Good,” Castmal said. “I was worried a refugee might have brought in a plague. A sword’s no good against that.”

The farmer’s wife smiled and got up. “I have a blanket you can lay on, and you’re welcome to sleep by the fire. The bricks will stay hot most of the night.”

“Generous of you,” Castmal said. He looked at the door and asked, “Mind if I step out for a moment? I like to look around before I go to sleep. Old habit.”

The farmer nodded. “Feel free.”

Castmal got up and opened the door. He studied the farmland, looking for threats. It was foolish to think something would happen here. He heard only the wind and some bugs. There was nothing to see but farmland as flat as a table, and the stubbly on the field offered no cover for attackers. Now that he thought of it, there was no one who might attack. The Principalities was far away. Monsters wouldn’t come this close to a city. There were bandits, of course, but they attacked people with money. One look was enough to tell that none of these farmers were prosperous enough to bother robbing. But Castmal had done this every night for three years, and likely would until he died.

The farmer walked up alongside him. “Crickets are singing. They’ll be gone when we get a strong frost.”

Castmal glanced at the man, not sure why he’d said that.

The farmer looked at the setting sun. “They only live a year. They spend all their time in one field, then one day there’s a frost and they’re gone.” He looked ashamed. “I don’t want to be like that. I love my wife, but I don’t want to spend my whole life here, never moving, never seeing anything but these fields.”

The good reception made sense now. The farmer didn’t just want news. He wanted more than his simple life here, and hearing stories was the closest he was likely going to get. It wasn’t surprising. Castmal had been seduced by the same dreams of wealth and adventure, as had many of the men he’d served with. Some had joined out of desperation, running away from debts or the law, but most had been tricked into thinking they were going on to glory instead of horror and deprivation.

“I’d give anything for the life you have,” Castmal told him. “Anything to take away the last three years.”

The farmer stared at him. “You want this?”

“Yes. So would the men I’d served with. I’m going home broke, but some of them are returning crippled. A lot of them aren’t returning. I’m not even sure what I’m coming home to. You have a livelihood here with your farm. You have a wife and a child on the way. You have a future. I’m not sure I do.”

“Ahem.”

“Did you hear something?” the farmer asked.

Castmal rapped his left arm against the doorframe. “No. I…wait.”

“What is it?”

“The cricket’s stopped singing.”

A cloud of fetid air washed over them, heavy with the stench of rotting flesh that Castmal had become familiar with. The farmer coughed and covered his mouth and nose with his shirtsleeve. Castmal drew his long sword and stepped away from the farmhouse. He couldn’t see the source of this stench, but it wasn’t natural.

The sun was nearly set, but a full moon offered at least a little light. Castmal peered into the darkness. He heard something moving, crushing the wheat stubble underfoot. There were one, two, three things moving out in the fields. The footsteps were irregular and make no effort to avoid making noise. The stink got worse, and Castmal saw three shapes that might be men shuffling through the fields ever closer to the farmhouse.

“Inside, now!” Castmal ordered the farmer.

The farmer backed away. “I—”

“Do you have a weapon?” Castmal demanded.

“A pitchfork,” he said.

“Get inside and grab it. Bar the door if you want to see the morning!”

The farmer ran inside and slammed the door shut. Castmal heard a thunk as the door was barred, followed by the farmer and his wife speaking in worried voices. The shambling forms were a hundred feet out and coming closer. One tripped on the stubble and got up slowly. They weren’t moving fast, but they weren’t stopping.

Castmal unwrapped his left arm to reveal a silvery gauntlet covering his arm from elbow to fingertips. It was a masterpiece, beautifully embellished with a dragon.

“Finally,” Balefire said.

“We’re earning our meal tonight,” Castmal said. He stepped away from the house to give himself room to move. “Zombies. I count three.”

“I despise these abominations,” Balefire said in disgust. The gauntlet warmed up and flowed like melted wax, oozing down his arm. He held up his left hand as the silvery liquid reformed into a short sword with a dragon emblem on the blade. It lit up like a torch, providing much needed light.

The light showed that Castmal was right. The three shambling things had been men once. Their clothes were muddy rags. Their skin was discolored and torn. One of the zombies had no eyes, but that didn’t slow it down as it advanced on Castmal. They would be on him soon.

Castmal charged the closest zombie, hoping to dispatch it before all three were on him together. The nightmarish thing tried to grab him, its movements slow and awkward. He stepped to the left and swung his long sword in a low arc. His aim was good and he took off one of its legs at the knee. The monster fell, but no sooner had it landed than it crawled after him.

Zombies didn’t die like men or animals. Their organs were just dead weight, so a blow to the chest or stomach was worthless. They couldn’t bleed to death, either. Castmal had fought their kind before and knew he had to behead them, and the best way to do that was to cripple them first.

“The others are coming on your right,” Balefire said.

Castmal brought his long sword down on the crawling zombie, taking its head off with one blow. The monstrosity slumped to the ground as the second and third zombies came at Castmal. He lashed out and took off one of his attacker’s hands with his long sword, then followed up by driving Balefire into its belly.

“Burn!” he ordered.

Balefire blazed with a terrible white light, cremating the zombie from the inside out. The light spilled out of its mouth and open wounds as it arched its back. Then decaying flesh and bones alike burned away. There was nothing left of the zombie but ashes on the field.

The last zombie grabbed Castmal by his left arm. It pulled him to the ground and leaned over him, its jaw opened wide for a bite to his throat. He brought his legs up and kicked it in the head with both feet. That was enough to knock the zombie on its back. They both scrambled to their feet, but Castmal was faster. He swung his long sword and took off the last zombie’s head before it could stand.

“Well done, my King.” Balefire said.

“I told you to stop that!” he shouted. He sheathed his long sword and pointed at his brow. “Do you see a crown here?”

“A temporary situation. I served kings and was buried with one. When you freed me from that wretched tomb I knew I served another. One day you will rule.”

Castmal grumbled and bent down to inspect the last zombie he’d defeated. “There are rope marks on the neck and wrists. This man was hung. He’s not too far gone, either. A necromancer must have stolen the body after he was executed and animated it.”

“Check the other one.”

The first zombie he’d killed was in better shape. “No rope marks or wounds. No signs of disease, either. He was pretty young. I think this one may have drown.”

“Both are freshly dead, no older than a week,” Balefire said.

Castmal rubbed his chin. “Zombies are mindless, but they serve their maker. Why would a necromancer want to kill these people? They have nothing to steal.”

Castmal’s mind raced. “Could be someone wants the farmland. It’s got to be worth gold, and if the owners are dead it could be claimed. It might be the work of the Principalities. No one can spread fear like a necromancer, and killing farmers would keep food from soldiers still on the front. Or the necromancer might want bodies and not be picky how they die.”

“Or the necromancer is insane and there is no reason,” Balefire suggested. “Madness is an occupational hazard in their profession.”

“Yeah,” he said. The air was still foul, more so after he’d cut open the zombies, but he heard nothing. There was no sign that he was still in danger, but he kept both his long sword and Balefire drawn. “I’d bet gold to silver than whoever made these is close by. They’d have to be to recover the zombies after the attack. Wouldn’t do to let them wander around and be found.”

“Zombies can’t follow complex orders. He could order them to kill the farmer and wife, but they wouldn’t remember a second order to come back afterwards.”

“Why do you say he? Could be a woman who did this.”

“This is the fourth necromancer I have faced. They’re always men.”

“Then he’s going to come pick up his zombies,” Castmal said. “When he gets here he’ll find them in pieces. Has to figure if someone took them down then he’s in danger. You think he’ll run? Running would be smart.”

“It wouldn’t be smart,” Balefire said. “If he killed the family and left with their bodies, few could say who or what did the deed. But with witnesses and destroyed zombies, there would be no doubt who was responsibility for the attack. The authorities would begin a manhunt of epic proportions, turning over every stone until they found him. The punishment for necromancy varies by kingdom. It starts at burning at the stake and gets worse from there.”

“So he’s got no choice but to fight,” Castmal said. “I hate fighting people with no way out. They do stupid things. Dim your light. We’ll wait for him and finish it here.”

As Balefire’s light diminished, there was a creak behind them. Castmal turned to find the farmer opening his door. Before the man could say a word, Castmal shouted, “I said keep that door closed! This isn’t over, and it’s going to get worse!”

The door slammed shut.

“We could be in a lot of trouble,” Castmal said. “The necromancer could attack the farmer and his wife, or one of the other farms here. I’d have to defend them and fight him at the same time. Can’t call on the farmers living here for help, either. Poor weapons, untrained, they’d be butchered.”

“A bad situation to be sure, but we will be victorious. Honestly, though, you don’t need two swords even for a job this important.”

“If men saw me using you, they’d kill me without a second’s hesitation to have you for themselves. If they don’t see me with a sword at all then some idiot would pick a fight, maybe try to rob me. You stay covered up and quiet unless you’re needed.”

Castmal waited in the darkness. The ghostly light from the full moon helped a little, but not much. He didn’t hear anything approaching. The stink of the dead zombies clung to him, making his stomach roll. He tried to guess how much time had passed. Clocks were rare even in cities, but there were some in Ironcliff so he was used to thinking in terms of hours. An hour crept by, then two.

Ironcliff was still visible in the distance as a collection of lights. There were fewer of them burning at such a late hour, but it was still a beacon in the night. He thought again of his home city, of the family he’d left behind. Oddly his mind kept coming back to his favorite restaurant, a nameless, dimly lit little hole in the wall that cooked the best meals he’d ever had. Of course with no money he couldn’t eat there when he got home.

There was no getting around it; he was coming back empty handed. He had no money and nothing he could sell except his armor and long sword. Three years of his life gone and he didn’t have a coin to show for his sacrifices. How could he face his family?

He had Balefire, but he dared not sell it. The sword was alive. You didn’t sell living, thinking beings. But even if he was that depraved, he was smart enough to know that anyone who might buy it would prefer to kill him and take it off his body.

His old captain Becack had tried to kill him. When he’d ordered the men searched for holding back loot, he saw the leather strap covering Castmal’s arm. Becack guessed something was under it besides a wound and tore the strap off. One look at Balefire and the fool’s eyed had lit up with greed, and drew his sword. It had been all Castmal could do to fend off Becack’s furious attacks. The other soldiers had saved him and made it look like a sniper killed the captain.

But Castmal had more immediate problems. “You’ve fought necromancers. What can I expect?”

“I thought you’d fought zombies before?”

“Zombies, but not necromancers.” Castmal was silent for a moment before he said, “It happened before I found you. The Principalities hired a necromancer and had him animate the bodies of our dead, then sent them at us. Happened three times in a week.”

“That must have been horrible. What happened to the necromancer?”

“It ended when a Principalities platoon came under a flag of truce and gave us the necromancer’s head. They said they weren’t party to hiring him, and once they realized what was going on they did something about it.”

“An ending worthy of such a fiend.”

“What can I expect from him?” Castmal asked again.

Balefire’s voice took a harsh tone when he spoke. “Most of their magic is devoted to creating the undead. They have dangerous combat magic as well, but the range is limited.”

“Arrow range or knife range?”

“Their magic reach as far as a thrown rock, but does terrible damage. I will offer warning if I recognize any of his spells. Hold back nothing against this foe, for he will show you no mercy in battle or in death.”

That was a possibility Castmal hadn’t considered. If he died the necromancer would animate his body and send him to kill others. He’d be nothing but a mindless puppet with the necromancer holding the strings. The only mercy would be that without his mind he couldn’t control Balefire.

“He’s here.”

Castmal crouched down at Balefire’s warning. “Where?”

“You see those light coming up the road? They’re called corpse fire, a necromancer’s way to light the land. He can see through them, too.”

Castmal stared down the road and saw pinpricks of light floating at head height. There were five of them, bobbing up and down as they came closer. They were a mile away and moving lazily toward him.

“Not much of a rush,” Castmal said. With his enemy so far off he stood up straight again. “Figure he knows something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s too far away to see the zombies or the farmhouse they were going to attack.”

The corpse fires came closer. They spread out across the field, moving at a leisurely rate. Castmal saw figures moving far behind them. There were five of them, four shambling and one walking more smoothly.

“He’s got more zombies. Those corpse fires, can they hurt me? Can I hurt them?”

“No to both questions.”

Castmal frowned as the corpse fires spread out farther. “Doubt we can avoid them. No place to hide except the farmhouse. We’re going to have to fight them head on.”

The corpse fires, zombies and necromancer came ever closer, showing no sign of haste or alarm. It was tough odds even with Balefire. The thought that he might die within sight of Ironcliff disgusted Castmal. He’d survived terrible battles for years. To die so close to home seemed wrong. And if he died the farmer and his wife would be the necromancer’s next victims.

The corpse fires came close enough for Castmal to see them clearly. They looked like flaming skulls hovering through the air. One of them floated over the first zombie Castmal had destroyed. The other four circled about until they found the second destroyed zombie. Then one saw Castmal.

He smiled at it. “Surprise.”

That corpse fire backed away while the others approached. Two studied the farmhouse and the other three circled Castmal.

“You’re sure I can’t kill these things?”

“Quite certain.”

The corpse fires kept their distance as the necromancer and his four undead minions came ever closer. They still didn’t hurry. That annoyed Castmal. The necromancer had proof that two of his zombies were destroyed, and the third was missing and presumed dead. This called for action! But the necromancer continued his stroll like a man on a shopping trip. It was almost offensive how little this seemed to bother him.

The zombies and their master finally got to within thirty feet of Castmal before they stopped. Two corpse fires hovered over their master while the other three stayed by Castmal. The four zombies were far more decomposed than the three he’d already face, missing their eyes and skin. It was a good bet they wouldn’t last the week even if Castmal didn’t defeat them. The necromancer kept behind his minions, but Castmal still got a good look at him. He wore billowing robes and leather boots. But his boyish face caught Castmal off guard.

“I thought he’d be older,” Castmal whispered.

“A common misconception,” Balefire whispered back. “Few necromancers live long enough to get gray hair.”

“You were right, it’s a man. I owe you a beer.” Balefire chuckled in response.

“This is annoying,” the necromancer declared. He had a petulant expression and an annoying voice that made Castmal want to slap him.

“We went past annoying a while ago,” Castmal replied. He considered the reasons why the necromancer might be here. The man didn’t look insane, just spoiled. That meant this night’s horror was probably over money. “You’re not getting paid enough for this.”

The necromancer’s look of irritation slipped for a moment to show surprise and a touch of fear. But he recovered quickly. “And what are you being paid to die tonight?”

“Me? I got two eggs.”

“Eggs? Eggs!”

Castmal nodded. “Eggs. And some oatmeal. Truth is I’d have done it for free. Do you know where I’ve been?”

The necromancer folded his arms across his chest. “You’re another washed up old soldier, battle fodder for whatever war is popular this year. Your kind infests the roads like lice on a peasant. No one cares where you’ve been and no one will care when you die.”

“Can you say otherwise? Is anybody going to care when you don’t come home tonight?”

The necromancer’s face flushed red. “I’ll show them! All of them! My parents, my classmates and the people who laughed at me! They’ll know my name and they will weep for years to come!”

“Don’t lie to me. I saw the look on your face when I guessed this was about money. You have excuses, but if you’re getting paid then that’s all they are. Kid, I’ve put enough men in the ground to fill a cemetery. I took down three of your rot bags without getting a scratch. Four more aren’t going to save you. I’m giving you a chance to be smart. Walk away now and this ends.”

Hopefully it would end in a platoon of Ironcliff soldiers chasing the necromancer down and hanging him. Castmal wondered if the fool had thought that far ahead.

“You’re right on one count,” the necromancer sneered. “This ends.”

The four zombies came at him while the necromancer stayed back. They were close enough that they’d come at him in a group rather than one at a time. But they were clumped together, and he could use that.

Castmal charged the zombies and hacked at the first one’s leg. He didn’t take it off, but he cut through enough muscles that the zombie fell over. The next zombie stumbled over the first one. The other two went around the pile, giving Castmal enough time to attack the fallen zombies and decapitate one. The two still standing attacked, and he backed away and stabbed one with Balefire.

“Burn!” Castmal shouted. The zombie went up like a torch, burning away to ashes in seconds. The necromancer shielded his eyes from the sudden light. That left Castmal to fight only two zombies and the necromancer, and he could handle three to one odds.

The necromancer spoke strange, forgotten words. His eyes turned black and he threw back his head. A gurgling noise bubbled from his throat before he vomited out a stream of black steaming liquid like a geyser. The filth stunk like boiling tar, and there was far more than his stomach could possibly contain. Castmal jumped out of the way as the glistening, ebony stream splashed where he’d been standing. It struck the two zombies on the ground, one dead again and the other struggling to its feet. Both dissolved under the caustic spray and left behind nothing but bones.

“Two more behind you,” Balefire warned.

Castmal backed away from the necromancer and what he’d thought was the last zombie. He glanced behind him and saw two zombies coming from up the road. The necromancer’s slow pace made sense now. He’d directed two of his undead minions to attack Castmal from behind and waited until they were in place. But the attack’s timing was off. The zombies were coming in two groups and could be handled separately.

The necromancer stumbled away. The spell had clearly taken a lot out of him and he needed time to recover. Castmal charged the last zombie in front of its master and hacked off its left arm. He tried to push past it and get to the necromancer, but the thing grabbed him with its remaining arm and tried to bite him. Its teeth didn’t break through his chain shirt, but the force of the bite bruised his arm. Castmal stabbed it in the face with Balefire and forced it off, then took off its remaining hand. His next blow removed its head.

The necromancer shook himself like a wet dog and stood straight. He pulled a thighbone from inside his cloak and pointed it at Castmal. The necromancer spoke more foul, forgotten words, and the bone began to glow.

“Cover your eyes,” Balefire said.

Castmal wrapped his right arm over his face and turned away just as the thighbone shattered into a cloud of long, sharp bone splinters. They hit Castmal like a wave of nails. Most broke against his armor, but some drove through his chain leggings and shirt, and two cut gashes across his forehead.

“Die!” the necromancer screamed. “Just die, you pathetic, washed up tramp!”

Castmal pulled his arm away and wiped the blood off his brow. The last two zombies were almost in range to attack. Whether he faced the necromancer of his zombies, the other could strike him from behind. But the necromancer was the bigger threat, and more importantly, he could feel fear.

Howling a battle cry, Castmal charged the necromancer. His enemy cast another spell and produced a shadowy viper ten feet long. The magic snake hissed and threw itself into the air at Castmal, its jaws wide enough to fit his entire head inside. Castmal swung Balefire and jammed the blade through its head, pinning its jaws shut. He followed with a stroke of his long sword that cut the serpent in half. The snake turned to a viscous slime that splatted across Castmal and the farm field.

The necromancer’s jaw dropped in surprise and he ran with Castmal a step behind. But the necromancer wore no heavy armor, and with each step he put more distance between them. Once he had enough breathing room, he cast another spell. His hands twisted like squid tentacles and he cried out in pain. His fingernails suddenly stretched out until they were a foot long and glowed sickly green.

Castmal swung his long sword at the necromancer’s chest. He needed only a glancing blow to draw blood, and a solid hit could cripple his foe. The necromancer countered the blade with his freakish claws. Sparks flew as he stopped the sword cold. The necromancer swung his other hand at Castmal’s face. Castmal blocked with Balefire, and neither the magic sword nor his enemy’s claws gave way.

For a moment the two pressed against one another, swords and claws locked together. Castmal would have bet anything that he could knock over the necromancer, but the fiend held his ground. Neither budged an inch.

“Why kill these people?” Castmal shouted at him.

“Someone had to be first,” the necromancer snarled in reply. “They’ll all die, everyone here, screaming and begging and—”

“The zombies are catching up to us!” Balefire warned.

The necromancer stared at the sword in confusion. It was all Castmal needed. He stepped back and the necromancer stumbled forward. Castmal went left and swept his long sword at the man’s ankle. It wasn’t more than a glancing blow, but enough to cut through the man’s boot and his Achilles’ tendon. The necromancer screamed in pain and fell forward as his leg gave way. He reached out with both hands to break his fall, which kept him from blocking an attack with his claws. Castmal drove Balefire through the necromancer’s gut and pulled it out again in a flash. The necromancer fell to the ground.

“Behind you!”

Castmal whirled around to find both zombies within arm’s reach. He swung his long sword at a zombie’s head, but his aim was off and the blade sunk deep into its shoulder. The two zombies pummeled him with their fists and drove him to his knees. Castmal hacked through a zombie’s knees with Balefire. The monster fell backward, and when it did it took the long sword with it, pulling the weapon from Castmal’s hands. The other zombie grabbed him by his neck and throttled him. He rocked back and forth, trying to break free. He pulled at the zombie’s hands, and to his horror he tore off its fingers.

Behind him, the necromancer pulled himself to his knees. He pressed both hands against his wound and began to cast another spell.

Castmal drove Balefire into the standing zombie, but his throat hurt so much he couldn’t order Balefire to burn. The zombie clubbed Castmal with its arms. He pulled Balefire free and plunged it into the zombie’s knee. The zombie fell on top of him and he threw it off. Both zombies were down but not destroyed, and they crawled after Castmal.

The necromancer continued with his spell. He stopped twice, gasping in pain, but did not stop. Castmal ran at the necromancer and reversed his grip on Balefire so it pointed down. He grabbed the hilt with both hands and kicked the necromancer over, then drove the sword through the necromancer’s heart. The necromancer gasped and fell to the ground, finally dead. The crippled zombies slumped over at their master’s death, and the corpse fires winked out, plunging the land into darkness once more.

“How badly are you hurt?” Balefire asked.

Castmal slumped down to the ground next to the necromancer’s body. He croaked, “Give me a minute.”

He put the sword down and rubbed his throat. Castmal pulled the bone needles from the necromancer’s thighbone weapon out of his arm. His arms and face hurt, and he likely looked like he’d wrestled an ogre. He was bruised and cut in a couple places, but he’d been hurt worse than this before.

“Why didn’t you burn the necromancer when you first struck me with him?” Balefire asked.

“Need, need his face. Someone might know who he is, and they can’t identify a pile of ashes.”

Balefire turned into a silvery liquid again and slithered up Castmal’s left arm. It reformed into a gauntlet and asked, “Do you need a healer?”

“No. I need a week to rest.” He laughed, his voice sounding harsh. “And I’m not getting it.”

“What do you mean?”

Castmal struggled to his feet and stumbled over to the two zombies. He grabbed the hilt of his long sword and put his foot on the dead monster’s chest, then pulled hard. The blade came out so fast he nearly fell over. He stood on unsteady legs and pointed the sword at the necromancer. “Someone hired him to do this. Someone knew who he was and what he did, and they hired him anyway. They did it outside my home city. There’s a price to pay for that.”

Staggering back to the farmhouse, he asked, “You know what we’re going to do? You and I are going back to the farmer and his wife, and we are going to tell them everything is okay, that this is over. And we won’t be lying, because we are not walking away from this mess. In the morning we going home and find anyone who will still talk to me, and I’m going to tell them what happened here.”

“Does that include the authorities?”

Laughing even though it hurt, Castmal said, “They couldn’t even feed me when I fought a war for them!” Thinking better of it, he said, “I’ll tell them. If I don’t the farmer will. But I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for them to fix this. You, and I, and my friends and family, we are going to find who is behind this. We are going to hunt them down no matter where they are or who they are, and we are going to kill them.”

Balefire glowed brighter, and its voice was heavy with pride. “As my King wills it, so shall it be done.”

Most goblins were a little mad, a touch off in the head, but Yips was in a category all his own. The red skinned goblin let his orange hair grow long and wild, and wore nothing except damaged trousers. People who met him could see in his eyes that the goblin had a screw loose with that maniacal grin and the way he stared.

The town of Radcliff had long ago (and reluctantly) accepted Yips’ shortcomings. They’d tried evicting him many times, and on several occasions men had attacked him. Both ended badly, and afterwards town leaders had offered a truce of sorts. Yips would stay at the outskirts of town and no one would bother him. On good days Yips remembered his end of the deal.

Today was not a good day.

“Tortoise races,” Yips muttered as he scampered through the alleys of Radcliff. “I could arrange tortoise races and take bets. Everyone would get bored and wander off before the races ended, and I could keep the wagers. It’s brilliant! I need to find which bars tortoises hang out in and hire them.”

Radcliff was a logging town that sent timber down the Not At All Magnificent Rolling River to Sunset City, and was totally without tortoises. It also lacked dragons, llamas, cheetahs and cantaloupes. This was a problem because most of Yips’ plans involved one or more of these things. As a result most of his plans failed utterly, although there was some excitement when he’d invited the dragon Scald to settle in Radcliff. That had been three years ago, and not only had town leaders been unable to get rid of the dragon in that time, but Scald was also way behind in her rent.

Yips dug through a pile of garbage in search of valuables. His hypothetical tortoise helpers would no doubt demand pay upfront. He came up with a moldy apple and chicken bones, which he ate. He was halfway through his revolting meal when a rare glimpse of common sense got through Yips’ mind.

“Wait, I haven’t seen a single tortoise in Radcliff, and I’d need two to have a race. No, no, I need someone else to help me. Hmm, who could help?”

He snapped is fingers and smiled. “Aardvarks! That’s perfect!”

Yips ran off into the night, babbling to himself as he went. “Aardvarks would be much better. They dig tunnels, and once they were underground there’d be no way for people to tell whether they’re even going in the right direction, or going anywhere at all. I could still keep the bets, and I’m sure aardvarks work cheaper than tortoises.”

It was looking very much like tonight would go like most of Yips’ nights. He would run himself ragged looking for animals, plants, things or people who were nowhere near the dingy city, assuming they existed at all. By morning he’d forget whatever had driven him and find a new obsession, and then another after that. The people of Radcliff had decided Yips was mostly harmless, and most of the time they were right.

This night was different. Yips heard men whispering not far from him. That was odd, as it was so late that few men were out besides criminals. Yips smiled and followed the sound to its source. Maybe they knew where he could find aardvarks.

He found the men and was instantly disappointed. There were four of them dressed in black and armed with short swords, clubs or daggers. Yips nearly wrote them off as thieves when he saw they all wore gold amulets around their necks. The amulets showed a pair of open blue eyes, with lapis for the coloring. That was unusual. Even stranger, one man carried a bundle of papers and wood bucket.

“The town watch won’t come through here again for an hour,” one of them said.

A second man shook his head. “That’s not enough time. They’ll see the flier and tear it down before the people can read it. We’ll have to put it up at the edge of the alleys so he won’t see them right away. Morning’s light will make them easily seen.”

“What about your magic inscriptions?” asked the first. “The guards can’t tear them down.”

“But they can paint over them. I haven’t found a way around that yet.”

“It takes a lot out of him to do that,” added a third man. “He’ll be useless for days if he puts up too many magic versions of the papers.”

Annoyed, the second man snapped, “I’m doing the best I can.”

Yips snuck in closer as the men took out a brush and slathered paste from the bucket onto a section of wall. They pressed a sheet of paper onto the paste and smoothed it out, then stepped back to study their work. The flier was covered in flowery writing in blue ink, and started with the words ‘no secrets’.

“It’s not enough,” the first one complained. “We’re only reaching a few towns this way, and only those people who can read. What good is it to reveal the truth to the masses when they don’t hear it?”

The second man pressed a finger against the chest of the first. “We are not doing public speeches. The risk is too great and our movement is too small to take losses. If the authorities took one of us alive they could force him to talk. This isn’t perfect by a long shot, but we have to be careful or our message won’t be the only thing to die.”

Yips was as silent as an owl as he slipped in close to the flier. It was astounding that someone with such a poor grip on reality could read, but Yips was a walking contradiction. There was just enough light for him to read it. The flier had a good start by proclaiming leaders were keeping the truth from their people, but from there it went downhill fast. The Coral Ring merchant guild was trying to import sweet bark trees? Some rinky-dink king wanted to hire ogre mercenaries? That was boring!

“The message will spread!” the second man insisted. “Men will read it and tell others.”

The fourth man spoke for the first time. “If you keep making so much noise you’ll bring the town watch down on us.”

The others looked down, one offering a weak, “Sorry.”

“Bloody idiots,” the fourth man muttered. “Wait, where’s the flier? It’s gone.”

The men panicked when they saw he was right. The flier they’d just posted on the wall had been stolen while they were standing right next to it. They hadn’t seen it disappear, not surprising since they’d been arguing. It took them a few seconds to see Yips sitting a short distance away studying the flier. He turned it sideways and then upside down until he gave up and ate it.

“That was for your own good,” Yips told them. He pointed an accusing finger at them and scolded, “You should be ashamed. That was so boring I thought I’d fall asleep before finishing it.”

The fourth man sighed in relief. “Praise all above, it’s just a goblin.”

“Who ate our flier!” the second shouted. “You’re suppressing the truth!”

“No one was going to read that!” Yips yelled back. “There’s no entertainment value in that hog slop. You need aardvarks and tortoises and cheetahs. Say the Coral Ring is run by aardvarks and importing cheetahs. Then people will read it.”

The first man stomped his foot. “That’s not the truth!”

“Be quiet,” the fourth man said. He tried to grab the first one by the shoulders, but the angry man shook him off.

“It’s an abomination is what it is,” Yips said. He stood up and marched over to the furious man. Pointing at the remaining fliers, he told them, “That is dull and tiresome and not at all what graffiti is supposed to be. You should be ashamed! Good penmanship, though, but no aardvarks.”

“Enough,” the first man said. “We’re wasting time. Spread out and post the fliers before dawn. We can get the other towns here before the week’s over.”

The fourth man finally lost his composure. “What exactly is wrong with you? You just detailed our plans in front of a witness. This is supposed to be a secret society, secret as in don’t talk about it!”

“He said it in front of a goblin,” the third man said. “I don’t think the little pest is going to even remember this in the morning, and no one will believe him if he talks.”

“Aardvarks!” Yips yelled. He slipped between the bickering men and grabbed the remaining fliers, then ran off, screaming, “You’re not getting these back until there are aardvarks in them!”

The four men chased after him, the second one screaming, “Get back here with those fliers! They’re expensive!”

Yips ran through the town, the fliers clutched to his chest. In theory the chase should have been short and ended badly for the goblin, but he knew these streets and the men didn’t. That meant he knew where every pothole was, every slippery patch, every narrow alley, and he steered the men into every one of them. The men cursed as they tripped, fell and banged into one another. They were so intent on catching Yips (and the lighting was so poor) that they didn’t realize that Yips was leading them in a circle back to where they’d met. The chase ended when the first man accidentally kicked over the bucket of paste they’d left behind and splattered it over the other three.

“You idiot!” the fourth man bellowed. He tried to scram off the paste on the corner of a building.

“My shirt’s ruined!” yelled the second man.

“Forget about ruined, it’s marked!” the fourth yelled at him. The other three stared at him, not understanding the risk. “Secret organization, you fools, means you don’t draw attention to yourselves. Clothes covered in paste stand out. Men are going to notice us and ask questions, and none of us have spare clothes to change into.”

Desperate, the second man said, “The fliers. We don’t have enough gold to print up more. We have to get them back.”

The first pointed at the mouth of the alley. “There’s the goblin! And…there’s the town watch.”

Radcliff had trouble with drunken loggers, along with bandits, thieves and the occasional monster, and town leaders hired watchmen with the skills to deal with these problems. The strong, heavily armed and battle hardened men could end a fight fast and had done so often. When the ten watchmen saw four armed men in an alley, paste or no, they assumed the worst and drew their swords and raised their shields.

“What’s this shouting about at such a late hour?” a watchman demanded. “Who are you?”

Still holding the fliers, Yips pointed at the four men and said, “They were putting up bad posters.”

“Bad?” the watchman asked. Yip handed him one, and the watchman scowled as he read it.

“It’s an affront to all that is good and noble about graffiti, with a total lack of aardvarks,” Yips declared.

Watchmen cared little for goblins and nothing about aardvarks, but they scowled at the sight of the flier and its blue ink. Their leader said, “We were warned that someone’s been putting up this trash in neighboring towns. Drop your weapons and kneel!”

The four men made a break for it with the watch in hot pursuit. The second man raised his right hand and drew it back like he was going to throw something, except his hand was empty. He uttered arcane words and an icy dagger formed in his hand. He threw it, but a watchman blocked it with his shield. A crust of ice inches thick spread across the shield, and it grew so heavy the watchman threw it down.

“Anton, cast another spell!” the first man shouted. It was the first time one of them had openly addressed another by name, and their fourth member scowled at such an obvious blunder.

“That’s the only combat spell I know!” Cried out Anton the second man. “Scatter!”

Watchmen broke into teams and followed the fleeing suspects. It was a long chase, and unfortunately a fruitless one as their enemy escaped in the darkness. By dawn they returned to where they’d first seen the men.

“They got away,” a watchman said to another.

The other watchman grunted. “This time. Check for more of those fliers and rip down and you find.”

“That goblin had a lot of them,” another watchman pointed out. “Where’d he go?”

* * * * *

Dozens of fliers showed up across Radcliff over the next ten days, no two of them alike. They included countless typos, massive plot holes and seemingly endless references to aardvarks. Yip was in chicken coop with a feather quill and pot of black ink, ‘correcting’ the last few fliers when the door opened. He looked up from his work, as did the hens, to find an older man dressed in blue and white robes. The older man carried a wood staff with a glowing tip, and when he pointed it t Yips’ fliers it glowed brighter.

“Hello,” the man said. He smiled and approached Yips. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“It’s an advertisement for aardvark races,” Yips said proudly. “It used to be boring stuff, but I fixed it.”

“So I see.” The older man spotted a flier that Yips hadn’t altered. He pointed his staff at the flier and asked, “May I see that one?”

“But it’s boring!”

“I’m an Archivist,” the man explained. Yips’ confused look prompted him to add, “We study ancient history and try to recover lost secrets. We like boring things.”

Yips looked at an unaltered flier and frowned. His mind was trying to work, a task it was unaccustomed to. “This isn’t ancient. Why would you want it?”

“But it is a secret,” the Archivist countered. Yips handed over the flier, and the Archivist read it. “Oh dear.”

Yips took it back and went to work changing it. “See, totally boring.”

“Not to the right people,” the Archivist replied. To Yips’ amazement, the man looked profoundly worried by the flier. “Making public the king’s efforts to hire mercenaries could do terrible damage. It shows his weakness and could encourage others to take advantage of him before he gets the help he needs to defend his lands. Oh Anton, what have you done?”

The Archivist looked terrible. His skin paled and his lips trembled every so slightly. Yips was shocked by the sudden change and put down his work. The goblin may have been half mad, or even three quarters mad, but at heart he was a good person, and took the Archivist’s hand in an effort to comfort him.

“You don’t look so good. I’ll get you an aardvark.”

Dana Illwind waited at the forest crossroads north of her town, not happy with her current situation. That was unfortunate given she was responsible for ninety percent of what was happening to her. Maybe eighty-five percent responsible.

It was getting dark and cold, and she pulled her cloak tight over her shoulders. She’d worn her extra thick dress and fur lined boots, and a fur cap over her brown hair. It was still early in the year where winter’s cold and spring’s warmth traded places nearly every day. Dana had brought a backpack loaded with two days of food, a lamp and extra oil, a knife (never leave home without one) and a purse with her life savings. Granted fourteen copper pieces and three silver coins didn’t go far, but her father was fond of pointing out most people didn’t have two coins to rub together and got by on barter. Barter was also harder for the king to tax.

The thick growth of pine trees would make it hard to see her guest when he arrived. He’d said he’d come today, but they were rapidly running out of today. Maybe he was delayed and wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. That would be bad. She’d used every excuse she had to get out of today’s chores. Her parents wouldn’t tolerate her missing another day.

An owl hooted to the north. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all. But then why bother writing to say he would? Paper cost money, and the scruffy-looking man who delivered his letter must have been paid. If he had no intention of coming then he could have saved time and money by ignoring her request.

“Ms. Illwind, I presume?”

Dana screamed and leaped off the road, landing on a thick carpet of dead pine needles. She scrambled behind a tree and drew her knife. It took her half a minute to stop hyperventilating, and another ten seconds to get angry with the smirking man standing off to the side of the road.

“That was not nice!”

“I’m not a nice person.”

Dana sheathed her knife and returned to the road. The man who’d scared the daylights out of her (and nearly several other things) was in his thirties. His long blond hair was a mess, even if it was clean. His clothes were, well, odd. He favored black with silver highlights, and she’d never seen the style before. The cape flowed like there was a wind, his black gloves ended in silver tips, his boots came up to his knees and his belt was segmented black metal that reminded her of a centipede.

He was attractive and doubtlessly drew attention wherever he went. Part of that was how confident he looked, like victory was assured by nothing more than his presence. Maybe there was magic at work here? It wouldn’t surprise her. He carried no weapon, a rare move when traveling in the wilderness, and more so for a man of his fierce reputation. Then again, if he was half as powerful as the stories claimed, he wouldn’t need a sword or bow.

“Um, Sorcerer Lord Jayden?”

“A pleasure, Ms. Illwind.” Jayden walked onto the road. She curtsied, and to her surprise Jayden circled her. “I must admit I thought you’d be a tad older. I also expected the town mayor to come in person rather than send his daughter unescorted. It speaks poorly of him.”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “I’m fifteen, a grown woman. I’m sorry my father couldn’t come. He’s a very busy man, sir.”

“Busy?” Jayden reached into a pocket and pulled out a letter. “He wasn’t too busy to send a letter begging for my help. He gushed his admiration in flowery language, yet after I came a great distance he decides not to meet me? Instead he sends a slip of a girl. I take offense at that.”

Oh dear. Dana waved her hands in front of her. “No, no, it’s not like that! He, uh, he wanted to come, but he’s sick! He’s drunk! The horse kicked him! The sheriff bit him! I mean the dog bit him!”

Jayden tilted his head to one side. “You’re sure the horse didn’t bite him?”

“Very sure! Definitely the dog.”

The Sorcerer Lord stared at her a few moments before turning his attention to the letter he’d taken out. “I can’t help but notice a level of flattery seldom employed by men. Most are too proud to ask for help, and the more authority they wield the less willing they are to admit weakness. It makes me wonder.”

“Wonder what, sir?”

“I wonder if I were to track down your father the mayor, would he know anything about this letter? It has his seal of office on it. That normally proves a letter’s authenticity, except such a seal can be borrowed, especially by someone living in his house.”

Dana blushed and looked at her feet. Jayden walked up to her and put a finger under her chin. He pressed up gently until she was looking him in the eyes.

Terrified, she managed to say, “My father…doesn’t know you’re here. He doesn’t know about the monster, either. I couldn’t tell him.”

“Pray tell, why not?”

“Because he’s mayor.” She took a deep breath and tried to keep from shaking. “If a town is in danger the mayor has to lead its defense. He’s an old man, and these monsters have killed before. If we still had the town militia we’d stand a chance, but they were called up for military service by the king. That leaves the men still left in town, none of whom know how to fight, and my father leading them.

“They’d be killed! But, but my father knows his duty, and he’d go anyway. Maybe he’d win. His father killed one of these monsters, but others tried and never came back. So when I saw one of the fiends in the woods I didn’t tell him. I wrote the letter asking for help, and I hired a traveling peddler to deliver it. He said he knew where to find you. I’d heard you saved another town from a manticore. I have money. It, ah, should cover your expenses.”

Dana closed her eyes and braced for the fallout of her lies. She trembled, wondering if he’d burn her alive, cut her to pieces or maybe turn her into a newt. Getting Jayden here had been a long shot, but she’d been desperate, and now was willing to admit, overconfident. But lives were at stake, every one a person she loved. She had to do something even if it was risky! It was, at most, eighty percent her fault.

Jayden threw his head back and laughed. “You have got to be the most conniving, devious, manipulative woman in the entire kingdom! I’m glad we met.”

She opened one eye. “You’re not going to rip my liver out and feed it to ravens?”

“That would limit your usefulness. After all, you’re the only one who’s seen this monster and can lead me to it.”

“Wait, what?” Both her eyes were open and her jaw dropped. “I, uh, you can’t find it with your magic?”

“No.” Jayden reread the letter she’d sent him. “Your letter describes the beast as a spider made of dead branches and animal bones, big as a wagon with holes in it wide enough you could reach a hand inside. It’s called an estate guard, brutes I’m familiar with and have killed twice before. Your accurate description made me believe this was a legitimate call for help and not a trap or hoax.”

“It was very scary, and I really would rather not meet it again.”

Looking up from the letter, he asked, “What was it doing?”

“It was pulling a dead tree deeper into the forest. There’s a place in the woods we’re not supposed to go. That’s where the monsters live. They come out once a generation, maybe twice, and our people have to kill them. Some of our men said the monsters come from ruins the old Sorcerer Lords made.”

Jayden folded up the letter. “With due respect to your menfolk, there’s only one monster, a blessing indeed. May I borrow your lantern for a moment?”

Dana handed it over. “You know about them?”

“Yes. I was being quite literal when I said there was only one. The others your ancestors killed over the years? It was the same monster. You destroyed its body and nothing more.”

“How is that possible? Hey, what are you doing?”

Jayden opened her lantern and put her letter to him inside. He watched it burn before returning the lantern. “Your father’s name and seal are on that letter. He would be in considerable trouble if someone should find it. The king and queen wouldn’t understand, especially after I poached their deer, robbed two of their storehouses and looted a caravan bringing them wine.”

Dana backed up until she hit a tree. “You did what?”

He smiled at her. “I told you I’m not a nice man. Without going into excessive details, I don’t like them and they don’t like me. Be honest, do they stir feelings of love and loyalty in your heart, or do their names churn up fear?”

“Fear.” Dana was ashamed to say it. Her father had warned her to watch what she said, but there seemed little risk of saying the truth with no witnesses. “Taxes are still high to pay for the civil war twenty years ago. We’re struggling to get by, and the king’s calling up men to start a new war. So many people have been exiled. My brother Owen, he, um, they took him and said he has to stay in the capital.”

“As a hostage, insurance that your father does as he’s told. All mayors were required to surrender their eldest sons last year. It’s barbaric behavior that the queen takes a fair share of the blame for. Trust me, I’ve met her and she leaves much to be desired. But that is neither here nor there, and we have a monster to kill. So, if you’ll take me to where you saw it last we can finish this business, and make sure no member of your fair town need face this threat again.”

* * * * *

It was totally dark as they walked through the forest, Dana’s lantern their only source of light. There was no undergrowth beneath the trees. She saw patches of snow where the trees shaded the ground so completely that the sun never touched it. Dana saw several fresh stumps where lumberjacks had taken trees last winter, but there were no houses or farms. The earth was too sour to support crops except blueberries, and even goblins weren’t foolish enough to live here.

“You said there’s only one monster, but we’ve killed many,” she said.

“Destroyed, yes. Killed, no. The monster of bones and branches you saw was a temporary body the estate guard built. It can lose that to rot, fire or damage in battle.”

“Then how do you kill it?”

Jayden climbed over a fallen tree lying across the road and stopped to help her over. “Estate guards are actually gold talismans three inches long and shaped like a scarab beetle. It had to be attached somewhere on the body you saw. You need to find that and smash it. Stop at burning or crushing the body and the talisman will crawl off to make another.”

They’d reached the spot where Dana had seen the monster weeks ago. Several pines had died, leaving an opening to the sky above. That provided enough light to support blueberry bushes that were leafing out. Not far from the clearing was a narrow trench six inches deep and running hundreds of feet, and to either side of it were potholes a foot across and just as deep.

“That’s where it was,” Dana told Jayden. “I was checking rabbit snares when I saw the monster grab a dead tree and pull it away. I hid in that hollow over there until it left.”

She shivered at the horror of that night. She’d been having a good day when the stuff of nightmares had come within feet of her. She’d hidden as best she could, held her breath and prayed that the beast would pass. The sound it had made, a rasping, scratching sound, would stay with her until she died.

Jayden bent down to study the tracks. “Most estate guards were destroyed long ago along with the original Sorcerer Lords. No loss there. The Sorcerer Lords were greedy, vicious and thoroughly detestable. Most of them died when they turned on one another, and the rest fell in battle with the ancient Elf Empire.”

“Are you one of their descendants?”

That made him laugh. “Heavens no, and a fact I’m proud of. I simply took their name and as much of their magic as I could find. Quite a few others have done so over the years.”

Dana perked up. “I’d never heard that. Where are they?”

“Dead,” he explained.

“Dead?”

He nodded. “Extremely dead.”

“I didn’t know there were degrees of being dead.”

“Oh yes.” He spoke casually on the grisly subject, as if it was no different than discussing the weather. “Most people end up extremely dead. Some end up sort of dead. Vampires, ghouls, ghosts, barrow weights, it’s surprisingly common. Nearly all of them wish they were extremely dead. I’ve met a few vampires and none were happy.”

“Oh. Uh, why was the monster taking a tree?”

“That’s something we have to worry about. Estate guards need to make bodies for themselves. If they come across dead material, fallen trees and dry bones, they can pull them together and become a threat to others. But stumbling across enough materials by chance is harder than it sounds, especially bones. Those normally decompose or are eaten by predators and scavengers.”

Dana peered over Jayden’s shoulder at the tracks. “It was gathering parts for a body?”

“Clever girl! That’s exactly what it was doing. Most estate guards aren’t too bright, but this one has been active for centuries, long enough to learn. It’s had bodies destroyed before, so it’s collecting what it needs to make a new body if it loses this one.”

Worried, she asked, “How many bodies does it have?”

He shrugged. “There’s no way to tell. If the estate guard hasn’t been seen in a generation then it’s had plenty of time to prepare. There could be enough branches and bones hidden for it to jump from one body to the next a dozen times.”

Dana looked down. “The stories said people fought these monsters for days. That’s why, isn’t it? They’d kill it but not the talisman, and it made a new body to attack again. Why does it come after us?”

Jayden got up and followed the tracks deeper into the woods. “Estate guards protected the property of the old Sorcerer Lords. I’d guess this one is doing just that. A Sorcerer Lord once claimed this land and this estate guard survived its maker. As far as it’s concerned, your townspeople are trespassers.”

“But we’ve lived here for three hundred years!”

“And the old Sorcerer Lords died out eighteen hundred years ago. Common sense and good manners demand it accepts the situation. Unfortunately estate guards were built to obey, and while they can think and learn, they can’t change their orders. This state of affairs will go on until it’s killed.”

Dana ran ahead of him and smiled. “You’re a Sorcerer Lord, not like the old ones. Can you make it stop being a jerk?”

“I’ve mastered some of the old Sorcerer Lords’ magic, but not enough to make an estate guard or seize control of one. Regretfully this must end in violence.”

“Um, exactly how much magic can you do?”

Jayden bared his teeth. “There are three things you never ask: a woman’s age, a miser’s wealth or a wizard’s power.”

“Sorry! Sorry, sorry, sorry—”

“You’re sorry, yes, we established that,” he interrupted. “Apology accepted. Now if you don’t mind, we…we have a problem.”

The tracks ended abruptly, for the estate guard had dragged the fallen tree across stony ground. Jayden marched over to where the tracks ended. He muttered strange words Dana didn’t understand, and a glowing orb appeared in his hands. The orb floated high into the sky before winking out, long enough to illuminate the forest for half a mile in all directions. Jayden scowled at what he saw. The rocky ground went on beyond the light of his orb.

“I’d hoped to send you home and finish this alone, but I’ve little chance to find the monster’s lair with the trail gone.”

Worried, she asked, “What do you mean?”

“You spoke of ruins the monster uses as its lair. Do you know where to find them?”

Dana frowned. Where was he going with this? “Sort of. I mean, I heard the same stories as everyone else in town.”

“That will have to do. Take me there or as close as you can.”

Worry quickly turned to panic. “Wait a minute, I can’t go there! You’re a Sorcerer Lord, a new one, anyway. You can fight scary things like this. I can’t!”

“I don’t need you to fight, only guide me to it. You can leave once I’m there.”

“Can’t someone else in the village do that?”

“That would require them to meet me. You don’t want your father to know I’m here, difficult enough when only you know of my presence. Do you want a friend or neighbor to know your secret? Can they keep it?” He kept speaking as he walked back to her, his words remorseless. “Will you place them in danger you’d avoid? I thought you braver than that.”

“But, but—”

“You summoned me here. You want the estate guard dead and your town forever free from its menace. I’m placing my life at risk for your neighbors, your friends, your family. If you respect nothing else about me, respect that and reciprocate.”

Dana gulped. Sweat poured off her regardless of the cold. Bringing Jayden here had been the most terrifying thing she’d done, hoping and praying he’d come and that no one would learn about it. She’d done as much as anyone could expect. This wasn’t fair!

Fair or not, dangerous or not, Jayden was right. He had to find the monster’s hideout. Without help he could spend weeks searching for it, every day risking discovery. People who saw him might inform the authorities. Or Jayden might leave if she didn’t help. Her town would be in the same mess it had been in for hundreds of years. How many more people would the monster kill? If even one person died and Dana could prevent it, the loss would be on her head.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and pointed west. “It’s supposed to be at the base of the largest mountain.”

* * * * *

Dana had never intended to stay out this late. She’d originally hoped to meet Jayden in the early morning and point him in the right direction, then return home. Her parents would be furious. Her sisters would be scared. Her little brother would be digging through her belongings like a deranged raccoon, looking for and probably finding her hidden bag of chocolates. Those goodies had cost her two copper pieces! This was now officially only seventy percent her fault.

The land grew progressively more mountainous. There were still pine trees growing where rock gave way to soil, and they were giants over a hundred feet tall. Lumberjacks would drool at the sight of such beautiful trees, or weep knowing they couldn’t harvest them without being attacked.

“What’s that up ahead?” Jayden asked.

Before them was a clearing with three destroyed houses. Their doors had long ago rotted away, but the damage to the brick walls wasn’t caused by the ravages of time. One had the front wall caved in, a second was missing two walls and the third was little more than a pile of bricks. A pine tree fifty feet tall grew from the rubble of the second house, proof of how long ago the damage was done.

“This is from the first time the monster attacked my people,” Dana explained. “Our baron’s great, great grandfather built this as a hunting lodge. His workers had just finished it when the monster attacked. You can see what it did. The baron escaped in his underwear but lost all his hounds. His family, ah, they don’t come here anymore.”

“Even to fight monsters that humiliated their ancestor?” Jayden asked sarcastically.

“Especially to fight monsters. The last time the monster attacked, my grandfather asked for their help. We were told the baron was indisposed and so were all his men.”

“Hunting’s less fun when the quarry fights back.” Jayden studied the ruined buildings and surroundings. “I see a footprint between those stones that could only have come from our foe. There don’t seem to be more. It came this way, but I can’t tell its direction from one footprint. How far are we from the beast’s lair?”

Dana stopped and took a flask of oil from her backpack. She topped off her lantern’s reserve and put the flask away. “It’s supposed to be a few miles from here. We’ll reach it by midnight.”

“An inauspicious hour, but it will have the benefit of being dramatic.” He smiled when Dana gave him a confused look. “I’m told I have a tendency for being overly theatrical. Allow me my weaknesses.”

She hesitated before going further. “You’re positive there’s only one monster?”

“If there were two, your town would be little more than a memory.”

Dana led him on, her lantern their only light. Jayden made no move to summon another of his light spheres, but it had burned out so fast there was little reason to bother. That was the only spell she’d seen Jayden cast. It worried her. Were all his spells so weak, so limited? He certainly seemed confident, smug even, so maybe he had better magic he was saving for the battle.

“Um, I have a question,” she began. “Why did you come alone? This would be easier if you’d brought your men.”

Jayden laughed. “That implies I have men. I don’t.”

Dana stopped and stared at him. “No one follows you? But you’re famous, or infamous, maybe both. People should be knocking each other over to work for you.”

“Followers are expensive. You have to feed them, arm them, house them, and don’t get me started on pensions and medical care. If they have families, I’m expected to support them as well! Studying magic costs an appalling amount of gold, and I have precious little. My choice was learn magic or hire incompetent, smelly, barely educated and possibly disloyal followers.”

“That’s kind of harsh.”

He smiled at her. “If you only knew.”

Jayden’s reasonable (albeit rude) response gave her the courage to ask a question that had been bothering her. “You don’t like the old Sorcerer Lords much, but you call yourself one. Why?”

Jayden walked on in silence for so long Dana thought he was ignoring her, or worse, angry with her again.

“It’s a fair question. The old Sorcerer Lords performed incredible deeds rivaling that of the ancient Elf Empire. I recognize their achievements but curse their name for how they accomplished them. No deed was too foul if the act advanced their power and position in society. They went down in history as monsters, and deservedly so.

“But, and this may seem strange, their name has great allure. If I called myself a hero, a revolutionary, a scholar or a wizard, few would notice me. Calling myself a Sorcerer Lord draws men’s attention. They recall the glory of those days and not the blood. My claim is fair to a point, given all my spells were learned from ruins of the old Sorcerer Lords. I use their tools if not their methods, so I feel using their title is justified.”

Struggling to make a point without making an enemy of him, Dana said, “But you get the bad part of their reputation along with the good. If they did bad things, people will think you might, too. They’ll be afraid of you.”

“There are people I want to be afraid of me. I want them to tremble at my name and the passing of my shadow. I want them to be afraid because they live off fear, they use it as a tool, and it’s high time they felt what it was like.”

Without thinking, Dana said, “Someone hurt you badly, didn’t they?”

She instantly regretted her words and flinched from whatever magic Jayden was sure to throw at her for speaking to him that way. To her amazement Jayden didn’t even look at her. The confidence seemed to drain out of him, just for a moment, and he said, “It’s not a tale for children to hear.”

People in her town liked Dana, and that had little to do with being the mayor’s daughter. She helped those in need, nursed those who were sick and fed those who were hungry. Following her father’s example, she also knew when to ignore minor crimes done from desperation or ignorance. They loved her and she wanted it to be that way.

What sort of person wanted to be feared? It boggled the mind. Jayden’s personality seemed to shift as often as a clock’s pendulum, kindness changing to anger. Dana wondered what had led him to this point. Whatever it was, it had left him scarred in ways that were hard to heal. Was there anything that could lead him away from giving in to his anger?

It didn’t help that Jayden was alone most of the time with no followers or friends. People get weird when they were alone too long. She’d seen it in Anton Carothers, who lived outside town and swore gnomes were after him. Admittedly they might be, given how foul tempered most gnomes were, but that was beside the point. Loneliness could eat away at a man until he was left bitter.

They stopped where the forest gave way to mountains that towered high above them, wreathed in clouds and capped with snow. Technically this was still part of the kingdom, but no one came here. You couldn’t grow crops, raise livestock or even gather wood, and these mountains held no metals or gemstones. It was worthless to all, a property abandoned to the monster because there was nothing here worth fighting for.

“I’m told The Kingdom of the Goblins is nearly this desolate,” Jayden said. “Mind you, I think that’s just bad press. And unless my eyes deceive me, our goal is at hand.”

The ruins at the base of the mountains were in terrible shape. There were five buildings made to massive proportions, three or even four stories high. Two were little more than outer walls with the ceilings and interior gone. Another was an architectural wonder on one side and a rubble pile on the other. The last two had holes in the walls big enough to ride a wagon through them. There were seven piles of rubble so large they must have been buildings at one point. Moss grew across the ground to form a thick carpet that muffled their footsteps.

Jayden walked fearlessly to the edge of the ruins. “This was certainly built by the old Sorcerer Lords. I’ve visited ruins like this often enough in the far north to recognize their style. I believe it was the private residence of one of their wealthier members, and by the look of things he went down fighting.”

“A Sorcerer Lord lived here?”

He nodded and pointed to the buildings one after another. “Oh yes. That was his mansion, that was a storehouse, the third one was a workshop, that was the slave pen, and—”

“Slave pen?” Dana’s hand reflexively went to her knife.

“Few people know this, but the Sorcerer Lords made up less than one percent of the population in lands they ruled. The rest of the people were property, owned from the day they were born until they breathed their last breath. Men, elves, ogres, minotaurs, gnomes, they’d put anyone in chains except goblins, who were too hard to control and could do too little work to bother breaking their will.”

Pointing at the ruins, he added, “And somewhere in that mess is our enemy, guarding rubble for a master long since dead. I’d feel sorry for it living such a pointless existence, save for the fact it will kill for a cause lost long ago and never worth fighting for.”

“It could be hiding in a dozen places waiting in ambush. How are we going to find it?”

Jayden stretched his arms over his head. “We aren’t going to do anything of the sort. Your job was to get me here and you succeeded, a deed to be proud of. The rest is up to me. Find a safe place to wait and let me dispose of the estate guard.”

Worried, she asked, “You’re just going to walk in there?”

He let his arms fall to his side and smirked. “Hardly. The estate guard is bound by ancient commands to defend this slovenly hole in the ground. I need only cause some property damage and it will come to save its home. Once it’s in the open the fight will be short and exceptionally loud.”

“Sounds like throwing rocks at a hornet net.” Dana was glad to let Jayden do the hard part. This was so dangerous it was at best fifty percent her responsibility. But she hesitated before looking for cover. “Um, Jayden, the first time I met the monster was miles away.”

“And?”

She waved her hands at the distant forest. “How do we know it’s here? It could be in the woods looking for parts to make more bodies, or patrolling for invaders.”

A rasping, scraping sound came from behind them, the sound of dry branches rubbing against each other. Dana and Jayden turned to find the estate guard cresting a hill not thirty feet from where they stood. Its front legs carried a load of deer antlers that must have been shed by their owners a few weeks ago.

The monster was as terrifying as the last time she’d seen it. It was a mishmash of pine branches and animals bones woven together to form a hideous spider. The body and legs weren’t solid, instead having holes where the parts didn’t fully come together. Scattered across that horrible body were skulls of deer and elk, bears and wolves, their empty eye sockets staring out in all directions. The spider’s abdomen was mostly empty space, a net of curving branches and ribs that reminded Dana of a cage.

Surprise froze all three as still as statues. The estate guard acted first and threw down the pile of antlers. It raised its front legs high in the air and howled as it charged them.

“Go left!” Jayden shouted. He went right and spoke strange words she’d never heard before. Dana ran left towards the largest wrecked building. To her horror she heard the howls and rasping growing closer. It was coming after her!

Dana screamed and ran. She nearly slipped on the mossy ground, recovering just fast enough to keep from tripping. She looked behind her to see the estate guard closing the distance between them while Jayden finished his spell. With a final unpronounceable word he formed a purplish lash in his hands. He drew back his arm and swung it, the lash stretching farther and farther until it wrapped around the monster. It burned like acid where it touched, but the estate guard raced after Dana regardless of the injury. It ran so fast the lash couldn’t stretch quickly enough, and Jayden was pulled off his feet.

Dana kept screaming, the monster kept howling, and Jayden cried out in surprise as he was dragged behind it. Every breath Dana took stank of wood smoke and smoldering bones as the magic lash continued burning through the monster. Dana heard the monster only feet behind her. She planted a foot on a large rock jutting up from the ground and pushed left. That was enough to throw her to the left, and she rolled as she hit the ground. The monster tried to follow her, but it was so large it couldn’t stop in time and skidded to a halt twenty feet away.

Facing the very real possibility of dying, she was sure this was at most ten percent her responsibility.

Dana scrambled to her feet and saw the monster wheel about to face her. Jayden came to a halt as well, but he’d never let go of his magic lash. He braced himself against the same rock Dana had jumped off. Pushing back hard, he pulled the lash and it tightened across the monster. The lash had already eaten through much of the beast, but now it looped around it, pinning legs together until the beast fell as helpless as a roped calf.

The monster rocked back and forth in a vain attempt to escape. The lash kept burning through it, taking off one leg and then another. The abdomen was cut in half. One leg got loose only to be hacked off at the base. In seconds the entire monster fell apart into a pile of smoking branches and cut bones.

“That was, I, oh God,” Dana gasped.

“Find the talisman!” Jayden ordered. He kicked through the debris as the lash dissolved. “Don’t let it escape!”

Dana ran to the monster’s body. She held her lantern high with her left hand and dug through the remains with her right. The remains smelled horrible and were hot to the touch, but nothing looked like the gold bug Jayden had described. Suddenly something glinted off the light of her lantern. It tried to scurry under loose branches, but she dug through them until she saw it.

The talisman managed to be both pretty and revolting at the same time. It was only three inches across and looked like a beetle. Whoever had made it had put a lot of effort into the job, and it looked gorgeous. But then the eye on its abdomen blinked, an eye so very much like a person’s eye, and it was watching her.

“There!” she shouted. She tried to grab it, but the talisman scuttled away as fast as a racehorse. Jayden cast another spell and formed a magic sword pure black and edged with white. He swung at it and missed, the blade burning through the mossy ground and rocks beneath it. The talisman went right then left, dodging both Jayden and Dana, and ran for the nearest ruined building. It made a mad dash and climbed into a crack in the wall.

“Run before it assembles another body,” Jayden ordered. He headed for the nearest hole in the building large enough for him to fit through. Dana looked for a place to hide before the monster returned. Going into the forest was a bad bet when the monster ran faster than she did. The other buildings were close and intact enough for her to hide in. She ran to the one Jayden claimed was a slave pen.

She’d nearly reached it when the estate guard marched out with a new body. This time it was an enormous hound, just as large as the spider but with terrifying jaws big enough to fit a grown man inside. It came out the main entrance with Jayden following a step behind. The hound raced away before Jayden could stab it, and was so quick soon it was a hundred feet from him.

Dana ducked into the slave pen, a foul structure that looked like a brick barn three hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. There were rusted gates across wide stalls, some open and others crushed shut. It disgusted Dana to even be here, to see how people had once been treated. She turned away and stayed by the entrance.

Outside, the fight was back on. The estate guard in its new body turned and charged Jayden, and he ran right for it. The hound leaped at him, and Jayden slid onto his back and raised his magic blade. The hound went over him and the blade split it in half down the middle. He got up and dug through the bones and branches. Dana didn’t see the talisman from this distance, but Jayden must have because he ran after something on the ground. It escaped into the old mansion. Jayden gave chase and the sounds of battle came from inside the crumbling structure.

Dana saw a wall bulge on the mansion until the bricks crumbled away. Jayden came out with the estate guard after him. This time it had the shape of a man ten feet tall but without a head. It had bear skulls on its shoulders and hands ending in long claws that tried to impale Jayden. He dodged the monster’s swing and hacked off one of its arms.

“This is insane,” Dana said. Jayden was taking the monster apart again and again, but his victories were as hollow as the ones her people had won against it so long ago. It kept fleeing and returning as good as new. Jayden would tire sooner or later. Could he run out of spells? That would be just as bad.

The estate guard lost another body when Jayden impaled it with his magic sword. He pulled left and the sword sliced through it until the upper part tumbled to the ground. Again he scrambled after the escaping talisman, and again it found enough materials to rebuilt itself, this time as a huge lizard. Battle was joined again, and it knocked him down with a swing of its tail. He recovered fast and lopped off the tail.

Dana backed away from the entrance. She’d brought Jayden here and he was going to get killed. She should have gotten more people so they could catch the talisman between battles and break the stupid thing! Wait. The estate guard had hidden branches and bones for new bodies in the other buildings. Had it left more here?

Dana hurried back inside the slave pens. Some of the pens were open, and sure enough one had a heaping pile of pine branches and animal bones. She checked the rest of the building and found one, two, three, four pens loaded with wood and bones. Dead pine needles from those branches were thick on the floor. Each pile looked like it was big enough to make a new body.

She went through her possessions for something that could destroy these spare bodies before the estate guard could use them. Her knife couldn’t cut through the thick branches fast enough. She dug through her backpack. Food? No. Money? No. Oil?

Oil! Dana smiled. She had extra oil for her lantern, but there wasn’t much left. The estate guard had stashed the wood here so it wouldn’t get rained on and rot before it could be used. That made sense, but it also meant the branches were dry, and dry pine burned fast.

Dana poured the flask of oil onto the piles of branches. She had so little she could only lightly lace each pile. Once she was out, she used her lantern to ignite each pile in turn. Whoosh! Flames raced across the piles and the dead needles on the floor. Dana ran outside when the building started to fill with smoke.

She returned to see Jayden dispatch the huge lizard by decapitating it. The rest of it fell apart and the talisman fled. Jayden’s sword flickered and went out, and he made a lash to replace it. He swung at the talisman, but the thing was incredibly fast. It went one way and then another, skittering under bricks and into cracks whenever he got close.

The talisman reached the slave pen Dana had just left. It ducked inside then hurried back out to find her waiting for it. She grabbed at it, but it scuttled back inside.

Jayden caught up with her and saw smoke billowing from the slave pen. “What did you do?”

“I torched four spare bodies,” she explained. He looked shocked, and she added, “I got bored.”

To Dana’s amazement the estate guard left the slave pen with a new body. It resembled a giant stag beetle with huge jaws as long as its body and human skulls for eyes. But this body was built from burning pine, a walking bonfire that lit up the ruins. It lunged forward and tried to catch them in its jaws. Jayden and Dana ran for their lives as the animated inferno chased them. Dana’s neck and back felt hot as embers fell around her.

Two of the beetle’s legs burned through, and it struggled along on the other four. It hobbled along a few more paces until another leg gave out and the beetle crashed to the ground. The talisman was forced to abandon the body as it burned away, but this time Jayden and Dana were right on top of it. It circled around the burning pine, trying to use it as a shield, but Dana caught up with it when it made a run for the mansion. She grabbed a loose brick off the ground and swung it like a hammer.

Crack! She smashed off three gold legs from the talisman. It kept running, but slower than before. Jayden swung his magic lash and struck it. Snap! The talisman broke in half under the blow. Its remaining legs curled up and the eye on its back twitched and closed.

Jayden stared hard at the broken talisman. “That was incredibly satisfying.”

* * * * *

Dana woke up the next morning in what had once been a mansion. It was spacious, but the place felt wrong. The angles of the walls were odd and the doorframes tilted to one side. It was jarring to look at, and she didn’t see how anyone could feel comfortable living here.

Her brief stay was unpleasant but necessary. She’d been too exhausted to go home after the fight. She’d also used all her oil, and it had been so dark she’d have hurt herself stumbling about at night. Chances were the whole town would be looking for her by now, and she could only imagine the punishment waiting for her.

Jayden joined her from another part of the mansion. He carried an armful of loot and smiled like the cat who’d caught the canary. “Good morning, and a glorious morning at that.”

“What did you find?”

“This, madam, is a prize beyond all others.” He held up a black granite tablet a foot across and two feet long, with markings in white marble on one side. The markings looked like letters, but not in any language she could read.

Dana needed only seconds to guess what it was.

“That was written by the old Sorcerer Lords, wasn’t it? It’s a spell!”

Jayden smiled. “You are clever. The old Sorcerer Lords wrote their spells on granite tablets. It’s not very portable, but they last far longer than spell books written on paper or velum. I don’t recognize this incantation. It looks promising, and I’m sure it will be a good addition to my repertoire once I’ve translated it.”

Her heart sank at the sight of it. “Is that why you came? I mean, is that what you were after?”

He shrugged. “It was part of the reason. I told you I recognized what you described in your letter as an estate guard. If it was here then at some point there had been treasure worth guarding. Any riches might have been carried off or destroyed long ago, so there was no guarantee of a reward for my efforts, but thankfully I won’t leave empty handed. There’s also a bit of gold I’m happy to share. You went beyond expectations yesterday, and a reward is owed.”

Jayden saw her crestfallen expression and frowned. He sat down next to her and set aside his treasures. “Don’t be like that. Saving your people is important. Lord knows the king wouldn’t lift a finger for you. But good deeds don’t pay the rent, and I’ve spent all the gold I got for those stolen horses.”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “You didn’t mention that when you listed your crimes yesterday.”

“Please, I’d need a day and a night to tell you everything I’d done against the king. I’m sure those knights won’t mind going to war on foot. If I’m successful they won’t go to war at all, but we’re a long way from that day.”

With that he bent over and kissed her on the forehead. Dana blushed, in large part because her father did the same thing. “Cut that out! I’m not a little girl!”

Jayden smiled and stood up before helping her to her feet. “Now we need to come up with a story for you, young lady, one that leaves me out. When you get home, tell your parents you were attacked by the monster. That’s true enough. You ran from it when a stranger appeared and defeated the beast. It was too dark to see the stranger’s features clearly, but you’re sure he’s dashingly handsome.”

Dana folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, am I?”

“You’re positive of it!” Jayden held out the broken pieces of the estate guard and pressed them into her hand. “He gave you this and swore the monster is gone, never to return. Your people may enter these woods without fear.”

“You’re not taking the credit?”

“The king and queen don’t think highly of me. If they learn I helped your town they’d punish your family, at the very least exiling you and more likely executing you. Better for all concerned if someone else gets blamed for this.”

Jayden left the mansion and Dana followed. It was hard to say whether he was a good man or not. He had done good things and others that were questionable. Her father often said flawed men could work wonders if someone gave them a chance. What would Jayden do next? What would he become if left alone with no one to help him should he go off course?

She ran in front of him and stood in his way. “I can help you.”

Jayden raised an eyebrow. “You, child, are going home.”

“You want more magic. I know a place where you might find it. There’s a castle by the sea, abandoned before the kingdom was founded. It might date to the old Sorcerer Lords. There could be treasure in it or even those tablets. No one ever looted it because they say there’s a monster there called The Walking Graveyard.”

“I’m sure it’s done much to earn that charming nickname.” Jayden studied his fingers as if he’d never noticed them before. “I’ve spent very little time in that part of the kingdom and know little of it. I don’t relish wandering across a desolate coastline for weeks in search of this castle.”

Dana took a deep breath. When you made a choice you have to take responsibility, all of it. “That’s why you need a guide.”

Magistrate Cassium snarled as his carriage hit another bump. He hated long rides through the country. No one properly maintained the roads in these boondock parts of Skitherin Kingdom. Add that to the risk of travel, where bandits and monsters preyed on those daring to use seldom traveled roads, and this was turning into a miserable trip. Another bump forced Cassium against the carriage door. “You witless clod, are you aiming for every hole in the road?”

“Sorry, sir,” the driver called back. “There are too many to miss.”

“Try harder!” Cassium grumbled and tried to get comfortable. The carriage was on loan from the Ministry of Obedience, and they’d spared every possible expense. No cushions on the seat, no lock on the doors, why, they’d even issued him two old gelded horses to pull it. It was infuriating, and he’d seen the effort the ministry went to satisfy higher-ranking magistrates.

Cassium had been with the ministry for five years, laboring constantly to enforce order among the halfwits and criminals who seemed to make up three quarters of Skitherin’s population. Still young and healthy despite several attempts on his life, Cassium had attracted the attention of his betters. Those well connected slobs placed as much of their work as possible onto his shoulders. It had surprised them when he’d submitted the request for this assignment. Horrors, they’d have to do their own work until he got back! But the dark haired Cassium had persisted until they gave in, likely just to avoid having to listen to him make sense again.

It was wrong how he was treated. He was smart, more intelligent than his so-called superiors, yet he’d remained in the same post for five years. No promotions, no citations, no awards, not even a new crimson and gold uniform. This one was fraying at the cuffs. Cassium had the highest conviction rate in the ministry, in no small part because he was one of the few magistrates to actually hold court. He didn’t take bribes, a rarity, and he’d led four punitive expeditions. He deserved respect and received none.

Bang! The carriage hit another pothole, this one big enough that the wheels on the right side went entirely into the air. For a second Cassium feared the carriage would tip over, but it landed with another jarring bang. “Stop!”

“Sir, I—”

“Stop!” The carriage came to a halt amid a forest of thin trees. Cassium exited the carriage and waited while his driver climbed down. He waved for his private servant to come down as well. The two men wore the black and tan of lesser servants in the ministry. Cassium took a short weighted rod from inside his flowing robes and struck the driver across the face. He pointed at his servant and ordered, “Drive, and if that happens again you forfeit this month’s pay.”

“Yes, sir,” the servant said. Both men climbed back onto the carriage while Cassium returned inside it.

This wretched trip did have a few things in its favor. The first was good weather. Rains could have turned the dirt road into impassable mud and left him stranded for days or even weeks. The second advantage was it gave Cassium time to read. He’d bought new books about magic and needed time to study them. Actual spell books were illegal for anyone but state sanctioned wizards, but he was smart. Books like the leather bound tome currently in his hands had hints, snippets of information he could glean out. He had two more books like this one with him and ten more at home, and if he studied hard enough he was sure he could grasp the basics of magic.

That still might not be enough to earn a promotion, but if Cassium’s suspicions were correct, this journey could be just what he needed to guarantee one.

Hours dragged by. Cassium had been traveling like this for three days, going through towns, then fields and finally these wastes. The soil was thin and infertile, supporting only pine trees that were harvested once every fifty years. The last harvest had been ten years ago, so the trees were small and the view unimpressive.

His books proved equally unimpressive. Most repeated what he’d read elsewhere. Other parts were outright lies. The authors kept alluding to a connection between goblins and circles. Balderdash! He’d overseen the destruction of two goblin settlements, each more garbage dump than village. There had been no circles in their hovels or graffiti. Burning those vile bases of indecency was an honor diminished by the goblins fleeing ahead of his guards, and the fact that the horrid places had smelled like dung heaps. One of these days he’d have to take a goblin alive and see if there was anything to this circle business.

“It’s a disgrace,” he muttered as he read. “Harpies, mimics, even goblins are born with magic. Men have to earn it.”

That was the most infuriating fact he’d learned from his books. Gutter trash races like harpies and goblins had natural magic. Harpies used magic to fly and had their potent screams. Goblins were so stupid and insane that they could warp space, assuming there were enough of them together. But men, no, men had to struggle and strive and fight to get what those unworthy curs had from birth!

“We’re almost there, sir,” his servant called out.

Cassium closed his books on magic and put them in a backpack, careful to hide them among his pile of legal books and documents. It was unlikely anyone would dare to inspect a magistrate’s possessions, but he took no chances someone might steal them. He looked out the window and frowned at the sight. The dirt road ended at a cluster of brick buildings. Most were small, single family dwellings, but there was a storehouse and the reason for his coming, a surprisingly small building that was entrance to The Pit.

The carriage came to a halt and Cassium got out. He found guards on duty, older men who’d served Skitherim for decades. To his amazement he also saw women and children by the houses. Even more appalling, two goblins scampered around the edge of the crude settlement. The men here had once been soldiers, and should be able to keep their homes clean of such vermin.

“The Pit, the last home for the kingdom’s worst offenders. You wouldn’t think so many people were here just by looking at it,” his servant said. The driver kept quiet, mindful of the blow he’d taken earlier.

“People?” Cassium asked derisively. “There are no people here. Eight hundred convicts are stored in The Pit, never to see the light of day.”

“My idiot father wasted twenty years working here when they were still quarrying limestone,” the servant said. “He said the quarry went down a hundred feet before they capped it and turned it into a prison. I’ve heard men would rather die than be sent to The Pit.”

“What convicts want is of no importance,” Cassium declared. Armed guards marched over to meet him and take charge of his carriage.

Cassium’s servant bit his lip at the sight of the men approaching and whispered, “Tread carefully, sir. If you’re right then we have no friends here and are far from help.”

“The law bends for no one!” Cassium snapped. His servant looked down and the armed men hesitated at the magistrate’s harsh tone. Cassium took out the weighted rod again and shoved it under his servant’s chin, forcing the man’s head up until he had to look Cassium in the eyes. More softly he said, “I have endured much getting here, and I will not risk the reward I am owed because you lack a backbone. I will get what I deserve.”

“A dung heap and a shovel?” a high-pitched voice asked in the distance. Cassium spun around to see the goblin that had shouted the question. “A smack upside the head? Come on, let me know if I’m getting close.”

Cassium would have gladly chased the pest down, but he had bigger fish to fry. The fool in charge of this foul hole in the ground came soon after his men, his hand outstretched.

“Magistrate Cassium, welcome to The Pit,” the older man said. “I am—”

“Warden Vastile Jast, formerly a company commander, yes, I know who you are,” Cassium interrupted. He despised time wasting formalities and made no effort to shake the warden’s hand. “You and your men were judged too old for battle and transferred to this post. It was thought you could handle the responsibilities of managing The Pit, an assumption I have reason to doubt.”

Warden Jast took the insults in stride. He was in his fifties, still strong but showing his age with gray hair and wrinkles around his eyes. The man wore chain armor as if he expected battle, and was armed with a sword and mace. Jast also wore a single badge of honor, a leather neckband with a glittering crimson triangle, the point aimed down. That crystalline triangle was proof of valor in battle and rarely given. Cassium was surprised the warden hadn’t pawned it for drinking money.

“Allow me to offer you and your servants the pleasures of my home, limited as they are,” Jast continued. He waved to one of the larger houses and asked, “If I may escort you?”

Cassium pointed his weighted rod at the nearby children. “Warden Jast, this is a military post. Explain why civilians are present.”

“My men and I took an oath of loyalty when we were conscripted. We did not take an oath of chastity. Many of us married and had children after we were taken off active duty.”

Strictly speaking the warden was correct. His men had the right to take wives, and so long as family members stayed out of The Pit there was no breach of the law. But it was walking a fine line, and Cassium had seen too many men skirt the law until they openly broke it. This was a mark against the warden.

“Lead the way,” Cassium said.

Jast took him to a larger building made of limestone blocks. It wasn’t an odd choice of material given that this had once been a quarry. Inside, the building was a plain office with the associated paperwork, furniture and wasted space. The warden offered Cassium a chair and then sat behind a desk. Cassium’s servants stood alongside two of the warden’s guards.

“I hope you will forgive the lack of proper amenities for someone of your rank,” Jast said. “Our funding is limited and leaves little room for luxuries. Normally that isn’t a problem. This is the first time a magistrate ever visited The Pit.”

“Before today there was no reason to,” Cassium retorted. He took papers from his backpack and laid them out across the desk. “Warden Jast, forty-three days ago I ordered a prisoner in your custody sent to my court. Instead I was told he had died. A second order for a different prisoner ten days later received an identical reply.”

“That is correct.”

Cassium brought out more papers. “Two criminals in your custody died, and that’s all you have to say?”

“Men die, magistrate. They die in battle, from sickness, from old age and sometimes for no reason at all.”

Pointing at the papers, Cassium said, “I found twelve requests for prisoner transfers from The Pit in the three years since you were assigned here. All of them were told that the prisoner had died. Every time the same answer, warden! I find that highly suspicious.”

Cassium expected Jast to lie or beg. To his shock, the man had no reaction, just a bland acceptance of the situation. “Magistrate, I’m sure you send a great many men to prison, but I doubt you’ve spent much time in one. The Pit is the largest prison in Skitherin Kingdom. We are at full capacity with eight hundred prisoners, and we receive fifty more a month. Those new inmates take the place of those who die.”

“You lose fifty a month?” Cassium demanded. “How?”

“Most are in poor shape when they arrive,” Jast replied. “They’ve been beaten until they confessed, chained for weeks or months in other jails, and generally had the life squeezed out of them. When they come here it’s as defeated men with no hope or reason to live. Men in that situation die, and faster than you’d think possible.”

Furious, Cassium jabbed a finger at the papers. “You are responsible for those men, warden. You are paid a stipend to provide them with food and clothing.”

“Ah yes, that.” Jast took three small copper coins from his desk and held them up. “I’m sent three plebs per week per prisoner. Do you know how little food that buys? Or clothing? Obtaining medicine for the sick is totally out of the question.”

Cassium hesitated. “Why do you need medicine?”

“Because one of your fellow magistrates sent me a prisoner infected with red eyes plague.”

“That’s not a fatal disease!”

“It is when it strikes men who are poorly fed and were savagely beaten during their arrest and interrogations.” Jast spoke as if this were common knowledge. Betraying neither fear or anger, he explained, “Once he arrived, the illness swept through the prison. We lost two hundred men that month and another hundred the following month. It was just enough to ease overcrowding.”

“You idiot!” Cassium stood up and pounded on the desk. “I needed those men to build a case against an entire village guilty of treason!”

“I read the files on the men you asked for. They owned land a nobleman wanted, that’s all. I daresay the treasonous village owns more land that nobleman has his eye on. Those prisoners were guilty of being too weak to defend themselves, nothing more.”

Outraged, Cassium yelled, “They were guilty because I said they were guilty! I won’t have a worn out foot soldier question my rulings!”

Jast fixed his eyes on Cassium, his expression and tone of voice showing only minor irritation. “I served this kingdom for decades, long enough to know that the best and brightest get nothing. Those prisoners, me, you, we’re not from noble families. It doesn’t matter what we do. The metal around my neck is called Blood for the Throne. I earned it killing a chimera singlehanded. I should have been made a castle garrison commander. I should have been made a general. Instead, after decades of loyal service and bravery, of facing death time and again, my reward is to spend the rest of my life watching men weaken and die while being powerless to save them.”

Standing up, Jast said, “And you, sir, are no different. The name Cassium carries great weight among the prisoners. Grown men weep at the sound of your name. One in every ten men here owes their presence to your rulings. Yet for all that, you are Magistrate Cassium, not Chief Magistrate Cassium, not Lord Justice Cassium. You have gotten as far as your low birth will allow, and you shall go no higher.”

The warden’s words broke through the thick layer of arrogance around the magistrate’s heart. Unfortunately the only thing beneath that arrogance was a deep vein of self-pity.

“I could have been a wizard,” Cassium said. “I’m smart. I have money to afford lessons. I could have served with distinction in the army or the court. Instead that privilege goes to sycophantic bumblers from minor noble families.”

“The army needs more wizards,” Jast replied. “I lost count how many times we requested a wizard’s assistance and were told none could be spared. Magistrate, one thing I’ve learned from my time here is that we are all prisoners. Some of us just have larger cells.”

Cassium scowled. He didn’t like being reminded of how far he could have risen, and any suggestion that he was equal to this dolt was insulting. That was a second mark against the warden.

There was another reason why he was angry. Cassium had expected to find a grand conspiracy at The Pit. Either the warden was refusing to produce prisoners for reasons unknown or he no longer had those prisoners. Cassium had suspected the warden was selling them to slavers. But if the men had simply died then the magistrate had come all this way and antagonized his superiors to authorize the journey for nothing. The damage to his reputation would be staggering if he returned home empty handed!

Desperate, Cassium said. “I want to see the bodies.”

Jast shrugged. “Dead prisoners are cremated so their graves don’t become rallying points for discontented elements in the kingdom. It’s official policy. The best I can do is show you ash heaps that haven’t blown away yet.”

Cassium grew suspicious. No living prisoners, no graves when they died, it was too tidy. “Then show me prisoners who are still alive. You have eight hundred of them.”

“Sir, I—”

“I had red eyes plague ten years ago and am thus immune to it, so if you still have sick inmates they can’t infect me. I want to see your inmates today, and if I am not satisfied with what I find, then one of your subordinates will take your place.”

Jast looked unbothered by the threat. “I don’t bring prisoners up except for transferring them to another jail or to a courthouse. Taking them out of their cells gives them an opportunity to escape, and desperate men take any chance they can get. If you want to speak with the prisoners then you’ll have to come with me down below and see them in their cells.”

“So be it.”

Cassium followed the warden, with his servant, driver and the two guards following them. They left the warden’s office and headed for the entrance to The Pit. It wasn’t much to look at, a small stone building without windows and a thick oak bar across the door. Guards stood at those doors and opened them when the warden ordered. A blast of fetid air shot out when the doors opened, a mix of rot, dung and countless unwashed bodies. The two guards following Jast took lanterns and lit them before going inside ahead of the others.

“Uh, sir,” Cassium’s servant began. Both his servant and driver looked nervous as they stared into the yawning entrance to the worst prison in the kingdom. “It’s just, the odor, sir. Peasants smell bad enough when they’re allowed a monthly bath. Surely the driver can handle your needs without my presence.”

The driver backed up. “Wait a minute! I was assigned the job of getting you here. You’re his servant, not me.”

Both men were engaged in Skitherin’s favorite sport of passing the buck, when Cassium lost his temper and ended the matter. “I’m going in and you’re both going with me.”

Inside was a spiral staircase just wide enough for one man to walk on at a time. It went down, deep into the earth where men had once removed countless tons of stone for building projects across the kingdom. The walls were dirty and the air stank. Echoing voices called out from far below, but they were too faint to understand.

Cassium looked down the staircase. “How many guards are below?”

“There are eight floors, with five armed guards at the entrance to each floor,” Jast explained. “New prisoners are the ones most likely to try escaping, so they’re sent to the bottom level. They’re also the ones best able to answer your questions.”

Cassium checked the notes in his backpack and pulled out a single page. “Here, prisoner Alec Roarmass, convicted of conspiring against the throne. He was sent to you fifteen days ago.”

“Yes, the smuggler,” Jast said in a resigned tone. “How does smuggling winter clothes into the kingdom qualify as conspiring against the throne?”

“He was selling to known radicals,” Cassium said hotly. “Is he still alive, or is this another of your convenient casualties?”

“He lives and he complains constantly,” Jast answered. “I’ll take you to him.”

With that Jast led them into The Pit. Jast had been right when he suggested that Cassium had rarely been in a prison. The magistrate found the experience unnerving. Loud random sounds, the stench, the humidity in the air, it was hideous. Fluids dripped down the brickwork, and squirming things wiggled across the floor. There was no light except from the guards’ lanterns. Cell doors were made of stone and sealed tight, with only a small window letting in air. When Cassium looked into one of the cells, he could only see the dim outline of a wretch huddled in a corner. By the look of him he’d be another of the warden’s failures before long.

“Mercy,” a voice called out. “Mercy, please.”

“Ignore him,” Jast said.

Cassium rolled his eyes. “I plan to. You stated the loss rate of prisoners earlier. What is their average lifespan once they arrive?”

“It depends on their age and condition. Most live three to nine months. A few last much longer, many much shorter. I’ve seen healthy men live only a few weeks while ones I was sure would die lasted a year. A man’s willpower matters more here than physical strength.”

They reached another staircase going deeper. Confused, Cassium asked, “Why is there such a distance between stairs, and why do they only go down one floor?”

“It’s a security feature,” Jast replied. “If there is a breakout, prisoners can’t go straight up to the surface. They have to travel across every floor to reach the next set of stairs, where they’ll find more guards and more locked doors. No one escaped The Pit before I was posted here. No one has since my arrival. No one ever will.”

They’d just begun descending the second flight of stairs when Cassium saw something run across the floor. It was too small to be a man, and when it giggled he knew what he was dealing with.

“There’s a goblin down here! Jast, you let a goblin sneak into the jail!”

Jast showed the same bland disinterest to this news as he did all else. “What do you expect? Goblins are everywhere. One hid in the carts bringing food to the inmates and escaped into the prison.”

“And you didn’t kill him?” Cassium sputtered.

“If he wants to live here, I’m willing to let him.” The warden actually smiled when he said, “He’s been down here nine months, healthy as could be, eating God only knows what. Goblins are real survivors. Floods, fires, avalanches, hurricanes, tornadoes, droughts, wars, none of it seems to bother them. It makes me wonder if the day will come where goblins are all that’s left in the world.”

That asinine comment was the third and final mark against the warden. Regardless of what he found, Cassium decided that the moment he got home he would recommend Jast be removed from his post and executed on the grounds that the man was too deranged to carry out his work. The guards had served with him too long to accept a new leader and would have to go as well. Fortunately, there were plenty of poor men desperate enough to take the job.

“You may be willing to put up with that monster’s presence, but I won’t.” Cassium drew a dagger from his backpack and went after the goblin. The little thing wore rancid leather clothes and had bone spikes running down his back. The goblin giggled and gibbered as he ran from Cassium.

“Do you want to see the prisoner or not?” Jast asked. Neither he nor his guards made any move to join the chase.

Cassium ignored him and went after the goblin. “I will not leave this wretch alive in what is supposed to be a jail for the kingdom’s most dangerous criminals! It shocks me that you tolerate such a breach of the law!”

It took a few seconds, but Cassium caught up with the goblin. He threw his dagger at the monster’s back, confident that he’d hit and kill the pest.

The dagger should have pieced the verminous goblin, but instead the already foul air became even darker and mustier before the weapon vanished. The goblin laughed and escaped. A second later the dagger reappeared and struck the wall.

“You tried to hit the floor and missed, high pockets!” the goblin laughed as it fled into the darkness. “I bet your aim in the bathroom is no better!”

“That’s why I wasn’t chasing him,” Jast said as he walked over. He picked up the dagger and handed it to Cassium. “I’ve campaigned for decades and seen things you haven’t. Goblins can warp space. It’s not something they do often, and they usually can’t control it, but when their lives are in danger they can make the strangest things happen…like making a dagger disappear.”

“Magic from birth, given to a creature too stupid to appreciate it.” Cassium spat in disgust. He’d read about goblins and their ability to warp space, and seeing it in person was disorientating. How could such an idiot make things disappear, or if the stories were true make things appear from nowhere? His books spent a little time on the subject when they weren’t babbling about goblins and circles. Angry, Cassium said, “The prisoner.”

“This way.”

Jast led them ever deeper into The Pit. Each level had the same dispirited prisoners languishing in their cells. Cassium had no pity for them, but dead men couldn’t be called to testify against coconspirators, nor could their lives be used as bargaining chips to ensure their relatives obey orders. Now that he thought about it, Skitherin Kingdom could be in danger if word got out that so many convicts had died. Their families could revolt. There, that was sufficient legal justification to get rid of the warden.

Not all the sick prisoners had died, for these hallways were filled with the sound of coughing. Cassium’s servant covered his mouth with his sleeve. His driver merely shrugged and said, “Better you than me.”

Cassium scowled at those words. ‘Better you than me,’ nearly qualified as Skitherin’s national motto. Too many men looked the other way when crime happened or the consequences fell, provided it didn’t affect them or the few people they loved. There was no loyalty to the throne, no desire to serve, and no attempt to take responsibility, just a craven willingness to ignore everything that doesn’t personally affect them. The Ministry of Obedience had spent decades trying to beat that flaw out of the citizenry, and failed.

“How much further?” Cassium demanded.

“We’ll reach your prisoner in another ten minutes,” Jast assured him.

They went ever deeper into the ground, floor after floor. They’d just reached the fifth floor when there was a tapping from a nearby cell, then a bang! Bang! Bang! Cassium went for his dagger as his servant and driver got behind the guards escorting them.

“That one still has some fight left in him,” Jast said casually. “I thought he’d give up after a few weeks, but he keeps trying to break down the door. It reminds me of something that happened during the False Land War. You remember when…oh, yes, you wouldn’t have been born yet. There was a small castle, one of the nameless ones on the border that were built long ago, then abandoned and repaired a hundred times over the years. A wizard named Dark Cloth lived there and was attacking caravans and villages.”

“Dark Cloth?” Cassium asked. He didn’t try to hide his contempt.

“He picked the name, not me. He’d fixed the gates so well we couldn’t breach them even with a battering ram. We tried for days, hammering just like that fellow in the cell. I thought we’d have to starve the wizard out, months and months of siege costing who knows how much money and lives. Turned out we didn’t have to.”

“He surrendered?” Cassium’s servant asked. Cassium snarled at the man, silencing him.

“His castle came down around him. My men and I were happy enough but couldn’t figure out the cause until we saw goblin tunnels in the wreckage. Dark Cloth had destroyed a village known for making cheese, one the goblins frequently snuck into to steal a wheel or two. They didn’t appreciate the damage done to their cheese supply, and made their displeasure known in a very dramatic and permanent fashion.”

“Goblins did what you couldn’t with a company of men, and you’re actually speaking of it?” Cassium marveled at the warden’s stupidity. How could Jast have remained in his post for so long if he’d openly admit to such a humiliating event?

Jast stepped into a pool of foul brown liquid, splashing Cassium’s robes with it. “It was an eye opening experience. I learned not to discount the small and meek that day, regardless of how little others might think of them.”

Every step in the prison was worse than the one before it. The ceiling dripped with condensation until it seemed to rain on them. The stench actually got worse, like rotting meat blended with spoiled milk. Random sounds increased in both frequency and volume. Nerve wracking as it was, the fact that the guards and warden didn’t seem to even notice the foul conditions made matters even worse.

Cassium was fast losing his temper with the warden and his degenerate prison. His servant looked like he was seconds away from panicking from their ghastly surroundings. His driver, a useless fool to begin with, kept trying to hide behind Cassium.

Once they descended to the next level, they found the floor slick with water fouled by liquid waste. More of the stuff dripped off the ceiling and down the walls, enough to ruin Cassium’s robes beyond all use. “What madness is this? Is this a prison or a sewer?”

“It’s rained often this month and raised the water table,” Jast told him as he continued marching, splashing through the mess. “Lower levels of The Pit can flood, so we have bilge pumps like those aboard ships to pump water out of the prison. Healthier inmates handle that task.”

Cassium’s servant blurted out, “They serve the very prison that holds them?”

That would have earned him a strike across the face, except Cassium wanted to hear the answer. Jast walked by more cells with moaning prisoners, saying, “They cooperate once they learn that the alternative to manning the pumps is drowning.”

“Warden,” Cassium began.

“Almost there.”

“Warden, there is another goblin! There, right there in front of you!”

Goblins as a rule were small, ugly, weak and stupid, and this one had doubled down on ugly. The goblin trying to hide in a corner had long, filthy hair, like a mane going down to his waist. His raggedy clothes were so dirty they were black. His arms were longer than his legs, so when he ran he actually galloped on all fours like an animal.

“Oh, him.” The warden kept walking like it was nothing. “He’s been here longer than I have. I call him Mouse.”

“This will not do!” Cassium marched in front of the warden and pressed a finger against the man’s chest. “Having even one goblin in a prison is unheard of, and you’ve allowed two of the vermin to take up residence. You, sir, have failed in the most basic duty of a warden.”

“He’s clearly never dealt with goblins before,” Jast told one of his guards. “Magistrate, it happens all the time. Goblins are crazy. There’s no making sense of what they do. Put a goblin in prison and he’ll break out the same day. Try to keep him out of the prison and he’ll stop at nothing to get in. I’ll wager a year’s pay that you’ll find goblins hiding in every prison in Skitherin.”

“No one breaks into prison!” Cassium yelled.

Mouse the goblin raised his hand. “I did.”

“I have had enough!” Cassium yelled before drawing his dagger and throwing it. The goblin made a break for it. He didn’t have to. The air around him turned musty and dark before live earwigs rained down and a tree stump appeared from nowhere. The dagger hit the stump, sparing the fleeing goblin.

“I already told you it’s not worth attacking them,” Jast said. “How many more times do you need to see the same thing?”

Cassium gritted his teeth and prepared to let loose a string of insults and obscenities the likes of which the world had never heard, when suddenly his eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped. “I’ve already seen a goblin warp space twice. Even once should have been impossible.”

With that he seized a lantern from one of Jast’s guards and set it on the floor. Quickly he opened his backpack and took out the books he had on magic. He flipped through them, reading by the lantern’s meager light as he looked for and then found sections on goblins.

“Magistrate, what’s this about?” Jast asked.

“Shut up.” Cassium checked one book and then another until he found what he was looking for. This was one of those rare and happy instances where his books agreed with one another, besides that circle nonsense. He stood up and pointed one of the books at Jast as if it were a weapon.

“Goblins warp space through their combined stupidity and insanity. Combined, warden. It takes many goblins to warp space even once. To do it twice, and in a short period of time, demands the presence of large numbers of goblins. The Pit doesn’t have two goblins in it. There must be dozens of them!”

Jast smirked. “Try thousands. Tally ho!”

Cell doors around them burst open to release waves of filthy, stinking, hooting goblins. They ran past Jast and his guards before swarming the magistrate, his servant and driver. Cassium tried to fight back while his men tried to flee. They were overwhelmed and pulled screaming to the floor. More goblins stole the magistrate’s backpack and ate most of his possessions.

Cassium struggled in vain as the goblins jeered at him. Jast walked up to the magistrate and frowned. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone.”

“What have you done?” Cassium demanded.

“I give you credit for not being afraid, and you figured out some of what’s going on here,” Jast said. “I don’t give you credit for anything else. Like I said before, your name carried a lot of weight here. The prisoners told me stories about you. They received beatings, whippings and every sort of insult in your court, but never justice.”

“How dare you!”

“He dares very easily,” a goblin replied. This one was small, barely two and a half feet tall. Spear bald, the goblin wore ratty clothes and had yellowish skin and a perpetual grin. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Innit, and I speak for these goblins.”

Cassium looked at Jast and then Innit. “You, you’re in league with them!”

“I am,” Jast admitted.

The goblins dragged Cassium and his men further into the prison while Jast, his guards and Innit walked alongside. More goblins ran in from elsewhere in the prison to laugh and jeer their prisoners, their numbers growing by the minute. Innit kept smiling and explained, “We learned of this wonderful place years ago quite by accident, and hurried over at once. Breaking in was hard but worth it. It’s warm in the winter, protected from outside attack, and almost no one comes here. Dark, dank, smelly, why, I can’t say enough good things about it.”

Jast continued, “I didn’t know what to expect when I was assigned this post. Three days speaking with inmates proved this was a place of horrors. So many people were here for the crime of having what men in power wanted.”

Furious, Cassium demanded, “What did you expect them to say? The truth?”

“I spoke with enough people outside the prison to learn that the inmates weren’t lying. Not one man in ten was truly guilty, and even the real criminals didn’t deserve this.” Jast walked on in silence for a moment. “But there was nothing I could do. Their land was confiscated, so they couldn’t go home. They were convicted felons, so they couldn’t settle elsewhere in Skitherin without being caught and executed. I couldn’t safely smuggle them out of the kingdom when we’re so far from the border.”

“A most unfortunate situation,” Innit agreed. “My people were in a bind, since we couldn’t move in with so many humans already present. That’s when we made this.”

Jast opened a cell door to reveal a circle made of bricks on the floor. It was ten feet across, and each brick had a different symbol carved into it. Cassium realized in horror that this must be the circle his books kept babbling about.

“You’ll have to explain this,” Jast told Innit. “I’ve never understood the thing.”

“It’s a goblin gate,” Innit said. “There are a thousand of them all over the world, hidden away in quiet, isolated places. Each one is made with twenty bricks connecting them to twenty other gates, and each of those is connected to twenty more. Goblin gates are powered by stupidity and craziness, which goblins have in surplus. Once we step on a gate, it can take us anywhere.

“We tunneled into an empty cell and built a goblin gate, then told the prisoners we were taking over and they would have to go.” Innit’s smile was briefly replaced with by a look of utter puzzlement. “I can’t explain why they left without a fight. Many seemed quite cheerful to lose their home, actually giddy.”

“I didn’t know what was happening until a third of the prisoners were gone,” Jast admitted. He kneeled down next to Cassium and looked sad. “I’d been here for months and couldn’t do anything for these poor souls, and then goblins gave me the answer.”

“You let the rest of your prisoners escape?” Cassium yelled.

“I escorted them to the gate and sent them through,” Jast replied. “They deserved better, but this was the best I could do. Wherever they went, there’s at least a chance they can build a new life. It was easy to keep secret since no one came here except more prisoners. When officials in the Ministry of Obedience asked for a prisoner, I said the man was dead. It worked for three years until you showed up.”

“And you keep the money sent to feed them!” Cassium struggled to break free, but the filthy mob of goblins holding him was too strong.

Jast shrugged. “Three plebs a week for eight hundred prisoners comes out to only twenty-four hundred plebs. It keeps my men and their families fed better than the wages we’re paid. But the money doesn’t matter. This is justice, magistrate, real justice, the kind people don’t get in Skitherin anymore, if they ever did.”

“I’m still trying to grasp this ‘justice’ concept,” Innit confessed. The air in the goblin gate grew momentarily darker, and there was a whoosh as five goblins appeared inside it. “Ah, more friends.”

One of the five new goblins walked out of the gate and blinked. “Where are we?”

Innit shook the newcomer’s hands. “You’re home.”

The goblin smiled. “Home. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“That’s been going on for three years,” Jast said. His earlier ambivalence was gone, replaced with a tone of satisfaction. “Prisoners come and are set free the same day. More goblins stream in through the gate or tunnels they’ve dug into the prison.”

“What of the men I saw in the cells?” Cassium demanded. It was a testament to his self-confidence that he expected answers even after being taken captive.

Giggling goblins brought in a straw dummy wearing ragged clothes. It was smeared with dirt and had an animal pelt for a wig. Up close it was obvious what it was, but in the cells’ poor lighting such dummies had been convincing. One goblin stuck his hand into the dummy’s head and raised it, saying, “Mercy! Mercy, please!”

“No, stupid, you’re suppose to cough like you’re sick,” another goblin scolded him. “I’m supposed to make the dummies beg.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting my lines,” the first goblin said.

Innit shrugged. “We’ll work it out in rehearsal. Magistrate Cassium, allow me to correct you on one point. You called this place The Pit, a rather bland and totally unoriginal name. My fellow goblins and I rechristened it as Goblinopolis. There is already one Goblin City in The Kingdom of the Goblins. Now there is a second. We are thousands strong here, and both our numbers and Goblinopolis grows each day as we bring in new residents and carve new tunnels and homes from the limestone.”

“The Pit, excuse me, Goblinopolis, is a third bigger than when I was first assigned here,” Jast added. He looked so sincere when he asked, “Can you believe that one of the greatest horrors of our world could be made into a place of refuge, into a home?”

“You, you’re mad,” Cassium said. “Totally insane. These, these creatures, they’ve infected your mind somehow. You have to know this won’t work. You can’t kill me! My superiors will search for me and learn what you’ve done if I don’t return.”

“When you don’t return, magistrate.” Jast grabbed Cassium and pulled him to his feet. His guards grabbed Cassium’s driver and servant. “Every man within fifty miles is loyal to me. Tomorrow I’ll send word to the capital that my men found your carriage overturned and burned, the horses and occupants missing. It’s tragic, but isolated roads like these are infested with bandits and monsters. If you were from a noble house your superiors would work day and night to find you, but a commoner, trying to rise above his station? No, magistrate, they’ll write you off as a loss, one easily replaced.”

Jast threw Cassium into the goblin gate, and his men threw Cassium’s servant and driver on top of him. Jast scowled and said, “I don’t know where this will take you, but there’s a good chance you’ll arrive in a place settled by prisoners you sent here. They’ll be most interested to see you. Mouse, if you’ll do the honors?”

“Whoo hoo!” Mouse the goblin ran on all fours and jumped onto the goblin gate, where he provided the stupidity and craziness necessary to power it. Cassium screamed as the air around him darkened and blurred before he and his men were sent a thousand miles away, where a hundred men bearing scars and whip marks never fully healed were indeed very interested to see him.

Few places in the Raushatd Mountains were as foreboding as Cyclopean Tower, or as misnamed, given that the tower has an even number of doors, windows, floors, bedrooms, tables, chairs, guards and even cats. The black granite monolithic structure towered over the desolate landscape, its thick walls covered in skull carvings and its iron doors cast to resemble gaping maws. In five hundred years Cyclopean Tower had never fallen to invaders. This meant that its current owner was surprised when his guards brought an intruder.

Two minotaurs opened the black doors leading to their master’s throne room and dragged a young man in between them. The hulking beasts threw the youth to the floor and stood over him with their double bladed axes at the ready if the order should come to execute him. The larger of the minotaurs said, “Master, this fool snuck into the kingdom and was heading for your tower when we seized him. He carried no weapons, no money, only food, water and a scrap of paper.”

“Hi there,” the youth said. He was a nondescript teenager, with brown hair, brown eyes and dirty clothes. He was strong from hard work, but no match for the bulky minotaurs. “Listen, this is all a big mistake.”

“I’d use the adjective ‘monumental’ in this situation,” Malvax Terrothis corrected the youth.

The youth gasped at Malvax. Most people did. The ancient wizard wore a dark gray cape over a black shirt and pants embroidered with gold thread. His boots were black with strange red markings that ran up to his knees. Malvax wore three jeweled rings and carried a glowing black staff set with sapphires.

Malvax was an impressive sight, but first time visitors tended to focus on his head, namely that it was missing. His neck ended in a pale blue flickering flame as large as a man’s head. There were flickering points of light where you might expect to see eyes, but no other signs of a face.

The youth waved. “Hi.”

Malvax sat at a wood table large enough to seat fifty men. A cook brought a plate of food, which the wizard cut up and ate. This involved stabbing bite sized pieces of meat with a fork and shoving it into his fiery head where a mouth should have been and wasn’t. The food burned away quickly, and Malvax put in another forkful.

“That’s kind of unnerving,” the youth said.

“I had assumed infusing my body with a thousand magems of energy and replacing my head would mean an end to meals,” Malvax replied as he burned away another morsel. “It was surprising to find I still needed food, and I could enjoy it.”

Malvax got up from the table and dabbed at his nonexistent chin with a napkin, burning it away in the process. “I dislike disruptions to my daily routine and go to some effort to prevent them. So I hope you appreciate how annoying this intrusion is and that you have to die.”

“But I haven’t done anything!”

“Precisely,” Malvax said. “I accept invited guests on rare occasions, but men sneaking in such as yourself are inevitably thieves, assassins, treasure hunters, adventurers or some related species of vermin. Killing you before you do something stupid is preferable to letting you get started. Now then, do you prefer decapitation or immolation?”

“Neither!” The youth tried to get up, but the nearest minotaur pushed him back to the floor. “If I was a killer or thief then wouldn’t I have a weapon?”

“Not necessarily,” Malvax said as he finished his meal. “I’ve seen more than one assassin travel unarmed to avoid arousing suspicion, then get a weapon on location to do the job. It’s actually quite clever.”

The youth looked down in shame. “I’m a threat to no one, which is why I’m here. The people I love are in danger and I can’t do anything to help them. I came because I need to talk to you.”

Malvax rolled his eyes and waved for the cook to come with the next course of the meal. “That may be, but I have precious few reasons to talk to you. What made you think an ancient, omnipotent despotic wizard needed to discuss anything with a farm boy?”

“Rancher,” the youth replied. “I know your time is important and I didn’t come empty handed. I can get you riches.”

“Riches.” Malvax didn’t sound impressed. He waved at his throne room and asked, “Child, when I have gold, jewels, servants, magic, and up until now peace and quiet, what could you possibly offer me?”

“My name is Todd, sir.”

“I don’t care, and neither does anyone else.” The cook brought another tray of food, this one with tropical fruit cut into artistic patterns. Malvax tossed a piece of fruit into his head, where it burned away. “Hmm, a bit under ripe. Todd, to get here you had to pass at least four keep out signs with skulls and crossbones liberally painted on them, and a fair number of real skulls at the base of those signs.”

“Yes, I saw those.”

“And you either crossed the Bridge of Woe or climbed the Stairs of Tears, both of which are littered with bones you might not have realized were human given how broken up they were. Those men’s armor was also so damaged that I can forgive you not realizing what it was, but there were broken swords, spears and axes that I’m sure you could identify as such.”

“I saw those, too.”

“And in spite of all those very public declarations of my generally poor disposition, you came here anyway. Todd, I have what I consider sufficient evidence of your utter stupidity, which means you probably don’t have anything of value to me. But while I am despotic I consider myself fair. Decapitation and immolation are not your cup of tea, so how about poison?”

“Let me make my case,” Todd protested. “I’d heard you made a deal with a man once before. Why him and not me?”

Malvax grumbled as he picked through the fruit. “You are ruining my appetite, child. You’re also referring to one Justin Vast, who offered me an undamaged book from the ancient elf empire in return for killing a wyvern that was eating his sheep. That was a mistake in every sense of the word. It convinced oafs like you that I could be bought off, or worse, hired. When I translated my reward, it wasn’t a tome of ancient secrets or arcane lore as I had been led to believe. It turned out to be a three hundred-page book of dirty limericks. I realize the elf empire was a moral cesspit, but really!”

“So, bad history of working with others,” Todd said. “Check. But I can get you gobs of gold. We’re talking piles of the stuff.”

“Todd, have you taken the time to examine your surroundings?”

Todd did as instructed. The throne room was not just large but ornate. Walls were carved with elaborate symbols and inlaid jewels. The huge table and chairs around it were made from blood wood, a rare and hard to grow tree, and they were so beautifully carved that they qualified as artwork.

Malvax walked to a balcony that overlooked the courtyard around Cyclopean Tower. He waved his hands at the town below with hundreds of peasants and artisans living in stone houses.

“The Raushtad Mountains are known for famine and natural disasters to be yearly occurrences,” Malvax. “Where others fail I carved out a home and kept it from all comers for three hundred years. Armies, monsters and horrors unknown to this world waged war upon me and failed. Death came for me and left empty handed. I own four towns like this, a silver mine and a controlling share in the Iron Pyrite Comedy Company. I’m missing how a rancher could add to my holdings in a meaningful way, and I feel a growing certainty that whatever reward you’re offering isn’t going to be worth the trouble it’s sure to cause.”

“But you won’t know for certain until you hear me,” Todd persisted.

Malvax snapped his fingers, and one of the minotaurs tossed him a copper coin. “Heads I hear you out, tails I break out The Big Book of Black Magic and get creative. Fifty-fifty odds, Todd, it’s not going to get better than that.”

Todd stared at the coin as sweat dripped down his face. “Do it.”

“Your funeral.” Malvax flipped the coin and caught it, then slapped it on his left wrist. He took his right and away and looked down. “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Todd asked.

Malvax walked back to the table, and with a wave of his hand caused a red hourglass to appear. He set it on the table and announced, “You have until the sands stop flowing to convince me this isn’t a waste of time. Talk fast.”

Todd approached Malvax and took a folded up sheet of paper from his pocket. He spread it out on the table and stepped back. “I live in the land of the Dark Duke. He has a stranglehold on power and brutalizes his people for crimes that only happened in his twisted mind. No one is safe from his delusions of conspiracies against him.”

“Whereas I am a beacon of hope?” Malvax asked.

“Your people live better than most do.”

“That’s because dead men can’t pay taxes.”

“The Dark Duke doesn’t feel that way,” Todd replied. “My people suffer needlessly and are a step away from starvation even in good times. We won’t last another year under his rule. But there are trade routes going through the Dark Duke’s territory where merchant caravans and river barges come every week during summer. He has tollbooths on three major roads and Mermaid River to tax those merchants. Every year he collects tolls in both cash and trade goods worth a fortune. It could be yours.”

Malvax stared at Todd for a moment before saying, “It’s times like these I wish I still had hair so I could pull it out by the handful.”

Todd held up both hands. “It’s easy! The Dark Duke’s forces are nowhere near as strong as yours. He’s not expecting an attack from you, either, and my map shows where they’re stationed. You could stage a surprise attack and take his army apart piecemeal, minimal threat, minimal losses, maximum reward.”

“What part of ‘I don’t need the money’ isn’t getting through to you, Todd?” Malvax demanded. “I might have made a deal for magic or ancient secrets, but I have gold without having to fight for it. Chad, tell this idiot I have gold!”

Todd frowned. “Chad?”

An earnest looking young man in bright, cheery clothes came in through the same door that Todd had been dragged in. The bond haired man set down a stack of books and shook Todd’s hand. “Hello.”

“This is Chad, my accountant,” Malvax explained. “I know he doesn’t really fit in with the decor, and quite frankly he wasn’t my first choice, but just try finding a man with experience in accounts receivable in these mountains. Chad, tell him I’ve got money.”

“Less than you should have,” Chad answered.

“I’m sorry, what?” Malvax asked.

Chad opened a book and paged through it. “Profits from the silver mine have gone down since dwarf miners opened up a competing mine in the mountains. It’s depressing the value of the silver you’re producing. Grain taxes from towns and farms are staying level, but opening up new farmland is taking longer and costing more than anticipated. Honestly, sir, while the books are still in the black, you could use new sources of revenue.”

“Ignore him,” Malvax told Todd. “Seizing land from the Dark Duke opens me up to attack from new enemies. If that land is as tax rich as you say, others are going to want it and are willing to kill for it.”

“If I may, sir, the Dark Duke’s territory is readily accessible by the same roads and river that brings in the tolls that make it worth having,” Chad said. “You’d need to guard those entry points, requiring the construction of fortifications and hiring guards, or in your case possibly creating them. Costs may exceed income in this situation.”

Malvax pointed at Chad. “See? That man knows what he’s talking about. Your reward is to open myself up to attack by every ambitious man in the Raushtad Mountains, and there is no shortage of those. My new peasant followers could easily invite or even aid such men to attack me, the same way you’re trying to get me to kill the Dark Duke. And quite frankly, I’m surprised you think a wizard would want to be a landlord.”

“You control four villages,” Todd said. “How would this be different?”

“Those towns didn’t exist before I settled in Cyclopean Tower,” Malvax replied. “Peasants came to me, swearing fealty in return for protection. I get a cut of their produce that they’re quite happy to turn over. Taking land others own means enforcing my will over them, a difficult, time consuming and generally bloody task I have no interest in.”

Todd pointed at one of the minotaurs. “Then delegate the landlord part of the job to him. Look at those muscles! No one would refuse him.”

The minotaur perked up. “I like this idea.”

“No means no, Todd, and you’re running out of sand in the hourglass,” Malvax said. His cook brought out a tray of sweets. “Ah, raspberry cream tarts!”

“Then don’t do it for the money,” Todd pressed. “Do it to be feared. Show the people in these mountains that you’re a force to be reckoned with again.”

Malvax was reaching for a dessert when he froze and turned to face Todd. He leaned in so close that the youth could feel heat coming from the wizard’s flaming head. “Reckoned with again? Would you care to rethink that last statement while you still have all your organs intact and in their correct positions?”

“I’m terrified of you,” Todd said hastily. “Other people in the Raushatd Mountains aren’t. Sir, be honest, when was the last time you did something, anything, to make the world sit up and take notice?”

“You dog!” Malvax stood up and grabbed Todd by the collar. “I have bested armies and fought dragons! When the wizards of the Inspired tried to kill me and loot my library, I turned half of their membership into gerbils!”

“That happened before I was born!” Todd cried out as Malvax lifted him until his feet were six inches above the floor. “It was before my parents were born! People know you exists and you’re strong, but they think you’re satisfied living here not bothering anyone. You have to take action to be feared, and defeating the Dark Duke would do it.”

Malvax tossed Todd aside and pointed his staff at the youth. “I don’t bother anyone because I don’t have to, your miserable cretin! I have what I want right here. Cash, security, solitude, it’s mine without a fight.”

“Sir—” Todd began.

A minotaur leaned close to Chad and said, “I’ve seen him get in these moods before. If he brings up his dad, run.”

“My father?” Malvax roared. His fire grew with his rage until the room became unbearably hot. “The ingrate who didn’t give me a name until I was twelve because he thought I didn’t deserve one? The fool who leased me out to anyone who could pay his bar tab? The wretch who said I’d never amount to anything?”

“I’m pretty sure we weren’t talking about him,” Todd said weakly.

“We are now!” Malvax jabbed Todd in the chest with the tip of his staff. “I came into this world with nothing and lost even that. The odds I faced were astronomical, the men opposing me terrifying, no one was my ally, and yet here I am. Century after century I fought enemies the likes of which you can’t even imagine.

“And here you are, a loser, a failure, a Todd, trying to trick me into fighting your battles for you. You want the Dark Duke dead? Do it yourself. You have no weapons, no money, no friends, no hope? Neither did I.” Leaning in close again, Malvax asked, “Do you have any idea the kind of sacrifices I made to become so powerful and last so long?”

Todd stared at the flames burning where Malvax’s head should have been. “I have some idea.”

Malvax pulled back. “Yes, I suppose it was a silly question. We’ll chalk that up to murderous rage dulling my normally sharp wits.”

With that Malvax walked back to the table, picked up the hourglass and laid it on its side. “And that concludes our discussion. We now move onto the part where I reduce you to a quivering husk of a man.”

“But there’s sand left in the hourglass,” Todd protested.

“Our deal was you had until the sands stopped flowing to impress me. You will note that the sands are not flowing, and you have most assuredly not impressed me. I still feeling sporting despite you upsetting me. Heads I kill you slowly and painfully, tails I send you back to your people a broken man unable to even talk as a lesson to those who might be tempted to annoy me.”

Malvax snapped his fingers. “Wine. The good stuff.”

His cook hurried out with an ornate green glass bottle. The cook uncorked it and handed it to Malvax, who poured it liberally onto his head. Wine boiled away with a hiss and turned to steam as the wizard consumed the entire bottle. “I just got off this stuff, and you had to upset me enough to break open a bottle. I hope you’re happy.”

“The Dark Duke has magic items you could take!” Todd yelled. “You like magic! And he hired two wizards from the Inspired. You hate those guys, and I bet they have spell books.”

“Not interested.”

Desperate, Todd turned to Chad. “Do something!”

Chad shrugged. “What sort of help do you expect from an accountant? Besides, you’re the one who made him mad.”

Malvax took out the copper coin again and tossed it in the air. He was reaching for it when Chad said, “Sir?”

Too late. Malvax snatched the coin from the air and he slapped it against his wrist. “Chad, as much as I need you, I’m not in the mood for interruptions.”

Chad pointed out at the balcony overlooking the courtyard. “It’s just we have more visitors, about a thousand of them.”

“What?” Malvax headed to the balcony and saw an army marching toward Cyclopean Tower. There were hundreds of swordsmen, spearmen marching in a phalanx, archers in the back and knights on horseback. The men wore black armor edged in crimson, and their weapons were made of black steel with spikes and barbs. Flags showing a black wolf on a blue background flew over the army.

The effect on the people of the town was dramatic. Men ran into their homes and shut their doors. Malvax’s guards raced to protect Cyclopean Tower, as did magic creations like gargoyles and a stone golem. The minotaurs ran over to join their master and face this threat.

“That’s the Dark Duke,” Malvax said as the army approached. “This is madness. He would have needed days to rally his men and march them here, leaving his lands undefended. I’ve given him no cause to do so.”

The army came to a halt not far from Cyclopean Tower. The Dark Duke, a bear of a man wearing black plate armor, came to the front of his forces. Two Inspired wizards dressed in black and white robes followed him, either one as dangerous as a platoon of knights.

“Malvax Terrothis, I come demanding satisfaction, and will not leave without it,” the Dark Duke announced.

Malvax walked onto the balcony, his staff in one hand as he pointed the other at the Dark Duke. “Satisfaction? You come onto my land unprovoked with an army. I’m the only one here with a reason to be angry.”

“I know your secret, conniving wizard. Many witnesses saw a traitor go to you with maps of my property, my forts, my very castle! You plot with malcontented peasants to seize the lands I hold.”

“What are you talking about?” Malvax demanded. “The only thing I have is a poorly drawn picture by an illiterate rancher I was about to kill for annoying me.”

“Then you admit you have him!”

Malvax began to speak again, but he stopped and looked back at Todd. “Wait. I can believe you’re stupid enough to let people see you leave your ranch, but how would they know you were coming here with a map? There’s no way they’d know that detail when the map fits in your pocket. The only way the Dark Duke could learn that…is if you wanted him to. You made sure he’d learn you were coming here.”

Todd smiled. “I planted the information that I was coming here to get your help. It was hard to pull it off without getting caught before I got here, but he’s convinced you’re out to get him. That part was easy since he’s paranoid. I honestly don’t know which one of you is going to win this fight, but the world is better off without either of you.”

“You treacherous dog!”

“Malvax!” the Dark Duke roared. “I left you in your pitiful tower, but no longer. Your lands, gold and peasants are now mine by right of combat.”

Malvax folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t tolerate threats, especially by those unable to carry them out. You won’t be able to hold the ground you stand on if I so much as snap my fingers. You want the boy who’s behind this? That I might consider, but your audacity demands repercussions.”

The wizard held up the coin he’d tossed minutes earlier to decide Todd’s fate. “Heads I give you the boy and let you leave with your army intact. Tails I break out the Big Book of Black Magic and do things to you that shouldn’t happen to a dog. I’m told I’m not feared the way I once was. Casting a few of those spells should correct that problem.”

The Dark Duke sneered and took a javelin from one of the Inspired Wizards. “I’ve never let chance dictate my life.”

Malvax rolled his eyes. “What do you think that toy is going to—”

The Dark Duke threw the javelin at Malvax. Strong and skilled as he was, the javelin shouldn’t have been able to hit at such a range. But in flight it began to glow, and strange runes appeared on its sides as it sped up in midflight. The javelin struck Malvax in the chest and went halfway through him.

There was a blinding flash of purple light and a boom like a thunderclap when it hit. The Dark Duke’s army cowered at the sight, and Malvax’s followers took cover. Malvax stood transfixed as the purple light radiated from him. The thunderclap died away to a low rumble as the javelin began to quiver and then smoke. Purple fire erupted from Malvax’s body and burned through the javelin until two halves of the weapon clattered onto the balcony. The purple fire kept burning, sealing the wound and then healing it. In mere seconds he was whole and well again.

“It’s not possible,” the Dark Duke said. He turned to his now terrified wizards and yelled, “You swore it would kill him!”

The Dark Duke’s army watched in horror as Malvax looked down at them. He snapped his fingers and caused a large book fly out of a hidden room in the tower and into his hands. The minotaurs recognized it and grabbed Chad before they fled. Todd saw that the strange book had carved obsidian and turquoise stones forming a grinning face on the cover. Todd was sure he wouldn’t get far as he ran for his life, but his fears were baseless. Malvax’s attention was focused solely on the Dark Duke.

“Tails it is,” Malvax said, and he opened the book.

* * * * *

While many had suspected the Dark Duke was foolish or even deranged, no one knew what madness drove him to attack the ancient wizard Malvax Terrothis. What they did know was that he left his lands with almost his entire army, and none returned. In time a neighboring king annexed the Dark Duke’s lands. While this king wasn’t the kindest person, he was a definite improvement over the previous ruler.

Many wondered why Malvax didn’t try to seize the land he’d left leaderless and unprotected. Facts on the matter were rare and hard to come by. Few men had the wizard’s permission to safely enter his territory, and they only made cryptic warnings that neighboring people took to heart. For that reason, no parents within a hundred miles of Malvax Terrothis’ lands gave their newborn sons the name Todd.

This story was originally intended for the Tales of Ever After anthology by Fellowship of Fantasy. It's divided into two parts because it runs a tad long, which is why it didn't end up in the anthology. I hope you enjoy it, and part 2 will be coming soon.


“You said the Walking Graveyard was dead,” Dana said as she scraped mud and bone shards off her boots. “You promised.”

“I thought it was,” Jayden replied. The Sorcerer Lord dunked his head in a nearby stream to wash his long, blond, messy hair clean. Most of the mud came out, but he had to scrub hard to remove the last few bits of soil. “The first time we fought the blasted thing I hacked it to pieces and dropped a stone tower on it. You’ll forgive me if I thought that was enough.”

Dana pointed at the foul remnants of the Walking Graveyard. The trail they were on ran through an idyllic pasture with blooming wildflowers filling the air with their perfume. An otherwise gorgeous scene was ruined by three tons of mud, bone fragments and shattered tombstones spread across the trail. “It followed us across the kingdom.”

“I normally admire tenacity, but not in this case.” Jayden waved for her to get off the trail. “Perhaps this can put the monster to rest for good. Cover your ears.”

Dana walked away while Jayden chanted. Dana was a girl of fifteen with brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a dress that had been dirty before the recent battle and now was in desperate need of cleaning, along with leather boots that came up to her knees. Dana was armed with a dagger and carried a backpack and sack loaded with coins, jewelry and other minor valuables.

Not long ago, Dana had been a simple farm girl, her father the mayor of a small frontier town. A terrible monster had menaced her town, and in desperation she’d reached out to Jayden, the world’s only Sorcerer Lord. He’d helped, but it was clear Jayden was deeply troubled. There was no telling what he might do if left alone, so she’d joined him to steer him from self destructive behavior, like attacking the king and queen of their kingdom.

The chanting grew louder as Jayden continued his spell. He was handsome and charming, and dressed in outlandish black and silver clothes. He carried no weapons, but his magic made him equal to nearly any foe. Jayden carried his own backpack loaded with treasure, rewards from their missions together. Most men would rest and celebrate after acquiring such riches, but money was of little interest to Jayden. He wanted the king and queen overthrown. Nothing less would do.

A spark formed in Jayden’s hands and flew to the defeated monster. This was the second time they’d fought the Walking Graveyard, a horror of mud, stone and bone, and apparently possessing enough of a mind to take offense at their earlier victory to track them down for a rematch. It might be dead this time, but Jayden wasn’t taking chances. The spark reached the Walking Graveyard and detonated into a white-hot blast of fire that cremated and scattered the monster’s body.

“That better be enough, for its sake as well as ours,” Jayden said. “I’ve better things to do than relive old victories, and as odious as that monster was, I’ve no desire to see it suffer needlessly.”

“And we don’t want it following us into a city,” Dana added.

“That wouldn’t do. We should reach our goal before lunchtime, and I don’t want to place people in danger because of me.”

With that done Dana and Jayden resumed their journey. They were on the western edge of the kingdom and close to the sea. Dana could already smell salt water, and the ground was a mix of dirt and sand.

“Admittedly there’s a certain mayor I’d like to introduce the Walking Graveyard to,” Jayden said casually.

Dana rolled her eyes. “Not this again. We were in the town of Rustile less than half a day. Let it go.”

“Their mayor is a pompous, overbearing halfwit who thinks blind loyalty is a virtue,” Jayden replied. “It’s fools mindlessly obeying orders that make this kingdom a dystopian nightmare. No critical thinking, no mercy, no faith, only slavish obedience to those who put him in power and keep him there.”

Dana shrugged. “At least he was honest about who he is.”

“How is that to his credit?”

“He didn’t hide his beliefs like some people. Being a lying two-faced weasel would be worse. Haven’t you ever heard people say just be yourself?”

That stopped Jayden in his tracks. “That’s terrible advice! What if a man was a drunken, illiterate bigot? Being himself would be the last thing anyone around him would want.”

“Fine, so what should you do?”

“Be better,” Jayden said as he resumed walking. “Be superior to who you were the day before, the week before, the year before. Learn, grow, improve, and never stop, because the day will come when people need you to be better for their sake and your own.”

This was typical of Jayden. He was judgmental and didn’t tolerate flaws in others. When villains committed terrible deeds, Jayden’s fury was terrible, and it lasted. It might take months for his ire to die down.

Jayden also had a thin skin when it came to the royal family, and anyone actively supporting them was a valid target for his temper. The major of Rustile learned that the hard way when he received orders to obtain pastures for the king and queen’s horses to graze on. The mayor tried to follow the order by evicting farmers from their land, which would have worked except Dana and Jayden had been passing through Rustile at the time. Jayden had no trouble scattering the mayor’s bullyboys, and followed that up by first looting and then torching the mayor’s house.

“We’ve reached our destination,” Jayden told her. He pointed to a city at the end of the road, a sprawling mix of wood and stone buildings that hugged the coast. “I came here once and was impressed by the number of ships in the harbor. There may be fewer today, but I trust we can hire one to take us out to sea.”

Dana looked at Jayden’s backpack, which contained a small silvery box called the Valivaxis. It could create a gateway to another world, except the only things on that world were dead elf emperors and living monsters that made wyverns and chimera seem tame in comparison. “What do we do with you-know-what once we get there?”

“Throw it overboard far from shore, where no one can ever find it,” Jayden replied. “It’s a pity given how rare the Valivaxis is, but I don’t feel we could find a safe place for it or person to entrust it to.”

They walked for hours more, but to Dana’s surprise they saw no houses or farms, just small pine trees. There were ruins, burned or rotted away, but few signs of men. “Where is everyone?”

“The soil is poor and supports few crops,” he explained. “There are lumberjacks in the countryside, but most of the wealth comes from fishing.”

As they reached the city’s outskirts, Dana asked, “What’s this place called?”

“Welcome to Fish Bait City, once the richest city in the kingdom,” Jayden said dramatically.

“You can’t be serious,” Dana told him.

“Obviously it’s glory days are behind it,” Jayden admitted. Rats scurried down alleys strewn with garbage. Most shops were closed forever rather than for the day, their doors and windows boarded over. Brick buildings were common and somehow decaying, with crumbling bricks and many holes. The few citizens on the street wore patched clothes that should have been thrown out. Topping off an incredibly bleak picture, the salty sea air stank from rotting fish.

“I mean you’re kidding about the name, right?”

“Shockingly, no. It was once the hamlet of Fish Bait, grew to be the town of Fish Bait, and with the coming of trade routes bloomed into the city of Fish Bait.” Jayden saw her disbelieving expression and added, “It’s considered bad luck to change a settlement’s name, no matter how silly. People believe renaming a town or city risks offending the dead buried there and drawing their wrath.”

“Has that ever happened?”

Jayden shrugged. “Twice that I know of. Both events were overblown.”

Dana stepped over a pothole as deep as a cooking pot. “What happened here?”

“It’s the king and queen’s doing.” Jayden led her through the streets, where they drew little attention from passing men. “Fish Bait City had the good fortune to avoid the worst of the fighting during the civil war. Unfortunately, the conflict that devastated the rest of the kingdom left the treasury empty. Existing taxes were raised, new taxes were made, and old forgotten taxes dug up from the grave and pressed into service. Government officials robbed merchants blind, and in time the merchants stopped coming.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “The civil war was twenty years ago.”

Jayden gave her a lopsided grin. “Taxes often outlive what they were meant to pay for. Three hundred years ago there was a wine tax to fund a war against a league of necromancers. The war lasted two years and the tax is still with us.”

They traveled through the edges of Fish Bait City until they reached a large harbor. Five medium sized fishing boats were docked alongside many rowboats. There were two larger merchant ships missing their sails and masts. Fishermen and laborers were present in small numbers.

“Grim as the city is, it has one thing we need above all else: boats,” Jayden said. More softly, he added, “It shouldn’t be expensive to hire one for a few days and take our most unwelcome guest out to sea. Make arrangements for our stay. I need to have a potter cover the Valivaxis in clay and bake it into a brick to better contain it.”

“Don’t you think I should be doing that?” she asked. He looked at her curiously, and she pointed at his gaudy clothes. “We’re not in the wilderness or a small town anymore. Which one of us is going to draw less attention from the authorities?”

“I’m sure they’ll notice me.” Jayden grinned and added, “I’m equally sure there’s nothing they can do about my presence.”

With that Jayden left her alone in the city. This was the first time Dana had visited a city, even a decrepit one, and the experience was overwhelming. Countless streets ran in every direction, brick buildings loomed over her, and nothing could prepare her for the smell. The ocean lent a pleasant odor to the air, but it couldn’t compete with the stench of manure, unwashed bodies, rotting fish and boiling tar. That last vulgar smell came from fishermen coating the hulls of their boats with tar to prevent rot.

If the city was unpleasant, the people were worse. The few men on the roads refused to make eye contact. Dana’s friendly greetings went unanswered as if she didn’t exist. When she hesitated at a crossroad, an older woman sweeping out her house spoke.

“You stay indoors tonight, young lady,” the woman said. She didn’t look up, just kept sweeping. “A fog is coming. Feel it in my bones.”

“Uh, thanks,” Dana replied. That was weird. She was going to chalk up the encounter to the woman being a touch off in the head, but nearby people nodded in agreement.

“Sorry about that,” a young man said. Dana stopped and looked at him, surprised that someone was talking to her. The youth had black hair and brown eyes, and the muscular build of someone used to hard work. He wore simple leather clothes, and more importantly he carried a spear. “It takes these people a long time to warm up to you. They wouldn’t even look at me for four months.”

“Weapons can have that effect.” Dana had a natural aversion to armed men and tried to slip around him, but the man followed her. He shifted his spear to his left hand and reached out with his right.

“Chuck Lowroad, at your service. I’ve never seen you before.”

Dana adjusted her baggage to shake his hand. “Dana Illwind. I’m new in town, Mr. Lowroad. My friend and I are only staying for a short time. Um, is there a reason why you’re armed?”

Chuck laughed. “I’m not anyone’s mister. Call me Chuck. I’m with the militia. I know, I don’t look like the soldier type. I was two weeks off the farm, looking to find my place in the world, when a pressgang gave me a job, a spear and two weeks training that revolved around where to find the best ale in Fish Bait.”

Puzzled, she asked, “How does that help you protect a city?”

“It doesn’t, especially since I can’t afford a drink. The city is six months behind in paying the militia and only sort of feeds us. I’ll be rich if I ever get my back wages. Say, I can’t get you a drink, for obvious reasons, but maybe I can do you a good turn. You’re new here so let me help. I know places in the city you might like to visit and a few you’ll want to avoid.”

Dana had met her fair share of helpful young men, and she’d learned that most of them were too romantic for their own good (or hers). Chuck looked nice, but she’d rather not trust her luck. “I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with your boss.”

Chuck nodded to a drunken man slouched down in a chair outside a tavern. “Leo, I’m skipping duty.”

“Bring back booze,” Leo called back.

“See, problem solved,” Chuck told her.

Dana stared at him. “Your baron is okay with this?”

“Weapons won’t solve the problems in Fish Bait City. We don’t even have crime since there’s nothing to steal. To be honest, half this job is knowing when to tell the baron we followed orders when we didn’t. You wouldn’t believe how vindictive he is. Let’s find a better topic of conversation. Do you have family here, or are you getting away from them?”

She edged away from Chuck. “This is getting personal.”

Chuck laughed. “Oh come on! Listen, people say I have a good eye for details. Let me guess your past. With those clothes you’re fresh off the farm. You’d doing okay for yourself with so much baggage. And you look confident, which is rare around here, so you’ve got an ace up your sleeve. Am I right?”

Indigent, she demanded, “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Still slouched in his chair, Leo called out, “Talking like that’s going to get you kneed where it hurts, Chuck.”

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Chuck protested.

“You want to be helpful?” Dana asked. “I need an inn room for the night. Point me to a good one and I’ll let that ‘fresh off the farm’ comment go.”

“It wasn’t an insult!” Chuck sighed and said, “I’ll take you to the best in Fish Bait City. It’s not what it used to be, but the food’s good and the doors have locks.”

As Chuck led Dana away, Leo said, “Don’t get mad at him, girly. He’s not evil, just dumb.”

The tour through Fish Bait was far from scenic. Streets swarmed with beggars and orphans. The stench had been bad at the city’s edge, and as they walked it actually got worse. Dana had grown up in a small town and was no stranger to farm life and the smells that entailed, but the city’s rancid odor was appalling.

Dana put a hand over her nose when she saw men leave buckets of fish entrails in an alley. “What are they doing?”

Chuck shrugged. “Fed goblins cause less trouble than hungry ones.”

Dozens of goblins scampered through the shadows, and some stopped to eat from the buckets. They were two to four feet tall and had skin colors ranging from red to gray to green. No two goblins looked alike, some having webbed fingers, pointed ears, stunted wings on their backs, sharp teeth, and one had a third arm. They dressed in rags and were armed with clubs and slings. Filthy goblins babbled and hooted as they made mischief and set traps for anyone foolish enough to follow them into the alleys.

“This is disgusting,” Dana said.

“Don’t you have goblins where you come from?”

She frowned and said, “Not this many. They sneak into town to eat table scraps before we can feed them to our chickens. Sometimes they set traps like making outhouses tip over when you use them. I once threatened to give my little brother to the goblins when he was naughty. He asked if I could help him pack. I know goblins aren’t that bad, but there are so many of them here!”

“Yeah, it’s hard to deal with,” Chuck admitted. “If you get too many goblins together they can work some kind of magic. Some old coot said goblins are so stupid and crazy that too many of them close together can warp space. I thought he was joking, right until I found myself flying into the ocean when I chased a goblin.”

“How can that be?” Dana asked. No sooner had the words left her mouth then the air began to ripple and smell musty. Her skin tingled, and live eels appeared from nowhere to rain down on her. She covered her head as goblins laughed and an old woman gathered up the eels for supper.

Dana stared at the goblins and gave Chuck a disapproving look. Chuck raised his hands in mock surrender and said, “I know it looks bad, but we leave goblins alone here. Leo gave me two pieces of advice when I was forced to take this job. Number one is which bars have good mixed drinks, which I have to take his word on until I get paid. Number two is leave beggars, orphans and goblins alone, no excuses. The Shrouded One hunts anyone who hurts them.”

“You’re afraid of a fairytale?” she asked. Nearby goblins laughed as Chuck’s face turned red. “I heard that story when I was five. The Shrouded One lurks in doorways for thieves and bandits, punishing cheating merchants and greedy mayors, stealing miser’s gold and sinking pirate ships.”

Chuck looked down as the color drained from his face. “I’ve seen that fairytale. I’ve seen men try to kill him and what happened to them for trying. And he sunk two ships.”

“You, you’re serious.”

“You bet I’m serious!” Chuck’s earlier bravado vanished. “I used to think The Shrouded One was a boogieman to scare little kids, but he’s real and lives here. You think I’m joking? Come with me.”

Chuck led Dana to the center of Fish Bait City. The buildings were larger but shockingly run down, the brickwork crumbling and wood walls rotting. Across from the ocean was a cathedral that dwarfed nearby buildings. It was in far better shape, but the windows were dark and the only people near it were beggars.

“You’re old enough to remember when the king and queen ordered the Brotherhood of the Righteous out of the kingdom five years ago, right?” Chuck asked. He pointed his spear at the cathedral and said, “The baron who rules Fish Bait City couldn’t wait to chase out the priests and monks so he could steal their property. He threw a party in the cathedral with his friends to celebrate taking it over as his new house.”

Dana eyed their surroundings nervously. No nobleman would allow beggars so close to his home. “I’m guessing that didn’t work too well.”

“A dense fog rolled in that night, and The Shrouded One came with it. The baron and his friends ran screaming into the night. The baron won’t come into Fish Bait City unless he has to, and he leaves before nightfall. These days only the homeless stay at the cathedral. That was five years ago, and The Shrouded One hasn’t left. He comes some nights and every time there’s a fog, punishing the guilty and protecting the unwanted. Hit a beggar, kick a goblin, ignore an orphan’s pleas, and you’ll pay.”

Still skeptical, Dana asked, “You’ve seen him?”

Chuck pointed at the two large ships in the bay. “Two months ago the baron ordered us to ambush The Shrouded One when he came with the fog. We waited on those two confiscated smuggler ships with every militiaman in the city. The fog rolled in, we heard church bells ring for midnight, and when the last bell tolled The Shrouded One was standing between us. I saw him get hit by arrows, spears, swords, fists, and Leo even head butted him. We just made him angry. If brotherhood priest were still here maybe they could banish him. As for us, we learned our lesson and keep out of his way.”

Dana put a hand over her face. “What is it with me running into weird monsters? Wait a minute. Why did your baron send militiamen instead of soldiers or mercenaries?”

“Oh, them.” Chuck laughed without mirth. “The king and queen are throwing a war, and everybody’s invited. Soldiers and mercenaries who are supposed to protect Fish Bait City got called away months ago. That’s why I got pressganged into the militia. Someone’s got to protect the city. The baron conscripted guys like me to do it, with a death sentence for deserters.”

Jayden had a deep and burning hatred for the royal couple, and he was sure they were going to invade neighboring kingdoms. If a city as large as Fish Bait had been stripped of defenders and left with only militiamen, then the war couldn’t be far off.

“Your baron couldn’t hire more mercenaries?”

Chuck shrugged. “Mercenaries come in by sea from time to time. The king’s agents hire them the moment they step on dry land. Doesn’t matter that we need them when the war needs them more. We even had an elf wizard show up a week ago. He left the next day with a job to hunt an enemy of the king. It wouldn’t have helped if they’d stayed.”

“Wonderful,” she said sarcastically. “It’s one hideous monster after another lately.”

“You need a place to stay tonight,” Chuck continued. He pointed out to sea, where a mist hung on the horizon. “There’s going to be a fog tonight, and that guarantees The Shrouded One will come. I’m sure you have money to pay for an inn room, but if you want protection—”

“Don’t you ever stop?”

Chuck studied her from head to foot and smiled. “I’ve got a good reason not to.”

To her relief, Dana saw Jayden coming down the street toward them. She pointed at him and told Chuck, “And there’s your reason to be a good little boy. Meet my traveling companion.”

Chuck looked worried as Jayden approached. “Wait, I’ve seen wanted posters for that guy. You travel with him? There’s a huge price on his head, and it keeps going up. The latest wanted poster puts the bounty at 1000 silver pieces! That kind of money attracts dangerous men who wouldn’t mind hurting innocent girls.” Chuck paused and gave Dana a questioning look. “You two aren’t…you know?”

“What? No!”

“So I’ve still got a chance with you?” he asked hopefully.

Dana went through her belongings until she found a gold coin. Once upon a time she would have been shocked to have such wealth, but since traveling with Jayden she’d come to see gold as a tool to be used. She pressed the coin into Chuck’s hand and said, “Here, I’m paying you to go away. Try those bars you heard about and have a drink on me.”

“But—”

“Scoot!” she scolded, and pushed him away. Chuck left looking like a puppy that had been kicked.

Jayden smiled at the spectacle. “And you thought I’d attract too much attention.”

Dana blushed. “We’ve got bigger problems than teenage boys. A fairytale lives here, and not one of the nice ones.”

And now for the exciting conclusion to Fairytales.


It took minutes to relate Chuck’s story to Jayden. He seemed curious rather than frightened, and said, “The potter I spoke with warned me to stay indoors tonight, but didn’t explain why. That’s one mystery solved.”

“I heard about The Shrouded One while I was growing up. He hunts evildoers, and lots of people think you’re a bad person. If The Shrouded One thinks so he might come after you.”

Dana and Jayden left to find an inn. Chuck had been showing her the way before he’d brought her to the abandoned cathedral, so she sort of knew the way.

“I’ve heard tales of The Shrouded One,” Jayden told her. “There are dozens of versions of the same basic story. A criminal or corrupt authority figure hurts a deserving person and The Shrouded One comes to avenge the injury. Violence ensues, The Shrouded One suffers wounds that should kill a dragon yet remains standing, and the villain suffers a terrible fate. Burned, buried, trapped, enslaved, transformed into a wombat, The Shrouded One’s penalties vary from tale to tale, but are always severe.”

They walked by more sullen residents, and Dana said, “That explains why people here act so weird. They’ve had a monster in their city for years. Why don’t the king and queen send soldiers to kill him?”

“Why risk soldiers to save a city they already ruined?” Jayden asked.

“I don’t want to fight this fairytale,” Dana said.

To her surprise, Jayden agreed. “We can’t risk losing possession of the Valivaxis. Whoever or whatever The Shrouded One is, we need to avoid him for now.”

They eventually found a two-story inn called The Oyster Beds, with a worn sign near the door showing an oyster sleeping in a luxurious bed. They’d nearly reached the inn when a filthy goblin jumped out of an alley in front of Dana and shouted, “Boogey, boogey!”

Dana put her hands on her hips. “Oh come on, was that supposed to scare me? I’m not a child!”

The goblin looked at her for a moment before saying, “You’re living in a kingdom ruled by men who would kill your parents, siblings, neighbors and cat, no questions asked. That better?”

She hesitated before asking, “Can we go back to boogey, boogey?”

The goblin folded his arms across his chest and marched off. “No. You ruined the moment.”

Jayden chuckled as he watched the goblin leave, and then he and Dana entered the inn. It wasn’t as rundown as the rest of Fish Bait City, but still looked worn out and sad. There was a common room with large empty tables, and a bar against one wall with a shocking number of whiskey bottles behind it. The only people present were a man behind the bar and a young girl mopping the floor. If the inn wasn’t impressive, at least it smelled nice from some kind of perfume.

“Ah, it’s so good to see you again, Alfonzo,” the man said. He stepped out to greet them with a smile. “I see you brought your daughter with you. So good to see you again.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Dana asked. “I’m Dana Illwind.”

“Dear girl, of course you’re not,” the man told her.

Jayden raised one eyebrow as he studied the man. “I’m not familiar with this game. You’ll have to explain the rules.”

The man pointed to a paper nailed to the wall behind the bar. “Our illustrious king and queen ordered innkeepers to report the names of our guests, and their comings and goings. Some men would rather not say such things, for reasons I don’t question, but that’s not a problem. The only guest my inn gets is Alfonzo the woodcutter, a poor but honest man who stays here when he comes to sell firewood. Sometimes dear Alfonzo brings his wife or his daughters and sons, charming children, truly.”

Jayden smiled. “I see. How often does Alfonzo stay here?”

“Why, you’ve been here quite often, sir. For tax reasons you stay in our cheapest room, but you might find a more pleasant one to your liking just this once, eh, Alfonzo?”

“Your baron doesn’t notice this?” Dana asked.

The innkeeper shrugged. “Our baron is a troubled man. I see no need to upset him.”

Jayden tossed the innkeeper a gold coin. “A room for me and another for the lady. If you serve meals we’ll pay for dinner as well.”

The innkeeper caught the coin and smiled. “We serve meals, and you’d be wise to buy them rather than go out. The only restaurants worth visiting are across town, too far away to reach before nightfall.”

“And before the fog arrives,” Jayden said.

Their host’s smile dimmed. “Ah, you’ve heard of that. Just as well. But don’t worry. If The Shrouded One didn’t come when the elf stayed with us then he won’t come now. Girl, show Alfonzo and his daughter to their rooms, and chase out any goblins that got inside.”

Their rooms were spacious and clean, but like the rest of the city had seen better days. Dana set her belongings on the floor and tested the room’s large bed before going downstairs. She met Jayden as the girl brought hollowed out loaves of bread filled with soup.

“You had an elf guest?” Jayden asked as he ate.

The innkeeper shrugged. “Elves, dwarfs, why, Alfonzo was once a young troll. But the elf we had last week, ah, he was a piece of work. The elves I’ve met were loud, rude, always complaining, but this one raised it to an art form. I lost track of how many times he told us he was a wizard and about the monsters he’d defeated. He left after one night’s stay, and without paying, I might add. He did give me this.”

Jayden leaned in as the innkeeper reached behind the bar and took out a potted plant. It was gorgeous, with leaves glittering like gems, large purple flowers tipped with gold, and perfume wafting from its blossoms so magnificent that it concealed the stench from outside.

“That’s an Imperial Starflower, a rare and magical plant,” Jayden said. “It’s also expensive.”

“He said it would improve the quality of my inn, which I can’t question, and that I could divide it into two plants once it grew larger.” The innkeeper placed the flower back behind the bar and added, “I seldom deal with wizards, but if I can sell one of the plants after dividing it then his stay may have been worth it.”

“The elf showed some class after all,” Jayden said.

The conversation ended when they looked through the windows to see residents of Fish Bait City seeking cover. Men shuttered their windows while women ushered children inside. Doors slammed shut across the city, and every chimney in view began billowing smoke. The Oyster Beds was no different, as the young girl closed doors and windows while the innkeeper piled dry wood in the fireplace.

“Worried your city’s less than esteemed guest might come down the chimney?” Jayden asked.

The innkeeper threw more wood on the fire. “It has happened but not here. I plan on keeping it that way.”

Dana’s attention was drawn to more papers tacked to the wall near the bar. These were different from the order demanding innkeepers inform on their clientele. Namely, each paper had a drawing of a man or woman, and the price the throne would pay for their arrest. Jayden’s face was on several of those papers.

“Um,” she began, and pointed a spoon at the papers.

Jayden and the innkeeper both looked at the papers. Jayden ate more of his dinner before saying, “You know who I am.”

The innkeeper seemed unbothered. “I do. I’ve even met men you’ve saved.” He cleaned a cup and put it behind the bar. “They spoke well of you and what you’ve done to save our kingdom, even though it’s bound and determined to destroy itself. It gave me hope that one day I’ll have more customers, and Alfonzo won’t be staying here anymore.”

For a moment Jayden looked bothered. “I fear that is a day long in coming.”

“I can wait, so long as it comes. Have no fear that the militia might try to arrest you. I hand out the occasional free drink to keep them happy, and most are honorable enough not to carry out our baron’s more offensive orders.”

The rest of dinner was a silent affair. Dana finished eating and went to her room on the second floor. The room was still dark when she set her belongings on the floor and searched for a lantern. She found one and lit it before closing the door.

And once that lantern was lit, she saw the words, “Little girl lost, go home,” written on the wall in tar.

Dana shrieked and raced from her room. She cried out, “Jayden!”

“Over here.” His voice sounded muffled, and in her panic it took her a few seconds to realize he was in his room and speaking through the closed door. She ran to it and grabbed the handle before she froze.

“Are you decent?”

“Morally speaking, no.”

Dana blushed again. “I mean are you dressed?”

“Oh, that. Yes.”

With that potential embarrassment out of the way, she opened the door and looked inside. Jayden’s room was no different than hers in its decorations. That included writing on the wall in tar that said, “I know your real name.”

“This is bad,” Dana whispered.

Jayden replied, “The Shrouded One is making an issue of my presence in his city.”

The innkeeper ran upstairs and into Jayden’s room. His face turned white as a sheet, and he grabbed Jayden’s arm. “I’m so sorry! I, I don’t know how he got in. The doors, we locked and barred them all! I’ll get you new rooms and clean these ones. Please, don’t ask for a refund! I can’t afford to lose the business!”

Jayden pulled free from the innkeeper and marched to the nearest window. He pulled the bar off and opened the shutters to show the street below engulfed in a dense fog. Thick as it was, the white mists didn’t hide the tall man wrapped in a ragged cloak that covered him head to foot. The strange man looked up at Jayden before moving silently down the street.

Jayden’s features hardened into a scowl. “You don’t get to walk away after that.”

“Sir, no!” the innkeeper begged in vain. Jayden ran from the room and headed downstairs to the entrance. Dana went after him in the hope she could prevent this from turning into a fight. She was two steps behind him when he unbarred the door and ran onto the foggy streets. She heard the innkeeper call out to them, but Jayden paid no attention to the man’s warning. Instead he ran into fog as dense as a cloud after an enemy who by all accounts was a fairytale given form, and one who faced many militiamen without injury, much less defeat.

“He went this way!” Jayden shouted as he turned a corner.

Their foe may have done just that, but as Dana and Jayden went around the corner they came upon a brick wall twelve feet high, with no doors or windows The Shrouded One could have gone through or places for him to hide.

“Looking for me?”

The echoing voice came from their right, but when they turned around they found The Shrouded One standing behind them, his return as silent and mysterious as his disappearance. Up close he was intimidating. The cloak didn’t leave an inch of skin exposed. What little should have been visible was covered with strips of dirty cloth wound around his body. The Shrouded One was unarmed yet showed no fear of Jayden, making him even more frightening.

“You entered my room uninvited,” Jayden replied. He cast a spell and formed a sword of utter darkness in his hands, the blade outlined in light that offered just a hint of illumination. “My coming shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Yet a surprise it remains, for all thought you long dead.” The Shrouded One’s voice came from their left, and then from behind them when he spoke again. “I first saw you twenty years ago and marveled at a boy with such promise. I mourned when I heard you’d been put to death, but seeing what you have become is far worse. You assumed the title and magic of the Sorcerer Lords, monsters in all but name. The elves of old killed those fiends, yet you took up their ways.”

Jayden hesitated before answering. “If you know who I was, you know the road I walk is not of my choosing.”

“Excuses,” The Shrouded One replied, his voice coming from above them and to the right. “Many in this land have known untold suffering without resorting to dark ways. Your acts would horrify the boy you once were. I’ve heard too many tales of the damage you leave in your wake. Fish Bait City is my home, my responsibility, and it has known too many hardships without you adding more. Others have faced me and failed. Bring chaos to these people and you will fall as they did.”

If Jayden had been spooked, it passed quickly. “For such a staunch defender your name doesn’t conjure good feelings among the people of Fish Bait City, and your claim to have met me twenty years ago rings hollow when you first appeared here five years ago.”

“Your ignorance is staggering,” The Shrouded One retorted, his echoing voice coming from near his body this time, but farther back than it should have been. “I come from this city, birthed when I am needed, dying when I am not. I was here when you first came and your face showed hope, your actions mercy, your words love. I did nothing then or for years more, staying in the shadows because I wasn’t needed.

“But now I am needed, even if I am not wanted,” The Shrouded One declared from their left. “This city was deafened by the cries of its poor, every stone soaked in their tears until I had no choice but to come. There will be no more suffering here. The baron thought otherwise. Pirates, thieves and men called knights but blackguards by their deeds came to spread evil. They regretted their deeds, as will you.”

“I take offense at you grouping me with those fiends,” Jayden said. “And if you want to compare which of us faced greater odds and won, you’ll find yourself coming up short.”

Dana rolled her eyes. “Oh for the love of God!”

The Shrouded One turned to face her. “What?”

Hoping reason would win over bravado, Dana got between Jayden and The Shrouded One. “Congratulations, you’re both intimidating, so can we move on to the part where you don’t kill each other? The only one who wins that fight is the king and queen, who hate you both.”

Turning to The Shrouded One, she said, “I’ve traveled with Jayden for months. He’s hurt men who hurt innocent people, and who would have hurt even more if he hadn’t stopped them. He’s killed monsters and saved lives. We didn’t come to hurt anyone. We have to hire a ship and leave for a few days, no damage done. Calm down and don’t start a fight you don’t need and might not win.”

“Who is this?” The Shrouded One asked from five different directions.

Jayden walked alongside Dana. “She’s a friend, and a better person than I am.”

The answer seemed to satisfy The Shrouded One. “If one innocent and pure is willing to speak on your behalf then you might not be lost. Return to The Oyster Beds inn. Leave in the morning as you plan without harming others and there shall be no fight between us. But know this, Sorcerer Lord: the darkness inside you could consume you, your one friend in this world and countless others. Turn back while there is still time.”

With that The Shrouded One drifted over to a wall with a hole at the bottom from bricks that had crumbled away. The opening was only six inches high and a foot across, but as The Shrouded One neared it his cloak slipped inside. His body shriveled and twisted as he fit into the hole until he disappeared into it.

Dana felt nauseous. “That was disturbing.”

Jayden allowed his magic sword to vanish before he turned to Dana. “That was very dangerous.”

“Fighting him would have been worse. You might not have survived, and if he’s as strong as you then this city might not have survived you two brawling.”

“True. Let’s go inside before the innkeeper locks us out.”

As they headed back to the inn, Dana cautiously asked, “The Shrouded One said he knew you, and that you had another name.”

“He spoke the truth. I came here many years ago, so long ago it feels like it happened to someone else.”

“So, feel like telling me this other name of yours?”

Jayden stopped and put his hands on her shoulders. “Dana, you’re my friend, the first one in such a long time that I wondered if I would ever have another. I trust you, I respect you and I like you more than I like myself.”

Dana blushed again. “Oh.”

“That’s why I’ll never answer that question.”

“Wait, what?”

His grip on her shoulders tightened ever so slightly. “Officially I’m dead, and safer if all men believe that. You’ve tried to protect me from my enemies and from myself, but if my real name becomes known and that I still live, that knowledge is a death sentence. I worry that The Shrouded One has this information, but I doubt he’d tell my enemies. Make no mention of this to anyone, for your sake as well as mine. Let’s get what rest we can, for tomorrow has trouble enough waiting for us.”

Jayden headed back to the inn as if the conversation was over. Dana frowned and said, “Fine, if you won’t say then I’ll guess. Let’s see, you were nice if a scary nightmare fairytale actually liked you. You would have been younger than me back then, and I bet you were cute. All the girls chased you.”

Jayden rubbed his eyes. “Dana.”

“But you didn’t notice because you were always reading books.”

That got his attention. “What makes you say that?”

“You read spell tablets from the old Sorcerer Lords, and they died out over a thousand years ago. You don’t learn that just anywhere, so somebody got you books about ancient stuff like the Sorcerer Lords and you read them. Books like that must be expensive, so your family had money.”

“Let’s stop this conversation right now,” Jayden said firmly.

Dana smiled. “I’m getting close, aren’t I?”

They’d nearly reached the inn when Dana paused. The dense fog concealed many of Fish Bait City’s poor features, but it didn’t hide the city’s sickening smell. Dana grabbed Jayden’s arm and pulled him to a stop when she said, “Jayden, hold on. That smell, it’s beautiful.”

Jayden inhaled deeply. “Gorgeous, and out of place here.”

“It’s like that pretty flower at the inn the elf used to pay for his stay.”

“I pay no one” a bombastic voice called out. “I helped a stupid, ugly, clumsy man by giving him a flower. But I accept your meager praise of the Imperial Starflower I grew.”

Dana and Jayden fell back as they saw a male elf dressed in white and green robes. He was handsome in an arrogant, sneering kind of way, his black hair styled and trimmed, his youthful face and pointed ears flawless. The elf carried a staff sprouting living vines, and those vines wrapped around his waist and grew to thick vines with arrow shaped leaves and beautiful flowers.

“It’s a variant I bred with a longer lifespan, more fragrant blooms and resistance to common plant diseases. I wouldn’t expect a destructive brigand like you to understand the work it took, but there’s a chance your second rate mind might appreciate beauty, culture or making a lasting improvement in the world.”

Jayden put himself between Dana and the elf. “Fair warning, I’ve already been insulted tonight, and it’s left me in a foul mood. Name yourself and the reason for this meeting.”

The elf came closer, the vines slithering around him as he walked. “Your kind could never hope to pronounce my name, so I use the pseudonym Green Peril when dealing with the weak minded. I trained under the greatest nature wizards of the Elf King, and I have no equal. As for why I degrade myself by visiting this cesspit of a city, the old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words applies.”

Green Peril took out a rolled up sheet of paper from inside his robes and tossed it to Jayden. Jayden unrolled it to see a picture of himself with a bounty listed at the bottom.

“More accurately, you’re worth a thousand silver pieces, a paltry reward, but one it seems I must accept,” Green Peril said.

Jayden cast a spell and formed his black magic sword. “I have no quarrel with you.”

“No,” Green Peril admitted. “You have a quarrel with the local human king. He and his shrewish wife are tired of your antics. I came to become their court wizard, and hopefully bring this nation of knuckle dragging halfwits up to an acceptable level of culture. Their representative was so impressed with me that he used a magic mirror to call his king. Your nemesis approved my offer of service and promised adequate pay, but only if I proved myself worthy by bringing back your head. Elves put an end to the Sorcerer Lords in ancient times, so the offer was almost wise and well within my abilities.”

The nest of vines grew and spread as Green Peril neared. “I thought it would take weeks to track you down, when to my surprise I learned from the birds of the sky that you came to the very port where I’d first entered this festering kingdom. I hope killing you is a challenge, because finding you was child’s play.”

Dana gulped nervously. Green Peril might be a legitimate threat. Bad as that was, Jayden still had the Valivaxis. He’d had a potter bake it into a clay brick, but if Green Peril was thorough he might find it. The Valivaxis was a gateway to the graveyard of ancient elf emperors, which might tempt the elf wizard into opening it, releasing the monstrous guardians within.

Then the elf noticed Dana. “And who is this? A servant? An apprentice? A pet? Regardless of the answer, her head is of no value to me. Send her away.”

Dana glanced at Jayden and asked, “Seriously?”

“I try not to stereotype, but all the elves I’ve met were insufferable,” he told her. He looked at Green Peril and said, “You’ve no doubt researched me, but I’ve recently learned new spells and am more of a threat than you know. Your chances of winning this battle aren’t encouraging.”

Green Peril smirked. “We shall see. Sorcerer Lord Jayden, I challenge you to a duel. Let us see which of us is the greater wizard.”

Desperate to keep this fight from starting, Dana said, “How is this fair? I mean, a Sorcerer Lord versus a magic gardener?”

Jayden and Green Peril both stared at her. The elf yelled, “What?”

“Jayden kills powerful monsters like the Living Graveyard and you make pretty flowers, which you pay your bills with. Gamblers wouldn’t bet money on you. You said you studied under great wizards. If they could see you now, groveling for a job from a human king and killing for him.”

“I’m placing myself in a position of power to influence this kingdom and set it on a course that will align it with the Elf Kingdom.”

“You’re trying to get a job, and from the start you’re going to be disloyal by manipulating your boss into doing what you want,” Dana said. “Why would they hire you? Everybody within five hundred miles knows Jayden, but I’d never heard of you before tonight. For all that boasting you’re a nobody. The king and queen can do better for a court wizard. They’re just using you to do their dirty work, then bang, out the door you go without so much as a thank you.”

Before the elf could yell again, Dana asked, “And what’s with that sapling you’re carrying?”

“It’s a magic staff to focus his magic and prevent misfires,” Jayden told her.

“Why don’t you have one?”

Jayden smirked. “For the same reason healthy men don’t use crutches.”

“So take away that twig and he’s in trouble,” Dana said. “I’m not impressed.”

“You!” Green Peril yelled, but he regained his composure. “You’re trying to bait me into acting foolishly and making an error in battle.”

“Or embarrass you into not attacking. You don’t have a good reason to fight him. He’s saved lots of lives in this kingdom.”

Green Peril looked at Jayden. “So that’s why you keep her around.”

Jayden shrugged. “Clever, brave, moral compass, her value knows no limits. If you seek to curry the king and queen’s favor, know that many have tried to steer the royal couple onto a safe course. They failed. The patrons you seek care for no one save themselves. If you want to improve the kingdom then there are other ways. I can help you do it.”

Jayden’s words had as much effect as arrows fired at a brick wall. Green Peril sneered and replied, “I made a pact with the king and queen you seek to topple, and my word is my bond. You shall die tonight, and this kingdom’s future will be better in my hands than yours. Foolish man, you won’t survive this night.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Green Peril frowned as The Shrouded One drifted down the street toward them. “Sorcerer Lord, mere minutes have passed since I warned you not to bring chaos to this city, and I find you in a duel.”

Jayden pointed his ebony sword at Green Peril. “For once I didn’t start this.”

“Who or what is this?” Green Peril asked.

“The Shrouded One, fairytale come to life,” Dana said. She pointed at the elf and added, “Green Peril, elf wizard, jerk and hypocrite.”

“I won’t tolerate battles within this city,” The Shrouded One said. “Whatever quarrel you two have, settle it elsewhere.”

Green Peril shrugged, and the vines around him stretched across the misty street, wrapped around The Shrouded One’s chest and crushed him like an egg. Dana screamed as the vines tossed The Shrouded One’s tattered remains aside.

“That settles that,” Green Peril said.

“It settled nothing.”

Dana, Jayden and Green Peril whirled around to see The Shrouded One rise up behind them. The Shrouded One faced Green Peril before speaking. “You chose this fight, wizard. Now feel the wrath of an entire city.”

Green Peril’s vines grew explosively until they nearly filled the street. Half the vines struck at Jayden while the rest went after The Shrouded One. Jayden hacked away the nearest vines while The Shrouded One was torn apart again. Green Peril began casting a spell, but never finished it. Bricks flew through the air as thick as raindrops in a storm, all of them aimed at the elf. Green Peril’s vines batted most of them aside, but one struck him in the stomach and broke his concentration, ruining the spell.

“Get back!” Jayden ordered Dana. He cast another spell and formed a shield three feet across made of spinning black blades. The shield hovered in front of him, and when one of Green Peril’s vines wrapped around it the shield tore it to shreds. Two more vines struck the shield and were reduced to pulp. Jayden hacked apart another vine with his sword when it came too near, but Green Peril’s vines grew and replaced what it lost.

“This battle ends now,” The Shrouded One declared as he rose up from the misty streets. Torrents of boiling tar poured down from the roofs onto the vines, scalding them to death. Green Peril’s plant tried to regrow, but Jayden lunged in and hacked it apart. The elf fell back as Jayden and The Shrouded One advanced on him. “You had your warning. Now suffer as those before you did.”

“Your other enemies weren’t wizards, or elves,” Green Peril retorted. He cast a spell and caused roots to burst up from the street. They wrapped around The Shrouded One’s head and crushed it, destroying him once again, but no sooner had he fallen then he rose up again farther down the street. “By oaks and ancestors, how many times do I have to kill you?”

“Until you get it right!”

Jayden charged Green Peril and had nearly reached him when the elf drew a glass bottle from inside his robes. He threw it at the wall of a nearby building and it shattered to release hornets. Once free, the hornets quickly grew as big as dogs. Green Peril pointed his staff at Jayden, Dana and The Shrouded One, and the hornets flew after them.

Jayden slashed one hornet in half before a second attacked him. The monster went straight for his face and would have stung him except it hit his black shield first. Dana heard a hideous shriek as the shield ground the hornet into mush before the spell failed and the shield vanished. Two more hornets went after The Shrouded One. They’d nearly reached him when the side of a two story tall brick building peeled off and fell on them. Both hornets were crushed, leaving two more flying after Dana.

Dana ran for her life with two flying monsters in hot pursuit. Thankfully, the giant hornets weren’t as fast as their smaller cousins, and she managed to stay ahead of them. She raced down the misty streets, the sound of buzzing wings not far behind. One hornet flew up high and tried to dive onto her. Dana climbed under an empty wagon on the street. The hornet landed and tried to go after her. The moment it did, she got to the other side of the wagon and pushed hard. The wagon was heavy, but Dana was strong from years of farm work, and she rolled the wagon wheels over the hornet. Squish!

She looked around and saw the other hornet still in the air. It came closer until she heard Green Peril shout, “Not the girl, you idiot! Kill the Sorcerer Lord!”

The hornet flew back to the battle and Dana raced after it. The hornet was flying close to the ground, and as it approached Jayden it lowered its stinger, long and sharp as a dagger.

Dana charged the hornet and leapt onto its back. Her weight was enough to force the monster down. She and the hornet rolled across the filthy street until they hit a wall. The hornet struggled to get free of her as she wrapped her legs around its back. It was still trying to break loose when she drew her dagger and drove it between the armored plates on the hornet’s back and neck, taking the monster’s head off.

She returned to find the fight still in progress. Green Peril plucked a green sprig off his staff and cast a spell on it. The sprig grew into an enormous plant, easily as large as nearby buildings, and it opened a gaping maw filled with teeth. Jayden tried to hide behind a wagon on the street, but the plant swallowed him and the wagon. Green Peril followed this up by casting another spell that caused his staff to sprout a sickle blade made of wood. He sneered and marched toward The Shrouded One.

“One down, one to go,” Green Peril announced.

Dana spotted three buckets sitting in an alleyway. They smelled of rotting fish, and as she approached she saw they contained fish entrails, a disgusting bribe to placate the city’s goblins. One bucket was still full, and she grabbed it and ran after Green Peril. The elf had nearly reached The Shrouded One when she caught up and splashed rotting fish guts over the elf.

Green Peril screamed in outrage, “These are new robes!”

Dana clobbered him over the head with the bucket. “Let Jayden go!”

She didn’t know if the elf could do what she demanded, but the matter soon became moot. The plant monster cried out in agony as it coughed up the wagon it had eaten along with Jayden. It kept coughing, then threw its head back and howled as Jayden’s black sword cut it apart from the inside. The monster fell dead to the street and Jayden hacked his way to freedom.

It was dark and foggy, but Dana could still see how furious Jayden was. He dripped with sap, his long messy hair was plastered to his head, and his clothes were torn where the plant monster’s teeth had cut. He barred his teeth as his magic sword vanished and was replaced with a black whip.

“I…have had…enough,” he declared.

“A pity, because I can keep this up all night,” Green Peril replied. He kicked Dana away and gripped his staff/sickle with both hands. “So, who dies first?”

“After you,” The Shrouded One told him.

It was hard to see what happened next. The fog rippled, and Dana’s skin tingled right before a rowboat came flying through the air. It was an old wreck with a large hole below the waterline and seawater pouring out of it. Green Peril saw it hurtling toward him and leapt out of the way before it crashed into the street where he’d been standing.

Green Peril charged The Shrouded One and sliced him in half at the waist. The Shrouded One rose up from the fog a block away, and the elf yelled curses into the night. “I’ll kill you a thousand times if that’s what it takes!”

Jayden was on the elf before he got a chance to carry out the threat. He swung the black whip and it wrapped around Green Peril’s staff. The whip sizzled as it ate through the staff. As Green Peril tried to pull free the staff snapped in two.

“You needed that staff to focus your magic,” Jayden said. “It’s a limitation the magic of the Sorcerer Lords doesn’t share. Losing it won’t prevent you casting more spells, but it should weaken them enough for me to end this.”

“I have no limits!” Green Peril shouted. He cast another spell, but it took him longer and his body shook at the effort. Briars with long thorns grew up around him, spreading so fast that Jayden and Dana had to retreat. The wall of briars was twenty feet thick, five feet tall and had thorns three inches long that dripped what was almost certainly poison.

“How quaint,” Jayden said. He swung his whip at the briars, and was rewarded with a hiss as it burned through them. Briars fell to the street, still sizzling, and Jayden swung again to hack more briars down.

Green Peril began to panic. Jayden came from one side while The Shrouded One came from the other. Sweat poured off the elf as Jayden destroyed the briar wall, and there was terror in his eyes as he ran away. Jayden and The Shrouded One followed him as Green Peril fled to the port. He cast another spell, gasping at the effort it took, but he grew another nest of vines around him. Green Peril got into one of the smaller boats and his vines seized the boat’s oars. He managed to row the boat out to sea.

“You brought suffering to this city, wizard,” The Shrouded One said. “Do you really think I’ll let you escape so easily?”

Small anchors tied to tarred ropes swung from one of the large ships in the harbor and caught the edge of Green Peril’s boat. Green Peril tried to pull the anchors off, but the ropes went tight and held him in place.

On shore, Jayden began to chant. A tiny flickering spark formed in his hands as he prepared one of his more devastating spells. Green Peril saw this and cast a much faster spell that made roots burst up from the street. The roots grabbed a nearby house and collapsed it on The Shrouded One, destroying him once again, but the ropes didn’t slacken when he fell. Green Peril cried out in fear as Jayden finished his spell and sent the tiny spark flying at the elf. He jumped from the boat as the spark hit and detonated into a ball of fire.

For a second that seemed to be the end of it, but a giant hawk burst from the sea and flew away. The huge bird bobbed up and down as it fled into the night.

“Transformation magic,” Jayden said as Dana walked up alongside him. “I didn’t think he’d be strong enough to cast a spell that difficult without his staff to focus the energies. I can’t follow him and none of my spells have enough range to reach him. Still, using so much energy without a staff will exhaust him. Our foe lives, but will need days to recover his strength and months to replace his staff.”

Dana wiped sweat off her brow. “Looks like he’s not going to be the court wizard.”

“Likely not. The Shrouded One hasn’t reappeared. Hopefully he’s satisfied how the battle went and won’t cause us trouble. Let’s return to the inn. I need a bath, and we need to be out of this city before its people ask awkward questions in the morning.”

“Why aren’t people asking questions right now?” Dana asked.

Jayden and Dana looked at the houses around them. The battle had been deafeningly loud and done considerable damage to the city, yet no doors or windows opened. Militia and citizens alike made no move to investigate the disturbance.

“This is what fear does to people,” Jayden told her. “Year after year of threats they can’t stop, and the men and women can only keep their heads down and hope danger passes them by. No one should live like this, helpless and frightened, yet so many in the kingdom do. This is why I fight the king and queen, for their rule has brought suffering to good people.”

Dana paused. “Wait here.”

“Why?”

“Just wait,” she told him, and headed to the house Green Peril had destroyed. It was abandoned, thank God, but she dug through the rubble anyway until she found the tattered remains of The Shrouded One’s cloak. And in those shreds of fabric she found a small bruised goblin only two feet tall. “Are you hurt?”

“I’ll heal,” the goblin told her. He had lavender colored skin and wore leather clothes. There were straps on his waist and back where thin wood posts once connected him to the cloak of a much taller man. The goblin sat up and blinked. “How did you know?”

“My skin tingled when your warp magic threw the rowboat at Green Peril. I’d felt the same thing earlier when goblins warped live eels on me. You made The Shrouded One.”

“Sort of.” The goblin looked down as more goblins crept in. “We knew the story and how it scared people. We used to laugh how things that don’t exist frightened men. But then the civil war came, and the old queen died and the king got a new queen, a bad one. People got scared of real things, their own leaders. One day they took away the brotherhood priests, the only men left in Fish Bait City who tried to help. We had to do something, but we’re so small.”

More goblins came, some carrying bricks, others empty buckets coated with hot tar. The first goblin looked at Dana and said, “But The Shrouded One is feared. Bad men would be too scared to fight back if they thought they were fighting a fairytale. So we played a trick on the whole city. We made cloaks that fit over us like a man, and when it’s dark or foggy we come out to protect people.”

“Were any of you hurt tonight?” she asked.

Another goblin held up a shredded cloak. “Green Peril aimed high, just like all the others.”

Dana studied the growing crowd of goblins gathering around her. “You threw the bricks that flew at Green Peril. I heard your voice coming from different places because there were lots of you talking for The Shrouded One. And you were on the roofs and dumped boiling tar on him. How did you make the wall fall on his bugs?”

“Half the city is abandoned,” a goblin told her. “We’ve rigged walls and whole buildings to come down when we need them to.”

More goblins peeked out from the large ship in the harbor where they’d snared Green Peril during his escape. Others came with shredded cloaks and a few with intact cloaks folded up. It was hard to see them in the fog and impossible to guess their numbers.

“Dana?” Jayden called out.

“Give me another minute!” she called back.

The lavender goblin took Dana’s hand. “Please, you can’t tell anyone about us. We only get away with this because men are afraid. If they figure out we’re just goblins, that we can die like anyone else, they’ll hunt us down. When we’re gone Fish Bait City will get worse. I know these people deserve so much more, but we’re all they have.”

Dana looked at the mob of goblins. It was strange. Fish Bait City’s baron was an evil man who stole land from the brotherhood and no doubt did many things as bad or worse. Fear kept the baron in check. If he wasn’t afraid anymore, people who’d already suffered so much would suffer more. Jayden helped good men across the kingdom, but he could only be in one place at a time. Once he left a town or city its citizens were on their own. These people might fear The Shrouded One, but they needed his protection.

“Tell me one thing,” she said. “You said you knew Jayden as a boy. How?”

“He was part of a royal expedition, one of hundreds who wanted to improve Fish Bait City. He was young, so full of promise, but the king and queen put an end to that.” The lavender goblin looked down, as did the entire mob. “If he’d grown up to be the man we thought he would, nobody would need The Shrouded One.”

“Dana?” It was Jayden, his voice carrying a hint of concern.

“Coming!” she called back. She looked to the goblins for more information, but they said no more. Perhaps they wanted Jayden to have his secrets the same way they had theirs.

The lavender goblin looked into Dana’s eyes. “If you tell them what we’re doing, they’ll kill us.”

Dana bent down and stroked the goblin’s cheek before she left. Their lives were in her hands, and thousands of people depended on them. What choice was there? She smiled and said, “Silly goblin, you can’t kill fairytales.”

Professor Atril Renault led his first period class out of the central building of The Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology. It was a glorious morning, sunny and warm, the air heavy with perfume from blooming trees, and pixies were relatively under control. That last fact took considerable effort and a large number of trained hawks, but it was worth it. Normally this would cheer Professor Renault.

“I didn’t think students were supposed to leave the Institute, sir,” Marty Fest said. Marty was the reason why Professor Renault was in a foul mood. Most people could only earn a handful of mortal enemies, but Marty had an innate ability to make everyone in a mile radius murderously annoyed with him.

“I would imagine you’d be pleased to leave the grounds,” Professor Renault replied. The older man wore simple, dignified robes over his functional work clothes. His oak staff was set with fire opals, as were the rings on his fingers. Renault’s thinning hair was turning gray, but otherwise he was in excellent condition. “I imagine Institute staff members will be equally delighted after last night.”

Marty smiled (never a good sign) and raised one finger. “I wasn’t near the unicorn’s cage when it got out, sir.”

“You were never near the wine cellar, the returns section of the library, the ladies lavatory and the rare plants garden that all befell shockingly bad luck.” Professor Renault stopped and turned to look Marty in the eyes. Marty smiled back, the smug expression of a man smart enough to do massively stupid deeds.

“Exactly.” Marty spoke that word as if it was proof of his innocence and that the matter was unimportant.

The Vastan Institute for Magic and Technology was the crown jewels of the city of Chalerdon, no small claim given the city’s staggering wealth. The Institute’s gravity defying architecture was the result of dozens of skilled wizards working for decades. It filled entire blocks of a city known for beauty, wealth and culture. Attending the Institute as a student should have been an honor bestowed on only the best, but Professor Renault had long ago noticed a decline in the behavior of his pupils.

Professor Renault continued on with fifteen students, young, intelligent teenagers who had basic training in magic and were from respectable families. Students had to have these traits, but there were times when young people could be too intelligent for their own good and come from families too respectable. Some were smart enough to cause trouble while having family connections to avoid the repercussions of their actions. This state of affairs could go on for years until they did something so foolish there was no way to avoid the fallout, and possibly no way to survive it.

Marty Fest was such a person. Smart, wealthy and related to men in power, the blond haired youth was handsome and drew attention from ladies his age. Any attraction ended the moment Marty spoke his mind, which was constantly in the gutter. His clothes were rich silks dyed gold and red, very stylish, and his coin pouch bulged with gold. Marty never failed to flaunt his wealth to students on financial need scholarships. He was, in short, a twit.

“Students are required to stay on Institute property to prevent them from patronizing disreputable establishments in the city,” Professor Renault said as he led his students onward. “Some students see this as a challenge to avoid our security measures and visit local bars. Today’s field trip is an exception to the rules.”

A young girl raised her hand and asked, “Where are we going?”

“I’m sure it will be exciting and challenge our minds,” Marty said cheerfully. He saw an attractive waitress at an outdoor restaurant and said, “There’s a challenge I wouldn’t mind solving.”

Another student scowled as he walked around an elf riding a griffin down the street. He leaned in close to Marty and whispered, “Renault is right here, Marty. Right here. You know, ‘Collective Punishment’ Renault, the guy who dunked an entire class into a lake for failing a test. He’s promised to do the same to us if we screw up.”

“Talk is cheap, and so is he,” Marty whispered back.

“They didn’t fail the following test, proof my actions had the desired effect,” Professor Renault said, startling both boys. “I am neither deaf nor stupid, Mr. Fest. You would be wise not to mistake patience for cowardice.”

“Second period is going to start soon, sir,” a female student pressed. “We barely have time to get back to the Institute, and I have Ms. Prezle’s Magic Theory lecture next. The last person who was late for her class was used for target practice.”

Another girl scowled at her. “Thanks for bringing that up! I spent four hours as an oak tree because of that witch, and stop smirking, Marty!”

“We’ll be back on Institute grounds before first period is over,” Professor Renault replied. He stopped walking and pointed to his left. “Here we are.”

“Here we are where?” the first girl asked. “It’s just an old house.”

“Appearances often deceive in our profession,” Professor Renault said. The building was small, with only one floor and a few hundred square feet. The walls were brick, the roof intact and the windows closed. There were beautiful flowers around the house, but the lush growth reached onto the street.

The second girl frowned and backed up. “Professor, you teach Ethics in Magic. What does this have to do with ethical behavior?”

Professor Renault tapped his staff on the paved street. “All will be clear shortly. Now, what can you tell me about this building?”

Two students raised their hands, but Marty shouted, “I’ve got this!”

Professor Renault stepped back and waved his staff at Marty. “By all means, Mr. Fest, let us see your powers of deduction.”

Marty began, “Land around the Institute is expensive, so some peon should occupy a house like this, but it looks like nobody’s lived here for months. There’s nothing wrong with the house physically. Let me check for magic auras…nope, no wards. The city watch doesn’t care that this place is a mess, which means whatever is going on here either has their approval or it isn’t worth their time bothering with. But someone has to own this place, so they should care that it’s gone to seed.”

“Which tells you what?” Professor Renault pressed.

Marty paused and then smiled. “It’s not abandoned. Someone or something is living here, not a person, maybe a monster or spirit.”

Professor Renault tapped his staff against the side of the building. “This house was purchased by the Institute years ago as a residence for visiting scholars. It’s not being used for that purpose because it was occupied by goblins, a situation the city watch has asked to deal with. We declined their offer and instead treat this as an opportunity for our students.”

The girl who’d once been turned into an oak tree edged away from the building. “What kind of opportunity?”

“It’s a test for our more ambitious students,” Professor Renault replied. “All of you have mastered basic magic. Most of you have mastered common sense. A few have even mastered logical thought. I’m curious which among you has reached such lofty goals. The test is can any of you evict the goblins. This isn’t easy, but anyone who succeeds is allowed full use of the house for the rest of the school year. You can stay here rent free and enjoy the hospitality of Chalerdon, provided you are on time for your classes.”

“That’s easy!” Marty boasted.

“Are you volunteering to be first, Mr. Fest?” Professor Renault asked.

“I’m volunteering to win your contest,” Marty said. He walked up to the house’s front door and stopped only long enough to cast a spell. Rocks sprung up from the ground and formed a shield and club Marty grabbed. He cast another spell and more rocks sprung up and assembled into a stone man four feet tall.

Then he opened the door.

A log ten inches wide and three feet long shot out and smashed the stone man before rolling down the street. A lasso caught Marty and dragged him into the house so fast he seemed to disappear. Frightened screams followed.

“Now what have we learned from this?” Professor Renault asked the other students while Marty continued screaming. When no one answered, he said, “The first is that Mr. Fest chose not to ask questions before beginning the test, such as how many goblins live in the house, or how long they have lived here and thus had time to prepare for invaders.”

“Get it off!” Marty yelled. “Get it off!”

“The second mistake was not asking local homeowners about these goblins, people who would know best about them,” Professor Renault continued. “I would hazard to guess that Mr. Fest assumed he didn’t have to because one goblin is the same as another. There is an unfortunate tendency for people to assume all members of a race act the same. Many goblins avoid conflicts. Not these ones. Nor are all men, elves or dwarfs the same.”

“Give that back!” Marty yelled. “It’s mine!”

“Mr. Fest’s last mistake, and I consider this the biggest, was not asking other students who took the test before him what he could expect,” Professor Renault added. “He was far from the first to make the attempt, and previous victims could have provided much needed advice.”

One of the girls raised a hand and asked, “Shouldn’t we help him?”

One of Marty’s shoes went flying out of the building. When it stopped moving they could see that half of it had been eaten.

The same girl said, “Never mind.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” Marty yelled.

Seconds later Marty was unceremoniously hurled out of the house. His clothes were torn and painted blue. His coin pouch and shoes were gone. His hands were tied behind his back. He was also wearing a bonnet and pink skirt.

“Would anyone else like to try?” Professor Renault asked. When no one raised their hands or stepped forward, he prodded, “Come now, no takers?”

“I don’t think we’re ready for this quite yet, sir,” a girl said. “At least not alone.”

“Going in as a group wouldn’t end much better,” Professor Renault said. “You each have mastered basic magic. This does not make you invulnerable, all-powerful or even right in most situations. Bravado, carelessness, arrogance and prejudice have no place in your lives now or after graduation. If you don’t think through the logical results of your actions then you will suffer far worse than Mr. Fest, and innocent men, women and children will suffer with you.”

Professor Renault then walked in front of Marty. The youth was furious but helpless to take action. Looking annoyed, the professor said, “A warning, Mr. Fest, should you wish to take revenge on the goblins or myself…”

Professor Renault shifted his staff from his right hand to his left. He clenched his right hand into a fist. Light shined from between his fingers and sparks shot out. Pebbles on the road levitated around the Professor and the air stank of ozone. The students backed up, and Marty’s fury was replaced by fear.

“Try it, you miserable toad,” Professor Renault said in a low, deadly voice. “Just try it. I have decades of experience in magic you can’t begin to match, and a temper that long ago reached the boiling point. You are not smart enough, not rich enough, not powerful enough to lock horns with me, boy. I won’t hesitate for a second to put you in your place, and to blazes with the consequences.”

The door to the house swung closed with a bang, making the students jump. Professor Renault let his spell fade and continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“This concludes today’s lesson. My hope is all of you learned that actions have consequences. This lesson can be repeated as often and as painfully as necessary until it takes root. You have time enough to get to your next class if you hurry.”

“I can’t show up like this!” Marty yelled.

“You could, although I wouldn’t recommend it,” Professor Renault replied. “That leaves two choices: skip your next class while you make yourself presentable or go to class as you are. Both courses of action will result in harsh punishments. Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Fest, but don’t you have Ms. Prezle’s Magic Theory class next period? And unless I’m much mistaken that starts in five minutes.”

“Run!” one of the girls yelled, and the students ran back to the Institute as fast as they could.

Marty stumbled after them and called out, “Someone untie my hands!”

Professor Renault watched them leave before he walked up to the house’s door, opened it and tossed in a small wheel of cheese sealed in wax that he’d brought hidden inside his robes. Eager hands snatched it out of the air and eager mouths gobbled it up.

“You were kind of rough on the guy,” a goblin called out from inside the house. “Most of the students who take this test are junior year or better.”

“He was getting out of hand, dangerously so,” Professor Renault replied. He leaned against the doorframe. “These students are getting worse. There was a time we’d only do this once a year! I fear for the future.”

The goblins also remembered a time long ago when they’d had fewer ‘challengers’. Few students knew how many decades the goblins had lived in this house, or that Professor Renault had invited them to stay in return for the help they now gave with depressing regularity.

One goblin said, “Next year’s students will be better.”

“I pray you’re right.” Professor Renault picked up the log that had been launched out of the house and returned it to the goblins. He cast a spell to form a magic cloud and stepped onto it. As it carried him back to the Institute, he said, “Please reset your traps. There’s another student nearly as bad as Marty that I have to deal with next period

This is part one of the Dana Illwind and Sorcerer lord Jayden story Pseudonym:

Over many months Dana had come to admire Sorcerer Lord Jayden. His courage, his wisdom, his dedication to his few friends, all these and more had earned her respect. Jayden had also proved his skill in battle against monsters and men, the distinction between the two not always clear. At this moment, however, she was most focused on his weight.

“Careful,” Maya said as she helped Dana carry Jayden down the cobblestone road. The two of them held the sorcerer lord between them, an already difficult task made worse by Jayden’s wounds. His right arm was broken and he had several broken ribs. He was barely conscious, but even the slightest touch on his wounds made Jayden wince and cry out in pain.

Kaleoth frontier soldiers ran by in their gray and green uniforms. They were heading to the destroyed bridge over Race Horse River where a far larger army had tried and failed to invade Kaleoth not an hour ago. Jayden and Dana had destroyed the bridge, but their victory had come at a terrible cost. Dana and Maya had carried him to the nearby city of River Twin, but Jayden’s wounds were so bad he’d never recover from them.

“We need help!” Dana shouted. “My friend is hurt! He needs a healer!”

Most soldiers ran by, but a spearman stopped to look at Jayden. He frowned and shook his head. “I’ve seen men injured this badly before. I’m sorry, your friend won’t last the night.”

“Don’t say that!” Dana screamed. “You must have doctors for so many soldiers.”

“None who can treat such wounds,” the spearman replied. “You’d need a holy man’s help, and the nearest one is in the capital three days’ journey from here.”

Maya struggled to hold up Jayden. “If you can’t help him, can you help us get him to the witch? Maybe she can save him.”

The soldier’s face turned white. “I’ll have nothing to do with Witch Way. Better he died than that woman get her hands on him.”

Dana nearly drew her magic sword when she heard him say that. Only the knowledge that setting Jayden down could worsen his wounds prevented her. “He was hurt saving your people!”

“Then honor him and his sacrifice by not letting Witch Way near him.” The spearman ran after the other soldiers, leaving Dana and Maya carrying Jayden alone.

“Don’t worry,” Maya said as they struggled down the street. “I’ve heard stories where to find the witch. We’ll get there by morning. He’s strong, Dana. He’ll make it.”

Dana didn’t reply as she helped Jayden down the street. To their left and right were brick buildings a story or two tall, shops and homes. People looked out their windows and came onto the street, a few staring in horror at Jayden while others looked to the ruined bridge where soldiers fired arrows and crossbow bolts across the river.

“He’s going to make it, Dana,” Maya said as the crowd parted to let them pass. “Just a few hours and we’ll be there.”

A man dressed in badly tanned furs stepped in front of them. “Where are you going?”

Dana bared her teeth. “Move.”

Nearby people edged back except for one man who said, “Don’t do this, Porter.”

“Where are you going?” the man in furs repeated.

“Through you if I have to,” Dana said.

Maya looked at Jayden and said, “This man needs help. We’re taking him to see the witch.”

“My name is Mugs Porter, and I can help you reach her,” the man said. “I’ve got a pushcart we can load him on.”

Suspicious, Dana demanded, “Why are you helping us?”

“I owe the witch,” Porter answered. He took Jayden from Dana and Maya and set him on a small, dirty pushcart parked on the street. Porter lit a lantern hanging from the front of the cart and grabbed the handles. “Any who receive her help pay for it, some in gold, some in words, others in services. I bring her new clients.”

Porter took the handles of the pushcart and rolled it down the street so fast Dana and Maya had trouble keeping up with him. Men and women got out of his way. One man yelled, “We’ll remember this, Porter!”

“Ignore them,” Porter told Dana and Maya. “They’ve never been where your friend is, where I was. They don’t know what men will do when there’s no one left to turn to.”

“I’ll pay whatever price she charges,” Dana promised.

“That’s not how it works,” Porter told her. “Whoever gets help is the one who pays.”

Dana ran ahead of Porter. “This time I’m paying.”

Porter frowned. “Careful what you wish for. Witch Way doesn’t work cheap.”

Porter was silent the rest of the trip, understandable given how hard he was running with the pushcart. They left the city and went through farmland and orchards, then into wilderness. Houses were few and then absent, replaced by enormous pine trees and cliffs thick with vines and moss. Jayden was unconscious during the trip, a mercy given his condition. After two hours they reached a large masterfully built wood house nestled among trees ten feet across.

The house’s door opened and a young woman stepped out. She looked smug before she saw Jayden. “Greetings, and welcome to my—dear God! Get him inside, hurry!”

Dana, Maya and Porter lifted Jayden out of the pushcart. Moving Jayden made him scream in pain, cries that ended only when the witch put a hand on his chest and spoke strange words that soothed him. Together they brought him inside the house and set him on a large wood table.

“This is the fifth client I’ve brought you, witch,” Porter said. “My debt is paid in full.”

“You and I are done,” the witch said. Porter left without another word, leaving Dana and Maya with the strange woman. The witch snapped her fingers and pointed to a corner of her house. “Both of you, over there, and don’t touch anything.”

Dana didn’t want to leave Jayden’s side. The people of River Twin had reacted to her mentioning the witch as if the woman was a deadly threat. But she was also Jayden’s only hope, and Dana reluctantly led Maya back.

“This is bad,” Witch Way said. She was younger than Dana had expected, probably in her early twenties. The witch’s clothes were stylish black and looked new. Her hair was long and black, braided in a pattern Dana hadn’t seen before. “You did good to get him here so fast. The next hour would have been his last.”

“You can help him?” Maya asked hopefully.

“It’s going to be a close thing.” Witch Way studied Jayden’s wounds. “Broken ribs, the arm looks like it was broken from feedback from his own spell, and I don’t like the look of that concussion. This is going to take everything I’ve got and more.”

Witch Way stepped back and folded her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and began to chant.

“What’s she doing?” Dana asked Maya.

“I don’t know. I heard the witch can save people who should have died, not how she does it.”

“No comments from the peanut gallery,” Witch Way snapped.

Dana and Maya fell silent. Witch Way continued chanting, a weird droning sound that went on and on. Not sure what to do, Dana studied her surroundings. The house’s interior was well made like the outside, every inch elaborately decorated with intricate animal carvings. Rugs covered the floors, thick curtains covered the windows, and colorful tapestries covered much of the walls. Furniture was copious and as decorative as the rest of the house.

Then there was the heart on the wall over the fireplace. It was made of granite, two feet across and beating like a living organ. Red light seeped through cracks in the heart, a dim glow that couldn’t compete with the cheery glow in the fireplace but was somehow more noticeable.

“Spirits of wind and fire, I beseech you,” Witch Way announced as she looked up. “This soul is in peril, his life nearing an end too soon, and I have been called upon to aid him. The power of my heart stone is not enough, proof your instructions on crafting it were useless. So once more I must turn to you for power.”

“This isn’t encouraging,” Maya said.

A high-pitched voice coming from the heart said, “Don’t I know it.”

Witch Way snapped the fingers on both hands. “Talk to the witch. I know your price and pay it unwillingly. I hereby recognize your union and authorize vacation pay. Now get off your backsides, lazy spirits.”

The stone heart beat harder and the glow from it grew brighter. Jayden stiffened before relaxing. Dana and Maya ran to him. He was breathing easily rather than gasping for air, but he was still unconscious.

Excited, Maya cried, “He’s better!”

“He’s getting there,” Witch Way corrected her. “Healing isn’t what witchcraft was meant for. A holy man could have done in seconds what I need all night to do. I’ve sped up his natural healing many times faster than normal, but even this might not be enough.”

“Is this why people in River Twin don’t like you?” Dana asked. “Do your cures sometimes fail?”

Witch Way laughed. “Oh, they hate me for any number of reasons, some fair and others not. Most of my problems are my own fault, like being a greedy, petty, vindictive, backstabbing harridan. And yes, my healing attempts can fail.”

“That’s more than I expected to hear,” Dana admitted.

“Or wanted to,” Maya added.

“Mother told me not to become a witch,” Witch Way said. “I ignored her. I wanted power, and this was the easy way to get it. I had to buy that power, trading parts of myself for it. The spirits demanded I accept the curse of total honesty, which sounded mild at the time. But as you can see it’s not to my advantage to speak the truth, especially when I don’t particularly like people other than myself.”

Witch Way gave the girls a cunning smile. “If I try hard enough I can share that burden with others, if only for a while. Two marriageable women traveling with a man, it makes me wonder. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” they said simultaneously. Dana and Maya both shrieked in surprise, and Maya clapped her hands over her mouth.

“I don’t love him the way you mean!” Dana shouted. She took deep breaths and tried to calm down. “I’m grateful to him for saving my family and town, and many other people. He’s handsome, and sometimes I think things, but I’d never actually do them.”

“I would,” Maya said, then shrieked again as her face turned red.

Witch Way laughed so hard she nearly fell over. Wiping tears of joy from her eyes, she said, “I’m a shallow, hateful person, but I have a good time.”

Dana pointed at Jayden. “Can we get back to talking about him?”

“Oh, yes, the sorcerer lord. Don’t give me that look, girl. It takes more than a change of clothes to conceal a man’s identify when his face is on a thousand wanted posters.” Witch Way curled a lock of her hair around one finger while studying Jayden. “He’s drawing a lot of power from my heart stone, but he’s hurt so badly that my magic could just be prolonging the inevitable. By morning he’ll be well again or be dead, fifty-fifty odds.”

Maya saw Dana’s pained look and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s better than we would have gotten from anyone in River Twin.”

Dana took a deep breath and readied herself for the worst. “We need to talk about your fee. Jayden is in no condition to pay you, so I’m accepting the responsibility.”

Witch Way looked at Dana and laughed. Dana felt her face turn red, and she put her hands on her hips. Angry, Dana snapped, “I have gold. It might not be enough, but once he’s healthy we can get more.”

That provoked more laugher from the witch. Once she was done, she gave Dana a pitying look. “Oh you miserable child, as if I would work so cheaply. The spirits providing the extra power to heal your friend are charging a steep price. Even asking for their help is going to make them harder to deal with in the future.”

Worried, Dana asked, “Then what do you want?”

Witch Way walked over to a table and picked up a knife. Maya and Dana got between Jayden and the witch, prompting more laugher. “Do you think I was going to kill him? Silly child, if I wanted him dead all I had to do was refuse my aid. I’m going to cut off his coat and shirt to get a better look at his wounds.”

Dana didn’t move. “What’s your price for saving him?”

Witch Way rolled her eyes. “Total honesty. Why couldn’t the spirits have been satisfied with something else? I paid much for my powers, child, and I aim to recover the loss. I take whatever is most valuable from my clients. Sometimes it’s gold, other times land and always their honor, for no one leaves here with their reputations intact.

“Jayden is the only sorcerer lord on Other Place. A man who’s mastered the shadow magic of the sorcerer lords must know many secrets and hidden truths. What he has trapped in his head is worth a fortune to the right people. I know eight men who would pay in gold, jewels and magic to learn what the sorcerer lord knows. I can sell the information to each of them, netting eight rewards for one healing. That’s my price, girl.”

“I don’t think he’d agree to that if he was awake,” Maya said nervously.

“I know he wouldn’t,” Dana said. She shifted he hands off her hips and onto her sword hilt. The magic blade had hurt an iron golem and should be enough to intimidate the witch. “We can get you magic if gold’s not enough, but you’re staying out of his head.”

“You’re in my house, brat,” Witch Way snarled. “This is where I forged my heart stone, and it’s where my spells are at their strongest. Two doe-eyed girls smitten with a wanted criminal don’t scare me.”

The witch hissed words in a language Dana had never heard, strange and hateful sounds far different than the ones Jayden used when casting spells. Dana took a step closer to the witch, a move that ended when the rug under her feet bucked like a steer, throwing her and Maya to the floor. Tapestries and drapes twisted and knotted to form ropes that wrapped around Dana and Maya. They screamed as the makeshift bonds shoved them against the wall and then lifted them off their feet.

“That settles that,” Witch Way said. She walked over to Jayden and cut off his coat and shirt, throwing the red stained clothes to the floor. “Don’t worry, children, total honesty means I have to keep my word and save him, or at least try to. Let’s see, yes, he’s coming along nicely. The sorcerer lord should live, and will definitely keep breathing long enough for me to extract my fee.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” Dana shouted. She tried to squirm out of her bindings and failed. “If he lives through this he’ll be furious. He’s killed monsters ten times scarier than you.”

“Promises, promises,” Witch Way said in a singsong voice. She cast another spell and placed her hands against Jayden’s brow. “Let’s see what—”
**********************
The castle was dark and depressing, a home only in name. Prince Mastram, a youth of twelve, walked through hallways surrounded by people he didn’t know. Physically he was a sight to behold, dark haired, handsome and dressed in sable and silk, but he was lonely and frightened. Stepmother had dismissed most of the castle staff over the last two months and replaced them with her personal retainers. None of them looked at Mastram, none bowed, none smiled. Instead they went about their duties in sullen silence.

Breakfast had been a joyless affair like all meals were. Father didn’t talk. Stepmother doted on her two sons, her words sweet like honey to the boys and harsh as acid to everyone else. Food tasted bland to Mastram, father’s jester had no amusement that could reach him, and even his books offered no solace.

Mastram had nearly reached the castle library and the limited reprieve it granted from his suffering when the brightly dressed jester Kipling leaped over a servant and wrapped an arm around the prince. “Your highness, your grace, you charitable soul, how good to see you. I’d nearly missed you the way you blend in with the crowd, no smile, no laughter, not even looking up half the time, but there was a slight hint of joy as I saw you near your fortress against the world. What wonders tempt you today, oh prince, what secrets shall you plumb?”

“Another time, Kipling,” Mastram said. He tried to slip by the jester and failed. Kipling followed him like a remora on a shark, never more than three inches away. “I’m sorry, I’m not in the mood for company today.”

“Few men willingly spend time with a fool, but I have my uses.” Kipling leaned in close and whispered into Mastram’s ear. “Please, suffer my presence. You are in danger.”

Mastram glanced at Kipling, not sure what to make of that strange comment. He went into the library and was alone save for Kipling. Tall bookcases crisscrossed the room and held thousands of books on hundreds of topics. Kipling was right, this was his refuge in hard times. He’d come here often after his mother died. Lately he’d come every day after meals.

“I’m good at solving riddles, Kipling, but I need more clues to understand what you’re talking about,” Mastram said.

“My prince, I fear for your life,” the jester said. “The castle has become dangerous. Take it from a thief and hanged man that when I say trouble is afoot I know what I speak of.”

Mastram smiled at him. “Former thief, and you survived your hanging.”

Kipling smiled. “Minor details.”

“Speak plainly to me as you always have, and please, no more riddles.”

Kipling cartwheeled onto a table and crouched on top of it. “These days I save my riddles for entertaining your father, no easy task. Mastram, you know me better than most, and you’re friends with your tutor, Mr. Wintery. Besides the two of us, your family and the court officials, is there one person in the castle whose name you know?”

Mastram paused. His mind raced as he tried to put a name to the constant parade of new faces he’d seen lately. So few would even talk to him, a growing cone of silence that had been spreading for months. “No.”

“Nor can I, my prince. There was a time I could count on two hands and both feet how many men asked me to share a drink with me. Now I can think of none. The castle has been purged of friends and allies, your stepmother’s doing, I’m sure.”

“I had few friends to begin with,” Mastram said.

“That’s not true,” the jester countered. “Many hold you in high regard. With these books you found the location of an old sorcerer lord reservoir, and people drink clean water from it today as they once did long ago. You offer hope to those still hurting from the war, sharing wisdom and words of mercy, counseled justice rather than vengeance. You are loved elsewhere if not here, and God help me if there are more hateful words that those.”

Mastram sat in a chair, too dejected to search the bookcases for a novel that might offer hope in such dark times. Kipling sat next to him and put an arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“I try to reach them, Kipling,” Mastram said mournfully. “Father doesn’t speak to me the way he did when mother was alive. Nothing I do satisfies stepmother. Court officials ignore what I have to say.”

“Your father is a fine man in many ways,” Kipling said, “the best tightrope walker I’ve ever met, but no juggler.”

Mastram stared at him. “Father doesn’t perform stunts.”

“I speak only the truth to you.” Kipling took wood balls from the deep pockets of his colorful uniform. Mastram had often seen the jester pull items from his costume, so many that he wondered if magic was involved. The jester balanced on the edge of the table while juggling.

“Nobles come day and night, demanding gifts and privileges from your father. All kings suffer such annoyances, but your father owes these men for their service during the civil war. With the treasury depleted he can’t give them what they want, so he pits one against the other, saying he can’t give them land that others hold and gold owed to their neighbors. No finer tightrope walker was ever born, for no matter how many try to pull him left or right he keeps his balance.”

Just then Kipling dropped a ball. Matram’s jaw dropped. He’d never seen the jester make a mistake.

“But he’s no juggler,” Kipling said. “I’m juggling eleven balls, but your eyes are on the one that fell. Jugglers know that dropping even one ball makes the audience doubt you, something your father hasn’t learned yet.”

Kipling caught his balls and set them on the table. “We both hear the whispers, my prince, and everyone hears the screams as your father and stepmother fight. He owes her family a heavy debt for saving his kingdom. He thought marrying her would be enough, but it’s not. She wants her sons on the throne. By law the king’s eldest son must take his place, but she and her family campaign against you day and night.

“Prince, I fear the king’s resolve is weakening. He thinks if he lets one ball fall by casting you aside then no one will care, but we know better. A king who sacrifices his own son, that man is no king. Commoners won’t obey him, soldiers won’t respect him, other monarchs will despise him, but he can’t see that. He only sees the balls he’s still got in the air and hopes the audience doesn’t notice the one on the ground.”

“What can I do?” Mastram asked.

“Keep learning, keep studying and keep away from fights in court. Staying in the library does that. You may have to leave in a hurry. I’ll help you for whatever a jester is worth, and I know men who will do the same. But Mastram, and it hurts like a knife to the heart to say this, prepare for the worst. Dark times lay ahead, and you—”
********************
Witch Way cried out in agony and gripped her head with both hands. Dana and Maya winced in pain. The heart stone beat erratically for a moment before settling down. Only Jayden seemed unaffected, his breathes deep and even.

“What was that?” Witch Way asked as she staggered into the table Jayden lay on.

“How would I know?” Dana shot back. “It’s your spell!”

“It’s never done that before!” Witch Way yelled. She straightened up and looked at Jayden. “I’ve dredged secrets from countless men’s minds and never such pain.”

“What were we seeing?” Maya asked.

“I don’t…wait, you saw that, too?” The witch looked startled, then scared. “You shouldn’t have shared those memories with me.”

“Well we did,” Dana snapped. She struggled again to break free and failed once more. “I’m glad your healing spells work, because your memory spell is garbage. I saw a piece of Prince Mastram’s life, not Jayden’s. How could you see memories from a dead boy?”

“He’s dead?” Maya asked.

“The prince was exiled to the Isle of Tears, where royalty goes to die from cold and hunger.” Witch Way scowled and crossed her arms. “Spirits, what did you do this time?”

High-pitched voices coming from the heart stone giggles and laughed. “This disaster is on your head, not ours. Or should we say heads?”

The witch scowled again and looked at Jayden. “He can’t interfere with my magic if he’s unconscious. Unless, yes, he could have cast magic wards on himself, long lasting defensive spells that would work even if he wasn’t awake.”

Witch Way cast more spells and caused strange glowing shapes to appear over Jayden’s head. The witch frowned and pointed at one. “That’s a mind cloud spell to keep seers and wizards from detecting him with magic. Yes, that’s what’s doing it. Witchcraft is ancient magic, powerful if limited. Shadow magic of the sorcerer lords is nearly as old but stems from another source. His mind cloud and my telepathy spell are interfering with one another, dangerously so.”

Another shape loomed large over Jayden, a black armored snake that slithered through the air before locking its baleful eyes on the witch. Maya sounded terrified when she asked, “What does that one do?”

The witch made the floating images disappear. “Retribution spell, and a nasty one. If he dies the spell attacks whoever is responsible for his death.” Her voice changed from clinical observation to terror when she said, “If he dies under my care, it’s going to think I did it. I have to get out of here! The range on that spell is—”
************************
Prince Mastram was so deeply involved in a book on the history of the sorcerer lords that he didn’t notice the door to the library open. The jingle of armor was enough to get his attention, though, and he looked up to see four soldiers in chain armor and carrying swords. “What’s happened?”

“Come with us,” one said.

“Soldiers don’t travel armed in the castle unless there’s an emergency,” Mastram said, and once the words left his lips he realized there must be danger. Had a villain tried to assassinate the king? Were more rebels rising to contest the throne. Scared, he demanded, “Tell me what’s going on.”

“The king and queen ordered us to bring you to the main hall,” the soldier said. “They’ll explain their meaning there.”

The prince set down his book and left with the soldiers. They marched through castle halls now empty, the few servants quickly leaving their presence. As they neared the castle’s main entrance, Mastram saw more soldiers escorting weeping servants outside. He hadn’t seen such sorrow since the dark days of the civil war.

They reached the castle’s main hall to find the room filled with soldiers, court officials and lesser nobles. Mastram’s father sat on his throne, handsome and strong, his expression stoic. Stepmother cradled her youngest son on her lap. She was richly dressed, and had an expression of satisfaction. She only looked like that when she’d hurt someone.

Prince Mastram’s heart beat fast. This felt wrong. Something terrible had happened, and he feared the jester’s warning was true judging by the cold looks he was getting from everyone in the room. Mastram went before his father and kneeled.

“I come as ordered, my father and my king.”

“One but not the other,” the queen said sweetly.

“Does the queen question my loyalty?” Mastram asked in horror.

“Enough,” his father said. He waved for the chancellor to approach. The man was another new addition to the court who’d bought his position by providing gold the king needed to pay soldiers during the civil war.

The chancellor stepped forward and unrolled a long velum scroll. Reading from it, he said, “Be it known to all the kingdom and beyond that charges of infidelity have been laid against the late queen, investigated and found to be true.”

Mastram gasped. His voice was a whisper when he asked, “Father, how could you?”

“Evidence has come to light that the former queen was in an illicit relationship with a man or men of unknown origin, one of whom is father to Prince Mastram,” the chancellor said. “Prince Mastram is hereby declared illegitimate, a pretended to the throne and no relation to the royal family. He is ordered banished to the Isle of Tears, to remain there for however long he may live.”

“Mother loved you more than life itself,” Mastram said. “To speak ill of her when she stood by you through dark times, when her family sacrificed so much for the throne.”

“A pity they have no more to sacrifice, no soldiers, no gold, no land,” the queen said playfully. “If they did, they could buy you a few more days in court.”

“I said enough,” the king told her, a mild rebuke that made her scowl. “This command is to be carried out immediately.”

“Unhand me!” a voice cried out in the back of the main hall. It was Mastram’s tutor, Mr. Wintry. He was short and old, neither of which kept him from forcing his way to the front of the crowd. Mr. Wintry wore his best clothes, old and unfashionable as they were, and dropped to his knees before the throne.

“Your Majesty, I beg you, hear the petition of a man loyal and long in your service. Mastram is good and loyal, even if you refuse to call him a son, and doesn’t deserve such a death.”

“He is no longer welcome here, nor are you,” the king said.

“Then let him leave with me!” Mr. Wintry begged. “You hired me from the Vastan Institute of Magic and Technology to teach your son. I will pack my belongings and leave at once, taking the boy with me. He’s clever and good with languages. He could be a great teacher there in Charlock Kingdom, so far away that you would never hear of him again. I have no son, you know this, and teaching Matram has been the closest I’ve come to fatherhood. If he can’t be your son, let him be mine.”

The offer brought cries of outrage from the court. Mr. Wintry ignored them and said, “I can formally adopt Matram into my family. He will lose all claim to the throne, but he will live.” Mr. Wintry looked up, glaring at the queen when he said, “You get what you want without anyone dying.”

“And risk you training him to become a wizard, to one day return and claim a throne he has no right to?” the queen asked. “Your schemes are as obvious as they are treacherous.”

The king offered no response. The queen’s outrage grew, and she shouted, “This was agreed upon, and paid for in my family’s gold and blood!”

“Leave the room,” he ordered her. The court fell silent, and in a rare turn of events so did the queen. “I know my debts and pay them, but I have limits.”

The queen left with her son and her foul temper. Once she was gone, the king stared at Mastram in silence. Long minutes passed before he spoke. “Mr. Wintry, your offer is…unique, and one I had not considered. I believe the offer is genuine, but my queen makes a valid point. There can be but one line of succession or my kingdom risks a new civil war only years after barely surviving one. I cannot have nobles scheme to place a false heir upon the throne.”

The king stood up and pointed at Mr. Wintry. “Your services here are at an end. Guards, collect his belongings and escort him to the castle gates.”

“Men will hear of this,” Mr. Wintry said when armed men seized him. As he was led away, he shouted, “You will lose the loyalty of those who love you!”

“I need time more than love, for I have seen love die,” the king said.

The king opened his mouth to speak, not getting the chance as Kipling the jester slipped through the packed room to reach the throne. “My Liege, if wisdom is held in so low regard then perhaps a fool’s words might have effect.”

“You test my patience, jester,” the king told him.

“I test your love, for I am old enough to have seen you treat this boy with tenderness, and I am fool enough to not care what price I pay to say it.” Kipling walked up to Mastram and kneeled beside him. “You pronounce a death sentence, exile in name only. The king’s word is law and even I am not fool enough to challenge it, but I can join him in this fate.”

“Kipling, no!” Mastram shouted.

“Please, your majesty,” Kipling implored. “We’ll both die there, starve or freeze, take your pick, but until that day comes we’ll dance and sing and maybe laugh. Be fair, your majesty, you won’t miss me. When was the last time you laughed at my jokes?”

“When was the last time I laughed at anything,” the King said, a statement rather than a question. He’d needed time to consider Mr. Wintry’s offer, but his response to Kipling was lighting quick. “The Isle of Tears is reserved for nobles. Mastram is not my son, but his mother was of noble birth. The punishment is justified. You, Kipling, are a commoner and former thief, the only man to survive a hanging.”

“Cheap rope will do that to you,” Kipling said without shame. “Surviving a death penalty is what first drew your attention to me. Quick wits and nimble hands sealed the deal.”

“Then I break that deal,” the King said. “You are correct, jester, you no longer entertain me. As you are manifestly unfit for your job, you may leave with whatever belongings you have, but the Isle of Tears is forbidden to you. And I am certain you are responsible for the disappearance last week of two of my wife’s retainers.”

“The assassins she sent after the prince?” Kipling asked without fear. Mastram gasped at the accusation.

“My queen is ever hasty in her actions, quick to anger and slow to consider the consequences,” the King said. “Where are their bodies?”

Kipling folded his arms across his chest. “I paid good money to make sure no one would ever learn the answer to that question, including me. Good luck finding them.”

The king seemed unbothered by the jester’s response. Instead there was the barest hint of a smile on his face, the first sign of happiness Mastram had seen from his father in years. “You always did like the boy more than me. There was a time I would have praised such bravery, but saving him then condemns him to far worse now, and opens me to the very condemnation Wintry claimed. Better he had died a prince, but you forced me to do worse.”

Soldiers drew their swords, but the King waved them off. “Don’t kill him. Kipling, you provided a sufficient answer and put the queen in her place, acting as a much-needed reminder that she is not ruler, and that her schemes can be undone more easily than she thinks. Punishing you would embolden her to further mischief. Still, it is another reason not to keep you. Guards, exile the jester from my kingdom.”

“I—” Kipling began, but guards seized him and pulled him from the room. “You only had one ball to keep in the air, one worth having, and you let it drop.”

Mastram was afraid, but he surprised himself by being more concerned for his father than himself. He studied the court members around him and saw little reaction to what his father and the jester had said. “You and Kipling both accused the queen of sending assassins after me, yet none here seems troubled. What manner of men fills the court?”

“Ones I trust,” his father answered. “I saw my kingdom ripped asunder by treachery and lies. I refuse to see it happen again. I ask nothing more of these men than their loyalty. Let them have their faults so long as they do what they are told.”

Mastram watched as the last friend he had in the world was dragged off. With no chance to save himself and no one else to save, he spoke with the confidence of a condemned man. “I knew stepmother was trying to replace me with her sons. I feared you would find a reason to cast me away, but never in my worst nightmares did I think you would betray mother’s memory.”

“I do what I must,” his father said. “The kingdom still balances on a razor’s edge with enemies within and without. In time I can fix what is broken, but I must pay for that time. I have sacrificed my honor, my good name, my pride and the lives of countless subjects. I lost much and could yet lose everything. To avoid that I must make one last sacrifice, saying words I know are lies and ending the life of my son, less of a loss when I have two more. ”

He stared hard at Mastram before saying, “I thought this would be harder. Guards, take him away and leave me in peace, for I—”
*****************************
Witch Way’s screams could have woken the dead as she fell to the floor. Dana and Maya winced, for they felt some of the pain she did. The heart stone went into wild spasms as its light faded before recovering slowly. Only Jayden seemed unaffected. Instead he looked stronger, healthier, his wounds nearly gone.

“That…shouldn’t…have happened,” the witch gasped.

“Make it stop!” Maya cried out.

“Seriously, stop!” Dana yelled at the witch. “You’ve healed him enough. Keeping him here hurts you and us. You’re not even getting the secrets you want.”

Tears rolled down Maya’s cheeks. “These are just memories from a dead child.”

Suddenly Dana gasped and looked horrified. “Maya, what if they’re not?”

Witch Way crawled to the table and pulled herself up to her knees. “What do you mean?”

“What if the spell worked?” Dana asked. “I’ve heard stories about Jayden the same as everyone, and they all date from ten years ago to today. Nobody knows where he came from. He just appeared in the kingdom years ago, no family, no friends. And Prince Mastram has been gone for a long time.”

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Jayden had told her months ago that he’d once been known by another name. Goblins in Fish Bait City said Jayden had come there as a boy, part of a royal expedition. Jayden had known the interior of Baron Scalamonger’s mansion. Prince Mastram in the visions had also been studying the sorcerer lords, which would explain how Jayden could translate their spell tablets.

All three women stared at Jayden. Witch Way was the first to speak when she said, “I am going to get into so much trouble over this.”

“We have to get him out of here before he wakes up,” Dana said. “He’ll kill you if he figures out what you’ve done.”

“There’s no ‘if’ to it,” Witch Way said. “When I view memories from my clients they don’t just remember them, they experience them as if they were happening again. He just relived the worst parts of his life.”

“I don’t see this ending well,” Maya said.

Witch Way grabbed Jayden by the shoulders and tried to lift him. “My spells are linked to the heart stone in my house. Taking him outside will break the connection. Ooh, he’s heavier than he looks, all muscle by the feel of it. Come on, help me move him.”

“We can’t!” Maya cried out.

“We’re still tied up!” Dana yelled.

Witch Way looked at them, a puzzled expression on her face as she said, “I’m not making good decisions today. Wait, do you feel tha—”
******************
The cold air matched Mastram’s mood. No longer a prince, he was a criminal dressed in sackcloth, his black hair a mess as a strong wind blew in his face. The longboat he was on rose and fell on the rough sea, the overcast sky adding to the sense of woe. Eight sailors manned the oars and an equal number of soldiers stood guard in case someone tried to rescue him. There had been three attempts in the two months since Mastram was declared illegitimate, one by peasants, another by renegade soldiers and the third by harpies, all three failures. These soldiers were here if others should try.

They’d been at sea for eight day traveling to the Isle of Tears. Mastram had no idea where it was, as the isle appeared on no maps and was shielded from magical attempts to locate it. They’d passed several small, rocky islands, some inhabited and others not, and a strange black pyramid that moved through the water faster than the longboat. Still they traveled, sailing far from the coast and any chance of escape.

Hours later they reached their destination. Mastram wondered why the island was used only for executions, for it looked large enough to house many people. The shorelines were rocky and inhospitable, and there were few trees or plants, but he knew ways even such foreboding land could be made productive. Deeper inland were mountains with narrow ridges that jutted up like the bones of a dead monster. The only sign that anyone had ever lived here were brick piers reaching into the icy waters of a natural harbor.

As the longboat neared the harbor, Mastram saw a soldier draw a dagger. His officer saw it, too, and shouted, “Sheath that blade!”

“It’s a mercy compared to what we’re doing to him,” the soldier protested.

“It is the king and queen’s command, and you will obey!” the officer snapped. “Touch so much as a hair on his head and I’ll leave you here in his place.”

The longboat docked at a pier without further incident, and soldiers placed Mastram ashore. The officer stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Mastram, pretender to the throne is thus banished to the Isle of Tears without chance of pardon or commutation of his sentence. Any who attempt to remove him from this place or offer him aid is guilty of treason and will be put to death. Here you shall remain forever.”

Without further adieu the longboat departed, leaving Mastram alone. It didn’t bother him. He’d been alone for years in a castle packed with people. This desolate island made his solitude more complete, nothing more.

He wondered briefly what to do. No one knew how long condemned men lived on the Isle of Tears, only that when boats brought new victims there was no sign of those who’d come before them. Would he last a day? A week? A month? Mastram had to wonder which would be better. Any thought of giving up soon vanished, though, for he would not give his enemies the pleasure of surrendering. If death came for him, he would fight it.

Surviving the night would be the first challenge. Cold could kill faster than thirst or hunger, so he needed shelter from the coming night. Mastram searched the shore for buildings or even ruins. The brick piers were proof that someone once lived here. Sadly they were the only evidence. Maybe powerful winter storms had swept the isle clean.

With no help at hand, he headed further inland. The ground was rocky and had little plant life, none of it edible. There were no trails leading from the piers, forcing him to pick his way between large stones. Here and there patches of soil supported tough grasses. Ahead he saw caves in the side of a rocky cliff. Most were far too high to reach, but one was low enough he could climb to it. With no other options available that would be home.

Mastram climbed up to the low cave and crawled inside. The roof was surprisingly high and the floor more even than he’d expected. He’d visited a few caves in the past and found them awkward and cramped. In comparison this was spacious. He traveled deeper into the cave to a spot that still received light from outside but was out of the wind. Mastram cleared away sand and small stones from the ground. He didn’t have to dig far before he hit a perfectly flat floor.

“This is surprising,” Mastram said to no one. “Hmm. I wonder if talking to yourself is proof you’re going mad. I hope not. I’ve been here less than an hour.”

Mastram cleared away more stones and sand. The floor extended in all directions and was as flat as a board. He reached the side of the cave and found larger piles of debris. Clearing that took more time, but the reward was worth the effort when he found the floor and cave wall met in a ninety-degree angle. He dug at the edge of the opposite wall and found the floor and wall met the same way.

It was a mystery that had to wait. Mastram mounded up debris around the cave entrance to further block the wind. It was a poor shelter but should keep out the worst of the weather. Wind began to whip around him, carrying sand that stung his face. That hurt, but it inspired him. He dug around the edges of the cave and found four corners.

“This isn’t a cave,” he said. “It’s a room. I didn’t see it before because so much sand has been blown in that it obscured the edges.”

He checked the back of the room and found a passage leading out. There was less sand here, and to his surprise there was light from holes in the roof. He followed the passage until he came to more rooms. Some were filled with debris while others were nearly empty.

He looked for clues who had built this place. Finding paper or velum was out of the question when both would rot in the damp air, but maybe there were bits of furniture or rusted tools. A clever person could determine much about a man by studying the junk he left behind. That had been one of Mr. Wintry’s stranger lessons, but his tutor had showed Mastram how scraps of armor, broken pots and other garbage people cast aside said a lot about them.

In this case it said nothing. There was no broken furniture or metal goods. He found bits of broken pottery barely larger than sand grains. Mastram frowned and rubbed his chin.

“Storms must have blown in water that rotted perishables, and the wind and sand ground down whatever survived the water. That would take decades or more. Whoever built this mansion died long ago. Strange that no one moved in.”

Further study turned up more mysteries. The walls were thick, some made of brick and others natural stone carved into rooms and passages. Building this mansion would have been hard work, and construction materials must have been imported. Yet in the end the effort had been wasted, for the thick brick walls were pierced in multiple places, and rooms dug from the rocky isle were broken into as well. Indeed, most of the rooms he found had holes in them, some as large as a man. The mansion’s fall had been violent and thorough.

Mastram found his despondency momentarily gone, replaced by curiosity. He’d always asked why and dug deeper when faced with a puzzle. Back home he’d spent endless hours finding answers to Kipling’s riddles with the dedication of a dog chewing a bone to reach the marrow. Questions were personal challenges to him, a test of his wits and perseverance. A prince never gave up.

That thought nearly made him stop, the memory of what he had been and what he’d lost stinging, but he pressed on. Princes didn’t give up. They didn’t stop when the odds were bad and enemies numerous. By law he was no prince, but he’d show his enemies and his father. A man could live here if he knew what he was doing and didn’t give in to despair, and that was what Mastram intended to do. Morning would find him alive, as would next week, next month and next year.

Mastram’s exploration turned up a stone staircase leading up. He followed it, slipping briefly on debris covering the steps before safely reached the top floor. It looked like he wouldn’t be visiting the place often, for much of the roof was gone, leaving it open to the sky. There were bits of walls rising from the wreckage, and what looked like empty sea bird nests. Mastram wondered if the birds only came here to breed or if previous prisoners of the isle had eaten them all.

Not far from the stairs were the ruins of a large room with a stone throne at the outside edge. Mastram studied it and found worn down letters cut into the throne. He rubbed away sand filling the words and smiled when he recognized the language.

“This is the writing of the sorcerer lords,” Mastram said. “That’s the owner’s name, his rank and ancestors. This was the home of Jayden The Fell Hand of Doom. I read about him. He was one of the powerful sorcerer lords. Hmm, not powerful enough to save himself from his enemies.”

Mastram cleaned off the throne and sat on it. “I guess this happens to all dynasties in the end. They grow strong and expand their influence, but in time fall and are replaced by others. It nearly happened to my family.”

The room had plentiful signs of battle, like fallen stone columns, jagged holes cut through thick walls and lots of black granite chips. That was interesting. The sorcerer lords had written their spells on granite tablets instead of paper. He poked through the rubble, finding a few larger pieces of granite but none that fit together.

Then he saw it. He’d missed it at first, nearly buried by sand and broken bricks, but behind the throne was an intact spell tablet. The edges were worn down, the white marble lettering was chipped, but it was legible. Mastram’s heart beat faster at the sight. Spell tablets were rare! Few were ever found, and those disappeared into private collections. This treasure could have been found ages ago if someone had bothered searching the isle. How many riches were here, waiting for a man with the patience to dig them out?

What if he could use the tablet? It was a fascinating question. Mr. Wintry had taught Mastram much, including a love of languages, but the prince hadn’t learned magic. Mastram could read the tablet and understood it, but the writing paused frequently and was replaced by small diagrams showing what looked like hand gestures.

“It says aklamasan morashal rathan,” Mastram translated. “Then it says the exact same words twenty more times. The hand gestures change each time you say it.”

It was an interesting puzzle, and with nothing else to do he tried solving it. His first try failed, as did the second, the fifth and the fiftieth. Daylight was fading and he should find a place to sleep, but the prince was tenacious. The problem seemed to be the hand gestures. He could make the silly looking patterns with his fingers, but how long was he supposed to maintain them?

Night approached and he was still trying. He sat on the throne using the last of the light coming through the sundered roof to try one last time when he felt a jolt go from his elbows to his fingers. The spell had worked! Unfortunately it only made a tiny spark that drifted away.

“That was anticlimactic,” Mastram said as he watched the spark float across the room. “Maybe this is a spell for beginners. It might explain why no one took the tablet.”

Boom!

The spark expanded into a massive fireball that engulfed half the room. Mastram screamed and fell off the throne, then scrambled behind it. The flames died away, doing little damage to the already destroyed room. His heart beat so hard he thought it might explode. He’d nearly killed himself!

“Very dangerous business, magic,” he gasped. “Not sure I should try again.”

He headed for the staircase, traveling only a few feet when he saw filthy creatures with long hair and dressed in rags come boiling up from the stairs. Mastram fled the stinking mob until he had his back to the stone throne. He didn’t try using the spell he’d just learned, lest it burn him and these foul creatures.

“We saw you make a fire,” one of the creatures croaked. “Please, can you do it again?”

“We’re so cold,” pleaded another.

Mastram hesitated, trying to tell who or what he was facing. He was afraid, but the unruly mob didn’t come closer. He approached the nearest one and asked, “Who are you?”

“Baronet Silas Fieldcrest,” the filthy figure said. Mastram was close enough to touch the poor person when he realized the claim was true. He’d assumed these were monsters coming after him, but they were men wearing dirty and torn sackcloth, their hair long and tangled, their beards caked in filth. More members of the ragged mob introduced themselves. Knights, earls, lord mayors, sheriffs, guild masters and more stood before him, sixteen in all.

“Forgive our appearances,” Fieldcrest apologized. “We were left here weeks ago, and I fear we’re lesser men for our time spent on the isle. Tell us, stranger, who are you?”

One of the men exclaimed, “Even in the darkness you should know your prince!”

Men cried out in horror. Many bowed their heads. Mastram said, “I am prince no more. My family disowned me.”

Fieldcrest stared at Mastram before dropping to his knees. “Then all is lost. Before my exile I asked my sister to seek you out and beg you to intercede on my behalf. Many of us did. We’d heard you were the kindest member of the royal family and might take pity on us. If you’re here then not only are we doomed but so is the entire kingdom, for no one else listens to petitions for mercy.”

“I didn’t know others had been sent here, much less so many,” Mastram admitted. “What were you accused of?”

“Treason, larceny, failure to uphold the law,” Fieldcrest replied. “The charge laid against us varies, but behind each one is the fact that we had what others wanted. Land, money, livestock, positions of authority, all coveted by those who had royal favor.”

Another man grasped Mastram by the hand. “The queen’s family and the king’s new favorites demand compensation. They gave much to the crown during the civil war and said we did little. We defended our good names and wouldn’t give up our homes, our livelihoods, so it was taken from us.”

Fire burned inside Mastram as great as the magic he’d so recently summoned. He demanded, “When did this happen?”

“This year,” Fieldcrest told him. “Royal officials travel the land removing those who the king doubts and installing his favorites in their place. Trials are quick and secret, guilt guaranteed and punishment swift. I’d heard it happened to another nobleman only days before the same fate befell me.”

Mastram gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Kipling was wrong, for his father had proven to be terrible at balancing the demands placed upon him. What his father had excelled at was hiding the evidence of his wrongdoing if no word of this had reached the prince. The loss of so many friends and familiar faces at court made more sense now. The newcomers had reason to help hide this injustice, and might have benefited from it, for their jobs had once gone to other men.

Fieldcrest got up and placed a hand on Mastram’s shoulder. “We must go. The Isle of Tears is a place of execution in more ways than the king knows, for two predators roam the isle. There are passages they can’t fit in, refuge from their attacks.”

Overhead the clouds parted to reveal a full moon that bathed Mastram and his fellow victims in welcome light, just enough to see the two monstrosities sneaking up on them. Men screamed and scattered as the nightmarish pair shambled toward them. To his horror, Mastram knew exactly what they were, for his studies under Mr. Wintry included the sorcerer lords who once called this land home.

These were estate guards, abominations built by the long dead sorcerer lords. Each one had a golden scarab attached to the pile of driftwood and bones that comprised their bodies. They had the form of men, but twisted, malformed things with long dragging arms. Under the light of the moon Mastram recognized where the bones in those horrible monsters had come from. Some were from seals, others sharks, and some were from men.

“Run!” Fieldcrest shouted.

Mastram held his ground as the wretch things approached. Estate guards were only as strong as the bone and wood they could find to make their bodies from, and these were poor specimens with brittle bones and half rotted wood. They shuffled toward him, making sure they were between their prey and the stairs leading to safety.

“You face an enemy worthy of you,” Mastram said, a warning the beasts ignored. He chanted the words he’d learned from the tablet, weaving strange symbols in the air with his hands as his foes raised their twisted arms to attack. He finished the spell when they were still fifty feet away, sending a tiny spark toward the pair. One recognized the spell and ran to the left while the other took the blast head on. Boom! When the flames died away the first monster was gone and the second had lost both legs.

Mastram marched toward his enemy while the other men watched in awe. The first estate guard was dead, its scarab melted in the fire, while the second tried to drag itself away. Mastram grabbed a large broken brick off the floor and swung it at the estate guard. Brittle bones snapped. Narrow branches of driftwood broke. The estate guard tried to block his swings and failed.

Men joined him with large stones they seized off the floor. They surrounded the beast, pounding it from all sides, breaking it to pieces and pulling it apart. The gold scarab tried to flee, but Mastram saw it run. He struck it with the brick, snapping off three of its gold legs, taking off another leg with the next blow and finally crushing it to pieces.

Mastram screamed in defiance. Fear, shame, doubt, these burned away as rage swelled in him, hatred greater than any he had ever known. The suffering he’d experienced was nothing compared to what was happening elsewhere in the kingdom. His father and stepmother had inflicted inexcusable crimes on their own people, and it was going to stop even if he had to—
************************
Witch Way was on the floor, both hands covering her face. Maya cried and Dana stared at Jayden.

“Please, stop,” Maya pleaded.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Witch Way mumbled and rose to her knees.

“Do it faster,” Maya begged. “Look at him, he’s in agony.”

Jayden was still asleep but not at peace. He clenched his fists and his muscles tensed. His lips pulled back in a snarl as he ground his teeth together.

“That’s not pain,” Dana corrected her. Months traveling with Jayden had given her insight into his moods. “That’s rage.”

Witch Way’s terror grew as she backed up to her heart stone. “Son of a—”
************************
Clams and fish. It was a boring diet, but enough to keep men alive. Mastram wouldn’t let his fellow prisoners die, demanding they go on in the face of what had seemed impossible to endure weeks ago. They stayed strong because they had hope. They had a sorcerer lord.

The ruins yielded further treasures now that they were safe to explore. No doubt most of the riches had been stolen when the original owner had been killed. Still, they found gold and a few weapons, and Baronet Fieldcrest discovered another spell tablet. Mastering it had taken time, a commodity Mastram had in abundance.

Safe, fed after a fashion and armed, they had only to wait. Patience was a virtue Mastram was finding hard these days. He yearned to save his people, and it galled him how long he’d have to wait to do so. Even with two spells he was weak. Once he was free he’d need to find more spell tablets, more gold, more of everything, for overthrowing a king was a task many tried and most failed. It would take decades, but he would do it. He would pay back his father and stepmother for the crimes they’d committed.

The wait was intolerable, but not eternal. After long weeks they saw the longboat approach the Isle of Tears with more victims of the king and queen. There were only four soldiers this time. Perhaps these prisoners weren’t so important that men would risk their lives to free them.

Baronet Fieldcrest came up alongside Mastram where he and the other prisoners hid near the piers. The prisoners were dirty and thin, but they’d found daggers in their search of the ruins and had used them to shave. “Careful, prince. We need the boat intact.”

“Never fear, friend,” Mastram replied. The longboat was large enough for them all to escape. Once they reached land the prisoners would scatter, going to friends and family, gather them up and leave the kingdom.

“You’re sure you won’t come with us, prince?” Fieldcrest asked. “I know of distant lands where you could live unknown to all.”

“It’s a generous offer, but I can’t accept.”

The longboat came to the pier and stopped. The same officer who’d brought Mastram to the isle stood up and unrolled a scroll. “By order of the king and his beloved queen, Tallet Mistrof and Anthony Albreck are thus banished to the Isle of Tears.”

Mastram stood up and approached the longboat. “I would ask a favor, though. Don’t call me prince. Prince Mastram died on these rocks.”

It was overly dramatic, but Mastram knew he couldn’t use his name and escape discovery. He’d adopted the name of his long dead host who had generously provided two spell tablets. Jayden had a nice sound to it, and a historical connection to the old sorcerer lords.

The officer on the longboat stopped reading from his scroll when he saw Jayden approach. A soldier pointed at him and told a sailor, “He’s still alive. You owe me a beer.”

Jayden cast a spell called the entropic lash, forming a black whip that could melt through nearly everything. Sailors manning the oars cried out in terror. Soldiers drew their swords, as if that would help. Jayden savored the opportunity to make them feel the fear they’d inflicted upon so many others before he swung the whip at—
********************
Jayden’s screams echoed through the woods outside Witch Way’s house. He thrashed so hard he fell off the table and landed on the floor before shooting to his feet. Covered in sweat, shaking in uncontrolled rage, he announced, “Someone is going to die!”

“I can explain,” Witch Way said hastily.

Jayden turned toward her. He opened his mouth, but the words died when he saw Dana and Maya tied up against the wall. For a moment he looked surprised, then his rage doubled as he faced Witch Way.

“That’s a little harder to explain,” Witch Way admitted.

Jayden cast a spell and formed his magic whip. Witch Way paled at the sight of it, but only for a moment as her own anger swelled. “You’re feared in many lands, but in this house we’re on equal footing. Make an enemy of me and you won’t leave here alive.”

“You page through my mind like a book, exposing my greatest shames, bind my friends, and now you threaten me? I’ve killed men for less.”

Witch Way snarled a spell that made the drapes and tapestries holding Dana and Maya let go and lash out at Jayden. He swung his whip and wrapped it around the bindings, burning through them before they could touch him. His next swing missed Witch Way’s head by inches.

“Spirits of wind and fire, grant me your power!” Witch Way commanded. “My life is in danger. I’ll pay time and a half, so don’t be stingy!”

“Done,” a high-pitched voice said. The heart stone beat faster than ever, and red light from it poured onto the witch. Under its influence her next spell was far stronger. Tables, chairs, beds, every piece of furniture animated, their wood legs becoming as fast and flexible as a deer’s nimble limbs.

Chairs charged Jayden as he exchanged his whip for a magic sword. He drove the blade through the first chair, which reared up and kicked like a horse as it died. He hacked another animated chair apart, then a third. Jayden’s next spell formed a shield of spinning black daggers. The table he’d been laying on charged him and went headlong into the blades. The shield spell buckled and failed, but not before reducing the table to woodchips.

“That was a gift from my mother!” Witch Way screamed.

“Good,” Jayden growled.

Dana had been in plenty of battles alongside Jayden and knew she had one advantage he didn’t: people ignored her. It was natural when she was a girl and he was a sorcerer lord. Men and monsters focused on the obvious threat and treating her like she was invisible.

She grabbed Maya’s hand and let her to the edge of the room. “Come on.”

Dana and Maya skirted around the battle, dodging broken pieces of furniture that crashed into the walls. Maya shrieked when the witch caused gouts of fire to leap from her fireplace, an attack Jayden avoided by using an animated chair as a shield. The chair cried out like a living creature when it burned.

“Where are we going?” Maya asked.

“Just follow me,” Dana assured her. They went around the fight, keeping down and trying to stay behind cover. Maya shrieked when a shadowy hand as big as a man slammed an animated bed into the wall next to them. The bed braced its back legs against the wall and pushed the hand back. Jayden leaped upon the bed and cut it in half with his sword.

“I’m going to regret this in the morning,” Witch Way said before casting another spell. Shadows lengthened around her before a horrifying red skinned monster rose up from the darkness. It had the shape of a man, but with eyes and gaping toothy maws scattered across its grotesque body. “Sid, I’ve got a job for you, double pay.”

“I can guess what it is,” the monstrosity said from its mouths. It lumbered after Jayden, shoving aside broken furniture to reach him. Jayden met it with sword in hand and a roar of defiance. The monster tried to wrap both arms around him in a bear hug. Jayden ran straight at it, and at the last second brought his giant shadowy hand in from the side to knock the monster over. Once it was on the ground he stood over it and swung his black sword again and again, cutting the monster to pieces that boiled away.

Dana finally reached her target with Maya. The two stood next to the fireplace and the beating stone heart over it. Dana drew her sword and held it high as Witch Way caused iron nails to pop out of her floorboards and rise up in a lethal cloud.

“Retribution spell,” Dana reminded the witch.

Witch Way scowled and let the cloud of nails drop to the floor. A surprised look crossed her face, and she turned and saw Dana and Maya next to her heart stone. Then the witch saw Dana’s sword. She held up both hands and said, “Wait, what are you doing?”

Dana swung her sword at the fireplace to prove its danger. Her sword had damaged an iron golem and had no trouble slicing through the brick fireplace. She then pressed the tip of her sword against the stone heart and said, “Hands in the air, or the rock gets it.”

“No! It took a year to build that thing!”

“Then stop fighting.”

Witch Way pointed at Jayden. “Tell him that!”

Jayden’s shadowy magic hand grabbed Witch Way around the waist and lifted her off her feet. He pointed his sword her and said, “You claim to be my equal within these walls, so let’s take this fight outside.”

Dana had seen Jayden consumed by rage before, a terrifying sight. Getting him to calm down would be difficult. She ran over and grabbed Jayden by the arm.

“Jayden, I know this woman is evil,” Dana began.

“Not helping!” Witch Way shouted.

“But she saved your life. No one else nearby could have helped you. People warned me about her and I brought you anyway. I was desperate and you were dying. What she did was inexcusable, but I’m asking you not to kill her.”

Jayden stared at the witch. He was breathing hard and looked like he was seconds from attacking. Dana needed to do more.

“Maya and I saw your memories along with the witch,” Dana told him. Jayden’s fury was replaced with confusion. He stepped back and lowered his sword. “We know what you went through as a child and why you fight the king and queen. I’m so sorry. You deserved better.”

“Should we bow?” Maya asked. “He is royalty.”

Jayden looked down. “Don’t bow. Don’t kneel. Don’t tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take contempt over pity, for I’m worthy of scorn.”

“Jayden,” Dana began.

“I failed!” he roared. “I watched my father descend into evil. No one else could have saved him. No one else had the connection to him I did. I didn’t know the words to reach him. Countless villains masquerading as allies badgered him, pulled at him, never letting up for a minute as they tried to make his soul as ugly as their own. They succeeded and I failed, and countless lives have become infinitely worse.”

“I know you’re hurting, but you have friends who can help,” Maya reminded him. “You did then, too, Mr. Wintry and the jester. Um, what happened to them?”

Jayden’s anger was replaced with a depression every bit as great. “I’m told Mr. Wintry passed away three years ago. He waged a campaign of words against the king and queen, telling every man of influence what villains they are. Father and stepmother never understood why their diplomats suffered such hostile receptions in foreign lands. Kipling might still be alive somewhere, an old man by now. The last I’d heard of him, he’d stolen a month’s payroll for the army and fled the kingdom.”

“Why didn’t you go to them for help?” Dana asked him.

“I wanted to. Countless days went by where I yearned for their advice or a friendly voice in dark times, but if anyone saw us together they would guess the truth, meaning death for me and them.”

“Surely the king must know you escaped,” Maya said. “You stole a longboat.”

Jayden shook his head. “Waters around the Isle of Tears are treacherous, and storms are frequent. Losing a small boat there isn’t surprising or cause for concern. Other ships sent to the isle would expect to find only bones rather than men, so our absence wasn’t noticed.”

“Your hair was black in those memories,” Witch Way pointed out.

Jayden saw one of his bags on the floor and took a small bottle from it. “Hair dye. It does more than you’d think to disguise me.”

Witch Way laughed. “The mighty sorcerer lord dyes his hair?”

Dana glared at the witch until she shut up. With the witch silenced, she said, “The king and queen are responsible for their own actions, not you. They had the loyalty and love of good men. They threw that away for followers with dog-like obedience. What happened wasn’t your fault, and nothing you could do would have changed it. You were only a child.”

“I was a prince,” he said bitterly. “And now I’m a dead man. I warned you once that if my true name became known it was a death sentence. The king and queen will send armies after me if they learn I still live. You, Maya and the witch know the truth. I trust you and Maya, but my secret isn’t safe with the witch.”

Dana sheathed her sword and approached Witch Way. “You’re cursed with total honesty. Whatever you say has to be the truth, and you have to keep promises. Promise that you’ll never tell anyone what you’ve learned tonight.”

Witch Way hesitated. Dana pressed her hard, saying, “Do you want this fight to start again? Either he’ll kill you or you’ll kill him, and then his retribution spell will kill you. You’ve already lost much. Don’t add your life to the list.”

The witch heaved a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Prince Mastram, in return for my life I’ll never tell another your secret. Many will know that Sorcerer Lord Jayden came to me for help, so telling clients I saved your life is good advertising. I can’t break this promise even if I tried. Does this satisfy you?”

Jayden dispelled the magic hand holding Witch Way. “Your can keep your life, witch, but what you’ve done demands a response. I won’t harm a hair on your head, but my vengeance shall be brutal.”

Dana and Maya grabbed their things and helped Jayden out of the witch’s house. The fight had taken a lot out of him, and he only went a short distance before sitting down. The sun began to rise, welcome light after such a difficult night.

“I never realized how hurt he was,” Maya said from a safe distance. “Inside, I mean. Imagine having your own family turn against you. I always wondered what it was like to have a father and mother, and his were awful.”

“He’s blaming yourself for everything that’s gone wrong in the kingdom,” Dana said. She’d known that for all Jayden’s bravado he was a mess, but she’d never thought he was so badly damaged. How could she fix this?

Dana had thought they were done with Witch Way, but the witch came near Dana and said, “I’m sorry. You have no idea how rare it is for me to say that. Jayden or I would be dead if not for you. Probably me. I brought it on myself, like all my problems.”

“Your house is ruined,” Maya said sadly.

“My heart stone is all that matters. Those are hard to build, and costly in power and promises.” Sounding more worried than apologetic, Witch Way asked, “About Jayden’s threat. Exactly what did he mean?”

A tiny spark drifted by them and went through the open door of the house. Witch Way’s face turned pale. “He wouldn’t.”

“He would,” Dana said.

Boom! The house exploded in a fireball that destroyed what little had survived the recent battle. Pieces of the heart stone landed nearby and shattered when they hit the ground. High-pitched laughed echoes across the forest as the spirits in the heart stone made their escape.

“He did,” Maya said.